#leather notebook blog

[leathertalks1]

Here’s How Notebooks Nurture Productivity in the Digital Age

In the digital age, notebooks serve as a secret weapon for enhancing productivity. Despite the prevalence of screens in our daily lives, it is natural to question the relevance of traditional paper notebooks and planners. With the convenience of smartphones, tablets, and laptops, the act of jotting down notes with pen and paper may appear outdated.

Nevertheless, notebooks continue to hold a significant role in our lives, even in this digital era. This article delves into the reasons why notebooks maintain their importance amidst the abundance of digital devices and still help nurture our overall productivity.

PLAN YOUR DAY:

In our modern, fast-paced world, it can be easy to become overwhelmed with the demands of daily life. That's why having a notebook as an essential tool for planning your day is more important than ever. A notebook allows you to capture and organize your thoughts, tasks, and goals in one convenient place.

This visual reminder of your achievements serves as motivation to keep pushing forward with increase in overall productivity to do more.

Not only does a notebook help with organization and motivation, but it also encourages creativity. Whether it's doodling in the margins or brainstorming ideas for future projects, having a dedicated space for creative expression can spark new insights and innovative thinking.

WRITE THINK STRATEGIES CREATE INNOVATE IDEATE :

In today's fast-paced world, where ideas can make or break businesses, having a reliable tool to capture and organize thoughts is essential. That's where a trusty notebook comes in - an indispensable companion for thinkers, creators, and innovators.

With a notebook by your side, you have the freedom to write, think, strategize, create, innovate, and ideate without any limitations. It acts as a canvas for your imagination to run wild and allows you to document every moment of inspiration that strikes.

CONCLUSION:

Moreover, a notebook allows you to think strategically by organizing your ideas into cohesive plans and strategies. By visually mapping out your goals, timelines, and action steps, you can gain a better understanding of the path to achieving them and thus nurturing our overall productivity.

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[cheftulips]

Welcoming my new Traveler’s Notebook (๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵)

Finally caved and bought a Traveler’s Notebook in the passport size. ʕʘ‿ʘʔ I’m already obsessed and I’m so excited to see the patina on the leather as it ages. Compared to some of the other brands, Traveler’s Notebook is one of the more affordable options and has some of the best quality paper in my opinion. I’m also looking forward to visiting the flagship store when I visit Tokyo and Kyoto, hopefully this year. (*´ω`*) I really want a brass charm.

My very first project of the year was this handsewn cover for my book journal. I added beads from my boyfriend’s Aunt Barbara in the stitching to match the beaded charm from a necklace my mom made me that’s attached to my Traveler’s Notebook. (๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵)

At Yoseka Stationary, I found this cute strawberry scented stamp that’s perfect as a tracker marker.

Something that’s so nostalgic to me growing up in Japan is the random English on Japanese items. I don’t see much of it anymore, but as soon as I saw “ALL THE TRAVELERS NEED IS LOVE” I related so hard and had to buy it right away.

My MARKS 2025 planner fits perfectly along with my Kaweco Sport.

These are all of my favorite things. I’ll use forever and ever to log my favorite books, movies, recipes, friends addresses, everything everything.

I’ll update soon with the notebooks inside.

For some reason, I can’t stop listening to MIKE.

[edwardslvrr]

PACKING IT UP ⌗ rafe cameron part 14

౨ৎ hockeyplayer!rafecameron x sportsjournalism!reader

the one where rafe cameron is the captain of the hockey team at university and where reader is a sports journalism student and needs to follow the hockey team around for the season and has the captain wrapped around her finger in no time

taglist if you'd like to be added to my taglist, message me privately or comment on this post

warning this is all fake and just for fun, no hate to any of the people mentioned. Just a reminder that this is pure for entertainment хохо

main masterlist ౨ৎ rafe masterlist ౨ৎ 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒓𝒕𝒆𝒆𝒏 ౨ৎ 𝒇𝒊𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒆𝒏

📓 ﹒☆﹒ your notebook

💌 ﹒☆﹒ your phone

new notes saved

💌 ﹒☆﹒ your phone

new message notification from ‘jules 💋’

💌 ﹒☆﹒ yourinstagram！ ✿

new instagram story

💌 ﹒☆﹒ your phone

new message notification from ‘rafe ☺️’

💌 ﹒☆﹒ your phone

new facetime call incoming

🎧 ﹒☆﹒ your playlist

💌 ﹒☆﹒ yourinstagram！ ✿

new post has been added

edwardslvrr talks - im still sick (I AM LOSING IT) + for those of u that do not know, i’ve posted an introduction to a new rafe fic (go view my masterlist to find it(

taglist - @mbella607 @urbrunettebombshell @leather-n-velvet @judesgfirl @4vanaa @lilithblackkk @kulekehe @akobx @barnesboo1967 @charli123456789 @fruitcakerafe @malibuhearts @heartsforrafecam @mrsdrewstarkeyy @f4irywor1d @flirtism @marleymarleymarleymarley @acidfeens @daysis-stuff @auroramadelyn @pogueprincesa @dreamybabbyy @inthelibrarybtw @rafesdrew @laniirackssss @my-name-is-baby @justdamnpeachy @starsmoonn @hypnotizedstarkey @davinashifts333 @goldenfinchs-blog @drewrry @d3ad-ins1de @jjmaybankmylovee @bradshawed @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account

[nerddface-has-moved]

Decorum

hi it's been 8 years. I am now severely embarrassed by almost everything on this blog but do you know the one thing that has remained with me. this mf

watched the live action, dug up my hyperfix (the hyperfix has also remained, httyd tattoo and all) and found this floating in the drafts. one last yum yum for the freaks <3

~

Characters: Snotlout Jogenson, gn!reader, The GangTM

Warnings: i wrote this like six years ago

Notes: set after the second film. prompt was from an anon request that I can no longer locate, but did write down in my google doc, and I quote "May I request a Snotlout x Reader where he’s with the gang on Berk (set right after HTTYD 2) and being...Snotlout for lack of a better term, and the reader comes along and he totally changes and is all sweet and gentlemanly and everything bc they’re dating and the rest of the gang is kind of weirded out that he’s so different with them?"... whoever and wherever u are this is for u bestie

~

“Snotlout!” 

Hiccup’s voice echoed across the training grounds. Y/N lifted their head from the leather sheath they were painting to watch Snotlout dash across the stonework, Toothless hot on his heels. Hookfang opened one eye, but otherwise didn’t move from the warm patch of sunlight he was lounging in.

Despite being crowned Alpha and Chief, respectively, very little changed for Toothless and Hiccup in their group dynamic. At least, it didn’t in Snotlout’s world. Hiccup was still susceptible to having his hair dyed green overnight, his blueprints hidden in the rafters, or his prosthetic leg replaced with any manner of random objects (including, but not limited to, knives, wooden cooking utensils, and once, a melon). 

Y/N heaved a short sigh to themselves over their boyfriend’s antics. 

The small complex was quiet this morning. The Gang had set up a hub for Berk’s defense after returning from Dragon’s Edge, mostly because they had all begun getting antsy since their return to such close quarters. The everyday bustle of Berk was far cry from the laid-back remoteness of the Edge. Having a central base for coordinating patrols and lessons was also a good opportunity for the group to relax, away from the rest of the island. The large rotunda they had built was high enough to not only see the entire village and any mounting attacks from the sea, but it also dimmed most of the clanging and chattering of the people and dragons below. 

Typically the gang gathered there in twos or threes, as they all had duties now that they were back in the swing of things. The day-to-day was even more crazy now, with Hiccup taking over his late father’s duties as chief, though his mother tried her best to help. Y/N could see Valka was still a little on edge, but they couldn’t blame her. It must be hard to reintegrate after so long. Sometimes Y/N could hardly stand it all, and it was all they had known their whole life.

A few paces behind his dragon came Hiccup, splattered from head to toe in paint. He stopped momentarily to wipe the drips of it from his eyes. 

“He loaded the catapult with paint sponges,” he explained when he caught a glimpse of Y/N’s inquisitive look. They offered a wry, sympathetic smile, and chuckled under their breath as he took off after the culprit. They were glad some things never seemed to change.

~

Throughout the rest of the day, the rest of the gang slowly filtered in. Fishlegs had new versions of his dragon cards to draft, Astrid wanted to paint a new shield, and the twins giggled quietly over a notebook. Snotlout came back, no longer tailed by an angry Chief, hefting Hookfang’s saddle and a bucket. He shot them a wink as he entered. They returned it with a quirked brow, to which they received a sheepish blush. 

“Didn’t know it was him,” he mumbled, sinking into a chair to get polishing. They huffed amusedly and went back to their work. 

Hiccup was the last to join them, with a box of rolled-up papers and metal trinkets. He had changed clothes, but there were still traces of paint on the back of his neck and in his hair. Snotlout snorted, but his snarky comment was cut short by a sharp look from the Chief.

They fell into a companionable silence, in their own little worlds together, which was even more of a rarity than all of them being in the same room at the same time, but it was precious. Even if Ruff was regularly asking for thoughts on her poetry (poetry being a term used loosely), and Snotlout had begun launching pebbles at the heads of anyone who looked too invested in their work. 

Y/N couldn’t quite get the knife they were putting together to balance quite right and wrap the leather strips around the hilt, so they called quietly, trying not to break the comfortable mood that had settled over the room, “Snotlout, could I get a hand here?” 

The man in question dropped his brush and his fistful of rocks and rushed to where Y/N sat. 

“Just hold this in place, here,” they instructed, and Snotlout offered no snide comment when they adjusted his hands slightly on the leather and steel. They worked slowly and meticulously, building the handle and securing it in place, with nary a complaint from their helper.

“Looks good,” Snotlout praised as they worked. By now, there were a few straying pairs of eyes on them and Y/N was finishing wrapping a broad strip of leather around the handle of their weapon.

“Wonderful. Thank you, darling.” Snotlout leaned forward to accept Y/N's chaste kiss of thanks, and smiled at them a moment longer before returning to his saddle (and his rocks). No one spoke, but somewhat awkwardly returned to their activities. A pebble clanged off of Fishlegs’ helmet. 

Suddenly, the bell from the central dragon-feed station clanged in the distance, indicating it was mid-day. Y/N flinched in their chair. 

“Oh, by the Allfather, is that the time?”

“What is it?” Fishlegs asked, shooting a glare at Snotlout. 

Y/N sighed. “Songtooth and I were going to help Bucket and Mulch with fishing today, he said he wanted a Thunderdrum for some new bait tactic.” They surveyed the materials spread out before them. “Odin’s beard, how did I make such a mess?”

For the second time that afternoon, the unreal happened. Snotlout stood, completely abandoning his half-polished saddle. “Don’t worry, babe, I got it. You go on ahead.” 

Y/N offered him a grateful smile, and paused in gathering all of their things. “What would I do without you?” 

His response was snarky, but not in the typically narcissistic Snotlout kind of way, entirely without his typical glib edge. In fact, he sounded uncharacteristically tender. “You’d be lost, probably.” 

Y/N sheathed the newly-made dagger and pressed a kiss to their boyfriend’s cheek before scampering away, calling for their Thunderdrum. Snotlout watched them disappear around the corner, a blush coloring his cheeks. He caught Hiccup’s eye as he turned back around, and turned back into himself in an instant. 

“What are you looking at, stringbean?” 

“Ah, n- nothing!” Hiccup exclaimed. “Nothing at all, just thinking about all of my... inventing... stuff.” 

Tuffnut, on the other hand, burst out laughing. “Snotlout, you’ve gone domestic! I can’t believe it! The beefy, ultra-viking Snotlout Jorgenson has become a housewife! Oh, I can see it now, in the far future, when women wear dogs on their skirts, and fruit is baked into cake, our dear Snot--”

Snotlout rushed the lanky viking and snatched up his collar, cutting him off and threatening to lift him off the ground. 

“You’d better shut your stupid mouth before I shove it full of yak hair.” Tuffnut wriggled his way out of Snotlout’s grip as the bigger man quipped matter-of-factly, “they're my princess, they get what they want.” 

“Talk about spoilsport. I was liking Snot-wife,” Tuff lamented as he smoothed his shirt collar and slunk back into his seat. He muttered something else incomprehensive as Ruffnut patted a sympathetic hand on his shoulder.

The reverence with which Snotlout gathered Y/N’s things, tucking them all into their bag and folding their notes so they didn’t get crumpled was so contrary that it was almost hard to soak in. He held their bag carefully, and slung Hookfang’s saddle over an arm.

“See you losers later,” he threw over his shoulder as he left, pinging his last pebble off Astrid, who was closest to the entrance. ”Snotlout outlout!” 

For a moment, no one spoke. They all sat, stunned at this new, selfless, not-at-all... Snotlout Snotlout. 

“Did... all that just happen?” Astrid asked, breaking the silence. 

“I don't know,” Fishlegs responded, sounding a little dazed. “I’m pretty sure I'm dreaming.”

“I think we just saw a new Snotlout,” Hiccup said, unfurling another blueprint absentmindedly.

“If Y/N can keep this one around,” Astrid proposed, “Petition to keep them together forever.” 

A murmur of agreement rumbled through the group. Maybe Nice Snotlout would be nice to them after a while. If not... well, Y/N could always keep him in line.

[humanpurposes]

Hysteria

(1950s AU) A housewife reaches breaking point and seeks medical advice at her husband's request // Main Masterlist

Aemond x nameless female character

Warnings: 18+, smut, period typical sexism, dub-con,

Words: 5400

A/n: inspired by this ask on @lightningandfireinmybones 's blog, shout out to @b-vvitched for the prompt, I couldn't stop thinking about it :) Also available to read on AO3.

She reads over the gold painted letters on the door to make sure she has the right room.

Dr A. Targaryen

General Practitioner

She brings her hand up to the door, hesitating for a moment before she softly taps her knuckles against the wood, thrice.

She holds her breath, unsure if a moment passes or a minute.

His voice comes soft and distant from the other side. “Enter.”

The room is simply four white walls, a dark wood desk and cabinets and an examination table with black leather upholstery. The harsh afternoon sun and a slight breeze bleed in from the open windows, floating through thin, white curtains. It’s surprisingly serene but still plain and inoffensive.

Dr Targaryen– Aemond as he insists as he shakes her hand– has harsh blue eyes, the left framed by a long scar slicing down his face, a pointed nose, curved lips, a sharp jaw and pale blond hair, stylishly gelled like some movie star. Something about him is unsettling despite the small smile and the impeccable manners as he offers her a seat in the green leather chair on the other side of his desk.

She contracts her hand slightly once he lets go of her. His grip had been rather firm.

He opens a brown leather notebook and flicks through a clipboard on the desk, frowning and tapping a pen against it as he goes over some paperwork and basic information she had given the nurse, as instructed.

She holds her hands together in her lap and winces at how damp her palms are. She’s sure it’s just the weather, and smooths them over her pale blue, rayon skirt. She checks her nails while she’s at it too. She had painted them red the night before, but they are already starting to chip from where she’d started her day with washing the dishes and doing a deep clean of the kitchen.

“You said your husband recommended you seek medical advice, is that right?” he asks, his head tilted down and his eyes meeting hers, expecting a prompt answer, she realises.

She swallows through the scratchy feeling in her throat, wishing she had accepted the receptionist’s offer of water. “Yes, that’s right.”

His eyes move over the page again and he gives a cryptic “hmm.”

The specifics often change but lately she’s realised that each day of her life feels the same. Wake up before her husband, make his coffee and his breakfast, make sure he wants for nothing and see him off to work. Help the mother-in-law with her shopping and her laundry. Bake a cake for the village fundraiser and drop it off at the the Church. Make polite conversation with the vicar and the other women helping out, compliment their babies, ask about the older children. Try not to cry when she’s bombarded with the dreaded question. “How soon can we expect little ones from you?”

Two weeks ago her husband had come home from work and found her on the sofa, staring into space, too tired to even reach for a book or a magazine. Everything had seemed to be going wrong for her that day, evidenced by the broken washing machine, the broken heel on her shoe, the cuts and blisters on her feet, the shopping left unceremoniously on the kitchen counter. She was absolutely exhausted, but when his dinner wasn't ready and waiting for him, her husband hit the roof.

Something snapped. Before she knew it, she was screaming, eyes hot and streaming with tears as she choked on her own sobs. She had never been so loud in her life. She can hardly even remember what she said.

Her husband’s voice screams inside her head. “Emotional… irrational… hysterical…”

“And you went to the nurse first?” Aemond asks. 

“Yes.”

He looks back at the notes. “What did she tell you?”

She shifts in her chair. It should all be right there in front of him, why does she have to say it?

She takes a deep breath, as subtly as she can. “She suggested it could be a hormonal imbalance, or a symptom of…”

Aemond raises a brow, expectantly.

She feels a warmth rushing to her cheeks “... monthly courses,” she says quietly.

“And have you had issues with those?” he asks.

“They can be irregular.”

He hums again and writes something in his notebook.

She clenches her fist around her skirt and notices the soft ticking of the clock on the wall over the desk. It’s not too obtrusive, and the rhythm gives her something to focus on while neither of them are speaking.

Aemond shifts back in his chair, crossing a leg over the other, absentmindedly pressing the lid of his pen to his lips like he’s trying to solve a crossword in the morning paper. “What exactly was your husband’s main concern?”

There comes a familiar feeling, an emptiness in her chest like her body might concave, and a swelling in her eyes. She bites down on her lip to dispel the urge to cry.

Everyone around her loves to comment on how happy she is, how blessed she is to have such a happy marriage and a loving husband.

“He says I’ve been too emotional.”

“Emotional in what way?”

She tells him about the outburst two weeks ago, expecting him to tut and shake his head and chide her for her behaviour. Instead he watches her and listens.

“He says he doesn’t know what else to do with me. He says he does everything he can to make me happy, but that it’ll never be enough for me,” she says.

“And does he make you happy?” he asks.

Her answer hitches in her throat. The obvious response would be of course. He does what any good husband does, works, brings home a salary, sweet talks her mother and smokes cigars with her father when they visit every other Sunday. 

Happiness seems to be an external factor, something people comment on and praise her. When other people say she is happy she wears it with pride, like a medal or a precious piece of jewellery.

She loves her husband, as well as any self respecting woman does. She reminds herself that’s the whole reason why she’s here.

At her silence Aemond smiles to himself and begins to write. She follows how his fingertips grip the pen and how the tendons in his hands flex.

“Wait!” she says, shuffling forward in her seat.

He pauses and looks at her like he did before, with his chin tilted down.

“No– I meant to say yes. Yes, he makes me happy.”

His eyes move around her face and briefly down, over the pearl charm hanging from her neck, her white blouse and her hands bunched in her blue skirt. She releases them when she realises he’s looking and rests them on the arms of the chair instead.

This feels like a test, one in which every word and gesture will be put to scrutiny, earning either a curious “hmm” or a scratching of the pen against the paper. She wonders which is worse.

“How long have you been married?” he asks.

“A year in July.”

“No children?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

His question leaves a tight feeling in her chest and in her gut. 

Aemond sets the pen down on the desk without making a sound. “Sorry, I know these questions can be obtrusive. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, but it would be useful to know what I’m working with.”

That’s an odd way to phrase it, she thinks.

“No it’s alright,” she says, her fingers moving anxiously over each other. “It’s not for lack of trying. We… try a few times a week. Usually on the weekends or when he’s not tired– he’s often tired after work.”

“And how is it?”

“Oh, um–” without thinking her hands move back into her lap and she starts to pick at the red nail polish. “He says there’s something wrong with me.”

Aemond tilts his head. “Wrong with you?”

She squeezes her thighs together at the familiar memory of her husband’s downright painful attempts to make love to her. He practically has to force his way inside of her and she can never stand it for more than a few thrusts before she pushes him off. 

He was understanding for the first few months, but she can tell it’s starting to irritate him now. She doesn’t understand why it doesn’t work, what she could possibly be doing wrong.

“Does he prepare you?” 

She looks up with a knitted brow. “Prepare me?”

He tuts and mutters something that sounds like “poor thing,” before scrawling another quick note. 

Then he stands, rolling up the sleeves of his white coat and the black shirt underneath. “I want to check a few things,” he says, cocking his head towards the examination table on the other side of the room.

She follows dutifully, propping her hands against the leather upholstery and pushing herself up to sit on it. Her black heels don’t reach the floor. She crosses them at the ankle and lets them swing a little. 

Once Aemond has washed his hands he approaches her. He’s tall, she realises as he stands before her. His hips are level with her knees and the edge of the table and while he’s not quite close enough to touch her, her legs twitch at the proximity.

She tries to avert her gaze from the somewhat intense expression in his eyes as he simply looks at her. Her eyes don’t stop moving, looking past his shoulder or down at her sides, but there’s not anything interesting to look at.

She focuses on the steady ticking of the clock, counting ten long seconds before she realises she’s holding her breath.

When she finally releases she finds herself focusing instead on the gentle sounds of Aemond’s breath through his nose, the smell of his hair gel, musky aftershave and the lingering scent of smoke. 

Warm fingertips brush against her jaw as he brings her to look at him. She can feel the slight roughness of the pads of his fingers, but he’s gentle when he touches her, almost cautious. 

He leans in a little closer until he’s touching her knees. She doesn’t let herself react but her heart is drumming furiously, more so when his thumb strokes over her cheek. He moves back and forth, grazing the corner of her mouth, before he swipes it over her lower lip. 

She relaxes her mouth as he presses and tugs on the soft flesh. It’s somehow both terrifying and oddly reassuring.

And then he settles, pressing both of her lips into a slight pout while his fingertips rest against her jaw and the top of her neck.

“Open your mouth for me,” he says.

She stares back at him with wide eyes. Had she heard that correctly?

The corners of his mouth curl politely, waiting for her compliance.

So she does as he asks.

With his fingers holding her chin, Aemond inches his thumb into her mouth, settling on her tongue. His skin tastes clean and faintly medicinal from the amber soap.

“You can close your mouth,” he says.

She keeps her eyes on his as she closes her lips around him, careful not to touch him with her teeth.

He hums again, low and contentedly. “Good girl.”

She shudders at the sudden weightlessness in her belly.

“Are you alright?” he asks.

She gives him a small nod.

"Good," he utters, "just breathe."

She loses count of the seconds on the clock as he simply settles inside of her. She does as he says, breathing deeply through her nose, looking up at him through her eyelashes, trying to read if he's pleased or not.

When he starts to withdraw and she instinctively drags her tongue along his thumb. She looks down at his hand, the imprint of her mauve lipstick on his skin, the glistening digit and the small line of spit that trails from her mouth, which he wipes away with his fingers.

“How did that feel?” he asks.

She thinks for a moment. “Good.”

He glances down and her eyes follow, to the fabric of her skirt. When she stands it falls to her shin, but seated, the hem rides up to just below her knees. He places a wide hand on her left knee, their skin separated only by a thin layer of nylon stockings.

“These outbursts of yours,” he mutters, “are they a regular occurrence?”

“Not really,” she says.

“What do you think caused it?”

She presses her teeth together and looks away from him to think. “Lots of things I suppose. It all piles up.”

“How did it feel, to shout at your husband?”

She huffs a laugh at the instinct that appears in her head, it’s not something she should ever admit, but there’s something about Aemond’s eyes and the feeling of his hands that make her want to tell him the truth,

“I liked it, I was just so…” she shakes her head looking for the right word, but she supposes there’s a simpler explanation. “I was so angry, angrier than I’ve ever been in my life.”

“What were you angry at?” Aemond asks, his thumb starting to stroke against her thigh. 

Would it be too much to list every aspect of her life that irritates her?

She hates a lot of things. She hates tidying the house just for it to get messy again. She hates it when her new shoes dig into her skin and make her bleed. She hates that she seems incapable of interacting with another person without suffering their scrutiny. She hates it when people tell her that her life is perfect.

Everything races around in her head, screaming and shouting at her until the noise becomes silent, just a throbbing pain in her head.

“Just… everything,” she groans, rubbing her fingertips against her temple. “I don’t understand it, everyone says our life together is so perfect, but I don’t feel perfect.”

His hand moves away from her and she looks up at the absence.

Aemond takes a slow breath. “Are you familiar with hysteria?”

Her heart sinks and he seems to see it in her face.

He purses his lips for a moment before he explains, “it’s essentially an excess of ill-managed emotions. It can lead to irrational behaviour and quite severe distress.”

She’s heard of the condition before, sparse stories here and there of men who had no choice but to seek proper treatment for their wives when they are too emotional… irrational… hysterical.

She’s not like those women, surely, and her husband knows that, right?

“Is that what's wrong with me?” she asks.

His mouth quirks. “Quite possibly.”

“But I’ve heard of women with this condition before. I’ve heard what their husbands do to them, I—” she can feel her eyes beginning to well with hot, stinging tears. “That’s not going to happen to me, is it?”

She hangs her head, dread pooling in her belly, until his hands cup the sides of her face. Aemond brings her gaze up into his eyes.

“Don’t send me away,” she whispers, blinking the tears from her eyes so they roll down her cheeks. “Please, there must be something you can do–”

“There there, pet,” he says, tracing his thumbs along her teartracks, “everything is going to be alright, hmm? We can sort you out.”

She nods at his reassurance and the feeling of his hands against her skin. It must be entirely improper to be so close to another man, even more so when she starts to realise just how much she likes it, a sweet sort of unease. Perhaps that’s just his nature, perhaps he’s just good at this part of his job.

For a moment he presses his lips together in a strange way, like he’s holding something back. “There is one treatment I’m keen to suggest,” he says.

“What treatment?” she asks.

He tilts his head slightly. “Hysteria is an instability of emotion. You need a release.”

“Like when I shouted at my husband?”

He smiles at that. “It felt good, didn’t it?”

She nods.

“We can undergo controlled releases,” he says, “you’ll be much happier for it.”

She takes a sharp breath when one of his hands moves down from her cheek to rest casually at her waist.

“I can start the treatment today, if you’d like?”

His face is close to hers now, She feels every flutter of his breath, the heat of his body separated by inches of empty space.

“Yes please,” she says quietly, like she might disturb the peacefulness in the room if she speaks any louder. “If it’s not too much trouble?”

“Don’t worry, pet, we’ve still got plenty of time left,” he says, stepping away. “Take your skirt off, and lie back.”

Suddenly her skin feels tight. “My skirt?”

“If you don’t mind?” he says over his shoulder as he walks towards his desk. “It just makes things a little easier, maybe the blouse too.”

She hops down from the table, heels clicking against the floor.  While Aemond’s pen scratches against paper, she turns her back and starts to pick at the buttons on the top of her blouse. She pulls it over her head and folds it, setting it down on the table, where her head will go. Then she pulls down the zip on her skirt and lets it fall around her. For the slightly mortifying prospect of standing there in her stockings and undergarments, the breeze from the window washes over the bare skin of her arms and torso. It’s quite nice, a welcome relief.

She waits with her heels close together and her hands clasped in front of her. Aemond has his back to her and she watches the way the sunlight catches in the silvery streaks of his hair. He tears a sheet from the pad of prescription papers and leaves it on his desk before he moves to the sink to wash his hands. It’s methodical, like before, well rehearsed and memorised for efficiency. Does he even have to think about what he’s doing, she wonders?

Once his hands are dried he reaches into a drawer under his desk. He keeps his eyes on the small object in his hands as he walks towards her.

She straightens her back and puts her hands on the table behind her, testing her weight so she can shuffle on top of it. 

Aemond looks up and she pauses.

His eyes dart up and down her body. “Shoes and stockings off too.”

Blood rushes to her cheeks but she complies, reaching down to undo the small buckles on each shoe. Once they’re under the table she stands straight and curls her thumbs around her stockings.

She looks up to Aemond. He gives her a small nod.

She starts to pull the thin material down her legs, so thin it should hardly make a difference. She shivers as the breeze meets a new part of her body. She straightens again, dutifully awaiting her next instruction. 

The corners of Aemond’s mouth curl. “Perfect,” he mutters. 

He steps closer to her, until she can make out the object in his hands. It’s a coppery colour, gleaming like metal, and no smaller than a tube of lipstick. He slips it into his coat pocket.

She follows Aemond’s hand as he reaches out and runs a slender finger under the strap of her brassiere. “I think we’ll keep this on,” he says.

She nods, though she doesn’t really know why.

A hum sounds in his throat and his eyes look over her face. “Lie back.”

She does as he says and fiddles with her hands, unsure of where to put them until she decides to keep them by her sides. Anticipation sets her nerves alight. She listens to every breath, each taunting footstep as Aemond comes to stand at the foot of the bed.

He moves slowly so as not to agitate her, but her whole body tenses when his hands clasp around her ankles. It’s obvious he’s trying to be gentle, but even when softly spoken his voice leaves a restless feeling in her gut. “Shh, try to relax, and just let me…” he lifts her legs up along her body until her knees are by her hips. His hands go to her thighs next and she lets out a short whimper of surprise when he pulls her closer to him.

“There we go,” he muses to himself, one hand on her thigh while he gently rests the other on her navel, over the hem of her panties.

Her hands are restless, fists clenching and nails digging into her palms.

Aemond looks down at her with a hint of concern. “You can tell me if you want to stop, at any point.”

“No it’s alright,” she breathes, suppressing the urge to arch her back.

His brows raise as he looks down, grazing his fingertips over her skin. Each movement has her breath hitching or her body squirming, no matter how hard she tries to relax, just as he’d instructed.

He brings both hands to her knees, closing them together before he reaches for her panties and slides them from her legs. She doesn’t see where he drops them. Her hands come into fists again as he gradually spreads her legs. 

She’s not sure what to expect or how this is supposed to help her control her emotions, but she tries to concentrate on staying still, keeping whatever dignity she has left.

“Look at that,” Aemond hums, circling his thumbs against her inner thighs, “you’re already getting wet.”

She can feel it, the warmth pooling between her legs. No one has ever told her it’s bad, but it’s one of those things she wonders if she should be ashamed of. She tries to shift but there’s nowhere for her body to go, nowhere she can hide from him.

“I’m sorry,” she mutters, “it’s not bad, is it?”

Aemond frowns. “You mean you don’t…” he trails off as his face melts into an amused sort of sympathy, like he’s piecing together a puzzle. “Bad news for your husband maybe. It means you’re aroused.”

Aroused. She repeats the word to herself a few times. 

Surely it is a bad thing to find herself in such a state, only she finds herself turning her attention to Aemond. Her gaze trails shamelessly over the veins and tendons of his hands and forearms as he kneads at her thighs, the curve of his upper lip and the tip of his tongue swiping between his teeth. If only she could read his mind, figure out what he’s thinking behind those pretty blue eyes, what hypothesis he’s playing around with inside his head. 

And then he reaches into his pocket. She lifts her head to try and get a better look. The coppery object looks more like an oversized bullet, with a slightly pointed head and a black button at its base. When Aemond presses the button it starts to hum. Even the noise of it sparks a reaction from her. She feels something strange, like a shockwave flashing through her body.

“Relax,” Aemond says, bringing his other hand to her hip. “I don’t want to have to tie you down.”

“No,” she utters, “sorry.” She lets her head fall against the upholstery and stares up at the ceiling, determined not to react.

Until something presses to her centre, humming against her. Pleasure pulses through her, unfamiliar but hot and bright. Her eyes snap shut and her hips try to buck but Aemond’s hand holds her down. 

“How does it feel?” he says.

Her first attempt to speak comes out as a broken whimper. “Good,” she manages, stilling her hips from trying to rock against the bullet. “Fuck…”

Something inside of her feels tight, tensing and tensing until she’s sure she can’t take any more. But he keeps it against her, making small, rhythmic movements through her folds, edging her closer to that rising feeling only to relieve her of it.

Her nails start to drag along the leather, clawing at it for purchase. She tries to stay still, to keep her hips steady but something has to give. She turns her head to the side, whimpering and groaning into her shoulder.

“There you go,” Aemond hums, as he finds a truly torturous pattern, slowly swiping upwards from her entrance to the sweet spot of her pearl, only to start over. 

“Please,” she whimpers as he tears her away from that feeling again. Blissful tears blur her vision and she feels utterly weightless. “I can’t stand it…”

He lingers the bullet just below her pearl. She’s so close to something. She can feel it. 

“Do you want to stop?” Aemond asks.

“No!” she cries.

He starts to move in small circles now and her body feels like it’s burning. “Just take it,” he says, “you can take it, just be a good girl for me, hmm?”

“Yes… yes…” she utters like a dreamy chant. 

The button clicks and the vibrations increase. She hardly registers the wanton noises she makes, but she’s all too aware of wet sounds of her arousal and Aemond’s short hums when her hips start to buck again.

“You’re so close, aren’t you?” Aemond says. “Come on, pet, you can do it, you’re almost there…”

She feels the hum of her throat as she groans his name and suddenly the tight feeling snaps. Her whole body releases, just as Aemond promised, and she feels herself come undone. He guides her through it, the bullet whirring against her and his hand steady on her hip.

When he finally withdraws, her limbs don’t feel like her own. She listens to her own breath and feels the rise and fall of her chest as she wills herself into a state of awareness. She props herself onto her elbows and her eyes meet Aemond’s.

He smirks, and looks down again, gently drawing a thumb through her folds. 

Her back arches and her breath hitches, though not as intensely as before. She can feel how slick she is now, how easily he moves against her. She eases under his touch and just lets it feel good.

“You did so well,” he says, “fuck, the way your cunt twitches when you come…”

She gazes at him with a bewildered kind of awe, at his parted lips, the golden glow of sunlight trailing down his jaw and his neck, and now the dark, almost hungry look in his eyes. She can already feel the desire rising again, the wanting for more.

“There’s something else I want to try,” he says. His thumb slips further down, teasing her entrance. “If you’ll let me?”

She holds her bottom lip between her teeth and nods.

“Good girl,” he hums.

That alone has her trying to roll her hips against him, but then he’s gone. She wants to groan in protest but keeps her mouth shut as she watches him remove his white coat and black shirt, both of which he drapes over his chair. For his seemingly slender frame, he’s surprisingly muscular. 

With his back still turned to her she watches his hands move to his trousers. She hears the clinking of his belt buckle and the sound of his fly coming undone. He reaches back into the same drawer, tears something between his teeth and discards a small, white packet on the desk. 

As he comes to stand before her once more she can’t help the small smile that graces her lips, unashamedly appreciating the muscles of his torso, his pectorals and the lines of his abdominals, and his now freed cock, already hard, and certainly larger than her husband’s.

He stands before her once again, bringing her knees down so he can slot himself between her legs.

She can already feel herself twitching and her heart racing. 

He doesn’t waste much time on preamble. “You’re fucking soaked,” he mutters, lining the his cock to her entrance and taking a hold of her thigh, “be a shame to waste it.”

She expects it to hurt when he pushes inside of her, and for a moment it does. She feels the way he stretches her out with just the tip. He moves slowly, dragging in and out of her, each time pushing in a little more. She can take the pain, at least until it starts to melt away. After a few strokes it feels effortless.

Aemond lets out a sharp grunt as he comes close to bottoming out. “How does it feel?” he asks with a small amount of strain.

It’s a different kind of pleasure, it’s duller and deeper, less frantic but it still burns in the best way.

“Good,” she breathes.

Aemond’s hands take hold of her waist as he increases his pace, dragging her into him to match his thrusts.

The air feels hot and thick now, the ticking of the clock drowned out by laboured panting, breathless moans and the soft sounds of skin meeting skin.

“Fuck you’re tight,” he hisses, sinking his fingertips deeper into her flesh.

“I don’t suppose that’s a medical term?” she says with a dazed grin.

Aemond huffs a laugh but it seems to spur him on, his jaw slack and his brow furrowed in determination. 

She wraps her legs around his hips and reaches up for him, but all she manages is to graze her fingertips over his torso. He snatches her wrists, leaning over to pin them on either side of her head as he brutally starts to snap her hips into hers. Like this he fucks her deeper and harder against the leather.

She feels her release building slowly, his cock brushing against a spot that has her eyes watering again.

“Going to come for me?” Aemond grits out, pressing his forehead to hers. 

“I want to,” she whimpers, arching her back to get closer to him, “fuck–”

He releases one of her wrists and slips his hand between them, circling her pearl with the pads of his fingers. 

He brings his lips to the shell of her ear. “You’re squeezing me so good,” he whispers harshly, “nearly there, nearly there sweetheart…”

Her legs start to shake as her pleasure peaks and her climax washes over her. Every part of her body tenses and moulds itself into him. Aemond doesn’t relent, he keeps fucking her until she’s whining and squirming, until finally he lets out a guttural groan into her neck. His hips still and she feels him throbbing inside of her, spilling himself into the condom.

For a moment she’s content to lie there, no matter how uncomfortable the surface of the bed is. She likes Aemond’s weight on top of her, his breath on her neck, the scent of him, the sweat from his brow against her skin. But they don’t stay like that for long. He pulls away from her and makes quick work of disposing of the condom and tucking himself back into his trousers.

“Nothing wrong in that regard,” he says, reaching for her hand to help her sit up. “If you’re having trouble it’s the fault of your husband. He needs to prepare you before he tries to fuck you.”

She flicks her hair from her neck to relieve some of the heat. “Oh, right.” She can feel herself trembling, but she feels light, like a weight has been lifted from her shoulders. 

“How are you feeling now?” he asks, placing a reassuring hold to her arm.

“Good,” she says.

Aemond carefully helps her back into her panties, stockings, shoes, blouse and skirt. He rights her necklace, wipes the dried tears from her cheeks, drags his thumb around her mouth where her lipstick has smudged and helps her down from the bed, keeping a firm hand on her until she nods to let him know she’s alright. 

He tears off a prescription paper and hands it to her. She quickly skims over it. He’s not prescribed any medication or recommended a lobotomy, thank God. 

“Contraction therapy?” she reads, looking up at him with a raised brow.

“I want to see you twice weekly,” he says, buttoning up his shirt. “Maybe we can go for three times a week, if you feel it would be beneficial.”

She tries her best to hide her smile. “Well I’m sure you know best, doctor.”

General Taglist (comment if you wanna be added): @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy

[sparklyskies0]

meet the band!

sturniolo band au

✦ content warnings ✦: smut, sexual situations and tension, cheating!, toxic environments, rockstar behavior, drug use, alcohol, mental health themes, angst. erm i think that’s it :/

In which being the lead singer of Boston’s hottest up-and-coming band should be the dream—late-night jam sessions, sold-out gigs, and your name on every indie music blog. But when you’re dating Chris Sturniolo, the effortlessly cool guitarist who never seems to care enough, the dream starts feeling a little less perfect.

Then there’s Matt—the band’s drummer, the quiet perfectionist, the one who always seems to have something to say when it comes to you. You two clash constantly—about setlists, about rehearsals, about the way he watches you when Chris isn’t looking. The tension is undeniable, crackling like static in the studio, in the cramped tour van, on stage when your voices blend just a little too well.

Chris plays it cool, Matt plays it careful, and you? You’re stuck between the song you thought you wanted and the melody you can’t ignore.

Because Matt might be your bandmate, your biggest rival, and your boyfriend’s brother—but he’s also the only one who looks at you like you’re his favorite song. And maybe, just maybe, you’re starting to hear it too.

lead singer!reader

songwriting. journaling. lipstick. vinyl collector. leather jackets & knee high boots. smoking. guitar. tattoo designing. polaroids. candle & incense lover. restless. hopeless romantic. witty. impulsive. cheater. chris’s gf. overthinker. stage vs reality. ★

drummer!matt

music nerd. designated driver. taking candid shots of bandmates. sarcastic. bold. gamer. tattoo lover. quiet unless he’s arguing w y/n. dark humor. chaos lover. obsessive. gf stealer. mysterious for no reason. knuckle rings & jewelry. ★

lead guitarist!chris

has a notebook full of riffs. guitar collector. skateboarding. chains & bracelets. bad handwriting. late night sessions. adrenaline junkie. smoker. cocky. player. flirtatious. a fucking menace. possessive. overprotective. wings everything. fan favorite. ladies man. ★

photographer!nick

photography obsessed. candid & unfiltered photo lover. polaroid hoarder. coffee lover. vintage camera collector. secretly plays guitar. makes music videos. observant. witty. easily distracted. loyal. minimalist but sentimental. captures the chaos. night owl. the mediator. ★

more characters to be added!

ᥫ᭡ Authors note

does this eat chat??? idk

thought of this idea idk how many band au’s there is on here but yolo ig

i have lots of fics coming out soon i’ve been cooking i’m telling u ,, also agent!matt will be posted soon as well :)

sorry if this introduction is a little ass but the lore is deep i promise js trust the process

anyways bye i love you

xoxo paris

[magic-shop-stories]

OMG BESTIE YOU DID IT!!! 😭💜 I’ve been lurking since you first texted about this blog in our late-night DM spirals, and I’m SO PROUD OF YOU!!! 🥺 You’re finally sharing your magic with the world

Okay, okay, requests—let’s christen this blog with some SOFT JOON FLUFF.

Imagine: Reader is a shy artist who accidentally spills coffee on Namjoon’s notebook at a bookstore. Instead of mad, he’s delighted because her doodles inspire his next album. Cute awkward giggles, philosophical chats, and him buying her a new sketchbook “to keep colliding with the universe together.”

And I jusr realised this is so your aesthetic You’ve got this, love. I’ll be first in line to reblog every word. 💜💜 T

💌Reply

HI, MY SOULMATE ARMY 😭💜 Thank you for being my first request—and for believing in me even when I was stress-typing at 3AM. This one’s for you to T💜

REQUEST NAME:

Coffee Stains & Cosmic Drafts

↳ Namjoon x Artist!Reader; Fluff Imagine

Rating: G (Fluffiest of Fluff)

Warnings: None! Just honey-sweet vibes and a sprinkle of existential wonder.

The bookstore smells like old paper and ambition.

You’re tucked into your usual corner, charcoal smudged on your wrist and a half-finished sketch of the willow tree outside bleeding across your notebook. Rain taps the window, Seoul’s grey afternoon softened by golden lamplight and the click-clack of the shop owner’s typewriter. You reach for your coffee...

Clatter...

The cup tips. Liquid arcs in slow motion, splashing across the table… and onto the open notebook of the man sitting across from you.

Oh...

Oh no...

He doesn’t look up at first, too absorbed in scribbling lyrics. You freeze, watching the stain seep into the page like a Rorschach blot. His handwriting—a chaotic mix of Korean and English—swirls around your accidental abstract art.

“I… I’m so sorry,” you stammer, scrambling for napkins.

That’s when he lifts his head.

Kim Namjoon.

You recognize him instantly—the dimples, the brow furrowed in thought, the way his presence seems to bend the room toward curiosity. He blinks, adjusting his round wireframes, and… smiles.

“Wait,” he says, voice low and bright all at once. He tilts the notebook, coffee droplets glittering under the light. “This… this is incredible.”

Your cheeks burn. “It’s a disaster. Let me replace your notebook, I—”

“No, look.” He traces the stain’s edges, where your half-drawn willow branches from your sketchbook seem to reach toward his lyrics. “Your tree… it’s growing into my words. Like the universe is… collaborating.” His eyes crinkle, wonder softening his tone. “Do you always draw in the margins?”

You nod, clutching your charcoal. “It… helps me think.”

Namjoon leans forward, elbows on the table, and suddenly the world shrinks to just this: his mint-green sweater, the faint scent of cedar and coffee, and the way he studies your sketches like they’re maps to a galaxy. “Can I ask… why a willow?”

You hesitate. “They bend. But they don’t break. Even in storms.”

He hums, deep and resonant. “Like people,” he murmurs, more to himself than you. Then he grins, boyish and sudden. “Can I buy you a new coffee? And… maybe borrow your chaos for a while?”

Two hours later, you’re still there. He buys you a sketchbook—thick pages, bound in leather—and writes on the first page: “To my favourite cosmic collaborator. Keep bending the universe. – Joon.”

When you leave, rain still falling, he slips a napkin into your hand. Scribbled on it:

“P.S. Next time, spill the coffee on purpose. I’ll bring better pens.”...

[fables-if]

I have crawled my way out of my grave buried in assignments. Fr, I feel like I'm drowning with stuff to do, but well, procrastination (ehe)

Alright, another ask! Definitely not stolen from an ask on another blog, of course not.

MC suddenly gets mind reading abilities for a day. Oh wow, look, there comes the romanced RO! What would MC hear?

OTTEEEEEEER I MISSED YOU SO MUCH <3. It's great to have you back. Good luck with the stuff you have to do (I get the procrastination; I've been there. Well, technically, I'm still doing it, u_u). I love this ask. So cute. Let's get into it: Ana (she/her): Ana, with a serious expression as always, is thinking this: Omg, here they are. They look so beautiful in blue (or whatever colour they're wearing), their hair looks so good today, I bet it smells really good too. MC is smiling and is blushing a little bit. Be cool, Ana, be cool. Flirt with them, compliment their style, or something casual so you don't seem like a super intense person. Should I say hello to them with a hug or two kisses? Maybe only one? I want to be bold, but I don't want them to get uncomfortable. I need to give them the decoction I made for their sore throat, maybe we can stop by the Aphotecary and I can give them that and the leather notebook I made from scratch for them. I hope they like it, maybe I can add a few tea bags in case they have restless nights again. Well, if that happens, they can call me and I will be with them the whole night. I'm worried about their nightmares.

This, but in a loop. Ana is a sweetheart, but she's def a lot more confident in the flirting stage rather than the relationship one. She's not used to the kind, slow relationship that she has always wanted, and MC brings to the table, so she's in a bit of a panic when she's around them. Dix (they/any): Dix seems like a serious person, but they are a little bit like an airhead. So their thoughts would be a little bit like: Have I fed my daughters today (the ferrets)? I think so, or they would have complained when I was leaving. Oh, there is MC. *blank for a few seconds* I want to hug them. *hugs them*. I've been seeing a weird number of black dogs around Imeria lately. I hope it's not a bad omen. A crow! Let me show MC the crow. I like MC's earrings. I wonder if they would like me to gift them some custom-made jewelry. Would MC like to have a pet? I don't think they can handle a dog, maybe a turtle? I would have to talk with An, they would know what to get them. Mc looks a bit lonely lately. Caterina is getting worse, but I don't think it's just that. There is something weird in the air.

An (they/any): Caterina is getting worse lately; she doesn't even come outside to the sun. I wonder how MC is doing. The kiddos keep asking about them and want MC to play with them again. *sees MC^ Oh, there they are. Their hair looks beautiful today, but their eyes are a bit sad. I know that look, they always have it when they're about to cry or need some comforting since we were 3. *hugs MC and comforts them* I wish I could take the sadness away, but all I can do is remain by their side. I wonder if they would rather do an activity than talk about their feelings. Talking never works for me. I saw some cool rocks near the river, maybe I can take them over there and we can look for cool rocks for their collection. I wonder if they still collect them. Bingen (he/him): I've been saving these books for the children of the village. I wonder if they are going to like them. I should contact the provincial library to see if we can exchange books. Maybe Ana can take me to the next town by car so I can talk with the people in charge. Just thinking about it makes me nervous, but MC has been helping me a lot, and I'm starting to be confident in my abilities and in myself. Oh, there they are. I'm always envious of how they are able to make people like them and go to them. Before, I thought MC didn't put any effort into it, that they were just magnetic enough to attract so many people. Now I know that's not true. How they learn the names of every person they talk to in the village, how they learn what's important to them (their family, their hobbies, animals, garden...,) and how MC asks them about it. Not because they want something out of it, but because that's just who they are. Yet nobody asks them about their grandma, about their work, their studies, about the way they look tired every day, and the night doesn't seem to alleviate the tiredness, only makes it grow more. Maybe I should be the one to ask them those questions, because I care and because I love them.

[lettersfromaphrodite]

[3.42]

― pairing : Yunho x Fem! Reader ― genre : fluff + smut ― content warnings: grease! au - therefore it's the 50's, Yunho smokes weed and has a motorbike, mentions of a car accident but it’s superficial and no one of the main characters is involved, thigh riding, unprotected sex, idk how to describe it?? acrobatic sex??? idk you’ll read it, kinkshaming will not be allowed, inspo for that came from an italian song' MV ― word count : 7.830

― notes : this fic looks familiar?it is! I’m reposting ALL my works on this brand new blog and therefore please, bear with me! as always, askbox is always open and feedbacks are always welcome 💌

«I swear, if I hear that song another time, I’m gonna scream bloody murder.» you addressed your colleague with an annoyed groan as you both were busy cleaning one of the now empty tables of the Frosty Palace, the local diner where you worked. She sighed in silent agreement, both of you wondering why your boss decided to let customers choose what to play from the jukebox even during Saturday nights, when the diner was really busy and crowded with people.

«Here comes trouble,» she announced with an amused smile on her face, as she took the plates you were busy balancing on your forearm, before nodding towards a group of guys which just arrived, busy taking their seats. «they’re all yours.» she chanted, quickly leading back into the kitchen with an amused smile.

«That traitor.» you mumbled, before taking your small notebook from your apron’s pocket and taking a deep sigh. Of course you perfectly knew the loud group that just arrived, since you’ve had a crush on Seonghwa since you could remember. His dark and mysterious aura always charmed you, and you could not help but to grow interested in him. 

However, your mother’s advice not to get involved with bad guys always resonated in your head anytime you caught a glimpse of them and their leather jacket or motorbikes, and therefore, you’ve never tried to approach any of them beside work related matters. Their table was incredibly loud but also incredibly polite to you, and if you were to be honest, they probably were the best and most polite customers of the entire evening. Your only interaction with Seonghwa consisted of your eyes briefly meeting, before eventually, you went back to your previous working hurried pace. Low-key, you were glad that you couldn’t stay at their table for more than the essential time needed to take their orders, because you knew that you probably looked like a mess: you’ve been working for nine hours straight, your hair was a mess – even if tied up in a ponytail, and you were sure you had bags under your eyes due to how tired you were. You just wanted to go home and sleep.

«Are you coming to Jisung’s party?» your colleague – and friend, asked you, handing you a glass of water as you were both spending your first shift break leaning against the counter – few steps away from Seonghwa’s table. You quickly hummed, shaking your head while swallowing the water, silently wondering if that was how god’s nectar tasted like. 

«When is it? I’ll probably have to work.» you asked her, unaware that your small talk had caught the attention of both the boy you had a crush on and one of his friends’.

«Next Friday!» she enthusiastically said, her eyes glancing at the diner’s entrance door every now and then in order to check up if some new customers arrived, while yours kept glancing across the room, to see if anyone needed anything else. «Please, come with me! I promise I’ll cover your shifts anytime you want!» she quickly added, as if she managed to read in your mind the fact that you were once again about to say no. 

Perhaps, you agreed because you were extremely tired. Perhaps, you agreed because as your eyes were quickly scanning the room, you shortly locked your gaze with the boy with faded pink hair that was casually sitting next to Seonghwa, with his back leaned against the wall and his black leather jacket draped over his wide shoulders as he uninterestedly rolled a cigarette while occasionally glancing at you. 

«Don’t look at their table, but,» you lowered the tone of your voice, getting closer to your friend and pretending she had something in her hair. «who’s the one sitting next to Seonghwa?» «Yunho.» she immediately whispered back, without blinking or thinking about it. Then, with a surprised gasp, she simply stared at you with wide amused eyes and her mouth slightly open, the sudden action making you giggle. «I can’t believe you’re not asking about Seonghwa!» she whispered, and just like that, new customers arrived and both of you went immediately back to work.

Seonghwa and his friends left around midnight, and as you were cleaning their table, the bright green bill neatly placed under Yunho’s coaster caught your attention; your eyes widened slightly and you immediately looked around just in case it was a joke, but nothing seemed out of place. You folded the banknote, placing it in your apron’s pocket, and as you were collecting the dishes, you saw Seonghwa and his friends talking right outside the diner’s windows, illuminated by the street lamps.

Surprisingly enough, instead of focusing on Seonghwa, your eyes were curiously looking at Yunho, the tall boy that earlier was looking at you; he was quietly chuckling at something his friends said while casually sitting on top of his motorbike, the cigarette he previously rolled was carefully balanced between his lips as he looked for a lighter in his leather jacket’s right pocket. You felt strangely hypnotized by the small action of him lighting up his cigarette before blowing out a puff of smoke while his head was thrown back, but you quickly snapped out of it as soon as one of your colleagues called your name, asking for help.

The walk back home was quick and mostly made by inertia, due to how tired you were feeling; you mindlessly unlocked the door and closed it with a yawn, before taking off your shoes and collapsing on the couch – since your bed was too far away. «Come on,» you weakly encouraged yourself, trying to ignore the numb feeling of exhaustion spreading from your legs all the way to your body. «take a shower and then go to sleep.» you mumbled, «In five minutes…» you were about to drift off, when Yunho’s piercing gaze flashed behind your closed eyelids; your eyes snapped open, and you immediately reached in the back pocked of your jeans, taking out the 10 bucks tip.

A small smile unexpectedly made way on your lips, wondering if he left the tip because he saw you working your ass off or because he had other reasons to do so.  Funny how a banknote helped waking you up, but you placed it on the coffee table in front of your couch, and headed towards the shower. 

Of course, your colleague knew about your crush on Seonghwa and of course, she wouldn’t shut up about Yunho for the most part of the week. 

«I can’t blame you,» she said, cleaning the counter as you were about to close the diner. «He’s hot. And he seems so strong, I bet he can fuck you against-» your colleague’s – and friend, words were immediately stopped by your hand on her mouth, reducing the remaining of her sentence into an inaudible mess of muffled words. 

«Not a word, or I won’t come to the party.» you said, blushing about the intrusive thoughts that thanks to her, were now vivid and oh, so realistic in your head. 

«Are you a virgin?» she whispered, even if no one else beside the two of you were in there; you shook your head, explaining her that beside your first boyfriend in high school, you’ve never had any other experience, nor romantically, nor sexually. 

«I just completely focused on studying, and now here I am: the best waitress in town.» you joked with a sad smile, mentally going through all the future life plans you had which you eventually had to reconsider, and she immediately let go of the glass she was cleaning in order to walk towards you.

«Come on!» she cooed, «It’s the 50’s, love. Fall in love, live a little.» she smiled, her slim arms snaking around your waist. 

«It’s not like-» as you were about to retort that you weren’t that interested in romance since all you managed to have crushes on were obviously bad boys who carried a concerning amount of red flags everywhere they went, she was quick to silence you, once again.

«I bet we’re gonna have fun, trust me, I’m the expert here.» she winked at you, and you nodded with an amused, exasperated sigh.

Jisung’s party was chaotic, and you deduced that it couldn’t be otherwise since he was the most popular and richest kid in town; he spent the evening next to his girlfriend, and you wondered if you would ever be as lucky as her since, judging by Jisung’s looks, he seemed pretty much head over heels for her.

An elbow delicately nudging against yours quickly made you turn your attention back to your friend, which had her head tilted towards the backdoor and she was pointing towards it with her eyes; she looked quite funny, but as soon as you saw what she was desperately trying to point at, you felt your knees go weak.

Seonghwa was standing with his friends, looking as good as always but once again, you felt your eyes naturally drift towards Yunho’s figure, casually leaning against the wall with a red plastic cup probably filled with punch as he was talking with one of his friends – a little shorter with raven black hair. You honestly tried to prevent your eyes from scanning his body from his chest, to his long legs - which looked sinful in high waisted skinny jeans, and as your gazes met, you quickly looked away as quickly as a wild flame has just burnt you. You felt a blush creeping on your cheeks, your heart picking up speed in embarrassment by the fact that Yunho had basically caught you ogling at him, but also secretly turned on by the sudden smirk that he had plastered on his face.

From there, the night went by rather quickly. Surprisingly enough, you managed to have fun, even if it was probably thanks to the few cups of alcohol you drank during the night; you were tipsy – drunk enough to laugh about almost everything but sober enough to still stand without falling on your face, and so that’s how you found yourself in Jisung’s wide garden, sitting next to your friend, listening to two random boys blabbering and flirting with the two of you.

Despite the fact that you were sitting in front of your friend’s crush with the promise of somehow help her out, you never tried to hide the fact that you were absolutely uninterested in his friend’s obnoxious advances, and your eyes kept glancing at Yunho, which much to your shame, caught you the most of times.

Yunho was incredibly beautiful, and he absolutely had no reason to affect you like that; especially, he had absolutely no reason to look so hot as his lips closed on the filter of the joint that him and his friends were passing around. As they were laughing together, you figured that you probably would have wanted to try it, too.

«It’s your turn.» the boy in front of you said, and your eyes immediately fell on the joint that he was carefully handing to you, the filter pointed towards you and the smell of weed invading your nostrils. You politely shook your head, refusing the offer, aware that there was only one particular person that you wanted to try smoking weed with.

You knew Yunho was approaching you, even if you were not looking at him anymore. You could feel his gaze on you since the moment you excused yourself from the conversation you were having with your friend, and all you could feel was anticipation. If you were to be honest, you didn’t do it in order to get his attention – not entirely, but you really needed a break from hearing your friend and her crush flirting with each other and his friend obnoxiously trying his luck with you; so this is why you walked past Yunho and his friends heading to the backyard, where a significant less number of people were chatting.

With a sigh, you closed your eyes, your back and your head delicately pressed against the wall as you waited; you waited both for your incoming headache not to ruin the little party time you had left, and both for something – anything, to happen right before you had to go back home. Your silent wishes must have been heard from some kind of celestial entity, since few minutes later, Yunho was casually standing in front of you, one hand placed on the wall next to your head, and the other still holding what remained of the joint that him and his friends were previously smoking.

«You’re not very subtle at stealing glances.» Yunho smirked, and you felt your knees go weak since it was the first time you were hearing his voice, and you definitely didn’t expect for it to be so deep and melodic.

«Maybe I didn’t want to be.» you answered, your voice coming out weaker than you wanted, and the alcohol mixed to the weed you breathed made you act a little bolder than you really were. Yunho’s smirk was all you could think about, the cologne he wore still managed to intoxicate your senses even if he was holding a joint between your bodies; everything you wanted was to kiss him, to feel his skin against yours even if deep down, you knew that boys like him inevitably lead to a heartbreak. Yunho looked like everything you were not, and at the same time, he looked like everything you wanted.

«So, angel face,» Yunho said, his voice a little bit deeper than before, he slowly raised the joint’s filter few centimetres in front of your lips, while his eyes hungrily and repeatedly glanced from your eyes to your lips, «do you want to try this,» he added, nodding to the joint before leaning a bit closer, so that your noses were almost touching and you could feel his soft breath against your skin as he spoke, «or do you want to try me?» your breath hitched at that final question and Yunho probably noticed but, being the gentleman he actually is, he settled for not saying anything and just wait for your answer, a smug smirk plastered on his lips as he made you feel almost naked under his gaze; you had to restrain yourself in order not to grab his leather jacket and close the small distance between you, and you wondered what was wrong with you.

“Am I really that drunk or am I just incredibly horny?” you thought, licking your lips and feeling almost suffocated by the tension that was surrounding both your bodies as the two of you were in your own small bubble.

«Mommy said boys like you are bad news.» you answered with a quiet mumble, knowing he would have heard nonetheless, thanks to the almost non-existent space between you.

«Oh, really?» Yunho cooed, tilting his head, action that you slightly mirrored in the opposite direction while waiting – hoping, for him to kiss you. «Why don’t you find out if that’s the truth?»  you were about to kiss him, you desperately wanted to kiss him, to feel his lips against yours and for him to completely push you against the wall while making out and feel his body pressed flush against yours but of course, your friend had to unintentionally ruin the moment by calling for you, but despite your name being called, neither you nor Yunho looked away.

Yunho grabbed your chin in his hand in a gentle but firm action, the filter of the cigarette pressing against your cheek, and you swore your heart was about to climb its way out of your body as Yunho hinted the action of bringing your face closer to his, but eventually stopped as your lips were few millimetres apart.

«Feel free to come looking for me, when you have an answer.» he mumbled, and you were sure that your lips brushed against each other few times, the faint sensation lingering on your lips from the same moment when Yunho detached himself from you, winking at you while taking a step back and innocently smiling as if he wasn’t about to kiss you in the backyard of Han Jisung’s mansion during one of his parties. You walked towards your friend with a hammering heart, and occasionally touching your lips in order to quench the lust you were feeling; you spent your way back home wondering if you could get drunk on another person’s cologne, because all your senses were focused on the feeling of throbbing desire you felt towards Yunho.

Despite your efforts of avoiding thinking about the party and completely focus on work, you still found your thoughts wildly wandering towards that night every time you had a break. Although your friend kept encouraging you to go talk to him, you always said no, hiding yourself behind the most stupid excuses, hinting that obviously, someone like Yunho could never like - let alone desire, someone like you.

«I’m too inexperienced for him.» you told your friend, which simply scoffed, looking at you like you just randomly grew another head.

«I don’t even know where to start in order to explain how dumb that statement is.» she muttered, going back into the kitchen while she kept mumbling other unintelligible things.

The diner’s entrance bells rang loudly, echoing in the almost empty room on a Wednesday night, and you shortly panicked as soon as you recognized Yunho casually walking towards the counter. It was the first time you’ve seen him since the party, and you didn’t know both how to react and how to greet him; did you have to pretend nothing happened?

«Hi, angel.» Yunho’s endearing smile most definitely caused your heart to skip a beat, and you timidly greeted him back with a smile.

«Are you by yourself, tonight?» you dared to ask, in the attempt of making a small conversation as you were busy preparing his coffee while he sat directly behind you on one of the red leather stools in front of the counter.

«I am. Were you waiting for someone else?» even if you weren’t looking at him, you could hear the smug grin that was dancing on his lips; you immediately shook your head, your eyes locked on the coffee machine in front of you, and you heard Yunho hum, as if he was pleased with your answer.

Contrarily to your expectations, you and Yunho fell into a peaceful and relaxing small talk, and he also listened to you blabbering about how rude and unkind customers have been lately without complaining about you talking too much. Even if he had finished his coffee long ago, he settled for keeping the conversation going, finding you insanely entertaining and attractive to just walk away.

Gradually, you loosened yourself a bit, thanks to Yunho’s natural kindness and his way of talking which made you feel at ease; you slightly leaned on the counter while talking, as Yunho rolled a cigarette in the desperate attempt to keep his mind busy and prevent intrusive thoughts about all the ways he wanted to ruin you from popping up in his mind and suggest things you both might have regretted. As much as you thought that Yunho was a charming and interesting boy, he thought the same about you and so, for the first time in his life, he settled for making things right, following your pace.

«I guess you’re on closing shift,» Yunho said, licking along a stripe that would seal his cigarette, and you nodded as you were busy following the action. «Are you walking home by yourself?» «No, I’m-» «Yes! She is!» your friend immediately chimed in, and you suddenly remembered that you were not alone with Yunho, and she probably had to stand there and suffer from second hand embarrassment since who knows when. Yunho clearly understood that your friend cancelled on you last minute in order to leave the two of you alone and quietly chuckled at your small interaction, the cigarette he had previously rolled now placed behind his left ear. «I can walk you home, if you want.» he said, his gaze never faltering from yours.

Few hours later, you were both sitting on a bench at the now deserted skater park, the full moon watching over you as a pleasing spring breeze occasionally dishevelled both your hair.

«I still have to thank you for the tip you left me.» you said, focusing your attention on your hands, and Yunho simply shrugged.

Of course, the both of you engaged a conversation composed by the most infinite number of topics and of course, you ended up asking him about smoking and Yunho simply looked back at you, rising an eyebrow in surprise by the fact that the request escaped your lips out of nowhere, but also secretly pleased with the fact that you were not acting as if nothing happened few days earlier.

Yunho patiently taught you how to smoke without feeling like you were suffocating, occasionally rubbing your back as he waited for you to stop coughing.

«I can’t die like this, not before I get my monthly salary.» you cleared your voice, wiping the lone tear that escaped your eyes, and Yunho chuckled, his hand moving your hair from your face, so that now your neck was completely exposed to him, like a white canvas that he couldn’t wait to draw on. In order to stop coughing, you tried to focus about the fact that at this point, you and Yunho indirectly kissed through the filter of the cigarette, but it never really helped you, leaving you a bit flustered than you were before.

Somehow, you managed to learn the trick, and as you felt your body relaxing, you also felt becoming incredibly giggly; you knew that you were stupidly giggling at some jokes Yunho said while looking at him with rosy cheeks and a wide smile, but you couldn’t help yourself.

A large quantitative of praises towards Yunho were about to escape your lips but you managed to stop yourself just in time, losing yourself in the boy’s magnetic gaze which made you want more, aware that you wouldn’t even be able to quantify how much was that.

Once again, the thought about boys like him ending up breaking your heart popped up in your mind, but you ignored it.

“It’s the 50’s, love. Fall in love, live a little,” your friend had said, and you decided that, at least for tonight, you could have ignored the part of you which was always and only thinking about work.

Only when the bell tower signalled it was almost three in the morning, Yunho decided it was probably time to go back home.

«But we were having fun!» you whined, taking Yunho’s outstretched hand, which both helped you standing up but also pulled you flush against his body in a swift movement.

«Now,» Yunho smiled, and you had to beg your brain in order to stop the instinct that wanted for you to nuzzle against his chest and breathe in his alluring scent. «but you’re gonna hate me tomorrow, if you don’t get enough sleep.» even if you whined once again, you agreed with him and you both started to walk towards your apartment’s direction.

«Yes!» you giggled, quickly walking towards Yunho’s motorbike. «We’re gonna ride it?» you asked him, stopping next to his bike in order to tilt your head to look at him. Yunho thought that there was no way someone could look so cute after smoking weed for an hour, but yet, there you were, looking at him like you were the most innocent girl on the planet.

«No, angel face.» he said, affectionately ruffling your hair and making you pout. «I don’t have a spare helmet.»

«Next time?» you immediately asked, lifting your pinky finger in the air in an instinctive manner, and the hand which was furrowing your hair a moment earlier, was now lifting your chin while Yunho’s face came dangerously closer to yours.

«Are you sure that’s the only thing you’re gonna ride?» Yunho’s words seemed to spark the fuel that was smeared on your soul, since you were sure that the blush covering your cheeks could be seen from space. As you embarrassedly stuttered while coming up with an answer, Yunho laughed loudly – the sound making your heart do somersaults in your chest, while his long pinky finger gently intertwined with yours, sealing your promise. The both of you managed to arrive at your apartment while you kept giggling about the most random things, occasionally pouting about the fact that Yunho had been smoking too, but he completely seemed unaffected by it.

«Experience.» he simply answered as you unlocked your apartment’s door, immediately turning on the lights and heading for the couch while loudly calling for him to get in as well. Yunho followed you into your small living room, and sighed loudly at the sight of you laying down on the couch, with your arms thrown over your head while the shirt you were wearing was now showing part of your stomach.  

«Yunho.» you called for him in a serious voice, quickly sitting up and waiting for him to crouch down between your legs while sitting on the coffee table. You quickly shook your head as he asked you if you weren’t feeling okay while he carefully brushed  your hair out of your face, and you quietly gripped his jacket, looking at him in the eyes with the most serious expression you could muster. Yunho tilted his head, confused but your action but also intrigued about what you had up in your sleeve, when you definitely managed to surprise him another time.

«I’m so hungry.» you whispered as you were confessing a sin, and Yunho had to cover his mouth with his hand not to laugh too loudly. «But it’s almost four in the morning.»

«What do you want to eat?» Yunho asked back in a whisper, playing along, as if he was implying that your secrets were safe with him.

«I want a cheeseburger,» you smiled, counting on your fingers as you started to list a concerning amount of junk food, «and then, milk and cereal, and then…» Yunho let you finish while looking at you with an incredulous smile, before meticulously asking if you had any cereal in your house.

Less than five minutes later, you were happily munching to your night snack, trying to quench your chemical hunger. You didn’t expect for weed to have such a disastrous effect on you, but you managed to drift off – only after successfully feeding Yunho a couple of times, and eventually, hecarried you to your bedroom and left, not sure whether you’d like to see him first thing in the morning.

Later that night, you woke up with a headache and a bitter taste in your mouth; the fact that you were still wearing yesterday’s clothes was the proof that you did not have a fever dream and last night really happened. Your cheeks flared up in embarrassment, and you rubbed your temples before making up your mind and heading towards the kitchen  to drink some water and have some breakfast.

“I made a fool out of myself,” you thought, completely sure that you’ve blown off all the chances you had to get to know him better, “He’ll never want to see me again.” As you mindlessly grabbed a bowl from your cupboard, you noticed a small yellow paper neatly placed on your kitchen table.

“Hope you slept well, call me.” the paper said, and unexpectedly, there was Yunho’s phone number.

The note with Yunho’s number written on it was carefully taped on your fridge, but you still didn’t call him; four days quickly went by, and you still couldn’t find enough courage to dial his phone number and talk to him. At this point, you had the sensation that, in the back of your mind, the small yellow paper started to lighten up anytime you walked in front of it, only to become more evident and making you feel even guiltier. 

Yunho didn’t show up at the diner, and you took it as his personal way of letting you know that he was respecting your pace, a thing you were glad for.

An almost deafening noise of tires braking on the asphalt and a sudden crash noise made you immediately wake up clutching your chest in fear, sitting up straight in your bed as you tried to understand what just happened. Your heart was hammering in your chest due to the sudden fright, and you scanned the dark room in the desperate attempt to individuate any other noises which could help you identify what happened; as you walked to your bedroom’s window, you also heard the sound of multiple sirens approaching, and your eyes locked with the two cars that crashed against each other almost in front of your condominium. Both the police and an ambulance were quick to show up and take one of the two man back to the hospital, but even if the situation had calmed down and only the police remained with the other man to investigate the dynamics of the car crash, you couldn’t bring yourself to calm down. Work had been particularly busy those days, and the fact that you were stressed was undeniable.  

Perhaps, you were too zoned out to realize what you were doing; perhaps, your brain acknowledged the fact that in that moment, there was only one voice that you wanted to hear in order to feel better.

Therefore, you turned on the lights of your apartment all the way to the kitchen in order to collect that yellow post-it and listen to your brain which, at the moment, was suggesting to do the best thing.

«Hello?» Yunho's raspy voice mumbled from the other line; for a split second, you wondered how cute he looked with his hair messy and pointing in every direction due to sleep.

«Hey.» you mumbled, your voice a little more unstable than you originally planned, wondering if he would have been able to recognize you, and wondering if he would have got angry at you, since you were basically calling him in the middle of the night.

As your eyes glanced to the clock nailed to the wall right on top of your landline, you mentally cursed yourself, since it was literally 3.42 in the morning.

«Hey, angel.» Yunho mumbled again, the sound now a little muffled since he was probably rubbing the palm of his hand on his face in order to somehow get rid of all remaining traces of sleep. «Did anything happen?»

Although you wanted to tell him the truth, that you were okay but a car crash woke you up and you just wanted to hear his voice, you didn't; you spent few more seconds in silence, wondering how could you phrase all the waves of emotions you were feeling.

«Can you come over?» you finally whispered, aware that for sure he didn't manage to hear you, for your voice was almost inaudible; you quickly cleared your voice, ready to repeat your sentence a little louder when Yunho's voice made you close your mouth once again.

«Okay,» you heard him sigh, «I'll be there.» Yunho hung up and still, you stood there, listening to the robotic and redundant sound of the other line being hung up, while staring at the wall as if it was the most entertaining thing ever.

Yunho arrived more or less twenty minutes after your call, the loud rumble of his motorbike announcing his arrival. «I don't know why, but they're not letting anyone in, unless they live here,» Yunho's groggy voice greeted you as he closed the front door behind himself. «If the police officers come and ask, we're living together.» As if you were in autopilot, you quickly walked towards him, snaking your arms around his waist and trying to calm yourself down with his presence. You knew you were acting like an idiot for being scared like that but you couldn't help yourself, the pent up stress made you overreact and you were glad that Yunho still decided to show up after you basically ghosted him because you decided to shy up and act like a coward.

«Come on, let's go back to sleep.» Yunho was taller than you, therefore he easily towered over your frame and so, as he gently hugged you close to his body while placing his chin on the top of your hand, you felt safe.

It was funny how you were standing in your apartment in the middle of the night, clinging to the stereotypical boy your mom always warned you about, as if he was the only way you had to feel better. Inexplicably, Yunho's strong arms made you feel like you wanted to build a home in there; like those wooden houses built on trees some little kids had, where they hid when they wanted to have their personal space and live safely in their own world for some time.

Secretly, you wished you could stop time in order to live this moment for eternity, but deep down, you couldn't help but wish for these moments to become your new, daily routine.

Obviously, you didn't know yet, but Yunho wanted pretty much the same as you did. In his eyes, in that very moment, you looked so small and helpless that he felt the desire of protecting you from everything.

Yunho hanged his leather jacket before the two of you eventually ended up cuddling on your bed, facing each other while laying on your sides; Yunho's right leg was slightly between yours while your left leg was resting over his thigh, your naked skin pressed against the rough fabric of Yunho's denim jeans while his fingertips gently caressed the expanse of your exposed thigh.

Before he arrived, you wondered if the perspective of sleeping with a boy while being so underdressed – a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, was the right choice but you didn't really want to change your pyjamas. Now, Yunho's warm hands made you want to completely feel his natural warm skin against yours.

«Thank you.» you whispered some time later, a faint and tranquil murmur into the comfortable silence you were sharing.

«It's okay, angel.» Yunho sighed, holding you a little closer to his chest. «Anytime you need me, you holler, and I'll appear.» his words were nothing but sweet, and of course, you believed him.

«Don't go away this time.» you mumbled right against Yunho's collarbone, your breath ticking the skin that the wide collar of his shirt exposed. Yunho's answer came in the form of kissing your forehead, and you slowly drifted off to sleep, lulled by the other's slow rhythmic breathing and the feeling of his warm body enveloping yours.

The sound of your alarm woke up the both of you in the middle of the morning. Yunho – now almost completely laying under you, groaned in protest before effortlessly turning the both of you around in a swift and quick movement.

«Five more minutes.» he whined, his voice unexpectedly deep and hoarse. As much as you wanted to chuckle since that action was incredibly cute, you stayed there, almost petrified, as Yunho was now laying with his head on your chest and his legs between yours; he manhandled you so easily you had to close your eyes in order not to give in to the sensation of the heat that was pooling into your panties and consequently to the thought of searching for relief on his firm thigh.

«Why is your heart beating so fast?» Yunho asked, rubbing his eyes as he propped himself on his elbow, now almost completely awake. If you thought that Yunho looked handsome on a daily basis, now you were completely sure that he just earned the status of "breathtaking": his lips were plump and rosy because of sleep, and his cheeks were painted by a faint blush, his hair were dishevelled and looked pretty much untameable. You were used to seeing him surrounded by the "bad boy" aura, you'd never expect to find him so cute you'd want to squish his cheeks.

«Do I make you nervous?» he asked, a mischievous grin on his lips as his cheek was now placed on the palm of his hand while he kept hovering above you. «Well, yes.» you admitted, your glance quickly drifting away from his. «You're... you.» at this point, not only you lost all the ability to think properly, but you were also sure that Yunho thought you were completely dumb.

However, he simply hummed, his long fingertips hovering above your lips which naturally parted; as you unconsciously licked your lips, the fact that Yunho was following the action didn't go unnoticed.

«You'd probably want to be careful, angel.» Yunho's voice made you imperceptibly close your legs around his thigh. «Just because I like you doesn't mean you should try your luck.» his fingers were now under your chin, the feeling of the cold ring he wore on his index finger making your head spin with different scenarios which ended up in the same sinful way. «Otherwise, I won't hold back.» Yunho's words were all it took for you to tangle your hand in the front of his shirt; you weren't pulling him closer nor away from you, you just needed another conformation that this was happening for real. Yunho just admitted he liked you, feeling which definitely was reciprocated; anticipation was clouding your senses, and Yunho prevented you from daydreaming any further by purposely tensing up the muscle of his thigh just to tease you, but it simply ended up in you trying to suppress a needy whine.

«Then don't.» your voice trembled as your eyes locked with his, happy and relieved about the fact that the lust and the passion you found there were matching yours.

«Remember, angel,» Yunho shook his head with an amused grin. «That you asked for it.» you didn't have time to question his words, since his lips immediately found yours in a needy, passionate kiss. You completely submitted to him; you didn't dare to try and take control, you didn't want to. All you wanted to do was to lose yourself on the feeling of Yunho's lips moulding with yours, his teeth nibbling your lower lip and his tongue moving with yours in a messy and passionate pace. You felt the mattress dip under his knee as he balanced his weight on his arms, action which made his thigh press a little more roughly against your heat; instinctively, you groaned, arching your back in the desperate attempt to press yourself even more against the rough fabric of his denim jeans.

That action wasn't nor casual, nor innocent, and you felt Yunho's smug smile against your lips, before he leaned down to kiss your jaw and eventually, leave a trail of kisses for as much as the collar of your shirt allowed. Your mind has already flown on cloud nine long ago; during these years you never really missed sexual contact nor you ever felt the need for a relationship but there was something unexplainable about Yunho's touch that made you feel like you wanted to make up for all the time you lost. And of course, you wanted to do it with him.

«Yunho,» your voice was somewhere in-between from a whine and a surprised squeal as his right hand roughly pulled your waist upwards and towards him; he simply hummed, lost in the feeling of enjoying all the reactions your sensitive body had.

Despite you were most definitely loving how good Yunho was making you feel, you felt the desire of making him feel good as well and so, your fingers gradually loosened from the grip they had on Yunho's hair and gradually lowered until the palm of your hand was completely placed on his half hard length. A wave of pride washed over you as he instinctively jerked his hips forward in your hand, burying for a moment his head in the crook of your neck with a loud groan – which worked wonders for the situation in your now completely wet panties.

«You'll have plenty of time to make me feel good,» Yunho eventually swatted your hand away, pinning it against the mattress. «Today is about you.» he added, proving his point by digging his knee against the mattress so that the friction between your legs would increase. Yunho's sentence somehow boosted your confidence and if his right hand were guiding the movement of your hips for a brief fraction of time, now it settled for hoisting your thigh a little higher, his nails sinking in your soft skin as you grinded against his thigh while your lips were occasionally moulding against each other. Your shorts now completely exposed your inner thighs and the sensation of the rough fabric of Yunho's jeans made your skin almost feel sore, but anytime he tensed the muscle of his thigh, you stopped thinking about it, since the sensation of your orgasm building up thanks to someone else and not your own fingers were all you could focus on.

Yunho, on the other hand, was focusing as much as he could in order not to come at the sight of you falling apart so rapidly under him and because of him. It would have been embarrassing for him to come untouched, but the way you were repeatedly whining against his lips while frantically gripping at his shirt or his hair just to anchor yourself at something made him want you even more.

Yunho's thoughts got interrupted by a sinful loud moan escaping your lips and your body tensing up before relaxing once again, collapsing on the bed with your eyes closed while you were trying to focus on slowing down your breath. As you came, your thighs squeezed Yunho's in a brief but tight hold, brushing against his length in the process, and Yunho was sure that precome was now staining his boxers.

Feeling your heart hammering in your chest for two completely different reasons, you reached out to peck Yunho's lips in a silent and affectionate “thank you”, and he smiled before repeating the gesture. «Are you sure you-» «Yes,» Yunho answered with a small nod. «I could use the bathroom, and then we could cook breakfast?» Yunho somehow answered in a questioning tone, unsure whether you wanted to spend more time with him. You simply nodded, checking the watch on your nightstand before giggling. «More like lunch.» «Brunch?» Yunho answered as, following your gaze, noticed what time it was.

«Just so you know,» Yunho casually addressed you, pointing at you with his index finger as he was still holding his glass of water. «I bought a spare helmet, so I might just let you ride with me.» You nodded, eagerly, happy that Yunho wasn't backing down on the pinky promise you made.

Few days later, you told everything to your friend, which had to stop drinking because she was somehow managing to squeal while doing so. «Yunho has never let anyone ride his bike,» she said in an excited voice, «not even his friends.»

Not only Yunho took you on an insane amount of dates but also, every time his work shifts allowed him to, he'd pick you up from work because he didn't want to let you walk back by yourself. Spending your free days together had become a habit and so, three months later, there was a little corner in your wardrobe only for Yunho's spare clothes. Yunho managed to make you feel the happiest girl in the world, to make you feel desired and loved, and the night Yunho confessed you that his feelings were the same as yours, you felt do happy you swore you could become the sun of a whole new solar system.

Yunho also confirmed your friend’s words: you were indeed the first one he ever let on his bike, and you both loved this privilege but most importantly, you loved to cling to his back to your heart’s contents and enjoyed the little forms of affections he still managed to show. Anytime you were waiting for the traffic lights to turn green once again, he’d mindlessly caress your leg, all the way from your ankle to your thigh; sometimes he’d just trace with his thumb over the top of your hands which were intertwined on his abdomen.

You never thought – probably not even in your wildest fantasies, that one day, you’d be sitting right in front of Yunho on top of his Harley Davidson – your back pressed against the fuel tank and your legs around his waist, as his length rhythmically disappeared inside you.  Obviously, you never suspected he could hide some kinky meaning behind the sentence: “probably you’d be more comfortable wearing a skirt”, but still, there you were, trusting Yunho and letting him fuck you on top of his motorbike while both your helmets were safely placed on the floor and you had the perfect view of the sun setting in the sky due to being on a non particularly popular hill and therefore, completely alone.

«What if someone sees us?» you whined, the sensation of Yunho filling you up so perfectly and roughly – even if his pace was slow and teasing, momentarily clouding your senses and making you think that you probably wouldn’t have actually cared, not when you were so close to your release and Yunho looked like Apollo himself as the lights of the setting sun were dancing behind his back.

«Why, would you care?» Yunho asked back with a groan, a smug smile on his lips and his hands tightly gripping your waist under your high-waisted skirt; the chuckle you wanted to answer with died in your throat as he changed pace in the same moment you decided to sit up a little bit straighter, holding his shoulders to balance yourself. It was undoubtedly messy, and the fact that Yunho was strong enough to effortlessly fuck you in those circumstances made the warm sensation of an approaching orgasm pool even faster in your lower stomach. 

Both you and Yunho managed to almost come together, between breathless chuckles – due to the fact that you were more than willing to try new things as long as you were together, strained moans and passionate kisses. 

«My legs are numb.» you breathed, leaning once again your back on the fuel tank as Yunho was looking at you as you were a work of art, «I can’t get down.» you added, smiling before randomly erupting into a series of giggles, toying with the sleeves of Yunho’s leather jacket. 

«That’s my favourite thing to hear, angel.» Yunho smiled at you with a mischievous wink as he was gently running his fingertips on the expanse of your thighs.

Yunho loved how willing you were to be bad for him, just as much as you loved how willing he was to be good for you.

all works © lettersfromaphrodite

Do not modify, repost, translate or plagiarize my stories. I only publish my works on tumblr & AO3.

↳ BACK TO NAVIGATION 💫 ↳ BACK TO MASTERLIST 🔮

[three--rings]

Binderary 2024 wrap-up

When Binderary started, I hadn't touched any bookbinding since August when I broke my foot. Step one was getting my crafting space cleaned up enough to let me walk through it with crutches.

So my original goal was to get one single book done in the month, with a stretch goal of 4 total books, aka peaceful mode of the challenge.

I finished with seven total books, if you include the leather cover I made for my dnd notebook (which I do, it was complicated.)

Here are all my full books from this month on my shelf

I'm obviously most proud of my two large projects: the 999 script and the Planescape: Torment novelization. They were both involved typesets, and Torment was an experiment in binding style.

This month was about learning new techniques. From the entire k118 binding style, which I learned mostly from a couple blog posts, @spockandawe's advice, and at the end from the fantastic Binderary workshop on it. Plus I was using a guillotine for the first time, which I'm still getting used to.

And I very impulsively bought a Cricut Maker which arrived halfway through the month (thanks to enabling from Renegade folks and finding a used one for a good price.) So I had to learn entirely from scratch how to use that. My experiences with HTV Foil were BAD, but regular HTV is much easier. I then started working with stencil vinyl and paint, which was its own learning process, but worked pretty well on my leather books.

Meanwhile, I was also going through physical therapy for my foot and went from crutches to being able to walk unsupported in my boot, which is huge progress and made working on books much easier as the month went on. So this Binderary was a big time of growth and progress for me personally.

I also really love that Binderary is February because I get in a real creative slump in winter, and after two months of no creative impulses, Binderary always shocks me into high speed creation in a really nice way.

Thanks and love to everyone involved in planning and running this great event and everyone hanging out in the discord and workshop chats.

[hyperfix-wip]

Webbed Together

Pairing: Hobie Brown x Fem!Reader/ Spider-Punk x Fem!Reader

Word count: 1.4k

Author's Note: Credit goes to @the-kr8tor for their original characters Ramona and Billie as well as their recurring character Ned. I'd also like to credit ❄️ anon from @the-kr8tor 's blog for their idea of Pom-Pom the rabbit!

Tags: Parent Trap!AU, Dad!Hobie AU, Twin!AU, Billie and Ramona!AU, Older!Hobie, Mom!Reader, Older!Reader

Chapter 2: Billie

<<< Chapter 1 Chapter 3>>>

The moment Billie steps foot into the bustling Camp Feast in her father’s lucky red vest, she knows she’s right at home.

Dark eager eyes roam around the campgrounds, lighting up at the sight of kids around her age running around with their own luggage and instruments. The clashing of different sounds send shivers down her spine while her lips curl up into a cat-like grin. With her fingers fidgeting with the Union Jack patch on the vest, itching to take out and play her violin, Billie sets her small leather case down on the hood of the car, the metal edges of the case clanking against the metal, before her thumbs unlatch the bronze hinges on the sides.

“Oi, Billie!”

A deep British timbre of a voice breaks Billie out of her reverie as her uncle Ned pops his head out from the side of the open trunk, his pierced eyebrow raised in feigned annoyance while he lugs out a large suitcase. “Be careful, yeah? This car’s a rental, damn it.”

Billie rolls her eyes in amusement as she innocently grins back at him. “Oh c’mon, Uncle Ned,” she chirps with her own British accent breaking through the background noise as she pulls her violin out of the case, “you’re not the one paying for it. Dad said to relax and let him take care of–”

“Silly Billie, I love you, but I refuse to take what your dad says at face value,” Ned snorts while he sets Billie’s suitcase down on the ground before slamming the trunk shut. “Besides I’m the one who handles the expenses for the band, not your dad, so I do haveto worry.”

Billie’s bottom lip juts out into a small pout, making Ned snort before walking over to her and ruffling her hair. “Oh c’mon, put that away. You’re a big girl now, yeah? You’re already ten—“

“Eleven!” Billie huffs out with an annoyed glare, “I just turned eleven, Uncle Ned—“

“Yes, yes, you’re eleven,” Ned snickers again with a teasing glint in his eye, ruffling her wild curls some more. “You’re already growing up so fast, you little beanstalk.”

Billie huffs out again as she swats Ned’s hand away, but he only laughs it off before pulling her into a hug.

“You really are growing up so fast, mac…”

Billie’s face drops as Ned’s voice trails off into a sentimental hush before she wraps her arms around his waist with a soft sniffle.

“…I’ll make sure to write,” Billie mumbles into Ned’s shirt, earning another quiet snort from Ned.

“Hm, that’d be nice,” he replies with a teasing huff. “You already have the address for the airbnb?”

“Yeah.”

“And your stamps?”

“Yeah.”

“And your notebook and envelopes?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“And your pencils and rubbers—“

“Uncle Ned.”

Ned chuckles again as Billie looks up at him with a deadpan before rocking her back and forth in his arms. “Alright, alright. When your camp thing is over, either your Aunt Yuri or Uncle James’ll pick you up, okay? Your dad and I’ll hafta deal with the venue before our concert in New York at the end of the summer.”

Billie nods along as she looks up at Ned with a broad smile. “And I’ll be backstage this time, right?”

“Of course, little beanstalk,” Ned ruffles her hair one more time before gently pulling away. “Now go on, get your stuff put away before I change my mind and drag you back into the car.”

Billie’s eyes widen at his faux-threat before quickly grabbing her open violin case, eliciting a squawk from Ned as the metal edges nearly scratch the rental car, and her suitcase before she runs off towards the crowd of kids and counselors. “Bye, Uncle Ned!”

“You damn brat!” Ned huffs out while he watches Billie stumble and waddle away with her luggage.  Despite the annoyed rumble in his voice and the narrowing of his eyes, a tender smile curls up on his lips as she slowly disappears into the crowd before he reluctantly walks around and heads back into the car.

——

A loud grunt forces its way out of Billie’s mouth as she tosses her suitcase on top of her assigned bunk, her violin on top of her pillow. She puffs a breath to blow a loose curl out of her face before it flutters back down, resulting in her face scrunching up and her pushing her curls away with an annoyed pout. Her eyes warily glance down at her suitcase, with its latches barely clutching each other and holding in the contents bulging within. With her head turned away and with only one eye cracked open, her thumbs inch closer to the bottoms of the silver clasps in slight apprehension. As soon as her thumbs gently push the latches up, her suitcase instantly erupts into an explosion of clothes and trinkets flying around her.

“Oh bloody hell!”

Billie groans at the mess before she kneels down to grab her things, oblivious to the sound of door hinges squeaking behind her as she tosses her belongings on her bunk. Crawling on the hardwood floor with her hair fluttering down over her scrunched up face, she continues to mutter more expletives under her breath before a pair of off-white sneakers peek through her curtain of curls and enter her line of vision. Her head snaps up as she pushes her hair out of her face again, revealing a bespectacled girl with confused amusement behind her thick frames.

“Uh…is this yours?”

The girl holds out an old stuffed white rabbit to Billie. The plush animal has a pink stitched nose on its protruding muzzle, as well as a missing button eye and mismatched patches scattered across its body. Billie’s eyes light up before she grabs the toy from the girl.

“Pom-Pom!”

Billie hugs the stuffed bunny against her chest before she looks up at her newly-decided friend. “Thanks by the way,” she laughs before pushing herself up from the floor, her height almost towering over the short girl by a few inches as she holds her hand out with a cat-like grin. “Billie Jean Brown, nice ta meetcha. But you can call me Billie.”

The girl lets out a small laugh of her own as she pushes her glasses up before grabbing Billie’s hand with a shake. “I’m Annie.”

Billie’s smile grows even more as Annie puts her duffle bag and a small skinny case down on the bed next to Billie’s bunk. Annie then flops down onto the mattress with an ‘oof’ before she unzips her duffle bag.

“So you’re, like, from England, right?” Annie casually asks while carefully pulling out some pictures and other trinkets. “Do you live next to the Royal Family or have you seen them? Do you guys really drink a lot of tea and have those fancy tea parties over there?”

A snort slips through Billie’s nostrils before she barks out a hearty laugh, flopping down on her own bedding as she hugs Pom-Pom against her chest. She pushes her curls out of her face again, revealing small glints of silver lining along her ears.“I mean, yeah, I live in London, but not near Buckingham Palace. More up north if anything, further into Camden.”

Billie then leans back and gestures to her outfit with a flick of her wrists- her dad’s red leather vest, lined with silver studs and countless colorful pins, over an old punk band shirt tailored to her size, denim jeans with handmade patches over her knees, and scuffed converses. “And do I really look like I go to fancy tea times?”

Annie rolls her eyes with a cheeky smile before she props her hands behind her, the metal springs in her bed quietly groaning under the weight. “But you do drinktea?”

“...yeah.”

A snicker slips through Annie’s lips before she pushes herself off her bed and holds her hand out to Billie. “Well either way, you’re definitely not in London anymore, but I’m pretty sure you’ll like it here.”

A mischievous smirk curls up on Billie’s lips before she grabs Annie’s hand, setting her Pom-Pom down on her bed before following Annie out of the cabin.

“By the way, Annie, you know how to play poker?”

Annie laughs a little more as she shakes her head, and Billie lets out a feigned disappointed sigh.

“What a shame,” Billie shrugs before her smirk curls up more. “Off topic, but how much money did you bring for this trip?”

The cabin door then slams shut while Billie continues to lure her new friend-turned- potential victim into a sense of security.

[owlchimedes]

Hi there ! I absolutely love your photos (I only just realized that a bunch of studyblr photos I've recently fallen in love with were yours!)

I was curious if you had any tips for taking good photos/editing them? I find that my photos don't seem to quite have the same good lighting as others' and would truly appreciate any advice you might have on the matter.

Thank you and have a great day!!!!

Thank you!! 🤩 (have to say, I’m a big fan of your blog)

I actually don’t edit my photos that much! Sometimes I might blur or crop out identifying information, but I rarely mess with the colors or shadows of a pic, and if I do, it’s just with the limited tools in the Apple Photos editor. I mostly curate my posts really heavily — for every posted picture, there are 24+ blurry bad ones that didn’t make the cut. Besides that, I do have a couple of general tips:

Prioritize light colored notebooks, papers, pens, etc. since they reflect more light and make an image seem brighter. Select matte over shiny. Photographing shiny black objects is very hard!

Pay attention to shadow and contrast. Hard, flat light (like full sun at an acute angle) in the warm spectrum photographs really well. Most of my favorite pics have been taken between 7-10 am or 4-7 pm. It can be helpful to haunt a handful of study spaces so that you can predict how the light will behave.

It really is about what you’re photographing. I like the way that paper, ceramic, leather, and glass refract light so I tend to have more of those objects around. I have a hard time photographing cloth, so I don’t do bed-spreads or carpet/floor layouts.

Be careful with blue light! Snapping pics of computer screens sucks because it adds a hard, blue square to an image that can be really jarring. Put f.lux or some other color filter on your laptop and take the pic from an angle to limit the amount of blue. Likewise, I try to avoid taking pics in the very early morning or under fluorescents.

Be careful with dappled or fractionated light. It can look very cool but depends on what’s being photographed (ex: left is fun, right is disorganized even though they have the same lighting situation).

It can be helpful to have a tiny guide/reference photo for each batch, or even a HEX code that you aim for. Honestly, I use the avatar thumbnail for this blog. If I put a picture next to it and squint, do they seem consistent? If they do, post! It helps with getting that warm luminous quality that I particularly like.

And lastly, always give yourself permission NOT to take a pic! My worst pictures come when I force them and the best ones are when I’m busy studying only to look up and go “woah, pretty!” You can boost your chances by sitting alone near a window & using all your favorite supplies, but it really is somewhat up to the Fates!

[isbahstudio]

Hey! I’m starting my education in the paralegal field this fall, any tips or advice? Your blog is gorgeous! Hope you’re having a good day :)

Hi! Thank you! I do have a few tips I often like to give:

1) Be a self motivated learner! Alot of the law is researching and learning on the way. You will not know every statute or every filing software. You just google and learn along the way.

2) Legal writing is very different from normal writing, even different from academic writing. Legal writing is very cut, dry, and to the point. It usually follows the IRAC format. Issue, Ruling, Analysis, Conclusion. Basically, state the relevant laws and explain the case.

3) Keep a notebook solely for paralegal tasks! I have a leather diary designated for this. I write down all the little things I learn, like steps for filing motions, steps for serving discovery, jot down important deadlines, jot down legal jargon and commonly used statutes, jot down examples of legal citations to refer to, etc. This really comes in handy!

4) Understand your attorney! Eventually, when you do work with an attorney, identify the type of personality and the type of work environment you like. Some people have a bad experience as a paralegal because they're paired to an insufferable attorney. Some people have a great time, because their attorney is chill, collaborative, and a good mentor. Understand how your attorney likes to do things. How they like to organize tasks, organize files, maintain correspondence, etc. Basically, take their work style, improve on it, and make it more efficient.

5) Network! Alot of times lawyers and law firms are not posting jobs on the internet. It's more word of mouth. So try to network and do legal internships to get your foot in the door.

6) Portfolio! I have a digital and physical portfolio of my work with sample legal documents I drafted, sample case briefs, sample indictments, etc. In today's impossible job market, a portfolio can really help you stand out!

Finally, just have an open mind. When you are in your paralegal classes, it can take a second to get a hang of things. You may also find some patches to be dull and boring. But, the law is very diverse and there are many niches you can go into after graduation. If in the future you want to pivot away from being a paralegal, your experience in law firms or legal offices, can help you enter other fields like business, public policy, etc. A paralegal certificate is truly what you make of it. I kind of see it as a DIY degree!

Hope this helps! Good luck!

[soletat]

Going to start a study blog but instead of coffee, leather-bound notebooks, libraries, and color-coordinated pens/highlighters its going to be monster zero sugar, the dead pixels on my laptop, eyedrops, and the bic crystal pen I randomly found among the trash in my bag.

[mar3ggiata]

professional help, c9 preview.

simon riley x original character.

abstract: listen, I don't even want to hear it. yes, it's Simon. I told you already, I'm gathering intel during this part. don't think too hard about it, this doesn't mean anything. and yes, I think she was telling the truth. I follow my instincts and they only failed me once or twice…

trigger warnings: violence, sexual assault, mentions of rape, trauma, sexual themes, swearing, use of alcohol and drugs.

song to listen to when reading this: Cool about it, boygenious

When the routine settled back in, she felt like the Al-Jareena mission was a thing of the past. A week had gone by, she had no news about the mission. Or Arash. She was snapping her fingers following the rhythm of the music. 'And one, two, balancé!' she watched as the girls rehearsed in front of her, moving in pairs, one from each side of the room. They had been going on and on for an hour, the poor girls were exhausted.

When she got to work the next day, she was surprised to see a special someone waiting for her beside her door. No fucking way. She stopped in her tracks when he saw him, bag hanging from her shoulder, boots clicking on the floor. What are you doing here, how do you know this is my office? Did you ask around? Are you following me? She approached him and he took a step towards her. He had a blue jacket on, no skull mask today, simple black one. She could finally see his hair colour, dirty blonde. He needed a trim. 'Can I help you?' She said. Well well well. 'Not really' he replied, crossing his arms against his chest.

'How did the mission go?' she asked even if she already knew the answer. She was just making conversation. He didn't want to stay too long. He thought about seeing her, he thought about talking to her again and now that she was there, now that he purposely went to her office to talk, he wanted to run. 'Good. Good, yeah, thanks to you, actually'. He finally sat down. That was what patients saw then. The desk behind her, the windows and her, on the leather chair. He tried to imagine her during sessions. Her back straight, compassionate eyes, maybe a notebook on her lap. The window on her right illuminated only half of her face. Making her half an angel. She wasn't commenting on his answer, she squinted her eyes. 'Are you saying I was right and you were wrong?' she asked. Cheeky. She wasn't smiling, cause she knew she was right all along. 'I'm saying you got lucky.'

He reached for her hand, glad he was wearing gloves this time so he couldn't feel her skin. Less of her to think about. She looked at him, then looked down to their hands, still holding it. Her soft, caramel skin, with those dainty black nails against his skeleton printed gloves. She turned his hand so she could see the skeleton print and smiled, with her head tilted down. A smirk. She had dimples.

taglist:

@ghostlythots @sweetfemmefatal @natxpat @chavarriakeren647 @ravenmoore14 @farther-than-pleiades @internallyscreamings @hwromi @atoxicrat @cuti3maddi3 @deafeningkittenblaze @its-celeste @serene-hills @lexidoll12 @poohkie90 @lunatiquess

@warmedbythebody @katzykat @iristhemuse @azkza @keiraslayz @abbyandermine @jennyjencakes @dest-nai @corset-briefs @nutze-kekse @ilytsukiw @b3anspr0ut

@pondsblog @missyouzoe @fallenkitten @bigauthorrascalturkey @bethtay @angelynn-nicole @starluv @stargirlisworld @giyuuslittleslut @impossiblecupcakelight

@rkrivees-blog @ghosts-hoe @kam1snotverysmart @gauky76 @freyjaaasstuff @spicyspicyliving @scottpilgrimvsmyfists @courtney0-0 @shinchanboi @darling006 @my-therapist-hates-me

[twistedmafiaau]

- 𝙼𝚘𝚛𝚝'𝚜 𝚃𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚃𝚎𝚊 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚢 -

Little Trivia for the curios ones -

Reagan - The name means "Little King" or "Little Ruler" in Irish colture, it embodies a youthful majesty, holding great promise and a calming presence.

Precious Calendula - The Calendula is a powerful anti-inflammatory flower. It is often used topically to heal wounds, burns, and soothe irritated skin and it represent emotional healing, strenght and resiliance.

◀ 𝙿𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝 ||| 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝 2 - 𝙸𝚗𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 ||| 𝙽𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝 ▶

Reagan’s cheeks darkened with a slight blush, highlighting the freckles scattered across the tip of her nose.

“Yes, I admit I ferreted a bit on your blog…and had a laugh or two with your personal comments on The King. Also I might not look like it but I’m nineteen, I turned just a month ago.” she explained, a shy smile curving her lips upward.

A small piece of information popped in your head; a speck of knowledge you remembered listening to when a few police women back at the station were talking about their relationships, that you classified as for later research for leisure.

A Pisces. Sensible, empathic and warm-hearted…that hid deep down in their heart restless, obsession and a lack of self confidence. 

You shook your head. This was irrelevant at the moment.

“I apologize again if my approach to reach out to you was… a tad over the top, but I was afraid either you turned me down, after all who believes a random stranger on the internet that says you’ve been assaulted by the same man, or… — Reagan paused, that same wave of fear, like a maelstrom, ready to swallow what little courage and carefree chatter she’d offered — …I was afraid he might be listening to me, spying me from some dark corner my eyes can’t reach. I don’t own a cellphone or a computer because of this stupid paranoia of mine. Ain’t that pathetic?” 

You offered her warm words of encouragement, telling her that her fears were important and not pathetic. Everyone reacts differently to trauma — some fight, springing back to their feet stronger than before, while others take more time and patience to heal.

Reagan wiped away a stray tear escaped from her lashes with a fancy napkin, muttering that she wished to be as strong as you were. 

“Sorry for derailing the conversation, it’s always painful reliving that kind of trauma.” she said, sitting back with her spine straight as she was attending one of those very strict, and very expensive, all girls academies. 

“From what I’ve read on your blog and magazine articles you come across as someone who’s strong willed…perhaps more hard headed than you like to admit. I figured you were someone with a strong sense of justice but also someone that harbored…vengeance deep within her heart. Two feelings so strong that, I thought, could help me in my intent.”

You noticed she started fiddling with everything her nimble fingers could reach: the cup handle, her pure silver cufflinks resembling little flowers, the prominent details of the little cell phone Malleus had given her… 

An habit shared by someone who was incredibly nervous but tried to hide it by keeping their hands busy.

“You see, I need informations. I’ve tried looking for and contacting anyone that had to do with this man, but ultimately they were unreachable or unwilling to talk… some of them were even dead before they got the chance of turning thirty. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to use you like a pawn in a bigger game of chess, I need confirmation.” Reagan rummaged in a small leather bag, coming out with a notebook that had seen better days, almost bursting with paper retails. You wondered how that thing even fitted inside her small bag.

She flipped through the pages with meticulousness, searching for something she was sure she’d put in between those yellowish papers. 

Reagan slided across the table a photo, facedown, waiting for you to pick it up and look at it.

“Tsu— I mean, Malleus is convinced that the man is part of either the Shonenheit family or the Kingscholar family, but I don’t think so. I think he’s someone outside the main mafia families, someone that’s trying to make a name for himself, gather subordinates, comrades in arms and discredit the reputation of the most important families to then take their place. I know it seems like a conjecture out of thin air and with little evidence to support it, but trust me...something about him is different.”

As you looked at the photo, a blurry picture of a back garden taken from a window, your eyes spotted that figure in the foliage, hidden by the night. The tailored suit with a fake burgundy black dahlia sawn with imprecision on the buttonhole, the pale mask of a fox with shakily painted details that hid those insane eyes — those same eyes full of sadistic enjoyment of having cornered someone weaker than him, destroyed the peace of a safe environment such as a house. Those same eyes you saw in between the steam and that you kept seeing behind your eyelids when your sleep was troubled.

A shiver ran across your spine. 

It was him, no doubts about it, your guts told you so.

“The reason why Mallues believes so is a bit macabre and it’s also the reason why the three families seems to be on thin ice when I pop out as a subject in conversations, but it’s also a long story…and I’m afraid I robbed you of much precious time already. Also, you needn’t to worry about Malleus asking for favors out of you, aside from the banter you keep up with the Kingscholar family I doubt he has any interests in you as a person. Many women, more beautiful and powerful than me, try constantly to gain his attention but he always says there’s no woman as charming as I, his precious calendula. Don’t know if that’s true but maybe you can read more into it than I can.”

So, Malleus Draconia was a devoted man, uh?

Your theories on the matter would wait until you were back on your loyal laptop. She piqued your curiosity with just one sentence. If Reagan was connected to that man you needed to know what else she was hiding behind that shy smile and overly polite manners.

You needed more information.

Bouncing the ball back to @echosofmortality let's see what Mort has to say now 😈