#Like I have so much to get through I'm rearranging my work schedule to work on Saturdays and take Friday as a weekend for BL

[absolutebl]

Frigay is INSANE this month.

There is so much BL this one day and then so little the rest of the week.

[writingforstraykids]

I owe you a kiss

Pairing: Minho x Chan x fem!reader / Minchan x fem!reader

Word Count: 4344

Summary: As the upcoming comeback gets closer, Chan starts isolating himself from you and Minho, getting overwhelmed. He can't quite deal with feeling so much and nothing at all at the same time and takes it out on the two of you. Minho and you try to help your husband out.

Warnings/Tags: angst, fluff, argument, chan feels numbish, fear of flying, domestic married life, emotional hurt/comfort, angsty!chan, soft!min

A/N: I don't know where that came from, but enjoy me fabricating 4k of angst and domestic bullshit in like half an hour😭🥹

PART TWO

My mind is complicated Find it hard to rearrange it But I'll have to find a way somehow Overreacting lately Find it hard to say I'm sorry Still - Niall Horan

You gently knock at the doorframe to your bedroom to avoid startling your husband and step inside. “You have everything you need, darling?”

Minho's currently packing his suitcase for his trip lasting a week. He looks up, gently blowing his hair from his eyes. “I think so, yes,” he flashes you a warm smile. After checking everything once more, he nods and throws the suitcase closed. "Where's our Channie love?" he asks, pulling the zipper closed and fidgeting with the lock. 

"Working," Chan gives back from next door. 

"Of course you are," he says more to himself, making you giggle. Over the past few days, Chan grew very quiet, burying himself in work and avoiding you for most of the time. It happened sometimes before a busy schedule, and Minho had learned to deal with the fact that Chan needed this to recharge. Minho, Chan and you had been dating for four years before tying the knot five years ago. He knows the two of you inside out by now after almost a decade. Minho strolls into Chan's working area and rests his hands on his shoulders. "Hey, there." 

"Hey," Chan gives back, not looking up from his screen and staying seated at his desk. 

"You're hungry? I can order something," he tells him, gently running his hand through his hair. 

"Stop that," Chan grumbles and tilts his head away from him. 

"Okay, sorry," Minho nods calmly and pulls his hands back. For a moment, the sound of Chan's fingers hitting the keyboard is all that can be heard. "So?" he asks, his patience starting to wear thin. 

"I'll keep working," he shakes his head. 

"Chan," Minho says firmly. "I'm leaving after that, and it would be nice to have lunch with my wife and my husband." 

"Fucks sake, you're annoying," Chan sighs and waves him off. "I'll be there in a moment." 

"Thank you," Minho rolls his eyes and makes his way downstairs. "Someone's in a mood," he grumbles as he leans against the kitchen island beside you. 

“Don’t take it to heart, you know he gets sometimes,” you say soothingly, rubbing his shoulder. “What are we getting?”

“Whatever you want, honey,” he winks at you and lets you scroll through the options. “I don’t get him. It’s still a month until the album drops, and we have pretty much everything sorted out. Sure, I have to come up with two more dances, but that’s my issue, isn’t it?” he asks.

“You know Chan makes everything his responsibility,” you tell him and hand him back his phone. “He’ll calm down again; I’ll see what I can do.”

Minho sighs softly and orders the food, still seeming a little pissed off. Usually, Chan knows how much Minho needs a stable environment before a flight. He's scared of flying enough as it is, but especially when he's caught up in his thoughts. So it confuses you a little that he doesn’t seem to pay much attention to that today.

You call out for him twice as your food arrives until Chan finally joins you downstairs. 

Chan's staring into the distance, pushing his food around on his plate and staying quiet as Minho and you keep on talking. 

"Tastes good?" Minho asks after a while and gently nudges Chan beneath the table. 

"Yeah, I guess," he shrugs and ignores the frown Minho gives him. 

"How's work going, Channie?" you try your luck. 

"Great," he simply says, shoving some food into his mouth, clearly signaling he doesn't want to talk right now. 

"Good," Minho nods and sighs softly. "I'm a little nervous." 

"Why?" he gives back, almost a little routined.

"I hate flying, as you know," he groans frustratedly. 

"You did fine before," Chan shrugs and takes a sip from his drink. "It's just a flight." 

"Yeah, that's the point, isn't it?" Minho asks, starting to get a little irritated. 

"Don't be a baby, you'll manage," he says, and Minho stares at him, unable to come up with a proper answer. 

"Thanks, very helpful," he presses out, gripping his glass tighter as his hand starts to shake. He has no time for a mental breakdown right now. 

“Channie,” you sigh softly, deciding to step in. The last thing you want is Minho to leave like that.

Looking up, Chan sees the confusion and anxiety clouding Minho's eyes. "Sorry, Min, you're not a baby," he says, not very convincingly, but it seems to be better than nothing to Minho. 

Minho glances at his watch and clears his throat. "I'll go and grab my stuff," he announces. 

Chan rolls his eyes once he's gone and braces his head on his hand, staring out of the window. He wonders how the hell he'll be able to finish everything he has to do in so little time.

“Channie, angel?” you ask gently, and he hums in response. “At least try and be nice? He’s gone for a week after.” 

“You two are fucking exhausting,” he groans, and you raise your eyebrows, ready to answer as Minho comes back downstairs. 

You get up to collect the trash and decide to continue this talk later.

"I'll see you in a week then," Minho says gently, and Chan hums, agreeing. "You'll be okay?" 

"Sure," he nods and stares into the distance. 

Minho takes his hand and tries to meet his eyes. "Love?" he asks, and Chan very slowly turns to him. "You know you can call if you get overwhelmed or need help with anything." 

"Mhm," he hums and pulls his hand from his hold. 

"Okay," he chews on his lower lip for a moment. "Well, I'll be leaving then."

"Okay," he nods. 

"Can I at least get a kiss?" Minho asks quietly, and his heart sinks as Chan frowns. 

"No," he simply says. 

"No?" Minho echoes quietly, subconsciously taking a step back. 

"Don't feel like it," he shrugs and glances at his watch. 

"You don't feel like…wow, okay," he nods, trying to swallow down the sudden sickness spreading through him. "Did I do something wrong?" he asks timidly. Maybe this wasn't just Chan pulling back, but he had done something to upset him. 

“No, you didn’t, Min,” you say firmly, staring at him irritated.

Chan turns to look at him properly for the first time today. Minho's heart sinks at the carelessness in them. "Right now, you're keeping me from working. I have stuff to do, mate."

"Mate?" Minho presses out, taking a few steps back. "Alright, I'll see you in a week, bestie. Seriously, fuck you," he snaps and grabs his keys. 

"Minho, come on," Chan groans, rolling his eyes at him. "Stop overreacting." 

Minho fidgets with his wedding ring before slamming it on the table. "Know what that is?" 

"You're being serious right now?" Chan raises his eyebrows at him mockingly. 

"That stupid little thing means we're husbands, idiot. I've been by your side for nine years now; I think you can start using appropriate terms, Chan hyung." Minho says firmly, and for a moment, he considers leaving the ring here. But then he remembers he has a public image to maintain, and showing up without one of his wedding rings would raise questions. Also, deep down, it feels wrong already to only wear yours. 

"You're being ridiculous," Chan says and gets up, pushing past him. 

"No, I'm hurt. There's a difference, Chan," he tells him, grabbing his suitcase. "But fine, I'll leave like that. I'll see you in a week then." 

"Fucking great," Chan nods, walking upstairs and not looking back. 

Minho watches him, stunned, before finally leaving the house and slamming the door closed. 

You stand still for a moment, trying to process what has just happened. "You had one job, Chan! Be nice!" you shout upstairs. 

"Fuck you too!" he shouts back and slams his door closed. 

"You two are fucking ridiculous sometimes," you curse and search for your keys. 

Minho gets into his car and stays there for a few minutes, trying to calm down. Secretly, he hoped Chan would join him and make things right before leaving. But he doesn't. The door to his car opens, and you lean down to look at him, raising your eyebrows in amusement. “Fuck, I’m so sorry,” he groans and gets out quickly.

You giggle softly as he rushes over to you and pulls you into a tight hug. “Well, goodbye then, darling,” you tease him lovingly.

“I’m sorry, he pissed me off,” he groans, stifling his laughter in your shoulder.

“I know he did,” you laugh and soothingly pat his back. “Give him time to sulk; he’ll start missing you in two days top. He always does.”

“You’ll be okay?” Minho asks, pulling back and looking at you caringly. 

“I’ll be fine. It’s Channie,” you giggle, and Minho snorts. “Deep down, he just needs a cuddle and acts tough so we won’t notice how stressed he is.”

“You handle this way better than I do, even though I’ve known him longer,” he laughs, rolling his eyes at himself.

“I just have a little more patience for his bullshit,” you giggle and check your phone. “You should leave before you miss your flight.”

“Ugh, fine,” he groans. 

“You’ll do great, my darling,” you assure him. “Call me when you land?”

“You know I will,” he promises, lovingly kissing you goodbye. “I love you, honey.”

“I love you too, Minnie darling,” you smile.

-

Minho has been gone for four days when he gets a call. To his surprise, it's Chan's number popping up on his screen only minutes before a fashion event. Minho searches for a quiet corner and takes the call. "Hey, I don't have much time. What's up?" he asks calmly and frowns at the silence that follows. "Chan?" 

"Something's wrong," he says quietly. 

"What do you mean?" he asks confused. 

"I don't…I don't feel good," he says monotonously. "Something's off." 

Minho swallows softly. "Where are you?" 

"Home," Chan tells him.  

“Where’s Y/N?” he asks.

“Left,” he answers quietly.

“What do you mean she left?” he frowns, nervously scanning the crowd around himself.

“Told her to leave me alone. She took that to heart,” he explains. “She’s with her best friend.”

Minho exhales relieved, knowing you are safe with your friend. "Channie, what's wrong?" he asks patiently. "You can't just push us away. We love you, and saying yes five years ago means you're stuck with us," he chuckles, waving off his assistant tapping her watch.  

"I know," Chan says and chews on his lower lip, unable to put it into words. "Remember when I had that episode of feeling worthless and overwhelmed back when we were trainees?" 

"Mhm, of course I do," he nods, swallowing hard as he thinks of Chan's emotional state back then. Nothing had worried him that much in a long time. "Is that what's going on?" 

"No…I feel..kinda numb," Chan admits and curses himself. "I feel so much and nothing at all. I feel like crying, but I can't, I can't focus on anything, I feel like everything I do is pointless and…Minnie, can you come back home?" he asks, his voice whispering. "It's starting to scare me whenever I have a clear moment." Minho rubs his face tiredly, and Chan takes his silence the wrong way. "I know you have shit to do…I just thought..I need you, please?" 

"Give me an hour to sort this out," Minho says, and Chan exhales in relief. "I want you to grab a blanket, make yourself some tea, and put on your favorite series. Get comfortable on the sofa downstairs. You think you can do that for me?" 

"Okay," Chan nods. 

"I'll let you know when I'm on the plane," he says, sighing softly. "Channie love?" 

"Yeah?" he asks quietly. 

"Don't do anything stupid," he says, his grip around his phone tightening. 

"I owe you a kiss," he answers, and Minho smiles sadly. 

"Damn right you do," he nods and is about to end the call. 

"Minho, baby?" Chan asks, almost a little timid. 

"Yes, dear?" he asks patiently. 

"Have a safe flight. You can do this, and I'll be there once you're back," he says, and Minho blinks back tears, gripping his phone tightly. 

"Thank you," he whispers. So he hasn't forgotten. 

-

You frown softly as Minho’s name pops up on your screen. Shouldn’t he be at some fancy fashion event right now? “Min?” you take the call confused. 

“Hey, honey,” he says sweetly. “You have a minute?”

“Yeah, of course,” you nod agreeing, and smile at your friend thankfully, who hands you a cup of tea. 

“Chan called,” he says and sighs at the silence following. “What happened?”

“Well, what did he tell you?” you ask stubbornly.

“Stop playing games, baby girl,” he warns you. “I should’ve been on some red carpet five minutes ago. So, what happened?”

You roll your eyes and subconsciously play with the two small rings decorating your ring finger: one for Chan and one for Minho. “I made the mistake of thinking I’d get a hug and kiss goodnight from my husband,” you tell him quietly, and he can tell you’re hurt. “He told me to leave him alone, so I did.”

“Fucking hell, Chan,” he breaths out and throws his head back in frustration. “I promised him to come home early, but I need some time to figure this out.”

“Oh, please, Min, it’s only three days,” you protest. That’s not what you had intended at all. “We can manage that, and we’ll talk once you’re back.”

“Well, he can’t,” he shakes his head.

“What?” you ask, confused.

“He called me to ask if I can come back because he’s not doing alright. He said something about feeling numb and like failing,” Minho explains, following his assistant, who had given up by now, to his car.

“Shit, Min, I didn’t know. I thought he was stressed and taking it out on us,” you say apologizingly. 

“Relax, I didn’t know either,” he sighs, getting into his car. “Listen, I’ll be back home in a few hours. You think you can go back home in the meantime?” he asks gently. “I know you’re hurt and-.”

“No, it’s alright. Of course, I’ll go back home,” you say, already getting up and gathering your things. “You have a key to get in?”

“I think so, yes,” he nods.

“Alright, I’ll see you later then. I’ll go check on Channie,” you promise, and Minho exhales, relieved. You quickly explain everything to your friend before driving home a little faster than you should. Closing the door, you kick off your shoes and rush into the living room. 

Chan looks up at you, confused, eyes widening at the sight of you. “Y/N?” he asks stunned.

“I’m so sorry, Channie angel,” you apologize and sit down next to him on the sofa. “I didn’t realize you were struggling that much. I thought you were stressed or something.”

“Min told you?” he asks, chuckling as you nod. “Typical, can’t keep a secret.”

“He’s worried,” you scold him gently and take Chan’s hand. “I’m worried.”

“That’s why I didn’t want to tell you,” he admits. “I don’t like worrying you. I just gave up hiding from Min because he witnesses most of it during work anyway.”

“Fair point,” you hum softly and hesitantly rest your head on his shoulder. This time, he lets you. “I’m sorry for snapping at you.”

“I’m sorry for pushing you away,” he says, squeezing your hand gently. “I’m not myself at the moment. Min has helped me out before when we were still trainees, I trust him with this.”

“Okay then,” you nod, smiling as he wraps his arm around you. “I’m here if you need me.”

“Thank you,” he says gently.

-

When Minho gets home a few hours later, he feels drained, pushing his suitcase into a corner and kicking off his shoes. He's still wearing the makeup and outfit for tonight's event, having wasted no time with changing. He tiredly runs his hand through his hair and stares at it for a moment, still shaking as the adrenaline and fear of the flight slowly wear off. His eyes fall upon the wedding rings on his finger. His heart steadies, remembering why he's there as he looks at Chan’s. 

A pair of hands slip into his, taking his smaller ones and gently squeezing them. Minho looks up and meets the eyes he fell in love with all those years ago. Chan moves their hands up to his face, planting a tiny kiss on each of his knuckles. "Breathe," he tells him quietly, and Minho exhales a breath he didn't know he was holding in. 

Minho can't stop himself and pulls him into a tight hug. He buries his face in his shoulder, stomach sinking as Chan stiffens for a moment in his hold. He pulls back, unable to meet his eyes. "Sorry, I should know better, you're not feeling up for this right -." 

Chan cuts him off by pulling him in and shaking his head. "Sorry, I'm a little slow at the moment." 

"That's okay," Minho assures him and gently rubs his back. 

"I can't do anything right at the moment," Chan says quietly, gripping the back of Minho's suit jacket tightly. 

Minho soothingly runs his hand through his hair. "Sometimes it's enough if the only thing you did today was breathe." 

"If you think so," Chan mumbles into the fabric as he buries his nose in his shoulder. 

"I know so," he tells him, resting his head against Chan's. 

“You told Y/N,” he speaks up after a moment. 

“Of course I did. She’s our wife, Channie love,” he giggles softly. “She should know, it’d worry her more not knowing what’s going on.”

He hums gently and tightens his hold on him. "I don't know what to do," Chan admits quietly. "I never felt so empty and isolated." 

"I know that's probably hard to believe right now, but I promise you'll always find me in these three places: In front of you to cheer you on, behind you to have your back, and beside you, so you're never alone," he starts out gently. "I'll find a way to make you feel full again…fuck, that came out wrong," Minho groans, and for the first time in almost two weeks, Chan laughs. 

"Idiot," he giggles and pulls back, meeting his eyes. He reaches out for him, hesitantly brushing back a strand of hair, fingertips tracing the features of his face. Once he reaches his lips, Minho plants a gentle kiss against his fingertips. Chan looks up, and he can't quite pinpoint the look in his husband's eyes. "I messed up that event for you, didn't I?" 

"It doesn't matter," he assures him. "You're more important." 

"You're mad?" he asks, squinting his eyes at him a little. 

"Do I look mad?" he asks gently. 

Chan frowns a little. "No…you look pretty." 

A soft smile covers his lips and travels to his eyes. "That's very sweet." 

"It's weird because I can tell what you're feeling, but…I have no clue how to grasp what I'm feeling," Chan admits, tears brimming his eyes. "I'm messed up, aren't I?" 

"You're struggling," he reminds him kindly. "We can work this out. We did that before." 

"Promise?" Chan asks, searching his eyes observantly. 

"I promise," he says, holding Chan's hand wearing the wedding rings. "I told you I'd be there, no matter what," he tells him, and Chan nods firmly, holding on to the truth of those words. "I need to get rid of the makeup and…whatever the hell that is," he says, looking down at himself. They've put him in some suit and casual clothes arrangement with way too many straps in a different fabric to his taste. 

"I'll help," Chan says, and Minho nods thankfully. 

“Channie?” you ask quietly. Minho turns in Chan’s hold and smiles softly, seeing you. You’re wearing one of his sweaters, and your hair messily falls around your face. You tiredly rub your face and squint at them before the realization hits you. “Oh, Minnie, you’re back,” you beam.

“Hey, honey,” he says softly, grabbing your hand and pulling you into their hug. He plants a tiny kiss on top of your head and giggles as you pout at Chan. 

“Got cold without you,” you tell him. 

“Sorry, baby,” he chuckles and rubs your back. "I had to check on Minho." 

"You're doing okay?" you ask him gently. 

"I'm glad to be on solid ground again," he snorts and lovingly brushes back your hair. "Let's go upstairs. Channie's helping me, and then we can all go to bed." 

"Sounds great," you nod and tiredly rub your eyes. "Channie?" you ask sweetly, making grabby hands at him. Chan snorts and rolls his eyes before lifting you up to carry you upstairs. You smirk at Minho as he follows the two of you. "Doesn't he look handsome?"

"Already told him so," Chan comments.

"You look like a prince, darling. So cute with that glitter around your eyes," you compliment him, and Minho blushes. 

"You're too kind, as always, my beautiful wife," he smiles shyly, and your heart swoons at his last words. 

"Careful," Chan says as he lowers you on the bed. He makes sure you're comfortable and tugs you in already, leaning down and planting a light, almost hesitant kiss on your forehead. "Thank you for coming home," he tells you quietly enough for only you to hear as Minho throws his bag in a corner of the room. "I feel more safe when you're here." 

"Always," you promise. Chan makes his way over to Minho, helping him with his outfit's many buttons and straps. He also removes his shirt and grabs a new one from the closet. "If I weren't so tired, I'd enjoy the show a little more enthusiastically."

Minho's ears burn up red, and he quickly slips into the shirt. "If you weren't so tired, I'd make sure you put that pretty mouth to use for something other than talking shit." 

Your jaw drops, and Minho smirks succeeding. "Fucks sake, you guys, I thought we'd be getting some sleep," Chan protests, making you both laugh. "Okay, sit down," he tells Minho and gets comfortable on the edge of the desk. He plants his feet on Minho's chair, left and right of his thighs. Chan places one hand beneath Minho's chin as he starts wiping away all the makeup, cursing softly to himself about all the glitter around his eyes. "As if you'd need any of this shit," he groans, and Minho giggles softly. 

"You know how it is," he shrugs and closes his eyes for him as Chan gently removes the last remains of his eyeshadow. His eyes flutter back open as Chan takes off the small diamond earring for him. "Thank you, love," he says softly, reaching for him. 

Chan slides off the desk and right into his lap, wrapping his arms around his neck. You smile gently, watching them, knowing their goodbye hasn't been that great. He sighs softly and brushes his nose against Minho's. "It's good you're back." 

"Yeah?" Minho asks with a shy smile. 

"Mhm," he hums, sinking deeper into his eyes. "Feels safe." 

"I love you," Minho says, rubbing his lower back soothingly. 

"I know," he nods and presses their foreheads together. "And I know I feel the same way about you…even now." 

"That's good," he says, squeezing his hips. "Don't force it, we have time." 

"Being with you feels..good," Chan tells him and subconsciously presses himself closer. It reminds you a little of what he said to you before you fell asleep on the sofa. At least he seems to be able to feel comfort as well. 

Minho very gently reaches up, cupping his face and caressing his cheeks. "How does that feel?" 

"Warm," Chan says, covering his hands with his own. 

"You like that?" he asks, trying to figure out how to start tackling the issue at hand slowly. 

"Yeah," he nods, a small smile covering his face. 

Minho thinks for a moment before he knows what to try next. After all, his husband was a sucker for compliments he couldn't take for shit. If that wouldn't make him feel something, he doesn't know what would. "You're so beautiful, you know, Channie love. Such a handsome husband with those sweet eyes and bright smile," he says, noticing a slight blush creeping up his face. "Don't get me started on those soft curls. Or the way my hands fit perfectly into yours." Chan shifts on his lap, eyes widening a little as he takes it all in. "Have I ever told you how much I love you being so cuddly?" 

"Minho," he protests gently. 

"Yes, beautiful?" he asks curiously. 

"He's right, Channie angel…but he forgot about your cute laugh and caring sweetness," you chime in. “Or the way your strong arms wrap around me, the way you let me rest on your chest when I’m tired, and how cute you get when you soothe me to sleep.”

"Stop," Chan groans softly. "Now I feel all warm and fuzzy inside," he says, hiding his face in his shoulder as Minho chuckles. "Don't laugh."

Minho smiles and plants a tender kiss on top of his hair. "See? You're still able to feel good things as well." 

"I'm not fucked, in that case?" he asks so innocently it makes you and Minho crack up. 

"It's a good start, don't you think?" he asks, giggling. 

"I guess so," he chuckles and sighs softly as Minho runs his hand through his hair. "Keep doing that?" 

"Let's get to bed, I won't let go of you tonight," he promises. 

"What about me, Minnie?" you pout softly. 

"I'm in the middle in this case," he snorts, and Chan and you seem happy with that. He smiles as the both of you cuddle up to his sides, heads resting on his chest. Minho soothingly plays with Chan's hair, smiling as you take Chan's hand and intertwine them on his stomach. 

PART TWO

MASTERLISTS | PROMPT LIST | GUIDELINES

Taglist: (Please let me know if you want to be added to/removed from the taglist!)

@kai-lee08 @mal-lunar-28 @malfoygalaxies @soullostinspaceandtime @brownieloved @rebecca-johnson-28 @euphoric-univers @hyunniebunni @galaxycatdrawz @aaasia111 @channieaddict @kthstrawberryshortcake

[starrierknight]

𝟎𝟐𝟕. 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝❟ 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲 𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡

You don’t work or play by the rules. So what if that’s unfair? This is a dog-eat-dog world, and the losers get left behind.

MASTERLIST | KINKTOBER 23' | AO3

wc— 4.4k

Pairing— femme fatale!dom!gn!reader x CEO!sub!nanami

cws/tags— dub-con, blackmail (non-consensual filming), sadistic & manipulative reader, reader is gn but has the femme fatale personality, handjob, denied orgasm, very dialogue heavy, petnames (“mister”—it’s ironic, I swear), seduction, porn w/ plot, nanami is def ooc but we move

Stepping into Nanami Kento’s office, you were greeted by an aura of opulence. Mahogany desks and leather chairs exude sophistication. Sunlight filtered through expansive windows, casting a warm glow on plush carpets. A massive desk stood at the centre, impeccably organised with high-tech gadgets. Bookshelves held volumes on leadership and success. A cosy seating area boasted a plush sofa for informal discussions. Crystal decanters held aged spirits atop a sideboard. The atmosphere is both commanding and comfortable, a reflection of power and accomplishment, much like the CEO himself.

“You're late,” Nanami said, his voice monotone. 

His words slid out with the click-clack of his keyboard, his gaze fixed on the screen as he typed away. You stepped into the room, the gentle swish of your clothing brushing the air as you approached.

“I'm not late,” you responded, your voice a composed counterpoint to his. “You’re just early.”

The subtle rustle of paper on the desk danced beneath the weight of your words. A faint huff of a sigh escaped him, a sound as controlled as his meticulously timed schedule. Disciplined. Unflappable. A smile ghosted across Nanami's lips, the corner of his mouth twitching upward.

“You're my personal assistant,” he murmured, his voice carrying the weight of authority, “and I'm the CEO, ergo, I am always on time.”

"My, my," you remarked playfully, "Looks like someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed today."

You glided across the expanse of the office, the soft rustle of your steps harmonizing with the gentle fluttering of a neatly organised stack of colour-coded papers as you set them down in a tray. A wry smile tugged at his lips.

"You're well aware that my patience for idle chatter is limited, and yet you persist in indulging in it," his voice rippled, a controlled undertone of exasperation tracing each syllable.

A subtle sigh slipped from your lips, and you found yourself easing against the edge of his desk, a connection between you and the polished surface. His fingers danced across the keyboard, a symphony of clicks and clacks that held his full attention, leaving you in the periphery.

"Any luck in your pursuit of the elusive mole?" Your words held a touch of frustration, "It's as if the leaks are gaining a life of their own, more persistent with each passing day."

In response, Nanami emitted a contemplative hum, a low note that resonated like distant thunder. "No luck so far," he mused, his voice a steady rhythm. "I’m having the matter investigated."

“You keep saying that, but nothing’s changed. You’re no closer to finding them, are you?” you spoke with a hint of weariness.

"That's classified information," he responded absentmindedly, his attention still tethered to the computer.

A wisp of frustration danced through your tone, like a fleeting shadow cast by a cloud passing over the sun. “I’m your personal assistant. I work for this company. Don’t you think I should know?” 

"No," his response fell with the weight of finality, a single syllable that seemed to close the door on any further discussion. “Oh, and please rearrange my appointments and schedule them to be spread out over next week. Make sure they’re at quieter times,” Nanami's voice rolled out, a desert breeze carrying his words with a touch of dryness. 

His instructions hung in the air, like a solitary tumbleweed drifting through the vast expanse of conversation. Tense. Stiff.

“Right. Of course, I’ll handle that,” you said with a tight smile.

✦•···················•✦•···················•✦

As you stepped into Nanami's office once again, the day's familiarity seemed to have taken a toll on him. The air felt different, thick with a weariness that hung around him like a heavy shroud. Unlike his usual poised stance, he now slouched in his chair—an uncommon sight that hinted at the cracks beneath his composed exterior. His blazer lay discarded, and his tie now hung in a relaxed loop, an admission of defeat.

"Hey, mister?" your voice was a gentle note, carrying with it a touch of casual familiarity.

A low, almost exasperated groan rumbled from his throat. "I've reminded you before not to address me like that," he muttered, his response laced with a note of resigned annoyance.

Your lips curved into a playful smile as you ventured further into the office, a glimmer of mischief dancing in your eyes. "You know, deep down, you don't mind it."

A heavy sigh accompanied his response, a mixture of exasperation and resignation. "I assure you, I do indeed mind it."

Your retort danced through the air like, a sing-song lilt that brushed against his ears. "Oh, but I beg to differ. It's just one of those little things that make our interactions all the more interesting, mister."

A grumbled complaint slipped from his lips, a muttered protest that bore the weight of his vexation. Your soft laughter swirled in response, a ripple of amusement. Despite his discontent, there was a subtle warmth in the air, a familiarity that seemed to soften the edges of his irritation.

Taking purposeful steps, you approached his desk with an air of ease, your movements a graceful choreography as you began to tidy the scattered papers, pens, and stationery that lay strewn across its surface. You leaned your phone against a stack of folders, propping it up. The soft clinks and rustles of objects finding their proper places formed a familiar symphony of order being restored.

Seated now on the edge of his desk, your presence became the focal point of the room as you regarded him with a tilt of your head. Your gaze held a mixture of intrigue and amusement, a silent reminder that amidst the rigors of his role, a moment of reprieve was found in your interactions.

“You’re looking a little worse for wear. Is something the matter?”

Nanami’s response was a heavy exhalation that held a burden of weariness too profound to be carried by mere words.

"Another breach occurred not long ago," his words carried the weight of a confession, spoken with a tinge of resignation. His eyes remained closed, a refuge from the world's chaos that seemed to press upon him relentlessly. "This time, it's worse. The most sensitive data yet has been exposed to the public. PR is grappling with the fallout, and Finance is in utter disarray."

"And so soon after the last one," you murmured, the words gentle. “You look tired, mister. Have you been taking care of yourself?”

He rubbed his temples with the tips of his fingers, a gesture of both fatigue and frustration, and at last, his eyes lifted to meet your gaze. Even from a distance, the telltale shadows under his eyes were evident, testimony to the toll his responsibilities had exacted.

"Don’t call me that," his voice emerged rough and worn. Exhausted.

Undeterred, your inquiry persisted, soft yet insistent. "So, tell me—have you been caring for yourself?"

A moment of stillness hung in the air, punctuated by the weight of unspoken thoughts. Then, his reply emerged, a sentence that bore the weight of conviction. "My primary duty is to safeguard the company."

A playful glint sparked in your eyes, and your expression shifted into a mockingly stern glare. You smoothly slid off the edge of the desk, your movements fluid and graceful, as you began a deliberate saunter towards his side of the desk. With each step, a subtle sway graced your hips, a movement that was both confident and teasing in nature. The air seemed to carry a touch of lightheartedness, a momentary diversion from the weight of the situation at hand.

A theatrical tsk escaped your lips, carrying with it a sense of exaggerated disappointment to playfully scold him. "Oh dear, dear mister. Letting yourself go to ruins is simply unacceptable. As your ever-watchful PA, I can't stand by and let you suffer."

With purposeful steps, you rounded the desk, your movements fluid and deliberate. The air seemed to hold a hint of anticipation, a quiet thrill woven into the atmosphere.

As you stood behind his chair, your hands found their way to his shoulders, their presence an assertion of care. Your touch was confident, fingers dancing with practiced skill as they worked to knead away the knots of tension that had taken residence in his muscles. He stiffened beneath your touch, a reflexive reaction to the unfamiliar sensation, yet your assurance seemed to melt the resistance away. While surprise lingered in the air, there was also a sense of yielding, a quiet acceptance of the relief you offered.

Nanami's words carried a note of reluctance, a protest against the unexpected intrusion of your care. "I didn't ask for this," his voice murmured, a touch of reservation threading through his words.

A knowing smile curved your lips, your fingers working with practiced ease as you continued to knead away the knots in his shoulders. "You didn't need to ask," you replied smoothly, your tone carrying a touch of reassurance that seemed to seep into the very air around you.

A brief silence settled between you, punctuated by the rhythm of your touch. Then his voice emerged once more, a murmur tinged with both realization and resignation. "You're my PA."

"And what does PA stand for?"

His reply held a touch of understanding, a recognition that seemed to settle the matter. "Personal assistant."

"Exactly," you whispered, “I’m your personal assistant.”

You let the silence hang in the air. Your hands continued their gentle ministrations, the cotton fabric of his shirt crinkling beneath your fingertips. As your fingers traversed the landscape of his shoulders, they encountered the subtle contours and defined edges of a physique sculpted by discipline.

Time seemed to melt, a river that flowed at its own unhurried pace. Slowly, the tension in him began to yield, a reluctant surrender that mirrored the reluctant acceptance in his posture. The weight of his responsibilities seemed to wane, at least momentarily, under the soothing spell of your touch.

A soft chuckle escaped your lips, a melodic note that floated through the air as your hands continued their soothing dance. 

"You really ought to take better care of yourself, mister," your words held a touch of playful admonishment, a reminder woven with concern. "Your muscles are like a stone wall."

The response that came was curt, his voice carrying a note of irritation as he pushed back against your insistence. "I'm fine, and I've asked you not to address me that way."

"How many nights have you found yourself working overtime again?" Your question hung in the air like a gentle nudge, an invitation for him to acknowledge the reality of his situation.

A pause, and then his voice emerged, a touch gruff yet revealing of the underlying truth. "It doesn't matter."

A note of knowing crept into your voice, “Doesn’t matter? You hate working overtime.”

"I'm the CEO, and I must prioritize what's in the best interest of the company, regardless of the personal cost."

A contemplative hum escaped your lips as your skilled fingers traveled to his neck, where tension seemed to have found another stronghold. His reaction was a mixture of curiosity and apprehension, his gaze meeting yours with a furrowed brow and a hesitant parting of his lips that hinted at a forthcoming objection, yet it remained unspoken.

The soothing pressure of your fingers worked its magic, coaxing the knots to unravel beneath your touch. As you continued your massage, a question emerged from your lips, gentle yet probing. "So, if you don't take care of yourself, then who takes care of you?"

Nanami’s response held an air of stubborn independence, a declaration of self-sufficiency against the encroachment of care. "I'm an adult. I don't need anyone to look after me."

Your voice dipped to a murmur, a whisper that seemed to bridge the gap between you and him, and your warm breath brushed across the nape of his neck. "Who takes care of you?" you repeated, your words a gentle caress against his skin.

His response, however, was unwavering, a declaration that seemed to echo with an unyielding determination. "I take care of myself.”

A playful smirk curved your lips as your fingers wove through the strands of his sleek, blond hair, a gesture that seemed to stir a reaction deep within him. His breath caught in his throat, a shuddering exhale that betrayed the impact of your touch.

“Some things are better done by yourself… some things.”

You leaned in closer, your presence enveloping him as the back of Nanami’s head nestled against your chest. The warmth of your body radiated against his back as your skilled fingers continued their massage, now tracing delicate patterns across his scalp. Your nails grazed along the tender areas, setting off a cascade of sensations that seemed to quicken his breath. 

The combination of your sinuous touch and the implications woven into your words created a heady tension in the room. His heart responded with an erratic beat, a rhythm that threatened to betray the carefully impassive expression he wore. Yet, he remained composed, a façade of control in the face of the enticing distraction you presented.

“Is it hard?”

His breath hitched, and he coughed. “P-Pardon?”

You let out a soft, knowing laugh. Leaning closer, your lips brushed the delicate shell of his ear, your words a sultry whisper that set his skin ablaze. “Being CEO. Is it hard, Kento?” you murmured, uttering his name with a familiarity that had been absent for far too long.

It was as if a barrier had crumbled, a threshold crossed, and the effect was electrifying. The weight of his name on your lips seemed to hang in the air like a revelation. After a year of playful nicknames—of godforbidden “mister”—and dances around formality, this simple act held a weight of significance. Oh, his name had never sounded so sweet in his entire life.

With an effortful composure, he replied, his voice carrying a veneer of forced calmness. "It's perfectly within my control."

The sound of your voice, the proximity of your breath, seemed to amplify the tension in the room. He closed his eyes, as if seeking refuge from the turmoil that swirled within him, struggling to steady his breathing.

But your words, like a siren's song, continued their subtle seduction. "Stressed, Kento?" you purred, the name a velvet caress against his ear.

As your hands slid down, tracing the contours of his neck and finding their way to the concealed muscles beneath his shirt, his heart quickened its rhythm. A smile, hidden from his view, danced upon your lips, a sign of the satisfaction you derived from the effect you had on him. You pressed a kiss upon the sensitive skin just below one of his earlobes, a gesture that sent a shiver through him. The tension in the room seemed to thicken, the air electrified by an unspoken desire.

“Don’t do this,” he whispered.

“You want me to,” you murmured back, “And you want it badly.”

Your hands continued their exploratory journey, tracing a path of tantalizing sensation down his chest, each touch leaving a trail of heat in its wake. They ventured lower, gliding over the firm expanse of his abdomen, mapping the contours of his physique. 

As your fingers descended further, they encountered the defined muscles of his thighs, your touch igniting a web of sensations that seemed to pulse through his body. He remained still, his breathing now increasing, his body responding to the magnetic allure of your touch. The room pulsed with a charged energy, begging to be acknowledged.

His hands closed around your wrists, putting a halt to the tantalizing journey of your hands, but they didn't push you away. The tension in the room hung thick, a precarious balance between restraint and desire.

"This is a workplace," Kento protested, his voice carrying a note of caution.

A playful spark danced in your eyes as you retorted, your words dripping with a seductive undertone. "Who says this won’t be for work?"

With a tantalizing grace, you lowered your head and pressed your lips to his neck once more, trailing kisses along the warm, sensitive skin. Your tongue and teeth teased over the surface, each movement a deliberate exploration that sent a shiver of longing through him.

“Oh, c’mon. You know you want it. I can feel it—you sure as hell can. Why deny yourself the satisfaction?” you murmured into his ear.

You lightly bit his neck and he gasped, his heart skipping a beat, and his grip on your wrists faltered. You took the opportunity to slide your hands to his thighs again, caressing the inner and most sensitive parts. He made some noise of desire in the back of his throat, his breathing growing ragged.

A low, sultry chuckle accompanied your whispered words, the sound a velvet invitation that seemed to stir the air around you. 

"Don't be coy," you murmured into his ear, your voice a honey-like whisper that washed over him. "You want this as much as I do, Kento. I can feel it, and so can you. Why deny yourself the satisfaction?"

Your teeth grazed his neck lightly, a tantalizing nip that sent a shiver coursing through him. His grip on your wrists faltered, and you seized the opportunity, your hands slipping back to the sensitive terrain of his thighs. Your touch was delicate yet insistent, caressing the innermost and most sensitive parts. A guttural sound of desire escaped him, a primal expression of longing that mingled with his ragged breathing. The office walls seemed to close in around you, as if the world outside had ceased to exist, and it was just you and Kento’s desire.

A low, tormented groan escaped him as his eyes fell shut, his internal struggle evident in the furrow of his brow. “This is so wrong.”

Your voice was a velvet caress as you posed your question, a tempting proposition that seemed to hang in the air like a forbidden fruit. "Is pleasure so wrong, Kento?" you purred, "Don't you deserve this?"

Desire ignited like a blazing fire, consuming every trace of resistance that had remained. As your dominant hand found its way to the growing bulge concealed by the fabric of his trousers, he couldn't help but release a breathy groan. His hips, almost imperceptibly, moved in response, a subconscious plea for more. Desire coursed white-hot through him, pooling between his thighs.

His hoarse mumble was a plea, a desperate attempt to reassert control in the face of mounting desire. "You should stop," he rasped, his voice trembling with a mixture of longing and restraint.

Your laughter, low and seductive, rippled through the air, brushing against his ear and sending shivers cascading down his spine. 

"You don't want me to stop," you countered, your words a teasing assertion that seemed to strip away the last shreds of his resistance.

Kento's hands gripped the armrests of his chair with a desperate intensity, his knuckles whitening as he fought to maintain his grasp on composure in the face of overwhelming temptation.

Your words were a siren's call, a sultry enticement that seemed to draw him deeper into the vortex of desire. "C'mon now," you coaxed, your voice a velvet temptation, "You want me to touch you, to make a mess of you, to take care of you like no one else ever has."

With a confident touch, you rubbed the growing bulge between his thighs more firmly, causing his breath to hitch and a shuddering groan to escape his lips.

His voice emerged, a whisper of uncertainty and longing. "Y-You'll take care of me?"

You met his vulnerability with a promise that dripped with seductive allure. "Yes," you affirmed, your words a whispered caress, "Like no one else ever has."

Or will… You smirked.

As you unzipped the fly of his trousers and began to tug them down his strong thighs, Kento obediently lifted his hips to assist you in the tantalizing descent. The anticipation in the room was palpable, the air thick with desire.

The hard, throbbing length beneath the thin fabric of his boxers was damp along a certain path, evidence of his heightened arousal. Your finger pressed against the dampness, and Kento hissed sharply through his teeth. It was as if a current of electricity shot through every nerve in his body, pooling at the base of his spine, aching need pulsating within his throbbing cock.

With a tantalizingly deliberate movement, you pushed his boxers away, unveiling the long, aching length of his erection as it sprung free from its confinements. His breath caught in his throat at the sudden sensation of freedom and your touch.

One of your hands ventured down his body, seeking the source of his arousal, and you began to stroke him with a measured pace that balanced comfort and intensity. A deep, throaty moan escaped him, and he couldn't help but push his hips forward ever so slightly, a silent plea for more, tempered by the fear that you might pull away if he was too insistent.

His eyes remained shut, his body leaning into you as if seeking the reassuring pressure of your chest against his back. Every stroke of your hand sent waves of pleasure rippling through him, building an exquisite tension that threatened to tip him over the edge.

Your words dripped with wicked allure, a sultry taunt that sent shivers of desire racing through him. "You can't even deny how badly you need this," you cooed, a wicked smirk gracing your lips, your voice a seductive melody.

“Please…”

A guttural plea escaped him, his voice strained with longing as he groaned, his brow furrowing in desperation. Beads of perspiration formed on his skin, glistening in the office light.

Your touch was a maddening tease, the soft pad of your thumb tantalizingly swiping across the aching head of his cock. It was a taste of what you could do, a whisper of the pleasure you could elicit, the gentle pressure of your fingers a torment that electrified his sensitive length.

Kento's breathing grew more ragged, his body quivering with anticipation and desire. Every stroke of your thumb sent jolts of pleasure coursing through him, a tantalizing promise of the ecstasy that lay just beyond reach.

His hips bucked urgently into your hand, a desperate quest for the all-consuming release that eluded him. A guttural moan erupted from his lips, echoing through the room, and you silenced it with your free hand, your fingers pressed against his lips. In his ear, you whispered teasing, shushing sounds, a sensuous torment that only served to stoke the flames of his desire.

The tension in the room was palpable, a relentless crescendo of longing that seemed to spiral upward with each passing moment. His body quivered with anticipation, his heart raced, and he could feel the precipice of his orgasm looming ever closer.

"You know," you breathed, "I've waited a long time for this moment."

As if to emphasize your words, you slowed the pace of your hand, your touch a slow, torturous caress that seemed to drive him to the brink. He groaned in response, his head hanging low, his hips stubbornly seeking the pleasure that danced just beyond his reach. The room seemed to hum with desire. 

In the throes of ecstasy, just as the climax threatened to wash over him, you removed your hand with cruel precision, a disdainful gesture as you wiped it casually on the shoulder of his expensive shirt. Kento all but cried out at the sudden loss of sensation, his whole body shuddering in response.

He groaned in frustration, his eyes filled with pleading confusion as he looked at you, the desperate desire still flickering in their depths. The room seemed to hang in a suspended moment, a tableau of torment and longing that left him on the brink of fulfillment, yet denied the release he so craved.

Your laughter, low and sardonic, filled the room, a taunting echo that seemed to reverberate in the air. With a saunter, you circled around his chair, moving to his desk and retrieving your phone, which had been propped up against a stack of folders. The video on the screen was ended, freezing the moment of his desperate longing.

"Quite the performance, Kento," you taunted, your words a playful mockery that laced with satisfaction. 

The boundaries of the office had been breached, and the power dynamics had shifted in a way that left no room for doubt—you openly held the upper hand.

With a bold flourish, you lifted your phone high, turning the volume up to ensure every nuance of the recorded encounter could be heard. You skipped through selected sections of the video, each moment meticulously chosen to capture the essence of the temptation and desire that had unfolded within the confines of the office.

As the video played, the room seemed to resonate with the sounds of his seduction, his pleas, his moans—each intimate detail laid bare for him to witness. There was no avoiding it; the evidence was undeniable, and it hung in the air. 

His chest rose and fell with the turmoil of emotions, and a betrayed expression contorted his typically composed features. The question escaped his lips like a lament, a whispered plea for understanding: “Why?”

Your posture exuded an air of casual indifference as you leaned against his desk, a playful tilt to your head that underscored your enjoyment of his discomfort. His question seemed to hang in the air, unanswered, as you chose to focus on the task at hand.

"So, Kento," you murmured, your tone a seductive tease, "What should I leak next: more of the company's closely guarded data, or this scorching little video?" 

A mixture of disbelief and regret tainted his muttered words. "How... H-How could you?"

Your laughter was a sharp retort, a mocking response to his question. "How could I? Oh, Kento, you're so fucking naїve."

His gulp was audible, his voice barely above a whisper as he ventured, "How much is it you want, exactly? What's your price?"

A sly grin curled upon your lips as you leaned closer, your words dripping with seductive allure. "I want everything you can give me."

a/n: he (effectively) lost his job by getting a handjob LOL. poor guy. jokes, idc, this was written out of spite. Happy Kinktober :3

this work belongs to STARRIERKNIGHT . please refrain from plagiarising any of my works and do not repost/translate/modify/copy onto any platforms.

[themultifandomgal]

Yn is the girlfriend or kelly severide they've been together during academy it's their 3-year anniversary, but kelly just has to work and yn is a bit mad at kelly and leaves for molly's where she finds support from Erin Lindsey.

And then Kelly also arrives at Molly's and Kelly gives a whole speech and he asks her to marry him

While planning the wedding, kelly brings to make up for the fact that he didn't so really help the co-planning the wedding

And the wedding is at a very beautiful venue, and when the father daughter dance is she asks hermann or Wallace

With some angst and fluff thank you

Kelly Severide- An Unforgettable Anniversary Pt1

YN woke up to the sound of her alarm clock, today was her and Kelly's 3rd anniversary, and she had planned a dinner at the restaurant where they had their first date. Feeling giddy she rolls over to face her boyfriend who was still fast asleep. Leaning down she places a kiss on his cheek which stirs him

"Happy anniversary" she smiles

"Happy anniversary babe" he replies "what time is it?"

"7"

"Shit, I've got to be at the station for " "I thought you were going to get the day off?" YN pouts

"I tried, I'm sorry"

"Please be back for 6 though tonight"

"Of course" and with that Kelly gets out of bed and gets ready for work, leaving a disappointed YN in bed.

Being a firefighter, Kelly's schedule was unpredictable, and sometimes duty called even on the most important days. YN knew this since she and Kelly actually met during the academy, it just so happened that YN works at a different station which meant her days off can sometimes be very different to her boyfriends. Despite Kelly's absence, she spent the day preparing a surprise gift for him, a handmade scrapbook filled with memories of their time together. YN spent most of the day gluing and sticking, then a good part of the afternoon getting ready for the date she had planned, but when 5:30 came and there was no sign of her boyfriend, YN checked her phone to see a few missed calls off him. Her heart sank knowing why he was calling. Taking in a breath she phoned Kelly back to be told that they had been called out to massive job and probably wouldn't be home un until gone 8. YN tried to not let her voice waver, but Kelly could clearly hear disappointment. She had been looking forward to this evening for weeks, and now it seemed like all her plans had been ruined. As the phone call ended YN felt a wave of sadness wash over her. She knew that Kelly's job was important, but she couldn't help but wish that they could have celebrated their anniversary together. Feeling the weight of disappointment settling in her chest, YN decided to not waist the evening and phoned her friend Erin. She knew that Erin, being a police officer, would understand the sacrifices that come with loving someone in a high-stress, unpredictable profession, and of course her friend didn't disappoint saying she will meet YN at Molly's in 15 minuets.

As YN walked through the door, the familiar sounds of laughter and clinking glasses washed over her, momentarily lifting her spirits. Spotting Erin at their usual table in the corner, YN made her way over and sank into the chair across from her. Erin looked up

"Hey" she gives YN a weak smile handing her a bottle of beer

"Thanks" YN replies taking the bottle and taking a sip

"How are you feeling?" "Disappointed I suppose, but I know what the jobs like and how important it is to him. I just wished that he could have gotten the day off"

"I'm sorry, YN. I know how much this day means to you," Erin said, her voice filled with understanding "were you able to rearrange the dinner?"

"No" shaking her head YN replies "I had to cancel it and pay a fee" "What! seriously?"

"Yeah well it was an expensive restaurant. I guess part of it is my fault, I should have told Kelly about the dinner months ago when I booked it"

"These things happen, Jay and I missed a reservation because we were to busy...."

"Ok thank you Erin I don't need to know about what you and Jay get up to" YN jokes

Not realising how long the 2 had been sat at the bar chatting, it was only when the familiar sound of the bar door opening caught her attention. Turning to look, she was met with the sight of Kelly, standing in the doorway with a nervous stance. Looking down at her phone YN can see that its now 8:30, she wasn't expecting to be out as long as she had, YN wanted to be home when Kelly got back, but here she is instead drinking her sorrows away. Kelly made his way over to YN, his eyes never leaving hers as he knelt down on one knee, a small velvet box in his hand. YN's hands immediately cupping her mouth supressing a gasp

"YN, these past three years with you have been the greatest blessing of my life. Thank you for your love, your laughter and your unwavering support. You have been my rock over these few years and I can't imagine my life without you by my side. So YN my beautiful, gorgeous, funny, sexy girlfriends, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife and marry me?" Kelly asks, YN stands there speechless, tears threatening to spill. Not trusting her voice in that moment all YN could do was nod, causing Kelly to chuckle "is that a yes then?"

"Of course its a yes" Kelly slips on delicate ring on YN's finger, small but elegant, before picking up his now fiancé and twirling her around. YN can hear cheers and clapping around, but her focus solely on the man of her dreams, the man she will now marry and spend the rest of her life with.

[popcornoncemore]

I'm so sorry for cutting the deadline so close!

Here is my gift to the amazing @wilwywaylan for the Les Mis @drinkwithme-exchange 2024!

They requested Joly & Jehan, so here's a angst and fluff fix of them supporting each other through their struggles with mental health problems:

I just want to say that this exchange was amazing and that I was so honored to write for someone that I just love in this fandom. I hope that you like this!

Full work under cut: (tw raw chicken, panic attacks):

The morning started out as usual, a good day, a slow turn from night to day, Bossuet and Musichetta pressing a light kiss to Joly’s forehead, slightly interrupting the fog of his sleep. As their footsteps and hushed conversations retreated further into the apartment, Joly turned over once more in the bed and let himself drift off again.

The second time he awoke, Joly was much more alert. While he loved sleeping in, curled in the duvet that Courfeyrac had gifted them as a housewarming gift, cozy in the dappled light streaming through the curtains that had once belonged to Musichetta’s grandmother, it was hard for Joly to truly laze the day away. Spending too long in bed tended to summon a quiet yet incessant internal chatter about the merits of a rigid sleep schedule and the dangers of a lack of daily progress and simple movement, a nagging sense of conscious that refused to let Joly sleep past nine in the morning. Joly needed to start out on the right foot.

With the urging of the voice, Joly disembarked from the safety of his bed. Musichetta had left early to cover her coworker’s shift at the laundromat where they worked so that the other woman could visit her ailing mother. Bossuet, in a typical bout of his characteristic misfortune, had managed to do a great deal of damage to a neighbor’s fence the day prior in an incident involving Gavroche, a lawn mower, and approximately $15 worth of clear fishing line. Today, he had taken it upon himself to do the necessary repairs in hopes of smoothing things over with the disgruntled elderly couple.

This left Joly alone in the apartment with only his thoughts and the growing heat of the summer morning. Joly obeyed the near-instant urge to brush his teeth, making a beeline from the bed to the bathroom. When that was finished, he closely inspected his face, taking note of every new spot of acne and mentally listing off the names of the medicated creams that he needed to acquire. He tried not to pick at the spots, it would only make them worse, but it was so difficult when it made him want to crawl out of his skin. Joly then washed his hands, showered, washed his hands, put on moisturizer and sunscreen, washed his hands, dressed himself in a button-down and khakis, debated whether or not the day would be hot enough to give him heatstroke wearing a long-sleeved shirt, decided to change into a light-weight cotton t-shirt, and tried to style his hair which absolutely refused to lay correctly on his head.

Joly was overcome by a sense of dread as he tried to will his hair into place. He was not going to be able to get the results that he wanted, but he almost certainly was not going to be able to stop rearranging his hair until it was perfect. This devolved into hurried breaths and lightly pulling his hair. If Bossuet was here, he would have taken Joly’s hands in his own and told stories of his and Grantaire’s latest outing until Joly could get control of himself and move on to the next task. Today, Joly had to make do with imagining his boyfriend’s words and trying to manage his breathing. Joly squeezed his eyes shut and washed the remaining hair product off his hands, then quickly fled the bathroom before he could accidentally get a glimpse of his reflection.

Crisis averted.

Joly distracted himself with the daily cleaning, re-making their large bed and adjusting the incredibly large number of pillows that had been brought into bed by the culmination of Musichetta’s search for tasteful decor, Joly’s interest in the medical benefits of different shapes of pillows, and Bossuet’s near constant need to prop up one injured limb or another. Then it was a quick vacuum of the living room to limit the dust and potential allergens in the apartment, emptying the trash and recycling from every room, and reorganizing the perpetually undone shoe rack, lest Bossuet trip over a lose high heel coming in the door.

The next order of business was making sure to eat a hearty breakfast. As Joly checked the dates on all the food packaging in the refrigerator, he notices that the egg carton was empty. In general, there was hardly any protein in their apartment. Joly furrowed his brow. He was very tempted to resort to eating just a bowl of cereal and moving on with his day, but something inside him knew that that was a bad choice.

Breakfast was the most important meal of the day, he had to eat a balanced meal, or the rest of his day would be thrown off and who knew what could happen if Joly introduced that sort of chaos to his life. While he didn’t have class today, he was supposed to meet up with Combeferre to study. If he neglected a nutritious breakfast, his hands would shake while he took notes, and his attention span would be affected. It was only natural that the consequence of that may be failing the next test, putting him behind in the class, behind in his degree, and behind schedule. No, it was best to eat an appropriate meal.

Nothing in the refrigerator was suited to food that one would generally categorize as breakfast food, but Joly was willing to sacrifice that for nutrition. He opened the freezer, hoping to find some sort of meat that could serve as his protein.

To his disappointment, the only thing that he found was a bag of frozen chicken breasts. He cringed at the sight. It wasn’t that Joly wouldn’t eat chicken, on the contrary, Bossuet’s family recipe for lemon baked chicken was one of his absolute favorites; it was just that the idea of raw poultry was beyond revolting. In addition to its odd texture and appearance, Joly couldn’t help but imagine all the illnesses that could be caused by the raw or undercooked meat. In particular, the sight of the chicken brought up hurried thoughts about the dangers of salmonella and the image of a documentary he had once seen that tracked how the germs from poultry could be accidentally transferred about a cooking space.

There was an instant conflict between the voices in his head, debating the dangers of handling raw meat and not paying attention to nutrition. Joly desperately wished them to shut up but resolved himself to making a choice. He could cook chicken, people did that all the time and it was fine. He was being stupid, he couldn’t let his anxiety stop him from being a normal functioning person. Joly snatched the bag of chicken from the freezer, dropped it on the counter, and then immediately washed his hands.

Defrosting the meat was a nightmare. Joly removed the chicken from the bag with a pair of tongs, resting it on a plate, and then microwaving it until the it defrosted. When he took the plate out, Joly gagged at the sight of the raw poultry, sitting on the plate in a pool of melted frost and juices. He moved the chicken breast to the cutting board specifically designated for meat, leaving him with the disgusting plate of liquid.

He knew that he was supposed to dump it down the drain. It wouldn’t congeal like bacon grease and unfortunately, Joly lacked a way to incinerate it like food waste in some sci-fi film. But pouring it down the sink would contaminate the basin, the germs would spread when the water turned on, then there was no stopping the salmonella from moving to other surfaces. He put the plate down, it was a dilemma he would deal with later.

The next part was arguably the hardest. Joly had to cut the chicken into smaller pieces in order to properly seer it. How was he supposed to do that without directly handing the raw meat? With the tongs in one hand, he stabilized the breast, cutting it slowly with the knife in his other hand. It was going to be okay, it was going to be okay, he could do this, he had to do this. Normal people did this.

Joly’s trembling hand slipped on the tongs suddenly, the piece of chicken sliding across the cutting board and making contact with the hand that was still holding the knife.

Everything immediately went dark, then the color and sound and light and fear all rushed back into Joly’s perception at a lighting pace. God. God. It had touched him and… The knife slipped from his hand, narrowly missing his foot as it clattered to the floor. Joly whipped around in his panic as his breathing became more and more rapid. He made for the sink, but only managed knock the discarded plate of germs he had been avoiding to the floor, spilling its contents all over.

Joly was dying, there was nowhere to go. The situation was consuming him, he was going to pass out. His hands scrambled at his face, wiping through his tears to pick at the scabbing acne, scratching his cheeks with his fingers… His fingers that had just touched the chicken seconds before.

Oh god. His breathing got worse as he sank to the floor, to the puddle of yet more germs. He was going to throw up. He was going to die.

Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.

There was a knock at the door.

Jehan had started their morning off noticeably poorly. Their melancholy was far past the point of being poetic, rather it was consuming and disheartening, destroying his creative thinking. While a passing phase of downcast and remorseful feelings was an important given in the life of a romantic, a rain spell that spoiled the weather but watered the crops, this was less of a rainfall and more of a tropical storm of sorts.

The morning sun was too bright as it cut into his bedroom, waking Jehan from their rest early. His body was sore for no good reason, as if his back had just taken a sudden disliking to the mattress, and the street outside was unusually loud for the time of day. The blankets had partially fallen off, leaving their legs cold.

Jehan did his best to right his mood, but to no avail.

From the bedside table, they pulled their current poetry journal, a beautifully bound thing that had been gift from Grantaire last Christmas. In an attempt to channel his feelings into something appropriate, they scribbled out lines of poetry onto the creamy pages of the book, scrambling to find a way to put a voice to the way he felt. Nothing took form from the words though, no matter what he wrote, the paper just became more and more marred by messy lines of bleeding ink. It was ugly, not in a way that inspired deep thought, but in a way that forced Jehan to angrily turn his eyes from the journal, to snap it shut and throwing it to the cluttered floor.

Getting dressed proved just as frustrating. Nothing fit right, Jehan’s body just looked incorrect in anything they put on. The limey cardigan that they picked to go over their floral-print sundress and stripped slacks itched in a way that made him want to just melt into a puddle on the bedroom floor. Jehan slumped and let himself lay down on the carpet, pulling the awful sweater off and throwing it as far away as they could. He moped on the ground, trying to reason with himself. It was silly to let this pessimism get them, but it seemed just as silly to blatantly ignore it. Why was this so complicated? Why did he feel so absolutely under the weather?

Rolling to get off the floor, they spotted the book they had discarded prior. He apologetically picked the journal up and set it back onto the nightstand, brushing off its cover with care. Jehan ran their hands through his hair, resisting the urge to pull at it and scratch at his scalp. They couldn’t just waste away on their bedroom floor, let themself drown in this floor of bitter sadness that was trying so desperately to sweep them away.

Using the last of his strength, Jehan dragged themself to their feet and promptly made straight for the door of the apartment. He couldn’t just sit here alone feeling bad for himself, letting himself drown.

He knocked on the door, but no one answered it. That was odd, Jehan could have sworn that Joly at least was home, it was part of the reason they had come here, apart from the fact that the apartment the trio shared was the closest to his own. Maybe he was wrong, of course, that would follow the pattern of the day. Maybe some of Bossuet’s bad luck had accidentally brushed off on them the last time that they went for drinks together.

Jehan shook off the thought. They were here to fight their pessimistic spiral, not feed it. He knocked on the door again, listening for the sound of movement in their friend’s apartment. Instead of someone approaching the door, Jehan heard what almost sounded like sobbing, muted, but definitely still present. Without a second thought, Jehan grabbed one of the spare keys hidden about the hallway in front of the apartment, placed there in the event that Bossuet left his keys on the counter, in a car, at work, or, on one particularly unfortunate occasion, at the post office inside of the package he had been mailing to Quebec.

Jehan entered the apartment warily. Someone was definitely crying, the sound clearer once inside, coming from the kitchen.

When he reached the kitchen, Jehan was met with a truly upsetting sight. Joly was alone, curled on the wet floor, hyperventilating and tearing at the skin on his face in a mindless fashion. It appeared that the other man had previously been cooking something, from the discarded cutting board, thawed chicken, and the shards of plate that were strewn across the ground.

Jehan approached him lightly, kneeling on the floor next to the man. “Joly, my friend, please listen to me. I am here to help. I heard your distress from outside and I simply had to come in. Let me help you. Here, breathe with me.”

They took Joly’s hands in theirs, pulling them away from his face. His friend did not quite register what was happening, but he didn’t fight the action. Jehan held Joly in his arms, slowly rocking him, speaking softly into his ear. Several minutes passed like this as Jehan helped his friend regain some control over his mind and body.

Any despairing thoughts that Jehan had awoken with took a back seat to helping Joly. “Joly, dear, tell me what is wrong? You do not have to deal with this alone. We’ll make this right, whatever it is. You are so very safe.”

Joly sniffled, then looked Jehan in the face for the first time since the other had entered his apartment. “The chicken… It slipped…” He paused, gagging a bit. “Oh god, the germs are everywhere, on the floor, on my hands, my face, on you! I was just trying…”

Ah, so that was what had triggered this fit of panic. Jehan surely wasn’t as familiar with the risks of raw poultry as Joly was, but he did know the basics of cooking and killing food-born germs. And knowing Joly as they did, the idea that Joly had panicked after accidentally coming into contact with the meat, and more importantly, his complicated thought process surrounding something he saw as a health hazard, was a fairly understandable one.

Jehan hugged their friend to them. “Oh Joly. I am so sorry, I know how much that sort of thing bothers you. It will be alright, I will help you.”

Joly frowned, another tear sliding down his cheek. “I shouldn’t need help. It’s just food, people cook all the time… I need to eat healthily, I should be able to eat healthily. I was trying to eat…” He breathed raggedly. “Everything is all wrong with me, I can’t cook, I can’t look right, I can’t relax or clean enough or even fucking feed myself correctly.”

He spoke desperately, like he was finally spilling a long-kept secret. Jehan’s heart hurt in their chest to see their friend lambast himself with such vigor, with such a belief in the cruel words he threw in his own direction.

“You, Joly, are perfectly acceptable as you are. I may not know all of the details of how you feel, but I do know that you aren’t a stupid man. You do not simply feel this way on a whim, or because you are lazy or incompetent, you always have reasoning behind it. You should not have to fight your own mind like this, but you so often successfully do so. There is no shame in asking for help or feeling despair, any man would become overwhelmed in your situation.”

“I just want my head to be quiet,” Joly pleaded softly. “The second I wake up it is like I am fighting with my own system of right and wrong, I debate danger and health and the thousands of ways to do something properly. I just can’t shake the feeling that I must follow these thoughts, but then they conflict and shout at each other and I slip up trying to do right by them all.”

Jehan nodded, listening to their friend while continuing to rock him gently. They ran a hand through his hair.

Joly paused in his rambling speech for a second. “I just want to feel something that isn’t this downwards spiral that ends in me crying on my floor like cooking chicken or brushing my hair is the end of the world.”

“I understand.” Jehan gave Joly a small smile. “I completely understand. It is hard when your mind works against you and it feels like you cannot escape this moment, the pattern of your thoughts that so quickly arranges itself into a maze. But you are not weak to feel this way, many people have to fight as you do against one foe or another. In fact, I came to your door today because I felt similarly trapped when I woke up this morning. It was like there was nothing I could do to chase away the dark feeling that the world was out to get me today, and I wasn’t up to the challenge. But I managed to come here, I found you and now we are together. And I know that while I am still simply melancholy and you are so understandably distraught, we will not fall victim to that vicious spiral. Let me help you, if the voices will not quiet, I will shush them most aggressively. And if that doesn’t work, I will sing over them so that at least you may hear something relaxing rather than demanding. Let me clean you up and help you back to your feet, I think it would do a world of good for us to fight our battles together today.”

Joly buried his face in his friend’s sundress, letting a few more tears fall. “Yes. Okay. Please help me to get out of this mess, it’s too much, and I feel faint even beginning to think about what may go wrong as a result.”

Jehan gave him a squeeze. “Of course, my dear friend. I will help you, for you have helped me so greatly already.”

Jehan had scrubbed down the kitchen, doing their best to meet Joly’s standards of cleanliness as they mopped, wiped, and bleached every inch of the room. The two friends then took as shower together, Jehan helping Joly to wash his face gently.

The clothes they had been wearing earlier all went straight into the old washing machine down the hall. One of the benefits of having all three occupants of the apartment share a room was that there was more space for some of the utilities that helped Joly to feel more sanitary and Bossuet to get the never-ending tie dye of stains out of his clothes.

They re-dressed in assorted clothing. Jehan pulled one of Bossuet’s zip-down hoodies for Joly, an easily removed layer in case of a sudden change of temperature. Joly brought Jehan one of Musichetta’s flowy blouses and a pair of his own plaid shorts. Jehan felt themself relax into the fabrics, their textures safe and comfortable.

Jehan combed Joly’s hair, and the two talked quietly about life; Bossuet and Gavroche’s recent run in with disaster, Grantaire’s (latest) blunder in front of Enjolras, Bahorel’s supposed mistress.

“Thank you for coming, Jehan.” Joly said the words as their conversation drifted into a pleasant silence. “I didn’t know that I needed someone today, but apparently I did.”

Jehan pressed a quick kiss to his friend’s forehead. “Of course. Absolutely any time. Thank you for being here. We’re going to be okay.”

When they finally set the brush down, Joly turned and crushed Jehan in a hug and the pair burst into laughter. When Joly finally released him, Jehan grinned at his friend in a way that seemed impossible only a few hours ago. “Would you like to go out to get some breakfast before you meet up with Combeferre? They say it’s the most important meal of the day!”

Joly smiled back, “Sure.”

It was looking to be a good day, it was only just getting started after all.

[husbandhoshi]

2:17am + coups? author’s choice ~~~~

[2:17]

the night presses into your eyes, two indigo thumbs deep in the sockets.

february is an unkind month. the air is cold and wet and lives in your bones, even under the weight of the blanket you have wrapped around you.

i should really go to bed, you tell yourself, but sleep is a capricious lover, and it feels like the kind of 2 AM you spend rearranging your fridge magnets and staring out the fog-damp window, searching for the swallowed up moon.

it's a bad habit, which is what you like calling all the broken things in your apartment. the whine of the central heating, the dishwasher you have to ram your hip into to close, the missing handle of your pantry cabinet. you like to joke that your rent also pays for whatever sleep anomaly befalls you.

seungcheol has tried to fix every single one of those things. he rolls his white tee to the shoulders, americana smile almost the perfect kind of flex tape.

you tell him you prefer it this way. there's a groove in the pantry door the shape of your hand. you think better at night.

now, you're reminded of what could possibly be the worst sin of your apartment—the front door squeaks like a bastard, and this time it's loud enough to startle.

it's one more thing that you refuse to fix. this, too, you want written into the dna of your home because it means seungcheol's back from another late night at work.

when he first moved in, he had really tried to live quietly as to not wake you. hushed step, held breath, a ghost as he wordlessly slipped into bed. but you both know seungcheol's all big voice, big laugh, big hands searching for your warmth—asking for anything else was like living with all the lights off.

(one night, seungcheol attempted getting ready for bed in the complete darkness. he was doing remarkably well until he stubbed his toe on the nightstand and unleashed the loudest string of whisper-curses you had ever heard.

welcome home, loser, you had said, full blast into the pitch black, and you both laughed, heady and full bellied and in love.)

i want to know when you come home, you had told him, and only after he hemmed and hawed about a sleep schedule did he fully sink into the warmth of being so loved by you.

as certain as just about anything in your apartment, you can predict exactly what happens next.

the thud of his bag as it hits the floor—the keychain on the zipper rattles. the dull click of the deadbolt. the terrifying surety of his strong arms wrapped tight around your middle.

he doesn't ask if you had a hard day at work. he doesn't ask about your february bones or why the magnets are out of order.

much like he knows about all of the ailments these four walls hold, he knows you.

"i missed you," he says, smushed against your cheek.

"you always miss me," you reply. you thread your hand through his own, eager, never tired of the mondays or tuesdays or any day after that because he gets to do this at the end of it.

"and?" he laughs. his lips are soft on your neck. he's cold from outside but he is never without warmth and you think that's your favorite thing about him. "permission to defrost under the blanket?"

"hm," you say, pretending to think. the truth is that the answer is always the same, but no one keeps him on his toes quite like you.

" 'cause i can think of a whole lot of other ways to warm up."

"hopefully one of those involves a long shower."

"are you propositioning me?"

your back is to his chest, but the honey-drip smile he's got pressed to the crown of your head is all but secret.

he smells like sweat and car freshener but the second truth of today is that it's like home and 2 AMs and you and that's the terrible thing about being in love. you never were the type to share, and now there are two pairs of slippers by the front door.

"i'm propositioning that you have a hot date with a bottle of shampoo," you tease.

"and my beautiful wife?"

"your beautiful wife has work tomorrow."

as per usual, he's not listening—his smile has turned to kisses, and it's all over for you.

a hand up your hoodie, his laughter on your tongue, the gauzy, too-dim kitchen light. the days are long and home is made of many creaking, tired things, but it's this moment that you'll always want to return to, again and again and again.

[darlingdollhousevn]

Helloo, hope your doing well😄😄 could we have more lore about Lowell, pretty please 🥹 i feel like it’s been a while since hearing from the blog (ofc if not then i still hope you have a great day😁😁)

You sure can !! I miss my og blorbo and I'm always so happy to get a chance to talk about lore!

Lowell went to culinary school but ended up having to drop out in the last couple of months due to medical and financial complications- he hates his current job and believes he is overqualified and deserves to work in a much more elevated environment

He has a younger sister that he's kept tabs on over the years, but he hasn't had contact with his family in a long time.

Lowell learned to sew from his mother, who was a seamstress while he was growing up in Massachusetts.

His very first ever collection was frog statues, the kind you'd find in a garden store. They all had names, personalities, and intricate backstories. He kept notes on them in a Lisa Frank notebook, and would rearrange their positions in his room frequently.

He's not a natural redhead!

Lowell was a smoker for a very long time, and while he no longer chainsmokes, he'll still light up a cigarette if he's particularly exhausted, stressed, or needs a little treat.

He can't swim :(

He has pretty poor wound healing, and he scars and bruises really easily.

He met you first through your job! MC will have a position in an art store and he saw you while looking for a specialty fabric dye.

He has killed people before.

Lowell would love a wax museum date!

He's already got all your measurements :) it won't stop him from taking them again when he gets you alone though. He finds it kind of romantic!

He will get mad if you touch/break a lot of his stuff- he's very protective of his collections and has object hyperempathy. it can be genuinely painful to him when things break, go missing, or are touched/displayed "wrong".

His favorite food is soup.

On top of being an insomniac he doesn't really like sleeping in beds- when he sleeps it's usually on the couch or floor or something.

His favorite thing to knit is shawls! He does some pretty interesting things with them, sometimes with intricate lace, beading, colorwork, or other details.

He has a secret petplay kink (recieving). He would deny it to the ends of the earth but being called kitten gives him an instant boner. Extremely unlikely to allow himself to actually submit but he MIGHT be a mean kitty dom, if you convince him hard enough :3c he'd be on high alert to make sure he doesn't end up in subspace though.

He had an intense scene phase. Full on raccoon stripes, under eye liner, hot topic cash carrying, get scared listening ass emo. Still has his well loved busted up ipod nano from when he initially got really into the subculture.

His first crush was on Brent Spiner. Quickly followed by Tilda Swinton.

Has a washi tape collection but has never actually used any of the tape.

He owns a pair of The Chanel Boots™️

Hopefully this is enough to keep yall fed a moment ;-; sorry this project has taken a lapse BUT I'm putting together something to introduce the five whole other characters that will be included in this game, and my schedule just got cleared for a few more days a week so hopefully I'll have some more stuff for you guys soon!

[byierficrecs]

not sure how it's possible but your work keeps getting prettier and prettier! can i ask what your process/method is for creation?

hello! sorry it's taken me a little to reply :S first of all, thank you!! that's very sweet ^-^ anyway, i'm not sure this will be particularly insightful :( but here goes nothing:

step 1: check the form for new submissions!

and then delete them all >:) ,,,but not without copying the information to a variety of spreadsheets. behold the madness:

in this one i copy the information that was submitted as it is.

these are where i rearrange the information so a) my brain can understand it and b) so that i can copy/paste stuff while making graphics and at the time of posting.

the first one is for the captions i attach to every tumblr post, and the second is the alt text for the images. there's a third one for twitter, but it's the same as the tumblr one.

and this one is where i keep track of all the steps i follow!

spreadsheet: copying the information from the forms

proofread: open the ao3 work to quickly check that someone didn't sneak explicit stuff or something like that

read and graphic: self-explanatory

captions and alt text: registering the information in the tables i showed before

twitter and tumblr: scheduling the posts to go up

(3 and 4 are inverted, but i'm too lazy to change it now x.x also, notice how they are (mostly) arranged in groups of three; before i even proofread things, i roughly decide the general aesthetic of the graphic: dark, pastel or colourful)

i do this almost every night. since people usually submit stuff in bulk, i often spend one or two hours simply sorting through the forms.

step 2: read the stories!

i usually read a story, then make the graphic immediately after. this is so i don't mix things up and the story is fresh in my very-forgetful mind~ while i read, i try to imagine things as they happen and pick at least one element i want to include in the graphic.

for instance, for this one (post), i wanted a duck somewhere. evidently, it ended up being a very minor detail but there they are! ducklings! :]

step 3: try to imagine the graphic

this is admittedly the hardest part tbh. i stick to my statement: i am not an artist. give me a minute and i will come up with a decently fleshed-out story idea. art or visual aspects are a different tale x.x some days my creativity leaves me altogether and i just stare into space for hours with absolutely no clue of how to make a graphic for one story.

hence why i rely so much on inspiration. some days i ravage my bookshelf, some days i google "spider book cover", some days i browse spotify and look at the album art and many days i end up scrolling through the canva templates section for hours until i see something that sparks an idea.

this one (post) is random. i was stumped on what to do and then i glanced at the video i had on the background and that was that.

i look at anything and everything for inspiration,,, again, i have no idea how artists do this x.x not to imply that they don't struggle (i'm sure they do), but i'm genuinely bad at this,,, especially since i try to make all the graphics as unique as possible; i like flowers, they are pretty and go well with most stories, but i think it'd be quite boring if everything i made had flowers :S

step 4: make the graphic

anyway, when i (finally) have an idea, i go on canva and get down the first element i had in mind, or the colour i want to use, or the general composition,,, anything. sometimes the only thing i've thought about is the text.

and then i just go from there, often with no plan or ending idea in mind :S

some graphics are simple and i can get them done in two hours, some are complex and i get them done in ten hours. perfectionism is how my brain is wired and i always feel like i need to bring things to perfection, so i tweak everything a lot even if i know i could get away with leaving some stuff as it is.

alas, i try to have fun during the process and sometimes i surprise myself with making something i am super proud of!

like this one! (post). as you can see, there are a bunch of layers and details. i went in with literally no plan but i kept adding stuff until it felt good :]

it's not as simple as just sticking some of canva's assets together, though. i often have to do a lot of editing. everything in that tunnel, for instance, was just lineart (?) with no option to give it a background colour, so i had to go in with my limited artsy knowledge and paint things until they looked the way i wanted.

these are all the different canva assets i used in that one + a finn silhouette. i'm trying not to use too many silhouettes because, like flowers, it's easy and i often gravitate to that but no >:( i shan't fall prey to the impulses.

speaking of silhouettes,,, there must be an easier way to do it, but the software i use (gimp; it's free x.x) is a little confusing to me so i just end up "tracing" over the outline of photos i like.

in the process, i tend to go all,,, frankenstein.

i chopped off finn's arm in the first one :( but then i gave him a jacket for the second one because his silhouette looked cold ^-^ (also gave noah will-hair). third one i just,,, mirrored the other arm x.x 1st story || 2nd story || 3rd story

other minor changes i often have to do is recolouring stuff and the like

again, these are edited with gimp and i'm sure there are weird errors, but i felt the story needed something softer (post).

some elements i actually find from other free source (?) websites, but it's rare.

last, but not least, sometimes i do try my hand at art x.x i'm not sure i'm good in the slightest, but it's been somewhat fun to try. i tend to look at artists i like, mainly for colour palettes because i never struggle with the graphics but i get stuck when trying to draw :S

for instance, the colours in this one (post) are all inspired by the second artwork in the tweet.

step 5: double check before posting

confession: yesterday i forgot to add the author's name to a graphic. there are at least three graphics in this account that are missing the "ratings" altogether. sometimes, there are minuscule mistakes that could've been easily spotted and fixed and i just,,, didn't see them.

i often catch a million things like that while making the graphics, but things do slip at times and i end up thinking about them for weeks x.x so i double and triple check everything and i never catch everything, but i try :S

i try to get my brother to help me a little, but the dingus always says everything is okei and goes back to his shenanigans >:( he is an actual artist so it's all the more frustrating but alas, there's nothing i can do about it x.x

step 6: schedule things for posting

uh,, not much to say about this. i just add the graphics, copy the information from the spreadsheets i showed you, then add all the links and tags and leave things be :]

except,,, i don't. i move on to something else and then i go back to check for mistakes and i keep looking for errors and i sometimes change things last minute x.x

the little detail in the corner where mike is screaming? that was added a minute the thing went up,,, (post)

it's uh,, overwhelming. i know i overthink way too much (about my writing, too), but it's been ten years of getting anxious about these things so i'm not sure it'll stop anytime soon :(

the little comments you guys leave really help though! so thank you for that :]

step 7: post the thing and "rest"

again, i continue to search for errors after i post, but unless it's a big thing (like the aforementioned "i forgot to add the author's name" moment from yesterday) i force myself to leave the post as it is. my brain hates me for it, but it's the one thing i manage to do to ease my anxiety x.x

so, with the post up and big errors mended, i get to rest! for a bit! and then i have to do it all over again!

this entire process (step 1 excluded) takes around 4-6 hours (or more) so by the time i post something, i'm already late at making the next graphic :S hence why i usually take a couple free days every few graphics.

i've also been really sick lately (covid + randomly passing out because of overarching health issues) so things take a bit longer :(

it's fun though! i'd never tried my hand at any visual stuff and some graphics are admittedly lackluster, but sometimes i surprise myself with some very pretty things i make :]

in addition to the ones i've already shared, i'm quite proud of these graphics~ 1st story || 2nd story || 3rd story || 4th story || 5th story || 6th story

plus, i get to talk to a lot of nice people, read/share wonderful stories, and more importantly, do something nice for authors! so it's all worth it, i think :]

random, but i'm not sure i'll ever get to use this little guy so i want to share him :D

anyway, i could continue to procrastinate for quite a while but i have to (gues what!) go make today's graphics x.x shoutout to all the authors whose stories i randomly featured here; please check all their stories as they are all amazing.

@itsromeowrites, @ghoulsanderson, @wiseatom, @eggo-owl, @smoosnoom, @byeler, @bookinit02, @lilacline001, @astrobei, @voulezvulcan, @sevensided

i'm going to take a nap now. apologies if, after all this, i didn't even answer your question.

personal blog || support me on ko-fi x.x

[traumatizedjaguar]

Hi I love your blog, a lot. Still processing some horrific things of my own. How do you get through the darkest moments? I hate mine.

Honestly for me how I got through some dark moments...

Music. Usually a technique I learned from therapy was putting music on that was the opposite of my current emotion; if I was sad or depressed or whatever I'd put happy tunes on or if I was angry, calming tunes. Sometimes finding music that allowed me to let out emotions too like if I was angry I'd listen to a few angry songs from Slipknot for example and have a little session to myself, then I'd go relax. Music affects my mood, but it's not like that for everyone. I made a playlist for "abuse recovery" meaning the songs are more uplifting, makes me feel like a warrior.

Survivors stories. Listening to others stories of their complex abuse they've been through and saving them all in a word document to go back to later. Finding people I relate to who've been through the EXACT same abuse I have been through. It helps finding out you're not the only scapegoat or you're not the only one with many abusers and rapists. It helps to know I've met people with 15, 16, 18, and 25 abusers before.

Meditation. It sounds stupid to most people but if you research the affects meditation has on the human body and brain when you use it daily or on a consistent schedule in the long-term, it's amazing to know what it does for you. It's hard at first, but eventually you get used to it. And sometimes I have a focus point when meditating, such as listening to my breathing going in and out in a quiet space so my thoughts don't drift; because drifting thoughts or worrying isn't meditating so like I said, it's hard at first. But your mind gets so used to it after awhile.

Changing my environment. I've rearranged my whole room, put posters up, painted it so it feels like I'm in a different house sometimes. Adding something new and different to your life like a hobby or something you've never tried and do it often, it can be a good distraction. I like using distractions often.

(TW: God mention. Skip this paragraph if needed be. This one might just be me) Putting my faith in God Our Creator and having had many communications with him before. Sharing my space with him, inviting him on walks with me, telling him about my day although he sees everything I do, and asking him about his "day". I got into talking to Norse gods and the Creator and it has helped so much knowing a divine entity who created everything in the universe wants me to be safe and heal and actually told me this in many ways; who tells me he loves me and knows I'm a very loved good soul in his eyes. (I try but never feel that way).

Doing the scary thing and reaching out. I have reached out to people and told them my story and told them about my abusers and they've believed me. Focusing only on the ones who believed me even though my story is insanity with abusive parents, abusive brother and abusive exes who all smear campaigned me and many of them raped me too. No matter how much complex abuse, there was people out there and other victims who took my side. I only focus on the good ones, not the bad ones who don't believe me. Because once I shut out EVERYONE except the good ones, then my world only has love in it.

>>Making word documents for healing. I learned I was in a freeze state recently and I've been teaching myself about it through online trauma therapists (I'm so happy to be living in the digital age) and I've learned about it and I'm doing the work necessary everyday to teach my brain different and rewire it. It's also why I shut down around abusers and can barely speak even when I want to.

>>Trauma therapists: Crappy Childhood Fairy, Patrick Teahan to name a few. Patrick Teahan helped me so much specifying types of sibling abuse that were SO SPECIFIC to what ive been through and scapegoating in family systems, he taught me about how some family systems gang up against one family member (so like 6 family members for example, against one of the kids in order to scapegoat properly there's many abusers in most situations) and how im not the only one with many abusers in one family and im not the only scapegoat. He also made videos that were WAYYYY to specific to the abuse I endured and wayyyy to specific to the behaviors and belief system my abusers held. He has so many great videos for people like me. First time I listened to a few of his videos on family abuse, I was overwhelmed with emotion and joy and it made my heart and stomach flutter. I love Patrick Teahan so much and hes a real therapist too.

Make stuff, build stuff, start projects.

[pbandjesse]

I am at the museum while the bull roast fundraiser winds down. My feet hurt and it's been a very long day. I'm really looking forward to tomorrow being a day off.

I had a good day though. I didn't sleep amazing and James was holding me when their alarm went off and they startled and squeezed me really hard. Which is in retrospect very funny but in the moment it scared me. I was able to to back to sleep though.

I slept until around 830. James said they made crescent rolls with cinnamon. I was kind of in a weird mood. But I shook it off pretty quickly.

I wanted to wear my frog pants but I had to tear through my storage clothes to find them and was sad about making a big mess. But James put everything back before I could even really complain about what I did. I got a good husband.

We would eat our crescent rolls at the kitchen island. And we kept saying how nice it is to eat at a table together. I can't wait until the living room is more finished and I can enjoy it even more.

James had already taken all my materials to the car but they also helped me carry Samson's tank. Which was super kind because it was raining so hard. Like it was horrible out and I was not wearing the correct coat. And poor Samson's tank would get all wet inside and it would also make it much colder which was not ideal. But as soon as I could I would dry it off and try and warm everything up.

I got over to creative alliance and it was still pouring and I struggled to find a parking space. I would find one down the alley and didn't have to walk far. But I was all set by the time I got to the door.

Someone was there to open the door for me though and I was able to get inside and get warm quickly. Mostly because the classroom was exceedingly warm.

I was able to sort of make it cooler and worked on setting up. I wiped off Samson's tank and put all my materials out. And waited.

I worked on my example and as I was walking around making my example I saw a family across the street looking confused. I waved at them and held up the turtle I was making and they were like. Oh excellent and came over.

In the end I would have 5 people. And it was fun!

A mom and her 5 year old son and a mom and dad with a 3 (?) year old. And it was great honestly. I talked all though my turtle facts. Asked questions. Tried to involve the little one as much as I could, the five year old answered most things but I still tried to get everyone involved.

I brought Samson out and we talked about what he is. Made some observations and guesses. And it was honestly a lot of fun and the dad said he was surprised how much he learned which was very gratifying. I felt very very smart.

We would make our turtle craft next. And I gave them options but they all decided to sew. And that was great. The mom would do the family's sewing. Which the dad cut things out and the toddler colored some of the turtles patterns I had printed which was just fine with me. I had printed extras.

The five year old was so proud of himself when he was able to sew. And the mom was great. Super encouraging and she was so nice to talk to.

We would talk and work for most of an hour. We would pet Samson. And trouble shoot the sewing. And everyone finished with an adorable little felt turtle. It was a wonderful day.

We would finish up right after 11. I had scheduled to 1130 but with such a small group it wouldnt take up the whole time. Once we were cleaned up I checked with the front desk and was able to leave pretty quick.

I headed to puhtok to take Samson back. And about 30 minutes into the drive I realized I never unplugged the hot glue guns. I was mortified. I used the talk to text on my car to contact Parker and ask him to call the front desk. He would get back to me within a half hour and said it was handled and to not worry. Bleh. Embarrassing.

I got Samson back to his enclosure and rearranged his dirt and made sure he was good before I left.

I wanted to make being out there worth it. I would head to a goodwill I hadn't been to before. It was still gross and raining but I had a nice time looking around.

I did not get anything but this goodwill actually had some good prices. It was kind of far from home but not any farther then work is. I would like to make an effort to look for new places to go.

I wanted to get something to eat. I wanted to go home. I started driving home and was like. I will stop and eat. But then I never passed anything. And by the time I thought I would stop I was shaking and needed to eat so quickly. Like I was struggling.

So then I decided I needed to just go straight home. And of course I got stuck behind so many people. And my phone kept losing service and I was very very close to crying.

But I made it back and immediately microwaved a pizza because I needed to inhale something.

I would get cozy on the couch and fell asleep eventually. It was probably not the best nap ever but I'm really glad I did it because I still had a long night ahead of me.

When I woke up I was not feeling amazing. I felt like my face was all puffy again and I felt ugly. I would redo my makeup and braided my hair and tried to feel better but man. I was not having a nice time.

It would improve. I went and got a sandwich. And that would help my mood. And once I got to the museum I was really happy to see James and that improved everything.

And this whole night was great. I got to do the wagon of cheer again and new Jesse found a microphone for me and I had entirely so much fun with that. I also was an innovator and made a lanyard for the raffle buckets so they could be handsfree. Which made everyone who had one much more comfortable.

It was a busy night. I sold $1500 in raffle tickets. And I talked to so many people and it was honestly just a lot of fun.

I would lose steam around 730 and was very grateful for our dinner break. I was paired with Johnathan who is one of the high ups husbands. And we switched dinners so I could eat with James.

Me and James would sit in the educator office and we were both very tired. They had gone to see Dune two with other Jesse this morning and it was just so nice to sit together even if we were both clearly not at our best.

I would accidentally knock James's cup of water everywhere and was embarrassed

But James kept saying it was fine and their fault and I'm like how exactly is me knocking over your water your fault? Silly behavior.

We had another hour of the raffle. "You could win all of this! Not the wagon but everything in the wagon! 1 for $10 or 3 for $20!" Basically over and over. Just being really silly. But it was a lot of fun.

At 9 they called the raffle. I counted all the money. And James pulled the ticket and it was very exciting. I would go to the desk and helped James hand out the golden ticket raffle ticket prizes. And it was fun to give people prizes. And since then everything has calmed down. I have been writing my post while everything calms down around me. People picked up their coats. Paula, the financial person at the museum who runs this event, had some panicked issues with the auction site but figured it out and everything was good. And now almost everyone is gone. And James is turning off the lights. And soon we will go home.

I am excited to sleep. And tomorrow I hope to have a good day. Mostly just resting. I want to go to home Depot and get some stuff for our projects. I am going to try and take care of myself. I hope you do too.

I love you all. Sleep well. Be safe. Goodnight!!

[mx-pastelwriting]

Million Dollar Gaze (Chapter 2)

Tony Stark x FM! Reader

Summary: Starting your day again, but with Mr. Stark's schedule, the day takes a turn as your face never seems to get a break from being burned, eventually melting off as Mr. Stark gives you a personal goodnight, leaving him satisfied. 

Warning: Kiss??, Nice Tony, Bruce being in his own world, The ending!!!

Words: 2,025

Chapters list

Also on A03 & Wattpad: Links on Masterlist

Sleepily, you lock the door to your apartment, even though you had to get there at 8 a.m. and are still worn out from yesterday. A mental note to thank Mr. Stark was on your mind all the way to work. The bus was late, but you couldn’t blame anyone; you arrived at the Stark building at 8:24 am your watch read.

Rushing your way through the doors, trying not to slip on the snowy ground, you make it to the front desk, where you checked in; she quickly gives you your access card with the same pretty smile. You didn’t have time to exchange good mornings; you just hurried to the elevator and pressed the 70th floor. You tried to calm yourself down on the long ride that felt so short the day before, but you were brought back as a loud ding sounded, and you rushed into the room without a second thought.

"I'm sorry I'm late, the bus was-" you stopped as you noticed no one but the man from yesterday, who was sleeping with his head in his arms and papers spread across the glass table.

Setting your stuff on the counter from the day before, you made your way to the man. Soft snores came from him, and you gently took off his glasses so he wouldn’t break them. Walking back to your stuff, you take off your coat and set it on top of your bag. Looking around, you see your notice papers, food wrappers, and other clutter lying around. You grabbed the small trash bin and start to clean up the place; stacking the papers to make them look nice; and make sure they go together.

You don’t dare disturb the man's sleep to just rearrange the papers he’s sleeping on. "At least I won’t be late considering no one is here to say it." You laughed at the thought, "So much for a schedule." Your hand covers your mouth as you want to burst out laughing, but the sleeping man is too important to wake. Sleep is needed in a lab like this. "I believe that because a schedule is required, it does not create that." Whipping your head around, you see Tony exiting his Iron Man suit with his finger pointed at the man named Bruce. "Wake up, Bruce; I got up this morning, and so do you." Tony says.

A groan comes from Bruce as Tony walks to one of the many glass tables, "Oh right, I cleaned the place up; I hope that was okay?" He looks up at you with the same dark brown eyes that soften."It's perfect, thank you." You thank. "But I do have to say this could have been cleaned up too." He says, looking at Bruce and pointing at him. A laugh erupts from you. "I need you to get some coffee and food, anything really, for your first task." he orders, "Oh, don't forget yourself." He adds lastly. Hearing about Tony Stark's big ego, you wouldn't expect him to look at you with a kindness and every-time he speaks to you it ends with a smile. You nod and head off, making your way down and out the door.

Making your way in, the front desk lady gives you an altruistic, "Hello Y/n" as you try your best to speed back up to Tony and Bruce. All you could do was nod with a smile and run down the long hallway to the elevator, passing by some people along the say who also knew your name and welcomed you with a "Hello" or "Good morning.". You shoved yourself in the elevator, forcing yourself to calm down as the person waiting in the elevator spooked you.

You kept to yourself until you hear someone say again. "Hello Y/n Good morning" You turned and smiled, giving the same answer even though you didn’t know their name. "Can I ask how'd you know my name?" They are perplexed by your question, but they respond anyway. "Mr. Stark told us to treat you with the most respect." Trying to process what they said, you hadn’t noticed their stop had come.

Finally, with a ding, you walk in to find Bruce sitting up and working as if he hadn't just woken up minutes earlier. Tony was deep in something he was rewiring, so you set the food down and began unpacking everything, making your way to Bruce first. Setting down the coffee and the bagel sandwich, he looked up and gave a small smile with a "Thank you.". "I never got to introduce myself. Y/n L/n." You held out your hand. ‘This was awkward, but better to do it now than never, right?’. He smiled again. "Bruce Banner," and shook your hand before going back to what he was doing.

‘I was right, the Bruce Banner is in the same room as me’ Making your way to Tony next, and you see him pausing with his work. You set the coffee and food down, and he gave a quick look up with a "Thank you." Your face burned, and his face was so close to yours. With his dark eyes drinking up yours, you replied, "Oh, of course." He turned back to his work with a smirk, and you went back to eating what you had gotten yourself.

"Y/N, come here. I need you to hold something." Turning quickly, you put down your food and rush over to Tony. He’s holding up some copper wire that touches a device that's producing light. It wasn’t a reactor like the one on his chest; you’ve read all about that one, but this was something else. You held on to the copper wire as he soldered it to the device. "Here too," he said quickly, pointing to a spot next to the light source. His hand worked away on it, moving when he was satisfied. His hand cupped yours, making sure you kept still. The warmth from his hand made your face burn again, and his touch was soft and gentle.

You looked at him, but he was too focused on what he was doing. His long hair was giving way to gravity; as you noticed, his hair from earlier was kept back. His hair was slightly wavy, and his face was slightly worn. But it was like aged wine that only gods drank; you could see that he skipped shaving today as there was a bit of stubble on his cheeks that wasn’t from yesterday.

He whispered to your ear while you dazed looking at him. "That will be all." Embarrassed wasn’t enough to describe how you felt, your face could give off steam at this point. "Yes sir" Turning quickly, catching a smirk on his face before losing sight. You finished your meal and started cleaning up the trash, going around to both of them to see if they needed anything, Bruce looked tired but powered through what he was doing.

Tony, on the other hand, never looked so focused on the device. "Do you need anything, Mr. Stark?" You spoke quietly, not to spook him. "No, but what you can do is sit right here and look pretty." He pulled up a set that was under the table before, Putting the bin back, you rushed to sit down, and watched as he worked.

"I’m going to run the numbers again; they don’t look right." In the tense and focused atmosphere of the room, Bruce's voice sounded, and all Tony had to say was a simple hum. You watched Bruce walk off with papers in hand as frosted glass door opened that was connected to the lab. Tony's hands began to move again; his veins were visible as his hands moved; you imagined his hands everywhere but there.

You swallowed at the thought, but quickly averted your gaze. "So tell me about yourself," he says, still working away. "Oh, hum, I started this internship to hopefully get a position in your greenhouse energy department, which I’m going to school for." He never looked up as you talked away. "No school today?" He asks. "I'm on break, and I do it from home as much as I can." He was silent for a second. "Anything you like to do in your free time." You talked his ear off about your hobbies and dislikes.

He got to talking about himself a bit. "So, got any plans for Christmas?" You thought about it, but the truth is you had nothing to do. "Come one, drinking with friends?, partying till next year? spending it with your family?" He talked so quickly and with such curiosity that you laughed he looked up and met his lovely eyes again. "I actually don’t have anything planned; I’m on my own this year." You reply. "Unless you count snuggling up with blankets and watching Christmas reruns something," he put down his tool, as you laughed at your words to save the room from his mood change. "That's exactly what I was going to say." He gave you a smile before going back to his work.

"But don’t you have a party every year?" Your brows furrowed, having read every year that his parties were so outrageous that they would be all over the news the next day. "Yeah, but I feel like giving the news some sanity is a good gift this year. What do you think?" He said giving you a quick smile raising his brows at you before he tossed a tool and wiped his hand with the towel next to him. "That would be." you reply with a smile.

-

Through the day, you chatted with Bruce and Tony about little things; they were very closed-mouthed about the things in their lives, especially Bruce, but Tony’s life was always public, and you learned things that news writers would only dream of getting their hands on. "I thought you said it was-" You were cut off by your device that you’ve had since yesterday.

You looked at your watch to see it was 9pm "Well, boys, that's my time to go." You stood up and walked over to your water bottle, stuffing it into your bag. "Well, there is no cutoff in your schedule," Tony said, rocking his chair from side to side. "You want me to stay?" He smiled and looked at Bruce, who had his headphones on and was in his own little world.

"It does say anything on the rescheduling you got, didn’t it?" A huff of laughter left your mouth while you put on your coat. "So you typed that up?" You ask with a surprised face. "Sure did," raising a brow as he walked up to you. "In the little time I've known you, I find that hard to believe." You raised your head a bit, knowing that he might as well have. "I have that kind of effect on people." He towered with a smirk pulling at his lips. "That's not the only effect you have." You bite your lip, knowing damn well that should have been kept in your head, but your shameful words didn’t stop him from getting close to your face—his lips only inches from yours.

"And what would that be?" Your breath was taken away. His eyes gazed into yours, forcing yourself not to kiss your new boss in front of his friend and co-worker. As your breaths mixed in the air, his warm body radiated onto yours. His face got closer, and your eyes started to close, but the noise of the elevator arriving sounded. ‘He was leaning in to press the button, stupid’ Your face felt like it was going to melt off as he moved back, only a little, still close enough to hear your breathing.

"Goodnight Y/N" A satisfied look stayed on his face as you backed into the elevator with the same frozen look when you figured out his little press of the button. He stayed there, looking into your eyes, seeing his mind filling with satisfying thoughts as the doors closed, and you left with burning cheeks and eyes that didn’t blink.

Next Chapter>

Hello, I hope you enjoyed if there is and grammar mistakes or misspellings sorry about that feel free to let me know in the comments, have a great day/afternoon/night!

[ajaxbell]

Everyone says you should watch Nirvana in Fire. It's so good, they'll tell you, like they told me. And maybe you too glanced at it on MDL or somewhere and thought, huh, maybe someday but I don't think I'm down for a heavy, serious, slow drama right now. But I let my mom (yep) and MsAndromeda sway me to start it. MsA and I added it to our cdrama watch rotation thinking it would be best interspersed with other shows, to like balance the weight of this surely slow heavy drama.

Whew we were not prepared. By about the third week we were rearranging our schedules so we could watch 3 eps a night in a race to the end. Just so desperate to know what was going to happen that we were forgoing sleep in a very work intense week. NiF just sucked us right in, chewed up our souls, taught us to love again, and spit us back out into a cold empty world where we were suddenly not watching NiF anymore. Because it was over. 😭 So of course I started it right over because nothing else could fill the void it left in my heart.

So yes, it's really that good and you really should watch it. Want specifics? Okay well it has the best costuming I've ever seen. My rewatch has been great because I'm discovering so much nuance and clever foreshadowing that I missed on first watch because I was often too busy gawking at the costumes to read the subtitles.

NiF has some of the best acting I've ever seen. Huge ensemble cast and not a single bad performance.  Some characters are wildly over the top, some are subtle and sly, and all of it works amazingly well on screen. Just incredible casting, and all people who are really bringing something to each roll that keeps elevating the show with every scene. Big bonus that you won't understand until you've watched but you get to see this guy ⬇️ make the most incredible range of facial expressions imaginable (and if you don't love him by the end, well I'm not saying we can't be friends but we might seriously consider if our values align after that).

The entirety of the story is just epic. Vast in scale, in cast, in costumes, in story. It is very intricately plotted, the level detail and complexity is quite intense. But at the same time it doesn't get weighed down. After the first couple episodes of figuring out who is who the plot is very easy to follow. And so much happens right from the very beginning. The pacing races along like you won't believe, pulling you along until you're so eager to see where it's going that you can't bear to turn it off. Despite the scale and complexity of the story, it also has room to breathe. There's long quiet moments that really reveal character, and some unbelievably great moments of truly economical storytelling. Like whole relationship histories in 30 second flashbacks.

Ultimately though it's just amazingly satisfying. It's a revenge story and revenge is had. But in very unexpected ways. At any given turning point whatever direction you might guess the story is going it never goes there, always ends up somewhere surprising. Also each little revenge incident is told like a mini heist? Like you see some of the set up, you see it go down, and then you learn after what the real machinations of the plot were. Absolutely delightful! Just made everything even more satisfying. Overall really exceptional storytelling and a well made production.

Does this show have flaws? Sure! The makeup is actually terrible. I feel certain there was no frosty pink lipstick at that period in history. And sometimes the base makeup is so poorly applied that the lighting shows off every bit of it in the worst way. And I don't like the first 30 seconds of the theme song. So flaws. Yes. For sure. But it's got great revenge! Epic friendships! Scholars and warrior princesses!  Incredible costumes! Amazing acting! Truly exceptional story, plot, pacing, and script. So the makeup, oh well. 🤷

P.S. I wouldn't say it has romance exactly but it has several love stories of various kinds threaded through it and a strong theme of loving people even as they change or as the world changes around you. It is also an intensely shippable show, if you're into that kind of thing. Hilariously I latched on to a very specific m/m ship super early on and the show just kept giving and giving in that aspect. It felt full of scenes tailor made for my shippy little heart. But then when I was finally done and able to peek at the fandom without fear of spoilers I discovered no one ever shipped my perfect little romance before!?!? Astounding. (So I wrote it.) And as fandom is also intensely personal everyone has their own take but I admit I'm a little stunned by the main ship in the fandom for this show because, whew, no, I just would not. To each their own. But also the show itself is whole and complete and can be thoroughly enjoyed just for what it offers, no shipping or fix-its needed. But it's got great possibilities it if that's your thing.

[unschoolhome]

Doing Well, Doing Better, and Measuring How Far We've Come

I've made a lot positive changes recently that have rippled out to my family. I want to acknowledge these successes.

I'm not working after 9pm. I put the big kids to bed and take of myself right away. Then I read and watch TV.

We dropped Quiet Rest Time. It feels very good to do so; it was time. Now we have this long lovely afternoon without rushing and chopping up time and sequestering Z away while the bigs watch TV mid-day and I fret. It worked for us for a long, long time, but all the kids are over 5 now and it was time for a change.

The kids are playing together more often now as a result. They are more in each other's orbits, in a good way. Z has a lot to learn, but she is doing so quickly. Just putting the kids into a shared context has been positive overall.

X is weaning off the early afternoon screen time. It's tough for him, but important, and he's doing great.

The schedule rearrangement has opened up our schedule so much that the house is clean and calm throughout the day, and certainly by 4:30pm when Dad gets home. I can prep dinner, have a few moments to myself. In the evening during the witching hour, the kids are all watching TV together and Dad - and extreme introvert - gets some much needed mental space after work while he finishes making dinner. Not to mention, I am way nicer about bedtime routine and the kids are getting to bed on time without a rush and irritation.

Our home feels calmer, more centered, more peaceful.

Everyday, I've been setting up 2 areas: language and math. Each one has 3-4 options. The kids stay engaged with each area for 20 minutes. It's the right balance of choice and accountability right now.

And I see areas we can still improve.

Z needs another thing. I see her being loud, clingy, copying, doing what she can to fit in. This is a gifted, energetic, highly tuned in little person and if she isn't fed, she consumes everything around her. I feel her sucking me dry with demands for attention and I see her irritating her friends.

I need to be more clear and honest and follow through. With Z, that means a) providing activities that are meaningful for her, and b) saying no to playing with her. She needs to know that she won't disappear if someone isn't paying attention to her, and that she can in fact play by herself. I need to assert myself and not make "later" promises that I don't plan to fulfill. Instead, I can create lots of ways for us to engage together that are mutually enjoyable. One lately is math. We can build on this and do others.

I feel intense guilt when Z has no one to play with - all the family is otherwise engaged and she is lonesome in a house full of people. It breaks my heart in a way that is so visceral. Ultimately, I'm guilty she is not a twin, and that I have brought her into a family where no one wanted her as much as I did. There was a time my husband adamantly did not want another child and the stress and exhaustion of having three overwhelmed him to the point of disconnection. I never want my child to feel unwanted or abandoned.

"I feel like he/she doesn't love me," Z will wail when she is out of sync with a family member.

But the fact is that she is not unwanted or abandoned. The fact is that we do love her. And when she has any other playmate - Daddy, brothers, a friend, even a friend's parent - she prefers them to me.

By constantly giving in to her demands for pretend play, I am showing her that she does need me as a crutch. That being alone (in your own house, surrounded by loving people) is scary and must be avoided.

I want to be more honest and tell her no when I really don't feel like it. Then I can be free to say yes when I do.

Managing X's screen time. He's got some new things going on, but wants to keep the old ones too, and today that meant more than 2 hours of screen time. Which I'm realizing is not a lot...except that it feels like it is.

Math and language are clicking along well; I want to get the other content areas up and running too. Science is my next focus. History is pretty organically integrated throughout the day.

I want to offer more opportunities for the kids to engage outside of the house. Museums, clubs, classes. It feels like the right time to expand and venture outward.

[literallykenmaandshoyo]

Hi Kenma! i was wondering if i could request high school or college shenanigans with the chuckle sandwich boys? with a gender neutral reader too please

just them being platonic besties <3

and could I be dragon anon?

High School Shenanigans with the Chuckle Sandwich Boys

Chuckle sandwich x reader (gender neutral) (platonic)

Requested by dragon anon

Proofread: Nope

Music: It's All Futile! It's All Pointless by LoveJoy

Warnings: Underage drinking, partying, ditching class, being chaotic

Author's note: Hello! I love this! Of course, you can be dragon anon! This is gonna be a mix of headcanons and scenarios that I have in mind! I'm basing most of this off of my own high school experience lol

-Mod Kenma

Being friends with the trio that called themselves 'Chuckle Sandwich' was a handful to deal with. They were all chaotic in their own way, which made high school interesting.

You met Ted first. You were taking theater as an elective class and he sat behind you. He was super funny and you always laughed at his jokes. You two got closer when the class did an improv session. He pretty much carried and you played off of him pretty well. The teacher saw the potential between the two of you and ended up pairing each other for almost every project. Let's just say the two of you ended up with easy As.

You met Schlatt in your English class. Your class was reading The Great Gatsby and Schlatt always had something to say. He would also crack jokes but his would be darker. You would roll your eyes and chuckle at every quip he threw out, finding him annoyingly funny. When seats were rearranged, you two sat at the same table. Your other tablemates were never in class so you two were pretty much left to your own devices. At first, he would play devil's advocate to piss you off, making it hard to get any work done. Slowly but surely, you two were able to get along when it came to what you were passionate about.

And finally, Charlie. You met Charlie in your chemistry class. Your schedule had to be changed since you weren't given the right science class. You were sat at a table with only one student there, Charlie. He was a jokester and got scolded for talking in class. The teacher had hoped that you would straighten him out a little. With all that pressure on you, you assumed Charlie was a bad kid. When you watched him work, you realized that he has a knack for comedy and is really smart. You ended up opening to him more and became more comfortable around him.

One day, you were in line waiting for lunch. They were having your favorite and you honestly needed a pick me up. While in line, you were shoved into someone. You almost fell and the weight of your backpack wasn't helping. You were ready to just give up and cry till the person you ran into stepped back and held your shoulders. "Are you okay?" You looked up and saw Charlie, concern written all over his face. "It's been a rough morning." He nodded slowly and helped you move through the line. The two of you grabbed lunch and walked out of the cafeteria. Before you could scout out your own table to sit at, Charlie offered you a seat at his table.

At first, you didn't want to bother him. He had his own friends and you didn't want to intrude on that. But the smile he gave you made you give in. You followed Charlie to his table and were pleasantly surprised to see Ted, Schlatt, and a few other faces you sort of recognized. You sat down awkwardly, giving yourself enough space from the others. Not that you didn't like them, it was that you had never talked to any of them outside of the classroom. Little did the four of you know, this was going to be the beginning of a brilliant friendship.

You four end up eating lunch together more often till it becomes a daily thing

The first 'outside school' thing you guys do is study. I know it sounds boring but it was for a test you all had

So you two went to Charlie's house and studied. Well, kind of studied

It was the four of you goofing off while trying to get work done. It was a good time

You four have your own inside jokes that nobody understands

You know some of the bits from Chuckle Sandwich? You're in on them and you two reference those inside jokes all the time

The first birthdays in the friend group were chaotic. You guys had birthday bashes and spent most of the time playing video games and just hanging out

On days when one of you isn't feeling good, the other's will ditch class and focus on whoever doesn't feel good and try their best to raise the mood

Charlie got stung by a stingray and freaked you guys out

Like, how does one react in a calm manner when one of their best friends gets hurt in such a way

Most of the time, it's Ted and Schlatt trying to convince you and Charlie to ditch. It's always for some dumb reason too. Like Schlatt is hungry or Ted wants to sneak into the cafeteria to get milk cause he didn't get any at breakfast.

Sometimes, you guys will leave school early and play DND at Charlie's house. He teaches you guys and he is SO proud. The campaigns you guys play are so fun and you always have a good time.

Now, sometimes Schlatt gets invited to parties by his friends (Wilbur, Dream, Skeppy, Quackity) and spreads the invitation along

Most of the parties consist of loud music and drinking (pretty boring in my opinion)

So when you guys go, you hang out with other people

You usually sit and chat with Sapnap and Punz, watching them stroke each other's egos with a smirk and an eye roll

Schlatt is egging people on to do stupid shit while Ted is trying his very best to get Schlatt to stop

Charlie is just laughing at everything, especially when someone does something stupid

Honestly, you four have gotten caught doing stupid shit on campus. Here are some examples: Talking too loud in the library, stealing drinks from vending machines, accidentally breaking a printer, making those sticky note window art stuff, trying to highjack the speakers and play music, somehow playing apex on school computers, and the list goes on.

But at the end of the day, these three idiots are your best friends and you wouldn't change it for the world

[wishingforatypewriter]

Idk if we can ask for the middle space but how about Baavira for "are you jealous?" but specifically Baatar being the one asking Kuvira :3

Kuvira sat by the turtleduck pond in the garden, reading over the latest reports from the northern front. The battle had turned in their favor, but she still felt she should be out there, supporting her soldiers.

Just as she was considering returning by airship in the morning, Baatar came through the sliding doors.

"Kuvira, have you seen my Ba Sing Se University sweatshirt?" he asked, a jar of hair pomade still in one hand.

Wordlessly, Kuvira gestured to herself, and watched the smile split his face when he noticed it on her.

"I'm not giving it back," she said after a moment.

"It looks better on you, anyway," he replied. "New question: have you seen my green—"

"Your jacket's on the back of the chair in your study, and your watch is on the desk."

Baatar came over and kissed her on the cheek. "Thank you, love."

"Where are you headed, anyway?"

"Malina bought a bunch of tickets to that new mover out of Republic City, so we're going with Qi and Shan and a few others," he said. "Do you want to come with us?"

"I have too much work to do." She ran a hand through her hair, thinking of all the administrative matters she'd have to attend to before returning to the front. "As do all of you, for that matter."

"And it will get done, you have my word," he said. "Besides, Malina always says breaks make you more productive on the whole."

It took everything in Kuvira to keep from rolling her eyes. If she had a yuan for every time he'd quoted Malina since she arrived from the North Pole, she'd be richer than Suyin.

Kuvira wanted to like Malina. She did like her, in fact, and her waterbending had been an indispensable help in the public works campaigns. But there was a quality to her friendship with Baatar that she couldn't help but find grating.

"I question how practical that is when you're running a country, but anyway, have fun."

He leaned down and kissed her cheek again. "I'll see you in a few hours."

As a few hours stretched into several, Kuvira tried to remain focused on her work, but a persistent annoyance was beginning to rise within her. By the time Baatar actually returned, well after midnight and flushed in a manner that can only be attributed to whiskey, her mood was clearly projected on her face.

"What's wrong?" he asked as he stumbled into the bedroom, tripping over air as usual.

"Nothing's wrong. I'm just busy." Kuvira gestured to the stacks of documents surrounding her on the bed.

Baatar raised an incredulous eyebrow, but let the matter rest. "Do you want some help?"

"No."

"Are you sure you're not upset?"

"Just busy," she repeated with an edge of finality in her voice, and signed the contract in front of her with far more force than was needed.

Baatar sighed. "I know what this is," he said, taking a seat at the edge of the bed. "You're overworked, love. Why don't you come to brunch with Malina and I tomorrow morning?"

This time Kuvira did roll her eyes. "Oh no, I'd hate to interrupt your date," she said before she had time to think it through.

"Date?" Baatar glanced at her, his eyes wide. "Kuvira, what are you talking about?"

"Nothing. Just forget it." She crossed her arms over her chest.

"Are you...jealous? Is that what this is about?"

"No." She sighed. "Not entirely."

Baatar took her hand and squeezed it. "What's bothering you, then?"

"You just seem to have so much fun with her."

"We do have fun as friends, but Kuvira, I love you. There isn't anyone else in the world I want to be with. You know that, don't you?"

For the first time that night, Kuvira smiled. "I do."

"Let's do something tomorrow, just you and me," he said.

"I'd like that," she said, and only minded a little that she'd have to rearrange her schedule for it.

[shadowsinger11]

Inspiration

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader

Requested by anon: Could you do a Fred Weasley imagine where he falls in love with Harry’s younger sister. (Maybe a after the war where he lives)

Word Count: 3.3k (my hand slipped oops)

Genre: Fluff, childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining etc.

Warnings: Slight innuendo, Fred being cute and hot simultaneously

Tags: @self-ship-love @susceptible-but-siriusexual @hufflexpuff @neovannii @jenniweasley @elf-punk @heart-of-tempered-steel @itseatyourdamnapples

Message me if you'd like to be added!

Masterlist

Ottery St Catchpole, Devon, England, July 16, 2000

It was a chilly Sunday evening. The summer air buzzed with excitement and the tender aroma of magnolia as tiny white and pink petals were gracefully falling from the huge cherry trees, carried by the light breeze. Twilight painted the horizon in liquid gold and fiery red, soon followed by mellow shades of dark blue that brought countless sparkling stars.

It was getting the slightest bit colder, but it did not matter; nothing else mattered but the loud cheers and cheerful music, celebrating the official bond between a Potter and a Weasley under the wide night sky.

You couldn't have been happier for your older brother, Harry, who was currently dancing with Ginny, his now wife - now and for the rest of his, hopefully, but not really likely, peaceful life. For the longest time you've been wondering how he'd always manage to get into trouble even as a small First year with no experience in the wizarding world whatsoever. Or, perhaps, that was the exact reason as to why evil-battling and rule-breaking were such common practices when hanging out with him.

However, there was no fighting that day. There was no room for worry and fear when the entire Weasley family and their loved ones were gathered on the clearing in front of the Burrow, chatting, laughing, dancing, singing, drinking, celebrating and living for what seemed to be the first time since Lord Voldemort's fall. Danger was practically nonexistent in that blissful moment which was frozen in time, once having looked agonizingly distant and impossible to hope for. But that dream was no longer just a foolish fantasy to heal wounded hearts. It was there, and it was happening in the most beautiful way imaginable.

And suddenly, all those clichés of a married life weren't even clichés. They were simply humble wishes of people who had witnessed far too many horrors in such a short period of time, and only craved stability among the massive chaos. So when you glanced at Ginny, a twirling blur of flaming red hair and a gorgeous wedding dress, you didn't feel the need to comment on how banal the color white was. You genuinely smiled, admiring the pure, exuberant joy, visible in her eyes and scarlet cheeks. Harry looked just as, if not even happier than his wife, dancing in the ridiculous but wholehearted way that only he could, and old memories of him winning the golden egg, training Dumbledore's Army and kissing Ginny in the common room for the very first time flooded into your mind.

It had truly been a long time since you had seen Harry careless and free like that.

You yourself had spent an ungodly amount of hours preparing the yard for the ceremony all day; rearranging chairs, decorating, making sure everything was going by schedule, only to then dance your tired feet off, and though you wanted to continue having fun with Hermione, Luna and the rest of the girls waiting for you, you really needed a break. And a drink.

Excusing yourself to leave the particularly interesting conversation you were having with distant Weasley relatives, you slipped off your black flats that, despite looking absolutely stunning, hurt your feet terribly after an entire day of fussing over the color of napkins and flower bouquets. Barefoot on the grass, you walked over to a chair next to a table which seemed to have been occupied, but judging by the mostly empty glasses and plates, the guests weren't coming back anytime soon.

You tossed your shoes aside with a sigh and rushed to rub your aching toes, hissing from how sore they were.

How has Ginny been dancing like that for hours?

"Enjoying the party, I see?" a familiar deep, slightly husky voice commented, causing you to look up.

It was none other than Fred Weasley, dear friend from childhood, staring down at you, his ever-present charming smirk resting on features and hands shoved into the pockets of his dragonskin suit. But it was his flaming red hair that made your eyes widen - it was carefully smoothed back, shining under the moonlight like liquid iron.

Fred's eyes still contained their famous, loveable mischief, except now slightly tamer and calmer. His firm biceps had visibly grown in size, stretching out the fabric of his coat just a bit to give you a prominent silhouette that caught you off guard.

It had been two years; he had changed so much.

And you were afraid to admit you had too.

You blinked in surprise, processing his uncharacteristically sophisticated appearance before realizing what he had asked you.

"Would've enjoyed it far more if my legs weren't killing me," you groaned half-heartedly and leaned back on your chair. "What's with your hair?"

"What's with your feet?"

"I asked you first," you cut him off. "I bet Ginny is responsible for this."

"Actually…" Fred trailed off, and, whether on purpose or not, ran a hand through the ginger locks to keep them in place, unaware of how you suddenly wished the hand doing the graceful motion wasn't his. "Mum insisted that I looked my best. What can I say, it's not like George and I usually listen to her, but we thought we'd make an exception this time; our sister doesn't get married every day. But honestly, Ginny couldn't care less about how we looked as long we showed up."

"So like usual, you mean?" you giggled. "Showing up is an achievement for you even if you're underdressed?"

Fred beamed, pearly white smile complementing his formal outfit. You wondered if he used that exact smile to effortlessly allure costumers and business partners at work.

He rested an elbow on the table as he leaned forward.

"Come on now, darling. I know you find my messy hair irresistible either way."

His cockiness only caused you to laugh, though Fred was quick to spot the flash of nervousness in your eyes; it brought him immense pride to know he was the one to turn you from confident to adorably bashful and flustered in the matter of seconds.

He was looking at you intensely, expectantly waiting for you to deny his flirty accusation despite your shyness.

"Nah, Weasley. It only reminds me that even at twenty-two you still do not know how to use a comb."

Fred's eyebrows shot straight up to his hairline, mouth agape. For the first time, he actually needed a second to form a reply.

"Didn't see that coming, I give you that. Courageous one, you are."

Your heart fluttered with joy and you openly grinned, shrugging in half-hearted humbleness.

"Perhaps I am."

Speaking to him felt unusually energizing, as though you had jumped headfirst into a chilly lake. It was unfamiliar and it set your nerves on fire, causing your stomach to twist and turn with sensations that left you dizzy, but unbelievably thrilled. And you wanted more of it, you wanted more of him.

"Fancy a drink?" Fred offered, already pouring champagne into a glass before handing it to you, and you keenly took it.

"Thanks, I've been thirsty with all the preparations I was doing."

"Is that why your legs are killing you?"

"Exactly, I've been running around all day, making sure everything was in order… you know, a lot of organizing and the like."

"It must hurt quite a bit then," Fred commented with a pained grimace. "But I absolutely get you, Georgie and I are just like that when it comes to the shop. It's a lot of accounting if I'm being honest, though I admit he's way better at it. We need to be completely precise; we can't allow any mistakes."

"Woah," you laughed. "Control freak much?"

He wettened his lips, never breaking eye contact.

"Perhaps I am."

You tilted your head to the side, gaze piercing into his in hopes of finding out what those gorgeous brown eyes were hiding. The tiny playful flames in them were eloquent.

Shifting slightly in your seat, you smoothed out your bridesmaid dress and raised your glass, the ghost of a smirk playing on your lips.

"Cheers to us control freaks then."

Fred mirrored your smug expression and your glasses met with a clink. The bubbly liquid tingled your throat, undoubtedly refreshing you and cooling you off. You glanced at the people dancing in the centre of the clearing and giggled - Ginny had apparently thrown away her white shoes long ago, bare feet stepping elegantly on the grass.

"You see, I'd like to chat a bit more with you, but I'm afraid it's a bit too loud here. What about we go to the pond across the field?" Fred suggested, pointing at the woods behind his back. You had visited them countless times when staying with Harry at the Burrow during holidays years ago; the tall trees and the glistening waters had never ceased to bring you comfort.

The noise started to become bothersome, and you felt it even more necessary to continue your conversation somewhere private, the unknown causing butterflies to erupt in your stomach. Fred's presence could only be compared to a shot of whiskey, or the sensation of anticipating a tidal wave to crash into you in less than a second. It was wild and the tiniest bit terrifying, but oh so tempting as it pulled you in.

"I'd love that, but… you know," you grinned and playfully swang your sore feet. "Can't really walk."

But this didn't at all seem like a problem to Fred Weasley who only shrugged and stood up, "You don't have to. I'll carry you."

"Merlin, no! Please, it's not necessary."

Fred frowned, but his confused expression was soon replaced by an amused one.

"You said it yourself that your feet hurt like hell. And even if carrying you around isn't necessary, it doesn't mean I don't want to."

You attempted to tame the butterflies.

"No, no! You seriously don't have to, I promise," you frantically protested as you held up your hands in front of you to reassure him, but he only gave you a weird look. "I can walk on my own. I'll be too heavy for you."

"There's only one way to find out."

Fred walked over to you and leaned down, one hand sneaking around your waist and the other slipping under your knees. You shrieked in terror, arms flying to clutch at his shoulders, and heat rose to your cheeks from the abrupt contact. Your chests were pressed together, and you were afraid he'd be able to feel your racing heart. His skin was warmer than you had thought, and it successfully fought off the night summer chill.

"Are we going?" Fred whispered down at you, lips so close to yours that you recognized the nuance of champagne in his breath, mixing unbelievably well with the scent of cinnamon and sandalwood of his cologne.

Not only is he sinfully attractive, but he smells heavenly too?

"Yes," you breathed and let Fred effortlessly walk across the meadow with you in his arms. They brought this new, odd, yet familiar sense of security, and you allowed your head to rest against his chest, nervous gaze wandering off into the distance in hopes of not meeting his. Nevertheless, curiosity eventually took the best of you, and your eyes would occasionally flicker to his, which were now completely black under the night sky. They could swallow you whole, you swore.

Minutes later, you found yourselves in the company of old, enormous willows which surrounded the pond you so vividly remembered from your teenage years. You thanked Fred as he carefully let you down, and took a few steps forward to look around and drench in the misty moonlight that enveloped the area. The waters were crystal clear and completely still, reflecting the moon and its majestic silver glow. The bushes had grown significantly over the time you were away, and you fondly looked back at the moments when you would pick up colorful wildflowers in the summer before your fourth year.

"Shall we sit?" Fred asked quietly from right behind your shoulder, and you followed him with a nod. You found a comfortable spot on the fresh grass to sit, a few feet away from where the water met the soil and moved back and forth ever so slightly.

"It's more beautiful than I remember," you noted, lips curled up in a barely visible smile. Fred hummed in agreement.

"That's why I always make sure to come here every chance I get when I return. But, unfortunately, that's very rare in my case."

For a moment, there was only the chirping of crickets and the soft bubbling of water.

Fred turned to you.

"Remember when mum used to call for us to de-gnome the garden and we'd hide here? We could stay in the bushes for hours before we eventually came back," he recalled, seeming deep in thought. It was an extraordinary sight; for once the playful spark in his eyes was more mellow, there was no cockiness seeping into the way he was holding himself. He was just Fred, the man who was currently thinking with so much adoration and love about his childhood, the most significant memories of it being marked by you.

You wondered, given you ever had the chance to spend with Fred as much time as your older brother did, if the charismatic prankster would have fallen for you like you had done. You wondered, given the chance you had let Fred get to know you better all those summers ago, if his heart would have belonged to you by now just like yours did to him.

Had you possibly missed your chance?

"Oh, I do," you sighed, the tension in your chest vanishing as warm nostalgia crept in like an old friend. "I also remember when I got this really bad nightmare that night. I was so terrified that you took me on a ride with your broom in the middle of the night to cheer me up."

"That's true! My parents don't know about it to this day," he replied smugly. "I can still hear you screaming like a lunatic."

You jokingly smacked his arm, "I was twelve!"

Fred's grin grew wider.

"Excuses…"

This only caused you to stare at him in disbelief and cross your arms, managing your most serious expression, but Fred was aware you were on the verge of failing to keep your stern facade. He squinted his eyes as a teasing attempt to provoke you, smile threatening to split his face in two.

"Alright then, that's enough about me," you announced, and Fred nodded in mock agreement as he studied your playful pretence. "If you're so much better than me, Mr Darcy, what else do you do aside from stealing ladies away?"

"Stealing their hearts," he said confidently, flashing you a seductive smirk, reserved only for special girls back in your Hogwarts days. You giggled, finding his antic utterly ridiculous, but you hated to admit that it still turned your blood into liquid fire. Fred apparently saw right through you, because when your eyes landed on his, they appeared completely dark once again, but, you suspected, for a reason other than the lack of light.

Your throat went dry, and you found it hard to swallow down the lump that cut your breath short.

He ran a hand through his ginger hair as he began to explain, "I'm kidding, you know. But to answer your question, George and I have been working on this potion that should be able to change the color of the eyes and hair. Fun for those who enjoy experimenting with their appearance, but it can also be useful to the Ministry. They're actually going to send a team of a couple of aurors to visit us next month so we can update them on our progress and negotiate the details."

"Wow! That's certainly exciting!"

"Is it? I mean, it probably is, but I've been having second thoughts lately if I'm being honest." He scratched the back of his neck, and you realised you had only witnessed him being anxious when it came to his greatest passion. "I'm afraid we might not be done on time, there's still plenty left to improve."

You put a hand on his shoulder to get his attention, and said, "I'm sure you'll figure it all out eventually. Keep working as you normally do, try not to stress too much over the deadline, and even if things go wrong at some point, don't go too hard on yourself. It wouldn't take away any progress you've made so far."

Fred's body relaxed just a bit and he looked down at you. He couldn't deny the sense of serenity that he felt only when he was with you. Even as a careless young boy, he was able to pinpoint the way his midriff would clench every time you'd laugh at his jokes or ask him to play with you, without knowing what it all meant.

But now, as a grown man, he had a word to describe the bittersweet fire within.

"You know what?" He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. "I could really benefit from having someone like you around to give me motivation."

"Motivation, huh?" you raised an eyebrow, fighting back a smile. Fred sneaked a hand around your waist and pulled you closer.

"Yes, motivation."

"Motivation for what?"

"Marketing strategies, work projects…" he shrugged nonchalantly, "...among other things."

You quickly caught on, suddenly becoming way too self-aware of the way you were practically cuddled into Fred's side, hand resting on his shoulder while his were wrapped around your waist. But his shining confidence seemed to rub off on you, because you asked.

"What's with you offering me a job all of a sudden?"

His bottom lip was tucked between his teeth as he took his sweet time devouring you with his darkened gaze. You didn't know whether you wanted to hide from it, or expose yourself even further to the way it burned its way straight to your core.

"Well…" Fred dragged out in his low, hoarse voice, and caressed your cheek with his thumb before slipping it under your chin to guide it towards his face. You could nearly taste the remaining flavour of champagne on his lips. "I've certainly been feeling…"

Fred went quiet as he got lost in the way you fit so perfectly in his arms; you had always meant to be there, he realised. His mouth crashed into yours, hands tightly gripping your waist, and you let out a gasp. Fred's lips were soft, although slightly chapped, and they moved gently but firmly against yours, turning you into their slave. Your palms naturally slid up his chest and he closed any remaining distance between your bodies by placing you to straddle his lap. The kiss was a dance of pushing forward and pulling back, two lovers having finally found their rhythm after years of living in fearful desire. You were positively drunk on his taste, on him, and you wished to never become sober.

When your need for air overcame the one for physical contact, you pulled away. Your chests were heaving with rapid, shallow breaths, hearts beating in synch like they had always done. You let a finger tenderly trace his cheekbone down to his jawline, then it came back up to draw different affectionate patterns on his face.

"What were you saying?" you asked, clearly out of breath. "How were you feeling?"

He fondly took your hand that was caressing his skin, and lifted it up to press feather-light kisses on your knuckles. His lips retraced their path until they reached the tips of your fingers, and he kissed those with the gentlest of touch.

You heart ached pleasurably from the way he was handling you with such care, much more than you ever believed he was capable of.

After minutes of worshipping you by the moonlit lake, Fred looked back at you as though you were his entire world. And replied with a smile.

"Inspired."

Reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated!

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