#so much to unravel. so much to explain. so much to see and so many fucking twists i did not see coming

[gonersgoners]

*serial inner explosions because of the latest chapters* 

[esoteriamaya]

astro thoughts - short n sweet <3 pluto in the house

Pluto in the 1st house - Very strong auras. Could deliberately see through bs a mile away. Not gifted in being friendly, lol just kidding. Their not 'nice' though. And they don't have to be. They don't like faking the funk so this pretty much gives them an interesting outlook on people and they way they see themselves. Can shift the whole room with just their magic. Can be very intimidating to some, but very inspiring to others.

Pluto in the 2nd house - Could have financial issues from time to time. Not likely to say the same thing twice, if they said it once they meant it. Dont bother them again about it. These individuals can use their psychic senses to make money if that is what they wish, they could be very therapeutic to say the least. Give em a chance, they really wouldn't hurt a fly.

Pluto in the 3rd house - There speech is very compelling. They could hold a room with just their words and it could open the minds of a few listening to them. They have a gift in impacting you with just the way that they think, making you beg for more each day at a time.

Pluto in the 4th house - Could of had a transformative experience at home and I don't mean that nicely. There are somethings that should be left unsaid but sometimes things need a reawakening. They don't seem to let things go here.. but why would they? There past is like a haunting story awaiting to be unraveled just so you can piece together the puzzles that we're left unfinished. They are quiet when it comes to their personal life and hide themselves from the world so that you won't get an inkling of what truly is masked behind the bushes.

Pluto in the 5th house - Very deep bonds with their art work and can do a performance like no other. They will have you feeling every bit of emotion in their vibration just to help you feel what the character is feeling. I noticed there are a lot of good actors with this placement. Anywho, they have a powerful presence and when it comes to dating them or even just experiencing them for a little while it can be a transformative, healing experience for people involved with them.

Pluto in the 6th house - Like their martians mates in the 6th house, these people can have a pretty interesting experience here. They have a tendency to be obsessive over what they want so they work as much as they can until the wheels falls off. This could become a problem if they don't think to chill out on working and sacrificing their well being for something out side of themself.

Pluto in the 7th house - Deep, penetrating raw auras. Could be self-reflective on the way they see things, themselves , others and just the world at large. They have a gift of discernment but most of them never use the gift and can get caught up into the wrong things sometimes. There is more than what meets the eye with these individuals. They never let others in so easily, sometimes they're worth the wait. ;)

Pluto in the 8th house - Really good at seeing through things that others just can't seem to pick up on. Really gifted in occult sciences. Have issues with commitment and could have trouble with individuals because of traumatic experiences in past lives or current one. Could have people who want to be around them just to unravel them, but not really want to be with them. Have a very mysterious presence, hard to read.

Pluto in the 9th house - Very interesting and their thoughts can penetrate the mind in so many ways. They will leave you speechless when its all over. They travel to different places all the time but they are pretty good at finding places that match their flow, and love ot bring anyone along for the ride. There just a different layer to them that no one really knows how to explain, but its a gift that keeps giving.

Pluto in the 10th house - Woah. Thats the word to describe em. Its their touch and raw auras that keep you on your knees. VERY strong personas and do not like being talked down on. Could use their experiences/circumstances to their advantage. Gifted and seeing beyond what no one wants to believe is true. They can have the world if they know they got it in them already. Hard headed but gets to the bag with just their two feet. No one else can beat them at their own game.

Pluto in the 11th house - Whew. These people have a spell on the people that no other pluto house placement can compete with. The issue is these people don't know how to use that power but thats not all that bad. They can have people do things for them because something about them just makes people want to do things for them.

Pluto in the 12th house - very odd things comes out of the mind with these individuals. The subconscious/dream world is the most important part of their day to day because it rules the present in a way that cant be controlled but must be felt. How are you doing living a life that no one seems to live? It seems like they are all alone, but the world is calling for them to give them all the answers.

Talk to me in the comments, let me know how yall feelin! <3

[nebulaafterdark]

The Succession

Summary: After the battle of Rook’s Rest, Queen Y/N is forced to rule alongside Prince Regent Aemond, in an attempt to keep her children safe and eventually seat her mother, Rhaenyra, on the throne. While attending her husband, on what appears to be his deathbed, she begins to unravel the dark truth of his near passing.

Aegon Targaryen x Velaryon(Strong)!Reader

“Behold, the traitor dragon, Meleys. Slain by King Aegon.”

Cole might’ve bellowed anything before the mention of Y/N’s husband and she would not have heard it. Breaching the castle doors, out onto the streets, where the smallfolk stare in wonder. The Queen has scarcely been seen in the days following her husband’s accession, leaving many to wonder if she still lives.

Here she stands, in the flesh, walking about them like a commoner. “Where is Aegon?” She finds Ser Criston, keeping pace beside his horse.

“You mustn’t be about, your grace. It is not safe.”

“Where is my husband?”

Ser Gwayne looks back toward his fallen nephew, now carried by men.

“No,” Y/N shakes her head, falling in line with the oversized box one might mistake for a casket. She can’t see much of anything through the slats.

“You must return to the castle, my Queen.” Cole circles back for her. “His Grace will need you at his side.”

“He’s alive?” Y/N breathes.

“When last I checked.”

She nods, remaining beside her husband as he is carted into the castle, up the stairs to his chambers. The maesters await him, peeling away armor and bits of charred flesh with it, to reveal the extent of his injuries.

“Is my son going to die?” Alicent asks.

“He is badly burned.” The maester informs the Queen dowager.

“Men survive burns.” Y/N says, holding a hand to her belly, attempting to quell the churning.

“He has many broken bones.”

“Bones heal.”

The grand maester sighs, “that is our hope, your grace.”

What lies beneath his breastplate is naught but more red, angry skin, or lack there of. Alicent comes round to Y/N, a rare occasion, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Mayhaps it is best you step away.”

“I will stay,” Y/N shakes her head, “if anything happens… I must stay.” Hold his hand as he goes, if it comes to it.

Alicent nods, withdrawing.

Aegon’s breathing is something awful. Men survive burns. Bones heal.

An eternity passes in that room, on bated breath. Eventually the maesters begin clearing out, leaving the King to mutter, incoherently.

“Your grace.” The grand maester turns to Y/N. “It is done.”

“Thank you, Grand Maester. For all you have done, I- I owe you a debt.”

The man takes her hand, “we can only do so much to aid in the king’s healing, I believe it is you he needs. Be his strength.”

Y/N nods, “of course.” She makes herself comfortable upon the mattress beside him as the doors close, giving them a moment alone.

Aegon’s mumblings grow louder, though still impossible to make sense of.

“Shhh,” Y/N hushes him, brushing hair from his face. “There is nothing to fear. You need only…get better for me. I will tend the council shortly, but I shall return.”

He quiets then, as though her gentle reassurance is all he wanted.

“I will not abandon you. Not now, not ever. Rest easy, my love. You are safe now.” She presses a kiss to his forehead, before taking the stairs down to join the small council.

Those sitting around the table are already in deep discussion, gaping at the Queen’s entrance, standing to greet her.

“So kind of you to wait for me, my lords.” Y/N smiles, taking her ball from the center.

“We thought you might be with his grace, the king.” The hand explains. “He will be expecting you when he wakes.”

“I am not sure he will ever wake.” The grand maester cuts in. “His fate lies with the gods now.”

“Give it time.” Y/N sniffs, “it has been mere hours since his return.”

“If Aegon could wake, he would have done so for you.” Alicent decides. “A king cannot rule in his sleep, we must appoint a regent to serve in his absence.”

“I am awake.” Y/N reminds them.

“My Queen,” Tyland Lannister interjects, “if I may be so bold. Your lord husband has been wounded in battle, he will need your tender hand if we hope him to make any sort of recovery.”

“That is very thoughtful of you, Lord Tyland.” Y/N replies, in a measured tone. Should she lose her head before the council, there will be no coming back from it. “Still, I am willing and able to rule.”

“In the event of his grace’s untimely death, we must be prepared to proceed with the succession.”

“Understandably, and we do not lack heirs. My husband and I have four children.” Y/N shifts in her chair. “Assuming, as you have, that the men of the realm will never accept a woman on the throne, we then pass the crown to our first born son.” To charm the snakes, you must behave as a snake.

The council looks to each other. “Prince Laenor is but two years of age, our next ruling king, by law; though too young to presently serve.”

“I will advise him, I am his mother.”

Alicent rises from her seat, “might I humbly suggest myself? I have already done so during my late husband’s long illness-”

“Which was fine then?” Y/N arches a brow, “a wife to rule in her husband’s absence.”

Alicent lowers her gaze. “This is different.”

“Because I am your enemy’s daughter and named heir,” Y/N huffs. “Rules for thee, not for me. Isn’t that right?”

“Mind yourself.”

“Or what?” Y/N lifts a shoulder, “you will usurp my husband, as you did my mother?”

“Viserys changed his mind.” Alicent says, with finality. “I am sorry for what’s happened, but with his dying breath, he wished for Aegon to be king. I pray you do not hear a similar whisper from your husband anytime soon.”

“I love my husband,” Y/N seethes, “let that be known.”

“Of course, my Queen.”

“Whatever the members of this council intend to do now will be spoken plainly, in my presence.” Y/N demands, staring down at her wedding ring.

“I believe it is in our best interest to appoint Prince Aemond as Regent, until our King has been restored.” Ser Criston announces, “as hand, I know the king’s greatest concern is the safety and well being of his wife and children. We must honor that, in these unprecedented times.”

Y/N swallows, “very well.”

“My Queen.” Aemond reaches past her for the council ball, abandoned by her husband.

————————————————————————

Y/N goes through the motions, putting their children to bed. All is well, my darlings. Father needs only rest. When they have each found sleep, she returns to Aegon. Speaking to him the same way she always has, as though he can hear.

“The men of the council are restless in your absence. They circle like vultures now,” Y/N chokes out, touching the unmarred skin of his face. “And I am alone in this….I have never been alone.”

If she knew no better, she could swear his fingers twitch against hers. Mayhaps she is gripping them too tightly. She releases his hand, much to Aegon’s dismay, grumbling his discontent.

“Hush now, I am here and you are here. The rest will sort,” Y/N reminds him.

She watches him then, the heaving rise and fall of his chest, wrapped in bandages. Men survive burns. Bones heal.

In time, Alicent joins her at Aegon’s side. “Has there been any change?”

“No,” Y/N shakes her head.

“You are kind to be here, he loves nothing in the world as he loves you. I am sure your presence alone is a comfort to him.”

“That is my hope,” Y/N admits.

“I will leave you to it.” Alicent offers a hint of a smile, making for the door.

“Mummy.”

Y/N hears it, his mother does not. “Alicent,” she calls her back.

Alicent flicks away tears before turning round, “what is it?”

“He’s asking for you.”

“F-for me?”

Y/N nods, giving his hand a squeeze.

Alicent returns to his bedside, passing a hand over the side of his face. “I’m here.”

He draws in a rattling breath, “protect her.” Aegon stumbles over the words. “Please, Mummy.”

Y/N inhales sharply, hushing him.

Alicent locks eyes with her daughter by law. I pray you do not hear a similar whisper from your husband anytime soon. “I will do this, for you, Aegon. You needn’t worry.”

Aegon says nothing else, succumbing to sleep once more.

Alicent excuses herself, with a nod.

Y/N muffles the sound of her cries in the hand which isn’t holding his. She’s only half awake by the time she hears footfall and whispering at the end of her husband’s bed.

“Was it worth the price?” Helaena asks.

“I’ve no idea what you mean, my darling.” Aemond mutters, brushing his lips against her cheek.

Part 2

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One TwentyOne

The wig isn’t right, not really. More than a few seconds of close inspection gives it away, but in a small photograph, Steve figures they will get away with it. Joyce had wet it and then twisted it up into carefully pinned swirls that, in theory, means when they unravel it later it’ll be at least a little curly.

Eddie wears his hat to the hospital appointment, the wig resting on the back seat, “hops-itle,” he says, frowning.

“Hos,” Steve says slowly, “pital,” while driving them to his appointment. He’d given Eddie the option of waiting at home, knowing full well that Eddie wasn’t going to go for it. He didn’t, very insistent that they go together. At least today he let Steve choose his clothes; a belt was needed to hold the jeans up, but Eddie was happy enough in a polo and sweatshirt. He’s wearing Steve’s old parka in deference to the cold weather.

“Hostiple?”

Steve turns into the car lot, putting the car in park he points at the sign, “hos-pit-al.”

“Hos-pit-al.”

“That’s it baby.”

“Stee love, it won’t hurt?” He asks carefully.

“No,” they make it up to the front door, “but you can’t call me love here, okay?”

Eddie frowns spectacularly, “why?”

“I’ll explain later,” Steve says, he probably should have explained the they can’t be a public thing but it had genuinely only just occurred to him; Eddie was a fish before he was a man, after all, and that wasn’t much of a concern.

Steve talks to the lady at the front desk, going where he’s told to wait, taking a clipboard of paperwork to fill in, Eddie trailing along behind him.

Eddie nudges Steve when they sit, wrinkling his nose, “hos-pit-al nose hear bad.”

Steve snorts a laugh, “yeah, that’s hospitals for you. And it’s smell, noses smell, ears hear.”

Steve’s foot feels kind of itchy where the stitches were, but otherwise he feels pretty good. He has two small raised pink scars, and some funny tiny little holes from the stitches, but otherwise he’s good to go. He has continued instructions to keep it clean and watch for signs of infection. When he comes out from the appointment, Eddie is flicking through a magazine, so it gave Steve a moment to just look at him. Just a normal dude, sitting in a waiting room. It puts Steve’s heart in his throat a little, and he wonders vaguely if he will ever get used to it. Just Eddie, being a normal dude out in the world.

And then Eddie looks up, and he sees Steve, and he grins so big. So genuinely happy to see him, “good? Stitches out?”

“Yeah, yeah, everything’s fine. Lets go and get groceries.”

Steve parks in a corner away from the store, Eddie taking off his hat and letting Steve fix the wig as best he can. He thinks he lines it up pretty good, and then he undoes all the ties Joyce put in, fluffing the false curls up.

“Photo of Eddidie?”

“That’s right.”

“Same photo of kids?”

“Yeah, you got it.”

It’s nothing like Eddie’s real hair, but it’ll do for this.

Eddie sits in the booth, Steve lining him up and making sure his wig looks okay before he closes the curtain. They wait together after, the photos dropping out of the slot, Eddie looks at them, taking them and carefully putting them in his pocket for safekeeping.

Eddie’s head is on swivel in the store. Steve guesses everything is brightly colored, and there’s just so much of it if you’re not used to it. Steve chose this store because there’s a photo booth near the registers, but that means it’s also the biggest one nearby.

Steve wanders the aisles, getting all their usual things. Eddie still wants some pears, so he chooses a few loose ones for himself. He also chooses a can of soup for himself, clearly thrilled by all the variety, “Eddidie try?”

Eddie’s also keen to help unloading the groceries, and then carefully loads up the bags with Steve. He’s quiet in the store, Steve doesn’t know if he’s shy with all the strangers, or just a little overwhelmed.

“Stee, many dollars,” Eddie eyes their haul speculatively as Steve pays, “many work?”

Steve bags up their things, waiting until they’re leaving the store to tell Eddie, “I get three dollars an hour at work,” it’s a little more than that, but they haven’t covered cents yet, “less tax.”

Eddie trails after him, “Stee work four hours, grocery money today?”

Steve turns to look at Eddie, shocked that he’s worked that out, “yeah, yeah that’s exactly right! Well done!” Eddie beams.

“Called tax?”

“Oh boy,” Steve sighs, instantly regretting mentioning that, they get into the car while Steve thinks about how the hell to answer that one, watching as Eddie carefully clips on his belt. “Okay, so I get paid a wage and then-” Steve starts to say government but stalls out, no way is he opening that can of worms, “Hawkins. Hawkins the town,” Steve gestures widely, “takes a little bit of money to pay Hopper. Hopper keeps us all safe, so we all pay a little bit each. And it pays for...the trash guys. To come and take away the trash. It pays for...the roads, so we can drive cars. It pays for that stuff, yeah?” Steve has absolutely no clue how accurate he’s being, but it seems the simplest way to explain things.

Eddie nods, “yeah.”

There’s a gang of reprobates waiting at Steve’s door when he pulls into the drive, “kids,” Eddie informs him stoically.

“Yeah,” Steve sighs, “the peace and quiet couldn’t last forever,” the blow is softened slightly by the fact that Robin’s with them.

“Called forever?”

“All tomorrows,” Steve answers absently, putting the car in park.

Dustin’s got a massive book tucked under his arm, so Steve already knows whatevers about to happen isn’t going to be enjoyable. Steve grabs two bags of groceries off the back seat, Eddie grabs the other and his discarded wig.

“Here,” Steve cocks a hip out to Robin, “house keys in the pocket,” Robin grabs them, getting the door open for everyone to go in.

They all pile into the kitchen, the kids throwing themselves down on chairs at the kitchen table while Robin gets a coffee going and Steve and Eddie work together to pack away the groceries.

“We didn’t want to leave you to pick a name-”

Steve opens his mouth to protest, but doesn’t get far before Robin cuts him off, “you can’t have Harrington. It’s too suspicious. What are you going to say, that he’s a secret love child? A long lost cousin? Believe it or not but some sort of exchange student is way more believable.”

“Fine,” Steve sighs. He guesses it does make sense, “Eddie likes his sweet and milky.”

“On it.”

“So do you have any ideas?” Dustin asks, opening his book.

“Something not shit,” Mike adds.

“Really fucking helpful there Mike, thank you,” Steve snips, “I was trying to stay, you know, on theme. He’s named after Eddie Fisher, you know, the singer.”

Robin hums, “you want to stay on the mermaid bandwagon?”

“Well I’m certainly not letting you call him Eddie Smith or Jones or some shit like that, right baby?”

Eddie perches at the breakfast bar, a safe distance from the kids, “Eddidie called Eddidie.”

“Yeah, but you need another name. I’m Steve Harrington, Birdie is Robin Buckley, understand?”

Eddie nods.

“So what, you want to name him like, Eddie Waves, or Eddie Beach, or Eddie...Fishscales, or something?” Max asks, “because just so you know, they’re all shit.”

“Yeap, yeah thanks for that Max. But yeah...something...something good, you know? Something to do with water...like...tides or...rain or storms or something, something cool?”

“Eddie Hurricane,” Lucas snickers.

“I mean...no, but it is kind of cool,” Steve replies, “What do you think, Eddie Hurricane?”

Eddie frowns a little, shaking his head, “Eddidie Madison?”

Steve can’t help his smile, “yeah?”

“Madison?” Robin asks.

“It’s the name of the mermaid from ‘Splash,’” Steve explains.

Robin snorts a laugh, “what about Monsoon?”

“Not really a name though, right?”

“You could drop an ‘o’,” Dustin suggests, finally pulling his nose out of the book long enough to pipe up, “lots of names end in ‘son’.”

“Monson? Really?” Steve pulls a face.

“Hang on, I’ll look it up,” Dustin flicks through his book, and Steve suddenly understands what it is and why he has it. Of course there’s a book of names, and of course Dustin has it. He probably got it from the library, itching to do this. The giant nerd. “The surname Monson is derived from the Scandinavian personal name Magnus-” he reads

Robin cuts him off, “amazing, fits with the exchange student story.”

Dustin scowls at her before carrying on, “this name was bourne by several kings of Norway, the first of whom was Magnus the good...He was named after Charlemagne, whose name was rendered Carolus Magnus in Latin. Okay, that’s kind of cool. He’d kind of be named after Charlemagne.”

“That is kind of cool Steve.”

Steve doesn’t want to ask who the fuck Charlemagne is, simply because he knows they’ll explain it to him and he really doesn’t care, “Monson? You really think Eddie Monson?”

“Eddidie Monson,” Eddie says, nodding, “hear small tell different Madison.”

“Eddie! That was so good!”

“You like that baby?” He’s interrupted by Mike making gagging noises, which Steve chooses to ignore, “it does sound kind of like Madison.” Eddie nods in answer, sipping his coffee.

“Steve, I can’t believe how quick he’s picking this up that was like...a full sentence.”

“Yeah,” Steve smiles at Eddie, and Eddie smiles back, “he’s really, really smart.”

“Really smart,” Eddie parrots back.

Later, when they’re saying good bye at the door, Nancy waiting to pick them all up, Robin is the last to leave, “I can’t sell him on the family emergency much longer Steve. As it is he thinks you are pulling a fast one and you just wanted to take the week off over Christmas.”

Steve sighs, “yeah, yeah that’s fair, I-I’ll call in tomorrow, come back to work.”

“I promise I’ll get us on the same shifts, at least some times. I’ll tell him you’re fragile and I’m your emotional support.”

Steve sorts, “sure. That’ll absolutely work.”

Steve sighs in the silence left behind when he closes the door. Maybe having all those days alone by the pool have eroded his ability to put up with people. Or maybe it’s just the kids. Or maybe he just want to be alone with Eddie, who knows.

Almost like they sensed his peace and quiet, the phone starts to ring.

Steve huffs, then turns in time to see Eddie creeping closer to the phone, he picks it up cautiously as Steve watches, saying, “hello,” into the receiver. Eddie smiles after a moment, “hello Joyce.”

Oh good, Steve thinks, letting it go, they can talk, that’s fine, he doesn’t need to intervene. He watches Eddie frowning, and then he says, “yes. Will go out in car. Nancy drive. Little before.” He listens for a little while longer then visibly perks up, the bobble on his hat rocking, and says, “dinner food? Eddidie and Stee?”

Steve slides closer, leaning against the wall, as Eddie says, “wait there,” to Joyce and turns to Steve, “Joyce in-vite,” he says carefully, “Stee and Eddidie to dinner. Food. New. Years. Day. First January. Five and half,” Eddie relays everything carefully.

“Yeah,” Steve smiles, “yeah we can go.”

Eddie grins, “Joyce, Stee tell yeah, we can go. Thank you Joyce.” He’s frowning again then, “pie?” obviously parsing what Joyce is saying to him, and then he finally says, “pear. Banana.”

Eddie had recently tried a banana and quite enjoyed it, Steve smiles at the thought of Joyce letting Eddie choose the desserts. They say goodbye and then Eddie informs Steve, “food same Christmas food. After, dessert, banana cream pie and pear pecan tart,” Eddie tells Steve, slow but sure as he sounds out the new words.

“That sounds great, make sure you put it on your calendar,” Steve had taken down a picture in the hall, using the hook to hang Eddie’s calendar from a bit of string, and Steve stands and spells out the words while Eddie carefully writes in their dinner invitation.

Party TwentyThree

[jolapeno]

3. heather purple

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter three of do me yourself

summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.

wordcount: 3.8k chapter warnings: [see masterlist for series warnings] meet cute, flirting. fluff. flirting in person and over IG. frankie calls you 'rainy' (paint related from chp.1) no other descriptions or name used, you do wear a top and jeans tho. minor worrying/nervousness. no use of y/n. an: i love them i love them i love them

prev chapter | frankie's ig

key: frankie is in bold, you are in italics

Nervous energy pulsates through you.

It first manifested as a rattle, an annoyance when your eyes opened this morning. Now, it had grown into moving things half an inch and constant tapping—on surfaces, on you, on walls. All restless, practically relentless—vibrating and thrumming.

Then, your teeth began lazily, grazing over your lower lip, eyes flicking to the clock—fingers adjusting your laptop on the counter for what feels like the tenth time in as many minutes.

With a catch of your thumb, your phone illuminates, another nervous-tic, another thing you've been doing for the last so many moments.

Even if you know he’s on his way, having told you as much.

Normally, you would find it easy to calm yourself through pacing, the flexing of your fingers, and deep, soothing breaths. But not this time.

This time, it lingers. A persistent knot in your stomach that refuses to unravel and instead attempts to bathe in giddiness—a sensation you’d never imagined, never mind expected.

Suddenly, with another fluttering jolt, you wish you could backtrack the messages you had sent. The ones that had invited him—jovially, before seriously.

Because despite spending several minutes leaning on your cool, kitchen counter, with a glass of water pressed to your neck, warmth is still radiating from your skin.

The thinnest layer of sweat still remains on the base of your spine, sticking; the same as it is around your head—no matter how often you dab it away.

Admittedly, it’s all self-inflicted. Caused by the fact you had tried on a thousand things within the last half an hour. All of the failures were discarded, shoved (all unceremoniously), at the bottom of your closet, the door shoved shut in frustration.

Nothing had felt right. Nothing had looked right.

A mess of worries and overthinking churning in your head, all caused by your friend's echoing voice as you stared at yourself in the mirror:

Do you think he’ll size up your new office and then size you up? Do you think this is a date? Do you think he’s expecting to see your bedroom? Because if you count the coffee, this is the third, which means—

At the time, it had been easy to laugh. Play it down—continue to wash your dishes and clean around the sink.

But, it’s when the goodbyes had been exchanged; when there were no more cups or plates to clean, and you found yourself alone with nothing but the sounds of suds swirling down the drain. That's when your mind began to wander. To weave patterns of concerns, begin concocting.

Do you think…Do you think?

Do you think?

Deep down, you know it doesn't matter. Less so as your hand brushes over your face, heavy sigh exhaled, because he'd be here soon.

In your home.

Frankie would be able to see the poor state of your “remodel” or “flip” or whatever term it is for when you buy a rundown thing and try and make it liveable. He'd be able to see exactly why you'd looked lost in the hardware store he works, because look at your home. The place where you rest, sleep and work.

You could come and see it for yourself, wouldn’t need to keep guessing what I’m dreaming up. Yeah? You sure? Well, it would be easier than me trying to explain the issues I’m faced with because until an hour ago I didn’t know what a wrench was called. What did you use to call it? Tightening-tighty. Fitting name. I thought so too—until your latest “helpful” video ruined it. At least you’re learning now how selfish I am. You are, but I’ll forgive you because you have a nice smile. Is the smile enough to upgrade me from DMs to a phone number? Oh, you are pushing it. Well, to keep on pushing and this is presumptuous, but I can come round tomorrow. After I’ve finished up at work. Luca is back with his mom. Yeah? Send me your address and I’ll be there, rainy. I’ll send you my number too, so you can call when you leave.

And you had.

Then, tomorrow had become today, and you’d found yourself trying to flood the worries from your half-a-job redecorating with cleaning.

Some of it alleviated by decluttering half-empty boxes from around the base of pale walls, but part of it added more issues to your plate because suddenly you wished you had more plants. More colour.

More anything.

Because it’s bare, a barren of nothing. There are marks on the floor not lifted from scrubbing and cracks in the wall that need filling.

Disappointment lands on your shoulders, weighed down with pinched regret—because you realise (once again, having lived in blissful ignorance) that there is so much to do.

Swallowing, you glance around, scents of wood polish and floor spray swirling. You glare at the many holes filled in by the previous owners. The ones not painted over just yet.

Because you hadn’t decided on a shade—no colour scheme having jumped out.

The place is all just pale, off-white or faded magnolia.

"Fuck."

The urge to crawl into a ball rises, a sickening feeling swirling.

Somehow, if the state of your home doesn’t scare him away, a small part of you knows it can find comfort that maybe your humour is enough to keep him around.

A thought that should relax you, but instead makes your stomach twist more. Because you're not actually sure you're that funny. A realisation that forces your palms to become tacky, the thinnest layer of sweat trying to appear there, as well as everywhere else.

Because you like him.

The knowledge of it pricking at you, making you bite the skin from your lip and pick at your nails; it makes you wiggle your toes inside your socks on the wooden floor and fight a smile at something funny he’d said last night.

And then you hear it.

Wheels. Tyres crunch gravel as a black pick-up pulls up outside your home. One you remember from outside the store, from parking several blocks down from yours.

He’s here.

He’s here. He’s here. He’s fucking here—

The thought rotating, spinning—like a whirlpool drenching you in more sweat and making your head dizzy all at once.

You can’t move, can’t unstick yourself from the floorboard you’re on. Watching. Transfixed. Both feeling joy that he has come (as he said he would) and filled with horror because it’s happening, it’s all fucking happening.

With each step he takes up your drive, you want to bolt from your place and hide in your bedroom. Pretend you’re not home. Pretend something came up.

But you can’t lie.

Guilt swallowing that immediate thought. Watching him get closer and closer, until his knuckles wrap on the door, the noise filling your barely-filled home.

Fuck.

You manage to move then. All quiet steps. Delicate in how you cross the room that’s become a poor attempt at a living room.

Wrapping your palm around the handle, you’re surprised at its sudden heaviness—all cold, so cool against your skin it almost makes you hiss. Almost slipping when you turn it, palm so slick with nervousness as your arm tries to vibrate in its socket.

Opening the door, you disguise it. Layer all your worries and unravelling under a mask. Smothering and burying it in a smile—practically instantaneously. As though it’s the easiest thing to do around him.

But then, it is.

Because even if the rest of your body is having some reaction to the idea he could be stepping inside, you find yourself unable to help but grin. Not able to help lighting up like fairy lights hanging in the darkest night.

And, in the milliseconds of the two of you standing there, you actually begin to feel better.

“Hi.”

“Hey,” you reply, grin growing, forcing your cheeks to hurt in a matter of beats.

And you know you should move, let him in. But, what does it mean if you do? That voice, the one growing louder, who speaks nothing but worse cases and negativity, begins to increase in pitch. Smothering the sound of birds and someone cutting their grass several houses down.

Because is he here to measure up, to give recommendations—or will he kiss you again like he did against your car? Will his mouth move to other places, hands busying themselves, peeling? Will he be disappointed by what lies underneath your comfortable t-shirt and—

“You gonna invite me in?”

Pausing, you lower your gaze to the floor, leaning against the door for a moment. Eyes catching spots of purple on his jeans, finding yourself staring, glancing at how they resemble petals scattered in a careless dance.

You know it likely was accidental, a mere mishap, but it looks pretty, intentional. Even if it's likely tarnished an overworn, maybe slightly beloved pair of jeans.

He says your name, forcing your head up. Speaking it all soft—so full of care and intention—it almost makes you swoon and crack. Almost makes you widen the door to let him inside.

“I’m embarrassed. It’s… it’s not even—“

“Hey, hey, look at me.” And you do, like nothing could be simpler. “I know you haven’t long moved in—and, you wouldn’t be askin’ for an opinion if it looked the best it ever could. Right?”

“Right.”

“So, let me in b… Rainy, please.”

You don’t miss it.

Even if you pretend you do.

It circling, playing. Imagination fuelled up and running the show now.

A thing which drowns the worries, holds its head under water as your brain begins to wonder what him calling you baby could sound like, be like.

Slowly, you lift your head from the door and step to the side to let him in.

Thankful you do, because you catch the scent of the hardware store—one you found you’ve actually really, really missed.

As though picking up on the thousand hints at how on edge you are, Frankie asks to see the dresser.

Makes a comment about needing to see if the paint covered, if butterscotch orange looked as good on wood as it did on walls.

You don’t argue, instead leading the way. Take him past your sofa and armchair right into the kitchen. As you do, he shares his day, weaves in bits on Harry—how he’s nothing but a torment, even if he says it with a grin.

“He asked about you.”

Thankful for the pot boiling, you pour him a cup of coffee, placing it down before clutching your own. Admiring the way he’s squatted down next to the dresser—fingers sliding over the edges.

“And, what did you tell him?”

Shrugging, Frankie looks over his shoulder—a smile there, evident, easily present. “Said I would ask when I saw you tonight—but, that I assumed you were good from how much you made me laugh last night.”

Heat burns your ears, almost making them match the temperature of your palms from being around the mug.

You think, search, and feel desperate for something to say, all aiming to fill the emptiness when you begin explaining what you’ve already done to your 'cheap find'.

Doing so with as many technical terms as you remember from videos—how you’d restored it, sanded it, etc, etc.

It’s only when he looks over his shoulder again, do you realise how not-weird this is. How it doesn’t feel wrong—relaxing at the realisation, the room and house following suit.

Resting the cup to your chest, you clear your throat, “You know, you’re the first person outside of my best friend that’s been here.”

Brows raising, lost under his hat and curls, his smile slides up further into one cheek. “That makes me special, right?”

“Oh, I think you know you’re special, Morales. I’ve read the comments under your videos.”

A bark of laughter leaves him, head shaking, attention turning back to the dresser as he runs his hand over the top.

“You’ve done good.”

Instantly, you grin. Folding your arms, remaining leaning against the side of the kitchen counter as you almost let a ‘yeah?’ escape, that you instead trade for: “You sound surprised.”

“You did imply you were hopeless.”

Shrugging, you watch him stand tall, fingers itching under the front of his hat as he leans against the wall.

“I am still hopeless.”

Shaking his head, he does nothing but grin—gifting you one full of warmth and sunshine. “I think you’ve just not had someone to show you, that’s all.”

“That going to be you?”

His tongue slides into his cheek, giving a half-shrug as he moves closer, pausing at the side of your kitchen counter. “If you want.”

“You don’t mind that I might have Pinterest boards?”

Chewing his cheek, he smirks as broad and as wide as his shoulders—as though it is difficult to contain. “You definitely have them. Wouldn’t believe you if you said you didn’t?”

Heat warms your cheek, and remains there—burning and pulsing as you avert your eyes briefly. “Maybe I have them.”

His laugh escapes quickly, almost loudly, booming and echoing like before. And you want him to do it again, needing to, as soon as it dies down to flood from him and land against the walls again.

But, instead, you take a large mouthful, placing the mug down. "Shall I show you my dream?"

Heading to show him the spare room, the one that you’re hoping to make into an office, his work boots sound out, echoing around the stripped-back hallway and bare flooring.

There's a comfortable quiet you don’t wish to allow to shift when you head down the hallway, beginning to explain. Hands moving, gesturing, sporadically glancing over your shoulder as he follows—finding his eyes don’t fall to the open boxes, but remain firmly on you.

It isn’t until you step inside the open doorway and he pauses at the do you (on command) continue talking. Slowly pointing to where you think you’d want things. Listing, nose-scrunching as you say how nice it would be to have floor-to-ceiling shelving, an armchair—a desk with space for work. A plant here, maybe one there.

How you want to move from your kitchen counter to in here for work—maybe put up a piece of art here, some nice curtains there. A real desk chair that’ll support your back.

You only stop when you look back and find him resting his forearm on the doorway, not looking anywhere around the room, just at you.

And it makes you pause. Mesmerised, by the way he rolls the pads of his fingers against his thumb, his forearm flexing and how the end of his t-shirt has slightly risen due to his leans. It undoes you, making you forget what room you're even standing in as your brain melts and you become rendered completely, fucking useless.

The spell doesn’t break until his arm drops, fingers push his hat up, eyes warming as he takes the space in. “You want to work near the window?”

Nodding, you move to the side, allowing him space, watching him as he takes his eyes off you, moves into the room and stares around. He sweeps his gaze, brows furrowing occasionally before he stops close to the window.

Sliding the pencil from the top of his ear, he pulls a pad of paper from his pocket. Jotting things down, sketching—eyes zig-zagging across the wall as he tries to mark whatever his thought is down. Mouth moving, occasionally hearing him working out numbers, before the sound is muffled by a scratch of the pencil.

You’re in awe. Just observing. Making no sense of what it is he’s drawing. Least of all what he’s thinking. But gosh, is he handsome when he does it.

More so, when that soft smile creeps back over his face at you watching him, and you worry (briefly) whether you’ve said it out loud.

“You’d have a nice view if your desk was here.”

“Got a nice one right now.”

Snorting, Frankie rolls his eyes, the corner of his mouth ticking up into his cheek. “How much do you hate yourself for saying that?”

“Only a smidge,” you say, finger and thumb close together.

Holding his stare, you find the softness of his smile has spread to his eyes, and you can't help but roll your eyes. "Fine. Maybe a little more than a smidge," you amend, your own smile mirroring his.

His laughter fills the room once again, and you can't help but join in. The two of you standing there, and all you want to do is pinch yourself. Not sure how this could be real; how he could be, how all of this could be. How the grin on your face is really there and he’s really here—

“I’m thinking,” he begins. Voice clearing, eyes looking around. “We could build you a floor-to-ceiling set of shelves here like you want—maybe add some cupboards. Could be a nice backdrop if you’re sitting there. Can have it pre-built, or I can help you measure it, build it? Probably need—“

You should be listening. Maybe even making notes.

Not flicking your eyes to his lips, watching the way his face furrows or his lip curls in between listing things.

“How?"

"How, what?"

Swallowing, you exhale. "Did you get so good at that?”

His lips slide into his cheek. “At what?”

Tilting your head, you purse your lip, drop your arm from his shoulder, gesturing, finding the words. “I just watched you like—measure, with your head. I think I heard your brain... calculating?”

He pauses, mouth remaining open, a twinkle shimmering in his eye as he scratches at the curls hanging under his hat. “Oh, I… um. I used to fly. I was in the U.S. Army. Delta Force—guess I got good at measuring, doing calculations in my head, had to, you know?”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Is that… that why you don't like to sit still either?”

Rolling his lips, he tucks the back behind his ear, nodding, a sheepish smile adorning his face.

“Well,” you say, “You’re good at it.”

Swallowing, he licks his lips, gaze not leaving you. “You not wanting to ask anything?”

“Should I?”

Shrugging, he licks his lip. Dragging it along slowly. “Some would.”

You shake your head, meeting his gaze. “I’m not some, am I?”

He considers it, your answer. Turns it over.

But his response isn’t verbal; it’s a gentle tug on the belt loop on your jeans, pulling you close. Out of instinct, your arm drapes over his shoulder. Silently thankful for the outfit choice, for choosing a nice top and jeans. Especially as you stand staring at him, eyes taking him in as he does the same.

Your heart pounds loudly in this definitive pause. A chance provided to cast your eyes away, to ask him what else he's thinking.

But that’s not what you want—not what you need.

Not as you close the small gap. Not as you watch his stare, all heavy and scorching, and how it drops to your lips, following a similar path you had taken on his face only a second prior.

Kiss me, you think.

But you realise as his lips slide into one cheek, dimple deepening, that the words had flowed out instead. Stretched out, laid a red carpet from yours to his.

And it’s inescapable, the pull you feel when your mouth marries itself to his, when your palm remains flush with his cheek, being greeted by the tickling of the wiry hairs on his jaw.

When he licks into your mouth, you’re gone—thrown off course and falling freely, all willingly, not wanting to ever land and not at all in fear of the descent as you grip him for stability. Neither of you stop when his hat falls from atop his head, landing with a crack on the floor.

Because it might be odd to have missed a mouth before, but you have.

Suddenly feeling all is right now it’s back against yours, where you write a story against his lips and taste the words he wishes to say in return. The room is empty, quiet—no backdrop this time compared to the street before—and so you can’t mask your whimpers, and you can’t mistake the sound of him groaning when you move him back so his back meets the walls.

Distantly aware of his hands gripping your waist, keeping you close, mouth chasing yours as you begin to grin, begin to feel him mirroring it.

And then he stops.

Pulls back.

A look on his face that’s unreadable and scrunched.

“I…”

Shame fires inside of you, like a key in an ignition, roaring itself to life. “I’m so sorry, Frankie—I thought, I mean—“

His hand comes around your wrist, stopping you, halting you in your desired path to move from him. “Stop, baby. Please.”

Baby.

It's there again. But this time, fully spoken, not held back.

“I just… I just want to do this right, is all. I’m… fuck, I’m here to help you. Meant to be a professional. Don’t… I don’t want you to think I tricked you into letting me in so I could… you know.”

Heat rises, billowing out across your cheek and neck. “I don’t… I don’t think that.”

“No?”

Shaking your head, you smile. “No.”

His chest fills before he lets out a loud exhale, thumb slowly drawing a circle on your wrist. “Good. ‘Cause…” he shakes his head as he bites his lower lip. “I want to take you out for dinner.” Index joining his thumb, both doing a pattern, as he whispers your name, forcing your eyes to meet his. “I want to treat you right. I… I don’t want to have come from work and—you know?”

Nodding you move a little closer, palm sliding over his cheek. “I know.”

He grins, sliding his palm down flush with yours, before he loops his fingers in between yours. “Good.”

“Good,” you whisper.

Tightening your hold on his, almost swinging it.

“Think you should kiss me again, though.”

Laughing, his eyes crinkle, dimple appearing briefly—but then he does.

Thank you for helping me move and assess the stability of my dresser.

No problem, glad to be of help.

I had a really nice time with you, Frankie.

How much did it pain you that you couldn’t work that into tease?

I’m wounded, bleeding out as we speak.

You need me to come back? Hold your hand.

Not sure that’s all I’d want you to do if you came back.

Not sure I’d keep my word about doing this right if I did either.

Because I’m an incredible kisser?

Because I didn’t want to leave you at all.

Wish you hadn’t, honestly.

Don’t tell me this, I’ll get back in my truck and come back.

Oh, the dreadfulness if you did.

Did you just use the word dreadfulness?

I did, and I stand by it.

What you doing on Friday at 7pm?

What do you want me to be doing on Friday at 7pm?

I want you to be sat opposite me at a place in town, candle in the middle.

Guess I can move things around to play footsie.

I’m eternally grateful.

NEXT CHAPTER ->

[beenbaanbuun]

waterparks songs w/ ateez

i had to do this for teenage me! also i’ve seen parx more than any other band so like… i had to!!

also awsten writes a lot about exes so there weren’t many songs to choose from (from a non-angst standpoint point). the entirety of greatest hits is also not on here bc that man just wrote an entire banger of an album about having shitty mental health… he’s so real for that 🙂‍↕️

yes the colours of the lyrics match the colours of the era… sue me

is this proofread??? uhhhhhhh🧍🏻‍♀️

park seonghwa - sleep alone

‘i feel dead and a half, but you’re making me laugh’

miserable; that’s the only word to describe how you feel. with a stuffed up nose and a tickle in your throat that just won’t seem to leave, you’ve found yourself wanting nothing more than to stay in bed with a hot bowl of broth. you know it would help you more than the cold tablets have done, the wretched things keeping you drowsy and dull. it only serves to make you feel that much more awful.

but the clatter you hear from downstairs brings a weak smile to your face. the sound of a metal ladle against a ceramic dish makes your heart pitter-patter in a strange mix of excitement and adoration. you’re not sure which you’re hungrier for; the soup, or seeing your boyfriend poke his head into the room. it’s not difficult for you to admit how much you’ve missed him this past week, able to hear his soft snores coming from the guest room, but unable to see his tired face next to yours.

until of course, this morning.

he’s been avoiding you like the plague until roughly 7:34 am when you were rudely awoken by a pair of arms snaking themselves around your waist. you’d mumbled something incoherent about not wanting him to get sick, but he silenced you with a quick peck to your lips. “i don’t mind getting sick for you, darling,” he whispered against your lips, “i don’t like sleeping alone; you’ll never have to do it again.”

it brings a soft smile to your face to remember how difficult it had been for him to unravel himself from you to grab a portion of the soup he’d made just a few days prior. he’d whined into your neck like a puppy, telling you all sorts of pretty things about how hard it is to abandon you while you’re in such a state. you’d giggled at him, the sound quickly devolving into a coughing fit that finally convinced him to get up and grab you that soup. if you knew that would be all it took, you’d have faked a coughing fit much sooner.

kim hongjoong - peach (lobotomy)

‘you found me, and finders keep’

“i wrote a song for you,” hongjoong’s voice fills your ears the second you pick up the phone. it’s eager and bubbly, clearly full of enthusiasm for whatever it is that he’s made. you nod, despite his inability to see you, before you remember exactly what it was that you wanted to do.

“isn’t it like 3am where you are?” you scold him gently, taking a glance at your clock just to make sure you’d got it right. it takes a moment of two to do the maths in your head, but sure enough, you’re right. it’s 3am and your boyfriend sounds more awake than you do. “what are you still doing up, hongjoong?”

he chuckles nervously, clearly understanding the direction of the conversation. perhaps he should have called you as a more believable time of day, but then again, if he did that then there wouldn’t be much point to what he’s done. he stayed synced up to your time zone for a reason; so he’d never have to be awake without you.

“it’s not late over there, though,” is his justification. he says it like it explains everything to you, yet it only serves to leave you more confused than you were at the beginning of the conversation. you don’t argue, not having nearly as much energy as hongjoong seems to, despite the time difference. “besides, i’ve been busy! sleep could wait until after i’d finished my latest creation.”

you sigh, “hongjoong—”

“nope!” he cuts you off, a smile evident in his voice, “you’re the reason that i spent so long hunched over my computer making this; you have to be the first person to hear it.”

jeong yunho - i’ll always be around

‘i’m dying to be your everything… everything’

“if i died tomorrow,” it’s an odd start to a question, but as you lay on the roof of your apartment, hand in hand with your boyfriend, it just seemed right. it’s moments like this where you feel you can get all those silly thoughts out there; would you love me if i was a worm? do you think snails are sentient? and of course, if i died tomorrow— “what would you do?”

there’s a deep chuckle from yunho, grabbing your attention from the stars and stealing it all for himself. your turn your head, choosing instead to look at the man you believe holds the universe in the palm of his hands. although the stars are pretty, the twinkle that lies in his eyes when he casts them upon your face is much better to gaze upon. why would you want to stare at the far away stars when you have a much brighter one so much closer.

“i’d learn necromancy,” he smiles in a manner that is so infectious that you can’t help but join him, “and if that doesn’t work, then i’d just have to hope you’d haunt me.”

“haunt you?” you ask incredulously, “wouldn’t you be scared if things started going bump in the night?” he shakes his head, and honestly you believe him. there’s not much yunho would admit to being scared of, especially not the concept of ghosts. “well, how would you know it’s me and not just some other random dead person who’s taken up residence in our apartment?”

“oh, i’d know,” he turns into his side to get a better look at you, “in the same way i know you’re not going to die tomorrow, idiot.”

you can’t help but laugh a little at that.

“you’re right,” there’s a knowing grin on his face when you agree with him, “i’ll always be around.”

kang yeosang - sneaking out of heaven

‘if i’m not brainwashed then i’m trying to be’

he must be an angel given to you from above. with the way he treats you so gently, soft words and even softer touches, it’s not hard to believe. his beauty even matches that of a heavenly being, leaving you breathless and in awe each and every time your gaze falls upon him. he must’ve snuck out from beneath his master’s gaze to come down and visit you; it’s the only explanation as to why he’s sat beside you in your car, carefully crafting a driving playlist for your enjoyment.

“what song next?” he asks, deep voice sending shivers up and down your spine. it takes everything you have to keep your eyes on the road, although you’re sure that death by staring at your boyfriend would be an excellent way to go. “i was thinking something of a similar genre but maybe a bit more… exciting. i think i’ve let the mood drop a little with my last few choices.”

you don’t mind, although you very rarely do when it comes to yeosang. he knows best, is what you tell yourself when you hopelessly agree to everything he says. honestly, if he told you to go swimming with a group of blood thirsty piranhas, you’d probably do it without a second thought. how could you say no to someone like him?

“put whatever you want on, sangie,” you say, “whatever you choose will be good, i’m sure of it.”

he hums in uncertainty, “but you’re the one driving!” oh, so considerate… he’s perfect, “surely you should get to choose, right?”

“i am choosing,” you argue, “i’m choosing whatever it is that you want on, my angel.”

choi san - telephone

‘i’m living on a target and you shot it with an arrow’

as far as first dates go, this might be the strangest you’ve ever been on. call it love at first sight, or just pure, simple infatuation, you don’t care. all you know is that you need to know everything about this man. what can you say, you’re invested?

“what do your parents do?” you ask, trying to keep your voice from wavering too much and giving up your true feelings. sure, you might be in far too deep to go back, but you can still appreciate this for what it is; a first meeting between two strangers. the last thing you’d want to do is scare san away by being overly excitable by something as simple as his presence.

play it cool, maybe then you’ll get somewhere.

“oh, you know,” he shrugs, clearly not too excited by the question you’ve posed. perhaps it is a little surface level. maybe you were too focussed on making yourself seem normal that you’ve made yourself seem uninterested instead! it’s fine, you tell yourself, you can recover from this. “they just do a bit of everything really. we lived in the country my whole childhood so there weren’t exactly many fancy office jobs going…”

“oh, you’re from the country?” you light up with interest, happy with the tiny piece of information that you can definitely use to your advantage. “why’d you move here? any big plans, or just a change of scenery?”

he seems to light up at that question, smiling as you give him a gateway to talk about his future dreams for a few minutes. as the words tumble from his lips, passion oozes from them. every single word is full of excitement and glee, and as he rambles on and on about his future, you realise that you’re more than happy to just sit and listen and imagine yourself as a part of it all.

song mingi - funeral gray

‘i know your dying wish is to be baptised in my spit’

“i didn’t take you for much of a smoker,” a deep voice calls from your left, the tall guy you’d shared a quick conversation with earlier taking a step closer to you. he’d looked pretty under the flashing lights of the club but right now, lit by nothing but the moonlight and the dim flickering of the smoking area sign, he looks even better. his sharp features are illuminated in such a way that you’re sure they might cut you if you get too close. maybe you’re just attracted to danger, you think to yourself as you take a step closer. “that’ll kill you, y’know.”

it’s a snarky remark, meant to be taken as tongue and cheek if the annoyingly handsome grin on his lips is anything to go by. maybe if you had another drink in you, you might have leant forwards to kiss it right off of his lips. for now, although the temptation to press your lips to his is very much there, you settle for blowing a stream of smoke at him.

he waves his hand, clearing the grey cloud in mere seconds. there’s a look of mirth on his features, which only serves to make you giggle. “now you’re going to die too!” you jest, moving your hand up to take another drag. the man mutters something about you being annoying, to which you have to agree; there’s just something so fun about getting under the skin of a man you’ve never met before. it just makes it that much more satisfying when by the end of the night, you have them wrapped around your pinkie.

“what’s your name anyway?” he purrs, pushing his back against the same brick wall you’d found yourself leaning against. you shoot him a cocky look.

“you’ve got to work much harder to get that information out of me, pretty boy.”

jung wooyoung - dream boy

‘cause i was born to be your favourite’

it was a fairly easy question that had been posed to you, one that you would’ve answered within seconds on any other day, yet right now you seem to be struggling. the answer is right there at the forefront of your mind, sitting on the very tip of your tongue. realistically, it shouldn’t be that hard to come out with it, yet as wooyoung stares you down, you find yourself swallowing the answer and shrugging instead.

“oh, come on!” he whines, leaning forward to poke at your shoulder with a strangely sharp finger. you wince, yet your friend seems to have other things to care about that your pain right now. “you have to have a type! just… build him from the ground up! pick his pieces.”

any other time you would’ve answered with a smile. long black hair and sharp brown eyes, a tongue that could rival the sharpest of wits and a laugh that any self-respecting witch would be jealous of. you know exactly what you want and he’s sitting right in front of you.

“i really don’t care what my future boyfriend looks like!” you insist, giving your friend a fake laugh when he rolls his eyes and scoffs. perhaps if you’d have been paying more attention you would’ve noticed the slight smirk that he wears.

“oh, please,” he purrs, shifting until he’s sitting on his haunches, towering above you. things move quickly and suddenly his arms are either side of you, caging you between him and the arm of the sofa. “i’ve seen the way you stare at me; i know i’m your dream boy.”

choi jongho - brainwashed

‘everything’s clean except for my thoughts’

you don’t do relationships. you never have and you told yourself that you never would. it’s just not you, being tied down to one person while there’s a whole world of other people outside your door. why kiss just one person when you could kiss anyone you meet? it’s just so freeing to not box yourself in like that.

so what the fuck are you doing here? with jongho’s arms wrapped around your waist like he never wants to let you go, your fingers laced in his hair like you feel exactly the same. it was just meant to be a one night stand, and yet you’re still here! you’re still at his house a week later. what the fuck is wrong with you?

“you have work, right?” jongho groans into your shoulder, pressing his soft lips to your skin just below your earlobe. it sets something alight within your, your heartbeat quickening and your stomach stirring. something so domestic would never have had that affect on you before, so why now? why with him? you push the question out of your mind and simply nod.

you do have work today, and maybe today will be the day that you go home to your own apartment, not jongho’s.

“do you want me to fetch you lunch?” he whispers, grazing his teeth against your earlobe in a way that sends shivers down your spine. you scrunch your eyes closed, trying your rid your mind of all the filthy thoughts that are suddenly racing through your brain. “is that a no?” he chuckles lowly in your ear, “or have you just got something else on your mind?”

something else entirely. a carnal need to stay home and let him take care of you like he has done every other day this week. what’s another sick day added to the list? you’re sure your boss must think you’re dying or something with the amount you’ve had off since that first night with jongho, yet you don’t seem to care.

and as he pressed another lengthy kiss to your neck, you find yourself not caring about the no relationship rule too. you can make an exception for the man that seems to have you brainwashed.

[azrielwingspan]

THE STRINGS OF FATE (AZRIEL X READER)

A/N: I've wanted to write a series based on a dark , mystery themed vibe for so long and I thought this would be a good way to start it off. I get to write about my favourite characters and transform it into something a bit darker and mystery fuelled. So I'm hoping you guys enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed imagining it.

!! The image below does not belong to the author !!

Genre: Suspense thriller, Romance

Summary : The Prophecy. A band of words that incited terror in people but you had long since learnt that the fear of the unknown strikes deeper.

The prophecy was just the beginning of the end.

Warnings : Mentions of violence

PROLOGUE

"You would be a fool to not involve your cousin, Rhysand." Amren said coldly for the umpteenth time that night. "There is a reason the prophecy refers to the both of you. Don't try to change the course of fate boy. Not even a Lord of the Night can cross the Mother."

"I would be a fool to lead her into the arms of a certain death. If ignoring a prophecy is what must be done to keep her safe, I will do it." Rhys was growing more agitated as the conversation turned south.

"Saving one girl is worth the lives of millions?"

Silence prevailed at Amren's question. The office in the River House enclosed a dark and gloomy atmosphere as if detecting the undertone of the conversation and the issue at hand. The faelights flickered casting deep shadows across the Fae and Illyrians that had gathered in the room.

Hands clenched on the table, Rhysand took in deep breaths appearing to fight an internal battle. He had too much to lose. Too many to fight for. What was the purpose of being the most powerful high lord the world had ever seen if he couldn't keep his own family safe? He was tired of losing people, tired of fighting, tired of wondering if tomorrow would be someone's last.

"I promised her that no harm would come to her as long as I live." He said softly, seeming to speak to himself. "I made sure she was safe from Amarantha, from Hybern and mostly from myself. If it were to become public knowledge that we are related, they will hunt her down. They will torture her, use her and kill her mercilessly."

Amren's eyes softened at the agony in his voice. "The world is a cruel place, Rhysand. We do not have say in the destiny that has been chosen for us. We must simply walk, trudge and crawl along the path."

He let out scornful laugh, running his hands through his hair agitatedly. "It has been especially cruel to us I think."

Feyre's eyes lined with tears at her mate's heartache. She'd known about the things he had done to keep his cousin far away even if it hurt him. To see him unravel now because of a Cauldron damned prophecy was distressing to watch.

"Rhys." Cassian spoke into the silence that had claimed the room yet again. "I promise you, I'll keep her safe. No matter what comes her way."

"So will I." Azriel stepped up, his shadows stirring over his shoulders.

"All of us will." Feyre declared, her hand coming to rest on her mates shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. Her touch seemed to relax Rhysand immediately, his shoulders drooping underneath her hand.

Placing his head in his hands, Rhysand took in a deep breath, the battle within his mind coming to a conclusion. Feyre's grip tightened lightly, giving him the energy to push through yet another decision that would haunt his dreams for the rest of his life.

"I'll go visit her myself. Explain the situation. The Prophecy. All of it. Whether she comes or not , is upto her." The others nodded in agreement.

"That is the least I can do for her. Give her a choice..... live or die."

A/N : Comment below if you want to be added to the tag list !

[writingescapades]

Vines on Stone

A/N: Look at me unravelling a moment into a long story and writing about kisses. I'm growing at a writer! Hopefully.

You were strong. The way you carried yourself through battle and work, so composed, so put together. He loved it. Envied it. He who wrapped himself up, coiled and curled around life itself. How can he be anything to you?

You were friends. Actual friends, and though Aventurine had difficulty accepting this, he knew he craved more. He could tell you wanted more too. How else could he explain the special shine your eyes took when they noticed him? Or the ease and comfort you felt around him that he both relished and puzzled over. Yet you always kept a distance, insisting that he had to focus on healing himself before pushing what you both had and understood into uncharted territories.

He understood your hidden words, but he also understood himself. The part that didn’t want you to leave every night. The part that wanted to bask everyday in the morning lull and not just when you both had a late night or early morning mission together. He wanted more than just your hands, or the arm grabbed to pull each other in and out of danger. The more he wanted, the more he grew around you, hoping desperately one day to crack through your stone and pull out the emotions you neatly buried. But you were strong. Resolute. And as much as he loved that about you, it was killing him now. He was only human. What’s one more sticky situation in his murky life? So he did the only thing he could you, trick, and twist until you found yourself in the current situation.

He was spread out on the floor, limbs curled around your ankles, not letting your get up so easily. His eyes stared into yours asking the same question he had just spoken. Don’t you want this? Even now he could see how much you cared for him. Even though he instigated the fall, even though he knew you knew he instigated the fall.  Your arms instinctively fell parallel to his face, keeping your body from crashing on top of him. Damn you and your morals! Let him get hurt this one time if it meant having you in his arms! You looked down at him, concerned for his safety, but he detected something new, hesitation. He longed to glide his hands up your arms, past the shoulder and neck to your face and bring comfort. He wanted the same. But he laid himself bare. You knew everything about him and now he could only watch you, awaiting the final judgement.

You knew his story from the bits you pieced together over your time together. At first it gave satisfaction to give comfort to Aventurine. Then you gained pride whenever you addressed each other as friend.  You never smiled so much at calling another person you friend, as many pointed out. Somewhere along the line friend took on a different meaning for you. Best friends. Soul friends. Bonded friends. Then, then what? Each time you both outgrew the husk of the name you gave the current stage of your relationship, but you both were too scared to reach for the next rung. Even though you longed to hug him around the shoulders. Even though you wanted to be the one person what made his demeanor light up with joy. Even though, right now, you just wanted to place your hand around his head and ask if he was alright. It was too fragile.

Was it? Aventurine wondered. After scrapes, burns, bullets, and backstabs, Were you both so weak to the intangible? In addition to life and work, Aventurine had pushed you, seen what truths you could really stand. He didn’t need you and discovered that you didn’t really need him either. So what kept you both so attached beyond vocabulary and definitions? You had given him so much space in your heart, why wouldn’t you let him do the same? Do you want this? His arms asked as they slowly wrapped around your waist.

It was a familiar weight used by both of you when you leapt off building with only a cord to keep you both alive. Your left knee instinctively went down, as if getting ready to launch off the roof. So many times Aventurine placed his life in your hands as you guided the two down to safety. So many times you let your back be exposed knowing that Aventurine’s hands stood on guard, gun in hand. As ludicrous as it sounded, you loved those moments together, hovering right above death, both hearts pounded from exhaustion and fear. The excitement that took off as your body adjusted again and again to being airborne. You always cupped his head in your hands in those moments. What was so different this time?

We’re landing. You both had been much closer in other situations, but those times survival took precedence. Now neither of you could die, only be mortified, and hurt too deep to heal. His arms had slowly pulled you down. He could feel your hands behind his head. Still you kept your head above his, watching him carefully. He had his habits formed out of secrets and past lives, and he expected no less from you. But right now, he wanted to move his hands up your back and to your head, cocooning you in his love. There. He confessed. Would you acquiesce?

It always surprised you how little you needed to accept someone like Aventurine into your life, past the layers of stone you placed, down to the quiet inner self you protected. You let him relax and get stuck within you but always feared if he would do the same with you, if he had the capacity, if you would be a terrible human for accepting the love he was clearly dying to express. But he had curled around your heart and cracked it, and even though you both could hear the wails your heart made for him, you didn’t rip him off. You still let him take root and he still gave you the choice to be without him.

Facing everything, Aventurine gave you the last trick he had, a genuine smile. Seeing how happy he seemed, how excited he appeared towards life and an unknown future, you reflected his smile and crashed into him. Hands wrapped around each other, urgently delivering long withheld caresses while lips chased one another. It was messy, scary, uncertain, but fun. And although you both would tire out quickly from the period of stress, there was the bud of a new comfort. One that promised its own excitements and hesitations. But for the moment, you both basked in tahe shade of a long withheld love.

[yuoimia]

DAY 7: A LITTLE SOMETHING ❅⋆⍋

summary: they can get a little overboard with gifts, especially for you.

characters: ayato, kaeya, wanderer, zhongli.

notes: gn! reader, last sentence in ayato’s is suggestive, wc: 120-200 per paragraph.

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ dreamy december event masterlist

ayato

If faced with the prospects of going on a little rendezvous to a market or enduring a lengthy cooking class with Ayato, you’d gladly risk the guarantee of waking up with an upset stomach.

At first, the answer to the choices seem almost obvious, you don’t even need to think twice before coming to a conclusion. Why would anyone face the risk of food poisoning in comparison to a harmless shopping trip?

You sincerely, from the bottom of your heart, are thankful and cherish every single one of the gifts Ayato never failed to starve you of, selected with the most detailed and precise of observations and preferences. Your workspaces are graced with the most refreshing pieces of decor, your bewitching collection of accessories is always the most elegant and entrancing, and your wardrobe, perhaps the most elaborative and extensive out of all, owns the most divine pieces of fabrics and fibres too substantial to comprehend.

Frankly, it shouldn’t come as too much of a surprise when you tell Ayato to lower his budget, which, as he strongly believes, is a sacrifice towards his serotonin. Eventually, through trailing kisses, hasty promises and faltering sighs, you two finally come to an agreement.

kaeya

Kaeya earnestly explains, over and over, that can’t help it, that you should be placing the blame on the sellers for luring him yet again into purchasing. The harsh burden of having a generous soul, he sighs. Can’t you feel an ounce of pity for him? Besides, he truly can’t help that, “there were just so many things that reminded me of you.”

To be brutally honest, Kaeya’s only motive for these ceaseless piles of presents was purely out of self-indulgence. It was quite selfish, yes, but the pleasure didn’t derive from the shopping, it wasn’t to satisfy his spontaneous decision-making when it came to such matters, but rather the gleeful radiance shining from your face whenever he came home with something in hand. How you attempted to reserve yourself and not seem overly excited, and Kaeya delights that he can see right through you.

The only way to understand his strange way of thinking was to picture yourself in his shoes. Would you do the same if it promised such a reaction from Kaeya?

wanderer

Wanderer is the pure embodiment of the phrase, “actions speak louder than words.” Secrecy travels with every move he makes, every action he meticulously plans. It weaves into the reasoning of the most minuscule of tasks when it comes to you; he can’t refrain from it. Striving for perfection entrusts some sort of validation seeping into the ventricles of his heart, before pumping out avid determination, a desire to exceed after each result, one grander and more adoring than the last.

The gifts he pledges aren’t a mere reimbursement for his lack of sweet nothings or public hand-holding, they’re something much more sentimental with enigmatic depth, a beautifully tied bow unravelling cryptic messages that only sweeten as time ticks along. It’s summarised within a few careful judgements, courtesy of his impeccable ability to read your emotions, those gifts are, and will always make your smile a thousand times more genuine than any sugarcoated words or physical affection in the eyes of him and you.

zhongli

Working as a consultant at Wangsheng Funeral Parlor must bestow the blessing of generous income and time.

It’s the only explanation for this growing observation: the handy wallet somehow never running out of mora (though you admit, he can be quite forgetful of it), and the suggested galore of unlimited spare time, which certainly must be the reasoning behind why Zhongli can afford to obtain such bountiful amounts of precious treasures that always leave you breathless.

Quite often, his indulgence results in a slicing feeling of guilt, leaving you in a state of burrowing gloom, overthinking the matter until the idea is reduced to a singular strand of disregard. After all, the little trinkets are simply harmless expressions of love, even if they occasionally overflow your doorway.

[feyreshumanheart]

Feyre's Power and Versatility

I feel like Feyre's skill set, power, and versatility is so creatively done in the series.

I saw some people say that Feyre didn't fight a lot or show her powers or abilities much in the series, and I never got that impression when reading. I was blown away at how many skills she shows, powers and abilities and the unique combinations of them.

So I went through a looked at examples of skills/abilities and how they're used creatively-

Archery

The obvious first one, but beyond her backstory and the first chapters of acotar, it comes up even after she turns fae; like in acowar, killing a couple of the naga hounds as they escape from Hybern's camp:

It's not a forgotten skill even if Feyre has so many other abilities to utilize later that it comes up less often.

Hunting

Feyre the huntress is basically the origin of her character and a defining skill; you can see it in her trapping and killing the Middengard Wyrm as a human, but it also comes up when she saves Rhys from the Hybern soldiers in acomaf:

The Hybern scouts even attempted to conceal where they'd taken Rhys by using his shirt to carry his scent and splitting up into two groups, and Feyre is still able to figure out which group to track.

She doesn't just understand snares/traps, she understands animal habits, tracking, and applies that knowledge to kill the Wyrm in impossible odds and save Rhys in acomaf.

Hand-to-Hand Combat

Feyre is a skilled combatant, even without relying on magic:

She even does this while also incorporating (and keeping up with a thousand year old Hybern Commander utilizing the same) winnowing into her fight here.

(To say nothing of how she's poisoned and weakened during this and adapts her fighting to end it quicker, get Lucien free, to finish before the poison can fully take hold).

It's so impressive that Lucien (who's centuries old) and Brannagh (who is a thousand) are visibly shocked. Lucien even comments on it later.

Winnowing

Winnowing is "a rare gift" that "only the stronger Fae can do"; only a few of the Inner Circle are shown to be able to do it. Thousand year old Hybern royalty like Brannagh can't do it.

But Feyre is able to. She even is shown to winnow with others (saving Rhys in acomaf and taking on another sentry in early acowar).

And it's implied she'll get better with time since it's established training is important (not just power) to go further distances and carry others and that what Feyre needs is more time and training to go farther:

"[Winnowing is] wholly dependent on your own reserve of power—and training" - Rhys explaining winnowing to Feyre in acomaf

I still had not yet mastered doing it over long distances. At least, not with many stops in between. -Feyre, end of acomaf

Strength/Speed

Feyre is noted to be unusually (physically) strong and fast for a High Fae, which is one of the first signs of a High Lord's Heir.

Her strength is shown in the Weaver's Cottage when she loosens and throws bricks at her and in her inability to keep from destroying doors and silverware and whatnot on accident after being turned, literally not knowing her own strength.

Shielding

Her mental shielding is so good, she successfully keeps Rhys out; she's also able to physically shield against High Lord powered attacks (like Tamlin in acomaf and Beron in acowar):

She also shields Lucien and Tamlin's minds and protects them from daemati attacks without them even realizing in early acowar.

Daemati

Daemati are even rarer than fae who can winnow, and her burgeoning abilities were so strong, she slipped into Lucien's mind without meaning to multiple times.

She was also able to influence a High Lord (Tarquin) and infiltrate Ianthe's mind so deeply it took days for the King of Hybern to unravel.

We also see her power to sense minds, cast of "net of awareness" and see if any fae are hiding or nearby.

Curse-Breaking/Spell-Cleaving/Ward Breaking

Feyre can cleave even difficult and powerful wards/spells. Even the King of Hybern is impressed-

She cleaves his wards/breaks his spells multiple times and also breaks a High Lord's:

Moreover, she's able to almost trick spells:

She also can detect spells as part of her abilities:

Shapeshifting

She uses her shapeshifting abilities to enhance her body in combat (i.e., eyes that can see in the darkness, talons to fight with, and wings to fly with). She's also able to use it to impersonate others, like infiltrating Hybern's camp as "Ianthe".

Beyond that, Azriel notes that her attention to detail as an artist allowed her to create detailed, accurate wings, highlighting the intersection for how she views the world as an artist with her powers:

Elemental/Misc. HL Powers

Beyond the others above, she also inherits a variety of often elemental type of powers specific to different courts that she uses in varied, creative way- a few examples:

Night (shadows): uses the shadows to blind the Hybern soldiers in the halls of the Adriata palace and use the cover of darkness to winnow repeatedly and kill them (while using the shapeshifted eyes so she has night vision)

Day (light): blinds Eris on the ice in acowar to get away

Day (wind): uses the wind to create shields and block weapons like arrows

Dawn (healing): mostly seen speeding up healing herself but we've seen it save Rhys's life when he's poisoned

Winter (ice): after drenching the flying Hybern soldiers with water in the attack on Velaris, she uses the ice to freeze them and bring them to the ground to shatter; she also uses the ice to negate Eris's fire cuffs in acowar

Summer (water): the water wolves speak for themselves- but just creating water animals as weapons that can charge and fly in general; she also drowns a Hybern soldier on land in the Adriata palace

Autumn (fire): she uses lashes of fire to behead Hybern soldiers in Adriata and even set an entire clearing ablaze in acomaf (before using other powers to smother it)

You can see in many cases, she plays off the complementary powers (using water to soak flying soldiers only to use ice to freeze them; using shadows to blind Hybern soldiers while using her shapeshifting to give herself night vision and winnow in bursts to take out the soldiers).

This gives her abilities and powers that are unique from the individual High Lords.

Glamouring

She uses the shapeshifting magic to conjure a glamour of their entire army. This is a glamour that a high lord (Tarquin) was skeptical could be done. The NC army is significantly bigger than the Summer army, too.

She also uses glamouring when she hides Bryaxis and the Bone Carver before the battle with Hybern, with no one on either side aware.

Wielding the Cauldron

Feyre possesses an ability to use the Cauldron that's incredibly rare. It's shown that part of it is due to being Made, but also Feyre's own ability to control herself/her mind and withstand its power.

She is the one able to be a conduit and reforge it, even without the Book of Breathings, in a cool moment that purposefully references The Mother and "the story of Prythian":

Her power also goes in to remake the Cauldron with Rhys's:

Her ability to do this (use the Cauldron as a conduit to unleash Amren and reforge it) is the only reason they win the war, that any of Prythian's forces live.

She also can sense it and track it:

The King of Hybern even notes that the Cauldron "purrs" in her presence.

General Power

The acotar books aren't great with power scaling imo; having said that, Feyre's considerable power is discussed and acknowledged multiple times.

Her use of magic in the Court of Nightmares when people try to test "whatever power she might have" causes people to faint, tremble, whimper, and flee even:

In the High Lord meeting it's especially apparent.

I think some misunderstand that though Helion establishes that what it feels like for the High Lords is that they're missing an inconsequential bit of their power (to the point that only he is shown to have noticed it), he also says in the same breath, that the power Feyre just displayed makes him say "no wonder" she was made High Lady, establishing it as HL level in his eyes:

I think it plays into how Feyre is repeatedly asked "what are you?" by people like the Weaver or established as "like and unlike all".

Because despite all the HLs acknowledging Feyre was given just a drop/they aren't missing much, it's also acknowledged that she could've killed the oldest High Lord (Beron) and her display seems like "far more" than what was given:

It's not that 7 drops of power from the High Lord's adds up to much and took anything noticeable from them individually, it's that the combination created something unexpected, "outside anything" recognizable and with a "behemoth" of power.

Feyre being Made this way literally became something more than the sum of her parts- and that's only emphasized with how she combines her powers and abilities to make something new.

Seven Courts/Connection to Prythian/Made

Feyre notes that her unusual powers respond differently, to the High Lord and their court/land. This comes up when she's tracking items, when she's getting past their wards, and even from the land itself.

Like her other abilities, she combines her connection to the HLs to other gifts- like using her shapeshifting to physically become Tarquin and then her connection to him to be perceived as him by spells.

Another interesting thing is that Feyre's power responds to both the High Lord's power (it "writhed" in response at the start of the battle against Hybern when they use theirs) and the land of their courts. She notes that her affinity to use certain court powers responds and is strengthened when she's there:

In the Middle, there's even a moment where Feyre feels the very land of Prythian accommodating her:

Which connects well to how she reforges the Cauldron with a purposeful reference to "the story of Prythian" (when the Mother held the Cauldron- notably depicted in a "starry, endless night") and the start of all life.

The whole "child of seven courts" with powers that respond to the land is fascinating as the power in Prythian is so tied to the land and that moment that she parallels.

-

I liked how Feyre's skills and powers are shown because readers really get to see it and not just hear "she's powerful" or "she's a huntress".

You see her apply training (so much emphasis on power training with Rhys and combat with Cassian and flying with Azriel for instance and all get payoff) and experiences (her years hunting shows up in all three books and makes moments like killing the Wyrm and finding Rhys after he's taken feel more earned) rather than just suddenly have "power".

You get to see how she applies her powers, how she combines her skill set, rather than just a generic blast of power that demonstrates "power" but no skill or strategy. And that creates abilities that are new and unique.

Anyway, this was fun to do- Feyre's a badass whose versatility lets her build upon the individual powers she has and her powers and skill set are used very creatively in the series.

[etrsilk]

Helloo!

Could I ask for a nsfw gym!killua? A way I could imagine it would be that they’re both already dating but there’s this one time that reader specifically asks Killua to teach her on her form and how to train properly but then it slowly turns intimate.

Thank youuu <3🙈💗

LIFTED BY DESIRE

𖥔 ݁ 𓈒 synopsis: You find the sexual relations between you and Killua boring, so to remedy this, you decide to spice up your sex life by making love in a public place.

𖥔 ݁ 𓈒 content/warnings: smut, unprotected sex, blowjobs, overstimulation, public sex, creampie, rough sex, praise

Killua is 20 here!!! This is a nsfw one shot w y/n & 𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐃𝐔𝐏!𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐔𝐀!

also the person who asked for this request didn't specify if they wanted a one shot or a headcanon, but i logically concluded that it was a request for a one shot. in any case, i really hope you like it ♡ and please, i don't want any arguments in the comments. Just move on if you don't like this! (*´▽`*) (please)

You've been dating Killua for a year now. Over the past year, you’ve been intimate enough times that it has started to feel boring due to the routine. It's not as exciting as it was during your first time together.

Yes, the first time is unique and special, and comparing that initial experience to those that followed is foolish.

But you still remember the sensation of that first time: his hands moving over your body as if staying still wasn't an option, his mouth passionately kissing every possible spot, those sweet and dirty words at the same time, the knot in your stomach slowly unraveling with each powerful thrust, those moans sounding like the most wonderful melody, the praises, your own cries of pleasure, and the feeling of becoming one with the man of your life, the man you have always loved.

Oh my God, you would do anything to relive those sensations. You definitely need to spice up your sex life.

You’ve been thinking for a few days now about things that could help you break out of this routine, something new and exciting.

“Hey, Killua!”

A high-pitched male voice broke the silence and interrupted your thoughts.

“Yes, Gon?”

“Pamu is forcing me to go on a date with her tonight, so you’ll have to go to the gym by yourself this time.”

“Alright, I see. It’s not a problem, but be careful with that crazy girl-”

“No, you won’t go alone! I want to come with you!”

The two young adults looked at you in astonishment. Given all the times they both tried to drag you to their probably very boring gym sessions, you can understand their surprise at your sudden motivation. However, it seemed to delight Killua, who was the one most insistent on having you accompany him. Even though, after you declined their offers so many times, he had stopped asking.

But today, you have the best motivation: having sex in public. That’s the perfect way to spice up your sex life!

“Great! We’ll go in three hours, late enough that the fewest people possible will see you embarrass yourself trying to lift weights that are too heavy for you…”

You arrive in front of the gym. On the way, he asked you many questions about your sudden motivation. But of course, you made sure not to reveal anything.

Once inside the gym, he takes your hand, and you run to a completely empty room. There’s nothing but a few workout machines and some dim lighting that creates a subdued atmosphere.

He starts explaining your workout plan, even teasingly saying, “I’m going to do everything to exhaust you”… My God, he has no idea how much.

“Alright, tell me why you wanted to accompany me today? I’m curious.”

“Nothing, I just want to get in shape. Also, I’d like to learn how to fight. Can you help me?”

“Of course. I’ll focus on you today. Now, stay right where you are.”

He comes up behind you and positions your body a certain way for an exercise (who cares about the name). You are now bent over with your knees slightly bent. Feeling Killua’s hands on you, even in a (for now) non-sexual context, gets you so excited and wet that you start blushing and smiling foolishly while rubbing your legs together a bit for relief. Suddenly, you feel a pair of eyes on you and look in Killua’s direction, seeing him as red as a tomato. He averts his gaze and places one hand on your back and the other almost on your butt to make you bend over more. “Damn, I’m almost certain he figured it out.”

It’s tough being with someone so smart.

He moves his hands a bit, and finally places them on your waist, turning you towards him and softly kissing your cheek. This gesture triggers something in you, and you don’t hesitate to take matters into your own hands by pushing him against the wall and starting to kiss him more sensually. After all, he has definitely understood your intentions, right? So you might as well go for it as you desire.

Killua was initially surprised, but you had already started, so why would he stop you?

“No. I’m on top,” he said.

He pressed your shoulders down to make you sit and quickly removed his pants with a sly grin, revealing his cock. Blinded by excitement, you didn’t take long before taking his enormous cock into your mouth, sucking it slowly while looking up at him almost innocently into his beautiful blue eyes. Your mouth couldn’t physically accommodate his entire length, so you had to use your hands to cover the parts your mouth couldn’t reach. He grabbed your head and pushed it down to fit more of his cock into your tight little throat. “Fuck… yeah, just like that, take it all.”

He thrust his cock harder and deeper until you started to gag, tears welling up in your eyes. Damn, it was so exhilarating, and the fact that someone could catch you at any moment made you even wetter. You sucked him for a few more minutes before his penis trembled and something semi-liquid exploded inside your mouth.

He lays you down, spreads your thighs, and teases you with his cock, rubbing it everywhere—your clit, your vagina, your thighs…

Then, he slowly enters you, feeling your vagina tighten and pulse around his cock. “You’re so tight.”

He starts moving slowly, sending shivers down your spine, trying to keep his cool and not fuck you as hard as he wants to. Considering his size, even though your vagina is used to it, he doesn’t want to go too fast and risk hurting you. He wants you to take your time to adjust.

Little by little, as the sound of his balls slapping gets louder, he picks up the pace until your moans and pleas fill the room. His cock pumps harder and harder inside you, and the sensation of your vagina sucking his cock is the best feeling you’ve ever known.

You can’t breathe, talk, or do anything but scream his name, barely able to think straight. You look down, and the sight of his cock makes you even wetter than you thought possible. You almost cry out from the sheer pleasure of his enormous cock.

“Oh my God, you’re so tight…” “Good girl. Take it all… argh.”

Suddenly, you feel his finger alternating between rubbing and making small circles on your clit, gently at first, but with each thrust, Killua focuses more intensely on it. “Arghh, I’m going to cum, fuck me harder, my love, fuck me harder!!!” Your legs begin to tremble as you feel him moving even faster inside you, indicating he’s close too.

It’s been a long twenty minutes of him pounding into you, keeping you helpless beneath him. You feel his cock hitting the depths of your vagina, almost seeing a bulge in your lower abdomen. You feel your walls convulsing, your orgasm building up—it’s too much for you. “Oh fuck, y/n, it feels so good… I’m going to cum—” You feel one final, harder thrust, his cock twitching inside you, and you start to feel his white-hot cum filling you up.

“What? Is that why you wanted to go to the gym? To have sex in a public place?”

“Wait, you didn’t understand? You saw me blushing and smiling, and then you fucked me…”

“You started it, I just followed your lead…”

᱖ English is not my first language, so sorry for any mistakes!!

Do not repost, use my works outside of Tumblr, copy, translate or plagiarize please !

[binniesbobastay]

Ateez: things you do that turn them on...

This content contains smut and is 18+ only. Minors do not interact.

Hongjoong: When you wear something that shows off your thighs

He just loves the feeling of his hands resting on top of your thigh, even more when they fill up his palms as he grabs them while he's going down on you or fucking you so good. He adores all of you but your thighs are one of his favorite parts. He admires them so much, whether you're wearing a skirt, sheer tights, ripped jeans, etc. if it complements your thighs he's all over you. ~ "You're so beautiful..." Hongjoong whispers in the night as he places another kiss out of many to your inner thigh.

Seonghwa: Watching you relax under his touch

He's always happy to offer you a message or let you rest your head on his lap while he gently scratches your scalp after you've had a long day. He's just so naturally caring that sometimes it'll get him going to see that you're so relaxed because of him. Seeing your eyes flutter closed and hearing you sigh in contentment makes him imagine your face contorting in pleasure as he works your body, testing how many times he can make you unravel for him. ~ "That's it, love..." He coos over your whines. "Just let me take care of you." He goes back to placing his mouth on you for the nth time.

Yunho: When you wrap your arms around his neck

Not only does the gesture make his heart swell, but it makes him feel so protective of you non-sexual dominant yunho agenda activated. Sometimes he feels bad for getting riled up if it's during something innocent like a piggyback ride or when he kisses you after not seeing you for a while, but he can't help it! He just wants you as close as possible to him all the time and loves seeing that you want the same from him. ~ "Fuck, you feel so good. Love you s'much..." He groans as he fucks into you while holding you against the wall. You wrap your arms around his neck even tighter in response.

Yeosang: When you're concentrating

Whether you're cooking or doing work on your laptop, he's addicted to the way your brow furrows and the determined look in your eyes when you're focused. He can't explain it, but it's probably because it reminds him of your dark gaze as you place calculated kisses down his chest and torso before finally giving him what he wants. He could watch you do the most mundane task for days as long as he gets to see your face while you do it. ~ "God, I love it when you do that..." He whispers, head leaning back. The look you shot him as you began bobbing your head up and down his length, focused solely on getting him to fall apart, was enough to make him shiver.

San: Watching your hips move as you walk

Without fail, he's always going to walk a few paces behind you to get a good look at the natural, swaying motion of your hips as you stroll down the street. If he's not looking, he's touching, keeping an arm firmly wrapped around your waist or getting a grasp on you when you're kissing. It makes certain memories of you screaming for him while being on all fours pop into his head. ~ "Fuck! San! " You call out, burying your face farther into the pillow at the snap of his hips. "That's it, gorgeous," San groans, mesmerized by the slight jiggle of your ass and thighs as he pounds into you from behind, "take all of it..."

Mingi: When you hum while he kisses you

He's all too familiar with that warm feeling he gets in his chest when he hears the sound come from your throat, feeling the vibrations against his mouth. It's literally music to his ears. He absolutely loves hearing that you're enjoying him. He'll hold you even closer to him as he's reminded of how you moan into his open mouth while he brings you to bliss. ~ Between the soothing feeling of your legs wrapped around him and the taste of your lips, Mingi's mind is in a haze. "Mmm, Mingi you're making me feel so good~" You hum in between kisses. He strokes his hips deeper into you to get you to moan again, swallowing it up in his own as he interlocks your fingers together.

Wooyoung: Tracing patterns on his skin with your fingertips

There's not a feeling he loves more. He feels your touch and everything is right in the world. Especially his tattoos, his heart races every time he feels your hands softly brush up against them while watching the adoring look on your face. With every caress of his skin he'll fall deeper in love with you, his need for you growing stronger. ~ "Woo, oh my god..." he's had you spread out for what feels like hours, fingers pumping into you hitting all the right spots. The tip of his nose brushing against your neck sends a chill down your spine as he works your body. He groans, letting his head fall onto your shoulder when he feels your fingers glide up his bicep.

Jongho: When you rest your head on his shoulder while clinging onto his arm

Like Yunho, he likes knowing that you feel safe with him and that you want to be close with him. It's definitely the trust aspect that gets him going. Bonus points if you're resting your eyes, he'll look lovingly down at your peaceful face before placing a kiss on your forehead. He feels bad, wanting to let you rest against him but he can't ignore the tightness in his pants for much longer. ~ "Just like that. So good, sweetheart." His eyes remain on your bare form as you ride him. What started off as an innocent cuddling session quickly turned into him pulling you into his lap with the two of you desperate for relief. You moan his name as you feel his big hands engulfing your hips after he guides yours to rest on his chest.

[k4zushi]

[ 16 ] COSTUME ROOM SHENANIGANS

status : unedited, written 01/17/24 ☆ word count : 1.3k

Y/N’S POV ⟡ COSTUME ROOM

the days leading up to the next play practice had been pretty normal which had you on edge.

life had ways of making you miserable and you were at your limit from the events that had taken place 2 weeks following today.

there were many things that made you nervous about attending play practice but the main one was a certain grey haired male who recently become the one most frequently occupying your thoughts.

even if it was just a cat reaction picture, you managed to muster up the courage to reply to cyno’s sudden confession.

however, you still felt awkward and it didn’t help that the simplest of things would make you think of him.

posters about the play while walking to your next lecture of the day? your mind drifted off to visualize him in the costume you had sketched the other day.

hearing someone mention the compsci department? you would wonder what he would look like wearing blue light glasses.

making eye contact with someone with a familiar red gaze while walking to the costume room?

wait a familiar red gaze? oh fuck no please no—

“—y/n? hi?? hello???” cyno said, slowly waving a hand in front of your face.

how you managed to disassociate for so long, you had no clue but that was an issue for later.

“y/n…?” he asked again.

cyno was now looking at you with a worried expression on his face.

he looks pretty even when he’s worried.. god definitely has favorites….

you quickly snap back into reality and focus on the man in front of you.

“i’m so sorry, i didn’t mean to ignore you or anything. i’m just really out of it today i swear,” you frantically explained while nervously fiddling with a measuring tape.

when did i pick up a measuring tape…??

cyno nodded understandingly at your reasoning and started to speak again.

“so… my measurements..?”

“oh you’re right, i’m sor—” you started to apologize again.

“you don’t have to keep apologizing.” cyno interrupted.

you immediately shut up. cyno in person is so much more intimidating than the cyno who called you cute last weekend…

his face immediately contorted into a slight grimace.

“sorry… i didn’t mean for that to come out so harsh. tone is hard”

that made you giggle in amusement. there was the same feeling you had felt when he messaged you.

“slash gen?” you said while biting back a smile from overtaking your face.

cyno’s eyes seemed to lighten up at your small joke.

he was such a dork, you almost swooned right then and there.

he let out a small chuckle and nodded. “yea..”

the nervous knot in your stomach unraveled and you finally felt at a feeling of ease overtake your senses. that was the first time that had happened in a couple weeks.

“hey cyno, are you okay with standing still for me for a couple minutes? i swear i won’t take too much time” you asked, holding up your measuring tape.

“it’s fine, take as much time as you need,” he said stepping towards you.

you tilted your head in confusion at his words and he’s quick to explain.

“i’m not really needed until the scene 5. they’re going over scene 2 right now and it’s going to take a while since it’s technically the first official practice,” he rambled.

his behavior suddenly become more and more visibly nervous. the way he was tightly wringing his fingers looked painful.

you smile at the sight; not because you enjoyed seeing him like this, but because it reassured you that you weren’t the only one who felt nervous interacting with the other.

“you don’t have to explain yourself, just focus on standing still,” you said while extending the measuring tape and wrapping it around his bicep.

you see cyno tense and stiffen in place and while it was extremely amusing to see him act so out of character, you still had a job to do.

“cyno you can relax, i don’t bite you know?”

“i apologize i don’t—“

“why are you apologizing?? i said you can relax..” you sigh, retracting from him and folding your arms.

this only seems to make him even more nervous.

he can’t even look at you properly and this makes you think about what could make him feel less awkward.

it didn’t take long until you thought of something. sure, maybe you could possibly make a complete fool out of yourself but you didn’t have any energy left to face the wrath of ms lisa.

“knock knock”

cyno looks at you confused.

“i said knock knock,” you repeated.

“who’s there…?” he finally responds back.

“boo”

“boo who?”

“don’t cry, it’s a joke”

cyno freezes at this and looked away again.

you start to contemplate if it was really worth your last sliver of dignity trying to get him to become more comfortable with you until you saw the hand that was covering his mouth, the way his body trembled, the soft giggles that escaped, and the slight flush of red creeping up his neck.

“cyno??” you shifted to get a good look at his face.

he turned his head and you made eye contact.

that was when he burst out into full blown laughter.

it was your turn to freeze now; you didn’t know how to react or what the appropriate reaction would even be.

was this really the guy who had you nearly shitting yourself from getting cornered against a wall just a week ago??

his laughter was pretty, something you couldn’t find yourself ever get tired of listening to. unfortunately, but also not so unfortunately, it was just as contagious as it was pretty.

you found yourself laughing along with him and now the two of you were leaning on each other trying desperately to regain your composure.

except the two of you kept failing because you’d make eye contact and immediately get thrown back into another fit of mutual laughter.

this cycle continued another 4 or 5 times, give or take and by the end of it, you were gasping for air.

cyno was the first to recover and had taken it upon himself to hold onto one of your arms so you wouldn’t collapse.

“THE JOKE—” you wheeze. “—WASN’T EVEN THAT FUNNY”

“it was,” cyno shook his head in disagreement, now rubbing circles on your back in an attempt to help you.

“are you sure?? it was so corny,” you said, now feeling a wave of embarrassment wash over you.

before he could answer, you had pulled away from his grip on your arm and began to search the floor for the measuring tape you had managed to drop.

cyno frowned a bit but shook it off.

spotting the measuring tape, you grabbed it and approached him.

“i hope that was enough to help you relax,” you went to wrap the tape around his wrist. “i’d be kinda disappointed if it wasn’t”

cyno mumbled a small apology to which you let out a small hum in response.

you tapped one of his arms, gesturing at him to lift them so you could get his torso measurements and he complied.

you took the tape and wrapped it around his waist, tightening it till it was snug against the fabric of his oversized shirt.

cyno shifted a bit and you almost instinctively went to grab his wrist to warn him from moving; something you had picked up since your friends had a habit of running off in public.

with one holding the measuring tape in place and your other one wrapped around his wrist, you heard cyno’s breath hitch.

you pulled away from him and decided to busy yourself with “writing down his measurements” in your notebook that was already filling up with nervous scribbles.

cyno let out a nervous cough and then turned to look away.

perhaps the lack of air ventilation in the costume room was getting to both of you.

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AUTHOR’S NOTE : y/n’s secret spam is inspired by those indian men spam accs ppl use on insta to avoid getting caught stalking ppl😭 i saw a whole comment section full of them and immediately started laughing bc i had no idea how common it was???? on another note, my recent emojis are DESTROYED… it’s tragic and i never want to see the eggplant ever again

☆ backstory on y/n’s priv and why it’s like that — they originally were using it to troll ppl from their school and then ended up using it as a priv bc no one suspected it would be them behind the acc cause it looks like a bot LMAOO

— TAGLIST : @ioveaether @otomegame-oneshots @ashyiiy @mafuyuslover @yuminako @waengyknow @sharkdays @tikitsune @jihoonotes @gallantys @keiiqq @ashhh-14 @keqingily @wisheslost @sandwicz @epiclese @yoyo-yui @fyodorisbbg @kamikokii @swivy123 @ell1e2010 @morgyyyyyyy @tokkishouse @kyon-cherri @xiaossocksniffer @vio-venus @17visage @kookiibun @calypsodustt @yuu1ji7n @ashfrommars4 @kaibloom79 @jadelynnrr @mochiboo123 @lambcandle

[galedekarios]

Idk if you’ve been asked before but what are your thoughts on EARLY early access Gale? The Gale that has bandages on his arm in some early promotional art? There’s an old Auntie Ethel vicious mockery line for him: “I can smell what’s under those bandages wizard! You’re all rot and ruin.” I always wondered if the orb was originally going to have nastier side effects. Like it was making Gale fall apart slowly OR maybe Gale was trying to become a Lich to better handle the orb before being abducted by the mind flayers so he’s in this half alive and undead state when Tav meets him. I feel like that last one would explain the necrotic damage he emits when he dies better. Anyways those are just two tiny details that I roll around in my mind from time to time. I might be thinking too deeply about it. Maybe the writers just wanted to figure out a way to show how much the orb was hurting Gale and the bandages were a start but for some reason they decided against it.

i loved early access gale. there were a lot of uncharitable reads / bad faith takes about him back then, ranging from him being the secret bbeg, the ultimate and guaranteed betrayer, the absolute, to being myrkul because he had a triangles on the robe he was wearing (no, i'm not joking), etc etc etc.

personally, i always loved his character, though, and found him the most interesting and intriguing out of the companions.

overall, i think that he's not that much changed - however, as with all companions and a lot of the npcs, some things have been whittled down or away entirely by larian due things like fandom feedback, but that's a discussion for another time.

i don't subscribe to the lich idea myself, because i think that's not something that gale would want for himself for a multitude of reasons. having said that, however, i always enjoyed this theory:

so, early access gale had this key art, which is still one of my favourites:

left hand wrapped in bandages, the almost stone-like texture of what little you can see of his skin.

adding to that, as you also mentioned, ethel had these vicious mockery lines for gale:

Auntie Ethel: I can smell what's under those bandages, wizard. You're all rot and ruin.

and

Auntie Ethel: Come to greet death early? You'll be a lovely spectacle.

to add to this, this was the way gale talked about the orb and what he thought it was, as well as karsus:

Player: I was wondering about that “mighty lord” you told me about in your story. Gale: Ah, yes. Karsus Karsus was perhaps the most powerful wizard that ever lived. The child-who-would-be-a-god, the elves called him. And he tried. With a spell of his own devising he endeavoured to usurp in one fell swoop the power of the goddess of magic.  Mystryl, she was called then. Imagine what it must have felt like. To be a god. To know yourself to be untouchable. To be mistaken. As Karsus aimed his spell at her she began to unravel, and with her, the entire Weave. Too late did he realize what he had unleashed. It would have been the end of everything had not Mystryl sacrificed herself.  Gale: The goddess of magic is all magic. By dying, the entire weave was lost, and the spell that challenged a god failed. It was the end of Mystryl, the end of Karsus, and the end of an entire civilization. As the child-who-would-be-a-god was turned to stone, his empire came crashing down around him. The floating cities of Netheril were no more. An event that came to be known as Karsus' folly. Player: So at that moment in time, all magic was gone?  Gale: For a spell. Mystyl was reborn as Mystra. Upon her return, the Weave returned with her.  Gale: Now, so many centuries later, I tried to follow in the footsteps of Karsus, not to destroy Mystra, but to prove my love for her. I tried to control only a fraction of the magic that was unleashed that fateful day. I merely sought to return one tiny diamond to an imperfect crown. Gale's Folly one might call it. History. Repetition. It's the way things go.

some of this is still in the game.

more lore about karsus's folly:

Unfortunately, his choice was a terrible mistake, for one of the responsibilities of the deity of magic was to regulate the flow of magic to and from all beings, spells, and magic items in the world. Lacking the ability to do so properly, magic surged and fluctuated. With her last remaining bit of power, Mystryl sacrificed herself to block Karsus's access to the Weave, causing all magic to fail. The flying cities of Netheril plummeted to the earth. The severing of the link also killed Karsus and transformed him into stone, and the last thing he saw was his entire civilization being destroyed because of his actions. This was to be known as Karsus's Folly. The stone form of Karsus eventually landed in a part of the High Forest, now called the Dire Wood.[8] The city of Karse was built around its base. Karsus was never accepted as a petitioner by any god, nor did he go to the Fugue Plane when he died. Instead, his soul was bound to the Material Plane. Those with experience in pact magic could call up his vestige, where he appeared as a giant blood-red boulder,[5] like the one found in the High Forest where his petrified form landed.[8] Blood burbles up from the top of the stone, trickling down the side facing the summoner, pooling at the base. [x]

there are also lines of gale referring to this corruption he carries within as a "taint" and a "shadow", corrupting him "within", affecting his blood as well (another thing that carried over to release).

i think what might have been originally planned (and again, some of this did carry over) is that the orb not only affected gale's magic, but also his body even more severely (it still does to an extent in the release version even though this part is very, very sadly almost entirely glossed over).

putting all of this together, i think that by absorbing a part of that magic unleashed on the day of karsus's folly - the failed magic, the severing of it, karsus turning into stone, petrifying him - might have affected gale in a similar, albeit weaker fashion.

"history. repetition. it's the way things go."

karsus's folly.

gale's folly.

perhaps as the game continued this petrification might have spread, from his hand, up his arm, to his shoulder, and on, either by leaning onto the darker aspects, or by the treatment failing (the consumption of powerful pieces of weave).

maybe that concept was then turned from petrification, to a sort of corruption/rotting that ethel referred to in her lines.

either way, it would have been interesting to see, for sure.

[bangtangalicious]

bts smut recs | needy!jungkook

there is something about when our lovely jeon jungkook is portrayed to be a hormone crazy, super needy, greedy, whiny character that is so fucking hot. tmw readers. i know you’ll love these. the hyper-horniness and blatant hunger for sex is so sexy. these are all jungkook x reader 18+ SMUT recs based on this theme. more to be added as i find them!!! 

🔺 = yandere/taboo themes *ALL ARE SMUT

MILF (series) by @koosbabygrl | 🔺 ive read this so many times. like. SO MANY TIMES. this is PEAK needy!koo energy. its so fucking hot i cant even put it into words. theres this mommy kink moment and i CANT get over it holy shittttttttt. also the sequels are GREAT, in part 2 when he has her riding his cock while she does her makeup oh my fucking godDDDDDDD. amazing.

this specific needy!koo drabble by @voidswan | 🔺 i know its not a full fic but its literally so hot i cry. bunny!koo just wants to fuck so bad poor thing I DONT KNOW WHY IM JUST OBSESSED OK the stuttering gets me every fucking time. screams. 

clean up by @lonelyhobi & @scribblemetae | he’s drunk and he feels so guilty abt it but he cant help himself!! god its FEVERISHLY good. he’s all whiny and crying and he needs u so bad and the way its described is so fucking hot. the dirty talk is inSANE. dry humping. fuck. amazing amazing.

thunderstorms are scary by @lonelyhobi & @scribblemetae | same couple, but this innocent needy kook is just scared and comes to sleep w noona and then ends up groping you and poor kookie just cat stop bc you feel so good. he ruts into ur ass and whines and ugh. brilliantttttt. honestly recommend this whole masterlist of step-bro fics from them its amazing. theres also a fun loss-of-innocent taehyung one :))))

training wheels by @fithehunnybee | theres a twinge of like sneaky manipulation in this one which i love. y/n kinda a bitch but she drives poor lil koo up the mf WALL. we have some cumming in pants action which i know you all LOVE hehehehe. also i love that it builds the tension so well with koo getting so desperate and y/n teasing..poor lil bunny

the dark prince (series) by @jkeuphoriadreamland | 🔺 LISTEN. first of all, read all their works bc, chefs kiss, but focusing on the needy koo in this, he DEVELOPS mmkay, he starts off all innocent but once he has a taste oh boy does he know what he wants (its you, btw *wink). poor boy cant see at first but he cant fucking help himself your touch drives him insane. how can you resist? the slow burn. the build up. the teasing. IMMACULATE. 

thank you, baby (series) by @scribblemetae | 🔺 im gonna clickbait you ALL into reading this. its twisted in the best way. a few personal highlights for me are when y/n is wearing the VR goggles and jungkook is like yeah imma just slide my cock in real quick lmfaooo its really hot though. the sort of unraveling of the reader adds to the desperation and neediness of both of their sexual actions. its fanfuckingtastic. each part has a good dose of things we all crave: begging, whining goodness

born sinner (series) by @1kook | OUR GOOD LIL CATHOLIC BOY IS UP TO NO GOOD and its got so much of his POV and the GUILT is so well portrayed and makes the whole thing seem more taboo/intense and its just fantastic mmm. 

forbidden by @googikoo | 🔺 again, i read this more times than i can admit. its not so much loss of innocence and more like straight up NEEDY but essentially sneaky devious lil koo is dating your daughter but, obvi, he wants you ;) 

teeth by @sweetbunnykook | ITS LIGHT SMUT BUT ITS JUST REALLY HOT LIKE I CANT EXPLAIN IT JUST READ IT ITS HOT

and not to be entirely self-serving but in case you want more..i too have dabbled in this genre ;)

touch me wherever

tickle me there 

touch yourself here 

wanna touch you 

soaked n’ slippery

ALWAYS LOOKING FOR MORE!! if you know of any other fics that fit this niche please feel free to lmk!! im always looking for new reads :) this one is for my TMW readers. i know what you like hehehehe ;)

[dawneternal]

The Benevolent | Eris x Healer OC | Seven

☁︎ Notes: okay I mention Aya's powers a lot in this chapter. Bear with me, there's explanation coming soon! The plot picks up a lot after this one. 👀

I tried to stay true to the order of events in ACOWAR but it was melting my brain a little bit so if you see something wrong no you didn't

Aya's Dress

☁︎ Warnings: Angst, female character is called a slut, canon fighting and violence

☁︎ Word Count: 4k

☁︎ AO3 Link / Masterlist

☁︎ Taglist: @cauldronblssd @teddyhoneybear @tele86 @mybestfriendmademe @imma-too-many-fandoms @allyjoe755 @milswrites @shadowdaddies @zenkindoflove @landofpetrichor @secret-third-thing @bookwormysblog @mal-adaptive-dreams

The sky was an annoying shade of blue today. Its cheerfulness was obnoxious and mocking. If the sky would not respect her dismal mood, it could at least have the respect to be a little more solemn with the threat of war hanging over Prythian.

Aya sat at her desk in the classroom, staring out the arched window with her chin resting on her palm. Her other hand was curled into a fist, knuckles tapping on the table top. She was vaguely aware of a voice drifting in her direction and it took her a moment to untangle her thoughts from her grudge at the sky. 

"Did you say something?" She turned toward her instructor, hoping her tone didn't hold any of her grumpiness. 

"I said I have another job for you," Helene answered from behind her desk, her eyes glittering with amusement, "Set up for a visiting lecturer. Pays 40 marks."

Aya nodded, her gaze turning toward the window again. 

"What's got you in such a mood?" Helene asked, swallowing her chuckle. 

Everyone else avoided Aya in this state. Her temper was not easily provoked, but the consequences of it were weighty enough to make most steer clear. Helene, however, had never been scared of Aya. Not of her power, her temper, or the fact that her cousin was High Lord. 

"Thesan will not let me attend the High Lord's meeting," Aya grumbled, brows drawn together in a deep scowl. 

"What on earth would you want to do that for?" Helene scoffed, "You hate politics."

That was something Aya was having a hard time answering for herself. She didn't know exactly why, only that the unfairness of it burned in her chest like she was a child left out of something fun. It unraveled a restless feeling that she thought she had stitched down a long time ago. She knew that if she wanted to, she could dig deep and find the words to explain what she was feeling, but she was not ready.

"It's the principle of it," She said, "Zoren gets to go."

"There's nothing of interest for you there," Helene soothed. 

"It's just such a rare opportunity," Aya sighed. 

That much was true. What she did not tell her teacher, or anyone, was that she planning to do something incredibly stupid, because it was the only thing that would quell the rising beast. She was going to break her own vow not to snoop or sleuth, and she was going to take a page from the Autumn Court’s book to get what she wanted. 

"At least you can still mingle," Helene said, "You could buy a new dress for the parties."

The rest of the students began to file in, the bell chiming in the distance to signal the beginning of class. Helene had managed to find probably the only silver lining of the situation. The prospect of a new dress managed to cheer Aya up just enough to stop glowering at the undeserving sky. 

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

Aya stood in front of her mirror, pale light illuminating her wide eyes and parted lips. She barely recognized her reflection, bundled in a wool shawl, thermos tucked under her arm. She asked herself once more if she was really going to do this. And something stubborn snapped in her chest and she knew that the disappointment of not doing it would be unbearable. 

But as she squared her shoulders and wiped that cowardice from her expression, another question drifted into her mind. What was she doing this for? Aya watched her face fall again in the mirror, something solemn and pensive taking over. She still did not have an answer. Maybe by the end of the day, she would know.

Outside, Aya was surrounded by a blend of lovely pastel colors, a classic Dawn Court sunrise. As if the sky knew of the impending meeting and sought to showcase all of the beauty the court had to offer. The morning air was chilly and sweet-smelling, caressing her skin with a soft touch as she flew to the hiding place she had scouted. 

In between carved sunstone ornaments and billows of ivy and flowers, there was a blind spot in the eaves where no one would see her. It was just inside the wards Thesan had set up, but she stepped through them easily. Closing her eyes, the layers of wards appeared as closed gateways, each one faintly humming and glowing a different color. She had never tried to pick apart other wards before, but she had always been able to dismantle Thesan's easily. She had never told him that fact.

Guilt spread through her body with every beat of her hammering heart as she caught sight of Thesan and Zoren waiting in the meeting room. Thesan had not exactly forbid her from attending, but then again he had never had to use such harsh wording with her. He would probably never think to check the eaves for a spying Aya. 

Zoren might, however. He was not as biased in his view of her, seeing her from an angle that her cousin could not. He saw her cunning and zealousness plainly. But neither one of them looked up. Their soft, lovesick laughter echoed gently through the tower as they leaned into the other and shared their secrets. An ache spread in Aya's chest at the sight of it. 

The lovers quickly straightened as Kallias made his arrival. The air around him was hazy with frost, his almost-white hair and skin stark against the warmth of the golden sunstone. Thesan rose to his full height as he stood, his unassuming power wrapping around him like a shield. Aya could see the personal wards around each figure, faintly humming and each glowing a different color. Vivian's lovely laughter filled the room as she joked with the rest of the group. 

Each High Lord had loosened their glamor, for reasons both arrogant and practical, and each arrived in a wave of grandeur, the essence of their court filling the air like perfume. It was a dizzying experience to behold it all in one place, the earthy smell of spring, the frost of winter dancing through the air. At certain angles, Helion was almost painful to look at, like he reflected the entire sun. Staring at Tarquin for too long made the room start to sway, as if the space around him moved like the ocean. 

As for the High Lord and Lady of Night, Prythian may have plenty of opinions, but it could not be said that their entrance was not impressive. Their powers seemed to dance together in a way that others did not, like Feyre's magic had been elevated with her status. Or it was simply their mating bond, as visible as their matching tattoos. The air around Rhysand rippled with darkness, and Feyre beside him was the glimmer of starlight. Both held equal measures of bite and beauty.

Aya had a personal policy of not believing rumors, one she shared with Thesan. In part because nearly every High Fae was robed in legends, myths, and lies. And in part because the truth always proved to be worth pursuing. And in turn, it never proved to be beneficial to believe in rumors about women that were started by men. She guessed that this was the main reason for Thesan's attendance. He wished to begin untangling truths and lies. 

She knew it was true as she watched him, sitting quietly and listening with intense focus, his eyes darting back and forth as he pulled the threads apart in his mind. He had no idea how much her powers could have helped. 

Watching her cousin's gaze flit back and forth around the table, paying attention to what he paid attention to, Aya listened to the High Lords’ examination of Rhysand's character. Given the events of Under the Mountain, it did not seem unfounded. Especially because they could not see what Aya saw. The High Lord had his fair share of dark threads weaving through his being, ego and temptation like clouds that sometimes drifted over the moon. But despite those things, despite the blood on his hands and the red in his ledger, he wanted to be good. 

The Autumn Court’s late arrival interrupted the interrogation. They walked in a formation, Edana tucked into Beron’s side looking regal and lovely, despite the fact that she had shrunk herself into the shadow of her husband. All fire and cunning gone from her eyes. The entourage glittered in fabrics of deep green and plum, gold trim catching the sunlight. 

Beron had relaxed his glamor like the other High Lords, but Aya noticed that Eris had not. Even so, he was easily the most beautiful of the group, borrowing so many features from his mother. Something he had in common with Lucien. His strong jawline and thick eyebrows contrasted with soft eyes and full lips. A lean and well-built body, covered in countless scars that hid underneath the velvet of his suit. The sunshine followed him, glowing with an extra warmth in every place it touched his skin, threatening to erupt into flames. Eris kept a leash on his power so he would not overshadow his father. 

With Eris present, Aya became so acutely aware of herself that she was certain she would be noticed, that someone’s gaze would drift just a bit too far upwards and she would be caught. But all attention was stuck on the other three brutish brothers, staring down each attendee like wolves circling their prey. Eris hissed a command and they backed off, ending their show of power. Aya could not tell which brother was the one she had healed in Eris’s room, but none of them looked like they would like to express their gratitude if they knew.

As the meeting continued and more voices joined the din, it grew difficult to catch every word. The roaring wind swept away half of the conversation, other bits drowned out by the chattering birds. Aya could piece it together with context and a few of her secret talents, but when Tamlin began throwing his tantrum and hurling insults, she let the words remain lost. Beron and Helion seemed to enjoy the discourse, but Aya did not care to listen to it. 

Aya did not know when the conflict between Tamlin and the High Lady had dissolved and the tension between Eris and the Night Court began. She watched each tense face carefully, straining to hear what the Autumn Heir was saying.  

“....like a slut.” Were the only words she caught.

The last word reverberated through the room, and time seemed to move slower as Aya watched the Morrigan’s face contort in pain and anger. It was not even a full second between the insult leaving Eris’s lips and the shadowsinger pouncing. Azriel slammed into Eris, pushing him to the floor and enveloping the pair in a bubble of cobalt magic. Aya pressed a hand over her mouth, heart racing as she watched them grapple. Her wings threatened to spread but she pulled them in even tighter, so tight that her back cramped with the effort. Eris was not fighting back, only fighting to get free. He did not try to move out of the way of Azriel’s fist.

Several called out for the fight to stop, but it was the High Lady’s voice, low and calm, that made the shadowsinger pause. Aya watched, her breathing ragged, as Azriel knelt and whispered something into Eris’s ear, and then stood. She turned her gaze over to Edana, gripping the arms of her chair with white knuckles, still unmoving. Eris stood, murmured an apology, and smoothed his jacket. 

The meeting moved on quickly, but Aya could not stop hearing Eris’s voice echoing through the tower. She almost wished she had not heard it, that the whole scene had been swept away by that persistent wind and then he would be the same Eris as before. She had heard a vague version of the

 events between him and the Morrigan. She had never really thought much about it. Every person sitting at that table had done terrible things for good reasons. And everything Eris did was calculated, he would not have said such a thing without a reason. Or would he? The Eris she had built in her mind was crumbling, growing fuzzy at the edges as she realized that she might not know him at all. 

She held the secrets of his scars, had collected handfuls of late night meetings, but that could very well mean nothing in the grand scheme of knowing Eris. There was a chance he was just like the rest of them. Cold, jaded, cruel. And there was a chance that up here, on the outside of everything important, she would never get close enough to find out. 

The uneasiness under her skin heated to a simmer as she watched Nuan enter and present her antidote. Nuan, beautiful and smart and clever. It was a childish thing that should have faded a long time ago, but Aya could not rid herself of the jealousy. There may be plenty of room at Thesan’s table for his found family, but some days when her mind grew cloudy, she wondered if she had a place there at all. 

That mood continued to roll in like a thick fog, and she laid down on the sunstone, pressing her cheek to the cool, sleek surface. Pulling the wool shawl tighter around herself, she continued to half-listen to things she only half-understood.

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Just as Aya had begun to grow bored, the tension began to rise again. A long string of scathing insults poured from Beron’s mouth, filling the air with burning heat. He spat each one with more disdain than the last, not once heeding the High Lady’s warnings. He should not have been surprised when Feyre exploded. A wave of brilliant fire pushed through Beron’s wards and managed to singe him. The vibrant flames caught Edana’s sleeve, and Aya stiffened, a choked sound leaving her throat. 

Beron gathered himself and his wards, but Feyre did not relent, sending waves of water next. Aya dared to glance at Eris and saw his eyes gleaming with wicked hope as his father struggled. The others gaped at the reveal of Feyre's powers. Rhysand persuaded her to stop, managing a few jabs towards the Autumn Court as he did so, and the damage was done. None of the High Lords were particularly happy about their supposedly stolen kernels of power, even Thesan. Aya thought to herself that they didn't seem to mind so much when Feyre was the Cursebreaker and freed them all.

Beron was furious at all of it, declaring the meeting over as if he had the power to do so. His loyal entourage stood, following his every move, save for Eris.

The High Lady’s sister rose from her seat and spoke before they could leave. She had the whole room within her grip, something terrifying and ethereal in her eyes and voice. But Beron only muttered his dismissal and winnowed. A chorus of snaps filled the silence as the rest of his group followed.

Eris lingered just a moment longer, his gaze flickering upwards and finding Aya in the eaves. Almost imperceptibly, he tilted his head toward the door.

Aya's heart leapt into her throat and she forced herself to move slowly and quietly as she backed out of her hiding spot. Careful not to rustle the ivy, she crossed back through the wards and scrambled down the levels of pillars and carvings. 

Eris had winnowed to the hall outside of the door, waiting with his hands clasped behind his back. Aya stood before him, her breathing heavy, eyes widening as she caught sight of the blooming bruises around his neck. His brows were knit together tightly, worry etched into the space between them. 

“What are you doing here?” He asked, his voice still that of the Autumn Heir. 

Aya opened her mouth to answer and found that she still had not thought of a good answer to that question. I wanted to see you, was on the tip of her tongue, but she would not let it loose.

“This is my court,” She stammered. Her mind felt slow, frosted over. His eyes searched hers and she was terrified he could somehow read what she refused to say.

“You shouldn’t be here,” He said, face softening into something more recognizable.

“Why not?” She whispered, swallowing hard.

“The other High Lords would not take kindly to finding a spy,” His voice was tight, “My father could have killed you on the spot.” 

He was right. She had not thought of that. That Thesan could not go easy on her if she was caught in front of everyone. Her gaze flickered away from his intense stare, landing on that necklace of purple fingerprints. She could not help but focus a spark of her power on them. Eris frowned as he watched her expression turn distant, and then his eyes widened. 

“Stop that,” He hissed, taking a step back. A hand flew to his neck, as if to keep the bruises from disappearing.

Aya flinched, her focus returning to his face. To his flushed cheeks and wild eyes.

“You can’t heal me,” He said, “My father would know.” 

Aya just shook her head. This was all wrong.

“I have to go,” Eris sighed, looking over his shoulder, “Just go home, please.” 

He was gone in an instant, the air crackling as he winnowed. Aya stood still, staring at the space where he had been, feeling like something of a liability.

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Aya smoothed the front of her dress, a slip of dusty pink silk with golden trim. She had picked something similar to the one Eris had seemed to like so much, with a low back and draping neckline. Her jewelry was all pearls and gold, bracelets clinking as she moved. She took one more deep breath and walked through the archway into the party. 

Soft Dawn Court music played through the circular room, every surface draped in lovely fabrics and pillows. Trays of food and flutes of champagne littered the tables, servers swirling through the crowd to refill and take away plates. There were groups playing cards, boisterous laughter over drinking games, dancing, and pairs flirting in candle lit alcoves. Colors of all the courts mixed together, a rainbow of merriment. 

Aya’s gaze swept through the mix of faces, searching for one peppered with freckles. She found him, sitting on a velvet couch with cards in his hand. And one of her classmates sat on the back of the couch, giggling down into his smirking face, her fingertips grazing his neck as she made his bruises fade.

If Aya had thought she felt sick earlier, it was nothing compared to now. Dizziness overwhelmed her as she understood a dozen things at once. She was realizing how attached she had grown to him, how much she had wanted his compliments on her dress. She was realizing that, somewhere between the healing sessions, in the quiet and dim light of Eris’s room, she had begun to think of herself as his. 

His healer, his angel, his friend. 

Now, to think she had dreamt up that intimacy was too painful to bear. And it was Fleura healing him, the one who hated her most, never failing to toss Aya a look of disgust. She stood there frozen in the archway, gaze glued to him. To make matters worse, Fleura noticed her, flashing a look of mocking pity before she giggled behind her hand. Eris followed her gaze, locking eyes with Aya, and his smirk faded. 

The rest of the party disappeared. It was only Aya and Eris, staring at each other with miles of unsaid things between them.

“Are you coming or going?” A deep, smooth voice pulled Aya from that moment. 

She turned and looked into the face of the High Lord of Summer. The weight of Eris’s stare was heavy, but she willed herself to hold the gaze of the turquoise eyes looking down at her. 

“Oh, I haven’t decided yet,” She stammered, stepping aside when she realized she was blocking him in. 

Tarquin gave her a crooked smile, revealing perfect, shiny teeth. A bit of her angst melted under the pure sunshine that radiated from him. He smelled like sea salt and coconut and summer.

“I thought I might go,” The High Lord said, “But the most interesting people keep appearing in this archway. I think I'll stay.”

Aya’s cheeks burned as she returned his smile. He offered an arm to her and added, “Would you like to get a drink?” 

“Yes,” Aya breathed, taking his arm and trying to quiet her dizzy mind as he swept her away toward the bar. 

She decided to be a little wicked, letting her billowing skirt brush over the arm that Eris draped over the couch as she walked by. She did not turn to see if he was looking. To inspect for any sliver of jealousy on his face. Though it felt as though her heart was splitting as she looked back up at Tarquin and realized that as lovely of a color as blue was, she still liked amber better.

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Eris did not sleep well that night. 

He did not particularly care for the open, breezy rooms of Dawn, all stone and sheer fabrics. None of the cozy velvet and dark wood he was used to. There was also no fireplace, depriving him of the comforting crackle of fire as he slept. With everything that had happened, he should be tired enough that it didn’t matter. But he lay awake, trying and failing to catalog the events of the day. 

He would not forget the look on Aya’s face when she had spotted him sitting there with that giggling, air-headed healer. He should have just shoved the girl away, but it was like all of the fight had drained from him and for some gods-damned reason he had simply disguised his grimace with a smirk and hoped she left him alone soon.

The image haunted him, continuing to appear no matter how many times he shoved it away. Aya, standing in the archway, her wickedly lovely dress shimmering in the candle light, with the unmistakable look of someone who had been betrayed. He should have stood, should have rushed to her, should have confessed.

I came back for you. I've been waiting for you. 

But something about her never stopped causing him to act the opposite of how he wanted. So he sat there like an idiot while she was spun away and charmed by Tarquin. Young and powerful Tarquin, likely better suited for someone like her.

When he did sleep, he was plagued by a new nightmare. Cobalt blue slammed into him over and over, breaking something new every time. Those golden brown hands wrapped around his throat and pinned him down, that deep voice whispering in his ear and echoing again and again, 

“Your Sparrow in the eaves has a long way to fall.”

And then Eris would shift his gaze from the soulless brown eyes above him. Up and up into the eaves of the meeting room where Aya was hidden. Blue light would wrap around her ankle and pull hard, causing her to stumble and fall. The floor would begin to crumble and give way into blackness, and the blue light would bind her wings so she couldn't fly. He would be forced to watch as she fell into the inky abyss, screaming his name until her voice disappeared into nothing. 

Then he would wake. Calm his breathing and take a drink of water. Fall asleep, and dream it all again.

If he had known then that he would not see her again until the Battle of Hybern, he would have made very different choices, indeed.