#unhinged shower musing of the day

[ofherlionheart]

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[tilly-tilly-2827]

Leave It By Degrees #4

The unhinged love story loosely based on Shakespeare's Love's Labour's Lost that I can't get out of my head.

Synopsis: "How are you going to keep that?"

AO3 post from here!

Previous story from here!

No sex. No porn. No wanking. No phone. No digital devices. No social media. No alcohol. No drugs. No smoking. No Substance. No women are allowed in the Villa. (No men for Benedict). No work. No family issues…   

“How many no’s do you plan to include in this list, dear brother?” 

Anthony glared from his thick-framed glasses, closing his bulky volume of The Brothers Karamazov, carefully placing a leather bookmark on the pages. 

“Read the next page, there’s more.” 

Wake up at 5:00 in the morning. Only drink water. Complete the morning stretch and weight training by 6:00. Cold showers only. Complete 10km run. Meditate for three hours. Fast Every three days. Study Japanese for three hours. Journaling in the morning. Practice trumpet. Yoga. Pirates…

Benedict went through the 95 contents of the list, and as he read on, he could feel the three sheets of paper become heavier and heavier in his hands. 

“This is quite a list, brother. Might I ask how you made this?” 

“Well, it’s a combination of Andrew Huberman’s morning routine, Kelly McGonigal’s the Willpower Instinct, added with the basic ideology of tantra, which has roots in Hinduism and Buddhism; the term referring to “Text, theory, system, method, instrument, technique or practice… ”

“Sometimes I forget how nerdy you are, brother.”

“Call it thirst for knowledge and self improvement.”

“And so you say, brother.” Benedict shook his head, dropping the list on the table between them. “By doing all this, you think you can get over her?”

Anthony nodded grimly. “Why do you think I would even do this?”

“Perhaps you’ve lost your mind after five bottles of whiskey.”

“My mind had never been clearer than last night, brother.” Anthony grunted. “If it were not for the whiskey, I wouldn’t have planned this,”

“Brother, you are going to the Maldives.A Fucking beach resort. Probably full of hot models and influencers that will just drool at your mere presence. I doubt you could keep the oath even a day.” Benedict continued, munching on raisins, “Plus, why do I have to be dragged in your sadhana?”

Anthony simply rolled his eyes, and returned to his book. “Brother, you seem to have forgotten that you were the one begging me to take you with me.” 

Damn. He remembered. 

Since meeting the love of his life, his muse, and his inspiration four years ago, his artist career had been going on the rails; first making it through the Wells Art Contemporary, then having a piece submitted in the National Gallery, and even getting a solo feature in the Art Monthly. He had been trying to keep himself away from his hedonistic habits, the pills, weed, and alcohol. But there were just some nights that he just couldn’t resist the temptation. And yesterday was one of those nights. Anthony had given him a call from the pub, half crying half laughing on the other end, presumably drowning himself in whiskey. Benedict had been sent to pick him up, only to get terribly drunk with Anthony again. The new gallery was coming up in three months, yet Benedict found himself at quite a loss, feeling absolutely blank facing the white canvas. His latest submissions had been relatively well received ,with positive reactions from viewers and good sales, but some critics had slandered his work; criticizing that it never had originality. And for all those reasons, Benedict had decided to get wasted with his dear brother. (After 5 hours, Simon had come to the pub, dragging the two men into his Lamborghini.)

The breakup must have been rough, Benedict had thought as he watched his usually disciplined brother lose himself in intoxication. From a brotherly standpoint, Benedict could see that Anthony had been serious and committed in the relationship in his own way, but it wasn’t enough for the uprising pop star Sienna Rosso. During that night, Anthony had dabbled about relationships ruining his life and the necessity to improve himself to the highest potential. For those purposes, he declared firmly that he was going to go on a digital free Celibacy, and Benedict, who had been utterly drunk, had agreed to go with him. More accurately, he might have pleaded. Benedict wasn’t really expecting his brother to remember his oath, much less drag him into the private jet to the Maldives on the very next day. 

“Come on, brother. You’re self-employed.” Anthony had grabbed him in the neck and plunged him into the car. “I’ll do my journaling, yoga, running, and meditation, and you can set up a studio in a villa.”

Apparently, the digital free rule had applied the moment they boarded the plane, the TV screen in front of him had been covered by a black cloth, and even the music plug had been closed as well. 

“Woodson, and you agreed to do this?”

Benedict turned his head around to the only employee from the Audrey Foundation, who sat timidly in the 4-box seat at the far end of the jet, quietly tapping away in his silver MacBook. Poor man, Benedict thought to himself, his own life being at the mercy of one Anthony Bridgerton. 

“Uh, um, yes, Mr. Bridgerton.” He fumbled, adjusting his brown frame glasses nervously with his fingers, “If m,Mr. Bridgerton chooses to pursue a goal, it is my greatest interest to support him in any way possible.”

“Yet, I see you working on your computer.”

“Mm, Mr. Bridgerton had asked me to do a briefing every morning from the day before, and I’ll be the one correspondence for M, Mr. Bridgerton in case of a family or a corporate emergency.”

“The list specifically stipulates no work.”

“Benedict, I’m running a company with a hundred thousand employees on my shoulders.” Anthony said, settling himself deeper in his seat, “It’ll be worse for my mental health if I don’t hear from the company at all. This was decided with my therapist, brother, and we both agreed that once a day would be suitable…”

“Yes, yes, I get that, but why did you have to bring Woodson? If you just need a briefing every morning, just open up a computer or get a call! You didn’t have to bring the poor fellow all the way to a beach resort to just work and do a celibacy with a grumpy boss…”

“It’s a digital-free holiday, Ben,” Anthony grunted, not removing his eyes from the book. “It won’t be digital-free if I open a laptop.”

“And getting a briefing every morning counts as not working? It’s only been three minutes since we boarded this plane, and you’re already breaking the oath you firmly declared…”

“Mm, Mr. Bridgerton.” Benedict slightly raised his eyebrows as Woodson interrupted his words, but Woodson continued awkwardly, “I, I’m from Maldives, Mr. Bridgerton. I was born and raised there, and Mm, my parents and my sisters still live on the mainland.”

“Oh.”

“Woodson is merely an emergency liaison, and nothing more.”

Anthony growled from the back of his throat, and Benedict understood that it was Anthony telling him to shut the fuck up. Benedict couldn’t suppress a smile, as authoritative and grumpy as his brother could be (99% of the time), the attentiveness his brother had over his siblings and his employees was something that Benedict greatly respected and deeply admired about his elder brother. While Benedict tended to focus on one thing and one thing only (being an artist, it was a positive trait), Anthony had keen eyes on everything and everyone all at once. Benedict knew the Audrey Corporation would have been in shambles if Anthony hadn't been the firstborn.

Come to think of it, it was the first time in six years Anthony had even chosen to take a holiday. Since he took over the company at the age of 26, Anthony had chosen to devote body and soul to his father’s legacies, working non stop to keep the company running. Nights and Nights of negotiations and board meetings, conferences, while supporting his seven siblings and keeping them from falling apart from the sudden death of their father. There was always a sense of guilt he felt towards his brother; the way Benedict had chosen to run away and escape from the responsibility, while Anthony took all the burden of the family on his shoulders. 

“I will swear to the Celibacy oath, brother. Also the drinking, smoking, and the pills. Digital free oath as well.” He kicked his brother’s feet playfully with a grin on his face, Anthony eyes stayed on the book, but he saw a satisfied nod. “You have my full support, and I concentrate on my art as well.”

“Good.”

“By the way, brother.”

“Mm?”

“Why did you laminate this list?”

“I plan to take it everywhere with me.”

“What kind of CEO uses a laminator?!”

“Benedict, this was made by the latest model I specifically ordered from Japan that has 6 rollers which rapidly increases the speed of each process; the biggest length taking up 0.6mm, Benedict…”

And Benedict spent the next ten hours on flight listening to Anthony ramble on about the difference between a six roller laminator and the two roller version, the concept of hypersexual society and its effects to the modern toxic masculinity, and how the transmutation of sexual energy enhances their prana/ life energy. Six hours in, Benedict had begged on his knees for a glass of whiskey, but Anthony had apparently had banned them from even bringing them in on the plan. 

Fuck, he thought. This was going to be harder than he thought. 

Apparently, it wasn’t as hard as he had imagined it would be. The Soneva Fushi was a frequent place the Bridgertons had stayed in, being the very place their parents had honeymooned. Benedict had joined the family vacation there every year until he left the house at 18, so he knew the way around the place. The presence of Anthony was not intimidating as he had anticipated, but more soothing. He noticed that it had been years since he spent time with his elder brother, and found themselves chatting about their father and the childhood memories they shared. The time their father had taken out to hike. How he had taken them to horse riding. His terrible pranks using glue and shoes.

 Even at a beach resort, Anthony was the epitome of self-control and discipline, waking up at 5 o'clock sharp every morning. Anthony was kind enough (?)  to rip Benedict from the sheets every morning, dragging him to the beach for a morning jog. It was incredibly refreshing to start the day, with the morning light and the ocean breeze on his skin, and Benedict had never felt so fit and clear minded. Perhaps he was reaching his higher self, as his brother had said. 

However, no matter how healthy, how sober, or how disciplined he was, when he returned to the studio he had set up in the sunroom of the Villa, Benedict was still in front of the white canvas, staring at the endless white. To pass the time, he continued sketching, walking around the beach, the lobby, the bar, sketching the people around him, but when he sat in front of the canvas, he could do nothing at all. 

“You have to call me Benedict, Woodson.”

“Mm,Mr. Bridgerton, I really cannot.”

“But I’m not your boss, there’s no need for formalities.

“I,I must pay my respects to every m,member of the Bridgerton family”

“So you wouldn’t respect me if I wasn’t a Bridgerton?”

“I, I, I, I cannot answer that question, Mr. Bridgerton.”

“So you don’t respect me.”

“I,I call you Mr, Bridgerton to show my respect, Mr. Bridgerton.”

“You call my brother Mr. Bridgerton, how do you make the difference between us two?”

“W,well, I use the higher tone when I call Mr. Bridgerton, and I use a lower tone when I am referring to Mr. Bridgerton.”

“Woodson, I truly cannot hear the difference. Which is which again?”

“Benedict, stop interrogating my subordinate.”

After a week in the Soneva Fushi, the morning briefing had become a regular routine for the three, with Woodson running over the emails and the calls from the company as Benedict and Anthony grimaced over the caffeine-free herbal tea. The brief that morning had been the usual, nothing particularly important but Benedict noticed that Woodson tumbled on his words more than he usually does, especially on the M’s, and tripped several times on the S’s he normally flows smoothly.

“Anything troubling you, Woodson?” Benedict casually asked, trying to keep a light tone. 

“Uuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhhhh………………” After that, there was a long pause. Benedict noticed that the birds were exceptionally chirping away happily that morning and Anthony took a nice long sip of mint tea from his mug, 

“I,I, I…..I've been getting multiple emails from the Gunningworth Foundation requesting a direct meeting to negotiate a deal with Mr. Bridgerton.”

“The Guuningworths?” Anthony raised his eyebrows suspiciously, sitting up from his seat, “I don’t think we ever had any deal with them.”

“Oh, no no no no, Mr. Bridgerton!!” Woodson shook his head fervently. “It is a deal for Mr. Bridgerton.”

Benedict chuckled softly seeing his brother's ears turn slightly pink as Anthony buried himself behind the newspaper. 

“I’ll remember that I’m referred to by the lower tone, Woodson.” Ben clapped his hand on Woodson’s shoulders, “Perhaps about the patron contract?”

Woodson scrolled through the screen, his brown glasses nearly slipping off from his nose. “Indeed, Mr. Bridgerton.”

“How much is Gunninworth willing to pay to my dear brother?”

“The email says that the amount would be negotiated, but coming from the Foundation, I estimate an amount of several hundred thousand yearly.”

“Perhaps this is not a bad deal for you, Benedict.”Anthony closed the newspaper, setting the mug on the table. But, Benedict simply looked out in the distance, watching a young couple snuggle together in a hammock on the beach. “ Gunningworth Foundation is a prestigious institution; especially in the arts division.”

“I’m not interested.”

“Any reasons?”

“I refuse to be controlled by an authority.”

“Benedict.”

Benedict signed at his brother's condescending tone. 

“I’m not a big fan of Araminta Gunningworth.”

As childish and immature his little brother sounded, Anthony could understand Benedict’s disdain. Araminta, being the substitute chairperson in the Gunningworth Foundation was a frequent guest in the London socialite; Anthony had greeted her several times. But there was a certain coldness to her that he could not decipher, the complete opposite from Benedict’s gentleness. Anthony also knew how much his brother hated control and restrictions, so it would be better for him if he wasn’t under a contract….

“And few associates from The Gunningworth Foundation are visiting this very place today.”

“WHAT?!?!”

Both Benedict and Anthony spilled the tea from their respective cups. Poor Hugh, the emails he printed out several hours ago from his house were drenched in ill-smelling liquid. 

“Isn’t that close to stalking?”

Benedict sputtered, his eyebrows knitted in a deeper frown.

“Unless the team forcefully tries to invade the Villa, i, it does not violate the law.”

“Jesus,” Benedict rolled his eyes. “This kind of behavior is the exact reason I don’t want to be involved in the contract, invading a private holiday just for a painting.”

“There is no need to respond to their offer,” Woodson continued firmly, “if any of them does something out of the line, I will call the security and the police immediately.” 

“Thank you, Hugh.” 

“B,but I recommend staying out of bars and restaurants, or lobbies, Mr. Bridgerton. They might be lurking everywhere to lure you into the deal..."

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

“Oh, Posy.”

Sophie could only sigh when her step-sister told her that she had booked three weeks in Soneva Fushi, not the one night stay she had originally planned.

“Poses, it’s a business meeting, not a holiday…”

Sophie groaned over her laptop screen recalculating the budget as Posy happily packed four bikinis and several sets of summer dresses in her suitcase. Beach towels, sandals, sunglasses, Posy’s red globe trotter travel suitcase were almost overflowing. 

“Oh, come on Sophie, it’s not every day Mom lets us go to a Beach Resort for a meeting. And I’m sure Benedict Bridgerton would want to talk in a relaxed environment, not in a stuffy suit.”

“But three weeks, Poses? There was no need to book that many days.”

“Sophie, do you really think Benedict Bridgerton would compromise in a day when he completely ignored your emails for the past months?”

“You have a good point, Poses.” Sophie had to smile, neatly folding the floral Guchi summer dress that was thrown over the floor. “You’re right. I’m might have been too overconfident,”

“Oh, and Sophie, I booked the three-bedroom Villa!”

“The suite?!”  

There are some times Sophie could forget how bold her stepsister can be. On usual days, Posy is just a sweet little bean, cute and bubbly, living in her own world of warmth and happiness. It was fascinating how different she was from her mother and her sister; but after 10 years of being by her side, Sophie had understood that her bubble of joy and happiness was also her defense mechanism, protecting herself from the snarks and the quips she often got from the family. She was mostly shy and hesitant around others,but every once in a while, she would make everyone’s mouth drop in astonishment. Like the time she said she was going to go to the Antarctic for her graduation trip. Or the time she got an alligator as a pet. 

“Poses, I love you, but imagine the cost, the expense! The finance department would be at their wits end when they see the bills.”

“I might have used Mom’s credit card?”

Sophie knew that Araminta never checks her credit card accounts. 

“Posy, you badass.”

Sophie did also not imagine that Kate would be showing up in the airport with a beautiful off shoulder teal summer dress. With a white Rimowa suitcase and Saint Laurent shades, she might as well have popped out from a summer cover of Vogue magazine. 

“Sophs!”

Sophie had been greeted with a big bear hug, already feeling the tropical breeze in her coconut and Lily perfume. 

“Kate, I thought you had work…”

“I’ve been working my ass off since I joined the Danbury Associates,” Breaking away from the embrace, Kate elegantly sipped on her chai, “I asked, and Agatha was more than willing to give me three weeks off.”

“But, the money, Kate…”

“I’ll pay for my own food and other expenses. Don’t worry about that.” Kate told her reassuringly, “Posy gave me a call a week ago, telling me that there was a spare room.”

“Oh, Posy.”

As Sophie quickly turned around, she saw Posy smiling from ear to ear, beaming in her beautiful yellow dress. 

“You helped me so much for the preparation, Sophie.” Posy shyly continued, taking her arm. “I heard you talking on the phone with Kate about the breakup, and inviting Kate was the only thing I could do.”

“Oh, Posy, you didn’t have to do this,” (Oi!, Kate interjected) Sophie wrapped her arms around Posy’s neck, giving her the biggest hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you Posy. We’re going to make this deal, and prove Araminta wrong, okay?”

“Sophie, you’re choking me!” Posy giggled, wiggling around in her arms. Kate smiled softly at the sisters but quickly tossed her empty cup in the bin. 

“Come on girls, we’re going to be late. And I’ve been dying to go to the new airport lounge that reopened last January…”

As the three girls headed to the baggage inspection arm in arm, Sophie was beginning to regret she had only packed her navy suit and her formal black shoes in her suitcase. 

With Posy and Kate by her side, the ten-hour flight had passed in a second, reviewing the profile report she had made on Benedict Bridgerton while sipping on some glasses of wine. Posy had booked first-class seats, and Sophie was more than happy to get some sleep in the fully flat seat. Even after the ten-hour flight, she felt no fatigue or discomfort, she was in the best condition she could ever be. The Maldives had welcomed the three in the most pleasant weather possible, not a single cloud in the sky, the bright sunlight shining on their respective suitcases. 

Kate and Sophie could only stand in awe as they were taken to the private lounge in the airport, the clear blue ocean spread before them at the window. The surface of the ocean glittered and shimmered in the radiant sun, and the water was so transparent Sophie could even see the bottom of the ocean, the sand and the rocks gleaming like crystals.  

“This is the most beautiful place I’ve ever been Sophs.”

“Ditto. Ditto, Katie Cat.”

“Oh, this is only the beginning, girls!” Posy chirped happily as she munched on the cookies on the counter, “It only gets better from here!”

And as Posy had said, it only got better, better and better. Taken to the island on the private airplane, (“I didn’t even know these kind of things existed,” Kate muttered.) the three arrived in the Soneva Fushi. Dazed by the extravagance and the beauty of it all and the sweet tropical breeze, Sophie had taken the welcome drink unconsciously, clinking the glasses together. The Villa was exceptionally gorgeous as well, the one that was built over water, and as the footman opened the door to the Villa, Sophie just stood there in awe, taking in the beautiful scenery before them, the deep blue ocean and the clear sky opening before them. Both Kate and Posy squealed with joy, and quickly stripped away their dresses and divided into ocean.

“Heaven.” Kate declared, putting her gorgeous hair into a bun. “Heaven on earth have I experienced.” 

“We have to go to the beach, Katie.” Posy continued, quickly adjusting her ample bosoms in her lacy white Bikinis. “Oh you’re going to love the spa here, and the restaurant…”

“There’s a spa?!”

“Yes!!”

“Oh my god!”

“I know!”

“Sophs, come on, you have to jump in!!”

“I’m not wearing a swimsuit!!” Sophie laughed, no she wasn’t risking her to ruin her only New Yorker suit, “Besides, Poses, we got to get going.”

Posy groaned, dunking her head into the water. 

“So, what’s the plan?” Kate asked, settling herself in the deckchair. 

“I’m planning to go to the bar or the restaurant to get a chance to meet them by chance.”

“Sophs, as a lawyer, I have to advise you that is dangerously close to stalking.”

“It is, isn’t it?.” Sophie sighed, “but since he’s been ignoring all my emails, that’s the only plan I could come up with. If I could get a chance to talk to him once,”

“You think one chat could bring him to the table?”

“I did my research, Katie Cat.”

Kate only hummed in response, feeling that perhaps she shouldn’t inquire too deeply on her friend's measures. 

“So Posy, can you take the restaurant for me? I’ll take the bar.”

“Can’t we go to the spa first?” Posy gave a small wine, but Sophie gently shook her head.

“The faster we finish this job, the longer we can enjoy the holiday, Poses.”

“Fine…” Although in grumbles, Posy reluctantly got out from the lagoon, taking a towel from the rack. 

“I’ll join you in the bar at eight, Sophs,”

Sophie’s eyes widened in surprise. “Kate, you don’t have to do this. I’ll be fine on my own…”

“I just want to get drinks,” Kate laughed softly, putting shades on her eyes, “Won’t interfere with your work.”

“To get laid with some rich money?” Sophie grinned. 

“Oh, I’m still keeping my oath, Sophie.”

“That’s my girl,”

“Good luck Sophs.”

“Fingers crossed.” 

But even after 3 hours of dwelling inside the stalls, there was no sign of one Benedict Bridgerton. Sophie could feel her confidence shrinking as hours passed, and Kate gently rubbed her shoulders as the clock struck eleven.

“It’s only the first day, Sophs. You have more opportunity to find him in the next few days.”

“I just knew that he was going to be here,” Sophie said softly. “I thought I knew.”

“Sophs, hours of research on the internet doesn’t mean you could fully predict every inch of their action.”

“I was just being delusional, I guess.” Sophie signed, “I’m just going to finish this one drink. You go ahead, Katie. I’ll catch you up in the room in an hour.” 

“Will you be alright on your own, Sophs?” Kate gave her one of her teary puppy eyes, and Sophie simply giggled, softly shoving her shoulder playfully. 

“I’m all right. Night, Katie Cat.”

“Night, Sophs.” Kate left her side, gently touching her waist on the way out, and as soon as Kate was out of her sight, Sophie hastily took the pack of cigarettes from her pocket. Lightening the tip with a cheap lighter, she contemplated her thoughts.  She thought Benedict Bridgerton would appear here, she had a weird hunch that he would. Perhaps she was overconfident, she thought to herself, thinking that she understood everything about him after just one night…

Would he recognize her if he saw her? But she oddly knew that he wouldn’t, she didn’t miss his drunk slurs and blood shot eyes that showed his intoxication, and Sophie even hadn’t taken off her mask mid-coitus. It was four years ago, and it would be a miracle if he even remembered her….

“A lovely girl drinking all alone in the bar? It would be a crime to leave you all alone, my lady.”

[falsementor]

LITTLE MUSE FACTS.

Instructions: fill out the questions about your muse, repost, and tag as many people as you want!

1) What does your muse smell like?:

i've touched on this already actually!! here's the more in depth answer if you're curious, but tldr; macaque's scent is like incense - the smell of lilies, old fabric, and burning smoke follows him wherever he goes.

2) How often does your muse bathe/shower?:

often enough! but he doesn't have access to like. luxury things such as running hot water (homeless moment but also still lowkey kind of a wild animal moment) so he usually just bathes in rivers and springs (hot springs if he's lucky!), and uses either scentless soap or herbs he managed to gather that can work like soap. he knows how to live off the land, so!

3) Does your muse have any tattoos or piercings?:

nope! and i don't think macaque has really considered getting any. he's kinda covered in fur so a tattoo wouldnt show up well. piercings, on the other hand... maybe. i think it's something he'd have to be talked into doing... maybe an ear piercing on one ear could be a look. but he doesn't like his ears being touched, so hm.

4) Any body movement quirks? (EX: tapping heel, shaking knee)

the big one is his trade mark Dramatic Bitch stance where he folds his hands behind his back. he does it constantly, lmao. his tail also lashes back and forth when he gets excited or angry (or both) - man's unhinged and his mannerisms show it.

5) What do they sleep in?:

depends on what points in his life, because what he'd sleep in would depend on what era it is and also what's going on in his life. in the past before his falling out with swk, he probably slept in robes of some sort, i'd imagine. but after that - he was on the run all the time, so he rarely had the time to rest - let alone change into something comfortable. i think THESE days, however, with lady bone demon gone, he can... indulge a little bit more now. probably just strips down to his pants and shirt.

6) What’s their favorite piece of clothing?:

the cloak! it's fabric is sturdy and heavy, and has kept him safe and warm all these years, so yea :] has a bit of a sentimental attachment to it.

7) What do they do when they wake up?:

i think macaque is the type to wake with a start, and scan his surroundings. he's... yea. the trauma. it'll take him some time to be able to wake peacefully. but after that initial panic, i think it depends. sometimes, he'll just lay there and disassociate for a while. eventually, he'll get up, stretch, and go start his day.

8) How do they sleep? Position?:  

he sleeps light, and on his back, with his arms crossed behind his head. sometimes he'll have a knee pulled up, too.

he can't sleep in any other position.

9) What do their hands feel like?:

calloused, and strong.. but also warm. the tips of his fingers end with sharp claws. the years of combat have hardened them over time.

but his fur is still downy and soft, at least.

tagged by: @omniversentertwined

tagging: @hismentor @newdleboy @samadhifire @stcries @fatedefyd @abitangy @megapolismayor @lunarspeared

[biitchcakes]

@metalwings said: not sure which you've done so far, so feel free to pick any three! ― Everyday Muse Questions! ― ACCEPTING

🥺 !!!

Long shower or short?

I imagine for a long time, the solitude of a shower was the safest place Jessica had. A place totally to herself, a place to wash away the grime and filth of her day ― to feel rejuvenated, fresh and new. She has a regeneration healing factor, and as it works on repairing her cells, I picture the warmth of a long shower would be incredibly relaxing.

So, long showers ― not only for the peace and solitude, but also because the heat, warm water, and steam all feel nice, too.

Which movies do they like?

She really loves '70s & 80's kung fu / martial arts movies. They were some of the first movies she watched once she was free from Hydra. And, given her exceptional background in martial arts, she enjoys the fight sequences a lot ― especially the ones that are absolutely unhinged, where people are just flying around.

It takes away the realism of the film for most ― but, ironically for her, since she's able to do things like spider-crawl straight up the sides of buildings, as well as "fly"/glide (she glides, she doesn't fly), it adds to the realism of it.

That being said, despite enjoying the over-the-top nature of some martial arts films, her favourite is The Karate Kid. It had recently came out when she'd escaped, and it's what got her into the genre in the first place. It holds a special place in her heart, she could quote it line for line.

Do they run to the door when the food arrives or wait for the delivery guy to knock?

You know those little kids that stand there with their hands against the window, giant grin plastered to their face as they refuse to leave? Just stand there in waiting?

Actual picture of Jessica Drew waiting for take out (that's probably the poor delivery driver as well, let's be real).

[faundlydreaming]

BG3 Fic Feb Day 8

Another entry for Faerunian 29 Days of Writing Challenge! Today’s prompt is “It will be okay as long as we’re together.” You can find it here: https://www.tumblr.com/mishtress/741020158351589376/i-have-such-excited-news-everyone-were-only-a?source=share

This entry delves into Fi’s painful past full of betrayal, bullying, and torment, and the idea of making new connections despite the fear she feels from the mere idea of it. Astarion makes an unexpected appearance and helps to change her narrative, even if a little bit. It also has banter. Lots of banter, I swear that’s their love language. Enjoy!

Fi stared above at the stars, appreciating that the darkness enveloped her just enough to obscure her pinched expression of frustration. Tonight she had decided to sleep outside of her tent with Ranka and Sasha. Beside her was the wolf, the warmth that spread from her like a furred blanket that helped chase the chill from her bones. Kilbern had flown into the forest searching for a nice carcass that would make for a delightful midnight snack. Apparently the jerky they’d had at dinner time wasn’t enough for the corvid. Astarion came to mind, the thought of the elf sneaking into the night when he occasionally did the same causing her to snort a laugh. She doubted the vampire would take it well, being compared to a bird, but the pair had more in common than he’d thought.

On the other side of the wolf and tiefling was the large, chestnut form of Ranka, as his large side fell and rose in the way only a slumbering bear could. He blocked the light of the campfire showering her in his shadow that gave her even more security as her wayward thoughts led her in dangerous directions.

"It will be okay, as long as we’re together.”

Memories flooded her mind like an unwelcome haunt in an old, dilapidated building. The memory of warm small hands within her own calloused ones, worn with the amount of times her thin, deft fingers would press on the vibrating strings of her stringed instruments, taunted her. The voice of a precious girl who’d once called Fianna her best friend, eventually turned lovers, and the way she felt the touch of a loved one embracing her own small frame was a toxic and yet intoxicating spell of an emotion. It was the first sign of warmth she’d had in a long time in her childhood aside from Sebastien, and the canine could only do so much. Slowly, her mother and father’s affection transformed into an ugly creature that focused with a cruel sharpness on her skills rather than her emotional health.

Norana. They were only eleven when she’d met the other tiefling at the Academy. She was her first, and only, best friend. She was the reason why she feared Karlach’s advances, platonic as it was, and blocked the barbarian from weaseling her way into her heart. Cursed woman and her charming wiles. Her thoughts held Fianna’s figurative hand as they walked even deeper into the oppressive channels of her mind.

"It will be okay, as long as we’re together.”

What beautiful lies. Norana didn’t know it at the time, of course, but within her slept the dormant predator of betrayal, one that would choose Fianna as her first unsuspecting victim. That predator would strike when they were fourteen after a full year of being harassed by the unhinged group of violent peers.

Fi curled into herself in her blankets and turned to face away from Ranka. She stilled, waiting to confirm that Sasha still slumbered before she dove back into her memories. There was no need to worry her daughter over such meaningless musings.

“I’ll protect you, Fi. Those bullies will never hurt you again, I promise you.”

More beautiful lies that infuriated her. Part of her knew not to blame the girl for leading her tormentors to her that sordid day. Norana was threatened, young, and terrified. If the other tiefling had pushed through her fears to help Fi, likely she would have met the same fate as herself. Still. Still. Why lead them to her? Why purposefully hunt her down so that those ‘bullies’ could cause more harm and chaos to her already bruised heart?

She still tasted the frigid water of the river as they forced her head beneath it, screaming through the wrapped cloth around her mouth so that when they did wrench her above to seek the precious breath she needed, the only thing that would meet her was more water that was poured over her nose and covered mouth. For hours her body felt the suffocating, terror ridden sensation of being drowned and yet not. Confusion ran through her veins as her body had fought, kicked, panicked, and wrestled against her captors to no avail.

For hours, the only thing her crimson eyes would snap onto while being wickedly pulled from one hell to the other was the little blonde tiefling who’d betrayed Fi like the pathetic worm she was. Submerged, then dragged out, and staring with the piercing fury that instilled a terror within Norana that she likely hadn’t felt before.

That day, when the other children had found her and dragged her to the river while they watched and chided and laughed was the day Fianna had given up all hope in all others. At least, those who weren’t animals. They weren’t stupid enough to stoop to such low levels of torture. Animals were instinctive creatures reactive to their nature and nothing more. Torture was a concept lost to them, unless the wells of their morality was poisoned by people.

The violence within Fi had stirred and in that moment, the vengeance and ferocity she was known for twisted and pulled itself free from its leash. She did not want to unleash it onto those that played at drowning her, but to the girl who had called herself lover, and even more painfully, best friend.

Fianna clenched her teeth at the memories until they almost bled. She still smelled the sun-washed, fair head of hair of her friend. The first lotion she’d loved was borrowed from Norana, one of sweet creams and desserts. Fi still marveled at how pretty the other tiefling was, filled with such grace that she herself would never achieve. Moreso, was the intelligence that shown bright from the mind of Norana and the false, luring kindness and consideration she claimed to have. Fi was a fool to believe it. To believe in her.

The tiefling flinched when hot tears that had built in her lids slowly slid their lazy way down the side of her face. She cursed softly to herself. It was less than even a whisper, and yet the emotions in that one curse was powerful enough to threaten the release of the wave of anguish that threatened to spill into the night.

“It will be okay as long as we’re together.”

What fucking lies.

The strained struggle of a tent flap opening snapped her back to her current reality. She walked away from the memories as a slow and cautious instinct took over. Fi wiped the tears from her face by burying it in one of the blankets, but there was no helping the puffiness of her eyes that spoke more than lies ever could.

Sasha whipped her head up from her spot and snuffled with her nose at the strange, new scent. Velvety ears laid back against her skull until the scent became familiar and she gave a languid wag of her tail. One of her favorite people had exited his tent, and Fi knew exactly who it was given her daughter’s gleeful reaction. Damned wolf and her love for that annoying vampire.

Fianna rose from her spot like the dead rose from their graves and pretended to stare at Astarion with eyes bleary from sleep, rather than tears.

Astarion froze in his spot, his elven eyes not needing to adjust to the darkness as his lips curled downwards in frustration. ”Is there any way I can leave my tent without you miraculously knowing that I’m doing so? It’s like you wait for me to leave.”

“Don’t be so loud and I won’t notice you leaving.” She said, though the usual humor in her voice had vanished. Stupid feelings, she needed to work harder to conceal the remnants to her personal nightmare.

“Rather hard to do when you wake up at the slightest of sounds. I blink and you stir awake.”

Fianna regarded him longer than she should have. For a second, and only a second she imagined tearing up before Astarion, telling him of her sorrows, confiding in him, yearning for the love of a friend that she’d lacked in her lifetime. Instead, she gave him a half smile and pulled off her many blankets. She sat cross legged, an amused glint to her eyes as she placed both of her hands on her knees.

”Hunting, I take it?”

”Yes, it’s been a while since someone has delighted me in a taste of their sweet, enthralling ichor and a vampire spawn needs to eat. Well, not eat per se, but- you get what I mean.”

”I’ll come with you. We’ll hunt together.”

”Come with me? Do you miss my presence that much?”

”I miss hunting,” she said. “It’s been forever since we haven’t stolen food from random barrels and crates. It’ll be nice to stretch my legs. Anyway, you don’t have a choice, I’m coming along. And so is Sasha.”

“Don’t have a choice, you say? And what if I vanish into the night?”

“Good luck, city boy. You may be your roguish self, but do you really want to see who will win in a hunt? I’ve been doing this for twelve years, you were a damned magistrate before this.”

There was a look that crossed his face, emotions flickered through his features before he grinned with exposed teeth.

“Pull my hair, why don’t you. Fine, fine, I won’t deny the idea of hunting with a lovely thing like yourself won’t be fun. That, and not having to work so hard is appealing. Are you sure you don’t want to go hunting by yourself and I can wait for you at camp? Since I’m a ‘city boy’ and such. A boy, however, I’m not. I’m older than you by centuries, remember?”

"Nope.” She whistled sharply and the pale wolf shot to her feet, giving Fi a longing look before the tiefling sighed and pointed her chin towards Astarion. “Go, you betrayer.”

Sasha bolted like a spring set free and leapt at Astarion. He yelped in response, his arms coming up to protect himself from the barrage of licks and nuzzles from the wolf half the height of himself.

“Ugh, so much spittle. Down, beast! Down!”

Fi laughed, a full and hearty sound fighting and succeeding in escaping through the cage of sorrow she’d just been trapped in moments before.

“To my absolute bewilderment, she loves you. It hurts my frail heart, but alas, now it means you get to deal with her.”

"Wonderful. I am filled with bliss.”

Fi whistled again and the wolf bounded to her side like a puppy frolicking through sun-drenched meadows. The tiefling roughly patted the canine between her ears and Sasha leaned into her touch, lost in sheer joy.

"Mother! We get to go hunting with the pale one? I have never had a better day in my life!” Despite the growls and grunts Sasha made, Fi could understand her as easily as breathing. That was the benefit to a ranger’s ability to speak to animals.

"That’s right, baby girl. He’ll learn to appreciate your love, just keep at it.”

"What was that? What did she say?” Astarion snapped, his nose wrinkling in suspicion. As much as he’d deny it, he couldn’t help but be involved in any kind of gossip, especially about himself.

“She says you’re a terrible hunter who couldn’t even snag a dying rabbit even if you tried.”

“…clearly you’re a terrible liar. Alright, hurry up then, before I change my mind and leave you here with your terrible wit and slobbery creatures.”

She gave Astarion a wicked grin and stood on her feet, eager to grab her gear and prepare for the hunt. Even more so, she was eager to forget, to ease the hole in her heart as it bled quietly under the guise of smiles and jests.

“It will be okay, as long as we’re together.”

The words haunted her even as she stepped into her tent and grabbed her pack, but tonight she wouldn’t dwell on it any longer. Tonight was dedicated to new friends, as afraid as she was of them, and to the energy that would pump her legs as she ran wild through the forest with her daughter and the intriguing vampire spawn who’s presence would unknowingly become a balm to her being.

[thegreatestsandwich]

Can you do a morpheus x reader where the reader is a human (and she stays this way) but the special thing about her it's that she is the reencarnation of the woman who was the wife and love of morpheus' life, but now she's a human and even though she can't remember morpheus she's starting to go on dates w him but then the corinthian starts being flirty w her (she thinks he's only being nice) and morpheus gets in a super jealousy mood bc he didn't want to lose her again (her death hurt him like nothing)

Do it only if you want to, thanks!!!

What if I told you none of this was accidental? (Dream of Endless x reader)

Masterlist

Pairing: Morpheus x Reader

Word count: 4.2k

Summary: You saw him once and decided in that moment he was going to be yours, it didn't matter how many dreams you would have, you would propose to him in every single one of them until he says yes.

Warning: Reader really does propose to him every single time, Reader doesn't shut up, Morpheus is the shy type, he wanted to propose first, Corinthian being the best friend you never asked for

A/N: I hope you like it! Sorry it took so long, I wanted it to be perfect and decided to make the reader so unhinged and thought the idea of they interacting on the dreams would be more funny. And everybody! Just a reminder that my inbox is open!

Coments, Reblogs and Asks are happily received!

There was a time when the Lord of Dreams and Nightmares was in love. It was after his tumultuous divorce with one of the nine muses, way after that. He met her when the first winds of autumn arrived. She was beautiful on her own way. At first, he was very close at her but with time, she gained his love and adoration. He promised everything she could ever want. The stars in the sky, the clouds on the rainy days, the waves of the ocean, every thought or every dream she had, he would make it possible just for her.

He have her his heart for her to own, to control or to even destroy if she would wish it. What surprised him the most was she willingly giving hers to him.

They marry on a meteor shower and everything couldn’t be more perfect.

Sadly, every perfect thing must come to an end.

When he was imprisoned against his will, all Morpheus could think about was how safe she was at the Dreaming, Lucienne promising she would take care of his queen. What he didn’t think about was her own stubborn nature and tried to found him.

She indeed found him, and when Morpheus first laid his eyes on her beautiful face, he tried as hard as he could to get close to her, to bring her inside of this glass prison and protect her from the magus.

The son found her first, and as she begged and begged to help her and free her husband, the kid could only watch in sadness before letting a loud scream, alerting his father of her intrusion.

The magus killed her on the spot and Morpheus understood what lost, fear, anger and revenge was truly like.

Years passed and he was still on the same position, blue eyes glued to the small little spot when he last saw her laying on her own pool of blood. The magus died but his anger turned towards the son and when the son’s partner helped him out. Morpheus finally tasted and alleviate his need of revenge.

The rebuilding of his kingdom and the recovery of his tools helped him trying to fill that empty void he had.

It wasn’t until one day of autumn when he finally saw her again.

 You were having an interesting day. You woke up before your alarm went off, you got earlier to your office, your boss didn’t scream you today. A cute guy with sunglasses complimented your peculiar outfit and now an abnormally hot guy was giving you bedroom eyes across that park.

There were two outcomes to this story, you would successfully flirt with this guy and have a date or you would fuck it up and cry at your apartment eating olives.

So you went for it, you gave him a smile and he responded to it!

Perfect. Just don’t ruin it (Y/N), don’t freaking ruin it.

 An unknown feeling swirled inside you, it was a specific type of confusion only a few situations created it. You felt as if you knew him but perhaps you did know him from somewhere you couldn’t just remember.

A part of you wanted to just build the confidence to go where he was and sat down next to him, perhaps even help him feed the pigeons, taking about everything and nothing at the same time. Would he love to come here every day? Or perhaps he just came out of stress? Would he enjoy feeding only pigeons? What about other kind of animal? Would he enjoy feed alligators?

So many questions, and the moment you decided to suck it up and go flirt with that gorgeous man, he was gone.

God Fudging Damnit.

The rest of your day was just plain boring, your mind still replaying that man over and over. God, his smile was just perfect. So even if you tried to just concentrate on your job you couldn’t he was all you could think of. And even on your way back home, when you made yourself dinner, when you went to bed, everything was him.

So it wasn’t a surprise when you dreamt of him. Usually your dreams were really creative and adding him to the equation was just something quite awestruck.

 

The first time

 

It started quite simple, you were strolling next to an unknown woman on a lovely garden, your eyes watching lovingly at the different color of irises. Your dress was trailing behind you and your hair was carefully brushed into a French braid. You were whistling a lovely tune, perhaps a beautiful melody you heard somewhere or perhaps you were simply whistling the tune of McDonald’s, who knew to be honest. Your mind work quite different from the others.

“Mark my words,” The woman glared at you for a second, unhappy with how you were ignoring her. “What a man needs it’s forwardness from a woman, they need warmth but not gentleness.”

You really wanted to paid attention to her but just her voice was so annoying that your mind was automatically blocking everything she was saying, so you just nod along. The woman guide you towards the center of the garden, your eyes finally locating the man you saw hours ago.

Jesus Christ, he looks even better in Victorian clothing.

His eyes made contact with you and you decided that this was your opportunity, if you couldn’t woo him while being awake, then you would woo him in your dream.

With a force of confidence you began walking towards him, ignoring the glare the woman gave you, maybe she just wanted him for herself. Well, sorry but nobody likes a sore loser.

“Good evening, my Lord.” You greeted him with a soft bow. “It is quite a wonderful weather, don’t you think?”

He stared at you for a few seconds before nodding. “It quite is.” Even his voice was perfect.

You smiled. “Might I steal you for a stroll? I have to admit I quite want to show you the roses, they are in full bloom this season.” You offered him your arm to take. He stared at you in amusement. “I can assure you, my Lord, I do not bite…unless you ask me to.”

The man took your arm and let you lead him. “You very kind, my lady.” Your smiled widened.

“Oh, please.” You laughed. “Continue with the compliments, I am a sucker for those.”

The man made you stop for a second, leaning towards you, his breath brushing your ear, you tried your hardest not to shiver. He even smelled perfect, what the fudge? “I will remember that to the future.”

You tilted your head for a bit, his eyes were sparkling like two shining stars, a playful smile adorned his perfect face. You needed to bring out your secret weapon. “You better, a lady like myself loves to be shower on those.” You dragged him to the flowers. “Behold! The roses, or irises, or daisies. Not really sure what are those to be honest with you.”

“Hmm.” He gently picked one and offered it to you. You happily accepted it. “I believe it is a Himalayan blue poppy.”

You stared at him. “Really?” You asked him. “Are you really sure, like one hundred percent sure.”

“By the shape of the leaves and the color, I am sure.” He softly told you. “A flower for another flower.”

“Huh.” You played with the flower. “Interesting, did you know that flowers are a symbol of new beginnings? People love to use them as a symbol of fertility and fidelity. Romans were suckers for those things at weddings.”

“True.” He murmured. Looking at you with a new set of curiosity. “What other talents are you hiding besides knowing your history, my lady?”

“Talents? Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you but I believe suck at anything I put my hands into.”

“Everybody has a talent for something, perhaps you can dance.” He offered a new option. “Can you dance?”

“Sure, let’s just say that I totally do.”

“What about singing?”

You pouted. “Well, let’s say I don’t suck but I’m not good at it.”

He smiled.

“But I consider myself a terrific romanticistic, a sucker for romance if you must.”

“Naturally.”

“That’s why my next question, my Lord, and I hope you answer truthfully and with the same enthusiasm I am portraying.” He nodded his head, showing you his focus was completely on you. “Would you marry me, my Lord?”

The man stared at you in shock. You grabbed his hands and kissed them softly. “Well?”

“This dream is over.”

You woke up startled. Your hand quickly reaching for your phone. 3:45 am.

God damnit.

The second time.

 

The world was silent around you, everything was dark and the only light you could see was miles away from what it looks like a post light. You hated these types of dreams. God, why did you love to torture yourself and watch a marathon of zombie flicks before bed? You were clearly mad as hell.

“Okey (Y/N), zombies can’t get you, they are super slow and you are faster than the Flash.” You reassured yourself, the gun you were holding closer to your chest, focusing hard on the noises or whatever zombies did. “You super aced that gym class on high school, it didn’t matter that was years ago, you aced it and the teacher gave you a star.”

You didn’t want to stay here any longer, you needed to find a place and hide from the monsters. You spotted a car and decided to just hide behind it, you peered around, trying to find anything. A house, a better car with open and accessible doors, Tom Hiddleston waiting for you on a motorcycle without his shirt and a huge box of chocolates. Anything.

You refused to panic, panic led to danger and danger led to screaming. So that was a big no.

Creeping down the street wasn’t smart, but you were known to really don’t take the smartest choices. That’s when you finally saw it, that sexiest Ford Mustang 390GT, your dream car there, waiting for you inside that empty -and possibly deathly- house.

The house was small, you didn’t know what was inside of it, maybe the zombies were there already waiting for you, but the temptation of owning that car, of touching it was even bigger.

You began running towards the house, not caring about the danger. The moment you were so close, a hand grabbed your arm so automatically you screamed.

And there he was, the man from the park, the man who rudely rejected your marriage proposal was here, standing in front of you. Excellent.

“Hey handsome, the apocalyptic look really works splendid on you.” You winked at him, not noticing that a horde of zombies was approaching both of you.

His eyes weren’t focus on you, instead on the huge horde that was getting closer and closer within the seconds. He grabbed your arm and began dragging you towards the house, you didn’t complain, completely awestruck on the way he was manhandling you.

He guide you inside gently, closing the door and turning to face you. He took your appearance, a few cuts that might need stiches -even if it was a dream, he was worried about you-, some dirt but other than that, you were unharmed. His finger carefully traced one of the biggest cuts on your forehead.

“Sit down.” He gently pushed you to one of the couches. You happily obliged, letting him inspect you, trying to locate any source of injury.

“So,” you started, “how it’s the apocalypse treating you babe?” You playfully wiggle your brows.

The man decided to ignore you, walking towards the door and closing it after several zombies decided to approach the door. You took that time to really loom at him, still dressed the same from the other dream you had, even his outfit was kinda the same as the one you remembered him wearing the first time he looked at you and made you fall in love with him. You stood up, happily walking towards him, ignoring the grunts and several hits against the windows.

“Did you know that there is a movie where the main character is a zombie and he fell in love with a human and I don’t remember the rest but it was a pretty bad movie, if I’m being honest.” You stood in front of him and grabbed his hands, he let you. Watching you with curiosity.

“I did not know.” He answered you softly, you could feel his hands twitching against yours, your romantic -and pervert- imagination wanted to believe he wanted to intertwine your fingers together. “Why did you dream this?” He asked you, his blue eyes turning towards the door, fully knowing that in a few minutes, those monsters would enter and torment you.

You chuckled. “Well, let’s say that I had a really productive night and after a few episodes of The Walking Dead, here I am, but if we are honest here…” He nodded for you to continue. “I kinda wanted for you to show up, you let me hanging the other night dude…But! And a big but.” You dropped his hands and kneeled on the floor, your hand quickly going to your pocket. “I came prepare this time.”

The man watched you without any expression. His eyes following your hand as you produce from your pocket a tiny velvet box.

You cleared your throat. “We might not know each other completely.” Your brows wiggled one again. “But we do have the same amount of time till that door breaks and the zombies eat us in a really gory scene, so…Would you marry me?”

The door broke.

The zombies entered at a rapid pace.

The man stared at you without blinking. Hot.

“This dream is over.”

You woke up startled once again, sweat covering your skin. Your hand grabbed your phone to look at the hour. 4:54am.

God Damnit!

The third time

 

The bartender caught your eye as he approached. His face was blurry, not really a surprise as many of the characters that appeared on your dreams didn’t have a face. But you could distinguish a smile on there. “What can I get you?” He asked you

You smoother your fancy red dress as you took a seat. “The strongest thing you could offer me, you know what? Make it a double…No, a triple.”

The bartender nodded and disappeared.

You were not in the mood to play, to be honest, after being rejected two times, one after another, your ego was really wounded. The bartender left gave you your drink before leaving. You stared at it for a few seconds, your brows frowning, trying to decipher what did they gave you.

“Interesting choice of drink.” A voice sounded next to you, you turned your head to the side, looking at the handsome guy, curiously he was wearing sunglasses inside the bar. “May I?” He motioned towards the available spot next to you.

“Suit yourself.” The man sat next to you, his hand motioning the bartender. “Same as the lady.”

You kept staring at him, really don’t caring if it was creepy. “Why the sunglasses, are you blind or something?”

The man smiled, you swore he could totally model in one of those dental commercials. “Or something.”

“Or something.” You repeated amusedly. “You know the ‘or something’ it’s like not an answer, right?”

“You gave me the options and I took one of them.”

You nodded, “Why do you have your face on?” You said, definitely didn’t care if your question was stupid, it was a dream after all. “I mean, the others have faces but they are blurry and all that.”

The man laughed, shaking his head in amusement. Glancing at the nearby tables, the man noted how the others indeed have blurry faces, he turned to stare at them with a bit more interest. “Well, it’s a dream, after all, you need another main character to it.”

God damnit. “So the other sexy guy it’s not coming? I had this plan, you know?” You covered your face with your hands, trying your best to ignore the curious look the man was giving you. “I even had another ring in my pocked and planed this whole ass speech for him to not show up?”

“You are trying to propose to Morpheus?” The man was laughing so hard he spilled his drink. “And he keeps saying no? Baby, he is not worth it, if you truly want a man for you, I can be that.”

“Shut it.” You pushed him, rolling your eyes. “And stop flirting with me, I’m practically a future-wife-to-be.”

The man ignore you, turning his gaze to where a dark and angry energy appeared in front of both of you, his smile was still present on his face, he was loving how strange this dream was turning out to be.

A lone saxophone began playing a soft jazz above the sound of voices that surrounded you, you inhaled tiredly, still watching the man with sunglasses, when he wasn’t looking at you, you frowned, I mean, if he was flirting with you, the least he could do was to watch you. You followed his gaze and your face illuminated with a huge smile, quickly tying to pull out the ring from your bag.

“I thought you weren’t going to come!” You exclaimed. The man in front of you turned his gaze to you, his face still angry from something. “Perhaps this ring would be more the kind of thing you want so…By the way, I know your name now.” You cleared your throat. “Morpheus, would you be kind enough and marry me?”

His lips twitched with annoyance, the presence of the man with sunglasses apparently was affecting his humor, but that didn’t disturb you, your eyes full of hope that finally he was going to say yes.

“This dream is over.”

You woke up with a groan, brushing off the thin layer of sand that covered part of your face. Your hand quickly grabbed your phone, looking at the hour. 3:35am.

God Damnit!

 

The fourth time

 

The strip club was almost empty, you were currently bored out of your mind watching how Chris Evans was fighting for your attention against Gal Gadot, both of them wearing a duck costume. You sighed tiredly, not really too invested on the fight.

Someone cleared their throat next to you, your face turned at the sound, the same man with sunglasses was sitting on your right, happily sipping the cocktail from his hand. “Want to explain why they are fighting?” He nodded to the ones on stage, now joined by Henry Cavil dressed as a donkey.

“You are so, so, so late.” You hissed the words, glaring at him. Ignoring how the lights began turning down. “I’ve been here for twelve minutes and you are late.”

The man looked at you funnily. “You understand this is a nightmare right? Well, I think this is a nightmare, I’m starting to understand why dear Morphy is rejecting your proposals.”

You sighed. “Well, that guy really sucks at love, I’ve been trying everything to make him say yes, and now you appear…not that I’m complaining, you are a cool dude, dude. But seriously, what is wrong with him?”

“Yeah, well, hearing you talk that way made me realize that you are going in too strong.” He snorted. “That man it’s practically Psycho Alert, and as your new best friend…”

“What?” You frowned.

“It’s my duty to tell you that dear old Morphy is prone to nasty mood swings, lengthy pouts and seriously weird love interactions.” He ordered another drink. “You sure you want to keep asking him to marry you?”

“First, when do we become best friends?” You asked. “Second, don’t tell me you don’t find his endless pouting kinda sexy? I mean, really, I would do him so hard you have no idea, third, Henry Cavil really looks good dressed like that.”

“Keep it in your pants, Dr. Sex.” He was amused. “But maybe after a few several hundred and something dreams, he might say yes.”

You shook your heat at that nonsense, you were going to lose your mind if it took that long.

“My money is on Ben Affleck by the way, he got the muscles to beat Henry Cavil.”

You gasped. “You are so going to lose…why did the lights went off?”

The man laughed. “Let’s just say that lover boy has arrived.” His head lazily turned to the left, nodded at the angry figure that stood there. “Fancy seeing you here Dream Lord, care to join us?” He nudged your side.

You cleared your throat. “Sup, would you…”

“This dream is over.”

You woke up sighing, not really caring to look at the time.

The fifth time

You were currently sitting comfortably on the floor, several bags of junk food surrounded you, your new friend didn’t come tonight, so this dream was more boring that everything. You lay on your back, looking the ceiling. You began throwing things to the air, trying to catch them with your mouth.

“Stupid dream.” You complained after another chip hit your forehead. “Stupid chips, you are supposed to enter my mouth, not hitting me in the head.”

“Perhaps you need to practice your throws.”

Your head turned to the right, Morpheus was laying next to you, his blue eyes watching your face with so much adoration. You frowned, deciding to turn away from him. “Perhaps you just need to leave me alone, dude I get it, you don’t want to marry me, don’t need to keep appearing on my dreams or whatever.” Morpheus sighed, gently turning you around to face him again. “What.”

“Ask me again.” He whispered.

“Why?” You asked. “So you can say no again? No thanks dude, I still have some sort of self-respect and you already bruise my ego enough.”

“Ask me.” He repeated putting his hand on your cheek.

God damnit.

You sighed. “Fine, would you marry me?”

“Yes.” He gently nudge your nose with his. “This dream is over.”

 

The same night

 

You sighed, stretching with a yawn, a good stretch, the kind of one that you rolled up in the bed. Your eyes were slightly open and the moon still outside of your windows. “Good morning.” You whispered to the mysterious guy that was just standing there creepily watching you.

“Indeed it is.” He whispered back. His voice was rich and perfect, and for some reason it steered something inside of your head. Like you know him from somewhere.

You sighed contently, closing your eyes for a second.

Then everything came into place and you sat up quickly. “Jesus Christ! Please tell me I’m still dreaming and the guy with the glasses will just appear magically from the closet with a bucket of chocolates.”

 The guy sighed, but you could tell he tried to control his anger. “You are not dreaming…Are you smirking?”

“Oh? Hell yeah I am but mostly, I’m admiring the view.” You said. “After so many dreams, you are finally here, I’m so taking advantage of that.”

“Are you?” He carefully made his way towards you. “Would my wife love for me to do something in particular?”

You tilted your head, watching him carefully. “Wife? Are you saying that you finally accepted my marriage proposal and for some weird abnormal reason I missed the whole ceremony and party? Dude…that’s not cool, I wanted to get wasted and have the guy with the sunglasses be my maid of honor.”

The man frowned, his lips slightly pouting, he walked towards, sitting next to you and taking your hand. “I do not like your friendship with the Corinthian.”

“So that it’s his name.” You nodded. “Hated it and I’m mad at you mister, it took me how many nights for you to say yes?”

“Five.”

“A thousand.”

Morpheus smiled. “I needed to make sure you were not bluffing.”

“Dude, I’m anything but a bluffer, you know how many hours I spend looking at engagement rings and trust my amazing mind to just remembered the designs? Obviously I was totally on board with marry you from the start.”

“I’m sorry.” He began caressing your hands.

“You better start planning how to make it up to me, preferably with a huge ass ring and you proposing to me like how Sandra Bullock proposed to Ryan Reynolds on the Proposal, I want that, you hear me?”

Morpheus kissed your hand. “Whatever you want, my love.”

[mvxsinc]

🐑 🍵 🌙

🐑  for a nickname my muse calls yours

she  no  longer  has  a  nickname  for  him,  though  christian  existed  as  ‘  son  of  a  bitch  ’  in  her  mind  for  a  long  time  after  their  break  -  up.  when  they  dated  she’d  use  the  occasional  ‘  baby  ’  or  just  use  his  full  name.  max  has  never  called  him  chris  and  probably  never  will.

🍵  my muse will reveal one of their biggest regrets

she  will  actually  reveal  2  considering  they’re  sort  of  similar.  max  regrets  kissing  kc  and  hooking  up  with  jamie,  simply  because  she  adores  them  and  wants  to  be  their  friend  and  now  feels  as  if  things  could’ve  been  easier,  more  natural  with  them  had  she  not  been  so  unhinged  lmao.  with  kc  it’s  always  been  simple,  he’s  hard  not  to  like,  but  sometimes  max  still  feels  like  she  maybe  blurred  some  lines  that  shouldn’t  have  been  crossed.  she’s  secure  with  kem,  but  perhaps  there’s  a  small,  just  the  teeniest  tiniest  part  of  her,  that  can’t  help  but  wonder  what  if  ?

when  it  comes  to  jamie  their  friendship  has  never  come  completely  effortlessly  even  if  they’ve  been  in  each  other’s  lives  for  a  long,  long  time.  max  worries  that  jamie  feels  that  she  used  him,  and  she  worries  that  this  will  somehow  stain  their  friendship  and  that  he’ll  never  let  her  all  the  way  in  because  of  this.

long  story  short  max  just  thinks  she  would’ve  been  closer  to  both  of  them  had  she  not  let  her  heart  act  faster  than  her  head.

🌙  for what a normal day looks like for my muse

max  can  sleep  for  days  if  given  the  chance,  but  she  also  loves  long  mornings  and  usually  tries  to  get  up  around  7  am  regardless  of  whether  she  has  plans  that  day  or  not  as  it  tricks  her  into  feeling  more  productive  than  she  really  is.  more  often  than  not  she  fails  though.  she  has  a  big  breakfast  because  it  is  the  most  important  meal  of  the  day  then  she’ll  pack  her  own  lunch  (  and  sometimes  trip’s  )  and  head  to  work.  get  home,  make  dinner,  watch  a  movie,  listen  to  music  while  she  reads  or  writes.  goes  for  a  late  night  walk  every  evening.  has  sex  with  kem.  takes  a  shower.  goes  to  bed  <3

[neotrinitythinker]

prompt for dr whomst've'yain't've: ryan, yasmin, graham and 13 + late night dinners and bonding

Surprisingly, the cure for escaping the clutches of galactic evil on their own planet; a thousand glares from the embrace of their own time, Ryan finds, is rubbish, unhealthy amounts of fast food.

When he was younger; and back when his mum was still around, and his dad was more reliable, and his nan was... well... -

Whatever Nando's had was always good. Even when Nan had taken him in after everything, she always stopped somewhere for him when she was running errands.

Comfort food seemed to transcend countless timelines. And he wasn't sure what they were eating, but it had come from what looked to be the space version of a bad idea for food.

Compared to other trips with the woman, the day had been tame for them. Having traveled back to somewhere in the 19th century, by Graham's request, having a soft spot it seemed for Victorian England. Or; at least the clothing. Ryan took every chance to half heartedly restrain his chuckles at the ridiculous hat the older man had worn when they found the wardrobe of the TARDIS; taking the piss whenever he could - though, his outfit wasn't any better.

The Doctor hadn't been sure of the exact time they had gone to - Yaz had a few choice words to say to the box that apparently had a mind of its own, and for whatever reason the big blue time machine had, was angry at its - her? - Occupants. But the alien was sure that it was in, as she had called it, a "very cross, and unhelpful mood." With little more explanation.

Though, if he had to wager a guess for the reason behind it - he did drink something, and spill some of it (very small amounts!) onto the console. Ryan mused sheepishly.

But he had cleaned it up!

Wherever and whoever the thing was bought from, he thinks, should give her a refund for the moody machine. Even if The Doctor sometimes stared at it with some kind of timeless devotion.

It could think now. It thinks. It was annoyed. According to The Doctor, it always thought. How bonkers.

What he did know, was, that when each of them had left the (sentient, apparently. how wicked.) TARDIS, the four of them dressed to the nines in dark, period fitting clothing, it hadn't materialized somewhere discreet, not that it ever did, he reckoned.

It hadn't landed in some back alleyway; nor in grassy fields - nor empty plains.

It landed in bloody Kensington Palace.

As they stumbled out of the TARDIS, they also so happened to bump into a freckled, full mooned face girl with clothing that made Ryan think she was some kind of servant.

He's never been in a palace before.

Whoever the startled girl had been, they don't really find out, as she scatters away with urgency in her features. But Graham is already in shambles over their circumstance to begin with.

("Oh - I don't even think the TARDIS is worth as much as that painting - Doctor, will you look at that!")

Despite the worry that they might be considered trespassing - which Ryan hasn't properly expressed yet, mainly due to how in awe he is that he was in Kensington Palace in the 19th century to begin with, The Doctor had taken them on a stroll, avoiding any guards - there weren't that many to begin with; hardly any, and it had not been lost on her.

It had been odd - he certainly noticed her piqued interest over it - heard her think out loud over it, and asked a few wandering people about it in her cheery casualness. But it hadn't been cause for concern.

And then, had come trouble. Because of course, there was always that.

When they had turned the fourth consecutive hallway - the forth one that had zero people in it, (though Ryan had personally thought, that maybe - and this was perfectly reasonable to think when you were in the home of fancy privileged white people - that they were all off, somewhere, in a meeting or crowning or something to that degree) they had managed to finally be greeted by another soul.

More specifically; the soul in question had been Queen Bloody Victoria.

He thinks its her. He's definitely googled her before for enough school projects. Even if she looked older than what normally came up. Maybe a decade older than Graham.

Even more specifically; her full on sprinting form, careful to pick up her flowing silk dress, as she ran from something with green tentacles.

Naturally; even though this is definitely something to book it over - The Doctor springs headfirst into the fire.

The thing - he's never seen it before, he's seen plenty of aliens, plenty of monsters, and he's never seen this, was a creature in between a circular shape; and a square - if that was possible. It was an awkward, kind of horrifying, mix of shapes. It was green - snot kind of green, almost translucent - there was definitely an outline of a crumpled body in it.

Its eyes - entirely and completely plural - there were three dozen from its head (he thinks its a head?) down to its waist (again, probably one) dark, like unforgiving coal that had been broken into harsh bits to where all that it really was, was simply just... color. And like a terror beyond comprehension, it had tentacles screaming out and spread out on its body - it didn't have legs; it seemed to get by on them alone.

Its mouth - he was certain it was a mouth, was unhinged - near a trio of eyes on its now probable face. It looked... like a fog. A ghost of something. There was sharpness - pointy, very pointy - but it was almost hidden.

"Uh - Doc..." Graham had walked backwards - standing his ground but very clearly ready to hear the word "run" from anyone. There was apprehension on his face - like Ryan's and Yaz's, but masked by nervousness and wonder at whatever the hell they were looking at. His hat had inexplicably fallen off his head and sunk pathetically to the lavish spiral carpet.

"Doctor - what's the plan?!" Yasmin had bellowed through the inhuman noise - the thing was making noises now - darting her gaze to the sponge color haired traveler next to her - whose gaze was equally taken aback by the scene - but with an awe.

By now Victoria - should he call her something else? She was - is? in this moment - rich and a product of the 19th century, his morals say no - Victoria has gotten closer to them - enough to bolt past them with a survival instinct he didn't think he'd see from someone who seems to be quite old. The Doctor had instinctively made herself seem bigger; using the hand that didn't have her sonic in it, to shield the five against... the alien, (?) and stare down the creature.

"OI! Oh no you don't Flubber! Get back!" Yelled The Doctor, eyeing the thing. She had briefly glanced back at the four; who hadn't made any new reaction at her statement. She frowned.

"Oh come on fam!" She tried. "Flubber? I'm an alien, I can't be the only one who understands it."

From behind Yaz, Graham had hesitantly raised his hand. "I understood it." He admitted, still watching the steadily approaching creature.

The Doctor's face lit up. "Wasn't it a laugh then? Flubber?" It fell again. "Get it, cause it's green and..." She trailed off at their expressions. "You didn't laugh."

"God Almighty!" The Queen had made herself known again, hysterical in tone, but still firmly with them. "Cease your babbling, you failed jester! Destroy the monster! Get rid of it now!"

The Doctor turned back. "Right! No worries, just my wounded hearts - anyways -"

The Doctor once more lifted her sonic, the other alien having only gotten worrying closer - by now, its jaw had lowered, to where it obscured several of its facial eyes. It let out a screech - distorted, almost electrical, like a bad game in a console; and a pulsing noise filled the air as she pointed it in its direction.

For a second, it seemed like the result was nothing. The pulsing continued and continued. The thing crept closer.

And then it stopped - right in its tracks.

There was a noise; a scream, almost. But it was too distorted to really tell.

And then - whatever it was - had combusted. Totally - and utterly; a symphony of destruction, all at once showering the palace with waves of unknown emerald green goo - splattering against the pristine walls, the portraits and furniture. All of its eyes had not suffered the same fate; they simply vanished. A lone tentacle had landed at Ryan's feet, and he had jumped backwards in shocked disgust.

Despite this it didn't connect with them - all of them; that this had ended right then. Yaz still stared at nothingness - eyebrows furrowed and breaths heard and heavy. Graham was still backing away, and The Doctor still clutched firmly to her screwdriver - as if, waiting. And Ryan kept looking at the intact tentacle.

And, Then.

"Good Lord!" Victoria had stirred beside them. "What in the world was that... that... that thing?!"

This thawed the rest of them. The Doctor swirled on her feet - her bewildered - yet eager expression was present as she kneeled beside Ryan's left foot. Wordlessly, she grabbed the tentacle, keeping it distant as she used her sonic and waved it around every inch of it. She brought it back to her face, and had observed whatever the sonic had said. Afterwards, she retraced her steps, bending down to stuff a finger into one of the piles of goo.

And then she... she licked it.

"Ugh! Doctor!" He groaned, eyes squinting. "That's going to get you the alien equivalent of food poisoning."

"Alien?!" Victoria squealed.

"Huh. Can't tell what this is - or was." The Doctor rose again, the goo still on her finger, dripping. "It's not anything i've seen before. Doesn't taste familiar." Mused The Doctor.

"Lick a lot of aliens then, have you Doc?" Remarked Graham, tired.

"Would someone please tell me what is happening - who are you people - where are my guards, and what is that thing!" Yelled Victoria, again.

The Doctor glanced at her, suddenly beaming as she walked over. "Hi! It beats me!" She said cheerfully. "But you're safe now - I think that thing got to your men, and was looking at you for a nice appetizer. Also, hello! You can't recognize me, but we've met! I think? Depends on what year it is. I don't want to assume, you have just been chased down fearing for your saftey. Are you a werewolf yet?" She finished, not stopping for breath as she smiled pleasantly, stretching her hand out for a shake.

Victoria looked like she swallowed a toad.

"A... wolf..." She began. Her eyes looked to the screwdriver. "Did you say your name... was The Doctor?" Victoria finished slowly.

"Nope! But my friends did." Said The Doctor, who looked suddenly sheepish. "I know I look a bit different since we last met; I got an upgrade! But..."

It all felt surreal after that, Although he couldn't understand why, and even though they had just saved her life, Victoria had threatened, with some bad blood directed mysteriously towards the blonde, to get whatever remaining guards she could find and had, and send the four of them to the Tower of London permanently.

It was after this, that, with Graham staring at her with his mouth open, that The Doctor felt it was best to leave. Quickly. Surprisingly; it was only then that they ran.

[trying-write-fanfics]

OverhaulXReader part 43 (O)

There is an implied sex scene just for warning.

“Thanks again for driving me.” Y/n said. “Those doctors were really in my business.”

“They just want you to be safe.” Tai told her. “Why didn’t you call your friend to pick you up?”

“She’s 84.” Y/n told him. “We met in choir. She’ll take care of me for the next couple days.”

“An old lady? What is she gonna do when you faint?”

“Life alert.” She joked. “I can’t stay with you, Mr-pro-hero. Don’t wanna ruin your reputation.” She told him. “Why did they release you yesterday anyway?”

“I had some more paperwork to fill out.” He lied.

“The cops weren’t really asking me much. I thought there would be more. I listened to you and told them that stuff. I didn’t think it would be that easy.”

“I told you to trust me.”

“I just have to get something and I’ll be ready.” She told him. 

Y/n gathered more of her things from the hospital room. She wanted to forget her stay here. Not only did she cry for the sins of her boyfriend, but then later that fateful day, he lost his arms. There would be no trial. He would be locked away forever, gone. The police were not on her case and was surprised she was looking at houses worked. She figured having a pro hero helping her worked. She walked out of the room and immediately dropped what she gathered when she ran into someone. 

 Her eyes widened seeing that green hair. Everyone told her how strong this kid was, how proud they were, Deku. He beat Overhaul and protected the child, Eri. Y/n was able to piece together what had happened in the battle from the murmurs, Tai, and his interns. 

“Sorry, let me help you with that.” The teen said. 

 He gathered her things as she watched him. She hated the boy, but knew it was the right thing. It had to be done. Overhaul was no longer the prince of her past, but an abuser, a liar of her present. Y/n was trying to have her body and mind understand Overhaul did hurt her and used her. There was evidence, but she couldn’t totally understand it. She was special to him, she knew she was, so why did he do that. 

“You did a good job, I heard.” Y/n told the teen.

“Oh- well I’m sorry you got caught up in all of it. Have your injuries been healing?”

“Yes, it’s been going quite smoothly.” She told the boy, taking her things back. “You’re so young.” 

“Ah, it was my first big mission.”

“And you got to be the star of it.” She told him. 

“I wouldn’t say star…” Deku sighed. 

“Keep your chin up, people are gonna be looking up to you now.”

 Yes, she hated the kid, but she knew it was wrong of her. Overhaul did horrible things, but she still worried for him. Deku did the right thing….Y/n would just need therapy. It had been a rough couple of years, but she had always had her love, but now apparently he was adding to it.

“Thanks for waiting.” She told Tai. 

“Of course.”

“I didn’t know you had a car. Especially a sedan.” She told him. 

“I’ll be renting it. While I’m working back to my fat form and recovering I won’t be running as much.” Tai told her. “Now that we’re alone, I need to know, are you in danger?”

“I don’t think I am, I think. Overhaul was always keeping me away from his work.”

She didn’t know.

“I think you you need a bodyguard.”

“You think I’ll be dragged down?”

“Yes.”

“Who to hire?” She mused.

“I could”

“You’re injured.” She told him. 

“I had to look deep in your record and you’ve been to the hospital a lot. You’re free from the police having their suspicions about you, but you’re in danger now. I just think you need extra protection.” Tai told her. 

Tai was flip flopping on his stance on Y/n. Yes he wanted to protect her, but he knew his lenses were clouded, and she was vulnerable. He convinced himself that despite his feelings, she was in danger whether he liked it or not. They took down one of the biggest organized crime groups in the area, but there’s a new threat rising and they might wanna twist Overhaul’s wound back open. 

 “You don’t think Gladys can keep me safe?”

“I’m being serious, Y/n. Chisaki has many active enemies.” Tai told her. 

“I can’t think about all of that right now.” She told him honestly. 

 The last few days were hard, but Tai supported both interns and Y/n. His interns weren’t too emotionally injured, and their families came to visit their kids. Y/n on the other hand had a different recovery experience. Her parents never showed. Her boss came in to offer her more time off, but was a little distant with her. She suffered anxiety attacks and stress vomit. She knew she would get the answers she wanted while in the hospital, but Kai did a number on her. It hurt Tai watching her go through this. She felt loved by him, cared by him, but now was she just a mere piece in his plan and she fell for the siren song of nostalgia? She gave up her relationship with her parents for him. 

 Tai did feel guilty for the enjoyment he got out of seeing Kai. Defenseless, unable to fight, disabled quirk, helpless, alone, rotting in prison. He abused Eri, the poor child. Cutting her open and putting her back together like she was just some toy. He also hurt someone who loves him and compromised on continuing loving him. But his last words “make sure she is protected” rang too many times in his head. He wasn’t doing it for Chisaki, but for Y/n. Chisaki ruined Y/n. 

 “I don’t know if you have that kind of luxury.”  Tai told her. 

 “You know me, I’ll just land back in the hospital like I always do!” She laughed. 

Please just listen to me, Tai was internally begging. He already knows how dangerous the league was, blue flames, touch into dust, and a woman who can slash about anything. Y/n was no match for any of them. 

 Tai helped Y/n get her bags and walked to the porch of the small house. Gladys didn’t know what time they were going to arrive and Y/n was just going to knock on the door. Tai set the bag down and with his hand he cupped her fist. With his other hand he pulled a more bold move and turned her waist to face him. He was desperate to keep her alive. His tired eyes explored her widened (colored) ones. Was she scared of him? Did he go too far? Yeah it was early to do something like this, but Gladys didn’t sound like someone who can fend for Y/n against a fire blast. 

 Was Overhaul ever like this with her? It was a known fact now that he hated touch. Would he break his fear for Y/n or was this completely forgein to her? How could Overhaul have someone so beautiful by his side and would avoid her touch? She was bruised and bandaged, but to Tai she was the most gorgeous. He wanted her safe and protected. If she would let him, he would want to love her right. 

“Please, just think about it.” He said no louder than a whisper. 

 “I will…” she breathed. 

 She took her things and knocked on the door. The old women with scales on her neck answered. Gladys thanked Tainfor driving Y/n and she would make sure she would be monitored.  It worked both ways, Gladys also wanted a human companion to watch over her just in case she slipped or fell. She even told Tai she taught her cats how to dial 911. Though it was hard Tai was able to leave. 

 At 6 o’clock Gladys went to bed and that’s when the thoughts began to unhinge. Y/n tried watching TV, but it only caused her headache to get worse. She tried showering, but remembered the day Kai walked in on her sleeping in the tub. She jumped out and threw up. She brushed her teeth and tried to calm down. She told herself it didn’t matter whether Kai had loved her not, he used her and abused a child. She tried not to blame herself but she did anyway. She should have known the signs that he was abusing a child. She wasn’t allowed at his place freely but he could come to her house whenever he please. Did he please that much? Sure he was in the yakuza so it could have to do with that why she wasn’t allowed over. Despite all that maybe she should have never came back. She always knew the yakuza was dangerous, she knew he was dealing drugs but she stayed with him and seemed him out! It was a fairytale she was following only with the worst ending. She should have known and listened to her parents to not rejoin the yakuza that they were so desperately trying to break ties from. 

 Gladys was sleeping. Y/n was alone and desperate. She wanted to feel anything else than what she was. She needed to stop thinking about Kai, but how? She had wanted him for over a decade, got with him and he destroyed her! 

 It wasn’t totally unthinkable what she did next. She wasn’t thinking, just following an instinct. She took the subway and found herself at Tai’s door. 

 Covered in sweat, the two were panting. It was like being pulled back to reality as Tai had really realized what he was doing. He should have been a hero, but instead he felt like he had manipulated her in to this position. Half of him felt amazing, was he sticking it to a child abuser, a domestic abuser, or was it that he had these feelings for Y/n.

“Keep going, what wrong?” Y/n panted. 

 His consciousness faded. He listened to his ID. Even if she was using him and didn’t even feel anything for him, he wanted to enjoy this moment. He was aggressive. She felt heavenly to him. When it was over they laid on the bed. 

 Y/n’s back was turned to him. Was it instant regret? Her bandages were still on her body, just like his own. The guilt began to hit his reality once more. He wasn’t much better than Overhaul. Sure Tai didn’t destroy a neighborhood, indirectly hurt his girlfriend, and sold drugs with people’s blood, but he was too impulsive. He listened to pleasure. He could have just told Y/n it wasn’t right, but instead he let her in and let their hands roam each other’s bodies’. He knew her weaknesses subconsciously. He knew how badly she was yearning for connection, warmth, and care. Since he done the deed, he would go through with it all the way. He pulled the sheet over her frame and spooned her. He wasn’t gonna let her feel like this was only a conquest. If she was going to be up for it, he’d do it again for her. If she wanted to be something more, he would accept, but right now, he promised himself he wouldn’t ask for anything yet. 

 At some point that night, Tai was awoken by the sound of sniffles. His face was in Y/n’s hair, but he checked her face. The moonlight revealed she was crying. They had alright been asleep, did she wake up feeling regretful? He delicately brushed her hair out of her face. With his thumb he wiped her tears and realized she was crying in her sleep. Tai kissed her temple. She did have a lot to cry about. 

 However Tai woke up alone. Though it was a somber gray morning, he tried not to feel too bad about it. He promised himself he would be fine with whatever happened between them next because he felt wrong with what he did. It wasn’t all terrible. She made him thank you pancakes. Though he loved food, deep down he did want to spend the morning together. 

[verumking]

𝐒𝐔𝐁𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓:  𝐘𝐎𝐙𝐎𝐑𝐀 

Repost, do not reblog.

tagged by :   stolen, can’t remember from who tagging :   steal  it !

▸       is your muse   tall    /    short    /    average ? Due to the Gigas core operation stunting his growth, Yozora stands at a mere 5′6″, just shy of 5′7″. He is considerably shorter than the average male of his age. canon said mega tol but in this house we say smol boy rights.

▸       are they okay with their height ? No-- he does have a height complex, but accepts that it cannot be helped in the slightest and doesn’t make any effort to alter his height in any way. He just scowls up at those taller than him.

▸      what’s their hair like ? Yozora’s hair is a peculiar phenomenon, in particular its colour. Naturally, it is sable brown to black, however, due to the stress of Gigas experimentation from an extremely young age, his hair became a stark white-silver ( Marie Antoinette syndrome ). Over time however, particularly after his escape from Gigas Corporation, Yozora’s dark roots have begun growing back, and the bright silver had receded down the length of his hair, fading to a dull violet-grey.   

For practically his whole life, Yozora’s hair length has been consistently medium-length, reaching just past his jawline-- only trimmed as a child by the Gigas as a means of accessing his skull and throat easier for medical examination. Yozora’s hair does not curl at all, remaining stark straight even after a shower. 

▸     do they spend a  lot of time on their hair     /    grooming ? Not at all-- perhaps because his hair doesn’t curl ( and is thus easy to maintain )-- or because he deems his appearance inconsequential in warfare-- but Yozora spends a scarce few minutes on grooming. He only gives his hair a quick comb-through, and spends slightly longer on shaving.  

▸      does your muse care about their appearance   /   what others think ? He will make an effort to look decent, but beyond that, Yozora cares very little about his appearance, and especially what others think.  

—    preferences.

▸      indoors    or    outdoors ?     indoors. ▸      rain    or    sunshine ?   rain. ▸      forest    or    beach ?      beach. ▸      precious    metals    or    gems ?      precious metals. ▸      flowers    or    perfumes ?     perfumes. ▸      personality    or    appearance ?      personality. ▸      being    alone    or    being    in    a    crowd ?     being  alone. ▸      order    or    anarchy ?   balanced, leaning order. ▸      painful    truths    or    white    lies ?     painful truths. ▸     science    or    magic ?     science. ▸      peace    or    conflict ?    peace. ▸      night    or    day ?     night. ▸      dusk    or    dawn ?      dusk. ▸      warmth    or    cold ?      cold. ▸      many   acquaintances    or    a    few    close    friends ?   few close friends. ▸      reading    or    playing    a    game ?      both.

—    questionnaire.

▸      what are some of your muse’s bad habits ? Yozora has a chronic tendency to shut people out when he feels himself growing too close. A cocktail of trust issues and a deep rooted hatred for abandonment, Yozora goes to every length to avoid growing attached to people. He believes that because he was forcibly raised with no semblance of a family, that he doesn’t need one, and is particularly dismissive of the concept of friendship. Following his ascension as the god of death, he also doesn’t seek a romantic relationship, deeming it an impossibility given his divine status. ( Needless attachment leads to needless heartbreak. )

That of course does not mean that Yozora doesn’t subconsciously grow attached anyway. He often finds himself forming unbreakable bonds without fully realising it himself. There was still a human side to him that craves emotional connections, even when he actively refuses them. 

▸      has your muse lost anyone close to them ? how has it affected them ? His earliest ‘loss’ was his biological mother, but not by death. Yozora’s mother willingly sold her only son to Gigas Corporation, in exchange for a hefty fee. Prior to this, the five-year old Yozora was nothing but accommodating for his struggling mother: refusing to cry when he was starving, and comforting her rather than the other way around. Yozora learned to suppress his emotions very early-- and this was only catalysed after witnessing his own mother’s betrayal. As a consequence, Yozora is extremely distrusting of others, and refuses to wear his heart on his sleeve ( see response above. )

▸      what are some fond memories your muse has ? In a time of warfare and universal crisis, fond memories are few and far between. However, it was the rarity of such moments that made them the most memorable. Whilst he does not want to define his relationship with Magia and Aegis as a friendship, the king cannot deny the comfort his knights give him. Be it during their downtime, when they’re playing a heated game of cards, or when Aegis makes a fool out of Magia (and vice versa) in an attempt to crack Yozora’s facade. Yozora greatly enjoys the company of his two comrades, and despite deeming himself unworthy of their loyalty, has sworn an equal oath to protect them. 

▸     is it easy for your muse to kill ? Absolutely-- this is particularly the case after his ascension as the god of death, after comprehending the true nature of his home realm ( that it is the underworld of all worlds, and thus no one was alive to begin with / are merely souls awaiting their reincarnation ), but also that the universe hinged on the balance of life and death. Death was both an inevitability and a necessity, and thus Yozora is not opposed to taking life for good reason. With his ability to preserve souls via crystal stasis / locking them in Replica Earth, Yozora is also unafraid of the consequences of killing someone, knowing well enough that they do not truly perish, unless they have weak karmas or he fully intents to destroy their soul.  

▸      what’s it like when your muse breaks down ? There’s a persistent silence to Yozora that manifests even when he is breaking down. He does everything in his power to repress any humanly emotion, convincing himself that a “machine” like him was incapable of such weakness, and that a god such as himself does not have the luxury. Nonetheless, should Yozora ever break down, he will isolate himself completely, feeling his corruption take over. Breaking down isn’t a loss of will for Yozora, but a descent to madness. You won’t catch him crying, but perhaps chuckling darkly, as something in his semi-corporeal mind finally unhinges, catalysed by the instability of his mechanical heart. 

▸      is your muse capable of trusting someone with their life ? It takes a great deal for Yozora to trust anyone for regular means, let alone with his life-- particularly following the incidents at Gigas Corporation, where his life was put in the hands of sadistic researchers who experimented on his corpse for their own amusement. This doesn’t mean that Yozora is completely incapable of trusting people with his life-- in fact, he trusts his two knights Magia and Aegis completely. However, it took a lot for Yozora to reach that level of comfort around them, being still plagued by his hyper-vigilance and general foreboding that Gigas Corporation will capture him once more. 

▸      what’s your muse like when they’re in love ? When falling in love, Yozora is just as reclusive in himself, perhaps even more so with the denial of his feelings. He would be adamant to dismiss his sentiments and will try to avoid interacting with said person whenever possible. When he finally comes to terms with his feelings, and such feelings are reciprocated, Yozora is an extremely intense lover. Once he knows the other is committed, he has complete tunnel vision for them-- he will remain loyal for life. Whilst verbally quiet, Yozora expresses his love through actions, such as stolen kisses and unconscious touches ( placing his hand on the small of their back, holding their hand, etc. ) Do not mistake his muted demeanour and withdrawn nature as shyness-- when he is love, he is assured of his feelings: he is merely uncertain about how to express them. 

[thewhiterabbit42]

Behind Closed Doors

Part 1 of 3

Pairing:  Dean x Reader

Series Summary: Sneaking a kitten into the bunker might be the best decision you’d ever made for reasons you could never have anticipated.

Word Count: 1960

Series Tags/Warnings: fluff, mutual pining, men being cute with animals

This fic is a commission.

“You got a hot date or something?”  Dean asked, glancing sideways at you from the driver’s seat.  Curiosity melded with mild amusement, making green sparkle in ways that should have had your heart fluttering, but you were too preoccupied to even notice.

You couldn’t blame him for asking.  You hadn't been able to sit still the entire way back, fingers drumming along the interior, leg bouncing, obsessively checking your phone as the day dragged on.  It was out of character for you, but in your defense, he had told you it wouldn’t take more than a day or two tops.

“It’s a simple salt and burn, you said. We’ll be back in no time, you said.”  You tried to keep it light, but the anxiety buzzing through your veins bled into your words.

He mistook it for irritation, a hard dent appearing between his brows.  “Since when is any case ever set in stone?”

Well, he had you there, but it didn’t make you any less antsy.  

“Sometimes, a girl just has things she needs to do,” you said vaguely, hoping he would let it drop.

His eyes slid to you again, his lips pressed together in a way that almost resembled a pout.  You’d been repeatedly reminded, however, that Dean Winchester most certainly, under no circumstances, did such things, so you were clearly mistaken.  

This was the point where, at any other time, you would call him on it, but your mind was still going in too many directions for you to feel up for the ensuing banter.

Silence filled the car once again, neither tense nor comfortable, skirting the borders of both as you each retreated into your head.

It didn't last long.

“If you were seeing someone, you know you could tell me, right?”

It was the unusual demand within his tone rather than the words themselves that caught you off guard.   

You couldn't help a soft snort from escaping at the thought of anyone being dumb enough to want to date you.  “Yeah, sure.”

Everything about him was tense, guarded, almost as if he expected the two of you to do battle rather than have a friendly chat.  

Though the look he returned suggested you were the one acting strange.  “What?  We’re friends.  Friends talk about those things.”  

You didn’t answer.  Instead, you undid your seatbelt, the smooth sound of denim sliding across leather overtaking the quiet. You sidled up to him, as close as you could get without touching, and you were reminded of how large and warm he was as the heat of his frame spilled over onto yours.  

You did your best to stay focused, sliding your hand up through the back of his hair.  

“Uhhh, what are you doing?”

You waited another several seconds to respond, eyes riveted to his skull as you gently probed along it  

“Checking for head injuries.  You did get whacked pretty hard.”

His confusion melted, and he rolled his eyes so hard he was liable to pull something. “Real funny, chuckles."

There was little humor beneath his nickname for you.  If you didn't know better, you would say he was in a mood, but you could always tell when one of those was coming as they tended not to appear out of nowhere.

You waited for him to bat your hand away, but the way he cracked his neck suggested he wasn’t as irritated as he let on.  His head canted sideways, almost as if he was offering up a spot behind his ear for you to scratch.  You might have, just to tease him, but the movement made you recall the the reason you were even having this conversation.     

Your dropped your hand behind the seat, glancing out the back of the car to find the sun setting behind you.  It could have been romantic, the two of you on the open road, vivid oranges and pinks spilling into the vehicle and making it glow.  You were so close to Dean you could still smell hints of his aftershave, and you knew if you if you laid your head on his shoulder at that moment, he would let you get away with it.    

All you were able to do was let out a long, impatient breath.  “Could you step on the gas a little more?”

Baby immediately hummed a little louder, and his head shifted as he tried to sneak a glance at you.  

    “Really, what gives?”

You didn’t need to look at him to know the eye he was giving you.  It was the one that belonged to Dean Winchester, bloodhound on the scent.  His determination was palpable, making the small space between you vibrate with tension.   

“Maybe I just want my own bed, with my own space, where I can be left to my own devices.”  

It took him all of a second to read between the lines, and the moment he did, it was like that time you accidentally started undressing in front of him because you didn’t realize he was still in the room.  

His body went rigid, eyes eager to be anywhere else but on you as he cleared his throat.  “Yeah.  Sure.  Whatever.  We, uh, all have needs.”  

You had a knack for getting him to blush, not that you had any idea how.  Yet, here he was, his cheeks turning another lovely, light shade of pink, tongue darting nervously across his lips as he sucked in a slow breath.

Then again, you were well aware of how he had you neatly filed away as little sister material, so you imagined it might be a touch awkward hearing about those things when it came to you.  

“But if you were seeing someone, you would tell me, right?”  There was an intensity beneath his words that ratcheted up the tension, and things suddenly started to feel weird.  Weirder than that time you all got drunk, combined Truth or Dare with Poker, and Sam dared you to sit in his brother’s lap every time you lost a round.  

“Uh, yeah.  Who do you think I’d want looking for me if I never came home after?”

You knew that remark would please him.  Pride tugged at the corner of his lips, though it wasn’t for the reason you thought.  “You really consider the bunker your home?”

You turned your head and gave him the most incredulous look.  “Of course I do, D.  You guys are my family.  I don’t know what I’d do without you… Except maybe get hit on more often.”  Despite the dryness in your tone, you were only partially kidding, and you noticed a brief side-eye as he somehow picked up on it.  “I swear, you’re like the overbearing older brother I never asked for.”  

You flicked the side of his ear, the gesture far more satisfying than you could have guessed.  Increasingly so when he decided to make a big show of swatting you away this time.  

You grinned, sliding back across the seat out of his reach.

“Yeah, well someone has to look out for you,” he muttered.

You both knew that was a lie.  You’d been looking after yourself for years, though the thought of him wanting to protect you did put a smile on your face the rest of the ride back.

***

Dean barely had the chance to get Baby in her spot before you had the door open, and it was all you could do not to break out into a run as you moved through the garage into the bunker.  You bypassed all your usual stops, bathroom included, calling out a greeting to Sam as you nearly bowled him over on his way to the kitchen.  

It wasn’t subtle by any means, but your nerves were thrumming so loudly you might psych yourself out of existence at any moment.  Sure, the fate of others had technically rested in your hands before, but not like this.  You’d never had this level of responsibility, and the thought of failing so spectacularly within the first week (and what that might mean) had you flying down the hallways toward your room.  

You finally made it, key out of your pocket well in advance so you could jam it in the lock.  As usual, it sticks halfway, and you slam your palm into it, ignoring the sting as something started to poke out from beneath the door.

“Come on, come on,” you muttered, hitting it a few more times.  

“You need any help?”  Dean’s voice carried down the hall, and you nearly leapt out of your skin. He should’ve been in the kitchen foraging for a sandwich and some beer, or in the laundry room stripping out of his clothes before he hit the shower, not hovering where the hallway split in two different directions with clearly no intention of heading to his room.     

You angled yourself in front of your door, feet blocking the gap at the bottom.  “It’s cool, D.  I got it.”

“You sure?”  He took a step toward you, and your palm began to turn numb as you frantically slam that damn piece of metal until it finally gives and slides in all the way.  

“Yup! Thanks!”  Your smile was tight, perhaps a touch unhinged, as you quickly twisted the lock and pushed your way inside.  You were in such a rush you left the key, opting for the deadbolt instead after slamming the door closed behind you.  

Yeah.  That wasn’t suspicious at all.  

Any worry over how strange you were acting dissipated as you were greeted with the most pathetic noise in existence.  It was followed by a visceral jolt of panic, despite the fact that the sound proof warding was in place, so even if Dean was lurking out there, as you expected, he wouldn't hear a thing.

You sent a silent thanks to Rowena, wherever she was, for helping you, because there was no mistaking what you were trying to hide as a chorus of squeaky mewls rose up from your feet.

You reached down, scooping up the manic little creature trying to fuse itself to your boot.  

“You poor thing,” you crooned, tucking the kitten close to your chest. You couldn't tell if he was starving or terrified.  Probably both after being left in a strange place alone for seven days when you were only supposed to be gone for a few.

The guilt you’d been carrying welled up within your chest, and you walked into your private bathroom to assess how badly you’d messed up.  The moment you turned on the light, you were surprised by what you found.  There was still plenty of water left in the dispenser, and enough food to easily get him through another few days.

"And D says I prepare too much for everything," you mused, fingers stroking behind black, velvety ears.  The little body in your hand began to vibrate, a loud purr overtaking its previous protests as he stretched up and rubbed himself beneath your chin.  

You walked back into the other room, noting all the toys sprawled out across the floor along with the little pockets pressed into the comforter, mostly surrounding your pillow.  

“You look like you made out ok,” you breathed in relief.  Other than the cat box needing a change, it seemed the only real issue was that you had been gone.

“Is that what all that sass was?”  You asked, raising him up in front of you and giving his chin a good scratch.  “You just missed me?”

He paced back and forth within your hands, running himself from head to tail along the side of your face.   

The unconditional affection warmed you in ways you’d forgotten were possible, and you smiled.  “Missed you too, little Meowmers.”  

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ALL the tags:

@girl-next-door-writes @fand0maniac @feelmyroarrrr @lucifer-in-leather @blondecoffeecake  @tistai @room-with-a-cat @authoressskr @revwinchester @flufy07 @tardis-is-mine @tangle-of-ivy @luciferseclipse @mrswhozeewhatsis @protectivedestiel @angelofwinchester17 @phantomwarrior12 @jeanjeaniethings @wontlookaway @copperseraphim @fandomsrourlives @archangelgabriellives @shadows-and-padlocked-hearts @mizzezm @disneymarina @zpandaqueen @idabbleincrazy @katekvnes @han68000 @brokencasbutt67-writer @crashdevlin @klinenovakwinchester @bofa-deans-nuts @sherlockedtash88 @lovelyhexbag

Dean Beans:  @marichromatic

Open to tags:   @katehuntington

[xbeseecheuphoria]

Shower Play

Summary: Elaine loves to pamper herself in the shower. Casimir, however, has other ideas.

Word count: 1747

Elaine lets the scent of rose invigorate her, and the lather that creates from rubbing the liquid soap envelop her body. She had to treat herself like this. Nourish and worship her own body and make sure it was tended to carefully. As Elaine washed herself, shower curtain and bathroom door wide open in her suite (as she had nothing to fear, she is the wife of a beautifully malicious and powerful man, and if harm came to her, he would be sure to take vengeance on her behalf) she hums softly, eyes closed, water hitting her skin so delicately it felt as if she were a flower being watered.

Now she moved to nourish her black tresses. She only used the highest of qualities when it came to her hair. She wished for it to retain it’s usual silky feel, it’s beautiful shine and bounce. Elaine lathered her hair in shampoo and washed it out after a minute or so, and then moved to condition it. Delicately she takes the product and runs it through her hair, making sure it is untangled before it is washed out. All of this, she does while her soft siren hymn echoes off the walls of the black-tiled bathroom.

Elaine hears a soft click, indicating the suite door has been unlocked. She makes no notion to stop what she is doing. Footsteps draw closer to the bathroom until they finally stop. Elaine smiles, and turns to face her beloved (as her back was to the door) and looks him over curiously. His eyes too, seem to loom over sensitive areas and that excites Elaine.

Casimir is wearing a bloodied lab coat, and bloodied gloves to follow that covered his usual attire. There’s a darkness in his eyes that seems to speak for him, telling her that his latest experiment, his latest wicked torment of some unfortunate soul… was unavoidably a success. He looks unhinged, yet he does not at the same time as he keeps his stoic persona.  Elaine purrs. She still has to ask, despite the circumstance.

“Was it a success?”

“Yes,” is his simple answer.

Casimir briefly leaves to dispose of the bloodied coat and gloves, and then returns to the bathroom. He eyes Elaine once more, and she can see that the darkness in his eyes has been replaced with something far more lustful, especially since he was trying so desperately to hold himself from biting those soft lips of his. Though, Casimir sometimes had to be pushed to act on his desires.

“It seems like there’s something you want,” Elaine muses.

“I want to fuck you,” Casimir flat out admits. “You look insanely delectable. I’d like to bend you over and make you scream.”

Elaine’s cheeks flush. A desire begins to pool deeply within her. She almost shivers in anticipation. When Casimir wants it bad, he cannot stop himself from being vulgar. She motions him over, and he comes immediately. Casimir’s clouded lust for his wife prevents him from thinking straight, so much so, he enters the shower fully clothed, shoes and all. Before Elaine even has the chance to warn him of such, his fingers interlace in Elaine’s hair and he pulls her head back, exposing her neck and making her shiver. He leans down and his teeth barely graze against her skin, but Elaine is turned on enough to grab Casimir’s ass and pull him closer to her.

He grunts, bucking his hips against her and making Elaine emit small, soft gasps before it turns to a loud, audible moan as Casimir sinks his teeth into her neck. Her hands travel to Casimir’s hair, tugging hard. The thrill of such a move causes him to groan. He presses hard against her once more, his need evident in this moment. Moving from her neck, he pulls her in for a rough, bruising kiss. Elaine moans into the kiss, wild as Casimir slides his tongue inside, flicking it against hers. The kiss was short-lived, however, as Casimir breaks it, craving more. He looks at himself comically as he realizes he’s still fully clothed, the water doing nothing to help. Elaine can’t help but let out a chortle. He looks at her and smirks.

“Oh, look what you’ve done. Getting me like this.”

His hand reached for his soaked burgundy shirt and in one motion, ripped the buttons apart, and discarded the wet garment on the floor. He switched their positions, to where Casimir was opposite the showerhead and Elaine was in front of him.

“Do the rest,” he ordered.

Elaine sank to her knees, feigning innocence as her finger lightly traced Casimir’s belt. The so-called ‘bashful’ look on her face has Casimir staring at her impatiently.

“Have you gotten shy, Elaine? I could always leave you to your own devices and finish myself, hmm?”

Elaine glared at him, but Casimir grinned.

“Or, I could have you watch as I get myself off, but disallow you from touching yourself, or me, leaving you sitting before me wet and horny?”

When the hell did Casimir learn how to speak like that?

Elaine grips his belt and undoes it quickly. She has trouble getting his wet pants down, but eventually does so with his help. He finishes discarding the rest of his clothes and shoes on the floor but Elaine does not stand. She grins, gently grasping Casimir’s cock and stroking it.

“A-Ah…”

Elaine wastes no time in placing her mouth on his cock, bobbing her head up and down. The surprise invigorates Casimir. He places his hand in her hair and tugs softly, fluctuating gasps leaving him.

“So eager… So needy…”

Who was the one who got horny first, Casi? Hmm?

Elaine takes him in full, which makes him moan her name so loud it surprised even her. She feels him tremble, and realizes that he needs this, and he wants it bad. Elaine teases him—slowly licking up his shaft before taking him back in her mouth, sucking hard. His moans increase in intensity before he suddenly stops her from doing any more.

“Not yet.”

He motions for her to stand and Elaine slowly does so. Casimir has them switch positions one more time, telling Elaine to lean against the wall. Knowing what he wants to do, Elaine lifts her right leg on the rim of the tub. Casimir sinks to his knees now and wastes no time in sticking his tongue out and licking her clit, causing Elaine’s legs to shake. Casimir wraps his arms around her, intent in keeping her in place as he eats her out.

“Casi…! Casimir!”

He chuckled, taking his index finger and tracing her orifice. Without warning, he slowly inserts that finger, and Elaine’s grip on his hair tightens.

“Fuck!”

Elaine bucks her hips as Casimir licks and fingers her at the same time. The way his tongue moved should be illegal. She grasped her breasts, groping them and teasing her nipples to give herself more pleasure. When Casimir noticed, he purred. He stopped stimulating her clit only to add another finger inside of her.

“Ah, you like that? When I do this to you? To have you wriething, for me?”

His fingers move quickly, rapidly. He has no plans of getting her off with just his fingers, but he can’t help but to enjoy Elaine’s broken pleas, the way she calls his name over and over, begging for more.

“What a wanton, little minx you are, Elaine.”

The more Casimir talked to her like that, the more Elaine just wanted him to bury his cock in her and fuck her until she couldn’t move the next day. She bucked her hips, showing her need, but Casimir chuckles.

“You want me to fuck you now, don’t you? That’s what you’re thinking… You’re so desperate for more, so tell me what you want!”

Elaine groaned in agony. Casimir had long slowered his movements and wouldn’t do anything else until Elaine begged for it. What a cocky, little shit he was sometimes.

“Fuck me already! Ruin me!”

Carefully, he removed his fingers from inside Elaine and stood. His hands grasp her sides and he lifts her up, turning carefully so that her back rested against the wall. Elaine shivered at the cold touch, but all was forgotten as she felt Casimir enter her slowly. She wrapped his arms around his neck, gasping at the feel of her husband.

“You feel so damned good, Elaine…”

“Then move and fuck me already,” she hisses impatiently.

Casimir begins to thrust and Elaine squeals when he does. Even Casimir himself grew impatient, not wanting to prelong the pleasure the both of them wish to feel. His thrusts are powerful and deep, and Elaine moans with each movement.

“More! More!” She begged.

Her pleas do not go unheard. Casimir grunts, fucking her hard and fast, just as she wants. Elaine is a moaning, hot mess at this point, looking so beautifully drunk on the pleasure she’s being given. Casimir, too, can’t handle himself. He feels himself getting closer and closer to the edge and with how much Elaine is screaming, he knows she’s close, too.

“A-Ah! C-Casi… hurry…!”

“Oh shit,” he moaned. “Elaine…!”

At last, Elaine cannot stand it. All of the pleasure bursts, and she cries out as she climaxes, moaning her husband’s name over and over like a mantra. Casimir follows not even a minute later, groaning as he came inside of her.

“D-Damn…” He muttered.

After he pulled out, he placed Elaine down, and wrapped his arms around her, holding her. The intensity of their sex definitely tired him out.

“My Elaine…”

Elaine laughed. “We have to clean up, my love.”

It did not take long, especially considering the shower was on in throughout the duration of their sex. Casimir cleaned Elaine first, and Elaine returned the favor by cleaning Casimir. At last, they were able to turn off the now-frigid water and exit the shower. Elaine’s personal time turned much more intimate than she anticipated.

Casimir wraps a towel around Elaine, and without warning, he lifts her up gently into her arms and leads them to their bed. The wet clothes could wait. All Casimir wanted to do was lie with Elaine. He placed her down gently in the bed before lying next to her. She instantly curls up next to him.

“Love you…” She muttered.

Casimir kisses her forehead.

“And I, you…”

They fall asleep together, content in each other’s arms.

[mjm56-a]

MANNERISMS AND OTHER-KINDA-SHIT DUMP.

what does your muse smell like ? 

cologne, usually. however, get close enough and you’ll probably smell the cigarette in his breath and embedded in his clothes. occasionally, there's a specific metallic kind of tinge to his smell, like iron. difficult to tell what the source could of been, though; could be blood or could be from the weaponry he carries or has come in contact with. it’s kind of off putting.  it’s as if the violence he’s accustomed to has ingrained itself into his skin and in his clothing.

how often does your muse bathe / shower ?  any habits ?

he showers every morning, typical stuff. he doesn’t really care much for any fancy-schmancy shampoos or soaps. usual bar stuff and hair products. if he needs to, especially after fights or before major events, he showers twice a day.

does your muse have any tattoos or piercings ?  

as tradition goes, majima has a full tattoo of a hannya woman on his back, passing his bottom and ending at the tops of his thighs. the tattoo wraps around his biceps and outstretches onto his chest. he has two snakes incorporated in the large design, one of the snake’s heads visible on his left bicep and the other snake peeking onto his right breast. the entire design, hannya, snakes and all, are drowning in black, swirling clouds and scarlet blossoms.

majima has no piercings, but has considered getting some in the future (somewhat in vain of nishitani’s influence, if he hasn’t already had a lot of power over what majima decided to make of himself after the events of y0).

any body movement quirks ( ex : leg shaking ) ? 

he’s extremely liberal with body language, often incorporating his arms and hands into his eccentric mannerisms. therefore,  he can be seen as kind of “““unhinged”““ in the way he puts off himself. this also goes for his facial expressions as well, almost appearing as twitchy and enthusiastic, especially when excited.

what do they sleep in ? 

simple: in his underwear. that’s it.

what’s their favorite piece of clothing ? 

his snakeskin jacket. he’s had it and has worn is regularly since his acquisition of it in 1988.

what do they do when they wake up ?  

get up, cup of coffee, maybe a cigarette, and check his email.

how do they sleep ?  position ? 

flat on his back, facing upward at the ceiling, most of the time. y0-wise, he had a habit of curling up on his side like a child.

what do their hands feel like ? 

they’re rough and calloused, scarred from altercations, when not covered with his leather gloves. his knuckles are stiff.

if you kissed them, what would they usually taste like ?  

cigarettes, as gross as it would be. either that, or wintermint.

tagged by :   @90smagicalboy​ !!! tagging :   steal it!!!

[thecloserkin]

book review: Marian Veevers, Jane & Dorothy (2018)

Genre: Biography

Is it the main pairing: Yes

Is it canon: Yes

Is it explicit: No

Is it endgame: No

Is it shippable: Yes

Bottom line: Y’all fools: Stanning Lord Byron and his half-sister Augusta whom he didn’t even meet until he was nearly grown, never mind whether he actually knocked her up. Me, an intellectual: William and Dorothy Wordsworth are right there, eloping to the countryside and spending the rest of their days holed up in a picturesque cottage composing poetry.

First let’s have a detour where I yell about Crimson Peak (2015, dir. Guillermo del Toro). A few of the recent asks about incest vs. the patriarchy got me thinking about this line from Jane & Dorothy: “the malevolent power of married women over their spinsters-in-law.” Between the wife and the unmarried sister it’s obvious who has more power and it’s clearly not the spinster sister-in-law—and yet Guillermo del Toro would have us believe that Edith in Crimson Peak is helpless before Lucille’s resistance to giving up the skeleton key (the one that opens every room in the house). Edith is made out to be the victim of Lucille’s bloodthirsty unhinged jealousy, when she’s not only THE WIFE she’s got ALL THE MONEY, she’s literally holding all the cards??? It doesn’t add up. This biography is the antidote to that. It looks at the paucity of options open to your average 19th century girl who just wants a Room of One’s Own to write in, and situates her bid for freedom in the context of having no good options. The trouble with “Crimson Peak” was not that Edith wasn’t relatable or that I didn’t identify with her; when Thomas tears her down in that faux-breakup speech he attacks her on the terrain where she’s most vulnerable, her abilities as a writer. The trouble with Crimson Peak was that this beat would have hit so much harder had it landed on Lucille, a woman who’s WAY more vulnerable than Edith by dint of having (1) no marriage prospects and (2) no inheritance. Without Thomas this bitch has (3) no survival strategy either! Otoh take away Thomas and Edith is still left with her dad’s $$$, Edith still has Alan waiting in the wings to swoop in & save her, in other words Edith will be just fine. No wonder Lucille feels so threatened!! The situations are not even comparable. Here then is Jane & Dorothy which offers two case studies of women whose impulse to write & create was just as strong as Edith’s, but whose plight was much closer to Lucille’s ie. precarious as fuck.

I picked this book up because it’s actually a dual biography of Dorothy Wordsworth and Jane Austen, and I’m a basic bitch and Jane Austen is my eternal favorite. I’m going to focus on the Dorothy chapters but rest assured I read the Jane chapters with equal gusto. Jane Austen (b. 1775) and Dorothy Wordsworth (b. 1771) were both born into the British pseudo-gentry, which means they were too highborn to go and get a paying gig as a governess or companion but not highborn enough to have any independent source of income (neither of them had a dowry settled on them). While the two women never crossed paths, the arcs of their lives run in parallel as they pursue divergent strategies to secure their futures. So the primary imperative here is to avoid a life of domestic drudgery. But the secondary imperative, because these are both perceptive girls with rich inner lives, is this:

For an intelligent woman, confined to a society which denies her higher education and restricts her existence largely to the home, the male companion with whom she shares her life is her chief provider, not only of security and affection, but of intellectual stimulation.

This is a popular romance novel plot, do I want to marry a man who is a bore (possibly also a boor) or do I want to starve hmmmm. The point is that women are frequently starved for both affection and intellectual stimulation, and it’s little wonder Dorothy fell so hard for her brother William when he showered her with both. Dorothy and William were separated as children when, after the death of their mother, she was sent to live with an aunt in West Yorkshire (she was seven, he was eight). Nine years later they reconnected and sparks flew almost immediately. I mean I think their letters speak for themselves:

”the last time we were Together William won my Affection to a Degree which I cannot describe.”

What kind of brother needs to “win” his sister’s affection? Most of them treat sisters like furniture.

”Never have my eyes burst upon a scene of particular loveliness,” he wrote, “but I have wished that you could be transported to the place where I stood to enjoy it.”

standard “everything beautiful either reminds me of you, or makes me want to share it with you” pablum but EXTREMELY effective for all that

but enough he is my brother, why should I describe him? I shall be launching again into panegyric

Dorothy: hahaha but don’t you think my brother was looking mighty fiiiiiine today

”his attentions to me were such as the most insensible of mortals must have been touched with”

”I assure you so eager is my desire to see you that all obstacles vanish. I see you in a moment running or rather flying to my arms.”

That letter is from William, and you have to remember that William was supposed to be a huge dick who routinely ignored his friends’ missives leaving them in suspense whether he was alive or dead and yet he managed a lively & regular correspondence with Dorothy for years before they moved in together. It’s almost like he treated her … special.

”that sympathy which will almost identify us when we have stole to our little cottage”

These kids are already plotting their elopement jfc! Here are some snippets from Dorothy’s diary from much later, after they have in fact achieved The Dream of their own cottage:

”After dinner we made a pillow of my shoulder, I read to him and my Beloved slept.”

”The fire flutters and the watch ticks and I hear nothing save the Breathing of my Beloved and he now and then pushes his book forward and turns over a leaf.” It is a picture of domestic contentment such as Jane Austen draws to portray a genuinely happy marriage.

”After we came in we sat in deep silence at the window — I on a chair and William with his hand on my shoulder. We were deep in Silence and love, a blessed hour.”

This is literally #goals. Veevers points out that “the conflation of marriage with home, spinsterhood with insecurity” meant that “William was promising the kind of permanence and safety which women usually found in marriage.” Dorothy really thought she could Have It All: a home of her own and a rich, stimulating intellectual life shared with the man she loved. And she proceeded to spend the rest of her life making fair copies of his poems. Hell, she pushed him to be a poet in the first place (it was not at all clear initially that this was the best plan for William, who could just have easily have embarked on a career as a political polemicist, but it was Dorothy who pushed him to be a poet, Dorothy who spent the rest of her life copying out his verses in her fairer hand). Early on Dorothy & William befriended the poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge, who was so envious of their bond that he complained, “You have all in each other, but I am lonely, and want you!” Can you b e l i e v e Coleridge actually said that. If one of you hoes doesn’t write me the William/Dorothy Historical RPF that’s Coleridge Outsider POV I s2g I will do my damnedest to die of consumption.

Veveers sums it up this way: “It was a relationship few women would be able to have with their husbands, for, at the time, the two sexes were expected to inhabit different mental landscapes.” To put it bluntly women had ovaries instead of brains; they just weren’t interested in the same stuff a man was. Otoh you have William and Dorothy Wordsworth, actual soulmates: the historical consensus is there is “some uncertainty as to whether she would be best described as muse, emotional support, secretary or co-author.” And she didn’t hide it, either. This is where you really see the difference between Dorothy, who is so open, and Austen heroines like Eleanor Dashwood (Sense & Sensibility), Fanny Price (Mansfield Park) or Anne Eliot (Persuasion) who also feel things deeply but had to regulate the bejeezus out of their emotional responses. This is Dorothy:

After any separation her joy at meeting her brother again was uncontrollable. “I believe I screamed,” she admitted on one occasion when there were witnesses.

Uncontrollable screaming in front of witnesses every time she’s reunited with her brother??? WE STAN. This is how low Dorothy’s spirits sink whenever he’s gone:

”I slept in Wm.’s bed, and I slept badly, for my thoughts were full of William.”

adkfjdkfjdkfjdk I just want to add that when William is home the floorboards are so thin that she can hear him pacing in the bedroom above hers, so his insomnia keeps both of them up at night but she doesn’t mind, she can’t sleep until he falls asleep, she would probably give up a kidney or a lung if she thought it would sell 500 more copies for him. I’m torn between GIRL HE AIN’T WORTH IT and stanning her even harder for being so ride or die on any topic that touches her brother (later, when he has kids, she decides William’s kids are smarter and better-looking than everyone else’s kids).

This is the most iconic line in the entire book, from a letter Dorothy writes to an interfering relative who deplores Dorothy’s judgment for throwing in her lot with a penniless failson like William:

”I affirm that I consider the character and virtues of my brother sufficient protection”

The icily scathing tone of the setdown is PERFECTION. But also, this just in your brother abandoned his pregnant Catholic mistress in France. You know this. Yet here you are gallivanting around the countryside in his company. In fact, when he proves too much of a coward to tell your uncle himself about the existence of said pregnant mistress—this is the uncle who funded all of William’s education and reasonably expects some return on it—he delegates Dorothy to break the news. Dorothy also winds up in charge of all correspondence with the poor girl, who writes occasionally asking for a little money or when is William coming back to France to marry me, and it’s Dorothy who has to fob her off. And this whole incident—the revelation of the French mistress, the break with the family, William refusing to take holy orders to become a clergyman—is so pivotal in their relationship! They were close before but this is the irrevocable step when Dorothy decides to join her fate to his. And her motivation could not be clearer:

William’s outspoken affection for her seems to have first aroused a reciprocal love in Dorothy, but it was his fall from grace, his isolation and his need of a friend, which provided the final catalyst that raised her gradually deepening affection into wholehearted, single-minded devotion.

She saw his need and responded almost involuntarily. She is a RESCUER.

Dorothy, was in one way, very fortunate to have fallen in love with her brother. “Rambling around the country on foot” with a slightly disreputable brother might bring down the censure of her more conventional relatives, but it was a good deal safer than rambling about with a man who was not a brother.

This is the kind of behavior that if two unrelated people engaged in it must have resulted in the man being honor-bound to extend an offer of marriage, because a woman has nothing if she doesn’t have her virtue. Two siblings roaming the countryside, picking flowers and wading thru streams and stargazing? My god what PRIME fodder for fake married tropes! Just present yourself at the first inn you come to as a married couple and then guess what? There was only one bed!!!!

at Grasmere “there was an unnatural tale current of Wordsworth … having been intimate with his own sister.”

tell me MOAR omg this is so deliciously Gothic i keep thinking about that line from Wuthering Heights “whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.”

at Alfoxton, “the master of the house,” it was said, “had no wife with him, but only a woman who passes for his sister.”

PASSES for his sister trololololol like they don’t act the way you’d expect of a brother and sister, like they’re too into each other.

And it was generally accepted that immorality and radical anti-British sentiment went together.

But really William got much more staid and less radical as he got older, and Dorothy was never political because her energies were centered on William William William. On top of which it’s hard to overlook the fact that William would go into Dorothy’s journals and “borrow” her words and publish them verbatim as his own; he felt as entitled to her intellectual labor as her domestic labor, and there is nothing radically egalitarian about that. So I definitely don’t think this is a case where incest is subversive so much as incest illuminating existing hierarchies & oppressions. Veveers writes: “An unmarried woman’s hold on her own time was extremely fragile. She could be made use of in any crisis, transported against her wishes” to fulfill another family members’ needs. Jane Austen’s sister Cassandra evidently shouldered both their weights when it came to this sort of emotional labor: writing letters of thanks & condolence, minding their brothers’ children, calming hypochondriac aunts down, attending births of little nephews & nieces. Cassandra doing all this extra labor gave Jane the space and time to write. Moreover Jane had formed the ambition to write. Dorothy, on the other hand, thought anything worth saying was already being said by William. And she didn’t have her own Cassandra to share the unceasing burden of housework with:

In fact, the domestic labor and childcare that lay ahead of Dorothy were almost indistinguishable from the duties she had escaped at Forncett rectory. But now she was to be living in a home she had chosen, with a man she loved.

Did it matter in the end, Dorothy’s rebellion? If she’d remained a hanger-on in her uncle’s household, living on his charity, her life would not have been outwardly all that different. I have to believe that her choices did matter, of course. It would be easy to sit here and speculate that if Dorothy had not poured all her mental and physical resources into supporting William’s career, she too might have produced another Pride & Prejudice, but naturally we cannot know that. What we know is that Dorothy and William were 100% in love, a fact that anyone with a modicum of reading comprehension can verify by reading their letters. Why is this not more widely discussed? William Wordsworth was not exactly an obscure poet. The explanation, again, comes back to patriarchy:

The idea that Dorothy might have inspired (or felt) desire at Dove Cottage was as abhorrent to mid-20th century academics as it was to gentlemen of the early 19th century … who preferred to think of unmarried women drooping and degenerating after the age of 25, rather than maintaining a subversive and disturbing sexuality.

I wish I could say that William and Dorothy grew old together at Dove Cottage. What actually happened is he got married (she talked him into it—she chose a mutual friend of theirs whom they’d known for ages) and accidentally fell in love with his wife oops. His new wife was neither young nor pretty, in fact she was painfully plain, but that William became genuinely attached to her there can be no doubt. Dorothy continued to live with them and look after their children until her death. So I think we have avoided the worst case scenario, the malevolent-power-of-the-married-woman-ruins-her-spinster-in-law’s-life scenario: This is what happened to Jane Austen when Jane’s father unexpectedly announced his retirement, uprooting Jane and Cassandra from the Steventon rectory where they’d lived all their lives and forcibly removing them to Bath, where Jane was so miserable she did no writing for years. All this upheaval on account of Jane’s brother and his wife wanting the Steventon rectory and its income for their own! The accursed woman was probably measuring the drapes before she’d moved in. Anyway, it is fortunate this open enmity did not characterize Dorothy Wordsworth’s relationship with her sister in law; they were fast friends and they remained friends after the latter’s marriage to William. But instead of William-and-Dorothy forming the nucleus of life at Dove Cottage now it was William-and-Mary, and if this did not sting at least a little Dorothy would not be human. She had been supplanted in William’s heart. I CRY.

Because I’m literal shipper trash I want to end on the bittersweet note of SIBLINGS EXCHANGING RINGS AS A SYMBOL OF COMMITMENT EVEN THO THEY CAN’T LEGALLY GET MARRIED. This is Dorothy’s description of the morning of William and Mary’s wedding, right before they leave the house to attend the ceremony:

”I gave him the wedding ring—with how deep a blessing! I took it from my forefinger where I had worn it the whole of the night before—he slipped it again onto my finger and blessed me fervently.” It might be said that William married her before he married Mary, and that Dorothy was making a promise in that upstairs room try like the one Mary was about to make in church.

it’s been two months since I read this book and i’m STILL SCREECHING byeeeee

[rubbarband]

🍎  :    how stable is my muse’s mental health?  have they been diagnosed with any mental illnesses and  /  or conditions?  do they have any undiagnosed mental illnesses and  /  or conditions?  do they or should they attend therapy?   🍑  :    how meticulously does my muse look after their physical appearance?  do they spend a lot of time on their hair,  makeup,  grooming,  and clothing?  is there a particular reason why they do or don’t?   🍒  :    how much does my muse value companionship?  do they constantly keep people around them,  or do they prefer to be alone often?  do they have or desire to have many friends?  do they see every meeting as an opportunity to make a new friend?   🍇  :    how would my muse describe their childhood?  how much has it impacted the person they are now,  or will become as an adult?  around what age did they or will they start to mature,  and why?  do they wish to go back to their days as a child,  or have they embraced adulthood? 

𝐅𝐑𝐔𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒   ♡   𝐒𝐘𝐌𝐁𝐎𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐄

@shatterher

🍎 

Desmond's mental health is questionable, Des tends to hide in under his kind and happy visage, but Des is a very curious person. After one of his closest friend's death Desmond is uncomfortably relaxed with wanting to kill a particular villain, Almost like he doesn't even know it's bad, and if anyone stood in his way to stop it Desmond would become incredibly violent.

Desmond also suffers from PTSD Seeing someone die and say they also want your power and want to yank your tail off would make you a bit...unhinged.

Yes Desmond should totally attend therapy, he's willing to murder to satisfy his hatred of one particular villain.

Besides Desmond's OCD for cleaning and keeping himself safe from sea and afterlife, he's fine. Wink

🍑

Desmond takes good care of his hair, Desmond spends ten minutes on it, because he appearances his hairstyle, shampoo, oil, hair mask Desmond protects his hair to his best abilities. Aside from that Desmond spends a bit longer than the average human in the tube because he also has a six foot tail to wash. Desmond hates going for days without showers, if he crashes at night and wakes up late for something he'll usually propone it to take a shower.

More under cut vvv

🍒

Desmond is a very friendly person, always trying to see the good in everyone, humans aren't inherently bad and worthless like many seem to think, Desmond loves being around people; But Desmond is fine being alone at home, Des is adaptable. He had a big friend group, but many of them moved, and the ones who stayed Des has to reconnect with. It's difficult, because Desmond threw himself into work to catch the villains who took his friend away. Regardless of the sad times Des is open to making new friends, frenemies and so on, it's always nice to snark new people.

🍇

Desmond would describe his childhood as. "Varied" Again he lost a friend in what would be considered still earlier years of hero training and it traumatized Desmond immensely; besides that sad story, Des remembers going around with his friends and cousin to fun places, seen large locations, rivers, broken down vehicles and buildings they explored, Desmond's life was enriched with great times with his friends and family.

Full of laughing, crying and discovery, Desmond holds his memories near and dear to his heart, as for going back? Nah you can't fix the past, and if you can't looking back and wishing things were better can only get you so far. So make the future better.

"A baker always bounces back."

[relaxedreptile]

Muse

A/N: This was requested! Have mercy on little ol’ me, as this is my first scenario for Kyungsoo, a man whose personality is not drilled into my mind as well and as evidently as let’s say... Baekhyun’s is. I hope you all enjoy this, especially the lovely one of you who requested it to begin with. 

Sending love.

It’s been four months since my last painting. It’s been four months since I was last paid. It’s been four months since I lost my inspiration.

Being any kind of freelancer is extremely difficult, so I am not alone at my pity party, but it is usually the freelancers and the entrepreneurs who have the most drive. Against all odds, all disapproval, here they are with a home and a source of income and a pet and maybe even a family.

Within our little crew, everyone is treated with the utmost respect. There is no competition (that isn’t healthy) and there is no criticism (that isn't constructive). Outside of it, however, is where problems seem to arise.

Being an artist leads to heaps of sticks that only have short ends to them. You have to produce your own work and find a way to sell it and turn your masterpiece into money. Landlords are hesitant when you apply for an open apartment, worried that one day your monthly payments will stop until it gets so bad you’re forced back onto the street. Not to mention the constant inner turmoil that comes with finding your own inspiration, applying that to your work, and then finding someone that has similar tastes to you that is willing to buy what you produced.

“Art cannot be forced,” You’re constantly telling yourself. So why are you sitting on the floor, paint brush in hand and a blank canvas at your feet, praying that you can think of something, anything, to paint.

“I should’ve just gone to law school like dad wanted,” you sighed out into your otherwise silent studio apartment.

Deciding that maybe some fresh air and a glance at the night sky would do you some good, you pushed your supplied aside and made your way over to the sliding door that led out onto your balcony.

At the beginning of your career, when you first moved into the city and found this adorable apartment, you used to spend all of your dawns and dusks out on this balcony painting and sketching and memorizing how the sun appeared from your balcony.

Now, the sky did as much for you as your sleazy ex-boyfriend.

Your apartment was on the eighth floor of the brick building, giving you a solid view of the bustling city-life below you. Inspiring or not, it sure was beautiful to look at.

You were used to the sight of billions of lights flooding out from windows or the many virtual advertisements littering the sides of buildings. You were used to the sound of a couple drunk teenagers singing 80’s music on their way home from a liquor-heavy celebration and the screeches of speeding car’s tires against the slippery roads.

The sound of your neighbor singing was definitely new to you.

You had never spoken to him minus a couple good mornings and excuse mes from the few times you had run into each other at the elevator, stairwell entrance, or at your own front doors. He kept to himself.

Thinking about it now, thinking about him, you realized you didn’t even know his name.

You looked over to your left (in the direction of the singer’s apartment) and allowed yourself to be slightly intrusive and listen closer.

Your mind recognized the song he was singing, it was from your uncle’s favorite movie, The Godfather.

“Speak softly, love, and hold me warm against your heart. I feel your words, the tender, trembling moments start. We’re in a world, our very own. Sharing a love that only few have every known.

Wine colored days warmed by the sun, Deep velvet nights, when we are one. Speak softly, love, so no one hears us but the sky, The vows of love we make will live until we die. My life is yours, and all because, You came into my world with love so softly, love.”

You smiled as you continued listening, your mind flashing back to all of the times your uncle used to play this song on your aunt’s piano at family gatherings.

You wondered if your neighbor had anyone special on his mind while he sang such intimate words.

The sound of footsteps invaded your ears and caused a panic within you. If you were caught doing the audible equivalent of staring, you may just hop over the railing to escape the embarrassment that would surely follow.

Your body was too late in reacting, however, and you now had a clear view of the mysterious vocalist standing no more than fifteen feet away from you. His body was too lost in singing, however, and you could now stare at this man all you wanted without him noticing.

He was Asian, but you could not tell where he was from exactly. The lyrics flowed out with a slight accent backing them, which allowed you to pinpoint him as being Southeast Asian.

Unless you were completely generalizing him. Truthfully, you doubted that. Being the artist you were, you had trained yourself to notice details and pay attention to what they told you.

The man’s skin was tinted with melanin while his eyebrows sat mostly straight along his brow-bone. He was the owner of the most luscious lips you had ever seen and you weren’t afraid to admit that you were quite jealous of them yourself. He was close enough to you so that you could see his top lip was fuller than the bottom, and his mouth had no sharp edges. Rounded and curvy, his pink lips formed the prettiest sounds along with the tongue that darted out every now and then to wet the soft area surrounding where it usually resided.

Your hands itched for a pencil, yearned for some paper. You hadn’t felt so inclined to put something down in such a long time, this feeling of such intense wanting took you by surprise.

Knowing you couldn’t let such a pure, beautiful moment go without being captured in some way, you whipped your phone out of your back pocket and took the quickest, creepiest, most regretted photo you have ever taken and darted backwards, way out of the view of your neighbor.

Your new muse.

You had been working on your sketch for three days, two nights. Relying mostly on your memory of that night, that man, rather than the photo you took. You considered deleting the photo altogether but you decided it could be a good accuracy check later on in the process.

You had finished his body, the portion you had decided to include in your work, and were now working on adding in the way his arms were bent at the elbows over the side of the railing. You were slightly discouraged that you couldn't draw the entirety of his face seeing as how you had only seen the right half and were worried that the body proportions would be entirely off if you drew a portrait of him that wasn’t a copy of what you remembered from that night.

The sketch marks of the drawing brought extra attention to the way the man’s clothes hung slightly loose on his body, showcasing his biceps that were on the leaner side rather than being beefy and overly muscular. The shadows and highlights made sure that any defined muscle was brought to the viewer’s attention, telling them that while they weren’t overly impressive, they weren’t formed purely from mindless weightlifting and training. They were crafted by whatever the singer did in his daily life. Naturally.

Your hands were having the most difficulty recreating the look on your neighbor’s face. Whenever you tried to capture the way his jaw was slightly unhinged and the wrinkles formed from the slight creasing of his forehead and eyes that were shut tightly, the imagery represented an expression filled more with pain rather than the emotion that undoubtedly came along when singing about love, whether or not you were the one in it.

You had turned off the auto shut-off on your phone so that you could keep the photo you secretly took up without you having to constantly tap the screen when it started to dim or turn it back on when the phone screen blackened entirely. It took longer than you would care to admit to figure out how to do just that, but what else is google for, right?

As your phone was the main clock in your life, you hardly noticed how late it was by the time you finished your drawing until your strained eyes squinted to read the green LEDs on the oven a few feet in front of you to check exactly how late.

A sigh escaped into the otherwise silent apartment and was followed by a groan caused by the way you were trying to stretch your stiff, tired muscles after managing to stand up from your spot on the hard kitchen floor.

Knock. Knock.

“Who’s at my door this late?”

The question was meant to be rhetorical, you didn't expect to get an actual reply from the person on the other side of the door.

“It’s Kyungsoo.” Sneeze.

You held back the “who?” that was threatening to come out of your mouth.

Cough. “Your neighbor.”

You panicked.

Had he seen you watching him, listening to him on the balcony the other night?
Did he know you took the picture?

You knew the only way you would find out is if you just opened the damn door so you skipped over to the heavy hunk of wood, undid all three locks, and swung the door open.

Your neighbor—Kyungsoo— was standing on the lame doormat your sister had gifted to you as part of her housewarming present, soaking wet.

“Why are you?…” You gestured to the dripping mess before you. “You can’t hear the rain? It’s practically a zoo out there.”

Once you started to listen in, you realized that it was in fact raining and one glance at your back windows told you he wasn’t lying about the zoo. Just how long were you working on that drawing of yours?

You looked back to Kyungsoo and waited for the explanation as to why he was standing in front of you at the moment.

“I just finished up work and I must’ve left my keys back at the restaurant because I have looked everywhere and they are nowhere to be fucking found but I’m starting to go numb so I was wondering if I could…” He managed a sheepish smile, obviously feeling guilty. “Hop in the shower? Maybe get something to eat after I find a way to dry your clothes?” “No, no. You wouldn’t have to do all-” “It’s no problem, “ you smiled a genuine a smile at the beautiful man before you, “what else am I going to do while I’m up this late, anyways?”

Your hands ushered him in quickly, taking the soaking sweatshirt from his cold, wet body and hung it up on the back of one of the dining chairs in your kitchen.

You showed him where your bathroom (and shower) were and told him to leave all of his clothes on the counter so you could sneak in and retrieve them for him.

Your feet remained rooted outside the bathroom door, your body leaning against the wall, until you heard the water kick on. One minute passed by in your head until you knocked a couple times on the door, registered the lack of a reply, and slipped inside.

“Don’t look at the shower door, anything but the door.” You reminded yourself over and over as you bent down to pick up the discarded clothes off the tiled floor, gulping when you got to his underwear. You had to be careful walking around, as the floor was soaked with the rainwater Kyungsoo was cloaked in before he hopped into the hot, steamy goodness a shower could bring. You felt even worse for your neighbor now, thinking about how weighed down his body must’ve been, walking for god knows how long out in the shitty weather.

On your way out, silently praising yourself for avoiding the sight you would’ve seen if you gazed at the cloudy glass that prevented any details of the human body within the shower to be revealed, your mind became distracted by your seemingly well-deserved compliments.

Kyungsoo’s body, while partially hidden from view by the steamy door, was not completely obscured from your view when your eyes found the mirror that reflected everything you would’ve seen if you looked at the shower head-on.

Maybe you couldn’t pinpoint the crevices of his body and the outlines of his muscles like you forced yourself to do during the creation of your drawing, you could easily trace the seamless outline that was Kyungsoo with your eyes.

You started down at the heel of his foot, trailing up his left calf and thigh, rounding over the curve of his ass, then following the upright posture of his back. Your gaze looped around his neck, threaded through his messy hair, down his face (pausing at his swollen lips), skidding across his prominent pectoral muscles and flat stomach, pausing at his…

You gulped. And if it weren’t for the sound of the water beating against Kyungsoo’s chest, he probably would’ve heard it.

Your body darted out of the bathroom, borderline slamming the door shut behind you before resting your back against it. Wet clothes in hand, you closed your eyes and sighed, unable to get what you had just seen out of your mind.

Being an artist meant you had trained yourself to pay attention to the small details (although this detail was not small) and most of all, remember them. Your memory was good, too good at this point for you to just push an image out of your mind.

Who knew your hot neighbor, who was still a stranger to you, was packing?

You didn’t even try to scold yourself for the kinds of thoughts you were having about Kyungsoo and his body. Surprisingly, one of the main points your brain made was that it would be an absolute dream to draw him. All of him.

“Snap out of it, Y/N.”

With a bit of encouragement, your feet led the rest of you to the back corner of your apartment, where your makeshift laundry room was. While your father disagreed with your life choices, he would never leave you high and dry. A small sum of money was flown to you through a bank account your father alerted you of after the new address of his daughter reached his hands. After saving every penny of that money for close to a year, you put it towards home renovations. Your own bathroom, for example, and the washer/dryer duo you have to repair yourself every once in a while due to their cheap nature. Now, you’re back to saving and make sure to only use it for rent or utilities when you can’t avoid it (AKA, when you’re in a creative slump and can’t sell any artwork). So far, you haven’t needed to tap into it.

You shut the dryer door with your hip and spun around to find Kyungsoo standing right in front of you. With a towel around his waist. His hair dripping down his face. And the most awkward smile.

“I was calling you but you obviously didn’t hear me. Maybe I should’ve taken longer in the shower?” You decided that he had the cutest laugh in the world. Deep and hearty but not overpowering, you wanted to hear more of it.

“Your clothes won’t be dry for at least another twenty minutes,” you turned around to throw your own laundry in the wash, “I don’t know how many of my clothes would fit you but I can… Kyungsoo?” “Is this a picture of me?” You felt your blood run cold.

Your body refused to turn around and face your neighbor, hoping to prolong your potential ignorance to the situation for as long as possible.

“Y/N?” How did he know your name when you just found out about his barely ten minutes ago? “Yes?” Your body whipped around to face him. “Did you draw this?” His toe pointed towards the discarded picture on the floor. “I, uh, saw you singing outside one night. The image of it was stuck in my head, I had to get it out on paper,” you could feel yourself start smiling like you always did when explaining your artwork, “you looked so lost in the song. Have you ever even seen The Godfather?” The look on Kyungsoo’s face told you everything. “It’s the movie the song you were singing is from. Speak Softy Love? It’s the love theme.” “I… I just heard it on Spotify when I was browsing.” “Well, now you know.”

You felt like Kyungsoo was owed to some explanation as to why there was a pencil sketch of the neighbor you just formally met for the first time laying on your kitchen floor.

“I’m an artist,” you blurt out. “I was going through a slump when I saw you standing outside, which is where I usually go for inspiration might I add, and you were standing there in such a beautiful way and I can’t help it if I see something pretty I want to draw. I’m sorry if you think it’s weird I can burn it or rip it or throw it out if you want me to, I won't mind.” “You want to get rid of this?” Kyungsoo feigns hurt. “It’s not like you would let me sell it, right?” “Actually, I was going to ask you if I could buy it.” “You? But you can look in the mirror and it’s basically the same thing!” “Exactly. You’re incredibly talented, Y/N, and I would love to have this drawing. You’re saying you do stuff like this all the time? Being an artist, and all.” “I haven’t really made anything for a while, before the portrait.” You had moved over to stare down at the drawing along with Kyungsoo. “Next time you make anything, a sketch or a painting or whatever else your artistic mind come up with, I wanna know about it first. It’s about time I start decorating my apartment’s walls.”

His head turned on top of his neck to look down at you, his attention now on your lips while yours was trained on his on paper.

“Can I give you a down payment for the drawing? To make sure someone richer and better doesn't come around and snatch it?” You giggled before finally looking up and meeting his gaze. “You don’t need to give me any money right now.” “I don't have any money on me, as you could probably tell,” you both glanced down at his barely covered body. “Then-”

You were unable to finish your sentence before Kyungsoo placed both of his hands on the sides of your face, forcing you to keep look at him. You could hear your drawing flutter downwards and onto the ground.

“I hope this is enough to cover it.”

His lips were incredibly soft and warm against your own, causing your body to immediately arch into his and keep the kiss going. Neither of you were demanding. You and your lips took their time at drawing out gasps and mewls from the two of you, your own eyebrows furrowing as you concentrated on how good it felt to kiss your neighbor.

You had started to thread your fingers through Kyungsoo’s hair when you heard a soft thud and felt something fall at your feet.

The towel.

Kyungsoo broke the kiss and followed your gaze to reach his only source of coverage laying uselessly on the floor. While your eyes rose upwards to scan his body (and the exact part of his body you were trying to forget earlier on), his eyes rested on your face to gauge your reaction. When he realized it was a good one, he smiled and put his hands back on your face to receive the eye contact he wanted.

“Are you going to undress too or are you just going to leave me hanging?”

You left one more kiss on Kyungsoo’s lips before you started working on unbuttoning your shirt.