#fav parts: dream's hair

[teejaystumbles]

A siren, Hob had thought, when he’d first found the man washed up upon the strand. One of those beautiful creatures of the deep, what tempted Odysseus and drew men to their dooms upon the rocks. He’s rather certain no siren has ever been depicted with tentacles, though. this has taken me almost the whole day and I regret nothing

@moorishflower <3

[izel-scribbles]

just finished malevolent relisten. needless to say the obsession has been rekindled tenfold its previous magnitude

[splickedylit]

i've never read Eyeshield 21 but I took one look at this spiky sharp bastard and I've decided that I love him

so spiky

AND YOU'RE CORRECT lmao. That's Hiruma Yoichi, he's a menace and I love him. Every manga should have a dangerous weirdo with a book full of blackmail who drives the plot forward by being an absolute crazy person. Eyeshield 21 is a football manga, and he's just out here blackmailing and scheming and being an audacious chaos gremlin.

ALL THE OTHER PEOPLE IN THIS MANGA MIGHT HAVE OUTLANDISH PROPORTIONS OR FEATURES BUT AT LEAST THEY LOOK LIKE HUMANS!! Hiruma why are you like this?!?!

[zaephix]

I LOVE THE CAMERA SO, SO MUCH—AND THE CAMERA LOVES ME ! / / xavier , zayne, rafayel & sylus . . .

ever since you went viral on the internet, your relationship has become the evvy and dream of users globally. just what about you guys was so groundbreaking?

warnings: f!reader, established relationship, modern!au without the monster protocore stuff, ooc!sylus??? this is my first time writing him im scared yall, internet fame, fluff, suggestive on zayne's part, relationship tingz mostly inspired by douyin couple tiktoks (im so lonely brah.)

w/c: 2.15k (about 500-600 each.. whew. sylus ws the longest...)

author's note: if u guys can figure out what photo reference i ws talking ab in zayne's ily (hint hint that one nanami fanart) also did u guys peep the rv reference in the title??? #reveluv #streamcosmic art cred: angye on twt

XAVIER didn't think that he'd go viral for something as silly as interupting your tiktok by carrying you away, then again he didn't even know you posted it.

it didnt just go viral because the two of you were in the cutest matching hoodies, but because he swept you off your feet so smoothly and almost effortlessly.

soon after that, comments flooded your page gushing about how they'd wish they had a boyfriend as clingy and affectionate as him, and you two had started a new trend.

after that video, many followed you because they fell in love with you and your relationship, almost begging for more crumbs of you two. your page was then full of the two of you more so than before, photos of you two in onesies cuddling, stargazing, and even little day-to-day vlogs.

your fans just kept eating them up, and he had to deal with the impending consequences of it.

"XAVIER, come pose with me!"

the grey-blond haired man sighed, dragging his feet towards you. "don't you think we're done? we've taken so many already..."

you raise a brow, "we didnt take any this whole week? cmoon, the camera's rolling, let's do that dance i taught you!"

"but it's late, and i wanna go to sleep... we can take some tomorrow morning or something..."

you give him the sternest look you could muster, and he generates the biggest puppy eyes he'd ever done, looking down at you with a small pout as his hands hung loosely around your waist.

"a kiss then?"

you roll your eyes affectionately, "you can have your kiss after this i promise! pleaaaseee xavier?"

it seemed that he wasn't gonna take no as an answer, as he kept leaning in towards you, determined as ever.

your face was burning as you chuckle nervously, leaning away from him. he slowly inched closer, until you were at a point where you could go no further without any help.

realizing you had no other choice, you sighed with a pout of your own, and XAVIER took this as a chance to pull you closer and press a kiss to your lips, making you giggle. you pressed your fingers lightly to his lips as he swayed you side to side, and you couldn't help but laugh and follow suit.

"XAVIER!"

you posted the video not long after that, a cute song in the background to cover the sounds of your voices. within just 2 hours, it went viral, taking its spot as your number one video.

"ughhhhhh is this too much to ask for?"

"if you look closely you'll see me laying on the street."

"u guys r my fav couple ever pls don't ever break up!!!"

it was safe to say you never got your dance.

ZAYNE took quiet pride in being your boyfriend—and he took it very seriously as well. he'd fuss over you even more than before, making sure you were okay at all times

you'd joke about how he was acting more as your husband than your boyfriend. he'd brush your comments aside, saying you think too much (funnily enough his ears were quite red)

your relationship went viral due to the sillyness you brought into it, the little antics you'd pull around him as you two would go through your day-to-day life being the highlight of the week for your viewers

but what really made you two so popular was in the gentleness he'd treat you with. his words may seem curt and blunt, but his actions said anything but that. in your mini vlogs, ZAYNE would display tiny gestures of affection, ranging from delicately fixing your jewelry and carrying your purse to zipping up your dress and putting your heels on for you.

"hey god... it's me again..."

"i want a rich doctor bf too!"

"my parentsssss <3"

your viewers would nitpick at every little thing, hundreds of fan edits taking over the app by storm, and you'd repost every single one of them

"ZAYNE! i'm home! sorry, usually i'd be the one to be early but the association had-"

you stopped, frowning as you realized the lights were off, the only source of light coming from your kitchen. making your way there, you were met with the back of your boyfriend, seemingly working very hard on something.

"zayne?"

he turned around, greeting you with a soft look of surprise. "oh. you're here." he stepped towards you, and now you could see that he was wearing an apron over a dress shirt and pants.

"go to your room. i left a change of clothes for you on your bed."

you looked at him confusedly before realization and guilt struck you. "...oh! oh my gosh, i'm so sorry! i forgot it was our anniversary! i'll-"

you shut up as he looks at you with an amused lift of his brow, taking this as your cue to go get changed.

turns out, ZAYNE had taken a day off without you realizing it. he spent the day getting your apartment ready for your anniversary. and he had everything set alright.

"i can't believe you did all of this yourself... i mean- wow..."

you two enjoyed a nice candlelit dinner with your favorite foods and drinks, and you kept having to resist the urge to just tug him closer with his tie and plant kisses all over his face.

wait, unless...

"ZAYNE, could you come here?"

ZAYNE thought the two of you were done, wanting to spend the rest of the night with you in his arms-it turns out you had a different idea

"you still haven't gotten your reward."

you uploaded a new post to your instagram page, captioned "my sweet doctor <3" with pictures of your dinner that night

and on the very last slide, was a picture of him turned to the side with lipstick covered kiss marks over his face and shirt, ears a pretty shade of red, and your hand pulling him in by his tie

your fans could only ever imagine what happened after that

it was just after your date with RAFAYEL at the aquarium did the topic of who his lover was striked appeal to the media. apparantly, some fans recognized him and sneakily took photos.

at first, he was annoyed by it, but after seeing compilations of videos where he'd see you two, he supposed it wouldn't hurt to indulge the public.

soon after that, his pages both on instagram and tiktok had tiny easter eggs of you, whether it be your clothes, a second of you in the background of his videos or even in his paintings.

the comments would be full of "did u guys see the ___ in the background?" or "to have a painter as a bf... im jealous..."

to fuel the fire, you'd feed your already large fanbase your own easter eggs of him. one of his paintings in the background, a shirt of his on your couch, a split second of your wallpaper shown, etc.

you were just having fun, you didn't expect anything to really come out of the antics you both were pulling in front of the public.

however, you both thought wrong, as it didn't take long for the people to put two and two together.

"RAFAYEL... my legs hurt... when are the fireworks gonna start?"

"shhh just be patient, we can stop here if you want?"

you two were at one of the largest beach festivals at linkon, and after a whole day of running around and trying everything, your legs had gotten sore.

you and RAFAYEL sit down on the cool sand, the water from the waves inching closer and closer. you could hear the commotion coming from the festival, but all you could focus on right now were the waves in front of you.

"ugh... you're right. all that running around has made me exhausted. don't be surprised if you have to carry me home."

you flick him on his forehead as he weakly puts his hands up in surrender and lays down on the sand. you lay beside him, your arm propping your head up.

"i had fun today though. it's felt like ages since we went somewhere in public together."

he hums, pulling your hand towards him to rest on his face. "yeah... its too much... maybe we should just settle down back at-"

"oh my god, is that RAFAYEL? and... is that his girlfriend!?"

you quickly turn around and were met with a group of fangirls. you turn back around to rafayel to see him already sat up, motioning for you to follow him.

"i know you said you were tired but..."

you read his mind instantly, getting up and grabbing his hand. you both start to run away from the clicks and flashes of the paparazzi, giggling and laughing while doing so.

the fireworks had finally started behind you.

after that whole fiasco, you and RAFAYEL retired to his bedroom back at his studio, breathless and exhausted.

as you two soundly slept, the internet was currently in shambles after finding out your secret relationship, leaked photos of you two running together and getting into your car having made it on every platform.

and as his phone rang with notifications, he had an inkling of what happened.

"whatever..." he thinks tiredly as he pulls the covers over you and him.

"...i can deal with that tomorrow."

SYLUS was never shy in showing you off as his girlfriend, but never once discouraged nor encouraged your moves to post the two of you together

yet the moment you posted the huge bouquet of roses he'd sent to your apartment via luke and kieran and it blew up, it was almost like he was urging you to show him off

you didn't even mean for it to go that big, you just thought they were pretty

and yet, he'd sneak in small comments during your conversations like "the view here is pretty, wanna comemorate it?" or "look, our outfits are matching, i could get kieran to take a picture of us together if you'd like?"

you'd taken the hint pretty quickly, rolling your eyes as you brushed it off each time, until you had a change of heart one day

you posted a video of you touring the city on his motorcylce, one hand wrapped around his torso and the other holding your phone, showing off the view and the well, broad, shoulders and back of your boyfriend

and as you can probably tell, it went viral, with many users commenting how they'd wish they had their own biker boyfriend who'd take them across cities

he scrolls through the comments in his freetime, lips turned upwards and already planning your next hit

"SYLUS...? what's the meaning of... this?"

just a minute ago, SYLUS walked up to you and asked if you'd like to go shopping, that it was on him. you agreed hesitantly as you got up, suspicious of his intentions already.

and without giving you time to think, he picked you up with one arm and has not put you down since.

"well, i thought it'd be nice to treat you, it's been a while afterall."

"...we went to a michellin star restaurant like two days ago?"

"hm."

sighing, you reel your head back and notice a glint in the dark hallways of his manor, along with hushed voices and camera clicks.

was that... luke and kieran?

"wait, wait, wait, wait— i think i saw luke and kieran—"

he swiftly glaces behind you two with furrowed brows, and then gave you a small smirk. sometimes you can't tell if he's teasing you or not.

"pay them no mind, they're probably up to something again. best not to find out now."

he looks at you curiously, "or is this your way of saying you want out? i was gonna pay a visit to the claw machine with you... i heard they had a new limited edition plushie..."

your eyes snap back to his, "no, no! this is fine... i'm sure i was just imagining things."

he gives you a triumphant smile and keeps walking, yet your mind can't help but wander back to what those twins were doing...

and it turns out your suspicions were right all along, for after you came back home from a successful night of shopping, your phone was abuzz with notifications coming from your friends

luke and kieran had secretly recorded the two of you when he picked you up, and made sure to show the black card that was in SYLUS'S possesion

you'd have never thought he'd go along with a plan as silly as this with the two of them, but they were his assistants afterall.

later, you were bored out of your mind, so you decide to scroll through the comments.

"hows it feel to live my dream!?"

"i'll get it one day... one day...."

"if i ever had a boyfriend like that, i'd never let him rest."

and as you look over at the sleeping man beside you, you definitely understood them.

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。GOODBYE KISS — GOJO SATORU. (rich boy! au)

contents. college! au, rich boy! gojo, established relationships, morning cuddles wif toru <3, morning tantrums with toru too lol, ft. our fav: momjo !!

satoru’s head is on your chest as he snores softly—normally, you adore the feeling of him so close to you, but right now, it’s five minutes until your wake-up-for-real-this-time-or-you’re-late alarm will go off. you’ve already hit snooze on the other six—how satoru’s slept through them all is a mystery to you.

you peer down at him, watching the way his lips are parted as soft breaths escape him in gentle sighs. his hair is messy over his forehead, and the sun makes his skin glow in that way only satoru could glow. you sigh, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, and as if he feels the affection in his sleep, he hums a little while still unconscious.

too bad you’ll have to break this peace in just a moment.

and this is going to work out poorly—you already know that. if you move from under satoru, he’ll wake up. if he wakes up, he’ll realize you’re trying to leave. if he realizes you’re trying to leave, he’ll have a meltdown. if he has a meltdown, he’ll surely win and convince you to stay. if you stay, you’ll miss class and fall behind on the notes. if you fall behind on the notes, you’ll procrastinate on catching up. if you procrastinate on catching up, you’ll know absolutely nothing by the time the next exam rolls around. if you know nothing by the time the next exam rolls around, you’ll have multiple mental breakdowns and lose yourself to stress the night before as you cram all in one sitting.

simply put, your entire grade resides on the fact that satoru is currently sleeping on your chest, and he definitely won’t let you leave.

you try anyway—and just as you suspect, you fail.

“huh? wha—where are you going?” he groans, rubbing his eyes as he blinks them open. “wait a sec—baby no,” he whines.

“shh, toru, you’re dreaming,” you kiss his forehead, “i’m not actually leaving.”

“i’m not stupid!”

“shhh, your dream is tricking you,” you insist, “i’m still right under you.”

“you can’t gaslight me! i’m not falling for your tricks,” he huffs, “how gullible do you think i am?”

very, you want to say—but that would be a bad idea.

“you’re not stupid at all, toru,” you say sweetly, “you’re the smartest man i’ve ever met.”

“this is definitely not a dream because you’re even meaner to me in my dreams,” he raises a brow, “dream you would never be this nice.”

“what do you mean i’m mean in your dreams?” you gasp. you’re not mean to satoru—you wouldn’t have to yell at him if he just behaved half the time.

“they’re more like nightmares,” he huffs, “last one, you made me sleep outside. that was rude.”

“how could you dream me being a jerk?” you ask, offended—and before he can answer, your wake-up-for-real-this-time-or-you’re-late alarm blares.

satoru glances down at your phone and stares for a moment—and then he flops back against his pillow as he whines miserably.

“don’t leave,” he begs, “please, just skip this one class for me? i get so cold in the mornings,” he pouts.

“then put a shirt on,” you sigh.

“i’ll be lonely!”

“not if i’m bullying you in your dreams, apparently.”

“baby, i can’t sleep without something to cuddle,” he tries again—that one almost makes you cave. you have to admit that cuddling isn’t something you enjoy passing on either, but class is important. more important than class is your sanity that you would like to keep intact instead of lose while cramming six chapters in one night.

“cuddle my pillow,” you sigh, “satoru, please. i’m already late.”

“just this once, okay? i won’t ask again,” he says innocently, his eyes wide and pleading as they peer up at you.

“you said that last time.”

“last time i crossed my fingers,” he winks, “so it didn’t count. so now you have to—”

“goodbye, satoru,” you mumble.

he slumps in defeat, grumbling under his breath before rolling over to turn his back to you petulantly. you sigh, rolling your eyes—though fondly, before you head to the bathroom, getting ready for the day.

by the time you’re out, satoru has fallen asleep again—you know it’s because he’s stayed up late again to play video games with suguru. because you don’t want to disturb him from his much needed sleep (and because you don’t want to risk waking up him and dealing with another tantrum), you decide to gently pull the blankets over his bare chest and skip the goodbye kiss.

it won’t be a big deal if he doesn’t get a kiss goodbye while he’s asleep, right? he won’t even be awake to notice.

evidently, you realize in the middle of class that you’re wrong. very wrong.

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤToday, 8:32 AM

baby boy 💋:

you left without a goodbye kiss???????????

are you ignoring me????????????

baby

sweetheart

sunshine

angel

peaches

i know you’re reading this.

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤToday, 8:41 AM

mrs. gojo ❤️:

please answer satoru. i really don’t want a headache today

this is very short and silly sorry. anyway rip momjo she deal with too much that boy is a handful

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 MID DAY NAPS WITH DAZAI!

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: dazai does not nap. he hardly sleeps in general. so how is it that he's dozing off in your lap like this? you're a witch, he's decided. there's no other logical explanation. (wordcount: 800ish; sfw; fem!reader, mentions of alcohol & sleeping pills)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: very short & sweet but i toldddd you guys that i had a dazai nap time drabble in the works. i love my naps, so that means i obviously have to do nap time with all of the favs. perhaps i'll do jouno next. or maybe there's someone u guys want.

Dazai doesn’t sleep well. He never has, and he’s certain he never will. The only time he can manage to get some semblance of sleep is when he’s taken a few too many sleeping pills or he’s drank himself to oblivion. It’s unfortunate, but it’s a fact of life, and he thinks that he’d prefer to stay sleepless anyway if it means he can avoid the memories that plague his dreams.

Dazai can simply not remember when the last time he willingly slept was, which is why he’s so confused now, head resting in your lap, eyes heavy as he looks up at you. He can hardly hold them open, he can feel himself falling asleep and he’s alarmed because he does not sleep unless his body is drugged, drunk or dying.

“What kind of spell have you placed on me, bella?” Dazai says through a yawn—he yawned???

“What do you mean?” you ask quietly, fingers still carding gently through his hair as you look down at him, brows furrowed. 

He wants to reach up and rub out the wrinkle between your eyebrows but his arm feels too heavy. A part of him wonders if he’s dying, but he supposes if this is how he’s meant to go out—laying in your lap with your fingers brushing through his hair, staring up at your pretty face beneath the afternoon sun—then he couldn’t ask for a better death.

“‘m falling asleep,” he murmurs, and his voice slurs a bit over the words. His eyes feel even heavier, drooping shut as he tilts his head to the side to make himself comfortable on your lap. 

You giggle lightly, and Dazai swears the sound is angelic. “‘cause you’re so sleepy, obviously,” you say, a teasing lilt to your tone as you bring your freehand to his face to trace his cheekbone.

“I don’t sleep,” he protests weakly, leaning into your touch. 

He thinks that before he met you, he might not have ever experienced a gentle touch in his entire life, and now he simply cannot go without them. He craves them at every waking moment and gets severely distressed when he cannot obtain them. But only if they’re from you—the thought of anyone else touching him the way you do makes his skin crawl. Your touches make him feel vulnerable in a way that’s dangerous, and you’re the only person he trusts enough to see him that way.

“Everyone sleeps, silly,” you disagree softly, and Dazai wants to protest, to tell you how significant this is, but he can’t find the words. His mind feels muddled and hazy as exhaustion creeps through his bones and claws at his chest.

He supposes he doesn’t really need to tell you anyway, you probably already know—you always know somehow. You can always figure out when he’s having one of his bad days, no matter how hard he tries to hide it from everyone. You can always tell when he needs a break from everything, even when he tries to mask it with smiles and jokes. You can always tell when he’s sick of playing the role of a clown to make people overlook all of his faults and darkness, and you’re always there to be an escape for him. 

It used to be scary—he’s never had someone that could pick through all of his masks to see through his emotional state, his real one. A part of him wonders if it’s somehow a secret part of your ability but he knows it’s a ridiculous thought, because there’s no explanation for how you can do it whenever he’s laid up in your arms or draped all over you, which is 99% of the time he’s with you.

It used to be scary (emphasis on the past tense) but now, he thinks it might be a bit comforting to know that you’re always there and you know what he needs even when he himself doesn’t know. You’re like a buoy in the middle of a raging sea, a lighthouse shining through the dark. he hasn’t had someone he could genuinely rely on in… a long time, and even then…

Dazai lets out a puff of air, eyes finally sliding shut as he all but melts into you with your hand cupping the side of his face and your thumb caressing his cheek and your nails gently scraping his scalp. He thinks he might be in heaven—he doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve it, to deserve you, but he’s a selfish bastard at heart and he’ll be damned if he ever lets you go. 

The last thing he feels is your lips ghosting his temple before he finally dozes off. He sleeps peacefully for the first time he can remember. 

[hier--soir]

a lover's pinch | two

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni summary: will a complicated realisation drive you and joel apart, or drag you closer together? warnings/tags: au, university professor joel, age gap [20 something years diff], ethically dubious relationship due to inherent power imbalance, some mildly gratuitous Classics chatter, some very gratuitous descriptions of joel's office, trope of being enamoured by your favourite teacher lol [and her fav isn't even joel, sorry guys], angst, a little manhandling, semi-public sex acts with a not-so-stranger, dirty talk, brief impact play, fingering, orgasm denial, oral [m!receiving], face fucking, facial, cum eating, sheeesh i think that's it okay i need a glass of cold water word count: 10.3k i'm not sorry series masterlist | main masterlist a lover's pinch playlist a/n: folks, this series has taken over my entire brain. i'm having the best time writing+outlining it, and i have been so delighted by how many people liked the first part. giving you all the biggest kiss through the screen right now. lmk what you think of part two! this is part two of ALP. you can read the previous part here: one.

Tuesday.

It’s as though a mirage resides in the periphery of your vision.

A wobbling, shimmering thing that offsets the centre of a picture and makes your eyes hurt until you want to close them. The type where you’re squinting and trying to see, trying to make out what’s happening, and people are turning to look at you and pointing and you realise that you aren’t wearing any pants, and it’s a dream, a dream, a nightmare, it’s not fucking real. Illusory. Fantasy.

It's a childish thought that you can’t help but be consumed by. The idea that this is all some cruel, fucked up delusion you’re about to wake up from. That it couldn’t be possible for the charming Texan you’d met four nights prior to be stood only a few metres in front of you, discussing your fucking syllabus. Reality becomes this twisting, writhing thing that is painful and awkward to comprehend, and everything slows to a liquid, dreamlike pace. His voice, his movement, the shifting of other students around you, all drifting by slowly, as if a year has passed in the span of ten seconds.

And yet when you pinch your arm—nails scraping across skin until raw red marks raise in jagged lines—and you don’t wake up, the mirage remains, your stomach rolls.

Joel looks so different here. What had been casual at the bar, a lob of messy hair above a cotton t-shirt, is now professional. Buttoned shirt tucked into pressed brown pants. Beard trimmed, and hair pushed back into soft, tidy waves that roll down to his neck. A set of glasses rest on the bridge of his nose. Square, with black frames that compliment his skin tone, and have your fingers gripping the edge of the desk, wondering why the hell he hadn’t been wearing them on Friday night when he sunk his mouth against your cunt. Dirty little thing.

You can still feel his hands on you, days later. Feel the rough scrape of calloused fingers on your thighs, between your legs. Remember how soft his hair was when you buried your fingers in it and held him against your aching core, whining his name. It had been like this all weekend; holding an image of his tan, handsome face in your mind, trying to emulate the feeling of his hand between your thighs with your own, only to fail over and over again.

And he’s talking. That low, honeyed drawl that tickles across your skin and drips into your ears, warming your insides. It’s a marvellous thing; the way he shifts easily from topic to topic, disarming the room with short, sharp—surprising—jokes sifted in between soft-spoken sentiments about classical academia and the university, and what he hopes you as individuals will gain from a postgraduate in this course, and it feels like it’s been both hours and seconds as you watch him breathlessly, waiting. Waiting for his eyes to skirt to your side of the room, to dance across your face and recognise you, remember you, just as he said he would. 

Joel is talking about The Aeneid when he finally notices you.  

“I want you to be thinking about language,” he’s saying. “And tone. Virgil and Homer’s writing differs in a lotta ways, but it does share that same character of irony. Don’t forget that Virgil wrote during the Golden Age of the Roman Empire – and he’s presenting us with a story about destiny, about fate. Our focus here isn’t so much about love, or reverence, as it is about tragedy – no one in The Aeneid is safe from what their own fate lays out for them. All of these calamities and heartbreaks are necessary for the empire to thrive.”

He pauses. “Take Dido in book four as a prime example. In the openin’ lines of her story, if we’re looking to the West translation; she is suffering from love’s deadly wound, feeding it with her blood and being consumed by its hidden fire. We know from the beginnin’, that her love for Aeneas will be her downfall; that her death is essential for him to leave Carthage. And on that same page, talkin’ about Aeneas, we get, oh how cruelly he has been hounded by the Fates. This is what you need to think about if you’re gonna get to the bottom of Virgil’s bigger plan with these books. Why is he using this language? These words? I want—” 

Joel inhales sharply, dark eyes frozen on your face, which grows steadily warmer beneath his scrutiny. His body doesn’t move, hands hovering in the air mid-gesticulation, lips parted as his next words rest there, caught on his tongue. You swallow thickly. Feel sweat form on your hairline. The silence stretches, dead air giving rise to confused murmurs across the room, and your eyes widen, willing him to look away and continue; to do anything except stand there and keep looking at you like that. But it’s like he’s in a trance. Tan face dimming to a sickly, pallid colour, shoulders shifting as he breaths deeply. Staring.

A few heads turn in your direction, but you can’t bring yourself to look back at them; to snatch yourself away from the feeling of being held in his gaze again. It’s intoxicating—almost euphoric—to have those dark eyes on your skin.

And then it’s over, the moment severed as Joel’s eyes snap away and he clears his throat, offering a pained smile to the rest of the room. And he’s apologising, Lost my train of thought for a moment there, using a playful tone of voice as he says, first day of the semester jitters, y’know?

He ignores you after that.

For the entirety of the two-hour lecture, he makes sure not to spare a single glance in your direction. And it stings, but you suppose you understand. Can see the tension held in his shoulders now; the strain in his voice as he works to talk with that same measured ease he’d had at the beginning.

You take notes carefully, and don’t bother raising your hand when he inspires participation from the other students. But by the end of the class, you can’t bring yourself to walk out – not without saying something, without finding some kind of understanding over what the fuck is happening. You’re practically glued to your seat as students rise, filing out of the theatre hall.

Joel stands by the desk, back hunched as he collects his things, fielding kind comments of thanks and that was great from people as they pass him on their way toward the exit.  Eventually you join the stream, wandering down the stairs on shaky legs until you find yourself at the edge of his desk, fiddling with the strap of your bag and watching his back. His shoulders hunch tighter when you pause there, shadow splaying across the desk. Though his face isn’t visible to you, his hands are almost a blur, scrambling to drag his things into a messy pile so that he can pack up faster. He slaps his laptop closed and you flinch at the sound.

After a few moments, you find the courage to speak.

“That was, uhh, that was really interesting,” you clear your throat awkwardly, watching other students shuffle past in your periphery. His hands move faster, stuffing loose notes into a leather satchel with little disregard for the paper creasing.

You lower your voice to a hoarse, careful whisper. “We need to talk about this.”  

Joel finally looks up, nostrils flaring as he meets your stare. He nods once, looping the bag over his shoulder. “Not here,” he says gruffly, tight eyes darting around the room. “Room’s booked for another lecture in five.”

He tilts his head towards the door, encouraging you to follow him as he paces out towards the hall. You shadow him quickly, clutching your bag and watching the muscles in his back shift beneath his shirt as he walks three paces ahead of you. You fight the urge to place your hand in the dip between his shoulder blades; to feel the heat of his skin, the rolling tension beneath it, and dig your fingernails into him. Joel doesn’t look back to check if you’re following – he knows you are.

He leads you up a flight of stairs and down another hall, makes a left, and then another left, until finally he’s pausing and dragging a key from his pocket, pressing it into the lock of a heavy wooden door and nudging it open. There’s a plaque on the wood that reads J MILLER, PhD. You swallow. And then follow him inside and let the door fall shut behind you.

Joel stalks into the room, feet heavy against the dark carpet. He tosses his satchel to the floor and then stands by the desk, wild eyes trained on where you hover silently by the door. He looks on edge, to say the least. Frazzled fingers race through his hair, mussing the curls until they look reminiscent of the past Friday. Foot tapping against the ground in a quick, jerky rhythm.

And you know that you need to talk, need to clear the air, need to say anything, but you can’t help it when your eyes wander around the room because—

His office is sort of beautiful.

A larger space than you expected it to be, with a north-facing window that allows a natural yellowed morning light to fill the space, and a vast bookshelf stretching across the wall behind a large desk. You can’t make out the titles from where you stand by the door, but texts fill every crack and crevice of the shelfing unit, not organised by any noticeable colour scheme or structure. The space is messy – personal. In fact, everywhere you look seems to expose something private, something intimate.

A jacket hangs from a hook on the back of the door, made of a worn duck brown waxed material that looks soft to the touch. In the corner opposite the desk, a velvet green armchair sits beside a low table that houses a record player and a potted plant. Sleeves of records are tucked beneath the table, stacked upon each other haphazardly, without a hint of dust on them. Clearly touched and rifled through more often than not.

The wide window is cracked just an inch, allowing a warm early-Fall breeze to slip in and rustle the starched curtains. A coffee mug is beside the record player. Two more sit abandoned on the outskirts of his desk. All empty and forgotten about, too busy to be refilled or moved or cleaned. And there are books everywhere; strewn across his desk, forgotten beneath the cushion of his armchair, piled against the wall beneath the window. Worn, well-read books, with frayed covers and broken spines. You almost drool, tempted to ignore him completely and venture towards them; to run your fingers over the covers and find out exactly what kind of writing this enigma of a man spends so much time devouring.

After what feels like an hour of simply looking—but could only have been a minute—Joel breaks the silence.

“Did you know?”

His voice is quiet. Detached. The backs of his thighs perch on the edge of the desk, hands tangled in his lap. Large fingers pluck at each other as he stares at you from across the room, in an almost anxious fiddling movement.

“What?” you ask.

“Did you know who I was?” he clarifies, voice hardening. Those dark eyebrows tighten in the middle of his forehead, features pinching together into a sharp frown. “When you saw me.”

“Joel,” you scoff, taken aback. “How the hell would I know who you were?”

“Your classes were organised,” his voice raises slightly—just a little. “You knew the names of your profess—”

“J Miller,” you interrupt. “Everything says J Miller, that’s it. I didn’t fucking know, Joel.”

His frown softens at that, eyes dropping to the carpet as he nods once, clearly still unsure. You shuffle awkwardly on your feet, shoulders tense. There’s only a metre or so between the pair of you, and yet you can feel it. That static, burning energy, the same as four nights before. Something inside of you that rages and claws at your skin from the inside, begging to get closer to him. You ignore it.

“Why didn’t I meet you when I interviewed for the program?” you ask. You remember the day you came in, six months ago. Sitting with an older man—the Classics department head—and a soft, round woman with light hair. No Joel. You would’ve remembered him. 

His eyes flash, hands tightening in his lap. “I was on vacation,” he grinds out. It’s like it physically pains him to talk to you—to even look at you. One of his hands drops, palm flexing by his side. He’s taking deep breaths, clearly trying to calm the quell of panic that has been swirling inside him for the past two hours. You keep your distance.

After a moment, he speaks again.

“Greece, huh?” It comes out in a low scoff. His eyebrows are raised expectantly, frustration laced through the lines in his face. “Said you were there for a month.”

“Mhm,” you hum. “I was involved in a text translation study based in Athens.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he exhales, digging the palms of his hands over his eyes. “This can’t be happenin’.”

“Joel—”

“Y’need to transfer out of my class,” he interrupts, eyes blazing. “They run it online, you can—”

“What?” you blink. You feel your blood pressure rise, anger spiking as you comprehend what he is suggesting. “Be serious – I am not doing the class online because of this. It’ll jeopardise my entire semester.”

“I don’t care,” he glowers, rising from the desk.

“Jesus, stop acting like this was all my doing,” you snap. “If memory serves, you’re just as to blame as I am—you wanted me just as much as I wanted you.”

“Stop,” he growls. It’s a rough, unforgettable sound that fills your stomach with heat. An oddly familiar thing that raises the hairs on the back of your neck. Silly little slut. The memory licks at your throat, the skin of your chest, leaving a hot heady feeling in its wake. You wonder if he’s noticed the hickey on your neck that hasn’t entirely faded yet. A persistent, lingering reminder of his mouth on your skin. Of the sharp scrape of his teeth.

You take a step forward and Joel’s entire body goes rigid, right hand jutting out in front of him, fingers splayed open.

“Stay over there,” he says quickly, voice a low warning.

You scowl but don’t move, feet planted in the soft carpet. The breeze rushes in through the window and causes a paper on his desk to flap upward, and your eyes drift toward the movement. Gaze shifting over the items on his desk, the mess of papers, the half-full mugs, and then… a picture frame. You squint, unable to make it out from where you are. Take a step forward, and then another, and realise it’s Joel’s shape in the image, standing with a tall woman tucked against his side. It’s too far for you to see clearly, but you can tell his arm is wrapped around her shoulder, holding her against his chest, and you know he’s grinning from the splash of white across his face.

“What’re you—” Joel’s words turn to silence as he tilts his head and realises what you’re looking at. A broad hand darts out, gripping the frame and knocking it face down on his desk.  You flinch, eyes widening in incredulity as you turn to him.

“What?” A sardonic laugh escapes your mouth. “Are you fucking married or something? Jesus, Joel.”

You reach for the frame, fingers skirting across it with every intention of seeing, of understanding, of knowing just what it is that he’s so desperate to hide. But then he’s there, strong fingers looping around your wrist, halting your movement. The speed of it sends you stumbling toward the desk, and Joel’s body follows you forward, chest flush against your back as your lower stomach collides with the dark wood. Caught between a rock and a hard place, quite literally. You stiffen, sorely aware of how close he is. How much of his body is touching yours, and how similar it is to before.

“I’m not married,” he bites, and you can feel his breath against your ear. Hot, harsh exhales that send whisps of your hair fluttering forward. A shiver runs down your spine. His grip is firm around your wrist; not hard enough to hurt, but enough to hold you in place with your hand frozen in the air, fingers still outstretched towards the frame.

“Then who’s in the picture?” you grunt.

“None of your fuckin’ business,” he snaps quickly. You can feel his stubble graze the edge of your jaw, and something fizzes in your stomach. Your resolve softens at the frustration in his voice; the truth that bleeds out through his words. It is none of your business. Your body relaxes a little, arm going limp in his hold, and yet he doesn’t let go. It takes a moment for you to realise why.  

Joel’s hips are pressed tightly into you, trapping you against the desk, and he’s hard. You can practically feel him throb against the small of your back, the full length of his cock only separated from you by two layers of clothing. Saliva pools in your mouth, eyes pinching closed as you remember the feeling of him; the delicious burn of his heavy cock dragging through you. Using your free hand, you twist your arm behind you and slide it down his front. A whispered oh fuck escapes your lips as your fingers drag across the front of his pants, and he grunts in your ear, grasp tightening around your wrist. Painful this time, but only for a second, until he’s tearing his hand off you and placing it on your lower back, pushing you down so that your chest is flush with his desk.

You gasp, lips parting to speak, but no words are coming out and Joel’s hands are on the waistband of your jeans, on the button. He’s undoing it, fingers steadfast in their movement, and then he yanks the material down roughly over your ass.

“Joel,” you whimper urgently as he grips your panties, dragging them to your knees as well. He keeps you bent against the desk, so you twist your neck to stare at him over your shoulder, legs tensing when you see the expression on his face. His eyes are dark, pupils blown behind his glasses as he looks down to where his covered cock grinds against the swell of your ass.

“God dammit,” he exhales, and you clench around nothing, warmth pooling between your thighs. This is so different from at the bar. There the door was locked, place full of people who didn’t know either of you. Here, in his office, anyone could walk in. A member of faculty, a student, anyone. And the thought has you fucking aching for him.

Thick fingers streak between your thighs from behind, spreading your slick folds apart. You gasp as cool air hits your throbbing clit, but the sound cuts into a low moan as his fingers expertly roll over the sizzling nerve endings there. He ousts a low grunt of surprise at how wet you are, hips still grinding against you as his fingers drift to your entrance, rubbing and collecting your slick on his fingers until you’re whimpering into your own palm, pressing your hips back and begging him for more. All at once, one of his palms slaps across your ass while two thick fingers press inside you. The sting has your eyes rolling back. Your teeth sink into the palm of your hand to muffle the noise you make, and he’s curling his fingers inside you, rubbing against your g-spot, and your legs are trembling with the effort of staying standing. Your mind is a blur. You feel almost lightheaded at how suddenly this is all happening – and at how relieved you are to feel his hands on you again.

“S’this what you wanted?” Joel pants, scissoring his fingers inside you, stretching you out. “Knew if you followed me in here, I’d end up fuckin’ this pretty pussy again? Huh?”

“Fuck,” you choke out, eyelids fluttering as he adds a third finger. Heat sizzles beneath the tightening muscles in your stomach, and you can feel yourself clenching around him over and over again, your high already approaching. It’s almost pitiful, the affect he has on you; how easily your body yields to the simplest of touches from his hands.

“Huh?” he prompts for a response. You can feel the cool zipper of his pants cutting across the bare skin of your ass, scratching you as his hips rut forward.

“Please,” you say, voice quiet as you can muster. “I’m so close, Joel, please.”

He grunts, increasing the speed of his fingers. Soft squelching sounds are audible now, slick smearing against your inner thighs, his wrist, and your face goes warm at the sound of it. Your fingers claw at his desk, nails catching on paper as your hand lands against a book and grips it tight. Your abdomen burns, that soft thrumming heat licking at your skin, the muscles of your thighs, scorching in its might as your orgasm builds and builds, hanging dangerously close to the precipice.  

“Gonna come all over my fingers?” Joel asks, voice haggard and breathless. “C’mon, give it t’me.”

You’re nodding before he even finishes speaking, forehead knocking roughly against wood, eyebrows pinching together. So close, so close, so fucking clo—

A light knock sounds against his office door.

Joel freezes. Your eyes widen, hips shifting against his hand as you murmur no, no, no, please Joel. But he ignores you, gripping your hip to keep you still and dragging his fingers from your dripping cunt to press them over your mouth. Your pulse thunders in your ears, heart trashing wildly in your chest as you catch your breath, devasted.

“Joel?” a soft voice calls from the hall. A woman. “You in there?”

“Just on the phone,” he says loudly, voice surprisingly steady. You can taste yourself on his fingers. Feel it smear across your lips. “What d’ya need?”

“I’m headed to the café,” the woman calls. “You want anything?”

Joel responds with a sharp, resounding no.  

There’s a beat of silence where you can almost feel him holding his breath, waiting for her to inevitably open the unlocked door and discover the scene in his office. But the silence stretches on, and then you can hear soft footfalls fade down the corridor, and you know that you’re alone again.

Joel rips his hand from your mouth. Grips your underwear and drags it up over your hips, then your jeans, before he’s stumbling away and dropping into the armchair across the room. His chest heaves with ragged breaths, eyes wide as he gazes at the floor. When you push off the desk and turn to stare at him, a firm tent is visible in his pants. You button your jeans slowly, watching him. He doesn’t look at you.

“Joel—” you start softly.

“Don’t,” he interrupts. “Just… just get out.”

You open your mouth to speak—to argue—but once again, nothing comes out. No words to defend yourself, or what the two of you just did. You stare at him for almost a minute, but Joel’s eyes stay trained on the carpet, fists clenched against his thighs.

You leave his office silently and try not to look back. Make two rights and head down the stairs, outside and across the green to where your car is parked. The whole thing feels so dirty, so debauched, and yet you want so much more from him. Want it so badly that you drive home in silence, mind too busy with thoughts of Joel Joel Joel to remember to turn on the radio. 

And behind it all, is a low, itching thought at the base of your skull, something that makes you smile as you drive – the knowledge that he wants you just as badly as you want him.

Wednesday.

You decide very quickly that you like Rachel.

Maybe it was because you were having a good day. The sun had been shining when you woke up; strong beams that teased their way through the window in your bedroom and rested warm upon the bare skin of your back. By the time you rose, the coffee was already done brewing, and Trin met you in the hall with a large mug of it and a soft hey, man, how’d you sleep? And when you went to get dressed for the day you remembered you did the washing two nights before, and found your favourite pair of jeans—the ones that squeezed your ass just right—were neatly folded in a drawer, waiting for you. Yes; maybe all of that had something to do with it. Or maybe, it because Rachel was just great.  

You like her tenacity, her words; the idolatry with which she discusses her work. And she is charming; an intellectual through and through. The soft roundness of her face and the kind slant to her eyes offset by a razor-sharp wit. And there’s this peculiar quirkiness to her that catches your attention in seconds – a rough snort whenever she laughs, the bright orange shade of the toenails sticking out of her sandals.

Her teaching is direct, no-bullshit, and yet she has this smile. This soft, thin-lipped genuine smile that says, I know something you don’t know, and I can’t wait to share it with you.

During her first lecture, you feel rooted to the spot, unable to draw your eyes away from her for two-hours as she waxes poetic about heroines and tragic love stories, about the importance of myth, of gore.

Listening to her reminds you of what you’d always loved about classics – the filth of it, the horror. It feels like reaching your hands into a puddle of mud, flexing your fingers and letting the dirt and grime slide beneath your nails, coating every inch of your skin. The squeamishness of it, the rot, the tragedy – you love it all, and Rachel does too.

“When we talk about the juxtaposition between heroines across different texts,” she says. “We want to look at the values being portrayed; the meaning behind what’s happening to these women. Let’s appreciate the context here, guys! To understand the rage of Medea, or, say, the sacrifice of Iphigenia, we have to get to the root of their roles in society. Priestess, mistress, virgin, mother – we want to understand the perspectives being shown to us. What drives these women? What fire lives within them, pushing them to make their decisions—or to have their decisions made for them?”

She points to a student and nods, “Go on.”

“Do you think Medea holds much bearing here?” someone to your left asks. A man. “If we’re focusing on heroines, I mean.”

“Do you?” she challenges. A hint of a smile—that smile—drifts across her lips, hands clasped to her stomach as she awaits his response.

“Not particularly,” he says, voice less sure now. “I know you can view any text through most perspectives, but I’d never thought of her so much as a heroine in a feminist text.”  

“I see,” Rachel nods. “Well, the short answer is that I’d encourage you to read it again.” She laughs, a soft tinkering sound. “The long answer is that her character is complex. Let’s not beat around the bush; Medea is a woman scorned. Banished by Creon, forgotten by Jason. As the reader, we are able to comprehend the most brutal pain through her – a woman trapped in a world where men have decided everything for her, and she is furious. Even describes herself as a woman born to sorrow. Now, as the reader, it is your right to believe that she is bad, or an anti-heroine, but you cannot deny that she is made bad by circumstances out of her own control.” She pauses, thick eyebrows jutting upward as she looks around the quiet theatre. “I’d say that’s pretty feminist of Euripides.”

You approach her afterwards, fingers an awkward tangle in front of your chest.

“I just have to say,” you smile bashfully. “That was wonderful. You’re so engaging, I was… god, I don’t even know what to say, but thank you. I’m really looking forward to learning from you this semester.”

Rachel’s eyes light up at your words.

Up close you notice a pair of thick, ceramic earrings dangling from her lobes. They look hand painted; thick brushstrokes of dandelion yellow smeared across crimson red ovals.

“Oh, how lovely,” her eyes assess you quickly, mouth splitting into a crooked, fond smile. “I’m very glad to have you here…?”

You tell your name in a mumbled rush, and she nods once, eyes scanning the list of students on her sheet.

“Oh of course,” she says knowingly. “You emailed yesterday, no? Some trouble with accessing the readings online?”

You stiffen. Blink at her, smile dimming somewhat. “Yeah,” you exhale. “Yes, that’s actually—I was having trouble with the link for another class, and I hoped you might be able to help.”

“I see,” she frowns then. “Well, unfortunately if it’s not for this class I won’t be of much help; my access code only gets me so far in that damn portal. Which professor assigned the reading?”

“It’s, uhh,” you speak slowly, the words stiff as they stumble out of your mouth. “It’s Joel Miller.”

“Oh, Joel?” she smiles. “Well, he’ll be happy to help, I’m sure. He’s usually in his office around this time – do you need me to show you the way?”

Your mouth is dry. Yeah, you think. I’m sure he’ll be over the moon to see me.

“That’s okay,” you reply with a tight smile. “I’ll find it.”

She nods, bids you a warm goodbye, and her eyes have already drifted back to the papers in front of her when you turn to leave the room.

Your bag weighs heavy on your shoulder, straps of canvas material digging into the muscle there as you retrace your footsteps from yesterday. Up the creaking set of stairs, taking a left, and then another left, and your mind is a blur, static wobbling in your veins as you rehearse what you’re going to say, how you’re going to say it.

It’s been less than twenty-four hours since you’d last seen him, and from the second you left, an image of what happened in his office played on a loop in your brain. Like the spool on a VHS has been stuck together, wound into a circle, and the tape repeats over and over again, the same images, sounds, smells, soaking your mind until all else is white noise. And it’s twisted, and wrong, and you’re vaguely aware of that, somewhere in the part of your brain where you stash knowledge that you’d prefer to forget. Because it’s easier to forget the hard part, the ugly part, and far nicer to remember the scrape of his stubble against your skin. The smell of him filling your nostrils as he crowds you against his desk. The scratch on your ass from his zipper. Remember how your name sounds when he moans it, and forget the feeling that comes when he refuses to look at you after the fact.  

And you wonder if this is what the entire semester will be like; spending each day reminiscing on your last interaction with Joel, hoping for another touch, taste, another chance, another something, anything, from him. The weight of it sits heavy on your chest, like a wall of freshly cemented bricks left to solidify in the sun. And beneath that, beneath the clay and sand and limestone, excitement buzzes. Indisputable, persistent, anticipation. A vibrating that hums in your bones and has you shivering from the tips of your toes to the top of your skull as you knock on his office door. 

J MILLER PhD. The words glare at you from the bronze plaque for the second time in two days.

You hear his voice call pleasantly from behind the door. Light, relaxed. You swallow down the lump in your throat and step inside.

The window is wide open today, pale curtains drawn back to allow the bright midday sun to shine through and warm the carpet. Joel’s head tilts upward and within seconds the soft, easy smile on his face dissolves into something unreadable. He’s perched behind his desk, broad frame bent over a mess of papers, pen tucked neatly between coiled fingers. A clear tension simmers in the lines on his forehead; a tangible rigidity that clouds his expression when he sees that it’s you. He clicks the top of his pen once, twice, three times, and says your name in a clipped greeting.

“Hi,” you say, hand raising in a quick wave. “Sorry to barge in like this, I, uhh, I was wondering if you could help me with something.” 

“My office hours are between one and four,” he says tersely, eyes lowering back to his book. “Schedule an appointment over email.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, face warming as embarrassment swells in your chest. All of the excitement—the longing—that had churned inside you since yesterday seems to dissipate, replaced by a looming sense of dread as you register how distant and apathetic he seems. How hard he tries to not even look in your direction. Those words from yesterday ring in your ears. Just get out.

“Seriously?” you mutter, nonetheless, trying to contain the hurt that threatens to spill across your face. “It’ll take five seco—”

“Seriously,” he repeats firmly.

Your jaw clenches, annoyance tightening the already stiff muscles in your shoulders as you march over to his desk, dropping your bag onto the edge of it. The exact same spot from yesterday, where’d pressed you down against the wood and— Joel’s shoulders hunch. The sleeves of his shirt are pushed up to just below his elbows, thin white material stressing around cords of muscle. You gaze at the bare skin for a moment, tongue heavy in your mouth, before looking to what he was doing before you came in. A book in front of him is filled with scribbles and annotations, harsh black marks scrawled beneath thin lines of text. You only get a second to look at it before his hands are snapping it shut, revealing the cover. Robert Fagles’ translation of The Odyssey. The picture frame from yesterday is nowhere to be seen.

“Working on something for a lecture?” you try. If it’s about class, he can’t be mad. If it’s about class, he can’t push you away.

“What do you need?” he asks impatiently, ignoring your words entirely.

A hand lifts to rub the skin above his eyebrow. The tip of his middle finger massages the tan skin there in soft circles, and you watch the movement for a second, transfixed. No ring. I’m not married. His other hand reaches for the mug on his desk, and he takes a long, drawn-out sip of black coffee. Steam billows from the dark liquid, fogging the lenses of his glasses. The sight makes you want to laugh, but you swallow it down, acutely aware that Joel would be less than impressed by the reaction.

“I can’t access one of the readings for next week,” you explain distractedly, dragging the laptop from your bag.

You round his desk in a few short steps and Joel sighs, cringing as you place it down in front of him, opening the screen for him to see. He shifts his chair just slightly to the right, away from you. That persistent feeling of doubt coils in your gut, sharp teeth that twist and nip at your insides, taunting you, telling you that he doesn’t want you. And it’s not why you’re here—not at all—but you can’t bring yourself believe it. Don’t want to believe it. So you bite back – turn your back to his desk and pitch your thighs atop the edge of it, feet dangling an inch off the ground. You jeans are tight, and the fabric cuts into the skin of your hips where they bend.

“Get down,” he warns sharply, dismissing you with a taut shake of his head. “You can ask IT for help with that.”

“I’m asking you,” you persist stubbornly. “You’re my professor, Joel—"

“Yes, I am your professor,” Joel bites in agreement, glowering up at you. You stiffen warily at the heat in his gaze. At the anger you can see stirring in those dark brown orbs, brimming and ready to boil over. “And I don’t think we should be alone together,” he adds. “It’s not… this is bad for us, okay? I can’t… fuck, you can’t just come in here. I don’t want you comin’ in here anymore.”

And the memory plays once more. That thing, that something twisted, something wrong, something familiar, curls in your stomach. Snaps and bares its teeth at your uncertainty, sends it scattering into the distance, and replaces it with want.

“I didn’t even plan to come here,” your voice hardens, hackles rising as the feeling rises within you. “You’re not the first person I asked, alright? I just need some fucking help—”

“Don’t swear at me,” he interrupts through gritted teeth.

A beat of stunned silence hangs between you. A shocked laugh tumbles from your mouth, eyes widening as you take in the grave expression on his face.

“You have got to be kidding me,” you stare at him incredulously. “Joel, you had your fingers inside of me against this desk yesterday. I think swearing is the least of our worries.”

“Jesus,” he spits, pushing his chair further from the desk. His elbows fall against his knees, head resting in his palms as he breaths, not looking at you. “You’re fuckin’ filthy, y’know that? Can you not just behave?”

Don’t swear, you want to tease, but think better of it.

Instead, you nod slowly, drop your hand onto the desk, fingers hovering over his book. “Joel,” you implore, tone pleading. “I don’t… I don’t know how to act around you right now, okay? It’s not easy for me to just pretend nothing has happened between us. To just forget.”

“And you think it’s easy for me?” he gripes. His eyes are focused on your hand; on the way your fingers tense and untense over the bound cover, stroking the frayed paper his own fingers have clearly touched countless times. He doesn’t move a muscle. “To try and act like things are normal, act like I didn’t—” he cuts himself off, lips clamping shut. An anguished look crosses his features.

“We’re both adults,” you frown. “It’s not a crime that we fucked, Joel.”

A harsh laugh falls from his mouth, stern eyes blazing. “Ain’t about that and you know it. It’s against professional ethics,” Joel snaps, tone firm. “Against university policy – if anybody finds out it could put us both in jeopardy.”

You’re silent for a moment, watching him. His glasses have slid down a little, and they rest precariously on the tip of this nose. Dark eyes stare from over the top of black frames, and then his legs are crossing, one tucking tightly over the other, a thick forearm dropping to rest across his lap, and want burns in your throat. You struggle to remember why you came to his office in the first place.

“Nobody is going to find out,” you whisper.

A rasp of your name catches in his throat. Joel looks bemused, face as flat as he rolls his eyes. “Quit fuckin’ playin’ around. You know how serious this is.”

You contain the urge to scowl, lips tight as you say, “Yeah, I know. Just—look, you don’t have to worry. We can cut it off right now – I won’t say a word of it to anyone. Nothing else is going to happen.”

But you can see the way his eyes flicker down your body whenever you move. How his gaze rests heavily at the pinch of your waist, the spread of your thighs against his desk, your bare arms, before darting away. You wonder if he’s touched himself thinking about you, and a jagged heat tears through the top of your thighs as you picture what that would look like.

“But that's not what you want, is it?” you ask softly. Joel doesn’t speak. He’s so still you almost think he didn’t hear you. But his eyes glance to your thighs again, you know that he did.

“You want me,” you say then, voice low and sure.

The muscle in his jaw ticks. Lips purse around clenched teeth and a harsh breath escapes his nose before he’s saying your name again, a strained whisper. And God, you love the way he says it. Like the word was created just to spite him.

“You are walkin’ on some mighty thin ice right now,” he grits out, heated gaze scorching your skin.

You glance down to his lap, where a forearm still balances over his crotch, and arch an eyebrow.

“Show me,” you murmur.

You can hear him breathing. Slow, exaggerated puffs of breath, chest rising and falling at an increasing pace as he maintains eye contact. Large hands tighten into fists, fingers curling against palms, and he’s dragging his arm back from his lap, spreading his legs as far as they’ll go within the arms of his chair. You wet your lips, face heating as you stare. The firm line of his cock is evident beneath his pants, a solid ridge against his left thigh. When you look back to his face there’s a faint red hue colouring the skin of his neck, steadily rising toward the edge of his facial hair. He’s blushing.

“How long?” you ask, voice awed.

“Since you got on the desk,” Joel grumbles, tone almost begrudging.  

You hum softly, a low vibration in your throat, and then you’re slipping off his desk and taking a step towards him. And he doesn’t flinch away. He watches you close the distance between the pair of you and hover between his thighs, your legs almost brushing his.   

“Let me help,” you whisper, lowering onto the ground in front of him. The carpet is warm and rough against your jean-clad knees. Your eyes drift from his face to between his thighs, and then back up, slowly.

“We shouldn’t,” he croaks, lips chapped and dry. You want to kiss him senseless. Want to drag your tongue across his mouth until it’s soaking wet and then push your way inside.

“But do you want me to?”

An agonising beat of silence follows. But there’s no doubt there anymore. No more wondering, or uncertainty, because you can see it in his eyes. The same all-consuming, devastating desire that crawls its way up to rest at the base of your throat whenever you’re with him. 

And then thick fingers are at the waist of his pants, undoing his leather belt, his button, pushing the material open to reveal a pair of black briefs. He doesn’t take his pants off, just adjusts slightly in the chair before pressing his hand beneath the band of his underwear. Joel grips himself, the sight still obscured from your vision, and you find yourself mesmerised nonetheless, unable to drag your eyes away from the dark material. A low grunt escapes him, and then he shifts the band of his underwear down and pulls his cock out.

The head of him is swollen and leaking, tight skin so red that it’s almost a purple hue against the stark white of his shirt. Joel’s fingers tighten around his base, stroking himself once. Impatient, you lick you hand and let it drift forward to replace his, fingers slipping over the silky wet skin of his head and wrapping around him. Your hand is so much smaller in comparison, and your fingertips almost don’t meet as you flex your grip around girth.

Your underwear clings to the skin between your thighs, material warm and damp against you, a result of the simmering heat that rests in the base of your belly and flares every time Joel sighs. When you glance up to see his face, he’s already staring at you, pupils blown wide, lips sealed in a tight line. His length twitches in your palm, and you salivate.

You lean in and place a gentle kiss again his tip, smearing the pearl of precome there against your lips. You stroke the length of him in slow, firm pumps, guiding his head against your puckered lips, but not quite taking it inside yet. Joel’s fists are tight against his thighs, and you wish he would put them in your hair, on the back of your head, grip you, pull you down against him. But he doesn’t, not yet.

He’s got a salty, heady taste, and you swipe your tongue out to clean the hint of it from your mouth, swallowing with a satisfied purr. A harsh exhale shoots from his nose, eyebrows dragging further down as he watches you tease him.

A quick flick of your tongue against his slit has a sharp gasp rising from him, and in response you lathe wet, messy kisses to his head, puckering your lips around it and swirling your tongue, not caring what you look like, not caring that he probably wants you to go faster. It’s purely for your own enjoyment, and you’re moaning and sighing around the taste of him. You want to take Joel Miller a part, piece by piece, and feel him come undone beneath your mouth.

Unable to wait any longer, you let his head slip passed your open lips and sink into the wet heat of your mouth. And he’s so quiet, so composed, so you glide your tongue over his slit again before pressing forward, lips meeting the movement of your own hand as you take him deeper.

Your jaw strains, muscles smarting as you attempt to take the entirety of him. He’s so long, so thick, and the tip of him is nudging against the back of your throat in seconds, making your eyes water. And god it’s better than you could’ve imagined.

Tears cling to your eyelashes as you look up and find Joel with his bottom lip snagged between his teeth, pink skin turning white from pressure. The heavy weight of him crowds your senses, his taste on your tongue and scent in your nostrils, everywhere, and you can feel how hot your face is getting but you can’t look away from him. You don’t stop until his hand is landing on the nape of your neck, collecting your hair in his fist and dragging your mouth off him. You part with a wet gasp, a string of saliva dangling between his tip and your shiny lips.

“Breathe, goddammit,” Joel says, holding you still when you attempt to press forward and take him back into your mouth.

“You’re so big,” you say earnestly, head tilting backward to rest heavy in his hold. You blink through bleary eyes, smiling lazily. Drunk on him after only a little taste. “Couldn’t stop thinking about this, you know. How you’d taste… how it would feel to have you in my mouth.”

“Fuck, stop,” Joel says quickly, voice pained. “Y’can’t say shit like that.” His grip tightens at the base of your neck, and then he’s guiding your face forward so the head of his cock slips back into your mouth, effectively shutting you up.

You hum appreciatively and relax your jaw, taking him until he’s nudging at your throat again, and he’s still so fucking silent. Determined to get some kind of reaction from him, you pull off and lick a broad stripe from tip to base, hand stroking his length in unhurried, firm pulls as your mouth finds his heavy balls. Your tongue glides along the sensitive skin in slow, overwhelming movements, leaving no inch of him untouched. Wet sounds fill the air as the movement of your fist increases in pace, and your lips drag over him, sucking one of his balls into your mouth and then—finally—a long, drawn-out groan spills into the air, and he’s saying, “Shit, that’s it.”

Never pausing the movement of your hand, you pull back just a smidge and grin.

Joel’s hands are on you then, another deep sound sputtering from his lips. He’s brushing your hair off your face, mussing it as he rakes his fingers through it, short nails scraping against your scalp. He swears softly when you take him back into your mouth.

“Fuck,” he mutters breathlessly. “Is that what you want? Needy little thing wants a little praise, huh? Want me to tell you how good you are, how good your pretty mouth feels on my cock?”

You whimper, eyelids fluttering as you begin to move on him desperately. Your mouth tightens around him, and a tear squeezes from your eyes as his hips jolt forward, cock nudging suddenly into the back of your throat. Joel’s hand cups the back of your head, strokes the damp skin at the base of your neck as you gag around him.

“Jesus,” Joel groans at the sound. “There you go, s’perfect, s’fuckin’ perfect.”

The muscles in your thighs tighten, legs pressing together to try and soothe the pulsing ache there. Your head is moving up and down along his length and it’s wet and messy and depraved, saliva gliding down your chin to your neck, and you fucking love it. Joel’s gruff sounds of encouragement only serve to spur you on.

And then, as if by some stroke of divine intervention, it happens again.

A firm rap against the door of his office.

Joel goes silent. Your shoulders tense, and you pull back until his tip rests heavy on your bottom lip. Wide eyed, you gaze up at him, panic swelling in your chest. And then comes that voice; the same voice as yesterday.

“You in there Joel?”

You can feel your lungs squeezing inside your chest, grasping violently for air and finding zero reprieve as the reality of the moment begins to overwhelm you, because you know that voice.

“Fuck,” you whisper dazedly, slumping back to rest on your heels. “Fuck, fuck, fu—”

Joel shakes his head, strong hands gripping your shoulders to soothe you. “Shh,” he hushes quietly. “Stop, hey, stop. It’s fine.”

Another knock at the door. Nowhere for you to go, nowhere to hide.

“Just a sec, Rachel,” Joel calls, voice laced with frustration.

And then those hands are guiding you backwards. You move blindly, allowing him to encourage your body back, back, back, broad palm protecting your head as he nudges you underneath the desk. Further and further until you’re completely hidden, tucked away where only he can see you. And as you settle into the warm, sweaty space, watch Joel drag his chair forward and squeeze his long legs around your body, you feel the panic quell. Your pulse slows, the tremor in your hands settles, and cool relief comes in the form of a chill down your spine.

“Come in,” Joel calls. You can hear the door click open a second later, soft footsteps entering the room. You hold your breath as they begin to talk, heart stuttering, eyes trained on his where his spit-soaked cock rests against the underside of his desk.

“Sorry to be a bother,” Rachel’s soft voice chimes. “I was hoping to grab my copy of The Annals, I need it for the undergrad lecture I’m covering this afternoon.”

“Course,” he says sharply, and you can hear a drawer to your right open and close. A moment of silence. “All yours.”  

Your abdomen tenses at the sound of his haggard voice, and something tight pulls in your chest. A flare of jealousy, of possessiveness, at the fact that someone else is seeing him right now. That the flush on his cheeks, the sweat on his neck, is no longer yours alone. And it’s absurd, because she has no idea. But the desire to reclaim the moment for yourself, to assert that his sweat, his blush—his body—is yours is overwhelming, and you find your hand gripping his heavy cock, tongue gliding out of your mouth to swipe against his weeping tip. The dread from before flares in the back of your mind but you push it away, shove it down until it’s hazy, a faint ringing that fades into the sound of your blood rushing in your ears.

Joel’s thighs stiffen. He coughs, a sharp, surprised noise.

“Thanks for that,” Rachel says, voice slow. “Hey… are you doing okay? Looking pretty faint over there, Miller.”

You smile around him and rub your tongue in teasing strokes along the underside of his sensitive head. He clears his throat roughly, and then his hand is slipping underneath the desk to tangle in your hair. It’s rough and it stings, and you find yourself humming ever so slightly around him, indicating that you love it.

“Feelin’ a little under the weather,” he agrees faintly.

“Should try some of that tea I always tell you about,” she says, ever so friendly. “Works a treat when you’re sick.”

“Maybe I will,” Joel says, and his fingers are twisting in your messy locks, pulling your mouth away from his cock.

Although he can’t see you, you pout. Not wanting to push it, you settle for looping three fingers around him, index middle and thumb, gripping just beneath his head, and begin to rub him in slow, soundless movements. With every forward motion of your hand, the tip of his cock brushes against your lower lip, and his grip on your hair tightens.

“I could bring you some,” Rachel offers then. You can practically hear the smile in her voice, picture the kind slant to her eyes. “Maybe tomorrow, if you think you’ll be coming into wor—”

“I’ll be here tomorrow,” Joel snaps suddenly, voice almost harsh as he interrupts her. “Was that all you needed?”

“Oh,” she replies awkwardly. “Yeah, sorry.”

“No,” he says, audibly flustered. His cock is drooling over your lips, and the salty taste has your pussy aching, clenching painfully tight, begging to be filled. “m’sorry, got a fuckin’ headache, is all. Tea tomorrow?”  

“Tea tomorrow, sure,” Rachel confirms. “Sorry again, I… yeah, sorry, I hope you feel better, Joel.”

Whem the door closes a moment later Joel is shoving his chair backward again, hands wrenching you out from underneath his desk. You fall forward, flushed and breathless. His expression is thunderous, pitch-black eyes glaring down at you. On all fours, you crawl forward and splay your palms across his thighs, feel them twitch and tremble beneath your nimble fingers.

“You couldn’t fuckin’ wait?” he snaps, hand finding a home in your hair once more. He drags it into a ponytail and wraps it around his fist.

“Sorry,” you lie, teeth nipping at your swollen bottom lip. Joel’s eyes follow the movement and he grunts, unimpressed with the apology.

“She could’ve caught us,” he admonishes you.

“Better start locking the door then,” you clip, winking lazily. A short huff passes through his lips, and then his left hand is dropping to land on your chin, thumb rubbing against your lower lip, prying it from between your teeth.

“Open,” he orders.

His jaw is set with concentration, eyebrows drawn low as he cradles your jaw, holding it still while he pushes his cock back into your eager mouth. The salt of him rushes your senses again and you’re moaning around him, cheeks hollowed and eyes wet as he begins to rut into your mouth, the tip of his cock caressing the back of your throat with every thrust. It’s fast and hard, and the noises coming out of you are scandalous, but you can’t drag your eyes away from his face. Lips parted, eyes ablaze as he watches his cock push in and out of your mouth, over and over again. A tear streaks down your cheek and Joel groans, swiping at it with his fingers. Shallow curses and murmurs of your name spill from his lips in a tortured stream of consciousness.

“Always so fuckin’—impatient,” he mutters. His grip on your jaw is near bruising, cock throbbing against your tongue. You can sense how close he is. Feel it in the way his hips start to stutter, snapping thrusts losing their rhythm.  

The stretch has a dull ache searing through your jaw, but Joel is breathless, eyes dark and focused on yours, saying, “Look at you. So pretty takin’ my cock like this.” and you can’t bring yourself to care. Your eyelids flutter closed, and his fingers are tapping your cheek quickly—softly?

“Let me see you,” he says urgently. “Want those eyes on me, don’t close them.” You cast your eyes up to meet his gaze, and Joel hisses under his breath, expression taut.

His hips drag backward, and he’s replacing your mouth with his hand, fucking himself in quick, brutal strokes, and your mouth is open, slick tongue peaking between your lips before he can even say open your mouth.

“Fuck,” he exhales at the sight, tip bumping against your tongue with every wet pump of his fist. His thighs are trembling beneath your hands, and you dig your nails into the muscles there, encouraging him. “Fuck me.”

And then he’s coming, face going slack as hot ropes of his come paint your lips, your tongue, your chin. Unashamed rasps of your name fall from pink lips, washing over you in glorious waves as you sit there and take all of it. And for a moment, you think it’s over. But then Joel’s hand is still moving over his length, calloused thumb gliding against the ridge of his rounded tip, and there’s more.

“Fuck,” he groans. “Fuck—yes.”

Salty strings of his spend gloss over your cheeks and slide down to paint your neck. And it’s like he’s coming a second time, torso jolting in short, jerky movements, and you wish you could see his body while he came; the way the muscles in his stomach would flex and pull taut, entire frame straining as he gives you his all.  

His shoulders slump forward as he stares down at you, hand falling away from his sensitive cock, and his face is ruined. Eyes blown wide, cheeks a dark red, looking at you like he’d enjoy nothing more than to devour you whole. Maintaining eye contact, you swallow down his spend, practically purring at the taste of him.

Joel’s thumb smears his come off your cheeks and into your swollen mouth, making sure you don’t miss a single drop.

“Good girl,” his voice is broken. “That’s it, yeah—yes, s’perfect.”

Perfect, perfect, perfect. The word rings in your ears. Your skin is on fire, and you can’t believe that you are both still fully clothed. You feel naked, bared to him in the truest sense of the word, despite being completely covered up.

He groans heartily when you suck his fingers between your lips, tongue swirling around them greedily, and swallow down the last of his spend. 

For a moment after, the two of you simply sit there, your knees chafed and aching against the carpet, his fingers hooked against your tongue, staring at each other. And you know. You both know – there’s no going back from this.

Joel drags his hand away and snatches a box of tissues from the top drawer of his desk. You stand, knees popping in relief, and lean against the desk to stabilise yourself. He takes a moment to clean himself, and when you’re sure he’s not looking you swipe a pen from his desk, scribble a set of numbers on a post it and press the sticky paper down against the cover of The Odyssey.

He offers you the box of tissues and you wipe your face carefully, make sure no trace of him is left on your skin. Joel watches your movements like a hawk, eyes fading from black to brown as he fixes his belt and tucks his shirt back into his pants.

“You good?” he asks after a moment. And it’s the same. The same thing he asked you that night in the bar after fucking your brains out. After calling you a slut, a dirty little thing. Maybe it’s his thing—you good? And it’s more than anyone else has ever said after you’ve had their cock in your mouth, so you smile at him. Nod. The duality of man, you think.

“Perfect,” you use his word, and cringe at how wrecked your voice is. The corner of Joel’s mouth twitches upward, something sly and conspiratorial in his gaze as he watches you tuck your computer into your bag, IT issue long forgotten.

Even as you wander toward the door of his office, tossing a casual see you tomorrow over your shoulder, you can see it in his face. In the lines by his eyes, the furrow of his brow; never satiated, never finished, never satisfied. More, more, more. This wasn’t enough for either of you. And this will not be the last time.

Hours later, when you’re tucked into bed with a glass of wine and a book perched in your lap, you get a text from an unknown number.

You’re going to give me a heart attack one of these days.

And then another, twenty minutes later.

That can’t happen again.

You grin. Save his number under J MILLER, PhD, and don’t reply.

tags: @lovely-ateez @nana90azevedo @stevie75 @evyiione @dameron-grant-spector @brittmb115 @ashhlsstuff @casa-boiardi @sinfulrock @bbyanarchist @murc0cks4eva @hopplessilse @joeldjarin @anoverwhelmingdin @bluevxnus @kelp-dreaming @prettyinpunk85 @spacelatinos4life @iluvurfather @daisies-yellow @mrsquill @sarap-77 @sunnywithachanceofjavi @alleyy-katt @zeida

thank you for reading! x

[bloomzone]

GLOW UP DIARY:#3 the power of self-care

"If you don't have a dream, that's okay too. It's possible not to have a dream. If you're happy, that's all that matters"

-Suga

heyy sparkles...so today it's the third part of the glow up and thank you so so much T-T for the support in the second part

Edit: haircare,nail care is for apparence part I focused on routines,skincare,body care in this part (I'm so busy these days T-T<3)

© bloomzone

#3 SELF CARE

✉️ : Self-care includes activities like eating well, exercising, and relaxing to maintain physical, mental, and emotional health. It's essential for managing stress and enhancing overall well-being.

Self-care is essential for maintaining balance

﹙ ✿ ﹚Taking care of yourself is about finding simple, comforting routines that make you feel good. Start with small steps, like taking a relaxing bath,do ur skincare , journal...Prioritize these moments and remember that they are just as important as anything else on your to-do list. Celebrate your progress, no matter how small, and choose activities that genuinely make you happy. Listen to your body and give yourself the rest and care you need. By focusing on what brings you comfort and joy, you'll create a self-care routine that feels natural and rewarding.

HOW TO START SELF-CARE ?

Have a routine: It is really important to have a routine because if not you could have bad sleeping, be tired all day, get boredeasily, won't be able to finish responsibilities, it can bring you bad self esteem, unmotivated and in general is a complete mess.

Example of a routine (by me)

summer version.

⏰( wake up at 4:30am to pray ifajr if u are a Muslim :) )

♡ ﾟwake up at 9:30am

♡ ﾟmake bed

♡ ﾟdrink water

♡ ﾟmorning stretch 15min

♡ ﾟskincare/quick shower

♡ ﾟbreakfast

♡ ﾟhelp mom if needed

♡ ﾟphone time

⏰(pray duhr if u are Muslim:) )

♡ ﾟlunch time

♡ ﾟnap

♡ ﾟfull workout

⏰(pray asr if you are Muslim:) )

♡ ﾟstart learning a language,see friends or simply watch a movie

⏰(pray Maghrib if you are a Muslim :) )

♡ ﾟhelp mom cooking dinner

♡ ﾟwash dishes

♡ ﾟcheck social

♡ ﾟskincare

♡ ﾟget ready for bed

♡ ﾟsleep at 10pm

Things u can add to your routine :

cleaning ur room

- wardrobe

- desk

cooking

- I will share my fav recipes in next blogs 🤫

set goals for next year

- academic goals

- life goals ( saving money,body goal ...)

sunday self care day routine

summer version

⏰( salat al fajr + reading Quran for Muslims)

♡ ﾟwake up at 9am

♡ ﾟdo ur bed

♡ ﾟmeditation

♡ ﾟskincare + face mask

♡ ﾟjournal/affirmations

♡ ﾟice coffee/tea

♡ ﾟmorning stretch 15min

♡ ﾟbreakfast

♡ ﾟhelp in cleaning

♡ ﾟwear ur fit

♡ ﾟgo shopping

⏰(pray duhr in masjid if u luv to :) )

♡ ﾟlunch

♡ ﾟfull workout

📍everything shower time

- hair mask

- shave

- body care

📍after shower

- dry your hair

- clean/paint ur nails

- wear ur comfy pyjamas

♡ ﾟwatch a movie

⏰(pray Maghrib if you are Muslim)

♡ ﾟquality time with ur family/friends

📍get ready for bed

- write down what u achieve this week

- affirmations

⏰(pray Isha if u are Muslim)

♡ ﾟskincare

♡ ﾟget ur beauty sleep at 10pm

SELF-CARE BODYCARE AND SKINCARE

1.skincare

﹙ ✿ ﹚ I know that we all love shopping and buying things because it's pink or aesthetic or it's just because it's a famous products NO NO this wroong u don't need to buy a whole truck of innisfree products because it's pink or glow recipe buy products that will work for u if u have acnes and ur face hurt everytime u try to sleep or u wanna just wash it,visit a dermatologist he will give the product that ur skin need to heal again. (As a girl with strict parents hhh they didn't let me go I'm 16yo btw),so I start to buy random products until I found the perfect one for my skin (I have a terrible TERRIBLE oily skin)+ if u are 12-18 don't use serum's without permission of doctor u will just broke ur skin texture I bought ordinary serum and it just make my skin worst + it's an expansive sht ☠️

How to get rid of acne ?

♡ ⠀skincare secrets !

⊹ ‧avoid junk food

⊹ ‧fresh vegetables and fruits

⊹ ‧icing your face

⊹ ‧clay mask (recommended by me)

⊹ ‧avoid using a lot of skincare products

⊹ ‧ simplify ur skincare routine ( cleanser,toner, moisturizer)

⊹ ‧get 7-8 hour of sleep

⊹ ‧rice water

⊹ ‧don't sleep with ur make up

⊹ ‧stay hydrate

⊹ ‧change ur pillowcase (one in a week)

⊹ ‧ cucumber slice as a mask

⊹ ‧don't touch ur face

♡   Item you need

⊹ ‧pimples patches

⊹ ‧silicone facial cleaner (for deep cleaning)

⊹ ‧headband (keep ur hair up always)

2.BODY CARE

﹙ ✿ ﹚ Taking care of your body is a vital part of feeling your best, both inside and out. A good body care routine can boost your confidence and help you embrace your natural beauty. Body care is also about self-love and taking time for yourself amidst a busy schedule remember girlie every skin type is beautiful, and finding the right routine can enhance your natural glow.

♡   Body care secrets

⊹ ‧ don't shave (ur body)early until u are in the right age (+17) , if u are not a hairy girl no need to shave :)

⊹ ‧ shower everyday (don't wash ur hair )

⊹ ‧ choose the right body wash (nivea,vaseline >>)

⊹ ‧ stay hydrate avoid junk foods to protect ur body skin from pimples

⊹ ‧Exfoliate your skin 1-2 times a week to remove dead skin cells and promote cell renewal. Use a gentle scrub suitable for your skin type (coconut oil brown sugar >>)

💌 : How to shave ur leg and have a smooth soft skin

1- soak ur leg in warm water for (3 to 5 min) to make ur skin ready

2- use ur fav body scrub and exfoliate your body from death skin

3- use something like body oil or shaving cream and find a good razor at least 3 blades (venus Gillette is on top)

4- shave with slow don't be harsh,long strock and don't forget to wash the razor everytime

5- after drying ur legs use any lotion u like to give the skin the extra moisture + using baby oil to avoid strawberry legs

⊹ ‧ Choose body care products that are free from harsh chemicals and fragrances Opt for natural and gentle ingredients stay healthy girlie

⊹ ‧ avoid very hot water

⊹ ‧ Use natural oils like coconut oil, almond oil, or jojoba oil for deep hydration. Apply them after a shower or use them as an overnight treatment for extra softness.

♡   item you need

⊹ ‧ dry brush

⊹ ‧ loofah

⊹ ‧ natural soap (for ur 🐱)

⊹ ‧ razor pack

⊹ ‧ body scrub

⊹ ‧ body wash

⊹ ‧ africain exfoliating nets

⊹ ‧ body moisturizer

⊹ ‧ Shea butter

⊹ ‧ Epsom salt

ıllı ⠀ : ⠀Self-care is essential for every girl to nurture her mind, body, and spirit. Taking time for yourself isn’t selfish; it’s necessary. Whether it's indulging in a relaxing bath, practicing mindfulness, or simply taking a break to read a good book, these moments help recharge your energy and boost your confidence. Remember, you deserve to feel good and be happy. Prioritizing self-care allows you to show up as your best self in every area of your life. So, take a deep breath, put yourself first, and watch how everything else falls into place. Ilvy sm ⠀ ♡ ⠀ !!

© bloomzone

[dollfacefantasy]

RESIDENT EVIL MASTERLIST ♡

everything on this list is mdni (18+)! | ☆ = one of kenny's favs

★彡[ʟᴇᴏɴ ᴋᴇɴɴᴇᴅʏ]彡★

RE2R Leon: Restless Dreams (18+) Leon's been working a lot lately. He comes home late one night when you're sleeping and tries to make it up Playing to Win (18+) / Part 2 ☆ Your new stepdad asks you to call him daddy despite being near your age Like Lovers Do (18+) Bored of the RPD banquet, you pull Leon away for some fun

RE4R Leon: Sleepy (18+) You wake up early in the morning with Leon sleeping on top of you Wash His Hair (fluff) You wash Leon's hair and help him unwind Daddy's Home (18+) You let the d word slip during sex and Leon won't let you live it down Just Like the Movies (18+) Leon dons the ghostface mask to let you live out a fantasy And If the Sun Comes Up (18+) Vampire Leon has to show you that the two of you are meant to be Leon Marks You Request (18+) Leon gets jealous and has to mark you as his Sweater Request (18+) You and Leon do the deed while he's wearing a turtleneck Chubby Reader Request (18+) You're feeling insecure, and Leon just can't have that

Infinite Darkness Leon: Let Them See (18+) Leon teases you in public then pulls over to deal with the problem he's created Baby Bunny (18+) / Part 2 Leon helps his sweet baby bunny through her heat End of the Night (18+) Leon finds comfort in his pregnant wife after a long hard day of being in the mob Needy Girl (18+) You're a needy little thing, and Leon just can't get enough of you Precious in Pink (18+) Leon plays with his precious puppy girl by watching her tail wag

RE6 Leon: Hold My Calls (18+) ☆ Leon takes a call on his flip phone while the two of you are doing it Blue Jeans (18+) Leon looks extra fine in his jeans and you can't stop staring Some Extra Lessons (18+) ☆ Professor Leon deals with his feelings for one of his students Under My Thumb (18+) Leon tries out a new toy with you during a dinner date

Vendetta Leon: You Make Me Cry Every Time (18+) Leon is going through a rough patch and takes it out on you Cool Rider (fluff) Leon gets you ready for a ride on his bike

Death Island Leon and older: Video Games (18+) You're playing video games when Leon starts feeling needy Can't Help It (18+) ☆ Your dad's coworker needs a house sitter and you need him inside of you Cowgirl + Praise Kink Request (18+) Leon's got a praise kink and you ride him Down For the Count (18+) Play fighting with Leon gets a little intense Special Day (18+) Your husband wants to give you a special present for your birthday this year Did You Say Something? (18+) / Part 2 ☆ Spankings aren't working anymore. Leon's gonna have to use a different form of punishment Get Him Back (18+) ☆ Your ex boyfriend's dad comforts you after you and his son break up

Misc. Drabbles: Just Can't Resist (18+) The First Time You Squirt (18+) Passing Out (18+) Quiet Night (18+) Kennedy in the Making (18+) Dimples Blurb When You Wanna Turn Your Brain Off (18+) Shower Sex (18+) Bulge Kink (18+) Blowjob on the Phone (18+)

★彡[ᴄʜʀɪꜱ ʀᴇᴅꜰɪᴇʟᴅ]彡★

Puppy Games (18+) ☆ Chris develops a soft spot for the hybrid he's taken in and wants to make her birthday extra special

Teddy Bear (18+) ☆ Not even sleep will cockblock Chris

Pretty When You Cry (18+) Request for overstimulation and daddy kink with Chris

Dad-Bod Chris (18+) Must I say any more?

Playing Without Permission (18+) Pussy spanking drabble

That's What Daddy's For (18+) ddlg drabble

Past the Limit (18+) You misbehave and your boyfriend has to correct you. Even if his friend Leon is right there.

Thigh Praise Drabble (18+)

★彡[ᴀᴅᴀ ᴡᴏɴɢ]彡★

May I? (18+) Ada teaches you how to be self-sufficient

★彡[ᴍᴜʟᴛɪ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ]彡★

Sharing is Caring (18+) / Prequel / Part 2 Your boyfriend wants you to get a little more comfortable with his friend

Better Than One (18+) Leon and Ada take care of their needy puppy before your heat arrives

Room for One More (18+) ☆ Tensions run high when you're forced to share a motel room with your current boyfriend and your former mentor

[theanimeroom]

NSFW

DREAMING ABOUT…

💎 men who’s cocks are so fucking huge but they have absolutely no idea how to use it. you had somehow gotten yourself in a situation where you had this beauty all to yourself, and you were more than happy to teach him how to split you in two with it.

his hands grip your waist so tightly you’re sure there’s gonna be finger shaped bruises littering your skin in the morning. his mouth is dangerously close to your ear, his breathy moans warming the cartilage until your body is shuddering in his hold. his cock is pressed against your hole, your hand around the base, cunt squeezing around air as you tried to suck him in. with a pained whimper, his hips flexed just slightly, the head of his cock sinking into you.

your voice shattered as the muscles in your thighs tightened, moan tipping over your swollen lips as your head tilted back, clenching down around him. the moment his cock felt the warmth of your cunt, he hissed, fingers digging even tighter into your hip as he bullied himself the rest of the way in. he was big, almost too big for you to take, but you don’t dare tell him to stop. instead, your eyes roll to the back of your head and you force yourself down on him further, the burn eliciting the sluttiest of noises from you, if he had any opinion in the matter.

you’d bounce on him a few times, needing time adjust to the size before letting him have free reign. you rocked back until you felt him hit that little bundle of nerves inside of you, opting instead to release him while trying to hold the position you were in.

the moment you handed over control though? he seized your hips, holding you still as his drilled his cock into your pussy. your voice came out in broken whines, his tip reaching places you didn’t even know existed. your moans mixed with his as he focused on prodding that soft spot inside you, the deep arch of your back only forcing him deeper inside of you.

he stayed close to you, chest pressed against your skin as he let out the foulest of noises. his lips kissed and sucks at every part of you he could find, refusing to leave a single spot untouched. his hands were no better, sliding between groping the globes on your chest, to yanking you onto his cock by your hips, to threading his hands in your hair to see how pretty you looked while fucked out on his cock.

he refused to admit that the expression on his face was comparable to the one you were making right now.

he’d spew shit that didn’t make any sense, his brain muddied and left useless. his voice was light and airy from the endless gasps flowing from him, a string of curses littered in between.

“fuck…you’re so warm baby,” “could sit inside you forever, oh my god,” “mfph, you’re so tight, i can’t even move,”

“you’re just too big, you dumbass,”

kazutora, shinichiro, hakkai, naoto | murasakibara, kagami, kiyoshi | nagi, bachira, reo | ikkaku, ichigo, chad, shuuhei | + your favs 🫶🏽

[writingwenches]

Princess Aemma Velaryon

summary: The first child of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, born not long after her marriage to Lord Laenor Velaryon. An unknown dragon dreamer, the girl experiences all the horrors inflicted on the world by Old Valyria while she sleeps, while during waking hours prays for the forgiveness of the Seven. She dreams of becoming the perfect mother, something her mother most certainly is not. She worships the ground Queen Alicent walks on. She is filled with dragonfire and rage.

themes: tried to think up a version of a Rhaenyra's Team Green daughter OC and she slowly warped into Rhaenyra's worst nightmare and my new fav. Part of my HOTD fanfic universe.

warnings: religious nonsense, eternal damnation, sexism

Part One of Unknown // ~5k word count

On the day of her birth, King Viserys was the first to speak her name, as a gift to the woman he loved. He had informed his small council when the news of a healthy female babe came to them, that the babe was to be called Princess Aemma Targaryen. 

Queen Alicent, debilitated from her labors, spent the days following the birth with her mind controlled by milk of the poppy. Her seventeenth nameday came and went. She couldn’t be sure, as her mind frolicked with the dancers painted on her chamber walls, but Alicent did not recall the kitchens preparing her traditional cinnamon cake to mark the celebration. 

Queen Alicent first heard the babe’s name from her father, the Hand of the King. And right then, her recovery ended. 

Princess Helaena Targaryen was announced at court that every afternoon, with the king’s approval or presence.

It was not long after that Princess Rhaenyra was in need of a name for her own healthy baby girl, and Aemma seemed fitting. 

Princess Aemma Velaryon was born the Realm’s Delight. Aemma was perfection personified from the moment she was born, two moons early, but weighing more than any of the king’s children. Her skin was healthy, but would not be described as dark. Disregarding the Maester’s astrological based predictions of the birth, it was foretold that the babe would be of sturdy health, and as a babe her favorite thing to do was scream. 

It was not something she would grow out of.

Aemma Valyrian was born at the onset of winter, and the Maesters predicted her ill temper would cool once the springs come again. Just as they had vastly miscalculated the child’s birth, they predicted incorrectly.

The babe would fight sleep, and be calmed by nothing. Additional nursemaids were hired, as the babe was taken away from those tasked with looking after the Queen’s newly born second son.

Princess Rhaenyra swore off ever birthing a babe again, after nights and nights of sleepless waiting. Leanor had honored her with his help, bearing the burden of misery at her side. Queen Alicent could barely speak with her childhood friend without biting words and curses cast in her direction. 

Eventually, Rhaenyra allowed the Queen to take the babe, to allow herself much needed sleep. Helaena helped calm the babe, Alicent found, the year older child fascinated with the new sounds. Aemma could find sleep, tucked aside her aunt Helaena. 

At least for a while.

Helaena did not mind standing in the shadow cast by Aemma all her life, honestly she preferred it. It kept her well shaded from the brightness of the court’s stares. 

Even though Helaena was older, Aemma was the leader, even of their nursemaids. It was not long before Helaena’s gate slowed as she allowed Aemma to to lead herself away. She had no use for Helaena, not really, Helaena was not good at sitting motionless in the Sept, or picking apart her every action to find her central flaw that needs solving. Helaena just wanted to be. Aemma wanted to be superior. 

The princess’s hair was her greatest treasure. Pale white, with flecks of silver under the sun, she had grown down to her hips, and she wore it unbraided. Each night, requiring two maids to brush it to her satisfaction. She did not appreciate inefficiency, only inspecting after twenty additional brush strokes. 

Gifts from her grandsire birthed her collection the man was a sailor that traveled the world, something that Aemma had interest of doing herself, but applauded the man for his great bravery. The elder captain enjoyed Aemma’s excitement with every exotic trinket he returned with, as his wife and daughter had grown tiered of his treasures and absence. 

Her favorite treasures were the princess’s vast collection of combs and brushes from around the known world. She had comb made of a single jewel from the mines of Casterly Rock, a comb of pure frozen fire from the markets of Asshai, the small folk call it dragon glass, and her most prized possession, a brush that is said to be made of hair and human bone from north of the Wall. 

Every night she would pick her two tools, one for each maid, as a sort of prayer for the next days blessings. Her mother hadn’t ever understood her obsessions. 

Her mother never understood anything. 

Aemma screamed. Rhaenyra screamed back. A chair is thrown from her balcony and Queen Alicent enters the young girl’s room without introduction. Aemma cried and threw herself at the Queen’s mercy. 

“I simply suggested,” Rhaenyra started, “that we visit the dragon pit so that we might––“ 

“You wish to sabotage any chance I have of ever finding a husband!” Aemma’s words bit like the heat of dragon fire grazing skin. “No man shall have me if I stink of dragon!” 

Aemma’s tear stained eyes fell on Helaena, hiding behind her mother’s skirts. Her eyes hardened at the sight of her niece, Helaena’s clothes were plain and made of leather. The King’s first born grandchild looked at the King’s second born daughter like she was some disgusting creature, covering herself in the dried skins of dead animals, like a true monster. 

“…just like you.” Aemma bit her words at Helaena, the unwanted woman that smells of sulfur that no man had any use for. 

Helaena did not mind Aemma’s words, for she knew the root of them. Helaena had been present when Aemma proposed marriage to Aegon, the first time. 

Aemma upon the siblings breaking their fast one morning, she had not yet reached ten. She informed Aegon that he would need to start attending her daily prayers in the Sept, to cleanse his mind in preparation for their eventual wedding. 

Aegon did not bother to finish swallowing his meal before he responded, “I would marry Helaena before I would ever marry you,” he laughed, juices falling from his open mouth. He would not marry Helaena either, but he had paid enough attention in the training yard to know the most efficient place to strike. 

Aemma saw to it that the rest of Aegon’s meal ended up in the dirt. She made sure to break the newly turned teen’s favorite cup.

Aemond would sometimes hear Aemma’s screams marking another spat with her mother from the training yard. Aemond had not expected to see his niece, there, in the flesh, she tended to avoid the entire side of the keep, complaining of the smell. 

Aemma’s hand wrapped itself around Aemond’s wooden sword, mid strike. Ser Criston’s feet left the pit in freight at the sight of the young girl. She was the disgusting bastard snake, the proof of all his failures. With every glance at her pale lavender eyes, he questions if he should not have ended himself that night instead of…

“Uncle, you shall be my husband, prepare yourself,” she released his weapon back to him. 

“Oh–“ was the only sound that left the child’s mouth, allowing the heavy sword to fall into the earth, his eyes passed to his teacher, Ser Criston, hoping he would speak up to inform her that she was mistaken. 

“That is, of course,” Aemma’s hand’s folded sweetly, as her silver hair cascaded to the floor, wrapping her in its aura. She bowed politely, lowering her head ever so gently. 

Aemond watched her efficiency of her actions, every motion pointed and proven to get the reaction she desired. How Aemond longed to play the strings of others with the ease that she managed to. He supposed their children would grow strong, and she did not have the look of a bastard that marked her brothers. Still, he did not like the idea of more unity with that family.

“That is only because I can not possible marry you, Ser Criston,” she mused. “For how I do wish to,” Aemma sighed into the fantasy of a picturesque life as the lady wife of a proper knight. Aemond could feel the sun from her words. 

Criston looked away. 

High Valyrian was out of the question for Aemma, why speak the language of a civilization not competent enough to remain living amongst some ‘falling volcanic ash’, She believed that the gods only act their vengeance on those who deserve his wrath. If one never sins, one will always be kept in the favor of the gods.  

Her mother spoke blasphemous contradictions, always downplaying the gods judgement. 

“We of Old Valyrian were only saved from Doom by the grace of the Seven,” Aemma’s hands rose in praise, “and we must honor them in the way that they demand.” Her daily trips to the Great Sept surpassed that of the most pious at court. 

At the mere suggestion, from Rhaenyra, for Aemma to spent time away from her constant, quiet, contemplation, the young princess would drop to her knees while loudly begging the gods forgiveness of her mother’s trespass. Her hands rose to the ceiling, her calls shouted to their exhalation, to cover the heretical words of her mother. 

Rhaenyra eventually gave up, and allowed the girl to do as she pleased. Aemma’s eyes were shut closed for her endless prayers before meals, her calls were loud enough to cover the rest of them picking at their plates. 

“May my every action be guided by your grace, and let me praise your name with all my actions.” 

Sometimes, Rhaenyra thought her daughter was doing these things simply to irritate her mother. Laenor, her father, thought she was simply fascinating. 

Aemma believed in eternal damnation, neither her parents knew where the thought had stemmed from. She was still a child, in her nursery room, when she told of dreams from the eternal burn of dragon fire that awaits those that displease the gods. Not even the Septas could talk the girl from her heading. She viewed her life as a test, and she would not allow herself to fail it. 

There was a world, that Aemma visited in her sleep. For as long as she could hold memory, she could feel herself falling and slipping and drowning into the darkness of slumber and awaking somewhere far, far away. It was a place where gods ruled the sky, and those who tamed them ruled the world. 

The towers of the city spiraled up past the clouds, towards the sun.

That was not where Aemma would find herself. She would land hard, by the skin of her knees, against the broken stone of the iron mines, deep below magma bellowing flames. It was hot, too hot, too hot to breath. The air was thick with metal dust and human wails. She would know she was alone, her family slain long ago in a place that no longer existed, turn to ash and salt by the gods as punishment for her trespasses. 

It was too hot. And the wailing. Aemma was forced to her feet and made to continue, her small hands wrapping around the broken rocks and shuffling them away with the other tiny hands that worked the floors of the mine. Iron, they called it, it was precious and wanted by the gods to make more tools, to dig deeper into the mines. Her hands burned at every new touch of rock, the gloves covering her hands were not enough, never enough. Her feet and knees were blistered and burned, she could not even remove her sandals, as the flames merged them into her skin. She breathed in toxic fumes and smelled of brimstone and bile. 

With every new crack of rock, with every clash of metal came the ending. The vile ending of choking on airless voids, of molten steam breaking free and burning and melting, of the rumble of a wyrm, picking her off for wondering too far down the darkness.  

Every night she dreamed, Aemma suffered and died in the mines of Old Valyria, suffering the wrath of her people’s empire, though she did not know it. She was a child, and the child only saw death and destruction and fire.

In her waking hours, the Septas read the young princesses tales of the Seven, and their constant fight for moral righteousness. It was what gave the Reach their fine knights and perfect ladies, just like the Queen. 

Aemma knew what it meant to be virtuous, it was able to be taught. And from her dreams, she knew what happened to those who were wicked. Eternal fire and blood and damnation. 

Aemma had always enjoyed the silence of the Sept, as soon as she was old enough to enjoy it. She could breath amongst the endless quiet flames, they all breathed together as they marked the ones lost to the past. It was a peaceful place, the Septas silent pondering and whispered prayers brought her calm. It was the only thing that did, the promise of a just reward and eternal peace for living and just and pious life. 

She was given a heading at a young age, that she could know true peace if she followed the path before her. She was determined to reach her destination.

Of course, Princess Aemma Targaryen was not going to become a dirty, old, Septa, she was born with a grander purpose. She knew she was to be a mother from her playing with dolls. She knew she was to be a great mother one day. 

Something that she knew her own mother was not. 

As the princess aged, her dreams changed, mirroring the souls that called to her from across the Narrow Sea. One such dream of odd sensations and things she could not understand, coincided with lessons putting the upmost importance on a future bride’s chastity. 

Her mother was displeased when she refused to remove her shift before climbing in the bath. 

“Aemma, sweetling, I do not think this is what the Septas meant–“ Rhaenyra tried to remain calm for her daughter’s sake. 

“I am responsible for protecting my chastity mother! What if–“ the young girl gestured around the room, filled with her brothers and their nursemaids. 

It was wrong, but Rhaenyra could not stifle a laugh. “They are infants, and I am your mother!” she argued, “These woman have been taking care of you since you were a babe, we all love you so–“

“Love will not protect me,” was Aemma’s final answer. The girl bathed in her thin cotton shift, to protect her modesty, even from herself.

Rhaenyra was fraught. Queen Alicent thought the behavior odd, but seemingly harmless. Once becoming Queen, Alicent’s own staff grew seven fold, she had not been used to bathing in a room filled with people without Rhaenyra in their youth. Alicent too longed for the days were she could bath in peace. 

“Perhaps, she simply wishes to be alone?” the Queen offered, her back straight as she sipped her mid-morning tea. “She is growing, she might find the boys…an annoyance?” 

Rhaenyra shook her head, slouched into a cushion, one of her feet propped up on the chair beside her. “But, what if we’re missing something?”

Alicent let out a sigh, she knew when her childhood friend wanted to talk freely, to work through an idea that plagued her in such a way she could not be swayed. “What do you mean?” Alicent asked, after picking a particularly beautiful (and large) cake from the tea offerings, it was covered with berries and cream. 

Rhaenyra leaned herself forward, with the look in her eye when recounting ancient war strategies, “Laenor, once, told the children a favorite war story of his and both Aemma and Jace were frightened for days, so never again. But, that was years ago, and Jace does not even remember it ever happened.” Rhaenyra said. “I have spoken with her Septas, about what they could possibly be teaching those girls. It’s all falderal and men exchanging dutiful wives and stories about how rain once covered the entire earth.” 

The Queen attempted to allow her words to flow past like a gentle steam, Rhaenyra had always had a contempt for the teachings of the Seven, and Alicent had agreed to the tea in good faith. Alicent was a woman in control of herself, and would not leave the table over a slight so simple, no matter how much she wished to.

“Well, it is not all,” Alicent began, “as you say, falderal. Many of the stories are great examples of honor and responsibility…” Alicent could tell that Rhaenyra was losing interest in her speaking, “And perhaps, a daughter wanting to protect her own innocent is not the worst thing to be faced with.” 

Alicent sipped her tea while the two shared a silent look.

“Helaena is similar, I must admit,” Alicent changed the subject. “I find she prefers not to be touched. I thought it was by my own failing, but she seems to not wish it from anyone.” Alicent shrugged. “Perhaps, she too wants to take control of her own innocence and chastity? There is nothing wrong with that.” 

“But, what if there is something wrong?”

“You worry too much,” Alicent offered something small, a hand reaching across the table. 

“I never imagined having a daughter would be so tiring,” Rhaenyra laughed, not taking Alicent hand but offering a smile at the gesture. 

“Well!” a new voice entered the room. “Isn’t that a sentiment I have been waiting to hear all my life!” Viserys entered the room with his cane first, Rhaenyra noticed a new missing tooth amongst his smile. 

“You would make your mother proud,” the King offered, his daughter taking his hand.

Alicent swallowed, a deep breath, and then joined the smile herself. “Yes, step-daughter, Aemma is in good hands, with us all.”

Outside of the castle walls, Aemma Valyrian was the Realm’s Delight. Since a young age, the little girl would wave towards the crowds on her daily trip to the Great Sept. She carried flowers to gift other children during the springs, and bread to offering during the winters. Helaena joined along, but preferred the serenity of the wheelhouse over the roar of a crowd. 

Helaena’s eyes were always elsewhere, the skies, the dirts, her own mind. Aemma refused to enter the dragon pit, so Helaena was rarely afforded the opportunity. Aemma complained the smell made her sick, and would heave until they either left or she became sick and they were both taken back to the palace, where Aemma would spend endless hours pampering her hair.

Before Aemma was even old enough to understand, she could read it on the faces of those at court, there was something wrong. The Queen had never spoken ill of her mother in her presence, but Aemma suspected she had always just finished speaking before the young girl was close enough to hear. 

Aemma devoured every drop of information she could find from those around court. Queen Alicent had packed the halls with any second born noble that wished a chance at the presence of power. They all had something to say. Aemma had learned to hide around corners and disappear into shadows in order to hear. 

She learned and she knew. 

And in the aftermath of the birth of her brother Joffrey, Aemma was ready to strike. 

“Oh, so now you care about who I am to marry!” Aemma spoke as if she were a woman grown, as Rhaenyra had thought since she was first born. “You speak to the Queen about wedding me to Aegon after he had already refused me!” 

Rhaenyra was taken aback. “You have asked him? Aemma you are a child! You–“

“And I would never have such a leacher as my betrothed! Aemond has already agreed–“

“Aemond?” Rhaenyra’s head was spinning at the information coming. “Fine, fine,” she finally relented. “Either way, we are returning to Dragonstone, we have–“

“You shall to whatever you like, I shall be remaining with my betrothed, as we are to be married!” 

“Aemma, my sweet, you are still a child! You shall marry, but for now we are going home–“

“THIS IS MY HOME!” 

...the tableware shook at the ferocity of her words, along with goblet she threw. 

Rhaenyra did not like when her daughter stopped speaking, for she had no way of knowing what was going on in her mind. She watched as a smile stitched itself across Aemma’s mouth. Rhaenyra never wanted to speak ill of her precious child, but the girl’s teeth were too large for her mouth, it created a smile stretching across her cheeks like a jackal.

“If you make me go, I shall tell everyone,” Aemma spoke softly, pulling the air out of the room.

“Tell them what?” Rhaenyra tried to keep her breathing stilled. 

“I shall tell them about father,” her smile only grew. 

Rhaenyra’s breathing halted. 

“He’s….he’s…a buggerer of men! I have seen it with my own eyes, the King’s nameday last, as he was tending to those Bracken horses, and you’re protecting him!” Aemma enjoyed being right, it was simply the only way to be. “How could you ever lie with a man like that?” she asked, disgusted. “But, I supposed. You did not lie for him long.” 

Aemma’s eyes wondered to the dark haired babe asleep in his cradle. 

“I suppose, I should thank you, Mother. You managed to at least produce one heir,” Aemma’s spoke what she had never spoke before.

“Heir?” Rhaenyra’s forced a laugh, “You have always been content with your brother, Jacerys, taking on the mantle after me.” 

“You dare suggest someone like him sitting the iron throne?” 

Rhaenyra couldn’t help but laugh, for the girl knew not what she spoke. It would only take a few words to cut the girl down, drown out every candied dream that filled her stupid head. “You wish to rule?” the heir-to-the-throne asked.

Aemma’s words were spitting, hissing venom at her birther, “There is no Queen amongst the Seven! I wish to honor The Mother, and to fulfill the only purpose for which I was brought down from the stars! I pray to the Crone to guide me to the path of fruitfulness and to The Maiden to protect by virtue from peoples like YOU.”

Food and plates and chairs and jewels flew through the room, leaving a path of destruction matching a dragon in a herding pasture. 

“Fine! Remain here, be the ward of the Queen, for she is the mother you have always wanted!” Rhaenyra gave in, and left the girl to her own devices. 

Queen Alicent had not been prepared to see Aemma breaking her fast the next morning. “Aemma! What are you–” she exclaimed, the girl had been seated alone in the large room used for family meals, always the first to arrive. 

“Mother left me here,” Aemma sighed into the words, sipping her morning tea. 

The Queen made a sound showing that she had heard the young girl’s words. She had heard of the aftermath left behind in Rhaenyra’s chambers, and Alicent was sure she now found the cause. 

“You are to…?” Alicent sat near the child. In all of the Queen’s dreams of Rhaenyra taking her spawn and fleeing, she had never imagined one staying behind. Though, she now knew it had always been the only possibility.

“I am to remain here as your ward, my queen!” Aemma threw back her chair, and supplicated herself before the queen. “Allow me to learn from you! You, a true virtuous and pious woman. You are the portrait of The Mother, who I shall model my every action to glorify her name."

Alicent had seen this look before. The eyes glazing over, looking past and through. The same way those worshippers looked at the dragons of Old Valyria, the reverence in the presence of a god. Alicent was Aemma’s god. 

“I shall be faithful to you, as my lord paramount, you shall guide my every action and I shall become whatever it is that you want me to be so that I can avoid the endless firey pits of damnation that awaits all those sinners that I shall seen––“

“Enough! Enough, that’s enough, dear,” Alicent hushed her, shaking her out of whatever trace had taken over. “It is fine, you may stay. Just, please no more–” 

“Um! What is she doing here?” Aegon was never up this early, and all the thanks he received was being greeted by the Realm’s Annoyance. “Why can’t she go back to Dragonstone with the b–” 

“Aegon!” the queen hissed.

Neither Aemond or Helaena were excited to see her that morning, but it was clear she would need to be removed from the castle in chains, if at all. 

Aemond supposed having a betrothed was fine. He had known from birth that his marriage was to be arranged, and that he supposed he was prepared to do whatever duty the crown demanded but, this felt different. 

He had not spent much time imagining what his future bride would look like, but the time he had, his mind wondered to that of Cinda Lannister, his mother’s closest lady. When she peppered his face with kisses, it wasn’t wet and revealing like some of the older women of court. Her hugs were warm and long, and he was almost tall enough to be face height with her chest. 

Aemma always had ill words to say about Cinda’s wardrobe, always finding something despisable about how she showed her body, complaining about the slightly elder Lannister’s overly exposed skin. Aemond was not sure if they were always speaking of the same dresses, for Aemond could always imagine Cinda in more scandalous clothing. 

“You aren’t thinking about Cinda Lannister’s breasts, are you?” Aemma gasped, as she caught his mind drifting off in the wheelhouse ride to the Sept. 

Aemond could feel every drop of blood rushing to the tips of his ears, it was almost painful. “No!” he lied. 

“Good,” Aemma said, knowing she had picked the right choice of betrothed. 

She had close to him during meals, moving their chairs to almost be touching. There was a part of him that hungered for the attention, and he knew that his prayers had been answered. Although, hallow. 

She gifted him small things, she once sowed a silver trinket dragon into his sleeve. “Now you shall not need to go to the dragon pits any longer, for here if your own dragon.” 

Aemond enjoyed when she dumped wine on Aegon when his brother mocked him. But, he did not like their mandated walks through the gardens and her constant questions about the state of his mind. 

It was not Aemma’s words that haunted Aemond from the night be lost his eye, it was the imagined droves of ladies at court that would soon he saying the same thing.

Aemma shouted at her child brother, Lucerys, from her place at the Queen’s side, “I can not marry him now that he has one eye!”

Aemond was honestly glad to get rid of her, she had completely ignored his existence during his healing process, though she informed him that he was in her prayers. 

“Thanks,” he would respond flatly. 

“Perhaps someone with a large castle,” Queen Alicent mused, trying to think of that to do with the leftover princess. “She needs something to constantly busy herself.” 

“Harrenhal is the largest of castles,” Lord Larys offered, from across the sitting table filled with their scheduled warm meal.

"Say that again, and I shall make her marry you,” Alicent buffed back.

“Then I shall be sure to never speak of it again,” Larys assured. 

Ser Criston waited patiently outside the Queen’s chambers, and never interrupted her meals. Though, he knew the topic of discussion. The cunt princess’s actions were always so cutting towards the Lady Queen, and she needed to be cut down to size.

Ser Criston offered the plan late one night, he could tell that his Queen was drained from the girl’s constant will and talks of a world being engulfed in endless flames. 

“My Queen, if it please you,” he started. “The Princess Aemma has grown…fond of me,” he was not sure how to proceed. “If you ever would want me to…” 

They both stopped, neither green enough to need it said fully. 

Alicent’s hands wrapped themselves around the stone railing, digging the grit into her palm. “You, the man who once asked me to order your death, hear me now,” she said, “If I hear of such things again, I shall take your hear myself. You will treat the princess as her station demands, you will be cordial and nothing more. Or I shall see your white cloak run red with your own blood. Am I understood?” 

She was understood.

Somewhere deep, across the barren fields that wrapped around her mind, down a dark corridor, a tunnel of darkness, a moat of unpassable waters, there was a box under the floor boards that held a small wooden box. And inside that box was were Alicent kept what she knew to be true. That Princess Aemma was no ward, but a sacrifice Alicent was willing to make, and heir for an heir, if it were ever come such blows. And it was Alicent alone who could give that order.

a/n: THANKS FOR READING! as always~ I posted a bit of her earlier this week, hated it, took it down, and re-wrote some of it LOL Anyone want more? Any suggestions or requests? Lol she needs to have a ultra religious girl-gang lol

tags: @targaryenswhxre sorry for the mult tags Im a mess LOL

[xxblairexxss]

Doudou

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 (Charles’s ending)

Pairing : Charles Leclerc x reader

Theme : Fluff / Angst

Not sure if I should do part 2 for this. Sorry for any mistakes I haven’t proofread it yet!

“You two lovebirds need to get a room.” Joris rolled his eyes as he walked inside Charles’s driver room to get his jacket and and immediately headed out. Charles and you were all cuddled up together on the couch with hands around your frame.

“This is literally my room, Joris.”

“Yeah, whatever. It’s time for media activities, Charles. Get up, get up! She’s not going anywhere.”

“She won’t be able to go anywhere I’m not letting her go.” Charles waggled your body that was leaning against him before brushing his lips on your hair.

“You are so silly. Go! Joris will get mad if you don’t get going now.”

“Wait for me, doudou.”

Doudou, the nickname that he would always call you. He came up with the nickname when you guys were kid and stopped calling you by your name. You even forgot what your name sounded like with his voice.

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

If you told your 14 years old self that your childhood friend would become the 1st Monegasque driver since Beretta in 1994, of course you would believe it in a second because you knew how talented he was but if you told your younger self that you would be his girlfriend and travelled the world to accompany him for his F1 races, you would have rolled your eyes because that was just impossible. But it happened, and it was like a dream come true. You had always knew you had feelings for him but you never thought it was reciprocated. Your friendship with Charles had turned into something more when he joined F2. A year later, he made his debut in F1. The media coverage, the attention he got was way different. Please started shouting his name when he arrived in the paddock, his social media went from a normal, “I drive fast cars as my part-time job” kid to pictures that were professionally taken but he would sneaked pictures of you whenever he got a chance because he was still the Charles you knew, your Charles.

When people started following Charles on his Instagram, they would happened to find your account as well so your followers started growing, not as much as his, but still a lot for a university student like you, who didn’t qualify to be an influencer. Charles didn’t hide you from the public. Everyone knew who you were though he never put you in any spotlight because you felt uncomfortable. You would never missed any chances to be in the paddock whenever you had a break from your study but there were a few times where you could only wished him good luck through a video call. He didn’t mind, at all. He knew how hard it was to catch up with your law studies and he wanted to support you as much as you did. Your Charles had always be so understanding.

ynusername

Liked by charles_leclerc, katerinaberezhna and 67,554 others

ynusername no books just hot chocolate 🍫

charles_leclerc doudou 🧸

liked by ynusername

username aaaaa so prettyyyyy

ynsername merciii 🫶🏻

username We miss you in the paddock

username where’s the dress from pretty? ❤️

charles_leclerc

Liked by ynusername, pierregasly and 1,100,069 others

charles_leclerc 2 weeks break meaning I am back with my lovely girl

username Imagine getting a podium and come back to the most beautiful girl ugh so lucky

username oh i would be obsessed with myself too if i look like that

username FAV COUPLE EVER

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

“Baby, should I wear this one? Or this one?” You took out two piece dress with different colour.

“Are you serious? Doudou, we are just gonna go and get groceries down the street.” Charles looked at you in disbelief and let out a cackle.

“I know.. but I just bought these two and I don’t know which one to wear first.” You heaved a sigh and pout when he didn’t give you the answer you wanted.

“Alright, alright. Try the purple one. It looks pretty.” He scanned on the two outfits on your hand, they looked the same so he didn’t know why you would have difficulty to choose but he didn’t said it out loud because it was the time of the month and you would sulk at almost everything he questioned.

“I think I wanna try the green one first. Can you wait until I do my hair first? Pleaseee.” Well, don’t ask why you were getting ready as if you were invited for Met Gala. You just felt like going extra today, that was it. A very valid reason.

“Go on, doudou. I’ll wait here and maybe, I don’t know, take a nap or something.”

“You are the best. I’ll make it as quick as I can!” It took you 1 hour, but Charles didn’t mind at all. Your Charles had always been so patience.

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

charles_leclerc

Manhattan, New York

Liked by pierregasly, joris_trouche and 965,407 others

charles_leclerc I’m a photographer, driver, chef and a boyfriend. Very multitalented.

ynusername I think you are the best at being a boyfriend not sure about chef 🤔

username parentsss

username these two are always having trip together i swear i saw fanpages updated about them being in maranello yesterday

username are they each other’s first love?

username yeupp ❤️

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

“No, why is it not as crunchy as the one I saw on Tiktok. Right, baby? You passed the tuna avocado sandwich to your boyfriend and waited for his reaction. You had asked Charles to try Joe & The Juices in New York because you have been seeing people talked high about it and the sandwich had been everything you talked to Charles on your way here to New York.

“Hm? Not bad. It tasted like tuna and avocado….sandwich?” Charles had told you it wasn’t gonna taste anything special and now that he got a taste of it, he would have said I told you so but seeing how disappointed you got, he just let out a silent chuckle.

“It’s not funny! They all made it seemed so good. Did we buy the wrong one?”

“It’s because you had so much expectations on it, doudou. I can make you better one. I’m a good chef, remember?” He pinched your cheeks and hold your hand as you continued walking along the skyscrapers.

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

kymillman

 Liked by 435,765 others

kymillman Charles’s childhood sweetheart has arrived at the paddock!

username THAT’S MY GIRLFRIEND

username She’s STUNNING

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

“I lost focus. It’s my fault. I could have won the podium.” 

You could feel his lips against your neck as he had his body flushed against yours. You knew whenever he came up to you in this position, he needed cuddle and he wanted you to massage his head. Your Charles had always been so affectionate, a secret trait of him that no one knew.

“It wasn’t your fault, baby. The car wasn’t the best and despite all the problems it had, you still managed to push until P4 and that was amazing. I don’t think there’s a lot of drivers out there who can drive that bouncy car pass the finish line at all. Podium or not, you did a wonderful job.”

He didn’t reply and you thought he had fallen asleep because of how calm his breathing was against your skin but then you heard him said 

“I love you so much, doudou. So, so much.”

But he stopped being everything he had been these past few weeks.

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

“Charles, are we okay?” You had realised that he had been different these past few weeks. He didn’t joke around like he usually did, he didn’t annoyed you with back hugs when you cooked and did your makeup like he usually did, he didn’t smile as genuine as he always did, the dimples on his face looked forced.  

And he didn’t want to talk. You knew the season had been harsh on him but he always came to you and sought solace in a form of touch but he stopped doing it.

“Yeah, we are fine. Can you stop asking me that?” He stopped the movie from playing to look at your worried face.

“That’s what you said every time I ask the questions but you never told me the truth.”

“What truth do you want, doudou? Please, can we not talk about this?” Charles stood up and began walking into the room.

“You have been so different. The last time we had a proper talk was weeks ago. You didn’t even hold me anymore. Did I do anything wrong? Charles! I’m talking to you!” You raised your voice but you saw him walking away like he always did whenever you brought up this topic.

“I’m tired. We are not talking about this, doudou. Please.” You saw him took his watch and wallet from the dressing table and knew he was going out. He preferred going out.

“You are tired and you are going out? Does that even make any sense? You always avoid talking about this while I’m trying to fix this. I’m trying to fix us!” You trailed behind him and gripped on his arm to stop him from walking away.

“I don’t know what you want me to do. I’m tired of your behaviour, doudou. You are asking for too much. Give me a fucking break!” Charles swayed your arm away and the moment he looked at you, your heart shattered. He’s not your Charles, the person in front of you wasn’t your loving boyfriend. Charles wouldn’t curse at you, he wouldn’t raise his voice at you. The man in front of you was a stranger.

“I—I’m sorry.” Stunned, you pulled your arm away and placed your hand on your chest, as if you could cover the sadness from him.

“I can’t do this anymore. Everything becomes a burden. You become a burden to me and I need a break, we need a break.“

“I’m a burden to you? Charles, I just needed reassurance because—“

“You always think of yourself! I just want to come home and be left alone but you always try to get involved with my life. I can’t even control my own life now, can I? Oh, I’m your boyfriend so I need to update you with everything that happened in my life every second of it. I need to hug you all the time so won’t feel lonely? I need to be with you all the time because you need some fucking reassurance? You are ridiculous, doudou.”

‘I’m afraid of losing you’ was the words you were gonna tell him before he cut you off.

“Fine, go. I won’t be in your way.” You used your arm sleeve from his oversized hoodie to wipe your tears and stormed into the room. You thought he would follow you, your Charles would, but you heard the sound of a door closed but it wasn’t the door to the room. 

12 years of friendship, 5 years of relationship but he chose to walk away.

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f1wagsupdate

Liked by 23,657 others

f1wagsupdate One of our followers sent a picture of Charles spotted in Monaco with someone and it wasn’t Y/N 👀

username I knew they broke up when she wasn’t seen in any of the gp at all

username Nooooo 😭

username It’s too early to judge guys let’s wait until monaco gp y/n never missed it

kymillman

Liked by 104,657 others

kymillman Charles arriving at the paddock with someone new!

username It’s the same girl he was spotted with last week

username no more childhood sweetheart

username I MISS DOUDOU 💔😔

charles_leclerc

Liked by charlottesiine, pierregasly and others

charles_leclerc Home race always feel special. 🤍 Had a great time with them. leclerc_pascale lorenzotl charlottesiine

charlottesiine 🤍

username DON’T TALK TO ME

username my heart broke i felt like I was the one who went through a break up 😔

username what happened to y/n 😭

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

You didn’t see Charles at all after he walked out of the apartment. He didn’t call, didn’t text. All of a sudden he became a part of your memories. You took a break from social media during your last year of law school so you were completely clueless with whatever had been going on. It was already the 12th race of the season where you found yourself at the grandstand with your best friends because she got free tickets and who would say no to free tickets so you were there because she knew you had always been a fan. You have always loved Formula 1, your break up with Charles didn’t wither down your passion for the sport.

The crowd suddenly went loud and you saw it on the big screen, your first love with a girl. He looked happy, he looked like your old Charles.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I really didn’t—“ Your friend exhaled a sign, feeling apologetic at at what just happened.

“Hey, it’s okay. It doesn’t affect me.” You nudged her and smiled.

At first you were sad, you were sad she received the smiles you did. Oh, but it had been so long since he's smiled, you couldn't help but smile too.

f1wags__

Liked by 34,558 others

f1wags__ Y/N spotted at Japan GP! A fan sent this to us saying they bumped into Y/N and her friend at the grandstand area

username No more ferrari tags around her neck 💔

username We missed her sm!! ❤️

username cant imagine what she felt when she saw charles with his new girl

ynusername

Liked by francisca.cgomes and 224,537 others

ynusername horsey and bows 🎀🐴

username you are back!!!

username QUEEN is back

username happiness looks good on you

[sxnshxnxxnddxxsxxs]

Duke Thomas headcannons becuase please just write him as a black boy:

the first time there’s a summer rain at night after he moves into Wayne Manor Duke sets up the speakers and the floodlights and lives out his 00’s rnb music video dreams

after that Alfred will sometimes drive him around in the back of one of the cars when it rains at night because he doesn’t want his latest grandson to get hypothermia but understands that it is very important to live out 00’s rnb music video dreams

Duke teaches Cass the Usher watch this thing and originally they only use it to tell each other that they’re gonna do some dumb shit but then Cass decides she really likes it and uses it more than the actual sign

Duke and Cass have a theme song because they are besties and that theme song is black and yellow by Wiz Khalifa whenever it plays they drop everything to rap to each other and if anyone turns it off before it finishes they start it again even louder it becomes a great distraction technique for other batfamily members. they chose the song because of their uniforms but the first time a civilian sees how enthusiastic they are about the song they draw a different conclusion and they find it so funny that they definitely have to keep it as their theme song from now on

Duke lives a no shoes in the house life no matter who’s house it is or what everyone else is doing

He also keeps his Signal uniform exclusively in the batcave because no uniforms in the Manor seems like the natural extension for no outside clothes in bed

Duke sneaks scotch bonnets into the Manor kitchen generally timed with the occasions that Jason is around and in the mood to cook. Dinner those nights feature running eyes and noses from Bruce Tim and Steph along with all the milk in the Manor finishing. It’s great entertainment for Duke Cass Damian Jason and Dick

Duke has locs he lowkey thinks about bleaching the ends to match the aesthetic of his uniform but he’s unsure of if it will make him to conspicuous

When he first moved to the Manor he got pooled into the schedule to pick up hair shop (beauty supply store) supplies with the Fox’s because they’re all way too busy of people to be driving out of the way individually so it only made sense to add Duke to that. He and Tam also timetable his retwist appointments with her hair appointments for the same time

Duke is an instigator Jason and Tim will be having a petty squabble that is about to fizzle out but then Duke walks past them and just whispers a quick “if I were you I wouldn’t have that” and then an hour later a priceless vase is broken there’s holes in the wall and Tim and Jason have matching black eyes. Duke considers it a public service to provide Babs with entertainment for when Oracle hours a slow she agrees and doesn’t snitch on just how much shit Duke starts so he can get away with even more

Duke joins Jason and Alfred’s book club and the first book he picks is Beloved because like they’re in this big old gothic manor respect the aesthetic

One time Bruce walks passed Duke on ft to his friends and he’s performing “Wisdom” and Bruce thinks it’s something Duke came up with himself and is trying to be a supportive dad and is like “that’s great son” with a really strained smile and Duke just sticks to the bit like “you really think so?” bruce even more pained “yeah it’s amazing”

He also has exclusively satin pillowcases and gives everyone in the Manor a set because it’s good for the hair and therefore a good use of Bruce’s rich people money

Duke upon realising that he was gonna be adopted by a bunch of crime fighting pseudofurries and was going to join them in the crime fighting said this some white people shit and that’s why he chose Signal rather than some bioluminescent bird

[1-49]

burnt orange, #CC5500

╰► A Smoky Night, or an evening that smoulders forever

pairing: jaehyun × f!reader

❝ A burnt orange aura reveals high ambition and a strong desire for change, driven by practicality. Individuals with this shade may display a touch of selfishness, pride, or aggression. Its brown tones introduce a negative energy aspect, indicating potential challenges, lack of energy, or feeling stuck.

tags: this my fav type of angst. tense energy laced with pain with an undercurrent in flirting lol. wc. 10k

jaehyun’s too fine & unreadable. lots of messy signals and an overall fogged atmosphere. think both of them are toxic in their individual style lmao.. pining. implied fevered moments.

Whichever burns brighter ─── the orange flame rising from the evening lamp in the corner , or the view through the windows as the sun sets over the horizon ── you dont know. Each affects your feelings, but primarily it ’s the way it all reflects on him. The warm glow that has accumulated in his harsh eyes from both simply signifies that the journey is coming to an end. The day is almost over, and so are you two.

────── Slanderous comments were made, and accusations were traded. There is now nothing left to cling to. The only truth beneath all of Jaehyun’s painfully continuous smoothing and touching of his baseball cap, which he seems to be pulling in despite the fact that it’s already on his head, is his intense anxiety and uneasiness.

There is no longer any chance to salvage this; everything is in terminal decline, so there is no point in saying you’re sorry or taking back what you both said. Moreover, this should be easy to conclude because if there is anything you have learned from him, it’s how to develop stronger character.

... But the truth is very different from your wish that it is simple.

& you hate the truth! You hate finding yourself in this predicament. You hate that there’s no turning around. But the worst part of it all is that you hate that you lo—

His eternally soft hair, which has grown slightly, peeks out from under the cap, concealing the majority of his nape. An intimate place that was once kissed, bruised, and then kissed again—but now, his hair is just pushing you away from all of that.

Even his neck is contributing to the sand pile of memories because his oversized, washed brown shirt is too loose around the collar. His silver oli ball chain necklace, which you used to roll around your finger and play with endlessly, now sits glumly in the hollows of his collarbones. That this person was once a close person to you, it’s now a fever dream.

-

“Please—please stop talking! You-you’re only making this worse!”

“So…” 

Giving room for the raging argument to subside, Jaehyun rubs his jaw, debating what to say next. “...so that’s it? We-we are really doing this? Cause we’ve been here before, an—”

You let out a groan of frustration at his pathetic attempt to stop him from talking more. Of course, it’s easy for him to say that, you think, holding that forsaken question under your breath once again as though you want this, as though it’s simple. The way he poses it too, while wearing nothing but skepticism on his face as if he didn’t see this coming after so many meaningless arguments, angers you even more. He’s beautiful, but at times like this, all you want to do is slap all of that beauty straight out of his face.

But perhaps that’s exactly what’s bothering you—your obsession with his nonchalanc-y, which you used to find sexy, now seems to be eating away at your feelings. Stoic expression, a face, and a clenched jaw is all that’s meeting you, so maybe, finding him attractive during these fights does make you crazy. 

You take a moment to gather your thoughts before answering, realizing that you’re never going to get anywhere by dragging your eyes along every contour on his delicious face anyway. Surely, it has kept you running back to him. A moment of weakness. And for some stupid unknown reason, he has always tasted even better after every fight. How? But also no! Not this time. You promise!

“What do you want from me, Jaehyun!? Since there’s no telling where we’re going, and it’s been like this for months! I think you’ve been under the impression that I’d wait forever, holding on- and on to what you’ve never said and never will. But I’m not trying to do this anymore! I am seriously not! I’m sick of getting only half of you. I’m done playing open cards. I’m done! Whatever this is… it’s-it’s over.”

Jaehyun scowls at you and ceases his pacing in the middle of the room. 

There! Finally, a sign of disturbance. Though you two have been together long enough for you to learn through his impassiveness and all those small, tangible details that guard his innate tender, it’s still difficult to shake an emotion out of him—a real, deep-seated emotion that takes your ‘situationship’ into account.

Simultaneously, perhaps that will help explain why he ‘might even have’ a reason to dislike you, given that you were the only one who witnessed him at his most vulnerable. The only person who truly knows him; nevertheless, he has been growing increasingly aloof lately, so maybe that’s not something he’s into anymore. Maybe all he’s doing is just returning to his former self, the one who existed before the shattered shell you met. And maybe at last he has put his every piece back together and realized that sensitivity is the devil’s bitch and that in this ring, he’s a dog on his own.

Right… Too many ‘maybes’, but he doesn’t give you much to go on for you to consider any other options anyway. 

Instead, he smoothes the cap over his head for the forty-ninth time, then flips it back so the bill is in front of his eyes and covers them slightly. Like this, his jawline adopts an even more defined shape. His lips... 

The aura of mystery he exudes boots right back in. Given the esoteric shadow cast over his cheekbones, he seems even more prepared to walk out of the door at any moment. Or else you can anticipate more of his wicked smiles, lies, and games if he chooses to stay. 

Ironically, he really knows how to wear the cap’s logo, which befits his unserious dead humor. ‘Hysteric’ remains blasted on his head in Times New Roman, but there’s not a trace of hysteria in his character at the moment, as much as you’d like him to have.

Though you wish he were, because if he were, it’d mean he still finds significance in this and that he’s prepared to fight. But that’s not the case at all right now; his voice is as calm and collected as ever, lacking any incline.

Bizarrely enough, the thing that, sort of, falls under that statement are, in fact, your nerves. They rave as you watch him. They fry at the edges. You start to sound even more irate as you think he’s not losing anything, while you seem to be the only one.

Though the words are loaded like a gun, you don’t want to come across as foolish or desperate. But as he offers you no other option, you believe that to be the only picture you paint at this point. And you don’t care if it’s an ugly one.

You’re also having a hard time with your thoughts because they seem to go on forever and it takes you a long time to organize them into something to say. So you just take a moment to ignore him and turn your head away from him, giving the fight another breath, but once you’re ready to go again, he’s somehow closer to you. Significantly closer to you, and only you know how dangerous that is.

You go on, continuing to rant, but all you can seem to focus on are his lips and how they shape with each little thing he says. He’s really of little words in deep tones if you must say so, and—

Well-Fuck! You are caught touring his lips again!! 

You’ve no idea how he manages to keep them so balmed and dreamy at all times. Tangerine dusk pours through the windows and contrasts with the same shade of the lamp, making his lips look like melted wax, beckoning you. So sticky, sweet icing-coated, enticing you to lick... Oh, he’s making you sick.

You wave your head, shaking the nasties that have accumulated. Jaehyun doesn’t move an inch. If anything, the fucker knows!

He then makes a move toward you, only this time you’re unsure of whether to regard these steps as your victories or defeats.

As you go on, you find yourself stumbling over your words more and more, observing him removing his cap off of his head once again and running his fingers through his hair, just like he has done countless times before, except this time he doesn’t put it back; instead, he throws it down on the sofa. 

Needless to say, there’s something innately dangerous, something deeply unbalanced and maniacal in the way he tilts his head to one side and slowly brushes his hair back as his jet strands catch inside the gaps of his knuckles. Their drag… The glare he gives you... Working his eyes out in the most possible way to make a wreak out of you... He has to, how could he not? You’re a delight to enjoy.  

A rabid. The charm of his masculinity surges up as he watches you from the tilted angle. Something deep inside of him transfers esoterically inside your soul. You want him to get deeper into your anger, realizing you’re both just as toxic.

You should tell him to walk away! That he has ruined the evening! That—

But then… he’s looking at you like this... with the absolute right amount of fucked up...

and maybe that’s why you can’t escape, 

and maybe that’s exactly why he can’t escape either, as he knows how much you love this. 

It’s sick. Absolutely. Entirely. As it backfires all over again; as it all burns up and the orange bathes in the dull black of his eyes. No doubt, he’s your top choice trouble.

But-But you’ve had enough of that cup! You’ve had enough of trouble! You don’t want more! You—

-

You won’t be shaken. He won’t have an effect on you this time. 

Step by step, you move away from him in an attempt to create a space that he keeps closing. You’re conscious of the fact that your eyes dart all over the place and are never focused on his, which gives away the fact that you aren’t really serious about ending this, but you manage nonetheless.

“Sure,” There’s poison in your voice as you begin your closing argument, oblivious to the fact that it’d become just another rant and soften from its vicious substance. 

“I-I was lonely when I met you, but so were you! I knew you were lonely too. And it worked... Rather somehow…” 

Hesitating, you cast a sidelong glance at your feet, as though trying to remember something, but in the end, failing.

“I don’t know. Maybe we talked more?” Posing the questions to yourself, you pout. “Or? Maybe not? I don’t know. I really don’t know!”

Even though you’re feeling extremely tense, rattled, and frail in your own skin, you look up to him as you proceed. What more is he capable of doing? He’s nothing but a pretty face—It’s your preferred perception. What’s currently more believable. The simpler way out. That he’s not at all complex; and is just as blunt and empty as he wants to make the impression. That the few words birthed from his soft, pouty, supple, unkissed sunkissed lips are nothing but futile, meaningless, and devoid.

However, there appears to be a deep crease developing between his eyebrows, so perhaps your impression of him is inaccurate(?) You aren’t sure why, but all of a sudden you get scared at the possibility that it could mean something. Hell! Looking at him drains you immensely. But-but you-you have t—

“Our fights have stripped us of all our beauty… I’m just left watching you drift farther away.” 

As his brows knit, so do yours. You’re debating whether or not to acknowledge your emotions, but in the end, you do. 

“To be honest, it’s hurting me. But regardless how ugly the experience is, it’s made me realize how much you mean to me. But still… I know that’s not an excuse to stay with you. I tried to play it cool at first because we were never really stable, but— Not anymore!”

“I don’t know... I feel like there’s nothing I can do anymore. And yes! We’ve already had this conversation. It seems that you particularly like bringing up that fact... Except nothing has been fixed since the last time we fought, J. I wouldn’t be so proud to mention it. It’s merely there to serve as a reminder that we are constantly failing. You say it as though there’s some reason we shouldn’t end this right now, and I’m not sure why you’d even bring that up. I really don’t... We’re no fit for each other.”

Your tone rises at ‘That’s the truth!’ implying that you’re still not prepared to think about it and that you don’t want to accept it, for it to only become more painfully sad and subdued in the following affirming, “That’s the truth…” 

You hesitate a moment more before saying the next thing, as it feels like daggers are stabbing into your heart, but you do it nonetheless. Breathing also becomes more difficult as your chest begins to feel constricted, but you force yourself to swallow the fear ball stuck in your throat. Feverous, a shiver of cold runs up your spine as you watch him with your final words. “We failed to save each other. I you… you me.”

With his teeth ground down, Jaehyun rolls his eyes. Your words just feel like a smack. It’s like your attitude has just now put him in a bad mood as if you’re trying your best to leave a permanent crease in between his brows.

You know he’d rather be numb than angry, but the feeling boils within him. You feel that he’s on the verge of just snapping, but he won’t do it outright. In a way, you almost kind of admire that ability of his—to be so patient, as he secretly harbors passive-aggressive tendencies.

Catching a glimpse, you notice his nails scrape through layers of palm flesh as his fingers ball into fists. He continues to clench and unclench them as though he’s encouraging blood flow, but there’s more to the action than that.

And as though he’s suddenly transformed into an animal, he moves his jaw a bit before locking it and pressing his teeth into a dense snarl.

Maybe it aches; maybe he’s in excruciating pain, but he doesn’t show it. The skin collapses in his cheeks, leaving them sunken. His face has the power to kill. It’s deadly... Sexy.

You’re expecting to hear some mean words from him too; and they’re possibly waiting on his lips, hanging in the air between you two like a thread waiting to be cut. 

And so, he finally speaks up. “You’re so easy to give up,” his voice as deeply warm as it can get—contradictory in and of itself, just like he is.

The word choice?? It catches you off guard. Even shocks you. Suddenly? Abruptly and seriously? Just like that!? Of all the words and expressions conceivable, and after you’ve been berating him for so long, all you get back is that? Really!? You find them so unbelievably funny that you can’t help but smirk miserably and accept their presumed grim sarcasm.

Asking rhetorically, you follow their ironic trajectory, “So easy to give up!?” playing it off cynically at first until you’re no longer able to. Then, as you continue, your voice grows huskier; he actually provides the reason for you to do so, encouraging you to take things seriously when he won’t. 

“How am I so easy to give up!? Tell me! Tell me, do I give up easily? Or-uh-do I hold on too long, Jaehyun!? Cause I gave us—This… enough time and realized what I want will never be enough… I need to take care of myself.”

Saying, “You are selfish,” he takes another step. His eyebrow arches subconsciously as he says the word, which is also repulsively beautifully formed by his lips. But what does it mean? What does he mean!??

“Wow,” you’re left sneering and scoffing in disbelief. “And can you blame me!? For wanting to protect myself? For wishing better for myself!? Because you—” In the heat, you even step over a boundary as you take a step towards him too, pointing and pressing your index finger at his chest. “You are so distant! You hardly express what you feel. I can’t get through to you. It’s like I have you but I don’t-really…” Almost as if it had finally drowned in sorrow, your voice becomes faint and gentle. “I’m tired, Jay.” 

Your eyes say the same thing, there’s a sudden despair in them. A vision that perpetually sinks. Eyes of ‘the conquered.’ Glossy. Your tears are asking for permission as you say,  “You-you are like something I can’t really have... And-and every time we have this conversation, you-you love to-to change it,” you feel your lips quiver. “To-to stop it. To—”

“Stop!” Jaehyun interrupts your delirious thoughts as he takes the last step and closes any gap that may exist between you two.

“Don’t!” You shout back at whatever move, aim, or objective he may have. But remain still, resolute, and maintain your ground. Not yet waving the white, even though he’s so close—so excessively, painfully close—that he’s able to feel the quivering waves coming from your body. So awfully close that his scent is gnawing at your nose. It’s insistent, just like his perpetually clenched jawline. His jawbone might shatter from such thightness.

The stimulation all comes in spasms. Your walls crumble on themselves, gripping, tightening, constricting... Your body begins to prepare for a fit of sobbing. Hot. Quaver. Fever. Literally, you writhe in agony under his intimidating breath that seeps beneath your skin and sinks its daggered claws within. However, you gasp for air as your own breath slips from your fingertips. 

Whispery, “I wish I—I could be true…” intimately, “to you, Jeong…” vulnerably, “I really do… But it’s plain to see I’m not the one.”

Silence. 

A profound sense of loss spreads through the room and meditates on the lifeless air. Despite the body closeness, there’s a lingering emptiness that feels like the quiet of a hall on a cold winter night. 

The sun fades to shadows, chasing the sunset away. Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, bluish-dark inks the sky. Duplicates of the two of you on the walls due to the lamp’s remaining orange. The only thing left after such a confession is that the ground appears really lovely and that you ought to concentrate on it till he separates and walks away. 

It nearly stops your heart when Jaehyun’s pensive, icy fingers circle around your chin and lift your face to pull you closer.

His slightly black mullet trickles along his earlobes. With a furious look, he rolls his lower lip between his teeth. In thought, though, there’s still resoluteness residing on his face at which you want to scream, ‘SAY SOMETHING TO ME.’

But why? Why would you want more, knowing it’d only prove a disaster and cause more misery? 

Thus, you grab his wrist angrily, forcing him to stop controlling your face and eyes so you can only focus on his. You’ve also had the best teacher in him because he has always been so competitive. Two can therefore grit their teeth at each other.

There’s also a lot of resistance initially due to his strength. You both lose a little bit of balance as he counter-grips your wrist, and you briefly rustle as your bodies come into contact. What matters is that his hand does, in the end, get ripped away from your chin. 

With his empty hands by his sides, Jaehyun gently blinks multiple times, and all of a sudden, everything changes—the energy, the atmosphere... him… you. 

His lips flat into a bread-shaped smile, causing lovley holes to sink at his cheeks. You hear nothing but a cry of help through his tiny, adorable smile, which may indicate that he refuses to offer a piece of his heart because he doesn’t think it’ll be kept unbroken. His almond eyes liquid with anxiety as you expect his voice to soften again and tell you another pretty lie.

Lacking specificity, you ask sharply, “How do you do that?” squinting cynically because you find it incredible. What you’re referring to, though, is the way he transitions between such extreme emotions in such a tranquil, almost graceful, manner. It astounds you. You’d never see him in total distress. He won’t show it. 

A little perplexed, Jaehyun asks, “Do what?” 

There’s no way that he’s oblivious to it, so you feel compelled to lash out once more, but all you do is shake your head a little and roll your eyes, which is the equivalent of ‘nevermind.’ This way, you restrain yourself from repeating the same things over and over. Besides, what would be their point?

A second moment of silence ensues. 

To release some of his tension, Jaehyun lifts his chin and purses his lips, adjusting the loose collar of his shirt, and continues in the same manner, bending his neck side to side while hooking his fingers to his chain necklace and moving it around. 

Not knowing so, or rather so, he’s easily creating very frustrating hypnotism, teasing you in with each twist of his finger around his necklace. His veins are throbbing and protruding, and his tense neck cords are drawing the majority of your attention. His bare neck seems to be begging you to desert your lips on the scent of his perfume. At the same time, if your fingers had a chance, they’d also trace the familiar lines of his collars…..

Yikes! You seem to be clinging again, so Jaehyun bites his smile a couple of times and drags his tongue across his teeth before beaming widely. You shake your head but are unable to resist the invitation to smile yourself when his puffy eyes curve up. His flirty dimples seek your thumbs. This motherfucker…

Altering between hotness and sweetness should be considered a crime. Jail time is due for him. No way are you flirting back.

There seems to be an addiction to space, so proximity is key. But if he gets any closer with this newfound, unfair energy, you fear that you won’t be able to let him go.

In fact, Jaehyun does just that. Being quite competitive, he’d not want to finish second in a game where the person who keeps reaching closer wins.

Naturally, time slows down on itself. And yet more is said now—in the space, between the breaths, and after all those mean words. Could it be that you are becoming a fan of the hushness he so preaches?

His brow lifts again, but this time it’s more like a test, with his slightly blown-out, intrigued eye asking, ‘Why is it so hard for you to believe that I like you?’ It’s playful, but it manipulates you by raising doubts in your mind, making you wonder if he really means, ‘Do I like you?’

Feeling a little roused on the inside, you look at him with the same intensity that he does, and really the only thing separating you two at this moment is your willingness to reach out. 

In spur, eyes, lips, and notions are all involved in the play. Jaehyun’s sensuality is just accelerating on top of your angsts. And every playful bite of his lips telepathically leads you in soft-spoken: Open your eyes; Open the keys; Open the mind. Just senses pleading with you to open them. Sight and smell are relatively easy to cross off the list, but taste and touch are a tad bit more tricky.

Lingering just at the tip of your nose, the weight of his perfume raptures you even more so now than previously. It feels as though you’re allowing him to reclaim control over you by allowing his magic to work.

And it does, elevating you to an unexplainable height. If perfume can offer a little sense of who somebody is, his attests to the warmth of his character. Pricey but never pretentious, you assume there seems to be a depth behind his tendency to favor musky scents. As they settle into the skin of each person differently, they have a unique, layered appeal. This intricacy speaks to Jaehyun in a way that’s similar to him and the various facets that comprise his identity. He’s the mild heat of spring—subtle but all at once intense.

That, plus the fact that you’re tipping more to your toes, more to his nose. Again, balance becomes a wavy thing as you’re beginning to lose to the chemical waves.

You overheat, and there’s this ecstatic tingling in your toes—this burning sensation!! 

Cooling you down, the wooden floor feels surprisingly nice and cold under your feet. Melting. His lips are steering your emotions, making you loathe the remaining distance between you. And finally, finally, losing yourself- as you descend into the depths of his eyes. 

Jaehyun is just smoothly succeeding in wrapping himself around you like the night...

Your crazed heart makes your chest dance to such a heavy rhythm. Your breaths are shallow, and your eyes are—

Pretty malicious, Jaehyun reaches out and slowly runs his knuckles down your cheek as to worsen it all. 

With an even more seductive tone and a teasing smile, he asks softly. “What’s the deal, baby?”

Oh god... 

A long, trembling sigh escapes you.

He knows! He knows he has to do so little... As if the electric vibrations weren’t already enough, he causes more!! Ghoosbumps begin to form houses along your skin. A powerful, uncomfy warmth ascends from your throat and becomes embedded in your cheeks. Well, this is what happens when a person’s voice becomes your favorite auditory hallucination.

A deep, velvety tone, a voice that belongs in a museum. Best when he’s used it to read you. Valentine warm after he’s led you in a song. Carnal, and in shady hues when he whispers. Such a wild thing, how your thoughts won’t stop romanticizing it. It’s all that you want to hear—as if everything ever stemmed from these id-driven impulses—is to ask for only his voice… Only his voice! And you CAN be greedy…

Once he nuzzles your nose and presses his tample against yours, your body sinks. Your closed eyes are a final measure of restrain as his breath mingles with yours. Thoughts race past like speeding cars. How in the world are you supposed to stop them? Your mouth gets clumsy in the end, it betrays you. 

“I-I shouldn’t want you.” You blurt.

Jaehyun smiles in front of your lips and confirms in a flirty, “No-pe.” Just steering your comment in the direction of something good... Because yes, you should—

As you lie, your eyes open. “I really shouldn’t shouldn’t want you!”

Which makes his smile widen even more. His whiskers creasing invisible lines in his cheeks. An artist, indeed... On sinister thought, an angel’s grin.

To say you don’t love him is a lie. To say you love him is an understatement. To say you love him, you can’t. To say you love him now, you arn’t allowed to. It’s basically hell. 

You’re doomed. You’re screwed with this magical person standing in front of you. 

Yes! Exactly! HOW DOES HE DO THAT?

“How can something so wrong feel so right, then?” He tases in a low voice, dragging his nose across your cheek like a scar. It’s irrelevant if he’s referring to ‘this’ thing or himself. The final point is, he does things to you, and he knows it.

You groan a soft “Jaehyun,” with a mixture of protest and pleasure.

Contrarily, Jaehyun puts his hands around your waist and begins climbing. His lips start to brush under your ear and against your neck.

Shit-SHIT- 

Are you going to fall all the way into his hands, or what? 

What the devil kind of communication are you supposed to give? What does he expect you to answer? He’s the most bitter sweet, sweetness, heaven sent—

“You are... so...bad,” you drag as his lips rediscover the most delicate spots on your neck, and his muffled hums and moans accompany each kiss. 

He acts to support the statement that was meant to be the general response to your question, so it gets a little derived and distorted with what he does, and you find yourself tossing your head back.

He ascends back up, rubbing a nasty “Yeah?” in your face and planting a smiley-boyish kiss to the side of your cheek next to your ear. His damp, choked breath on your skin; his whisper filling your ear; his smoky energy... “So are you, babe.”

FUCK. Awful! Foul. But your body listens. Your wants are left twisting up in knots, and you know only one thing will unlace...

But your mouth... 

Your mouth can’t stop sabotaging and pointing out the nonexistent problems, which almost always become problems later on. This might get you the ‘big mouth’ rep but there’s a lot of good coming out that just gets interlaced with some bad.  So, yes. True. You’re bad. But so are you both.

There’s a fireside of warmth he has aroused inside you and your lips are almost touching, but but—

“That’s… That’s why the outline of this is wrong.”

—you’re a little stubborn... so if he thinks your brain can take a backseat and let you be so easygoing, then he’s got it wrong. It’ll take longer.

Jaehyun’s fingertips, though, continue to trace along the length of your arm, calling you his with every line while his nose lightly rubs against yours, prompting you to—

“Is it?” he asks. 

But maybe that’s what gets him. The ‘longer’. The far more difficult route to the goal. The much larger build-up. Love that bites. Love like war... Sometimes necessary quiet like love in a hunt. Love like the end of the world.

They warned you about him…

You breathe out the air you’ve been holding in your lungs and slip away from him. Depressed by his lukewarm replies, you respond coolly, “Of course, that’s how you’d answer.” 

Sincerely, you want to stop; you want to be able to raise your chin, extend your chest, lift your shoulders and project strength, but the situation is so sad that all of its burdens fall upon you, causing you to slouch and feel its full weight once more.

For a hot minute, your tongue stays tied around your throat, as if it were forming an unbreakable noose around your neck. You two exist in this quiet, as all that keeps coming to mind is how beautifully his dark hair frames his face.

And after living in it briefly, you ask quietly, “What happened to you? What happened to us, Jaeh—”

He cuts in, “Oh, come on!” pointing a finger at you disapprovingly and raising his voice a bit, if not for the first time. “Don’t minimize us!” 

However, as he goes on, his mouth mirrors his anguish, almost taking on a very faint, repulsive, sick look as he blurts out the words. It moves in disgust, but it hardly opens at all. Like he’s repelled by what he’s hearing or because he’s speaking back in a similarly offensive way(?) 

“It’s rather insulting and beneath your design... To drive me away... When-when I’m not.”

The comment so easily revolts you back that just—

“I don’t have to drive you away, Jaehyun! You are away by definition... You are so away, you’re unavailable!” 

Fuck!

You pause when the bobbling sensation inside of you rips at your throat, burning your eyes and causing tears to well up like water in a den but other than that you try to hold onto whatever crumb of strength you have left and continue. What does it matter if a hot tear rolls down your cheek and bruises it like a sharp diamond edge?

“I wait for you... I-I fucking watch for you, Jaehyun. The look on your face controls every feeling I have. I can’t fucking breathe because I’m waiting for you. It’s sick! It’s making me sick. I’m sick by it! I’m—I’m sick while all you do is cut my wrists so there’s no love for me- to- reac—” 

Love??? 

Struck that the word left your mouth, you shut your eyes. Stupid! But then again, what did you expect? It can only surface in circumstances this excruciating. And no one has ever said the word up until now. It has never existed in the dictionary you share.

And you may blame your fuzzy vision on the tears that have welled up, or you can blame the small space separating you, but neither of these arguments can discount the fact that the word also takes Jaehyun by surprise and is left doing something to him too.

It’s impossible to miss the red that quickly built up in his ears—it’s not been there all evening. It looks so out of place against his ivory skin. Though nuanced, the action is very telling in itself. Something so intense and visceral that even his mind is powerless to stop it. The slightest clue that only you and he understand its significance and how unsettlingly intimate it is.

Or maybe you’re projecting again? Maybe you just want it to mean something(?) Maybeee… May—

You—You shouldn’t have used that word so carelessly! You— 

In truth, you feel crushed by its weight. You feel like you’re ripped bare in the middle of the room and you can’t dress up your feelings again. But there’s also this bizarre solace in the fact that you don’t have to anymore. As the tears begin, your voice, cadence, and delivery are all off.  As if they haven’t been already... But you can’t stop now; you’re inside the flux.

“Offer me a promise. Some people carry them in their back pockets, Jaehyun, why can’t you? Can’t you just make one?” Imagine how ironic it’s that you look down to the side pockets of his cargo pants, hoping he’ll pull them from there. But zero. Zip. Zilch. Nada. As you go, you’re ugly and desperate. “Even-Even if it doesn’t get fulfilled. Even if it’s just a lie. Please, please just-just say something.”

Jaehyun rubs his temple before combing his hair back, at last giving in to this hour-long argument. 

“You know I don’t do that. I have never! I’ve never given false promises and I’ve never lied, even though you enjoy using that against me.” 

You know it carries a lot when he calls your name, “.........., this victim blaming has become so casual that—that I somehow always become the spectacle.”

With each painful heartbeat, those pitiful butterflies that occupy the pit of your stomach evolve into bees that sting. The room keeps closing on you as you cry one of the hottest tears you have ever cried, which, to put it simply, causes you to lose the plot. Your words begin to drag on and on, as if you’re barely sewing them together.

“See, you-you can’t… You aren’t willing. No, it’s pretending that you care. You don’t! And we’ve promised to fix—and-and we haven—”

Right now, everything is flying over your head, and it’s too much to try and process whether by getting closer to you again he’s trying to tell you that he’s won the argument or....... 

but he does. Jaehyun closes your distance from each other.

You keep your eyes at your feet when his tone softens to one of tenderness again, like the aggressive one isn’t his choice and will never be his choice. It’s only you who can’t make the distinction if he’s speaking with pangs just now or just plain—

“You don’t trust me. You’ve never, in fact.”

“I don’t? … I haven’t?”

You suppress a sob, but your body makes it obvious. But you decide to lift your head and confront him; this is what he’s made of you… A mess—from the ‘home’ he’s constructed around himself. What hurts you is every brick he placed there for protection.

You try again, completely torn. Even your voice is defeated. Long-suffering and tender, “How have I not, Jaehyun? How have I not?” 

-

That leaves you staring into the deep brown abyss. His eyes have become very glossy; perhaps he’s tired. Streaks of moonlight gold and fragments of stolen sunsets appear every time the corner light strikes them ‘just right.’ For a moment, you’re grateful that you have a warm place to return to…

However, one minute you’re on fire, the next you’re burned. That’s just how it works. Initially, you believe it to be the dead petals from the dried rose that have fallen onto your candle next to it and caught fire, but it’s actually the entire thing. This entire thing stinks. It stings.

You dab away the tears in your eyes and smother out the flame, which is cutting off the air and the charring stench is making you ill. Whatever, anyway, on a long enough timeline, you’re bound to get burned; everybody is flammable. 

You take a deep swallow and then say what’s already been on your mind for most of the evening. 

“I won’t say anything more... I-I think… you should walk away. You ruined the evening.”

…Right. Enough playing house with each other’s feelings. 

-

Be that as it may, all of the ‘distance’ between you and him can be summed up in a single word that right now just so happens to be on your tongue. It’d also be easier if one of you could say it, but it’s hard to swallow pride when you’re prideful on both sides. 

At first, the way he squints and rolls his tongue suggests that your words have surprised him. But somewhat, gravity shifts quietly, gently. Something heavy, almost out of balance, is in his dark eyes. You think they’re absorbing as they walk from yours down to your lips and back to your eyes again, and perhaps for the last time. Like as if he’s penetrating your doubt with his last seductive stare, the one that touches you without touching. 

Breathing in moisture from abstract feelings, love on fire, and mischief well-hung onto his lips, Jaehyun asks softly, “You want me to leave?”

Your gut is in knots as you rip off a breathy, “You don’t want to stay.”

………

He gives you a deeply mistrusting look and then his thumbs dig into your cheeks as he yanks you tight towards him. 

Not even time for you to—BLANK—you’re in clutches of uncontrollable desire; your heart lunches into your throat. It feels like a ship crashing as your lips meet.

Your impulsory senses too betray every right you spent the entire night fighting for, as your hands rise to his face, grasping it firmly to do the exact same thing Jaehyun is doing to you: keep him in place for you. 

Except for his velvety lips, nothing about the kiss is gentle. Yanking, pulling, and gasping. And the more you hold him in, the more your hands become careless and he makes you bleed as your palms nearly cut at the sharpest, softest edges of his jaw. You’re cut up, down, and in between. 

His tongue thrusts its way inside your mouth, savagely sucking away the transparent nectar that has just about begun to mingle. Fervor and tingling sensations shoot from up your spine and into your head and back down your chest as you moan at the heavy, wet sighs that come from his mouth. The spiraling of your energies is causing your noses to crash constantly. 

Continuous, continuous crashing. He’s a type you want to fully devour simply because he’s too ambitious to just let you get on top of him. It’s a dog-eat-dog right now. Just this insistent, indecent sound of lipsmacking, him cramming his feelings in through the gaps when they allow, his scorching cheeks under your palms, and him crushing you with energy. 

And Jaehyun hardly ever initiates kisses like this on his own. He’s often siding with soft, caressing kisses and daisy touches. So perhaps you do bring out the worst in him? Maybe you do mistake his gentleness for a lack of trust after all. Considering that your attitude during these arguments usually results in this pattern of kissing. 

Still, you’d be pleased to learn just how much he likes them too. How much he enjoys a little dominance race for it only to get so disproportionate and borderline that, by the end, surprisingly, somehow both of you come out same. Just... you’d be surprised to know how much, at his worst, he wants to triumph through passive control but secretly needs more of those who confront and challenge this behavior in him. And that’s either soothing each other’s fire or adding more. And while neither of these are evidence of perfection, love also lacks perfection. So it’s why he’s constantly gatekeeping; it’s safer this way and more easier.  

But here’s you—who constantly likes to demand these rawest gatekeeps out of him—that are his love, feelings, and vulnerability, and those are things that can be unnervingly frail and fracturable, so no wonder you terrify him.  

Things that ought to be handled with care. Which leads you both to the issue of a lack of mutual trust. While your ingrained insecurity makes you not trust him because he’s not cooperating, his ingrained doubt that you can handle those things with care makes him not trust you. Ultimately, the situation stems from a case of miscommunicated love and belief, which allows uncertainty to creep in.

But with the way you fight him in this kiss—in all such kisses, in fact, it’s as if you’re installing faith that you mean to get to the bottom of him,

just as he’s doing the same to you, with the force with which he’s kissing you  

But occasionally—sometimes it might be too late. Possibly too late if you don’t—

You moan, “Jaehyun,” hot, dazed, and frenzied, but trying to let him know it’s gotten so much as your hands stray from his stunning face and move to his chest in an attempt to push him. The kiss is but a bruising power struggle between you, with neither emerging victorious. It feels like a struggle for a final touch—your love on a battlefield. And the gore of it engulfs you as you’re drowning and sinking deeper. 

It’s a kiss that isn’t like the ones either of you’d eventually forget. It’s a bite, greedy, and all too real. And it seems to he’s forgotten how to stop. It carries on and on until you find yourself submerged in his hands as he sinks you to the sofa with his grip on your waist. 

At a sudden, violent fall, the couch gives way to a horrifying screech, and that’s about the only moment he pulls back for you both to catch a breath. In any case, you’re the most you’ve ever been under his possession—in his arms…

Yeah? And what about his waist… being strangled between your knees and in your mercy?

Right... Silence. 

Sat-up Jaehyun is pressing up against yours and his hands are pulling you closer still. However, the loss of balance slightly gives you a tad bit of a domineering look since, from this position, you look down at him, which is what both of you are all about—a hot mess of a dynamic. Something unanalysable.

Opening your eyes to confront Jaehyun’s after what just happened is an obvious fright. 

Certainly, it’d be yet another serial reminder that you’ve completed a full circle and are back at square one, failing yourself. But, as soon as you open your eyes, and you do open your eyes, all that helps give you the impression that now you two are coming in a full cycle is him and his dumbass dimples. Like, ‘Yes, We are so back!’

Yes… they’re very much sooo back. For someone who indeed makes it hard for you to make out if there’s velvet beneath all of that Rock or all rock under that velvety beauty, the majority of the time his dimples do blow away his cover. Their means is to say that he’s one tender being; more so, not everyone is blessed with dimples; this’s not to say that only special people have them, but it’s a fact of life. And he’s been entrusted to carry this gift, and he’s special, and you know this… and—is just—

That he’s made to contradict; it’s just a side quest of the whole scheme. His eyes seem to shimmer with a fleck of flame, one that feels inextinguishable but all the same kittenish and playful. Of course, you can expect him to get naughtier and act more roguish after a kiss like that. It’s as though someone has finally let him in like a cat through a door.

In case your heart wasn’t in a coma before, it is now.

There’s a faint rose on his cheeks, but what’s of explosive color are again his ears. Needless to say, you can also expect him not to want to address that, as it’s yet another cute, sinister way his body is designed to fail his mysterious self.

In the kiss, you were pretty much the worst enemy he has ever had, and now he’s back to being cute and wagging his tail around you. His angel-filled eyes and sinfully intoxicating, sweet lips effortlessly elicit a smile from you, which means he has overpowered your thirsty lips. Except now you do live along the coast surface of his exploited lips, even past them and inside, and that one fact is doing everything it’s supposed to do, turning you hot and bothered.

The kiss in itself has a strong, lingering aftertaste, just like his scent, and your fingers, nose, waist, and even your knees are the places where you can still feel him. Practically every area of your body has a throbbing pulse—one behind each ear, one on the left side of your neck, one on your right wrist, near veins, inner thighs, arch of your left foot, under your jaw... too many places… You feel like dying. Fuck…

It’s as though the kiss carried his potency, which now floats from neuron to neuron getting lost in your space until it’s drawn you into an empty corner; And you remain there, as sick in the head as you are for him, with your body being hotter than fire for him. You’re losing you again, piece by piece and second by second exactly the way he knew you would. 

For a moment his lips slightly part as if he were going to speak, but he stays silent. You too. Even if you were able to form a thought, it’d be buried in your throat, making it impossible for you to say anything. Rather, you allow this corrupted sensuality to speak for itself as it transmits between your tied bodies.

Your hand trembles a little as you let your fingers approach his face. And when they do land, it’s like touching morning dew; he’s as light as a summer mist. 

Feeling his skin, your eyes follow your fingers with precision as you take in every detail for the thousandth time, like a first time. His silken hair is in disharmony from the makeout so you go to fix that before moving your thumb along his brow to smooth out the mess there too. A plethora of bristly hairs, give or take, submit to your touch. And you look at them as though under a microscope, like a geek with a slight brow fetish, wishing to lick them. You’re obsessed with his eyebrows; if essence is everywhere, it’s also overwhelmingly there too.

But it’s true that you rather concentrate on anything tiny than give Jaehyun your undivided attention… All while he’s watching you and letting you do as you please. Though a heinous smirk does start to flicker across his lips, shifting from one corner to the other, and as soon as you finish adjusting his brow and perhaps are ready to proceed to something else, Jaehyun grabs your wrist, robbing you of your next action.

Bringing your hand lower, and adopting a much comfier, in truth, arrogant position by tilting his head back and resting it on the sofa, he separates your same ‘so generous thumb’, and slowly takes it inside his mouth. 

Heyyyyyyyyyyy—No warning, no fucking not—

You hiss, ready with your “F-” to cuss but bite and swallow the rest of it. Way louder ‘Fuck!Fuck!Fuck!’ stay rippling in your head though, as he takes the finger deeper and deeper and his eyes and lips share the same smile, and 

This m—

The man is too motherfucking happy to stop! That’s what it is. Causing you to frown and tie your brows fucking forever... 

As he coats your thumb in wet, your mouth feels incredibly parched. With every successive push forward to pull you back again, his cheek muscles contract, tense, relax, and hollow out, sucking you in.

Your vision gradually goes haywire, like sugar that has just begun to boil from clear to burnt. With every sensual fluff of his lashes, your heart caramelizes to a deep, rich brown. Between every pull, spit slides, feeling slimy on your skin and sticking like candy. You’re all soft inside, melted and gooey.

Pleasure mounts, and your body is fighting an awful war to stay strong but really it’s giving in. You swear he can feel every nuance of this self-conflict, down to the smallest tingle with each wrap of his tongue round your thumb. All the way down to your pounding heart and bouncing thoughts; All the way—

If it’s of consequence, you know that there’s a hard mental play going on, but now aren’t even in the right frame of mind to consider how much of one. 

Not when his other pair of digits slip beneath your shirt. Not when they trail down your spine like he’s trying to break it, pushing you into an arch. Not when—

You finally manage to drag out your finger from his mouth, sighing and pouting as you say, “J,” ready with something more to say but eventually it gets ripped off your head like anything else. 

Is this beautiful aware of the number of heartbreaks he has caused you?

No—No, can’t! Can’t be thinking about th—you shove aside that thought also and start lowering onto his face and feel his arm wrap tightly around you just below your ribcage, arching you even more into him. Your shirt gets caught in the same way as a theater curtain riding up, exposing more of your skin and he’s the only one seated for the show. A private poetry. 

His fingers graze each hollow space in your ribs, and the rest of the fabrics in between conceive a roughness that drives your skin into tears. The brain-twister is this: Are you tough and resistant, like the denim you wear?

Hmph, definitely not! That success you scripted, though, is over…

Motion generates friction; friction generates heat... your head is filled with smoke. There’s nothing you could possibly use in your head. All it’s made up there now is of abominable thoughts and smoke.

Clinging to his lips by only a few millimeters, you refuse him or yourself to let them come into contact still. Rather let yourself feel his breath on your face and get bruised up because of it. A pain of pleasuring in the company of pain. Yes, this is your self-inflicting prison. This prolonged, delayed intimacy, this sick turn-on... It’s just his rock falling into your heart again, like an ice cube that scuttles past grasping hands and obnoxiously skates into a whisky glass, making a splash out of you. 

Regardless of how crazy or subdued the evening gets, it’s all fucked eventually. It’s fucking messy. However, that’s just the way life is—he’s the only one who has ever told you, ‘It’s okay to be messy, baby… I’m on your side.’ 

Fucking irony… 

Dimly lit, the room is a depressing sight. Little red wine specks cover the couch, appearing to have fallen apart like the holes in some of his shirts. A silver zippo next to an empty ashtray that’s always left with just dust in it. Smudges stain the coffee table, and a pool of melancholy is created at the base of the candle, marking another stain as wax oozes and seeps down the sides. Its honeysuckle scent is so invasive, spreading like a disease in slow motion.

You’re worn down completely and irrevocably. Throwing your head back, a sigh rips from the pit of your stomach. The sound of your ribs snapping in half is like the cozy crackling sound of his record player, taking you back to the vinyl he played for you two weeks ago.

Warm. Pressing at the dip where your collarbones meet, his moist lips feel warm against your skin. And he’s taking his time this time around; his tongue is tamed along your collar line, if not overly lazy. It clings fragilely to your throat, choking you until breathing starts to feel more like a chore than a necessity—until you’re drowning from the carbon dioxide that’s swimming in your veins. 

You pull away for a second just to sail back into the black oily sea of his eyes, saving the sight for later in the week when it’s going to get tough. You both secretly tie to stave off the night for as long as possible but time is a human construct and will spill its numbers on the floor.

Petty, his fingernails dig into your waist on each side, and the tiny, pointy scrapes that pierce your flesh, accidentally trigger your inner underdog.

Mad! You’re not just mad, you’re furious. Angry at having to let him go. Selfish to lose him. You been knew… But, dear god, how are you to do you without him? How are you to subsist without measuring the cosmos in his hands every night before going to bed? And how are you to wake up without his warmth next to you every morning? Or rather that was the idea of you two(?) ​A dream you’ve constructed…

You seem pretty sincere in your uncertainty about what lies ahead for the two of you in the long run. What’s worse, you’re aggressive with it, agressive in your once again glossy eyes and directing them at him to harm him emotionally, physically... psychologically. Then again Jaehyun is repressing his anger internally and handling it as usual. Will deal with it later. He’s so polite with it. Elegant. Or as much as the circumstances permit.

Lightning strikes lightning again, and your entire body starts to tremble as if you’re under a high tide that the ocean has saved for this exact moment. This power he has over you... you call it love. One day, you’ll blink and he’ll be back. And you’ll be sure to wait for that day just like a moon in the sky that waits for nightfall. Is that foolish? It doesn’t concern you because nothing’s fair in love and war anyway. You loved him then, you love him now and you’ll love him forever. But the fact you have to store such lightning in a jar right now is a load of crap.

You dig your finger into his cheeks and lift his jaw in force, causing a slight twitch in your wrist that soon becomes a boiling fit of lust. With a tight jaw and a raised voice, you ask, “What next!!?”

A receipt, please!?

-Double entendres. 

-Double entendres. 

-Double entendres. 

A fleet of insinuations.

What’s next for you two? Where are you headed? But truthfully… For rea—

Smiling lazily in your palm, Jaehyun rolls his lower lip in confidence, and then, all of a sudden, you’re holding bread with scrumptious, detailed dips on both sides.

Feeling a sense of accomplishment in advance of what he’s going to say, his eyes remain fixed on you as he hooks his fingers into the black hair tie that’s been lonesomely hanging around your wrist all this time. Your hand is then gradually forced away from his face so he can take it as he yanks sensually and slowly at it. Dark, luscious flirtation loads every agonizing drag. There’s a crazy calm in his eyes.

‘What’s next?’

The timbre in his voice is enough to smoke you. 

Smirking, “Anything I want.”

A silencer that makes a whisper of the gunshot. A gun which no hunter has it at all… Yeah, there’s not a gun whose sound sounds kind, but there is—

his voice, he

Your face goes momentarily expressionless, and your nostrils flare at the comment. Not only do you not believe what you’re hearing, but you find him puzzling to the point of offense. You give a mild shake, press your lips to your nose in annoyance, and reach over the left side of the couch to retrieve the ‘Hysteric’ cap he tossed earlier, intending to really smack it of his face. 

But when you do swing it, blurting, “Sometimes, I hate both of us,” Jaehyun lets out an adorable laugh and clutching your wrist in time. 

Warming your cheeks, the sun shines straight in your face. His laugh is everything good in this world. In his puffy-eyed smile, comfort springs eternally, much like light. This man alone starts spring. 

He teasingly remarks, “Sometimes…” meaning… not alw— 

His hands reach over your shoulders and he pulls you in again, gathering your hair at the back for ‘no other’ reason than to use that hair tie... 

In the newly created intimacy, his eyes dart over every feature of your face as if he’s soaking it all in like the last golden hours of summer, and in gratitude, his smile gently strokes over each of these details with attractive happiness. He’s a generous artist, and you know this too… Is just—

Quickly, your noses start to collide with every failed attempt he makes to deal with the hair because the more he tries, the more he—

Lip-cuts over cheeks and incessant whines of ‘I can do it. No, you— I can!’s muffled behind ears like long-kept secrets.

“Just give up,” you smile.

“Nuh-uh…” he fights as he tries and tries, “I can’t,” and sporting a damped smile in the bends of your neck. 

To get you where he wants you, every one of his failed ‘hair tie’ attempts is the most phony innocence ever imagined. His lips leave a trail of light, giggly kisses along the ridge of your shoulder, compelling your own hands to work their way up his shoulders, into his nape, and then into his hair. 

Eventually, his hands become less firm and give up, causing his fingers to thread down your hair, yet he still assures you, “Mmmmh… I can do it... 

… For real, though.”

It aches the way he does that! His low voice whispers… Marking you for disaster. A feral panic. The urges his voice alone has conjured up in you long to break free.

Tracing his eyes connect the dots between your goosebumps, your eyes, and your brain, strips you of your body. He’s touching every nerve ending, every inch, and every brainwave. Intimacy is a weird state to be in—too much of it and it ruthlessly takes out everything but the moment. 

The calmness that follows an anxious fury.

The holy restoration of what remains untainted.

You are connected—you and him. Now. Just now, in the history of time itself... 

And if you’re going to kiss him next, it has to unpeel. It needs to undress. It has to lay bare every feeling he fears and strip any hard shell he wears. It has to burn from muscle to bone. A tongue that maps out any doubt, lets it stick to it, and then crushes it under its weight. Exhaust every bad memory. Even so powerful to kill every terrible remembrance. His defenses have to go. They could crawl beneath the sofa and hide there like defeated demons.

Sure, art is hiding behind one pretense or another, but surely it can’t be for all times? 

Hidden feelings, like hidden things, can’t stay hidden, for finding them is where all the whole beauty lies.

You know Jaehyun loves watching you watch him. But sometimes, that’s really difficult. 

You’re at your last grasp for air but still manage to do that; reaching through your hair to his still-tangled hand, you bring it to your lips and gently plant a long kiss on the veiny outer palm.

The unusualness of it; your eyes on his; your mouth there lingering...

Although Jaehyun’s expression suggests it’s something he didn’t expect, it’d be mild to say he’s shocked. When he doesn’t smile for the first time, you want to smile because you find the confusion in his running, empathetic eyes adorable. 

It came with no warning. He had no idea it’d tingle and rush to his center as it does.

Feeling with your other hand on his chest, the ‘silent word of truth’ races his heartbeat.

-

Let’s stop the complications. Let’s do that...

No more wrong, no more selfish, no more too stubborn to keep it a secret…

Let’s

You’re left stroking the space between his thumb and index finger, and in your eyes, this far into the night, your love is the only act of violence. The way he actually robs you of yourself should be studied. Your ‘whole purpose of earlier’ seems to be being yanked out of you and placed neatly in the ‘For later’ compartment.

Jaehyun’s looking at you, aroused in the right place, your head—The smoke’s not cleared, and guess what—he loves to go there,

-

… But perhaps you have your own sneaky way of doing the same…

-

After the hand kiss, his eyes are narrow... wary, like when he can’t read something from a distance. As if he’s in a slump. Spacing out… Comprehending… Perhaps he’s too late to realize...

To help him ‘see’ better, you brush the strands out of his way. Along with the way you subtly rip the corner of your lip, it makes it sound a little shady when you softly ask, “What is it?”

He smiles shyly as he says, “Coome oon,” dragging the word a little and even breaking eye contact, looking downward.

Huh, what is it? Is his shirt print suddenly so interesting!??

Just like he won’t sometimes, you won’t elaborate now either. Not saying anything, the time has come when you get to raise an eyebrow. Getting back his attention, you run a finger down his shirt, feeling the fabric give away to some hard, toned abs. They serve him nothing now...

He’s visibly altered, something you can clearly fucking see.

‘What is it?’ —

The question hangs over him, forcing a deep, deep breath out of him. He then takes hold of your face. His fingertips tap firmly, like an anchor to the sea, landing the skin behind your ear. You can’t be moved by anything other than him. Just-

him.

Flowers sprout from his palm immediately. Their vines snake their way up your legs. And those sweet notes in his voice!?

Nothing quite compares...

“I know you know...”

“Know what… Yun-o?”

-

© 𝟭-𝟰𝟵. do not copy, translate, repost, and modify my works.

[noemilivv]

hey! I hope you’re doing well! I swear you’re like my fav hazbin hotel blog ever!!

could I request something with gn reader x Angel Dust, Alastor, Husk, Lucifer and Vox (exclude someone if they’re too many characters) in which reader comforts them after they have a nightmare?

have a good day 🫶🏻

hey, i’m glad you enjoy my stuff!! ofc i can do that for you!! enjoy ~

Warnings: Nightmares, Mentions of Abuse, Mentions of Valentino, Implied Masc!Reader in Angel’s part, Profanity, Mentions of Sex in Lucifer’s part

Angel Dust

Light. A flash of light is what woke you up. It was coming from the bathroom, groggily, you got up and slugged to the bathroom, only to find your boyfriend standing in front of the sink, washing off his face, a shocked look on his face.

“Baby? You good?” You asked, a bit cautious, approaching him slowly. “Heh. Yeah. Bad dream, y’know?” He mumbled, wiping a small tear from his eye.

You frown. You hate seeing him so upset. “What was it about?”

He sighs, dragging a hand through his hair, “Jus’ the usual, heh. Val.” He says, his voice wavering through his name.

You wrap your arms around him from behind, your head cuddling into his shoulder, “I’ll always be here and love you no matter what, no matter what that prick does to you. I’ll be right here.”

Alastor

You don’t know what was up with you tonight, but you just couldn’t fall asleep, you sat on the other side of the bed, scrolling on your phone, your boyfriend wasn’t much of a cuddler on a regular basis.

But you could feel the shift in energy when his eyes shot open and his body tensed, “Sweetie? Are you okay?”

Alastor combed a hand through his fluffed hair, a smile plastered on his face, giving a small nod, static getting more and more noticeable. “Yes, my love.”

“Bad nightmare?” You asked, Al nodded, “What was it abo-”

“That is for me to know, and don’t you worry you’re pretty little head about it!” Alastor chirped, despite the fact that he’s your partner, sometimes he still feels the need to put on an act.

You placed your hand on top of his, “Well, I’m here if you wanna talk about it.” Alastor tensed up at first, but slowly soothed into the warmth of your love and support.

Husk

It was still dark out when you had woke up, and you noticed Husk was no longer in your arms, you turned to the side to see your lover tossing and turning in the sheets, and unpleasant expression on his sleeping face.

“Husk?” You murmured, shaking him softly. “Husk, baby, wake up.” You shook him again, the pain on his face from whatever dream he was having made you heart tear.

After a few moments of shaking, Husk awoke from his nightmare, sitting up, shaking his head slightly.

“Baby…” You murmured, you’d never seen him like this, “Are you good?”

Husk sighs. “Yeah… Just a shitty dream.” You frown. “Wanna talk about it? I can make some tea, too.”

A smile finds itself on Husks face, “Yeah.. I’d like that.”

Lucifer

“Honey.. Psst… Uhm.. Hi? Wake up, please.. I really need you right now.” You felt your husband shake your shoulder, as he whispered in your ear, “Luci, I’m not in the mood-”

You turned over to look at him, as your husband looked at you, tears pricking in his eyes, his lip trembling as he shook his head. “Not like that... Bad dream..”

“Aww, come here.” You pulled your husband into your arms, no matter how long you were married to him, or how childish others may think it was, you let him cry into your shoulder as you rocked him softly.

“I’m here to listen.” You pecked his cheek. “I love you.”

Vox

You woke up from the noise coming from your boyfriends screen, you look up from his chest, to see a dream playing on his screen, and it’s clearly not a good one.

Tiredly, you trickle to the other side of the bed, unplugging one of his cords, and pressing a few buttons on the back of his head, causing him to awaken.

Vox turns his hands down his screen, groaning, “Fuck… You saw all that?”

You chuckle “Always do.” You smirk at him, although it softens as you put your hand on his back, “Wanna talk about it?”

“In the morning…” Vox says tiredly, before pulling you back to his chest, pecking your forehead, quickly drifting off once more.

[uftopia]

He’s part creeper because Sam looked after him for a week, right? That makes the prison that much worse for me like DAMN

Yes!!!AHHHHH OKAY FOR PEOPLE WHO DONT KNOW I have a cdream headcanon on why I draw him the way I do

Puffy is cdreams mom- not by birth though, and at this point she already has her son foolish. She found Dream deep in a swampy forest that was pulsing with magic. Then, he was just a little blob (the one we love) she takes him in unsure of what to do- but keeps him fed and alive. As days pass, he shifts to become more human looking- and because puffys a hybrid of a sheep, he takes on her features, shifting without meaning to. It’s like making an impression on a baby where they copy your mannerisms but instead it’s looks!

But of course, with puffy being an active pirate, she leaves town for weeks or months at a time. And the first time she left for a voyage with Dream around, it was around a month. She left him with awesam

Dream, still developing like a human baby, shifts to look like sam, who’s part creeper. He becomes green, gains paws, claws, and a longer more cat like tail. He keeps the horns and ears, but they’ve straightened out slightly. He still has curlier sheep’s wool hair and tail.

When puffy gets back, of course she’s confused like ?? Wtf this is my baby ?? What happened ?

And I have another hc on top of that that cschlatt is related to puffy in some way, like her brother, and Sam desperately tried to get him too look after Dream a ltitle so he would at least keep most of his sheepy features, but schlatt is schlatt

AND over time, unable to shift as much as he did before as a baby, just picks up on subtleties of his friends. He used to have puffys white hair, but gains a light brown color from sap and George, and his straight horns take from sapnap

It’s one of my fav hcs of mine