#specs are fine and appreciated | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

Visit Blog

Explore Tumblr blogs with no restrictions, modern design and the best experience.

Fun Fact

Tumblr Inc. is funded by 13 investors.

#specs are fine and appreciated

helluvapoison · 2 months

Text

For All to See

Lucifer Morningstar x Reader x Lilith

Lilith has Lucifer and Lucifer has Lilith. Their eyes are well trained for snakes in the garden, they’re able to watch each other’s backs with ease. Everyone wants to know, just who the fuck are you to the King and Queen of Hell?

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

• Technically speaking, they don’t need you

• Your heart lurches at the constant reminders

• Everywhere you look there’s capable hands doing anything you could do, and doing it better

• The guards around the Morningstar estate are appreciated and skilled but merely for show, their wise (albeit chaotic) council of Princes have never led them astray and they have more willing servants than they know what to do with

• It’d be impossible to forget how agonizingly obvious it is that you’re not needed beside them. Occasionally it was a paralyzing thought. You were nothing without them but they could continue on just fine without you

• And Lilith, ethereal, graceful, benevolent Lilith, noticed this. Her own heart ached for you, she loved you!

• You tenderly brushed her hair when she hadn’t even rubbed the sleep from her eyes. Combined with her husband’s efforts, you would make her feel beautiful when her mind told her the opposite. You would be on your feet beside her all day, shooting little thumbs ups that restored her energy when she was nearly depleted. Your unfailing attendance from her concerts to afternoon tea brought a comforting sense of normalcy to the disorder of the realm she ruled

• Lucifer, who loved you no less than she, was furious at himself for not realizing on his own

• You were his alarm clock, gently coaxing him out of bed and making the day seem more inviting than it did when he opened his eyes. You snuck into his room when everyone else (Lilith aside) was banished, claiming only to drop off a tray of snacks but would sit with him for hours on end just so that he wouldn’t be alone. When the world was too big, his own thoughts too heavy, it was you that made him feel bigger and stronger

• And you thought of yourself as inconsequential!?

• Blasphomy.

• They would not let this stand another fucking second

• They covered all their bases, working from the inside out

• You were instructed to join them for a portrait. Lucifer picked your outfit while Lilith did your hair then they sandwiched you between them. It took several hours and you ached from standing still for so long but the painting looked absolutely marvelous. Lilith ordered it to be hung in the lobby

• “Not the bedroom?” You asked quietly, tilting your head up at her

• “As much as I’d love to, no. This needs to be seen by our guests! Besides, I have your darling face right there every morning.” She replied sweetly and kissed your cheek on her way out

• You were utterly floored when you saw a detailed third chair, right to Lucifer’s, in the throne room. Meetings were only held here once a month for the public to bring their qualms to the royals but they took a full day to bring to conclusion. Lucifer’s smile widened at your reaction

• “Do you like it?” He asked knowingly, “It’s for you.”

• “Me? I— yes! Yes, it’s lovely. I just don’t understand, I-I was alright standing.” You blink rapidly, your mind racing to catch up with his words

• “Don’t be silly, dove! These matters are a bore and take eternity. This was long overdue.” Lucifer takes your hand and presses a kiss to your knuckles, smiling at you apologetically

• Polygamy wasn’t something to clutch pearls over down here and you were never a dirty secret. Magazines, networks, media just happened to only feature the King and Queen of Hell (Later, Lucifer would always point out the blurry spec that was you behind them or to the side or cut off the page) So when you were yanked between them during their red carpet debut, you stared at the camera flashes like a deer in the headlights. Their grips on either of your hands kept you from floating too high

• While your view on the situation changed drastically, it wasn’t atonement enough for Lilith and Lucifer. They never wanted you to feel immaterial ever again

• “You’re not nothing to us,” Lucifer said, holding your left hand. He hid his face in the crook of your neck where you could feel him smiling against your skin

• “We would never abandon you,” Lilith whispered while slipping a matching golden band around your finger. She had you sitting in her lap, facing away from her. She held your hand up for you to see the new obvious, your next reminder of their devotion for you

• Suffocating on their love for you, you choked back a sob to not ruin the moment. Lilith wrapped her arms around you and Lucifer, bringing you both closer to her heart

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin hotel headcanon #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer morningstar imagine #lucifer morningstar headcanon #lilith morningstar imagine #lilith morningstar headcanon #lilith morningstar x reader #lucifer x reader x lilith #hazbin hotel lucifer x reader x lilith

1K notes · View notes

readychilledwine · 16 days

Text

Mine

Summary - Cassian always gets a little riled up when he gets to fight for your honor.

Warnings - Blood, smut, focus on reader and Cassian's differences physically, reader is thick because it felt right, oral (female receiving), Cassian going to pound town.

A/N - based on this post and our comments from @loneliestluvr I refuse to apologize for how quickly this became smut.

Being mated to the Lord of Bloodshed was never easy, especially as an illyrian female blessed to have found him before your wings were taken. “Sorry,” you whispered as he flinched. You had got to the cut on his eyebrow, wiping it down as gently as you could.

Cassian was covered in blood. A mix of his own and another male's who had not known you were claimed by the male sitting in front of you. “You okay?” He had his eyes shut as you took care of him, content under the feel of your soft hands.

“You're the one who ended up in a fight with 6 other males and walked away. I should be asking you that.” You gently reset and healed his nose, silently thanking the Mother for such a useful gift.

Everything about you two had been so perfectly planned. The skilled warrior. Loud, personable, quick on his feet. Then you, the talented healer. Intelligent, shy, soft spoken. You were balanced perfectly. A match truly made by the Gods. You continued wiping the blood from him, ensuring he would not have to change the water multiple times once you got him bathed and stepped away before offering him your hand.

It was another contrast between you two and Cassian's absolute favorite. Your soft manicured hands, his rough and calloused ones. He laced your fingers together, pretending to allow you to pull him up at he stood. “I'm fine, baby. You should see the other guys.” He smiled at his own joke, walking into the bathroom of the cabin. “Are you going to undress me too?”

“Absolutely.” You were graceful with buckle, each tie, gently pulling armor and fabric from his body until it sat on the vanity nearby. Habit took over as you folded it all, putting the clothing into baskets to be cleaned before turning back to the god in fae form behind you.

The moan Cassian released as he sunk into the warm water had your thighs clenching. You watched his head fall back as lavender scented steam came from the tub and as his shoulders fell in relaxation. “Can I wash your hair?” He groaned again at the thought, smiling as you sat behind him with the soap. “Need to show you my love and appreciation for protecting me.”

He gave a breathy laugh, shutting his eyes in bliss as you began massaging shampoo into his wavy locks. “I will always protect you, y/n. Always. You are mine.”

“I am,” he growled at your agreement, his need to possess you was high. Illyrians had always been more feral with their bonds, and you absolutely allowed him to enjoy the primal tendencies that came with it. “I will always be yours. In this life and the next.” You began rinsing his hair, ensuring every spec of blood and dirt was out before applying a deep conditioner.

“Lean forward so I can wash your back, Cassian.”

“I don't deserve you,” he was drifting off under your touch, enjoying the feeling of you kneading sore muscles as you lathered his scarred skin with a soft scented soap. “Could you get my wings?”

You leaned in, whispering in his ear. “I planned on getting them once I got you fully cleaned and the water changed.”

“Fuck that,” Cassian forced you over, pulling you in thin night gown and all before ripping it off of you. His lips were on yours and hungry. He was grabbing your hips, loving their plushy feel. “Want you now.”

“Cass, this water is disgusting.”

His head hit the tub with a thud. “Fine. Fine. It's fine.” He was, in fact, not fine. You could feel how hard he was. His length was pressing into your stomach. “I just need you. You know how I get when you take care of me.”

You were washing him again. Cleaning off his chest and face, scrubbing his arms. He was memorized by you by your body. He remembered learning about the Gods of old from Rhysand's mother, and you had to have been crafted by the goddess of love. It was another contrast. His rock-hard body, toned and cut from years of training. Your soft body, curves landing in all the right places, thighs so thick you genuinely worried when you sat on his face.

He lifted you with little effort when he knew he was clean, climbing out of the water with his lips attached to the point on your neck that drove you wild. “Done waiting,” he carried you to the bedroom, sucking that spot until he knew a deep purple mark would form.

He threw you down on the bed, not caring that it would soak the sheets and mattress as he watched your full breasts bounce. When he was like this, you knew you were in for a ride. Knew that headboard wouldn't be enough to keep you in place as he pounded into you over and over again, only content when he had ensured you were filled and would smell like him and sex for weeks. He was studying you like you were his prey, waiting to pounce at just the right time.

He found it as you shifted, laying down more on the pillows like the queen he knew you were. He did not bother kissing your lips again. Instead, it was him instantly pulling your legs over his shoulders and licking your already soaked core. Your hands shot to his hair, moans ripping through your throat. He was eager tonight. So damn eager.

“Cassian,” he hummed against you, looking up through hooded lust filled eyes. “Slow down.”

He shook his head, not even letting your clit out of his mouth as he did. “Baby, I'm going to cum if you don't go slower.” His brows shot up and a smirk formed. It spoke of every intention he had, you would not leave this bed, not without him carrying you.

Every flick of his tongue, every long drag, the soft kisses all had you melting further Into the mattress as your nerves came to life. Cassian was as calculated in bed as he was on a battlefield. Everything was precise, done with intention, and meant to fulfill his goal. His forearm went against your hips, locking you in place at his mercy.

He could feel every wave of pleasure from you shooting down that sacred and special bond. He could sense the moment you fell. Your fingers tightened on the sheets, your back arched, it was silence before the scream. Between your own pleasure, you could feel his pride leaking down the bond. Pride with how easily he could pull you apart with nothing more than his tongue. Pride over the way your body was so easily his.

He only pulled away when you began to whimper and push, but he was instantly crashing his lips on yours as he kicked off his pants. His forehead went to yours once you were both breathless. Those Hazel eyes you melted in the gaze of were feral and dark with desire. In one smooth motion with no warning, Cassian was inside of you with one single word, “Mine.”

There was no split second of calm before the storm, no moment to catch your breath after he took it from you. Cassian began to pound into you, hitting that perfect spot and making you see stars. Your nails dug into his chest, leaving small marks to join the littering scars and cuts from his earlier fight. “Mine,” the growl was deep, an ancient part of him almost begging for affirmation of the word.

“Yours,” you moaned out for him, back arching as your stomach tightened. “All yours.” Cassian's arm went across your back, hand roughly gripping your hips he could force you to move exactly how he wanted.

You could hardly breathe, mind lost to anything but Cassian. Your mate. Your everything. You could feel him down the bond, feel him getting closer with each squeeze and twitch of your walls. The room was thick with the scent of sex and sweat, the sound of his groans and you whispering and moaning his name like a prayer to some long forgotten God. “So fucking beautiful,” his free hand forced your head up, forcing you to watch as his cock slid in and out of your core, soaked in your essence. “Watch me fuck you. Watch me mark this pretty perfect pussy as mine.”

You couldn't help but to moan, feeling that edge approaching faster and faster with his. “Cassie.”

“Do it. Cum on my cock, baby.” He let you go limp below him, placing your head back on the pillows gently as he did. Wave after wave of need and pleasure washed over you, blinding your senses to anything but the feel of Cassian filling you as you Came around him. He fucked you through the high before finally finishing, not even bothering to pull out and opting to instead hold your hips so close to his you could not even tell where he began and you ended.

When he finally let you go, he barely caught himself before collapsing on top of you as his exhaustion hit him. You could help but place soft kissed along his face. His scarred brow and lip, his nose that you'd reset and healed so many times, his jaw. You finally sighed with one last lingering kiss directly on his full lips as he smiled. “That was faster than I hoped it would be.”

“Always is when you fuck me after fighting.”

“Always yours.”

He kissed your neck softly on the mark he made, whispering one last time. “Mine.”

General Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanagers @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr @eternallyelvish @azrielsmate3 @daughterofthemoons-stuff @meritxellao @aria-chikage @hungryforbatboys @lilah-asteria @fandomrejects

#acotar #acotar x reader #cassian acotar #cassian x you #cassian x reader #cassian x y/n #cassian fic #cassian smut #cassian of illyria #lord of bloodshed

681 notes · View notes

wileys-russo · 7 months

Note

That pic of mary and the baby hello…..i know you have written similar stuff before for her but could you do a blurb where the reader and mary have a baby together? maybe reader brings them to a match, once it’s over mary comes over to see them and takes the baby who instantly buries their head in her chest and all mary’s teammates notice and rush over to come see their favourite supporter

part of the a date to remember universe series 🫶🏻

crowd favourite II m.earps

you’d finally convinced your wife to let you bring your little bundle of joy to her first ever international football match, an england friendly against germany which being a euros rematch had already attracted a sold out crowd.

your wife forever over protective of both you and your little now nine month old daughter had banned the two of you from the previous england games claiming that the crowds became far too rowdy.

after a couple of months you’d started to take delilah to some of her home united matches, mary much more trusting of the crowds it drew in and knowing worse case she could be by your side in a minute if need be.

but now when you were up in the family and friends box staring down at your wife who was merely a spec in the wonderous size of a packed out wembley stadium, you’d needed to assure her over and over you would both be absolutely fine.

“well now do my eyes deceive me or is mrs earps finally off house arrest?” your head moved up toward the grinning blonde making her way over to you as you carefully stood with your daughter in your arms.

“hi lee.” you greeted the captain with a smile, kissing her cheek as she hugged you with one arm mindful of your daughter. “god she’s getting big, look at the hair on her!” leah gasped in surprise, ruled out from the game with a tweak in her knee sarina didn’t want to risk.

“you should see mary’s baby photos, this is nothing!” you laughed, kissing your daughters forehead affectionately before carefully passing her over to leah. you watched with a fond smile as the younger girl cooed at your daughter, face brightening as delilah rewarded her with a few giggles for her efforts.

“are you coming down?” leah asked nodding outside where you knew she’d shortly head down to sit behind the players bench with the rest of the staff. “i don’t think I have the clearance for that!” you laughed, handing off your daughter again to marys mum as she returned from the bathroom.

“please. look who you’re with! this face is all the clearance you need my girl.” leah grinned gesturing to herself making you roll your eyes playfully. “go! i’ve got her sweetheart she’s due for a nap soon anyway, mary will appreciate you being there.” julie smiled warmly.

“i’m just gonna see if she’ll feed before kick off. she was really fussy this morning with the bottle and mary not being home.” you sighed at the memory, barely able to have her drink more than a few mouthfuls.

taking delilah and grabbing your bag you moved toward the parents room, locking the door after you.

“-and you’re sure you don’t mind?” you asked your mother in law for the third time after your returned who shook her head with a laugh and waved you off. “darling she’s fed and fast asleep. go and enjoy the game!” the woman shooed you away as leah grabbed your hand, pulling you with her as you blew your daughter one last kiss.

“alright leah relax you’re gonna rip my arm off mate!”

“hi sexy.” you grinned at your wife as she finally made her way over after saying hi to as many fans as she could, the rest of the girls not far after her revelling in their 3-1 win.

“mary!” you squealed as your wife manhandled you up and over the barrier, placing you down on the pitch and kissing you fiercely earning you a few wolf whistles as you pulled away and buried your face in her shoulder.

“you’re so sweaty.” you mumbled with a sigh as she hugged you tightly, making a point to rub her face into your shirt as you pushed her off. “hello mrs earps! now where is mini earps?” you were quickly tugged into another sweaty hug by millie.

“up in the box with mary’s mum. nice to see you too brighty!” you poked accusingly at her chest. “excuse me it’s not my fault your bulldog of a wife won’t let us meet her unless through facetime!” millie pouted, several of the other girls around you joining in on their demands to meet delilah.

“hey i’ve been ready to bring her to the last three england games.” you defended, your wife sending you a murderous side eye for throwing her under the bus as her friends and team mates continued to whine at her.

“oh you guys haven’t met her? what a shame!” you were once again lifted into a sweaty hug as a smug alessia twirled you around and placed back on your feet, ignoring the unimpressed protests that followed her remark.

“stop winding them up. i’m raising you to be a pleasant and humble individual young lady!” you smacked her on the arm with a warning look as the blonde only grinned and kissed your cheek before you were pulled in by tooney who continued the teasing that the two of them saw your daughter almost daily.

“not a single one of you are laying a finger on her until you’ve showered, changed and washed your hands at least twice!” mary shouted sternly above all the noise, several of the girls all racing off to the change rooms making you laugh at their obvious eagerness.

“now look what you’ve done. whipped them into a bloody frenzy!” mary grumbled as she hugged you from behind, placing a few lazy kisses to your jaw as you leant into her secure hold, wincing slightly as she adjusted her arms to sit higher.

“hey love you alright?” she was back in front of you in an instant, hand caressing your cheek with a concerned stare as you nodded. “my boobs are killing me, i got her to feed earlier but i need to pump soon.” you mumbled in annoyance at your least favourite part of motherhood, your constantly aching chest.

“well i’ll make sure to give them lots of love and extra special attention and kiss them better for you later tonight baby.” the keeper whispered in your ear with a cheeky grin, hand moving around you to harshly squeeze your bum before giving it a smack as your eyes widened and you pushed at her chest.

“hope you’re washing your hands twice too after that little show mother mary!” millie and rach grinned wiggling their eyebrows at the woman, eyes widening as she lunged at them, chasing them off the pitch and back into the tunnel.

“hi gorgeous.” your wife was the first to appear upstairs, followed closely by a handful of her teammates whom you’d assume the girl kept held hostage in the change rooms until she was ready to come up herself.

“she just woke up, look whose back lilah!” you cooed rocking the infant in your arms as mary beamed, tickling underneath her chin as your daughter reached out for her eagerly.

a resounding chorus of aw’s echoed as mary scooped her up and your daughter buried her face in her hoodie covered chest, mary attacking her with kisses on every inch of her body as you watched on with a smile.

“right! make an orderly queue please girls. and no pushing! yes mills i’m looking at you when i say that.” your wife ordered sternly, bouncing your daughter on her hip as her team mates hurried to line up for a hold, the entire ordeal making you laugh.

“ah no! you let them have their turns you both saw her yesterday.” you were quick to grab both ella and alessia as they rushed past you, yanking them down into the seats beside you and ignoring their protests.

eventually they both gave up and rested their heads on either one of your shoulders, the three of you chattering about your plans to take delilah to the zoo next weekend. yet another thing you’d sworn the pair to secrecy over not wanting to upset the rest of their team mates much as the two loved nothing more than to flex their godmother and favourite aunty status about.

mary caught your eye with a grin as she protectively watched over your daughter, shaking her head at your two adopted daughters sprawled across your sides.

but neither of you would change a thing, your perfect little family.

#mary earps x reader #woso x reader #woso #woso fanfics #mary earps #woso imagine #woso blurbs #engwnt

574 notes · View notes

lunerenzo · 11 months

Text

no thoughts just…

prison gf! ymir

♱ Content. talk of incarceration, gang member! ymir, drugs, fighting (not between ymir and reader), arguments, a sprinkle of NSFW, specs of violence, swearing, fluff and angst, pls let me know if i missed anything :)

♱ Note(s). currently going through my ymir phase (AGAIN). that woman is so fine *giggles into pillow*. I kinda got lazy but we don't talk about that 😁. Also, the law stuff will be inaccurate but let's just bare through it for the sake of the story... Not proofread

♱ word count: 446

Pt. 2

REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED!

lower case intentional, Enjoy!

prison gf! ymir… who was devastated when she was found guilty. Not because she was going to prison, but because she would be leaving her baby, alone, for nine years.

prison gf! ymir… who didn't beg or plead the judge for mercy cause she knew that karma would catch up to her eventually….but why like this.

prison gf! ymir…who felt dreadful upon hearing your cries knowing she was the reason for them.

prison gf! ymir…who had money put to the side just in case this exact situation would happen. it was enough for you to not get a job

prison gf! ymir…who broke down during your first visit, seeing how broken you were. you looked as if you hadn't slept in three weeks before seeing her.

prison gf! ymir...who has A TON of polaroids of you tapped above your bunk (a pic of you kissing her cheek, a candid pic of her staring at you lovingly while you're watching a movie courtesy of connie, etc;)

prison gf! ymir...who tries her best to stay on good behavior in hopes of getting out earlier to see you.

prison gf! ymir...who gets into fights with other inmates when overhearing them talk about you in a degrading way because who tf are they to about you like that?

prison gf! ymir...who lays awake at night thinking all the stuff you and her are going to do once she gets out. Trying food together, eating snack you got from the gas station late at night, and her personal favourite getting coffee and judging people.

prison gf! ymir...who keeps every and i mean EVERY letter that you write to her because your handwriting is just so pretty and it smells like your perfume.

prison gf! ymir...who turns down people when they ask her out cause she has someone better at home waiting for her.

prison gf! ymir...who shows you how much muscle she gained during visits.

prison gf! ymir...who gets released early after 3 years for, surprisingly, good behavior.

prison gf! ymir...who silently cries in your arms when finally being able to hug you.

prison gf! ymir...who makes sure to thank you for waiting so long for her.

prison gf! ymir...whos eye to eye with your practically drooling cunt.

prison gf! ymir...who takes her time when eating you out. softly sucking on your swollen clit. pumping her fingers slowly, curling them to hear those oh so sweet moans of yours.

prison gf! ymir...who can't help but hold you tightly and admire your sleeping form in the moonlight. smiling softly, happy to be able to hold her baby again.

♱ A/N: i HATE this but fuck it we ball.

#𓆩♡𓆪lune show𓆩♡𓆪 #𓆩♡𓆪lune writes𓆩♡𓆪 #aot x black reader #black fem reader #aot imagines #ymir x reader #ymir x black reader #black reader #aot x reader #anime x black!reader #prison gf! ymir

596 notes · View notes

capseycartwright · 1 year

Note

If the prompt sparks joy: buddie and where does it hurt?

thank you amy my dear! some vague finale spec because i couldn't help myself

“Where does it hurt?” Buck’s mouth was twisted into a hard line, his brow furrowed as he crouched in front of Eddie. They were waiting for another ambulance – other people were more seriously injured than Eddie, and so he had to wait his turn: that was how it worked at major incidents. Eddie was fine with it, really – Bobby was in an ambulance on his way to LA General, Chimney not far behind, and so he’d patiently wait his turn.

“You know where,” Eddie chided gently. “I told you – I broke a few ribs.”

Buck glared up at him. “When did you get your medical degree?” he snarked.

“When did you?” Eddie couldn’t help but bite back. It had been a long – and terrifying – day and so he couldn’t help it – he was tired, and as much as he appreciated Buck’s fussing, he was in pain, and Buck’s gentle prodding wasn’t helping.

He took one look at Buck’s forlorn face, and immediately felt bad. “Give me a once over,” he offered, and though Buck hesitated, the relief he clearly felt at having been given permission was clear. “See for yourself,” Eddie nudged, and Buck didn’t need more encouragement than that.

Eddie’s turnout coat had long since been discarded, the heavy material weighing down on his already tender body, so Buck didn’t have too many layers to bypass to get to Eddie’s ribs. Gently – so gently, Eddie noted, Buck’s hands feather-light as they skimmed the hem of his t-shirt, gently moving it upwards to give a better view of Eddie’s ribs.

“Definitely broken,” Buck sighed, and Eddie swallowed his ‘I told you so’ – it wasn’t the time. “Where is that ambulance? You could – you could be bleeding internally, you need to get to a hospital.”

“Buck,” Eddie tried, Buck’s attention firmly fixed on Eddie’s ribs. “Buck,” he repeated, his voice gentle, pleading, almost. “Can you look at me please?”

Buck didn’t move.

“Please?” Eddie repeated, and Buck finally moved, lifting his head to look at Eddie, his eyes shining bright with unshed tears. “I’m okay,” he reassured, reaching out with his good arm, his left holding tight to his side in the hopes of holding his broken ribs together. With shaking fingers, Eddie pushed Buck’s matted hair back off his forehead, stomach churning as he realised Buck’s hair was matted with more than just sweat: blood and dust lingering as a reminder of the altogether too close a call they’d just experienced.

“You almost weren’t,” Buck’s lip wobbled, the other man biting the corner of his mouth in an attempt to stop himself from crying. Eddie had never seen Buck like this – not at a scene, at least. Buck was an emotional person, but he was usually stoic until they got in the doors of the hospital, but not today. Today, despite the fact they were surrounded by police, and rescue teams, and far too many people craning to see what disaster was unfolding – staring, as though Eddie’s family hadn’t just faced death all over again and barely survived it.

“But I am,” Eddie rubbed his thumb against Buck’s cheekbone, wishing he had the strength to just pull him closer. He needed Buck close. He’d been far too close to being pancaked in that van, the weight of a fridge crushing against his back. Eddie had wondered if this was it, for a second – that despite how many insane things he’d survived in his thirty-something years on the planet, he’d go getting crushed by a fridge in a bridge collapse – and then Buck was there, sweat pouring down his face as he’d moved the fridge, determined as he and Hen had dragged Eddie free of the van, right before it had been crushed into nothingness.

“I can’t keep almost losing you,” Buck admitted, his voice quiet – as though he didn’t want anyone else to overhear. Eddie understood that – he didn’t want anyone else to overhear either. Ideally, he supposed, this would happen in a private moment – in Eddie’s apartment, maybe, or in a secluded corner of the station – but it was happening now.

That was okay too.

Eddie didn’t mind.

“I can’t promise you that it won’t happen again,” Eddie admitted – because he wasn’t going to lie to Buck, was he? They were past that – past lying to each other, no secrets left between them anymore, not when Buck’s admission hung heavy in the air. “But I’ll always fight to come home to you.”

Buck let out a shuddering breath, resting his forehead against Eddie’s, the gesture a promise of what was to come later – later, after an ambulance ride, and a hospital visit, and a quiet car journey home. “You can’t leave me,” Buck said, eyes squeezed shut. “I wouldn’t survive losing you.”

“You have me,” Eddie promised – because it was the truth of it, really. Buck had always had him – even before Eddie had realised it, even before he had been ready to admit it, Buck had him.

Buck looked at him, eyes shining with words neither of them had said yet. They would come, though. Eddie knew that. “I’m going to find you an ambulance,” he said, pressing a brief kiss to Eddie’s cheek, the gesture feeling juvenile, almost, in light of the seismic shift that had just happened in their relationship.

Or maybe it wasn’t seismic after all, Eddie realised – it was inevitable, actually, their friendship trundling toward love long before either of them had realised the path they had set themselves on.

Eddie watched, as Buck wandered toward the incident commander, his face set back to serious, ‘I’m working’ Buck, determined as he went about finding an ambulance for Eddie.

No.

It wasn’t seismic at all.

It was the sort of inevitability that Eddie hadn’t realised he craved – and maybe he didn’t crave it, and he just craved Buck, and the steady love he so willingly gave Eddie every day.

send me a concern for others prompt

#911 fox #evan buckley #eddie diaz #buddie #911 fic #in which i ramble #in which lorna writes fic #prompt fill #mellaithwen

523 notes · View notes

barrenclan · 7 months

Note

hey, read the most recent issue- as an aroace person, i have...alot of issues with the term "Mateless"?

unless it's in universe meant to refer to a cat who's uninterested in a relationship, in which case that's fine. but the implication i got was it being a term for being aroace (or at the very least aromantic), which is...not good.

it runs with the idea that aroace people can't be in relationships or enjoy being in relationships, which is really harmful. as an aroace person in a romantic relationship, and hope to add more people to said relationship if the time comes, i can say it's completely inaccurate to assume all aroace folk aren't interested in romantic or sexual relationships. being aroace just means you don't have the attraction, but you can still like being in romantic and sexual relationships with other people.

hope this was easy enough to understand- if not feel free to DM me or smthn and i can go more in-depth. this is also not meant to be hostile at all- since i assume it was likely just ignorance, which is okay! aroace stuff tends to get burried alot so it's understandable :']

Hi! I really appreciate your concerns, I'm glad that you said something - I definitely never want people to feel like they can't critique me or the story. "Mateless" does in fact refer to a cat uninterested in romantic/sexual relationships, like Asphodelpaw and Egrettail. In this universe, human terms for sexuality don't exist, like Pinepaw referring to himself as a "tom who likes toms but not she-cats" rather than gay or homosexual. If there was a cat in the story who wanted a relationship/sex but felt no attraction for it, maybe they'd call themself something like "a mate with no sex" or "a mate without romance", when we would call them "aroace" or "grey-ace" or what have you. Who knows! "Mateless" very specifically refers to Asphodelpaw and Egrettail's positions. Like Egrettail says...

I myself am aromantic asexual, with no interest in sex or relationships. However this does mean I tend to bring that unconscious bias when writing a-spec characters, and I do genuinely apologize if it seems like I was excluding aro/ace people who have sex or are in relationships.

#ask #asphodelpaw #egrettail

182 notes · View notes

st4rgzer · 4 months

Note

heyy i love your fics, like actually you have talent but anyways i have a really specific request so... can you please write something really fluffy where y/n is scared of needles, like she litterally can faint. so she has to go to the doctor (like get vaccine or something) and shes so anxious and afraid and she asks matt (you choose if they are dating or just friends yet) to drive her there and he agrees. she is trying to keep her cool but when she sees the needle and realizing what is going to happed she gets really stressed and like start to panic and matt try and calm her down? can you do it please? also i ADORE youre song fics.

NEEDLES matt sturniolo

summary: Matt goes with you to your dreaded appointment

genre: fluff!

cw!: needles!!!!!

a/n: hi love ty sm for requesting, i’m sorry if it isn’t exactly what you asked for? but i hope you like it, i am also deadly afraid of needles so this was hard to get through😭 (and i really really appreciate you like my song fics<3)

“Matt can we please reschedule the appointment please” I begged, tugging on his arm as he took a can of soda out the fridge.

“I’m sorry, baby, but you already postponed like, 3 times, plus i’ll be right there with you, okay?” He said before opening the can and sipping, then placing it on the counter, diverting his attention to his distressed girlfriend

“everything is going to be fine, we’ll go shopping after, get some food, whatever you want” He cupped my face as he tried to convince me not to fret, reassuring me that, despite my persistent stubbornness and fear of needles, I would be completely fine. I somewhat believed his words, although I think that thats just the effect of Matt being Matt.

I sighed and dropped my head to the crook of his neck.

“I don’t know, I’m just nervous, I know it’s stupid” I mumbled, my muffled words being hard to understand.

“Hey, look at me” He gently held my chin up as a slight pout formed on my face, earning a small grin from him.

“I’m going to be there, it’s just a small moment, nothing more” His words repeated like a mantra in my brain “a small moment, nothing more” I hoped it was just that, an instance.

I never knew why I was cursed with the fear of needles, I just was, ever since I was a little kid, the mindset kind of just stayed with me throughout all my life.

That night I slept uneasy, In Matt’s arms, which helped my situation slightly.

……

I cursed under my breath as the moment came, sat in Matt’s car, googling all the posible breathing techniques, anything that could take my mind off it just a little.

My grip on Matt’s hand became more and more tensed as we got out of the car and approached the doctor, I felt my heartbeats in my throat, and Matt sensed the discomfort in my steps.

“hey, I promise it’s okay” He whispered in my ear, placing a petal kiss on the crown of my head. I took a deep breath, and nodded, before stepping into the dreadful room where I hadn’t been for a long time.

As I sat down on the chair, I felt the heat rise to my whole body, making my hands sweaty, despite it being the middle of winter.

The nurse was friendly enough, I think I would’ve thought she was nicer if she wasn’t going to be actively piercing my skin with a needle.

“okay sweetheart, it’ll just be a pinch” She smiled at me, giving me the kind of comfort you get when an elderly woman smiled at you on the street. That helped distract me for approximately 5 seconds, before returning to taking deep breaths.

“Look at me, don’t look at your arm” Matt cautioned me, fighting to meet my gaze as I looked concerned at the lovely nurse disinfecting the spot that would later be punctured. (dramatic asf)

I hesitantly looked at him, founding some sort of consolation within the familiar smile. I decided to start tracing every detail with my eyes, trying to let my mind wander somehow.

I was enjoying finding new spots and freckles, curves, specs in his eyes, new things to admire . As absurd as it sounds, it surprisingly distracted me enough. My breath hitched and I winced, but when the needle finally made contact with my skin, and came out, it wasn’t as bad as I anticipated.

“Well done my love” He congratulated me, rolling my eyes at the embarrassment of being celebrated like a little baby, and to be fair, I did act like that, but I was enjoying the treatment.

Before getting into the car, he kissed me, wrapping his arms around my waist, leaning against the hood of the car.

“Thank you for putting up with me being a scaredy cat” I mumbled, leaning my head against his chest.

“I’m happy to do so, and I’m keeping my promise on taking you out for lunch and shopping” He grinned at me as a smile started forming on my face, knowing there was no point on trying to convince him not to buy my all these fancy things, he’s too stubborn.

He opened the car door for me and put on my seatbelt, insisting that I don’t move my arm for 2-5 business days, even though the shot was on my non dominant hand. Who am I to decline this princess treatment?

taglist: @dwntwn-strnlo @iha8you @lovelysturniolo @gabbylovesreading @strnlsblog @strniolo @ssturniolo @sturniolol @stvrni0lo

#sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo fanfiction #matt sturniolo image #matt sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo

143 notes · View notes

cheree-closet · 26 days

Text

amoureuses_vol_2

I am organising a free pdf wlw/sapphic zine in celebration of the upcoming 2024 pride month! (june)

All kind of women are welcome ! Any representation of sapphic love is good as longs as SFW! (artistic/non-sexual nudity are welcome!)

I am accepting submission from now until june 2ond! Send them to chereeclover[at]gmail.com !

Any submission that follow the rules will be added to the zine! The zine will be a free PDF, and will be posted on itch.io!

SPECS:

The content can be anything: poem, writing, drawing, comic, photography… anything is welcome as long as it's original content from you!

Multiple submissions are also fine! If you're planning to do more than 2 pages/pieces, please contact me first! : ) Comics can be up to 4 pages without needing to contact me first. It can be an already existing piece!

FORMAT for images: SQUARE (1200 px by 1200 px), 300dpi/ppp Either colours, monochrome, black and white, … All is good! RGB is good, please send the file in PNG. Traditional work is very welcome, preferrably scanned. Anything photographed must be good quality with good lighting. Only complete drawings, by complete I mean, no transparent/blank backgrounds. It doesn't have to be a fully rendered scenery, haha, a pattern or some colours (solid or gradient, anything) is completely fine!

For text, either make it an image (same format as previously said), either send me a .txt file! Please no more than 500 words, contact me first if you want/do more.

Send your piece (please title it with your name, like "[artist_name]_[piece_name]) alongside those:

the name you want to be credited as:

title of your work (optional, will be refereed to as untitled + type of work, if unnamed, in the credits):

social media links (2 max):

a small message (optional, 1 to 3 sentences max.):

Sharing is appreciated !

I can't wait to see what you'll come up with! : )

#zine #original zine #wlw #lesbian #pride #queer #sapphic #open submissions

61 notes · View notes

alaezasmystery235 · 1 year

Text

rules, disclaimer and notes ☆

[ Disclaimer ] : this reading was made for entertainment purposes only. this is obviously a general reading so takes what resonates and leave when it doesn't, you don't need to force your energy to read this and leave such a bad comment just to say it doesn't resonates with you at all because the answer is very obvious!

lastly, be happy and enjoy reading my works — feedbacks, comments, likes, reblogs and follows are really appreciated by the reader. (that's me, lol :3)

[ source and creditable ] : All of the pictures are collected and downloaded from 'pinterest' i don't own any of them but credits goes to the rightful owners however edits goes and belong to me only @alaezasmystery . I use the editor tools canva and kapwing for the header and divider.

Extra credit to @daninixx for giving permission to use her rules and disclaimer.

｡˚ 𓂋 🍋﹒✦﹒✿ ˚

ＰＩＬＥ 1

LOVES LOVES LOVES Coffee

Has long hair , straight and soft

Winter is prominent , May have their birthday or it's their fav season . Also loves Christmas !!

Height is between 5'10 - 6'1

Plays guitar or takes singing lessons

Work related to healing , crafting or humanity

Has an outgoing personality. But doesn't indulge in social functions often

May have a brother or sibling whom they trusts the most

Loves beaches and spends time in solitude

Smells good and has a clean cut , Muscular fit .

Their spirit animal can be Bear and Spider

Very very good at sex .

Green Blue eyes . Specs are coming for some .

Has won some medals or prizes on sports such as swimming , yoga or HITs .

Loves savory foods and often dines at fine restaurants

May keep charms or souvenirs for luck . I'm getting some kind of family heirloom

Aesthetic Vibes :- Softcore & 90s

Their handwriting can be small in font and slanting .

Places I got = Turkey , Israel , Japan

Zodiac signs = Taurus , Sagittarius , Aries

ＰＩＬＥ 2

Quite different from your usual types

Has a big friend circle / Friendly & Outgoing

Loves astronomy . Possibility of being a starseed.

Full of surprises and enjoy life to the fullest

virgin and have a high sex drive

Height can be between 5 '7 - 5' 8

Fashionista . Loves mainly caps and bracelets

Divine Connection . Has witchy vibes .

Loves animals and wants a pet

Curly short healthy hair . Black and Red are prominent .

Graduated . Has some kind of major . OR just finished college

Not too old & young . Age between 22- 27 .

Loves Cars and bikes in colours blue / White .

Aesthetic vibes :- Dark Academia & Glam

Always on the GO !!! Doesn't like lazy people .

Has some mommy issues .

Intimidating , Majesty and model vibes

Loves to compose either books or music

Very pretty hands and nails

Places I got = USA , Florida , Brazil , Northampton

Zodiac signs = Leo , Scorpio , Aquarius , Pisces

©️ @alaezasmystery 2023

｡˚ 𓂋 🍋﹒✦﹒✿ ˚

#pick a pile #pick a card #pick a photo #pick a pile reading #pick a card reading #future spouse #future partner #soulmate #channeled message #aesthetic pictures #free tarot reading #tarot reading #tarot readings #tarot community #intuitive #love #alaezasmystery

591 notes · View notes

setsugekka · 1 year

Text

『paradise lost』 ; 10

❝ chasing ❞

↳ the night of hongjoong’s gallery open lends itself to the confronting of a lot of feelings, and the opening up of a lot of feelings.

but maybe lends itself to a lot of healing, as well.

⎯ ୨previous୧ ⎯ ○ ⎯ ୨series mlist୧ ⎯

『 pairing 』 : kim hongjoong x fem!reader

『 genre 』 : romance, angst, explicit sexual content.

『 rating 』 : mature

『 word count 』 : 13.7k

『 warnings 』 : angst, self-reflection, working through feelings and tough conversations that allow for that, smut :)

San's hand delicately winding around your waist from behind, hand starting from the small of your back and slowly making its way around before stilling on your front, reminds you of the caring touch of a lover’s — kindness and adoration in every inch of movement across your body — closing your eyes to take it in with a slow but heavy inhale, as the two of you stand in front of the full length mirror that lies propped up against the wall just next to your bedroom door, you open your eyes again to take in the visual of San standing behind you, eyes locked on one another before he settles his chin onto the exposed skin of your shoulder.

He smells of cheap, generic, cologne, but you appreciate the thought that goes into it all of the same.

“It's gonna be fine,” he says with absolute positivity in his tone. “I'll be there, Wooyoung will be there, it'll be fine.”

You only hum in response, brushing the palms of your hands over the dress that you bought just for this very occasion, this evening — a Thursday evening. San removing his hand from you so that you can carry on primping yourself in front of the mirror, you watch him saunter over towards the large, burgundy chair in the corner of your bedroom — plopping himself onto it with a huff as if a child waiting for his mother to finish with her errands.

“Do I look okay?” you can't help but ask.

“You know you do,” he responds with a smile — raven black hair slicked back and off of his forehead, a hairstyle you suggested for him and due largely in part because of how well Wooyoung wears it — you certainly were correct in the assumption.

And you're a little taken aback by how well San cleans up, you have to admit. All black everything, but perfectly fitted button down shirt and dress slacks — a man you're used to seeing in ripped up jeans that he's probably owned since he was a teenager and a brown, coffee stained apron showing off the trials and tribulations of business ownership, part of you couldn't help but wonder how it might look showing up to an event such as this with a man such as him.

Would Hongjoong think you to be showing off? Trying to make him jealous?

“Hoping to get someone's attention?” San rings out, one corner of his lips pulling upward slyly, knowing damn well what he's doing.

You have half a mind to throw something, anything, his way from across the room.

“No! But I don't want to show up looking like a slob, either,” you pause, looking into the reflection of the mirror again, taking in all of the fine details of your appearance before finishing the thought. “It's important.”

“You don't have to lie to me, it's fine,” he answers back, the roll of his eyes so dramatic you catch it out of the corner of your eye. You opt to sigh instead of attempting to offer him another fib.

Standing again, San makes his way across the hardwood floor of your room to take position where he was only a few minutes prior — this time hands placing themselves on your arms and pulling them from yourself, as if forcing you to stop obsessing over every wrinkle or spec of dust that dare to find itself out of place in your sight. You sigh at the touch, finding comfort in it, before allowing your eyes to make contact with San once again.

“How do you know it'll be fine?”

A single huff of amusement through his nose at the question, he gently squeezes you in acknowledgment of the question before pulling you out from in front of the mirror and down the hall into the kitchen. You watch him in silence as he makes his way through the space — opening one cupboard, then closing it. Another, and then closing it, before finally happening to stumble upon the one it is that he's looking for. Two wine glasses in hand and setting them down on the counter between the both of you, San raises his eyebrows at you before turning back the other way and grabbing one of the two bottles of red wine sitting in the corner of the space, just next to the sink.

“Sit.”

You do, watching him as he works.

'Work' being an interesting choice of words, you think to yourself, because it certainly appears as though this is something that San has done a handful of times prior to now. Expertly de-corking the bottle and with a pour stance that certainly would cause one to assume as such — when he finishes with both perfectly even glasses of wine and slides you one across the table, you can't help but continue watching him as he sets the bottle to the side and opts to stand just before you instead of sitting next to you.

“Before I moved here I used to work in food service.”

Suppose it was written on your face, after all.

San's glass remaining on the dark marble of the kitchen island, you watch his thumb as it delicately traces over the rim of his glass — his own eyes fixated on the movement, along with a face full of features that imply one deep in thought.

“Before I moved here—“ he begins again, quieter in tone.

“—I was married.”

“Oh.”

It's not the best response, given the information, and for that you think you may forever be regretful, but San snorts at it in response as if amused by it all the same.

“But you're...not...anymore?” you slowly manage out, watching for any change in the man's expressions as you do.

Looking up at you through his eyelashes, you watch him smile harder this time — dimple evident this time — and thankful that you haven't completely blown this interaction, you sigh in relief just a tad as San inhales to begin his next thought.

“No,” he says with a slow shake of his head, eyes pulled back down to the rim of his glass. “It's sort of...strange to talk about, I guess. Not hard, but strange.”

You recall your conversation with him back at the cafe after closing not too long ago.

“There's really no easy way to go about saying it, I suppose — she passed away, seven months ago,” he finally states, pausing for a brief moment and finishing the thought with the amendment of. “—Seven months and four days.”

You suppose that there are always times in life where your ability to manage situations will be tempted. How good you are with words, or with feelings — wrangling with the aftermath of tragedy, of your tragedy sometimes can seem easy — everyone grieves differently, and we're all entitled to grieve in our own, different ways.

How one handles the grief of another, though, you guess you have found just another thing in which you are lacking.

“San,” you whisper, reaching out and taking the hand that had once fiddled with his drink into your own. “I'm so sorry.”

“Ah, it's okay, this is why I don't like telling people, it's a little bizarre,” he says, chuckling a bit under his breath at the awkward turn of the night. “She was sick for a long time — years — we knew really early and just lived out our best years together in spite of it. I suppose you could say that I had already grieved the loss before she actually passed, in a way.”

It certainly puts your own life in perspective.

Flipping the positioning of your hands so that his sits atop yours, San squeezes gently as he finally takes a sip of his wine with the other hand. You follow suit, watching him intently.

“I guess I'm telling you this because — it will always be okay,” he assures with a smile. “It doesn't matter what happens tonight at this thing, or with Hongjoong, or anything — you'll be okay. The world will keep spinning, we'll all keep moving on, there will always be a reason to be okay.”

You think that it sounds corny, in the most charming, Choi San way.

“When my wife passed away, I sold all of our assets and moved here, opened a business, just...did something else,” he starts again, this time staring forward and into the nothingness ahead. “I could have stayed there, been sad and rotted away in our home, but she wouldn't have wanted that for me — she loved me because she thought I was great, so I have to keep on being great for her. That's my duty, now.”

The way that San's eyes sparkle in the dimly lit ambiance of your apartment makes him look stunning to you — a man already beautiful, only made even more so by the way that he so affectionately talks about his late wife and their love and life together — you can't help but imagine how lucky she must have been to have been married to a man like him.

And in that moment, you realize that you love San.

In a way that is born of nothing more than adoration and platonic affection.

'I love you, but I'm not in love with you.'

“Anyway!” he finally says, cutting through the silence of the kitchen after his heavy words. “What I'm trying to say is that I'm sure what Hongjoong would want for you is to just be the best version of you, all of the things that he ever fell in love with — be that, even if it doesn't necessarily mean that the two of you will end up back together, ya know?”

“Yeah, I know.”

“You want him to be great, too, right?”

“Of course,” you reply, taking another sip from your glass as San falls back into the slightly more animated version of himself that you've become so accustomed to. “But clearly he has no issues with doing that much, given the event that we're attending tonight.”

And you know that it sounds bitter, somewhat petty, given everything. You're not sure if you don't mean for it to, even just a little bit.

You watch San frown gently at you, a silent scolding for the bitterness that you've accidentally let fall from your lips and into your glass of wine — followed up by a gentle smile and him coming around the side of the island to lazily sling an arm over your shoulder just as he tends to do in an effort to playfully rough you up a bit.

“Don't be like that,” he says, pulling you into a headlock much to your whiny dismay. “Think about how sexy he's probably going to look tonight.”

“Why in the hell would I do that? And why would you say that?” you whine louder now, desperately attempting to pull away from the grip of the man that has now comfortably taken position as your annoying, kid brother.

“Takes the edge off,” he admits, finally letting you free from his grasp only to settle his elbows onto the surface and cradle his chin between his hands coyly. “Besides, aren't you curious?”

Clearing your throat in an attempt to lie, you avoid eye contact. “No, I'm not going there for that.”

But San only sighs dramatically, flinging a hand in the air and picking up the empty glasses of wine to set down into the sink as you stand up with intention of leaving the apartment now.

“You lie to me with such ease, what's a man to do? How are women so cruel?”

“Women are cruel!?” you bite back, picking your bag up off of the side of the chair and slinging it carefully over your shoulder as the both of you head towards the door. “You're mocking me.”

“Not mocking,” San amends the statement as he slips his shoes on, eyes closed but smiling all the same — the same cat-like features that drew you to him those few months back.

What a mistake that was.

“Teasing,” he finishes, leaning forward and planting a kiss to the side of your head as you busy yourself with slipping into a nice pair of heeled shoes.

You scoff, finally ready to exit the house with keys in hand, and with San motioning for you to exit first you take your last, sharp inhale in the comfort of your own apartment — unsure of what it is that awaits you from the rest of the evening.

Closing the door after San and locking it behind, in the near pitch darkness of the hallway before the motion sensor lights flicker on, you feel familiar fingers lace in between your own — a comforting offering from a man that as always, knows no other way to be but selfless, loving, and there.

“It's going to be fine,” he whispers, thumb delicately tracing over your skin beneath.

“I've got you.”

As the car crawls to a stop in front of the large, steel building — adorned with large windows giving it the appearance of being made entirely of them, it's the first time that San lets go of your hand since leaving your place — carefully sliding it back to his side of the seat as the both of you unbuckle your seat belts and carefully open your doors to head out and onto the street.

Said street — bustling with people, mostly appearing relatively well-to-do and with money to spend, brings you a bit back down to earth at the sudden ways in which things can seemingly change. Majority of them not appearing to be the typical crowd that only six months back you would have expected to see Hongjoong rubbing shoulders with — memories of meeting him downtown in the art district, that dingy little bar that was his favorite because he was allowed to smoke inside of it, a bar where all of the wait staff and bartenders knew him and his typical friend group — including you, not unheard of to be dragging the man out of there late at night or gently holding his hair back after one too many.

You remember how he looked the last night you saw him — dressed immaculately and to fit in perfectly with this sort of crowd — always a bit of a chameleon of sorts, a man that could fit in anywhere, really.

Perhaps he had changed, though. Maybe you were too busy to notice it.

“Should we go?” San asks with a nudge to your arm, effectively bringing your thoughts back to the present. “Do you need a minute?”

“No, no,” you quickly answer him, checking to make sure you have all of your belongings despite the car that you had come in having long since left. “I'm ready, we can go.”

Upon stepping inside and through a small crowding of people near the entrance, once finding an area inside where the floor is relatively clear, the two of you stand in a bit of awe, glancing around the room before you — black and white walls and tiling accompanying gently, cool lighting on the art pieces themselves — mostly monochrome work that Hongjoong had been putting time into long before the two of you had even begun seeing each other in a way beyond friends, as your eyes dazzle along the sights, so many of the pieces bring you back to a specific moment in time, a moment shared with the man behind them all: memories of lying on the couch in the darkness with a movie on the television, the flickering of the film the only offering of light for the artist as he worked along a canvas. You so vividly recall asking him how it is that he can work in the dark of night, and him simply responding that it suits him — sometimes hard at work into the early morning hours, only taking breaks for the promise of being wrapped up in you — an easy win, you remember thinking back then, the sex paired with the simplicity of getting him to finally eat a meal thereafter.

Stepping towards one in particular, it brings all of the memories flooding back — laughing with him, lying around with him on the couch in his loft and lazily painting one of his fingernails pink for the laugh of it despite knowing him not to be one to gripe over such a color choice anyways — it brings a particular and familiar twisting in your gut that you had since buried well and deep within you; the longing for him.

The fact that you still loved him immensely, after everything. It was all still there.

But the piece that you recall so clearly now standing before you — changed in so many ways from how you have it etched into your memory — a vision that brings you great sadness, as if highlighting all of the ways in which Hongjoong has attempted to forget you, remove you from his life as best he could.

“There she is.”

Already well aware of who it is that the voice belongs to before turning to greet it, you can't help but smile as he steps forward, hair up and back just as always — and just like San's — as he comes up to stand next to the both of you in his too-expensive white button down shirt and black slacks.

“You came,” Wooyoung leans in towards you to whisper with a playful nudge to your side, as if he had been partially expecting you not to. “I'm glad.”

“Yeah.”

“This the guy?” he says, stepping forward to look past you and to your other side at San, quickly reaching a hand out to shake it. “Jung Wooyoung, nice to meet you. Heard good things.”

“Choi San, gotta say the same, she speaks highly of you.”

“Is that so?” Wooyoung can't help but tease with the raise of an eyebrow. “You told him?”

And you know full well that he's joking, and that you haven't, but the playfulness of the man something that none of you capable of keeping barred, ending up instead as something that all of you simply must become accustomed to. Sending an elbow into his side similarly to how he had done to you just moments earlier, Wooyoung folds at the waist with a giggle at the contact.

You'll have to explain some other time, not tonight, though.

“Have you seen him?”

The jesting tone of the evening not one able to be carried throughout, unfortunately. In the end, everything will always come back to Kim Hongjoong.

You shake your head gently, staring forward once again and at the bastardization of an art piece you had once held in your heart so fondly — instead now showcasing in bright lights and for a hefty price tag all of your most immediate and humiliating failures.

“He's around here somewhere.”

“Who is?”

To say that you were unprepared would have been an understatement. A familiar, airy pitchiness in a voice that over the months you had grown so accustomed to, formed such a particular adoration towards — now sounding almost foreign in ways as it enters your ears from behind you. You can only figure that he doesn't yet know that it's you, especially with not recognizing the man to the other side of you — to so simply saunter up to the group and seemingly without a care in the world, but surely with the weight in which your heart threatens to beat out of your chest and onto the floor for every guest in the gallery to see, the thumping would give you away long before the vision of your face ever could.

At the very least, the threat of your heart beating out of your chest and taking your consciousness with it suddenly not sounding so bad, after all.

The three of you begin turning to face him before you really even know what's happening, you think for a split second that you hear Wooyoung in your ear telling you to 'take it easy', though you're not so sure how you're expected to do so with little instruction on the matter.

It's been three months, after the better part of a year being over, under and irrevocably in love with him — arguably, he was even more in love with you, that much you were quite certain of.

“Speak of the devil,” Wooyoung chimes in as the three of you turn, and you think that for a moment time truly stops as you make eye contact with Hongjoong again for the first time since that night.

And it was certainly true that he had not known it to be you from behind with the way his features splash with nothing less than absolute shock from the visual of being met with your face again. You watch him so intently, for any sign of distaste, of not wanting you there, of unhappiness at the sight — any tell-tale sign that you should get the fuck out of there as quickly as possible, and you're happy to.

Figure, happy might not be the right word, but it'll do.

It's pure shock as he looks at you, before slowly allowing his vision to fall to the side where San resides next to you.

“You're—“ Hongjoong stutters out with a pause in between the words. “Here,” he finally finishes with a hard look in Wooyoung's direction.

Finally pulling your attention away from Hongjoong, not wanting to stare but God what a sight for sore eyes, you glance towards Wooyoung and his nervously giggling self.

Caught red-handed, but surely, he knew that would be the case.

“Well, you know what they say,” he starts through his anxious laughter. “Don't give the sex party guy a plus-one, who knows who might show up!”

A hateful attempt at a light-hearted joke, especially given the history between the majority of you present, both you and Hongjoong roll your eyes at the gesture simultaneously while San stands next to you quiet and surely somewhat confused.

“Right, well,” Hongjoong sighs, hands slipping into the pockets of his pressed, black slacks — similarly dressed to when you had last seen him, albeit a bit more casually in his white button down and slightly oversized black suit jacket with the red lining just barely peeking out along the buttoning, but with hair still black and pressed up similarly to San's, you really can't help yourself.

He looks incredible. And healthy.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to be rude, I just didn't expect—“ he starts again, this time cutting himself off to offer to shake the hand of the man next to you. “Kim Hongjoong, but I'm sure you've—“

You listen to him trail off on the tail end of the statement, the word 'heard' barely escaping his lips at all as the awkwardness of not only the situation but acknowledging such, you find comfort in knowing that it's not going as well for him, either.

That you're both going to have to suffer through this, even just a little bit.

San snorts at the gesture and the words accompanying them, shaking Hongjoong's hand and nodding. “Choi San, and indeed, I'm familiar.”

An elbow gently greeting San's side, now.

But there's a particular unsteadiness to Hongjoong's stature that you find yourself unable to place. A discomfort that you had not anticipated upon entering the night, paired with the way that he makes an effort to avoid making eye contact with you at all costs, almost exclusively staring at the floor, or even opting to look at Wooyoung in any words spoken your way, that sends you through a loop much more than expected.

You knew that he wouldn't be expecting you, but the reality of it proving more than that causes you to feel a strange consolation that you're happy to welcome.

Perhaps it's not just you having to weather the storm of tonight, after all.

With silence taking the group, you watch Hongjoong gently rock back and forth on his heels a couple of times — first glancing at Wooyoung, and the two of them seemingly embarking on a perfectly mute conversation of sorts before the object of your undying affection's attention suddenly turns back to you and shaky eyes find their way to yours once again.

“So,” he starts, and not nearly as confidently as he probably would have hoped. “How...long have you two been together?”

It takes you a moment to follow the train of thought, not quite understanding what it is that he's referring to, an embarrassingly long amount of time before you finally realize that he's referring to the strange man that isn't Wooyoung standing to the other side of you — a dizzying sight before you when you begin to put the pieces together of Hongjoong's horrified realization of the fact that maybe, just maybe you had moved on.

Not sleeping with someone else, not talking to someone else, but dating someone else.

That even in all of those past encounters, everything that ultimately tore the two of you apart, at the end of the day, he held an irreplaceable spot in your life.

But not anymore.

“Oh, oh, we're—“

However, in typical Jung Wooyoung fashion, before you're able to get the thought out, he's reaching across you and towards San, gripping a hand into the strange man's arm and pulling him away from you and towards himself. “We should let them have some time, don't you think?”

San, all too quick on the uptake for your liking and grinning ear to ear whilst yanked around the gallery by the handsome stranger with the bright blonde hair, nodding and agreeing — but not without a passing look that says all you really need to hear from him in the circumstances, after all.

'If you need me, I'm a text away.'

Always good with words, even unspoken.

Before you have the time to revisit the prior topic, Hongjoong nods towards the piece of art hanging on the white wall in front of both of you, eyes glued to it in an attempt to avoid making eye contact with you — and in a way you find it sort of charming, the way he's being — suddenly reverting to this shy, awkward boy that you think in all of the years that you've known him, you've never quite seen this side of him.

Unnerving, in a way, as well.

“Finally finished it,” he starts, eyes pulling to the ground as he kicks at nothing with the toe of his shoe before glancing up at you again briefly. “Took forever.”

“It's changed a lot,” you acknowledge, attempting to quell the hint of sadness in your voice. “It's beautiful though, of course. You always had the talent for it.”

You wonder if it's too far — complimenting him so outwardly even in regards to his work and work alone, with the way that silence befalls the conversation and he opts not to respond to it, anxiety rustling within your chest all over again with each passing second.

“Gonna smoke, wanna—“ Hongjoong takes a second to think through the rest of the question before settling on it definitively. “Step outside with me?”

Opening the door to the private exit, down another dimly lit hallway that's not part of his exhibition but rather for staff to come and go as need be, Hongjoong holds it for you to step through before rifling through his pockets for his pack of cigarettes and lighter, slipping one between his lips and bringing his hands up and around the end to light it through the gentle breeze of the evening air.

In the midst of the busy city, smelling vaguely of sewage and burnt pizza — compliments of the little restaurant down a block or so away from here.

The two of you step towards the balcony edge together, leaning against the glass and steel guard rail — staring out into the night sky and upon all of the passersby down below — people and cars alike with places to be and people to see — you can't help but wonder just how many of them may find themselves precisely in this same situation as you; in what feels like the precipice of something, although you can't be sure what, or how much of that is simply you projecting your hopefulness upon a situation in which there is none.

It's the last thing you wish to do, punish him for his kindness towards you tonight.

Glancing to your side, you watch him exhale cigarette smoke, immediately dragged off and away into the wind.

How quickly things come and go.

“We're not together.”

It's a split second decision on your end, to amend the thought from earlier, and you can't help but study the way that Hongjoong's features may change at the receiving of such information. There's nothing, from what you can tell, but he always did have an exquisite poker face.

And besides, he doesn't have a drink next to him, either.

When silence blankets the conversation, you wonder if you should have left it, with Hongjoong not responding nor giving any indication of interest in the matter — chewing on your bottom lip, you turn your attention away from him and back out towards the tops of all of the shorter buildings in your view.

“Slept with him?”

The question comes out of left field, for a plethora of reasons — it sends you reeling a little bit, the audacity of it, for one, but shrouded by the fact that it's the first truly Hongjoong thing that he's said to you all night. Through all of the glitz and glamor, pressed dress pants and fancy wine — Kim Hongjoong was still just the guy that you had always known him to be; an artist that smokes too much, drinks a little too much (but not if you ask him), and is at all times at the mercy of his emotions — for better or for worse, it's him, it's who he is.

But just as quickly as he says it, his head drops forward a bit in a chuckle — clearly at himself more than anything else. “Don't answer that, you don't have to answer that.”

You know as well as he does that it's a question born from a place of unresolved hurt. No doubt in your mind that in your time apart that both you and he had experienced monumental growth, but some wounds take longer than others.

Three months is a good amount of time, but it's not long, not long enough to mend a lot. You know this, as well, with the way your chest tightens every time you look at him.

A strong man, but a weakness for you — not yet grappled with in its entirety in that time spent without contact.

“No.”

The choice to answer, if asked why, you suppose you're not entirely sure. A gut reaction, and willingness to provide a certain openness to him now that perhaps you had always failed to before. Unsure of what it may offer him — be it comfort, solace, understanding, maybe even sadness in a knowledge that this is now, and all of that was then, you choose to display your heart for him all the same.

And perhaps for you, a feeling of it being the least you could do.

'I'm doing the work, whatever it may mean to you now.'

Hongjoong takes another drag of his cigarette before turning his head to look at you, and for the first time that evening, the wall of feeling like strangers feels as though it may be crumbling, if only ever so slightly. A familiar glint in his eye — a man that enjoys playing games to a point, but with information so tantalizing presented before him — information that perhaps allows for more questions than answers, you suppose you could have guessed him to not be above taking the bait, as it were.

“Why not?” he asks, head cocking to the side inquisitively. “He's handsome, you're spending time with him so presumably he's not a scumbag.“ He takes another drag of his cigarette. “Brought him here.”

“Wooyoung offered,” you reply, rolling your eyes. “I didn't want to come alone.”

“Gotta stop letting Wooyoung get away with so much, he's really getting out of hand these days.”

A playful response that you're happy to hear in tone as Hongjoong turns back to gaze out towards the skyline.

“Are you...” you begin, once again that suicidal inquisitiveness getting the best of you as Hongjoong offers no insight into his own status, so to say. You watch the corner of his mouth pull up gently before bringing his hand up for another inhale.

“Seeing anyone?” he finishes the thought for you. It's a little humiliating, but he did always find joy in getting you a little flustered for his viewing pleasure.

“Why? Jealous?”

“No,” you lie. “Wooyoung mentioned you had been dating—“

“I've really got to get a handle on that guy...” Hongjoong sighs with exasperation again.

“I mean, it's fine, obviously, I'm not surprised, just—“ your words turning into nervous babbling before you have a chance to get a handle on it, with a chuckle, the man next to you takes it upon himself to put you out of the tailspin you've allowed yourself to fall into.

“I'm not,” he says firmly. “I mean, yeah, I went out with some people here or there but I'm not dating someone.”

You hate the way that your mind immediately begins to fill the voids with visuals of him making love to someone who isn't you.

But thankfully, that's a question you're more than willing to carry on not knowing the definitive answer to, in actuality.

Putting out a cigarette long since burned down to the filter, Hongjoong flicks it off and into the nighttime air before turning on his heels in a sort of particularly animated way — raising eyebrows at you and motioning towards the door. “Suppose I'm expected back, eventually—“

“I'm sorry.”

The words slip out from between your lips before you have a chance to second guess them, familiar prickling of tears forming at the corners of your eyes as your chest tightens and throat burns with the promise of all of the months of loving — and longing — for him, threatening to make themselves known right here, right now, on this otherwise tucked away balcony. A pathetic display, perhaps, as Hongjoong's eyes pull away with eyebrows knitting together harshly at the sight of you before him. You think to yourself that this, this time — and you suppose all of the times before, as well — you've gone too far, pressed him too hard for something he's not willing to, or simply cannot give you.

Emotionally stunted in so many ways, another thing that three months time not enough to unpack in its entirety — or maybe, even put a dent in.

And this one Hongjoong can't fuck away, either.

You consider it heavily, with the words already out and on the floor between the both of you, how selfish it is to offer him this now — tonight, of all nights, very much not what he needs to be dealing with.

But suppose you can't apologize for apologizing now, can you?

“I'm a mess,” you laugh under your breath, thumb on one hand reaching up to gently wipe away the formation of a tear from your eye before it has a chance to lend itself down your cheek and strip your makeup. “It's just been so long since I've seen you, that's all—“

“I know, me too. I'm sorry, too.”

It comes out of left field, the admittance of some form of responsibility in everything that had gone on — and while past a certain point, you find it impossible within yourself to hold him to much of a standard of accountability, it's the acknowledgment that he was, at any point in time, a participant in all of the many ways that things between the two of you had gone awry that puts an even stronger emotional choke hold on you.

“You want to get a drink?” Hongjoong asks, once again nodding towards the door. He checks the time on his phone before speaking again. “Bar should be open for another twenty minutes or so, then we can get out of here—“

We.

Pausing, Hongjoong laughs at himself again, the Freudian slip of sorts, and you can't help but giggle along with him even in spite of how your chest feels as though it may collapse in and onto itself at any given moment.

Making your way back inside and to the bar, you're comforted when you lay eyes on San and Wooyoung — happily seated together at a table with drinks before them, and quite evidently thoroughly engaged in conversation with one another. The blonde guy shouting so loudly that it echoes through the hallways of the establishment, Hongjoong mockingly covers his ears as you both seat yourselves with them at the silent insistence of San, himself.

“How's it going?” San asks Hongjoong, quickly settling his attention to you thereafter to scan over your stature and deduce whether or not there's a problem.

But the artist simply shrugs, bringing his glass to his lips and sipping before responding. “Well, but I'm ready to go home. All this snazzy, expensive shit isn't really my scene, this is all Wooyoung's jive.”

All eyes turning to the man in question, he shyly grins without an argument to put up against such accusations. “Guilty as charged, I suppose. Mommy and daddy didn't put me through a top five private school for no reason, after all.”

“You should have seen his apartment in college,” Hongjoong adds, “sickening.”

“Oh really?” Wooyoung responds, somewhat condescending in nature. “Interesting, because from what I recall, you sure enjoyed spending time there—“

You can't see it, aside from the jolt of Hongjoong as a result of a swift kick into Wooyoung's leg, and the problem in question subsequently hissing at the contact, but you and San laugh at the display before you, remembering all of the ways that this is precisely where you want to be, and the company you wish to keep.

That it feels like home.

And as the event comes to a close, the four of you are the last to leave — slowly making your way out of the building and curbside as you wait for your cabs to arrive to take you home.

The scent of burnt pizza stronger than atop the balcony, and even threatening to lull you towards it, you take in the fragrance — the sense most closely tied to memory — in hopes that maybe, just maybe, every time you smell pizza in the future, you could relive this for a second — the right here, the right now of this.

Glancing over at San to your left, him turning to meet you, he gently plants an elbow into your arm — a sort of 'I told you so' that the night would be okay. You're thankful that he's right.

And to your right — successful, accomplished, and extraordinarily loving, perhaps even to a fault, Kim Hongjoong.

Hair long since fallen as a result of running about and mingling — thick, waxed together strands of hair off to each side of his head, you watch him light another cigarette at the bemoaning of Wooyoung who makes it no secret that he wishes for his friend to give up the habit.

Ignoring the annoying friend and glancing towards you by chance, catching you gazing upon him, you quickly avert your eyes despite having already been caught in the act.

Another nudge into your arm, but this time from your right, and not from San.

Leaning towards you, it's the closest you've felt Hongjoong to you since the last time you had seen him — his presence sending shivers down your spine even in how innocuous the movement is.

“Want to come over? Ya know, for a drink or something.”

It's a private invitation, not for Wooyoung, and not for San. Only for you.

Your mind takes you to a million places all at once, something you would have to sort out on the car ride there, as you nod in acceptance without a single spoken word.

“If your boyfriend says it's okay, obviously.”

He's joking, tilting his head over and towards San who stands none the wiser to the scenario playing out just next to him. You slap Hongjoong's arm in jest — him cowering away at the gentle assault, of which finally brings San's attention over and to the both of you.

“Um, so—“ you start, clearing your throat nervously as you attempt to inform San of the change of plans for the evening. “I'm gonna go...with Joong.”

“Oh?” San says, and a little too loud for your liking as you watch it catch Hongjoong's attention, the upward curl of his lips in such a sly way giving away the fact that he finds the entire thing humorous — especially given that it be yours and yours alone to navigate.

“Don't be like that,” you groan, rolling your eyes at the display. “We have a lot to talk about, you know.”

“Of course, don't let me stand in the way.” San grins, bowing ever so slightly towards Hongjoong with reciprocation from the man, simultaneously receiving the notification that his car has arrived. “Be good, kids! Don't do anything I wouldn't do!”

“What wouldn't he do?” Hongjoong asks, Wooyoung's attention now piqued from the scenario having gone on on the opposite end of him.

“Almost definitely whatever the fuck is about to go on here,” Wooyoung adds, and to no one’s liking. “But, suppose I only have myself to blame for this.”

It's a pathetic display of a man pretending to be upset about the fruition of a scenario that he had more than a hand of causing to play out — dramatically tossing his arm up and over his face as if to fall faint on the wet, concrete below.

You had suspected Wooyoung to be up to no good in inviting you to this evening, and certainly hadn't thought him to be setting you up to fail — but this, perhaps a man entering dangerous levels of understanding the human psyche.

Notification sounding on Hongjoong's phone of the car arriving for the both of you — never before a more thankful time for it. Opening the car door, the man motions for you to enter first, happily obliging before he pauses to thank Wooyoung for being an absolute fucking nuisance tonight.

“Don't you have somewhere to be?” he asks his friend before finally shoving himself in next to you.

“Yes,” he affirms with a grin. “Waiting for the hot bartender to finish up his shift.”

And with the roll of his eyes, Hongjoong slides himself into the backseat right along with you, shutting the door and informing the driver of the address, but not before Wooyoung sends the both of you off with some more of his parting wisdom.

“Have fun talking.”

Through a mostly silent ride -– aside from Hongjoong attempting to light up a cigarette in the backseat of a luxury car and thus entering into a heated debate with the driver — you contemplate just what exactly it is you're being invited into. So many nights spent away from one another, and the last most prominent memory of you being in the man's home — pressed hard against the wall without an offering of any love or care from the man himself — you feel guilty for considering what would be for many the most obvious reason: the promise of sex.

That perhaps now, Hongjoong has downgraded the relationship to what it always should have been from beyond the first time — two people using each other’s bodies as a means to an end, without any emotional ties or interest beyond the physical in one another — that even in spite of the love and nurturing the friendship had once held within it, now all that lie there is a brute, primal need to feel and be felt by another human being.

That this ultimately will mean nothing, that you ultimately mean nothing.

And can you accept that to be the case just to have him again?

A tailspin that isn't so unheard of, being so completely and desperately in love with someone that one is willing to forgo all of their emotional needs in an effort to have what little it is that the other offers to them. If Hongjoong is only willing to let you have him physically, is that good enough for you? Knowing full well all of the ways that it will bury itself deep inside of you and rot you from the inside out — the knowledge that despite being there with you in his bed, his mind may be elsewhere, with someone else should the time ever come, until eventually he should cut you off entirely at the promise of a partnership with someone he can actually see himself with. Someone that he can see himself with in totality.

Is it good enough for you?

Maybe it is, for now.

Jarring you from your thoughts, the car stops — Hongjoong begrudgingly leaning forward towards the man who had previously chewed him out for his poor backseat etiquette with a wad of cash in hand — no doubt a hefty tip on top, as it's just the kind of guy he is, Hongjoong scoots himself out of the car just as he had entered approximately twenty minutes before, lending you his hand as leverage to pull yourself up and out of the vehicle as well.

With the door closed and the car pulling away, suppose it is what it is, now. You're here.

Hinge of the large front door creaking, a sound you're all too familiar with and left entirely unsurprised by its remaining in your absence, the two of you step inside — coats off and onto hangers and shoes carefully pulled from your feet — so delicately on your end, a feeling as though you're not meant to be here anymore, that you should enter with care, and as to not disturb those who lie in wait just beyond the hallway.

But Hongjoong strides forward with his usual nonchalance, towards a small makeshift bar now erected in and to the side of the open living space — you stand in awe for a moment at all of the ways that the place you had grown so accustomed to has changed — once black walls now white with numerous canvases scattered about. A man evidently hard at work, and for too many hours at a time, you can only imagine.

The only other way he knew of dealing with his feelings, plugging away at paint and pencils.

“Drink?” he questions, already popping open a bottle of some brown liquid for himself before noticing the surprise splashed across your face. “Oh, right, you haven't seen the place in a while — changed a lot.”

“I'll say,” is all you can manage in the moment, eyes still bouncing around the walls and off of all of the new and unfamiliar objects. “Busy as ever, huh?”

“You know how I am,” he says, handing you a glass without you ever giving him an answer one way or another. “How's it look? Other than messy, obviously.”

“Kind of miss the piano walls, I'll be honest.”

“Needed a change.”

It's a simple comment, but carries so much weight behind it under the guise of artistic vision.

Tipping his glass towards you, a silent 'cheers' of sorts, you both take sips before Hongjoong motions you further into the apartment and over towards the couch.

You don't mean to make such a big deal out of every little thing, suppose you just can't help it. The couch, far from forgotten, so many moments. Bright and bitter, all the same.

As you sit down next to Hongjoong, palms nervously flattening over your thighs to straighten the fabric of your dress after having set your glass down onto the coffee table, you stare down and at your fingernails — anything to pull your attention from the deafening silence of the room.

You hear Hongjoong inhale sharply, for some reason, you know to brace yourself for impact.

“I'm going to say something,” he begins, eyes glued to the liquid in his glass that lie carefully cradled between both hands in his lap. “It's going to hurt.”

Fight, flight or freeze — you couldn't move if you tried, every muscle in your body tightening at the promise of whatever pain it is that the man next to you intends to rain down on you.

“I slept with someone else, in our time apart—“

The confirmation that you had been attempting to avoid all of this time — the knowing without knowing, well aware of it without having to be told, now iron pressed into the forefront of your mind.

“—I prefer you.”

The words hit you a bit like whiplash with their unexpectedness. Words not necessary to express, and unsure of the intent behind such expression, it takes you a moment to even really allow them to sink into you through the uninvited imagery of the man you love in bed with someone who isn't you, and once they do, you find little understanding in them — allowing your eyes to wander off and to the side in which Hongjoong sits as he continues staring intently into his decorative glass of rum.

“Okay...” you whisper, somewhat conclusively, but with a hint of questioning — unsure of his motive in disclosing this sort of information to you. It is to say that you knew that already, but why are you being informed so carelessly.

“—And, I'm telling you this to hurt you, the same way you hurt me so exquisitely.”

You suppose that deep down, you appreciate the honesty. A sort of tit-for-tat game that you're not at all shocked by Hongjoong partaking in — probably having wanted to all along but without the willingness to do so when the both of you were still so completely involved — a sort of settling of the score that the man could never find it in himself to carry out knowing that you would be going to sleep with and waking up next to him for so many days following.

It's a sort of cruelty completely foreign to him — saying things just for the intent to hurt the receiving party, but the speaking of harshness, well, that's simply the Kim Hongjoong way, you're well aware.

Abruptly leaning into the back of the couch with a sigh, Hongjoong takes another sip of his drink. “Wooyoung said I should find a more...constructive way to get the hurt out of my system, this is sort of what we settled on.”

You can't help but chuckle at the idea of the two of them mulling over their options in regards to the topic.

“What was the second best option?” you playfully inquire, and Hongjoong snorts.

“Was gonna fuck your best friend, but Wooyoung said that might be a bit much.”

“Hard to come back from that one.”

“Yeah, it sure is.”

You hadn't meant it that way, but if the shoe fits.

“Can I ask you something?” Hongjoong's attention turning towards you as the words leave his mouth, you only nod. “Does it hurt?”

Questioning how much of yourself you wish to bare to the man before you, the man already having proven himself with intent to harm you this evening, you make what some may consider to be a questionable call.

You tell the truth.

“Yeah,” you sigh with a gentle nod, leaning forward and taking your glass into your hands. “Yeah, it fucking does.”

“I'm sorry.”

And you think that it's so quintessentially like him, to have it out for you only to apologize mere seconds after delivering the final blow. Bullet to the heart, and an apology soon to follow.

“Did it really happen?” you ask, Hongjoong glancing at you questioningly.

“Did what really happen?”

“Did you really sleep with someone else?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Then don't apologize,” you say with finality. “If you're not lying, then don't apologize for it.”

It's only a few moments that Hongjoong silences at your words before he sits up again, this time turning himself slightly to face more towards you — the look on his face serious but all the while still dripping in anguish — you contemplate if he's aware that he's dropped the facade of being okay.

“If we're telling the truth tonight then—“ he begins, hesitancy lacing his voice as if he knows he's soon to be overstepping bounds he shouldn't be.

“—Have you slept with San?”

Once again repeated, you suppose there's some part of you deep down that feels a marginal bit of triumph in being able to answer the question openly, truthfully. It feels weird in so many ways, being questioned so vividly about the goings on of your private life that have nothing to do with the man asking — having long since expelled himself from you and yours, you know as well as he does that questions like this bubble up when one least expects them, and from long forgotten, long since buried places of immense and immeasurable hurt.

But what Hongjoong is really asking is if you loved him so irrevocably that you couldn't sleep with San.

Looking back at the evening at yours, when you kissed San on your couch with any and every intent to allow him to have you in all of the ways that Hongjoong is now asking if he did, it's easy to say that on the surface, no, you didn't.

But it was San himself that made you see that you did.

“No, I haven't,” you answer in almost a whisper. “I'll call him right now if you want.”

Drink in one hand and grabbing into your purse with the other free one for your phone, Hongjoong stops you — both verbally and with his hand atop your own before you have a chance to acquire it.

“Don't. I believe you.”

“Why?”

Words slipping out and past your lips before you have a chance to even think twice about them, Hongjoong laughs at them all the same, scooting himself across the couch cushions and closer to you. “I don't know. I want to, I guess.”

A loving gesture in so many ways, the man’s insistence on trusting you given all of the ways that perhaps he shouldn't — the softness of his hand on yours, reminding you of the delicate ways in which San loved to offer you physical comfort just the same — you wonder for a moment if you and Hongjoong truly do have a shot at a friendship after this.

After everything.

But it's meeting eyes with Hongjoong thereafter; beautiful brown, eyes decorated heavily in dark makeup for the event, messy, raven black hair that suits him even in spite of all of the colors you had seen him adorn long before, and just peeking through the collar of his white button down shirt — the single beauty mark on his neck, one you had long since grown to love so much over the months that takes you to another place.

The way that Hongjoong still, even to this day, looks at you as though you're the only other person in the world — after everything, and in this moment still — despite desperately wishing for him to say the words that you longed to hear, he always did say it with a gesture as effortless as his eyes meeting yours.

All of this time, through the high highs and the even lower lows, you knew that Hongjoong was still desperately, madly in love with you.

And for all intents and purposes, so you were with him.

“I guess you should—“ he begins with a sigh, less of sadness and more of a man having come to terms with something that may have been troubling him for some amount of time. You know what he's referring to, reflexively looking over and towards a large antique clock hanging from one of the walls.

“Yeah, it's late,” you add to his thought, setting your glass down onto the table once again before standing and carefully heading towards the door. You can't help but feel a bit like a bull in a china shop — expensive, sprawled out canvases and other art supplies as far as the eye can see, and wholly out of place — somewhere that you once felt so comfortable, now feeling completely foreign to you, as if your first time stepping foot inside.

As if you hadn't helped make this place what it is, from the very beginning — the memory of paint blotches adorning both of your giggling bodies after late nights drinking and decorating the walls that now bear no resemblance to the time.

Following close behind, you feel the presence of Hongjoong accompanying you to the door — unable to see him, but still feeling what you can only figure to be his eyes on you in some way. You figure it a sort of projection as you mull over the thoughts that may be swimming through his own mind in the moment — missing you, loving you — and maybe even not truly wishing for you to leave him tonight.

“Tonight was fun,” you say, forcing cheeriness through your voice in an attempt to slice through the tension of the situation. “I'm glad I went. I'm glad I came.”

“Me too,” he admits with a faint smile, hands buried in his pockets once again.

And you can't really help it, the way you wait just a few seconds longer beyond the interactions in hopes that he'll tell you to stay, each time allowing just a moment too long before straying into borderline awkwardness, but when it becomes somewhat painfully aware that this is how the night is ending, you find yourself still able to find joy in it.

It's not the perfect outcome, matters of the heart often aren't. But it's a start.

A far cry from where you began today.

Digging in your purse clumsily for your phone and keys, while simultaneously attempting to locate your own shoes through the cascading pile of his — with head turned and an arm stretched out towards them, you feel your phone tumble from your bag and down towards the floor — hard, cold cement and an almost certain demise for the accompanying glass, you swiftly turn your attention to the impending doom headed for your device, only for your head to meet a similar one upon collision with a similarly jolting down Hongjoong.

Expletive slipping from your mouth followed by a hiss, you stumble back slightly to the sound of your phone clattering against the hard ground below, but before you're able to truly set your sights on it, you feel gentle, familiar hands pressing up, cradling the sides of your head — so suddenly yet with such a feather-like touch you question for a second whether or not you're imagining it.

But opening your eyes again, and ignoring the thumping in your head, you find Hongjoong standing firm — and concerned — just in front of you, arms stretched out to steady you from the ridiculous collision.

“Jesus, sorry,” he laughs, “are you okay?”

“Y-yeah, I'm fine—“ you manage out, quickly averting your eyes from his own.

He's not strange, it's not strange, but it all feels so brand new, navigating the uncharted waters now of whatever this situation has become. Having his hands on you again, such a loving touch — as he always had with you — flooding back the memories shared in the past, and once again, the all too familiar burning in your throat finds its way creeping back up to make itself known.

Long past the point of needing his additional stability though, you find Hongjoong's hands still on you, head delicately held between them as he gazes upon you. There's a place inside of you, deep down, that wants to — nearly needs to — continue avoiding looking at him, for fear of allowing even more of the flood gates to open back up, feelings you spent months attempting to lock away with the promise that this may never happen again.

That you may never end up here again.

And yet, here you are.

But eyes slowly finding their way back to his, you find Hongjoong's features to tell a story of all of the same, if you had to guess. A troubled look gracing his otherwise beautiful features, as if going through the options for not only tonight, but the rest of his life in real time right before you, and desperately you want to shout to him to say 'yes', to allow himself to fall for you again because this time it will be different, but not having the courage or the strength to bare yourself to him in such a way again, at least, not yet.

You need more than this solemn, single, moment in time — ripe for misinterpretation and misunderstanding, you need something definitive.

And just like that, as if the man had access to your inner thoughts and feelings the entire time, Hongjoong leans in towards you — exceptionally slowly, as if giving either, or both of you, time to back out before you do this again, or perhaps it's just that it feels like it's slow motion as your heart threatens to leap out of your chest at the promise of again.

A second chance. 'We'll do it right this time, I promise.'

Hongjoong's hands slide down just slightly, palms holding your face between them as his lips make contact with your own — perfectly familiar in ways that so many other happenings of the night lacked it, tainted with a hint of unfamiliarity, but not this. Warm, faintly chapped lips slotting perfectly against your own with the slight cock of his head — it's almost instinctual the way your hands quickly reach up and cling to the sides of his jacket, as if desperately holding him in place so that he can't escape. A man with no intention of doing so as his tongue carefully prods between your lips and against your own — the usual taste of rum and cigarette smoke that you'd become so accustomed to over the many months together with him, but even in all of the similarities, and all of the way that it feels like home to you, it's different.

A man that not so far in the distant past treated you thoughtlessly, carelessly, much too roughly for his own liking, now touching you increasingly delicately, almost to a fault. The man that you'd thought about every day since then, and so many before, who you want nothing more than to have and to feel — touching you as if he's terrified of doing so, like he may break you with a disorderly touch.

Perhaps he's not entirely incorrect in thinking so. 'Damaged. Handle with care.'

When Hongjoong pulls from you slowly, eyes slightly lidded as if dazed by the contact of having you within him again, he quickly, and shyly, averts his eyes down to the ground between the two of you — palms slicking down your arms and settling into your own hands.

“Useless around you,” he whispers playfully. “Probably never stood a chance. Guess that's why Wooyoung invited you.”

The entire situation feeling as though it's hanging on a shoestring, you take each and every possible response into careful consideration before allowing a single word to slip out from your mouth.

“You kind of scare the shit out of me, I'll be honest,” he adds with jest, tone picking up a bit more now as he bends down to pick up your phone, somehow still fully intact despite the dive.

Placing it into your hand, you watch his every movement, waiting for the pin to drop, so to speak.

Hongjoong looks over and to the side of you both for a second, before bringing his eyes back to your own with a slight upturn of one of the corners of his mouth.

“But, I'm in love with you, so sue me, I guess.”

And there's no other additions to the statement, no amendments to it, no bells and whistles or explanations as to the why or the how that allows him to. It's just Hongjoong standing before you, submitting himself to you.

“Can you say something? You're killing me here.” He then laughs, taking one of his hands back in an attempt to swipe hair up and out of his face.

Frankly, you're stunned by the scenario before you. So much has happened in...less than five minutes.

Cracking a grin — both thrilled and horrified at once somehow — it's the first thing that comes to mind.

“Can I wash your hair?”

A sight for sore eyes, you think, is the understatement of the year as Hongjoong steps into the shower soon after you — large, dark blue tiling throughout, and with couples shower heads (your idea during remodeling) that you're more than thankful to have — you watch him attempt to ruffle his otherwise stuck together hair with a scrunch of his face.

“Gotta stop going to all these fancy events, hate cleaning up this nice, pain in my ass,” he groans, stepping towards you and delicately placing his chin onto your shoulder.

“Yeah, they should just let you show up in ripped skinnies you haven't washed in two weeks and the tank you threw up in the night before.”

“You want the art—“ he begins, pulling up with a kiss to your temple before backing under the cascading water and flushing it through his hair. “—gotta take the artist.”

Pulling him back towards you by the wrist, you dump shampoo into your palm and carefully run it through his head, fingertips digging in between the clumps of product and dismantling them for his comfort. Planting a kiss to the back of his shoulder, Hongjoong takes it as an opportunity to lean his head back and against your own despite your attempting to wash him.

You work through it, allowing him the luxury as you watch his eyes slowly close and what appears to be contentment washing over him for the first time in so, so long.

“Missed this,” he whispers through the sound of the pressurized water. “Missed you—“

A pause.

“—Us.”

Just a passing comment from earlier, riddled with so many other things going on that the entire situation left you with far too much to focus on, but it's the idea of 'us' dropping from between his lips that briefly takes you back to that place all over again.

'I prefer you.'

It doesn't require much thought at all from your end, a very simple understanding of precisely what it is that he means by it — after all of the other situations, any of the other men, at the end of the day — it was always Hongjoong.

You preferred him, too.

“Rinse,” you say, gently pushing him off of you and towards the water again much to his displeasure, groaning as he stands fully on his own and under the water — nose crinkled like a child as you watch soapy water fall from him. “You gonna act like a toddler all night?” you chide with a grin.

“Hadn't planned on it,” he answers back, reaching out for your wrist and pulling you against his body much more firmly than you had anticipated, and much to your surprise as arms reach around you and hold you in place. “Unless you want me to call you mommy tonight, then I'm happy to oblige, I suppose.”

Despite being naked together in this instance, the overt sexuality of the comment catches you fully off guard. The teasing, sultry twist of his tone at the ending comment just as his head dips down and towards the shell of your ear has you remembering all of the ways previously that the man could so easily have you as putty in his hands.

“Joong,” you whine in gentle protest at the idea, the man exhaling a light chuckle at the sound of you.

“Sorry,” he whispers into your ear. “Been so long, I miss you.”

Deeply, some part of you wishes that you could put up more of a fight against the idea of feeling him tonight, but with his skin against yours, and the thought having already presented itself in his own mind — it's reminiscent of his earlier words.

You don't stand a chance.

“Come to bed.”

Hongjoong hearing you beckon for him, phone in hand one last time before finally setting it down on the nightstand to give his undivided attention to you, you watch him slowly crawl up between your legs; a kiss to your knee, then your thigh, your hip, breast, and shoulder before finally settling lengthwise against you — his lips gently cascading across the exposed skin of your neck and jawline before finally meeting on your own, only for a moment before beginning his descent on the other side of you — you melt into the feeling of being with him like this again, enjoying all of the ways that he feels all encompassing to you.

“New mattress?” you breathe out, feeling somewhat as though you may sink into it entirely as a result of his touching you.

“Broke the last one while you were gone,” he says into the skin of your neck. You freeze beneath him, only for him to huff out a laugh at the physical response. “I'm joking. It was old, you hated that thing, anyways.”

“Very funny.”

“I'll make it up to you.”

You figure he means it in more than one way.

Hongjoong's weight shifting onto one side to free up a hand to begin its journey down your body and between your legs, it's yet another thing that feels so strange but so comforting all at once — fingertips feathering across your folds before dipping forward with a little more intent than before, middle finger ghosting circles against your clit, you try to swallow down the neediness of your response — back arching slightly off of the bed beneath you and chest up into his own with a whimper at the contact, the feeling almost completely stealing your attention from how the man is carefully kissing, sucking, biting marks into the skin of your neck as he begins working you.

But Hongjoong only gives you a couple of minutes of it before you feel him pulling up and off of you, sliding himself down the same way he had come just a bit earlier with damp, black hair carpeting over his forehead and dancing across your bare skin as he kisses his way down and between your legs fully — the two of you make eye contact just as he makes himself comfortable.

“You know I have to or I'll die,” he jokes, in reference to his particular sexual compulsion.

And he gives you no time to answer back, as his lips replace the contact his finger had just made only moments prior, now unable to hold back the sigh of relief at the feeling of him as his tongue firmly presses against you — a single finger prying at your opening before slowly making its way inside of you — you find it's almost relaxing, the way in which Hongjoong handles you and your body with such care and concern each and every time you're with him like this.

Something no one else ever could do to such perfection.

A few drives into you with a single digit, he adds another to it in an attempt to work you open for him. The dizzying feeling of feeling so full of him, paired with the idea of what's to come and additionally, the breathtaking suction of his lips against your clit — has you tensing beneath his touch already as his free hand holds your thigh apart for him to work. You feel him grip fingernails harder into the skin there as his other ones curl against the spot you love to have him against so much.

“F-fuck, Joong—“ you whine, breathy and already a bit too far gone for how little he's had you like this, but Hongjoong opts not to relent, even to respond, carrying on against you as you unravel beneath him in record time.

Hand darting down and into wet hair, you grip onto him a little tighter than you had meant, Hongjoong only groaning into it and you in response as he evidently carries out his every intention of making you come right then and there.

It's only a few more seconds, three or four more drives of his hand into you before you're crying out for him, grinding down against his mouth involuntarily to chase the high of your orgasm as he drags you through it in its entirety — a grin plastered across his face as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand through his triumphant come up, and your entirely worn come down.

Once again trailing kisses along your chest on his way back up to your mouth, “still got it,” escapes between his lips in a whisper just before pressing into your own, and you figure if you weren't so spent by how evidently right he was, you might be more willing to put up a fight.

But not tonight, you can let him have this one.

“Missed the way you taste,” he says into you, the scent of yourself still prominent on his mouth. “Everything about you is perfect for me. I could never tire of you—“

You feel his lower half shift slightly for positioning, the weight of his hardened length pressed against the apex of your thighs, and you realize now that you crave feeling him again, just as before.

“—My muse.”

A term of endearment, perhaps not often used within the context of sex, but sending your heart through a loop all the same, you bring your hands up the length of his back — feeling the skin and muscle beneath your fingertips as he flexes atop you to hold himself in place.

You didn't have as charming a word for what he meant to you, but you were a little obsessed with him, for sure.

Gentle nips into your bottom lip, you feel Hongjoong moving towards the beginning of pulling away from you, gripping into him harder as to not allow him, he kisses down and into your jaw.

“Condom,” he whispers against your skin. Such a bizarre concept for the two of you.

And you hate to ruin the moment, but it begs the question.

“Why?” you ask, attempting to ground yourself enough through the feeling of his mouth on your flesh. “...Did you?”

But Hongjoong pulls up almost instantaneously, looking down upon you and straight into your eyes with earnestness. “No, I just figured—“

Reaching up and taking a hold of him by the shoulders, pulling him back down and against you — chest to chest, skin against skin — you lean him into another kiss, teeth and tongue and longing and the need to have one another all over again, and perhaps in some way, undo all of the wrong that had been done before.

It's not a fix, or perhaps, a very temporary one. You both know that there's still work to do, a lot of it — but maybe in some way, it's a start.

“I miss you,” you reiterate, speaking the words directly into his mouth as he positions his hips between your thighs — there's silence for a second, the both of you taking in the sensation of him pressing forward and filling you once again — a feeling far from being forgotten but also far too long since the last, the simultaneous heavy exhale from each at the feeling of you wrapping around his cock, and alternatively, him prying you apart for it.

When he bottoms out inside of you, Hongjoong brings a hand up, gently swiping loose strands of hair from your forehead before planting a kiss there.

With a nearly full withdrawal of his length from you, he slowly presses back inside again, repeating the act four, five times — reveling in the sound you make at once again experiencing the full feeling of him being inside of you.

It's gentle, and you know he's making up for lost time — but even more than that, he's trying to undo last time.

Kissing the apple of your cheek before pecking a kiss to your lips as he begins to settle into a rhythm against you, lips lazily lying against the skin of your jaw, Hongjoong looks up at you through his eyelashes with a smile. “Too much to say 'I love you' while I'm inside of you?” he asks jokingly, but you know more than anything else that he's not really joking.

And for that, you couldn't be happier.

“No,” you sigh, word catching in your throat as he finds that particular angle that has you coming undone with haste beneath him. “Never.”

“Good, because I do,” he whispers, the feeling of you clenching around him taking him out of the thought for a split second. “Sorry, dirty talk is terrible tonight, I know,” he laughs through a groan.

Times like these, where you're able to completely and entirely be yourselves together — laughing and loving without a second thought, it takes you back to the first time with him — albeit, more of a performance, an interview for both parties in some ways, but the ease in which you two fit together entirely being something that you're not sure you ever really can find more than once in a lifetime.

The concept that there's no 'one,' that there are so many ninety-nine point eights or nines, but no singular person, the fairy tale ending, the all-encompassing everything.

Perfection.

And in truth, it's possible that you and Hongjoong are simply another example of it, given the trials and tribulations of your relationship, only to end up right back here after everything.

But it's still real life, and it still takes work. Even when it comes to the ninety-nine point nine, it's up to you to fill in the deficit.

It's not long at all before Hongjoong has you pressed hard against him as you come, firm, hard, drives of his length into you to ride you fully through it just in time for him to bury himself as deeply as he can — teeth gritted and a bit back groan as he comes inside of you with throbs of his cock so evident that you can feel him against your walls as he releases as well.

Hurriedly, lazily kissing your mouth through heavy, labored breaths, the both of you smile against each other's lips, 'I love you' slipping out and into the air, although, you're not sure which one of you is the one to say it.

It's not perfect, and it's been far from easy, but with your hands buried into dark, messy hair as Hongjoong draws invisible art into your skin with a single, painted index fingertip, you think that in spite of all of that, at the very least it's worth another shot.

That if Hongjoong is willing to believe you, believe in you, then the least you can do is be kind enough to yourself to do the same.

“This is a little unethical.”

“I know.”

Looking around the office space, you take in the faint scent of what you think you can note as cedarwood, being far from an expert on wood-related fragrances but having smelled it enough times to think to know, you find comfort in it — it's obvious intent, glancing past the bookshelves filled with brown, white and gray book spines and eventually settling on a desk towards the back of the room.

It's your first time doing this, they'll have to forgive you for not being completely present at the very start.

Dark green walls and a dark wood desk with a heavy waxed glaze, you tune out the conversation taking place in the room if only for a moment to focus on the photograph standing tall and a bit off to the corner.

In it, two men that you are very well acquainted with. One with an adorable slit in his eyebrow.

“I'll do this once but I'm gonna have to refer you elsewhere,” he says firmly as your attention snaps back in front of you as the words leave his mouth. The end of a pen dangling from the corner of his lips and wide glasses sitting atop his nose — almost obstructing the sight of the beauty mark just below his eye, but not quite.

Hair down today, suppose he does mean business.

It's then that a hand slips into your own, fingers lacing between — catching your eye, a single, yellow-painted pinky nail — something you had done yourself a few nights prior to now.

It brings a smile to your lips. A sort of guide, you think, as silly as it may be. Maybe it will all be okay, and even if it's not — we gave it everything.

Looking back up and over at Hongjoong, the man next to you on the couch smiling gently even through the discomfort of the situation at hand, you can't help but feel the hopefulness he exudes, the confidence, and even more than that, the contentment coursing through him.

Happiness, in full understanding.

'I love you, and for both of our sake, we have to try.'

You know that you will wear Hongjoong in your skin for as long as you live, and the same for him with you, no matter this outcome.

But you owe it to yourselves, closure being a gift that cannot be gifted to us through others but rather understanding from ourselves.

For you and Hongjoong both, this is the way.

You watch Wooyoung look up at the both of you through his eyelashes, one eyebrow cocked upwards in what you can only gather is some level of grievance in this being requested of him — but accepting of it all the same, really, it's the least he can do for being so conniving.

“Well then,” he sighs reluctantly, opening his notepad and sitting up proper in his chair just across the table, and you know that he knows the answer to the question once he says it, but suppose one should go through all of the motions — for professionalism, of course.

“Why is it that the two of you are seeking therapy at this time?”

♡ send me your thoughts and feelings in my ask.

⎯ ୨previous୧ ⎯

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

256 notes · View notes

faeryvoid · 2 months

Text

The Diversity of A-spectrum Experiences Zine Submissions!!

Hiya, I'm Fawn (FaeryVoid) Something to know about me is that I'm AroAce and I'm making a zine about the diversity amongst a-spec experiences. I've already made a post about this on my main blog The DazedPuppyDiaries, but I wanna make an updated post here. Before I discovered that I'm aro, I already really wanted to make a zine about the diversity amongst ace-spec experiences and that kind of evolved into making a zine about the diversity amongst a-spec experiences. I'm inspired to make this zine because I feel it's often forgotten that the a-spectrum is just that, a spectrum. I feel that a-spec experiences are often treated as a monolith which I find really frustrating. If you're a-spec and interested in participating feel free to reach out whether that be through commenting, reblogging this, or direct messaging me. I wanna make it clear this zine is for all a-spec not just aces and aros, so if you're aplatonic or asensual for example I'd like to hear from you as well. I do ask that anyone submitting something is 18+. You can be accredited however you like whether that be, your username, your name, your system name, an alias, or anonymous. I'm open to many mediums for this project so if you'd prefer to share your experience through illustration rather than writing that's also fine. I also have a prompt list available so if you'd like that reach out and I'll send you the document, but the prompt list is completely optional. If you're writing a submission try to be conscious about the length of the submission, but it's not too big of a deal. I should note that I might not be able to use all the submissions I get or I might not be able to use a whole submission if it's very long. Also If you don't want to write a submission, but would like to give me feedback about your experience for me to take into account while writing the zine I'd appreciate that as well, please just differentiate if it's feedback or a submission. This project is going to take me quite a while and I'm going to be taking submissions for quite a while too, so submissions are open unless I edit this saying otherwise.

[submissions and feedback are currently open]

34 notes · View notes

we-are-inevitable · 6 months

Note

you asked for restaurant au requests so!! restaurant au javid?? and if there is a sauce-related incident i'd appreciate it?? (no pressure though!) - @pigeonwit

OHHH!! absolutely.

edit after writing: this got out of hand. i love them so so much.

———

“Corner!”

That’s all the warning David gets before a body rounds the corner and rams straight into his own. He sees it first, a curly mop of blonde hair, a high-pitched yell, a tray flying out of hands— all too suddenly, David is splayed on his back on the kitchen floor, and all too suddenly, his white shirt is soaked in something chunky and wet.

Racer immediately kneels down next to him, eyes wide as one of the big pans they use to cook up all of the fries. “David! Oh, shit! Man, are you okay?”

“I— Yeah, I’m fine. Get me up,” David says, but as soon as he sits up, there’s a distinct pain in the middle of his back. He winces, and that must be noticeable, because Racer instantly starts asking questions.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine, just—“

“No, you’re hurt, aren’t you? Fuck, I am so sorry, I didn’t know you were right there, I’m sorry—“

With a sigh, David grabs onto Racer’s shoulder, slowly pushing himself up to a standing position despite the blossoming feeling of ow currently pulsating through his body. “Kid, you’re okay, okay? You’re fine,” David says through gritted teeth.

Everyone in the kitchen is looking at them by now. David slowly turns to give them all a glance, noticing that something is missing— and just at that moment, Jack walks into the kitchen, smelling like cigarette smoke masked by a high-end cologne.

Jack stops just before the mess on the floor, taking it in with wide eyes, and he quickly looks up and makes eye contact with David. “What the hell happened?”

David sees the nervous look on Racer’s face, so he concedes and says, “It’s my fault. I was leaving and ran into Racer, I fell down and dropped the food. I’ll clean it up.”

“Clean yourself up first,” Jack comments, gesturing to David’s shirt, smeared with all sorts of colors: red and green salsa, garlic aioli, ranch and ketchup— a menagerie of condiments for a menagerie of burgers. “You didn’t get hurt when you fell, did’ja?”

“No, I—“

“He fucked up his back,” Race says from the side, and David gives him a nudge with his elbow. “He’s movin’ slow and it looked like he hurt when he sat up.”

Jack takes the information in, and gestures to the dishwasher. “I’ll give you a ten if you clean this up,” he says, gesturing to the pocket his wallet resides in, and the dishwasher responds with a curt nod. Turning to his linecooks, Jack nods to them as well. “Keep doin’ what you’re doin’. Rush isn’t startin’ for another twenty minutes, I’ll be back in ten at the most. Got it?”

“On it,” Specs pipes up, not even looking away from the task at hand.

With that done, David watches as Jack reaches out, then sighs at the feeling of Jack’s hand on his shoulder. They walk slowly to the manager’s office- a larger room off to the side of the kitchen, with a couple of comfy chairs and a place for staff to eat their food.

“Don’t bother Charlie with this, please,” David says, head lolling just enough to look at Jack. “I’m fine, really.”

Jack clicks his tongue a few times, then pulls out his keyring and unlocks the door. “Charlie ain’t here,” He murmurs, pushing the door open and leading Davey inside, only to lock the door behind them. “He’s runnin’ up to the bank. Register’s almost outta change for customers.”

“Ohhh, okay, makes sense,” David nods, then takes in a deep breath. “So… can I go, if he’s not here? I have tables I need to check on.”

“They can wait. Your health is more important than a table,” Jack says like it’s the easiest thing to understand, and Davey wants to agree, but he never knows. A few good tips could be the difference between eating and not.

But he doesn’t bother arguing with Jack, because that’s never gotten him anywhere in the past.

Jack, after rummaging around in a locker for a moment, comes back to Davey with a clean- albeit wrinkled- white shirt. He sets it down on Charlie’s desk, and walks back to David, and suddenly, there’s a tenderness in his eyes that wasn’t there before— a carefully concealed care. Jack cups his cheek, and leans up to press a soft kiss to his forehead.

With that, Jack makes gentle work of untucking David’s shirt, working the buttons open until he can push the fabric off of his shoulders.

David gulps, and says, “I wish you were undressing me in a different circumstance right now.”

That quip gets a grin in response, Jack looking up at him with bright eyes. “Turn around, you dumbass.” And who is David not to comply? He turns, feeling Jack’s hands on his back. “Hm… It looks a little red,” He mumbles. “You sure you feel okay?”

David hesitates, then nods. “Yeah, I just… I guess I’m taking it slow today,” he murmurs. “If it gets worse, I’ll call out tomorrow. Racer owes me a covered shift anyway, I’ll talk to him if I need to.”

“If you’re sure,” Jack says softly, kissing the back of David’s neck. He then gently turns David around in his arms, running a hand through his hair. “Make sure you let me know if you need to go home, okay? I got a lotta sway over Char.”

David just grins and leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to Jack’s lips. “I’d rather go home with you,” He says softly, then sighs, grabbing the shirt off of Charlie’s desk. “I need to go check on my tables. I’d love to stay in here and have you all over me, but…”

Jack rolls his eyes. “I wasn’t all over you. I was makin’ sure you weren’t hurt,” He defends, though his smile is more than telling.

With a shake of his head, Davey finishes buttoning his new shirt, tucking it into his belt. It’s a little loose on him- it’s likely Jack’s- but he rolls the sleeves up and smiles in Jack’s direction. “Thank you, ahuví,” David says, and gives Jack one last kiss on the lips before they both walk towards the door.

“Ready to hate each other again?” Jack asks, and David squeezes his hand three times. They both walk out, discarding the dirty shirt into one of the trashcans in the kitchen, and David walks back to the front of house with a new smile on his face.

#this is so. RAHHHH i love them #thank u for the request pidge!!#jack kelly #davey jacobs #david jacobs #newsies #livesies #newsies musical #ask a jac !#racetrack higgins #specs newsies #newsies fic #newsies fanfic #newsies broadway #newsies live #west endsies #newsies uk

66 notes · View notes

stevetonyisendgame · 11 months

Text

It's the first day of work reveals for A Second Chance: A Steve/Tony Endgame Mini-Exchange and we have 8 fics and 1 artwork today!

Thank you to all participants - we’re so excited to share all these beautiful gifts with you! Enjoy and remember to leave kudos/comments for our hardworking creators to show your appreciation!! ❤️

A reminder to our dear creators that you can change the publication date of your works now that they have been revealed, so that they appear on the first page of the tags!

1. as easy as breathing for purpleicedteas | ART - T

things aren't easy after thanos but steve and tony have each other.

2. In Our Hands for CapBlondette | FIC - 1.6k, T

Memories slowly appeared in his mind. The battle. The way he’d taken the gauntlet from Thanos. Peter who was suddenly by his side. And Steve. The snap. But not much after. He only remembered the blinding light and the power in his hand, as well as the pain.

3. I Tell You That I Think I'm Falling (Back in Love with You) for tinystark616 | FIC - 6.3k, E

When Tony said “I have to get it out of the garage before Morgan takes it sledding.” as he gave the shield back to Steve, not in a million years the thought it would actually happen. Yet there it was, right in front of him, ‘the one that got away’ playing with his daughter in the snow, shield by their side dutifully waiting for them to get back on top of it.

4. Endgame, Not Checkmate for Herogers | FIC - 8.6k, T

“Tony?” Steve asks as Tony immediately taps his screen to life, calling up the specs for what looks like a new set of his nanite armour. “Um… aren’t you going to take it easy for a while?” Tony frowns at Steve over the top of the screen. “Ah, no? Why would I do that?” “Maybe because you almost died?” Steve blurts out. “I mean, just yesterday you were—!” “Yeah, you're right,” Tony cuts in. “But that was yesterday. And since now it’s today, and, as you can see, I’m perfectly fine, then I need to get back to working on some stuff.” He shoots Steve a grin, like that somehow makes it okay. “You're welcome to stay and watch if you want.” Against all odds, the Avengers have beaten Thanos. But when Tony fails to see that victory for what it is, Steve decides the only way to get him to see reason is to confess the secret he’s been harbouring for way too long.

5. the things we held on to for ishipallthings | FIC - 790, G

Tony finds out that Steve still has his flip-phone when they're preparing for the time-heist

6. Remember What I Said. for enragedbisexual | FIC - 2.4k, M

Tony and Steve have had to be quiet for more than one reason over the years. Maybe they will get some privacy now the Universe is saved?

7. Real Life for xWinterDreamsx | FIC - 1k, T

“Are we going to talk about that kiss?” Of course it’s Tony who is brave enough to bring it up. --- Tony and Steve both retire after the events of endgame, but they have some unfinished business to take care of.

8. No Lies From The Trusted for navaan | FIC - 17.8k, M

Finding himself in a world where Iron Man has just emerged Steve discovers the unexpected consequences to time travel. Stuck with a new identity, a new life, and an unexpected relationship, some consequences are more complicated than others.

9. hold fast for VenomousSoliloquy | FIC - 1.3k, T

“What?” Steve asks finally, putting down his pencil and staring right back at Tony. “Nothing,” Tony says. Then he reaches out and thumbs at the corner of Steve’s mouth, eyes crinkling when Steve’s eyes go very wide. “So serious, you.”

#stevetony #stony #superhusbands #steve x tony #steve rogers x tony stark #endgame event #announcement #endgame event reveals day 1

124 notes · View notes

mokuknight · 29 days

Text

My dad told me something about myself earlier thats COD related. I still kinda remember this actually.

So, back when I was little, I would always wanna play the spec ops mission 'Evasion' with him whenever we'd play. Wanna know why? ...The dogs... the dogs were apparently the only reason. There were animals, and I love animals. I knew I had to kill them to sneak by the enemies, but I'd constantly dote over them. I WAS LITTLE. I wasn't being a psycho, they were puppies to me and I'd just watch them growl at me when my dad and I were in our signature hiding spot when the enemies were alerted.

He called it 'The dog mission' all because of this, and I was told I'd say "Lets play dogs!!". He'd also save all the dog kills for me?? He ended up doing that too when we decided to do Evasion again years later a couple days ago.

Like dude, I'm not hyped abt the dogs anymore ITS FINE.

But, I find it kind of odd. Just liking the dogs and not complaining about having to kill them?? Perhaps little me just appreciated the fact they were there??? What was up with me??????

they got red eyes, too.

#cod #cod mw2 #cod mwii

24 notes · View notes

Last Seen Blogs

hiyokoluvs

gio

bykakaw

•Toons n' goons•

gardentapbox

Untitled

xxmlg

M.L.G.

wiccamagazine

Wicca Magazine