#are there themes? sure! are there hidden details? sure!

[tiberius-kirks]

I know someone said it already but it's truly insane to me how quickly gomens2 devolved fans into tjlc-levels of unwell

[ariaste]

The Magic Trick You Didn’t See: Being An Analysis of Good Omens Season 2

(or: Neil Gaiman, Your Brain is Gorgeous But I Have Cracked Your Sneaky Little Code And Have You Dead To Rights*) (*Maybe)

***

Soooooo I just spent the last 48 hours having a BREATHTAKING GALAXY BRAIN EPIPHANY about Good Omens Season 2 and feverishly writing a fuckin16,000 word essay about the incredible magic trick that @neil-gaiman pulled off. 

Yes, it’s long, but I PROMISE your brains will explode. Do you want to know how magic works? Do you want to know what Metatron’s deal is (I’m like 99% sure of this and it’s EXTREMELY FUCKING GOOD)? Do you want to know about the Mystery of the Vanishing Eccles Cakes and the big fat beautiful clue I found in the opening credits? Do you go through the whole inventory of Chekov’s Firearm & Heavy Artillery Discount Warehouse? 

Here is the essay, go read it: https://docs.google.com/document/d/193IXS11XN46lziHRb6eUpM17yK0BQkRqke1Wh64A_e0/ When ur done u can tell me I’m an insane crackpot, and u know what, i won’t even be offended

In case you don’t know whether you want to bother reading the whole enormous thing on google docs, I’ve put the first couple sections of it under the cut. JUST TRUST ME OKAY, HEAR ME OUT, THIS IS VERY EXTREMELY COOL, NEIL IS GOOD AT HIS JOB--

Proem

A dark theater. The rustling of the audience: clothes, breathing, whispers of anticipation. The lights come up. A man enters, stage left. He is a magician—a master magician—and he performs for you a magic trick so good and so subtle... that you don’t even notice you’ve seen it. 

You know there must have been a trick—after all, you came to the theater to see a trick performed, didn’t you? And he claims to be a magician. So there had to be a trick somewhere. There had to be.

But maybe there wasn’t. Maybe there was just a man on a stage, talking to you, telling you a story with a strangely unsatisfying ending you didn’t quite understand. 

I know. This is a weird beginning to an analysis essay. But hear me out, because I have to explain the mechanisms of the stage before I can show you what the trick was, where the trapdoor was hidden, and how Neil Gaiman pulled the whole thing off so gently and elegantly that you didn’t notice a thing. Ready? Here we go.

The Facts As We Know Them

Let us begin by establishing a baseline—some fundamental, logical assumptions that underpin the magic trick. These will seem obvious as soon as I say them, which is precisely the point: They are self-evident, loadbearing foundations for my entire argument, and if I don’t point them out, I’m going to sound like a crackpot conspiracy theorist. (Which! To be fair, I might be. I could easily be wrong about all this—but I don’t think I am.)

Our baseline, loadbearing assumptions that preface my Grand Unified Theory of Season 2: 

1. Neil Gaiman is extremely good at his job.

2. Neil Gaiman loves these characters and wants with all his heart to do them justice; likewise, he has a great deal of respect, love, and admiration for Terry Pratchett and is striving VERY HARD to write the show the way Terry would have been happy with.

3. The devil, as they say, is in the details: Neil Gaiman and the entire Good Omens cast/crew are fully capable of doing extremely subtle detail work, as conclusively proven in Season 1 Ep 6, specifically the whole sequence of the body-swap scenes.

With me so far? Great.

The Elephant In The Room

Season 2 was... odd. It was odd, wasn’t it. This isn’t a matter of whether you loved it or hated it—there was just something odd going on.

I spent the entirety of my first viewing very much enjoying myself and being very happy to be back with these characters and this world, but I was also liveblogging to my groupchat as I went, and a theme soon began emerging:

“Neil, what are you doing? Where are you going with this?” “What in god’s name is going on here? I’m so lost lmao.” “What is going on with the music situation?” “WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE NEIL” “zombies, ok, I trust u to pull this all together in the end, Neil, but I still don't know what you're up to” “What is going on LOL” “Incredibly what is going on here” “NEIL! WHAT IS HAPPENING!” “Literally what is happening” “Neil Gaiman why have you constructed a regency au for mystery VIBES reasons” “just????????? lesbians????????? dancing what's HAPPENING. just all the background characters are gay here ok sure sure sure NEIL GAIMAN WHAT IS HAPPENING--” “mmmmmmm neil what u doin”

All these are copied verbatim from my liveblogging, and apparently I am not the only one to have this reaction. And to be clear, I was having a good time! I came out to this theater to see a magic trick, and this Neil Gaiman guy on stage is a master magician—but I didn’t see the trick, even though there must have been a trick. 

At first, I wasn’t sure how I felt about the season. I wanted to like it! Indeed, there were many things that I liked about it! But I felt a bit muddled and jumbled up and confused—I felt like there was something I didn’t understand about it, and so I couldn’t yet understand how I felt about it either.

I started chewing on this question in a friend’s DMs: Why is season 2 so fucking odd? What is going on here, Neil? What are you up to? The matter of whether he was up to something was never in question. I knew that he had to be up to something. Writers are always up to something, and as I watched season 2, it was as if I was watching Neil scamper around the room with a mischievous expression as he messed with things here and there and made little tweaks and adjustments to the arrangement of all the Chekov’s guns he’s stockpiling on the mantelpiece. 

You see, Season 2 has some very bad writing in it. HANG ON, DON’T ARGUE WITH ME YET! THIS IS NOT A JUDGMENT CALL!! This is the rug that the trick’s secret mechanism is hidden under!!! This is the hidden mirror that makes the trick work!!!!! This is the trapdoor in the stage!

Yes, of course I will explain myself.

Neil Gaiman is a master magician, but I am a pretty damn good magician myself—I’m a professional fantasy author who has published nine books, and I teach workshops for apprentice writers online and at universities—and if there is one thing I have learned about the process of achieving mastery of your craft, it is this: 

Regardless of what medium they’re working in, the apprentice artist is concerned primarily with achieving realism via an expansion of their control—control of their brush strokes as they paint a photorealistic eye; control of their deck of cards, the mechanisms of their magic tricks, and where the audience’s attention is being directed; control of all the little factors of voice, plot, character, setting, suspense and surprise that go into writing a good story. However, the master artist has achieved that control—so much so that it often looks effortless to an untrained eye—and sometimes the master artist returns to a messy, amateurish style simply because they have control even over this too. 

As an example, consider Picasso and his entire body of work. He begins as an apprentice focused on achieving control, doing portraits of people that look like people—like what we expect a portrait of a person to look like. Then, as he grows in skill and gradually achieves mastery, he pulls away from realism. He develops a style, he experiments with faces that don’t look like any human alive  colored in ways that do not appear in nature. He expands his control. His work becomes abstract. Towards the end of his life, he starts experimenting with what’s called “Naive art”, something that a 5 year old could theoretically draw... but you have to achieve mastery before you can do it on purpose and have it look good. 

On one hand, Neil Gaiman is extremely good at his job. On the other hand, Season 2 has bad writing in it.

What does that tell us?

Well, we know from our Baseline Assumptions that Neil Gaiman is simply too good of a writer to fuck up through garden-variety clumsiness and lack-of-control the way an apprentice writer would. Additionally, he cannot fuck up by accident in this case because I am positive that the man is scrutinizing his work on Good Omens far too closely to let anything slide—for Crowley and Aziraphale’s sakes, for David and Michael’s sakes, and especially for Terry’s sake. The stakes are sky-high, and he cares too much to write a weird, kind of “bad” season by accident.

Which leaves only one option: He did it on purpose.

(Am I sounding like a crackpot conspiracy theorist? Baby, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet. I’m gonna get SO MUCH MORE CRACKPOT.)

If he did it on purpose, then the natural question to ask is: WHY!?!?!??

It’s a great question. Not “Why?” in terms of why he as an individual person with emotions would decide to do that, mind you. More like, “What purpose does this serve for the structure of the narrative?” There is a story he is intending to tell, and out of all the choices he could have possibly made, for some reason this one was necessary and correct in order to achieve that end goal—so what was that reason?

See? Intentionality. He knows exactly what details he left in, and he did it on purpose. (Editing! It’s important!)

So there has to be a reason. It’s like when a master magician “casually” rubs an itch on his nose—why did he do that? What is he sneakily slipping into his mouth by hiding it under the excuse of this little gesture that does not even register to you as meaningful? (If you haven’t watched enough stage magic to know what I mean, watch this.)

This question is, of course, impossible to simply answer out of thin air without any further evidence. It is a dead end—so we must adjust the question and come at it from a different angle.

The one I settled on when I was chewing on this was: Well, okay, what do I mean when I say “bad writing”? What is it about S2 that makes it feel so goddamn odd?

The Pledge, The Turn, and... The Conspicuous, Expectant Silence

There are three parts to a magic trick: Pledge, Turn, Prestige. 

First, the Pledge: You show the audience something ordinary. Second, the Turn: You make that ordinary thing do something extraordinary, like vanish. Third, the Prestige: You bring the ordinary thing back.

To quote the 2006 film The Prestige just after its explanation of the first two parts: “You want to be fooled. But you wouldn’t clap yet, because making something disappear isn’t enough. You have to bring it back.”

You have to bring it back.

When I teach apprentice writers, I call this a “setup-payoff cycle”. Achieving control and dexterity with this tool is crucial, because the setup-payoff cycle is the engine of the story—it’s what makes the story run. You can have a setup-payoff cycle at any scale—I have read ones that were a single sentence long; I’ve read ones that were two books long. Additionally, all jokes, no matter how long they are, are structured on a setup/payoff cycle. These cycles work precisely the same way a magic trick does:

You set up the audience’s expectations. (Optional but generally considered stylish and elegant: You give those expectations a firm jolt to throw the audience off-balance.) You pay off the audience’s expectations in a way they weren’t expecting, while saying “TA DA!!!!” really loud with your arms flung wide.

Audiences really like this. A setup-payoff cycle executed just right makes the audience’s brains light up like Times Square and hammers on their mental “reward” buttons like nothing else. It’s like you’ve personally handed them a cookie and a gold star. They go wild for this.

Here’s an example of a setup-payoff cycle, though it’s not a perfect one—and you’ve probably heard it before, so you’re not going to be throwing chairs and tearing down the theater from sheer glee:

The Setup: Knock knock. Who’s there? Banana. Banana who? The Jolt: (the joke starts over and repeats several times without reaching the payoff (aka the prestige) while the audience grows more and more annoyed and frustrated about the unfulfilled expectations, until finally...) Knock knock. Who’s there? Orange. Orange who? The Payoff: ORANGE YOU GLAD I DIDN’T SAY BANANA?

Good Omens Season 2 feels so fucking odd because the setup-payoff cycles are incomplete—nearly all of them are, and the ones that do close the loop do so in really weird ways which, as a professional author, make me feel kind of, “Bwuh?????? But where’s my cookie? Excuse me??? Sir???? Neil????? My cookie, tho???”

When I realized this, when I finally put my finger on why the whole season was giving me some uncanny valley heebie-jeebies, a chill ran down my spine. (The rest is here: https://docs.google.com/document/d/193IXS11XN46lziHRb6eUpM17yK0BQkRqke1Wh64A_e0/ I’M GOING TO GO STARE INTO THE ABYSS NOW BYE)

[wednesdaysky]

I like how Gortash is kind of a hidden foil to the theme of "breaking free from those who abuse you" and "perpetuating the cycle of abuse" that runs throughout all of BG3.

He was hurt very badly. What did he learn from it? That you're ultimately alone, nobody is going to come save you, the only person on your side is yourself. He didn't have a Tav/anyone else to come help him, or if he did, he refused to let their words get through to him. He dragged himself out of literal hell -- from there decided he was going to make the entire world pay for what was done to him. From there never grew up from the kind of simple fantasy a child would come up with, I'll be better than you, nyah nyah. From there did an Ascended Astarion and did live his own worst life.

His parents had power over him but decided they'd rather have money than another mouth to feed? Fuck them, Enver could earn more money than they ever had. Raphael had power over him and lived a life of luxury while treating his slaves to all the horrors of life amongst devils? Fuck him, Enver could accumulate more luxury than even a devil would ever have, even steal his coveted toy. He was smart, he could outwit them, he could be worse than them if needed and leave them all crying in the dust at his success.

And then he did whatever was necessary, the way his own family had done what was necessary, no matter how dirty. Went on to beg, borrow, and steal his way to the good life with no sleazy stone unturned. Seducing people to steal from them? Who cares, if they don't notice he's doing it then they're idiots and deserve to be taken for a ride. Weapons dealing? Barely a crime at all, if he wasn't doing it someone else would. Selling slaves? Who cares, it was done to him and he got out, anybody who can't is just a weakling. Selling Karlach in specific? Betraying those who trust you to make a quick buck is just good business, he had it done to him and he's fine. Playing with people's souls and lives in the most horrific fashion possible? Whatever, it's not his soul and they're not worth that much anyway, devils literally spend them as currency.

Hitch your wagon to somebody more powerful than you, use their influence to gain more power over others, then step on them to climb your way up the ladder -- that's the way you get what you want out of life. It's no surprise that he threw in his lot with Bane. Sure, he's technically got a new master holding authority over his head (though with as arrogant and self-aggrandizing as he is, I can picture him even thinking "I already outfoxed two powerful devils, I'm about to rule the world, so...what's a single god really?"), but all these stupid mortals underneath him? Now they have to do whatever he wants. It's childish petty revenge taken to the utmost logical extreme possible. Everybody he ever hated, everybody who ever wronged him, everybody who might want to wrong him, they have no choice but to bow and scrape forever and it's the best kind of vengeance against the world to be able to hold that over them. Just consider what he does to his parents. He could've just killed them. Instead his wrath comes in the form of making them watch his success while trapping them in an unending hell they can never escape for as long as they live. The same fate they would have abandoned him to if things had gone differently.

So much of this is told through text notes and little side details that it's easy to miss, but I love that one of our main villains is somebody who suffered in a very similar way to some of the main cast members and his response to that wasn't trying to become better than what was done to him, it was to aim himself straight toward way, way worse.

[pricesbeltbuckle]

141 boys when their s/o has a strength kink?

So strong.. - 141

Pairing: 141 x GN! Reader (Fem presenting?)

Warnings: Sexual themes, Strength kink, P in V no condom MDNI

John Price:

Definitely found out on his own, and how you might ask? You thought you kept it such a good secret!

Well for one when you needed help reaching something high up and he’d grab it for you and you’d stare at his arms almost like you were taking in every little detail

Or when you laid on his chest and he’d “accidentally” flex his bicep and your face would flush a bright pink

You thought you kept it hidden well and to your surprise, you didn’t..

How he confronts you is the real question.

Well you’re about to find out while your face is shoved into a pillow and he is plowing you from behind but not gripping you hard enough to hurt you.

“Harder..” “Hm? Harder what honey?”

You got too embarrassed to say anything else.

But for some reason and you didn’t know how he knew, he gripped your hips harder.

You thought it was just a coincidence, until he flipped you around like you weighed nothing onto your back.

To say you were shocked was an understatement. 

“Oh shocked baby? I see the way you look at me when you watch me reach for something or when you lay on my chest, you could’ve just told me sweetheart.”

You couldn’t even speak, you just nodded to cock drunk to care.

Needless to say he did hold this against you for future reference 

Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick:

Now he knew about this little obsession because you let it slip accidentally…

He was just cradling you in his arms, like a bear hug as you comfortably laid on his chest.

“You know I'm into this-” “Hm? Into what?” “Oh nevermind..”

He thought he knew what it was at that point and he knew exactly what to do.

He wrapped his arms tighter around you and when he saw your face flush and you focusing on his muscles he knew he got it right.

“That's a new one. I’ll keep that in mind for when I have you in bed.” 

From then on out he flexes more around you.

Helps you reach stuff even if it’s literally in your height range.

Picks you up a lot more just to show you how “strong” he really is.

When he’s on deployment, 100% sending gym photos and shirtless pictures and even arm/hand ones.

Will use it against you in bed when he picks you up with ease.

“Mm so tiny in my arms, you love that don’t you baby?”

God forbid you take a photo with him holding you, or even holding your waist 

“Gonna use that photo when I'm not home sweetie?”

You’d look at him and bury your face into your hands embarrassed and he’d just smirk at you.

John 'Soap" Mactavish:

He is oblivious, plain stupid even.

How can he not notice when your face turns pink when he jokingly flexes around you?

Or when he would walk around your shared house shirtless and your jaw would drop and you’d try to act like you were fine.

So how did he find out? https://www.tiktok.com/@6zx1i/video/7321751688803650818

That trend. He found out after you told him you wanted to do that.

“Why’s your face s’red lovie?” “It’s not, Idontknowwhatyoureventalkingabouttt-”

Then he put every single piece together and his jaw dropped.

“Well, I knew I was attractive but not this attractive…I'm holding that against you.” “whatttt…I don’t know what you mean.”

He smirked at you, almost like it was a game.

And to him it was a game, so when he had picked you up to set you on top of a counter to give you a kiss.

You knew that he knew.

He used as much force as he could against you in bed just to hear the small sounds you make and to see how your face reacted 

That man is obsessed with you and everything about you.

He, like Gaz, when deployed sends you gym photos,hand/arm pictures,shirtless pictures,and literally anything you could ask for he’d give you.

Simon 'Ghost' Riley:

Lets face it, This man definitely knows about it.

Would he confront you? No…Maybe eventually but he likes teasing you and poking fun at you. Dropping clues that he might know but you can never know for sure.

“Babe can you toss me that shirt?” “Oh-I-yup.” You’d stutter over your words trying to keep your composure seeing him in just boxers.

He smirked about it to himself as you tossed him the shirt and hid your face

He definitely used this to his advantage in bed, but he’d never show you clear signs that he knew about your little secret.

He helps you reach things really high up and even acts like he has to look for it so he can see your face staring at his muscles.

He adores when you get all flustered beneath him and he thinks about it all the time.

Has sent you gym photos, but that’s all and he knows you save all of them to use while he's away.

He loves when you lay on him and he flexes his bicep and you pretend to hate it but the shift in your thighs says otherwise.

AHHHHH I’m so sorry about my short break, I’m in a different state but I’m trying to write as much as I can. Expect more Fics. I have loads of requests to get through 😛!

[noneorother]

All the music you didn’t hear: The Good Omens soundtrack is lying to you. *Part 1*

The Bonkers Meta Series part 2: Electric Boogaloo.

I so rarely get a chance to misuse my experience in classical music, but here we are. When I realized on my most recent watch-through of the series that the David Arnold score was brilliant, but also really wonky in some parts and I couldn’t put my finger on why, @embracing-the-ineffable suggested I listen to the album soundtrack to compare.

And when I tell you what I found hidden in there, you’re going to need Eccles cakes...

1) The Song is the Clue

So right up top we have this banger. The 12th track on the album is the orchestral backdrop to the scene in the Job minisode where Aziraphale reveals Crowley’s crow/goats. The duration is 2:22 (the only track with multiples on the album), and if you look at the track by itself it doesn’t mean much. But the song just before it is actually from this fucking scene:

You know, the one where there’s a song that’s a clue to a mystery. Except Clue is capitalised, and Aziraphale pronounces it. I’ve seen guesses that this is a reference to the movie Clue, but I would put a lot of money on the fact that we are supposed to read the title of the song currently playing at that moment in the show *as a Clue*, which is super convenient, because the word Clue is capitalized in the track listing. 

Seems like the overlords of Good Omens have a message for us : The song is the Clue. It’s what God wants. Cool cool cool. WHAT SONG?

2) Symmetry in all things 

Before I straight up tell you, we have to go back and look at season 1.

Now I’m far from the first to notice tons of parallels between the story, details and even lines in both seasons. It got me thinking that maybe there are some fun synch-up parallels between the two season’s soundtracks, seeing as they are both 6 episodes long. Here’s the end of S1 and then S2

Oh that’s a bummer, I thought to myself. 

They don’t even add up to the same number, or playtime, and neither of them is exactly 60 tracks. But do you want to hear a secret? S2 is actually missing 3 tracks on the album. And because there are 2 discs in S2 (cute), the numbers of the tracks start over again from 1. Remember how much God likes sevens? Check out where all the weirdness is happening in disc 2 (I’ve added the missing track listings in red to add context):

After checking each track with the show and listening side by side (for reasons that will become clear in another post) I can definitively say that there is something *very weird* going on at the end of episode 4. 

First is track 7, Zombie dressing room, which seems to actually reach over two distinct scenes of the photo evidence in the dressing room and then Shax in hell even though it only has one title.

But *between* these two scenes we get an eerily silent wine date with Aziraphale & Crowley.

There’s really no music or even sound here besides the dialogue and room tone (until after the cheers), and it seems like a very intentionally silent version of a ritz date from season 1.

My best guess is that we are supposed to divide that track into two tracks of 7, before and after the date to get a second track 7. Or maybe the silent one is missing music? The third track number 7 is the weirdest one. It’s this scene here, when Nina parks her bike, and Aziraphale parks the car at the end of S2E4.

If you take a close listen to the music, it’s a jaunty little piece, with an oom-pah base in 3 ⁄ 4 time. The thing is, this music does not exist in any Good Omens album. Please feel free to correct me, but I’ve tried to find any part of any song that this could even be a reprise of, and I Shazammed it to be sure it wasn’t anything else. This song does not exist anywhere except in this scene. (It quickly morphs into a reprise of the original theme once Nina leaves Aziraphale). It’s an invisible song.

So we have 3 tracks at the end of S2E4: a long one, a silent one and an invisible one. Only one of which is numbered 7, but that all fit into that place in the track listing.

Which, when we add the two extras to the original total of fifty-nine we get... sixty-one! Hey wait a minute.

How are we going to get to 62?

3) The real missing track. 

So the real reason we had to go back to the S1 album was because it contains the missing track that God is talking about. Let’s compare the last tracks on each album.

I’ve highlighted the mismatch between the in-show music and the album in S2, which means I had to add A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square back into the S2 album because guess what, it’s not in the S2 album. Even though it plays in the show. 

You want to know how not in the album it is? Amazon had to track it in the show as a season 1 song. They had to give Tori Amos credit for her song on Good Omens in the X-ray bonus features because that’s how not in the album this song is.

So my fellow beings, if the song is the Clue, then It’s what God Wants.

And if God wants a happily ever after with Aziraphale and Crowley on their own side, then by Job, I think Neil is going to give it to her.

-----------

And there's more where that came from! Part 2 coming shortly.

[r3dmooon]

Behind Your Screen — Wally Darling x gn! human! reader

summery: Strange things keep popping up on your computer. Soon you find out it's all because of a strange entity!

tw: some creepy things are alluded to, but it's all vague.

a/n: I had so much fun writing this. Wally is kicking his feet while drawing for you. He is not yandere!!!!

wc: 0.8k

Master List

❥Wally was bored, watching people come and go. They’d check out the website, sometimes look at his little doodles, then leave. It honestly made him sad. Did no one want to be his friend? The messages in the guestbook said otherwise but they didn’t come back. 

❥Then you came around. At first, you seemed like the rest. After looking around the website you closed the tab. But then you came back. He didn’t get his hopes up, as others have come back for a second glance too. But this time he couldn’t help but admire you. You were so focused, scrolling and looking through the details of the website.

❥You came back more often, he wasn’t sure why. Who was he to ask questions? He finally got the friend he’s been longing for. It was so lonely where he was after all…

❥He found out that he could leave you little drawings, and it became his favorite pastime! He couldn’t feel more delighted drawing you with him and his friends all hanging out. Oh if only those dreams could be a reality…he didn’t want to think about what happened to his friends. No, not when you’re there to make everything better!

❥When you got the first drawing, you were confused. You didn’t really use ms paint…and you didn’t remember drawing this anyways. Yes, you’ve become enraptured in this rediscovered puppet show called Welcome Home. And yes…you did check out the website, just to see if anything changed…and you may have created fan content for the show…

❥All in all, you decided to pass it off as something you made without remembering. It was a cute drawing. It was you with the cast members on a picnic. You couldn’t help but keep it in a special folder on your desktop. 

❥But then another one popped up the next day. The picture was of you and Wally smiling, text over it read ‘You're the absolute most friend’. 

❥Your heart dropped. That catchphrase was quite familiar. In fact…that was on one of the valentine’s day artworks for Wally. You quickly booted up the website, just to double check. As you found it, you took a deep breath. Maybe you tiredly drew this one too? I mean…what else could it be? But something in your gut told you that it was someone else. A hacker? Stalker? 

❥No, no you're just overthinking this. Little did you know, Wally was watching your reaction with the happiest grin he’s had in such a long time. He hopes his little drawings make you as happy as you make him. 

❥This kept happening, but you refused to bring up your concerns since nothing else had happened. Only those strange…I suppose endearing drawings. If anything, it made you even more interested in the wacky children's show. You read more thoroughly through the characters descriptions, and found the concerning hidden messages in parts of the website. 

❥All the drawing had one common theme. Wally was always by your side. Didn’t matter what scenario, or who else you were ‘hanging out’ with, he was always there. If the drawings alone didn’t creep you out, the fact that Wally in all the drawings was staring at you, and not drawing you felt unsettling. 

❥It all changed when one day your notes app was opened along with another drawing. The picture was of you and Wally hugging, the notes app saying: ‘Do you like hugs, friend?’ 

❥You slammed your computer shut, fear running through your veins. What the hell was that? 

❥Wally’s little felt heart hurt as your face left his view suddenly. Did he come off too strong? He was just excited to get to interact with you in another medium. He got so happy that he couldn’t help but write the first thought that came to mind.

❥Your presence has become a comfort to him. With everything that has happened and is happening…it was nice to look forward to his meetings with you. You seemed like such a nice person. He wished he could be with you…but the thumping that surrounded him reminded him that that would always just be a fantasy. 

❥The next time you opened your computer, you felt a little guilty. The notes app was still open, this time it said ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you friend.’ You still felt anxious, but the guilt overpowered that. It wouldn’t hurt to interact…would it? Maybe it’s some weird AI chatbot that…you didn’t know. Just hoped it wasn’t a hacker messing with you.

❥Not sure how you were supposed to interact, you decided to reply back in the notes app. ‘Who are you?’

❥That’s when you learned that Wally was somehow in your computer? Able to access your computer? You weren’t completely sure, he was vague when answering where he was. You felt like you were going a bit crazy…I mean c’mon, the logic made no sense. But a feeling deep in your gut told you this was all real. You weren’t being fooled, you weren’t being hacked, the main character of an old 70’s children show was talking to you.

❥Over time, you two became closer. In fact, you started to find Wally quite charming and cute. He would continue drawing you cute pictures and you would keep him company. 

❥If only you two could live in a fairytale, happily ever after…

[pin-k-ink]

spilled wine // nakahara chuuya

tw ⇢ highly suggestive themes, alcohol consumption, chuuya being down bad, fingering, grinding, unprotected sex

wc ⇢ 2.7k

You sat idly in front of him, your lithe hands housing a glass of wine. You mindlessly twirled the contents around, watching as the red liquid sloshed within the confines of the glass, unaware that Chuuya had been ogling you the entire night. You couldn't exactly blame him, though. Ever since the both of you joined the mafia, Chuuya had always been used to seeing you in hoodies and sweatpants. You were hardly the type to dress up for parties, much less attend them. Even after seven years of working together, it had taken Chuuya considerable effort to drag you out of your office and into this extravagant soirée.

Chuuya's main motivation for insisting on your attendance was simple: he didn't want to be the only one stuck entertaining the drunk old men at the party, who seemed only interested in boasting about their latest torture techniques and the groups they had recently slaughtered. It was tiring, listening to their incessant chatter about violence and cruelty. He knew the only way he'd make it through the night with his sanity intact was if you were by his side. Which is why he had shown up at your room earlier, a stunning dress in hand - because he was absolutely sure you wouldn't be caught dead with a party dress in your closet.

Initially, it had taken some convincing to get you to wear the dress. You were stubborn, resistant to the idea of dressing up for an event you had no interest in attending. But after a few well-placed bribes and a bit of persistent coaxing from Chuuya, you finally folded, agreeing to don the elegant attire he had so carefully selected for you.

Now, as Chuuya's eyes drank in the sight of you, he was starting to regret his decision to buy you that particular dress. It wasn't that you looked bad - quite the contrary, actually. The plain black fabric hugged your curves in all the right places, the deep v-neckline revealing just enough cleavage to make his mouth go dry, while the high slit up the side of the skirt allowed for tantalizing glimpses of your toned legs as you moved. No, the problem wasn't that you looked bad. The problem was that you looked too good.

Chuuya found himself unable to tear his gaze away from you, his eyes tracing the lines of your body, committing every detail to memory. The way the dim lights of the room cast shadows across your face, accentuating your delicate features. The way your hair, normally tied back in a practical ponytail, now cascaded down your back in soft, lustrous waves. The way your lips, painted a deep shade of red to match the wine in your glass, curved into a small, enigmatic smile as you surveyed the room.

Maybe it was the fact that he had always wanted to see you look your best, to witness the transformation from the practical, no-nonsense colleague he had grown so accustomed to working alongside, to this stunning vision before him. Maybe it was because he had desperately wanted to see you in a dress, to have the opportunity to admire the feminine curves that were so often hidden beneath baggy clothing. Or maybe, just maybe, it was secretly because he had wanted to match with you, to present a united front to the rest of the mafia, to show that you were a team, both on and off the job.

But one thing was clear: Chuuya definitely regretted buying you that dress. Because now, all he could think about was peeling it off of you, slowly, savoring every inch of your naked body. He wanted to run his hands along your sides, to feel the warmth of your body beneath his fingertips. He wanted to pull you close, to breathe in the scent of your perfume, to taste the wine on your lips as he claimed them with his own.

Chuuya shook his head, trying to dispel the inappropriate thoughts that had taken root in his mind. You were his colleague, his partner. He couldn't let his attraction to you compromise the professional relationship you had built over the years. But as he watched you take another sip of your wine, your throat bobbing gently as you swallowed, he knew that it was going to be a long, torturous night, one filled with stolen glances and barely restrained desire.

He could only hope that you remained oblivious to the effect you were having on him, that you continued to sit there, idly twirling your wine, blissfully unaware of the hunger in his eyes and the fire in his veins. Because if you ever found out just how badly he wanted you, Chuuya knew that there would be no going back, no pretending that things could ever be the same between you again.

With a sigh, Chuuya tore his gaze away from you, focusing instead on the boring conversations happening around him. He would endure this party, this night, with the same stoic professionalism he brought to every aspect of his life. But deep down, he knew that his feelings for you, the desire that burned within him, would not be so easily ignored. And as the night wore on, he found himself wondering just how long he could keep his true feelings hidden, before the inevitable happened and the carefully constructed walls between you came crumbling down.

As the night wore on, the party grew more boisterous, the laughter and chatter of the inebriated guests filling the air. You and Chuuya exchanged a knowing glance, both feeling the weight of the evening's tedium pressing down upon you. Without a word, you rose from your seat, tilting your head towards the exit in a silent invitation. Chuuya nodded, relief flooding through him as he followed you out of the crowded room and into the cool night air.

You walked in comfortable silence, the sounds of the party fading into the background as you made your way back to your shared apartment. Once inside, you kicked off your heels, sighing in relief as your feet were freed from their confines. Chuuya loosened his tie, unbuttoning the top of his shirt as he watched you move about the room, your dress swishing around your legs with every step.

"I need a drink," you declared, making your way to the kitchen and pulling out a bottle of red wine. Chuuya followed, grabbing two glasses from the cupboard and setting them down on the counter. You poured the rich, crimson liquid into each glass, the aroma of the wine wafting up to fill the air between you.

You picked up your glass, swirling the contents before bringing it to your lips. But as you tilted your head back to take a sip, a small trickle of wine escaped the corner of your mouth, trailing down your chin and along the smooth column of your throat. Chuuya's eyes followed the path of the errant droplet, transfixed by the sight of the dark liquid against your skin.

Without thinking, Chuuya leaned in, his tongue darting out to catch the wayward drop of wine. You gasped at the sudden contact, your eyes widening as Chuuya's mouth brushed against your throat, his tongue lapping at your skin. The sensation sent shivers down your spine, your pulse quickening as Chuuya's lips traveled upwards, tracing the line of your jaw before finally capturing your mouth in a searing kiss.

The taste of the wine mingled with the unique flavor of you, and Chuuya found himself intoxicated by the heady combination. His hands came up to cup your face, his fingers tangling in your hair as he deepened the kiss, his tongue delving into the warm cavern of your mouth. You responded in kind, your own hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer as you lost yourself in the sensations he was evoking.

Time seemed to stand still as you kissed, the world around you fading away until there was nothing but the feel of his lips on yours, the heat of his body pressed against your own. When you finally broke apart, you were both breathing heavily, your chests heaving as you fought to catch your breath.

Chuuya rested his forehead against yours, his eyes searching your face for any sign of regret or uncertainty. But all he saw was a mirror of his own desire, a hunger that matched the fire burning within him. Slowly, a smile spread across your face, your eyes sparkling with mischief and promise.

"Well," you murmured, your voice low and husky, "that was unexpected."

Chuuya chuckled, his thumb brushing along your bottom lip. "But not unwelcome, I hope?"

You shook your head, your smile widening. "Definitely not unwelcome."

And with that, you pulled him back in for another kiss, the wine forgotten as you lost yourselves in each other, eagerly stripping down to your skin as you both stumble onto the couch.

As you stumble back onto the couch, Chuuya reaches for the bottle of wine once more. He pulls back just enough to tilt your head gently, exposing the smooth expanse of your throat. With a mischievous glint in his eye, he tips the bottle, allowing a thin stream of the dark liquid to trickle onto your skin, tracing a path down the elegant column of your neck. The alcohol drips further still, pooling on the swell of your breasts before continuing to fall into your lap.

You squirm at the sensation, a shiver running through your body.

Chuuya sets the bottle aside, and leans forward, licking a broad stripe up the side of your neck. A quiet moan falls from your lips as his mouth latches onto your heated skin, sucking softly, the sting of teeth following close behind. He follows the trail of spilled wine with his tongue, humming in appreciation as you squirm and whimper beneath his attentions.

Reaching the edge of your breasts, he pauses, and looks up at you through long, thick lashes, a devious smirk gracing his features. Without warning, he tugs your dress down and dips his head, his lips latching firmly around your nipple, sucking harshly. You gasp and arch up, your hand flying to his hair, tangling in the silky strands, tugging lightly. His tongue swirls over the pert bud, and he pulls back, blowing a soft puff of air across it. You shudder at the sensation, the cool air against the wet skin making you even more sensitive.

Chuuya continues, his mouth moving to the other side, and the heat that has been building in your core threatens to boil over.

"Chuuya, please..." you whisper breathlessly, tugging his hair, pulling him up towards you. He obliges, moving upwards to capture your lips once more, his tongue delving deep, exploring the cavern of your mouth. He shifts, his knee parting your legs, pressing firmly between your thighs.

The delicious friction sends a spark straight to your core, and you cant your hips upwards, searching for more.

His hand slides from your waist to your thigh, fingers trailing lightly along the sensitive flesh.

Your hips buck upwards again, and he grips you, squeezing gently, urging you to keep moving. He breaks the kiss, leaning back slightly. "Go ahead, beautiful, I want to watch you," he murmurs.

You meet his gaze, his eyes dark with lust.

Swallowing hard, you lift your hips again, grinding against his knee. Your hand fists in the fabric of the couch as you set a slow, steady rhythm.

Chuuya hums, pleased, and trails his fingers higher, dancing along the edge of your underwear, teasing you. You gasp, speeding up, feeling the tension coiling low in your stomach, the heat radiating from your core.

His fingers dip inside, sliding along the seam of your panties, and your breath hitches. He strokes you through the thin fabric, applying pressure right where you need it, and you cry out, your head falling back, the coil winding tighter.

"That's it, princess, just like that."

Your hips snap faster, the coil about to burst, and then his hand is gone.

"Ah!" you whine, your movements slowing.

"Don't stop," he growls.

He yanks your underwear to the side, his fingers circling your clit, his other hand grabbing your hip, urging you forward once more. Your legs quiver and shake as he presses against you, the tension in your core so tight it's almost painful.

His fingers slide lower, one digit slipping inside your soaked entrance, curling and rubbing as his thumb continues to flick over your clit. Your hands claw at the couch, your breathing heavy and ragged, the pressure building.

Chuuya slips another finger inside, pressing deeply, stretching you, his pace quickening, the friction so good, you're teetering on the edge, but not quite enough to push you over. Your hips cant forward, desperate, chasing your release, and his thumb rubs in quick, tight circles, the coil winding so tight you're ready to snap.

"Chuuya, please! Ah... Please, I need you!" you beg, your voice broken and ragged.

He removes his hand from your hip, and grabs the hem of your panties, tugging them down, tossing them carelessly behind him. He reaches for the button of his slacks, but you're already moving, scrambling to straddle his lap. Your hand covers his, pushing him back, and you fumble with the zipper, pulling it down. He raises his hips, shoving the fabric down, and his cock springs free.

You take him in hand, giving him a few strokes, and you feel his breath hitch.

"God, you're beautiful," he breathes.

Your eyes lock, and there's a tenderness in his gaze, a moment of sincerity and vulnerability, a stark contrast to the lust and desire from moments before.

Your heart skips a beat, and you lean forward, kissing him softly. He moans, deepening the kiss, his tongue delving deep, and his fingers tangle in your hair, pulling you closer. You line him up, and sink down, slowly, letting him fill you.

A moan escapes your lips, the feeling of him stretching and filling you so good, and you break the kiss, panting. He rests his forehead against yours, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you flush against him, holding you tight.

"You're amazing," he whispers, placing a kiss on the tip of your nose.

You giggle softly, and lean in, kissing him deeply.

You start to move, a slow, steady rhythm, and his hand slides down to grip your hips, guiding your movements. He rolls his hips up, matching your pace, his cock hitting so deep, and a soft whimper falls from your lips.

You press your forehead to his shoulder, and pick up the pace, your hands sliding around to grip his shoulders. His hands move to your ass, squeezing and kneading, helping you move, the tension in your core mounting, the coil about to snap.

You roll your hips forward, the delicious friction sending sparks up your spine, the knot in your stomach tightening, and your movements falter.

"Ah! Chuuya... I-I'm so close..." you whimper.

"Yeah, princess? Do you want to cum?"

"Y-yes," you breathe.

"Then, do it, let go for me," he growls.

With a loud moan, your head falls back, your body tensing, every nerve alight with pleasure, as the coll winds so tight it can't take anymore, snapping, the tension exploding throughout your body. Your legs tremble, and you cry out, your hips jerking erratically.

"Yes, fuck, that's it, baby, good girl," Chuuya groans, his thrusts quickening, his cock twitching and pulsing, the feeling of your walls clenching and fluttering around him, taking him over the edge.

His grip tightens, and his hips jerk, thrusting up hard, as he comes with a grunt.

You both stay there for a moment, holding each other, panting heavily, as you come down from the high.

After a moment, you lift off him and collapse into his lap, completely spent. He wraps his arms around you and chuckles softly. "Wow," he murmurs, "that was... incredible."

You can't help but grin. "Mmmm... you're not so bad yourself, mister." You tap him teasingly on the nose.

"Oh yeah?" He raises an eyebrow, a glint of mischief in his eye. "Just wait 'til next time. I'll really blow your mind."

"Next time, huh? Awfully confident, aren't we?" you joke, nestling contentedly against his chest. "I suppose I could pencil you in..."

He laughs and pulls you closer, dropping a tender kiss on your forehead. "Sounds like a date."

[gamermattsgf]

Coming of age movie hot takes // Matt + Chris

YES, I realise that this is not a proper piece of writing, but don’t worry babies, mommy has got u covered for the weekend coming (hopefully) *nervous laugh*.

You guys can ignore this absolute yapping if u want but it’s really something that I must get off my chest because I think about it an unhealthy amount and make up too many scenarios for each of them in my head with themes and certain plot lines included. Plus, I feel like some of u are absolutely gonna eat this up lol.

But… here are my individual hot takes for both Matt and Chris and what kind of coming of age films they look like they’d star in + with specifically random but accurate details included. (Obviously these are all my own ideas and they may be vastly different to someone else’s, but I felt as though tumblr was the perfect place to brain dump this onto all of u lovely readers)

Matt:

So first up is Matt. Matt gives very much one of those low budget indie coming of age movies where the quality may not be as good but the cinematography is beautiful, as is the plot line. Matt’s movie is the kind of movie you would go to watch and sob at for the entire time because it’s so irrevocably soul-crushing that it tears your heart up piece by piece. If he were to be in an indie movie I feel like it would low-key give off the same kind of energy as something like ‘All the Bright Places’ or possibly even ‘Five Feet Apart’.

Something absolutely tragic is bound to happen in Matt’s movie, and I feel like him dying due to some kind of terminal illness is a high possibility because I don’t know why, it just fits his vibe in a really weird way? Like- his coming of age movie has to be unbareably depressing for some reason.

He’s delicate and gentle, one of those really interesting characters that has so many layers/complications to him. Him and his main love interest share such an odd but heart-warming relationship that you just can’t help but be stuck thinking about the movie days after it’s finished. It bothers you so much that their happy ending was just out of reach.

For the soundtrack, I’m mostly getting Phoebe Bridgers vibes (specifically her Punisher album), something that’s mind-numbingly sad and fits the overall heartache of the cinematography so well that you just want to cry whenever something like ‘Smoke Signals’ or ‘Halloween’ plays beneath the ensuing dialogue. Also, in addition to Phoebe, I also get heavy Current Joys vibes such as ‘In a Year of 13 Moons’ and ‘A Different Age’. The very thought of imagining it makes me want to flat out sob.

Outfit / aesthetic wise for Matt, I envision very much warm brown leather jackets and baggy blue jeans with beat up sneakers and knitted sweaters. He always carries a tattered notebook and drives around a beat up pick-up truck. He smokes red Marlboro cigarettes and constantly seems to have one neatly tucked behind his ear (what-? It would literally look so pretty matched up with his beard and fluffy hair combo… don’t kill me). He’s shy and likes to keep himself to himself but is also hopelessly in love with our main character that also sort of keeps to herself, so he decides to pursue her before it’s too late.

I also feel like this Matt would for sure write 100 love letters to the main character but she would only discover them hidden within his notebook after he had died because when he was still alive he would never tell her what he was writing down whenever they shared moments together. Possibly Matt never got the chance to confess his feelings whilst he was alive, so they stayed forever friends and nothing more right up until he slipped through her fingers at the very end…?

(Bye I’m sobbing, why the fuck does my mind have to be so vivid and imaginative??)

Chris:

For Chris I feel like it’s a little different. His coming of age movie would definitely be a mix between a light-hearted comedy of the classic ‘underdog that finally gets the girl’ whilst also incorporating really important life lessons into the mix of the colourfully bursting screenplay. In contrast, the cinematography is just as beautiful as Matt’s, but in a hazier way, so I’m getting very much party + late night hang out vibes from what Chris’ gives off. This includes darker, more moodier lighting, almost like ‘Euphoria’ in a way. I think his movie would more so correlate with either something like ‘Perks of being a Wallflower’ or even something like ‘10 things I hate about you’. I think the added comedy matches up with Chris’ personality in real life perfectly.

There’s definitely got to be one of those cliche scenes where they lock eyes at a party and all of the other guys on the football team are staring at the most well-known girl in school but Chris only has eyes for our main character. There’s some form of blue/pink/purple flashing lights and everything seems to take place in slow motion as they tentatively peer at each other from opposite sides of the random fish tank before them (Romeo and Juliet style) or some other form obstacle in the way.

For Chris’ soundtrack, I’m thinking something a little more upbeat, and I was possibly debating on Lorde, her songs fit Chris perfectly in my opinion, and no one understands the young mind quite like she does. The emotional vulnerability of her songs mesh together beautifully with Chris’ love language of touch and teenage curiosity and I can just envision something like ‘Perfect Places’ or ‘Hard Feelings’ playing over the back of one of those ending monologues where the movie cuts to a bunch of different scenes as maybe Chris says something really sappy and sentimental over the top of them in his voiceover.

Finally, outfit / aesthetic wise for Chris, I would normally put him in his baggy light-wash jeans and then pair it with a white t-shirt and some form of a zip up hoodie with a backwards cap, but to be honest, most of what Boston Chris used to wear way back when works pretty well too. I’m thinking, typical high school student attire, he’s on the lacrosse team, and is always wholesomely trying his best to impress the girl he’s had a crush on for years with his skills, giving the movie that light, feel-good atmosphere that leaves you with a fuzzy glow after you’ve rewatched it for about the 5th time.

(Again, actually sobbing, I wish these two brief ideas of movies actually existed wtf)

Author’s notes: I’m sorry if this is literally so stupid but I think about it so much, and I think about a lot of other possible movies the triplets look like they could star in. In fact, I even have a whole entire second series sitting in my camera roll of me explaining what horror movies I think each of them would look good in, so if u guys end up liking this one, then I would consider giving u a breakdown of my horror movie ideas if anyone were to wish it hehe. But thank u for listening to my rant and I hope it makes as much sense in your head as it did in mine… 🎀

People who I think would entertain this yapping and enjoy what I have to say here: @luv4kozume @luverboychris @lovingmattysposts @luvmila444 @rootbeerworshiper @nicksmainbitch @lacysturniolo @thesturniolos @strniohoeee @asturniolos @sturniolosreads @sturniolosstar @meanttomeet @sturniolowhore @mattscokewhore @matthemunch @mattestrella @vecnasnose0 @ellie-luvsfics @imwetforyourmom @breeloveschris @kvtie444 @stursweet @bernardsgf @fake-sturniolos @mattslutt @1800chokedathoe @orangeypepsi

[sprout-fics]

Mayday Mayday Chapter One: Bravo Going Down

(Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Medic "Fix" Reader)

Part Six of Snowblind

Rating: Mature Themes Wordcount: 5.1k Tags: Slow Burn, Bad Flirting, Whump, Blood and Injury, Active Combat Scenarios, Teammates to ??? to Lovers, Angst, Banter Warnings: Crashes, Descriptions of blood and injury A/N: Special thank you to @gazs-blue-hat , @laeilaps , and @vampirekilmerfic for the research and development of this installment! and thank you to everyone still reading despite the large gap in updates.

It’s a starless night when your helicopter gets shot down.

The ride to your destination is a long one. The ever-present roar of helicopter blades is the only sound you seem to hear in the darkness of the chopper, sandwiched between two larger marines who seem to check and recheck their gear every five minutes. They chatter in small exchanges over comms, barks of laughter to cover up the anxious energy caught between the darkness of the thumping blades above. There’s a tense, heavy atmosphere in the cabin that pulses between you all, a pent-up focus prowling just inside its cage, waiting to be released into the thick of battle. You feel it as much as they do, grounded only by the tap of your fingers in a steady rhythm against your weapon, running and re-running the attack plan in your mind as the marines around you shift with taut, scarcely contained energy.

They’d sat behind you during the briefing, watching attentively as Laswell detailed the fly-by-night mission to hunt down an AQ cell holed up in the dry desert mountains. Normally such a cell would be swiftly dealt with using air support, but in this instance Laswell needed one of the majors hidden inside the mountain bunker alive for interrogation. It’s high-risk, high-reward business, and the gravity of the mission isn’t lost on you.

The marines seemed surprised to find you second in command of this mission, shifting uneasily with low tones as Laswell announced it so. You were surprised yourself at the arrangement, considering the leading CO that stood broad-shouldered and heavy-stared before them as Laswell went over the approach. With Price off-duty and nursing a sprained shoulder from the team’s last deployment, and Soap and Gaz on an assignment of their own, the mantle had fallen to you to be partnered with the team’s one and only lieutenant.

It doesn’t sit well with your fellow American troops, you can tell. They’d expected one of their own to be second in command, especially considering your medic designation. Yet when one of them had dared voice such an opinion, his fellows snickering behind your back, Ghost had barked at them a snarling, low reprimand that quickly silenced any and all objections.

Now Ghost sits across from you, legs spread wide enough that the soldiers on either side of him have to compact their spaces to allow him room. You see the way they’re a little tense, a little intimidated by his size and presence. You can hardly blame them. Ghost has been quiet aside from a few orders for the entire ride so far, and you’re not sure whether to be grateful or unsettled by his silence.

Things have been...odd since you got back.

You’d been given all of a week to settle at base before the team was tasked with a flurry of missions- all short and swift deployments that left you with plenty of leftover energy to spend on the rest of the team. You’d been concerned about integrating yourself back into the group after such a long stint away, but fortunately the team had accepted you back with open arms. It had taken time to catch up with the most recent intel, and even then Price had insisted on putting you through your paces with training and other exercises to ensure your skills were still fresh. With Soap and Gaz at your side, it was a relatively easy task to tackle the list of training exercises your CO had tasked you with, buoyed by the boy-ish, lighthearted energy of the other two sergeants.

To test your revitalized skillset, Price often designated you to Ghost’s squad during deployments, trusting his second in command to sharply and swiftly correct any blunders on your part- of which there had mercifully been few. More than that, you seemed to flourish under the command of Ghost, quickly ceding to orders and swift with your deliverance. It had garnered you several rare instances of praise from the Brit, spoken quietly and perfunctory over comms, quick enough that you had to pause and ensure you had heard him right. When you had offered bits of banter over the radio, Ghost had surprisingly indulged in your humor, leaving you grinning even during ex-fil and almost giddy with the oddly fluttering feeling in your chest.

As if that wasn’t odd in itself, Ghost seemed...different than you remember off the field. More than once you’d caught him staring at you across the rec room between missions, dark eyes boring into you as if you were something to be studied. He sometimes sought you out himself to relay a message as opposed to using the team’s designated chat log, offering the excuse that he’d been nearby anyways. His gaze always managed to catch yours when you entered a room, and despite the man never smiling, you always saw the glimmer of recognition there as you caught his stare, as if he was anticipating your arrival.

You told yourself he was just looking out for you, as his duty as your superior, but the truth of it felt...more than that. Ghost was never one to go out of his way for his teammates, always offering the bare minimum of what was required of him to keep the task-force functioning. You know his past, mysterious and intriguing as it is, prevented him from truly bonding with the rest of the team. To him you were all co-workers, soldiers, but not brothers in the way you thought of them.

Yet it was Ghost who tossed you an extra water bottle after training, who had nodded to the weights someone stashed in the gym when you looked for them, who had given you his full attention as you stood before him and checklisted your gear for him before mission, who looked out for you at the bar and escorted you back to the barracks on the night of your return...

It made you wonder if there was a man behind the mask after all.

You dance around each other in fleeting glances and quiet words, and the meaning of it all is contained in the distance between you. You never touch, never dare to scrape against the soot-dark form of him, but you feel the presence of him at your back all the same. Watching, guarding, a sentinel that you can’t find yourself to venture far from. You lay awake at night ruminating over the way he says your name, ‘Fix’ like it’s his mother-tongue, a word so inherent to his language that it makes you feel like you were born to belong there against his lips.

Now, in the darkness of the helicopter, Ghost basks in the wash of red light overhead. His arms are crossed, weapon at rest between his legs as he awaits the slow downturn of motion that signals your approach. When you catch his eyes, the Brit tilts his head at you, heavy helmet and night vision goggles shifting expectantly.

You smile at him a little nervously, feeling the return of taut anticipation flowing through your veins as the hour of your hunt inevitably draws closer.

“Good night for a hunt, eh LT?” You venture cautiously, feeling one of the marines beside you tense. Nobody has dared to say a word to Ghost for the entire journey so far, and instantly all the attention in the cabin seems to land on you and your hesitant, clever smile.

Ghost blinks at you, doesn’t move an inch from where he’s seated. In the dim, red light of the hold you can barely make out his half-lidded, lazy stare as he regards you. Unbothered, unlike the men around him, he huffs a small sound before replying.

“Can’t see shit on a night like this.” Is all he offers brusquely. It’s enough.

“Well that’s what night vision is for. Anyone ever tell you you look good in green, sir?”

Shit.

You instantly clamp your mouth shut, but it’s too late. The words you just spoke hang heavy in the space between you, and the silence that follows is deafening. You wince internally, struggling to contain your expression as a dozen eyes regard you- gawking at your brazen flirtation you just offered to your fucking CO.

You want to crawl six feet under.

You can make out the whites of Ghost’s eyes in the darkness, surprised and taken aback. It takes him a moment to collect himself, eyes hardening and words steely.

“Spend less time gawking and more time watching the rest of your squad, sergeant.” Ghost tells you pointedly, though it’s without true malice. You contain a cringe at the reprimand, wanting nothing more than to groan into your hands at your own foolishness.

Yet your mouth seems to have a mind of its own, because before you can stop yourself, you reply with a “Gawking isn’t the word I’d use, LT.”

The private beside you sucks in a deep, trembling breath.

“Is that right?” Ghost’s eyes are suddenly sharp as they pin you to where you sit. “What word would you use, then, sergeant?”

Christ alive, just send you home in a body bag.

You feel your mouth open and close a few times, desperately trying to find the words, any words with which to salvage the rapidly spiraling conversation. You should really shut up, offer a murmured apology and keep yourself silent for the rest of the mission, but the eyes of the other soldiers stare unblinkingly at you as you finally find your voice.

“Looking...respectfully? Sir.” You manage, a little strangled.

The marine on the other side of you snorts. Ghost glares at him, and the man clears his throat before avoiding the Brit’s gaze.

“’Respectful’ isn’t the word I’d use for your behavior right now.” Ghost warns, low and dark, and you sit up straighter just by his tone alone. “I’d suggest you find a way to sort that mouth of yours before we drop in.”

“Speaking of-” A different voice interrupts, and even the pilot seems a little perturbed by your conversation. “Approaching target. Five minutes out.”

That seems to divert everyone’s attention well away from you and towards the mission at hand. Mercifully, Ghost draws the attention of everyone on board as he stands and clutches at the ceiling to steady his massive form.

“Listen up.” He barks, a dozen eyes looking towards the source of the deep, growling Manchester accent as it repeats the name of the asset you’re after. “That’s our target, needed alive. You know your orders. Keep this op clean, understood? No fucking body bags.”

A chorus of ‘Yes Sir!’s joins your own voice. Ghost seems to take up all the space from floor to ceiling as he nods, begins again-

A sound catches your attention, a distant fizzle that you manage to hear above Ghost’s booming voice. You open your mouth, a warning on your lips-

“RPG!!” The co-pilot yells just as the alarm blares, and suddenly the heli tilts, launching you violently against your straps as the pilot takes evasive maneuvers. The cabin descends into a chaotic flurry of voices as the marines react, trying to process suddenly being under enemy fire.

What happens next takes only seconds.

The sudden change of axis has Ghost stumble, one hand clenched in a white knuckle grip against the ceiling. You can hear the rocket above the growing alarm just as it whooshes past the hull, missing the chopper by mere feet. The blades whine above you, straining as the pilots try to right the heli, grunting over the comms. Garbled radio traffic is drowned out by the groan of the chopper, and the sudden gasp that tears from your own throat as you instinctively suck in air.

Yet just as it seems the chopper rights itself, you hear another sound outside. The two pilots' voices drown out each other as a second alarm screeches, and you manage to catch Ghost’s shocked eyes just as the sound of the incoming missile reaches a shrieking whistle. You open your mouth to holler at him to get back in his seat, and you see him move in the same direction, finding his balance and stretching out the hand not attached to the ceiling-

“Deploying flares-!”

“Hang on!!”

The RPG catches the flares on the outside of the hull, but the impact is close enough it throws the heli sideways, sending the bird into a tailspin. You watch in horror as Ghost instantly loses the balance he’s collected, hand slipping from the ceiling as he’s hurled up into the overhead so hard you hear a crack even past the roar of the straining blades. If it’s your voice that screams for him, you aren’t sure, but instantly you’re reaching for your straps, fumbling in an attempt to reach him. Your hands shake, breathing shallow and rapid, world spinning endlessly as the pilots struggle to contain the bird into a controlled descent. There’s voices yelling above the claxon, screaming orders, but yours is silent, heart hammering as you try desperately to remember how to breathe.

Ghost slides limply across the floor, head lolling.

You yell as you reach for him, fingers barely scraping his helmet and night vision goggles, unable to catch a grip. Yet the two marines across from you holler over the comms, one set of hands and then the other managing to find the edges of Ghost’s tac vest and hauling him with tremendous effort up into his seat across from you. Just as they manage to secure him, the pilot’s voice once again yells over the comms, barely audible as the helicopter groans and shrieks and the alarms blare deafening in your ears. Everything is spinning, turning on a dizzying axis you can’t find the balance to. You’re not sure which way is up, trying vainly to track the ground growing closer through the window next to Ghost’s slouched form.

“Mayday, mayday, this is Bravo going down-”

“EVERYONE BRACE!!”

You shut your eyes, hands in a death grip on your seat straps. Your jaw clenches so hard you can feel your teeth grinding, but the sound is obliterated by the catastrophic groan of the heli around you. There’s no time to do anything else except pray, and you try to remember the hymns and blessings taught to you by your mother all that time ago- having lost them when faced with a God that didn’t care about the suffering and the damned.

Fuck. You think for a half-heartbeat, the G-force of the spin forcing your head against the wall before you manage to tuck it forward. Blood rushes in your ears, and you catch a glimpse of Ghost before you, body leaning as the inertia drags at him. I never got to tell him-

The impact is catastrophic.

It forces all the air up from the bottom of your lungs in a wheezing gasp, tossing you violently against your seat straps. The force of it digs sharply against your ribs, painful and horrific as your entire body is hurled about like a rag-doll. You have no doubt if you weren’t secured you’d go flying against the interior of the bird, likely breaking your neck and leaving your body to rot in the dry desert sand. The bird groans desperately around you, tilting dangerously so your feet tilt up towards your head, the blades thumping at the sand once, twice, before getting caught and going still. Even then, the chopper slides another dozen meters, threatening to roll over completely before you at last come to a shuddering stop.

It’s automatic when you start counting in your head. One, two, three- Your training instinctively kicks in. Wait for the debris to settle, check for fuel leaks-

As soon as you reach five you fumble for your buckle, clawing at it in an attempt to free yourself as your voice rises over the groans and wheezing gasps of the men around you. It takes a few attempts to get enough air into your lungs to yell to your team, feeling your chest struggle for oxygen as your heart races up into your throat.

“Report.” You manage, voice cracking with grit and sand just as your hands find your buckle, one arm bracing yourself on the wall behind and below you. The lights flicker. In the darkness of the desert, the stars obscured, you can scarcely make out the bulky figures of your comrades in the cabin- similarly trying to free themselves. The chopper seems to have rolled onto its side somehow, as you find yourself with your legs higher than your head, the forms of the marines around you all but dangling from their straps from where the ceiling should be. There’s a brunt, singed metal type of smell that instantly has your gut coil with the instinct to go, move, clear out-

A few breathless murmurs, and after a moment another voice in the darkness.

“We’re good here, sarg!”

You breathe a sigh of relief at that, until-

A groan, loud and low, somewhere towards the ramp.

“I-it’s Johnson! His helmet is off!”

“LT is unresponsive!”

“I think the pilots are dead!”

Fuck.

You don’t stop to consider the possibilities of what that means. Fear claws at your chest, and you give yourself a breath to stubbornly swallow it down. You know that panic is a death sentence in this situation, and losing your head means endangering not only yourself, but the rest of your team.

You run through your options as fast as you can, knowing every second could be a grain of sand in a rapidly draining hourglass.

The helicopter can’t fly. It’s dead. The comms may still work, and no doubt the crash alarm has signaled the base about the nature of the situation. Yet it’s unclear if the chopper is sound. You can’t smell smoke yet, but you know the mangled mess of metal may change at any moment, sparking with fire and consuming you all in one bright blaze. Even if that’s not the case, it doesn’t solve the fact that the RPGs had to have come from somewhere nearby. The window to evacuate shortens by the second, and so you raise your voice in the darkness, drawing the attention of the others.

“Everyone out!” You bark, finally unclasping your buckle and feeling gravity drag you down, gear and all. “Check your squad, make sure nobody is left behind!”

It takes effort with the weight of your supplies to force yourself up above the seats, feeling bodies around you do the same. Fortunately the wreckage feels stable, even if the tremble in your limbs has yet to settle. Your chest doesn’t seem to expand enough to suck in all the air you need as you fumble in the darkness, eyes drawn to the gaping hole where the tail of the helicopter used to be.

Your hand lands on the closest arm you can reach, feeling the other soldier startled in the flickering darkness. “You.” You manage, throat dry. “Help me get the pilots.”

“Yes ma’am!”

You precariously balance as you turn, catching the slumped figure of Ghost out of the corner of your eye and watching with blessed relief as he raises his head a few inches.

Thank God. You think with an exhale of utter gratitude. He’s alive.

Yet the task at hand remains, and as Ghost is balanced between the shoulders of two marines, scarcely lucid, you turn towards the flight controls, a younger corporal just behind you.

There’s shattered glass at the windshield, and it allows the nighttime wind to breeze inside, sand spilling over the cracked panels and monitors. A red light flickers erratically overhead, illuminating the limp forms of the two pilots. It’s not an easy undertaking to wrestle free the two unresponsive men- one of them sticky with what you assume is blood as you haul them towards the exit carved by your landing. You’re not even sure they’re alive, but you’ll be damned if you leave them after their miraculous mid-air recovery that likely saved the rest of you.

“Damn good pilot, Smith.” The marine grunts beside you as he shoulders the pilot and makes towards the exit. “Sure hope this sonofabitch made it.”

You silently wish the same, hauling the co-pilot by his straps backwards with you, nearly tumbling twice before mercifully making it towards the hatch someone has kicked free. You can hear garbled words over the radio, and in the blinking light you see a small shower of sparks as the dashboard short-circuits. Thankfully, it doesn’t catch into flame, and you at last make it onto gritty desert sand with the limp form of the co-pilot atop you.

Two soldiers on either side of you manage to hoist him up and allow you to scramble to your feet. It’s the first time you’re able to take stock of the situation now that you’re free, heart thumping against your ribs and form trembling from the adrenaline still pumping fresh through your veins.

Good God.

The crash looks like something out of a grotesque action film. The tail lays feet away from the rest of the bird, one of the blades sticking straight up into the night sky and the over bent in a mangled wreck only feet away from you. There’s bits of metal and debris strewn around you, smoking and stinking as they’re half buried in the sand.

It’s nothing less than a miracle that you’re standing, bruised and battered as you are.

Twelve of you total, including the pilots. Four of you are standing, another kneeling beside the prone forms of the injured and two more helping to rest the co-pilot next to them. You check yourself, cataloging the various scrapes and bruises you can feel under your gear, and managing a prayer of thanks when you don’t immediately feel anything broken or bleeding.

and in your second breath-

“Where’s the lieutenant?”

“Over here ma’am!”

You turn on a swivel, neatly avoiding the debris as you find Ghost sat halfway up, eyes bleary but focusing upon seeing you.

“Fix.” He offers groggily, and the breathless sound of relief that leaves you is far from subtle. It takes you two steps to kneel before him, a wobbly smile on your face.

“Chopper went down, LT.” You convey quietly.

Ghost gives you a scathing look. No shit. It seems to offer. Were it not for the dire circumstances, you might have even laughed at the utter annoyance in his eyes.

“What’s our status?” He bites, hands limp at his sides and making no motion to inspect himself just yet.

You look at the chopper, rolled halfway on its side, one of the rotors bent and buried deep into the sand. It’s clear it isn’t going to fly again.

“We’re stranded. Emergency beacon went up as soon as the bird went down, but it likely will be a few hours before we see any sort of response- and that’s if they decide to fly despite the RPGs in the area.”

You suck in a breath then, steadying yourself. The truth of the situation begins to wash over you with cold, deathly dread.

“We’re on our own.”

There’s movement behind you, and you glance over your shoulder to where a few of the men have gathered, looking to Ghost for orders. You look to him as well, trying to track his eyes in the darkness. He looks...unsteady. You can tell he’s still trying to get his bearings after blacking out, and briefly it makes you wonder just how severe his concussion is.

“You solid?” You ask him quietly, trying not to draw too much attention from the men hovering anxiously around you both.

“Fine.” Ghost grits, but makes no effort to stand just yet.

Liar.

“What’s our move, Ghost?” One of the other soldiers asks, eyes darting between you to the mission’s designated CO.

Before Ghost can answer, you stand, drawing the attention of everyone including Ghost.

“I want a perimeter around the crash.” You state, settling yourself where you stand. “No doubt the team that crashed us saw us go down. They’re headed our way. Head on a swivel. Let’s make sure we see them before they’re on top of us. Move the wounded to whatever cover you can find. I’ll handle triage. Salvage whatever supplies you can from the helo, but if you smell smoke or fuel you let me know as soon as you do, understood?”

There’s a beat of silence from the men gathered around you, some of them shifting nervously, their eyes flitting between you and Ghost, who looks up at you in a mixture of shock and some sort of irritation you can’t place.

“I said understood?” You bark, making several of the men jump.

“Yes ma’am!”

“Good. Now you, and you-” You point out two men at the back of the small huddle. “You’re with me. I need your assist for triage. You two, I want to know what supplies we have left in the helo. Dawson, I want you to radio base and give them a report of our status. See if you can find answers about how long until we see a rescue team. The rest of you, I want you on the perimeter. Now.”

It’s only after the small huddle has dispersed that you turn to Ghost, nearly flinching at the ire there in his eyes.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, sergeant?” He seethes, and you have to swallow down the sudden bout of fright at his tone- dark and furious.

Your hands shake. It’s not rare to encounter Ghost in an annoyed or irritated mood, but what this is right now, the bright blaze of your lieutenant's eyes in the desert darkness, has a warning of danger zipping down your spine and settling low and heavy in your stomach. 

No doubt he doesn’t appreciate you overriding him, injured as he is. Ghost is used to calling the shots on missions, and you know it’s a comfortable position for him, not having to rely on others' judgment to ensure his own survival. His own instincts pave the way for his men, allowing them to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat. In control, it means he doesn't question his superiors and if they truly have his survival in their interests. 

It stings, admittedly, that he doesn’t seem to have that faith in you to make a call when he’s concussed as he is, his eyes still trying to focus on your form above him. You thought by now you might have earned that.

Perhaps you’re wrong about that.

“I’m sorry sir.” You offer at last. “I’m not trying to override your command, but you’re injured-”

“I told you I’m fine.” Ghost snarls, shifting and trying to get his legs under him. It’s a wobbly sort of maneuver, and you resist the urge to aid him, knowing he’d only shrug you off with a growl.

“Ghost.” You manage tightly, trying to swallow down the hurt of his anger. “You’re concussed.”

Ghost pauses then, still glaring at you, but manages to raise himself up to a stand anyways. There’s a beat between you before Ghost is suddenly leaning into your space. You have to tilt your head up to keep eye contact with his higher stature, setting your jaw and trying not to flinch as his eyes burn down into your own.

“I did not give you permission to take command of this mission.” He growls, low and deadly. The vibration of it hums through you, settles low in your gut as a threat that you try vainly to ignore. There’s a natural instinct inside you to automatically defer to Ghost despite his injury, the fact that his pupils are blown completely wide and you think you can see the white edge of his mask tint with something dark and slick that oozes from his head.

You want to tell him you outrank him when it comes to the health and safety of the men, that your status as a medic means you can assess him if he isn’t of sound operational mind. You know his call wouldn’t have varied drastically from your own. Yet you also know that if Ghost perceives you to be a question to his authority the second he gets injured, it means hell for you in any future missions you may be on with him.

It means it might erase any trust you’ve managed to gain from him after all this time.

Ghost towers over you, hands clenched at his sides. You keep your gaze locked on his, trying to maintain a brave face despite the grave warning in his stare.

“Fall in line, sergeant.” He growls, voice bone deep and drumming dark into your skull. 

You shouldn’t.

You do.

“Apologies, sir.” You offer in deference as you finally avert your gaze, feeling something liquid hot burn under your skin at the action. “Your orders.”

Ghost seems to relax a bit, shoulders unwinding as he lets out a long, slow exhale. Your own air still feels caught tightly in your chest, your heartbeat thumping like a battered thing between your ribs.

Ghost studies you, and even without meeting his gaze you can tell his stare hasn’t ventured from your form. What he seems to be searching for is unclear, and you restrain the urge to look back up at him, allowing him to see the bitterness in your eyes. He doesn’t need to see how much his lack of faith in you carves something deep and wounded into your skin, a failure in yourself to prove yourself to the man you admire the most.

“Handle triage. I’ll check the perimeter.” He orders abruptly, voice more even now that you’ve ceded to his authority. You nod mutely, not meeting his eyes, feeling a wash of shame and anger warm your face as you avoid his stare.

You turn from him in the direction of the injured men when his voice catches you again.

“Fix.”

You pause, not turning.

Ghost is silent at your back. He seems to be weighing his words, debating with himself. The desert breeze whispers at the bare skin of your neck where his gaze seems to be resting. The flickering red light from the helicopter washes crimson over your form.

“Good call.” Is all he offers, and you blink, lips parting in surprise as he brushes past you brusquely. The moment is gone in an instant as he moves towards the marines with their night vision trained on the horizon, broad and dark against the starless night sky.

Alone in his shadow you wonder why, despite his anger, his words sounded almost trusting.

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Fic Tag: Shadow and Bone

[abbyromanoff]

I've got a request. Not really sure about the details, but I'm sure you could work that out, being the amazing writer that you are :)

It's a really vague idea, I guess, but something along the lines of wanda being a fallen angel who has sided with heaven, and Nat being a fallen angel who has sided with hell. They both fall for Fem! Reader and try to get them to support their respective sides

Let me know if this isn't something you're comfortable with writing. Thank you so much :)

YOUR DECISION

PAIRINGS: Wanda Maximoff x reader, Natasha Romanoff x reader

WORD COUNT: 2,704

WARNINGS: R cheating (not really), making out, “bad boy” Nat, church girl!Wanda, self-homophobia, hidden relationships, Wanda cheating on vision, love affairs, love triangle, small sexual themes, think that’s all :)

NO ONE IS PERMITTED TO STEAL, COPY, OR REBLOG MY WORK AS THEIR OWN!!

“C’mon, can’t you stay the night just this once?” The redhead begged, holding your hand in order to keep you close. She tried pulling you closer to no avail as you started gathering your clothes.

“You know I can’t, Nat.” She groaned, flopping back on the bed and exposing part of her nude body. You bit your lip, forcing your gaze off of her before you did end up listening to her.

“My parents think I’m still at the library, they’ll be pissed if they find out I’m here.” Nat wasn’t known greatly around the area, mainly for her delinquent acts that got her into multiple jail cells. In your eyes, she was just misunderstood, nobody saw the side of her that you did. She was soft, a sweetheart who just wanted to find her person, but she already knew that person was you.

But then there was Wanda, the priest's daughter and your childhood best friend. You knew of her feelings for you, yet you tried to deny they existed. You liked her in more ways that you wish you did, but she wasn’t out yet, and she probably never would be. And she had a boyfriend, Vision. She didn’t seem to have a true interest in him, only one that she’d make up and exaggerate so someone would believe her when she said she loves him.

“Just tell them you’re sleeping over a friend’s. Tell them it’s Wanda, aren’t you guys like, I don’t know, best friends?” She pulled you down to sit on her lap, her hands holding you close by your waist. You smiled down at her and debated the option in your mind, was it worth the risk? Anything was worth it when it came to her, but you truly couldn’t stay.

“I wish I could, I do.” She pouted playfully, soon feeling your fingers turning her lips upward.

“Turn that frown upside down, I want to see you smile.” She gripped you just a bit tighter, hoping to keep you in her grasp forever.

“How am I supposed to be happy when you’re leaving me?” You rolled your eyes at her antics, slapping her shoulder with no real indication to cause pain. She threw an overplayed gasp your way in response.

“How about this, I go home tonight, but next weekend I’ll convince my parents to let me stay the night at a ‘friends’ house?” Your statement seemed to bring her slight joy as a grin made its way to her face. She leaned in to kiss you, muttering words between each one.

“As long as I have you, baby.” You got home with multiple different texts from two women: Wanda and Natasha. The redhead was telling you how much she missed you already and how she couldn’t wait to see you again while Wanda had been asking why you weren’t answering her calls. You sighed, running your fingers through your hair as you decided to ring the woman, hearing her voice on the other end of the line only seconds after.

“Where have you been?! I’ve been calling you for an hour!”

“Relax, I was at the library.” You could tell she didn’t believe you, you were best friends after all, she knew every lie you told.

“You know lying is a sin, Y/N.” She teased, and you could hear the sound of her clothes hitting the floor. She was most likely changing, yet you couldn’t help the less innocent thoughts from approaching.

“Were you with Nat again?” She knew of your unlabeled relationship with the troublemaker and openly expressed her hatred towards it. But you didn’t care to listen, too drunk on her love to think of anything else. You were first using her as a way to get over Wanda, but then you caught feelings. Nat made hers pretty obvious, she wanted something with you, a real relationship where she could hold your hand in public and kiss you whenever, but you were both waiting for the time to be right.

“I shouldn’t even ask at this point, you’re already always there.” You could sense the annoyance floating through her voice and groaned internally. You couldn’t deal with this right now, you just wanted to get home and relax. It was dark out and you continued to look each way in fear, your legs quickening in speed the colder you felt.

“Please don’t say that, you know it’s not true.” She ended the call after a small ‘whatever’ and it dawned on you just how frustrated she seemed. It wasn’t your fault she couldn’t come to terms with herself, you were just moving on. And if she didn’t want to accept that then she didn’t have to, but you were happy with Nat, even if you didn't exactly know what you two were, it still brought excitement whenever you’d see her or touch her. Her soft skin against yours just felt right, you didn’t have a word to explain it other than that, everything just seemed to make sense when you were with her.

Your parents were instantly questioning you once you got home, but you just shut them down with the fact that finals were headed your way. They seem to understand and let you go with a deep sigh, not fully believing your hidden lie.

You decided to finally check your phone after multiple unanswered texts made their way to your screen. A small smile seemed to form on your face when reading all that Nat had to say, you didn’t understand how she and her family were known as the ‘devil of the town’ when she was so loving. All she ever did was care for you, she had changed from her old ways and turned into something so amazing and kind, yet it was reserved only for you.

“Yes, Nat?” You dragged out, resting your phone on the bedside table as you started to rid yourself of your clothing. You grabbed the shirt she had given you a few weeks back, it was a bit large and you loved it. You then put on a pair of boxers and turned off your lights before laying down in bed, feeling all of your tense muscles start to ease.

“I missed you, baby.” You chuckled and earned a groan on the other end of the line.

“Don’t laugh at me, my bed is so cold without you.” The rest of your two hours were spent quietly giggling and talking with the redhead before you fell into a deep sleep, being unable to hear the words whispered out of Nat’s mouth. She was content, all she ever wanted was you, even if she used horrid ways of showing it in the past.

“Why do you look so tired?” Wanda asked you the next morning when taking notice of your eye bags and occasional yawns. You turned to look at her, removing your attention from the man on the podium and locking it onto her.

“Couldn’t sleep.” You whispered. You hated lying to the woman, but you knew it would just bring more vexation if you were to tell the truth. She could tell there was more, but she held back. There was no point in pushing if she’d receive nothing in return.

The next hour dragged on painfully long with Wanda’s worries only continuing. She just wanted your attention the way she used to, yet yours was on another. Nat wasn’t good for you but she was, she just didn’t seem to understand how deep your love for her went.

“Wanda, wait.” You called out after the ceremony, watching her grab her things as she was rushing to her car. She turned to look at you, urging you to go on the closer you got to her.

“Can I talk to you? Alone?” You were surrounded by no one, seeming as most parents and their children were forced to keep conversation with the other towns folk. She didn’t speak, only giving you a curt nod before opening the back door. She came with her parents just like she had done for her entire 19 years of living. It was just easier.

She signaled for you to get in and you did, following behind her as she smoothed out her dress on the seat.

“Mom and Dad should be out soon, they won’t mind if you come over.” Her parents loved you, even taking to ask where you had been ever since the distance between you and Wanda grew. You wanted to see the woman, but it seemed as though she didn’t want to see you.

“Hey, Y/N! We were wondering where you’ve been!” Her mother cheerfully pitched with a smile that you shared. A small conversation grew between the three of you, yet the daughter stayed silenced. Even when you arrived at your destination her mouth didn’t open. It wasn’t until she opened her bedroom door for you both that she finally spoke, it felt relaxing to finally hear her voice in person again. It felt like forever since you did, even if it was only a few minutes.

“So, what did you want to talk about?” She refused to look at you, knowing it would be too hard on her.

“I think you know, Wands.” The nickname brought a saddened smile to her face that quivered, it was one full of memories and lost time.

“I know you found out months ago about my feelings for you, but I didn’t think it would ruin our friendship.” You stalked behind her, noticing the nervous twitching of the rings on her fingers. You grabbed them, interlacing your hand with hers as she released a deep breath.

“I’m not mad at you for that.” You turned her around gently so she would face you, the soft features on her face bringing a longing that you wished to fill.

“Then what is it? Tell me what I did wrong so I can fix this, so I can fix us.” You wanted her to admit the feelings she had been harboring for so long, it had been gnawing at her for months, even before she knew of your shared love.

“Please, Wanda. I love you too much to lose you.” You begged, and it nearly brought tears to the woman’s eyes. The same eyes you found yourself often lost in, just admiring her beauty that you cherished greatly.

“I’m not mad at you for liking me, I’m upset because you never did anything.” She finally spoke so quietly that you almost didn’t hear her. Even with your knowledge of her growing crush, the words still sent shivers down your spine and caused your face to falter.

“I-“

“Please don’t say anything, this is already embarrassing enough.” For a split second, you worried over the possibility of her parents barging in, but it soon faded the closer you got to Wanda. She tried to scurry out of your hold, only to feel your arms on her waist, locking her in place.

“Look at me. Please look at me, sweetheart.” She couldn’t meet your eyes without taking notice of your lips that were nearly begging to be pecked. She wanted to be the one to do so, and knowing Nat was instead only caused more jealousy to rise to the surface. Her high school bully, the woman who tormented her every move and every step, the one who sent her crying into your arms was now the one holding you; how was that fair? Every aspect of her life was taken from none other than Natasha Romanoff, now she was stealing her one true love as well, and she couldn’t let that be. She couldn’t let you kiss her, hold her, make love to her without you knowing that she could be the replacement, that she had been aching to be yours since she met you.

She didn’t understand the thoughts at the time, but that all changed when she was allowed access to the internet. She was scared to search for the reasoning, afraid her parents might catch sighting and discipline her for her curiosity. Although, the results only brought more shame than her mother or father ever could, she liked you. And not the type most friends felt for one another, the type she was supposed to feel with a man yet felt for a woman.

“I’m sorry..”

“No, no, you don’t need to apologize. Come here.” You ushered her into a hug full of warmth, but fear was hidden beneath her barriers.

When she leaned back unwillingly, the only thing her vision could take notice of was your slightly parted lips that called her name.

“I don’t know why I feel this way, but is it bad to say I like it?” While it brought pain and sadness along with harsh reality, it felt comforting whenever she was with you. She wanted your love, but she wanted more than that. She wanted your heart, your attention, yet she felt selfish for wanting it.

“No, it’s completely normal. You can’t help who you feel, Wanda, and I would never shame you for that.” You brushed her hair behind her ear, sending a warm smile that did little to stop her. She couldn’t help it now.

Her lips had a mind of their own when they met with yours, and while you wanted nothing more than to give in and bathe in her presence, you knew you couldn’t. You leaned back, causing the woman to chase after you.

“Wanda, we can’t.”

“Why not?” She forced out rather loudly. She was the one to pull you close this time, hoping and praying that you’d listen to your heart instead of your mind, she could only hope your heart was beating for her.

“You have a boyfriend-“

“I don’t love him though, I’ve been planning to break up with him but I didn’t know how.” She argued, smiling slightly when she noticed your sight landing on her own chapstick-covered lips.

“What about Nat?”

“You two aren’t together officially, you’re allowed to speak to other people.” You both knew the lie in her words, but you were both so desperately trying to believe them.

“What if you regret it?”

“I never regret anything when I’m with you.” You paused in your tracks, letting her hand rest on your cheek as she checked the door one last time.

“This is wrong-“

“Then why does it feel so right?” You couldn’t stop your mouth from pressing against hers with hunger and desire. Your thumb drew circles against her side as the tension in her muscles lowered, her brain shutting down and her lips moving according to yours.

“I love you, Y/N.” She muttered against your lips before diving back in for more.

“I love you too, Wands.” You followed, letting the two of you sit on the bed as you forced yourself to let go and dwell in the comfort of your best friend.

Later that evening when you left the home, a smile planted on your face as you waved your goodbye’s to the family, sharing a small glance with the redhead before closing the door behind you, you were immediately hit with the guilt of your actions. Nat had been texting you, begging for you to visit her due to how badly she missed you. There were at least ten messages along with three missed calls, her fears only rising as she knew you’d never leave your phone unattended.

“I love you, my beautiful girl.” Read one of her texts, and it pained you to acknowledge the fact that she knew nothing of your shared activities with the other woman.

“I love you more, Nat.” You wrote back once easing her worries, but developing more of your own. You loved both women equally. Even if Natasha had a bad past, you still loved her. And even if Wanda refused to come to terms with herself, you still loved her. How could you ever face them again knowing the truth?

Wanda thought Nat was bad, but she had no idea that the person she just spent the entire afternoon with and most of her years fawning over was even worse.

[waywardsummoner46]

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ Sink Into the Darkness, My Light | One | ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

──•~❉ ᯽ ❉~•──

"Join us, my Light."

Two centuries ago, the ruler of the Light disappeared, plunging the universe into chaos and disrupting the sacred, unspoken balance of the universe.

The eight rulers of the Darkness never stopped looking for her; their obsession never once waning since she vanished.

Recently, they've sensed something. Never around long enough to pinpoint but so euphoric that it sings within their veins. And since meeting you, well... slowly they begin to understand why.

"Sink into the darkness with us."

──•~❉ ᯽ ❉~•──

「✦」 PAIRING - yandere ot8!ateez x (?)reader

「✦」 GENRE - ancient gods!au, fantasy!au, magical powers!au

「✦」 WARNINGS - mind control, gaslighting, dom/sub, subspace (of a sort), temporary amnesia, manipulation, YANDERE AND DARK THEMES

「✦」 WORD COUNT - 4,343

「✦」 A/N - Long time no see, huh...

「✦」 TAGLIST - Let me know if you'd like to be added :)

──•~❉ ᯽ ❉~•──

• one • two • three •

──•~❉ ᯽ ❉~•──

“Oh, Ji-Ah! You really didn’t have to, you know.”

   Holding your phone up to your ear, your eyes twinkled as they beheld the gifts your friend had gotten you.

  “Of course I didn’t have to, but it’s your birthday and I… I wanted to.” 

  She quietened towards the end of her sentence, and your heart clenched at the sincerity of the gifts and her words.

  “Ji-Ah…”

  Whilst you were at work that day, she must’ve used her spare key to your apartment and placed all of these presents on your living room table. The book you had been raving over for the past few months was sitting in a brand new giant teddy bear’s lap, all decorated and styled with a bow. A now-opened card sat neatly to their side, a picture of you both from a few years ago on its cover and the sweetest message inside. 

  As much as you appreciated everything and made sure to verbalise that gratitude to her, you both knew that the book was what held your attention the most. You had spent literal months searching for it, ‘The Hidden War Within.’

  When you’d first mentioned it to Ji-Ah, she’d laughed and asked if it was some sort of mindfulness, positive psychology type book. You’d dismissed her playfully, stating that she wasn’t necessarily incorrect but ignored the actual content of the book. ‘The Hidden War Within’ is a novel by a collection of authors over the course of centuries; it’s written from the first person perspective and tells the tale of a lady, every time, who aims to nurture the goodness in people and minimise the evil that could fester. The antagonist, a male whose origins vary, actively dismisses her aims, instead wishing to incite sin and discourse within the people of the land. The  descriptions of the constant battle between the pure aims of the protagonist and the insidious intentions of the antagonist captivated you in an inexplicable way; the applications this has to the human race as a whole really piqued your interest.

  Philosophical topics was something you dabbled in on occasion but the discussion between good and evil being a force out of the individual control of a person and, instead, determined by forces beyond comprehension did cause some discussion between you and Ji-Ah. Mainly, are people born evil or is it an environmental thing?

  The fact that it had been written from numerous authors over the span of centuries was another aspect that only deepened your intrigue. How had authors, all from different parts of the globe and periods of time, collectively written something akin to a timeline of a novel? Realistically, the only thing the stories within the novel had in common was that they discussed the same topic in eerily similar detail just with different historical influences, but that only reinforced the entire philosophical debate of are people born evil.  

  Undeniably, ‘The Hidden War Within’ had wormed its way as a repetitive topic within your friendship and that enabled your obsession with the novel to grow until you were borderline desperate to possess it for yourself.  

  So, as you held it in your hands, tears of unfiltered happiness streamed down your face silently. “Thank-”   “You are very, very welcome,” she cut you off. Then, there was a pause on her line. “To repay me, if you’re feeling oh-so indebted to me, you have to come out with us for a drink tonight.” 

  You knew that the tender moment wouldn’t last long, not with Ji-Ah’s aversion to lengthy emotional situations. 

   Still, you sighed. 

  “Ji-Ah, you know I don’t drink.” You’d had a few in the past, curious to try it out but it never became anything more than just that - a new experience. Alcohol was off-putting to you, it just never tickled your fancy and after seeing what it can lead to… well, fair to say you’d rather stay away from the stuff. 

  Ji-Ah, bless her, was very accommodating to this particularity of yours and always ensured that you were as comfortable as possible at any social event. Hence why her next words weren’t a surprise, “You don’t have to drink-drink, but I am going to have lots of drink-drinks… if that’s okay with you?”

  You laughed softly, shaking your head lightly even though you knew she couldn’t see you. “I trust you, Ji-Ah. I know you’re responsible with it. It’s Jee-Won that I’m dreading, you know how she gets.” 

  Everyone knew how Jee-Won got after a few drinks, especially at a bar where there were plenty of young, ‘attractive’ men to scope out. Her fascination with picking out another guy at every social event was sad because she could quite easily find someone to truly love her and be loved by her. Alas, you might have to resign yourself to her drunken activities and pray that whoever she invited back to the table tonight would be decent and not equally as unhinged as she could be.

  On the other end of the phone call, you could basically hear her thinking of how to convince you to go and as painful as it was to admit to yourself, her persistence was slowly grating at your resilience. 

  The teddy bear sitting on your living room table was practically begging you with its plastic, unseeing eyes. Ji-Ah had bought you all of those gifts and… it was only one night, wasn’t it? And it was your birthday? Surely, it couldn’t be that bad…

  A heavy, resigned sigh escaped your lips and Ji-Ah practically squealed over the phone. 

  “See you at eight! You will not regret this, (Y/N).”

  Somehow, you already did.

──•~❉ ᯽ ❉~•──

  It was her fault really that you were in this situation, really. She couldn’t possibly have expected anything different, right? 

  Maybe she did, maybe she expected you to resist, to battle it off as much as you could but her optimism would be her downfall. 

  The urge was just too mighty, the temptation too unbearable to deny and you, too unfortunately stubborn for your own good.

  Looking down at your tote bag, swimming with an array of different chocolates and a multitude of her favourite sweets, you grinned. She’d definitely kill you for buying these for her but words of thanks just weren’t satisfactory enough. Her gifts had quite literally made you cry; you needed to show her, rather than tell her, just how much you cherished her actions.

  Deep down, you knew that she knew that. It was also just fun to see the outrage on her face when you presented her with chocolates or some flowers whenever she’d gone out of her way to spoil you. 

  Deep down, you also knew that she knew that you knew she secretly likes her efforts being appreciated so much and it always makes for a phenomenal movie night whenever you shower her with a myriad of sweet and sugary specials (not that she’d ever admit to that).

  There was something missing from your horde of tradeable valuables and that was, in fact, a palette of different coloured flowers. With a subtle mischief to your stride, you made your way to your most trusted, dear florist ‘Life Rose On’.

  The name never fails to make you chuckle.

  On Jung-Hee owned the beautiful establishment and had been a friend of sorts since you moved to the area five years ago. When moving into your then-new apartment, you decided that the first step to making the space your own was to liven up each room with different colours and types of flowers. 

  Your idea worked like a charm and really helped to keep you motivated when unpacking. Jung-Hee very kindly took the time out of her day to help you hand select each individual flower (and entertained your ceaseless indecision); from that day, you always made sure to drop by whenever you were in town to say hello and to drop off some soju. The old lady was very open about her love for the stuff, even if you had no interest in it. 

  If it was for Jung-Hee, there’s not a lot you wouldn’t do. You loved the elderly lady like your own grandmother and would also lend a helping hand should she need it. 

  She was similar to you in the way that she always repaid you through gifts for your considerate actions - typically a free bouquet of your favourite flowers. 

  After a nice stroll through town, you reached the florist. 

  Unsurprisingly, the window display was stuffed to the brim with a myriad of floral beauties that looked like Mother Nature’s mosaic. Jung-Hee seriously knew how to capture an onlooker's attention and, judging from how many people you could see in the shop beyond the glazed window, she’d succeeded immensely.

  You crossed the street, navigating the crowd of people on the pavements. 

  You got so caught up in the masses of people that you failed to notice the raised step at the entrance of ‘Life Rose On’ and, ultimately, began falling to your doom.

  Letting out an embarrassing squeak of surprise, you braced yourself for the impact with the floor that… never came.

  Peeling your eyes open in mild confusion,  you barely suppressed your gasp of shock at the kind eyes of the stranger that had caught you. You both stayed in whatever position he’d caught you in - you were too out of it to process that properly - and took the opportunity to analyse each others’ face.

  He had the warmest eyes you’d ever seen, a gorgeous galaxy of chocolatey velvet wrapped up in his irises. His lips, parted ever so slightly and downturned, were rosey red and were porcelain in their appearance, flawless and beautiful. Delicate waves of dark hair lined his forehead and it took all of your energy not to reach up and smooth a stray strand out. 

  It felt like hours had passed with you looking into his eyes and examining his face. You couldn’t get enough, there was something so captivating about him, something that made you want to know more-

  Someone cleared their throat. Both you and the stranger were shocked out of your respective reveries and a light blush dusted your cheeks. The stranger seemed completely composed, in contrast. The person who’d cleared their throat was a customer trying to leave through the doorway but found it difficult with two humanoid obstacles in the way. You were happy to see that the lady wasn’t a regular, so she probably wouldn’t bump into her on another occasion. 

  Huffing at your distracted apology, the lady moved past you and the stranger and out of the florist. Now that you and the man were both standing by yourself and pointedly not tripping over some violent, unseen step, you struggled to maintain a neutral expression when you saw how tall he was compared to you. 

  He was easily six foot tall, and using the door as a substitute measuring tape you guessed that he might be slightly taller than that as well. You cursed yourself internally. Of all the people that had to see and catch you, why did it need to be this man? 

  “I am so sorry, are you alright?” You questioned with an apology written all over your face. 

  And, oh, if you thought his face was perfect, then his voice was enough to cause you to ascend. “I’m perfectly fine, are you alright?” how were you supposed to keep composed when his voice sounded like that. 

  Smiling self-deprecatingly, you responded, “I’m perfectly fine. Thank you for that.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” And you didn’t, not really. Not when he assured you so confidently that there was absolutely nothing to trouble yourself with. “Tell me your name.”

  Instinctually, you went to tell him but something held you back. Possibly the way he’d said it - a demand rather than a question. Possibly something else. Although, It struck you as odd that that was how he’d go about that topic but figuring it was largely irrelevant and most likely you were reading too much into things you gave him your name.

  “(Y/N),” he repeated, your name sliding off his tongue so heavenly. “My, how interesting. I used to know someone with the same name.”

  Your eyebrows raised in polite surprise. “Oh, really?”

  He smiled down at you but there was a pinch of something unpleasant weaved into his expression, “Yes. A very compelling woman, was she.” His sudden emotion made you mildly uncomfortable, feeling as though you’d unintentionally uprooted some harsh forgotten memories. 

  Before you could say anything, though, the man bowed to you. “Lovely to make your acquaintance, (Y/N). My name is Yunho.”

  Yunho. 

  You finally had a name to match his angelic face. It suited him perfectly.

  Smiling, a genuine, light-hearted one this time, you mirrored his bow before you both straightened and simply stood there, on the doorway to the shop, and gazed at each other silently. There was something about this man that made you search his eyes, the very deepest, darkest parts of his pupils to find his soul. You didn’t know what it was, but something inside of you said that Yunho was very unique.

  Very unique indeed.

──•~❉ ᯽ ❉~•──

  Yunho and you had spoken for another twenty minutes before he’d had to leave.

  The entire time, you were hanging off of his every word and couldn’t quite escape the magnetism of his irises. There was something so captivating with the way he spoke; the words he chose, the tone in which they were woven but also how calming his deep voice was. And, oh, his eyes.

  You couldn’t stop thinking about them. 

  Glancing at your phone, the time read 13:26. That left you about six and a half hours before you had to be there, five hours before you had to get ready, four hours before you got some food and only two hours and a half before you went home. 

  Flowers were the last thing on your list, so once you’d picked out a personalised bouquet for Ji-Ah you’d be able to browse whatever other shops tickled your fancy and then go home, to get ready for your “night out”.

  The more you thought about it, the more you regretted your decision to go. Realistically, you’d most likely have a phenomenal time if you allowed yourself to indulge in the experience. But sitting on your living room table was the one thing you’d wanted for months; it was finally in your grasp and you couldn’t even read it until tomorrow (because you weren’t stupid, you won’t be leaving the club until two in the morning).

  Helplessly, you sighed. There was no way to escape your fate. It was inevitable. At least the flowers were pretty.

  ‘Life Rose On’ was, for lack of a better word, a labyrinth. The only reason you could get around as quick as you could was because you’d navigated its maze-like twists and turns for five years and, even then, when Jung-Hee decided that the shop was getting “too predictable”, she’d reorganise the entire shop so that any hope of save journey was futile. The woman loved to keep people on their toes, her distaste for monotony something you admired contrary to the perilous jungle that was her shop.

  The shop was bigger than it appeared; the bleak outside of the shop didn’t do its magnificent interior any justice. As soon as you entered the florists, an archway made entirely of Japanese Wisteria, Mandevilla and Clematis enveloped you with their sweet smells. Each climbing plant twisting so delicately around the foundations of the archway and certain pieces dangling down in a still, flowery downfall; the occasional petal falling to the ground made walking into the shop feel like you were stepping into another realm with only nature’s best caressing you lightly on their way down to join those who fell before them. 

  After the winding walkway, there was the option to take a left or a right turn. Both laid out to be the start of a rainbow - the beginning of each row included dark red roses, amaryllis to name a few and continued down the line with plants including sunflowers, bluebells and lavender. 

  On Jung-Hee loved a spectacle. She was only just getting started.

  The overall layout of the shop was circular. So, after making your choice of left or right, you would be brought to a turn that took you further towards the centre of the shop. Instead of beginning from red and going down the rainbow, Jung-Hee intricately places each and every flower on these stands to mirror the symbol of whatever season of the year it was. For example, for Valentine’s day, she had gathered the flowers and created a phenomenal display of plants made to look like a landscape of a couple sitting on a mountain, overlooking the horizon. 

  What made ‘Life Rose On’ so unique is that Jung-Hee’s life quite literally revolved around the shop and had dedicated her life to making the shop thrive. It was her family heirloom in a way. The building itself had been in her family for generations but she’s been the first to utilise it to its full potential and allow her family home to bloom to its fullest extent. 

  It was that same ideology that inspired her to make it a florist. Ever the poet, she said that every plant or flower sold was pollen and her customers were the bees, helplessly drawn to its beauty and coming to crave its offerings as sustenance. 

  “You will always be my favourite bee, my dear,” she always said. 

  “And you’ll always be my favourite flower,” you’d respond with an unrestrained smile on your face. 

  After the landscape aisles of the shop, you’d finally reach the centre where the cash register was. Dotted around it, however, were individual stands and displays of flowers that may not have been considered as suitable for the display chosen that month or were simply too big to be practical anywhere more confined. 

  And sitting at the cash register, looking effortlessly in her element would be Jung-Hee. 

  Except… she wasn’t there. A young man was sitting there instead, one you’d never heard of before, let alone seen. Jung-Hee had no children nor did she have any nephews of close relations to anyone of his description.

  You hadn’t seen his face yet, having turned right after the archway you’d reached the centre from behind the cash register so his back was turned to serve the small line of customers there, but you found it slightly odd that Jung-Hee wasn’t at the register she seemed to be glued to six days a week (it used to be seven but you managed to convince her to take Sunday off to look after herself, rather than others for once).

  Biting your lip slightly, you looked down at the collection of blue hyacinths and forget-me-nots you’d collected for Ji-Ah and contemplated coming back at a later date. There was nothing necessarily wrong with having a stranger in Jung-Hee’s place but you had brought along some small things you wanted to give her today and, evidently, you wouldn’t be able to do that. Ji-Ah would still have her flowers and chocolates and whatnot, but at a later date. 

  Thinking about it, it made more sense to kill two birds with one stone at a later date. You wouldn’t be able to give Ji-Ah the flowers until after they’d died anyway due to your schedules being unaligned after tonight and the florist you were looking for was nowhere to be seen.

  Then again…

  “Daisies would work wonderfully with those.” 

  You jolted and looked up to meet the eyes of one of the prettiest, most angelic people you’ve ever seen in your life. Internally, you were mildly shocked at how such a smooth, deep voice could match such an innocent face and yet, somehow the low baritone of his voice was as pleasurable to listen to as his eyes were to gaze into. 

  The irony of his rosy red lips wasn’t lost on you. 

  The man had a birthmark on his cheek, strands of parted black hair framed it like the most cherished picture. Because this man was a work of art, and he deserved to be framed for eternity. 

  Two men. Two heart-wrenchingly handsome men had crossed paths with you in less than twenty minutes. The first one you’d made a fool of yourself to. You’d be damned if you ruined this chance to redeem yourself, even if only to make yourself feel better,

  Meeting his eyes, you took a subtle breath to steel your nerves. “Do you think so? I was debating between purple tulips or just buying them as they are, but I see where you’re coming from.”

  Alright, a slight ramble perhaps but at least you didn’t stumble over your words (or your feet like with Yunho).

  The way his eyes twinkled with sudden interest gave you a bit of confidence. “An interesting choice, but don’t you think the contrast of the daisy’s white petals against the darker purples and blues would only add to the beauty of them all?”

  Contemplatively, you looked down at your hands and imagined the picture he’d painted in your hand. It did make sense, actually. As he said, the contrast between dark and light made a very balanced, very alluring image inside your head. “Ah, you know what? You’re right, that would look lovely.”

  He leant back (you didn’t register when he’d closed a slight distance between you), and looked proud of himself. Dare you say it, the pleased expression he wore was adorable. 

  “I’m glad I could help. My name is Yeosang.”

  Yeosang.

   Just like when you learnt Yunho’s name, something felt so instinctively right about that. Not only did the name suit him perfectly but as though something thrumming underneath your skin calmed after learning his name. 

  “(Y/N), it’s nice to meet you. Thank you for your help, Yeosang-ssi,” you bow deeply so that he avoids seeing the blush dusted across your cheeks. You don’t know what it was, but there was something going on with you today. First Yunho, now Yeosang. Two complete strangers that had affected you more in two minutes than a lot of people had in two years. 

  “You’re very welcome, (Y/N).”

  Yeosang helped you to find however many daisies you wanted (six) and walked you to the register, all while making small talk. It was only when you saw him stand behind the counter rather than in the queue did you make the connection between the mysterious new worker and this kind stranger. 

  Lips parting softly, you placed the flowers into his outstretched hand for him to place them into the bouquet wrapping. “How long have you worked here?”

  His hands worked the ribbon around the patterned wrapping so expertly that you wondered how much practice he’d had at this. “I’ve been here for about two years this month.”

  Two years? Impossible, you would’ve run into him at some point with how frequently you visit the shop. And even if by the very small chance that hadn’t occurred, Jung-Hee would’ve told you of such a development. 

 “How come Jung-Hee never mentioned you?”

  At your question, his hands slowed momentarily but picked up from his slight hesitation as though nothing had happened. “You know Jung-Hee?”

  “I’ve known her for nearly five years now. She’s always been wonderful company and an even better friend.”

  He hummed thoughtfully, “I find it odd she never mentioned me, I must admit.” Finishing wrapping the flowers up, he made eye contact with you again and the sudden tenseness and mild hostility you found in them caught you off guard. “She and I have a very complicated relationship but one that I cherish, nonetheless.”

  You waited for a few seconds for him to elaborate but once he remained silent for the same amount of time, it became clear he wasn’t going to answer further. 

  A part of you still wanted to know where Jung-Hee was today, and you were about to ask when he reached down to something on the shielded side of the counter, hidden from your view. 

  Bringing his hand up, you saw that he’d picked a singular purple rose. He twirled it in his hand for a bit, admiring its rare beauty, before making eye contact with you once again. Slowly, as though giving you the opportunity to step back should you wish, he raised the rose to your head and tucked it gently behind your ear.

   His hand lingered by your cheek for a second longer than it should’ve, especially considering the short amount of time you’d known him… but, you’d be lying if you said that closeness, even the faintest amount of it, wasn’t the best thing you’d experienced in a long, long time. 

  Appearing reluctant, he pulled back. “Goodbye, (Y/N). I hope I’ll see you again soon.” His voice was a whisper but carried the weight of a winter wind. 

  You couldn’t help the blush that spread across your cheeks. If the slight twitching of his lips was anything to go by, he was well aware of the effect he had on you. 

  You met his eyes, the look he was giving you so tender it made saying this goodbye almost unbearable. “Goodbye, Yeosang.”

  After leaving the innermost circle of the shop, you felt like a weight was settling off of your lungs. You didn’t even recognise how difficult it had become to breathe there, nor had you recognize how unexplainably painful it was to depart from Yeosang only after knowing him for fifteen minutes.

    A rush of something euphoric had spread through you after he’d given you the flower, and coupled with the barest touch to your cheek your emotions had been sent tumbling. You stepped out of the shop and, for the first time in a long time, felt like there was something more to your life again. As though you’d found your purpose.

  Oh, how little you knew.

──•~❉ ᯽ ❉~•──

[blossombriefs]

Agora Hills | A Goku OneShot [NSFW]

Authors note: hey guys! Be sure to drop a follow and a like! The support goes a long way! I'm also happy to take requests - please be following me and shoot me a message. I can work of prompts such as songs, locations, colours, scents. Give me a brief description and the characters you'd like. This also has potential for a fully smutty part 2 so if that's something you'd want to see let me know! Prompt: Doja Cat's song 'Agora Hills' "who's that man with the big strong hands?" "You're the one you're the only man, me and you on my OnlyFans" Summary: The reader is an OnlyFans model and after being threatened at a party has to come clean to her boyfriend, Goku Content: afab!reader x Goku, mature themes, blackmail and drama (Vegeta being a total asshole), mentions and details of anxiety, story heavy, soft smut near the end Word Count: 2836 words

Times had been a bit financially straining on you since you tried to settle down with Goku. You both shared a lovely home and with plans to start a family together, you needed to find a source of income to start planning ahead. Goku was constantly off either fighting insane battles on faraway planets or was off training with his friends. Sure, you could have just looked for something in your local area like in a store or on a farm, but when Bulma encouraged you to look into the site OnlyFans, it piqued your interest. Bulma is the best source of motivation you have. You were a little unsure about it but with her lovely compliments toward your appearance, you couldn't help but try it.

You had set up a tripod with a ring light in the corner of your spare room to get the perfect shots, using your phone to capture so many pictures of you in cute lingerie sets you had. You also used a couple of your boyfriend's t-shirts for a baggier look on your body. Your income was plentiful as your platform grew and grew. It covered bills, put food on the table and even left some over for you to treat yourself and Goku. However, one question always lingered in the back of your mind.

"How long can I keep this hidden from him?"

You hated keeping secrets from Goku, transparency was such a huge foundation your relationship was built on. He was always honest with you, would this hurt his feelings?

On one of the evenings he had free, Goku had invited you along to a gathering at Krillin and Android 18's home. Everyone was going to be there and you could tell from his eagerness that he was excited for you to finally meet the rest of his friends. You felt that it had been a long time coming and you put so much effort into how you looked while Goku sported his traditional orange gi. Hopping onto the nimbus cloud, he held you tightly as it whisked you toward the Kame House. As you approached your destination, you were both greeted by waves as everyone gathered outside on the beach. You nervously held onto your boyfriend's arms as he waved gleefully to them all, keeping the same wave and smile through your descent. You both bounced off together, greeting everyone. Going around everyone, you were introduced to his friends one by one.

"Y/N this is Krillin and 18," he extended his hand toward a slender, tall blonde woman and her opposing counterpart. You smile as you shake their hands and introduce yourself. Gradually he made his way around the rest of his friends; Master Roshi, Piccolo, and Yamcha were part of the introductions. Finally, your attention was directed to Bulma and her partner, who you hadn't yet met. He stood beside her with his arms folded over a buttoned up blue shirt, his aura nothing short of intimidating.

"Y/N, you haven't met my husband Vegeta yet have you!" Bulma chirped, taking his arm and yanking him toward you and Goku. You smiled at him timidly, admitting you were kinda afraid of him wouldn't have been the best first impression in your mind. You could sense him looking you up and down, choosing to address you with a scoff.

"So this is Kakarot's harlot, yes?"

You looked to Bulma in disbelief as her hand slapped his shoulder harshly. Goku was quick to wrap his hand around your waist as he spoke up, "Hey, c'mon Vegeta you know that's not very nice!"

He simply huffed in your direction as he followed the rest of the group inside, Bulma not far behind screaming an earful toward him. You felt uneasy, Goku rubbed your arm to try and ease you. You weren't someone to take comments like that to heart but something just didn't feel right. You all took your seats in the living room and for the most part the evening was going well. You all shared some drinks, had a laugh, shared some food. You hit it off so well with everyone that you felt like you were part of the family... all besides one person.

Crossing paths in the kitchen, Vegeta glared you down as you look a fresh glass from the cupboard. When you sat it down again to pour another drink you glanced back in his direction, "Can I help you?"

"Don't think I don't know your secrets," he slowly walked toward you, you felt as if he hadn't uncrossed his arms from your initial introduction. If looks could kill Vegeta would've buried you 100ft underground. "You know your vulgar acts aren't suited to him, that clown deserves a woman with a bit more self respect."

"What the hell are you talking about?" you retort. Your hands shaking as you unscrew the lid from the top of the bottle. Deep down you knew what he was referring to but how did he know?

"That woman runs her mouth to me about everything," his reply was cold. He turned his back to you and began walking toward the door that led to everyone else. "You tell him or I will."

A shudder ran down your spine. The tension left behind lingered with his words. Your heart raced, the weight of your secret growing heavier on your shoulders. You took a moment to collect yourself as you decided Vegeta couldn't be the one to tell Goku. Just as he was about to reach the doorway, you spoke up and the tone in your voice was full of determination.

"Wait, Vegeta please." you plead as you set the bottle down. He turned to look back in your direction with his arms still crossed and his expression staying cold. You look to your feet, "I'll tell him but please could we continue this conversation outside."

Vegeta continued to eye you for a moment, his pride more than evident, but eventually he nodded. Hoping you had cracked him he turned away and led you out the back door to the beach, the soundtrack to your serious conversation being the crashing waves of the sea. You lowered your voice and spoke soft, revealing your own vulnerability beneath what you were portraying as tough, "I never intended on keeping anything from Goku. It's just complicated and I never knew how to bring it up."

His response was a shake of his head and a scoff as he stared you down intensely, "He deserves to know what kind of person he's with, that woman refuses to tell him. I don't even understand what it is you're up to! Y-you're lewd-"

"I have an OnlyFans account," you confess with a deep breath. "It's just a way to bring in some money for us and I just didn't want him to worry about our future. I never intended on disrespecting him I-"

As his scowl deepened and his silence remained, you could tell he was taking in what you were telling him. Wether he'd allow you to tell him yourself or not was on the table was another story. He grunted and without allowing another word to leave your lips, he turned and walked back inside with you close on his heels. Your heart felt heavy with what could follow. You didn't know what would be said. You reentered the living room, Goku glanced at you with a sweet smile, blissfully unaware about the conversation you had just had as you took your seat beside him.

The living room buzzed with conversation and laughter but as you cuddled into Goku's strong arm the weight of the conversation with Vegeta was weighing on your mind, you could feel his intense gaze follow you from the other side of the room as you tried to settle in. A silent threat that you had to tell him sooner rather than later.

As the evening continued, you'd engage in small talk with the others to try and keep your composure but what made your heart feel warm was seeing how happy Goku was. He's an incredibly social person, much more than your average person, and was more than happy being in the company of his friends. After a while, Bulma pulled you into the kitchen. She had noticed how reserved you had become throughout the night and was growing concerned, "Is everything okay?"

You nodded with a forced smile, "Just a little burned out and tired, that's all."

She looked at you with sympathy, placing her reassuring hand on your shoulder, "You sure? You know you can tell me anything, right? If it's because of Vegeta's comment earlier I can always talk to him?"

You shook your head and smiled gently, "Thank you Bulma, honestly, but it's fine! I didn't take it to heart."

You lied through your teeth but she bought it, patting your back as she left you alone with your thoughts. Your anxiety was gnawing at you, you knew what loomed ahead.

As the night gradually wound down, Goku yawned and stretched as he turned to the remaining few people left. With a thankful smile he suggested that you both head home. He stood up, spinning you in his arms to face him. "You look beautiful. You're perfect. Your dress you picked is so beautiful I just can't wait to get back home."

You beamed looking up at him, placing a delicate kiss on his lips. He smiled as he kissed you back in return. However, your loving moment was interrupted by none other than Vegeta.

"I bet you won't be the only man to see what's under that dress tonight, Kakarot," he smirked.

You looked up, witnessing the glee in your boyfriend's face shift into shock. The panic surged through your body as you clung to him tighter, Vegeta's words hanging in the air. You looked towards him with a disapproving look but Vegeta remained totally unfazed, his arms crossed and a sly grin plastered on his face.

"What are you talking about, Vegeta?" Goku furrowed his brows, his hands slipping from your waist.

His response was sharp, leaning in with a wicked glint in his eyes, "Oh, nothing, Kakarot. Just saying that some things... or some people... aren't as pure or nice as they appear."

The air was heavy with tension, your throat was running dry as tears began filling your eyes. Bulma stepped in between the two men swiftly, placing a hand on her husband's chest, "Vegeta enough. Stop it! There's no need for this you're making the poor girl cry!"

Goku's face was still taken over with confusion, turning his attention from Vegeta to you. You could hear his own worry take over, his eyes like a puppy's, "Baby what's going on? What does he mean?"

You were hesitant and unable to string your words together. Again, stealing your opportunity, was Vegeta, "Ask your precious partner about her little online endeavors. She's not as innocent as she appears."

You sigh, placing a hand gently against his chest as you look up towards him. Taking a deep breath and your voice was trembling, "Can we talk when we're home about this Goku, please."

The arrogant Saiyan prince wasn't done. It wasn't good enough for him. Purely with a sarcastic tone he chimed in once more, "Oh, how touching. Wanting to keep things private now? The woman who claims she loves you oh so much is selling herself online for a few extra zenies! Showing herself off to other men, tarnishing your trust."

Unable to process what he was being told, he hung his head as he let go of you entirely. Your arms dropped from his shoulders. He sighed gently, "I'll be outside Y/N. When you want to come home come meet me. We'll talk about this at home."

"Goku plea-" your words couldn't stop him from leaving, slamming the door behind him. You couldn't do anything but tremble. You knew why Vegeta did this, he loved seeing Goku weak or vulnerable. You also knew Bulma wouldn't let him live this down. You smiled sadly in her direction and thanked your hosts, leaving behind a now perplexed group of friends. Sat in the sand outside, creating little patterns in the sand with his finger, was your boyfriend who sat in an overwhelmed silence. You took a deep breath, shuffling in the sand beside him which left your dress covered. The beach was serene at night, the waves crashing against the shore heavy at the other side. "Please, let me explain,"

He sat in an almost child-like silence, his eyes fixated on the shapes he had drawn. The gentle sea breeze carried your tension and sadness. You had never seen him so hurt, it was all your fault. He looked up at you with tears starting to form in his eyes, "I can't believe you'd cheat on me with Vegeta..."

"Goku what?" you said, shocked. "I just met him today?"

"Look, Y/N, I love you. I don't want to lose you. If you've been chatting with him online and-"

This is where everything clicked, Goku had no idea about OnlyFans and what the site was. He took Vegeta's words at face value. You shook your head and cupped his face in your sandy hands. "Baby no, it's not that. I have an account on this website where I sell some pictures of myself and it brings us in lots of money."

Goku wiped his eyes, blinking back anything else that could spill. "What do you mean?"

"These men that buy these pictures don't see me in person. They don't touch me. We don't have sex. It was just an easy solution to our money problem and I'm sorry I wasn't honest. Vegeta knew because Bulma told him. I can't be angry at her for that..."

"So-so you're not sleeping with other people. He made it sound so filthy."

"I can show you what I do when we're home." you reassure him. His face softened as the weight of the misunderstanding started to lift from his shoulders.

"I should've trusted you, I'm sorry." he whispered. You held him close to you, you thought through that night you could've lost him.

"I should've been honest from the start, I just didn't want you to worry. I'd never have wanted to have hurt you."

As he gently pulled back from you he summoned his nimbus cloud. Kissing your forehead gently he softly spoke, "I just want to understand everything. We can move forward together afterwards can't we?"

You nodded gratefully at his understanding words. Together, you climbed aboard your transport home. You could tell from the way he held you that he was still skeptical and his emotions were mixed. You wanted to do your best to help him understand.

Once you arrived back to your house, hand in hand you led Goku upstairs to show him the tripod and ring light set up in your spare bedroom. Sitting him down on the bed, you ran through how the site worked. He nodded along taking in every drop of information. You shown him how much income you brough in each day and explained what everything went to. Finally, you handed him your phone to look through the photos. His eyes widened in a gleeful way as he began to flick through them.

"Babe, you look smoking hot in these!" he beamed. You could feel the negative tension lift off your relationship and a new tension start to brew. Looking up with a smirk, "Can I help sometime?"

"You wanna help?" you gently smile. He nodded his head fast. His hands wandered to the front of your strappy dress, carefully slipping it down to reveal your bouncy, perky tits to him. You flushed red a little. Once your phone was propped up on the tripod, you posed for a few photos with your ever supportive boyfriend. You tried letting him control the ideas, however his Saiyan instincts were close to kicking in and wouldn't leave much time for many pictures. He stayed behind you in most of the shots, cupping your breasts with his big, strong, calloused hands or encouraging them down to play with your pussy. You hadn't done anything sexual on your account yet and allowed him to assist with teasy photos. His hands grabbing your ass, his hands squeezing your thighs. He was giving you the content that could only grow your platform more.

He gently left little bites and bruises on top of your breasts, neck and shoulders. With a cocky grin and a chuckle, he whispered in your ear, “Now they’ll know you belong to me.”

Finally, he took some of you sitting on top of him. You gently straddled him as he slipped his fingers in your mouth for the final shots, your spit dripping down his hand as he looked up at you in pure amazement.

"That's my girl," he said with a gently slap to your ass. You tilted your head gently as you looked down at your strong, sexy boyfriend pinned under your thighs.

"Do you have any other questions?"

"When can I fuck you for all your fans to see?"

[flickering-nightfall]

I loveee how you draw iterator antennae,, please tell how do you design them?? Personally for me one of the hardest parts of designing iterators

Also - Love you art! Have a good day/night :)

Tysm <3

This one's tough, I don't really think too hard about how I design antennae. I just go with whatever looks right and fits the character lol but I'll try to talk about it anyways.

Moon and Pebbles are based off their in-game appearances. They have changes between depictions though so there's some wiggle room. Pebbles' is based off his sprite and Moon's off of one of her art pieces. (Her dull blue color is pulled from her sprite.) This seems to be popular in fan depictions too.

Sig and Suns are also based off official depictions. Sig I took some more liberties with - he really should have rounder, more protruding headphone bases. But I wanted some variety in headphone bases and he kind of just... ended up with a geometric shape theme to match his diamond mark. This is their only official image, so I just shrugged and gave them some broad small antennae that would be hidden at the back from this front angle, because I wanted to. (Bald Sig is valid but I like what I did hah)

Suns is a mix between the in-game art and the concept art by (I'm never sure what name to use here, but the art listed on the wiki is by-) Minkimaro. Mine's gotten more blocky/volumetric antennae over time, and every time I draw them their collar gets bigger. It's an addiction. They have to be comfy.

Wind and Innocence both have more unique antenna, and multiple segments. I wanted to balance them out with the others design-wise, but I wanted them to be distinct from each other too. So Wind gets these wide fan antenna and Innocence get triple thin antenna on joints.

And here's some OCs for variety.

I guess here's some stuff to chew on-

Shape, width, size of the base headphone parts

Shape, width, size of the antennae

How many antennae? Are the antennae all the same size/shape?

Embellishments (such as the extra details on Flicker's)

Does the design suit the character's look? If they can emote with the antennae, how does that fit their personality?

If it matters to you, how do your antenna work, mechanically speaking? If they can move, do they have ranges? For example - Suns' antennae have great horizontal range, but they can't fold them down past their headphone bases.

[purplekissinger]

hmm…hey, dear! I saw that your requests are open and I would like to know, can I get a fluffy (if that's possible) Voldemort, but as Voldy and not Tom (I mean with his snake form and not human) and wife fem reader (ambiguous appearance) in which he introduces her to his followers(with the right of him calling her his lady or queen or something like that) and despite the regrets and what everyone thinks, he is really devoted to her (even a little yan ) and the reaction of the diners seeing the way the dark lord treats his lovely wife (who is a magnificent witch, by the way) please? keep this wonderful fanart (https://www.tumblr.com/snake-queen7/730095728446291968?source=share) credits to the original author

Death and the Maiden

“why, I am growing quite sentimental... But look, Harry! My true family returns...”

Hiii anon!! Thanks for such a cool idea :3 Look, there is fluff here, Voldemort being nice with reader and all that, BUT!! I accidentally added some pretty dark themes. Like, really dark. Y/N uhhhhhh revives the Dark Lord, no less than that. There are not many details here, but the description of the ritual is sort of the same as in the fourth book. TW: blood, mention of cuts, morally grey reader, Voldemort and Y/N being a disaster couple.

Oddly enough, the most difficult part was finding the grave of Merope Riddle.

She died as Tom Riddle Sr's lawful wife, you now knew this for sure, because you rummaged through a thousand decayed documents in search of the name of the cemetery in the ground of which her poor bones lay. The archives of the hospital, the morgue, three Confunduses and one Imperio led you to Tottenham Park, to the old cemetery, where the poor were buried at that time, where on a tiny piece of land the unfortunate woman finally found peace. The peace that you were now about to disturb.

“Bone of the mother, taken with respect, you will renew your son!” you said in a whisper. And, looking at the ground that had parted under your feet, you thought that it’s good that they didn’t think of cremating Merope.

***

He has many names and so does Y/N.

“Y/N” — he’s the one who calls you that when no one can hear. This name is for him only, like a password, like a key on a chain hidden under a shirt, like a secret door in a solid wall. “Y/N.” "Tom".

“Mistress of the Riddle Manor” is a little cheesy, but you like it. It was you who persuaded him not to huddle at Malfoy’s, but to take the house that rightfully belonged to him, it was you who remade and altered everything here to your taste, it was you who turned an abandoned mansion into a cozy fortress on the border of the forest, it was you who caught a smile on his lips when he saw a tapestry with the Slytherin coat of arms on the wall. “My lady, you have impeccable taste,” he said then, and you bowed playfully.

“She Who Remained Faithful” is not something anyone among the Death Eaters actually calls you, but Voldemort likes to mention this epithet at meetings to emphasize what they should all strive for. When Bellatrix hears this, there are angry tears in her eyes. You are the eternal employee of the month. If there was an honor roll at Riddle Manor, it would have a full-length photo of you on it.

Newspapers are not so kind. In the headlines of the ‘Daily Prophet’ first pages, you are always “She Who Should Not Be Remembered.” The soft “should not be remembered” looks touching in comparison with the stern “must not be named.”

“You should call my wife “Mistress” or “My lady,” Voldemort says softly, looking around the room. “No other way. Although I do not recommend kissing her hand because it could cost your life”.

The Death Eaters gathered around the table nod uncertainly. You smile slightly, touching his palm under the table. His long boney fingers are cold, but only you know that they are also very, very gentle.

“Perhaps,” he adds thoughtfully, looking sideways at you, “such a kiss should be worth your whole life.”

At the wave of a pale hand, they rise from their seats, take turns approaching you and bowing at a respectful distance, and swear allegiance.

“Thank you for your invaluable help...” Snape says rotely. He is the only one who fully understands the incredible level of witchcraft you achieved by performing the ritual. He is the only one who understands how dangerous the mistress of Riddle Manor is, who has not a single murder to her name, but only one revival of the Dark Lord.

“... and I swear eternal fidelity...” Peter whispers. His small eyes sparkle and he tries not to look at you, but he can’t. Not even the fear of getting Crucio'd stops him.

“...my lady,” Bellatrix spits. In her eyes there is resentment, envy, longing... admiration?..

***

Tom Riddle had no friends. Voldemort neither. But, since you convinced him to do the most risky experiment in the world ever, to change the ritual of “Flesh, Bone and Blood”, then you had to go all the way.

You needed to sneak into Hogsmeade under the cover of darkness, which in itself is not an easy task, slip into the castle, find the Chamber of Secrets and allow Tom to possess you so that with your lips he could say the cherished “Open.” You had to jump into the cold darkness, you had to walk through the damp tunnels, you had to close your eyes when, rustling its scales, a huge creature approached you and, sniffing the air with its terrible nostrils, emited a bubbling hiss, in which any Parseltmouth would recognize the delight of a long-awaited meeting. “Why, you recognise me, after all,” Tom said tenderly, without leaving your body, and your arms wrapped around the thick snake neck. “Well, hello, Susie. Long time no see". A quiet, gentle hiss was the answer. "Thank you. Listen, there's something I really need you to do now...”

In one motion, you knocked over the fogged diamond vial over the cauldron. The blood of Susie the basilisk, the only creature in the world that Tom Riddle had ever considered a friend, turned the potion golden.

“Blood of the friend,” you said, breathing in, “given willingly, you will ressurect your ally!”

You understood Susie perfectly. Knowing Tom meant being willing to do anything for him.

***

“Do you want to celebrate our wedding at the Ministry or at Westminster Abbey?” Voldemort asks casually.

These quiet mornings are just for the two of you. When the fog over Little Hangleton had not yet cleared, and a cool freshness reigned in the garden, you, slowly, hand in hand, walked through the garden, and you proudly showed him the new flower beds, and he listened very carefully and admired both the flowers and you .

“We’re already married, Tom,” you reminded him and with a graceful gesture you raised your left hand, as if to show him a thin ring with an emerald. He quickly grabbed your hand and brought it to his lips.

“No,” he answered seriously. “It was a formality. I want a celebration for all of London, all of England. I want everyone to see you and know whose wife you are”.

Means a lot coming from someone who can throw the Cruciatus curse at any insolent person who dares to even look at you.

“Oh, aren’t you ambitious, my lord,” you laugh, running your finger along his pale cheek. “Is there anything else you might want?”.

“Of course there is,” Voldemort says with no hesitation, but for a brief moment you think that he’s trying to joke. “I want you to wear the crown of England.”

You hide your smile, turning away.

“Then we’d better get married in the London Tower.”

***

The potion hummed impatiently in the cauldron as you hurriedly unbuttoned your shirt with numb fingers. The third ingredient was too easy, a simple task. It has always been with you, from the day you and Tom looked into each other's eyes.

‘Flesh of the beloved!’ you gasped, breaking into a scream, when the dagger made the first cut on your left shoulder, ‘Given lovingly!.. You... will revive!..’ a little bit more, just a little! ‘Your loved one!"

Will is what is important. Intention is what is important. You don’t need to throw your entire arm from shoulder to hand into the cauldron, just a small piece of flesh is enough, which is worth more than thousands of Galleons, more than unicorn blood and basilisk venom. The will and intention of Her-Who-Remained-Faithful.

***

“You are the most precious thing I have,” Voldemort says quietly when the meeting is over and the two of you are sitting by the fireplace, hand in hand, your head on his shoulder. “I never expected to find such a treasure. And now it is not only with me, but also inside of me… Oh, how are you so loyal to me, my lady?”.

“I would throw my heart into the cauldron if necessary,” you say honestly.

“Don’t you ever say that,” he hisses angrily. “for it's mine”.

[runnning-outof-time]

There’s Something About These Grounds… | Tommy Shelby x Mrs Shelby & Reader

Request: no - written for @zablife ‘s 2k celebration and @little-diable ‘s 15k celebration

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Mrs Shelby & Reader

Summary: Mrs Shelby takes a walk and stumbles upon a dark secret that is hidden on the grounds of Arrow House. She's given a warning about the future of her family, a warning that makes her new husband wonder if she should even leave the house at all.

Warnings: language, drinking, smoking, paranormal themes, implications of past and future miscarriages (nothing in detail), implications of suicide (nothing in detail)

Word Count: 3317

A/N: I…I’m not 100% sure what this is, but hey, I finished it - I think we’ll call it my best attempt at writing something that’s the complete opposite of fluff haha. I’ve given Mrs Shelby a name…she’s an OC but reader is also present here. Enjoy! :)

A/N 2: Lee and Chi - congratulations on your amazing milestones!! I’m so thankful that you’re both part of this amazing community…I can’t imagine it without you! Thanks also to Chi for allowing me to play around with the prompt - it’s bolded/italcized in the story…I hope I still got the gist of it!

I’D LOVE TO KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! - YOUR COMMENTS & REBLOGS HELP ME WRITE!

Comment/Message Me if you’d like to be tagged in future stories similar to this one!

The landscape got darker and more overgrown with each step Mrs Shelby took. She wondered why she'd decided to take a walk away from the manor that she resided in. At one point, she even considered abandoning her original idea and turning back to the house. But then she reasoned that anything would be better than being cooped up inside those dark walls for yet another day.

Her marriage to the man who owned the very estate she was walking on, Thomas Shelby, can only be described as a whirlwind. No one in either of their families knew of it happening until after the license was signed and they had taken a trip to Paris. What had bright promises at first now felt like the beginning of a prison sentence for the young woman.

It was Tommy's family that insisted they have the party that was taking place today. The bride was weary about it - she was never one to jump into the spotlight during social events, but Tommy's methods of convincing made it hard to say 'no'. He assured her that she'd be in control; that when she'd say that she'd reached her limit, the party would be over. It eased her worries when she agreed to it, but now that the day of the party was here, she was feeling uneasy once again.

So, in hopes to quell her building nerves, Mrs Shelby decided that she would escape the house and take a walk on its expansive grounds.

The landscape seemed to turn a darker shade of green the further she walked away from the manor, but she reasoned that the worry of being amongst some overgrown trees was affecting her much less than the worry of what would be happening later this evening.

She continued walking until she came upon a pond. The small body of water was surrounded by trees and shrubbery, and the fog that hung low over it added an eerie vibe to the atmosphere. As Mrs Shelby got closer to the pond, she noticed a woman standing in the middle of it.

"Hello?!" she called out, confusing quickly filling her as she walked closer to the water’s edge with caution. "Excuse me," she spoke again when the woman didn't respond or even turn to face her.

From her short distance away, she could see that this lady looked almost white, as if she'd been submerged in the cold water for too long and had lost all color. Her hair was wet and flat on her head, sticking to the skin of her shoulders that could be seen above the water.

Mrs Shelby felt a chill run through her body as she stayed focused on the mysterious woman, who still hadn't moved despite the other making her presence very known. "This is private property, you know," Mrs Shelby tried another direction, hoping that her voice held the authority that was needed to finally make the lady face her. But her words did nothing.

Frustration seeped into her bones as she willed herself to move even closer to the pond's edge. Maybe she didn't hear me, she reasoned as she prepared to call out again. But just as she opened her mouth, the woman completely submerged herself under the water, leaving not a trace of her behind. This made Mrs Shelby frantic. She looked everywhere - even kneeling down on the muddy ground and straining her eyes to see if she could spot her underwater - wondering how the lady could disappear from sight just like that.

The sudden voice that came from behind her made her jump.

"These woods are no one's property, darling." It had to be the woman who was in the water. Mrs Shelby was hesitant to turn and face the person, but when she did, she found the woman, who had disappeared just moments ago, standing beside her. She noticed that she was no longer wet, and was wearing a worn, white slip, something that was too cold to be wearing on a dark, autumn day. "They belong to nature."

"My husband would say differently," Mrs Shelby tried to stay calm, standing up and jutting her chin upwards slightly in hopes it would add to her act of confidence. She didn't want this woman to know that she was actually shaking in her shoes.

"Your husband does not know what he stands for," the woman was quick to say.

"Who-who are you and why are you here?" Mrs Shelby decided to ask, her voice faltering only slightly.

"My name is (Y/N)," the woman responded, "this is my home."

The second part of her statement made Mrs Shelby scoff slightly. "Impossible. My husband and I own these grounds. They've been in his hands for four years now," she spoke in a refuting tone.

"Don't be silly, Eloise. These grounds have changed hands many times," the strange woman countered, uttering a laugh of her own at the face that Mrs Shelby pulled when her name was said.

"How do you know my name?"

"I know things," (Y/N) spoke frankly. "I know things about you, about your husband. I know why your marriage occurred in the manner it did...it's not for the reason you keep telling yourself."

"I don't know what you mean..." Mrs Shelby wasn't sure if she actually wanted clarification.

"Tommy was lonely. He couldn't cope with himself, with his business and its demands. The whores weren't doing it for him anymore, and even though I told him that he could keep coming to see me, it wasn't enough for him. He needed someone who would be by his side constantly. Someone who could appease him physically. It's unclear to me why he chose you...since it seems you'd rather be away from him then by his side." (Y/N) ended her explanation by looking the other woman over, an unimpressed look present on her face.

"He and I love each other," Mrs Shelby tried to be indignant, but she didn't quite believe the declaration herself.

"That's what you try so hard to believe," (Y/N) snorted at the thought.

Mrs Shelby felt slighted by these words. She hastily tried to muster up the ability to take back the conversation, since it was clearly falling into (Y/N)'s hands. "We do. We've spoken of starting a family, of completing our home...a little brother or sister for Charlie." (Y/N) only laughed at what was said. Mrs Shelby scoffed at her reaction. "How dare you react in that way! This is not a laughable matter," she insisted, glaring at the grinning woman.

"You are so na��ve to believe that it'll be that simple; that your wishes will be granted," (Y/N) stated, shaking her head. Silly woman, she thought.

"I don't see why they wouldn't be," Mrs Shelby furrowed her eyebrows at the other woman's cryptic statement.

"You've not lived here long enough to know what'll happen...to know what fate befalls every woman that sets foot on this property."

"What are you saying?"

"It's the land, Eloise. It's cursed. It took my babies, and it'll take yours too," (Y/N) words had an ominous tone to them, making Mrs Shelby shiver as she heard them. Nothing could have prepared her for what would come out of the other woman's mouth next: "it kept me here to make sure of it."

A mortified look formed on Mrs Shelby's face while a smirk formed on (Y/N)'s. The former of the two stayed frozen in her spot as the latter slowly retreated back into the trees that surrounded the eerie pond.

Even if Mrs Shelby wanted to, she couldn't ask the strange woman what her ominous message meant because (Y/N) had slipped completely out of sight. She'd practically vanished into thin air.

The conversation left Mrs Shelby reeling; questioning if any of it was even real. She tried blinking her eyes several times, wondering if doing so would do the trick of waking her up. Yes...maybe this is all just a twisted dream. But it wasn't. She was still standing out in the middle of the forest, the fog-covered pond still in front of her; the bottom of her dress still covered in the mud of the bank she kneeled on. So many questions were swirling through her mind as she grappled with what was real and what could possibly be made up.

She knew two things for certain: one, she couldn't stay out here a second longer, and two: she needed to speak to Tommy about this immediately.

Mrs Shelby was completely out of breath when she reached the doors to Arrow House. She rushed inside, squeezing herself through the people who were working hasilty to make sure finishing touches were in place before the party started. She gave them no thought as she frantically looked for her husband, moving so quickly through the crowd that she hadn't noticed he was in front of her until his hands were grabbing hold of her shoulders.

"Where're you running to, love?" Tommy asked, his brows furrowed as he took in the sight of his distraught wife. He watched closely as she took several breaths to calm herself down, and he placed pressure on her collarbones with his thumbs, hoping that it would aid the process.

"Tommy, I...I went out t-to walk and followed the, the path down to the trees, and then I walked further in and I just kept walking until I reached a p-pond, and I, I, I uh I didn't...I didn't..."

"Hey, slow down, Eloise," Tommy cut off his wife's frantic rambles with a steady voice, "catch your breath first before you talk again," he suggested, seeing her nod before he brought his hands from her shoulders up to her cheeks. He caressed them softly as he let his eyes drift over her body. "What's happened, eh? Why is your dress muddy?" he asked, his brows furrowing together again.

"I was telling you, I...I found a pond. And there was a woman in it."

"A woman?" Tommy was taken back by the information.

"Yes. She, she was in the water when I first saw her, but then she came to me and she, she...Tommy, we need to leave. We need to leave here, now," her voice might have been shaky, but she still said the final word with the dire emotion it needed.

"Why would we do that, darling?" he needed to ask, now full of confusion.

"We have to leave here if we want to have the family we talk about. We can't have a baby here, Tommy," the fear filling her body was present in her words.

"You're confusing me, Eloise," he bluntly said, hoping she'd get to the point of her worries and stop dancing around the problem.

"To keep them alive, Tommy," she spoke with a sense of urgency, "there's something in the woods...a woman...she said that she's going to take our babies."

Tommy took a few moments to let what was just said sink in. The cogs in his mind were now turning at the second mention of this woman. He knew now that it was no mistake made by his frantic wife. She must've encountered (Y/N). Just the thought of that happening made his blood run cold. He needed to think of a way to deflect this; to make her believe that this was nothing to be worried about. "I think you might have been outside for too long, love. Why don't you go upstairs and change for the party, eh?" he suggested, his eyebrows raised, showing that even though he'd asked a question, his suggestion wasn't actually up for debate.

"But I didn't...I know it wasn't..."

"Go on, love," he cut her off as she fumbled for the words, nodding his head towards the stairs. "Everyone's almost here."

Mrs Shelby bit on her lip as she fought to keep everything inside. It felt like she was on the brink of a breakdown, and Tommy surely had to see that. Why was he trying to diminish the situation? Didn't he care to know more of why she was reacting the way she was? Did he even want the family they had talked about? All of these questions were bouncing around Mrs Shelby's mind as her husband looked expectantly at her. There was no way that she could bring the conversation back now. It was over.

So she nodded her head ever-so slightly, silently agreeing with what he wanted her to do. That was all Tommy needed from her. He dropped his hold from her, leaning in to press a quick kiss to her lips before he mumbled 'good' and left her side. Mrs Shelby stood there for a moment, still overwhelmed from everything that had happened. But there was only one thing she could do now: get ready for the party and hope for the best.

"Fuck," Tommy breathed as he paced the floor of his office. He brought the glass of whiskey up to his lips and drank the rest of it, setting the glass down just as the door to the room opened.

"Frances said you needed me," the voice of his sister called out before she walked in from behind the door.

"Yes, come in," Tommy answered, waving his hand to her even though she'd already entered the room, "shut the door," he said then, fishing the pack of cigarettes out of his pocket.

"What's going on?" Ada decided to get right to the point. She was never one for beating around the bush, especially when her brother was so clearly being affected by something.

"Eloise just returned from a walk. She managed to find the pond," Tommy started, running his hand along the back of his head as he looked to the ground with a huff. His statement may have been vague, but Ada knew exactly what he was getting at.

"Oh, Tommy," she sighed in dismay. She watched her brother then, now seeing the stress and worry that was so clearly etched into his features.

"She told me she met the woman and that she talked to her," he gave more detail, sitting down on the couch with a sigh. "I don't know what I'm going to do to cover this up," he added, bringing the cigarette to his lips to take a long drag.

Ada stood in her spot, her arms crossed as she observed her brother. It didn't take much to notice that he’d already given this problem all of his attention. He may have seemed composed on the outside, but she knew that his mind was working on overdrive. "Maybe it's time you forgot about her," she offered a suggestion a few moments later.

"Forgot about who?" Tommy asked, not even bothering to raise his head from the couch's back.

"(Y/N)," Ada didn't hesitate in saying the woman's name. Hearing it made Tommy's head snap up so that he could look at his sister. He almost looked surprised at the fact that she'd dare say that name. "You have Eloise now. There's no longer a need to visit her anymore."

"She knows too much," he countered.

"Who?" Ada asked for specifics.

"(Y/N). She knows too much. Of me, of this land, of fucking everything. I don't want Eloise speaking to her anymore."

"What're you going to do then, forbid Eloise from leaving the house?" Her question was meant to be a joke, but it was one that made the lightbulb above her brother's head go off. She noticed it in the way Tommy moved, standing from the couch and stalking out of the room, on a new mission. "Fuck," she breathed with a sigh, knowing that his mind that been set and there'd be no changing it.

Ada wondered why Tommy cared so much about this woman; this person who was no longer living and breathing, yet was still chained to this world. He had told her about (Y/N) in depth: about how she lived a very unhappy life, how she'd gotten to the point where she had nothing left, how she went to that very pond and walked into it knowing that she wouldn't be coming back out.

What Ada didn't realize was that Tommy felt like he was connected to (Y/N); like she was the only person who understood everything he'd been through. Tragedy understood tragedy, and both (Y/N) and Tommy's lives had been filled with it.

So would Tommy really insert more control over his loving wife’s life just because she’d stumbled upon a spirit lurking on the grounds of their estate? That question may not be so easily answered.

Despite the events of the day, the party went smoothly. Tommy, while still having to play host alongside Eloise, managed to speak to his wife about the adventure she'd taken earlier. He convinced her that they wouldn't be moving, and even though she didn't quite understand his reasoning, she agreed to never again walk past the gates of Arrow House's garden; thereby relinquishing her ability to leave the immediate property.

Eloise was able to fall asleep the second her head hit the pillow, exhausted from everything that had happened. Tommy was still wide awake late into the evening. He had one more thing he needed to do.

It didn't take him long to find the pond on the property, and it was no surprise that (Y/N) was waiting for him when he reached the water's edge. She waded towards him, a smile gracing her lips as she stopped in front of him. "I knew you'd come back," she said, speaking in that sweet voice that he'd come to find comfort in. But he couldn't let it calm him this time.

"You shouldn't have spoken to her," his words were abrupt, hoping that she'd get the point and they'd move on.

"I just had to let her know," (Y/N) didn't let it go; instead she explained her side. Her smile dropped into a pout as she tipped her head slightly, feigning innocence.

Her look didn’t faze him. "You'll not speak to her again.”

"I'm not sure I'll be able to help it if the option presents itself," her smile returned, and any trace of innocence was gone.

"It won't...she won't be coming down here anymore," Tommy stayed assertive, still not letting her switch faze him.

"So it'll just be you then?" (Y/N)'s eyebrows raised.

"It'll just be me. Forget you ever saw her," he finished off with one more succinct statement before turning to leave her. Even if he wanted to, he knew he couldn't stay out here tonight.

"She knows what'll happen," (Y/N)'s voice stopped him before he could leave. "She knows about the curse. Knows what'll happen if you try..." she trailed off, not even finishing her sentence because he already knew what she meant.

Silence hung in the air as he stared her down, watching for any subtle movements she could make. "Make it so it doesn't,” he said after a few beats, not waiting to turn and walk away from the pond without allowing her to have a chance to respond.

"I'll see you soon, Tommy," she called after him, smiling as she watched him walk away.

He knew that there was no way she could make things change, even if she wanted to. There was something about these grounds...something that was darker than anything he'd ever known. But he'd be lying if he said he wanted to leave them.

Eloise may not like it, but at the end of the day, she didn't have a choice. She'd stay locked inside of Arrow House so that Tommy could ensure that his two worlds wouldn't collide again.

Tagged: @mystcldydrms @the-anxious-youth @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @elenavampire21 @mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @lilyrachelcassidy @notyour-valentine @shelbydelrey @theshelbyslimited @peakyswritings @just-a-blackhole @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry @captivatedbycillianmurphy @yummycastiel @dark-academia-slut @tommystargirl @emotionalcadaver @stevie75 @lyarr24 @signorellisantichrist @zablife @anotherblinder @cillmequick @dandelionprints @letal-y-poetica @gypsy-girl-08 @insanitybyanothername @depxiety @raincoffeeandfandoms @dragons-are-my-favorite @dlmlufics @forgottenpeakywriter @cljordan-imperium @brummiereader @areyenotfondofmelobster @everythingelseisextra @little-diable @thomashelbyswife @shaddixlife

MASTERLIST

[caramel-maveeato]

𝟥:𝟥𝟥 ♡˚₊。。。

❧❤ SYNOPSIS: three among all the times you revived butterflies in his garden...  ♡ Pairings/Love interest: So Mun x GN!reader ♡ Genre: fluff ♡ TW: suggestive, detailed descriptions of kissing in part 3, slight cursing, sexual tension but no doing the deed, basically just 3 short fics in the form of 1 long fic because why not ♡ word count: 3.8k

Note: All characters originated from “The Uncanny Counter/Amazing Rumor” except for Y/n.  (I love this theme so much wtf why he so pretty)

English is not my first language!!! Sorry in advance if I make any grammar and vocabulary mistakes.

So Mun was one to be driven by love. Whether it’s platonic or romantic, both are irreplaceable in his life. 

He didn’t understand why some people dated just to waste their time. Witnessing how strong of a bond his parents shared ever since he was a kid, he believed the wondrous word "lovers" could never be used halfheartedly. That being said, ever since a relationship with you has flowered, merely your existence was already plentiful enough to bring him to his knees. 

Once he fell, So Mun unconsciously became a hopeless romantic, hands down. 

Every day with you resembled a spring rain, gleaming drops of the sky mizzling outside the closed window; bracingly excited, nonetheless pleasant. Liveliness erupted through every one of his veins when the first thing he saw after a long rest was your sleeping face, savoring in tranquility next to him.

He skimmed his hand—which was lazing around on your hip—over to fix any part of the blanket that had slided off your body. Warm fingers sailed their way down your back and danced along the divine curve. Each stroke was careful enough not to disturb your sleep as the small distance between you two was diminished through his gentle pull. 

Laid between the entangled fingers was a vague squeeze. A smile instantly pervaded his face just from the sight of your eyelids slowly fluttering open, his own image mirroring in those crystalline pupils: “Good morning, baby.”

“Morning…” There it was, your raspy morning voice that he looked forward to every day: “What time is it?”

He glanced at the clock, his digits soothing your upper back and shoulder blazes: “It’s still early; you can go back to sleep.” 

Your habit of always waking up beside each other had almost been set in stone—whether in the back seat of the car, the dinner table, or even in the middle of the boxing ring—to the point that all of your accustomed actions had become so predictable for So Mun that he could correctly guess what gestures you’d impulsively do every time morning knocked on your door.

Drowsiness straggled on your eyelids as you let darkness cloak your vision. You drew a tiny hum, your body moved on its own from the guidance of the familiar warmth and soon enough, you were secured inside his embrace again: “Just… ten more minutes.”

Habit or not, he didn’t mind how effortlessly you could accelerate the rhythm of his heart: “Sure.”

“Actually…” The elation on So Mun’s face dilated through the tenderness of your hair scratching on his skin, tiny nuzzles of your nose followed by faint inhales and exhales on his neck. His heart swelled when kisses like a touch of a delicate wing brushing against his Adam’s apple: “Maybe more than ten.”

He laughed, habitually running a hand through your hair: “How about twenty minutes?”

“As long as possible. I want to stay like this for a while longer.” Your arm returned to its home around him, fingers enveloped in an instinctive grasp to anchor yourself to a sense of amenity you could only find around So Mun. His morning routine would never be fulfilled without you clinging onto him for at least a lasting moment: “Is that okay?”

You were too dozy to catch onto how his chest faintly vibrated with a chuckle, how a lovely softness perched on the top of your head, nor how a flurry of tiny feathers had taken flight inside him—like songbirds broke free from a hidden cage, euphonious symphony merging into the sky through chaotic felicity. It was haywire, but he loved it: 

“Of course, sleepyhead.”

Cooking is a boyfriend’s duty, so unless it was your own wish, he never let you work a single muscle while in the kitchen. 

It was one of the rare occasions that his grandparents were out of town to visit a relative. And so he anticipated such a perfect opportunity for an indoor date, wasted no time welcoming you into the house. 

A variety of home-made snacks and bags of chips hung around on top of the cabinet. Comfortable silence accompanied him as he stood pouring your favorite soda into an iced cup, completely oblivious to you—whom he supposed was still sitting on the couch scrolling through a long list of movies—already sneaking up to him from behind, footsteps soundless.

With a quiet and almost imperceptible approach, you closed your arms around his waist, physically declaring your profound adoration for your boyfriend: “Hi!”

“Hi, baby.” Your sudden display of affection momentarily startled him, and So Mun laughed at himself just as quickly for flinching. Or maybe he wasn’t flinching. After all, you could never scare him. 

Perhaps his heart jumped from a swarm of fireflies that burst out; something inside him fluttered like leaves in the chilly breeze, carrying him away by a whirlwind of emotion when your chin rested on his shoulder, face nesting in the nape of his neck. 

He giggled, placing the empty can of soda down and wrapping his hand around yours: “What are you doing?”

Despite not facing you, he knew a cheeky grin had already plastered across your face: “What do you think I’m doing?”

So Mun tilted his head back to rest against your own, his words coming out a bit cheesier than he intended. Not that you’d mind it: “It’s not fair, I can’t hug you back like this.” 

“How about you endure it for a bit more? Because I’m, in fact…” 

Your digits traced the fabric of his shirt, one hand of yours retreated from his waist and slided up along his shoulder, quietly brushing the disheveled curls aside. Giving no warning, you closed the final gap between your lips and his exposed flesh, dipping a secretive kiss into the warmth of your whispering voice: “...enjoying this way too much.”

He tensed up. A shiver of delight cascaded down his spine, like a field of wildflowers had sprung to life in every corner of his being. The more your lips dragged along the back of his neck, the more he felt his ears burn up under the temptation of your peppering kisses: 

“That’s cheating.”

“Cheating?” The remaining embrace on his torso gently tightened, another peck spraying on his skin to fill in the pause between your responses: “Am I not even allowed to kiss my boyfriend?”

A hint of embarrassment can be heard in his voice, but he made no effort to squirm off your grasp: “You know very well what you’re doing, Y/n…” 

Every little peck left a tingling sensation in its wake. Open-mouthed kisses you showered him with conveyed gentle provocation. Your fingers fluently grazed through his mullet, making more space for a series of affectionate assaults to scatter along his delicate neck: “I can’t help it, it’s a tradition that neck kisses take place wherever back hugs are.”

So Mun’s heartbeat thundered loudly in his ears, and his upper body would intermittently twitch when some of your kisses were so tender that they turned ticklish. He sighed, his little act of bashfulness was quick to be betrayed by his own chuckle before it could even emerge: “Just so you know, you’re going to pay for this.”

“If you want to threaten me, you should do better.” You evilly blew a hot bit of air into his nape and the ticklishness instantly pulled a reaction out of him: “Because when you make it sound like that, you know I only look forward to it.”

Your little victory didn’t last long as So Mun broke the hug, turning around to meet his eyes with yours. Once your gazes collided, you were too busy drinking in his handsome features to notice a firm grip had already settled under your thighs. And just in a blink of an eye, the solidity of the floor under your feet completely evaporated. 

His movement was so nimble that it sent you dumbfounded for a second. Both of your hands quickly clutched on him for security. But as soon as he lowered you on a hardened surface, heat began to smear through your face as you stared at him in astonishment, eyes widened and lips parted like that one surprised Pikachu meme. 

So Mun stood between your legs, leaning slightly closer to you and the dining table he placed you on, his voice softened as the air hung heavy with anticipation: “I can tell you do look forward to this, love.”

The look of awe in your eyes prompted a satisfied smirk from him. He was proud to have successfully flustered you and he didn't even try to hide it: “Did I surprise you?”

“Would be lying if I said you didn’t. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.” You blinked a few times, a supposed reply gave up for a shy giggle. Your smile stretched goofily when he pinched on one of your cheeks that had been painted pink:

"Yeah, you're having a good time on this table, aren't you?"

You drew your hands up on his shoulders, subtly pulling him closer, your legs lingering on both sides of his hips: “So, what do you plan on doing to me now?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” He tilted his head and smiled—one that never failed to sweep you off your feet. He knew he was fine, and you agreed to that statement with your whole being. 

“It is obvious, but I’d prefer you say it out loud.”

“Hmm…”

“C’mon, say it.”

“I’m going to finish up what you’ve started.” His warm fingers spoke of unvoiced desire and reluctant constraint, hovering just above your waist while he gazed into your eyes for permission: “Can I?””

“Nothing is stopping you, my dear.” Asking for consent before initiating is always so goddamn attractive of him, and who are you to reject such a sweet offer: “Go for it however you want.”

He wasted no time attaching his lips to yours as a silent thank you. His pace was slow but packed with profuse excitement, plump lips soon marching down the underside of your jaw to your neck. 

The first kiss he planted was almost too light to savor, meant to make sure there wouldn’t be any last second change of heart from you although he knew you were no less than him aching for this—judging from how your head voluntarily threw backwards and your arms clasped around him in an effort to banish the space between you two. 

With an exchange of kisses and cheerful smiles, the kitchen abruptly became more than just a place for cooking. You closed your eyes and granted him full-right over the adventure on your skin, but the buttery scent of freshly popped popcorn instantaneously snapped you out of your daze: “Mun, what about the movie?”

A nonchalant hum echoed against your skin, remaining hidden behind a loving kiss: “That can wait.”

Before switching to the new hideout, the basement of Eonnie’s Noodle was unofficially considered your ideal dating place due to how much So Mun works out. 

Since the boxing ring was too publicly arranged, there was no other choice for you but to find a more secluded spot for any possible funny business.

A single window permitted trickles of sunlight into the basement, which was dimly illuminated in the serene solitude of the afternoon. You were sitting on the couch scrolling through social media while your boyfriend was productively doing his daily routine, though you honestly didn’t even pay attention to your phone that much. At the end of the day, he was a much, much better sight to admire. 

Steadily, So Mun lifted his upper body off the mat, his back curving as he went, then lowered himself back down for another repetition. The rhythmic cadence of his breath infiltrated the atmosphere, mixing with the soft rustling of the exercise mat beneath him. 

Time had dashed notably since he started the series of sit-ups, beads of sweat had already glinted on his brow. At one point, the fatigue was gradually waning his strength by the minute, the sounds of his breath came in heavier as evidence of the enlarging weariness.

Moving off the couch, you walked over and knelt down. His eyes thoroughly followed you with a gleam of curiosity as you pressed your palms on top of his feet, keeping them firmly in place: “Need a hand?”

“Yes… thank you.” The anchor he needed was perfectly provided by your supportive hold. So Mun breathed out, just that bit of exhaustion didn’t stop him from smiling brightly at you. 

“Glad to be of service.”

You returned the smile with one of your own, watching as he concentrated on finishing the workout set. Unbeknownst to So Mun, helping him stabilize wasn’t the only purpose you had in mind. Your boyfriend had been working hard all day every day, you wouldn’t want to miss this perfect chance of affectionately messing with him. 

Quiet counting of each sit-up quickly came to a pause when he saw your body reach forward, confidence resurfacing on the corners of your mouth as you placed your chin on his bent knees with playful flirtatiousness. 

The blatant hint quickened his preexistent racing heartbeat, making So Mun swallow thickly: “Is that an invitation?”

You raised your eyebrows, no shame in confirming his suspicion: “Yes, an invitation and a motivation.”

A tint of pink further permeated his already flushed cheeks, whether formed from exercising or the effect you had on him. Either way, you were absolutely loving it. 

Chin still rested between his attached knees while you stayed in the same position. Your head tilted slightly to the side, wordlessly emphasizing your offer. This little push certainly did marvels as you caught his dark brown irises darting down to your lips. For a second, you could almost feel the burn his fervent stare left on you. 

“How thoughtful of you.” He whispered. There was no sarcasm, just reciprocated playfulness. The exertion resumed and he dropped back to the mat again before ascending upward to you who was also reaching for him, slowly but surely bending forward until your faces were pressed together, his soft lips mingling on yours tentatively. 

Your kiss was a touch of a butterfly, but the swirling emotion it brought rushed over to him like a summer rain. He felt you smile against his lips, a tremendously infectious one that caused a smile of his own to bloom as well. 

The “motivation” giveaway progressed for a while before So Mun eventually stopped for a breather, propping his hands on his sides for stability. His voice was breathier than normal, unavoidable from the long session of workout he’d strained himself through, yet strangely hushed in a way that things started stirring up inside your chest: “If your primary intention was to distract me, it is working well above and beyond.” 

“Oh no, is that a complaint that I hear?” You joked. Both of you knew damn well he was just as excited because another peck waited no time to land on your lips right after the question.

“I didn’t say that.” His gaze escorted you as your hands were now withdrawn from his shoes. He relaxed one leg, straightening it against the black mat: “I mean, you should consider ‘distracting’ me more often.”

You laughed: “Straight to the point, huh?”

“I was only being honest! It’s kinda lonely training by myself sometimes, I’d be happy to have a companion stay with me here and there.” So Mun vaguely gave you a shrug, although the way he never vacated your eyes implied that he wasn’t exactly as nonchalant as he tried to present: “Plus, you don’t seem to mind helping me with the sit-ups.”

His excuse was cut in half as you mercilessly exposed him with a proud wink: “I think you just want to see me.”

Hesitation gained no room in your answer and So Mun found himself pouting at that: “Yeah, that’s also one of the reasons.” 

Bashfulness clouded inside his throat, if you didn’t happen to be right in front of him, maybe his reply would’ve sounded like an indistinct murmur. You bit the inside of your cheek to not burst out laughing: “Aww, really?”

“You just can’t take me seriously, can you?” He rolled his eyes, letting loose a chuckle to melt into the atmosphere: “Yes, baby. I always want to see you. What’s so wrong about it?” 

His thumb sweetly stroked your cheek. The delight in his eyes glistened when you spontaneously angled your face to search for more contact. You didn’t realize how this seemingly innocent gesture could ignite so great of a mental fire, perhaps So Mun had mastered the art of captivating you whenever he’d like: “Us spending time together in everything else is not enough. Even during training, I still want to see you.”

You could feel heat radiating off his skin, and it took all of your sanity to stop your smile from widening. Suddenly, the veil of tension drooped between you was no longer thin, marking the tinge of color on your cheeks even more evident: “Tch, you just had to make everything sound so sweet.”

“Is that so?” He grinned, gliding up along your arm before his fingers encircled it. Then, he slightly bent forward—a tenuous suggestion that you caught on to right away: “Was it too sweet for your liking?”

At this point, you were programmed to be intuitively drawn into him like a moth flitted into flame. Your self-restraint had left the room yet you couldn’t care less: “It was sugary as hell, but accepted and appreciated.”

“I’m glad you approved.” So Mun chuckled through a half-whisper. The next thing you knew, your lips had connected with his again. 

The sensation was perfectly blended like two puzzle pieces completing each other. Taking advantage of your current position you pushed your palm against his bent knee and knocked his legs apart, climbing over on top of him. Your other hand rested on his shoulder as an affirmation of dominance as you pressed him flat down on the exercise mat, your lips still joined like an unbreakable knot.

A dull, nearly inaudible thud echoed throughout the basement as he fell backward. However, the sound of hurried gasping was close to completely concealing it. So Mun’s adoration for each time you took the lead was impractical to convert into words. Especially when it’s not an everyday matter that he’d be locked underneath you like this, your lips crushing and caressing him with breathtaking friction, drowning him in the ocean of butterflies he created himself. 

With every passing second, the butterflies appeared increasingly vibrant, their presence peculiarly resembling a secret uttered as a reminder that he was alive. So Mun’s lips moved in tandem with your own, eyes shut tight to intensify the passion to the utmost. The kiss itself remained just as sweet as how you taste, bearing unspoken fervor in each dance and he couldn’t help but yearn for more. 

Your fingertips were occupied on his cheek and the underside of his jaw, forcing his face up for easier access. Yet, every time your tongue swiped over his bottom lip, feeding his expectation for a deeper kiss, you always managed to retreat too fast for his craving. The soft groan of need earned himself a snicker from your side, certifying that your moment of affection had somehow progressed into a battle of teasing and hunting. 

This was where you knew whatever you plotted just came out successful. So Mun chased you up despite already being helpless beneath you, trying to fill the gap between your parted lips with his tongue which you happily fought back with the same tactic, off and on nibbling on his lower lip. But what you didn’t foresee was a flip in position when he suddenly rolled you over, effortlessly overthrowing the control you held within a heartbeat. 

As soon as your whimper of surprise was heard, So Mun ducked down and overpowered you by molding his mouth against yours, finally taking what he had longed for. Your fingers dug into his curls uncaring about the slight wetness grazing your hand as the result of his previous training, tugging a low grunt out of the back of his throat. Intoxication detonated where your lips were encountered. The contact was identical to walking on air, a feather-light buoyancy elevating spirits. 

He broke apart, giving the two of you a breather. His round eyes stuck on your face while you tried to regulate your breath, not looking any better than him with your swollen lips moistened by his saliva, or maybe your own? The answer wouldn’t matter anyway. 

“One more?” A certain hunger exuded from him in a way that was remarkably thrilling. Rosiness engulfed his face and his lips pinkened from making out—a side of him only you were allowed to see. And once he recognized pure desperation in your half-lidded eyes, he smiled, his voice soft but hoarse under the influence of his feverish need:  “One more.”

You’d be a liar if you said this wasn’t the hottest fucking thing you’ve witnessed in your life. 

Time stopped and flied every time your mouths glued together and pulled apart. You were kissed into losing all perceptions by now, capable of doing nothing but huffing and puffing underneath his body. 

“What got you so riled up?” You asked between the shallow breaths, sounding so innocently as if it was him who turned out to be the rise of his own eagerness. 

“Are you seriously asking that question?” He jerked up one of his brows, moving a strand of hair off your forehead: “It was you who started the whole thing.”

Your hand gently squeezed his where they were still intertwined: “Guilty and proud of it.”

“Of course you’d say that.” His minty breath strenuously washed over your face. You inhaled deeply to seek out the familiar scent he carried; for some reason it smelled even more addictive due to a hint of sweat and a flow of devotion. Combined with desire as well, that’s for sure. 

Those couple of inches between your mouths were awfully tempting. So Mun dipped his face, aiming straight at your lips but he abruptly stopped before another kiss could take place, mumbling softly against your mouth as he grinned: “You’re going to get us in trouble someday, you know that?” 

Your free hand was clasped on the crook of his neck, bracing yourself for what your boyfriend had planned out for you. With obviously messy hair and reddened lips, you’d pray for your teammates to not accidentally walk in or take notice of your aftermath appearance when you exited the basement. But eventually that thought was the least important to you right now: 

“I think it’s supposed to be you who is going to get us in trouble someday, So Mun-ah.”

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I could've finished this fic last week but my procrastination fucked me up so... Sorry for taking too long i hope this is worth the wait