*Throws Cards*

Yuya’s is from the valentines drawing

Cupid’s Helper Background

OMG YES! Damaged goods blurb! Can you do a fluff one where one of them is sick with seasonal flu and the other has to take care of them, but they're being stubborn about it because that's just what they do and how they are 🤧

Okay, okay... here she is! It's a bit meh I think, but I hope you like it! 🥰

*

Harry is sick and grumpy, and Y/N takes care of him (from the Damaged Goods AU)

Harry feels miserable.

He’s worse than miserable, really,

because he has a cold… or is it the flu?! He has never known to spot the differences between the two, but he recognized all of the early signs, of course...

As per usual, it started with nothing but a sore throat one morning when he woke up, that ended up lingering throughout the whole day, then came a headache, and the tiredness, and the chills…

It wasn’t so unbearable at first… but the symptoms only kept getting worse and worse as the hours went by, to the point of leaving him with no choice but to skip his classes in favor of staying in bed… suffering.

The worst part about it? He wasn’t even suffering at home – where his mom could be taking her lips to his forehead every so often to see if he had a fever, and bringing him bowls of soup and fruit cubes on that same familiar bedtray that had accompanied him throughout all his periods of sickness.

Mom would also be making sure he stayed hydrated and took his medicine in time... which by the way, he wasn’t taking any. Logically speaking, Harry knew he should have gone to a pharmacy by now, to get something to make him feel better, but how? When he couldn't even muster the will to get up and go downstairs to fill the empty water bottle perched on his nightstand.

He couldn’t move.

Every single inch of his body hurt.

And now he was starting to get shivery under his bedclothes... for fucks sake.

If only he had Pepper, his spaniel mutt puppy, around to snuggle and keep his body cozy and warm like a hot water bag... then perhaps Harry would've been in a better mood. Yeah, definitely. Pepper would've let him bury his snotty face into its soft fur, and not even think to complain if its owner left a puddle of guck all over said fur.

But well, Pepper isn't there.

And being sick sucks.

Especially because Harry really wants some cuddles... and it hasn't been helping his case whatsoever that in this trying day of illness, his mind has done nothing but think of Y/N.

Pondering over what outfit she must have worn that day and what she might be up to while he’s laying there on his deathbed. He also wonders if she has noticed his absence, and if so… if she’s worried about him.

He huffs once he checks his phone again and realizes there are still no messages from her. She doesn’t have to check on him. He knows that, but he can't help that he likes to be cared for sometimes… and as it turns out illness has a tendency to turn him into a big, needy baby... who really wants to have Y/N taking care of him. It would be so good. She could play with his hair the way he likes, give him forehead kisses, hold his hand…

Harry sighs out loud. Her company would be even better than Pepper's, he believes... although Harry isn't so sure Y/N would enjoy having his snot on her as much as his trusty pup would, but that’s beside the point.

It’s even more beside the point because he knows she's not coming to see him.

She’s mad at him, he recalls now. Stupidly so, if he's allowed to think that - he did nothing wrong, after all. She asked him for a “brutally honest opinion” on a design work she was doing for one of her classes, and he simply gave her what she asked for, plain as that. But of course, then she didn’t like what he had to say and got sulky. Just girls being girls, he guesses…

Harry should've known better than to think that would stop her from coming to see him, though. His girl was a little box of surprises, after all... a true master in the art of keeping him on his toes.

She showed up only half an hour after she was done with her classes... softly knocking on his door before poking her head inside with a smile, only for her jaw to drop in shock at the absolute misery that oozed from his pores.

“Y/N…” His voice cracked sickly, almost comically. Harry could have laughed at it if he wasn't so utterly lethargic. “What- what are you doing here?”

“Well, what do you think?” The girl huffed, shutting the bedroom door behind her and heading towards the end of the bed to get a good look at him, hands on her hips. “Why didn't you tell me you were sick? Here I was, going about my day thinking you had slept in for being a bum, only to find out through your friends that you were unwell.”

Harry bit the inside of his cheek, trying to hide his downright amusement at her worried state. Y/N was worried about him? Well then, perhaps her irritation had passed and she had forgiven him… which meant maybe he’d get to have those cuddles he wanted so bad. “I thought you were mad at me?” He poked, eyebrows arching teasingly the best they could with the little energy the muscles on his face could muster.

“Well, I was and am now even more.” She punctuated. “But I still care, obviously. How am I supposed to leave you by yourself when you look like that?” She put down the bag she was holding at the edge of the bed and kneeled next to it on the floor.

“Look like what?” He frowned again. “All snotty and gross?”

“Precisely… and an awful lot like Rudolph the reindeer as well.” Y/N added, with a soft pat to the tip of his swollen, red nose.

Harry smiled at that, right before his eyes fell on the bag over his bed. “Did you go to the store to get those creepy sheet masks you wanted?”

“Huh?” She muttured confused, before noticing where he was looking at. “Oh no, um… these are just some things I got for you. Just vitamins and those gummies for when you have a sore throat, and also uh…” Y/N's cheeks went a little hot. “I got some chicken soup from the buffet restaurant as well, you know… the one next to the drug store. I thought it might do you good…”

“You went to get all that stuff for me?” Harry asked, Y/N hummed happily in confirmation, her eyes gleaming with tenderness. “Y/N... you shouldn't have. That shit is so expensive, and I'm fine, really. It's just a cold. You dont have to worry, let alone take care of me.”

“No offence, but I think I do.” The girl challenged his statement, picking up the halfway used toilet paper roll placed on his nightstand. “For a start, you shouldn’t even be using this to blow your nose. It’ll only irritate your skin and make it more sore.”

Harry rolled his eyes playfully. “That’s such a mum thing to say…” He grumbled in attempt to mask the fact that the secret big, needy baby in him was loving every single bit of the mom talk, and the same applies to when Y/N clicked her tongue chastisingly once he stubbornly snatched the roll off her hand and pulled out some more paper.

She took the chance that he had moved his arm to move a bit closer, sitting on the edge of the bed next to his pillow. “Is there anything else I can do to make you feel better?” She asked, lovingly running her digits through his unwashed curls. They felt a little waxy and knotty in her hands, but she didn’t mind it in the slightest. She just wanted to make him feel better in any way she could. So she kept playing with his hair, scratching at the roots and combing her fingers through his strands just the way she knew he reveled in - only breaking contact once she was almost certain that he had fallen asleep on her... However, as soon as Y/N began to pull her hand away to check her phone, Harry let out a whine and bumped his forehead against her wrist, in a silent request for her to keep going. “You're such a baby sometimes…” Y/N whispered, proceeding to fulfill his wish.

“Mhm... your baby.” He sighed happily.

Y/N smiled to herself at the state of pure bliss Harry was in. So utterly distracted by the slow puffy nature of his breaths, that she almost didnt notice that his droopy eyes had opened and were now fixed on her. He cleared his throat painfully. “Y/N... can I have one of those gummies you got? My throat hurts and I really want to try one.”

Y/N let out a tiny chuckle at the pleading tone he'd used, nodding as she got up to grab the bottle from the bag. She threw it at him playfully to catch midair, knowing that his reflexes were outstanding. “Ohh these seem nice. I love lemon and honey flavored shit.” He told her whilst inspecting the label.

“Yeah?” Y/N couldn’t help but to grin, feeling quite proud of herself for picking the right flavor. But her smile quickly melted into an expression of concern once she watched Harry crack open the bottle and carelessly throw a bunch of gummies into his mouth. “Harry! What are you- that’s not candy! You can’t eat them by the handful!”

“Oi, chill out… it’s just gummies. What wrong could it do?” He asked as he blithely chewed them. Words coming out garbled since he was speaking in between a mouthful.

“Oh, I don't know, perhaps there could be anesthetics in them... but who knows? It was just a thought.” Y/N ironized.

“Really?” He made a wry face similar to hers, inspecting the label closer. “Do you think we can get high on this shit?” He smirked, still chewing as he rolled the container around to check the ingredients in the back. “Cause I'm not gonna lie, that sounds like a pretty good afternoon plan to me...” He half joked, cracking the bottle open again and dropping a couple more gummies in his palm.

Y/N heaved at the suggestion. “I think it’s more likely that you get a terrible bellyache, and we end up in the ER...”

“You really think so?” Harry asked teasingly, taking another gummy to his mouth.

“Okay, that's enough. Give me that.” Y/N demanded, pushing for him to pass the container, but all he did was shake his head with a mischievous, defiant smirk. The girl rolled her eyes at him. “You know what? Fine.” She shrugged. “Eat as many as you want. Can't wait to watch you shit the bed once those anesthetics give you a loose bottom.”

He chuckled at the warning, amused. “If you’re so bothered, why don’t you come get them from me?” He questioned, but before he could prepare himself Y/N jumped on the bed to try and take the bottle away from his hands, what forced him to abruptly sit up and hold it over his head just so she couldn’t reach it from where she sat. “That was... real cute. Is that all you got, hm?”

Y/N huffed and crawled over his legs until she was practically on his lap. Seeing right through his facade once he happily handed off the gummies without putting up a fight and wrapped his arms around her middle to pull her in for a hug instead. “You must think you're so sly, don't you?” She mumbled in question, going back to petting his hair. “If you wanted a cuddle, you could’ve just said so… I don't mind your germs.”

“I was trying to behave to avoid getting you sick, actually…”

“Yeah right...” Y/N grumbled, dropping her head on his shoulder for a moment. “But I guess, since you've already passed me the germs and all... might as well just give me a kiss, no?” She proposed shyly, waiting for Harry to make the move. He did, pulling away slightly and placing his lips in hers softly. “Mm, more.” She pouted.

“Greedy.” He joshed, pecking the girl's lips again, and again... and once more for good measure. The damage was already done, after all... they might as well just keep doing it. “I feel disgusting, though. If I knew you were coming, I would’ve at least taken a shower and brushed my teeth. Can’t believe you still want to kiss me when I am like this.”

Y/N scratched at the frizzy hairs of his nape. “I promise you don't smell or look nearly as bad as you think you do… and you taste like lemon and honey so, that’s nice.” Harry distrustfully scrunched up his nose at her allegation, sniffing up some in the process before his digits rushed to grab some more toilet paper. He took it to his nose, blowing noisily. “Alright, snotty boy…” Y/N laughed, swiftly crawling off his lap. “How about I go downstairs to plate up our soup while you pick a movie for us to watch as we eat? It can be one of those “guy movies” and all, I promise I won't complain... today only, cause I'm giving you privilege for being sick.”

His eyes strayed towards you with interest, the lower half of his face still covered behind the poorly ripped toilet paper sheets. “I was actually thinking more like a musical or a pixar movie, maybe?”

“God, Harry.” Y/N gasped in awe. “I swear I've never felt more attracted to you in my life. Snot and everything.”

my pretty witch

james potter x fem!reader

summary: james shows you how beautiful your body is.

word count: 2.8k

warnings: soft dom!james, sub!reader, fingering, fem!receiving oral, body insecurities, self doubt, missionary, penetration, marking, daddy kink, kissing, praise, mentions of sickness, wolfstar mention <3

note; requested.

the birds were singing, the sun was glowing, it was the most memorable saturday of the spring season.

students were speaking amongst themselves as the birds were increasingly chirping and the glinting sun that was only visible hanging planet in the sky that was emitting shimmering rays upon the two girls sitting amongst themselves. the faint gust of wind peering as subtle background noise whilst the rest of the courtyard was trifling around on the weekend.

“'m not sure lils, i just feel— it’s hard to explain.” you began to explain with an expression of embarrassment starting to linger on your face, a simple yet prying conversation amongst the ginger whilst you both sat upon the fresh-cut grass upon the millions of acres that belonged to hogwarts.

students of hogwarts were fairly spaced out upon the yard, as well as corridors and the library with madame pince no doubt hurrying them away to keep the tranquility rather in unbroken, as it was one of the first warm days for weather since the scotland air was filled with ivory flecks that completely covered the viridescent grounds.

almost no gryffindor peers around only the two of you insight. james, remus, peter, and sirius had all made their way closer to the quidditch pitch the minute they left breakfast; mainly so james could practice alongside sirius, and they could prance around the pitch on their brooms like first years who had just learned how to fly, as remus and peter watched. mainly peter, remus had cracked open his most latest read as soon as he sat upon the stands whilst faintly blushing from time to time at sirius’ winks and irritatingly pleasant wolf whistles.

what you hadn’t known was james leaving his mates with each other slightly earlier than expected in a quest for his girlfriend.

he had a glistering grin formed on his lips after catching sight of you speaking amongst lily. he was ready to parade over to you and boast about his newest quidditch tricks he had learned whilst sitting upon your lap ruining the serene aura that swarmed around your conversation with the ginger.

the deviant sun flickered delicate rays over your figure, to james you were effortlessly gleaming in the golden hues that radiated upon your skin.

his girl.

how could someone be so utterly beautiful?

the only thing diminishing his smile from the apex of his lips was when he was close enough to catch wind of your conversation with the gryffindor.

“i don't want him to think ‘m disgusting or anything! i just— i have stretch marks and stuff. i don't wanna be unappealing or something.” you whined following a groan whilst tilting your head back, covering your eyes at the slowly sinking sun radiating into your irises.

lily gaped at you befuddled before speaking, “but i mean, you’ve had sex before—” she spoke rather boisterously, you rapidly took the palm of your hand, clutching it over her mouth before she removed it and continued speaking, “and he's never been ‘disgusted’ or anything prior.” she finished in a whisper at your widen eyes; your face contorting into fear, afraid someone had heard what she said.

“’m just nervous that just because he doesn't express anything, doesn't mean he doesn't think it.” you chewed heavily at the skin of your peeling lips before applying a fresh layer of chapstick to the chapped cushions.

the awareness of your pending stress began to become overwhelming in your veins as you expressed your concerns to lily.

the bespectacled boy less than ten feet away from you tremendously creased his features in bewilderment, his face almost permanently contorting into a grueling grimace. did he ever do anything to make you think you were undesirable to him? you were quite literally an angelic essence that roamed the acres of hogwart’s at every waking moment of the day, it was like he had won the lottery, (something muggle-like you had mentioned to him) when you had agreed to go on a date with him.

and now you suspected something he couldn't even imagine in a nightmare.

he stayed a moment longer, listening to you drone on upon the fact he might've found you horrid or repelling. his psyche opting to trudge back to the gryffindor towers where he had originally planned to meet with you after your meet-up with lily.

what decision could've reveled in your mind to decide that he might've thought grueling thoughts on the certain aspects of your psychical appearance that he particularly found beautiful. your personality was captivating, of course. but that didn't mean he wouldn't bore his eyes into your figure trying to memorize every micro-detail of you and your features. any juncture of time he had with you he would spend adorning every aspect of you, when you happen to be separated he would spend his mind fulfilling images of you.

there wasn't one moment where he wasn't thinking of you.

and there wasn't one singular nanosecond he didn't think you weren't a goddess walking the earth.

even before you had brushed your teeth on particularly rough mornings before classes when the mangled tuffs of your hair that clung to your roots before brushing it, even when you were blowing your nose and heaving the tissues onto the ground when you were adamantly sick and you couldn't even whiff the most pungent scents; you were angelic.

so how in merlins name would you think so negatively of yourself?

james proceeded to haul his legs in pacing motions across the floor whilst he awaited your presence in the vermillion stricken common room. his thoughts overwhelming him on the mere thought of you and your psyche negatively impacting every nook and cranny of your mind-- which he would opt to remove any moment he got the chance to.

at the tumble of his limbs moving around the common room he heard a similar pair of footsteps enter the common room, “you alright, love?” you inquired gently, your figure tremendously slouched and drowsy after being in overwhelming embarrassment, the quick spin of his figure catching your attention.

“should i not have—” you initiated to speak again, your words almost completely disorganized, speaking first rather than overthinking your words at his slight apprehensive behaviors since you had arrived mere seconds ago.

“i love you,” he began, now walking over to your tense figure, “and you're my person,” said james in a rapid pace, the words of his tongue rolling off haphazardly. you began to crease your eyebrows confusedly at his confession, his hands deciding to sit on both sides of your fragile jaw that began to clench in the encasement of his palms.

you were adamantly confused at where his arbitrary confession had sprouted from, and the intentions behind it.

“’m quite aware, yes?” you sighed in the duration of your sentence recalling the conversation over your appearance with lily just a few minutes ago, now defiantly looking at your shoes before speaking again. “why the sudden confession, james?” you inquired again, this time sorrowfully.

“’m not an eavesdropper or anything,” he began to defend himself, seeing your eyes hastily peer ascent to him along with the widening of your eyes, “but, i— i heard what you said to lily.” he finished his sentence wistfully. you respired heavily for a moment, your hands now clutching onto his that remained laid onto your complexion.

“just, i dunno. ignore my thoughts, they’re stupid.”

his eyes proceeded to widen at your request. his reaction to being adamantly confused was contorted in the features of his face like he had been peering over the defense against the dark arts section on an O.W.L.S exam after not studying for a week.

“i could never just ignore you. i care about what you think, m’love.” he dragged the pad of his thumb against the dermis of your cheek, feeling the broad flush of your skin begin to warm the velvet palms of hands. “i just— i can't explain it.”

there was a detrimental feeling pooling in your mind at the feeling of embarrassment beginning to tinge your cheeks. you felt as if you were in the middle of a school audition and suddenly forgot all of your lines, the insistent feeling of unworthiness popping up in your mind every couple of minutes like a menace throughout your life.

“c’mon, darling,” he whispered whilst beckoning you, removing his hands that were clutched onto the apple of your cheeks now sliding his digits through your own. the balmy feeling of his palm radiating into yours was the only steady grasp you had while he had led you into his empty dormitory.

his emotions continued to display as unknown whilst he sat upon the vermillion knit comforter that laid quite messily upon his bed. his legs began to open whilst he brought your body between them. his palms making a heavy grip upon the curvature of your waist, and his thumb now stroking the cotton material that adorned your figure. his thumb gliding down to the hem, suddenly feeling the warm flush of your skin melding into his own.

“let me make you feel good.” james began to plead, his face quirking into a mild pout. your mind reflecting on your insecurities for a moment, the ripples in your skin, the vergetures tissue that was rooted upon your flesh, but as of right now that was now to be the least of your concerns that ventured in your mind.

the pads of his calloused palm lingered to the planes of your lower back to the swell of your bottom, his hands palming at the denim material while he awaited your answer; you merely nodded your head, his grin increasingly growing whilst his grip managed to maneuver you hurriedly onto the middle of his bed. your legs slightly fumbling before your spine was adjacent to his mattress.

his lip was now faintly tucked under the cushion of his lip while his athletic form began to hover over your body. the ivory white top you were dressed in was now being pulled down to the point of the exposure of your brassiere, and the dewy kisses emitting from his lips were now faintly pressed against the mantle of your skin.

his fingers feebly started to grasp at the flimsy material of your top before raising it over the undulating form of your body, his hand flinging the pallid fabric onto the mahogany wood of his dormitory. james had now buried his head between your supple mounds that laid gracefully on your chest, his swirling tendrils of brunet tickled at the planes of your jugular.

he felt the slight respire hitching in your chest while lips suckled at the skin that guarded your sternum, the slight blossoming hue rested in the juncture of your chest whilst his lips proceeded to move around your midriff.

the silk tresses of his brunet tuffs faintly titillated at your abdomen as the sponges of his kisses landed directly on the lower regions of your abdomen. his lips continuing to suction recurrent markings till the fluorescent blooms of umber and vermillion spilled delicately onto the searing flesh of your midriff.

his cerulean eyes peeled off of the buckle from your jeans, his eyes now sauntering out your face, and your arms now balancing yourself so you can gape into his eyes. he tilted his head in question, emitting a second nod of confirmation from you. taking it upon himself to rid of your clothing from your legs, leaving his hand traveling into the flimsy sheet of scarlet lace you had been clad in.

his finger swirled upon the swollen button once, releasing an enclosed gasp from your lungs that had been held in your trachea. his hands grasping upon the tight material and removing it from your body before looking at the sopping folds of your cunt.

once, twice, three times, he glided his fingers through your arousal effortlessly before attaching his lips to the swelled nub, proceeding to suckle like a babe. his tongue exploring your cunt whilst your wavering moans were transferring through the air. he began to maneuver your legs to balance on the bend of his shoulders whilst your pending moans lay enticingly in the air; your feeble digits feeling the strain of his tuffs in the clutch of your fingers at his arousing stimulation.

his ring and middle finger began to prod at your entrance before sliding into the depths of your aching cunt nimbly. his tongue stretched upon the crevices of your cunt while it collected your sickly nectar on the tip of his tongue, his face now buried in your cunt.

the unyielding quiver in your legs around his head was only steely increasing as he etched you closer and closer upon release. the bubbling moans exuding from your throat only increasing his current pride at your pleasureful noises making him grin into your cunt until you were pleading out to him, rather desperately.

“daddy, please. can i cum?”

“since you asked so nicely.” he retorted to your question enticingly. removing his mouth as his fingers recurrently impelled in the silken encasement of your cunt until your legs were trembling over his shoulders, and your mind had finally bleared out from the explosive butterflies that now lingered in your belly.

he caught sight of a few unwavering mauve lines that retracted in the inside flesh of your thighs, pressing a few absentminded kisses to them before his body began to hover over your own.

the bespectacled boy had now removed the indigo shirt from his body, his abdomen and rippling muscles were now in desolate from your slightly fatigued eyes. his body now recurrently hovering over your heaving one. his thumb swiped against your cheek once before his eyes came in the direct view of your churning abdomen.

he lowered his face till his nose was slightly smeared against your rib cage and his lips came in direct contact with the mauve and pallid lines you had been so doggedly insecure about.

his hands now placed on the curvature of your waist, admiring the stripes that now defined your midsection. tracing the small lines on the left, on the right, then craning his neck under your thighs so he could press a few absentminded kisses to the swell of your bum.

when he had returned from your underside, now catching your lips in a kiss. the hues of orange and red now bleeding into the atmosphere of the room, the sun slowly setting in the underworld amongst the other planets whilst he removed the remaining articles of clothing that had lingered on your figures.

“you’re so beautiful,” he murmured, pressing a kiss into the junction of your neck, landing directly on your pulse point that had been unwaveringly erratic. “astonishingly beautiful, my angel.” he crooned into the curvature of your neck whilst his lips moved to the crease of your jaw.

his hands delicately were fixed on the apex of your thighs, the limbs hanging closely on the burly muscles of his waist. “please, daddy. need you so bad.” you began to mewl while his cock had nudged faintly at your thigh.

at your words, james leisurely filled you to the brim with his cock until the happy trail sprouted ascent his lower abdomen was now pressed against your hips in a minuscule grinding-like motion.

his forearms now embedding into the mattress beside your hair that was cascading around your face similar to a halo that an angel wore proudly, his hips continuously grinding against your hips whilst your ankles were brought into a tight lock on the lower curvature of his spine.

“my pretty girl.”

the motions of his thrusts were steady and protracted. the movements drawing out your orgasms substantially, rather than the feeling of intense euphoric elation, it’s rather prolonged and comforting in the small snap of a coil that trembled in your belly.

the searing flush of your skin colliding with one another whilst his mouth had now been placed upon your own once more. your arms now resting on the nape of his neck, the minuscule scratch, and tug of your fingers bringing him to center of the actions he was trying to exhibit towards you.

his love, his adoration, his appreciation.

the small kisses he left on your hairline whilst he was etched closer, and closer upon his release until the splintering clench in his belly had profusely slackened . “you’re so captivating.” he crooned amid your kiss after separating his lips from yours for a moment.

the meld of his skin against your own was enticing and inviting. his tongue swept into your mouth to envelop the feeling of you just a little more before the ropes of his release had seeped into the depths of your cunt; only deepening the liplock whilst his prick had remained inside of you.

it wasn't a long duration of time before james quickly scrambled away to dress you in his freshly cleaned vermillion and umber quidditch jumper and a pair of his boxer shorts, quickly cuddling close to your side whilst placing a few last kisses to your forehead before he had changed into a pair of sweatpants himself and beckoned you to lay on his chest.

“you m’dear, are, completely, and irrevocably bewitching. my pretty witch.”

taglist: @miss-starkov @ronbrokemyheart @aricela @inglourious-imagines @moonyinthelight @bikinibottomspeach @myalo-vasano-psixis @i-love-scott-mccall @kirascottage @five-cups-of-coffee @myloveforluna @abbott27 @hufflepuffsfordraco @slytherclawbitch @ggmniy @90steaology

Wands and Potions - NCTdream & WayV 

Please read the Masterlist before continuing ahead with the chapter.

Warnings: read the warnings in the masterlist linked above, song recommendations can be found there too.

A/N: Thank you to those who appreciate and support this piece of work! You know who you are, and thank you to my wonderful followers and taglist! you make this possible. 

Chapter 16: 

“I wanted to ask you about something.” Selene whispered; she didn’t have to be loud; she was sitting on the edge of a log in the clearing near the edge of a small island on the black lake.

“Fire away,” Yangyang was behind her, plaiting her soft locks, the feeling of the gold-like shimmer beneath his hands calmed him slightly. He was about to reveal his thoughts and deepest desires to her.

“Is it true, the whole dark arts thing.” She breathed out Yangyang could feel how she visibly tensed beneath his gaze. He looked down at her shoulders, the way they curved in slightly. She felt vulnerable around him. “You’re taught the dark arts?”

The exasperated sigh she heard from him was worrying her and his silence increased the level of anxiety in her tenfold. She felt his slender fingers let go of the strands of hair she let cascade down.

She had ever gone this far away from castle alone. “Yes,” he murmured; he took his steps to come stand before her. “I’ve done things… that are regrettable, but I’d never try to harm anyone.” Crouching to be at eye level he looked into her eyes with full sincerity.

“It’s alright.” she crooked her head to the side breathing out, the stray strands of her hair fell down past her eyes “You’re not scared?” he asked puzzled, his eyes wavered slightly looking anywhere but her.

“No,” pulling up all her courage she smiled at him, assuring the slender figure before her. “I’m not.”

“Even if I tell you I know of the unforgiveable curses.” He was a little sceptical in mentioning them.

“Even if you tell me about those.” Selene didn’t hesitate she answered immediately letting him know she trusted him, it scared her a little, but she believed he was good inside. He never judged her for being a half-blood and although it was difficult for him, he maintained their friendship.

“So, why did you bring me here?” Selene looks around. She knew of her whereabouts, but she was confused, why specifically here?

The two continued walking along the path into the woodland sitting on the island, the neighbouring patch of land had the grave of the preceding headmaster of Hogwarts. They began talking, Yangyang explaining what he believed and where his affiliations lied.

“Gellert Grindelwald was right. He had a plan to keep us away from hiding. All wizard kind. Durmstrang students look up to him, we recognised him as our leader.” Yangyang glanced around, they wandered off into the main coppice, letting themselves get caught in the magnificence of the nature.  

“Do you think like him, do you believe that wizard kind deserve to rule, that it’s your birthright?” Selene was wondering, she wanted to understand what he believed to be his right. She wanted to get her thoughts around his ideals and beliefs.

“I do.” He walked up to a certain tree gathering from its leaking sap. “Tree sap must be quite rare where you come from.” she comically pondered, Yangyang grinned turning to face her “Just a hobby.”

“So, you think there are powerful wizarding families that would be willing to continue Grindelwald’s noble work?”

“Definitely, I’m surprised your family isn’t in on it too.” Selene chuckle; she thought of her obsessive blood supremacist mother and her family.

“Don’t be, I’m sure they’re a part of it, my family is intense when it comes to this kind of ordeals.”

[01:36PM]

Selene had been spending the rest of the free afternoon she had in the empty potions room. Professor Giverlein left the empty room letting her know there were no more potions classes that day leaving her with everything she could ever need.

“There’s no way I’m going to get this?” Selene whined thrusting her digits past the sides of her head rubbing her sore scalp. She was beyond stressed.

Sleepless nights, Chenle and his problems on one side. Rose and Albus with their family stress on the other; her own family ordeals tugging at her, the prophecy the portrait spoke about, the lestrange manor invitation, Yangyang and his affiliations to the return of the Ancient Sacred 28 and then Scorpius and his solemn depression. Selene was trying to solve too many problems at once.

She felt as if it was all coming back, as if the matters were taking her physical body and heath as tribute she was going to regurgitate. Holding it in, she lifted the elixir the potion she had been working on secretly aside her schoolwork.

The bitter after taste was awful but she withstood it for the benefits the potion would give her. This was old magic; you’d give something up for the taking of another. In this case it was her blood.

Selene hid the bubbling liquid in the cauldron, she lifted the rusty metal towards her shelf setting a lid on top and pushing it inwards quickly to sheath the brewing of the elixir. She took her seat back at the edge of the table.

Selene was reminded of the tournament happening from the exaggerated shouts and yells from the harbouring window. The voices came from students a year or two older, closer to Yangyang’s age. Selene sat there dazed for a moment. It was getting closer to the winter break, meaning the deadline for the potion project was creeping nearer.

Playing with the leaves of the daisy root; Selene remembered what she had gone through to get the foliage. She recalled what Chenle did for her. He saved her from the hell she was going through, twice. That should prove that he cares.

But why do I still hate him for his harsh words and cold demeanour?

 [06:17PM]

[Selene Pov]

“I got your message. What is it?” I rushed to the library. Moving past tables I saw a crouched lyra she was shaking, and I mean shaking. Almost vibrating.

“What on earth happened. And why did you send that idiot Irene to tell-” I stopped my whining because I realised this was real, she was in tears and it looked like anymore and she’d lose it all. I lifted her up swinging the robes she had on the floor over her shoulder blades.

Olivia comes rushing into the library, I could hear the frantic panic in her voice as she desperately wanders about the immense hall of the library.

“Oh thank heavens you’re here!” I speak agitatedly my voice breaking, “Olivia what’s happening to her.”

“He found out!” Olivia crouched she grabbed the girls palm, “Hopefully this works.” She pulled an elixir out of the robes pocket taking a couple drops and setting them on the girls wrist.

“Who found out?” I was panicking, I should be keeping my calm but the view before my own two eyes was scaring me.

“Se-Selene, he saw, it- I didn’t. he saw E-everything.” I hushed her, “It’s alright, I understand. We’ll solve this.”

It looked like Olivia understood what lyra was blabbering about, the rush in her hands and movements forced me to lift the dropped unknown potion and take care of the small container and its excess drops.

“I’ll explain later but you have to get Scorpius right now. Do whatever you need to do he must come here right now.” I nod already running off I pushed past the main library doors not caring or even asking questions on my Scorpius had to be there.

I was running even faster than I had when I heard Scorpius’ voice in my head, using every force I had in the rest of my body I managed to clear the thoughts for a couple more seconds sending a energy fuelled message to the blond slytherin boy.

“Where are you going?” Jade yelled after my speeding self, she watched me turn towards the dungeons of the castle, following she tried to catch up but as a speeding bolt, the only thing she caught was my maroon hair trailing off behind me.

I reached the entrance of the Slytherin common room. It was guarded by two gargoyle statures and a password. Never being down here before; I panicked. Lyra didn’t look like she had much time before she was out.

Catching sight of the one person I didn’t want to be around, I groaned. Why him, why Chenle of all freaking people? It just had to work that way, turning around to face him I forcibly pushed down any form of resentment and dignity I had.

“Where is Scorpius?”

“Look what the snake swallowed? It’s Selene Adams, have you come to apologise?” Jisung who was next to the blond spat smirking, the smug grin on his face annoying me more than it should.

“I’m not here to apologise to anyone.” I glared back at him; his words made me feel like shit. “Where’s Scorpius, Chenle?” I repeated my question my body language visibly showing I was under a time limit.

“Tell me?”

“Selene they’re not going to help.” The familiar echo from behind me voiced down the damp and dreary corridor. “Jade please help me, lyra has fallen and Olivia sent me to get Scorpius, its urgent.”

She nodded pushing past the two; specifically Jisung. “Ill get him now, wait out here.”

“Be fast. Please!”

I paced up and down the width of the small corridor, Jisung’s face immediately changed realisation dawned over his sharp features and he quickly followed the dark raven female; leaving the blond boy standing a meter away from me.

It felt awkward. I didn’t want to talk to him or even be around him. Though I could feel his penetrating gaze it pervaded my head trying to understand my thoughts, defiling me.

“Stop that.”

“What? Stop what?” he sneered his voice was back to the usual the voice he always had; the softness that was once there when we were at the mansion was nowhere to be found. I guess snakes venom spreads fast, especially of that snake is Rosier.

“Your staring.” I snapped back.

“So now I can’t use my eyes, and who said I take orders from you? Filthy half breed.” His words took me back to the times I’d let myself be lectured and broken down by him.

I wasn’t going to answer but the look of pure aggravation on my face said enough. Watching the now appeared Scorpius drag me off was enough to let it slide, lyra was more important anyways.

“You can tell me what happened later and why I’m desperately needed when Lyra’s the one in trouble but now we need to get to her as fast as possible.”

After pulling Scorpius on a wild goose chase to the library then noticing Olivia took Lyra to the lunch table on the outside of the castle gates and into the gardens past the wooden bridge. I had finally made it completely emphysematous.

“What is it, what is going on?” the blond boy was extremely confused and shocked. His movements were extremely erratic.

“You’re going to have to sit through this one, Scorpius.” Olivia spoke she was hesitant. Weary to all his reactions.

“Do I go? Or what do I…” after catching enough breath I ask the unanswered question. It seemed like this was a private ordeal, I was unsure of whether it seemed ok for me to be here.

“You’re related to him; he may need some ‘moral support’ through this.” Olivia hissed she was put in an uncomfortable position; I could see it myself. She lifted the lifeless right arm that belonged to lyra.

The cold wind brushing past our stiff bodies allowed me to lean into Scorpius for warmth and comfort. Though I think he was the one who needed comfort now, he looked extremely anxious.

“Do you know what’s happening?” I look into his eyes leaning over his shoulder. Scorpius gleams smiling lightly at my pouted facial expression.

“You look cute.” He mumbles, pulling me down to sit next to him. He sighed, it seemed like he had a rough day today. “To be completely honest, I don’t know what this is about, but I have a bad feeling about this if my predictions are correct.”

The unease was evident in the way he stations himself waiting for Lyra to wake from her deep slumber.

“Why did you ask me to bring him here?” My question was directed to Olivia, but I couldn’t take my eyes of Lyra her tired and overworked emotional toll showing through her face. I was stupid not to notice, the glimmer once in her soft eyes no longer there.

“I should have been there for her like she did for me.” I muttered voice breaking, it sounded weaker than it should have. Watching the ravenclaw witch wake her up from the antidote of the elixir she looked shaken and dissipated.

“Selene, Scorpius?” her voice was barely above a whisper, lyra woke up but she was still in a haze. “I’ll let Lyra explain, just give her time to awaken.” Olivia added letting lyra sit up, I moved to help the brunette witch. My friend, a sister to me.

After giving her a few moments to calm I spoke up nudging her to speak gently. She had energized just enough to talk. But as soon as she looked up and into Scorpius’ eyes the tears started. He was shocked, his lips trembling wanting to say something but unable to speak.

“What’s wrong? What happened?” I was truly disordered, completely flummoxed. The two were reacting lie they had shared some sort information. Everyone was reacting strangely. Even Jade was understanding her eyes flashed when she heard of Lyra being hurt.

“I think I know, but I’m unsure…” Scorpius was as still as a stone sculpture at this moment. “And it’s scaring me.” He breathed looking at her weak shivering fingers before him, they laid on the table as she sobbed, “Is it a possibility that I’m- I mean, that you’re…

Her voice was incredibly shaky, she yearned to hug him but it was difficult... Everything was telling her not to push his limits. 

“I wanted to, -really- I wanted to tell you for so long. But fath-father didn’t let me. He kept me away too. I’m so sorry.”

@ajuniceuajuniceu​ @kkuljungwoo​ @sensiblebutch​ @kangkinoa​ @nctzen2020​ @mystic-jungkook​ @merryandhappylele​ @bcbymingi​ @mochischeeks  @rilakunma​ @jaehyunspaghetti​ @commentgirl​ @99jjh​ @johnnys-wifeu​ @misaraem @apricottulips​ @h2ogamergirl @angelsnowflake​ 

Just Another Day at the Office Series - New Experiences

George MacKay x Reader Series

Part Three: Little Things

Masterlist

Summary: Y/f/n Y/l/n had found herself stuck in a scenario she’d never thought she’d ever have to face: she’d been catching feelings for a coworker. While she attempted to adapt to her new job and work load, she also had to get used to these new feelings and figure out what the fuck to do with them. George made her want to take risks, she didn’t care about the potentiality of a broken heart with him, because falling in love with him made it seem worth it. Is George falling for Y/n too? Will he be able to reciprocate her feelings?

a/n: I have absolutely no personal experience in magazine/journalism career, so the information in this fic will be provided with the knowledge I have conducted from research. With that being said, please don’t be mad if this is not accurate!!! Since you guys seemed to like the text messages between Y/n and George, I decided to include a chunk of them, since there weren’t any in the last part. 

Warnings: This is a slow burn fic, their relationship won’t happen in one night, so if you’re not into that, check out some of the beautifully written imagines that you can most likely find under the george mackayxreader tag. I might eventually write some of my own too :P At least one person’s saying “fuck” and there’s some sexual! tension! up! in! here! Digital penetration (fingering lolz)

12:36 am, George: I cannot stop thinking about you.

My stomach churned with butterflies, but I wouldn’t let him know.

12:38 am, Me: Creepy, much?

12:38 am, Me: Kiddingggg :P

12:40 am, George: Haha. Very funny. 

12:41 am, Me: Have you gone back to rehab to visit your friend?

12:43 am, George: Yes, Dean and I went yesterday after work. He’s not doing very well, but I know he’ll get better. Addiction is very scary.

12:44 am, Me: I can’t imagine. It must be hard seeing him so sick.

12:45 am, George: It is, but you’ve made all of this a lot easier for me to deal with. You make me forget about every single little flaw in life. 

12:47 am, Me: Then I guess I’m doing my job. 

12:48 am, George: You distract me too much sometimes, especially after last night. 

12:49 am, Me: Really? Huh, I wonder why, that’s weird.

12:51 am, George: *insert eye roll*

12:52 am, Me: It’s time to get emojis, old man.

12:53 am, George: Nah

12:53 am, George: Unless you want to show me how to install them this weekend?

12:55 am, Me: Sounds like a plan, grandpa

12:56 am, George: You must be into older guys then, huh?

12:58 am, Me: Yup, I have a bingo kink

12:59 am, George: Gross. 

12:59 am, George: I’m not thaaat old, I’m only 27.

I was twenty-four. Was that weird? Would he think that’s weird?

1:00 am, Me: When’s your birthday?

1:02 am, George: Next week, actually. March 13th.

1:03 am, Me: You doing anything to celebrate?

1:05 am, George: Eh, probably not. Dean and I might go to a bar or something, that’s what we’ve done in the past.

1:05 am, George: You’re welcome to come along if that’s the plan.

1:07 am, Me: I’d like that a lot, actually. I won’t get plastered this time, I promise.

1:08 am, George: Mhhhmmm.

1:08 am, George: It’s getting late, you should go to bed love

There it was, again. Love. I melted in my bed.

1:09 am, Me: You’re the one texting me!

1:10 am, George: You don’t haave to respond. 

1:12 am, Me: But I want to.

1:13 am, George: See, there’s the problem.

1:14 am, Me: Is it a problem?

1:16 am, George: Yes, because I’m making you lose sleep.

1:17 am, Me: I don’t mind.

1:18 am, George: You’re making this harder for me, Y/n.

1:20 am, Me: Fine. I’m going to sleep.

1:21 am, George: *insert me sticking my tongue out*

1:22 am, George: Good. Goodnight, love.

I woke up the next morning with dark rings underneath my eyes, but they were well worth it due to our conversation; I’d found out that George was twenty-seven years old and his birthday was on March thirteenth, making him turn twenty-eight the following week. I wondered if our slight age difference would make things weird, I hoped it wouldn’t. 

I went to work that morning with extra concealer on my face, and a sleek black pencil skirt with a dainty blouse. I rolled through New York traffic, waved at the receptionist once I’d arrived at the building, and made my way to the second floor with the not-so-speedy elevator. I welcomed my desk, waving at silently at Dean before stretching my hands and typing my results from the experiment. 

The CBD oil experiment had gone pretty well; I used it only temples after coming home from work with a headache and I’d definitely noticed a difference. I spent the entire morning rewriting everything over and over again, wanting to perfect my first article and impress the HBIC that Connie was. 

When lunch had rolled around, I decided to head to the small cafeteria to see what they had in store for me that afternoon, hoping it’d give me some energy to finish writing the article. I decided to go with my regular salad, picking out the toppings, as I heard footsteps behind me. I turned around noticing the presence of Faith, the small ginger haired girl I’d met on my first day. I smiled at her, before returning back to my salad. 

“I meant to tell you before, but your idea for your experiment is really good, I’m kind of shocked at how well your first pitch is, actually,” she admitted with a smile as she opened some cabinets, scavenging for food.

I blushed at her compliment, turning my face to look at her.

“Thanks, Faith, that means a lot coming from you,” I beamed at her. “Your article of your interview with that producer from The Bachelor was amazing!”

I saw her cheeks tint pink as she turned her body to me after finding a small bag of chips.

“Really? You couldn’t tell that I was nervous during the interview?” she asked worriedly, her thin, groomed eyebrows knitting together anxiously.

I shook my head. “Not at all! It was perfect.”

She chewed on her lip before smiling at me.

“Thanks, uhm, maybe we could work on something together sometime? After the article you’re working on right now, of course,” she suggested. 

I grinned at the girl.

“Of course!”

“Okay! I’ll see you around, Y/n.” She exited the room with a soft smile, and left me to finish my salad. 

I was glad to have finally made a girl friend, especially someone who could potentially help me with my writing. I finished my salad-making, returning to my desk and immediately conversing with Dean.

“So,” I began, shoveling the lettuce into my mouth. “Any new office drama we can talk about while we’re on lunch?” 

The people that usually sat beside us had gone off to some restaurant down the block from the office, leaving Dean and I by ourselves at the table.

“George heard two people goin’ at it in one of the conference rooms earlier,” Dean shared with a laugh, his blue eyes softening in humor.

Hearing him mention George made me wonder if George had told Dean about me. I brushed this thought off, knowing it’d result in unnecessary anxiety.

“Do people usually have sex in the office?” I asked, lowering my voice.

He shrugged.

“Sometimes, I guess, but George works on the third floor with the most empty offices, so he hears about it more than me, I’m sure.”

I shoveled more salad into my mouth, as I pondered what it’d be like having sex at the office. Having sex on one of the empty conference tables and risking someone coming in or hearing, or doing it on a desk after everyone’s gone, the building empty and the bright lights of New York lighting up the office through the windows; my legs were quivering at the memory of George’s tongue and imagining how he could fuck me at the office. It’d be so scandalous, so risky, but why did I like thinking about it?

“Y/n?”

I brought my head up to the brunette, observing his confused expression.

“What?” 

“I asked how the article’s going,” he repeated.

Shit, did I space out that bad?

“Oh, it’s going well,” I stammered. 

“Don’t be nervous about it, I’m sure Connie’s going to love it,” he reassured me, his expressions softening with concern.

I was not just spacing out due to anxiety from the article, but I led him to believe so because I was sure as hell not going to tell what I was really thinking about.

“You’re right,” I agreed.

I shoveled the last of the lettuce into my mouth, the fork lingering in my mouth as I thought of George’s lips; I missed the taste of him. 

I wondered where his office was; I wanted needed to see him. I needed to feel his lips against mine, I needed to feel his hands explore my body, I needed something to relieve the aching between my legs. 

“I’ll be back, I’m going to go to the bathroom,” I announced, grabbing my phone and quickly exiting the office. 

I scurried into the elevator, pressing the third floor button and opening my front camera on my phone to perfect my appearance. I ran my fingers through my hair, teasing my roots to make my locks look tousled and sexy. As the elevator stilled, the doors opened, and I headed down the hallway, hoping for a sign that had George’s name on it for navigation. There was an open room with tables of desks like my floor, but it was much smaller, revealing the small amount of people in the art department.

It led to a hallway with several rooms on each side, as I slowly walked down and turned my head to each door in hopes of seeing his name or his face somewhere. I was finally introduced to a wooden door with “George MacKay” written on it. My cheeks flushed, and I knocked on the door with my knuckles. I heard footsteps as my heart raced, his door swinging open and revealing his face. 

His hair was in perfect form, his locks styled effortlessly while he was dressed in a light blue button up and slacks, his blue shirt making his eyes look even lighter. His shirt fit his torso just right and his sleeves were rolled up, revealing the veins that trickled up his arms. I licked my lips at the sight of him, as he fisted my shirt and pulled me inside of his office, kicking his door closed.

“I have to say, this is the best surprise I’ve gotten in a while,” he muttered, his eyes looking me up and down. 

His hands wrapped around my waist, going to my lower back as his face inched towards mine. I felt his warm minty breath welcome me, already relieving my craving for him. I moved my nose to gently nudge his, before my lips attacked him. I couldn’t hold back anymore; George took away any self control I'd had in the past. 

My hands went to cup his face before snaking around his neck. I felt his hands travel down to my ass, squeezing it, causing me to moan into his lips. I pulled on his hair instinctively, slipping my tongue into his mouth. He began walking, making me walk backwards until my back hit the desk. I pulled away, as I sat myself on it without thinking, scrunching my skirt up to my waist so that my legs could open for him to stand in between them. He stood himself between my legs once I’d given him access, staring at me momentarily. His cheeks were flushed and his lips were swollen as he stared intently at me.

“What do you want to do, Y/n?”

I chewed on my lip. There was no way in hell that George and I’s first time would be at my work. But, I needed a relief; the ache between my legs was too much, almost painful at this point. 

“Can you make me feel good?” I whimpered confidently, my fingers threading through his locks as we looked at each other.

His eyebrows furrowed and he nodded, his cheeks turning pink at my request. 

“How do you want me to make you feel good, love?” he asked, his hand coming up to cup my face. 

He slipped his thumb between my lips, surprising me. Without thinking, I swirled my tongue around his finger and gently sucked on it. His eye lids drooped as he watched me in awe, probably imagining my mouth on his cock. I opened my mouth as he removed his thumb and I looked at him innocently. 

“Your fingers, George. Please,” I begged.

Still gazing at me, he lowered his hand, pushing my panties to the side with his index finger. 

“Your wish is my command,” he whispered, the pad of his thumb running down straight to my clit.

My hips bucked at the action, and he attached his lips to mine to swallow all of my moans. He rubbed circles on the sensitive bud before running his finger through my folds. My fingers knitted themselves into his hair as he teased my entrance, driving me absolutely insane. His finger slid into me easily due to how wet I was, how wet he had made me. He pulled his lips away from me, using his free hand to insert a finger into my mouth. I sucked on it, as I tried not to let any moans escape my mouth while he attached his lips to my neck. His thumb began picking up its pace, his finger curling into me faster. I gently nibbled on his fingers as my stomach began to twist, my legs sticking straight outward and trembling. The delicious pleasure was building and building, and I wasn’t sure how long I could last. 

“You gonna cum, angel?” 

Angel.

I cried out against his finger with a closed mouth, hitting my climax as I came undone onto his fingers. My jaw went slack as I rode out my high, fingers threading themselves and pulling on his hair for dear life. My body spasmed against him, overwhelmed with pleasure. Once my legs finally relaxed, he slowly removed his fingers from my heat, and latched his digits into his mouth. He hummed, sucking me off of his fingers as I watched him in awe. He removed his fingers from his mouth, before grabbing some tissues off of his desk.

“I’m gonna clean you up, okay, love?” He informed me, looking at me for permission.

I nodded, watching as he got onto his knees and began gently wiping my pussy with the tissues. My breath hitched at the contact, sensitive after my climax. I watched him as he looked intently at my heat, concentrating, as he strategically cleaned where I’d been dripping. 

“I wish I could’ve cleaned you up with my mouth, love, I hope you know that,” he admitted, looking up at me. 

I whimpered, looking down at him as he gazed at me with innocent blue eyes.

He pressed his lips against each side of my inner thigh, before standing up and tossing the tissues into his trash can. He returned between my legs, moving his palms to cup each side of my face.

“Y/f/n Y/l/n, you’re going to be the death of me,” he confessed with a chuckle. 

“Rest in peace, George MacKay,” I joked. “Cause: Y/f/n Y/l/n being too sexy.”

“That's for damn sure,” he moved to peck my lips, his fingers pulling down the bunched up fabric of my skirt. I held onto his shoulders as I stood up, needing extra support for my weak legs. 

I flattened the skirt, adjusting my top as well. “How do I look?” I attempted to brush through my hair with my fingers.

“You look perfect,” he smiled, pecking my lips again. “I wish we could see each other after work this week, but I’m supposed to visit Andrew at the rehabilitation center with Dean until he starts improving.”

My eyebrows furrowed and I brought my hand to his bicep, ignoring how muscular it felt.

“It’s okay,” I reassured him. “You have to be there for your friends.”

He looked down at me, his expression softening as I watched him examine my features. 

“Thank you, Y/n,” he said softly, his eyes returning back to mine. “You’re one fucking amazing woman.” He grinned, crinkles appearing next to his eyes.

My cheeks flushed as I fought back the urge to melt straight into the floor; I felt like I could have passed out if I hadn’t forced myself to remain composed and on my two feet. 

“I’m not all that special,” I assured him. “I’d say I’m pretty much just an average millennial woman.”

He rolled his eyes. “But you’re not,” he argued. “You’re so fucking intelligent and determined, it truly baffles me. Most adults go into work, because they have to; you come into work everyday, prepared to blow everybody’s fucking minds, no matter what it takes.”

He brought his hand up to his face, the pad of his thumb stroking my bottom lip. “You have these little quirks, like, you chew on your bottom lip whenever you’re nervous or focusing on something.” He poked my cheek with his finger, causing me to smile. “You have these adorable little dimples.” He tucked a piece of hair behind my ear. “You roll your eyes all the time, too, which could get you in trouble one of these days, love.”

I fought the urge to roll my eyes, not wanting to prove him right. I shook my head instead.

“You’re stubborn too,” he added, noticing my expression. “But, I think you’re the most kind and forgiving woman I’ve ever met; I don’t think I know someone who could forgive their roommate for the shit she’s done to you,” he admitted. “But you want to see the good in every person.”

My eyebrows furrowed at the accuracy of his observations.

“How do you know all of this?” I interrogated, my eyes squinting in suspicion.

He smiled softly. “I notice all of the little things about you, love. They’re hard to miss when I’m with you.”

I bit back my giddy smile. “I notice a lot of the little things about you, too, George.”

He stepped closer to me. “Like what?” he chided with a smirk.

I brought my fingers to the sides of his eyes–careful enough not to touch his bruised eye–mimicking his previous actions. “The crinkles by your eyes whenever you smile or laugh.” I moved my finger to his nose, gently running along the bridge of it. “The way your nostrils flare whenever you’re concentrated or confused.” I poked the small freckles that were sprinkled along his nose. “These adorable freckles.” I could see him blush under my touch. My fingers went up to trace his right eyebrow. “Your eyebrows furrow whenever you’re focused on something.” My fingers moved down to his arm, tracing the veins. “The way your veins travel from the backs of your hands to your forearms.”

My palm moved back up to his face, cupping his cheek as I stared into his blue piercing eyes that gazed back at me.

“You’re incredibly loyal, and as much as you may not want to admit it, you’re hardworking and you love your job.” I stroked the small freckles along his cheek with my thumb. “I notice all of the little things about you, too. They’re hard to miss whenever I’m with you,” I rephrased his words sincerely with a whisper. 

I watched his Adam’s apple rise and fall, as he gulped and stared at me with an intense expression. 

“You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, Y/n.”

the artist | prologue

something that began life with my encounters with joey belladonna on instagram last fall and this past spring (before they turned into qvc 2.0 in late october, that is). i thought of him, as well as the time i wrote a letter to lars and the three years chris was in my periphery. thus, this is actually somewhat autobiographical as well as my watching the world unfurl right before my eyes in the year 2020. joey, lars, and i are alive in this terror-filled nightmare that chris never saw, and i cherish every second the two of them are continuing to walk the earth with me. consider it a testament of our survival that we have reached the final 30 days of this year unscathed.

i’m also looking ahead to after the pandemic, how the world might manifest in the virus’ wake after looking at history with the world-changing diseases like spanish flu, smallpox, and the black plague, as well as civil unrest and the existential threat that is climate change. i will admit that i have no idea where we all will be in 5 years time, but i can guarantee that no nation was the same following those events, especially since the united states was seemingly on the brink of destruction for a few years preceding the pandemic. it’s kind of like what sci-fi writers of the early 20th century did with the advent of the nuclear bomb as well as space travel.

at this point, with 20 chapters left to write, i hold the artist right up with now it’s dark, amped and wired, and black diamonds. it’s me living in a world that has collapsed and we’re all living in the unknown; it’s me wondering which step to take next with the three men i adore near me. it’s not on the same level of agony with my dead trilogy fics, the mirror never lies, or my original work black rain (which i wrote as a goodbye to chris), but it’s... it’s definitely there.

anyways, enjoy! xoxo

He was a tall lithe gentleman with those lush dark curls strewn over his shoulders as though they were the sides of a mane. The way he moved about on a stage with either that shiny mint green guitar cradled in his hands as though it were a naked woman, or the microphone as though it were about to get away from him was enough for me to pick up a pencil. I wanted to touch and caress his black curls, to put them down on paper. He was what I referred to as “draw-able” in that I always returned to him for inspiration.

I swore that it wasn't a phase—I tried to convince my dad that it wasn't a phase, even when I showed him my first drawing of Chris. I was proud of the drawing, too: it was rough and sketchy, and yet you could tell it was him with those long shoulder length curls behind his back and down over his collar bones. I had used a single pencil to draw him as well.

“Holly, you've gotta do something else with your art,” he said to me that first time. “You've got to do some more still life.”

I often heard that a few times thereafter, even as I did more studies of Chris singing and in different stances to understand his anatomy a little better. It always struck me as odd that my art wasn't more embraced at home growing up, even though my parents were more than happy to support me in my path to art school. My dad showed me the one school down in Portland. I wanted to stay there in Tacoma, even with Chris and his band based up in Seattle.

At some point, and by that, I mean a few months before I graduated, to work my way around that complaint, I began incorporating more plants into my drawings of him. More roses and more leaves jutting out from his shoulders and from the crown of his head. I kept those drawings to myself, granted I knew if I shared them with the household they wouldn't be seen as serious art.

One time when I strolled into an art shop for some colored pencils and I had my sketchbook tucked underneath my arm, I went in under the power of a secret. I had climbed off the bus before the one outside of my house. I protected my sketchbook from the soft spring misty rain of the Northwest. I had a few dollars in my pocket, money left over from the stimulus money I had scrounged up. Just enough for some new colored pencils for some more botanical type work for my drawings.

I'm the multiracial kid with the kinky coarse black hair inherited by a Native American mama and the pale skin from my half white daddy. It had been a long road to hoe the past few years in the wake of the pandemic, especially for my mom and me. She and I had been dealing with it with a bit more difficulty from my dad, since he was the one with the job, at least at first. Even though I was a few years younger by the time we got our check, I got one for myself and I made sure the money stretched enough to whenever we got another one.

Even with my drawing pad under my arm, and the introduction of my digital drawing tablet, I had days where it felt like I needed to do something a bit more useful.

It was from all of the times I heard my dad's criticisms about my art in the past. Add to this, the uncertainty from living through a global pandemic and social reset made me wonder where we all would go from the second the dust settled. I needed to rest my head so much following even the smallest projects. I had witnessed the older generation pushed to its brink and stragglers such as myself found themselves at square one for so long that it was difficult to know which way to go. I was always told that I needed something feasible, something to keep me safe. But the pandemic showed that nothing was safe.

Even in my spare time, or in the times I took a day off from drawing, I found myself seeking solace in reading about things like science and of course, listening to music. For years, I found myself leaning more towards the harder side of the rock n' roll world: Soundgarden was the first band I had found, but then there came along Nirvana, Pearl Jam, and Alice in Chains. It helped that they hailed from the north of us, so it made sense to me to find them.

But then there was Metallica and Anthrax.

I would sit on the floor of the living room before my stereo with the radio tuned to the modern rock station nearby, and with my earphones in my ears; I would sit there with my drawing pad cradled in my lap and let the music be my master. I came for the scene to the north, but I found my way to the heavy stuff.

I had used a little bit of the stimulus money to buy myself a couple of albums, on part of the recommendation of the chick in the record store of course.

Those swirling powerful but simple drums riddled throughout the Black Album. So simple and yet so strong and with such prowess, perfect for the spine of the music. That strong and exotically beautiful voice from Spreading the Disease. I wanted to touch that voice, to put it and cement it down into something like paper. I was enthralled by the power and prowess of heavy metal.

I scoured the channels of Tumblr to see and study their faces, to see Lars and his long lush brown hair and fuzz about his face, to see Joey and his long beautiful black curls and handsome face, to see them all. And yet I still found my way back to Chris. I still found my way back to him and that unique voice. So deep and full in places and yet unafraid to howl.

And yet I felt so far behind them, a teenage girl from a lower end family and with mixed roots. A girl with parents working so hard that they almost ignore the very craft she was proud of.

I wanted to draw him with roses, complete with the lush red and orange petals. Thus I headed to the little store for some new colored pencils—those good ones that come in all manner of shades of color in a silvery tin. I brought my sketchbook along with me to try them out before I bought them for myself. I already had sketched a portrait of Chris himself but I left him as is so as to fill him out later on.

I stepped into the front of the shop and stripped off my hood. I ran my fingers through my coarse black hair and then unbuttoned my jacket: I looked down at the linoleum floor underneath me. My jeans were falling apart: the waist fitted me a little too well at that point and the hems were tattered. My mom vowed to fix them for me, but when the fabric stores were all closed during the pandemic, it was difficult to find anything that could help us.

I shuffled across the shiny linoleum to the aisle with the colored pencils and the nice paints. I stood before the display case and scanned the tins and boxes before me to find anything that would catch my eye.

I was still adjusting to the world following the pandemic: there was a part of me that wanted to stroke my chin in pensive thought but after hearing all of the talk on not touching your face, a part of me continued to resist that very tidbit. I spotted a box of Prismacolor pencils, seventeen of them to be exact.

Seventeen, and as smooth as butter and right within the budget of twenty dollars in my pocket.

I set my sketchbook down on the shelf so I could open the box and reveal those pencils, and I hoped to see them as sharp and new as I would ever see them. I'm usually easy going on all of my tools just out of the nature of the price range, but I wanted to make the roses on Chris as bold and fiery of red as possible. I took out the scarlet red one and opened the sketchbook for the inside cover and I paid no attention to the fact I held the box, open end sideways. Three pencils slid out from under me.

“For crying out loud,” I muttered to myself as I closed the cover and stooped down to fetch them.

“I hope those are nice ones,” a voice caught my ear behind me. I turned around to find him looming right there with me. The most stray tendrils of his inky black hair were tousled a bit even as he sprawled over his collar bones and the front of his black raincoat. I stood upright to meet up with his gaze: he towered over me, such that I could make out the sight of the first sprigs of hair sprouting upon the underside of his chin.

“Easy there,” he cautioned me, which he accompanied with a raising of his hands.

“It's alright,” I assured him, “social distancing hasn't been a thing in quite a while.”

“Nah, I don't mean that—I don't want you to drop any more pencils.”

“Oh!” I fetched up the pencils I had dropped on the floor and then closed up the box before I drop any more. He grinned at me, and I followed his gaze to the sketchbook perched atop the shelf.

“Is that yours, too?” he asked me.

“Why—yes.” I wasn't even flustered and yet I felt it even by his gestures and that gaze from those eyes. He stood so close to me, even with the pandemic behind us. I felt my face growing warm as I took the sketchbook off of the shelf. I forgot I still had it open to that sketched drawing of him; when I took it off of the shelf, I held the drawing of his face right before my chest.

He gasped right as I held it before me.

“Is—Is that me?” he inquiringly asked me in a soft voice.

“Huh?” I clutched at the sketchbook and held the drawing away from him.

“I don't wanna—be rude or intrusive or anything,” he swore to me. My face bloomed with warmth. It had been so long since I showed anyone one of my drawings from my sketchbook, much less anyone outside of my family. I whirled around to see the tender expression upon his face: his eyebrows raised a bit and his head bowed enough for me to wonder if he was flirting with me or not. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and sighed through his nose.

I swallowed and then, gingerly, I turned the sketchbook towards him.

He lowered his eyebrows and brought a hand to his mouth as if he was shocked.

“Oh,” he breathed, “oh, wow, that's wonderful. I love the roses.”

I shrugged.

“I just felt you could use roses,” I confessed to him.

“I love it,” he admitted as he lowered his hand from his mouth. “I'd love to see it when it's colored in.”

“I gotta get some pencils first, though.”

“Have at it, girlie.” He gestured his open palm towards me as if giving me his blessing. I decided on the Prismacolor pencils—I also didn't see anything else that caught my attention. Within time, I made my way up front to break those twenty dollars even. I kept my sketchbook out in the open and I assured the young peppy clerk that I had already opened it and long paid for it. He lingered near the cash register and eyed the ceramic supplies at the front there. I never thought I would've met him there in that art shop and at such a strange time. I wondered if I could make my rapport with him as I paid for the pencils and awaited the change from the clerk there before me.

He met up with me on the other side with a pensive look on his squarish face. I slipped the pencils and the sketchbook into the plastic bag in hand so as to protect both from the incoming rain. I felt myself blushing again at the sight of him: it didn't help matters that he continued to tower over me.

“What's your name?” he asked me, that pensive look still riddled upon his face.

“Holly. As in Hollywood.”

“Hollywood…” He grinned at me. He took out the little burner phone from his jacket pocket: such a sight to see, what with technology the way it had progressed to that point.

“Holly Sherman is my whole name...” My voice trailed off as I watched him open the address book up to a fresh page for a fresh number.

“You want my number, don't you,” I teased him.

“Well, yeah. When the drawing's colored in, I wanna see it.”

I could not resist that offer, and it was that very moment I knew I would have something on my hands. I would have something on my hands even in the wake of the pandemic.

It’s November, but I still want you part 3

Genre: Drama, romance, smut (eventually), werewolf AU, art school AU

Pairing: Artist!Jimin / Werewolf!Jimin x Reader

Warning: Mention of mating and knotting, toxic relationships

Summary: A first love is always bittersweet, but this time it is perchance the hardest pill to swallow. Especially when the aftermath can still be felt years after.

In the month of November.

Author’s Note: I sincerely apologize for the long period of waiting for this fanfic to finally update or announce it is discontinued. However, as you can see, the latter does, fortunately, not apply. Henceforth, I would like to say this fic is still up and running with this chapter likely being the second-to-last one. It is time to wrap up some old projects.

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 (yet to be written)

Masterlist

Two autumns without sketching the falling dying leaves together, three winters without sharing warm beverages in the usual spot in the same coffee shop every day, three springs eyes beheld the fall of cherry blossom without him and three summers passed with so much as a word.

Ever since the young artist left, nobody closely connected to him has seen the lad. Classes went by unattended, fingers nervously and softly ticking a pencil against the table surface in the exact spot that would have formed the workspace of the one who walked away for the safety of the heart it hurt. However, what was not given a thought at the time, was that the flight inflicted more harm than when everything had been as of old and the night we first laid down as lovers remained cloaked in silence.

Stayed our forbidden fruit.

Even during graduation, the raven-haired creator was not there to celebrate the end of endless study hours stained with paint, charcoal and cramped digits. Not even the six guys with whom a group of brothers was formed had the knowledge concerning the whereabouts of the wolf boy. Nevertheless, something had tainted sincerity for the older ones’ attitude stirred up a deep-rooted sense of suspicion within, but it could also have meant nothing at all. Regardless of the truth, they tried to remain in contact and lighten the mood as much as possible, elevating the gloom left behind by the dear friend turned lover turned... away.

Limits were pushed too much, the warnings and pleads should have been heeded but the mind was too naive to notice the danger lurking beneath the mask of a familiar face, skin flushed with the anticipation to have fingertips grab it tightly and possessively by the small hands that had held even smaller ones throughout many sleepless nights. The animalistic behaviour that needed to be repressed was foolishly underestimated, leading us to ruin.

Jimin has never had to carry the blame for the situation because the mistake is entirely that of the individual who thought to be able to handle what clearly could not be. The mirror shows the reminder of devastating stubbornness daily, still adorning the neck in the form of two pieces of jewellery. The gift that has become the last physical memory of a beautiful moment in life. One thin bronze chain with a crescent moon pendant made of the same metal hanging from it and one chain that is a tad longer and made of a mixture between silver and gold with a handcrafted wolf pendant crafted from tiger's eye matrix.

Only once have they been forgotten, when it was the youngest among the broken band of comrades - Jungkook - who held a soul devoid of love and craving it so badly it gripped the first source of simulacrum tightly to have a taste of it again. The morning brought the shame of having used the sweet guy’s hidden sentiments portrayed by gentle kisses and careful movements between the thighs wrapped around a slim waist after coming undone twice before even starting in earnest. The whined and panted ‘I love you’s were already a vague memory when the sun rose over haphazard sheets partially concealing a thoroughly dishevelled dark bedhead and back engraved with scratches that likely caused more pain than pleasure. Nevertheless, perchance it is because of the guilt of having played a sick game with genuine emotions that the decision to stay by the youth’s side was made.

Eventually, the self-loathing blame turned to a non-sustainable yet believable form of affection reserved for lovers. Almost akin to what was only temporarily had with Jimin.

Until he, too, walked away for the same reasons.

Funny.

History repeats itself.

But not today after finding a pamphlet for an art exhibition near the marketing office where a fortunate job as a graphic designer was picked up soon after graduation, the grand opening of which is tonight. Normally, similar events would have been evaded since too many bodies occupy a space which cannot possibly handle them all at once and the gallery visited at a later date when the hype has died down enough to allow for calmly enjoying the art. However, the default course of action does not form an option in this case due to the artist presenting his piece of art.

Because it is the work of an old friend who gave two beautiful necklaces as a gift a long time ago.

A refugee lover who bound a reckless girl to him with the jewellery.

An onyx wolf to whom an apology is in order and the guilt more than justified.

Park Jimin.

The low heels of ballerinas click on the marble linoleum floor of the bare brick space after finding a sign outside pointing towards the entrance of the grand creative event, eyes wavering to the sides to observe the sketches of faceless women while also frantically searching for the grand master himself. Shreds of murmured conversation compose a rumbling radiating flood when entering the edifice, making the discovery of the wanted man that much more difficult since a familiar voice could not possibly be recognized in this chaotic mess of speakers.

The quest is halted when the gaze wanders to the side entirely, the attention of the panicked thoughts about coming in vain and being rejected from the beginning of the conversation suddenly focusing on a grand featureless portrait. To any other person, it might signify the blank canvas an individual essentially forms, smithing yet another temporary identity to go by until it loses its beauty like its predecessors and repeating the process each time. Withal, the shape of the face is undeniable and cannot be unseen as its familiarity is unavoidable.

Self-hatred, unintended hurt, past mistakes and various trips of guilt are depicted in the simple though meaningful drawing.

It is mine.

My face.

‘It’s the biggest piece of the collection. I wanted to give this person an expression yet couldn’t because I didn’t know what it should look like. Hence, I settled for this.’ The casual tone betrays not knowing who the listener is or the artist is beating around the bush because he, too, cannot handle the strangeness of the circumstances caused by a mayhaps unwelcome visitor in the way it perhaps should be.

‘Your lines are still off.’ A slim index finger points to the traced shape of the jaw, indicating inherently nothing although the turn to bad humour somehow seems a logical direction to take in the situation. Just as it has always been since it functions as a shield against overwhelming emotions. An old habit rooted in days gone by which dies hard, as those kinds of things tend to do. ‘I thought you’d gotten better at drawing by now, Park Jimin.’

‘Y/N.’ The manner of speech indicates having recognized the admirer far before the conversation even started, relieved delight mixed with agonized graveness.

The scars still hurt.

The fumbling digits reaching out brush against those of the individual who remains focused on the image in front. Eventually, they entwine with those that had to be let go after fully committing to the steadfast faith of being a wolf, but after more hesitation upon noticing the awkward gesture than had ever been the case in the past. ‘Can you look at me?’

‘I’m sorry, Chim. For everything. I push- pushed you too far.’ The burning tears slowly begin to create small brooks over the cheeks, the unoccupied hand wiping them away as the other tries to free itself in order to make an escape. A plan that already comes too late. ‘I shou- shouldn’t even be here. I have to go.’

But the fingers of the once intimately loved beloved remain strongly wrapped around the others, their counterparts coming to rest where frantic digits endeavoured to stop the water, thumb gently continuing the attempts with affectionate sweeps. Gazes meet by means of forceful albeit kind-hearted compelling, the palm on the face of an unworthy mistress turning the head to do so and fulfil the earlier disregarded request. ‘That’s not how you apologize to someone, Y/N. You’re raised knowing better.’

Jimin has changed, not only on the inside - if there has been no help in the form of therapy to drive the insane beast out - but on the outside as well. Onyx has made place for pale sandstone which resembles limestone if the light falls on it in a specific angle, paint-stained shirts and jeans are replaced by a stylish nightly black outfit of which the shirt lights up in the purplish lilac shades of twilight whenever it is illuminated directly. Of course, this style has merely been chosen to conform to the formality of the event, though there is a suspicion former characteristic clothes and their sentiments have been abandoned aside from the casual ones that were often worn during a happening like this back in college.

The past has clearly been endeavoured to be erased.

Good.

I was not the only one trying.

Nonetheless, the most obvious physical change makes eyes widen in astonishment due to the uncharacteristic feature.

Purple flowing over in sickly yellow on cheekbones, a scar marring the left side of a sympathetic expression as full lips speak so kindly in spite of the immense wrongdoing three years ago, the bottom split in the middle by a healing scarlet wound.

Hurt.

Actual clear signs of pain.

Afraid of the impact that may or may not still be felt, two small hands - the left one slipping easily from the grip weakened by oddly loving renewed feelings - languidly rise to remove those framing a face the artist idiotically seems to adore still and trace the trail of inflicted harm with a slightly opened mouth. ‘What happened?’

A spark lights up the warm dark brown gaze of the lad who was thought never to even kill a fly, moved by the concern and showing this by the tiniest hasty smile. ‘It’s alright, Y/N. Just...’ Lashes flutter shut as the gesture is leaned into, briefly forgetting whatever coverup is created to not ignite any type of worry akin to the sort that has been tainting living in general since the first and last bittersweet night together. ‘Just business... nothing... serious.’

A warm teardrop slides down the wrist enveloped by the fingers which were good-naturedly removed, the narrow surface of skin snuggled against regardless of the barely audible pained whines the motions evoke. Teeth lightly grazing over the surface, just tangible enough to send shivers down the spine in a paradoxical mixture of pleasure and worry about the wolfish behaviour that essentially drove us apart. Furthermore, what circumstances could have asked for bodily harm, form the root for obvious pain? ‘Jimin, what’s going on? Talk to me.’

You never fought, bodily nor verbally. Did you get beat up? What happened to you? On the other hand, we both changed and know nothing anymore. Notwithstanding, just tell me. Tell me what caused this, what took place and of which the visible aftermath is so damn painful to witness without knowing the background.

The soft kiss on the pulse evokes a hitched breath, astonished by the blatant display of wishing for intimacy once more even though it brought nothing but misfortune in the past. ‘I still want you. I wish... I wish you could stay.’ The last word is a mere whisper, only audible to the ears of the listener and the speaker in the ocean of murmurs. ‘Stay with me, be mine again.’

More tears roll down the smooth skin of the forearm before watery solemn dark irises quickly turn from the former point of focus to two staring in wonder when the wrist manages to slip from the novel fairly firm hold, having made use of the temporary weak spot caused by sadness. Fast as lightning hands pull the artist into a tight embrace at seeing a quivering pillowy bottom lip, determined to keep the sobs dimmed as much as possible and to not lose face to any potential buyers or investors.

‘Don’t cry, Chim. You’re not at fault, never have been. You were right to walk away and I’m not even mad at you for doing it. If anyone’s to blame, it’s me.’ Kindly, bleak sandy locks are affectionately stroked while nuzzling the old lover’s warm neck, growing drowsy, no, getting hypnotized by the heat radiating from the body still built like a dancer’s and the musky alluring scent containing hints of turpentine and summer flowers. ‘As I said, I pushed you too much and should’ve listened. But I didn’t. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.’

The hug tightens, star-crossed lovers holding on to one another as if the only way to stay afloat in the turbulent sea of life is by clinging to the buoy in the shape of the other beloved.

And just for a split second, all seems well. Exactly like the old days, filled with hope for a future together.

However, the girl who ruined everything might as well drown in spite of the lifeline because the blonde lad lets go too soon, arms untangling and keeping the adored soul at bay by creating a new distance with shaking hands, just enough not to touch directly. The voice has gained a ghastly tone, speaking as if this time the farewell is permanent. ‘Let’s agree to disagree.’

A foot sweeps uncertainly over the alabaster marbled linoleum, acting as if removing a stain on it as locked gazes are briefly broken up while a hand combs through the strands that were lovingly caressed a split second ago. Withal, like is the case with the entire body, they shortly find each other again afterwards. ‘I really wish we could have a second chance, Y/N.’

‘If- If you want, we can still-’

A solitary head shake cuts off the desperate argument that was about to be given, nullifying every spark of hope which had collected and started a grand bright foolish fire within. ‘We can’t. You’re better off without me. Vice versa it’s not the case, but even though I still long for you, I know that a part of loving you comes with sacrifice and the desire for you to be happy.’

‘I was with you! In fact, I was the most cheery whenever we went out to the park to draw the flowers in the flowerbed or to the coffee shop. The most restful nights were those when you were lying beside me. Now, all that remains of those beautiful moments are these.’ Fingers clearly display the thin bronze chain with a crescent moon pendant and one that is a tad longer and made of a mixture between silver and gold with a tiger's eye matrix wolf pendant. ‘A daily reminder of what we had. Of you.’

A melancholic grin carves itself onto full plush roseate lips, an almost invisible nod acknowledging the meaning behind the jewellery which clearly does not add any convincing nor credible reason to change a stubborn mind set on its own opinion. ‘You still have them. I’m glad because I thought you’d have thrown them away. Or, if not you... never mind, I don’t want to think about that.’

‘Think about what? Jimin, you’re not making any sense. The last time you spoke in riddles, there was clearly something going on.’ The old Self awakens, having pushed aside the pathetic contemporary ego out of the overwhelming determination to not let things remain unresolved upon being compelled to part ways like before. To leave behind loose ends. ‘At least honestly tell me if everything is alright this time. Or just the reason for why you look like you fought a war and lost. Anything. Don’t send me away without a proper goodbye, fill up the distance with making this fucking lingering concern about you I’ve been living with for the past three years a heavier burden than it already is. Yes, I understand you don’t want me by your side anymore. But, I beg of you, grant me this last favour.’

‘I never said that, that I don’t want you by my side anymore so don’t put words in my mouth. Besides, if I did I wouldn’t wish for you to be mine again, would I? I can’t tell you what happened when I was gone, merely that it has to do with what caused our goodbye in the first place. As for the wounds, it’s nothing to be worried about. I’m fine.’ Hands mould into trembling fists, the emitted heat turning to menacing rage.

The made point is justified because the used wording which is reacted to never had any valid worth, to begin with. Rashness can push one’s own opinion despite the nullifications which are or are not already present, making the individual solely focused on their hellbent desire to drive their own beliefs through.

The realization of this calms the raging storm within, knowing that more yelling and arguing will lead nowhere. Instead, a deep steadying breath is taken and a new attempt at making amends undertaken. ‘Chim...’

A careful step forward is rewarded with a petrifying glance, feet immediately stuck in the place of the last retraced track. Stare wavers for a moment to the spot which was nuzzled against and kissed longingly, imagining what could have happened had the gesture advanced. Memories of the first and last night as more than friends resurface.

Even the worst event is no longer regarded in a negative light, a hidden absurd persona craving for it to happen again.

Get knotted, feel him again.

He is not a senseless beast, but a caring young man. Why do I long for that side of him, thinking in such terms? Furthermore, how did I get so carried away by just hugging? That’s never happened.

Nevertheless, the contemplating train of thoughts inherently boils down to the same wanton wish.

To be his.

‘Go.’

Simply have him back.

Resume our tale.

‘Please-’

We can work this out. We can get you help. Therapy. You’re not an animal, Jimin. You don’t have to hold back because of it. Come back. Come back to me.

‘Go!’ The command is growled like a wolf grown sick with the obligation to wait for a dumb opposing party to leave and giving a warning shot that any further provocation has consequences. The sternness rapidly fades, softening into sweet stained nostalgia when realizing what the hurtful impact of the chosen attitude is. ‘Go, Y/N. Just go. It’s better for us. For you. I have nothing to offer, nothing to be better than the man you belong to.’

‘I belong to nobody. I’m my own person.’ It is weird to hear the statement of essentially being some individual’s property being said with so much certainty when the speaker initially was the one to say a person should never be subject to another. ‘That’s what we artists are, independent and stubbornly liberated.’

A weak bubbly chuckle, no extravagant motions that express amusement as per habit. Instead, composure portrays not wanting this outcome to the circumstances either and come closer to make resume making amends as intended by the graphic designer who was once a free-spirited artist like him, continue where the mutual story abruptly ended. Yet, behaviour obviously gives away that the alternate route is not possible if it ever has been. ‘Goodbye.’

End of the line.

Don’t. Don’t do this, you bastard!

But the tongue is rendered silent, paralyzed with grieving shock and the ability to speak abandons the mute girl with the leaving footsteps of a sandstone wolf clad in black like the starry night sky.

The same heaven above a lonely head wandering the street again after leaving the gallery, fighting to tune out the repeating material of the emotional conversation while low heels click against the concrete. Regardless, the words are resonating as if freshly spoken and fingers have the remnants of touches by other ones clearly engraved in muscle memory.

But they have to take a moment to remember the hand grabbing them now for, although more recent than Jimin’s, it seems a longer period of time has passed since it was held by this particular one. Even longer so for the voice accompanying it, containing a strange sort of confidence that would have been quite uncharacteristic up until last January. ‘He left you again, didn’t he?’

Raven locks partially shroud feverish yet trusted doe eyes above a cute nose, a paradoxical bunny-like smile playing on pale pink lips seemingly belonging to a predator. But the person in front after accidentally bumping into them after being pulled flush against a well-trained chest is known to be better than that, never having had the aura of cunning dominance. Henceforth, looking down is the kind gentle boy with the scratched back who disappeared because of the reasons another had already given three years prior.

But Time has the ability to evoke a transformation in every aspect of and being in existence and it forms the cause for this grown-up version of a shy comic artist whose creative persona is a pink muscly rabbit. Although all former anticipating illusions are forever erased by the reflection, it is still a grand comfort to see a familiar face which holds the credible promise of staying. Thus, there is a glad surrender to the intoxicating heat scented with a delicious potion of peppermint, blue ink, markers, lily and jasmine.

To the hands framing the face perfectly and body pressing against one drunk on the temporary happiness offered by the situation.

To Jungkook.

Can I request a fluff/smut jungkook scenario please? :) something where he comes back from tour and you guys missed each other a lot. Please and thank you :))

i really hope you like this. xx

in which he’s been gone too long…

In all fairness, it’s just shoes—shoes that are normally in the hallway before coming in— that aren’t there right now. It’s such a little thing that Y/N shouldn’t really be getting upset about, but it’s a little thing piled up on other little things that she’s noticed about Jungkook’s absence.

Things are different in their apartment. For one, it’s quiet, really quiet. So quiet she swears sometimes she can hear the gentle thrum of her own heartbeat. Y/N tries to fill the silence with music and the talk on TV but they all quickly fade into the background. And before she knows it, it’s quiet again— and empty. There’s his game controllers still on the coffee table, her art stuff scattered around various rooms and the fridge and cupboards full of food. Yet it’s still empty because they’re both not in it.

It goes without saying that she misses him— a lot. It’s the first time in their relationship when he’s been away for this long and for the first couple of months, she thought she could handle it. It hadn’t felt much different then. But now it’s like anything that remotely reminds her of Jungkook will set her off.

And it’s not as if they hadn’t text or tried to call— if they somehow managed to get the times correct— it’s just not the same. She can’t feel him, she can’t smell him, she can’t taste him and she just wants to be in his arms.

She sighs frustratedly flinging the paintbrush at the canvas and it strokes a harsh angry black line on the creamy-white paper. She’s been trying to find inspiration for this fucking painting but it’s not coming. All she can think about is how 24 hours is pretty long and she’s not sure she can wait that long to see him.

“Y/N?” Jungkook calls out, sliding off his shoes.

He can’t believe he’s back again. He glances around, nothing’s changed though. It’s almost like he never left. But he did and now he just wants to have his arms around Y/N for the rest of the night. He’s missed her so much— in more ways than one. He’s sure if the tour hadn’t ended itself, he would have ended up coming back himself because he can’t go another day jerking off to the thought of her. He wants the real thing. Her.

The apartment smells a whole lot like Y/N as well and paint— definitely fresh paint. He smiles. He knows exactly where she is.

Y/N sighs tilting her head slightly to try and look at the canvas from another angle. Maybe she can paint Jungkook, his face or his hands, or his dick. Yeah, she can definitely draw his dick from memory with her eyes closed, it’s almost embarrassing. Y/N scoffs, how desperate could she get.

“What’s this one called?”

Wow, she’s even hearing Jungkook in her head now. Fuck, she’s a goner. Is it healthy to be this in love that you can hear your boyfriends voice? Surely, it can’t be.

“I know.” Jungkook chuckles waving his hand in the air like he’d seen a vision. “A black beacon trying to blossom against the adversary of white.”

Y/N frowns. If it’s her thoughts then why does that sound like something Jungkook would say. Shit, she really really has it bad. These 24 hours need to pass by quickly before she finds herself in a meeting with a shrink.

She’s not saying anything and Jungkook’s getting nervous. He’d expected her to leap at him instantly. Is she mad at him for something?

“Really not even a giggle? I’ve literally had better reception from my stylists—” He steps further into the room. “—And my own girlfriend refuses to acknowledge my existence.”

Okay. Y/N’s definitely sure she heard the small creak from that floorboard as if someone purposely stepped on it. Fuck, she’s really not expecting anyone and the only person with a spare key is— is well Jungkook. She glances behind her slowly and cautiously, but before she knows it, she’s stumbling out of her chair and jumping to wrap her legs around Jungkook.

“Fuck, I thought I was going crazy imagining your voice,” she murmurs with her mouth against his neck. She breathes him in. He’s back. Her Jungkook. “God, I’ve missed you so much.”

Y/N looks up at him, arms hooked around his neck. He’s exactly how he left her and the feeling of just being around him again overwhelms her. She feels so completely whole again and the thought tugs at her heartstrings. She holds him tighter as her lips tremble and the tears well up in her eyes.

Jungkook frowns, setting her gently on the dresser. Y/N doesn’t cry— at least so outright like this. He knows that very well, she always goes on about how much she hates crying complaining that it’s so ‘tiring’ and ‘pointless’. Even though Jungkook tells her time and time again, that she should just let it out before it builds up. Looking at her now, Jungkook can tell it has without any doubt, built up.

“Shit— are you crying?”

“Yes I’m fucking crying and you know I don’t normally fucking cry. So consider yourself lucky—” She huffs, attempting to get rid of the traitorous tears that slid down. “I just— I missed you so much. It’s just—”

Jungkook’s smiling widely now as he flattens her up against his body again, forehead level with hers. It’s so good to have her in his arms again, he’d almost forgotten how perfectly she fit around him, like his little jigsaw piece. And he’s extra sensitive to her touch, her breasts press against his chest and his dick is already hard at the thought of fucking her after so long.

He places a soft kiss on her temple. “I missed you too baby, so fucking much.” He rakes his fingers through her hair. It’s grown a bit longer and her roots are starting to show from when she’d dyed it.  "You’re so beautiful, you know that. I thought of you every single day. My baby girl all by herself waiting for me.“

Y/N grins. God, she’s missed his voice and the way he talks, so relaxed and fluent that it never failed to excite her. “I thought you were coming back tomorrow.”

“I left early,” He says, shifting her hair away from her neck. Fuck, he can’t wait to mark her up again.

“Really?” She’s more than over the moon he’s here but if he’d gotten in trouble over it she’ll feel bad. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yes, I did.” He hadn’t even gotten into much trouble, the tour was over anyway so really there was nothing else there.

“—And all the boys are back as well?”

He shakes his head. “Nope, they’re still in Paris. But, it didn’t seem right to enjoy the city of love without the person I love.” Jungkook shrugs as if it were the easiest decision he’d made. “So, I came back.”

“You’re so fucking soft.”

He scoffs. “Says the one that was crying.”

“I wasn't—” Y/N pauses. She knows she can’t fight this one. “Fuck off.”

Jungkook breathes her in as if he hadn’t been breathing proper air without her and places a kiss at her collarbone. “You know something that isn’t soft though…”

Y/N smirks. “My paintbrush. Kookie. I know. I’ve told you this a thousand times.”

“Wow, you’ve gotten extra funny, haven’t you. You taking classes?” He laughs briefly at his own joke before turning serious and she straightens up. “Now take off those cute little shorts and panties. I need to taste that pretty cunt of yours.”

Y/N doesn’t need telling twice before she’s tugging at the clothes, the cool breeze instantly blowing at her bare core and she shivers. She’s been waiting for this moment ever since he’d left and her fingers had never succeeded in satisfying her the way Jungkook’s did— does.

Jungkook sinks to his knees. Fuck. She’s dripping wet, he runs a finger over her slit playing with her juices and he groans as it spills deliciously against the wood of the dresser. He pulls her legs over his shoulders.

“God Y/N, I’ve missed you.” He kisses the skin of her thigh right under where she craves him to be. “You’ve always had a sweet cunt, always drenched and ready for me.”

He parts her lips with his fingers, his thumb rubbing circles on her clit as he looks at her with pure fascination. He’s looking at her like he hasn’t seen a pussy in years and he’s ready to devour her own. The desire storming in his eyes has Y/N grabbing at his hair and bucking her hips for his mouth.

“God Kook— I need your mouth.”

Jungkook’s smug at her utter display of need. He’s missed this and he wants to hear more. He plunges a digit into her hole. Shit, she’s already so fucking tight around his one finger and he can’t wait to feel her around his dick.

“Where baby? You have to be specific.”

“On me, fuck—” She whimpers as his fingers bend in and out of her. She’s craved his contact for all these months and now she has it, she just feels overwhelmed. She’s hot and flustered and there’s entirely too much going on. “I need your mouth on my cunt, Kook. I want you to suck me dry and make me come… please.”

God, she’s so perfect. Jungkook grunts delving his tongue into her. He laps at her juices and sucks firmly on her clit pushing another digit into her hole as he fucks her with his fingers. He glances up at her with a hum that vibrates through her. Y/N’s so so pretty. Her small hand massaging her breast underneath her top and the moans that leave her mouth, way too angelic for the sinful act.

“I— ’m so fucking close Kook—” Y/N’s breathing heavily as she tries to get her bearings correct but his fingers are moving inside her with the same vigour his cock does and the sight of her juices spread around his lips has her eyes rolling back.

Jungkook releases her clit with a prominent pop. He watches the way she falls apart, her walls clenching tightly around his fingers with no particular pattern. He sinks his teeth into the flesh of her trembling thighs, sucking a blossoming bruising purple on the surface.

He’s dreamt way too often about watching her come again that when he notices the way her body shakes, her jaw slackens and she moans his name, it almost feels euphoric. He has to control himself from blowing his load in his pants.

“Fuck—”

Y/N can’t begin to think properly as his lips trail kisses up her body. She hasn’t come that hard in so long, that her bodies already weak with pleasure.

Jungkook smirks. “Look at you baby. So fucking spent—” Her face is slippery with sweat, strands of hair pasted onto the smooth skin. “—and I haven’t even fucked you yet. You miss me that much?”

“Yes—” She answers, a shaky breath leaving her lips. “I missed you so fucking much. I missed your fingers—”

He lines himself with her entrance, cock twitching at the way his pre-cum leaks on her cunt. “What else?”

“I missed your cock as well, the way it fills me to the brim so fucking well.”

Jungkook grins sinking his cock inside her slowly, only stopping when he’s right at the hilt. She takes him so well, her walls just sucking him in naturally and he moans at the feeling, head falling to her collarbone.

“I do fill you up so well, don’t I?”

Y/N nods feeling extremely light-headed. Fuck, she could stay like this forever with his cock inside her, so big and comfy. “So so well.”

It’s pure ecstasy as he begins to move inside her, pulling himself right out of her before slamming his hips back. The pure unadulterated squelches of her juices ringing in his ears and he doesn’t understand how he’s gone so long without being inside her cunt.

“Faster—” After so long, she needs him now, rough and hard. “—please, you need to go faster Kook.”

“Hold on baby,” He growls out. “I haven’t fucked you in so long and you’re so fucking tight.”

He lays his rough hands on her waist clutching her tightly. He could definitely do this with her forever and never get tired of it. Jungkook loves Y/N that much.

“You know I love you right?”

She smiles lazily eyes fluttering closed. “Hmm, I love you too— a lot. I want your cock forever and ever.”

Yeah, he can definitely never get tired of her. He bites at her collarbones as he increases his pace, pounding into her deep again and again no break in between for either one to catch their breath. Y/N digs her fingers into his back, chanting his name so loud she’s sure the neighbours are aware he’s back by now. But she doesn’t care.

Jungkook hooks one of her legs around his waist hitting her at another angle and she mewls at the way he hits her sweet spot. Fucking her as if he doesn’t love her at all.

“God I— Fuck—” Y/N loves this so much that she’s thinking irrational thoughts like how she never wants him to leave her alone, even though he has to.

He kisses at her bruises. “You want to come again, baby?”

“Yes, yes, please—”

“Then come for me, baby.” He shoves his hand between their bodies, rubbing her pussy vigorously to match his rough pace and it doesn’t take long until she’s jerking against him screaming out his name.

He captures her lips in his, kissing her heatedly, teeth and tongue smashing together as he swallows her moans. He continues to thrust into her swollen pussy. He’s still so fucking hard because of her.

“Fuck baby— I’m gonna need you to clench around me.”

“I— I can’t,” Y/N manages to choke out. She’s so sensitive and she’s blurring the lines between pain and pleasure.

“Yes, you can baby.” He watches as her eyes prick red with moisture. “I got you.”

Y/N can feel the fire pooling in her abdomen as she uses all her energy to clench onto his cock. God, he’s so fucking thick inside her.

Jungkook watches the way he enters her, the mix of her pussy clamping against him and the sounds she makes for her third orgasm coaxing him over the edge and he stills inside of her. His hot cum pouring into her in short choppy spurts and he’s coming so hard and so much, he’s unsure as to how she’s holding it all.

“God— I missed you,” Y/N says.

Jungkook pulls out of her, his cum oozing out of her immediately. It’s so messy and dirty that he just wants to watch it leak out of her. "Mhmm. I missed you too.“

Opia-drabble

Summary: Taehyung feels needy after meeting a person who wasn’t supposed to come back in the picture.

Paring: Taehyung x fem reader

Word count: 2.5K

Warnings/genre: Smut, explicit sex scenes, unsafe sex, public sex

a/n: this is a drabble based off opia and I recommend reading it first, but it’s not necessary.

   Taehyung hadn't expected the night to go this way at all. He had expected to go to this large company event for not just the museum he worked for but a few others owned all by the same person to be entirely uneventful. He figured that he would talk with a few coworkers, get to know a few of the other curators, gorge on free wine and cheese and have a good but somewhat boring time with you. He had not expected that all of your connections in the local art scene stemmed from your ex, or that said ex would be here. Taehyung was now lamenting on how pathetically small the universe could be as he tipped back his wine glass.

   He wanted to curse the world. He wanted to fuck you on the table just to show off that you were his. He was feeling needy and small and slightly pathetic, but he was sure that by the way your hands clutched onto your wine glass you weren't happy by this turn of events either. His eyes moved up from your knuckles turning white to the hollow smile on your face to the man standing across from them. Jackson, he said his name was Jackson.

   He was everything that Taehyung wasn't, and that irked him. Jackson was certainly more muscular than him. More animated, louder too (although Taehyung was fine with being quieter. He wasn't sure how you still had functioning ears after dating that guy for three years.) But what really upset him was how well this guy seemed to know you, the way he asked you questions as if he had never left from your life. Tae knew that Jackson was the one who broke up with you, and right now that was making him feel a little nervous. Ah the great Tae, feeling nervous about a girl. In a strange way, it reminded him of a year ago when the two of you first started dating. 

   Tae thought he had gotten past all of this, finally grown confident about being the man by your side. But now, as he stares at who could have still been the one standing next to you instead he can't help but feel a little anxious. Over the last year, he had fallen hard. The idea of love was an abstract unrealistic concept to him before he met you. Now it was abstract and tangible, a part of his life that changed and grew every day. He couldn't imagine his life without you, he couldn't imagine going back to the man he used to be. He grew, not just with you as a couple, but as a man. He was finally a person he could be proud of. All of this should have made him stand tall about being yours, confident that he was yours. But he saw that look in Jackson's eyes, and he suddenly felt very territorial.

   Who the fuck was this dude to saunter over and pretend he hadn't been gone for over a year? And why the fuck did he think that he could just completely ignore Taehyung's presence as if he was just some fucking decoration? Eye candy Taehyung might be, but that's most certainly not all he is. And he wanted this tool to know that. Taehyung was roused out of his own internal seething by the sound of your voice saying his name.

   "Yes, well Taehyung actually invited me here as I was trying to say. Jackson, this is Taehyung. My boyfriend. Tae, this is Jackson." Taehyung extended out his hand, trying hard not to glare as they shook. He'd been standing here for at least fifteen minutes before you even introduced him (not that it was necessarily your fault, Jackson had come crashing over like a damn tornado with little care of the fallout.)

   "Nice to meet you, Jackson."

   "Oh, you're dating someone?" Jackson looked questioningly at you, his eyes not even meeting Tae's as he shook his hand. Seriously, who the fuck did this jackass think he was? God, Tae really wanted to just rip off your dress and show off all the hickies he left on your thighs just to say 'look at what I did and you can't!' Okay, so maybe there were still parts of Tae that hadn't fully grown up yet. He was acting internally a little childish. But hey, he hadn't actually started pissing on the guy yet so really wasn't it all okay? 

   "Yes, and Tae is actually the curator at the Seoul Museum of Art."

   "Fascinating." Jackson finally glanced over at Taehyung, clearly sizing him up before turning back to you. Tae handed off his glass of wine to a passing server before resting his hand on your lower back and standing closer. "So...how long have you two been together?"

   "A year last month." Tae gave a boxy grin down at you as he watched your eyes search up for him, a coy smile stretching over your lips. That's right, be gooey and madly in love with me damnit. Make this dick realize that not only is he missing the best thing ever, but he can't fucking have it again. I. Won. Suck it, ex-boy.

   "Oh. Well, congratulations. Oh, I think I just spotted Mark walking in. I should go say hello. I'll see you guys later." Tae nodded as he pulled you slightly closer to him, watching the other man walk away with narrowed eyes as you let out a long sigh.

   "Sorry about that. He can be...a lot."

   Tae snorted, glancing back down at you. "That's one way of putting it. You're much too polite though. You don't have to apologize for him."

   He watched you glance over your shoulder again at the other man. Your ex. God, this was not the night Taehyung envisioned. "You're right. I don't. He's not that bad though, I'm kind of surprised that he just ignored you. He's usually the type to make friends with everyone."

   "I don't want to be friends with him."

   "Tae..." He could sense the warning tone in your voice and he glared down at his feet wishing he had another glass of wine to make all of this more bearable. "Don't be like that. He's just an ex. He doesn't mean anything to me anymore. You do. All I was trying to say is that I'm disappointed in him. I feel like the two of you could be good friends."

   Tae snorted again before breaking off into a dry laugh. "No, no I have no interest in being friends with some douche who didn't realize how fantastic you are. Even if he were God himself if he hurt you I would have no interest in him." He glanced back over to see you staring up at him, eyes slightly lidded and blush fanning over your cheeks. "How could anyone not see perfection in this? Blind fools, that's who. I think you've gotten to know me well enough to know that I don't entertain idiots. Unless they're Jin, then in that case occasionally." 

   "Tae." He felt your hand snake up to his neck as you whispered into his ear. "Meet me in the bathroom in five minutes." Oh god, this night was amazing. Holy shit. His eyes were glued to your ass shamelessly as he watched you walk away from the room. It took every ounce of self-control to stay rooted in place. He watched the time tick by slowly on his phone before trying to not skip over to the girls' room down the hallway. 

   The moment he opened the door he felt your hands tug at his wrist before marching over to one of the furthest stalls and slamming the door shut behind the two of you. His lips crashed into yours, tongues entwining together as he lifted you up against the door and wrapped your thighs around his waist. That familiar scent of citrus enveloped him as his thoughts started to grow hazy with lust. A groan fell out as your hips jutted against his rapidly hardening cock. "God, you're so fucking perfect. And mine, all mine." His gaze focused on the way your bruised lips parted, small pants and quiet moans already bubbling out from you with each rock of his hips.

   "Tae, Tae please fuck me. I don't want to wait, I need you. I need to feel you." Part of him wanted to drag things out just to listen to you beg some more. But he was too needy, his mind already a mess and dick already taking over most thoughts. Besides, taking your time in a bed is one thing, but it's next to impossible in a tight bathroom stall. His hands ran along your thigh as he pulls up your dress, fingers swiftly pulling apart your wrecked panties and delving into your slick core as his mouth latches onto your throat until a wake of red and purple blossoms underneath. He leaves vivid bruises trailing to your collar bone before pulling back and grinning down at the sight of your fucked out expression.

   "You're such a fucking minx. Look at you, getting fucked in a bathroom because you can't even wait. You have me wrapped around your little finger and you know it, but right now I have you wrapped around mine." His voice is husky and dripping with lust as his fingers curve up in just the right spot. He grins as he watches your eyes roll back and a deep moan rattles through you. "Not yet baby. You can cum all you want on my dick." His fingers pull out and he watches with blown out eyes as you whimper before pulling the wet digits into your mouth.

   He's quick to take off his belt and finally free his dick. God, you look like heaven as his fingers pull out with a pop before he latches his hand around the base of his dick. "Turn around, baby." As he moves slightly back so you can twist around, ass jutted out and soaked panties glinting up at him. "Perfect, god you're so perfect. How did I ever get so lucky? Best fucking pussy I've ever seen." He yanks the underwear off to the side before sliding in, memories of the first time the two of you slept together surfacing back up. Your core greedily pulls him in, the squelch echoing through the bathroom as he fills you to the hilt. Pride rushes through him at the way you clench around him and low choked moans spill out of you. He's doing that to you. He's the one that you want. He's the one by your side. He's the one that gets to make your toes curl, gets to listen to your moans, gets to watch you fall apart on his dick.

   His hands wrap into your hair and he snakes you back so your arched against him. "Tae, oh god, please move. Please, please. I need you." That's right, him. You need him. Not some other shmuck, Tae. He pulls back slowly, groaning when he slams back in with enough force to make the door rattle.

   "I wonder, what that ex is thinking? He doesn't know that right now I'm fucking you in the bathroom. Did he ever know how fucking sinful you were? Did he ever fuck you right? I bet he didn't." Green might not be the best color for Tae, but right now he's too far gone to care. Too enwrapped in the euphoria that only you can bring him to care if he sounds pathetically jealous.

   "Tae, only you can make me feel this good. Only you." At the sound of your hoarse whisper, he slams back in. He starts going at a faster pace before slipping one hand into your panties and rubbing quick circles into your clit. Each time he thrusts in he can feel you spasm around him. Each time he pulls back your dripping pussy just pulls him back in so easily. It's utterly addictive. The way you feel, the sounds you make. 

   The sound of the bathroom door opening and the noise of the party outside momentarily coming in has you freezing under him. He knows that you aren't usually the type to have sex in public, but for Tae...well let's just say that the thrill of it has always been one of his favorite highs. He waits for just a moment as he listens to two women talking to each other before moving into stalls most likely closer to the front.

   He leans down as he gives a harder thrust, the noise ringing through the room clearly before he whispers into your ear. "Trust me, love, you can be as still as you want but they can still hear your pussy getting wrecked. Besides, I think my pretty girl wanted the world to know that she's getting the best fucking dicking in town if you wanted to have it in such a public place. Did you want that? Did you want everyone to know how well you get fucked?" He feels you clench around him at his words, whimpers falling out of your lips as the faucets turn on and the women are quickly scurrying out of the bathroom silently. "Come on baby, let go. Cum for me." It only takes two more thrusts before he feels you spasming around him, a silent scream leaving your jaw open and eyes rolling back. "Fuck, fuck." Tae can feel his balls tighten, dick twitching as he cums with you.

   He swears you're made of magic. Every time he cums he sees heaven, but only when he's buried deep inside of you. Only when he sees your wrecked face, only when his name rolls off your lips. It's only when he feels the cum start to trickle onto his pants that he finally pulls out. He watches with glee at the way his seed trickles out of you as he pulls your underwear back into place and your dress back down. A dreamy smile is plastered on your face as you turn around and pull him down for another heated kiss. "I love you Tae. And you're not wrong, you really do give the best dicking-down in town."

   For possibly the millionth time after meeting you he couldn't help but once again think that you might just be the death of him. But at least he'd go out his favorite way. The two of you are all giggles and kisses as you spill out of the bathroom, hand in hand and drunk off sex. At the same moment the two of you leave he looks over to see Jackson walking out of the men's bathroom next door with a look of clear understanding as to what you two just did. And Tae can't help but give him his award-winning boxy grin as he leads you out of the party and back home. Really what was Tae thinking, getting jealous? How could he, when you chose him? And that was really all that mattered.  

New Post has been published on https://toldnews.com/lifestyle/the-chic-octogenarian-behind-barbies-best-looks/

The Chic Octogenarian Behind Barbie’s Best Looks

LOS ANGELES — Carol Spencer, 86, may be the most influential fashion designer you’ve never heard of.

In the mid-1960s, she made a red pencil skirt with a white sleeveless blouse that had red stitching and three red buttons down the front. Short white gloves came with it. Thousands sold.

In the 1970s, well aware that the counterculture’s loosening dress code and mores had made it to the mainstream, Ms. Spencer designed a red bandanna halter maxi-dress and a matching leisure shirt for men. Those designs were popular, too.

In the Nancy Reagan 1980s, Ms. Spencer aimed for high-end appeal, making a one-shouldered ball gown in blue jacquard with an organza flower at the nipped-in waist and a cape. One of Mrs. Reagan’s go-to couturiers personally approved the gown to be sold under his name: “Oscar de la Renta for Barbie.”

Ms. Spencer has made wedding dresses, saris, go-go boots and caftans. All in miniature. From 1963 to 1999, she was Barbie’s fashion designer, a career celebrated in her new book, “Dressing Barbie” (HarperDesign).

Ms. Spencer also made her own clothes, and had an easy time working with the doll’s famously unusual proportions, she said, because they weren’t so far from her own. “I have shrunk but in those days, I was tall and skinny,” she said. “I had a 16-inch waist and something on top, too, I sure did, but Barbie’s legs were better than mine.”

She was sitting in her dining room, wearing a blouse in a shade that can only be described as Barbie pink, with a Barbie brooch and a Barbie digital watch that legions of girls probably begged to get for Christmas in the 1990s.

It was a different body part that was most important for her job, Ms. Spencer said: “I have small hands.” She set down the Barbie teacup filled with lemonade she had been clasping to show her fingers. They are small and jut out at angles from the joint, a disfiguration likely caused by years of grasping little needles and bottles of glue.

In creating a wardrobe for Barbie and the entourage (Skipper, Ken, Midge, Big Jim, Baby Sister Kelly, Cara, Stacey, Christie, P.J., Steffie and Miss America), Ms. Spencer was part of a team that has inspired the work of designers including Bob Mackie, Nicole Miller, Jeremy Scott and Jason Wu, who once said he played with Barbie dolls when he was a child.

For a Moschino fashion show in Milan in 2014, Mr. Scott had a Barbie waiting on front-row chairs and sent models down the runway in blond bouffants and pink skirt suits.

Last month, to celebrate the doll’s 60th birthday, Mattel hosted a profusely pink Barbie bacchanal in New York City with Instagram-friendly Dream House backdrops, intended to draw in a new generation of fans who are too young to know that Barbie was the original influencer.

1. Ms. Spencer designed Ski Party Pink for Barbie in 1982. The sweater had Dolman sleeves and a cowl neck. In her ankle-strap high-heels, she was ready to hit the bars, not the slopes.

2. Released in 1979, this City Sophisticate outfit had a faux-fur-trimmed coat and skirt accented by a yellow soutache braid.

3. A Mattel employee accidentally ordered 2,500 yards of gold-and-white striped fabric, instead of 250 yards. Ms. Spencer’s 1965 Country Club Dance fashions made use of the excess.

4. The 1992 Totally Hair Barbie was one of Mattel’s best sellers. Ms. Spencer designed a Pucci-inspired mini.

5. Ms. Spencer wanted to create an “evening pajama” look for Barbie after Barbra Streisand wore a Scaasi version when accepting an Academy Award in 1969. Ms. Streisand’s outfit was see-through, so Ms. Spencer made Barbie special panties.

Saving the Dune Buggy

Even since her retirement, Ms. Spencer has devoted her time to Barbie. Inducted in 2017 into the Women in Toys, Licensing & Entertainment Hall of Fame, she has spent her golden years attending Barbie collectors events, doing research and amassing artifacts.

For years she has worked on “Dressing Barbie,” which is sized for a coffee table and subtitled “A Celebration of the Clothes That Made America’s Favorite Fashion Doll, and the Incredible Woman Behind Them.” Laurie Brookins, a writer and stylist, helped Ms. Spencer with the project.

The book combines styled vintage fashion photography with memoir. Born in 1932 and raised in Minneapolis, Ms. Spencer rejected the wife-and-mother path that prevailed in the American midcentury and instead made a career for herself. “I truly fell in love with Barbie the first moment I created her clothes and accessories,” she writes in the book.

Barbie has been a go-to emblem of all that has ill-served girls and young women in American culture. Living in a world that is almost exclusively white, the doll has breasts that are disproportionately large compared with her hips, and her feet are contorted into a permanent “floint” (short for flexing your toes back as you point the rest of your foot).

Her hair seems to be bleached blond, never with dark (or gray) roots. At times she dressed the part of a doctor or politician but has seemed unable to hold down a job. And there’s the place in Malibu. Does it come from a trust fund or Ken?

But Ms. Spencer would like to counterpunch the Barbie bashing. She points out the doll’s humble origins, with her proportions modeled after paper dolls cut from newspapers. She also defends Barbie as a healthy alternative to video games; an engine of imagination for girls and boys, who can project onto a Barbie doll whoever they may wish to become.

“It’s wholesome play,” she said, as she pulled from a case one of the many hundreds of dolls in her home. This one was wearing a yellow chiffon-like pleated tunic with see-through pajama pants, inspired by the Arnold Scaasi transparent ensemble Barbra Streisand wore to the 1969 Oscars when she won a best actress award for “Funny Girl.”

Ms. Spencer’s house is filled with books like “Barbie: Her Life and Times” and “Dream Doll: the Ruth Handler Story,” about Ms. Handler, who, with her husband, Elliot, and Harold Matson, founded Mattel in 1945. The Barbie fashion doll was released in 1959.

Over a cluttered desk are posters of Barbie, like one showing the same image of the original 1959 doll, displayed against four different bright backgrounds, à la Warhol. (It was made to celebrate Mattel’s 35th Anniversary Barbie Festival, in 1994.)

Ms. Spencer is a scavenger for treasures in a toss-everything world. One day at the Mattel offices, then located in Hawthorne, Calif., she noticed someone was about to throw away an important piece of Barbie memorabilia.

“It was the prototype for Barbie’s dune buggy,” she said. “They were tossing it, and I said, ‘Would you toss it my way?’”

She learned thrift as a child. “During World War II, things were scarce and I remember the family would get the Sunday paper,” Ms Spencer said. “When they’d get through with it, they’d hand me the comic pages so that I could cut out the paper dolls.”

She began to create paper fashion for these paper dolls. Soon she was making her own clothes. But being a fashion designer didn’t seem like a realistic goal in those days, she recalled. “You could be a teacher, nurse, secretary or clerk,” she said. “But wife and mother were the big ones.”

She was engaged to a medical student but when she realized she was expected to work to help pay for education before quitting to be a “doctor’s wife,” she broke the engagement. Then she enrolled at the Minneapolis College of Art and Design, where she got a bachelor of fine arts with a focus on fashion design.

In May 1955, as she was about to graduate, she received a telegram from New York letting her know that her application for a “guest editor” slot at Mademoiselle magazine had been approved. Instead of sticking around for her commencement ceremony, Ms. Spencer took her first plane trip and moved in to the Barbizon Hotel for Women, for a month.

During her time in New York, she attended a reception at the home of the cosmetics entrepreneur Helena Rubinstein, visited the recently opened United Nations, danced with West Point cadets at the St. Regis hotel and interviewed the designer Pauline Trigère in her studio.

Ms. Spencer was in the same class of Mademoiselle guest editors as Joan Didion. “It was about as far from Minneapolis as you could get,” she writes.

She returned to her hometown to work, designing children’s wear for Wonderalls Company and then moved to Milwaukee to become a “misses” sportswear designer.

In late 1962, Ms. Spencer spotted an advertisement in Women’s Wear Daily. “A national manufacturer who leads its industry with annual sales in excess of $50 million seeks a cost-conscious fashion designer-stylist for its suburban Los Angeles facility.”

She sent a résumé and heard nothing back. Still, sensing this mysterious job was her destiny, she and her aunt packed up their 1959 Ford Fairlane and drove across the country to California.

In April 1963, she saw an ad in the California Apparel News for the same job, and this time her application got a response. It was from Mattel, the toymaker already known for the postwar bombshell: Barbie.

Ms. Spencer went to the company headquarters for an interview and was asked to make a suite of outfits for this creature. She made a halter-top-and-boy-short bikini, a one-piece in the same shade of orange-pink. There was a cover-up and a wrap skirt. She got the job.

Pink Pills Nixed

At that time, Mattel made about 125 different outfits a year for Barbie, and the fashion department, run by Charlotte Johnson, could be cutthroat.

“Charlotte had a theory,” Ms. Spencer said. “If you have four designers, you put them in four corners. And it was always competitive and you were pitching your product. Sometimes the competition was kind of dirty.”

How so? She wouldn’t say. “I’m out of it, I’m retired, I’m enjoying life, I’ll put it that way,” she said, and she took a sip of lemonade from her Barbie teacup.

Some of her early successes, all of which she has cataloged, included Country Club Dance (a white and gold striped gown), From Nine to Five (a midcalf blue dress with an embroidered vest and hair scarf) and Debutante Ball (an aqua satin gown with a fur stole).

Ms. Spencer took her cue from the culture around her. As the Jane Fonda aerobics craze of the 1980s took off, Barbie got a purple leotard and leg warmers. When NASA’s space shuttle exploration was in full tilt, Barbie became an astronaut (albeit one in thigh-high boots and silver capes).

And there was inspiration from her own life as well. When she needed a biopsy on her breast, Ms. Spencer was transfixed by the white coats doctors wore. The biopsy was negative, but the fashion was positive. Guess who became, however briefly, a surgeon?

There were missteps too, like when she gave Dr. Barbie a case of pink pills without knowing that at that time pink pills were known to be methamphetamines. “Let me tell you, that caused quite a stir,” she said. (Her faux pas was caught before Meth-Head Barbie made its way to children’s dollhouses.)

There are hundreds and hundreds of designs that are Carol Spencer originals, with only a small portion bearing her name. Until the mid-1990s, Mattel didn’t put designer names on Barbie’s packaging.

But Ms. Spencer remembers each of her creations, and many of them are in her home, which her sister, Margaret, 88, will be moving into soon. But even though Ms. Spencer gets out less these days, and relies on a walker to take more than a few steps, she said she feels surrounded by good company.

“You’re never alone when you have dinner at my house,” she said. “Barbie is always with you.”

“1, 2, 3, 4!”: Jennifer Kelly’s 2018 review

Jennifer Kelly is a frantic romantic.

Rock and roll forever, sure, but it’s hard to avoid the fact that the guitar/bass/drum idiom has been pushed way off to the side in the cultural conversation. Mainstream sites list “best rock records” as a weird, subcultural genre, with a slightly bigger audience, perhaps, than best cumbia records or top Hawaiian slack key recordings (but not much). Worse, to come up with a reasonable size list they include all kinds of things that don’t belong. I mean, really, is Mount Eerie rock by any definition?

Rock isn’t dead, but it’s been made to sit in the corner. The only time in 2018 when everybody thought at once about a guitar band was when Pitchfork’s Jeremy Larson dropped his scathing, hilarious review of the Greta Van Fleet. For a moment, we all snickered as one.

Big rock was terrible in 2018. It almost always is. Yet there’s something disingenuous about the genre of year-end write-ups that laser in on the absolute worst and most bloated of rock bands to make a point about the art-form as a whole. Sure, Imagine Dragons suck. Yes, “Africa” is a soul-destroyingly awful song no matter who sings it. No, I’m not wading into the whole 1975 thing. Who has time? Who has the heart for it?  

Because this year, against a tide of commercially viable horse shit, against a backdrop of monolithic indifference, rock bands of all configurations, from all countries (but really especially Australia), continued to make great punk and rock records. And, I, for whatever reason, heard more of them than usual, and it made me happy. And maybe that’s the secret to being happy in music, in any year…find your niche, listen to the best in it, forget about what the mega-corporations are trying to sell.

Also see it live. My big highlight this year was seeing the Scientists in October (with Negative Approach, too!), but it was a pretty great 12 months for live music. It started with a fantastic show comprised of Mike Donovan, the Long Hots, J. Mascis and his Stooges cover band and Purling Hiss (with J on board for one song) at the Root Cellar, a venue I’d never heard of before that show, and that ended up putting on a string of great events. I saw Marisa Anderson, Paul Metzger, Speedy Ortiz, Howling Rain, Trad Gras Och Stenar with Endless Boogie, that Scientists show and Gary Higgins at the Root Cellar this year, and I missed a lot of shows I would have liked to see. Other great shows happened outside the Root Cellar – The Thing in the Spring in Peterborough with William Parker, Bonnie Prince Billy and others, Amy Rigby and Wreckless Eric at the Parlour Room, Messthetics at the Flywheel. Western Massachusetts has been in a commercial chokehold for years, with one organization controlling most of the venues, but there were a lot of options this year.

So, here’s to the drummers with their sticks in the air, counting off the four. Here’s to the guitar player wrecking his knees jumping up and down as he/she furiously slashes away. Here’s to the sweat and muck and black humor of $10 shows with four bands on them, two of them still in high school. And here’s to the people (me at least and possibly you) who like these things. Eddie Argos of Art Brut, who used to top these lists and now merits a footnote, spoke for this tiny, beleaguered sub-cult when he urged “Wham! Bang! Pow! Let’s rock out.”

Indeed. Let’s.

Amy Rigby—The Old Guys (Southern Domestic)

The Old Guys by Amy Rigby

Let’s just set aside the fact that the first and best song on this album is an imagined email exchange between Philip Roth and Bob Dylan on the eve of the Nobel ceremony or that Rigby namechecks three of my favorite ever TV characters in “New Sheriff.” Let’s forget, too, how rare it is for a woman of roughly my age to be making her own music and controlling her own destiny even now in 2018. No, let’s focus on the songs which are sharp, smart and full of hooks, the clean, romantic chime of Rigby’s electric 12-string, the viscous pleasure of the arrangements. This is the very best kind of rock record, one that doesn’t attempt to remake the genre but somehow makes it bigger, brighter and more necessary. The songs sounded great, live, too, with the great Wreckless Eric in tow, and the two of them bickering like old married couples do, and Rigby glowing with triumph by the end of the show.

 Shopping—The Official Body (Fat Cat)

The Official Body by Shopping

Bubbly in a hard way, strict and minimal in a manner requires body movement, this album arrived early and stayed on my go-to list all year. For Dusted, I wrote, “You could bounce a quarter off the bass lines in this third Shopping full-length. They’re pulled hard and tight against minimalist syncopated drums, the leaning, waiting, anticipating space between the thwacks as important a character as the beats themselves. The London-based trio harks back to the funky, stripped down post-punk of bands like ESG and Delta 5, with hints of the boy-girl bubble and pop of the B-52s and Pylon.

 Salad Boys—This Is Glue (Trouble in Mind)

This Is Glue by Salad Boys

Always weak for NZ lo-fi and equally a fan of the early R.E.M., so of course I fell for this buzzy daydream of a record. “Psych Slasher” bursts with immoderate, glorious joy in the chorus, then cuts back to uncertainty in the verse, the ideal blend of rambunctious rock and wistful pop. “Exaltation” is a gentler sort of classic, just as radiant but moodier, its murmur-y vocals disappearing into cloud banks of fuzzed guitar tone. The whole record sits on the knife edge of rock and indie pop, leaning one way and the other, but never falling over.

 Patois Counselors—Proper Release (Ever/Never)

Proper Release by Patois Counselors

I went all in for “So Many Digits” in my Dusted review this year, but the two great punk songs on Proper Release are “The Modern Station” and, especially, “Target Not a Comrade.” This latter song chugs and lurches on guitar and bass, trembles with wheedly keyboards and crests in a massive, hummable refrain. It’s a catchy, twitchy punk tune that’ll hit you in the part of your brain where you keep Wire and the Buzzcocks, hooky as hell in a weird, distorted way.

 Bodega—Endless Scroll (What’s Your Rupture)

Endless Scroll by BODEGA

Flipping the gender cliché, Bodega is an all-woman band with a male singer. Its tight, nervy, jangles wrap around themes of internet-age dislocation and movie references. Smart, sarcastic, ironic, sharp, Bodega bristles with what you want from a garage punk band but reveals a surprisingly soft heart uncovered round about “Charlie,” a wistful song about a boy who died too soon.

 Bardo Pond—Volume 8 (Three-Lobed)

Volume 8 by Bardo Pond

The eighth in a series of improvised albums, this year’s Bardo Pond record towers and surges with monumental heaviness. I wrote at Dusted that, “The sound, vast and muscularly monolithic as ever, seems more like a demon summoned periodically from a ring of fire, than the product of any sort of linear development.”

 Meg Baird and Mary Lattimore—Ghost Forests (Three Lobed)

Ghost Forests by Meg Baird and Mary Lattimore

This year’s most beautiful album, Ghost Forests undergirds lyric folk melodies and angelic pizzicato harp plucks with roiling, violent darkness. My Dusted review observed “The best and most interesting [tracks] juxtapose the muted violence of electric guitar with a harp’s serenity. A guitar howls from a distance throughout “In Cedars,” pushing a simmering turbulence up under sun-dappled lattices of harp picking. Later “Painter of Tygers” does the same trick of joining muscle to fairy dust, the electric guitar raging from far away, while harp and voice spread delicate magic over the tumult.”

 Seun Kuti & Egypt 80—Black Times (Strut)

Black Times by Seun Kuti & Egypt 80

Fela Kuti’s youngest son inherited his dad’s fierce political commitment, his rhythmically unstoppable Afrobeat style and a few of his band members, but this wonderful album is more alive and present than a tribute. “Struggle Sounds, “ with its hard-bounce of a beat, its blurting sax, its ecstatic backing chorus, its swagger of horns and fever-dreamed keyboards dances through history right up to the modern day. “Last Revolutionary” enumerates past African heroes and connects them to the now. I wrote, “Kuti extends his father’s legacy, its tight rhythmic interplay, its fervent political engagement, its relentless exhilarating uplift, while bringing it a bit further into the present.”

Ovlov—Tru (Exploding in Sound)

TRU by Ovlov

I first noticed Ovlov at the Thing in the Spring Festival, on an eclectic Thursday night in a book store, where the sweet surge of guitar sound felt solid enough to body surf on. Later, for Dusted, I said of Tru that “Ovlov churns a monumental fuzz, a wave of surging, undulating, feedback-altered sound …. You can almost poke it with your finger, this onslaught is so palpable. It stirs your hair like an oncoming breeze.”

Speedy Ortiz—Twerp Verse (Carpark) 

Twerp Verse by Speedy Ortiz

There’s something so bendy and unpredictable about Sadie Dupuis tunes. They hare off in unexpected ways. They stop and start. They interpose weird little intervals of pop and noise. They refuse to behave, and end up exactly as they should be, though never what you’d expect. Twerp Verse takes more pop turns than other Speedy joints, but in the tipsiest, most eccentric way, with acerbic asides in the lyrics that catch like fishhooks and stay with you. “Speedy Ortiz offers a serrated sort of pop pleasure, full of rhythmic complexity and gender confrontation,” I observed in my Dusted review.

 Had enough rock? Me neither

Here are some more punk rock and garage records that I couldn’t squeeze into the top ten overall, mostly in the order that I thought of them, but Constant Mongrel and Richard Papiercuts are pretty great and that’s probably why I thought of them first.

Constant Mongrel—Living in Excellence (La Vida Es Un Mus)

Richard Papiercuts— Twisting the Night (Ever/Never)

GOGGs—Prestrike Sweep (In the Red)

Hank Wood & the Hammerheads—S-T (Toxic State)

Obnox—Bang Messiah (Smog Veil)

Zerodent—Landscapes of Merriment (Alien Snatch!)

Sleaford Mods—Stick in a Five and Go (Domino)

Ethers—S-T (Trouble in Mind)

IDLES—Joy as an Act of Resistance (Partisan)

Bad Sports—Constant Stimulation (Dirtnap)

Lithics—Mating Surfaces (Kill Rock Stars)

Art Brut—Wham! Bang! Pow! (Alcopop)

 Whoa, slow down!

Also a shout to the musicians who made more than one really excellent album this year. Ty Segall made five, I think, but I didn’t love all of them as much as Freedom Goblin and Prestrike Sweep.

Obnox—Sonido del Templo/Bang Messiah (Astral Spirits)/(Smog Veil)

Mount Eerie—Now Only/(After) (Elverum & Sons)

Ty Segall—Freedom Goblin (Drag City)/GOGGs—Prestrike Sweep (In the Red)

Ryley Walker—Deafman Glance/The Lillywhite Sessions (Dead Oceans)

  Nevertheless, they persisted

And finally, hats off to the bands and artists that have been going forever and continued this year to produce great music.

Kinski—Accustomed to Your Face (Kill Rock Stars)

Low—Double Negative (Sub Pop)

Loma—S-T (Sub Pop) (Shearwater’s Jonathan Meiburg plus Cross Record)

Oneida—Romance (Joyful Noise)

Wreckless Eric—Construction Time and Demolition (Southern Domestic)

Messthetics—S-T (Discord) (The great Fugazi rhythm section plus a young guitar ripper—one of the best live shows of the year for me.)

Charnel Ground—S-T (12XU) (This is Kid Millions from Oneida, Chris Brokaw and James McNew from Yo La Tengo, and as you’d expect, it’s really good.)

Survey #119

“she’s the type who likes to leave on all the lights.”

Are you friends with any bands?  No. How do you deal with oppressive heat?  Act like I'm dying because I probably slowly am. What’s one thing that people definitely CAN’T count on you for? Remembering something. What about something they definitely can count on you for?  An open ear. What’s one food that you want to try but haven’t yet?  Hmmmm... I know there's some, just nothing's coming to me. If you’re home alone and someone knocks on the door, what do you do?  I ignore it.  I don't check through windows or anything in fear of the person seeing me.  If you're coming to my house, let me know. Let’s say you received a gift from someone and open it in front of them – and it’s something you absolutely hate. How do you react?  Thank them anyway and act appreciative towards the kindness.  I usually won't actually say "I like it" unless they ask. If a friend suggested that you two were to do something/go somewhere, and you really didn’t want to, would you be more likely to just go along with it anyway or speak up? If I really didn't want to and we were close, I'd say no. What’s one book that you have read that will stick with you forever? "Johnny Got His Gun" by Dalton Trumbo.  I was strictly anti-war beforehand, but that book turned me into a full-blown pacifist. What type of movies do you get into the easiest? Paranormal ones. If you could learn to play any instrument, what would you pick? Guitar or piano or violin, idk. How do you feel upon seeing someone who’s missing an appendage?  I feel pity, but I feel no different towards them as a person. Why is your favorite store your favorite? They have clothing and accessories that best match my aesthetic. Would you let your child have a pet?  Depends on the pet, the child's age, and my faith in their responsibility level. Where were you raised and what’s it like?  I was raised in a bad neighborhood.  Lots of crime, gangs.  It was scary, yet at the same time, it wasn't the worst place in the world.  Good memories, bad memories. Do you get along with your best friend’s parents?  I'll find that out soon. Do you tend to become nervous when you know change is inevitable?  YES.  I don't like change. Are you a patient person when it comes to relationships?  Very. Do you prefer to hang out in groups?  Meh, depends on my mood. Would you ever consider styling your hair as a mohawk? Nope. Assuming you have blown bubbles in your milk before, were you yelled at for doing it as a kid?  No. Have you ever put on or lost a significant amount of weight?  I've done both. On a scale of 1-5, how often do you curse? 5. @_@ How is your posture?  It's fine, but I lean a bit to the right. Have you ever taken an Uber or Lyft? No. Do you shop on Black Friday? Only online. What do you dip chicken nuggets in?  Honey mustard or ketchup. Has your ex ever gone out with someone close to you?  No. Do you pay attention to how much you eat?  I think I'm overly conscious about it by this point. Does your town/city offer a lot of opportunity for your future career, or would you get more out of living somewhere else?  I'd have far more opportunity elsewhere, probably.  Well... maybe not.  I want to be a wedding photographer, and there's not many of those here.  But where I live isn't exactly a gorgeous place to get married. What's more painful: Tattoos or piercings?  Piercings hurt more.  They're super quick, but the pain is definitely more severe. Does your ex live in the same town as you?  None of them do. Do you have any of your teachers on Myspace/Facebook?  Previous teachers, yes. What comes up when you google your name?  The Instant Checkmate site. Where’s the closest church to you? Do you attend it?  Not even a minute away, and no. Dr. Pepper or Root Beer?  I hate root beer, but I'm not big on Dr. Pepper either. Do you have a firepit in your yard?  No. Who do you talk to about personal problems?  Mom or Sara. Have you ever captured a moth?  I had a "pet" caterpillar when I was a kid and it turned into a moth that I released, if that counts. How long have you been dating the person you’re with? A few days from five months. Did you have a tree house when you were a child?  No. What is something that makes you grumpy?  Being really hungry. What school teams or clubs are/were you apart of?  National Honors Society, National Art Honors Society You can get a $1,000 gift card to any store you want, what is it?  Hot Topic. What’s the longest book you’ve ever read? How long did it take you?  I think "Not Without My Daughter."  I was really invested in it, so I doubt less than two weeks. Should a convicted murderer have the same right to be on the organ donor waiting list as anyone else?  I mean I guess?  A valuable organ is a valuable organ. How is your blood pressure?  This may have changed since I've come off many medicines, but mine at least was usually concerningly low.  I always had to explain to doctors it was normal for me. Have you ever stalked or killed a wild animal?  No. Ever had a rumor spread about you?  Yes, that Jason and I had a baby.  Even though I was obviously never pregnant.  His ex started it. What would you want to be written on your tombstone?  Probably "but you took it like a woman," a reference to an Alice Cooper song. Ever kissed someone’s hand?  Yes. Have you ever ran for class president?  No. Are you a rather gullible person?  Not really. If it had to be only daytime or nighttime all day, which would you choose?  As much as I like the night, daytime.  Humans and most animals are diurnal, so it'd be very difficult to adjust to that. When was the last time you went camping?  I've never been properly camping. Did you play with Play-Doh as a kid? Hell yeah dude. Have you ever found a four leaf clover?  True shit, I found a patch of them in our front yard the day after Dad left. Do you own a raincoat?  No. Are you fascinated by outer space?  Yes yes yeees!  I'm scared of it also, though. Is there a tree outside your window?  Yeah. What season would you want to get married in? Autumn. Have you ever tried Akinator? Yeah. Do you swear in front of children? No. Are you good at catching things? NO.  My hand-eye coordination is shit. What’s the biggest bruise you’ve ever had?  I'm not sure... but I'm guessing one of my knees since they've seen some shit. How would you react if you had a particularly unusual pain or ache? Tell my mother.  Although I usually look it up online if she's not home and it's always a bad idea because I'll find something awful, and then my anxiety kicks up lmao. What’s something that you like wearing, but you don’t actually wear it often? Skinny jeans.  I never wear jeans anymore. How often do you paint your nails?  Never. Which one thing made you cry the hardest?  It definitely related to my breakup.  I think that actual night, I didn't cry as much as me being in shock.  Wait... no, pretty sure it was after Mom caught me running for a knife that night.  I sobbed my fucking lungs out. Could you fall in love with someone, despite what they might look like? Yup. If someone was crying to themselves in public, would you ask if they’re OK?  Absolutely.  As socially inept as I am, I'd still feel awful if I didn't. Ever fingered a girl?  No. Do your parents still hide eggs around the house for Easter?  No. Do you wear choker necklaces?  When I wear necklaces, sometimes. When was the last you ran a mile?  High school. Do you have a big butt?  No. Are you pro-life or pro-choice?  I'd say I'm mostly pro-life, but I believe abortion is acceptable in some cases. What color is your phone?  Really dark navy. Do you know more than two digits of pi?  No. Do you have any STDs?  No. Do you have a favorite NASCAR driver?  No. Who’s your celebrity crush?  Mark Fischbach. Have you ever had any article of clothing tailored? What for?  Yes, a prom dress and bridesmaid dress. What are two foods you think taste good with whipped cream?  I HATE WHIPPED CREAM. When you see a feather on the ground, do you ever pick it up?  If it's cool, I'll probably keep it. If you eat it, what is your favorite way to eat beef?  Burgers. When was the last time you had a pet goldfish? What was its name?  I couldn't tell you, dude. What are the three events this year you are looking forward to?  Seeing Sara in literally two days, probs getting a new tattoo, hopefully returning to my healthy weight or get at least close. Do you prefer nail polish with sparkles in it, or matte colors? I don't wear nail polish like ever, but matte. Would you rather hold hands or link arms with your significant other?  Hold hands. Have you ever done something bad but you don’t regret?  Yeah. Do you like getting hurt? Uhhh no I'm not a masochist. Do you believe in destiny?  No, I believe in free will. Do you have any birthmarks?  Yes, on the left side of my left arm. Have you ever watched anyone sleep? There were times where I'd still be up on the laptop at Jason's and look over at him and smile.  But it was never more than just a few seconds. Do you ever go back and read stories or books you read when you were a child?  Not for myself.  The only times I've ever done that is when I'm reading to Aubree. Have you and a partner ever had “a song”? My ex and I had two and Sara and I have about five thousand lmao. Do you think that it is okay for men to cry, or is it only okay under certain circumstances? Of fucking course it's okay. What is one of your favorite movie quotes?  "My mama always said, 'Life was like a box of chocolates.  You never know what you're gonna get.'"  From Forrest Gump. Describe your teeth:  Normal, just wish they were a bit whiter. What is one thing you look forward to every day?  A Markiplier video. What is one thing you dread every day?  Trying to go to sleep at night.  I like sleeping, just not tossing and turning until it happens. When was the last time you cleaned your ears via QTip?  Forever ago because they're the reason I got wax adhered to my eardrum from pushing it back too deep.  I use a different tool now. What's the longest you’ve lived without electricity?  Just like overnight and a few hours. Name all of the alcoholic beverages you have tried:  Daiquiris, sangrias, and margaritas are the only ones I like, but I used to have a sip of wine in Catholic school and also this disgusting coconut thing Nicole had. Name all the types/brands of cigarettes you have tried:  I've never smoked. Do you like to do puzzles (crosswords, word find, Sudoku, etc.)?  Yes. What is the most alcohol you’ve drank in a night?  I think five and a half daiquiris.  New Years 2017. Have you been to see an opera?  No. Have you ever been stung by anything? What?  A bumblebee. Is there anything you dislike about your house?  We don't have two bathrooms. What do you like to put on bagels?  Cream cheese. Do you like orange juice?  So long it doesn't have pulp, I love it. If you had to choose, which bug isn't ugly?  There's a number.  I love butterflies, ladybugs, moths, and caterpillars. Have you ever had an ulcer?  No. Do you have any rare medical conditions?  AvPD and (inactive) MRSA. The first time you remember being hospitalized, what was it for? Being suicidal. What does your favorite necklace look like? It's a spiked choker. If you crack your knuckles, do you crack them one at a time, or all at the same time?  I don't crack my knuckles. Do you sneeze into your hand or into the crook of your arm when you don’t have a tissue? The latter. Do you hate when grapes have seeds in them?  It doesn't bother me. Have you ever heard of Bananas in Pajamas? Yeah, my older sister loved that show.

My Design Verse II

It was three months before Jack called upon him for another case. 

A strangely long amount of time compared to his previous calls; but perhaps the other could sense that something had been off with Will since he returned from his expedition to South Dakota to uncover some of the truth. Will came back with more than he had planned, he’d come back as if his world had frozen for the time the older man spoke and rushed back up to speed and beyond the rest of the earth’s timeline by the time he had returned to his small cottage home. Like he was reading pages ahead of the other player’s in the script, and still lagging behind his blood soaked angel’s finger on the pages. Running over what she had already read, the tacky brown residue all that remained that she’d once been reading from the same sheets as him.

Looking at Jack, Will could see he was still back on page one with the rest of the herd. Herds of cattle for those reading from the director’s pages to pick and pluck from, with their doe eyes blinking in confusion as their slammed all the way through the play before the curtain closes in those seconds when facing the director down.

“Will. I need you.”

“You always do.” The snapped response wasn’t as uncommon for him any more, ever since the Copy Cat incident, though Will usually tried to hide his exasperation from those around him. Now however? When his shiny lure had led him through the darkness that shrouded so much in the past, there was no point in hiding any further his own feelings when so much is already hidden. “What this time, Jack? A mutilated corpse or six?”

He almost wanted to smirk as Hannibal would at the slight pursing of the other man’s lips, as if biting back and swallowing whatever his first impulse was.

“Something like that, Will.”

---

“I know the moment I enter the doorway, all inside will be dead. That is my design.”

Will traces the steps, going forwards now that he was retraced them backwards, through the house as the darkness that had weaved through before him had. His fingertips reach out to trace the wall beside him, where scant inches below there is a scratch along the entire length of the hall. Clean and perfect, unbowed and unbroken.

“This weapon will wield my doing. That is my design...”

The words felt wrong as soon as they had left his mouth. As if he was analyzing the world as it had been three months ago, not as it was now. He tilted his head, frozen midstep as he ran his finger across the scratch in the wall itself. “This weapon acts for my real weapons... I will hide under the human instrument, to disguise my true acts. That is my design.”

The next step his world alighted itself, right once more as if he knew the footsteps he would take were real rather than a figment of his empathetic ability. Empathy could only help so far with this monster. The wipers swiped through again and the blonde’s throat closed up as he turned the corner. The brunette returned to her seat, hand across her stomach as the blood receded back inside. The red head was still on the floor of the hall, her hair held tight in their grasp at their feet.

She would be the first, she would have always been the first. The colour she dyed her hair had signed her time on earth was over the second she picked the box up at the drug store two weeks ago, before her sorority sister ever drank too many tequilas at the bar that night and brought the man home with her. “Red head’s first, then the brunettes, and then I play with the blondes before they drain completely. That is my design.”

The word drain hung in the air around them as his arm sliced, able to picture the razor blade that would cut through the first throat inches further down, head thrown back as if the energy leaving her wasn’t enough to fill the void inside of them. She was discarded with a whip of their arm, flung into the bare fireplace for later.

They had the brunette in a matter of seconds, more intimately as they stared into her eyes as the light died away with her life force. Their hand stroked her cheek for a moment, the blood stain remaining where she would be found on the couch amidst the pool of her insides, there was no beauty left to be made of such a mess. /Why must human bodies be so messy/ - the thought rocking through their mind as they moved to the final one of their prey.

She had been so pretty at the bar, so very pretty. They stroked her cheek as they moved towards the centre of the room. The light there was different, and what had looked so like her in the dim lighting of the bar as the young woman had thrown back shots and laughed with her friends, looked nothing like her any further. Her cheeks were too rounded, her jaw too soft, and the dark brown roots in her hair made them want to rip it off of her for tricking him so. The chunks of hair that had been shorn from her, scattered around the scene later when the police had arrived, were able to demonstrate what would eventually happen.

“I want her alive as long as possible for our play. To play the part, the role. I want her to be an understudy for my playmate, but she will wear out too quickly.” Will murmured the words as the light swung. The young woman was laid out in the middle of the carpet now, tears frozen on her face amidst sunken dark circles. Her fingers grabbed senselessly at the red carpet below her, all the more vibrant from the matching red from her sliced digits. She was crying when the real actress would be stubborn. /Weak/. The light changed again and the blonde was gasping for her last breath as their hand wrapped around her throat from their position on top of her chest, draining her of more that just her last gasps of air as their fingers clench and tore at the already sliced meat of her neck. “She didn’t last long enough. She was a poor replacement for the real thing. I will need to go give in eventually...”

Will rose from where he hovered over what had once been a living, breathing, happy college student to survey their work again. The girl on the couch had been a waste. However they had enjoyed stuffing the red head into the fire place, and the fire would roar up with a click as he left - inexplicable to the other federal agents moving about the room with murmured whispers, but all too clear to his righted world  - to leave her truly shrouded in flames. The understudy would remain where she was, splayed out and open to the world with her face taut in one last gasp as the reality of her inability to replicate a true performance. As the light swung a final time, Will knew the true face of the menace that had descended upon that house, and the true design was to attack his lure’s attention as much as she had his.

“Well?”

“Well what?” His teeth ground as he bit out the words, the hand that had wrapped around the girl’s throat shaking as Will looked back at his superior. Stuffing his hand in his pocket, the empath gave a shuddery sigh. “We’re looking for someone with a flair for the dramatic. A love of making a statement. He believes he’s made art in that room, however macabre it may be. Evidently, he would be a well dressed man with a superiority complex.” This time the smirk did grace his face, as Will opened and closed his first in his jacket, “Maybe you should ask Hannibal for some suggestions of stores to start with.”

“That’s all you’ve got for me, Will, a sarcastic comment and a broad over view?” Jack looked furious, perhaps losing his wife has also left him with no filter. Hannibal would have him for breakfast soon enough with that approach.

“Try the local bar video footage. The blonde girl brought the killer home with her from one.” Will shrugged his shoulder to release it from Jack’s tight grip as he moved to exit the house.

As he ducked beneath the police tape surrounding the house, he could have sworn he saw a familiar flash of gold in the street lamp light filtering through the trees across the road. Veering towards it, all that was left for him as he approached the tree trunk was a leather bound book and the same hand writing on a post-it note saying - /Wharf Bar, Duluth, Minnesota - next Sunday/.

---

The art of jumping

Summary: It should be easy: Remus fancies Sirius, Sirius fancies him back. It’s not easy, though. Why? Because Sirius seems to fancy other people more than he fancies Remus.

Characters: Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, James Potter, Peter Pettigrew

Pairing: Sirius/Remus, mentions of Sirius/OC

Word count: 6111

Warnings: Pining, mentions of physical injuries, sexual content

Author’s note: Aahm, well, I made an attempt at writing a Wolfstar-fic? It’s not exactly my finest work, I haven’t written properly in almost a year, so I’m a bit rusty, so... sorry about that. I’m also not used to writing fics this short, I think the shortest fic I’ve ever written before this was 11k, so idek if this is readable? I hope it is! I went for a pretty mundane and basic plot since, you know, getting back into writing after a long pause, but I hope it’s not too boring heh.

There have been many a situation in Remus’ life that he didn’t expect to occur before they did, in fact, occur. He didn’t expect to fall down from the apple tree in the yard and break his arm when he was tree, but he did. He didn’t expect to fail his potions exam in year three, but he did. He didn’t expect to ever find real friends, but he did.

He didn’t expect to develop feelings for one of his best mates, but he did.

He didn’t expect said best mate to find out about said feelings, but that happened, too.

He certainly didn’t expect twice mentioned best mate to say, in an incredibly uncharacteristically stuttering manner, that he might be reciprocating Remus’ feelings a little bit, but… well, that also happened.

And he definitely didn’t expect for thrice mentioned best mate to have a loud, furious and hateful row with his girlfriend in the great hall during breakfast, but that’s exactly what’s happening about five metres from Remus at this very moment.

He does his best to tune them out, feels like he’s intruding on something personal if he doesn’t. Then again, at this rate, the entire school is gonna know exactly how terrible a boyfriend Sirius supposedly is before lunch. Gossip has a tendency to spread like wildfire, which Remus supposes is one of the unfortunate side effects of stuffing a four-digit number of teenagers into a castle.

The row ends approximately six minutes before their first class. Sirius is seething when he slumps down next to Remus. He stabs a sausage with so much force that Remus has to assume that that sausage, and that sausage alone, is to blame for the fight.

Remus doesn’t ask and Sirius doesn’t say and even James seems to understand that now’s not the time. Peter finished his breakfast and ran off to talk to Flitwick before the fight even started. Several other Gryffindors, quite a few Ravenclaws and a number of Hufflepuffs are sending Sirius curious glances, and the Slytherins that pass the Gryffindor table either don’t seem to care or they send Sirius maliciously smug grins that Sirius, thankfully, doesn’t notice.

The rest of the day passes in a similar manner. When they get to the last class of the day, which is one hour of transfiguration (a large part of which is being spent being told by McGonagall that their N.E.W.T.s are a mere six months away), James finally bursts and demands to know the root of the fight.

“She’s crazy,” is Sirius’ only response. He doesn’t meet James’ eyes, which makes James roll his eyes at Remus, who in turn merely grimaces.

*

The common room is buzzing with noise that evening, but no one seems to still be thinking about the fight, which appears to brighten Sirius’ mood a wee bit. At least he’s no longer scowling at everyone and everything, and he utters more than grunts and one-syllable words. It probably helps that Deirdre’s not a Gryffindor and is therefore not present.

At one point around nine o’clock, James mumbles something into Sirius’ ear that makes Sirius grin and nod and the two get up from where they’re sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace.

“We’ll be back,” James says, waving over his shoulder as he and Sirius stroll off, out of the common room.

They don’t come back, though. Not until after Remus has gone to bed and long since fallen asleep. He’s rustled awake by a shift in his mattress and a whispering voice in his ear.

“Wha’?” Remus mumbles, still half asleep.

“It’s me,” says Sirius’ voice right behind him. And then Remus realises that Sirius is pretty much spooning him, his forehead resting in the nape of Remus’ neck and his arm slung around Remus’ waist.

Blinking his eyes open, Remus frowns. “What are you doing?”

“Keeping you company,” Sirius says. “You looked lonely.”

“I was asleep. One’s allowed to look lonely when one’s asleep.”

“You don’t have to look lonely, though. I’m here.”

“I know you are,” Remus says, rather stupidly. A whiff of a somewhat unpleasant smell catches in his nose and he grimaces. “Are you drunk?”

“A bit,” Sirius replies and Remus supresses a groan. Of course Sirius is drunk. Why else would he be sneaking into Remus’ bed in the middle of the bloody night? “James and I went to Hogsmeade and-”

“And got yourselves a bottle of Firewhisky,” Remus finishes for him. “Got it.” He doesn’t know if he’s more offended or more grateful that he wasn’t invited to this particular adventure. Probably the latter.

“Mhm,” Sirius hums, lips brushing against Remus’ neck.

“And why exactly are you in my bed? Your own’s four metres to the left.”

“Yeah, but mine’s not as good, ‘cause you’re not in it.”

Remus bites his lip, can’t help but allow his body to fall into Sirius’ embrace. It feels good, is all. Good and warm and safe and… right. It feels more right than it actually is. “Why are you in my bed, Sirius?” he asks, voice low as to not wake James, Peter or Frank.

Sirius puffs out a breath. “’Cause I want to,” he says, dragging his lips up and down Remus’ neck as he talks. He lingers for a second where neck meets shoulder, and Remus swallows again, chews on the inside of his bottom lip. “It’s… my bed’s empty. Didn’t feel like being alone tonight.”

“Yeah,” Remus says. His throat has dried up a tad. “Couldn’t you just have kipped with James? I reckon he’s as drunk as you are, he probably wouldn’t have minded some companionship for the night.”

“I don’t want James. I want…” Sirius trails off, doesn’t say what it is that he wants, instead repeats, “I don’t want James.”

Remus closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, tries to make his heartrate slow down by sheer force of will. He’s rather unsuccessful and it certainly doesn’t help that Sirius’ hand has started stroking up and down his front; up to his sternum, down to his bellybutton.

“You’re drunk,” Remus says, inhaling sharply. “And you just… broke up with Deirdre. Or had a huge fight with her at least.” He doesn’t know for whose benefit he’s saying this; for Sirius’ or for his own.

Sirius plants the faintest of kisses at a patch of bare skin on Remus’ shoulder. His hand stops right underneath Remus’ bellybutton, long fingers splayed out so that the tips end up at the waistband of the plaid pyjama bottoms. Remus’ breath hitches and his cock twitches in his underwear, slowly filling up. He doesn’t dare to move, so he just lies there and lets Sirius touch him carefully, slowly, as if he’s afraid of doing something wrong.

“We broke up,” Sirius breathes, pressing closer to Remus and yeah, yes, there’s definitely something poking at Remus’ bum. Remus’ cock is damn near fully hard and he has to concentrate on breathing normally. “I’m not… you know I… that I like you, I just… I don’t know.” As Sirius speaks, he keeps kissing and nipping carefully at Remus’ shoulder and neck, pushing their bodies so close together that they’re pretty much aligned from top to bottom.

There are so many things Remus would like to do right now. Most of all, he wants to turn around to face Sirius and finally get the kiss he’s been craving for the last three years or so. Because Sirius may or may not <i>like</i> Remus, but that doesn’t mean he’s ever expressed any interest in him and Remus becoming something. He’s gone for a quick peck a couple of times when he’s been drunk, leaving Remus dumbfounded, but that’s it. Remus has never gotten a proper kiss. Not from Sirius, nor from anyone else.

Because Sirius always has someone else, always has a girl, and apparently what he feels for these girls is stronger than what he feels for Remus. So, in the one year and eight months that have passed since Sirius drunkenly and clumsily confessed to having some sort of feelings for him, Remus has had to settle for a couple of drunken pecks, a fair few sober hugs and a number of tiny smiles full of shared secrets across the common room.

But Sirius doesn’t have a girl now. He broke up with one earlier that very same day and now he’s lying in Remus’ bed with an obvious erection and his laboured breath tickling Remus’ neck with each exhale.

“Sirius…” Remus mumbles. It’s meant to come out apologetic and a bit stern, but a good portion of begging and lust sneaks into his voice.

“Hm?”

“You… you should go to your own bed.” It takes every ounce of willpower that he has to utter those words.

Sirius stiffens. Not in a good way this time. “What? I thought… I mean, I thought you wanted this?”

“Yeah.” Remus swallows. “That’s… kinda why we can’t.”

Sirius’ hand disappears from Remus’ front and he scoots back a couple of inches so that his body’s no longer in contact with Remus. It’s quiet for a few seconds. “Fair enough that you wolves are animals of the night and supposed to be mysterious, but would you mind explaining that a little better for those of us who are just simple dogs?”

“Sirius…”

“Alright, alright, not the time for wolf-jokes.” Sirius threads his fingers gently through Remus’ hair. It feels good. It feels so, so good. Remus wants to punch something. “Come on, tell me what in Merlin’s name is going through your head.”

Clutching his pillow tightly, Remus sighs. “Well, for one, you’re drunk. And… Merlin, Sirius, you- you know that I feel… certain things for you.”

“Yeah, I do, which is why I’m confused.”

“You just broke up with your girlfriend, and the next thing I know is that you’re climbing into my bed in the middle of the night to try and make me your rebound shag.” The last part comes out with a sharp, ice cold edge. Remus didn’t mean for it to, but now that Sirius has pulled back, it’s easier to think clearly and when he can think clearly, it’s easy to see what’s actually going on. “You know that I like you and I know you’re upset about Deirdre and that you like me a little bit, so you naturally you come to me for… well, the kind of comfort you want from a friend, but not from a friend you have strictly platonic feelings for, like James.”

Sirius remains quiet for a long, long while after that. “You think too much, Moony,” he eventually says. “You’re not a rebound. You know I like you.”

“But not enough to actually wanna be with me.” Sirius goes quiet again. Remus takes that as confirmation. His heart aches a bit. “I like you so bloody much, Sirius, you have no idea, but I don’t wanna be a temporary stop on your way to a new girlfriend.”

“Got too much self-respect for that?” Sirius asks and Remus is glad he doesn’t sound angry. In fact, there’s a hint of humour in his voice.

“Actually, yeah.” Silent beat. “Go to bed, Sirius. It’s late.”

Sirius gets up on his feet, but doesn’t walk over to his own bed right away. “I do like you, you know. I just don’t know if I can… I don’t know.”

“It’s fine, I never expected anything.”

“Oh, Moony, come on, you know I’d never-”

“Sirius.”

Sirius sighs audibly. “Right. Good night.”

Remus doesn’t respond.

*

In the weeks that follow, Sirius acts like nothing’s happened and Remus takes the hint and does the same. It’s hard the first few days, a little easier after a week, pretty easy by the time it’s been a month, and when Christmas has come and gone, the event is all but forgotten. Sort of. Remus still thinks about it from time to time, mostly when he can’t help himself, either because he’s alone or because it’s too quiet around him.

Sirius starts dating a sixth year Gryffindor that Remus doesn’t even know the name of the third week in January. It ends after nine days. The same scenario repeats itself with a seventh year Ravenclaw, then with a sixth year Ravenclaw after that. And while James mocks Sirius relentlessly for having lost his grip and for clearly being a lousy shag, Remus can’t help but notice that Sirius has suddenly started to spend an awful lot of time looking at <i>him</i>; during the meals, in class, when they’re in the common room, when they’re wandering down the hallways.

On one of of the last days of February, Remus experiences the so far most shameful moment of his nearly eighteen-year-long life.

It’s a little past one o’clock at night and he’s lying wide awake in his bed. The reason he’s not asleep is that for the past fifteen minutes or so, Sirius has been engaging in some less than holy activities only a few metres from Remus. And Remus… well, he’s engaging in the exact same activity. While listening intently to Sirius’ grunts, heavy breathing and occasional choked groans, Remus is, indeed, having a wank. And he’s so very, very ashamed.

He pulls himself fast, with a firm grip, and stops at the very brink of an orgasm no less than six times. He doesn’t wanna come before Sirius does, simply because if he comes and he still has to listen to Sirius get himself off, he’ll be even more ashamed of himself than he already is. It’s torture, though. By the time he’s denied himself for the sixth time, he damn near has tears in his eyes. His cock is so hard it hurts, his whole body’s spent, he’s shaking uncontrollably and he’s sweaty all over. He circles the head of his cock with his thumb, smearing precum all over it, and rolls his hips slightly upward.

A low mumble of, “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” comes from Sirius’ bed and Remus chokes on a moan. He’s so close, he’s so bloody close, that it won’t take more than two or three proper tugs to send him over the edge. But he has to wait, has to wait, has to wait…

He doesn’t have to wait long. Sirius goes suspiciously quiet for three long seconds, then shouts out a very loud, “Fuck!” that Remus is half convinced will wake the rest of the Gryffindor tower. And that’s all it takes for Remus to come so hard he actually sees stars and has to fight a sob from escaping his lips.

The mental image he comes to, is one of Sirius fucking him into oblivion.

The mental image he falls asleep to, is one of Sirius pulling him in close and pressing a kiss to his forehead.

*

The next day, Sirius spends even more time looking at Remus. There’s something different in his eyes, though, something… smug? Remus does his best to ignore it throughout potions, divination and lunch.

Halfway through lunch, when Sirius is busy trying to hex his books to carry themselves, James leans in close to Remus and asks, “Why does Sirius keep looking at you like that?”

“Like what?” Remus says, concentrating on his toast.

“Like he knows something about you that that I don’t.” When Remus merely shrugs, James blows impatiently. “Oh, come on. He’s been all weird around you for weeks and he refuses to tell me what it is and today he’s acting particularly weird and I wanna know why.”

“I can’t help you, sorry,” Remus says, truthfully enough. He doesn’t know why Sirius is being particularly weird today.

He finds out soon enough.

They’re on their way to herbology and have gotten halfway across the courtyard when Sirius suddenly grabs a hold of Remus’ arm and drags him off the path and into a semi-secluded corner. James and Peter throw curious glances after them, but they keep on walking towards the greenhouses.

“What?” Remus says.

Sirius actually smirks. He smirks and it makes Remus feel uneasy, like he’s about to become the victim of a prank. He's seen that smirk too many times not to recognise its meaning. “Did you have fun last night?” Sirius asks.

Remus raises an eyebrow. “I… did my muggle studies homework and that was vaguely entertaining?”

“And?”

Remus is getting more confused by the minute. “And what?”

Sirius’ smirk widens. “What, you think I just forgot to put up a silencing charm before I went to bed?”

It takes a couple of seconds before Remus’ brain registers the words, and then another few seconds before it registers the meaning of them. When it does, Remus can feel his face heat up to about twice its normal temperature. He feels like the best course of action right now would be to push past Sirius and run away. Far away. Maybe to the bottom of the lake.

“You… you made me listen to you on purpose?” he asks eventually, keeping his eyes focused on a tree a few metres behind Sirius.

“I didn’t make you do anything, darling, I just gave you the option to do it,” Sirius says and oh, yes, he’s definitely enjoying this. Bastard. “Nice to know you liked what you heard.”

Remus looks up then, eyes Sirius sourly. “You suck, do you know that?”

“It’s been said.” Sirius takes a step closer to Remus, forcing him to back up until he's pressed against the stone wall behind him. Dragging his fingers through his rain-soaked hair, Sirius quirks an eyebrow. “I thought about you, if you were wondering.”

Remus’ mouth falls open at its own accord. “I wasn’t,” he manages to get out. “And please do me a favour and stop it.”

“No can do,” Sirius says with a shrug and a smile. “Not unless you actually don’t, you know, want me or whatever.”

Remus slumps his shoulders and groans. “You know I want you, you git. What I don’t know is why you insist on keep making me say it.”

“Because I like hearing you say it of course.”

“Of course.” Remus bows his head, scrapes his feet against the wet grass. “Was… was there anything else?”

Sirius is quiet for a moment before he responds. “You know, you keep rejecting me even though I’ve repeatedly put my moves on you. I think that’s a first for me.”

Remus snorts out a laugh. “Don’t I feel special.”

Once again, Sirius doesn’t say anything right away. The rain starts falling more rapidly. It seems spring has come early this year, as it's not cold in the slightest. Nevertheless, Remus has to suppress a shiver when he lifts his head and meets Sirius' eyes no more than a few inches from his own.

“We're gonna be late for class,” Remus mumbles, his eyes glued to Sirius'.

“Class started at least five minutes ago,” Sirius agrees. He licks along the seam of his lips, gaze shifting down to Remus' for a split second.

“Yeah, so... we should go,” Remus says and Sirius nods. Neither of them move as much as an inch from where they're standing, though.

Slightly hesitant, Sirius raises a hand and lets his fingertips meet Remus' cheek. They linger for one, two, three, four heartbeats, before they're gone.

Remus looks at Sirius, silently pleading. “What... what do you want from me, Sirius?” he asks.

“Do I have to want something from you?”

“I- yeah, you do,” Remus says. “You keep doing these... <i>things</i> that you wouldn't be doing unless you wanted something. Like that thing last night. Not even you are so twisted you'd go that far for a prank.”

“Yeah, well, I like you.” He says it as if that answers everything.

“I know you do.”

“And you like me.”

“I do.”

“So, why don't we just go with it?”

“Just go with it?”

“Yeah. You know, just go about like we always have, but with a few additions.”

Remus bites his lip. “You wanna be friends that get off together?”

“Maybe?”

“Sirius...”

Sirius sighes heavily and pokes Remus' shoulder with his finger. “I say this all the time, but you really do think too much. I like you, you like me, so why don't we just-”

“Because, Sirius,” Remus cuts in, “you want something casual to keep you occupied until the next girl comes around, while I... I don't want something casual.”

“What, you want a relationship?” The last word comes out almost mocking. “You want flowers and chocolate and ten minutes of kissing each other goodbye every time we have to go separate ways for twenty minutes or more?”

The semi-happy bubble that Remus may or may not have been trapped in for the last ten minutes, definitely bursts at that. Gritting his teeth, he hoists his bag further up on his shoulder and steps around Sirius. “No,” he says tightly. “I just don't wanna get involved with someone who's likely to ditch me at a five seconds notice because something better happened to walk by.”

He leaves before Sirius gets a chance to think of a response.

*

Remus doesn't look at Sirius for a couple of days, and Sirus, thankfully, seems to take the hint and doesn't pester Remus. It's not that Remus is mad at him, per say, he just feels... weird. Because here Sirius is, wanting what Remus has been fantasizing about for a large portion of the last two years, and Remus just... can't bring himself to accept Sirius' advances. And it's because he knows that Sirius doesn't want something serious.

It's not necessarily like Remus wants something serious either. He doesn't mind the idea of a casual relationship. But he's seen Sirius jump from girl to girl for years and that's been hurtful enough; he doesn't like to think about how he'd feel if he was the one who was being jumped away from.

On day four, Remus dares to start talking to Sirius again. And Sirius... well, he's all smiles and cheerful responses. He also takes to sitting next to Remus whenever he can, close enough that their thighs brush and their elbows occasionally collide. Remus doesn't protest.

March comes and goes with a lot of rain, a couple of storms, but otherwise without too much of a fuss. That is unless one's counting the blanket of panic that's enveloped most of the fifth and seven years as O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s are fast approaching. Remus manages to stay relatively calm, Sirius and James handle the pressure by being in a particularly rowdy mood, and Peter... well, he doesn't really handle it at all.

The full moon is brutal, and Remus winds up in the hospital wing for three days, his back and shoulders full of deep scratches that Madam Pomfrey mends with an ointment that gives off a rather gruesome odor. Sirius sits by his bedside whenever he's not in class (and one time when he should have been in class). They don't talk much, but Remus likes having him there and Sirius seems to find comfort in being there.

On the second day, Remus is vaguely aware of someone holding his hand while he's taking a nap after dinner. When he wakes up an hour or so later, the chair next to the bed is empty.

*

“There!” James slams his book shut with a triumphant grin plastered across his face. “All done.”

“Nice,” Sirius says from where he's sitting on the floor, back leaned against the armchair that Remus is sitting in. “Only took you, what, three and a half hours to get through care of magical creatures?”

“Oh, stuff it,” James says. “You haven't even gotten started yet.”

“Nor do I intend to,” Sirius says. He's busy patching up a pair of trousers that may or may not have caught on fire when he and James attempted to brew a potion that was meant to cause an horrendous outbreak of puss-filled, dark red tentacles all over the body of whoever were to consume it. 'Whoever' meant the Slytherins. The experiment failed miserably, though, and James and Sirius have yet to settle on whose fault it was. Remus is willing to bet it was Sirius'.

Peter isn't paying attention at all. He's too busy making heart eyes at Mary McDonald, who in turn doesn't as much as offer him a second glance. It's painful to watch.

Sirius tips his head back and looks up at Remus. “Hi,” he says, smiling widely.

Remus smiles back. “Hi. How are the trousers coming?”

“All done,” Sirius says, holding up the trouser as evidence. He stands up on his feet and stuffs the trousers in his bag. “You doing anything important?”

He's reading a book on European dragon species and while interesting, it's not exactly important. “No, why?”

“Wanna go for a walk?”

Remus' eyes automatically dart to his watch. It's almost six thirty. Still a long time until curfew. “Any particular reason?”

“Just... wanna get some air,” Sirius says. Remus doesn't miss the meaningful look that pass between him and James, though. Something tells Remus it's not a prank that caused the look, not this time.

“Right. Yeah, okay, we can... take a walk, I guess.” He leaves his book with James, who grins like a maniac, before he follows Sirius through the portrait of the Fat Lady. They wander in silence until they're outside. It's a foggy evening, the air full of light drizzle that cover their hair like tiny diamonds. It's a good look for Sirius, Remus thinks; the transparent, shiny drizzle against his black hair, some of it catching on his thick, long eye lashes, and-

“Are you checking me out?”

Remus smiles, sticks his hands in his pockets. “Just looking,” he says.

“And do I look good?” Sirius waggles his eyebrows.

“You know you look good, you ego-driven bastard.”

“Suppose I do,” Sirius says with a hum. “You look good, too, you know. Despite the scars. Actually, maybe because of the scars. They become you.”

Again, Remus smiles, this time accompanied by the faintest of blushes. He can feel it spread across his cheeks. “Thanks, I guess.”

“Yeah.”

They fall into silence for a bit before Remus asks what he's been wanting to ask since the beginning of March: “I haven't seen you with anyone lately.” It's not really a question, not a direct one anyway, but there's an underlying one there.

“I'm a lone wolf, Moony,” Sirius says, feigning pensiveness.

Remus snorts and gives Sirius' shoulder a light shove. “I'm serious. You haven't... or, I mean, I haven't seen you with anyone.” Silent beat. “Like, no girls.”

“No girls,” Sirius says, and the way he says it makes it sound like a confirmation.

“Right. Have you just lost your skills, or...?”

“Dunno, haven't tested them in a while.”

“How come?”

“Haven't felt like it. Been busy, I guess.”

“Busy. Right.” They've reached a cluster of trees at the edge of the cornfields and Remus stops and turns to face Sirius. “Why did you ask me to go for a walk?”

“Am I that transparent?”

“You're not really the walk-taking type, so I-”

That's as far as he gets before he suddenly finds himself being knocked to the ground. He lands on his back on the damp grass with a slightly painful thump. For a moment, he thinks he's gone blind, but then he realises that it's just Sirius' hair that's splayed out all over his face and that the reason he's now horisontal is that Sirius apparently found it appropriate to attack him.

Sirius lifts his head and looks down at Remus.

“Uhm,” is all Remus can think to say, because Sirius is lying on top of him, all warm and firm and... beautiful. He's beautiful.

“That didn't go as smoothly as I'd hoped,” Sirius says matter-of-factly.

“No? What exactly was the plan?”

Sirius threads his fingers through Remus' hair, pushes a few strands away from his face. “Well, I was gonna back you up against that tree and snog you senseless, but your sense of balance is terrible, so... now here we are.”

“Back me up against that tree?” Remus laughs. “You came at me with the force of a bloody quidditch team, you daft nutter!”

“Slight miscalculation,” Sirius says. He smiles down at Remus. It's not a typical Sirius-smile; it's not smug, it's not devious, it's not challenging, it's not manic, it's not alarming. It's kind and soft, and it makes Remus' heart ache and his stomach does a tumble. With a barely noticable nudge, Sirius inches closer to Remus. The tips of their noses brush together, and Remus' breath catches in his throat.

“Hi,” he says. His voice is hoarse all of a sudden.

“Hi,” Sirius says. His nose bumps against Remus' and their breaths mingle for a split second. Then Sirius leans down and presses a kiss to Remus' cheek that feels like it lasts for several days.

It's just a kiss on the cheek, but it sets Remus' body on fire and he can't help but raise his hands and bury his fingers in Sirius' hair. “Don't stop,” he whispers, despite the fact that his entire backside is wet from the grass and he's getting cold.

Sirius shakes his head. He kisses Remus' cheek once more, then his nose, then his cheek again, then the corner of his mouth. He stops there, as if waiting for Remus to protest. But Remus doesn't protest; a part of him feels like he should, but a much larger part is telling him to stay exactly where he is and just wait...

When Sirius finally kisses him, Remus has a momentary fright that he's gonna pass out. He's not quite sure what to do, so for a few seconds, he merely lies there. But then the pressure of Sirius' lips becomes more insistent, and Remus kisses back the best he can. It seems to be more than good enough for Sirius, as he hums appreciatively before he opens his mouth and trails his tongue along the seam of Remus' lips.

From there, it takes no more than a few minutes before Sirius is lying comfortably between Remus' spread legs and the hesitant kisses have turned into a mess made up of tongue, teeth and a lot of odd noises. Remus has long since gotten hard in his trousers and his hips keep bucking up at their own accord, desperate for... well, for anything, really.

With a guttural groan, Sirius breaks the kiss and instead latches onto Remus' neck. He grinds down and Remus' instinctive reaction is to grab onto Sirius' hips to keep him there. Sirius seems to get the idea as he continues to grind down while simultanously nipping and sucking at the side of Remus' neck.

It's brought to Remus' attention that while Sirius is clearly enjoying himself something terribly, he doesn't seem to be about thirty seconds away from coming in his trousers, unlike Remus. It probably has its very simple and natural explanation in the fact that Sirius has gotten off with about half of Hogwarts' student population, while Remus has yet to see any other action than his own hand. Before now, that is.

“Sirius,” he gasps, his hands clawing along Sirius' sides where his jumper has slid up. “I- I'm not- I can't-”

“'S okay,” Sirius breathes. He pulls away from Remus' neck and latches onto his lips instead. They kiss for a while before Sirius retracts again, a moan escaping through his parted lips. He picks up his pace and Remus' eyes roll back into his skull.

“Seriously,” he groans. “Sirius, I'm gonna-”

“I know, I know, want you to,” is Sirius' breathless response, and then he's kissing Remus again, harder than before, and he's grinding down at such a perfect pace that he's got Remus balancing on the very edge within a couple of minutes.

A few more seconds and Remus is desperately clutching onto Sirius' shoulders and a staccato moan tears from his throat as his orgasm washes over him like a goddamned tsunami. He's vaguely aware of Sirius trembling in his arms, letting out a deep groan against his neck, then going completely still.

They stay like that for a number of hauled out moments – Sirius on top of Remus, Remus with his arms around Sirius, both with their eyes closed.

“That was...” Sirius mumbles, face still buried in Remus' neck, “unexpected.”

“You're the one who said you were planning on snogging me senseless,” Remus reasons as he strokes Sirius' hair carefully.

“Didn't plan on getting orgasms involved, though.”

“No?”

“No. I can't believe we just got off in the middle of the bloody park.” Raising his head, Sirius looks down at Remus with hooded eyes. His cheeks are flushed. “Not that I mind.”

“Yeah, I... me neither.”

Sirius smiles and leans down, pressing a kiss to Remus' lips. “You cold?”

Remus snorts. “I'm lying on wet grass in the beginning of April and I'm only wearing trousers and a jumper. Of course I'm cold.”

“Not to mention your trousers are all sticky,” Sirius says, flashing a brilliant smile.

“They are indeed,” Remus says, ignoring the blush that creeps up on his face. “And so are yours.”

“Suppose they are,” Sirius says and doesn't seem bothered by the fact at all. He smiles again; it seems he has trouble stopping. “So... was that okay?”

“Did it seem like I didn't think it was okay?”

“No, but a couple of months ago you said-”

“Yeah, I know.” Remus sighs. “This was okay, it was... more than okay, it was great, but... look, I... I can't do a casual thing with you, alright? I can't have you kiss me and whatnot one day, and then have you kiss someone else the next, it's not... I can't do that, not with you.”

“I'm not asking you to,” Sirius says. “You pointed out earlier that I haven't really chatted up any girls lately and I- well, that's been on purpose.”

“On purpose?” Remus asks, dumbfounded.

“Yeah. I... I don't want a relationship, but I like you a lot, and I figured that maybe, if I wasn't running around with anyone else, you and I could... be something?”

“Something?”

“Like... we could snog and do other things, if you want, and hang out like we always have, obviously, and I won't be seeing anyone else?”

Remus blinks, and he has to force back a smile full of sympathy. He opts not to tell Sirius that what he's describing is, in fact, a relationship, because Sirius looks so helplessly and adorably hopeful as he awaits Remus' response.

“Snogging, doing other things and hanging out sounds like a plan,” is all he says.

Sirius' face splits in a grin. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Remus confirms.

“Right now?”

Remus laughs. “No, not right now. Right now, we need to get back to the castle so I can change into something dry.”

“Ooh, can I help you with that?” Sirius asks as he climbs off Remus and onto his feet. He holds out his hands to help Remus up.

“If you must,” Remus says.

“Oh, I must, I most definitely must.”

“Hm.” Remus shoots a sideway glance at Sirius as they start walking. “What do you think James and Peter are gonna say?”

“James has been telling me to get my head out of my arse since Christmas, so I reckon he's gonna be overjoyed.”

“Oh.” Remus wrinkles his forehead. “And Peter?”

“If he doesn't like it, we'll threaten to tell Mary he's got a tiny cock.”

“And if he doesn't care that she thinks he's got a tiny cock?”

“Then we'll shrink his cock so that it actually becomes tiny.”

“Got an answer for everything, don't you?”

Sirius grins and slings an arm around Remus' shoulders as he leans in and bites his earlobe. “For you, darling, always.”

Ask game

Rules: answer 21 questions and tag 21 people. Because I always feel I little bit nervous, when I need to tag people I like or follow, I would like to see answers of everyone who found this game interesting!

Tagged by @kasielartist. If you don’t know her, just go to check her awesome arts. She’s very talented and I think we will hear about her more in the future. And she’s very kind and modest. Just a precious. :)

Warning: I love writing, so everything you’ll read by me is pretty long. Not Sorry.

Nickname(s): My father started to call me “Niki” when I was 4 years old and I’m so used to it, that I practically like it more that my real name. Some of my friends likes to call me “Angel”, because I like to help people. That’s why my full nickname is Niki Angel. And yes, my older sister calls me “špunt”, that’s a czech slang for “very small person”.

Zodiac: Acording to Horoscope, I am -- creative (yes), passionate (kind of), generous (yes!), warm-hearted (yes!!), cheerful (yes!!!), humorous (trying but failing), arrogant (well, yes), stubborn (more than anyone around me), self-centered (nope), lazy (ooooh), inflexible (yes, and I hate it) -- a summer and Sun child, Leo.

Height: Something between dwarf, human and elf -- 1.55 cm.

Hogwarts house: Traits: dedication, hardworking, fairness, patience, kindness, tolerance, modesty, loyalty and produced the fewest Dark wizards of all the four Houses. Who I am? I’m Jean Valjean Hufflepuff! I remember how sad I was like a kid when everyone thinked about me like a stupid person, just because I was in the Hufflepuff. But, after some time, I wear our colors just proud as other houses. Because we have nothing to be ashamed of! Just look at the traits! That’s something what can change the world in the most positive way!

Last thing I googled: Keanu Reeves. It was because in Czech republic he isn’t so popular and everyone around tumblr and youtube are just so crazy about him that I wanted to know why. Now I know and I watched two films yesterday with him in lead role.

Fave musician(s): I FREAKING LOVE MUSIC. My taste it’s pretty diverse. I wrote only favorite of every gender of music I listen mostly everyday, because otherwise we would be there for more than a week. When you click at the name of the artist(s) you can hear my favorite song made by them.

Kpop: Ultimate favorite is “TVXQ”. It was my first Kpop band back in 2007, when I started to listening Kpop. Then I love “VIXX” (+ “Leo” / “Ravi” / “LR)”, “4Minute” (+ “HyunA” / “TripleH” / “Troublemaker”) and “KARD”. Others I like to listen everyday:

Girlband: “2NE1″ (+ “CL”), “AOA” (+ “Jimin”), “BLACKPINK”, “Brown Eyed Girls” (+ “GaIn”), “CLC”, “EXID”, “Girl’s Day”, “Girl’s Generation” (+ “Taeyeon”), “Miss A”, “Red Velvet”, “Secret” (+ “Hyoseong” / “Jieun”), “SISTAR” (+ “Hyolyn”), “Stellar”, “T-ARA”

Boyband: “100%”, “B.A.P” (+ “Yongguk & Zelo”), “B1A4″, “BEAST”, “Big Bang” (+ “G-dragon”), “Block B”, “BTOB”, “BTS” (+ “Rapmoster” / “Agust D”), “EXO”, “GOT7″, “iKON”, “INFINITE”, “JJCC”, “MBLAQ”, “MONSTA X”, “Nu’est”, “SHINee”, “SS501″, “Super Junior”, “U-Kiss”

Solo: “Ailee”, “BoA”, “DEAN”, “HOLAND”, “Hyoshin”, “Jessi”, “Sunmi”, “YEZI”

Rock / Alternative: Tie between “Panic! At the Disco” and “The Score”. Their music helped me on every exam on university and inspireted one of my biggest Les Mis fanfic project (I think it will be done next spring). Others: “8 graves”, “30 Second to the Mars”, “Billie Eilish”, “Against The Current”, “Coldplay”, “Disturbed”, “Evanescence”, “Fall Out Boy”, “Five Finger Death Punch”, “Get Scared”, “grandson”, “Hurts”, “Imagine Dragons”, “Linkin Park”, “MISSIO”, “Nine Inch Nails”, “One Republic”, “Set It Off”, “SIAMÉS”, “Starset”, “The Cab”, “Thousand Foot Krutch”, “The Neighbourhood”, “Twenty One Pilots“, “Digital Daggers”

Classic: Favorite is our composer “Bedřich Smetana” His Moldau is still one of my favorite piece of work. Then “Beethoven”, “Mozart”, “Vivaldi” and “Wagner”.

Cover: Because this talented people matters too! “Chase Holfelder”, “Nick Pitera”, “Peter Hollens” and “ZEK”.

And many, many, MANY soundtracks and instrumental music for games, films, series, original works, etc.

Following: Les Misérables and Ao no exorcist artists, writers and fans. Some psychology blogs too.

Followers: 10! And I really appreciate it. I’m still new to tumblr, not so active and my fanfiction writing is still on start. Hope, maybe after some years, I will have more thank to my works.

Song stuck in your head: “Imagine Dragons songs battle - Peter Hollens vs. Chase Holfelder”.

Amount of sleep: 2-4 hours per day. I’m so used to live under pressure, stress and lack of sleep, that’s is weird to sleep more than 4 hours. That sometimes happens on holidays, 1-2 times in year. And I seriously don’t remember how much sleep I’m getting. Maybe 8 or 9. Irony -- I love sleeping, but we have some love-hate relationship.

Lucky number: 13. Stuck with me from my middle school years.

Do you get asks: Actually - no. And I need you to know, that I’m absolutely okay with them. So if you want to ask something or just chat or you have problem and want to help, just messege me. I’m open to everyone.

What are you wearing: Red summer dress. (And, yes, I’m not one of the fashionable person you want to know.)

Dream job: Soldier! But... Well, I’m too small and not 100 % healthy so I must give up this dream when I was 14 years old and my doctor told me that I will never be a soldier. It was pretty hard for me back then, but I decided to work for police in Special Victims Unit with focus on sexual abuse on children. I’m slowly getting there thank to studying and hard work!

Instrument(s): I played piano profesionally for 10 years. I stopped after some time on highschool because I could no longer attend courses in my town. I can still play it, but don’t have piano or keyboard at home, so I sometimes play on train stations just for the nostalgy. BUT! I want to buy my favorite piano for 30. birthday. Hope I will save the money, I have 7 years for it. OH, and I can play some songs on quitar.

Language(s): Motherlanguage is czech, so is absolutely normal for me to understand slovak. I speak english, even thoughs I have C1 certificate, I’m nervous and can’t speak or write without shaking, sweating and making stupid mistakes. I learned german on middle and high school, but can’t say a shit practically anything in this freaking language. When someone ask me something in croatian, polish or russian, I mostly understand but I blame it on Slavic roots. And I’m learning french for 6 months now, because I always wanted to speak and understand this language.

Fav song(s): “Hurricane by 30 Second to the Mars”! Mentioned already in the “Favorite musician(s)” ask.

Aesthetic: piano sheets, coffee, blue color, literature, music, theather, optimistic thoughts, deep thoughts, dogs, family, friends, love... <3

Random fact(s): My lucky number is 13, so 13 random facts about me!

MY FAVORITE book is “The Picture of Dorian Gray”; musical is “The Phantom of the Opera”; anime is “Yu Yu Hakusho”; manga is “Ao no Exorcist”; film is “The Shawshank Redemption"; series is “Game of Thrones” but not the season 8; band is “TVXQ”; color is blue in any shade; season is autumn; dogbreed is “Czechoslovakian woldog” and icecream with flavour of citrone or pistachio.

My biggest dream it’s make everyone on this world happy, satisfied, loved and accepted.

I’m coffe AND tea person. I can’t choose what I love more!

I love cleaning the house while listening (and stupidly dancing and falsely singing) to music.

My life motto? “Freedom. Beauty. Truth. Love.” Bohemian all the way!

I’m pretty shy and don’t talk much at first. I like to be around people, don’t get me wrong, but mostly I’m a listener. That’s maybe why I love writing so much.

I already know what song will play at my funeral! It’s “Lacrimosa from Requiem by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart”.

I’m romantic! If you’re my parnert just prepare to be woke up with your favorite breakfast, we will watch your favorite series and talk about it all the time, I will plan our vacation just to make sure it will be unforgettable for you, I will buy your favorite perfume, I will DIY presents for you, I will respect and love you with all my heart, I will praise your work, I will learn about your hobbies and support them... Yeah, my friends call it’s “annoyingly submissive” but who cares? That’s just me.

Even thought what I wrote here (^8.) - I fall in love only one time in my whole life. It was 2 months after my 18. birthday. He was tall, black-haired cishet man, witty, inteligent, humourus, gently, ironic, sarcastic and beautiful human being. And he’s my boyfriend for 5 years now and we have awesome 1 year old daugher. 

I studied law and public administration in highschool and criminology on university. In Semptember this year (2019) I’ll start my master’s degree for public safety and 2 years long psychology practice. After this I’ll go to work and start my distance learning of psychology (A/N: 3 years for bachelor + 2 years for master + 4 years for doctor + 2 years of another practive - then exams and only AFTER ALL OF THIS you can become a psychiatrics with your own office! That’s why I wanted start studying this subject AFTER my police graduation).

I have emepthophobia - abnormal and very strong fear of throwing up. This is why I eat only things I know for long time (no raw meat, no sushi, no experimental cusaine); I don’t like eating at restaurants (I’m afraid that some guest can get nauseated and start throwing up); I don’t go to amusent parks and never was (and I'll never be!) on their attractions; I am abstinent (Don’t try to force, seriously); I don’t like to be around drunk people; I hate hospitals and doctors (even thought a deeply respect them, but try to get the tube into my mouth ONE MORE TIME AND WILL DESTROY ALL YOUR BLOODLINE) and I HATE films when they put throwing up like “comedic” aspect (mostly American comedies. That’s why I don’t watch them.). Actually, just writing it down makes me anxious because I imagine all the things I’m writing and it’s horrible... (I needed to stop writing, calm myself for like half a hour and even after this I didn’t wrote everything that I hate about this phobia).

I’m demisexual but still don’t see myself as a part of the LGBT+ comunity. Maybe because when I come out some friends of the comunity (namely gay, lesbian a trans female lesbian) they say that “demisexuality is nothing compare their fight for rights” and it’s “just another heterosexual made-up thing for which don’t want sex or want to judge others who love sex with no relationships including”. That’s why, when someone ask me why I support LGBT+ so much and have so many friends of them, I’m saying that I am a “Straight Ally”. Even though I know it’s not all the true (because I don’t identify myself like heterosexual at all), I just don’t fell I need to explain or “come out” like some others. I just live with it and I’m happy. To all demisexuals: Don’t ever think you are weird. You aren’t! You can fall in love. You can feel aroused. You can have fuctional relationship with no sex or sex including. You don’t need to have anyone to be happy. Just like have a family, child/children, husband/wife and be sometimes excited to be touched by your loved one(s). You can love or hate hugs. You can found someone attractive just INSIDE and be happy with it. Every demisexual it’s different. But still matters. Don’t ever think about to be ashemed by your sexuality. It’s your thing and NO ONE can’t say a shit about it.

Yeah, and I beat cancer when I was 17 by the way. And still not 100% healthy but living.

Thank for tagging and hope you found it interesting!

See you next time, maybe with my another Les Mis fanfiction!

The Chic Octogenarian Behind Barbie’s Best Looks

LOS ANGELES — Carol Spencer, 86, may be the most influential fashion designer you’ve never heard of.

In the mid-1960s, she made a red pencil skirt with a white sleeveless blouse that had red stitching and three red buttons down the front. Short white gloves came with it. Thousands sold.

In the 1970s, well aware that the counterculture’s loosening dress code and mores had made it to the mainstream, Ms. Spencer designed a red bandanna halter maxi-dress and a matching leisure shirt for men. Those designs were popular, too.

In the Nancy Reagan 1980s, Ms. Spencer aimed for high-end appeal, making a one-shouldered ball gown in blue jacquard with an organza flower at the nipped-in waist and a cape. One of Mrs. Reagan’s go-to couturiers personally approved the gown to be sold under his name: “Oscar de la Renta for Barbie.”

Ms. Spencer has made wedding dresses, saris, go-go boots and caftans. All in miniature. From 1963 to 1999, she was Barbie’s fashion designer, a career celebrated in her new book, “Dressing Barbie” (HarperDesign).

Ms. Spencer also made her own clothes, and had an easy time working with the doll’s famously unusual proportions, she said, because they weren’t so far from her own. “I have shrunk but in those days, I was tall and skinny,” she said. “I had a 16-inch waist and something on top, too, I sure did, but Barbie’s legs were better than mine.”

She was sitting in her dining room, wearing a blouse in a shade that can only be described as Barbie pink, with a Barbie brooch and a Barbie digital watch that legions of girls probably begged to get for Christmas in the 1990s.

It was a different body part that was most important for her job, Ms. Spencer said: “I have small hands.” She set down the Barbie teacup filled with lemonade she had been clasping to show her fingers. They are small and jut out at angles from the joint, a disfiguration likely caused by years of grasping little needles and bottles of glue.

In creating a wardrobe for Barbie and the entourage (Skipper, Ken, Midge, Big Jim, Baby Sister Kelly, Cara, Stacey, Christie, P.J., Steffie and Miss America), Ms. Spencer was part of a team that has inspired the work of designers including Bob Mackie, Nicole Miller, Jeremy Scott and Jason Wu, who once said he played with Barbie dolls when he was a child.

For a Moschino fashion show in Milan in 2014, Mr. Scott had a Barbie waiting on front-row chairs and sent models down the runway in blond bouffants and pink skirt suits.

Last month, to celebrate the doll’s 60th birthday, Mattel hosted a profusely pink Barbie bacchanal in New York City with Instagram-friendly Dream House backdrops, intended to draw in a new generation of fans who are too young to know that Barbie was the original influencer.

1. Ms. Spencer designed Ski Party Pink for Barbie in 1982. The sweater had Dolman sleeves and a cowl neck. In her ankle-strap high-heels, she was ready to hit the bars, not the slopes.

2. Released in 1979, this City Sophisticate outfit had a faux-fur-trimmed coat and skirt accented by a yellow soutache braid.

3. A Mattel employee accidentally ordered 2,500 yards of gold-and-white striped fabric, instead of 250 yards. Ms. Spencer’s 1965 Country Club Dance fashions made use of the excess.

4. The 1992 Totally Hair Barbie was one of Mattel’s best sellers. Ms. Spencer designed a Pucci-inspired mini.

5. Ms. Spencer wanted to create an “evening pajama” look for Barbie after Barbra Streisand wore a Scaasi version when accepting an Academy Award in 1969. Ms. Streisand’s outfit was see-through, so Ms. Spencer made Barbie special panties.

Saving the Dune Buggy

Even since her retirement, Ms. Spencer has devoted her time to Barbie. Inducted in 2017 into the Women in Toys, Licensing & Entertainment Hall of Fame, she has spent her golden years attending Barbie collectors events, doing research and amassing artifacts.

For years she has worked on “Dressing Barbie,” which is sized for a coffee table and subtitled “A Celebration of the Clothes That Made America’s Favorite Fashion Doll, and the Incredible Woman Behind Them.” Laurie Brookins, a writer and stylist, helped Ms. Spencer with the project.

The book combines styled vintage fashion photography with memoir. Born in 1932 and raised in Minneapolis, Ms. Spencer rejected the wife-and-mother path that prevailed in the American midcentury and instead made a career for herself. “I truly fell in love with Barbie the first moment I created her clothes and accessories,” she writes in the book.

Barbie has been a go-to emblem of all that has ill-served girls and young women in American culture. Living in a world that is almost exclusively white, the doll has breasts that are disproportionately large compared with her hips, and her feet are contorted into a permanent “floint” (short for flexing your toes back as you point the rest of your foot).

Her hair seems to be bleached blond, never with dark (or gray) roots. At times she dressed the part of a doctor or politician but has seemed unable to hold down a job. And there’s the place in Malibu. Does it come from a trust fund or Ken?

But Ms. Spencer would like to counterpunch the Barbie bashing. She points out the doll’s humble origins, with her proportions modeled after paper dolls cut from newspapers. She also defends Barbie as a healthy alternative to video games; an engine of imagination for girls and boys, who can project onto a Barbie doll whoever they may wish to become.

“It’s wholesome play,” she said, as she pulled from a case one of the many hundreds of dolls in her home. This one was wearing a yellow chiffon-like pleated tunic with see-through pajama pants, inspired by the Arnold Scaasi transparent ensemble Barbra Streisand wore to the 1969 Oscars when she won a best actress award for “Funny Girl.”

Ms. Spencer’s house is filled with books like “Barbie: Her Life and Times” and “Dream Doll: the Ruth Handler Story,” about Ms. Handler, who, with her husband, Elliot, and Harold Matson, founded Mattel in 1945. The Barbie fashion doll was released in 1959.

Over a cluttered desk are posters of Barbie, like one showing the same image of the original 1959 doll, displayed against four different bright backgrounds, à la Warhol. (It was made to celebrate Mattel’s 35th Anniversary Barbie Festival, in 1994.)

Ms. Spencer is a scavenger for treasures in a toss-everything world. One day at the Mattel offices, then located in Hawthorne, Calif., she noticed someone was about to throw away an important piece of Barbie memorabilia.

“It was the prototype for Barbie’s dune buggy,” she said. “They were tossing it, and I said, ‘Would you toss it my way?’”

She learned thrift as a child. “During World War II, things were scarce and I remember the family would get the Sunday paper,” Ms Spencer said. “When they’d get through with it, they’d hand me the comic pages so that I could cut out the paper dolls.”

She began to create paper fashion for these paper dolls. Soon she was making her own clothes. But being a fashion designer didn’t seem like a realistic goal in those days, she recalled. “You could be a teacher, nurse, secretary or clerk,” she said. “But wife and mother were the big ones.”

She was engaged to a medical student but when she realized she was expected to work to help pay for education before quitting to be a “doctor’s wife,” she broke the engagement. Then she enrolled at the Minneapolis College of Art and Design, where she got a bachelor of fine arts with a focus on fashion design.

In May 1955, as she was about to graduate, she received a telegram from New York letting her know that her application for a “guest editor” slot at Mademoiselle magazine had been approved. Instead of sticking around for her commencement ceremony, Ms. Spencer took her first plane trip and moved in to the Barbizon Hotel for Women, for a month.

During her time in New York, she attended a reception at the home of the cosmetics entrepreneur Helena Rubinstein, visited the recently opened United Nations, danced with West Point cadets at the St. Regis hotel and interviewed the designer Pauline Trigère in her studio.

Ms. Spencer was in the same class of Mademoiselle guest editors as Joan Didion. “It was about as far from Minneapolis as you could get,” she writes.

She returned to her hometown to work, designing children’s wear for Wonderalls Company and then moved to Milwaukee to become a “misses” sportswear designer.

In late 1962, Ms. Spencer spotted an advertisement in Women’s Wear Daily. “A national manufacturer who leads its industry with annual sales in excess of $50 million seeks a cost-conscious fashion designer-stylist for its suburban Los Angeles facility.”

She sent a résumé and heard nothing back. Still, sensing this mysterious job was her destiny, she and her aunt packed up their 1959 Ford Fairlane and drove across the country to California.

In April 1963, she saw an ad in the California Apparel News for the same job, and this time her application got a response. It was from Mattel, the toymaker already known for the postwar bombshell: Barbie.

Ms. Spencer went to the company headquarters for an interview and was asked to make a suite of outfits for this creature. She made a halter-top-and-boy-short bikini, a one-piece in the same shade of orange-pink. There was a cover-up and a wrap skirt. She got the job.

Pink Pills Nixed

At that time, Mattel made about 125 different outfits a year for Barbie, and the fashion department, run by Charlotte Johnson, could be cutthroat.

“Charlotte had a theory,” Ms. Spencer said. “If you have four designers, you put them in four corners. And it was always competitive and you were pitching your product. Sometimes the competition was kind of dirty.”

How so? She wouldn’t say. “I’m out of it, I’m retired, I’m enjoying life, I’ll put it that way,” she said, and she took a sip of lemonade from her Barbie teacup.

Some of her early successes, all of which she has cataloged, included Country Club Dance (a white and gold striped gown), From Nine to Five (a midcalf blue dress with an embroidered vest and hair scarf) and Debutante Ball (an aqua satin gown with a fur stole).

Ms. Spencer took her cue from the culture around her. As the Jane Fonda aerobics craze of the 1980s took off, Barbie got a purple leotard and leg warmers. When NASA’s space shuttle exploration was in full tilt, Barbie became an astronaut (albeit one in thigh-high boots and silver capes).

And there was inspiration from her own life as well. When she needed a biopsy on her breast, Ms. Spencer was transfixed by the white coats doctors wore. The biopsy was negative, but the fashion was positive. Guess who became, however briefly, a surgeon?

There were missteps too, like when she gave Dr. Barbie a case of pink pills without knowing that at that time pink pills were known to be methamphetamines. “Let me tell you, that caused quite a stir,” she said. (Her faux pas was caught before Meth-Head Barbie made its way to children’s dollhouses.)

There are hundreds and hundreds of designs that are Carol Spencer originals, with only a small portion bearing her name. Until the mid-1990s, Mattel didn’t put designer names on Barbie’s packaging.

But Ms. Spencer remembers each of her creations, and many of them are in her home, which her sister, Margaret, 88, will be moving into her house with her soon. But even though Ms. Spencer gets out less these days, and relies on a walker to take more than a few steps, she said she feels surrounded by good company.

“You’re never alone when you have dinner at my house,” she said. “Barbie is always with you.”

Sahred From Source link Fashion and Style

from WordPress http://bit.ly/2GCtxfz via IFTTT