#wish I could draw something this breathtaking

[samuraisharkie]

why is Ronnie Williford so bland at speaking 😭😭😭 I want to take these classes but he speaks in such a way that just does not engage me

[azullumi]

TO HOLD, TO FEEL, TO LOVE !!

premise — the intimate act of handholding, wishing to feel one another at the tip of the fingers; what are hands made for if not to hold one another? content tags — various characters with gender-neutral reader, established relationship, fluff, hands are mentioned multiple times, my small headcanons of their hands, not proofread, 0.7k words ; headcanons

note from me — something small and simple for me because i have 3 lengthy fic series (or events) in my drafts for all of you <33 also i dont have wifi here and just relying on data so im barely surviving

SUNDAY, he held the sun once; he held your hand. His hands are slender and bony, delicate and gentle yet his hold on yours is firm and tight—as if he doesn’t want you to let go nor does he want to let go of you. For him, it’s a way of protection, a grounding reassurance that you’re there with him, not an illusion, not a dream. He’ll always take his glove off when holding your hand, insisting that it’s much better to feel the warmth of your palms and the way your fingers fit in his.

AVENTURINE, has hands that are soft, slim, and slender with clean, trimmed nails. He uses his fingers to draw the stars and the universe on your skin, tracing the lines of your palm, kissing your knuckles so sweetly, so gently. Whenever he holds your hand, he often finds himself fidgeting and playing with your fingers—it’s a small habit that he does, one that eases and soothes the tremble of his own. The simple act of holding your hand grounds him and stables himself at times when everything feels so messy and suffocating.

VERITAS RATIO, is not one to ask for such things, at least verbally. He’ll show himself more through his acts, fragments and pieces of himself found in the subtle gestures that he does—such as the pinky of his hand finding its way on to yours, hooking itself, and letting it linger until you let him hold the entirety of your palm in his. It’s subtle, simple, delicate yet rough and sharp on the edges just like his hands. One thing is that when you squeeze his hand, accidentally or intentionally, he’ll squeeze yours back.

LUOCHA, how could his hands be more feminine and delicate than a woman’s while also looking like a man’s? His hands are pretty, fingers delicately thin and long with intricate lines on his palms that looked like it was carefully drawn by an artist. The way it looks when he’s holding yours is just mesmerizing, it’s like two missing puzzle pieces that finally found and fit into each other—he is never complete without you. Perhaps he has told you or perhaps he hasn't yet but the reason why he gets quiet when you hold his hand is because he’s relishing in this moment and burning its print into his memory so he’ll never forget how soft your hands feel.

GALLAGHER, touchy, needy hands that seek for the warmth and smoothness of your skin underneath his touch—he’s simply an affectionate man who adores seeing your hand in his. He’ll always find ways to lace his fingers in yours, always wanting to hold your hand; on the note of his hands, it’s rough and bigger than yours will ever be—years of his life honing and carving the shapes of his fingers into ones that you’ve known and always held in your sleep.

ARGENTI, an epitome of beauty and so are his hands, are the definition of it too. It’s slender, long, and pretty, a perfect pale shade that seems to glow underneath the sun, and his fingers have this naturally pink shine on them. He’ll sing praises of how beautiful your hands look, especially when he’s holding it in his—would adore it more under the light, as the shadows cast itself on your skin and everything around him feels so surreal. It's mesmerizing, wonderful, breathtaking, to think that you could be more beautiful in his eyes, even if it’s just something small and simple.

JING YUAN, has rough, big, calloused hands that never want to let go of you. To think that he had gone through a life where he never felt your skin, where he never got to hold your hand. He’s a clingy man, affectionate with adventurous hands that is always on you—whenever you’re near him, his hands are either holding yours or just on you, resting on your waist, wrapped around your figure, or just anywhere as long as he gets to feel you under his hands. It’s like your skin and his palms are magnets of opposite poles.

GEPARD, a little shy and hesitant in the aspects of affection, even if it’s just the small act of holding your hand. His face is flustered, cheeks covered with a shade of pink that is easily discernible underneath the light, and his lips are curled into a smile that beams only affection the same way he looks at you and your hands intertwined with his. His grasp on you is firm and strong but would easily loosen when you ask him to; he does get anxious though, thinking if his grip was too tight or too much.

special mentions to the wonderful and beautiful @toorurs !! i know i have already said this before but you’re a pleasant surprise in my life, and you have become someone special and dear to me. you’re an amazing friend, kind and sweet, as well as, talented <33 i aspire to have your strength and courage in situations that would have me just running away and just completely avoiding it, you’re a strong person and you’re doing amazing, and you’ll keep on doing amazing things. i’ll always be here for you no matter what happens, hoping and wishing that you’ll get everything you have ever wanted and wished for, and anyone who is a hindrance to your happiness will get a watermelon or anything thrown at their face (just point me to them)

© azullumi — do not plagiarize, copy, repost, nor translate any of my works.

[risuola]

ENTRY #8 ♡ F. READER X GOJO SATORU

You said you love me, I heard it between the lines.

contents: arranged marriage!au, it gets a little steamy, reader discretion is advised — 2,5k words

a/n: longer part, little steam, some more confused fools in love, what else can we want ♡ i kinda enjoy writing the story a little more from satoru's pov, i hope you don't mind! also, the wedding picture that my friend draw for me is here for anyone interested!

series masterlist

You love him.

Well, technically, you didn’t say you love him. You were tidying just next to him, wiping the dust off the shelves and he was on the couch, doing paperwork that might’ve been — and most likely were — partially responsible for his poor mood. He hated paperwork and ironically, Yaga loved giving him a fair share of it — it was fair, he knew that. His missions, his forms to fill but couldn’t Ijichi take care of it–

“We should retake that picture one day,” he heard you muse and he didn’t need to look up to know what picture you had in mind. You had, after all, just one picture together and it was taken forcefully as a proof of your marriage, right after the ceremony. He was in a suit, black and crisp, looking good as always with his glasses — that he didn’t bother taking off for the photo — resting on the bridge of his nose, low enough to show a little bit of his eyes and high enough to hide the lack of amusement he felt that day. You were in front of him, partially exposing your bare back to the camera and holding a bouquet of flowers that someone got you — not him, that’s for sure. As he thought of it, you were looking stunning. Breathtaking, to say the least, in the long white dress, not too plain but definitely not overly embellished. You didn’t need to be dressed in layers of princess-worthy fabrics to look like one. The picture though — it lacked emotion. You were there with him and he was there with you, but you weren’t together on it. You were just both in the frame.

“Why would we?” He asked dryly, growing more and more irritated by the bureaucracy at hand. He was stuck on one of the points, the one he disliked the most because it required him to elaborate on something that didn’t need to be elaborated on. Why would he describe the curses he saw, evaluate their strengths and consider their techniques, when he turned them to dust before they even realized he was there?

“It would be nice to have a wedding picture with some actual love in it, not just a dry, forced pose and stone faces,” you reasoned and your voice was light, it was innocent almost as if you were speaking of something so obviously natural. As if you were not considering exchanging the picture-proof of your arranged marriage into one of real marriage.

“We’re not married for love, do I need to remind you?” Satoru scoffed. He was annoyed. At you, because you were able to make his heart beat in ways he never knew are possible and at himself — for letting that happen. Or for saying what he just said because of course you knew the marriage wasn’t based on love and it didn’t change the fact you just allowed your mouth to slip away words that shouldn’t be slipped. He was annoyed because you shouldn’t feel that way, because he wasn’t ready to hear it, because he’s a coward.

But, instead of getting annoyed, he heard you chuckling. It was an odd point in your marriage. You were closer, the closest you’ve been until now, but the feelings that were undeniably blooming underneath the surface had to force their way through the layer of sarcasm he and you spread out thickly over the course of past weeks. You were still foreign to affection but curiously exploring the topic with each other and Satoru was suffering severe heart palpitations because of it. You seemed to enjoy it though — your smiles and very purposeful touches were enough of a proof of it.

Satoru sometimes wished he could fluster you just as you fluster him and he would give the world to see your face tinted with deep, red blush because of him. He will see you like this one day, but for now, you were still learning to express civil behaviors in the confines of your shared house. You called it a success that fights were much rarer now than at the beginning; perhaps you grew accustomed to the amount of snarkiness and irony or maybe it mellowed down. Maybe the fact that you were spending more and more time together, now working at school side by side, had something to do with the much warmer relation shyly building itself up between you, or maybe it’s because of the long, late night talks you share every night when he’s laying in bed with you.

“Oh, you really should shut up sometimes,” you said and he felt you approaching.

“I should, huh?” He rolled his eyes and smirked, eager to put down the papers and pay his attention to you. His eyes, that first landed on your legs, moved up following the shape of your body until he met your gaze. “And who are you to order me such things?”

“Your wife, Satoru, we’re married, as you probably noticed,” you snapped back, but something in the tone of your voice told him, you’re not as bothered as the bite of your words suggested.

“Married,” he said, humming. His smirk faltered just slightly and for a second, he was silenced by your presence. He couldn’t bring himself to fight against it. “And hating every second of it.” But he’d still reached forward to take your hand.

This time, it's you who rolled eyes but you allowed your fingers to intertwine with his. You sat down next to him, dropping your weight onto the soft, bouncy cushions and positioning yourself in a way to be able to face him. The top of your knee met the side of his thigh and Gojo put the pile of formalities to the side. “You are annoying, you know that, right?”

“I’ve been told,” Satoru said, his mouth twitching into a small smile. “Several times. By you, actually.” He chuckled and shifted a little on the couch. His free arm was rested along the backrest and he leaned his head back, giving you a sideways look. “But I know I am,” he teased with a smirk now fully bloomed on his features. “I’m glad you’re at least acknowledging it.”

“Kinda hard to miss when it’s written all over your face,” you teased him back and he laughed, running his thumb along the side of your hand. Then, he was rubbing small circles onto your skin, grazing over the delicate spots of your wrist.

“Oh? You’ve been paying more attention to me than I thought.”

“You really need to shut up,” you sighed, exhaling slowly in feigned annoyance, but you were clearly amused by his antics and he was growing amused too. Gojo was testing you, seeing how far you were willing to push him. He had every intention of testing your boundaries, pushing your buttons. He was curious, excited even, to see where it could go. You were incredible, Satoru thought, because weeks before he was sure he was going to break you, get you to back off, but you just kept coming at him. He wasn’t complaining.

“But I don’t want to,” he said, his tone teasing as he leaned towards you, bringing his face inches from yours. Your eyes met and the air got a little thicker, a little more warm. “What are you gonna do about it?” His voice was quiet, murmur-like, challenging. He didn’t let go of your wrist or stop the soft circles of his thumb.

“Easy,” you scoffed, but a smile tugged on the corners of your mouth when you leaned in as well. Your head tilted and then, your lips were just breath away from his own. “I’ll shut you myself,” you whispered, right against his face.

Satoru nearly lost it when he felt your breath on his lips. His heart seemed to skip a beat, this wasn’t how he thought this conversation would go, but he wasn’t exactly complaining. He wasn’t supposed to get jealous, to want you, to need you, but now that you were this close, there was no way he was going to let it end here.

He leaned a little closer as well, closing the distance just a bit more. He was practically asking for your lips to meet and the way your voice teased him when you whispered– oh, the man was getting weak. For the first time, he was speechless. His eyes drifted shut, the feel of your lips so close being enough to set him on fire. The silence hung in the air for only a moment before he pulled you to him, his mouth crashing into yours. He wanted to feel you against him as much as he could. One of his hands went to the back of your head and he began to pull you even tighter.

And you purred. Climbing on top of him, straddling his lap and the moment your legs gripped onto his, every thought was lost, every desire was awakened. One of his arms naturally shifted to pull you against his body and the other was in your hair, tangled within the strands. He felt the heat of you on his chest, he felt you on top of him and in his mind, there was no place he wanted you more. Satoru couldn't get enough of you, of being close.

His back was against the couch, he was kissing you roughly, almost desperately as if there was no air on the planet anymore and you were the only saving grace. He had waited so long to do this, wished for it. Every morning he spent looking at your calm, sleeping face he wondered what would you do if he made a move, if he kissed you softly, if he woke you up with his touch.

And now that it was happening.

He didn’t want to waste a single second. Your hands run over his shoulders and brushed through his hair, pulling and tugging them ever so slightly and he shivered from how close to the edge it brought him. Your touch was electric, sending tendrils of pleasure right through his system, filling his veins with something warm and unknown, making him lose himself into the feeling.

Your tongues met, exploring each other and he was focused on the taste of your lips, the sharpness of your teeth closing teasingly on his lower lip from time to time, the sound of your breathing and how soft and smooth your skin was against his own. Your nose was brushing against his every time you shifted your head and each movement made him want more. He felt like he could spend the rest of his life kissing you.

Satoru’s hands wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer and he leaned forward, pressing himself against you. He had a good bit more muscle than you and he wasn’t afraid to use it if it meant pulling you even closer, leaving no space between. Your body fit with his, the two of you like puzzle pieces fitting together in the perfect spot.

His hands were moving, following the shapes of you, learning them as his fingers were brushing your sides, his thumb sliding along your back. He gripped your waist a little harder and then, his mouth fell to your neck. You whimpered and a small groan escaped his lips as he kissed you there, his lips and tongue making their way to the soft, delicate skin behind your ear and you gasped on air when his teeth grazed the shell of your lobe.

Your fingers tightened on the muscles of his shoulders, searching for a way to ground yourself and you struggled to stay present, when he made it so easy to get lost.

A smile tugged on Gojo’s lips, he felt how hot your cheek was against the side of his head when he peppered tender kisses along the side of your neck. Then, he pulled away from you for a moment, breathing heavily. His eyes flickered over your face, taking in the sight of you before they dropped to your mouth once more. You were so pretty like this, panting and with your lips parted and swollen, red and glistening with saliva. You were so gorgeous with blush spilled over your complexion, with your half-lidded eyes and your arms around him.

His hands were still on your waist, and his lips found yours again — just as hungry and desperate as it was before.

“God,” he breathed, between one kiss and another. His voice was rough and gruff, carried by the heavy breaths and want. “I can’t believe I’m married to you,” he said, his tone full of awe. “Positive.”

He felt your lips curve upwards and your body squirm against him, and that was enough to make him almost lose control over himself. His hand moved from your waist to the hem of your shirt, moving it just enough to get access to the skin beneath it. He kept kissing you and his fingers were shifting from the hem back to your waist, then back again. You were so soft, and his entire body was filled with the urge to explore it. To taste it. To learn it.

He leaned back just slightly, breaking the kiss and you let out a soft sigh. Your cheek was now pressed against his shoulder, your face exposed. He rested his head against yours, his eyes fluttered shut and all he could hear was a mixture of breaths and his own heart.

“We should stop,” he whispered, sighing and you hummed, nuzzling your nose into his neck, kissing him there.

And like that, Satoru melted.

His body relaxed against yours once more. The breath he took was long and shaky, the sensation of your lips on his neck making his brain short circuit. Any thought he’d had of actually stopping threatened to fell to the wayside.

“We should really stop,” he repeated, louder this time, but he wasn’t making any attempts to move you off his lap. His hands gripped you a little more instead. “You’re gonna make me lose control.”

“Isn’t that a tempting thought,” you teased, the softest mischief lining your tone and you gave the side of his neck a little kitten-lick. Satoru groaned when your tongue touched his neck. His hold tightened on you, his fingers digging into your waist.

“Oh god, don’t do that,” he whispered, sounding desperate. His arm came up to brush your hair out of your face and he leaned his head to the side, giving you better access to his neck, despite all of his instincts telling him to not do that.

“Don’t do what?” Your voice rumbled against his flesh, the sensitive area leading from his ear to his shoulder vulnerable and exposed to your whims.

"That."

"That?"

Gojo jolted the moment your teeth sunk into his skin, just barely hard enough to leave a mark and it made him lose it. With a deep groan, his head shot upwards. The hand that had been running through your hair now gripped your hip, and in an instant, he had you flipped so you were flat on your back, him on top and the papers he’s got from Yaga long forgotten and spread all over the floor.

He’ll worry about them later.

Now: you.

taglist: @kinny-away @anan-baban @lotomber @netflix-imagines @kawliflo @nishloves @ghostfacefricker6969 @thejujvtsupost @yozora7154 @cherrycolabarbedwirebedpost @stuckinmoilalaland @ae-mius @ropickle @chokesonspit @lansy-4 @mo0sin @just-pure-trash @foliea @bakarinnie

[abbysdruidess]

you ever see those tiktoks of ppl making to-go meals for their wives working at hospitals? i wanna do that for abby so badly 🥺 (i've seen some hcs of her being an orthopaedic surgeon and I think thats real af)

thank you for this anon<3 I was kind of in a writers block so this helped s a lot-send me more asks about my babygirl, my delightful wife.

l̳u̳n̳c̳h̳ ̳o̳f̳ ̳c̳h̳a̳m̳p̳i̳o̳n̳s̳ | modern au smut

wc: 1.3k (my longest!!)

tags: fluff, smut, domesticity, reader gets head for cooking for her wife(not that she wasn't getting it anyway), Abby eats it the whole damn thing on the kitchen counter

a/n: this is in the form of headcanons with a smut drabble in the end-lmk what you guys think<33

❦ I feel like in a modern au Abs would definitely choose a field that requires a lot of hard work(cause in the game also she overworked herself), so she's either a doctor or a construction worker(;)). I feel like she wouldn't want to choose to be a neurosurgeon like her father, bc as much as she admires his work, she doesn't want to be compared to him and she grew up with it, she wants something different. So her going into orthopaedics seems pretty reasonable.

❦ As for the lunch thing, I could totally see you making her lil lunches<3 She is careful about what she eats cause she wants maintain her muscled appearance, so she doesn't really go for the cafeteria food. Therefore, you make a habit of cooking food for the wife™️ every day. I imagine you getting one of these cute bento boxes and cook her some chicken, rice and salad the night before and set it up all cute<3

❦She'd always love it when you cook her food from your culture/country of origin also🥺because baby loved everything about you and wants to feel closer to you any chance she gets. In my country there's a lot of emphasis on fresh, unprocessed food so I imagine you growing a little garden outside your kitchen with fruits and vegetables, the works.

❦ Don't forget about dessert also-cooking a big tray of something like brownies or a batch of cookies on Sunday nights and put in on her lunch box with a note that goes like "finish your vegetables before you devour dessert!" or "eat lunch first, dear<3" . Bonus points if you kiss the note and get lipstick all over it.

❦ Maybe a coworker of hers notices one day(probably Manny cause he's the only one able to confront her about it) and goes up to her with a shit eating grin while she's eating it like "Damn doc, maybe that wife of yours can cook me up a lunch or too like yours sometime. She forgot to draw a heart on your brownies though." And normally if it was someone else she'd be pretty pissed off, because HOW DARE THEY mock the lunch her amazing, breathtaking wife worked so hard to make. But it's Manny so she knows he's just fucking around. SO Abby's like "Oh shut up Manny. You're just wish you had a girl who wants to make you lunch every day."

❦And truthfully she's extremely grateful for it, it's one of those things that reminds her why she married you, you care for her so much and cooking for her shows you look after her in one of the most vital, intimate ways possible. In the end of the week, once she comes home from work and sees you cleaning dishes in the sink, she walks up to you, leaving her little lunch box on the counter and wraps her big, beefy arms around you, while she whispers in your ear.

"I didn't thank you for lunch this week. I loved the cookies a lot.", and you can feel her breath slightly tickling your ear, the pads of her fingers toying with the hem of your shirt.

"It's alright Abs, I like making you food. You need to stay fit, big girl.", you respond, while you turn around and run your hands down her biceps.

"Hmm, thank you so much for caring about my health babe, or maybe you just like that your wife is packing such heavy guns under her shirt, huh?" she teases. You can't deny though, you love her figure. You can feel her hands on your hips as she tenderly lifts you on the counter, and you sigh happily.

"Yes Abby" you roll your eyes. "I'm soo thankful I have such a strong wife. It is quite beneficial at times.". Your hands ride up her shirt, cupping her firm, silken breasts. She exhales all wobbly, you know how sensitive her breasts are. But you know your little game won't last long.

She doesn't respond, just leans her face into yours so your noses bump and smiles. She quickly makes light work of your shirt, tossing it on the floor and goes for the button in your jeans next, as you help her by raising your hips off the counter. In one flawless motion, she has removed both your jeans and underwear, tossing them off with your shirt. Once the bare skin of your ass makes contact with the marble of the counter you shiver, and Abby brings her girthy palms to rest under your buttocks, warming up the skin there and slightly groping it.

"Lemme thank you for lunch. You are always so good to me. My pretty, little wife". She raises one of her hands and gently runs her pointer finger where your folds part, making you gasp. Your hands reach to her behind and cup her firm ass. "Alright." you whisper into her ear, as your eyes roll in the back of your head.

She then kisses a line from your jaw to your belly button, leaving sloppy, open mouth kisses where the drool from her mouth remains visible on your skin. You could only wish it would imprint on it, immortalising Abby's passionate mouth loving on your body. You shudder as you feel her delicately kissing your pussy, rubbing her tongue on your feminine lips as if she was making out with them. Her tongue teases the sensitive flesh, as the nerves in the most sensitive part of your body are abused by this wonderful, wonderful woman. You let out small, staccato moans, and your hands reach the flesh of your breasts, cupping them and toying with them deliciously. Abby continues the barrage on your cunt, licking up your clit as the room is filled with the sloppy sounds of sopping flesh.

You sit there, helpless but to take it, as you feel the coil inside you tightening up from the lovely tongue of your wife. You suddenly feels as though a band has snapped, and you are overcome with heavenly, internal bliss as your orgasm washes over you like a wave. Abby guides you through it, leaving soft kissing on your cunt and whispering "That's it baby, come like a good girl". Once it stops, you can feel her rising up to kiss you, her tongue rubbing yours in small circles as she lets you taste your salty tang.

"Mmm" you let out a soft giggle. "I'm so grateful I have such a caring attentive wife.", and she makes you gasp as she her fingers come up to your sensitive folds, dipping her hands into your hole and spreading your juices all over your inner thighs. You let out soft moans at the overstimulation but allow her to continue the assault on your cunt nonetheless, as she thumbs you clit gently, watching it twitch in between your legs.

"Damn right you are, baby. Wanna take this to the bedroom?" She leans into you and leaves a kiss on your ear lobe. "I'm not through with you yet." you don't reply just yet, because you know she still wants to have a go at you, and she will no matter what. You grumble a small yes at her as she picks you up bridal style and moves you to the bedroom, kicking your discarded clothes out of her way.

What could she say? Abby lives to please you, and you live to please her. And both of you are thankful for having each other to help whenever, whether that is with lunch and everything the other person needs.

whoaah, who wrote that🤔anyways, lmk what you guys think of it and ofc send me more asks abt Abby<33

[estapa-edwards]

SCARED - J. HUGHES

paring: Jack Hughes x fem! reader

word count: 1.8k

requested? yes - jack being in love with quinn’s long time best friend like everyone knows but her. and he’s never tried to confess because he doesn’t think she likes him and didn’t want to mess up the friendship with quinn.

warnings: use of y/n.

*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨*

Jack sat across the room, stealing glances at Y/N as she laughed at something Quinn said. He couldn't help but admire the way her eyes sparkled with joy, the way her smile illuminated the room. She had been Quinn's best friend for years, and Jack had been drawn to her from the moment they met.

But he kept his feelings buried deep, hidden beneath the guise of friendship. He didn't dare confess his love for Y/N, fearing it would complicate things between him and Quinn. Their friendship was precious to him, and he couldn't bear the thought of jeopardizing it.

During the weekend getaway at the Michigan house, Jack found himself captivated by every moment spent in Y/N's presence. From the first evening when she arrived, her laughter echoed through the halls, drawing everyone closer like moths to a flame.

The first meal together was a casual affair, filled with chatter and laughter. Jack found himself sitting across from Y/N, stealing glances whenever he thought she wasn't looking. Her smile was infectious, lighting up the room and warming Jack's heart in a way he hadn't experienced before.

As the weekend unfolded, Jack and Y/N found themselves naturally gravitating towards each other. They took leisurely walks by the lake, the gentle lapping of the water providing a soothing backdrop to their conversations. With each step, Jack felt himself falling deeper under Y/N's spell, her easygoing nature putting him at ease.

Late-night conversations became the highlight of Jack's day. Whether they were huddled around the fireplace or sitting out on the porch under a blanket of stars, Jack found himself opening up to Y/N in ways he never had before. They shared stories, dreams, and secrets, forming a bond that felt as natural as breathing.

"So, tell me about your favorite childhood memory," Y/N prompted, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.

Jack chuckled, memories flooding back. "Well, there was this one time when I was seven, and I decided to build a fort in the backyard. I spent the whole day gathering sticks and blankets, and when I was finally done, it was the best fort in the whole neighborhood."

Y/N's laughter filled the room, music to Jack's ears. "That sounds amazing! I wish I could have seen it."

They talked long into the night, sharing childhood anecdotes, dreams for the future, and everything in between. With each passing moment, Jack felt himself opening up to Y/N in ways he never had before, a sense of ease settling over him like a warm embrace.

*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨*

On another night, they sat out on the porch under a blanket of stars, the gentle rustle of the wind the only sound breaking the stillness of the night. The sky above was a canvas painted with a thousand twinkling lights, a sight that never failed to awe Jack.

"Isn't it beautiful?" Y/N whispered, her voice barely above a breath.

Jack nodded, his gaze fixed on the heavens above. "It's breathtaking. Makes you realize how small we are in the grand scheme of things."

Y/N leaned closer, her presence comforting in the quiet of the night. "But it also reminds us of the beauty in simplicity, the moments that take our breath away."

As the weeks passed by, Jack and Y/N found themselves constantly staying in touch, their messages and calls becoming a regular part of their daily routine. They laughed at each other's jokes, shared the mundane details of their days, and offered support and encouragement whenever it was needed.

Despite the undeniable connection between them, neither Jack nor Y/N dared to confess their feelings, not even to themselves. They danced around the truth, tiptoeing on the edge of something more, but always stopping short of taking the leap.

Yet, everyone around them seemed to sense the unspoken tension between Jack and Y/N. Quinn raised an eyebrow whenever Jack mentioned Y/N’s name, a knowing smile playing on her lips. Friends exchanged knowing glances whenever Jack and Y/N were in the same room, as if silently urging them to acknowledge the obvious.

*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨*

Jack sat on his bed, phone pressed to his ear, a smile playing on his lips as he listened to Y/N’s voice drift through the line.

Y/N: “…And then, can you believe it? I tripped over my own shoelaces in the middle of the street!”

Jack chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. “Only you, Y/N. Only you could manage to turn something as simple as tying your shoelaces into a comedy routine.”

Y/N laughed, the sound like music to Jack’s ears. “Hey, you’ve gotta find humor in the little things, right?”

Their conversation flowed effortlessly, touching on everything from their favorite movies to their most embarrassing childhood memories. Jack found himself opening up to Y/N in ways he never had before, a sense of ease settling over him like a warm blanket.

Y/N: “So, what about you, Jack? Any exciting plans for the weekend?”

Jack hesitated for a moment, the truth lingering on the tip of his tongue. But instead, he opted for a nonchalant response. “Oh, you know, just the usual. Probably catch up on some reading and maybe hit the gym.”

Y/N: “Sounds like a blast,” she teased, her tone playful.

Just then, the sound of the door opening interrupted their conversation, and Jack’s heart skipped a beat.

Quinn: “Hey, Y/N, hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

Y/N’s voice brightened. “Not at all, Quinn. Just catching up with Jack.”

Jack’s mind raced as he tried to mask the sudden nervousness that washed over him. He knew Quinn had a knack for picking up on things, and the last thing he wanted was for her to suspect anything between him and Y/N.

Jack: “Hey, Quinn. How’s it going?”

Quinn: “Can’t complain. Just thought I’d drop by and say hi. Didn’t mean to interrupt your phone call.”

Y/N: “No worries, Quinn. It’s always good to hear from you.”

As Quinn joined them in the conversation, Jack couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief wash over him. He knew that his feelings for Y/N were still safely tucked away, hidden beneath the guise of friendship. But as he glanced at Y/N’s name flashing on his phone screen, he couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, there was something more waiting to be discovered between them.

*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨*

The arena buzzed with excitement as the Devils faced off against the Canucks in a highly anticipated match-up. Jack, clad in his Devils jersey, skated onto the ice with determination, his eyes focused on the puck as he prepared for the game ahead. Beside him, Quinn, sporting the Canucks colors, exchanged a competitive grin, ready to give it their all.

As the game progressed, the tension on the ice was palpable. Jack and Quinn clashed repeatedly, each vying for control of the puck and striving to outmaneuver the other. The crowd roared with every shot, every save, caught up in the intensity of the match.

But amidst the flurry of action, Jack's attention was drawn to the stands, where a familiar figure caught his eye. There, in the sea of cheering fans, stood Y/N, her face illuminated by a bright smile as she waved enthusiastically.

Jack's heart skipped a beat as he watched Y/N, his gaze lingering on her figure. She wore a unique jersey, half Devils red and half Canucks blue, a playful nod to the rivalry between the two teams. Jack couldn't help but grin at the sight, feeling a surge of affection for Y/N wash over him.

Quinn noticed Jack's distraction and followed his gaze, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips as she caught sight of Y/N in the stands. He nudged Jack playfully, a knowing glint in his eye.

Quinn: "Looks like someone's got a fan in the stands."

Jack's cheeks flushed slightly as he tore his gaze away from Y/N, focusing back on the game at hand.

Jack: "Yeah, she's... supportive."

Quinn chuckled, his competitive spirit undiminished as he refocused his attention on the game. But Jack couldn't shake the image of Y/N from his mind, her presence in the stands serving as a reminder of the deeper feelings he harbored for her.

As the game wore on, Jack's determination only grew stronger. With Y/N's unwavering support fueling him, he pushed himself harder, skating faster, and shooting with precision. And when the final buzzer sounded, signaling the Devils' victory, Jack couldn't help but feel a swell of pride, knowing that Y/N had been there to witness his triumph.

*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨*

After weeks of dancing around their feelings, Jack and Y/N found themselves at a crossroads. The tension between them had reached a breaking point, the unspoken words hanging heavy in the air whenever they were together. And one fateful evening, as they sat on the porch under a blanket of stars, the weight of their emotions became too much to bear.

The silence between them was deafening, the only sound the soft rustle of the wind as it swept through the trees. Jack's heart raced in his chest as he stole a glance at Y/N, her profile illuminated by the moonlight.

Jack: "Y/N, there's something I need to tell you."

Y/N turned to him, her eyes searching his face for any sign of what was to come. "What is it, Jack?"

Jack took a deep breath, his hands trembling slightly as he prepared to lay bare his heart and soul. "I... I've been holding back for so long, afraid of ruining our friendship, but I can't keep it in any longer. I'm in love with you, Y/N. I have been for as long as I can remember."

Y/N's breath caught in her throat, her heart pounding in her chest as she processed Jack's words. She had suspected, had felt the same longing in her own heart, but hearing Jack confess his feelings aloud sent a shiver down her spine.

Y/N: "Jack, I... I don't know what to say."

Jack's heart sank at the uncertainty in Y/N's voice, fearing he had made a mistake in laying his feelings bare. But before he could utter another word, Y/N reached out and took his hand in hers, her touch sending a jolt of electricity through him.

Y/N: "I've been holding back too, Jack. Afraid of losing our friendship, of what might happen if I admitted how I feel. But the truth is, I'm in love with you too."

Jack's eyes widened in disbelief, his heart soaring with a joy he had never known. In that moment, everything else faded away—their fears, their doubts, their uncertainties—leaving only the two of them, bathed in the glow of the moonlight and the warmth of their newfound love.

And as they leaned in to share their first kiss, Jack knew that some risks were worth taking, especially when it came to matters of the heart. For in Y/N's arms, he had found everything he had ever been searching for, and more.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hey🤍 may I please request a fluff/romantic or Bi Han. I know a lot of people don’t think he is capable of being romantic but a girl needs some fluff for Bi Han please. Maybe something were he is sweet and caring only towards reader and everyone else he is normal Bi Han. Love your writing thank you🤍

This got shoddy at the end of the drab. 🦦

You were lost within your own head for while when Bi-Han had appeared at your side, gingerly taking your hand within his own, drawing a gasp from your lips as you felt his cold fingers intertwine with yours. ‘Bi-Han. You’re here.’ You breathed out, smiling instantaneously upon being greeted with the beautiful dark eyes of the man you had happily promised your heart to. Your grasped his hand tighter, almost as though you were checking if he was actually with you, rather then some illusion you’ve coincidentally conjured up.

‘Of course I’m here, little bird.’ Bi-Han told you whilst pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, letting them linger there for a while before pulling away to gently rest his forehead against your own. His eyes locked on yours, as though he were fearful to look away in the instance that you wouldn’t be there when he looked back. ‘For I could never be content as to keep you waiting for longer then needed.’ He adds as he took this moment to ingrain you eternally within his mind, so that he may never forget who he was fighting for, who he was carving a better future for and who he would vigorously defend till his last breath escaped from him.

Gods did Bi-Han hate being separated from you for long periods of time, truly believing that one day Kuai Liang and Tomas would try to enact revenge for his supposed betrayal, by taking away the one person who gave him true purpose in this life; you. However he couldn’t completely disregard his duties as Grandmaster, for it would be sacrilege. Bi-Han was forever grateful that you never held that against him, and instead fully understand that he couldn’t fully commit to being your lover when there was so much work yet to be done.

‘If it was for you?’ You inquired. ‘I’d wait for as long as I must to see my beloved home safe and sound. So you needn’t worry in keeping me waiting.’ You finished as you then softly pecked his plush lips, cooing softly once pulling away from him, enjoying how Bi-Han fruitlessly attempted in following after your lips. For a man as cold as ice he was quite warm and gentle, but you knew he was only like this for you and you often times felt spoilt by being blessed to see this side of him; The side of him that would constantly hold you face in between his hands when checking you for injuries, his thumbs stroking the skin of your cheeks with such gentleness, as though he thought you were going to break. You even saw Bi-Han during his most stubborn and his most angriest of moments and yet still you called him the most breathtaking man you’ve ever met because to you that was the honest truth.

‘I just don’t want to wish you being bored of me when I come home.’ Bi-Han admitted softly. ‘You deserve a man who is willing to be at your beck and call, to be with you from the early hours of morning, to the later hours of night. You shouldn’t have to settle for less because you feel as though that’s all there is going for you, and instead you should strive for more for you deserve more, way more then any man could possibly give.’ Bi-Han truly meant what he said, he truly believed that you deserved better, never to tolerate less, for he felt like he wasn’t giving you all that he possibly could and it pained him greatly because you’ve him so much throughout the duration of your relationship.

Bi-Han only felt as it was only reasonable to give you an out shoulder you feel as though you weren’t being valued enough, as he always tended to put you and your well-being first and foremost in just about everything. But you saw what he was doing almost instantly and you weren’t about to allow Bi-Han to make a offer a solution that’ll only end up hurting the both of you because despite his tiering duties as Grandmaster, he was a dedicated, loyal and caring lover. You couldn’t have to ask for a better man and never would for Bi-Han was it for you, he was the one.

‘Bi-Han.’ You murmured, taking your free hand to hold his cheek, stroking it reassuringly as you watched him visibly relax within your hold, moving his head to kiss your inner wrist. ‘To be bored of you would be like to be bored of living for while you are a very busy man, you are the most attentive, sweet, caring man I have ever met.’ You pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose before brushing your nose against his, breathing him in as deep as you could. ‘Not once have you ever made me feel less important or less valued. Never. You made me feel worshiped, you made me feel loved, you always found room for me within your busy schedule, and I could never find a appropriate way to express my gratitude to you but I hope to everyday.’ You concluded, hoping that you had gotten your point across that you weren’t going anywhere without him.

‘You don’t need to express anything to me, my beloved,’ Bi-Han reassured you, kissing your inner wrist once more. ‘For the sole fact that you still being here with me despite all my flaws is the biggest gesture I could have ever received and I’m eternally thankful that you haven’t yet given up on me. Do it should be me expressing my gratitude, not you.’ Bi-Han finishes. ‘There’s no need for that.’ You assured him. ‘You’ve done enough and you’ve just gotten back from a long mission. You must be exhausted and in need of rest.’ You then began to pull Bi-Han towards your shared bed by his arm.

Bi-Han wasn’t one to complain, as it meant he got to make up for lost time by laying in your arms and leeching off of your warmth whilst putting his aching body to rest, something his soul had yearned to do the moment he return to the Lin Kuei. ‘That sounds perfect, little bird. That sounds perfect.’

[spacebarbarianweird]

If I Had A Voice, I Would Scream

The Cloak of Dragomir is finally found, and Astarion can walk in the sunlight. But magic comes with a terrible price.

Based on Mute!Tav Headcanon

Tags: f!Tav, disability, post-game, established relationships, nurturing Astarion

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

Astarion basks in the sunlight, arms wide open. It feels like cat fur – delightfully tickly and warm.

The world unfolds in vibrant colors – the blue sky, green valleys, and distant mountains. Daylight reveals a beauty he's long forgotten, absolutely breathtaking.

Astarion's black cloak dances in the wind, showing only his palms and a half of his face.

The Cloak of Dragomir. The artifact that allows vampires to stroll in the sunlight, cross running waters, and invade homes without an invite. Astarion doesn't even have to wrap himself entirely. He pulls up the hood and lets the cloak cascade over most of his body.

Walking in the sunlight becomes a reality. Such a thin, delicate fabric opens him to a world of possibilities.

He still can't see himself in the mirror, but even the tadpole couldn't fix it, so Astarion doesn't hold a grudge.

But-

Astarion glances back at the small campsite. Tav is nowhere to be seen; she sleeps in their tent. The protective spells guarding the Dragomir Cloak have taken a toll on her strength. Astarion wishes she could join him in the sunlight. After enduring years confined to darkness and liminal spaces, Tav deserves to bask in the day's warmth alongside him.

She can't.

A piercing screech rends the air, drawing Astarion's gaze skyward. There, high above, a red dragon soars, its massive form appearing no larger than a bird from this distance.

Astarion and Tav had been hunting for the cloak since they departed from Baldur's Gate. Initially, it was just a flicker of hope, a phantom possibility. There may have been something out there to aid Astarion to walk in the sun. A ring, a spell, a blessing, or maybe even a cure – the possibilities were as vast and unpredictable as the wonders of Faerun.

They found the vampire cloak in the Underdark, protected by a dozen spells and traps. However, the items came with a condition – one had to provide something of equal value to obtain it. A fair exchange, a valuable possession for a valuable possession.

Astarion tried to dissuade Tav. The ghostly guardian's demands needed clarification. What exactly did he want in return? Tav's life, perhaps half of it? A potential imprisonment or transformation into a monstrous being? It could be something intangible, like memories, skills, or sanity…

There is nothing worse than making pacts with supernatural entities, whether hags, devils, or vampires. Trust a Baldurian magistrate.

"We can't just walk away!" Tav pleaded.

He objected and attempted to reason with her, searching for alternative solutions. Yet, deep down, they both knew there was none. Tav gestured towards the radiant day outside, the lure of stepping into the sunlight undeniable.

Astarion reluctantly agreed, but he was supposed to make the sacrifice, not her. However, before Astarion could intervene, Tav reached for the cloak. A valuable lifesaving thing in exchange for something equally vital.

Astarion shouted at her. How could she be so reckless? Why did she never ever listen to him? When his tirade ended, he steeled himself for her response.

Tav remained silent. He would never hear a single word from her.

The price was her ability to talk.

… The dragon disappears in the skies, and Astarion returns to the camp.

Tav can't speak to the people they meet. She can't talk to the quest givers. She can't simply say what she wants and needs and even writing skills are little help since most people in Faerun are illiterate.

Astarion wanted to summon the guardian back and return this cursed thing, but it wouldn't improve anything.

The price was paid.

And as with any curse created by a vampire, it was irreversible.

Astarion sometimes wants to burn this cloak, to rip it apart. He wishes they never learned about its existence.

Sure, it could be worse. Blindness or deafness would be much worse than being just mute. A thousand paladins and clerics give an oath of silence. But they have a choice to break it.

Astarion looks inside the tent. Tav is still asleep, curled in her side of the bedroll. Despite the warm temperature, she is wrapped in blankets. Looking at her, he feels warmth in the undead heart as if a small sun pulsates within his ribcage.

He needs to find a solution. To teach Tav to speak Thieves Cant? It's basically sign language, profane and rude, but very practical. Or lip-reading? If Tav "pronounces" everything clearly, he can recognize the words.

There are also telepathy spells…

He hears a sniff.

It happens so unexpectedly that Astarion first can't realize what he has just heard.

Tav tries to cover her head with the blanket, pretending she is still asleep. And not crying uncontrollably.

"Tav, my sweet, I know you are awake," he enters the tent and removes the cloak, kneeling beside his love.

Another sniff. Louder and more desperate.

Astarion hesitates. It's usually Tav consoling him after nightmares and yet another breakdown. It's her hugging him when it's just too much to bear.

And Astarion has never seen her crying like that. He strokes the blanket, hoping she feels his touch through the thick fabric. "I am here."

He almost adds, "Speak to me," but bites his tongue.

As Tav ceases to conceal her silent tears, trembling and shuddering, Astarion grapples with the profound weight of the silence that envelops them.

He has never realized how talkative and loud she used to be.

As Astarion pulls the blanket away, he unveils Tav curled up in a fetal position, her eyes swollen and face red. The upper part of the blanket is damp, soaked in tears.

Astarion feels a desperate urge to run away, and escape the overwhelming responsibility of being a caregiver. He fears that his presence will only exacerbate her pain, that he'll inflict more harm than healing.

No. He can't do this to her. She needs him.

He sighs, wrapping his hands gently around her waist, guiding her to sit on his lap. Cradling her, Astarion kisses her cheek.

"I miss it," he begins, carefully choosing words. "I miss your voice. You used to talk to me, asking if you could touch or kiss me. I miss the way you spoke about my own self-worth. Your laughter."

Tav presses her face against his chest. He kisses her forehead.

"Once, I asked you what in nine hells you'd found in me. Of course, I knew the answer – who else would be so handsome and smart like me? But what I couldn't understand was what attracted you in the first place, considering I had tried to slice your throat. Remember what you told me? You said you had fallen in love with my voice. You said you just wanted to hear me speaking to you".

"The thing is… it was the same for me. There, on that cursed Nauthiloid, I'd heard you before I saw you. I would never admit it, but I liked how you sounded. Not this drunk voice of my victims, not an order from the master. Just you being so stubborn about survival."

Tav silently cries, and Astarion sees her lips moving. He tries to concentrate on them, figuring out what she is saying, but she trembles, and he can't work anything out.

"I wish we never found this thing. If I knew what it would cost, I would accept fate as a creature of the night. I was selfish. I wanted more than I had, but what I had was enough. Freedom and you, it was enough. I didn't need the sun to feel happy. But now… We have to work it out."

Tav nods and finally pulls away from his shirt, looking into Astarion's eyes. He smiles at her, and she, with hesitation, smiles back.

He keeps talking. He talks like a lovestruck drunkard in a tavern who needs the strongest wine to confess their feelings.

About the night he realized he was in love with her.

About tensed days when he tried to cast this feeling away. How he was afraid to hear the rejection. And how he felt when Tav admitted she felt something, too.

Her protecting him from the Drow bitch. Agreeing on helping with the scars. Saving him from the gravest mistake he could make.

A night in the cemetery when he forgot about any decency, if he even had one, pinning Tav down to the ground. How they returned to the inn, all covered in soil as if they were gravedigging.

Tav is his first. She is his first sentient being to feed on. Her blood is addictive, divine – no one tastes like her. He's had thousands of opportunities to understand this.

She is the first person who he made love to. He had no idea what it was supposed to feel like until that night in the graveyard.

Tav sits up and wraps her hands around his neck.

"I will never leave you, you hear me, Tav?" Astarion affirms, and she nods in acknowledgment. "But we need a way to communicate," he says, gently pulling her away. She clings to him like a kitten, reluctant to be separated.

"Okay then," Astarion decides, reaching for the cloak. With Tav cradled in his arms, he steps into the sunlight, carrying her in a bridal embrace. Together, they ascend to the cliff he stood before, where he lingers, allowing her to share in the picturesque view.

The dragon is nowhere to be seen, but Tav finally stops crying, looking at the distant mountains.

Astarion puts her on the ground, and they sit in front of each other.

"I want to be able to lip-reading you. It's easy. I did it before; I must adjust to your pretty mouth."

Tav silently giggles and then leans back with a smile. Now, she looks like her real self – funny, strong, brave. Asatrion melts by simply looking at her.

"I need you to talk to me."

Tav spreads her legs a bit and bites her lower lip. Her head tilts a bit, demonstrating the right side of the neck.

"My pretty darling, if this mouth of yours doesn't do what I asked, I will find another use for it."

She smiles, and her lips form a sentence.

YOU. ARE. A. FREAK. AND. I. LOVE. YOU.

"Well, if you don't stop teasing me, I will make both your lips and tongue work."

I. DON’T. MIND.

He chuckles, studying her face.

"I am surprised you were single when I met you. Lucky me."

NO. ONE. IS. LIKE. YOU.

"Keep going."

DON’T. BE. UPSET. WE. ALL. LOSE. SOMETHING. IT’S. A. PART. OF. LIFE. IT. WIIL. BE. EASIER. FOR. US. WITH. THE. CLOAK.

"Yes. It will. Are you upset?"

I. AM.

"I will teach you Thieves Cant. It's easy. I suggest telepathy spells, but I don't know how to learn them.

NO. I. DON'T. WANT. TO. GET. IN. YOUR. HEAD. YOU. NEED. YOUR. AUTONOMY. I. AM. NOT. BREECHING. IT" "

She keeps talking. Telling different nice things. The more she talks, the more she is her old self. Kind. Funny. Smart. Horny. And by the sunset, he forgets he doesn't hear her voice because they finally properly speak.

When the sun sets, he removes the cloak, letting the moonlight wash his hair and skin.

I.AM. TIRED, Tav pouts. CARRY. ME. BACK.

Astarion obliges and receives a kiss when she is in his hands again.

As the night falls, it gets much colder, and Tav is shivering when they return to the tent. She quickly sneaks under the blanket and makes an inviting gesture.

Astarion lays beside Tav and nuzzles her collarbone. She kisses him goodbye and falls asleep.

He doesn't need to meditate yet, so he lets himself drown in Tav's warmth and steady heartbeat. Astarion presses her tightly and lets his own tears flow.

"I wish it never happened," he whispers in the dark.

--

Tag list

@tragedybunny @caitlincat-95 @tallymonster @astarionsbeloved @lumienyx @fayeriess @aoirohi @elora-the-slutty-songstress @veillsar @astarion-imagine-archive @micropoe10 @starlight-ipomoea @herstxrgirl

[bitchyycapricorn]

The Girl in the Mirror

Tony Stark x Insecure!Reader

Masterlist

Wordcount: 1.5k

Synopsis: Tony plans a whole night for you, hoping to pop the big question at the end of the night. Trouble arises when an old high school friend has something to say about your appearance.

Warnings: Fluff, Angst, body insecurity, body shaming, cursing.

Request by: @lilacprincessofrecovery

AN: not edited

Your eyes lock on the figure standing in front of you in the mirror. Her eyes are beautiful, and her hair falls perfectly, capturing a special kind of beauty. She looks graceful and elegant in her red dress. The dress that synchs in at the waist and cascades out around her feet into a pretty train. The dress that’s top compliments her chest, while the slit in the leg adds a scandalous touch. You find yourself distant from the woman who stares back at you, barley aware that she is you. The only notable aspect that gives it away and seems to repeatedly capture your attention is her stomach. Your stomach. You stare at the way the dress lays over it, hating it in a thousand different ways. The sight alone put a bad taste in your mouth and makes you want to disappear right there and then.

You feel shame and embarrassment beginning to bubble up in your stomach, making you want to throw up on your designer dress. How was it that someone like you could make it somewhere like here. Living in a modern day palace with the most stunning man to walk the earth. Knowing that you look like this: an out of place and disgusting thing. An abomination to all beauty standards. You think this as your eyes train back to your stomach.

A knock on the door puts you out of your haze, drawing you back to a bittersweet reality. You’re about to attend a grand ball in your honor, one being put on by your boyfriend of almost four years. This is suppose to be a happy and unforgettable moment, yet the sight of yourself makes you feel as though you’ll ruin the whole event by just attending.

“Sweetheart we’re going to be late, we have to get go-“ Tony cut himself short at the site of your figure lingering in front of the mirror. Sometimes he has a hard time convincing himself that you were in fact from earth, not another planet where beautiful goddesses roam. Everything about you is just breathtaking. Your silhouette alone is enough to put every man and woman on earth to shame in Tony’s eyes. After all, you were his woman and his woman alone.

You lift your gaze to meet Tony’s in the mirror, embarrassment flowing through your flushed body. “Why are you staring at me like that?” You speak.

Tony purses his lips before giving a wide smirk. “Why wouldn’t I be looking at you like that? You look ravishing my dear.” He hums as he approaches your stiff body.

“I look like an inflated hot air balloon Tony,” you huff, hating the way you look even more than you did just five minutes ago.

“If you’re a hot air balloon, than I want to be a passenger,” He snickers, placing his hands on your waist.

You raise an eyebrow at Tony, thrown off at his response. “What?” You laugh.

Tony huffs, realizing you did not get the joke. “You know, because I want to get inside yo-“

“Tony!” You shriek, forgetting all about your previous dilemma and now focusing on your boyfriend who looks as handsome as ever.

“Y/N!” Tony shrieks back jokingly. You let out a small laugh, relaxing in his presence. “You look beautiful tonight darling,” he says as he pulls you into a warm embrace.

You feel your stomach starting to twist again, already bring back the feelings of dread and anguish towards the way your body looks in a dress that hugs your figure. “Tony…” you whisper softly, “I feel awful.” Your voice quivers as you open up about the thoughts that have been drowning you since you slipped the stunning red dress on. “I feel so out of place, I just wish I could disappear.” You murmur.

Tony frowns at your words, taking in your appearance once more before speaking. “Y/N, you look absolutely stunning tonight, and don’t you dare think or say otherwise. Every time I see you my breath is taken away by your beauty. You are the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever had the honor of laying my eyes on.” Tony whispers as he spins you around slowly, drinking up your perfect body.

“But Tony, look at me, I’m-I’m” you stutter.

“Y/N, I know you feel that way and I’m so sorry. I wish you could see yourself the way I see you. How perfect and lovely you are.” He hums as he pulls your body into his. “You are the most beautiful woman to ever walk this earth my love,”

“Promise?” You ask, looking up at him through your lashes.

“Promise.” His lips were on yours just seconds later, savoring your sweet taste. He kisses you for what feels like forever, yet somehow forever isn’t long enough, because when he does pull away you find yourself missing the feeling of his lips on yours. “Come on, we have a ball to attend.”

+++

You find yourself swaying in Tony’s arms to the loud music that’s blaring from the large speakers placed all around the room. Tony had been sweeping you off your feet since you got to the ball, never once leaving your side. He made it a habit to whisper small praises and words of affirmation into your ear as the night progresses, refusing to let you forget just how perfect you are.

You were about two hours into the dance and everything seemed to be going well, that is until Tony goes to get punch and you overhear him talking to an old friend from school.

“She’s got a pretty face man but her body? You definitely could’ve done better in that department. I mean, she must have a great personality or something.” The man snickers as he looks you up and down.

Tony’s face begins to heat up with rage, his blood boiling at the mere mention of you being anything less than perfect. “I’ll have you know her body is the definition of perfection.” He growls, grip tightening on the glass in his hand. “Honestly, you have no right to even be looking at my girlfriends body. Let alone speaking about it.” He hisses through clenched teeth.

“Oh come on man, you know I’m right. She’s just a bit..big. She could stand to lose a few, or hell even a lot of pounds.” Tony’s ‘friend’ chuckles.

“Big? As if you would even know what ‘big’ is. Clearly you’ve never seen anything big on your own body.” Tony shoots back, glancing over at your now embarrassed and ashamed face. “Listen here. My girlfriend’s body, size, literally any of my girlfriend and soon to be wife, is none of your fucking business. So how about you turn around and walk your sorry ass out of here before I do it for you.”

The man’s eyes go wide, not expecting that Tony would actually stand up for you. Not when there were, in his opinion, much hotter girls wandering around in much skimpier dresses. “Come on man, don’t be like that.” he finally says, looking nervously at Tony.

You could feel your face heat up, both from becoming Tony’s wife, but also from the way his ‘friend’ was speaking about you. “I’m not messing around, you leave on your own free will, or, I escort you out.” Tony was trying to keep his calm, but he was slowly losing patience with the incel that stands before him. “Actually, no. You don’t even deserve the chance to peacefully leave. Not after the shit you just said about my girlfriend.” Tony looks up, locking eyes with one of his security staff. With a quick motion of his hand the man was getting dragged out the building. Everyone pauses for a moment, unsure on whether they should continue dancing and chatting.

You were quick to make your way over to Tony, picking up your dress up off the floor so you wouldn’t trip over it. “Tony, what was that?” You whisper quietly, not liking the sudden attention.

Tony on the other hand thought this a perfect moment to make a statement. Putting his foot down once and for all. Getting down on one knee, Tony began to speak. “Y/N, listen, I know that I am a mess. And I know that you also think I’m a mess who can’t keep up with his responsibilities and who doesn’t know when to quit. But you keep me on track darling, you keep me grounded and out of trouble. I wouldn’t be where I am today without you. I want to give you everything, because you are everything. Y/N L/N, you are the most beautiful, most amazing woman I have ever met, will you marry me?”

You let out a small gasp, hand flying to your mouth. “Tony I- yes! Yes Tony yes!” You breathe, looking at the beautiful engagement ring in the beautiful red velvet box. You stick your hand out and watch Tony slip the ring onto your finger.

“I’m so glad you said yes,” Tony chuckles as he takes you into an embrace, kissing you slowly.

“Well Mr. Tony Stark, there isn’t anyone I’d rather marry.” You beam, allowing him to kiss you once more.

+++

TAGLIST

[lackadaisycats]

Sooo. Long-time casual follower of different Lackadaisycats accounts, throughout DA, Tumblr, etc. And, I'd only ever done a spattering of reading in the mid '16s when the comic really caught my attention. I ironically read more of the bonus material than the actual pages. I fell off it while working on my own projects [y'know how it goes], but tonight after watching the pilot a while ago, decided to finally sit and read all of the archive. And. Holy shit. I know 1 ask won't do it justice, but the amount of love and work and time you've put into this is frankly astonishing. The author's notes show but a fettered glimpse into how much time and research has gone into your craft. And as other have noted, the improvement in art quality and skills over time is, without hyperbole, breathtaking. You've not finished the comic, but have already accomplished more in its run than most hope to do. And, frankly, it's inspiring. I know you've heard that dozens of times, but I'm saying it again, because I know the unique, special kind of 'torment' that comes with working on a project like this. Carrying it on your back, putting it out there in hopes that, despite your love for it being all it needs to exist, others will like and enjoy it too. Pushing through those times where you wonder 'is it worth it'. Going so far as to even make a WONDERFUL animated pilot off of it and bring it to life in yet ANOTHER fantastic way. You've created something special, which you show your love for in so many ways, and you've inspired countless people through your craft, your dedication, and just generally being an awesome person to the communities around you. I still reference multiplicities of your drawing tip guides, the Rocky pancakes comic lives in my head rent free along with SO many of your expressions, and your evolution of color and form and lighting in the comic left me with no choice but to download several pages just to gawk at and reference later for studies. Your work has shown me that, so long as I keep at something, it can turn into something beyond what I could have fathomed at the beginning. For everything you've done since the 2000's, and for everything you continue to do in the future, I genuinely wish you the best of luck, health, and that creation always comes as easily to you as it can.

Best regards,

-VT

Thank you so much - both for the kind thoughts and comments, and the wonderful Mordecai artwork here.

It does get very difficult at times to keep moving forward with long term projects, trudging through the self-doubt and trying to navigate life's curveball upheavals. It's been the source of so many good things in my life too, though, and comments like yours really drive home how worthwhile it's been to stick with it. ❤

[whorediaries-09]

SO SORRY TO ADD ANOTHER A OTHER REQUEST :( BUT CAN WE MAYBE HAVE LIKE A SOFT NICE DATE THAT SLOWLY TURNS INTO SMUT WITH RON? PLEASEE? Also hui :3

hi lovey, thank you for sending in the request, hope you like it!

i think he knows; pairing- ronald weasley x reader warning(s)- mentions of war, 18+ content, fluff. a/n- contrary to popular belief, i am in fact quite alive and breathing.

little train.

' he got that boyish look that i like in man, i'm an architect i'm drawing up the plans. '

going on a date after the war was...intimidating, to put it in within a play of a single word. and surely ron wasn't expecting himself to be in a sticky situation with the pretty healer who had tended to his wounds after the traumatizing events. he ran his thumb over the now healed scar.

it'd tell a tale.

he remembered you. he could recall the dullness of worry in your eyes. the shine of hope in your eyes. even if your hair was matted with blood and rubble, you were the diesel to the fire that so timidly burned. the bruise under your eye was fresh, deep blue blackening, a shard of glass hanging from your chin.

he wish he could paint the blue golden.

with the last tug at the leather strap of the watch around his wrist, he decided he'd get the flowers. it would add a nice touch, a 'gentlemanly effect', he liked to think. even if it did seem to be a bit cliche. perhaps he thought of the smile on your face when you got the flowers (he was hopeful that you liked flowers). or perhaps he was just afraid of the aspect of a hormone rushing pregnant ginny hitting him on the head because of his 'less gentlemanly thoughts'

he remembered harry patting his shoulders, throwing out advices. ron rolled his eyes. he recalled when harry was swooning over cho chang, describing his very 'wet' kiss. he kicked harry in the shin, pulling a laugh out of his friend, grumbling harry wasn't much of a 'playboy' either.

so, he found himself standing in the flower shop, having absolutely no ideas about flowers. he watched the half a dozen barely bloomed pink roses being tied together. god forbid you weren't allergic to them. or didn't laugh at him for being too cliched.

he wished hermione had actually written that book about girls.

*-

it was fruitful, his attempt to choose the flowers. he'd recognized it from the shine in your eyes and the beautiful curve adorned on your lips. he'd found you beautiful when you were on the brink of death, disguised as a savior, so heaven sent. but now, when you held his hand, touching the scar you'd mended, talking away about stuff he couldn't really catch up on, your hair smelling like something so desirable, he found you breathtaking. he was mesmerized by you.

you felt like a forbidden treasure, the diesel to the fire in his heart that raged it's flames ever so timidly.

you'd liked the flowers. ron silently thanked the gods that you weren't allergic. you liked a lot of things, he learnt. cats, photography, literature, music, and a good fuck... was amongst the few things you liked. he was sure you'd said that intentionally just to pull out a reaction. the evil trick was recognized by the pretense innocent mischievousness in your eyes.

he was glad he coughed the drink in his mouth instead of spitting it right onto your face. you'd smiled, throwing him a dirty wink, twirling the straw of lemonade with your tongue. the dim carnival light angled your features, bringing out the best of your bone structure.

'well, to put it correctly, i enjoy a good fuck...' you said, after ron had recovered from his coughing haze. he wiped the edge of his lips, a nd putting on his best front, he responded,

'well then i can promise you an enjoyable time with me sweetheart,'

it was said with an awkward stance, a constant shift of octaves. but it still made you flush as the flame of the fire of his burning heart tickled your skin. you'd be his fuel, his diesel. you'd be his muse, the tale he recite.

*-

by the time it was time to leave you by the doorstep, the sky dizzied itself across the luminated street scattered with gravel. his fingers were melted within the crevices of yours, fit snug like a puzzle. he liked the way you laughed, the way your voice did throbbed so serenely against his eardrums while narrating tales, the way your eyes lit up against the dim lighting. 'liked' would be an understatement.

for the first time in his life, he was thankful for his freckles. he hoped they hid the flush of his pale skin.

'you're...kind,' you stated, shimmying on your tiptoes.

'hmm... why do you say so, sweetheart?' he asked.

'i know you live on the other side of town, and you came by to drop me...' a stupid line pops up in his head, but he doesn't say anything. he almost bites his lip to not let his boyish thought control his action. so, he smiles.

and lingers. holding your hand. the distance between him and you isn't much, the little roof over the entrance of your house providing him the needed protection from rain.

he can feel your breathe upon his already warm skin. it excruciates his patience. it plays with his senses, the sweet fragrance of petrichor infused with a scent, that reeks of you. it's blissful.

still, like the boyish man he is, he does nothing. he lingers, letting a silence wrap the little bubble of tranquility. it's comforting, in a strange way. he can't figure out what to do, when the sound of the rain, the running vehicles and the croaking frogs blur, when he feels your fingers tighten around his.

your lips lingers a little too close to his, planting a soft kiss on his cheek. or rather the side of his mouth. his mind reels when you place forward your request, your thought.

'the rain won't stop. not now anyways.' you whisper, lips brushing his earlobe. he doesn't recognize what takes over him within the click of your doorknob and the placement of your hand on his waist, as you pull him towards you.

but he enjoys it, the sudden rush of hormones. it's quick, it's something he's not felt for a long time. so long, it almost feels foreign. perhaps, it is. it's a warmth he's never felt, no never in his teenage years has he ever felt the need of touch. he's never realized the need, he thinks.

it's maddening, your touch all over his body when he finally crashes his mouth with yours, pushing you against the unlocked door of your house. he stumbles as you grab your neck, breathlessly cradling your cheek within the crevice of his palm. the scar you'd fixed touches the one on your chin.

it's a tale to be kept silent, to be a concealed message. like a string of fate, perhaps.

his teeth nips softly at the bare skin of your neck, your back pressed against the cold wall of your house. he feels the heat radiate off your body, moans leaving your mouth. your name rolls of his tongue as your fingers pull his hair, pulling his face away from your neck.

'is this okay?' he asks, concerned. he thinks he's fucked it up, by jumping on your bones. to his relief, you smile,

'it's...more than okay. can we go to the bedroom please?'

'sure, sweetheart. whatever makes you comfortable.'

*-

you've got your hair tangled up in his ginger locks. the moans spilling from your throat echoes through against the walls of your bedroom. his lips aren't on yours, as much as he'd love to taste your moans and sounds, your noise is honey-dripping gold in his eardrums.

his cock plunges deep within you, till your room loses the smell of your sandalwood candles. it reeks of sex and skin, the physical intimate bond of unheard individuals. it reeks of something magical, a golden desire painting over deep blue bruises.

it's fueling, to feel his touch on your skin. it diesels the fire that ignites within you when he snaps his hips against yours. the sound of his gasps, your moans, and skin slapping fills the room. you roll your eyes, as he thrusts himself angled perfectly so as to hit your sweet spot. you see white, moaning his name,

'fuck please, ron right there,'

his silver chain dangles over your lips. you wrap your lips around it, bringing his face closer. he gasps, his finger slipping between your connected bodies. his calloused thumb rubs over your stimulated clit, making you arch your hips, searching for more friction.

'you're making me feel so good, sweetheart,' he moans as you clench your walls around his girth. the coil building in your stomach drives your to the edge of your sanity.

'yeah?' you whisper back, half heaving, half controlling your urge to scream. it's heavenly, the combination of his perfect thrusts, the rubbing of his finger against your clit. you wrap your legs around his body, pulling him closer, to feel him, to touch him.

his girth plunges in you, and you feel your coil unraveling through you, your thighs shaking as the orgasm bubbles over the brink. it's pure heavenly insanity, a break through from the scorching insatiable desire for him.

you feel him release within you, wrecking your guts. your orgasm paints his abs, as his lump body falls over yours, his weight dead. he hides his face into your neck, smiling. the tranquil silence settles, carving a little bubble of comfort. neither of you hear the rain pattering against the gravel.

perhaps, truly it was just an excuse. excuse for a fate, for a destiny. to rebound broken strings of souls.

'you don't break promises do you?' you ask, laughing.

****************************************************

taglist - @reggieisfit @siriuslycaptainofthedawntreader @jamespottergf @eternallybipanicking @fictional-magic @iamgayforyourmom1510

(if you want to be tagged please send a request through my inbox. specify whether you want to be tagged in just the series or all my upcoming works.)

[nejiverse]

INTIMACY WITH THE ENEMY

Fyodor Dostoevsky

In which Y/n and Fyodor claim to be enemies but enemies don’t kiss each other nor do they touch each other the way they do. Fem! Reader

cw: making out, mentions of knives, suggestive themes, mentions of breasts, fyodor marks reader’s skin with a knife.

1.1k words

"You are utterly breathtaking".

Y/n was trying to be indifferent. It doesn't do to let someone with an ego like his know how much power he has, and her enemy at that. She doesn’t lean in, doesn’t make it easy or seem too keen.

But her heart was beating erratically against her chest. So much so that she could hear it in her ears. Her stomach was feeling something she couldn't put into words.

"And with eyes that bewitch the beholder..", he drawled out, looking into her eyes so intently with the sultry grin she grew to have a love-hate relationship with.

His words made her avert her gaze to the lengthy window to her left. She was able to look down upon the night sky that overcasted the city.

It was bad enough that she was straddling him, she didn't need his flirty words.

His words that affected her so much, his words that if they came out of any other man's mouth she would pay no heed to. It was his foreign accent that accentuated his words.

Fyodor gently tugged her chin so that her gaze would fall right on his own again.

The eye contact was making her heart beat even more faster.

Fyodor was smart. She acted unruffled but he knew that wasn't the case. He placed a hand slightly left of her breastbone, palm down, feeling her heart beating at alarming rates.

"You should listen to your body".

She wanted to. She opted to.

Fyodor brushed her hair back from her shoulder and moved in so close she could feel his lean body pressed up against her. She felt his warmth and already her mind had placed their lips together.

But instead, he leaned in to caress her neck, slow and gentle. He was making her wait and she could hardly bare it. She wanted him to capture her lips.

Fyodor cupped her face in his hands and gave her what he knew she wanted.

He kissed her slowly but deeply, a hand on her throat as his thumb going up and down the side of her neck.

Whether she was breathing her own air right now or Fyodor's did cross her mind but she didn't care to think any further about it.

After just a few delicate touches of his warm lips, her hands started to do his bidding. They moved around his neck, tugging on his dark disheveled hair which made him groan against her lips.

All Y/n's previous thoughts stopped in their tracks. Now there was only one desire, one wish, and that was to feel Fyodor.

"Such supple skin..", his hand fell down to her exposed thigh, as she watched his slender fingers squeeze the flesh of her thighs, making the woman's cheeks feel even more warmer than they already did.

Fyodor let his face fall into the crevice of her neck. "Sweet aroma..", she could feel the low rumble of his voice against her neck, his kisses soon turning into love bites as his teeth sucked on her skin.

While her lips were freed from his as they worked at her neck, she closed her eyes and took the chance to say what she wanted to.

"Why haven't you killed me, Dostoevsky?", she said in a voice that could only be described as throaty and warm, her words falling to a whisper now and then when his mouth tugged extra hard at her skin.

"Hm?"

"I mean, your teeth graze my pulse instead of stopping it. Why?".

"I could ask you the same thing", he smirked, lifting his head up to meet her gaze. "Open your mouth for me, love".

Her lips smooth, falling open at the brush of his tongue, welcoming him, making him feel simply euphoric.

They chased each other's lips sloppily, foreheads touching and hands latching onto each other.

Fyodor sneaked a hand into her pocket and brought out the small pocket knife, placing it against her adam's apple.

"This is your chance", she let out a small chuckle. "Rip my throat open", the h/c haired woman leaned forward, making her throat draw some blood.

He was hesitant. He remembers how he used to resent Y/n with every fibre of his being but now, he still did but something was holding him back.

“Don’t tell me what to do”, he would play it off.

Instead, he decided to ignore her comment whilst he ran the blunt side of the knife down her throat gently, stopping the knife to the left of her chest.

“My dream is to end your life, you know that..”, he cocked his head to the side, making a short shallow cut just above the swell of her breast.

“However, I also find myself dreaming about you being by my side forever”, two more quick lines stemmed out from the first. She hissed at the tinge of pain that came with it.

A trickle of blood dropped down her chest, Fyodor licking it off before pecking the engraving.

When Y/n looked down at what he did, she hid her face in his hair. Fyodor simply admired his initial he carved on her chest, the letter F.

"Dazai's gonna kill me".

Fyodor chuckled under his breath."The only person who gets to take your life is me".

The ravenette lifted her head up and cupped her cheek before Y/n slyly grinned . "Not if I take yours first".

She leaned her face closer to his in order to feel his lips once again but Fyodor backed away.

“Say my name first. I want to hear that sultry voice of yours”, his eyes. His gaze had to be the most attractive feature of his to Y/n.

“Dos—”.

“My real name, Y/n”, he said her name. Usually he would refer to her by her last name or something that would annoy her, but he said her name. It rolled off his tongue so fluently. No one could make her feel like this, no one could do it like him.

“Fyodor..”, she spoke in a clear voice, her eyes switching between his eyes and his lips.

“Tell me what is it you desire, let me give it to you”.

“Just kiss me, keep kissing me”, for now she just wanted to be in his embrace.

“Your wish is my command”.

Fyodor crashed his lips against her own and intertwined their fingers together..

Masterlist :)

a/n: my own writing got me feeling some kind of way 🤯 its his voice i swear every single time i read something about fyodor i imagine it in his english dubbed voice and omigoodness its so hot

[giorno-plays-piano]

Metamorph

Part I

Pairing: art teacher!Aemond Targaryen x reader (Horror AU)

Warnings: dark!Aemond, obsessive behavior, murder, horror, yandere, kidnapping, misanthropy, general creepy stuff.

Words: 1.5k

Summary: Drawn to the artworks of one of the most esteemed artists in the city, you wish to learn from him and find out what inspires him to create his masterpieces. You have no idea how much his secrets will cost you.

P.S. Unhinged Aemond, my dear Ewan nation! No physical harm done to the heroine, though.

___________

"Are you ready?" He asks you calmly, but you can see his impatience, the way he restlessly looks at you and back at the door leading to one of the smaller studios he always keeps locked at all times. Aemond can't wait to show you something, some other paintings of his he prefers to hide from others, and you feel both intrigued and disturbed by what you will find.

He is a genius, no doubt. One of the best artists of the century, the critics say, and while your city literally consists of art studios and galleries, people speak of Aemond Targaryen with a weird reverence, and his name is constantly on the ear.

His drawings caught your attention the moment you saw them online, mindlessly looking through your feed. It was hard to explain what exactly made you stop and look at them - even after months of attending his course you still couldn't quite put your finger on it - but you saved the pictures, printed them out, and then was staring at them hanging from the wall for days like you had been hypnotized. The ones you stumbled upon first depicted all sorts of buildings, always only in black and white, overgrown with... something. Flowers, vines, some greenery that looked like flesh and bones, painted in vivid red, of course. It was sort of scary... but also sort of not. It was a work of art, not some background picture from a cheap horror movie. The architecture he chose, they way he drew it as if he was recording his own perception onto the paper, each stroke written with his style, perhaps his very soul embedded in it... It was impossible to describe it with words. One had to see it to understand.

So, you had visited a gallery where his works had been exhibited, and since then you were fully supportive of city's infatuation with Aemond Targaryen. There was no way you could stay indifferent to his art, especially considering your own desperate attempts to get better at drawing.

How could he be so expressive while mostly using just black, white and red paint? Most of the time, he wasn't even painting but drawing, making sketches, that sort of thing. And yet you were obsessively saving and printing all of his artworks you were able to spot online. Some you hang on the walls of your apartment, some - the ones that made you held your breath - you kept in a drawer like you were a dragon guarding your treasure chest. One time when your mom accidentally spotted them you literally wanted to fall through the floor. It was... too intimate for sharing with anyone. Despite the paintings and drawings showcased openly in the galleries for everyone to see, they felt like they were your great secret, your own hoard, too precious to even talk about it, less let people see printed artworks you kept hidden in the bottom drawer of your cabinet.

Who was he, the man who brought these breathtaking paintings to life, you had often wondered. How had he done it? How did he make the red paint so vivid, so expressive and yet not vulgar? How could he lay strokes with such precision, but not the same way most artists did? How did he build his compositions that they felt real and surreal at the same time? What sort of magic was that? Everyone around joked he must have sold his soul to the Devil.

When you saw Aemond for the first time, you thought the same thing because he scared the Hell out of you. First, he wore an eyepatch and had a long, ugly scar crossing half of his face. An incident from his childhood, someone whispered to you. Someone had stabbed him in the eye.

This felt disturbing and surreal, too. Stabbed a child in the eye? What the Hell? Wasn't he from some wealthy, upper-class sort of family?

Perhaps, it was one of the reasons why Aemond seemed so sullen and chilly, his only presence making the temperature in the room drop a couple degrees. Despite his obvious attractiveness, it felt like he was an alligator waiting in front of a crowd of stupid bunnies who came to admire his teeth. Didn't help he was dressed in all black, and both his skin and hair were alarmingly white like he wasn't really a human being.

A stupid suggestion, really.

He'd been through some serious shit, someone kept murmuring you in the ear as you stared at the artist, open-mouthed and frozen in place. His dad was really wealthy, but rumors had it he didn't really care about him or his siblings, and his mother was constantly on antidepressants. Then the incident with the eye-stabbing happened, but it was still shrouded in mystery even with journalists trying to dig up the truth for years. After he grew up, Aemond went to study business and started working under his grandfather. Rumours had it he made some crazy money but started hating his life, ended up having serious issues with drinking, and at one point, he suddenly left everything and disappeared.

Whatever happened then was a mystery, too, and the artists never spoke about it in any of his interviews expect for saying that drawing has saved him. Although nothing suggests he is a former alcoholic and had once been homeless thanks to the immaculate way he dresses, you thought there was something in his face that made you wonder if he actually got better. Aemond seemed... very hostile.

But he'a an artist, too, and you've found all of them weird in one way or the other.

Of course, despite the fact that you've been drawing for years, you've never thought yourself an artist. No, no, you just enjoy it as a hobby, and you're nowhere near people like Aemond Targaryen.

But when you heard he opened a drawing course for the general public, you were so frantic about getting in you swore to yourself, regardless how much it costs, you would get in. Even if you wouldn't be eating for the next few years.

Seriously, it was Aemond freaking Targaryen you were talking about. A literal King! He had been the talk of a month even in the capital thanks to his recent dragon paintings collection that was sold in an auction for a ridiculous sum of money. So what if he's scary and had this chilling-to-the-bone stare? Most successful people you knew seemed at least a little frightening. Besides, if anything, you could just drop out of class.

But if you were brave enough to apply, you could have a chance to actually see him at work.

How did his studio look? What sort of routine did he have? What kind of paint and pencils did he use? How had he gotten that amazing crimson color you were trying to replicate for months without any success? What did he use for inspiration?

Clearly, you just couldn't let this opportunity slip away. You had to try to get in.

Surprisingly, the course wasn't even that expensive, sold at nearly the same price as most other art courses as if Aemond was just like any other artist in the city. The problem laid in his way of choosing the students: he requested to see the artworks of applicants to determine whether he'd take them or not.

It nearly put a stop to the whole thing because you were terrified of him seeing your drawings. What would he think about an amateur like you? How could you even dream about coming to him instead of improving your technique first with some other, way less known artists? He was Aemond Targaryen, for God's sake.

But you knew he might never take other students again. He might even move to the capital that would give him much more than your city ever could. What if he just disappeared? It could have been your only chance to see him work.

When he accepted you along with 9 other students out of more than two hundred participants, you thought you were dreaming. How? Why would he? You were far from professional. Goodness, you weren't even planning on becoming a true artist, and it felt like you were cheating on people who did. So, how could he take you, knowing that?

Not that you were going to drop out before the start of the course. Over your dead body. You literally spent the entire week shopping for new materials even though you knew he would give you suggestions later. But how could you show him your pencils and brushes that looked like your dog chewed, ate, and then threw them back up? You'd rather jump from the roof.

___________

Alas, on the first day of the course, you stood there among other students, holding your breath as you watched the door of the studio open. Aemond Targaryen was going to teach you his art.

Part II

Tags: @heavenly1927 @yazzzmints @devils-blackrose @lost-and-founds @kennafild

[kingofbodyrolls]

My Heart's Home (m) | pjm | six

🐴Chapter summary: The wild horses are captivating creatures. You and Yoongi work together on gentling some of the wild horses, but when Jimin sees something that is truly harmless, but takes it the wrong way… well everything goes to shit.  🐴Chapter title: Wild Horses 🐴Pairings: jimin x reader (main), jungkook x reader (only happens once in the first chapter), jungkook x OC (jessi), namjoon x OC (jessi), yoongi x hoseok, namjoon x oc, seokjin x oc, taehyung x oc 🐴Characters: female reader (isn’t mentioned by name and no “y/n”), Jimin, Jungkook, Namjoon, Yoongi, Hoseok, Seokjin, Taehyung and four female original characters. 🐴Genre/AU: ranch!au, slice of life!au, soulmate!au, cowboy!au + smut, humor, fluff, romance, slow burn and angst 🐴Rating: mature/explicit/R18 – this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact!

🐴Disclaimer: I do not own BTS or know them personally and this work of fiction is purely fictional and for entertainment purposes only. The actions and personalities described in the story do not reflect those of BTS— it’s just fiction. Also, if you would kindly read the tags/warnings before reading, that would be lovely: and if you don’t like whatever is described in the tags, just hit return and find something else to read. Thank you 🌸 🐴Chapter warnings: hahahah, I’m sorry but we’re now approaching angst territory 🥲 This chapter is a lot about Yoongi, because he’s very important (as is almost every character in the story lol, but you’ll understand why later). And something happens that you’re probably gonna hate me for lol. I’m sorry in advance, but stuff has to happen this way for the good stuff to carry weight later (please trust the process!) ✨ 🐴Status: completed 🥳 🐴Word count: 11k 🐴Taglist: @kookswifesblog, @kiki-zb, @babejinnie, @ownthesunshine, @allie-is-a-panda, @glllhjh, @bergandysam, @13-manggaetteok, @jeonsbabygirlsworld,

*tumblr isn’t letting me tag you! There could be a lot of reasons for that, check out this lovely post about it.

🐴Now playing 💿 “Wild Horses” by Natasha Bedingfield. [Wanna listen to the serie’s playlist?] 🐴Author’s note: this chapter was tough for me to write, mostly because of the angst. I’m not that good with that, but I’m really trying to do better with angst. Something happens in this chapter that I think you won’t like, but please remember that Jimin and reader are the main pairing and I have promised a happy ending, okay? There’s just gonna be some angst along the way lol, I’m preparing you now, so buckle up! I really hope you still like it! 💜 

It’s been cross posted to AO3 if you prefer to read there. Wanna see the book cover?

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“Wild horses I want to be like you Throwing caution to the wind, I’ll run free too Wish I could recklessly love like I’m longing to I want to run with the wild horses Run with the wild horses” - ’Wild Horses’ by Natasha Bedingfield

As you race across the expansive field, the towering mountains providing a breathtaking backdrop, the thrill of galloping with the wind in your hair never fails to captivate you. En route to the Bell Ranch to speak with Yoongi, you grant Marshmallow the freedom to sprint at full gallop, hooves digging into the earth, creating a dust storm that billows in your wake.

Marshmallow’s powerful gallop sets the rhythm for your heart, the exhilaration of freedom courses through your veins. The wind becomes a playful dance partner, tousling your hair and causing it to cascade behind you, yet obediently secured under the brim of your trusty cowboy hat. 

The expanse between the Bora Ranch and the guys’ territory proves surprisingly brief as always, and the vibrant landscape of their ranch unfolds before you. 

Urging Marshmallow into a spirited gallop, you cover the ground swiftly, drawing nearer to the bustling yard. The rhythmic gallop propels you towards the lively scene in the yard, where Yoongi is engrossed in his work with a horse in a pen. As Marshmallow intuitively senses the approaching enclosure, his pace decelerates, and a soft whinny escapes him, signaling a seamless transition from a spirited gallop to a gentle, deliberate walk.

Bringing Marshmallow to a halt, you gracefully swing your leg over his back and plant your feet firmly on the ground. With practiced ease, you secure the reins, fastening them securely to the fence surrounding the pen where Yoongi is deeply engrossed in his work.

“Hey, Yoongi!” you call out with a bright smile, waving enthusiastically as you drape yourself over the fence, captivated by the sight of him completely absorbed and engrossed in his work.

He acknowledges you with a subtle nod, a gentle smile playing on his lips as a majestic brown horse gracefully circles him, moving with a natural grace, all without a halter to guide its steps.

You linger there, a silent observer to his craft. The rhythmic dance between Yoongi and the horse unfolds before you—the majestic creature, occasionally curious, edges closer to him, a testament to the unspoken bond between man and horse.

In a mesmerizing dance of trust and connection, the horse inches ever closer to Yoongi, a silent understanding weaving between them. The minutes pass, and you find yourself breathless as the magnificent creature, once wary, now stands still before him, its head bowed low in quiet reverence. The profound bond between man and horse unfolds before your eyes, leaving you spellbound by the unspoken language they share.

In a breathtaking display of trust, the horse tenderly presses its head against Yoongi’s chest, a profound connection resonating in the air. A deep exhale escapes the majestic creature, harmonizing with the gentle strokes of Yoongi’s hand as he caresses its forehead, forging a silent pact of understanding and companionship.

Mesmerized by the enchanting dance between Yoongi and the horse, you can’t help but release a soft “Wow.” 

His ability to forge a profound connection with the majestic creature leaves you in awe, a silent yearning echoing within you, wishing you possessed such profound skills.

His eyes twinkle with a warm smile, a shared moment of understanding passing between you two. A gentle chuckle escapes his lips as he leads the horse effortlessly towards the gate, the majestic creature following his every step willingly, a testament to the remarkable bond they share. The word incredible echoes in your mind, witnessing Yoongi’s innate connection with these magnificent animals.

Breaking the serene atmosphere, he finally speaks when he reaches you, his voice carrying a subtle warmth, “Hi.” 

With practiced ease, he opens the gate, guiding the horse out as if orchestrating a dance between man and horse.

As he strides past you, effortlessly guiding the brown horse toward the barn without a tether, he casually mentions, “I’ll be back in a moment.” Acknowledging him with a nod, you divert your attention to Marshmallow, tenderly patting his neck while observing Yoongi’s innate connection with the majestic creature.

With the horse comfortably settled in its stall, Yoongi strides back towards you, donning his cowboy hat and sturdy boots, a subtle swagger in his step that mirrors the newfound confidence you’ve gained since acquiring your own pair of boots.

Yoongi leans casually against the fence, his gaze meeting yours as he asks, “What’s up?”

Your eyes widen with fascination as you inquire, “Was that a wild horse?” Your curiosity about his intriguing line of work reflects in both your voice and expression.

His eyes light up with pride as he responds, “Yeah, I’ve been working on her for some time; she’s almost ready to become a stock horse.” 

You join him in turning around, casting your eyes over the paddocks where the cattle graze, sharing in the satisfaction of a job well done.

“Why do you catch wild horses? I’ve been curious about that ever since Jimin mentioned it,” you ask, your words tumbling out a bit hastily. A touch of nerves lingers, although you can’t quite fathom why. After all, it’s just Yoongi.

He offers a slight smile. “They’re a menace,” he shrugs nonchalantly, and you shoot him a quizzical look. How can he label those magnificent creatures as anything other than beautiful?

He chuckles at your slightly frantic state. “For one, they have a knack for wreaking havoc on the property, and two, the stallions occasionally swoop in, daringly stealing our mares.”

You give him a nod, feigning understanding of the issue, yet deep down, you’re puzzled. Your sister has never shared this concern before. Could this be the reason they don’t let the wild horses roam freely?

“So we catch some of them and gentle them into reliable working horses,” he explains with an enigmatic gleam in his eyes, as if his gaze conceals something profound, yet elusive, leaving you intrigued but uncertain about the hidden depths.

“That’s fascinating. Do Jimin or Jungkook ever lend a hand with your wild horse endeavors?” you inquire, a lively grin accompanying your question as you pivot to affectionately pat Marshmallow once more.

“Ah, they’re usually tied up with their own stuff. Although, Hoseok does jump in from time to time,” he replies with a grin, and there’s a subtle flicker in his eyes when he mentions Hoseok.

“Too bad they’re busy, but I’ve been thinking, maybe I could lend a hand. It looks like a fascinating and enjoyable experience,” you offer with an eager smile, despite your lack of knowledge about wild horses and the process of taming them.

“You’re welcome to help me. We can even go for a ride right now and see if we can find the herd, just to look at them. No catching today,” he says, chuckling. As his warm brown eyes twinkle with an indescribable gleam, you feel a magnetic pull toward the upcoming adventure.

“Absolutely!” you exclaim with excitement, swiftly unfastening Marshmallow’s reins from the fence. You join Yoongi, walking in tandem towards the barn where he prepares a horse for the upcoming adventure. The air is charged with anticipation, and the rhythmic sounds of hooves echo the promise of a thrilling ride.

You stride into the barn with Marshmallow, the atmosphere filled with the earthy scent of hay and the distant sounds of horses. Observing Yoongi, you note his skilled selection of a brown horse adorned with a sleek black mane and tail. With fluid precision, he secures a saddle and bridle, effortlessly mounting the horse. His actions exude a quiet confidence, leaving you eager to embark on this equine adventure with him.

“Let’s go then,” he muses, a twinkle of anticipation in his eyes. You smoothly mount Marshmallow, ready to join him in a rhythmic trot around the expansive North paddock of the Bell Ranch. 

The air carries the promise of adventure, and the rhythmic hoofbeats echo a harmonious melody, creating an atmosphere filled with the thrill of the unknown.

Atop the hill, you unleash your horses into a spirited gallop, immersing yourself in the breathtaking beauty of the land. The lush green grass stretches beneath you, while majestic hills and distant mountains paint a picturesque panorama. The rhythmic beat of hoofs kissing the grass orchestrates a symphony that resonates in your ears, and your heart dances with exhilaration, each thud echoing the thrill of the moment.

Allowing Yoongi to take the lead, you entrust him with setting the pace, confident in his knowledge of where the elusive herd of wild horses is likely to roam.

“This way. This is where I spotted them last,” he deftly guides his horse to the right, and you follow suit in a slow, measured gallop, the anticipation building with each stride.

After a bit more riding, you reach a clearing through some bushes, and there, before you, the herd of wild horses comes into view. They look absolutely magnificent and exude a magical aura that captures your breath.

They graze casually, and both you and Yoongi have brought your horses to a slow walk, now standing still, fully immersed in the captivating sight of the wild horses before you.

“They’re so beautiful,” you murmur in a hushed tone, captivated by the scene unfolding before you. Yoongi, sharing in the enchantment, nods silently with a smile gracing his lips.

Then, amidst the grazing herd, you catch sight of it—a pitch-black horse, its coat glistening like obsidian in the sunlight. Its eyes, as dark as the night, reflect an ethereal beauty. The sun’s rays play upon its sleek coat, turning it into a cosmic spectacle that leaves you in awe. 

Wow, it’s beautiful.

An inexplicable yearning stirs within you, drawn to that singular horse. Amidst the entire herd, none captivates your attention like the majestic black horse. 

“The black horse is absolutely stunning,” you murmur in a breathless voice, utterly mesmerized by its beauty.

“It is a stunning mare indeed,” he smiles and adds, “maybe we can catch it next time.”

You return his smile, uncertainty lingering within you. The notion of capturing such a majestic creature tugs at your conscience – after all, aren’t wild horses destined to roam the vast expanse of freedom?

As the sun sets on another day, you find yourself back at the Bell Ranch, ready to lend a hand to Yoongi’s tireless efforts in transforming wild spirits into reliable working companions.

It’s enthralling to observe his technique; he operates in silence, an oasis of calm, patiently anticipating the horse’s subtle cues, waiting for that moment when it chooses to connect with him willingly, without coercion.

“Do you want to come and try?” His unexpected question catches you off guard, but a nod of agreement escapes your lips. You gracefully climb over the fence into the pen where he’s immersed in his work, ready to try your hand at the artistry of connecting with these untamed creatures.

Your voice carries a hint of nervous excitement as you inquire, “What should I do?” 

The untamed beauty of a wild horse gracefully circles the outer ring of the pen, seemingly oblivious to your presence, and you can’t help but feel a surge of anticipation for the challenge ahead.

As Yoongi imparts his wisdom, he stresses, “The key is earning the horse’s trust. You have to show it that you’re trustworthy.” Absorbing his words, you nod in agreement, ready to embark on the journey of building a connection with the wild creature before you.

“How?” you question, a spark of wonder in your eyes, acknowledging the challenge that lies within the seemingly simple yet profound advice.

“You just have to be consistent in your actions. Don’t let nerves or fear cloud your presence. Be calm, attentive, and just exist in the moment,” he imparts, a casual shrug underscoring the simplicity of his advice, though the weight of its truth lingers in the air.

You observe the horse gracefully navigating the pen, its pace gradually easing into a leisurely stroll.

“I believe in patience and presence. I dedicate substantial time to be with the horse, letting it get to know me, building trust,” he remarks, his gaze fixed on the horse. “There’s a considerable investment in time before I even think about introducing a saddle to the equation.”

Nodding in agreement, you consciously steady your heartbeat. His advice echoes in your mind, urging you to shed the lingering nervousness, and you make a conscious effort to dismiss the slight unease settling within.

As he imparts his wisdom, Yoongi gestures toward the chestnut horse leisurely strolling within the pen, a familiar presence from his earlier endeavors. “I prefer letting the horse choose to come to me, to form that crucial connection. Once it ’joins up,’ a silent understanding unfolds, a testament to the trust we’ve built. Only then do I progress to more intricate training,” he reveals, his eyes focused on the equine companion he’s guided through this intricate dance before.

“I’ve devoted considerable time to this mare,” Yoongi shares, casting a fond gaze at the equine companion that has shared in the nuances of their bond. “Even though she has joined up with me multiple times, I find solace in revisiting the fundamentals.” He gestures toward the mare, a living canvas of equine tranquility. 

As you observe, the horse moves with an easy grace, its body language a symphony of relaxation and curiosity. At times, it directs a glance in your direction, an unspoken invitation to engage, before returning to a rhythmic exploration along the fence line. 

The overall demeanor is one of serene calm, a testament to the enduring connection fostered through patient dedication.

Your eyes gleam with newfound understanding, a smile playing on your lips as you seek clarification. “So the secret is to patiently wait for the horse to come to you?”

He chuckles, his laughter carrying the warmth of shared wisdom. “Not much of a secret, but it all boils down to patience, trust, and a bit of loyalty,” he confesses.

You flash a smile his way. “So, how long does it typically take for you to work your magic and gentle a horse?”

He lifts his hat, running a hand through his silver hair before settling it back in place. “Each horse is a unique case, so I don’t measure success by the clock. Some might quickly ’join up’ with me, while others are more complex. Horses, like humans, have their distinct personalities.”

You nod in agreement, recognizing the intricate nature of horses, almost as complex as humans. A soft chuckle escapes you, appreciating the way Yoongi speaks of the wild horses, as if they’re cherished friends in his world.

Your gaze shifts to the brown mare, curiosity lighting up your eyes. “Since you’ve already ’joined up’ with this one, what’s the next step in her training?” you inquire, eager to delve deeper into the fascinating world of horse gentling.

His eyes gleam with anticipation as he outlines the next steps in the horse’s training journey. “After establishing trust, I’ll gradually introduce her to the ranch environment—ropes, familiar noises, and gear on her back through gentle massages,” he explains, his voice tinged with hope. “Once she’s comfortable, I’ll proceed to the saddle and bridle, paving the way for the ultimate test—riding. But only when I’m certain she’s fully prepared.”

As you observe the mare approaching, curiosity twinkling in her eyes, you can’t help but smile. “It sounds like quite a journey, but I sense it’s a rewarding one,” you remark, your voice filled with genuine curiosity and anticipation, mirroring the mare’s gradual approach.

His words resonate with a warmth that matches his infectious smile. “You gain a friend for life,” he shares, his gummy grin embodying the depth of connection forged through this intricate process.

As the mare inches closer, a magnetic connection pulls you both into a silent communion. You turn your head slightly toward Yoongi, watching in awe as the graceful creature approaches him, gently resting its head against his back. 

A deep sigh escapes the mare, and with a deliberate nudge, it pushes Yoongi forward, creating an unspoken bond that transcends the boundaries between man and horse.

Chuckling softly, he remarks, “She’s feeling a bit playful,” and turns around to tenderly caress the brown mare’s forehead.

As laughter escapes you, you marvel at the scene unfolding before you— the horse nuzzling deeper into Yoongi’s embrace. The profound trust and loyalty displayed in that simple gesture brings a radiant smile to your face.

As the distant sound of hoofbeats serenades your ears, your attention subtly shifts towards the source. A thrilling anticipation grips you, and even before your eyes meet the approaching spectacle, an instinctive certainty tells you—the wild horses are drawing near.

In their untamed grace, those wild horses emerge on the horizon, a breathtaking tapestry of freedom. Their beauty, an untethered symphony, etches itself into your soul. Despite Yoongi’s pragmatic warnings of their wild nature, your heart steadfastly champions their unrestrained beauty and the allure of their untamed spirit.

As the majestic herd gallops across the distant hill, your eyes are drawn to the obsidian grace of the black mare. Strange flutters of anticipation dance within your stomach, and Yoongi catches your gaze, sensing the magnetic pull that the mysterious creature exerts on your senses.

With a glint of curiosity in his eyes, Yoongi continues to tenderly pat the brown mare, and he turns to you with a question that sparks excitement, “Do you want to try and catch the black mare?”

Your gaze locks onto Yoongi, eyes widening with unbridled enthusiasm. Is it even a question?

The desire to capture that elusive black mare courses through your veins, even as a part of you acknowledges its wild spirit. There’s an inexplicable connection, a yearning in your heart for a creature that defies easy description. 

It beckons to you, and you’re eager to answer its untamed call.

“We can certainly try,” you declare in a breathy voice, uncertainty mingling with excitement. The prospect of capturing that magnificent black mare hangs in the air, and though doubts linger, the anticipation of a thrilling ride fuels your determination.

With practiced finesse, Yoongi guides the brown mare out of the pen, seamlessly maneuvering it into its stall within the barn. Meanwhile, he deftly prepares his own horse, his movements deliberate and skilled, as you eagerly saddle up on Marshmallow, ready for the adventure.

Side by side, you and Yoongi charge towards the spot where the wild horses disappeared, the thundering hooves creating a symphony of freedom. The wind playfully teases your hair beneath your hat, adding a touch of exhilaration to the chase. Each gallop echoes with the rhythm of nostalgia, transporting you back to carefree days of childhood joy, and you wholeheartedly embrace the familiar melody of hoofbeats resonating through the hills.

Swiftly closing the distance, you and Yoongi seamlessly join the graceful dance of the wild horses, riding in tandem as if becoming one with the spirited herd.

“We’ll try and separate the black mare from the rest, okay?” Weaving through the thundering hooves, Yoongi’s voice pierces the rhythmic beat of galloping, a plan forming between you as you both flank the herd, aiming to isolate the enigmatic black mare from the wild symphony surrounding her.

Navigating the thundering hooves, your focus sharpens on the elusive black mare, a dance of determination and wild grace. As the herd courses through the terrain, a corridor of trees emerges, and with a masterful maneuver, Yoongi surges ahead, skillfully severing the ebony beauty from the chaotic canvas of the herd.

Now, in the quiet aftermath of the thundering herd, the black mare stands solitary between you and Yoongi, a majestic silhouette against the fading echoes of the retreating wild horses. The air is charged with a sense of captured freedom, and you can feel the pulse of anticipation building between you and the untamed beauty before you.

Amidst the stillness, Yoongi’s voice cuts through like a soothing melody, “Steady.” 

His hands move with practiced precision, gliding down to the rope coiled at his saddle. In a fluid motion, he unfastens it, the rope dancing gracefully in the air above the ebony beauty standing before you.

In a surprising dance of trust, the mare offers only mild resistance as the rope gracefully settles into a loose circle around its neck. With a calm assurance, Yoongi guides his horse to a halt and approaches the black mare from horseback, step by deliberate step.

His soothing words weave through the air as Yoongi approaches the black mare, a promise of care and understanding. “It’s alright,” he assures, the resonance of his voice echoing a commitment to nurture and protect the newfound connection with the wild beauty before him.

Spellbound by Yoongi’s expertise, you marvel at the seemingly effortless capture of the black mare, a moment etched with both surprise and admiration for his skill in bridging the gap between untamed freedom and the prospect of gentle companionship.

Grinning with a mix of disbelief and triumph, you exclaim, “Well, that felt surprisingly easy,” relishing the moment where the reality of capturing the wild black mare settles in, leaving you in awe of your own accomplishment.

Guiding his horse into a slow trot, Yoongi glances at you and adds, “It isn’t always this smooth,” as he skillfully leads the black mare by the rope, a testament to the unpredictable nature of working with wild horses.

As you ride back to the Bell Ranch at a leisurely pace, the black mare in tow, anticipation courses through you. The prospect of working with the wild beauty, attempting to forge a connection as Yoongi does, fills you with eagerness and a hopeful determination. The challenge ahead, mingled with the thrill of the unknown, propels you forward.

As the ranch unfolds before you, Yoongi guides you to a spacious paddock. “We’ll release her here, let her experience a taste of freedom within these boundaries,” he explains. 

“We can commence our efforts to connect with her tomorrow or the day after. Allowing her this time will help her acclimate.” 

The thoughtful approach to the black mare’s transition into her new surroundings speaks volumes about the patience and care that defines Yoongi’s approach to his work with these wild spirits.

As Yoongi opens the gate to the paddock, you nod in understanding. Approaching the black mare, he expertly removes the rope from its neck with a gentleness that seems to convey a silent understanding. The mare remains serene throughout the entire process, a testament to the trust beginning to bloom between human and horse, captivating you with its silent beauty.

“Go on,” encouragingly, Yoongi gestures to the horse, and with a sudden burst of energy, the black mare leaps into a swift gallop. It bucks playfully, its powerful strides carrying it effortlessly towards the awaiting company of horses within the enclosure, a breathtaking display of freedom and untamed spirit.

Gratitude fills your voice as you express, “Thank you for capturing it.” You turn toward Yoongi, a warm smile of satisfaction lighting up your face. The joy of successfully corralling the black mare radiates from you, making the moment even more meaningful.

“No problem,” his response carries a friendly assurance, accompanied by a smile that lingers in the air. Together, you pivot, ensuring the gate clicks shut behind you, sealing in the triumphant atmosphere of your joint accomplishment.

As you savor the refreshing embrace of ice-cold water on the terrace, your sister joins you, gracefully claiming the adjacent chair.

You meet her gaze, an unspoken tension lingers in the air, and you instinctively adjust your posture in the chair, sitting taller, ready to listen to the words she’s about to share.

Her fingers thread through the tousled strands of her hair, a subtle sign of unease that sends a ripple of tension through the air. A thoughtful expression crosses her face as she breaks the silence, delving into the delicate topic. “I’ve been thinking about the inheritance,” she begins, and the gravity of her words hangs in the air. “You considered selling it for financial reasons, right?”

Her unexpected revival of the topic catches you off guard, and your eyes widen imperceptibly. “You’re right,” you admit, a touch of vulnerability in your voice. “Financial strain was indeed a factor in considering the sale.”

Her inquiry is direct, and you can sense the underlying concern in her eyes. “So, what’s the situation now? Do you still find yourself in need of money?” she leans in, her expression tinged with a hint of discomfort, acknowledging the sensitivity of the topic.

“No, I actually don’t,” no longer tethered by financial constraints, you respond with a reassuring smile, gently tracing the rim of your chilled cup. The unrelenting heat persists, making the solace of ice-cold refreshments all the more enjoyable.

Her expression morphs into one of confusion, a visible question mark etched on her face, signaling her inability to grasp the underlying meaning of your words.

Chuckles escape you as you take a refreshing sip of water, then leaning in across the table, your eyes alight with excitement. “I’ve been selling my paintings,” you reveal, the joy evident in your voice. “Capturing the essence of the ranch and the breathtaking nature around it has sparked a high demand. Surprisingly, I’ve raked in a considerable sum even before returning to the ranch.”

Jessi’s jaw drops momentarily, but soon her features transform into a mix of astonishment and pride. “Wow, I’m genuinely proud of you!”

Gratitude fills your smile as you respond, “Thank you,” basking in the warmth of her compliment.

A shadow of concern lingers in her eyes as she confesses, “I was getting worried you might still sell your share due to money problems…” Her gaze briefly drops to the ground before lifting, locking onto yours. “But I’m relieved that isn’t the case.”

You shake your head, a determined smile playing on your lips. “Don’t worry. I’ll never sell it. We agreed to do this together, right? Sisters running the ranch and all. Our legacy, our story.”

Her face lights up, a radiant smile stretching across her features as she emphatically nods in agreement, a silent understanding passing between you.

In the realm of childhood dreams, this reality surpasses every fleeting vision. Rediscovering the bond with your sister, the slow unraveling of shared memories, has proven to be an unexpectedly enchanting journey, far beyond the scope of your youthful imagination.

“Ease into the moment, let the rhythm of patience guide you,” Yoongi murmurs, a soft smile playing on his lips. As the ebony mare gracefully weaves circles around you in the pen, he offers sagely advice, “Today may not be the day of readiness, but that’s part of the journey. Stand your ground, let her spirit unfurl, and witness the magic unfold,” he continues, standing by your side in silent camaraderie.

Implementing Yoongi’s wisdom proves to be a formidable challenge; impatience pulses through your veins as you yearn for an instantaneous connection with the mare. Despite the echoing reminder that patience is the key, a fervent desire to befriend her lingers within you, creating a delicate dance between restraint and eagerness.

As the mare gracefully trots around, a surge of connection prompts you to share, “I’ve given her a name.”

His chuckle resonates beside you as he inquires, “You’ve already given her a name?”

With unwavering certainty, you announce, “Yeah. I’m calling her Mikrokosmos,” your voice carrying a trace of affection for the newfound companion.

Curiosity lighting up his eyes, he inquires, “That’s a cool name, what made you think of that?”

“I just thought she looked like the deep black night sky and space, as if she’s her own universe,” you muse, a small laugh dancing in your voice.

He smiles warmly and chuckles, “Well, it’s cute.”

You chuckle, feeling the impatience gradually dissipate, your shoulders easing into a more relaxed state. Mikrokosmos continues her lively dance, her nose flaring as she snorts audibly, thoroughly examining the fence and her surroundings with a mix of curiosity and untamed energy.

Yoongi pivots to meet your gaze, his expression a curious blend of emotions—is it pain or something else? Without a clear answer, he leans in, encroaching upon your personal space. Surprisingly, you don’t mind; after all, you’re friends. 

Your attention shifts beyond him, catching sight of Jimin strolling from the ranch. A smile graces his lips as he approaches, and you reciprocate with a soft smile, a sense of giddiness washing over you at the prospect of reconnecting with him after a few days of silence.

Your assumption that Yoongi is leaning in for a friendly hug causes you to gradually envelop him in your arms. Unexpectedly, his face inches closer to yours—not in the platonic manner of a hug. 

Suddenly, his lips meet yours, jolting you into a state of bewilderment, shock, and momentary paralysis.

Shock floods your widened eyes, and Jimin’s gaze mirrors the distaste and anger you feel. Hurt emanates from his eyes, causing your heart to plummet. The ground beneath seems to liquefy, dragging you into a pool of dismay. Yoongi’s unexpected kiss is not welcomed, not when you don’t harbor romantic feelings for him. Reacting swiftly, you push him away, your own eyes revealing a mix of hurt and anger. But as you prepare to address the situation, you catch Jimin turning away, retreating towards the ranch.

Fuck.

Jimin’s displeasure is palpable, a mirrored reflection of your own sentiments. Desperate to convey that the unexpected kiss held no significance, that it wasn’t your intention, your legs propel you toward the fence. Scaling it with urgency, you leave Yoongi and Mikrokosmos to their own devices, racing after Jimin. The wind whistles in your ears, and your heart pounds, driven by the fervent need to bridge the gap between you and Jimin, to unravel the misunderstanding that threatens to shatter the fragile threads of whatever you had going between you.

“Jimin!” Your plea slices through the air, racing to catch up with him. The yard looms ahead, but he remains elusive, navigating the space on his limping leg. Each step feels like a chasm widening between you, a silent testament to the unintended chaos wrought by an unwelcome kiss. 

Breathless, you catch up with him, seizing his strong arm and urgently turning him toward you. “Jimin, it’s not what it seems—I need to explain!” The words tumble out, a cascade of sincerity, as you strive to convey the complexity of the moment, hoping to bridge the gap that has abruptly widened between you.

He halts abruptly, an aura of seething anger radiating from him like palpable waves of heat. His voice drips with venom as he accuses, “You kissed Yoongi.”

Your desperate explanation spills forth, the words rushing out like a cascade of untamed emotions. “No, I didn’t! He kissed me, and I didn’t want that. It meant nothing, okay?” Your heart pounds fiercely, echoing the thunderous hooves of a thousand wild horses. It’s suffocating; each breath feels like a struggle. 

You yearn for Jimin to grasp the misunderstanding, to understand that you’re as bewildered as he is. The haunting question lingers in your mind: Why the fuck did Yoongi kiss you?

He’s a stark contrast to his usual self; anger consumes him, his breaths quick and labored, and every muscle in his body appears ready to burst with tension.

In those silent moments, he stands like a formidable statue, his thoughts shrouded in mystery. The air around him crackles with anger and disappointment, emotions that hang heavily between you, palpable yet elusive.

Exhaling a deep and frustrated sigh, he visibly attempts to ease the tension in his body, his words carrying an air of indifference, “I don’t care.”

Your jaw drops in disbelief; this wasn’t the reaction you anticipated. While understanding his anger, you had hoped for a chance to discuss it. His face reflects a mix of pain and fury, prompting you to reach out for his arm again. However, the moment your fingers make contact, he flinches, taking a step back as if your touch stings.

It feels as though your touch seared him, igniting a reaction that sends a pang of guilt through you. Desperate to convey that it meant nothing, you yearn to reassure him, yet his unwillingness to listen leaves you grappling with the weight of unspoken words.

His words cut through the air, laden with a hurt that goes beyond the surface. “You’re always into everybody else. It’s never me. I’m never the one,” he utters, his voice heavy with a profound ache. Each word feels like an anchor, dragging you into a sea of emotional turmoil, where you’re left drowning in the depths of his unspoken pain.

The ache lingers, his words a sharp sting that resonates through your being. In that poignant moment, you find yourself paralyzed, the words you long to express caught in the web of your emotions. You yearn to convey that he is the one, the orchestrator of the symphony that makes your heart resonate with love and purpose. Yet, the words remain elusive, trapped within the confines of your unspoken sentiments. 

Why won’t they surface when you need them the most?

A torrent of tears threatens to spill from your eyes, and an overwhelming urge to scream builds within you as you witness him walking away, heading towards his house. Yet, your legs betray you, frozen in place as if your feet have fused with the very ground beneath you, rendering you immobile in the wake of your tumultuous emotions.

In a desperate attempt to bridge the widening gap between you, your hand stretches out, aching to grasp onto him. Your voice, a strangled plea, escapes your lips, echoing through the thin air, while tears carve rivers down the contours of your cheeks.

As he reaches for the doorknob, a profound moment unfolds. His gaze, once filled with a lively spark, now appears vacant. His complexion pales, a deep frown etches his features, and the hurt in his eyes sends unsettling tremors through your stomach, as if threatening to unleash a wave of nausea.

The door slams shut, echoing a resounding finality that leaves you hollow. 

Your heart constricts, a blend of hurt and sadness flooding through you. Each breath feels slightly labored as you gather the strength to decide whether to confront Jimin once more or turn to Yoongi, demanding an explanation for what the fuck that kiss was about.

You comprehend Jimin’s anger and hurt, yet it was merely a kiss, and you’ve conveyed this to him. Why won’t he lend an ear to your explanation? It’s just a damn kiss. Why does this particular incident shatter him, especially when he’s aware of your past involvement with his brother?

Sensing Jimin’s reluctance to engage in conversation, you let out a sigh, realizing it might be wiser to allow him some time to cool off before attempting to discuss the matter further. Despite having emphasized to him that the kiss was not intentional and stemmed from a misunderstanding, you can’t help but wonder if he truly absorbed your words.

As you release another heavy sigh, the weight on your shoulders seems to lift slightly, and you turn your body toward Yoongi. In this moment of emotional turbulence, with your world feeling like it’s flipped upside down, you resolve to address the issue with Jimin later, once he’s had time to cool off. There’s a determination in your heart to explain, to make him understand that he is undeniably the one who holds a special place in your heart.

Returning to the pen with Mikrokosmos and approaching Yoongi, there’s a palpable tension in the air, both within you and emanating from him. As you ascend the fence, gracefully landing on the sandy ground of the pen, Mikrokosmos continues her playful trot around. You decide to let her roam freely for the moment, turning your attention to the visibly apprehensive Yoongi.

Your hand shoots up, accusatory finger pointed directly at Yoongi. “What on earth was that, Yoongi?” The words carry a mix of frustration and confusion, your voice demanding an explanation for the unexpected kiss that has left you reeling.

Fury courses through you as you confront him, your eyes ablaze with anger. “I can’t believe you did that, Yoongi. What were you thinking?” His pained expression hints at something deeper, and a momentary wave of confusion washes over your anger.

“I’m so sorry, I–,” he stammers, his shoulders slumped, an apologetic look in his eyes that matches the turmoil you feel inside. His deflated demeanor echoes your own, both marred by the chaos of emotions.

You brace yourself, waiting for his words, and he releases a heavy sigh. “Fuck. I’m so sorry,” he admits, absentmindedly kicking up the sand beneath his restless feet.

“I...I…” he stammers, and frustration builds within you as the seconds tick away, leaving you increasingly agitated by his apparent reluctance to offer an explanation for why he unexpectedly kissed you.

“I think I’m gay,” he suddenly blurts out, and you’re taken aback. Confusion clouds your expression as you blink, trying to reconcile this revelation with the unexpected kiss, leaving you grappling with a puzzle that refuses to neatly fit together.

He gazes at you, and it’s as if he can decipher the thoughts racing through your mind. Despite the lingering pain etched on his face, a genuine sorrow and deflation accompany his words, “I kissed you because I needed to know if there was a spark between us, as a man and a woman.”

You nod in a semblance of comprehension, though his reasoning feels like a puzzle missing a crucial piece, leaving you with an unresolved sense of confusion.

“For a while now, I’ve found myself drawn to men, but it feels... weird, you know? I thought, perhaps, your sweetness and kindness could kindle a spark of interest in women for me, but it’s all so confusing.” He casts his gaze downward, releasing a sigh of frustration, and you meet his troubled eyes with a profound sense of empathy.

“Oh, Yoongi. Why didn’t you tell me?” you sigh, reaching for his arm and offering a reassuring stroke.

“It wasn’t cool of you to kiss me,” you begin in a soft voice, searching for his gaze, your eyes filled with a mix of confusion and understanding.

“There wasn’t even a spark,” he confesses, his voice hiccuping, tears streaming down his face, a raw vulnerability in his eyes that leaves you both exposed and connected in that fragile moment.

You envelop him in a comforting embrace, his tears dampening your shoulder. Despite the lingering frustration over his impulsive kiss, you can’t help but feel a surge of empathy. He’s navigating uncharted emotional waters, and you sense the vulnerability in his tears, making you momentarily set aside your own turmoil.

“I’m sorry. It’s just... I don’t know what came over me. I’m so fucking sorry,” he whispers into the fabric of your shoulder, each word carrying the weight of regret, his tears leaving a palpable mark on your shirt.

“Yoongi, it’s okay,” you comfort him with a reassuring pat on his back. Mikrokosmos stands still opposite you both, a silent observer in the emotionally charged moment.

“Listen, you shouldn’t have kissed me. What you’re going through, you should’ve talked to me about it. And, please, there’s nothing wrong with liking men, okay? You can like whoever you want,” you assert, taking a step back to meet his eyes. “It’s going to be okay.”

Even through his tears and sobs, he looks at you with a puzzled expression. “Even with Jimin?”

Honestly, you don’t have all the answers, but you cling to hope. With a reassuring nod, you assert, “Jimin will come around.”

Days have passed, and the rift between you and Jimin remains unhealed. Every attempt to bridge the gap with words has been met with his silent retreat, leaving your pleas hanging in the air, unanswered.

Every passing day, the weight on your heart intensifies as Jimin continues to evade you. Returning to the ranch, the familiar routine with Yoongi feels strange, not because of any discord between you and him – you’ve reassured each other that everything is fine – but the unspoken tension with Jimin casts a shadow over the otherwise familiar landscape.

Diving into the world of wild horses with Yoongi acts as a soothing balm for your restless thoughts though, granting a momentary reprieve from the constant echoes of Jimin in your mind.

Today unfolds with a familiar dance between you and Mikrokosmos, each step a delicate negotiation of trust. Yoongi’s words echo in your mind, a reminder that forging a connection with her is a patient journey, a symphony of moments yet to be composed.

As Mikrokosmos gracefully weaves through the pen, Yoongi perches atop the fence, his keen eyes tracing the intricate dance between you and the wild mare, a silent maestro orchestrating a ballet of trust and understanding.

“Feel the rhythm of the moment, ease into it, and keep that calm composure,” he encourages, affirming your efforts with a reassuring nod.

“How have you been since last time?” you inquire, alluding to that unexpected moment when everything seemed to pivot with that unexpected kiss.

He wears a deflated expression, exhaling a sigh, “I’m still sorry for kissing you.”

“It’s fine. But I’m here for you. It seems like you could use somebody to talk to, don’t you think?” you inquire, wearing a soft smile.

He manages a small smile, though it’s faint. “Yeah, I haven’t really talked to anybody about it. It’s embarrassing,” he admits, his eyes reflecting a mix of vulnerability and relief.

“You have nothing to be ashamed of. There’s nothing wrong with liking men, women, transgender persons, non-binary persons, or none at all,” you reassure him with a warm smile, your attention divided between the conversation and the subtle progress with Mikrokosmos inching closer to you.

“A gay cowboy, that ain’t gonna be an easy trail to ride,” he sighs deeply, a sense of deflation settling over him once more.

“I understand, but I believe you’re being too hard on yourself,” you say with a gentle voice, aiming to provide reassurance.

“Is there anyone catching your eye?” you inquire, a note of hope in your voice, as you witness his eyes light up with a sudden sparkle, gradually breaking into a warm smile.

“There is, but I don’t think he reciprocates,” he confesses, a sense of deflation in his tone contrasting with the bright shimmer in his eyes.

“Have you asked him, or shared your feelings with him?” you inquire, turning your gaze toward Mikrokosmos. She ambles around, occasionally snorting at the soft sand.

“No! I’m too afraid to tell him. I don’t want things to change between us because of my feelings,” he confesses, the words tumbling out in an almost frantic shout, briefly startling Mikrokosmos.

You give him a sheepish smile; you truly understand his hesitation. It’s hard putting your heart and feelings on a platter. You don’t know if the other person feels the same or if your heart is going to get scattered. But, deep down, you believe it’s worth putting your heart out there. 

Sometimes, the risk is what makes the reward extraordinary.

“When you’re ready, I believe you should tell him,” you say, infusing your words with the hope that resides within you, a hope that everything will unfold into something beautiful.

You sense an additional presence behind you, and as you turn around, you catch Yoongi fixedly gazing at something—or someone—over your shoulder. Intrigued, you pivot to find Jimin leaning against the fence, his gaze locked onto Yoongi.

Jimin’s voice slices through the air, a sharp edge to his tone that matches the intensity etched on his face. “I need you to drive into town and buy some new feed for the horses,” he instructs, the anger palpable in his words and expression.

“Sure boss,” Yoongi responds with a crisp nod, his acknowledgment carrying an undercurrent of tension, an unspoken acknowledgment of the brewing storm between you and Jimin.

Yearning for a chance to talk, you tentatively approach Jimin, hope lacing your voice as you softly inquire, “Hey, Jimin, can I talk to you?” 

Your attempt at a warm smile hangs in the air, but he remains distant, his gaze piercing through you as if you’re invisible. Silence greets your plea, his lack of response a profound dismissal as he pivots away, retreating to whatever occupied his attention before.

Stunned and disheartened, you linger in disbelief, the weight of Jimin’s blatant disregard settling heavily on your shoulders. An unsettling sensation creeps in, the palpable silence amplifying the sinking feeling in your chest. Kicking at the sand with your boots, a surge of deflation courses through you, leaving you stranded in a sea of unanswered questions and unspoken tensions.

A somber expression clouds Yoongi’s face as he inquires, “He still hasn’t talked to you?” 

Your head shakes in response. 

The mystery of Jimin’s continued silence baffles you, each attempt to bridge the gap met with indifference. Despite your persistent efforts, he remains resolute in his avoidance, a clear indication of his desire to keep his distance.

You release a heavy exhale, frustration etching into your words. “It’s as if he’s deliberately ignoring and avoiding me.”

“Do you want me to talk to him? Clarify that the kiss meant nothing, and apologize for my mistake?” Yoongi offers, his willingness to step in as a friend evident. However, you hesitate, not wanting him to fight your battles. You’re convinced that Jimin simply needs more time to come around, right?

“No. I doubt it would make a difference anyway. I’ve already assured him that it was meaningless, so I don’t understand why he’s still so angry…” Your words trail off, spoken in a hushed tone, carrying the weight of your frustration and confusion.

Yearning for a breakthrough, you contemplate slipping into the dress Jimin gifted you back in the city. Maybe, just maybe, it will catch his eye and pave the way for the conversation you so desperately crave. 

The unanswered questions weigh on you, leaving you bewildered as to why he won’t grant you a chance to clarify things.

Draped in the dress Jimin gave you, you delicately apply a touch of makeup, accentuating your features according to your own personal style. The anticipation lingers in the air, a silent plea for this subtle effort to break through the walls Jimin has erected.

As you finish preparing, you join the other girls outside the yard. Their outfits exude comfort and beauty, each reflecting their unique styles. Ara’s curly hair complements a simple shirt and knee-length skirt, paired with low heels. Ha-rin gracefully dons a sleek, figure-hugging dress. Your sister embraces a casual vibe with a shirt and jeans, a choice you appreciate. Meanwhile, Soo-ah stands out in a vibrant blue dress, accentuating her blonde hair. It’s just a casual outing to the bar, but the simplicity carries an understated elegance among the group.

Jessi confidently takes the wheel, her hands gripping it with purpose as you all pile into the car. With a decisive turn of the key, the engine roars to life, and she skillfully guides the vehicle down the dusty road, steering towards town. 

As the car glides through the landscape, your gaze fixates on the passing scenery outside the window. The lively chatter of the other girls becomes a distant murmur as your thoughts wander into the realm of introspection. The vibrant colors of the world blur into a kaleidoscope, your mind lost in contemplation, oblivious to the conversations swirling around you.

Suddenly, a gentle poke interrupts your introspection, and you pivot to find Soo-ah’s cerulean gaze locked onto yours. Her concern echoes in the soft curve of her brows as she delicately inquires, “What’s troubling you?”

As you release a heavy sigh, frustration coursing through you like an electric current, you run your fingers through your hair. The tangled web of untold secrets and unspoken emotions weighs on your shoulders. The girls remain oblivious to the unspoken turmoil – the unexpected kiss from Yoongi, the revelation of his sexuality, Jimin’s furious reaction, and the ensuing silence that has settled between you and him like an unbreachable chasm.

“Jimin is mad at me,” as the words escape your lips, a heavy admission lingering in the air, you allow your body to slump against the car seat, a profound sense of deflation settling over you. This situation with Jimin is a bitter pill, a taste of discontent that lingers on your tongue.

This sucks.

Soo-ah’s gaze, a curious blend of concern and confusion, locks onto you as she poses the question, “Why is he mad at you? I thought everything was well since their party.” 

“He saw Yoongi kiss me,” you sigh, the weight of frustration evident in the sound. A collective hush descends upon the car as the gravity of your revelation captures the attention of the rest of the girls.

“Wait, you kissed Yoongi?” Ha-rin’s eyes widen in surprise, her tone revealing a mixture of shock and curiosity.

“No, I didn’t kiss him. He kissed me. There’s a big difference!” you retort, crossing your arms over your chest with a frustrated huff.

Ara’s voice comes from the front passenger seat, cutting through the tension, “Oh. Do you like Yoongi now, then?”

“No! I still like Jimin. But he doesn’t want to talk to me since he saw that kiss. I tried to explain to him that it meant nothing, but he didn’t want to listen and slammed the door in my face…” you lament, the frustration evident in your voice.

“So he knows it didn’t mean anything?” Soo-ah inquires, her eyes probing for the truth.

“Yeah. I told him,” you respond with a nonchalant shrug, a mix of frustration and resignation lingering in your voice.

Your sister’s soft voice breaks the tension, drawing your attention. “Jimin is a very sensitive guy, you know?” she remarks, her words carrying a touch of understanding for both you and Jimin.

“I’m beginning to understand that, yeah…” you mutter, releasing another heavy sigh that echoes the weight of the situation.

“He’s quick to feel jealousy, especially when it involves his brother,” Jessi chimes in, her gaze fixed on the winding road ahead.

“But it was Yoongi, not Jungkook. I can’t wrap my head around why he’s upset about this but not when I slept with Jungkook,” you express, genuine confusion evident in your words.

“I believe he took time grappling with the fact that you were involved with Jungkook. It hurt him deeply. They have a competitive relationship, and if he can overcome that, it shows he truly cares for you,” your sister suggests, her voice carrying a hopeful tone.

“But why won’t he talk to me then?” Frustration seeps into your voice. All you yearn for is a conversation with Jimin, to express that you desire him, that you need him in your life.

“Did he say anything else?” Soo-ah inquires, her mind working to find a solution that might aid you.

Your mind races, and then it clicks— he did say something! “He did say: ‘You’re always into everybody else. It’s never me. I’m never the one’,” you share, the weight of those words lingering in the air.

A shared understanding seems to envelop everyone else, leaving you on the outskirts as they exchange knowing glances with one another.

“What is it?” you inquire, eager to unravel the undisclosed facets of Jimin’s life that have eluded you.

“I think he’s hurt,” Ara shares, causing you to roll your eyes. The frustration mounts as the question still persists: Why won’t he talk to you?

“Every time Jimin’s been in a relationship, they’ve always left him, whether for his brother or someone else. He’s never the one they pick,” Jessi shares, her voice tinged with sadness. She looks at you through the rearview mirror, her eyes holding a depth of understanding. “I think he’s hurt too, by always being picked last.”

Your heart plummets. 

He did express that he’s ’never the one’, but in your heart, he’s ‘the one’ for you. 

The realization hits you hard; you didn’t assure him of this crucial truth when he needed to hear it the most. If only you had voiced those feelings, perhaps you wouldn’t be grappling with this gut-wrenching sensation in your stomach.

“But he is the one for me,” you murmur in a hushed and almost imperceptible tone, yet the gravity of your words resonates clearly with the girls.

“Then tell him that,” Soo-ah urges, her hand offering a supportive squeeze on your arm.

You nod, grateful for the girls’ advice and your sister’s insights into Jimin’s past relationships. Determination courses through your veins as you clench your hands. Tonight, you’ve decided, you will talk to Jimin and bare your feelings to him.

How he’s the one who has held a special place in your heart since childhood, a crush that has only deepened with time. You yearn to confess that he’s the one you desire, envisioning a dance of closeness, where his arms envelop you, and your embrace reciprocates the warmth you’ve always craved.

You can do it. Tonight is the night.

As Jessi skillfully parks the car next to Jimin’s unmistakable blue truck, your heart quickens its rhythm. The sight of his vehicle acts as a silent cue, summoning the courage that has been building within you. Tonight, in the embrace of the bar’s glow, you are determined to release the words that have lingered in the depths of your heart, ready to unfold your emotions to Jimin.

Upon entering the bar, the lively scene unfolds before you: Jungkook and Yoongi engage in a fierce game of pool, drawing a crowd that includes Hoseok, Namjoon, and the mysterious guy from the party.

Meanwhile, at the bar, your eyes lock onto Jimin, seated intimately with a woman. Her laughter dances in the air as she leans into his touch, playfully twirling a strand of hair around her finger, while her hands find their way to his biceps, giving a teasing squeeze. 

A vice tightens around your heart, squeezing it within the confines of your chest. It plummets, dragging you into an emotional abyss. The sensation is akin to a dizzying free fall, the room spinning uncontrollably before your eyes.

The girls sense your frozen reaction and swiftly grab your arm, forcibly steering you away from the heart-wrenching scene. Your body feels immobilized, as if they need to physically drag you away from the emotional vortex that threatens to consume you.

They usher you towards the pool table, where the mysterious guy introduces himself as Seokjin. As you make eye contact with Yoongi, his expression reflects both concern and sadness. The other guys share similar sentiments, but it’s Jungkook who breaks the silence, his voice heavy with regret, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t think he would bring a date…”

You feign a smile, attempting to conceal your true emotions behind a façade of forced cheerfulness, though you suspect everyone can easily discern the charade. Yet, you couldn’t care less about that.

Hoseok wraps you in a comforting embrace, whispering reassurances, “It’s gonna be okay.”

However, the words fall on deaf ears as a storm of emotions brews within. Far from feeling okay, you sense a hollowness. The night intended for expressing your feelings to Jimin has taken an unexpected turn, leaving you questioning if he’s truly moved on.

Your voice barely above a whisper, you cautiously inquire, “Is he dating her?” 

The vulnerability in your tone reflects the internal struggle, torn between the desire for truth and the fear that it might shatter the fragile pieces of your heart. Despite the apprehension, you steel yourself for the reality you might have to face.

A heavy sigh escapes Jungkook’s lips as he confirms, “He is. It happened only a few days ago.” His words carry the weight of empathy, and his eyes convey a shared sorrow, understanding the depth of the wound that’s just been exposed.

“It’s Deiji, his old physiotherapist.” Jungkook adds with a heavy voice as he lets Yoongi have a turn at the pool table. His eyes reflect a genuine sadness, as does the whole group.

Your heart plummets into an abyss of confusion and hurt. Instead of choosing to communicate with you, he sought solace in someone else’s company. The ache in your chest deepens as you grapple with the unfathomable question of why he couldn’t have just spoken to you, choosing connection over the cold distance that now separates you both.

Your heart clenches, threatening to suffocate you with an overwhelming surge of nausea. 

The sight of Jimin and his newfound companion engrossed in tender exchanges and affectionate gestures feels like a relentless assault on your senses. The lovey-dovey expressions, the sweet whispers shared in each other’s ears, and their gentle caresses become an unbearable spectacle, driving you to the edge of discomfort. 

Ugh, you can’t take it.

Yoongi steps closer, intertwining his fingers with yours, prompting you to release Hoseok. His words carry a glimmer of hope, “Perhaps he just needs a bit more time to come around?”

Doubt seeps into your thoughts like a bitter poison. His swift transition to move on, without allowing you to explain or talk leaves you with a void, a concoction of sadness and a smoldering ember of anger burning within.

“I don’t think so,” a heavy sigh escapes your lips as you divert your gaze from the sight of Jimin and his new companion at the bar. Nausea knots your stomach, a visceral reaction to the realization that being in this room, in Jimin’s presence, is now a painful experience. The intention to confess your feelings replaced by the stark truth that his heart has found a different destination.

As the guys attempt to lift your spirits with a game of pool and some beers, the once familiar taste of the brew now carries a strange bitterness, unlike its usual comforting flavor. Your focus wavers, and it feels as though you’re observing the scene through distorted glasses, the world around you losing its usual vibrancy.

You believed that you and Jimin shared something unique—sure, you weren’t officially an item, but you were inching your way there, weren’t you?

Once more, you find yourself submerged in the vast ocean of your own emotions. If only you had proclaimed to Jimin that he was the one for you. If only you hadn’t frozen on that fateful day! 

’What ifs’ echo loudly in the chambers of your heart.

Your fists tighten involuntarily, the bitter taste in your mouth mirroring the ache within. The past is immutable; all you can do is forge ahead. If Jimin has chosen to let his feelings for you fade, perhaps it’s time to release your own grip and move forward. 

Easier said than done, as you find yourself hesitant to relinquish the tether to your emotions, unwilling to surrender to the prospect of letting go.

Throughout the remainder of the night, the guys make a genuine effort to lift your spirits. The once familiar taste of beer now repulses you so much, rendering you the designated driver. As a result, the girls indulge in even more libations, their laughter and banter echoing against the backdrop of your own subdued thoughts.

Amidst the melancholy, you find solace in witnessing their joy, and a genuine laugh escapes you when Yoongi triumphs over Jungkook at the pool table.

Despite the fragility of your heart, you can’t help but steal glances toward Jimin, engrossed in his conversation with this Deiji girl. A conflicted part of you contemplates confessing your feelings, but the shattered remnants of your confidence hold you back. After a week of deliberate avoidance, you doubt he would even spare you a glance.

As Jimin engages in conversation, the subtle traces of irritation etched on his face catch your notice, leaving you with a sinking realization that you might be the source of his vexation.

As you chauffeur the girls home that night, their laughter resonates within the car, yet your heart doesn’t resonate with the joy. Gripping the steering wheel tightly, your fingers mirror the clenching ache in your heart, and the darkness of the night reflects the shadows looming over the what-could-have-been with Jimin.

Engaging in work becomes your refuge, a distraction from the constant reverie of Jimin that clouds your thoughts. Despite your concerted effort, escaping his presence proves challenging, especially on his sprawling property. His distinctive soft locks and infectious laughter ripple through the yard, infiltrating the serene atmosphere where you and Yoongi diligently toil with the wild horses.

The sight of Jimin reveling in happiness with someone else ignites a bitter flame within you, a bitter concoction of disappointment and self-blame. As the waves of resentment crash against your emotional shore, you grapple with the realization that, perhaps, Jimin’s inability to engage in a mature conversation has tarnished the pedestal on which you once held him.

You and Yoongi dedicate your efforts to the brown mare, a patient companion in need of trust. Observing Yoongi’s skilled hands, you witness the delicate dance between man and horse unfold. His fingers caress the mare’s neck, traverse its sturdy body, and gracefully navigate down its legs, weaving a tale of connection and understanding through the language of touch.

With a practiced finesse, he shifts his hands back to the mare’s back, deftly applying his body weight as though securing an invisible saddle. The mare, a silent witness to this equine ballet, stands unperturbed, a testament to the trust forged between horse and human through the gentle language of handling.

“Calling it a day with this one,” he declares, a self-assured grin lighting up his face, even as the horse affectionately nudges his shoulder, sealing the unspoken bond formed in the tranquil dance of understanding.

Turning his attention towards you, he leads the brown mare away into the nearby paddock, asking, “Do you want to work on Mikrokosmos?”

Grateful for the distraction, you nod and reply, “Yes, that would be nice.” 

Together, you walk back to the stables, anticipation building as you prepare to face the untamed spirit of Mikrokosmos.

With a sense of accomplishment, he entrusts you with the task. 

Gently, you open her stall, and to your delight, Mikrokosmos willingly follows your lead. Lately, her trust in you has grown, allowing you to guide her without the need for a halter or a lead rope. Together, you stroll down to the pen, opening the fence and stepping inside, a testament to the bond you’ve formed.

Yoongi secures the gate behind you, swiftly leaping up to perch on the fence, his eyes keenly fixed on your every move as you begin your task.

As Mikrokosmos ambles around you in a deliberate circle, the rhythmic sound of her snorts fills the air, her curiosity piqued by the familiar scent of the weathered fence.

As Mikrokosmos gradually inches closer, a palpable sense of anticipation builds within you. Your desire for her to ‘join up’ intensifies, a connection you’ve been yearning for, still elusive in her hesitant movements.

Yet, in an unexpected shift, she retreats, leaving you with a subtle sense of deflation. The proximity you felt, a fleeting promise, slips away, and a tinge of disappointment lingers in the air.

From his perch atop the fence, Yoongi’s voice floats down, breaking the quiet, “Relax. Are you stressed or nervous?”

As the realization dawns, a mix of stress, irritation, and sadness swirl within you. A tumultuous cascade of emotions that might not be the best companions when seeking a horse’s trust.

Your head bobs in agreement. “I think I need to clear my head,” you admit, the weight of unspoken turmoil palpable in the air.

Understanding seems to pass silently between you and Yoongi. He gracefully hops down from the fence, offering a reassuring nod and a faint smile as you trudge back to the gate, unlocking it with a heavy heart.

You stride purposefully to where Marshmallow is tethered. Swiftly unfastening him, you deftly place your foot in the stirrup and swing your leg over the saddle. With a gentle kick to his sides, you urge him into a spirited gallop, the wind whipping through your hair as you both charge forward.

Without a word to Yoongi, you let Marshmallow take charge, giving him free rein to gallop ahead, the rhythmic beat of hooves on the earth harmonizing with the rush of wind in your ears. 

As the wind weaves through your hair, the rhythmic gallop of Marshmallow beneath you becomes a soothing cadence, drowning out the tumultuous thoughts of what could have been with Jimin. Instead, you choose the liberating path of a blank canvas, letting your mind mirror the pristine slate before the stroke of a paintbrush. The open expanse before you becomes a metaphorical canvas for new possibilities, each hoofbeat a brushstroke on the masterpiece of your own journey.

Underneath Marshmallow’s rhythmic hooves, you traverse hilltops, wind through enchanting forests, and traverse expansive open lands. The beauty around you serves as a healing balm for your heart. 

In the distance, a wild herd of horses captures your attention, prompting you to guide Marshmallow into a steady walk. In silent reverence, you approach, not wanting to disrupt the natural dance of the herd, but to observe them silently.

Before you, the wild horses grace the landscape with their untamed beauty, a sight that never fails to captivate. Gazing upon them, an unspoken yearning echoes within you — a desire to emulate their unbridled freedom, devoid of obligations, untouched by pain, liberated from the weight that burdens your gut.

Your hand gently strokes Marshmallow’s neck, a tender connection in the midst of your emotions. Tears trace silent paths down your face, and the horse, ever understanding, carries you through the ebb and flow of your heartache.

Oh, the weight of regret settles on your heart as you yearn for the courage to have confessed your feelings to Jimin on that fateful day when Yoongi kissed you. 

If only the hands of time could rewind, granting you a chance to rewrite the narrative of your heart.

The pang of regret lingers, a bitter aftertaste staining your every thought.

Author’s note(2): Thank you so much for reading! 🌸 I would very much appreciate it if you reblogged the chapter, if you liked it ✨ A small review or a comment would also mean a lot to me, and even a like. But please, don’t be afraid to let me know what you think; your kind words makes me extremely happy 💜

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[outlaw-apologist]

Valentine’s Day with the Gang (RDR2)

Your favorite member brings you out on a special Valentine’s day date! Characters: Arthur, Charles, Josiah, John, Hosea, Dutch Warnings: NSFW themes AO3 Link Arthur - Arthur says he doesn’t believe in cheesy holidays like Valentine’s day - Leading up to the holiday he acts completely uninterested and won’t talk about it unless you bring it up - “Well… If you really wanna do somethin’ I guess we can,” He says reluctantly - However, Arthur is a secret hopeless romantic. Even though he acts this way he’s planning a special Valentine’s day for you the whole entire time!

- A nice gift he TOTALLY DIDN’T STEAL! Usually jewelry, a clothing item, or a little trinket that he thinks you would like. - Arthur also loves giving you fancy hairpins, he thinks they look cute on you - Alcohol in a unique/beautiful bottle. Think strawberry wine in a heart shaped bottle. Something like this. - Finger sandwiches… He LOVES an excuse to buy finger sandwiches. They are so tiny and he likes to 🤏  BUT he needs an excuse to buy them. A big outlaw like him can’t just go and buy little tea sandwiches for no reason. Well… Valentine’s day is the reason. - Once everything is prepared Arthur takes you to a place he found while riding around on missions. He’ll never tell you, but for 3 months he took note of every beautiful spot he could find that he thought you might like, slowly narrowing it down to a special place - He makes sure it’s in a place that’s pretty warm this time of year and spreads out a nice big blanket then plates everything neatly. - A romantic picnic! - Well…. He hopes you find it romantic. Because he sure does… - Arthur is kind of afraid that you might think his gifts are shallow or not considerate so he draws pictures for you - I mean /really/ draws. He spends HOURS trying to draw something perfect. If your horse is very special to you he will draw breathtaking pictures of your horse. If you have pets he’ll draw those pets stunningly. Or if there is a specific kind of landscape you love, like the mountains or the ocean, that will be captured wonderfully on paper. - He draws it on nice expensive paper too so you can frame it and use it as decor if you wish - Arthur is always very VERY shy when handing you this drawing even if he does this every Valentine’s day. He’s worried you won’t like it. - After you two eat and drink your wine he cuddles with you until it starts to get dark. Then he invites you on a romantic ride as the sun sets… to the hotel of course - Because after those little sandwiches Arthur feels frisky, and he LOVES having you as dessert - Believe me when I say this man will probably keep making you cum until you beg him to stop. ---- Charles - I genuinely don’t think Charles knows what to do on Valentine’s day - He’s never had a Valentine’s day before so this is all new for him - He hears about other couples exchanging chocolate or going out on nice dinners but he doesn’t feel as if that suits you two as a couple. If he brought you to dinner in Saint Denis that would probably be very weird. - Charles also doesn’t believe in frivolous gifts. If he gives you something it needs to be very personal and from the heart. - Because of this he decides to give you something handmade. Charles spends several months perfecting his wittling skills. - The end result is better than expected! He carves out a careful representation of your absolute favorite animal. He hopes you carry it with you everywhere you go to remember him by. It’s like a good luck charm - He asks Arthur and John what they’re doing for Valentine’s day while trying to make plans. He still doesn’t really know what to do. - Eventually he does choose to go the dinner route. Deciding to cook for you he searches/hunts for fresh ingredients and buys everything else he couldn’t find, storing them safely in his satchel before. riding back to camp to pick you up for your date - But first, the day starts lazy when you two wake up. He snuggles you, kisses you good morning and brings you coffee and breakfast in bed before he announces he’s ‘going to run some errands’ (this is when he goes to get the ingredients) - Late noon he returns and takes you out on a nice ride to an area full of active wildlife. -The day is filled with a wonderful nature walk. You each pick flowers to put into each other’s hair and talk or tell stories. - Charles sets up a nice camp for you both. He made sure to bring his favorite pelts for you to lounge on in front of the fire as he makes you dinner. - I think it’s important to include that he went and purchased your favorite baked goods for you to have as dessert. Charles didn’t think he could make a better dessert on his own and didn’t want to disappoint you. He only buys enough for you and none for himself, though he’s not opposed to sharing if you suggest it. - The night is spent with a great meal, wonderful company, and passionate love making. It ends with you laying on his chest as he draws circles on your skin. You both look up at the stars and tell stories or talk about the future, dreaming of all you could have. ----- Trelawny - Oh he’s soooo traditional! He’ll drop a nice dress or suit off for you to change into before returning with a stage coach, a large bouquet of roses, and of course chocolate. - “You look stunning mon amour…. That’s French by the way.” He purrs, kissing your hand as he helps you into the stage. - Fine dining has been arranged for you on this evening. Taking place on a high terrace overlooking the best view in all of Saint Denis. - He lets you order whatever you want. Steak? Lobster? Dessert? All yours! Eat your heart out!!! - Of course he orders caviar for the table and the most expensive wine they offer. - During dinner there’s live music and even a firework show! You watch the colors explode in the sky, shining over the ocean waves. It’s very very romantic~ - “I know I’ve been gone for a long time, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t thought of you. Here- I picked this up for you in a far away place called Blackwater.” He says, sliding a satin box across the table. Inside is a stunning necklace. Gold with a set sapphire. - After dinner he takes you for a walk. Telling you grand stories about his adventures. At one point he starts serenading you, dancing with you in the street. Oh it’s wonderful~ He twirls you around lampposts and picks a flower from the gardens to stick in your hair. - Once the night comes to an end he books a luxury room at the finest hotel in the city where you two get a little frisky before turning in for the night ------ John - His ass FORGETS it’s Valentines day - “Why’re you all dolled up?” After you glare at him and he realizes he’s forgetting something important he starts sweating. “Is it your birthday today or our anniversary?” - Once he figures out what day it is he’ll run out and get you flowers. - Then he’ll let you pick a local restaurant. But nothing too fancy, he didn’t make any reservations so he doubted either of you could get in a nice restaurant. - I’m gonna be honest, your Valentines Day with him isn’t great. He makes it up to you for the next two weeks. He’ll bring you chocolate and flowers almost every day, practically begging for you to forgive him. He even books a nice dinner and actually takes a bath for once. - Then of course he holds you in bed at night asking with those puppy eyes of his “Are you still mad at me, my sweet?” - The best thing about it is you can keep bringing up Valentine’s day during any arguments and he’ll immediately drop everything to take you on an apology date, even if this is your 50th apology date. - He does feel really bad about it. But he continues to forget important days. It just doesn’t cross his little squirrel brain half the time ---- Hosea - Oh he’s been planning this night for weeks! - Hosea has a new spiffy outfit he’s excited to wear just for you~ - Upon picking you up you notice right away not only does he look like a hundred bucks, but he bathed and applied expensive cologne. - “You look more ethereal than any god/goddess known to mankind, my love.” He compliments you, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips before helping you up onto a wagon - The evening starts off with you two getting ice cream and walking around town, talking while watching the sunset. - He then brings you to the theater to watch a show. He bought advanced tickets and reserved your favorite seats - The whole show, Hosea has his arm over your shoulders or is holding you. When something funny happens he laughs and looks to see what your reaction is. He’s just trying to make sure you’re enjoying yourself. - Once the show is over he takes you behind a nice restaurant, picking up food he had requested to-go. “I’m sorry if you rather eat inside, my dove. I thought it would be nice to do something a little different.” He explains, bringing you to a beautiful garden with a picnic table already covered with a table cloth and candles. - “What’s a romantic dinner without champagne and chocolate covered strawberries for my sweetheart?” He pulls a picnic basket out from the bushes after you two settled in to eat. He must’ve spent a lot of time setting this up for you in advance! - After a very sweet dinner where you two laughed about the past and discussed how you hope your relationship grows in the future, he finally slides forth a beautifully decorated present. “Open it.” He smiled wide, seeming giddy with excitement. - As you unwrap it you realize it’s your favorite book. You might be confused at first, but once you open the cover you realize it was signed by the author. This was a very rare copy, extremely hard to get and not to mention expensive.  “I know it’s not much. I thought jewelry might be too cheesy for you, I didn’t want you to think all of my gifts are obtained by immoral means.” Hosea gives you a knowing wink. “Yet I still wanted to gift you a token of my love.” -------- Dutch - You will be woken up by a hearty “Good morning my darling.” A cup of tea or coffee pushed into your hands and your face peppered with kisses. - The day starts off with a nice breakfast in bed, then a bit of sex followed by an afternoon nap. - Once Dutch is nice and rested after your nefarious activities, he washes up and puts on a nice outfit. Similar to Hosea, this is when Dutch wears his nice cologne. - “We’re going dancin’!” He exclaims, making sure you wear the right shoes with your outfit. - He lets you ride in front of him on The Count and once you both arrive in the city he’ll wave down a stage coach to take you rest of the way - The place he bought tickets for you to dance is beautiful! A huge building that looks very European and fairy-tale like on the inside. Many rich people are in attendance since it’s a Valentine’s day ball. - Dutch immediately hands you a glass of champagne before sauntering off to speak with the wealthy for half the night, leaving you alone. - “Oh, come on now. You know we need money.” He whispers to you upon return, gently pulling you against him, arms around your waist. - After this you two finally dance, and honestly it’s a lot of fun! Dutch is very attentive and isn’t shy about kissing you or getting a bit handsy with you in public. - Once you two are danced-out he takes you to a nice restaurant. It turns out he doesn’t have a reservation so he had you pretend to use the powder room so you can sneak a peek at the guest list. You give him the name ‘Dylan Freeman’ and Dutch approaches the waitstaff posing as that man. - You two have a very lovely dinner, on Dylan Freeman’s tab of course! Dutch orders you both the most expensive things off the menu. - After two hours you both are a little drunk off of $100 imported wine when Dylan Freeman shows up. Dutch notices the waitstaff point your way and he grabs your hand. “My sweet, I’m afraid it’s time for us to run.” You both make a mad dash through the busy kitchen and out the back door, running down the alley while giggling. - “A romantic getaway to end a romantic night!” Dutch muses with satisfaction while you two sit by the dock, staring up at the moon and stars. This is when he pulls out a small box. “Go on.” There’s a glimmer in his eye as you look at what's inside. It’s a queen chess piece. “This is who you are to me. To the gang. We couldn’t do this without you.” He leans down, giving you a deep kiss.

[starcocaine]

Who the fuck is this? Seriously, ever since I discovered this monstrosity, I've been feeling disgusted. My friend informed me about this design, and despite it not being 100% official, the damage is still done.

I know many people acknowledged Norman as someone black. And I've agreed most of the time even though in my au I never actually made him black, lol. But I agree on this one. He should be black. Literally, the whole fandom agrees on this one. Yet hear me out- I am not mad since his VA wasn't black at all, color really doesn't matter to me. But what bothers me so much is that he's simply hideous, ALL OF THEM.

They are so many talented artists that you have no idea just how many they are. They had options, many more. Just now, I saw the most jaw-dropping, beautiful- breathtaking fanarts of these same characters. I wish I could tag them all.

I just don't know what to say anymore. I've been such a huge fan of batim since 2017. I was a weird kid since I never stopped talking about it. And I don't mean this as a flex, I'm trying to say that batim has truly been my most precious thing ever. I can't explain how much I loved this back at the time, I still do.

It's been a while since I started to lose my way in the whole lore. Ever since batdr dropped, I haven't been able to catch up. And I must say, ever since they said that a movie, graphic novel and many other books would drop. I just knew I couldn't have high expectations on something like this.

And Jesus christ. I guess we were all right about this one. I really hope they do better, I really do. All I know is that I fear for Thomas Connor, Sammy Lawrence, and Wally Franks. They are absolutely my favorite characters, and even though I have my own impression and headcanons about them, I just pray to the Lord for them not to be THAT bad.

I only had to say this, lol. I needed to vent, whatever happens, I guess there's not much I can do anyway.

P.S. I made this drawing. This is my design of Thomas Connor, lol. Fun fact is that Thomas and Norman are my favorite characters.

I ship those two, btw... Norman x Thomas sounds fun.

What do you think about this in general?

[softdykellie]

ੈ✩‧₊˚ motion sickness part ii | ellie w.

previous part here | next part here soon

PAIRING: modern!ellie x fem!reader

SUMMARY: having grown up together, everyone knew eachother in jackson. when a brooding newcomer owner to a tattoo shop comes along apparently charming her friendly florist neighbor things seem to take a turn.

WARNING: alternative universe! purposefully all lower case. multiple part series. not a very eventful beginning as ellie’s relationship with reader is slow burn but it will start evolving after this one seriously trust me!

WORD COUNT: 632

ellie. you tasted her name on your tongue and melted into the feeling, flushed. dina had certainly manifested her wishes into fruition, you thought. stared at the girl for way too long, getting familiar with her features and vacant gaze towards the alcohol filled shelves against the main bar wall, freckles like starry war paint, eyebrow scar, pale green iris, peach pink lips, auburn hair gently brushing her shoulder at length. breathtaking, you immediately named the feeling, but she looked worn, tossed around. you blamed it on the bruised eye, caught onto sky grey vibes.

a silly game blossomed into your heart years ago, the inspiration for your flower shop really: how everyone you meet could be described by the floral language. dina thought hers too common, but it was your favorite, a daisy, standing for loyal love and “i’ll never tell”. jesse, a white jasmin, sweet love, amiability. even abby, coriander. you did not know the girl at all, but you saw red carnations grow behind her in the way spiritualists would claim to see auras. red carnations; “my heart aches”.

“flower shop girl, yes, that’d be me”

“cute” she mumbled sipping on the beer dina had given her before promptly pretending to be busy elsewhere though noticebly eavesdropping.

“you’ve got a lot of tattoos on you” jesse pointed matter of factly, earning a chuckle “perks of the job?”

“the job” ellie repeated his words in light humor as if minimizing her own career with the sound “yeah, i guess. you want one?”

“fuck, yeah! maybe a dragon up my back or or you know a snake, i don’t know, what do you usually draw?”

“pretty things” she answered before taking you off guard with a head movement that pointed you out amongst them all “like her” she twisted her body around to meet your face “what would you get, flower girl? roses?”

“the sun” you answered “what does that say about me?”

ellie smiled a weak smile, raising the sleeve of her grey t-shirt to expose a beaming sun by her bicep, detailed sad expression in black ink across its center. you took notice of everything. ferns and a moth grew from her hand to the very end of her forearm and covered scars you could only assume to have been self inflicted. a sword pierced through the spare space of skin next to a phoenix and finally angel wings alongside a well hidden initial: J. you wouldn’t ask, but you wanted to.

“trying to figure that out myself”

you hadn’t noticed when abby left, only that she was gone when a couple dollars slipped past you towards the ground from the countertops, extra tips for dina. you wanted her extroverted ways to carry the conversation, ask the newcomer about the altercation, but she seemed to enjoy playing dutiful dedicated owner more. small talk failed you, and ellie was uninterested.

you planned out your next meeting in your head, showing up with cookies as they do in the movies, catching glimpses of her sketches on the wall, giving them backstories to fill the gaps. it wasn’t so strange to be eager as you were taking into consideration how rare these opportunities had presented themselves: you never left jackson, not even on vacation. the world was meant to turn on its axis but you were destined to stay still, an agoraphobia rooted into your veins like movement would burst your chest open, bloody and broken. the flowers had been a therapist’s idea: to take care of something innocent as a purpose, exist outside the shell of a body you painfully cared for in pure obligation. your personal garden arsenal though, had meaning. yellow tulips, that’s what you were. the flower for unrequited love. the one tattooed by ellie’s hipbone you were yet to see.