#not satisfied with the gifset but i spent too long on it now

[wooyoungbby]

Are you sick? Yes.

#beautiful love wonderful life #jo yoon hee #yoon park #love is beautiful life is wonderful #ep39-40 #mygif #i love their scenes so much <3 #not satisfied with the gifset but i spent too long on it now

[redxblueihateloveyou]

how do you think rinharu will solve this issue? having rin stay in japan won't solve haru's abandonment issues and i wonder if competitive swimming is meant for haru, he seems to struggle a lot

Nah-ah, competitive swimming is not the problem here. He has the same amount of struggles with it as Rin and Ikuya. He actually as we saw in s3 surprisingly likes it a lot, and he was very excited about taking on Albert and he wasn't even upset about losing to him, he got worked up. It's like yeah, he takes pressure from others worse than Rin, but Rin for example is taking loses far worse than Haru. But this in fact doesn't mean they can't handle those. They both know that it's just how competitions are and they both knew what they were going for. And when Haru is happy, trash-talking opponents make him go lol and he just has his fun with this too.

The additional stress just simply unlocked the real reason why he's hurt. If it wasn't for this Rin thing he carries with him for like 10 years this would be nothing. Stress from the competition, but more specifically the fact that Albert kinda took away his main stress-relief by "polluting" the water just gave it a rise, but it's not the cause of that. Thinking of Rin easily resolved the "water pollution", letting him pass the free race. It's watching Rin lose and taking it this way that just triggered his ptsd.

The problem was and is what Aki said back when they were little “Nanase-kun seems like he can do anything all by himself, doesn’t he? He’s good at studying and sports and even art. He really can do anything, right? That’s why everyone relies on him, but it would really be something for Nanase-kun to rely on anyone, wouldn’t it?”

It's the fact that he feels too much, feels for everyone and his inability to ask for help in this case from the only person who can help him and from whom he needs it the most.

The problem is that last year when Hiyori decided to laugh about Rin leaving him into his face, rubbed salt into his deepest wound, Haru in return only gave him positive energy, swam with him, gave him happy Ikuya back and watched them being happy while smiling. Did Hiyori maybe say that he didn't mean those words? No. Did someone else the moment he said it corrected him? No. Where do you think stuff like this go?

The problem is that s1 drama was resolved just for Rin. It was never resolved for Haru. It's been just piling up for like 7 years now. I once again will say it, Rin only told Rei that none of that was Haru's fault, Haru still to this day thinks it is.

As for the second part, in my opinion, this isn't quite just about his abandonment issues, it's about his Rin issue. Bc it really doesn't matter if he's in Japan or not in Japan, in a free race or not in a free race (bc whether Rin chose to swim free or not, Rin is right there, and they can still be on a relay team together, and travel together etc). This is only partially about his fear of him leaving.

The problem here is that for Haru it's never enough. When everything was fine and he could swim against Rin and had a great relay team of his friends, he wasn't satisfied.

Rin was near the whole season, he still missed him.

They spent whole days alone together, was that enough? No. He still didn't want him to leave.

But saying stuff like "I know we came here to support our kohais, but please, don't leave, sit with me, not with them" is selfish, no matter how much you want it.

Here he is right next to him. Still not enough.

My point is.. thats not what this is about and I'm pretty sure that's not what Haru's talking about. It's bc he always does everything to stay with him for as long as possible, but Rin is blind as a bat and deaf as a doornail.

And I don't really know what else you can say in some situations. Bc like when Rin spent the night at Haru's and Haru asked him to wake him up at 5am just to spend more time with him Rin answered with something like "hahaha that's great, good night".

And I will never in general understand how Rin even translates what Haru says. Bc when Haru asked him to call, Rin read it as "let me disappear for 5 years, go home for each holiday and avoid you like a plague".

And this outburst of "the greatest pain of my life is when you leave" was read as "let me just leave again".

The problem is Haru tried and tried to ask and show things in many different ways (which was pretty hard considering how he is), but couldn't ask directly for what he really wanted for obvious reasons. And no joke, there is a chance that Rin still wouldn't get it even if he did.

Rationally I think the resolve would be pretty simple, Rin will just enter the free race, bring him back and they'll talk after that.

It's just that with the way this set up right now, for Haru to be happy... I only see one option for how this talk can go, that I always was sure this anime can't give us. But then again I also do not quite get why even go there then.

I guess what I mean is with all my imagination I can't understand how he can ask for help in this situation, except for like I wrote here to ask him "just... be with me. I really need you to just be with me." If he already admitted how much it hurt him each time he left, idk what he's supposed to say at this point.. "please, stay and love me"? also "please, tell me what happened all those years ago isn't my fault" (he won't, bc he thinks it is), "please tell me you painfully missed me each time you were away too" (not to this extent, no, at least first times)?

What I personally want is same thing as in a fic for Rin to ask him to just tell him the truth, ask him to "please, I need you to talk". Gradually, step by step, from the beginning, all that's been eating him up all this years. Just to please tell Rin everything, so he could honestly reassure him, clear up all their misunderstandings, just TALK.

Bc if he let it all out, Rin can easily erase all of Haru's doubts and that nonsense that he is the reason why Rin never stays, that he was the reason he left in the first place etc, and eradicate the root of the problem, after this Haru would stop reacting to each time Rin leaves for a grocery store as if it's WW3.

P.S. I honestly think everyone should just go turn on Sam Smith - My Oasis and cry with Haru, bc this is probably the closest it can come to explain how he feels and just the whole mood for this situation rn. Like I've made a gifset to this a while ago, but rn the whole song is just super on point.

P.P.S. what I'm saying shortly is we all know how you can stop Haru's struggles easily, but what they would come up with hell if I know.

#answered #anonymous #free! the final stroke #nanase haruka #rin matsuoka #rinharu #harurin #free!

[daylighteclipsed]

“This is another reason most of future lost rights” May we hear your thoughts?

Now that I have officially finished watching the original Steven Universe series, I have many Thoughts about the continuation. Prepare for some detailed salty takes.

-- My biggest gripe is that Garnet, Pearl, and Amethyst lose pretty much all of the emotional intelligence they gain in the original series to maximize Steven’s suffering.

So like the gifset that prompted this ask for example, where Garnet realizes she’s hurt Steven with her future vision and apologizes? Makes her reaction in Future to realizing she hurt Steven again OOC. The OG series also teaches us and Steven that Garnet can’t see definites, because there’s so many possibilities, and the future’s always changing, and the future can always be changed. So her line about how there was no universe where Steven didn’t propose to Connie as her reason for why she didn’t try to stop him, is bullshit.

The Volleyball episode gives away that Steven is clearly not OK, and Pearl does nothing about it. Neurotic, mother hen, let’s make a plan Pearl does not ask Steven if he’s alright and makes 0 plans to train him to control his new alarming powers. Pearl, who now has a better sense of how trauma works because she has it herself, who we have seen in the OG series suspect Steven is dealing with some post traumatic stress after being taken to Homeworld and reach out to him about it, does not in Future reach out to him after he expresses blatant distress over having to deal with more of his mom’s problems. I’m supposed to believe this? Seriously?

And Amethyst? I think she’s the most obvious offender since a big part of her arc in the end of the OG series is emotional maturity.There’s a whole episode dedicated to her putting Steven’s feelings first. Acknowledging the pressure he’s been under and the shit that’s been dumped on him for years and the horror of finding out Rose was a Diamond which makes him a Diamond and recognizing that he’s not OK. He can’t be. Learning that Steven deals by distracting himself with other tasks and people. But sure when Amethyst notices Steven throwing himself into his work in Future, her response is just “When did you become such a prick?” Yeah. Totally sounds right.

There is a whole arc about these two emotionally connecting through their insecurities and the strength they find in having each other to relate to and rely on and confide in. It is one of my favorites in the entire story. And it is totally thrown out a window in Future. If no one else you’d think at least Amethyst would reach out to Steven in Future before he spirals, but no.

Literally it’s like the entire Gem trio’s emotionally sent back to square 1 and their perception’s lowered to 0, which is lower than it was to begin with, because it was the only way Future could work. Seriously, after Prickly Pair nobody tries to talk to Steven? Nobody insists they need to talk about what the fuck just happened? Nobody goes after Steven when he runs away, twice?! Once after crashing the van with his dad inside, in which he disappears for 3 whole days. Another time after talking about how they can’t help him anymore, which is really alarming! Then they all just let Steven go when he returns from Homeworld glowing with Diamond pupils?! are you kidding me, are you fUcking KidDing me am I supposed to believe they’re even his friends in Future what the fuck I hate this 

-- And framing everything like the Gems have never been there for Steven? Hate that too. There’s countless episodes in the OG series proving that’s not true. Steven himself says it’s not. At one point that’s what keeps him from literally falling from the sky.

“I just need something that makes me happy, something I can always depend on to cheer me up. My guys. They spent all night out here just to keep me company. No matter how much I mess up they’ll be there to help me.”

It’s the biggest reason why the Gems are foils to the Diamonds!

“Remember back when I was little and maybe kind of annoying, and I couldn’t come along on adventures? You guys would still drop everything to hang out with me.”

Garnet, Pearl, and Amethyst begin kind of oblivious and inattentive, but they don’t stay that way. They are always learning, and apologizing, and changing when they realize their behavior is harmful. To themselves, to the team as a whole, to strangers, to Steven. They do very early in the series start setting work aside to spend time with him. Together breakfast (which ends up meaning so much to Garnet that it becomes her wedding cake), mini golf, cards, board games, movies, the arcade, the amusement park. They’re Steven’s band in beach-a-palooza. They become, not only better caretakers, but his friends.

A team. For the main Crystal Gem quartet so much of the show is about them learning to become a team by learning to understand each other and helping each other grow, leading to a stunning display of teamwork in the finale with Garnet, Pearl, Amethyst, and Steven all fusing together into one kickass warrior, Obsidian. It’s so perfect that this didn’t, couldn’t, happen until the end, after all that development. It’s so satisfying.

-- Like I mentioned before, there’s no reason why the Gems, including the others like Peridot, Lapis, and Bismuth, wouldn’t try to help Steven learn to control his new powers in Future.

-- A lot of the, uh, conflicts Steven faces in Future also feel ignorant to the OG series.

Steven in future: i just feel like i can’t make mistakes in front of you guys and cant be honest cause its mean and i have to be nice and perfect :(

Steven in og series: oh geez I really messed up sorry guys; [feels like the worst Crystal Gem cause he’s always fucking up]; (Garnet: You’re making Pearl very upset) “IM very upset!“; “What Rose wanted--ARGH! What about what I want?! I’m sick of you always lying to me!”; “Home’s been awful! Here’s been awful! Everyone’s been acting awful too!”

Steven in future: idk how to be a friend to someone who’s not a miserable sad sack with no direction in life

Connie: hey what the fuck

What was the point of all the townie episodes if we’re going to act like Steven never connected with the human part of his life why would the og show bounce between gem eps and human eps if not to show how Steven connects with both worlds ad’g;ajfgjfagjLAFKJS

Steven in future: why didn’t my meddling advice work? this has never happened before. am i losing my touch. who am i

Og Steven, multiple times: aaAAAAAH I SHOULD NOT HAVE MEDDLED AND PUSHED I MADE THINGS WORSE

- Why wasn’t Mindful Education revisited? Steven’s a fusion technically, right, so if he’s feeling, you know, deeply conflicted about his 2 halves, doesn’t that mean he’s out of harmony? There’s a way for 2 halves of a fusion to communicate through meditation and address what’s causing the imbalance, but I guess that would’ve solved Steven’s problem too easily. That’s the only reason Connie’s kept out of Future for so long too, right? Ugh. Never mind the fact that Mindful Ed taught Steven that it’s really important to face upsetting thoughts and feelings and traumas before they tear him apart. But whatever! what ever

- God this isn’t even half of the issues I now have with Future, but I don’t want this post to be 8 miles longer than it already is. Basically I feel like Future does a disservice to the characters and story being told in the original series, which I am very fond of now. It reminds me of an OOC fanfiction. It leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

I really do not want to argue about this. It’s just my opinion. I’m kind of venting. If you agree, great. If you don’t, please keep scrolling. Thanks.

#this is very salty im sorry #and long #negativity #// #su #crystal gems #steven

[vickyvicarious]

well now I have to headcanon that Killian enjoys cooking

(Regarding this gifset.)

Anon I agree. I very much agree. To a... schmoopy amount, so prepare yourself.

.

Emma spent most of her adult life living alone, and a decent amount of her childhood essentially raising herself. She’s gained a lot of skills from those experiences - the useful but depressing stuff, like clocking liars and abusers from ten paces, how to get a good deal at a pawn shop, how to shoplift, to break into cars, how to fill the silence with music so loud you stop thinking about how lonely you are, how to fire a gun, exactly how far ten dollars can stretch if you need. Sure, she’s learned all that.

But some of the stuff is just plain useful. Emma’s known for a long time how to manage her money, how to do laundry, how to keep a house clean, how to sew up rips in your clothes to make them last longer, how to cook. Some of those skills she hasn’t needed in a long time, and others she doesn’t use much just because she doesn’t like to, and she no longer has to. Still, even if she doesn’t especially love cooking, for example, she isn’t actually forced to live on takeout. Before Storybrooke, that was more of... a choice.

(Eating alone in your own home has never been something she’s liked. At least in a bar or a restaurant, she could hear other people, watch them.)

Living with Mary-Margaret, she wound up cooking a little more often, and during her time in New York she remembers making dinner with Henry most days. He was pretty awful in the kitchen himself, could burn water, so she didn’t let him do anything too important, but it was more about the companionship. Even having him doing his homework in the kitchen while she whipped something up was just as good. Sure, there was still pretty regular order-in days, and they ate out sometimes, but for the most part they actually had real meals together. She remembers making a decision to do that when he was still small, to always set aside this time to cook and eat together and share their days. 

It was a curse memory, fake, but Emma liked that routine. Even after moving back to Storybrooke, at least once everything eventually settled, she tries to keep that going. She still doesn’t especially love cooking - it’s more about the end result for her, having that time to sit down together as a family and enjoy something you made together.

So when she and Killian started living together, she made sure to tell him. Emma wanted him to know everything that mattered to her, wanted him to be involved in it. She... also wanted to know ahead of time, if he was terrible in the kitchen and shouldn’t be allowed anywhere nearby. His other household skills were a bit of a hit-or-miss. He was really good at cleaning, but could never remember when to take the trash out. Maybe she expected him not to have any skill with plumbing or cleaning out the gutters, or using a washing machine, and to be fair he learned those all pretty quickly, but she was surprised when it turned out Killian didn’t know how to fold anything neatly. If a lightbulb went out, he usually just ignored it, lit an actual gas lantern if there wasn’t enough light. He actually had a lot of interest in how to decorate the house, but hated changing the thermostat for some reason, preferring to just wear more layers if it got cold. 

Anyway, the point was - she was pretty sure he’d be fine with the idea of family dinners, knew he’d be willing to help even if it were just via setting and clearing the table and doing the grocery shopping, but she wasn’t sure if he’d be interested in actually making the food. And more than that, she wasn’t sure he’d be any good. He had, after all, lived most of his life on ships that had actual cooks to take care of that kind of thing. It might just be something he couldn’t do.

She definitely didn’t expect the way his face lit up at the idea.

“That sounds brilliant, love,” he told her. “You’ll show me how to use everything?”

Of course she agreed, and Killian had always been a quick learner (which was why she kept finding herself surprised at the chores he never seemed to pick up). So the way she only had to explain each modern cooking implement once was not a surprise. He was good with a knife, so she put him on veggie duty, and they made a simple but tasty chicken dish. Nothing unusual, pretty much the kind of cooking she always did. Quick and easy, healthy enough, didn’t taste amazing but definitely not terrible either.

When they sat down to dinner Killian’s face did... something.

It wasn’t quite a sneer.

It also wasn’t quite not a sneer.

“Well, it’s alright,” he said.

.

Those comments became increasingly common over the next few days. Emma’s pasta sauce was “a tad runny, but not bad,” and her tacos “could use a bit more spice,” and her ribeyes were “perhaps a little too long on the stove, love?” and her Sunday morning pancakes needed “a splash more buttermilk, I suspect.” Killian wasn’t picky, he ate every bite, and he didn’t exactly nag her about her cooking. Just one or two comments, not necessarily even directed at her so much as him musing aloud about the food. But every side dish he made tasted amazing, even if it was just a simple salad, and he very clearly had opinions and it wasn’t like Emma even liked cooking all that much anyway. She’d never claimed to be a genius at it. But she’d never admitted to being bad either, and the little snubs over and over got increasingly irritating until one day she just snapped that he should be in charge of dinner then, if he cared so much.

Killian instantly looked contrite.

“I don’t want to step on your toes, love,” he said. “If you enjoy cooking - just maybe another shake of the pepper next time -”

“I don’t like cooking,” Emma snarled, “I just like eating together. Except I’m liking it a lot less when I’m constantly getting criticized!”

“Oh,” he said, a little taken aback. “Oh. Well, then.”

And then he completely took over.

It started with him making her own staple recipes, just being the one in charge of the actual meals. He told her she didn’t have to help if she didn’t want to, and Emma was pissed enough to agree that she wouldn’t. Except then the simple pan chicken she’d been making for ten years came out tasting like it never had before, and there was this sort of lemon-y sauce with it? And he’d made asparagus and some kind rice pilaf thing as well, and even though he claimed he’d just “tweaked it a little” it was so clearly a completely different meal. A better meal. Definitely.

He went through all her favorites like that, completely elevating them beyond anything Emma had ever dreamed of making herself. They took longer, of course, but unlike her he didn’t care. He’d be in there for an hour or more; she’d hear him singing sea shanties to himself as he kneaded homemade bread. Whenever she (begrudgingly, at first) complimented his cooking he’d get this very sweet smile on his face. He rarely seemed satisfied with his own efforts either, still making little comments about how it was a shame the bread had come out a little too chewy, after all -

It was ridiculous. And that was before he started trying to recreate various meals he’d eaten over the course of his long life, a wide variety of vastly different foods he cobbled together from memory and instinct alone. She started helping him out more often, definitely over her irritation at this point and dipping right into fascination. She liked to watch him think, the way he’d dip his hook into a sauce then suck on the tip with his brows knitted together, before adding a little more of some seasoning or other. Now that he was in charge and no longer holding back out of respect for her feelings - or whatever the hell he’d been doing at the start - he’d talk through his decisions. Whether that was muttering aloud about needing more garlic, or telling a long and convoluted story about the first time he’d had this particular curry in a tiny dockside tavern and then delayed leaving port until he could at least partially figure out the recipe from taste alone - thus setting off a chain of events that led directly to his first near-death experience at the hands of mermaids. When he’d come back five years later, the tavern was gone.

Their spice cabinet grew, and their fridge filled up. The pantries too, and the cooking implements, though that happened more gradually. They’d started off with a coffee machine that automatically brewed a pot every morning; five months into living together, Killian acquired a French press and, always an early riser, ground beans himself every morning as she woke up. By the time she got out of the shower and downstairs, he would hand her a cup with exactly the right temperature, flavor, and timing. This went along with the breakfast he’d made, of course.

Emma bought him a set of cookbooks for Christmas; Henry got him some kind of complicated food processor that led to a sharp increase in soups and smoothies and sauces. His repertoire increased. Instead of going to Grannies for New Year’s Eve, they had a party for their family, and Killian went all-out on making a giant feast with Emma and Henry as his hapless assistants. She tried to tell him New Year’s was really more about partying than dinner, but he insisted he didn’t care and made a roast. It was obviously delicious, everyone who hadn’t had much of Killian’s cooking yet lost their minds a little and he alternated between incredibly smug and that familiar bashful grin. Later, they had some kind of pudding for dessert, and played board games for a while until everyone had digested enough to actually move - only then did more traditional festivities commence. They drank, danced, sang, all watched the ball drop and shouted the countdown together; and Emma kissed Killian at midnight, feeling a sharp burst of joy that finally, she could have something like this. Starting a new year surrounded by those she loved, and who loved her back, laughing giddily and dancing together with her parents and her son and the man she’d fallen so so hard for.

But even that paled, honestly, to the next morning. They hadn’t bothered with attempting to clean up, just waved everyone out the door where they’d stumbled down the street in a loud, happy cluster. Emma’d sent Henry to bed, then grabbed Killian and yanked him to their bed, and they hadn’t gone to sleep right away at all. When she did eventually fall asleep, it was blissful and slow, sated in every possible way - and well into the night.

When she woke up, late, it was to an empty bed, sunlight filling up the room. Going downstairs, she heard that familiar low croon from the kitchen; stepped over the streamers still scattered on the living room floor and rounded the corner to see Henry slumped at the table, yawning over a plate of pancakes. Killian at the stove, timing his song to a flip of the newest pancake. She could see blueberries in it. Coffee and orange juice waiting for her at the table. Bacon. Three different kinds of syrup.

Emma started crying.

Henry jerked up out of his chair, rushing to her in a panic. He held her arms and called her over and over, “Mom, mom, what is it?”. Killian moved the pan off the heat so it wouldn’t burn then came over to her too, gently touching her arm. He didn’t say anything, just looked at her.

“Mom, please,” Henry said, and pulled her into a hug - and he was so tall now, so much bigger than he’d been when he found her all that time ago. “Tell us how we can help.”

She shook her head, unable to speak clearly enough to explain they already had, that absolutely nothing was wrong and it hadn’t been for a while now. She didn’t know how to tell them exactly how monumental it felt, walking in here and seeing them both calmly engaged in such a familiar routine. How she’d woken up alone and had been doing so for months and never once worried Killian was gone. She knew he was downstairs, making breakfast.

Emma didn’t know how to say this was the moment she finally realized she had made a home, found a family, and that neither was ever going to be taken away. She didn’t even know why this was that moment, after all the more significant events they’d been through. It didn’t make sense that her deepest doubts would suddenly be banished by a simple breakfast she’d had countless times before.

“You made my favorite,” she sobbed instead, hugging Henry back tightly. She pressed her cheek into his hair, reached out to catch Killian’s hand and tried to blink past her tears to meet his gaze. “I-it’s my favorite breakfast.”

So stupid. So insignificant, after everything, so small, so - so important somehow, the most important thing in the world. Killian had made her favorite breakfast. Henry was there to eat it. Emma hadn’t cooked herself or asked him to make blueberry pancakes specifically or for either of hem to share this moment with her, hadn’t done anything besides sleep in. And it didn’t matter. Here they were, and Henry was always sleepy in the mornings but affectionate still, and Killian’s cooking was delicious and he always sang during and Emma loved them both so much.

Henry held onto her tightly, swayed on the spot a little. Killian reached out to wipe away her tears. He moved his hand to Henry’s shoulder, squeezed gently until he stilled, and then touched the back of his hook gently to her cheek and leaned over Henry to kiss her. Soft and slow.

“I know, Emma,” he told her after, smiling so soft and his voice rough with emotion. Emma had no doubt that he understood exactly what she meant; that he knew just what she couldn’t say and he felt that wonder too. That same incredible contentment, somehow more stunning than the fiercest joy. “I know.”

#captain swan #cs ff #ouat #my fic #replies #anonymous #i haven't written an askbox cs fic in so long and it feels so gooood #i got really emotional with this one i dunno. not what i was thinking when i started it at all #but yes killian cooks #also i know there are tense errors and stuff. i wrote this straight into the response box and have not edited. will get to it later

[giasonesdream]

The Art TA, Tae...

Hi, so I was inspired by this gifset created by @95z​

Such a simple yet effective post, because this is what I came up with:

Your university wasn’t an art school by any means. With an expansive campus run rampant with prospective business people and research scientists, the last thing on the majority’s mind was the history of your personal favourite painter, Carravagio.

Not that it mattered to you...since you weren’t an Art Major, yourself.

But you hang with that crowd, somehow drawn to the open and relaxed spirits of those that spent their lectures with paint brushes in their aprons, or calloused fingertips from strumming the strings of some orchestral instrument. In summation, despite your academic plan leading you down the path of Foreign Communications, you always somehow found yourself in the Art Building during your spare time.

It was a rather cozy building, stacked with the same warm tone bricks used to make the goliaths just across the street, on the main campus. If the Science building wasn’t on it’s own separate street, as well, you could’ve sworn the School Board held some vendetta towards Art Majors.

So the trek is comfortable, jay-walking in the middle of the day as the streets are normally empty during this time of the day. Your friends are scattered throughout the small building. The halls are narrow and cozy, almost makes you feel like you’ve walked into a new world of secrets and mystery. Paintings, portraits, and mixed media line the cement walls.

Despite knowing that there are people in the rooms evidently from the various noises that come muffled from the wooden doors, it’s always so quiet and empty when you’re there. It’s a rarity to share the hall with another human, and it’s normally a treat when you do.

Like today. The both of you are walking from opposite ends of the hall, coming closer.

He doesn’t have a face you recognize, but some primal part of your brain wishes you did. Chocolate copper tresses veil his forehead, slipping under the thick framed glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose. He’s adorned in black trousers that seem to fit his waist perfectly, but with suspenders that contrast the simple...ridiculously obvious shirt fitting to his shoulders. You can’t stop the grin that pulls at your lips upon reading the painter’s name written clearly on the maroon fabric: Van Gogh. 

The stranger is in the midst of rolling out his neck, his shoulder twitching up to adjust the leather strap of his messenger bag going across his body. When he seems satisfied with stretching his neck, his gaze falls to yours. It’s so sudden, you don’t have time to look away, to try and pretend like you hadn’t been checking him out just a second before. 

In order to save your dignity, you go for a smile, something you hope comes across as friendly and kind. But his gaze is piercing, even beyond the lenses of his glasses that catch the reflection of the light hanging above, you can see it. Brown eyes boring into yours, almost like a challenge, daring you to keep his stare or look away.

Maybe later on you’ll curse yourself, kick at your own ass for not wanting to be confrontational or even the slightest bit rebellious. For now, however, you drop your eyes to the floor, just as your paths cross. Christ, where had your confidence gone?

What’s more, that primal part of your brain doesn’t think, only reacts. Curious as to see the stranger from behind, you turn your head back, and there it is again: that stare, that stone gaze catching yours. This time, though, it’s coupled with a smirk, one side of his lips turned up into a smile. Of course, you only notice that you were caught in the act, and you snap your head back immediately, quickening your pace to get to the end of the hall as soon as possible.

With the Art Department being so small and intimate, it’s not hard to learn about the stranger, the man that has somehow made a name for himself with his eccentric fashion, someone who was able to stand out even to the Art Students literally is that even possible?

He’s a mid-level Art History Teacher’s Assistant named Kim Taehyung. Thankfully, one of your friends has a class that he assists, and he’s quite talkative in class. From what your friend has told you, he likes to converse with the students before class, try to read the room’s mood levels before the professor joins them. Your friend doesn’t remember if he’s in Graduate School working to be a professor himself or to open up an Art Gallery. Seems like two completely different career ventures-

“You’re not from here.”

The voice snatches you from your thoughts, bringing you back to the present. One of your friends is in his Music Theory lecture in the lower level of the building. It’s probably the creepiest, most eerie section of the building, and mainly your biggest piece of evidence that the Art Students get the short end of the stick.

Your stare had been a mile long into the wall opposite of you as you leaned against the cold, hard surface. And the last time you were aware of your surroundings, you’d been alone.

So to hear someone else talking-

“Oh my go-” you exclaim, quickly lowering your voice. You don’t want to disturb the lecture going on just on the other side of the wall. You finally follow the direction in which the voice had came, low and smooth enough to wrap around some inner part of yourself.

Speak his name, and he shall appear.

Standing to your side is the aforementioned Kim Taehyung, the TA you’d passed in the hallway just a couple days ago. Your heart is still pounding in your rib cage, but now it’s unclear as to what the cause of that is. 

He laughs, holding out his hands in front of him, like a sign of not being a threat. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You give yourself a moment to calm down, taking the time to give a quick once-over the outfit for today. Students in the Fashion Department must have a field-day with how he styles clothing. Again, he’s wearing simple black pants, maybe a little less fitted than the pair he wore the other day. Today’s eclectic shirt is a button down with geometric shapes of all sizes, staying in the colour story of red, white, and gray. Again, simple, but bold.

“Um...what?” You ask on an exhale.

“I said ‘you’re not from here’,” Taehyung reiterates. “I’m pretty good at remembering faces of the staff and students that normally frequent this building. You’re a new one.”

You hum in agreement. “Right. No, my friends...I’m waiting on a friend that’s in this lecture. Most of my friends are Art Majors.”

Taehyung nods, pushing his glasses up his nose. “So, what major are you, then?”

It’s an easy conversation to have, especially on campus. Everyone wants to know what plan someone else has, especially if they have no idea what they’re working towards themselves. So you explain your major, your plan to work in foreign affairs for some big company.

“...or, atleast, that’s the goal,” you finish.

“Is that the dream, too?”

It takes a minute for the question to process. Even as it does, you still respond with a furrow of your brow in confusion.

The TA leans his shoulder against the wall, loosening his posture, and you have the desire to mirror his relaxed state.

“Well, what I mean is...you say that it’s your goal, but is that career move what you dream of doing?”

Being in your last year of university, this was already a talk you have had to have with yourself. When you slaved away over your French Oral Presentation, or going through the motions of General Accounting, you knew what you would have rather been doing with your time. Ledgers was far from it.

What makes you hesitate, though, is whether or not you should express this honesty to a virtual stranger. Attractive or not, were you willing to open up about something you’ve already lamented over?

Sighing, you sink into the wall. “Not even close.” His expression is patient, waiting for you to explain. “If I didn’t crave financial security, I’d spend my days and nights here, working on creative writing projects...maybe diving so deep into the world of Gentileschi that I could transport back in time to when she thrived. But alas...I graduate this Spring.”

When Taehyung nods, he looks thoughtful, mulling over your words. Much to your surprise, his silence doesn’t feel awkward, but you do have questions of your own.

“What about you? I heard you’re...either trying to open an Art Gallery or become a full time professor. Which is it?”

With a tilt of his head, a laugh threatens to stumble past his pursed lips. “Did you ask about me?”

At your slip-up, your mouth hangs open as you try to stumble for a response. You hadn’t even thought about that, about how it would sound for him to know you were already trying to figure out who he was after one encounter.

“Oh...I, uh...well- okay, yeah, you.” You breathe a nervous laugh. “Your shirt had caught my attention, and you-”

“I caught your attention,” guesses a rather smarmy Taehyung. He seems to find some entertainment in your slight panic, which actually helps to calm your nerves. When you finally settle, he continues. “I wanna do both, actually. Even when I graduate, I know there’s still more I can learn. Why not get paid while I continue the journey, right? Plus, I’d need to grow a savings so I could start off with some backing-”

“Man, you’d fit right in with the Business Department. Especially the Accounting Students. They go nuts for financial plans and forecasts.”

Taehyung shrugs. “Nothing wrong with having a plan in place. Just as much as there’s nothing wrong with not having a plan.”

His words, for some reason you couldn’t even explain to yourself, gave you reassurance and solidarity. Your future had been set since the moment you stepped foot onto the university’s campus. And though you would have nights where you longed to stray from the path laid out, you kept on course. And with only months left of your undergraduate schooling, the finish line was just over the horizon, already pooling into view. 

But everyone knows that with finishing one race, you only start another. Not a race, no. A marathon. A marathon that the man to your side was giving you comforting words would go well even if the lines in front of you blur or obstacles come.

Again, the silence is nice, filled with words not spoken but ease and welcome vibrations.

The lecture room door opens, and the noises from inside spill out into the small corridor. Jeongguk will be out soon.

“Welp.” You straighten up, pushing away from the wall. “It was nice to meet you, Taehyung. A rather interesting first conversation.”

“Wow, you know my name! And I never even learned yours.”

Right. You tell him your name, listen as he tries it out on his own tongue. It shouldn’t sound as intimidating as it does, given that he’d already seemingly jumped head-first with the deeper topics of discussion. 

“First conversation?”

“Huh?”

“You said it was an interesting first conversation. Does that mean you’d want to have a second? Maybe even a third?”

He feigns a scandalous look that makes you giggle. “Hell, we might even have a fourth.” He gasps deeply.

He nods towards the lecture hall. “Well...now you know where I am on Friday’s at this time of the day. The joys of only having one lecture hall in the building.”

You roll your eyes, your disdain seeping through. “Ugh, that’s so ridiculous. This building really should be a lot bigger.”

“Won’t argue with you, but what are the odds that we would’ve run into each other if that was the case?”

It’s a sweet sentiment that doesn’t match the wink he sends your way.

The hallway is busy now as the current of bodies flow. Taehyung starts walking toward the classroom. “I’ll see you around, yeah? Give me time to guess which Gentileschi painting is your favourite.”

With a grin, you nod, giving a small wave as he enters the classroom.

When Jeongguk finds you, you both make your way through the building. He’s already going into a ramble about his final project for his film class. You both have a habit of sliding your fingertips against the walls, tapping along the heavy surface.

Taehyung was right about that. You still believe the Art Department could have more, be more, but there’s a charm in how small it is...intimate.

#bts #kim taehyung #taehyung x reader #bts fic #bts scenarios #bts imagines #bts fluff #i already started thinking about how i could continue this #wow this is strange #taehyung fluff #bts v

[xoruffitup]

Flip Ficlets (Part III?)

Since the first time I saw BlacKkKlansman, I wondered what was going on in Flip’s head when Ron asks why he’s not taking the investigation more personally, and Flip answers “Rookie, that’s my fuckin’ business.” My brain supplied...

What if Flip had a girlfriend of color during the investigation?

Pt ii: This wouldn’t leave me alone

All it took was some nice Flip gifsets on my dash, and suddenly I wrote more of this. Here we’ve got the flashback scene to when Sarah first found out Flip was a cop, Flip getting dragged (somewhat) against his will to a disco, and Sarah’s feelings a few years in on being with a white guy.

Not beta’d or anything, just had fun. 

Flip has no idea how he got talked into this.

“Hell no. No way,” had been his gruff reply when Sarah leaned away from the telephone to excitedly call, “Patrice and Ron are going to a disco tonight!”

It was a Friday evening after a long day and an even longer week. Apparently Ron had other ways he liked to recover, but Flip’s ideal Friday night usually involved reclining in a horizontal position. Definitely not dancing.

“You’re such a drag,” Sarah drawled, clicking her tongue disapprovingly. “Well, I’m going. You can either come along, or accept that I’ll spend all night dancing with other guys. And you never know, some of them might be hotter than you.”

Well, that was how right there.

Flip had just stared for a long second, then blinked slowly when Sarah twirled out of the bedroom in a spangly dress that flashed plenty of shoulders and thighs. His mouth suddenly very dry around the urge to march her straight back into the bedroom, he managed, “Sarah, I have nothing to wear.”

She’d just grinned, the glitter on her dark eyelids shimmering phosphorescent.  

“Just wear my favorite shirt. The red one. I’ll be satisfied.”

Flip made a passing attempt to tame his hair before pulling his boots on. (Boots to a disco. There was no hope for him at all.) Before Sarah could pull her coat on at the front door, he’d drawn her close enough to kiss her mostly-bare shoulder appreciatively. She breathed out fast and gave his hair a brief, playful tug.

“No time for that, babe. Let’s go, let’s go!”

Flip released something between a sigh and a grumble of acceptance as he grabbed his own coat and followed her out the door. The sooner they left, the sooner they’d be home when there would be time for that.

“Brother!” Ron crowed as Flip and Sarah approached him and Patrice outside the club entrance. Flip dutifully extended his hand for his and Ron’s customary handshake-slide.

“Your glitter! You look dynamite,” Patrice greeted Sarah, immediately enveloping her in a hug.

Ron’s grin – beneath an afro boasting fresh volume – could only be described as shit-eating.

“I didn’t think there was a chance in hell she’d get you to come out.”

Flip sighed, his gaze sliding indulgently towards his girlfriend. “Looks like hell hasn’t frozen over yet.”

The moment they passed inside, Ron noticed Flip’s demeanor shift and stiffen a bit. He seemed to hunch his shoulders a bit, in a mostly futile bid to make his towering frame less conspicuous.

Not that he needed height to draw looks.

Sarah, while making it look perfectly natural and effortless, made sure to always be touching Flip. Whether linking her hand with his or staying pressed to his side, she made it clear he’s with me – he’s no trouble.

Ron navigated them to the bar and secured the first round of drinks. Just before Patrice dragged her off to the neon-light dance floor, Sarah tucked a kiss against Flip’s cheek and made the vaguely threatening promise, “Don’t get too cozy at the bar here, I’m coming back for you.”

Once the girls slid off into the dancing crowd, Ron raised his glass for Flip to toast.

“I always did want to see your moves, soul brother,” Flip joked, even as his gaze compulsively jumped from each set of potentially hostile eyes to the next. Without Sarah right there pressed against him, he couldn’t quite suppress the instinct.

“I’ll only show you mine if you show me yours.”

“Hate to break it to you, but even after all your tutelage I still don’t have a funky bone in my body. Probably a lost cause.”

Flip took a long sip and spotted Sarah over the rim of the glass, dancing at the center of the floor. Immediately, he found himself soothed.

Ron nudged his elbow into Flip’s side. “It’s all about the woman, partner.”

With some difficulty, Flip tore his gaze from Sarah to peer at Ron.

“What now?”

“All you gotta do is let your woman lead. The rest comes naturally, trust me.”

“I don’t know. Trusting you has landed me in some pretty deep shit once or twice.”

“Flip. It pains me that you don’t trust me as a reliable authority on disco.”

“Well. More of an authority than me, I’ll give you that. Though that ain’t saying much.”

“Sure as hell isn’t. Nice boots, by the way.”

“Fuck off.”

Ron just grins, looking to be having an absolute delight of a time.

When the girls rejoin them, and Sarah – all laughter and heaving heartbeat and smudged glitter around her eyes – shimmies in against his side again, Flip feels like a whole new kind of interloper.

She glows, the most enticing star that’s ever burned in the night sky, and no matter whether in a club frequented by whites or blacks, he’d still look utterly out of place with her.

Sarah loops her arms up around his neck and pulls playfully. “Time to face your fate.”

Flip tries to shoot a beseeching appeal to Ron, but only catches his back as Patrice tows him towards the flashing lights of the dance floor.

There’s no hope for him now.

“Honey – I’m gonna make you look a fool.”

He already looked the fool the second he stepped in here in his boots and worn flannel – even if it is Sarah’s favorite. But Sarah – her sashaying hips, hair flips, and light feet could put this whole place in the palm of her hand.

“Not with me, you won’t,” she promises brightly, seeming to have full confidence in the same power of the leading lady espoused by Ron.

Flip hates it, he really does. Never in his life has he been a dancer. Especially not in places where he’s a magnet for attention.

This is her night. It’s for her.

So he says nothing, and lets her slight, small hands pull him deep into the crowd of people on the dance floor.

In desperation, he recalls what Ron meant as advice: Let your woman lead. The rest comes naturally.

And somehow – his miraculous goddess of a woman makes it so easy. Her back to his front, Sarah holds his hands against either side of her hips, letting him feel the sway and dip of her movements. She presses back against him just enough to nudge him into the rhythm. Over her shoulder, Flip can see her smile as he gradually matches her pace. And it… isn’t so bad, moving where she moves, savoring the weaving of her body against his and just letting himself sink into equilibrium with her.

After almost three years together, the familiar yet no less spectacular shape of her small body pressed to his carries all the sure-footed reassurance of a bright blue, sunny sky.

She lets her head tip back against his shoulder, grinning between songs.

“Like I keep telling you, you’re not so bad, babe. Even for a white boy.”

Apparently not everyone agrees. Before Flip can make a joke in return, a young man detaches from the crowd with an impeccably styled afro almost to compete with Ron, armed with a charming smile all for Sarah.

Smoothly managing to avoid even a glance at Flip, the guy offers, “I couldn’t help but notice this gorgeous sister dancing near me, who looked like she might be in need of a proper partner. Might I be of service?”

Flip almost admires the guy’s nerve. He knows Sarah well enough to stay quiet and let her handle this herself.

Sarah just tucks herself closer to Flip, smiling sweetly at the guy. “Nice of you to offer, but I’m perfectly fine with my boyfriend here.”

The guy’s mouth opens in abrupt surprise. He finally looks at Flip now, reassessing.

Flip stays silent, but can’t help himself resting a possessive hand at Sarah’s shoulder. He looks somewhere other than the guy’s face, and makes every effort to temper his glare. While Flip concertedly doesn’t watch, the guy finally gets lost.

“What a presumptuous jerk, right?” Sarah looks up at Flip through her lashes, indulging him.

Flip keeps looking out into the crowd, a slight frown clinging to his lips despite his full knowledge that the guy was no threat.

Sarah is just about to poke him into dancing again when he mumbles only just audibly over the music, “If you want to have a few dances with a partner who knows what he’s doing… I won’t mind.”

Sarah just stares up at him for a long moment, before cracking an amused smile.

“How much did that hurt to choke out?”

“Nearly stuck in my throat.”

Smiling to herself and the happiest she’s been all night, Sarah draws herself closer against him and hooks her arms up around his neck, making Flip meet her eyes.

“You came out with me tonight. You’re the only one I want to dance with.”

The music slows into a gentle, easy beat and this – this Flip can handle just fine. He rests his hands at her waist, before sliding his arms around her and drawing her all the way in. Her breath is warm and soothing against his neck, as she hums in approval near his ear and settles into a slow, pleasant sway to the music.

This, Flip doesn’t mind one bit.

“Then I’m the luckiest son of a bitch here tonight.”

He wonders if the glitter on her face is rubbing off against his neck and shirt right now. He finds he really doesn’t care.

Sarah twirls her fingers in the hair along the back of his neck. She always loves when he lets his hair get long. She nestles in closer as Flip keeps them rocking back and forth. It’s her favorite place – wrapped in his arms and nearly enveloped in the breadth of his body.

Times like right now, Flip still can’t believe that, somehow, he’s to her taste. She’s the most beautiful woman in the place, and she’s spent the last three years with a lug like him. There are a hundred good reasons why she might never have given him the time of day – not the least being his job and the fact that her clubs, discos, and bars aren’t meant for him.

And yet – way back when, she was the one to kiss him first. She’s the one who keeps a hard line with her parents, who keep prodding her to “dump the pig already.” Three years and she’s still immovable.

Flip will never quite understand; he’ll just keep doing his best to treat her right and not tempt his good fortune.

The sweeping droplets reflecting off the disco ball dapple across her dark skin. Her long weave of braided hair is a bit mussed, and she’s warm and sweaty in his arms.

He dips his head, resting his lips near her ear.

“I can’t wait to get home and make love with you.”

She goes onto her toes, stretching up towards him in a way that’s simply sacred.

“You’ve been working late this week. I think you owe me an all-nighter.”

“’till dawn, at least.”

“Maybe straight through breakfast. We’ve got no plans tomorrow.”

And Flip wouldn’t even be surprised if she means it. She’s the tiniest woman he’s ever shared a bed with, but by far the most voracious. Keeping her satisfied is his supreme joy.

They only last another two songs. They find Ron and Patrice to say their goodbyes, before Sarah leads their way out with Flip’s hand gripped tight in hers.

He doesn’t plan on letting her go for the rest of the night.

Maybe not ever.

~~~~~

Flip had wondered when to broach it. Dreaded it.

On their third date, he thought it improper to put it off any longer.

“You haven’t asked me what I do for a living.”

Sarah had sat back in her seat across the diner booth. She knew that it had perhaps been intentional. She liked him so much so far. Perhaps she was scared of thinking of him separate from this – out doing things other than holding doors for her, waiting for her to initiate reaching for his hand before he so much as kissed her goodnight, smiling his crinkly smile and laughing his deep laugh at her jokes.

“I suppose I haven’t.”

Flip pushed fries around his plate, simultaneously relieved and deeply regretting steering the conversation this way.

Still. He knew putting it off any longer would only make it worse.

“I’m a detective. I… work down at the station.”

Her body stiffened. Her hands, which had been laid on the table as if in consideration of touching him, withdrew to her lap. Her jaw went rigid, mouth drawn tight.

“So you’re a cop.”

He only barely had the heart to look at her. Still, he nodded.

“You could say that.”

She crossed her arms, shifted on the seat. He wondered if she was weighing the option to walk out right then and there.

Instead, she asked in a voice deceptively light and difficult to parse, “You do fancy undercover work?”

“Sometimes. It’s not so fancy though, usually just listening to wire taps all day.”

She stared at him – gaze assessing and harder than usual, but not entirely closed off. Not yet, at least.

“You ever arrested people?”

“It’s in the line of work.”

“People like me? Who never done anything wrong but live in a world where others don’t want us to?”

Flip took a deep breath. He was already jonesing for a cigarette.

“I have arrested two black men, yes. But two who’d done quite a bit wrong and only after we had reliable evidence against them.”

Her eyes took on a fierce glint now.

“You ever been the type to flash your lights and pull over a black driver just to rough them up a bit?”

Flip’s mouth twitches into a frown, his tone turning a shade less gentle. “Do I seem the type?”

Sarah doesn’t give an inch of ground. “No, you’ve gotta tell me. Because you could be a very different person when you walk out that door than the one sitting here with me. For all I know, you may be the type who thinks it’s fine to bag a black woman, but wouldn’t blink an eye if you saw one of my brothers beaten on the streets.”

Flip sat back, all thought of food gone along with any trace of resistance. He kept fitting together then discarding answers – each more deficient than the last. Whatever he says, he knows it can’t entirely quell her misgivings. Only his actions and time can do that.

He doesn’t say that the barber who cuts his hair is black. He doesn’t say that he mows the lawn for the elderly woman across the street from him, who happens to be black. He understands that just like his presence here across the table from her, that doesn’t prove anything.

“I can tell you that no, I’ve never pulled over anyone of any color if they weren’t speeding. But I know that’s not enough. All I can do is ask for the chance to take you out again and start proving it.”

She took him in for a long time, simply assessing the sincerity in his expression – weighing the future burden of inevitably navigating the chasms between their experiences and views of the world. Would he understand that some of those chasms could never be crossed; but it was his responsibility to see them anyway?

“I should just warn you - I’m difficult to please,” she said, the hint of a smile returning in just the corners of her lips. “But I’ll give you that chance. From what I know of you so far, I think you’ll make it count.”

She rested her hands up on the table again, leaning in again over her seat.

On the other side of the booth, Flip relaxed. She was still there. He realized part of him hadn’t expected anything after this conversation. He’d thought it wasn’t even worth hoping for – that she’d still be comfortable spending time with him once she knew everything.

But she’d given him a chance, and Flip intended to earn and treasure her trust.

He slid his hand across the table, just so his fingertips could brush across the back of her hand. He waited, but she didn’t pull away. She just gave him a small, budding smile.

“Let’s go get a drink.”

~~~~~~~~

Since the day she first met him in the bar where she used to mix drinks, Sarah has always felt completely and utterly safe with Flip. He’d come over and interposed himself between her and three guys who’d been harassing her as she tried to leave from a shift. He’d walked her out to the parking lot, offered to drive her home, and she’d never wanted to be parted from him since. It was more than simply trusting him – more than knowing with absolute certainty that he was a good, honorable man who respected and provided for her.

It was his size, when they were out together and a pair of hostile eyes fled in the opposite direction when they caught sight of him at her side. It was his carrying license and shoulder holsters – the only weapons she’d ever known with certainty would never turn against her, but would only ever be used in her protection. It was the way his presence beside her at the grocery store made the checkout person smile at her with a brightness she’d never known before. It was the way no white man sneered or smirked at her across a crowded room anymore, ever since Flip became a permanent fixture.

For a long time, she never told him these things – afraid he would feel she was using him. Sarah never troubled herself with such qualms. She knew she loved Flip for the right reasons. All the advantages to being with him had only made themselves known after she chose his company, after all.

Of course, not all her friends and family would call them “advantages.”

“How could you?” her now ex-friend had hissed. “Racist cops are out there running us down like dogs, and you’re fucking one.”

Sarah had just fixed her hair, unperturbed. This was nothing she hadn’t already considered.

“If you respect me as a woman and friend, you’d trust me to never betray my people like that.”

“But that’s what it sure sounds like.”

“Know what I think? I think it sounds like you’re doing the same thing as those racist cops. Which – I’d care to note – Flip isn’t.”

“How could you even compare-“

“It sounds like you’re trying to tell me they’re all the same, but I thought we were more evolved than that.”

Sarah doesn’t shrink from her black pride. For a while, she wondered if it was a type of passing – enjoying the freedom from harassment thanks to her intimacy with a white man. Wondered if she had crossed some invisible line without realizing, and was now separated from her brothers and sisters.

But then she’d get groceries or go to the butcher on her own, and nothing had changed. Not really. Except she’d go home and be even more grateful for the warmth of Flip’s arms and the soft scrape of his beard when she kissed him.

Home was safe. Home was where he was. And so she stopped worrying about any of it.

Then he finally asked.

She’d been out late with some friends – a little tipsy when she rung him at the station to come pick her up from the club.

It wasn’t one of the clubs they usually frequented – one that was a bit more mixed. She and her two friends had only been outside for all of a few minutes before two burly white men started jeering from across the street. They crossed the street, but were only just approaching the girls when Flip pulled up. But they’d been close enough, and Flip was trained to read violence in body language.

He’d swung a sloppy park job, jumped from the truck, and blocked their approach. He’d flashed his badge in case the contempt in his glare wasn’t loud enough. Maybe it’d be enough to scare them off such behavior for good.

He’d had Sarah’s friends squeeze into the truck and dropped them off before bringing Sarah home. She remained silent – mostly because she wasn’t a talkative drunk, but Flip perceived different reasons entirely.

They were in the kitchen – Sarah chugging water, Flip hovering in the doorway, unsure if the comfort he wanted to give would be welcome – when he asked.

“Is it ever… too hard?”

Sarah needed a moment to focus on him. The kitchen lights were so bright. The concern and anxiety in his expression was a lot to take in.

“Is what?”

He huffed a slow sigh, lifting a hand to rub across his mouth for a moment as if feeling the shape of each word as he considers them.

“Being with someone who looks like me. Who looks like…. That.”

“Oh.”

Oh.

Sarah had filled and downed a second glass of water, willing herself sober.

When she looked at him again, she knew he hadn’t asked for any reassurance for his own sake. He wasn’t asking for her validation or forgiveness, nor was he trying to indirectly make some ‘we’re not all like that’ statement. The question had been solely for her sake – the rest of the world be damned.

And that… that makes her answer for him; with an answer no less true.

She comes to stand near him in the entryway to the kitchen, watching him look between her face and scanning her body, as if still reassuring himself nothing happened. She waits until he relaxes slightly, until she has his attention completely in the present moment.

“Flip. Baby. You don’t look like them. Not to me.”

She reached up to touch his cheek, to trace she shape of his mouth as he pressed a small, hesitant smile against her fingers. His hand on her hip was gentle and warm.

They got ready for bed in silence. Flip helped with undoing the back of her dress and sliding her head and arms into her pajama shirt – her coordination not quite at peak performance.

In bed, the lights out, Flip pulled her close and wrapped her up more tightly than usual. He kissed her ear until she’d gone utterly relaxed and content. At first, she burrowed her face in close against his chest, breathing in all the comfort he offered. She luxuriated in the strength she could feel at rest in his arms – alongside the tender circling of his fingertips along her back.

Suddenly, she had more to say. She lifted up just enough to find his eyes in the dim bedroom. She stroked his hair back from his face, leaning close.

“You look like the guy I don’t bitch about cooking dinner for. Who picks me up without a single complaint when it’s the middle of the night and I’m drunk. Who can fuck real good but love even better. The guy who doesn’t think he’s noble for treating me well – it’s just what anyone should do. You look like the guy who doesn’t ask if it’s a place for whites or colors, when we go out. The guy who says my hair’s beautiful, even though you’ll never understand why it takes so long to get it done.”

She leans a little closer now, her hands coming up cup his jaw, fingers gently stroking over his beard.

“You look like the guy I trust to keep me safe. The only guy I’ve ever known where it actually makes me feel better, knowing you keep a handgun in the closet. That’s what I see, Flip - the guy who gave me what means the most. A home where I know I’ll always be safe.”

As much as it enrages him, tonight had hardly been an isolated incident. Sarah had plenty of stories of experiencing such threats – some of which Flip had witnessed firsthand. But he has no power over people’s cruelty or small-mindedness. Neither of them do. All he can do is look out for her. And the whole time, part of him had just waited until it became too much for her. Until all his skin color represents became too burdensome to keep in her life any longer.

So this – it means something to him. She doesn’t see him as a turncoat or defector from enemy lines; still hovering in her line of vision. To her, he has always been behind her own line – on her own side, in private from the rest of the world.

“Sarah, I swear I’ll always protect you. Until the day when this world is less fucked up and you don’t need it anymore.”

“Mm…. but what if I still need you?”

Flip nuzzles the top of her head, draws her in a little tighter.

“Then I’ll still be there.”

She’s half asleep, head pillowed against his chest and his arms still twined around her, when she murmurs, “Flip?”

He rumbles out, “Hm?”

“Tell me you love me.”

Truth be told, he’d been thinking it. Just nervous to say the words – as he perpetually was, no matter that it wasn’t anything near the first time.  

Flip opened his eyes to press a kiss to her forehead, then three more down the side of her half-asleep face. Warmth bloomed in him at her contented sigh.

“I love you. More than I know the words for.”

She rumbled a sigh, her head nodding sleepily against his chest as her lips curled in a smile.

“Good.”

#BlacKkKlansman #Flip Zimmerman #Flip fic #Adam Driver

[unanuvola]

alright so i read your lipstick fic with sonny and it was absolutely b e a u t i f u l! i was just wondering if you could write something similar but with that the reader ASKED him to put on the lipstick and how he might react? totally fine if you don’t want to! no pressure!

Hey Anon! Thank you so much for reading I see your true colors (and that's why I love you) and for writing this message. I'm glad you like it and I really hope that you'll like this new story too. I'm really sorry for taking so long to write it, but (finally) here it comes!

(gif: @rynewind)

When Sonny came out from his home studio, he found you spread on the sofa with your face hypnotized on your phone. He rolled his eyes and continued on to the kitchen, stretching his limbs and back. Now that he was an ADA and his poor ass was stuck to a chair most of the day, he realized that he desperately needed to do something for his body and maybe, if he was lucky, you could join him.

He drank some water, then he sat down thinking about all the possible sports you could accept to do and, speaking frankly, they could be counted on the fingers of one hand. Sonny still remembered when you two started dating and one day you said triumphantly that you paid an annual membership for a gym next home, but then you spent the entire year in his bed because 'you're ten thousand better than that boring cardio class'. The mere memory made his legs shaking. So, gym was cancelled.

Maybe some dance lessons could be the right answer, however a flashback hit Sonny hard like a slap on his face. Rafael invited the squad in a cosy Cuban restaurant for his birthday, obviously Sonny asked to him if could invite you because he desperately wanted to show his friends the wonderful girl he had started dating. The conditions were good for a perfect night and perhaps he could find the courage to bring you to his home for the first time, but then the cosy restaurant turned out to be a place where after midnight the owners moved the tables away and people could actually dance salsa with a band playing live in the background. After a few tries and your don't worries every time he stepped on your toes, he spent the rest of the night watching you dancing with Rafael. Obviously you didn't went to his place and Sonny had to settle for jerking off at the thought of a threesome with you and Barba. Sonny shook his head like to erase that disastrous night from his memory. Dance lessons were cancelled, too.

Then, like a miracle, he remembered that time where you asked him, smirking, "What do you think if I start yoga? Maybe if I become a little more flexible it'll be more fun doing you know what…". This idea was quickly abandoned just like Sonny's fantasies of your legs spread open while he was pounding you deep.

"Doll?"

"Mmh?"

"What do you think of signing up for a partner yoga class?" he asked, joining you in the living room.

You hummed vaguely, your eyes fixed on the phone and fingers fast scrolling on the screen. Sonny looked at you with a mix of resignation and amusement. No matter how long he has known you, he'll always be genuinely amazed at your hyperfixation on the most varied things.

When you two first met, you were obsessed with Rule & Method: special case unit, in which a young and inexperienced detective, between one case and another, fell in love with a sarcastic and grumpy Puerto Rican ada. At the first you were reluctant to open up with Sonny, but a night he invented you home, asking you if you wanted to catch up the new episode of Rule & Method and you didn't make him say it twice. As soon as the episode ended, you began to throw up all your excitement on him and he was so glad that you felt comfortable to share that part of you with him. Sonny still remembered the moment he confided you that he was @thisdetectivelovesthepuertoricanada on ao3, the surprise on your face, your sparkle eyes and your bright red cheeks. You were so beautiful and Sonny was getting so hard by all your praises on his fanfictions that he pulled you toward himself and started to kissed you passionately.

After that you passed from watching all the musicals starring Raúl Esparza to reading the erotic saga of Tiffany Reisz in just four days and now you're obsessed by two Italians guys, a singer and his guitarist, who kissed at the Sanremo song festival. Obviously Sonny knew all these informations because you told them as soon as you saw a gifset on that hellsite called Tumblr. From that moment you started to listen to their song at least ten thousand times a day and to complain because you couldn't read fanfictions about them because you didn't speak a single word of Italian.

Sonny sat on the sofa and put your head on his legs, starting to stroke your hair. You finally laid down your phone and your eyes met with his, a smile spread on your faces.

"I still don't get what you find attractive about these two…"

"I thought your standard in men was higher, babe. Two charming men fighting patriarchy in fancy clothes and a glam makeup, kissing in a worldwide broadcast. Yeah, what's attractive about this? Maybe you have to start following them on Instagram," you answered, with closed eyes, enjoying his fingers caressing your scalp, "Did you watch the video where the singer put a red lipstick on guitarist lips? Hot."

"I didn't know you had a thing for men wearing makeup. If I've known, I would have told you about my punk rock band in high school. Leather jacket, a lot of black pencil under my eyes and yes, even lipstick. I think my mom has some pictures somewhere, next Sunday I'll show you!"

At those words, you sat up and looked to Sonny, who didn't know what was going on, but he knew for sure that you were ready to ask him something. He could tell by the way your eyes was shining and by that cute and lovely pout on your lips. Oh, how he would like to kiss away that pout and make you feel with his hands how much he loved you.

"I have a tons of questions that I want to ask you about that period of your surprising life, but right now most important one is," you cleaned your throat, "you have no problem with wearing makeup on you beautiful face, right?" you asked, your hand on his cheeks while you were gently stroking his lips with your thumb.

Sonny's heart was about to explode. You couldn't understand how much he loved feeling your fingers on his skin, just a little touch like that could take him off to the seventh heaven. "Of course not!" he said, trying to hide his state of bliss.

As soon as he pronounced those few words, you popped right up on your feet and run to the bedroom, leaving your boyfriend clueless about what you'll want to do. The wait was short because after just a few minutes later you run back, also risking to slip on the floor. Sonny was ready to catch you and tell you for the nth time that running through the apartment with just your socks wasn't a good idea, but then he heard your laugh as you sat on his lap and things went back to normal.

"So doll, what are you up to?"

"This!" you exclaimed, waving in front of him a lipstick. With a loud pop, you remove the cap, "A rich dark burgundy lipstick perfect for your pale skin and beautiful blue eyes."

Sonny couldn't react to these compliments because you were already astride on him, trapping his legs between your thighs. First you passed the sleeve of your hoodie on his lips for drying them, then you began to apply it.

So cute, Sonny thought looking at you. A small frown among your eyebrows, eyes fixed on his mouth while gently beating your lips. He could spend hours looking at you concentrated on the things you loved just like when you go down on him and you're too focused on his pleasure that you even forget about your own satisfaction. Suddenly Sonny felt his pants tightened.

"Et voilà!"

"How am I looking?"

"Handsome, as usual."

"Thanks," and he launched himself, open mouthed, toward you.

"Easy babe! You don't want to ruin your makeup, right?" you asked. Sonny was about to answer, but you were already on your feet, in front of him, "Ah, about the yoga partner thing… Yes, I can give it a chance. In fact, it just so happens that I know some positions that I can't wait to teach you."

"The sun salutation?"

"No, I was talking about the doggy one and maybe you can also smear that lipstick on me."

Sonny was really satisfied with that answer. In no time, he scooped you and put you on his shoulder, your ass up in the air. A loud spank made you yelped in surprise.

"I think that tonight we'll have the time to do a little bit more than just that. Prepare yourself for revisiting the entire kamasutra." and with that Sonny closed the door of your bedroom.

Thanks for reading ♡

N/A:

the two Italians guy are Achille Lauro and Boss Doms and the gifs are here and here

Read Tiffany Reisz's books!

English isn't my first language, please forgive any mistakes.

#sonny carisi #sonny carisi x reader #sonny carisi x you #my writing

[btswrckd]

Jealousy

Jung Hoseok x Fem!Reader

Summary: Hoseok is not happy after you spend most of the week ignoring him while at the new stop on their tour

Just a little something I couldn’t help writing after that unholy gifset popped up on my dash.

Warnings: jealous Hobi, fingering, unprotected sex, really just a bunch of smut with a little bit of fluff and humor

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

“It’s a full set tonight, so try not to over exert yourself.” You warned, swiping along the screen of your tablet, going over the details of the concert to make sure nothing gets missed. Feeling Hoseok’s stare on your figure leaning against the counter, you cleared your throat and ignored him, “And really look after Jimin tonight. I know he slipped on stage at the rehearsal and they were supposed to have scuffed his shoes to keep him from falling, but we still have to be careful.”

“Jimin said he was okay,” Namjoon tried to break the tension from his seat beside Hoseok’s, watching his friend roll his shoulders in irritation, “but I’ll make sure he stays away from that spot.”

“Thanks, Joon,” You smiled warmly at him and Hoseok’s nostrils flared at getting your cold shoulder only for you to be so chummy with his junior. “So the stage crew marked that spot just in case, but if for some reason one of you guys feel like it’s not enough, let me know so I can get with Brandon during the---.”

“And what exactly will Brandon do?” Hoseok snapped, the stylist ruffling his hair freezing in place and glancing at you. It wasn’t very often that he had a temper like tonight so everyone was surprised with his attitude. “You’re awfully friendly with someone you’ve barely known for a few days.”

“He’s part of the stage crew, Hoseok, he’s very important. And it is my job to make sure nothing goes wrong.” You rolled your eyes at his tone, having been with them for about 4 years now and knowing full well what a tantrum from him looks like. Not a full on fit, but passive aggressive comments that never affected you the way it did others because you learned how to handle them. “What exactly is your problem with Brandon anyways? He was the one who suggested using softer lighting for Jimin’s set and it helped. Frankly, I’m a little concerned with how ungrateful you’re acting because you don’t like him. It’s our last night here so the least you can do is act like an adult for the next few hours. Right?”

“Everyone out.” He growled, snagging your wrist in his hand and watching the makeup artists and stylists scramble for the door. He exchanged a glance with Namjoon in the mirror before his junior rose from his seat to leave the room, closing the door on his way out and taking time to lock it.

“Problem?” You asked with a raised brow and caught the tic in his jaw, his displeasure at your attitude evident in the way he pulled you onto his lap roughly. Your squeak of surprise as you sat perched on his lap made him chuckle and pink tinted your cheeks when your hands landed on his bare chest. Feeling his chest tense under your touch was foreign to you, having never been as close to him as you were now, his nose bumping against yours and making you shiver. 

You spent quite a lot of time with each member, helping them with wardrobe or their mics, but never pressing against them the way Hoseok held you in place now. The chains around his neck gleaming in the bright light bouncing off the vanity mirror in front of him. The hunger in his eyes never wavering made you duck your head to shy away from him, but he was having none of it. His large hand threaded the hair at the back of your neck and the other splayed between your shoulder blades, crushing your chest to his.

“I’ve been patient with you, Y/N,” Hoseok mumbled against your lips, not quite touching them but not leaving a lot of room to pull away either. “I’ve behaved myself every time you’re around, giggling and laughing with the other members, and when that stage crew member was drooling over you last week. I’ve been good about not letting my temper get the best of me when I actually wanted to rip his arms off for even trying to touch you.”

“Hosek,” You breathed his name as the memories of flirting with the rather attractive American crew member came flooding back. The boys had spent all day rehearsing and when they had five minutes to themselves, they were bombarded by their management team and the new intern Hyerin. 

She was a sweet girl and had developed a crush on Hoseok but like you, she chose to ignore it because it would cost your jobs if either of you were caught being intimate with a member. But the last few days, Hyerin didn’t seem to mind the thought of losing her internship as she had helped him wipe the sweat from his face and neck, sometimes lingering a little too long for your liking. 

You were embarrassed to admit your jealousy so you instead ignored Hoseok’s requests and needs in favor of Jimin, or Taehyung, until Brandon had struck up a conversation with you. Noticing the way Hoseok had attempted to get your attention, you simply gave Hyerin the task with the excuse that she won’t be an intern forever and would need to become used to running around like a chicken with her head cut off.

“You ignored me yesterday,” Hoseok sneered through clenched teeth and felt your fingers curl into fists against his chest, the grit of his voice sending a wave of arousal through your body and shooting straight to your core. Tilting his head playfully, he pressed his lips to yours gently, testing your resolve by toying with the zipper of your sundress and catching the way you clenched your thighs together. “That wasn’t very nice of you, baby.”

You whimpered as his hand came around from your back to gently pry your thighs open, his fingers massaging your skin. The heat radiating from his hand scorched your skin, your nails digging into his bare chest and he groaned before claiming your lips in a desperate kiss. If his hand went any further up your thigh, he’d no doubt come into contact with your damp panties and the thought had you wiggling around on his lap, grinding down on his crotch in order to get comfortable.

“Don’t tease me,” He gasped, dropping his head to your shoulder while his hands quickly came to rest on your hips. Despite his words, Hoseok had aided you in rocking back and forth on his lap, his cock straining against the zipper of his pants as he grew painfully hard. Feeling your fingers play with the zipper of his pants, his hips bucked under your touch, encouraging you to pop open the button and reach under the waistband of his boxers. He hissed against your mouth when you pulled him free, his cock slapping against his stomach, the tip red and pooling with pre-cum. 

Any other time you would have drooled at the sight, but you couldn’t stop yourself if you tried and wrapped your hand around his girth, stroking along his shaft slowly and gently. At the same time, Hoseok’s hand wandered high on your thigh, rubbing his fingers up your slit and you whined at the uncomfortable feeling of your panties sticking to you. Pulling back from his kisses, you concentrated on your hand bobbing up and down his cock, giving him the freedom to leave open-mouthed kisses along the column of your neck biting down in tandem with his fingers pushing past the fabric of your panties to sink his fingers knuckle deep in your pussy.

You gasped and arched your back, hand stilling in the process, head dropping back to allow him more access as he kissed and bit his way down to the tops of your breasts. A moan broke from you, echoing loudly around the room, your body tense with the sudden prodding of his long, veiny fingers. “Jesus, Hoseok. A little warning next time, huh?”

“Of course, baby,” He half promised, not really paying attention in his quest to wreck you in every way possible. Tugging on the straps of your dress, the top pooled down to expose your bra clad chest, he growled at the offending material and curled his fingers to reach that spot that you going crazy. “God, if I had more time, I’d ruin this.”

“This was expensive.” You narrowed your eyes at him, lingerie wasn’t abundant in your closet, but the few pieces you did own cost an arm and a leg. You remembered asking why the hell it was so expensive when you’d gone shopping with your sister and she had giggled at the scowl on your face.

“Yeah?” Hoseok tilted his head, his fingers working you up once again at the thought of you wearing it on a date with someone else. “Who’d you buy it for, Y/N? Something expensive like this surely wouldn’t be for no reason. Tell me, baby, who was lucky enough to see you in this, hm?”

He was teasing you. You knew that and still you couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out, “Kihyun. He asked me on a date before we left for the tour.”

He stood from the chair abruptly, spinning you around to face the mirror, his hand pushing down on your shoulder blades to flatten your chest against the counter and causing a pitiful whine to leave you. “Don’t test me, Y/N.” The tips of his fingers brushed against your sex, your knees buckling under the weight of his chest pressed to your back. Your hair had been pushed away from your neck so he could plant kisses against your skin, leaving pretty bruises behind.

“I’m sorry!” You gasped out at the feel of his long fingers pushing aside your panties once more and burying themselves in your sex, curling deliciously and making you squirm.

Hoseok’s deep chuckle vibrated against your back before he stood straight to flip the skirt of your dress up, his hand smoothing down the swell of your ass with a satisfied hum. “If I didn’t have to go on stage right now, Y/N, I’d punish you. Your skin would look so pretty all red from my hands.”

“Hobi, please,” You weren’t entirely sure what you were asking from him but he seemed to understand just fine, using his foot to spread your legs and grind himself against you while his fingers worked on bursting the familiar coil in the pit of your stomach. Your nails scratched against the marble of the makeup counter, your cunt clenching around his fingers at the feel of his cock running along your slit. 

“Was it fun flirting with that crew member, baby?” He teased the head of his cock against your entrance, withdrawing his fingers and running his tip along your wet folds, smirking at your desperate pleas. “What his name again? Brayden, Ben?”

“B-Brandon.” You provided, looking up to find his reflection staring back at you, a wicked glint in his eye as he buried himself to the hilt. A sharp gasp left you, the stretch of his cock burning as he bottomed out quickly and held your hips still against his until you could get used to him. Head falling forward to rest against the counter, you shifted from foot to foot, tears stinging your eyes at his girth. It had been far too long since you last had sex.

“Are you okay?” Hoseok leaned forward to press a gentle kiss to your temple, threading his fingers through yours against the countertop and waiting for your permission to move. He really should have prepped you more but the temptation of you; your voice and your smile, it all had him much too eager to have you. He was going to wait to ask you on a proper date once the tour was over but he’d snapped when he saw you carrying a comfortable conversation with the stage crew and knew he couldn’t wait any longer.

The stress of attempting to ask you out coupled with the anger of having been ignored by you showed in the way he’d stomped around stage during rehearsal, snapping at his fellow band members and even making Jimin cry from a ridiculous argument (that he later apologized for), he found himself slamming his hotel door with the request of being left alone for the night. On top of everything, he’d woken the next morning to find a text from Hyerin saying she’d be helping for the day because you would be far too busy with soundcheck. 

“Hobi,” Your small whisper broke him from his thoughts as you pushed back against his length, “please move.”

“Tell me if it’s too much.” Hoseok left another loving kiss to your temple before pulling out halfway and thrusting back in, creating a good pace and hearing the smack of his hips against yours, moans tumbling from your slack jaw. He hissed at your clenching walls, bracing one hand against the mirror and groaning at the sight of your reflection, having imagined on many many nights what you’d look like coming undone because of him. His hand and imagination hadn’t done enough justice in comparison to the real feel of you.

“You’re doing so good for me, baby,” He praised with a moan as he peppered the back of your neck with kisses, his bare chest sticky with sweat against your back but neither of you seemed to mind. “You feel so fucking good, Y/N.”

You panted at the way he sped up his thrusts, the tops of your thighs burning as they rubbed against the edge of the countertop with each buck of his hips and he seemed to sense this, pulling your back flush against his chest as he stood straight and took two small steps back to the chair he’d occupied earlier. “Fuck, Hobi!” 

“Shhh, baby, wouldn’t want your little pretty boy to hear you, hm?” Hoseok sat back, lifting you onto his lap and watching your jaw drop in ecstasy at his cock sinking deeper with the change in position. With your head dropping back to rest on his shoulder, he was free to watch your chest rise and fall heavily, staring at his marks painted across your skin. A sense of pride bloomed in his chest at the sight because everyone would know what happened in this room, Brandon included.

Rocking back and forth on Hoseok’s lap, your hand came to rest on top of his when he pushed down on your belly to pull you as close to him as possible. Your other hand curled around the armrest of the chair, your body hot with sweat beading across every surface of your skin, your eyes fluttered shut while your back arched when you felt his fingers rubbing messy circles against your clit. “Hobi,” You chanted his name like it was the only word you knew and he groaned in understanding, your walls clenching around his cock so tight that it was getting harder to move.

“Cum for me like a good girl, Y/N,” He breathed against your ear, his fingers stilling as the familiar heat in your belly burst and you cried out, orgasm washing over you in waves, chest heaving, and body falling limp against his in exhaustion. Helping you ride out your orgasm, he filled you with thick ropes of cum before he could stop himself and pull out. “Shit,” He mumbled as he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, mumbling his apology for not realizing sooner how close he was.

You didn’t say anything as you took the time to observe yourself and him in the mirror in front of you, running your hand through his sweaty and damp hair, almost giggling at the thought of the stylists scolding him for fucking up his hair. Hooking a finger underneath his chin, you pulled his face to yours for a proper kiss, finally feeling his soft lips against yours and coming to the obvious realization that no one would ever be able to do it for you again. Hoseok was it, everything you wanted and more, and sure you’d had feelings for him since you started working at Big Hit but you did your best to keep them at bay. You had zero idea he felt the same way and you could honestly say you didn’t give a damn about the rules now that you did.

The rules!

Reeling back from Hoseok’s kiss, you quickly scrambled off the chair to straighten yourself and smooth out your hair, frantically looking towards the door as two sharp knocks made you jump sky high.

“Hyung,” Namjoon’s deep voice carried through the heavy door clearly while you worked on tugging your dress back up, “we’re on in 10 minutes.”

“I’ll be right there.” Hoseok took his sweet ass time making himself presentable, as if 10 minutes was a shit ton of time when he still needed to get dressed.

“Oh shit,” You began to panic and pace around the room, ignoring the uncomfortable feeling of your arousal sticking to the insides of your thighs, “Oh shit, oh shit!”

“What?” He asked as he heard Namjoon’s footsteps moving further and further away from the room.

“What?!” You parroted and slapped at his shoulder roughly, “Do you know how much trouble I’m going to get in, Jung Hoseok?! There’s a reason Big Hit is adamant about not hiring single people, stupid! Oh, my god, I’m dead. Your managers are going to kill me and the rest of the members are going to be upset with me.”

“Whoa, whoa,” Hoseok gripped your shoulders to keep you from pacing about, cupping your face gently with a smile on his face. “Who said you’re going to get in trouble? The staff knows how I feel about you and so do the guys...I was waiting...to ask you out.”

“Oh, well,” You nodded in mock understanding and narrowed at eyes, “glad we at least got the formalities out of the way.”

Hoseok chuckled at your joke, sweeping his hand through his hair to push it back from his forehead where it stuck. “I’m sorry. It shouldn’t have happened this way but I like you, Y/N, a lot.”

“I like you too, Hoseok,” You sighed and shook your head, unable to tell if you were simply dreaming or if Jung Hoseok actually had feelings for you. Post sex haze was a strong thing, teaching you on many occassion that a guy will tell you just about anything to get in your pants again. “But this, us...what if it doesn’t work?”

“It’ll work,” He promised, taking your hand in his and squeezing it in assurance. “I can’t just go back to being friends. I want to at least try. Please?”

Chewing on your bottom lip, you searched his face for any sign of doubt, but Hoseok was a man of his word and if he didn’t think you stood a chance as a couple then he never would have said anything. “Okay,” You conceded with a nod, squealing as he beamed and picked you up by the waist to spin around in joy. “Hoseok! You’re going to drop me!”

“Hyung,” Jimin’s timid knock interrupted and you had to slap Hoseok’s chest to have him put you down. “Um we only have five minutes before we go on and the stylists said they need you.”

“Go,” You pushed at your now boyfriend’s naked chest, smiling at the shit eating grin on his face as he opened the door, Jimin, Jungkook, and Taehyuhng all falling flat on their faces. 

“Uh, hi hyung,” Taehyung laughed nervously at being caught with his ear to the door and was ready to fully blame Jungkook for betting that Hoseok was finally confessing his feelings. Both he and Jimin didn’t think it was true but the smile on Namjoon’s face when he came back down the hall proved otherwise. “So, how’d it go?”

“Out, you little brats.” You scolded and ushered them away from the doorway so Hoseok could leave and finish getting ready. “Yah, Jeon Jungkook, aren’t you in enough trouble? Have you even apologized for the prank you pulled on Jin yesterday? Go, all of you.”

The three maknaes sprinted down the hall before Hoseok could get his hands on them, all laughing and hollering with the goal of the entire city hearing their teasing. Your threats to murder them followed but they paid no attention and you couldn’t deny that they truly share one brain cell. 

“I’ll see you in a few minutes,” Hoseok wrapped his arms around your waist, kissing your cheek and nuzzling his face into your neck, a relieved sigh leaving him when you giggled at the tickling of his lips against your skin.

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

Later, you watched him run across the stage with more energy than you’d seen all week, his smile so wide that you couldn’t help the pride rising in your chest, giddy that you were the one to make him feel that way. You watched him dance with vigor, his body rolls and hip thrusts sinful as you blushed a deep shade of red and pulled on the collar of your shirt to hide the hickies he’d left behind. 

“I hate him,” You mumbled to yourself when you grew hot from all the people crowding around you, but you had to change out of your dress after Hoseok had wrinkled it up. Hoseok shot you a wink from his spot on stage and playfully tripped Taehyung, making the crowd go wild at their banter but really it was payback for spying on you earlier. You laughed along with their management team but your smile faltered when you caught Hyerin’s sad face, the longing for him recognizable to anyone. You felt bad, truly, because you knew she’d seen his marks all over your neck and put two and two together.

“Y/N!” Hoseok shouted as they all came rushing from the stage to change into new outfits, the excitement from the crowd making him buzz with his own. Rushing to lift you from the ground and spin you around until you were dizzy, he kissed you deeply, erasing all doubt and Hyerin from your mind. 

He didn’t know how she felt and Hyerin didn’t fault him for that, she only laughed along with the crew at his display of affection, pulling you aside after he left to tell you how cute she thought you two were. You apologized in return for how things turned out, but she waved her hand and wished you all the best, spending the rest of the concert at your side and asking questions that would prove helpful when her internship was over.

#jung hoseok fic #jung hoseok smut #not sure what i did here #hope you like it anyways #bts au #bts imagine #bts fanfic

[ldelreyna]

CHAPTER II

“Eyes at the heights of my baby Let's hope at the fight of my baby The lights were as bright as my baby But your love was unmoved ...”

- As It Was, Hozier

.

That night, after Sansa's announcement to the Night’s Watch, she dined with Jon on his camera. There was much to be talked about, but none of them could utter a word. She, on the other hand, couldn’t understand why he hadn’t reacted positively at once to the possibility of returning home. But Jon was afraid. Afraid of all the implications it might bring to the North – and to Sansa. Many nobles in the Six Kingdoms, followers of Daenerys, hated him and he didn’t blame them.

What the fuck! He really wanted to go home ...

"One hour you'll have to say something." Sansa fired the words as she set her plate aside after being satisfied with her soup.

Jon shook his head, eyes distant and thoughtful as he always was.

"To be honest, I'm scared. I am afraid this will bring political trouble for you and for our home."

"I've talked to Bran, he agrees, you have to go home!" She exclaimed showing anger at her words and it startled him at little.

"Why do you want me to come back? You seem fine on your own." There was no malice in Jon's words, he really admired the work Sansa was doing.

Arya was right, she really was the smartest person he ever met.

"We are a family. Me, you, Arya and Bran. And more than that, we spent a lot of time being the only support and comfort of the other. You and me."

Jon was silent, this time letting Sansa finish what she had to say:

"I need you, Jon. Our home needs you. The North needs you."

He took a deep breath, thoughtful. Jon pondered too much and that was something that bothered Sansa, almost ever. He put his hand over hers and squeezed in comfort, smiling for a moment and then stood up from the table and walked around the room as a thousand things went through his head.

Sansa left his chambers. It was the best, if she had stayed, they would engage in a fight and she needed him to have more reasons to go home and not stay away from her.

“You seem troubled, my Queen…”

Sansa sighed and turn her head to the sound of Brienne’s voice.

“I am not your Queen, Brienne, I am your friend.”

“I consider myself half north, half south.”

“And I consider myself full north but something feels empty inside of me.”

Sansa was sewing a cloak for Jon. She had brought several of them – made it by herself – to him but that one needed its final adjustments.

“Is it something about Jon? About him going back home?”

The needle at her hands was heavier than ever. She should have yelled with him earlier that night. Things was stocked inside of her, millions questions.

“He didn’t react quite as I was expecting…”

“If he’s happy here…”

“He’s not. And that’s the problem. Neither I am.” Sansa replied not allowing Brienne to finish her sentence.

“Why do you want him to go back home so much?”

That was a golden question. And Sansa didn’t have that answer in her hands. Why? Things changed, Arya found her calling and so has Bran. She was Queen and Jon was back to where he was before. She tried to think the place he belonged but those words were fucking wrong for her to swallow.

At the other day, Sansa and Jon went Beyond the Wall. It was a place she had never put her feet so she was a little bit curious about and asked Jon if he could take her for a short view and he was happy to do it.

"The cold gave in a lot, but there is still a lot to recover after the Long Night. Many plants are unfruitful, reclusive animals ... "

"How the free folk are feeding themselves?"

"They are exploring lands closer to the Wall. Further west was also not so affected, for some reason the cold wasn’t so strong there. "

"If they want and if you find it appropriate, we can allow them to hunt in the North. At least until all this situation is restored."

Jon stopped his horse for a second and stared at Sansa with a discreet smile on his face. "That's very generous of you, Sansa."

"Many of them gave their lives for us. And they had more losses than us. And if there’s one thing I learned from all this is that we should take care of everyone around us because we are interdependent. "

"And how it was your post war?" He asked.

“How it was your post war? Your post all the shits it came out from your life…”

Jon laughed but the smile couldn’t reach his eyes.

“Besides everything?” It was rhetorical question Jon did trying to joke with the subject.

“What you mean by everything?”

He could visibly see that something had bothered her in his words.

“I don’t know, Sansa. I preferred not to think about. There’s not much I can do so the best for me is not to really think…”

That was so Jon, scared of facing feelings and his psychological shit.

“You can’t run forever, Jon. Someday all of the implications of this you came to you, you know it will.”

“It changed something for you, my true parenthood?”

“It does.” She was fast in her answer. “But not my love to you. You know it won’t.”

“That hasn’t changed for me either.”

“Good.” She said receiving a squeeze at her shoulders from him.

They rode through lands far beyond North. Jon showed Sansa how the forest and the woods changed drastically just by crossing the Wall. Some rivers were thawing, and fish could already be seen in abundance. Jon taught her how to fish only with a stick and they laughed when she already managed to catch a big one on her first try.

They decided to visit Tormund, taking all the food they had hunted in the lake. Of course, the redhead big man made a party when he saw Jon and the young Queen, especially after Sansa communicated her decision to him.

"If your people are finding it difficult here, we have fertile lands and we need people to look after them in the North." She paused, both walking together both walking together through the village of his clan, to the tent where she would sleep with Jon so that both could ride back to the Wall tomorrow morning. "Even if the desire in your heart is to stay here, spread the word. We are friendly lands now and the Wall is just a symbol that from there you have your own leadership. "

“It’s very kind of you, Your Grace. I’ll let my people know.”

Sansa sighed when they both was already at the tent where Jon was tidying blankets so that the cold couldn’t bother them at night, which already gave indications that it would be very cold.

“Is not much but it’s the best we have.” Tormund said, now speaking about the place she was going to sleep.

Sansa smiled not really caring about the lack of luxury of the place. Those people were happy, always smiling and everything was such a big celebration for them that she was loved being around the free folk.

“It’s perfect.” She was honest at her words and he noticed.

Tormund left and Sansa joined Jon inside de small place. It’s incredible how the leather they used to cover the tent already allowed the place to be so much hotter than outside.

“I believe that will hold us for the night.” Jon affirmed taking a final look in what he arranged.

His sword and cloak were left by the side of what it may seems to be a big bed made it by several of blankets covering a big amount of straw. After Sansa got rid of her dress and loosened the tightness of her corset, she tasted the softness of the bed and over-approved the work Jon had done there.

“Tired?” He asked throwing a last blanket over her.

“So much…”

Jon sighed and got rid of the parts of his clothes that would bother him that night. Until they both were under cover, both tired but not able to sleep.

“What I am to you Jon?”

“Forgive-me?” He said feeling confused with sudden question.

“You said everything changed.”

“Should I re-classify us?” He was being ironic.

“I just… need to know.”

Outside the lack o light indicated that many had already gone sleep while they both were talking staring into nowhere.

“What you want to know?”

“I am still your sister? Have I ever been your sister? I mean… we never had what you have with Arya.”

Jon felt something awkward inside of him, he was sudden concerned if he ever did something that hurt Sansa enough to make her question those things.

“Have I said something that hurt you?”

“No. Never.” She paused and then turned her eyes to him. “You could never hurt me.”

“And I won’t.”

The spark was thrown. After that, everything would be like an explosion. Inside them, of course. Jon took Sansa's hand in his and they both remained silent while their minds were in a deafening racketing.

He loved his sister – or cousin –, he was absolutely sure of that. His feelings of protecting and caring never changed either. But something was different. And what it was? What could possibly change if the rest was almost the same? And why?

Has it ever changed really?

Sansa’s chest was beating faster than ever. The sort of silence Jon gave to her question got her and she wasn’t comfortable with that situation – the reactions in her body. And as Jon was caressing her hand slowly, she felt the emptiness leaving her chest.

And Sansa saw herself wanting more of that. She always wanted – she just couldn’t admit – but now things were becoming a little bit clear in her head.

“I won’t pressure you to go home but … I need you, Jon. I really do. And that’s one of the things it will never change.”

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NOTES:

1. I am sorry again for spelling mistakes. I try my best but I am not such a pro in English. Not even in my main language. 

2. I am very happy with all the reach me and littlegirlinvisible is having after the first chapter. It may not be much for some but for me it's a lot.

3. Reblog, like and comment if you're enjoying. 

4. You're all free to give me prompts and ideas. I am also open to request for another works.

Follow the tag # swan song jonsa fanfic to see the posts and the gifsets whenever you want..

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I sincerely hope that everyone is enjoying it.

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CHAPTER INDEX:

CHAPTER I

CHAPTER II

CHAPTER III

CHAPTER IV

CHAPTER V

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#jonsa #jonsa fanfiction #jonsa fandom #swan song jonsa fanfic #jonsa is endgame #jonsa fic #jonsa fam #jon x sansa #sansa x jon #sansa queen in the north #sansa stark #jon snow #got #got fanfiction

[howterrifying]

This seems to be the year of Moliarty for me. That said, I'm so sad I've written so few stories this year. Guess it reveals a lot about the state of my heart and mind. Sigh. Let's hope 2018 will bring some sort of writing revival for me. That said, I was really inspired by @whyimmathere's Molliarty gifsets on tumblr and have stayed up all night to write this piece! Was most inspired by this one except I've only referenced two things very vaguely haha. The Christmas mood seems to have affected me too so we have some of that also. Hope everyone's doing well and happy holidays to you all. Wishing everyone health and happiness :)

::

An Exchange  (also on FF.net and AO3)

It was not often that Jim Moriarty paid a visit to the tailor's. Usually, tailors were chauffeured to his residences at his whim, fitting him with the sharpest suits only slightly less defined than his own dark, handsome features. This evening, however, after receiving a rather urgent (but well-paying) request for his services, he had decided to swing by the less bustling but no less expensive Conduit Street in London where the well-lit sign of a personal favourite glimmered in the slowly dimming evening.

"Westwood," he murmured to himself as he stepped out his car and made his way into what seemed a deceptively small shop space.

His people had made calls ahead, of course, which meant he was ushered swiftly to a private suite in the basement floor of the shop where only an elite handful of clients were permitted. Jim's preferred tailor was already there and waiting with patterns and fabric all lined up, ready for his client. There were very few pleasures Jim had in life that did not involve explosives, grand theft or the occasional mass murder. A brand new suit was one of those rare few.

"I know it's for work," Jim said with a smirk, stepping forward to study the luxurious array of fabrics, "but you know, no harm in an early Christmas present, is there?"

+++

The sky had darkened considerably by the time Jim was done. What with having had his measurements taken and having spent an arduously long time picking out every single detail, down to the angle of the lapels on his dinner jacket. Led by a member of his security detail, Jim finally emerged from the basement floor back up to the main shop space. Considering how near it was to Christmas time, there were surprisingly few people. Jim took a moment to scan the area briefly, noting the two shop staff standing politely by the door ready to see him out and the three random customers browsing.

As Jim made his way to the door, he walked past an oddly familiar dark brown ponytail. He paused and turned slightly to study the person who had caught his attention. She was staring intently at the glass cases of accessories that held watches, cufflinks and tie pins. There was a slight frown etched on her forehead as she studied each item, row by row, section by section.

Immediately, Jim took a moment to run through all the faces he had in his memory, trying to identify possible connections he might have to her that would have caused her to be familiar. It struck him in a matter of seconds who she was. Her connection to him was not an ordinary one and, as with all his little compulsions, Jim simply had to know if he was right.

"Excuse me," he asked in his politest voice as he flashed a shy half smile at her. "Oh, sorry, am I in your way?" she asked back. "No, no, it's just, um…"

Jim realised his little compulsion had failed to stop him from realising that while she was a familiar face to him, he was a complete stranger to her. Not wanting to cause her any alarm, he blurted the first thing his spinning mind could come up with.

"I…work at Barts' and just, um, thought you looked familiar," he said with a slightly awkward smile. "Oh!" she remarked with a friendly smile, "Have we met then? I'm not very good with names, sorry."

The warm and genuine response to his words caused his mind to stumble a little bit, much to his annoyance. His mind never tripped, yet here he was, suddenly incapable of parsing a proper sentence – again. She seemed so – and he had never found an occasion to use this word before – lovely.

"Oh, no, no we haven't, I…was assigned to do some software updates at the lab and, just remembered seeing your face…somehow," he said with an awkward laugh and inwardly relieved he was fairly casually dressed or this would have never passed. "I see, well, I don't seem to remember seeing you though…" she said, looking a little apologetic. "That's all right," Jim replied, "We IT people are used to being in the background, you know, doing all the small things when no one's watching…" "I do know, actually," she said, smiling, "It's the same at pathology. Well, for me, anyway."

It was her turn to chuckle awkwardly as she realised she was talking to a complete stranger about her work woes in the middle of her Christmas shopping. Jim watched her, slightly mesmerised at the cool, calm collectedness she seemed to exude. Not to mention, her impossible loveliness.

"I'm Jim, Jim from IT," he murmured, extending a hand without taking his eyes off her. "Molly. From, I suppose I just told you, pathology," she replied, receiving his hand and shaking it firmly. "It's nice to meet you," said Jim with a little nod of his head. "Same here," Molly remarked, "It's nice to know you recognised me. Not many people do."

This was the point where, after having had his compulsion satisfied by confirming her identity, Jim should have been making his way out of the shop. Instead, he found himself rooted where he was, trying, with some measure of difficulty, to make conversation.

"Why wouldn't they?" he asked, before he could stop himself.

You don't not remember loveliness like that, he thought.

Molly shrugged gently and did not seem to have an answer. It caused their conversation to plummet to a decrescendo which, to Jim's surprise, caused him to panic slightly.

"So, er, what are you shopping for then? Christmas presents, I suppose?" he asked, changing the subject "Yes, actually," she said, her eyes lighting up slightly in excitement as she returned her gaze to the display case. "For someone special?" Jim asked, moving to join her in peering at the endless rows of accessories resting on velvet. "Maybe. I don't know," she answered a little stoically. That frown he had observed earlier seemed to have returned.

Her change of tone caught him by surprise. Why did her spirits seem so low doing something people usually did in high spirits?

"Relax," Jim began, offering a gentle smile in her direction, "whoever he or she is, if they...what's the word, care for? Love? Yes, sorry – if they love you, it doesn't matter what you get for them in the end. A gift, is a gift, is a gift! And it'll always be wonderful…I imagine."

Jim was shocked at the deluge of words that came out of his mouth. The content, in particular, was what shocked him the most. The barrage of sentiment almost nauseated him and yet, he wanted so very much to see the light return to her eyes.

"That's…very nice of you to say," Molly replied, turning to smile back at him. "Thank you for the reminder."

Her smile caused his panic earlier to subside, sending a comforting, warm current under his skin.

"Cheer up, yeah?" said Jim, nudging her elbow gently, "You have nothing to worry about, unless of course it's for Sherlock Holmes, then you're in trouble."

A bad attempt at humour was probably Jim's best excuse as to why the detective's name had suddenly emerged in his conversation with Molly. Yes, Sherlock Holmes had been the initial connection between them but he was now no longer their only connection. It did not matter that Molly had a place in the organised sea of faces Jim stored in his head purely because he knew she was someone the detective had elected to work with. It certainly did not matter now. They now had their own connection – and it was devoid of Sherlock Holmes.

"Am I?" she answered a little too quietly. Turning to face Jim, her face was serious, almost pleading for an answer to a question she herself was not sure about.

"Am I in trouble?" she asked again.

Her expression troubled Jim. He had hit a nerve and it did not please him. He studied her face once more and realised he had underestimated her connection to the pesky detective.

"You are getting something for Sherlock Holmes," he remarked, a little aghast at himself for not having noticed it earlier. "I am," said Molly with a soft, resigned smile on her face. "I know I shouldn't. But I am." "Hm. I see."

In spite of the inexplicable displeasure it gave him, Jim decided he was going to help her.

"Well then, let's find a gift for the world's best detective, shall we?"

+++

Jim was seated in one of his lavish studies, reclined in an obnoxiously upholstered arm chair while his gaze flitted between a few glowing screens that hung on the wall. He was dressed to the nines, of course, in his new Westwood suit. There was a Christmas gala for London's elite that he had been tasked to rob, which meant he simply had to dress for the occasion. The events of the gala unfolded on one of the screens as several of his other Christmas 'jobs' played on the other screens.

Everything had gone to plan. All detonating devices had activated without a hitch, the safes that required breaking in were all broken into and the few politicians' wives that had to be kidnapped were all safely in their holding areas.

"A happy Christmas indeed!" he exclaimed to himself, popping open a bottle of champagne and for a moment, was tempted take a swig from the bottle.

"Not in Westwood," he said, smirking as he poured himself a full flute of golden champagne.

The mini-celebration was briefly interrupted by his phone buzzing. He glanced casually over only to pick it up urgently once he had seen whom it was from.

"Sir?" came the voice from the other end. "What happened?" Jim asked with gritted teeth. "We might have to come take the package from you, sir." "How bad is it?" he asked quietly, so tense he quite forgot to breathe. "I think you should see the footage yourself, sir. We're uploading it now to screen four."

Jim dropped the phone onto his desk and rushed back to his seat, ignoring all the flurry of activity and focused solely on screen four. The footage was short and when it was over, Jim picked the bottle of champagne up and flung it with all his might towards the screen, smashing both bottle and screen to pieces.

The screen was dead and shattered but the few minutes of footage played back like a nightmarish loop in his head. There was the image of the lovely Molly he remembered from the shop, in her perfectly over-adorned hair and far-too shiny dress, standing in that crummy old flat in Baker Street. Then the image of Sherlock Holmes came into view, holding his useless violin which he only used for showing-off. Then came the nightmare as Jim saw Sherlock reach recklessly for Molly's thoughtfully wrapped gift before opening his mouth, sending out a barrage of knives that stabbed Molly, lovely Molly, repeatedly in her heart.

"She spent so long… and so much of herself on it, Sherlock Holmes, you idiot," Jim cursed between sharp, angry exhales.

Then came a quiet knock on his door followed by the voice of one of his staff asking if he could come in.

"Yes, yes, come in. I've got it right here," said Jim, collecting himself as he went to one of several safes under his desk and opened it. From inside, he retrieved a small square box, beautifully-wrapped and with a satin ribbon tied around it.

"You know what to do?" Jim said quietly. "Yes, sir." "Good. Off you go. And no mistakes." "Of course, sir."

+++

It was probably three in the morning, three hours past Christmas when Jim Moriarty heard his phone buzz. He had been too worked up to sleep and dozed off fitfully in his study. Although partly inebriated from champagne, he was filled to the brim with anger and anxiety. With slightly clumsy fingers, he managed to swipe his phone screen, unlocking it to reveal the text message he had been waiting to receive.

I don't know how you found my desk and managed to sneak it in, but thank you for the beautiful gift and your Christmas card. Thanks for leaving your number too or else I wouldn't have been able to find you to thank you! I'm sorry for texting you so late, by the way. I was called in for an urgent autopsy, government business apparently. It was an unusually difficult autopsy, for various reasons… so I was really pleasantly surprised to find your lovely gift at the end of it all :) Thank you, Jim. I needed it. More than you'll ever know. I hope you had a good Christmas. x

There were so many things that rushed through Jim's mind. There was the thrill of hearing from her and knowing she was a little better, then there was the rage that came roaring back, knowing she had been the one called in for Adler's autopsy. After everything Molly had been through, the Holmes brothers had the nerve to call her in at midnight. Jim almost wished he had shifted his plans and faked Adler's death at a different time.

Damn it, Jim, he thought to himself. You should have known. They would only call Molly in. Jim felt a sinking ache in his chest when he realised that after everything that had transpired that evening, Molly was also probably the only pathologist who did not have a place to be at during Christmas.

"You'll pay for this, Sherlock. And yes, you too, Mycroft," Jim whispered to himself, spinning his mobile phone in his fingers. "But not now. There are more important matters at hand."

Sounds like you've had a rough night. Where are you now? – JM

Still at Bart's. Sorting paperwork and frankly just too exhausted to get up to go home. – MH

Stay there. I'll pick you up and take you somewhere. Or at least take you home safely. – JM

Normally, I would refuse. But I think if I don't accept, I might actually stay here till New Year's. Hah. – MH

I'll be right over. - JM

+++

It was good to be a criminal mastermind sometimes. It certainly helped when Jim needed to get to a certain place in a very short amount of time. Before he knew it, he had been zoomed to Bart's and was soon charging down the corridors towards the pathology office where he knew Molly was. When he finally arrived, he found her with her head resting gently on her tired, folded arms as she slept quietly at her desk.

"Molly?" he said gently, touching her on the elbow ever so slightly.

Molly looked up with a start, only to relax into a smile when she saw it was Jim. She got up from her seat and moved to hug him.

"You were right," she whispered against his shirt, "I did get in trouble."

Jim had to constantly remind himself that she did not know what he did know. That he knew how Sherlock Holmes had left her in ruins. The cruel words of the detective still rang in his ears and it took all of Jim's willpower not to send for him to be murdered in cold blood. Not now, at least.

Hesitantly, Jim reciprocated her hug, carefully wrapping his arms around her. When he felt the full warmth of their bodies together, he almost laughed at how hesitant he had been to hold her just moments before. Slowly, but no longer hesitantly, he moved one hand up to touch the back of her neck, relishing how soft her hair felt against his fingers. Jim shut his eyes and took the moment in, breathing evenly as he tried to piece all this new sensory information together.

"Bad day was it?" he asked, turning slightly so he could smile against her hair.

Molly laughed quietly and then sighed, still not moving from where she had relaxed against his chest.

There was the temptation to kiss her gently on the top of her head but even Jim knew that would have been too alarming for both of them. Still, there was something so comforting about the soft waves of hair that cascaded all around her.

"Would you like to have coffee?" he continued, allowing his fingers to gently weave through the ends of her hair.

Before Jim could fully relish the sensation of her chocolate tresses between his fingertips, Molly pulled herself away from him gently, placing two hands on his chest and looked right at him.

"It's almost 4am, Jim…" Molly replied with a chuckle. "Sorry, I just thought –" "Perfect time for a black coffee, in my opinion…" she continued, smirking as a small spark seemed to return to her eyes.

That little spark was all Jim needed.

"Let's go then. I know a perfect place for black coffee actually," he said with a grin. "Oh? Where?" Molly asked, amused.

Jim offered his hand to Molly, which she took without hesitation. The spark in her eyes grew a little more each time he looked at her and it made him smile.

"Italy," he said, a bright grin spreading across his face. "Sorry, what?" "I'd been meaning to tell you this Molly but, I'm a criminal mastermind with jets at my disposal and I'm flying us out to Italy right now for a coffee because I think you deserve one…" he said, eyes shining cheekily at her.

Molly's eyes widened and she dropped his hand, perplexed, causing Jim to shake his head as he chuckled to himself.

"I'm pulling your leg, Molly," Jim said with a laugh, "The only coffee we'll find now is the one in the vending machine at Bart's." "I wouldn't have minded Italy actually" Molly replied, chuckling herself, "Sounds rather lovely to me." "Did you not hear the part about…criminal mastermind?" Jim joked, although a part of him was genuinely curious to know how she felt.

Molly shrugged her lab coat off and threw it on her desk. Sweeping her hair up into a quick twist, Molly looked right at Jim and smiled gently at him.

"As far as I'm concerned, Sherlock Holmes is the only criminal here," she said quietly. "And right now, a coffee in Italy with you sounds absolutely divine…" "Then Italy it is," said Jim, his own true spark slowly showing in his eyes. "What?" Molly exclaimed with a laugh. "There's a lot I should be telling you, Molly," said Jim, holding her gaze, "But do you trust me enough for a coffee together?"

Molly paused for a moment and studied his face. There was something she had not seen in his expression before, but it seemed neither foreign nor frightening.

"Yes," she answered finally, "I do." "Good," Jim replied, offering his hand to her again, "Then off we go."

END

#Molliarty #Molliarty shots #one shot by terrified #i will so regret this tomorrow morning #but actually i regret nothing hahaa #writing makes me so happy it's so weird i don't do it more often #so grateful for all the inspiration and everyone's encouragement <3333

[helianthus21]

Hello! From one bitter Cass stan (who used to be all TFW positive) to another, I too am scared. Because I can't shake the feeling that Castiel won't have that much involvement in the season's arc, if at all. I don't believe a word that comes out of Dabb's mouth because he's a known liar (queue s12). I'm just wondering how disappointed I will be 😞

hey! Okay I’ll do this under the cut because while I guess by now ppl who follow me know I’m not S13 positive, I want the ones who are to have a chance to be able to easily scroll past thisAlso warning: This got more bitter in tone than I expected, so if you want sb to give you some hope and positivity, turn away now! But since you came into my ask box I doubt you wished for that:P

(Just in general: if you wanna vent about the show, my message thingy is always open, turns out I’m not done venting yet either, and that way I can keep it mostly off my blog;) anyway, dude, I feel you. I had tentative hope at the beggining of S12 that with the new showrunner things are gonna change for the better, but honestly? I don’t trust Dabb anymore either. Don’t get me wrong, I still think he’s a good screen writer, but there are things that happened in S12 that I think if he really wanted the show to change he’d not have let them pass. I’m aware that Ross-Leming is married to Singer, and Singer has a lot say in things, and yeah I have no idea how the showrunning business works, but things like Sam/Toni? Couldn’t he have put his foot down on that one if he initially had other plans for her character? And 12x21 man, this time Dabb can’t hold his hands up in all innocence like he did after Charlie. Because he might not have written her death scene, but he’s the fucking showrunner. I doubt Bucklemming are authorized to decide getting rid of her on their own, so like. Yeah, I have a grudge against Dabb. I mean, on the one hand I think if Cas actually gets to have some introspection before he comes back, gets to talk with someone important (Chuck? Billie? himself?) in the Empty or wherever, that could be a real chance for him to overcome his depression and accept himself the way he is (’Are you an angel or a man?’ - ‘Neither. Both.’) (^which would be my ideal way for this to go as you probably already know:P).But on the other hand - argh, I get that they’re going this ‘accentuate his importance via the boys pining in his absence’ route - but good lord, haven’t they done this enough in S12? Haven’t they done this enough in S11 too? Back then I was so hopeful that it was gonna lead somewhere. I told myself, “Okay, Cas is practically gone for the second half of the season but it’s gonna be worth it in the end! At the season finale he’s gonna come back and he’s gonna have some major role to subvert all the things Amara and Ambriel said and what he himself believes about himself, because he’s gonna prove himself as a hero! He’ll reject Lucifer as a first step on the long way to get his self-worth back and show that he’s not someone who just ‘helps’ and that he’s far from ‘expendable’.” I told myself that the whole time - 12 EPISODES, he was gone for 12 EPISODES!! - that he was gonna come back with a bang and it was all gonna be worth it. Because I liked the Casifer arc goddammit, it had potential. Because, for me, this was the only logical way for this to go! But then, of course, he came back and basically just stood around while everyone else got to do a part (yeah, being insulted some more by his fellow angels does not count in my book, and neither does this terrible beer run conversation, don’t even get me started on that one) while everyone got a bit of a scene with Chuck. Everyone except the one who, you know, spent basically his whole character arc searching for God, playing God, losing his faith in God - nah, that’s apparently not of import to the writers  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯So you’ll excuse me if I don’t get my hopes up that Cas’ death in 12x23 is gonna actually lead to something this time. I’m not very interested in spending the first few episodes without Cas - “really feeling his absence” bc dude I’ve been feeling his absence all the damn time! They exlude him from scenes and episodes when it’s actually working against the plot and against all logic not to have him there (see 11x09), because the format for some reason demands Misha to be in X episodes and so he won’t be in more than X episodes.I mean, sure, the three Cas-centric episodes in S12 were honestly glorious! But that doesn’t change the fact that he was in less episodes than Mary or Crowley. Quality before Quantity, yes, but then please give me this quality in all of his episodes. I don’t know about you, but him going around interviewing a few ppl, ‘searching for a lead’, that’s not what I’d call quality. That’s not really all there is to hunting and Dabb promised more hunter!Cas in S12 didn’t he. Also is quantity and quality really so hard to pull off? I mean...?? As for his involvement in the next season - I don’t know man. I probably can’t say a lot about that, or shouldn’t, because I’ve run out of chances to give the writers so I’m not gonna keep watching. They did say he shared some ‘bond’ or whatever with Jack so he’s probably gonna have a role in the overall arc, but then I had similar thoughts during the Casifer arc so..At least, the bond’s not gonna be of a romantic kind since Jack is a boy, not a girl, so there won’t be sexual undertones there, although tbh I can’t bring myself to be interested in Jack and his story? Maybe I’d think differently if they’d handled things with Kelly differently.. A shame, really, because the nature vs nurture thing does make for an interesting subject. Anyway, I know it’s too early to judge, but I get the people who worry that this storyline will yet again be taken away from him and fall instead into Sam and Dean’s hands. Wouldn’t be the first time ya know. And like I said, I’m not the best person to talk to about this, bc I can’t seem to find this storyline all too appealing bc of the way they led up to it.. which normally wouldn’t bother me too much since the characters are still A+ and they can make up for any not-so-interesting plot points, but after Eileen, not even that is enough for me tbh.So yeah, you can tell I’m still high-key pissed at the writers. Hey, I watched 12x21, the whole abomination of an episode, I think I deserve to still be bitter. Sorry though.But on a lighter note: the Empty does have potential and we shouldn’t write it off before we - well you - see it (I’m sure I’ll look at gifsets of it^^). And there’s The Hug to look forward to which I’m sure won’t be downplayed if just because Misha and Jensen and Jared know their characters and they wouldn’t half-ass this important reunion.If you wanna give S13 a chance, I’d say don’t get your hopes up too much, but also don’t think the worst? Because having your hopes crushed sucks, but if you only expect the worst, you probably won’t be satisfied with anything. This is all the advice I can give if I put myself into a more neutral position for a minute^^.

#replies #wank for ts #spn negativity #bitter blogging #honestly like really bitter #one day im gonna be above bitter blogging about the show hopefully but today is not that day apparently #i just..highly doubt they care to change #i can't see positivity in the s12 finale sorry #or in s13 for that matter #for real tho do you guys think of me as a cas stan...? #Anonymous

[bisexuallittlefreaks]

wip

list all the things you’re currently working on in as much or little detail as you’d like, then tag some friends to see what they’re working on. this can be writing, art, vids, gifsets, whatever.

tagged by @cilophyte <3

A Discussion on Monogamy

this is a little mcspirk post beyond ditty (okay, i say little...) that happened because i’m a diehard mckirk shipper but beyond was so damn spones-y and i love mcspirk so ta da. it’s two chapters in--one focusing on jim freaking out that bones might leave him, the second a pwp mcspirk goodness, and there’s one chapter left to write. i swear i will write it soon, i swear to god.

Untitled McSpirk Longfic

this is the reason i’m so determined to finished a discussion on monogamy. because it’s the prequel to this long ass fic i have almost entirely planned out with some great whumpiness (esp on bones’s part), badass ladies, a guest appearance from jocelyn and joanna, and much more. the worst part is i haven’t written any storyboarding down for this... ha.

Make Me Alive

we move away from star trek but not away from karl urban. this is an Almost Human fic (and if you haven’t seen it, do because it’s only 13 episodes and greatly underappreciated--just make sure to watch it in production order, not airing order). i’m over 20k words into this one and i’m just finishing up the first of three acts. ha. it’s basically a shippy (jorian) season two featuring more danicas, vaughn’s return, and ANNA. i’m trying to explain all those plot holes we were left with because only one season and i’m about to introduce some new characters, my favorite being the medical examiner, reilly glover, who is genderqueer and epic. we have a couple more murders to solve and vaughn has yet to show his face, and let me tell you the resolution with vaughn is going to be so. damn. satisfying.

i’m putting a read more here because at this point everything else is original work

Lights in the Mountains (Gisola)

a long time ago i finished my first full original book. it was a grand total of fifty pages and i’d been fighting with it for about seven years. i then went to a writing workshop and came out with the courage to trash it finally. i spent the entire next day with a notebook trying to come up with a new story. i decided to pick out bits and pieces (settings, characters, storylines) from all the other stories i’d come up with over the years that i always loved and mash them together. this is the result. it’s about two cities who suddenly find themselves under attack from a monster from the mountains and two individuals who travel over the mountains to try and find a solution. instead they find out that everything they thought they knew was... well, not wrong, exactly, just... misconstrued. it’s an urban fantasy with polyamory, queerness, false gods and evil racist asshats, a small dragon-like creature who’s everyone’s lovable uncle, and a weird mix of technology and magic.

there is also a prequel planned for this story called Secrets in the Sea that features an asexual siren and i can’t really say more without going much more into detail about Lights in the Mountains.

Fallen

this is my baby. this started out as a book, and then it was a stage play, and now it’s a miniseries. this was inspired by a snapshot scene in a dream of an angel waking up to realize her wings are falling apart. in her grief she absolutely tears them to shreds herself. the imagery was so compelling i came up with an entire six episode story around it and that scene doesn’t happen until the last fifteen minutes of the last episode. the full story is about two very different women who survived the apocalypse and start to (unwillingly at first) gather a group of survivors with the sole purpose of trying to survive. (well, and for one of the women to exact revenge on a demon for the death of her little sister.) very much supernatural inspired (in case that wasn’t obvious...), but i like to think it’s better if only because there are queer characters, complicated moral issues (that angel ain’t so angelic and that demon ain’t so demonic), a lot more women (though, to be fair, they were all dudes until charlie bradbury died and i went on a rampage through my stories of WHY DOES THIS PERSON HAVE TO BE A DUDE? THEY DON’T. THEY’RE A LADY NOW. FUCK YOU), and an actual ending in sight.

The Dragon Princess (not the final title)

the dragon didn’t kidnap and eat the princess, the dragon /is/ the princess. and no one knows until izzy, a firework maker’s apprentice, is literally picked up into the air by said dragon princess. kind of a lesbian beauty and the beast story except the dragon/beast is sweet and ridiculously socially unprepared instead of a bit of a dick. there’s also a gaston-type villain, but he’s a Nice Guy (TM). i really don’t have much figured out beyond that for this story, but there you are.

No Man’s Frontier

this was a novel and then i realized i don’t know cowboy stories well enough so it’s now a movie where i’ll get some good experts to come in and help. this is one of those mixing two story types together things--dragons live in the western area of north america. the railway has died because of the dragons and people are moving back east. our asexual hero (yep, more asexual characters--you can expect a lot of them in my original stuff) meets a dragon who’s been outcast from it’s pack and injured and realizes maybe dragons aren’t all that bad after all. we have all the classic cowboy story elements including the chieftess of an american indian tribe, a grizzled old asshole cowboy, and of course--ending with a ride into the sunset. just this time it’s on a dragon instead of a horse.

The Children’s Circus

this is a television series that has some heroes elements in it. long ago in the 30s, 40s, there was an orphanage that was hit with lightning and all the children suddenly found they had powers. that same night the woman in charge of the orphanage disappeared so the oldest boy (who’d been out when the lightning hit and therefore didn’t get powers) found himself in charge but too young to work and still take care of the children. he decides the best way to keep all these children together and safe is to start a traveling freak show. fast forward to modern day.

a construction site’s found something odd and the police are called in. our two cop heroes investigate to find there’d been a mudslide on the site decades--almost a century--ago and somehow everything was perfectly preserved. everything being a freak show full of children. while they’re looking around, the children start moving. not only were they perfectly preserved--they’re still alive.

and that’s just episode one.

No Time

i’m not sure what this is going to be--book, movie, television, etc. this is a vonnegut inspired story so that alone should tell you a lot about the vibe at the very least. it takes place on a planet where the cloud cover is so heavy that there’s no night or day. there’s no way to measure time, so by all rights, there is no time. the planet is very peaceful and chill until one of our heroes who asks too many questions finds a way to send a small shuttle above the cloud cover and discovers there’s an entire universe out there. this leads to a complete societal meltdown.

Time Menders

this is a movie trilogy with elements of doctor who, firefly, terra nova (another fox network scifi series that ended too soon), and star wars. ...probably some of things as well, but those are the most obvious. ...i have no way to explain the plot of this story right now without way too many words, so i’ll just say there’s time travel, alternate universes, black holes, and slightly psychic children (in the manner of river tam).

and there you have it. my wips. i won’t tag anyone, but feel free to do this if you feel inclined :*

#jesus fuck this is long #hi yes i have too many story ideas