#without trapping moisture around my face

[onenerdroaming]

wanted to capture how silly I can look while hiking in the winter

[scientia-rex]

Do you have any moisturization tips? :0

Oh DO I!

Listen, skin has two jobs: keeping you in, and everything else out. Skin has to do a lot of complicated stuff to make that happen. Skin is chock full of glands and pores and whatnot. There's dermis (deeper layer) and epidermis (shallower layer), and 99% of what we're doing from the outside is about the epidermis.

Epidermis grows in as layers--there's a bottom layer that has cells that will just keep dividing forever, and then the cells that divide off that layer will start getting pushed up towards the surface of your skin. As they get pushed up, the cells get flatter and more keratinized and eventually dead.

That "stratum basal" is where you have your forever-dividing cells. So when you start something like Accutane, you can't transform the skin layers above it--you can only start affecting the skin as it marches upward towards its death and flaking off, so you have to give it months to take full effect. And we NEED to have some dead skin. It protects us.

Skin cells have proteins that hold them to each other. The goal is to form a watertight barrier. We need to keep water in because we are basically bags of water. Different protein issues (largely genetic) can cause different skin diseases.

Our skin also has glands that make protective oils (forming a powerful anti-bacterial barrier and trapping moisture inside) and sweat (because we DO want to be able to get rid of water, but only when WE want to).

So here's the thing about commercial moisturizers: none of them can put moisture back in your skin. That's just not a thing. The very best thing they can do is keep further water from leaving your skin. This is especially important if you have eczema, where you stand a good chance (about 50%) of lacking ceramides, which are critical to forming the natural skin barrier. As water evaporates off the skin, it takes more water with it. We don't understand the other half of eczema. Psoriasis involves dysfunction of the keratinization process, which is why those plaques form.

So the best moisturizers are those that create a moisture barrier without evaporating more water off. Any moisturizer where alcohol is a significant ingredient is worthless. Vaseline, or straight white petrolatum, is the best moisturizer. It feels greasy because it is. Its job is to form a watertight barrier, and greasy chemical are a lot better at that than thinner, waterlike chemicals. Moisturizers with silicones, like Aveeno (dimethicone is the active ingredient--I know, the bottle says oatmeal, it's a liar), will provide a fairly robust barrier without as greasy of a feeling. Lanolin, from sheep's wool, is also a great ingredient for forming a barrier, which is why I like Neutrogena Norwegian Formulation. Natural oils like jojoba (the best of the bunch) can be moisturizing, but just FYI, they're a tiny fraction as effective as white petrolatum. Like, less than 10%. I'm too lazy to get up and find my Cosmeceuticals textbook to remind myself exactly how much. So if you want "all natural," resign yourself to worse.

BUT!!!! Your skin is not all the same! You have scalp skin, face skin, neck skin, trunk skin, arm skin, leg skin, skin around your genitals, skin of the palms, and skin of soles of the feet. And all of those can act different. So I can't say "apply Vaseline everywhere" because that might be too much skin barrier for your face--what if your face has oil glands that work perfectly well? What if we need a lighter, less occlusive moisturizer? That's where my personal hell was for the last ten years as I struggled to find a facial moisturizer I like! What if you have oil glands that are overproductive? You may need a totally different moisturizer than I need! No good way to figure it out except trial and error while paying close attention to ingredient lists.

Sunblock is also a good thing to have but as someone who doesn't wear it because a) I don't go outside and b) it always breaks me out, I feel hypocritical talking extensively about it. I wear "dad hats" (at least a 2" brim all the way around) and long sleeves while gardening. You should definitely still wear sunscreen, though. Do as I say, not as I do.

[samodivaa]

┊Impure Thoughts┊2

《Part 1┊Reader x Bucky Barnes

Bucky is getting more comfortable with going out without the prosthetic. You are getting a little too comfortable with the idea of using it...as a pleasure tool.

Warnings - smut, fingering, fisting, oral (f receiving)

Words - 2250

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Every secret of your mind is rendered up—from this new and intimate perspective, you have no choice, but to speak

“Lust,” you keep your voice pitched low “Lust is a deadly sin” 

“And fucking yourself with my arm” His lips twitch, almost imperceptibly.

“I think that falls under lust” you whisper, sultry.

You catch yourself staring at the sensual curve of his lips, the impressive cut of his jaw, devouring every part of him with eyes.

“I think it should have its own category” he responds sweetly, allowing a shade of mockery to infect his tone.

He is looking at you with amused suspicion—you have to acknowledge this tame remark about the whole situation sounds way too perverse. You try to remain cordial and calm. You don’t want to give him the impression you are overbearing in fear he would judge you.

“Bucky-”

His jacket then goes to the floor, followed by his trousers, shirt until he is only in his boxers. His eyes dart over the surface of your face, exploring you from a distance with his unspoken desire and an innocent and mesmerizing smile.

“Jesus, snezinka…you are so filthy”(snowflake)

you hear a mute moan of human tenderness— his soul actually hanging around your naked body and is ready to repent. There is a pleasant sinking sensation in Bucky’s stomach as he contemplates how deliciously it would be to do it himself.

Your eyes widen at his choice of words and, much to your shock, you find that you love his dirty talk.

You are on your back—legs spread—the metal fingers still in you.

A little bit of kink is one of the most delicious of erotic pleasures

He stumbles forward to the bed and your body suddenly surges with the heat of concentrated humiliation—you feel disgusted—tired of the lust, but it's so hard to refuse it now.

He doesn’t speak, his expression doesn’t soften. But he is hard.

“The scent of your arousal is so-so sweet”

He speaks and you have a difficult time tearing your gaze away from his pelvis to meet his eyes.

His blue eyes almost glow, his voice lowered, husky. The scent of you, the scent of—pure filth.

Those scents lay around Bucky now, tempting him, drawing him.

Your thighs tighten, legs tremble at the sight of him coming closer to the bed. You hear him swear under his breath and reach down to squeeze tightly the imprint of his cock through the boxers—he senses your gaze now as he grips his cock over the fabric, the friction is absolutely delicious.

“Keep them open, it is too late for shame, baby”

He has never before felt so overwhelmed—nor experienced such appetite—such impatience for the night to begin.

He licks his lips, panting hard as you spread your legs further, his eyes barely glancing over the moisture glazed flesh.

He groans, the thought of his head between those silky thighs, his tongue lapping the sweet moisture that produced that intriguing scent is nearly more than he could bear.

Bucky licks his lips and bits back an oath.

When he climbs onto the bed, the bed cracking under his weight—as he crawls towards you—you close your eyes, take a deliberate deep inhale through your nose, hold it for a few seconds before forcing the trapped air out through pursed lips, attempting to calm down your accelerating heart rate.

And an affliction more than describes it.

Your feet fevered, skin sensitive, ready for his touch. It is unlike anything you have ever experienced. It is unlike anything you ever wanted to know, feel.

Bucky touches the back of your thigh, fingers grazing lightly down to the back of your knee, grasping it and lifting your leg carefully over his shoulder.

Through the fog of dizzying pleasure you open your eyes—a hitch of breath when his fingers slip in and out of you really quickly

—this bastard has reattached his arm.

He observes your face; your eyelids have dropped low over your eyes, bottom lip caught between your teeth. He squeezes your thigh, keeping your leg over his shoulder, his thumb gently tracing your skin and another low sigh leaves you.

You feel him withdrawing his fingers from your dripping centre. Then, one finger traces down your slit and starts to play with your tight rosebud.

You shudder from the pleasure that he is giving you. Feeling the pressure building up—your breathing becomes more labored. He keeps circling his finger in just the way that you love it and you can feel the beginning of the orgasm, when he pulls away.

Your gazes meet, he can see your eyes beseeching him to give you the release that you urgently needed.

“No, this is not what you have planned”

There is no fulfillment that is not made sweeter for the prolonging of desire

Two fingers glisten with the frothy cream of your body. After swishing his saliva around, he manages to clear his palate enough before bringing the fingers to his lips and sucking them slowly, his mouth watering from the irresistible tangy, almost metallic taste

—he has never tasted vibranium before.

You whimper as he takes them into his mouth, his eyes darkening on a sigh of both ecstasy and sin as he tastes you on his own fingers. His lashes lowered, becoming heavy with sexuality, his face is tense, tight with the needs that surges through his body as well.

“You always taste good—even better like that”

Bucky smiles, the curve of his lips tight.

He says as he runs the metal index finger along your slit, gathering some of the arousal, then circling it around your clit before dipping the digit insidе. Slowly he pumps, sending your hips bucking under his hand.

He adds another finger into her tightness and you mewls.

“Oh yes” The shocking words erupting from your mouth do little to dim the haze of need for more “Please. Oh please—” you are making little gasping sounds, Bucky looks down to watch his whole fist sinking in slowly, but surely.

“What the…how…” he murmurs.

The anticipation and confusion he feels at seeing his hand disappearing into you, also a kind of sensual pleasure, and surrounding it, like an embrace, a general elation—it is terribly inconvenient, no good might come of it, but he finds out for himself that he enjoys it, and it thrills him.

Your eyes lit up in glee, seeing his grimace of pleasure, the raw lust that transforms his face—as you finally get what you wanted.

Since he has done that for you, you suppose it was only fair that he wants it too.

“Fuck...please” you struggle to get out, overcome by what he has just done.

“Need to suck your tits”

He says, removing your leg from his shoulder, he leans downward to press a small kiss to the side of your neck and you gasp, head arching back as that rough, rasping tongue strokes over your neck. Slowly, he places open mouthed kisses up the of your neck, letting his tongue slip out occasionally to taste your skin.

His breathing increases in pace, coming out in a deep and fast rhythm, as he kisses his way across your throat to give the other side of the neck the same treatment and he registers that you have upped the volume as well, with quiet moans accompanying your sighs.

Oh, this will be so good.

Real good.

Hot, with a gentle abrasion that has you panting as he moves slowly to your breasts. He lavishes your tits with attention, his lips nibbling sporadically, which only adds to the arousal coursing through your veins.

The satisfaction of hearing your ardor-filled voice uttering his name with such need is indescribable. It fills him with such yearning that he could barely contain himself.

His cock aches to escape and fuck you—but is all about you tonight.

Bucky can only sigh, grinding a bit into the air, he makes himself elicit a growl against your skin in response, scraping his teeth lightly over the nipple. He groans, fisting into you harder now, hitting your cervix as your eyes, water up at the sensation of being so stuffed as he gives you more and more—him hand fucking you like that flips your brain inside out and turns your cunt to pudding.

You are mindless now. You can feel the sensations building—everywhere.

The wet squelches of your pussy make it clear that you are incredibly turned on. Bucky plays with your body expertly and if he keeps going you are going to come apart all over his hand. Your breathing speeds up and becomes ragged, broken moans interspersed between the gasps for air.

He meets your eyes as he pulls back and thrust his hand into you again. You are just blinking up at him, eyes wide as he bites his lip, trying to maintain a steady pace instead of pounding into you the way he wants.

Of course, you notice his reluctance—you shamelessly whisper—

“Faster”

“Tell me if it hunts, baby” he slurs the words as if inebriated.

He speeds up his pace, he’s panting, because he wants to fuck you so much—he feels the build of pleasure low in his abdomen as he slams his hand into you, the cool heat of your orgasm builds with each thrust—you clenching around him—shuddering against him.

It is not the easiest for the pace but the feeling of both your cunt getting filled by his metal hand and his mouth on your nipple have you coming, screaming out—his hand having slowed down to extend your pleasure—he feels you clench your inner muscles hard and your whole body starts to seize up, as the orgasm washes over. Lost to your pleasure, you ramble nonsensically; a combination of his name, pleas for more and thanking him for doing this.

He slowly removes his fingers from your cunt, giving the clit a small caress before raising his hand to lick off your slick.

“Different—” you try to catch your breath.

Shame is a soul eating emotion

“—different position”

Why drown in shame when you can have so much fun swimming in lust?

Oh, sweet fucking Jesus—Bucky wants to say, but stays wordless.

You are not ashamed of your needs—it overlays his heart with lust, too.

He immediately understands you and moves you like a rag doll—he maneuvers your legs so that you end up straddling him, your cunt is right over his head.

Bucky’s tongue rasps through the slit of your lips from bottom to top. You buck against him, greedily using his mouth and nose for your pleasure, compressing his face underneath your weight.

Slow, erotically rough and so hot you feel your flesh melting. His human hand grips your thigh, holding you down to his mouth—he slips his metal fingers inside of you, twisting and curling as he tirelessly works. 

“Mmmm” his low moans of pleasure vibrates against your clit. You gasp for breath as he licks you, his tongue swirling around, gathering more and more of the taste as he groans in satisfaction merely from being suffocated, used—your enthusiasm, hoping the vibrations would likewise be your undoing.

Those sweet lips. Oh my, he could kiss those lips all night long.

He smiles mentally and continues the pleasurable torture, not playing on stopping until you finish. Bucky has to consciously remind both his hand and mouth to keep moving, concentrating the movements—your melodic sounds are way so distracting to his mind.

He raises his head for the last time and licks up the delicious slit, savoring the flavor, before focusing on your pleasure bud once again, his whole fuckin hand in your depths, fisting you, making you clench around the metal, your orgasm building.

Arousal is more potent than any drug on the planet as Bucky drowns, drinks you in as you start to tremble—endearing that you want to finish so badly, breasts sway as you choke, rapidly approaching your orgasm.

You cry out as tremors take hold of you, her body jerking and nearly slithering away—but the flesh fingers have you locked, his arm around your thigh, holding you in place. He keeps going until he can’t breathe anymore—you’ve managed to nudge him into the mattress, but he doesn't mind—he doesn’t mind at all.

He lets go of you and you tumble to his side. Bucky can’t help but grin as he turns his head to face you—his sultry lips and seductive—covered in your wetness.

Love is that condition in which the happiness of another person is essential to your own. All Bucky wants is for you to feel good—you are, and always have been, his dream.

“Bucky?” you ask against your better judgment. “How do you—do you want me—“ you clear your throat. “Do you want to fuck me or—something else?”

You are confused and you are trying to catch your breath when you hear a dark chuckle—you meet his eyes then, all wide pupils and rich blue irises.

Darker than you’ve seen before

“Do you think that my dick will be enough after all that?” he asks, quietly.

“What about your dick and your hand in my—” you manage to whimper.

Bucky is amused. Or speechless. Maybe something in between there.

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Fics like that arrive all the same. And now it's here. Or should I say, I AM >:)

Tag list :

@wilsons-striped-ties @12345sebby @rabbitrabbit12321 @buggy14 @femefetalelevelingup @8crazy-freak8 @emily-roberts @francesca-the-1st @somewereinthegalaxi @princezzjasmine @erica2024 @vicmc624

[lunas-side-anime-blog]

AOT Icks (Eren, Armin and Mikasa)

one thing about me: i am a hater

Eren

def has mommy issues and no woman could ever compare to her like good luck to any of his girlfriends lmao

^^ that being said, as a roommate he’s a nightmare like you can tell his mom cleaned up after him all the time because it doesn’t even occur to him to do so now

toxic gym bro who says shit like “we all have the same 24 hours”

def has the the 3 in 1 bottle in his shower, I just know it

prob calls women “females” 

the cringiest instagram captions like I know he will post sum: “I think my closet bi-polar, it keeps throwing fits💯”  like dude, get a grip

attempts thirst traps, he has a ripped body so it kinda works but the content is so transparent you can’t help but roll your eyes

go out to a bar with him or something and he’s the type to try to make everything a fight

like if someone bumps into you, he's quickly in their face like "what's good bro😡” and you know its not actually about you so much as eren tryna beat someone up

i think he’ll use spit as lube thinking he’s so bad boy and lewd when it’s actually just so bad for your PH like ewwww (if u have a vag ofc)

i feel like his hair would get so greasy, mikasa and armin have had to force him down with shampoo in hand before 

so gross but you came here for icks and I don’t believe Eren believes in holding back his farts for anyone

it can be the most intense and serious event like a funeral and he’ll rip a loud one and be like “what? it’s not good to hold it in??”

Armin

nail biter who will chew on them till the bone and you hear that loud ass “crONCh"

says he hates drama but that’s just something he says to not seem petty bc at the first sight of a fight best believe he’s sitting there, watching it all go down, wine glass in hand like "🍷🤨👂" 

lil shit will even add lil comments to keep the beef alive, like i can see him loudly asking “okay but jean didn't you say her outfit made her look fat though?”

if you're in a debate with him, he’s the type to say something like “you're so uneducated about the subject, I’m actually pretty well versed in it” and your like "okay so what's all ur research then?" and he'll just quickly change the subject bc he didn’t actually have sources to cite lmao

is one of those bfs who would make fun of you for liking trashy tv but guess who eats that shit up everytime? armin.

he does that dad thing where he walks around in the living room and acts uninterested with what’s happening on the screen but he’s actually so invested and would be fuming if you dared watched an episode without him 

i think he’d also be the type to try to be friends with his ex even if they obviously still have feelings for him, but if you dared even talk to yours he’d get all huffy and puffy like “go be with him then🙄” 

got obsessed with skincare after watching your routine but u kinda created a monster bc now he’s critiquing your products and techniques? “Babe you should really consider a gel moisturizer, it’s better for your pores'' and you're like, “boy you used neutrogena when I met you???” 

is that bf who will shower at your place and use up all your expensive washes and scrubs 

not the best gift giver tbh, I think he’s a firm believer that all gifts should be practical so even if it’s a romantic anniversary date and he slides over a lil present, it’s probably just gonna be socks or something, srry

Mikasa

applies her chapstick like a man (iykyk)

“he know where home is” bitch, I hate to say it

i think she’s a girl’s girl until her man cheats on her, then she’d be the type to fight the girl and not really address her man…which is just… 😣

as a friend I think she’s sadly the type to unintentionally embarrass you bc she doesn’t get some social cues.

like you can miss a hang and ppl ask where you are and she’d just say matter of factly “oh they’re fine, they just have diarrhea rn!” and she won’t understand why you’d be mad?

outfit repeater to the max, she has like three tops that she likes and all pics of her are with her wearing one of those three tops

a lil delulu and prob genuinely believes all the tiktok pick a card vids on her feed

likes her coffee black and somehow thinks she’s better than everyone for that???

as a gf she checks your snap score and location regularly and has no shame in it 🙂

fights in her sleep like you will just be sleeping next to her all soundly and next thing you know you get punched in the face? she refuses to apologize in the morning bc she “has a right to defend myself in a nightmare” or whatever

when shes mad at someone she’ll post like ultra specific lyrics or captions and it’s so obviously targeted at one person everyone else is like "girl go to bed, don’t even post the quote…"

[tlou-reid]

white lace ✰ steve harrington

warnings ✰ smut, fluff, established relationship, lingerie, big dick!steve

summary ✰ as you expected, date night with steve turns into your first time with him

notes ✰ hi! this is my first smut pls be nice <3 also send requests pls!

“alright so i’ll pick you up, we’ll go get burgers and shakes at the diner, and then go back to my place?” steve confirms your plans, running through them a final time. you answer with a nod, unable to hide the smile he always puts on your face.

“and this is the one you want?” he holds up the movie you picked out, you confirm with a nod. “you’re sure?” you nod again, your smile slightly widening at his teasing. “you’re sure you’re sure?”

“yes, steve!” you exasperate with a grin. god he makes you so happy. “alright, see you later.” he leans across the family video counter to press a short, sweet kiss to your lips. you feel a blush rise to your cheeks, basking in the warmth. you give him a wave as you leave the store.

you and steve hadn’t been together that long. it’s been a little over two months since robin had pulled you from band rehearsal to meet the man you’d heard so much about. your jaw had slightly dropped when you saw his BMW; robin never told you he was rich. robin hadn’t revealed her sexuality to you yet, so it was mind boggling to you how she swore they weren’t together, but you were not complaining. he had flirted with you right off the bat, albeit stumbling over his words. you quickly fell into his trap, falling deeper and deeper in love with him everyday.

as you walked home, you thought of all the things you needed to do. you weren’t completely sure, but you were pretty sure you and steve were going to have sex tonight. it would be your first time together and you know he is far more experienced than you. you weren’t a virgin, thanks to the six month relationship you had with one of the boys in band during your sophomore year. however, you hadn’t had much sex. and you’d have significantly less good sex.

in order to compensate for your lack of experience, you at least wanted to look good. you had stopped by one of the adult stores a little farther down the road than family video was. you wanted something sexy, obviously, but you still wanted to feel like you. you ended on a white set, with little pops of frill and lace. it was cute, and you could probably wear the pieces underneath clothes without it being uncomfortable. you wanted to shave and moisturize so your skin would be nice when touched you. you did a little makeup and styled your hair in a way that was cute but suitable for movie night.

you had started to relax when you heard tapping on your door. you knew it was steve, his shift had ended 26 minutes ago. with the time it took to check out the movie you’d picked out, he had left right from work. “hi,” he smiled with a big grin as you pulled the door open, “ready?”

you nodded excitedly, grabbing your bag off the table next to the door and heading out. you were surprised how natural everything felt. you didn’t get shy or embarrassed to eat around him. you laughed when he threw fries into your shake. it was genuinely a nice time.

until you were climbing back into the car after leaving the diner. the nerves started to settle in as you creeped closer to his (very large) house. he must’ve noticed the way you picked at your cuticles, asking a simple “you good?” to which you only responded with a nod.

“did you want me to make popcorn now?” he asked after setting up the movie and gathering blankets to the couch. “of course, we can’t not have popcorn” you insisted. he raised his hand in defense and went to make popcorn. you couldn’t help but smile at his actions. once he settled into the couch, propping the popcorn bowl in the small space in between your and his thigh, he started the movie. within the first 45 minutes, you guys had finished the bowl and it was moved to the table.

you swore you were calm. there was no awkward tension, you were simply enjoying a movie with your boyfriend. so calm. so cool. so collected.

until his hand made its way to your thigh.

there was nothing inherently sexual about it, just a man resting his hand on his girlfriend’s thigh. it happened to people all of the time. was an everyday occurrence for a lot of people. but you knew the weight it helped.

and when his hand started gently rubbing on it, you were the farthest away from calm you’d been in your whole entire life. you were still questioning if this was his attempt at making a sexual advance. his hand was rubbing along your thigh, but his eyes were very trained on the movie in front of you two. you were questioning your every move, but it seemed as though your body was moving for you. you leaned closer to him, which naturally made his hand closer, now resting on your inner thigh. your eyes were trained on his face, so you definitely noticed when he looked over at you. it was quick, but you noticed and you knew he noticed that you noticed.

“you’re not even watching the movie,” he laughed out, pointing to the screen with his other hand. “i did a lot of hard work to get this specific one for you and you’re not even watching it.” he was teasing. there was no hard work involved. you knew you could’ve easily hit him with a quip about how easy his life was, but you were nervous, so you just kept looking at him. he noticed your lack of a smart reply and turned to give you his full attention. just like in the car, he asked, “you good?”

“are we going to have sex tonight?” you rushed out, not even meaning to. your nerves had now taken over all of your thoughts. steve paused the movie, shifting his body to face you. he had a small blush spreading across his cheek, “i mean, do you want to?” he asked, but with a hesitation to his voice. he knew it was a possibility, but he didn’t plan for it. he wasn’t sure about your comfort level with sex and such, so he wanted you to be in control and initiate it.

“honestly,” you started with a breath of relief, “i’m not sure.” for some reason, steve now found this quite amusing. “what do you mean?” he asked with a chuckle.

“i mean, i’m ready for it. physically and emotionally. but i’m also so nervous. i really like you, steve. i don’t want anything to mess it up.” you confessed. steve smiled, and say anything. he leaned forward to press his lips to yours. he started lightly, not wanting to scare you away. but when you kissed him harder, and pulled him closer, he enjoy for just a few seconds, before pulling away. “you’re really not going to mess anything, i promise. i really like you too.”

with that, his lips were back on yours. it was almost intoxicating the way his lips felt on yours. it was hard, it was messy, it was passionate. he pushed you back so you were laying on the couch, trapped in between his arm that was resting on his elbows next to your head, and the side of the couch. his other hand traced down the side of your body, before he moved it back to the inner part of your thigh. “if you want me to stop, just say it,” he instructed.

“no, please,” you begged without when meaning to, “i don’t want you to stop.” your lips raced back to meet his. his hand moved up, rubbing your clothed core. “can we take these off?” he asked with a hint of desperation. you quickly nodded. your hands accidentally swatted his as you both reached for your shorts. all of your nerves subsided when you heard his laugh at this. it was pure lust and excitement now. “i got it, baby.” he pushed your hands away and made quick of pulling your shorts down.

his fingers over your pussy felt heavenly, even with your underwear still in the way. “can i take this off?” you pulled at his shirt, wanting to feel more of him. he pulled away for just a second, to pull his shirt over his head. “your turn,” he said as he reached for the bottom of your shirt. once it was off, his eyes landed on your bra. “oh my god,” he whispered to himself at the sight of your lingerie. this brought a smile to your face, “i got it for you.” you informed him.

“god, woman, what am i going to do with you?” there was a hint of smugness in his voice as he complimented you. “you’re so beautiful.” his mouth moved to your neck, kissing down to your collarbone as his hands went back to their place, rubbing your pussy. you let out a few whimpers at his actions. it went on like this for a few more minutes before his hand moved from your pussy to the waist line of your underwear.

“you’ve soaked through these, let’s take ‘em off.” you lifted your hips for him to do so. when his fingers returned to their place, rubbing figure eights against your now uncovered clit, you swore you were in heaven. he stopped kissing your neck to watch your face as he slid his two of his long fingers into your hole. you could feel his dick jump at the way your face twisted up in pleasure. you left out a loud moan at the way his fingers pounded you perfectly. “c‘mon baby,” he encouraged as his thumb came back up to rub on your clit. within a few seconds, and with a loud drawl of his name, you came on his fingers.

“steve, please,” you begged once again. “please what?” he teased. “want you to fuck me.”

it was all you had to say to have him pulling his pants down his legs, his underwear coming with. your bra had long been pushed up over your boobs so his mouth could have access to them while he fingered you. but still, you took this time to pull take it off, so you were fully naked underneath him. “fuck,” steve said when he looked back at you, “you’re so fucking sexy.”

“do you have a condom?” you asked, wanting to make sure you two were engaging in safe sex. he reached to where he threw his pants next to the couch, pulling one out of his pocket. so he was planning on doing something with you tonight. the thought, somehow, turned you on even more.

he slipped the condom on and reached down to line his dick up with entrance and allowed his eyes to meet yours. he noticed how wide your pupils were due to your arousal. he c ontinued to watch your face as he pushed into you. you reached to put one of your hands on his chest, stilling his movements.

“‘s so big,” you said, indicating that you needed time to adjust. he granted you this, with a smirk spreading across his face. “i got’cha baby, adjust to my big dick.” he encouraged. in a few seconds you moved your hand so he could bottom out. “okay?” he asked. you nodded, unable to produce coherent words— or even thoughts—as he started to move. his strokes started small, allowing you to feel his pelvis bone rocking against your clit as he moved.

“steve,” you moaned out, “more.” he chuckled, before reaching both hands down to grab your hips. he used them to brace himself as he quicker his pace, hitting you deeper than you even thought was possible. you weren’t lying earlier, his dick was so big. this is probably why he could pull all those girls when he was in high school, you thought.

those thoughts were quickly pushed away, and your head was made relatively empty, when he moved his right hand to rub your clit as he fucked you hard and deep. both of your moans were getting louder, as he brought you closer to another orgasm. “you gonna come for me, huh? come on my cock this time?” he asked before letting out a soft moan.

you couldn’t even reply, as his words brought you to your high. “that’s it, baby,” he encouraged as you came around his cock. watching you pushed him over the edge, spilling into the condom with a “fuck, baby” coming out of his mouth. his body collapsed on yours, head burrowing into your neck. “was it good?” you asked, not exactly sure what to do next. your felt his hair tickle your jawline as he nodded a ‘yes’. you smiled and wrapped your arms around his back.

“i love you,” you spoke before pressing a kiss into the top of his head. he didn’t answer, but left a small kiss on your shoulder, and you knew he meant that he loved you too.

[3liza]

I'm in the middle of cleaning up after the move out but grim has a metatarsal fistula/draining tract lesion again and is feeling bad and his leg hurts and I couldn't get the gauze and packing to stay on his hock where it needed to be because shit just slides off that part of the dog. I've tried pants, tights, socks, all kinds of vet wraps, gauze rolls, ace bandage etc it either comes off OR tangles itself up through normal movement to the point it can cause a stricture. so I got my scrap leather out and made him a little greave i could lace up. the laces didn't really work out and were too fiddly without a grommet punch and grommets so I changed it to a crossover wrap with leather strip laces and NOW it seems ok. the leather can hold bandaging onto the lesion to pull serous fluid out without getting it all over the furniture and the leather holds to his leg without me having to tape shit to him. leather also won't trap moisture in there and can absorb any gore the bandages don't catch, leather spends the entire first years of its life saturated with lymph and sebum after all.

after I put it on he IMMEDIATELY stopped pouting about his hurt leg and started running around, I think because he just likes anything that's "clothes" because he associates it with praise and attention. bandages are NOT fun, they are associated with illness and suffering I guess

here's his rustic horse boot and the face he made after I put it on him lmao. sorry about how it looks I have no leather tools here rn and it was urgent to get the wound covered today instead of farting around making something nice for renn faire even though I much prefer farting around. I will make him something nicer when I have grommet tools and more time

[loving-azerath]

Writing characters that always wear a mask. Advice from someone who does. XX

Okay so I am a writer of COD stuff and I have taken in a lot of content from other people who write these things. One thing that I have noticed is that with Ghost specifically, when you write him as wearing a mask all the time. There are realities that many others don't think about. I am a COD Cosplayer so I wear the balaclava's and I have a Konig cosplay as well. So Ill be making a list of things that I have noticed are harder to do/ easy to do while in the masks. I also wear a regular face mask all of the time for social anxiety. I only take mine off to clean them, shower, hygiene, and eat. I also come from a military family and have seen some consistent behaviors.

Now you don't have to do these things obviously. Just if you wanted to you have them xx So firstly for the Balaclava's. If you are writing the cotton mask, they are a tighter fit. Meaning lifting them up is a little more of a struggle. Not in a huge way. But lifting the mask over the nose to partake in your vice (smoking, eating pussy, drinking) is actually really hard to do. The fabric of the mask is too much at the bottom and there is no "sexy" way to to do it lmfao he would have to spend a lot of time rolling it and hop it doesn't roll back down at the end. It would be easier for them to do things like eating, smoking, drinking if they pulled it DOWN. But even then it can be a pain. They have most likely forgot their mask was on and tried to eat/drink through it and have made a mess or just looks in front of them like they just found their final reason. you can vape through them but I wouldn't suggest smoking a cig through them. I vape through all of mine all the time. I see Keegan being a vaper but only because he tried to quit smoking cigs and just got into a different vice which is really common for those in the military. getting them wet is fucking hell they take forever to dry. Blood comes out rather easily if the design is printed on like the Ghost mask. just cold water and soap and it comes right out. This one is kind of not something that you guys will be happy with but these motherfuckers cause acne. It is trapping heat, sweat and dirt under the skin. Before I realized that's what my acne was caused by my entire cheeks and chin were fucking going through it. If you dont want to write this part about them (i understand) Just mention if you are writing segments of them showering that they wash their face a little extra and that their love interest bullied them into moisturizing. lol You have to wash your face so much more and even then, I still get spots on my chin that I just put a patch one because the mask is staying. For Konig's mask, most likely he had to sew the neck of the shirt closed to keep it in place because otherwise it does slip around a lot I have noticed. His helmet claps, the straps that secure it, more than likely go through the sleeves that are put inside out. Idk if this one was common knowledge but it's just what I noticed looks the best with my konig mask and more like his mask.

He can hide food and drinks he doesn't want to share by just holding it under the mask. I was drinking a whole venti iced coffee under my mask and no one knew until I pointed it out because they asked why i was being so quiet. His balaclava under it is also probably cotton as it doesn't slip the most. They would all probably have multiple of the same kind to change them otherwise they do get very overwhelming to be in. Konigs gets in the way for him a lot I think. Yeah you do get used to it, but like if you move too much that mask is a t-shirt it's flowing in the wind my guy. Unless you tuck it into the vest it's not staying still lol I have seen people drawing him like eating it by like just lifting that mask and if he takes off his balaclava that is MORE than possible. He will probably get annoyed with how little he can look down properly without the shirt getting in the way though. KISSING THROUGH THE MASK GUYS- kind of hot ngl and totally possible. I kiss through my regular mask and I have kissed someone through my balaclava while they whore a mask also. It works. You feel the pressure of their lips more than the skin. you can't really swap saliva but you can do it and you can get riled up that way. Ghost's hard mask. The upper teeth of that will bump you if you try to kiss but it's fine. and the bottom part of the mask is really flowy kind of like Konig's t-shirt So eating, drinking, smoking would be easier if he was holding it up. ANYWAY!!!!! That's all the info I can remember for right now. I hope this helps ANYONE. Or interests ANYONE. If you have more questions drop them in my ask box.

[cceanvvaves]

airplane; y.jy

(moved to isanggayfrog) warnings: none

Jeongyeon was extremely grateful when she managed to board the plane without being recognized. She saw this as a miracle, considering her international fame as a singer.

She was almost incredulous, but thought it was for the best.

Looking out the window, she smiled at the thought of a vacation. She'd asked JYP if she could take a break and head to another country, and the company granted their permission.

It was only a few minutes before the plane took off. Some of her members had come with her, but unfortunately their seats were separated.

Her train of thoughts was broken when a figure stood over her. The stranger was undeniably pretty, but looked nervous, too. Her hair was slightly disheveled, her plaid jacket rustled in some places. "Excuse me," she said, and Jeongyeon's eyebrows raised slightly. "Can we, uh, switch seats?"

Jeongyeon was confused. First of all, how did this stranger not recognize her? Her face was in full view, her mask discarded in her bag. She'd even removed her hat. Second of all, didn't people prefer the window seat? Why did this girl want to be away from it?

But she smiled. "Yes, of course."

The pretty stranger threw her a grateful smile upon seating herself. "Thank you. I'm.. not a fan of window seats."

The second time they talked was when Jeongyeon noticed her unease when the plane started to lift. The girl's hands were clamped over the armrests, her bottom lip trapped between her teeth. Her alluring eyes flickered towards the window from time to time. Growing concerned, the singer opened her mouth to speak. "First time?"

The girl jumped. She blinked, processing her seatmate's words. "No." She finally replied. "But first time alone."

Jeongyeon nodded in understanding. "I assume you're not a fan of flying?"

"Yeah."

Thinking about this, the brunette offered her hand. The other girl stared at it in surprise, unsure what to do. "If you want, you can hold my hand. It might bring you some comfort, at least."

The pretty stranger paused, but when the plane slightly bucked, she quickly gripped the extended hand.

Jeongyeon relished the feeling of her hand around the stranger's slightly smaller one. Her skin was soft and smooth, as if it were a baby's. She was tempted to ask what moisturizer she used, but then thought that that would be a weird question to ask someone you'd just met.

"I'm Y/N, by the way." A soft voice entered the singer's ears.

"Jeongyeon."

"Where are you heading?"

Seeing her as trustable, Jeongyeon saw no reason to lie. Besides, how could she? They were in the same plane, going to the same destination. She didn't even know why Y/N asked that question. To make small talk, she supposed.

"Hawaii."

"Me too."

The plane bucked again. Y/N shut her eyes closed and sucked in a breath, while Jeongyeon winced at the tightness of her grip.

"Are you on vacation too?" Jeongyeon asked, mostly to distract the other but also to help loosen the harsh hold on her fingers. Y/N noticed this and apologized, reluctantly letting go.

"Yes. My friend usually comes with me, but something came up at the last minute."

"I see. Look, if you need anything, just ask me, okay? I may be a stranger, but I'd like to help you."

Y/N smiled. "Thank you."

The rest of the ride was filled with conversations in hushed voices, a couple of giggles released here and there whenever one would share a funny story. Jeongyeon tried to mask her true identity without actually lying, but Y/N didn't seem to care about who she is.

Jeongyeon didn't know why, but she felt a sense of pride whenever she made the other girl smile. She felt the need to help her, to watch over her, to protect her from everything in this world. Maybe it was her instincts from being the second eldest in her group, but with this stranger, it felt different.

Before they knew it, the pilot made the landing announcement. Both girls sighed in disappointment upon realizing that they were going to get separated. Y/N no longer needed to hold Jeongyeon's hand when they landed, and instead gathered the courage to say "Can I have your number?"

The brunette thought for a moment. "Sure." It didn't matter whether her manager and company got mad and scolded her. Afer all, she wasn't forbidden to make friends, was she?

They exchanged numbers and small smiles, the last view Jeongyeon had of the girl was her grateful eyes. "Thank you."

How likely is it to befriend someone on an airplane?

[midnightcreator12]

The Simple Joy of Rain

Very out of context story based on my DnD campaign.

Faust belongs to @charlie-charlie-yes-i-am-here

Enjoy!

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

Wren knew what rain was before she’d escaped the Westledge estate. 

She’d seen rain plenty of times, and even a child in her circumstance could puzzle together what rain was.

But she had always been separated from rain, behind a shield of intricate stained glass windows.

It hadn’t occurred to her until a year after settling in Dogwood Grove that the ‘design’ on her bedroom window had been iron bars made to mimic the windows everywhere else.

She could remember the first time she’d felt rain on her scales, as clearly as if it had happened yesterday. Because it had also been the day she’d stumbled in between the roots of an ancient tree and collapsed in exhaustion. It was also the day she had truly felt a kind touch, from warm and aged and callosed hands.

So Wren didn’t mind the rain. Hell, once she learned what an oncoming downpour smelled like in the air, she started growing excited to get absolutely drenched.

Which was why she watched the grumbling clouds roll closer and did nothing to take shelter.

Sticks wasn’t of the same mind, he’d quickly burrowed himself down as far as he could into Wren’s armor when he noticed the rumbling clouds, a warm and furry weight right at the base of Wren’s sternum.

And normally, she wouldn’t think about much else. She’d just slip her cloak and gloves and shin guards off and wait for the first chilly drops to start hitting her skin.

But she wasn’t alone this time.

Technically, she had four new companions but only one was currently not sleeping inside the inn.

She looked across the roof to where a mass of feathers and leather armor lay, ignorant of the low rumbles of thunder that were approaching.

Wren frowned, tilting her head. 

Surely he didn’t mind a little rain? He wouldn’t sleep outdoors if he did…

But she also knew most people did not enjoy the feeling of getting soaked. She’d gotten a fair share of odd looks from the occasional travels through Dogwood. The townspeople themselves had also pestered her to come inside from the rain for months until Bast told everyone to leave her be.

But Wren knew people would complain about their hair getting wet and it being difficult to dry afterward...

She imagined feathers were a bit like hair…

And Faust had a lot of feathers for moisture to get trapped on….

Well, Wren wasn’t planning to have her cloak on anyway.

Her foot claws barely made a sound as she picked up her cloak and made her way to Faust. It was one of the first things Bast had gifted her, the material breathable but study. It wasn’t fully waterproof but it did a fine job of keeping the worst of it at bay.

But her attempts to drape it over Faust without waking him up ended in vain, since a particularly loud clap of thunder shattered the night air at the same time she dropped the fabric over him.

Faust shot up, eyes wide as he looked around, wings puffing up as if preparing for take-off, “Wha- whe- who-?”

Wren felt the first drops of rain hit her head. She reached down and tugged the hood of the cloak over Faust, “It would appear that a storm has blown in.”

“Storm-?” Faust blinked hard, probably trying to orientate himself after the sudden wake-up call.

More water began to fall and Wren stepped back, relishing in the feeling of moisture sliding along her scales as the droplets came at greater quantity and speed.

Faust made an odd squawking sound as he finally processed that it was, in fact, raining. He scrabbled to his feet, talons fumbling with the green cloak, “I have a blanket! Why did you give me-? You’re gonna get soaked!”

“I don’t mind,” Wren hummed, tilting her head back so the rain could strike her face.

Dust, grit, and dried blood from days of traveling washed away, leaving pristine scales behind. Wren frowned a bit, lowering her gaze to look at her hands.

The scales were always clean. She hadn’t paid much mind to it before, she’d dismissed a lot of things as simple ‘dragonborn stuff that she just didn’t know and didn’t really need to know’. It was clearly a very normal dragonborn thing to feel the grime of days without a proper bath and not actually be able to see it well.

But now, knowing what she did? The uncanny cleanliness stood out to her, wormed into her head and hissed into her mind.

‘That isn’t you.’

“Hey?”

Faust’s voice made Wren look up.

He looked a bit damp but a blanket had joined her cloak in the mission of keeping him mostly dry. His beak was twisted into an odd expression, one that Wren couldn’t quite place.

He grinned a bit when she looked at him, “You, uh….like rain?”

Wren blinked.

Then huffed a small laugh, “Yes. It’s quite refreshing.”

Faust nodded very seriously, “Hmmm, yeah, yeah….do you….want company or��?

Wren huffed again, “You do not have to stay here if you’d prefer to join the others.”

“That isn’t what I asked,” Faust countered quickly.

Wren smiled now and gave a little shake, the motion causing water to spray off her in an almost halo, “I wouldn’t say no to company.”

Faust nodded, settling more comfortably as another boom of thunder disturbed the night.

Wren closed her eyes and listened to the sound build to its peak before fading again.

No, she was not quite herself yet. But hopefully, that hurdle would be rectified soon.

She wasn’t looking forward to returning to that manor…but she felt a little better about the looming walls and foreboding stained windows and uncanny paintings.

Because she wouldn’t be returning there alone.

[derekwriteskink]

His new toy

I had been chatting for days with a master. He told me all about his fantasies, he told me that he wanted to control everything about me, what I would wear, when I would workout, when I would orgasm(if ever) what I ate,where I slept, when I spoke, he really meant everything. It sounded hot but naturally I was hesitant to give up so much for fantasy. At first he was understanding, but he gradually kept demanding more control, I ended up blocking him. I thought that I would never hear from again, until one night I fell asleep and when I awoke I couldn’t move, I heard a man’s voice. He said that I was his toy. I thought that he meant metaphorically until he showed my reflection, I seemed to be trapped inside a sex doll. My eyes looked strangely unnatural and I wondered if I was wearing contacts or if he had somehow altered my eyes. He kept the mirror on me. I tried to move but I was still unable, I tried to speak but nothing came out. My hair looked fake, from afar it may have been believable ,but up close it looked more like a high end wig. My face looked slightly unnatural,as if someone had somehow altered it, yet I couldn’t put my finger on what had changed. My lips looked bigger than normal, the difference wasn’t too dramatic but they were still visibly bigger than before, they also had unusual amount of moisture, like as if they had a higher water composition than normal and they were incredibly soft and smooth. He traced his finger on my lips and put the tip into my mouth, I found myself instinctively sucking. He held open my mouth and showed me my teeth, they were a lot whiter than normal and my previous fillings were replaced with what appeared to be fully intact teeth. He showed me my body again, my chest was significantly larger than before and although it looked muscular, my pecs also contained large amounts of fat and lightly giggled from contact with the man’s gloved hand. My nipples were ridiculously sized to the point that they were nearly half as long as a finger, he lightly sucked them and it was ecstasy, they were so sensitive that even his breathing made me want to beg for him. The mirror focused on my stomach, which now showcased impressive abs with what appeared to be 5% body fat despite my pecs being visibly fatter. This was likely part of the reason why on first glance I thought that I was inside a sex doll. The mirror focused on my penis which was a ridiculously long 12 inches. My balls were also significantly larger than normal, my thighs were thick and my calves were well developed,my feet had seemingly increased to what appeared to be a size 13. The man before me was incredibly handsome and I found myself becoming excited about my situation. “Kneel” he commanded, I immediately kneeled before him,without any conscious input. “Turn” he commanded. I immediately turned around without thinking. He put his cock in my ass, my hole was unnaturally moist and I could feel it vibrating against his cock. He moaned loudly “Suck” he commanded,I immediately put my mouth onto his cock and began sucking him, my tongue had been modified and I felt it entering his urethra, somehow at the same time it covered his entire penis and balls and I continued to pleasure him. His moaning grew louder, I put my cock into his mouth and he became frightened, he tried to get away but my cock expanded and inserted an implant inside of him. I waited and watched as he was transformed by the same procedure that he subjected me to, I enjoyed every second of his transformation, when it was over he was completely transformed and he obeyed me without question. I knew that he was wondering how I had broken free, but memories had appeared inside my mind and shown me what the company desired, this man would become a slave and I would find and transform men for the company to sell. Now that I’m done with him, you might be next.

[boundinparchment]

Deus In Absentia - IX

The first time was a coincidence. The second time was a fluke. But the third time? You were starting to think it was fate. Or, more likely, a calculated trap. Reposted from my previous blog, @/zhonglis-empty-wallet AO3

After the news of Signora’s death, it was no surprise when you were told to head to Sumeru. Tartaglia was dispatched to Inazuma to hunt for clues the Balladeer left behind; Dottore would head to Sumeru to, ideally, cut the Sixth off before he managed to use the Gnosis.

“Anyone at the Akademiya would have a field day helping him,” Dottore grumbled. “Some spend their whole lives never finishing their dissertations. I will not stand for my work being stolen from me.”

His prideful rants fooled many. You knew better.

So did the Tsaritsa.

He didn’t want to go. If he had his way, he would remain in Haeresys and continue investigating the Gnoses they had to find a way to harness their power. Field work of any kind was a waste of time for him, especially now with the Queen and a Rook in their possession.

But when the Tsaritsa laid her pain of the loss of the Fair Lady before her Harbinger’s feet, duty took its place, as it always did.

As it always would.

And you would take yours, at his side. For even you, unblessed and without a Vision, couldn’t stand to see the Tsaritsa shed tears.

______________________

You were used to the land of Cryo, where the air was frigid and dry and sucked the moisture out of everything. Initially, it grew warmer but was initially refreshing. The further south you went, the stickier and heavier the air became, clinging to your skin and hair and clothes. Dottore adapted with little issue; his coat was shoved into the nearest bag, along with his bowtie, and he rolled up his sleeves with great care. You tried not to stare too hard at his exposed neck and clavicle when he eventually undid the upper buttons of his shirt.

He threw a sharp-toothed grin your way when he caught you staring but said nothing. You could tell by the glint in his eye that he took note and was filing the thought away for later. You followed his example, however, and abandoned your top layers, immediately relieved of their heaviness.

You passed through a dense forest first, filled with creatures and plants you’d only ever seen in children’s books. In a different life, if you’d had the means, no doubt you would have come this way to attend the Akademiya yourself. Lush, green, vibrant; everything Sneznhaya wasn’t. Life thrived here, as rich as the knowledge that was collected and consumed.

Mondstadt was pretty but this…

It was everything the land of snow wasn’t. Humidity be damned.

Of course, you’d seen parts of Teyvat first-hand outside of your…predicament (less a predicament now, you amended). But some of it only ever existed in illustrations and in text. The thick underbrush made it difficult to traverse and at first, you couldn’t stand the touch of the leaves on your face and exposed skin. It tickled, uncomfortably so, until you grew used to the sensation when it couldn’t be avoided. Plants were impossible to keep in the harsh climate back home and many of them had needles instead of leaves.

Overhead, wide leaves sheltered you from the sweltering sun. They looked like giant water lily pads, save their large, trunk-like stem that rooted them to the earth beneath your feet. Tentatively, you reached out a hand to touch the greenery and found the stem to be fuzzy but incredibly solid.

“You’re lagging, Archivist!”

Your traveling party, Dottore included, were far ahead of you, almost out of sight. When you caught up with the Harbinger, a hand clamped around your wrist as the two accompanying agents taking point continued on. When you went to take a step forward, Dottore pulled you back, and you cast a questioning look up at him.

“It is easy to become disoriented here, where the trails are far overgrown,” Dottore hissed, his breath hot in your ear. “Do not fall behind again. Leopards love hunting in these parts.”

Was he speaking from experience?

Before you could ask, he pulled away, eyes looking around for a moment before stopping on a place over your shoulder. You swore he was almost concerned but maybe being back in the Land of Knowledge was putting him on edge. The hold on your wrist slackened as he told you to go on ahead and stick with the accompanying agents. He didn’t move until you were almost out of sight, the forest eerily still behind you as you made your way forward, calling for your travel companions to wait up.

You tried not to think about the familiar sound of catalyst shots coming from the path behind you.

______________________

The entire trip was much shorter than expected.

At first, you didn’t understand the lack of secrecy, especially with the pace news of the Fatui was traveling. The visit to Mondstadt had been planned by Krupp, their party expected. Here, they were hunting for someone who didn’t want to be found and yet Dottore made no effort to hide, making scholars who recognized him in any capacity visibly uncomfortable.

A deal, struck beneath the scorching sun; a Gnosis in exchange for the end of political manipulation. A child placed on a throne, subject to the whims of the Sages.

It worked, in the end.

And in the end, the Traveler from the Stars was too late.

You watched from the sidelines as Dottore interrupted a meeting between the Sages, sitting at a raised half-table and forced to look at one another. It was almost Socratic if it wasn’t a cabal of out-of-touch academics with their heads up their asses. They shouted, protested, but it did nothing to stop the Harbinger’s approach, long legs carrying him across the room and up the dais with the same ease at which he controlled Ruin creations.

“You can’t be in here!”

“Who do you think you are?”

The laugh that shattered the cacophony of shouts was blood-curdling.

“What kind of question is that?” Dottore snapped, body heaving from a moment to recover from the cackle. “‘Who do I think I am?’ I’m the one who discovered the truth about our world, Boaz. In a different life, I would be in your seat.”

You couldn’t see much from behind but Dottore’s hand reached up and when it came back down, you saw the outline of his mask. It wasn’t hard to imagine the expression he bore, mouth wide and teeth bared in a mockery of a smile, red eyes wide and gleaming.

“You all mocked me, here, in this very room,” Dottore lectured. “Called me a madman for augmenting humans, for daring to think it possible to surpass godhood, ascend into something greater without a Vision, without Celestia. And yet here you sit, having done the very same. At the pace at which students burn out, I’m surprised this isn’t a factory in Fontaine!”

Protests and appeals to ego failed. The stairs of the dais ran red with blood after several flashes from Dottore’s floating needles.

Funnily enough, it wasn’t the Traveler that arrived first, but the Renegade, bruised and aching from a battle that took too much out of him. You expected more blood to be shed between them, to feel the air crackle with power and the nauseating scent of Mist Grass.

But instead, another bargain. The Gnosis in exchange for a reset. For a second chance. After all, no one outside of the Electro Archon knew Kunikuzushi’s construction and inner workings as well as Dottore. And fighting was an inefficient use of time and power.

“Archivist.”

You’d never been privy to these moments before. And now you served as assistant, staring into bundles of wires and glowing synapses, holding things out of the way and adjusting the handheld light Dottore always kept on him.

When the light from the indigo eyes faded slowly, Dottore sealed the puppet’s chest cavity back up. He scribbled a note and tucked it into the puppet’s hand to be found later, no doubt instructions for whoever found him.

“Two birds, one stone, Archivist. And with time to spare, too. Come, let’s celebrate!”

______________________

Fontaine was less straightforward, more what you came to expect out of the social scene you were privy to. The spectacle of the court was all a farce. You heard the rumors that Fontaine was running out of resources to continue fueling its infrastructure, sending researchers out to find a new viable source or method of extraction. That the land was either a place of great happiness and success or absolute misery and pain that many sought to escape.

It didn’t take a genius to see why. A Celestial Nail hovered over the Courthouse. Inequality and illness was as clear as the air in Mondstadt and as unforgiving as a broken contract in Liyue.

“Judges with no consideration for both sides of the scales often get it wrong,” Dottore glowered during the main event, a masquerade and heist. “She speaks of Justice as though an iron fist solves all.”

He was nursing the same glass of wine all night, his eyes constantly scanning the room. Even with Columbina and Arleccino, this heist might go smoothly now that the Guest of Honor, the Outlander, flitted about the room. With them, a familiar head of red hair. The Ragnivindar Heir was throwing looks at the Harbinger all night but maintaining the air of civility and elegance expected of him.

The partnership between Fatui and Outlander was threadbare, connected only by mutual frustration and interest in seeing the Fontainian people free from Celestia’s possible wrath.

Sumeru brought out painful memories, ones Dottore could laugh off easily enough as trials of youth in pursuit of Truth. But the Land of Justice, with its soaring buildings, whirring machines, and an undercity constantly aflame to keep the upper city running brought out something deeper, something darker still. After all, its very people chased him away, ran him out of what should have been a home, burned his face to mark him, should he ever return. Chances were, some of those people were in this very room.

You laid a hand on his arm, breaking his concentration on Columbina bowing before the Archon, promising the show of a lifetime.

Ruby eyes looked down at you, malice and vengeful pride fading as if seeing you properly for the first time that night. He’d gushed over the outfit Columbina painstakingly assembled for you earlier but that had been appeasement to the other Harbinger, a show of goodwill and bravado. In your opinion, the Little Dove did a marvelous job in making you feel a part of the show, rather than a member of the chorus that hovered in the wings. But now, in the relative privacy of the darker corners of the ballroom, Dottore’s free hand traced the ruffles and fine silks, dancing along the seams along your side. You weren’t sure if he was admiring the quality or studying its construction in order to undo it all once everything here was complete.

“You’ve done nothing but glower from the corner all evening,” you teased. “It seems a shame to waste this once-in-a-lifetime evening, Lord Harbinger, by sitting in the shadows.”

“It’s not so dark here, not with you. But I suppose you’re right. It would be a shame to waste such magnificence by keeping it all to myself.”

The music swelled again, indicating the lull for food and drink was over, and Dottore swept you into the crowd on the ballroom floor. At first, you unconsciously attempted to lead, which resulted in the Harbinger pressing you closer, or as close as the dance allowed without restricting movement for either of you. You stumbled over your feet for a moment, narrowly managing to avoid stepping on your partner’s shoes.

“Relax, Archivist.”

Easy for him to say. You’d merely be joking, you hadn’t expected him to actually bring you both into the spotlight. He never danced at other events you attended together; Dottore offered conversation as an alternative but you never figured out whether it was because he needed the stimulation or if he was possibly a poor dance partner.

It certainly wasn’t the latter. As far as you could tell, every step was on beat, every turn with the flourish of notes right on cue.

The Harbinger gave your hands a shake when your fingers tightened, his other hand roaming from your shoulder blades to your waist. When he whispered your name, you loosened your grip a little, and let the subtle cues such as the press against your waist or slight pull of your arm guide you.

“Much better. Music is nothing but an assembly of notes and instruments working in tandem, a machine with a predictable pattern. Dancing is merely an extension of it; constructs matching the pattern, in sync with one another first and foremost.”

Eyes fell upon you for the rest of the night, curious whispers escaping the lips of strangers about the Doctor’s fascinating companion. It was the opposite of what you’d wanted, the opposite of his usual treatment of these events. You admitted, however, that it was nice to feel acknowledged in a more open space, even if the truth was only known to both of you.

The Archon had been so lost in her Judgment of those in her presence that she’d completely overlooked that four visitors were nowhere to be seen.

It didn’t take long, however, for sheer coincidence to do its job. A furnace in a crowded factory exploded, its attendant exhausted and overworked, accidentally increasing the fuel intake far beyond capacity. Nearby facilities were quick to light, one after another. The entire Undercity, burning, while the rich and powerful danced above. By the time the festivities were ending, the Archon had little time or attention to spare on whether her Gnosis was in her possession any longer.

Escaping hadn’t been easy, between the smoke and debris and chaos. You were one of the only ones unable to fight your way through, stuck relying on the protection of others. The entire party was dressed in singed finery but easy targets for those capitalizing on the panic. During a lull, Dottore plucked the Gnosis from the Traveler’s hand and said this was where they parted ways. His laugh was almost drowned out by the roar of the flames around them when the Traveler asked about the people of Fontaine, those who could still be saved. With a graceful flourish, he removed his mask, his grin widening as the Traveler’s eyes drank in his true visage.

“They burned me, Traveler! Called me a heretic, a monster! Burned my face and drove me out of my home! You’re a fool if you think these pathetic excuses for people need or even deserve to be saved. Let them burn!”

The fight was beyond anything you’d seen before, even in the arena of Haeresys. At first, it was merely catalyst versus sword, nothing remarkable. But the Traveler wouldn’t relent, leaving the Harbinger no choice but to use more of his Anemo Delusion, summoning stray pieces of nearby machinery and assembling several Ruin guards at once. Although he continued to taunt and laugh as the Traveler and their companions attempted to control the situation, you could see that the power draw took a quick toll; his posture wasn’t as rigid, his reaction time just a bit too slow.

The Ruin machines were enough of a distraction, though. While they were occupied, Dottore bid them adieu and before you knew it, you were leaving the smoke-filled streets behind. The Delusion’s power took more out of him than he let on, the Harbinger stopping when you were finally high enough and away from the city proper to let out a series of choking coughs. You pretended not to see the specs of fresh blood that made their way onto his gloves, and the trickle that continued out of the corner of his mouth. He didn’t move right away, breathing once, and then twice, silently assessing his body. Dottore took a step, another, and you managed to curl your body under his arm and catch him in time before his knees met the earth. It took everything in you not to buckle beneath his deadweight, his body no longer yielding to him, pushed to the point of exhaustion.

“Damn this prison of flesh,” he muttered, so low you almost missed it. Louder, he said, “This view, Archivist, is worth every painful breath. Now if only it would climb higher still and take that damn Nail with it.”

Your last memory of the beautiful city was nothing more than an orange glow and a collection of burning spires.

______________________

As soon as you both returned to Sneznhaya, Dottore handed over the Hydro Gnosis and then locked himself in his lab, demanding not to be disturbed.

By doing so, however, he locked the other assistants, including you, out. You tried not to take it personally but usually he simply shuttered himself away in his study instead. He hated inefficiency, disrupting a workflow that was making progress. By sealing everyone else out, he was halting other projects. You very well couldn’t do your work from the corridors.

To say nothing of the chasm that the sealed door left in your heart. Of all people, not even you, were allowed inside? Without even so much as an explanation? Scaramouche’s words came back, flitting around in your mind. You shouldn’t make the mistake of thinking there is room in his heart; he doesn’t have one.

He wouldn’t see you. Day after day, you waited, sometimes pounded on the steel doors. But they wouldn’t open. Rumors of an impending fight with Celestia and the wayward Traveler circulated for weeks as you tried to at least keep on top of more current events. Somehow, you couldn’t bring yourself to admit that perhaps there was more than a grain of truth in them when active Fatui recruits were drilling more than usual and the once-grand corridors and foyers of the Palace were stocked with supplies and weapons.

It wasn’t until the Tsaritsa herself, accompanied by Pierro, that the doors yielded, allowing two more to pass through once, and then again hours later, that the gravity of the situation finally solidified. The Archon Herself would demand her Harbingers come to Her, not the other way around. When she returned to the surface, you found yourself looking into eyes the color of freshly fallen snow in the morning sun, tinged with the faintest hint of blue, before averting your gaze respectfully.

You did not expect the Tsaritsa to clasp one of your hands in hers and then cup your cheek, her hands frigid but soft and tender. Comforting in their lack of warmth.

“The events to come will test us all, Archivist. Take care of my doctor, won’t you? He is hardly the same without your presence.”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” you replied.

You descended down into Haeresys as soon as the Tsaritsa was out of sight, your cheek still stinging from her touch, as if frost-nipped. When you reached the lab proper, you were presented with the familiar sight of Dottore’s back, the shift of his shoulders indicating that he was working on something in front of him.

“Lord Harbinger?”

He stilled in his actions, lifting his head slowly before turning part-way.

“Archivist. They were evacuating civilian Fatui members. You shouldn’t be here.”

Dottore turned back to his workbench but you didn’t move. He continued to tinker, as if ignoring your presence was going to somehow make you disappear.

“Do not make me repeat myself, Archivist. You are not needed.”

“We both know that’s a lie.”

A slam echoed in the cavernous space as Dottore threw down his tool and then adjusted something quickly before turning to face you entirely. His entire left forearm and hand, once bone, sinew, and flesh, was nothing more than steel and rivets and hinges. Your eyes followed the arm up, to his shoulder, where metal met flesh, and although he was dressed, the fabric fell differently than it used to on one of his legs and across his chest. Squinting, you noticed a seam around his jaw, just hidden by his mask. The usual corner of his mouth was still skin, his eyes were still clearly those of a human.

Had he…spent all of these weeks…augmenting himself?

“I have built a god with my own two hands, Archivist. I have no need for anyone else. And I will be damned if everything is ripped from me now, if I failed. Fontaine was a testament to just how imperfect I am. And perfection is a necessity for victory. I couldn’t let Nasha Tsaritsa see me like that…couldn’t let you see me so weak, so useless.”

“Why would I ever see you as such?” you asked. “You’ve never been weak, not to me. Hasn’t that been abundantly clear this entire time?”

How could someone who dared to question the status quo not once but several times and dedicate his entire existence to proving it be weak? When everything was stacked against him, he kept going, whatever the cost…

Whatever the cost. Even if it meant his humanity. Your eyes stung with unshed tears, threatening to spill not out of disappointment but pain. What kind of place had he been in to do this…and what kind of pain did he experience making it happen?

Dottore approached you, eyes trained on your face, his hands behind his back. “You’ve always been so loyal, Archivist. So dutiful despite our…”

Something heavy and cold pressed against your chin, lifting your head. You vaguely felt the shape of the wrench, recognized the handle through blurry vision.

“…initial misunderstanding. One of the best assistants I’ve ever had. Proof that not all humans are disappointing, that perhaps one such as myself may find solace and peace that quiets my mind, if only temporarily. I know you almost as well as I know myself. Which means that, if I asked something of you, I have no doubt what your answer would be.”

“That would depend.”

Whatever conviction your words held died when your voice wavered.

“Your self-preservation would demand it, if your metaphorical heart did not,” he added your name at the end as the wrench fell away. “But I wouldn’t expect you to make anything less than an informed decision.”

He placed the tool on the workbench with a clatter and pressed his palms to the surface, his back towards you. The light from flickering lamps nearby cast dancing shadows about the room, tendrils flickering and distorting against the stone. His earring cast a light of its own, aquamarine illuminating his profile as he turned his head over his shoulder to speak.

“Will you fight? Will you serve Nasha Tsaritsa and stand with me against the tyranny of Celestia?”

You were never good at combat. You’d kept a Fontaine-made pistol at your shop under the counter for safe-keeping and took the courses on how to use it, but you’d never had to. And whenever you’d gone out in the field, it was never in a capacity to fight. If you’d been a proper recruit, at least you’d have a foundation and understanding of weaponry.

“You know the price of a Delusion, Archivist. But you also know the price of letting Celestia win. Which will it be?”

You thought of Khaenri’ah, of Enkanomiya, of Dragonspine, of Fontaine. Of Celestial Nails and the destruction of everything you knew. Sneznhaya…no, every nation, would be nothing more than a remnant, a footnote in history. People who tried and failed and others who never had a chance. If you didn’t fight, if you didn’t try, then what was the point of the previous months of work? At least if you fought, you had a chance at survival.

A chance at life, anew. Be it here or somewhere else in Teyvat.

Maybe you would even get to see the real sky, real stars, see the universes beyond the Veil…perhaps with…

You slowly, cautiously, closed the distance between the both of you. You pressed a hand to his back, feeling strong shoulder muscles as you wrapped your other arm around him, metal plates rather than the usual warmth of skin around his front. For a moment, his breath hitched, the smallest pause in what was probably no longer a biological need. But still, a mark that perhaps he was still not entirely lost.

“I am yours, Lord Harbinger. And I will fight by your side.”

[kiragecko]

While you can't really ever have too many layers on your feet, you CAN have too many TIGHT layers. If you don't have oversized shoes/boots, it may do more harm than good to squish multiple sock layers inside. Circulation is vital.

The reason you want a windbreaker/rain jacket over top is to stop a breeze from blowing all the nice warm air you're building up away. Things like fleece are actively BAD at this. Your top layer doesn't need to be warm, it just needs to stop airflow. Wear enough layers underneath to stay warm.

Remember your joints. If you don't have boots, try to wear longer pants and long socks, so your ankles don't end up exposed. If you're dealing with snow, this is even more important, because they could end up wet AND exposed. Tucking a layer of pants into your socks can work well. Treat your wrists and neck similarly.

Long skirts actually work fine as a middle/top layer. You need something underneath for drafts, but they trap a BIG bubble of air. Especially effective if you've got the boots with the fur to block the bottom.

Your underlayer doesn't need to be something designed for the purpose. I use pajamas, normal clothes, old clothes with holes - anything loose and soft. (I'm allergic to wool and have eczema, so I tend not to wear wicking layers - they irritate my skin. If your skin is more tolerant, things like nylons and wool work better if they aren't too loose but still allow good circulation.)

-

These ones are for if you're going somewhere that gets below -20℃/0℉:

Remember your forehead. Wear a toque (knitted cap) or a headscarf that covers your eyebrows. Try to wear a wind-proof hood that extends past your face to allow a bubble of warm air to build up.

Glasses count as jewellery, especially if they're metal. Sight is less important than avoiding frostbite, and you need to be covered up enough that they're going to frost over, anyways.

Gloves let you do things, but there it no way to keep isolated fingers warm enough. Keep gloved hands in pockets, layer, and/or wear mittens. Pull fingers into a ball inside the glove/mitten if they start hurting, and get them inside your outer layers if that isn't enough. (Armpits warm cold fingers reasonably fast.)

Covid masks do a pretty good job of warming the lower half of your face. Neck warmers also exist, and I love them so much more than scarves.

Inside the house:

Wear shoes, especially comfy runners, or at least socks. You can lose a LOT of heat out of your feet without really noticing. (Different shoes to the ones that go outside. Wet is bad.)

Keep blankets around anywhere you're likely to sit. Sometimes you get cold but it's too much work to move. It is easier for your body to keep warm than to get over a chill, so you don't want to wait until you're cold enough to get motivated.

Hold warm drinks. A lot of my relatives 'drink' hot water. (They do actually drink it, but that's not the point.) Let them warm your hands. Rest them against your chest. Inhale the steam.

Get dressed under the blankets. Cuddle the clothes for a bit if you need to. Wear even MORE layers for the first hour. Don't start your day off cold, it will affect your whole day.

Remember, if you have breasts, that these are ALSO extremities. Cover them first when dressing. Don't wear tight button-ups or something low cut. They have no defense against the cold, so protect them.

Reapply lotion frequently. Cold air can't hold as much moisture, and your skin dries out. If you have eczema, you could probably reapply every ten minutes and your skin would be happy.

Have places around the house to leave discarded layers. When doing an activity, you're going to want to remove layers. You'll need them again at unpredictable times. Make it easy to put them back on. Your house being tidy is not the priority.

Final note about kids:

The correct amount of clothing for kids is actually really complicated. Your kid should be able to move and play, and if their clothing limits that it can be really hard on them. They'll probably want to wear less clothing than you. If the place isn't dangerously cold, and they're keeping active, this can be okay. Babies can also overheat if they're too insulated. But their extremities freeze FAST, so you need to check on them and give them cuddles a lot. If they love removing clothes, things that you can tie are helpful. If they absolutely HATE something, and don't get over it after a few times, don't force it and find alternatives if you can. Sometimes they can survive without.

It's important to be aware of the danger, but also to understand that my toddler spent a year in just a diaper, while I was huddled under blankets and sweaters (because even though the house wasn't cold, it always FEELS cold after a certain point). He was happy as a clam. And both of my kids refuse to wear toques to this day, so I just make sure their parkas have good hoods.

I suggest that they can wear less clothes indoors than adults, but should be forced to do warming things far more often. Cuddle them, roll them around in blankets, give them warm objects to hold/sit on, and then once they get antsy, free them to explore their cold environment again.

Outdoors, however, they should be shambling clothing blobs who need to worry about falling down if they lean over. It provides entertainment for the sad dark months.

(You still need to frequently check their little noses and foreheads.)

COLD WEATHER TIPS FROM SOMEONE WHO LIVES WHERE IT’S COLD:

I always see posts about layering clothing, but there are so many more creative ways to help keep you warm if you don’t have a lot of warm clothes. But first, a note on layering clothing:

-Your underlayer is your WICKING layer. That means it is a layer specifically to absorb the moisture your body produces. DO NOT USE COTTON AS A BOTTOM LAYER. Use merino wool if possible, but other good substitutions are nylon, polyester and rayon. 

-Your middle layer is for insulation. You want AIR POCKETS in there, NOT tight fitting clothes. This is where you want to put your fluffy sweaters, your fleece, down, fur, flannel, or vests. If you do not have these, you can substitute with multiple layers of long sleeve shirts.

-Your outer layer is for keeping the cold away from your body. If you do not have a jacket, you can put on your thickest piece of clothing and then a raincoat over it. Windbreaker if you have one. 

ALSO

-Jeans are the absolute worst at holding heat. Use only as a last resort. 

-You can’t really ever have too many layers on your feet. Alternate tucking your layers of pants into your layers of socks to keep your ankles warm!

-Wear a hat OVER a hood if it will fit! This will keep your ears warmest.

TAKE OFF/OUT ANY AND ALL JEWELERY/PIERCINGS

-If you have a medical bracelet, DO NOT REMOVE IT. If you can, tuck a layer of clothes between it and your skin.

NON-CLOTHING TIPS:

-Raid your recycling. Gather all cardboard boxes and break them down so that they are flat. Put them on the floor to add more layers between you and the cooling house. Newspaper will also serve the same purpose.

-In an emergency, you can also layer newspaper between clothing layers. Don’t worry about looking stupid if you’re staying warm.

-If you have a tent, set that sucker up in whatever room you have decided to stay in. Stay in it and keep it zipped shut as much as you can, but do NOT cover the vent at the top. You can put the rain fly up, but make sure there is circulating air for you to breathe.

-You are probably not going to feel very hungry at times. DO NOT STOP EATING OR DRINKING. Digestion produces a lot of body heat and the food will give your body energy to keep itself going.

-The best foods are heavy and full of carbs and proteins. Eat nuts, eggs, pasta, meats, and beans. If you are on a diet, now you’re not. If you’re vegetarian… bulk up on those pastas and nuts.

-Try not to sweat. If you are finding yourself getting damp, take off the outer layer just until you start to cool slightly. Then redress! Your bottom layer should dry quickly, and being wet is dangerous.

-On that note, STAY ACTIVE. You are probably going to want to hunker down and snuggle up, but that will make your muscles cramp. Every 15-20 minutes do something that gets you up and about. Walk circles in the room, do a couple jumping jacks, stretch, whatever. Just enough to move some blood around your body. Don’t get sweaty or out of breath, it’s just a little movement.

-CHAPSTICK. ON YOUR LIPS. ON YOUR NOSE. ON YOUR EARS. ON YOUR KNUCKLES. Don’t let your extremities get dry or cracked.

SIGNS OF HYPOTHERMIA:

-Uncontrollable shivering -Slurred speech -Confusion or memory loss -Dizziness or lack of coordination -Inability to be woken from sleep

CHILDREN AND INFANTS!!!! I CANNOT STRESS THIS ENOUGH.

-Children WILL get colder before you. Make sure they are properly bundled up.

-If you need to breastfeed, put a blanket over the both of you and wait a few minutes for the air to warm before removing or shifting your clothing.

-DO NOT COVER AN INFANTS FACE. ESPECIALLY WHEN SLEEPING. Keep them tucked inside your own clothes when possible. As close to your heart and stomach as possible. 

-Put chapstick on children’s cheeks and clean their face often if they are crying or wiping at their nose. This will prevent cracked skin and irritation.

-Make sure your children are staying as hydrated as you! They are going to fuss and not want to drink cold things, but they NEED liquids.

SIGNS OF HYPOTHERMIA IN INFANTS AND TODDLERS ARE DIFFERENT:

-Shortness of breath  -Cold, red skin -Lethargy or listlessness

Finally:

CHECK ON YOUR NEIGHBORS. CHECK ON CHILDREN. CHECK ON THE ELDERLY. STAY SNUGGLED. STAY SAFE.

[milady-pink]

Waitress AU

Warnings: Food/baking, domestic abuse, unplanned pregnancy, cheating

Summary: Working at a dead end job, waitress Christine soon finds herself with a new problem: an unplanned pregnancy. Life is all about trying to find the sweet spots and luckily this pie genius has a new (and pretty adorkably sexy) OBGYN, who isn’t too happy at home either.

TL;DR Quirky cute and sexy Erik as a doctor, lab coat and all.

Word Count: 1853  || Graphics: @firefly-graphics

"What Baking Can Do "

Recipe Book

AO3

“Shit shit shit!!!”

“Christine, calm down! Everything will work out!”

“Yeah, maybe it was meant to happen!”

Despite their best efforts Christine still felt like her life was running away without her. From a young age she promised herself she would have children and a loving husband; ever since the first time she saw her father hit her mother. Since her once loving husband turned into the exact type of man she was trying to stay away from, she made a new promise— not bringing a child into the same house she grew up in. She felt like a failure. She also felt betrayed; by God, by her husband, and especially by her ovaries.

Christine raked her hands through her hair, scratching her scalp to calm her body, while taking in a deep breath through her nose and releasing through her mouth. All thoughts were pushed to the farthest corners of her mind, really not wanting to deal with her impending doom at the moment.

“Are you alright, honey?” Asked a concerned Carlotta.

Christine lets out a sigh, “Yeah I’m fine, I ju—”

Before she finished speaking, inspiration for a new pie recipe struck; not an absurd thing to happen since almost every other pie has come from a momentous occasion in her life. For better or for worse. A woman's voice whispered to her from the dark crevices of her mind, a long forgotten melody rolling like waves into her ear.

Sugar

Butter

Flour

“Christine, are you sure you’re alright?” Meg’s voice brought her crashing back to her environment— the dimly lit women’s restroom at the diner.

“Shh, I’m inventing a new pie in my head” she hushed her friend to find the right ingredients from her mind’s pantry.

“Of course you are,” cautioned Carlotta, weary of her friend’s reaction to finding out she is pregnant.

“I’m gonna call it, ‘I Don’t Want Raoul’s Baby Pie’.”

“I don’t think we can write that on the menu board,” pondered Meg, “considering this is a family restaurant.”

Not one to be deterred, Christine thought of a new name. “Then,” she huffed, “I’ll just call it, ‘Betrayed By My Eggs Pie’.” Her two closest friends looked at each other and shared a shrug, decidedly giving up on family-friendly names and letting her run wild to get her emotions out. “Crack and egg, combines it with sausage, soak in beer, mix in cheeses red dressing, and use extra shortening to trap the moisture in your crust forever—”.

“Chrissy!,” interrupted Carlotta’s cigarette mezzo voice, “This ain’t somethin’ you can just cook up and mix into a pie.” 

Just as Christine opened her mouth to respond, a much deeper mustachioed voice rang into the women’s bathrooms from the door. “Y’all can pledge the sorority later! If ya don’t do yer work, I’m gonna dock yer pay!” This caused the three waitresses to leave the comfort of their meeting room, Christine going first to emphasize that she was don’t with any and all conversations concerning her uterus. 

As they walked back into the streaming afternoon light of the diner, Piangi called out Carlotta especially. “And you are really starting to push my buttons!” He pointed right in her face.

And, because her red hair was not the only fiery aspect of herself, Carlotta answered him. “Oh really? Which one is mute?!” The two then got into a stare-down until one of them broke and they both had to get back to work.

A familiar voice broke Christine of her daze at the counter.”Excuse me ma’am, is there anyone who can get me a piece of pie around here?”

Turning around from serving a customer, she is surprised to see Raoul who instantly put his hands around her waist. “Raoul,” she hesitated, “what’re you doin’ here?” Anxiety slowly seeped into her body, not wanting him to find out about the pregnancy.

He huffs out a breath, clearly not wanting to talk about it. “Friggin’ foreman was on my ass for bein’ a little late. So I told him, don’t blame the Taco Bell breakfast line on me!” Even his reenactment of his anger gave Christine chills, which she suppressed. “Anyway, I’m takin’ the rest of the day off, don’t belong at that shit job,” he trailed off before startling her with a boisterous, “hey where’s my kiss?”

“Raoul, I gotta get back to the customers,” which wasn’t a lie, but she also didn’t want his cologne to give her another nausea attack.

“They can wait,” he demands. Christine goes up to her tiptoes and places a chaste kiss on his cheek, getting scratched a bit by the scruff that’s been there for days. With a smile on his face, he asks the dreaded question, How’re we doin’ today?” This not-so-secret phrase was code for ‘how much money did you make at your dead-end job that I can waste at the bar?’ All too familiar with how he works, Christine pulls out what few dollars she’s made from tips, usually waiting till dinner to give him her full day’s wages. 

Handing the money over to him, he of course would not miss an opportunity to berate her a bit. “Not too bad…not too great either.” He places the money into the back pocket of his worn jeans. He follows her around as she gets a piece of pie for him. “You know, I’ve been thinkin’.” Uh oh. “I don’t think you working at this rundown diner is worth it for you anymore.”

Not wanting to cause a scene, or any trouble she’ll have to deal with when she gets home, Christine cautiously asks her husband, “Oh? And why’s that?”, as she placed the pie piece in front of him.

Sitting down to let his beer belly relax, he scratches his chin as he answers her. “Well, for starters, I don’t like those girls.” Christine had to try and focus on the creases the paper napkins had to keep herself from defending her friends. “That one,” he stated, pointing at Carlotta who was standing by the jukebox giving him a vicious side-eye, “looks at me like I just killed her dog. Besides, I kinda like the idea of havin’ you at home makin’ pies for me all day.”

He takes a break from trying to ruin Christine’s life to take a bite out of her pie. “This is damn tasty!” The response to her baking, regardless fo who its from, always brings a smile to her face. “Don’t start thinkin’ you're too good. This is good, but face it hun, your no Sara Lee.” 

A blessed moments silence as he ate gave Christine the idea for ‘My Husband’s A Jerk Chicken Pot Pie’, completed with chicken pounded so hard you can’t even recognize it. That is, until he makes a comment on the size of her breasts. “They look like they grew a size overnight.”

Offended, she crosses her arms while relying, “That’s crazy, Raoul.”

“Hmm, maybe you’re eatin’ too much pie.” She brushes his words off as he gets up from the counter, giving her a blue kiss on her cheek with a promise to see her at home. The tinkle of the diner’s silver bell has never sounded so good.

In the diner’s kitchen finishing up washing some dishes, Christine’s thoughts are interrupted when a voluptuous waitress in a blue dress comes strolling in with a tray of dirty dishes on her shoulder. Carlotta places the tray onto the stainless steel counter next to the kitchen’s sink. She huffs out a breath, effectively garnering Christine’s attention.

“Christine, life is a shit show.” She began, with a sudden candidness she was not prepared for. “I’m married to Drooling Phil the town’s invalid and buy adult diapers on the way home from work most nights. And Meg over there,” she points through the door, “has been single her whole life, eating TV dinners alone every night.” She places a manicured hand on Christine’s shoulder. “But honey, we still wouldn’t wanna be you.”

This made Christine want to smack her hand off of her shoulder in faux support, but instead calmed her face to not emote, and walked over to dry her hands on a towel. “Everybody has got somethin’ they gotta deal with in their life; this is just mine. Don’t worry about me, it’ll all be fine—”.

“Oh yeah? What kinda father is Raoul gonna be?” Trying to get her younger coworker to see sense, Carlotta tries to plead. “Sweetheart, you shouldn’t force yourself to follow the vows you made, you were too young to even understand what they meant! Look at who he has become.”

“He wasn’t always like this, it’s just a rough patch, that’s all. He’ll get better, maybe the baby will bring that out of him.” Christine countered.

“How long have you been tellin’ yourself that for?”

She really didn’t want to think or talk about this right now, maybe ever. “I couldn’t afford to leave him even if I wanted to.”

“Girl you gotta dust the flour out of your brains and do that baby a favor! Leave his sorry ass and build a life, for the both of ya.”

“He’d never let me—”

“He’s not the one carrying a ba—”

“I don’t need to be reminded of what’s livin’ inside of me! I got 14 pies that need baking, so if you’ll excuse me.” She started moving about the kitchen grabbing what she needed for the upcoming batch.

“Chrissy—”

“Life’s Peachy Keen Pie”

“Christine!”

“Where There’s A Whisk There’s A Way Pie”

“Fine, I’m leaving!” Giving the stressed girl one last look over her shoulder before catering to more customers.

With four pies done, three in the oven, Christine was halfway through. Baking always helped calm her mind and let her wander into a world of flavor, textures, and fillings. Fruit, spices, creams, and more. Every pie has a piece of herself in it, however small, so that she can be part of the sweetest moments of a person’s day. She also puts little parts that remind her of the various customers she gets throughout the week. Certain things just go together; like the intimidating rhubarb pie that is actually sweeter that it first appears, much like the various bikers that come in. Or a lemon meringue with a sour filling and sweet whipped cream that reminds her of an older couple, one who is sour and one who is sweet. Baking, especially pies, opened these doors into the lives of the many customers and townsfolk she encounters on the daily. Doors that she could walk right through, and leave her old crummy life behind.

She wishes her mom was still alive, she had so many questions left unanswered. The biggest was why she never left her dad, gave herself and Christine a new life? The same thing she was currently debating. At least now she knows what her mom felt; alone even though she was carrying life. With flour covering her hands, Christine silently asks her mom once again.

Why didn’t you bake a door for the two of us to walk through?

[moonttaeil]

i've been waiting for you;

▶ Pairing: Jaehyun x reader. 

▶ Word count: 5k.

▶ one shot; very angsty; talks of violence; talks of domestic violence;if you're not comfortable of the idea of Y/N being abused please do not read; it does not have a very happy ending; im sorry; it has both jaehyun and Y/N pov's; (also jaehyun is not the abuser pls dont be scared)

“I’ve been waiting for you,” he said, still not looking at me. Something inside of me broke, scratched my organs, and made me bleed. Something inside of me cried out, harder than when receiving blows on my ribs. Something inside of me died the moment I heard his empty voice. I kept silent but he did not say anything else. It was an ending sentence, for me, for him, for what he could’ve been. We both knew, but we were both too scared to say it out loud. 

The first time I found myself in front of her the world around me fell. It is blurry, and I hope someday I’m able to make out what my thoughts on that precise moment were, but for now, all I know is her bright red lipstick draws me in like a month to a flame. Oh, what a flame she was. 

Her eyes silently called my way and my feet moved, pulled by the inevitable forces, a magnet she held close to her heart, hidden from the outside world, only felt by my hands that itched to touch her skin, burn themselves while trying to hold her near me, burn myself to ashes while trying to conquer something that was way out of my reach. 

It was a dark night. Not even the stars had shown up for our meeting. Her smile made up for that, although she was not keen to show it to me. Her lips moved; I heard her voice. I was entranced. I was hypnotized. I was immediately obsessed. Was she aware of how her presence affected me? If she was, she did not show a sign of it, not a flinch, not an intimidating glance. 

Somehow her glass was always full. She drank, and the moisture left behind on the edges of her mouth begged me to come closer. The stains on her glass, red, passionate, every second farther from me. I remember I answered her every question, I tried to be gentle, not raising my voice through the loudness of the bar. She seemed to be able to hear my every word, even the whispers that escaped from between my lips without my permission. 

I do remember the first time I saw her—I hoped to one day to forget. 

I always anticipated her entrance, and sometimes I was left only with broken hopes. She appeared and disappeared from time to time, leaving me wanting more, craving her presence. “I’ve been waiting for you” I would mutter out when she spent more than five days without checking by the bar, our place, our seats secretly reserved for ourselves. She would smile at me, slightly, almost imperceptible to the human eye. 

“Careful with waiting too long,” she would say, “some people become ghosts of the past while holding tightly on a dead idea.” 

I should’ve listened. 

Although we always sat by one another and talked, it had been the fifth time I saw her that I asked her the name that would stick with me for the rest of the years I had left to live. “Y/N,” she said, and I dreamt with her voice repeatedly. She did not ask back, and I felt uncomfortable. I wanted her to know—I needed her to think about it, to put a name on my face, to dream with it. “Jaehyun,” I answered back, trying to remain complete after being broken so many times by her eyes. 

She hummed in response. “I know.” I never asked how. 

Eventually, she decided to let me into her world. We stumbled out of the bar, her arm was wrapped around mine, trying to steady herself while she laughed at something, anything. Her eyes were shining so bright that night, the stars never dared to appear in her presence again. I couldn’t deny what was obvious, her trap for me had worked, excellently. Brilliantly. Her feet couldn’t walk straight, and in the end, I found a way to keep her on her feet without falling, dangling from my side. She never stopped laughing. 

“You drank more than usual tonight,” I commented, with no malice. No second intention. She was happy—disoriented, but happy. I was content to be able to spend time with her. She stopped and looked up at me, the remains of her happiness still written all over her forehead, cheeks, and chin. It was a second later, she sat on the curb, her knees finding their way to her chest. 

“Sometimes I feel like…” her voice trailed off, her eyes getting lost somewhere in the dark, in front of her, “like I have a lot of important things to say,” she muttered. I stood beside her, still on my feet, uncomfortable, trying to understand her mind. I realized I was still very far from the world inside of her body. “I know I have important things to say,” she repeated, but she was not talking to me, directly. “I simply…” a sigh, “don’t know what they are, yet.”

“It is hard to translate feelings into words.”

I sat beside her, in silence. My back hurt due to the position; she forced a smile back at me. 

“It’s not feelings,” she said, “a long time ago I had those, you know?” her question was not meant to be answered. Not by me. I listened. “Long time ago, when my body was not bruised, when my life was not threatened—when I was actually obsessed with living, with waking up, I was that girl.” 

In my eyes, she was still that girl. 

She kept quiet, reminiscing about the past. Her memories. 

“What happened to her?” I asked. I thought about it for a moment—if she ever was more, more, more than what she was now than what I only knew of her, my heart would not have been able to take it. Her eyes darted to me before moving slowly to look down.

“She…”

No words were needed for her to explain. She was dead, her old self, the young girl that wanted to eat the whole world before it eats her. She was dead, buried under the new Y/N that had risen to protect the corpse, the soul, the passion. “I just wish I could stop missing the old version of me,” she whispered before standing up. 

That night she left alone. I could’ve jumped right after her, I could’ve followed, and may be accompanied her back home. Everyone knew the streets were not safe at night, with dark alleys, and hungry eyes. I could’ve offered a helping hand. A conversation back home. But I did not. Instead, I stayed where I had been sitting by her side. Her presence lingered behind me, even when my eyes followed every step of her body leaving me behind. 

She did not come back for two weeks. 

When I saw her again, there was no trace left of the sour conversation we have had the last time. Instead, she smiled, sat by me, and told me what a stressful day she had had. I listened to her, being back next to her lifting my spiring at last. As usual, I said, “I’ve been waiting for you,” she hummed. “Wouldn’t it be nice if I waited for you too?” she had asked. 

I knew that was not possible. She was not obsessed – not anymore, -- with herself, as I was. It was a dangerous thought and feeling. I was playing with fire every time I saw her enter the bar. I was burning my fingers every time I let her smile at me. I was consuming my soul every time we left together, and let her go alone, leaving me behind. I was aware I would end up cremated, somehow, because of her. 

“Can I take you out to dinner?” I once asked. We were outside the bar. It was late, as usual. Her eyes looked up at me, surprised. I had been gathering the courage to ask her that question for the last four months, ever since the first time, I saw her. That night she wore a leather jacket, bruises hidden from anyone near her. I knew her answer. 

“You know I can’t,” and I knew she couldn’t. She had never explicitly said it out loud, it would damage the little bubble we have both threaded with caution, not overstepping the limits we have imposed for one another. I sighed, defeated one more time. It hurt to know that I’d always be at an arm-length distance from her, inevitably. She sensed the discouragement. She knew she was walking on a thin line; she was scared, and she was scatred. She could lose me the same I could lose her. 

I couldn’t be sure who would be losing more. 

“I want…” she whispered. 

“I know.”

It was a difficult situation for her to be carrying on her shoulders. I knew I was obsessed. She knew I was obsessed. I knew there was someone else in her life. She suffered their presence in her life. I knew I wanted to be with her, to let my fingers meet her body, to kiss her and let her fall asleep on top of my chest. She knew it would be a suicidal attempt to run away with me. “What do you say?” I rushed out, “when you go home late when you arrive drunk, what do you say?” 

She contemplated if she should answer or not. Her hands were now secured inside the pockets of her coat. Winter was coming, and we both knew it wouldn’t be long before we had to stop meeting in that bar, due to weather, and maybe other circumstances. “Sometimes I get away with it,” she simply answers, a smile trying to catch my attention while she spoke. “Sometimes I don’t.”

Although the questions were slowly rising inside my throat, and the feeling of rage crept behind my back, I kept my mouth closed shut. I knew—she knew I knew. She wasn’t hiding it, but she wasn’t giving me any details either. Her position was harder than mine, her chances to lose, her chances to win. 

“Jaehyun,” and the sound of her voice interpreting my name, it held me captive, and it would hold me captive forever, I knew. Jaehyun. Slowly, her fingers found their way to mine. It was a shy movement, she was breaking our secret agreement, she was trespassing the limits, the boards that held our worlds separated. “I think of you when I’m sad.”

It was a hard feeling to swallow. 

“How often?”

“Every night.”

I nodded. I held her hand tightly, I pulled her in. She let herself be pulled. Her feet took a step closer to my body. She did not look up at me. 

“I cannot ask you to come with me.”

“No, you can’t,” she whispered. 

“I cannot ask you to run away with me.”

“No, you can’t,” her eyes closed softly. 

“Where can I find you, if not here?”

She stayed silent. 

It had been three nights since I last saw Jaehyun. Every time I met him, I took a step closer to an inevitable ending for me, myself, my body, and my soul. I was aware—but what else could I do? He gave me the slightest hope. When he looked at me, he did not simply look at me. He saw me. He saw past and through me. I felt his eyes rummage through all my memories, which all belonged to me, only to me. But he still entered, he still tried to pick up the broken chaos inside me. He did that, unconsciously. 

I felt alive under his gaze. I felt awake when he listened to me. I felt mortal every time I took a step away from him, leaving his body standing still behind me, looking at me. I always fought back my emotions when that moment came around. Don’t look back, keep walking. Don’t look back, keep walking. Don’t—

And I did. I always left, and never asked him to follow. 

Then, I was alone. The sound of my steps was the only thing accompanying me, along with my cracking fingers. Walking out of the bubble, the thin edges, the comfort. Walking out of the light. Walking out of the passion—out of Jaehyun. But I knew better than to stop. 

I always tried to come up with an excuse, even if it wouldn’t work. Too much work? A night out with friends? Simple walk that took me out of reality. That last one I hoped to come one day true. The lights of the apartment building were almost all out. A cat crossed by me, hurriedly. The beeping sound of the numbers being typed in the little monitor, the display shining light blue. A deep breath after another. Jaehyun. My mind screamed his name. Jaehyun. Jaehyun. Jaehyun. 

Almost at my door—our door, what used to be our door, what used to hold so much meaning, now reduced to simple iron in front of me. The key was inside the lock. The lights are out, and then I know it’s imminent. 

I could’ve asked for help. But who was I to drag anyone, innocent, inside the hell that was built only for myself? Who was I to doom anyone else besides myself? The same questions repeat after I am inside. Where have you been, why do you come so late? Empty streets are not a suitable place for you—but if you've turned yourself into a whore, then I guess they are. I keep my mouth shut. 

He's in the dark. But I can make out the figure of his slouched body on the couch. He is not looking at me. I smell him. The booze. The weed. I turn around to avoid discussion, praying this night I’d be able to get away with it. When my body finally sides my room – our room, where we used to daydream about one day having a family, now reduced to an empty cage – my back is on the door. I hope he does not follow tonight—not tonight. 

Jaehyun. Jaehyun. 

It had been a lie. I had lied to him. I did not only think of him when I was sad. His name popped into my mind whenever I crossed the threshold of this house. 

Knocks on the door. My mind goes blank. I did not hear his steps. He wasn’t drunk. No, not tonight. He was sober, he had power. I wouldn’t get away with it tonight, I say to myself, I communicate silently to Jaehyun. I’m sorry I keep you waiting, I’m sorry I don’t appear, but the bruises will be too noticeable for me to face you like that. 

I turn around and open the door.   

I don’t go back to the bar for the rest of the week either. I know she won’t be there; Y/N won’t appear. That’s why I always pass by the glossy doors, a quick glance inside before turning my attention to the crowded street in front of me. If I were to be asked how I knew—I wouldn’t be able to explain. 

It was cruel. I knew it was cruel to let her go each night we spent a few hours together, I knew it was miserable of me to not run behind her and catch her and keep her safe, but who was I to even consider if she was not safe enough?  Maybe I was just a coward whenever it came to the moment to move and act. That’s why I stood still every time she turned around to leave, just watching her, trying to remember every step she takes in the other direction until her figure is completely lost in the shadows of the night. 

I knew it was cruel, but I couldn’t make myself overstep the boundaries she had imposed on me. 

That Friday I entered my house without going to the bar either. I was met with loneliness. I had created for myself a safe place where I couldn’t be harmed, I have created that space for me, only for me, my nostalgia imprinting every corner of the residence. 

I turned the lights on. I took off my shoes. I sat down on the couch. I could hear the neighbor kids laughing through the paper-thin walls. I could smell the dinner that was being made at the restaurant in front of our building. I could keep count of every car passing by my window. I was not focused. I was thinking of her. I was missing her. I was envisioning her in front of me, next to me, on top of me. 

I had to close my eyes. Y/N. The name, the smell, the laugh, the touch. 

I was losing myself to the delirium of not having her right there—right then. I needed her, I was poisoned by her, and I was addicted to her. Jaehyun, I could almost hear her say my name next to my ear. I opened my eyes, shocked. A thin layer of sweat had formed on my forehead, and neck, and nape. She was there—almost there. She would never be there. 

I couldn’t stand there any longer. 

I went back to the bar. 

It was Friday night and Y/N did not appear. 

When I met Jaeyhun again, it was too late. I had taken the decision to flee from that life, away from the darkness that had engulfed me. He was sitting on his – our – usual spot, his back now to the entrance. It confused me because he would always be the one looking ahead to the entrance, waiting for me. 

Three weeks had passed since the last time I saw him. Apart from me being too bruised to walk, I was not mentally ready to face him and lie to him. Lie. Lie. Lie. My heart nearly jumped out of my throat when I saw him, the outline of his neck, his wide shoulders. The darkness of his hair, cut perfectly but styled messily. I stopped. 

I felt like meeting him for the first time. I felt scared all over again. I felt nervous. I felt nauseous. Jaehyun. His name threatened to escape from my mouth in a form of a sigh. Even when I knew he shouldn’t, even when I had pushed him away from meeting so many times, disappeared, re-appeared, lied. It felt like the first time meeting him, although there was a big difference now. 

I made my way toward the table. He did not hear my steps. My hand slowly found its way to his shoulder, and I could feel him tense under my touch. The few times our skin has touched, I have always received the same reaction. His eyes darted down to his glass of wine; he did not look up. I knew why—I felt ashamed. For him, I had spent two hours in front of my mirror trying to conceal any leftover trace of the jealousy that had conquered my home years ago. For him I had painted my lips red; for him, I had practiced my smile and my words; for him, I had cried all my tears before taking a step outside of the house. 

I sat down, he did not look up. My heart skipped a beat. I knew it was too late. 

“I’ve been waiting for you,” he said, still not looking at me. Something inside of me broke, scratched my organs, and made me bleed. Something inside of me cried out, harder than when receiving blows on my ribs. Something inside of me died the moment I heard his empty voice. I kept silent but he did not say anything else. It was an ending sentence, for me, for him, for what he could’ve been. We both knew, but we were both too scared to say it out loud. 

“Once I told you I had important things to say,” I said quietly, he nodded in response, “and I know what they are now, although it might be too late.” His breathing was not even, and he was nervous. Another sip. The glass was suddenly empty. He didn’t wait for me to continue before turning around and raising his hand to the waiter, two fingers up, two more glasses coming our way. I was silent until our order came. He drank, and finally, he looked up at me.

“I am sorry I wasted so much time waiting for you,” he spoke quietly, “when I should’ve been looking out for you.”

“That would’ve been the worst situation.”

He took another sip. He hated himself—I hated myself even more, for making him see me like this, how I really am, what I really am. The misery I’ve felt for the last four years crept onto my neck, my hair, my head. 

“I’ve been trapped—I am, still,” I said. He nodded in response. “Trapped in my own life, and even if I wanted, I wouldn’t be able to reach you, let you take me away with you.” He nodded again. His head hung low. “I am ashamed of myself, Jaehyun.” 

It wasn’t explicit. He didn’t need explicit. I had left one bruise on my forearm without concealing it. I have left it for him to see, the surface of the situation. “You shouldn’t.” He said back. I knew—but I couldn’t afford to not be ashamed, not now that I am what I have always feared. 

“Wherever I looked, I always saw you. On each surface, on each ad. Women passed by me on the street and my brain tricked me every time into believing it was you.” He held his breath and so did I. 

I wanted to apologize again. Bring me down to my knees, bow my head low for him.

“It’s not your fault.”

His words took me out of my imagination. Reality shocked me to the core. It’s not your fault. His words repeated over and over again inside my brain, burning deep down, burning into ashes. But it is, I wanted to scream. It is. It is. His eyes never left mine. My mouth never opened. Not a single sound. “It’s not your fault, Y/N.” He spoke. 

“You don’t know—”

“I don’t need to.”

I finished the alcohol in my glass. He didn’t know. He shouldn’t know. He was good—Jaehyun was not him. Jaehyun was not mad, he was never mad. Jaehyun would understand if she left. Jaeyhun always understood when she disappeared. “I’ve come here tonight to…” I repeated the sentence I had running inside my mind for the past three weeks, “to say goodbye.”

He was silent and suddenly the noise that filled the bar that we were so used to being in vanished. It was him and me. Me and him. His eyes were on my lips. My tears were in his hands. He was there, finally—I have wished for him for years. I have dreamt with him, for him. I have fought for him, because of him. I have made stupid things; I have dug my own grave. 

“You don't want to.”

He was hurt when he said that. His voice broke. I broke.

“You haven’t even kissed me yet, and you want to say goodbye?” he laughed, out of sadness. I couldn’t bare to look at him anymore. Because he was right, I didn’t want to—but I didn’t want to live scared, scarred, for the rest of my life either. I didn’t want to bring him down with me, down the spiral of self-destruction I have created. I didn’t want to snatch away from him the years he had left to find happiness for himself. 

I have burnt all the bullets. He has the gun still loaded. 

Even if we wanted to, we couldn’t be on the same page. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“No—you’re not,” he whispered. He was not mad. He spoke his mind. His words were harsh. But still, there wasn’t a hint of him being mad. 

Jaehyun. Jaehyun. Jaehyun. Jaehyun. 

Mind screamed for my hands to reach out to him. Let him hold me. Let him take all the pain away. Please, Jaehyun. 

“I am,” I said back. 

“You don’t have anything to apologize… at least to me. But…” he stopped. “If there is someone you ought to apologize to, is yourself.”

I stopped breathing. The tears burnt inside my eyes. I had to close them, cage them. But the more I insisted, the more they burnt, the fire spreading down my throat and reaching my lungs, imprisoning the air. It was hard to breathe. 

“Y/N,” he was demanding, he was begging. “Y/N.” It hurt, listening to my own name slip was his lips. “Where is that girl you talked about? The one obsessed with life—with the passion that came with being alive?” he questioned me, it hurt. “Where is that girl that you talked about? Find her, Y/N.” His words stabbed me. It was impossible—

“Find her, Y/N, before you let yourself die,” and with each word, his knuckles turned whiter, his fist on top of the table, “before you apologize to me from your grave, for leaving me, again. Find her.”

I wanted to speak back. I wanted to tell him that she was no longer here. I wanted to—I couldn’t. Jaehyun. His eyes burnt holes in my face, I felt as if I was disintegrating. I knew I loved him—Jaehyun. I knew before I came tonight, that it was too late to love him. He, as well, had gathered hate. 

“Jaehyun.”

And a tear slipped down his cheek as well. It glistened under the dim lights of the bar. We were still surrounded by people, but it was us. Only us. Only our memories together, only the minutes we have shared, only the seconds we have left.

That was the last time I saw her before years rushed by trying to bury her face in the depths of my memory. She was right, she came to say goodbye. She left. She disappeared. She did not come back, not to me at least. 

How many years have passed since I burned my last shot with her? Maybe ten, maybe fifteen. Every day I went to the bar. Every day I sat and waited, lonely, surrounded by my nostalgia, silently crying while drowning in many, many, glasses filled to the rim with the disgusting liquor that somehow managed to blur her face from my memory.

Although it hurt to lose her completely, I managed to stand up again. I picked up the pieces, held them together, and I glued them to one another even if they didn’t fit. I refused to be held to my knees for her — for the girl whom I have never really met, for her ghost. I left the bar one day and I didn’t come back. I turned my back to the place, to her, to our memories, and to myself. I moved. I disappeared. I followed her steps, never knowing where the road led. I tried to not rot, I tried to make myself a great man. I survived, without her, without the part of me that she held forever. 

And I did. It consumed me, just as I have predetermined she would do even before meeting her for the last time. Because I knew— there was no one else to blame but myself. That last time I saw her I held her in my arm, and let myself indulge in that little moment we had created for ourselves, the last moment we would share together. I remember her scent. I remember her hands holding tight to my arms, her fingers trembling. She did not want to let me go, and yet she did. She did not want to draw me to her madness, and yet she did. She did not want to hurt me, and yet, she killed a part of me that would never revive. 

And, although all that happened, I managed to get up from my knees. 

I couldn’t hold myself hostage in the past while grasping onto the thin threat that held the idea of her coming back to me. 

I also let her go. 

The years have passed and I sigh as I make my way to the kindergarten where my children await for me to pick them up. I walk slowly, thinking about all the tasks we have for today. I think about my wife, such a lovely girl, such a respectful woman, and such a responsible mother. I think about her, and my heart aches. Because I love her— I do love her. But I am not obsessed with her, with her existence, her passion. She has never had her lips painted deep red. She has never had me waiting for her, she was always early. She never kept her mysteries to herself, she shared her life with me. 

I loved her and yet— I don’t.

I pass by a bookshop. The path I take every afternoon is the same. I’ve been to that bookshop many times before. I’ve shopped there, and I’ve spent evenings with my kids looking for the right book for nighttime. And yet I stop, my feet suddenly forget how to move. Because she was there— her face was there. Her eyes were there. Her red lips were on the cover. It was both improbable and impossible. I had given up on the idea to see her again years ago. She looked at me, right at me. Her picture draws me in. I stepped inside the bookshop. 

Without giving it a second thought I pick up the books. 

It’s not your fault, it’s the title. She’s holding onto a glass of wine, and I recognize the surroundings of the photo. The dim lights and the chairs were where they used to spend every night when they saw each other. She was in their reserved seats. The entrance was behind her. It felt like I have been the one taking the photo. 

Years have passed, and they left a mark behind. She had wrinkles, she was thinner, and her cheekbones were way prominent now. Her bare shoulders showed in the photo, and more than one scar was recognizable. Time was not kind to everyone but to her— time did not exist. She glowed, she still had the magnet that pulled me in. I held the book and my mind drifted back in time to when I would wait for her, for hours, for days, and for weeks. 

“Jaehyun?” The voice of the lady who works there takes me out of the trance, the little bubble that appeared again after so many years of living like a mortal. I turn to look at her, stunned, pale probably. She smiles and nods towards the stack of books with her face on them. With Y/N smiling at me. “It’s the new best-seller, a biography by a survivor of domestic violence,” she explains, “but I don’t think Mariko will like that kind of book.” She’s talking about my wife. She believes I want to buy that book for my wife. Oh, how naïve she actually was. 

“Thank you,” I mumble and turn around to look at the book between my hands again. 

Slowly I open the first page. 

I’ve been waiting for you, J. I want you to know that it is not your fault I left.

[imaginativeamateur]

[Itachi Uchiha X Reader] First Snow Season 2 {Part 7}

Part 6 | Part 8

Pairing: Itachi Uchiha x fem!Reader

Note: This one is super fun, the curtains are falling!!!

~~/ /When you completely turned around, you could not see how your Secretary’s smile dropped as he glanced over to the earring he caught you gazing too long at earlier. His hand quickly stuffed it into his pants’ pocket. And his face turned grim. / /~~

Itachi was a man of his word. When he said he would drop by later in the day, he did, but not until the sun was setting over the village did he show up at your office. You, having already depleted your energy in earlier meetings and paperwork, were in no state of mind for a discussion with the raven-haired. And there were still forty more minutes until your day would be over. 

“How are you doing?” He asked, taking a seat at the coffee table in front of your desk.

“Good.”

“How good?”

You looked at him incredulously. “Good to the point my brain is haywire and I can barely feel my toes.”

“You’ve been sitting for too long, Y/N.”

It was not like you did not know the root of the problem was because of your bad posture, coupled with having to sit in a stiff chair for a few hours straight. You glanced at him, still flattened out on your desk, “Go ahead, I’m listening.”

“Get up,” he motioned, “we can walk around town and talk.”

You would give everything to get out of work early. Getting out of the office did not sound too bad, especially since you still had forty daunting minutes left. Leaping out of your chair, you quickly gathered your stuff and made a beeline out of the door with Itachi following suit. “I’m going to talk with Itachi-san and won’t be back for today so you don’t have to wait for me,” you waved at your Secretary on your way out. He nodded, gave you a thumbs-up, and went straight back to work without wasting another second.

Exhaling as you finally laid down on the grass, eyes closing just a moment to relish the moisture underneath your body. Your mind felt much more at ease after taking a long walk around town and a free light meal offered by the raven-haired. Itachi sat down beside you, gazing over the enclosed area of the park near your home, resisting the urge to also lie down and lend himself some decent rest. His workaholic nature would never allow such things to happen, and his rationality knew better after what would roll out when he'd get too close to you, physically. “About Izumi sneaking into your office last night, I have two possible conjectures.” 

“I have three, though,” you blurted. “But you go first.”

“Oh,” he remarked with amusement. “One, Izumi might be trying to see some important documents that you have inside. Two, she might be meeting up with someone.”

“Three, she might be setting up traps, dropping counterfeit evidence to throw us off if something happens in the future, who knows what she could do spending fifteen minutes inside.” You were definitely speaking aloud. “But number one can be ruled out. My Secretary already had all the important documents sent before he left. And I took off after him…”

“Continue,” he urged, mentally making a note that you just trailed off suddenly as if something rang in your head.

“The window,” you sat up from the grass and turned to face Itachi, “I double-checked that all windows and doors were locked before leaving.” You could feel your breathing picking up its pace, and he could see your pupils dilating. Agitatedly, you swiped a hand across your face, “But when I came, the window in the back was open. Izumi, she came straight for that one without scouting around to find an entrance. It was like…”

“It was like she knew.” He finished the sentence for you and gave you a meaningful glance.

“There are ten people who work at and know the office building, including me.” You drummed your fingers on your thigh. “Yesterday, three were out on missions and the guard asked for a leave. That leaves six left, including me and my Secretary, so four left.” You searched for his eyes. “Out of the four, two are recently hired, just this month, and the other two are elders, Advisors who worked for my parents as well.”

“I see,” he muttered.

“Now that I remember.” You straightened your back, lowering your voice. “The office was lit before Izumi entered.”

“That leaves conjecture two the most likely.”

“Right,” you nodded, “she was meeting up with someone.”

“And that person works in your office building.” Itachi concluded, “Keep your friends close and enemies closer. Be careful.”

“All right.” You grinned at his ancient saying and got up from the ground. It was getting darker, faster than you expected. “I’ll head home, have a good evening.”

Itachi waved you off, seeing your back disappear when you took a turn around the corner, grimacing at the eerie feeling sinking in his stomach. Nothing could happen, right?

You dug through your bag, trying to find the unfinished documents that you swore you shoved inside before leaving your office earlier. The dang thing was supposed to be completed today and you promised your Secretary that you would finish them at home, having it ready to go for tomorrow’s meeting at eight in the morning. You stooped lower to rummage through your bag and heaved a sigh when realization dawned upon your poor self that you never really brought those documents with you. Your face scowled at the thought of having to make your way back to the office instead of enjoying your time in a warm bath. But your feet moved regardless, heavy steps trailing on the streets until you stopped in front of the bleak building, inserting the key and opening the door absentmindedly. 

The hallway was pitch-black, and you were just about to switch on the lights when you heard voices from inside. You halted, and uneasiness crept upon your spine. It just occurred to you that you did not see the guard on your way in—the first red flag. The last time you checked, one hour already passed the time office hours were supposed to end—the second red flag. You quietly closed the door behind and made your way across the hallway, back flat against the cold wall. The voices became more and more clear the closer you got to the stairs leading up to the second floor. Your office—the third red flag. A woman was talking, then occasionally chimed in by a deep, raspy voice. Two people, you made a note to yourself before advancing up the stairs to get a hold of their conversation. You carefully laid your steps and made your way up, jumping over the railing to land, without making any sound, in the corner of the second floor. 

As expected, the lights in your office were on with two shadows casting on the ground. You steadied your breath, deriving an escape plan in case something would happen. Never did you know when you twisted your upper body around, trying to see inside the room, a fist hit the junction between the back of your head and neck, jostling you forward. Three? Before you could react, something pointy sunk into your neck and your vision blurred, knees dropping to the floorboard with a loud thud. 

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[jenomark]

➔Pairing: Idol!Jaemin x Reader (Female) ➔Other Members/ Characters: -.- ➔Genre: Smut ➔Warnings: Oral (F+M) + Penetration (F) ➔Word count: 2,473

➔Summary: Developing a crush on The Na Jaemin was never in the plan, but when his female co-host ends up late to the set, you step in, in more ways than one.

Anon Requested: Hello - may I request a Dreamie idolverse (idol!reader x your pick, based on who you think fits the best) where they have to interact on camera and there’s a huge tension and buildup, and then when they have a moment alone after, they can’t keep their hands off each other? Thank you! 😊

“You! Girl!” someone called.

Startled, you looked around for the voice to see a very sour looking man gesturing for you to come forward. Clipboard in hand, and an earpiece dangling from his ear, he very impatiently pointed at a spot next to the male co-host.

Na Jaemin looked up from the script in his hand. He looked at you first, how you stood there rooted to the spot in fear. Next, he looked at the man who was seconds away from getting angry with you, and he clapped him on the back.

“Sir,” he said. “There is plenty of time. I'm okay with waiting.”

The man seemed to settle down a bit. When he looked at you a second time, he asked you nicely to stand next to Jaemin, but his eyes made it clear that you better listen.

“To check the lighting,” he added gruffly before disappearing and leaving you and Jaemin alone.

The female co-host was late. Since they needed someone to stand in for her, in order for them to adjust the lighting correctly, and to see how the person next to Jaemin would appear on camera, you were the girl up for the job. Didn’t matter that all you were was a lowly assistant. Didn’t matter that Jaemin was the most handsome man you had ever seen, or that being in close proximity with him meant having to finally address the crush you had on him.

“These lights are hot.” Jaemin said. “After this, you should get into some cool air.”

Oh My God, he is talking to me. A real idol...talking to ME, you thought.

You moved your head a little to the right to show that you were listening. He was right. The lights were very hot, and you could feel yourself sweating underneath the thick sweater you wore. You were going to respond to him, gathering up the courage to do so, but a voice over the loudspeaker announced that the female co-host wouldn’t be there for another half hour.

You looked over at Jaemin. His professionalism allowed him to smile gracefully at the inconvenience. He tucked his script underneath his arm and looked towards the camera. You couldn’t stop staring at him, and you didn’t stop until someone snapped at you to look at the camera, too.

“People here aren’t very nice.” you found yourself saying.

“Not always.” he said.

You could feel him staring at you, but you didn’t dare look at him. The people behind the camera had their eyes on you. You were too scared to act up. It wasn’t until Jaemin touched his fingertips to the inside of your palm that you looked over at him.

“Have you been working here for a long time?” he asked. “I think I remember seeing you a few weeks ago.”

“That was me.” you said, trying your best to forget the time you tripped right in front of him and nearly fell flat on your face. If it wasn’t for the fact that everyone was watching and your pride forced you to catch yourself, you would have embarrassed yourself completely in front of The Na Jaemin.

Your little work crushes never lasted long, but there hadn’t been many people that affected you quite like Jaemin did. He was always so present with the people around him, so jovial and warm. He was kind to the staff. He even paid for the coffee everyone drank one day, the bill too enormous for someone with a job like yours. Sure, he was handsome and everything was perfect, and it was cool that he was an idol, but there was something about him that felt normal to you. Romanticizing him couldn't stop that feeling every time you set your eyes on him.

“Have you fixed your feet since then?” he asked, a smile so radiant and as blinding as the overhead lights on his face.

“Yes.” you said.

Someone else shouted for you to look back at the camera, so you did. Then, someone else thrust a script into your hands, the female co-hosts parts highlighted in yellow.

A rushed voice said, “ Read out all of her parts. We’re not on live, it’s just a run-through.”

While there was no patience for you, or consideration for the job you were meant to be doing, there was a certain importance placed on you when the camera light flickered on and all eyes in the room were on you. There was complete silence. Jaemin smiled beside you, his facial expression urging confidence within you.

So, you began to speak her parts. You read them carefully, before turning to pause for Jaemins parts. Your heart was hammering in your chest, but being beside his calmness made you feel a little more at ease.

Jaemin really was so good at his side job. He spoke with a smooth voice, one that knew exactly how to keep people listening. It was too easy to get lost in his velvety voice, in his handsome face, or in the way he made everyone feel included.

When it was time to cut to the female co-host's parts, Jaemin folded his hands in front of him and turned to you, like what you said was the most interesting piece of information in the room. You began to believe in yourself a little more, delivering the lines like your life depended on them.

You both went back and forth for the whole script, your words and timing running through so perfectly that it felt so natural to you. You began to feel like you were the co-host, not the woman running late. You didn’t know if it was your imagination or not, but the chemistry between you and Jaemin was obvious.

“Cut!” a voice yelled. “That was great. I think we have everything set up. Thank you everyone."

People moved all around the room. The stillness in the air when the camera went on vanished in a pinch. Voices erupted everywhere, and the movement of sound made your head hurt. Someone removed the script from your hands. Someone else came up and told you that you did a good job.

“You did really well.” Jaemin agreed, squatting down so a make-up artist could powder his face. “You’re a natural.”

“Are you sure?” I asked. “I felt like I stuttered too much.”

“You were perfect.” he winked.

The make-up artist looked at you when Jaemin couldn’t keep his eyes from you. You weren’t paying her any attention, even though her gaze could slice you in half.

“Thank you.” you said, resisting the urge to giggle.

When the make-up artist was finished, Jaemin brought himself back up to full height. You couldn’t remember him being that tall. You felt intoxicated by him. You were drawn in so deeply that you didn’t notice the sour man from earlier asking you why you weren’t getting back to your job.

“Right.” you said. “Sorry.”

Jaemin extended his hand for you to shake. His eyes never left yours. You took his hand and held it, letting him control the way your hands moved together.

“It was nice working with you,” he said.

“Yeah, me too.” you said. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

You let go of his hand and turned to walk away, mentally kicking yourself that you had said that. Before you could pick up your pace, Jaemins voice stopped you in your tracks.

“If you turned around, you could see me right now.”

You found yourself in his arms, leaning against the wall with your mouth on his, and your hands pulling out the shirt tucked into his pants. Jaemin watched you breathlessly, a dangerous smirk on his lips, and his eyes waiting for you to look up into his.

You couldn’t remember following him back into his dressing room, his hand gently pulling you from behind. You looked at the floor the whole time, too scared to meet the eyes of women you felt were more deserving of his attention. He talked to people as he passed, using his politeness to stall the crew a little while longer. His confidence was hard to turn down, even for you.

You wanted to ask yourself what you were doing. Were you crazy? Were you so blinded by him that you would risk everything? And were you really so horny for him that you couldn’t stop touching him??

Jaemin pulled away from you, his clothes haphazardly falling from his body, the half-undressed look too sexy on him to resist. Your lips were swollen and -no doubt- red from his kisses, the soreness resuming when he wasn’t kissing them, as if the act of kissing him was a salve. He plopped on the couch and patted his lap. You came over and sat on him, straddling his lap and using your hand to push his head against the back of the couch so you could kiss him deeply. He tasted irresistible, forbidden.

You tore off your sweater, your skin sticky. Jaemin's hands snaked up your sides, his thumbs moving underneath your bra. He leaned up to kiss you between your cleavage, his hot breath creating moisture on your skin. He pushed the bra up, freeing your breasts, his mouth finding them without issue. You lean back and let him devour you, knowing that if you fall this time, he will catch you.

There was a knock at the door, which Jaemin ignored, with a sigh, the first time. He had removed your bra and watched it dangle on his finger before it hit the floor. He was touching your breasts tenderly, his hands warming up your skin. When the second knock came, you could feel him tense underneath you.

“Who is it? Jaemin asked. You could feel the emotion trapped in his body, the irritation ready to bubble out. Jaemin, if anything, was a great actor. He kept his voice even and cool.

You didn’t know what you were thinking, but you slid from his lap and sat between his legs. You wanted to ease the tension for him. There was a murmur from behind the door, but you couldn’t hear the voice anymore. You unzipped his pants, your earlier mission on your mind. After seeing Jaemin’s cock in the flesh, his still-soft length making its way into your mouth, nothing else mattered at all.

Soon enough, the person on the other side of the locked door didn’t matter to Jaemin. He watched you go at his cock, licking and stroking him like it was your life's purpose. You cared about little else but having him sit in your mouth, his hardness missing the graze of your teeth. You wanted him to come, but he was so frantic with his movements, trying to stave off the orgasm for as long as possible. Before he could finish, he took your chin in his hand softly and brought your mouth up to his for a kiss. It was a distraction, and it worked.

You pushed him back against the couch and lifted up his shirt. He was amused by how eager you were to please him. He helped you remove his shirt, before continuing to watch your mouth lick and suck his body, leaving little bruises all over. Any time you would reach down to stroke his cock or give him another soft lick you knew would drive him wild, Jaemin would hold your hand to get you to stop.

“Not yet.” was all he said.

Jaemin had insisted that you remove all of your clothes. You tore them off like they were an inconvenience. With you naked, he managed to pull you all the way up the couch, until you were hovering over his face, your legs wobbling with fear. Your pussy lowering down onto Jaemin’s face and his hands against your back for support, you felt his tongue pushing your lips aside. The warmth made you suck in your breath and brace your palms against the wall, before you felt the pleasure of his tongue working its way to your clit. He tasted you everywhere, licking and sucking, pulling you down harder against him so that you were nearly suffocating him, eating you out until your legs were shaking so bad that he had to set you down again.

You wanted to make him come like he had made you come, but Jaemin had other plans. He laid you on the couch. He kissed your body, loving on it until you were begging him to be inside of you. He avoided your pussy, and you wondered if it was on purpose, if he wasn’t letting you come a second time. His mouth was on your inner thigh, the unshaved little hairs you could barely see on his face tickling your skin. He was rough with his teeth, even rougher with the way his fingers prodded and poked you. You were so wet, so ready, that you knew if he even breathed in that direction, you would come again.

“We don’t need these.” Jaemin said, ridding himself of his own pants and underwear.

It was chilly in the dressing room, but Jaemin using his body to cover you made you feel hot. His weight made the scene all too real, and you were suddenly transported out of your horny haze and back to where you were and to whom you were with

“Oh my god.” you said, looking up at him.

You could feel his hard cock on the inside of your leg. He kissed your neck. He shifted your leg so that he could get more comfortable between them.

“I haven't done anything yet.” he said quietly.

“This is going to get me fired.” you grinned from ear-to-ear

Jaemin grinned back, his handsome face making you fall silent. He had his hand on his cock and was using it to guide himself inside of you. Feeling all of him there was well worth the way you were treated by other people during the day. Jaemin’s cock erased everything from your mind, his thrusting making you feel a little bit smug that it was you and not anyone else.

With each thrust, you spoke. “Please. Don’t. Stop. I. Don’t. Care. If. Anyone. Walks. In.”

“You want it, you got it.” he said, fucking you good.

Jaemin pushed you further up the couch, until you were almost in a sitting position, your body against the arm rest. He moved up with you on his knees, holding you by your waist and using his muscles to bring your body down onto his cock. During the fun, he managed to grab fistfuls of your hair and hold on tight, while his cock drilled you, until a third knock came on the door.

"I'm coming." Jaemin called, smiling as he was getting ready to do just that.