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bodyswapmischief · 4 months

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One Gift Can Change the World

(A story written for @tf-lover for the annual story exchange)

The world was a blur, as Erica zoomed by. She was driving home in a rush. The day had dragged on, and her professor was the cherry on top of pile shit that today had turned out to be. Unfortunately, her ass of a professor wasn't the only problematic man she had to face. On a daily basis, there was a parade of men that would at best annoy her and, at worst, make her wish she was not a girl. Don't get me wrong. She loved being a girl. Well, she loved being a Tom Girl. But even with her best attempt of dressing and acting tough, there were always guys trying to hit on her ... make her act like “a real woman,” Stop hiding her beauty by dressing like a “dyke,” and let a man protect her. But, she didn't need a man’s protection. She'd taken out guys twice her size. But, all people saw when they looked at her was a small and weak 4’9 girl.

Although, she wouldn't lie. She often fantasized about being a man. And, not just any man. She wanted to be seen tough on the outside like she felt on the inside. Yeah, if she was a man, she'd wanted to be ripped and muscled out. She'd want to be the epitome of strength. She'd want to look like she worked out every day of her life. She'd smile at the fact that men would finally leave her alone. She wouldn't get hit on. Her professor wouldn't even dare criticize her. And, if he did ... she beat the living shit out of him without breaking a sweat.

As she drove home, she let these ideas carry her to her happy place. Gaming. The only solace she had from reality. She could play as a manly warrior. She could be the cool space soldier with undoubted authority. She could play with the boys and not be thought of as some girl. She never even considered telling her gamer friends she was a girl. It was her little secret ... a secret made better by the fact she was better than all of them in any game they played. Thanks to the technological advancements of the late 21st and early 22nd centuries, her video game fantasies were even more of a reality. The improvements of artificial imaging, vocal mapping, and sensory mirroring in virtual reality helped to make gamers live a life in the games they played.

Now, she was speeding through traffic on her way home. She was looking forward to the only saving grace that could make this shitty day better. Today was the announcement of the newest VR game. Rumored to be the next big step in virtual reality. There have been a few clips and leaks of the game, but other than that, the games secrets have been locked up tight. All she knew of the game was that it was rumored to have true realism graphics and that if it was true ... it would be the first of its kind. She continued her way home, cursing at anything that slowed her down.

Arriving home, she ran straight to her room. “Hey, fuckers keep it down. I'm gonna be watching the announcement of the new game. And, if I'm interrupted, I'm gonna kick someone's ass.” She puffed as rushed by her roommates. With readied excitement she turned on her computer and logged onto the first stream of the announcement she could find. The screen remained black for a few seconds before flashing to life.

The screen flashed with the image of The Second Life company. Three colored triangles zoomed onto the screen. They proceed to spin around in a circle, and their points interlocked. The logo began to fade, as a man sitting at an office desk begins to get into view. The chat section began to glow abuzz. People commented their excitement, others shouted out greetings to the void, and others just threw out nonsense. “Hello! And welcome to today's announcement.” The man smiled as he spoke. His name flashed under him on the screen, Nathan Black.

The man continued to talk as he spoke with a smug grin. The attractive features of his face and those most likely underneath his suit helped fill his presence with Charisma. “History has led us to this moment. Our ancestors could only imagine what their children could have achieved. And, Human history has brought so many advancements in so many areas of science and technology. VR technology is one of these areas.Beginning in the 2010s, we entered the dark ages of VR. The first real uses and mainstream-ifacation. Over the years, new technology has been created to make these experiences even more real and personal. Now, in the great year 2130, you can play as a cartoon cat running your own cafe. Zip through space in your own spaceship. Immerse yourself in real-time team warfare. Take on cgi Dragons with your friends. Build cgi avatars to be the person you always wanted to be. Even now, data shows that 10 percent of people have decided to make VR spaces and games their true lives. Spending most of their day plugged in. 30 percent of people report a steady income from VR game economies. The future is now VR!” He stands up and begins to walk around the office. The camera moved to follow him.

“Our ancestors one hundred years ago ... had dreams. Flying cars, instant meals, teleportation services, space travel, etcetera. But, years of human conflict have stunted any progress we could have achieved. Instead, we continue to look for an escape from real life. Instead, we've put money into developing entertainment. We hope to be distracted from the world. Those numbers I've shared are only going up. With 55 percent of people interested in making a move to permanent VR or even picking up a second job in VR spaces. And, why wouldn't they? Everything our ancestors wanted, in the 21st, 20th, 19th centuries, and back to the dawn of time, is available in these VR spaces. So why not improve them to the best capabilities we can. Why not make it more real? Why not make them as indistinguishable from reality as we can? Well, we have. Everything you have seen in this announcement has not been real. It has been generated with our new console. The Second Life X.” As he says that, the walls and everything in his office disintegrate like sand blown in a strong breeze. He now stands in an open cleaning in a forest. The comment section of the stream explodes with excitement and disbelief. A group of people not believing this is real because there was just no way that graphics could be this good.

“And the first foray into this new world of VR is called Fantasy Land. The bundled game will come with the console at launch. When we developed what we are calling Real CGI ... we pondered on what genre would be the first to explore. And we thought it would be best to take it back to the earliest form of fantasy. Where knights and wizards roamed to adventure. Where fairies danced in the woods and magic was in the air. Where people would live to die as legends.”

The rest of the stream showed off new features of the game. The intensive character creation section. Erica could imagine spending days, if not weeks, just on the character creation to make her avatar the exact way she wanted it. As Nathan showed off these features, it was almost scary how real it looked. Nathan's face would morph to have different features. His body would grow and shrink to different sizes. Finally, he reverted back to himself and began to show off some spells, and they looked equally realistic. The stream ended with the surprise that the system and game would drop a week before Christmas, tomorrow.

All the excitement that built up in Erica was instantly drained. She collapsed onto her gaming chair. She let out an audible “Fuuuck!” From her room. She sat there for a few minutes and then moved to plop herself face down on the bed. “Fuck! Today couldn't just be a bit better.” As she lied there in self pity, she could hear her door squeak open. “Erica!!! Did you see it! Did you see the announcement!” She didn't even need to look up to see that her twin brother had entered the room.

She loved her brother, but right now, she wanted to be left alone. But, she could hear the excitement in his voice. And, he didn't deserve her meanness. No, Elias had to deal with meanness all his life. When they were both in the womb, Erica felt like she took all the good genes. She was smart and beautiful despite hiding it in baggy clothes. Her brother was not the brightest, and he wasn't the most attractive man in a room. He was a socially awkward geek. One that she would have to protect from bullies at school. But, now in college, he did have two things she didn't have. The ability to make real friends. Yeah, she had online friends ... but she kept a bunch of secrets from them. But, again, she didn't really like people. So, she was glad that Elias had friend making skills at the very least. So, she could spend more time alone in the virtual world. The second thing was her brother's size and strength. He was the definition of a friendly giant.

“Yeah, I heard.” She sighed and looked up at her brother. “Are you sure? Because, if you did ... you'd be more excited!” He beamed. “No, yeah, the game looked great.” She rolled her eyes. “Erica! Then why aren't you excited ... are you being sarcastic ... I can't tell. Why didn't you like the game?” Elias pleaded for an answer. “Cause, Elias, I won't be playing the game!” She yelled out. Elias jumped. “Why not? I mean, it's coming out tomorrow ... short notice. But we can go out now and wait in line for a midnight release somewhere.” Erica sighed, “It’s not because it's too soon ... it's because I don't have money to buy a new console! I thought it was gonna be a game for SL 9.” Elias looked worried. “Well that's okay ... then when you do get money ... we can go get one. So what if we have to wait a week or two.” Erica fell back onto her bed. “If only! Remember when the Second Life 9 came out ... it was completely out of stock for a year ... and then some people didn't even get it off the waitlist until 3 years later.” Elias sank on the bed next to her. He was also beginning to realize the bad news. “We could ask mom and dad ...” Erica cut him off, “They never would ... you know they are against VR, and they believe it's evil and gonna take over the world.” Elias weakly smiled, “Well ... then we hope for a miracle.” Erica, let those words sink in, “Yup, a miracle.”

Christmas Day

Erica had spent the rest of the week in a sort of depression. Now, sitting around her family as they opened presents, she couldn't get herself in the mental space to be there. Everyone was smiling and getting into the atmosphere of the day. She opened her presents like everyone else. She got dresses from her parents. She got makeup and lotions from other family members. She got a gift card from her brother, which was the only gift she liked. Christmas was another horrible day. And, when it was over, she was happy. Her and Elias began the drive back to their shared apartment. Their other roommates still gone with their families out of state.

Getting back to the apartment, she plopped onto the couch and sat down. Elias slowly approached. “I got you another present ... I thought it would be best to open away from mom and dad.” He hurried to his room and came back with a big box. “Merry Christmas!” Erica was puzzled and began to open it. “ You didn't need... Oh my fucking God! How...” She exploded with excitement, as she unwrapped the Second Life X bundle.

She ran to her room and began to plug in everything. The game loaded up, and she attached the new VR headset to her face. The logo of the company and the game flash by. She hurried to start a new game. She looked down and saw her current body in some kind of fantasy styled inn and wearing barbarian starting gear. She saw options floating around her. She instantly goes to height and begins to increase it. The world around her became slightly smaller. Now, she was standing at 6’4. She looked at her reflection in a mirror. She laughed at seeing her features on this stretched out body. She swapped her gender and felt a zap on the side of her head. She touched it as a reaction. “Fuck that hurt!” The game informed here that sensory mode had now been enabled. And, at that instant she saw her body begin to morph to look more masculine. She looked like her brother, only better looking and slimmer. As her body morphed it felt like water rippling. It felt relaxing. Then she gasped as she felt something pop out of her vagina. She reached down into her pants, noticing her clothes also were shifting to match her new body, she felt her new cock. “What the fuck ... this is new ... this game really went there!” She laughed with her same voice. She winced seeing such a girly voice coming out of this man's body. She began to explore voice options until she found one she liked. She looked at her reflection and smile. She looked like a hot fuck boy. But, she didn't want to stop there. She wanted to be a man.

She began to explore with body hair options. And increasing her muscle size by adding points to her strength stat. She found it interesting that layout her stats started as. She also found it strange that if she wanted to, she could max all her stats to 20. She maxed out her strength. She set her dexterity to 15. Her constitution maxed to 20. Her intelligence was already 17, so she didn't change it. Her wisdom was also not changed at 12. And, her charisma score of 5 was bumped to 14. Her body morphed to match every choice. She looked at her new avatar. An absolute beast of a man. Hairy, ripped, and good-looking. She was happy as she looked in the mirror. She felt her body, and it felt rock hard. Her cock was ragging in her pants. “Fuck ... is this really gonna be part of the game.” She laughed. She pondered making more changes... but she also wanted to see actual game play. Worst case she could always start a new game if she did want to make changes to the way she looked. She played the first ten minutes of the game before she felt hungry. “Too bad I still have to leave the game to eat.” She laughed.

She took off her headset, and the world was thrown out of balance. Her room looked so much smaller. She began to stumble and walk. She felt so heavy, and the floor thudded with every step. She looked down and saw her avatar from the game. She or now he was completely naked. The clothes he was wearing were torn to shreds. He let out a guttural yell instead of a scream. “Erica! Is that you!” Elias barged into the room. He looked at the naked barbarian in front of him, hung like a horse. “Ahhhhh!” Elias screamed.

Erica rushed to him. Not knowing his own strength, he knocked them both to the floor. He covered Elias’ mouth to stop the screaming. “It's me ... it's Erica!.” He shouted in a deep voice. Elias fainted. When he came to, he saw the giant man taking care of him. If this man was bad ... why was he still here. It couldn't be... “Erica ...” He let out. Erica turned to see her brother awake. “Yeah ... it's me.” He spoke, his voice rumbling the air with his deep voice. “What happened?” Elias squeaked.

The big man pointed to the screen. The news was on. A woman spoke as the words “breaking news” flashed on the screen. “Reports are still coming in of Body Transformations throughout the country and world. Authorities are confirming that the cause is the new Second Life X console. It is also believed that the company has purposefully set this bio weapon on the public. The Second Life Entertainment offices and Second Life Corporation have been radio silent on the matter. Wait ... just ... it seems like their website has just gone offline. Authorities are asking to drop off all Second Life technology to the nearest police station. Again, do not use Second Life technology.”

The news broadcast kept going. The sound of sirens from the outside began to fill the night air. Other screams could be heard in the distance. But Erica interrupted, “And, online coders found hidden code that was set to activate just a few moments ago. People are saying Second Life has been planning this for a long time.” Elias looked at his new brother concerned. “Well ... I'm sorry ... is there a way to undo this?”.

The gaint laughed and shook the air. “Sorry! I love this! This is what I always wanted. But you probably shouldn't call me Erica anymore... Call me Erik ... with a K.” He laughs “More barbaric. But what about you, little bro ... want a new life.” Elias gasped. “What about the report ... can this be trusted? What about the consequences.” Erik put his huge strong hand on his brother. “The only consequences is you'll be the person you always wanted to. Think no one is going to give this to the police ... the power to be who they want. The world has changed. You can be in it as the person you want or the person you are now.”

Elias grabbed the VR headset and put it on. He began a new game and began to edit his character. Erik watched his brother change before his eyes. Elias shrank from 6’4 to 6’. He began to slim down. His chubby body became more tone. His pasty skin tanned until he looked like an exotic Middle Eastern man. His oversized clothes fell off his body. He looked like an Arab heartthrob. He took off the headset and looked at his new body, and smiled. “Damn it feels so good. And, now that I have raised my intelligence score ... I see what you mean. This is the new world.” He smiled. He raised his hand, and small particles of frosted air began to coat his hands in a layer of frost.

“Damn, nice body, bro. Didn't know this was your ideal body. Based on physique and that you have frost magic... you picked wizard.” Erik laughed. “Well isn't it obvious.” Elias said with a wit and sass he never had before. “Bro, I think we should bring this head set to some other people. Give some friends some equally attractive bodies. And, enemies ... something else.” Elias smirked. Erik smiled, “That has to be the smartest idea you've ever had. I'm ready when you are.” He chuckled at the thought of changing everyone that made his life hell. His parents, professor, and more. The two men found some usable clothes and walked out of the apartment to help change the world.

Epilogue: Nathan Black sat in his private jet, on route to his secret bunker. In front of him was a laptop with a hooded figure on the screen. “It's been done.” He raised a glass of wine and drank it. “It took a bit more than a century, but it's done.” He smiled.

The hooded figure spoke. “The gods left behind small tools of power. From rings that could swap bodies, plants that affect a person's age, gems that allow possessions, and so many other small gifts” the figure spoke with annoyance. “They always feared giving humanity true magic. But, I have used those gift to do what they didn't want. The era of magic is among us.” Both men laughed.

#tfstoryexchange #body #swap #transformation #tf #male #mischief #stories #story #male body swap #gender swap

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cherryslyce · 11 months

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The Avarice Files (I) | Regulus Black

Series Synopsis: Boundless uncertainty ensues when you’re tasked to complete a mission requiring time travel for the Ministry. The best part? Your partner, acclaimed hero of the Great Wizarding War, Regulus Black, a man who was supposed to be long dead.

Part II / Series Masterlist

Pairing: Regulus Black x GN!Reader

Notes: Not canon compliant. The synopsis has been edited to be more succinct!

Soft clicks emit throughout the sterile hallway, bouncing from the glossy black tiles and toward the arching ceiling as you pace toward the imposing steel doors. The two guards stationed on either side of the thick barrier give you a nod of acknowledgment as you feel your new badge pulse in your pocket, the intangible magic colliding with the intricate mechanisms of the doors.

The stirring of gears and locks echo between the three of you until both slabs of steel soundlessly swing open, immediately gracing you with a gust of cool air. The outstretch of navy carpet swirls across your vision as the pitch-black ceiling and walls siphon away any excess color. To your right, a large succession of trimless mirrors reflects the beams of white light on the ceiling, lining the walls up until the large desk rooted at the extremity of the room.

“Welcome, Agent.”

The rumbling voice snaps you from your reverie as your eyes fall upon the stern face of your new boss, his staggering figure nearly washed away by the layers of black robes adorning him.

“Unspeakable Gawdry,” you greet with a level tone, inclining your head to the side as you briskly make your way to him. “I’m afraid that it's now, former agent, sir.”

Your light correction fails to faze him as his mouth remains in a firm line, gloved hands splaying themselves across his speckless desk as he moves to sit down on his leather chair. “Actually, agent, I believe such a title will be suitable for your duties here.”

“Sir?” You trail off, standing across from him as your fingers itch to fiddle with your holstered wand.

“Now, you didn’t think someone of your caliber would be a mere office assistant, did you? Your skillset on the field is the reason why I accepted you to be my new assistant, Agent.” Gawdry continues, pulling out one of his drawers without looking away. “It’s those skills that I intend to put to use.”

Before you’re able to respond, the man slides a clipped folder toward you, eyebrows raising as he gestures for you to read through it.

Tentatively grasping at the folder, you flip through the countless pages with a frown.

Daily Prophet: Defected Death Eater Dies!

— September 8, 1979

Second son of Walburga and Orion Black and Heir of the Noble House of Black, Regulus Black, has unexpectedly died. Just two weeks since the fall of You-Know-Who, reports from Albus Dumbledore himself confirm the young Black’s prior involvement with aiding the Light side against Death Eater forces. The Hogwarts headmaster conveyed that the young Black’s help was integral to the armistice and defeat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

Young Regulus Black, described as a profound force in the classroom by Potions Professor, Horace Slughorn, is said to have fallen into critical condition shortly after his defection. Before succumbing to his fate, the young wizard outlined crucial information that was imperative to concluding the miasma of carnage.

“It is truly a deep tragedy to watch such a bright mind gradually wither away. With Mr.Black’s death, we must be vigilant in our future struggles against great darkness.” – Albus Dumbledore

“The loss of such a capable wizard… It is unforgivable. Really, the loss of so many courageous wizards and witches, it is an insurmountable grief for many years to come.” – Minister Mangum

Dear readers, in times of celebration for the new era, we must also keep our fallen in our hearts. The fate of the House of Black remains uncertain, but Regulus Black’s tremendous sacrifice must not be forgotten.

(Turn to page 5 for exclusive interviews with Arnold Vall)

You heave out a small sigh at the flimsy clipping, remembering the day you read the very same article at your dinner table. However, it is not the aged Daily Prophet snippet that renders you speechless, but the stack of papers underneath it– papers you recognize from the Auror Department: an agent’s composite mission profile.

Regulus Arcturus Black (b.1961 – )

“Death’s Herald”

Service: 1980 – Present

Status: Active

Completed Assignments: 501

01.25.80 - 02.29.80: Recovery of Helena’s Trove. Calais, France.

03.02.80 - 03.05.80: Rescue of Auror Tinsley. Birmingham, England.

03.08.80 - 03.24.80: Capture of Antonin Dolohov & Augustus Rookwood.

03.30.80 - 04.16.80: Capture & disposal of [redacted].

04.22.80 - 04.23.80: Disposal of Reginold Flint.

04.26.80 - 04.29.80: Disposal of Pyrites Ingrim II.

05.02.80 - 05.02.80: Disposal of Leon Wilkes.

05.06.80 - 05.07.80: Disposal of [redacted] Org.

05.11.80 - 05.14.80: Disposal of Henry Binns

07.15.90 - Pending: Retrieval of [redacted]

Your eyes are practically bulging from their sockets as you peer up, the fine text of dates and the slew of disposal, disposal, disposal causing your eyes to dry. “Sir? I don’t understand… Regulus is–”

“Alive and well, Agent.” He softly cuts you off, licking his lips as he awaits your onslaught of curiosity.

Alive and well and the bloody Death Herald. The hottest topic of debate amongst all ranks of Aurors in your former department. Elusive, unforgiving—and apparently, actually a real person.

You nearly huff out a disbelieving laugh, slowly shutting the folder in your hands as you persevere in your denial, “How is that possible?”

“Agent Black was immediately enrolled into the Ministry’s witness protection program for high-profile individuals after his… death as per the request of Albus Dumbledore. He has been handling a number of top Auror missions since.” Gawdry explains, hands clasping together as his words slice through the air with a suffocating revelation.

“Disposal missions.” Killing people. Though, you eschewed the unambiguous words, not eager to ruffle your boss’ feathers so early into your career.

Gawdry cracks a wry smile at your comment— as if reading your mind, and hums in confirmation. “Ten years of it. An adept adversary, I pity anyone who finds themself at the end of his wand. He’s the Ministry’s greatest weapon. Such information is highly classified, only high ranking officials and leaders are aware of this fact, so it would be unwise for you to break your code of silence on this, Agent.”

“Sure, right, no problem. And these redacted parts?” You cough out, a migraine beginning to bloom across your temples.

The man clicks his tongue and leans back in his chair, “Above your pay grade, Agent.”

“Right.” Your dejectedness weighs on your shoulders as you will your eyes to stay locked on him.

He raises a finger and clears his throat, “With the exception of the last one.”

Before you can press further, a familiar jingle of clicking locks reverberates across the room. Turning around, you narrow your eyes as a tall figure begins to strut into the room without a word. You swallow harshly as you survey the approaching individual, taking note of their dark hooded cloak and fitted apparel. A field agent. Clothes for mobility. Agile, controlled movements. Tense, cautious posture. It was all a dead giveaway—it was like looking at a reflection of yourself, really.

As the person grows closer to you, you blink rapidly as you realize they’re wearing a mask that enshrouds their entire face. The white face covering is streaked with grey lines, enhancing the expressionless slant of its lips. A warm prickle on the back of your neck draws your attention away from the ivory ridges and toward the blazing green eyes that were now locked on your gobsmacked face.

“Great timing, Agent Black.” Gawdry rises from his seat and nods toward the newcomer, ignoring your ticked jaw as you silently look back to him for an explanation.

Your shoulders stiffen as Agent Black halts beside you, an aura of indifference radiating from him. You’re suddenly conscious of the way his body heat emanates toward you, how he vaguely nods at Gawdry’s words, and how he seems to be assessing you from the corner of his eye as well.

The infamous Death Herald was beside you, and he also happened to be Regulus bloody Black. The very same Regulus who you silently mourned all those years ago, the Regulus Black who you admired from afar during your school days—

“As I was saying before, there is a new assignment. One that you will both complete together.” Gawdry’s eyes are dim, a few stress lines clinging to his forehead as he shuffles out a thick packet.

Regulus crosses his arms and clears his throat, “It requires two of us? I am capable of doing it alone.”

—the same Regulus that you wanted to hex at that very moment.

Your eyebrows fly into your hairline as you muffle a scoff, slightly tilting your head toward him as you bite out an acerbic retort. “Apparently not, seeing as we’re both standing here.”

Regulus merely glances at you before peering at Gawdry for an answer, intent on dismissing your irritation. Your boss appraises you with clear amusement before his stern mask falls back into place as he swiftly slides the packet toward you both, “We are aware of your competence, Agent Black. However, your partner here is trained specifically for retrieval and infiltration assignments.” Gawdry pauses and glances at you, “As well as issues involving our time space.”

If you weren’t still reeling from your previous bristling thoughts, you would have preened a bit at your boss’ words, flattered that he seemed to be backing you. Though, this only encouraged the tiny pride-gremlin in your chest— because take that Black! You’re completely out of your depth at the Department of Mysteries.

You step forward first and pull the hefty envelope toward you, wasting no time in undoing the string tie. “No use dawdling.” You mutter, feeling two pairs of eyes burning into your head.

As you reach inside the packet and grasp at the stack of papers, your eyebrows furrow once you realize there are three separate folders inside. Bringing the first folder under the light, you nearly roll your eyes as you practically feel Regulus craning to read it, stubbornly refusing to move closer to you.

You wordlessly maneuver the contents in between you both, opting to return your attention to Gawdry as Regulus softly tugs out one of the folders from your hand. “A time travel assignment, boss?”

Gawdry nods and cracks his knuckles, “An assignment our Department has been piecing together for years. A few spins of a time turner, in-and-out with the relics. Our recon crew finally cracked down on most of the significant information, so we’ve assigned the best of the best to complete it.”

“Are you buttering us up because we’re marching toward imminent doom?” You ask, tone inflated with amusement.

Regulus remains silent, but lifts his head up imperceptibly to look at Gawdry. The older man glances between you both before humming, “It is an urgent assignment and undoubtedly, a risky one.”

“Well, interfering with time is never a simple matter.” You answer plainly, hands moving to hug the remaining two folders to your chest.

“When do we start?” Regulus’ steely voice takes you by surprise, the rough tone still foreign to your ears.

Gawdry leans back and fixes him with an unwavering stare, “Preferably now. It is a time sensitive case, so I expect you both to work together seamlessly.”

Forbearance embraces you tightly as you nod, already mentally outlining how to work around Regulus’ one-note, detached attitude on the field. Despite that, you had to give him credit, a decade of solitude and bloodshed was bound to foster such apathy, and you weren’t sure you could survive what he did.

Regulus spins on his heel without a word, beginning to make his way toward the towering doors as you remain rooted to your spot. Gawdry’s eyes remain on Regulus’ retreating figure as he acknowledges you, “Yes, Agent?”

“Is this going to be a fixed partnership?” Your fingers twitch in anticipation as you hear the doors click shut behind you.

“That remains to be seen. There is a lot on the line so I’ll be direct, Agent,” Gawdry pauses before finally looking at you, “this was supposed to be a solo assignment, but at the insistence of Head Auror Chao, I accepted her request to let Agent Black tag along.”

“You mean that this was originally my assignment?” You gape in surprise, barely processing that your former boss was single handedly responsible for Regulus’ presence.

“Yes. It is quite beneficial for me, don’t misconstrue. Such a case rightfully belongs to the Department of Mysteries, but without a qualified Unspeakable to carry out the brief…” Gawdry explains, nodding as your eyes light up in realization.

“Then it would have been given to the Auror Department.” You finish with a hum, shuffling your weight to one foot, “So my unceremonious decision to transfer to the Department of Mysteries gave you a window of opportunity.”

Gawdry nods again, and a sharp grin tugs at his mouth, “Precisely. You can imagine how unhappy Auror Chao was at the loss of such an adept field agent and an extraordinary case all in one go.”

“That checks out. So, Agent Black is collateral.” You conclude, all semblance of firm professionalism flying out of the window.

Gawdry does not deign you with an answer, but he shoots a pointed look at the doors with a good natured eyebrow raise, prompting you to swiftly depart from the cold room with a pleased grin. As you pace out of the office, you’re left to toy with your thoughts, still conflicted on how you would have to adapt to Regulus’ methods amidst such a precarious mission.

Stepping away from the threshold of Gawdry’s office, you squint as your eyes adjust to the lifeless tiles of the hallway. Before you’re able to wander further, you’re stopped in your tracks at the sight of Regulus’ motionless figure ways off from you, his stormy eyes greeting you with glimmering impassivity.

“Ah. You waited.” You sputter out quietly, striding towards him as he pivots and begins to walk away.

Your eyes linger on the taut muscles of his shoulders, vaguely visible under the cloth of cloak as he continues walking. Awkward tension settles in the air as you take the lead toward the Atrium of Artifacts, not knowing how to breach conversation as you make way to retrieve a time turner.

Clearing your throat lightly, you bite your cheek as you finally break the silence. “Oh, we went to school together. I don’t know if you remember, I was a year under you.”

“I remember.” The answer is immediate and nearly robotic, a clear sign that he was either uncaring for pleasantries or inclined to work in silence.

“Ah. Well, I’m glad that you’re okay.” I even lit a bloody candle for you.

Regulus hums out lightly before swiftly segwaying back into work, “I read the brief. We’re retrieving lost files.”

“Files?” You intone faintly, sifting through your memories for any information on file relics.

As you round the corner towards the distribution center for time turners, Regulus throws you a small glance and continues, “1958. Clyde Rosier’s Estate.”

“1958… Rosier? Evan’s father?” You mumble, remembering the blonde boy that often paraded around the halls with the other older Slytherins, most meeting the same untimely fate as him.

Regulus is decisively mute about your revelation, possibly reminiscing on similar memories of the boy. You were quite positive that they were familiar with each other some eons ago, having been in Voldemort’s inner circle for a brief time together.

Before you have time to stew further on your thoughts, you’re both crossing into the large hall of artifacts. The atrium stretches skyhigh, evaporating into a blanket of darkness that accompanies the biting chill permeating across the room. Suppressing a shiver, you survey the dark perimeter, appreciating the bulbs of floating lights at the heart of the room, the cluster of orbs pulsing with enough glow to dimly light up the surroundings.

“Merlin, is the whole department cloaked in darkness? I don’t think I’ll ever get used to not being able to see 20 feet ahead of me.” You mumble, eyes darting toward an approaching figure wading through the shadows of the room.

Regulus lets out a small huff, and you’re almost certain that it was one of amusement and not exasperation, but the cloaked Unspeakable approaching you leaves little time to ruminate on it.

“Yes?” The raspy voice coils through the air.

Fishing out your new badge, you quickly flash it to the Unspeakable with a dry smile, “We need a time turner, and perhaps a bag with an extension charm.” It is silent for a few moments before you clear your throat, “Please.”

The cloaked figure gives a small nod before slinking away, leaving you and Regulus to observe the lusterless environment.

“Have you ever worked with a partner on your assignments?” You ask, nerves buzzing like static as you drum your fingers against the folders in your hands.

Regulus’ head tilts toward you, “No.” The hushed answer seems definitive, and just as you’re about to clamber back into your shell, his voice rings out again, “You?”

“Ah, me neither.” You admit a bit sheepishly, yet still satisfied that he didn’t completely dismiss you.

The air seems a bit warmer than before, driving you to face forward and continue waiting for the Unspeakable to reappear.

As if summoned, a faint rustle emits near you before you see the cloaked figure trudge toward you, arms full of parchment and a woven bag. Furrowing your eyebrows, you step forward and reach over to assist them, slowly unfurling the parchment and raising it up to the light.

Regulus steps forward to read it with you, clearly uncertain of the rules in your Department.

‘TERMS OF USE: Time Turner.

As per regulations and codes of The Department of Mysteries, this contract constitutes a legally binding agreement. Rights and access to a Time Turner may only be permitted through signature, if you disagree with any of the terms listed in this contract, you are not permitted to use a Time Turner. By signing this document, you and any party involved hereby agree to the terms and conditions listed below.

Rights to a Time Turner do not extend to distribution, abuse, or irresponsible handling of the object. Destruction or loss of property may be punishable by law or reasonable fine. The Department of Mysteries is not liable for subsequent injury or death as a result of Time Turner use.’

“Sign it.” Regulus’ flat words tear through your concentration, and you can feel his figure looming behind you, a flicker of impatience evidently buzzing through his veins.

Clicking your tongue, you accept the quill that the Unspeakable passes to you, shaking your head all the while. “Don’t tell me you sign every document you get without reading it.”

You quickly scribble your signature on the paper, admiring the neat streaks as you await Regulus’ response to your quip. When he remains silent, you quickly snap your head around and fix him with a disbelieving frown. “Merlin. Okay, I’m in charge of all the legal stuff from this day onward.”

After you get sorted with the contracts and take the mandatory oath for the loan, you’re both sent off with a new bag and a polished time turner. Holding the chain up in the air, you fawn over the powerful object in your hands, quelling the adrenaline that was jittering around your nerves.

“Okay. Date, please.” You hum, shooting Regulus a confident smile.

His eyes flicker from you to the folder in his hand as he monotonously recites the information to you, “June 18th, 1958.”

Handing part of the chain to him, you quickly throw it over your neck and steady your finger against the small knob of the charm. “Like Gawdry said, in and out. Simple.” Twisting the ringlets of the device, you watch in fascination as it begins to steadily spin on its own accord, a heavy pressure of magic blanketing you both in the process.

And before you can blink again, you and Regulus are being thrown through the reel of time.

TAGLIST: @tomo-tofu @night-fall-moon @darkenwolfie @eliz-eia @justkiyomi @idkwimdahyd @googie-jeon @littleshadow17 @doux-ange @moni-cah @valsarchives

#regulus black #regulus black fanfiction #regulus black imagine #regulus black x reader #regulus black imagines #regulus black deserved better #regulus black fluff #regulus black series #regulus black angst #regulus black scenario #harry potter series #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter imagine #the noble house of black

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mymoonagedaydream · 11 months

Text

Part 2

Pairing: Mob!Bucky x y/n

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Language, vague references to violence

Author’s Note: Much appreciate all the love for part one, thanks y’all!

Part 1

---

The sound of your alarm pissed you off even more than usual the next morning.

You padded down the hallway, pulled down on the knotted string hanging from the ceiling of your bathroom and winced when your face appeared in the mirror. Your horrendous night of sleep was vividly painted across your face, seeping into every pore and newly formed wrinkle. You pulled and prodded at your dull skin. Hopefully no-one would mention it.

Anxious thoughts slowly dripped into your mind as you got ready for work, eventually settling like a heavy cloud that hung around you as you left your apartment and began to walk down the stairs. You’d fought with Bucky before, of course you had, but you’d never been left feeling like this. Your relationship always teetered on the edge of chaos but this is the first time it felt like it might have lost its balance.

You paused at the bottom of the stairs, collecting yourself and taking your first deep breath of the day. The cloud thinned a little. You’d get through this, you told yourself repeatedly, you just needed some time. Turning into the lobby, your nerves were further soothed by the familiar sound of rustling paper, a faint smile starting on your lips when you spotted your old friend huddled in the corner.

“Morning, Lily,” you stopped beside her and let your eyes dance over the headlines she’d neatly arranged on the floor, “anything exciting today?”

She swivelled round from her crouched position as soon as she heard your voice, something resembling concern washing over her crinkled features. “Oh, are you alright dear?”

“Course.” You gulped. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Last night, I heard some raised voices and loud rattling. I thought it might be the television but I never usually hear-”

“It was the TV,” you forced a smile, “sorry. I’ll try to keep it down from now on.”

“If you say so.”

Her eyes twinkled slightly as she turned back around, attention returning to the papers. You reached for the latch on the door and pulled it open but, before you could step outside, she thrust something into your free hand and firmly closed your fingers around it. A shrewd smile briefly flashed in your direction before it and its host disappeared through a doorway like some kind of moth-eaten grey shadow.

You shook your head, just to double check you weren’t in some kind of vivid fever dream. Sometimes it worked.

Stepping outside, you paused and uncrumpled your daily offering. It was a clipping from the vows section of an old New York Times. A young couple were pictured, dressed in all their wedding finery, grinning above the headline Against All Odds. You chuckled and glanced back at the building, sometimes that place was weirder than a fever dream.

Checking up and down the street, you saw no sign of Bucky’s car. What a relief. He obviously realised you’d need some space after what happened, he could be smart like that when he took a second to stop and think instead of letting his paranoia get the better of him. If only he did that more often.

You turned and began the short walk to the library, neatly folding the paper and sliding it into your pocket. The usual sounds of engines backfiring and horns blaring were slowly tuned out as you became lost in thought, replaying the events of last night in your head. You understood why Bucky worried so much, and sometimes you felt guilty for letting it piss you off, given the circumstances, but you just couldn’t help wishing he’d at least try to move on.

The two of you never really spoke about it. It was just over a year ago when you started to notice the same guy cropping up more and more in your daily routine, leaning against an expensive-looking car with a cigarette in his mouth outside your apartment, browsing through the Home and Lifestyle magazine section at the library, joining the queue behind you at your regular coffee shop. At first you brushed the encounters off as coincidences, as someone new to the area exploring the few pleasant attractions, but noticing him tucked in the back corner of the bar during karaoke night made you start to panic.

Bucky erupted when you told him. He stormed out of your apartment as soon as you finished speaking and didn’t show up again until two days later, with the same clothes on and no skin left on his knuckles.

You guided him through to the kitchen and stuck his hands under the faucet, running warm water over the wounds while you prepared some bandages. He shook off your questions at first, only drip-feeding you bits of information once you’d cleaned him up, the thin veil of calm periodically slipping away and revealing a deep, frightened anger.

He told you that you were being targeted, while in the same breath promising that it wouldn’t be a problem anymore, that he’d solved it. He didn’t say what you were being targeted for. He didn’t say how he’d solved it. You didn’t ask.

Even since then Bucky had been incredibly jumpy, obviously terrified that the next incident might end differently. You never said it, but at the time you found yourself hoping the whole ordeal would be enough to convince him to leave all that shit behind, hoping you wouldn’t have to keep choosing the man you loved over your own safety.

You’d underestimated how deep his father’s insidious claws had already sunk in.

—

You finally checked your phone on your lunch break. Just the one missed call, he knew how to take a hint. Biting your thumb nervously, you typed out a message, offering to meet after you finished work. The coffee shop where you first met seemed like the best idea, somewhere public but filled with happy memories for the both of you. Hallowed ground.

He was waiting with your drink in front of him when you arrived. He always did that, made sure to arrive early so you didn’t have to wait in line, and you were always too appreciative of the gesture to point out that your coffee was cold by the time you got to it. His hands reached across the table to hold yours as soon as you sat down. You let it happen but didn’t let your arms stretch towards him at all, you couldn’t have him thinking he was off the hook just like that. There were a few seconds of uncomfortable silence before he cleared his throat and spoke.

“I’m so sorry baby,” his fingertips brushed over your lightly bruised wrist, “are you alright? Did I hurt you?”

“Only a little.” That answer seemed to pain him but you weren’t sure what else to say. It was the truth.

“You need anything? I can ask for some ice, or go around the corner for some Tylenol?”

“I’m good, thanks.”

You lowered your gaze to his hands so he wouldn’t see the faint smile you were attempting to smother. Again, you didn’t want to give him the impression that everything was back to normal, but you couldn’t help the joy you felt at the reappearance of your usual, sweet Bucky.

“I can’t believe I did that,” he swallowed harshly, “wouldn’t blame you if you never forgave me. Don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself.”

You took a deep breath.

“I forgive you.”

“You do?”

“Yes, but only because I know you, Buck, and that wasn’t you. It was-”

You cut yourself off, unsure if stepping into this territory again was wise.

“Was what?”

“It was more like something your dad would do.”

He looked down into his coffee. “You’re probably right.”

That seemed to hit him pretty hard. You understood what he was feeling, coming to terms with the fact that the man you’d looked up to your whole life was, to put it mildly, deeply flawed was a fucking rough thing to do.

He just needed time. Lucky for him, you were more than willing to wait a little longer, you just needed to make sure the two of you were on the same page.

“Look, I know why you think you want all these changes. All the men in your family follow the same path, meeting a nice girl at church, moving in together, marrying within a year, kids within two. Some people want that and that's fine, but I don’t, and I don’t think you do either.”

“I just want you,” his grip on your hands tightened slightly, “however.”

“Then we’ll figure this out.”

He smiled. You smiled back, loosening the tension in your arms so he could pull your hands closer. The two of you stayed there, talking, until the coffee shop closed and they swept you out onto the sidewalk. Things were starting to feel better.

He held his elbow out and you laced your arm through his, the two of you starting the short walk back to your apartment by predicting how many clippings Lily would have for him today. Your conversation was cut short, however, when his phone began chiming from his pocket. It was his dad. He apologised, answered and told him he’d call back later. As long as you’d known Bucky he’d never once sent his dad to voicemail.

You pictured the villain on the other end of the phone, bright red face framed by a receding hairline. He was quite a bit shorter than Buck but in surprisingly good shape for an old guy who was never without a cigar and a glass of liquor. His shape, however, wasn’t enough to compensate for his oily demeanour and the permanent leer that was etched on his face. To men like him, women were either useless or they were receptionists, and receptionists were just potential mistresses with plausible deniability.

He never liked you. In all fairness, you never liked him either, but at least your dislike had been vindicated when you overheard him at Bucky’s brother’s wedding calling you a cheap broad. You’d never done anything to him. Well, nothing he knew about.

You chose not to tell Buck about that, but only because you wanted him to come to his own conclusions about his father, to see the light without you having to shine it directly into his face. Your heart filled with dread as you watched him pacing and struggling to get off the phone, hoping against hope that he’d never turn into that man.

He eventually managed to free himself, his expression turning pretty bleak as he walked back over.

“Everything alright?”

“Mhmm.”

“Buck.”

“It’s nothing, really, I just-” he rubbed his eyes, “I kinda felt like I needed to talk to someone earlier, so I told my brother about last night. Fucking stupid thing to do.”

“Why’s that?”

“Cause it sounds like he’s already told pretty much anyone willing to listen, now dad’s trying to set me up on a date with one of his friend’s daughters.”

“Damn, he works quick.”

“Tell me about it.”

You chuckled. “I guess that’s what you get for picking an outsider.”

He forced a smile. You could see the cogs starting to work in his head. The whole time you’d been together he’d been trying desperately to come up with a way to marry his two opposing lives together, to work out all the kinks and somehow make everyone happy. It broke your heart having to watch him slowly realise that it might not be possible, and you wondered if he’d ever even considered what kind of life would make him happy.

You tightened your arm around his. “You know I’d never ask you to choose, right?”

“I know.” He planted a kiss on your temple. “Thank you.”

---

Part 3

---

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alphabetboyluvr · 7 months

Text

BAD DECISIONS - JJK | FOURTEEN

The silence remains. You're twisting his chain around his neck, now. Getting the clasp to the nape of his neck instead of at the front where it had been. Jungkook watches your unfocused eyes and wonders what the fuck is running through that disco ball mind of yours. "Hey, Byeol?" "Mhmm?" "You're still in control," he says so tenderly it's almost a whisper. He reaches over. Picks a rogue chunk of glitter from the strands of your hair that wisp around your face. Tucks the hair behind your ear. Lets his hand fall to chin, and tilts your face upwards. Looks you dead in the eye, and says, "I'll do whatever you're comfortable with. Nothing more, nothing less."

Bad Decision #14 - New Rules

warnings: jungkook incorrectly does a bird!!! byeols bird is unhinged!! smut - fingering!! oc hasn't shaved and jk simply prefers it that way! no kissing rule established (boo), no pet names rule established (double boo), no hand holding either!!!! jk has a huge boner <3 f receiving, nothing for him!!! rules are rules!!! mirrors <3 jk is always so chatty he he , mild hand kink?

soundtrack: nonsense - sabrina carpenter; wrong- zayn, kehlani

wc: 8k

bd total wc: 450k (on-going)

minors dni |

BD MASTERLIST | WATTPAD Ver. | A03 Ver. | SMUT INDEX

"Hey," you greet Jungkook with a coy smile by your apartment door. He smiles back. Tells you that you look like shit. Is definitely lying.

The way he looks you up and down gives it away.

Your hair is up in a claw clip, still a little uneven in colour because you don't want to put it through even more torture. A slouchy white shirt hangs off your left shoulder, and a pair of dark leggings hug your legs. It's casual. Comfy. Still got glitter on your eyes, as always.

Jungkook can't remember if you've had a discussion about yoga leggings, and how they've got a track record of giving him boners in record speed.

You haven't. You're just aware your ass looks fairly good in them. Not like it matters. Not like you need him to think your ass looks good. No, nothing like that at all.

You also haven't started a daily squat challenge. That would be immature. Flirting with danger. And even if you had, it would be incredibly stupid to leave the chart up on the kitchen fridge - which is where you beeline after you leave the door open for him.

You don't bother inviting him in, mind you. He knows he's welcome. Not because he's been there a thousand times over, nor because it's where you usually spend time together, but because the apartment is yours. He's welcome in your space.

But he is incredibly early - and you tell him as such when you curl up on the couch, tucking the piece of paper you'd swiped from the fridge door beneath a stack of magazines. Jungkook takes the spot next to you, despite the fact there are plenty of other places for him to sit instead. Part of you is tempted to kick him off.

The rest of you, though? So incredibly glad to have him close again.

"Danbi's class runs for another half an hour," you tell him as you scroll through the Netflix landing page.

It's a Monday, and neither of you have been at work today. The perks of your schedules aligning mean that Monday is always a safe bet, but you'd been in desperate need of alone time. The past few weeks have exhausted your social battery.

Jungkook gets like that sometimes, too - but he also doesn't like spending too much time in his own head, and so when a text from you had pinged through earlier that afternoon asking if he wanted to hang out, he replied almost immediately.

It's been a week. Over a week, actually. It's the first time he's seen you since you left his apartment. There's been no real discussion of what happened. A few 'i've seen your tits lol' texts here and there, but nothing that really qualifies as a grown-up conversation. You think you like it better this way; prefer the ominous unknown of the impact such a venture has had on your friendship.

For the most part, it seems like it's had minimal impact. None of which you can recognise straight off the bat, at least. Maybe he's a little more comfortable now than he once was, but you can't really tell. Not entirely.

Thing is, he always seemed comfortable before. There's never really been a need for boundaries. They came and went naturally.

Perhaps that's your problem: you got far too relaxed far too quickly.

And yet you keep a little distance. Who cares if he's seen your tits? God forbid you sit too close to one another.

"Class?" He questions, not realising Danbi was still studying.

She isn't. It's just her hobby. Something she does to unwind after spending all day chasing after unruly dogs.

You nod, eyes still on the screen, looking for something mindless to put on. He's here for the second installment of your Deadpool marathon, so you don't want to put anything worthy of investment on.

"Pole."

"Pole as in..." he says slowly, not sure of the correct term, so you help him out.

"As in pole dancing," you confirm. "She's been doing it for a while. Keeps trying to get me to join."

Jungkook doesn't look at you as he smirks, his eyes now also focused on the Netflix loading screen. "You? Pole dancing?"

There's a jovial glint in his eye, as if he thinks it's the funniest thing he's heard all afternoon. If you were to say that, he'd tell you that you're wrong. It's the funniest thing he's heard all day.

"Hey!" You kick your leg out to tap him, but he stops it before you can reach him. Squeezes his hand ever so gently around your foot. Pushes it back towards you, and holds it down. "I could be good at pole!"

He looks over to you now. "Byeol, I've seen you after twenty minutes on a treadmill. You don't have the stamina."

The smile on his lips would make it seem like he's joking - but he has seen you on a treadmill after twenty minutes. He's absolutely telling what he deems to be the truth, and the offence you take only makes him smile even more.

"Don't-" you halt your words to utter a shriek of disbelief. "Don't have the stamina? Fuck you."

"Nah," he grins. "You wouldn't have the stamina to handle me."

The conversation remains steady; a flirt between friends. Nothing more, nothing less. It's easy. Casual.

And when Danbi gets home, it doesn't change. Oh so incredibly easy. Jungkook fits into the life you've carved out for yourself, almost like there was a nook waiting just for him.

Pizza is ordered. Deadpool is played. Ryan Reynolds' ass in lycra is praised. Everything is as it should be.

When it hits midnight, and Danbi is already tucked up in bed, Jungkook makes his excuses. Gears up to leave. Mentions the fact he's got the gym in the morning. Can't be out too late.

The part of you that considers telling him to stay is quiet. Instead, you just nod and agree.

"It's a miracle you're still able to have a decent sleeping pattern," you say as you walk him to the door. "I'd be exhausted all the time."

He doesn't tell you, but he is. Really could have done with an evening to himself. Uni is ramping up, and he's worried he's gonna fall behind on his coursework already.

It's why he's pretty much radio silent for the week that follows.

Until, all of a sudden, he's not.

Jungkook: DB.

You: That's no better than disco ball.

Jungkook: It's better than BD.

You: ...Ball disco?

Jungkook: Big Ditties.

You: Oh my god.

You: I'm blocking you.

Jungkook: No you're not. Come hang out.

Jungkook: Coursework is driving me insane.

Jungkook: Need a distraction.

You: Good. Hope it does <3

Jungkook: :( comeee.

You: No :) x

You arrive a little after ten.

Jungkook is in sweats and a T-shirt, beyond the point of caring to dress up in your presence. Your dynamic is well-established by now; comfort found in the confines of your time spent together. He's got a buttered slice of toast in one hand, a dusting of crumbs detailing the tips of his fingers like the glitter on the inner corners of your eyes. He'd burnt it. You can tell by the scent that lingers in the air, and the knife marks near the crusts where he'd tried to scrape it off.

He grins, in that stupid kind of lopsided way he always does whenever he gets his way.

"Thought you said you weren't coming?"

Your lips are pursed, annoyance written along the line of your frown. The ink is water-soluble, though. One bite down on your bottom lip and it washes away. "I'm here to see the children."

He stands to the side. Opens the door just a little bit wider. "It's about time. They were about to report you to child protective services."

"Oh, yeah?" You encourage his teasing as you step over the threshold.

"Uh-huh," he continues as he bites down on the toast. It crunches beneath his teeth, but doesn't stop him from talking. "Negligent mother, they said - shoes off -" he interrupts himself when you point to your feet. "Take them to my room though."

It's curious, the way he's still keeping you hidden. The only reason for them to not be in the hallway is to stop Jimin from asking questions when he arrives home.

If you knew the grilling Jungkook's been getting ever since that evening Jimin nearly walked in on the pair of you, you'd understand. It's far easier for Jungkook if he gives his housemate as little ammunition to tease him with as he can.

But Jimin's not home. He's in Busan for the weekend.

Jungkook doesn't tell you this. He's not sure why. Part of him doesn't want to talk about Jimin with you. It's stupid, he'll admit, but he likes being your friend. Likes you being his friend. Doesn't like Jimin having one up on him.

He thinks it would be the same if he had a sister. That kind of protective nature.

But he's also seen you naked. Knows that he really can't kid himself into thinking it's entirely platonic. Is kind of confused by it all.

Just knows that he likes the way things are. Doesn't want them to change.

And so he doesn't mention Jimin.

When you enter his room, shoes tossed by his desk, you clamber up onto his bed and take a seat. There's no protest from him, no sign of it being an unwanted intrusion on his space. His sheets have been changed since your last visit, gold acrylic immediately washed away the morning after.

He takes a perch on his desk chair, swinging it around to face you. You're lit only by the lamp of his bedside table and the glow of the city coming in through his curtains. The warmth of the light makes your glitter look like crackling embers burning through the night skies.

"So," you say, all very matter of a fact. There's a demure nature to your poise. It's not very 'you'. "You requested my company?"

He nods.

"Why?"

He spins in his chair to his desk, and picks up a bird. Reads it aloud. "Invite a girl over."

You look at him for a moment, and purse your lips. He's an idiot.

"We both know that this isn't what that means."

"Why not?" He says as if he's genuinely without a clue.

"Because!"

You don't elaborate. Think there's no need. He knows exactly why not - but he's an insolent little fucker when he wants to be.

"No, because what, Byeol?" He says with a grin. He knows you're right. Doesn't care.

"Because," you emphasise. "We both know that inviting a girl over is so much more than just a simple act of asking her to come round. There are layers to it. Innuendo. It's like asking if she wants ramyeon, Kook. You know this."

There's a grin on his lips that he's trying to hide - and is failing miserably.

"The bird says-"

"Oh, fuck off," you laugh. "It doesn't matter what the bird says. You know what it means."

"Yeah," he feigns innocence to his misdemeanour, eyes all wide and watery. So deep brown in colour it feels like a black hole is just sucking you in. Will never let you leave. God help the next girl who falls in love with him. "It means that I have to invite a girl to my place." He gestures towards you. Shakes his head. "You are a girl, no?"

"You've seen my tits, no?"

"You can't use tits as a qualifier," he tells you. "Not when you insist I also have tits."

"Touche - but still. It doesn't matter if I'm a girl. I'm not a girl girl."

"What does that even mean?" He scoffs, but he knows what you mean. Knows that the risk of rejection from you isn't the same as it is with a random girl. Knows that you're an exception. Not the rule.

"Like, a romantic interest," you say, well-aware he doesn't need it explaining. You just think you need to say it for your own sake. "I'm a friend. It doesn't say invite a friend round, does it?"

"Okay, but it doesn't not say that, does it?"

You're stern as you stare him down. "Jungkook."

"Byeol," he replies with a grin so cheeky it's impossible to remain poised.

You roll your eyes. Lie down. Wave your arm in the air. "C'mere."

He doesn't relent. Doesn't say no. Just stands. Walks to his bed, and flops down beside you.

"Gimmie your phone," you say, but he refuses. "Don't be a pussy."

"I'm not. You're just not getting my phone."

You sit up. Rest on your elbow and look down at him. His eyes are closed. "Why not?"

"Because."

There's a smile tickling your lips. He's imitating you - but he also doesn't feel like explaining. Doesn't feel like trying to find a valid reason beyond 'I'm scared'.

"What happened to facing your fears, huh?" You poke his cheek. "You gonna be a coward? How is that gonna help you?"

"Byeol," he whines, tilting his head to avoid your continued poking. It's annoying, and deliberate. You want him frustrated. Want him proactive. Want him a little riled up. "Stop."

You don't.

"Byeol."

"I'll stop when you stop being a baby," you tell him, poking at his other cheek. Your finger travels all over his face, poking and prodding, ignoring the way he bats you away.

"Stop."

"You stop."

"Byeol."

And still, you don't. At least not until his fingers clasp around your wrist, holding it far away from his face.

"I said stop," he says with a voice so low it's almost a growl. His eyes are still closed. He pulls your hand to his chest. Holds it there. Is vaguely aware of the fact he's drawn you closer. Had almost made you lose your balance entirely.

It's not until you speak that he realises quite how close you actually are. Hears how quiet you are, too.

"And I told you to stop being a baby."

He opens his eyes. Takes you in. You're resting on his chest, thanks to his grip on your wrist and where he's positioned it. Neither of you seem to remember the concept of breathing.

You're close. Closer than he intended. So close he could probably count every single speck of glitter on the inner corner of your eyes. So fucking close. He thinks of the last time you were this close.

Also thinks of the fact he's now wearing sweats, and really shouldn't be thinking about you naked. Not again.

But he is, though it's not your body he's thinking of; it's your eyes, and the glitter that had been caught in your lashes beneath the water of his shower. How you'd glistened. And then fuck it, he's thinking of the way you showed him your fingers, all dainty and pretty, covered in your own-

"Fuck," you hiss in surprise, breaking from his gaze. His eyes fall to his chest, where the culprit of the interruption lies.

Another bird; resting pretty just below his ribs. It moves, up and down, with the contractions of his lungs. Jungkook looks to you, then back to the bird. You sit up straighter and pinch it from his chest. He just lets you, because he doesn't wanna be the one to do it.

He can tell from the wing shape alone that it's one of yours - and even if he couldn't, the way you groan and let your body fall onto his in defeat is a clear sign. He laughs. Strokes his hand up your arm, then ruffles at your hair.

"How bad is it this time?"

You just whine again.

"That bad?"

Nodding into his chest, you hold out the bird for him to take. Only once his chest begins to stutter beneath you, laughter taking hold of his lungs, do you sit up.

"Stop," you tell him, pouting.

He doesn't stop laughing. Serves you right for not listening to him earlier. "Christ, Byeol. Are any of these birds-"

"No," you cut him off before he can finish.

He sighs. Looks up at the ceiling. Shakes his head. Holds the bird to his chest.

"Let's think about this logically first," he says, because it's the only way he can think to not let things get out of hand again like he did last time. "Let's talk about it before we do it instead of after."

You nod. Take a deep breath. "Okay. What are you thinking?"

He looks at you and then back up at the birds. Scrunches his face up.

"I'm thinking... Fuck, alright, I'll be honest. I haven't done..." he trails off, cringing at himself. "Since my ex - although, technically she isn't an ex, but you know what I mean - since her..."

You wait with bated breath. Know what he's getting at. "You haven't done this in a while?"

He's silent. Lets his head turn to face you. "Haven't done this in a while."

"It's okay. We don't have-"

"No," he says. "A bird is a bird. I want to do it."

"You do?"

"Well," he considers, pretending like it's the first time. He's thought about this a lot; the mechanics of your situation, how it plays out in the future. Risk assessment. He's good at those. Has to do so many of them at university that he's started drawing one up one for the pair of you in his head. "I mean if my birds are making me approach girls, chances are things will head in the direction of hooking up, right?"

You suppose he's right. Tell him as much.

"So it'd be good for me to get practise in, right?"

"You think you need it?" You grin.

"No. But I enjoy it," he says. Holds his palms up above his head. Observes them. "I like using my hands."

They're large. One of them is covered in tiny tattoos, the other completely bare. Thin veins hide beneath his honey skin, the tendons always protruding just a little bit. The kind of hands that would be good to hold.

"You've got nice hands," you admit.

Long fingers. Thick knuckles. Well-trimmed nails. Perfect hands, you consider, but will never divulge. Wouldn't want to boost his ego so much.

"Have you been checking them out?" He teases.

"You made me!" you laugh, deflecting, then imitating his voice. "'Look in the mirror, Disco Ball, blah blah blah. Eyes on me. Watch what I do.' I didn't have a choice."

"Sure," he taunts, but he knows you're probably not being dramatic. He really did make you watch yourself, and is probably gonna do it again. Seemed to work well the last time.

He places his hands beneath the side of his head, and takes a moment to check how you're feeling.

You reciprocate his actions. Look at him for a little while. Neither of you say a word. It's like you're mentally preparing for what's about to happen; making sure that it's okay. Giving one another the chance to back out.

You won't, though. Far less of a coward than Jungkook. Too much pride.

"How do we do this?" you whisper.

He smiles. Just faintly. Tenderly. "However is most comfortable for you."

"Well, yeah," you smile back. It's sweet that he feels the need to clarify this. "But I mean, literally. Logically. How do we- Like- Do I just... take my trousers off?"

"I mean, it could be a start," Jungkook laughs. "We're thinking about it too hard."

You groan. Look to the ceiling with an embarrassed smile. You're both a little awkward, but it definitely feels like the awkwardness is mainly your problem today.

"Did you... with Jimin. Did you do this?" Jungkook asks. He's not sure why. Just wants to know.

The bird lies between you both. Has just two words on it. No exclamation points this time, but still with capital letters. Somehow feels less vulnerable to you than the last one.

GET FINGERED.

You consider not answering. Think it's kind of shitty to air Jimin's laundry in such a way - but it's just as much about you as it is him. More so, even.

"Not really," you admit. "A little bit. I hurried him along."

Jungkook pauses now. Thinks. Asks, "hurried?"

"It's just kind of what I do," you sigh, pulling your knees a little further up. Closing off. Protecting yourself. Jungkook pushes them back down again. You let him. "I don't really let people touch me, in that regard. I let them fuck me. Don't let them... have me."

Jungkook wants to ask what that entails, but figures you'd have shared it if you wanted to.

"I guess," you continue slowly, quickly glancing away, before deciding that his eyes are what you wanna see when you explain your relationship with sex. You want him to understand - and so you look back to him. He doesn't take his eyes off of you. "I kind of focus on the other person, yanno? For me, sex? Now? It's validation, I guess. Proving to myself I can still give people some form of... I don't know. Satisfaction? So yeah. I don't really want people touching me, as such. I'll touch them. I'll get them off. And I'd prefer it if they didn't get me off."

"It's a power thing, isn't it?" Jungkook theorises. "Control?"

You're silent. Just shrug. Maybe.

"I think - and you can tell me to shut up if you want - but I think that maybe it's because of your ex. He always held the cards?" Jungkook pauses, but you don't respond. Just look at his chest. Toy with the silver chain around his neck. "And this is your way of holding them instead?"

"Hey, Byeol?"

"Mhmm?"

"You're still in control," he says so tenderly it's almost a whisper. He reaches over. Picks a rogue chunk of glitter from the strands of your hair that wisp around your face. Tucks the hair behind your ear. Lets his hand fall to chin, and tilts your face upwards. Looks you dead in the eye, and says, "I'll do whatever you're comfortable with. Nothing more, nothing less."

You shake your head. "You get a say in this. It's not all up to me."

"I know I do," Jungkook replies without missing a beat. "If I didn't want to do something, I wouldn't. You're in control, but I can't be forced to do anything. Good luck trying if you think I can be."

You narrow your eyes a little. "So you're saying you want to do stuff with me?"

He grins. "Well, I don't find you entirely repulsive, even if you are incredibly annoying."

"Always a charmer."

"It's how I get all those girls - oh, wait," he jokes. Pauses. Thinks. Sighs. "Look, I'd rather work through my issues before I fuck up yet another relationship, and from the looks of it, you'd rather work through yours too. It just makes sense."

"I mean, we could just get therapy."

"Expensive."

"Time-consuming," you agree.

"This is far easier," he smirks, before deciding that you've had enough serious chats. There's no point running around in circles again. And so he decides to lighten the mood. "Now do you wanna get fingered or not?"

"Oh my god!" You slap at his chest and roll onto your back, laughing. "You're fucking vulgar."

"Is that a no?"

"It's an 'ask nicely, Jungkook.'"

He rolls onto his back, now. Laughs, too. "Is that what you want? For me to play nicely?"

"You're not playing at all, yet," you remind him.

There's hesitancy from both of you. It's a little awkward, and so unlike you - but there's no alcohol in your system like there was the first time a bird was attempted, and no excuse to touch like there was with the paint.

This one is just you and Jungkook.

"Can I go freshen up first?" You ask, a little nervous and highly aware of the fact you hadn't come with the intention of getting Jungkook in your underwear. He says of course, but you're halfway out of the door regardless.

As soon as you're in the bathroom, you're rummaging around in the cupboard - praying - looking for a disposable razor of sorts. You know Jungkook keeps his good one in his room, next to his towels.

Apparently, Jimin just loves to share regardless of what it is, much to Jungkook's dismay. It's not like Jimin's razor is here either - he's taken it with him to Busan.

Your search is fruitless, and when you return to Jungkook's room a little unsure of yourself, jeans off and tossed onto his desk chair, he can sense there's something wrong.

"I haven't shaved," you sort of blurt out, much to his surprise.

"Okay?" He grins, drying off his wet hands that he'd washed in the kitchen while you were gone. "Nor have I? You want a medal?"

"No, I just-"

"Thought I'd care?" He questions, a little bit offended. "First things first, this isn't about me. It's about you. And secondly, I kinda like it - so I really don't care."

"You like it?"

"I like pussy," Jungkook simply states. "Like it no matter what way it's served up."

"You're not eating it."

"Not yet."

"You are unbelievable."

"Believe it, Byeol," he winks, perching on the end of his bed. Reaching out, he encourages you closer. Gets you standing between his legs. "Enough fucking around though. I think we should set out some ground rules."

"Ground rules?" You question, knowing it's probably smart. Aren't sure why you didn't think of it first.

He knows why. Casual sex isn't that much of a big deal to you.

Jungkook's not good at the whole unattached sex thing, though. He only really sleeps with girls he's interested in romantically.

A boy that looks like him? You had expected him to have well over a dozen notches on his bedpost - but he can count them all on one hand.

It's not that he's a prude, or vanilla, or anything like that. Jungkook fucks. He fucks well. He just fucks the same people for extended periods of time. Takes comfort in routine. No chance to sleep around when you're as loyal as a dog.

You're the exception, not the rule. Time and time over, it becomes more and more apparent.

"Rules," he nods.

"No kissing," you reply almost immediately.

"No-" he's about to protest, but then nods. "No kissing."

In fact, he actually agrees with you. He loves kissing. Might even like it more than blowjobs. Would happily take an hour make-out session in lieu of foreplay. For him, it is foreplay.

And so despite how desperately sad he is to know he won't get his favourite thing, he understands why.

He only likes it because of how intimate it is.

"Anything else?"

You take a moment to think, and then decide, "No hand holding, either. And no pet names."

"Not even Byeol?"

"At this point, I'm not even sure you remember my real name, Kook. Byeol is fine."

He nods, then scrunches his nose in a little disgust.

"God." He dry-retches. "Imagine calling you something like baby." He retches again, a light grin tickling his lips as you scoff in offence. "Yeah, no you wouldn't suit anything cute."

"You're so lucky that the idea of you calling me baby repulses me," you flirt right back.

"Oh yeah?" he smirks - and then he's toying with the hem of your shirt. Pushing it up. Ghosting the lace of your thong with the tips of his fingers. "You'd hate it, would you?"

His fingers creep down. The pads of his fingers trace the tops of your thighs. Skirt the lace trim of your panties where they cover your pussy. Has your heart beating at a mile a minute.

"Would be such a turn-off."

The way his eyes scan your face has you wanting to take back every single rule you've just set.

"So you're telling me you're turned on, now?"

His words are met with a shrug. "I don't know, Jeon. Am I?"

"If I'm not allowed pet names, there's no way in hell you're allowed Jeon."

"No?"

He stands. Towers above you. Turns you round. Lowers his head, and lets his lips ghost your ear. "Not unless you wanna get me hard."

You fucking giggle. It's sin. When you turn your head ever so slightly to whisper in his ear, he thinks about saying fuck it to the birds. Needs more than what they're providing.

"I can feel you. You're already hard, Jeon."

He pulls away from you. Palms at his crotch. You're right. And so he just smirks. "Fine. Harder."

"Wouldn't that be a shame," you tease - but are met with a show of dominance you've haven't seen before from Jungkook as clasps both of your wrists together just above your ass. Positioning you just where he had you last time he was in your room, you know your underwear is getting ruined.

The view reflected back in his full-length mirror only makes your heart beat even faster.

"I won't lie," he swallows back the nerves that he was able to hide while he was flirting. Down his throat they go, settling next to his heart that's already beating a mile a minute. Positioning himself behind you, he encourages you both to the floor. You're sitting in front of him, as he kneels behind you and pulls you back a little. "You're right. I'm already real fucking hard, Byeol."

"Really?" You smirk. "Couldn't tell."

He tilts his head back. Groans. "God, I hate you. I want you to ignore it, okay? It's my problem to deal with."

All you can do is nod.

"Okay," he says softly as he leans around to position your legs how wants them: bent at the knees. Spread. You're on display - and Dear lord, what a treat for the audience. A treat for him. "Look in the mirror. Watch me, okay? Watch my hands."

And you do; watch the way his palms lay flat on your knees, then slowly, gradually, trickle down your thighs. "What do you say if you wanna stop?"

"Chess," you say, ending the word with a gasp as his thumbs brush the outer lace of your panties.

"Good girl," he hums into your ear, but you can barely hear him over your beating heart as his thumb begins to stroke over your clothed pussy. You're already soaked. It wets his thumb. Has him smirking. "Told you so."

He pushes the lace to the side. Exposes you. Makes him curse. Is slow as he sinks a single finger into you.

He keeps it shallow. Just the first two knuckles. Just enough to let you know he's there. You can still see the ink on his finger.

The moan you exhale is desperate. Needy. Gets him all smug.

"Just testing the waters," he husks into your ear as he pulls it back out, before the pads of his fingers begin to massage around your entrance. He's teasing. Caressing. Doing shit you've only ever had women do to you. The dudes you've fucked have never really cared for stimulation beyond the clit; haven't understood that the right touches in slightly different places can get you so fucking needy.

Needy like you mean it. Not the bratty kind, where you're in control; the pathetic kind, where they're in control.

He's massaging. Using his thumb and forefinger. Working his way up your labia; left side, then right. Up, then down.

It's not like the sensation is anywhere close to what it feels like when his fingers are elsewhere, but it's the fact he's doing it all that really gets you flustered. He's careful. Delicate. Wants you to feel good.

When you let out a moan, you can feel him smirk against you. He lines himself up with your entrance. He pushes his middle finger inside; fully this time. Pumps into you once, twice - "are you always this wet?" - then begins to stroke against your front wall. You whine.

He pushes into you again. Tells you how fucking hot you sound. Pulls out. In again. And then he builds speed. Fucks his finger into you. Just one - but it's enough.

Finally, you answer him between laboured breaths.

"Dunno. You'll have to do this again sometime and figure it out."

Withdrawing his finger, Jungkook rubs small circles over your clit. Holds onto you tighter. Smirks as your whimpers begin to build. His nose nestles into your hair, lips against your ear. "You want that, huh?"

The way your hips push up and grind against his languid movements should be indication enough - but you don't want to give him the satisfaction. Not yet, at least.

You smirk right back. "Meh. You could always just compare notes with Jimin, instead."

He pauses for a split second. Scoffs. Sinks his finger back into you. Builds pace. Can hear the sounds of your soaked cunt and knows that it would be cruel to compare. Jimin wouldn't stand a chance. There's no way he had you like this, too.

And Jungkook would be right. The way Jungkook has you now is unlike any of your hookups. You're sober, for a start, and that always helps in the wetness department - but you are wetter than you've been in a fair while.

His fingers are long. Intentional in the way they move. His middle finger hits all the right spots as it pushes into you. He curls it gently without needing to be told. He just knows. Can feel the slight difference in texture. Had trained himself to find it in the past, and is pleased to see yours is just as easy to locate.

You don't think Seokjin ever found it. Not really. For a while, you pretended he could - but it never felt like this.

"Kook," you rasp, ridding your mind of all thoughts of Seokjin. He's no right to be in your brain when it's someone else making you feel so good. "Right there. Right there. Fuck."

"I know," he husks. "Can you take another?"

All do you do is nod. Moan something incoherent. You want more.

He can tell.

"Can you take three?" he asks. You just fucking nod. Will take what he gives you. "Mhhm?"

He bites down the syllables, stopping the 'baby' he wants to mewl from coming out. He knows pet names are a no, but it's a force of habit. It's just like the muscle memory in his fingers knowing how he should touch you; something well trained, well practised.

He doesn't relent. Keeps going. Has your cunt stuffed with his fingers. Will make you cum.

It's just as much for him now as it is for you. He's watching your face, how you refuse to open your eyes, how your dewy lips are rested ajar, soft moans humming from your throat.

He kind of hates the rules. Knows they serve a purpose, and that they're smart, but it'd be so much easier for him if he could kiss you.

It's not that he actively wants to make out with you, it's just that it comes naturally to him. He doesn't think he's ever been inside a woman without actually kissing her. There's a sizable portion of his brain which is having to work against his instincts, now. If he didn't have to waste that energy, he could spend it on you instead.

But it also makes it exciting. A little sordid. You've removed the romance he typically associates with a position as promiscuous as this. Maybe he is capable of fucking around.

"I know," he husks as your body writhes beneath his touch. "Ba-" Shit. "Byeol, I know. That feel good?"

Feel good? Feel good? What kind of a fucking question is that? If you could form a coherent sentence instead of moaning every other second, you'd ask him as such. Instead, you settle with, "fuck."

"Should I take that as a yes?" he smirks against your hair, his second hand dropping from the grip it has on your waist down to your pussy. Pushing your thighs a little further apart, Jungkook has you in the palm of his hand like a fucking ragdoll. His hands work in tandem, fingers plunging into your while he rubs dainty circles over your clit, careful to not be too aggressive. He's taking his time. Building your high.

"Take it as a 'you could do better'," you whine, just to wind him up a little. He's doing fucking fantastic.

"Better?" He sounds offended, but is smirking, watching pleasure take hold of your features. He loves the way you goad him on. Knows you must be a right little brat in the right scenario. Think maybe one day, he'd like to experience it fully. For now, he simply growls into your ear. "Open your eyes. Look at yourself." He builds his pace. The sounds of him sliding into you are lewd. Soaking. Sopping wet. "You hear that? Tell me to do better again. Go on. I dare you."

Your gaze opens, all hazy and cum-drunk, falling on the mirror. Your skin is dewy, and the incident positioning of your spread legs puts you on full display.

Jungkook withdraws his fingers. Spreads your lips open. Holds his stare on you. Watches as your wetness drips from your entrance. Rubs circles on your clit. Encourages more. Watches as it seeps from you. Presses his hips upwards to let you know he's still fucking solid for you. He gathers your leaking slick on his index and middle finger, then pushes it back into you.

He's panting, too.

And so you smirk. Watch the pained lust in his eyes. Tell him, "do better," in a hushed whisper.

He's slow. Lets his touches linger. Doesn't pump into you like he had been - instead, he scissors his fingers ever so gently - and that's when you decide he's a menace to society and that you're probably doing the world a favour by keeping him off the streets for a little while longer.

"Holy shit," you hiss, and then your fingers are wrapped around his wrist again. He fucking laughs.

His nose nuzzles into your hair, his smirk not hiding his teeth. He's thinking about kissing you again. Just a small one. On the side of your head. Has to talk just to stop himself.

"That better, Byeol?"

All you can do is whine. Nod a little.

"Can't hear you. I asked a question. Give me an answer," he teases. "Now, is this better, Byeol?"

"No," you lie. "Considerably worse."

"Fine," he says, and pulls out. Grips your thighs with his soaked fingers. Squeezes them together. Lets you pant for a little while. He's panting, too. "On your knees."

"Sorry?"

"You will be," he smirks, changing his position behind you. "Get on your knees."

And so you do. You relinquish trust to him. Feel like you might have a heart attack from how fast it's beating - but he knows this. Strokes the curve of your hip. Hugs you into his chest ever so slightly and says, "the minute it gets too much, or you decide you've done enough... just say the word, Byeol."

He nuzzles his nose against your hair. Likes the way it smells. Hugs you a little tighter, still.

You nod. "At least tell me how you want me, first?"

It's the mental preparation you need, much more than physical. He knows this. Knows that his teasing has a time and a place. What was okay a few moments ago would be too brash now - so he tries a little tenderness once more.

He waits for you to look at him. Not in the mirror this time, but head turned, eyes on his. The glitter on your eyes catches in the light. Reflects in his eyes. Puts stars in them.

"On your front. Head down," he says slowly, not wanting it to sound crude. "Ass up. Or just flat on your front, if you'd rather. Up to you. Wait-" He stands, holding out his hand for you to take. When you do, he pulls you up and guides you to his bed instead. Lets you sit. He still stands. "Just realised I was asking you to be facedown on the literal floor. My bad."

You don't say anything, just smile at the fact he realised it. Such a boy, and yet such a gent. He's trouble, there's no doubt about it. As your eyes study his face, he seems sincere - and so you turn. Lean forward. Stretch out. Face down, ass up.

"Fuck," he hisses and gets on his knees behind you. One of his hands grapples at your ass, fingers sinking into the peachy flesh. He strokes against the soft skin, and then asks, "how do you feel about spanking?"

You smirk into his sheets. Plunge even further into them. Raise your ass even higher. "It's not on the bird."

His fingers dig further into your cheek. You're mewling. He's getting delirious again. "Byeol..."

The way you move your hips ever so slightly is absolute sin. You know you're trying to make him crack. You know it's working. "Mhmm?"

He pulls you back. Presses the bulge in his trousers against you. He's still hard. Harder, even. His hands are on your hips, keeping you close, even as he retracts - before pulling you tight to him. Repeats. Ruts himself against you a couple more times.

"If one of those birds doesn't end with me fucking you-"

"You'll what?" you say with a sardonic smile as you twist your body around and out of his grasp. You're on your back now, reaching for his shirt, pulling him down.

He complies. Tangles his legs with yours. Lets his hand cup your heat. Toys with you. Teases.

"What will you do, huh?" You flirt. "Die?"

He smirks now, too. Knows that you're taking the piss. Quite likes it. Likes that you remember the shit he says when he gets too horny for his own good.

"Maybe," he husks, sinking his fingers inside you again. Didn't even get to have you how he wanted you, but he likes this. Likes the flirt. Likes how erratic your breathing gets.

"Guess you'll just have to - fuck - keep waiting for them to fall," you turn a little. Hook your leg over his hip. Grind against him. Ride his fingers. "See if you get what you want."

"I'm incredibly patient," he lies. Builds the speed he's fucking them into you at. Uses the hand that's not bringing you closer and closer to climax to hold your chin. Wants to keep you looking at him.

"Liar."

"I'll do this for hours if it means making you cum," he almost snarls over the sound of your moans.

You laugh. Stutter on the moans in your throat. Tell him good luck. Let him know that you can't remember the last time someone else made you orgasm. You can do it yourself, easy. Someone else? Good fucking luck.

"Fine. We're gonna make you cum," he says as if it's a group activity - but then he drops his grip from your chin and reaches to the hand of yours that had been hooked over his shoulder. Guides it to your pussy. "Get yourself off."

You stare at him for a moment. His pace eases, but his gaze doesn't drop. He's slow. Rubs at you just in the right way. And then he says, "get yourself off while I'm inside you."

You say nothing. Do as you're told.

"Good girl."

It doesn't take long. If anything, it's embarrassing how quickly he has you coming undone. Admittedly, you're just as much a part of it as he is. Without your input, maybe he would have had to have been going for hours.

But you are involved, and you're shaking around him. Legs trembling. Toes pointed. Head buried into his chest, fingers wrapped around his wrist to stop him from overstimulating you too much. His name escapes your lips as your orgasm ripples through your muscles, and Jungkook just fucking laughs.

"So fuckin' hot," he praises, lips pouty, in desperate need of a kiss to offset the fact he's practically leaking precum into his pants.

Rules are rules, though. They're not made to be broken. Not these ones.

He withdraws from you, and wipes the mess on his sheets. Will deal with it later. Watches you as you giggle to yourself, orgasm well and truly delivered. When your eyes open and focus on him, Jungkook is pleased. You look content.

"I'm still scared," you simper. "We might have to practise that one a few times."

He laughs now, too. Rolls onto his back. Can smell your arousal on his fingers. Has never been more hungry in his entire life.

"Such a liar."

But you both are, in your own ways.

"Maybe. Thank you... for that," you say, very aware of the unfair dynamics of just you getting off, but knowing that without a fallen bird to specify it, there's no way you can just reciprocate.

"Pleasures all mine," he says, as if he isn't letting himself get severely blue-balled. Knows what the agreement is though. You getting him off now would be just for his benefit. He laments the fact he's not scared of blowjobs. Wishes all of his birds were like yours, now.

The silence consumes you both. Has you wondering why you never come undone like that normally. Makes you think maybe you need to stop preventing people from touching you in such a way. Jimin had tried. You can remember - but you'd dismissed him.

He's not the only person you've dismissed in such a way. Perhaps you will enjoy casual sex more if you don't keep your desires at bay. Maybe Jungkook's been right about this all along.

"Anyways," you turn to face him. "Phone."

"Hmm?"

"Well, we've done my bird. We need to do yours from earlier."

Jungkook says nothing. Is a little bit confused. He's still hard. You've barely come down from your orgasm. Surely nows not the time?

You couldn't disagree more even if you tried. It's the perfect time. Stops you from thinking about how fucking good that was, and how much you want it to happen again.

"You... want me to invite a girl round?"

"Well, not while I'm still here" you consider. "Like, text them now, but arrange it for another time."

"Yeah, but-" Jungkook wants to protest. Wants to remind you that his sheets are covered in you. Instead, he just looks at the ceiling, a little baffled.

"If it's too much, why don't you just text a girl, at least?"

He frowns. You don't notice, because you're looking at the ceiling, too.

But then he sighs. Maybe you're right. Maybe he is being a coward.

"Alright," he reaches for his phone from the nightstand. Unlocks it, and opens up his Instagram DMs. Looks over to you. Catches your gaze. Smiles, despite the uneasy feeling in his stomach. "What do I say?"

BD MASTERLIST | WATTPAD Ver. | A03 Ver. | SMUT INDEX

#jungkook #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #bts fanfic #jungkook imagines #jungkook scenario #jungkook fanfic #jungkook oneshot #bd!jk #bad decisions

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the-fiction-witch · 4 months

Text

Mrs Dawkins P1-P5

Media The Artful Dodger

Character Jack Dawkins

Couple Jack x Reader

Rating Sweet AF

Series Mrs Dawkins Series

This is A Wattpad Series mostly I will be posting it here of course in chunks but it is much further ahead and having daily chapter's being released there, so if you can't wait the the series is linked ^

I woke to the typical birds singing in the nest, the nest seated on a lofty branch of the tree outside my bedroom window. I had listened to the newly born baby birds since their hatch only a few days after I arrived now they were age, where flight was soon to be thrust upon them. They must leap unknowingly into the extraordinary world and all its devilish Secrets.

I suppose I pitied the poor baby birds, that they would be forced from the nest they have known their entire lives on the will of another, That they are to be forced away with a loving arm and the familiarity that it is best for all, that they must go onward into this heartless world solitary.

But I knew they couldn't remain in their nest eternally.

The world is about them and the only route left is forward.

I laid in bed, my body knitted and knotted with the cotton sheets of my bed. I listened to the bird's sweet song, as they praised the morning sun. But after a while, I forced myself up as the guilt of being laid in bed only made my stomach sick.

I forced my body from my bed, pushed back the cotton sheets and carefully set my feet on the cold wooden floor. I stepped across from my bedside to the small bassinet where a large jug, sweet bowl, lavender soap and a fresh towel sat ready and waiting, I poured the water from the jug into the bowl and took the soap, I washed my hands intricately making sure to clean my knuckles raw and in between my fingers intensely. I then used my clean hands to scrub my face until my nose and cheeks were sore, once finished I set my soap back in its dish and dried off on my towel.

I looked across my room, even if all of it still felt so new to me. My sweet suite on the second floor of our lovely new house with lavender-painted wood pallet walls that lined my room, my bed in the centre graced with cotton and silks, my wardrobe took up most of my room the whole corner lined with shelves filled with dresses, stockings, jewellery and shoes. My large three-pannel mirror against the wall with the ottoman to the edge, the sweet paper screen painted with lavender flowers to block it from the rest of the room. My vanity was laden with objects such as my brushes, perfume bottles and blushes many of which simply sat in their typical places. and My desk in the centre was laden with paper scattered around, pencils, paints, charcoals and all sorts of other such materials littered about. With a few canvases leant against the leg of the desk where I had yet to find a place to put them.

I did adore my room, even if I had yet to make it my home since we moved here.

I moved across my room and behind my screen, I slipped off my nightie and left it on the small washing basket. I took my stockings and pulled them up my legs to my thighs, I took my bloomers and pulled them up to my waist buttoning them up tight, I took my underdress and slipped it over my shoulders tugging it down to my ankles, I took a pair of shoes and slipped them on not needing to lace them up. I took my corset still laced from yesterday and clipped it on having to breathe in a little to do the last few up but it meant I didn't need someone to lace my corset for me, I walked down my wardrobe and ran my hand across the rail of dresses. I picked out my green dress with a pattern of branches and birds in the fabric, I pulled it out and slipped it on giving it a good adjustment to let the built-in crinoline sit as it should. I did up the few buttons It needed and fixed myself in the mirror not even bothering to do my hair.

"Hello, You." I sighed at my reflection adjusting my red ribbon tied in a bow around my neck.

My bedroom door opened, which revealed the governess of the house whom I had known almost my whole life, She was tall, thin, in a pencil-thin corset, a black shapeless dress her hair pinned back slickly, she stood stiff as a board her back in a position I'm sure could balance four heavy books if needed, Her hand still on my door knob.

"Ma'am! Breakfast is ready." Miss Hardcastle said, but with a sharp uncaring tone almost as if she was ordering me there rather than requesting.

"Yes, Miss." I nodded, so I left my room and she closed my door and followed behind me to take me down to the dining room.

I headed down to the dining room, A large room that faced the window with a large wooden table littered with flowers, the yellow walls littered with paintings, and the chandelier hung over the table. My father sat in his usual seat.

My father was a large man with a head for business, fairly far round and not very tall, in his black suit, red waistcoat and silver pocket watch. He sat there with his large plate loaded with greasy breakfast food. The food loaded almost twice the size of the plate it sat on.

I sat myself in my usual chair, I adjusted my dress as I spoke up "Good Morning Father,"

"Good Morning My sweet," He cooed, "How did you sleep?"

"Very well thank you," I smiled,

My breakfast was brought by the kitchen girl, she set the plate down in front of me with two bits of toast, some marmalade, and some cut-up apples, oranges, and other small fruits.

"Thank you," I smiled to her as she hurried away, I began to eat my breakfast, and I made sure to be slow to make sure it lasted. "What are you going to do today Father?" I asked,

"Well, I have some meetings in port, I need to talk to the damn warehouse clerks, more meetings, more meetings, then I have some organization for your ball, some paperwork, all boring business things. Not for little girls." He said,

"So, you'll be going into town today?"

"I will,"

"Do you think perhaps today I could accompany you?"

"Y/n. You need to stay here my sweet, you're still new to the area, and this place can be dangerous." he explained, "And you have yet to debut. We've been working around the clock for your Ball haven't we Miss Hardcastle?"

"Yes Sir." She nodded,

"We wouldn't want to spoil the reveal of the ball?"

"Please father?" I begged, "I haven't left our house since we arrived, Please Father just for a walk to your meeting that's all I ask."

He glared, a moment the first time he looked up from his breakfast. He stared at me before he looked back down, "What do we think Miss Hardcastle?"

She stiffened herself even more, she glanced at me so I pleaded with her as I gave her my most imploring eyes before she then looked to the ceiling. "She has been very well-behaved, sir. She has done all of her work, and been making good time on her preparations, I believe taking her to town could only potentially drum more interest in her Ball."

"Alright then." he nodded, "That settles that, You shall accompany me but I will escort you everywhere." He said, "Go on, hat, gloves, and parasol."

"Yes Father" I nodded taking my plate to the side to be cleaned and almost bolted out the door to run and get ready beyond excited!

I got my jacket on and made sure it covered me well, I slipped on my white gloves, brushed my hair out and put my hat on my head tying it around my chin and adding a hat pin just in case. I made sure I looked as presentable as possible for my first time out, hiding my ribbon and adding a string of pearls atop my dress.

I scampered to the front door and picked up a parasol that would fit my dress, I headed outside of the house to stand with my father as we waited for the carriage to come around for us.

I was so very excited I hadn't left our house since our arrival, so long on the ship and finally, we were here, I was thrown in a carriage brought here and I hadn't left since. I wanted nothing more than to explore Port Victory, meet new friends, and find little places for tea, cake, and activities as presumably I will be staying here for the rest of my life.

The carriage pulled up so Father helped me to climb inside, and I took my seat. He climbed in after me and sat across from me. Once the carriage began on its way I couldn't prevent my wide smile almost biting my lip in anticipation to see what this place was like.

"You are not to say a word."

"Yes, Father."

"You are not to smile either, it's too willing my sweet"

"Yes, Father."

"You are not to leave my arm, not for a moment." He said, "This place is full of roughians, scoundrels, and vagabonds."

"Yes, Father."

Soon enough the carriage stopped and the moment the door opened I wanted to run and see all there was to see but I waited for my father to climb out and then offer me his hand.

I took it and climbed out holding his arm as a young lady should when being escorted. I put up my parasol hiding myself under it from the aggressive sun. He walked me down the streets and I couldn't help but look at everything all the little shops, the people walking by, the market stalls, the gallows, the sweet little houses, all of it so fascinating. I did as Father asked and stayed silent as I looked at everything I could, he took me to a warehouse by the docks where cargo from ships was kept and stored. He had a meeting or three with various people none of which spoke to me at all. I took note of these men being the first ones I had seen but there was little remarkable about them.

Once finished the meetings, Father walked me back through town to return to the carriage and head home, I had hoped for more but I was still thrilled.

I slowed a little as I noticed a man heading our way, he didn't seem to move out of the way politely just heading straight for us until he bumped into us.

"Ohh do forgive me sir-" he said before he pushed through us breaking apart our arms. But as he did I felt this hard tug as my pearl necklace was forcibly grabbed by his dirty hands and ripped off me, it hurt as he broke my clasp and rushed away

"Father my pearls!" I gasped

"You dirty rotten scoundrel! Thief!" My father yelled as he began to give chase, I picked up the skirt of my dress and hurried after him too "Guards! Thief! Catch that man!" My father yelled but quickly he ran out of breath and stamina, So I simply picked my dress up higher and bolted after the thief as quickly as I could "NOO! Y/n!" Father yelled but I just did my best to keep up with the man, luckily he was aged and sick, so I could keep up with him in a dress and corset.

The thief turned down an alley but I followed him, seeing him opening a door at the bottom, "Return my necklace immediately!" I demanded as I managed to get close to grab my necklace still in his hand, we tussled with it back and forth for a few seconds before he backed far enough behind the door to slam it on my hand!

My hand crushed in the door violently, enough to make me scream and hold my hand close as it ached and brunt with pain, my necklace broke in the door sending pearls tumbling to the dusty dirt.

"AHhhhhhhh...." I complained

"Y/n! My sweet! what did I tell you!" My father snapped as he caught up to me "My god your hand! we must hurry, we must take you to the hospital immediately!" He said as he held me in his arms and ushered me back to the carriage.

My father rushed me to the hospital in the carriage, As soon as we arrived he ushered me inside and the nurse took us to a small room to wait. I sat on the metal-framed bed in the small wood-lined room, I held my hand to my chest as it throbbed with pain. My father stood in the corner his face a wash with fear.

After a while of waiting, the door opened and I was taken aback a moment, The doctor walked in wearing some dirty brown shoes, a pair of brown trousers with darker brown lines to create almost a faint attempt at plaid, a white shirt with long billowing sleeves that cinched at his wrists, the shirt... an odd grey washed out colour that old white clothes go after time, especially the arms darker and clearly washed more than anything else, He wore an old tattered green tie around his neck tucked into a blue slightly textured waistcoat, done up tightly around his rather thin body, he had a fluffy head of blonde and brown hair most of it pushed over to one side, dark chocolate eyes and a youthful sly smile, that sort of smile young boys get when they've gotten away with something. I had to admit... He was handsome.

He came in and shut the door and smiled at my father, "If you don't mind waiting outside Sir."

"Yes of course," my father nodded as he quickly left the room.

And this doctor turned his attention to me. He stopped just in front of me and looked at me from the tip of my toe to the top of my head before he shook himself awake and a smile cracked on his lip, "Forgive me, Dr Dawkins, Miss?"

"Miss Everset." I smiled "I would uhh but-" I began as I showed my hand

"Of course, now let's have a look at that hand." He said and he offered his hand sweetly

"I shouldn't my father He'll-"

"Miss Everset. I'm a doctor." He reminded

I nodded and offered my hand carefully,

"Now I need to remove your glove is that alright?"

"Yes Doctor," I nodded

"Lovely, nice and slow." he reassured as he carefully removed my glove and sat it beside me on the bed "Ohhh that is a nasty one." he said "How'd it happen?" he asked as he moved his hands softly and slowly over my own checking my hand for various damage, he was so gentle it barely hurt and his hands were so callus and rough. It almost made me giggle to think that I sat here and for the very first time a man touched my bare skin.

"I was chasing a thief. He stole my pearls so I gave chase."

"Why didn't your father?"

"He tried. He's not so good at running."

"Because of his eye?"

I was shocked as he said that, looking up at him, my father had a bad eye injury that he gained many years ago it caused him trouble with running, reading and other sight-related things but it was so healed I had never known people who didn't already know about it to notice it let alone mention it, "I uhh Yes, people don't often know that,"

"I'm a doctor, you notice these things." He smiled,

"I suppose so. But yes I gave chase and the thief shut the door on my hand"

"Ohh dear, you poor thing." he cooed "Were they important to you, your pearls?"

"No, no. I just didn't want to lose them."

"I see." he nodded, "Well, good news nothing broken. you are going to have one hell of a bruise down the centre of your palm where the door hit, I will get the nurse to give you some bruise lotion to take home with you, follow the instructions and it should go away in a few days a week at the most. any issues with the bruising or your fingers in two weeks come back and we'll have a more intense look without all the swelling alright?" he explained and I nodded "Good, and as for the pain, Ice cream and hot baths." He winked,

"I will, thank you doctor uh?" I blushed rather embarrassed I forgot,

"Dawkins, Dr Dawkins." He smiled,

"Thank you, Dr Dawkins."

"You're very welcome," He smiled, took my hand and gave it a soft polite kiss which made me blush even more "You're a very brave girl, chasing after a thief."

"Ohh" I blushed, "Brave or foolish."

"My experience they tend to be the same, have a nice day Miss Everset."

"You too Dr Dawkins." I smiled,

He nodded and headed out back to his other hospital work, I took my glove and pulled my hand close to my chest again doing my best to... Breathe.

I sat in the carriage as it bounced and bumped along back to our home, My hand clutched to my chest still, blush across my cheeks. My father looked at me and chuckled.

"Yes, father?"

"Only once in my life have I seen someone so happy on the way home from a hospital?"

"oh? When?"

"You're mother. When we brought you home." He smiled, "You seem very happy, you haven't stopped smiling since we left the hospital."

"I haven't" I admit,

"Any particular reason you're so happy?"

I knew I couldn't tell him the real reason I was smiling, "I'm just happy to have seen town father, Happy I got time out of the house."

"Good, perhaps I'll take you out more often." He smiled,

"I'd like that very much, father." I smiled,

Soon enough the carriage stopped so Father climbed out and offered his hand, I took it and climbed out as we headed inside the house. Miss Hardcastle was there waiting for me so she took me to my room to swap parts of my outfit back to a more homely way.

"Did you enjoy the trip, Ma'am?"

"I did, it was lovely."

"Such a shame about your injury, we shall have to be careful during sewing time." She said,

"Yes, yes... I uhh I don't know, I think all things have a silver lining."

"And what lining could this have ma'am?" She asked

"...Well, I got to see the hospital." I smiled trying to hide my truth

"Yes well, we shall begin our day in the music room when you're ready," she said before she left my room

I found myself unable to stop myself from sitting at my desk and got a fresh piece of parchment, my favourite ink fountain pen and I began to do an ink sketch humming and muttering to myself as I drew the sculpting lines and valleys.

"Dr Dawkins... Ummmm Dr Dawkins" I muttered barely being aware I was doing it kicking my feet back and forth under my chair as I drew, after a good while I stopped my pen and looked at the blue ink sketch of the sweet doctor "Hummmm," I smiled at it but I hid it away and fixed myself before I head to the music room.

#tbs imagine #tbs imagines #thomas sangster imagine #thomasbrodiesangster #thomas brodie sangster smut #thomas brodie sangster imagine #tbs smut #tbs #thomas sangster #thomas brodie sangster #the artful dodger #thearttfuldodger #theartfuldogger #artfuldodger #artful dodger #jackdawkins #jack #jack dawkins

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shayyprasad · 2 months

Text

and so we meet again | peter parker

summary: you've fallen in love with peter, and the worst part? you can't. not when you know you must be with someone else.

series masterlist!

warning: maybe cursing?

y/n woke up with a stretch and a yawn, glancing at the clock.

6:47.

crap. i forgot about work.

she sighed and rolled out of bed, her butt landing on the cold, hard floor. she pulled herself up and trudged into the bathroom. y/n grabbed a hair tie and put her hair up into a high bun.

she turned on the tap and splashed some cold water on her face in an attempt to wake herself up. it was the second that the water came in contact to y/n's face, the exact second, that she remembered what happened last night.

the girl literally choked on her own saliva, slamming the tap closed.

"oh my god. there's no way that happened." she murmured to herself in the mirror.

it was fun... for what was most likely a fling for him. y/n couldn't help the smile that grew on her face. she did a little mini squeal. that had to have been the most exciting night of her entire freaking life. and that was saying a lot. she leaned forward into the mirror, and her lips were still slightly swollen and a darker color.

y/n's stomach pressed against the sink, and she winced. pulling away, she peaked under her shirt to see an ugly, purple bruise.

"well, that's confirmation for last night," she huffed.

no matter what she did, she couldn't get her mind off that spider. she brushed her teeth and washed her face. y/n walked over to the vanity and ran a hairbrush through her hair. putting it in a half up/half down hairstyle and securing it with a clip.

you put on some light makeup, and eyeliner.

winged eyeliner was a must.

y/n went over to her closet and got changed into the outfit she had picked for work. a beige colored cropped blazer on top of a white collared shirt. she had beige dress pants to go with the blazer. slipping on black heels, y/n went out of her room into the kitchen.

she quickly made some coffee. y/n didn't think she would be able to eat anything, the butterflies in her stomach took up most of the room. no, more like angry pterodactyls stomping around.

she grabbed her purse, coat, and phone before walking out the door, coffee in hand. y/n flagged down a taxi and got in.

"daily bugle, please."

the driver gave her a silent nod and started there.

yep, the young solace girl worked at the daily bugle as there head journalist. writing had always been a passion of hers, and some of her books were well known. a few self-help and a few were fiction.

y/n's stomach grumbled.

oh, well, maybe i'll get something during my break.

and then she remembered the fact that she had left the pizza in the alley. there went $4.67, right down the drain.

the car stopped in front of the large building, so she thanked and paid him. y/n stepped out of the car and shut the door. first day on the new job. she took a breath.

it's not like y/n was new to journalism, she had done it when she lived back in florida. a warm coat of saliva encased her tongue.

no. no, we don't need to do this.

she put a smile on her face and swung open the doors. y/n walked over to the receptionist, slightly giddy.

"hello, how can i help you?"

"hi, um, y/n l/n. i'm the new head journalist."

"ah, i see. head up to the tenth floor, office 103. your partner will be up there waiting for you." she gave her a keycard for the office.

"oh, sorry, p-partner?" y/n stuttered, grabbing the card.

she looked up from her typing. "yes." then proceeded to do what she was doing.

"well, actually, you see-"

the lady paid no mind.

"ok," you paused, "uh, thanks, then."

y/n rubbed the back of her neck as she waited in the elevator.

partner? she wasn't very good with partners, or just people in general. y/n had no idea that she would be working with someone.

the doors opened and she walked down the hall, trying to find 103. at last, she found it and unlocked it using her keycard. when she opened the door, no one was inside. y/n didn't know whether to frown or smile. she walked over to the empty desk, the other one was cluttered, so she figured it was her "partner's."

she sighed and sat down, scanning the file that was on the table. nothing special, just a bunch of topics. y/n skimmed until she found one that was interesting.

"spider-man: fire at orphanage," she murmured. this one it was. she flushed at the name. would he ever come back? y/n pushed those thoughts away and began to brainstorm what to write. someone entered the room, and she looked up.

"oh my god, pete?"

"y/n/n! i didn't know you were my partner! i also didn't know you were a journalist. like, at all."

she laughed, "i don't seem like one, do i?" y/n found herself slightly pink at the nickname. "you know, you never quite texted me pete."

"yeah," peter chuckled, obviously red. "i didn't wanna come off as too strong," he smiled.

he was spider-man. and she was y/n. she didn't know it, but the girl had made out with him. with peter.

the thought only made him redder.

y/n smiled, "i get it. but, dude, seriously, keep in touch. like, quit tryna be aloof," she joked.

peter

peter laughed nervously. he was really stuck. like, between a rock and a hard place. he liked y/n both as peter and spider-man. but he also figured that she liked spider-man more, seeing as their little ordeal last night. but being with spider-man would put y/n in danger.

also... what about gwen? was that right? everyone had been telling him to try and move on. try and find someone new. what if she was that person?

he knew these feelings. he hadn't felt them since... gwen.

peter mentally sighed. it was fine. he didn't need to figure everything out right now. for the time being, he could just enjoy the company. it had been sometime since he'd talked to someone since his late girlfriend.

everything about her just captured him. so why not capture this moment?

click.

y/n glanced at him, confused. peter lowered the camera.

"creep," she teased.

"s-sorry, i just, you looked super pretty and focused and i really enjoy taking candid shots andisweari'mnotastalkerandi-"

"hey, pete, bro. you're fine, i was just kidding around," she chuckled, cutting off his rambling.

"oh, yeah. cool, cool."

damn it, peter, can't you be smooth for once?

he went over to take a seat at his desk and started sorting through all the photos he had taking, sorting them on the laptop into the different topics. peter was trying his very hardest not to look at her, knowing that if he did, he wouldn't be able to stop.

but peter being peter, he peeked at y/n from behind the large desktop computer.

"no," he scolded himself quietly, "bad spider." peter went back to working, reluctantly.

when you're doing something you love, hours pass like minutes.

and soon enough it was 12:45. lunch break. so, peter gathered all of his courage to walk over to the desk, which was really only 6 or 7 feet away, and ask her out for lunch.

"uh, hey, y/n/n."

"pete, hi. wanna go out with me for lunch. i know an awesome café, my friend owns it, and you know why it's so awesome? we get discounts! and if she's in a good mood- it's free."

he gaped slightly at how causal she was about it, forgetting to answer.

"...pete? do you not want to? cause that's totally fine, no pressure."

"no!"

y/n gave him a look, raising her eyebrows at his sudden outburst.

he cleared his throat, cheeks tinted red.

"i-i mean yes. yeah, the café sounds great."

"cool. it's walking distance, and it's nice outside. we have more than enough time to eat, and then maybe go to the park or something, great place to take photos of people when they aren't looking. my bad, my bad, i meant candid shots."

"hey! and i don't just take photos of anybody, only people that are worthy of it."

she scoffed playfully, "i'm glad you think i'm worthy."

"yep," he chuckled, popping the p. "and you're pretty," the last part slipped out before he could stop it, making her cheeks pink.

"yeah, well, i'd call you beautiful, darling."

"d-darling?"

she rolled her eyes, a smile playing on her face.

"it's called flirting. platonic flirting, darling."

"oh. is that what you're gonna call me?"

"yeah."

"in front of people?"

she pushed her chair back, standing up, and walking to the door. "yeah."

"you know, they'll think we're dating."

"good. we'd make a top notch couple anyways."

that shut him up. also another thought did, too. the fact that his crush had said "platonic flirting" instead of just "flirting."

that must be the fasted anyone's gotten friend zoned before.

taglist:

@whatsupstark @ell0ra-br3kk3r @idli-dosa @susvale @kdbsr-h

#tom holland x reader #tom holland #peter parker #spiderman #peter parker x you #peter parker x reader #tom holland x you #fluff #peter parker imagine #angst #andrew garfield x reader

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pietrotheavenger · 3 months

Text

learn to love

chapter 14 - how to breathe

summary: steve and y/n don’t get along. now, they have to.

pairings: au!steve rogers x fem!reader

warnings: alcohol

a/n: two years later LMFAO dedicated to anon. proofread once and did not edit. there will be another chapter!

series masterlist

steve did not text y/n when he got home. she stayed up an hour, waiting for her phone to light up with his text, but it never did. she didn’t know when she fell asleep that night, but when it came it was restless and absent of any dreams.

the following day was a rinse and repeat of her daily life; wake up, get ready for work, take the subway, and pretend to be busy for eight hours. when she got home and kicked her shoes off, all she wanted was a glass of wine. she paused at the fridge and she checked her phone for what felt like the millionth time that day. no new texts. she sighed, poured herself a glass, and sat down at the dining table. she looked around the empty apartment, her thoughts naturally drifting to steve as they usually did.

what was he doing? was he thinking about her? why hadn’t he texted her?

she pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed again. then, she stood up with a start. since when did she sit around feeling sorry for herself? since when? she felt a bit of anger bubble up inside of her. all of this melancholy over a man? god, if she was one of her friends, she would’ve told herself to get a grip. well, she thought, nothing a good shower can’t fix. she pushed her thoughts of steve and his pink lips to the side, and took her glass of wine with her to the bathroom.

an hour later, while y/n was moisturizing her freshly shaved legs, her phone chirped. she looked over, absentmindedly singing along to the music she had put on for her shower. a text. she looked closer. from natasha. she finished applying the cream, then picked her phone up.

nat: will be home from work late tonight. don’t watch love island without me!

she smiled briefly, and shot back a reply.

y/n: wouldn’t dream of it! i don’t feel like cooking so i’ll order a pizza

she set her phone back on the counter, her gaze falling on natasha’s organizer filled with hair accessories. she looked up at the mirror, at her wet hair. she picked up her phone and sent another text to natasha.

y/n: can i borrow your hair pins?

a moment later:

nat: go for it

she quickly set to work blow drying her hair. natasha’s hair was always perfectly curled, and y/n had watched her on multiple occasions use pins to keep the curls in their shape and she had always wanted to try it herself, and see if her hair could be just as bouncy, or if the red head was just using sorcery. before she began curling her hair, she ordered the pizza so that it would arrive around the same time she was done. she also needed to refill her glass.

30 minutes later, she heard a knock at the door. “just a second!” she called out, as she carefully rolled up the last curl and clipped it into place. she paused to admire her handiwork. there was a couple stray pieces of hair sticking out, but overall not bad for her first time trying. she ran out of the bathroom and stopped in the hallway to rummage through her purse for cash. “one second, sorry!” she called out again, hoping the delivery person wouldn’t be annoyed with her. she barely missed stumbling over her shoes before she finally reached the door and opened it.

standing in front of her was six feet and two inches of man. of a man that was quite familiar to her. steve, to be specific. in his hand, in place of the box of pizza that she was expecting, was a bouquet of daffodils wrapped together with light blue cellophane and a bow.

“y/n,” he exhaled, seeming as if he had forgotten what he was going to say.

“steve,” she said, surprise equally evident in her voice and her face.

“i want you,” he rushed out so fast that it seemed that it was all one word. “i want you,” he repeated, slower. the second his eyes had fallen on her, all of the things he had planned to say to her flew out of his head. in their place, all that remained was one thing. one person, to be specific. her.

“steve,” she whispered.

he took a step closer. “i want you,” he said again, his voice low. she wordlessly stepped aside and allowed him to enter the apartment. she closed the door and turned around to face him and pressed her hands together to keep them from shaking. she didn’t meet his eyes, instead looking down at the shoes she had almost tripped over just a minute earlier. he sighed her name and reached for her hand, placing it on his chest, over his heart. she finally looked up at him, eyes searching his expression. “these past months without you,” he began, “have been the most agonizing of my life. i never realized that i need you the way i need air. when i saw you last night, it was like i remembered how to breathe again.

“i can’t lose you. i don’t care about all your stupid worries, i don’t care what my family would think about all of this. all i care is that i have you. i need you, i need to be able to breathe,” he said. “i can’t spend another moment of my life without you, y/n. i’ll do whatever i can to make this work, i’ll do whatever i can to make you happy, i promise. i just need you.”

her lips parted but she did not reply. they stared at each other for a full minute. he waited for an answer from her, anything. even a, “no steve.” but she said nothing. his heart was beating fast and he knew she could feel it. his hand fell from hers, and he broke eye contact.

her heart dropped, and she instantly knew that she shared the same madness as him. “steve,” she murmured, her hand trailing up to his face. her fingers carefully traced over his jawline, his stubble tickling her fingers. his blue eyes lifted to meet hers again. there was a small brown mole on his cheek. she had never noticed it. she wrapped both of her arms around his neck and pulled him in for an embrace. he wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her tight. the flowers became slightly crushed in the process, but he didn’t noticed. he buried his face in her neck, savoring her sweet, clean scent. one of the metal pins in her hair poked the side of his head, and she gasped, “oh my god,” and pulled back, her hand flying up to touch her hair.

“what?” he snapped, feeling a flash of agitation at the interruption of their hug. though she hadn’t escaped from his arms quite yet.

“my hair,” she gawked, as if it should have been obvious to him. he let himself take a good look at her. she was dressed in pajama pants and a college t-shirt, and her hair was pinned up like a woman out of a 1950’s fashion magazine. he smiled to himself. she looked ethereal. the annoyed look on her face quickly brought him back down to reality.

he fought the urge to roll his eyes and said instead, “it doesn’t matter.” how could it matter, when she was here with him? he swore his heart skipped a beat. she hadn’t said much, but she didn’t need to. this had to happen. he needed her and he would do whatever he possibly could for her to be his.

“it matters to me! i look ridiculous!” she cried, turning her head to look in the mirror on the wall next to the front door. she reached up and pulled a pin out, the curl falling down in a perfect spiral, mesmerizing steve.

he touched the piece of hair, making her hand stop mid air as she went to unfasten another curl. he wrapped the strand around his finger and released it, watching it bounce. “you’re so beautiful,” he whispered, repeating the motion, “every single part of you. i want it all.” his hand moved up to cup her face and tilt it up towards his. he closed the distance between them until they were barely separated by an inch. his eyes fell to her lips. “please, be mine,” he exhaled, his eyes fluttering closed.

she leaned in, her lips meeting his in a kiss.

infinity tags:

@ssweet-empowerment ; @stardustandbucky ; @abuckyrogersworld ; @freightcarcap ; @c-a-v-a-l-r-y ; @coffeebooksandfandom ; @somethingmoreclever ; @illegalportkey ; @fuckthatfeeling ; @buckybarneshairpullingkink ; @tuliptx ; @wwhitewwolff ; @thisismysecrethappyplace ; @appreciating-chase-brody ; @maladaptive-ninja-returns ; @sophiealiice ; @galacticstxrdust ; @fitzsimmons-is-forever ; @dumblani ; @i-padfootblack-things ; @pinknerdpanda ; @marvelssluts ; @brknwaves ;

learn to love tags:

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if you would like to be tagged please send an ASK.

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liquidstar · 24 days

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april fools is over so now im going to be slash srs instead of slash j. im going to post a little excerpt from one of the oc writing practices ive been doing :) again im not super experienced for a variety of reasons but im doing my best here.

but im going to try and put my self conciousness to the side (thats probably an important part of the practice too, right?) since this isnt final version either way, i can just say im sharing a WIP! so for now it will go the way of most of my other oc stuff..... under the cut

the only context you need is that this would be the opening scene for the story. if i post others i'll have to give more context bc most of them are taken from the middle of something. anyway here goes:

-----

“I love you

I've loved you since the beginning

From when you were only stardust

To when you will rejoin the stars

When everyone will be together again

Understand, you don’t simply live in the universe

You are part of it, taking on a form uniquely alive

You are the universe giving love back to itself

I love you so much”

“Wait!!!”

A lone girl jolts awake, crying a plea into the empty air. Tears stream down her cheeks, as she calls for someone she doesn't know. Her heart aches with a nameless yearning that fades with the memory of her dream. Still, against her will, the emotions linger. A profound sense of love consumes her, an agonizing, grieving love, meant for her. She sighs and wipes away her tears. It was an absurd dream, a ridiculous notion.

As her conscious mind clears, she takes in her surroundings; a forest drowned in the pale blue light of dawn. Her sleeping bag, now encased in dew, was laid on the cold grass. She sits for a while, gazing at the faint sliver of the rising sun’s glow with an indistinct expression, and eventually stands up.

The lone girl begins her daily routine by braiding her hair. With a wave of her hand, she freezes dew on a rock, creating herself a mirror. Her fingers carefully weave her brown locks into a braid, now adorned with a snowflake clip and a scarlet ribbon. She throws on a long blue half-skirt over her shorts, matching her shirt. She forces on a pair of black boots and cuffs on her arm. Lastly, she grabs a moon-themed spear, and she's ready for the day.

Before setting off, she made sure to pack all her belongings, including her numerous hand-drawn maps and a compass. However, she also stops to look into the bag deeper, foolishly expecting to find something new. Instead, she only sighs, "Still no food."

She puts on the backpack and trudges forward anyway, ignoring the hunger pains as best she can. She hums to keep herself distracted.

As she walks, the trees tower above her, shrouding the horizon and taunting her. Birds occasionally fly into view, but seem to disappear in an instant. She wonders if her eyes are playing tricks on her.

The lone girl scribbles on her maps, trying to record a labyrinth of identical tree trunks and twisted paths. This proves useless, as this elliptical forest has her going in circles. Exasperated, she fidgets with her compass, only to see the needle is frantically twitching around. She presses it gently to her forehead and quietly complains, “Don't tell me you're broken…”

Her train of thought was cut short by the sudden sound of running water, so loud she can’t fathom how she’s only now begun to hear it. She decided to put off one problem for another. Following the sound through some shrubs, she quickly finds the source.

Her spear at the ready, she approaches the stream. Scanning its depths for signs of fish, she walks cautiously. Her posture was awkward, her expression was uncertain, betraying her lack of experience. She held her spear to her chest with both arms as she encroached the water’s edge.

She inhales in preparation, removes her skirt and boots, and enters the water with slow, careful steps. The very surface of the stream begins to freeze as it makes contact with her skin. Tiny, thin crystals of ice form as she steps further in. Breathing deeper, as she tries to control the frost, she makes her way to the center of the stream. She stands waiting for fish.

Rather than throwing her spear to hunt, like the intended purpose, she stabs at the water. She’s not good at this, however, and only ends up scaring other potential prey away. She makes several attempts at this but is unsuccessful each time. Refusing to quit, her repeated strikes become more desperate and uncoordinated with each failure. Her growing frustration only makes the water freeze deeper, eventually solidifying around her legs. She yelps, now in a panic, and begins to frantically stab at the ice to free herself.

A mess.

Escaping this ordeal, the lone girl abandons any further attempt at fishing. It probably isn't her calling anyway. She trudges on, lost, wet, cold, and hungry.

She looks at her compass again, her face reflecting in its glass. “You're broken,” she tiredly states, as she feels her eyes begin to well with tears.

“No! No no no! Don't cry! Don't cry Polaris,” The lone girl, Polaris, reassures herself, “Last time you cried you froze your eyelids shut, and that really hurt,” She whines aloud.

Polaris takes a deep breath, slaps her cheeks, and swallows her tears. She elects to follow the river, her only hope of escape, pursuing the promise of a village just beyond this enigmatic forest. She daydreams of a warm meal in a cozy restaurant, and maybe a cold desert too. A glimmer of determination returns to her stride, as she continues her hum from before.

#hi #finn's ocs #i dont know if ill make a writing tag of any kind im still wavering on it #and again its a wip its a draft of a draft and all that #but i did my best for what it is! even if itll be changed later #i tried to avoid exposition abt the powers in this part. thatll come up later in a convo w saiph so its more clear Why #but hopefully the fact that shes just freezing stuff just establishes that there is somekinda power/magic system even w/o details yet idk!#i wont be posting that any time soon tho. its from the same sort of chunk of writing but not as polished as the Polaris Forest Failure Comp #(spoilers for if i post more ig?) this idiot doesnt know shes in the forest that makes you lost lol #but yeah i tried. ok bye

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smoments · 3 months

Text

✧ part 15: memories of a stranger // a satosugu reincarnation au

❝ let's meet again, for the first time. ❞

╰┈➤ in which 19-year old gojo satoru happens upon a stranger at a cafe who speaks his name with a kind of softness and familiarity that satoru’s sure he’s heard before.

chapter 1

ao3 link

➽ chapter 15: the delicate beginning rush

The first time that Suguru had the sudden, inexplicable urge to kiss him, they’d only just met. They were seated on opposite sides of that round, richly washed table in the corner of the cafe which he now associated with his first encounter with Satoru - as though it wasn’t his workplace, as though he didn’t frequent it on a near-daily basis. Every other experience paled in comparison to the feelings that laying his eyes upon Satoru’s face for the first time evoked within him.

He had just brought up the idea of a future meeting- he was out of excuses at that point, so he was feeling rather anxious in regards to what Satoru’s response might be. He half-expected him to pale, to let out a nervous chuckle and reply gently that Suguru had gotten the wrong idea, that he was just looking for a one-off experience with someone new.

But Satoru saw right through him; flashed him a wide, amused grin, like Suguru trying to act all formal around him was the funniest thing in the world, like it was natural - unquestionable, even - that they would meet again.

And in the seconds after, his pulse beat like thunder in the hollow of his ear, even as he did his best to play it off. His responses grew short, almost clipped, and he tried to keep his eyes from traveling down Satoru’s face as his lips moved in speech. He was glad the conversation ended when it did, because he needed that splash of cold water against his face in the bathroom the cafe reserved for employees to bring himself back down to reality. Bent over the porcelain sink with his arms barely supporting his weight, he stared back at the unfamiliarly dazed eyes reflected in the mirror and wondered what was wrong with him.

The second time, too, they were across from each other- this time at the KFC. Maybe there was something about seeing Satoru like this, being face to face with him in such a way. But if that was the case, then why wasn’t it like that with anybody else?

It was a far calmer sensation, then; likely because he’d experienced repeated, marginally more muted versions of it every time they were together, and eventually got used to it.

Still, the tug at his heartstrings was undeniable, and it wasn’t just because of his rose-colored glasses, either- Satoru had such a sweet expression on his face when he tried to make people laugh, so hopeful and genuine, and he was almost positive that he didn’t even realize it. He probably thought he was being skillful with it, that it looked like he didn’t particularly care whether or not it made anybody happy. But Suguru knew him well enough to understand that he made himself a spectacle for the benefit of others just as much as he did it for himself, and that Megumi had already become one of his favorite targets. It endeared Satoru to him in a way that he couldn’t quite articulate- and he must’ve been grinning like an idiot about it, because Satoru stood up rather quickly after that, hurrying to the counter with an awkward look on his face. If Megumi hadn’t been there that day, Suguru might’ve stopped him right then and acted on his urges in the middle of the KFC.

Then, there was the time in the rain late at night- he was absolutely breathtaking in that moment, his eyes soft and vulnerable, his hair and clothes soaked through, his hair dripping wet, and his face set aglow by the soft dusting of moonlight that shone down on them from above.

He was nearly gripped by his desires then, but he forced them down yet again. He excelled at crafting excuses when it came to acting on something he’d rather avoid, and he came up with several when Satoru looked straight into his eyes, his expression awash with relief, and confessed in that sheepishly disbelieving voice that he didn’t expect Suguru to admit to the connection that so obviously existed between them.

His excuses? They barely registered as such, because he passed them off as simple logic.

For one, he’d get wet (He was already wet, since all thoughts of the umbrella he brought along left his mind the second Satoru touched him).

And it was a lovely picture, one that he didn’t want to ruin by doing something rash, something he wasn’t convinced Satoru wanted too (The tension between them was thick, charged with an undeniable electricity that made it clear exactly what was on each of their minds).

He couldn’t just kiss him like that, without warning (He very much could. Wouldn’t that be the best kind of kiss, anyway?).

Sometime after that, it all blended into a rush of affection-heavy moments that made it difficult for him to breathe, let alone think- let alone act on his urges.

It was always the same desire.

Always the same excuses.

The look on his face that time at karaoke, the flush of his cheeks as he lowered the microphone, the way he practically shone. How peaceful he looked a few afternoons later, asleep on the couch in his living room, right in his element. The way he grinned after finally succeeding in lightening the weight on Suguru’s shoulders that day at the park, even after he’d selfishly left the gallery Satoru worked so hard on. All the particularly striking moments that sat at the surface of his mind, and every passing second in between.

But the first and only time he actually decided to go for it, the horror on Satoru’s face was more than enough for him to understand that he’d misread the situation, and he quickly resolved to avoid doing anything that might provoke such an expression from him ever again. He’d sit alone with all those wishes; he’d accept that they came from an embarrassingly naive part of him. And he would not ruin everything they had built, regardless of how it hurt.

This proved to be far harder than he tried to convince himself it would be, though; being in love with his best friend meant just enough space was carved out within the open space of their relationship for all the intimacy that he craved, but that this thin, albeit self-constructed veil existed to caution him whenever he got a little too comfortable; whenever the longing rose up a little too high in his throat.

He didn’t know how to go about approaching his feelings, and it made him feel so utterly helpless. He should already understand that Satoru didn’t see him like that; and he did, in theory, but his heart was not so good at listening to reason.

“Satoru? What are you doing here?”

He lifts his head from the sidewalk, his hands loose in his pockets, and smiles at Suguru as he steps foot outside the cafe. He looks just as he always does- effortlessly put-together, that is- as he flashes him a bright smile.

”I thought you might want an escort.” He teases, gesturing with his chin to the road behind himself with an air of mystery that almost makes Suguru forget he’s walked it a hundred times.

”Oh? Well, that depends on who you have in mind.”

Satoru smirks, sweeping an arm over his white button-up clothed figure impressively, like he knows Suguru won’t say no.

”Good enough for you?”

He tilts his head, not wanting to comply too quickly, and takes the excuse he’s been generously given to look him up and down thoughtfully.

“Hm… I guess I’ll take it,” he relents before he can get caught staring for any reason other than to objectively analyze the value of his self-proclaimed escort. Satoru reaches out a palm to shove him lightly in the shoulder, drawing out a quiet chuckle from his throat, and he finally comes down the steps to his side so that they can begin on their way home.

Spring is still young, and it’s easy to appreciate its warmth when the memory of last year’s winter is fresh in their minds. Though the cherry blossoms haven’t bloomed just yet, the air is suffused with that sweet, delicate scent he’s come to associate with the season. He thinks it would be a shame to waste such a lovely day inside and apart, so he nudges Satoru as they pass by what looks to be a park, thick with trees that open up into a bright, grassy clearing.

“Want to stop here? I have bread. Nanami’s.”

Satoru follows his gaze to the scenery, nodding, and then steals a glance at the paper bag tucked between two of Suguru’s fingers.

“You always pick the most aesthetic places, don’t you?”

“We’ve spent time at fast food restaurants, children’s parks, and each other’s apartments, so no, this is actually a first.”

But even those seemed like a lot more than that with you there.

It’s an embarrassingly cheesy thought, and he doesn’t say it aloud. But he and Satoru maintain eye contact for a second too long, which gives him the irrational fear that his mind has just been read, and he looks away quickly, clearing his throat.

“Well, you always bring food! That probably helps.” Satoru points out insightfully after a moment’s pause.

A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “I bet it does.”

When they finally make their way into the park, they find far more than they expected; what looked to be the stretch of a clearing from beyond the trees slopes down into a wide, glittering lake that makes Satoru wonder if he’s dreaming. It’s familiar in the way that beautiful things often are- the longing kind of familiarity for a place you’ve never known, but would like to.

He stretches out on the grass somewhere near Suguru’s feet, resting his arms behind his head to prop it up, and watches as the clouds float across the sky, his eyes locked on one that reminds him suspiciously of somebody he knows.

“Hey, that cloud looks like you.” He informs Suguru matter-of-factly, making him snort.

”That huge blob over there? I’m flattered.”

“You’re not looking deep enough, Suguru. It’s what’s on the inside that matters.”

“What inside? It’s literally a cloud.” He pauses after that, as if wanting to say more, but remains silent.

“Nerd.” Satoru accuses.

“How?!”

“You were about to start talking about how the inside of a cloud is made up of air vapor or whatever. I could feel it.”

“Water vapor.”

“Nerd!”

Suguru sighs heavily, trying and failing to hide his amusement.

“You are so…”

“Yes? Keep the compliments coming.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you. Well, then… if it’s compliments you’re looking for, that one kind of reminds me of you.”

Satoru squints in the direction that Suguru’s finger points, his mouth dropping open in offense when his eyes find another shapeless blob- this time, one that blocks out all the other clouds from its spot front and center in the sky.

”I think it’s beautiful,” he says stubbornly. “Thank you for your kindness.”

Suguru’s shoe nudges him in the side from where he stands above him, clearly holding in laughter, and he instinctively reaches out to grab his ankle and attempt to pull him to the ground.

“Ow, Satoru.” He groans, trying to shake his hand off. Satoru gives it another harder tug right as Suguru finally releases the tension and accepts his fate, the force sending him tumbling over in the grass and also making Suguru collapse atop him.

They lay like this for a second until Satoru pokes him in the side.

“You’re heavy.”

“Shut up. This is your fault.”

He snickers, poking him again (just for fun this time) and feeling him flinch at the touch of his finger.

“Are you ticklish?”

”I will actually kick you in the face right now.”

Suguru gets to his feet once more, brushing off his clothes delicately like he didn’t just threaten violence against him, and Satoru immediately misses the warmth that he basically just chased away.

He glances up at the crinkling of paper, his eyes lighting up at the sight of the bread in Suguru’s hand, and is about to reach out to accept when Suguru brings it closer to him, but then thinks better of it and opens his mouth instead. The bread freezes six inches away from his face, and he closes his eyes, waiting.

“You’re shameless,” Suguru grumbles after a second. He only grins in response- and he’s glad he stayed silent when the softness of the baked good finally slips between his teeth.

“‘Fank you.” He bites down to accept it from Suguru’s hand, bringing his own up to hold onto the bottom of the roll as he chews happily.

“You couldn’t have done that in the first place?”

“I didn’t want to overwork them,” he replies, knowing Suguru well enough that he can practically hear the eye roll in his voice- and a moment later, in his silence, too. “God, this is good. I dunno why Nanami doesn’t just drop out and start a bakery or something.”

“Pretty sure he’s on his way there.”

“And you?”

Suguru seems startled by the sudden shift in conversation. “What about me?”

“Have you given any more thought to what you want to do?”

“Ah.” Satoru feels the air surrounding them turn almost thoughtful as Suguru considers the question. “I talked to one of my professors. It turns out that you can start a non-profit just like any other business. And.. it’s not necessarily the most lucrative or reliable or anything. It’s possible that it won’t work out if I make it my only source of income. But…” his voice softens and takes on a quiet, sincere tone. “I think I want to try.”

Satoru nods, his chest warming as he processes the admission.

He could do it.

Regardless of what this conviction is rooted in, if anything, Satoru hasn’t a single doubt in his mind that it’s true.

”Do it, Suguru,” he says softly, the raw genuinity in his words taking even him by surprise and making his face flush slightly. “A-and… yeah.” He clears his throat, forcing himself to speak lightly, casually. “Go chase your dreams. Don’t worry, I’ll support us both with my artist money.”

Suguru lets out a surprised burst of laughter. “I guess we’ll both be out on the streets, then.”

”No! I misspoke. Art teacher, not artist.” He playfully narrows his eyes at Suguru, watching as his amusement visibly heightens at the protest.

“Should I be comforted by you going from one underpaid career to another?” He asks through his laughter, which is louder and goes on for longer than usual- music to Satoru’s ears.

He gazes up at him, taking in the way his cheeks turn rosy and his eyes crinkle at the corners, barely noticing as his own haze over and a fond smile pulls at his lips.

He looks pretty today, Satoru thinks to himself- but when he looks closer, searching for something to explain the unprovoked thought, he realizes he’s just the same as always- his hair long and loose around his shoulders, his outfit simple and clean, his face gentle (Secretly- selfishly- he hopes that the last part is an attribute reserved just for him).

But god, he’s glowing. Is it the way that when he laughs, he forgets to think- forgets to be conscious about his behavior? Is it the way that the sun casts its light upon his face, sharpening his features and yet softening his face, molding his form into something practically enchanting? Satoru watches him as his expression returns to neutrality, his eyes still soft and his lips curved upward, his gaze fixed on the sky, and waits for the mesmerization to fade. He waits for the tell that it was a transient sentiment, one situated solely in that moment, even though he knows it won’t appear.

Suguru looks almost undisturbed against the beauty of the landscape, blending right into the nature that envelops him and yet making everything around him look like it exists only to enhance his beauty. Like the lake, the sky, the trees- it’s all the backdrop to a painting, one in which he is front and center.

Oh.

His painting.

The flowers that dot the scenery, thickening in number as they near the water’s edge- the look of absolute peace that adorns Suguru’s face. The sunlight that illuminates the lake.

The lake.

He gets to his feet abruptly, urgency coursing through him. Suguru’s head turns slowly toward him, his expression quizzical, but for once, he isn’t looking back at him.

He’s looking at the lake.

And for a brief second, it’s there- all those precious fragments are reflected in the surface of the still, tranquil water like shards of glass; each of the short moments that once formed a life.

His life.

The moments that made it worth living.

The person that made it worth living- the one who left him far too soon.

What has taken him so long?

He turns to Suguru, meeting his questioning gaze. And the words are thick in his throat, but they fall from his lips easily, like they’ve been waiting all this time.

“I think I love you.”

The first time that Suguru had the urge to kiss him, he didn’t do it.

But he does now.

#gojo satoru #ao3 fanfic #alternate universe #coffee shop au #fanfiction #geto suguru #archive of our own #satosugu #jjk #crying screaming throwing up #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen au

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fettesans · 6 months

Text

Carolee Schneemann, More Wrong Things, 2001, site-specific, multi-channel video installation. Via. Bottom, Deborah-Joyce Holman, Thicc and Slippery, 2020. Ink on human teeth, wire, aluminum, mirror. 7 × 7 × 7 cm. Via.

She said in a recent interview: “At some point I could no longer afford to concentrate on the ordinary images as my life was invaded by this gratuitous, psychic assault and systematic destruction of an unarmed population in displacement camps and the ancient cities of Lebanon.” This outrage continues in work she is currently making with images of men brutalised by Bashar al-Assad’s government in Syria, images that have not yet entered mainstream discourse and substantiate intermittent news reports of the mass imprisonment, torture and direct killings of Syria’s civilian population. In More Wrong Things, the video monitors show clips that range from images of the siege of Sarajevo, riots in Haiti, newsreel images from Vietnam, the destruction of Palestinian towns, as well as other forms of mass culture such as Olympic pairs skating. These are joined by images from Schneemann’s daily life and two clips relating to her performance Interior Scroll (1975 and 1977) that hone in on the piece of paper being pulled from her vagina. In a similar vein, sounds are drawn from television, popular music and Schneemann’s own recorded voice, short pieces contributing to a strangely compelling although broken and dislocated fugue. One is drawn into this installation through both somatic and intellectual fascination and horror. One is immersed in an experience of repeated sounds and images and metaphorically caught by the tangle of cables there to interrupt any residual smooth surface produced by the screens.

Alison Green, from Carolee Schneemann, More Wrong Things, 2017.

Bodies are not volumes but coastlines; irresolvable but undelimitable penetrabilities, opportunites for the real decomposition of space. How many orifices has the human body? The osmotic transfusion of saline chemicals from a drop of alien perspiration impacts upon a cluster of epidermal cells as an annihilating copulation.

Nick Land, from The Thirst for Annihilation, 1992. Via.

#diptych #tv framed #linked excerpts #safe new world

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perhaps-in-anotherdream · 2 years

Text

[CN] Victor’s Food Blogging Date (Eng Translation)

⌚Warning⌚ This post contains detailed spoilers for a date, 吃播之约 , that is yet to be released in the global server! ♡

[Translation Under The Cut]

—

For the sake of the consistency: The karma was announced on January 23.

Since it takes forever to collect the karma shards, the date was released on 30th April (according to my time zone LOL). And, it’s scheduled before “Heart’s Content Date”, though the content of the date is likely from even earlier time phase~ :>

Link to the video, if you wish to follow along (recommend doing it as always): ♡

—

✧ [SECTION 1] ✧

After getting off work on Friday, I walk out of the office building in brisk steps and soon catch sight of that familiar car.

As soon as I get in the car, I impatiently look at the person sitting in the driver’s seat.

MC: Victor, I have a piece of good news and bad news.

Victor pauses slightly. Then, he habitually pushes the handbrake and steps on the accelerator.

Victor: Let’s hear the good news first.

MC: The good news is––

MC: The pet show we produced aired this week, and it has topped the charts! With two times more rpm in ten thousand clips!

MC: For these past few days, words related to the show have continuously been roaming around in the hot search~

Hearing my tone filled with pride, Victor tugs at the corners of his lips.

Victor: It appears that a certain someone’s recent all-nighters and overtimes haven’t gone in vain.

Victor: And what’s the bad news?

I heave a sigh, my voice trailing off.

MC: In order to coincide with the main show, we have arranged for some of the show’s “celebrity pets” to have a daily food-blogging livestream.

MC: But just now, a guest who was supposed to be on the show tomorrow told me that she had to leave.

MC: To ensure the livestream continues without a hitch, she wants me to go to her house tomorrow.

Victor’s index finger lightly clicks on the steering wheel, wearing an expression of clear understanding.

Victor: So, we have no other choice but to cancel tomorrow’s big feast at Souvenir.

Victor: For a certain someone who’s been clamoring on about a big feast the entire week, it’s indeed a piece of bad news.

Not in the mood to retort his teasing, I can only wave regretfully in my heart at the distant great feast.

MC: Moreover, you’re going on a business trip the day after tomorrow. You won’t be back for a week...

I sigh long and hard as I watch the dense evening rush hour traffic.

MC: We only have one day left, and it was supposed to be our weekend date tomorrow. But now, it will only be hogged by work.

Victor: How long will this food-blogging livestream take?

Victor looks at me in the rear-view mirror and sees the corners of my lips almost drooping to the ground. After a few moments of silence, he suddenly speaks.

MC: It will take about two hours. What’s the matter?

Victor: Text me the address of that guest. I’ll take you there tomorrow.

I look at Victor with some puzzlement, catching the tinge of a smile within his eyes.

Victor: You’re not the only one who wants to spend the weekend together.

–

┈┈ ◍♡◍ ┈┈┈ ◍♡◍ ┈┈

–

✧ [SECTION 2] ✧

At two o’clock on Saturday afternoon, Victor and I arrive at the guest’s address. The tranquil sunlight descends on the apartment buildings, making everything appear gentle and peaceful.

I unlock the door with the spare key the guest has given me, while looking at the bag in Victor’s hand.

MC: What’s in it?

Victor: Some snacks for the dog.

Victor: I just happened to pass by a pet store on the way to pick you up and bought them conveniently.

I still want to get to the heart of the matter. But the second I push the door open, I see the pupils of Victor’s eyes contracting violently.

I follow his line of sight, my eyes widening as well––

The bright living room is in a complete disorder, and the floor is splattered with a dazzling red, trailing the striking traces as they expand over large swathes.

The stool next to the coffee table is slanted unsteadily, and the cushions on the sofa have also fallen to the ground. Two or three bowls and utensils lie upside down on the floor, with a small amount of flesh and bone scattered beside them.

I stare in a daze coming to terms with the mess before us. After quite a while, I suddenly think of something.

MC: Little Tornado...!

—

[Note]: MC addresses the puppy as “小龙卷 - (xiǎo lóng juǎn). The phrase “龙卷” has multiple meanings - waterspout, tornado, twister. I thought “Tornado” would be the most suitable name given its characteristics HAHA~

—

I trot to the kitchen, the unease in my heart growing more and more. Just as I rush to the door, the scene before me instantly leaves me stumped for words––

In the middle of the scattered kitchen utensils, a chubby pug is lying motionless on the floor, enveloped in a hideous red all over.

Victor also rushes over, and I scramble to fish out my phone.

MC: Qu-quickly, let’s call the police!

Victor: Hold on a minute.

Knitting his brows in a slight frown, Victor steps forward and reaches out, stretching ahead his hand in front of Little Tornado’s nose.

As I watch his back, I feel my heart clenching a little.

MC: It... how is it?

Victor: ...

Victor: ...very well.

Victor’s gaze falls back on my face, the emotions surging in his eyes having already melted into serenity.

He pokes Little Tornado’s head. Then, he wipes a dab of red from its body with his index finger, twitching it lightly between his fingers.

Victor: It’s covered with dragon fruit stains.

MC: ...

I cast my gaze towards Little Tornado, sizing it up more calmly and carefully––

Its nostrils quiver faintly, and its round and bulging underbelly is heaving up and down incessantly.

It takes us about twenty minutes to clean up the scene and put things in order.

MC: I never thought that it’d actually “play dead” to get away with eating a dragon fruit on the sly from the kitchen!

Little Tornado: Woo...

I force Little Tornado into a corner. Its small, crumpled face rests on the floor, and it looks extremely wronged.

Victor, who’s washing the dishes, takes a quick glimpse at it and then speedily turns his head back.

Victor: It likes to hide after getting itself into trouble. In this aspect, it actually resembles a certain someone very much.

Ignoring my dissatisfied expression, he puts the bowls and utensils in order into the kitchen cabinet. Then, he turns around and looks at me.

Victor: What are you planning to do now? Re-prepare the food for food blogging?

I look up, and my eyes happen to fall on the clock behind him. There are only less than forty-five minutes before the livestream, and I can’t help but frown in some distress.

MC: What should be the best thing to do? It has eaten almost all of the raw meat and bone that were initially prepared...

After listening to what I said, Victor contemplates for a moment, then he opens the refrigerator on the side.

His eyes browse back and forth between the different compartments. Finally, he takes some ingredients out of the refrigerator and sets them on the table in an orderly fashion.

Meeting my inquisitive gaze, he opens his mouth unhurriedly.

Victor: The ingredients in the refrigerator, plus the snacks in the bag, are sufficient to make a “cake” for it to eat.

Victor: If we start now, you should be able to make it almost in time for the livestream.

Victor supports his hands on the kitchen countertop and looks straight into my eyes.

Victor: It’s just my proposal, though.

Victor: This is your show, so the decision rests with you.

I gaze into his serene eyes. And inconceivably, the worries in my heart gradually dissipate without even me realizing it.

MC: This proposal comes from the manager of Souvenir. Of course, it’s a great idea~

MC: Let’s get started right now!

I walk up to his side. As my gaze sweeps over those ingredients, I’m instantly filled with a rejuvenated sense of confidence and enthusiasm.

Inadvertently, I catch a glimpse of that bag Victor has brought along. It appears to be overstuffed.

MC: But why did you buy so many snacks for the dog?

With that said, I reach out and try to look through the bag, but am stopped by Victor.

Victor: And let someone eat them again?

His gaze sweeps over Little Tornado, then lands back on me.

Victor: After all, we have more than one glutton here.

I feel choked for a moment by the connotation of these words. The corners of Victor’s lips, however, lift in a soft arc, and he taps his finger on my forehead.

Victor: All right, don’t just stand there in a silly daze. Come over and help.

–

┈┈ ◍♡◍ ┈┈┈ ◍♡◍ ┈┈

–

✧ [SECTION 3] ✧

Unexpectedly, putting the idea of making a dog cake into practice is much more complicated than we thought.

Along with the time for the livestream unceasingly drawing nearer, my emotions also grow even more restless.

Victor: Hold on.

As I fail to separate the yolk from the white once again, Victor tugs me from behind.

His warm breath descends on the nape of my neck. He unties the somewhat loose knots of my apron for me and ties them back again.

Victor: Take it easy. Why are you so nervous?

Victor: As I said, we still have time.

His baritone voice lands on my ears. I inhale a deep breath, nodding heavily.

MC: I have Souvenir’s manager safeguarding me. I’m sure I’ll get it done without a hitch!

Reminiscent of a snuggly embrace, the pleasant and warm sunlight wraps around us tightly, reflecting the cozy atmosphere of the room.

After this brief interlude, our cake-making process gradually becomes smoother and smoother.

Looking at the cake that has slowly started to take shape, I suddenly remember something, and a smile creeps up on my face.

Victor: What’s so funny?

MC: I just suddenly thought of the last time you made a cake. You made the cake with such precision, but Pudding messed up the whole thing.

Thinking of the incident that just took place, I open my mouth thoughtfully.

MC: It seems that dogs and cats are different after all.

MC: I remember Pudding was still leaping and frisking about after causing trouble, but Little Tornado chose to “play dead” with a guilty conscience...

MC: I guess dogs are indeed a bit smarter than kittens, huh?

As I’m soliloquizing, Victor seems to be wanting to say something. But the next second, I hear a muffled sound of something falling on the floor behind me.

MC: ...Little Tornado!

I look at the instigator of the incident. Little Tornado, who has been reaching its claws towards the potatoes, shudders, and retreats half a step.

Just as I’m about to chase after it, a slender figure rushes ahead of me.

“Click.”

With a crisp closing of the door, Little Tornado is mercilessly shut out of the kitchen.

Victor: Let it wait outside on its own for a while. We will open the door again when the cake is ready.

Victor walks back to my side and helps me to roll up my fallen sleeves, and speaks with an unchanged expression on his face.

Victor: It appears it’s not much smarter than Pudding after all.

I freeze for half a second. Then it dawns on me that he is replying to what I said earlier, and I can’t help but laugh out loud.

MC: Pfft. That’s true, though. After all, Pudding is the smartest kitten in the entire world!

Seeing Victor being so protective of his “own child” like this, my heart suddenly stirs up the idea of teasing him, and I bring my face in front of him consequently.

MC: But why don’t you usually praise him more to his face?

MC: Although occasionally mischievous, overall, Pudding is still an obedient, well-behaved kid.

As I say this with dead seriousness, Victor gives me a look and reaches out to squeeze my face.

Victor: Aren’t you usually the one who “plays the role of a hero” in front of him?

Without Little Tornado disturbing us, Victor and I let our hands and feet relax even more in the kitchen.

Thanks to our tacit understanding and rapport, the cake is soon only left to be decorated.

Success appears to be right under our noses. But as soon as I take the cookies out of the oven, I find them toasted to a charred black, and the smell of burning pervades the air.

MC: ...I clearly baked following the instructions word for word as it says online.

I lower my head somewhat in despair when someone gently taps on the top of my head.

Victor: Every oven has its own temperament.

Victor: Oven’s temperature varies from brand to brand and model to model.

Victor looks at the oven. After a moment’s reflection, he speaks again.

Victor: Set it to 130-160°C, lower the temperature and give it a try again.

MC: ...will we be able to succeed this time?

Hearing my cautious and solemn question, Victor purses his lips, revealing a faint smile.

Victor: We will.

His tone is calm and tranquil, but it carries an unquestionable certainty. It’s as though as long as he says something will be a success, it will definitely be a success.

Surrounded by the pale, golden light, everything appears tranquil and warm. Looking at the person next to me, I can’t help the upward curve that steals across the corners of my lips.

Victor: What’s with the silly smile again?

MC: Victor, have I ever told you how great it is to have you?

Tiny specks of soft light and shadow flood the pupils of that pair of serene eyes, and he gently nudges the tip of my nose.

Victor: Dummy. You’ve told me that; a very long time ago.

Just as Victor said, we bake the perfect cookies after another attempt.

I take the pastry bag and add small flowers to the cake. While I’m doing this, a few strands of my hair fall loose from the side of my ear.

Just as I’m thinking of pausing in my motion and tying up my hair, a pair of hands are one step ahead of me.

MC: ...!

Victor: Don’t flail about. Give me the rubber band.

The calming woody fragrance leaps into my breath, causing my heartbeat to unconsciously accelerate a little.

I hand the rubber band tied around my wrist to Victor, who stands behind me, gathering up my hair with a gentle force.

Victor: Why are you in a daze?

Victor: We are only one last step away from the “success” you talked about. Concentrate on that.

At his reminder, I return to my senses and look back at the cake before me, resuming my actions.

It’s not until I finish carving the last one of the tiny flowers do I heave long a sigh of relief.

MC: Success!

I turn my head around jubilantly. Suddenly thinking of something, I wink slyly at Victor.

MC: Cough, cough. May I ask the manager of Souvenir to comment on how the cake has turned out this time?

Victor: Are you sure you want to hear my evaluation?

MC: ...can you give a subjective evaluation?

Seeing that my imposing manner has suddenly receded for the most part, Victor releases a soft laugh, and it makes its way into my heart as clearly as a plucked violin string.

Victor: Even if I were to give the most objective evaluation, my answer would be the same.

Victor: Very nice.

–

┈┈ ◍♡◍ ┈┈┈ ◍♡◍ ┈┈

–

✧ [SECTION 4] ✧

As the cake is ready, it happens to be the time for the livestream as well.

At my request, Victor sits on the sofa behind the tripod and enters the livestream using his phone, helping to examine the live feed.

I press the start button of the livestream. After greeting the audience, I turn around to find the show’s protagonist, Little Tornado, only to find it lying on the rug and sleeping soundly.

MC: Little Tornado? Little—Tor—nado——

I call out several times in a row, but it doesn’t respond.

Thereupon, being left with no better option, I use the trump card–– picking up the cake, I bring it up to its nose.

Little Tornado: Woof!

Little Tornado’s eyes widen for a second, and the audience in the livestream room shoots out a series of “HAHAHAHA” one after another.

The food blogging livestream pulls open its curtain in a cheerful and lighthearted atmosphere. Little Tornado lives up to the expectations with its own innovation, “Tornado’s steamed rice method,” and sweeps clean all the food, stunning the entire audience.

Seeing that its face is covered with food residues, I casually look at Victor. Tacitly understanding what I meant, Victor draws out a tissue paper and hands it over to me.

However, when I glance at the livestream screen again, I find that there are way more pop-ups all of a sudden.

I, Deja, am in the Northeast: “IS THERE A GUY?? Is the beautiful sister actually not single? ∑(っ´ﾟД ﾟ` ;)っ How can you stick close to a man?”

General Manager of Spicy Sticks: “That beautiful hand with such sharp joints! MAY I!!”

Lamb kebabs are pork ribs: “KNEELING AND BEGGING FOR THE HANDSOME GUY TO SHOW HIS FACE!”

MC: Hold on... what are they talking about?

As I watch the pop-ups constantly drift by, my eyes widen in bafflement.

“What’s the relationship between the little sister and him!”

“TELL US THE DETAILS, TELL US THE DETAILS—”

Only now do I realize that it was Victor’s hand just now that entered the lens, prompting the unceasing stream of pop-ups to pour in.

I didn’t realize that every one of the netizens seemed to be holding a magnifying glass, continuously capturing even the tiniest of details.

MC: Ahem, don’t make random speculations. The star of today’s show is Little Tornado!

MC: Everyone, let’s give more attention to it~

I explain in a bit of a flurry. Little Tornado is still wearing that extremely wronged expression from earlier, seemingly unaware that it’s been robbed of its thunder.

I find some light snacks and put them in front of it. Little Tornado’s eyes instantly light up, and its “thunderous” eating style quickly draws back the attention of the audience.

I immediately feel relieved, although I can’t help but glance at Victor sitting across from me.

Behind the camera lens, he is still looking down at his phone. However, a soft curvature graces the corners of his tightly pursed lips.

Seeing that there are only five minutes left on the livestream, I smile as I make my concluding remarks to the camera.

MC: The segments for today’s livestream are coming to an end. Thank you, everyone, for another beautiful feast with Little Tornado.

MC: See you all next week at the same time~

With that said, I put away Little Tornado’s tableware. But when I get up, I trip over its foot as it’s been scurrying around.

My body lunges forward uncontrollably. The next thing I know, a pair of hands catch me just in time.

A familiar scent embraces me, and I raise my head to see Victor’s mouth opening and closing a few times.

My heartbeat shoots up immediately, deafening. At such a nose-to-nose distance that can be collapsed with a simple breath, I can clearly make out the contours of his face.

Victor: “Dummy.”

MC: ...

As I stand still, I sweep my gaze over the screen out of the corner of my eyes— on the screen, it shows that a man attired in Western-style suit-pants is holding me tightly in his arms.

However, because of his height being too tall, the camera only captures the part of him below the neck region.

I heave a sigh of relief. However, I feel the hand around my waist pressing me slightly harder. Following this, Victor leads me to a corner that is a blind spot on the camera.

I pat my chest lightly, my heart pounding uncontrollably. Watching that Little Tornado is eating with gusto directly in front of the camera, I can’t help mumbling in a low voice as I divert the subject.

MC: Seeing it eating so happily, I seem to be a little hungry too...

Victor: Yup, so hungry that you can’t even walk steadily.

Knowing that he is just teasing me for my clumsiness, I prod him in the chest with indignation.

Victor: Your food is ready to be served.

Victor speaks in a voice that only the two of us can hear. Seeing the confusion written on my face, he pulls me even more tightly to himself.

Victor: Didn’t a certain someone say that she’s been looking forward to the big feast the entire week?

Victor: Souvenir is open as usual tonight.

The scorching breaths cascading from his lips crash against my auricles. Looking into his smiling eyes, I’m slightly taken aback and remember that especially bulging bag he’s brought along.

MC: The snacks you brought me... you mean that’s tonight’s big dinner?

Victor: Not too slow-witted, after all.

Victor: However, “There’s no such thing as a free dinner in this world.”

Standing in the afterglow of the setting sun, the lights stirring within Victor’s eyes also reflect a crystalline glow. He looks at my pleasantly surprised face, the corners of his lips lightly hooking up in a smile.

Victor: I haven’t yet charged my bill for today.

He leans down, the exquisite scent of his body wrapping me within instantly.

The sweetness of his breath permeates the air as it ferments. I don’t know how long has passed before his whispers sound in my ears once again.

Victor: As for the rest, I’ll make it up when I return from my business trip next week.

On the other side, the “quick glimpse” on the camera just now causes the livestream room to blow up again.

On the screen, which has never been turned off, the pink hearts sent by the audience explode one after another––

Along with the messages, “May the two of you live a long and happy life together. Wishing you two eternal love!” filling the entire screen.

—

[Note]: The messages audience was sending is “祝百年好合, 长长久久!” (zhù bǎi nián hǎo hé, cháng cháng jiǔ jiǔ). This is what one says in Chinese when they’re congratulating or blessing a married couple/newlyweds~ 🥺💘

–

[Personal Thoughts]: The fact that this man wasn’t home the whole morning LOL and cooked at Souvenir to keep it a surprise and when MC asks he’s like yeah just some snacks I picked up before getting you hnnngnnn 🥺 Also MC’s “how great it is to have you” and the LIVESTREAM KISS!! 💘💘

—

#yet another date of Victor x MC calling out all the single people in every existent and non-existent languages :>#if a simple “side-gig” date can be THIS wholesome—— BLESS THE WRITERS RESPONSIBLE FOR VICTOR CONTENTS IS ALL I HAVE TO SAY.#also those names though lololol I almost died laughing #mlqc victor #mlqc li zeyan #mlqc cn #mlqc spoilers #mr love victor #mlqc #mr love queen's choice #love and producer #恋与制作人 #李泽言 #mlqc translations

175 notes · View notes

hotspotseo · 3 months

Text

Mastering Digital Note-Taking: A Dive into the Best Online Notepad

In the age of digital empowerment, our note-taking habits have evolved from scribbling on paper to seamlessly tapping away on screens. Online notepads have emerged as our trusty companions in this journey, offering features that go beyond the capabilities of traditional notebooks. Join us as we take a deep dive into the world of digital note-taking, exploring the best online notepad that empower us to master the art of efficient note organization.

Evernote: Your Versatile Digital Notebook

Evernote stands tall as a beacon of versatility in the realm of digital note-taking. It's more than just a notepad; it's a comprehensive platform that accommodates the multifaceted nature of our lives. From text notes and checklists to web clippings and images, Evernote seamlessly integrates them into a unified digital space.

Hotspot Online Notepad: Simplifying Collaboration

Amidst the array of stellar online notepads, Hotspot stands out as a beacon of simplicity and collaborative efficiency. With an intuitive interface and versatile features, Hotspot seamlessly integrates into diverse workflows. Ideal for quick ideas, to-do lists, and real-time collaboration, Hotspot adds a layer of organized simplicity to your digital note-taking experience. Explore its capabilities, experiment with its features, and unlock a new level of efficiency in your digital journey.

OneNote: Microsoft's Dynamic Note-Taking Solution

For those entrenched in the Microsoft ecosystem, OneNote emerges as a dynamic and seamlessly integrated solution. It transforms your digital workspace into a canvas where notes, drawings, and multimedia elements coexist harmoniously. With its familiar interface, OneNote feels like an extension of other Microsoft Office applications, providing a cohesive user experience.

Notion: Collaborative Creativity Unleashed

Notion transcends traditional note-taking, evolving into a collaborative workspace where notes, databases, and projects seamlessly converge. Its customization options empower users to create a workspace that mirrors their unique workflow. Notion is more than a notepad; it's an all-in-one platform for ideation, collaboration, and project management.

Mastering Digital Note-Taking: Consider Your Workflow

Choosing the Right Tool for Your Needs

Mastering digital note-taking requires aligning your choice of online notepad with your unique workflow. Evernote's versatility caters to diverse needs, while OneNote seamlessly integrates with Microsoft tools. Google Keep simplifies the process for those who prefer a minimalist approach, and Notion transforms note-taking into a collaborative and customizable experience.

Experimentation Leads to Mastery

The key to mastering digital note-taking lies in experimentation. Take the time to explore each online notepad. Experiment with their features, observe how they align with your daily tasks, and discover the one that resonates with your unique needs. The process of mastery is a journey, and the best online notepad is the one that seamlessly integrates into your workflow.

Conclusion

As we immerse ourselves in the digital era, mastering the art of digital note-taking is a valuable skill. Bring Hotspot SEO Audit tools to the table, offering features that cater to diverse preferences and requirements. Choose your digital companion wisely, experiment with its capabilities, and witness how mastering digital note-taking transforms the way you capture and organize information in the dynamic landscape of the digital age.

#SEO #search engine optimization #online notepad #search engine visibility #seo audit tool #backlink tool

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casuallivi · 2 years

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I. The Delusional Focused Boy

At the cusp of eighteen, Elain Archeron was going on her first date. It wasn’t like boys haven’t asked her out yet, Elain simple wasn’t interested in dating. Being poor with two sister and an alcoholic father meant Elain had to work part time, the rest of her daily hours being used to maintain her academy scores. Nesta would kill her if she flunked out.

If Elain wanted to brag, she could flaunt her math awards in anyone’s face, but her aptitude for calculus was not what gave her fame Velaris High, that honor was reserved to her looks and ability to reject boys. They called her the Ice Princess, because when Nesta attended the same high school two year ago, she was crowned the Ice Queen. Talk about family legacy.

Elain huffs in annoyance. The bangs Nuala gave her are making keeping the hair away from her face nearly impossible, the strands keep finding their way out of the hair clips, stressing her out. Her sisters were not helping either.

“You have to dress sexy! Use my miniskirt,” says Feyre swaying the teeny skirt in the air. To which Nesta quickly opposes with, “you’ll look like a hooker. Put the sun dress, is more modest.”

She rolls her eyes. If he calls her names because of a skirt, that would be their first and last date! Not that she could imagine him saying anything similar, he had always treated her with gentleness. Elain watches her sisters sprawled on the bed, fighting about what she should or not wear, the mini skirt being tugged back and forth. The image makes her smile. Who would have thought that Elain would miss their daily fights? Now that Nesta had gone to college and Feyre was admitted in a fancy boarding school, the queen-size bed they shared for most of their lives felt a lot bigger. Elain ducked down abruptly, the pillow her little sister threw at Nesta hitting the wood-carved ornaments on top of their old dresser.

With a shake of the head, Elain put them back in place, ignoring their heated argument by pulling her favorite pair of jeans adorned with a cute floral pattern, a comfortable brown knitted jumper and her lucky socks, which she hides inside the safety of her boots in the speed of light, taking a peek at Nesta to guarantee she didn’t noticed the choice.

Nesta hated her colorful socks. Elain loved them. If Stevie Nicks could cast spells with her voice, Elain Archeron could perform magic with her sock. She had worn a pair of colorful socks every time Nesta won a spelling bee, later moving on to debate club contests, she also worn them every time Feyre won a painting competition, her latest contest guaranteeing her a full scholarship in the best arts high school of the state. Needless to say, Elain’s positive vibrations were doing wonders during her cheering gigs, so why not be her own cheerleader during her first date?

Elain moved their mirror around, trying to look at her complete outfit, the small cracked thing marred with black spots proving to be an unreliable tool as ever. With a sigh she placed it back on top of the dresser, planning to check herself in a car outside. Taking one last look at her hair, Elain added the lip gloss little sister received as gift from her new roommate. She always came home with gifts these days. Elain would not comment until Feyre decided to share, but she suspected her sister was being courted.

Someone knocked on the door. Elain looked at the girls, two mischievous grins greeting her back.

Shit.

They ran at the same time, the space of the tiny two-bedroom apartment being covered in seconds. Outside, a loud shriek startled the visitor. Inside, the sisters pulled each other by the arms, the waist, the hair, each one trying to slow the other during their maniac sprint to see who would get to the door first. Feyre won.

“Hi Az!” she greeted excitedly.

“Hi Fey.” He said to her smirking sister, his sparkling hazel eyes glued to Elain, who was rearranging her jumper. He smiled at her, a dimple getting visible in each cheek. She smiled back. “Hello Elain.”

Was it embarrassing that her first crush was younger than her?

“Hello.”

Azriel Shadowbrook was a sophomore attending the same arts school as Feyre, their love for modernist painters and French music uniting them. Elain was introduced to Azriel during one the school many festivals to display the student’s talents. Feyre couldn’t stop talking about her new best friend, and Elain found herself smiling during the whole time she spent around the polite boy with a sharp sense of humor. When it was time to leave, he offered to drive her back, claiming he had recently taken his license and need every chance to practice.

Elain knew nothing about cars, her family never even had one, but she knew that fancy red machine had no business being in her sketchy neighborhood at night. Once they got to her place, Azriel walked her to the door and asked her out. Elain laughed and laughed. She laughed so hard her belly hurt, thinking is was another one (of the many jokes) he played that night. It wasn’t. Elain had liked the kid, and he being Feyre’s best friend meant she was bound to see him a lot in the future, so she canalized her best conciliatory tone to shot him down, explaining she had no time for dates or boyfriends, plus, he was too young for her. At that, he blown an exasperated breath.

“I won’t stay sixteen forever, Elain.”

“But you are sixteen now.”

“So that’s your main reason? My age?” he asked after listening to her list of reasons. By then they have sat on the curb, Azriel replacing every reason not to go out with him, for a reason to go out with him.

“I won’t have time for you.”

“My school keeps me busy too.”

“I’ll be going to college soon.”

“So will I.”

Underneath the boy with cute dimples trying to woo her lived a fierce negotiator. That night they parted ways with her agreeing that if he still wanted to go on a date when he was older, he could ask her again, and she would answer him without prejudice against his age. They shook on it.

Over the course of the next six months Elain saw Azriel frequently, weather her little sister was around or not. At friday nights, he would call her house religiously to ask about her week, on the weekends he was free he’d drive her to her shifts at Cerridwen’s Dinner, other times to babysit Helion’s kid. Every time Azriel saw Elain, he brought her a rose, his newfound way to subtly express his crush.

On the day of her eighteenth birthday, Elain and her sister, plus an overly excited Azriel, met for their annual birthday donuts. The girls never had money enough to pay for birthday parties, but they did make sure to eat donuts together. She told him "no gifts!" Azriel, the sly boy that he is, said gifts were only gifts when given forever, and he was only "lending it" to her. She opened the bright blue package to find a handmade calendar containing the days from the next four and a half years, ending unexpectedly in May 8, lots of tiny heart drawn around the date, the rest of the page occupied by the painting of a very hunky, very naked man lying on his side, flexing his giant muscles, his lower bits censured with ivy.

She cocked a brow at him.

Azriel placed both hands behind his neck, a display of pure smugness. "That's when I'm officially legal."

She pointed at the painting. “And this fella?”

He flexed his skinny arms. “Yours truly.”

Elain couldn’t hold back anymore, she busted out laughing.

“Az, in four years you’ll be in a new phase of your life, this crush long gone.”

“Pretty sure I’ll be “crushing” you,” he made quotation marks with his fingers, “even more once we are in college together.”

“Where are you going?” she asked sliding the calendar carefully into her backpack.

“Where are you going?” he repeated her questions wiggling his brows. Elain ignored his playful insinuation. She was pretty sure his rich folks would not send their precious boy to community college when they had others options ahead.

“You’re delusional.”

“I rather the term “focused”.”

“Shh, I'm trying to enjoy my milkshake.”

“Admit it Elain, you won’t go out with me because you are afraid of my charms. Young me has old you shaking her knee-ee-ees.” he sing-songed using a spoon as a microphone.

“You are spending too much time with your brother.”

“I’m kidding, you’re not old, you’re young and smoking hot!” Azriel placed another donut in her empty plate, licking the bit of frosting that clung to his thumb. “I’m telling you, one date with me and you’d want to be my girlfriend like this,” he snapped his fingers in her face. She slapped his hand. “You know is true.”

Elain swallowed the rest of her donut between angry bites, cleaning herself with a napkin to snarl.

“Let’s go.”

Azriel blinked at her. “What?”

“Let’s go on a freaking date!”

It was a whim. She intended to give him the worst date in the history of bad dates, make him eat his smug words, then move on with her life. Elain just didn’t count that while getting ready for their date, she would start to feel nervous. Now, watching Azriel sporting a fancy leather jacket with his hair slicked back and a bouquet in his hands, her heart was beating out of control, her hands clammy, her resolution to be nasty nowhere to be found.

“You look beautiful,” he breathed with a smile, extending the flowers to her.

“You do too.” She had never received a full bouquet before, in fact, she had never received flowers until Azriel started to give them to her all the time. Maybe his parents owned a flower shop? She needed to ask him more stuff.

“You ready?”

Good lord, was she really going a date with this kid? Elain open her mouth to say “yes”, only to be interrupted by Nesta.

“Where are you taking my sister?” Elain glared at her. Azriel did not budge, used to the meddlesome ways of the older Archeron.

“That’s between me and my date.”

Nesta gave him a lazy grin.

“Did you grow some balls to ask my sister out?”

“I always had them. Do you want to see?” he jerked his hips, moving his hand to his pants.

Beside him, Feyre laughed like a maniac but Elain jumped to action, bumping Nesta to the side, beating his hand away to avoid a disaster. “No one’s showing anyone anything. We’re going, now.” Saying a quick goodbye to Nesta and Feyre, she grabbed his hand and pulled him outside.

Good lord, she was going on a date with this kid.

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