#she is such a good artist and has done so much for the community

[glamjrwi]

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[writers-hes]

tell me you need me (1 of 2) | c. berzatto x reader

It was good when you started but Carmen Berzatto had the ability to make anyone fall in love with him no matter how much you tried not to. (friends with benefits!carmen, smut, mndi!!!, unprotected p in v, smut! smut!, angst!! fluff, maybe some bad words, blood, unedited) MASTER LISTS

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I need you tonight. Want to go?

You sighed at the message that Carmy sent you. “Want to go” was a code for “I want to have sex.” and it’s been working pretty well for these past few months. You both needed some sort of release for the pent-up stress that you both have. Carmy, with the Bear and you, with art. You were a full-time artist; creating art inspired by food using oil paint and other forms of media. You’ve been stressed with your upcoming gallery opening next month. Would they love it? It’s quite hard to meet the expectations after winning the Herb Alpert Award in the Arts last year. It was close to Carmy’s James Beard Foundation award, if not the same. In a way, at the end of the day, you were two people excelling in your jobs except for everything else. You sucked at relationships, friendships, connection…what wasn’t artistic; you sucked at. Carmy was the same. Without thinking, you typed your response, a four letter word. Maybe you’ll see him tonight.

-

Carmy enters your home like he lived in it. He had his own set of keys, it was easier that way. He’s been so stressed with the Bear and the only thing that he needs is to blow off some of that steam before he can be functional again. There was supposed to be a celebrity who was wishing for a whole fucking kitchen tour tomorrow and he had to stay behind to make sure that everything was perfect. 

“Hey,” he greets you when he sees you perched on your couch. He liked your apartment much better; at least you had multiple rooms and your own space. It’s not like his; there was work everywhere while yours felt homey. Except your studio down the hall—damn, how much do artists earn today?

“Hey,” you replied. “Did you have dinner yet? I can heat up some of the Chinese food I ordered earlier.”

“No, no. It’s alright,” he says, removing his shoes in the doorway. You were always so tidy and meticulous. No outside clothes on the bed; he had to learn that the hard way. “Actually, um, can-can I take a shower first? I want to wash the day away and I-I smell like the kitchen.”

“And you took the L,”

“Ubered here, actually.”

“Surge rates?”

“I was in a rush.”

“Oh,” you gulped. “Well, you still have your clothes in my wardrobe and your toiletries in my bathroom.”

“Which one?” he asked. “Which-which bathroom?”

“The one in my bedroom,” you replied. “You know where the fresh towels are. So…”

“Uh, yeah-yeah,” he says. “Thanks.” You only smiled at him. Conversation before your engagements are usually awkward because you both knew what the two of you were there for. It’s more comfortable afterwards; when he talks about the Bear or asks you about your art.

You and Carmy met from a friend of a friend. You were looking for chefs that could serve you inspiration for your paintings when she mentioned Carmen Berzatto. You reached out to him and he replied three months later, telling you that he can show you some of the recipes that he’s been working on. He’s an artist himself—Sistine Chapel art kind of stuff. He explained the components of his dish over dinner in your hotel apartment in New York. You mentioned that you were from Chicago and he mentioned that he’s from Chicago too…you drank too much wine and the rest was history. 

You both stopped communicating when he met Claire but he reached out again, asking if you wanted to meet. He told you all about her and how he fucked up. You drank too much wine again. History has the habit of repeating itself.

You swore to never fall in love with Carmen Berzatto and you didn’t…not until recently. He used to leave immediately once you’re both done. Lately, he’s been staying over. He talks to you about everything. He stays over and wakes you up with coffee and some Michelin Star quality pancakes or French toast. He watches you take your first bite before he takes his, likes to watch your reaction and likes hearing your praise.

You were too lost in your reviere to notice Carmen walking to you, all fresh and clean. He lays a hand on your shoulder and kisses your neck.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks, voice deep and sultry. 

“You,” you replied, reaching up to massage his curls. 

“Good,” he says, removing himself from you and sitting on the opposite side of the couch. “Needed you today…but I want to talk first before…before…”

“That’s fine with me,” you replied, inching closer to him. “What’s wrong?” He puts his hand on your knee, squeezing it lightly. Since when was he so comfortable around you?

“I…I just… Mikey,” The name lingers heavy in the air. Anytime Carmen feels the crushing weight of the pressure, he says Mikey. Whenever he feels inadequate, not enough, never enough—he says Mikey.

“He’ll be proud of you, Carm,” you said, smiling at him. “Like everyone else is.”

“I’m sorry for not inviting you to the opening…Claire was-was there and…”

“I understand,” You put your hand over his to reassure him that everything’s okay. “I understand.”

“You wouldn’t have seen me,” he chuckled. “I was locked inside the walk-in the whole time and well, everything was great. What if I’m not needed?”

Is it too late for me to love you? 

“Carm…” you trailed off, trying to find the words. “Of course, you’re needed. The Bear wouldn’t be The Bear without you, you know? Your family must be so proud of you because I know that-that I am. I’m so proud of you and I-I need you so much,” you told him. “I need you, Carmen. More than you could ever know.”

Is it too late for me to love you? 

Maybe it was the words that you said, maybe it was the long forgotten show on the T.V., maybe it was because the T.V. screen illuminated your face in a way that was so, so beautiful. Maybe it was just him.

“Let’s go to bed,” he rasps, taking your hand and dragging you to the bedroom. Once he closes the door behind him, Carmy presses you against it, taking your chin and kissing you. It was slow and needy; this kiss was needy. You trail your hand underneath the white shirt that hugged his figure. You caress his sides up and down; softly; slowly and Carmen releases a whimper into your mouth. I need you. I need you. I need you. 

“Baby,” he whispers, pulling away from you to remove his shirt. “Baby, baby, baby.”

“I need you, Carmen,” you muster the courage to kiss his neck now, sucking and nipping right under his collarbone. He lets you do it, he lets you mark him like you own him. He tugs on the roots of your hair lightly. You lick the purple bruise, nipping it again just so it could last one more week. Carmen was sighing above you, letting you take him like he wanted to be taken. His hands itch, slipping right under the waistband of your panties to cup your heated cunt. “Carmy,”

“I know, baby. Let’s get you to bed, hm?” he asks, pushing you slightly. “Lay down for me. I missed you so much. Let me show you,”

You obey his commands, opening your legs widely like he likes. He crawls until his face is right in front and removes your underwear, tossing it to the side. He’ll take care of that later.

“You’re so wet,” he groans, when he lets his index finger trail along your slit. You buckle in need; silently begging him to do more. “So, fucking wet,” he repeats, parting your folds until he sees your glistening cunt. 

“Carm…” you whine. He spits on your clit and you whimper. 

“Let me taste you, hm?” you heard him say, his wandering fingers rubbing all sorts of shapes on your folds. You could only nod and he takes that, licking a bold stripe. You press your cunt against his tongue and he just takes it. He licks a few more stripes before sucking your clit softly. 

“Carmy,” you moan. Your hands trail down underneath your shirt, thumbs softly flicking your sensitive nipples. Carmy could just come at the sight of you playing with them but he holds back, sucking your clit harsher before plunging his thick middle finger inside you. “Oh, fuck,” 

He pumps the finger slowly…in, out, in, out while he licks your sensitive bud. 

“Fuck, Carmy,” you whimper. “Fuck me,”

“Later,” was his nonchalant reply; enjoying the sweet nectar that dripped from your sloppy pussy. It was better than any dessert he’s ever had before. If it was um to him, he’d have his head buried in between your legs, eating you out forever. You buckle again, pinching your nipples hard and tugging them. 

“Carm…”

“I know, I know,” he says, sucking your clit harshly for one last time before crawling on top of you. “Taste,” he orders. You obliged, opening your mouth and putting on a show with the way you licked your juices off of his finger. “Fuck,” he groans. He palms himself through his boxers while you sucked on his finger. You released it with one last suck before putting your hand on top of Carmy’s to feel his hardening cock underneath. You push his hand away while you squeeze his member lightly. Just enough for him to rut his hips against your hand. Just enough for him to toss his boxers to the side.

You tried to sit up to see him pump a few strokes, moaning your name while he did. He gets off the bed, looking at the way your body moved while you breathed. 

“Beautiful,” he whispers to himself before dragging your body to the end of the bed. He pries your legs open and puts one of them over his shoulder. He liked it like this, it fills you up in ways you cannot describe. “Need you to play with your tits while I fuck you, hm?”

He taps his cock against your pussy.

“Can you hear how wet you are?” he asked, sliding his cock in between your folds. You could feel the protruding vein run along your nub and you moan, massaging your breasts to show him your obedience. “Fuck,”

“Carmy…” you whimpered. “Please.”

He hums, grabbing his member and teasing your wet entrance with his pink tip. “You’re so…”

With no warning, Carmy plunges deep into you and you both groan. You were waiting for this. He’s been wanting this the whole day. He stays there for a few seconds before he thrusts in and out of you slowly. 

“Fuck,” 

The slopping noises inside your room reverberated in your walls and for a few moments, the sounds of your groans and skin slapping against skin heightens your arousal. Carmy thumbs your clit and he feels your walls clench around him.

“Don’t do that, petal,” he rasps, sweat dripping on his forehead. “I’ll cum fast if you do.”

“Sorry,” you choked out. He only grunts as he adjusts his pace. He was faster now and you could hear he ragged breathing. “Carmy, I need you.”

“Y-you need me,” he repeats to himself. “You need me.”

“I do,” you told him, moaning when he plunges his cock deep inside you. “Need you, need you,” 

“Oh, fuck,” he groans. “Tell me that you need me. Tell me,”

“I need you, Carmy,” you whine. “I need you to cum inside me,” 

Carmy’s eyes widened. You’ve never let him do that before. He always had to pull out or use a condom. 

“Want me to fill you up?” he asks, his voice strained. “I’ll fill you —oh, fuck,” 

“Yes, please,” you sobbed, breath hitching at the feeling of his cock twitch inside of you. “Fuck, Carmy.”

Sex has never felt this good. 

You could feel the breaking point come nearer and he does too. His movements were sloppier, his breathing even more ragged that it was. Your walls were clenching around him but that seemed to arouse him even more. 

“Fuck, fuck,” he grunted. “I’ll fill you up, hm?” 

“Yes, please, Carmy,” you whine. He could only nod, doing his best to keep his orgasm at bay. He wanted to prolong this feeling; this emotion but he couldn’t. “Fuck, Carmy, I’m cumming, I’m cumming. Carm—oh!”

He follows soon after, moaning your name as he shoots ropes of cum inside your pussy. He could feel your walls clench around him and he thrusts in slowly, to ride both of your orgasms away. 

“You-you liked that?” he asked. He doesn’t pull out. Instead he takes your other leg and hangs in on his shoulder. “We have to make sure that not a drop goes to waste.”

You nodded and felt his hands caress your legs slowly. He slowly lays your legs back down on the bed and crawls on top of you, kissing your torso, neck, and your chest while he did. 

“Stay there,” he ordered and you nodded in assent. You just let him cum inside you. He walks over to the carafe on your bedside, filling the glass with water and then, taking a hand towel from your cabinet. He pours a little bit of the liquid onto the towel. You sit up when he wordlessly gives you the glass of water. He watches you finish it and kisses your head when you gave him the glass back. He sets it on the floor carefully before opening your legs so he could clean you up.

“No,” you shook your head and he stops, alert because you told him no. “I’m…I’m still sensitive,”

“Okay, petal,” he nods, taking the glass and the towel away. He picks up the tossed articles of clothing puts it in the laundry basket. He was quiet when he takes a fresh set of pyjamas and underwear from your wardrobe. “Raise your arms,” he says and you do. He puts a new shirt on you. “Lay down.” You followed him. He puts a new pair of panties on you. “Thank you,”

You were so tired now but you were still so aware of Carmy’s actions. He stands up from the bed to wear new clothes and sits down on the bed. He carefully places your head on his lap and plays with your hair.

“Thank you,” he says, bowing down to kiss your forehead. “Why don’t you sleep for me, hm?”

“Will you be here when I wake up?”

“Waffles or pancakes?”

“Waffles with whipped cream.”

-

Why won’t you let me love you?

There were times when you’d fight with Carmen. A disagreement over something so, so, so small. This time, it was big. It was the opening of your gallery and he promised to be there. It was a big night—multiple art collectors and mongers from all over America came to see your latest pieces. They were all inspired by the food you grew up eating in Chicago; a collection of how culture, identities, and personalities affect eating. Your paintings were in vibrant colors—cup ramen with cheese, cannoli, food that you grew up eating whenever your mom was away. There were small details on the significance of the new collection to your life and he wasn’t there. You were on the stage, telling everyone how grateful you were to the audience but you were preoccupied, looking for a familiar mop of curls in the crowd. He didn’t come. He didn’t go. 

You smiled at them half-heartedly before leaving the stage, ready to be whisked away by some art dealer. You were whisked away by multiple guests, asking you for more details on the painting. You all told them everything they needed to know, what they should do if they’d like to make a purchase…

It would have been alright if he texted you…but he promised he’d be there. He promised he’d take you home. He promised.

-

Carmy was sitting alone in his apartment. He left The Bear earlier than usual and went straight home. He did it all, shower, put a nice suit, and fix his hair. He did it all, he even ran to the nearest florist to buy you flowers but he didn’t go. 

Isn’t this what lovers do? 

He wasn’t your lover. He couldn’t let himself be distracted again. He had to focus; he couldn’t fail the people that relied on him. He looked at the bag of groceries he got from the store; he was supposed to cook you something special tonight. Have you eaten yet? Fuck the suit that he paid for dry cleaning; fuck the flowers; fuck him. It must have hurt you—he knows that. Tonight was a big night and you were so excited to show him a painting that you’ve been working on. 

“I won’t sell it,” you told him. “I’ll have it shipped to you first thing in the morning.”

Would you still send it to him?

-

By the end of the night, you were exhausted. Happy, but exhausted. It was normal; talking to everyone and being scintillating the whole night was work but it was worth it. Your paintings all had their new owners, except for the painting that you promised to Carmy. Would he still want it? You were alone in the studio, wrapping the 4 by 3 foot canvas with the best quality glassine. You were giving this to him tomorrow. If he doesn't want to have it, you’ll probably just donate it somewhere else. 

You laid awake in your bed all night long, waiting for his text. It was funny, just last week he was begging you to tell him that you needed him but when you needed him most, he wasn’t there. 

You arrive at The Bear just before it opens, the big canvas tucked under your arm. He was sure to be there and had always told you to use the back door if you weren’t dining. You always obliged, of course, opening the backdoor to reveal everyone. You’ve met Sydney and Richie before but you haven’t met the others yet. You were an alien in an unknown world; Carmy’s employees looking at you, as if wondering who this girl was. 

“Hey,” Sydney greeted, looking at the glassine covered thing that you were carrying. “Didn’t know you were coming in today. Congratulations on your exhbit,”

“Yeah, Congrats. What’s that, sweetheart?” Richie asked. 

“Oh,” you just nodded. Carmy couldn’t even look at you. “I just came here to give this to…uh, Carmy,” you cleared your throat. “Carm…?”

“Uh, yeah-yeah,” he stuttered. “Can we go to the office?” 

“Sure.”

You followed him into the office while Richie tells everyone to go back to what they were doing. Your heart was hammering inside your chest, afraid that this was going to be another one of those petty fights that you’ve had with him. 

You were wrong. So, so wrong. 

“You didn’t come last night,” you told him, shielding yourself from him with the painting. “I…I waited.”

“Sorry,” was his laconic reply. You nodded, chuckling. 

“That’s all?” you asked. “Just…sorry? No explanation, no nothing?” you asked. “I was looking for you the whole night, Carm. You promised you were coming,”

“I don’t know what-what you want me to say,” he says, looking everywhere but at you. “I-I-I’m sorry, okay? I had other plans.”

“You promised months ago that you were coming,” you repeated. “I called Sydney last night because you weren’t answering and she told me that you left early.”

“You’re spying on me now?” he asks, suddenly defensive. “I had things to do that night. I can’t-can’t just put everything on hold for-for you.” He spits his words like venom, voice getting louder with every word.

You frowned, not recognizing who the boy was in front of you. It’s not like you asked him to put his life on hold. Your heart was beating so fast in anger, ears ringing. 

“I see. So you just need me around and you-you just I don’t know, call me because you need to get your dick wet?” you asked, matching his volume. “You just need me around when no one else is there to fuck you? Is that it?” you asked. “What the fuck?” 

Carmy blinks, tries to think of the words he’s about to say but he couldn’t stop himself. He could never seem to stop himself. 

“You’re the only one desperate enough to do so,” he shrugs. It breaks your heart in pieces, really. The nights Carmen spent nuzzling his head in your shoulder before you slept probably meant nothing to him. Your face falls, contorting in hurt at what he just said. Fuck Carmen Berzatto. Fuck him. “I’m not your fucking boyfriend. I don’t know why you expect me to just-just-just do something!”

“Maybe I wanted you there as my friend!” you shouted over. Your voices could be heard from outside but everyone else pretended like they weren’t listening to anything that you both were saying. You were shouting over each other now, the fuse just breaks. “If you didn’t have any fucking plans to actually go, then don’t give me your good for nothing fucking promises!”

“I don’t need a girl leeching on me when I’m opening a fucking restaurant. Do you want me to put everything on you just because you asked me to? I’m not your fucking boyfriend. You know that right? And maybe-maybe I don’t want to be your fucking friend either!”

“Why would I want you to be my boyfriend, Carmy? You’re-you’re fucking unreliable! You have issues that need fixing. You think Claire could fix that? You think I could fix that? You think the girls you get wrapped around your fucking finger can fix your fucked up fucking head? Huh? Is that what you think? You’re so fucking miserable you make everyone around you miserable! Grow up!” He’s hurt. That’s what you thought of him? That he was miserable? Did he make you miserable?

“I don’t need to go to your fucking art exhibition when they’re all fucking shit.”

You closed your mouth before you could protest. The pain of his words felt like a slap on the face. If he regretted it, he didn’t show it. You turned away, nodding. 

“Fuck you, Carmen. Don’t fucking call me. Don’t fucking knock on my door. Don’t…don’t fucking think of me. I’m fucking done with you,”

“Yeah? You’re done with me, huh? Fuck you,” he spits back. He heard the waver in your voice; heard how you tried to steady everything. He wanted to say sorry but you were already leaving. Richie and Sydney couldn’t even ask you what happened because you were rushing out, throwing the painting you worked hard on for days at the back. Fuck Carmen Berzatto. Fuck him. 

-

“Fuck!” his chefs could hear from outside the office. Everyone heard the vile things you both screamed at each other; everyone heard why you were so angry. Everyone fucking heard. Nobody dared to move, they didn’t want to be on the receiving end of Carmy’s anger; not when The Bear was about to open. Continuous loud bangs and sounds of some object being thrown were heard too. Sugar sighed. 

“Carm?” she called from the door. “It’s almost opening,”

“I-I-I know, Sug.” he replied, blinking. “Uh, can-can you guys go ahead? I’ll be there, I just-just need to you know, calm down?”

“Okay, Bear,” she smiles, tapping the door frame before leaving Carmen in his own thoughts. He gets out of the restaurant through the back door, about to light a cigarette, when he sees the canvas wrapped with glassine. 

“Fuck,” was the only thing he could mutter before taking it and sitting where the staff usually stayed at when they wanted a break. He lights up a stick and lets it hang loose on his lips while he opens your gift with shaky hands. He was so immersed in the experience, gently removing the tape and making sure that nothing was ruined that he didn’t notice Sydney. 

The glassine reveals a painting of a plate of cannolis. He remembered that he told you the story about cannolis during Christmas and how he wanted to recreate that—take it for himself. He traces over the precise brushstrokes shakily. 

“That’s a good painting,” Sydney spoke, her hands behind her back. “Would be a waste to just throw it out.”

“I know,” Carmy nods. “I’m sorry you had to uh, hear all of that.”

“It’s…something,” Sydney replied, making Carmy chuckle. 

“I always…always seem to uh, fuck up everything,” he muttered. “I was on the way there, you know? Last night?”

“Yeah. You were so excited,”

“I was,” he coughed. “But I didn’t go because…” Words died down in his mouth. Why didn’t he go? “I’ve said some things and she-she doesn’t want me to call her anymore and I-I understand but like, I don’t know, Syd.”

Don’t know why I could never seem to just let myself enjoy things. I don’t belong anywhere else but in the fucking kitchen. It’s the only thing I was good at.

“I didn’t really want to to, uh, fuck this up.”

-

I want to talk to you.

Come to my apartment after your shift. Or whenever.

Carmen feels his palms sweat when he reads  texts you sent him days ago. He decided to go today, finally—he was never good at confronting things; always so explosive, so defensive. He didn’t know what he’d feel like today. He knocks on your door and hears the shuffling from the other side. He just got out of The Bear; he was tired but he forced himself to go. He had to go. 

“Hey,” you smiled tightly when you opened the door. “Come in.”

He nods, wordlessly entering your apartment like how henused to. Bag and shoes on the side. Somehow, this made him more nervous than usual. This was a prelude to something else entirely; he believed that.

“How are you? he asked, voice small and looking down. 

“I’m…good,” you replied, looking away. “You?”

“Busy,” he replied. The air felt heavy and his palms were sweating. “I’m…I’m sorry for not being there when I promised you that I would,”

“Why weren’t you there, Carm?” you asked and he could hear the sadness in your voice. He knew that your exhibit meant a lot to you. “You…you told me you will and well, you were…the-the person I want to be there the most.”

“I didn’t know that. I’m- I’m sorry,” he shrugged. “But why? I mean, I-I don’t know art. I like my shit but I-I’m not cool or understand—“

“Because I like you, Carmy.” you told him, looking at him now and trying to go nearer. He stepped back and you stopped your tracks.

“You—what?” he asked, shaking his head furiously; like your confession offended him. “You…like me.”

“I do,” you nodded. “But…it doesn’t matter.”

“Fuck. How many times do we have to go back to this very same place for you to understand?” he asked, running a hand through his hair. He told you before that he didn’t want to date. You told him you understood. You told him he was being egotistic when he told you not to get attached. He wanted to leave. He didn’t expect this to happen—he didn’t want this to happen. “I don’t—I don’t—“

“Carmy,” you cautioned him, trying to ease your beating heart. “Can you listen to me? I-I-I like you, okay and I’ve been thinking about it too. I’m—you’re always staying behind after sex and well, I just maybe thought that you liked me too.” You replied, swallowing his rejection for now.

“I don’t,” he snaps, tone sharp. “We’ll both be miserable in a relationship. I’ll never make-make you happy. You’re right, you know? I’m unreliable and-and-and issues that I need to fix…and I’m not the one you’re looking for,”

“I’m sorry for saying that. It wasn’t my place to do so,” was your meek reply. How does he feel so far away when he feels so, so, so close?

“No, uh,” Carmen blinks, shaking his head. “It’s fine. I-I-I needed to hear those things, you know? I’m sorry too…for everything.”

“Thank you.”

“That’s it then?” he asked. He was distressed. How could he fuck this up after telling Sydney that he didn’t want to fuck things up with you? “I…I had fun,” You were the only one who kept me afloat when everything else turned to shit. I missed you when we stopped talking. I should have fought harder. What else could I have done?

“Fun,” you chuckled bitterly. “Fun…that’s the only thing you’re going to say to me?”

Carmy frowned. 

“What else did you want me to say?”

“I don’t know, Carmy!” you exclaimed, pacing back and forth but never towards him. “God! Tell me that I’m important to you. Tell me that I’ll still be your friend…tell me that you—that you—that I mean more than a fuck!”

Silence. Carmy couldn’t find the words to tell you what you truly meant to him…that he wanted what you wanted too but he was too scared to fuck it all up again like he did with Claire.

You nodded, looking away. You breathed in deeply, as if trying to relieve yourself of the hurt. That’s all you’ve ever meant to him. 

“You lead me along and it’s fine. I know that it’s my fault for wanting other things but at least…at least tell me that I’ll still be your friend; that I still matter to you even if I dug myself a hole by feeling things. Tell me that you still need me to put everything on hold for you because I’ve been waiting you to call me all day…”

“I don’t want you to do that. I don’t want you putting your life on hold for me,” he rasps. “I don’t…”

“But what if I wanted to?” you asked, face slightly contorted because you didn’t want to be so vulnerable in front of him. Not when he hasn’t told you what you wanted yet. Carmy was just looking at you, tapping his foot on the floor. It was a nervous habit that he developed. Fuck, he needed a cigarette.

“Can you, uh, leave?” you asked, voice low. “I…” 

“No, no, no,” he begs, rushing towards you. He grabs a hold of your elbows to remind you that he was there. Would it mean anything? Would his touch convey all of the words he wanted to say? 

“Carm…” your voice breaks. “Carm…”

“No, no. You’re not just that to me,” he reassures “But you have to understand that-that I can’t love you like that.”

“Carmen, please…” you beg, tears brimming in your eyes. “Please…just, just leave,”

You’ve never asked him to leave before but it seemed like it was what you really wanted—like it was what you really needed. He nods, kissing your head softly before detaching himself from you. 

“I’m sorry,” Carmy said. “For-for not saying the right, uh, things.”

“Yeah,” you nod, hiding yourself from him. He hated that you had to do that when you’ve cried on his shoulders multiple times. He never liked seeing you cry; he just didn’t know that one day, he’ll be on the receiving end of your sadness. He watches you rub your forehead, biting your lip to stop yourself from crying. If you started crying, would he stay?

-

It’s been months since Carmy left. He’s been in his best form in the kitchen. He was making things easier for his staff; he was working twenty four hours a day. Going to The Bear early to help with prep; staying late to help them clean after a long shift of cooking and cooking and kitchen tours. He’s been getting acclaim—more acclaim, really. There was a waiting list on his restaurant and positive reviews from left and right flooded in. The Bear was dubbed as “The Restaurant of the Year” in Chicago despite being less than a year old. 

He’s been doing good—perfect. 

It was like he was a hamster in a fucking wheel with no other way to escape. He likes putting himself in gear, like driving fast because it makes him believe that nothing really hurts him. He didn’t like being at home; it reminded him too much of you. It reminded him of when you’d lean on the kitchen counter, a small smile on your lips while you watched him cook you something. He didn’t like sitting on the couch because it reminded him of when he slept with his head on your lap. He didn’t like it in his bedroom because he’s reminded of that night when you pulled him closer in your sleep. He didn’t like The Bear because the painting that you gave him hung so proudly by the dining area. It was marvellous—they said. How was he able to get a painting that you did when your art was so valuable and in demand? 

He was moving so fast so you wouldn’t cross his mind but it seemed like no matter what he did, he'd end up thinking about you anyway. 

It didn’t matter, how come a fall like that made him feel like flying? Maybe he’s waiting for it to hit him but he was feeling alright. 

He was alright. 

“Chef!” Sydney called, looking at Carmen who was chopping the vegetables like a madman. “Carmen!”

“Fuck, what, Sydney?!” he asked, slamming his knife on the counter. 

“You’re bleeding,” Marcus told him and Carmen looked down, blood was all over the chopping board. “You’ve been bleeding for a few seconds now…we’ve all been calling your name, Chef.” 

“Fuck, I-I-I’m…” Carmen was a blubbering mess, just watching his hand bleed like it didn’t matter. “I’m-I’m,”

“Take a break, Carm,” Sydney says but her partner just shakes his head. “Carm—“

“Sydney, don’t—don’t make me take a fucking break, please.”

“You’ll need to clean up and make sure there’s no more blood,” Sydney told him. “I’m not fucking around,”

“Yeah,” he nods, putting his fist over his heart and drawing circles. Sydney nods and Carmy fixes his station. 

He couldn’t stop shaking, though. Even Tina saw how his hand trembled. What the fuck?

“Carmen,” 

“Yeah…just…just give me a second, please.” he nods, picking his knife again and doing everything perfectly. Like clockwork. He’s back. He’s back. He’s fine. I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m alright. 

PART 2

AN: Thank you for the love! This is going to be a two-part fic because I love how everything is right now… Don’t forget to comment / reblog if you like it! I read every single little thing you guys type…even the hashtags.

TAGLIST: @kpopgirlbtssvt @morgthemagpie @hal3ynicol3 @1800-queen-trash

[shaniacsboogara]

jojo siwa claiming she's revitalizing gay pop and releasing 'karma' on the same night as conan gray's 'found heaven' and chappell roan's 'good luck babe' is so poetically ironic. it's like the universe WANTS to draw a comparison between jojo and queer pop artists.

the thing that makes queer pop compelling as a genre is the unique storytelling and experiences of queer artists told through their music. that doesn't necessarily mean every song by a queer artist has to be about their queerness. they don't have to scream "hey i'm gay!" in every single song they write. but claiming to be "reinventing gay pop" should mean you're telling interesting stories about your queer experience, right???

'found heaven' by conan gray is about growing up as a queer kid with religious guilt and disapproving parents. he equates being in love in an authentic way to "finding heaven", and the piece as a whole resonates with a TON of queer people in different stages of their lives. some people can look back at their childhoods and how much they've grown since then, some can relate because they're currently going through what conan's written about, and some people can sympathize with the way some queer people are treated, even if they aren't necessarily queer themselves.

'good luck babe' is a song about queerness and compulsory heterosexuality. chappell sings about a woman she was in a relationship with who decided to settle down in a conventional marriage despite being queer. the song reflects the denial a lot of queer people go through (specifically regarding the lesbian experience) and the unfortunate way a lot of them end up repressing who they are to conform to societal standards. it's fun, it's campy, but its message is still poignant.

as for karma… there's nothing inherently queer about that song. the music video for the original version, ‘karma’s a bitch’ by brit smith, featured a heterosexual storyline. jojo buying the rights to a song she didn't write isn't inherently a bad thing, a lot of mainstream artists do that all the time. however, if you're claiming to be a pioneer of the “gay pop” genre and your music doesn't reflect any queer themes or experiences, is it really “gay pop”? again, queer artists don't have to write exclusively about their queerness, but if you try to present yourself as a voice for the queer community without telling any of their stories, you're not going to be lauded as some revolutionary figure. if any of the songs on jojo’s album are actually about her experience as a lesbian or contain any queer themes, then i think she'd qualify as a “gay pop” artist. but so far, she's given us a faux edgy, generic pop song and tried to market it as some insane never-been-done-before feat. and honestly, if her entire album is like this and she continues to market herself this way, it's a slap in the face to all the genuine artists and storytellers in the queer community.

but let's stop talking about jojo siwa and start talking about the incredible queer artists who are truly breathing life into the "gay pop" genre: chappell roan, renee rapp, ben platt, conan gray, girl in red, kevin atwater, baby queen, mitski, clairo, dodie, and SO MANY MORE (feel free to add on some of your favourites because there are so many wonderful artists out there <3)

also: if you have a different perspective on this situation i would absolutely love to hear what you think and if you agree / disagree with this! i love discussing topics like this so feel free to reblog with your own take

[writingroom21]

Okay imagine this reader goes in a all boys school pretending to be a dude to cover up her brother but soon rafe later knows she's a girl since she's in the guys shower room😫

A/N: I literally love this idea so much. She's The Man is one of my favorite movies.

Boys Bathroom

Warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected sex(wrap it up), p in v, overstimulation, squirting, oral (f receiving), fingering, semi public sex (communal bathroom), (let me know if I missed anything)

wc: 3.6K

The plan was simple. You would go to the school for two weeks and then swap places again. It shouldn’t be that hard to fool everyone since the two of you are twins. Since your parents found out they were having twins they got the two of you matching things. Your cribs, toys, clothes were all bought to match.

 The only downside was one of you is a girl and the other is a boy.

When the news was broken to them, they had mixed emotions. On one hand they get the best of both worlds with one of each. The other is that they planned on having the same gender twice. They tried to look past it and throughout childhood it was fine. Your dad had the perfect little boy to play catch and watch sports with. Your mom had a little angel that she could dress up and show around. 

It was all perfect until you hit puberty. Max, your brother stayed the perfect son that he always was. But you had become the wild child of the family. You weren’t really wild, just not the picture perfect daughter they had in mind. In middle school you started to not want your mom to dress you, leading to arguments about how you dressed.

Then now in highschool you are focused on being an artist, which isn’t an ambitious enough job for them. You would think that after their divorce they would stop agreeing with each other. But no they will always agree on one thing, you are too much to handle. They just don’t like how outspoken you are and how you will not conform to the version of you they want.

They focus on you so much they don’t even realize that it’s Max they should be worrying about. Sure he gets good grades and he never gets in trouble, it doesn’t mean he’s not doing things. You are always covering for him so he can sneak out of the house. Driving him around after he got so drunk with his friends that he can’t function. They don’t see that side of him so they worship the ground he walks on. 

They love him so much that they are now sending him to a prestigious all boys school. Max has been complaining about it all week since they told him. It’s a boarding school so he will be under 24/7 supervision. Which is a no in his books. Max has done everything basically to try and get out of this to no luck. Leading us to the moment the plan was formed.

“Come on please. Just do this one thing for me.” Max pleads at the end of your bed. You continue reading your book ignoring him and his weird request. He says your name to get your attention. “I’ll get you something when I come back. A token from Bora Bora sounds nice right?” You scoff at his audacity. “Dude I’m not going to pretend to be you so you can go on some vacation. It wouldn’t even work, you're a guy and I’m not.” Max throws himself on your bed, face planting onto the sheets. “If you do this for me I’ll get mom and dad to lay off your art school decision.” The book drops from your hands and you stare at him. You don’t have to think, getting them off your back is much needed. “Fine.”

The wig itches your scalp as you fix your clothes making sure your binding doesn’t come loose. The last thing you need is for it to come undone and your boobs come out. It;s the second day at the school, everyone seems to be buying that you are Max. Your best friend had shown you how to place wigs on, making sure that it can’t get loose. It seems to be staying in place so you can’t complain. You have to get used to squishing your boobs so much but it’ll be okay.

Your parent’s had splurged for Max to have his own dorm so you get to relax in your own space thank god. It would have been perfect if it weren’t for the boy next door. You had been unpacking when a knock interrupted you. Alright show time. You open the door to be greeted with one of the hottest guys you have ever seen. He has to be at least six feet tall, with hair you just want to wrap your fingers around. Don’t even get you started on his blue eyes. 

You were so caught up with checking him out that you didn’t notice he said something. “Hello?” He questions with this weird look. “Huh?” You clear your throat and make your voice deeper. “Sorry, what did you say?” You stand up straighter, trying to make you look taller. “Said I’m Rafe. I'm in the room right next door.” He points to the left. 

“Nice to meet you, I'm.” Your name almost slips out but you covered it with a cough. “My name's Max. Want to come in.” Rafe shrugs, entering and looking around your room. There’s not really much to look at. The walls are bare and the clothes are all put away. The desk has books for the classes you’ll be in and unfortunately a box of pads. Rafe spins around to you.

“Dude why the fuck do have those?” He practically shrieks. He’s pointing behind him and you follow it to see the box. Fuck you had forgotten to put them away. “Oh I have a twin sister that likes to prank me. She always packs something embarrassing in my bags.” You try to explain. Rafe listens as you fumble through your words, kinda weirded out that some dude has chick products.

“You have a twin?” He really doesn’t believe you. Instead of explaining further you pull out your phone, finding a picture of yourself to show him. Rafe looks at the photo and then at you trying to find similarities. “I can see it.” He looks closer at it again. “You know she’s kinda hot.” A blush forms on your cheeks. “Thank you.” Your eyes widen when you realize what you said.

“I mean she would say thank you or something dumb like that.” You laugh off. Rafe just nods at you slowly making his way towards the door. He can’t wait to get out of this room, something about you just isn’t right. “Right. Uh I gotta go. See ya man.” He was out of the room as soon as the words left his mouth. Leaving you there hoping you didn’t give yourself away.

The next few days you saw Rafe everywhere. He was in two of your classes, English and Biology. You’re thankful that your English teacher had assigned setting by last name. You were far away from him but your eyes would still find him. Looking at the back of his head and averting your eyes when he looks back at you. It didn’t help that he decided to be your lab partner for biology.

He sat down next to you, throwing his books down without saying a word. He doesn’t know why he can’t stay away. Rafe feels like something is wrong but at the same time he wants to figure out what. It’s the reason why he sat next to you and why he notices the things you do. He tries to play it off as if he gets close to you that he’ll likely get with your twin. If only he knew it was actually you.

The two of you watch each other in the cafeteria as you eat. Eyes meeting and looking away just to look back. At this point Rafe thinks you're gay, he has nothing wrong with that, it's not his type though. His friends are talking around him but his brain is playing a game of tennis. Throwing ideas out left and right.

Maybe you are just socially awkward and that's why you act like that around him. Or you are from some freaky conservative family that sheltered you for too long. All his thoughts just keep playing in his mind, every interaction on display to dissect. This game of cat and mouse continues for the first week you are there. You are just counting down the days until you can leave.

The stress of not getting caught has been eating you alive. Both of your parents have been texting you to go to their house since you weren’t there the following week. They think you are still staying at the other parents house. A risky plan but they only talk to each other when you do something they don’t like or when Max does good in something. The idea of them finding out has been eating you alive. 

You had called Max, anxiety getting the best of you. “What do you want?” The call is a little fuzzy, his international plan seems to be only doing okay. “You need to come home like now. I can’t keep doing this.” You can hear people talking in the background of his call. He says something to them and the noise dies down. “Listen it’s just one more week you can do it.”

“Max no you need to come home. Mom and dad keep asking me to come home. What if they find out?” If he was there right now he would slap the back of your head to have your senses come back. You’ve always had the flare for dramatics in his eyes. “Relax mom and dad arent going to find out. I’ll be back before they even notice. Just one more week.” You give in knowing that he won’t come back.

In the hallway Rafe was making his way to his room after coming back from a run. He was in the middle of taking his headphones off when he heard voices coming from your room. Curiosity got the better of him and he moved closer to the door, resting an ear on it to get a better shot. He heard it all, from the begging of your brother to come back to him saying he’ll be back in a week. What he can’t really understand is the voices.

Without a doubt he believes the female voice to be you, Max’s twin sister. What he can’t wrap his head around is the male voice on the other end. In his mind he knows that it’s you, it had to be. But the voice sounds different, the tone and octave aren’t the same that he’s been hearing. It's confusing to say the least. He goes to his room when he hears the call end, piecing together all the information that he knows. Which isn’t much.

You get awkward around him when he tries to talk to you in class, acting like a pre-teen who can’t talk to girls. Now that he thinks about it there’s a good chance you are gay. He catches you checking him out in English and the lunch room. Always tables away with your eyes glued to him. Then there are the times where he will see you blush at something he says. Rafe knows he’s a good looking guy. Girls were constantly throwing themselves at him before his dad sent him off to this shit hole.

He ignores the rest of his thoughts as he winds down from his run. Taking the necessary post workout vitamins and shakes he has. During this time you had made your way to the bathroom. Having to share a communal bathroom has not been ideal for this situation. The only times you can shower is super early in the morning and late at night. Since you are not a morning person, night showers it is. 

Peaking your head out your door you check the hallway to make sure no one is coming. Once the coast is clear you book it to the bathroom, running into the shower stalls. The stalls don’t have doors, just two curtains. You would think for the amount of money it takes to go here they would have better showering options. You strip in the first section letting the water heat up. When the water is hot enough you get in. Even for the lousy coverage they do have nice showers.

It was large enough to have double the space needed. There was a detachable shower head that had amazing water pressure. Plus a little bench to keep your stuff on not only in the changing space but the shower as well. Let’s just say that these showers have been the highlight to all of this mess. You get under the running stream, the water coats your body. Warming you up as you stand under the stream.

You go through your routine. Washing your hair you start to hum to a song that’s been stuck in your head. Getting lost in the moment you sign the lyrics softly, switching to different songs that randomly popped up. You were so distracted that you didn’t hear that someone had walked into the bathroom. Rafe had come in to wash away the sweat from his run when he heard singing. 

He stopped for a moment when he realized it wasn’t a guy singing. That or this poor guy’s balls haven’t dropped. He walks closer to where the sound is coming from. Making sure to keep his footsteps light. The last thing he wants is for the person to hear him and stop. He stops in front of the stall where the voice is coming from. Yeah there’s definitely a chick in there he thinks. Without really thinking about what he’s doing and how he’s close to becoming a creep. He pulls the first curtain aside, walking in. “Who are you and what are you doing here?”

You let out a small scream, scared from the sound of Rafe’s voice. You stand there frozen not knowing what to do. You’ve been caught, the person on the other side obviously knows you aren’t a guy. “Well?” You let yourself grab the curtain, pulling it around you so you can look at the person. “I’m so sorry. It’s a really long story actual-” Your words die when you see who it is. Rafe.

He’s as shocked as you are, both of you have wide eyes. “Your Max’s twin.” Then he says your name, to double check he had it right. “What the fuck are you doing here.” You want to answer, you really do. But his towel is hanging low on his waist, his toned stomach on display. That’s when it clicked to him, Max wasn’t gay because it wasn’t Max. It was you.

It all makes so much sense now. “Max wanted to go on vacation so he had me pretend to be him.” You don’t look him in the eyes. Mostly out of shame of being caught, the other being that you are too busy checking him out. You can’t help but wonder what he looks like without it on. A pink blush graces your cheeks at the thought. The reaction is noticed by Rafe.

He then realizes you are naked behind that curtain. Your wet body is right there for him to grab, only separated by thin plastic. He looks you up and down, mostly seeing your silhouette due to the curtin being slightly white. His dick is getting hard just thinking about you and how wet you must feel. He covers himself with a hand the other holding his shower stuff. “So you’ve been pretending to be him this whole time?”

“Yup.” You clutch the plastic to your chest, the water hitting the back of you. “Well this is awkward now.” He scratches the back of his neck looking at the ground. “I told you that I thought you were hot.” He laughs, shaking his head. When his hand falls back to his side you take it in yours. Hoping that your bicep can help the plastic keep you covered. “It’s okay. I think you're hot too.”

Maybe it's the fact that he has a pretty girl in front of him or the fact he hasn’t been laid in a while since being her, but he’s about to lose control. Fuck he’s been so desperate that he imagined you that night after seeing your photo as he masturbated. This is honestly a dream come true for him. He laces his fingers with yours, placing his things down. 

“You know I read somewhere that we should be saving as much water as we can. Mind if I get in with you?” Rafe never read that anywhere. The only reading he does is when he’s texting or doing school work. You will never catch him reading something about climate change or whatever. You smirk as you look up at him, dropping the curtain to take his towel off. “Mhmmm. Wouldn’t want to be wasteful.” He leans over you, his height allowing him to see all of you as he looks down. 

Your hands graze up his thigh, fingertips dancing along his dick. One of his hands cups your face to bring you in for a kiss, the other plays with a nipple. He backs you up to the wall and deepens the kiss. His hand moving lower to rub your clit. Your hand tightens around him, a moan slipping your lips.

He pulls back to watch your face, wanting to absorb every moan you let out. From the side of his eye he sees the shower head. He smirks down at you, pulling his hand back and taking yours off him. “Is everything okay?” You’re worried something happened and he wants to stop. “Yeah pretty girl it is. Why don’t you sit on that bench for me?” Even though it was a question he meant it as a command.

You hesitate at first, concerned about how sanitary it is. Then you see the look in those pretty blue eyes and your concerns vanish. Sitting down, you watch as he takes the shower head down, switching the stream setting. He’s probably going to regret this later but he kneels down on the tiles. Positioning the shower head between your legs, the strong stream hits your clit. You didn’t see that he adjusted the water temperature so it wasn’t burning hot.

“That feel good?” Your hand flies to his shoulder, nails marking his flesh. “So good.” You moan out, trying to be mindful of your volume. Rafe gently moves the head around, creating circles on your clit. It feels so fucking good. He leans over you, attaching his mouth to one of your nipples. He sucks on it while his unoccupied hand finds your entrance, teasing a finger in you.

Rocking the finger back and forth, he adds a second when he feels you relax around him. The sensation of his mouth, finger, and water is too much. You are biting so hard on your lip to stay quiet that you’re bleeding. You release your lip with a wince, the sharp sting radiates in your bottom lip. Rafe looks up at the sound, eyes clocking the red coming from the cut. “Poor baby.”

He licks the blood, giving a quick suck to your lip to make sure he got everything. “It’s just too much for you, isn't it? Hmm?” He taunts as his fingers increase in speed. Your climax is right there, you can feel it in your fingertips. “Please Rafe. I” You sob rips it’s way out of your throat, your orgasim over powering. You are physically shaking from the intensity but he doesn’t let up. He keeps the water right where it is, his fingers increase their pace. He goes back to sucking on your nipples. You try to tell him it’s too much but all that comes out is moans. 

It feels like your orgasim is never ending. Then with one more stroke to your g-spot you were gushing. Rafe takes the shower head away, still fingering you to get you to squirt more. You keep drenching him, his fingers now rubbing your clit furiously only making it worse. He drops the shower head, his hand shooting up to cover your mouth. Silencing you moans as the last bit comes gushing out of you. You’re spent, body limp from that earth shattering orgasim.

“That was so fucking hot.” Rafe bends down and starts to lick you clean. Dying to get a taste of you. You push his head away from how sensitive you are. Your clit feels like it’s on fire. He pulls you up and turns you around to bend over on the bench. He’s not going to last long, he was close to blowing his loud just watching you. There’s just no way in hell he’s giving up his only chance to fuck you.

Before you could protest he’s already slipping in. You’re so wet that he slides right in and bottoms out. He gives you a second to adjust and then he’s ramming his hip into you. You’re still sensitive so your next release builds up quickly. He wants to be embarrassed from how fast he comes, he really does. He just can’t find it in him to really care.

You feel so good wrapped around him, your walls constricting him so tight. He barely had room to keep fucking you as you second orgasim ripped through you. He quickly followed, pulling himself out and jerking off so he could paint your ass. It’s okay because he’ll wash it off of you in a second. You get up after getting your bearings and the two of you wash off. “That was really fucking good.” You dream out loud. 

Rafe gives you a kiss, nibbling on your lips. You wince due to the cut. “Sorry.” He gives it a kiss better. “Same time tomorrow?” You smile and nod.

Safe to say the following week was spent sneaking off at any given chance you had.

[ageofevermore]

ITS BRIGHTER NOW

SUMMARY — until you met your girls, you once believed love would be burning red, but it turns out, it’s everything in between, and that couldn’t be more golden. i wanna be defined by the things that i love, not the things i hate, not the things that i’m afraid of, not the things that haunt me in the middle of the night, i just think that you are what you love

PROMPTS — “sorry, we didn’t mean to wake you” & “will you stay with me?”

WARNINGS — mentions of battle, injury, anxiety, overall just fluff and comfort for arguably the best avengers and their girlfriend

Like every relationship, yours has its ups and downs. Although most times, you’re met with nothing but outstanding partners who try their absolute hardest to maintain open communication and boundaries, they’re still human, and Avengers, and while some consider that a fairytale circumstance, not many stop to think about how challenging it can be at its worst moments. Not many people, or any at all who aren’t in the lifestyle or one similar, think about how they’re gone for days at a time, sometimes weeks or months if it’s an undercover mission, and how when they finally do get back, they’re never the same as how they left. But honestly, how could they be? They’ve done things no average citizen would ever be expected to do, seen things and handled situations that are dangerous and traumatizing, and just like anyone else, those things haunt them. Wanda is better about unpacking those skeletons in her closet then Natasha is, but the both of them take things personally, and if things go south, it’s never good.

Both of your girlfriends had been gone from the compound for days. They’d been called out to an active Hydra base in Russia, and three days later, things had gone south and they’d been in active combat since. You didn’t talk to them much, with battles and timezones and everything else that got in your way, but you had heard through the grapevine that Wanda was pretty banged up and Natasha had been left with no choice but to shoot to kill after a particularly gruesome fight. Hearing that never got any easier, especially when they were halfway across the world and had no idea when they’d return. It was missions like these that made you yearn for a simpler life. One where Wanda was an artist, Natasha probably took up something flexible like tattooing, and you did literally anything else to just have some peace and quiet and promised safety.

You had met Natasha first, after Maria recruited you to join Shield. She had been skeptical of you, as she was of everyone, but you broke down her walls as easily as you’d picked the lock to Clint’s farm the one time you were placed on a strike mission together. She had been hurt pretty badly, and his farm was the closest place to land. That had been an interesting day, no thanks to your girlfriend who was draped across your arm with a shallow bullet wound and a startled Laura who was screeching about blood on her new couch. Things with Clint were still chaotic as ever, but he eventually got over you busting his brand new lock, and the two of you joked about it now, although now you had a key so no locks had to be busted in the event of an unplanned visit happening again. When you met Wanda, she fell into your dynamic easily, and at first, neither you nor Natasha had realized that you’d kind of adopted her as a third girlfriend until a drunken night when she ended up in your bed and never left. Now, sleeping without them is hard, but you’re forced to manage as best as you can, seeing as you don't really have much of a choice.

It was going onto the sixth night without them home when you finally retired from the couch, and decided to head to bed, figuring that at two in the morning there was no chance of them coming back until the next morning at the earliest. It was hard enough when one of them was on an active mission with no return date, but when both of them were gone, it truly felt like your heart was missing from your chest and you were just going through the motions and holding your breath until they got back. Most people only had one person to worry about, but having two people to lose, with jobs in this line of work, you felt like you were always looking over your shoulder and expecting the worst. As often as they could, your girlfriends declined missions together, even though they felt comfortable on the battlefield together and it was a comfort to not be alone, but neither one of them wanted to risk not coming home to you. They didn’t have a choice this time, so reluctantly they packed up their duffles and headed for the quinjet, with a kiss on your head and a promise that they would fight to come home to you, that they would try to make it back. There were still two mugs of tea on the countertop in the mini kitchen, and although it was disgusting and the tea had gone bad, you couldn’t bring yourself to clean them up. If that was the last thing they ever touched with you, when they were just Wanda and Natasha and not Avengers, you wanted the picture of mismatched mugs burned into your eyelids for the rest of your life. They deserved to be remembered as real, genuine, soft and stubborn, sometimes infuriating but lovable and loved people, not just heroes who had a cause when things went south.

You tossed and turned for probably an hour, groaning in annoyance for how empty your bed felt without them. How had you gotten so attached? That was the one thing you’d tried your hardest not to do when you got into this, and yet here you are, in Natasha’s t-shirt and Wanda’s panties, unable to sleep because the bed feels too cold and the walls feel too big and the room feels too empty and your heart feels misplaced. You’d heard somebody say love is golden once, not burning red, and you’d never understood that until a moment like this a few years ago, when Natasha left for the first time and you were utterly alone in the tower. They were golden, they were light, they were pouring rain in the middle of the day with the sun shining and not a cloud in sight, and they are the best moments of your life that you wish you could frame in a moving picture, because no, a picture can’t say a million words when it’s them. You need every word in the dictionary and then some. You will never be able to elaborate on how much you love them without falling short, and feeling like there's still so much you could’ve said. Everything felt so gray without them. It had to be after three in the morning when you finally fell asleep, probably closer to four, but you didn’t think about how long you’d been waiting up for them, just flopped onto your back and sprawled out like a starfish, and let sleep take over so you could have a few hours without consciously missing them. Missing them was the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do.

You’re pulled from your sleep by hushed voices and a door closing, convinced that the hinges are louder at inappropriate times just to spite you. You try to ignore it at first, finally in a comfortable position and getting some rest after a long day of running trials with Cho, but the noises persist despite your displeasure. A sound between a groan and a whine is extracted from your chest when something bumps into the bed, and any thought of going back to sleep leaves your mind. Unlike your girlfriends who can sleep through a natural disaster and fall asleep again if god forbid it wakes them up, once your eyes open you’re awake for the day, and it seems like this is where your day starts.

Although with blurred vision from the very few hours of sleep in your eyes, you’re able make out Wanda hunched over the bed, grasping at her side that is noticeably bloody, while Natasha is digging through the drawers to your left probably attempting to find a loose fitting top for Wanda to change into. All exhaustion leaves your body at the sight of them, and you spring up, rubbing your eyes with a wince as they burn in disagreement with your current state of consciousness. Wanda’s head snaps up, on high alert, but she forces her shoulders to relax when she realizes that it’s just you and not a threat.

“Sorry, we didn’t want to wake you.” She apologizes weakly, through clenched teeth and apparent sleepiness. You wonder when the last time they got a decent amount of rest, when they weren’t looking over their shoulders in paranoia or tossing and turning in pain from an injury that couldn’t be properly treated, but you force yourself to not dwell on it too much. You can’t change the past, and neither can they, all that matters is how they recover, and how they need you to help them heal from everything they were exposed to while in Russia. You’re the clean up, another factor that nobody considers while talking about how romantic and protected you must feel having two superheroes as partners. If anything, you feel more exposed. Like all eyes are on you and a monster is always lurking in the room over.

“No, no that’s okay. I only went to sleep a few hours ago, anyway. Here.” You know that the shirt Natasha is probably looking for is the one currently on your body, and you offer it to Wanda with no hesitation, already making a b-line for her when she just barely has the strength to reach for it herself. You pull the bloodied top over her head gently, thankful that the blood it’s soaked with is dry, and her wound is covered in gauze, meaning they’d probably stopped by the medbay before they made their way in here. “A little banged up, aren’t you?” You comment, although it's rhetorical and you know she won’t tell you how it happened just yet. That usually comes a few days after the mission, when the trauma isn’t so fresh and they’re not still on edge that something else is coming for them. You help her out of her pants as well, thanking Natasha when she hands you a fresh pair of undergarments to pull up Wanda’s legs before you even have to ask.

“We’re still in one piece.” Natasha promises, coming up behind you and wrapping her arms around your waist. She’s tense all over, but she does her best to relax as she holds you, grounding herself in the moment and not the nightmares that have been going around in circles in her mind since getting on the quinjet to come home. “We missed you.” She kisses the skin beneath your ear, lingering for a few seconds before she untangles herself completely and gets ready for bed herself.

“That’s all that matters.” You reassure her, pecking Wanda’s lips gently, knowing she doesn’t have the energy or the strength to match any moment of passion right now. It’s not something that bothers you, maybe it used to, just the slightest bit, but it’s a routine you’re used to now. “I missed you too.”

“I told Steve we’re not taking any missions for a while. Especially not together.” Natasha hands you another one of her tops to slip into, and watches you throw Wanda’s bloodied one into the garbage beside your vanity. She won’t wear it again, not when it’s got so much history now, even if you could get the blood stain out. Again, it’s a routine you’ve found comfort in. The clothes they return home in almost always end up in the garbage, no time for working through PTSD that’s stitched into the fabric when you can just get something new to start fresh in.

“That’s good. I heard from Maria how tough this one was. I don’t know if I slept much the first few days.” You hate to worry them, or make them feel bad, but they hate when you’re not honest with them, and there’s nothing any of you can do about them being sent out on missions, so it’s not like you’re haroboring negative feelings toward them directly, which they understand, but your girlfriends do a great job of beating themselves up about certain things out of their control, this being one of them.

“Or at all. We still have cameras, you know.” Natasha muses, thoroughly amused when you turn a deep shade of crimson and kick Wanda’s discarded pants up toward her. Your other girlfriend, who has been noticeably quiet through the entire exchange, is curled up in bed, looking unbothered by the conversation but intent on finally getting some sleep in her own bed without the possibility of being blown to bits by the enemy.

“Spying on me, are you Romanoff?” You tease, shutting all the drawers Natasha left open and picking up all of her discarded clothes to throw them in the bin as well. She thanks you silently with her eyes that are practically bleeding with pain and adoration, but you don’t say anything. This is the least you can do for them right now.

“Gotta keep an eye on my girl.” Although it’s an easy statement, you know that it’s riddled with nothing but genuine anxiety. Both of your girlfriends are worrywarts when it comes to leaving you alone, for any amount of time but especially undetermined chunks like this mission, and although its heartwarming to be so cared for, it breaks your heart to know that they have valid reasons to be afraid. Another thing nobody even considers when they make comments toward your relationship. Wanda makes a huffing sound beside Natasha and both of your lips twitch in amusement, “On one of my girls, sorry, malysh.”

“You both should get some rest.” You comment, seeing that almost an hour has passed since they stumbled in. You won’t be able to fall asleep again, and even if you could, you’re apprehensive to crawl into bed with Wanda and accidentally hurt her more, so you have all intentions of wishing them a goodnight and going to finally clean up the mugs of tea that are resting on the counter.

“Where are you going?” Natasha wonders, watching you closely, like she’s scared that you’re going to fall apart right in front of her. You hate these moments, when they’re first getting back and they still feel like they’re stranded in a battlefield. It takes days to get back to some kind of normalcy without walking on eggshells, and by that time, they’re usually cleared to start training again and working their strength up for the next mission. One day, you just want to be done, but they’re not ready yet and that's okay.

“To clean up the tea mugs you left before you went. I didn’t have the heart to clean them up, in case…” You train off, but Natasha knows what you’re going to say and her face sinks even deeper.

“In case we didn’t come back.” She finishes your thought, hand rubbing Wanda’s back now that the woman is on her belly, seeking pressure against her wound that’s probably aching beneath the gauze. She shouldn’t be putting any pressure on it, but you’re not about to scold her right now. She needs to be comfortable, any torn stitches can easily be mended tomorrow morning when she’s well rested.

“Yeah.” You breathe out, releasing the tension that gathered in your shoulders at the simple thought of losing them. They’re okay this time, you can let go of all that pent up anxiety and dread for the time being. But it crosses your mind that there's always next time, and they might not get so lucky.

“Will you stay with me? Please?” Wanda asks, voice muffled by the pillow her face is pressed into, her arms beneath her head as she gives Natasha full access to her back, and the aching muscles that have probably been pulled a couple thousand times since leaving. Natasha works harder at releasing some of that tension, looking at you with broken eyes that you can’t say no too. Your worries are squandered when Wanda speaks again, lifting her head just enough to be able to see your face, peering into your eyes with a passion and seriousness that burns you inside. “You won’t hurt me, stop thinking that. I just want to hold my girl.”

“Ahem.” Natasha clears her throat, and Wanda lets the slightest smile pull her tired lips upward.

“One of my girls, sorry, detka.” She apologies before dropping her face back into the pillow, tightening her grip on it when Natasha hits a sore spot in her back. The redhead keeps at it, knowing how easily the Sokovian can pull her muscles when she’s lifting heavy things with just her tendrils.

“Are my thoughts that loud?” You ask meekly, abandoning your intention of straightening up the kitchen and instead coming closer to the end bed, still without pants and just Natasha’s shirt that hangs to your mid thigh.

Natasha stops rubbing Wanda’s back in order to grab at your thighs and pull you closer, rubbing the skin of your legs the same way she had been rubbing Wanda’s back. Though she’ll never admit it, you and Wanda have a sneaking suspicion her love language is physical touch, and that just maybe, physically feeling you both silences her anxieties over you just disappearing from her. Whatever her reason, neither of you protest, and admittedly crave her touch by the end of the night when you crawl into bed.

“Mhmm, I promise I’m okay. Doesn’t really hurt anymore, s’just sore.” She promised, sounding half asleep the longer she lays, adjusting her head so her neck is turned toward both you and Natasha, but her eyes are closed, a content smirk on her lips that only grows bigger when she hears you sigh your agreeance and then feels the bed dip with your weight as you climb into bed.

“Lay your ass down, or I’m gonna fall asleep sitting up.” Natasha scolds, playfully slapping your ass as you crawl over her and into the center of the bed, which is no longer warm from your body. You settle in between them, humming contently when Wanda loops an arm around your waist and then Natasha pulled you into her chest, your legs intertangling messily beneath the sheets.

“I missed this. I can’t sleep when you’re gone, everything feels so empty.” You admit, letting your eyes close even if you’re going to have a few hours of painful silence and stillness before you can even consider actually falling asleep.

Natasha presses her lips into your head and Wanda tightens her arm around your middle, neither saying anything, but not having to as their words and their presence says it all. Surprisingly, you fall asleep in minutes, and not a single one of you wakes up for the next ten hours, desperately needing the rest all together again.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Tattoo Artist Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Chapter Specific Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): canon-typical cursing, suggestive themes, brief mention of childbirth, kissing, domestic!Simon, brief military-based discussion

Word Count: 5k

A/N: Part Thirteen of Ink & Needle

Archie's solicitor comes for a visit. Evie goes into labor. You and Simon talk over breakfast.

Chapter Twelve // Chapter Fourteen

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // ink & needle masterlist

“Please give me some good news, Mister Grant.”

Leaning against the edge of the kitchen counter, you cross your arms over your chest as Ewan Grant, Archie’s personal solicitor, comes to a stop just inside the entryway. Jennifer Hopkins, the estate agent for Evie and Archie’s house, sits on the couch with her assistant Mollie. The two of them talk in hushed voices, their gazes focused on the stack of paperwork and open laptop computer resting on the coffee table.

Ewan Grant sighs, more from exhaustion than annoyance, as he sets his dark brown briefcase on the counter and removes his tweed coat. The whole situation with Archie’s family has been a hassle for everyone, but Grant speaks with the family directly, and that is an entirely different beast.

“Will Lady Evelyn be joining us?” asks Mr. Grant, adjusting his rain-spattered spectacles.

Evie is upstairs resting. The two of you have been in Cambridge dealing with more house business over the last few days. She’s so close to her due date, and any burst of energy is starting to wear her down. While you’ve taken much of the mental and physical load onto yourself, it doesn’t seem nearly enough to do anything substantial. You’re floating in stasis. Directionless. Unsure of where you’ll float off to.

“Don’t let her hear you call her that,” you chastise, a smile spreading across your face.

Evie might have gained a title when she married Archie, but she rarely enjoys hearing it used. To her, she’s simply Evelyn Green from Southern Missouri, and Archie is—was—Archie. Just Archie. That is how you see them, and it how they’ve always wanted to be seen.

Those are—were—their wishes, and you’ve always respected that.

“Old habits,” he chuckles, removing his glasses and inspecting the lenses.

“You’re forgiven,” you smile. “But really, how are things?”

Mr. Grant reaches into the front pocket of his suit jacket and extracts a small cleaning cloth. “You want to know if the Williams plan on seizing everything?”

You shrug. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

This has been an ongoing issue since Archie’s death. He wasn’t even dead a week before Evie started receiving communications from the family about “cutting off family money,” as if Archie and Evie only lived off what the family was kind enough to give them. It’s a farce. Everything given was promptly donated, and everything Archie and Evie earned on their own belongs to them.

At the end of the day, that is what needs protecting.

Mr. Grant rubs the cloth against one the lenses. “The Williams wish to contest everything. Unfortunately for them, they have little ground to stand on.”

“That’s a good thing then?” you ask hopefully, pushing off from the counter.

“Oh, yes,” nods Mr. Grant, moving the cloth to the other lens. “The family money is the only footing they have, but even that isn’t guaranteed.” He holds out his spectacles for examination. Nodding, he returns them to his face.

“Now,” he continues, opening the briefcase and removing two leather-bound folders. The topmost one he holds up in front of him. It’s thin. “This is everything they could easily lay claim to. In actual court, these assets could be transferred to the family.”

Mr. Grant sets it down on the counter. Reaching for it, you open it up, scanning through the few documents inside.

“There isn’t much here,” you muse, finding the last page blank.

“No, and it’s not anything significant. The family allowance is there but anything gifted cannot be returned. They can only shut the tap off.”

“They’ve already done that,” you mutter, closing the portfolio.

Mr. Grant presents the other portfolio. This one is larger. Thicker. “Everything in here will be much more difficult for them to seize.” He sets this one on top of the other folder. “These are all of Lord and Lady Williams’ assets. Personal investments. Property. Private income.” Mr. Grant adjusts his glasses. “Since there is also a legitimate child and heir, that will also curb much in Lady Evelyn’s favor.”

Your head snaps up. “Are they saying the baby isn’t Archie’s?”

“Goodness, no,” says Mr. Grant quickly, waving his hand in the air. “Not that I have heard. Even if they try, paternity tests are easy to acquire, and contesting the fact without proof will only put them in a bad light.”

You shut the portfolio. “But will they actually do it?”

Mr. Grant frowns. “Challenge the paternity?”

“Try to seize all of Archie’s assets,” you correct.

He nods, lips pursing slightly as he considers his next words. “You want my personal or professional opinion?”

“Both?” you ask with hesitation, wanting to know but also not.

Mr. Grant taps the edge of the counter a few times before speaking. “Professionally, they might. However, it will be an uphill battle. The Williams might be aristocracy, and their titles, land, and money seem infinite at times, but Lady Evelyn is the widow, and she is about to give birth to Lord Archibald’s child. That is far more important in the court’s eyes.”

“How so?” you ask, genuinely curious. As an American, these rules and regulations are entirely foreign to you. Yes, there is vast wealth in the States, but there are no Lords or Dukes or Baronesses.

“No child means most of his assets would revert to the family and Lady Evelyn would likely receive a comfortable settlement. But a child means the assets can move forward so to speak. That’s important to the courts. It shows a continuation. If the family tries to seize everything, it’ll place a shadow over the proceedings. The judge will want to know why when there is an heir for the inheritance.”

“And personally?”

Mr. Grant laughs. “They’re peacocking.”

You grin, covering your mouth as you stifle a snort. “So, I can start moving some of this?” You gesture behind you, indicating the house.

“The Williams Estate hasn’t officially filed anything. However, they are also immediate family, so they can contest the will. Have it picked apart for inconsistencies to make the process unbearable.” He shrugs. “Might tie up some of his assets. Make it more difficult for Lady Evelyn to use them. Assets directly tied to her should be fine.”

“Evie wants to sell the house. Can we do that?”

“The house is under Lord Archibald’s name, not the family’s estate. When I helped draw up the paperwork, I don’t recall a cosigner, but I will go through the records again to make sure.” Mr. Grant glances into the living room before his gaze returns to you. “Everything inside the home is…fair game, as you Americans put it.”

It’s a relief to hear. Evie doesn’t want to look at this place anymore. She wants it gone. If the solicitor is giving the go ahead, you can start selling, donating, or trashing items in the home before the estate agent prepares for showings.

“Thank you, Mister Grant. I’ll make sure Evie sees these and that the information is passed on.” Lifting the portfolios, you tuck them against your chest.

“How is she?” he asks, genuine concern in his tone.

Happy with a fake smile. Crying when she thinks no one is looking.

“Tired,” you answer, because it’s the truth. “She’s tired.”

Mr. Grant nods, sighing softly, his shoulders heaving. “I came here directly from the Williams estate. Usually, I don’t wait long before someone greets me but…”

“But what?” you probe.

He shifts on his feet, clearly agitated. “I don’t know if it’s even my place, but I think it should be said.” Mr. Grant glances over your shoulder at Mollie and Jennifer, the middle of his brow creasing with concern.

“Speak quietly,” you instruct, leaning in a bit.

His gaze lingers on the two women before returning to you. “When I arrived at the Williams estate this morning, I spent almost an hour waiting in the drawing room before anyone came to speak with me. That is highly unusual. Many would consider that not only improper but horrible manners. While I object to their treatment of Lady Evelyn, the family has always been traditional when it comes to hospitality.” He shakes his head. “Tis most strange.”

“Did something happen?”

“Well,” he begins. “Someone came but it was one of the household staff. Brought me tea and some finger sandwiches. Said it would be a bit longer. So, I waited. Waited a bit more. Eventually, I decided to wonder off.” Mr. Grant’s smile is like that of a child who just pulled off a deliciously perfect prank. “The estate itself is one of those old manors. The whole ‘upstairs downstairs’ business. Found a few new hires that don’t know it’s not good to talk.” He waves his hand dismissively. “Apparently, I was kept waiting because someone from British Intelligence was there asking questions about Lord Archibald’s death.”

“He was killed in the States,” you say, even though Mr. Grant already knows this information.

“‘Looking into his death’ is what they said. Sent his body back home without a proper investigation. Lord Archibald is from an important family. Covering all possibilities, I suppose.”

“Should we expect someone?”

Mr. Grant inclines his head. “That would be my guess. Unless Lady Evelyn has already spoken to someone previously.”

You weren’t here for the week of Archie’s death. Evie was completely alone. Someone might have talked to her then.

“I’ll check with her,” you nod. “Thank you for saying something.”

“We certainly don’t need any more unpleasant surprises. Given everything that’s happened.”

You rub at your temples, a headache starting to form there. “You’re talking about Adam.”

Mr. Grant snorts. “Nasty business and a deeply unpleasant man. I’m not surprised by his behavior toward you in the slightest.”

“It’s fine,” you mutter. “It’s over.”

Adam is the last person you want to think about. That entire conversation in the restaurant is just another thing you want to forget. Simon’s fury toward the man sent Adam into a spiral. All the chest-beating silliness between the two men only made things worse. At least, potentially. But you don’t blame Simon for any of it. He was only trying to protect you.

Mr. Grant picks up his coat and begins putting it on. “If the family contacts you directly, refuse. Make sure I’m present for any future interactions.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem. I can’t see them wanting to visit us.”

Mr. Grant retrieves his briefcase and the two of you head for the front door. “Though their behavior says otherwise, I suspect they’ll want to see the child.”

“Absolutely not,” you say immediately. “After everything they’ve done?”

He shrugs as he turns the handle. “Like I said. If they make an appearance, call me.”

You watch until his car disappears down the drive. When you reenter the kitchen, Jennifer and Mollie are up and alert, their faces eager.

“Good news?” asks Jennifer, her hands clasped in front of her.

“We can start selling things.” You place one hand on your hip and gesture at the large living room. “But I’m concerned about sticking to a schedule once the baby arrives. If most of this stuff needs to go, I’m not sure how often Evie or I can be here.”

Jennifer nods. “I can bring someone in to do appraisals and estimate the value of everything in the home. Perhaps even host an estate sale to help push it out quickly? You won’t have to lift a finger.”

 “Great,” you reply, throwing up your hands. “Do it.”

Jennifer and Mollie say their goodbyes, exiting quietly, but leaving a mountain of paperwork behind. It’s just more shit piled on top of more shit. It’s a never-ending river of garbage that you’re floating on. One thing can shift, and you’ll slip right down into the swamp.

Outside the patio doors, the sky is gray, and rain falls gently from the low clouds. Autumn is in full swing, nearing Halloween if you have the date right. Once the baby arrives, everything will be different. Evie will need a different kind of support, one you’re absolutely willing to give, but aren’t entirely sure how yet.

And then there is Simon. Your wraith. The man you think about nearly every waking moment.

Stress is eating away at you like termites embedded in wood. It’s dissolving the good memories you’ve recently formed with him. It’s hard to forget what he did in the dark and how he made you feel. Difficult to ignore the sensation of his mouth and tongue between your thighs, or how his fingers slipped inside and curled so sweetly.

It is odd to you that he hasn’t tried for more. Men are pushy creatures. They’re prone to acting in selfishness. At Riot Room, you and Simon were like colliding atoms, exploding and meeting in frenzied repetition. Simon is moving slowly this time. He’s being careful. Maybe he thinks you don’t see it, but that isn’t true.

Your wraith is learning your habits and curiosities. He listens, but he also talks, sometimes pushing to the point that you want to slam your fists against his chest. Simon is gentle. Rough. Sometimes all at once. There is so much comfort in the way he treats you, the way he turns to you when you’re in the same room. It is haunting. Clinging. Occupying your mind and emotions where there is already little to spare.

Every touch and kiss are laced with possession. Every glance and gesture are a mark. A statement of ownership. Yet there is nothing about Simon that feels like a cage. He’s saying mine without barricading you from the world.

And you miss him. All the time.

The moment you’re no longer with Simon, his absence is like an open wound. It cuts deep, leaving hollow spaces behind.

“Did they all leave already?”

You turn at the sound of Evie’s voice. She rubs the sleep from her eyes, dark hair a mess from the pillow.

“Jennifer and Mollie left a bit ago. They’re going to bring in someone to appraise everything. Maybe do an estate sale. If that works for you.”

Evie wraps her cardigan around her tightly, approaching the patio door, coming to a stop beside you. “That seems like a lot of work.”

“You want do it while you’re taking care of a newborn?”

Evie smiles softly. “Not really.”

“Ewan Grant stopped by as well.”

“Archie’s solicitor?” You nod. “And you didn’t wake me?”

“You need the sleep,” you counter. “Plus, if I woke you up, it would take nearly half the day for you to roll out of bed.”

Evie snorts and rubs the top of her belly.

“He left some information about Archie’s assets. We talked about—well…” you trail off, unsure of how to broach such a sensitive topic.

“It’s fine.” Evie lightly squeezes your upper arm. “I can take a look.”

Sucking on your bottom lip, you recall Ewan Grant’s mentioning of the British Intelligence officer coming for a visit. Is this the right time to ask? Should you say anything?

But when will it actually be a good time?

“Evie?”

“Hm?”

“After Archie died, did anyone come visit you?”

Evie frowns. “Many people did. Even his family though I could tell they hated it. Why?”

“I don’t mean family or close friends. People outside of that sphere. Anyone you didn’t expect?”

You’re trying to say it without saying it. The whole thing was a mess. Evie was told that Archie was in the wrong place at the wrong time, but that came from the American mouth, not the British one.

Her frown only deepens. “Well, yes. I received plenty of visitors that Archie worked with or went to school with. Mostly people I didn’t know but wanted to give their condolences.”

She’s not picking up on your line of questioning which means you’ll need to be more direct.

“What about police?”

She shrugs. “When his…body came home.” Evie glances out into the rain as her eyes begin to water.

You fear pushing too much, but a surprise visit from British Intelligence sounds mighty inconvenient at the moment.

“Mister Grant brought up a few things during our conversation that I just need some clarity on.”

Evie simply nods, still staring out into the rain.

You’ll ask later. You’ll ask another time. It’s clear that this isn’t the place to do it.

Glancing down at your watch, you groan. “Oh hell. We’re running behind. We need to go, Evie.”

Bags are packed quickly, the two of you returning to London by train.

It’s late, the sun just below the horizon by the time you walk into Amelia’s house. Dinner is reheated, wine is had (only by you and Amelia), and a romantic comedy is watched with a massive bowl of buttery popcorn.

Evie is asleep twenty minutes in, and Amelia follows after thirty. You remain up, watching the rest before waking Evie and sending her off to bed. Amelia eventually finds her way as well. With the quiet, you catch up on a few work emails and finalize several things before sending them off for approval.

When your head hits your pillow, sleep hits you like a fist to the face. There are no dreams to be had, just a dark endlessness you’ll forget upon waking.

But it’s not the alarm or the morning light that wakes you.

It’s a small, warm hand on your shoulder that startles you into consciousness.

“What?” you mutter, turning over onto your back, one hand reaching out in the dark for Evie. You don’t find her, but your palm crosses over dampness. It’s not a cold wet. It’s warm like room temperature bathwater.

You blink a few times, the dark of the room still sitting heavy on your eyelids.

“Evie?” you call out, the dredges of sleep clawing at your vocal cords.

The reply is a whimper, and then a sharp inhalation.

There is fear in that breath, one that startles your senses into action. Reaching for the bedside lamp, you tug on the small chain. The lightbulb illuminates, and with it comes a brightness that makes you flinch.

“Evie?” You twist toward the rest of the room, searching for her.

She’s standing next to the bed, one hand cradling the bottom of her belly, the other resting against the edge of the mattress. Her eyes are wide and there is a dark stain down the insides of her pajama pants.

“Oh God,” you whisper. “It’s happening.”

Evie nods frantically. “It’s happening.”

The air kicks in, blowing gentle heat into the room.

Machines beep. Voices chat beyond the open door. Evie quietly rests in her hospital bed. Her eyes are closed but you’re not entirely sure if she’s sleeping or not. Using your elbow as a support, you rest your chin in your palm, staring down at the adorable little bundle in the hospital-provided bassinet.

The tiny newborn is all pink cheeks and soft coos. Lillian is a precious thing, and named after Archie’s little sister who died young. She’s wrapped up like a human burrito in a white blanket embroidered with yellow ducks. On her head is a pale pink cap.

Lillian wiggles in her wrap, her cooing becoming a disgruntled gurgle like she’s angry at the world but is too tired to voice her frustration.

A soft knock draws your attention away from Lillian and to the open door.

Amelia stands there in a yellow rain coat and black rain boots, both speckled with raindrops. In her arms is a large, flat takeout container. From this distance, you can’t see what’s inside, but you can hazard a few guesses. She’s grinning, her smile stretching toward her ears.

“Hello, Amelia,” sighs Evie, her eyes blinking slowly as she sits up to greet the woman.

“Brought you something,” giggles Amelia like she’s entirely too pleased with herself. She nearly skips over to the bed, presenting the container to Evie.

Pushing off from the ledge you’re leaning on, you go to the side of Evie’s hospital bed, extending the small tray that emerges from the side. Swinging it over Evie’s lap, you secure the safety lock to make sure it doesn’t slip away and spill whatever Amelia has brought.

Amelia sets the massive container down. It nearly dwarfs the tray it sits on. She removes the lid and sets it aside.

“You brought me sushi,” gushes Evie, immediately opening the chopsticks and lining up the packets of soy sauce.

Of everything Evie’s been craving, it’s sushi.

“Oh, yes,” replies Amelia. She glances over at you with a knowing smile, one that immediately puts you on alert. “Brought that, and a few other things.” She nods toward the door.

You immediately turn the moment a large shadow steps into view.

It’s Simon.

He looms like a dark beast in the doorway, not coming in but not leaving either. His gaze is darting everywhere like he’s checking the place out. Simon carries two backpacks. One is draped over his right shoulder and the other over his left. In his right hand, Simon grips a large, black duffle bag. In his other hand, he holds Amelia’s pink purse with white flowers on the strap.

Behind him are two nurses, their faces stricken by his sudden appearance.

Bravo is not with him.

Amelia shrugs. “Needed an escort.”

“In a hospital?” asks Evie, amused.

“It’s like having a scary dog with you,” jokes Amelia, gesturing over her shoulder at Simon. “No one stopped us.”

“Oh my god,” you mutter, pinching the bridge of your nose.

Evie cackles as she tears open a soy sauce packet with her teeth.

Simon enters the room slowly, placing all the bags on the ledge under the window. He pauses there like a phantom, surveying the three of you before heading in your direction. Lillian coos and Simon freezes.

His balaclava-covered head turns to the bassinet. Simon shifts, leaning to the side, staring down at the small bundle. You can’t read his expression. The only thing you can gauge is his gaze. It’s intense, focused, but impassive.

“You should go home and rest, dear.” Amelia’s gentle voice tugs you away from your wraith. You turn back to them just as Evie shoves a piece of sushi into her mouth.

“I’m fine,” you reply, but even you hear the exhaustion. You’ve been at the hospital for nearly a full day, and the time between going to bed and the time that Evie woke you up was only a couple of hours.

You haven’t slept at all.

Amelia tuts. “I knew you’d say that,” she says. “It’s why I brought Simon.” She nods in his direction, but you don’t have to seek him out.

Simon is already beside you, one large hand resting on your lower back. Instinct triggers, and you lean into his touch like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Warmth floods in from where his hand makes contact, invading your system like a virus.

“That’s thoughtful, Amelia.” You lift your hand to gesture toward Evie. “But—”

“Shut up and go,” interrupts Evie as she talks around the sushi in her mouth. “We can manage.”

You open your mouth, another protest forming on your tongue, but Evie is having none of it.

“Go,” she repeats, shaking her head, eyebrows rising toward her hairline as she picks up more food.

You’re not about to argue with a woman who just gave birth.

“Okay,” you agree. “Fine. But call me if anything happens.”

Simon’s hand remains at your back while you retrieve your coat and purse. The two of you take public transit back to Clapton. It is then that the exhaustion truly sets in. The gentle lull of public transit causes you to drift off a few times, but Simon wakes you when it’s time to depart.

He does not take you to his flat. Instead, he takes you to Amelia’s. On the stairs, your feet are lead. They drag, and it’s a wonder how you even make it into the bedroom. Simon does not disturb you, giving you privacy as you shower and change into comfortable clothing.

You never make it back downstairs.

Collapsing face first into the bed, sleep comes suddenly. It is the dipping of the bed beneath you that rouses you briefly from sleep. Reaching out, you find Simon. Your arms wrap around something large and hard. It’s not his arm. Likely his thigh.

It doesn’t matter.

What matters is that he’s warm and perfect and so goddamn close. You snuggle up to him and return to that blissfully dreamless state.

When you wake again, it is with the sun’s rays on your face.

Simon is not in the bed.

Pushing up, you glance around the room. There is no sign of Evie or that anyone has stopped by to grab anything. Stretching your arms over your head, you ease out of bed, surrendering the warm covers for the chilled air in the room.

Downstairs, you find Simon.

He’s in Amelia’s kitchen. There is breakfast on the table and the morning news is on. It plays from the little, boxy television on the counter. It’s muted but closed captioning is on.

“Morning.”

Simon glances over his shoulder. The balaclava is pushed up to his nose, the rim of a tea mug hanging before his mouth.

“Morning,” replies Simon, setting the tea on the counter and striding toward you.

He always does this. The moment he can be near you, Simon takes it, seizing it like he would a prize.

There isn’t a chance to ask a question or reply to Simon’s greeting. His arm snakes around your waist, hauling you against his muscled chest, mouth meeting yours for a kiss that sucks the air from your lungs.

It is fire. It is light. It is a beating heart. Lifeblood.

Simon’s hand cups your cheek, and the possessive, nearly primal way he kisses you softens to a delicateness that sends a tingling sensation down to your toes. His thumb traces over your chin, and then presses against your bottom lip when Simon pulls away.

“Hungry?” he asks, and your stomach answers for you.

There are waffles, scrambled eggs, fresh fruit, several types of juice, buttered toast with two kinds of jam, and fried sausage.

“We feeding an army?” you ask, unsure of where to begin.

Simon shrugs. “Idleness makes me nervous.”

“So you made everything in Amelia’s kitchen?” The soft song of the dryer decides to go off immediately following your question. “Are you doing laundry?”

“That a problem?”

You pause. “No.”

Simon smirks behind his mug and takes a sip of tea. Placing the cup back on the table, Simon piles his plate high with extra sausage and eggs.

Leaning forward in your chair, you decide to poke.

“Did you take the trash out?” Simon glances up, the same smirk still plastered on his face. “Vacuum?”

He remains silent.

“Clean the bathrooms?”

“Mop the floors?”

“Remove the weeds from Amelia’s garden?”

“Are you done?” replies Simon blandly, his gaze unwavering.

You shove some toast in your mouth as answer.

Simon leans back in his chair, all casual sensualness. “You’re much better like this,” he says, voice dropping slightly.

“Much better how?” you ask, taking another bite of your toast.

“With your mouth full,” he purrs.

You nearly choke on the bread, cheeks flaming. Simon’s chuckle is soft but victorious. He got you back, and he’s enjoying it.

You cough, dislodging a bit of toast. “Has anyone called?”

Simon nods. “Amelia did. Said she’s being released today.”

“When was this?”

“An hour ago.”

You sigh. “I’m not sure how it is here, but it might be a while yet before they come home.” Simon makes a sound in his throat but says nothing.

The window above the sink is cracked, and from it comes the sounds of traffic and songbirds. Resting an elbow on the table, the last two days come flooding back, infiltrating your head. Ewan Grant’s conversation whispers in your ear, insisting.

British Intelligence.

That’s what he said, and you have no idea if they’ll come to Amelia’s door. But Simon is former military, and he might know something.

“Can I ask you something?”

Simon glances up from his plate. “If it’s to ask about what else I’ve cleaned I don’t want to hear it.”

“No,” you laugh. “No. I—” You pause. “I want to ask about your military service.”

The gentle playfulness melts away replaced by a neutral expression. It’s not unnerving but it does make you cautious about how you’ll approach the subject.

“Is it something specific?” asks Simon.

You shake your head. “Not exactly.”

Simon sets his fork down on his plate. Leaning back in his chair, Simon’s gaze becomes pointed. “You’re worried about something.”

“Is it that obvious?” you mutter.

“What’s wrong? Is it that prick from the pub?”

“No, Simon,” you say quickly, the stress of the last few days coming back like a hammer to the finger.

“Talk to me.” Simon’s voice is so soft, so full of concern that you blurt out the question without second guessing the decision.

“Did you ever work with British Intelligence?”

You glance up and find a blank expression on Simon’s face. He’s no longer leaning in his chair but sitting up, completely stiff and alert.

“I worked with a lot of different agencies. Why?”

You look away, staring at the clock on the wall. “So, you weren’t part of it?”

“No,” replies Simon automatically. “I was part of Special Air Service. Some of my missions happened because of intelligence information but I never directly worked with them.”

It’s helpful, but not. If they come knocking, you don’t know what to expect.

“Why are you asking me this, love? What’s on your mind?”

Sighing, you decide to spit out. You have no reason to hide anything from Simon.

“Archie’s solicitor came by. He mentioned that someone from British Intelligence was at the Williams’ estate. Following up about Archie’s death.”

“Did they come here? To Amelia’s?”

You shake your head. “No, but they might.”

Simon is tense. Not only can you sense it, but you see the tightness in the way he holds himself.

Your voice cracks. “Should I be worried?”

Simon’s shoulders heave as he inhales.

“No,” he says after a long moment. “It’s probably nothing.

“Probably,” you repeat softly, pushing the cold eggs around on your plate.

Probably, as if saying so will somehow make it true.

taglist:

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[aliceintheworld]

PURE ATTRACTION | JJK | TATTOO ARTIST

Pairing: TattooArtistJungkook X NaiveReader

Summary: "I shouldn't be watching a man undressing, especially not from the house next door."

Warning: Intolerance, toxic religion, parental relationship, Jungkook taking off his clothes 😮‍💨🤲 very dumb reader.

A/N: This is my first fanfic on Tumblr and my first BTS one. I know, it's embarrassing. The story isn't that great, and it probably shouldn't be the first one I post here, but the characters took on a life of their own without my consent, and I've been writing this since 2022 (fuck), so here we are. Please keep in mind that English is not my first language and that the reader is extremely annoying. See you on the next chapter! Thank You.

Next Chapter

Chapter 1

I organize the things from the bazaar as I go through the accessories spread out on the table. It's a calm easy task and I've done it more than a thousand times, so even with my eyes closed the job is done masterfully. My mother is next to me, quietly, listening to music on an old radio that she refuses to throw away. It seems that, since it's a radio she got as a teenager, the object has a deep meaning for her and she doesn't even like the thought of exchanging it for something more modern. I hum along too, trying to tune my voice in some parts where the music gets harder and the notes get higher.

Usually on the weekends, every Sunday, my mother and I go to church and the bazaar after the service, to raise money and help the pastor's project. Pastor Leen is a good man and always helps everyone in need, so this semester, during these last months of the year, he has been focusing on the animals that live on the streets. Everyone in the community who goes to church participates and helps in whatever way they can, whether through donations or fundraising, like my mother and I do. That’s why we gathered some clothes and items for the church bazaar, and with the sales, we can do our part. It's exhausting, but rewarding in the end.

During the week, I study at the university in my town and work at the library, so there's not much time for rest, but I like having a busy life. Although I know that, for some people, my idea of a busy life might not seem busy at all. At twenty-one, I’m supposedly supposed to be somewhere else in the world, enjoying my youth and partying with my friends, but strangely, I never wanted that. Whether it’s because of my mother, who always instructed me not to follow that path, or because I’m just introverted, I’ve never gone to parties or had adventures that I could look back on later. The most out-of-the-ordinary thing I've ever done was drink beer when I was eighteen and regret it the next day, feeling guilty for being influenced by a friend.

I’ve never left this town. I’ve never dated. I’ve never been to a party. I haven’t done many memorable things in life. Sometimes I wonder if I’ll regret not having these experiences someday, but I’m so tied to the way I live my life that it’s hard to change, even just a little. Habits are hard to break, whether for better or worse. I’m pulled from my thoughts when the store door opens and Mrs. Jeon walks in with a smile on her face and two heavy bags in her hands. I quickly get up intending to help her, but my mother is faster.

“Good morning, Eunji,” Mrs. Jeon greets my mother, letting out a relieved sigh as the weight of one of the bags is lifted from her hands. “Good morning, Y/N, how are you?”

“I’m fine, Mrs. Jeon. How has your week been?” I ask, taking the other bag from her. I peek inside and notice that it’s full of men’s clothes, judging by the size and the predominantly dark colors.

“Radiant, actually. My son arrived in town last night,” she says, her smile widening. I’m surprised because I didn’t know she had a son. Mrs. Jeon moved to town six years ago, and I don’t recall any son visiting her or her mentioning him. This is the first time she’s spoken about it, at least in front of me.

“Your son, Jungkook?” my mother asks, curious, and our neighbor nods, still beaming. “Doesn’t he live in Seoul?”

“Yes, he does. But he’s been expanding his business, and I invited him to visit, and coincidentally, he decided to open a branch here,” she explains, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear. My mother instantly flashes a smile. An interested smile that I know all too well.

Of course, because I’ve never dated, my mother is always trying to set me up with someone. Not that I want her to. I never asked her to make all this effort, much less to convince the church ladies to introduce their sons just because I’m single. It’s embarrassing, as if I’m not capable of finding someone on my own without my mother’s help, but she doesn’t listen, even when I had an honest conversation with her asking her to stop trying to play Cupid.

"What kind of business?" my mother asks, and I try not to roll my eyes. For a woman of God, she worries way too much about money and status. It's a controversial topic that has led to arguments between us in the past.

"He's a tattoo artist. He owns a tattoo studio in Seoul," Mrs. Jeon explains with a proud smile, and my mother's face immediately turns serious. The charm of a potential son-in-law is lost. Of course, no one is ever perfect enough for her—or for me, in her eyes.

I love my mother. She’s strong, and many times I look up to her when making important decisions, but she judges people too harshly. Ever since she joined the church when I was younger, she’s changed. She changed her clothes, the way she speaks, and even her thoughts. I can’t even remember what she was like before, and even though all these changes were a support for her after my father passed away, some aspects of the situation still bothers me. The fact that she believes people are going to hell just for having different opinions and ideas is one of them. Of course, I don’t argue with her about it and rarely express my point of view. If she knew how I really thought, I’d be a princess locked in her room, with no peace and even less freedom than I already have at home.

"He's a tattoo artist?" my neighbor nods, not noticing the bitter tone in my mother's voice. I decide to step in, anticipating some sharp comment from the woman beside me.

"Mrs. Jeon, thank you so much for the clothes and for your help. Just today we had three customers, and the clothes you donated sold very quickly," I interject, changing the subject. The tension in my shoulders eases as my neighbor shifts her focus to the bag in my hands.

"Oh, no need to thank me. I want to do as much as I can to help the animals. I adopted a puppy last week and I’m in love!" she says, placing her hands on her cheeks with joy, and I can’t help but smile. Mrs. Jeon is one of the few older people from the church that I enjoy talking to.

"What’s his name?"

"Gureum. He’s an angel," she says, forming the small size of the puppy with her hands.

"Gureum? Don’t tell me he’s all white," I guess, laughing at the name.

"He is!" she laughs with me, jingling the keys in her hand. "Anyway, I hope we get plenty of donations this month. I can't wait to see the results of our work."

"That’s true, Misuk. This month the winter will be harsher, so we have to act more quickly this year," my mother continues, and the conversation shifts to the church project. I feel more relieved as the minutes pass and Mrs. Jeon leaves. Not because of her, of course, but because of the situation itself. My mother is very straightforward and usually says what she thinks, no matter who it hurts. I don’t want my relationship with our neighbor to be ruined just because my mother doesn’t know how to hold her tongue.

"Did you hear what she said?" Eunji asks, her eyes wide, one hand on her chest as if she’s deeply shocked. "Her son is a tattoo artist! Do you think he has those awful marks all over his body?"

"Probably, Mom," I sigh, trying to focus on the clothes Mrs. Jeon just brought. "And Mom, don’t talk like that. She’s our neighbor."

"Even so! Y/N, that only happens when parents don’t know how to properly guide their children. How can a mother, who goes to church, let her son go down such a horrible path in life?"

"We don’t know how her son lives, and it’s none of our business, Mom!" I try to keep calm as I fold a large black T-shirt, but then I remember that before organizing the items, we have to wash them, and I couldn’t be happier about that.

Usually, the clothes are washed at our house, and my mother still has to stay at the bazaar for a while longer. Honestly, I don’t want to be around her listening to how good of a mother she was just because I go to church and don’t have a tattoo on my arm. It irritates me, and it’s hard not to let her notice, but for the sake of peace, I try my best, nodding and agreeing with all the nonsense she says.

"Mom, I’m going to take all these things home and get everything ready for the bazaar, okay?" I try to force a smile, but my face feels stiff. My head is throbbing, and I can’t wait to get home. I’ve been out of my room all day, and there’s nothing more exhausting than that, at least for me. She murmurs in agreement, probably annoyed that she can't keep talking badly about Mrs. Jeon’s son, but I don’t care and just leave.

I regret it a little halfway home because the bags are heavy, and even though the distance isn’t long, it’s hard to carry all the clothes by myself. I arrive home out of breath. The sky is overcast, with dark gray clouds covering it, but I’m sweating as if I just ran a marathon. I laugh a bit at my lack of fitness, promising myself that I’ll start the morning walks I keep putting off, and I head to the laundry room to start organizing the clothes.

When I open the bag, I’m surprised by the items. Not only are they of good quality, but I’m also certain they don’t belong to Mr. Jeon. He dresses well, but not in this style. I can hardly imagine him wearing black jeans or a heavy jacket. I’m intrigued by who the owner might be, but I don’t waste time pondering it, too tired to unravel mysteries that aren’t even important. I leave the laundry room once everything is organized and head to my room, throwing myself onto the bed.

My room isn’t particularly special or different, but what I love the most about it is the bookshelf filled with books covering almost the entire wall. It was my dream from a young age to get a job and buy every book I was interested in, and luckily, that’s been possible since I started working at the library. It’s the perfect job for me, even if it’s temporary. I’m studying literature to become a teacher, and I can’t wait to start working in my dream job.

I sigh and pull my phone out of my dress pocket, too lazy to take off my clothes and go shower. I groan, placing my hands over my face, knowing there’s no escaping it after being out of the house all day. There’s no way I’m going to bed like this. Reluctantly, I get up and untie my hair, which falls in waves, heavy against my neck.

I bend down to grab the hem of my dress and start pulling it up, feeling even more tired. Today was such a long day. I can’t wait to go to bed and sleep until tomorrow. I take off my socks, lifting one foot behind the other, and as I head to the towel inside the wardrobe next to the bed, I unhook the bra that’s been bothering me all day. The relief is so immense that I let out a sigh, touching my breasts with my fingers and playing with my nipple, hardened by the cold air.

On my way to the bathroom, I stop and look at the window when I notice that the neighbor’s window—the one that had never been opened until now—is, in fact, wide open. I need a few seconds to realize that there’s someone on Mrs. Jeon’s balcony, and worse, it’s not her on the other side. It’s a man. The most handsome man I’ve ever seen in my life.

I hide behind the bookshelf in my room, afraid that he might think I’m spying on him, but for some reason, I keep watching him with curiosity, hypnotized by the way he moves around the room and among the furniture. His dark, wavy hair falls over his face when, out of nowhere, he starts pulling his shirt over his back, taking it off lazily while focusing on the phone in his hands. He gives a small smile, almost as if he subconsciously knows the effect he’s having on me. My heart beats hard against my chest, and my breathing quickens; my mind fills with fantasy images of his pink lips and large, seemingly soft hands.

He is... gorgeous. Different. With tattoos all over his body. One of his arms is completely covered in designs, and his chest is adorned with images that I can’t quite make out. My mouth waters as my eyes roam over his strong back and shoulders. His pale skin glows under the dim light of the yellow lamp, and it’s hard to catch my breath. It’s like observing a work of art. A forbidden work of art, I know. It’s wrong. But I can’t convince my mind that I should stop. The man, still a stranger, smiles at his phone as the screen lights up his face. Unlike his body, which exudes sensuality and is intimidating, his smile is sweet and gentle, and the most charming I’ve ever seen. He tosses the phone onto the bed, unbuckling the leather belt around his waist and deftly undoing the buttons of his jeans. That’s when the trance that literally had me delirious breaks. I slam the window shut, desperate at my own madness.

What was I doing? How could I have seen a stranger stripping like a complete pervert? I feel so bad, guilty for having crossed the line and done something as wrong as this. I gulp, covering my face with my hands. I let out a tortured sigh and feel my heart racing uncontrollably. I am sweating, as if I had done a heavy workout, when in fact, I had been standing still the entire time. I peek through the gaps in my window to see the room in Mr. Jeon's house, but I can't see anything anymore and I don't have the courage to open the curtains and try to look at the man again.

It's the first time in many years that I have felt something like this. Could it be desire? I can't remember the last time I felt anything like this. I recall having a small and first crush on a boy at school, something innocent, when I didn't even know what it meant to like someone romantically or as a friend. This was, throughout my life, the only consistent experience in recent years. It scares me that suddenly I feel something different for someone, even if it's minimal. I let out a sigh and cover my face, embarrassed by my own behavior. To make things worse, I'm not even wearing clothes. I rush to the bathroom and close the door, staring at myself in the mirror. I am so dazed that even my cheeks are dark red. I close my eyes tightly and head to the shower, trying to let the water wash away my thoughts. It doesn't work. I spend the whole night gazing at my bedroom window, full of images that I can't forget or erase.

I have a normal day after the almost exhausting night. I study in the morning about different approaches with children on the autism spectrum, which I find completely interesting and complex, and then I work in the afternoon at the college library on campus. This is actually great because I can study even during my work hours with free access to all available books, which has saved my life in recent months. The first semester of classes was tough, but this second one has been terrible, with piled-up assignments and deadlines that are almost impossible to meet, at best. My life has revolved around this routine, and the ordeal of exams hasn't even started. On my way home, I stop at a convenience store to buy something to eat and bike towards my house, which, honestly, isn’t very far but is extremely tiring.

I get home exhausted, collapsing on the sofa almost immediately. My mother appears from the kitchen with a serious face and a tense expression, as if something very grave had happened.

"You won't believe who invited us to dinner." she comments, placing one hand on her hip.

"Who?" I ask, just out of courtesy. Besides not being hungry, I'm not interested in the subject, too stressed with college stuff to pay attention to my mother.

"Misuk."

"And what's the problem, Mom?" I roll my eyes. Until yesterday, my mother had no problem with our neighbor, and now she acts like the woman is forbidden or not good enough to be her friend.

"Did you forget, YN?" she asks, crossing her arms. "Her son, the one from Seoul, will be at the dinner."

I turn pale, my mouth dry. How could I have forgotten this? College has consumed all my thoughts during the day, but I would never forget that man. The man I saw through the window is Mrs. Jeon's son, I suppose. I concluded this after spending the whole night mulling over my thoughts and reliving that body and face, which I can’t even recall without blushing. I’ve already eaten at college and feel satisfied, but the first thing I do when my mother mentions the dinner is smile.

"I’ll go with you." I affirm, unsure. If my heart raced so much from a distance of Mr. Jeon's son, I can't imagine what will happen if I see him up close. But I'm so curious that I can't avoid it. I want to see him. I want to prove that everything I felt last night wasn’t just a product of my imagination tainted by romance novels.

"The truth is, I wanted to cancel the dinner."

"You didn't cancel, did you?" I ask, trying not to sound too desperate. My mother shakes her head, which makes me sigh with relief.

"No, but I'm curious about the guy. I want to see what he's like and make a better judgment about him. I just ask that you don’t get involved with that kind of person. He’s a tattoo artist and lives alone, so young. Who knows what he does alone in a city like Seoul." she says, and I agree with a noise in my throat.

I’m also curious about him, Mom, but not for the same reason as you. I stay silent as I go upstairs to my room. I look for some slightly nicer clothes without much expectation but I don’t have anything different from conservative or old. I feel sad for no reason and convince myself that it doesn’t matter what I choose to wear; a man like the one I saw last night will never be interested in me, no matter what I put on. I quickly shower, then, after my mom calls me from downstairs, I look at myself in the mirror, staring at the dark blue dress that goes down to just below my knees. I roll my eyes and simply go, with little enthusiasm.

My mom has a bowl with a freshly baked cake, and after saying it's for the neighbors, we head out. It’s the house next door, but the short walk feels like an eternity to me. My heart races as we approach, and I let my mom lead the way, walking ahead. She knocks on the door with three taps, and we don’t wait long before Mr. Jeon appears. He’s a man in his fifties, but very handsome and friendly, wearing a long-sleeve shirt and comfortable house slippers. He smiles at both of us, still holding the doorknob and giving us space to enter.

"Good evening, Eunji, good evening, Y/N." he greets us. I nod, a little embarrassed. Unlike Mrs. Jeon, I don’t see him often, as he is very busy with work and doesn’t attend church regularly.

"Good evening, Yejun."

"Good evening, Mr. Jeon. Thank you for having us." I smile, genuinely grateful. I truly like the couple, as every time I see them, they always treat me very well.

"What a polite girl, isn’t she?" he says to my mother in a joking tone, then looks at me kindly. "You don’t need to thank us. We love having you two here. Please come in and make yourselves comfortable."

"I brought a cake for after dinner." my mom says with a smile. "Where is Misuk? I want to give it to her."

"She’s in the kitchen, finishing organizing things. Shall we go there?"

I follow them in silence, having little to do. My mom is more accustomed to the environment, as she comes here a few times for church meetings. I take a few steps toward the kitchen when a noise on the stairs catches my attention. Then he appears, and like magic, everything I felt before resurges, ten thousand times worse. I catch my breath as I see him slowly descending the stairs. He is much taller than me and different from what I imagined, now up close.

His eyes are dark, bright and large, which strangely complements his sharp jawline. His lips are a beautiful pink that makes me run my tongue over my mouth, enchanted by their apparent softness. Pink is now my favorite color. He exudes a powerful aura with his heavy clothes and his body built like a big mountain towering over me, but when he smiles, I am captivated. His smile is sweet, friendly, and inviting, making me want to get closer. However, the thing that catches my attention the most is the eyebrow piercing. My God. What a man.

"Hello, how are you?" he says with a boyish smile, and I blush instantly. I try to maintain a mantra in my mind, repeating several times: calm down, calm down, calm down! "My name is Jungkook, are you my mother’s neighbor?"

"Y-yes." I stammer and almost instinctively close my eyes, frustrated with myself. He smiles even more, squinting his dark eyes as if he finds me amusing.

"Nice to meet you. What’s your name?" he asks with a soft voice, and I feel embarrassed for not having said my name earlier.

"My name is Y/N. Nice to meet you." This time I don’t stammer, but I speak so quietly that I fear he might not have heard me.

"Nice to meet you, Y/N. My mom talks a lot about you." he says, confirming that yes, he did hear me.

I open my mouth to try to say something, but suddenly my mother appears. I don’t know whether to feel relieved or disappointed. I wanted more chances to talk and discover new things about him, but all I was managing to do was look like an idiot who hasn’t left the house in years, completely antisocial. My shoulders slump, and I follow my mother to the dining room in silence, feeling embarrassed. I can almost feel Jungkook’s presence behind me, but I don’t have the courage to turn around and glimpse his expression. I almost automatically remember him taking off his clothes, showing the tattoos that are now hidden, and I flush even more, almost choking on my own saliva.

"Good evening, Y/N!" Mrs. Jeon smiles at me, already seated at the table. I feel guilty for almost drooling over her son earlier but I smile, greeting her in the same way.

"Good evening, Mrs. Jeon. The smell of the food is delicious, as always." I say, seeing the vegetables on the table and the meat next to it that looks divine. If I hadn’t eaten earlier, I’d be attacking the food, with respect, of course.

"Always so sweet, Y/N." she smiles. "Please, have a seat. Jungkook, sit next to her." she requests. I try to not choke again, just nodding, watching the man I am incredibly attracted to sit to my right side.

His parents and my mom engage in a lively conversation, and I try to pay attention in case they ask me something, but the truth is, I can’t follow along at all. Jungkook eats in silence and occasionally answers my mother’s questions, which I’m sure are meant to gather more material for judgment when we get home, but I can’t follow any of the reasoning. Besides being handsome, polite and kind, he also smells good.

With the clothes he wears and the tattoos decorating his body, I would swear his perfume would be woody and strong, but it’s quite the opposite. His scent reminds me of spring, or nature like a field full of flowers. It’s a scent I could absorb all day. Lost in thought while I play with the fork on my plate and the cabbage kimchi I served myself, I don’t notice him coming closer to me and my ear. My whole body shivers with his breath. I try to not make it too obvious, but I think it’s in vain since I hear his soft laugh even closer to my neck.

"Do you want to go to the kitchen, Y/N?" Jungkook asks in a whisper so close that I look around just to make sure no one is watching, especially my mother, who seems to have already formed a prejudiced opinion about him.

"Why?" I ask in a whisper, confused.

"I want to ask you something." he smiles crookedly, which makes me even more disturbed. I nod, still unsure about what I’m agreeing to. He quickly stands up, and I almost instantly follow him. When we get to the kitchen, he turns around quickly, watching me attentively, crossing his arms over his chest.

"W-what do you want to ask me?" I swallow nervously.

"I was thinking whether I should talk to you about this, but after meeting you tonight, I think it’s for the best, anyway." he says with a serious face. His previously relaxed attitude changes completely, as if all the fun from earlier had drained away.

I become worried, my mind filled with questions, until something occurs to me. What if last night, somehow, he realized I was watching him? My body turns to jelly at the thought, and my heart beats faster as I look at his face. I would die, seriously. I would fall to the ground and never wake up again. My hands tremble as I wait for his question.

"Are you and my mother very close?" he asks in a whisper, this time with a weak voice, looking at his own intertwined hands. I nod in agreement, even more confused. Since Mrs. Jeon moved to my city, we’ve become something like friends, despite the significant age difference. I consider her, even if mistakenly, like a mother.

"Yes. I think we have a close relationship. Why the question?" he shifts uncomfortably. He tries to smile but can’t. I am worried but silent, waiting for his answer.

"My mother is sick, Y/N." he says quietly, with a weak voice. My eyes widen at the news. I never imagined this is what he wanted to talk to me about. From his seriousness, it seems to be something very grave. "That’s why I came to the city. She had depression years ago and last month she tried to take her own life for some reason."

"She didn’t tell anyone, I’m sure." I say as much as I can, still shaken and shocked. Mrs. Jeon seems so happy lately that I could never imagine something like this. My eyes fill with tears, but I try to contain the flood of emotions inside me, embarrassed to act this way with a previously unknown person.

"I know. I was shocked when I found out." he explains, running his fingers through his dark hair as if he were tired. "She wants to spare people from the situation, but I wish everyone could know and support her. She shouldn’t be thinking about anyone’s well-being right now, except her own. That’s why I came to Busan, to take care of her."

"I understand." I whisper with a lump in my throat. I want to take his trembling hands and assure him that everything will be okay, but I don’t have that much courage. I wish I were casual and authentic and had the ease to simply say what I’m thinking. It’s the first time that not being this way makes me upset and sad. I wish I could be someone else right now. I wish I could help more.

"I apologize for bringing this up so suddenly. I hope I haven’t ruined your evening. I’m sorry." he smiles awkwardly, puffing his cheeks, and a previously hidden dimple appears. His face turns red and I can’t help but like him even more.

"Don’t worry. Really. Thank you for telling me the truth. I want to help in any way I can. I'll try to keep her company more often."

"Thank you so much, Y/N." he smiles, with his eyes shining. "I knew it was a good idea to tell you the truth. I knew I could count on you."

Ask for a TAGLIST in the comments.

[fatalforesight]

i don't think i could stand to be where you don't see me

rhaenyra x alicent, modern day au: Rhaenyra shows up on Alicent's doorstep with an arts and craft project for the next concert they're seeing together. Alicent plays dress up for Rhaenyra without totally meaning to. Neither girl is good at communication, it would seem.

content: 18+, minors dni. . . smut, religious themes & guilt, spanking, dom/sub undertones, dubious consent, angst, degradation, wlw, explicit photography, best friends to lovers

word count: 3,860

“Is this silly? I know we’re halfway through it, but maybe this was a silly idea,” Alicent mumbles from her spot on Rhae’s couch.

Rhae is across the room, struggling with her needle and thread. She laughs, but the sound is forced. “You don’t have to wear them if you don’t want to. At this rate, mine won’t even be legible.”

“Oh, Rhae,” Alicent sighs, looking over at her friend. “Here, stop that. You’re staining them so much with blood that the thread isn’t going to show. I’ll do yours.” Rhae gives in, throwing the hot shorts to the side with a frustrated noise. She pulls the tip of her forefinger into her mouth, sucking at one of many pinpricks. Alicent swallows as her eyes linger on the image, then looks back down with shame. On Alicent’s own project, the thread has become clear words, although the embroidery has been done in such a way so that the lines are somewhat sloppy, rugged. Such is Alicent’s own artistic take on the project. Across the front of the shorts, right over where her pelvic bone would be, now reads the words Rockstars Only.

A few months ago, Alicent’s mom came home with tickets for an up-and-coming band she claimed the girls would adore. Alerie worked for recording companies in their PR departments, and had always gotten them tickets for different artists depending on what label she was working for. 

“You’re really gonna like this band, guys,” Alerie told Alicent and Rhae the night she came home with the tickets. “And,” she started, with a twinkle in her eye, “the bassist is super hot.”

Alicent had seen pictures. The bassist was hot. And the lead singer. And the drummer. And the guy on keys. Or, Alicent figured they were hot. The boys certainly seemed like the other rockstars and boy bands that girls her age went crazy for. A few weeks ago, kind of laughing about it, Alicent and Rhae had come up with the idea to wear bras and skimpy shorts, with the embroidery they were working on now. Alicent wasn’t sure she had meant it at the time, but Rhaenyra showed up earlier tonight armed with clothing and red thread.

Alicent looks at her own work, which she really only needs to tie off. And then she glances to Rhae, who had discarded her work at Alicent’s offer and is now scrolling on her phone. Thread drips off the side of the chair that Rhae’s socked feet dangle from, and Alicent’s eyes trace from the bottom of the thread, to her friend’s ankles, then her legs, then her hips. . .

By the time Alicent gets to Rhae’s face, Rhae has turned to make eye contact. “You done? Go try it on then!”

“Oh, I don’t know. . .” “Ali, just go try it on. If the vision doesn’t work I won’t make you finish mine.”

Alicent nods, and ties up the thread on her own shorts. The words stare back at her. What was the goal? To get a band member to take them back to the bus, like groupies dying to be fucked by men they don’t even know? Alicent grimaced. 

But Rhaenyra wanted to see the finished product, and see it she would. Alicent never denied her best friend of her pleasures. And this did seem to be a pleasure to Rhae. She was practically kicking her feet as Alicent went to her room to change. “You’re gonna look so hot!” she hollered. 

“Shut up!” Alicent squealed. Rhae made her so happy, it made her forget any thoughts of icky band members and their gross dicks.

In her room, Alicent strips down to her underwear. First, she put on the bra. It’s a deep red color that matches the thread. It scoops in a way that none of Alicent’s bras do, but she knows this is the cut that Rhae prefers for herself. And sure enough, it manages to give Alicent a type of cleavage that she usually avoids.

Besides her underwear, Alicent had left one other article on her body. A cross hangs from her neck. A black chain, with red rhinestones decorating the middle of the pendant. Her fingers trace the shape, feeling the edges of the plastic and metal. Part of her screams at how wrong it feels, to see herself so nude and performative while still wearing her necklace. It was a gift from her father, who had passed down his own strict view of religion onto Alicent’s conscience. 

He lives in Seattle now. Alerie divorced him years ago. On her birthday, Alicent still gets a card. But besides that, this necklace is what she has of him.

She knows she should remove it if it makes her feel this bad. Whether it is the bra or the necklace, she isn’t sure. But they go together so well, in a way that feels. . . raunchy in a way Alicent has never felt.

She quickly pulls on the shorts. They’re simple, creamy cotton. They may as well be underwear, with the amount of ass they show in the back. But the cut isn’t quite right. Alicent’s actual underwear pokes out the top and the bottom. It makes her pout, and takes away the inflated confidence she was trying to avoid that came from the bra. 

The idea that comes to her feels bolder than anything she has ever done. But, she thinks, if she doesn’t feel comfortable she can always just say it didn’t work.

Slowly, Alicent slides the shorts back down her legs. And right after, she slides her underwear down, too. She looks at herself in the mirror, in nothing but the bra Rhae picked out for her, and her cross. There is a cropped thatch of hair between her legs. Alicent is almost certain it will show through the fabric. She trims, but she doesn’t shave; too afraid to cut herself with the razor and have to tell her mom.

Without breathing, Alicent slides the shorts back up without her underwear on this time. Even though she and Rhae are recently twenty, and she knows Rhae owns all assortments of thongs and bikini-cut underwear, she herself has been unable to purchase anything beyond her standard, full-coverage Hanes. Another remnant of her fathers teachings on modesty.

The shorts hug her in a way they didn’t before, free from odd lines caused by her underwear. Alicent turns in the mirror, and her jaw drops at just how much cheek hangs out from the sides. And, as she suspected, the cream color is just not dark enough to hide the brown, wiry hair on her pelvis. It’s a scandal just to watch herself in the glass. 

Initially, she is certain she will not go to show Rhaenyra. The appearance is vulgar, sinful. But, almost against her will, she moves on autopilot. She grabs red ankle socks from her drawer, and her Mary Janes.

She goes back to the mirror, with socks and shoes now on for the full effect. She reaches up, and pulls out the claw clip holding her curls. All of her hair falls down at once, framing her face, and covering her back. Alicent can’t be sure if she’s beautiful or not - all she knows is that she’s never looked like this, and she wants Rhae to see her this way.

Taking a deep breath, she walks out her bedroom door and down the hall to where Rhaenyra waits.

Rhae is still lounging in the chair, but she’s moved her shorts onto the couch for when Alicent comes back to finish or discard them. She mumbles along to a video on her phone, still sprawled with her legs over the arm of the chair. Alicent clears her throat.

Her friend smiles, turning off the phone and setting it down before looking at Alicent. Rhae’s face drops, her mouth hanging open on the first syllable of a word as she stares in wonder at Alicent’s final outfit.

Alicent wonders if she is imagining the way Rhae’s eyes stick on her pelvis for a second longer than they do everywhere else. “Oh, Alicent. . . you have outdone yourself,” Rhae whispers.

“I guess I’m finishing yours then,” Alicent jokes, trying to cut what she now feels is a new kind of tension she isn’t sure she has ever shared with her friend. Rhae meets Alicent’s eyes, fully sitting up now. She meant that she liked them, right?

“Are you wearing underwear?” 

Alicent feels herself blanch. She had not been imagining then, but maybe it was for the wrong reasons. Suddenly she feels gross, like she has done something wrong. “Oh, yeah. Ha. Shorts looked weird with, uh, granny panties, as you like to call them. I can go change. I was worried it was a bad move.”

“Don’t!” Rhae exclaims. Alicent’s eyes widen. “I mean. I mean. Sorry, I was just curious. You know I’m all for going commando.” A playful spark ignites in Rhanyra’s eyes. “I think I’ll do the same when we go tomorrow.”

A slickness appears between Alicent’s legs and she feels herself grow embarrassed at its presence, especially considering the color of the shorts and the fact it probably won’t take much to make her problem clear to Rhae.

“Right. Okay. I’m going to go take this off and then get started on yours.”

“When you got all dressed up? No, c’mon, we’re gonna take some pictures.”

Alicent thinks she’s going to throw up. “We can take pictures tomorrow,” she says weakly.

Rhae shakes her head, smirking. “You look good, Ali. We’ll take more tomorrow, but I want some now.” Rhae stands, grabbing her phone and Alicent’s hand. “Come with me.”

This is not a change Alicent is prepared for. Suddenly she’s on autopilot again, following Rhae to the sliding glass doors that lead onto the balcony of her mom’s apartment. Rhae slides the door open, and ushers Alicent out.

It’s sunset outside, and below people honk their horns in five o’clock traffic. Alicent lives eight stories up, so the wind is blowing constantly on her balcony. A breeze shoots by now, ruffling Alicent’s hair.

Rhaenyra ponders for a second, then seems to decide how she wants Alicent. This is always how it is with Rhae, with her moving Alicent like a mannequin to take pictures whenever she wants. Alicent isn’t sure why Rhae likes having so many pictures of her. The one time she asked, Rhae only said she liked having pictures of her best friend, and why make it more complicated?

Pale hands move Alicent until she’s against the railing. “Trust me, okay?” Rhae whispers. Her eyes are a deep blue, and they stare into Alicent with a ferocity that makes her feel hot behind her cheeks. Alicent allows Rhaenyra to push her chest until she’s hung over the railing and her eyes are trained on the sky. Then, gently, Rhae pulls both of Alicent’s hands to spread across the iron bar her back now arches on. 

In her ear, Rhaenyra whispers, “Cross your legs for me. At the ankle.” Alicent does, but mourns Rhae’s hands on her, doing the posing for her. She hears Rhaenyra step back, admiring her work. “That’s good. Hold onto that,” she says, and then Alicent hears one of the balcony chairs scrape and presumably Rhae stand up on top of it. Alicent closes her eyes, feeling the wind pass over her. Her stomach, her arms, her breasts. . .

“Okay, that’s good. Stay just like that, but spread your legs as far as you can.”

Alicent’s eyes pop open in shock. She doesn’t move an inch. “Rhaenyra. . .”

“Just trust me! You’ll like what you see.”

Slowly, trying to ignore the wetness that has only gotten worse in her crotch, Alicent begins to spread her legs. She screws her eyes shut, feeling mortified. There is no telling whether her shorts are showing what she’s going through right now, but if they are there will be no hiding from it. She feels debauched now, and pathetic. 

Rhae groans, annoyed. “Bend your knees, it’s not quite right. Now spread further. Okay, keep your knees bent, but pull your knees in. Like inwards, don’t push them more outwards. Ugh!” 

Alicent’s best friend is not known for her patience. And though she is trying to listen to instructions, she knows she isn’t doing it right when she hears Rhae get down from her chair-perch. Delicate, chilled fingers graze on the insides of her knees, and it makes Alicent shiver.

“Like this, Ali,” Rhae says, pulling her left knee inwards. She does the same to the other knee, and then Alicent feels her friend stop moving entirely. She holds her breath, but Alicent just knows. She knows Rhae has seen a wet patch between Alicent’s legs. And Alicent nearly screams at herself when she feels her cunt clench from the realization, forcing more slick out.

Hot air hits Alicent’s thigh, and it feels so new and different that it makes her groan aloud before she can stop herself. She slaps a hand over her mouth, in shock at her behavior. She hears Rhaenyra move back. “Stay just like that,” Rhae says, sharp and clear. “Keep your hand on your mouth, too. I like that.”

She says nothing else, but Alicent can tell she leaves the balcony to go inside. A few moments later, Rhae returns. Alicent still cannot see her, but she doesn’t hear her get on the chair this time. There is silence, and then the next thing Alicent hears is a click, click, click.

A camera. Rhaenyra has retrieved her real, expensive camera, rather than continue using her phone. “I wasn’t even sure you had sexual desires if I’m going to be honest with you, Ali,” Rhaenyra says. Her voice is strong, and gives nothing away. “You’ll have to forgive me for wanting to capture this moment on film. It’s not everyday you see your best friend give into kink for the first time.”

“I’m not-” Alicent’s voice breaks, and she curses herself. “I don’t understand what you mean.”

“What made you wet, Alicent? No panties? Being photographed like this? Or is it the thought of one of those band boys seeing you in this. . . getup?” Suddenly, Alicent realizes that Rhaenyra sounds angry. Almost vengeful.

“I’m- I’m-”

Rhaenyra makes a mean noise. “I’m- I’m-” she mocks. Then Rhaenyra reaches forward and grabs Alicent by the shoulder. For a short moment, they’re face to face, and Rhaenyra snarls. “Get on your knees.”

Alicent doesn’t hesitate. She drops to her knees so fast it hurts, but she likes the way they scrape on the concrete. Makes her feel like she’s paying for this in some way, whatever she has caused in Rhaenyra. Tears spring to her eyes. She keeps her vision upwards, on Rhaenyra. A part of her is begging for clarity, to understand this sudden shift in Rhae’s tone. But another, newer part of her is worried clarity would bring an end to whatever this has become. She lets her gaze fall to the ground

“Look up at me,” Rhaenyra mutters the minute Ali’s head drops. Alicent listens, and one single droplet falls from her eye to her cheek. She can’t see Rhae behind the camera now, but she hears the click and sees the flash to let her know that Rhae can see her, and she finds the image photo-worthy. She takes a few more like that, with Alicent gazing up with big, pleading eyes. Then Rhae moves back into the apartment, and gets down on one knee. Without removing the camera, she orders, “Start crawling to me. All fours.”

Alicent gulps. Surely Rhae can’t be serious? But as her friend trains the camera on her again, Alicent knows there is nothing to do but follow instructions now. She crawls towards Rhaenyra, and she feels her pussy throbbing against her shorts as she does. Rhae takes multiple photos again, then finally puts down the camera. Alicent freezes, staring and not moving until told. “I’m tired of this weepy, begging bit,” Rhaenyra claims. “Roll onto your back.”

By now, something has begun boiling in Alicent’s groin that cannot be undone. And she feels herself become almost stupid in its wake, not knowing what to do but listen, obey, do as she is told. Rolling, Alicent watches as her friend stands and walks around her, grabbing her phone from outside and then closing the door behind her as she comes back in. The room goes quiet once the noise from outside is no longer present. Looking up, Alicent is silent as Rhaenyra comes to stand over her, then drops down to her knees at Alicent’s feet.

“Spread your legs again,” Rhae says, still sounding annoyed but more removed. Alicent frowns, but still follows Rhae’s instructions. As soon as there is room, Rhaenyra scoots in closer. Without another command, Rhae grabs the camera again and brings it to her eyes with one hand. She points the lens at Alicent’s face, and Alicent is so wrapped up in staring at her own reflection that she doesn’t notice Rhae’s other hand moving swiftly toward her chest.

The moan Alicent lets out is unseemly, and she feels her eyes screw shut again - in pleasure, this time - as Rhae fondles her through the bra. She hears the clicking of the camera shutters again, but it hardly matters to her as she loses herself to the sensation of being touched where no one else has touched her before.

Rhaenyra squeezes her fingers, and Alicent’s back arches off the floor at the foreign feeling. Her clit aches, and she feels another rush of slick from between her legs. “Rockstars only, huh? Or does anyone get to touch sweet, virginal Alicent if she gets to be on camera?”

Alicent knows in her head that Rhae has got it all wrong. But now she can’t think straight with Rhaenyra’s hand on her, and she can’t make words come out. All that leaves her is whimpers and moans at the camera clicks and Rhae squeezes and gropes. 

“You’re making a mess in your brand new shorts, Alicent,” Rhaenyra notes, and then before Alicent can protest she feels the hand on her breast move down between her legs as Rhae cups her cunt with her hand.

“Rhaenyra!” Alicent screams. Rhae moves two fingers against the shape of Alicent’s hole, and her palm digs into Alicent’s clit. It’s like nothing Alicent has ever felt before, nothing like she has been able to do to herself. “Uhhhngggg,” she moans, and her eyes roll back into her head. Distantly, she hears more clicking.

“Is this what you want that bassist to do to you, Ali? He won’t. He’ll use you to get his dick wet and you’ll be lucky if he remembers your name long enough to sign an autograph.” Rhaenyra is panting, and Alicent opens her eyes enough to see the camera get put down. Rhae’s now-free hand goes back to Alicent’s chest, and it all begins to seem too much for her. She screams again, a tidal wave inches away from crashing over her.

Rhae’s other hand, still firm on Alicent’s cunt, suddenly is gone. And then immediately it comes back, striking Alicent’s mound with force she isn’t prepared for. Alicent’s whole body arches from the floor, and her hand comes to grasp her cross as her heels dig into the carpet. Fingers push into her hole as much as they can from the other side of the fabric, and Rhae’s thumb rubs fast and hard circles onto her clit. 

Her vision goes white, and her ears begin to ring as Alicent feels herself come on Rhae’s fingers, arch into her friend’s hand on her chest and her pussy. Vaguely she thinks she may be screaming in a way that could concern neighbors if she doesn’t stop. 

And then the world comes back into a hazy, light existence, right where Alicent left it a few minutes ago.

The hands disappear. There are shutters clicking from miles and miles away. A dazed expression rests on Alicent’s face as she gasps for air without a thought in her head. And then she realizes Rhae has gotten up and is moving to pack her things away. “Rhae?” Alicent asks, her voice shaky and weak. 

“Finish my shorts for me, you’re better at embroidery than I am. I’ll be by tomorrow a couple hours before the concert to pick you up so we can walk together.”

Rhaenyra does not look at Alicent. Alicent feels herself begin to cry. “Rhaenyra, why did you do that?”

The pleading in her voice must be what stops her friend cold. Rhaenyra turns to Alicent, the venom gone from her eyes that was there throughout the impromptu photoshoot. “Did you. . . not enjoy it?” Rhaenyra asks, her gaze downcast. Ashamed.

“I-I did, but. . .” But not for the reasons you think, is what Alicent leaves unsaid, unable to finish the thought.

“Well then. Consider it prep for the drummer. Or the bassist. I’m sure any of them will like what they see,” Rhaenyra spits, then finishes grabbing her things and storms out the door.

After the door has closed, into the silence Alicent says, “I don’t want them. I wanted you.” She curls into a ball on the carpet, and lets the tears fall freely. Finally, Alicent feels everything she wanted to tell Rhaenyra come to her, but it is already too late. They’ll see each other tomorrow, but what will it matter then? Everything will be different. And the moment to speak will be gone.

Alicent lifts her head to gaze at the shorts Rhaenyra has left for her to finish. She’s going to have to undo all the stitches Rhae did, Alicent can tell even halfway across the room. But, feeling her strength begin to come back, she has an idea that will either permanently damage what is left of her friendship with Rhae, or fix everything she couldn’t come clean about today.

Pulling herself together, Alicent stands and walks to the shorts to begin her work.

part ii here

[copias-sewer-rat]

COPIA'S SEWER RAT RECOMMENDATIONS PT.1

This has been a long time comming! I wanted to take the time to create a long post not only with fic recommendations but also other stuff. The Ghost community is so talented that I needed time to gather all of the amazing projects and ideas that flutter around.

(This even took longer than anticipated because just when it was almost ready some of the authors in this list posted some freaking MASTERPIECES and I needed to add them as well, obviously.)

I plan to do a post like this from time to time with new discoveries, so please if you don't follow/know these creators, please check them out. Furthermore, if there is someone you think I have missed or that you would like for me to check out, please, let me know. I am always eager to know more amazing creators.

(please be aware that some of the fics and artists I will be talking about write some very nasty, yet amazing, stories/art so please always check their tags and tws before diving in).

next part | my masterpost

📝WRITING

Let's start with one of the backbones of this amazing community: @da-rulah and her gorgeous and deliciously nasty fics. Please go read Rituale Septem and Confessional if you haven't already. Her hcs and drabbles are also so so good, you should read everything she has written, you won't be dissapointed.

Now, the wonderful, amazing writer that is @her-satanic-wiles. I have become her personal and most ardent supporter this October (if you could not tell by how much I have reblogged and liked her stuff smh). Her Kinktober challenge this year has been an absolute delight so I leave you with her mastrerlist so you can check her out on your own.

Now, my beloved, the amazing writer that is @writingjourney with my favourite fic to date I Knew Nothing but Shadows. I honestly get such joy when she posts, it is pure perfection. She puts such detail in her writing that it always makes me so incredibly happy to read her stuff. I also leave you with her masterlist, please check her out! UPDATE: SHE JUST POSTED THE MOST PERFECT VAMPIRE SECONDO FIC, you must read it: Friday Nights at the Vinothek.

The great @bupia is next!!!! I honestly adore everything they write. My personal favs are Barista Preferita, Love Letter, Bloodlust, their kinktober series and their new work is Serendipity. I am always in awe with how they write honestly. I want to be y/n so much with their fics (lol, cringe). Please read everything of theirs!

How can I not mention the absolute, amazingly talented, cowboy lover that is @ramblingoak ??? Her whole universe of cowboys (I love cowboys like yeehaw all day you know?) is honestly one of my favs, AND THE WAY SHE WRITES, let me tell you, the DETAILS, the EMOTIONAL backstories, THE ROMANCE, THE DRAMA?! Please go read The Cardinal's Bride and the other stories of the same au if you haven't done so already. You are missing out on one of the best AUs this fandom has to offer. UPDATE: A NEW FIC?! SKATING COPIA?! TIGHT SUITS?! Need I say anything else? Go read her new series: Copia on ICE!

Then, @molly-ghuleh !! I just started reading her stuff and now I cannot stop?! Camellia is SO GOOD you must read it!! It deserves much more attention!!! THE DETAILS?? The love at first sight trope leaving me in shambles???!!! I am seriously invested and I cannot recommend her more! GO! NOW!

Next, my lovely ghestie @discountdemonwarehouse/@eyeslikelilith who is so funny and so so nasty😈💜! Please go follow her here and on Ao3 for her amazing fics (I love her WWDITSxGhost fic What We Do In The Ministry the most hehehehe iykyk)

@leezlelatch and her amazing drabbles bring me so much joy, please go check her out and read everthing she posts, it is wonderful and insanely entertaining. (I cannot choose only one recommendation help, read everything!!!)

What can I say about @earthry other that she is amazing and I that I am obsessed with her drabbles and asks? I have read Watermelon Kisses so many times that you could lock me up.

Go check @zombie-rott out in general! Her stories are very comforting and nice!!! AND THE WAY SHE WRITES??? I love love love it. I highly recomend reading Pawprints, it is adorable, you should ckeck it out.

Please go read @bethbruttenholm's Seduce Me... I fell in love with this fic, so so good, and her writing is *chef's kiss*.

@anamelessfool in general is a master, like, her Omega3 fics are so nice *wink*, extra kudos for Reciprocity muhahahaha (it is delicious)

AAAAAA @gravehags and her curator!reader x copia series??? I AM ABSOLUTELY OBSESSED? THE HALLOWEEN CHAPTER? I WAS GRINNING LIKE A MADWOMAN ALL THE TIME. She also writes a lot about the Ghouls and Ghoulettes and it is SO SO NICE!

@the-curator1 In The Darkness of your Dreams ??? AN ABSOLUTE MASTERPIECE oh my Satan, I LOVE LOVE IT!!!

🎨ART

This list is going to be long and I don't want to sound like a broken record or make this post eternal (because I could talk about all of them for ages if you let me) so I will make only a big recommendation for the following artists:

@vogelfreyh

@piaart

@vanmec

@comfysanda

@nocterish/@nocturnal-birb

@sirlsplayland

@risunsky

@blanchebees

@mardyart

@meowsaidmissy

@forgelokid

@novaiisk

@nekronyancer

@delulluart

@yollur

@quaildoodle

@oranpo

@doodleshrimps

@kabukiaku

@thew0man

@blackbird5154

Please, check all of them. They deserve all the recognition they can get. I adore how much love and effort they put in their art, WIPS or whaterver they decide to make. Every single one of them inspires me so much, I cannot explain with words how proud I feel to be able to look at their creations and share a community or even an interest with such talented creators.

👻OTHERS

This is the one that needs more creators. I need to find projects, creators that do other things such as theorising, gifs, big projects, whatever. Please, give me your suggestions and I will check them out and add them in following entries.

For now, I leave you with a couple of amazing people that deserve all the praise:

@stressghoul I honestly follow her EVERYWHERE. I love her tiktoks so much, she is so funny. The Brittany Brosky of the Ghost community you could say.

@slavghoul If you need any questions solved about our dear Satanic papas, go follow Slav. I have never seen a more dedicated person with such an amazing brain, it is honestly so inpiring to see what they have to say every single time. By the way, also check their videos on all the little isolated parts from Ghost songs, does not fail on lifting my feet from the ground as if possessed, every-single-time. You can check all the videos here.

@kabukiaku again??? YES! WHY?! BECAUSE I ADORE HER PAPA PLUSHIES I THINK THEY ARE THE CUTTEST!!!!

Lastly, I wanted to mention a YouTube creator that is making orchestral versions of Ghost songs. I found an orchrestral version of DATHOML on Tiktok and I had to find the whole song. Please check them out because they are doing more and it is amazing. Jamie Turton.

[oracleofstars]

✦ 3VOLS : ISSUE 1, RAFAYEL

Featuring @maimochies, a well known Love & Deepspace author, as the spotlight creator!

IM NEW, WHATS "3VOLS" THE MAGAZINE?

This will serve as a "mini masterlist" where we compile links of works from different creators based on the character. And yes, its not limited to fanfiction. This is open to artists, graphic design/gfx creators & editors. (Basically, if you've created any kind of creative media related to the character)

MAIMOCHIES. WHO IS SHE?

mai is a rafayel enjoyer and a love & deepspace author! she has been writing in her corner of the internet with the pretty rafayel themed blog. have you seen her around? well, we have interviewed her recently with 4 simple questions. let's get to know mai better!

what got you into making love&deepspace content? are there any creators who inspired you to do so?

mai : funny enough ages ago when the first demo trailer came out for love and deepspace I didn't even know about it!! I happened to stumble upon a short clip of zayne and saved the video on a whim because he was attractive >·< then, as fate would have it, the game's official trailer popped up on my fyp and I got hooked, downloaded the game and haven't looked back since <333 l&ds is still new to the tumblr scene but I absolutely adore my mutuals' takes and fics on the boys!!

as a rafayel fan—what is your favorite headcannon of him? this can be your own or others

mai : hmmm… I think my favorite headcanon about rafayel is that he secretly cares a lot more than he lets on. lingers outside your apartment to make sure you've gotten home safe, always sending you a goodnight and good morning text, oh so conveniently shows up with a warm ready made meal when he knows you're having a particularly hard day, he cares deeply but he's scared of showing it.

if you could describe your favorite character with 5 words, what would it be?

mai : a gift from the stars

how is your time in oracle of stars so far?

so much fun!! it's such an honor to be part of such a loving and positive community. while I'm not as active as I would like to be I can see the effort that goes into the network and the server, from the graphics to the events. it's such a special place for l&ds creators to come together and uplift each other

RECOMMENDATIONS FROM THE DEEPSPACE NETWORK

welcome to the rafayel masterlist, find something that piques your interest here! show some love to our creators as well <3

l&ds boys crushing on you - @ maimochies

affectionate headcanons - @ maimochies

how the l&ds boys kiss - @ maimochies

sing with me? - @ sevvynth

𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐜𝐮𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞. - @ jqnehr

𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬 - @ jqnehr

birthday celebration - @ lovexdeepspace

l&ds boys + their nicknames for you - @ lovexdeepspace

JEALOUSY , JEALOUSY! - @ rafyne

MESSAGES I CANT SEND : DEAR RAFAYEL

recently we had a 3VOLS related event entitled DEAR RAFAYEL, where we send out a prompt every 7 days and you have the choice to use whichever one you wanted.

POST MASTERLIST

dear rafayel ( prompt day 1 ) - @ rafyne

dear rafayel ( prompt day 3 ) - @ sweetheartsaku

WHAT ELSE IS HAPPENING?

its april 5, that means our applications are open until april 10. come join us in the discord & the network. this first issue is finally done, thank you for all the support you've given the oracle. we'll see you again next time!

[yourlocalbadgerscales]

”If I could draw I’d draw fanarts!”

“If I could draw I’d draw my OCs”

“If I could paint I’d paint all the ideas in my head and become rich!”

If I could draw and paint I would completely erase this portrait of J.K Rowling in a book from my childhood, and draw a picture of Imane Khelif there instead.

This is my copy and it’s in Swedish, btw.

The original title of this book is Good Night Stories For Rebel Girls 2. It’s the second book out of two. This is the first one.

These two books were my childhood. Do you have any idea how empowering it is for a young girl like me, feeling alone in a world that seems to become crueller by the day, a girl who feels unheard by adults, to read these kind of books? I have plenty other books like these, too! These were my two favourites.

Two books filled with strong, powerful and cool women who have changed the world in one way or another! Reading these books inspired me so, so much as a little girl. I couldn’t get enough of these two-page stories about women who were brave and stood up for what was right. Women from so many different countries and backgrounds. It was beautiful. These books were how I found out about most of my biggest idols today: Malala Yousafzai, Greta Thunberg, Anne Frank, Emma Watson etc.

As I said, these books are my childhood. Another series of books that played a huge part of my childhood are the Harry Potter books.

As a little kid, I had no idea about who Joanne truly was. All I knew was that she was an author, and I dreamed about becoming an author one day. And Joanne had written one of my favourite series of all time. Of course I looked up to her! I especially remember looking at the drawing of her in Good Night Stories For Rebel Girls 2, admiring it very much.

I have grown up. I still love Harry Potter, the series played a massive role in my childhood and it’s been there to comfort me in my hardest times. But I do not support the author, now that I’ve heard about and read the tweets she has made about trans women. It’s disgusting, what she’s said about trans women in the past, what she still says, and what she’s tweeted about Imane Khelif recently… I’ve knows for years now what she’s all about.

It hurts, you know. As a member of the LGBTQIA+ community, it hurts to know that the series I love so dearly, the series that always makes me feel better, is written by a person who has no respect whatsoever towards half of my friend group and other trans people. None. She is a horrible human being, and it hurts to know that.

Knowing that her face, her name and her story is written in yet another book in my bookshelf, that her presence is constant in my room, makes me sick to my stomach and has done so for a long time now. Ever since I remembered a while back that she’s in this book, this wonderful book about women who have made the world a better place and continue fighting daily, women I look up to so much… I’ve had this sick feeling in my stomach, because she does not belong in this book. She isn’t a feminist. She excludes trans women from womanhood and accuses cis women of being trans or intersex based on their strength and talent in sports. Based on a supposed high level of testosterone? Joanne is cruel, and she’s rude, and she is not a person kids should be taught to look up to. Not after all she’s done.

Earlier today, I was thinking about this again. And as so many times before, I wished that I myself was a talented artist. This is something I’ve thought about before, but for different reasons. I’ve always wished I could draw portraits and pretty paintings. Fanarts for my favourite ships that I can only picture in my head but not transfer to paper. I’ve always loved drawing, but I’ve never been too good at it. Now I desperately wish that I was.

Because if I was a talented artist, I would grab my pens and paint and brushes, and I would cover up the portrait of J. K Rowling in my book. I would make a whole new portrait in its place, a portrait of another woman I look up to, a strong and beautiful and brave woman. A women called Imane Khelif.

And I’d get rid of the page full of facts and stories about Rowling, I’d tear it apart and throw it away and replace it with the story of Imane Khelif, the one woman Rowling cannot tolerate because of her talent for boxing. I can write. I can’t draw, but I can write. I so wish I could do both right now, because if I truly could trust myself with fully remaking two book pages, I would do it without hesitation.

Imane Khelif’s story deserves to be told. J.K Rowling’s story deserves to be told with seriousness, and grief because of what she has become. This woman could have been a successful author and a beloved feminist, and she could have left it at that. Sadly, she chose a path of hatred and cyber bullying. She chose this journey for herself, and I am sorry for everyone who got their childhood ruined because of it. Heck, I’m sorry for her even, but I still know in my heart that she has no excuses for what she has done. I despise her.

Kids need to be warned about TERFs, not trans women.

Collage made by @thingsmk1120sayz (I will delete it immediately if you ask me to, love <3)

I stand by Imane Khelif. I stand by the girls who grew up to be strong and wonderful women, the women who made their childhood dreams reality and won medals in the Olympics, the women who became successful artists, the women who reached their goals and ended up writing bestseller books loved by generations.

I stand by them, and I love them. But I feel nothing but hatred and pity towards J. K Rowling. Fuck her twisted beliefs. Much love to Imane Khelif!

Edit: I would like to clarify, Good Night Stories For Rebel Girls 2 was released 2017. I have no idea when Joanne started spreading her transphobic views on social media. Feel free to educate me on reblogs and comments! Anyways, I don’t think that the authors of this book, Elena Favilli and Francesca Cavallo, meant to cause any harm by putting Rowling in their book. Either this was before Rowling started tweeting transphobic things, or the authors didn’t know about her being a TERF (I doubt the latter). So please don’t send any hate to these wonderful authors! If you want to send them questions regarding their books, I’m pretty sure you’re free to do so! xx

[skynapple]

Rafayel Into The Canvas: Analysis **Spoilers**

Long analysis ahead!! I've tried to break it into chronological chunks!

TL;DR - Sky rambles about Rafayel for a very long time.

I never know when he like, plans his coincidental showing-up-where-she-is things because... they really could be coincidental but I think maybe we're meant to think they're not. But the disappointment here is my weakness. Quality time is one of my love languages so like, the showing up for her and then actually being discontent with not having her time is what's really endearing to me. There's a lot of moments I really enjoy how obvious Rafayel makes it that he wants nothing more than to be around her and share the same space as her.

Then, he knows, right? He knew what she was going to say, he asked anyway, just in case, and just to acknowledge that and make it known to her.

Then ok omg 🥺 his voice.

He gets quiet, and soft, and like he's clearly trying to reassure her, in spite of what he's feeling. Just... the way he knows how she is. He knows how she gets. I could CRY.

Honestly MC really does want to, also. Like you can tell she doesn't want to let him down. That moment of not wanting to say she can't but not knowing if she can agree is sooo real. And then he captures that sentiment immediately, and in so many short words tells her like, 'Hey, I get it. I'll be here for you.' and all without saying that outright but. I used to hate how much he doesn't seem to communicate with her -and yeah he has his secrets- but the more I play this game the more I kinda realize he's the one who's allegedly 'had' her the longest over all the lifetimes so far,* so more than anyone he really speaks her language well.

*Sidenote: Cause current!Zayne doesn't know about any of his other lives with her, and Xavier although he's also spent multiple lifetimes with her... admittedly a lot of their 'long' lives weren't spent together in earnest, in their past lives there has always been a bit of a wall between them. Sylus I'd say comes maybe closest to seemingly not having their barrier but we don't know enough of his lore yet (although from what I've played through it does seem like he also speaks MC very well).

MOVING ALONG.

~5 Days Later~

I WHEEZEDDD

Leave it to Rafayel to bribe a child into making sure she finds him again. Honestly, there's some hidden messages here.

MC acknowledged she's nearly forgotten already that Rafayel said to call her. I'm sure he anticipated that (sadly 😭). And also, maybe that she'd be... directionally challenged in a brand new town? And if he's busy with the painting lessons, he probably wouldn't have been able to get on the phone and try to guide her that way himself or, maybe knew GPS wouldn't have good reception? Anyway he's SO thoughtful.

We're seeing here also Rafayel's unexpectedly very good with kids. But... maybe he's really keen on giving kids the treatment he never got as a child? Kids want to be acknowledged and taken seriously, and be dealt with patiently, and want space to let their creativity soar. Who knows how much of that he got in his childhood.

I love his "teacher" mode and it's exactly his fault for saying "paint wherever you like." Please I would have ABSOLUTELY done the same.

And he does it right back to her but like, also I couldn't help but think of God of the Tides? As a couple, did they also spend time painting their markings on each other? I wonder if it was attendants who did it for them. Was it everyday or was it some kind of water tattoo? I digress. I still think it might've sparked some memories for him.

And she proceeds to stare at him like half the time, really in awe. Same.

It's just a very, very sweet moment. There's something really special about watching someone you love do something they're really passionate about.

This is immediately becoming my favorite Rafayel card (I want to say not because I'm an artist but I'd be lying). Just the admiration they both clearly have for each other. Also, she really gets it, I think now more than ever, just how much she means to him, and also, how much he means to her. These tender moments are just as special and intimate as any physical ones, and sometimes even more so.

It's sooooo soft.

His little blush when he realized he was being stared at took me out alskdhslkg sir please have you looked in a mirror? He's so pretty when he's focused.

What got me also is him saying he'd just wait for her. Of course he kind of "teases" that she promised she'd meet up with him when she clearly didn't, but knew they'd meet up eventually if he waited long enough. This is a constant theme with these two.

Her not necessarily being willing or able to make promises to him, and him just waiting for her to fulfill these unspoken promises anyway. Either because of his love and determination, he knows or is just hopeless enough to think fate be damned, it'll happen anyway.

There's an interesting translation difference. The English "translation" that's captioned says this:

But it was either the voice actors or voice directors choice to change the spoken dialogue. What's actually spoken is this:

And I like the decision because it takes the "no big deal" out of it, which I think gets to the heart of the message and the character more.

As a voice director one of the most difficult things working with translation teams is trying to capture the essence of the story. It's not always about translating word for word, it's - ok, what's going to get this very specific point across to the audience?

Maybe it's not a big deal to Rafayel, or maybe he would say that –because he has waited so long to be physically in her presence the past few centuries already– but it's more impactful that the point is just:

No matter how long he has to wait, he will always wait a bit longer for her, because she means that much to him.

Then of course there's more playful banter, and allusion to a few things. Using the kids as a slight analogy. She did miss Rafayel.

I think it's sweet too how much she honestly does think of him in earnest, she's just not the best at explaining or expressing this. Again, her saving grace is he does speak her language and understands her.

Sometimes I think a lot about why MC is ... like that, and you know I always have to remember like... she was probably always trying to be tough as a kid? Who knows how often "grandma" was actually home, and having a "brother" kinda makes you tougher as a person. She grew up constantly not wanting people to worry about her, and it's really clear in all her routes and stories she has always struggled to express exactly what she means... mostly also because this is her "first" relationship of this nature. And there's always a huge learning curve in navigating communication like this in your first serious relationship. But... she's trying. And she's relying less on him picking up what she's putting down.

I know MC is meant to be "you" in the story but as for me, I like to imagine she probably had a sheepish grin on her face when she mentioned they lantern she made, it probably made it even easier for him to clock what she was thinking about. And even if he already planned on "gifting" it to himself, I feel his bright wide grin is probably just him realizing, 'Really? She would have gifted it to me anyway?' Because as much as you think you know someone, sometimes they find ways to surprise you anyways. You can literally hear in his voice how like,,, excited he gets.

And she's not even really embarrassed, it's heartwarming, and she laughs at her painting skills.

We get more MC continuity here!

I can't fault her for not saying like "I hope I get to spend more time with Rafayel" cause lollll as much as we wish, like, I dunno!! In that moment wouldn't you also be thinking of something like your family or your overall future?

For MC though, this is just one of her strings of continuity. She is very work and 'world peace' focused. It's in all of her routes with every LI. It's not that she doesn't love her S/O, this is just how and who she is. It's not like Rafayel isn't included in that ''healthy, happy life" she mentions.

I see it occasionally in discourse (occasionally from newer players where less lore is accessible) people immediately fault MC for not putting the boys first so... verbally, the way they do. But to me, she doesn't need to. To me, this is her way of doing so. She wants to work hard so everyone can live more peacefully, him and her included, and I think that's sweet. And I think Rafayel gets it.... even though you can tell there's a smidge in him that wishes too that she'd just outright say she wants more of his time too 😆 but, again, I think he gets it.

And then of course there's his wish, too. There's so much to unpack here. And it goes beyond him "getting it" he's... so immediately supportive. He wants to be with her every step of the way along her dreams.

You just know he's going to find ways to continue running into her. But less superficially, again, this is him saying he covets just being in the same space with her.

And then of course the ever-so-subtle lore mentions. Even if he can't be with her necessarily, he's always going to wait for her to come to him (even if she can't or won't because she doesn't remember-- but he knows she will, when she does remember).

All in all there's just this huge boost in trust between them and enjoyment of the mundane intimacy between them. He's not whiny, or pushy, he's patient, and she isn't standoffish, or embarrassed, she genuinely wants to just sit in that peace and space with him. They've grown a lot and it's very, very sweet to see.

[ravenstargames]

✦ Lost in Limbo Devlog #8 | 02.06.24

AHA! It's February (has been for a few days, but I've been a bit busy as per usual) so that means another Lost in Limbo devlog! We have been recovering from our wrap-up, working left and right, and oooh boy aren't things getting interesting. Let's jump into it, shall we?

First of all...

🎉🎊🎊THE DEMO CGS ARE DONE!🎉🎉🎊

Raquel has worked SO HARD to achieve this, and the results are simply amazing. We could never ask for a better artist, and we can't wait for you all to see and experience every CG for yourselves. Sadly, we made a promise of only showing Gael and Amon's, so you'll have to wait a bit more for the others! ; v ;

And next! You thought we were finished with the characters?! NOT BY A LONG SHOT! As you may remember, our demo script went through a few changes, but this secondary character remains! We don't want to talk about them too much, but we also wanted you to have a taste of them, as they'll be the first character you'll meet... 👀💜

Our plan is to finish this sprite and then move on to the character's expressions. We have to figure out the most efficient way to work on them, though!

The dreaded section—but THIS MONTH we come with a wonderful announcement...

✨🎆Airyn has joined the team!✨🎆

And you'll ask, who's Airyn?! Well, she's an amazing person we met during our master degree; we have been developing a friendship for a while now, and as we needed an extra hand with our backgrounds, Airyn offered us her help! She's an incredibly talented concept artist who loves working on backgrounds, and we are so so thankful for her help! We literally couldn't ask for a better professional to join us during our demo journey :')!

You can see some of Airyn's work on her ArtStation, here!

She has already started to work on our unfinished backgrounds, and so far we can offer you this fantastic WIP of one of the places you'll visit in the demo! 💜

But Astro is not far behind! He's getting our last background ready, and so far he's doing an impeccable job! We hope these mysterious places are piquing your curiosity, because we definitely can't wait for you to visit them!

I'm reaching page 100 of our script, having left behind a few things to correct! Only 40~ pages left, which means soon we'll make a second round of editing and correcting. Allie is almost done with their first editing process and that's very exciting! We can't honestly thank her enough for her incredible job 💜(I think I say this a bit too much, but we gotta be thankful on this team!)

The CG's have been programmed and they work so far! Now each character has a CG to be unlocked and seen in full HD, and each in their own gallery, hehe. Next I'll have to play around with the credits because I was having trouble with something last time I tried to get them done—but as always, I'll get it done one way or another!

This month we have worked hard! January has been a good start of the year I think. I hope we can speed things up a bit now that we have Airyn to help us with the backgrounds, and hopefully she'll be a permanent addition to the team if everything goes well! I don't want to jinx it, but I feel I can see the end of the tunnel little by little. Planning stuff, looking up different things, getting busier and busier...Let's see if February, even if short, proves to be a productive month!

Also, we hope you all have been taking care and the start of the year has been nice to you. There's so many amazing things happening in the indie otome community, so make sure to enjoy it all! 💜

[warderfromtheborder]

Destiny: the year of Very Well Structured Things In Sets of 2

Defiance+Wish: The Sovs Mara and Crow, the Eliksni Misraaks and Eramis, and the Regular Ass Humans Devrim and Petra(PV counts as a regular-ass human she isn't a figure of prophecy or royalty in the reef she's a cop who's been promoted too much out of necessity)

Deep+Witch: The Truncated Heros Sloane and Eris, the Osmium OGs Xivu and Savathun, the Concerned Boss-Parents Zavala and Ikora, and the Wriggly Enablers Ahsa and Drifter (okay you got me) I mean the Nonhuman Guides Ahsa and Immaru

Lightfall: Osiris with no Sagira and Nimbus with no Rohan and Caiatl with no Recognizable Dad and the Witness with no Disciples and Chioma with no Maya and the Vex with no Chill the Living People of Neomuna with no Meatspace to live in. (The dreaming city curse will never end and the people on Neptune will never get to leave the matrix Im sorry but that's the way it is)

The story and themes for this year of Destiny are SO GOOD the writers have done SUCH A GOOD JOB. If making a tighter relationship between the expansion narrative and the seasonal narratives was one of the goals this year they fucking knocked it out of the park, I can't put any of these arcs into its own box because they have been knit together so sturdily. It's all one great narrative, one Very Big narrative, they haven't done it like this before!

(And Im so mad people couldnt stop shitting on Lightfall they are stoping themselves from seeing how good the WHOLE NARRATIVE IS they are probably gonna say come march/near TFS launch "uhh yeah the seasons were good i guees but maybe they shoulda worked harder on Lightfall I mean who even likes Nimbus" and for their Ignorance and Haterism I am sentencing them to reading part two of The Two Towers while they get attacked by Paper-Tube Ninjas and a broadcast system shouts at them 'YOU CANNOT HAVE THE VICTORIES IN RETURN OF THE KING IF FRODO AND SAM DIDNT KEEP WALKING ALL THE WAY TO MORDOR' for 100 hundred years.) (The link there is I didn't get the Point of that part of Two Towers when I first read it and assumed the whole would have been better without it. Obviously...I was wrong, and so are these clowns who think Lightfall has a bad story)

The name of the game this year is Resolution, Catharsis, Armistice, Acceptance. The structuring is so simple and so elegant and so well executed, the 2s, the 3s, the mirroring and the inverting and the unfathomable gloriousness of the victories personal and community and galaxy wide. There is no way to overstate the bitterness of Amanda's death, the relief of exhalation when Sloane retreats, the VINDICATION of Eris's vengeance.

You remember when Zavala 'discovered' Crow's former identity? How that was the crowning on-screen narrative jewel in destiny up to that point? What I am saying is EVERY ARC THIS YEAR IS AS GOOD OR BETTER THAN THAT BEAT AND DESERVES AS MUCH RECOGNITION FOR THE ARTISTIC ACHIEVEMENT OF SO MANY COMPLEMENTARY COMBOS PACKED INTO ONE EXPANSION STORY.

If Shadowkeep was the first sign of symptoms, if Beyond Light was trying to irradiate the disease, if Witch Queen was a tug of war with scar tissue, then Lightfall is the world after recovery and making peace with what will Never Be The Same, and the home and family that has been changed forever but is still Your Home and Your Family. We don't stop fighting but we also don't stop loving and growing and caring.

One last thing for my fellow Sjur copium addicts out there: Sloane's retreat was mirrored and inverted by Eris's victory, so for the complementary-ness of the story to continue, Amanda's death and Crow's subsequent emotional anguish over losing the person he fought with but who also saw him for who he really is will need to be mirrored and inverted by SOMEONE who Mara fought with but who also saw her for who she really is and I expect you will agree this is SCIENTIFICALLY ACCURATE reasoning that Sjur's comin back home.

[genericpuff]

Im trying to write a Hymn of Demeter based story element in a story with many characters, but want to avoid possibly being offensive to Greek mythology. I know many comics bend the rules a bit and take inspiration instead of full on adapting the mythos. Any advice on good comics that meet in the middle with this, or ways to avoid this so I don't end up accidentally having similar problems to stories like Lore Olympic. (For reference I have read Plunderland and Theo mania, just if you have any tips I'd greatly appreciate them!

My presphone is already on the more serious dark humor side get shit done side so it's definitely not 100% accurate to the hymn

You'd be better off asking someone who's actually Greek when it comes to cultural respect, that said, Lore Olympus disrespecting Greek myth doesn't really have to do with it being a modern interpretation or taking creative liberties with the original story and its characters, it has more to do with how much it's morphed public opinion and knowledge of the myth both through how it doesn't regularly remind readers that it's fanfiction and its creator who claims to be "better read" on Greek myth on other people (which she very clearly isn't). Even Hercules is frankly more respectful towards its source material than LO in spite of all its inaccuracies (Hercules' name, Hades trying to overthrow the Underworld, Zeus being a loyal husband, etc. lol) because Disney makes it clear it's meant to be purely for entertainment purposes for general audiences (kids and parents!), and you can tell the animators and artists put a lot of work into stylizing a film that was uniquely Greek. Plus the writing and characterizations are genuinely well done, it doesn't feel like it's spitting in the face of Greek myth like LO does lmao Supergiant's Hades and Hadestown also attempt to tell either retold or completely new stories through the lens of Greek myth characters and settings. Even works that aren't retellings like Final Fantasy XIV manage to include Greek myth references and parallels without being disrespectful to Greek culture or myth as a whole.

The real beauty of Greek myth is that it's something that's been retold and re-interpreted into all kinds of works - the stories and its characters are timeless and can be adapted into just about anything! There's always more room for fun and unique Greek myth interpretations, retellings, fanfiction, etc. just be on top of your research and be clear in your goals and intentions with your audience (whether you're trying to do a serious and accurate retelling vs. using Greek myth as simply points of reference vs. writing cozy fanfic of Greek myth material etc.) !!!

So unless you go around calling yourself a "folklorist" or allowing whatever readers you gain to run around calling your work fact, you're likely not gonna cause the same kind or amount of damage to the Greek myth community and its stories that LO has (￣ω￣;)

[divineerdrick]

Homestuck: Beyond Canon Upd8 for 413

Happy 413 everyone! We knew we were getting something today, as James announced that earlier. This time, it's an extensive news posts with notes from the whole team. Looks like we've got a few comic pages as well. Let's see what we got!

James: I can definitely relate to what James is saying. Homestuck and its community helped me keep going when it seemed like there genuinely wasn't a path forward. Obviously it hasn't always been sunshine and rainbows, but I do still feel there is a lot of genuine goodness and greatness in our little corner of the internet.

And yay! James is an Aradia fan!

Kim:

Kim is one of the people who grew up with this comic. I honestly can't imagine what that must be like. Although I had a lot of media I enjoyed at 13, I don't feel like any of it had the kind of impact on me then that Homestuck had now. It's not like there wasn't anything good on, either! It was 1993 when I was 13, and WB and Disney were at their apex. But Homestuck hit different. I honestly can't imagine what it was like being able to relate to those kids like they could be your friends in another life, growing up along side them.

Miles:

A beautiful mindfuck is a great way to describe it. Honestly the somewhat over the top, trollish, insincere seeming way that Miles is writing shows a great love for Homestuck and the project in and of itself. The love honestly does come through.

Chumi:

Chumi appears to be even younger than Kim, though I could be wrong there. And she also grew up with it, if maybe starting a couple of years into its run. But it goes a step further for her. Homestuck is her formative fandom. And again, I can't imagine what that must be like, let alone now creating art for it.

Andi:

Andi is another member of the team to have grown up alongside Homestuck. It makes sense that this would create the most talented and passionate people to work on the project. Like many fans, though, they also had Homestuck influence their identity and help them feel safe in discovering who they were. It will always be important we have people like them keeping this fandom alive.

floralmarsupial:

While the way Homestuck inspired me was different, she too was drawn in and influenced by the very artistic questions Homestuck posed. Looks like James has managed to put together a team that has all been impacted by Homestuck in subtly different ways. And I'm totally here for it!

Haven:

Oh wow! Coming in on Murderstuck! Ouch! Still, the effect Homestuck has had on them is very obvious!

It's nice to hear more from each voice behind the project. I'm glad they took the time to make this celebration a bit more personal. But with all that said and done, it's time to read an Upd8!

There is so much to talk about just from this image.

First off, this is the most like Bro that Dirk has ever looked. And it's not just the fact that we've just got a plain white silhouette with shades. There is a lot of chaos in this panel reminiscent of Bro's apartment. That outfit has absolutely never looked wackier. The anime ninja aesthetics combined with the pooffiness of those shorts is already crazy. But the Kamina cape in this looks more cliché villain than anime hero.

While we can't currently see one of the monitors, we absolutely can see that Dirk has been keeping track of our Meat crew. My guess is that the other monitor is Deltritus.

Also we get a throwback with some orange drinks floating about.

Dirk is, of course, being suitably condescending here. After all, in his mind this is the only way to make the narrative matter, to make anything that we'll give a shit about. He probably knows we still enjoy the "narrative kiddy pool" but he's counting on us truly getting invested in what he has planned.

Wow! Nice frame break! Also this art slaps!

Apparently Rose and Terezi are still a thing. Dirk only seems to partially approve of this. From his perspective, the relationship is a very Rose thing to do. And Rose doing Rose things is important to him and his plans. He also appreciates that Rose doesn't have infinite patience for the finetuning that Dirk could spend a literal eternity on. It keeps him on something resembling a schedule.

So are we going to see these "scions" of theirs?

I like that there's an obvious sea horse in that test tube. Also, outside of Hero mode Dirk is still sporting his character features at least. He hasn't slipped into being a full guardian yet.

Well fuck. That might just be the hardest anyone has ever "spoken too soon."

Hell yes! Adult Terezi is awesome! Also, she's not getting rid of her facial features any time soon!

I hope I didn't jinx that . . .

I'd forgotten Terezi can hear Dirk's narrative. She's also very much on the "Get on with it!" train. Dirk was planning to skip ahead anyway, but of course he wants to unveil his creation first.

So Terezi will be the one that actually makes sure the new session happens. I'm surprised Dirk is allowing that. I can definitely get why he doesn't want it automated.

I can honestly believe that Dirk really does care about his creation.

And I can honestly see Terezi playing the long game. I'm honestly curious why she wouldn't, beside Dirk's fuckery.

Ouch.

Also, damn this art is so fucking good!

We've seen the way Terezi can let what she sees as a mistake eat at her. We've seen how far she'll go to fix it. Is John's death doing that to her? Is even this older, seemingly more jaded Terezi unable to let something like that go even with what's at stake?

Or could she possibly be letting Dirk think that's what's going on? I really kinda hope that's it.

Now that's just being mean pretending you don't know what she meant by being in her "CH4MB3RS", Dirk.

Apparently Dirk still has a mouth when he needs to.

FUCKING!!!

DAMN!!!

That's an interesting way of showing them speaking at the same time. Kinda like it.

Okay. That is some legitimate Bullshit. I like that even Dirk calls it out as such. That is a ton of power to just flex like that. His reasoning is sound, but even he knows he's partly doing it because he can.

Wow.

There is so much to potentially read into this moment. On the one had, this might be a genuine Rose moment. Even if Dirk has been manipulating her a lot, this version of Rose might genuinely be appreciative of what they're trying to do.

The other possibility is that Rose is manipulating Dirk this time. There've been hints, and I find it hard to believe otherwise, the Rose is aware Dirk has been manipulating her somehow. She may not have figured out how he's doing it, but I feel she knows. As an ascended Seer of Light, her ability to read the most fortuitous path is literally godlike. I can't imagine that definition of fortune including one where she keeps losing more and more agency. So this might be a moment where she's telling Dirk what he needs to hear to stop him from stealing more from her.

The worst part is he genuine believes that.