Tumgik
#still need to write a while scene in the middle of it all and tidy up the later half cos it’s all inspired note taking and not actual writin
ekingston · 1 month
Note
I was gonna be cheeky and ask for 10 and 19 again BUT I shall resist that urge… for now.
I will be sneaky (critical failure) and ask for three (I lied) 28. 30. And 37.
And what the hell, everyone should be proud of their work/s so a 33. (Feel free to pick a couple if this is just asking for a lot - I feel like it is 😅)
I feel like I’m order takeout or reading lotto number here
haha thank you! and the bonus number is…
Any writing advice that works for you and you feel like sharing?
today i’m reminding myself to practice mindfulness! and not in the sense of breathing exercises or lengthy meditation sessions (although I’m sure those have their benefits too) but by making myself be in the present, paying attention to all of my senses, and remembering that my characters would do the same. you’ll need that material to fill in the little details that draw the reader into your work, that tricky thing that makes them feel like they can’t just see it, but like they’re actually there. life is a sensual experience, and i think our stories should reflect that!
Describe a fic that almost happened, but then didn’t.
this got long, so…
i once scribbled down a dream i had that was a sort of trippy time travel/repeating day type of thing, where Lena was part of a small crew of criminals that used Lena’s tech to travel back in time to aid them with their heists. they would simply rewind time over and over, taking note of the details, learning every possible outcome, eliminating obstacles along the way, practicing the motions often enough to nail the final, perfect execution.
the first scene was a very bloody one, and i came in right in the middle of it, not understanding how Lena and her people could be so callous about the people laying bleeding and dying at their feet, especially because Kara was one of them. Lena’s crew just kept saying they’d ‘fix that next time’, like some sort of cryptic mantra.
in the dream Lena ended up looking for Kara in every run through, charming her in a thousand different ways, always the same, Kara falling for her every time. there were a few rewinds that took her back so far that Kara was still a child, immediately smitten but completely lost on earth, abandoned and alone, and Lena lobbied hard to make sure her crew fixed that, too, even when it meant Lena would never meet her again.
i saw Lena’s crew running down a dark alley over and over again, at least one of their crew dead or dying, at least one other gravely hurt. Kara turned out to be the reason their plan failed every single time. Lena ended up having to turn against her team to save her before they could eliminate her from their timeline completely.
in the end Lena lay dying in child-Kara’s arms, telling her ‘we’ll fix it next time.’ this was when she’d finally discovered Kara wasn’t human. the line i woke up with was Lena telling Kara to promise her, ‘if you figure it out someday—fly up’. the theory being, i think, that if Kara somehow were to fly high enough, fast enough, she’d achieve the same effect Lena did with her tech, and Kara could go back to save Lena instead.
my dreams get pretty elaborate, but they rarely come with as tidy of a plot as this one did, so i bet it already exists somewhere.
Do you research before writing or while you write? Is it fun or boring for you?
i don’t feel i write the kind of stuff that requires a lot of research and that’s probably a good thing! because i will go down absolutely every rabbit hole the internet has to offer when i do and zero writing will get done. my longform WIP TFOT has been brewing since—let me check—December 11, 2022 (thanks @mooosicaldreamz) and i’ve written less than 20k words, including my outline. instead i have spent my time working on it ‘studying’ veterinary medicine, learning about sustainable agriculture, planning trips to Wyoming and wondering alongside Paula Cole where all the cowboys have gone.
Give your writing a compliment.
i can’t tell you how happy it makes me when people tell me i managed to write something that made them laugh out loud. several times even! sometimes waking up their loved ones or startling strangers! i love that so much.
19 notes · View notes
kinocomix · 23 days
Text
devlog 17: things my therapist told me
the script for TSTW is still coming along. the first couple of scenes are the most sensitive ones because they effectively have to hook the reader when little has happened in the story, so I can confidently say that those 8 scenes have been polished enough that I don’t have to worry about them anymore. Now, the main plot begins.
here’s the soundtrack for the rest of this devlog: 
youtube
I don’t think there could ever be a fully professional way to talk about the things that heavily affected you as a kid. As an adult, I had to wrestle with the fact that there’s never really a good time to talk about feelings and be happy. There’s always someone in the world suffering more than you, someone dying and something terrible happening to the children of a country being genocided by zionism (free palestine).
Today I’m going to talk about the themes at play in “The criminal mastermind’s pocket diary”, the project I’m working on while writing the script for my other comic, which is coming along well. While a lot of what I’m going to talk about will pale in comparison to the suffering of others in the world, I find it valuable to remember that in order to fight the dragons that plague the world we must confront and quell the evil within each and every one of us.
With that in mind, one thing I haven’t mentioned about the central point of killouette is that in more than one way, her experience is very much my own. Growing up in Beyrouth it seemed like there was one of three options: you’re either born with money in which case your safety can be bought via being in safer areas and schools, or you’re in a middle/lower class area where you’re stuck with the other two choices. One is to pass the time on the street and acquire the culture thereof, the other is to be an indoor kid. My parents, who had good intentions, decided that the best course of action to not have me become a thug was to never let me leave the house except to go to school or family outings. Combine that with a poor financial situation and a tiny house, it meant that growing up I didn’t have the internet, and could rarely take up the space required to do activities. Doing something as simple as reading a book was complicated because most of our books were stored in the sofas which were designed to maximize what we could do in our tiny house. It doesn’t end there, you see my mother has always been a clean freak, so she valued tidiness over most other things. Now imagine all that for a second. An understimulated child, often told they’re “gifted” who could never explore the world or do many things inside either. you can see how that’s a recipe for someone with the personality of a blank sheet of printer paper.
It’s not all doom and gloom though. I still had some fun because I, in addition to being cursed with the gifted label, had an overactive imagination. So the underside of beds became forts, and broken appliances became experiments. The few friends I had at school became a window into the outside… I eventually became a normal human being but there’s something about that entire period in my life that made me feel very bitter towards my parents. Why were you throwing your anxieties onto me? Why couldn’t I just join the scouts? Why couldn’t I stay over at a friend’s house for longer than two hours? Looking back at all of that having gone to therapy I’m thankful for it. I don’t think I would have fallen madly in love with the craft of comics had it not been for me overcompensating for all those missed years. Part of me really wants to heal that inner kid in my head who still wishes for some adventure though. That’s killouette.
Killouette’s parents are much like mine. Not evil, just a little overprotective. Projecting just enough that it’ll seep into killouette’s behavior as an adult. But now, as a kid, I’m giving her something that I wished I had when I was a child: privacy and space. Killouette has her own room and her parents don’t feel the need to constantly police her as long as she’s in there. That might not seem like much, but I think that would be enough for a smart kid to do some pretty amazing things.
you may have also noticed that Killouette doesn’t have any noteworthy character flaws, and it should be obvious at this point that the goal of me making this is in part to empower her. With that being said I am fully aware that while my experience is relatively common, it’s far from universal. This is why the cast is so varied: each child represents to some extent a different way of growing up. I can’t do them all sadly, but I think the grounds will be covered pretty well with what we have. 
there’s also other kids to consider, so I have some things I want to explore with them as well. I don’t want to spoil too much but here’s a quick fire round: Talbas has anger issues because of neglect and video games. bata has well meaning parents but the constant taunting and threats of being sent to far away places cause anxiety in the way she acts. motsik has the most ass, dogshit parents. 0/10 not having a good time. abuse central, destination anywhere else. falefil is spoiled and his parents haven’t taught him certain things about respect and money. that tends to influence his behavior. zmik is the closest to killouette, except he is a version of her closer to me allowed to leave the house. he’s included in the cast partially as a way for me to extent empathy to a younger me, but also for anyone who might be going through something similar to what i did as a kid. lastly there’s claude. claude is for all intents and purposes, if we were to put her in a realistic framework, some weird mish mash of immigrant and orphan child genius. i imagine claude would experience some alienation from some people, but i’m not worried about the story getting sidetracked since her friends have her back and the adults in the story are losers anyways.
On a more general note, I’ve been noticing how my approach to writing has been evolving to suit whatever project I'm currently working on. It was weird at first cause I thought a writing technique is something that you’re just stuck with. With prior comics for example the main concern was always “how do I portray what’s happening in the most raw way possible” whereas with TSTW it’s more “let’s try to be more efficient with the framing of the ideas, as long as it feels right”. With Killouette, it’s not about showing things in the most realistic way possible because if that was the case, for starters this amount of genius kids would not be two buildings apart in some suburb in beyrouth and killouette would not be able to hide the amount of things she does. but that’s not the point. a bunch of what happens in the story could happen with real kids in real life, and the point of the book is to capture a young sense of ambition and wonder. the type of mischief that leaves you laughing and being impressed  instead of wondering what’s happening in the world. I’m not here to tell you about kids committing actual awful actions, I'm here to show you kids having a good time despite it all. that nothing can stop life and the desire for it. 
If the kids of Palestine can still find it in them to laugh and have fun, the least I can do is have some imaginary abused kids triumph over their circumstances.
next week, we’ll be improvising some doodads and seeing how we can recycle previous unused work.
devlog updates on Tuesdays.
4 notes · View notes
Text
Me: supposed to be spending my day sorting out stuff so I can hopefully do my masters this year
Also me: spends the entire morning writing 3k of fanfic instead
I haven’t written fanfic since 2014????? It was one 2k fic. It wasn’t good. Send help.
1 note · View note
1kook · 3 years
Text
youtube & use lube
Tumblr media
part 7 of my netflix and chill collection!
summary: You can’t believe this is Jungkook’s preferred sick day treatment; YouTube, cuddles, and an ugly amount of lube.  warnings: smut in the forms of nipple play, handjobs, spit kink, face riding, unprotected, flavored warming lube, riding, praise kink, soft femdom, missionary bc his eyes are pretty, tit sucking, more jk has an impreg kink, oh and this is all subby kook rating: mature (18+) miscellaneous: domesticity baby!! fluff, soft scenes /.\, jk is sick:((, doyeon is A Doctor, yn sees an opportunity and she grabs it, surprise ending <3  word count: 8.7k  
notes: finally…. 7 parts later and we get ~✨💓sub kook💓✨~ this was honestly my fave to write I think because I was obSESSEDDD with his softness and yn leading hehe /.\ also yeah we time jumped 6 months bc uhmmm 😎 story progression also here’s [ THE KOOK U SHOULD IMAGINE FOR THIS 😡 ] also if see a typo ummm no u didn't .
let me know what u think! a simple ask goes a long way <3
Tumblr media
Despite what past experiences may dictate, Jungkook’s body is actually quite resilient. It’s due in part to his obnoxiously healthy lifestyle; avocado breakfasts, gym rat tendencies, and a normal person’s circadian rhythm (you could never relate). He lives the life health professionals can only dream of writing down in their notes, so careful of his well-being that it’s almost annoying. Of all the habits you help him break, the rituals he sometimes forgets, his health is never one and it’s actually one he ropes you into quite often. The ladder accident last summer had truly been an odd occurrence, and for a while after, you doubt anything else will ever happen to him. 
And then winter comes. 
Now, Jungkook, with all his superior bodily systems and strict lifestyle, is still not immune to the common cold. So when he comes down with a stuffy nose, a saggy frame, you’re not too surprised. It’s right after New Year’s, which you had spent it at one of Taehyung’s classic overcrowded parties this year, shivering on a rooftop as he kissed you silly under the fireworks, so one of you was bound to get sick. And you were sick for Halloween, so it’s only the universe’s way of leveling the playing field when he gets sick after New Years. 
What does surprise you is when he doesn’t bounce back right away. Usually, Jungkook’s high caliber immune system has him in tip top shape about two days later. But this time around, it takes a while. In fact, it takes longer than usual, and you don’t realize until you’re coming over on a Friday night, met with an unusual silence at the Jeon household. 
As you slowly grew accustomed to your life out of school, you and Jungkook accepted that you didn’t really have time to be glued to each other’s hips at all hours of the day. It was only natural that sometimes you had too much work, were too tired, or were just not in the mood to visit each other. That was fine, and you’ve come to quite appreciate this new routine, because it only made your heart flutter faster than before when you did see him next. You don’t have to see each other everyday, and that was fine; it was part of growing up together (and growing old together, your sappy heart says).
But today, this separation ends up being your downfall. Jungkook first showed signs of a cold on Monday, and now it was Friday and you hadn’t heard from him in two days. You’re beginning to suspect he’s come down with something severe— maybe that strain of the flu that he forgot to get vaccinated for this year —or even worse, dead.
Luckily, Jungkook isn’t dead, just sadly slumped across the end of his bed, nose a bright red and hair a tangled mess. “Oh no,” you frown, but there’s not an ounce of distress in your voice, because boy, was he cute. 
He groans at the sight of you. “Don’t look at me,” he whimpers, hands fisting the sheets. “I’m ugly.”
You bite down on a smile, hang your bag on the hook behind his bedroom door. He’s barely making an effort to stay on the bed, clinging to the side with such powerless hands. “Absolutely hideous,” you play along, arms wrapping around his middle. Registering your touch, your support, he immediately releases what little grip he had and almost sends the two of you tumbling to the ground. “My poor baby,” you croon, manhandling him back into the comfort of his sheets. 
Perhaps the reason you believed Jungkook was so immune was because, well, he never let you see him sick. 
He was picky about his presentation to the world, always wanting to show his best side. And well, you were in that world. Hell, you were probably the main person he wanted to show off for (not to toot your own horn), so he avidly avoided showing you his unpleasant sides. Even in college, when you had been practically stuck to his side, he had always made a big deal of pushing you away when he was sick, calling off dates and hiding away at his house. 
You sort of knew why. Namjoon had told you once that Jungkook when drunk was the equivalent of a needy, whiny baby. You could attest to that because wine drunk Jungkook and vodka drunk Jungkook were quite the experiences to haul home. And apparently Jungkook when sick was more or less the same. He was all doe eyes and pouty lips, magnified by his weakened appearance. He was adorable. 
He’s wearing a lot of layers, but it’s still winter so you don’t think too much of it. Dark long sleeve sweatshirt, the front tucked into some cute brown and black checkered pants. You see it as just some casual at home attire until you reach for his covers, hand brushing his hair from his face, only to find it ice cold. 
“Oh, you’re freezing, honey,” you frown, for real this time. Jungkook whimpers, snuggles into the sheets you pull up to his chin. He dozes off soon after, pouty lips chapped to hell and back. You reach for your chapstick, deciding to get one good use of it on your own lips before contaminating it with Jungkook’s sick germs. Even in his sleep he’s a good boy, rolling his lips together after you’ve applied it on him. 
With Jungkook knocked out, you pad back downstairs and into his kitchen. You can more or less infer that he’s come down with something a little more intense than a cold. His skin was cold, and his nose was runny, but, oddly enough, he wasn’t sweating. You decide to consult a professional. 
“The little gremlin is sick?” Doyeon repeats, a comforting buzz in your ear as you get to work making Jungkook your famous Get Better Soon Soup, idly waiting for the water to boil over. You confirm. Doyeon, legend that she was, accidentally sat an entire physiology class one semester (and passed), so this is the closest you’ll get to a doctor friend. “Hm,” she says, “what’re his symptoms?”
You press your phone between your ear and shoulder, clattering around Jungkook’s kitchen for ingredients. “Runny nose and colder than your ass that one time you passed out in the snow,” you supply. “Oh, but not sweating.”
Doyeon hums over the line, tells you to give her a second, and disappears. “WebMD is saying fever, but you said he’s not sweating?” You confirm again. “Throw him in front of the heater and make him sweat then. He has to burn it out somehow.”
“I can’t do that,” you sigh, pausing when you hear some vague sound from around the house. It’s not Jungkook, so you return to your call. Anyway, Jungkook’s house is, like, perfect. Always warm when need be and always cold as well. You don’t even think he knows what a space heater is. “He’s sick sick. Like, can barely hold himself up sick.” 
She scoffs. “And I care why?” You huff, go to scold her for their weird rivalry, but then she’s moving on. “Babe, just give him some pain relief and call it a day.”
“Fine,” you mumble. “Wait, can you look something else up for me?”
Anyway, Jungkook probably has a fever, except it’s weird because he’s not sweating it out. He wakes up about an hour later, but this time he’s more self aware. He eats his soup and takes the medicine you offer him. Afterwards, he can’t go back to sleep so he huffily asks for his iPad and begins watching some weirdly specific YouTube videos you don’t think you’ve ever seen him watch before. 
Tumblr media
You have absolutely no idea what he’s watching, some niche videos of guys in Singapore turning random forest areas into underwater pools? You don’t know. Jungkook seems interested, though, for all of ten minutes until he falls asleep again. 
He’s still cold, poor baby, nose like an ice cube that just won’t melt. You find a heating pad you left over in his closet and place it on his chest. Your thought process is that if his heart, the source of all energy, was warm, then certainly the rest of him will warm up soon enough. Yeah, you missed the last three seasons of Grey’s Anatomy; you were a little rusty. 
So with Jungkook fast asleep and nothing else to do, you assume the age-old, patriarchal task of cleaning around the house. 
His house was usually neat and tidy, mostly as a result of Jungkook’s virgo manifestations, but even those varied. His living room tended to be spotless, but his personal office was a different story. But with him having been out of it this past week, the entire house is littered in tiny garbage that would make Normal Jungkook burst a blood vessel.
There’s a pile of Reese’s wrappers in the downstairs bathroom, on the sink next to his toothbrush. The sight makes you sad, because your poor boy must have been struggling if he was eating candy in the bathroom, where he… uses the bathroom. And then that thought makes you even sadder, thinking back to all the times he was sick and alone, fending for himself out of his weird embarrassment of showing normal body functions. 
You had thought he was cute when you first arrived— he still was —but he was also so weak and frail, bulky muscles rendered useless by whatever bacteria was attacking his body, making him sleepy and in pain for god knows how long. With a resolute nod, you sweep all the wrappers into the trash and decide to do your very best at helping Jungkook get through this sickness and bounce back better than ever. 
Before leaving his bathroom, you ransack his cabinets, deciding he probably keeps most of his antibiotics here. It’s a spot you never really snoop around, because Jungkook always keeps a fully stocked basket in his closet filled with your typical necessities— from conditioner to pads to nail polish remover, he kept it all. And furthermore, you always tended to use his upstairs bathroom anyway, so that’s where your toothbrush and the like were kept. There was really no need for you to ever look through the downstairs bathroom’s cabinet. So the downstairs bathroom cabinet is practically the other side of the world to you, a culture shock so strong it has you plopping down in front of it to thoroughly sift through. 
He’s got a disgusting amount of hair products, none of which you actually think you’ve ever seen him use, and a maniacal amount of tooth stuff. Now, you were quite possibly the biggest proponent for dental care, but this was ridiculous. Four packs of floss on reserve, and about three cases of those dental picks. A whole family pack of toothbrushes and one of those cute little cases for his retainer you’ve seen a few times. 
So overwhelmed with his ungodly stash of dental hygiene utilities, you almost miss the pretty pink tube hidden in the very back corner. 
You’re thinking it’s some makeup primer you left before that he mistook for moisturizer, probably dumped it with all his other things, only to find out you are very, very wrong. 
Sensation Warming Lubricant: NOW! in strawberry flavor 
You blink. 
Lubricant? Jungkook was using lubricant? Strawberry, sensation warming lubricant?!
Somewhere in your mind you had convinced yourself that Jungkook was a simple man, a lotion at his bedside drawer type of man. He had you for the last one and half year, and you two fucked like rabbits, so you hardly doubt he was jacking it alone these days. And even if he was, why on earth was he so specific about the type of lube he uses?
You turn the bottle around, eyes scanning for an expiration date or something of the like, only to find that the copyright symbol was under this current year. The year that had just started, like, two weeks ago. 
Oh, so this was new. 
You turn it over, eyes scanning over the warnings like it’ll tell you something about your boyfriend you don’t know yet, some other hidden secret that he’s maybe held from you. Granted, owning lube isn’t really a big deal, but the fact he’s got it so hidden away (not really, it was casually sitting beside his sunscreen) was definitely something to zero in on. 
Strawberry flavored, you read again, warming, stimulating, edible? Forget his weirdly extensive floss collection, you had stumbled upon something amazing in here, the goddamn Hope Diamond among snooping girlfriend finds. You’ll confront him about this later, you decide, when he’s back to normal and not whiningly calling your name from upstairs. You pocket it for now, tucking it into your cardigan pockets for said later interrogation, and bound up the stairs to him again. 
He’s sitting up in bed like a very angry and confused toddler, brows furrowed sharply like he’s mad. Actually, he just can’t see, the light from the hallway blinding him, so you shut the door and flick on his bedside lamp for him instead. “Hi, honey,” you coo, sitting down on the edge beside him. He’s still waking up, leaning a little too heavily into your palm when you cup his face. “How’re you feeling?”
“Terrible,” he rasps out, but he’s definitely looking better than before. You don’t know if you imagine it, but there’s this slowly accumulating sweat that forms along the base of his neck. “Please don’t leave again,” he says softly, droopy eyes glassy. 
Something shoots straight to your heart— an arrow from Cupid himself! —that makes you stroke his cheek tenderly until his eyelids are fluttering shut again. “I won’t,” you promise, feeling around for his iPad. He doesn’t seem like he’ll fall back asleep, sitting up with more strength than he had that morning. 
You end up climbing behind him, let him be the little spoon you know he secretly craves to be, as he watches his weird YouTube videos again. His body is so warm against yours, but his skin is still so cold. If what Doyeon had said was true, it’s no wonder he’s kept the same sickness all week. The rhythmic sound of machetes hacking at the earth and water trickling through bamboo pipes grows on you, makes you fall into a sense of comfort behind him, arms tracing circles over his chest. 
It’s a mindless habit, one you actually do a lot. Most of the time, it’s when he’s at his desk and stressed out, your masseuse hands making an appearance to soothe the muscles in his neck and chest from being hunched over for so long. Even now, your fingers unconsciously press into the fabric over his pecks, tickle up his sternum until he’s melting against you. 
It takes one quiet whimper from him to let you know exactly how he’s feeling. “Everything alright?” you inquire, halting your movements over his chest. Jungkook nods shakily, head lolling forward. The nape of his neck calls to you, whispers for a kiss that you tenderly bestow upon it. It makes Jungkook jolt, another pretty sound leaving his lips at the press of your warm lips against his sensitive neck. 
“No more,” he mumbles, rolls his head around until it’s resting against your shoulder, giving you a clear view down his chest. You slide your hands back up from where they’d gone stiff just around his ribs, let them palm over his pecs. Jungkook’s hips buck, a minuscule movement you almost miss. 
His heart thunders like the inside of a horse race track beneath your palm, breath picking up just from the simple motion of your hands on his chest. It’s on the fourth circle around his pecs that you feel your pinky briefly catch on something. “Poor thing,” you sigh, running the pad of your pointer finger over the hardened nipple that peaks beneath his sweatshirt. “Is this what was bothering you?” 
A shaky exhale in response, hands tightly clutching at his iPad and beloved YouTube video genre. “N-No,” he denies, but you chance a peak at his face, where his lips are bitten a rosy pink color, its slightly muted sister rushing down his cheeks, over his neck. 
You press the lightest of kisses to the side of his neck, and he shivers. “Need me to take care of you?” you purr, trail your hands down his chest towards where the hem of his sweater sits. You run your finger over it twice, before moving to slip your hand beneath. Your fingers brush along his abs, contracted tightly at your touch, and slowly make their way back up his chest. 
Fingers find his pebbled nipples, a gasp escaping his lips. “Does this feel good?” you ask softly, pinching the swollen nubs between your fingers. Jungkook groans, body arching just the slightest as you rub his nipples, tug and twist them until he’s a whining mess. “Need you to tell me, honey,” you encourage, lips ghosting over his neck. 
The second kiss has him flinching as well, head rapidly turning the other way as you slowly kiss over his neck. “___, please,” he pants, knuckles pale on the sides of the iPad. You're afraid it’ll snap, if not from his grip then from the way he pushes at it, like he’s breaking a wooden board over his knee. It’s still on YouTube, playing another video from the same collection, volume competing with Jungkook’s tiny sounds. 
Pressing your lips to his neck, you kiss along it slowly, reveling in the lovely noises that Jungkook produces the more you rub his nipples, lower body squirming animatedly before you. Your kisses grow wet for a short period, suck purple blossoms across his skin until Jungkook is quivering like a leaf. “E-Enough,” he begs, voice a wobbly mess that is so light and airy. 
You grin, giving his rockhard nipples one last flick before sliding your hands down his chest, over his stomach to toy with the elastic of his pants. He inhales sharply, iPad nearly snapped in half mid video. Ready to play with him some more (and slightly afraid for the future of his tablet), you reach out a hand to move it away, set it off to the side. 
But Jungkook doesn’t release it. In fact, he clings to the damn piece of tech tighter than before. “Hmm?” you murmur, bottom lip brushing against his neck once more. “Not letting go, sweetheart?” 
He shakes his head, soft crown of curls bouncing from the movement. “Can’t, can’t,” he shivers. His knees shift back and forth, move between being casually spread and flush together. Like he’s hiding something, using the iPad and the videos on screen as cover. You tug at his wrist and Jungkook shakes his head again. 
You change tactics, hand sliding around his wrist instead. The other travels up, up, up, comes curling around the base of his neck. Jungkook whimpers, tilts his head back for you cutely at the first brush of your fingers against his Adam’s apple. “Thought you were my good boy?” you ask, eyes zeroed in on the tremble of his lower lip. 
Jungkook exhales shakily, a rather torn expression crossing his features. “I am,” he insists, fingers still tight “I am your good boy.”
You smile, stroking the front of his neck softly as you lean down to press a kiss against his cheek. “You are, aren’t you?” He whimpers. “Then let go, honey,” you murmur, hand on his wrist giving another experimental tug. Still, his grip remains solid. “Jungkook,” you snap, “let go.”
“Y-You’ll laugh,” he cries, yet his grip slowly weakens. It’s with a swift tug that the iPad tumbles to his side, presses against his hip, and shows you the raging hard-on that stirs beneath the front of his cotton pants. Pressed nearly beside your ear, Jungkook shivers. 
Ever so slowly, your hands return to their place around his waist. “Why would I laugh, sweetheart?” you mumble, marveling at the way his cock twitches and jumps beneath his pants before you can even touch it. His shirt is hiked up just above his abs, your hands tenderly stroking over the skin beneath his navel, but it’s got Jungkook writhing. “Hips up for me,” you instruct. 
He shakes even when he pushes himself up, knees wobbling as you slip your hands beneath his waistband and tug them down his thighs. Afterwards, his legs flop forward flatly, spread out with his beautiful swollen cock on display against his hip. 
You trap it at the base and Jungkook mewls, hands fisting the sheets now that his beloved iPad has been snatched away. It’s still playing his videos, interrupting his saccharine moans with corny ads every few minutes. A hand snaps up to join, opposite of yours, until your fingers are entwined around his dick. How romantic, you think, discreetly rolling your hips back against the mattress. “Gonna help me make you cum?” you ask instead, give him a light squeeze that makes him jolt. 
“Uh huh,” he responds, feathery. 
You reward him with a kiss to his cheek, reaching up to brush away the hair that’s begun sticking to his forehead. In the very back of your head you recognize this as being good for his fever, but the rest of you is more concerned with the pretty pout on his lips. “Hold tight for me,” you smile, releasing his cock to press your finger against the very tip of his cock where a pearly drop of precum has begun forming. “So pretty, Jungkookie,” you praise, teasing the length of your finger over the slit on his head. It has that juicy droplet coating your finger, gliding seamlessly over and over again. 
The simple touch makes him buck, has him blindly wrapping an arm around your bent knee that was pressed to his side this whole time. He squeezes around you rather weakly, the majority of his strength going to holding his cock tightly like you’d instructed. He’s such a good boy for you, trying his absolute best, even when you’re very obviously overwhelming him. 
You roll the flat side of your finger over him, his mushroom tip slowly growing more and more slick as he produces more precum. It’s shiny, fits perfectly between your clasped fingers when you squeeze around his head. Jungkook’s breath turns labored. 
He’s always so well kept down there, skin so smooth and free of hairs, and you know he does it because he wants to impress you. “So pretty, baby,” you hum, acknowledging his efforts. Your praise makes Jungkook moan, suddenly fucking up into his hand. It’s accidental, because he hisses at the drag of his dry palm around his relatively dry dick immediately. 
“Hurts, hurts,” he whimpers prettily, lower lip caught between his teeth. 
You frown, slide your wet fingers down the base of his cock until they’re wrapping around his and Jungkook’s little gasps even out. “I’m sorry, baby, you gotta be patie—“
Something presses against your hip, something distinctly hard that you had hastily picked up from his bathroom cabinet earlier, and a whole new door opens before your eyes. “Hold still for me,” you tell him quickly as you release your grip around his cock. Jungkook wails at the separation, but you’re more concerned with wrestling the tube out of your pocket with one hand. It’s heavy in your palm, turning over until that big fat label on front comes into view again. 
Jungkook explodes at the sight. “Wh— Where did you find that?” he stammers, cheeks ablaze. “I-I don’t know where that came fro—“
You ignore him, hold the bottle of lubricant over his stomach as you uncap it, a gooey pink substance spilling over into your hands the moment the lid pops off. Jungkook is still rambling away about the origins of the bottle, as if you care. You set the bottle on his tummy, the cold plastic makes him shiver. But you know what’s not cold? The warming lube in your hands that only takes three rubs of your palms to activate. 
You latch down like a crazed animal around his cock. With both your hands fighting to grip at his cock, you’re pressed closer against Jungkook, lips against the shell of his ear. 
The initial touch makes him sob, back arching and legs kicking at the sheets piled at the foot of the bed as your slick hands track the lube over his dick. “No!” he cries, hands wildly reaching out to grab whatever he can as you slowly get to work pulling him off. “I-I can’t, __, I can’t.”
“You can,” you coo, watching the translucent pink substance coat his cock, join his sticky precum. 
Maybe you get overexcited in your efforts, forget Jungkook is the way he is right now because he was still a little weak from his fever, but you go crazy on stroking his cock. One hand lingers around the base, squeezing and rolling over his balls, palm pressing against the hardened sac and squeezing there too. The other focuses at the tip, does most of the actual stroking over his cock. His head is leaking precum now, every stroke and squeeze making him shudder and push out another drop, until it’s mixing with the lube to form a sticky sweet substance that you wanna lick at so bad. 
So you do. 
You release one hand to curiously bring it up to your face, turning it over and around as you examine the stickiness on your fingers, the fat drop that unintentionally drips onto the front of Jungkook’s sweatshirt. He sobs at the sight of your lips around your fingers, squirms and bucks into the hand still on his cock until he’s embarrassingly coming. “I’m sorry,” he wails, hands fisting the sheets, fucking into your hand like a virgin. “I didn’t— I didn’t mean to.” 
You draw your hand away, watching in slow motion the cum that just spurted from his cock come dribbling down the slowly softening length now. “Oh, sweetheart,” you croon, hands on his tummy. The bottle of lube slips to the side, meets the still playing iPad at his hip. It’s sticky and gross to touch him like this, especially when you know Jungkook hates being unnecessarily dirty, but you can’t stop yourself from softly caressing him, soothe him after such a hard-hitting orgasm. 
Honestly you had thought he would hold up a little more, let you get in a few more strokes, but he must’ve been more sensitive than you thought. “I’m sorry,” he cries again, head lolling to the side to meet your gaze with watery eyes. 
You tilt his head to the side, angle him just right for you to bestow your first kiss of the night against his little pout. Jungkook hiccups, melts against you as you slowly guide him through the kiss. He’s sloppy and shy, moves nothing like your normal Jungkook, and that fact alone has you slipping your tongue past his lips. He doesn’t fight back, just lets you play with him and sighs all delicately against your mouth. 
There’s something about this, his soft and submissive attitude, that has you pulling away to look at him. Big brown eyes, glassed over with unshed tears, and plush lips that call your name. And yet. 
“Open,” you murmur, hypnotized by the way that tiny mouth moves. 
“Huh?” Jungkook flushes, but he’s so good, he’s your good boy, and does so anyway. Lower lip quivers as he parts his lips, stuttering exhales creeping through as you purse your lips, let the saliva collect on your mouth, before rudely spitting into his. He flinches, whimpers softly, and swallows. He looks at you with these expectant eyes, like he wants to hear how much of a good boy he is, so you do exactly that. 
You brush his bangs away lovingly. “Aren’t you just so good for me,” you purr, revel in the way his eyes flutter shut at your touch, like you could never hurt him, and you won’t. 
As sweet as the moment is, there’s a raging fire in your core begging to be stroked, and your hyperfixation on Jungkook’s mouth lets you know there’s only one way to chase the feeling. “Up,” you tell Jungkook, who whimpers sadly when you finally escape from behind him. 
But you don’t get too far, settling beside him on the bed until you’re looking at the damage you’ve caused from the front. His skin is sticky in some places, pink sheen of the lube decorating him from your incessant touching. Pants around his thighs, shirt against his chest. His face is flushed, all the way down to his chest and up to his ears, so rosy and pink all for you. He shies away under your gaze, drops his head to his chin bashfully. 
You grin, shuffle forward to turn those pretty eyes back towards you. “Messy little thing,” you tease, slotting your mouths together again. Jungkook moans this time, lazily kissing you back. His lips move in slow motion, trembling hands reaching for your face to cup, your name falling from his lips when you pull away slightly. “Need you to help me out now,” you murmur, hand on his jaw. “Can you do that, honey?” Jungkook nods hurriedly, eyes foggy and on your mouth. “Lay back.”
He does so, rushes to lay against the pillows until he’s flat on his back. You get to work on your clothes, shed your cardigan and languidly tug your top over your head in the way you know makes your breasts bounce. Beneath you, Jungkook whines at the sight. “You too,” you remind him, wiggling out of your jeans. At your instruction, he begins fumbling with his clothes, pants and underwear haphazardly thrown over the edge of the bed. 
By the time you’re naked, you’re met with a rather amusing sight. 
In his haste to take his clothing off, Jungkook seems to have gotten himself tangled in his long sleeves, shirt awkwardly bunched up around his wrists and twisted over some. You chuckle. “Help please,” he asks so politely, shaking his arms back and forth above his head. But you’re genuinely confused as to what he did, because one of the sleeves wraps around the other, pins the bulk of the fabric to his skin, and then the other wraps around that. A mess you don’t bother dissecting, simply climbing over him. He complains, of course, soft huffs you wave off. 
“Don’t need them anyway,” you shrug, can’t help the lovesick look you send him when you brush his hair away for the umpteenth time. Jungkook leans into the touch sweetly, rosy cheek pressed against your palm. “Lemme see your pretty little tongue,” you order, pussy clenching when he does as told and rolls his tongue out for you, tip pressed against his bottom lip. “Good boy.”
A soft whimper, and then you’re shuffling over him, pretty doe eyes watching with amazement when you finally hover over his face. “For me?” he asks so softly, so sweetly. 
It’s a question you’ve heard him utter countless times before in similar settings, always with a cocky grin and mean eyes, ready to send you to hell and back with his tongue or his cock. But it’s different now, big shiny eyes looking at you like you’re the greatest thing to ever happen in his life, so pliant and demure beneath your touch like he lived to serve you. 
“All for you,” you assure him, get comfortable, and slowly lower your pussy over his face. His eyes flutter shut immediately, pink tongue ready for you by the time your dripping cunt nears his face. 
You can’t help the moan that tears itself from your throat, a soft cry as he begins lapping against your folds. He’s so tender, so careful. It drives you crazy. Hands above his head squirming as you slowly grind your pussy over his face, more mindful than usual because he was so delicate tonight, like a baby bird that shivers with the simplest touch. 
His tongue is smooth, circles around your clit. He nudges your bundle of nerves back and forth a few times, sends an initial wave of tingles down your spine, before taking it between puckered lips. His slurps it into his mouth, where it’s so hot and wet, it makes your grind stutter. “Oh,” you pant, reaching down to tangle your fingers in his hair. “P-Perfect,” you mumble. 
The praise makes his features twist up cutely, mouth desperate to get more out of you. “You like that?” you gasp, holding his head still as he runs his tongue along your folds. Jungkook nods, eyes glazed over as he messily begins eating you out. “Like when I tell you you’re a good boy, Jungkookie?” 
He lets out a broken whine, the vibrations shooting up your spine and making you shiver. Tongue pressed in at your entrance, prods gently like it’s his first time (it’s not) and he’s gauging your reactions. “Oh baby,” you shudder, fingers tightening in his curls. 
He looks like an angel beneath you like this, halo of curls artfully splayed across the sheets, arms knotted above his head. Big pretty eyes that make you want to lay down and be his bitch instead, their power just so strong even when he’s whining and whimpering against your pussy like this. His tongue dips into your cunt, makes you buck against him by accident. “I’m sorry, angel,” you breathe, so caught up in your thoughts that the name just slips. It makes Jungkook’s cheeks flush a pretty pink, arms tug at their makeshift restraints. But his brain is scattered, torn between releasing himself, eating you out, and being shy. 
He settles soon enough, ends up just sticking his tongue out flat for you to grind against, using the grip in his curls to drag your pussy over his face. His scalp feels warm, sweat clinging to his hairline. He sighs endearingly against you, and it’s that final puff of warm air against your folds that has you coming, cum dripping over his lips and chin sinfully. 
When you finish, you quickly get off of him, lay down beside him. Jungkook is panting softly, tongue peeking out to taste the cum that splattered against the corner of his lips. “You were so good for me,” you praise, idly dragging your finger across his skin, collecting your cum on the tip. 
Jungkook looks at you with a heavy gaze, knotted wrists slowly returning to rest over his abdomen. “Can you… Can you call me that again?” he asks hesitantly, so shy and polite. 
“Hm?” you ask. “Angel?” His lips part, an awfully aroused look crossing his features. You smile, press your cum loaded finger against his lips and he opens, sucks around your finger and moans. “My pretty little angel,” you purr, slowly thrusting your finger in and out of his mouth. Before you can stop yourself, you’re leaning over to kiss him again, swallowing his cries in your desperate need to taste yourself on his tongue. Jungkook is more active this time around, daringly challenging your tongue with his before ultimately giving up, languidly following the pace you set for the kiss. You pull off with a pop, leave him dazed and trailing after your mouth cutely. 
You pat his cheek once, offer him a tender smile, before moving to get up and clean up. Jungkook whines at your departure, and it’s only once you’ve sat up that you realize why. 
Half hard cock at his hip, fattening slowly but surely. Instantly, it’s like the post-orgasm fatigue is yanked away, pussy throbbing at the sight of your angel and his cock, swelling from eating you out and kissing. He was too good to be true. 
“Oh, you poor thing,” you sigh dramatically, shifting onto your knees at his hip to look at him. Something pokes your leg; it’s the stupid iPad playing his dorky YouTube videos that you click off and chuck to the other side of the bed. You had had enough of that by now. 
He’s not at full mast yet, and he’s not getting there quick enough for your liking. So you take matters into your own hands. (Besides, what was stopping you tonight? Certainly not this soft, pliant Jungkook.)
Kneeling between his legs, you reach for the forgotten bottle of lube, squirt a fat glob into your hands, then decide that isn’t enough and squirt it directly onto your chest. Jungkook watches with wide eyes, lower lip caught between his teeth. “What— What’re you doing?” he stammers, can’t even sit up with his hands held together. “__, y-you don’t have—“
Squeezing your breasts together, you slip his cock between the crevice, watch as his angry head comes out on the other side so easily, so slippery. Oh, this was gonna be post-work, shower-time, spank bank material for months. 
Jungkook sobs, loud and unfiltered at the sight, expression torn as he watches you slowly work your tightened breasts down his quickly hardening member. “T-Too much, too much,” he cries, squirming and bucking beneath you. “I-I’ll come—” 
“Don’t,” you snap, stilling your moments to flick your eyes back to him. His head is rolled back, jaw strained, but when he manages to lift it up and look down at you, there’s tears that streak his cute face, trails that glisten when the lowlight of the lamp hits him just right. “Don’t fucking come yet, Jungkook.”
He sniffles weakly, more tears spilling from his eyes. “But I— it feels,” he blubbers, knotted hands reaching down for the base of his cock. You slap it away. “___, please,” he wails, face flushed from all his conflicting emotions. 
Ignoring his cries, you get back to work, moving your upper body to and fro to simulate the thrusting motion he is too weak to do himself. He whimpers pitifully, more tears leaving his eyes when you lean down and spit on the head of his cock when it emerges next, make it join the rest of the ungodly fluids painting your chest. Honestly, you’re certain it’s that damned strawberry flavored, sensation warming, edible lube that makes this experience so enjoyable, so mind-blowing. 
Jungkook seems to agree, stuttering out a messy whine. “Feels weird,” he snivels, only to be cut off when you release him from in between your tits. Immediately, he begins lamenting the loss. 
Slowly, you ease him back in. You’re beginning to understand the intensity of that damned warming lube, because with each glide of his cock between your breasts, it’s like a tingle of nerves sparks within you, insides folding in on themselves as they channel all their energy to that one area of hastily spread lube. It feels so good and wet and messy, Jungkook’s whiny sniffles only fueling the experience. His cock twitches dangerously, and you flash him a glare. “Jungkook,” you warn. 
“I’m sorry,” he weeps, thrashing back and forth as if that makes it any easier. “I just— I want,” he chokes, hips bucking into the suction you’ve created between your boobs. Tentatively, you stick your tongue out, let his tip brush against it on the next thrust. Jungkook curses, a feral groan escaping his lips. “Wanna fuck,” he seethes, “now.”
It’s but a slight peek into his regular personality, his normal mannerisms. But something about it now annoys you. In fact, it pisses you off, seeing him be so complacent and sweet just to try and overthrow you at the last second. And it’s with this same train of thought that you release him, climb over him like a crazed sex demon, and press your hand to his throat. 
“You're supposed to be good,” you spit, scowl turned on him and it immediately has Jungkook drawing back with his tail tucked, falling into line as he should. “You’re supposed to be my angel tonight, remember?”
Jungkook nods, big round eyes looking at you like you’re insane, but the cock that presses against your ass tells you that he likes it. “I-I’m sorry,” he stutters, shrinking back into the mattress. Sticky hands around his throat, probably make him warm and tingly, but all you can think about is those pretty eyes. Sensing your wavering emotions, he takes advantage by tilting his chin forward for you cutely, pink lips trembling as he silently asks for a kiss. 
You release him.
“Stupid angel,” you huff, mouth against his. “Gonna make me mad if you don’t act right,” you remind him, pushing his sweaty curls away from his face. He whimpers against your mouth, let’s you play with his hair as you calm down. He’s a blushing mess beneath you, every inch of him flushed and warm and sweaty. 
You shift back and are met with his still rock hard member against your ass. You touch him appreciatively, reaching back to stroke him with a half-assed grip. It makes him moan nonetheless, pulling away from your lips to mewl against your shoulder. “Wanna fuck?” you hum, curling your hand over the tip like he likes, watching his head roll back against his pillow at the sensation. Jungkook groans, doesn’t seem to hear you now. You try again. “Wanna fuck my pussy, baby?”
“Yes,” he gasps this time, jolts when you press the tip of your finger against the slit on his head, plug his cock from releasing any more precum. “Please, please,” he begs, the hands on his chest straining against the shirt he still hasn’t managed to shake off. 
One last kiss is delivered to him, a chaste one against his pout that makes him whine. “Whatever you want,” you purr, line him up. 
Your hands are still sticky with the lube and so is his cock. Everything is sticky; his cock, you folds, your tits, his neck. It’s a big sticky, slippery mess, but you can’t even be annoyed because everything feels so good. Your tits tingle from whatever they put in that damn lube, nipples rock hard and extra swollen today, like if you don’t touch them you’ll die. You sink back into Jungkook’s throbbing cock, and the second his cock spreads the lube along your walls, you’re jolting because it just feels so damn good. 
You can’t believe this is Jungkook’s preferred sick day treatment; YouTube, cuddles, and an ugly amount of lube. 
His cock pushes past your folds, fits snugly inside of you just like it belongs. It still feels like the first time, feels like your first day where he was so perfect and sweet. Part of you wonders what would have become of you two if he had reacted like this that day, soft and whiny, when you first prepositioned him. Maybe the sexual aspect of your relationship would be entirely different today, maybe you’d be one the always leading. 
But… you’re not sure if you’d want that. Leading is fun— hell, you’re certain this moment will be what you get engraved on your tombstone —but you were a pillow princess at heart with occasional dominant tendencies. You drool over this moment now, but if he asks for this again tomorrow you might actually bend over and die. It was a lot of work, keeping the energy going, and you find yourself having this newfound sense of respect for Jungkook as his cock slips past your folds. 
Anyway, when you sit on his cock, fingers teasingly tightening around his throat, Jungkook’s eyes are weirdly focused on your tits. He’s been doing that a lot lately, losing his mind by just staring at your tits. On some occasions he puts them in his mouth, gets possessed by some titty loving monster and sucks on them until you’re trembling. It’s fine because it’s quite frankly a huge ego boost, but something him now makes you want to pick at him for it. 
“They’re yours to taste, angel,” you hum, slowly rolling your hips over his fat cock. Jungkook whimpers, softly ruts up into your heat the next time you press down. “Tell me what you want,” you exhale, a breathy moan. 
He doesn’t say anything, just drops his mouth open for you with a trembling lower lip. Tongue peeks out, eyes glazed over in his lust, looking every bit like those hentai ads he hates so much. But you fulfill his wishes, help him sit up until he’s flush against your chest. His awkwardly bound hands get squished in the middle, and he says, “m-my hands...” 
“I’ve got you,” you soothe, undo his self-made restraints and toss them to the side. Immediately, he’s wrapping his arms around you, pulling you flush against him to latch his lips around your breasts. “S-Slow down,” you whine, hands on his biceps as he sucks your tit into his mouth, twirls his tongue around your nipple. He’s good with his tongue even when he’s sick. 
He pulls off with a pop, ragged breathing only making you more sensitive as it fans over the thin layer of saliva he leaves on your tits. “Tastes like strawberries,” he groans wondrously, head against your chest. You use the lull to get back to fucking yourself on him, but Jungkook’s got other plans. He rolls the two of you over, pins you beneath him with his hot and sweaty body. “I’m sorry,” he moans as he begins jackhammering his thrusts into you. 
Your back arches, legs thrown around his waist as the sudden change of events. “Fffuck,” you heave, “harder, angel— gotta fuck like you mean it.”
Jungkook shudders, hands looped around the small of your back. His cock rams into you over and over, each glide of it against the walls of your pussy making you unravel in his arms. His lips latch around your other boob, suck and suck like he’s expecting something to come out.
That’s when it hits you. 
“N-Nothing there,” you tell him, arms wrapped around his shoulders. His lashes are wet, eyes pinching tighter at your reminder. He pulls away almost to protest, but then you’re guiding him up to your face, hot breath mingling with yours. “Nothing there because you haven’t given me a baby yet,” you murmur darkly, watch the emotions flood his features as you tap into that taboo kink of his. 
He chokes, grinds his cock into you and holds it there. “I-I didn’t,” he sniffs, “we never— you never said,” he whines, “...you wanted one.”
You cup his face in his hands, feel slightly mean for the pride you get from his tear stricken appearance. “I do,” you purr, lazily kissing him. “Want one if it’s from you. Don’t you?” He nods like an antsy puppy, quivering against you as he slowly and shallowly ruts into you. “Don’t you wanna see me like that, angel?” you egg on, hands looping behind his neck, idly playing with stray waves and curls. “Tummy so big and swollen because you did something bad, because you couldn’t pull out.” 
Jungkook sobs, pulls you impossibly closer until the head of his cock is missing your cervix repeatedly. One of your legs is pressed nearly to your chest, hip tight from the force in which he holds you. “I-I want,” he agrees, more tears spilling down his cheeks. 
You smirk evilly, kissing the corner of his mouth gently as he slowly picks up the pace of his thrusts. “Then fuck me hard, Jungkookie,” you demand, “fuck me full of your cum.”
Jungkook nods with a sniffle against your shoulder, fingers tightening against your skin as he slowly but surely begins nailing you into the mattress. He’s a good boy, always, because he does exactly what you tell him to. Uses those bulky muscles to hold you down, makes it impossible for you to move as he pistons his hips, cock sheathing itself inside your cunt. 
Every drag makes you unconsciously clench, the raw feeling consuming your thoughts. His cock is so big and wet today, certainly due to that stupid lube from beneath his cabinet. Your entire pussy feels like it’s on ecstasy, stupidly geeked up by that lube, and you’re sure Jungkook’s cock feels the same. It makes the glide so much better, so much easier, each ram of his cock feeling so easy. “Oh, fuck,” you whimper, nails digging down his spine. Jungkook is a sobbing, sniffling mess against the crook of your neck, absolute gibberish falling from his lips. 
But you’re no better, tongue seemingly set on a chaotic rampage to validate every single one of his fantasies. “Gonna fuck me while I’m pregnant?” you pant against his ear, fingers tugging at his hair. He doesn’t offer more than a strained cry, thrusts momentarily falling out of rhythm. “You would like that, huh? Fucking me when you’re not supposed to. You’re so bad, Kook-ah,”  you gasp, eyes rolling to the back of your head. “Only pretend to be an angel but really you’re just a dirty, little pervert.” 
He wails loudly, slams his hips so hard into you that it makes you sob as well. “N-No,” he blubbers, tears against your skin. “I’m good— I’m a good boy,” he stresses, fingers bruising their prints into your skin. 
He presses so close, cock practically making your stomach bulge, but neither of you see. “Dirty angel,” you spit, yank his hair back roughly until he’s forced to look at you with that watery gaze. “So horny you’re willing to get me pregnant.”
Jungkook cries out, snaps his cock into you like he’s trying to break you in half. “No,” he heaves, tears dripping down his cheeks and onto yours. “I-I-I’d do it right,” he defends weakly, hips losing their demonic pace as his orgasm sneaks up on him. “Ma— Marry first… then, b— ba— bab—“
You swallow his words with your lips, kiss him like you’re on the verge of death in a desperate attempt to hide your tears from him. They paint your cheeks in stark strokes, trail down your skin and make everything blurry, but so does your orgasm. 
You come first, heart and body trembling at his unexpectedly sweet words, as you become a whimpering, teary mess beneath him. Jungkook follows, cries out your name one last time as he busts inside of you. 
Sticky and gross, he falls onto the pillow beside you. Poor baby is so tired, curls covering half of his face, but lips cutely puckered against the pillow. He’s sweaty as hell though, which you now vaguely remember was your original goal with all of this so you count this as a success. 
You think he’s fallen asleep, sitting up slowly and reaching for that t-shirt that bound him together earlier to clean up. He shudders when you run it against his skin, obviously still overwhelmed. You shift around the bed in search of today’s MVP. “Where’s the lube?” you mutter to yourself. 
Jungkook groans. “YouTube?” he asks, voice dry as all hell. 
“No, honey, the lube we used,” you respond, running your hands over the sheets for any signs of the pink bottle. 
“Want YouTube,” he mumbles, lets you swaddle him up in the blanket again. You roll your eyes and reach for the forgotten iPad that had long since tumbled to the floor. When it turns on, that same video from before is on pause so you don’t bother changing it as you hand it back to Jungkook. “Nice,” he murmurs, “underground water slide.”
You snort. “Weirdo.” He glares cutely, eyes barely open at this point. “Watch your YouTube.”
“Use your lube,” he sasses back softly, nonsensically, and then rather anticlimactically passes out. 
There’s something soft in your chest, something so big and overwhelming, that has you bending over his sleeping figure, mouth brushing against his. “Hurry and get better, angel,” you whisper, wish on it with all your heart. 
Tumblr media
 To no one’s surprise, you get sick two days later. Doyeon laughs and laughs for hours about it, tells you that’s what you get for using sex as medicine. But Jungkook’s back to normal, which means he stays over and coddles you to death. 
“Hurry and get better,” he says, spoon feeding you your famous Get Better Soon Soup that you passed on to him. “I have a question to ask you.”
There’s a little black box in his downstairs bathroom cabinet that you swear you’ve never seen, but Jungkook knows you’re lying. 
It fits perfectly. 
Tumblr media
epilogue
She scoffs. “And I care why?” You huff, go to scold her for their weird rivalry, but then she’s moving on. “Babe, just give him some pain relief and call it a day.”
“Fine,” you mumble. “Wait, can you look something else up for me?”
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Copyright © 2020, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.
2K notes · View notes
i-want-my-iwtv · 3 years
Note
If Anne R. decided to publish another VC book in the future, how would you like it to be? What topics would you like to see explored? What's your ideal ending to the saga? L̶e̶t̶'̶s̶ ̶i̶m̶a̶g̶i̶n̶e̶ ̶s̶h̶e̶ ̶w̶o̶u̶l̶d̶n̶'̶t̶ ̶s̶c̶r̶e̶w̶ ̶i̶t̶ ̶u̶p̶ ̶t̶h̶i̶s̶ ̶t̶i̶m̶e̶
This is interesting, and possibly some very well-wrapped bait. The question about what we want to see in canon is usually framed the other way around, in the form of a statement about what we’re disliking about canon. I’ve seen so many salty posts and hot takes that criticize the series for lacking in many ways, and I can’t remember a time when I’ve had any interest to write one of those myself or engage in them. 
Those statements are often about the issue of representation in published fiction, whether it be LGBT+, POC, etc., “[Author name]’s long history of discussing X but not depicting X in canon” is itself an accusation (deserved or not); that [Author] should do something about it, now! Representation is a nuanced issue, essays have been written on it by people more educated on it than I am, and out of respect, I’m not going to discuss this further publicly. For more on this topic, I would recommend @olderthannetfic​. 
>If Anne R. decided to publish another VC book in the future, how would you like it to be?
Fanworks have fed me so well over the years that there’s not much Anne herself could give me that I can’t find elsewhere. If she can’t or doesn’t want to make the content I want, I’ll write it myself or see if someone else is writing/has written it.
I would say that my favorite fanfics, fanart, and the parts of VC canon (which are all basically sequels of IWTV in some shape or form) that I’ve enjoyed have all landed somewhere in the sweet spot briefly described below.
From “Star Wars - How To Kill A Franchise,” by The Closer Look:
“Imagine exploring the elements from an original story in the sequel like a gradient. On the left, you’ve got ‘Not enough change,’ in the middle you’ve got that ‘Sweet spot’ where they’re different but it feels like a natural development in their character... In a perfect sequel, everything carried over from the original story should be in that Goldilocks zone where they’re still the same characters... but they’ve been developed in natural, interesting ways that allows for entertaining new directions in the follow-up story.”
Tumblr media
Then there’s further to the right... ‘For the love of God stop!’  Which is where we use the phrase “jumped the shark,” “Moments labeled as "jumping the shark" are considered indications that writers have exhausted their focus, that the show has strayed irretrievably from an older and better formula...”
Tumblr media
>What topics would you like to see explored?
A return to the sweet spot, some ideas would be:
The hypothetical book she might have written thirty years ago as a follow up to QOTD instead of TOBT.
A story, any story, from Louis's POV where he has more perspective in the wake of TVL and QOTD. That last scene of QOTD with Lestat and Louis flying together and so on... Lestat wondered what it had done to Louis to finally learn all these secrets, after being told for so long they didn't exist. Currently, Louis is characterized primarily by his obvious top-level traits, which get exaggerated and turned into the entire depiction, which is so flat, and he has so much more to offer. 
Discussions about the consequences of Merrick, and how that’s changed the way Louis sees things and navigates his existence, whether he and Lestat have the intimacy they were unable to achieve from the end of QOTD to Merrick.
I would prefer that certain characters that had died were allowed to stay dead, and could be talked about and mourned.
The exception being - I’d be open to a Nicolas return! He died off-screen after all.
>What's your ideal ending to the saga?
Ultimately, every problematic thing can't be addressed and tidied up. All of the vampires in VC have killed tens of thousands of people. There's no reparation for that. It's weird to try to apply any kind of human-standard morality to them, because you start from "First of all, they're all mostly-unrepentant killers."
While it would count as possibly Too much change, I think it could be intriguing to make all the vampires mortal and human again; they age together; now that their lives are finite they realize they need to sort out their shit, they get therapy and learn to communicate, and resolve all their many and varied interpersonal problems.
I’m ready to see what Christopher does with it when he takes over. I haven’t read his writing myself, but I’ve been told it’s good, so we’ll see. Maybe he has the Ricean spark✨
>L̶e̶t̶'̶s̶ ̶i̶m̶a̶g̶i̶n̶e̶ ̶s̶h̶e̶ ̶w̶o̶u̶l̶d̶n̶'̶t̶ ̶s̶c̶r̶e̶w̶ ̶i̶t̶ ̶u̶p̶ ̶t̶h̶i̶s̶ ̶t̶i̶m̶e̶
You know, over the years, especially when there was more of a sense of humor and people could get away with hyperbole, I’ve made it publicly known that some of the books were not my cup of tea, but there are fans who come to the series from every one of the books. They don’t have the same calibration as I do, IWTV may not be the original material at all for them! One could argue that any of these books could exist as standalones, because AR never promised us a forge weld to them all, 40+ yrs and 10+ books later. It’s not delamination of the stories splitting off from each other and conflicting accounts of events (”unreliable narrators”) if the intention wasn’t a fused weld.
In some respect, AR has reflected, she often asks her FB followers what they like about certain books/characters/etc. and I think she does read those responses... and while I wouldn’t say she admitted she “screwed it up,” she has said the Mayfair/VC crossovers “did not age well,” even though she is proud of them:
Tumblr media
So I think AR’s point is that she tried a direction, and now that years have passed, she decided that it wasn’t worth pursuing further, and it will impact her choices in future books (in this case, not to do more crossovers). I think it takes a lot of guts for her to post that publicly, and it gives me hope that whatever she writes next, I think she’s trying to capture her older and better formula. 
But just because she made us a magnificent cake once, I don’t expect her to make anything like it for us again, ever, and it gives me peace of mind not to expect her to. 
25 notes · View notes
Text
Tumblr media
How To Edit Your Writing
Guest Poster: Chronicwhimsy
Here is our final Writer Workshop post, written by Chronicwhimsy. Have a read and then head over to the Discord Server where we have a channel for you to take part in a discussion based on the post, with chances to share your own ideas too.
Editing: a drive-by guide
Hi, my name is Claire, and I’m an editor.
(Hi Claire)
I’ve been asked to give a quick guide on tips for editing your stories, as I’ve been a beta/editor for various fanfic writers over the years. I’m a professional editor, working for a publishing house in the UK, and I offer independent freelance editing too, via my website. I’ll be on the Discord server answering questions this evening, but I’m also happy to chat to people either through my website or even if you wanted to drop me a line on tumblr.
The key thing to remember about editing is that the end goal is to make your story the best it can be, and make sure your initial idea comes across as clearly and purely as you first imagined it. It’s about ensuring that the lines of communication between you and your reader are 100% open.
To do that, you need to have finished your story, because you can’t fix something that doesn’t exist.
Then you edit.
What now?
So, you’ve finished your Winterhawk Olympic Bang Fic, and you’re wondering what to do next?
The very first, and most important thing you should do? Celebrate. I mean congratulate the hell out of yourself, pat yourself on the back, and have some cake. Finishing stories is hard. Getting through a first draft is one of the trickiest parts of writing, so you should be proud of yourself, and proud of your story.
Because in a short while, editing is going to make you hate both.
I mean that in the nicest possible way of course, but you absolutely are going to be thoroughly sick of this whole thing by the time you’re done, and you’re going to question everything you’ve ever written. You’re going to get a close-up view of all your narrative bad habits which will make you think you’ve never had any skill at all, and you’re going to re-read your work so many times that it’ll feel trite, old, uninspired. This is normal and it is your brain lying to you. If you remember nothing else, remember that!
“The writing itself is no big deal. The editing, and even more than that, the self-doubt, is excruciatingly impossible.” Jonathan Safran Foer
Don’t lose faith! Editors and editing exist for a reason, no first draft is perfect. You’ve done something amazing in finishing, and now you’re going to make it incredible.
Before You Start - Take a Break
You know the phrase “can’t see the wood for the trees”? It could just as easily be “can’t see the story for the words.” It’s never recommended to go straight into editing as soon as you finish writing, and part of the reason for that is because you’re too deep in the story to be able to assess it objectively, or to catch things that are missed out because you know they’re there, but the reader wouldn’t.
“Once it's done, put it away until you can read it with new eyes. When you're ready, pick it up and read it, as if you've never read it before.” Neil Gaiman
Most writers and editors advocate putting a story away for a month or so before returning to edit, so you’re looking at it with fresh eyes. Obviously, with a Big Bang (or other fic event) this sort of time is usually at a premium! Try and make as much space as you can while still leaving yourself time to edit.
If you really don’t have any time, one trick that can help is changing your location. If you write in your room, can you relocate to your kitchen? Or a café (if you can safely)? Could you print it out? (Printing Top Tip: if you do print it, try and do it double-spaced - this makes it easier on the eyes, and gives you room to make notes. Also, serif fonts can often be easier to read than sans serif fonts, as it gives stronger distinctions between different letters.)
The Filter System
I like to think of the editing process as a series of different filters which, when used one after the other, produce a finely-sieved finished product. Each filter stage has slightly smaller holes than the one before it, as you look increasingly closely at your work.
Filter 1: Structural editing
Does the story make sense? Is the pace okay? Do all the scenes work where they are, or would they be better elsewhere? Do some scenes need to be there at all? Is the characterisation consistent? Does anyone change names halfway through? Did you forget what time of year it was set halfway through?
Filter 2: Line editing
Is this phrase as tight as it could be? Have you repeated yourself anywhere? Does this sentence add anything or does it throw the pace off? Have you gone overboard with adjectives and similes? Have you been too sparse with them?
Filter 3: Copy editing
Is your style consistent? Did you start writing in present tense and switch to past tense? Could this scene transition be snappier? Are there any bits that you want to tidy up? Have you left any half-finished sentences because you got distracted before you could end it?
Filter 4: Proofreading
Is everything spelled correctly? Have you caught all the strange grammar mistakes?
Some of these things might be picked up by your beta reader if you have one. Different beta readers have different styles, and also they will work based on their relationship with you and what you prefer. Some may stick to proofreading and consistency-checking, others may be more confident to dive right in and look at structure, pacing and characterisation. Some may work through the process with you as you write, others may only look at the story when it’s complete so they can get a full overview. There is no right or wrong answer, and having a conversation with your beta about your respective styles at the start can help you work better together!
Filter 1 - Structural Editing
For this stage, you want to read your whole story through from start to finish, and resist the urge to tweak anything to begin with! You will want a way of making notes as you go through because as you do, you’ll make yourself a cheat-sheet to help you with your line edit. Things to keep track of:
Character name spellings
Character ages
Character relationships (drawing a relationship web can be very helpful to visualise this!)
The time span of the story - the date it starts, the date it ends.
As a subset of this, I find it can be very helpful to set up a spreadsheet with a timeline of what happens in the story, and who is involved. Doing this both chronologically for the characters and in order of how it happens in the story can help you keep track of what characters know when, and also when the readers find out certain information. You might have one of these from when you were planning your story (as detailed in Sara Holmes’ workshop). If you’ve kept it up to date with changes to the plot and structure as you’ve written, this will be super helpful.
At this stage, you’re looking to see if everything works as a consistent story. You want to check to see if it feels like it’s the right pace, or if there are bits where it drags or rushes through the action. Why is this? Are there scenes which aren’t adding anything to the progress? Could they just be referred to in passing, or removed entirely without impacting the story? Are there other scenes which need to be added to provide more detail and growth? Is there anything that you as a writer know that is essential to the story, but you forgot to actually put in the text?
“Crafty writers...don't allow Exposition to form Lumps. They break up the information, grind it fine, and make it into bricks to build the story with.” Ursula K. Le Guin
You’re also looking to see if the characters feel true to themselves all the way through. Do the relationships spark? Do they sound like themselves? Can you hear them in your head?
Some people recommend doing several structural edits, with a different focus each time. One pass to look at the pacing, one pass to look at the characters, one to look at the story arc. You’ll work out what floats your boat, but you will be re-reading this story a lot of times before you’re done editing - which is why it’s very important to write what you love and want to read! You’ll go through many stages of hating this story before you let it go, and that will be even harder if it wasn’t something you enjoyed in the first place.
Filter 2 - Line Editing
So you remember I told you to make all those notes during your structural edit? Here’s where you’re going to use them. Now’s the time to go through your story line by line and check that the details in your cheat sheet are correct all the way through the story. I’ve written a novel that I initially set in November, but by the time I finished it, I’d decided it was taking place in early May. I had to go back and fix all the dates and weather descriptions to make sure the action hadn’t actually been yeeted forward six months spontaneously in the middle of a conversation.
Arguably, the line edit will be the most painful part of editing. At this stage, you will be taking a fine-tooth comb to everything you have written, examining it to within an inch of its life, and casting judgement. You’re going to find every stylistic tic you have (for me, everyone is constantly quirking their eyebrows and smirking like they’ve got cramp in their facial muscles), and you’re going to get rid of them (a person only has so many eyebrows, and they can only quirk so far). Now is the time to kill your darlings - don’t hang on to anything unless you feel it’s really doing a job to further the story and the characters.
“Kill your darlings, kill your darlings, even when it breaks your egocentric little scribbler's heart, kill your darlings.” Stephen King
If you have ever worried about the unbearable sensation of being Known, the line edit is where you will experience that with every word, and you’ll be doing it to yourself. This is when the doubts will really start to creep in and you will maybe feel like everything you write is unoriginal, derivative trash and unfit for human eyes.
Here I’ll reiterate what I said above:
This is a normal feeling, everyone experiences it when editing. E V E R Y O N E.
It’s a lie. No-one else will ever read your story in this state, no-one else will ever read your story this closely. Of course it feels obvious and uninspired to you - you wrote it. It’s your idea, and you’ve read it several times, it holds no surprises for you. (I may be projecting my feelings from every time I’ve edited something here, but…)
You’ll also be catching any ELEPHANTS or whatever your mammal of choice for placeholder text is that you’ve stationed throughout the story as a flag for you to come back and add in a name, or a food, or a song title later. You know, the things you decided were a problem for Future!You. I have bad news, the future is now.
Top Tip: if you have changed someone’s name halfway through, DON’T for the love of Mike, just do a straight find and replace to correct it. Because that’s when you suddenly find out how many other words actually contain names (Mark became Bill? That’s great, until your characters are going to the superBillet to buy groceries). Some word processing programmes have a “whole word” option which is your friend, otherwise ensure to put spaces either side of the word when you search. If you don’t, you’ve just made another horrible job for yourself...
Filter 3 - Copy Editing
Once you’ve made it out the other side of the Line Edit (and given yourself a nice treat to congratulate yourself because that stage is HARD), we get onto copy editing. This is basically the set-dressing stage. You’ve built the house, you’ve decorated the room, and now you’re just making sure every bit of furniture is in the right place for optimal feng shui.
Here’s where you go through and go, do I really need a dash here, or could I just use a comma? Could I use fewer commas? Could I go in and move all of @kangofu_cb’s commas around because I’m the sort of person who will come into your house and change how you hang your toilet paper or where you keep your ketchup.
Now is the time to be as picky as possible, like you’re an interior designer for the most demanding client in the world and the ornament must be exactly equidistant from both ends of the mantlepiece and facing precisely south-west. Things that may have just survived your line edit will be measured again, and if they’re found wanting, then they get binned.
“Substitute ‘damn’ every time you’re inclined to write ‘very’; your editor will delete it and the writing will be just as it should be.” Mark Twain
Another thing you might like to do here is check that all your features and things are correct. Did you make a wild claim about the lifecycle of salamanders, or the average price of corn and then never go back to verify this? Take a second to just do that now. It may be that you decide it’s not a problem (I received one copy edit note saying that an idiom used in a book wasn’t recorded until 200 years later, and I made the editorial decision that no-one would care), but for bigger things you may want to make sure you’re accurate.
If you google it (as I just did, to make sure I was definitely giving you the right information), copy editing is often conflated with line editing, and that’s because in reality a lot of the elements of copy editing actually wouldn’t usually be done by the author, and are probably irrelevant to fanfic. The copy editor is responsible for ensuring the book has a consistent grammatical style in line with the preferences of the publisher (em-dash or en-dash, curly quote marks or straight ones, how you deal with acronyms, what needs to be italicised, etc. etc.), which isn’t necessarily required for fanfic. In reality, for fanfic I’d use this stage as a second, lighter line-edit to see where things can be tightened up in phrasing, as well as perhaps a preliminary proofread where you start to mark up any spelling errors.
Filter 4 - Proofreading
By this stage, you’ll be exhausted, and sick to death of the blasted thing. But the end is in sight! Now you’re onto the proofread. This is another close read, where you go through and check for spelling errors, typos, missing full stops, strange formatting stuff (which probably will be less of an issue as AO3 basically makes everything uniform anyway).
Before you even start this, change your font.
We’ve all been there, thought we’d caught every spelling error, every weird typo, only to spot six immediately after posting. That’s because after a certain point our brain becomes used to the font we’ve written in, and will automatically correct things that aren’t right. AO3 has its own unique formatting - colour, spacing, font - and the minute your fic appears on there in this new format you brain wakes up and is like “oh shit, yeah, that’s not how it should be.”
By changing the font before you proofread, you preempt this step.
Another thing to remember: it’s unlikely you will ever catch every mistake. Published books regularly go out with a smattering of typographical errors throughout the text - how many first editions of books are valuable because of misspellings that slipped through the net? You’re only human.
“Connie's other job was proof-editing which she did very badly. Transferring the author's corrections to a clean sheet of proofs was something Connie was unable to do without missing an average of three corrections a page, or transcribing newly inserted material all wrong... she put angry authors' letters about the mutilation of their books under the cushion of her chair to deal with later.” Muriel Spark, A Far Cry from Kensington
Often, spelling errors and things you would look for in a proofread are things that a beta reader will pick up as they go, as they’re the easiest things to spot, but it’s also worth looking over yourself for anything your beta might have missed.
Whether you decide to follow any or all of these steps, always do the proofread last.There is no point carefully spellchecking a chapter you are then going to delete, or proofreading the whole thing, but adding loads of new paragraphs later that either don’t get looked at or mean you end up having to proofread twice. That’s the only hard and fast rule when it comes to editing, and it will save you a lot of unnecessary work!
FREEDOM
And then, finally, unbelievably - you’re done. Your literary child is ready to leave the nest. Resist the urge to keep re-reading and tweaking. Instead, click “publish” and give yourself a nice little treat. You’ve earned it.
Miscellany and Disclaimers
These editing stages are ones that would be applied to a published novel. An author would probably do this several times - once on their own to get it ready for submission, then perhaps again with their agent, but the really heavy work would be done with their editor. The structural edit would be done under the advice of an agent or editor where the author looks at their comments, rejigs things accordingly, and lather, rinse, repeat until everyone’s happy. The editor would undertake the line edit, and the author would decide what they wanted to keep or change. The copy edit and proofread would be done in-house or sent to freelancers, with queries and changes wafted past the author for clarification or approval.
Self-published authors will often hire freelancers to help at various stages to get feedback and advice.
Very rarely would an author go from draft to final published piece by doing all their editing alone. Because it’s hard fucking work, and because your brain will get exhausted.
In light of that, you need to remember:
You’ve written a fanfic
The editorial standards of fanfic are significantly less stringent than published books
Editing by yourself is really hard work that many people are often paid to do for published books
No-one is paying you for your fanfic
Fanfic is supposed to be fun
Some published authors will edit and rewrite and edit and rewrite again and again. At a panel I attended, Joanne Harris said that if she didn’t rewrite her work at least five times she was being too easy on herself, while Joe Hill said he usually aimed for three rewrites - Joe edited as he went along, going over the previous day’s pages before continuing, where Joanne completed her manuscripts before editing. Elizabeth May has talked about her stages of drafting, starting with her Trash Draft, then her Clean Draft, and then rewriting and editing after that.
These are people who are writing professionally, getting paid for their work, and so the time they put in has monetary results. If you want to write original fiction, their advice is extremely valuable.
For fanfiction, it’s a large time investment for something you’re doing as a hobby for free. If I’m strictly honest, I’m fairly lax with my fanfiction editing. I do structural discussions and tweaks with my beta reader as I write, and then a spell check. I’m also aware that my fanfics aren’t narratively complex, nor do they seem as polished, rich and deep as some of the other works out there. That’s fine by me. You simply need to find the level you’re happy at, where you can still feel proud of your work but you’re enjoying the experience.
In the end - it’s all for fun!
Resources:
Online
Curtis Brown Creative: An Editor’s Guide to Editing Your Novel
Joanne Harris: Ten Tweets About Editing
Joanne Harris: Writing Resources
NerdsLikeMe: Beta Reading vs Proofreading vs Editing
Books
Stephen King - On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft
Ursula K. Le Guin - Steering the Craft: Exercises and Discussions on Story Writing for the Lone Navigator or the Mutinous Crew
19 notes · View notes
hi-hey-haechan · 4 years
Text
NSFW A-Z Analysis: Mark Lee
Tumblr media
I’m still writing the prompts, but I felt like writing something a little different for once. Please let me know if you like these, for if you do, there will be more in the future. This was fun to write.
A ~ Aftercare
When you both come down from your highs, Mark is pretty tired. He’ll grab a warm towel and clean you up, and he’d get you a glass of water. Poor baby is exhausted after sex, though, so he really just wants to lie in bed and cuddle with you.
B ~ Body Part
On himself, he likes his cheekbones and jaw, and how they sort of sculpt his face. Plus, he knows that you appreciate them, as well. On you, he likes your thighs. He enjoys grasping onto them and the way the muscles in them flex whenever you walk. When he’s eating you out, he grasps onto them, and he’ll leave kisses and hickies on your inner thighs to tease you.
C ~ Cum
He appreciates the intimacy of cumming inside of you, and seeing his seed drip out of you drives him insane. However, he loves cumming in your mouth. Seeing you swallow his seed after you pleasure him with your lips and tongue is just so hot to him. On other occasions, he honestly loves cumming on your thighs, seeing him painted over your skin.
D ~ Dirty Secret
A dirty secret of Mark’s is that he secretly wants you to peg him. He’s afraid to try it, but he wanted to see how it would feel to have something like that inside of him, turning into a moaning mess. He’s watched porn of people being pegged, and it makes him really want to try it. Plus, he wants to see you dominant as you control the way he’s feeling, He wants you to decide the pace, at which that you thrust into him. 
E ~ Experience
He’s inexperienced. He joined SM really young and he sort of gives off an awkward, shy, innocent, inexperienced vibe. He’d have a decent-enough idea of what to do. 
F ~ Favorite Position
He loves being able to see you, so missionary is probably his favorite. He likes being able to go as fast or as slowly as he wants. He gets to see your face as you’re overcome with pleasure. He also likes it when you ride him, seeing your entire body on display. Plus, Mark has to admit that when you control the pace, he really enjoys it.
G ~ Goofy
Mark’s fairly shy and awkward, so he’d probably laugh or crack a joke or say something hilariously stupid in the middle of sex. When it’s just vanilla sex, the mood is really light. However, if something is on his mind, or if he’s angry and going rough, then he turns into a completely different person.
H ~ Hair
I can see Mark being fairly trimmed and neat. He isn’t hairless, not completely shaved, but he’s definitely groomed and he keeps himself tidy and at least trimmed. On you, he prefers it if you’re the same, since it makes eating you out easier. He really doesn’t mind, though ~ whatever makes you comfortable
I ~ Intimacy
Mark needs intimacy in order to have sex. He sees it as a precious thing that requires an emotional connection. He wouldn’t have sex with you if he wasn’t absolutely positive of how he felt about you. Either way, every action he makes is sincere and intimate during sex.
J ~ Jack Off
He does it less often than others, but more often than he’s willing to admit to. If you’re not there to satisfy him, his right hand will do the work. Mostly does it in the shower, so the falling water drowns out the sounds he makes. He’s not the best at holding sounds of pleasure back when he’s feeling good
K ~ Kinks
I see him as kind of vanilla, if I’m being honest? Like, he’s not a hard dom, nor does he enjoy being dommed harshly, either. He’s a total switch, though. Here are some kinks:
Hair-pulling (receiving)
Dominant (giving + receiving)
Submissive (giving + receiving
Oral Fixation (giving + receiving)
Overstimulation (giving + receiving_
L ~ Location
The bed is his favorite place to do it. It’s the most comfortable for both of you, and it also has the most amount of space. Plus, the entire aura and scene of the bedroom is comforting and also intimate within itself, which he adores. He may slowly branch out to the couch if he’s desperate enough to not move into the bedroom. Also, you didn’t hear it from me, but he enjoys the shower, as well...
M ~ Motivation
Your voice can turn him on, oddly enough. Hearing you whisper less-than-innocent things in his ear, in a low, hushed voice, literally sends blood rushing south. The way you move also turns him on. Like, the way your hips might move, especially in a certain outfit, turn him to putty. 
N ~ No
Mark would refuse to do anything that could possibly hurt you. The farthest he’d go is spanking, and that’s only if you wanted him to. Even if it’s during sex, the idea of inflicting harm upon you is a huge no.
O ~ Oral
He would never turn down a blowjob. He finds it so hot to look down and see your lips around his hard length, and your mouth literally sends him to pure ecstasy. His hands tangle in your hair and his head is thrown back as swears and moans spill from his lips.
This boy could literally eat you out for hours. He loves how you fall apart just from his mouth and fingers. It drives him crazy when you tangle your fingers in his hair and tug lightly. He quickly learns what makes you feel good, and he uses this to bring you to orgasm after orgasm.
P ~ Pace
When you two are being more sweet and intimate, he enjoys going slow, being able to truly feel everything and every part of you. Sometimes, however, he can’t help himself and he finds himself getting lost in the moment and the pleasure, so he speeds up. He’s a dancer, so he knows how to use those hips and make you beg for him.
Q ~ Quickies
He definitely doesn’t prefer them. He prefers longer, more drawn-out sessions. While quickies can be hot, seeing how fast each other can cum in less-than-ideal circumstances, he doesn’t enjoy them. However, if both of you were really horny, I could see him really enjoying it while it’s happening, though.
R ~ Risk
He’s not one to take risks. The farthest he’s willing to go in terms of being caught is the couch in the dorms. Other than that, anything that could potentially hurt his career is a no-no ~ another reason he doesn’t enjoy quickies.
S ~ Stamina
He gets pretty wiped out after he cums. However, he’s able to bring you to your highs from his mouth and his fingers pretty easily. He can do one round of sex but a few rounds of foreplay, if that was what you wanted.
T ~ Toy
Unless you were really into them, he’s not into toys. In his eyes, why would you need a dildo, for example, when you have his cock to turn everything in your consciousness to pure ecstasy?
U ~ Unfair
I don’t see him as being very unfair in the bedroom. He’d tease you until you’re overstimulated, before coaxing you to multiple climaxes. Other than that, he’s fair in the bedroom. He kind of likes it when you make him beg for you, but shh, you didn’t hear that from me
V ~ Volume
He has trouble holding back, at times, when he’s feeling good. He has really pretty moans. Mark’s moans are fairly breathy and light, and he lets out multiple curses under his breath, especially at his climax.
W ~ Wild Card
You’re straddling him, his length sliding in and out of your dripping core as you ride him. You’re leaning forward, your lips almost touching his, but you choose to tease him, not giving him what he wanted. You pinned his wrists down above his head, ensuring that he couldn’t grab onto your hips to control the pace or help you. Mark’s eyes were screwed shut, his breathless moans becoming more whiny and desperate as you continued to ride him. You gyrated your hips in a circle on his. He whimpered out your name, completely at your expense as you sped up your movements.
X ~ X-ray
He’s about average, maybe a little less. He grows a bit in size when he’s hard. It’s pretty to look at, and he can literally make you fall apart from it. Mark knows how to use it, too. 
Y ~ Yearning
He’s young, and despite seeming innocent, we all know that he has a fairly high sex-drive. However, he’s busy, so you two don’t get down to having sex for up to a week or so at times. On breaks and such, though...that’s a completely different story. A few times a week at least is when you’d have sex. 
Z ~ Zzz
As mentioned, he gets pretty wiped out after he cums. However, he makes sure that you’re cleaned up and okay before he falls asleep.
489 notes · View notes
Note
Did Bobo really create the Wayward Sisters? If so, why weren't Jack and especially Cas included in that episode? That's my biggest issue with that pilot honestly, I mean, the fact that the show abandoned Claire and Cas' bond after season 10 and gave that storyline to Salmondean. Her bond with Cas is more interesting because of their connection to the Novaks. I also think that Claire and Jack would've made a more engaging dynamic and spin off together, I think they're strong characters & actors
Hi there!
Bobo isn’t the “creator” of Wayward so much as it can even have one, as it was a very organic idea, which even involved a healthy amount of fandom input. The original campaign in season 10 was for Wayward Daughters, and the idea picked up so much steam the altered title for, I guess, a mix of copyright and thematic relevance was the Sisters one. I’d say 10x08 was the real genesis of it as something that could be really solid. Once Kim and Briana were put together the chemistry and star power they could have had together was really meteoric as far as our small SPN world was concerned. Phil Sgriccia directed 9x13 and wrote 10x08 and was more of the parent of Wayward than any specific writer in that sense. Jody and Claire were pretty much common property of the show by that point. Claire was really introduced again in relation to plotlines and questions about Cas and less to do with them really going out of their way to re-launch her. I think they’d have been much cornier about it from the start and while YA protagonist diary writing her way through the end of Wayward Sisters was cute, it’s the sort of cutesy that really has to be earned. If she STARTED that way, like maybe me and 3 friends would be stanning her and everyone else would be revolted :P
(I am a YA fantasy novel author, but I do think everyone should make room in their hearts for this level of cheese)
In any case, Bobo just threw his hat into an already crowded ring with Alex, but obviously loving the characters and having his own personal wayward child to contribute did help elevate him to the prospective showrunner seat, but also all the other writers who’d written these characters except Dabb had left at that point. If Bobo was going to shepherd them through to their new show, he’d be the legacy writer, even though he was a new baby writer in the season Donna was introduced... Attrition aside, he did genuinely write them very well, loved their stories and was great with writing Jody when he could get her, so he would also have been a good choice even if all the others were left still... 
But anyway. Season 10′s subplot for Cas was about Claire and learning some stuff about himself along the way, but she was used very much for his personal development and for Dean as well, being a mini Dean herself in a season where he had lost a lot of his sense of self. It’s a total accident of scheduling but Angel Heart (10x20) being the last episode before 10x22 is a nice touch in that regard. And while Cas tried really hard with Claire and awoke his inner Dad side so that he’d be more prepared for fatherhood next time, it was pretty insurmountable between them to have anything more than a bittersweet relationship where the best he could do was make up with her and see her somewhere safe. The fact of him looking like her actual dead father is horrendous the more you think about it and while she managed to see him for who he was instead of a horrible monster, that’s more than enough trauma to inflict on an already traumatised girl for the sake of helping Cas’s manpain and tidying up the sticky question of Jimmy and Cas’s right to the vessel. 
Angel Heart very specifically ends with TFW mailing Claire to Jody because they know she’s already good with Alex in a genuine way and can handle these sort of issues and has done it before. And also because she can be a guardian who will not constantly remind Claire that her father is dead but something is walking around wearing a perfect reconstruction of his face. Carver era did a few things here and there with bodily autonomy and the problem of angel and demon vessels, but it was also really hit and miss. They’d get random waves of feeling guilty about it but then by necessity go back to stabbing angels in their still-living vessels an episode later. Claire was a way to address at the very least that whatever Cas was being put through was only a punishment on Cas and not on Jimmy as well, which is probably why we got such sappy Heaven scenes. We NEEDED to be shown he was in Heaven and largely okay with what was going on so that the show could justify using Cas at all as a character without breaking the code of ethics they tried to make their own characters adhere to. Aside from that it also gave Cas a side plot for when he wasn’t needed in the main plot, and any emotional connection to anything that wasn’t Sam and Dean.
Anyway 10x20 caused this huge fandom high which was followed by one of the lowest lows of the fandom immediately after, and both centred on female characters (in fact, now we know, 2 lesbians even! Though I’d wonder if, The Gay Agenda aside, Bobo spite-wrote that specifically because of the roots of Wayward) and I think that galvanised the whole movement of fans and hopefully some self-reflection in the show. They DID start making an effort in season 11, which shows some of the early signs of better inclusion but also backtracking or edging nervously away from the more intense Carver era stuff. Not just because Dean didn’t have the Mark any more but in general it was like someone had opened a window and let in some fresh air... Even before Carver bailed somewhere around the midseason to go do a different show and Dabb started to step up. 
All this to say that the Wayward stuff was always about the female characters and making up for the past sins of the show. It’s even a riff on the “wayward son” line which obviously centres around male protagonists and their journey. Claire stumbled into being a part of it in the lucky way of being in the right place and time, but the journey had already started even in the season 10 momentum with earlier work and it was that which suddenly made the prospect that Jody had two young women living with her now seem like a starter for the next generation of the show as it was a mirrored format to season 1 in a way, if you took Alex and Claire as the new Sam and Dean. It was exciting but people flipped out after Angel Heart because stuff had been bubbling since season 9 and earlier in season 10, so this was just pouring more candy into an already visibly full bowl of potential tasty gems. It made a possibility seem real that hadn’t before because we already had Kim bitterly complaining that the CW refused to hear the case for a Jody spin off because she was too old. The next best thing was a Jody spin off where she was the Gandalf to some CW age appropriate characters.
(the CW is and always has been garbage)
Anyway in season 13 Jack was introduced as a Claire 2.0 but as a male character with staying power for that reason, but he was filling the space she left for Cas. He couldn’t be a father to her and neither really wanted that set up anyway. But thematically it had created the possibility of Dadstiel and the space he had in his heart for that. Since the show was in its waning years they would be looking for endgame and handing Cas an easy win with a son he could unconditionally love who would love him back unconditionally absolutely filled that gap. It was a non SamnDean thing that Cas could have for himself outside of whatever happened with them. Not sure the memo came back that he was supposed to have mORE than that but oh well it’s not real if you don’t watch it :))) But yeah Jack was always going to be linked to Cas’s endgame, he wasn’t a free-floating character such as Jody who could go where she wanted and do as she pleased. He was main story relevant from start to finish and tied inexorably to another main character’s fate. Because the show wouldn’t do that with its female characters they could be bundled into spin offs but in practical terms Jack was both never what the Wayward as envisioned by fans or writers was about, nor would he have been free to go. 
Since it would have been about centering the stories of people overlooked by the main story, Claire a case in point that she had her life ruined in season 4 and it was a footnote until season ten, and then metaphorically more the concept of having queer and non-white characters in the mix of main characters, it would have represented a future of the story where the main show was unable to tread. Probably because of the CW. Also inherent biases in the writers. Bad cocktail. Jack is both too white and too male to fit the brief to ever leave SPN, and not only that but he is so as a precise mirror to the main white male characters, being passably any one of their sons if you squint, and meant to be instantly instinctively read as such... he was one of the safest bets of representing the show as the network wanted to imagine its target demographic.
So I really don’t think that Jack has any place being in a spin off of the show unless you want more of the same. They tried to give us something different and the CW didn’t like it because it wasn’t more of the same. Ironically a Jack spin off, with or without Claire, would have more chance of being greenlit and more chance of success. But the spin off they put their heart behind was Wayward Sisters as it was. And I think it was absolutely correct that never mind leaving Jack out of it after his work was done in the lead up episode to help set the table, but honestly they could have cut all the middle scenes of Sam and Dean wandering in the woods and gained precious seconds with the girls and still had a functioning story with those guys. It was like some cowardly missive was sent that the show couldn’t actually go more than 10 minutes without showing a flesh and blood Winchester or the whole thing would spontaneously sizzle out of syndication and the money tree would wither on the spot. And in the mean time, we could have been having Banter with the girls. Or Claire and Kaia holding hands some more. The good stuff :P 
72 notes · View notes
meikuree · 3 years
Text
fic writer interview
tagged by @lightdescending -- tysm, this was really fun and i enjoy elaborating on things about writing/the writing process!
putting this under a read more because of my trademark verbosity (AGAIN)
name: meikuree
fandoms: actively writing for snk, tempted to write for the locked tomb
two-shot: oh i've not intentionally done these! twenty years of snow accidentally fits the bill, but only because it's on an indefinite hiatus
most popular multi-chapter: of aubades, my pieck-centric ficlet series, by some metrics
actual worst part of writing: when I get stuck in a loop of perfectionism and excessive self-scrutiny and rewrite… and rewrite… and rewrite again. my solution to this is to send it to a friend and ask for them to tell me just one (1) nice thing about it and put me out of my misery, or do freewriting where the point is to write whatever immediately pops into my head. usually then I’ll bump into an epiphany in the middle about how to Make It Work.
alternatively: fic writing is at times such a solitary, obsessively recursive activity and that’s one tension I dislike/have to negotiate with, because part of why I like art is to share it with people or at the very least engage in some kind of reciprocal conversation about it. community in art is very important to me in general, and I try to cultivate it in my online presence in small ways!
how you choose your titles: i'm a fan of grabbing titles from poems and songs/song lyrics (like you!) -- and drawing them from regina spektor songs in particular, bc she’s by some metrics my all-time favourite musician and i’m very familiar with her discography
do you outline: usually, yes. i don’t confine myself to it, but at minimum I outline pivotal moments and turning points. my process tends to start with a compelling scene or character interaction popping into my head and then goes on with me thinking about how i can use it as a vehicle for communicating a certain concept/philosophical idea/insight about XYZ characters' relationships somehow. that becomes the core idea/endpoint I want to reach by the end in a fic, so then i'll outline the main emotional or introspective beats i want to carry across in service of that
ideas I probably won’t get around to but wouldn’t it be nice: wow, um... /gestures vaguely at my unending list of wips/ that said, one idea i'm tickled by is an obnoxious, utterly random M-rated pieck/lady tybur fic involving painplay and knifeplay, the plot for which is literally just… lara tybur stabs pieck with a knife, but make it sexy somehow… with a dash of political intrigue and a complicated ambiguous relationship where two women use each other in a decidedly callous but also self-aware and self-indulgent way. the idea for this just came from me going "ah yes... the inherent homoeroticism of being stabbed by another woman..." and wondering about ~scenarios enabled by being a titan shifter, when you can regenerate your wounds and such! (partial inspiration also came, I will admit, from the locked tomb fandom and its lesbian body horror influences)
callouts @ me: sensory details are one of my biggest weak points. i've been ironing it out through concerted practice, but when i first started out writing fic i tended to be more comfortable dealing with metaphor, introspection, and mental states than... writing about actual, corporeal things happening in corporeal textspace. it can create the impression while reading, I suspect, that the characters are stuck a lot in their own heads. one of my earliest and favourite ao3 comments i've gotten said in passing that i used "very little dialogue and description" and i'm still tickled by... how true it is as an MO. it also amuses me because it seems to parallel the same issue i had with essays i wrote at university, i think (!) -- my professors would tell me, “you have a great grasp on the theory but you need to include more concrete examples." and i'd go "what? i was supposed to use examples?? ?__? isn’t the point self-evident from the theory?” for me, shifts in relationship dynamics and the negotiation of one's worldview underlying an event ARE the plot! -- and everything else tends to become subservient to that when i write
the other thing, which is somewhat related to the above, is just... self-confidence! i can be very insecure about my writing style, as my partner and poor friends I’ve whinged to can attest. mainly because i always fear that reading it feels like wading through a thick, unappealing swampy bog of someone's thoughts. but i think the solution is to just take a grounded, balanced view, like: there are some things i do well, and some things i do not-as-well in writing, and that's fine! that's normal! and in the moment i can be very hard on myself, and wring my hands thinking OH MY GOD THE UTTER CRINGE OF ME WRITING ANY OF THIS but i find that somehow, i always end up enjoying rereading what i write.
best writing traits: the most consistent comment i get, i think, is that my writing is beautiful and poetic (and one time: "this is one of the most poetic things i've ever read." which -- ?!?!). I’ve also been told that i characterise people well or with nuance, and write about them sensitively and with depth. i'm grateful, always, to hear these bc these things constitute the one niche i CAN do, imo!
spicy tangential opinion: hm… from what I’ve observed, many fandoms have a tendency to flatten character motives and complexities into easy, tidy and dare i say, sometimes bizarre, labels and categories. it’s not surprising it happens, but sometimes there’s space for people (a big, vague, nonspecific ‘people’) to go beyond simplistic assumptions about characters and one-dimensional portrayals (and to give writers who achieve it their due! I can’t count the number of times I’ve seen an incredibly well-written fic that was relatively undernoticed and gone, “why, fandom???”) sometimes you write to fix canon, and sometimes you write because it’s fanon that needs fixing instead.
tagging (no pressure): @ebbet @noxcounterspell @leksaa90 @minoan-ophidian @frumpkinspocketdimension @acerinky @rose-gardens @chocochipbiscuit @whiteasy @ochen @kallistoi  anyone else who wants to join in!
15 notes · View notes
modern-inheritance · 3 years
Text
Modern Inheritance: Art Therapy (Short)
(A/N: I still don’t know how to write Islanzadí but I needed to get my ‘Arya has always kinda been that person you don’t expect to have a sketchbook but does’ headcanon out of my brain. Have some really badly written, forced-out-at-11PM Islanzadí trying to be good!parent during MI!Eldest. Again, sorry for the quality, but I pushed myself to write this and I’ve been away from MI so long that it feels a little clunky to be writing it. Izzy is inconsistent and her reasons for doing things are all over the place and make zero sense. So yeah, you’ve been warned that it’s a jumbled cluster.)
MODERN INHERITANCE
ART THERAPY
Islanzadí paused at the door, inspecting it as one would inspect a patch of earth suspected of concealing a minefield.
It was too early in the morning to be called late, but too late in the night to be called early. While it wasn’t unusual for the queen’s daughter to be up at this hour due to recent events and their lingering after effects, it was unusual for the light to be on. Islanzadí could see it now, a faint line beneath the door. Two conflicting beams, the soft red glow of a teardrop lantern and a bright slash of white light, settled across the mossy floor at her feet.
Islanzadí did not hesitate out of fear. A mother did not, should not, fear facing her own daughter. She told herself that she hesitated out of respect. This was Arya’s room, her sanctum, after all. She called it a ‘base of operations’ in a close-to-home joke, the place she always returned to if she disappeared into the night to fight her inner demons side by side with old fyrn breoal. After everything that had happened the queen was loath to breach one more place of peace for her daughter.
Then again, it would not be the first time Islanzadí had entered in the dead of night, once more attuned to the natural instincts of a mother when her child is in danger. Finding her daughter curled in a corner with her arms wrapped tightly around her knees was painful, and the nights the queen had to wake the younger elf from the clutches of her dreams were worse.
The light on was something new. Something that she did not know how to react to. If Arya was awake then she didn’t want to intrude.
But if she was having trouble again….
Islanzadí carefully opened the door, just enough to peer inside.  
Like many nights before, the queen saw that the bed was still made, corners tucked tight in the strict, military efficiency that Arya had picked up in years spent alongside Varden soldiers. A sleeping bag was on the floor beside the bed with a spare blanket bunched at its end from restless sleep. The makeshift indoor camp was lit by the teardrop lantern on the nightstand above, cast in strange, ruddy shadows.
Compared to the gentle glow of the lantern the white light was almost startling. A simple white werelight hovered just above the knotted, cup-like roots of the stand at Arya’s desk, bobbing and turning lightly with the imperceptible changes in the air.
Islanzadí breathed a quiet sigh of relief that she didn’t even realize she was holding in. Arya had an arm folded on the desk and her head rested on it, her left hand laid over a page and pencil still loosely in her relaxed grip. The woman had fallen asleep in the middle of her work.
With soft footsteps the queen padded into the room. It wouldn’t do to sleep in such a way. As she reached out to gently wake the younger elf though, the sight of what scattered the desk gave her pause.
What had to be over a dozen sketches littered the usually tidy surface. Islanzadí had known that Arya often drew when her mind was troubled, but she had never seen the results for herself. As gently as she could Islanzadí collected the papers together, curious at what had driven her daughter to such a late hour.
Brom started back at her from the first page, gruff around the eyes and holding his pipe up to his lips. The hard line of his jaw gave the impression that he had clamped his teeth down on the pipestem, soft clouds of smoke wafting up around his nose. It was the face of a man who was thinking and grumbling to himself in equal measure, but there was a softness to it that led Islanzadí to believe that whatever was giving him such trouble was something he deeply cared about.
One was of a campsite. Brom was still present, perched on a rock with his ever-present pipe in hand and using it as a pointer as he called criticism to the two young men that danced around the burned down fire at the center of camp. One was obviously Eragon, Zar’roc a sudden streak of pastel red in an image that was dominated by only two other shades: the ebony of the pencil and the expanse of shaded blue that made up Saphira where she crouched beside Brom. The other man was unfamiliar to the elvish queen, but she suspected the lean youth with near-black hair and hand-and-half sword was Murtagh.
Islanzadí’s chest tightened when she shifted to the next page. It, and the one following, were done in what appeared to be frantic, almost manic motions. Most of the paper was dominated by deep grey, walls and barred windows all almost black cut through by patches of startling crimson red and the pearly, muddied white of a single light fixture high on the wall. The floor was a cooler tone but puddled with the thick red pastel, which collected under the iron cot and shredded, sooty sheets.
It was one of several views from a personal hell. A view from the corner.
And then it was a portrait again, another from frozen memories of travel. The light silvery tones that dripped from the foliage signaled an early morning, but half of the occupants of the work were asleep. Eragon lay sprawled comfortably beside Saphira, one of her wings draped over his form. Above him, the dragon was watching him carefully, as a mother would a sleeping cub, her gaze protective and gentle all at once.
Another page almost overtaken by dark ebony. A sliver of moon cast the starless sky into faintly silvered darkness, reflected by the path below. Trees arced and bent over the strip of earth, monstrous shapes boiling up from between their trunks. At the end of the path, a lone figure wreathed in ghostly red tendrils that coiled up and around their body like ethereal smoke.
Glenwing was next in the line of art, and beside him, arm tossed casually over his shoulders in friendly companionship, was Fäolin. Both were smiling, laughter playing at their lips. Fäolin had his free hand around the neck of a bottle of dwarvish beer, and by the fading background it was clear that the memory took place in a bar. Even without color the neon of the signs flickered and hummed, bringing a sense of welcome despite the clear signs around that indicated that the war was never far away.
Saphira’s egg, the edges of the carry bag that was her home for over two decades puddled around its base. A gentle pulse of life and warmth in the blue and white that decorated the marbled surface. A glow of hope, all contained inside a single layer of shell.
A view from the branches of the Menoa Tree, looking down at the sprawling expanse of roots that raced away from the great monarch of the forest. Light played through the needles above, pinpricks of dappled sunlight that strained to reach the forest floor.
Eragon, his forehead pressed against Saphira’s snout as the Rider and dragon shared a moment of quiet peace. The rigid hold of his far shoulder compared to the slope of the other indicated it was not long after the battle for Farthen Dur, a time of chaos, tumult and new realities. It made the frozen scene of simple yet deeply primal comfort that smoothed over Eragon’s features that much more poignant. Reminded those that saw it that he was still a growing youth and Saphira was not yet a year old, yet they had been thrown into a world that required, demanded their lives for the sake of millions of others.
“One of these days we will give each other a heart attack.”
Islanzadí couldn’t suppress the sudden jerk of surprise at her daughter’s bleary words. The younger elf lifted her head and stretched, tossing down her pencil as she did. Arya winced when the light of the white werelight caught her eyes, and with a tap on the floating orb the color changed to the same muted red as the lantern on the nightstand.
“I was going to suggest you move to your bed before you strained your neck.” The queen gave her daughter a slightly forced, gentle smile, heart still fluttering at the start.
Arya nodded, still appearing half asleep as she rose from her desk and tapped off the light. She waved groggily over her shoulder to indicate to her mother that she was fine before she tumbled onto the bed, not bothering with the covers. It was a good sign. The younger elf was heavily in sleep debt as it was, and Islanzadí did not want to be the source of another night of under four hours of rest.
Islanzadí placed the stack of sketches back on the desk with a newfound reverence before following Arya towards the bed. She gathered up the discarded blanket on the floor and draped it over the woman’s body, smiling again at the muffled mumble of “Thanks, mum.” that drifted from where Arya had buried her head under the pillow.
She touched the lantern by the bed, lowering its intensity till it winked out. Gently pulled the door shut behind her.
And gave a very quiet, very tired, sigh of relief.  
16 notes · View notes
sweeethinny · 4 years
Text
I always thought about it, and now that I'm pretending to study so I don't have to help with the change, I came to write
------------------------
James was completing fifteen months, and Ginny was a complete mess.
It all started a few weeks ago, when she, the baby and Teddy were walking down Diagon Alley, and a woman stopped to talk to them, talk about how Harry was a great wizard and all those things, but she had also commented, about how James looked like him - and Ginny knew, the child had come out of her, after all - mostly about him being so close to turning 15 months old, the same age Harry was when it all happened.
"Isn't it disturbing to think he was this small?"
So, Ginny then started having nightmares.
Of course she knew that Harry was a baby, but then, look at her little son, who cried every time he was away for five minutes from her or Harry, who was learning to walk, to mumble ''mommy'' ''daddy'', and who still slept among them because it was safer, was disturbing.
She hadn't spoken to Harry, there was no need, her concern was stupid when spoken out loud, so she made sure to keep it to herself.
And when that week came, when it arrived that on Friday her son would be 15 months old, Ginny was plagued with nightmares and more nightmares from Death Eaters entering her home and killing her and Harry, leaving James orphaned. Or, of them killing James, and she being able to do nothing but see that little dead infant body. Sometimes she dreamed of Harry and James dying, the scene of her husband in Hagrid's arms seeming to return in an eternal loop, but this time, their son was together.
Every night she woke up five, six times to see if the little one was still with them, sleeping widely in the middle, with his feet on Harry's shoulders and his head nestled in her, so she could breathe easy and kiss his fine dark hair, smelling the child, before going back to sleep to have another nightmare and do it all over again.
At dawn from Thursday to Friday, she was a nervous wreck.
Harry had gone on a mission and said that he would arrive that day, which had not happened. In all the years together, Ginny had learned to control that anxiety and the fear of losing her husband, it was his job, and you would think the Boy Who Lived would take a vacation from this life of hunting for evil, but it was Harry, and she knew it when fell in love for him. But sometimes it still hurt, especially when she wanted him there to feel safe.
After an awake night, walking back and forth (in their room, where James was sleeping), Ginny wanted to curse that old woman. Who could say that? Tell a mother about her son being the age of the boy who almost died? Especially when that boy was your husband AND father of your son? No. Ginny hated her, completely.
Harry, at least, had arrived home, a little after nine, without much injury and apologizing for the delay.
''They're all idiots,'' he said as he comfortably rocked his son on his hip, seeming not to even realize he was doing it, letting the boy play with his hair and beard ''It seemed like there was just me and Ron, the rest barely made a difference’'
''He missed you'' Ginny smiled awkwardly, the lump in her throat forming as she prepared lunch
''I missed you too, Jamesy'' She didn't need to look to know that he was kissing the boy's forehead ''And you too'' Harry kissed the top of the redhead's head, causing her to smile ''There's something wrong? You didn't say much''
''Just tired, James moved a lot this night'' She lied (or omitted, at least the part that she didn't sleep at all)
That day had everything to be just another ordinary day at the Potter's house, but when you want to find reasons to make sense of your head, you see what you want.
That's why she almost had a heart attack when she saw her son on Harry's lap while they were flying (he wasn't even flying high and James was tied to Harry's abdomen), or when the boy fell out of bed, there was given a scratch on the forehead, yes, right on the forehead, and Ginny's mind was playing tricks right after.
''Gin, he's fine, it was just a scratch from nothing. Aren't you, Jamie?'' Harry sat him on the counter, rubbing the ointment on his son's bruise, as careful as ever, while the boy blinked greedily at his father, seeming to pay all his attention to it. His eyes were swollen from crying and his pink cheeks made her want to cry together, which was absurdly pathetic.
''I should have known this was going to happen, the bed is too high, I shouldn't have left him alone'' Alone. Imagine her child alone in the world, helpless (because in her head, her family could not be there to help for some stupid reason), suffering and being beaten up like Harry, having to sacrifice his life for peace.
"Gin?" Harry looked at her as if he knew what was going on in her head, as usual. "James is fine, and here. We're all here.'' She took her son in her arms, hugging the boy a little too tightly, wanting that warmth in her chest never to go away.
''I know, I was just worried'' She looked at the boy, who still blinked a little sadly, and filled him with kisses, taking a deep breath of his scent and trying to keep his face in memory, before taking him to the kitchen, with the excuse that she was hungry.
Later, however, it was the worst hour of her life, by far.
''James is gone'' She spoke almost in a panic to her husband's face at the fireplace, he had returned to the Ministry a few hours ago, just to sign some papers, and then, when she relaxed and left the little one playing in the living room while tidying up the house, Ginny lost him ''I can't find him anywhere, Harry'' Her eyes prickled, her head creating the worst scenarios, where everyone ended up with a lot of blood and death
''What do you mean?'' Harry moved, seeming to look for something ''Don't get out of here, I'm going'' And then he was gone, and she started screaming around the house, running to look for him again, opening the doors, calling him, going to the garden, to the street, and still, not being able to find anything.
''James!'' She had started to cry, panicking in the yard, opening the broom shed only to find it in the same way as before, with the usual mess.
"Gin!" Harry appeared, white and alarmed as an Auror/Dad should be, wand in hand and looking like a hurricane "What happened?"
''He was playing in the living room, and then ... '' She sobbed, shaking ''I called him, called, called, and when I went to see there was nothing else there. He was gone'' Harry dragged her into the house again, looking ready to hunt whoever was needed.
''He mustn't have gone far, he's just a baby''
''IT'S EXACTLY THAT!'' She exploded ''Someone may have caught him! Or killed! He can be-- ''
'' - He's not, Ginny! '' Harry squeezed her shoulders as if to keep her still ''He's not. We'll find him.''
They went back to looking, Ginny was holding back the crying with all her claw, and when they were about to summon Aurors and the family to help, Harry stopped in the middle of the room, looking on for something
"Did you hear that?" She denied, sobbing silently at the image of her son dead in a ditch. But Harry, seeming to test Auror's years, was centered, his wand drawn and still watching for something. He reached out to open one of the tallest doors in the living room closet, where he usually kept books and things that were uninteresting, sighing when he saw his son sleeping with his blanket, as if nothing had happened. The man pulled the baby, causing him to wake up, and finally let the whole posture fall, sitting on the floor while holding the boy against his chest and breathing hard, letting some tears flow.
Ginny was not so calm, falling beside them and sobbing as she hugged him too, feeling all the tension of that week and the psychological exhaustion that had been, trembling as she stroked the boy's hair, who seemed scared by all that
''Never-Never do that again, James!'' Sobbed irritably ''Heavens, I thought I was going to die''
''He must have been tired of playing and thought it was the most peaceful place.. '' Harry squeezed the boy even more, seeming to notice that his son had done magic for this, which caused a small smile on his face
''Mommy'' James raised his little hands to her face, looking worried that she would cry so hard, then tried to wipe the river of tears that flowed from Ginny's eyes, in the purest form of affection.
''Sorry honey, you scared me'' She sighed, smiling sadly
After all that nervousness, when Harry felt well to be able to let his son return to his toys, the two looked at each other
''Teddy told me what that woman had said'' Ginny could play dumb, but it was almost impossible
''He's so small Harry'' And without realizing it, she started crying again, rubbing her husband's face
''I know, it's also scary for me to see this, but there's nothing to fear Gin, I'm here, alive, and James too'' She nodded, being hugged and comforted by him ''Nothing is going to happen to him. Nothing''
''That old idiot, who does she think she is to say something like that, to me?'' Harry laughed, kissing her head as they both looked at their son ''He did magic ... we should give some gift to him?'' She asked.
''I don't know, do you think? I didn't get anything good when I did it the first time.'' Ginny rolled her eyes, annoyed that he was talking about it right now
''Don't talk about it when I just had the worst experience of my life. I forbid you'' She said, listen to Harry laughing, still with his chin resting on the top of her head, hugging her protectively
''You could have told me''
''That was stupid'' She shrugged, finally calming down
''But when it disturbs your sleep, you tell me'' One more tender kiss '’I was also afraid, if you want to know .. But I think our similarities end there. James will have parents who embarrass him in front of his friends, and his girlfriend ... ''
''..Or boyfriend''
''Yes. We'll be here, Gin. Safe and sound. I promise.'' As if feeling his parents feelings, James walked, still a little unsure, to them, smiling and throwing himself in the middle, a little jealous that he wasn't getting attention.
She looked at Harry too, who was doing some foolish thing for James to burst out laughing, his green eyes shining as he looked at his son, looking free of any worries that might take their sleep.
As the little boy grabbed his father's glasses and put them on his face, staggering around the room and making them both laugh, Ginny felt safe, happy that that little bundle was growing at full throttle.
They were safe, and James would have his parents to embarrass him and participate in important and ordinary moments, for many years.
142 notes · View notes
Text
A NEW ERASERMIC AU I'LL NEVER WRITE!
Imagine Aizawa works at Buzzfeed, and gets the idea to write an article about how Twitch streaming is stupid and pointless (because he’s a video game snob.) He chooses Present Mic’s channel to watch at random, because he’s super popular, but Aizawa immediately goes from undercover reporter to absolute fan. No middle ground. Just “huh, okay i was wrong” and subscribes.
He tunes in to all the live streams, because Mic is very funny and also very good at video games, and it’s cool to watch him play. He has skills, his commentary is A+, and Aizawa develops a little crush. But it’s not a big deal!! Mic is a celeb, Aizawa knows they’ll never meet, it’s harmless.
Sometimes the chat for the stream gets assholes in it, as you’d expect. Mic can’t monitor the chat too much, but Aizawa has no problems telling jerks where to stick it. And once, after a particularly egregious incident where some moron said something crude about women in gaming and Aizawa ripped him a new asshole, Mic sends him a personal message thanking him and asking him if he wants to be a mod, which of course, he does. He doesn’t know how to reply - this is his big chance to talk to Mic!! So of course he just says “sure” - no further conversation.
Aizawa has, of course, zero personal details on his Twitch account. No info, no icon, his screen name is a random string of numbers, he’s a ghost. The Ron Swanson of video game enthusiasts.
So Aizawa is working at Buzzfeed, living his best life writing articles like “10 Video Game Themed Products You Can’t Live Without” because journalism is in shambles and he drinks to forget, and one day his editor is like “hey, we’re gonna do a feature on Twitch streamers. Everybody is gonna go sit and watch a stream in person and get the behind the scenes info. Here’s a list of people who agreed.” And PRESENT MIC IS ON THE LIST
One of his colleagues reaches for Mic’s info sheet, rolling his eyes and sighing. “I can’t believe these are considered celebrities. Have you ever heard of any of them?”
Aizawa practically slaps the paper out of his hand. “Present Mic is a consummate professional and his content is high-quality and entertaining. I wouldn’t expect you to understand it since it involves technology more current than a compact disc.”
The room goes silent. Nobody’s heard Aizawa say anything nice about... maybe anything? Ever? But his editor, Kayama, pounces immediately. “WELL if you like him so much, Aizawa, that can be your interview!!”
Aizawa panics. On the one hand, he wasn’t going to let anyone else take that assignment. But on the other hand, now he’s going to meet Mic IN PERSON. During a LIVE STREAM. Is he supposed to tell him he’s a fan? Is that tacky? Will his crush be obvious? What if Mic sucks in person?? This is a double edged sword.
He only gets more nervous on the day of the interview. He’s tempted to dress up a little, look his best. Mic is a good-looking guy after all, and he’s always well put together when he streams. And even though Aizawa knows, knows he really doesn’t have a chance, he still doesn’t want to embarrass himself.
BUT he also doesn’t want to look like he’s trying too hard. That’s not who he is, and dressing up would be admitting to himself that he DOES want something more than a simple interview, even if it’s as little as Mic’s good opinion or positive attention.
He debates too long. While he’s still thinking about it, the alarm on his phone goes off, alerting him that it’s time to leave. He’s still in his pink sweatpants and he hasn’t shaved, and he realizes, just at that moment, that he probably should have tried harder at least for the sake of professionalism. But it’s too late. He has to go.
Mic actually doesn’t live all that far away. Just a short train ride, less than 20 minutes, and Aizawa is standing in front of his nondescript apartment. It’s a little odd - Mic is a very popular streamer, theoretically with income to match, and his style seems flashy. Aizawa had expected something a little more over the top. But this place is simple. Storing that information away for later, he knocks.
“COMING!!” He hears from inside the apartment, followed by the thud of footsteps. Aizawa just has one moment to brace himself because this is it before the door opens and there he is. Present Mic himself, all smiles. “Come in, come in!! You’re from buzzfeed right? Wow, this is so exciting!!” Mic ushers him in the door, taking his jacket and hustling him into a tidy living room before Aizawa can even respond. And of course, when he finally gets himself together enough to say something, the first words out of his mouth are “You’re... tall.”
He wants to smack himself. Yes, Mic is taller than Aizawa had realized from the stream, even a little taller than Aizawa himself. But those are thinking words, not speaking words. Certainly not the first words you use to introduce yourself to your celebrity crush. But Aizawa, a champion moment-ruiner, has made his bed, and now he must cry in it.
But Mic just laughs. “Yeah,” he says, bringing a hand to the back of his neck. “I get that a lot. Sorry?” 
“Don’t apologize,” Aizawa says immediately, then wonders if he is, in fact, under some sort of curse. “Shouta Aizawa,” he introduces himself. 
“Hizashi Yamada, also known as Present Mic!” Yamada’s smile is friendly, like Aizawa hasn’t made an absolute fool of himself so far, and Aizawa has to look away from it. He glances around the room, which is tidy and clean, but cluttered with various objects that seem to have no connection to each other. There are books in a variety of languages, musical instruments, shelves of CDs, and an assortment of other things that have nothing to do with video games. 
“Quite a collection you have,” Aizawa says, because it is, and because he’s curious. 
“Yeah! I have too many hobbies but what can you do? Come on, I’m sure you’d rather see my workspace.” It’s not true, Aizawa has seen the office where Yamada streams before, and he’d much rather stay here and poke around, build up his mental picture about who Yamada is outside his Present Mic persona. But he’s not here for that. This is business.
But the streaming room is also not what Aizawa expects. Some things are familiar - the area visible to the camera is the same, set up and ready for tonight’s stream, but the rest of the room, the part that isn’t on screen, is PACKED. There’s a wobbly desk in the corner, covered in neatly stacked papers and binders labeled by month and year. The wall over the desk is a massive whiteboard filled with notes and ideas for upcoming streams. And there, in the lower right corner of the whiteboard, right where it would be even with Hizashi’s eyes as he sits at his desk, is a familiar string of numbers - his own Twitch username. And next to it is a little note - don’t forget. Good dude.
Aizawa sees his username and just - freezes. It hadn’t occurred to him that Mic thought of him at all outside of that one occasion he DM’d him, let alone that he considered Aizawa important enough not to forget. And the idea that Mic thinks he’s a “good dude” makes his face BURN in pleased embarrassment. He wants to say something but what? Is it weird? It’s weird, it’s too weird, and before he can think of how to do it, Mic is talking again.
“Okay, this is where the magic happens!! Actually, it’s more like weeks of frustration and repetition followed by 3-4 hours of intensely stressful streaming, but hey! People seem to like it!!” Aizawa wants to say something here - Mic is being a little too self-deprecating for his taste, but he stops himself. He can’t defend Mic’s honor to Mic himself - can he? The moment passes while he debates.
“I wasn’t sure if you’d want to be on camera or not?” Mic says, tentatively. 
“I’d rather not, if it’s all the same to you,” says Aizawa. “I’m more the behind the scenes type.”
“Totally, no problem!” Mic says, gesturing to his desk. “You can sit there, if that’s okay? The only other seat is by me.” 
Aizawa looks at the chair, then back to the small couch where Mic will be streaming from. “I think I’ll have to be closer to get photos for the article, if that’s all right.”
“You’ll be on camera,” Mic bites his lip. “I mean, maybe i could re-angle it, but then the screen-“
“It’s fine,” Aizawa says. “Journalism is about hardship.”
Mic snorts, and Aizawa can’t keep a little smirk off his face, proud that he got a laugh.
The stream goes smoothly - Aizawa likes it even more like this, without the chat to distract him, and close enough to notice things he’s never seen before. Mic’s feet twitch when he’s focusing hard, and his socks have cats on them. It’s adorable. Aizawa takes no notes - he doesn’t really need to, he’s seen enough streams to write this article in his sleep, and anyway, it’s not like he’s going to forget a minute of this.
Afterwards, once they’ve signed off, Mic talks him through his post show routine, everything from calculating how much he made and comparing it to previous weeks in a spreadsheet to going over the chat. “Huh,” Mic’s eyebrows crease as he looks at the chat logs. “Things got a little out of hand tonight.”
“Oh?” Aizawa says, shuffling uncomfortably. He suspects he knows why that is. 
“Yeah, one of my regular mods wasn’t on tonight. I hope he’s all right - it’s not like him to miss.”
“You have a lot of viewers,” Aizawa says, tentative now. “Do you know them all so well?”
Mic shrugs, embarrassed. “No, i wish I did! But this guy’s special, he’s really funny and he keeps all the trolls in line. I’d DM him to see if he’s okay but that’s weird, right? That’s weird. And anyway I tried to talk to him once before but he shot me down.”
“I didn’t-“ Aizawa says before he can stop himself. The curse is real. Mic stares at him, open mouthed, confused at first but then his eyes widen as he realizes what must have happened. Before he can say anything, Aizawa cuts him off. “Sorry. That i couldn’t mod tonight.” He mumbles, hand buried in his hair. He can’t meet Mic’s eyes anymore. “I’ll be back next week.”
Mic opens his mouth to speak, but Aizawa interrupts again, before he can. “And I didn’t - I didn’t shoot you down. I just didn’t think you’d want to talk to me. Why would you?”
Mic blinks, and Aizawa isn’t sure what he’s going to say. Will he be mad? Aizawa kind of lied to him. Is he disappointed? Does Aizawa not look like he expected? Has he been too silent? Too unfriendly? Does Mic not want to get to know him anymore? But when Mic finally speaks, what comes out is
“I can’t believe you made me memorize that stupid fucking username, we’re picking you a new one right now.”
5K notes · View notes
strawberrywritings · 4 years
Text
First run.
A/N: I had no idea where i was going while writing this, but here’s the new chapter anyways😂💪🏻 love you all xx 🍓
Meeting / First date / First kiss / Houston, we have a problem / MASTERLIST
Tumblr media
In Templo, everyone was formulating hypothesis on why you were sitting at a table with Señor Galindo himself, Bishop had a frown on his face and Angel was smoking “to calm his nerves”, but it still was way too much. Of course, the easiest thing was asking you why you were with him but when it came to Galindo, the MC thought it was best to be safe than sorry. They didn’t want anything to do with him, not more than the usual, at least. Everyone was silent.
You had made your way home after the coffee with Miguel, and you grabbed your phone to call Angel. His phone rang just as they got out of Templo, and everyone looked at him.
“Hello?”, he cleared his throat and sat on a chair. “Hi, am I bothering you?”, your voice was cheerful and he wanted to get straight to the point, but he wanted to see if you would bring it up, bring him up.
“No, mi amor, why?”. “I wanted to know which days you were free, I miss you already…”. Angel’s stomach was full of butterflies, he loved being the center of your attention. “I have my usual shifts at the scrapyard, same time as always…”. You furrowed your brows, he was not being his usual smug self, “Everything alright?”, you said with a soft voice. He made a surprised face, what should he say? ‘Everything perfect except your date with Galindo’? For how much he could’ve had satisfaction of you knowing you had been caught, he couldn’t tell you that. You’d ask how he knew, or who told him, and maybe what he was implying with his words. And it was too soon to fight.
“Yeah, just a hard day at work”, he sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “I could come over tomorrow, help you relax, if you want”. “That’s be great, mi amor, thank you”. “Great. Text me when you’re back home, for real this time”, you let out a chuckle and it eased him a bit, hearing your giggle. “Okay, I’ll text you. Bye”. “Bye, baby”.
As soon as he hung up, all eyes were on him and everyone was waiting to know if you had said something that could help them understand this thing between Miguel and you. “Well? What did she say?”, Bishop started. “Nothing, but we’re seeing each other tomorrow and I’ll see what I can find out”. Everyone said something to express their agreement while EZ watched the scene from afar.
Once the Reyes brothers reached their father’s house to have dinner, EZ pulled Angel in the living room by the arm and spoke to him in a hushed voice. “Do you really plan on interrogating her?”. “We need to know what’s going on”, Angel lit a cigarette and his brother snatched it from in between his fingers, a way of saying listen to me. “Please don’t ruin what you have with her. Be careful”. “It’s none of your business if I choose to ruin whatever I have going on. I would end up doing so anyway, better now than later”, he shrugged his shoulders and turned around. “Just don’t assume shit, okay?”.
Angel chose not to answer, just how he chose to ignore that EZ was right and he was assuming what was going on. Angel had always been this way, stubborn, with subtle commitment issues, impulsive, all of this he refused to acknowledge, too aware of how his thoughts would send his mind reeling. He was used to being second best, second choice, of passage, never worth it all the way and he was tired of it. So he built these walls to protect himself from disappointment and rejection, and now it had become natural to him, he had incorporated this behavior into his everyday life.
Then, you came along and he found himself wanting to do everything with you, share with you how his day had been, just the sound of your voice made him smile the brightest and your kisses made him lightheaded. He yearned for you at every moment and despite what he had said to EZ, Angel was really thinking how he should approach the conversation, EZ was right (once again, not that he was surprised): he couldn’t fuck this up.
The next day, after work, he tidied up his small apartment... or at least he tried, and waited for you to come. You showed up in comfy clothes, the biggest smile on your face as you immediately hugged him, breathing him in: cologne and nicotine, comfortable and so Angel.
He led you inside and smiled as you dragged him to the couch, pushed him down and plopped right onto him. He huffed and chuckled, you relaxed on top of him and put an arm around his middle again. You were moving him around like a doll and he enjoyed all this affection, the problems from the day before completely forgotten.
“What’s gotten into you, chiquita?”, he smiles as he trailed a finger from your forehead to your nose, you looked at him pouting, and with hooded eyes. “I’m on my period and I just want cuddles, please”.
He cooed and smiled starting to rub soothingly at your back, a comfortable silence settling in the room. “How was work, mi amor?”, you nodded and kept your head on him, not looking at him. “It was alright, it’s so hot, though – you paused and to Angel it seemed like your answer ended there, but then you spoke again – Oh, did I tell you who I met yesterday?”, you had that stupid smile on your face, the one that had his hands sweat every time, but now it wasn’t reserved for him. Angel mentally patted his own shoulder, his expression never changing to show how irritated he was.
“Who did you meet?”. “Miguel Galindo. Do you know who he is?”. “Of course, mi dulce. People talk a lot here”, a very subtle way of telling you to be careful what you do cause he’s gonna know, but that would be a conversation for another time. “Well, I accidentally bumped into him and then he was waiting for me when I got out of class. Apparently, he’s some big shot entrepreneur and he also owns a part of the school”.
“Why was he waiting for you?”, his voice was calm but he was raging inside. “He said he likes how I teach and asked me for inputs on how the school could be improved. Y’know… if there’s supplies missing, if we have problematic children…”, you trailed off and felt him move his hand from your back to your shoulder, he squeezed and massaged them.
“Nice, ain’t it?”. But what was ‘nice’? The way you had no idea who Angel really was? Or Galindo? He really had no idea; you hummed and smiled, your eyes closed as you relaxed under his touch. “I actually planned on coming here to give you a massage”, you said, and that made him chuckle. “And why is that?”. “Because you told me yesterday that you had a rough day and today you worked all day. I thought you could use some relaxation”.
He slowed down his movements and looked at you, peacefully laying against him: here you were, with period pains and still putting him first, his eyes softened and filled with love.
/
A month later, you and Angel were still going strong. The drama with Galindo had calmed down, he had shown up a few times, but nothing much, Angel had reassured his brothers that there was nothing to be worried about, and that was it.
He was currently on a run with the club, he had been away for 3 days and he was coming back home tomorrow. You missed him terribly and he checked in with you every 3/4 hours; that night, you called him, after asking how he was doing, how the guys were doing, “You could spend the night, when you get back tomorrow”, you spoke tentatively, waiting for his reaction. He knew you couldn’t see him, but you could definitely hear the smile in his voice, “I would love nothing more than to be with my girl after a couple days away from home”.
His words made you feel warm and giddy, “I’ll see you tomorrow, then”. “Yes, ma’am, see ya tomorrow”, he chuckled; you said your goodbyes and hung up, starting to think about what you had to do to welcome him home: you were going to cook him dinner, get the bedroom ready and you wanted to surprise him. You still hadn’t had sex with Angel, and you noticed the subtle glances when parts of your skin were exposed, you noticed the lingering touches, the kisses getting more and more hungry with each passing day.
Angel came home late, completely exhausted, and hungry. When his eyes landed on you, he stopped in his tracks: you stood in the kitchen, cooking, in what looked like a very thin robe. He approached you slowly and you smiled when you felt his hand on your hips, his lips pressed to your neck as he inhaled your scent. “Hey, how was the ride?”. “I’m fucking tired, mi dulce”. You turned around and placed your hands on his cheeks, “You can eat, shower and sleep for as long as you want, amor, no rush”, you kissed him softly, his eyes stayed closed even when you pulled away and he looked like he didn’t want to let you go.
After Angel had eaten, you let him shower while you did the dishes. He found you waiting for him on the bed when he got out of the shower, you smiled at him and he caught a glimpse of your bra, where the robe had slid down on your shoulder. He was thankful for the towel resting around his waist, thick enough to hide his growing erection, he also didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.
You invited him to sit on the bed and placed yourself on his lap, kissing him hotly. He moaned, surprised at your actions, but let you lead the moment anyway; you put a hand in his messy, wet hair and raked it through it. He moaned and let his head fall back against the headboard, giving you the opportunity to kiss his neck, gently swiping your tongue against his skin. He felt like he was under a spell, he couldn’t move because he had thought about this situation for weeks, now.
His eyes snapped open when he felt your hands leave his body and he looked intently as you untied your robe and let it drop to the floor. “What are you doing, querida?”, he really tried to keep his eyes focused on your face, but having your body almost completely exposed for him was a sight for sore eyes. You grabbed one of his hands and put it on your thigh, which he squeezed, before moving his hand to rest on top of your backside, using it as leverage to bring you closer to him.
Your hand sneaked past his toned chest, tracing the hem of the material on his hips. You could feel his member poking your inner thigh; you looked at him, his eyes full of lust.
“I know you’re tired… let me take care of you”.
taglist @scuzmunkie @ifoundmyhappythought @thickemadame​ @mrsjaxtellerfan​ @chibsytelford​ @cocotheclown​ @elcococruz​ @everyhowlmarksthedead​ @imagineredwood​ @lady-pswrld​ @sadeyesgf​ @gemini0410​ @samcrobae​ @woahitslucyylu​ @blackmissfrizzle​ @enamoured-x​ @whyisgmora​ @briannab1234​ @rebel-without-cause-x​
157 notes · View notes
sixtyfourk · 3 years
Note
For the ask, and if you have time to do all four, can I get 9 for Frances, 54 for Walter, 56 for Gareth, and 71 for Juliet? Thanks!
Thank you so much for asking!! I'm so excited to talk about them all! My kids...
Frances: 9: What does your OC’s bedroom look like? His/her living area?
I think that aesthetically, Frances’ room looks a lot like Luke’s does in Last Specter. I’m still trying to plan out my WIP Overwritten, but right now, I think that Clive does manage to save his parents, but their home is still destroyed, so they wind up moving in with the Tritons; Clive’s family doesn’t have much of their own, so they rely on the Tritons sharing their furniture and other things.
Apart from that, I think that Frances has a lot of displays of things like Lego, tinkertoys, and other construction-like toys that she’s built machines and models out of. She’s pretty neat and tidy, so they are always nicely displayed, and her room is very clean. She and Clive have a particular model that they work on together, and that’s displayed right in the middle of her desk.
Walter: 54: Does your OC think with his/her head or heart?
Walter thinks with his heart, 100%. He’s very sensitive and compassionate, almost to a fault; he’s so terrified of hurting people’s feelings or hurting other people. He will often avoid going places because he’s “happier at home,” but really, he’s letting his social anxiety get the better of him. When it comes to helping people, though, he’ll drop everything to help a person in need, even if he’s frightened.
Gareth: 56: What are some of your OC’s strengths?
Gareth is very good at organization and making plans. He’s very efficient: he rarely starts his plans from scratch, but is always observing what is going on around him, and taking little bits of what he likes to put into his own plans. While Gareth isn’t a people person, he’s also quite capable of making friends when he deems it useful, which isn’t often. Also, Gareth is a computer programmer, and is capable of pushing ‘80s computers far beyond what they should be able to do adfsjhkfdsjaf...
Juliet: 71: What is your OC’s favorite movie and/or TV show?
Juliet is a big weeb :’) She and Walter are born no matter what Clora ‘verse I’m writing, but in the world where she was born in the 1980s, she enjoys watching Astro Boy, Sailor Moon, and whatever other anime aired on 1980s-90s UK television. Disney’s Beauty and the Beast is her favourite movie. You might not think it because of how hyperactive she is, but she’s a big romantic (although she doesn’t want Walter to see her cry during the emotional parts! Because he'd try to hug her and it would be distracting asdjkhadsf...) She also really likes thinking about the logistics behind all of the people being turned into furniture in the movie, and how their lives would be after they got turned back. Juliet has a big imagination, and likes dragging Walter and Gareth into acting out scenes from all of her favourite movies and shows.
5 notes · View notes
floral-and-fine · 4 years
Text
La Doular Exquise
Greg Lestrade x female reader
Mycroft Holmes x female reader (but one sided)
A/n: Suddenly had this idea even though I haven’t written anything for Sherlock before, but since I’ve been spending so much time at home, I’ve been re-watching a lot of shows! Anyways, I really like the direction this story ended up going, I may write a part 2 :) (Also think it’s been a long time since I’ve played Charades so sorry in advance)
Thank you @luna-xial​ for the help with the title!
Summary: Greg Lestrade is in a new relationship with y/n, and to everyone, they appear very happy together and very much in love. Surprisingly, Mycroft finds himself longing for something similar. 
Tumblr media Tumblr media
“What’s wrong with Lestrade?” Sherlock questioned, staring at the inspector instead of scrutinizing the crime scene for clues.
“What do you mean what’s wrong with him?” John asked looking up from the dead body.
“He’s happy, very happy…” Sherlock muttered, narrowing his eyes. Slowly, he stood from his crouched position, no longer interested in the case.
“And that’s a problem?” John questioned in disbelief, he didn’t quite understand what Sherlock was getting at. “Also, shouldn’t we be focusing on what happened here?”
“Already figured it out,” Sherlock stated, stepping over the body, trying to get closer to Lestrade. “Isn’t it obvious?”
John looked at the scene before him, dead body on the ground dressed in a mascot costume, the man had somehow managed to drown despite not being anywhere near water and his costume was still completely dry.
“No it’s not,” he said, throwing his arms up in frustration.
For a few brief seconds, Sherlock observed Lestrade closely, before a smirk formed on his lips. “Aha!” He laughed triumphantly. “Gordon’s been dating someone… a woman… considerably younger as well.”
John shook his head, “how can you tell?”
“Well, for one the dramatic change in attitude, plus telling by his clothes and hair he’s taken a new interest in his appearance, typical of those in a budding relationship.”
“And how do you know she’s younger?” John pressed.
“See how he keeps checking his phone,” Sherlock pointed out. “He’s using a messaging app used by young adults, rather than middle-aged men.”
“So?”
“So,” Sherlock elaborated, with an eye roll, “he smiles like an idiot every time he gets a new message, hence, that's how he and his new girlfriend are communicating.”
John watched as Lestrade checked his phone again, pulling it out from his jacket pocket when he assumed no one was looking. He really did smile like an idiot, grinning from ear to ear as he quickly typed his reply.
“Good for him,” he said sincerely, John knew how difficult it could be trying to date, especially with a job like his. He deserved to be happy, especially after that nasty divorce he went through.
Tucking his phone back into his jacket, Greg noticed the pair watching him.
“Any ideas as to what happened here?” He asked, approaching them.
“Yes,” Sherlock said spiritlessly. “But it’s rather boring and dull, I’d rather talk about the woman you’re seeing.”
“Oh, you already noticed that?” Greg rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. “We’ve only been out a few times, we’re not exactly official yet.”
“Are you concerned about the age difference?” Sherlock interrogated, not caring how rude it sounded.
“Sherlock,” John muttered trying to urge his friend to shut up.
Greg just laughed lightly and shrugged, “honestly, I thought I would be, but I’m not.” Another big grin appeared on his face just at the thought of her. “I’m quite surprised by it all.”
“Well, why don’t you bring her for Christmas, so we can properly meet her?” John suddenly suggested.
Sherlock groaned loudly, he had forgotten all about the holidays, completely forgetting that his parents would be visiting. . . .
Mycroft stood outside of his brother’s flat, enjoying a quick smoke, before joining in on the festivities. He could barely keep himself from rolling his eyes, if it weren’t for the fact his parents were expecting him, he wouldn’t have bothered to come at all.
He sighed, knowing that he couldn’t postpone this much longer. Eventually, his mother would track him down and he’d be scolded like a child for making everyone wait.
Just as he was about to put out his cigarette, a taxi pulled up to the curb, and a woman, who Mycroft didn’t recognize, stepped out of the vehicle.
His eyes narrowed in suspicion, he knew everyone, and he literally meant everyone, his little brother was acquainted with. Rapidly, Mycroft assessed the stranger, she appeared relatively harmless, worked as a daycare worker or teacher perhaps. She dressed quite nicely and sensibly for the weather. Telling by the hair stuck to her jumper, she either had a cat or dog at home.
“Merry Christmas!” She greeted, waving at him cheerfully.
Mycroft nodded his head in acknowledgment, saying Merry Christmas back in rather bleak fashion. His eyes darted back towards the taxi as another person got out.
“Merry Christmas!” Inspector Lestrade waved.
The couple approached him, and Lestrade made quick introductions, “Mycroft, this is y/n.”
She extended her hand out, “Nice to meet, Mycroft.”
Mycroft took in several more details, before finally accepting her hand, like the shade of her nail polish to the choice of her shoes.
“Heard you’re smarter than your brother,” she complimented. “That’s pretty impressive.”
“I suppose,” Mycroft commented dryly.
“Well, we better go say hello to everyone else,” Lestrade said, nodding at Mycroft before taking y/n by the hand and leading her towards the door. The poor fool was smiling so big that it made him look completely mad.
“Aren’t you coming?” Y/n called out to Mycroft, her eyes filled with excitement before Lestrade knocked on the door.
“I’ll be up in a moment,” Mycroft said, taking out another cigarette and lighting it. . . .
As Mycroft entered the flat he noted that Mrs. Hudson and his parents were in the kitchen chatting away and preparing food. Molly sat watching Sherlock play violin awestruck. John and his date stood close by whispering to each other. And then there was y/n and Lestrade standing by the fireplace completely in their own world.
After saying a quick Merry Christmas to his parents, Mycroft sat alone on the couch. He wasn’t planning on staying long, just long enough that his mother wouldn’t complain about him leaving so early.
From the other side of the room, Lestrade groaned as his phone started ringing, giving his date a quick kiss, he excused himself taking the call in the hallway.
Y/n stood by the fireplace, her nails anxiously tapping against the side of her glass. Her eyes scanned the room until she spotted Mycroft sitting alone on the couch. “Mind if I join you?”
Mycroft nodded, scooting over a bit. He sat with his legs crossed, elbow resting on the arm of the couch with an umbrella in hand.
“Not planning on staying long?” She joked, gesturing to the umbrella.
Mycroft half smiled, “Just prepared to leave early, should things go awry.”
Y/n chuckled and continued to sip on her drink. They sat next to one another, in comfortable silence, while she patiently waited for Greg to return.
“Your brother plays very well,” she whispered, watching Sherlock who seemed like he was elsewhere mentally.
Mycroft was about to respond until he was suddenly interrupted.
“Sorry, love,” Greg said, abruptly re-entering the room walking towards y/n.  “That was work, afraid I have to go in.”
“That’s alright,” she reassured him, standing up and wrapping her arms around his neck. “It can’t be helped.”
With that she pressed her lips against his, Lestrade was quick to return the kiss, placing his hands on her waist.
Mycroft found himself looking the other way, uncharacteristically bothered by the display of affection taking place before him.
“I’ll call you tonight,” Greg murmured quietly, before he reluctantly pulled away from her, and grabbed his coat. “Merry Christmas, everyone!” He shouted as he rushed out the door.
Y/n clasped her hands together, looking around the room, “Well, I suppose I should go too.”
“Oh, don’t be silly, dear,” Mrs. Hudson tutted, waltzing into the living area carrying a tray with tea. “At least stay long enough to have something to eat.”
“Guess I could keep Mycroft company awhile longer,” she smiled, taking her seat back on the couch next to him. “If that’s alright with you?” She asked him.
“Be my guest.”
The rest of the evening progressed full of merriment, food, drinking, and Christmas carols.
At some point, Mrs. Holmes started sharing stories about Mycroft and Sherlock from when they were children. Which everyone found quite amusing with the exception of her sons, who shared an unamused look as she continued to describe the time she found them covered in some type of slime after a failed experiment.
Mycroft risked a quick glance at y/n who was hiding her laughter behind her hand. Watching her react so lively made him smile to himself, not that it lasted long. As soon as he noticed, he returned to grimacing as his mother started another story, this one was about when. Sherlock had borrowed his clothes and pretended to be his big brother for a whole week. . . .
“Why don’t we play a game,” John’s date suggested.
After some debate, the group finally settled on playing Charades. Somehow Mycroft had been roped into being y/n’s partner. Although She seemed rather pleased by it.
“Merry go round!” Sherlock shouted, staring at Molly, and becoming more irate by the second. “Ferris wheel! Clock!”
“Times up!” John announced, sounding rather pleased.
“Well, what was it?” Sherlock demanded.
“The solar system,” Molly muttered quietly, handing him the card.
Sherlock scoffed, “Who needs to know anything about the solar system! This game is ridiculous! Utter waste of time!”
“Stop being such a rotten sport!” His mother reprimanded from the kitchen, where she was helping Mrs. Hudson tidy up.
“Well, Mycroft and y/n it’s your turn,” John said, holding out the cards to y/n.
Mycroft watched her movements intently, “a book, two words…” he furrowed his brow slightly as he watched y/n imitate the action of stabbing or perhaps using a spear? Then a subtle smile appeared on his face. “Moby Dick.”
Y/n bounced up and down clapping excitedly, “you got it!”
Mycroft chuckled, feeling rather pleased with himself, and for a brief moment, he had forgotten that you weren’t with him. That y/n wasn’t in fact his date. He had been having such a good time that it had seemed to have slipped his mind.
His smile faltered, feeling rather odd about whatever he was feeling, but he hid it well, especially as she showered him with praise.
As John and his date took their turns, the game seemed to fade into the background. In his own head, Mycroft was having a rather difficult time trying to process what he was feeling.
He didn’t understand at all what he found so agreeable about her, why her company didn’t aggravate him. Typically, he became at least moderately annoyed being around anyone for such a long period of time.
Y/n gently placed her hand on Mycroft knee, “are you alright?”
Mycroft quirked an eyebrow in response, caught off guard that she noticed a change in his behavior.
“You’re just somehow quieter,” she explained, tilting her head.
“It’s nothing,” Mycroft replied with a small smile. Even despite all the confusion he felt, he managed to enjoy the rest of his time with y/n.
Finally, the night was coming to an end. Being the gentleman that he was, he stood outside with y/n as she waited for a cab.
“I had lots of fun tonight,” she shared suddenly. “Thank you for including me.”
“Of course,” he nodded, once again smiling all of a sudden.
Soon the taxi approached, and Mycroft got the door for her. He felt a sinking feeling in his gut, he wanted her to stay just a little longer, or he wanted to join her on her ride home. However, neither option was appropriate.
“Good night, Mycroft,” she said, as she climbed into the backseat.“And Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas, y/n.”
...
Walking into his large home, Mycroft removed his coat hanging it up on the rack and placed his umbrella by the door.
He didn’t understand why this bothered him so much. Mycroft had encountered plenty of other happy couples before, but none of them had ever left him with this feeling of jealousy and loneliness.
As much as he tried to deny it, he knew deep down he envied Lestrade, which for Mycroft, was a hard pill to swallow. Before y/n, he practically pitied the detective. But now the inspector had something that Mycroft wanted.
What was so bewildering about it, was that he had never wanted something like that before. He never cared for or wanted any type of companionship or relationship. It seemed so frivolous,
But now his mind wandered to the what if’s, such as, what would it be like to not come home alone.
Despite his better judgment, Mycroft gave into his imagination. The downside of having a mind like his is that was how he could picture things so clearly in his head.
He could practically see her now, slightly tipsy, clinging to his arm with one hand for stability as she removes her shoes. Then, he would hear the soft pitter-patter of her bare feet as she made her way to the bedroom.
Mycroft started to loosen his tie as he walked towards his room.
As he would enter, he would find her jumper and leggings strewn about on the floor. But instead of making it an issue now, he’d ask her to pick them up in the morning.
Mycroft headed towards his closet, undressing and putting on his pajamas.
As he would step back into the room, y/n would pop her head through the door of the master bathroom, with a toothbrush hanging out of her mouth. She’d smile widely at him before finishing. “Almost done!” She would call out to him.
Mycroft turned out the light and climbed into bed. Despite having such a large bed to himself, he always slept on one side, never really spreading out.
He pictured what it would be like for y/n to join him in bed. She’d gently kiss him good night, before resting her head against his chest. He imagined what it would be like to hold her, feel the warmth radiating off her form, to caress her back in a soothing manner until she fell asleep.
Mycroft groaned loudly, rolling over and burying his face against his pillow. There was no point in indulging himself with these fantasies any longer. No matter how clearly he could picture it, this alternate life, there was nothing he could do to change his reality. She simply wasn’t his.
192 notes · View notes
otomes-world · 4 years
Text
Trouble in love
Honestly, I don`t have any idea. I just sat and started writing. So… there are some humor and fluff story! Also I really feel bad to Vil in this oneshot, but I guess he can overcome this lol
Tumblr media
Life is very difficult thing. Do you want to get something? Make an effort. A simple truth, a pity that it`s available to few. Vil Schoenheit understood this as no one else. Even if fate has endowed you with an attractive appearance, if you don`t take care of yourself, everything loses its meaning. Talent in the wrong hands is a treasure that left to vegetate in the mud.
Such thoughts often visited the head of Pomefiore, as soon as he looked at the strange prefect of the Onboro dorm. Obviously not fully awake, disheveled so much that it’s scary to imagine, running headlong to lessons with a toast in her mouth and a sleeping cat in her hands. Apparently she didn’t have time for breakfast either. Looking at the scene from the classroom window, Vil involuntarily thought that Epel wasn`t so difficult to deal with. Even though the nasty first year tried his patience at every opportunity, at least he somehow took care of himself. Not without pressure from Schoenheit, of course.
Ignoring Rook’s meaningful look, the blond turned to face him and opened the textbook. He himself didn`t understand why this little monster, which miraculously deal with the main headache of the director and Riddle in the form of the first years of the Heartslabyul, attracted him. Vil would have continued to look at the existence of the prefect in the slips of the sleeves of an expensive suit, however… the village potato was increasingly seen in their constant company. No, Epel too often played symphonies on his nerves, he won`t allow them to spoil him further.
Naturally, he didn`t take Hunt with him. However, he disappeared immediately with the bell, apparently hoping to catch Leona by surprise again. Knowing the nature of his vice leader, Vil sometimes, quite a bit, sympathized with Kingscholar. Although now Rook’s enthusiasm for the head of Savanaclaw has come in handy. Whatever the future meeting ended with, Hunt would definitely make fun of him for the next month.
Yuu, who had already cleaned herself up, carried the tray of food to the table where Trappola and Jack were already seated. Last night she and Grimm played cards until morning. A stubborn cat could have succumbed at least once. They would definitely be late for lessons, if kind ghosts weren`t woke them up, well, the girl, for sure. The first lessons they literally survived, taking turns shoving each other, not letting sleep.
As soon as the girl began to think that the worst was over, the head of Pomefiore appeared in front of her. She had heard of him. Something. He seemed to be very concerned about the appearance… yes, he did. Considering how he looked at Yuu, her “tidy appearance” didn’t suit the blond too much.
The longer Vil looked at the not-so-high trouble, the more often he sighed. Hmm, there is a lot of work here. Wait, what is he thinking about, now is not about that!
“Um… Vil? ..” Yuu was already tired of guessing herself. Therefore, gathering all her courage, she tried to call out to the third year, who now and then frowned. “Do you need something?..”
The young man didn`t immediately hear the ringing, but not uncertain voice of the girl. He was too overwhelmed by sudden thoughts. What the hell, he, Vil Schoenheit himself, is thinking about how to transform a disheveled potato. Now, of course, she looked better than in the morning, but she is still far from ideal. Deciding that it was better to retreat now, the head of Pomefiore hastily made an appointment and disappeared.
The startled girl stood for a while in silence in the middle of the cafeteria and looked at the trail of the blonde. It’s not every day that a celebrity invites you. Although, rather, she was simply presented with a fact: today after class he will be waiting near the mirrors. She lost her appetite, however, it was only on the paw of Grimm. He got more food.
The nasty cat refused to go with her, he has business with Ace. Traitor. Okay, women must to be brave! If she dies then the death of the courageous without running away! With a morale boost Yuu headed straight for the room with the mirrors. Schoenheit was already waiting for her, leaving the disgruntled “Too late” and going through the portal. Considering his action as “Follow me”, the girl hurried after him.
Surprisingly, nothing terrible happened. However, Epel wouldn`t agree with her. Vil just gave her a huge lecture on the importance of self-care, handed her a bunch of different things, along the way explaining how to use it. Well, or so it seemed to her.
Because the head of Pomefiore from that time began to appear suspiciously more often in Yuu’s life, whether she wanted it or not. Moreover, usually for the same reason. A couple of days later, she could recite one of his favorite notations by heart, although for some reason Vil himself didn`t appreciate it.
While the girl was genuinely perplexed by what was happening, the blond increasingly caught the mocking glances of his vice leader. However, this isn`t so bad, because more he wanted to hit his head against the wall several times. How can this potato in a skirt be so slow-witted?!
He carved out time on a busy schedule to spend with Yuu. He brought her a lot of personal care products and cosmetics, his favorite! Constantly offered to fix hair or makeup. What else does he need to do to make Miss Problem finally open her eyes?!
“Roi de Poison (King of Poison), you think too much!” As luck would have it, Rook noticed his inner torment while sitting on the windowsill. He may come through the door at least once. “Love doesn`t tolerate lies and deceit. Confession is the best way to express your feelings!”
Vil gave Hunt a glance that says “Thanks, I certainly wouldn’t have guessed without you,” and pushed him out of the window with a flick of his hand. Schoenheit knew that the blond man with the hat wouldn`t get hurt. However, hearing a cry from below “Rude!”, he suddenly wanted to turn back the time and not just push, but throw something heavy into the hunter.
Well, in some ways he was right. If the potato doesn’t take the hints, the only thing left is to say it bluntly. Sighing, Vil looked in the mirror again and, making sure that everything was in order with his makeup, left the room. He found Yuu pretty quickly: she was sitting on a bench in the garden. As if fate itself had prepared everything in the best way.
“Yuu, I can no longer hide it,“ Schonheit, without wasting more precious minutes, began to speak immediately, introducing the girl into bewilderment. “I’m in love”.
The prefect herself was, to put it mildly, in shock. She just wanted to enjoy a wonderful day without the presence of the head of Pomefiore. However, here he is, in person, found her himself. Even more confusion was made by his sudden confession.
“Is it true?!” Even though the girl hasn`t yet gathered her thoughts, it suddenly dawned on her. He considers her a friend! You wouldn`t say something like that to stranger. “I’m so happy for you! Congratulations! I will cheer for you and your love!”
For the first time in his life, Vil felt such disappointment and a sense of his own despair. Hmm, his potatoes not only have an average appearance, but also have the same mental age. While he looked into the distance with a glassy gaze, bushes rustled somewhere and a slight laugh was heard. Well, now he has someone to pour all his displeasure on. It was obvious that he didn’t want to disgrace himself further in front of Rook. So Vil, without saying a word, headed towards the notorious bushes.
He will confess next time.
73 notes · View notes