#community castle au

[little-pondhead]

After Danny is crowned Ghost King, Amity Park becomes detached from the mortal realm and is suspended between the two realms, much like Danny is. In an effort to combat this isolation from the rest of the world, Danny opens up his castle to the residents of Amity. (Not his Lair, just the castle he earned via conquest.)

Now the castle is more like a community center, and it’s constantly filled with both humans and ghosts coming and going. The Amity Parkers are already liminal, so visiting the Zone is actually healthy for them! The school takes the kids on regular field trips, ghost vs. human competitions get very heated, and overall everyone bonds over their shared freakiness and comes to terms with the fact they’ll never venture out into their world ever again.

But just because they’re detached from their world, doesn’t mean the residents of Amity can’t visit other worlds. :)

And it just so happens that their new community castle is filled to the brim with magic doors and ancient treasures to help aid on their noble quest of inter-dimensional grocery shopping.

[mios-art]

Atsushi: “…I see that you dyed your hair, it suits you.”

Chuuya: “Hrm, grey wasn’t my colour.”

Atsushi: “I see…”

Chuuya: “How did you get that letter, the one with the spell on it?”

Atsushi: “Dazai said it was in his apartment one night a few days ago.”

Chuuya: “Hmph, that Dazai, I bet the spell was meant for him, but somehow it didn’t work.”

Atsushi: “Magic has always been weird around Dazai… I… I used to turn into a wild tiger. Of course, he never believed that since I stopped transforming since I met him. Everyone at the agency where we work struggles with their powers when he’s around.”

Chuuya: “Ha! You tell me. Why even bother keeping him around then?”

Atsushi: “He might not seem like it, but he’s pretty smart!”

Chuuya: “HMPH. Right, smart.”

Atsushi: “…if I may ask, who is this P. Verlaine who sent the letter?”

Chuuya: “An asshole who claims to be my brother, he keeps trying to catch me. And he’s been killing people… people I care about.”

Atsushi: “Oh! I’m sorry, that’s horrible…”

Chuuya: “… you’re a good kid Atsushi.”

Tranquility: Previous | Next

To the castle! : First

[dicediceking]

Day: 14 Castle

I made a Tangled au and I thought it fit

(I'm sorry that the blush looks like a disease lol idk why it looks like that)

[mobbothetrue]

What the hell, that’s actually a really funny line

[youssefguedira]

zelda au but from nicky's pov this time! and also angst 100 years after the previous ficlets

It’s obvious, when Nicolò arrives, that he’s found what he’s been looking for. The place would be unassuming, if not for the sense of dread that surrounds it even from a distance, the way that all of Nicolò’s instincts tell him to turn back. His horse stops abruptly and won’t go any further, despite all of Nicolò’s attempts to soothe him. He dismounts, ties the horse’s reins to a nearby tree, and continues on foot.

It’s a perfect circle of nothing. Around it, the field is thriving, birds soaring in the air above as they call to each other, the wind gently ruffling the grass. But inside the circle, there is nothing growing, nothing alive. When Nicolò steps inside it, it is immediately perfectly silent. The ground is dry as if it hasn’t rained in years, a web of gold burned into the ground, its threads spreading from a point at the circle’s centre to its edges.

He’s been warned against this by so many: by the ghost of the old king; by the Queen of Hyrule; by the Sheikah elders; by Yusuf himself in his last dream. But he has to know what happened, and so here he is. 

He kneels in the very centre of the circle at the point where the golden cracks meet, a scar burned into the land one hundred years ago.

You found it, then, Yusuf says in his head, sounding resigned. Nicolò looks around instinctively, even though by now he knows that Yusuf won’t be there. It doesn’t stop him from looking.

“I have to know,” Nicolò says. “Show me. Please.”

Yusuf doesn't respond for a moment, then says, If you insist. 

Nicolò closes his eyes.

--------------------

The sky is a deep, unnatural red, black clouds littered across it. The smell of smoke hangs heavy in the air. Nicolò’s whole body aches, his tunic stained with dirt and old blood from various wounds that he’s assured Yusuf are no more than scratches but that he knows are much worse. Despite the pain, he keeps on, sword in hand. He knows he won’t be able to carry on much longer, but they’re so close.

Yusuf is close behind him, still in his ceremonial tunic with Nicolò’s cloak draped over his shoulders, clutching the dagger Quynh had given him before they separated. They hadn’t had time to grab anything else. 

“Not much further,” Nicolò says as reassuringly as he can, but he knows it’s not convincing. Still, Yusuf nods, and they press on. 

They’re almost to the fort when Nicolò hears the now familiar whirring of one of the ancient robots Yusuf had been studying, now glowing bright red with the beast’s corruption, and freezes. The Guardian turns its head, searching. Nicolò holds his breath. They’re too exposed like this, but he doesn’t dare move.  

Two more join the first, and Nicolò can’t stand against three of them, not like this. His best hope is to distract them for long enough that Yusuf can get to safety, even though he knows Yusuf won’t agree to leave him behind. 

“Yusuf-” Nicolò begins, just as the first Guardian turns its head again and looks directly at them. Its eye flashes red and begins to glow.

It’s a monumental effort to lift his shield, as tired as he is, but he knows they won’t outrun it, so it’s his only option. “Yusuf,” he says, even as he draws his sword. “Go now. Run to the fort. I will buy you time.”

“No,” Yusuf says. “No, I can’t leave you here.”

“We don’t have time.” The other two Guardians have seen them now, all three of them glowing brighter. The first is taking aim, almost charged enough to shoot. “Yusuf, go.”

The Guardian draws back its head, ready to shoot- and Yusuf pushes in front of him, and Nicolò reaches out to stop him-

There’s a burst of blinding golden light, and then nothing. The ground around them is seared in a perfect circle, golden cracks burned into the ground, spreading from the spot where Yusuf stands, the back of his left hand glowing the same way Nicolò’s had on the night he’d found the sword. The Guardians, all three of them, collapse to the ground, whatever had been controlling them gone. 

Nicolò, unable to hold himself up any longer, stumbles. Yusuf turns quickly enough to catch him before he falls, lowering him gently to the ground so his head rests in Yusuf’s lap.

“You did it,” Nicolò whispers, reaching up to take Yusuf’s left hand in his right. 

“I did,” Yusuf says, still looking at the back of his hand - at the scar that matches Nicolò’s - as if he can’t quite believe it after so long. But then he catches sight of the blood on Nicolò’s tunic. “Nico, you’re bleeding. We’ve got to get you to a healer.”

Nicolò shakes his head. He’s not going to make it that far, and he knows it. “You have to go. There will be more, now that they know where you are. That wasn’t exactly subtle of you.” That gets Yusuf to laugh, even through tears. 

“I can’t leave you,” Yusuf says. “I can’t do this without you, Nico.”

“You can,” Nicolò whispers. “You have everything you need, now.” He reaches up, his hand trembling as his fingers brush Yusuf’s jaw. “Get to safety. Find the others. Take the sword, too.”

“I can’t,” Yusuf repeats. “It’s not far, Nicolò. Please. I need you with me.”

“You’ll be okay,” Nicolò says softly, even as his eyelids grow heavy. He doesn’t have long now. “I promise, you’ll be okay. I love you.” He's never said it out loud before, even if he's certain Yusuf knows, but- if this is where he dies, then he wants to tell him at least once.

“Stay with me,” Yusuf pleads. Nicolò lets his hand fall, offers Yusuf a small smile, and slips away.

--------------------

“Nicolò,” Yusuf says. “Nicolò, look at me, please. Please, Nico.” 

It’s no use, Nicolò knows. He’s already gone. 

It’s strange looking down at himself like this. This isn’t his memory anymore - now Yusuf is showing him what happened after. 

“Nico,” Yusuf whispers, and Nicolò wishes he could reassure him, but he can’t. 

“Your Highness?” someone calls from across the field - Celeste, sword in hand, running towards him. “What happened?”

In answer, Yusuf lifts the back of his hand to show her the scar. Celeste’s eyes widen. 

“There were three Guardians,” he says. “I killed them, but he was wounded, and-”

Celeste kneels on Nicolò’s other side. She checks his pulse. “There may still be a way to save him, Your Highness.”

Yusuf looks up sharply. “What do you mean?” he asks, breathless. 

“The Shrine of Resurrection is functional enough to heal him, if we act quickly. It may take a very long time, and there is a chance he will not remember anything, but it’s a chance.”

“If it’s a chance, we’ll take it,” Yusuf says immediately. “Take him there. Do whatever you need to to help him.” 

Celeste nods. “What about you?”

“I’m going to the castle,” Yusuf says.

--------------------

Nicolò’s eyes snap open. It takes him a moment to calm his racing heart - he’s not there, not in danger, and neither is Yusuf.

Yusuf doesn’t say anything at first, but Nicolò can feel his presence. I never wanted you to see that, he says finally. 

“Why?” Nicolò asks.

You died because of me, and I couldn’t save you. If I had been able to act earlier, it wouldn’t have happened. I failed you.

“You don’t know that. What happened happened, and it cannot be changed now. And you didn’t fail, Yusuf. You’ve kept the kingdom safe for one hundred years. I wouldn’t call that failure.”

I’m so tired, Nico, Yusuf says. It’s been so long. I don’t know how much longer I can hold on.

“I know,” Nicolò says. He traces over the wrapping on the hilt of his sword, then stands. “I’m coming.”

[endermen-impasta]

SC!Rise Separated AU Update!!!

Chapter Two and Three just got released today with two art pieces attached to it. To get the link go to my pinned post and click more to get the link to book two on AO3 and Wattpad.

Chapter Two art ↑

Chapter Three Art ↑

(Bumble belongs to my friend Feral { @th3inb3tw33n } he is not my original character and they gave me permission to use Bumble for the AU. Enjoy and goodnight)

[sunnystrollblog]

Borrowers au idea

In this au branch was taken by chef instead of his grandmother fortunately he was able to escaped captivity and now lives inside the castle walls like a borrower! He slowly made a home there and helped free any trolls he came across which led to a small group of trolls following him this group is known as kismet! Over time their small community grew into a colony, secretly hiding away in the place where Bergman’s would least expect them.

TADA~

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Gīsītsos (little ghost)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x f!reader Warnings: Fingering, dubcon, smut. Word count: ~3.7k

Summary: As part of the Red Keep's serving staff, she knows it is better to remain unseen by the family she tends to. Unfortunately for her, an incident involving the second of the Targaryen sons means his gaze is now firmly fixed upon her.

Author's note: For @targaryen-dynasty's sleepover challenge. I was given the AU "meet cute" and the prompt "we have to be quiet". I have put my own little spin on both of these to suit my preference for canon and my particular writing style. No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on notifications. Community labels are for cops.

There is an unspoken rule among the serving staff of the Red Keep; remain unseen and unheard whenever possible. Move as a spectre through the castle, do not draw attention to the mess you are employed to clean up. Those they serve do not wish to be reminded of their imperfections. Blissful ignorance is placed upon the pristine condition of the chambers they return to at the end of each day. They have always been that way, how could they not be? But beneath it lies an undercurrent of I do not wish to see it, do not make me look.

She is content to remain out of sight and mind of the Targaryen family, though her work is thankless, there is serenity to be found in the duties of a maidservant. As long as she completes the tasks assigned to her, then she is otherwise unbothered, and she considers herself fortunate to have a comparatively easy workload to some of the others.

The maidservants that attend to Prince Aegon’s bedchamber are ordered to work in pairs, partly because the mess he so often leaves behind is work enough for two, but also because he is known to sleep late, and there is safety in numbers. A chill runs down her spine at the memory of the whisperings that had passed between the staff about Dyana, brought before the Queen and forced to drink moon tea, before being relieved of her employment from the Keep. From that point on, the maidservants were forbidden from entering his rooms alone, lest they find themselves victim of the Prince’s wandering hands and lustful appetite.

There is no such danger to be found within the sleeping quarters of Prince Aemond, which she is in charge of tending to each day. He makes her job almost too easy, but she does not allow her guilt to weigh heavily enough upon her that she would ask for additional duties, instead she gives thanks to the Seven for this small mercy and ensures she finishes each day having completed her tasks to an impeccable standard. 

As she tugs the crisp white sheets of the bed firmly back into place each morning, there is no lingering body heat or scent to be found, indicating he has been awake for hours. She wonders if he sleeps at all, considering the unrumpled state of his bedding. When she strips the sheets off to change them once a week, there are no personal effects that fall loose, no trace that the Prince she serves exists at all. He is as much an apparition as she is.

When she is finished making up the bed or delivering the old sheets to the laundress, she sweeps the ashes from the hearth and readies the fireplace for Aemond’s return. Aside from that, there is little else to do besides lightly dust the shelves and reorganise the books placed upon his table. She never once sees the Prince, nor does he see her.

The most strenuous of jobs is the one she currently finds herself doing; the once weekly wash of the bedchamber floor, which requires her to get down upon her hands and knees with a brush and scrub the flagstones with a mixture of hot water and lye. The floor is hard upon her knees, her back aching, and knuckles sore from the combination of the soap and how tightly she grips the brush.

Satisfied that there is not an inch left unclean, she drops the scrubbing brush into the bucket, groaning softly as her knees twinge in protest as she stands. She swipes at the perspiration upon her forehead with the back of her hand, before reaching behind her to soothe ache in her lower back.

She freezes as her elbow collides with something on the desk, her heart feeling as though it stops beating within her chest as she hears the heavy splash of it fall into the bucket behind her, splattering dirty water against her skirt.

Snapping herself out of her shock, she quickly turns, seeing she has knocked a book from the table into the water she had been using to wash the floor. Dread swirls in her belly as she stoops to lift it out, her mind running rampant with thoughts of how much trouble she’ll be in if she has ruined one of Prince Aemond’s belongings. At best, she would lose her job. At worst, she is unsure, but she does not wish to fall foul of the man that rides the world’s largest dragon.

Drying off the leatherbound cover with her apron, she is relieved to see her swift action has prevented any serious damage, though the pages within are sodden. She cannot return it to the desk in this condition, so she tucks the book under her arm and picks up the bucket, walking quickly out of the Prince’s chambers, and back towards the servants’ quarters. If she can get it dried and return it in time, then hopefully he will be none the wiser to her mishap.

The scullion keeps the fire in the shared space ablaze all day, and she settles in front of it, opening the dampened book, careful not to place it so close that the parchment might singe. Happy to see the water has not soaked through far enough to smudge the ink, she turns the pages carefully while they dry, her eyes scanning the words. It is a tome of philosophy, far beyond the realm of her comprehension. It serves as a reminder of the divide between her and the Prince, she is beneath such intellectual pursuits. She imagines he would be infuriated that a lowly maidservant would ever dare to read it, and finds herself hunching over the book as it dries, subconsciously concealing it from view, as though she is engaging in something forbidden and shameful.

After an hour, the heat of the fire has returned the book to its original state, or at least as close as it’s going to get. She makes haste to return it to where it belongs, hoping that Prince Aemond will not yet have returned to his chambers. Her skin is heated, a combination of having been so close to the open fireplace for an hour and nervousness at the idea of being caught.

She enters the bedchamber without knocking, expecting it to still be empty, and moves swiftly on light feet, returning the book back to the desk it had laid upon previously.

“An enjoyable read, was it?”

The voice is soft, yet its sinister edge sends a shiver up her spine, causing her breath to catch in her throat. She turns slowly, keeping her head bowed, not daring to meet the unblinking stare of the One Eyed Prince.

“Your Grace,” she utters meekly, “please accept my apologies. I did not mean to intrude.”

“And you did not answer my question either.”

She dares to look up then, watching in wide eyed horror as he walks slowly towards her, dressed in his sparring attire, his expression impassive.

Swallowing thickly, ignoring everything within her that desperately wants to lower her gaze, she forces herself to hold it. “I did not read it, I swear, I would never be so discourteous.”

“Hm,” he murmurs, standing tall in front of her, “a pity. ‘Tis an interesting text. So, tell me, what were you doing with it?”

He is standing so close to her, she can feel the tickle of his breath upon her flesh, see the angry, red indentation of the scar that runs the length of the left hand side of his face, disappearing beneath the leather patch that covers his eye. There is something in the way he looks at her that makes her want to shrink into herself, but she fears she has forever shrugged off the shroud of invisibility that has until now protected her. His eye is piercing, a silent threat. I see you.

She considers lying, but decides it will be worse for her than simply telling the truth, if he catches her out. “I…I accidentally got the book wet while I was cleaning. I took it away to the servants’ quarters to dry it.”

Aemond leans his body into hers, and she can feel the warmth that radiates from his chest, smell the sweat that lingers on his skin from his exertion in the training yard. She screws her eyes shut, icy fingers of fear gripping her insides as she awaits her punishment, but then the heat of him is gone.

Slowly opening her eyes, she sees that he is still standing in front of her, but his attention is now focused upon his book as he flips through the pages, studying it for signs of damage. He had simply reached behind her to retrieve it. The relief that floods her is enough to make her want to laugh, but she knows better, biting it back as she exhales heavily through her nose.

Satisfied that his book is unruined, he snaps it shut, holding it with both hands as he looks at her once more. “Are you always this clumsy?”

She gapes at this, white hot embarrassment radiating from head to toe. “N-no, never. It was an accident, Your Grace, I swear it.”

He smirks, cocking his head. “Perhaps I ought to keep a closer eye on you?”

Please, no.

She wants to leave, to be away from the intensity of how he looks upon her, to have him forget her face and allow her to go back to being invisible.

“I promise I will take greater care in future, Your Grace. I apologise. Can I go?”

He raises an eyebrow at this. “I do not know. Can you?”

This is humiliating. Is he getting some sort of satisfaction from this?

“If that will be all, Your Grace.”

She bows her head to him and hurries from the room, feeling her heartbeat in her throat with every step that she takes. She can sense his eye upon her, boring a hole into the back of her, long after she has left his chambers, and it fills her with a sense of unease for the rest of the day. Her only solace is that she can return to her duties upon the morrow without having to see him.

However, as she enters the bedchamber the following morning she is horrified to find the Seven have decided her spell of good fortune has come to its end. Prince Aemond still occupies the space, standing at the foot of the bed as he fastens his tunic. Halting her steps, she lingers uncertainly, not knowing what she ought to do.

He stares at her as he continues to dress, not making any moves to alleviate her discomfort, and she takes a tentative step back.

“Should I come back?” She asks warily, glancing over her shoulder towards the door - it has never appeared so inviting.

“No need,” he assures her, “do what you need to.”

She hesitates a moment longer, but realising she is in no position to protest, she begins the task of turning down the bed. She can feel him looking at her the entire time, making her feel self conscious. There has never been an audience to spectate over her daily tasks before, and she moves as though she is suspended in honey, afraid to make a mistake while he is watching, despite the fact that these are duties she has performed hundreds of times before.

To her frustration, he moves as slowly as she does, unhurriedly clasping on his sword belt and pulling on his boots, watching her all the while, but never speaking a word. It is not until she begins sweeping away the ashes from the fireplace that he finally takes his leave, silently striding from the room without addressing her further.

For the first time since she entered Aemond’s chambers that morning she feels as though she can breathe, although a voice in the back of her mind tells her she has not seen the last of Aemond, and he certainly has no desire to see less of her.

Over the next few days, he is there every time she arrives, either in the process of dressing, or still laying in bed, causing her to turn away, ashamed at the way excitement flutters in her lower belly at the sight of his well defined bare chest.

He is doing this on purpose, she knows he is, abusing the imbalance of power between them, because she cannot ask him to stop. He is not really even doing anything wrong; it is not uncommon for maidservants to be in the presence of those they serve as they perform their duties, yet there is something about this that feels completely improper. The way his stare lingers upon her, stalking her as though she is prey, it both frightens her and fills her with a sense of mortification, because she knows that, deep down, there is a part of her that likes the fact that his attention is on her. The veil between them has been lifted, and now that she has gotten to know what resides on the other side, at least a little, she thinks of nothing else. It is both exciting and terrifying to have someone in such a position of authority so interested in her and what she does.

It is the day she strips the bed in order to place fresh sheets upon it, and she enters the bedchamber prepared to have to wait for the Prince to vacate it first. However, she finds that he is already gone for the day. Unsure if it is relief or disappointment that she feels, she immediately begins to pull back the bedding, deciding she would prefer not to dwell on the hollow feeling that has settled within her chest.

As she tugs the bedsheet loose from beneath the corner of the mattress, a small piece of parchment flutters from it, landing softly on the flagstones beside the wooden bedframe. Nothing has ever fallen from Aemond’s bed before, he is much too tidy, and so her curiosity is immediately piqued.

Plucking it from the floor, her mouth runs dry at the words she finds penned delicately in black ink.

Though I am absent, I think of you.

Was this meant for her to find? She feels foolish for considering such a notion, and yet she cannot shift the idea that it might be. Her hands shake as she holds the note, her mind reeling with thoughts of what she ought to do with it: keep it, cast it into the fireplace, put it back and pretend she has not seen it?

The latter is impossible, he would notice the fresh sheets upon the bed and know that she has found it. Perhaps she is being presumptuous, and this has been left for him by a bedmate? She decides to simply place it upon the desk, and leave it up to the Prince to decide its fate.

Though she attempts to continue her day as normal, thoughts of Aemond and the contents of his note will not allow her any peace. She wonders if it is indeed her that he is thinking of, and if it would satisfy him to know that he haunts her mind in equal measure. If only she had never knocked that wretched book into the bucket, then she would be free of this torment.

Aemond is fully clothed as she walks into his rooms the following day, standing beside his desk. There is absolutely no reason for him to linger, but she knows precisely why he does, her suspicions confirmed when she spies the note clasped between his fingers.

“You read it?” He asks, lifting his gaze to meet hers as she enters.

“Was I not supposed to?” She asks quietly, setting down the basket which contains the brushes and rags she uses for sweeping and dusting.

“I left it where only you would find it,” he retorts, allowing the parchment to flutter back down upon the desk. “What do you think?”

“I do not know, Your Grace,” she responds simply, attempting to keep her focus on meticulously unloading her supplies.

“Leave that,” he orders coolly. “Come here.”

She trembles as she steps slowly towards him, and he rounds on her, caging her between himself and the desk, its wooden edge biting into her lower back.

“You are beautiful,” he breathes, brushing a stray strand of hair away from her face. 

The trace of his fingertip leaves a trail of heat in its wake. She feels dizzy, overwhelmed, the urge to run and her body’s insistence at remaining rooted to the spot at direct odds with one another.

“Please,” she whispers, “do not. It is improper.”

His hand drops to his side and he regards her with a look of amusement. “I am not my brother. I will not take anything that is not given freely. But I suspect you want this as much as I do. Tell me I am wrong.”

“Your Grace, I–I…”

The words die in her throat, what can she say? A maidservant cannot speak of her desire for the Prince she serves. How can she give voice to the fact that since he first acknowledged her, he has plagued her every waking thought?

“Say the word, and things shall go back to as they were before, we shall be strangers once more.”

That is certainly the easier of the two options, and yet the idea of having to live without his attention now she knows the sweet torment of what it is to have it seems unfathomable to her. She is playing a dangerous game, treading a knife’s edge, placing herself directly in harm’s way, and the words she speaks next will forever change her life’s trajectory, but as she stares up into his piercing blue eye her judgement is too clouded for her to mind.

“I do not want that,” she says earnestly.

“I want you to beg for it,” he tells her, the slightest hint of malice in his tone.

She feels a stickiness between her thighs, a dull throbbing ache in her core that makes her nerves sing for release. Her voice is foreign to her, pathetic sounding as the single utterance of “please” tumbles from her lips.

“Please what?” Aemond asks, tilting his head, mocking her as he looms over her, keeping her pinned against the desk behind her.

Under ordinary circumstances, she would feel ashamed by such lewd behaviour, but these are no ordinary circumstances, and her actions are driven solely by desire, so she feels no chagrin as she allows herself to murmur “please touch me”.

The Prince’s deft fingers make quick work of moving up her skirt, ghosting along the inside of her thigh as he goes, causing her to suck in a shaky breath as she grips his shoulders for support.

She mewls helplessly as his middle and index fingers work their way beneath her smallclothes, dragging through her silken folds, wet with arousal.

Aemond hums in appreciation as his digits explore her, his entire hand moving beneath the thin cotton of her undergarments, cupping her mound. She exhales a shocked gasp as he pushes two fingers forcefully inside of her.

His free hand clasps over her mouth, muffling her sounds, as he works his fingertips inside of her at a lazy pace. “We have to be quiet,” he tells her, “or we will get caught, and we cannot have that.”

She nods in understanding, whimpering against his palm as his thumb begins to circle her pearl, the pumping of his fingers increasing in pace, the sticky sounds of her arousal accompanying her stifled whines of pleasure.

They have not even shared a kiss, there is no romance to be found here, but she does not mind. If anything, the depravity of the act serves to heighten the sensations and renders her more responsive to his touch.

His eye bores into hers, the pupil so large it almost eclipses the blue of it, his lips parted slightly as his nostrils flare. He crooks his fingers, brushing against a spot inside of her that causes her to buck against his hand. He grins wickedly, speeding up his movements both inside of her and against her bud.

The pleasurable ache she feels building winds tightly within her gut, and her thighs tremble with the effort of keeping her upright. Her fingernails dig into the fabric of Aemond’s tunic, as she feels her body tense in preparation for what’s to come.

With a final press of his fingers, she falls apart, her cry almost silenced by his hand over her mouth as she breathes erratically through her nose. She tightens around him in quick pulses as waves of warm relief pass through her body, making her pliant against him. 

She maintains her grasp on his shoulders, not trusting her shaking legs to keep her upright as he releases her mouth and withdraws his hand from beneath her skirt, his fingers glistening with her release.

He tuts, examining them carefully as he holds them up between them both. “What a mess you’ve made”, he says condescendingly, pressing them against her lips and forcing them into her mouth. The taste of herself upon her tongue is tart, the very idea of what she is doing lewd to her. “Something else for you to clean up,” he coos, watching as she sucks her essence from his fingers.

With these words she is brought crashing back down to earth as she is reminded of the power imbalance between them. She will always be the woman who tends to his messes, who serves him, except now she is also a vessel for his pleasure and, whatever the outcome of that may be, it is too late now to take it back. He has seen her, fully, and she will only ever see of him what he allows her to.

[sunboki]

— TEASER

You and Han Jisung are the ultimate best friends. While he’s busy nerding away, you’re filling him in on the latest and greatest drama. That’s until he brings up crushes. And I mean, what’re you supposed to say when he asks you that? It’s not like Jisung’s your crush… right?

📓 » Han Jisung x f. reader

GENRE┊non idol au, friends to lovers, (kinda) enemies to lovers, two idiots being oblivious, fake relationship au, highschool au, angst, fluff, slowburn

WORD COUNT┊estimated to be around 5k-6k words

WARNINGS┊profanity, lack of communication, childish pettiness, stupidity at insane levels

AUG’S NOTES┊if you don’t have a date this valentines, just know we’re both in the same boat ☹️ hopefully some hanji will help!!

THE BOYFRIEND STATUS TAGLIST — OPEN

The first night of your downfall all started in mid-January.

All was well and had been going well, until it wasn’t.

You’ve known Han Jisung since second grade, starting with having to apologize for knocking over his castle and him proceeding to cry even louder in the sandbox, snotty in his red and white striped shirt.

You swear that shirt is still in his closet.

And when he was wimping away in a corner, you were the one that got him out of his shell. To this day you’re convinced you’re the first person to ever witness the true Han Jisung, who starts slapping things when he laughs really hard, who gets overly competitive during board games, who keeps hundreds of mind-blowing tracks he’s produced to himself, and who (you wouldn’t admit it) has one of the prettiest smiles in the world.

Freshman year of high school you met Jisung again in your Geography class.

Initially, it took you a moment to recognize his face, having changed quite a bit over the years. And certainly not a bad kind of change. Although, his nerdy personality was all the assurance you needed to figure out it was him, apart from that he switched to contacts, grew his hair out more, and looked, y’know, “older.”

Older as in: what happened to you? ..Why are you so attractive?

But you won’t get too far into that.

Through the years he tutored you. Jisung had a knack for studying since day one, and despite occasionally looking like he could pass as a dropout (usually the week before finals), no one else could maintain better grades than him.

So, on a night both you and Jisung were slouched over your desk, procrastinating school work by rating people at school from most to least kissable, he turns to you, face halfway illuminated by your lamp.

“Do you like anyone?” Your boba-eyed friend asks while you aimlessly scroll through your camera roll in search of the photo you’d been talking about, mumbling a quiet “of course” in response.

Jisung makes an unconvinced noise and clasps his hands together, leaning forward.

“No like, like like anybody.”

Finally escaping your ‘rating people’s kissing-capabilities’ headspace and now entering into your ‘is this the question i think it is?’ one, you wipe your sweaty palms on your jeans.

It’s a strange question, not a Jisung-question, and you find yourself growing increasingly nervous the longer he stares at you.

You’ve never even thought about it really, so why are you so sweaty? Why does your heart feel as if it may just beat out of your chest, why is your mouth so dry?

Questions.

Clearing your throat and secretly praying it didn’t give away your piling anxiety, you feign a roll of your eyes, tapping your fingernail on the cool desk.

God, why are you so nervous?

“Um, nobody, why?” You retort, ignoring the scrutinizing squint of his eyes watching you.

It’s never like this. You’re the one that teases, gets him all shy, stumbling over his words. So now you suddenly feel like Jerry and he’s Tom.

Abnormal.

“C’mon, there has to be someone you think is cute,” He whines, and before you can stop it one word smacks you upside the head.

You.

“It’s Minho!” You shout, hurried and barely audible as if trying to tune out your inner panic.

Han looks stunned.

Han as in best friend, not crush. Right.

What were you thinking?

“..Min.. Minho?” He phrases slowly, evidently surprised.

Being completely honest, you’re just as surprised as he is. Minho is attractive, sure, but never in your life did you consider him like that.

Oh how you wished you could erase all of this from ever happening.

It doesn’t make sense. Because it’s not like you’re into Jisung. Or are you?

Nope. Nuh-uh. You were just caught off guard and unprepared. Not to mention it was an unexpected question, that’s all.

Fuck.

You like Jisung. There’s no point of lying to yourself anymore. From the start of seeing him again, those “friendly” gestures weren’t friendly anymore, they were intentional, pursuing. Walking from class to class together, constantly checking your texts, meeting his eyes only to smile like fools.

“Yep. Minho. That’s the guy,” Cutting each sentence shorter than the last, you nod fervently, avoiding his gaze.

Both soaking in utterly hellish silence, the tension was likely seeping through the cracks in your door at this rate.

He really shouldn’t have ever brought this up, and you shouldn’t have said Minho. So on the bright side, at least you’re both at fault here in the grand scheme of things.

“..Alright then.” He shrugs and goes back to writing down notes, ignoring how the room feels a hundred degrees hotter and that every inch of your soul is drenched in a cold sweat, plagued with the situation you landed yourself in.

What has gotten into you?

sunboki, may 2022 ©

[sluttywoozi]

Step By Step | jww x reader

Rating: M | WC: ~1.3k

Finally, you and Wonwoo are married. Now if only you knew anything about what's waiting for you in his Royal Quarters.

Notes: royalty!au, unspecified time period it's in the past that's all i can say, wine and food mention, suggestive, talking about sex before sex, breeding kink

You look over at your new husband, your new Prince, and feel your heart flood with love and exhilaration. You’re not used to being able to look at Wonwoo, or be near him, or feel his warmth at your side and breath in his soothing, clean scent. But now and, well, forever, you can.

In the year leading up to this wedding feast, you’ve exchanged countless letters. They contained all sorts of communication: inside jokes, embarrassing stories, the details of the day to day, and, of course, expressions of love and sometimes even lust. It was a long twelve months but you’re grateful you were able to get to know your betrothed, as many aren’t afforded that opportunity prior to being wed.

Perhaps you don’t recognize a lot of his mannerisms or know what the smile he’s sending you now means, but you do know a good amount about him. You know he can’t see without his glasses. You know he sneaks out of the castle nearly every night to feed the stray cats that populate the grounds. You know he loves to read and can’t get enough of just about any kind of game you can bring to mind.

You know he’s a kind, soft soul, and that the first thing he did when you were matched was find out your favorite things so he could become familiar with them. You know he had his quarters redone to suit your tastes, and that he had your most beloved flowers planted in the garden right outside, and that he hosted your cook for a week so his could learn all of the recipes that bring you comfort.

And you know that he loves you.

He signed every letter with ‘Yours, Wonwoo,’ and wrote things like, “My heart aches with an emptiness only your presence can fill,” and even plainly relayed his feelings for you when you asked him if this was love.

You’re lucky, to be sure, to have such a man as Wonwoo for your husband.

You’re also becoming increasingly impatient. The feast has been dragging on forever, it seems, and you aren’t certain how much longer you can take the secret smile on your husband’s handsome face. You wish you knew what he was thinking but his mind remains unclear to you, as does the look in his eyes.

It’s a relief when Wonwoo stands and declares the celebrations finished for the night, taking your hand in his and bowing in sync to your retreating guests as the hall slowly empties. He doesn’t let go, immediately turning to the side and all but racing from the room with you nearly running to keep up.

Your heart pounds as he pulls you down the winding halls of his castle, the route unfamiliar and confusing to you though you wonder if that has something to do with the thoughts beginning to cloud your mind.

You know where you’re going, and what you’ll be doing when you get there, and you can’t claim to be indifferent to the idea. The night of your covenant is something that’s been occupying your mind since you saw Wonwoo for the first time at your betrothal party, and each step brings you closer to discovering what exactly he has in store for you.

Your mother had told you a bit of what to expect, but not with any sort of detail or true instruction beyond, “Lay back and let him do the work.” You’re not the sort to lay back and let a man do anything, not even your husband, and you hope he’ll be amenable to that.

You’ll find out soon enough as you near what can only be his quarters, the doors too broad and ornate to lead to much else. He pushes up his specs with a shaky hand before nodding to the guards on either side and turning to grin shyly at you while the doors are pulled open.

You can’t contain the gasp that escapes as you take in his room for the first time, the expansive space filled with natural light and your favorite colors. There’s a roaring fire in the hearth and the walls are lined with bookcases, the tomes looking much worse for wear than one would expect from a prince, though for your prince, they make perfect sense.

The bed makes you stop in your tracks, the sheer magnitude of it overwhelming to the eye, and you watch Wonwoo’s cheeks pink as you bend down to run your hand over the silky looking covers.

“Will you tell me what we’ll do? Step by step?” You ask, sitting gingerly on the edge and looking up at him. He gapes at you for a moment, opening and closing his mouth as if he’s not sure how to respond, before he takes a seat next to you and rests your entwined hands on your thigh.

“First, we’ll undress and lay down together. I want you to be comfortable with me, with all of this, so until you’re relaxed, we can just kiss, and get accustomed to being close to each other. When you’re ready, I’ll touch you-”

“Where?” Your eyes are caught on his lips, the way they form around letters and syllables is so very distracting to you though you somehow manage to hear every single word that leaves them.

He sucks in a deep breath before speaking, seemingly steeling himself to respond, “Between your thighs. Have you ever touched yourself there before?”

“Once,” you whisper, “The night that we met.”

“Did you think about me?”

“Yes. Do you ever…?”

“Only the night that we met and every night since.”

His voice sounds hushed, like if he speaks too loud he’ll disturb the bubble you’ve found yourselves in. You can’t deny the effect it has on you, the unfamiliar heat you felt that night rushing into you once again. His words certainly don’t help, the idea of him touching himself to the thought of you even more intoxicating than the wine you shared at dinner.

“I’ll touch you there, until you’re wet and ready for me, and then I’ll be able to push inside of you. I’ll go slowly so you don’t feel any pain, and if you ever want to stop, all you have to do is tell me.”

You can’t even imagine what it will be like to be joined with him so intimately, but you already want it, want him, more than words can say.

“This will be my first time as well, and I’ll do my best to make sure you reach your peak before I do. I’ve done a lot of reading, and there were… diagrams… and I think I’ll be able to do it,” he vows, his ears red and his eyes avoiding yours.

“Peak?”

“Yes, there’s a, um, height of pleasure that we can both experience, though yours presents differently than mine. When I release, it will take root inside of you, and that’s how we’ll make our heir.”

Our heir.

The words send a zip of lightning down your spine, the idea of him leaving part of himself in you tantalizing and the thought of that part growing into a human that’s both you and Wonwoo even more so. You’re starting to feel an emptiness you don’t recognize, a burning between your thighs that you fear can only be quelled by Wonwoo, and suddenly the feeling of his hand in yours isn’t enough.

You want to feel more of him, feel him touch you, feel him inside of you, just like he said.

“When can we begin?”

“Whenever you’d like, my love.”

“Now?”

“Now.”

My Masterlist

Taglist: @lenireads @confusedbansheee @junhui-recs @burningupp-replies @heeseung-lover686 @favehoshiposts @1004luvangel @bangchanbabygirlx @baldi-2 @monamonay @just-here-to-read-01 @gaebestie @heavenly-mobo @smalliechelle @shuabby1994 @snowgirlfallen @noraehey @swinterr @fr0g-filez @dejavernon @onewoowonderboy @awkwardnesshabitat @kpoppingmypussy @coupsgyus @jinsonaz @enhacolor @highkey-fangirling @jaycheoluwu @tinkerbell460 @jihoonliker @aurumness @maybeifyoutrieddd @chwecardcaptor @luvdokja @Itsteiiteii @cokeforcals @callmenev @doitlikehoshi @hwhjsthetic @multi-kpop-fanfics @ahgastayzen @kodzukein @candidupped @misssugarlips @luvthatleader-nim @wonusworldd @jeanjacketjesus @itbtoblikethatsometimes @kyeomcloud @itzz-me-duh

[sapphicseasapphire]

Thoughts to ponder.

Tears of the Kingdom spoilers (and lots of rambles) under the cut

When I started the Chain as Cryptids au, I didn’t really think I’d be able to work Tears of the Kingdom in, seeing how much I had changed Wild’s story. He’s a spirit with no memory of the Hylian he once was. He’s a force to be reckoned with but can be easily spooked- much like a wild animal. He avoids Flora like the plague since she’s his connection to the life he used to have. The life that isn’t his anymore.

But then… I had an idea. Flora would be desperate to find her Link again after discovering that he’s still alive (or… not really alive. Not quite a Poe but not quite a Hylian either). Regardless, after the events of Breath of the Wild, she’d start a search party and scour every corner of Hyrule to find him.

She never would. When spirits don’t want to be seen, they aren’t. But… this whole time, I imagined that Korok Forest acted as a sort of home base for Wild. Wild cannot speak verbally but can communicate telepathically with other spirits and spiritual beings. The Koroks and Blupees would be like siblings to him, the Deku Tree being like a parental figure since he basically started life over when he died. (Two Links raised by the Great Deku Tree. He and Time can bond over that later).

ANYWAY. Wild used the Master Sword for about half of the events of Breath of the Wild. But when it would need to recharge, he’d place it back in the pedestal in Korok Forest where it could become stronger under the watchful gaze of the Great Deku Tree. Then he’d be off, never staying in one place for too long, wandering the sandy shores of Necluda or the lava banks of Eldin.

This pattern would stay in place for years after the defeat of Calamity Ganon: Wild stopping at Korok Forest to reunite with his family and let the Master Sword heal and then disappearing into the wilds once more. And over the years, Flora’s search party would shrink until it was just her scouring the continent for her missing knight. Okay, yeah, maybe she’s a little desperate, but she can’t bear the thought of him alone out there. Not when he died because of her. Not when he’s all she has left.

And… when the Master Sword is recharging, that’s when Flora would finally take her search to Korok Forest. She finds the sacred blade but her knight is nowhere to be seen. The Deku Tree allows her to take it, urging her onward, warning her that eventually, she’ll have to use it. She heeds his wisdom, pulling the sword from her resting place and securing it on her back. Then she begins her search anew.

She doesn’t find him.

She trains with the Master Sword while she travels Hyrule. She starts to rebuild. She gets to know her people. And from the cover of countless trees and stone, a certain spirit watches her and his sword.

During her travels, Flora encounters a strange red-black mist that makes her people ill. They call it ‘gloom.’ And, what’s worse, it seems to pour out from under Hyrule Castle. The castle has laid untouched for years now, ever since the Calamity was sealed away and she set out on her search. But now, it would seem that she’s needed once more at the site of her greatest battle. The subject of her nightmares. The place where she los the last piece of her home.

Without her knight at her side, she makes her way to the forgotten foundation of her old life. She’s alone when she travels through the caverns, alone when she follows the melancholy most past murals and carvings that she itches to explore. Flora is alone when the Master Sword glows in warning. Alone when she battles monsters waiting for her in the depths.

The princess is all alone when she discovers a mysterious mummy being held in place by a single glowing arm. She watches as the appendage falls away, a stone falling to the rocky ground with an unassuming click. As she reaches to pick it up, the corpse reanimates. It stands tall, more alert and aware than any Gibdo she’s seen on her journey, and fixes her with a stare that she’d crumble under. She drops her torch and draws the Master Sword, holding the unfamiliar yet warm stone to her chest, and the mummy laughs at her.

It knows her name.

And it attacks.

Flora is alone when the gloom ravages her arm. She’s alone when the Master Sword is the first to crumble under that pressure. She’s alone when the very ground beneath her gives in to that same pressure.

She’s alone when she falls, pain lacing through her arm and golden light enveloping her.

But Flora is not alone when she wakes.

For the purposes of this au, Flora’s time in the past is going to be very similar to canon. She still meets Rauru and Sonia. Still meets Mineru and the Sages and Ganondorf. She still trains to control her secret stone. However, Rauru fixes her arm almost as soon as she arrives in this strange world. He doesn’t give her his, not like he does for Link in TOTK, since he needs it to seal Ganondorf away. But he and Mineru work together to combine construct parts and their own light and spirit magic to make her new muscles and machinery to aid in moving her own ruined arm.

The Imprisoning War is the same.

Sonia dies. Rauru sacrifices himself. And she still has no idea how to get home. How to heal the Master Sword and destroy Ganondorf in her own time. She still speaks with Mineru… and she comes to the same conclusion that she did in canon. This time, though, she’s taking much more of a risk. She can survive the centuries as a dragon, she can heal the sword. But she can’t be sure that her Link will be there to take it and finish things. She hasn’t even seen him in years.

… she doesn’t have a choice.

From Wild’s perspective, it happened in moments. He blinked and suddenly there were islands floating in his skies. Hyrule Castle floats ominously, red plumes of gloom branching out from underneath. Massive sinkholes give way to more of the poison, seeming to drop forever. His forests are ravaged once again, the climate in corners of the continent changing drastically.

And the princess he’d been following is gone.

While trying to get a grasp of what changed so suddenly, he figures out a way up to the Sky Islands. And to his surprise, he discovers a new dragon.

Now, Wild is familiar with all of the dragons in Hyrule. Farosh, Naydra, and Dinraal are just on the threshold of Spirit and Mortal, but they definitely qualify as spiritual beings. Meaning that Wild can speak telepathically to them. Their thoughts are always muddy and jumbled up, so he never gets much out of conversing with them. But he can tell that they enjoy his presence. So he rides with them in the skies of Hyrule for hours at a time.

This new dragon is smaller than the three he knows and flies much higher. Its ears are shorter, hair golden, eyes stunning. Instead of six legs, this one only has five. A scarred stump at its front and a glowing object on- no in- its poor head. Wild makes his way over as fast as he can, desperate to learn more about the beast.

The new dragon’s thoughts are just as jumbled up as he’s used to but he’s caught off guard by how miserable it feels. No. She. How miserable she feels. Wild places a glowing hand on her snout and tries to calm her, but it’s no use. Her thoughts may be chaotic and disorganized, but he senses her distress. She wants- sword. Knight. Link Link Link. You must find me, you have to save them all!

Wild takes the Master Sword from where it was buried in the dragon’s golden mane and is nearly thrown off by her shock at the action. But when his sword is once again in his capable hands, he feels an overwhelming gratitude from the dragon. It’s gone as soon as it came, replaced again by misery. Dread. Grief.

During the events of Breath of the Wild, Wild did not fight to save Zelda. He did not fight to save Hyrule. He fought for the land. For his fellow spirits that were being destroyed by malice. For the forests that were burned down by guardians. For the water that was poisoned by monsters. He defeated Calamity Ganon for his family.

He fights Ganondorf for the same reason. Except… maybe this time, he’s extra motivated by that strange new dragon. She seemed… so sad…

THIS IS GETTING WAY TOO LONG. But suffice to say that after the events of Tears of the Kingdom, Flora does not 100% recover from being a dragon. She keeps her telepathic connection to Wild and her immortality. She keeps her horns and scales and SHE gets the Master Sword. She’s a Cryptid as well, and she’s closer to Wild than she ever was.

. . .

Uhhhhh that was super long I apologize. But rambling like this is so much easier than trying to be coherent and careful when I write. I might to it more often if you think it’s legible haha. Feel free to ask questions haha, I love any excuse to talk about my Cryptid boys and their relationships with people in their worlds.

Wild’s Origin!

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

the breakfast

lilac, chapter two

a/n: when my love, @chvoswxtch, asked me to bring the horny energy of miss patty from gilmore girls, of course I fucking did it, I'm not a criminal, that's what we all deserve

summary: “well, hello stranger.” 

warnings: lumberjack!frank castle x reader, lumberjack AU, pete castiglione era, past domestic violence, crazy ex trope, slow burn, wholesome villagers being adorable

word count: 2373

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

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The Lilac Inn wasn’t just an inn to the citizens of Dunbrook. It was its beating heart, a hub for the small community to gather. 

As the town’s only culinary establishment, the residents had always made a habit of eating a fair amount of their meals in the inn’s dining room, the door to the kitchen often staying wide open so that Harvey wouldn’t have to leave the stove in order to catch all of the juicy small-town gossip that had people blabbering. 

“Dad, did you turn off my alarm?” you snapped as soon as your scurrying feet carried you into the bustling kitchen.

Not lifting his eyes from the loaf of bread he was currently slicing, your dad simply countered with a jovial, “well, good morning to you too, sleeping beauty!”

“Dad,” you sighed, jaw clenching at his usual demeanour, the paralysing dream you’d just roused from not setting you up to be in the right mood for such a level of positivity. 

“You just looked like you could use the extra hour or two,” a smile still warm on his lips, the middle-aged man defensively raised his hands.

“But I’m supposed to help you out,” your eyes followed his movements as he trotted towards the stove, “I can’t do that if I’m asleep.”

“Exactly,” your dad passed by a hook full of tangled textiles and tossed you an apron, “that’s why I let you go a little longer so that you wouldn’t doze off on me before lunchtime arrives.” 

“I wouldn’t have dozed off…” you mumbled pettily as you tied the linen around your waist. Exhaling lowly as you watched him crack two eggs into a sizzling skillet, you asked, “what can I do?”

“Well for starters,” he tossed the shells into a small scrap bowl to his side, “these were the last eggs, so if you could go get some more out by the front desk, that would be superb.”

“Why do you have eggs on the front desk?”

“Because Otto’s chickens are laying a lot right now and so he told me he’d give me some today when he swung by for breakfast.” 

“Wait, Sheriff Nilsen has chickens now?”

“Yeah, has for a long time,” the decade of you not living here grew palpable, “he usually just drops the extra ones off here, so they should already be there because I just took his order two minutes ago.”

“Alright,” you disappeared through the back door and snaked down the narrow corridor, ending up behind the messy reception area. 

Your eyes didn’t have to search for long before you noticed the petite basket, brimming with beige eggs, resting on the top of the counter right beside the small rolodex that displayed what date it was. Grasping it in your hand, your vision momentarily drifted down to the small, framed photo nuzzled behind the ever-open logbook. Sitting on the swing that still hung from one of the sturdy trees out back, head adorably posed in a tiny palm, there a 7-year-old version of you sat, forever frozen in that singular moment, beaming up at the camera. 

“Ah!” a sharp voice boomed as you heard the front door swing shut, “oh my goodness, oh my god! Y/n!”

Raising your chin, your eyes grew wide at the rotund woman beaming at you from the doormat, “miss Rays!” you hurried around the front desk, “oh my god, it’s been so long!” 

Capturing you in a hug, she pressed your form into her bosom, “darling, we’re not in bed together, call me Donna.”

Pulling back with a light chuckle, your eyes fluttered over her features, “you haven’t changed one bit,” her lipstick still a fiery shade red and hair still short and feathery framing her plump cheeks.

“You however have,” she clasped your free hand in hers, guiding your figure to give her a good view, “oh, do a little spin for me,” you bashfully obliged with a giggle, “yes! Honey, who is this woman, what have you done with the adorable little girl I used to tutor?”

To your knowledge, Dunbrook never really had a proper school, but for as long as you could recall Donna had always operated as a teacher to the handful of children that called the reclusive mountain village their home. Even though it was just run out of her living room, she had still been the best teacher you’d ever had, her patient way rivalling any of the professors you had to endure when you went off for college. As a matter of fact, she had been the person who’d pushed you to send in the application, praising that you were too clever not to go out and change the world. 

“Oh, stop it,” you sighed light-heartedly, a chuckle still bubbling out of your chest as you shifted the subject away from your own appearance, “so, you still come here for breakfast?”

“Of course, I do, you’ve tasted your father’s cooking,” readjusting her purse, she hooked her arm in yours, “a real shame that he’s never accepted any of my offers of becoming your stepmom,” she leaned in to add as you crossed over the threshold into the dinner room, “I could have been served all my meals in bed like some Egyptian queen!” 

“I’m sure you can easily find another fellow that can handle himself in the kitchen,” the click-clack of her heels came to a stop by one of the small round tables, her eyes briefly taking in the other patrons before a slight crease appeared betwixt her polished brows. 

“Oh, darn it,” her vision stayed glued to the table in the corner as she lowered herself onto her seat, “he’s not sitting at his usual table…”

“Who?”

“The eye candy over there,” she tilted her chin in the direction of the broad, muted flannel-clad back of the man sitting by the window furthest down at the bottom of the room, “you see, I asked your dear father to always reserve this spot for me just so that I can have a great view, if you know what I mean…” gulping down the rest of his coffee, the man’s head tilted enough for you to recognise whom the rugged looking visage belonged to, “oh boy, I tell you, if I was 30 years younger…”

Haven assumed that you’d never again run into the stranger who’d helped you just the day before, a warm flutter suddenly trickled down your spine, “like that’s ever stopped you before,” you pointed out, snapping your eyes out of their trance, “so, uh, do you know what you want to eat or do you just want some coffee or something while you think on it?” you took two steps towards the oblong table where mismatched teacups where stacked and the steam of a few thermoses, all containing a different hot beverage then the next, billowed out.

“Some coffee would be lovely,” she smiled as you with one hand snatched up a mug and the decanter labelled as such, “and some oatmeal if you don’t mind, sweetie.”

Promptly pouring her a cup, you then signed off with a wink, “you got it,” before your vision landed upon the latest of Donna’s abundant infatuations once more. 

Attempting to make the short journey seem spontaneous and effortless, you bounced from table to table, topping off people's cups, before reaching the final one. 

Drawing in a deep breath, your embarrassingly giddy voice then found his ears, “well, hello stranger.” 

Eyes flickering away from the newspaper sprawled out before him, a look of shock washed over his gruff features as he glanced up at you, “oh, hi.”

“Pete–, it is Pete, right?” you checked, slight mortification beginning to brew within your belly. 

“Yes, ma'am,” his head nodded ever so slightly.

“Do you want a refill, Pete?” you savoured the taste of his name on your tongue. 

“Sorry?” his brows furrowed at your offer. 

“Your coffee,” you pointed with the hand that clutched the handle of the thermos, “do you want some more?”

“Oh,” he breathed, though the puzzled look didn’t seem to fade, “yes, always.” 

Leaning in slightly over the newspaper, you filled up the drained mug, only a murky ring at the bottom indicating what it had previously contained, “and can I get you something to eat as well?” 

Eyes narrowing, he stared up at you, “is your vacation really already so boring that you got a job here or what?”

“Oh,” you couldn’t help but breathe out a light chuckle as you answered, “I’m not on vacation and I guess, kinda,” staring back into his eyes as you attempted to repeat your question, “so, do you want any–,” though before you could finish the sentence, out pranced your father, a plate of food balanced in his palm. 

“2 eggs sunny side up and some sourdough toast, as per usual,” he sang as his long arm came down to slice the air between your forms, placing the dish upon the table. 

Briefly catching his eye, Pete then offered a polite nod of gratitude, “thank you,” folding the paper up and scooting the meal closer. 

Feeling the small basket of eggs disappear from your grip, you blinked back at your father as he softly requested in your ear, “honey, could you give me a hand in the back when you’re done out here?”

“Sure, dad,” you flashed him a smile before watching him disappear once more. 

Feet still glued to the floorboards right by Pete’s table, your vision then returned to him as his deep voice washed over you, “so, you’re Harvey’s kid, then?”

“Yep, that’s my dad,” your balance briefly shifted as you rocked on the balls of your feet, “thank you, by the way, for yesterday.”

“Oh, it’s no problem,” his fork punctured one of the golden yokes, “how’s your car looking?” 

“I don’t really know yet. The local mechanic is taking a look today, so fingers crossed it’s not anything too catastrophic,” you felt your palms begin to sweat as he simply stared up at you in silence, “anyhow,” you averted your gaze nervously, “I’ll stop bothering you, let eat in peace,” you nearly bumped into the chair behind you as you backed up towards the kitchen, the near accident not managing to draw any words out of him, only the hint of a smile twitched at the corner of his lips, “see you around, I guess…” 

“Hey, dad?” 

Briefly raising his eyes from the logbook cracked open on the wooden counter, he glanced up at you as you bounced down the wide staircase, “yeah, pumpkin?”

Hand tracing the railing, with the aid of the grip, you swung your form around the last post as you ascended the final step, “did you know that the hot water doesn’t work? Like at all.”

“Yeah, that and about a million other things around here,” he sighed, vision returning to the ledger as you rested your folded-up arms upon the top of the reception, “this is a beautiful historic building… and what I mean by that is that there are too many things that either don’t work the way they should or at all. I am not a millionaire, honey. If I was, then the issues wouldn’t be piling up the way that they are…”

Bottom lip snug between your teeth, your mind raced a moment before you quietly theorised, “exactly how long is that list?”

Eyes racing to find your eyes, your father joked, “why? Did you become a contractor while living in New York or something?”

“No, but I was always the handy one out of the two of us,” you noted before your shoulders raised in an innocent shrug, “how hard could it be?”

“Let me get this right,” he raised a palm up between you as his eyes crinkled even further, “you’re telling me you wanna try and patch this place up?”

“Well, it couldn’t hurt the business side of things. When was the last time you booked out more than two rooms at a time here?”

“Oh, no, no,” the moustachioed man then began to shake his head, “you’re not turning this place into some fake, glossy tourist attraction.”

Swinging around to his side of the counter, you assured him, “hey, I’m not saying let's flood this place with tourists, but maybe just a handful more?” tilting your head in an attempt to catch his gaze that had now returned to the open book, “just enough to make ends meet, perhaps also enough to at some point hire someone else so that you won’t work yourself to death…” 

Eyes frozen on the page before him, a long exhale then flowed from his lungs as he deliberated. 

“Alright, fine, yeah, I guess that wouldn’t be that bad…” he tried to downplay the smile that blossomed upon his lips.

Spine pressed against the edge of the front desk, you then braced with your palms and hauled yourself up onto the spot that was just clear enough for you to sit there without knocking any knickknacks over. 

“So,” you drew out, searching for a new topic to explore, “Donna seems to be quite set on that guy Pete to be her new husband, huh?”

“Oh, yeah,” Harvey chortled, “but you know her, she’s like a dog spotting a pheasant every time she sees a new man. I think genuinely I might be the only person in town who isn’t either terrified of him or has some desire to sleep with him.”

“How long has he been here anyway?”

“Eh,” he glanced up at the stained glass adorning the front door as he thought, “maybe a year or two? He mostly keeps to himself, lives up in a cabin in the woods and only really comes down here to either provide some firewood to whoever needs it or have some coffee,” vision landing on you, he then noted, “you however seemed to have broken through to him quite quickly. Took me like 5 months to get anything more than a grunt of recognition out of him.”

“Oh,” you couldn’t stop your eyebrows as they promptly rose up, “well, he kinda helped me the day that I got here. He was the guy I caught a ride with…”

© 2023 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[back2bluesidex]

Oh So Reluctant 2 - PJM (18+)

Pairing: Husband!Jimin X Wife!Reader

Theme: Angst, SMUT, little fluff, Arrange marriage au. Majorly Jimin's POV.

Summary: For the past eleven months that you have been married to Park Jimin, he has not looked at you the way he has been doing today. And there is sinister in his eyes.

Word count: 2367

Warnings: Angst, unhappy married life, Jimin struggles with his feelings, he tries to keep himself sane, jealous jimin, unprotected sex (stay safe), swearing.

Minors are NOT welcomed in this blog!!

A/N: This story was requested by lovely @chimmy-licious. This is the second and last part of the two-shot. Hope you all like it.

Part 1

If there is anything that Jimin has learned in his 29 years of life then it’s the fact that nothing lasts forever. When he was merely 18 years old, his father divorced his mother and shifted to the states. That’s the first event to break his concept of “happily ever after”. He always thought his parents got well together. They weren’t a lovey-dovey couple but they knew how to spend days and nights with each other without having random fallouts. But he was wrong. He probably never understood that what he thought was peace is actually the lack of communication. 

When Jimin was 22, he had his first real break up. He was in love with this girl and the moment she said she wanted to end it all, he felt as if his carefully constructed sand castle was crumbling down.  And this was the second time he realized nothing actually lasts forever. 

But he was still quite cheerful about his life. He had a ton of friends, went partying with them and led a prosperous life, thanks to his mom. And then came his 25th year and everything turned upside down. His best friend cum colleague betrayed him in the most unbelievable way. 

That guy, named Sung Kwon, was accused of recruiting trainees in exchange for money. When the company ran an investigation on him, he blamed it all on Jimin. Jimin, who knew none of it, felt his vision turning dark and his wit getting lost. Even though further investigation proved Jimin innocent, he already faced all the emotional damage he could. He then promised himself that he would never ever get attached to anyone ever again. And he kept his word by drawing himself in working and achieving new heights ever so often. 

He has had random hook-ups, one night stands, some acquaintances to drink with, some people to check up on him, but he never got close to anyone any more. That is why when his mother proposed to him to get married, he revolted. He couldn’t even think of getting into an active relationship and marriage? That was impossible for him to accept. However, in the end his mother won. He couldn’t reject her anymore given the fact that the lady had gone the extra mile to provide for him after his father left. 

When he met you for the first and only time before the wedding, he cleared it up that marriage is his mother’s wish, not his. You made a good impression on him that day. You didn’t seem to be the clingy type or the curious type. You were rather composed and listened carefully to what he had to say. So, he concluded you would respect his space after marriage. 

And you did, but not always. For the first six months you tried to get closer to him, which made him quite uncomfortable. You cooked dinners, planned dates, gave him meaningful gifts but he only felt guilt. Guilt of not feeling enough to do the same for you. Most of your interactions were awkward and your eyes would turn gloomy whenever there was a failed attempt of getting to know him more. And then you eventually stopped. You stopped trying anything at all. 

Suddenly there were no cooked dinners to come home to, no movie nights to understand each other’s movie preferences, no little gifts to look forward to. Only then Jimin understood he got used to it all. 

For the first six months, if Jimin felt anything for you then it was sexual desire. I mean, you are very attractive and sexy and he is a man with a dick, which obviously twitches seeing you in flimsy camisoles and shorts (even though you two don’t share a room). Nevertheless, when you stopped trying, he missed more than just your sexy body. He missed your face, your voice, your smile, your warmth and you. But his ego and cold nature never allowed him to approach you and he stayed holed up in his own space, lonely and guilty. 

Just a week ago you asked him to attend your company’s event with you. He was internally happy to have you finally talk to him but he was scared that he is getting attached to an almost stranger again. So he said no. He lied. He said he had a press conference to attend, while he had no important schedule that day. He could clearly see the way your eyes started glistening right away. His heart dropped. 

After a continuous battle with himself, he finally decided to give it a try. He decided to give you and this relationship a chance. He decided to talk to you about starting to take things slow rather than jumping into promises of forever. And the very first step of doing so was attending that event. 

He intentionally got late to make it seem like his claim of having this nonexistent press conference was true. He styled himself well, asked a hairstylist to do his hair and drowned himself in his favorite perfume only to find you wrapped around another man’s arm while talking about divorcing him. He saw red. He quickly understood that he is jealous as well as scared of the prospect of losing you. Fuck! He was already attached to you. 

“Who was that guy? Your ex?” his mouth runs on its own accord. 

“No. He can be my future though.” You reply calmly, as if it’s not a big deal to leave your husband behind for another man. 

“What makes you think I will let you go so easily?” Jimin confronts you and himself at the same time. 

“Your reluctance towards my existence?” So this is what he had made you believe? You think he is reluctant towards you when he is always hyper aware of your presence? No. This is not right. So he clarifies himself, “I am not reluctant towards you, Y/N. I am rather very much aware.” Jimin raises his voice a bit as if to emphasize his statement.  

“Aware of how much you don’t want me in your life?” If you asked him this question within the first six months of your marriage, he would have said yes. But he doesn’t feel the same anymore. 

“No! Quite the opposite actually.” he replies. 

That makes you take a look at him, as he already stares at you. You cock your eyebrow as if to ask for an explanation. When your eyes bore into Jimin’s, he finds himself getting entangled within his inner conflict. How should he explain what he feels for you? He knows he is attracted but is that enough to keep you in this worthless marriage? Will you even consider his feelings after the way he treated you? So he does what he feels like the best option. He changes the subject. 

“You look very… beautiful tonight.” Jimin doesn’t lie when he compliments you. You are obviously very beautiful but tonight your beauty is just overshadowing everything. He rakes his eyes through your body. Your exposed cleavage makes him want to bury his head on your chest, taste your skin and mark you as his, only his. 

You cross your legs and expose more of your skin as you catch him staring shamelessly. 

He smirks. One of his hands reaches to grab the supple flesh of your thigh harshly. You almost spit your drink out. 

“Don’t tease me, Y/N. I have been having a tough time controlling myself for these eleven months already.” Jimin’s voice drops down a few octaves. He is getting horny already. He knows it’s not right. He knows you two need to talk before getting into bed with each other but how can he keep himself sane when you look like this? His thumb draws invisible circles on your thigh. 

Your eyes widen as you try to play innocent, “What do you mean?” 

Jimin’s fingers glide higher on your smooth skin and it reaches where he has only imagined his fingers before. 

His digits hover above your mound as he mouths, “Let me show you what I mean.”

You seem to contemplate what he just said for a couple of moments but then you swat his hand away from your body. Jimin thought he finally got you under his spell but his confidence lowered the moment you declined his advances.

“If you think you can win me over with sex after making it clear that you don’t want me in your life, then… you are wrong, Jimin.” Your words are followed with a sigh. Jimin removes his hands from your thigh as he reflects on his choice of action. This is not what he wanted but he fucked up anyway. 

Just when he is about to apologize, he gets interrupted by that same guy from earlier. 

“Y/N, Mr. Choi wants to congratulate you. Could you spare me a minute?” The guy questions looming awfully closer to your body. 

“Sure, Taehyung.” You smile sweetly at him and Jimin feels himself turning green yet again. 

You walk away with this taehyung guy as his hand stays on the small of your back. Jimin glares at the sight. 

“Can I get you something, sir?” the bartender diverts Jimin’s attention. 

“A dirty martini, please.” he says briefly as his eyes remain only on your figure.   

This Taehyung guy is sly, he is on a mission of stealing you away from Jimin, that’s what Jimin concludes upon seeing Taehyung getting all cozy with you. But what bothers him more is that you don’t appear to be uncomfortable with any of it. 

Jimin takes a large sip of his drink as he observes you. Your body slots perfectly in Taehyung arms as you two talk to whom he assumes a stakeholder. Taehyung says something in your ear and you roll your eyes at him. Then he takes you towards the dance floor and you give him one of your blinding smiles. 

Jimin’s stomach feels funny, his heart tightens around his chest as he sees you swinging your body rhythmically with Taehyung’s. He places both of his hands on your waist and Jimin’s hold on his glass goes tighter.

You two look like a lovey-dovey couple when the truth is that he is your husband and he is sitting here alone watching you. The urge of claiming you overpowers his rationality as he finds himself leaving the barstool and walking towards you.  

“Let’s go home. It’s quite late already.” Jimin says a bit loudly, placing a hand on your shoulder. You turn to look at him with an unreadable expression. 

“I don’t wan-” You start but he cuts you off.

“We need to talk, Y/N. Please.” 

You nod at him defeatedly. 

He waits in his car while you bid goodbye to your colleagues. 

“Are you really planning on divorcing me?” Jimin questions you as he drives towards home. 

“If that’s what makes both of us happy and less burdened, then yes.” you seem to choose your words carefully, as if you have given this subject a thousand thoughts. 

“I- I don’t want so. I wanna give this a try. Give us a try.” Jimin’s voice trembles a bit. 

You look at him, “I understand if you are feeling overwhelmed after seeing your married wife with another guy. It’s not what you think it is, Jimin. You just feel possessive because I wear a ring of your name, not because you feel something for me.” 

“No, Y/N. I know myself. I know what I feel and what I don’t. And I-” he gulps, “I think I developed some feelings for you.”  

“Jimin, you are mistaken.” you try to reason. 

“I never felt this much jealousy in my entire life. I was not only possessive but I am still very much jealous because that guy knows how to make you smile and make you feel comfortable around himself and I don’t. I hate myself for that. I am your fucking husband and I can’t even make you smile!” Jimin scolds himself. 

“You never tried. I am sure you would have succeeded if you at least tried.” Your eyes drop down on your lap. Jimin knows you are teary. 

“I am sorry. I am so fucking sorry, Y/N. I will try. Give me a chance. I will try my best to push away all of the insecurities and be there as your husband. A husband that you deserve.”  

You don’t reply but Jimin hears a faint sniffling sound.

“You will give me a chance right?” he pesses on. 

“Well I guess it’s not too late.” You reply, finally smiling at him through tears. 

“Do you even have any idea how I felt when I saw his hands grazing you in places I never did?” Jimin’s breathy voice fans over your mouth as he pounds into you restlessly. His hold on your thigh goes tighter, making his nails dig into your flesh.  

“How did you feel?” you place your question, grabbing Jimin’s shoulder for your dear life. 

“I felt like dragging you off the dancefloor and fucking you on the bartop for everyone to see. Everyone should know you are mine. Right?” he bites on your collarbone and earns a whimper from you. But you don’t provide him with the answer he is looking for. 

He slaps harshly on your naked butt while pressing you more on the glass window of his bedroom. 

“Fuck. yes. Yes! I am yours, only yours. Fuck-” You feel yourself getting closer to a dizzying orgasm. “I’m close.” 

“Me too. Hold on a bit more, baby. Let’s finish together.” Jimin’s hand leaves your thigh alone as it flies towards your cunt. His fingers start abusing your clit and send you over the edge.

“Jimin, I- I can’t-” You pant hard. 

“Cum now.” Jimin commands and you comply. You cum on his cock as he spills his white hotness inside you. 

You two come down from your high connecting your foreheads together. 

“So… Do you still want to divorce me?” Jimin chuckles at your ruined state. 

“Absolutely not.” you reply, pulling him down for a kiss as if to seal your fate together.

Taglist:

@phenomenalgirl9 @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @soraviie @sukunabitch @chimchimmarie @coffeedepressionsoup @meowstake @vonvi-blog @nochuel @whipwhoops @cherrypopthatbean

[peachesofteal]

okayyyy so now i need an entire DD fantasy au…

peach, every piece of your writing is like freshly baked bread, and i am a starving peasant. you are my god.

dead disco is eating my brain.

- 🧟‍♀️

🧟‍♀️ Anon is referencing this. Same. I wish I had more time to write, I could totally take this and run with it. 🖤 🖤 I will feed you as much bread as I can.

“What- what’re you going to do with me?” You try to brace your voice with strength, bravery, anything to try to hide the truth, disguise the fear that has your hands shaking in your dress.

“We’re takin ye home, Princess.” You gape at the Highlander, the one who Introduced himself as Johnny. He tightens the girth on a sweet, sorrel pony, who nickers at you softly.

“But I am home.” You gesture to the castle that lurks behind you, and Ghost scoffs.

“You belong to us, darling. And that-“ he points at the gate. “Wasn’t much a home for you, now was it?” The image of your father being hacked to pieces by the violent stroke of his sword rips across your mind, and you shudder.

“Alright. Shall we?” Johnny motions to the pony, and you blanch.

“I don’t ride.” Your stomach knots, twisting up more than you thought possible, after everything. “I don’t- I’ve always taken a carriage.” They exchange a look, some sort of silent communication passing between the two, a deep connection that somehow manages to make you feel like an intruder, even those these are the two who ransacked your land and killed your father.

“Ye’ll ride with me then.” Johnny tells you gently, bending with a palm forward.

“I-“ The protest is in vain, and you know it. There’s no one here, to come to your rescue, no one to save you. Your own home is drenched in blood.

“Up ye get.” His hand hovers in the air by your knee, encouraging you to use it as a step, you think. But no, surely not? He couldn’t… support you. With one hand. You stand on indecision, looking from him, to the horse, to the ground. “Darling.” He murmurs softly, gentle under his breath.

It’s time.” Ghost calls, hoisting himself up onto a massive, shiny black horse that stands double your height, if not more.

“Princess.” Johnny urges. “Dinnae make me force ye onto the horse.” He’s serious, and you gulp against the cold wind that whips through your bones.

Only a few hours in, and you’re in agony. Your body is soft, not conditioned for long rides or hunts, muscles soft and skin nearly silk. Every step the horse makes feels like it may knock you off balance, bones in your back screaming at you with each jostle. Johnny tries to hold you steady, keeping you close to him, pressed to his chest, but it does little to help your discomfort. He steadies you with a hand on your hip, slowly sliding around to press against your lower belly, shifting you back into the shelter of his body, his warmth.

“Ye alright?” He murmurs into your ear, tucking your cloak tighter around your shoulders. “Ye’re shivering.”

“It’s cold.” You whisper, not even sure if he can hear you. He rubs your upper arm, squeezing it to try to work blood flow back into your skin.

“Ay.” He yells to Ghost, who’s in front, and they both pull up short. The black horse moves frighteningly quick alongside you, and Ghost studies your stricken expression intently behind the mask.

“Let’s get her into town. We can stop at the Inn for the night.” He tells Johnny, who pulls you tighter into his body.

“It’s about another hour, Darling. Think ye can make it?”

“It’s not safe, camping in these woods.” Ghost supplies as an explanation gently, and you nod.

“O-okay.”

“Good girl.”

At the end of the hour, you’re on the verge of tears. It’s frigid, you’re stiff in the saddle, legs and back and everything uncooperative, thigh muscles completely raw from trying to hold your seat.

“Easy now.” Johnny coos when he slips down, trying to encourage you to swing your leg over and follow his lead. When you try, a whimper slips free between your lips, and his brows crease in concern.

“I can’t.”

“Oh, darling.” He slides an arm around your waist, pulling you down into his chest, and you stifle a pained moan, face pressing into the warmth of his cloak. “Let’s get ye inside, out of the cold.” He holds you with ease, tucking you tighter amidst the little whimpers that are still slipping from your chattering teeth.

[manicpixiefelix]

they stare at me (and i stare at you) {18+}

Felix Catton/CEO!Reader

AU of head, heart, hand. but you don't need to have read that to enjoy this.

Summary: In another life, ten-year-old Felix decides against straying from his parents at that function he was dragged along to on a boat, decides against taking a chance and befriending you there, and it changes everything.

Growing up in the shadow of your more than reluctant parents and desperate for affection, you look to find some common ground with them by investing yourself in the family business. Except as it turns out, your father, who'd been made CEO after your grandfather had passed, was more of a figurehead than a real businessman. He's happy to pass on responsibilities to you as time goes on as your growing interest and understanding of the company quickly surpassed his own. At fourteen you're attending board meetings in his place, at sixteen, you're running them, and at nineteen you're essentially acting CEO, about to start your first year at Oxford, if only to bolster your credentials, and yet it's still been years since your parents had been active participants in your life.

The unconventional environment in which you'd spent your teen years shaped you dramatically and violently into the kind of person who could command attention and respect from anyone or any room. There was no room in your life for being underestimated in any circumstance, not with so many people looking to undermine you, to tear you down, so you would never allow yourself to give them the chance. Work hard, party harder; for years you'd forced yourself to keep up with those around you despite your youth, and now it seemed to be second nature.

To the people who knew you professionally, you were a shark; beautiful, efficient, deadly. To the friends you find yourself making at Oxford, the people who can't even fathom the full extent of your world or what you're capable of because of it, they regard you like you're The Sun.

Except, of course, to the boy with a title and a castle and a lifetime of feeling like a display piece for his parents. The only other person who others offer in loving comparison to The Sun in his own right. Felix Catton knows a shark when he sees one, and hates feeling like the only one who does. Even his cousin- even his fucking sister turn out to be the type to be blinded by your light. You are objectively, unmistakably dazzling, and he's starting to really hate you for it.

Everyone around you tells him you're impossible not to love, but they say the same thing about him too. Maybe that's why, despite his best efforts, he still find himself drawn to you, pulled into your gravity, or perhaps you're pulled into his.

Binary stars, destined to crash into each other in one way or another; a supernova, a cataclysmic disaster, he's sure. However this ends, it will be beautiful and terrible, Felix thinks, just like you.

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly Non-Binary Reader. Enemies-With-Benefits, Enemies-to-Friends-to-Lovers.

Warnings: SMUT (AFAB!reader), psychosexual (and regular sexual) mind games, reader has sometimes dubious morals, recreational drug use, drinking, smoking, business discussions despite the writer being a theatre&literature major, questionable business ethics, discussions about transphobia in the workplace, discussions regarding reader's parental neglect, awful communication skills all around, Eddie's there.

Felix watches you on the dancefloor, watches the way you move along with the other bodies as they writhed around you, hands all over you. Like moths to a flame, they're drawn to you, looking at you like they're desperate for you to just meet their gaze. He sees the way you shift as your attention does, the subtle way you change yourself for each person you focus on. Soft or bold or teasing or pandering; you seemed to be able to figure out what exactly will entice whoever it is that is lucky enough to receive your attention on any given night.

Which perhaps is part of the reason Felix feels slighted by you; it's like you go out of your way to antagonise him instead. Its not that he's jealous, it's just that he's pretty sure you're doing it on purpose.

[ COMING SOON ]

THE TAGLIST IS ALWAYS OPEN !

If you are already on the taglist for head, heart, hand. you will be automatically tagged in this. If you've found this fic and are only interested in being tagged in it and not the main fic, please feel free to message or comment letting me know!

[hootbon]

Eh hey Bon how are you? I hope you're having a good day. I love your art and the AU and just wanted to let you know it's great.

Also, I don't want to rush and bother you, but will there be a sequel to the "Community Choice Adventure" series?

Pomni last went to Kinger's castle

There will be, don’t worry, I’ve just been more slow with actual projects as of yet