#Bowl Cut of Doom

[mishosoupy]

on god they're dating

[hanihaato]

a/n: jealousy themes, yandere sunday x reader, mentions of abduction, incapacitation, drabble

Your artistic silence is broken with a snap of fingers and a question.

“Now, who is that man?”

Before the vision disappears, you have a split second to admire your efforts. Your skills have improved over the last three hours where Sunday had left your dreamscape to attend to some urgent and questionable matters.

This time, you have delved into the concept of imaginary creations that followed your newfound belief that even in this kind of twisted dream, deliberately manipulated by Sunday, you could still treat it like… a dream.

Do wonders. Keep yourself occupied to take care of your sanity.

The man you’ve created doesn’t have a name as you don’t recognize him. Maybe he was your own creation, or maybe he was one of the countless tourists at Reverie Hotel whose face you’ve been fortunate to remember. He would have made for a much more entertaining company than Sunday is, especially as he presses his lips into a thin line and looks disappointed in you.

“A secret boyfriend. We were planning to elope tonight, before you…” The story cuts short, as Sunday closes his eyes and sighs heavily, as if dealing with a troublesome kid. You take the warning and end your joke here, but because you know you have the privilege to as his beloved, you pout at him. “Alright. I was bored. Happy now? I thought you said I can do whatever I want here. Well, you keep calling it my dreamscape, after all.”

Sunday sits you down on a sofa that materializes within a blink of an eye. It’s another reminder you’re not in Penacony; there, nothing like that could happen, as it’s a dream with rules you are bound to obey. But at least there, you could understand its mechanism as it was created to mimic the real world.

‘Your’ dreamscape was solely ruled by Sunday’s whims.

You fall on a stack of heavenly puffy cushions, with his arm draped around your waist.

“Dearest. It’s our dream. This fantasy wouldn’t exist without any of us,” Sunday promptly corrects you and smiles gently at your irate gaze. “Believe me, I wholeheartedly would love to give you a fair share of power over this place, but it would be a bit dangerous to someone not practised in lucid dreaming.”

If you didn’t exceed his tolerance for defiance for today, you would have hit him with one of the pillows. Instead, you sink yourself deeper into them.

“Alright, then… What do I have to do to be classified as experienced? As far as I am aware, spending a whole three months in a dream should have made me an expert.”

“That’s a lovely conclusion. But does spending time in a library make you able to get a degree in every subject that’s written in the books?”

The question silences you. The break is long enough for Sunday to design your surroundings: a coffee table that matches the times, a porcelain tea set with golden details and some infusion with fascinating taste. They go with a tray of cookies and little sandwiches, as well as a bowl of fruits and nuts that would taste better if they were real.

However, you have to do with what you have on your hands.

You bite into a biscuit. “Then, what should I do? To be adept enough, that is.”

“There are many other requirements…” He falls into a reverie, and just as you think he closes the topic—you’ve been willing to give it up at this point, solely for the quiet to continue—Sunday speaks again. “If you can wake up on your own or overwrite any of the aspects of this dream, for example, gravity, I will consider giving you a little more power here.”

So, he’s asking you for the impossible.

“…I won’t be wiping myself out only for you to ‘consider’.”

Sunday takes a sip of tea. The porcelain can’t hide a tenderish smile, but the unexplainable gleam in his eyes is exposed.

“There is always a shortcut.”

“That doesn’t, um, doom me for eternity?”

“Yes. If I have a say in this, it’s a very delightful one.” And after the next sentence, you know why he’s so engaged in this discussion. “Marrying me.”

…

Sighing, you cross your arms and shake off Sunday’s arm from your shoulder. “I thought you hated liars.”

“Which part of what I said do you consider a lie?”

You ignore him and get up from the sofa, heading towards the big door. Sunday might have changed the look of the place, but the layout always remains the same. Behind that door, you will find a short hall that leads to several other rooms that don’t have Sunday in them and so are preferred.

“I don’t want to talk (to you) anymore, sorry,” you mutter out the apology just to defend yourself if Sunday was going to accuse you of being rude. “I am going to daydream—dreamdream?—about, I guess, men, if I can’t have anyone here. Goodbye.”

You reach for the pair of doors and find them uncharacteristically too heavy. You try to open the door, but just then a big silver chain crosses over their handles, a small lock appears, but you don’t have time to notice the details as you find yourself staring into a plain wall.

“Now, no need to rush,” Sunday purrs, and you turn around to see your beloved doors behind his back. “Would you like to play a round or two with me? I think we could have a wonderful conversation about how to pry the imaginary door locks and who are the people you’ve been thinking about so much.” He smiles. “All with names and examples. There shouldn’t be any secrets between us, isn’t that so?”

[xxchumanixx]

Helloooo

could you write a Tim Bradford X rookie!reader, when they meet for the first time in a bar and have a one night stand (with smut if you feel like it) and then in the morning they both have to go to work, and it turns out she is his rookie ??

and from there, he really tries to be hard on her but he can’t because he is scared to hurt her feelings ?? Even if she is kinda of a badass, so every time he is hard on her she is not afraid to talk back, and teases him for sure (dirty jokes about their one night stand).

Doomed

Tim Bradford x fem!rookie!reader

Warnings/Tags: smut, 18+ mdni!, p in v (wrap it before you tap it!), oral (fem and male receiving), slight dirty talk, fluff

Word count: 3.477

Authors note: Hello love, thanks for the request! I really like the idea and it was very fun to write!

Maybe, just maybe, gonna make a series out if this.

Enjoy!

Sitting at a bar, drinking before your gonna start working for the police the next morning, maybe wasn't the best idea.

But you were nervous (even if you'd never admit that out loud), and a drink paired with foreign faces seemed to be a good way to relax.

Sitting at the bar with a martini in front of you, you played with the bowl of peanuts, occasionally picking one and eating it.

Contemplating if you should ask for more, someone sat beside you. From your first glance you could tell he was handsome - a little older than you, but you didn't mind that.

He must have caught you looking, cause after he ordered a beer his gaze fell on you.

"Hi." he greeted you, a small smile gracing his lips that looked more than kissable. "Hey." you gave back, smiling as well, as his gaze fell to the bowl.

"Hungry?" he wanted to know, chuckling lightly. "Oh!" you made, chuckling as well. "No, I just played with the bowl and somehow ended up eating all the peanuts that were left."

He chuckled again, as he held out his hand to you. "Tim." he introduced himself. "Y/N." you gave back, shaking his hand. It was big and warm, his long fingers brushing over yours as you let go.

"Nice to meet you." he said, gesturing to your drink. "Want another one?" Your gaze followed his to your almost empty martini. "Sure, that would be nice." you gave back, smiling.

His hand rose, gathering the barkeepers attention. "Another martini for the lady, please." he ordered, to which the barkeeper nodded, starting to mix your drink.

"Thank you." you told him, head resting on your hand as you looked up at him. He nodded, smiling.

"What brought you here tonight?" he asked, elbow resting on the bar with his body turned towards you.

"I start my new job in the morning and I was a little nervous about it." you explained. "Thought a drink and foreign faces would help." His head tilted, looking at you in interest. "What job?"

Swallowing you decided to lie. He didn't need to know that you were to start as a cop.

"I'm at a marketing company as a media designer." you explained, proud of your little lie. He nodded, smiling. "Sounds great."

The evening went on with you two talking and drinking, and before you knew it it became a little more.

"What do you say...." he started, biting his lip, averting your attention for a second. "If we go to my place." Heat rushed through you, a smile stretching your lips. "I like that idea."

He smirked, before he payed for your drinks. Then you both walked out and to his car. Climbing inside the truck you felt giddy, knowing exactly what was about to come - that was if he wasn't a serial killer.

The drive felt like it was sparkling with electricity, an atmosphere so thick you could have cut it with a knife.

When you reached his house he parked, before you got out, following him to the front door. Your fingers trembled in anticipation, as he opened the door, before heading inside.

Once the door was closed, his lips were on yours.

They really were kissable.

It was all tongue and teeth, his hands gripping your waist, tugging you closer. The bulge in his pants pressed against your belly, and you bit your lip as his brushed down your neck.

Breathing heavily, you pushed his shirt up, tugging it over his head and discarding of it on the floor.

His hands did the same with your tight dress, pushing it up to your hips, his hands grabbing your ass as his lips found their way back to yours.

Moaning you buckled into him, his hands pressing you against him. Then his kisses went down further, over the bit of cleavage that was exposed by your dress, one of his hands kneading your breast through the thin bra you wore underneath.

Biting your lip you held back a moan, causing him to look up at you again. "Don't hold it back." he told you. "I wanna hear it."

Another wave of heat rushed through you, and you did as you were told, his words turning you on even more, as you moaned, cheeks flushed.

He kneeled down, lips ghosting over your stomach, before he pushed the dress up further, bunching it up just above your belly.

Breathing heavily you followed him with your eyes, gasping as he looked up, his fingers ghosting over your clothed cunt.

"So wet already." he mumbled, and your cheeks flushed harder. He kissed it, before his fingers hooked under the waistband of your lace panties, tugging them down your legs.

Biting your lip you stepped out of them, before his hands guided you back to him.

Placing one of your legs on his shoulder, you gasped, as his breath fanned over your heat. Steadying yourself your hands found their way into his hair.

As his tongue licked a stripe up your cunt, you moaned loudly. One of his hands gripped your ass, pressing you against him as his mouth began to devour you.

His tongue flicked over your clit, sucking it into his mouth, causing you to see stars as you tugged at his short hair.

Releasing your clit with a wet pop, his tongue found your entrance, pushing inside. You were a moaning mess under him, melting away like butter in the sun.

His thumb drew figure eights on your bundle of nerves, the dress sliding back down a little, but neither of you cared really, as his tongue continued its assault on you.

"Fuck." you breathed, looking down at him with hooded eyes. Meeting his gaze your eyes rolled to the back of your head, as you rode his face.

His thumb left your clit, one of his fingers slowly pushing inside you. You gasped, clenching around it as the knot in your belly tightened more and more.

He began fingering you, fast. As his tongue flicked over your clit, almost matching the speed of his finger, he added a second one.

It made filthy sounds as he licked and fingered you just behind his front door, the thought making you moan again. He was relentless on you, making you whimper, as he lightly bit down, the pain shooting pleasure down to your toes.

Screaming his name you came on his tongue, the knot in your belly exploding so suddenly it stole your breath; riding out your high on him as he took everything you gave him.

Gasping for air you slowly came down, letting go of his hair, as he set your leg back down. He stood back up, chuckling at your flushed cheeks and heavy breathing.

Kissing down your neck he gave you a moment to calm down, before he sucked at your sweet spot, making you moan again.

It felt like he knew your body without even having touched it before.

Kissing you, he guided you backwards, not stopping until you hit the bedroom door, fumbling for the doorknob.

Opening the door he walked you backwards to his bed, until your legs came in contact with it. He turned you around, opening the dress, before sliding it down your body.

His fingers followed your curves, making you shiver in delight, before he opened your bra, discarding of it on the floor as well. Turning back around he pushed you onto the mattress, getting rid of your shoes, before he unbuttoned his pants.

Sliding them down followed by his briefs his cock sprung free, making your mouth water at the sight.

You slid off the bed and down on your knees, looking up at him.

His mouth was slightly agape as he stared down at you, fingers brushing through your already disheveled hair.

Smiling you took his cock in one hand, pumping it a few times. He groaned, eyes closing for a moment as his head tilted backwards.

Chuckling, your tongue licked from bottom to head, his hand gripping your hair almost painfully at the sensation.

Your tongue circled his sensitive head a few times, brushing through the slit, eliciting a moan from him.

Slowly, you took him into your mouth, pressing your tongue flat against the underside of his cock, as your head bobbed up and down, hollowing your cheeks.

He hissed, as his hand started to guide your moves. Saliva dribbled down your chin, but you didn't care. He pushed deeper, making you gag and he groaned, doing it again as he looked down at you.

Tears stung in your eyes, your free hand rubbing your clit. Moaning around his shaft he moaned as well, fucking your mouth.

When he suddenly tugged your head back, his cock popping out of your mouth, he helped you back onto the bed.

"I wanna come inside you." Biting your lip at the thought, you slid up on the bed, him following, after putting on a condom. Lying on top of you again, he kissed you, tongue meeting yours.

His hands roamed your body, body's pressed together. He pumped himself a few times, looking in your eyes as he waited for permission.

Nodding you gave him your okay.

Slowly, he inched forward, stretching you deliciously. Your fingers dug into his shoulder blades, as you watched him go deeper and deeper.

When he was fully inside you he waited a moment, before he slowly moved back out, only to ramm back inside you.

Moaning loudly your head tilted backwards, exposing your neck. Kissing down your throat, he started to fuck you.

You fell into a steady rhythm, getting deeper with each thrust. "Fuck, your so tight." he mumbled and you clenched down on him, making him hiss in return.

His lips found yours again, his fingers brushing over your clit causing you to buckle into him. Chuckling, his thumb drew figure eights on it, eliciting even more moans from you.

You were puddy under him, a moaning mess ready to shatter at his hands.

Your legs wrapped around his middle, taking him even deeper, as he gained speed. Breathing out his name, you tried to warn him of your impending high.

Smirking, he looked down at you, as he drove you towards the edge. "Come for me, baby." he whispered into your ear, and so you did.

Falling of the edge you screamed his name, back arching off the mattress. Clenching around him, pure bliss pulsed through you, blinding you momentarily.

He followed closely, as your clenching did the rest, moaning your name. Riding you through your highs, his lips brushed your pulse point, before he stilled.

Breathing heavily he pulled out, causing you to whimper at the emptiness.

Chuckling he lay down beside you, catching his breath as you did the same.

It was silent for a while, in which he discarded of the condom, before you swallowed, looking at your watch. "Fuck!" you breathed out, causing him to look back at you, brows furrowed.

"I have to get home, otherwise I won't be able to make it to work in time tomorrow." you explained, sending him a crooked smile.

Nodding, seeming a little disappointed though, he sat up. "Yeah, I totally get that." he spoke, standing up and starting to collect your things. You did the same, only then realizing that your panties were somewhere at his front door.

Blushing, you dressed, as he did the same, before he awkwardly walked you to the door, where you picked up your ruined panties.

Huffing a laugh you shook your head, bunching the fabric in your fist. "Uhm, I don't know how to get home." you told him, cheeks reddening even more.

"Right." he nodded, searching for his keys. "I'll drive you." Eyes widening, you looked at him. "Oh, you don't have to do that!" you said, but he shook his head. "I insist on it."

Smiling gratefully you nodded. "Okay, thank you."

The drive to your apartment was a little awkward, but you decided to make the best of it.

"I mean, now that you know where I live, maybe you want to come over sometime?" you offered, biting your lip. "For a round two, you know?"

He chuckled, smiling. "Yeah, maybe."

When you arrived, he made sure you got in safely, before saying goodbye and parting ways.

You hoped he would eventually take you up on your offer. The sex you had only minutes ago, was the best you had in a long time.

When the alarm went off the next morning, you felt like you'd been run over by a bus.

You hadn't slept that much, given the time you were home and lay awake, but you had no other choice than to get up, shower, brush your teeth and get ready.

Driving towards the LAPD your fingers nervously drummed on the steering wheel. It was your first day and you didn't know who'd be your TO for the next year.

Would he or she be nice? Or would you get one of those that liked to make their rookies suffer?

Getting inside you made your way to the locker room, changing into your uniform, before walking into the conference room, where the others were already waiting.

Brushing over your neatly done hair, your gaze wandered over the already seated officers, before it abruptly stopped.

There, between two women, sat Tim.

Your one night stand Tim.

Eyes widening you pleaded for him not to turn in your direction, but he did exactly that, like he heard your silent prayer.

His eyes widened as his gaze fell on you, mouth agape.

Cheeks reddening, trying to catch your breath you walked toward the seats in the front row, sitting down.

This couldn't be happening.

Before you could have thought more about it, the watch commander, Sergeant Grey, entered the room.

The other rookies stood up front and you did the same, trying to forget Tim for a moment.

"We got some new blood this morning." Sergeant Grey started, hands on his waist. "After six months together in the academy, you've earned the right to be here, but you'll have to prove yourself to stay. The way we do things matters. Protocol and tradition are the metal, from which every cop in this city is forged."

As he talked, you tried your best not to let your gaze wander towards Tim. His eyes seemed to burn holes into your skin, as you tried to concentrate on Sergeant Grey.

"Understand?" he wanted to know. "Yes, sir." you all gave back. "Sit down." he then told you. You did as you were told, breathing in deeply.

"It's time for playing the officer match game." Grey continued, reading on a paper. "Our contestants are Alec Miller, Y/N Y/L/N and Richard Stevens. And the winners are: Officer Harper, you get Alec Miller. Officer Lopez, you get Richard Stevens. And Officer Bradford, you get Y/N Y/L/N, who's looking like she just saw a ghost."

Laughter erupted, as your gaze fell on Tim. His teeth grit and you got the feeling, that he was Officer Bradford.

"Now hear me: Today is your first day, don't let it be your last." Grey explained, causing your gaze to snap back to him. "Forget the academy, listen to your TO's. They'll teach you the way it should be done. That's it."

You flinched, as his hands made contact with the pult rather loudly.

Again, this couldn't be happening.

Trying to calm your racing heart down, you stood, bracing yourself for meeting your TO.

"Hello boot, I'm Officer Tim Bradford." he introduced himself like you'd never met before, as he stood in front of you. "Nice to meet you, sir." you played along, doing your best not to look away.

He nodded, motioning for you to follow him.

As he told you the basics, like your task to get the bags and stuff, your mind drifted off briefly. He must have noticed, because he stopped talking, his eyes narrowing at you.

"Did you even listen to what I told you the last few minutes?" he wanted to know, his tone cold and harsh. Flinching you nodded. "I did, sir."

Praying for him not to test you about what he explained to you (you probably wouldn't have passed that test), you entered the shop.

He was driving, telling you a few things you had to keep in mind when sitting in the shop. "This is you work place." he told you. Nodding, you buckled up, suppressing a sigh.

This would surely get awkward.

Leaving the garage it grew silent, as he drove and you looked out the window, not sure what to say.

If you were even supposed to say something in the first place.

"You left something in my car." he suddenly broke the silence, not looking at you, though. Racking your brain you tried to remember what he meant, as he cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Your, uh, your panties." he then said, and you swore his cheeks turned pinkish.

Eyes widening you gasped, not having noticed that your panties were even missing.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry." you told him, cheeks growing hot. This only made the situation ten times more awkward.

He nodded slightly, swallowing, but didn't say any more.

It crackled, as the radio turned on. "Adam-7-19, we have a 10-67 at Burlington Street." It fell silent again, as Tim grabbed the mic. "Adam-7-19, taking over. Code four." he gave through, changing course.

"Suspicious person." you mumbled to yourself, but he heard you. "Person calling for help." he corrected you harshly. "10-66 is suspicious person. You need to know the codes so you'll be ready when you arrive!"

Brows furrowing you looked at him. "You can't expect me to know every single code already." you gave back, not caring that he was your TO.

He slammed the break - luckily you were on an empty street as your body jerked forward, only being held back by the seat belt.

"What did you just say?" he wanted to know, turning towards you in his seat. "I'm your TO and I rate you every single day. If you don't know the codes correctly, you need to learn them. If you don't know them by next week, you're out."

Mouth agape you stared at him in shock.

He was one of those TO's, that let their rookies suffer.

"Wow." you breathed out, leaning back against the window. "Wouldn't have expected you to be such an asshole, after last night."

You shouldn't have said that.

You really shouldn't.

His hands balled into fists, teeth gritted. You saw that he wanted to say something, but he stayed silent as his eyes bored holes into yours.

Suddenly he sat back in his seat, starting to drive again.

Cocking a brow you shook your head. Sure, he was your TO, but did he really have to treat you like that?

"Can I ask you a question?" you wanted to know, looking at him as he drove. He simply nodded, motioning for you to go ahead.

"Are you like this with all your rookies?" you wanted to know, elbow resting on the door. "Like what?" he gave back, brows furrowing. "Shall I really repeat myself?" you retorted, cocking a brow at him.

Huffing, he shook his head.

"I treat a rookie based on his needs." he explained. "Wow, last night I was tight, now I'm dumb." you concluded, shaking your head.

His gaze snapped to yours briefly, before it fixed on the street again. "I'm sorry, what?" he wanted to know, sounding almost angry.

Your brows rose, as you bit your lip.

Yeah, definitely shouldn't have said that either.

"Nothing, forget it." you mumbled, fumbling with your belt.

It grew quiet, as you noticed that you might have gone overboard. It was your first day and he had the power to make it your last.

"What happened last night won't repeat." he clarified, not looking at you. Swallowing, you nodded.

Of course it wouldn't. You were his rookie now, after all.

Or boot, like he had called you earlier.

"I would be glad if we could just forget that it happened." he told you. Taking a deep breath you huffed. "Will be hard to find a comparison, though." you spoke without thinking,

Covering your face with your hands, you wanted to apologize for your inability to keep your mouth shut, but he was faster. "Yeah, I know." he mumbled, biting his cheek.

Your brows shot high at his words, biting your lip.

Damn it, he was smoking hot, your one night stand and now he was your trainer as well. Not thinking about the sex you had last night would be hard.

Speaking off, you felt how your cheeks grew hot.

God damn it.

You were doomed.

-> Part two

[jake-g-lockley]

Hiya :3

I’ve never done a request before so I thought it might be fun

Maybe you could write a Din Djarin short where the reader had to intervene in a fight on his behalf and Din is furious because the reader could have been killed and lashed out causing the reader to run off and he’s been looking for them ever since?

Also they haven’t admitted that they have feelings for each other yet so there’s another scoop of angst for ya hahaha

To Their Heart’s Content (Din Djarin x reader)

Masterlist | Spotify Playlist | Wanna be tagged?

A/N: *crack knuckles* MISS MA'AM I HAVE JUST THE THING OMG. I hope you like it <3 and thank you for the ask, I had fun writing this!!! Warnings: Angst, yelling, Din being Din. Word Count: 1.4k

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Din’s POV “Din, you do not give babies explosives unsupervised!” you squealed as you grabbed onto the explosive that Grogu had been proudly showing off to you. 

Once you had set the explosive safely aside, you giggled as you chased Grogu around the ship’s hull, laughing aloud as you tackled the child into your arms. 

The memory of your laugh pulled Din Djarin away from the focus of flying through the dizzying depths of space. Nothing had sounded closer to music to his ears. But now it was just a distant memory, a memory that he had been trying to chase. 

You had always been the chatty one, and he had always listened to you. He could spend hours listening to your talk about the most random thing, and you wouldn’t know that he also spent those hours staring into your eyes. 

Your gaze was always sharp, as if you had lined your eyes with glass instead of dark kohl. They sparkled with irresistible charm, glowing brightly whenever you star gazed while he flew the ship. Din would feel his skin grow hot wherever you would glance, not in pain or agony but as if he was being bathed by warm sunlight. You were like a cup of caf, the first taste always being bitter. But when you came around to him, your boldness and brightness took over his entire senses, kickstarting a whole new beginning for him. You had a fullness in your body and a richness in your soul that drew him towards you, almost connecting you to him.

“Don’t go too far, kar'ta!” Din yelled out before he could stop himself as he watched you and Grogu skip through the meadow. You had seen the meadow as Din flew above it and you insisted on flying down, to pick some flowers to make flower crowns. The second he touched down, you had flipped your extra long curls and a beautiful scent of nova lilies flooded all his senses, knocking him out cold. 

Kar'ta

Din doubted you understood what he called you. You’d give him a head tilt and smile at his sudden use of Mando’a. He couldn’t help himself, for you were his kar'ta, his heart. It was at that moment, when he watched as you picked his kid up and spun him around, where the doom settled at the pit of his stomach, and he knew that he couldn’t live without you. 

The scene in his mind drastically changed and blaster shots echoed in his head as the imagery of the wreaked marketplace appeared. Din had been fighting 5 to 1 and was already kneeling in pain from the poisoned cut. You lept in front of him, and Din yelled out as the enemy’s blade slashed a cut into your arm. Din heard you scream as his world plunged into darkness. 

The scene changes again and Din is knocking away a bowl of porridge that you had offered to him the second he had come to. 

“Din, I-”

“You could have gotten yourself killed!” he yelled through his helmet, barricading you with his large frame.

“I knew what I was doing!” you yelled back, pushing your hands at his armour but he didn’t budge an inch. “You could’ve been dead if I didn’t step in! Who do you think dragged you all the way back here?”

The Mandalorian went quiet, but you stared at him through his helmet, glowering at him as tears flowed from your beautiful eyes. 

“I. Don’t. Care. Next time, stay out of my way.” he huffed, turning away from you.

“There isn’t going to be a next time, Mandalorian.” 

Your words rang clear in Din’s head as time froze around him, except for the frantic movement of your body around the hull of his ship, grabbing at your belongings. You left that night and Din was hellbent in wanting to go and search for you but he couldn’t move a muscle. His pride overtook the feelings he had for you and he couldn’t go after you, not after how he treated you.

The kid’s soft whining brought Din back to the present and he unscrewed the metal ball off one of the levers and handed it to him

“Don’t worry, little one, we almost found her.” he said softly, rubbing Grogu’s head as he gazed at the planet before him

Your POV

You rubbed the pendant around the neck between your fingers as you breathed in the fresh air around you. As evening approaches, the lake mirrors the fiery colours of the sunset, transforming into a molten pool of oranges, pinks, and purples that blend seamlessly with the twilight sky. Your chickens cooed and you smiled at them before shutting your eyes and letting your memories overpower you. 

You missed your mystery Mandalorian, you dreamed of him and recently you had his voice in your head. You wanted to go back, and you wished you didn’t make such a harsh decision to leave him, to leave Grogu. You hugged yourself as the wind blew gently and you swayed, re-imagining that one day that Din had gained the courage to slow dance with you in a bar after you teased him a bunch. “Big man like you never danced with a lady before?” you chuckled as Din’s hand gripped yours a little tighter. “Never with a lady as annoying as you.” he huffed, his nerves pulling at his edges, but you smiled at him nevertheless.

You never knew what he hid under that helmet of his and you never asked because he never pried into your past either. As much as you tried to bury those memories deep down, they always clawed their way back to the surface, haunting your thoughts in the quietest moments. The ache in your chest seemed insatiable, a constant reminder of what once was and what could have been. You found yourself tracing his silhouette in the crowd, hoping against hope for a glimpse, only to recoil at the pain of realisation.

Each day felt like a battle against your own heart, struggling to resist the urge to reach out, to feel the warmth of his presence beside you. The weight of unspoken words hung heavy between you, a silent testament to the distance that had grown. You yearned to break the silence, to shatter the wall that kept you apart, yet fear gripped you tightly, whispering tales of rejection and loss.

In the solitude of sleepless nights, memories played like a relentless movie reel, tormenting you with what could have been said, what might have changed if only you had been brave enough. The ache became a part of you, a raw, tender spot that refused to heal. You masked your longing with a smile, but behind it lay a river of unshed tears, a testament to the depth of your unspoken emotions.

You wanted nothing more than to forget, to move on from the phantom of his touch and the echo of his voice in your mind. Yet, his presence lingered in every corner of your world, a ghost you couldn't exorcise. Each step forward felt like a betrayal of the memories you held dear, a struggle against the pull of a love that refused to fade.

But amidst the pain and longing, a glimmer of hope flickered—a hope that one day, the ache would soften, that you could remember without the sting, that you could find peace in letting go. Until then, you held onto the fragments of what once was, whispering silent prayers to the universe to grant you the strength to heal, to forgive, and to find solace in the sweet agony of a heart that dared to love deeply, despite the pain.

You wished you held your awkward Mandalorian a little tighter, a little longer after the music ended, but here you were standing by your cottage as the air became cool and fragrant with the scent of wildflowers that lulls the world into a peaceful slumber, all alone. “Swapped out the battle armour for chickens, kar'ta?”

You took a deep breath and felt your own heart quicken, the voice reverberating around you too sound for it to be coming from your head. A tear slipped from your eyes as you closed them, your heart finally joining with its lost one as the sound of heavy boots on dirt met your ears. 

Translation: Kar'ta: Mando’a for heart

Kohl: Ancient eye cosmetic

Reblogs are appreciated ~~~ Tagging: @fandxmslxt69 @joygirlmelii @wolfbook87 @randomnessfangirl @minigirl87 @alexxavicry @euphoricosmo @violet-19999 @kierramofficial @ryebreadsworld @your-voice-is-mellifluous @absolutelybloodyhopeless @mintpurplemnm  @britishscum @bubblezuku @cookielovesbook-akie @mandoloriancookie @anonymously35 @milly-louise @marylovesdilfs @pigeonmama

[un-love]

— afternoon | kmg

mingyu x f!reader

a/n: i wrote this last august and forgot about it. self indulgent asf bc my period is a horror story 💢

“good game, guys. i’m gonna log out now.” putting his headphones aside, mingyu was greeted by complete silence in the house. it had been an hour since he left the bedroom to let you sleep in peace. the week of your period was always a hard time for you. hard is an understatement, really. he couldn't physically understand how you felt but the first time he saw you cry out in pain and struggle to walk yourself to the kitchen, he had decided to be there for you without you ever having to ask for his help; that’s the least he could do after all. the little widgets on his phone notify him of the approaching doom every month without fail, and one might even say he’s as prepared as you now (maybe more).

as he approaches the living room, his ears perk up. he opens the door carefully, and catches you wincing as you try to sit up. you look even worse than how he left you, somehow. sunken eyes and disheveled hair, there really wasn’t any way to romanticize this pain. “why didn’t you call me?”, he whispers and immediately springs into the practiced routine he’s got down. you're too far gone to protest as he props up your pillows, gets you a reheated hot water bottle and orders you to open your mouth as he makes you take your prescribed pain meds. regaining some consciousness after feeling the burn of the hot bag on your skin, you can’t help but smile at the concerned expression on his face as he assesses you. the way his brows furrow and a little pout appears on his soft lips soothes some of the ache in your body.

“what are you smiling at?”, he asks. “you’re just so cute like this. worrying about me and all.” the look he gives you is one of fondness. it’s somewhat relieving for your boyfriend to see you talk like this, despite the state you’re in. he could tell how disoriented you were by the way you hadn’t met his eyes the whole day. “who said i’m worried?”, he says cheekily, before disappearing into the kitchen again.

“i don’t feel good; i think i’m going to throw up”, you call out from your new resting place on the couch, chewing on scraps from the kitchen for lunch. mingyu had asked you to move to the couch (read: carried you) so he could change the sheets and clean up the room a little. it still felt embarrassing to have him take care of you like this, but his kind eyes and kinder hands made you go along with whatever he said.

thinking back, you had tried to avoid seeing him the first few months after you started dating, for this very reason. he knew you were having a hard time with your diagnosis, so he never wanted to push you too much; until the day you had woken up in a pool of blood with him next to you on your bed. you had sobbed endlessly (from frustration, pain, embarrassment) before threatening to poke his eye out with a butter knife if he ever made fun of you for this. this was all very bizarre to your new boyfriend, who grew progressively more concerned for you after that. had someone made you feel bad for something like this before?

a head pokes around the door with a determined expression you could read extremely well. another wave of nausea rocked over your body. “don’t come close to me, kim mingyu. i haven’t showered since yesterday. i stink.” “but you don't know what i’m going to s—” he tries to go on but you cut him off. “the sound of the air conditioner is making my skin crawl.” “but-” “the fabric of my tshirt is touching my skin in the worst ways and the birds won’t stop fucking chirping outside the window and you- you’re here seeing me like this. i want to dig a life sized hole and bury myself in it right now. just go away, please.”

he’s careful when he comes closer to you and stops right before sitting on the couch. “baby, i promise you, nothing about you can disgust me. unless you do something unforgivable like putting milk first in my cereal bowl”, he says, and you finally look at him. success. “and i’ll leave you alone, if that’s what you want. but can i get you something else for the pain or a hot drink first?”

how could you say no to him when he looked at you like that? with those big brown eyes, trying his best to read your face. freshly washed bangs falling into his eyes, and his pretty hand outstretched towards you. your eyes get distracted by his tongue coming out to wet his bottom lip, a nervous habit of his you found adorable. in the split second between his question and your response, you imagined pulling him by the shirt and kissing him breathless. swatting away the (welcome) visual in your head, you let yourself fall against the soft cushions, the fight leaving your body. it's time you let somebody love you.

fin.

[copperbadge]

I am so close and yet so far from being done with The Chicken Salad War, argh. I have the entire rest of the book plotted out, and there's a little less than a quarter of it remaining to write, I think, but it's going to be an intense quarter. And then the rewrites will be a little more extensive than usual because I've basically been skipping scenes I don't want to write, which isn't a lot but isn't zero.

Anyway, have a scene where Ylias and Simon realize that attempting to make an edible sauce using davzda and harissa paste may be an error.

It took a few more minutes of scraping and blending, but in the end the warm, fragrant harissa paste was scooped out and into a bowl, and they both examined it.

"Now…davzda," he said, sounding excited and doomed at once, like someone about to attend an execution but fortunately not theirs.

"I'm wondering, should we just try to loosen it up with the raw hooch?" she asked. "Or actually make some shakshouka and stir the davzda into that?"

"I think to start, we make a sauce -- some beautiful paste, some davzda, and some broth," he said. "I will reserve some for further experiments."

She carried the bowl to the stove and set out a saucepan, spooning some of the harissa into it and then shuffling aside so he could add broth; he whisked them together cold, then added a careful pour of davzda from the ubiquitous gray-green bottle. The smell that rose from the mixture was…herbal, but it began to fade into something more pleasantly spicy as it heated.

[insert brief hold music here for a part of the scene I don't want to spoil yet]

"Now, I must begin prep for dinner, I think, while this simmers."

"Can I help?" she asked. 

He blinked at her. "Oh -- it is my job and I am too accustomed to it. But..." he added, considering, "You won't go yet, will you? You must taste this sauce. And I have been accustomed to company, but not so much with Eddie now looking after the little ones." 

"Can I criticize your technique?" she asked, grinning, and he laughed. 

"Only in French, and I will not be gracious about it," he replied. 

"I'd worry if you were," she said, stationing herself at the stove to mind the sauce while he gathered ingredients. By the time he was done assembling the meatballs, the sauce had thickened and darkened to an almost mahogany color. Simon procured some twist-bread and fetched crudite from the fridge ("I keep carrot sticks for Joan, and His Majesty will enjoy the leftover cucumber at dinner,") and she spooned some sauce out into a bowl, dipping the bread while he tried a piece of carrot. 

At the first taste, he looked thoughtful, chewing the carrot and harissa sauce with a blank look on his face. Ylias, taken off-guard, coughed and nearly choked when she finally tasted it.

"Oh, no, oh dear," she said, taking a long sip of water while he grinned, still chewing. "It's...so earthy."

"The flavoring in the alcohol, I think," he said, finally swallowing and rinsing his own mouth out. "The oil in the chilis brings out the mushroom in the davzda."

"Ugh, but the worst part," she managed. "That's awful. It's not even bitter, really, not like davzda is, it's just...almost cloying." 

"Yes, but..." he considered, eyes narrowed. "There is good flavor there too, just not in balance."

She tapped her tongue against the roof of her mouth, chasing stray hints of the sauce, then braced herself and took another, smaller taste. 

"You can almost get to it," she agreed, considering more deeply. "I never bother with mushrooms in shakshouka because they're just texture at that point, the flavor's too delicate for the spice. But maybe...if you could just cut the flavor a bit."

"Less davzda?"

"Defeats the point, but maybe. Or..." she considered. "There's a lot of tomato coming through, but it's the acid. Do you think a sweet note would help, or would that just make it worse?"

"Make this worse?" he asked, amused, but he was already reaching for a jar on the counter. "The family likes muscovado in their coffee," he said, using the little spoon in the jar to lift out a mound of golden-brown sugar. "Yes?"

She gestured for him to give it a try; he added a few spoonfuls and then stirred it with the whisk again. The sauce darkened further, but when they tasted it this time, the horror had receded. 

"Oh, that's...actually nice," she said. "Salty-sweet. You could even use molasses -- or a sherry if you wanted."

"Yes. Very good," he agreed, and then he leaned in and kissed her. 

It surprised them both, she could tell; she didn't pull away -- he was a very good kisser -- but when he leaned back, he looked startled by what he'd done.

"Ah, perhaps inappropriate," he said. "Only -- I like this very much, this experimentation. With the sauce," he added in a stammer. "Although, of course -- "

She held up a finger and he fell silent, looking relieved.

"I like it too," she said. "A little warning next time, maybe."

[gordonstanheight]

why was sheldon the only nerd to get a young spinoff. what if we needed young leonard. young raj. maybe not young howard i could not doom a poor kid to a bowl cut forever . ian hecox is still recovering

[shrimpybbq]

Blessing in Disguise (2)

Abstract: A war-torn Gwayne is presented with an opportunity when the dragon of a Targaryen Princess is shot down near his camp. A once devout follower of his Knight's oath, Gwayne no longer sees much point when Criston Cole gifts him Princess, his only requirement being to keep her alive. The Hightower Knight has suppressed his own urges for so long, but now, he no longer wishes to, not when he's been given a sweet Princess just for himself.

Warnings: abuse of power, prisoner/captor dynamics, gross men, restraints, Gwayne is growing more delulu, future dubcon/noncon (not proof read)

Author’s Note: this chapter is seriously diving into just how much Gwayne is loosing it, and building up his motives and morals. He thinks of himself as a saviour and all his actions are rooted in this need to keep protecting the Princess.

Tag List: @torchbearerkyle @beautifultacodragon

______________________________________________

Two days had passed since the Princess was captured, and two days had passed since Gwayne had been given the responsibility of keeping her alive. For the first day, he’d faced little trouble as the still unconscious girl slumbered in his tent, her frame draped across his own makeshift bed. The turmoil was rife within the knight however; for he knew little of what to do with the girl. To keep her hidden away in his tent for the rest of the campaign seemed cruel, but letting the Princess roam around the camp was a risk that could bring doom to the army. While he didn’t know for certain of her likely reaction upon waking, Gwayne felt that the Princess would not take kindly to her newfound position as captive.

The second day helped the knight make up his mind, for the Princess began to rouse herself from her state. He’d been eating the claggy paste they called oatmeal when movement caught his eye from across the tent. With sluggish movements, the girl pushed her weak and frail body up to a somewhat seated position as her eyes took in her surroundings. Gwayne found the confused expression on her face amusing, but sighed deeply as her eyes widened in alarm upon laying her sights on the Hightower Green of his doublet and the red of his hair. He watches as she begins to sputter and gasp as she tries to speak, but despite her best efforts, her brain fails to deliver a coherent question to the knight.

“You are in no position to run, or much less even argue, so I suggest you still yourself whilst I explain the predicament you’ve found yourself in,” Gwayne’s lilting voice cutting across the tent, his words stilling any movement from the Princess. Though he’s attempted to make his tone lighter, it’s clear that his tone carries a subtle warning.

The Princess nods softly before speaking, her voice hoarse and croaky due to disuse, “Wh-who are you?”

She fears she knows and yet some part of her hopes that perhaps it has been a case of mistaken identity - that this man across from her, whose tent she lays in, is not the brother to the Queen Dowager.

“Ser Gwayne Hightower, Princess.” It’s all he says. Gwayne notices the crestfallen expression on her face deepen, her fingers beginning to play with the threads of the blanket. “Your dragon was slain after it flew above our territory, the scorpion striking it down with great accuracy. It was not expected that Rhaenyra would have sent her only daughter on dragonback and yet, there you were.”

“M-my drag-”

Gwayne doesn’t let her speak and instead continues his recounting. “Criston Cole made the decision that your life should be spared. He wishes to use you as tool to garner your mother’s surrender, and in turn, has granted you the most esteemed opportunity of a true camp experience.”

The sweet Princess can only listen silently and a small twinge strikes at Gwayne’s heart as tears begin to fall down her cheeks. He lets her process his words, scraping the last remnants of his oatmeal from the wooden bowl. When she says no more, the knight moves to leave the tent when a timid voice stops him in his tracks.

“What will you do with me?”

The Princess watches the man freeze, his broad back tense and rigid. He stays near the entrance, arms clutching the fabric of the tent as he seems to ponder his answer. She had heard stories of the honourable Ser Gwayne Hightower and yet, chills crash over her at his next words.

“Whatever I so wish, I suppose, as long as your heart still beats in your chest.”

______________________________________________

That night the princess remains in his bed, her hands bound and tied to the wooden post holding up the tents fabric. He’s given her some tether, at least allowing her to relax her arms and continue to rest. The Princess had almost drifted into an unpeaceful slumber when a rustling sound echoed around the tent, and a disheveled Hightower strode through the entrance. She had little time to process his intentions as the knight flung off his boots and undid his doublet, leaving him only in his trousers and tunic, watching wide-eyed as he stalked over to the makeshift bed.

“What are you doing?!” The princess shrieked as Gwayne lowered his body next to hers, the flimsy material dipping with his body weight.

“I am sleeping, or at least I hope to be.”

“Get away from me! How dare you,” the girl cried, her body tense as she flung her body out of the bed.

“You may struggle to recall this, but this is my tent. You have been sleeping in my bed and as much as it pleases me to see you enjoying it so, I too wish to rest,” Gwayne bites out, his tone laced with sarcasm and thinly veiled contempt. She could’ve been sleeping on the dirt floor and here she still complains.

Gwayne hears her muttering “no, no” and finds little inside of himself to care, instead tugging on the restraints binding her hands. The squeal as she falls back into the bed makes him smirk, pushing the girl into the fabric and covering her with a blanket.

“Sleep. And keep any foolish ideas you may have of escaping to yourself, for you have no dragon or the faintest idea of your location.”

Gwayne rolls away from the Princess, feeling smug with himself at the lack of response he receives, though the rigid frame of the girl seems to be conveying enough to him. She knows her hopes of escape will not come to fruition tonight, not with the Hightower sleeping by her side. She can’t even retaliate when his heavy frame drapes over her own during the night, arms slung across her stomach as he clings to her body heat. Restless, she lies there listening to his languid breaths, her own heart pounding with anxiety.

______________________________________________

The Princess had been in the camp for what felt like months, though her stay had only totalled five days. It seemed that her and her captor had fallen into a somewhat amicable routine: Gwyane would venture down with the Princess to the nearby lake to allow bathe, and the pair would break their fast with the rest of the soldiers. He would then return her to his tent while he talked strategy with Criston, leaving the girl alone, but not unsupervised. He’d given up use of the rope that had attached to her ankle after the first night in the bed, but the knight was still wary of the Princess trying to escape. In the evenings the two would sit by a small fire in the common area of the camp and eat their meager meals, Gwayne even allowing the girl her own cup of mead to wash the bread down. Gwayne couldn’t deny that it felt comforting to have another’s presence as a constant, especially after such long periods of loneliness and isolation. He even begins to warm to his captive, small chuckles leaving his lips more often as they conversed.

And yet their moments of ambivalence seemed to come crashing down as Gwayne left to fetch more mead, only to return and see a common soldier leering over the Princess. His stout body crowded into her space, his hands clutching at her shoulders, the fabric ripping in his harsh grip. From a distance it was difficult for Gwayne to hear the man’s words, though he held strong suspicions of their nature, however as he covered ground his ears picked up more and more.

“Mmm… do you think you could handle the cock of a real man, Princess?” the man muttered sleazily, “I don’t think you could. All you Royal cunts act like you’re above us, but maybe you just need a little demonstration.”

The Princess’s discomfort was plain for all to see, no more so than Gwayne. Her shaking frame and teary eyes look around broadly, pleading for an intervention as her bottom lip trembles in fear. It only takes him a moment to unsheath his sword, raising it to the neck of the soldier.

“Remove your vile hands before I do so for you,” he demands, his tone firm and gaze locked on the scum in front of him. Gwayne revels in the shock that crosses the soldier’s face and his disappearance from his sight shortly after. Common-born folk always aim far above their station, coveting what should never be sullied by them, Gwayne thinks.

The Hightower is caught up in his thoughts as he brings the Princess back to his tent. His chest feels as if it’s filling up with anger, breathing growing heavy at the feeling of the Princess trembling under his grip. Many soldiers had been invited to fight with a great army in the name of the King, and yet here they stood leering and preying on the King’s own niece. Such depravity should be expected of commoners but to dare even suggest of defiling a Princess of the Realm would ordinarily be treason.

It’s only the wide, teary eyes that finally snap Gwayne out of his thoughts. The Princess is clutching his arm, her body pressed into his side as she looks up, lower lip still trembling. The girl had been scared out of her mind, too weak and powerless to stop any advances, and now here she stood a wreck because of it. To see the Princess looking up at him in such a way sends a new series of thoughts running through Gwayne’s mind, tightening his breeches and quickening his breathing.

The men in the camp were only acting in such a depraved way due to a misguided conception that the Princess was not spoken for. They believed that she was free for the taking, for any common man to use and keep. She was his captive though no man seemed to acknowledge his stake of claim over her. She slept in his tent each night, in his bed, by his side. If that would not convince these vile men to back away, then only one thing would. Gwayne was a flawed man, he himself could acknowledge that, but he would protect the Princess as was asked of him, in any way he could. And if that meant he would need to make his position clearer to the camp then he would.

The Princess would understand the actions he needed to take, he thinks, as his hand begins to brush at the exposed skin on her shoulder where her dress had torn. As her breath hitches at the contact, Gwayne can’t help his growing smirk - she’s so responsive to him, not even aware of how she’s pushing her body closer to him unconscionably. He can feel her plush breasts press against his chest and her hips against his own, though she seems unaware of the growing hardness pressing against her stomach.

The Hightower knight assures himself that he won’t enjoy his next actions, for it is only his duty to keep the Princess safe and protected from those who wish to do her harm. He assures himself that the Seven will grant him forgiveness, for he is only acting as any nobleman would. Finally, Gwayne assures himself that the Princess would forgive him for what he was about to do - soon she would understand that becoming his own spoil of war would keep her safe from other men of less valiant intentions. She would thank him sooner or later - she would, he reassures himself over and over again as he begins to lead the Princess over to his makeshift bed. He ignores the thought in the back of his mind telling him that even if she withheld her forgiveness, he wouldn’t mind too much - he would care much less than he should.

[slutshamethesquirrels]

Superbloom - Part 3

tws: abuse, domestic violence, self harm and suicidal ideations

pairing: cc!satosugu x reader

part 2

Gojo stays up impossibly late. When he's home, you try your best to keep him company, but often end up nodding off on the couch, or the floor. One time you even fell asleep with your head down on the dining room table beside your late night bowl of cereal, spoon still in hand. You couldn't remember it, but Gojo found it greatly amusing.

You always woke up in your bed though.

Did he touch you when he carried you there? Or did he scoop you up with the infinite barrier between himself and the rest of the world? Did he brush your hair away from your face, rest his cheek against your forehead as he cradled you?

You couldn't imagine he did. Sensory input seemed to be a sort of hurdle for him.

He liked taste. Particularly sugar, but oftentimes he could also be lured away from responsibility by way of food trucks and pop up shops with menus that may as well be eligible to him. Different combinations of taste and texture seemed to fascinate him. There was something very human in those moments; the tilt of his head and the slow maneuvering of his jaw. It seemed it was only in those fleeting moments he could entirely lose himself in the sensation of something new.

Sight was a curse, quite literally. You’d learned the blindfold was more than just a comfort, more than just a mask. Occasionally he'd come home from missions and fall face first into the couch swearing he’s fine, but you knew better. There was a tension in his shoulders that only seemed to ease when all the lights were off and the only sound was your colliding breathing. You’d sit on the floor in front of him and worry, so loud you'd think he could probably hear it until his breathing slowed. You couldn't carry Gojo to bed if you tried, but you'd retrieve his blanket from his room and pull it up over his sleeping form only to watch it hover a few inches above his slumbering frame. You wondered if it was still warm.

And touch?

You wouldn't know. You aren't sure he would either.

He treated infinity like a party trick, throwing up invisible walls for you to walk into for a quick laugh, or blocking your chopsticks from reaching your lips– he especially loved it when you got irritated enough to throw something at him.

Little reminders of how untouchable he truly was.

It was lonely.

You hadn't gone so long without being touched in years. At first you missed the obvious: the kisses, the cuddles, the sex– but you knew you were truly broken when Gojo had come home fuming after a meeting with the higher ups and you got excited over the idea that he might lose it enough to hit you.

He didn't. He wouldn't.

Instead he stormed past you, his infinity bumping you roughly out of the way and made a b-line for his room, slamming the door behind him with enough force to rattle the walls.

The loneliness only grows.

Day fades to evening fades to night. You fill the time with instant ramen and doom scrolling through social media.

You know you shouldn't check, but you can't stop yourself from pulling up Suguru's instagram.

He loved pictures. You'd always had the feeling that he was a little vain, but he would swear it was all about the image.

He didn't post often, but when he did the comments we're always flooded with new age spirituality bullshit. Praising him and his “healing”, stroking his ego about his “divine masculine” energy. You had half a mind to tell these people that man had a better skincare routine than you did, but decide against it.

Something catches your eye.

His most recent post was liked by Manami.

You knew better than to open her profile, because seeing her name alone makes your stomach churn and your blood boil. It almost feels good-

“Y/n?”

Gojo's voice snaps you out of your trance and you drop your phone with a clatter against the table. If he's curious, he doesn't say so. It seems like there are other things on his mind.

“Pack your bags.”

The words cut through you like a hot knife, nausea welling up in your gut.

What was wrong with you that this kept happening? And even more importantly, where would you run to if not to Gojo? You’d lost all connections when you decided to follow Suguru in his defection, and not even a coffee shop would be impressed by “highschool dropout” written in the fine print of your resume.

Still, what was there to do?

“Okay.” It comes out muted, shakey.

“We’ll be there for an entire week, and it's gonna be cold, so choose your outfits accordingly.”

Oh.

Relief floods you. You take a breath you didn't know you'd been denying yourself.

Planes are nice, but nowhere near being better than rides on Suguru’s curses. Still, you lean against the window, watching the expansive sea trail out for miles below you, wondering how it’d feel to drop right there in the middle. One would assume it’d be peaceful, but you knew better. People said water burned when it entered your lungs.

Still, there must be something interesting down there. Perhaps a sunken ship, or plane– just like the one you were on now. Or maybe something less human, something darker.

You’d never find out under the watchful eye of Gojo, who by all means looked relaxed. His long legs were stretching obnoxiously into your space, his fingers interlocked behind his head, tipped back like he hadn’t a care in the world, and yet you knew that something was eating at him. Whatever this mission was, it had him pissed, though he wouldn’t divulge exactly what had him so riled. It came through in subtle bursts- flares of his nostrils, clenches of his fists, impatient legs jiggling and jostling your seat with every move.

“Gojo.” You scold, moving to rest your hand against his ever bouncing knee but being stopped just a few inches short.

A grin cracks across his face like lighting; violent and bright.

“Yes?”.

He jiggles his leg harder. If it were anyone else, you’d punch them, but this was Gojo. Not only did you have a particular sort of patience for his class clown behavior, but you also couldn’t– the fact that he paid your rent being just as big of a placater as the physical inability to do so.

So you choose a different route.

“Are you nervous or something? Awfully jittery over there.” Your tone lets him know it’s an accusation, not a question.

He freezes, and then sneers “Please. I don’t get nervous.”.

He stays still for the rest of the ride.

Gojo had warned you it would be cold, and you should’ve known he meant you’d be staying in a glorified desert of ice and snow. Another thing about him that hadn’t changed; overstating the inconsequential and understating the important. Not that you had access to clothing of that caliber anyway. You hadn’t left the temple unless tucked under Geto’s arm in all your years away, there was no need for anything other than the uber-casual. Sweatpants, jeans, leggings and t-shirts. You had traditional wear as well, but you’d left it in your room back at the temple. There was no way you were ever donning that again.

The early morning light is played like a game of tennis across the expansive white of the snow-laden rooftops and sidewalks and Gojo’s luminescent features. Both are too light to be accepting of any new particles of light, rejecting the sun's warmth with a beautiful type of determination.

“Fuck.”

The word spat through Gojo’s colgate teeth to some would detract from the beauty, but you’d been taught the debauchery and violence went well with beauty, so it only felt natural.

He shocks you by yanking the blindfold off of his face, scrunching his face up against the blinding light, his features almost wound as tight as his thick knuckles gripping the steering wheel of the rental car. The cold chill that seeps into you isn’t coming from outside, but from somewhere deep in your core.

His eyes had always been beautiful, would’ve been enough to jostle you with a fair warning all those years ago, but with the blindfold removed it was even easier to see just how much he’d grown since then. His features were developed, sharp and smooth all at the same time, with sparse boyish details painted into his aura. Fluttering lashes, long and stark white, soft cheeks and round eyes that– stunned you. You could almost see a faint glow emitting from his pupils, a myriad of memories and lessons and raw power emanating from his gaze. They were horrifying.

They were beautiful.

He flops his blindfold in your lap and motions to his bag in the backseat.

“My glasses are in the front pocket, be a peach and grab them for me?”.

When you turn around to fulfill his request you see exactly what he was perturbed by. A white cop car with ghost detailing on the sides.

“Awwwh, Gojo’s scared of pigs!” You coo as you fish around in the front zipper of his suitcase, smiling to yourself when he laughs. It sounds like caramel tastes; the kind of sweetness that would only come from burning something just right.

He was fun to tease, sometimes.

“Don’t feel like having to make pork chops because they pull me over for driving with my vision obscured.”

Gojo leaves you at the rental cabin with a strict set of rules. You’re not to leave under any circumstances. Stay indoors and away from windows, and when nightfall comes, all lights are to be turned off and left that way. If anyone approaches, you are to act like you’re not there.

You asked him why.

He said you were weak.

It didn’t take you long to discover there was no service this far out in the sticks. You busy yourself as best you can, wandering around the far too large estate and yanking open cabinets and doors like you might find something spectacular (or horrifying) awaiting you.

The best it had to offer was a mostly empty bottle of cleaner under the bathroom sink and a brown recluse in an empty closet. You tell him (her?) hello but she doesn’t respond, so you decide it best to leave him to his biddings. He was here first, after all.

It’s when the sun sets that you really start to lose it.

You’d never been afraid of the dark before, so why now did it feel like it was suffocating you?

The walls seemed to be closing in, tighter and tighter until you felt as if you were pushing on the edges of your own coffin, buried six feet beneath the damp earth. Maggots gnawed at your flesh, rainwater seeped in through the cracks and somewhere you hear Suguru yelling your name. He sounds displeased.

You fumble in the darkness until your hands find a wall and you trace it, blindly feeling for anything that might give you a sense of direction in the unfamiliar environment. The disorientation is blinding, the heat from your hammering pulse making the air burn with every intake.

Suguru would be disgusted, to see you flailing and fumbling in the dark all because you were simply left alone with your own thoughts for too long.

Weak.

You hand finds cool metal and you recognize the familiar sensation of a knob against your palm, turning and throwing the door open without a second thought.

It's no brighter, but the freezing night air shocks your nervous system, hitting you like a brick to the throat– like the hand of a lover.

You take a shuddering gasp, and then two, and then three, until you finally feel some sense of sanity again.

Your eyes adjust to the moonlight, and you can make out the white fields that seem to stretch on for as far as the eye can see. The snow quiets the sounds of nature, quiets the kick drum in your chest.

Your back slowly presses against the cool wall of the house behind you, exhaustion wracking your frame as you come down from your panic. It's real, you tell yourself, it's all real. The wind nipping at your skin, slicing through the thin fabric of your clothing. The shards of razor sharp snow and ice caught in said wind that feels like they’re stabbing through your body. It all hurts. It makes you homesick.

You can't say for sure when you end up on the freezing surface of the covered porch on your side, curled into yourself, but you stay there, relishing in the feeling of the cold burn, thinking that if you close your eyes the frost bite on your jawline kind of feels like Suguru's teeth. Sharp.

Sleep overtakes you, eventually.

You dream of nothing.

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Louise Brooks (Pandora's Box, Diary of a Lost Girl)—Louise Brooks started off as a dancer and went to work in the Follies before going to Hollywood. Disappointed with her roles there, she went to Germany and proceeded to make Pandora's Box, the first film to show a lesbian on-screen (not her but one of her many doomed admirers in the film), and Diary of a Lost Girl, both of which are considered two of the greatest films of the 20th century. She helped popularize the bob and natural acting, acting far more subtly than her contemporaries who treated the camera as a stage audience. After the collapse of her film career and a remarkably rough patch as a high-end sex worker, she was rediscovered and did film criticism, notably "Lulu in Hollywood," which Rodger Ebert called "indispensable." Also, christ. Look at her.

Ruth Weyher (Secrets of a Soul, Warning Shadows)—my vintage crush

This is round 1 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Louise Brooks propaganda:

"Defined the style of the modern flapper. A gaze that could make a stone fall in love."

"Louise Brooks left a legend far greater than her real achievement as an actress, but even today few people have seen her films. In our own time, the fascination with Brooks seems to have begun in 1979 with a profile by Kenneth Tynan in the New Yorker, which revealed that the actress who made her last movie in 1938 was alive and living in Rochester, N.Y. Such was the power of Tynan's prose that people began to seek out her existing films, primarily this one, to discover what the fuss was about. What we see here is a healthy young woman -- she was 23 when the film was released -- with whom the camera, under G.W. Pabst's influence, is fascinated. There is a deep paradox in Brooks and her career: the American girl who found success in the troubled Europe between two wars; the vivid personality who briefly dazzled two continents but faded into obscurity; the liberated woman who had affairs with such prominent men as CBS founder William S. Paley as well as with women including (by her account) Greta Garbo but wound up a solitary recluse. And all of this seems perfectly in keeping with her most celebrated role in Pandora's Box. For despite her bright vitality, her flashing dark eyes and brilliant smile, Brooks's Lulu becomes the ultimate femme fatale, careering her way toward destruction, not only of her lovers but eventually of herself."

"She invented having bangs to indicate that you have borderline personality disorder"

"chances are if youve ever seen a "flapper girl" character or even just art of a generic flapper type made after the 20s it was based on her appearance - particularly the bob hairstyle! she had some pretty rough experiences through her life before during and after her tumultuous acting career which ended in 1938 but she made it to the 80s, wrote an autobiography and did a lot of interviews that she was never afraid of being honest in about her own life or peers of the age, and apparently was unabashed about some affairs she had with well known women (including greta garbo!!)"

"She read Proust and Schopenhauer on set between sets. She was one of the original flappers/new women of the 1920s. She had a one night stand with Garbo and was the inspiration for Sally Bowles in Cabaret. Truly a stone cold fox."

"on her wikipedia page it says her biographer said she "loved women as a homosexual man, rather than as a lesbian, would love them" and while i have no idea if this is true or not i thought that was very gender of her"

"despite being american she was big in german expressionist films and thus her aesthetic was unmatched!!"

So far ahead of her time in regard to portraying complicated women. Timeless elegance. "I learned to act by watching Martha Graham dance, and I learned to dance by watching Charlie Chaplin act.” - Louise Brooks

Ruth Weyher propaganda:

[ax-y10]

Imagine playing Geoguesser with Wilbur where reader is better than him so he gets angry and pouts like a kid, then reader told him that it's okay and they end up cuddling since he was in a bad humor😭😋

Sore loser

In which- he didn't know you were better than him at geoguessr, so he gets a little upset

A/n: I got carried away and I know this isn't exactly what you asked for but it's the best I could do. I'm super caught up with school and I just barely finished my agriculture and chemistry assessments. I love your stuff (and please respond to my messages 😂)

Headcanon info: Swearing, sad and pouty Wilbur, hurt/comfort, fluff, Geoguessr Wilbur because why not, cuddling, idk sorry

Pronouns: None (You/Yours)

Masterlist:

He would be super cocky at the start just to annoy you and show off, but would be immediately shut down when you win 5 in a row.

He would be so confused when you win the first round and claimed it was rigged.

"THIS IS RIGGED WHAT THE HELL!" "Wilbur, darling, have another round with me and we'll see, alright?" "Okay"

You'd go easy on him in the second round to not hurt his feelings, and to give him the satisfaction.

But when the third and final round came up, you went hard mode.

Every city that popped up, you almost immediately knew where it was, with the off chance of Wilbur knowing first.

Was he pissed off? Yes. Was he angry with you? Why would he be?

He had stormed out of the room to calm himself down from the game and recollect his thoughts. You put up a tough match and you were hard to beat. He didn't know you were that good at Geoguessr. "Alright, chat. I'm going to end it here and check on Wil. Have a great day or night wherever you are and remember to take care of yourselves. Bye bye," He heard from his office, your soft voice very obviously worried about him. You walked out as soon as you finished your last sentence and found him on the couch, running his hands through his hair and messing it up even further. "Wil? What's wron-" "Can you just go to the bedroom and I'll be there soon." His words cut you off, and you swiftly moved yourself to the bedroom to get changed. You'd obviously gone way too hard on Wilbur and challenged him too much, but you also wanted to have some fun.

He wasn't going to lie but you calm him down.

When he gets stressed, you're always there will a bowl of fruit and a drink of water.

When he's angry, you welcome him with a long hug and a kiss on the cheek.

When he's upset, you're there with a comforting smile on your face and a shoulder to cry on.

when he's anxious, you're offering him your hand to squeeze on and a small fidget toy for him to play with.

He couldn't deny that you were a grounding force for him, and he felt bad leaving you on your own, and always wanted to be there with you to reciprocate the things you did for him.

Small footsteps pulled you out of your thoughts, waiting for your boyfriend to come into the room and sit on the other end of the bed and lay down, ready to watch a movie. But when he entered the room, his hair was severely messed up, his Doomed sweater crinkled and his fingers holding a pinkish shade from picking at them. He didn't sit down the other end of the bed, but he slowly laid down on your outstretched body, moving until he was comfortable, and wrapping his arms around your torso. "I'm sorry for getting so pissed. I didn't mean to get angry when you were asking me what was wrong. I feel really bad now. Can you just cuddle for a while?" He apologised. You didn't know what for, as nothing really bothered you. "Just admit I'm better at Geoguessr and then I can sleep peacefully." You joked, and he shook his head against your chest. At least he's going to get a good night sleep.

[spaceprincessem]

but when it's over i'm still awake | 51k buddie fic | ao3

[or the buddie catching fire au]

The cameras cut to President Gerrard as he takes the stage, the anthem playing in the background. Eddie wants to crawl out of his own skin just looking at the man. His snake eyes and snake smile and the phantom smell of blood and roses nearly makes Eddie choke.

He opens a golden envelope and pulls out a card, making a show of it as a restless hush falls over the crowd.

“On the seventy-fifth anniversary of the Hunger Games, our Third Quarter Quell, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest amongst them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors.”

There’s a beat of drop dead silence.

“The victor’s names will be divided into two bowls for the reaping and tributes may only volunteer for those who are in the same bowl.” President Gerrad smiles softly, clasping his hands together like an elderly grandfather about to give his grandchild some age old advice. “May the odds be ever in your favor.”

The television switches to the seal of Panem as the anthem closes out.

Eddie knows his entire family is looking at him. Horrified expressions, glossed over eyes, tears already slipping down cheeks.

Existing pool of victors.

There are only three victors alive in District Twelve.

Bobby. Buck. Eddie.

Existing pool of victors where you can only volunteer for the person you’re being reaped with.

Three names. Two bowls.

Eddie doesn’t have to guess which name will stand alone on Reaping Day.

He’s going back into the arena.

Eddie doesn’t hesitate as he takes off out of the house at full speed. If his family is calling after him then he can’t hear a single word. Not with the blood roaring in his ears and the desperate urge to run run run pumping thunderously in his veins. He needs to get out of here. Out of District Twelve. Out of Panem. Out of his skin and this body doomed to go back to the one place he was supposed to be safe from.

He doesn’t want to go back into the arena.

He survived. He got out. He’s a fucking victor.

But, of course, who is ever really safe in a place like this?

read the rest on ao3

tagging those who showed interest @eddiebabygirldiaz @hippolotamus @shortsighted-owl @monsterrae1 @devirnis @wildlife4life @buddierights @hoodie-buck @spotsandsocks @renecdote @disasterbuckdiaz @colonoscopys @thewolvesof1998 @epicbuddieficrecs @idealuk @bigfootsmom @blackberry-l @darkrose6578 @kananjarus

[sunboki]

— KOREA'S MOST WANTED (BLACKWATER) : TEASER

🎥 : The Cypher! Seo Changbin x fem. reader

TROPE. part of the “Korea’s Most Wanted” universe, friends to lovers, enemies to lovers, criminal! au, ‘The Gunsman’ (Christopher Bahng) is a coworker of ‘The Cypher’ (Seo Changbin), fwb

WORD COUNT. estimated to be around 5k-10k words

WARNINGS. murder, guns and other weapons, descriptive violence, mature themes, alcohol, blood, lying/hitman activities (??), smoking, cursing allusions to sex/drugs

PLAYLIST.

AUG'S NOTES. and.. without further ado, the teaser has been posted! welcome to ‘Korea’s Most Wanted’, the second adaption!!!please tell me your thoughts! :))

SYPNOSIS. The Cypher leaves his mark even when his presence is gone. Though, you knew Seo Changbin, not The Cypher. Not until an act upon feelings led to unwanted discovery, in which the question lies: Who really is the man you’ve fallen in love with?

or alternatively :

If everything goes to doom, let it be with you.

CRIMINAL #0003 — SEO, CHANGBIN.

CRIMINAL RECORD

Changbin has been convicted of murder using a baseball bat and is described to be aggressive and out of control. Please proceed with caution.

⭑ REWARD

⎯ CRIMINAL FILES (additional cases)

There are many things you remember from him.

He smokes. You don’t like the smell.

His favorite shirt is a worn one.

He believes everything has a purpose, including the goldfish bowl he keeps below his bed, filled with used packs of Marlboro cigarettes.

You also remember his bad habits, and his good ones.

He is an intricate man, after all.

You remember his hands. Stubby fingers, bruised knuckles he never talked about. Dirt and grime smeared in the creases of his palm.

He has a ferocious temper, but is also kind hearted. A juxtaposition of many things all at once, scrambled together in the scars by his ribs, the details carving him physically as opposed to his mind—intricate and delicate, too frail to touch.

Amongst many things you could recall from him, after he left, you allowed him to take himself with it. You bought air fresheners to rid of his smell, and always donned new t-shirts, ones lacking holes gaping at the armpits, without stretched collars.

Slowly but surely, you got rid of him, and yet, he stays. 

Seo Changbin can never stay somewhere for too long, but he still resides in your apartment.

Like an apparition, roaming about whenever it pleases.

Here, and yet not.

Maybe that’s another bad habit you forgot to add.

“And as for the next week, we’re expecting warm temperatures in the east–”

Accidentally pulling the wrong cord, the weatherman’s voice abruptly cuts off. From your couch, a groan resounds in response.

Rising up from your squat on the floor, your slippers squeak as you walk across tile, stained and scratched a distasteful baby blue as you throw a kitchen towel at the man.

His hand covers a lighter, held up to the cigar dangling from chapped lips.

Leasing the cheapest apartment in Seoul came with a price. That, along with letting him linger around.

“I told you not to smoke in here, the ventilation sucks,” You grumble, wandering around to the window, trying to budge the halfway broken glass coverage up to no avail.

Of course, Changbin, the man in question, doesn’t listen, eyes drawn to the panties peeking from beneath your big t-shirt (his big t-shirt) instead.

Quickly snuffing the lit embers against his palm without so much as a hiss of pain, he stuffs the remnants in his pocket to dispose of afterward, walking on up to where you continuously try lifting the unwavering window.

“Bin, help.” Managed as a grunt between heaving breaths, your expression pinches in irritation.

Alternative to the request, he scoops you up, big palms wrinkling your shirt as his hands wander upward, effectively hoisting you into his arms. Wordlessly does his face tip down to litter kisses along your neckline, pulling you flush against him.

“Don’t wanna,” He grunts, humming along to your hand reaching behind for him, holding his kiss to your skin, lips parted whilst staring ahead dazedly.

Control. The one thing you hate when it comes to Changbin. The thing his lips render you unable to gain a semblance of.

As for him, he likes that face on you. Likes when he kisses you a lot, when your lips get all puffy and kiss-bitten. Likes when you drool while he stuffs your face into the mattress those nights you were supposed to ‘just have a drink together’.

He’s always been a fan of your lips.

Then again, if you’re listing his worst habits, you might as well confess one of your own.

You can’t say no to him, not even when the window remains unopened, smoke mogging the air when he takes you on the couch, ignorant to the thin walls as usual.

“Y/N, c’mon,” Changbin groans, his bottom lip jutting outward in a pout unfitting to the man’s disposition.

His hair’s a mess from your tugging, looking honorably disheveled. You can't say you look any different, if not worse, leaning against your doorframe.

“You know how we end up. I let you in and thirty minutes later we end up fucking,” You cross your arms over your chest, eyeing him up and down. 

Obviously wracking his mind for an excuse, he mimics your crossed arms, tongue poking into his cheek—an action that would’ve caused you to fold any other day if you weren’t attending a friend’s birthday party tonight.

It’s true, and serves as an additional factor keeping Changbin’s mouth closed. Each time, without fail; wrapped around your finger, you wrapped around his.

“But–” 

“Nope! Bye!” Interrupting his impending words, you hastily close the door, awaiting an entourage of incessant messages a few minutes later, full of frowny faces and helpless pleas.

Who knew such a man could behave so pitifully?

Yet, no such messages notify your phone, failing to buzz on the bathroom sink while you clean up your mascara with a q-tip, leaning over the faucet, face pursed with focus. 

It’s not often you get the excuse to go out, and with Dixie’s being the party spot in particular, you won't waste the opportunity of attending one of Itaewon’s most frivolous clubs.

As for you and Changbin, the understanding rests on your lack of commitment. He wanders, you wander. He isn’t one to put down roots, and you respect that.

Granted, the sex is mind-blowing, so it wouldn't be a surprise if the frequency of your nights are accompanied by him, but it’s never shackled that way. 

Although, that isn’t your goal tonight. Earlier today was enough to satiate, and your newfound goal consists of enjoying free drinks and the obnoxious bass blasting through your ears, numbed amongst the sea of bodies crowding every side.

Upon arriving at the entrance, you flash your phone in the bouncer’s direction, displaying an invitation before he unhooks an old-fashioned barrier rope—allowing passageway into masses of sweaty bodies and the nauseating stench of alcohol overtaking everyone’s inhibitions.

Navigating around to the private booths, it doesn’t take long to find the crowned birthday queen by the squeals of laughter and enthusiastic clinking of beer bottles, an expansive array of liquor displayed on any surface available the moment you walk inside.

It’s a relief, surrounding yourself by happy faces and busied chatter, senses buzzing each shot you take, unsure whether it’s vodka or water entering your system at a certain point.

“So, how’s that hunk of muscle doing?” Sabina piques, her overlined lips pursing, huge hoop earrings dangling from heavily pierced ears.

In the blue-tinged lighting, she looks ethereal, dark skin practically glittering with her recently applied perfume.

If you’re drunk enough, you might’ve considered switching sides for this absolute angel. This girl was gorgeous and quite literally everyone’s wannabe-with or wannabe altogether.

“You guys aren’t exclusive, right?” The birthday girl, Margerie, adds, slumping on the leather cushions, her stiletto heels propping on Sabina’s thighs. 

These two have been your ride or die since college, and you're more than happy to spill every aspect of your life’s complications and delights at any chance to who you like to refer to as your big sisters.

“Mhm, he stops by on a daily basis.” 

Swishing the clear liquid in its glass, you watch the deceiving concoction catch light, periodically looking back to them.

Sabina barks a loud laugh, one that ushers everyone else into laughter as well. Infectious.

“On a daily basis?” She chokes, slapping Margerie’s calf. “What? Gettin’ his daily head?”

Safe to say she earned a threat after that jeer.

“Well, I respect your decisions, but I think ya’ll would be great together, y’know. Don’t think we don’t see the way he looks at you,” Margerie snaps her fingers, the two sharing an agreeing nod you dismiss with a roll of your eyes and a scoff.

“Oh please, you met him once at a bar and he was already wasted, you can’t base his love for me on that!” You interject indignantly, immediately shrinking under the girls’ scrutinizing stares.

“Um, yeah, we can.” 

Your silence beckons either of them to burst into laughter again, assuring you their words were all in good fun while you playfully grovel, rising up to excuse yourself to the bathroom and assuring your giggling, now drunken messes of friends you’ll be back soon.

Unfortunately, you end up walking in on a couple certainly enjoying the booth’s privacy, earning your hand slapping over your face while blindly stumbling in the opposite direction.

Even better? The next room you accidentally approach leaves you dizzy with the overbearing reek of nothing short of hard amphetamines, the cherry on top in your sad pursuit of a simple bathroom break.

It’s just your luck getting lost, but at least you’ll have funny conversations to bring back to girls.

However, your continuous search is cut short when a booming echo is heard in the main club, and you watch in horror–having finally escaped the maze of the booth section to peer through the joint doorway–as a bartender’s head slams onto the countertop, a pool of blood cascading around him.

In a fit of panic, outrageous gatherings of people ram themselves out the doors, screaming as they go, trampling each other with only one goal: escape.

All you can do is stare, frozen in your spot, eyes frantically flitting between the now-dead bartender,—bullet-hole puncturing straight through his head— the surging crowd, and whoever the assailant is, where they may be.

Yeah, you’ve certainly lost a need for the bathroom.

Instantly, your heart ascends to your throat, wobbly, unsteady feet climbing back through the booths, desperately slamming open doorways in your search before a “Psst!” breaches your ringing eardrums.

Sabina, holding an utterly wasted Margerie against her shoulder, crouches down behind a door, gesturing for you to rush over and claiming a second exit should be near the back. 

Police sirens blare in the distance, and through repetitive words of encouragement to your petrified frame from the older girl, you escape from the first exit in sight, gasping for the air unwilling to enter your lungs.

“I already called a cab for this gal right after hearing the shots,” Sabina relays, rubbing soothing circles on your back as she regards a very much intoxicated Margerie. 

“You,” She points in your direction, brows lifted. “Call your man. And don’t tell me he’s not your man, he will come and get you.”

All you can do is nod, hands fervently scrolling through your contacts, pressing onto his number as you bring the phone to your ear.

The line crackles for a moment before you realize he picked up, sounding rather out of breath for some odd reason. Must have been at the gym, although it is pretty late.

Ignoring any questions, you get straight to the point.

“Binnie,” You urgently whisper, voice breaking a bit.

The man in question immediately perks up at your tone, nudging the screen closer to his ear with his shoulder, using his teeth to get rid of the gloves on his hands.

“Mm? What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” He quips, concern evident.

No matter your relationship status, he still cares. For you, for your safety.

Ah, he makes no-strings difficult.

“I.. I need you to pick me up, I’m really scared right now.”

Stifling, you wave a very wasted Margerie off in her taxi, craning whilst awaiting his response, Sabina remaining beside you.

“Send me the address, I’ll be there,” Changbin soothes, pulling the magazine from his pistol and stuffing it in his ‘gym’ bag, washing his hands in the sink of the exact bathroom you’d be searching for.

And when your text comes in after he hangs up, his face contorts into that of surprise upon finding you in the same location he was at: Dixie’s.

Because while you were partying, Changbin was completing a job.

No, The Cypher was completing a job requiring the death of a certain someone, a certain bartender who just so happened to be the murder you were a first hand witness to.

sunboki, may 2022 ©

[chatterbox-73]

Simptember 2024.

Day 3 - Stuck with me.

Hanji Zoe x Reader

This story is a smut story for simptember, I’ll be writing more characters x reader one shots for simptember and if you want to see a character please let me know...

You must be 18 years or older to read this...

🔞⚠️NO MINORS ALLOWED⚠️🔞

A/N: hanji is non-binary in this one-shot, if you have any issues with this take it elsewhere.

Summary: you and Hanji find comfort in each other after a devastating loss.

Word count: 1.8k

CW: NSFW and adult content, mention of loss and death, angst, fingering, dry-humping/grinding, bottom/switch Hanji, oral (f!giving) and swearing.

You sat on your spouse bed as they sat beside you hands clasped together, head downturned, the smell of the ocean filled the room and acted as a constant reminder that you and everyone else on this boat were travelling to your doom. “Hanji it’ll be okay, we’ll be able to make them see” you hummed and you laid a hand over their’s, they sighed and leaned into you, resting their head in the crook of your neck before taking a deep breath and flopping down onto their back. “You’re amazing, almost too good for me… ya know that” hanji hummed and you fell back next to them, you pinched their nose and frowned, “that’s not true and you know it” you whispered and kissed their cheek before letting go of their nose.

Hanji had always doubted your relationship with them, though you both loved each other it wasn’t always like that, as you were originally in an incredibly serious relationship with a close friend of hanji’s, Moblit Berner. The relationship was so serious you’d both spoke of marriage and children, although despite your relationship with Moblit, hanji was also in love with your boyfriend and you were sure if you hadn’t drunkenly confess your feelings for the man, he’d be with them rather then yourself. Despite your dislike for hanji and their dislike for you, you both kept it civil for Moblit’s sake, however when he died you were both so lost, your world had fallen to pieces and you could tell so had Hanji’s. You and Hanji began to spend more time together, you felt at peace being around someone who was so close to Moblit, Hanji had always resented you for ‘stealing’ Moblit from them, that was until he was gone and they had begun to see how much you loved him by how much you hurt, they also saw how giving you were and realised you were exactly what Moblit had needed. Moblit was a giver, he’d always given all his time and energy to Hanji, but with you, he didn’t need to give much, because you were always so willing to give him everything, you were just like him and just what he needed, however he was no longer here, leaving you with so much to give and no one to give it too.

Hanji was surprised to see you at their door only a week after Moblit’s funeral, you held a covered pot in your hands and a weak smile on your face, “I made a little too much Borscht and thought you might like some” you spoke just above a whisper, hanji nodded and gestured for you to come in. Hanji grabbed out two bowls and spoons before sitting at the dining room table, you scooped some into the bowls and sat across from Hanji before beginning to silently eat, Hanji noticed the food was still hot, like you had cooked it and then came straight over, “thank you but why didn’t you share this meal with your neighbours” they asked as they took a large spoonful and ate it, you looked down at your bowl sadly “he’d always talk about how you’d forget to eat and he’d have to practically force feed you… it got to the point he’d ask me to make an extra portion just for you…” you looked up at them and felt tears sitting in the corner of your eyes, “…and… and now… I’m supposed to only cooking for one… but I-” you cut yourself off with a sob following this you took a deep breath in and looked back down at your bowl. “Keep cooking for me, I’m always hungry and I’m hopeless at cooking…” Hanji chuckled before continuing to eat and so it became a regular thing. It became quite normal to see you and Hanji walking around the markets picking out ingredients for meals, you’d both grown close and you could definitely see why Moblit liked to spend time with them and if you were being honest you’d started to fall for them, Moblit’s death still hurt but it had been a year and Hanji had made everyday easier. You sat on Hanji’s couch with a glass of wine in your hand, “you know this tastes really good for the ‘cheap’ stuff” you chuckled and slipped on the half empty glass, “what can I say, I’m a person of fine taste” they smirked and took a large gulp from their glass while sticking up their pinkie, you laughed and shook your head before placing down your glass, “stay there, I brought the perfect meal to go with this” you stood up and walked over to the small picnic basket you brought with you, before taking out a kind of covered board and walking back to them, “ohhh what’s this…?” They hummed as you placed the board down and uncovered it, “tada! It a charcuterie board” you smiled and sat back down, Hanji was quick to start eating the food on the board before continuing on with your conversation. You both chatted about all kind of things, however a small silence fell over both of you, “you know I miss him…” Hanji stated almost out of nowhere and you blinked at them before nodding, “me too… I- I wish he had the chance to see the ocean” you smiled and swirled the drink around in the glass, Hanji hummed in agreement and placed a hand on your knee, “I’m gonna be here for you no matter what… you got that?” They smiled and squeezed your knee, you chuckled and nodded before leaning into them for a hug. You placed down your glass and wrapped your arms around them, Hanji copied your action and moved in closer to you, “I- I… umm” Hanji stumbled as they pulled away and looked down at their lap, “what’s wrong?” You asked and they looked up at you with a red face, “I think I really like you… but I don’t want to take advantage of your grief” they sighed as the turned and rested their head in their hands, you smiled and rubbed their back “Hanji, I like you too and yes, I’m still grieving but I want to start slowly moving on” you smiled as they looked up at you in shock, you leant in and kissed they cheek, Hanji hugged you and gave you a soft kiss to your lips.

Dinners became dates and hugs became kisses, long passionate kisses. You and Hanji stood in the kitchen holding each other as your lips locked in a fiery dance, Hanji’s hands began to wonder and found refuge under your shirt, you gasped at the coldness of their hands and chuckled as they pinched your skin, soon enough you and Hanji found your way to the bedroom, you laid on the bed and Hanji leaned over you, “this isn’t too fast? I don’t want to rush you” they smiled and you shook your head, “no, we’re not going too fast…” you grabbed their collar and pulled them in, “are you sure-“ Hanji panicked but before they could finish, you kissed along their neck up to their ear, “let’s do it” you giggled, to then moved to open your legs and hike up your skirt in the process, Hanji then shifted and pressed their hips in between your spread legs, “have you ever done it with someone like me?” They asked as they removed your shirt.

You hadn’t but what did it matter, Hanji was your partner, your lover… and lovers make love, that’s what you wanted, that’s what you needed.

“I’ve had sex before, and I don’t need a cock to enjoy myself” you chuckled and turned your body so that you were now straddling them, you made a move to unzip your skirt before lifting it up your waist and up over your head, “pretty graceful, huh” you smirked and tossed the fabric to the side.

There you sat over Hanji, naked, completely naked, you then moved their hands and placed them on your hips before you slowly started rolling your hips as if you were riding a cock, they hummed and rubbed circles on your bare skin, “you seem like a professional” they groaned watching as your puffy clit rubbed against their coarse fabric, “oh yeah… but you make me like this” you whined breathlessly, Hanji laughed and pressed your further onto them, you moaned loudly “Hanji, more… more pressure” you whimpered, suddenly they grabbed your legs and flipped the both of you so they were over you and grinding their hips into you.

You grabbed at their waistband of their pants, “I need to feel your skin against me” you moaned and tug at the fabric, they slowly pull back and remove their pants and shirt, take in their appearance and you feel your face going red, they were just so attractive, almost too attractive. You gently reaching out for the bandages around their chest, “are you comfortable taking this off?” You asked and they look away, before shaking their head “I’m sorry I can’t yet” Hanji glances at you only for a moment and you smile, “don’t be sorry, I’m not upset, this is all about comfort and trust” you grab their cheeks and look them in the eye, “I want you to be comfortable” you kiss them and move a hand down their stomach to their cunt.

Your fingers brushed over Hanji’s clit and they moaned, pressing their hips into you, you began slowly moving two fingers inside them, “oh fuck” Hanji cried and ground their hips in time with your fingers, you placed soft kisses on their neck and whispering praises against their skin, “I’m close… please” Hanji moaned and their hips shuttered, as they hunched over and rested their face in the crook of your neck, “you’re so sexy when you cum” you hum and pull back, you push them down and climbed back onto them, straddling their thigh you smiled and kissed their cheek, Hanji took a sharp breath in as they felt your knee pressed into their core while you began grinding yourself onto their thigh, “trying to make me cum again?” Hanji huffed out and you grinned, “I always want you to feel good” you moaned and began to focused on your movements.

Hanji watched your body wind and grind on them, working yourself as well as them to an orgasm, you really were a giver in everything you did, they wondered for a moment if this is what it was like for Moblit when he was with you.

“Well your stuck with me” they moaned, eye glued on your body as your hips twisted and you throw your head back, coming down from your high you moved to lay between Hanji’s open legs, kissing over their trembling core, “good” you breathlessly chuckled and began working your tongue into them.

Simptember Masterlist

Day 2 - Dabi/Toya Todoroki: Psycho B*tch

Day 4 - Tamaki Amajiki: Comparison

[ann-writes-universes]

Momento Mori (AzrielxReader)

A/N: Weather has me down, Here’s some Az angst :,)

Warnings: Angst.

W/C: 1.8k

He had been so distant since the end of the war. Different since life had slowed down a bit and there wasn't the ever present feeling of impending doom. At first, you had given him space - he had asked for it after all - chalked it up to shell shock, a deep rooted fear that it wasn't really over. Being alone had been hard, waiting for your mate to finally crawl into your ever cold bed and just hold you like he had for the past ten years. 

You waited on that night where he would come to you for comfort, and not Elain or Gwyn or a glass of whiskey that never really seemed to empty. The night where he would crawl into your shared bed and find solace in your arms, in your presence, even if just for a moment. 

That night didnt come, and after six months you began to feel as though it would never come. 

“Does- does Rhys talk to you about things?” You had asked Feyre one day in the kitchen. You were drying the dishes as she washed them. A task that magic could have easily finished but one the two of you had found some semblance of normalcy in since the war. She had stopped scrubbing the plate she held and turned her gaze to you with a cocked brow. 

“Well yes we talk about things (Y/N), but what do you mean?”

“I mean awful, terrible things.” 

“Has- has Azriel said something to you?” She questioned, turning the water up to ward off any unwanted listeners lurking about the house. You frantically shook your head ‘no’ and kept drying the same bowl you had been for the past five minutes. 

“Not in that way I just…he won’t tell me what's going on in his head. He hasn't since.”

“Since Hybern?”

“Yeah. Yeah, since Hybern.” You muttered, finally setting the bowl down. Feyre sighed and dried her own hands before grasping your forearms. Turning your body to face her she searched your features with a soft smile.

“The war was tough on us all. He watched you nearly die, I am sure it's not on purpose.” 

“Feyre. He shut off the bond. I can't feel him.” You whispered, beginning to feel misty eyed and soft. She frowned and pulled you into her body, letting your tears soak her shoulder and hair. You were mumbling nonsense into her shoulder, anger, hurt, and confusion echoed from the senseless words and she just nodded in understanding. 

“Whats going on?” His voice cut like a knife through the kitchen, slicing through the sound of your sobs and the water that was still running. Feyre stilled as she made eye contact with him, not allowing your head to leave her shoulder. You hadn't even felt that familiar tug on the bond that signified he had even come home. That fact alone had your gut wrenching and your heart dropping further into your chest. 

“Nothing.” You mumbled, gently pushing Feyre away so you could turn to face the stone cold face of your mate. He took in the tear stained cheeks, the red rim of your eyes, and he cocked his head. There was nothing there, no warmth, no concern, just an empty plane. 

Granted, Azriel was a hard male to read. But never for you. No- never once had he been hard to read for you. 

Glancing between the two of you Feyre waited until you nodded to make her quiet exit, turning the sink off as she left. Azriel leaned against the wall, watching you as you put dishes away, your back turned away from him. 

“Nice to see you home.” You muttered, closing a cabernet. He huffed and shifted in his place, running a hand through his hair. 

“What is that supposed to even mean?” You turned to face him, leaning backwards on your arms against the counter. “Exactly what I said. Nothing else.” 

His mouth formed a hard line and he nodded curtly. Turning towards the door he made to leave.

“Thats all I get?” You urged, possibly louder than you had intended. He froze in the doorway, a hand resting on its frame. His shoulders squared and he turned his head to look at you. “Seven words is all I get? I havent seen you in weeks Azriel.” You whispered, searching his eyes for any semblance of a reaction to your words.

And yet there was nothing. 

No hurt, no pain, no remorse- nothing. 

“I have been busy (y/n).” 

“No shit.” You scoffed, crossing your arms across your chest. He turned to face you fully then, his brows set in a crease so deep you were sure it was giving him a headache. 

“What do you want from me? I still have to work. I still have to go out and do my job. Not all of us get to stay home all day and play housewife with the High Lady.” He spit, and his words were laced with so much venom that you flinched. You couldn't even form a rebuttal; you were so astounded by his tone. 

You two had had spats over the years but never had he raised his voice at you, never had he tried to hurt you with his words. What did you want from him? 

What did you want from him?

Him.

You wanted him back. 

“I want to know why it feels like I am sitting by your grave BEGGING for the gods to give you back - and yet… And yet here you are in front of me Azriel.” Your voice was a harsh whisper, those damned tears itching to spill again. It shook and wavered, not at all as strong as you intended for it to be.

“I dont know.” Was all he offered in reply. His arms were crossed and his shoulders were squared, wings pulled in tight. 

“You dont know?”

“No. I dont.”

You nodded, a sharp frown overtaking your features. You pushed off of the counter, and moved towards the door. Your approach had him skidding backwards, a reaction that made you visibly take a step back. 

Sucking in a breath you glanced at him wide eyed. Azriel looked away, a muscle in his jaw ticking. 

“Well when you figure it out, feel free to find me I guess.” 

And with a final glance at the love of your life you pushed past him and left the kitchen.  

⥈

He had never wanted to hurt you. Had never wanted to see you that visibly upset with him. The utter defeat in the words you spoke as you left him there carved out a hole in his demeanor. Knocked him right off the rung he had been perched on so precariously for the past six months. 

The shadowsinger had been walking a fine line of losing his mind and keeping it together and that little discussion had pushed him utterly over the edge. 

He had tried stroking the bond hours after you left, only to find a cold and empty plane on the other side. A feeling he now knew you had been getting used to for the last half of the year.  

Perched on the roof of the house of wind he watched as the sun sank below the mountain range and the stars you so dearly loved began to paint the sky. 

For the first time in twenty years of knowing you he wondered what you were doing. 

Wondered because he was not privy to the information for the first time in two decades. This knowledge left him feeling cold somehow, emptier than he had ever been. 

It was a Sunday and usually on Sunday nights you were curled up in front of the hearth with a book in hand, smiling gently at him as he urged you to pay attention to him for ‘just two seconds please’. You would always let him have his way, would set the book down and play with his hair or read whatever tale it was aloud to him. 

Sundays had always been his favorites. 

And yet he hadn't spent a sunday at home with you in damn near 183 days. The war with Hybern had left him torn between two lives. The utterly broken and destroyed part of him that existed long before you had, when he was just a kid fighting a battle they were never really supposed to win. And the other half of him was a man who had fought tirelessly to protect the people he loved. This war had left him changed, cold. His nights were fitful and restless, often ending in nightmares and dreams so foul that he would watch the sun rise and set a few times before he thought of sleeping again. 

He hadn't wanted you to see that. 

Azriel had wanted to be strong for you when the war ended. Had wanted to be able to be your pillar of comfort and solace on the nights when you couldn't sleep, and yet he couldn't even console himself. 

He had failed you by doing what he thought was best for you. Had shut you out in an attempt to keep you blind to the horrors he had been facing, when all you wanted was for him to let you in. 

He tugged on the bond again.

No reply. Not even a whisper of a reply. 

The shadow singer laid down on the hard clay and stared at the sky. Wondering what you were doing on a Sunday night, utterly alone as he had made you. 

⥈

Pacing. 

Back and forth, back and forth. 

Pacing.

Thats what you were doing on a Sunday night, utterly alone as he had made you. 

You had felt the bond grow taut, not once, but twice and had not deigned a reply. You were angry, confused at best. Groveling had never been a habit of yours, and the spymaster knew as much. 

This was his mess to fix, his wrong to right because you had tried. You had been trying for months. Tried to seduce, to speak, to hold, to console. And nothing had been returned. Not a hint of emotion nor reaction other than an impassive gaze here or there. 

Glancing at the clock you sighed, two AM. The river house had gone to sleep several hours before, and not a peep was heard throughout her halls. One glance and the warm blaze of the fireplace was extinguished and you were padding upstairs to your room. 

You crawled into the familiar chill of your sheets and rolled to face the open window. Distantly the lights in the house of wind glowed with ever bright liveliness. You watched them until your eyes grew too heavy to stay open. 

And you waited.

Waited for the bed to dip and him to wrap his arms around you and beg you to listen to him for just two seconds.

But the dip never came, and no arms circled around you as you drifted into sleep. 

There was nothing but the twinkling of lights and the gentle sounds of the sidra humming you a lullaby. The only comfort you had known in 133 days. 

Nothing but twinkling lights and a gentle hum.

TAGS:

@brekkershadowsinger @piceous21 @younxii @momlo @morelovemorepeacemoretattoo-blog @highladyofillyria @crimsonandwhiteprincess @purplevitagen @isthataknuck

[tell-me-a-tale-that-tells]

THINGS I LOVE ABOUT YOU

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Summary:

Bruno found himself panicking and crying due to some mean comment on his persona, you showed him how wrong they were.

Notes:

I hope you'll like this one.

I watched Encanto and immediately fell in love with the sweet Bruno, I had this fic around in my head for days!

I was thinking about writing a second chapter/sequel (maybe very slightly NSFW, I don't know) but only if you liked the first part and ask for more.

Enjoy!

┗━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━┛

Chapter 1

It was a bright day, ten months after la Casita was rebuilt, the chatting of the people in the village could be heard from inside the house, no needs to be Dolores.

It was always like that on the market day, men and women buying food and clothes, children playing in the plaza.

Bruno was still not used to walking among people, first thing because some of them give him strange looks and last because living for 10 years in the walls of his own house, made him a bit rusty.

Noticing that he wanted to help the familia somehow, you sent him to buy some vegetables and fruits for lunch, Julieta handed him a list and a basket and you walked him through the main door of la Casita and when you noticed his hesitation you placed both of your hands on his face, stroking lovingly at his cheeks with your thumbs.

"You can do it, mi Vida" you whispered.

Moving through the marked he replayed that moment in his mind continuously, trying to remain calm when he noticed that some folks changed their path to walk far from him.

He took several deep breaths but he lost it when he hears a group of women gossiping at his back.

"What Y/N found in that man it's such a mystery to me."

"Look at his clothes! And let's talk about his hair, how many years without a proper cut?"

"Y/N can get a better man, isn't he too old for her?"

He started hyperventilating but tried to focus on his list to distract himself, he needed to buy those things, he needed to prove to you he was able to!

He glanced at the selling stalls but his vision started to blur, he was gasping and he was not even aware of it.

The villagers around stop to look at Bruno, someone with a concerning look and others eyeing him from head to toe with apathy, a young boy asked if he needed help but the man flew away, sprinting through the market and heading home as fast as he could.

Bruno was agile and could be a master in stealth if he wanted to, he whispered at Casita to alert no one that he returned, only a floor tile moved in approval and he slipped into your room.

You moved in just a month ago and Bruno was hesitant to let you see his room, knowing that behind his door was not as cosy and comfortable as his sisters' room or cute and tidy as Mirabel's.

His face dropped when he realized that Casita redesigned his room as soon as you entered, the interminable stairs were gone, the same for all that sand everywhere and the creepy stone statues.

The room was way smaller, with a cavern on the left as a bedroom, with a soft king-size bed and a fireplace, there were even some alcoves with candles and small bowls. On the right, a larger space with a doomed roof similar to one of his older rooms, the sands for Bruno to use for his visions was neatly stored in glass jars on wooden shelves and a green crystal-like chandelier hanging from the centre of the doom.

He was so happy that day, unlike that moment, when crying at the lowest volume possible, Bruno laid himself on the bed, curling like a cat.

In the kitchen with Julieta, you wondered how Bruno was doing in the village, while your friend and "almost sister in law" like she liked to call herself around you, was humming and cooking.

You felt that something was off, glancing at Dolores who was making a face your suspects took form.

"Dolores, sweetie, is Bruno home?" You asked her.

The young woman tilted her head on the left and looking in the opposite direction she made a sad expression.

"He is, Y/N...he's in your room, I can hear sobs and the sounds of his tears falling." She whispered.

In a matter of seconds, you were already on the first floor, knocking on Bruno's door and entering without waiting for a reply.

You noticed immediately the empty basket was tossed randomly in the middle of the room, only the crumpled list inside it.

A sound of rustling fabric made you look towards your shared bed and you approach it, Bruno was there sniffing a wiping his eyes.

"Bruno, what happened?" You asked softly, placing a hand on his shoulder.

He went rigid immediately and peaked at you with a half-closed eye, his face mostly covered by his long curly hair.

"I'm so sorry Y/N, so sorry," he said before starting to sob again.

It shattered your heart to see him that way, your lovely and kind man was a trembling mess.

You took both his hands in yours and pulled him up in a sitting position, his legs hanging from the side of your bed, facing you.

"Tell me what's wrong, mi Amor" trying to make him look at you, you placed your fingers under his chin but he cast his eyes down on the floor.

He took a deep breath and cleared his voice

"I lost control, those women at the t-the market, they were right about me, about us...you should-"

You narrowed your eyebrows trying to understand and he continued

"They said that I'm...not the right man for you, I'm older and way too uglier than every man you can have, you d-deserve so much better..." He starter to sob again "Why do you stay with me?"

"Oh Bruno, my beloved and wonderful Bruno. I stay with you because I love you for who you are, you're kind and funny, sweet and loving, you care for your family and protect them at all costs...and your appearance is surely a bonus."

He snapped his eyes on you, incredulous.

"My...appearance?"

"Of course, quieres saber por qué?" You cooed and he nodded uncertainty looking at you with wide eyes when you crouched down at his feet.

"Let's start then...from the bottom,mh?" You kept your voice low and calm, trying to make him relax.

"What about your legs? Your lean and agile legs, I saw you running around and climbing when you and your familia rebuilt Casita" touching and massaging his calves, you rise to his tighs, feeling the muscles beginning to loosen up.

"Your hips, you know I love them...the way you swing them while dancing or even just walking" at that point you were straddling his thigs, Bruno shifted a bit to accommodate you.

When you placed your hands on his belly you felt him tense, that was like hitting a nerve, he know he's underweight and still struggling to recover, after 10 years of only eating leftovers he could find around.

So you moved up to his arms and chest when a strong and fast-beating loving heart was pounding.

"I like your arms because you give the warmest hugs...and your chest, it's not board but has the most precious gem inside it, your heart. I can feel it beating fast...oh! Even faster now." You whispered in his ear and Bruno hid his face in your neck out of embarrassment, but the right kind.

"I like your hair, every soft curl and greying strand, it frames your sweet face and I adore burying my fingers in it" and you did just so.

Making him face you again and staring lovingly at his big brown eyes you saw the same thing reflected.

Bruno was a trembling mess for all other reasons at that point, he felt like putty in your hands.

"Y/N" he whispered, his voice shaking, but you shush him with a finger on his lips.

"I haven't finished yet, mi Hermoso amor...I was going to talk about your mouth, with which you sing the sweetest songs to me and say your impeccable visions, the mouth I can't get enough of while kissing you"

You removed your finger from his lips while being only a millimetre apart, letting Bruno decide if he wanted to close the gap, which he did.

The kiss was sugar sweet and irradiated pure love and adoration, he hooked his arms around your waist to pull you closer, his hands roaming on your back and slipping under your blouse.

You both came up for air hearing Mirabel's cheerful voice from downstairs, calling everyone for lunch.

"Do you...r-really think those things about me, Y/N?" Bruno asked with his big puppy eyes shining on you.

"Oh, I have a lot more to tell you, but that would implicate skipping lunch and we don't want that for sure" you replied with a wide grin.

Bruno reddened from head to toes and shook his head, curls shifting with the rapid movements.

You raise from his lap and offer a hand to him to stand up.

"How about...you tell me the rest later? He suggested.

"I think I could, mi Vida" you confirmed, opening the door and heading together in the kitchen with the rest of your familia.