#but I did use basic signs for work once upon a time

[thethirdamell]

i just saw you updated accursed ones so im catching up and i just wanted to say i love how you write sign language

Thank you! I am glad it reads well. The signs used are ASL.

#ao reviews #ao review #vik answers things #i am not at all fluent #but I did use basic signs for work once upon a time

[hwaightme]

Cat named Mars (catboy!hwa hcs)

(masterlist) (perma-taglist)

😻 pairing: catboy!seonghwa x gn!reader 😻 genre: headcanons, fluff, crack, demon? to cat? to roommate? to lover? 😻 summary: the longest bulletpoints about what it would be like to have catboy!hwa as your bf - the whole story 😻 wordcount: 4.5k 😻 warnings/tags: editing? who is she, unhinged crack part nyah, catboy!hwa, cute catboy!hwa, soft and polite catboy!hwa- okay i will stop |, language, food/eating, mention of others not treating animals well, sweater paws, mention of adorable nerdy hobbies, domestic, cuddle, a surprise about how hwa ended up being a cat in the first place, both past and present tense used, mainly lowercase 😻 taglist: at the bottom of the fic~ 😻 a/n: let me drift in the soft and fluffy catboy!hwa lands until waterbomb strikes, for my own healing; my braincells are out of service but i hope you enjoy <3 all reblogs, thoughts and notes appreciated! big hugs!

once upon a time he was a cat

there was never a moment to think about anything except work, and maybe about groceries and bills (but even those things normally hit you at two o'clock in the morning, leading you to check your phone and make make amendments to your schedule in a panicked state). there was never any room for a cat. until there was.

of course there just had to be an adorable kitty, at most maybe a couple of years old, lean and with jet black fur that was surprisingly shiny for an abandoned cat, sitting square in the middle of a cardboard box on the side of the street that formed a part of your regular path and commute to and from work. in the morning, you had locked eyes with the cat, heart bleeding and hurting for the poor creature but secretly hoping that someone else would take it - you couldn't take care of it, could you? in the evening, you were huffing and puffing with the cardboard box in your hands and the cat happily meowing, its tail stretched out upwards into a chimney pipe, slightly tilted to the side at the very end. you read somewhere that it meant the cat was happy, so you were going to take that as a good sign.

sat on the floor at the entrance to your apartment, you eyed the beautiful creature as it kept on purring and trying to hop out of the box and towards you, while you were insistent on keeping it in, lifting a cardboard flap repeatedly in an effort to prevent it from jumping. so. now you had a cat. there was nothing in the box, and on the outside, in horrific scrawl was a message suggesting whoever took the kitty either "kept him, or throw him away, whatever". non-humans. "that's who your previous owners were, right kitty?" you mumbled to no one in particular, but it seemed that the cat picked up on your speech and inched closer to you, ears moving like disks to pick up signals. "so you are a he, yeah?" a meow. so you were right. at least the beasts from this cat's past got one thing right. "do you have a name? actually… you know what do you want a… new name?" you were fast on the attachment scale, you realised. it had been barely a few minutes and you were already trying to name the cat who you had not even checked for diseases, nor had any basic facilities to take care of him. but he was more than excited by the prospect, and mewled in what sounded like gratitude. you began to list off names, eventually boring the kitty, and he started to falter in his enthusiasm. all until one name rang a bell.

"Mars?"

and that was how you ended up with a black cat named Mars.

by the power of actually having to shake paws with a cat, and you promising to get him quality snacks, you managed to get Mars checked at the vet who confirmed everything was fine, and was equally as amazed as you that he was so well groomed and neat. while you knew you did not have much of a right to do this, your inner pride still swelled and, to yourself, you said that 'yes, my Mars is really neat and handsome'.

you took to addressing Mars as 'your handsome boy' and that seemed to wake him up and get him speeding towards you faster than anything else could. also 'the prettiest star' and 'my universe' and 'marvellous Mars' all worked wonders.

at the same time, he was shy, as if he did not want to disturb you with his antics. always tip-toeing around you as silently as a cat could (which was very silent, to the point where he jumpscared you a couple of times but that is okay because excuse me did you see his precious face????) and never taking up much space, even though… hello? Mars? you are a cat?? he would rarely ever hop on any surfaces unless you explicitly told him to do so - this had left you convinced that your cat was well-versed in human-speak. he never meowed for food until you had told him to vocalise and tell you if he was very hungry, and gave him a rundown of his eating schedule and how it was important that he drank water. he was the politest cat you had ever met, while at the same time his timidness made you wonder if you were in any way intimidating. not once did Mars ever enter your bedroom, even though you left the door wide open for him, preferring to crash on the couch or on the floor of some other room. the first couple of times you joked about it saying "are you scared you'll see something, Marsy?" but when your cat actually looked away and hunched over, you were convinced that you hit the nail on the head, and that you were probably either hallucinating or were slowly turning into Doctor Dolittle.

but you were persistent. and insistent. and you took the little blanket with kuromi decor on it from him (yes this was that extreme of a situation) and put it at the edge of your bed. climbing in and covering yourself in the many layers, you looked at the terrified figure hovering at the entrance to the room, boba eyes as wide as saucers. he kept on looking at the blanket, then at you, then again at the blanket, then again at you, probably wondering if he could snatch the thing and make a run for it. you were on the verge of giving up at this point. sleepy, with work tomorrow, you were not about to engage in a whole war with your cat.

"you know what, if you want to stay, you can stay. i promise i will not hurt you, nor will i push you out. if you want to come closer, do. if you just want to take the blanket and leave, you can do that. your choice. i won't be hurt. i promise. you are already super brave and i love you either way. okay, Mars?" he did not respond, frozen in place. "my handsome boy?" his head twisted towards you. "precious?" a blink. another blink. one paw in front of the other. "are you actua- wow! I am so proud of you my baby! my brave boy!" you were cooing praises at him like there was nothing else in the world that existed as soon as he hopped onto the bed, foregoing the blanket and making a beeline towards your face, as though that was his read source of comfort. he was afraid to look away, focusing on your every expression as you patted his head and let him nuzzle into you. "you are so so brave, you know that? i know this is hard, so if at any point you want to leave, you can, okay?" purring louder than a powerdrill was the response you received. along with kitty cuddles through the whole night. because apparently, your cat was a koala all along.

and even in his cuddles he was gentle. you did not think you had ever seen him use his claws… ever. except maybe on a few toys but as soon as you were in sight poof gone, soft Mars activated. he was like your personal heater, careful to wrap himself closer to you not to push you out, but to instead complete whatever curled up position you were lying in. if you were stretched out to the side, he would find a place. if you were in a ball? he would find a place again. if you were lying down straight for whatever reason? give him a couple of nights to get comfortable, and now you had the ultimate cat comforter either on you, or around your head. and yes, you were blessed with a cat who barely shed, somehow. some of your friends who had cats almost cursed you when they found out, but you only smiled, looking at your lockscreen. nowadays, even during the workday you were thinking of Mars at least a little bit.

maybe you were spoiling him a little bit, but it was too adorable to see him watching you play legend of zelda or animal crossing on your nintendo switch. and when he saw that you got a gift from a friend in the form of a lego set? well. you were literally afraid to open the box because of how hyper your cat got - perhaps not today…

you fell into the most pleasant routines with Mars, from waking up and going to bed together, to eating breakfast and then 'parting ways' for you to attend to human business and him to his 'cat business'. it was cute. it made your head sing. you were happier than you had ever been. all thanks to that one random day. one random box. and one black haired kitty who radiated sunshine.

it was the eve of the one year anniversary of you being the proud owner of, or how you preferred to say it, the best friend of 'L/n Mars', and you were as sure as his ears were pointy in wanting to go all out with your celebration - minus the guests (because the last time you had invited a male friend of yours over your cat turned into a whole other creature and then sulked for at least three days until you took a day off work and called it 'Mars day', but you just assumed it was some territorial thing). you had set up little themed decorations, found a cute little headband with the number '1' that is suitable and safe for a cat and would not hurt his head, got a matching, human-sized one for yourself, made a whole dinner for your favourite kitty from scratch - the ingredients all checked with the vet who you now casually called by first name because you did not dare ever give Mars anything that might harm him and would rather panic call the doctor.

you were sat at the coffee table, so that it would be easier for Mars to reach the food (you set pillows on the floor for extra comfort, for which he thanked you with a loud meow), and had your respective mini-cakes set out in front of either of you. you had given up on making him ever eat kitty food - another peculiar quirk of your cat, so the 'cake', which was more a protein gift than anything, was fully home made. but Mars was happy. more than happy. if cats could smile, that was exactly what he was doing, right at you, squinting his eyes, threatening to hop over the table. you told him to wait, and quietly whispered your gratitude to him. much to your delight, he waited and listened, clinging onto every word.

"you know, i really think you are an angel. before you i was quite… how do i say this… life was just passing by. and now i look forward to it. and to be able to see you every day, to have fun days with you, to talk with you… all of that brings me so much joy and i hope that i can make you at least a little bit happy too. i wish you could tell me what you want, of course, but i really do think you know what i am thinking, what i am saying. and i hope that i am right in saying that i can understand you a bit too. you really are the smartest, most precious Mars. light of my life. i love you so much, my gorgeous, and here is to many years more, cheers~" you clinked your glass with orange juice with his water bowl, and giggled when he took a couple of neat laps to match with your gulps, only to lick his lips and hop off the pillows and go under the table.

in a matter of seconds, he reappeared at your side of the table, and poked at your lap with his paw, looking up at you with his bead-like eyes that seemed to contain the whole universe in them. you pat him between his ears, scratched under his chin, delighting him, and then stretched out your legs, gesturing towards your legs to signify that lap-napping season was open. Mars did not need to be told twice, and soon enough you had a black cat curled up on your lap, purring away, mewling a couple of times when you started eating to remind you that he was hungry too.

"so you want me to feed you now, too? aren't you cheeky-"

as if you could refuse him. you would be lying if you said you could. so there you were, on the floor and feeding Mars, quiet music playing from your phone, not quite sure if you could be any happier.

"i love you."

quite the contrast to what happened the next morning.

suddenly he is a catboy

when you wake up, Mars is nowhere in sight, and even when you call him, to which he would reply with at least a meow, you are only met with silence. you are alarmed, but wait in bed for just a little longer to see if Mars would come to you. nothing. you call again, 'pspspsps' him, all to no avail. only the breeze and the birds outside, along with inexplicable rustling from another room in your apartment. you raise an eyebrow and prop yourself up on your elbows. more rustling. a door opening, which sounds like the closet where you kept your warmer clothes. what is going on? another door closing. footsteps? you are on high alert. grabbing your phone and the light saber model which you had made a while back and kept safe by your bed, as it turned out exactly for this kind of moment, you head out to face whatever, or whoever is the source of the sound.

you are stealth itself, rounding the corner with weapon in hand, ready to face the attacker - or so you thought. until you come face to face with the tall, young man dressed head to toe in your clothing, namely a tracksuit that you had accidentally gotten in the wrong size and then somehow ended up being refunded for without returning the item, and a beanie that he had pulled over his head. spikes of jet black hair are poking from under the hat in all directions, and his deep brown eyes are widened in shock as he freezes on the spot and stares back at you.

"so, what the hell are you doing in my clothes?"

"y/n- i-"

"HOW DO YOU KNOW MY NAME?"

"i can explain-"

"nope do NOT get closer what-"

"Mars…. i…. it's me… your uh… cat."

"what?"

he looks embarrassed beyond belief, and crumbles to the floor, sliding until his back is against the wardrobe. wrapping his arms around his knees, he is scared to look up at you, worried that you would never recognise him, never accept him. this is exactly what he has been dreading all this time, and was heartbroken when the curse was finally broken, despite him technically being free now. he does not want to be away from you. this is his home. you are his home. you are the one who showed him true love.

"if it is okay… may i take this beanie off for a second?"

"i didn't even let you put it on in the first place," he winces. you feel a little bad, but hold your ground. his eyes sparkle in a way that is a little too familiar, reminding you of a certain someone. the cat who he mentioned. your precious cat. Mars.

"okay… here goes…" he slides the material off, making you gasp. hidden under the beanie is a pair of cat ears, fluffy, the same colour as his hair, and twitching as he adjusts after having flattened them to minimise their visibility.

"yo what."

"i have… a tail too."

"WHAT?"

he is not joking. a black tail to go with the black ears, sliding out from under the oversized hoodie. you are not sure what happened next, but you wake up on the sofa with the man, who you are now guessing is some human cat hybrid version of Mars fanning you with a magazine.

"I AM SORRY, Y/N PLEASE WAKE UP I AM SO- oh you are awake thank goodness i missed you i am really so sorry…" he drops the magazine almost instantly, leaning towards you and wrapping you in a warm embrace, much to your surprise. you yelp, but the softness, as well as his ears moving in the cutest way while he hugs you make you accept the gesture, and return it.

you never thought you would hear a grown man purr exactly like a cat, but here you are. well, you never thought you would have a catboy in your apartment either, but this is already happening so...

"so, Mars?"

"yeah?"

"you have some explaining to do."

after what turned out to be at least two hours of you and him going back and forth about what had unfolded and what was the history of the young catboy's state, you find out that, in reality, his name is Park Seonghwa, and that he is a demon, of all things. that is right, a demon. set out to curse and haunt and spread sin. but no, he is cast out of hell because he is too kind and soft. and so he had been cursed to be a cat, until for a full year, someone could give him their whole heart, their full love. while he explains this to you with a fondness unlike anything you had ever seen before in your life (except in what you perceived from cat Mars's eyes), you begin to blush, realising that all this time, you were talking to and confessing to him. Seonghwa. this handsome man who was always by your side and-

oh. and he was sleeping in the same bed as you. just great. you flush an even deeper shade and cover your face. and he had been jealous, not territorial, when your friend had come over.

"are you okay?"

"so okay."

"hug?"

"i, uh-"

"you give really good hugs."

"Park Seonghwa do you really want to make me suffer?"

"I AM SO SORRY ARE YOU HURT? DID I SAY SOMETHING WRONG I AM SO SORRY?!"

"no you are too cute. come here"

catboy!hwa headcanons

is initially cautious because well… you got used to him being a cat and now suddenly you have a whole man with cat ears and a tail walking around your house. he catches on to the fact that you are kind of shy around him too, but he does not push it, at least not straight away.

because that would mean that he has to get over his own shyness towards you extra quickly, and that proves to be difficult when it hits him that, well, he is now a person too, and you are a person, and he fell in love with you, and you told him you loved him before - on occasion he just walks around blushing with his ears pressed flat to his head but don't point it out he is already struggling ;~;

you might have to be the one to initiate the contact again because he is literally too scared to overstep anything and everything - even when you bought him his own first few sets of clothes as a 'human edition anniversary gift'. you approach him to give him a hug and he groups up as if he is about to dive into a pool, hands to his chest, eyes wide. but is he moving anywhere? no. does his purring give him away? yes. after that the two of you gently reintroduce physical touch and it makes you realise just how much you miss Mars, particularly because Seonghwa is still a little distant for understandable reasons. But you both are trying your best.

if you massage his head and scratch behind his hears he will melt - his favourite thing in the world is having his head rest on your lap with his eyes closed while you ruffle his hair really slowly and run your fingers through it.

desperately misses the times when you would call him handsome and pretty and smart, and every single affectionate word in the universe so he tries his damn hardest to get you to do that again, first by trying to be nice and helping you around the house, and when the results are not to his satisfaction and when cuddle sessions are pretty much the norm, but words of affection aren't… he pouts and openly asks you why you don't call him that anymore. you squeak the words out but the reaction makes every next attempt easier than anything.

he is scared to approach your room again, though, and this time you say nothing because well, this is a whole other territory. a couple of months pass before you consider and that is because you find him sleeping on the floor a couple of times, curled up with is tail covering his face a little, and he said it was because "he is scared otherwise and here is safe". so you take out a futon for now, but he is more than happy with this progress.

he learns how to cook both from you and from tutorials online, and then starts remembering what he used to cook a long time before - you basically stop cooking altogether because now he is insistent on waking you up with breakfast, packing you lunch and greeting you with dinner. he sometimes gets a bit too experimental, but you do not mind it too much because at least he cleans everything up.

you think you can ignore the lego in the corner of your living room? no :) it is a date now. a lego building date. for four hours straight. on the floor. him running this ship like you run your team at work. and his focus, his professional approach to the matter is a little too attractive, you admit to yourself. and somewhere along the way that translates into you planting a kiss on Hwa's cheek. this is the only time over the whole four hours that he drops the pieces he is holding in his hands, gazing at you, not quite sure if what he felt just now was real or not.

but nope, judging by your attempts to avoid his gaze this was very real. so he gets real bold real quick and guess who finds themselves trapped by two tones arms on either side of you, back on the floor, a curious and mischievous face a mere inch away? that's right, you. wants to build a starship, accidentally builds a relationship along with it - a major win.

there isn't ever a platonic stage really. an extensive awkward stage? sure. a roommates-maybe stage? sure. two people who like each other? sure. and now, after many months of you settling into a new routine, two people who love each other and keep telling each other that.

he finds a job that he can do remotely, and in this way remains mainly at home and around the neighbourhood with his beloved hobbies and balancing you out. in this way he now starts to sneak support to pay bills and to buy you little gifts (as a little apology for taking your clothes sometimes - read often)

it is not Hwa's fault that he misses you very quickly. it just happens. then one thing leads to another and he is lying on your shared bed hugging a hoodie of yours. eventually that leads to him dragging a couple more items out of your wardrobe and making a little nest out of them - only then does his worry go down and he goes for a nap while curled up in a ball.

when he knows that you should be arriving soon he starts walking up to the window, then away then back to the window, and away again. cycle repeats itself until he can spot you from a distance, and then he just stays by the window.

he helps you redecorate and rearrange your apartment, considering that you now have a 5'10'' human cat instead of one you can hold with two hands, and shocks you with just how many details he remembers about you, down to allergies, what colours irritate you when it comes to interiors, what plants you had to give away to keep him 'in cat form' safe - even though yes, he would not eat them, but how were you to know that?

he remembers all your special days, and hopes you remember his, too. thankfully, he knows his own birthday and using cat mathematics, converted from demon to cat to human. and so, now you can celebrate him wholeheartedly, only this time that also involves you taking him to go have a picnic under the cherry blossoms.

you and Seonghwa go to pick out and buy him a phone together, and you spend a whole day teaching him how to use it. soon enough your own phone goes off with notifications from him. he sends you fun things throughout the day and if he is busy, he sends you a selfie or a heartfelt message.

likes to curl up and read poetry with you. doesn't matter if out loud of in silence. what matters to him is that you are close. and good luck trying to get away - he has a tail and it is wrapped around your leg like an alert system so that he can tackle you right back to the couch or the bed. because it is you and Seonghwa time.

occasionally sings you lullabies that he either overheard somewhere or remembers, breaking into a smile when you wriggle closer to him and fall asleep, stress melting away from your every feature.

overall you are now living with a catboy Hwa cast out of hell for being too nice, who also turned out to be a big nerd, with heart eyes for you, sweater paws instead of actual paws, the occasional feline habits still coming through (like him rubbing his face against your shoulder, or your own face, or him hissing when frustrated or threatened, or him having the widest stretch in the morning, or… actually he is still part cat so, you have to deal with it), and all the love to give. thankfully not in the form of something he hunted. he buys birds at a store now. meant to be cooked. human-friendly.

he brings you a limited edition starship instead. if you display it he will look at you like he is falling in love with you all over again - if that is even possible because that would mean stopping loving you now, and that is the one thing he cannot do <3

😻 taglist: @acciocriativity @justhere4kpop @byuntrash101 @shakalakaboomboo @starillusion13 @hongthoven @cqndiedcherries @uwuheeseungie @cheollipop @frankenstein852 @charreddonuts @miriamxsworld @mingigoo @michel-angelhoe @innsomniacshinestar @foxinnie8 @preciouswoozi @wooyoungjpg @nebulousbookshelf @wowie-hockey @hongjoongs-patience @ssaboala @jaehunnyy @kitten4sannie @maddkitt @pocketjoong-reads @lightinyreads @ren-junwrld @burnmepls @pyeonghongrie-main @archivesummer @little-angel-k @marsstarxhwa

thank you for reading! if you enjoyed, please leave a kind reblog, much love!

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[monicahar]

scaramouche is a weird boyfriend.

gn! reader, fluff, reader's a bit oblivious and stupid here with tsun tsun kuni. this is heavily inspired by ch. 81 of horimiya but idk what i wrote...im really thinking of a part 2 in his pov of what HE thinks of you this time.

you liked to think your understood the oh-so mighty balladeer better than most people.

with the big n' bad harbinger image that he's carrying around, it's unfathomably impossible to fully get to know him. it's one of the many advantages you like to use—using your reputation as his famed partner for life to get out of missions and errands you dislike.

it takes quite a toll on your paycheck, but who cares when your boyfriend is rich as hell? though you probably have to risk your entire existence when asking for something from him that's a tad bit expensive—but eh, everything has to come with a price, as they say.

but basically, moral of the story; you know your boyfriend pretty well. easy to piss off, really handsome, all bark and no bite (when it solely comes to you. it obviously isn't the same for your unfortunate fellow co-workers.) also unbelievably wealthy, and most importantly—loves you very very much. (he'd sooner slit his throat and dive off a cliff than to outwardly admit it though! he's just that shy! silly him 😜)

yet even though you've memorized and jotted down every aspect of his personality, there are still times you don't get your boyfriend.

though you liked to brag about knowing how he works, you truthfully don't understand enough of his mind's inner workings to be able to comprehend when he does something that throws all your confidence of knowing him out the window.

relatively enough, a good example of this statement is happening before your very eyes right now.

“stop moving, will you?”

hmm, for someone you often associated with a feral cat when it comes to physical contact and affection, he's being rather clingy at the moment. you aren't sure of what to do with your hands, pathetically enough. you fear he might cut off your limbs should you reciprocate...whatever he's doing right now.

unmoving upon the weight nestled in the crook of your neck, you struggle to formulate proper words and thoughts as your hands are awkwardly flailing in the air, not sure if this once in a blue moon display of affection he's giving is a way to non-verbally relay that he wants attention or whatnot...

usually when he wants attention, he'd just pick one of the idiotic things you did today and berate you for it. though it's a weird way of asking for cuddles, you still both end up in each other's arms by the end of the day.

he's not even hugging you or anything, arms hanging by his side as he leans his head on your shoulder, face buried in your neck with his hairtips gently tickle your skin.

unsure of what to do, you just, stand there.

the silence is loud for you, but you're not sure if the same goes for him. the ticking of the clock is a telltale sign that it's been a few minutes or so with him burying his face into your neck like a chick huddling for warmth and protection under its mother's wings, and unfortunately, as nice as it feels for him to initiate contact by himself, your shoulder is horribly getting sore.

“kun—”

before you could even say his full nickname, his head suddenly shoots up, a blank expression painted on his fair face as he stares at the way your eyes blink confusedly.

“i have work to do.” he mutters to himself dazedly, skillfully ignoring the way you tilt your head as if asking him to explain what the hell is up before turning on his heel and making a beeline back to his office, the chime bells of his seemingly mocking you from his lack of provided excuses.

what the...

rolling your shoulders to ease the pain and pressure it gradually collected while supporting the weight of his head, you could only stare down the halls in bewilderment as you're attempting to process what happened just now.

another example of an interspecies act he did also just happened recently.

barging into his office is an almost daily occurrence, proudly walking in with your chin held up high while preparing yourself to rant about your entire day to your busy harbinger boyfriend.

cutely dismissing the fact he always calls you a massive headache for talking his ear out while he's working, you still yap on and on about your uneventful day to him, whether it'd be about some boring lunch with some birds, or an almost death experience to the hands of a mitachurl.

he never openly reacts to your daily shenanigans, only a few eye twitches or deep sighs when you say something particularly disappointing or unamusing which, on the positive side, means he's listening! full and well!

you were prepared for a flurry of insults to be hauled your way the moment you utter that you disgracefully and inconveniently tripped on your way to delivering documents to the doctor, falling face first right at the second harbinger's feet.

you always noticed he seemed a lot more bitter than usual when you mention any of the harbingers, so you kinda expected him to just full blow yell at you when you account this little funny story today of what happened with the doctor.

your eyes nearly fell out of its sockets when he didn't call you stupid or dumb, or an idiot, or whatever demeaning word he has to call you, and instead finally looked up from his desk to frown at you, finally speaking up since the last hour of your nonstop talking.

“did he do anything to you?”

...you've talked about almost dying to a damned humongous chicken on one of your expeditions to sumeru, and this is the topic that catches his immediate worry first and foremost?

it was just a silly prank you pulled out of boredom, wanting to see a reaction from one of the most powerful harbingers! nothing even happened! the doctor just dismissed you with a maniacal laugh, albeit a bit creepy, but he still helped you up!

“he what?”

the lamp on his desk flickers, the electricity around the room becoming more apparent by the second.

were you not supposed to interact with il dottore...?

“forget i said anything...”

gently setting down his quill, he folds his fingers underneath his chin to look at you whilst feigning a rather unsettling smile, an obvious ploy. “oh, no, no. continue.” he nudges in a sing-song tone.

ugh, he's only somehow paying attention to your rant when it's about different people! but doesn't even budge an inch when you say that you've beaten an oni before in a ramen contest. do you know how much of a great feat that is?! he was absolutely destroyed! a product of your successful gluttonous self! that silly yokai never stood a chance!

he glowers at you from his desk. “it's a he as well?”

you knew you had to change the subject fast if the amount of anger seeping from his small being was anything to tell by. “uhh, there was a pink haired lady with us too! she kept flirting with me though, so she didn't really participate in the contest. a huge bummer really, i wanted more opponents!”

—a beat of silence, before the lamp flickers shortly once more.

“she what?”

uhhhh, why is he still angry?

yet another strange phenomenon ensued when he quietly approached you with his chime bells following closely during your training on one sunny day, silently watching you from the sidelines as you fire arrows consecutively at the target multiple feet ahead before you.

rendering all your focus on the target before you, you pull back the string with a certain amount of force and stability—dismissing his presence in the meantime whilst you zero in on the sole red dot in your vision.

whatever has got him burning his stare at your side profile can wait on hold.

huffing to yourself in satisfactory when the arrow's tip diligently digs into the painted wood right at the center of your target, you finally face your scrumptious little gremlin of a lover, unable to stomach the tenacious silence any longer.

“what's up—”

“do you hate me?”

“...?”

good grief. not a good morning, nor a hello, nor some type of greeting he usually accompanies with a venomous insult—but a single question whereas he questions your loyalty and devotion to him as your romantic partner.

you tolerating his entire intolerable existence is already enough of a telltale sign that you like him a smidge lot more than he thinks, right?

you bite down the rude thought in your mouth as you strain a smile towards his direction, confusion still apparent on why he's suddenly asked your opinion of him.

“did you hit your head today, by any chance?” ignoring the glare you're recieving upon the small comment you uttered, you put your bow down on a nearby surface as you worriedly step up to meet his gaze properly. “why are you asking such a question?”

“...”

him being a mouthful is something you don't entirely mind no matter how many people berate you for not finding him annoying in any aspect, but him being so unnervingly silent like this is just plain scary.

you think you're about to melt into a puddle with how intense he gazes at you with his beautiful indigo pools, threatening to consume you whole as he openly ponders about your words.

“so you love me? since you seem to find discomfort in my question?”

“yes...?” you immediately retort as you raise a brow. what's up with him today? he always prided in himself about the love you continuously offer without hesitation, so why is he like this all of a sudden?

“i love you a lot. a heck ton.” you blurt out nothing but truth, “i badly wanna kiss you right now, but i know you don't like it in public so i'm keeping down low.”

he finally peels his gaze off of your face to look at the ground, before flickering up to you once again with an unsure frown, eyeing you weirdly on your shameless confession.

“...okay. that's good.” he replies as his face contorts into a more neutral expression, his voice unnaturally soft and airy. you barely hear him mutter something else under his breath before he swivels around and leaves the training grounds—stunning you greatly on what just transpired.

you always knew he was uh...a bit emotionally detached and all that, but having to question the affection you hold just for him? isn't the fact that you're willing to lick under anyone's boot just to simply talk to him not enough confirmation?

not knowing what to do in this situation, you simply just watch as he slowly escapes your line of sight, observant eyes not missing the slight bounce in his steps.

he's happy, it seems. you giggle to your self at the adorable sight. perhaps you should chase after him and kiss him silly.

from what you've heard, other people's lovers would normally be a lot more nicer and considerate when it comes to their significant others, but that obviously isn't the case with your unique partner.

needless to say, he is a really strange boyfriend. too puzzling for your pretty little brain to fully wrap around yet an enigma you truly couldn't get enough of—fortunately or unfortunately? whatever.

scaramouche is a walking and living contradiction—inconceivably difficult to predict.

he hogs all the blankets at night when you sleep together yet gets mad at you when you catch a cold the next morning,

thinks your cooking is an abominable atrocity yet still consumes them religiously like he currently isn't getting food poisoning,

always makes it his priority to call you 'unsightly' or whatever, only to lightly bonk your head when you actually agree and sulk to yourself about it,

often voices his protest against your kisses and huggie wuggies as you've called them, yet doesn't fight back when you forcibly wrap your arms around him after finally getting enough of his stubbornness,

intensely glares at every person that comes within a two feet radius of your 'personal space', and if you bother to ask him what's wrong—he'd direct his glaring at you as well for some reason,

he refuses to lend you his precious hat every single time when you ask to borrow it, yet shoves it unceremoniously against your face to hide his burning visage from your sight after a particularly flirtatious comment you slipped in,

never verbally returns your 'i love you's during the day, yet he constantly whispers it to you like a mantra when he thinks you're asleep. (does he not want you to know he loves you or something...? anyway let's just pretend not to hear him for his sake.)

scaramouche is a weird boyfriend indeed, but he's yours and yours only. a constant in your life that you'd never give up for the world.

no matter how you look at it, the list seems endless—ceaselessly an infinite of contradictions and complexity carried on his person. he truly lives up to his eccentric title, a strange person indeed...

—but despite him being his grumpy self 24/7, you still find him entertaining and all the more endearing.

whichever person threatened to take him away from you would have to face your gluttonous wrath.

(he looks at you weirdly when you proudly exclaim you'd eat even the gods should they ever lay a hand on him.)

atm i am hungry and i want borgir :( this starved stomach of mine might've slightly influenced how i portrayed reader

#scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #kunikuzushi x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact imagines #genshin drabbles #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact scenarios #scaramouche fluff #scaramouche x y/n #scaramouche x you #har❗fiction

[callsign-relic]

I loved part 2 so much!! The adorableness makes me grin like a fan girl. How you contrasted what is going on in their heads... one dark, any negative sign must obviously be betrayal... and tiny human reader is fretting over angles and shading and (holy crap Starscream stop moving) for the giant alien war mech 😍🫠

I didn't mean to ramble, I apologize, I just hope you know how awesome you are.

And if the offer still stands, and you think this is okay, I would love a part 3!! And I had an idea that you can totally use or not use, but what about stargazing?

Maybe reader brought a sleeping bag or maybe time just slipped away on a normal visit, idk, I was trying to go for soft bonding.

Idea or not, I'll seriously be happy with anything. Thank you!!! 😊

Wow, thank you so much!! I’m very happy you enjoyed that little series so far :D I’d be happy to make a part 3 for you! For those unfamiliar, here are parts one and two!

Hope you enjoy! I kind of got carried away with it so it’s a little longer than my usual fics, HAHA

Warnings: SFW, Fem!Human!Reader

There was something you had noticed during your frequent visits to Starscream’s hideaway.

For all of the mech’s boasting and shows of his own grandeur, all of his complaints and infuriated utterances when things didn’t go his way— if there was something that could always seem to get him to quiet down, it was the view from the top of the waterfall at night.

Only once had you stayed long enough to really notice. You were already on your way back to your home before sunset, but you had forgotten your bag. You turned back into the clearing, expecting to see Starscream there, only to find him perched atop the waterfall’s edge at the top of the mountain. He wore an expression you had never once seen before on him, and was gazing up into the sky.

And so, you resolved to really see it next time.

Starscream’s optics flicker as they catch the light of the setting sun, fierce in its final moments— as it always was, the seeker had learned from his time stowing away in earth’s wilds. He raises a clawed servo to shield his optics before casting his gaze down onto you.

You were doodling away in your sketchbook— as you usually did, when you didn’t know what else to do. For once, you were taking a break from drawing studies of your mechanical companion, instead examining a finch perched upon a tree branch not too far from the rock upon which you were sitting.

The little bird seemed to be in the midst of its preening ritual. With its sharp little beak, it dug into the pit between its torso and wing and tugged. It kept tugging at the same spot for a little while, until finally, it removed a bug from its otherwise well kept red and brown feathers. With a couple twitches of its head, the bug jittered around in its beak before disappearing into its mouth— a well earned reward after its hard work.

You felt this was the perfect scene to capture on paper. You quickly brought your pencil to the page, first getting the basic shapes down, as you usually did—

But something suddenly blocked the remaining orange light from overhead, and your sketchbook was too dark to look at. Had the sun set already? No, you could still see the faint hues of pink and orange from the corners of your eyes. Perhaps a passing cloud blotted out the sun?

The clearing of a throat pulls you out of your wandering daydream, and you lift your nose from the page to be met with a gray pede. Slowly, you crane your neck higher and higher until, scaling the length of a familiar mech’s frame- until you lock eyes with a pair of squinting, red optics.

You offer a crooked grin.

“Human,” Starscream begins, servos impatiently on his hips, “it is about time you start on your way home.”

Though your grin falls into more of a smile of ‘I tried,’ you nod. You close your sketchbook and grab your bag, stuffing it full of your art supplies and a spare grocery bag full of wrappers from snacks you had thankfully remembered to bring with you that day. As you begin packing up, Starscream gives a nod of his own and goes in the opposite direction as you— scooping the spare mechanical parts he often spent his time fiddling with into his arms before stepping into the forest line. He crouched down, removing a false bush from its place, revealing a worn hole in the ground. Then, one by one, he places the metal pieces into the hole.

Now was your chance. Aside from your travel bag filled with your usual materials, you hike a much larger backpack over your shoulders. You were lucky Starscream didn’t care enough to ask what you were doing with a new bag.

Rather than head out into the forest line— while the mech was distracted, you carefully backed up and away closer to the waterfall. In your exploring, you recalled there was a little alcove hidden behind the waterfall, and that would be your temporary base until Starscream returned to his perch atop the mountain.

Tucking behind the rushing water, you pull yourself inside just in time to see Starscream cover the hole with foliage once more, quickly picking himself up onto his pedes. Though the water makes it difficult to see, you can see the bright red of his optics shift about— he had been scanning the environment as night finally began to fall.

Once he was apparently satisfied, he left your field of vision from this angle. You could, however, continue to track him from the tremors his pedes left in the earth as he walked. Though the vibrations sent your instincts into a slight panic, all you had to do was breathe, you were used to it by now.

Eventually, the quakes fade, and when you hear one final shake run its way from the top of the mountain all the way down to you, you know Starscream has finally sat down.

Now was the time to make your move.

You slip your way out from behind the waterfall and begin your ascent up the mountain. Thankfully, it wasn’t that bad of a climb, really— just a steep incline. Though, you did have to take a couple of breaks along the way to catch your breath and take the weight of your backpack off your shoulders for a little bit.

Eventually, you take another few steps up onto the hill, and the back of the silver mech’s frame finally becomes visible to you. You duck your head instantly— you didn’t want to risk him catching you so early on. But, there he was, in that same position he always liked to seem to take.

One leg dangling off of the edge of the cliff, the other crossed onto his thigh, and his arms resting behind him as he gazed into the night sky.

With another breath, you gather your courage. You approach him.

You soon make it up beside one of his servos behind him and he doesn’t even notice you. You’re not sure how to get his attention without frightening him…

“Hey—“

A shrill screech cuts its way through the air, and while you flinch into yourself, Starscream raises his servos in defense— pedes scrambling in place as he looks around in a panic before finally landing his optics down onto you. The fear in his eyes quickly twists into fury, though his chassis pounds up and down all the same. He slams one servo down into the earth with a fierce growl, using his other servo to scoop you up in one fell swoop.

“You!” He shouts, “I told you to leave! What are you doing all the way up here?!”

While getting scooped up into the fist of a metal giant would typically send you into a bout of panic, you had enough experience with Starscream’s sudden flashes of anger that you could keep relatively calm. “Okay, I know you said to leave, but…!” You trail off, trying to determine whether or not it was worth lying to the mech’s whose hands your life was currently at the whims of.

With a sigh, you drop the eager attitude. “…a couple days ago, I saw you up here, looking up at the sky. I— I know you say you don’t care about company and that having people around you is more trouble than it’s worth, but…” your eyes drift to the scar under the mech’s right optic before you lock eyes with him once more. “…I feel like your problem is that you just haven’t met the right company yet.”

Starscream examines you for a long time. His fury has simmered down by now, though his faceplate remains twisted in pure suspicion.

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” you add. “Listen, I get if I crossed a boundary with you. I’ll leave if you want me to.”

Then, after another moment of scrutiny, Starscream lowers his servo back down to the floor— much to your surprise. You drop to your feet, nearly tumbling backwards from the weight of your backpack, but you manage to keep your balance enough to see the seeker staring at you with… stifled confusion. Though he appeared to be trying his best to hide his emotions from you, your eyes shifted to the side, catching his wings tilting themselves downward.

Quickly, he tears his gaze away from you. “Fine. If you don’t bother me, you can stay.”

You pump a fist quietly to yourself, all while giving him an earnest, “Thank you.” Finally, you remove your backpack from your shoulders, crouch down, and open the zipper to gaze into the contents within.

Your trusty sleeping bag.

You scoop the mass of fabric into your hands before dumping it onto the floor. You unravel the bundle into a much more usable form, lower the zipper—

“What are you doing?”

The sound of Starscream’s rough voice makes you jump in your spot just a bit. You turn around to see him staring at you with a raised optical ridge— perplexed.

You fully turn to face him and place your hands proudly on your hips. “I brought a sleeping bag,” you explain, gesturing a hand towards the bag. “It’s basically a bed that can travel with you, and you can use it to sleep in the wilderness. Another innovative human invention,” you wink.

The seeker’s confusion dissipates into disinterest. “Whatever keeps you busy,” he waves you off with a servo before turning to face the night sky again.

You shrug— you learned to never take Starscream’s comments to heart anymore. If he really didn’t want you there, he would have long since kicked you out by now. So, you drag your sleeping bag up beside the mech’s hand— Starscream lifting it out of reflex as you approach.

“No, you can stay there!” You assure him, fully unzipping your bag. “Uh, if you don’t mind me next to you, that is.”

The mech rolls his optics, shifting to the side to allow you some breathing room with a grumble. You offer a little chuckle as thanks as, at last, you slip into your sleeping bag, zipping it up to about halfway up your torso.

Then, you cast your gaze up into the stars.

The sparkling dots looked as though they were dancing gently in their places. While you couldn’t tell them very much apart, it was certainly a much better view here than from your apartment window. It was no wonder why Starscream liked the view so much.

“…hey, Starscream?” You try.

“What is it?” He replies in a low grumble, looking down at you from the corner of his eye.

“You said you were an alien, right?”

He huffs a pompous laugh, “A Cybertronian, yes.”

“So… is your planet up there somewhere?”

And you’re met with silence.

“Starscream?” You repeat.

“…yes,” he finally answers— though his tone is softer than you had ever heard from him before.

You shift from lying down to resting your weight onto your elbows behind you. “Is it visible from here?”

There’s another huff, but it’s more resigned this time. “No. Though I know its general location from this angle.”

You lean forwards, squinting— trying to get an idea of where Starscream had been looking just from the perspective of his head. But then, you suddenly pull yourself backwards as something slowly raises itself before you.

A single, dark navy servo.

You look between the hand and Starscream’s face for a moment, dumbfounded— but you decide to just take the chance and hop on. He wasn’t even looking at you, who knows how long this offer would last? Leaving your sleeping bag behind, you clamber into his palm, and the very moment you’re settled down is when Starscream raises you into the air, level with his chest.

With his free servo, he points northwest. “There. Just past that cluster of stars.”

You squint again, trying your best to follow his pointed digit. You wished you were more astronomically adept. “The… the group of seven or eight stars there, all bundled up against each other?”

Starscream nods. “There, thousands upon thousands of lightyears away, lies Cybertron.”

#relic writes #Transformers #Transformers x reader #Transformers prime #Transformers Prime x reader #TFP #TFP x reader #Starscream #Starscream x reader #TFP Starscream #TFP Starscream x reader

[tiredmetalenthusiast]

Poems of Love (Gaz x F!Reader)

This is part one of the Love letter series (In slow process, please be patient). Starting off with everyone’s favorite pretty boy Gaz! This is just a love poem from reader to our helicopter surivor!

Warnings: Violence against another person, mentions of racism, hurt with written comfort, fluff, writer has very, very little military knowledge!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If you could have had it your way which you did but only a little bit, you would have scarred up the bitch that decided it was a great idea to talk shit about your sergeant. Price had intervened when he was brought in for the commotion, finding you and her in a pile on the ground of the mess hall, your fist repeatedly meeting her face. The guy she was with looked just as bad as she’ll look after Price had Ghost pull you off of her.

”Alright! What the hell is going on here?!” He turns to you expecting an answer, before you can speak however the girl you had been wailing on decided to speak up.

”She just went mental and attacked us!” Ghost scoffed, “Sounds like a load of shit private.” Ghost looks to Price who says nothing, still looking at you for an answer. “What happened, sergeant? I won't ask again.”

You took a breath to center yourself, placing a hand on Prices wrist, a sign you were truly pissed and grateful for your captain holding you back. You looked at Gaz who was staring at the floor, with Johnny patting his back. “Sir, the guys and I were simply enjoying our lunch, when Private Downs and her buddy Private Fallow decided it was an amazing idea to address Sergeant Garrick by racial slurs. I took it upon myself to defend his honor.”

Price looks at Gaz and Johnny, who confirm the story. Price turns you loose to Johnny so you can see if Gaz is okay. He had told you not to worry about it, to leave it be as it wasn’t anything he hadn’t heard before, he admired your sense of violent justice and need to defend him.

Price clears his throat, “Well, as it stands we here in the military, especially the 141, don’t take kindly to that sort of talk. You both being in the military, fairly new or not, should probably re-evaluate your life choices. If you find joy in tormenting your fellow high ranking officers perhaps we should remove you.”

”Remove us how?! It’s just words! W-we were just joking!” Ghost rolls his eyes and jostles Private Downs to shut her up. “You’ll shut your bleedin mouth! Sergeant Garrick is more of a soldier than you and your friend’ll ever be in your whole career!”

”Ghost take ‘em to my office. Sergeant!” “Captain?” “Good work defending your colleague, next time though try to make it a bit less bloody, eh? Cleaning duty for a week.” “Totally worth it sir!” Price and Ghost leave with Downs and Fallow in hand ready to put them through back to basic for behavioral and tolerance training.

Gaz had thanked you but told you it wasn’t necessary, he seemed distanced after that. Only saying hello in passing, you thought it was either what the two idiots had said or that he was mad at you, possibly both. Johnny and Ghost had assured you it wasn’t anything you did.

Taking the time you had to sit around after hours you penned him a letter. A poem really but you were hoping it would put him in a better mood. It took you a few hours but once you had finished it and read it over, you folded in up and went to slide it under his door for him to read in the morning.

-The next morning- Gaz pov-

He really wasn’t up for dealing with anyone today, especially not after yesterday's events, but none the less he had to get to up and start his day. Duty called and he had to be at morning training to help Ghost with recruits. He thought back to you and how fast you were to defend him, he was appreciative yes but it really wasn’t a big deal, it came with the military. Some people are just stuck in the Middle Ages like and you can’t help them.

Freshly showered and changed he was about to leave when he noticed a letter on the floor, his name scrawled across the front in beautiful script. He picked it up and sat at his desk to read it.

It looked like your hand writing but he doesn’t remember it looking so nice and neat, havin only ever seen you writing reports in messy, somewhat legible chicken scratch. As he opens it and begins to read he feels his heart swell.

‘To the prettiest man I know

Your bravery knows no bounds, leaving me breathless at your wonder. Akin to a warrior, a deity, war and peace become you. An angel.

Your beauty would be compared to that of Narcissus, of a warm summer day and lovely autumn nights. Your eyes bring delightful thoughts of dark chocolate in the shade and shine like the brightest amber whiskey in the light.

Skin aglow in the afternoon sun and glistening with sweat,  who could ever deny you? Aphrodite herself would bargain with you for your secrets. Would regale you with tales of beauty and mark you as one yourself and no one would bat an eye in disagreement.

I look upon your beauty and heroism with awe and hope that one day I could stand in even a shred of your greatness. If you were a god I would worship at your alter for all of my days, the most devoted supplicant, spreading your praises through any means.’

Gaz must have read it 4 times and he didn’t know what to say, his eyes were a little bit misty. Others had praised him yes, for his efforts on the field, his medals, but no one had ever called him a deity. No one had ever complimented his eyes like that. He rubbed at is eyes, letting out a huff, before folding up the letter and placing it in his desk drawer before heading out to morning practice. His heart feeling lighter.

If you would like to join the Tag list comment and I’ll add you!

Tag List: @cumikering

#~Harley finally writes something🫣 #The Love Letter Series #call of duty #kyle gaz garrick #Kyle Gaz Garrick x reader #gaz x reader #gaz garrick #gaz mw2 #gaz cod #kyle garrick x reader #cod mw2 #cod x reader

[valeskawhore]

SHERIFF! BIGBY WOLF!? X fem! Reader!

A/n: “So literally just finished my own interpretation of the telltales game, “The wolf among us” and I swear. I am Inlove with this man/hybrid, thingy.” So I figured why not write about it?

Here’s what it would be like for the one and only sheriff of Fable town to meet you..

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Arightly, we ALL know. This is pretty much basic information if you know anything about this man.

He doesn’t give a shit. Honest.

I mean, he cares. But especially with his “friendship” with snow in the series we all can already tell that this man has some serious authority issues.

He’s not used to people telling him what to do, and what to say or how to act. Bigby gets very offended in the series when one of the options for a response when beginning to talk to TJ about what he saw when Lilly died, snow asks bigby to be more “less like himself” he did not respond well..

He came from being the “big bad wolf” once upon a time. Nobody trusts him, and honestly, I think he prefers it that way.

All he’s ever done, or known for that matter is hurt. Pain. Being the one to always inflict it.

And because of this power of control, he was elected sheriff of fable town. Perhaps others in the higher power thought that it would be beneficial to work some of that natural rage out.

To wrap up, he’ll do things his way.. pretty often.

Depending on the circumstances always. Now if his way would put anyone in danger that he “cared” about on some kind of level, he’d avoid all conflict. He wants to change..

He just doesn’t know how. And he won’t trust anyone enough to show him.

Though.. when YOU came along..

You weren’t a fable, you weren’t rich.. you weren’t special.. you couldn’t turn into a troll or a fairy or even a wolf.

You were a mundy. A normie.

Ofcourse growing up in the “real” world your entire life, fairy tales were strictly “fairy tales” and that’s all there was to it.

On the way home one night from driving home, you drove into an unrecognizable neighborhood. But something about this place felt strange, almost like de ja vu..

Had you been here before..?

You saw a sign for the only sheriffs office in town and decided to stop their for directions.

The place was like a fucking motel..?

On the way to the elevator to find this office yourself, (since the fucking security guard was passed out cold) you bumped into a strong figure on the way in the elevator as he was coming out.

“Shit.. that was my last one,” the figure mumbled, his voice scratchy yet light.. familiar. The man took a step back and crossed his arms. His stair formed into one of disgust and annoyance.

The stranger took a step back and even.. EXAMINED you. He was tall.. stone cold even just by looking at him could you tell. His sniffed lightly, his nostrils expanding a little bit, with a wince, he finally spoke.

“A mundy huh?” He coughed out some smoke. A annoyed look on his face.

I stared at the man, confused and desperate for some sleep.. ‘did he say mundy? Or did I miss my medication today?.’ I questioned myself silently.

“Sir.. can you please repeat that?” I asked kindly, (or tried) I kept a smile on my face but even a dumbass like the tweedle twins could tell it was fake.

“Hm.” He scoffed a little. He pulled his hand up to his face and squeezed the bridge of his nose. “What can I help you with?” He grumbled, finally releasing his nose and crossing his arms once more. Trying to keep a smile, his was tense like my own.

Just two strangers staring at one-another, both tired and annoyed— trying to be polite.

I finally put my fake smile down and realized why I was even here to begin with. I tried to smile genuinely this time, “yes! Please I need to see the sheriff, or anyone honesty who can tell me where I am and why these roads are so confusing” I said that last part with a laugh, a shitty joke erupted from my nervousness. I mentally smacked myself.

This guy doesn’t wanna hear my shitty jokes.

The man tilted his head slightly and let out a loud sigh, “that’s me.. sheriff wolf.” I reached out my hand instantly for manners and mutual respect for the fact that we both obviously needed some good sleep and quiet.

He hesitantly shook my hand with a firm grip. His bottom lip puckered slightly, his jaw tense, though he didn’t let go my hand, just held it with quite the grip.

I stared at him and then down at our hands intertwined with eachothers. I let out a nervous laugh.. “hey Uhm—“

He cut me off, “well? Eh? You gonna tell me your fucking name or not.” His voice got stern, I felt myself shrinking under his gaze.

“Y/n” I laughed, but I felt a surge of sudden confidence take over me, my gaze locked on his, I squeezed his hand back just as hard, something about this seemed right.. our hands together.

“What’s your name sheriff?” I smiled,

The man stared me down, his eyes went to our hands then back to my eyes. I felt him shake in my grasp, whether with anger or fear, I didn’t know.. but I wasn’t some cute little girl.

“Bigby— sheriff bigby.” And he ripped his hand out of mine. His hands tensed, curling up into fists at his sides. “You’re in fable town, you must have taken a wrong turn missy. Cause this is NOT where you’re supposed to be.”

He warned, I laughed.

“I’d love an escort sheriff.”

“I don’t have a car”

“Big guy like you walks around eh?”

He growled, obviously not finding me amusing whatsoever. “Here” he took out a little note pad, he gave me the address for somewhere else.

“Follow the signs sweetheart” and with that, he walked away. The crumbled up piece of paper laid on the ground near my feet, I snatched it up with a scowl on my face.

“Fucking asshole.”

You didn’t know what to think of this guy, and that bothered you because you were the typa girl to always have a plan and analyze everything and everyone. You couldn’t read this guy, something about him.. felt so primal.. so inhuman.

His eyes, his canines, the facial hair even. The way he smelled for jimminy Christmas. He wasn’t normal,

Then again who was nowadays?

He was an asshole, stubborn and irritable over the smallest thing.. but.. why ..

Why couldn’t you stay away from him…?

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

You were annoyingly pretty. Almost suspicious.

Faith was dead, now Lilly, fables running around town causing shit with nothing better to do.. and now you?

He wouldn’t buy that ‘just got lost’ bullshit. Something was weird about this girl.. too eye catchy and doll like. Fragile and confident all the more. He needed to find out more about you.

You owed him a new pack of smokes too.

#funny story #funny content #bigby wolf #twau bigby #sheriff bigby #the wolf among us bigby #bigby x reader #twau #twau 2 #twau oc #twau snow white #x reader

[meetinginsamarra]

mayprompts2024 #3, familiar

Read part one (using the prompt "box") here

+++++

The Perfect Place - Part Two

Sherlock should have listened to John’s expertly recited explanations about the important boxspring bed features like the firmness of the mattress, the springiness of the boxsprings, the delightful cooling effect of premium silk coverings and what must have been a million more obviously vital-for-buying-a-bed things that had to be considered.

Sherlock briefly wondered how John was able to remember such a boatload of utterly boring nonsensical dull facts. Could it be that John had a similar construction in his brain like Sherlock’s mind palace?

(John had not, of course. As a former student of medicine, he was pretty well used to memorize tons of facts with questionable usefulness in a short amount of time in order to pass his exams.)

But then Sherlock focused on watching John Watson’s body language change while he advertised the bed and it was utterly fascinating. Sherlock was absolutely pleased with himself to find out that all the deductions he had made about John Watson over the past two days when he had stalked him had been correct.

Now, Sherlock saw John Watson transform into the man who was familiar with walking the battlefields, was no stranger to keeping calm in the face of volence and was accustomed to dangerous situations and people.

The immediate danger of getting fired if he did not sell this bed had already changed John’s posture into standing more erect and he was safely using his bad leg whithout the walking cane that leant forgotten against the counter. John’s eyes had become bright and alert, losing their dull sheen of desperation and boredom and when he pointed with his hand at various parts of the bed it had become steady and showed no signs of its previously intermittent tremor.

When Sherlock had first laid his eyes upon John, he had immediately deduced the man’s history. Doctor, soldier, invalided home. Once an acclaimed hero and saver-of-lives, now a depressed suicidal reject with no perspective in life.

How could this Bernie person have hired John as a shop assistant and been convinced that this was a good idea? It was blaringly obvious that John did not belong into this place and would be a terrible salesman on top. Was Bernie blind?

Forcing John to work here was like confining a majestic Bengal tiger in a cage and watch him pacing to and fro, going slowly mad and starting to gnaw on his leg while banging his head repeatedly against the iron bars. Maybe Bernie was just cruel on purpose.

(Bernie was not. Either. But he had been smoking weed before the job interview with John and found his supposedly customer-friendly smile charming. When the psychedelic effects had worn off, Bernie realized what mistake he had made but it had been too late and he had to stick to employing John for the four-week trial period.)

“… and that’s basically all there is to know about the ‘Royal Metropolis Deluxe’ boxspring bed,” John ended his advertising monologue. “What do you think?”

“Awesome.” Sherlock breathed, thrown back into reality. (Meaning John, not the bed.)

“I’m very glad to hear this,” replied John. (Wishing the client had said that about him instead of the stupid bed.)

+++++

Sorry, that's all I could manage today. Possibly typos in there but it's late and I am very tired. The Bed Shop AU will continue tomorrow!

tagging some people (tagging on desktop seems to work) (I hope) @calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @peanitbear @raina-at @lisbeth-kk

#mayprompts2024 #my Sherlock ficlets #calaisreno #prompt number 3 familiar #no beta wie die like (wo)men

[sebastianswallows]

The English Client — Ten

— PAIRING: Tom Riddle x F!Reader

— SYNOPSIS: The year is 1952. Tom is working for Borgin and Burkes. He is sent to Rome to acquire three ancient books of magic by any means necessary. One in particular proves challenging to reach, and the only path forward is through a pretty, young bookseller. A foreigner like him, she lives alone, obsessed with her work... until Tom comes into her life.

— WARNINGS: none

— WORDCOUNT: 2.6k

— TAGLIST: @esolean @localravenclaw @slytherins-heir

I

Unsurprisingly, there was no sign of Ambrogio when Tom returned the next day after seeing Berit and negotiating an employment contract. His new colleague let him through to the downstairs area, the undershop, and she was quite cheerful at the sight of him, but clearly tired. Tom guessed she hadn’t slept much, just as he hadn’t.

“Do you have any plans for lunch?” he asked almost as an afterthought when he was halfway down the trapdoor with only his head peeking out.

“Well, I was going to see if Fred had time… Oh, you don’t know him, he’s —”

“Would you like to go with me, instead?” Tom asked, putting on his most charming smile.

“I would,” she said quickly with a lovely laugh.

“Good,” said Tom. “I’m glad to hear it.”

She blushed and nodded.

“Well, then, see you at noon,” he said, stepping down further with a parting wink.

He had not abandoned the notion that, out of all the people involved with Casa Ur, she was the one through which he could reach his goals most easily. And he’d be kidding himself if he didn’t admit she was the most pleasant out of all of them, not that she had much competition on that front. As for the others — the Baron, Ambrogio, even the secretary — they were to be handled carefully…

And in the meanwhile, Tom set to work.

She had given him a briefing on what he could find below, and where, and the rest was up to him. Tom spent the first few hours setting up his desk — he chose the one that wasn’t with its back against the door — and then inspecting his surroundings. The tunnels were large and expansive, although they were merely the skeleton of what they could have been. That one large corridor opened into many rooms and smaller passages, some of which led nowhere, and some of which were full. He didn’t have time to see them all that day.

Then he made a few attempts at magic and found, to his surprise, that there were no counter-spells active at all. At least, not on the basic sort of spells he tried, the ones that wouldn’t target a person. That would certainly make his work much easier, as he could enchant a quill to write up his reports after authenticating the books, while he explored the tunnels further.

Best of all, before lunchtime, he looked into the closest room to his new office, the one behind the curtain. It opened into a vestibule that was well organised and rather bare, although there was the hint of rituals performed there from the half-burnt candles and the hints of chalk upon the floor. Through another door and with the help of Lumos he saw a larger chamber, something like an auditorium.

“The auction room, I take it…”

Once he stepped out, he noticed another doorway of a wood so dark as to seem invisible. It looked like a grander office with a large desk facing the door. If the smell and dust were any indication, it was being used less often than his shared office with Ambrogio, but it was more ornate, more respectable, and filled with shelves and drawers. Pinned to a board were layers and layers of lists.

He focused on the books which lined the walls there. Their quality did not much differ from the books on sale upstairs, but some were rare and precious things indeed. His fingers itched even as he only looked at them. These were too valuable to leave in the hands of muggles, but that was a problem for another day.

Lunch came around. She called him on the telephone at noon, startling him from the ransacking of another crate. In a way, it was another novelty for Tom — not that he hadn’t eaten with her before, but the whole idea of a lunch break was luxurious to him. At Borgin and Burke’s, he ate standing up and in a hurry, if he ate at all. In this respect, the Baron was a generous employer, or perhaps it was the whole Italian attitude to life that deserved the credit.

The restaurant where they went to eat — he let it be her choice to spare himself the humiliation of picking poorly again — was the same where she had gone to eat with Frederico: a small place opposite the Trevi fountain filled with young Italians and tourists. It was a far cry from Knockturn Alley. Everyone here was well dressed, hair carefully coifed. and there was an air of self-respect in their relaxed and pleasant posture which was reflected also in their laughter, their good cheer, and how appraisingly they looked at others. Tom never did like being gawked at, but he discovered he liked people gawking at his companion even less.

“What are you thinking?”

“Hmm?”

She was looking at him with her chin braced on her palm, her head slightly tilted in a dreamy sort of way. “It’s just… That was a pretty intense look on your face,” she said. “I just hope you’re not having trouble with your new… assignment.”

“My what? Oh, you mean — No, that’s going very well,” said Tom, head turned at the Piazza spread before him. “No, I was just thinking of London, in fact.”

“Oh,” she said dejectedly.

“And how much I hate it there.”

“Really?” she said, sounding more hopeful.

“Yes… Sometimes, when I let my guard down, I must confess I like it here.”

“Well then, we must make sure to strip you of all your guards,” she giggled. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” she added quickly. “That sounded funnier in my head.”

Tom smirked. “What do you mean? I found it hysterical.”

She groaned and hid her face behind the menu.

“Make no mistake,” said Tom, “I’m sure I’ll hate it here as well. All these people, all of them… looking at us.”

“They’re only judging our fashion sense,” she whispered.

“Are they indeed?”

“And, well, maybe more.”

“Hmm.”

Her flirtation was quite charming, in its artless way. It was not a show of wits and glamour, not a boast or a sophistication, it was just… a response to his presence, and what she thought of him.

And apparently, she was imagining him naked. Legilimency is probably my favourite spell, he thought, after the killing curse, naturally.

Their tension — her groaning, him grinning — was cut by the arrival of the server.

She had something with seafood. Tom had Alio et olio.

“Are you sure?” she asked. “That can be quite spicy.”

“Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing,” he winked.

II

There were a few hours left until sunset, and Tom put aside his explorations of that underground labyrinth to begin reviewing the books. He took out his quill, enchanted it to take notes on dictation, and made good progress for one hour, reading, thinking, and writing…

His notes ended up sounding a bit stale, generic even, but factual and convincing, he thought. He was ready with the main body of it when Ambrogio appeared. Tom quickly hid the quill away in a drawer and replaced it with a pen when he heard the hollow echo of his footsteps.

“Good morning,” said Tom in greeting with a grin. “I mean, evening. I was just about to pack up for the day, in fact.”

Ambrogio rounded the corner with a practised gait, clad in the same black suit as yesterday complete with a white shirt and red tie. His eyes didn’t betray any surprise at seeing Tom there, but he was familiar with the subtleties of undead expressions from the few customers of his ilk he’d had on Knockturn Alley. So he knew Ambrogio was positively furious to see him there.

Tom’s smile widened in an uncharacteristically friendly fashion. It almost hurt his face.

“Good to see you again, Mr. Ripple.”

“Riddle.”

“Yes, exactly. I am relieved to see you have been… working diligently.”

“I’m almost done with the first book, in fact.”

“Really?”

“I was thinking of sending a first draft to the Baron tomorrow.”

“May I see it?”

“Certainly.”

Tom stepped to the side and let the vampire pick the papers up himself.

“And what is that awful scent?” Ambrogio asked, his nose curling the closer he got to Tom.

“Oh? I have no idea… Might be my lunch.”

Ambrogio looked at him with a disgust verging on death — which the garlic must have smelled like to him. It did cross Tom’s mind that he was playing with fire, but he wanted to have at least a little fun.

Ambrogio’s dead gaze fell to the sheets of paper in his hands. They lay there so limply and delicately that Tom was sure he’d drop them, but vampires were deceitfully strong creatures. It was probably part of what made Ambrogio so useful to the Baron. There was a great deal of heavy lifting to be done in this kind of work, and that, together with his involvement with the magical world, must have made the vampire invaluable.

“You wish to present this to the Baron?” Ambrogio asked.

“Yes,” said Tom confidently.

Oso’s expression changed to something faintly resembling dismay.

“You’ve written hardly anything of note. We need an analysis, not a fairy tale.”

Tom straightened his back and took in a sharp breath.

“The historical considerations,” continued Ambrogio, “are less important than the physical aspects of the book. Look at its characteristics dryly, without concern for context or comparison. I want to see your review of the quality of the paper, its texture, its scent, the thread count of the binding, whether it has any watermarks… Then, you can move on to your personal assumptions about historical compatibility, or whether it has sufficient wear and tear for its supposed age.”

And without any more ceremony, Ambrogio balled up the papers into one messy fistful and threw them into the waste basket by the desk.

“Start over,” he said as he turned, hands now primly behind his back. “If you wish to work for the Baron, you will work until your hands will bleed if that’s what it takes for a good work to be squeezed out of you. You will stay here all night if necessary.”

Tom’s jaw clenched, the ideas of a thousand curses passing through his mind as Ambrogio went back to his own desk.

“And find something better to write with,” he added. “That one scratched the paper something terrible. It’s as if you wrote with a claw. Get a Montblanc.”

III

It took five days for Tom to finish his analysis of The Book of Abramelin, between taking notes in the basement and trips to the library for research. The other two were far easier and he did both of them in one week altogether, finishing up ahead of schedule even by his own rigorous standards. And he did end up buying a fountain pen, but he opted for a Parker instead. He looked at the little decorative arrow on the cap and imagined shooting one straight through Ambrogio’s head.

Tom was, however, relieved that the vampire had seemingly no idea he was a wizard. He behaved around him as he would with any ignorant muggle, although it was clear to Tom he posed as much of an inconvenience to the vampire as Ambrogio did to him. He’d clearly had colleagues before, if the random items left inside the drawers were any indication, but was accustomed to being on his own for quite a while. Tom couldn’t help but wonder what had become of his predecessors… It was highly likely Ambrogio had eaten them.

“What are you giggling about?” asked the vampire, his dry voice scratching across the office.

“Nothing, Mr. Oso,” said Tom with the same pleasant, boyish tone he used with Burke. “I was just clearing my throat. Quite dusty in here… If only were was a window we could open.”

“Well, there isn’t,” he said with a note of satisfaction. “Best get used to it.”

Fortunately, Tom didn’t have to spend too many hours with the fiend. He usually left at around five or six — a stark difference from his very first day when he left at midnight.

Most of the time, Tom had the whole place to himself. He became well acquainted with the auditorium and even asked the girl about it during one of their lunch breaks. Bringing her flowers probably helped — oleander, yellow carnations, and tuberoses. Between complaining about her landlord and detailing her dreams of seeing Paris, Tom slipped in more questions about work.

“Well, you were due to find out about it sooner or later,” she whispered, sitting close.

“What is it?” asked Tom, his long fingers curled around a cup of coffee — black. He had a childlike and eager expression, similar to how he felt when he first discovered the Chamber of Secrets.

“It’s something like a showroom,” she said, cupping her own coffee — full of cream and sugar. “They hold auctions there for books we don’t display upstairs.”

“Special books for special customers, I take it.”

“Well, they certainly think so.”

And from there emerged a conversation about the kind of personalities they were confronted with over the years, from naive parvenus to aggressive aristocrats, people who knew what they were talking about and those who didn’t, and worst of all those who clearly had an interest in the worst kinds of books.

“And Torchia…” she said, the words flowing out of her without intention — but then, when she realised what she’d just said, something froze in her and her words stumbled.

It was up to Tom to pull her through.

“Yes?” he prodded, his dark eyes fixed on her. He expected her to confess whatever they’d done to Clement. “You know I’ll keep whatever you say strictly between the two of us.”

She chewed on her lower lip, eyes flitting here and there like the wings of a butterfly caught in a storm.

“It will go up for auction,” she said at last, the whisper hot against his cheek. “I don’t know when, but there already is a buyer for it.”

“I thought these were auctions, not sales.”

“Not if you’re a personal friend of Ambrogio,” she smirked. “They set things up deliberately for someone to win. I think they charge different prices in secret.”

Tom leaned back, a faint smile on his lips. “That’s a dangerous game they’re playing…”

“Nothing can happen to them. The auctions are secret, the attendees are secret, none of them will go to the police even if they suspect preferential treatment... They’re more likely to cast curses at each other,” she joked.

“Hmm.”

“Honestly,” she sighed, leaning back as well and holding the coffee to her chest like a teddy bear, “I’ll be glad to see this book gone. It’s brought nothing but trouble.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Just… you know.”

“No, I don’t know.”

“Probably for the best…”

Tom looked at her in silence. She was retreating into herself again, her eyes distant and sad. There was a shiver around her shoulders in spite of the summer heat. She was afraid… and full of sorrow. He wondered what it would take for her to confide in him her darkest deeds… The poor thing likely didn’t how excited he’d be to hear them, how proud he’d be of her, his little murderess.

“By the way,” said Tom, “do you happen to know the name of this supposed buyer?”

“Yes, I’ve heard it once… Strange name, sounds French or something. Malfoy, I believe.”

#Tom Riddle #Tom Riddle x reader #Tom Riddle x OC #Tom Riddle fanfiction #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #sswallow;fanfics #sswallow;made a thing #fanfic;englishclient

[picturejasper20]

Danny Phantom:A Glitch in Time-Vlad Masters Character analysis

A Glitch in Time puts Vlad Masters in a different role that he has been always presented in the main show: Instead of the main antagonist role, he acts more as anti-hero protagonist in the graphic novel story. He joins forces with Danny, Sam and Tucker and works together with them to look for the true source of ghost power and defeat Dan Phantom.

Having in mind that ¨A Glitch in Time¨ takes place around a month after the events of Phantom Planet, Masters finds himself having lost all the political power, social position and control he built for decades, either by using his powers to steal money or manipulating people around him. In addition to this, everyone knows his identity as ghost and what kind of person he really is now, meaning he is considered an enemy everyone and basically everyone hates him.

As he explains to Danny: ¨But upon arrival, I realized… i have nothing left to return to¨. In this context he wasn’t only refering to political power and money he had, he was refering to the fact that now he was truly alone, no one missed him nor wanted him around, since they knew what kind of person he was. Even the ones that considered him their best friend, Maddie and Jack, hated him. For once, Vlad couldn’t put the blame in anybody else for his situation but himself.

The issue is that at the start of the graphic novel Masters knows that he did something wrong to end up in this situation but he didn’t know what he did wrong. He still hadn’t fully reconsidered how his obsession with being in control and manipulative behaviour pushed everyone away and how going back in time wasn’t going to fix his actions. Clockwork pointed out how Vlad had many times to do the right think and instead choose to be obsessed with getting revenge and control others.

If there is one way i would define Vlad in this story is ¨lost¨: It feels like he isn’t sure of what he wants to do or what he wants to be, like there is a part of him that wants things to go back the used to be while other part of him doesn’t want to be in the ¨villain role¨ anymore. And, because he doesn’t want to deal with these thoughts, he comes up with this idea to look for this original source of ghost power as a way to distract himself for having to think of this emptiness he feels now, much like he always did when it came to dealing with his own loneliness, always looking for some new power to fill the void he had.

One thing i would argue, is that Masters was already changing in some ways when he went to Danny for help. He expressed to be more aware of how his actions were affecting others, such as acknowledging that he was ¨the last person who Danny wanted to see¨ and half admitting he shared the blame for the timeline being in danger since he accidentally freed Dan Phantom. As it was discussed earlier, Vlad was aware that he did something something wrong, just not what was it.

To expand in this point more, Vlad never does anything that could be considered ¨evil¨ while working with the heroes. He never makes jokes about Jack or makes comments about how he is going to make Danny turn into his pupil. Even when he complains a few times, he is shown to be quite collaborative with Danny and the rest. In part, this could be because he knows better than to argue against the person he went to ask for help, but it still interesting aspect to analyse.

Another thing worth of analysing are his reactions to seeing Danny being supported and appreciated by his friends and family. He is shown to be annoyed or confused when he sees this happening. While it is not explained, it could be a sign of jealousy from his part as Danny has people that care about him and help him, something he wished he had. It could also remind him of how he used to be friends with Jack and Maddie and how things went wrong between them. Some people have pointed out that these moments are one of the things that leads to Vlad to change his old ways later in the story, pushing him to be a better person.

Now there are two crucial things that leads to Vlad to finally rexamine his past actions and to start to redeem himself: 1) Learning about the truth origin of ghost powers 2) Learning about Dan and his origins, specially in the final fight

Lets talk about these scenes in separate points:

1) Learning about the truth origin of ghost powers

After the protagonists listen to Tucker PDA’s translation of the old runes they found, they learn that ghost and human world used to be connected or be ¨one¨ and were separated. That ghosts in some way are manifestations of human emotions, such as sadness, love and wrath. While the teens discuss the meaning behind the runes, Vlad goes through a bit of…  a mental breakdown to put it lightly.

¨This is RIDICULOUS! Where´s the rest of it? () ¨Great question, Daniel! What Am I doing? I wasted years of my life piecing together clues for the ultimate power source and for what? Story time?¨

Unlike Danny, Vlad seems to struggle a lot at first with the idea of emotions being the true source of ghost energy. He considers the idea too ¨ridiculous¨ to be real and treats it as it was a child story. And this is not that surprising to see since he was expecting some type of artifact or powerful weapon instead of something more abstract.

It does makes sense for Vlad to not understand this idea at first because he is more logical driven and he isn’t that connected to his emotional part like Danny is. The runes talk about being ¨finding yourself¨, as in the sense that a ghost should examine what they really want to do or be or they could get lost in the process. This is an ability that Master lost over time as he got more and more consumed by his obsession over his past and ways to fill his own loneliness.

Danny talks about how he doesn’t want to ¨hunt ghosts¨ and instead wants to be a bridge between human and ghost worlds to help both human and ghosts. He gets his powers back like they used to be before he lost his emotional drive. After Vlad sees evidence of what the teens were discussing,he starts to have some real changes on his character. Vlad realizes that emotions and purposes are what drives ghosts and it isn’t a simple old silly story.

While that is a bit open up to interpretation what is going on in Vlad’s mind when he sees Danny getting back his powers, it is easy to see that itself inspires him to revalue what he really wants for himself and if what he has been doing so far has been making him happy or miserable. It someway it leads him to think about himself and what has he been doing until now with his own life, the same way that Danny did to find a new emotional purpose.

What’s more, Masters seems to have a new found respect for Danny after this event. He is seen saving and protecting him multiple times in their battle against Dan Phantom. He treats Danny as more of an equal than someone to turn into his pupil. This could be because, unlike him, Danny was able to figure out way quicker how the nature of ghosts powers worked and didn’t considered the legend a joke. Another aspect is that Vlad starts to see himself as a ¨bridge between the human and ghost world¨ and how instead of fighting Danny he should be helping him and supporting him. As both being ghost-human hybrids, they should work together to fix this issue.

I talked more about these moments in here. (Also, there is a comment that explains well the last point)

2) Learning about Dan and his origins, specially in the final fight

When Vlad first meets Dan he learns about how Dan is part of Danny’s ghost half and his ghost half, Plasmius and he is from another timeline. This moment itself doesn’t trigger an important change in Vlad’s character as more than he learns what Dan is.

It’s during the final fight that there is a moment Dan provokes Plasmius while he is beating him down. He tells Vlad that he made him and how this is what ¨he always wanted¨. Dan gives Vlad a terrible physical and emotional beatdown that makes Vlad finally realize how obsession with getting power was so self-destructive and how part of himself is what makes Dan act the way he does, having to ¨see himself in a mirror¨.

There is also a lot of Vlad always wishing for Daniel to join him and becoming his pupil and him seeing the results of what he ¨wanted¨ in here: The results being an very powerful version of Danny who destroys everything in his path and with no sense of morals. Making Vlad realize that he doesn’t want Danny to be like this or turn into someone like that.

In a brief moment Vlad begs for Dan to stop saying these things and says ¨that was a different me¨, trying to separate himself from the alternative version of himself who accidentally created Dan Phantom. Dan reminds Masters that he isn’t any different and his goals were still the same as his alternative version.This is what i personally consider the final ¨push¨ that Vlad’s character need to decide to not go back the way he used to be and to start making amends for his very selfish and controlling actions.

It is seeing what he could become-and Daniel had he joined him- if he had continued this path, something that is even too far and cruel even for someone like him.

Finding a new purpose

When Dan is about to destroy Danny, Danny asks him ¨Why you are so angry?¨, Dan tries to deny that he has emotions like anyone else and he has ¨transended that weakness¨. Suddenly Vlad transforms into Plamius and tells Dan that his wrong since half of him, the Plasmius part, is ¨full of fear¨.

Then what follows is a struggle between Vlad and Dan’s powers and Vlad admitting how his obsession with controlling others drove everyone away, including his close friends Jack and Maddie.

¨Why amass all this power?¨ ¨For control!¨ ¨Why control others?¨ ¨So no one else leaves…¨

¨All i ever wanted was love, but my quest for power drove everyone away. Maddie, Jack… and even young Daniel¨.

This is what Vlad has always been at his core: A broken man that since the accident back in his collegue years and being abandoned by his close friends in a time of need (at least from what it has been implied), became obsessed with being in control of his relationships with others so nobody else could leave him behind again or he couldn’t be hurt again. This is something that often happens with characters that have had things that made their lives spiral out of control, usually as result of being hurt by someone they cared about. To compensante for that lack of control they had in their lives, they try to control people or their own relationships, because they are afraid of being abandoned or hurt again.

Vlad Masters became consumed by this desire to be in control and as result he pushed everyone away. He always looked for something almost every person wants: Being loved and accepted by others. The issue is that he chose the most toxic ways to do this, hurting people that cared about him or could have been potential friends/allies.

And, as a way to distract himself from these feelings of emptiness, he always looked for more and more power- but that was never enough because it wasn’t what truly would make him happy. This is why in the series his arc was about self-desctruction, until he was left with no one that cared about him and finally ending up truly alone. You can see this habit come up again in the graphic novel, as he suggested to find the source of ghost power. Because it was a way to distract his mind from his real issues and having to think about himself. It could be in part that Vlad thought that if he could gain some power, he could be in control again and then he didn’t have to be alone, that things could back they used to be before the Disasteroid.

After Vlad comes in terms with how the problem has always been himself, he decides that his new purpose is going to start making amends and redemming himself for his past actions, leaving behind his obsession to be in control. He helps Danny and they fight together against Dan, defeating him in the process.

Helping Dan

Some moments after Dan gets defeated, he starts to destabilize since he has been outside the timestream for too long.Danny, Vlad and Clockwork discuss if t it is a good idea to trap Dan inside the thermos again until they are interrupted by Dan crying and begging to not be left trapped inside the thermos as he doesn’t want to be alone again.

In a rare moment, Plasmius sympathizes with Dan Phantom, he transforms and frees the ghost, offering his body as a temporal host until they are able to find a way to stabilize him. He expresses that he relates himself to Dan’s fear of being alone and, just like him, he has lost everything in his own timeline no other than by his own hands.

This is important coming from Vlad, a character who was defined by his selfishness and exploiting others for his own gain, showing to be selfless and empathizing with someone’s else pain. As he points out to Danny, he is trying to do the right thing for once, which is taking accountability of his actions and helping another person. Vlad explains to both Dan and Danny that this gesture is a way for him to apologize for his actions and showing that he regrets hurting both of them. He wants to give Dan a ¨second chance¨ and asks Danny if he could give another chance to make things right to him too. Dan accepts the offer, using Vlad’s body as a temporal host.

What it is interesting about this scene is that Vlad asks Danny for a second chance, but he doesn’t ask for his forgiveness. While he apologizes for how much he hurt him, he respects Danny’s choice of not forgiving him or still hating him, showing that he knows that Danny has a right to dislike him after everything he putt he boy through. It’s a good way of demostrating that he has still a long way to go for making up for his actions and he understand this.

I talked a bit more in detail about this scene and why is pretty good in here

Vlad is last seen with Clockwork transfering Dan to one of Danny’s clones that was in Vlad’s lab. Clockwork explains to Vlad that Dan is ¨his responsibility now¨ as even his time powers have a limit. The ending suggest that Dan ends up being taken care of and probably adopted by Vlad, acting as a father figure for him and having the opportunity to be a teenager and have a family again.

In conclusion

Vlad Masters’ character arc in ¨A Glitch in Time¨ is about him realizing that he doesn’t want to be in ¨villain role¨ anymore and having to face the fact that he is the reason he ended up alone and pushed everyone away. Despite of trying to distract himself from this by seeking a new source of power, at the end he realices that his manipulative behaviour made everyone, including himself, miserable.

It’s worth of noting that his arc in this story isn’t a full redemption arc but the start of one. He starting to make amends for his past actions by awknologing what he did wrong and taking care of Dan, who was accidentally freed by Vlad in first place. It’s clear that he has still a lot to make up for and it’s going to take him a long time for him to do that. He is now guardian and ¨parent¨ of Dan. Vlad always dreames with having a family, specially raising up someone who was human-ghost hybrid like him. Now he is going to have to learn what is like to be a father and taking care of someone with a complicated past as his child.

#Danny phantom #danny phantom a glitch in time #Vlad Masters #danny fenton #Dan Phantom #Dp analysis #character analysis

[surveillance-0011]

Master and Crazy Handcanons

Both:

Both are collectors, hobby-wise. They also enjoy sparring and partaking in games + competitive activities.

Born from the same source, twin brothers. Perhaps even the same person. Regardless, two halves of a whole.

It did take Crazy Hand some time to make his presence known to the smashers but Master Hand always knew him.

MH used to be rather ashamed of CH because of his role as a destructive other half, but learned to accept his presence. On the other hand, once upon a time CH was very envious of MH's ability and drive to create but learned to appreciate his own abilities.

Both are charismatic. While they present as more antagonistic, in the end it's all kayfabe and they care a lot about the smashers.

Oversee everything, basically. Doing a lot of behind the scenes work with the help of spirits, miis and other powerful beings throughout the worlds. MH does the more general stuff, and CH the dirtier work

kind of aware of the meta of everything being a video game, kind of not. Schrodingers 4th wall awareness. when it's quirky.

Both go by he/him.

rest is under the cut for length

Master Hand:

The Creator. The Ringleader. Voice of reason.

Used to play up the evil ambiguity more, but now he's more into presenting as the ultimate foe in a more benign way. Like Max Brass or some sort of top dog boxer.

Also the announcer.

Early bird, and early to go to bed. cannot stay up late to save his life. I mean he will to battle for many a kid playing under the covers

Very organized in routine and actual cleanliness. Loves his lists and itineraries and sorting cabinets. Yes, he is creative and never super-uptight, but he needs some semblance of routine.

While he tries to keep Crazy in check, he is still up for some mayhem every now and then and is totally game for dishing out beatdowns together whenever!

Very hush-hush about Master Core, hates its presence within him.

Still very guilty about not being able to prevent or do much during WOL. Subspace? Okay. That was a mess but he did what he could. With Galeem and Dharkon? He feels he should've been able to fight back and see the warning signs.

Very stern and distrusting towards Tabuu, Galeem and Dharkon. Not fond of them but is keeping them around to keep an eye on them.

Doesn't like to show weakness. He knows a lot of people rely on him and would rather die than see them feel helpless.

Great at cooking! Everything he makes is great, the smashers cannot get enough. Though a lot of the smashers can cook and do so for each other, on special occasions he will treat.

Needs more hobbies, a vacation and some therapy. please.

Crazy Hand:

A destroyer. Source of chaos. Chronically silly.

It's just... his nature. He has a lot of energy but he hasn't ever been able to make and retain something. He has, however, been able to break things down and mess them up. As mentioned above, once upon a time this was disheartening to him, but he was learned to work with it and take joy in it. That, and by being a part of Smash he has helped cultivate something beautiful in his own way. Very proud of himself!

Really plays up the supervillain sort of vibe, esp in comparison to his brother. He's like a scare actor. He tones everything down if he sees someone is actually scared.

Huge prankster

Night Owl. Keeps an eye out after dark, making sure curfews are met (for the kids mainly, gotta get their sleep) and that mischief is kept to a minimum. But he will also be a boogeyman of sorts and cause a bit of mischief, as he loves to spook those who decide to stay up late.

Gives more leeway. If you know Master Hand will say no, consider asking Crazy for what you want! He's like the cool uncle if Master Hand is more like a team dad. Gotta make up for brutality on the battlefield somehow!

Likes to collect quirky, kitschy stuff. Lots of weird collections. Rocks shaped like presidents. Beanie babies stitched together like the human centipede. WMDs. Garfield Fish Tank Owner.

Oh I bet he does keep fish also. He'd be good at it. Another thing where he can actually take care of something and not destroy it.

Don't trust him with gardening though. Or cooking.

Into horror and weirder stuff, but prefers campier stuff. Can't stomach super horrific and dramatic stuff or gory stuff.

Easily moved by movies.

If he's quiet. Assume something is wrong. He's either doing something in secrecy or really upset. Hopefully the former and he's just about to pull off some crazy prank.

Got over Subspace and WOL relatively easily compared to others but is worried about how they affected others, especially MH.

He was also still shaken up from being controlled by Dharkon

Dislikes Galeem and Tabuu, sees them as stuck-up pricks. Feels sympathy towards Dharkon as the guy is Chronically Miserable and he sees that it was acting out of misplaced rage and dispair. Doesn't make it right but CH knows what it's like to be full of the need to destroy and raise hell. This has lead to him being more forgiving and trying to befriend his former adversary

#ssbu #super smash brothers #super smash ultimate #super smash bros ultimate #ssbu headcanons #headcanon #crazy hand #master hand #ssbu headcanon #headcanons

[hwaightme]

Use me (part 2)

THIS IS 18+ ONLY MINORS DNI FOR LEO KING'S SAKE (nsfw tags under the cut)

(part 1) (masterlist) (perma-taglist)

🥂 pairing: non-idol!mingi x fem!reader (implied yun... x reader - i wonder who...) 🥂 genre: smut, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, friends to lovers-ish 🥂 summary: you try to forget and return to what you know best, but what is on a sober mind quickly turns into a drunk phone call and a life-changing confession. 🥂 wordcount: 22.5k 🥂 warnings/tags: language, alcohol/drinking, over-drinking/being drunk, toxic behaviour, risky behaviour, unhealthy coping, trauma, implied past abuse/assault, flashbacks, numbing, one night stands, learning to love, learning to feel, mingi driving through the night, implied psychologist!mingi as job, fools in love and lust 🥂 taglist: at the bottom of the fic~ 🥂 a/n: this has been long in the works, first as a haunting thought, then as what you may see here. i'd love to dedicate this fic to @byuntrash101 <3 thank you for your continued support, for our love and friendship <3 to everyone, i appreciate you all, any and all reblogs, notes, thoughts appreciated, much love!

🥂 nsfw tags: dom-leaning switch!reaader, sub-leaning switch!mingi, protected sex, thigh riding, fingering, handjob, blowjob, facial, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, implied squirting, dirty talk, pet names (darling, doll, gorgeous... others...), loving talk/pillow talk, mentioned aftercare and general gentleness, reader is sober atp, explicit asking for consent, wearing mingi's t-shirt, a lot of kissing because they are all over each other, a whole lot of doting, sex that is like a hug

"I love you..."

A slam of the door.

Where it all began.

You. Left in a loud solitude. Ceasing to stifle your sobs with your tee and letting out an animalistic cry. An innocent creature who trusted unconditionally, only to be shot at point blank and abandoned once the fun chase was over. There was no one out there except yourself to mourn your loss. Trapped in a dark room for what you believed to be the rest of your years.

Harsh reality collapsed on you under impossibly strong gravity, and trapped you with one brutal swipe. Your heart was being eaten away by your acidic mind that kept on replaying, replaying, replaying the moments that had led to your metamorphosis. A catharsis in reverse, an autonomous inflictor of agony festering in every crevice. 

It was funny how one's thoughts could be so lucid, come the worst. You could clearly recollect just how grateful you had been that your mother, as always, was out of town, and upon her return would be in oblivious bliss, and how ‘wonderful’ it was that there was nothing to look forward to for the next day. Or perhaps ever. You did not want to lift your hopes again and again only for them to descend faster than light to the pits of hell signed with your name. No need. There was enough time to prepare your space, invite and get to know your unrelenting demons before the alarms reminding you of basic social functioning would ring, and your body would be torn from your whirlpool of torment to enter the hustle and bustle of crowds. Not one person was aware of who they were walking with. Who they were walking past. Beauty was in the eye of the beholder, and you tore yours out in an effort to distort and move on.

The luxury of time before the ringing of the digital bells. You could cleanse yourself until your skin was no longer yours, until what remained of your willingness to perceive could spot the etchings of a body. You could cut out every part of you that served as a reminder. Subject each one to the savage ritual, until you were pure. The perfect angel once more, no longer decorated in shades of blue and maroon inside and out. You could remove each lobe, each cortex of your brain and douse it in the strongest agents, and to the rhythm of the rippling waters from the sink submerge them in the illusion of bliss.

And yet, you had not moved an inch, choosing to remain as a stranger in your own flesh.

You could fight back. You could rise above and spit the venom of the scorned and those isolated by societal hellfire, raise the flag and tell the story of those who could not. Be larger than yourself, a self-starting role model, redefine yourself as someone who used their past as motivation, as a foundation for unshakeable morals that would lead you to a humanity-changing greatness.

But what good was it when you stopped feeling? What happened? Who were you?

It was a wave that took you in, providing you the satisfaction of prolonged sensory suffocation, suspending you in senseless attitude, order, and disposition. The self-hating rebellion that had reared its head and manifested itself within you, turned you into something out of a nightmare. But you had never realised just how intricate and terrifying was the persona you had materialised within yourself. The cavities and taboos that had now become intricacies and embellishments of the scarred soul would have been repulsive to you before. To the one who existed before that damned day, hour, minute, second.

Numb. You were numb. Always numb. Cruising through your years, silencing any possibility of truly healing. Because no. You were not damaged - you would spit at anyone who dared to call you that. You were not hurt - no signs of weakness could be found on the surface, and this was how you were surviving. You were above it. Nothing happened. What were you talking about? Nothing. Nothing at all. That was what you kept repeating to yourself until the mantra turned into the truth. Truth be told, you were not sure what you were mourning anymore, except that if you did not, out of habit, it would hurt until you would be twisted limb by limb into submission. And the life you had chosen would begin again - new day, same mistakes.

In the process of your radical renaissance into a fatal night-time goddess, you did try to find love. Those had been the last cries of a helpless bird plummeting from the sky. But it all cycled back to the same old thing. Besides, if nobody around you knew what love was, how could you be expected to comprehend, let alone give it? You could not be bothered to believe that there were outliers, nor delve into the reasons why things like ‘friends’ ever stuck around. You lived, you breathed, and that was good enough. You wanted to purge yourself of love.

That was how the three little words, in that haunting sequence, came to be your personal poltergeist; a curse to summon a despicable demon that you vowed to never utter. Bloody Mary, Beetlejuice - sure. Just not those three words. They had lost their significance aside from being the root of your troubles and despair. The words did not mean a person would stay. The words were not a promise that you would not be hurt. The words were not a shield that you could hide behind. So instead, you took to sharpening knives, being a spiteful hedonist in search of the last laugh.

Little did you know, love was a creative sadistic monster, and had been by your side all this time. It chose to attack you during the most pleasurable high – one that you had crafted and followed in perfunctory resistance.

"I love you, Y/N..."

It was almost the same. Only this time, it was you shutting the door. Running from yourself.

Your getup appeared almost comical now, as you sat, doubled over on the sofa in Wooyoung’s and San’s apartment. What had been a stunning pair of pumps was now a miserable member of the abandoned shoe society, piled in a corner right by the entrance and masked by an ancient collection of plastic bags, courtesy of San’s resourcefulness. The black dress that was threatening to ride further and further up your thighs at any moment was nothing more than shame vehemently clinging onto your skin.

While you were combating the whirring tornado of short- and long-term memories with a bouncing leg and a zoned-out stare into the carpet, your friends remained equally silent, knowing better than to disturb. Over the years they had never asked why you did things the way you did. They merely learned the patterns and accepted you as you were – an action for which you could never repay them, so you simply hoped that, at least sometimes, you were doing the same if they needed it.

Your cryptic sequence was broken only when you felt a warm fabric being draped over your shoulders, making you instantly stiffen, alert. The rush of foreign sensations made you gasp as your eyes darted up, to be met by San’s, who was sitting across from you on a faux leather ottoman. You had no recollection of when he had moved it from its original position by the wall, between the TV stand and an indoor palm tree, and it made you strangely guilty. You really had a knack for not paying attention to those close to you.

When San noticed your unfocused gaze, he slowly raised both of his hands, palms up, inhaling at the same time, and then lowering them, along with an audible, level exhale. You chuckled, making him break into a small grin – you were coming back. Not quite ready to touch what appeared to be a jacket or cardigan that was now embracing you, you put your own hands between your thighs, feeling their miniscule tremors as the adrenaline high subsided.

“You’re literally shivering, Y/N. Do you want me to, uh, bring you a blanket? We have a nice wool throw; a gift from San’s… mom… so you know it’s going to be cosy.” Wooyoung cautiously explained to you in an uncharacteristically quiet voice. He was standing off to your right, arms crossed.

The last time you had heard him use such a soft tone was when you had come with him to visit a friend’s newborn – and even then, he had to have been reminded to ‘shut it or he would be on nappy changing duties for a week’. It made you want to scream, act out, anything to push away this coddling and belittling that was passed off as sympathy. Oh, how you despised when people seemed to walk on eggshells around you. There always existed a desire within you to prove to others that you never needed help, or at least would never ask for it explicitly. That was why, even now, during your rather turbulent departure from the first night in a while that you knew you would not forget no matter how much you might want to, you did not want to play it cool. You needed to.

“That’s because you guys appear to be saving on your electricity bills. I told you: an apartment with heated floors is a bad idea.” you attempted to keep your voice level, but it remained airy and weak, wholly ignoring your efforts. It was as if somehow, your body was physically worn from the marathons you ran in your mind.

“But it keeps my feet nice and toasty.” Wooyoung whined and wiggled his toes demonstratively

“Which is why you… ah nevermind. Cool apartment, either way. I knew you guys were secretly interior designers.”

The topic change helped you get more comfortable in your skin. You finally managed to find the energy and courage to grab onto the edges of the jacket, which had turned out to be Wooyoung’s beloved grey fleece zip up hoodie and pull it tighter around you. It wasn’t so hard to recognise the relief that had washed over your friends’ features as they saw you carry out the simple motion. It really was cold. Though you had no way to distinguish between the internal and external.

As you transitioned from reliving the past to inching through the present, step by step until you found yourself leaning against a kitchen counter with a mug of hot coffee cradled in your hands, your habitual mindset returned. The lines, turned stark and agonising after hearing those forbidden words had regained their hazy infusion, reinvigorating you with a pleasant buzz of numbness, reminiscent of the prickly sensation when muscles just began to wake up, albeit more lulling, something only a person who was alive in the soul was capable of experiencing. It was not long until your friends’ suggestions and extensive monologues began to fall flat on your ears, drifting through your body and expelling themselves to never be remembered. You watched their lips move, their hands paint pictures of a future for you in the air, and yet it all turned to darkness. You swiftly turned the lights off to their reprimands, their comfort, just like you had done before. It was clear that they did not expect much from you either, otherwise why would they sound so well-practised? A sense of deja vu washed over you; as if you had been in the same place before, with the same heavy weight in your chest, cradling the same mug and drinking the same beverage. Were you ever going to change? 

Wouldn't it be funny if you knew how to follow advice? Technically you did. For an entire two weeks thanks to Wooyoung and San forcing you into a movie night with them on the Friday in the middle of the madness - you do not remember a single one of the movies watched, all of them having turned into a blur, and you: a jittery mess. You needed your weekly diversion, your sensual fix that you had ingrained into your routine as if it was yoga or pilates. Tom-ay-to, tom-ah-to. Your version was just a lot more exciting than the average physical exertion in the name of wellbeing. So as you had sat between your two friends, with San having his hand lazily thrown over your shoulders, serving as your head rest, and Wooyoung having made your lap into his pillow, you envisioned a different comfort for yourself. All this cosiness was making you choke, suffocating you as an anaconda would at an astonishingly fast pace, and you could feel that another second more and you would prefer to call your closest friends - strangers. You needed out; at least one day of the week, like you three had done previously. You had tried to hint to San that maybe returning into the swing of things would let his heartbreak pass more quickly, but he only patted your head and gave you a melancholy smile. Though you had returned it, just to soften the blow and reassure him through his romantic solitude, behind your cheek was a bitten tongue, acting as the last straw between your molars and preventing you from making matters worse - at least for San and Wooyoung. You had nothing to say for yourself; actually, you never did. You were never one for self-descriptions or elaborations, preferring to show and not tell. Another reason why in this platonic silence, you were being driven into craving your favourite meal of depravity, where the only language spoken was that of action and seduction. If you were to succeed in moving on from the mistake that still lingered on your skin - kisses trailing the mazes of your body and ghosting over your lips, you needed to erase them by the same method. Time to take matters into your own hands, and that meant a new dress, a new pair of heels, a new club and a new accessory for one night.

You could not hear anyone nor anything. Most importantly, you could not hear your erratic heartbeat, nor the thoughts that were looming over you and speeding around your mind palace. No - if anything was going to take your breath away, it would be the lips of another stranger. Anything to erase the ones that were too laden with emotion, too laden with affection and infatuation for you. A toxic poison that had transferred right into your bloodstream and was beginning to eat you alive. You needed to escape, find a cure to this turmoil before you succumbed to the idea that anyone could care about you more than for a night. There was satisfaction in routine, in a fluorescent madness that was systematically established in your life as a way to let go, thereby gain control. You needed a hit, badly, and one so strong that the weekend would not exist for you, and Mingi's lingering touches would be fully wiped from your body. How dare he spill his darkest secrets to you, mixing nightmare with the ultimate fantasy? He was going to pay for thinking that he could control you in this way and spin threads out of your soul, not by confrontation, but by your sheer indifference. He was just a man, you had repeated to yourself like a mantra as you stepped into a club in a completely different part of town, looking ever so stunning in a deep burgundy dress; he had no influence over your actions and you owed him nothing, not even an explanation. Obviously, he was the one who had overstepped boundaries that he was supposed to sense were there, so why should you consider his melancholic eyes, the sunny smile that had set as soon as he would wake up to see you gone, the- 

No. No more Mingi. Only the beautiful stranger who was devouring you with his alluring orbs, looking past his friends and making you feel as though you were the sole being in that hall. This was the man who could help you forget, at least you hoped he would. Sauntering straight to the bar, you did not spare him as much as a glance when his figure drifted past you. You could sense more gazes following you, just how you always liked it, burning away those adoring caresses that made your skin crawl; you needed a sensory and sensual apocalypse, a purgatory for the damned, reducing your life back to that familiar sin that tasted so sweet and was a stone cold bitch in the morning. You were not some frail creature waiting for a proclamation of love for the sake of validation, nor were you a seeker of such types of closeness - if anyone, it was you who knew it was more fleeting than a good fuck. At least there was satisfaction and sport to gain from the later, and the heart remained caged and untouched. It was not hard to be animalistic, all you needed to do was to give up ruminating those classic "do they like me do they not", and slam the door to social niceties shut. There was no room for feelings when you needed to fly from the tormenting earth, for they were too heavy - a ballast that you needed to rid yourself of as soon as you could. The haze, you needed to give into the tipsy haze; one drink, another, and the world was beautiful. Stunning, even. The blur was an acute desire, accentuating sensuality and letting you transform into the killer queen of the night. 

In this wondrous dissociation, you could not care less about who you were nor who the people around you paraded themselves as. It was all a play-pretend, and may the most talented actors win. No one came to the club to fall in love, and if they did, they were sure to have their heart broken and stomped on, over and over, and over again. Finishing the last of your old fashioned - a drink which you had been introduced to by none other than your friend Wooyoung, you decided that it was time to let yourself go on the dance floor, only to be followed suit by the tall man whom you had subconsciously beckoned. Clearly, he was interested in the same exact thing, and took no time in approaching you, disregarding all other people, and laying a hand on your hip to lead you in a sultry, rhythmic dance further igniting your hope and anticipating desire. You chuckled to yourself as you felt that familiar buzz once more, and studied the way in which your temporary partner's muscles moved in an unbelievably enticing manner under his shirt - material for your lustful imagination. The heat from his body was addictive, and the adrenaline and dopamine-fuelled pace at which you moved to the intense beat left you even more determined than usual. You needed him. You needed this stranger, depended on him and trusted him more than any of your friends, and definitely more than a certain someone who thought he could be something more. As you took your so-called saviour by the collar and tugged so he would be only an inch away, you finally asked his name. His eyes revealed a flash of lasciviousness, just how you wanted, and he sent a shiver down your spine as he whispered back: 

"And with what purpose, sweetheart?" Chuckling airily, you pulled him even closer, until he smirked and wrapped his hands around your waist, more determined, more aggressive and expectant of a continuation in this dangerous game. 

"So that I know what I'll be screaming tonight." 

For a second, you felt him falter, breath hitching as he took in your words, causing fear to rise in your chest as a flash of the timid lovesick angel ran across your vision, and you could almost picture Mingi instead of the canvas for a good night who you were seducing. But this did not last nearly long enough for you to back down, and a line of kisses along the jawline, intimate yet loveless, purely carnal and revering your determination confirmed your selection. This man was on your wavelength, and this man was: 

"Bold of you to assume that you’ll be able to, sweetheart. I dare say it won’t be usef-." 

Use me.

The phrase flashed in your mind just as the attractive man closed the space between you, capturing your lips in a heated kiss. Without as much as a pause, he tilted your head slightly, giving himself a better angle to lightly nibble on your lower lip, sending a shudder down your back. Fingers digging into your skin as he swallowed another sigh - a fragment of your tainted soul for him to keep, he was the embodiment of addiction. The luminance from the neon hallucinations that surrounded you were decorating your and his skin in vibrant greens and purples. He was confident, self-assured, leading despite possessing the hints of an otherwise reserved man. Your thoughts involuntarily drifted to a certain bashful someone who had ended up with you at the wrong place, at the wrong time, and you - in the wrong mindset. Tonight, you wanted to be used. This much you deserved and required in order to purge yourself of this newfound tendency to reminisce and compare everything against Mingi. Who were you? The one you chose to entertain yourself with tonight had his teasing tongue against your lips, not exactly asking for access - demanding it, and it reeled you back into the whirlpool of a daze that came with the deafening drumming of desire, growing louder and louder until nothing else would exist.

His touch - you were caught ablaze as you let him guide your footing off the dance floor and into the dimming lights towards the edges of the club’s main hall. His torso pressed against you, strong arm hooked around your upper body as he kissed the side of your neck. One blink, another and your back was pressed against a cool wall in the corridor that ran around the establishment’s perimeter, rarely traversed, often used by the likes of you and evidently, him. You could not bear to open your eyes out of fear of finding someone you did not want to see - the intensity of your recollections growing stronger with every arousing movement. The same high that you normally would be building up towards was nowhere to be sensed while your nameless lover reached for your breast, cupping and kneading it with an open, salacious wanting. There was little left to the imagination, just as you had initially wanted, and yet something was missing from the series of events that the universe offered to you; the storyline that you had crafted was beginning to get dreary. Squinting down to force yourself into this darling’s passionate kisses, you still struggled to rid yourself of the monologues, the fears and most importantly, the terror-inducing phrase that had pierced through your heart and left shrapnel in every organ, turning into butterflies in your stomach and flowers in your lungs. It hurt to discover yourself in the same situation as before, always looking for something and someone better. Clearly, your stalling and rapid cooldown had not gone unnoticed as the man pulled away, hands back on your hips, one lifting to readjust your dress a little. What had been the glare of a predator was replaced with an almost friendly concern, and the danger which you had craved a mere few minutes ago evaporated, leaving behind an approachable gentleman, the swiftness of the change nearly giving you whiplash.

“Trying to forget someone?”

The question was jarring, somehow more jarring than how he was now presenting himself. With a glance to either side, he took you by the hand, leading you away from what was about to be your scene for a one night stand and back to the main hall. Stumbling over your feet you barely kept up with his pace, his taste, his scent still consuming you and rendering you to move and think slower, the combination with the ringing of alcohol in your bloodstream proving to be reckless, nearly deadly. As the thrum of a hip hop track reset the heart’s pace, jolting you awake and clambering for any kind of reassurance, your eyes met the tall beau’s gaze once again. He had smoothed the locks that you had ruffled, his slightly swollen lips, curled into a lopsided grin being the only sign of what had just unfolded. You could not help but raise an eyebrow, only now registering his question and deeming the gesture to be an appropriate response.

“I don’t exactly fuck emotional baggage, if you get what I mean.”

“Ouch, but fair.” breathless, you squeezed the answer out of your throat, unsteady.

“Glad we understand each other, uh…” he trailed off, attempting to recall the name you did not give. You tilted your head, trying to do the same for him, but failing to find an answer. Did it slip your mind? The recent past turned to centuries, accelerating into emptiness. 

“Hm?”

“Yeah. Just, glad we’re on the same page, I guess.” he cleared his throat, looking back at the vibrancy of dance and sensuality unfolding before you. The music changed once more - once again, another song about a body count and about substances that you would never mention in the daytime. At least not yet. Your head began to hurt, perhaps only a little more than your heart.

“Y/N.”

“Mm…ha. Nice to meet you. You can call me… Yun.” he deliberated for a while before giving you what you assumed to be either a nickname, or a parting gift of a syllable just for you. 

“Nice to meet you, Yun.”

Rubbing the back of his neck, it was clear that he was looking for the right words to let you down slowly and make a swift escape back to his own life, his own friends, his own respective path that was far from yours. Very likely, as it should be. With a sharp exhale, you smiled, making it your turn to induce perplexion. With every vice came sacrifice and risk, and this type was far too common. Be it from starting on the wrong foot or losing the rhythm and steam in the process, two people under the cover of night with nothing tying them together were bound to drift away, it was simply a matter of when. Evidently this was happening sooner rather than later for you and what you had been hoping would be a solution to your anguish. It had to have been your fault, you told yourself while an unreadable gleam settled on your features and you gave the man a single wave to suggest that he need not bother with excessive politeness - after all you had gotten to know each other well enough for that, at least in your books.

“Guess I am right then.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Your reaction.”

“Meet quote unquote emotional women often?”

“They seem to be my type.” you chuckled as he shifted his stance and took a step closer to you, only to turn his body to observe the dance floor while standing by your side. As friends would. An involuntary memory stabbed at your side one again as you mumbled back:

“Maybe you’re a magnet.”

“I don’t mind when they look so good,” with a look to the side, Yun regarded your pose - leaning against the wall, arms crossed, previous aims for allure forgotten as your eased into a more comfortable back and forth, the rush ebbing away to be replaced with an anxious dissatisfaction, “Alas, you are in too deep I fear.”

“Am not.” you hissed out, brows knitting together as you desperately clung onto the present, only to hear and see the same voice, the same words, the same man who you were so adamant to erase. With every sentence uttered by the man, Mingi became more prominent. A laughing stock to the self and to all others - you shook your head. What had gotten into you?

“I don’t like to be called other people’s names during sex, sorry, not my kink.”

The out of pocket line, completed by a realisation at his own choice of words coaxed a chuckle out of your otherwise progressively crumbling state. Even though you had tried to remain below your limit, the alcohol in your system was hitting you with an inexplicable force, the pounding of your chest travelling to your temples, getting stronger until you could barely focus on Y- was it Yun? Yang? Yeong? You needed something to dull this. Remove this. Cut it out of your system so that you did not have to think.

“Fair.” you forced out, the neutral smile remaining on the lips, lingering traces of a falsified passion becoming your new tint, a colour you liked to wear so often it could be your favourite.

“Have a good night, yeah? Sorry things couldn’t be more fun, darling.”

There it was, you could read it on his face. Embarrassment, pity, the hope to never encounter you again. The reason why you always left first, turned around and strode away into the darkness from whoever it was you were to pick for the night. Including the one man who had revealed his soul to you; his innermost thoughts. And just like an automaton, a faulty machine, you blended his heartfelt words with the filth made for a landfill of lies and dread. The back of the failed thrill, whose name was just out of reach, growing smaller and blending into the scenery was a slap across the face, even though you had told yourself time and time again that you had seen enough of the same to not be affected. It had to be the lights, you told yourself. Definitely the lights. And how they reminded you of Mingi, how his eyes reflected the hues as he stared into yours so tenderly, like he was seeing an angel. How he gently held you, your fragility becoming his eternity as he whispered the words that acted like the flutter of the butterfly’s wings that caused the storm. Logic was struggling to keep up with your rumination - this was a different club and a different man, nothing about this could ever amount to the night you had felt like a goddess. If anything, the abandonment was gnawing at your flesh like a foul, feral beast, exposing you more than your dresses ever could.

An airy laugh accompanied your amble towards the bar. You should have known  - after all, if you were told to not think of the pink elephant, you would only think of the pink elephant. Same with the ‘no Mingi’ rule. It was an endless cycle that you were trapped in, and as days stretched out into two weeks, the avoidance was becoming unbearable. Your hand moved on its own as you called the bartender over, mouth and throat working together, far removed from your mind as they ordered champagne. Why? What was there to celebrate? There was no way of knowing, but the bubbles were your closest friends tonight, and you wanted to forget what just happened and whatever was supposed to happen until Saturday were to roll around - tomorrow could be the day you took care of the dirty laundry.

It did not take long for the beverage to transform you, and in a matter of a quarter of an hour with two or so glasses down you were back on the dance floor. But the vigour, the style and the soaring supremacy were nowhere to be found. As you tried to find your place among the sweaty bodies, nudged around by sharp elbows and tugged away by grubby hands, the sensation of belonging was but a mirage. Slow, you wanted to be anywhere in this cesspool of limbs, move along with the rest of the masses and get lost in the action so you did not have to consider your own movements, giving yourself up to the inertia of a wild crowd. One push, another, you were crammed between one figure and another, another push and a snag at your hair and you were flinging yourself wildly to an illusion of freedom in a different section of the floor. A phone flying beside you, barely an inch away from your cheek, flicking your earring and momentarily blinding you with a flashlight that had been left on. What were they looking for, you wondered. Perhaps the same thing as you. As you spun your head around, the pounding getting louder once again, the shoving had become more aggressive and two rough hands landed on your waist, supported by a lewd greeting. Jolted awake from chaotic musings, you grabbed a fistful of someone’s shirt, screaming out until the bubbly was rendering your speech incomprehensible - someone had to help you. Commotion unclear, breathing unsteady, the hands, the legs the torsos and heads all morphed into one creature who you were battling in your last fit of rage. Another pull, earning a yelp, and you were encountered with a familiar face. Y, or was it A, or I? Something or other, his name was a mystery to you. Tall. Handsome - you thought. In the blur it was impossible to detect. You remembered that he tasted sweet. Or maybe not - the champagne had taken over your system, your miniature party for one. Pushing yourself off the man you stumbled towards what you remembered to be the emergency exit. At least you were careful enough to avoid dragging yourself out of a club in shame from the front entrance; you were not that inexperienced to allow yourself to do that. 

Cursing under your breath you put one hand on the black wall of the corridor that would lead you to your freedom. Passing by a place your instinct was telling you was significant, you paused, only to shake your head and step forwards. One, two, three, four - congratulations, you could count. The coolness of the metal on the door was a relief as you leaned over unceremoniously to press your forehead against it, not caring if someone were to see you. You sighed into the sensation as the metal absorbed some of the heated rush, a portion of clarity returning to you and reminding you of your initial mission. That was right, you needed to get out. And ‘needed out’ in general.

With one quick shove the door swung open, spitting you out onto the sidewalk of, much to your fortune, a less crowded street, occupied for the most part by equally inebriated party-goers, celebrating the miracle that was a Friday night - a time that was slowly turning into your nightmare. A cacophony of beats and melodies from one club, another, all accumulating in a sonorous hellscape to render your senses almost fully numb. Feeling the air in front of you, you swore you could touch every particle, tendrils of wind brushing past you like a busy stranger. While there were not that many people, some yelling, others laughing wholeheartedly from the belly to the heavens, others simply enjoying the drinks that they carried out from their venues of choice, they most certainly had enough of a presence to leave you pitifully shattered. All eyes, of all hues and intensities, rolling and glaring and focusing on you. Poring over your miserable form and minimising you into a vermin under observation, a bacterium trapped on a petri dish under a microscope. They knew, they had to know about what had happened - about everything. They could read you from one year to another and were ready to tear you apart. They knew that you were a slave to the escapism, knew that you were a creature of lascivious habit, knew that you were thoughtlessly hurting the people you loved-

Loved. Nausea caught up to you as the word crawled into the forefront of your dazed mind, settling like a viscous tar over every subject matter and memory, over consciousness itself. Though it was nearly impossible to finetune your movements, you managed to locate the pole of a streetlight without having to slam a swinging hand into it for guidance, and slide down onto the edge of the cold pavement. Narrowly avoiding a discarded bottle, caked with unrecognisable substance and pulp from the wet and tarnished label, you felt your weight press into the stone, hoping that you would dissolve into the painfully rigid material. Elbows on your legs and hands on your face, you desperately tried to wipe the word away - you did not mean it, did you? You never had to say it, why say it now? Your familiar monster reared its head, drinking every last droplet of your sobriety to combat what you had admitted. Who did you love? Two legs drifted past you, stopping for a second to let a voice call out to you before you waved them off. Click-clack, click-clack away and away, leaving you alone with your thoughts once again. Who did you love? The pounding of your heart was overwhelming you, and you could barely hear yourself over its chaotic drumming. Who did you love? While it was easy to imagine your closest friends, the same ones who had tried to protect you from yourself and who, undoubtedly, were now cursing your name and the ground you walked on, your brain decided that there was another, less welcome character that should join the scene. With a groan, you clenched your hands into white-knuckled fists and hit your temples, once, twice as though that would help in getting rid of the precious image.

This had to be happening because Mingi said it first. The reason why Mingi was the one to persistently sway you, haunt you even when you were purposefully trying to drown in yourself and others, had to be because he planted those words in your mind when you least expected it - forced them upon you, an unwelcome gift. This was how it always happened: drawn in by the attention, promised a future and wholehearted adoration, you gave your all, only for the one who dared to utter the words to step away, having fulfilled their needs. ‘I love you’ was an exchange token, and apparently, your local currency. Like a penny out of rotation, those words should not hold any meaning, but they did, and you hated yourself for it. You hated how easily they had rolled off Mingi’s tongue, hated how they replayed in your head more times than you could process, hated how they were the words you wanted to hear again. Out of all the words in every language, these were the ones that introduced pain to the world.

He needed to answer for himself, your mind decided. Your rationality would consider the consequences later. Now, you needed answers. To what questions? That, too, could be decided at a later time. Clumsy hands searching in your purse, roughly pushing aside a slim card wallet and keys to take out the device which was now illuminating your fatigued features, the glare of the screen making you squint, every number and letter barely legible due to an intense blur that dominated your vision. If only you could wipe it away - a hand reaching to rub at the eyes, not caring for the eyeshadow nor the mascara, more darkness, friction, light again. As you moved the phone closer and further away from you in an attempt to find a golden distance that would give you better focus, as if you were operating with a broken camera, the thumb kept on searching for the right number. Contact after contact names flew by, turning into one continuous line, with the surnames and nicknames twisting and turning like snakes, colliding trains in your brain until finally, you found him. Not in the contacts, but in the myriad of messages you had left on read - another pattern characteristic of yours. It was not that you wanted to leave people behind, but your hands never felt strong enough to respond, and your thoughts could never tie together a satisfactory response. So you stayed silent.

He had checked on you, apparently. Asked if you were okay. The first time was two weeks ago. Then ten days. Then, radio silence. Probably was mad at you. You could not blame him. There had been no explanation, nor any wish to contact from your end - while it was what you usually did to strangers, not catching their name beyond the bedroom, nor ever seeking them out after you used their bodies, Mingi had been a friend. Not anymore, at least that was certain. But still, habit could not cut it here. This was why you needed answers - why could he not act like everyone else and fall in line, into the clear cut moulds? Finger hovering over the call button, now burning into your skin, you could not stop yourself from shaking. Biting your lip, all hints of colour replaced by a rekindling fire, you took the step over the edge, repeating his name in your head like a mantra as the call connected, and you imagined his phone starting to ring, somewhere out there in the city. Suddenly, your thoughts could not be more lucid, and you could almost see how the device would be vibrating on his bedside table. Right, he had to be asleep by now, surely. Just as you were about to end the call, however, the screen changed, and the time began to climb from zero.

“Uh… it’s… midnight or something… Y/N?” his husky voice, husky, warmer than the summer sun answered you. You remained quiet, afraid of letting this moment go, “Y/N? Are you okay?” he was asking if you were okay-

“Where are you?” a new harshness snapped you out of your temporary stupor.

“I- uh… I- am…” you tried, but could not find the right answer, however much you tried.

“Are you at… a club?” The pause was nearly lethal. You focused on the rustling in the background - it seemed that you were right and he indeed was in bed. Not anymore. A sigh and a thump, more movement. He was disappointed, wasn’t he? But he was listening. He had to listen to you.

“Not… not anymore.”

“Did someone hurt you?” The question felt foreign, unexpected. You raised your head, hugging your knees to your body, a terrible frailness seeping to your very bones.

“N-no…”

“Where are you?”

You could not believe that you were talking to Mingi. After all this time he was still talking to you, answered your late night call and was asking how you were. An angel in human form, so precious, so cute. A giggle escaped you as you found a slightly less dirty spot on the concrete to lean back and rest your hand on. Feeling some tension in your back unwind, your muscles were given freedom to turn restless. You wanted to scream, but that was bound to make Mingi end the call, and you did not quite want to stop listening to that voice of his - your strange addiction. Eyes closing, you let him repeat the question again, accompanied by jingle that could only be his keys. 

“I…”

“Street? Sign? Anything? Y/N,” he paused, exhaling, “...talk to me.”

“About…?” you asked, not catching onto what he meant.

“About the damn location. I am coming to get you.”

“Wait… really?” you slurred, fighting the desire to pass out, weighed down by another wave of tiredness.

“Yes. You are drunk. It is the least I can do.”

“What’s the most?”

“Location, for fuck’s sake. Check the street name or something. Can you walk?” he shot back, louder than before, speaking right into the microphone, the last bits of sleep evaporating from his tone, leaving behind the deep vocal ocean that you wanted to drown in.

“Uh huh,” whether you were lying or not, you were about to find out. Clambering for the street light once again, you heaved yourself up, barely catching yourself before tumbling back down, unstable on your heels. Clearly, your heavy breathing was caught by the phone as you heard Mingi asking if you were okay, again, “...just peachy, darling.”

The pet name never sounded more natural and comforting than now, flying to and through Mingi like lightning. The silence over the line was a terrifying suspense, making you wonder about what you said. You could not find anything particularly wrong. Wasn’t this how people who cared about one another spoke? Blinking away the stars in your eyes that were ceaselessly twirling in flashes of white and black, you wobbled towards a rectangle on the corner of the small street, which had to be the sign that Mingi was asking for. Mumbling the words on the board, half to yourself, half to him, you commended the otherwise laughable victory of being able to pick out the characters and interpret them.

“Okay… not too terribly far. I’ll come pick you up. Do not wander. Did you hear me?”

“Mhm…”

“What did I say?”

“...uh something about wandering, right?” An exhale. More footsteps. 

“Stay where you are. Stay. Heard me?”

“Yes Mingi darling, I did.”

“Good I- yeah. Just. I’ll be right there.”

Beep. Silence. A car in the distance darting past. Laughter. A flicker of the streetlight. The breeze caressing your legs. People walked past as you hugged your form, aware that it would not do anything to help you. You were counting the threads, the pieces of cloth sewn together to form what you had considered armour with the tips of your fingers, every groove accentuated as you swayed in your solitude, convinced that what had just happened was a dream. It had to have been. Who would listen to you in this state? It had to be your mind playing tricks on you, feeding you more and more visions until you would snap under them.

Fine. You were going to call him tomorrow, yes, that was right. When you were feeling better, you would call Mingi, apologise. Maybe over a coffee - yes that was better. Did he drink coffee? Was he even in town? Questions climbed up the walls of your consciousness while you, frustrated with the way in which the straps of your high heels were digging into your skin, crouched to take the culprits of your physical pain off. One shoe, another, and you were freed from the localised dolor. Stillness transforming into an amble, you made it a mission to walk to the larger street. There, you could get a taxi - there were always many of them around night time in neighbourhoods like this, kind drivers with kind metres if you gave them a pretty enough smile. 

Stay where you are. I love you. Stay where you are. I love you. Stay where you are.

Who said that? You froze mid stride, losing balance onto to have your back hit the brick wall of the building to your side, just under the sign you had read out to - 

So it did happen after all. You had talked to Mingi. Moaning out in frustration, you slid down the rough structure and onto the ground beneath you, throwing an empty water bottle and a fast food wrapper away from you in anger. Unable to recall what you had said to him, you settled for piecing together his voice, hands emulating the linking of a jigsaw puzzle in front of you. Purse having long become a bracelet, and phone clenched in one of your hands as if it was permanently linked to your body, the only thing that existed was every phrase that he had uttered into your ear, like he was standing by you. So much for not thinking of Song Mingi. Way to go. What a treacherous night this was. Head feeling heavy, you began to give into the signs of oncoming slumber, nodding off, cheek approaching shoulder, earring brushing over bare skin.

Mingi was not one for breaking the law, but his accelerator most certainly was. Rushing past every traffic light as though each one was a checkpoint, he sped through the city’s sleepless streets, only the final destination being his priority. Heart pounding, he barely looked at the navigator on his phone as he slammed on the gas. Ridiculous. Radical. If he were to ever tell his friends about this, they would call him a fool. After two weeks of nothing, for him to jump at the first call - he was clearly making the same mistakes, every turn a wrong one. If scouting clubs for the next pleasure hit was your addiction, burning himself on your flames was his. In the icy silence his days had been serene, and he hated it. There was no expectation, nor any hope for him to cling to. In the morning after you had left, even though Mingi had anticipated this and promised himself that he would not be upset, his preference was clear: it was better to live in an illusion rather than face the fact of not being wanted, and never standing a chance. You had turned your attention to him when he had asked for you to use him - that was the place he should have known and stayed if he wished for you to ever look in his direction again. 

That was why when his phone lit up with your name, and a photo filled the screen, one that he had taken of you when you, him, Wooyoung and San had all gone to a nature reserve for a spontaneous weekend getaway which you probably did not remember but it was precious to him, he threw sleep out of the window. It was easy enough, considering his recent pre-sleep routine of rationalising the events of that night. His mind was already trained on you when he finally got you to speak. You were floating, not quite like yourself, but your feelings were clear - not a hint of malice towards him, dreamy, rendering him breathless.

Mingi blamed himself for not being persistent enough, instead choosing to take a step back and give you whatever space you wanted or needed. He had done that in university when you were still friends, he had done it right up until that night, it was nothing new. Let you forget him until you suddenly craved his company, or felt it necessary to invite him to whatever function you had scheduled. Running a hand through his hair, short and strawberry blonde, hints of pink across the strands giving way to darker roots, he tried to calm his nerves. It was torturous to picture you in a vulnerable state, on a night when you normally felt and looked invincible. But since you called him, it was his duty to ensure that this held true.

Only a couple of minutes later, Mingi found the required street and, upon making a turn he slowed down and halted beside a figure curled up by the side wall. He cursed himself for not being faster. Panic shot up his spine and across every limb. He made a beeline towards you, shutting the door to the driver’s seat particularly hard in his distress. Assuming the worst, Mingi was in front of you in the matter of seconds, crouching down to peer at your face, noticing the smudged mascara, lipstick traces trailing onto your skin, flushed cheeks, sickly, glazed over and half-lidded eyes. Scowling, he regarded you in your Friday night glory, wondering why you thought you deserved this self-treatment in the first place.

“Y/N.”

No response. You remained stationary, with only your head occasionally threatening to fall to the side, hair snagging on the rough, eroded bricks behind you. Carefully, Mingi reached out, balancing himself on his bent knees, and pushed back a lock that was obscuring your face, convincing himself that you looked better already. Heart aching, he tried calling out to you another time, and then another, naively hoping that you could ascend from your state in an instant. As he put his hands on your delicate shoulders, gingerly tilting you forwards and away from the freezing, disgusting wall, he bit back his logic and chose to listen to the senses that you had so easily manipulated. 

Was this really the same person who had him wrapped around her finger? Malleable, putty in his hands you sank into his hold as he wiggled back to try and get you to find your own footing. Rising into a standing position, he lifted you up, sighing in relief when, even if only automatically, you followed the movement. He wanted to be mad at you - his brain was yelling for him to leave, return to the comfort of his home, alone, and let you figure things out for yourself. That was easy - just forget about you and have no morals. Sure. You were in a dangerous situation. But did you not have any friends who could take care of you? Where were they? Head turning side to side as if that would give him an answer, Mingi checked his surroundings. Only a collection of strangers, some of whom were enjoying the free entertainment, at least until they felt his glare settling on them. Quick feet on the pavement, dissipating into the midnight darkness.

“Oh… oh…” you groaned, as though waking up from a restless slumber. In his surprise Mingi nearly slipped, only just managing to support you again by hooking his arms around your torso instead of under your arms.

“Y/N, you are like, drunk drunk.”

“Just a lit-tle tipsy… is all, Mingi darling,” you answered slowly, lifting a hand to pinch your thumb and index finger together to show just how sober you were apparently - if only the move was coordinated, then maybe at least it could have given a good laugh. 

The affectionate pet name was ringing in his head, and no matter how much, and with what strength he was trying to brush it off, the buzzing persisted. Clinging onto him, a vexatious beast, echoing the weeks that had gone by after he had so willingly given himself up to you. If he were to be honest with himself, he would not be able to forget you even if by some futuristic miracle, he would be able to reset his consciousness. You were his nightmare and his dream, a haze in which he was lost for as long as he was alive. Cursing himself over and over, he opened the rear door closest to the two of you, whispering his sequence of moves out loud, knowing full well that you were probably not observing, nor listening.

The only thing on your mind was the comfort that was Mingi himself. How he had pulled you closer, and your hands landed on his broad chest. Hands snaking under the varsity jacket he put over a cotton tee, you felt your fingers warming up, the toned, sculpted beauty underneath turning into an alluring stability. There was nothing stopping you from closing the space, was there? Squinting, you took in his face, gasping as he turned away from you, revealing his side profile. Glasses, perfectly perched on the bridge of his nose, ever so slightly parted lips, a determined scrutiny of whatever it was that was in front of him. You could almost taste it. Apparently, it was easy to forget prior losses when the one you had been searching for in other bodies appeared before you.

Certainly, it had to have been him at the club however long ago. It had to have been, you were only looking for him and got lost, right? Fully convinced that you were right, despite Mingi being dressed more for a late night walk along a river bank rather than for a night of clubbing and hedonistic debauchery, you mumbled, cowering while he was trying to turn you and get you to take a seat:

“I missed you… Mingi.”

Eyes still half closed, you tilted your head to look in the approximate direction of your saviour, or companion… friend? It could not be. There ceased to be any lines that you could cross, and you were, for the first time in a long time, okay with it. You did not need nor want the barriers, not when his perfume was your salvation, not when his strong hands were rubbing your upper arms, not when you watched him take off his jacket and wrap it around you in slow motion. It was warm. He was warm. But he was not responding. The quiet was deafening as he nudged your legs, motioning for you to hop further into the vehicle - so you were in a car, huh? A couple of thuds somewhere below you, and a pair of heels manifested themselves on the floor of the salon. Obliging, you fell back inside and saw the light shutting itself away from you. A click, and you were alone. Trapped. There was no Mingi. 

Wrapping your hands around the edges of the thick material, you pulled it tighter around you, emulating an embrace. Why were you left alone? Was this a prank? Was Mingi tricking you? Question after question, there were too many to answer in the midst of an oncoming headache, but you knew that you needed to leave this instant - Mingi was outside and he had to be waiting for you. After all, you needed to give him back his jacket. You were done running backwards. Just as you ran a hand over the door, looking for the right handle or button or whatever the car could possibly have, another door opened, revealing the same man, your same Mingi, still dressed in the same outfit as you had just seen, still in those glasses that suited him so well. 

Through the gap between the headrest and the main seat, you gleamed at him, reassured that you were no longer abandoned in the metal box. The corner of Mingi’s mouth twitched upwards, though the majority of his response was evidently suppressed. He had to be hiding something. He must be mad at you. This was because you had been gone for too long, and then reappeared drunk out of your mind - he had said so himself. His voice boomed in your ears, blooming into a deafening echo that muted the car’s engine. Only once the car started did the realisation hit you - you had no idea that he even drove. The last night you had been together, you had taken a taxi, and he was sitting right next to you - you could recall every touch on your skin, over your dress, his ragged, shallow breaths. You needed to sleep, this was a dream… a dream… it had to be a nightmare… you were planning on talking to Mingi tomorrow… you would call him as soon as you woke up from this discord…

Crawling through the metropolis, the car stormed farther and farther from the district which you had decided to mark as your place of shipwreck. It was not the same location as before, he noted, now having more of an opportunity to piece together what had unfolded. If he was any more cynical and any less in love with you, he would have made it a case to point out that probably you intentionally had selected a spot that was a considerable distance away from your usuals because hell or heaven forbid your friends would stop you. Mingi had no clue as to what occurred in the time you were non-existent in his daily life, but evidently it had taken a considerably negative toll. Passed out on the back seats, you were exhausted by the world in which you lived, the world which was mercilessly testing you and draining you for all you were worth.

Stopped at a lonely red light, the hue crept through the windshield, settling over the salon and the two lost souls contained within. Quickly taking out his phone to check the time - no longer needing it for navigation after having the route imprint itself in his memory, he pinched the bridge of his nose, careful not to let the glasses slip. It was almost one in the morning - the commotion and additional steps because of your inebriated state had accumulated, long leaving the last day of the so-called work week behind. Happy weekend - with a bitter aftertaste, he uttered the words under his breath, shoving the phone back in the pocket of his jeans and shifting to turn around to take a quick look at you. You were peaceful, your features fully relaxed. Your purse had turned into something of a pillow, and while your legs could not exactly rest comfortably on the seats, you appeared to be blissful how you were, nuzzled into his jacket. Drifting in his musings, studying your every detail Mingi almost did not notice the lights change, relying solely on instinct to switch gears and move forward. With one last glance, he continued his journey, realising that he was not sure where your home was. Driving you to your closest friends was not an option either, considering that you did not mention nor call them - and if you did not want to see them, he should not be the one to orchestrate a falling out. There was always time for drama, but he did not want to extend it for himself.

Making one final, decisive turn that would take him to his neighbourhood, Mingi gripped the steering wheel to curb an accumulating nervousness. It was a sudden pang, a memory lifting itself up from the chaos he had brushed under the carpet after you had spontaneously left. He had not been fully asleep, simply spent and trustful, but everything stopped him from following you. As if a spear had mounted him to the bed - he was nothing more than a feeble bug on display, rotting. There was nothing he could have done, he was sure, except maybe not saying what he had said. In retrospect it was easy to see that those three words had been the final shot in the torn up heart. So, for the better, he was not going to say them, and pretend he never did, if that was what was going to let you sleep better and recover. That night was long in the past, and should be treated as a spectre. As weeks would go by perhaps you could look at him again, and be genuine in your feelings towards him. And he would not have to put himself up for sacrifice to gain your attention. 

Soon enough, his apartment building was in sight, and the wheels rolled him closer and closer to his next dilemmas. Letting out a trembling breath, Mingi clicked a button on his keys once he approached the gates to the underground parking. You were as still as ever, consumed by your slumber. Coming to a halt at his designated spot, he killed the engine and fell into a heavy, suffocating silence. The noises that had crawled out from the club turned into wisps of risk and melancholia, clinging onto your otherwise gorgeous dress and filling the vehicle until that was all he could sense. Hands on the steering wheel, Mingi attempted to plan his next moves, thinking of the trip to the elevator, the ride up, and just how he could convince you to be lucid enough to help him in getting you cleaned up. Love and confusion aside, you were a person who needed help and support, and he was the one you had trusted in your last moments before losing sobriety.

It was a long trip. From you not quite being able to make it out of the car, to you nearly tumbling into the elevator and dragging Mingi down with you, the young man was sure that he had never had to be on such high alert ever in his life. Not even when he had to act in the role of a sleuth to figure out where your lectures had been back in university, and whether there was any way in which your paths could cross. It seemed that now he did not have to force fate’s hand quite as much. With one final stumble over the door frame that marked the entrance to his apartment, you were in, safe and secure from the outdoors, and Mingi could begin thinking more comfortably. Kicking off his own shoes, he ignored the feeling that arose when you intertwined your fingers with his as you waited. Rubbing sleep from your eyes, there was something endearing about you, pleasantly childish qualities protruding through the hardened exterior of an experienced seductress. Like there was still some vulnerability left, and Mingi was the only one to see it. Adjusting his glasses out of habit, or perhaps to mask his growing concern due to your spontaneously peppy disposition, he tugged on your arm, making you follow him past the living room and towards a breakfast bar that served as a divider to the kitchen. Stopping mid-stride, he turned and pointed for you to take a seat on the sofa.

You had vague recollections of the interior, but the lighting, which remained dim, prevented you from making out any details. After Mingi left your side, you curled your legs under your body and flopped onto the decorative pillows that occupied the right corner. Huddling as if it was your nest, you made yourself comfortable. Without him being right next to you, the sensation of being embraced remained. He was in every thread and every space; you could finally inhale and exhale tranquillity. Clinking of glasses and the sound of pouring piqued your inquisitiveness, albeit fuzzy in the half-consciousness, and you called out to Mingi’s approaching figure, a loopy grin plastered on your face.

“He-hey, let’s get the party started… is that champagne?”

“Oh, so that’s what’s got you… like this?” with the hand that was holding the full glass, Mingi gestured over your body.

“Like how? How am I now?”

“Like a bar after a football match.” he deadpanned, carefully taking a seat next to you and grabbing your hands. Upon ensuring the cup was secure in your grasp, he fell backwards to rest his head on the back of the couch, momentarily shutting his eyes. He was curious if you would be able to figure out that what you were about to drink was water.

“Huh? You’re mean…” mumbling to yourself, you lifted the beverage, taking a tentative sip. The cool liquid soothed you, eliminating the burning that occupied your mouth and throat for however long you had been in and out of the handmade turmoil. Greedily you took a gulp, another, until nearly all the water travelled to nourish your dehydrated, fatigued self. The cup, too, possessed a welcome coldness, refreshing, a change to the static that was rolling like thunder in your cranium. You could not resist the temptation to put the glass against your temple, sensing another wave of the dull ache returning to you.

“How much did you drink?”

“Interesting question. Just drank a whole glass,” you teased, aware that Mingi was likely after a different response, but you were all for omitting the truth as much as you could.

“I mean out there.”

“Where?”

“The club.”

“Oh… uh… a… a couple here and there.”

“Knowing you, that is like a whole bottle.”

“What can I say? I have a high tolerance.”

“If only you had a better tolerance for other shit,” his comment caught you off guard. Said to no one in particular, but staying suspended in the air, the phrase was less supportive than what you would have hoped for. He was definitely mad. The anxiety that had been resting on your shoulders like a foul beast stirred awake, digging its nails into your skin until the question you asked far too often slipped away from you, throwing you back into your antique patterns, ones you thought you had buried for good.

“Are you mad at me?” you sounded timid, and a hand instantly flew to your mouth, clumsily covering it. Mingi’s eyes shot open, him giving you a once over from his leaned back position. Sitting up, he raised an eyebrow.

“Say what now?”

“I… are you mad at me?”

“Wh-... why would I be?” he cleared his throat, curious as to what you had conjured and were proposing as an interpretation of his actions.

“I… well I… I am too much aren’t I… I am here, you are - wait what time is it? It should be so late, or early… ha, ha, I don’t even… wait so are you not mad at me? But I am just so all over the place and now I am… wait - what time? Is it? Are you supposed to be sleeping, oh my goodness yes you are I am intruding aren’t I, I should be home, wait how did you find me? Were you there with me? Was I doing anything weird oh why did I go tonight I was not supposed to go but no I had to go and forget you know I wanted to forget everything but you kept on coming back are you ma-”

“Y/N-”

You were speeding up, forgetting air, forgetting that you were safe. You imagined yourself to be in the middle of the ocean, clambering for anything to hold on to. But the more you struggled, the less you could see, and yet you could only continue speaking. Faster, faster, filling the emptiness with your every thought as if there was no space neither in your heart nor your mind to keep them close and safe. As if this was a bargaining token or a confession, and Mingi was the one to deliver a final judgement, or to pardon your every sin. You were afraid of what he could do, or maybe not do. The only thing that was vivid enough for you to grasp was the idea that you did not want him to go, and so you were desperately trying to catch every word you had uttered in your past that could possibly deter him. Oxygen was not an option when Mingi, your 'not quite a friend anymore', was on the line.

“Mad at me and I am not even sure why this is happening actually I know exactly why and I am sure this is a dream right now I mean you definitely hate me now maybe not before but surely now I did everything to make you hate me and I am just a mess I probably look the part I am sorry I am sorry I am so-”

“Y/N BREATHE.” with a raised voice, he cut you off. You had not noticed him lift himself off the sofa and move in front of you. He pushed the coffee table further back to give himself more space, and kneeled on one leg while prying the glass from your shaking hands. Though you had ceased to barrage him with sentences of raw dread, your breathing was still shallow, barely spaced out, lungs roaring for more, praying for relief.

Glass left on the table, Mingi’s hands clasped over yours, his gaze unwavering, searching. You could not read him. Everything you possibly wanted to say was bouncing around your skull in a painful flurry, inducing a lump that started to grow in your throat, accumulating mistakes and emotion. You did not deserve to face the man who was in front of you, but even when you tried to break away from his touch, he held on, shaking his head in disapproval.

“Breathe. Let’s count, shall we? Focus on my voice, okay?” Now, inhale, two, three, four-”

Switching approaches, Mingi distracted you. After a couple of rounds of counting, noting your darting glances he asked for you to point out three colours you could see. Three pieces of furniture. Slowing you down, gradually, grounding you until you were only the slightest bit unsteady. 

“I am sorry.” you mumbled, doubling over, forehead against his hands. In shock, Mingi did not retract them, instead staring at how your hair cascaded over your shoulders and down, down like a waterfall, glimmering softly in the night lights that crawled into the room through every window.

“For what?” barely a whisper, only a hint of curiosity in anticipation of hearing something less than pleasant. 

“For leaving,” he replayed the words in his head in utter disbelief. Never had he heard you apologise for disappearing, abandoning, making decisions that put you first. He had gotten used to it, considering it to be a trait that was normal to you, one that those close to you simply had to deal with. The two little words shed a new light, making him wonder just how you felt two weeks ago. You were not done, however, feeling the need to spill the secrets you had been holding, in the intimacy of night, of not having to look at him, “for going out and for thinking strangers could… could-”

“It’s okay… I-”

“How is it okay?” lifting your head, a portrait of misery was revealed. The makeup that had already travelled across to other parts of your face was now starting to etch streams down your cheeks, the tears being the only ones to confidently make their way. Mingi was at a loss, never having been able to predict that this night would end, or begin, like this.

“Well…”

“How? Please… I am… disgusting… Why do I always do this I-”

“Hey. Hey, listen to me,” hands on your cheeks, thumbs wiping away the rolling droplets, Mingi was reaching out for you, calling you back from the abyss into which you wished to fall, “first of all, no behaviour is quote unquote disgusting, you hear me?”

“Uh huh… but… but I hurt people- I… I hurt you…”

“Look, I know we have never had any deep one on ones before, but I know you are hurting. I think that answers quite a few things, doesn’t it?” trying his best to remain rational and calm, Mingi recalled phrases that he had been told many times, had said before, only now they held colossal meaning, weighed down by what had happened. 

“But why are you…”

“What I do is my choice, just like what you do is yours, yeah?”

“But I choose badly… like today at the club I-... I-” you tripped over your words, the recollection forcing you to shudder. Sensing the buildup, Mingi diverted your attention by holding your hands once more.

“So how can you choose better? I mean, let’s think about tomorrow. What were you thinking of doing? Take me through the day. Say, you wake up, you…” he gestured for you to continue after him.

“I… brush my teeth, fix my hair and clothes… make breakfast… call you," you stopped, staring into his dark eyes, shining with bittersweet tenderness. For the first time, he wanted to believe that you indeed were drunk.

“Call me?”

“...I was planning to…”

“Even if you found someone?” The comment stung, but was not unfounded. Mingi knew you far too well for you to deny that you would at least attempt to fill the weekly void.

“I only kissed him… I promise…”

“I,” tightening his jaw repeatedly, Mingi resisted the urge to snap, or to make any accusations. It was obvious to any fool that you had lived through enough without him adding fuel to the hellish fire, “like I said, your choice.”

“I don’t want to make it anymore.”

“Then make another. And keep trying until you find the one that’s right for you.” 

Dumbfounded, you could only look, and wonder if the man in front of you was real and was not figuring out ways to throw you out of his apartment. The idea could not be further from the truth. While he had to admit that the circumstances were not particularly romantic, nor was Mingi about to take every word and action as gospel, but this had to be the most candid he had ever seen you be, and the most open with him. Behind the gloss of a night fuelled by percentages, shots and bubbly, garnished with regretful actions and hopes for a restart, you were easy to read, your intentions and actions honest and benevolent. 

“I was going to call you,” you reiterated with conviction.

“Tomorrow,” Mingi responded, switching his positioning to sit down on the floor, one hand still holding onto you while the other flew to find purchase on the carpet, offering balance. His thumb traced patterns on your skin absent-mindedly while he waited for you to continue.

“Yeah.”

“And what were you going to do?” there was no way to know whether the answer he would hear was one he wanted to, or was ready to hear. Of course, he liked to believe he was used to you, but not to your new feelings.

Had it hurt when he realised that he had been discarded, just like he had anticipated? Of course. Had his closest friend given him an earful after finding him wholly zoned out during their scheduled mid-week lunch? Definitely - the words still stung him. But was Mingi in any way angry with you? He could not be even if he tried. You had stayed true to yourself, and he should be happy that you did. And yet, the hope he had been living with remained persistent, and your present actions were not helping him in getting over it.

“Apologise…” you leaned closer to him, drowsy, freed from inhibition. 

“And?” his voice dropped into a whisper as he could not bear to take his gaze off your and his hands.

The usual you, the alluring, domineering you who had one mission and one mission only on this night: to have a good time at any cost, was starting to resurface. You were grappling with your inner conscious, hoping to resurrect what you had previously labelled as confidence.

“Kiss you,” your act dropped quickly enough as you read the sadness in Mingi’s form, from the droop of the shoulders to the loosening of his hold on you, to the half-hearted joke that made you flush an embarrassing shade of pink. Awful, inducing the desire for the ground to disappear beneath you, but you could not stop.

“Through the phone?”

“No… on… like… a date?” shy, you proposed the idea to him.

“What’s with the questioning tone?” leaning back on both hands, Mingi regarded you. His black-rimmed glasses had slid down allowing him to look over the frame and into your soul, making you shiver. There was a seriousness in the gesture, a cold air of professionalism that you knew Mingi was capable of, but never experienced being directed at yourself. 

“I don’t know… I haven’t dated in a while I guess…” finding interest in the hem of your dress, you fiddled with the thick fabric.

“What’s got you so into it now?”

“My choice,” you echoed his words, earning an amused smirk. After a meek pause, you pushed out the inquiry, barely audible, “Would you kiss me back?”

“Depends on what you’re feeling when you kiss me.”

“But you said you loved me, didn’t you? Mingi?” you straightened yourself up, feigning nonchalance, pretending to not be hurt by the passivity that rested on Mingi’s face as he studied you. 

He wished he could make this easy and lead the conversation to a happy end, but that would only end in turmoil. Whatever you remembered, and whatever was so fresh in your mind could change in the blink of an eye, and later, in the morning, sober you could begin to despise yourself, and him in one go. The last thing he needed was for you to disappear from his life. So, it was better to restart. He bit his tongue for a couple of moments, swallowing every phrase that he had ceaselessly been repeating like mantras meant only for his walls to hear and hold no judgement towards, and selected denial, for your own benefit.

“...No such thing.”

“But I swear I-”

“I think it’s time to clean up and sleep, yeah?” he cut you off with searing neutrality. Rising from the floor, he flicked his hands for you to follow his actions. Though you had recovered enough to balance on your own, at least if you were to take everything slow, you were stuck in place, wanting to hear what you had been secretly longing for to spill from his lips.

“But, wait I-”

“Sleep time,” adamant to move past the painful hurdle, Mingi reiterated the implied command. Moving to grab your hand, he lifted you from the sofa, only to let go once you were on your feet. Taking the opportunity, you took small fistfuls of his t-shirt, pulling the stunning man towards you. If he could not speak the words, surely he would want to express them?

“Kiss me now?” The question sounded more like an offer. Like you were placing your attention for sale, thinking that this was enough to establish a connection.

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

Mingi wanted to collapse. Your eyes, the tremble in your voice, how you looked with his jacket still draped over your shoulders had him wrapped around your finger. He did want to kiss you, a little too much, if he were to be honest. And that was exactly why he backed away. If you had meant what you confessed, you would be able to say the same thing in the morning, and to his face. If you had been meaning to call him, you would be able to call out his name and be honest in wishing to see him, to be with him.

“I’ll kiss you when you’re fully sober, okay?” The negotiation seemed to work as you visibly relaxed and let him guide you to the bathroom, where he began to point out the makeup wipes, the towels, ignoring the fact that you had figured out the layout on your own some time ago and probably had some rough recollection.

“What a gentleman,” you uttered while roughly smudging your makeup with remover, not caring for the audience of one who was leaning against the doorframe to the bathroom, watching you to make sure that you did not hurt yourself nor ruin anything too badly.

“It’s the bare minimum.”

“I suppose… I… uh… shower? Yeah?”

“Oh yeah… wait I’ll bring you some clothes or something. Do you mind what?”

“Whatever you are okay with giving me, darling.”

Hissing to himself, Mingi adjusted his glasses and clutched the jacket you returned in his right hand. He ambled to his bedroom in search of something that would inevitably end up smelling like you and serve as another reminder of just how easily he could give himself up for this kind of closeness. If he were to let his eyelids fall like a protective blanket, he could pretend for a split second that this was how it had always been - domestic, sweet, uncomplicated. Head turned away, Mingi returned, only to see your clothes not so neatly strewn about on the heated tiles. His eyes moved on their own accord, to settle on your silhouette, moving slowly behind the shower curtain. Despising the fact that he knew your body and craved it like water or air, he left the t-shirt and sweatpants that he had picked out lying in a folded pile by the sink.

Mingi was restless, storming from bedroom to living room and back again, his instinctive decision-making finally catching up to him and crashing down on his consciousness with full force. He had acted rashly, listening only to his heart, and in every point along the turbulent path back home when he could have let go of what was inevitably going to be more pain for you and for him, he selfishly refused to. While moving a pillow and throw to the sofa, he was in awe of his own dedication, and how, for you, he could thoughtlessly abandon everything that his studies had attempted to instil in him over the years, from university to clinical practice.

With a tired hand he took off his glasses, giving the lenses a half-hearted wipe with the edge of his tee, more out of habit than out of need. According to the lazy clock on his wall, it was nearing two o’clock in the morning. He shuddered, and heat rushed to his face. What was he doing two weeks ago at this time? It was best to ignore that and start anew. You were just a friend who by some twist of fate he ended up getting to know a little too intimately. But if exes could become friends, surely you two could work out, even if in your drunk state you were exposing feelings that were potentially resonant with his - obviously far from platonic. Mingi shook his head, ultimately failing to banish his optimism. He needed coffee, anything to get his mind off things, maybe his work emails.

In the middle of his preparations, also known as remaining idle while the coffee machine worked its magic, you reappeared from the bathroom, freshened up, cheeks pink, and dressed in his clothes, which, he hated to say, looked too good on you. The t-shirt he had picked out, originally oversized even for him, perfectly draped over your curves; hinted at everything, revealed nothing. A couple of dark spots where water from your hair had dripped onto the soft cotton made the scene all the more homely, comfortable, and the only thing holding him back from sweeping you into an impossibly tight hug was the grey that befell your unlabelled relationship with him. Mingi was a man of logic, preferring to set things up onto metaphorical shelves, and in his work he was known to be a brilliant theorist, consulted on matters of analysis and diagnostics. The idea of a situationship, no strings attached and any other synonyms irked him, and the more he looked at you, and how you gazed at him so serenely, the more he wanted to put his foot down and ask you to decide. But if you had set your mind on tomorrow - or as the clocks were saying later today, he had to do what he did best - wait. It had been two weeks. What would a few more hours do except give you time to sober up and figure out what it was that you wanted from him and yourself?

“All better?” Who was he asking? Thankfully, you interpreted it as a question directed at you. 

“Much better… sorry I am so out of it. Probably saying shit.”

“Don’t worry. I am just glad you are safe.”

“Mingi,” his name on your lips, the sweetest poison for his heart, “...thank you darling, really. I… hm, just thinking about what could have happened…”

“No need to think. About that, I mean.”

“And what should I think about?” raising an eyebrow, you captured the accidental slip of his musings in your delicate hands, subjecting it to scrutiny.

“Sleep.”

“You said that before. Besides, coffee? Really?”

“For me. I sleep better with coffee.”

Sure.”

“You can uh… I moved my stuff so you can sleep in the bedroom.”

“What about-”

“I’ll be right here.”

“I mean… we… didn’t we…” you wanted to allude to the bed having been shared before.

“I am here. You are there. Cool?” With the last of the americano having dripped into his cup, Mingi raised the hot beverage to take a careful sip, wincing as the liquid nearly burned his mouth. At least it served as a good distraction, just as he wanted.

“Mm… sorry. ‘Night.”

Spinning on your heels, you made a beeline for the bedroom, not waiting for Mingi’s response. Rejection after rejection; you smiled to yourself as you regarded the white sheets, decorated with a silvery sheen from the lights outside, washed over by a warm glow of the reading lamp positioned on the bedside table farthest from you. Welcoming, kind. Like the man who was now drinking coffee at hell o’clock in the morning, all because of you. The man who gave you his own clothes without a second thought. The man who kept on giving to a person who kept on taking. As you collapsed onto the sheets, crawling underneath the covers with an unprecedented exhaustion, you fell into a dreamless slumber with the thoughts of yourself being like a certain character from a famous animated film that you had watched with your friends, only to rewatch it on your own that same night once you got home. A spirit with no face, only an insatiable appetite, a rage that could not be extinguished - always more, taking from everyone, taking everything. Cloaked in black, a creature of darkness, without a place in society and meant sink into its own misery. You were alone in this world, wishing for the skies to clear, praying you would find the strength to fight for it.

He could not sleep. With the coffee finished but not the slightest hint of drowsiness approaching, Mingi stretched to grab the laptop that had been lying on the coffee table, choosing to go over his work emails that had accumulated from the time he had logged off just a night ago. Chain mail, Friday newsletters, reminders, rescheduling, appointment bookings, cancellations, conferences, journal updates, editor reviews… so much noise that settled like ash on his eyes, amounting to what appeared to be nothing. Segments of an imaginary success that drained him of any desire to show up on Monday. After answering what he could, Mingi pinched the bridge of his nose, and lied down on the couch, balancing the laptop on his stomach. He had foregone the throw, finding it to be more of a hindrance to his constant movement. What was it that he had told quite a few of his patients? Sleep was essential for a sound mind? Comical. Perhaps it was time to consult someone for his own troubles. He was good enough at solving things for others, but unfortunately that did not seem to apply when the ‘others’ was himself. If only he could stop concentrating on your presence in the room right next to him, on whether you were sleeping soundly and if you needed anything.

It was a quiet rustling that had woken Mingi up from a quick nap that he had fallen into. After a moment of disorientation, he registered the sound as being your footsteps, inching around the sofa in the approximate direction of the kitchen.

“Escaping?” recoiling as though you had been struck, you halted. After having been buried under a cosy duvet, the apartment felt cold, and you could barely hold back the shiver that was threatening to run over you. 

“Water… sorry did I wake you up?”

“Nah, wasn’t sleeping anyways. Here let me get it for you.”

Without another word uttered, nor any glances which could plant seeds of doubt in your head about his intentions, Mingi was right there with you, leading you to your target and pouring a glass. You did not mind how he watched you handle the item, nor how he took it out of your grasp as soon as you were done. He was gentle, even though each move did appear to be pre-calculated and strictly bound by a larger, all-encompassing decision. You tried to reach out for him, and when he stepped away after noticing you in the peripherals, the point was proven. Mingi was seeking distance. Biting your lower lip, the echoes of an earlier anxiety bubbled, manifesting itself in your classic black and white thinking.

“I am a mess,” like a coin dropped in a well, the phrase bounced from every wall, right back to you.

“Break that down for me,” crossing his arms, Mingi turned around and leaned against the counter.

“Are you going therapy mode on me?” you tried to joke, but the words came across more as an accusation. You felt weak, exposed. The shiver escaped, goosebumps now decorating your flesh, causing what you interpreted as pity to flash in Mingi’s eyes.

“I’m assuming that is what you’re seeking now, no?”

“...no.”

“Okay.”

As if the conversation had never begun, Mingi returned to drying his hands, leaving you alone with an unpleasant sobriety. With the early morning returned fragments of memories - a highlight reel of things you probably should not have said, but now that you had to own up to and either confirm or keep running away from. Inhale, exhale, and the words poured by themselves.

“Can we… talk about something?”

“Something?”

“I think… I… you know how I… wait I did say I was planning to call you right?”

“Mhm,” Mingi turned back, regarding you with an unreadable expression.

“So I have said a lot of things,”

“Yeah, and, what do you want to say to me?”

“I’m… sorry.”

“You already said it.”

“I mean it.”

“I know. What else?”

“Help me.”

“With… what?”

“I am afraid.”

“Of?”

“How I feel.”

“And how is that?”

“Well…”

You paused, throat drying. Your body recoiled from what you had settled on admitting. But it had to happen, even if the result would be you never seeing Mingi again, because at least you would have done something to try and defeat yourself. After hearing the three little words, and having them repeat over and over again, the light in which you saw your own life and saw Mingi had shifted. He could not be that same happy, naive, angel-like friend from university who had somehow ended up in your company of misfits and comrades in melancholy to you anymore. For the first time, you wanted to place a significance on a relationship that was beyond one night in a stranger’s bed. 

“I am afraid… that I- I-”

“What you are about to say, did you weigh it up? Did you consider it? Evaluate it? Are you sure that what you are about to share, and will be unable to reverse, is done with a clear mind?”

“Yes.”

“And you want to say it to me.”

“Yes, Mingi.”

You reached for his hands, worry making you play with his slightly cold fingertips. Intertwined, swinging side to side the tiniest bit, like a swaying of a sleepy willow; either the beginning, or the end. Mingi took a deep breath, as though preparing himself to be brutally smited.

“Then, um, as you were saying?”

“I want to fall in love with you.”

A laugh involuntarily flew from his chest, like a slap across your face. When you tried to slide past him, however, his arm wrapped around your upper body, pulling you close.

“Want to? What does that mean?” With prior seriousness being replaced by a more playful tone, the calm evaded you, “hey, take your time, it’s fine. You are already doing really, really well.”

“May I hug you?”

“Sure, c’mere,” he was the sun in late summer, the rays lulling, soothing. A glistening gold palette illuminated by a well-paired cologne that you were already wearing after resting in his bed, a masterpiece that you wanted to sink into and never escape. The horrors of the night that never stopped repeating were crawling away into their putrid caverns, providing at least a temporary relief and returning you to the waking, beautiful world. Mingi was comfortable in the best sense of the description, a stability that you had never dared to dream of. You pressed your head against him, shutting yourself away from cacophonous intrusions that had been leading you every Friday.

“You said you loved me.”

“Don’t remember,” the vibrations across his torso as he spoke soothed some of the pain inflicted by his answer. You could not blame him. Perhaps you two were much more similar than you had initially thought.

“I like you.”

“I like you too.”

“A lot.”

“A lot.”

“Can you help me?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Some things you should face yourself, I can only point you in the right direction. I can see that this goes beyond anything that either of us could mention or explore right now, and I hate to say it but there is no magic cure or something. It takes time and effort,” Mingi wrapped his arms tighter, one hand starting to pat the back of your head absent-mindedly, focusing on the sensation of each strand against his palm, “but what I can do is be here. For you. And if you want to, for us. How does that sound?”

“Like it’s too good to be true. I don’t deserve you.”

“No one deserves anyone. We just fit together, and we will make things work. Step by step,” Mingi made it sound easy. You wanted to believe him.

“We?”

“You just said you want to fall in love with me, Y/N. We kind of… need to be together for that to happen, methinks.” 

“Good point.” you mumbled, snuggling closer, hiding your face.

“May I be honest for a second?”

“Mhm.”

“I am not saying it so that we say it together when you’re ready, cool?”

“Say what?”

“You know, the L word,” you looked up to see him wiggling his eyebrows dramatically, making you chuckle.

“Oh… thank you, Mingi. I appreciate it. Yeah. Makes sense.”

In the tranquillity of the early dawn, you were not alone. Not curled up on the floor, a stranger to yourself, but in the arms of someone who cared and his feelings remained unchanged through times you thought anyone could, and would abandon you. You could finally hear your own thoughts becoming clear and level. Nothing could be better than the hope for such a bright tomorrow.

“Hmm… I think I liked when you were calling me darling in every sentence,” with a flick of your wrist you lightly hit Mingi’s broad chest, without pulling away. 

“I did not-”

“Are you not sober, darling?” he made you pause your denials, a sunny smile on his face.

“Okay fine yes I did…”

“Care to say it again?” taken by surprise by the request, you were left open-mouthed, with a raised brow.

“Darling?”

“Music to my ears,” he answered while barely being able to stifle a yawn.

This was the closest Mingi could get to a fairy tale moment with you, and he could not be happier. A grin fought its way to the surface, until it practically hurt his cheeks, and he pressed you to his chest, just so that you would not see it. But it did not take someone to be especially hyper-observant to sense his glee, capable of melting the snow in the harshest winter. Perhaps it was foolish of him to admit this, but nothing felt more right. How your body melded into his, perfectly unified. How your heart beat at a gentle pace, in time with his, and how your steady breathing tickled his skin - a constant reminder of your electrifying proximity.

“Sleepy?”

“Mmm… a bit.”

“Maybe a change of…” you glanced at the couch, “location would do you some good?” detangling yourself, the suggestion was made with a simple turn of the head, which Mingi agreed to with a curt nod, and a removal of his glasses.

Though it was his apartment and technically you were the guest, he was the one following you, like always. Shying away from your gaze as he rapidly changed into sweatpants and a tee that were other than those he had worn during his midnight expedition to retrieve you from the club, making you giggle and cover your eyes with a dramatic swoop of the hand, he was back at your mercy in these four walls. Playing with fire, he lied down on the bed next to you, counting to steady himself. Glasses left on the bedside table, he stared at the soft blur of the ceiling, admiring how soft the light of the earliest dawn looked without the myriad of details that otherwise occupied the material it fell upon. Mingi debated with himself whether what he was allowing was appropriate, and whether it would inevitably lead to what he had been secretly hoping for. He could not lie, not to himself at least - he still wanted you, and now, with the avenue towards the prospects of a relationship having been opened, the wishes were becoming increasingly more difficult to ignore. Not when you were right there beside him, obviously studying the contours of his face, tracing the gorgeous lines that its silhouette formed and thanking the heavens for having the ability to take in and memorise Mingi. 

Oddly enough, in the semi-darkness of the bedroom - a place that was supposed to be the most intimate and exposing, you felt confidence return to you like the gust of a reviving spring wind. With every inhale and exhale, the familiar strength regained its capability, and led you to place a hand on Mingi’s chest, and while still keeping up a coy act, to run a lone finger down its middle, stopping right at the abdomen. Muscles tensing under your touch, Mingi sighed. Clearly, sleeping was not on your agenda whether you wanted it or not. Your habits, perfected over years, were advising you to act, and do so now. Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately for him, he shared the same desire.

“What’s up?” he mumbled, head rolling to the side to find you already looking right at him.

“You’re far.”

“We are literally on the same bed.”

“No, but you are far. You get me?” a tentative leg over his, hooking around and serving as a lever to pull you closer to him. It was too natural, how Mingi’s arm stretched out and let you cuddle into him, acting as a pillow.

“I suppose. What do you want to do about it?”

“This,” tracing along his jawline, you prompted him to turn. You were close, way too close for him to not hold his breath as you came into focus - the one person he could always see, even when you were not physically with him. 

Mingi resisted. As much as he was seeking the same contact, the tinge of regret for giving his heart up so easily was prominent, a scalding hot iron. It was too much - lying under the blanket of agitated stillness, pressure coiling at an astonishing speed as your eyes turned into the one universe he could care to exist in. Without realising it, he had turned towards you for a better angle, placing himself on your altar. Fingers ghosted over the sensitive skin under his ear, gently running through his blonde locks. Every brush of your hand against him was an unbearable fire, melting him into submission; nothing more than a servant in the sultry fog. It was impossible to answer how you were able to do this, and why Mingi was allowing you to, but just like everything else, it felt right, regardless of how dark the future could be. In what you had proclaimed to be a ‘mess’, he felt alive, human. For some, addiction was measured in degrees and in there being less and less memories as time went by - for him, it was in the syllables of your name, in the taste of your lips when he could not hold back any longer and closed the gap between you, sighing as the he could finally relive the sensation that had been haunting him every minute, be he asleep or awake.

The kiss was slow, deliberate, a bouquet of recollection and reminiscence as if you had been two souls torn apart for centuries. Mingi’s nose lightly brushed against your skin as he tilted his head to deepen the intimacy, his hands moving to hold you closer. The last time, each sense was charged with an undercurrent of carnal desire, and lust had revealed a palette of dark hues, while now, even with the rising intensity and Mingi’s hold drifting to find purchase on your hips, the scene was light. Instead of sacrificing yourselves to the night, you were defeating it, greeting your own dawn. It was an awe-inspiring hallucination, leaving you dazed and desiring more. Hooking your leg more tightly over Mingi’s thigh, you shuddered, the breathiest moan escaping you as an unexpected friction revealed your unwinding state, consumed by the man from whom you were done running. Breaking away to press your forehead against his and indulge in the shared oxygen, a hint of dizziness made you chuckle. Peppering a couple of kisses on his cheek, only to return to the same position, eyelashes almost touching, the lack of space proving to be the ultimate comfort, you whispered:

“I want this forever,” meaning every word, at least when ‘forever’ meant ‘for now’. You did not know yourself, or the new self you wanted to craft, so you could not make any promises just yet. But this was good enough. It was honest and raw.

“Take me on a date first,” Mingi teased with a wink. Caressing his cheek, you kissed the tip of his nose, making him scrunch it. 

“What a precious princess,” you chuckled, leaning over to close the space once again, ignited by the beautiful sounds that were muted by you, a most delectable fruit.

Desire on the tongue, truth on the teeth, love staining the lips a deeper pink as you fell into Mingi, giving into his tug at your waist to hover above him. This, however, did not last long as he grew more impatient, pressing you against his body, wriggling upwards until he was half-seated on the bed, and you, on his thigh. Your initial instincts were telling you to move, but as he adjusted his seating once more, muscle brushing against your growing excitement, you quickly decided against it, instead settling on his leg, grinding into it to check for Mingi’s reaction. Judging by the way his hand snaked to the nape of your neck, fingers lost in your tresses as he could not get enough of you, this was a welcome change. He was responsive, in tune with you, allowing you to take the lead. Momentarily standing up on your knees, you backed up to take off the sweatpants you had been wearing, feeling the heat in your core rising to embrace you in a seductive haze.

With glazed over, darkened orbs Mingi watched you, each breath an adrenaline-filled shudder. Freed from the cotton confines, with only the fine material of your panties left to contain the building arousal, you cupped Mingi’s face to give him a deep kiss until you lost all air, whispering instructions only once you had your fill. Promptly, he was in the same state of undress, more so when you cautiously hooked the base of his t-shirt, longing to see the body that was so perfect with yours. When you wanted to mirror the action, his expression changed to that of a miniscule panic, almost instantly replaced by an endearing shyness and a bitten lower lip.

“Can you… keep the shirt on?”

“You like to see me in your clothes, Mingi?” You were comfortable saying his name in other settings, sure, but in the semi-darkness of his bedroom, it occurred to you just how vulnerable the act was, capturing another’s attention with the simple collection of characters, echoing from wall to wall and resonating in the listener’s ears. But if you were to be an improved version of yourself, someone who had real control as opposed to the farce you had been parading around with, you needed to at least make a little bit of an effort to be aware of Mingi, find him in your pleasure and make him your focus. You were too used to taking centre stage and pushing others away for it. 

“More than I’d like to admit,” voice husky, he groaned as your lips found his neck, retracing, not needing pointers to find the places that drove your newly established lover wild, “Ah… if you are o-okay with it-”

His hands, now back on your hips, gave you a timid squeeze, reaffirming the rapture which your present outfit threw him into. Mingi had assumed that you were at your most beautiful when those dresses designed to seduce adorned your curves, highlighting and accentuating what he swore was divinity, but nothing could have prepared him for this sight, and the effect that it had on him. Whether it was on purpose or not, but his name being uttered so teasingly as you seeked an outlet for your sensual frustration, while you were in his shirt, in his room, having slept in his bed, it all sent him into a frenzy. He wanted to mark you, make you his, hear you say everything you never could to him while he would bring you heaven and make you see stars. 

“More than okay, darling, I love it,” nibbling at the soft skin, you smirked as Mingi emitted a groan, hands squeezing your ass. This prompted you to continue, and you sat back down, desperate for stimulation that your covered clit against his thigh could offer. 

“Is this how you want me, doll?” the pet name sent a jolt through you and you let out a shaky breath, leaving yourself to be supported by an equally taken Mingi, whose growing bulge was now poking against your knee.

“Doll?”

“Only fair I call you something pretty, hm? Unless you want to…” he trailed off, recalling the roles that you had taken previously.

“I want to take it slow with you right now,” you kissed him, lazily moving your hips, the material getting more soaked with each glide, “will you let me?” when he did not immediately give an answer, you palmed at the prominent hardness, asking again just as Mingi let out an airy moan, chasing the contact, “will you let me take care of you?”

“Fu-ck, yes…”

“So good for me- ah!” with a yelp, you shuddered when Mingi’s hand dragged your panties to the side to get a better view of the slick, not caring for the glistening fluid staining his leg. With a few tentative rolls of his thumb over your clit, he decided that he should help you reach your high first, attracted to how you lost yourself in his touch.

“Want to use my thigh to get yourself off that badly?”

“N-no I am going to take c- fuck,” head lolling back, you could only focus on the accelerating fingers over your sensitive nub, teasing its very tip and coated in your precum, stopping spontaneously. You whined, earning yourself a furrowing of the brows and a glint of surprise in Mingi’s gaze.

“Thought you said no?”

It clicked in your head, and the tinge of anger rapidly dispelled, instead being replaced by a warm endearment. You ran a hand through his beautiful hair, planting a kiss on his cheek before answering:

“I don’t want to make you work too hard today.”

“I like to see you like this though…” he mumbled, chasing after another taste of your plush lips.

“How? Unwinding because of your hand? Your thigh? Do you like to make me feel good?” with a few nods, you let him continue by tapping his upper arm. As soon as he resumed the action, in time with your rocking, you let yourself go fully, thinking only of the man who was below you. Nothing, nor anyone else came to mind.

Mingi was observing you carefully, your moans turning to sweet music, "Yes, Mingi, just like that-" 

"You look so beautiful, doll, fucking yourself on me. Could you be," he paused his ministrations - a light tremble of muscle a telltale sign of your approaching climax, "...any more perfect?"

Praise shot into your heart and your core, an overwhelming electric shock. You perceived yourself guilty and undeserving of this worship, and yet could not bear to hear anything else from Mingi's lips - you were sure that it would be your demise. Arms thrown over his shoulders, you attempted to speed up your movements, the action proving a challenge due to the accumulating tension. Your head fell forwards, forehead against Mingi’s collarbone as he took to guiding you, hand carefully positioned on the small of your back while the other rolled up and down your aching clit, each touch closer and closer to sending you over the edge.

“Dar-ling I-”

“Are you close, Y/N?” Why did your name have to sound so sweet when he said it?

“Ah- y-yeah…” Mingi was craving for relief to the point of dizziness, grasping at you for the most minimal support. Precum coated the inner side of his underwear, member at full mast as he toyed with your sopping pussy.

“Come over me, doll, please, beautiful, show me what I can do to you,” the request was a fire, deliciously weak and exposing. You looked up at Mingi, disarmed by the kindness of his expression, and peppered a couple of kisses around his lips, too disoriented to find the original target.

With one final rock of the hips, and Mingi’s fingers curling into you and gliding between your folds, you collapsed into unfathomable bliss, a lewd moan resonating from you while the orgasm left you shaking in Mingi’s strong arms. He let you ride out your high by keeping your hips from fully bucking, instead setting a steadily decreasing pace and soothing you through the overstimulation from your continued contact with his leg. He nuzzled against your cheek, following the action with a reassuring:

“I got you,” pulled you into embracing the angel of your life.

The hints of a rising sun began to trickle into the room, just barely leaving a pattern on the carpet and transforming the light in the room into a pale lavender and pink. This was the earliest, and the latest, that you had ever been with anyone after your ritualistic ‘night out’, and courteously reminded you of the occurrences that brought you back to Mingi. Upon your descent from the decadent oblivion, embarrassment struck and you pressed yourself against his body, sighing in relief when he hugged you tight. His hardness was impossible to ignore, and a part of you felt terrible for not repaying the pleasure he had given you just yet, but judging by the way in which you could feel his fingers trace abstract shapes on your back, and after one glance to one side, and then to the other, how he kept himself immersed in his senses, concentrating on you, he could hold out for a little longer. 

“Mingi?”

“Mm?”

“You did make me feel good. Really, really good,” uncharacteristically meek, the sentence sounded almost like an announcement, making him chuckle, but the smile that melted across his features was genuine and pure. Loving.

“Happy to hear it. And I am happy that you are feeling like this, Y/N.”

“May I…?” a ghostly caress of his erection, a shaky breath, a playful, lop-sided grin with glossed over eyes.

“And here I was thinking that you like bossing people around, hm?”

“Would you rather I did?” touch turned grasp, a finger playing with the waistband of his boxers while your voice dropped into a dangerous tone, serpent-like, sultry.

“I like new things, I want to get to know you better, gorgeous.”

“Let’s do just that then, though… I’ll need a little,” having regained full function of your legs, you slipped from the position over his thigh to be on your knees between his legs, centred, “assistance. Talk to me, darling, what do you like?”

“I-” with a swift motion, you snaked your hand into his boxers, taking out his erect member and giving it a tentative stroke.

There were no thoughts which he could vocalise aside from hoping that you would never stop. Your thumb circled over his reddened tip, coating itself in the fluid. You barely moved your hand, continuing to give special attention only to the head of his stiffened cock, making Mingi try to wriggle to get more friction. With a push on his pubic bone, you freeze him.

“Now, don’t get too impatient, first I need these boxers off, okay? I’ll help,” you let go of his member, tugging at the material and following Mingi’s quick lift of his lower half, pulled them down and off, leaving the stunning man bare and ready to respond to your every move and command. 

You truly wanted to fall in love with him. Those glistening eyes that rolled back slightly just before he closed them, unfathomable bliss revealed only to you, were a paradise that you would not mind floating in forever. He had full trust in you, breathy moans freely falling from his lips as you started to stroke his cock, having added some of your own spit to his pre-cum for lubrication. His every detail was a heavenly design that you could not believe nature had crafted, from body to mind, and here he was, giving it up to you. You regarded the telltale sheen of sweat that began to form on his smooth skin, giving him an angelic appearance in the haze of the early morning. His hands were gripping the bed sheets, knuckles gradually turning paler as you sped up with each pump of his leaking cock. In a moment where you noticed him looking upwards at the ceiling, not registering you, you stopped to give the base a soft squeeze, having an even better idea in mind.

“Mingi?” The call instantly made him dart back to you unfocused but endearingly determined.

“How would you feel about me sucking your dick, hm?”

“H-huh?”

“Only if you want to, darling,” resuming the strokes, albeit at a lazier, dangerously slow speed and making sure to give attention to every vein, you had to practically had to hold yourself back from grinning due to the perplexion decorating Mingi’s face, blended seamlessly with a blazing lust. 

“Are you sure?”

“I can show you, and you decide, deal?”

“Fu-uck yes, deal ye-” answer forgotten in the garbled, divine mess of carnal satisfaction, Mingi watched as you lowered yourself to hover above his member, and gave it a few kitten licks before taking in his tip.

You rolled your tongue over the heat, relishing in Mingi’s taste, and pushed down further until you were midway, and hollowed out your cheeks in time to sense how he twitched at the dizzying warmth. While you were more familiar with a dominant role, particularly one where you prioritised your own pleasure and used others as a form of self-relief - not exactly the most responsible approach but no one had complained yet, but even then you were no stranger to this sensual act. You dragged your tongue against his large erection, spurred on by his groan when you bobbed your head a couple of times before slipping off to give Mingi an inquisitive glance.

“So, what do you say?”

“You are… amazing,”

“I take that as a, ‘yes please, Y/N, continue’?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Then say it, darling, so I know,” you grazed a lone finger up his length, admiring just how sensitive it was, “and you can touch me, by the way, you were doing so well before what’s got you so shy now?” you chuckled when a hand that had previously been hovering in your vicinity finally found its place on the side of your face, timidly moving a few strands of hair that you had not noticed threatening to cover your vision. 

“Yes… please, Y/N, continue.”

“So precious.”

It did not take long for you to build him back up and higher again. You were addicted to how he writhed under you but was still careful to not grab onto your locks, instead choosing to repeatedly run his digits through and rest them while you masterfully took him in your mouth. A wanton symphony filled the room, blending every sigh and the sloppy collision of his tip against the back of your throat into a direct stimulation. Your core was growing needy, so much so that with one finger you began to roll over your sensitive clit, echoes of the explosive orgasm still shooting through your nerves but not nearly enough to satiate your evolved hunger.

“I’m going to-”

He pawed at you, while an oncoming wave was about to capture him whole. Mingi’s breathing was ragged and irregular and his head fell back while he struggled to distinguish reality from dreaming in the wake of his crumbling state. Just like he had done in your last encounter, the second before he came stirred in him a final aggression, a desire to prove to himself that he retained some form of power, even though all the signs pointed to the opposite. At least now, you were fully prepared. Throat relaxed and eyes fluttering shut, you let yourself be pushed down onto the throbbing cock with a rough hand, and welcomed the ropes of hot, white cum when they spurted out to coat your mouth, rivulets dripping down your throat and prompting you to swallow. The light tang was suddenly your favourite flavour, and you resumed your pumping, milking Mingi of all his nectar with a greedy forcefulness. He tasted like he was completely yours.

He hit the headboard as he collapsed from the exertion, astonished at how you licked your lips, showing off the emptiness of your mouth as you had swallowed his load. Your cunt ached for more, and you drifted towards Mingi until your chest was pressed against his, ensuring he recalled the fact that you were still wearing his shirt. Not caring for the remnants of his cum on the corners of your mouth, he searched for your lips, sealing them with a long kiss. You used this as an opportunity to lower yourself just enough to have your folds glide over his only just softening member, and deepened the kiss to drown out his gasp. You needed him, and needed him now. Not caring for recovery times, you began to fist his dick roughly, making him tremble underneath you and bite down on his lip.

“Come on, precious, won’t you give me another?”

“A-ah I- please I-”

“What was that?” you separated yourself from him, a smirk dancing on your lips when you sensed a familiar rush racing under skin from the stimulation, and leaned to the side to open the bedside drawer, successfully fishing out a condom. 

“I-”

“Speak up, sweetheart, I am not sure what you’re saying,” it was so easy to tease him, play with his mind, and you liked it too much. Reduced to babble, he shut himself off from further attempts to communicate, submitting to your determination to work him until he was hard again.

When you ceased to pump him and let go, his cock slapped against his skin, leaving behind traces of prior climax and clear promise of another. You removed the condom from the packaging and carefully unrolled it, suddenly struck by how practised this felt with Mingi, as if you knew each other’s bodies better than your own. You would be lying if you were to say you did not have him memorised.

Positioning his tip at your entrance, you sighed and slid him between your folds. One rock of the hips, another, and the condom was coated in your slick, and you began to take the member in, inch by inch into your fluttering heat, mouth ajar as you felt him grazing against your begging walls, the ribbed detail of the protection only adding to the sensation. Soon enough, he was fully sheathed inside your fluttering hole, and was struggling to hold himself back from bucking his hips upwards. One leg on either side of him, you were straddling his lap, the position reminiscent of a longing embrace, intimate, personal. The centre of your attention were the contortions of his face and the arms that loosely wrapped around your torso.

If it was possible to be any closer, then most certainly Mingi achieved it when he pulled you into him, holding you tight. The movement dragged your pussy over his cock, almost making it slip out until he settled you back down again, hissing when skin slapped against skin. Not surprised by, but still not expecting the enticing demonstration of strength, you nudged Mingi’s cheek with your own, whispering words of praise in his ear:

“Do you want to guide me?”

“Sorry Y/N, I couldn’t help it… your pussy feels so good…”

“I said I want to take care of you, Mingi, tell me what you want.”

“I… I do want to guide you, if you let me.”

“Show me what you can do, darling.”

You did not need to say it twice as he grabbed your hips to adjust your seating, and took to finding a steady and breath-taking rhythm, with the two of you moving as one. Mingi left one peck, another on your shoulder when you yelped from a particularly deep pound of his cock into you, grazing your g-spot and knocking you off kilter. 

“Yes, yes, Mingi-”

“So pretty, for me?” he cut you off while he quickened his pace, starting to move up with more vigour when you found balance by gripping onto the headboard.

“For-” you stopped, reassessing the sentence. Even in the comfort of his show of power, you were hesitant to give up. Nothing forced you to continue however, as Mingi angled his thrusts to hit your sweet spot repeatedly, making your legs tremble and pussy clench around him. The heat was becoming unbearable, and the knot in your stomach was driving you mad, “Fuck, Mingi, faster!”

Your words were followed by a few violent thrusts, before Mingi tapped your thigh and growled for you to shift your leg so that you could turn and lie down on your side. You read his wishes, cautiously shifting until your back was flush against his chest. Remaining close so that his length remained in your sopping cunt, you shifted to sink into the crumpled sheets, fixated on Mingi, who was entirely in his own world, concentrated on performance and pleasure. He lifted your other leg by hooking it with his arm and, once settled, began to thrust with a totally new vigour. 

His grunts mixed with your high-pitched whines, and his pistoning caused your fluids to spill relentlessly around his cock, soaking the sheets. Mingi was in overdrive; he wanted more, needed more and despite already having already come one for you, he was ready to do it again. The pain of having his cock abused and overstimulated had subsided, instead transforming into a delightful sensitivity to the warmth of your walls, and how they started to pulsate. You unleashed a broken moan as your high accumulated and destroyed you, giving you up to Mingi entirely. Sensing the shift, he persisted, letting out his own guttural groan when the pounding into your hole had turned into pure ecstasy and brought him to his own orgasm. Cock twitching as it spilled out more of his release into the condom, the heat leaving you dizzy, you followed his change of position back into sitting, jaw slackened, vision unfocused.

Mingi kept you against him, encouraged you to say his name again while you warmed him, to which you instantly obliged - it felt too natural, meant to be. He scissored your folds with his fingers, after which he moved up to tease your pulsing and erect clit, middle finger moving over it at an astonishingly fast pace. You practically clawed at Mingi, sure that you were about to break, gasps stuck in your throat but he would not budge, holding you down until a tidal wave crashed into you, and you mewled through another climax, this time a clear liquid spilling from you and further ruining the cotton below. A wreck, you leaned back on him, unable to keep yourself up any longer from the shaking of your legs to the blankness of your mind. 

He kissed you back to full consciousness, having tilted your head so he could capture your lips again and again, each contact more gentle than the one prior. After pulling out his cock and discarding the condom, his full attention was on you. Mingi caressed your face, snaked his hands under the t-shirt to feel your skin, lowered you onto the bed and slid another pillow so that you remained in a more or less upright position.

“You okay?” he tried, worry showing itself on his features when you did not respond instantly.

“I love,” he stilled, eyes widening, “...this. I love this, Mingi,” nevertheless, he beamed, lips interlocking for what had to be the thousandth time. Not sure how to respond, he simply lied down next to you, watching as your inhales and exhales grew more level, deeper, and awareness of surroundings returned.

“We… we really should clean up, yeah?”

“Definitely changing the bedsheets later,” Mingi pointed at what was running the risk of being a stain of your release. Blush rose on your cheeks as you turned away, mumbling:

“Good point.”

“Hey, hey, it was worth it. You looked beautiful,” he tried to move you back, but you only crossed your arms, joking.

“You were literally behind me, Mingi.”

“Beautiful from all angles, doll,” you sharply turned, giving him a glare before suppressing the widest grin.

“So cheesy,”

“Do you like it?”

“Unfortunately, a little too much.” you flicked his nose with your own, the safety and adoration oozing from Mingi lulling you. The room glowed a stunning shade of pink, with hints of orange as you swam in his stunning dark irises.

“Well I have a lot more where that came from.”

“Can’t wait to hear it. Now, uh… shower?”

It was Saturday. And most definitely, it was not the dead of night. Late morning light washed over your skin as you sat upright on Mingi’s bed, the same one you had run from not too long ago. Only this time, the arm lazily thrown over your stomach was impossible to move, and the gaze of the man with his head perched on his other hand was impossible to ignore. It was evident that he was waiting for your next move, purposefully silent. Aware. Even though you had made your own version of a confession, you knew that you had a long way to go if you wanted Mingi to wholeheartedly trust you, and thus you would be able to hold and protect his love in your own slowly healing heart. 

For the first time, you were looking beyond the character you had created for yourself, feeling for the essence of who you had once been far too long ago, thawing the self-protective frost you had accumulated as your last resort.  Attempting to stay still, you focused on how your breathing repeatedly lifted and lowered his arm that was still on your body. Too heavy, too intimate, too real for you to handle. According to the logic that you were trying to shed for a full reawakening, you had gotten what you wanted, right? Then why was it that you could not stand up and leave, having used him again, mercilessly and coldly? Why were you stuck? Resistance was futile. Questions turning into a barrage of artillery against your clouded mind were agonising, and amidst the colossal pause a shudder passed over your body. Mingi’s t-shirt that he had let you borrow, hanging loosely over you was suddenly not enough. Feeling bare, you grasped at the bedsheets, anything, the cold settling on your skin like fresh snow, coating you and leaving you gasping. A trembling of the lips, a breath suspended in the lungs, blooming into an ache until tears welled up in your eyes, glistening raindrops. Patterns felt like strangers as you thought of the many days that you had tried to not live through, instead succumbing to impulse and carnality, and the foreign bliss of being in the now was so acute it sent shocks through your system. A white light, a white lily, a white dove cradled in your hands. You felt Mingi’s hand pressing into your side as he moved a little closer. You could hear him, his breath, his heartbeat, feel the heat emanating from his body, and every touch imprinted on your skin once again. Celestial blessings that soothed you like no one ever could. Biting on your lower lip, you lowered your head to fight the last of yourself. Shedding your beliefs and desires, you were left bare, and you were terrified. A white chasm into which you kept on falling, and the only thing you could hear was Mingi’s voice as he sat up to pull you into an embrace, his strong arms lifting you from your position and into his lap. Heart to heart, you melted into the feeling, inhaling him, his affection that was seeking you out in the panic. A hand lulling you, slowly patting your back as your body shook with every suppressed sob. As he mumbled your name against your ear, calling out for you, the previously contained tears sprung out, travelling down your cheeks, but Mingi could not care less, only hugging you tighter until even in your loss, you could feel that he was there, and he was not planning to leave.

Once you calmed down, he continued to hold you, mumbling abstract thoughts that occurred to him, unrelated to anything that had you rolling up the walls like a penny. You knew it was on purpose - a delightful distraction crafted by psychological mastery, getting you to nod along to his plans for ‘the latest breakfast of all time’, listening to his mention of some park or square nearby, switching you off from the ghosts of a turbulent circuit that you were too used to existing in. You did not mind the chatter, the vibrations emanating across and from his chest as he spoke having turned into the most soothing sensation. 

“...a date.”

“Huh?” only having registered the last part of the sentence, you jolted out of your empty musings.

“Since we are now dating, we will go on a date.”

“Makes sense.. But… how?” he chuckled breathlessly, detangling himself a little, just to look at you.

“How? Are you asking how people go on dates?”

“I guess…”

“Well then I’ll have to show you.”

As you lost yourself in another kiss, a thought, or more accurately, a small yet persistent wish buried itself in your mind. With all your being, you hoped that on this date, in every step towards new tomorrows, it would be only you and Mingi, and the metaphorical doors would remain shut, isolating and erasing your past. After all, you did not want to use him. 

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[wjehfshs]

Hello, hello!!

I wanted to request a m/n who is a new recruit in tast force 141 but he is disabled, well not physically but mentally and m/n was also born prematurely which causes m/n to be much skinneir and shorter then the rest of the tf141 (hes about 5ft 5, but still very strong, can lift up ghost like hes a bag of cotton). And when he joins tf141 he doesnt even know the basics and the team is like "how tf did he even pass the standard test??" And everyone in the base thinks that m/n is a lost cause and he will prob be transfered somewhere else and one of the tf141 members (maybe price or ghost) takes m/n under their wing and teach them the basics and they are SHOOCK by how fast m/n can learn, like you could leave m/n in a room with a rifle he's unfamiliar with for an hour and m/n would have mastered the rifle. M/n also takes advantage of his disabilities (such as: autism? Tricks himself to hyperfixate on military and survival things. Permanant little lines in his vision? Uses it as a sniper telescope and can get a clear headshot from 4000 meters with a pistol. His 5 senses are hypersensitive? Uses it to detect and locate enemies and pick up small changes in the wind which helps him be a good sniper. M/n also cant remember anything for the life of him but he creates a technique that lets him memorize pages upon pages of things in mere minutes, m/n also learns languages for fun (that includes sign language too), also knows body language very well so he is usually there during interrogations to confirm if the prisoner is lying or not. And in one scenario m/n and tf141 are cornered and the soldiers are giving up going "we are not gonna win this one" or "its over" and then m/n gives an inspirational speech which somehow works. M/n also just... refuses to die, like he could have multiple gun and stab wounds but still be fighting like a tank. And when off the battlefield m/n is just... so metally disabled, you could walk up to and tell him something ,he will stand there for a few seconds to understand what you said and then respond as if he didnt just stand🧍 completely still for a solid 10 seconds looking like he was re-loading, also bumps into things right infront of him, trips over everything, most likely dyslexic, does dangerous stunts for fun and bets.

And thank you very much!!♡♡

I’m disabled myself so M/N is so me 💪 love when people ask for disabled reader

Reader is disabled/prematurely born, reader is 5,5 but strong asf, reader is a bit slow but also a walking book at the same time, reader knows multiple languages, please let me know if I got anything wrong as I am disabled but I’m only autistic, sorry I wasn’t feeling up to writing the speech, roach appears briefly

You had been born before 35 weeks

You had some seeing issues, which meant you needed glasses, not a problem apart from the fact that you where quite literally blind without them

You where also diagnosed as autistic at 9

You where heavily bullied throughout school so you decided to not only get strong but also join the military

When the 141 first saw you, how short you where, how skinny you where and your files listing your conditions they all silently agreed you wouldn’t make it through and either die on the field or be transferred

God they couldn’t be more wrong

Once during sparring, even with your short stature, you easily tackled Ghost down

He didn’t even have any time to react

Once the 141 was struggling on the field, you decided to give a motivational speech to cheer them up

It worked

A lot of the time when someone would tell a joke you didn’t understand, you took awhile to understand it but once you got it you usually always laughed

You where a sniper which concerned all of them considering you has seeing issues but Shepard was adamant that you where the best of the best

They only actually understood this when you got on the field

You where taking down the enemy from far away with no issues

They all thanked you for saving their asses out there, without you they would’ve all been dead

They asked you later how you managed to get so good at this stuff and you went on a 2 hour rant about how you forced yourself to hyper-fixate on the military so that’s how you got so good in such a short amount of time

Once they had a prisoner from the other side, you wouldn’t let up on being in there with Ghost

Eventually they agreed

First question you immediately pointed out how the prisoner was lying

How could you tell?

You explained his body language gave it away

Later on they asked you how you knew that and you revealed you knew multiple languages, including body language

You and Roach would regularly have conversations in sign language

Most of the time it was too fast for everyone else to read your hands

Honestly yes it did take some training from Price to get you to this skill level but that doesn’t mean you weren’t fucking terrifying

What confused them was you somehow managed to forget your own last name but you’re able to answer any question about the military

You where like an infinite pit of knowledge

Once you where out on the field and you got shot right next to your heart (later found that out when you where in the infirmary)

Even with blood spilling out and some other stab wounds here and there you went on

It’s like you weren’t even shot

What shocked them more was once you where on a stealth mission with them and you heard footsteps that no one would’ve been able to hear

You shot the guy with your silenced pistol as everyone quietly thanked you

They have major respect for you and honestly a few of them including the rookies look up to you

#cod x reader #cod #cod mw2 x reader #cod mw2 #cod mw x reader

[elvisabutler]

oh god could we Please get a fic where austin gets pegged 🙏🙏🙏 i need it

get the feeling

summary: once upon a time there was a man in love with a woman. once upon a time that woman wanted to peg the man. the man had no real objections. fandom: austin butler rating: m pairing: austin butler x plus sized female reader word count: 2295 warning: pegging. use of the word good boy. at least faint dom/sub vibes. sub austin. little bit of crying. little bit of come play. talk about prepping for anal penetration. coming without being touched. handjobs technically. brief mention of the reader wanting to call a strap on a cock. a faint trace of feminization i think but i can't quite tell. just in case we'll add it. use of the color system ( red, yellow, green ) for sex. author’s note: ah anon, i know where this came from. i do throwaway lines and they come back to haunt me in the best of ways. i basically began and finished this today. something about getting a full proper night of sleep inspired me i guess. haven't written pegging in- forever because i think i've written it maybe once or twice for other fandoms. hope you enjoy and hope this scratched an itch for you. and consider this a continuation of every lover's got a dagger in their hand because that's what i did. also y'all wanna be part of my tag list fill this out here.

Ever since Austin had made what you and him both affectionately call "The Miscalculation" in thinking that maybe you enjoyed daddy kink you two hadn't really tried much of anything. Busy schedules preventing much more than quick pecks and just as quick sex. It's not a problem, you both knew what you signed up for being with the other person and yet it allows both of you- or at least you to fantasize when you're alone. It allows your mind to swirl with thoughts and images of various positions and things you want to do with Austin. It helps your job, allowing you to take scenes in ways that were new and adventurous while still staying firmly in agreed upon limits but you find yourself wishing more and more you could finally get an opportunity to enact the fantasy with the object of your fantasy.

Thankfully the opportunity presents itself in one of the rare weekends Austin has had off at the same time you are off. Or more accurately the opportunity to bring up the subject arose as he stroked your hair and you drew shapes on his torso.

"Would you ever mind being pegged? Or is that a hard no?" The question is asked with zero preamble but if there's one thing you're pretty certain Austin knows about you by now it's that you are incredibly direct when you want to be and this particular time is no exception. Truly, this time just goes hand in hand with any discussion you have about sex, just a remarkably frank talk that the other person just tends to be along on the ride for.

Austin chokes on his spit a little at the sudden question but recovers startlingly quick, planting a kiss on the crown of your head as he answers. "I. I never thought about it before The Miscalculation," he pauses and you hear the sound of his saliva wetting his lips as he licks them, "but it's been in my head for a little bit, lately. I know you'd take care of me."

Your mind latches onto the idea of him thinking about it like you had. It latches onto the idea that he's been fantasizing about you with a strap on sliding in and out of him. That he's been fantasizing about whimpering and whining and begging to come undone beneath you. You feel the fire of your arousal go from faint embers to a roaring heat as you grab one of his hands and feel his fingers slide through your folds. Your question comes out a little shaky.

"Can I take care of you tomorrow?"

As it turns out he had no objections to that in the slightest. There were no dinners you two had made plans to go to. There were no work related events that might crop up. There was nothing but you and him and your bed. It's been your experience that people do their best prep for things like this by themselves. Of course, you always do a final inspection and help where you can but there's something uniquely intimate about cleaning yourself out this way and you- despite knowing how much Austin cares for you and adores you, you don't want to rush him. You don't want to cause him any undue discomfort partially so that it doesn't sour the mere idea of the actions that are about to happen but also because he's the man you love. He's the man you love and the fierce protectiveness you know he feels for you goes both ways. Your own protectiveness wraps itself around him like an armor and you're loathe to hurt him- to cause a single chink in that armor.

He does a remarkably good job at prepping himself, and you wonder briefly if he truly has never done this before. You know he hasn't though, know it's just a side effect of knowing how to clean himself properly and thoroughly. When you open the door he has his fingers starting to trace his hole with some hesitation. It was one thing to clean himself out, another to lube himself up. Your voice is a soft murmur as you press your naked body against his, making sure your full breasts push against his back. "On the bed, baby boy. On the bed for your queen."

His lips curl into a smile at the term of endearment he's used for you once or twice before. Perhaps that should be what he calls you in situations like this, ma'am and queen. Perhaps that encompasses your relationship in ways mama and mistress and any other combination of words do. You hum as you watch him walk to the bed with all the grace of a newborn fawn before flopping on the bed. A chuckle leaves your lips and you know you should tell him move, to make it easier for you to make sure you thoroughly prep him but instead you lay down beside him and take the lube, generously coating your fingers before you start to prep him. Involuntarily he tenses before you shush him, your free hand stroking his cheek. "Relax, it's just me. Just making sure I won't hurt you. Remember how you work me open when I'm not ready?"

He nods, a noise that sounds almost like a whine escaping his lips as he relaxes slowly but surely allowing your finger to slide into his hole. You take your time, allowing Austin to set the pace as you feel him relax more and more. Your hand stays on his face for a few minutes before he grabs your wrist and moves it down his torso. He's always been sensitive there and you feel the muscles tense as your fingertips dance across the skin as you move lower and lower, brushing past his cock that's slowly filling up the more you press against his prostate and settle on his thigh. A squeeze has him whining your name as you shush him whispering little sweet nothings into his ears.You hear his breath even out even as it hitches when you hit that certain spot inside him or when you move to add another finger but he takes them so well. He takes them so well and you can't help the words that leave your mouth.

"That's my good baby boy, being good for your queen. Relaxing for her, getting ready to take her. Gonna look so pretty with me inside of you, aren't you? Gonna bounce up and down on your queen, hm? Or am I going to have to do all the work." The last words are punctuated by you removing your hand, marveling in how he grinds back, whining when there's nothing there.

"Y/N. Don't- Why did you take them out?" Austin's voice sounds minorly unfamiliar to his own ears as he keeps grinding back until you put them back in and brush against where he wants you to, a sigh of relief exiting his body.

"You don't want more? Don't want to be stretched out around my strap on?" The word cock itches in your mouth and dances around but you tamp down on the urge, this is your boyfriend not a client. "Your queen's been so good at prepping you, wouldn't want that to go to waste would we?"

His head shake would be entertaining if you didn't realize he might be sliding into a space he can't handle just yet. It's violent and has you pulling out your hand and your other hand to make him focus on you and before you get the words out he smiles, "green."

Green. He's fine and you move to grab the lube again, coating your hand and the dildo attached to your strap on, watching as his eyes zero in on it. He bites his lip, and you swear you see a bit of drool that has you putting on a bit of a show. "Baby boy? You want your queen to fill you up now? You gonna climb on top of her? Ride her like she's ridden you before?"

What happens next is something you weren't expecting. Austin has been nervous and you've been worried he's going to call this off. It would have been fine and you would have understood wholeheartedly but you wanted to fulfill a fantasy for both of you. Yet here was your nervous boyfriend practically clamoring on the bed to be able to sink himself down on you. You see the muscles in his arms tense as he holds himself up, trying to figure out the best way to do things before you grasp the dildo and nod slowly as if to tell him it's alright. You know he knows to go slow even if he's excitable and you see the tear and the way his face winces just a bit even with the preparation and your free hand moves to wipe those tears away and cup his cheek.

"Good boy, there you go, nice and steady. You've got this. I'm so proud of you. Taking me so well, gonna make you feel so good, baby boy," your murmurs have him humming softly as he looks down at you, love clear as day in his eyes even as they flutter shut. You had told him not to bottom out just yet but he does and nearly shoots off of you when he realizes he just put an obscene amount of pressure on his prostate.

"Fuck. Ma'am. Queen. Y/N," Every word he can think of to be a name for you erupts from his mouth in a whimper, his arms and his thighs shaking. He hasn't come and yet he knows he probably will sooner rather than later.

"What's happening?" You ask, as your hand moves from his cheek down his neck and down to his collarbone as he starts to move himself off of you only to sink back down with a growl. "Color?"

"G-Green. Green Yellow." He forces the words out as he looks at you, watches your hand move down his torso, scratching at his nipples in a fit of minor overstimulation. "Green Yellow."

"Too much?" A simple question as you pull your hand away only to have him grab your wrist and put it close to his cock, whining as you brush that spot inside him again. "You want me to play with your cock, baby boy?

He nods, the words floating away from his brain and making it impossible for him to answer with words. You should tell him you won't do it unless he can tell you what he wants, what he needs but you understand him better than anyone and know what he wants in this moment. He wants to lose himself, you figure. Not completely but just enough that you are completely in control of his pleasure. Your hand wraps around his cock and he cries out a little. Not in pain but in pleasure that has him bouncing as best as he can above you. One of his hands moves to play with your breasts, pinching and kneading your nipple and the breast itself. He can't tell if you're enjoying this, so he figures this will help. You ought to tell him that his sighs and whimpers and how you feel his thighs tighten around your own- not an easy feet but the way his legs are practically splayed even as he rides you- is a wonder to behold that has you dripping onto the bed. You should tell him you're thinking you're likely to come without being touched. You should tell him these things and yet you hold back, choosing to wrap your hand around his cock and slide it up and down, your thumb playing with the slit and earning hiss after hiss and whimper after whimper.

The muscles in his abdomen are tightening and everything seems to be being wound tighter and tighter and tighter the more you look at him. He opens his mouth to finally let words leave it, to finally ask for something he needs desperately. "Wanna come. Please. Help me, let me come, please."

His voice is so wrecked that you feel your own body shudder with an orgasm as your hand tightens around his cock once more. His whines are getting louder, more pitiful as you look up at him and practically coo, "come for me, baby boy. Cover your queen's chest in your come. Paint me all white."

That does it as he shudders and cries out your name, his release coming it spurts over your stomach and your breasts. His body sags and he whines at the overstimulation from him not holding himself up any more. You're not intensely strong but you're strong enough to shift the two of you into a side by side position that allows you to slide out of him, trying not to relish in how he whines at the loss and whimpers at you petting his cheek and his body. Your own legs are shaky but you need to get up and clean up and you start to before Austin lays his whole arm across you and shakes his head. "Stay just- We'll shower in a bit. Take a bath. I don't- I just want you here right now. Wanna watch you play with my come."

Those last words are half slurred and you can't help but crack a small smile as you take his hand and drag it through the mess he's left on your chest. After a moment of him just staring at you, marveling at what you did you take his fingers and suck on them to clean them off. "Think you can handle this playing right now, baby boy?"

"Green."

#austin butler #austin butler x reader #austin butler x you #austin butler x y/n #austin butler x plus size reader #austin butler smut #austin butler fanfic #austin butler fanfiction #sub austin butler #sub austin #austin butler fic #ally writes

[chanshoesunite]

Chan is attracted to YN's capability

Content info: YN helps Chan to fix his music kit and he finds that very attractive.

Word count: 2.100-ish

Warnings: this is mostly domestic fluff with a smutty twist at the end, praise, kissing, from cute!Chan to rough!Chan in seconds, face sitting (fem receiving)

“Nooooo”, Chan wails softly at the table.

You nearly crack your neck looking up from your comfortable nest in the bean bag. He is fiddling with a cable, frowning.

“What? What happened? Did you delete something? Did someone beat you in your game? Have the kids called you old in the group chat again?”

Chan can barely crack a smile at your attempt at humour, still fiddling. That’s not a good sign, so you get up while he is talking.

“No, nothing deleted…this cable here is so fucked though. But I had tape around it and everything, I thought that would give me more of, like, a grace period to continue using it?”

“Can you switch it or…”, you look where it connects to his music equipment, “ah, it’s not removable. How annoying!”

“Yeah, tell me about it. Damn, I really don’t want to throw away the whole thing, feels like such a waste.”

You gently let your fingers travel from his bare shoulder down his nervous hands, taking the broken cable from him. Upon inspection, you can see the individual wires are now fully exposed and most of them are severed. It looks a mess, especially where Chan tried to strengthen the insulation with tape. But the wires are a decent size and not too tiny to work with.

“Hmmm”, you go, turning it round a few times, thinking.

Chan looks at you, his eyes large: “Hmmm?”

You meet his gaze, and after a moment of hesitation you say with a smile: “I can fix that!”

Chan’s face lights up, eyes crinkling, dimples on full display. Looking at him, a glowing ball of happiness grows inside you.

“You can?! That’s amazing!”

His voice is only slightly disbelieving, so you only slights shove against him playfully.

“Don’t sound so surprised! Sure I can! Soldering the wires back together should do the trick and I am pretty good at that.”

“You can solder?!”, he shouts, surprise making his voice grow louder. A beat, and then: “We own soldering stuff?!”

The happiness ball inside you bubbles up as a laugh and you give Chan a big kiss on the cheek.

“We do indeed! Wanna watch me fix this?”

“Uh, yeah?!”, he gets up to follow after you.

Quickly you collect your tools while he watches you, throwing loud questions at you: “When did you learn this? Where did you get your tools? What else have you soldered? What does this do?”

As you lay out your kit, you explain the basics and caution Chan not to touch the hot end of the soldering iron once you turn it on – better him pouting at you for thinking he’s a baby (“the cutest and also sexiest baby”, you coo while he grimaces but ultimately smiles) than having to nurse a burnt finger. You are by no means an expert, but your dad has explained this to you and supervised your soldering previously, so you are confident.

For every step, you explain what you are doing while demonstrating it. Chan watches you like a hawk. When you have stripped the first wire of its plastic casing, you have an idea: “Actually, do you want to help?”

His face morphs from a look of intense concentration to one of delight: “Can I? Yes, definitely!”

You hand him the equipment and caution him not to nick the wires. He works carefully, seriously. Soldering some wires isn’t that difficult if you know what you do, but for someone doing it for the first time he does a really nice job, so you praise his efforts profusely.

“Yes, good work, my love! Steady, just like that. That looks so neat!”

The mixture of shyness and pride your words evoke make you melt for him. At the same time, you feel slightly lightheaded from the adoring expression on his face. He is obviously impressed by your knowledge and when he is not using the tools, he cannot seem to stop himself from letting his hands roam very gently along your waist, your hip and the small of your back. He even helpfully tucks a strand of hair behind your ear when both your hands are occupied. In return, you pepper soft kisses on his shoulders when he is soldering.

Finally, you show Chan how to use the heat gun for the shrinking tube. He exclaims excitedly at the “actual flame! Wow!” and the sizzling noise it makes.

“This will protect the soldered area even more – but don’t set the tube on fire. Or the insulation. Keep it moving.”

With a flourish, you hold out the heat gun to him.

“Good sir, will you do the honours?”

Instead of taking the heat gun, he pulls you in and says: “You are incredibly sexy with all your knowledge and tools and tiny flame throwers, you know that?”

A small gasp escapes you when he bites your earlobe.

“I’m glad you think so”, you say a little breathlessly.

His eyebrow quirks up and his smile turns seductive. Chan leans in to kiss you and your eyes drift shut. The feeling of his soft lips against yours is heavenly. After a few moments, his mouth wanders down your neck, teasing your tingling skin. One of his hands wanders from your waist up to your breast. He remains there for a little tease and you press yourself against him. But he does not remain at your sensitive nipple. Instead, he continues stroking down your arm.

Then he takes the heat gun from you, just as he gives you a cheeky peck on the nose. He leans back and his sensuous smile has transformed into a maniacal grin. Holding up the heat gun – safely turned away from both of you, or anything that could catch fire – he switches it on.

“I have fiyaaa!”, he proclaims, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Bultaoreune”, you deadpan. You squeeze him to you once more to kiss his lips. Then you focus on the task at hand again.

Chan shrinks the tube along the soldered area while you lay your head against his shoulder. At one point, he briefly looks away from his work and kisses your hair.

“This is great”, he says, “you are great!”

“Ah, don’t praise me yet – also, you did half the work, so you are great too...don’t shake your head at me!”

After a few more seconds, you say: “I think that’s as much shrinkage as we’re gonna get.”

Chan lays down the heat gun and you inspect the now mended cable.

“Alright – well, it certainly looks good! Let’s give it a try.”

Chan taps his fingers on the table to make a little drumroll while you plug it in. You both wait – you a bit worried, him a hundred percent convinced of your capabilities. His device turns on.

“Fuck yeah! We did it!”, he exclaims and you let out a breath you definitely were not holding.

“Yay!”, you say, and then you laugh as he spins you around in celebration.

“That was such a good experience”, he says, slowly stopping his spinning. He gently takes your face between his warm hands and kisses your forehead, nose and lips.

“And all thanks to you. Thank you, princess.”

With a happy smile, you look at him: “I am so glad I could help.”

He strokes his thumb along your lower lip. His gaze is loving and you are captivated by it.

“I want to repay you”, he says quietly.

Instead of protesting as you might do another day, your thoughts zoom back to his earlier seductive mood.

“Oh yeah?”, you match his quiet tone, “I am open to suggestions.”

“Good”, Chan growls, turning from gentleness to ravishment.

First of all, he takes his shirt off, which is always the perfect start to any activity in your book. He continues by picking you up and walking to the couch. He plops down, you on top of him. Huh, you had expected it the other way around. Of course, you aren’t complaining. It feels good to have his strong body underneath you. Then, Chan doesn’t give you any more time to think about who is in what position as he attacks your lips with passion. His hands glide underneath your shirt, along your body. Up and down they go, kneading your flesh. His warmth seems to envelop you. Expertly, he unhooks your bra and immediately cups your breasts, teasing your nipples until the sensitive nerves send lightning into your stomach. Luxuriating in the feeling of his hands and mouth, you give yourself over to the moment. Little whimpers of pleasure escape you, and they spur him on.

“God, you are delicious”, he says, his accent thick.

As if to prove it, he puts one hand into your hair, dragging it aside. He runs his tongue over your neck, then starts sucking your soft skin. Your nerves light on fire and you start bucking into him, rolling your hips to get friction for your aching clit. With his free hand, he grasps your arse cheek and helps you rut against him. Shamelessly, you use his hard dick for your enjoyment. You could continue in this sinful bliss forever.

But Chan has other plans. He roughly pushes your leggings and underwear out of the way. Getting his meaning, you finish the job and take them off entirely. But before you can free his cock from his trousers to sit on it, he stops you.

“What are we doing?”, you ask breathlessly.

His hands caress your naked thighs, squeeze your waist. Fuck, you adore his arms so much. You momentarily forget what you just asked. Instead, you focus on his bulging biceps, his thick forearms, trailing your fingers down his prominent veins. Unconsciously, you grind into Chan’s dick some more, leaving a wet patch on his trousers. Chan groans and says something.

“What?”, you were so focused on his arms that you didn’t listen. You blink at him.

“I want you to sit on my face”, Chan says with a grin.

Well, that snaps you out of your obsessive haze real quick.

“Oh!”, you bite your lip. “Mhm!”

“Mhm”, he mimics back at you, his expression hungry.

Slowly you drag yourself forward, never lifting your cunt away from his torso. Only when you reach his sternum do you lift up further to hover over his face. You are on your knees, barely out of reach for his mouth. For a moment, you stay just where you are, teasing him a little, to heighten the anticipation. But Chan is having none of that. Impatiently, he lifts his head from the couch, nuzzling into you, flicking his tongue out to lick at your lips. A yelp leaves you, and all your ideas of teasing him fly straight out of your brain.

Chan groans into your pussy. His hands – his beautiful, strong hands – grab your buttocks and drag you down onto his waiting mouth. You brace yourself against the armrest of the couch. When you look down, you gaze upon Chan’s closed eyes, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration, hair already a mess from where your thighs are mussing it up. You add your hand to his scalp, lightly scratching and pulling.

“Ah, fuck”, you whine, while his tongue draws patterns into you, his nose utter perfection against your clit.

Stifling your thrusts and grinds is not an option. And anyway, you know that Chan takes great pride in receiving all of your wanton movements and paving them into a road to an earth-shattering orgasm.

His hands never hold still, continually roaming your hot flesh, sometimes pressing you further into his face, sometimes dragging you away, always aiming for your best stimulation. His occasional moans vibrate your very core, making your pussy pulse with ever-mounting pleasure.

“More, more, more”, you beg breathlessly, and he gives it to you. He gives it to you until your legs shake and your abs are tight. You are so, so close to coming – and you finally, blissfully do when Chan’s tongue laps at your clit in just the right way while one of his hands caresses your nipple.

Your orgasm draws loud, hoarse groans out of you that eventually peter out into whimpers. Chan has not stopped licking you, he only slows down and is as gentle as your sensitive clit needs after his hungry attack. You feel ready to collapse, so you carefully shimmy back down his body, pressing your chest to his. You snuggle into him, trying to catch your breath, hearing his thundering heartbeat, feeling his hard cock against your arse.

“How was that, baby girl?”, he asks sincerely.

“Fucking unbelievable, of course”, you cannot help laughing, still totally wrecked, “thank you.”

“That’s good. I love you”, he gently strokes your back.

“I love you too”, you murmur against his neck, pressing soft kisses along Chan’s jugular. Then you take all your remaining energy together and pull him on top of you. You grin at him: “Please fuck me now.”

“Oh, baby girl, you do not have to ask twice.”

#Author Hare: MY BESTY IS SO TALENTED I FUCKING LOVE THIS #OF COURSE CHAN WOULD LOVE A CAPABLE WOMAN #bang chan scenario #bang chan imagine #skz smut #bang chan smut #bang chan face sitting #skz imagine #skz scenario #bang chan x yn #bang chan x reader #tortoise wrote this after soldering a broken cable for her bedside lamp and it made her feel really powerful so ... tadaaa #author tortoise

[a-d-nox]

jason, the unconventional hero (asteroid 6063)

"when talking about such a popular god/ goddess/hero i am going to for warn paraphrasing - of course all these stories have more details and all these popular gods have stories within stories. i would love to share them all/in detail but i would need a book and a lot more time to write it. my attempt in writing these posts are to inform you on the high level story of the god’s or goddess’s life. that being said if any one of the events regaled in the post pique you interest - please let me know i don’t mind giving a more in-depth tale of any of the events mentioned."

Son of King Aeson and leader of the Argonauts, Jason was sent away at a young age before he was more than just a boy prince. His uncle seized the land his father ruled - his father sent Chiron to raise him due to this. When he returned to his homeland as a young man, he came upon an old woman near a river who asked him to help her cross it. Jason took the woman across on his shoulders - this woman was Hera, who his uncle allegedly had been neglecting to worship. Hera inspired the boy to see his uncle. Pelias immediately felt mortified as he noted Jason was missing a sandal - for years he worried that someone would challenge him. So, in those years, he visited with an oracle who told him that he should be wary of a man with only one sandal. He immediately feared his nephew was there to steal his throne - so he questioned Jason about what he would do if someone challenged his reign. Jason answered as that he would send them on a quest for the Golden Fleece - these words were spoken by Jason but were guided by Hera once more. Pelias told him that is what Jason would have to do to prove he was the rightful king of the land. Jason was off to start readying himself for the journey - with Athena's guidance, he found the shipbuilder Argus who crafted Jason's ship, the Argo. He then recruited the Argonauts: Heracles, Castor, Pollux, Meleager, Orpheus, Peleus, and Telamon. Jason and the Argonauts traveled to islands made up of cursed women, six-armed men, Amazons, etc. Eventually he received the fleece with the help of the enchantress Medea (this part of the story, I have told - I will leave it to her post because, let's face it, she did basically all the work). The two fled together under near constant chase of her family - until eventually they found that if they were married they would have no right to chase after her. The two married; as we know from her side of the myth their relationship is an odd one. She tricks his cousins into killing their father King Pelias, his cousin kicks him out, Jason remarries - not really because Medea burns her in her wedding gown, Medea kills their children, etc. Unsurprisingly, Jason is abandoned by the gods because of his disloyalty to Medea and their shared vows. Jason then lives out the rest of his days alone - ironically, the rotting Argo collapses on him and Jason dies from a crush wound in his sleep. IN MY OPINION Jason in your chart can represent a) how you can improve your leadership skills, b) where you are a pawn in karma's game, c) where the gods guide you, d) where you get a lot of help from others, and/or e) how/where your break vows.

i encourage you to look into the aspects of jason along with the sign, degree, and house placement. for the more advanced astrologers, take a look at the persona chart of jason AND/OR add the other characters involved to see how they support or impede jason!

OTHER RELATED ASTEROIDS: hera (103), heracles (5143), athene (881), pallas (2), orpheus (3361), chiron (2060), peleus (11311), telamon (1749), and medea (212)!

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#astrology #astro community #astro placements #astro chart #asteroid astrology #asteroid #natal chart #persona chart #greek mythology #astrology tumblr #astro notes #astrology notes #astroblr #astrotips #astrology readings #asteroid6063 #jason #hera #asteroid103 #heracles #asteroid5143 #orpheus #asteroid3361 #medea #asteroid212 #chiron #asteroid2060 #athene #athena #pallas athena

[marengogo]

https://www.tumblr.com/marengogo/739886505084993536/it-is-a-very-very-very-basic-and-simple-thing?source=share

"why are you here if you think you're right" because i saw you saying that "Imagine if i have to check every acct i post from......" Thing where you directly indirectly said some people who think like this ain't gonna survive if jkk turned out to be not dating so i replied cause I'm a jkkr and no i don't think they're dating and i also do think tae should have double checked the acct before reposting. So i thought blogs are where you have discussions even when you're not agreeing to things so i did that but just got to know that you're supposed to block and scroll down.

"the problem is is that the account is shipper account and no one's ready to have that conversation" for some people it might be like that but since you replied to my ask saying this let me clear this that i don't care if he's posting from shipper acct or any kind of acct my problem is that is anti and now unintentionally it got 42k around followers space where people belive he posted it after checking the acct so now they have all the rights to continue their hate. Yes he's not responsible for what people think but he's responsible for what he posts. Media training is there for a reason if he had time to check his name tag I'm sure more 10 sec wouldn't have caused much problem. You said one scroll always don't tell you about the acct which i agree and i would have been fine again if those anti posts were down the page i would have assumed he didn't scroll that down and it's fine but ths posts are up there so in this case 10 sec would have been enough.

I hate it when people thinks that just because we're pointing out something it's gotta have something to do with "shipping" when we don't care about it that's why i replied.

That's all i wanted to clear although i do have things to say but it's waste of time so it's agree to disagree situation.

One more thing for @/chikoritajjk, i ain't reading all of that as i have zero interest in knowing what they think since i didn't go to their blog but thanks for taking your time.

Hi Anon,

I’m going to reply point by point, when I get a second (most likely tomorrow), but in the meantime if you could please clarify this for me:

Media training is there for a reason if he had time to check his name tag I'm sure more 10 sec wouldn't have caused much problem

What do you think that is, what are the tell tell signs he should have picked upon, how did his media team train him to pick up on this signs, what are other famous examples of media training etc etc… Because it feels like you and I have a very set idea of how this works and before I reply and assume stuff, it would be great if you could clarify.

Thanks!

Marengo

PS - Also, was the Artichikoo comment necessary? Common, you know better! You want a world where JM doesn’t have antis yet you come to my public blog, where ANYONE can reblog, and start behaving confrontational as if they didn’t have the right to reblog and express their opinion, is not like they asked you to reply, did they? ... sometimes ignoring IS the answer. People, everyone, you, me, etc, WE ALL need to understand how things work, in general, because “if you can’t stand the heat…”. Once again, I repeat this is a PUBLIC BLOG📢, so you are ALL subject to the public’s answers and opinions.

The moment you sent your ask, with the tone you chose, you instantly decided the type of replies you were going to get. Had you sent a “I want to discuss this topic” type of post, we would have discussed. You sent a “stop accusing me/us of yadda yadda … he should have yadda yadda” type of post, so I am replying to the yadda yadda. Makes sense no?

It really takes nothing to not be confrontational behind a keyboard, when you are put on the spot IRL, it is difficult, I can understand. That aside, I am assuming your main goal is to “protect” JM right? Antagonising one of those people who loves him more than life itself, doesn’t seem to be the way to go about it.

PPS - sorry to all my other Anons, this person has points I need to make so I really want to address them 🙏🏾

#people who are lost