#some similes are perfect

[a-book-of-creatures]

Looks sharp ❌

Tidied up ❌

Dashing ❌

Spruced up ❌

The image of neatness and cleanliness ❌

Like the anus of a snail ✅

#i love language #mwindo epic #snails #some similes are perfect

[rearranging-deck-chairs]

"are you gonna let him do this t-to me, yaz?" obsessed with him. simultaneously desperately trying to feel the doctor's love through a proxy and also trying to get the leftovers of the love the doctor has been given and cant accept

#'being the doctor works for them maybe it'll work for me too' #babe.............. #was about to make a really gross simile but i'll save that for some fic some time #godddd this trio tho #pERFECT theyre perfect

[cazzyf1]

James Hunt with his budgie collection

An article about it under the cut

Last weekend, I found myself at the World Budgerigar Championships, held at Doncaster race course. My guide was James Hunt, world motor racing champion for the 1976 season and of late an ardent breeder of budgerigars: greens, grey- greens, sky blues, dominant pieds and the like. In return for carrying my share of his nine chosen birds in and out of the hall he would transport me from Flood Street to Doncaster and back again. We put our budgies under wraps in the Estate boot and drove north. As we drove, James ex- plained budgies, their infinite variety and perfections of type. Looking straight at a show budgie one should not be able to see the eyes; broad- ness of head is commendable, as is a steep lift to the plumage, a long straight back, sleek body and proud tail. The spots under the neck merit special attention. Usually there are six forming a broken ring but false spot feathers can emerge and these have to be tweezered out. Another area of concern is the head plumage, which can develop waxy quill feathers and blood specks.

Budgies moult in October. Doncaster, the most prestigious show of them all, is held annually in early November. It is therefore a race to bring them back into good condition. Ten days before James had visited a couple of top breeders and found their birds in a shocking state. He doubted that they would be ready in time. I commiserated with him on their behalf. We then moved on to the question of breeding. James only shows birds he has bred himself. His prize accolade so far is second place in the Beginner Breeder class at Blackpool, almost as big an event as the one we were heading for. Pairing takes place in late November, so he was absorbed with the permutations. After this season, his second in the budgie world, he intends to put it all on a computer prog- rammed by an acquaintance in the blood stock industry.

`It's like breeding racehorses, only cheaper,' he explained; 'a good budgie can sell for a thousand pounds, more to a German or Swede, not that I pay anything like that. The most so far is a hundred pounds.' James, like many self-made millionaires, is prouder of his caution about money than its possession. If he gets his pairings right this year, the basis will be laid for a first-class stud. Cock it up and he's back at square one.

The action takes place in his back garden, an acre and a half just off Wimbledon Common. As he travels heavily for the BBC during the motor racing season he has a curator, the correct word, of budgerigars. Indoor and outdoor flight pens give his birds the freedom and communion which he believes are essential to their development. Not all breeders agree, holding that show budgies are as far removed from their cousins who flock in the Australian out- back as those dying generations are to Yeat's artifice of hammered gold and gold enamelling. It was not a simile I tried on James as I wanted him to concentrate on the road.

`Under your feet are some supplies for the journey.' I had already heard the odd crackle and rustle. Sure enough, there were packets of crisps and chocolate, all now washed in a litre of orange juice that had spilt from its plastic bottle and in- formed the road map. I apologised for my ineptness, but there was worse to come. Throughout the journey, which was nearing completion in the Doncaster one-way system, James had fretted about his feather-pulling tweezers, hoping they were buried deep in a trouser pocket. This proved not to be the case. They had fallen between his seat and the doings of the German hydraulic system. His hand could not reach them with ease. I volunteered mine as being slimmer. He warned me that if the tweezers fell any further they would be unsalvageable, lost forever. In went my hand, down went the tweezers. 'That's very naughty, Napier. I told you to be careful and what do you do? Charge at it without any thought.' So my first task on reaching the Danum Hotel, Doncaster, was to ask the lady receptionist — still agog at matching her booking name of J.S.W. Hunt to the reality — for tweezers without which our budgies might as well stay in the boot. Thank God for Allens the all-night chemist and their range of broad-, slant-, and curved-headed tweezers at £1.29p a shot.

By the time I returned, James and the budgies were in my bathroom — smaller than his, so less problematic if one escaped. Two needed their heads washed free of quill wax and blood specks. A sky-blue cock had developed an extra spot feather. The tweezers were presented and found adequate. Deftly he probed to the base of the feather and pulled. Out it came and we both felt relieved. Washed and petted, the budgies, each in a black- enamelled portable showcase, looked their full importance. It was time for us to take them to the show where they would spend the night, be judged in the morning and thereafter open to public view.

A night on the town in Doncaster. In our second pub there was a fight. Three girls, about 18, fell to the ground, two tugging at hair while their friend inevitably paid the higher price for interfering. No one else made the same mistake. A pause for breath and acrimony, then back into the routine. The moment they decided that no man was worth such punishment the bouncers moved in and swept them out. Later in the evening we saw the three of them together enjoying a joke. The pub and club centre of Doncaster is small enough to walk round. We kept on seeing the same faces circling and finally asking for James's autograph with lines like 'I know who you are, at least my father does'. In London he barely incurs a glance. But at the night club, Rotters, we found our entrance barred by a further charm of bouncers. `Where do you come from, please, gentlemen? London? What, may I ask, are you doing in Doncaster?'

`We're up for the budgie show.' The door was flung open. Budgies are great levellers.

Next day, James admitted what I had already begun to suspect, that exhibiting budgies was far more exciting than winning a Grand Prix. 'After the first third of a race you usually know you can win, barring mechanical failure. With budgies the adre- nalin is there right up to the moment you walk in and see how you have done.' We walked in. Stretching the length of the Doncaster Race Hall were showcases in three tiered lines, nearly 6,000 entries in 392 classes. It took adrenalin-pumped minutes to find any class James had entered. The world became a clearer place, full of stewards in purple badges, men last seen in our hotel lift, now turned into awesome judges, serious punters in cloth caps with a jaunty budgie feather. The floor was covered in brown seed, scuffed by the birds out of their cages. We passed the cages of successful champions, surrounded by plush velvet boards and trios with red, blue and green rosettes on them and sometimes extra awards from provincial bodies affiliated to the Budgerigar Society. We passed classes with names like 'Recessive Pied Breeder Hens' and swatches of colour the like of which Scott Crolla only dreams. We overheard snatches of conversation: `That's a big bird, champion,' Not enough feather on the little blighter,' and men rattling bars to get the birds onto their perches for a better look or photograph.

At the far left of the hall we reached the Beginner Breeder section and the end of our quest was bitter disappointment. A fourth, a fifth, and two sixth places. Not one rosette to show for it all, let alone the Best Beginner Breeder trophy that had seemed possible.

`Bad luck, James, it's a bloody high- standard show. Nice looking birds, I must say. Wouldn't swop your one for anything but the winner.'

The commiserations in broad and know- ledgeable Yorkshire were far more effective than my plaintive twittering. James took his disappointment well: 'It's all good experience. I now know how good one's birds have to be, so good that there's no dispute.'

`So you'll be coming back then, James?'

`Certainly.'

#so wholesome what he got up to after racing #classic f1 #f1 #formula one #formula 1 #james hunt

[kaythefloppa]

Wild Kratts: Our Blue and Green World Trailer.

Underneath the cut for those who consider it to be spoilery, but we have a trailer for the one-hour special, Our Blue and Green World, airing April 1st, 2024.

The Kratt brothers disagree on what's better; blue oceans or green forests. Aviva takes on the role of referee to demonstrate how oceans and forests work together to make our living planet, just like Martin and Chris need to keep working together. It's up to the gang to get Martin and Chris back in sync in time to save planet Earth from Zach and Paisley's villainous plans.

This special was first mentioned back in May of 2023 during an interview with Martin Kratt heralding the show's premiere of its 7th season. The original title was Blue and Green: The Living Earth before it was chaned to our Blue and Green World. The episode will feature climates and habitats corresponding with the Kratt's "blue and green." With it, will come the introduction of new Creature Power Suits: The ones we have seen thus far in the trailer are Indri Power, Green Anaconda Power, and Blue Whale Power.

My thoughts:

HOLY SHIT THE BLUE WHALE SUIT

HOLY SHIT THE BLUE WHALE SUIT

HOLY SHIT THE BLUE WHALE SUIT

*calms down.*

Ok but I'm starting to see a weird pattern in the PowerSuits in this season. For some strange reason, they have to retrofit the wearer's mouths to match the ACTUAL anatomy of the animal the suit is based off of. They did it with the Wild Pony and the Mountain Goat Power Suit and both of them were.... ugh. Now they did it with the Blue Whale Suit and to be fair, while I hate that particular feature, it's not enough to make me hate the suit. In fact, I kinda like it more because of how silly it looks (Martin is the perfect person to wear this suit tbh). Still though, I wish they designed it like the Crocodile, Hippo, or Puffin Suit where the giant mouth is simply an attachment that doesn't move while the wearer speaks.

For those who don't know, Indris are the largest species of lemur in the world (alongside Diademed Sifakas). They are the only animals besides humans that can find and use rhythm using "wailing songs" to communicate. They're also critically endangered due to slash and burn of their habitats and poaching for their flesh as delicacies (yeah, very odd that Gourmand isn't here, but I digress). There's an estimate to be less than 10,000 left in the wild and are expected to have a population net decrease by 80% within the next 30 years... yeah, considering that they're endemic to Madagascar, not a very good sign. I didn't even know what an Indri was until reading the article, and if I'm not the only one who had no clue about these guys, it's probably definitely a good sign that they're getting some spotlight in this show.

The Indri Power Suit looks so goofy, but again, something about how silly it looks just makes me appreciate it all the more. I... weirdly expected it to be way bigger like the Puffin Suit, but again that's just me.

I am a huge fan of how they designed the snake-inspired Creature Power Suits in the show. But the Anaconda Creature Power Suit... holy shit.

LOOK AT IT /POS

Look at the markings! Look at the green! Look at the patterns, and the color schemes! Chris FINALLY got a green Creature Power Suit to activate! Our boi won! It's also a pretty clever callback to the Amazon special where Chris met the Anaconda (I really hope the Power Disc for this suit is green because god that would be so aesthetically pleasing).

Ngl, if the old flash games were still on the website, and this was one of the Power Suits I could earn for my character, I'd play it in a heart-beat.

I'm really interested to see the Zach/Paisley team up. This season already started to utilize her better by giving her another solo appearance, and now we're seeing a 1 on 1 team up with her and another villain. I was always gunning for a Paisley/Donita teamup but this works too. They're both very similar characters that can bounce off each other in similar, yet different ways (I actually headcanon that they're related - second cousins to be exact - because of those similarities). The final battle is gonna be kickass.

If you were to tell me without any context at all that this was a screencap from the upcoming WK feature film (that this episode is often mistaken for), I would believe you. Because HOLY SHIT! The linework, the lighting, the hues, AND the shading! I am becoming more and more grateful for the 2-year long hiatus - the animators needed time to cook and they fucking COOKED. For an extended TV episode, this is pretty damn impressive.

People don't talk enough about this, but fun-fact: A lot of the animators of this show had experience working for Disney. Erika Worthylake was one of the artists on this show, doing several beta designs for animals such as wild ponies and salmon sharks. In 2019, she was the lead designer for Anga, one of the new characters in Disney's The Lion Guard (which, much like Wild Kratts, was animated in Toon Boom). Ben Balistreri had collaberated with the Kratt Brothers and Luc Chamberland in 2007 to work on the show's pilot episode, creating several different designs for the animated characters. Ten years later, he became the executive co-producer of Tangled: The Series. Kendal Brouet, who animated A Creature Christmas, worked on The Proud Family: Louder and Prouder in 2022. Just to name a few. It's just a fun little thing that comes up in the back of my mind whenever the topic of WK animation comes up, and this instance of animation is so fucking good that I HAVE to talk about it, because I have MAJOR respect for these guys, and if there were ever moments in the show that remind me "Oh, this slaps," I just remember what these talented artists worked on through the years and it clicks together nicely in my brain.

According to Whrokids, this episode is gonna have a runtime of 58 minutes. I found this screenshot of someone who did far more searching and sleuthing for new episode content (they were the ones who found this trailer actually). I'm not sure how valid this particular screenshot is, but if this is the case, then this will be the longest episode of Wild Kratts in history, and will be the closest thing we get to a Wild Kratts movie (until the actual WK movie is released in theaters).

Fucking. Hyped.

#wild kratts #pbs kids #kratt brothers #martin kratt #chris kratt #wk season 7 #wild kratts fandom #wk #wk chris #wk martin #wild kratts creature powers #blue whales #indri #lemur #animals #I officially have a new reason for living thank you very much #2024 #This better not be an April Fools' prank I stg.

[s3mi-ch4rm3d]

can we stay for a while and listen for heaven?

A/N: my first fic !!!! i wrote this between the hours of 1 and 4am so i hope its not shit asjkffjkd

please please please reblog, comment and like !!! if you have any feedback please feel free to drop it too (:

"You’d told him earlier that this building was his home. You were wrong – he fights the urge to say it now. To chant ‘The four walls have nothing to do with it. My home isn’t this house, it’s you. It’s here, in my arms’ until his throat runs dry. "

desc; veteren!reader x simon riley. he comes home on leave after a (kind of) disagreement. all fluff, some non-sexual nudity (a soft little affectionate shower scene). should be fairly gender neutral!!

"Hear the storm dances outside Something set free is running through the night And the dark awaits us all around the corner But here, in our place we have for the day Can we stay a while and listen for heaven?"

Simon “Ghost” Riley, more weapon than man, almost falls to his knees weeping at the sight of you.

You stand, some thirty-feet ahead of him, holding a pistol aimed at his head with perfect precision. Hair wild and sleep-tousled, one of his shirts hanging to about mid-thigh, eyelids drooped and eyebrows furrowed in confusion, lips forming a perfect ‘O’ and he swears to whatever divine being still watching that one day he’ll be brave enough to marry you. 

He’d poetically liken himself to a man returning home from war, but the simile cuts a little too close.  

You lower the weapon, flick the safety on (he narrowly bites back the urge to praise you) before launching it towards the sofa and launching yourself at him. He ignores the burning in his injured side and returns the fervour, arms finding your waist with practised ease. After almost fifty hours awake, Simon allows himself to feel the exhaustion that permeates his bones. He sinks into you – into your warmth, your scent, your love. He fears he’ll never be able to let go again.

You somehow detach yourself enough to blink up at him, eyes still half-lidded. “You’re back,” you whisper, voice so roughened with sleep that he can only make out half the syllables, “thought you were comin’ back next week?” 

“Sorry, darlin’. Should’ve given you a heads up.” He hates how fatigued he sounds, even to his own ears, but he can’t keep up the act. Not with you. 

“Nonsense, Simon Riley.” Your nose scrunches, voice mimicking severity. The way your mouth sounds the shape of his name ringing through his head like a stricken bell, “This is your home, too. You know you don’t need permission to come back.”

He doesn’t know, not really. Especially not at the moment. He’d half expected you to shove him back out the door duffle still in hand if he were honest. After almost two weeks of not speaking, of dodging calls and ignoring texts, he figured he’d deserved it. The knot of guilt begins to twist his stomach. 

You must sense his hesitation – reading him like a book always was a favourite pastime of yours – because you press your face back into his chest, squeezing him briefly before releasing him.  He barely has time to mourn the loss of your warmth before you’re hooking your pinky with his, intertwining your fingers. 

You lift yourself onto your tiptoes, face hovering just a few centimetres away from his, before you whisper.

“You’re not getting into our bed smelling like shite, Si. ‘M hosing you down." 

He watches as the corners of your lips turn up into one of your signature lopsided grins and before he can stop himself he’s leaning in to kiss it, mask be damned. Since there are no merciful gods left, you duck out of the way before his mouth can stick the landing, letting out a squawk of laughter as you swipe out of the way of his arms. He finds his lips mimicking yours beneath the fabric. 

“You’re not kissing me til you brush those fuckin’ teeth, either. Dirty man.”

“I thought you liked the way I taste, love.”

You snort, pinky latching onto him again, leading him towards the bathroom of your darkened house. Reiterate your previous statement by muttering a “filthy man” under your breath. The radiance of dawn spills through the closed blinds as the sun begins its endeavour across the sky once more. Simon follows dutifully behind you. 

Your unoccupied hand fumbles before finding the string of the light switch. You give it a firm tug and cool light blares into the room. Simon barely has time to hiss before you’re tugging it off again, encasing the room in darkness once more. You hum softly, murmuring apologies as you lead him to the toilet seat. 

“Sit. I swear I have fake candles somewhere, I’ll find them.”

An objection rises in his throat, although he obeys instantly, perching on the lid of the toilet. He watches in the low light as you flit about the room, rummaging through bottles and loofahs and sponges before letting out a small “aha!”. 

You methodically disperse small, white discs around the room, clicking them on as you go. Warm light flickers throughout the room, much less overbearing than the beacon overhead. You turn to face him again and he lets out a sigh through his nostrils. You’re far too endearing like this; completely dishevelled, all soft smiles and teasing words. 

He can see it with a bit more clarity now, the way worry has been eating at you. In the dim 'candle' light, he notices the state of your lower lip, chapped and bitten, and the smudges of blue that frame your eyes. The knot that sits at the base of his stomach twists again, digging in, and he tightens his jaw to stop himself from spilling I’m sorry’s like a mantra.

“You planning on washing your clothes as well as your body, babes?” 

Your voice pops the bubble of his self-pity. He blinks thrice, grateful for the mask to hide the downwards tilt of his lips. He attempts to sound breezy as he replies, though it comes out with more bite than he’d like. Typical. 

“Figure it’s the quickest way to stop smelling of ‘shite.’”

It’s your turn to sober yourself as you cast your eyes over him, eyebrows furrowing. You must catch it; the way, however subtle, his body responds to his injury – hunched slightly to one side as if trying to curl protectively around it. He straightens his spine at your scrutiny. 

“You’re hurt,” you whisper, voice so tender, as you take two slow steps towards him, “your side?” Your eyebrows furrow, hands absently reaching for him. 

“It’s nowt, darls. Just some bruising. I…” He rolls the request around on his tongue. He swears it burns, to ask more of you after you’ve given so much. “I need a hand. Can’t really… bend. Sorry.”

Your reaction is immediate. You drop to your knees in front of him, hands reaching for his laces, face set in gentle determination. 

“It’s no bother, handsome.” You’re quick to soothe, to reassure. Always so quick to give him what he needs. He softens like warm butter. “Get started up there, and we’ll meet in the middle.” You toss him a cheeky wink, face still tinged in a trace of worry. 

Never one to deny you anything, he does as he’s told. Starts with his mask – easy enough. He’s too tired to have any reservations now, especially when you’ve spent so many nights devoted to tracing his scars with your lips. He unhooks the straps and slips it from his face, drops the piece of fabric onto the bathroom counter next to him. 

His shirt is… a little bit trickier. He struggles to lift it up above his head, but he manages it soon enough. On his own, despite your assurances that you can help with that, too. He’s a stubborn creature. 

Meanwhile, you’re dutifully and methodically working off his boots. He’s seen those hands broken and bruised, snaked around the grip of so many guns. He’s in awe of their softness; the duality of hands once soaked in blood, now working so gently to undress him. 

True to your word, always, you meet him in the middle. Soft hands ghost over the mottling of bruises littering his left side, shades of purple and blue deep and rich. You frown, casting your eyes up to meet his. Your teeth go to bother your lower lip again but he leans forward to intercept, covering your mouth with his own. 

You hum absently into the kiss, feel the graze of his hand against your jaw, the soft exhale through his nose. You both stay like that for a moment; making no move to deepen the kiss, keeping it light and sweet and oh-so tender. 

You disconnect, your frown banished. He watches through his lashes, eyes half-lidded with relaxation as you stand back up, hands moving to the hem of his your shirt. Simon reaches to help, you swat his hand away. 

“Ah-ah! Just sit back and enjoy the show, Riley. I don’t give ‘em out for free.” You wink, cocky grin rising to your lips. God, he has it bad for you.

“Show me how it’s done, love.”

You put him to shame. Lift your shirt off with one confident sweep of your arms. His hands twitch with the effort to keep them by his sides. The rest comes off just as easily, barring your fluffy socks. You almost end up flat on your arse, cheeks flushed as you slouch against the bathroom counter repeating ‘stop laughing, Simon Riley, or so help me God–’

A few moments later and you’re both in the shower, standing under a stream of water just below scalding. He hisses as the jets hit him, rolling down the planes of his back, slowly loosening the knots along his spine. You’re standing so close, nearly pressed against him, and this time he doesn’t stop himself from slipping an arm around your waist. Your bare forms merge and he feels like a ship returning to harbour. He feels tethered.

You’d told him earlier that this building was his home. You were wrong – he fights the urge to say it now. To chant ‘The four walls have nothing to do with it. My home isn’t this house, it’s you. It’s here, in my arms’ until his throat runs dry. 

The way you tilt into his grasp, your arms winding so naturally around him, slotting against him so perfectly makes him think you already know the words by heart.

After a few minutes, you break away. Simon is just breathing out an objection by the time he notices the loofah in your hands. You squirt a splodge of soap onto it and a wave of your signature scent fills his nostrils. His objections die on his tongue. 

You work the soap into a lather before gently taking one of his arms, eyes flicking up to meet him for a moment in a silent question. He answers with a nod and you get to work, systematically massaging away the layers of grime and dirt. You work in small circles down his arm, scrubbing his armpits and washing the grit from beneath his fingernails with precision, before moving onto his other arm. 

And so the time passes; both arms, across the chiselled plains of his broad chest, down to his navel, spinning him around so you can work your way up his back. Then you’re onto his legs, his feet, before you move on to washing his hair. 

He has to stand facing away from you (much to his despair – you look so focused, your tongue almost poking out in concentration), head tilted back to give you access to the top of his head. Still, you stand on your tiptoes, rubbing and massaging the shampoo into his scalp with firm but doting hands. You hum as you work. 

He’s flooded with warmth at the depth of your devotion. 

Hours or seconds pass by, simultaneously too much and too little time, and you’re done. You guide his form back around to face you, rising up to place a sickeningly sweet kiss to his lips. His body is sagging as the exhaustion finally drapes over him like a well-worn blanket. He blinks to keep his eyes open.

“Your turn?” He murmurs, voice a jumble of syllables. 

“Mmh, I’m okay, babs. We need to get you into bed,” you hum. His eyes close for half a second and by the time he’s opened them again, the shower is off and he’s wrapped in a soft towel. 

“Our bed?”

You huff out a breathy laugh, “Yeah, Si, our bed.”

Pinkies entwined, you lead him once more. Sunrise is fully upon you now, a kaleidoscope of peaches and tangerines spill through gaps in the curtains to bathe the bedroom in pinks and golds. You guide Simon Riley, now far more man than weapon, to his side of the bed. The man barely makes it to a horizontal position before reaching for you -- a request that you happily oblige. 

You settle against him with the same practised ease, curled against his uninjured side, head tucked against his clavicle. He hums beneath you, arms slotting into their designated space around your waist. 

A few moments pass. You’re certain that he’s already asleep when his voice, deep and full of timbre, cuts through the tranquillity. 

“I’m sorry,” he rasps, his large hands dragging up the notches along your spine. “‘M stupid, and I’m sorry.”

“Don’t– you don’t have to, Si. I get it.” You exhale against his collarbone, arms tightening around him. “It was a bad time. I didn’t mean for it– it just came out. I get it.”

Simon murmurs in disagreement, but he returns the motion. Arms squeezing your sides like he needs an anchor, something to hold on to. 

“I shouldn’t have ignored you. I was a coward. I–”

His head turns, lips grazing over the crown of your head. His eyebrows furrow and he freezes for a moment before whispering, voice so quiet you have to strain to hear it. 

“I feel it, too. I can’t– I can’t say it, but I feel it. I do.”

You feel the corners of your lips twitch up involuntarily. This absolute muppet of a man – watching you all evening like you’d hung the stars one by one, like you were some divine creator, some source of eternal beauty that could make the angels quiver. You bite back the urge to laugh, and instead tilt your head upwards, graze your rough lips across the underside of his jaw. 

You whisper back, trying to pour as much love and devotion as you can fit into three words. 

“I know, Si.”

#simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #ghost x you #gn reader #fluff #pure fluff #cod x reader #cod #cod fanfic #call of duty #cod modern warfare #cod mw2 #cod ghost #fanfiction #fanfic #i am a babygirl ghost truther #hes a softie. i know it. u can't fool me. #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader

[setsugekka]

『atarashī 』 ; 05

❝ breaking point ❞ | mlist  ｡

student!hongjoong x fem!reader, husband!yeosang x fem!reader — drama, dark romance, mystery, heavy sexual content [8k wc] ch cws: smut, a lot of it!!, more marital problems (yes, the baby thing again), very destructive, heat of the moment decision making out of anger that certainly can't be undone...heh

"I think I'm falling in love with someone."

Sitting on the couch beside you, sharing the same warm blanket and with a glass of wine not unlike your own in hand, Yeosang turns to look at you with an expression that vividly says is that so? 

It's evenings like this especially that you're thankful for your wealthy background—an apartment to yourself in the middle of the city during college—not something many others get to have for themselves. As a result, you and your boyfriend enjoy so many nights together such as this one, cuddled up in the living room with a movie on the television that neither of you have much intention of paying attention to.

"Oh really?" Yeosang says, playing along. "Anyone I know?"

You smile, pleased by his willingness. "Not sure, just some finance guy with bleached blonde hair and a pretty birthmark by his eye."

Grinning, Yeosang pulls closer to your body. "None of those things sound especially...special. Surely there's something else about him that you like that has you falling for him?"

Face nuzzling into your neck, you feel his lips press into the skin there while a hand beneath the blanket slips over your thigh and slowly between your legs.

"Yeah, I guess so," you reply, feigning being lost in thought on the matter. "He's got a big dick."

Yeosang laughs out loud and into your flesh—not anticipating the comment—and as a result you feel the wetness of his saliva sprinkled from his reaction. You reel with a shriek, pulling quickly away from him and lamenting the outcome of this through laughs that the both of you share.

"Seriously! You spit on me! Gross!"

"Sorry," he says quickly, still grasping towards you in an effort to pull you back against him. "I wasn't expecting the comment about my dick, can you really blame me?"

"For spitting on me!? Yes!" you retort, though playfully and with little resistance to his desire to have you close to him again.

"I didn't mean to do that part," Yeosang says, lips finding yours and hand slipping between your legs once you're close enough again. "I have something you can spit on though, if that would help."

An enticing offer, hard to refuse. You begin to allow yourself to melt into his touch, another evening of enjoying all of the ways that the two of you seem to fit together with such ease. In so many ways, you can't even begin to fathom a world in which you don't. Maybe this is it. Maybe this guy will be the one.

A concept you've never found yourself particularly fussed with before, but who knows. Maybe with him.

"Hey."

The word brings you back out of your thoughts, Yeosang's eyes fitted firmly onto your own now. A small smile paints his lips, as if wildly pleased just by the mere existence of you. Probably true, too. The beginning always feels like this.

"It's about time you caught up, was starting to think I was going to be waiting forever here, by myself, like a loser."

"What do you mean?" you question, eyebrows furrowed.

Yeosang kisses you lightly then, no nefarious intent behind it. A mere showing of kind affection towards you that feels so strongly like the warmth of adoration from one person to another. Innocent, well-meaning. Perfect.

"I love you."

Over the sound of sizzling onions in the pan just in front of you, the loud pop of a champagne cork echos through the dining area of your apartment and turning to look to your left, you watch your husband pour two glasses of the beverage. One for each of you.

Yeosang slides closer to you, slips an arm across the small of your back and around your body to pull you closer against him and places a kiss atop the peak of your shoulder. His lips curl into it, which has a similar effect on your own.

So, you turn your attention fully to him, and the two of you share a kiss over the savory scent of dinner preparation, and in times like this you're actually able to forget all of the other stuff that lies dormant beneath the happiness that exists within this partnership.

If only he was home more often so that it was more of the norm, and less of a reminder.

"It smells delicious," Yeosang says, lips still pressed into your shoulder as he stands beside you. "I wonder what dessert is going to be."

Hardly hidden in intent enough to even be considered an innuendo, Yeosang tips his glass lightly towards your own before whisking himself away and out of the kitchen entirely before you have a chance to chastise him for his filthy mind. 

"Be good, or there won't be any dessert."

"I hardly believe that."

Unfortunately, Yeosang knows better. The long, messy hair that delicately cradles the sharp lines of his face as well as the pretty birthmark he has now long since given up trying to hide—your husband stands at the end of the kitchen island in just a plain, white button down shirt and black slacks, but it's plenty to have the mind wandering about what dessert might have to offer indeed.

You remain strong in your resolve, flash him a look that tells him to behave, and at the very least he appears to acquiesce to the suggestion, taking a sip of his drink and then carrying himself further away and towards the dining room table.

"How is it?"

You ask over the gentle clinking sounds of silverware against porcelain plating. It's not often that the two of you get to share evenings together such as this—dinner often reduced to quick and cheap take out, less candlelit filet and the fancy champagne glasses that you received as wedding gifts.

Yeosang leans back in his seat though, mouth full of food and chewing while grinning like a pleased child who couldn't possible receive anything else, anything better from the world. "Delicious. Amazing. You've really outdone yourself this time."

A loving grin takes your face, bashful in the praise even if it comes from your husband, and he's not even finished yet. Yeosang leans forward again with elbows into the glass table, eyes pressed onto you.

"I'm so lucky. The luckiest man on earth, if I had to guess."

You play along. "It is hard to imagine anyone else to be living more lavishly than you are right now, isn't it?"

"Unfathomable, really," he chuckles under his breath, taking a sip of champagne and tossing his napkin onto the table to signal his defeat by the meal in question. "I'd like to see someone try."

Sliding his hand across the table, you meet him halfway and place yours on top of it. 

"I have a couple of work emails to catch up on that I've been ignoring all day," Yeosang says with a disgruntled sigh. "But after that...maybe we can revisit that conversation about dessert."

It's not the most ideal, but duty calls. Suppose the table could use some clearing and pans beginning their soaking process in the meantime—thus, you agree with little pushback on the matter.

"I'm holding you to that," you say, coy.

Yeosang takes his hand back, stands from the table and leans over to kiss you on the mouth, lips lingering just atop yours as he grants you a whispered reply. "Good, I hope you do."

Hands wet with warm water and dish soap, you idly drag a sponge across the front of a plate with little thought expended towards the act.

And then your phone vibrates atop the counter just beside.

You still—confused—it's so late in the evening by now that you wonder who it is that could possibly be attempting to contact you. Seonghwa knows you're sharing an evening with your husband and wouldn't bother with an attempt to shoot the shit right now, so when you quickly dry your hands and illuminate the screen, the email that pops up is far from one that you would expect to be finding.

Hey, Sorry for the late night contact, I was going through the other lists of contacts and couldn't find anyone who might be able to set me up with some industry viewings or interviews. Would you happen to know anyone I could speak to about this? My professor is, to put it kindly, useless. Thanks, Hongjoong.

You reread the email two, three times in total. Glance around yourself to ensure that you're alone despite knowing that Yeosang is still holed up in his office with work. Not that you're doing anything wrong—this is work of your own to deal with, after all.

Something in you enjoys this, however. Enjoys the attention, enjoys the way that Hongjoong comes to you for the things that he may need. There's a guilty part of you that knows that the correct choice in this matter is to tell him that he should only contact you during normal, business hours, but another, louder and perhaps sinister part that enjoys the attention; basks in the way that Hongjoong seemingly wants your attention just as much as the other way around, and has no qualms with doing what it takes to acquire it.

Your last meeting with him was a mistake, one that you have no intention of ever revisiting. Boundaries need to be put in place. You can reel this back enough that it sits firmly in the harmless flirting category rather than whatever that was that happened in the theater hall before.

Hey, Unfortunately, I don't have anything on hand, this conversation would be better suited for office hours back at the theaters. I have a personal listing of contacts that would probably suit you well in an effort to advance your career. The professors at the Akademiya have no such lists. We can meet sometime this week and look it over.

See? Perfectly professional. You set your phone down to get back to the dishes that await, but his reply chimes through quicker than anticipated, and worse than that, the excitement of that fact vibrates electric hot under your skin.

Then what kind of conversation would be better suited for the late evening hours? Do you have anything in mind? Instead of waiting for the week to meet, we should meet tomorrow night. 

Well, you certainly can't chalk this one up to you. Wholly started by Hongjoong now, you try to fight back the way the corners of your lips curl upwards at how seemingly desperate he is for your attention—for you to talk to him, see him—and while you know you shouldn't be indulging in it, they're just emails. Just text. He can't touch you here, can't undress you here. Nothing on the table like the last time.

But now the dishes go all but forgotten entirely; you turn away from them, phone in hand and glancing up every now and then to keep an eye on the door to the office room. Still closed. 

You wonder how wrong this really is. Where the line of affair truly begins and ends.

I don't think it's a good idea for either of us to be going out to do God knows what on a Saturday night, but I appreciate the offer. I can meet you early Monday morning to go over the potential prospects that would likely suit you.

Hongjoong replies quickly to that. Something that you find you are enjoying.

Perhaps not a good idea for you. There's a club I want to go to, you're not allowed to go out and dance when you're married? You didn't answer my question about what we should be talking about at night, by the way. Also, I'm a little regretful I didn't think to take photos of the garment on you, they would have helped a lot with the future planning phase. Instead when I'm working late at night I just have to go off of memory...

The last paragraph is so poignant that you almost immediately forget about the rest of the words laid out in the text. Your heart rate accelerates—hard and fast against your chest as you read the words over and over again—is he...? Is this...?

A thinly veiled admission to touching himself to the memory of touching you?

That thought does something hateful to the way your skin feels across your body. Heat felt all across you as you think of the possibility of it; Hongjoong laid out along his bed, the fabric of his shirt pushed up just slightly across his abdomen and pants pushed down, hand tightly wrapped around his cock as he thinks of you, imagines that it's you, pretends that it's you as he comes across his fist.

You shake the thought from your head as quickly as you can, but the lasting effect of it sitting pooled between your own legs isn't as easily pushed away.

There's a conscious effort to read back the email and simply ignore that bit now, so that you can at the very least reply to everything else.

Surely you have friends from the Akademiya to go with, no need for a married housewife to tag along.

Trying to make yourself sound as boring, uninteresting as possible. You continue on.

Sorry about the garment. As for nightly discussion topics, I'm not sure if there's anything that would be deemed rather appropriate.

Great. You've done your part. You sigh, quickly put your phone on the counter—face down—and make an effort to get back to the dishes, but unfortunately Hongjoong seems to have no intention of allowing you to do any such thing and his reply comes through just as fast as the others.

You nearly drop your phone upon reading it, however.

I don't want to go with friends from the Akademiya, and I have no intention of remaining professionally appropriate, either. I think you liked the way I touched you back at the theater. Do you want to know what other ways I can touch you?

No. No, no, no. In your mind, at the forefront of everything, you repeatedly tell yourself that you cannot engage with this any further. That a conversation needs to be had with the Akademiya board about this, that you cannot keep indulging in this banter with him, because it's going to impede not only your ability to be professional, but also his ability to be a student. You're going to have to take this to administration Monday morning. This can't keep going on.

Beyond that thought, your thoughts wander to exactly what it is that he's implying. Recalling the gentle, tender ghost of his fingertips across your skin, his attentive gaze upon your form with every movement, every single thing that he had done in regard to you. Hongjoong has only ever given you his full, undivided attention—you can't help but wonder what that might be like when there is no barrier to the way his hands, or mouth, could be on you.

You must not reply quick enough for his liking, and that makes sense because a part of you has long since abandoned the want to continue partaking in the conversation at all. It's no good for you, and only going to get worse the more you respond. There's guilt there, because what if he feels terribly for having sent you such things—creepy, uncomfortable in the aftermath of never being met with a response—but the stronger part of you, the part that slowly has your own hand sinking down into the front of your jeans to alleviate some of the pressure that this has resulted in, can't be bothered to care. Regardless, another email from him comes across your inbox.

Are you thinking about it now? I'm thinking about it too.

The thought has you putting pressure into your fingertips, bottom lip caught up between your teeth as you close your eyes and picture it; his hands on himself, his hands on you. 

You have no business indulging in this fantasy, but at the end of the day, it is just that. It's not real, and nothing has happened. You imagine your husband has probably shared similar moments of weakness—coming over his fist to the thought of having a colleague in a particularly fitted pencil skirt, no doubt. It's a human want, desiring the new, and even in some cases, desiring precisely the thing that we should not ever have.

Hongjoong doesn't email again, and in ways it leaves you high and dry—wanting but never reaching any particular point within the interaction. You wash your hands then stand idly in front of the sink, staring blankly into the tiled, back wall of the countertop and contemplating what, exactly, you're going to say to the administration board come Monday morning.

Less than the breaking through of light through the crack of the blinds, it's the feeling of your husband nesting his chin against your shoulder that wakes you back to consciousness in the morning.

Yeosang brings an arm up from behind you, tosses it lazily over your side to pull you tighter against his form. Lips drop chaste kisses to the exposed skin below them, and the reminder of his early morning attraction to you is felt firm and thick against you from behind.

And so, you lightly push back into him, reveling in the low groan that rumbles in his throat as a result of the motion. His kisses upon your shoulder turn slightly harder and paired with small nips of his teeth—the hand once against your stomach then traveling down beneath the sheets and settling between your legs.

"Good morning, baby," he says, just above a whisper and the morning gravel to his tone adding just that much more to the desire you carry for him. "Sorry for the late night, maybe I can make it up to you now?"

Practiced fingers rubbing into you, Yeosang continues pressing himself against you, hard and thick, slotting between your pressed together legs and shallowly driving into you as to simulate the turn that this morning can take. You moan lightly, melting into the touch. Desire creeping up through your veins at a rapid pace and pushing back timed just right to meet his motions halfway.

"You do kind of owe me," you answer back playfully, alluding to being left to fall asleep alone so many hours ago. "How do you intend to do that?"

Yeosang hums, thoughtful. "In theory, shouldn't I be at the mercy of your whims? Made to do whatever it is that you wish of me?" His hand slips away from between your legs then, instead moves between your bodies, positioning himself better for what's soon to come. "Or maybe I'll just take matters into my own hands. Flip you over, fuck you into the mattress where you belong."

Your groan is louder but still airy and sleep-carried at not only the words, but Yeosang's initial, slow drive inside of you. A strong hand moving to grip at your thigh—pry your leg apart just slightly to make space for him to fill you—it only takes a few, shallow strokes before he sits firmly planted deep within the warmth of you, though he doesn't sit still for much time before he withdraws equally long and slow, pushing in again and biting into the skin of your shoulder as you gasp out at the feeling of him having you.

"How's this for owing you?" he asks, though there's little genuine question in it and you know that. "How about I make you come around my dick, then we'll see who owes who."

Yeosang delivers a hard thrust then, punching the air and another whimpered moan out from your throat as you lean forward to clutch at the sheets beneath your bodies. His motions don't relent, settling into that pace for the foreseeable future—fingers gripping hard into the flesh of your thigh as he nearly pulls your body down and onto his cock with every drive forward.

"Fuck, Yeosang—"

"Yeah? Feels that good already?" he answers low, taunting. "Always know you're dying for it when I've got you moaning my name."

Repeated hard and long strokes of himself into your body that quickly send you teetering on the edge of release, Yeosang continues teasing you through it with his words—the sound of your bodies meeting quickly and in succession resounding through the otherwise silent room—and just when you feel your body pulling taut around him, whining and whimpering into the sheets below in desperation for him not to stop, to keep going, begging for more, harder, faster; Yeosang gifts you with just that.

"That's it baby," he says now, voice more pointed, domineering. "Come real good for me so I can fill you up just like you want—" teeth nipping into your skin again, teeth clenched when he stops to speak and fucks you even harder still, almost angrily in delivery both words and body. "Fuck my cum deep into you, get myself that baby I want after all."

It rattles you, but you're too far gone and within the throes of dirty talk, the filthiness of it still has you coming apart around him just like he wants from you. When your orgasm crashes over you, it has every nerve ending in your body firing off, skin on fire and burning at the spots in which he touches you as he continues to fuck you through it, and shortly after, empties himself inside of you with a deep, hearty groan too.

But the post-orgasmic bliss of it all wears off much quicker than under normal circumstances.

Your breathing steadies, body returning to normal fast and as a result, you're pulling away from him and creating space between your forms. When his softening length drops from inside of you and the subsequent leaking of what he's left spills out, you grimace at the feeling of it. 

You don't say anything right away, but he must notice—knows you. The two of you have been here before, after all.

"What?" he asks, but his tone makes it evident that he already is well enough aware, and annoyed by your reaction too.

Part of you considers not bothering with answering him, little point to starting this fight, but he is your husband, and suppose he deserves at least that much.

"Seriously? Again with that?"

Yeosang doesn't say anything right away, which spurs your glancing back and over your shoulder at him.

He's smiling. Pleased.

"You didn't seem to hate the idea when you were coming."

"Yeah, because you were talking dirty to me and I enjoy having sex with you! It feels good! I love you! That doesn't mean it's free range for you to drag in all of our points of contention."

He rolls his eyes, turns to lie on his back. "All of our points of contention, as if there are any besides this one thing."

You have to fight back the laugh that wants to tear through you, it's like he's never heard anything you've been saying at all: in regards to a baby, in regards to his being gone all the time, in regards to your inability to nourish your desire for the arts. Nothing at all.

Instead, you pull yourself up from the bed entirely and make haste in getting dressed. You've got to get out of here, and more than that, you have to get away from him.

Yeosang's eyes remain on you as you throw items on your body. "I have to go to work," you say, and when you hear your husband huff out a laugh, you regret giving him even that much.

"Work," he repeats, plain. "I'm sure you have so much work to do."

That infuriates you more. The incessant unwillingness to take you or anything you do seriously so long as it doesn't involve him and his wants from you. You pull a light jacket from the closet, shrug it on fast, then walk back to the nightstand to grab your phone and hurry your way out of the room.

"Lemmie ask you something," Yeosang then says, voice still simple and unbothered in a way that infuriates you just that much more. Because of course he doesn't care, you'll come around for his desires just as you always do, he just has to wait it out a bit longer.

You stop in the doorway, turn to look at him, and don't bother masking the contempt etched into your face.

"Do you want to have a baby?"

Counting the seconds between the words leaving his mouth, and your response to him is simple enough. It's seven. Seven seconds is all it takes to come to your final conclusion.

"No."

And then you're gone.

So many reasons to go home, you instead ignore all of them in favor of staying late at the theater office.

You make up work that needs to be done. Door knobs that need to be polished and rooms that need to be vacuumed out despite just having done it not long ago before. Emails that probably need to be tended to though it's the weekend, and you've already answered the ones that had come in through the week.

A few hours into the dark quiet of the night, you consider that maybe you do need to finally go home. Confront your husband, have this conversation finally. You're not really ready to do that. You wonder if you ever will be ready to do that. 

You wonder if this is what standing in the face of a divorce looks like—having told him the truth of how you're feeling now. Maybe Yeosang already has the papers drafted up. Maybe it takes longer than a few hours to get the papers drafted up. You don't know, it's your first potential divorce, after all.

But the idea of it, of dissolving your marriage to him and going your separate ways saddens you in such a distinct and visceral way that perhaps you'd lost sight of over the last few contentious weeks. A reminder that you love him, that you want to remain in this marriage to him—but you don't want to have a baby, not like this.

Memories of the horrible comments he has made to you in relation to it all then flood through your mind and you're filled with rage over them all over again. You try to remember a time back in college when he was so terrible to you like this, a red flag that you had missed, or maybe just ignored. You fail to locate one, but the anger that sits at your finger tips as a result of it itches in such a distinct and particular way that you have a difficult time setting it aside and being the bigger person about it.

A desire to cause harm, a craving to do to him as he has done to thoughtlessly to you.

Your phone vibrates then, pulls you from the thoughts about it all. Far from hoping to be greeted by a message from the man in question, you're instead shocked to find what it is that is awaiting you, having all but forgotten not only him, but what this evening is.

Last chance to come out tonight.

It's the only thing Hongjoong says. No flirtation, no additional commentary about what may or may not lie beneath the suggestion. A simple enough message, and because of that, suppose you find it easy to lull yourself into what may be a false sense of comfort in regards to the situation.

If only your husband knew. He would hate finding out about where you were going, and who with.

All the more reason to go.

You reply, tell Hongjoong to send you the address of where to meet and he does so quickly. Still, nothing extra added to the messages, so flat, in fact, that you consider the possibility of being entirely delusional about the exchange of messages the night prior. Maybe that never happened, maybe you had had a little too much to drink.

It's not hard to locate the email thread and scroll through the messages as they had been left to you, and no, you did not, in fact, have too much to drink last night.

You grab your bag, sling it over your shoulder, and head out down the red Aurelian halls towards the door.

Upon your arrival, you realize that you had not put thought into proper dress attire for this sort of endeavor—not that it had been planned anyway.

It's early enough in the evening that the crowd outside isn't that jam packed. People stand around in small pockets of peer groups, dressed somewhat similarly as if having presented a theme and wholeheartedly wanting to stick to it. The sight of it sort of endears you, makes you wish that that was something that you could partake in too.

Instead, here you are; oversized hoodie and a boring, black skirt that comes down about mid-thigh. Hardly sexy, hardly anything really.

You glance down at yourself, frown a little at what you have to offer. A few years back you probably would have really killed the scene at something like this, but now, this is all you've managed to bring to the table.

There's a run climbing its way up the side of your calf in your tights, and you can't help but think of it as an incredibly apt manifestation of everything.

"Hey."

Turning to face the voice, Hongjoong approaches you as he takes a final drag of a burnt down cigarette. Not a fan, but far from your place and you suppose it's not especially shocking, either. He's never smelled of smoke down at the theater, but more than this knowledge is the fact that he's more or less dressed just the same as you usually see him too. Tight, slightly ripped jeans, a simple shirt, and a jacket over top—only this one has more zippers, more buttons, more adornments that make it appear more him.

"I didn't know you smoke."

"I don't really, only socially, when I'm drinking," he replies, flicking it to the ground and crushing it under the heel of his boot. "Why? Don't like that?"

You shrug. "Not really up to me what you do, I'm not your keeper."

Hongjoong smirks, leans in a little bit closer to your face with those words. "Mmm, wouldn't you like to be though."

He leans back again just as quickly, as if never having said or done anything out of the ordinary at all. Looks you up and down for a second—judging, you consider—but any negative commentary never comes, and instead he nods towards the entrance to go inside.

"You ever been here?" he asks as the two of you wait behind only a handful of people at the door.

"No," you can't help but laugh. An asinine question. "I'm thirty."

"So? You can't have fun anymore when you're thirty? What's the age cut off? Or is it just that your husband doesn't want you getting out of the house too much anymore."

Hearing Hongjoong speak so clearly about Yeosang sends a spike of rage down your spine that you sort of don't expect. You want to bite back at the comment, though the truth in it and a reminder of what it is that he has said to you grants Hongjoong unknown reprieve from being on the receiving end of such.

"I just don't get out much anymore, not like this," you choose to reply. Somewhat true, in ways. You watch Hongjoong nod to the door guy as the both of you enter together and become swallowed up but the pitch black dark and loud, booming bass of the floor inside, forcing you to yell the remainder of your sentence to your company for the evening.

"No one to go with."

Hongjoong turns his head, looks you dead in the eye at that. Mischievous perk to the corner of his lips as he leans in so slowly, so pointedly, that a part of you thinks that he's going to kiss you.

"Guess I'm going to have to fix you then."

It's not lost on you at all, the verbiage of choice. Not a matter of fixing that, your outlook, your circumstances. No.

He's going to fix you.

An hour or so into the night and two drinks down, there's a loosening in your body that feels much needed after the prior events that still hang heavily over your head. The music is loud—so loud that you can feel it rattling through your bones—jarring in a way that feels new to you despite this not being your first time at a place such as this. Hongjoong seems content with allowing you to take the lead for the evening, and the two of you hang back in a corner of the open floor plan just next to the steps that lead upwards. He asks if you want to get another drink but you decline the offer, swaying to the electronic music as stand.

A few more moments pass, he leans in towards your ear once again. "Dance with me."

It's less of a request, more of a demand you realize, when you feel him slot himself behind you and a hand sets lightly against your waist. A part of you wants to protest the action, remembering the last time you allowed the man to be so close in proximity to you and what resulted from that. Tonight isn't supposed to go like that. Tonight is only meant to take the edge off of the looming problems that await you back home.

The alcohol certainly helps, fuzzy through your veins and electrifying his touch on you. Not long after, Hongjoong spins you so that you're facing him, hand coming up to hold you by the back of the neck and pulling you so closely to him that your foreheads meet and eyes settle harshly upon one another. In a brief moment of weakness, you remember the emails sent the night before; the implications, the understanding without explicitly being stated that they hold. A rush of excitement courses through you—you shouldn't be here, you shouldn't be here with him. 

Then you think of Yeosang, wonder what he's doing right now while you're out here, like this. Wonder if he's choosing baby names, wonder if he's going as far as to sabotage your birth control. You don't really know how far he's willing to go to get what he wants from you—his wife, his incubator. 

At a place like this, with a man like Hongjoong, none of that matters. He wants nothing of the sort from you. Zero expectations of a role you're meant to be fulfilling for him. 

You love your husband, but you also hate him for everything that he is putting you through.

Hongjoong's face slips past yours, mouth settling atop your ear instead. So close that you can feel the warmth of his breath ghosting over you, sending a shiver across your flesh.

"Stop thinking," he says against you. His other hand sits at your hip, though you can feel the burn of his fingers curling into you—the fabric of your skirt riding up your leg to expose more of it. "You can be whatever or whoever you want here. None of that other shit matters."

His lips slip down just a bit then, lightly trailing over the skin of your neck—almost nonexistent in the way that he touches you but still so sure of it that you allow your head to fall back, loll to the side with eyes closed to take it in. Hongjoong's teeth graze you, and it manifests in a vivid throb of arousal between your legs that you want more than anything to find the strength to ignore.

But you don't, not anymore.

You bring your head back up, look him in the eyes for just a moment before your lips crash against his, and he meets you eagerly, hungrily. Not missing a beat despite the neediness. No one is here to find you, no one is here to see this, and for all intents and purposes; it might as well not even exist. Not the kiss, not you, and not him. The hand cradling the back of your neck tightens in grip, pulls you harder against his mouth as teeth nip at your bottom lip like he's been waiting for this forever. Desperate for it, unwilling to allow you to escape it. You don't want to anyway.

Over the sound of your back meeting the firm mattress below, you barely have a chance to find your bearings—hear the sound of the front door closing and clicking locked—before Hongjoong is crawling over your form and pressing his mouth to every bit of exposed skin that he can manage to find. There isn't much, and this obviously frustrates him with the quickness in which he pulls you sitting, hurriedly peels off the sweatshirt that hides your torso from him, and tosses it somewhere on the floor of his quiet apartment.

He kisses you again, just as much neediness as before, and you meet him with just the same amount of vigor. Quick fingers unfastening the garment still hiding your chest from him, his mouth traveling downward then to press his mouth and tongue into the soft flesh that awaits him there. 

You gasp out, back arching up and into him. Heat rushing to your head with every expertly placed swirl of his tongue, though it's lost quickly when he sits back onto his heels, grabs at you by the thighs and pulls your hips to the edge of the bed to settle himself between. It's dizzying intoxicating, everything happening so quickly that you can barely find it within yourself to keep up. When you're grounded enough, Hongjoong's fingers are already dug into the hem of your skirt, pulling it down your legs, and when your eyes meet his, he makes it a point to dig nails into the soft fabric of your already previously marred tights. Ripping them more as they cascade down to pool at the floor.

There's a protest that begins within you but dies out in almost an instant—the feeling of Hongjoong's tongue pressed into your folds destroying any chance the words had at escaping out into the air.

"Oh my God—" is what you do get out, and Hongjoong hums into your cunt in response to the lazy attempt.

Urgency courses through every movement, and it thrills you and sets your body alight. You understand it well, every thought put out of your mind except for him, the way that he's touching you, the way that he seems to crave your body in a way that you haven't quite experienced in so, so long. To be desired for exactly what you are, not what you could be—not for what you can give him in the future, even.

Hongjoong's fingers come up to meet his mouth, presses two inside of you slowly enough but the need is still sitting just behind the motion. You moan out loud at the feeling of him—any part of him—filling your body. Back arching again, hands coming down to curl into strands of hair that do not belong to the man who put a ring on your finger.

He sets a rhythm, brings you even closer to being drunk with visceral want for him. All you can think about is what's next, needing more, needing to feel more of him.

And it's as if he can read your mind, understand your body as it lies beneath his grasp as he pulls away; stands just long enough to strip himself of his jacket, his shirt. Can't be parted from you long enough to remove his jeans all the way and only gets far enough that the front is unbuttoned before he's pushing you up the length of the bed and slotting himself between your legs once more. Lips crashing down onto yours just like before, the weight of his body held to one arm while he works himself out of his jeans and you don't get any further warning than that before he sinks into you—slowing just enough in an effort to ease the sting of the stretch, but carving space inside of your body for him all the same.

You gasp out, his name somewhere in the sounds. His teeth find your neck as a hand finds one of your thighs you pull you open for him. Hongjoong's hips snap into you three, four times, and each time the air is punched out of your lungs, electricity raging through your body with every hard, thick drag of his cock inside of you.

He feels and looks like heaven when he pulls back enough to focus on the task at hand—a steady, rough rhythm as he fucks you hard, reveling in every whimper and moan and gasp that he drags out of you as he does so. Bottom lip tucked up between his teeth as he stares down at the way that you come undone beneath him. You want him. You desire him. You crave everything about him—most of all, the way that he craves you. 

There's so much behind it, overwhelming in all ways. Another pained, desperate whimper falling from your lips as you reach out towards his face to bring him closer to you. He does, drapes himself over your body as he continues full, pointed drives that have him burying every inch of himself between your legs. You attempt words though it's much of a failure, but Hongjoong seems wildly attuned to the needs of you, your body—brings the hand not clutching at the flesh of your thigh up and into your hair as if to hold you there in place, his lips sitting at the shell of your ear once more to drive you just that much more wild.

"Anything you want," he whispers against you, a call back to an earlier conversation before things ever got this far. Not even all that long ago, either. 

Your muscles tighten, contracting with the impending crash of your orgasm. You know what you want: to feel him like this for as long as you can manage to do so. His lips on your skin, his hands all across your body, the perfect, velvet drag of his cock against your walls—a desire to taste him, watch him come against your tongue—and perhaps even the filthy desire to be had by him, taken by him, in all of the other ways that people who engage in debauchery do. Even currently fucked by him, your mind wanders briefly to the thought of a hand tightly wrapped around your throat, and his cock embedded tightly in your ass.

Anything you want. What do you want? This?

"'m coming—" you gasp, the words barely even coherent enough to be understood, but Hongjoong is attuned to it, to your body in such an unfathomable way. Delivers into you harder, longer, more fulfilling strokes until you're whining and begging and nearly crying out as your release crashes down upon your body. Eyes rolling, crown of your head pushed back and into the mattress as your body arches up and against his own—orgasm ravaging you, claiming you for his.

Hongjoong hisses at the tail end of yours, two, three drives tip to hilt inside of you and then he buries himself deep to the point that it nearly pains you to have him so hard and heavy and be so full of him, but he holds you there—down and against him and in place as he empties inside of your cunt with a few pulsing, firm throbs.

The weight of reality crashes down much faster than you suppose you might have anticipated—if you were to have considered this to ever be an option that you would go through with.

Your stomach turns, chest clenches tight, and throat runs dry. Hongjoong kisses you on the mouth and that distracts you long enough—still melting into his touch—what you've done not enough to put you off of the man that has been your ultimate moral failing.

How did you get here? How did you allow this to happen?

It's in that moment that you hear the vibration of your phone from inside of your purse, left somewhere along the floor in the flurry of sexual deviancy. Hongjoong lies himself on top of you fully, holding you to the mattress as his lips find your neck and trail hot, wet kisses into the skin there, as if still in need of your body. As if just having had you moments ago not even close to enough to take the edge of his want for you off.

And it's just as intoxicating to you as before. Eyes closing, palms running up his back and nails digging into his skin as you feel him gently begin drives of himself inside of you once more. Softening, spent length still nestled against your walls, marred and marked with his cum even still as he shallowing fucks into you again.

"Ignore it," he whispers into your skin, teeth finding the flesh in a way that has you keening.

"I have to—" you start, finding all of the will inside of yourself to pull away just enough to locate the bag. Hongjoong once more pushes your back down against the mattress, continues his handwork on your body as you do whatever task it is that you need to do, unbothered by the fact. "It might be my—"

Hongjoong's head pops up from the crook of your neck just enough, the two of you making eye contact at your unwillingness to state the obvious. As if he's testing you, waiting to see if you're willing to say the word.

3 Missed Calls.

Terrors strikes through your bones at the sight, already knowing who from. The feeling of a hand slipping down between sweat-dampened bodies not enough to distract you—that is, until his fingers find and begin their work stroking circles against your clit.

"Hongjoong, I have to—"

His hips push forward, firmer once again. His cock hardened and fuller in the meantime and offering deliriously delicious friction that, when paired with the perfect press of his fingers just above the place where he remains buried inside of you, leaves you wildly unable to escape his hold.

"I'm not done with you yet."

You type up a text, send it off just as quickly and toss your phone back to the floor. Hongjoong swiftly changes your positions; lies himself back against the bed and pushes you up to be seated atop him. Body weight pushing him fuller into you, grinding yourself down harder in all of the ways that make your body feel like it's on fire as his hands once more travel your skin—nails digging into your hip, soft pads of his fingers ghosting over the supple flesh of your chest in just the way that has you arching and whimpering for more. 

Over the breathy, quiet groan of Hongjoong from below you, you hear the quiet vibration of your phone receiving a message. Most likely from Seonghwa, because that is the person that your only message this evening has gone out to.

If Yeosang asks, tell him I'm with you. I'll explain tomorrow. Love you.

Only a few more perfect rolls of your hips, and Hongjoong has you unraveling for him all over again.

a/n: oh dear.

#hongjoong smut #hongjoong x reader #hongjoong x y/n #hongjoong x you #hongjoong fanfic #hongjoong scenarios #hongjoong imagines #yeosang smut #yeosang x you #yeosang x y/n #yeosang x reader #yeosang scenarios #yeosang imagines #ateez smut #ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #ateez x y/n #ateez x you

[kentosbabes]

Eren being sick and you going to look after him :( This was very much just a ramble feeding into my delusions so I hope it's okay!

You and Eren have only been dating for a month or so, you'd often only meet up before or after work with him still in his suit and tie and answering angry phone calls from clients. His obsession with work meant Eren never took time to himself and only overindulged in meetings and paperwork. Of course he tried to make time for you, going on dates and taking you shopping but his job would always get in the way ending your time with him short with a quick 'I'm sorry ma' its work I promise ill spend the night next time 'kay? I'll tell you when I'm home' and a soft kiss on the cheek before he's rushing out your front door. He often also over compensated with gifts sending you flowers and designer bags in attempts to make up for lost time. You didn't mind much as you know how much his job meant to him and the time with him was special. You just wished he'd take some time off and look after himself.

Yet today when you turned up at his office you find it empty and his assistant rushing around the building you were questioning everything. He never misses work. Its all he does. You rush up to his assistant Armin but he doesn't even allow you to speak and just says

'He called in sick with a cold. Sounded bad but now I have to run the whole business and I cant find the damn stapler' he groans rummaging through boxes in Eren's office.

Usually he's so prepared and calm, apparently not today. You just nod and wish him luck before spotting the stapler handing it to him and heading out hearing Armin's relief behind you. Although you didn't like Eren being sick this was the perfect opportunity to spoil him. You head to the nearest shop and grab medicine, ingredients for soup and other things to help soothe him. Before you know it your standing outside the door of his penthouse ringing the bell. Eren opens the door wrapped in a blanket with a pack of tissues in his hands.

'oh hey' he says.

'hey, I'm sorry I heard you were sick and you weren't answering your phone so I just thought Id come and help I dont mean to intru-' you start blabbering and before you can finish Eren pulls you inside.

'I'm so glad your here' he says nuzzling into you. You simile and hold him for a while, running your fingers through his hair not caring about catching his illness only focusing on spoiling your boyfriend. After noticing the bags you brough Eren helps you put the ingredients and things away. After its done you place your palm on his forehead in attempt to check his temperature.

'Eren you so cold! come on you need a bath' you say pulling him to the bathroom. You dismiss his groans and begin to run a bath with bubble bath and lighting some candles while he sits on the counter starting at you.

'I'm not that sick' He says

'Eren your struggling to breathe, your freezing cold and you look like you haven't slept' you say rolling his eyes at his attempts to pretend he's perfectly fine. 'Let me look after you for once. please. I promise you'll feel better. I'll make you feel good'

'mhm I bet you will baby' Eren says before he's sneezing like crazy.

'come on love get in' you say ignoring his comments and starting to help him out of his clothes

'only if you join me' Eren winks at you. You know he wont leave it alone. 'Fine' you say before taking off your own clothes and getting in behind him his body barely fitting in the tub. You lavish him in soap slowly massaging it into his back and shoulders getting out all of the knots while he just groans and lays his head back on your shoulder allowing all of his stresses to fade away.

Once your finally out of the bath and ensure his temperature is back to normal, his body is too relaxed to do anything but sleep so you just help him change and get him into his bed.

'stay' he says with his eyes half shut clinging onto your body 'please'

'okay' you say glad you finally get to stay with him for a night. You cuddle up next to him under the covers and he nuzzles into your shoulder.

'I really like you' He begins blabbering in his delirious state 'like, really like you'. You only giggle in response running your fingers through his long brown hair. he hums at the feeling 'I like when you do that. Dont stop'.

'Dont ever leave me'

'Never'

masterlist

#eren yaeger #eren x reader #eren x y/n #eren yeager #shingeki no kyoujin eren #eren jaeger #kentosbabes #eren x you #snk eren #i want him so bad #im so delusional #eren #aot eren #aot #attack on titan eren #attack on titan #eren drabble

[ai-luni]

Another anon who is lowkey (highkey) a whore for Hesh here 🥰

Birthday sex followed by a "oh you can't walk?" Sort of next day?

This is a Hesh whore house, you're very welcome here!

It's His Birthday

David "Hesh" Walker x Fem!Reader

A/N: This became much longer than I thought it would end up. Please excuse how dramatic I get when I have to write smut. Also why there are so many similes, idk i'm sorry. Mystery for the ages.

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: smut. Straight up. Overstimulation.

Where it started:

5:00pm, San Diego, Hesh’s birthday. 

You were parked outside of a restaurant with a large dinner reservation for the two of you and the rest of the ghosts. The plan was to meet at 5 but now it was 15 past and you were desperately trying to reapply your lipstick while Hesh spat at the taste of a makeup wipe in the driver's seat. 

“You’re not meant to eat it.” You gave the snarky comment once satisfied with your lipstick, now turning your attention to the boy that was basically sucking on the thing. Snatching the wipe out of his hand, you cleaned the coloured residue lining his lips. Gently, his gaze was fixed, mesmerised by the way your freshly coloured lips parted in concentration. 

You held the cold wipe to his chin as you lifted his head up, allowing himself to close his eyes now that he no longer had a good view of you. Instead enjoy the feeling of your fingers outlined by the rag, over, across, under his chin. Enough to pull an erotic groan from his throat. You couldn’t be any later without raising suspicion but fuck if the way his adam’s apple bobbed didn’t make you want to give up and drive into a alleyway. 

“How’d we manage to get it on your chin?” With a long restrained sigh, he looked back down at you. The silence was so deafening, you had to cough out a giggle to break the tension. The intensity of his gaze didn’t crack though. Instead he gave you that stupid ‘I have you in the palm of my hand’ smirk, eyebrows raised. 

“Let’s do it again and find out.” 

You weren’t going to let him win this one. 

You left him, one foot after the other out of the car. Topped off with a slow spin around to face him once more. Shoulders dipped enough to peak at the boy readjusting his belt. You thought about retorting with some kind of witty comeback but just seeing the man you loved in that suit. That white button up and those navy trousers. It wipes your mind clear. 

“I’m not wearing any panties.” 

-

5:25 

Finally you dragged him into the restaurant, all the boys cleaned up real nice. Merrick was still wearing jeans but sometimes you just have to pick your battles. They all stood and made a controllable racket. A soft chorus of “Finally!” “Hey you two!” “Where have you been!” “Took you long enough!” welcomed you as you and Hesh were being guided to the back of the place. 

It was Elias who greeted you two first, giving you a hug and passing you to Logan. When he met Hesh however, he let out a hearty chuckle. You could hear the pat on his back reverberate through him as they both beamed with proud smiles.

“Happy birthday my boy.” 

And down the line until you found your seats. 

6:57 

To say you had a few drinks would be an understatement, some of you already finishing your third of the night. The waitress for your table seemed a little intimidated by the rows of large men now getting rowdier by the glass, she would approach the table by your side which gave you the perfect opportunity to ask for the cake. She gave you a little nod, taking away as many plates as she could. 

Half of the table was absorbed in a conversation you couldn’t really be bothered to make out but amongst the smiles and cheers, you didn’t really mind. You were certain they were the loudest guests this restaurant would have in a good while. The boys were too hesitant with the flashiness of the place at first but the food was good, the drinks were good, the place was clean and the people were nice. It was all worth the treat. 

You just allowed yourself to sit back and enjoy the ecstasy of the moment. Your left hand subconsciously rests on the back of Hesh’s right tricep, tracing where the bottom star is tattooed on his skin with your pointer finger. His attention squares in on you within a second, phasing out of the conversation and in your bubble with ease. 

“You alright, doll?” He breathes out, dragging the corners of his lips up with it.

“Yeah.” 

“I could get used to seeing you like this. Should take you out more.” 

“You treat me just fine as it is.” With that you cross your leg, skirt riding up in the process. Your nail now trailing over his shoulder blade and he shivered in response, just as you were anticipating. He wanted to retaliate, he wanted to get you back the way you were playing him. You could see it in his eyes as he forced them not to lock on one place too long on you but his mouth went dry. He only licked his lip, considering what he possibly could say from his repertoire of ‘things that wind you up’ that wouldn’t get him in trouble in front of his family and team. 

He was saved by the cake. 

He rolled his eyes as the rest of you raised your drinks to him, all the attention placed on him solely. The waitress reached over your shoulder to place it in front of the man now holding his face from embarrassment. Another waiter pulled out a lighter for the few candles you brought to put on top. The rest of the table was too busy adding fuel to your own fire. 

“Happy birthday to yoOuUuU!” You moved to Logan’s shoulder seeing who could sing the best, most obnoxious riff. Hesh’s eyes - though his face was red - were filled with pure adoration. Adopting the exact proud expression his father makes, like all of his dreams have been fulfilled and preserved on a silver platter. 

“Make a wish, baby!” You yelled once the lot were done singing off key, to which he complied. His smile only grew wider, looking directly into your pupil before blowing out the candles. The waitress took the cake away again to slice it. You finally returned to your seat with a hand immediately resting on your thigh. 

“Thank you, doll.” He gave you a squeeze and your head was sent into a spin. It was the moment you knew you’d made it over the peak of the night and now the thought of him taking you home again was just over the horizon. You couldn’t think of anything else. 

-

It was another hour of cake and coffee before goodbyes were said. And only one thing dwindled in your thoughts. His hand was on you the rest of the night, under the table, in the car and up to the door of your apartment. 

The warm palm on the small of your back was intoxicating, cologne still strong and suffocating. You could only hold your confidence for so long until the only thing holding your hips up was him holding you up.     

8:49 

The keys jingled in your grip, you couldn’t control them, your hands were shaking. Somehow you knew the moment that door closed, it’d be the beginning of your ruin. You tried to play the game with him but he was too good, you knew he played you right into his hands. The touches, the looks, the smiles, the smell, the comfortable silence. You were in the eye of the storm and anticipation was never one to calm a heartbeat. 

His hand cupped your hip, moving you over enough to take the key and unlock the door for you. But he didn’t open it, not yet. The sound was enough to wake Riley though, faintly through the door was the sound of scurrying paws across the floor and the thud of his nose to the door.

You felt paralysed as he pushed your back against the door. Hands to hips, the man towered over you, a wicked grin setting across his face, lighting up his eyes. His left hand travelled to your thigh, guiding itself inside the tight fabric to your hip. Confirming there was in fact no strap. He just groaned and dug his nails into you like he teeth did your lower lip. 

Your hands were gripping the growing hair behind his ears. Soft lips over yours like nuzzling your head into a pillow. Neck craning to keep your lips locked longer, just a little longer. A shadow of smoke from the volcano, mixing your warm breaths and the air from your nostrils turns to an eruption, his burning tongue to your upper lip, lapping up the dripping saliva from your teeth to your own tongue. 

A burning metal rod wouldn’t feel as intense as he did to you, hands grasping at the flesh that joins your ass and back. One steadied under and the other over the dress pulling you closer to him. 

You pulled your head back a millimetre and his neck acted on instinct, reconnecting your lips with the clunk of your noses colliding, teeth grazing each other’s for not even a quarter of a second but the nerves on the bottom of your feet could feel it. You needed more, you couldn't stop. A moan partially made it out of your mouth, and the momentum you’ve built endures the more he lifts his head. 

The fingers of his left hand knead your bare skin, the other arm bracing itself on the door. You kissed his chin like it could kissing back, soon dragging your tongue in a straight line down Adam's apple to his collarbone. 

“Shit.” He spat out.  

With your face buried in the crook of his head, his forehead fell forward knocking on the door. Riley’s continuous sniffing under the crack of the door, restless tippy taps reacted quicker than expected, letting out an alarmed bark. The both of you brought back to reality. This was a communal hallway and he almost had you half naked. 

“David, we have to go inside.” Your forehead was now resting on his heaving chest with a clear view of the tent in his pants. He only shook his head, still resting against the door. He slowly dragged his fingertips out of your dress, not bothering to readjust it back down. He brought his own palm to his crotch as you watched. 

He thought about you, his hand petting through the trousers fabric like he has many times before and your name slipped through his lips out of habit. His skin was hot, his skin was burning and any noise he made was more out of impatience than it was from pleasure. 

“It’s my birthday.” Was all he said as he pushed you further into the door. Another knock caused the excited dog on the other side to bark again. 

“Fine.” He sighed, defeated and desperate. 

You pulled away from each other, skin dripping with sin it almost stained the concrete floor you stood on. He couldn’t help it, he glanced at the two other doors on your floor. A smile suggesting they’re in for it just as long as you are. And with a cheeky slap to the ass, he followed you inside. 

9:07

“Hey boy.” Hesh greeted Riley, giving his coat a gentle ruffle and a solid pat to the side. The shepherd dog circled him then ran by your side to say hello. Satisfied, he left you two in the kitchen to lay back down in the living room. 

You turned on the kettle. His eyes snapped to you with almost a hint of venom. 

“What are you doing?” he asked, slow tactical steps approaching the island like he was clearing a room. 

“Making a tea.” It took everything within you to keep your composure, your dress barely covered your crotch and was bunched at your waist, your lipstick now a faint haze around your lips. You turn to look at him, arms crossed like he hadn’t just pulled you to bits in the hallway. “You want one?” 

He stood in disbelief, certain he had already won. Certain he had whittled you down to nothing but the prize in the middle of a parcel, yet here you were still playing. In truth, your stomach was completely twisted, you were scared and evaluating what, if anything, you had to do tomorrow and if it would actually be plausible to complete. Even the coloured marks down his stained chin and neck did nothing but make you groan in the back of your throat. 

That was his last straw, he couldn’t stall it anymore.

9:14 

“You’re fucking ridiculous.” You were over his shoulder, the boiling of the kettle fainter and fainter as you entered the bedroom. You were tossed onto the bed over at least two metres. His footsteps heavy, ripping his shirt off by the button. 

He ate it up, every bit of it. Your big doe eyes, parted lip, dazed eyelids with blown out pupils bound to roll back second. He held your ankle in his hand, undoing the fiddly little strap of your heel. You began on the other foot but he only swatted your hand away.

“I’m a big boy. I can do it.” 

When he was done with one, he threw the shoe over his shoulder and your leg to the side of the bed. Same with the other foot, leaving your legs wide open and dress completely collected on your waist. 

He’d been waiting all day for this, all month. This wasn’t the first time he had you this week but today it just felt different and he had to make sure you felt it.

He held his arms out, gripping your ankles to get a good look at your pantiless pussy. You felt a gust of warm air as he let out a sigh. The man licks his lips, a feral instinctive look in his eye. But he wanted to ease you into it. As much as he wanted it now, he knew it would be so much fun if he took his time. 

What he did want right that second however was that dress off you. Hands now gripping your hips, he yanks you forward off the bed, resting all your weight on him. He was now on his knees as well as he brought you into a searing kiss. A bruising rough.. 

His fingers were clawing at the bottom of your dress, peeling it off until you stopped him at your ribcage. 

“There’s a zipper in the back.” With that you turned on your knees for him. He zipped it without a second thought. 

Just the sight of you stepping out of your dress like it was nothing, like it wasn’t driving him absolutely mad. The sight of you swaying that ass in front of his face.

He needed his pants off. Now.

You hadn’t even turned around to see him before a hand pushed your naked back forward over the bed. With your head now on the bed in front of you, you looked back between your legs to see your boy, unbuckling his belt at rapid speed. He’d just started at the button on his trousers and in anticipation, you swayed your hips a little more in clear view for him. 

“Shit.” He grunted, instantly latching his warm tongue to your thigh. His actions were so impulsive, like it was this or death. Licking a trail of arousal that had been falling down your thigh since you made it into the apartment. Then he dove straight into the layers of your pussy. 

You watched with half lidded eyelids as he pulled his dick out, pants still on and too impatient to yank his boxers down properly. 

9.46

“Oh god” you cried out, pussy throbbing against his tongue as it ran across your vulva like sorting through a filing cabinet. The clicking of saliva echoed through the room, moving his tongue at a rapid speed. His breath laced with his vocal chords with every huff and grunt and slurp. Lips enveloping your pussy like a last meal. 

Then his tongue found your clit, his nose nudging your entrance, breathing in your arousal. He circled it, tongue pointed, muscle tensed. 

“Oh my- David!” your hips bucking against him, you needed more.

“Say it again, doll” He shoved his tongue into your vagina, scraping any service he could find. The taste soaking into the layers of his taste buds and you clamped around him. 

You only opened your eyes for a moment to see him jerking himself off with one hand, his other hand was on your ass but you were so enthralled with the pleasure, you couldn’t care to notice. 

The noises were absurd, you were drooling. And yet his name never stayed on the tip of your tongue too long, jumping out whenever it could until you started chanting for more until there wasn’t anything else to ask for. 

“Come on, baby. Come on, doll.” He whispers into your pussy, his breath lighting every nerve like a control board of buttons. You felt him everywhere, the tight rope in your stomach pulling you up and down, tightening and squeezing. Your orgasm coming in as hot as a blowtorch and his kiss broke the creme brulee crust. The sticky, slurping of his folded lips, his tongue lining and carding through you. It was almost a cooling sensation. An anecdote. 

But it kept coming and coming, like a lag in all your pleas for more but each finally being fulfilled one after another. And he drank it all. Any fluid you gave him, he drank it and enjoyed it. Himself almost let go but he pulled his hand off him whenever he felt close to the edge. He didn’t want to slow down so he needed to stay a little more comfortable. 

9:52

“David, DAVID” You were clawing at the bed sheets for your dear life. Your spine jerking like a child safety lid turned the wrong way. Cranking to something that had already long happened but kept going. The movement was so involuntary you cried out to him. 

“DaVID I came! I came already!” Your voice was muffled in the sheets, your tears staining the sheets. He only pulled away for a second. 

“More.” 

And he was back at it, one hand still barely working on himself while the other was back on your foot. His thumb deeply massaging into the sole of your foot. 

All you could think of was David, all he could think of was you. 

Your stomach hollowed and you were on the verge of screaming. Your pussy burnt but continued to leak for him. 

He got you again. Your knees buckled and he caught you with both hands keeping you steady. You spasmed and stuttered through your who knows what numbered orgasm, voice desperate to say something, anything, with no breath to do so. 

“Shit baby, almost there.” You could’ve sworn you had squirted on him. Your stomach muscles contracting and releasing by the millisecond, toes flexed. You saw white spots, fluctuating and flashing just for you. 

10:05 

The soonest moment you physically could, you gasped for air. Climbing onto the bed before the boy could catch you. You were still trembling, hips bucking into nothing, lips wide open and you wouldn’t dare open your eyes yet. 

You only heard him chuckle and felt him fall on the bed next to you.

“You’re done huh?” he asked, voice too amused for his own neglected state. You only nodded your head while trying to catch your breath and regulate the tears falling from your eyes. 

“Sure you don’t have another one in you?” You shook your head with what energy you had left. You knew it was going to happen again tonight anyway but for this moment, you had no capacity to think or speak. He pulled you to his chest, pants still shamelessly riding his thighs. You laid on top of him, fighting against your body curling up on itself. 

He stroked your hair. He kissed the crown of your head and closed his eyes in content. Mouth wet and covered in your arousal. 

You could feel how hot he was, you could feel how hard he was. You were slowly regaining your conscious mind and after all, it was his birthday.

“Just give me a minute.” you sighed out into his chest and joined him in enjoying the satisfaction of the moment. 

- 

5:30am

There was a gentle clawing at the door. In the grogginess of what you think was just about 4 hours of sleep, Riley woke you up. It’s still pretty early, both you and Hesh being early risers but Hesh still looked completely out cold so you knew you’d have to deal with Riley this morning. 

Your body ached. Sore in places that hadn’t been felt in a good while. You tried to move as slowly as you could, both not to wake David up and because it would be too painful to move too quickly. Your left foot was completely asleep, nerves turned off that it almost made you consider just not getting up at all. But Riley’s whimpers pressured you up anyway. 

One foot at a time you dragged your legs off the mattress. Your hips ached like a raging siren. Any time your panties shifted and grazed you in a certain spot, a gasp left your lips before you could stop it. 

Just take it slow, you’re not that pathetic. 

Holding the bedside table for dear life, you tried to stand up. Right foot taking all your weight. Now take a deep breath. 

Testing the waters, you shift your weight, hoping to balance it out. Tripping over nothing, you are just hobbling into the wall. 

“Ow.” You let out louder than intended. “Shit”

There was a rustling of fabric behind you, you looked over your shoulder cautiously, not daring to make a sound. Your mission failed, Hesh was awake.

“Why’s Riley crying?” His voice was groggy, it was sexy. He didn’t roll over so you felt safe if you kept quiet. 

“He has to go to the bathroom.” You let out, trying not to reveal any of the pain you were feeling. 

“What time is it?” He was sitting up now. You felt so dumb, you knew he would be way too cocky for the rest of the day if he knew just how much he ruined you. He begun to turn around when you didn’t reply, “Hey, are you alri-” 

And there you were, clenching the wall for dear life, legs trembling uncontrollably. Skin hot and red and bruised, hair a mess with residue lipstick colour staining your swollen and bruised lips. 

“Oh.” there was that wicked smirk again. He knew he won the game and took the prize. He made his bed and slept in it. It definitely woke him up though. Who cares if he still had lipstick staining his chin too. 

He got out of the bed, chucking on a shirt and a pair of pants. Passing you with a kiss to the cheek. 

“Stay here, I’ll be right back.” With that he left you holding the wall. You listened as he took Riley outside, took him into the kitchen and then like it was in slow motion, you heard every step he took back to the bedroom. 

You hadn’t moved a muscle, you weren’t sure you could. And he chuckled and it made you mad but you laughed with him. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up, doll.” The rest of the morning was spent in his arms. He held you up in the shower, he carried you to the kitchen counter. Whatever you thought you might get done today definitely was going to happen. But a day was never a waste if it was spend with Hesh.

#cod #call of duty #call of duty ghosts #david hesh walker #hesh #hesh walker #hesh walker x you #hesh walker x reader

[orqheuss]

Anything to make you smile

(Sebastian/GN!Reader FLUFF) leaning a little on the MLM side, but pretty much gender neutral. it's like one line, and i'm probably overthinking it lol

Summary:

Sebastian, remembering you lamenting about not being able to experience going to Hogwarts as a first year, decides to take you on a romantic boat ride so you could enjoy the journey from Hogsmeade like he did as an eleven year old. Too bad he forgot one crucial thing: he was terrified of the Black Lake.

Word count: 4.7k

Tags: fluff, fear of water, mentions of drowning, requited love, insecurities, Sebastian being incredibly soft, probably too many similes regarding stars/space

AN: I remember seeing a bit of dialogue in the game about Sebastian being afraid of the Black Lake because he fell in in his first year, and I had to write some cute fluff with it

“I’ve been thinking—”

“A dreadful idea, truly.” 

“I’ve been thinking,” Sebastian said, annoyed at being interrupted by his friend, “that our new friend never got to experience seeing Hogwarts from the boats during first year.” 

Ominis looked in his friend’s direction over the top of the Daily Prophet he was currently scanning, pausing in his reading of an intriguing article talking about the winter’s newest fashion trends to reply. “Well, I never really saw it either, you know.” 

A scoff came from the brunette across from him, Sebastian leveling him with an unamused stare that his friend may not have been able to see, but he definitely would be able to feel. 

“You know what I mean, you blighter.” 

The blond chuckled lightly to himself, a sardonic glee in his tone. “Please explain further, then. I am not a mind reader, Sebastian.” He said, fluffing the paper once again before going back to scanning his fingers across the braille. 

Sebastian quickly got up from his seat, rounding the long table they were seated at in the Great Hall before sliding into the seat next to the Gaunt boy, taking the paper from his hands and throwing it on the table. The brunette leaned heavily against the other Slytherin, ignoring his stutters in protest at their close proximity as he wrapped his arm around his shoulder and gestured outwards with his free hand, painting a picture with his words. 

“Just imagine it, Ominis! It’s halfway through our seventh year, and they have never experienced the beauty of seeing the castle at night over the Black Lake. Not like this, at least.” He looked at his friend, adjusting his hold so he had him by both of the shoulders. “It would be the perfect night, my friend. Snow falling all around us, not one person out because of the cold weather outside. Stars all across the sky for as far as the eye can see above us as we sail in from Hogsmeade station. The water still and quiet around us as we lean close for warmth. Well, I can’t think of anything more romantic, can you?” 

Ominis looked at Sebastian with a blank stare, his eyes barely hiding his contempt as he pinched the boy’s green cloak sleeves between his finger and thumb, picking up the hands on his shoulders and dropping them back to the brunette’s sides. His glare was scathing as he scooted purposely farther away from his touch, trying to gain back some semblance of the personal space his friend was hellbent on decreasing. 

The blond sighed in exasperation, almost hearing that stupid grin of Sebastian’s stretch across his cheeks. “Yes, I imagine that would be very romantic. Why this though? There are thousands of other things they missed leading up to fifth year.” 

Sebastian scoffed again, like the question was completely preposterous. “Surely you remember the feeling of going across the lake? It was magical! Much more magical than anything else in the castle. And, that was when you and I met! You must remember that day fondly.” 

Ominis tutted, rolling his eyes at the brunette’s antics and grumbling under his breath. “What I remember is you and Anne almost sending us tumbling into the water from your incessant movement.” He sighed, accepting his fate in this conversation. “How do you plan on getting them to join you, then? Aren’t they quite focused on studying for our NEWTs? Something you should also be focusing on, mister-future-healer?” 

Silence spanned between the two friends as Sebastian’s grin only got wider, mischief swimming in his brown eyes as he looked at the Gaunt boy piece together his plan without words. A light-bulb went off in Ominis’ mind, the quiet smugness of his friend the only answer he needed to his questions; he could feel his eyes burning into the side of his face, mapping his expressions like one would map out the seven seas. His eyebrows furrowed downwards, his nose wrinkling and a frown taking over his angular face as he waved his hands in front of him.

“Absolutely not! I am not going to help you sneak out after curfew just so you can woo them with your little plan. You promised you would stop using my prefect privileges for your own personal gain.” 

The brunette leaned closer to the blond again, jutting out his bottom lip in an entirely insincere pout as he pleaded his case, his hands clasped in front of him like a beggar. 

“Oh please, prefect Ominis! Help me woo the person of my dreams before I die a lonely bachelor in the countryside— only a tiny crop of chickens and cows to keep me company until I die all alone, no one to carry on the Sallow name.” 

Ominis looked at him with distaste, vexation screaming in his unforgiving gaze. “Anne is still very much alive, Sebastian, and courting someone right now, lest you forgot. The Sallow bloodline will continue on for the unforeseeable future— much longer than it likely should, I would say.” 

A gasp accosted his ears as the freckled boy moved out of his space, crossing his arms indignantly across his chest and glowering as his friend reached down to grab his copy of the Daily Prophet for the third time in their lunch period. “You’re quite rude, you know.” 

Ominis hummed, trying to ignore the pestering Sallow and continue reading his article. Sebastian, of course, was not having that as he wrenched the paper from his hands once again, folding it neatly into fourths, before throwing it over his shoulder and nearly into the crackling fireplace just beyond. 

The blond groaned, throwing his head back towards the ceiling in exasperation. “Sebastian, for Merlin’s sake, I was reading that—” 

The brunette cut him off quickly, his tone nearing a whine. “Please, mate. I really need your help with this one— the professors have been breathing down my neck since I set a niffler loose in the trophy room. I can’t take a piss without Sharp being outside the door!” 

The wiry boy leaned his chin against his hand, resting his weight on the table as he, albeit begrudgingly, laughed lightly through his nose. “That one was pretty good, I must say.” 

Sebastian sighed, happily reliving the memory of the tiny, furry thing running around and grabbing at anything shiny with its little paws. “Like a third year in Honeydukes for the first time. But, anyway— please, my dearest friend. I will do anything.” He lowered his head, murmuring like his next words were a secret that no one else could know. “I really like them, Ominis. I truly mean it. I just want this to be perfect.” 

Ominis pondered for a moment, the cogs turning in his head loud enough that the brunette could almost hear them, before sighing heavily, his shoulders slumping in resignation. A grin began to break across the freckled Slytherin’s face when the blond turned in his direction, his finger jabbing at the air near him and an exuberantly miffed expression on his face. 

“You are doing my potions essays for the next month.” 

The brunette silently cheered, quickly accio-ing the discarded Daily Prophet back into his hand before unfolding it and handing it to his friend. “Deal! Oh, I could kiss you right now!” 

The blond ducked his head, his cheeks coloring a light pink from the verbal affection as he hid his face in the newspaper, humming lightly as a quick “you’re welcome.” Before the jovial Slytherin could bound away from the table, excitement shedding from him in thick waves, a thought surged to the forefront of Ominis’ mind, causing him to snicker silently to himself. 

“Wait, don’t you remember what happened the last time you went near the Black Lake—”

“Oh pshaw, Ominis! That was years ago, I am a changed man!” Sebastian mused, puffing his chest out like a preening peafowl. 

The blond shook his head, finally going back to the article he was determined to finish. “Whatever you say, Sallow.” 

Sebastian was, decidedly, not a changed man as he looked across the inky darkness of the Black Lake, a shiver moving up his spine that was most definitely not from the chill in the air. As soon as the vast lake breached his vision, his nerves were a jumbled mess under his ribs. Sweat beaded at his brow, the little droplets making their way down his cheek before he can wipe them away and catching in the sage green of his scarf, dying it forest in small, oblong-shaped splotches. As if part of some anxiety induced checklist, his hands then began to shake at his sides, sending tiny tremors up his arms until they reached his stone-still shoulders— taut and harsher than the winter chill coloring the tips of his ears rose. It felt like his heart could fail at any moment, the organ roughly slamming against the expanse of his sternum like a Cornish Pixie in a birdcage, begging to be let out so it could wreak havoc across the entire Highlands.  

He’s had this same reaction around the lake since first year; he didn’t know why tonight would be any different. 

It was amazing the emotional response a little body of water could create. 

Voices crested over the roar in his ears, your sweet cadence floating through the wind like a summer song, mingling with the soft laughter of Ominis, and making his cheeks grow warmer with happiness. Sebastian quickly righted himself against the wall at the sound of you approaching, smoothing down his cable-knit sweater and straightening the collar of his winter jacket as he tried to look as nonchalant as possible; he was terribly hopeful that his nerves were not as obvious as he felt they were. 

Your words reached him first, a soft laugh in your tone as you chatted with the young blond. “Ominis, where are you taking me so late at night? What is this big surprise?” 

The boy chuckled, unable to be anything but happy in your presence— you were the physical embodiment of sunshine on a cloudless day. “I cannot say any more than I already have, my dear— just that Sebastian asked me to fetch you and bring you to the underground dock, and have you dress warm.” 

You huffed, the sound of your steps rounding the corner from the tiny lift and making your way towards the quietly nervous brunette. “If pretty boy gets me another detention, I’m going to wring his little neck.” 

A smirk grew across Sebastian’s face. Pretty boy? That was new. 

As you turned the final corner meters under the Viaduct Courtyard, you stopped dead in your tracks at the brunette waiting for you there, nearly sending Ominis tumbling to the ground from your sudden pause. You had known Sebastian for some time— seen him out of his school uniform on multiple occasions— but something about him being there waiting for you, casually leaning against the wall and a smirk on his face like a Gladrags model, made your heart skip a beat. His hair was wind tousled in the best way, the curls of it snug around the conch of his ear and brushing against the freckles stretching along his sideburns. The brunette was dressed smartly— neat, you would even say, something that you didn’t see much from him with his proclivity to having a romp around the Hamlet’s whenever he wished. There was not one speck of dirt on him, not one piece of clothing out of place. The forest green Slytherin jumper tucked into his black slacks hugged his body in a delicious way, the soft looking fabric hanging just the right amount to accent his shape and the color making the golden hues in his eyes look like tiny fires. When those eyes met yours, softening under your gaze before sliding away for just a second to acknowledge the boy just behind you, it was like time itself stopped. 

“Thank you again, Ominis. I appreciate it.” 

You squeezed the blond’s hand once in thanks, feeling him reciprocate the gesture before turning on the balls of his feet and making his way back to his prefect rounds, calling over his shoulder as he left. 

“Potions essays, Sebastian. One month!” 

Sebastian rolled his eyes at his friend, pushing off from the wall and making his way towards you, holding out his hand for you to take. 

“Pretty boy?” He said, smirking at the light pink that took over the tips of your ears. 

You playfully shoved his shoulder, laughing as he dramatically winced before taking his hand in yours, noticing its slight tremor but not saying anything on the matter. Perhaps he was as nervous about this outing as you were? You let him lead you towards the waiting boat docked just to the side. “Like you haven’t been called pretty before, Sallow.” 

He chuckled under his breath, helping you down into the tiny boat before untying the mooring line and stepping on himself, pushing off from the dock and letting the magical boat take you out over the lake. “Yes, but never by you.” 

You smirked, pretending his words didn’t fluster you endlessly as you flirted back. “Well, I suppose I need to say it more often then, don’t I?” 

There was something unidentifiable in his eyes when he looked at you, the moon catching on his irises and making the color look like melted cosmos. “Only if I can do the same in return.” 

Your heart leapt into your throat at how serious he sounded suddenly, taking in his all encompassing stare and the way the water reflected off his hair like curls of seaweed in the depths below. Clearing your throat around the lump of nerves restricting your airway, you cast your gaze across the lake before you, breathing in the beauty of the cool winter night swimming through the trees of the Forbidden Forest just across the bay. 

“So, Sebastian, why did you have Ominis drag me out of bed at this ungodly hour to meet you on a rickety old dock?” 

He smiled at you, one of those big ones that took up his entire face and made the butterflies in your stomach slam against your ribs, before throwing his arms out— freckled hands like asteroids against the never-ending night sky. 

“Welcome to your first and only Hogwarts boat ride!” 

A laugh bubbles out of your chest as his theatrics, your eyes confused but alight with mirth. He sees your puzzlement and continues his speech, hoping to clarify a little more. “When first years arrive at Hogwarts, they’re taken across the Black Lake instead of having to ride in on the carriages— a right of passage, so to speak. Since you joined us so late, I thought you might enjoy participating in something you missed out on.” 

Your eyes softened at his words, your chest warming at the care he put into this idea of his. No one had ever done anything so sweet for you before. You had known before this night that you cared for the boy, much deeper than a friendship, but this truly solidified it for you.

You leaned your elbow against your knee, dropping your chin into your palm as you continued to stare at the gorgeous boy. “That is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. Thank you, Sebastian.” 

He smiled again— softer, gentler, kinder. “You deserve it, darling.” 

Your heart soared. Darling. 

You both sat in a comfortable silence as the boat dredged on, leaving little ripples through the black waters below that made everything look out of a storybook. The trees around you looked almost human in the winter light, the cool moon casting shadows across their branches until they looked like arms linked together in a forever dance. The calls of jobberknolls sang through your ears with a sweet musicality, swaddling the night in a calming ambiance that warmed you to your very soul. It was like you had sailed into a painting, the brush strokes of the stars above you swirling around in swatches of navy blue and pearlescent ivory. Even still, the glorious beauty of the world around you didn’t hold a candle to the man you were with. 

Your eyes drank him in like an alcoholic downed shots of firewhiskey, taking in everything he was offering you that night and even more. You weren’t lying before, he truly was pretty. Sebastian Sallow was always the talk of the girls dorm; it was all you heard when you first arrived. He had filled out some since then, his boyish charm giving way to the dashing man before you. He looked breathtaking in the moonlight, all shadow and mystery until you reached his eyes— like sunsets and midnight's meeting each evening in a burst of oranges and golds; halcyon. Liquid gold, you called them. Never to anyone else, especially Ominis, just to yourself. His eyes were your own personal Felix Felicis. While you couldn’t see it behind you, the lights of the castle caught on the tiny dots of freckles scattered across his cheeks, turning them into the glowing constellations just above your heads— you didn’t need to look to know that the entire sky was right there with you, within arms reach for the first time. Not even the most noteworthy, the most famous astronomers could say the same. 

Focusing your eyes again, you caught him gazing at you with what was likely a very similar look to the one you were sporting. He seemed just as enthralled as you were, looking at you like he was but a simple stargazer and you were a fleeting comet, something that only came around once in a lifetime— like he wanted nothing more than to chart your path for the rest of his life, just content in following you until you burnt out in a great ball of flame and stardust. There was something else in his eyes, though, something concerning. His pupils shifted around, one moment looking at you and the next glaring at the forest or at the water below like it affronted him. His fingers were white against the mahogany-toned boat, his knuckles nearing a muted purple from the cold and the strength he was using to keep himself still. You could tell he was trying to hide it, but a brave smirk could only hide so much if it was also wobbly at the corners. Could it be anxiety? Nerves for a first date? You were feeling similar things, if that was the case. The atmosphere was certainly romantic. But, if that wasn’t the reason, what was going on with him? 

Your answer came upon docking at Hogsmeade, your little boat jostling against the wooden pier near the train station and sending you rocking about, waves crashing against the helm in its wake. Sebastian looked like he had seen the ghost of his late parents, eyes wide and the whites of his sclera ghastly. The wood under his hands creaked as he grasped at it even tighter, surely burying little splinters into his skin that would certainly persist for days after. That was when it dawned on you: he was scared. 

Your concern grew exponentially seeing him like this— you had never seen him this frightened before. Prying one of his hands from the starboard, you gently cradled it in yours, forcing him to look away from the onyx water and meet your gaze. Your eyes were soft and questioning when you spoke, your tone caring and inquisitive. “What’s going through that mind of yours, Sebastian? Why are you so afraid right now?” 

He sighed heavily, his shoulders already relaxing minutely at the warmth of your hand in his. He desperately hoped that you wouldn’t notice his anxious energy. “I thought I was hiding it well. Nothing gets past you, I guess.” He took a deep breath, like preparing to confess his sins at the pews of Notre Dame. Your heart constricted with your own nerves. “I’m afraid of the Black Lake. I thought everything would be fine for this trip— thought I’d grown out of it. I see now that I have not.” 

Sebastian didn’t think your expression could get any softer as he looked at you through his eyelashes, wholeheartedly embarrassed because of his unprecedented fear. It was just a bloody body of water, for Merlin’s sake! He was supposed to be the best duelist in the school— the bravest Slytherin to walk the halls of Hogwarts since Salazar himself! He had cleared out caverns of inferi, taken down countless camps of Ashwinder’s and poachers, killed hundreds of Goblin’s during Ranrok’s rebellion; but he drew the line at some dark water? 

Your soothing voice broke him from his self loathing, setting his heart aflame in his chest. “Why are you afraid of the Black Lake?” His eyes darkened at your question, filling with apprehension— shoulders stiffening to an intense degree like he was considering fleeing rather than answering the question. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but know that I would never judge you for something you were afraid of, even if it was a bit silly.” 

He sighed again, his shoulders sagging again and his hand gripping yours with a firmer grip. He began to glide his thumb across your knuckles to self-soothe as he began the story. “I fell in during my first year— decided it would be a good idea to mess around on the docks of the boat house. I knew how to swim by then, but I got snagged by some of the seaweed under the pier. Would have drowned if it wasn’t for the giant squid. Didn’t even know how it happened— one minute I thought I was a goner and the next I was coughing up lungfuls of lake water, watching this gigantic tentacle disappear back into the depths.” 

Sebastian shivered as he relived the memory, turning his chin downwards so he didn’t have to look when you inevitably started laughing at his blunder. It was a foolish fear, he told himself. How could he still be afraid after all this time? It wouldn’t surprise him if you decided to leave right then and fly back to the castle on your own. 

Instead, you did the opposite. You shifted closer to the boy, taking his face into your unoccupied hand and tilting it so he was looking into your eyes again. You could see his insecurity in them, the embarrassment and fear swirling around the copper color and settling in the inky black of his pupil. Your smile did not leave your face as you gazed at him, your thumb running across his cheekbone and your heart swelling with love as he leaned into your touch.

“Seems like a perfectly logical fear to me.” 

He chuckled, all air and no sound but still filled with so much relief. “If you say so. I still think it's quite stupid, if I’m honest.” 

You shook your head, giggling softly as a thought dawned on you. “Why did you take me out on the boat if you were scared? I would’ve been happy doing anything with you.” 

He looked away then, gently pulling your hand from his cheek and holding it in his lap with your other one, still entwined with his. A soft blush crept up his neck, making his skin look otherworldly in the moonlight. “I thought you would like it. You mentioned missing out on some things because you started so late, so I wanted to give you one of my favorite experiences from my first year.” His gaze dropped to your hands, admiring how they fit with his like two missing puzzle pieces. “I, um— I thought it would make you smile. I would do anything to make you smile.” 

Never had sweeter words been said to you before. Sebastian was not one for words, normally favoring action over linguistics, but you were entirely smitten with his confession. A blush covered your cheeks, your eyes shifting from how long his eyelashes looked in the shadows of that winter night to how soft and plush his bottom lip looked trapped under his teeth as he gnawed on it, teeming with nerves. You shuffled closer to him, nearly standing in your little boat as you leaned into his space, taking back one of your hands and using it to raise his chin so his face was level with yours. His eyes widened at the closeness of you, a barely there gasp breathing against your lips as your eyes jumped from his to his parted mouth again. 

It was him in the end who closed the gap, capturing your lips with his in one of the most gentle kisses he had ever experienced. Your mouths moved in tandem— two petal-toned flowers meeting under a gentle breeze for the first time. It felt like you both swallowed fizzing wizzbees whole— like you were floating into the night sky above and all you could do was hold on to the person you were kissing with everything you had as you disappeared together. Your other hand released Sebastian’s, feeling along the fabric of his winter jacket as you reached up and thread your fingers into his hair, shivering when you felt him do the same. He pulled you closer, feeling you swallow his soft groan and release one of your own. 

You shifted your weight on your feet, bending fully at the waist and moving to stand in between his parted thighs. The boat rocked underneath you, the waves getting rougher as you both explored each other with a newly found vigor. You began to grow unsteady, your hands falling to the brunette’s shoulders as your vessel pushed and pulled against the tide. Sebastian grabbed you around the waist, trying to keep you steady as everything around you tipped on its axis. 

One moment you were dry, snogging the boy you loved, and the next you were underwater. 

The coldness of the lake shocked you, pushing you to move your legs faster as you swam towards the surface. You both breached the surface at the same time, heaving lungfuls of air into your body as you shivered against the harsh cold. Moving as fast as you could, the two of you swam towards the shoreline, pulling yourselves out of the water under the weight of your soaked clothes and flopping onto the stones below. Your chests moved up and down at a rapid pace as you struggled more for air, your hair plastered to your face and your body fully vibrating from the chilled air hitting your wet skin. 

You looked to Sebastian, expecting him to be panicking because of his past trauma, but instead he was already staring at you, those Liquid Luck eyes glowing in the soft moonlight and filled with more love then you had ever seen before— a smile turning the corners of his lips and a laugh beginning to bubble under his ribs. You smiled back, your own laugh slowly beginning to fill the night air— first a small chuckle, then full guffaws. His hand pawed around on the ground for yours, interlocking your fingers and pulling you closer as you continued to laugh together, his arm moving to cradle you against his chest and keep you both warm until you felt ready to get up and begin your trek back to the castle. His joy was the sweetest music you had ever heard— a symphony of mirth and pure, unadulterated delight. 

You would surely be sick for the next week, but at that moment, wrapped in the arms of the boy you would do anything for— the boy that would do anything to make you smile— this little slice of paradise was worth a few sniffles.

AN: sorry i haven't posted as many fics lately, task paralysis has been kicking my ass and i can't make myself finish anything. i have so many wips u have no idea, they just need endings. my brain just starts writing at like 1am and i give up when i get tired/when the sun comes up :/

i'm not super confident in my sebastian characterization, but i think this came out ok! :)

***

like what you read? here's more!

#tina speaks #masterlist #sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy mc #hogwarts legacy #hl #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x you #ao3 #ao3 fic #ao3 writer

[april-is]

April 7, 2024: The First Line is the Deepest, Kim Addonizio

The First Line is the Deepest Kim Addonizio

I have been one acquainted with the spatula, the slotted, scuffed, Teflon-coated spatula

that lifts a solitary hamburger from pan to plate, acquainted with the vibrator known as the Pocket Rocket

and the dildo that goes by Tex, and I have gone out, a drunken bitch,

in order to ruin what love I was given,

and also I have measured out my life in little pills—Zoloft,

Restoril, Celexa, Xanax.

I have. For I am a poet. And it is my job, my duty to know wherein lies the beauty

of this degraded body, or maybe

it's the degradation in the beautiful body, the ugly me

groping back to my desk to piss on perfection, to lay my kiss

of mortal confusion upon the mouth of infinite wisdom.

My kiss says razors and pain, my kiss says America is charged with the madness

of God. Sundays, too, the soldiers get up early, and put on their fatigues in the blue-

black day. Black milk. Black gold. Texas tea. Into the valley of Halliburton rides the infantry—

Why does one month have to be the cruelest, can't they all be equally cruel? I have seen the best

gamers of your generation, joysticking their M1 tanks through the sewage-filled streets. Whose

world this is I think I know.

--

Poetry nerd extra credit: How many repurposed bits from famous poems can you find? I count 7 and I'm probably missing some!

Also by Kim Addonizio:

+ For Desire + Mermaid Song* + Onset + My Heart

* (Weird fact: this is about her daughter, Aya Cash, who starred in the sitcom You're the Worst. What!)

Today in:

2023: Insha’Allah, Danusha Laméris 2022: To the Woman Crying Uncontrollably in the Next Stall, Kim Addonizio 2021: You Mean You Don’t Weep at the Nail Salon?, Elizabeth Acevedo 2020: Let Me Begin Again, Philip Levine 2019: Hammond B3 Organ Cistern, Gabrielle Calvocoressi 2018: Siren Song, Margaret Atwood 2017: A Sunset, Ari Banias 2016: Coming, Philip Larkin 2015: The Taxi, Amy Lowell 2014: Winter Sunrise Outside a Café Near Butte, Montana, Joe Hutchison 2013: The Last Night in Mithymna, Linda Gregg 2012: America [Try saying wren], Joseph Lease 2011: Boston, Aaron Smith 2010: How Simile Works, Albert Goldbarth 2009: Crossing Over, William Meredith 2008: The World Wakes Up, Andrew Michael Roberts 2007: Hour, Christian Hawkey 2006: For the Anniversary of My Death, W.S. Merwin 2005: The Last Poem About the Snow Queen, Sandra M. Gilbert

#war #modern life #america #anxiety and depression #kim addonizio

[lostlightandfoundcrazy]

It Began With A Run

Forgive me, for my mind as taken hold in a way that is foreign to me, yet familiar. New ideas, new stories, and far too little fanfiction, even if the phantom is very much not-dead :p

Enjoy loves! And may Clockwork be ever in your favor.

(I had to do it, I just had to)

This was not planned. Hell, Danny didn’t understand couldn’t tell you what was planned, because there wasn’t one. However, he can tell you how it began.

Telling my parents about being Phantom was not the best idea, but in my defense, they had been calm over the last year or two, and I’d spent more years dealing with their constant ideas and prejudice towards the other version of me than could be healthy. Deep down, I was tired, bone creakingly tired of being on constant edge, worried they would find out and what they would do to me.

I never meant to tell them but when you’re running on 2 hours of sleep over the last week and a half because school and ghost/heroism do not mix, no matter what the bats will tell you, it just sort of spills out. Puns are not the way to go, by the way, if you are trying to tell your parents you are half dead. Another thing, Fuck you, I know for a fact that those bats are kids, one of them is my twin brother. He just… doesn’t know that I know who he is. Listen, not my best brother moment, but I lost the rights to even be a part of that competition when I left Damian with the league.

Besides… he doesn’t recognize me anyway. I’ve changed too much, been gone too long, I don’t even look like him anymore. How do I know this? Because I just handed him his batburger nasty burger is way better and he just looked right on through me. He looks happy though, surrounded with Tim Drake and Richard Grayson, that smile glare was proof of that. His eyes are alight with so much more than I had ever seen when I was with him.

“Hey Demon, Pretender, Dick” I turned to the door, the perfect customer-service simile on his face. However, that smile grew into a real one when he saw who it was. Jason Todd, although, he wouldn’t tell you that, he’s got to keep a low profile, he is meant to be dead after all. I turned and ordered Jason’s usual, a red-hood burger. It is really good, much better than the regular bat burger, but I couldn’t tell you what it consists of, only Red Hood himself knows. Maybe I should just ask Jason, I’m sure he would tell me.

I turned back around now, his order in my hand and his drink made with ghost ice. What? It calms him down It keeps your drinks colder for longer without melting as fast and Jason always complains about the ice melting in his drink, this just shuts him up. I lean against the counter and wait for a minute, today is pretty slow so its just us in the joint, other than the cook but he just went on lunch break. Jason finally looks over at me and I hold up the order with a smirk on my face.

“I can’t believe you’re just letting your burger get cold like this. Maybe I should just eat it instead, it’s not the best but it will do…” I peak into the bag, skewing my face into something akin to contemplative. I hear Jason huff and the others stifle a laugh and tense ever so slightly.

“Don’t make me come over there Danny, I’ll make you regret it.” Jason threatens, but we all know that he doesn’t really mean it. At least, that’s what I though, until the others tense further and Dick steps in between us slightly.

“Alright Jason, I’m sure the kid didn’t really-“ Richard spoke, his voice calms and his hands slowly going up, but he gets stopped short when I pop up under his arm and between him and Jason.

“Yeah Jason, take a chill pill. It’s my job to be a hot-headed, angsty teen, not yours” I push the bag and drink into his hands and flick him on the forehead, pushing some of my ectoplasm into him. The effect is instant, even if no one else notices. His shoulders drop a little, his smile grows, and his eyes, oh his eyes, they went from a muted, dull happy, to a fiery swirl of joy and excitement.

“Alright Alright” Jason’s voice was soft like silk, “Hey death buddy, meet my family, that’s Tim, Dick, and that your look-alike Damian” Jason paused for a moment and tilted his head. “Damian, I think you have a clone, I mean, look at him” Jason made gestures at me, his eyebrows drawn together in thought.

Damian made a tt sound with his mouth and moved to rebuke Jason’s claims, or, he would have, if the name hadn’t struck a chord core memory feelings, thoughts, home home home. It hit Damian full force; I could see it. My twin, my brother who I love beyond all else and failed worse than any other, tried to hug me.

What can I say, this story began with a run.

#dp x dc #ghost king danny #danny phantom #damian wayne #batfam #batkids #red robin #red hood #Jason and danny are best friends #Danny and jason deserve to have each other to rely on #dp au #dp x dc crossover #dp x dc fanfic #dp x dc au #I went crazy with the tags I'm sorry

[tatertotcosmonaut]

So two months ago I started reading Lord of the Mysteries by Cuttlefish and now that I’m on break and all done with finals I’ve started reading it more.

My ramblings under the cut-

I’m on chapter 16 out of over 1400 and so far I’m not disliking the vibes, I’m intrigued enough to read more but it hasn’t been a perfect read so far. I’m unaware if that’s because of Cuttlefish’s writing or because this translation is like…rocky. I can’t say how well it’s translated because well…I don’t know mandarin, but the translation I’m reading (epub of the one on Webnovel) is like full of grammar errors, weird vocabulary, stiff dialogue, and just elementary level mistakes.

The quality of translations when it comes to Chinese web novels is always something I’ve been miffed when since I’ve started reading xianxia and xuanhaun novels, but usually I can get by. But here there’s just spots where I can’t ignore it and writing that is supposed to be serious or incite mystery comes off us unintentionally hilarious.

I will say if there’s two things that I had to be critical of when it came to Cuttlefish’s writing it’s that, while I love similes, they sometimes use similes that are really long and don’t make sense in the context of the situation. This is a small thing and inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. The second complaint would be the very long multi-paragraph dumps of exposition that happen either through dialogue or Klein’s own thoughts.

Considering this is a fantasy world where we’re new to it, just as new as Klein is to it, some exposition here and there doesn’t bother me. But when it happens a lot and can even be very random history dumps about the world that aren’t needed in the context of the situation, then it can get tiring.

Like here. Mingrui gets a memory fragment from Klein and learns about the origination of tarot in this world and how similar they are to the ones on Earth. Leading Mingrui to theorizing that Roselle is possibly also someone who transmigrated like he did.

That’s interesting, that holds a lot of mystery and makes me want to know more about Roselle! But what was not needed (at least in my view) was the almost 4 paragraphs of history about Roselle including his conquests, a church receiving a hold revelation (nothing to do with Roselle), the era of colonialism, and tidbits about his marine fleet.

This is something that happens multiple times. Where Cuttlefish has Mingrui speculate about the history of something or Mingrui is having difficulty settling to the new world around him and Mingrui will just go on 3-4 paragraph thought exposition dumps that clearly are trying to flesh out the world, which is cool, but it’s like an overload of information and it feels like a tour guide is talking to me rather than someone trying to figure out a mystery or the wonder of the world around them.

Those are like my only complaints so far. I will continue my read with intrigue!

#lotm #lord of mysteries #lord of the mysteries #cosmo talks

[theheraldsrest]

Hello! First of all, I'd like to say I love your writing and the blog/posts organization is just so neat.

I wanted to know if you write things with trans characters? If not that's completely fine too.

If yes, here's my request: how about the Inquisitor coming out as a trans man? As in, he already passes as a man, but somehow the companions learn about it, like them seeing surgery scars and the Inquisitor coming out or something similar.

The characters I'd really like to see would be Dorian, Cullen, Solas.

If it helps, my Inquisitor is Lavellan and mage.

This is a pretty self indulgent request lol but feel free to change anything in the it if it helps in the writing!

“Companions react to Mage!Lavellan!Inquisitor coming out as Trans(Male)”

Got a bad joke for yall. “What did Andraste keep losing at her wedding? The Veil, it kept Fading away.” Not sorry.

-Lord Lex

Cullen

-Panics over your scars because WHAT KIND OF CREATURE WOULD CAUSE THAT SORT OF TEARING?! After a a quick explanation, he is a little embarrased but respects that. Will still call you sir and what not. What? He respects anyone who wants to fight, no matter who they are. He’ll defend your honor and stand by you if someone tries to pry or make comments on it, no matter what

Josephine

-Concerned and asks if the scars were meant to be there or if something happened. Coming out to her, you just get a “Oh! Understandable,” and goes about her day. She won’t say anything more about it but, if she does have one or two questions, she might ask privately and if you’re alright with answering. Wants to make sure you’re alright.

Leliana

-First thought was that someone tortured you and that she needs to go out for blood. Telling her, she’ll calm down and go about her business. She’s very neutral about it. Doesn’t matter if you’re male or female, if you can stab something, you’re good.

Vivienne

-Oh, congrats darling! She thinks you look perfect but does excuse herself since you didn’t have the chance to tell her how you wanted to. Is curious on who did it for you because it is some exceptional work.

Varric

-Already respected you but it’s a new found respect. Good for you for being who you want to be. Knows a few people who’ve been through the same, some with similar stories and some with different. Well, some don’t get as easy a chance but that’s why he’s happy for you. You made it so far.

Cole

-He knows. I mean, he’s always known like everybody else, right? You became yourself a long time ago. What people see is you but they don’t know that there was another you. The one that you had to be, not wanted to be. There are scars there, to prove it, but they don’t see the ones that he does. The painful ones, the hardened ones, the once-loved ones. He sees you.

Solas

-Huh. Interesting. Solas will then excuse himself for intruding on you. What? That’s your business. What you care to share with him is up to you. He can only choose how he responds and he responds by complimenting you on this change. Though he is a little curious on what others might think, he’ll be there if you need someone. Or even taking it to the grave. He’s a very good liar, trust me.

(Personal headcanon: I think elves just don't care. I don't mean that in a rude aspect. I mean they'll respect you for your choices and how you treat your people and others.)

Cassandra

-Has to pause for a solid minute to comprehend. She’ll be very flustered and a little red in the face as she looks away to give you privacy but she will also have you be very exact on how she should address you. It’s not hard for her to remember, but she just wants to make sure she hasn’t been fucking up this entire time and calling you something you rather not be called.

The Iron Bull

-...Was…was he not supposed to know? If this had been his first time witnessing this sort of thing, he might have made even less of a deal about it. Bull’s from the Qun, after all. They don’t care about that. But having known someone who’s had to go through something similar, he treats it with caution and makes sure to know what you’re ok with. It’s important to know who’s on your side and how they see you, to know you got people in your corner who will respect you even when you share something like this.

Dorian

-Fuck yeah! Good for you! Good on you for being who you want to be and not letting some arse holes choose for you! This calls for drinks! Kidding, but he will pretend he doesn’t know so that you can come out on your own terms to him. And then you’ll get drinks. Gods help the poor fool who tries to make a rude comment on it or just be a complete buffoon when addressing you. You both still laugh about the one noble’s butt catching fire.

Sera

-It quite surprises her. At first, she thought it was some sort of joke tattoo about boobs. Until you tell her what they really are. Perplexed and a little fascinated, she just starts bombarding you with a bunch of questions. If you don’t want her to ask much about it, she’ll stop and respect your space. She’s a heathen so she knows when to step over some lines, but she also knows when to draw the line.

Blackwall

-Oh, nice scars. He’s got a few on his chest as well. There’s this one from a battle a few years ago, there’s this one from a misunderstanding, there’s- Wait, what. You come out to him and he sits there for a tic, processing. But you’re male right? Yes, you tell him, but you weren’t always. But you are now? Then that’s what matters. He’ll still call you sir and such because that’s who you are.

#dai #dragon age inquisition #inquisitor #cullen rutherford #commander cullen #dragon age josephine #josephine montilyet #lelianna #leliana #madame vivienne #madame de fer #vivienne #varric dai #varric tethras #dai cole #cole #dai solas #fenharel #dai cassandra #cassandra pentaghast #the iron bull #iron bull #dai dorian #dorian pavus #dai sera #sera #blackwall #thom rainier

[raccoonfallsharder]

I read recently that you answered a similar question, so I wanted to ask you for some advice with description in general, (character actions, description of environment or scenery, what is happening at that moment, etc) I have a lot of problems with this. If I want to describe the scenery, I don't know what else to say besides the color of the sky xD I've always had that problem and when I read what I write I feel it's very basic and childish.

For example, I wrote something like this, "The weather couldn't be more perfect, the sky was clear with not a single cloud obstructing that deep bright blue, the breeze was so soft it caressed my skin and the waves were gently lapping." So I read this and I say, how boring, I feel like I'm not connecting with this, and it happens to me mostly when I want to describe a person's actions, for example, if they are smiling and then someone says something to them that bothers them, how they react? I don't know how to describe it.

So I wanted to ask you for advice because since I read your first fic I thought "this is it, this is what I want to get to with my writing" I hope you don't mind my asking and I hope you're doing great, I always read all your fics even if I don't comment <3.

sweet little sugar snap pea. ♡ first of all, you are so lovely and kind. thank you for honoring me with this ask. it's a privilege and i am really grateful you think so well of my writing. truly, it means a lot. i took some time to think about this because it was important to me to give you a real answer. i'm also gonna come back and reblog this later with some thoughts on writing peoples reactions/perspectives? for now, i'm just going to focus on writing environments, if that's okay? sorry i just write too fucken much all the time ꃋᴖꃋ ♡♡

so as always, i'll preface this with the reminder that everyones' writing style is unique and brings something precious to the table, and while we can always grow and enrich our writing, what you create is wonderfully you. what we want is for you to figure out how to tap into your own style more fully, more authentically, and more clearly. i don't think there's anything wrong with the excerpt you shared, and i can also see where you might want to make it more identifiably you.

here are some things that have worked for me personally:

firstly: i take out my "telling not showing" sentences. i might draft it with the sky was perfect, but on revision, i usually remove it because it's too heavy. i don't want to tell my reader that the sky was perfect. i want them to interpret it from how i've described it. i don't want to say the kiss was good - i want them to know what it tasted like or the way it made their nerves pop and snap and sizzle. i don't want to say he had beautiful eyes - i want you to be able to see his eyes, like warm caramel or copper pennies. you don't even need to replace a sentence like the sky is perfect - you can just remove it entirely.

secondly, when i'm stuck in a rut, like, "oh, i've described a sky like this a hundred times", or even, "i've read skies like this described a hundred times," i honestly just do some writing exercises. the result is that i'll either find a description i like, or i'll create new material to use at a later date - or i'll just get practice thinking about things in different ways.

so let's take this sky example from your excerpt: the sky was clear with not a single cloud obstructing that deep bright blue.

i might ask, "what tangible thing is this sky like, and what would i want to do in it." then i try to reframe it so i don't use a direct simile.

the sky was an ocean

the sky was so deep and clear you could dive into it and not surface for days.

i might ask, "what other senses can i use to experience this sky, beyond sight." (taste, smell, sound, touch)

the sky was empty and clean

you could breathe that sky in, and your lungs would only feel crisp and bright, and everything would smell like water lilies for the rest of the week.

i might try to describe the sky from the perspective of something else in the scene.

this seems like maybe a beach because you'd mention waves so I''m gonna say there are seagulls

the seagulls wheeled in the sky, getting lost without any clouds to serve as landmarks.

i might say, what is the emotional quality of the scene? when the character looks at it, what do they feel? what does it make them want? i think you want this scene to be calming but we're gonna try a bunch of different emotional lenses:

calming: they could have wrapped themselves up in that infinite blue, and called it home.

harsh (angry/in shock): he stared at the sky. he'd never realized how severe and sharp it was, without any clouds to soften the edges.

grief: she wanted to lose herself in the cloudless blue. drown herself in it.

as a sidenote, i'm thinking of Wyndham; or, the Intergalactic Prometheus ♡ in which the thunderstorm sky is described as bruise-colored and rotten at various points when pearl-reader is miserable/afraid, and as rippling watercolor when she's feeling more relaxed. even the same sky takes on different qualities depending on the mood of the person experiencing it.

i might just say "fuck this sky; i'm gonna write a new one." sometimes this is fun because you get to see how the environmental/atmospheric tone changes the feeling of the scene.

it was storming: the purple clouds formed a quilt overhead, stitched through with lightning. the waves responded in kind: shattering softly on the shore, reflecting ribbons of swift-moving light.

jk it was foggy: the world was so misted over that he couldn't tell where the water ended and the sky began. the world was simply endless and dove-gray.

i also might just be like "i'm just gonna write something really weird and figure this out later." you've got a really rich scene here - gently lapping waves and a clear blue sky? you could do something weirdly symmetrical with them. like, between the sea and the sky, everything was so deep and blue that you couldn't tell if the soft hush of the waves was coming from above your head or at your feet. just play around with reality tbh

honestly i try to shy away from "advice" because everyone's approach needs to be tailored to them, but i would honestly say starting with some writing exercises is a great way to just explore your own style and how you want to think about things. other things you can do is literally go outside (or wherever) and close your eyes and really try to focus on every single sensation you're experiencing, and then write about it. fill pages. what did it remind you off? when you felt the breeze and it caressed your skin gently, did it also move the little hairs on your arms? did you feel it in places you don't normally pay attention to, like on your shoulders or the back of your neck? what did it smell like? what did it taste like? if it didn't have a taste, what would it taste like, if it did? do this whenever you can, in as many experiences as you can. sunrise at a beach. sunset on a mountaintop. golden hour in the deep woods. in front of a bonfire. at a park on the swings at midnight with friends. alone in a hot tub under a 2am snowfall. if you can't physically go there, imagine it. sink yourself into the daydream so deep you don't want to leave, and then just write. and write. and write. every sentence you put down, add one more. make it weirder, stranger, zoomed out, zoomed in, from a different perspective, a different sense, a different metaphor.

okay that's all for now and i know it's a lot and i'm sorry, but i hope it helps give you a place to start? and i will try to get back to you on writing reactions and facial expressions when i can parse through all my thoughts on those!

#rfh asks #rfh writing advice #alylee-s #just writer things #just fanfiction things #writing advice #ao3 author

[moobell55]

Enchanted

~A very short and sweet snippet of my drafted modern day Evajacks AU, they are both in college in this, featuring lots of Taylor Swift~

The cheap and somewhat illegal heater kicked on again. Filling the freezing dorm with much needed heat, but the sound of it only distracted Evangeline more. She slammed her English book shut and ran her hands through her pink hair.

They were already behind on studying, mid terms were only a week away. Jacks was most certainly prepared as he stressed and over planned every detail of college. However she had been fairly distracted this past semester, a certain someone had been keeping her busy.

That certain someone sat cross legged on her lofted bed. His worn Doc Martens lying beneath her bed where he'd kicked them off. A large pile of overly expensive text books were dropped next to them.

He looked almost out of place with the pink decor, his black pants and red button up clashed with almost every aspect of her room. He didn't mind though, he even preferred her room to his.

He looked rather handsome so focused on his books (some law books, even though she told him Legally Blond could've taught him all that.) A golden curl fell across his face as he flipped the page and he didn't bother to move it.

She was bored beyond belief and the sight of her overly handsome boyfriend wasn't helping. She knew the material for all her exams, Jacks just wanted them to be prepared for anything.

She looked at him and he finally looked up from his book and gave her a soft simile, sharing a bit of those dimples she loved so much.

"Do you want something to eat?" She found herself asking simply to break the silence.

He raised a eyebrow, "Tired of studying already?"

Rolling her eyes," Always, now lets have a snack break."

He stood silently and made his way to the crowded corner with her small mini fridge. It was filled with her essentials, coffee creamer, a package of Christmas cookie dough, a singular beer hidden in the back, and a bag of pre-cut apple slices. On top of her fridge was a half eaten bag of Lala's pretzels, Jacks grabbed them anyways.

"I still don't understand how either or you manage to live off this, even Castor and I have more than one beer in the fridge." His voice carried a mock distaste.

He made his way back to the bed and began eating his humble feast of whatever variety of apples he stole from the cafeteria.

Evangeline simply rolled her eyes and stepped onto the ottoman to reach him on her bed. It was truly unfair how tall he was sometimes. He quickly wrapped his free arm around her and pulled her close to him. Wrapping her both in his loving brace and his welcoming scent; fresh apples and those crisp Northern winters she loved. He was perfect.

He looked around her room, taking in the sight of his girlfriends slightly disorganized room. Fabric scraps from Lala covered her bed, Evangeline shoes were kicked off in every direction. Her Taylor Swift poster half hung off the wall from the heat of the space heater next to it.

His arm suddenly tightened around her and his icy blue eyes filled with even more love.

"I cannot wait for the day we move in together and then our house will be in a constant state of disarray," his gaze didn't look like he was living in the present with her. But imagine the future he wanted them to have. Her heart warmed at the thought.

"With your ability to leave your clothes everywhere and my lack of organization I'd say our future home isn't looking very clean."

He leaned down and placed a kiss against her forehead.

His next words surprised her.

"I was walking to class the other day, and I heard this song and it made me think of you." "In fact I heard a lot of songs that day that made me think about you." A faint blush rested on his cheeks, he was nervous.

Her grey blue eyes met his icy ones, and she swore in that moment she'd never felt more alive.

"What song was it?"

She watched as he moved his fingers back in forth against his palm, a worried habit of his.

"It made me think of the first time I ever met you and truly got to talk with you, it was called Enchanted. It made me think about how wonderful and hopeful I felt after getting to talk with you."

Her heart set on fire even more, her boyfriend thought about her while listening to a love song. And not just a love song but a Taylor Swift love song.

It surprised her too.

"You listen to Taylor Swift?" Her words held a question, and a slight accussation.

Her and Lala had spent hours on ticket master trying to manage to get tickets, to say they were fans was a small statement.

But Jacks was the kind of person who would hear Love Story and still not be able to tell you who sings it. Upon him finding out about Folklore and Evermore he asked the brilliant question, "I thought she only did Pop?" Evangeline didn't have many words for him after that.

He blushed a bright red, "Well I figured since you like her so much I could listen to more of her songs." "I'm still not very big on some of them but Reputation I think is very well done."

Evangeline growing grin was so infectious the biology majors could've done their thesis on it. After all the failed relationships and the trouble with her ex's, she'd finally done something right with her love life.

Not only did she find a man who loved every inch of her body and soul, but he listened to music she liked simply so he could talk to her about it.

"Have you listened to Lover yet? Well the album and the song?"

Evangeline was now extremely excited, it wasn't every day she got to drag someone into her favorite things. Or even find someone willing to listen to her favorite songs.

"I haven't listen to the song of the entire album but I did listen to Cruel Summer on the walk over."

"That's good, maybe we can listen to the rest together later," she paused and back tracked a bit suddenly nervous. "Or we could do it another time and we could study more."

"No absolute not, I'm tired of studying and I would rather spend time doing things that make my lovely girlfriend happy."

She smiled and a pink blush to match her hair covered her face, carefully she tilted her head up to kiss him.

Her lips were quickly slammed with Jacks as he met her midway to steal the kiss. Something he'd always done, not that she found it in herself to be bothered by it.

At last they pulled away breathlessly and the words found Evangeline's tongue before she could even speak.

"You know Jacks, I was Enchanted to meet you too."

#evangeline x jacks #evajacks fanfic #evangeline fox #jacks prince of hearts #they're so in love #the ballad of never after #the prince of hearts #taylor swift #evajacks #stephanie garber #tbona #tbona spoilers #ouabh #jacks x evangeline #ouabh spoilers #Enchanted #once upon a broken heart #tbona memes #acftl #caraval #modern au #college au

[burningvelvet]

Messages from Lake Geneva, July 29th, 1816…

Mary Shelley’s Journal Entry from July 29th, 1816:

“Monday, July 29. — Write; read Voltaire and Quintus Curtius. A rainy day, with thunder and lightning. Shelley finishes Lucretius, and reads Pliny’s Letters.”

Lord Byron writes his friend, the poet Samuel Rodgers, informing him of his travels and asking about their friends in England:

“July 29th. 1816 —

Diodati — Geneva

Dear Rogers —

Do you recollect a book? Mathison's letters — which you lent me — which I have still — & yet hope to return to your library? — well — I have encountered at Copet and elsewhere Gray's Correspondent (in its’ Appendix) that same Bonstetten - (to whom I lent ye. translation of his Correspondent's epistles for a few days) — but all he could remember of Gray amounts to little — except that he was the most ‘melancholy and gentlemanlike’ of all possible poets. —

Bonstetten himself is a fine & very lively old man - and much esteemed by his Compatriots — he is also a litterateur of good repute — and all his friends have a mania of addressing to him volumes of letters — Mathison — Muller the historian &c. &c. He is a good deal at Copet — where I have met him a few times. — All there are well — except Rocca — who I am sorry to say — looks in a very bad state of health the Duchess seems grown taller — but — as yet — no rounder since her marriage — Schlegel is in high force — and Madame as brilliant as ever. —

I came here by the Netherlands — and the Rhine Route — & Bale — Berne — Morat — & Lausanne — I have circumnavigated the lake — and shall go to Chamouni — with the first fair weather — but really we have had lately such stupid mists — fogs — rains — and perpetual density — that one would think Castlereagh had the foreign affairs of the kingdom of Heaven also — upon his hands. —— I need say nothing to you of these parts - you having traversed them already —— I do not think of Italy before September.

I have read ‘Glenarvon’

‘From furious Sappho scarce a milder fate

—— by her love — or libelled by her hate.’

& have also seen Ben. Constant's Adolphe — and his preface denying the real people — it is a work which leaves an unpleasant impression — but very consistent with the consequences of not being in love — which is perhaps as disagreeable as any thing — except being so — I doubt however whether all such ‘liens’ (as he calls them) terminate so wretchedly as his hero & heroine's. ——

There is a third Canto (a longer than either of the former of Ch[il]de. Har[ol]d. finished — and some smaller things — among them a story on the ‘Chateau de. Chillon’ — I only wait a good opportunity to transmit them to the Grand Murray — who — I hope — flourishes. — Where is Moore? — why an't he out? — my love to him - and my perfect consideration & remembrances to all - particularly to Lord & Lady

Holland - & to your Duchess of Somerst.

ever yrs. very truly

BN

P.S.

I send you a fac simile - a. note of Bonstetten's thinking you might like to see the hand of Gray's Correspondent.”

#mary shelley’s 1816 journal #english literature #romanticism #literature #lake geneva 1816 #lake geneva #lord byron #mary shelley #samuel rodgers #percy shelley #poetry #aesthetic #dark academia #history #writing #moodboard #letters #journals #books #gothic literature #frankenstein