#i have spent a considerable amount of time doing the same thing

[allthingsobrien]

colin robinson spending an entire episode trying to get the “updog” joke to land is the most relatable thing ever lmao

[tarjapearce]

Like Me Pt. 2

Tarzan! Miguel O'Hara x Scientist ! Reader

Art by Rendraws21 on X

WARNINGS: Mildly suggestive, power dynamics, emotional distress, endangering situations, Kraven being an asshole.

Summary: Your savior proves himself to be very much real.

A|N: Hope you like! I know you're waiting smut. Just bare with it! ;w; Reblogs and feedback are always welcome ❤️

Previous Miguelverse Main Masterlist

Kraven didn't dally and ordered the camp to be settled. The spot was rather good. A prime source of water and food next to you all, soil sturdy and perfect for withstanding the hard hammering of the tools that nailed the bases for the tents.

And after hours of bickering, russian cursing, more work and the crew doctor patching your arm up, the camp was settled and food served.

Each bite not only felt heavenly, but was scarfed down. You couldn't care less if Peter looked your way, mildly disgusted and surprised of your manners, or rather the lack of them while eating.

It was the least you deserved after surviving a ship sinking, getting lost in the jungle, being chased by a giant Jaguar and a man that left more questions than answers.

Who was he? More important, How had he survived all these years on his own?

After a second plate and extra slices of bread, one of the men approached and announced the readiness of your tent. One of the things you asked in your contract. To have your own, cause as much as you trusted Peter, there was nothing better than to have your own space and privacy in the midst of an unhealthy amount of testosterone surrounding you.

"We've eaten, replenished, and blah blah. What happened?" Peter mumbled while picking his and your plate together.

You shook your head softly as another crew member passed by. You didn't trust them, and Kraven had proved to be unpredictable.

One minute he cared for his crew and the other he was leaving you to fend for yourselves. But as long as you did your job, you wouldn't be part of the russian's guessing dangerous games.

"Kraven said we'd have to make do with the little tools we have. He spent a good time of the day trying to get some signal for the radio."

"Any luck?"

"None so far." Peter mumbled as he took your things inside your tent.

A hammock was the bed, a few boxes and other storage things were placed in a corner. A chalkboard and your investigation books in another corner and against all odds, a little broken mirror that acted as a poor attempt of a vanity ontop of another wooden box. Your hairbrush rested next to it. Whoever arranged it, at least had the consideration to make it as comfortable looking as possible.

In total, you had a couple of shirts and skirts left to use. The rest remained on the sea, floating and drifting away with unknown course.

Peter excused to go change himself and you seized the chance to do the same. Catching a cold in the jungle wasn't in your priorities list. Not with reduced medicine and victuals.

You put on a dry set and combed your hair out as much as you could. Peter joined you a couple of minutes later.

The fire cracked and sparked alive as the crew surrounded it. The day had been chaotic at best and everyone tried to soothe the nerves in their own way. Some drank, others sang, others talked and soon Kraven joined.

Others simply went to sleep. Too tired to keep up after a well deserved meal.

"So..." Peter started while sitting before you, a rag and some tubs on his hands. He was cleaning the remaining pieces of your equipment.

"Promise me you won't talk to anyone about this. And I mean it, Parker."

"I'm a geologist, not a snitch."

"I'm... kinda scared of what might happen if Kraven finds out"

"Now you're scaring me.  What happened back there?"

"I know... who killed the beast Kraven is skinning." A gulp rolled down your throat upon remembering the lurid scene displaying before your eyes

"Wait... you said, who?"

A nod from you and Peter paled.

"We're not alone, that's for sure."

Peter rubbed his hands against his face, an exasperated groan escaped him.

"He's taller than Kraven."

"Bullshit." Peter mumbled almost immediate, surprised at your words.

"I'm not bullshittin' you Parker!" You had to hush your voice and soon grabbed a sketch notebook and begun tracing and drawing.

"He's freaking tall, long hair and he's naked. Well, not naked but a loincloth is everything but clothes if you think about it."

Peter frowned suspiciously as his hand pressed on your skin, to see if your body temperature had increased. Jungle fever was one of the worst things a human could suffer when away from their homeland. Cause he refused to believe anything of the nonsense that came out of your mouth was true.

A man taller than Sergei? Impossible. He was tall, but Sergei had been one of the tallest and well built men he had ever came across with.

"What are you doing?" You pushed his hands away and frowned.

"I'm sorry, I do want to believe you but.."

"I'm telling you the truth, Pete! He had... This... red hue on his eyes and fangs!"

"Fangs?" The incredulity in Peter couldn't be hidden the more he listened to your apparent rave.

"He's fucking strong, Pete. He was holding that beast by his tail! and then fought body to body against it! and He's so damn touchy. No respect for personal space!."

"And what? He smashed the jaguar to death and then kissed you?"

"Yes!" You nodded but quickly frowned when Peter tittered on his seat, unable to keep the mirth away.

"Why are you laughing?!"

"I'm sorry. You know we've been friends since college, but you seriously can't expect me to believe that, Dally."

A short for Dalhberg. The surname that put your name out in the researcher's map in London, upon discovering and naming another type of daisy and named it after you. The Dalhberg Daisy.

"You believe in the freaking Queen but refuse to believe in this?"

"I believe in the Queen's acquisitive power, nothing else. Cause I've seen it!" He explained, skeptical.

You showed him the sketch and shoved it to his hands.

"Look at that! That's exactly how he looks like!"

Peter sighed and raked over his eyes on the semi-crumpled paper sheet. Sharp features, a strong jaw and deep eyes.

"Yeah, a haircut would make him look better though." he chuckled, "Look, I know it's been a long day for us... let's rest, ok? We've got another tomorrow."

With a frown you removed the sketchbook away and tossed it on the makeshift vanity.

"He's real." you pointed at the sketchbook

"Okay, okay. He's real. We can discuss it all tomorrow when we're less tired, alright?"  He held your shoulders, trying to ease your rising anger.

But you quickly removed his hands from you, hurt that your best friend didn't believe you. "Whatever. Goodnight."

Peter left with a defeated sigh and soon you cuddled in your hammock.

"I know he's real." With a huff, you pushed the pillow closer to your face, letting the day's weight to finally crash on you.

-----

The loud bangs of a gunshot echoed through the bright blue skies, frightening any local fauna that rested comfortably, like you, that nearly fell out the hammock from the initial jumpscare.

With a heavy exhale, and rub of your eyes you geared up for the day.

This time Kraven was thoughtful enough to give you a weapon. A small knife with enough sharp to slice and dice through anything weak enough to perish under the blade.

And soon everyone gathered to the morning structions. Kraven split up the crew in three parts. The first group of men would go to the beach to recover as much equipment as they could. The second group would be in charge to set up traps and hunt down for food. And the third one, meaning Peter, you, two more men and himself would go explore and study the jungle in order to gain any sort of information of new potential species.

You carried a small backpack, filled with your sketchbook, pencils, some essay and sample tubes and some snacks in case Kraven decided to return until dinner time.

And after a quick breakfast of oatmeal and fruits, everyone left.

Peter walked behind Sergei, guiding the group whenever the mercenary asked him to. You were in the middle as the other two men trailed with their guns behind.

Morning slowly poured into hours. Tortuous, running at the speed of a snail. Each breathing felt like adding more to the waiting, bringing your nerves to a much annoyed stance.

But it quickly melted away upon finding your first discovery.

The grass laid pressed in a circular pattern on the ground. The leaves were placed strategically, as if used as cushions in great amounts. A couple of fruit carcasses laid next to them. Discarded and forgotten.

"Look at that" The excitement in your voice beyond evident. You crouched to see if there was any other clues to your growing suspicion.

Kraven and Peter stopped upon you crouching to the floor.

"What is it?" Kraven pulled his gun from it's holster and walked over you.

"These are nests!"

"Nests?" His brow quirked and you nodded vigorously, to then count the spots. Around six in total.

"You know what that means? They live in packs! Gorillas live in packs!"

"About damn time we found something." Kraven nodded, pleased as he helped you up to then mark a spot in his map.

"Good job, Dalhberg."

Praised the mercenary before moving.

--

When the sun got high enough and Peter discovered some other findings like rare minerals, the group decided to take a break nearby a lake.

The five of you sat down and ate whatever thing you got left from breakfast.

Once you were done, you took your backpack, pencil and sketchbook with you.

"Where are you going?" Kraven grumbled after gulping down the water from his canteen.

"Saw some specimens of plants Id like to register. Won't take long."

"You better return as soon as possible, understood?"

The mercenary warned and you nodded while walking away from the tree. Excited to partake in the things you were brought and paid to do.

Your first specimen was a moss plant, then a new type of orchid. A fish, some birds and more plants. Even though you studied everything alive, the plants were your speciality.

You put the little backpack in a a nearby trunk as you sat down to draw yet another orchid. The place seemed flooding with them.

Engrossed beyond wits to notice you had drifted off a bit too far from the group and a little too late a baboon sniffing and ransacking your backpack.

"H-Hey! Hey! -The baboon took the backpack away, excited and driven by the tinkling within "Get back here!"

The animal hopped on the trees before you could catch it, with graceful and effortless agility, to finally stop to a sturdy looking and serpent-like shaped trunk above the middle of a swamp.

As much as you wanted to let the monkey get away with it all, you didn't want to face Kraven's anger for losing the last bit of equipment and delay the investigation. You didn't know when the next ship would arrive. None did actually.

It's hoots and chirping only increased the more things he pulled out of your backpack. The tubs shattered as they fell off.

"Stop it!" you shrieked while hopping onto the trunk with wobbly and uneven steps.

The monkey hooted louder until it started shrieking, as if mocking you whenever your balance failed and you were forced to crawl over the top.

"God, I swear... if I catch you, I'm so making an article on how annoying you are!"

The baboon just screeched at your silly threat once more before leaving your backpack pending from a twig as he jumped way through the stretched branches that favored him like open arms, with your bag of seeds.

Your breath hitched when the trunk creaked and some cracking around the base perked up your ears.

Shit.

You couldn't stop and return crawling from where you came from, not when the backpack was oh so close to be reached and your nightmare to be over.

With a deep breath, you crawled closer and closer. Paused breaths turned controlled, but quickly grunted when the hem of your skirt stuck in a jagged branch.

"No, no" You whined and pulled away, the trunk creaked harder and you immediately hugged the trunk.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck-" with a firm yet calculated yank, you ripped the fabric away, freeing yourself although losing a good chunk of front coverage.

A thunderous crack made your breath hitch and you moved forward as the trunk stuttered midair. It was then your eyes actually considered the generous and dangerous distance from your position to the murky water. But the backpack dangling before you, edged you to take a risky decision.

Or you took the backpack and threw it on land, hoping to take the least damage as possible or jumping to that other branch to avoid falling to the water.

None of them happened as the tree dipped forward, and with a dying groan, the cracks widened, tearing the feeble base of the trunk, unable to support your weight any longer.

As in slow motion, you saw the murky water closer and closer and closer, until nothing but darkness swallowed you whole. Cold and muddy water hit you, suffocating your body with enraged water that fought hard to drown you.

Your hands were the only thing that made it out as they failed. The sub aquatic flora begun their tangling in your boots and legs, pulling you down.

Your lungs burned as some water seeped through, the backpack sunk deeper and deeper. Like a sacrifice in exchange of your life. Because a strong pair of tanned hands pulled you with a powerful yank by the forearm, out of the water before death and crocodiles owned it.

Your head too dizzy to actually understand what was happening. Your eyes could only see the landscape sliding smoothy underneath your feet, like if you were flying.

Am I dead? Dead people don't fly, do they?

You shrieked as soon as your eyes looked upwards. Powerful and solid thighs held tightly on the growing vines, that spurted from underneath the gigantic trees, as one of his hand took your arm gently to suddenly pull you up in the air and catch you in his arms.

Your instincts told you to hold onto him as the other survival mode blared with danger alarms. The massive wall of solid muscles he had for a body was warm, full of scars and plush hair that did nothing but welcome your dizzy head on his chest.

The man quirked a brow at your sudden state. He frowned and quickly got over the foliage of a tree, before the pouring rain trapped you both.

You were put with ease against the solid and definitely not rotting trunk, and your body lurched to the side to expell away the swallowed water, clearing your airways.

A firm slap from his hand made your lungs to finally get some air as you gasped and coughed, all the while he watched you curiously.

You were drenched, against a tree, clothes sticking way too intimately against your shivering body, breathing like you were a first born, raged and fast. Lungs burned less.

Eyes finally widened when recognizing the man before you. Some fresh scars littered his Greek-god type physique.

"T-Thank you." You mumbled through clattering teeth and forced yourself to take a deep inhale to control the rising anxiety.

He grunted and approached. One of his hands slid gently under your chin to take a hold of your cheek. Your head instinctively melted into his heavenly body heat, and your eyes dared to shut for a minute. Relishing in the irradiating warmth his calloused hands provided.

He's so warm.

As if sensing the good deed, the man rubbed his hands on your cold arms, mindful of the patches around your arm, a couple of times before going back up to your cheeks and neck.

You gasped as soon as his hands were placed on your chest. His hands gently palming your breast but quickly let them go upon feeling your hardened nipples. You quickly covered your chest

He watched his hands, as if inspecting them for any damage when he felt the hardened nub, to then return to your arms, prying them away from your chest.

"Wait!"

You shrieked and he took both of your wrists with one hand and hovered them above your head, squishing them against the tree, softly. His eyes raked and took in every feature of you, before stopping at your chest again.

Your breath hitched as he slid the other hand inside your shirt. Cheeks turned impossibly warmer when he took one of your breasts and pulled it out of their confinements.

He examinated the perky mound with puppy wonder-like curiosity and then looked down his own chest. He frowned. His didn't swell like yours did.

"Wh-What are you doi-" you bit your lip as he poked your nipple, sniffed it and licked it. Earning a short mewl from you.

The sound startled him and he let you go.

"T- That's not a polite thing to do!" 

You quickly put the breast back and swung your hand to slap him. You had to admit his reflexes were something else cause it caught it before it collided against his face.

"How dare you?!" You struggled to let your hand go, but stopped your outburst when his eyes watched your hands and brought them before his ever curious face.

His own hand reached up, and placed itself before yours, comparing the stretched and long digits against your smaller ones. They weren't the same size, that was much true, but the texture and lines he had were the same on yours.

His eyes shone brighter than any  bewilderment. His mind had finally clicked together at the sudden epiphany that flooded his brain.

You were like him.

He pursed his lips before letting out an excited grunt. He backed away to create enough space for his arms to move freely.

He pointed to himself and spoke with the deepest yet excited voice he could manage.

"Miguel."

Your eyes went wide and you approached. He tried again while pointing at his chest.

"Mi guel."

"Miguel." His nose flared proudly and his throat grunted happily.

"Oh! I see!"

His ears perked up upon hearing your name.

"OhIsee!" He repeated.

But you quickly corrected him, with your name as you pointed to yourself and then called his name as you pointed at him.

A buttery crawl rolled down your spine as he mumbled your name.

"Exactly." you smiled.

He cupped your face again and mumbled your name once more. However, the sound of a gunshot tearing through the skies disrupted his attention from you and stood at the edge of the branch.

"Kraven" You gasped. Completely forgetting about him and the group.

Oh no...

Trouble was a tiny word of the deep neck shit you were into. Another shot rippled through, frightening the birds in the ratio.

"Kraven!" He repeated, excited.

Extraordinary. There wasn't any word to describe him better. He took you back, trapping you in between his muscular thighs and swinging through vines.

The more you approached the camp, the clearer you saw this massive black and brown spots moving away from the settlement.

Your hearth thumped with violence upon finally standing before a small group of gorillas, sniffing and hooting softly upon seeing Miguel.

Your savior wasted no time in pulling you closer to them. You shook your head, rightfully frightened.

"No, no, no wait!"

The gorillas huffed to then sniff your head, your clothes. Some even pulled at your hair softly, others examinated the clothes you were in.

Another gunshot echoed closely this time and it was loud enough to spook out the beasts out that pulled Miguel with them. You could only watch him, wide eyed, expectant. But he left.

"Miguel..."

----

Kraven wasn't one for losing his temper with women. But you, had the annoying ability to make his patiece turn to dust in the least opportunes of moments.

"I asked you, where the fuck have you been?!"

He dragged you to the center of the crew and threw you on the floor.

"I told you, I almost drowned! Why do you think I'm like this?!"

Kraven spat a few words in his native language under his breath and grunted

"You lost your equipment, didn't you?"

"I... I tried to get it back but I almost drown in the swamp, Sergei!" you explained with nothing but the truth

"You can't swim, don't you bullshit me.!"

"I'm telling you the truth!"

"Then how you survived!?"

Peter frowned as he looked at you.

"I was saved. Ok? A man saved me!"

"A man?"

"He's... Not like us. He's taller than you and he saved me!" you kept pressing, hoping the angered mercenary understood that you didn't do anything in purpose to upset him.

"He knows how to swing through the vines! And dropped me here! His name is Miguel. "

Everyone stared with derision at you and Peter seemed concerned you stuck with your story so bad to the point of risking your own neck and reputation.

Kraven' brows furrowed into a scowl and soon he pulled his revolver out and pointed at you.

Your face turned to panic, as your hands rose shakily.

"A savage named Miguel helped you?"

"He did! Otherwise you'd still be looking for me."

Kraven snorted without removing the gun's aim from your body.

"Funny you think I'd waste my resources to look up for a stupid woman like you."

"Please, you have to believe me! I saw gorillas around the camp!"

Kraven removed the safety pin from the revolver, as if peeved you'd waste his time and resources into being an idiot and not doing your work as he required.

Time was ticking and he still had no news, and for you to be fantasizing about savages and doing stupid things such as endangering yourself had proved you weren't reliable.

"You're not reliable, anymore, Dahlberg."

"No! Sergei listen to me-"

He pointed the gun once more to you "I can't keep unreliable people within my crew."

"I'm not lying!" You pleaded with all your might and tears in your eyes, "Miguel is-"

Before Sergei could push the tip of his revolver on your head and shoot, the earth underneath rumbled, as Miguel fell in between you.

Real.

Kraven stepped back as the imaginary savage was now fully standing before him. His head had to crane up to meet his burning ember eyes.

Miguel's lips snarled at him, showing his fangs and beating his chest. A clear challenge for him to fight him.

A collective round of gasps echoed through the men, but when Miguel bared his teeth, they all pulled their guns and pointed at him

"Stop!" You yelled and quickly scrambled to your feet to take Miguel's hand and shake your head with determination.

"Don't hurt him!"

Peter immediately got himself before you and rose his arms, showing he was no armed.

"I'm sure we can reach an agreement here without filling eachother with bullets, gentlemen"

"Shut up, Parker!" Sergei seethed and with a deep flare of his nose, pointed the gun at Miguel again, but Peter grabbed the weapon and the shot tore through the air again.

"Kraven" Miguel grumbled at the gun shot sound.

Said mercenary could only watch him, nonplussed for a moment. While you, again, stood your ground before the behemoth of a man. Attempting your best at protecting him.

"Have... we met before?" Kravinoff spoke confused.

"I told you he could speak! And he is real!"

Miguel remained glued at your side. Everyone slowly put their weapons down as Kraven approached to take a proper look at Miguel, fascinated by his sheer size and build.

Peter had to admit, that it was the last time he'd ever doubt your words.

"You said you had seen gorillas?"

Again, you nodded and Miguel repeated the word.

"Miguel knows them. He could help us."

"Help us? The man barely understand us, but... It's better than nothing I suppose."

Sergei scrunched his face in confusion as Miguel took strands of your hair and sniffed them, his senses awakening in pure adrenaline. Throat grunted approvingly.

"Yeah... kind of understand the personal space thing now." Peter cleared his throat behind you. The rest kept looking to see but quickly were dismissed by their leader.

"Oh, shut up." You grumbled nervously as Miguel pulled your head to his chest once more, to listen to his powerful heartbeats.

"Yeah, it's very very nice." You chuckled nervously with a soft flush creeping your cheek.

"Nice." He repeated.

Kraven could only watch but if he was the link towards the gorillas, he'd seize the chance in every way he could.

"He's way smarter than you think."

"We're running against time, how would he understand us, Dhalberg?"

Miguel moved to inspect Kraven, mimicking his gestures effortlessly. Earning a giggle from you.

"Leave that to me."

-------

Taglist:

@yhrlocalcyprus @nommingonfood @literatiastray @call-me-nyxx @gennirose @loonalockley @danubliat @marit332 @beabfleab @l3lazeit @lililapuce @prollyanvycchi @huehuehuehuehehe @nanamiscunt @ncj2837ndjcj @leviswifey-act62 @migueloharacumslut @migshusben @freehentai @animequeen4

@del-ightfulling @angel-of-the-moons

[dimepdf]

★  𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐀𝐋𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐁𝐄𝐓. + 𝐌𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐄𝐋 𝐎'𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀

masterlist. / taglist. / tip jar. synopsis. miguel o’hara and the nsfw alphabet challenge.

─── ☆ notes. anyone got a slime tutorial link to the new movie yet? . | — feedback is always welcomed & don't forget to reblog 🤍

─── ☆ length. 1.5k (11 min read).

─── ☆ genre and warnings. +18 nsfw under the cut. minors dni | headcanon's | not movie canon | no movie spoilers | creampies | facials | cum play | jerking off | oral sex | eye contact | body worship | size kink | height difference | over stimulation | edging | jealousy | teasing | possessiveness | marking | biting | slight sub/dom | cuddling | let me know if I missed any | not beta'd.

A= Aftercare (what they’re like after the act)

Miguel isn’t the type to wind down that quickly, but he is extremely considerate of your feelings and well-being, most of the time he’s making sure you're okay. Especially since the last thing he ever wants is to make you seem unwanted after having sex with him.

That being said, it did take him a while to get used to the whole cuddling and comfort thing. You swear, at the beginning of your relationship, it was like trying to hug one big bear, but as you two spent more time together, he started to crave just having you wrapped in his arms and listening to your heartbeat every now and then.

B= Body part (favorite body part their own or their lovers)

He could go on and on about how much he loves every part of you; seriously, you could tell because of how much he cannot keep his hands off of you, but realistically, his answer in the back of his mind is your mouth and thighs. He’s so down bad. 

Whenever you try talking to him, you always catch him staring at your lips like he’s just starving to kiss you. It's the same situation with your thighs as well. Sometimes you would be standing around the house in the mind of a conversation and suddenly feel Miguel’s fingers groping the plush of your thighs, gawking at your legs like he has no home training.

C= Cum (anything that has to do with it) 

Oh brother, this man is a mess in the head, he loves, I mean loves, to see you covered in his cum: facials, creampies, you name a place on your body for him to cum on, and he’ll do it with pleasure.

There’s just something about seeing your soft brown skin painted with traces of him all over your body, especially when he would cum inside you. His favorite thing to do is spread your legs and watch it spill out, only to push it all back in and give you another load. 

D= Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory)

Miguel is a very pent-up possessive man, no matter what he does, he just can't get enough of you, which leaves him feeling extremely needy whenever you're gone or just don't feel in the mood. He would just jack off at the thought of you to relieve himself.

E= Experience (do they know what they’re doing)

You had expected him to come from around the entire block from the easy he would pick you up and fuck you, but surprisingly, Miguel only really had a handful of partners in his past—nothing too extreme. 

F= Favorite position

He says he isn't really picky, yet somehow you always end up with your stomach pressed against some surface. Most of the time he sees no point in containing himself, plus weight isn't really an issue on his behalf. Whenever your legs give out from standing, he’ll just pick your ass up as if you weighed absolutely nothing and keep the same pace.

G= Goofy (how serious are they)

He likes to completely mirror your emotions or help you ease up more. He's very big on paying attention to the smallest detail, so if you're someone who feels a little anxious or nervous, no matter how many times you two have had sex, he needs to break that broadening act to crack a few dry jokes or shower you in compliments to make you feel more comfortable.

H= Hair (grooming habits)

This man is covered in dark hair from chest to toe. He doesn't really find the amount of body hair alarming, but he doesn't like to upkeep his pubic hair a bit, especially giving himself a trim whenever he wears his spider suit. He just doesn't really care that much to shave it all off, but if you asked him too, he wouldn't mind much.

I= Intimacy (in the moment romantic or rough/dirty) 

He’s pretty reluctant to be overly smothering, with his inmate moments just coming out of the blue, especially with his cold attitude. Most of the time, when you think he’s tense, he’ll switch, turn around, and start praising you. Sometimes he doesn't realize it, but most of the time it's always after he feels like he went a bit too far with degrading you, so he switches up just to even it all out with praise and saying how good you make him feel while holding eye contact.

J= Jack off (do they masturbate and how often)

Miguel just has the habit of stressing himself out all the damn time, and half of the time it's always over him being too worked up. Whenever he has a moment alone and you just can't be there, he likes to turn to his memory of you to help work off some of his tension.

K= Kink (kinks what they like possibly unusual)

Marking. I’m talking biting, scratches, hickeys, and God forbid Miguel sees the fingerprint bruises forming on your hips after he lets you ride him. Just the thought of having traces of him all over you makes that possessive switch in him go haywire.

Size kink. He’s a big guy through and through, and no matter what, he makes sure to remind you of your size difference. Blessed tall and broad, standing next to you, he’s practically a brick wall with the audacity to have a big dick.

Eye contact. Dear Lord, you better hope you laid down in one of his favorite positions and he hasn't fucked the common sense out of you by the time you're about to cum because Miguel will twist you like a hot pretzel and have you begging like your life depended just to hear you say his name and while you look into his eyes.

L= Location (where they like to get it on)

Anywhere with privacy and on every surface he could reach—floor, wall, upside—doing the splits, Miguel damn near used webs to find a way to have you against him.

M= Motivation (things that makes them tick/turn ons)

Miguel will get turned on by the smallest of things: you stretching near him, you wearing his clothes, you looking at him, you saying his name in a certain way, you, you, you. It's like he has brain rot, and you're all he can think about.

But he also likes it when you get angry or annoyed with him; there's just something about you snapping at him and trying to put him in his place that gets him going.

N= No (turn offs or absolutely won’t do)

Pegging, piss and poop. 

O= Oral (receiving or giving and how skillful they are) 

He loves giving more than receiving, mostly because he prefers it. There’s just something about teasing and edging you until you can't handle it anymore that leaves him wanting to lay you back and spread you open for hours on end.

But if you're offering, it's completely your loss. Miguel loves sitting back and watching you struggle trying not to gag or fit him entirely down your throat; either way, it's a free show for him.

P= Pace (how fast they are and how long they last in bed)

Whenever he’s feeling less merciful and wants to spice things up from the usual fucking you until your lace sweats off type sex, he loves to just see how long he can push you to the edge (which is a lot more days than you’d like to think), and he will be petty and take it super slow just to see your body twitch and squirm for more of his attention.

Q= Quickie (do they prefer fast and hard)

Even if you're the one offering quickies, it always ends up with you having to reschedule your plans.

R= Risk (do they like to try new things)

He’s open to new ideas but never really offers any himself. Miguel completely trusts you and is willing to do whatever you want for your pleasure, but just know that nothing at the end of the day will get him off but you.

S= Stamina (how many times they can go and how long each round lasts)

You have to remind him most times that you don't have the same enhanced superhuman abilities as he does. No matter how many times he tries to make you cum in just one night. You swear sometimes it's like you're fighting for your fucking life just to catch one five-minute break.

T= Toys (are they game for using sex toys on themselves or lovers)

Is the type to feel a bit insulted if you ever mentioned having one or using one until you would regret offering him to use a vibrater on you. Like you handed a murder a knife the moment he found your rose toy and figured out how to use it. 

U= Unfair (how do they tease or do they enjoy suspense themselves)

There is no sex without a bit of teasing with Miguel; he definitely pushes you a lot just to get a reaction out of you normally, so doing it in bed only comes naturally to him, and if you're not begging, he ain't giving. 

V= Volume (are they loud, what sounds, and do they talk)

He does not shut the fuck up! You will hear him, whether it's grunting on top of you, raspy whimpering in your ear, or talking you through it. Miguel is very vocal, just not as loud with his moans since he prefers to hear yours instead.

W= Wild card (random sin cannon of any sort)

Has absolutely no issues with letting you ride him with the suit on. 

X= X-ray (what’s down below in dem pants)

Slightly less tanned than his skin tone, with a slight curve to the left, and too girthy for his own good.

Y= Yearning (sex drive level)

Surprisingly, not that high, especially since he isn't a really big PDA person and the only time he ever gets worked up is in the comfort of privacy.

Z= Zzzz (do they sleep after if so how quickly after)

Sometimes you have to trick him into falling asleep with you. Dude has really bad insomnia, but having you all cuddled up next to him really helps with his shit sleeping schedule.

🔖 ...

tap here to be added to taglist.

[brilium]

❥ K I N K T O B E R 2 0 2 3

Masterlist

➽──────────❥

❥ DAY 3. Camgirl! with Eren Jaeger

Summary. Eren got you a tulip necklace on your birthday, one that you never take off, not even during your livestreams on a secret site at night. And Eren could recognize that necklace anywhere.

Content Warning. Fem! reader, no use of y/n, all characters are adults, smut, use of a toy, overstimulation, maturbation (both receiving).

Word count. 3,056.

MINORS OR AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT !!

Seeing how you get so excited by receiving something so small and simple as a necklace with the shape of a tulip makes Eren's heart throb uncontrollably from excitement.

He created all the design from zero, keeping in mind one time where you told him that your favorite flower was the tulips. Every minute of designing it and working long shifts to pay it totally worth it when you jumped on his arms giggling about how grateful you were to have a bestfriend like him.

Even though he had some girlfriends in the past, his big crush on you never disappeared completely.

Small touches and risky jokes about how it would be if you both would start dating were the farthest that he achieved to make you blush and think a little of the idea of dating him.

This was making him go crazy, but he enjoyed those moments when you kept hugging him longer and tighter than usually.

Some weeks later after giving you that gift —and loving the fact that you never take it off— he came home early from Uni tired from his assignments. All that he wanted was just to find something to distract himself a little and forget about all his final projects piling up on his desk.

Looking at the clock it was still too soon before Armin came home from work, and the games on his console were updating.

Since he was alone, stressed and single, he opened a tab with a particular logotype that he usually only opens late at night. He reminds himself that it will be quick and just to relax a little before starting working on his lab reports. 

Anyways— the neckline that you chose to wear today combined with the necklace were calling for his eyes all day, almost feeling like you noticed the way his eyes darted down in the middle of your conversations.

While fighting with his inner thoughts, he starts to scroll down with a blush on his face.

There were the usual miniatures of the typical plots, maybe it was on his saturated brain but any of those titles or previews were particularly calling for his attention. 

When he clicked back to the top of the page, the option of "Livestream" awakened an interest in him. 

He didn't usually watch those thanks to being used to watching this kind of stuff at night since his schedule and Armin's were almost the same, which led to not having too much time alone at home.

But today things were a little bit in his favor, so he clicked on it. 

There was a top ones where you could only access if you paid a fortune for it, so he scrolled more to find the ones of the "Rising stars", one of them was called "TulipGarden" which made him smile at the sudden thought of you coming to his mind.

When he checked the profile, there was only a cutted photo of a girl in a red bra. The photo only showed her smile and her breasts, which gave him a small hint that the girl was cute, so he clicked it and paid a considerably smaller amount to enter.

Eren throws his head back sighing while the charging screen loads the stream, it's the first time he does this and it feels a little weird. Connie once confessed that he spent like 200 dollars on a cam girl he used to follow. He's not the kind of guy who crushes instantly on a hot girl like his friend, so this might be a one time thing.

"Oh! Welcome to the stream, KrugerSoldier!"

The sound of that familiar soft voice drives a cold shiver through his spine, causing him to straighten on his seat and look immediately at the screen in a way that makes his head go dizzy for some seconds.

There you are. Well, a part of you, since half of your face is covered with a white burlesque mask. But he could recognize that voice anywhere, just like that hair, those lips, that skin, and specially: that necklace.

Eren has to bite his lower lip when his eyes can't get off from how that necklace swings between the curve of your clothed breasts with a white lingerie while you lean over to the screen to read the comments. Letting all the viewers see how good your tits hang almost exposed.

Thankfully, he chose as nickname the last name of a friend of the family who used to take care of him when he was a child, so you don't know yet that it's your best friend. 

Sorry, Sir Kruger, hope anyone who knows you finds about this username.

"Okay, since there are some new guests on my stream I'll repeat the donation goals!" Since you were seated again on the chair, Eren's attention got back again to your masked face. "Listen carefully! I won't repeat it, okay?"

Eren nods completely stunned even if you can’t see him. At this point he doesn't even care if Armin comes and opens the door to find him in such a compromising situation.

“Well, as you know, through the donations you can control my… toy” Your face gets blushed, even if your cheeks are half covered, the viewers can notice the cute blush growing on them. They love to see your shy reactions previous to the show of how the lust gets all over you, causing the notifications to start blowing a little and make you bite your lip as you close your eyes, throwing your head back. “Yeah… Just like that”

The donations are just like one or five dollars, so the vibrations aren’t intense, but enough to have you already squirming on your seat struggling to keep talking, you can only whine and thank them for the donations with a broken voice. 

Oh.

So she's into that.

Eren’s reaction is not far from yours with his head thrown back like yours, his hand is already squeezing softly his hard cock above his gray sweatpants and the soaked spot on his boxers might betray him soon. 

Your voice is coming out stained, trying to keep talking through the stimulation of the small pink toy vibrating inside your core as the notifications keep coming.

“G-God! Fuck…” The notifications stopped a little, but the insane wave of them interrupted your words by leaving you breathing hard as you try to recompose and hols the border of your desk to look again at the screen. “Y-You missed me a lot, as I see. Well, as I was saying–”

Kruger Soldier has donated 30 dollars!

A louder “Ding!” resonates on the stream along with the high pitched moan coming out from your mouth as the strong vibrations invade you for some seconds.

You squirm on the gaming chair like you’re trying to escape from the small toy buzzing inside you, covering your mouth and trembling as the site blows a banner saying “Congratulations! Second goal achieved: Getting off from the underwear!”

Even if Eren’s aching cock is already being tortured by his hand stroking it harshly up and down, he’s surprised about how hard the vibrations were sent due to his high donation.

Truth has to be said, he planned to just donate 20 but his finger slipped while he was freeing his erection from his pants. 

But he’s not complaining when he sees you sliding down the braces of your bra with a lustful smile, biting your lip while your body is still trembling.

“I see that the new one is a little eager, huh? If you keep that peace I might think of giving you a reward…” His eyes widen, not only by knowing that you’ll reward him if he spends his entire wallet on making you squirm in front of hundreds of strangers, but also by the sight of your bare tits on display for him.

He has fantasized a lot about seeing you naked when he’s touching himself like now. Imagining how they would bounce after taking off your bra while you ride him, and that thought can finally be checked on his list of fantasies— at half, at least.

He lets out a  stained moan coming from his mouth squeezing himself a little harder seeing how you shake them in front of the camera. His mind is going more dizzy right now, he could die right now and he’d be totally happy that his last view is how good that necklace looks between your breasts.

And when you shake them on camera? God— He might fucking cum already.

Best fucking present in the world.

The notifications start to blow again, getting a little higher numbers just to get you on the sweet edge of pleasure just like always. 

An idea comes to your mind since there's such a good welcome this time, and you take a quick glance to the bed behind you.

Your desk is just in front of your bed, just for ease when the streams get a little more heaty, this kinda looks like an occasion for it. But you need a little reassurance from your viewers, just to be sure.

“Y-You guys are being so good to me today… Should I– Fuck!” Eren has sent another multiple small donations that make you break the character for a little, making you tremble and see again how good those tits look when you start to shake. 

The moans can't be held when the vibrations are being sent without a break for you. Your cunt is dripping on the small toy and you have to tangle your fingers on your hair while the other squeezes your breast to not, finally, rub your clit to reach the orgasm. 

“You really like to tease me a lot this time…" You see the comments praising you for such a good show and you take a breath before continuing, trying to keep the character. "D-Do you want me to get on the bed for a better show? One for no, two for yes. But I'll leave the decision on our new good visitor, Kruger Soldier. Just for being so good to me, y'know."

The small body on his screen is trembling, already feeling close and you have just reached the second donation goal to get naked, but the way you still manage to keep the act makes Eren snort with a big smile.

You're so cute.

But for you he's the devil.

That damn viewer is sending you so many constant donations that at this point you could cum just by seeing his name on the screen, predicting that this might be the donation that might be getting you screaming his username.

Kruger Soldier has donated 10 dollars!

Even though the vibrations make you moan sharply on your hand, it disappoints you a little that he chose to keep it on the chair.

“O–On the chair, will be then.” You huff, still squirming but a little sad, until another wave of vibrations startles you on your seat in a cry. 

The notification sound comes again, from the same user, but this time it comes with a message: “Srry. You said two for yes, right? My bad:)”

You bite your lip at the message after you recover from the intense stimulation, holding your laugh.

This person is clearly teasing you, but you’re starting to enjoy this little game. Anyways, you’re always grateful for a good tip during your streams.

Eren is already close to the orgasm when you get on the bed, letting the camera catch how good your naked boy looks. But he won’t cum now, even if his balls are begging for the release he won’t. He wants to cum with you. 

No, he needs it.

When you get on the bed facing the camera, he gets a little sad of not being able to get the view of your ass in delight for him just like your tits before, but he won’t start complaining right now that his red tip is almost exploding with an orgasm.

With small donations of 5 dollars, Eren doesn’t even gives you time to get comfortable on the bed, already having you bending on the bed, with your chest pressing on the mattress as you hold the sheets on your fists, trying to hold something to repress the hard waves of pleasure covering you while your knees try to keep your ass up to give the viewers a good view of the curve of your back. 

There's still a part of you that chose this position to let you enjoy the pleasure, wrinkling your eyebrows through the torture of the pleasure and being free to scream on the sheets.

Your moans are harder than ever in a stream before, due to being a “rising star”, your donations are usually small and not that constant, so you aren't used to being this stimulated.

But this new viewer is so stubborn with the notifications that you’re almost forgetting that you’re on live when your hand stops grabbing the sheet to rub almost violently on your clit to reach the sweet orgasm.

On the other side, Eren is already sweating hard, wanting to take off his hoodie to stop dropping on his clothes like he just finished working out, but that would mean stopping giving him pleasure just at the same time as you as he keeps donating. 

“Fuck— Please cum, dear…” His voice is already so needy, a small tear coming out from his left eye as his hand gets a rougher and messier peace.

You both already forgot what you are doing, what page you are on or even the fact there are a lot of other people watching you. 

The screams of your pleasure are being sinked on the matress but the camera still gets your legs shaking and your cunt tightening around the —fucking still vibrating— toy. You cry hard against the sheets as you ride the orgasm when the viewers start to enjoy your high.

It’s then, when you scream hard against the mattress and your body shakes and rolls on the bed, compulsing and arching of the pleasure that the vibrator is giving you. You grab your tits, thighs, hair and the sheets trying to control the intense shaking of your body as the juices of your cunt blow, soaking on the mattress and making a wet lustful mess of a squirt. 

Meanwhile, Eren is cumming harder than ever in his life in a loud moan that chants your name and covering his hoodie and sweatpants with white strings and stains of cum. 

He knows that this is going to be a headache to clean, mostly because it is his favorite hoodie because you gifted it to him on christmas but it’s okay.

You won't get mad if you're the reason why it's dirty, isn't it?

Seeing how you’re still laying on the bed, with spreaded shaky legs and still compulsing a little because of the hard orgasm is —even if the context is not the best— the cutest thing. 

How you try to get up, holding the bed with weak arms and trying to catch your breath when you walk, trembling to the chair and sitting, fixing your hair a little and smiling shyly.

Eren is not sure if the blush on his face is because of his previous orgasm or because he's madly in love with you.

“Hey… I–I’m sorry, I think that I should…” Your voice is husky and shaky, it even gives the hint that you’ve never came like this on live since your embarrassed reaction. “I should end the stream right now, I… I’m too weak to keep going. I love you guys!”

You wave at the camera shyly and send some kisses before the screen goes black. Eren closes his eyes, still struggling to calm after what he saw and did. He didn’t expect to find you on a page like this but he also can’t complain after almost spending all his money on making you cum.

⋆·˚ ༘ *

“You should fight with your boss for a raise on your pay. Seriously.” You rest your elbows on the bar of the cafeteria, waiting for your coffee as Eren is preparing it.

“I know that you just want me to take you to watch that movie that you like.” Eren grabs your nose between his knuckles, making you whine and blush at his action.

Since he saw you on that page, he has never entered that section again. But he’s gotten more flirty with you, he wants to own you, to see that cute fucked out face again. 

But only for him.

You pout at him and caress his hand when he lends you the cup, causing him to tense when your nails caress softly his veins.

“That's true but only a part of it. Come on, I miss you!” Your words make his chest throb and breathe heavy, almost making him grab your face and kiss you. “And, why do you suddenly need money? What did you spend your money on?”

Eren’s eyes glance down to your neckline, where the tulip necklace rests and slowly starts darting to your glossy lips and finally your eyes. He know that you noticed how his eyes almost ate you out but, since you didn’t leaned back from the touch, he brings his other hand up to your face and put a string of hair behind your ear, making you shiver at the contact.

"And what about you? Don't you have a job or something?" He ignores your question, looking deeply in your eyes.

You laugh softly, shaking your head, still caressing his hand with your thumb.

"No, I don't. I had one but it got boring and I dropped it." Eren chuckles at the answer, leaning a little closer to you and making your breath knot on your throat as you glup.

"That 's better. I want to be the only one who spends his entire wallet on you. No one else, okay?"

Eren has to hold himself from kissing you when you nod, biting your lip, giving you your coffee and asking you to wait for him while he changes into his normal clothes.

Maybe clicking on that stream was the best decision he could ever made.

@softlilpeachxx

[www-jungwon]

in which roommate!heeseung insists on decorating, and you're sure he's up to something (why has he got so much mistletoe?) ୨୧

tw. yellinggg, kissing, idk what rlly went through my head when writing this its kinda cringe bro wc. 887

“ok, i give up.” heeseung looks over in confusion, holding a box of christmas decorations in his hand.

“just tell me! i give up.”

“what are you talking about?” he squints, shifting the box in his arm.

you shift on the couch agitatedly, pausing your tv show. “why are you hanging all these up? like, do you want my room, or you feel bad because you broke something that’s mine, or you’re trying to hint you want-”

“it’s for christmas spirit!”

you roll your eyes. you’ve been trying to figure out your roommate’s obsession with decorating the apartment for the last week, but every time he’s answered with the same response. ‘christmas spirit.’ christmas spirit your ass. you’ll figure it out, you just need a couple more days.

“sure.”

he raises his eyebrows innocently. “i don’t know why you don’t believe me.”

“maybe because in the 3 years we’ve lived together you haven’t ever even lifted a finger to help me put decorations up?”

he shrugs. “change of heart.”

definitely up to something.

–

heeseung is being weird. he keeps trying to hide his decorations when you walk in on him, like he’s scared of you seeing them. even though you’ll see them anyway, because it’s your apartment.

after seeing him drop his box for the third time in two days, it clicks. a party. that explains his controlling of the decorations to look his way, and the secret phone calls he’s been making. you absolutely hate crowds, and your one rule the only time you’ve lived here has been no parties. he’s never complained before, but you suppose he’s finally gotten tired.

you’ve never felt more betrayed. heeseung, the most considerate roommate you’ve ever had, heeseung who keeps track of the amount of chocolate in your storage, heeseung who buys you things just because they reminded him of you, heeseung who is in charge of all the groceries, no discussion. heeseung, who you think you might be in love with, that heeseung, trying to throw a holiday party in your apartment without your permission when you leave tomorrow.

and as you see him emerge from the doorway, his head brushing the mistletoe he hung, fiery anger builds up inside you. how dare he hum, act all normal like you didn’t just watch him try to hide his decorations, how dare he do this secretly, how dare he make you love him while he’s betraying you like this?

so when he asks what you want him to make for dinner, you want to hit him in the face.

“you what?” he asks, and the way his nose scrunches in confusion only makes you angrier, and you snap.

“lee heeseung, i hate you!”

his doe eyes widen in surprise.

“what? i-”

“you’re so stupid! i can’t believe you would do all this just for a stupid holiday party! over me!”

you’ve stepped up to him, him backing up slightly as you walk forward.

“i don't know what-”

“and i wouldn’t have cared if you just asked! i’m not even gonna be here! but i thought that you at least cared about me enough to ask instead of sneaking around.”

“y/n, i-”

“and you find it so amusing when i ask you why, and this whole time it’s been for a party? you’ve been lying to me, sneaking around, just so you can throw a party without my permission? do i mean that little to you,” your words are choked by a sob, “that little, that-”

“y/n, i promise i-”

“that little, that a party is more important to you than me.” tears cross down your cheeks, tracing over the edges of your face.

heeseung’s brows are furrowed now, a concerned frown pushed onto his face. “y/n, i swear-”

how dare he act concerned, when it’s his fault. 

a yell rips out of you, “you don’t get to care about me now! not after, not after this, not after i’ve spent three years loving you and you’ve just thrown all my trust away for a party.”

he’s broken now, you can see it on his face in the way his brows are drawn in and you know you’ve hurt him, and you feel awful. he watches you carefully, taking a deep breath before he moves almost imperceptibly closer.

“y/n.”

you sniff weakly, “yeah?”

his voice is soft with hurt. “i love you, too. and i’d never throw a party without your permission, and it wasn’t that, and i’m sorry i was being so secretive but i promise it wasn’t because of that and i think- i think you should look up.”

you hadn’t realized how close you were to him now, your hands brushing his. you turn your head up slowly, your lips almost pressing against his, and you see it.

the mistletoe.

“i love you, y/n. and i thought- i wanted to tell you, before you left and i didn’t know how, but since you were always decorating instead of me doing anything i wanted to do something nice for you, and then i realized maybe if i could put mistletoe up then you would get the hint and i wouldn’t have to say anything.”

his arms slide around your waist tentatively, pulling you into him, and you look down, falling into him as your lips push into his.

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

part of winters of us, an advent calendar : day 009 prev

extremely late sry

comment or send an ask to be added to the taglist !

general @bucketofhiros @addictedtohobi @ariadores enhypen @cutesiepatootsie @sammm5225 @eupherbia

[thatdiabolicalfeminist]

A lot of people will be spending more time with their families of origin in the next few weeks.

And when you're with people you've spent so much time around in the past, it can be easy to fall into old habits and social role dynamics without really noticing, and without evaluating whether those patterns are reflective of the values we have now.

So with that in mind, I'd like to gently suggest taking a closer look at your family's interactions and see whether there are patterns you're part of that you don't want to be and could potentially do something to disrupt.

For example, is there anyone:

your family routinely treats as faintly ridiculous or hysterical?

or whose ideas, opinions, or interests are automatically dismissed by the group when those same things would be worthy of consideration/discussion from someone else?

or who gets teased and made fun of more than others, or past the point where they seem to be having fun?

or who is expected to do a disproportionately large amount of work that others could be helping with?

or who is consistently left out of group activities and is not asked if they'd like to join this time? (Do they think you'd be happy if they did join in?)

or who is automatically treated like "the problem" in any conflict they're in, regardless of whether they initiated the conflict or were being reasonable or not?

or who makes/has made repeated requests that some reasonable boundary be respected that is habitually ignored, belittled, or argued with?

or who habitually speaks or acts in unkind or unloving ways and gets minimal pushback, and/or minimal concern for the targets of their unkindness, because "that's just how they are"?

Or is there maybe:

a gender, racial, and/or class/income, etc., divide in who in your family does how much cooking/cleaning/kinship work?

a difference in who leads dinnertable conversations and whose input, interests, opinions, etc., are more valued/respected?

a difference in whose job or home life is worthy of being asked about?

automatic assumptions about people's interests, skills, life experiences, etc., that haven't been updated in years? Is anyone trying to build connections and find out more about who each of you are now?

Group social dynamics are always complicated, and perhaps never more so than in families. I'm not in your family, and I don't know the complicated contexts between each of the members. I also don't know how you'd like your family interactions to go, or if you're even spending time together willingly or unwillingly. Maybe this post will be helpful to you, maybe not.

But if you want your family to interact in more loving ways, sometimes as adults or even teenagers there ARE things we can do to interrupt patterns people are participating in without even noticing!

We can start helping with work we're not expected to participate in, and we can ask others who don't participate to take on part of the task. (In many families, a man standing up and starting to clear away the dishes and saying, "Brian, would you mind grabbing the green beans and the mac and cheese?" would be out of the ordinary if the women usually do that, but (in many families) people would go along with it once suggested.)

We can try to bring neglected others into conversation by asking and genuinely listening to their thoughts and opinions.

We can speak up when someone's interrupted and insist that we want to hear the rest of their thought.

We can take seriously the person treated like a joke, and show others that we're taking them seriously.

We can say "I don't think we need to discuss people's bodies here" or "not cool, dude" and redirect the conversation when someone is unkind.

Sometimes we can take people aside and ask them to ease up on a person being teased. Sometimes saying "I think it's actually hurting their feelings" or "it's not funny anymore, let up" is enough to actually make a difference.

We can ask about someone's job, interests, home life, hobbies etc., when they are usually left out of being asked.

We can try to remember that people aren't fixed in stone, and try to get to know who people are now without making too many assumptions.

Sometimes harmful patterns can be interrupted just by pointing them out and making an effort to not participate in them anymore.

[silverskye13]

what if, mayhaps, some awkward only one bed with guish and hels?

"I mean, I can just walk back to the house, it's fine." Tanguish said appeasingly, trying not to wither under Helsknight's unamused glare. "It's fine."

"You're going to walk back alone. At night." Helsknight lifted a skeptical eyebrow.

"I mean, it's hels." Tanguish said, scuffing a foot against the ground. "We don't have a day-night cycle."

"We have times where everyone but the thugs and thieves are asleep," Helsknight countered.

"Then I'll sleep on the floor?"

Helsknight gestured broadly around the normally sparse little room. It was a cluttered mess at the moment. Paper, fabric, and sewing supplies tangled with armor and polish in piles across the floor and on the little desk and table, the evidence of a long day spent designing Helsknight's next tournament outfit. It was the reason for their current problem: working far too long into the late (early?) hours. Helsknight's cell had a single bed for just this sort of thing -- which had worked well enough before he'd met Tanguish, and they'd become mostly inseparable.

"Let's lay chivalry, and the fact that you're my guest, aside for a moment," Helsknight snorted. "Where exactly on my floor do you plan on sleeping, pray tell?"

Tanguish felt his ears grow hotter with embarrassment. "I'll... Find someplace. You can't tell me you have absolutely no guest rooms down here?"

"We have absolutely no guest rooms down here."

"Helsknight."

The knight shrugged. "You make a cell when you move in. You leave an empty cell when you go. But it's still your cell, and not a guest room. You wanna pick an empty room and risk the owner coming back while you sleep, feel free. Or you can share the bed."

"Share?"

Helsknight huffed disdainfully. "I'm chivalrous enough to keep you off the floor, not enough to take it myself."

"Doesn't that go against your tenets or something?"

"Surprisingly, my Saint doesn't give two shits about sleeping arrangements." Helsknight flashed him a wolfish grin. "Ask me a question about blood, and I'm sure I can find an answer."

"I'd rather not," Tanguish sighed witheringly. "I just feel bad. It's your bed. You shouldn't be uncomfortable all night just because I'm too lazy to walk across town."

"Point of order, I'm too lazy to walk across town. You offered to." Helsknight clarified, kicking aside a bundle of cloth to clear some walking space to the bed.

"True."

"And you're tiny," Helsknight continued. "Be more concerned about my likelihood of kicking you out of the bed, and snoring in your ear."

"You don't snore?"

"How do you know?"

"We live in the same house?"

Helsknight gave that statement the amount of consideration it deserved (which wasn't much) before sitting down at the foot of the bed and unbuckling his boots. "Do you have a preferred side you sleep on?"

"You're incredibly casual about this," Tanguish observed. He would've been amused, if he didn't think the situation was so awkward. He gave the room one more hesitant look around, as though salvation or a second bed might somehow be found in a corner he hadn't checked yet. When it didn't, he sighed and started unbuttoning his vest.

"I mean, I've crashed with other Colosseum folks before," Helsknight shrugged, discarding one boot onto the cluttered floor and starting on the next. "Especially when I just signed on, and my cell wasn't built yet."

"Oh."

"And I crashed with EB once or twice when he wasn't doing well," he continued, as if to prove a point -- which he probably was. "Worst case scenario, you get the worst sleep of your life, and then it's over, and you're back on the couch tomorrow."

Helsknight tossed his second boot against his first. Then he slipped off his shirt and clambered into bed, content to get comfortable while Tanguish picked his way across the room to the light switch. Tanguish flicked it off, casting the little cell in a hazy half-light, lit by the dimmed lights in the hallway beyond. He stood there for a moment, waiting on Helsknight to give some input about whether the door should be shut or not, and when none came, he left it open and picked his way back across the room.

As gingerly as possible, scared of somehow slipping and elbowing Helsknight, he clambered into the bed. It was very small, and very close. Tanguish wouldn't normally mind (he was also very small, compared to Helsknight) but he was suddenly very aware of how much space wasn't between them. Helsknight radiated warmth like a fireplace, and Tanguish's skin tingled at the almost touching closeness of it, an anticipation. Which was ridiculous, because Helsknight had touched him before -- ruffled his hair, grabbed his hands or arms, put a guiding hand on his back. It was just the oddness of knowing they could touch for no reason. Not a means to an end, or a showing of momentary affection, or a guidance. And it was made worse by the fact he was so small, and he could feel the bed dipping in Helsknight's direction, like if he wasn't careful he would go rolling into him, and that would be weird, right? Helsknight probably wouldn't want them to be squished up against each other. He'd be uncomfortable, and Tanguish would be uncomfortable, and neither of them would get any sleep.

"Tanguish."

"Uhm... yes?"

"You're fidgeting."

"I am?" Tanguish froze. He realized he'd been picking at one of his knuckles, and his tail had been twitching.

"Yes. You are."

"Ah."

"Just breathe, close your eyes, and go to sleep."

"Right."

Tanguish let out a long breath that Helsknight echoed. He closed his eyes. He opened them again. He closed them again, tighter this time. He felt the heat radiating off of Helsknight, so close it made his skin prickle. He felt an itch suddenly spring to life on his ankle, livewire hot and uncomfortable. He wrinkled his nose and stifled the instinct to scratch it, until on reflex his leg twitched, and then he held his breath, waiting on Helsknight to say something about it. Then he sighed and opened his eyes again

"I don't like that the door is open," Tanguish spoke into the silence.

"If we close the door, it'll be pitch black in here," Helsknight groused tiredly, as though Tanguish woke him up. Had he really fallen asleep that fast?

"But anyone could just walk in."

"And if they do, they'll trip on the sewing kit, face-plant into armor polish, and then I'll put a knife in their face."

"A knife?"

"There's one stuck in the bed frame on this side."

"Why?"

"Why not? Go to sleep."

Tanguish realized he was fidgeting again and forced himself to stop. His tail twitched, and he forced it to stop too. He frowned at the open door. He must have frowned very loudly, because suddenly Helsknight sighed and got out of bed. "Switch me."

"We don't have to--"

"Doesn't matter, we're switching."

Feeling his face heat up with embarrassment, Tanguish did as he was told, shuffling over to take Helsknight's place on the bed. It was very warm. The heat left behind from the knight's skin sank into his muscles, almost down to his bones. It felt nice, like curling up beside a furnace -- until Tanguish remembered he was always cold, so his side of the bed would probably be frigid and uncomfortable. Before he could say anything about it though, Helsknight had clambered in to take his spot. He settled in, slipping an arm beneath the pillow and raising an eyebrow at Tanguish.

"Better?"

"Uhm..." Tanguish hugged his arms close to his chest awkwardly. "Shouldn't you... face the other way?"

"I always sleep on this side. If you're uncomfortable, you turn around."

"But this is the side I sleep on?"

"Unfortunate," Helsknight said, in a voice that implied he really couldn't care less. "I guess you'll have to just close your eyes and go to sleep."

"You're insufferable."

"Thank you."

"That wasn't a compliment."

Helsknight shrugged, and apparently decided the conversation was over. He stubbornly closed his eyes, and did his best impression of someone who could sleep through an earthquake. Tanguish scowled at him. He turned over onto his other side and tried to go to sleep there, only for discomfort and habit to force him back onto his other side again. He'd sleep, or he wouldn't, or he'd slip into some half-lucid place that was neither. Eventually. For now, he watched Helsknight.

(He wasn't trying to be creepy. It's just that there was nothing else to look at, and he needed to do something besides fidget uncomfortably. He intermittently prayed that Helsknight wouldn't open his eyes and catch him staring, and prayed that watching the smooth, even breaths would somehow inspire sleep in himself.)

Helsknight was backlit dimly by the hallway light beyond, a very gentle halo that defined the strands of his long hair, the contours of his muscles. He somehow managed to look serious, even when he was trying to (succeeding at?) sleep. It was probably just the scars. One of the Demon's claws had slashed between his eyebrows, giving him a look of almost permanent concentration that only lifting his expression dispelled. It was interesting to see where the claws skipped his eyelid, carving a divot on the ridge above his eye and resuming on his cheek, a long, angry line. Tanguish dropped his gaze lower, where more pale scars collected around his shoulders, striped and crossed their way down his arms. There were a few on his chest, a few more that vanished beneath the blankets on his stomach and side. Tanguish found himself drawn to one, a puncture just below his ribs on one side, only a little smaller than the span of his hand.

"What are you doing?" Helsknight asked, breaking the silence so suddenly Tanguish flinched. Then he realized he'd been reaching a hand out to touch the scar, and he crossed his arms tight to his chest, suddenly mortified.

"I'm sorry!"

"You're always sorry," Helsknight muttered sleepily, not opening his eyes. "I asked what you were doing."

"I-- nothing. I was just--"

"Not sleeping."

"Not sleeping..."

Helsknight cracked one of his eyes open to look down at him in something like tired amusement. "Your hands are cold."

"Th-they are." Tanguish agreed, fixing his eyes down on his crossed arms.

"I could feel you close by."

"S-sorry."

Helsknight sighed. He reached out a hand and gently grabbed Tanguish's wrist. His hands were warm. Tanguish could feel it sinking into his joints, every fingertip seeping a soft radiance through his skin. The coldness of the rest of Tanguish's arm by comparison raised goosebumps down his arm. Helsknight gently lead his hand to the scar he'd been reaching for and pressed it against him. His nose wrinkled and he inhaled sharply.

"Very cold."

Tanguish bit down another apology. Instead he asked, "I did this one?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Uhm... sh-should I feel... lucky?"

"Lucky?"

"You have a lot more scars on your arms than here."

Helsknight made a noncommittal noise. "Survival bias."

"What?"

"Someone cuts your arm, you live," Helsknight explained, cracking his eye open again. "Someone gets your chest, your neck -- the vital bits -- you don't scar. Not unless someone's quick with a healing potion."

"... oh."

"That was a compliment."

"It... was?"

"Mm-hmm."

"... how is that a compliment?"

"You did a good job," Helsknight smirked. "Both at the stabbing part and the healing part."

"... uhm... thank you? I guess?"

Helsknight grunted and released his hand. Tanguish recrossed his arms.

"Is that one also a knife...? A knife wound? It looks the same. Similar?"

"Which one?"

Tanguish reached out a hand hesitantly and, when Helsknight didn't stop him, traced a scar with the tip of his claw where it dipped by Helsknight's collar bone. The knight shivered. Tanguish snapped his hand away.

"Sorry!"

Helsknight laughed, a soft rumble that Tanguish thought he could feel all the way down in his toes. He took Tanguish's hand in his again, sword callouses scraping against his knuckles, and let it rest over the scar.

"If I was bothered, I would say so," Helsknight informed him with tired amusement. "It's from a sword. Punched through my chainmail."

Tanguish ran his thumb across the little divot. He tried to imagine the size and shape of the blade that would have left it, but came up short.

"It's so small."

"Mail caught most of it. Bone caught the rest." Helsknight hummed sleepily. "Had a big bruise by the time I was off the field. All red and knotted up."

"Sounds terrifying."

"It was," Helsknight admitted, and Tanguish blinked at him in surprise. "Couldn't lift my arm. Couldn't move it at all, really. It was uhm... the first time my body failed me mid-fight."

"... but you won?"

"But I won."

Tanguish moved his hand away from that scar to another, a raised crescent that fish-hooked its way along a rib.

"What about this one?"

"Jousting."

"Jousting?"

"The lance clipped my side, dragged a broken link from my mail back with it. It curves down like that because I stood up in the stirrups." Helsknight ran his tongue across his teeth. "Almost unseated both of us, but I managed to keep my saddle."

"So...?"

"So I won."

"Did you get any of these from losing?"

Helsknight thought about that for a moment, opening tired eyes to look down at himself. He frowned. "Yeah. One. You don't want to hear about it."

"That bad?"

"Very bad."

Helsknight took his hand and led it to his stomach, where a pair of thin gashes snaked across to his side. The positioning was lost on Tanguish. He didn't know enough about how the body worked to know what a wound like that might look or bleed like. All he knew was, even though Helsknight led him there, the knight flinched uncomfortably when he touched it, like just the suggestion of claws on the old wound made him feel vulnerable.

"Do I not want to hear about it," Tanguish asked, "or are you scared to tell me?"

"I'm not scared." Helsknight scowled.

"Sorry that's not--! I didn't mean... it's not... cowardly," Tanguish corrected, brushing his thumb along the scar again and watching the discomfort bloom on Helsknight's face. "I mean... are you scared I'm going to judge you? Or are you scared of reliving it?"

"It's not a scar I got pridefully," Helsknight said after a long, thoughtful moment.

"Because you lost?"

Helsknight hesitated. Finally he settled on, "It would have been a bad death."

"Uhm... can I ask what that means?"

"Dying badly is... uhm. I don't know. Hard to describe."

"Unglorious?"

"More like... pointless."

"How can a death in the Colosseum be pointless?"

Helsknight made a sour expression, like there was a bad taste in his mouth. "It's... needlessly messy? And painful. It's supposed to be quick and thrilling and... not... painless. But there shouldn't be suffering. It's the same reason we don't use fire enchants anymore. No glory is worth burning to death in front of thousands of people."

Tanguish frowned. "All of these scars were pain once. Is the only difference that they weren't fatal?"

"The difference is they meant something." Helsknight hummed. He took Tanguish's hand in his. He led him to the hooked scar on his ribs.

"This taught me that even a glancing blow can be dangerous."

To the divot on his collar bone.

"This taught me my body has limits. Some wounds can't be powered through."

He drew Tanguish's hand up to his face, pressing his cold fingers against the claw-mark scar. "This taught me my experience doesn't make me invincible."

Helsknight released Tanguish's hand. "A bad death is... it's pain without lesson. Suffering without growth. Horror without change. Pointless."

They lay in silence long enough that Tanguish wondered if Helsknight might have fallen asleep. The rise and fall of his chest was steady and even, his eyes closed in his quiet frown. Tanguish hugged his arms to his chest and watched him breathe. He mapped and remapped the claw scars on Helsknight's face, traced the divot on his collar bone with his eyes, catalogued what he could see of the constellation of harms on his forearms.

Finally, his voice a whisper, Tanguish asked, "Was this a bad death?"

He reached forward and pressed his thumb against the knife scar beneath Helsknight's ribs. Helsknight's breath hitched against the cold of his touch, and Tanguish wished, for not the first time, that ice wasn't such a strong presence in him. Helsknight blinked his eyes open, and for a moment he said nothing. Then he reached forward and pressed a hand against Tanguish's abdomen, the heat of his hand searing the invisible line the Demon's axe had carved.

"Was this?" he asked.

"That's... that's different," Tanguish stammered.

"Why?"

"You didn't do it."

"And if I had?" Helsknight asked quietly. "What if I were fighting the Demon, and grazed you by accident."

"It's-- you didn't. I pushed you out of the way. I did this to myself."

"I don't think the wounds are so different." Helsknight flashed him a tired, insufferable smirk. "You were aiming for Wels, and I got in the way. And I did learn something."

"You... did...?"

"I think I'd rather die than see you hurt."

Tanguish momentarily forgot to breathe. By the time he remembered, Helsknight had wrapped his hand around his, and moved it away from any scars. He held it between them, one massive hand swallowing Tanguish's own in quiet, steadfast warmth.

"You're..." (Tanguish lost all words.) "... insufferable."

"Thank you. Go to sleep Tanguish."

Tanguish nodded. Helsknight grunted his approval, and with enviable swiftness, dropped off into sleep. Tanguish lay awake for several more minutes, reaching his other hand up to tentatively wrap it around the knight's, his two delicate hands cupped around a strong, sword-calloused fist. He curled up there, his forehead pressed to the gathered knuckles.

(What did I do to deserve him?) he asked the universe as loudly as he dared. (How do I stay worth him?)

The universe didn't answer. He wasn't sure the universe knew how to answer questions like that. A feeling came to Tanguish, though, like fear in the way it filled him, swelling grand in his chest. It was like tears in its swiftness. Unexpected and full to overflowing. It was neither of those things. It was buoyant where they were heavy. Bright where they were dark. It was a feeling he would try to put a name to later, when he was no longer tired and thinking in primary colors. The root of devotion, the desire to return it. Simple. Right.

For now, though, Tanguish slept.

[yellow-berrys]

dote on me | sirius black x fem!reader

summary: you are completely oblivious to the way sirius black dotes on you, and think that the way you're infatuated with him is completely one-sided. but he begs to differ.

warnings: mentions of a bad childhood, mentions of smoking, drinking and illicit substances

navigation | masterlist 

Sirius Black makes you nervous and he darn well knows that. He uses those consuming grey eyes of his, filled with enigmatic interest, to his advantage. He only needs to focus them on you for a considerate amount of time for you to start burning up like a wildfire. And his nose, it’s pointed and perfect, leaving you wondering just how unfair life can be. His cheekbones are high and structured, light hitting them at glorious angles. His lips are devoid of much red. They’re this cool plum colour that looks like it’s lip gloss all the time but really isn’t. His skin is framed by smooth black hair, and the layers in his haircut are so pretty it prompted every other guy in his life to get the same one. It drives you mad that he was born with this face and that hair. It’s simply unjustified. 

It would be fine if he was just a pretty face. But it’s not. It’s simply unacceptable just how nice he is. Sometimes you wish he isn’t a gentleman and that all the rumours about him being a player with a million tattoos were true, because you’re envious and adoring of him. 

And like anyone, he definitely has a vice. People think it’s cigarettes for him but he definitely does not smoke. And he doesn’t drink. At parties, he’s cradling a cautiously poured glass of lemonade instead. And he definitely doesn’t do drugs, because he hangs around Remus Lupin and there’s no way he would be allowed to if he did. Remus is a little sickly sometimes, and his body is very sensitive. 

He likes to say his vice is chasing things he’ll never have. Like his childhood. He thinks he has regained that. Now, maybe it’s some sort of romance. All his life he’s been mooned over. People love him, mostly because he’s beautiful, and they offer him burning hot love all the time. People think he’s one for angsty, fiery passion. But Sirius thinks that fires never last, they’re too easy to disturb and taint everything with the unpleasant smell of smoke. James once did one of his stupid Women’s Weekly quizzes on him, the one with the “Tell me your favourite colour, and it’ll tell you what other people think of you, tell me your favourite animal…” questions. Sirius had laughed, thrown his head back and answered in a complete stupor. “Black, maroon if black isn’t an answer, dog…” James had asked him what his favourite body of water was and Sirius had said “A lake.”

He had spent summers of his broken youth dipping his toes into the pretty lake by his family’s home in France, escaping from the whirlwind world inside the walls of Walburga and Orion’s chateau. It didn’t make him cry more when he cried, because it would welcome the tears into the gently flowing water. 

James had smiled, “Why?”

Sirius had told him, “It’s gentle, relaxing, peaceful. The one in France was so enveloping and soft. I felt safe there.”

“Chateau?”

“Yep. I used to go out there as a little boy. It was so quiet out there and it felt like heaven, so fluid and open.”

“Hm,” James had studied the words underneath, squinting his eyes, “Ooh, that’s how you feel about love. Never knew you were the romantic type, Pads.”

He had laughed. 

James had asked you too. You had giggled, “Did you steal Lily’s Women’s Weekly again?”

He grumbled, “Not again.”

“I like ponds with little koi fish swimming in them.”

“Why?”

“It’s calm in a joyful way. It’s safe and there’s always rays of golden sun and it feels so delightful and promising. Lucky too, I guess. Oh! And it’s so pretty by a koi fish pond.”

James had grinned and left promptly. 

Sirius thought it was strange when he had first met you. He hadn’t ever had these feelings before, and it took years for him to shove them aside and focus on his studies, friends and mischief-making. But you were affiliated with Marlene, you were always around in some way. You and him became friends and Sirius felt those feelings resurface again. 

He groans into his hands as he runs it across his face. 

“Why?!” he asks Lily, who is watching amusedly. 

“I’m sure you can’t help it,” she says primly, “But what if you could help it?”

He looks at her inquisitively. 

“What if you acted on these feelings? It isn’t half-bad of an idea. You’re grown up, Sirius, and if you still like her that means it’s real.”

“She doesn’t like me.”

“You don’t know that.” 

“What if bad things happen?”

“What’s the worst that could?”

“Death.”

“You’re already halfway there,” she rolls her eyes, “Give it a shot, maybe love will make you less sad.”

“I’m not sad!”

“Whatever, start loving, Sirius.”

She picks up her Women’s Weekly magazine and starts reading. “Ooh, there’s this quiz-”

Sirius groans. 

–

“Hey darling,” Sirius strides into your apartment. Good start, he thinks. 

You’re sprawled on the couch, grinning as you FaceTime Marlene and Dorcas. When you see him, you look up, surprised. 

“Marlene’s in Vegas,” you say, “Didn’t she tell you?”

Marlene did tell Sirius, and even offered that he come with her and Dorcas.

You flip the camera to Sirius, and even in blurry, low quality, Facetime video he’s still very handsome. 

Marlene screams, “What is that monster doing in my apartment?”

You grin, “Marls, he was looking for you.”

“Actually,” Sirius tilts his head, and if you weren’t so thick you might see the smitten look in his eyes, “I’m here for you.” 

You frown, “For taxes? It’s only the start of the month. Besides, the IRS will never tail you, you’re too rich for that.”

“Can’t I spend time with you, pretty girl?”

It’s flattering, but it seems too abrupt to be genuine. You brush it off with a laugh.

“Get a load of you,” you roll your eyes, “What do you need?”

“I need you,” he attempts and the confession, although seeming flirtatious and joking, brings a smile to your face. 

Marlene chortles, “Guys- I-I-I-I’m…cutt-ing…ou-ou-ou-t.” She fakes it and it’s obvious, but the FaceTime ends and Sirius sits opposite you now. He’s pretty even at seven in the evening and it makes you very nervous. 

You stand up, uneased, and make towards your bedroom. 

“Where are you going?”

“Oh,” you gesture to an old pile of clothes, “Marlene cleaned her wardrobe out before she left, so I decided to follow suit so then we can donate them.”

“Why’re you leaving me?” he pouts. 

“You want to…stay?” 

You’re so puzzled and your heart is beating far too fast for your liking. It goes pitter patter like the rain outside. It’s exhausting. The feeling might be addictive, like a good old fashioned crush, but it’s always playing with you. It feels avaricious to love someone out of your league, worth more than you have ever been.

His sudden showering of affections and doting on you, you think, is because he’s lonely. He doesn’t live with James anymore. You empathise with him, but only because you think you’ll know what that feels like in a month when Dorcas and Marlene move in together. But it really isn’t. Sirius actually thinks that you deserve all the heavy-handed loving in the world, and he always has. His apprehension towards him being the person to do the loving is slowly fading away as he sees the shy smile on your face. 

“If you’ll have me.”

And you turn your head around so he doesn’t see you blush, “Okay, I’ve been meaning to get a second opinion. Whenever I do this I do it with Marlene.” 

You try things on by the mirror in your bedroom, instructing Sirius to look away when needed. He isn’t much of a help at all, because he thinks you look good in everything. Which is just certainly not true. 

On a whim, he suggests that because he isn’t aiding you successfully, you should help him on his own closet. In the end, you wind up in his apartment. 

Sirius has never boasted about what he has at all, mainly because he isn’t proud of it. By what unethical means his trust fund has come from, he doesn’t even want to know, but he’s grateful for it. You’ve only ever seen his living room, kitchen and his small powder room, and they’re lavish and capacious to no ends. Everything subtly screams wealth and luxury. His bedroom is no different. A large bed sits in the middle, framed by expensive paintings. There’s a well made ebony table in the corner, spotless and tidy. The two armchairs in the room are, whilst clearly faux-leather, intricate and of the sort of taste cultivated only by time. A copy of the original Call of the Wild sits on a table. A bookshelf is on one side of the room, grey, stretching from the floor to ceiling. You run your fingers along the spines of the book. They’re all special editions. A simple chandelier (what an oxymoron) dangles in the middle of the room, and you find the ceiling is gilded with plaster and gold. Pictures of friends and family adorn the white walls. 

His walk in closet is humongous. You gasp as he opens the door. It’s double the size of your living room. The clothes are organised by colour, style and season and there’s a considerable lack of colour. In the middle sits an accessory table, with dozens of gold watches and silver necklaces. Delicate rings and bracelets all are displayed. A glass cabinet with bottles of cologne and perfume stands next to it. The only ones you can recognise is something that resembles the Ralph Lauren logo and Dior, and then again it isn’t even the one Johnny Depp uses.

He smiles sheepishly, ashamed that he has such nice things, “I did use my own money on this. Euphemia helped me fix it up.”

“It’s beautiful, Sirius,” you’re almost afraid to touch anything. You don’t think you belong in such a gorgeous world. You don’t think you deserve it. 

Sirius beams at you, “Guess there’s not a difference between it and you, then.”

Your face warms. Sirius is already taking clothes off the racks, whilst you stand awkwardly. He’s chatting, talking about where the clothes came from and who gave them to him and why he likes it so much. Your shoulders relax and you look at him like he’s the only thing that matters. So far he’s through all the things he deems necessary for him to live. 

“And this jumper,” he holds up a pristine Ecru crewneck, offering it to you, “Is from when I went to visit Machu Picchu with James. When we left, one of the ladies we had been staying with gave us both a handmade jumper.”

You hold the fabric delicately in your hands. 

“It’s alright. It’s just clothes, darling, you can do whatever you like with them.”

He’s so nice it hurts and you grin at him endearingly, “Thanks, Sirius.”

An adoring smile finds its way onto his face as he turns to pick up the next item. You put the sweater in the “KEEP” pile. 

“How did this get here?” he laughs as he pulls out a bright yellow crewneck, with a little emblem etched on the side. Immediately he tugs it on, grinning as he surveys the bright colour in the mirror. 

You’re blushing away because the colour suits him so well and makes him look way softer than he usually does.

He sneaks a glance at you in the mirror, and when he sees your lack of eye contact with him he frowns. 

“Are you okay?” he asks you. 

“Yeah. Yellow looks really nice on you, Sirius.”

“Does it?”

“Mhm. I don’t know, it makes you look…cuddly?”

He doesn’t smirk like you expect him to, but swivels around and smiles at you again. He knows he looks like he loves you. He doesn’t mind. You’re just sitting there, confused at why he’s doing this. It’s weird and sudden and it’s definitely something he would do. 

Maybe this is his new favourite jumper. 

He throws it in the keep pile. You tut disapprovingly and rearrange it gently. Seeing a t-shirt, he takes his own shirt off, letting it fall to the floor. You cover your eyes, not wanting to intrude on his privacy. 

Sirius is midway through putting the shirt on when he laughs. “It’s okay, princess, I didn’t ask you to look away. I don’t mind. Unless you do, then I’ll change over there.”

You peek your eyes at him, and Sirius hopes that he’s not imagining your pupils blown slightly. 

And you didn’t think he could get more perfect, but he is. His muscles are toned and defined, and slightly strained as he slides his shirt on. Gosh, he makes you feel inadequate. He can’t know you want him, so you grin as if you’re unaffected. 

“That’s cute,” you nod. 

And the process repeats. Sometimes he takes off his pants too, leaving him to just his boxers that cling onto him in an ungodly way. 

“Are you done?” you ask, eyes covered tightly by your hand. 

“Yeah.”

Sirius is dressed in a suit, the tenth one tonight, “Do we like this one, or the grey one?”

“I like the way this one fits, but I like the grey colour more. But I think the dull dove blue one was the best because it brings out your eyes.”

Sirius makes a mental note to get the grey one altered. He chucks away some old sleeping tees, and a bunch of band hoodies he doesn’t wear anymore. He also gets rid of one of his expensive sweaters with a cable knit and a button up shirt, a bunch of sweatpants and this hideous sweater vest that his Aunt Thelma gifted him for his 17th birthday. 

He thinks maybe you might like to wear some of the things he has in his wardrobe–Euphemia picks them out with him and she represents a small portion of women. He lugs the bag of clothes to his car, and when he’s back, he sees you cross-legged on an armchair, typing on your phone. 

“Sweetheart, what do I owe you?” he asks. 

Your eyes are wide as you stare at him, “For what?” 

You put your phone down on the side table. 

“For helping me?”

“Nothing, Sirius, nothing at all. It’s my pleasure, really.”

“Do you want to take some of my clothes? I have more than enough.”

You look inquisitively at him, “You don’t mind?”

“‘Course not.”

You go home that night with two of his fancy jumpers, he insists, and one big button up shirt, and a bunch of other stuff he is adamant you should take too. You call Lily. Her voice comes out muffled on the other end. 

“Hey Lily!

“Mhm, I’m well, how are you?

“He’s not that bad, I’m sure. You do know he took your Women’s Weekly– 

“I’ve already done that quiz. 

“Right, well, I don’t think Sirius is fine, in his own right.

“No! As in the sad happy fine, not the cute handsome fine.

“Well- no- I- I don’t think he’s not fine- I mean - Okay whatever. Is he alright? He keeps on acting weird.

A long pause. 

“You know something, don’t you, Red? 

“It’s kind of strange. I mean, he offered for me to take one of his- I don’t know, the Ermenegildo Ze-

“Yes, that! One of those jumpers. 

“Are you sure? That’s what he is normally? Isn’t he usually bad-boy cool guy? Not dorky weird compliment giver? 

“Alright, fine. 

“Bye, love you!”

You survey the pile of clothes for any trace of a prank. Nothing. You take out one and inspect it suspiciously. Then, your intrusive thoughts get the better of you and you sniff the material carefully. It smells really nice. You chuck them in the wash just in case Sirius has popped one of his silly prank gadgets into the pockets or beneath the collar. 

The next time you see him, Lily has called you to tell you she and James are going to Vegas to join Marlene and Dorcas. They’re celebrating a championship. She invites you, but you decline, not liking the idea of tailing behind the two couples and intruding on the romantic atmosphere. Sirius is all alone, and Lily tells you to ‘please go and check up on him’.

The apartment seems okay. It’s spotless like it always is, smelling of air freshener and Sirius’ cologne. It doesn’t look like Sirius is going through something rough at all. Sirius might not even be home, so you’re about to leave when you hear music coming from a secluded area of the apartment. You sneak into the corridor and the door is ajar. A beautiful black grand piano stands, Sirius sitting at it, playing the finest tune you’ve ever heard. The sounds reverberate gently through the room, and it’s divine. It’s joyful and skips on merrily. His eyes are closed and his lips are turned up. It makes you think that maybe he’s thinking of someone. 

He stirs a little at the noise and you pull back. He gets up from his chair and peeks his head around the door. You’re wearing his jumper over some sweatpants. It’s so pretty on you, falling oversized. 

He laughs, which brings heat to your cheeks, “Do you want to come in?”

“You’ll let me?” you gasp, “But you don’t even let Dorcas come in, and she’s a cello-ist.”

“You’re special,” he winks and you blush. You must look like a motley of colours- florid and pink. But you don’t mind, he makes everyone nervous and you’re not special, which puts you at ease.

You perch on the cushy chair as he plays a lilting song. You hum, approving, “What’s the song called?”

“Love,” he says and you agree. The song plays like what love feels like. 

It’s so soft, and warm. Combined with Sirius’ lavender and honey cologne, it makes you drowsy. He notices your eyes are barely open, and instead of ending the song, continues to play the same melody over a lighter bass. When your breathing becomes steady, he quietly rises from the piano and scoops you up, knowing it can’t be comfortable to sleep in a chair. He carries you to his own room, where he tucks you into his bed. You’re murmuring unintelligible things. He leaves and continues playing, before Lily calls and he knows he should be in bed, because it’s morning in Las Vegas. Thus, he shuts his piano and drapes a soft velvet across it. He falls onto the couch and listening to Lily’s calming method to waking up, he falls asleep. 

In the morning, you’re in a vaguely familiar room. The sheets are silk and the ceiling is fancier than an art gallery’s. You yawn, stretching. The clock next to you detects the motion and flashes a dim white. Of course it’s an analogue clock, reading 5:00 am. You remember shutting your eyes slowly in the piano room, the news had been playing on the TV earlier. So you had fallen asleep at seven. 10 hours, more than enough. You quickly get up and make the bed. After using his fancy skincare products and brushing your teeth with a spare toothbrush you find packaged up, you hear soft snores coming from the living room. Sirius is there, phone by his side. 

You pout at how much of a gentleman he is, retrieving a blanket and carefully placing it on him. Then you prepare a smoothie, with the fourteen-million ingredients he has in his giant fridge, and leave it in there with a note. But Sirius wakes. He’s always been a light sleeper. 

He leans blearily over the couch, “Sweetheart?”

“Good morning!” you chirp. 

“Why do you have to be so gorgeous at five in the morning?” he slurs. You raise your eyebrows. He’s really always very flirty, and you’re used to it not being genuine by now. He sways out of bed and into the bathroom. You hear the running of a faucet, and sit down on a kitchen chair, checking your phone. Lily has blown it up. 

TO: REDHEAD

REDHEAD 7:31 p.m. sooo, how is he??

REDHEAD 7:43 p.m. hellooooo babes????

REDHEAD 8:00 p.m. are u ok ??

REDHEAD 8:05 p.m. ANSWER ANSWER ANSWER

REDHEAD 9:47 p.m. I’m calling sirius

REDHEAD 10:00 p.m. omg YES GO YOU OMG

5:30 a.m. what

5:30 a.m. he was playing the piano lils and i fell asleep 

REDHEAD 5:31 a.m. ok keep telling urself that <3 i mean has he ever let us sit in when we asked???

5:32 a.m. i told u he was acting strange 

You grin as you see some of the videos she has sent you. One is where James and her and celebrating, him beaming like he always does. She looks madly in love with him. You screenshot and send it to your email so you can print it out later. There’s another of Marlene and Dorcas doing the spaghetti thing at a Michelin star restaurant. They look as if they’re having a wonderful time. It makes you realise that you’re craving something like that too, only not in the wild world of Vegas. You already have something like it, but it’s so one-sided and your heart can’t stand it. You wish someone would just, dote on you. And genuinely, because there’s no way Sirius Black means it. 

You express these feelings to Marlene when she’s back, moving boxes and taping things up. 

“I want to love someone, Marls. Who loves me back, so don’t even say Sirius.”

“He doesn’t act like that around everyone else, you know.”

“He does! Besides, what makes me so special, Marlene? He could have anyone.”

She laughs, “Oh goodness have you got a lot to learn.”

–

Marlene and Dorcas invite you to their housewarming party in their house. They say it’s perfect for a family and they want to start one whilst they’re young. It’s quite a large gathering for a housewarming party, and the inside is buzzing with excitement. You’re talking to some of their colleagues- Alice and her boyfriend Frank on the couch. 

“And we’re planning a trip to Ibiza for next month,” she blinks up at him lovingly and he does the same. It makes you subtly raise your phone as if you’re getting a message and type, before quickly flashing a photo of them whilst they’re gazing into each other’s eyes. 

Sirius spots you grinning away, like you want what Alice and Frank have. He sidles in next to you.

“Hey darling,” he smiles and you smile back, “Hi.”

“Aren’t you going to introduce us?” Alice asks. 

“Oh of course! I thought you would already know him,” you put down your drink, “Alice, this is Sirius. Sirius, Alice. Frank, Sirius. Sirius, Frank. They’re planning a trip to Ibiza and were voted Best Couple in high school.” 

They’re both intimidated by Sirius, you can tell, but Sirius smiles, “Nice to meet you Alice and Frank. How long have you been together?”

They cheesily smile at each other, “Seven years and going strong,” Alice flashes her wedding ring. 

Marlene calls you over to the kitchen island, where she is mixing drinks up, “Hey darl!” 

“Sup, Marls.”

“Need a drink?”

“Just pink lemonade,” you hold out your cup. A boy comes around the table, smiling at you. Marlene smirks a little. 

“Y/n, this is CJ. He’s a footballer, and a damn good one.”

You grin, outstretching your hand, “Hi CJ, nice to meet you.”

He shakes it heartily, “Likewise.”

“What team do you play for?”

“Oh, just a local one,” he rubs his neck bashfully, “I’m not that good.” 

CJ, whatever it stands for, is handsome, with bright green eyes and curly brown hair. He’s sweet too and has this shy air around him that’s impossibly good natured. He’s Emmeline’s to-be lover.

“Try me.”

“Liverpool,” he says meekly. 

“Oh, you’re the Cruz Johnson! How’s football for a living?”

“It’s great, actually,” he chuckles, dipping his head to whisper secretly into your ear, “Though this beer is actually some recovery drink, so could be better.”

You laugh. 

He grins as he takes a sip and makes a funny face, “So what do you do?”

You tell him and he nods, “Impressive indeed. How’d you meet Marls here?”

“She and I were classmates! I wore her down eventually, she used to hate friendship.”

“Oh tell me about it. I met her at the football club, where she was playing for the ladies’ team. And the first time the coach tried to congratulate her she just rolled her eyes. He was filthy.”

“Oh?” your eyes are sparkling with mischief. 

“When he dislocated his cheekbone a few weeks later, she told him she could ski on them if she tried. Anyway.”

You purse your lips in amusement, “Am I allowed to laugh at that?”

“He looked like this,” Cruz makes a face and you giggle. 

Sirius is watching this all with a very sour look on his face, feeling very jealous. 

Cruz takes another sip of his drink, “So, who are you here with?”

You’re confused, “No one? I mean, unless you count Marlene, but she’s with Dorcas. And my friend Emmeline too.”

At the mention of Emmeline’s name, his eyes light up, “About her…”

“She’s single and she does like green eyes,” you pull him near the wily, tall Emmeline, who blushes shyly as she sees Cruz, “Besides, I think she has a thing for you. Ever since, you know, you crashed into her and spilled your coffee on her favourite shirt,” you joke. 

He blushes, “Gosh, you still remember that? Will you send me the name of the shirt so I can buy her five more? I know I already replaced hers but I still feel so bad.”

“Awh. That’s very nice of you, Cruz. Here,” you hand him your phone, “What’s your number?”

Sirius is watching you, hands tense around his cup. He decides to go up to you. 

“Hey darling,” he says lowly into your ear, making you jump and your cheeks heat up.

“Sirius!” you berate. Cruz is watching with a knowing smile as he hands your phone back. You quickly text him, “Okay, sent it.”

The two guys are sizing each other up. You can sense their hostility.

“Now, boys, be friendly. Cruz, do not worry, Sirius is only friends with Emmeline, and Sirius, don’t worry, Cruz won’t try to pick up Regulus.”

You feel both of them relax. Cruz grins at Sirius, “Nice to finally meet you, man.”

“You too!”

“And don’t worry, I don’t have feelings for her either.”

You’re silently eavesdropping on the conversation whilst texting Emmeline. You sneak a look at Sirius, who has an unnatural pink on his porcelain skin. 

“C’mon green-eyes, aren’t I obvious about it?”

Cruz agrees, “Too much so.”

“Anyway, I’ll let you get to Emmeline, Cruz.”

He stumbles, grins at you and waves at the same time, “Thanks, mate.” 

“No problems.”

You watch as he goes and makes a fool of himself in front of Emmeline, who likes it. You turn to Sirius, eyes still watching them. You’re still painstakingly lonely. Tonight you think you’ve third-wheeled at least three couples, and set up two. Even though Sirius is there, he’s just a constant reminder of what you can’t have. 

Sirius can see it in your eyes. He doesn’t know how much more he needs to do. Lily wants to know though. 

“Soooo, lovely,” she begins and you narrow your eyes at her. 

“I swear I didn’t take your cookie cutters and destroy them whilst trying to make clay sculptures with Emmeline and Cruz,” you put your hands up. Lily raises her brows and you murmur a quiet, “Oh no.” 

“My cookie cutters that you gave me?!” she yells. 

“It’s fine, I’ll get you new ones.”

She sighs, “Right. Anyway, Sirius Black.”

“Sirius Black,” you say slowly.

“Mhm. Are you ever going to tell him you like him?”

“No, I don’t even like him.” 

“You don’t?” Lily feigns surprise.

“Nope.”

“Is he cute?”

“Yeah.” 

“Is he nice?”

“Yeah.”

“Well?”

“He doesn’t like me like that, Lils,” you scold. 

“Why does he call you ‘darling’ then? He has to.”

“If he did, that would be embarrassing for him. Gosh knows he’s too good for me. If he likes me, I would question why because he could probably do better,” you shrug, “I’m confident, but not completely blind.” 

“Okay. So if he liked you, you would want to date him?”

You reply meekly, “Yeah.”

“I think you should tell him, though,” Lily sighs, “Better you than anyone else doing it.”

You ponder for a moment, “True,” you sigh, “He’ll be nice about it.”

Lily squeals, “I’m planning your wedding!!!” 

You knock on his apartment door, reconsidering for the last time whether you want to do it or not. 

Sirius opens the door, looking confused and handsome, eyes bluer than usual. 

“Hi,” you breathe. 

“Gorgeous, to what do I owe this sudden visit?”

“I just wanted to see you.”

“Really?” his eyes are glistening. 

“Yeah.” 

“Come in then. Mind the mess, taxes.”

You hum, “Need help?”

“Actually, yeah. Should I write off…”

You sit down, distracted by the papers flying everywhere, taking a pen and starting to write. Your mission is almost forgotten after you finish helping him with his taxes, smiling satisfiedly at the hefty return he receives. 

“Good,” you grin, admiring your work, “I’d say this is a successful tax file.” He swipes his tongue over his teeth, so attractively and seals the envelope, setting it down on his stack of things he needs to post. 

“Package to Marlene and Dorcas, papers to…” he rambles, pacing out his thoughts, “Oh, and my portfolio. Can you check if they’re alright to send in?”

“Portfolio?” 

“Oh,” he turns red, rubbing the back of his neck bashfully, “Someone asked me to model for them?”

“When?” you gasp. He hands you the envelope, and you carefully pry out some photos. 

“A week ago,” he murmurs, “Can you check these aren’t too…much?”

They’re glossy between your fingers and smooth, candid shots, some staged and every single one of them belongs on the cover of Vogue. It’s strange, the pictures of Sirius should be in a magazine, famed and lovely, but he’s right here. Nervously fidgeting around. He’s so tangible right now. You reach out to skim your fingers over the photos, then stretch them out to touch the skin near his lips. He’s taken aback but leans into your touch.

“I think they’re perfect,” you fold the envelope over, handing it back to him. 

He’s still looking incredibly ashamed of himself.

“Why do you look so sheepish?” you laugh, “Stop that! It’s alright.” You surge to hug him, “It’s amazing, Sirius.”

Sirius hides his face in your neck, “I feel like a show-off,” he mumbles and you laugh. 

“Sirius, it’s honestly alright. You’re not, far from it actually. It’s okay to have nice things.”

“I’m sorry. I’m being a wimp.”

“It’s fine, I understand. These feelings are completely normal, but that doesn’t mean they’re true. If I had a staggering net worth of a few hundred million and never told you, would you think I’m a show-off?”

He shook his head. 

“Exactly,” you smile at him, “Now do you want to go to the post office? It closes in half an hour.”

He nods, “‘Kay.”

The post office man greets him with some flirting, and he sets down his stack of parcels, ignoring him to go sign some of them. 

He looks over to you, “You’re his…” he studies your face, “friend?”

It makes you feel small and judged. You chew nervously on your lip, unconsciously stepping towards Sirius. You know you couldn’t possibly pass off as his girlfriend, but it’s an ugly reminder you don’t need. Sirius smiles politely, “These three are in a letter card, but can we get them to be delivered…”

After he pays, you try not to make it seem like you’re in a rush to get out. He notices, of course he does. “You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“What did he say to you?”

You stay quiet and Sirius does too. He drives to his apartment and sits down on his couch. You follow. He’s silent. 

“He said something about us,” you break the fragile silence, “About me.”

“What?” 

“Well he looked at me and then asked if I was your friend after giving me a once-over.”

Sirius shrugs, “Aren’t you?”  

Your heart falls, “Well–. The thing is–, look, I’ve been meaning to tell you this, but I kind of– scratch that, I have this massive crush on you and probably more,” you wince, “Please be nice about this.”

He looks positively shocked. You can’t tell if it’s good shock or bad shock. 

You grimace, “And please can we stay friends?”

“You think I’m rejecting you?” he almost scoffs, lifting you easily into his lap. He’s so close you could count the colours in his eyes. A charcoal, a light cerulean, a tinge of yellow ochre, “After all my countless advances, the gifts, even inviting you into my piano room whilst I played, I couldn’t, sweetheart,” he says softly. 

“Haven’t you noticed I haven’t ever dated anyone since two years back? That I pretty much have been begging to be noticed by you these past years,” he continues, “All because I want to be yours. Because I couldn’t even think of wanting anyone else. I like you so much.”

“Hey Sirius?”

“Mm?”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“You already did.”

You huff, “Can I kiss you?”

Before you can do anything, he’s grinning as he presses his lips to yours, smiling into the kiss. When you break apart, he's still grinning. He thinks he will be for the rest of his life.

“Whoa,” you say as you grin at him. 

He hugs you tightly, “Please never say we should be friends again.”

You nod, “Never.” 

[wayfayrr]

Toucan play at this game

Part two of Birds without feather flock together!!! this is a direct continuation of the previous fic and it was also commissioned by @lost4pandora <3 this time there's more fluff and just overall softness

[masterlist]

“Pressing in what way? Because I know Wild wouldn’t have been so upset with simple ‘questioning’.”

“I- you remember what you did for me during the war? The um-”

“So you’ve been pushing him about getting prosthetic wings.”

Makes sense why wars has been looking guilty now, if it wasn’t for the fact that they knew it was possible from me helping to repair his back in the war, then they wouldn’t be able to push it so hard. It’s not exactly his fault as long as he wasn’t one of the few that’ve been pressuring him. 

“Well, the others have. I backed off after the first time it was talked about because I respect Wild’s decision. Wars however…”

“It - I, I wanted to drop it but the others, well they wouldn’t exactly let me. I-”

“He w’s their shin’n example.”

“Wild’s right, as much as I wanted to let the topic just drop…”

“Wars struggles to tell the others no sometimes.” Not like I needed to be told that, after how much time I’ve spent around him it’s pretty clear he has a hard time saying no to anyone really. Every time I asked him the smallest favour he always did it without question, often times above what I asked for too. His will to please is often his fatal flaw. He still could have stood up more though seeing how much it affected Wild, they were doing it out of concern, no need to flip out at them yet. 

“I am aware. He’s shown that off time and time again.”

“Huh? but it’s only to people he’- don’t shove me like that!?”

“I know. I know trust me. It’s something I’m working on.” What was Sky going to say if wars hadn’t interrupted him there? Does it really matter though, what this is supposed to be is learning why this pressing has been so bad for Wild and how to get the rest to drop it. Although the time away from the group seems to be doing him good, his familiar weight pressing into my side as he’s making himself comfortable leaning on me. 

“That doesn’t change the fact that you’ve been upsetting him though, does it?”

“Well no it-”

“Yeah it doesn’t, does it.”

They’re both fumbling a little bit now, Wars a considerable amount more than Sky, who’s admittedly keeping a fair amount of this new colder unbothered demeanour of his about him. It’s both oddly comforting and at the same time chilling, without Wild here to help keep the warm in my bones I might have frozen to the touch. I can’t say I wouldn’t want to see more of it. 

“So I take it that one of you is going to tell Time and the others to start laying off of him before I take matters into my own hands. Wars preferably? Seeing as you’re the one who’s pretty much the cause of this.”

“Wars should certainly be the one to do it.” 

The growl in Sky’s voice was completely new, even to someone who’s been travelling with him for longer; Isn’t a growl usually a sign of a bird being aggressive? Is he getting aggressive for our sake… why does my face feel so warm all of a sudden; and are Wild’s tail feathers poofing up? Huh… Maybe there’s something else to question if we get any privacy from wars later, although… It’s probably better for Wild and I to discuss things first, so that neither of us get hurt. 

“I- well, I- yes. I do need to take some responsibility for my part in this after all, don’t I?”

“It’d be the first step to earning both Wild and I’s trust in you back, if you want to do that anyway.”

“Huh - What of course I want to- why wouldn’t I?”

“Why wouldn’t you? Because you’ve shown that you put the pressure of the chain as more valuable than their feelings you fool.”

Wars looked worse than if he were slapped across the face at that; it’s nice not having to be the one to call him out on it either, because Hylia above I know I would have been worse than Sky was. I care for Wars, of course I do, but the fact that he simply went along with this when he saw how much it was affecting my sweet little bird? I would have made him regret it. Which he knows.He’s got the decency to look ashamed though. Standing with his wings drawn close to him, looking smaller than Sky for once even; although with how much he’s puffed out it’s not that hard to look smaller than him. 

“Guys.”

With the speed at which both of them turned their heads, I’m surprised that neither of them got whiplash or worse. The silence was more deafening than it should have been too; the whole forest around us seemingly dropping dead.

“I think it’s for the best that Wars goes back now so that we can avoid most of the fallout.”

“They’ll just question you later instead.”

“Yes, but we won’t be there for the Immediate backlash.”

“You’ll only be putting it off though.”

“You should go back now and tell them we’ll stay here for the night.”

It’s good that Wild feels comfortable enough to be speaking again now, and well I can’t say that having him be so assertive isn’t nice either. He’s still just as cuddly though so nothing was lost, except for maybe a little bit more of the captain's self-esteem as his wings droop even lower.

“Sky and I can go back to the main camp then. Throw ourselves to the wolves for you.”

You can hear the nerves in his voice now; letting out a quiet warble with frantic glances in sky’s direction. Why is he so worried about going back alone? 

“‘d prefer if Sky stayed here.”

“Oh?”

That was the biggest possible stroke to Sky’s ego that he could have given the man, made immediately clear by how much he puffed himself up and started getting flustered. Even going so far as to let out the softest little trill, competing with Wild for the cutest bird. Wait what am I thinking - why am I even - I don’t - I don’t see sky in that way. Do I?

“Mhm, I wanna be with the people I trust r’ght now.”

“And I’m one of those people!?”

“... you don’t trust me?”

“No… not at the minute.”

That seemed to be the nail in the coffin of the captain’s ego, leaving it shattered on the floor now; now he’s just looking between me and Sky for something is it pity he wants? Whereas Sky walked over with the biggest grin on his face, like the cat that got the cream. Since when did he get so damn pretty? 

“Can - Will I be able to earn it back?”

“In time, if you prove you really want to. But not now.” 

“That - yeah I can live with that. I’ll prove it to you that I will- that I can.”

And with one final teary-eyed glance between us, he turned and left. Leaving the three of us alone. I can’t say that I’m surprised that Wild trusts Sky but to want him here after the argument, well that is surprising. I can talk to him about it later though, maybe we could get him to collect some firewood while we collect our thoughts. 

“So what are we doing now? I guess I’m staying up here for the night. Unless you two would prefer some privacy in a bit?” 

“I - I’d like you to stay, please. Just, could you possibly give us a little bit of time, a few minutes even?”

“Yeah, some time to process everything would be lovely.”

“That works well, I’ll just go fly around for a bit and don’t worry I won’t listen in on you.”

Now it’s just Wild and I sitting alone on the plateau like we were back at the start of our journey again. 

Waiting till Sky was high enough to the point where we wouldn’t have to be worried about hearing anything as he circled the area lazily before going to perch somewhere. Leaving us to discuss everything. Well after sitting down and getting as comfortable as we both could, which meant sitting with Wild snuggled up against me.

“So them pressing you is why you’ve been so stressed recently? Why didn’t you come to talk to me about it my lil fluffball?”

“Didn’t want you overreacting.”

That- that’s fair, I can see why he thought I could have done that. 

“But I wouldn’t have done anything that you wouldn’t have wanted me too.”

“Mhm, I know ‘s just worried about it.”

“Okay that’s understandable love, but please don’t hesitate to tell me if it ever happens again. I don’t want you dealing with it alone.”

“I won’t, I promise. Besides I’ve got sky, wolfie and you now.”

“Oh? Sky’s made it into that list fast hasn’t he?”

“He’s a good friend to me, and I know there’s something going on between the two of you too.”

What? What does he mean by that? 

“I’m not blind my beloved, you look at him the same way you looked at me before we were together.”

I could feel my face lighting up now. Between everything he’s saying and the fact that he’s pressing kiss after kiss on my neck. My sly little bird trying to stop me from really being able to focus. Just because he doesn’t want to talk about his own issues. If he thinks I’ll drop it over him trying this he’s dead wrong.

“No, no there isn’t anything there link. And anyway we’re supposed to be talking about you here.”

“I’m not bothered, you know. I think sharing you with him would be nice.”

“Link I’m trying to talk about you being upset, not about whatever you’re imagining right now. Please stop trying to change the topic.”

“He looks at you the same way too, wouldn’t you at least want to try?”

[gatheringbones]

[“To Larraine, putting something on layaway was saving. “I can’t leave money in my bank,” she said. “When you’re on SSI you can only have so much money in the bank, and it’s got to be less than a thousand dollars. Because if it’s more…they cut your payments until that money is spent.”

Larraine was talking about SSI’s “resource limit.” She was allowed to have up to $2,000 in the bank, not $1,000 like she thought, but anything more than that could result in her losing benefits. Larraine saw this rule as a clear disincentive to save. “If I can’t keep my money in the bank, then I might as well buy something worthwhile…because I know once I pay on it, it’s mine, and no one can take it from me, just like my jewelry.” Well, no one except Eagle Moving.

Before her eviction, Beaker had asked Larraine why she didn’t just sell her jewelry and pay Tobin. “Of course I’m not going to do that,” she said. “I worked way too hard for me to sell my jewelry….I’m not going to sell my life savings because I’m homeless or I got evicted.” It wasn’t like she had just stumbled into a pit and would soon climb out. Larraine imagined she would be poor and rent-strapped forever. And if that was to be her lot in life, she might as well have a little jewelry to show for it.

(…) When Larraine spent money or food stamps on nonessentials, it baffled and frustrated people around her, including her niece, Sammy, Susan and Lane’s daughter. “My aunt Larraine is one of those people who will see some two-hundred-dollar beauty cream that removes her wrinkles and will go and buy it instead of paying the rent,” said Sammy, a hairstylist with her own shop in Cudahy. “I don’t know why she just doesn’t stick to a budget.” Pastor Daryl felt the same way, saying that Larraine was careless with her money because she operated under a “poverty mentality.”

To Sammy, Pastor Daryl, and others, Larraine was poor because she threw money away. But the reverse was more true. Larraine threw money away because she was poor.

Before she was evicted, Larraine had $164 left over after paying the rent. She could have put some of that away, shunning cable and Walmart. If Larraine somehow managed to save $50 a month, nearly one-third of her after-rent income, by the end of the year she would have $600 to show for it—enough to cover a single month’s rent. And that would have come at considerable sacrifice, since she would sometimes have had to forgo things like hot water and clothes. Larraine could have at least saved what she spent on cable. But to an older woman who lived in a trailer park isolated from the rest of the city, who had no car, who didn’t know how to use the Internet, who only sometimes had a phone, who no longer worked, and who sometimes was seized with fibromyalgia attacks and cluster migraines—cable was a valued friend.

People like Larraine lived with so many compounded limitations that it was difficult to imagine the amount of good behavior or self-control that would allow them to lift themselves out of poverty. The distance between grinding poverty and even stable poverty could be so vast that those at the bottom had little hope of climbing out even if they pinched every penny. So they chose not to. Instead, they tried to survive in color, to season the suffering with pleasure. They would get a little high or have a drink or do a bit of gambling or acquire a television. They might buy lobster on food stamps. If Larraine spent her money unwisely, it was not because her benefits left her with so much but because they left her with so little. She paid the price for her lobster dinner. She had to eat pantry food the rest of the month. Some days, she simply went hungry. It was worth it. “I’m satisfied with what I had,” she said. “And I’m willing to eat noodles for the rest of the month because of it.”

Larraine learned a long time ago not to apologize for her existence. “People will begrudge you for anything,” she said. She didn’t care that the checkout clerk looked at her funny. She got the same looks when she bought the $14 tart balsamic vinegar or ribs or on-sale steak or chicken. Larraine loved to cook. “I have a right to live, and I have a right to live like I want to live,” she said. “People don’t realize that even poor people get tired of the same old taste. Like, I literally hate hot dogs, but I was brought up on them. So you think, ‘When I get older, I will have steak.’ So now I’m older. And I do.”]

matthew desmond, from evicted: poverty and profit in the american city, 2016

[mae-gi-writes]

It's (Just So) Awkward | jungkook (bts) - one

“No way. We’re too different and he’s so—so black and white. A straight-up yes-or-no kind of guy. And I’m not.”

Genre: nerd! Jungkook x outspoken! Reader, university! Au, idiots to lovers au, kim changbin cameo (skz)

A/N: any mention of disorders/medical conditions are fictional and I do not own Jeon jungkook. I only own the plot. If you are sensitive to content that talks about psychological disorders, i would advise you to read at your own risk. Please do enjoy !!

Comment your username to join the taglist! 💕😊

Part One | Next >>>

———

“And I scream ‘for whatever it’s worth, I love you, ain’t that the worst thing you ever heard?” — Cruel Summer, Taylor Swift

———

You and Jeon Jungkook have known each other for years.

You know him like the back of your hand, not because you wanted to, but because you were obliged to, with the god-awful amount of time that you spent together.

Everything started back in art class. You had been fifteen at the time and had enrolled in the Visual Arts IGCSE course, as did he. There were only five students in the class, which was the main reason as to how you got to know your classmates that well, considering that these were the sorts of people that you wouldn’t normally hang out with on a daily basis.

You’d taken a seat next to Jungkook on that very first day of class, your colored markers in one hand and your sketchbook in the other, when he’d first decided to pick on the state of your shirt.

“Your shirt is crumpled,” he’d stated matter-of-factly, as though he didn’t have any filter, as though he didn’t care that it might affect your feelings. Good for him that you weren’t the type of person to take things to heart.

You merely straightened and looked at him, “thanks for the observation.”

“Don’t you iron your shirts?”

“Uhm no, I forgot,” you eyed his very organized desk, noticed the straight angles of his own sketchbook perpendicularly placed with his ruler. His pens stacked at its side, parallel to the paper, and his hands poised onto the fresh page.

Your gaze then traveled up to his clean, crisp shirt, hair parted to the side and glasses perched on his nose.

Your eyebrows raised in curiosity as he said, “coming to school with a crumpled up shirt just shows how disorganized you are. Or maybe you didn’t have enough time. Then that’s time-management skills that you lack.”

“Thanks, I’ll take that into consideration,” you’d replied sarcastically.

And from there, you had learnt to know who Jeon Jungkook really was.

Undeniably, he had an amazing gift for art which no one could argue with, so all his backhanded comments were, over time, either ignored or playfully used as insults to tease him back. He was a funny guy — in the sense that he barely had any filter or sense of what was socially accepted to talk about — but you couldn’t say he hadn’t grown on you over the past years and funnily enough, you both ended up in the same university course as Visual Arts major.

“You again?” You’d groaned on the first day of lecture upon noticing his tall, dark frame behind round spectacles. Even out of high school, he still wore a shirt -- this one pale blue -- tucked into sable pants, hair combed back into that side part that now sportrd a few bangs, and his glasses.

He grinned at you from his seat, “hello, Y/N.”

“Why are you here?” You dramatically fell into your seat, swiveled towards him with an exasperated sigh as your chin fell into your hand.

“Because I applied for Visual Arts and got in.”

“Well yeah I knew that much,” you rolled your eyes, “but I thought you wanted to be an architect. Isn’t that what you said before graduation?”

“You remember?” His grin widened, “that’s nice of you—“

“Not on purpose, you dweeb. Now tell me why you’re here instead of bugging someone else in architecture 101.”

“I am in architecture,” he lifted his shoulder in a shrug, “but my course asks for an art prerequisite. They said I couldn’t use my high school grades to give me my transfer credits because art wasn’t my main subject.”

“That’s bullshit. Your art was the best out of all of us.”

“Apparently it wasn’t good enough for them.”

You tilted your head at him, “so you’re telling me I have to suffer through this with you, again? Didn’t I do enough of that in high school?”

“Technically, you’re the one who came to sit next to me.”

“You got a point. Maybe I should move.”

But you didn’t. Not wanting to admit it, you were actually grateful knowing that Jungkook was a familiar element amidst all this new environment. Not that you’d ever tell him that though, knowing he’d take full advantage of it.

That didn’t stop you from complaining about it with your mother every time you saw her appear on your phone screen. She would only laugh and tease you about it, saying that out of all universities, Jeon Jungkook had chosen the one you had applied to. Surely, according to her, she thought it was fate.

“It’s not fate,” you’d grumbled into your pillow, “how can it be fate? He just likes to torture me.”

“He’s not that bad Y/N,” your mother chided, “and you know how he is. His mother said so at the exhibition, remember?”

Yes, you had remembered how his mother had apologized following Jungkook’s harsh criticism of your projects. How could you forget? It had been on the final exhibition evening where all students were decked in black and white to follow the theme of the night, and as part of your final exhibition, you’d had to criticize and analyze your classmates’ pieces with your teacher as mediator. And when Jungkook had been asked to voice his thoughts about your work, he had been void of kindness:

“It doesn’t seem genuine.”

“It lacks of technique.”

“You could’ve used more depth.”

“I don’t see the connection between the artist and the audience.”

Not wanting to cry in front of the entire class had you running to the bathroom as tears streamed down your face, which caused his mother to follow you while trying to explain her son’s horrible behaviour.

“I’m so sorry Y/N. You know he doesn’t mean it that way, not really—“

“Oh then, in what way does he mean it then?” You’d sniffled into your tissue, hating how red your eyes looked in the mirror, “because to me that sounded downright condescending and honestly, I thought better of him—“

“He’s different, Y/N.”

“Different?” You pause, “what do you mean…different?”

That was when she explained about Social Cues Disorder, also known as SCD, which was placed on the Asperger’s spectrum despite being slightly different from the said diagnostic. And as she spoke, it became clear why Jungkook didn’t have any social barriers into speaking his mind even when it might hurt people or be taken the wrong way. The thing was, he didn’t know.

Nevertheless, it took you a few days to recover from his personal attack. You were surprised when Jungkook came up to you a few days after the exhibition to offer you an apology.

“My mother said she told you about SCD,” he spoke as though they were talking about the weather when to you, it was slightly difficult to handle such a topic when you had no idea whether he’d take it right or wrong, “she also said I need to apologize because I was very harsh on you during the exhibition.”

You swallowed thickly, the sting of tears building in your eyes as the memory resurfaced, “yes. You were.”

“I’m sorry,” he replied without missing a beat, “I didn’t know it would hurt your feelings. According to the doctors, I don’t know how to understand people’s emotions or react to people, or say the right thing. So I’m sorry, because I’m sure I might do it again.”

You looked at him for a long moment, judging the weight of his words. Then, you sighed, “that’s fine, Jungkook. Thanks.”

If you removed his lack of total empathy, Jungkook was admittedly kind of fun to be around. He had the most hilariou responses to everything, which you learnt the more you sat next to him in class.

"Color blindness is an eyesight problem," he said one day when you told him that you believed color blindness to be some sort of supernatural gift.

"Well how do you know that the colors you see are the real ones?" You lean over your desk, pen in hand as the soft scratches of pencil to paper filled the room, "maybe we're the ones who are colour blind."

"That is scientifically incorrect."

"Who said so?"

He looked at you as if you were an idiot, "it was scientifically proven, Y/N. I don't think your argument is valid."

"Okay, so let's take schizophrenia for example," you quickly fired back, "people say that those with this disorder hallucinate and see things that aren't there. But maybe, wait--hear me out," you added when Jungkook started shaking his head, "maybe these people actually see things that we don't."

Jungkook's eyebrow rose in what looked to be half-amusement, "I'm not sure that's a valid point. Also, it's medically incorrect to be sharing false information about psychological disorders."

"Not everything is quantifiable, you know."

"Still, what you're saying is that these people have superpowers that don't exist."

"Exactly."

"Sounds like some kind of marvel action movie to me."

Of course he would say something like that. What were you expecting more? With time, you came to understand the phenomenon that was Jeon Jungkook, with his weird quirks and curious way of thinking. You secretly wondered whether he knew how easily people got triggered by his responses, or whether he just went through life with his own kind of colorblindness.

You got rewarded with a first-hand situation between him and another classmate of yours a few days later, going by the name of Kim Changbin.

It was in the middle of mid-term and since deadlines were comig up soon, the printmaking studio was crammed with students trying to finish up their portfolio projects in time. You would normally give Jungkook a hand with the technical materials and tools needed and after having set up his screen, was busy arranging your own set of colours when a voice pierced through the room in anger.

"What the fuck, Jeon?!" Your head swivelled to see Changbin at the station that Jungkook had been standing at seconds prior, looking quite murderous with his damaged screen in hand. Facing him was Jungkook, a palette knife held in mid-air, "what's wrong with you, flaunting that thing around when we all have screens?!"

"I'm sorry," the words came out straight away from Jungkook's mouth, "It wasn't my intention. I'll make sure to work on it--"

"Work on it?" Changbin's nostrils flared. He stepped towards the taller man, "this took me fucking weeks to perfect. And what? You're going to work on it?" He took another step closer, causing Jungkook to lean back, " How the fuck am I supposed to get my artwork back huh?"

"I'm sorry, it wasn't my intention," Jungkook parroted again with eyes glassy as though he didn't know what to say, "I'll make sure to wo--"

"Yeah I heard you the first time!" Changbin hollered, index stabbing at his chest, "this artwork is my scholarship ticket and you fucking ruined it!"

"Hey hey," you quickly stepped in-between the two men, hand latching onto Changbin's shoulder, "he said he was sorry okay? Let's just calm down and--"

"Move out, Y/N, this is none of your fucking business," Changbin pushed you away and you stumbled. He took this chance to lunge for Jungkook's chest and the latter whimpered, yelping and handa scrabbling to push Changbin away, "you gonna take responsibility, dumbass?--"

"I'm sorry it wasn't my intention--"

"You fucking retard you can't even --"

"--make sure to work on--"

"Shut up!" And before he knew it, Jungkook yelped and pushed Changbin away.

"Changbin!"

"Jungkook!"

Changbin fell, crashed straight into a table with such force it split down the middle. For a minute, he lay there motionless, the entire class rendered silent.

And in the middle of it all, a panicked Jungkook holding his hands over his ears.

He crouched down as people moved towards Changbin concern and you took this chance to go to your friend, hearing him mutter the exact same phrase over and over again with a blank look in his eyes.

"Jungkook," your words were quiet as your hand wrapped around his shoulder tentatively, "hey, you alright bud? Let's get you out of here, okay?"

But as if he just realized you were his only safe anchor, the young man was quick to wrap his arms around your middle before he buried his head into your chest.

Your cheeks flamed, but you went to caress the back of his head, knowing that this was not a normal situation. He needed you.

"Jungkook?" You whispered and tried ignoring the way your heart skipped a beat, "you okay?"

"Just--please. Don't move."

Few words with so much power. You couldn't help but crumble and hold him closer if that was possible, hoping that the consequences that would follow would hopefully be called an accident.

This was the first time you'd seen Jungkook, as who he really was. You could have walked away , you had that choice, if you wanted to.

But you didn't.

---

"Hey."

Changbin's angry eyes fluttered up to yours from the nurse's bed. He'd been admitted to the campus clinic for an overnight watch in case something went wrong with his back. Due to the force of his fall, he now sported bruises all along his spine and you knew without doubt he'd use it as blackmail against Jungkook even if the wounds were superficial.

"What do you want?" He growled.

From his narrow-eyed stare, it was clear that he was not enjoying his current predicament; that being pinned down to a bed.

"How are you feeling?" You moved a little closer and tried not to flinch under his hard gaze, "I just wanted to see if you were alright."

"Well you got your answer," he snapped, "now if you don't have anytbing else to say, get lost."

"I'm sorry. Jungkook--he's a bit socially awkward and I know you took a lot of time to finish this--"

"That's not your job, is it?" He chuckled emptily, "why are you apologizing on his behalf?"

"Because I know that's what he wants to say, but he's not in a state to say it right now," you took another step closer until you were at his bedside, "so before you go and think that he's just a loser, I wanted to clarify it with you."

"What are you, his mom or something?"

"We're friends, Changbin."

He shook his head, looking amused and you were glad he didn't seem to be so angry now that you exchanged more than two words with him, "and how exactly, did you become friends?"

"Why?"

"You don't seem the type to be friends with that kind of geek, apologies for the insult," he said with a raised brow, "so tell me. How are you friends? Is it by duty?"

"No. He's...it just happened," you tried to stammer through an explanation, though he had a point. How had you become friends? "In any case, does that even matter?"

That was when Changbin grinned at you, "wanna be my friend?"

You stared blankly at him, "what?"

"You wanna be my friend and help me out with my artwork?"

Considering that he would probably combust and drag you along with him if you failed to agree, you were quick to abide by his suggestion, setting up a meeting at the studio a few days later when he'd be safe and sound from the nurse.

You even prepared the materials in advance, setting up all the colours and preparing the screen so that Changbin wouldn't have to wait for it to dry to expose his design.

Your phone vibrated and you quickly pulled it out, frowning when Jungkook's name flashed across the screen.

"Hello?"

"Hello Y/N. Where are you?"

"Uh, at school. Why?"

"I bought chocolate donuts."

Your heart melted slightly, "I'm in the art lab."

Which was where Jungkook found you a few minutes later as he walked through the door, donuts in hand and looking as geeky as ever with a crisp white shirt tucked into light jeans.

"Why are you here?" He frowned, "You're already done with your artwork."

Changbin walked in from the exposure room right at that very instant, his face turning sour as soon as he caught sight of the dark-haired man, "what the fuck are you doing here?" He growled.

"I'm here to give some donuts to--"

"To you!" You grabbed the donut box from Jungkook before thrusting it in Changbin's face, "hos way of saying sorry about your broken screen."

"Actually, these donuts were for yo--"

"He just feels so bad about you having to do your artwork all over again, right Jungkook?" You throw him a pointed look, which caused Jungkook's brows to furrow in even more confusion as Changbin's dark eyes flickered between the two of you, not quite sure what to make of the situation.

It took a moment for Jungkook to mutter out a, "sure."

"I'd feel a whole lot better if you got out of my face," Changbin scowled at him then, and you quickly scurried in front of your friend with hands held up in a defensive manner.

Jungkook turned to you, "do you have to help him, Y/N? He doesn't seem to be very friendly to me--"

"You little shi--"

"Alright alright boys!” You flailed your arms around wildly in hopes that would deter any kind of fight, “I told you, Jungkook doesn’t know how to show his affection and gratefulness to other people. Don’t take it badly, Changbin, let’s just— “

“Statistically speaking, you shouldn’t hang out with people with violent tendencies. It’s dangerous,” Jungkook stated bluntly.

You threw him the angriest glare you could muster, causing the said man’s eyes to dart away. He couldn’t recognize social cues, but he did know for a fact what your angry face looked like. So he didn't fight when you pushed him out of the door while excusing yourself with Changbin and it was only when you were safely away from prying ears that you tried talking some sense into your friend.

"Don't mess with this, okay? I got it." You said in what you hoped was a convincing tone, "just go home and finish your homework. We have that art history essay due tomorrow."

Jungkook stared you down behind his glasses, "but Changbin is--"

"No it's fine, just go home. Everything will be fine if you go home."

"What if he hits you?"

"He won't."

"You will call me if he does?"

"Yes. I promise I will."

That seemed to satisfy Jungkook and you quickly propelled him out of the building before ushering back inside the lab just in time to catch Changbin doing his screenprint.

"Got rid of that loser yet?" His smirk was infuriating. It made you want to slap it off his face.

"Shut up and let me help you," you responded, rolling your eyes as you went to assist him. In truth, you were just secretly glad they didn't tear each other's throats out.

Not everyone understood Jungkook, and while that was fine, you just felt as though you were responsible for protecting him.

It was almost midnight when you finished cleaning up the studio and packed up all the tools and materials, that was when Changbin suggested you get something to eat. Deciding that your stomach was a priority, you agreed and settled at one of the small cheap restaurants that sold hot noodle soup, one of the rare finds open 24/7.

"Why're you friends with that guy?"

You glanced up from your soup, "you asked me that before, Changbin."

He took a sip of his, other hand fumbling with his chopsticks to gather some noodles, “and I’m asking you again. Why are you friends?” He took a bite of his noodles and grumbled appreciatively, “you like him or something?”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve heard coming out of your mouth,” you snorted as you slurped your noodles and chewed on the warmth that seeped into your chest. Noodles always tasted better in cold weather.

“Well he likes you.”

You almost choked on your noodles, “wha— where are you getting all this false information.”

“It’s written all over his face, Y/N,” Changbin rolled his eyes, “he wouldn’t be bringing you donuts if that were the case.”

“You’re wrong. He’s just kind. He always was,” the thought of you and Jungkook being together suddenly flashed before your eyes and heat flushed through your cheeks at the thought. He was your friend, he was the closest thing to home that you had now that you were in university, so it was just natural for you to gravitate towards the familiar.

“Bullshit. You don’t see the way he looks at you.”

“He doesn’t look at me like anything.”

Changbin merely chuckled, shaking his head before finishing his soup in silence. You were glad that he dropped it, knowing full well that you wouldn’t have been able to take it if he’d continuously found arguments to support his hypothesis. Jungkook couldn’t like you…could he? He was…odd and not the kind of man to look for things like relationships.

Then again, you’d never actually asked Jungkook how he felt about girls. Or relationships for that matter.

Which was why you had planned to corner him after your English lecture, rushing to the end of the corridor where you knew Jungkook had his design class with your bag barely closed and books clutched to your chest, only to find the said man wrapped up in an animated conversation with a stranger you’d never seen before.

The girl was beautiful. That was a given, with long glossy curls that fell to her waist and dyed light blonde, giving her the appearance of a fairy. She was wearing a pastel blue coat decked with white pants and boots to match, the perfect fashion icon for many, slightly smaller than you were so that her head had to tilt back every time she spoke to him.

You were about to swivel around — since they seemed to be in deep discussion — when Jungkook spotted you. His brown eyes lit up from behind his spectacles (it was kinda cute) and he grinned, dimple showing.

“Y/N,” he called your name and you had no other choice than to walk over, flashing him a weak smile, “this is Lee Sara. She’s in my design class. She’s also going to be an architect.”

“Hi,” Sara smiled. She was beautiful, “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Hi, nice to meet you,” you smiled back, eyes darting between the two before settling on Jungkook’s, “you ready to go?”

“Actually, Sara and I are going to get some boba,” Jungkook said.

“Oh,” you tried to hide the surprise on your face, “right. Uhm… I’ll see you later then.”

“Do you want to join us?” Sara asked kindly.

Jungkook was already turning away by then, probably too excited to get his drink to think about your feelings. He stopped mid-way, looked back at you, only to see you shake your head.

“I’m okay,” you smiled slightly, “see you two later. I gotta head to the library to study.”

Maybe it was the fact that Jungkook never used to socialize with girls before or that you never noticed, but you couldn’t help but feel slightly disoriented at the sudden switch in the situation, causing Changbin’s earlier words to resonate through your brain. Did Jungkook actually have romantic intentions towards girls.

Did he feel attracted to them? It had never crossed your mind before, but now that Changbin had it labeled as an option, it was as if you couldn’t get the thought out of your head.

And it wasn’t just a one-time occurrence. A few days later you found him cooped up in the library with Sara at his side as they studied the mathematical equations of buildings and helped each other out with their projects. You had joined for a bit, only to feel a bit left out by the conversation and thus opted out early in favour of escaping the rising awkwardness. Not that Jungkook noticed, he never noticed anything.

“Maybe you’re right.” You’d grumbled to Changbin during your art lab a few days later. You had arrived early to class, coffee still steaming in hand, to find the said young man already sitting inside with his final artwork labeled and ready to be submitted on the table.

He looked at you, an eyebrow raising in curiosity, “I’m right about many things,” a smirk graced his face, “do tell.”

“About Jungkook liking girls.”

“No. I said he liked you, that’s a different—“

“It doesn’t matter,” you cut him off, “he doesn’t like me. But he’s—I just realized that maybe he does want a girlfriend. Maybe.”

“What made you say that?”

“He’s been hanging out a lot with a classmate lately,” you shrugged, “it’s just—it feels weird. He never used to be so…social.”

“Good riddance,” Changbin’s smirk grew, which made you throw your pen at his head. It hit him straight on the forehead, “ow! Watch it, woman.”

It was for the best. Really, truly, that Jungkook was expanding his horizons and talking to new people. He couldn’t be in your shadow forever, after all. That was what you kept on repeating yourself as the thoughts replayed through your brain again and again and again. The realization was tough, but change was good. Right?

Change was needed.

And maybe you should change too.

———

"Pigs aren't cute. They bathe in mud and carry numerous bacteria and and these bacteria are transferred to humans."

"Pigs are cute!" You gasped, shoving your phone in Jungkook's face to show him an image of said animal, "look at their babies! They're so fluffy and like tiny and small--"

He pushed your hand away in disgust, "you have weird taste in cutness."

"They're this ugly pink but overall they're quite charming, don't you think?" You giggled as you keptbswiping for photo after photo, "oh gosh, look at this one! He has a bow on his head."

“Y/N you have a weird definition of cute.”

You chuckled, “and you are weird, full stop.”

A few days had passed ever since your encounter with Sara and you hadn’t mentioned anything about the said girl since, thinking that it was probably for the best. And plus, Jungkook had the complete right to do whatever he wanted with his life. Yup. You weren’t there to stop him from talking to a pretty girl.

Maybe you should worry about yourself instead, and try not to focus too much on how it was getting harder and harder to get Jungkook’s attention these days.

Not that anything had changed. You still went on your library study sessions and bought boba together after every art history lecture. You still ate friend chicken and pizza while streaming your favorite movie — the same one that Jungkook asked for every week — and you still hung out with each other as though everything was normal.

But you knew it was far from it, something that your social circle of friends also pointed out during one particular lunchtime.

“He’s so peculiar. How do you hang out with him?” asked your good friend Yoona. You had met her during orientation and the two of you had hung out together quite often ever since. She’d even tagged along to some of your famous movie night Fridays, “I mean, not to sound rude but he’s like the kind of guy you’d find in Internet cafes.”

“He’s not all that bad. You just don’t know him well,” you argued as you took a sip of your iced tea.

“Don’t you think he has a crush on you, Y/N?” Another friend, Jimin, asked. He was busy unwrapping his sandwich and flicked his fringe out of his eyes, cocking his head in a way that made you feel a little self-conscious.

Yoona chortled, “no way. I don’t see it. Although…when you think about it, it would make sense why they would end up together.”

“Right?” Jimin added, “it’s clear as day that you guys have feelings for each oth—“

“Bullshit,” you laughed, “I don’t know why you keep mentioning that. And plus, he’s hanging out with this new girl these days.”

“New girl? Who?” Yoona frowned.

“Her name’s Sara Lee. Heard of her before?”

“Oh,” Jimin straightens, “the pretty girl from architecture right? I think everyone’s heard of her. She’s like an influencer or something.”

“Well you know, if you dress up Jungkook nicely…” Yoona trailed off in thought, “I think he has potential.”

“You think? Girl, the ladies in my course have been eyeing him since the start of the new semester. That’s old news,” Jimin rolled his eyes as you stared them down, eyes darting from one face to another as the new information sunk in.

“Wait—“ you interrupted their flow of conversation, “are you—are you actually serious? Jungkook? Potential? What—“

“I’m surprised you haven’t seen it yet, Y/N,” Yoona said as she slurped down her drink, “I mean— this boy just has wardrobe issues. Nothing that a little bit of fixing can’t solve.”

Contrary to your friends, you had never actually thought of Jungkook— seen of him in this light. Which was why you decided to stare him down in your art history lecture right after lunch, cocking your head this way and that as you examined the angles of his face.

In truth, they were right. Jungkook did have potential to be handsome. Because even with those round glasses and that horrible side part of his, you could still catch a glimpse of his jaw line. His build was hidden, but yet still there underneath the curve of his shoulders. His back was broad, that you were sure of and you couldn’t help imagining how he would look like in a v-neck shirt—

Stop. Your slammed down on your thoughts like car brakes. This was Jungkook, for god’s sake. You’d known him as the annoying classmate in high school, the quirky friend who never wore sweaters or casual wear and was always decked in formal attire. This wasn’t about to change now.

“Y/N, you’ve been staring me down since the start of class and it’s starting to creep me out.”

Jungkook’s voice dragged you back to reality. You blinked, catching his eyes as warmth suddenly flushed through the back of your neck.

“Uh—yeah sorry. Was just lost in thought.” Lies. You were definitely checking him out. You wondered whether he actually knew what that word meant. You were just glad he wasn’t the best at reading physical body language or expressions for that matter.

“Can I ask you a question?” You asked suddenly.

He looked hesitant, but nodded.

“What do you think of Sara?”

“What do I think of Sara?” You watched his eyebrows pull into a frown, “I don’t think I understand this question, Y/N.”

“I mean—do you find Sara attractive? Like as a girl?”

Jungkook was silent for a long moment and though you were usually the best at reading him, the expression on his face was one that you couldn’t decipher.

It made your stomach curl with unease.

And when he finally spoke, you swore your stomach twisted in on itself.

“Sara is pretty.”

Your throat suddenly felt dry. You swallowed thickly, bit down onto your lower lip and tried to wonder what the fuck was wrong with you. It wasn’t like you liked Jungkook…right? Right?

“Would you date her?” You asked.

“I have not thought of it. But yes, she is, by every man’s standards, a very good candidate for a girlfriend.”

Ah. So he did know what it meant after all.

“But would you date her?”

“Probably. Yes.” He looked at you then, tilting his head to the side as though trying to decode what was going on inside that head of yours, “why do you ask?”

“Oh, nothing. No reason.” You tried to smile, lips lifting slightly at the corners in hopes that it would fool him.

It did. Without him knowing that somewhere along the seam of your heart was a small hole that ripped apart its seams.

-—-

Part Two >>

[cinnajun]

ᵕ̈ ೫˚∗: like clockwork | njm

summary | fights with jaemin are impossible because he never takes them seriously. so, when you get into a relationship-ending fight with him, you decide on an ultimatum: if he doesn’t apologize first this time, you're going to cut the string of fate.

genre | non-idol! jaemin x fem reader. angst and a little fluff like at the end (if you consider it that)

warnings | over-dependence (from both sides), generally just a toxic relationship whoops sorry jaemin

wc | 2.1k

a/n: this is like a part two? i guess? to nct dream after a fight, except i don’t think jaemin is very nice when it comes to arguments

jeno’s ver

YOU’VE BEEN SITTING in your ex-roommate’s living room for three hours, crying into her blankets while she tried to console you. You weren’t sure what to feel—anger, sadness, confusion, or maybe all three—at this point.

Jaemin was, in all senses of the phrase, a perfect boyfriend. Your friends fawned over him and his consideration, the way he bought you bouquets and little teddy bears from time to time, the way he agreed with you on everything you said. They fawned over the way he planned out your whole future, from beginning to end, as if you were never going to break up.

And, to be honest, you thought there’d never be a chance you would break up. Seriously, you’d started dating in your last year of high school, and you’d never gotten close to breaking up in the years that followed.

Now, you weren’t so sure.

You had to fight sometimes. No matter how unargumentative he was, how he never cared about how late you stayed out or who you were friends with, there were always going to be bumps.

Your roommate helped you realize that, after every single fight, you were the one to apologize. Without fail. An hour ago, you’d gone through every single argument you had (you could count the number on one hand), and, no matter who started it, you always had to be the one reaching out for forgiveness.

None of those fights were as big as this one, but you knew it would stay the same.

Today was your fifth anniversary of being with him. You’d spent weeks saving up for a gift for him, working extra hours and budgeting so he wouldn’t notice such a big purchase in your shared expenses. It was simple, a thin bracelet with a few fancy gemstones and his initials engraved onto it, but it meant a lot to you.

Jaemin didn’t get you anything.

You’d never especially celebrated anniversaries, at least not with presents, but you had made it clear that five years was a big deal to you. On the day of, today, you spent hours preparing your apartment, even taking the day off so you could prepare.

Then, at around 5, Jaemin sent a text saying he was going to get drinks with Donghyuck. Then, you hinted that you’d prepared dinner. Then, he asked you to put some in a tupperware for him so he could savor it the next day.

By that point, you were near tears, and the only thing you managed to type out was: what about our anniversary?

He caved at that, saying he was on his way home. By that point, though, the night had been ruined for you; maybe you should’ve let him go so you could calm down, take a few deep breaths, and complain to your friends. But, something in that naive mind of yours said this could be fixed, and you believed that inkling.

Jaemin returned home looking annoyed. You watched as his face morphed from mild discontent to shock as he stared at your decorated kitchen, with flowers everywhere and a cute sign you’d spent the whole morning making.

“Babe, when did we do stuff like this?” was the first thing he asked. At that moment, you saw concern, guilt, but that was the only time that night you saw remorse at all.

“We didn’t,” you agreed briefly, taking a sad bite of the cookies you had made. Your dinner was cold now, uneatable by your standards. “But five years isn’t a short amount of time, Jaemin, and I have been talking about it for months.”

The rest of the fight was a blur. When your voice raised, he implored you to calm down, to just listen to him. He kept a level head throughout the whole thing, spitting logic and reasonability at your emotional outburst. Things about how he hadn’t budgeted for gifts, how he never thought it would be this big of a deal, how you never told him it would be this big of a deal.

The way he spoke to you was condescending, as if he had everything under control, everything figured out, everything according to his wants. You recognized his tone of voice well because it was nearly identical to the tone your superiors, male superiors, took when they spoke to you at work. You knew he felt like he was the rational one, and that you were overreacting.

Nothing was fixed. You remember grabbing your jacket, slinging it over your shoulders, all while Jaemin told you to stay and “figure yourself out.” You didn’t listen, yanking one of the kitchen drawers open and pulling out the small, velvet box where the bracelet lay. In your anger, you threw it at him, leaving him to stare while you took yourself (and the pretty dress you’d put on) elsewhere.

“I think you need to tell him to apologize,” your ex-roommate suggested, handing you a bowl of popcorn intermixed with M&Ms. “I’ve never heard of Jaemin acting like that much of an asshole.”

That night, you set an ultimatum. If Jaemin couldn’t take your concerns seriously, your needs seriously, then you obviously couldn’t be together. If he could not take this seriously, then you would not be together.

So, you sent a text:

If you aren’t the one to apologize this time, we need to have a talk about our relationship. I’ll give you a week.

-

Four days pass, and you’re regretting it. Jaemin has been your entire adult life, and you’re not sure if you can live without him.

All your friends are on your side, telling you that, if this is the end, they’ll be here to help you recover. They give you tips on separating your bank accounts (when you and Jaemin decided to do that about a year ago now, you had been giddy, thinking this meant marriage was now in the picture), how to find an apartment on your own, ways you can keep yourself safe and sound when you were home alone.

Still, you were nervous. His only response to your text had been a small “okay,” all lowercase, with no emotion behind it. You hadn’t even opened the text at your ex-roommate’s behest, as she claimed “opening it means he knows you’re thinking about him.”

You were going to regret this, one part of you said. The other part insisted this was good for you, that you couldn’t live your whole life dependent on someone who wasn’t dependent on you. That your relationship with Jaemin might’ve been toxic anyways, maybe even suffocating, because who wants their entire life planned out at 22?

Deep down, you know that your breakup will destroy your life. You’d probably go back to your parents for a bit, wondering if Jaemin talked to his friends about how you always told him that you’d never been too fond of them. You’d watch as his life sailed on perfectly fine without you, always planned to a T, always ready for an unexpected iceberg or two.

Jaemin’s life was like clockwork: constant, yet moving forwards with no chance of looking back. No matter the clock he was adorned by, his ticking would not end until the clock was destroyed beyond repair.

Yours was not. Yours was planned around his planning, every move decided upon with his opinion, every decision made with his watchful eye leading you through.

You were his clock.

No clockwork could exist without a clock, though. 

- 

You stood outside your apartment door, key in hand, ex-roommate parked outside. Part of you didn’t want to go inside, didn’t want to face reality if reality meant the end of your life’s only constant. But, a week had passed, and you would not let yourself fall now.

You shoved the key into the doorknob, clicking it open with the slow turn of your wrist, and pushing it open. Jaemin was sitting on the floor, scratching the chin of your shared cat.

“Are you ready to talk now?” he asked, not turning his attention away from the cat. He assumed the tone of voice he’d kept that night, a tone that made your stomach churn.

“I don’t think you understand this, honestly,” you replied, slipping your shoes off and trudging farther into the apartment. He rose from the floor, following you into the living room, where he’d sorted your flowers into one of the many vases he’d bought a couple of ago.

“Enlighten me, then. Let me understand,” he replied, sitting down on the sofa. You sat in the single chair across from him, leaning your elbows on your knees.

“I took extra shifts to buy you that bracelet, Jaemin. I talked about our anniversary for months, and you pretended to listen to every word I said, but, down to the wire, you don’t even acknowledge it,” you breathed out, trying to keep yourself as level-headed as he presented himself to be. “You didn’t even plan on coming home for dinner.”

“Who said I was pretending? Listen, [First], your months of talking were just little ideas and hints. You never said anything outright, so I didn’t think it would be such a big deal—”

“I’m not here to fight again,” you cut him off, clenching your fists and biting back the tears in your eyes. “I’m here for an apology, and if you can’t give me something as simple as that, I am going to break up with you.”

Jaemin’s eyes widened as if that was the last thing he expected to hear. The whole room went silent, save for the quiet meows of your cat, who was currently rubbing her back against your leg. Jaemin didn’t seem like he knew what to say, or what to do, which was the last situation he wanted to be in in most cases.

He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He squeezed his eyes shut, covering his face with his hands, as if he was in some sort of shock. Not wanting to speak until he decided on his response, you just leaned back in the chair, staring at him.

Jaemin dropped his hands from his face, staring at the coffee table. Your cat took off elsewhere, blissfully unaware of the gravity of your situation.

Finally, he said, “You can’t do that.”

“Excuse me?”

“You can’t break up with me now,” he repeated, looking up at you. “Not after—”

“After what? You planned out my entire future for me, to fit your tastes?”

“Not after I planned my whole life around you.”

You went quiet at that. Something in that statement didn’t feel right, at least not to your mind. There was no way Na Jaemin’s perfect life plans had you in mind, not at all. He was the center of the universe, and you were the stick threatening to pop his perfect balloon. In what world had everything been planned around you?

“If an apology is what you need, I will give it, but you have to promise you won’t leave now. Not over something like this,” he continued, letting his voice crack. A single tear fell down his face, and, you swear to god, you have never seen him panic like this. “I’m sorry, [First]. It’s my fault your anniversary plans fell through, and it’s my fault I didn’t think the ideas were anything more than ideas. I loved the bracelet and will never treasure anything more in my entire life. Okay? Is that enough?”

You didn’t know what to say. Jaemin immediately began wiping at his tears, sniffling, trying to get himself in order, trying to keep the clock ticking. Slowly, you stood up, approaching the sofa. You took an awkward seat next to him, trying to hold back the reactionary tears at him crying.

So, instead of verbally agreeing, you wrapped your arms around his waist, holding him tightly. He kept wiping at his tears, desperately striving to return to his usual calm self. After a few seconds, though, he gave up, returning your embrace in earnest. He buried his head in your shoulder, repeating “I’m sorry” every few moments.

“It’s okay,” you whispered, shocked that he was just as scared as you were. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he responded, pulling you closer. “Our sixth anniversary will be the most extravagant thing you’ve ever seen. Same with our twelfth, our eighteenth…”

“I can’t wait,” you hummed.

At the end of the day, you learned that, although they are separate in theory, a clock can’t work without its clockwork, and the clockwork has no function without a clock.

thank you for reading!

[whimsicalwritingsandmore]

A Star in the Sky | mingi x reader

[a Christmas drabble]

Pairing: song mingi x reader

Genre: fluff

Word Count: 1147 words

a/n: a little Christmas gift from me to you for all the support and love I've received on my story Want you Back. <3 thank you for it all and I hope you have a wonderful holiday season and New Year!

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

While the snow fell gracefully and covered the city in a beautiful white fleece, you peered out your apartment’s window with a warm cup of hazelnut coffee in hand reminiscing about the past year. 

This was your first Christmas away from family. You moved to Seoul, South Korea for a marketing and public relations job at KQ entertainment, six months after ending a situationship that left you feeling drained and exhausted. Being in your 20s brought forth a fair amount of things to think about and consider. 

The societal expectation of being in a relationship and by extension, being married by now and starting a family weighed heavily on you. Coupled with having a few failed dating attempts, you sometimes wondered if something was wrong with you — were you unworthy of being loved or were you being too difficult with your standards? But just like a boomerang, you always circled back to the same conclusion: nothing is wrong with you, you are worthy and you weren’t difficult for having certain standards and expectations. If they could have expectations of you, then you could do the same.

So, feeling for a change of scenery and pace, you decided to apply for foreign jobs out of curiosity with no set expectations. And it seems fate was on your side, one day while checking your email, you received an offer from KQ Entertainment who generously offered and assisted in setting up everything for you, and you accepted in a heartbeat. As such, being away from family was the main downside of the holidays. There were at least three positives that comforted you through it. Firstly, your apartment which was handled by the company was homely, cozy and spacious. Secondly, your job paid extremely well and so, you were prepared to go all out decorating your apartment and making it feel like home. And thirdly, you had your new friend Mingi.

Now yes, he just so happened to be from Ateez and yes, either he was going to go back home for the holidays or be away on tour but that was okay. The two of you were friends and it felt comforting to know that he had your interest in mind since he articulated that you could message him at any point if you felt sad and alone, and he'd make you feel better.

Your plan was to spend the holiday with your co-worker, friend and neighbour who also worked at KQ. But you didn’t mind possibly contacting Mingi. He was cute, charming, soft and kind-hearted and you felt comfortable around him. 

Five weeks before Christmas, when you told Mingi your plan to decorate and go all out in your apartment and make it the most magical Christmas wonderland, you didn’t think much of it. Unbeknownst to you, a week later, exactly a month till Christmas, Mingi showed up at your place with a small Christmas tree and bags of decorations. 

"Let's decorate together!" He cheered.

That day, you spent the entire day decorating and adorning your living room with twinkling, glittering Christmas lights before settling for making a cheesy and creamy pasta dinner while watching some Christmas classics to get more into the Christmas mood.

"Do you miss home?" He asked.

"Yeah I do. But I'll be video calling to spend the morning together. How do you handle it?"

"I just do. As time goes on, I just remind myself that it won't always be like before. At some point, things shift but consideration goes a long way, so finding ways to keep in touch helps."

You liked Mingi, a lot more than you thought you would. You knew his job carried his life in a different trajectory from yours and you tried to remind yourself he may not necessarily be interested in pursuing a relationship especially given the difference in cultural values. Your friendship blossomed because he found you fun and sweet, making subtle jokes with your neighbour-friend at work while keeping to yourself most of the time. You were also very smart and creative, and he saw how talented you were when they were introduced to the marketing concepts for the next album done by yours truly.

You both started conversing more because of your similar interests in anime and fantasy books after he asked your neighbour about you, wanting to compliment your work. A casual friendship led to you becoming closer and you both were comfortable around each other enough to hang out at each other's spaces — him hanging out at yours more because you didn't want to intrude on his and his members' space.

 You opened up to him about the past year events and some of the intruding thoughts plaguing your mind. Mingi had a way with words and reassured you that you are the brightest star to shine in the night sky.

“Just like these lights,” he expressed, “You have a luminous glow and dazzling spark about you. You’re a shimmering star and the right person will see it. If they’re only interested because of what you could be for them, then they’re not the right person for you. It’s not about what you could be but rather who you already are — all the quirks whether good or bad, because that’s what makes you who you are — the unique, incandescent and sparkling star in the dark night sky.”

Little did you know, Mingi liked you too because he was mesmerised by the way you carried about yourself and how whimsical you were with life. Your personality drew him in and he didn't mind the slight language barrier (you were still getting better at Korean and him with English) or cultural differences. 

He liked you for who you are.

And that’s why sneaky Mingi brought in the mistletoe at the last second before leaving and kissed you under it. It had been a long time since you kissed someone and felt an electric rush. And it was a long time since having someone feel this way about you too.

 It all felt like a special Christmas gift from the Universe.

That your now boyfriend was no one else but Song Mingi. And while he couldn’t be with you on Christmas Day, he made sure to give you your present early and reminded you not to open it until Christmas. 

On Christmas morning, after a video call with your family, you opened it and was captivated. It was a simple, pretty petite star charm with a shiny centre coupled with a chain that could make it be worn as a necklace. Accompanying it was a Christmas card that said: Merry Christmas to my favourite star in the whole galaxy. :)”

So, as you stared out the window watching the snow fall, thinking about the past year, you gently touched your new necklace, smiling at how everything fell into place.

[emilylorange]

(alt text provided in img desc)

i wanted to pull these tags out specifically because they might be helpful to someone.

my education was almost entirely traditional techniques, but there's no reason that knowledge cannot also apply to a digital format. working on each piece of a drawing/painting/etc separately can often result in the issue that the parts themselves are well-made and beautifully crafted, but don't fit together, because they were made in isolation, rather than in consideration of the whole. symptoms are things like values have good range in specific items, but its difficult to tell what is happening in the drawing-or after completing one piece of anatomy, you discover it is too large or small compared to what it connects to.

this is one of the things speedpainting studies of images you like or movie stills can help if you want to give it a try - the goal is to capture as much of the whole image as possible in a limited amount of time, rather than perfect accuracy (accuracy comes with practice). if you do not have *time* to perfectly render every leaf you can instead focus on what are the things that will make it read as a plant and get those in. here's one of my first attempts, where i spent way too long on the face and didn't have time for anything else (also omg look how big the hand is):

and a retry two years later with the same amount of time spent:

after a bit of practice it just becomes ingrained ^^;

(this is one of those cases where I understand that everyone works differently and everyone has different goals, so please don't take this as you *must* do it 'my way' to be an artist, rather if you feel like this has been an issue you're encountering in your own work, give it a try)

[writingduhh]

Ted Nivison || Snowed In

Pairing: Ted Nivison x Y/n

Type: Fluff (Friends to lovers)

Your heart raced as you knocked on Ted's front door, anticipation tingling through your fingertips. Ted greeted you with a warm smile,

“Y/n! Come in!” His voice boomed, extending his arms for a hug before you made your way inside.

You and Ted had been best friends for as long as you could remember. And as a tale as old as time you were completely in love with him. You never intended to tell him as you absolutely adored your friendship. You spent almost every day together, or at least hung out a considerable amount of time during the week.

“Oh wow! It’s coming down out there. Maybe I should head out.” You murmur looking at the worsening weather.

“Maybe you shouldn’t, don’t be silly! I want you to stay.” He grins, slinging an arm around your shoulder.

Though physical affection wasn’t new between the two of you, you couldn’t help but feel your stomach erupt in butterflies.

“Oh alright, just because you said so.” You chuckle, laying your head against his shoulder.

Unbeknownst to you Ted’s face turned a light pink hue, a grin forming on his face. He had been in love with you for just as long, if big longer than you had.

As you sat there together in comfortable silence the lights began to flicker before the room went dark. The storm outside formed into a complete blizzard. You nervously looked at Ted, realizing you might be snowed in. Ted, ever the optimist, saw this as a good thing.

“Welp, I don’t want you driving outside in that. I guess you might need to spend the night here… If you’d want to of course!” He nervously states.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t mind? I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

Ted didn’t reply at first, he let out a hearty laugh.

“You’re so funny y/n, you could never overstay.” He assures.

Rather than sitting in the dark, Ted tasked you with picking out some card games whilst he dug around for some flashlights.

After picking some games you headed back into the living room which was now illuminated with candle light.

“I couldn’t find any flash lights so I guess candles will do.” He softly laughs, lighting the last candle wick.

“Ooo romantic.” You teased, sitting down on the couch.

“I know right, super sentimental vibes.” He jokes back, sitting beside you.

As the two of you played and the clock ticked on, You hesitated. "I didn't plan on staying over. I didn't bring anything."

Ted, with a reassuring smile, offered up some of his own clothes. As suspected his shirt was absolutely massive, fitting you alike to a short dress.

Walking out of the bathroom you couldn’t help but feel Teds stare.

“Well, how do I look?”

Playfully you spun in a circle allowing him to take in the full view.

“Gorgeous as always.” He softly said, making you question your own ears.

“Did you call me beautiful?”

“I did. It’s just the truth. I’ve always found you beautiful, since the day I met you.”

Without saying a word you closed the gap between you, your lips meeting his as you melted into each-others embrace.

“I feel the same what about you.” You smirk, him leaning in for another quick kiss.

Soon you found yourself sharing Ted's bed his arms around you, the warmth of and your friendship evolving into something more intimate. The snowstorm outside may have trapped you, but inside, a new chapter of your connection was unfolding.

[haunted-xander]

Monaca hasn't left the pod room since Monokuma appeared in the simulation. She refuses to talk to anyone and only eats when Chiaki is the one to deliver the food. Otherwise, she spends her time hovering over Nagito's pod.

After months of being left to her own devices, Chiaki finally decided to do something and forced Monaca to get some proper rest, and dragged her over to the hotel. She resisted the entire way there, but once her back hit the bed she was out like a light.

She slept for a long time. The next day, she kept laying in bed, far too tired and sore from bending her back leaning over the pod for days on end. She still refused to talk to anyone, but she accepted food more easily and actually played on the 3DS Chiaki had given her.

Even though Monaca had been moved to her own cottage, the pod room was rarely empty. Hajime spent a considerable amount of time doing everything in his power to make Nagito wake up, barely sparing a minute for breaks or meals.

Hajime was the only one on the room when a hiss came from the only used pod still in the room. He rushed over and stood close by, prepared to greet the last of the group to wake. The hatch opened and Nagito slowly opened his eyes. His gaze was hazy for a few seconds, before recognition sparked and he focused entirely on Hajime.

"Hey, can you hear me?" Hajime wanted to make sure he was fully aware before saying anything else. "Ahh, Izuru Kamukura... No, you're... Hajime Hinata... right?" Nagito's voice was rough from misuse, but still held the same soft and breathy feel it always did. He raised his left hand up, silently asking Hajime for help getting up. Without hesitation, Hajime grabbed it and dragged Nagito up until he was sitting up. "They're both me."

"I suppose I should thank you for waking me up? I knew you'd make it to the lowest stratum- I believed in you." Nagito slowly looked up as he talked. "How are the others?" Seeing that he was the same as usual, Hajime smiled. "You're the last one out." At having the others well-being confirmed, Nagito smiled gently. "I'm glad."

"Ah, speaking off... I need to tell them you're awake. Monaca has been worried sick over you, you know. She's been hovering over your pod constantly, Nanami only managed to drag her out a few days ago." At the mention of Monaca, Nagito's face shifted to surprise. "...Monaca-san has been worried...? For... me?"

"Yeah. I'm sure she'll want to see you as soon as possible. I'll send a text to Nanami and she'll bring Monaca here, how does that sound? I doubt you want to be alone right now." Hajime had already brought out his phone and started typing as he spoke. "They'll be here soon."

Just as he finished speaking, the door was slammed open and Monaca wheeled herself over to Nagito as fast as she could. "...B-big Bro...? You're awake? Really, really awake? You... you..." Her voice wavered as tears gathered in her eyes. "You... big... MEANIE!!! You left Monaca all alone! You were supposed to be with Monaca all the time, but you didn't! You liar! Liar liar liar! Don't ever scare Monaca like that again! You're not allowed! Not allowed not allowed not allowed!!!!"

Monaca launched herself into Nagito's arms as she continued to cry out all her frustrations. From a short distance, Hajime and Chiaki stood and watched the tear-filled reunion, happy to finally have everyone back. "...It's a relief to have Komaeda-kun finally back. He was alseep for so long... I had almost began to lose hope." Hajime put his arm on her shoulder. "...Yeah, I get that. I knew he'd wake up eventually, though. It's Komaeda, you know? Things are never easy with this guy, but they tend to work out. One way or another."

Chiaki focused her attention back to Nagito and Monaca, noting that the crying had quieted down to small sobs. The little girl looked tired, but refused to fall asleep just yet. "...Hey hey, Komaeda-kun. We should probably get you moved into one of the cottages now. The pod can't be very comfortable, and we need to do a proper check-up, too."

"And we need to figure out what to do about the hand. You can't keep it, but removing it will be difficult. ...Souda and I will have to prepare a prosthetic replacement too." While Monaca kept her face buried in Nagito's stomach, the man in question turned his attention back to Hajime and Chiaki, smiling at them. "...I don't understand why you'd go so far from someone like me but... I... appreciate it."

"Don't talk like that. You're our friend too, of course we'd do all of this for you." Hajime had an expression that implied something beyond just 'friends', but maybe he was just too embarassed to say it.

Chiaki looked forward to the peaceful times to come.