#he has to bluff his way through conversations | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

moonlinos · 3 months

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Call my bluff, call you ‘babe’

♡ Pairing: Lee Minho × fem!reader

♡ Genre: Childhood friends to lovers, fluff

♡ CW: Implied smut, alcohol consumption. Twenty solid seconds of angst, but it doesn’t even really count. It’s just tooth-rotting fluff.

♡ Word count: 5.5k

♡ Synopsis: Minho has been your best friend since you two could barely form coherent sentences. He was there when your last baby tooth fell, he was there when you failed your high school exams, and he was there as you walked down the aisle.

♡ A/N: This was going to be just word-vomit fluff to make me cry, but I couldn’t control myself and before I knew it there were… so many words.

You were four years old when you met Minho. It was the first day of kindergarten, and you were assigned seats together. The entire day was spent with you chatting to every kid you could reach from your seat while Minho quietly sat painting and doodling by your side. You vaguely remember thinking he was odd and whining to your mom about how your seatmate was boring, and that was why he was the only kid in class you didn’t talk to. She smiled and told you maybe you should make an effort to talk to him. That same day, you racked your little brain for a reason why your seatmate might be so quiet and promptly decided that he was too shy to start a conversation himself. You then asked your mom if the fact that you didn’t talk to him might have made him sad, to which she hesitated, and that was enough to have your bottom lip wobbling.

You remember tears streaming down your cheeks as you frantically sobbed, inconsolable at the fact that your seatmate was sad and that it was partially because of you.

The next day, you asked if Minho would like to use your special glitter pens — you even told him you wouldn’t mind if he used your favorite colors. That was really all that was needed to plant the bud of friendship between you two.

Ever since that day, you two slowly became inseparable.

You attended the same elementary school after begging your parents, writing a very concise list of reasons why you two could not possibly be separated. Reasons such as the fact that Minho still didn’t know how to tie his shoelaces, so it would be dangerous for him to be alone in a new school. Or the fact that you were always losing your gloves, and Minho always carried an extra pair in his backpack just for you, so you would surely catch a cold if you didn’t have him beside you during winter.

All extremely valid reasons.

Minho began walking you home from school when you were both nine years old. He was often left alone due to his parents’ work schedules, which made him become the most street-smart kid in your class. You had to beg your mom for a week, but she ultimately caved in.

Your favorite thing to do on your way home was to stop randomly and doodle on the sidewalk with chalk, with Minho joining you in no time. You even had your favorite little sketching spot — right in front of a nice old lady’s flower shop, where you two would spend far too much time decorating her entrance pavement with flowers, rainbows, and smiley faces. She would later introduce herself to you, Ms. Kim, and would always thank you both with a flower of your choice. You always picked tulips, and Minho always picked daisies.

On one hazy winter day, you and Minho were eager to adorn the flower shop’s entrance with a new set of doodles since the ones you had done just yesterday got covered in snow. As you two did your best to dig through the piled-up snow with your gloved hands, you suddenly felt something hard slide down your throat. Your hands stilled, and you turned to look at Minho with wide eyes.

“What happened?” He asked. “Did you lose your glove in the snow this time?”

You shook your head frantically, careful not to swallow. “Teeth,” you simply said.

Minho looked at you like you were crazy, squinting his eyes as he studied your face. “What?”

You felt tears well up, and he immediately abandoned his mission of shuffling through the snow before pulling you into a big hug.

“Why are you crying? Don’t cry. I hate when you cry, I feel weird when you cry,” He said, but no tears left his worried eyes. Minho never cried, that was something you had learned a while back.

You, however, cried until Ms. Kim noticed you two from the window, cooing as she approached you two with a gentle smile. You tried your best to explain your predicament. Minho sat with you behind the wooden counter, holding your hand in his, the smell of flowers making everything feel less catastrophic than it did ten minutes earlier.

Ms. Kim explained that you had no reason to cry, as it was normal for kids to swallow their baby teeth. And you remember harshly shaking your head and explaining with a trembling voice that you hadn’t cried because of that. You had cried because that was your last baby tooth, which meant you were officially a grown-up. You didn’t want to be a grown-up. Minho wasn’t a grown-up yet, with his last baby tooth still holding on proudly in his gums. You didn’t want to be a grown-up all alone; it would be terrible and sad.

That afternoon, you two went home together in silence, your respective flowers clutched in your hands. Minho was never good with words. Sadness engulfed him because he couldn’t do enough to make his best friend smile again. What was the point of a best friend if they didn’t make you laugh when you were crying?

Minho walked into school the next day with a proud smile on his face before placing his last baby tooth on your desk. You eyed it curiously, brows furrowed.

“There, I took it off last night,” He simply said. “Now we’re gonna be grown-ups together.”

At eleven years old, your daily after-school video game appointments began.

You had just cut your hair short; a bob you thought looked cute on your favorite singer turned out to be cataclysmically unflattering on you. And, at eleven years old, it was earth-shattering and definitely the end of your life (despite what your mother told you).

You spent every second out in public with your hair hidden by a beanie, hoping it would distract people from your disastrous haircut.

Except it had the opposite effect.

One particular day at school, a boy came up to you simply to inform you that your head looked like a mushroom before running away, laughing with his friends. They were foolish words spoken by a foolish boy, but you were eleven. Once again, earth-shattering and the end of your life.

You avoided everyone the entire day — including Minho, whom you always talked to no matter your mood. You knew you wouldn’t be able to avoid him for much longer, seeing as he walked you home every day, so you simply prayed he wouldn’t notice your puffy eyes or that he at least hadn’t heard any of the other kids making unfunny jokes about your haircut.

After school, Minho sighed in feigned annoyance when you told him you had lost your gloves again before retrieving a pair from his backpack. Like a habit, you asked if he wanted to hang out at your house, although the answer was always unchanging.

“My mom’s baking a cake,” you told him. “We can play video games and then eat it together.”

Minho hummed in agreement, adjusting his backpack before grabbing your hand as you two began your daily walk to your house. It was something you always did, never walking anywhere without your hands clasped together. These past few months, however, this once ordinary gesture had begun making your heart beat faster. You didn’t understand why, and you would rather not think about it because every time you did, the words from your other friends would echo inside your head. Their stories about how they felt their hearts racing when their crush had hugged them or even looked their way, making you question if maybe…

But it couldn’t be. Minho was your best friend. How could he be your crush?

It was another one of those afternoons, your mom busily making you two sandwiches as you and Minho played New Super Mario Bros on your Wii under the blanket fort you always meticulously built. Minho had been acting weird all day — even weirder than you, who had to endure all the asinine jokes and hurtful words from your peers. As you completed the last level for the umpteenth time, saving Princess Peach, Minho all but threw his controller to the side. You turned to shoot him a questioning look, which went ignored as he rummaged through his backpack.

He retrieved a crumpled-up piece of paper, which he promptly gave to you.

You cocked your head, awaiting some sort of explanation, but Minho simply picked up his controller once more and hit play on the game.

Unfolding the paper, words greeted you in Minho’s messy handwriting.

YOUR HAIR LOOKS CUTE. STOP HIDING IT.

Your lips parted slightly, but before you could say anything to him, Minho reached out and snatched your beanie from your head. Your short hair and bangs cascaded onto your face, partially obscuring your view. But you could still make out his side profile, where a faint smile appeared on his lips.

After that, you two were silent for the rest of the day, eventually dozing off under the tent lulled by the sound of your mother’s hand mixer and Mario’s theme song. The sun eventually set outside the window, and you woke up to two plates of your mother’s cake waiting for you on the coffee table.

From that point on, your beanie was left forgotten inside your drawer.

You were fifteen when you realized that perhaps your feelings for Minho weren’t all that platonic after all.

It all started with a letter on Minho’s desk on a rainy Friday. October 25th, Minho’s birthday.

Minho’s quiet nature hadn’t changed one bit since you first sat beside him at four years old. He would rather die than start a conversation, rarely went out to the movies with your friend group and, most importantly, hated being the center of attention. That was why he told no one about his birthday since you two began high school this year. It was the subject of much debate among your little group of friends, with some bribing Minho with his favorite snacks or promising to do his assignments until college just for some sort of clue; a day, month, even the day of the week he was born.

But Minho never budged.

So, seeing a letter on his desk on the day of his birthday was odd, to say the least.

You arrived back to the classroom late after chatting to your friend from another class in the hallway, catching as Minho sat down with a puzzled look on his face and an open letter in his hands.

“What’s up?” You asked, sitting on the desk in front of him.

He looked up, thick glasses crooked from a dodgeball incident earlier that week. “Yumi found out it’s my birthday today,” He informed you, a bit too nonchalantly. “She organized a birthday party at her house tomorrow with our friends.”

You immediately took the letter, reading it and blanching at the words written in the girl’s pretty handwriting. She had found out Minho’s birthday by snooping around Facebook until she found his mother, who had a plethora of pictures of Minho on his previous birthdays. Not only that, the letter ended with a paragraph where she confessed her feelings to him — with all the clichés and dramatics only an adolescent crush could provide.

You still remember your first thoughts upon learning that information: Oh, Yumi. Of course a girl like her would do something like this.

You cringe at your words now, but at fifteen, you deemed no girl worthy of your best friend. Especially ‘girls like Yumi,’ who in your eyes all but threw herself at him. At the time, you thought you were looking out for the boy who was practically your brother. Now, you understand you were simply an insecure fifteen-year-old who allowed ugly, misogynistic thoughts to brew inside your mind out of fear of losing Minho. For your immature brain, every girl interested in Minho was an enemy because they could easily take him away from you.

And Minho had never reciprocated any girl’s feelings, always politely turning down the few confessions he had gotten during middle school. You were ready to berate Yumi, your brows immediately furrowing as your face contorted, but Minho beat you to it, speaking before you could utter a word.

“I know I should be mad, but isn’t it a little… cute?”

You couldn’t help but scoff, the sound escaping your lips like a burst of disbelief. You also couldn’t help how your hands began to tremble as your heart shot up to your throat.

“Cute?” You asked with the strongest voice you could muster. “You think her invading your privacy is cute?”

And Minho simply shrugged, tapping his fingers on his desk. “A little bit. I know you don’t really like her, but she’s part of our friend group,” He said, taking the letter from your shaky hands. “Plus, she’s always been nice to me, and she is cute.”

That was all you could physically bear to hear, excusing yourself from the conversation with the lie that your friend had called you from the classroom window before sprinting out into the hallway. As you continued walking, your palms grew clammy and your heart weighed heavily in your chest.

You felt tears well up in your eyes once you reached the stairs. Sitting on the steps, you cried into the cardigan of your ugly school uniform. You didn’t care that you would be scolded for skipping class; all you cared about was that your best friend was going to be taken from you.

After school, as you and Minho were about to exit the school gates — your hands tightly clasped together as they always were — Yumi appeared carrying a cake, the rest of your friends behind her as they all sang happy birthday.

Minho blew out the candles and made a wish. Everyone cheered as his best friend, Chan, shoved his face into the cake. Minho yelled at him, grumbling with glasses covered in white frosting, but ultimately laughing along. Yumi was quick to clean his face with a napkin, earning her a smile from Minho before he released your hand to gently squeeze her rosy cheeks.

You remained quiet, forcing out a smile and looking up at the sky every now and then so your tears wouldn’t fall.

All because Minho had let go of your hand.

Minho’s fifteenth birthday — that was the day you learned you could fool everyone else, but never yourself.

Your seventeenth summer was a drag.

Minho had just been broken up with a couple of months before, Yumi crying as she explained her parents wanted her to focus on her studies, and having a boyfriend was simply a distraction she couldn’t afford if she wanted to be a doctor someday. An unwilling participant in the entire situation, you sat awkwardly at the bus stop as she spoke.

You were ready to witness Minho cry for the first time in your life, maybe yell about how unfair her parents were being, but he simply pressed a kiss to her forehead just as your bus arrived.

Not much had changed when he began dating Yumi, with you learning that suppressing how you truly felt was worryingly easy. You still hung out with them, battling through their cuddles and kisses like a soldier on the front lines of a war. Never unscathed, but always strong. Nobody needed to know about how you cried into your mother’s arms almost every night before falling asleep.

The only change had been you and Minho’s daily gaming appointments. You two had since outgrown your video game phase, both now interested in diverging things that made it impossible for you to enjoy them together. You discovered your love for flowers went beyond doodling on the sidewalk in front of a flower shop, but Minho complained that growing flowers was too time-consuming, and he loved dancing, which you were far too uncoordinated and lazy to even try doing.

And so, you two settled for simply hanging out together at your house. Your room had easy access to the roof, which you two took full advantage of, setting up a permanent blanket fort where you would snuggle up with pillows and talk for hours after school.

That summer was no different, with Minho stretched out across the old mattress, watching the light pink sky slowly fade away as night set in while you two busied yourselves talking.

That was the day you finally gathered the courage to ask Minho about his breakup, desperate to understand why he had appeared so unfazed. After the one-year milestone of their relationship in February, you had begun to make peace with the fact that she would probably be around for a while.

Minho shrugged at your question, hands resting on his stomach while he gnawed on his bottom lip. He explained he was sure that he liked her, but it turned out he valued her as a friend much more than as a girlfriend.

You couldn’t help but scoff at the answer. You knew Minho better than you knew yourself at times, which was why you knew he was lying through his teeth.

“Why did you stay so long with her, then?” You questioned, the resentful lilt in your voice a bit too obvious. You cleared your throat before adding, “I mean, you surely didn’t act as just friends.”

“I guess I felt lonely before,” He explained. “I was selfish for staying with her, but I enjoyed having someone. Was especially nice after…” Minho trailed off, dismissively shaking his head, and you remember being close to throwing him off that roof as he kept being so damn enigmatic.

“After what?” You prodded, “Minho, I’m your best friend. What’s the point of us talking if you’re not gonna tell me the truth?”

He turned his head to look up at you, the darkening sky making his eyes gleam as if they held an entire galaxy of stars. You felt that familiar nervousness return.

“It was nice to not be so alone after so many years of pining after someone.”

You cocked your head to the side, and Minho had the gall to chuckle at your puzzled expression. You shook your head, mumbling to yourself that your conversation was pointless if he wouldn’t tell you the whole truth.

Lying next to him on the mattress with a sigh, you could feel the weight of Minho’s gaze on you. You couldn’t bring yourself to move.

You remember the moon was already high in the sky by the time one of you finally moved — Minho, who slowly inched his hand closer to yours before clasping it tightly in his. Despite your racing heart, you thought nothing of it. He was now single, so it wouldn’t be ludicrous to assume a habit you two had cultivated for many years would naturally return.

However, after some beats from your erratically racing heart, Minho’s fingers intertwined with yours. You had never done that before, always holding hands in a way that all but screamed platonic.

That night, with his thumb caressing your skin and his hand squeezing yours, Minho finally spoke the truth after so long.

“It’s you,” He said, tone nonchalant but voice audibly shaky. “Think I’ve been pining after you since I was nine and ripped my tooth out ‘cause I thought that’d make you stop being sad.”

You remember gasping quietly and his hand tightening around yours as the clock ticked and your silence remained. You remember finally mustering up the courage to turn to look at him and being met by an expression you had rarely seen on Minho’s face in the thirteen years you had known him — he was scared, wide eyes dancing around your face as if he looked for an answer in your features, his chapped lips parted slightly as if he was ready to backtrack the moment he saw any hint of doubt in your eyes.

You remember smiling at him and how his expression shifted into pure confusion. All it took was for him to finally have the nerve to hold your hand in the way he’d always wanted to, and for you to use his courage as a catalyst for your own. You remember how you closed the distance between you two and pressed your lips to his. You remember it feeling weird because you were kissing Minho, your best friend.

But you also remember it feeling right because you were kissing Minho, your best friend.

Your transition from being best friends to being in a relationship was easier than you had ever thought it would be — it was also slower than you could have ever imagined.

Minho never asked you out or confessed his feelings beyond what was said on the roof, and neither did you. It was a shared knowledge between you, a silent agreement that didn’t need words — at least for now. The little gestures and subtle changes left no doubt in your minds that you two were, in fact, no longer just friends — like how you began to always intertwine your fingers while holding hands, or how Minho would pull you onto his lap when you hung out with your friends, or how you would rest your head on his shoulder as he played with your hair during lunch break.

Your friends certainly had questions, the confusion written all over their faces easy to read like a book, but you both knew they also understood your relationship without you needing to make a big deal out of it.

You picked him up from dance class every weekend, sometimes arriving earlier just to catch a glimpse of him through the glass door, as Minho insisted he was too embarrassed to dance in front of you.

One day, thoroughly unprompted, he reached into his backpack as you two exited his dance academy and pulled out a yellow tulip. You had furrowed your brows at the sudden gesture, and Minho nonchalantly told you that planting your favorite flower was surprisingly easy. Since becoming teenagers, you had stopped going to Ms. Kim’s flower shop, and you had long forgotten about how you two used to have your own respective flowers back in the day.

It seemed Minho hadn’t forgotten.

That was one thing you had come to know about him only after you began dating. Although he seemed cold and distant on the outside — rarely communicating his feelings through words — Minho secretly kept a mental note of every little detail about the people he cared about, and he unfailingly found a way to communicate his feelings through actions. Such as promptly handing you a brand-new flower he had picked before you even had the chance to mourn your tulip as it began to wilt.

You, on the other hand, had always been the type of person to communicate through words; spoken, written, or read, which is how you began saving your best daisies from the small garden you created in your backyard and practicing your flower arrangement skills exclusively by making pretty bouquets you could gift to Minho (always with little notes hidden among the flowers).

Your once explicitly platonic roof dates also left no room for doubt, as making out under your usual tent became a hard-to-break habit. In fact, that was how your family found out about your relationship. You were eighteen, with graduation just around the corner, when your mother caught Minho kissing you as tears welled up in your eyes at the thought of having to be apart from him during college (although you both knew that would never be the case, as you always moved mountains simply to stay together).

Everything was slow-paced, and neither of you had any desire to rush anything. Once, Minho told you he had waited eight years to finally kiss you, and somehow, that anticipation was what had made it all the more special.

And so, your first proper date only happened six months after your first kiss, and your first fight only happened a year and a half into your relationship. Not to mention your first I love you, which had been a slip-up that happened only in your first year of college after a drunken night with Chan and Minho. Your head on his lap, your tulip nestled among his daisies in a pretty vase on the coffee table as Chan hummed along to some song that came from his phone. You felt as if your entire being was filled with pure gratitude at that moment, and the liquid courage that flowed through your veins only helped you mutter out how much you loved Minho.

He looked down at you, hands cupping your cheeks with a silly smile adorning his face, and simply answered, “Well, I love you more.”

Your carefree attitude toward your relationship was almost a contrast to the one you had with your friendship. You and Minho had met so young that you could never truly pinpoint when you had become such close friends. You always wondered if that was what led you two to be so easygoing with what most people rush into. Things happened when they were supposed to happen.

You remember one of Minho’s new friends, Changbin, asking something about your sex life at some party during freshman year, and you two nonchalantly answering that you didn’t really have one. Your friends’ shock was understandable, but you and Minho only laughed.

Things happened when they were supposed to happen.

It was Minho’s 21st birthday, when your flowers were no longer in bloom, but your love remained blossoming like it was mid-spring. He had, as always, vetoed any and every plan of a celebration suggested by your friends. He opted to stay in with you, cuddling under a blanket fort like you had been doing for so many years. Chan graciously offered to sleep at a friend’s dorm, leaving your small shared apartment just for you and Minho.

He hadn’t planned for anything to happen, and neither had you. You were simply lying together, watching the flickering of the candles you had set up around the coffee table, recounting the innumerable memories you shared when you suddenly felt the earnest, all-consuming need to have Minho as close as possible.

It was clumsy, both of you inexperienced and nervous. Your teeth crashed together and your hands gripped each other tightly, the realization of the intensity of your yearning becoming undeniable. At some point, the entire tent collapsed on top of you, and laughter filled the room for a brief moment before being replaced by your sighs and whispered moans.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was you and Minho.

Graduation day was a blur in your mind.

It had all started with Minho and Chan drunk at eleven a.m., offering you the awful-tasting omelet they had cooked in your cramped kitchen. They then went on to zone out for most of the ceremony after stumbling out of your apartment.

You approached Minho after he was done taking pictures and getting scolded by his family for being drunk on his graduation day, his mother giving you an apologetic look as you whisked him away.

“You’re stressed,” you pointed out.

“Yeah.”

“Me too,” you replied with a sigh, resting against a large tree far enough away from the hustle and bustle of recently graduated students and crying families. “So is Chan. Don’t think I’ve seen him this drunk since Jisung’s birthday party last year.”

Minho chuckled, shifting on his feet and toying with the fabric of his gown. You furrowed your brows; he only ever got fidgety when hiding something. You learned that for the first time when you were thirteen and he had to wait until your birthday to tell you he’d gotten you two tickets to see your favorite band, and again when he had to keep Chan’s then-girlfriend’s plans of asking him to move in together a secret.

“You’re not nervous ‘cause of graduation, are you?”

You remember the way he stilled almost immediately.

“We always tell each other the truth, right?” He asked.

You remember the way your whole world spun as he pulled out a small box from his pocket and how everything seemed to fade into a white mist that surrounded Minho like a spotlight as he proposed to you.

Your wedding was small — both because that was how you had wanted it to be and because of your lack of money for a proper party.

After graduating, Minho became a dance teacher at the academy he attended as a teen, teaching little kids who he said always reminded him of you two. You used the money your parents had saved for you to travel after college to buy the old flower shop that held so many memories from your childhood. Neither of you used your degrees, and neither of you made a lot of money, but you were overflowing with an infatuation for life and a love for each other so great that it made up for any silly inconvenience that dared to come up.

The ceremony was held at a local church — although neither of you was particularly religious, that was the cheapest place available. You opted to walk down the aisle together; hands clasped the way you used to do for many years while walking home from school. Minho held onto a daisy bouquet you made, while you held the single tulip he had picked out for you that day.

“I’m not good with words,” was how Minho began his vows, the glow of the fairy lights and candles adorning the church rendering his attempt at hiding his tears futile. That was the first time you had ever seen him cry in the twenty-one years you’d known him. “But I think that never mattered with you. You know me better than I know myself. Most times, I don’t even have to say a word, and you’ll still understand me. It’s been this way since we were four, and you understood why I was so quiet, and you still chose to be my friend. Thank you for understanding me, and thank you for allowing me to love you. Loving you is what I do best and look how lucky I am; I’ve been able to do it for my whole life.” He then shot you a grin, the back of his hand wiping away your tears. He ended his speech with a line that was so very Minho, thought up with sincerity but spoken primarily to make you smile. “You’ve always felt like home, and I can’t wait to feel that way until we’re both food for the worms to eat.”

You had never cried so much as you did on the day of your wedding — which was remarkable, seeing as you’d been a crier your whole life. You remember the irony of it all; Minho, who had never been good with words, telling you about his love with words that came from his heart and spilled from his lips without any rehearsal, while you were rendered speechless and too emotional to even attempt to form a coherent sentence.

Your wedding vow was a simple, choked-up, “Thank you for being my best friend, Minho.”

Minho carried you home from the church, with your cheeks flushing pink and his smile beaming as your friends made rice cascade around the two of you like snow. It turned out the boy who hated attention didn’t mind the spotlight so long as it meant showing off his love for you.

Your honeymoon was spent in your small house above your flower shop — which you named Daisy’s Tulips — where you cuddled under a blanket fort the entire day, only leaving the comfort of the pillows and fluffy covers well after midnight to adorn the sidewalk in front of your house in a brand new chalk drawing.

“Can you imagine if we never said anything?” Minho suddenly wondered aloud, his chuckle echoing through the quiet street. “We were both pretty good at hiding our feelings for so long.”

And you simply shook your head, painting a daisy with white chalk on the sidewalk. “Minho, I know you. You wouldn’t have let me keep pretending after finding out I liked you too.”

“Who says I would have found out?”

“You said it yourself,” you explained, “I know you better than you know yourself, and that’s reciprocal. You would’ve found out ‘cause I can never hide anything from you.”

And Minho smiled, taking your hand in his just as you were done with your drawing. Your gaze shifted toward him, and you admired the man he had become. From the shy little boy who sat beside you to the quiet teenager with thick glasses to the man he had grown into; you loved every version of Minho you had the privilege to meet throughout your life, and you were certain you would love every new version of him you came to know in the future as well.

“Of course you can’t,” he stated matter-of-factly. “I’m your best friend, aren’t I?” He asked with a grin, and you nodded. He then added, “Thank you for being my best friend.”

♡ taglist: @bloom-ings, @linocz, @farahia, @mirbokk, @jisunglyricist

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creativepromptsforwriting · 7 months

Text

Spooktober Prompts Masterlist 2023

"They are calling us…" "Don't listen to them. Do you hear me? Don't listen to a word they promise you!"

The cameras show five people enter an elevator, but only four of them leaving it. Those four never remembered a fifth passenger.

"Aww, are you so afraid of the dark that you need me to hold your hand?" "I'm not holding your hand." "Then whose..."

At first, they believe it to be a bad joke, but when more and more graves of people who haven't died yet appear in the graveyard, they start to panic.

The camera she bought at a flea market already has photos on it. Since the people are wearing clothes from centuries ago, they believe them to be from a play. But they soon realize that those photos and events were real.

A child actress turned cult leader feels her power slipping and she needs to gain control over her following again.

When they started building the new school, they had expected to maybe find unexploded WWII bombs, but what they found instead was nothing they could have expected.

She heard footsteps behind her coming closer, but when she turned around, holding her breath, she could only see the dark and empty alley.

"Why did you choose the cemetary as our meeting place for tonight?" "Because only the dead can keep our secrets."

Going to your own funeral and see who would cry - it sounded almost fun. If it wasn’t for the fact that they could hear and see everything, but could not make a sound to stop them from closing up the grave around them.

A medium without a voice of her own, can only speak when a ghost speaks through her.

They had always felt that shadows seemed to beckon to them. But this time, when the shadows beckoned, they wore a sinister grin. (Submitted by: tumblebumblebee-63)

"I'm not haunting a filthy public bathroom, I'm a ghost with class."

A fun survival game TV show on a remote island becomes a reality when one contestant after the other turns up brutally killed. Right in front of hundreds of cameras and millions of watchful eyes.

Waking up to a child that you've never seen before, but that everyone assures you is your own that you've raised for years, is terrifying.

"Did you see that?" "Did I see what?" "That man... he touched the leaves and they immediately blackened and fell off. Please, let us go back before he sees us!" "Too late." The man in the dark cloak suddenly stood right in front of them and slowly reached out his hands to them.

What started as a fun midnight activity suddenly turned into one of them missing and the others running for their lives, trying to escape freaking zombies.

He always dreamed about being in a kdrama. He didn't imagine it to have a horror side plotline that feels way too real.

They said that when you die, you return to earth as your one true self. Why then, when he opened his eyes after being killed, were his teeth long and he hungered for blood? (Submitted by: ouilah)

She didn't think it would come to this point. She felt the cold stone of the gravestone in her back and before her the red glowing eyes of the creature crept slowly closer.

There are perks of being a ghost. Walking through walls was fun. Or haunting annoying people. But nothing was quite as nice as being able to just fade out of a conversation that you didn’t want to be a part of.

"I dare you! Come on, stop being a coward. There is no such thing as ghosts."

Someone wakes up to a text saying 'It's your lucky day!' and it turns out to be the worst day ever.

A family of vampires that lives unidentified in human communities, becomes paranoid and starts to believe all their neighbors are also supernatural creatures.

There are stories and superstitions abound about the seaside bluffs, but that's to be expected in a town of fishermen. One night, from the bluffs' direction, you hear someone singing, softly. (Submitted by: someoneoffthestreet)

Astronauts coming back to earth keep talking about hearing songs from outside the space shuttle. What they don't say, is that those songs followed them home.

Someone stared at her through the window. She had always felt safe in her own home, shutting out the scary, real world. But a window is just glass, and glass… oh it breaks so, so easily…

A plane disappears from the radar and then reappears multiple hours later at the exact same location in the middle of the ocean with no place to land and not enough fuel to just fly around for hours.

"We shouldn't enter! This place was abandoned for a reason!" "Come on, don't be a coward. We will be the only ones here!" "Okay, okay... I'll follow you. You don't have to push me!" "I... I didn't push you..."

A session of reading tea leaves ends in chaos when every single participant reveals a bad omen.

Something tells the home owner that the kids trick-or-treating in front of his house are not wearing costumes - and are not human at all.

If you like my blog and want to support me, you can buy me a coffee or become a member! And check out my Instagram! 🥰

#spooktober #spooky prompts #writeblr #spooktober 2023 #writing prompts #writers on tumblr #creative writing #writers #halloween

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cowboyfromh3ll · 6 months

Note

I saw u say i do hcs so i thought i should ask for some hcs 'cause ur one shots r great so ur hcs will obviously be too. Anyways, can we get hcs about Javier having a crush on a girl who's nice and reserved, a bit shy too. Like, what he'd do to impress her? How will he talk to her? It's more fluff but u can add some nsfw because ur style in writing is just *chef's kiss*

HC for Javier crushing on a shy and reserved fem!reader (smut)

warnings: smut, some humiliation

Javier is absolutely smitten

Many people think he's some smooth talking romantic, but we saw the way he was acting around those two women at the bar in Valentine

The way he acts around women he wants is quite frivolous

At first he think your shyness means you don’t want to talk to him or straight up don’t want anyone's company, and he’s very discouraged by it

Sometimes he’ll see you walking past and say “Why don’t you talk to me more often?” to which you laugh awkwardly to

Cries himself to sleep that night

Will very hesitantly try and talk you or ask for your opinion on things to strike conversation

When you ask what’s up he would have realized he didn’t think his bluff through so makes something up

Ends up asking what you think of his outfit

To which you say you think it's lovely and call him stylish

The compliment makes his year

He trips over his words and becomes excited, grasping at anything to get your attention and keep it

His excitement can be described as juvenile, as he finds any excuse to try and be around you

Will learn how to sew simply so he can sit there with you while you do your chores

And so Miss Grimshaw doesn’t yell at him for distracting you while working, he’s working too he would argue

Notices you come round the campfire when he’s playing or singing, so he starts doing it almost every night

Sometimes he’ll sing love songs for you indirectly, even if people are around and nobody knows it’s meant for you, Javier will mean it in his head

Will ask you for song requests personally

He’s pretty awkward at first when it comes to crushes but once he advances in them he’ll get more confident

For a while he sorta just stood around you and asked you mundane little questions, followed you around like a lost puppy

Your shyness would keep you from giving more fleshed out answers, but your brief responses would not discourage him

But once the two of you started talking more he makes sure he’s the one you talk to the most

Definitely the type of guy who keeps your attention by making you laugh. Anytime you two are together it's all giggles from you and it's SO obvious to anyone around you guys that y’all are flirting

Definitely the jealous type as well

If he sees you talking to another guy his anger will probably cause him to be more bold with you

Eventually starts dedicating songs to you

Once he starts getting real bold he’ll say more flirty stuff

“Can I stay in your tent with you tonight? It’s a bit cold.”

Once you start dating he INSISTS you don’t lift a finger and will do your chores for you

His previously learned sewing skill comes in real handy

NSFW

Think your shyness is so so cute and sexy

Despite his own initial nerves, he tries to be audacious for the both of you during sex

Will lead many of your sessions together

Always starts nice and slow and takes things at your pace

Unwraps you like a present but very carefully as though your skin is made of paper and he might actually tear you

His nerves shine through as he undresses you with shaky hands

Will constantly ask you questions and cup your face so you can speak to him while looking him in the eyes

His confidence increases the longer you are together and become comfortable with one another

This man can fuck rough, starkly contrasts your own shy personality

Has so much stamina, but will slow it down if you ask

Loves making you blush by talking dirty, will whisper absolute filth in your ear if it means just getting you to blush

Will nip at your earlobe while whispering to you, sees just how wet he can get you from his words alone

Praises you so much during sex “My perfect girl, you’re doing so good.” “Yes, just like that preciosa, you’re so good at this.”

Loves the way the praise makes you blush just as much as his dirty talk

Is so lewd when you two are going at it, always encourages you to be just as bold

Enjoys your quiet personality in front of others just to see how loud he can make you scream in private

Puts you in embarrassing positions just to see how flustered you get

Sometimes he'll secretly grope you in public to see the way you squeak

Absolutely tease, gets so much enjoyment from watching the way you squirm because of how shy you are

#red dead redemption 2 #red dead fandom #red dead redemption 2 x reader #red dead redemption community #van der linde gang x reader #writing #red dead fanfiction #javier escuella rdr2 #javier escuella #javier escuella x reader #javier escuella fluff #javier Escuella smut #javier Escuella smut hc #javier Escuella x reader smut #javier Escuella x reader fluff

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eoieopda · 1 year

Text

liar, liar (jhs)

Hoseok suspects that you’re “phoning it in” while sexting and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t call your bluff.

Pairing: Jung Hoseok x AFAB!Reader Type: Smut (18+ — EXPLICIT — MINORS DNI!) Word Count: 5K CW: Hoseok POV; cocky, fuckbuddy!Hoseok; soooo much teasing; masturbation with an audience (f); oh, the dirty talk; unprotected sex (p in v); Hoseok hits it from the back; overstimulation; squirting; multiple orgasms, etc. A/N: Inspired by some of the responses to @here2bbtstrash’s horny headcanon ask game 😈 Specifically, this and this.

Hoseok is a lot of things: a connoisseur with a dutifully refined palate; an archivist, collecting your artful nudes in a museum only his face can unlock; an absolute demon in his sexual prime. What Hoseok isn’t is a much shorter list: a goddamn idiot, though you seem to be taking him for one.

He’s not sure how he knows it — maybe he has a sixth sense for this sort of thing — but when he reads your text, telling him how wet you are for him, that’s not the way he pictures you.

Little liar that you are, Hoseok suspects that you’re half-awake in bed, going through the motions while some mindless drama plays in the background. In fact, if he knows you the way he thinks he does, you’re probably elbow-deep in a bag of kkobuk chips.

To your credit, you don’t make it obvious — not in your words, that is. You describe in poetically pornographic detail what you claim to want to do to him; and he’d be lying if he said his joggers weren’t growing increasingly tight with every little obscenity you send his way. You made one mistake, though, and Hoseok can’t let it go.

He could pick your disastrously thick, downright bite-worthy ass out of a lineup — and he knows that the picture you just sent him is one you’ve sent before.

It takes a minute for him to force his eyes off your supple skin and throw himself out of his bed, but Hoseok eventually manages. He tugs on a shirt, then a jacket for good measure, and then he stalks off towards the door to his apartment. Shoes on and keys in hand, he’s on his way to you before he can think once, let alone twice.

When he hits the sidewalk, it’s the fury of a fuck buddy scorned that propels him up four blocks to your place. Then, desperation and aching balls force him to skip the usual, friendly conversation with your doorman as he breaches your apartment building. Finally, with a bit of menace — for zest — his knuckles rap against your door. His jaw is clenched and twitching slightly when you finally answer, looking good enough to eat in your baggy sweatpants and shocked expression.

“Jay?” You squeak out your little nickname for him. Cute. Your frenzied hands then fly up to scrape fly-aways back into the bun sitting crooked on the top of your head. “What are you doing here? My place is a mess right now. I’m a mess right now — I wasn’t expecting company.”

Hoseok smirks, revels in the fact that he’s caught you red-handed, and slips past you into your apartment. Before your brain can catch up to this turn events, he gazes at you through narrowed eyes while his head cocks to one side. At first, he says nothing. He simply lets you simmer; make-up free cheeks burning maroon while your dumbstruck mouth hangs slightly open.

“So,” he snips. Your knees wobble a bit under the heat of his gaze; he knows exactly what it does to you when he plays up the assertive attitude. "It would seem that we’ve got a credibility problem, petal.”

Your mouth closes, but your eyes grow wider with the practiced, twinkling innocence only a guilty person can sell. Hoseok can hear the gears turning in your brain as you try to think up an excuse for sexting him on autopilot. Lucky for you, he’s got all the time in the world to wait while you spin your wheels over the issue.

Lucky for him, granting you leave to answer and toying with you aren’t mutually exclusive.

When he steps closer to you, you inch away until your back bumps against the wall behind you. A tiny gasp escapes; your warm breath fans out over his neck as he leans down to you. You’re not entirely chest-to-chest — not yet anyway — but the consequences your actions had on him earlier are still palpable. He knows you can feel it, too, nudging the space just above your hip bone.

Hoseok, ever the tease, takes the hem of your t-shirt between his thumb and middle finger. Running the tips along the seam there, he tugs so lightly that the movement barely registers. Even still, it’s enough pressure to make your nipples peak through the fabric — just like he’d hoped. Meanwhile, your eyes shake as you stare, unblinking, up at him.

You are so fucking pretty when you shiver.

Pulling just a little bit harder on the end of your shirt, Hoseok leans in even closer. You push up, ever so slightly, onto your toes like you’re waiting to be kissed. He wants to indulge you — he knows you know that — but he’s determined to hold the line. You whine when he turns away at the eleventh hour so that his lips instead hover below your ear.

“You had so much to say over text,” he hums as he fidgets absently with your top. “Can’t help but feel a little neglected, honestly. Where’s all that big talk now?”

With his voice dropped low like that, Hoseok wonders if you feel it vibrate against your neck. You whimper, wordlessly confirming that you do. When he eliminates whatever remains of the distance between you, the tip of his nose bumps your jaw at the same time his swollen dick presses more firmly against your abdomen. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches sight of you swallowing down a moan.

He smirks as you shift. You’re subtle with it, but he knows what you’re trying to do — sidle up closer, get his lips to finally touch your skin. On any other day, you’d win him over in a heartbeat. You’d get him now if you used those honeyed words of yours in person.

“Ah, ah,” he tuts with a disapproving click of his tongue. Doubling down, he holds his hands up and out to the side where you can see them but not touch them, “Not laying a finger on you until you speak up.”

You pinch your bottom lip between your teeth as the tip of his nose once again prods your jaw. Now, that won’t do. “Not gonna give you my lips, or teeth, or tongue, either, if you can’t say that same filthy shit with your whole chest.”

What he does give you is a microscopic roll of his hips. There’s hardly friction at all — no relief. Maddeningly, it just compounds that dull ache you cursed him with. The only benefit Hoseok reaps from that tiny movement is the pout that blossoms on your face when you realize:

Playing stupid games wins you stupid prizes.

“Aren’t you curious?” His gaze drops to your lips for half a moment — long enough for you notice — then his eyes raise again to bore into yours. “About how good you could have it if you weren’t just going through the motions?”

You finally open your mouth. All he gets is his last initial, drawn out and quiet, but still so needy.

“Jay.”

“Nah,” he laughs darkly. The corner of his mouth pulls up into that smug, lopsided smile he knows will fuck you right up. “I’m Hoseok to you tonight, petal — and I don’t give a shit about the state of your apartment, or whether or not you shaved your legs.”

Your frown deepens when he backs away, but goddamn, does your face light up when he starts walking in the direction of your bedroom.

With how expressive you are, you’re unbelievably easy to tease. Any reaction Hoseok could ever want from you is broadcasted in an instant all over your sweet face. He has to bite back an endeared grin before he glances back at you over his shoulder — only to find that you’re still holding the wall up.

“Cat got your tongue and your legs? Damn!”

He’s already crossing the threshold into your bedroom when you finally take your cue to follow him. That adorable, confused crease reappears between your eyebrows when he goes for your vanity instead of the bed set up on the opposite side of your room. Grabbing the stool, he pulls it out and sits down. He then gestures languidly with his palm extended, silently inviting you to sit across from him on the edge of your mattress.

Abundantly cautious, you quietly study his face as you sink down onto your unmade bed. Your voice drips with suspicion when you ask, “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” Hoseok chuckles with a shake of his head and an admittedly devilish grin. He runs his palms over the thighs of his joggers, praying he’ll be able to shed them soon — just not too soon. “That’s precisely the point, petal.”

His words clearly haven’t sunk in yet, so you cross your arms over your chest and one leg over the other. Then, you wait — albeit not patiently — for an explanation he’s not going to offer.

Hoseok tilts his head to the side as he stares back at you. On the nights when you actually expect to see him, you tend to be more dolled up than you are now. He understands that, but he can’t figure out what you meant when you called yourself a mess. You may not be wearing the fatal lingerie from that recycled photo, but that fact doesn’t make him want to unwrap the gift in front of him any less.

Doesn’t make him want to tease you any less, either.

“Well, then,” he starts simply with a shrug, “Show me.”

You might be genuinely puzzled by this, but then again, you might be fucking with him now, too. You swallow, blink back at him all slow and cute. “Show you what, exactly?”

Hoseok leans back against your vanity and rests his elbows on the tabletop. His tongue darts out to wet his lips before he answers, and the way your hungry eyes follow its path isn’t lost on him. Though he won’t show his cards just yet, he’s dying to give you every sick little thing you want — so long as you open that pretty mouth of yours and speak it into existence.

Until then, he’s prepared to coax it out of you.

“Show me how you want me to touch you.”

Your eyebrows raise. That cotton candy blush sweeps over your cheeks again and it takes a conscious effort not to palm his own dick through his pants. He wonders if you taste like cotton candy, too.

A few moments stagger past while the two of you sit at an impasse, simply staring at one another in tension-riddled silence. He’s determined not to buckle, though that little pout of yours would normally have him on his knees by now. He’ll gladly be your toy any other night of the week, but this time, he’s not backing down.

With a tiny huff, you stand up on wobbly knees. Your arms cross over your stomach as you reach for the hem of your shirt, then you pull them back up slowly, taking your shirt with them. It’s not a sight he’ll ever get tired of — not one he ever takes for granted, either — watching the way your tits bounce when their only covering slips up and away.

When it really comes down to it, though, it’s what comes next that really turns him feral.

Your nimble fingers work out the knotted drawstring at the waistband of your sweatpants; Hoseok is all but drooling with anticipation. No late night photo of your ass could ever replicate the effect that the real thing has on him. There’s no comparison, no substitute. He groans without meaning to when that thick fabric slides down your silky thighs and lands with a muffled sound at your feet.

As he suspected, there’s no black lace to be found underneath. Hoseok feels validated, but more importantly, he feels his dick twitch against the confines of his pants when he sees the faint gloss of arousal on the upper-most part of your inner thighs. He tears his eyes away and follows your legs all the way down when you bend to pull your discarded sweats off your ankles.

He’s not sure if he’s capable of speech, so he doesn’t instruct you further. Instead, he opts to observe with a clenched jaw as you sit down on the edge of your bed. Once your bare ass meets the duvet, you push yourself back until there’s enough room for your legs. Your heels come to rest in front of you, but you keep your knees together — still hiding.

Really, he’s on the brink of begging. Hoseok can’t let it show, though. He fixes his dark-eyed stare on you and smirks, hoping one look is enough to prompt those perfect legs to spread. When they actually do, he swallows down a growl.

Fuck.

Your face and your pussy are tied for first, both the most angelic thing Hoseok’s ever fucking seen. Inside his mouth, he captures his tongue between the tips of his teeth to keep it to himself. There isn’t a part of you he doesn’t want to savor. Nowhere on your body he doesn’t want to nip at, suckle and mark.

Leaning your weight onto one hand, you slide the other down your navel. Then, his eyes follow it as it trails over the soft hair he’s told you a thousand times he doesn’t mind; but which is likely the reason you look so self-conscious now. Your hand stops to rest just above your clit and Hoseok doesn’t know if it’s nerves or showmanship that justifies the pause.

“Go on,” he sounds casual when he says it as if this isn’t killing him any less than it is you. “Prove that you meant what you say.”

Finally. Movement.

The tip of your middle finger dips down between your folds, and Hoseok can hear how thoroughly you’ve drenched yourself. He can hear your little mewls, too, as your fingertip wades through your wet heat, then travels back up to your clit. Slow spirals follow, underscored by breathy moans.

“Shit,” you sigh as your eyes flutter and your head falls back. Is that really all you’ve got to say? You push up slightly onto your heels, swirl your hips in microscopic circles opposite to your finger’s ministrations.

Hoseok knows it’s not enough for you. Your greedy pussy is screaming for more; he hears it loud and clear from his spot several meters away. It begs to be filled, knuckle-deep, and craves teasing pressure at an angle that’s difficult for you to meet on your own. He doesn’t move to help you, though. He just lets you try to mimic the way his longer digits make you feel.

It’s frustrating, sitting there with his hands kept to himself. If he’s not going to wield them against you, his only other instinct is to tend to the painfully hard dick leaking pre-cum inside his boxers. Unfortunately, it’s your touch he wants, not his own. Maybe if he gets you talking, you’ll unravel faster and earn a reward.

“I wanna see you finger-fuck yourself,” Hoseok’s gruff voice surprises you and causes your doe eyes to snap open. They lock in on his face, clearly flustered by his assertiveness. “Stretch that pretty pussy for me, petal. Need to know you can take it when I finally let you have my cock.”

You sound like an angel when you sigh like that. Hoseok grits his teeth and swallows hard. It dawns on him then that he may be torturing himself more than he’s torturing you. Every muscle in his body is threatening to mutiny, but he refuses to indulge their cries to move. Thankfully, you do.

As your finger penetrates your hole for the first time, Hoseok’s can’t decide which sound is his favorite: the moan that starts in the depths of your chest and only builds as it exits your mouth, or the squelch of your cunt as you tease yourself. Maybe it’s the slight squeak of the bed frame when you begin to grind down against your hand, pushing your finger in deeper towards your detonator and increasing the pressure of the heel of your hand against your clit.

You whimper his name and that settles it — that little plea is the best noise he’s ever heard. “H-Hoseok!”

At this point, he’d be quick to soothe you, rush over to gift you that orgasm you’re so desperately chasing. Instead, he stays planted in his seat, tilts his head to the side, and hums fondly, “Yes, petal? You wanna cum?”

He gets an eager, desperate nod in response which is nowhere near good enough. Please just learn your lesson so he can fuck you the way you need to be fucked. Just — “Tell me, then. I’ve read your bark; show me your bite.”

You add a second finger, and your head drops forward. The pace increases and — fuck — you’re gushing. Your arousal catches the light as it drips down the length of your fingers and pools in the palm of your hand.

Please, please, please just say what you need.

“Agh!” Your frustration peaks and you wail, panting. A sheen of sweat breaks out on your forehead, matching the slick on your collarbones. “Want to cum. Fuck, I — ah! — I need to cum so fucking bad, Hoseok, p-please. I want to feel you in my stomach. I — mmnh — need you to fill me.”

Hoseok has options. He could continue to sit there, watching you fall apart, and try not to cream his fucking pants. He could break his cardinal rule and impale you on his dick before making you cum twice first. Or, he could tag you out; take care of you and guide you right off the edge.

He gets to his feet before he even settles on a plan. The distance between you closes quickly, and then he wraps his hand around your straining wrist. You crash back against the mattress with relief washing over your face — and you have no idea what that aid is going to look like. He settles on his knees, one between yours and the other on the outside of your right leg.

“Got you, petal,” Hoseok murmurs.

His left hand cradles the back of your neck and pulls you in for a sloppy kiss. As he does, his right hand slips between your thighs. You moan into his open mouth, and he swallows it. He accepts your tongue without resistance, too; the same way your pussy takes his middle and ring fingers. Thoroughly soaked, he bottoms out quickly at the knuckles.

Immediately, he angles his fingers upright, presses the tips against your g-spot, and sets a punishing pace. The babbling that pulls from you is barely louder than current below, but Hoseok gives credit where it’s due: You cry out, clear as a bell, “G-gonna make me cum all over your fingers. Feel so f-fucking good!”

And you do, hard. Your release spills over his hand and soaks the sheet underneath you as you writhe underneath him.

Hoseok kisses you, deep and desperate, but he can’t stop there. He presses his forehead against yours, looks you dead in the eye, and then he begs, “One more, petal. Gimme one more and then I’ll fuck you stupid, I promise.”

You clench your jaw tightly and nod. Thankfully, you don’t make him wait long. He watches your eyes screw shut, then your mouth fall open. When your second orgasm rips through you, you’re too far gone to make a sound. On otherwise dead air, it’s just the flurry of expletives tumbling out of Hoseok’s mouth and the river he’s fucked out of you.

When the aftershocks eventually peter out, you slump back on top of your doused duvet. You throw an arm over your face as you attempt to catch your breath. While you do, Hoseok’s hand finds a new occupation in caressing the curve of your hip. You can’t see the pride in his smile, but it’s there.

“Don’t think I’ve ever heard you say cum out loud before,” He grins. Your move your arm just slightly, but it’s enough for him to see the one eye you’ve cracked open to glare at him. He gently and repeatedly taps your hip bone with the pad of his thumb until your face dissolves into a hard-fought smile. “Hot as fuck, in case you were wondering.”

You give up your hiding place and let your arm drop down beside you. Better still, you raise an eyebrow and hum, “I wasn’t, but d’you wanna know what I am wondering?”

Hoseok captures your lips in another kiss, though he doesn’t linger the way he wants to. “Sure fuckin’ do,” he says on a weighty exhale. He means it; he’s dying to hear whatever it is you’re about to say.

It’s difficult with the way you’ve melted into your bed, but you still manage to tilt your head to the side. Though he can’t know for sure, Hoseok suspects that the way your tongue glides over your kiss-bitten lips is payback for the way he’d looked at you earlier. He’s certain that this little tease looks far better on you than on anyone else — himself included.

As you speak, you pinch the hem of his shirt between your thumb and middle finger. You trace the seam, tug it with a force that barely makes the fabric flutter but still threatens to knock him out. Shit, the toll you take on him when you use his own actions against him…

“Tell me why you’re not naked yet, Hoseok,” you drawl, letting the last syllable click in your mouth. The wicked glint in your eyes makes his dick twitch; he knows you felt it jump on the top of your thigh. “You gonna fuck me stupid, or are you a liar, too?”

In a frenzy, he grabs both sides of your face and kisses you hard. You open your mouth against his, keening as he licks into your mouth. It’s now that he realizes he was right about something else, too: there’s a faint taste of kkobuk chips that barely registers when his tongue savors yours.

With a melodramatic gasp, he pulls away in order to point an accusatory finger at you, “I fucking knew it!”

It’s clear by the slight furrow of your brows that you have no idea what he’s talking about. In short order, you ignore the self-satisfied grin he’s wearing. Then, you tangle your fingers in his hair and tug. You pull a growl out of him in the process, “Goddamn it. I love it when you do that.”

“Hoseok!” You whine as your restless hands paw at his still-clothed chest. The pout he loves so much takes up residency on your face, shuts him right up. “Clothes off! Please, please, please — I’m dying here.”

He, a bastard, blinks down at you with the most convincing bemusement he can muster at a time like this. He asks, “Dying? For what?”

You don’t bother to respond with words this time. Lips pursed with effort, you wrap your arms around him tight and pull him all the way down on top of you. Undeterred by the weight of his body on yours, your unchecked arousal empowers you to roll until you’ve got him pinned on his back beneath you.

That look in your eyes — that feral one, where your pupils swallow up your irises — tells him everything he needs to know. He lets your rabid hands rip his shirt over his head; his hands drop down until his thumbs hook under the waistbands of his joggers and boxers in tandem. Before he can begin to tug them down, you swat his hands away and take over.

“Shit,” he hums, impressed, “Did I awaken something in you, petal?”

You shoot him a smirk and the way his unrestrained dick leaps at the sight of you makes Hoseok consider the possibility that you’re telekinetic. Amusement clear on your face, you lift a hand to run the top of your index finger along the vein trailing down his length. You shrug, suddenly nonchalant, “You wanna sit here and discuss it, or do you wanna feel that cock twitch inside of me?”

Oh, fuck.

Now unspeakably eager, Hoseok sits up until he’s face to face with you. “Turn around,” he instructs, and you listen.

Once you’re on your knees with your back to him, you lean forward and stretch your arms out on the mattress in front of you. As you wait, head down and perfect ass up, Hoseok is momentarily hypnotized by the subtle way you swivel your hips. The way your cheeks jiggle, even with the slightest shift.

“Liar and a tease,” he sucks his teeth. “You really wanna be my downfall, don’t you, petal?”

You bend your neck to look over your shoulder at him, knowing full well that he dies a thousand times whenever you stare up at him from under your lashes like that. Jesus Christ, you’re a dream. He’d pinch himself, but he doesn’t have the time; you reach back between your spread legs and take his dick in your hand.

Rolling your wrist, you work his tip at a goddamn snail’s pace like you want him to drop dead behind you. He’s unable to keep from groaning, and he can’t stop his hips from rutting forward into your fist, either. You do him the favor of squeezing the crown tighter when you finally do let him go, hand sticky with pre-cum.

“Well then,” you echo his earlier statement with that familiar twinkling innocence in your eyes, “Show me how good I can have it.”

Part of Hoseok is stalling because he knows that he won’t last long. He’s been so impossibly hard for so long now, the way you grip him will have him blacked out and drooling in a matter of minutes. However, the rules he’s made for himself dictate that you have to finish three times before he gets to. And so, with that perverted sense of duty in mind, his hand picks up where yours left off.

You both groan when his tip slides through your folds — goddamn, he wants to drown in you later — but he goes mute the second he finally enters you.

“Oh, fuck. How are you thicker than last time?” you croak because you know his ego hasn’t hit the ceiling yet. Your heads slumps down towards your elbows like you’re dead already, halfway to buried in a mess of sheets. “Swear to God, I’ll get used to this someday.”

Hoseok grins even though you can’t see him do it. The pads of his thumbs find the Venus dimples sitting pretty above your ass. It’s arrogant — he knows this — but he likes to think they were made for him, placed intentionally where his hands can find them when he gets ahold of you.

Rubbing spirals at the base of your spine, he calls, “All good, petal?”

“Fuck me,” you answer.

And he does.

The first thrust tests the waters to make sure you’re actually able to comfortably take him and it’s not simply wishful thinking on your part. You’re impatient, though, and you push your hips back when his second thrust snaps forward. For a moment, Hoseok fears he’s gone blind. Thankfully, it’s temporary; just the haze that overtakes his fucked-out brain whenever he feels your velvet walls squeezing the life out of him.

You match his movements every time he grinds himself into you. Either you’re as desperate as he is to cum, or you know his unspoken rule and intend to kamikaze dive off the edge with him in tow.

Whatever your motivation is, he can’t keep his train of thought on track — not with the way your slick has coated his balls, which slap sickly against your clit when he drives himself into you; not with the sight of your ass bouncing so deliciously against his pelvis, more so the harder he fucks you.

“Thrust are getting a little sloppy there, Hoseok,” you lilt through gritted teeth. Your teasing is interrupted by a breathless moan, but you still persist, “You about to cum, baby?”

He’s holding on for dear life — to your hips, to the last shred of his resolve. He is going to cum, but not before you do.

“N-no. Could do this all night.”

You shriek when his fingers dig deeper into your doughy flesh and slam you down onto his cock; the force of your thighs colliding with his leaves him tingling.

Two things happen in such quick succession that Hoseok doesn’t have time to process them. There’s you, creaming on his cock with a wail. Then there’s you calling him a liar as your cunt flutters around him, forcing him to empty himself completely with a toe-curling groan.

Hoseok collapses in a heap behind you when he finally finds the strength to pull his still-twitching dick out of your pussy. A potent mix of your joint release spills out of you in his absence; he’s only graced with the sight of it in the split-second before you turn around and crawl back over to him. Unceremoniously, you drop yourself into the space next to him and rest your head on his heaving chest.

“So,” he sighs, thoroughly blissed. He glances down his nose at you as he gently unsticks strands of your hair from the layer of sweat on his chest. “What did we learn about mouths writing checks?”

You try to hide your smile when you roll your eyes up at him. You sound exhausted but thoroughly amused when you respond, “Ass better be able to cash them.”

Hoseok pats your ass cheek affectionately, gives it a light squeeze for good measure. “Damn straight, petal.”

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sassykinzonline · 29 days

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thank you @heavensculled for reminding me to make this post through your post.

okay so.

theres a reason that naruto specifically phrases his double-suicide the way he does: hes answering the question posed to him by itachi.

theres a misconception that naruto is stubborn and stupid. naruto is steadfast in his conviction, but like anyone who truly believes in something, he is always thinking deeper about what his convictions mean and how to get there. he also doesnt discount information or ideology just because of the source-- he is rather literate, likely due to his skills with empathy. we know this because of his conversation with nagato.

so if itachi, someone he knows to be extremely important to what he cares about and knows that person intimately, why would he discount itachi's perspective on it? and by the time he actually makes his proposal, he is now aware of itachi's truth and his true feelings.

recall that actually in the little gay heart-to-heart glitter space (GGS for short), naruto says hes "not gonna lose", not that he doesnt plan on dying. so obviously he has a different goal in mind than "live or die". we also know that before the GGS, this is how "blows are exchanged".

no kill shot from either side. although this was just said...

what can we gather from this? that a certain someone is full of shit, and naruto now has re-confirmed this (just like with "i spared your life on a whim"). but whats the reason naruto cant actually die?

so now naruto knows this. he also knows this after sakura is almost killed:

naruto also knows that an implicit part of the plan involves neverending pain that will only end with death, because its intended to bait all battle from every shinobi in one direction. this is the start of it:

as i previously joked about, naruto's confession/proposal is calling a bluff but also a way of stating his intentions. we know this because in the actual battle he says:

in summary, naruto's lovers' double suicide plan isnt about bending someone to his will. its the opposite. it's his final guess at putting together all the things he has understood until now, and presenting it as his position. this is the stand he is taking. it's a promise, because he never breaks his promises. part of the final battle is a test whether to see whether or not he can keep the promise alive:

why would you be mad at someone youre trying to kill for almost dying? hmm...i wonder.

in any case, naruto's final guess is the right one.

and he proves himself after all, and it's a happy moment...but not just for him.

#naruto #naruto analysis #sasuke #pro naruto uzumaki #naruto uzumaki #uzumaki naruto #sasunaru #narusasu #sasunarusasu #naruto x sasuke #theres more i could add about how itachi is basically what neji was supposed to be for hinata and naruto #but this was already long and unfocused #stop the naruto slander

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nebulablakemurphy · 1 year

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Twenty Questions (Part 1)

Summary: For Y/N’s 20th birthday Haymitch gifts her 20 questions, that he has to answer honestly, no matter what. Mentions of sex/forced pregnancy. Set in the Moves & Countermoves universe.

Haymitch Abernathy x Fem!Reader

Haymitch finds Y/N at the dining room table, slapping down her present beside her half eaten lunch. “Happy birthday.”

“Oh.” Y/N reaches for the envelope, warily. More instructions from President Snow?

“It’s from me.” Haymitch huffs, pouring himself a glass of gin.

From him. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“Well you got me something so,” he raises his cup to her.

“Thank you, Haymitch.” He turned thirty a couple months ago and Y/N gifted her husband a rather large assortment of alcohol. Y/N opens the gift, a piece of paper with the words ‘20 questions.’

“Since you’re so interested in yours truly, this is an open invitation to ask me anything you want. Twenty times, I’ll answer honestly.” By this time next year we’ll be neck deep in diapers, or dead.

Y/N smiles, softly. “First question, why are you doing this?”

“Because I-” love you. I love you and there’s no fucking way around it. “If you’re gonna have my baby, you deserve to know me.”

“I think I know you.”

Haymitch sinks back a bit more in his chair. “You know me better than most people would ever want to, I’ll give you that.”

“Do you want to have a baby with me?”

There it is, straight for the jugular. “That’s not a question, that’s a trap.”

“Tell me why,” Y/N laughs.

“If I say no, it will upset you. If I say yes, it will upset you. I can’t win.”

“It’s not about winning, it’s about how you feel.”

“I feel like,” he takes a moment to look at her, really look at her. “If I was just some guy and you were just some girl, who hadn’t managed to piss off Snow to the point of no return. We wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“That is not an answer.”

“That’s how I would want to have a baby with you, or anybody for that matter.” Keep your emotions out of it. “If we were- It wouldn’t be dangerous for the poor kid getting brought into all this. We wouldn’t be rushed by orders to do this now, we would have time. And you could choose me…or hell, you could not choose me. Either way it would be your choice.”

“You think I wouldn’t choose you?”

Haymitch chuckles, bitterly. “Nobody in their right mind would choose me.”

“I might’ve.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Why?”

“You’re burning through these questions pretty quick, angel.” Haymitch warns, tapping at his tumbler.

“If I run out, I’ll just have to torture the answers out of you.”

“You wouldn’t hurt me.” Haymitch calls her bluff. “Not on purpose.”

“Have I hurt you, Haymitch?”

Fuck. “Hurting you hurts me.”

“You’ve never hurt me.”

“Not on purpose.” He agrees, “but you’ve been hurt by things we had to do.”

“That’s not the same.” Y/N shakes her head.

“It is, whether you’re ready to admit that to yourself or not-”

“Is that why you threw up the first time?”

The first time, that terrible night with those damn cameras. “I threw up because of how you looked at me.”

“How did I look at you?”

“Like you wanted me to help you and I couldn’t.”

“I’d never been that close to anyone, ever. It was intimidating, but I trusted you.”

“I tried to make it good for you.”

“You did!” Y/N raises her brows, “you made me cum like four times.”

Haymitch grins, “next question.”

“What’s the best sex you’ve ever had?”

“Best I’ve ever had…”

“Doesn’t have to be with me.” Y/N says, holding up both hands.

“No, it was you.” He scoffs, downing his drink and pouring another.

“Which time?”

“You’re gonna kill me for saying it.”

“No, please, Haymitch,” she pouts. “Tell me.”

Being ‘just friends for now’ didn’t stop them from kissing whenever they wanted, sleeping in the same bed, or screwing every chance they had. “My birthday.”

“Oh,” Y/N purses her lips. She’d taken one of those stupid pills from the Capitol and rode him to kingdom come. “What did you like about it?”

“That you wanted me.”

“I do want you.”

“You have me.” Dammit, get a hold of yourself.

“If I have you, then you have me.” I’m yours…if you want.

Haymitch sighs, “what number are we on?”

“Like four or five.”

“Four or five?” She’s trying to pull a fast one on him. “Gotta be at least ten.”

“No, they don’t all count. We were just talking!”

“Fine, we’ll only count five. But from here on, they all count.”

“Deal.” Y/N agrees, she can still cover a lot of ground. “What is your worst fear?”

“There’s a few, like running out of liquor.”

“Of course,” she nods.

“But the worst would be losing someone I care about.” My worst fear is losing you.

“Yeah.” Y/N swallows hard, “me too.” He has spared her from losing her family, the way he did, giving up pieces of himself to do it. “Do you ever regret what you did to help me?”

“No.” No matter what happens, he doesn’t want her to end up like him. All alone…until now.

“Next one’s hard.”

“Hard to ask or answer?”

“Both.”

Haymitch narrows his eyes, “shoot.”

“How do you feel about me?” She aims to kill.

“I feel like you know.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“You’re my friend. Best one I’ve got for miles. You are hands down the most stubborn person I have ever met and I like that about you.” Haymitch admits.

“What is your least favorite thing about me?”

That you ripped my heart open and shoved yourself inside. “You never stay on your side of the bed.”

Part 2

#thg haymitch #haymitch x reader #haymitch abernathy x reader #haymitch abernathy #haymitch abernathy x you #haymitch abernathy fanfic #haymitch abernathy x y/n #haymitch fanfic #haymitch abernathy x yn #haymitch x y/n

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sydsaint · 2 months

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My sweet himbo, I love you <3

Summary: With his tag match against Tony D and Stacks looming, Bron looks to an old friend to help deal with Tony's cousin Adriana.

It's chaos at the end of NXT's weekly taping. Bron and Baron are fresh off a win against Chase University and about to head backstage when Tony D'Angelo and Stacks attack them.

Baron handles Tony inside the ring and leaves Bron to go after Stacks. Breakker chases Tony's lackey around the ring, quickly gaining on the smaller man.

"Woah! Hold on there big guy." Suddenly Tony's cousin, Adriana Rizzo, steps into Bron's path, forcing Breakker to come to a halt.

"Move out of the way!" Bron glares down at Adriana as Stacks hides behind her.

Adriana stands her ground and shield Stacks from Bron's wrath. "I don't think so, big fella." She insists with a smug laugh. "You want, Stacks? Then you's gon have to go through me."

Bron huffs an annoyed sigh and stares at Stacks over Adriana's shoulder. But Breakker knows better then to put his hands on a woman. Even if it is just to move her out of the way.

In the ring, Tony escapes from Baron after getting a few hits in and regroups with his so-called, family. The trio all group up at the bottom of the ramp and laugh at Baron and Bron.

"Enjoy those belts while you still can boys!" Tony taunts the pair. "Because you ain't gonna have them for much longer."

Bron joins Baron in the ring and the pair lock eyes with Stacks and Tony. Aggressive glares are exchanged before Stacks and Tony head back up the ramp with Adriana between them and the champs.

Once they are out of sight, Bron and Baron head back up the ramp as well with their titles in hand.

"Man! What the hell happened out there, Bron?" Corbin confronts Bron back in the locker room. "I thought you had Stacks?" He asks Breakker.

"Tony's cousin stepped in my way." Bron explains. "I was gonna spear the idiot through the barricade. But what was I supposed to do? Take the girl out with him?" He huffs in frustration.

Corbin groans and rubs his head. "You should have called her bluff, man." He insists. "She would have moved out of the way."

"And if she didn't?" Bron protests. "Come on man. I don't put my hands on women." He reminds Corbin. "And neither do you. So don't act like you'd of done something, Baron." He adds.

Corbin sighs but nods. "Yeah, you're right." He grits his teeth. "It's bullshit! How are we supposed to teach Tony and Stacks a lesson if they're just going to hide behind Ariana from now on?" He complains.

"I don't suppose you've got a convenient cousin laying around?" Bron jokes to lighten the mood.

"Hey, you're from the wrestling family." Baron chuckles. "I should be asking you that question."

Bron laughs with Corbin then an idea pops into his head. "Well, I don't have any cousins. But I do have a friend that might be willing to help us out." He suggests to Corbin. "She's a Smackdown superstar, has been for a while. But we've been friends for a long time."

"Yeah?" Baron perks up a bit at the prospect of the Adriana problem being an easy fix. "Who is it? Anyone I might know?" He asks Bron.

"Depends." Bron shrugs. "You know a, YN LN?" He asks Corbin.

Baron chokes on his spit at the mention of your name and begins shaking his head. "Her? Bron, hell no!" he protests. "That woman is pure evil! You're friends with her?" He looks at Bron in disbelief.

"So you have met, YN." Bron chuckles. "She's not that bad, Corbin. And like I said, we're old friends." He adds. "I'll give her a call and see if she can meet us before the next taping starts in a few hours." Bron pulls out his phone. "She lives nearby and shouldn't be traveling for Smackdown right now."

Corbin begrudgingly nods and watches Bron dial your number. He watches Breakker have a brief conversation that sounds friendly enough for a few minutes. Bron hangs up the phone a few minutes later with a satisfied smile and nods to Corbin.

"She's on her way." Bron smiles to himself, mentally patting himself on the back for his quick thinking.

"Great." Corbin grumbles to himself. "Invite the devil to our locker room why don't you." He huffs.

Bron laughs at Corbin's foul mood and pats his friend on the arm. "Man, what did YN do to you?" He asks Corbin.

"She hasn't done anything to me personally." Corbin replies. "But I've seen that girl make grown men run away from her. She's scary." He shudders.

"That ain't the YN I know." Bron replies. "The YN I know is a total sweetheart. Yeah, she can be a little manipulative. But she's always had my back when I've needed someone in my corner." He smiles to himself.

Corbin raises a brow at Bron, sensing that there might be some lingering feelings for you on Breakker's part. "So, were the two of you like a thing? Or?" He asks Bron.

"Me and YN? Nah, I never managed to work up the courage to ask her out. Like you said, she's intimidating." Breakker laughs at himself.

Around an hour later a knock sounds at the door and Bron jumps to answer it. Baron watches cautiously as Bron answers the door and you step into the locker room.

"Bron! How's my favorite himbo doing?" You bounce into the room and instantly go in for a hug.

"YN!" Bron happily pulls you in for a hug and shuts the door at the same time. "I've been good. Tag champs now with Corbin here. Which is why I called you up." He explains.

You let go of Bron and turn your head to the other side of the room where Corbin is sitting. "Baron." You greet him dryly.

"Hey, YN. Nice to see you again." Baron nods at you in a friendly but clearly nervous manner.

"Tag champs, huh? Nice going, Bron!" You turn back to Bron with a cheeky smile. "Now. What can I help you and baldy with?" You ask him.

Bron laughs at your shot against Corbin and explains the situation with Tony and his fam. You listen carefully and nod along with everything Bron is explaining. He finishes up his explanation and you nod.

"So Tony thinks that he can use his cousin to get a one-up on my boy for his title belt, huh?" You rise to your feet and crack your knuckles. "Well, we can't have that, now can we? I assume that you two can get Tony and Stacks back out to the ring?" You ask Bron.

"Yeah, shouldn't be a problem." Bron nods.

You nod and roll your shoulder to loosen them up. "Perfect. You two get the two stooges out in the ring and ready to rumble. And I'll make sure that Miss Rizzo ain't a problem this time." You grin to yourself.

Bron and Corbin do as told and head out to the ring when NXT's next taping starts. Tony and Stacks come out to the ring to confront the champs, but Adriana isn't with them. A fight breaks out after some harsh words are exchanged and the pair are able to dispatch Tony and Stacks this time.

"I wonder how YN faired." Corbin asks Bron once Tony and Stacks are retreating from their beating.

As if on cue, you drag Adriana out to the top of the ramp by the air. She kicks and screams but you don't let up on her. "Hey! Tony D!" You catch D'Angelo's attention. "You think you can get your cousin to help you beat on on my man? Fuck no!" You yank Adriana up by the hair. "Try some cheap shit like that again and Adriana here won't be walking right for the rest of her sorry excuse for a career. Caphiche?" You make fun of his accent as the cherry on top.

You let Adriana go for Tony and Stacks to collect. They rush up the ramp to help their girl and you walk past them to the ring. You head up the stairs and slip into the ring with Corbin and Bron.

"Well." You gesture to the top of the ramp with a self-satisfied smile. "I don't think that she'll be a problem for you boys again." You laugh. "But just in case the bitch didn't learn her lesson, I'll stick around for a couple of weeks."

"Thanks, YN." Bron grins and slings an arm over your shoulder playfully. "I knew that I could count on you."

You giggle and hug his side. "Oh, anything for you, Bron." You joke. "Corbin. Close your mouth man." You add with snark when you notice Baron's jaw hanging ajar.

"Right." Corbin coughs. "Sorry, YN."

#wwe #wwe x reader #bron breakker #wwe fanfic #wwe fanfiction #wwe fic #wrestling #wrestling fanfic #wrestling fic #nxt #nxt x reader #nxt fanfic #nxt fic #syd's wrestling fics #bron breakker x reader

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frenchkisstheabyss · 9 months

Text

♡SKZ React to Finding Out About Your Piercing In A…Certain Area♡

♡ I couldn't ask for a more unique assortment of requests to be sent my way. I love creating content for you guys. Thank you @lieslovefantasy for the request & I hope you find comfort in it ♡

♡ Pairings: ot8!skz x fem!afab!reader

♡ Genre: fluffy/suggestive

♡ Summary: You're nervous to tell the guy you're dating about your genital piercing, fearful of what he might say, but his actual reaction surprises you...

Warnings: This entire post focuses on genital piercings (nothing graphic or detailed) but if convos about vaginas make you uncomfortable then this isn't the post for you. There's also expression of sexual urges but this contains zero sexual contact ♡

I'm not a pierced gal but, if you're at all curious about it, you can find a guidebook here put together by a pro who's been doing it for ages. Stay safe babes

There's a spicier version here ♡

♡ Han's reaction can only be described as utter confusion. He hears what you're saying but it takes him a minute to process what you actually mean. None of this is because he finds it weird or unattractive that you got pierced. It's just that, up until this conversation, he didn't even know you could do that. He's genuinely fascinated though and, after a minute or so, he's staring at you with this wholesome curiosity in his eyes, like you're some work of art, eager to learn all there is to know about this new detail that makes the girl he's falling for even more interesting than she already is ♡

♡ Seungmin's convinced that you're joking. It's not unusual for you guys to say the most random thing that pops into your head just to see how the other will react so he decides to call your bluff, asking to see it since you really have it. You show him with no hesitation, holding your breath in anticipation of the usual smart ass comment leaving his lips and making you wish you hadn't told him, only it doesn't. Instead of saying something off the wall, he compliments your choice of jewelry and tells you how well it suits you. Yes, it's true that he typically takes great joy in being a pain in the ass about things but when it comes to you and your body he never wants you to question how loved it is by him ♡

♡ Felix senses right away that you're worried sick about how he'll feel. Interlocking his fingers with yours, he plants soft kisses along the back of your hand. He smiles at you, warm and gentle, assuring you that there's nothing you need to be nervous about. While he's absolutely clueless when it comes to piercings like this, it doesn't make him view you any differently than he already did. You're still the same charming, intelligent, funny girl that he has been and will always be obsessed with. Whenever you're comfortable showing it to him he'll be giddy about having the chance to see it. There's no doubt in his mind that he'll find it as beautiful as he does the rest of you ♡

♡ I.N has this friend who's best friends with a girl whose older brother's girlfriend got the same piercing as you which naturally means that, through information passed down to him, he's basically an expert on the topic. One thing though, he heard it doesn't really hurt. Something something about adrenaline. Is that true? How'd it feel? He apologizes, cuddling up to you, figuring you probably don't want to have flashbacks of that part. Either way, adrenaline high or not, he thinks you're so cool for getting it done. It's a decision that takes a lot of courage and knowledge of your identity to get done which he admires. You are, without a doubt, the most badass girl he's ever dated ♡

♡ Hyunjin has actually seen female genital piercings before. An artist friend of his did a photo series on it last summer meant to educate people on the 1001 different reasons that women choose to get them done. For some of them it had cultural or personal significance, for others, it was a spur of the moment decision they made simply because they wanted to do it. Which one is it for you? You don't have to tell him if you aren't ready but, if you choose to, you'll have his undivided attention and he'll cherish every word that leaves your lips the same way he always does. The fact that the two of you have gotten to the point that you feel safe enough to be this vulnerable has him getting low key sentimental ♡

♡ Lee Know isn't trying to be a perv or anything. He just doesn't understand how you could feel nervous about telling him something that's so insanely fucking hot. From what he's learned from 5 minutes of intently scrolling the internet, there's a chance that your piercing would make intimacy far more sensitive for you than it is for the average woman. That mischievous grin on his face says that he's more than willing to help you test it out if you haven't already. You roll your eyes when he throws out the idea that maybe he should get one too. He insists that his pain threshold is more than adequate to make getting it no big deal. After being reminded that it's not a competition, he calms down, his mind drifting back to how much fun it'll be to experiment with yours ♡

♡ Bang Chan admittedly has a hard time switching out of dad mode sometimes, often forgetting that he's with you and not his members. His instinct to make sure you're alright has him asking you how your healing went, how the experience was for you overall, and if there's anything he should or shouldn't do when you're being intimate that way he can make sure you only feel pleasure when the two of you are together. As touching as it is that he cares so much, you're a big girl and you feel safe enough with him to express your needs when they come up. You kiss him, promising him everything's fine but you'll let him know if anything changes, and he snaps out of it. He may be prone to worrying but it's only because you're so crazy important to him ♡

♡ Changbin's hugging you from behind when you tell him and this admission only makes him hug you tighter. He kisses your cute lil cheek and throws out a casual, "Oh...nice." It kind of breaks your brain that he's so unphased by finding this out. In the past when you've told people there's been some sort of reaction but you're pretty sure you'd get a stronger reaction out of him if you asked what he wanted for dinner. You question if that's all he has to say and he just shrugs, feeling that there's nothing else to say. He adores everything about the way that you express yourself externally. From the way you do your makeup and hair to the way you dress, he's always drooling over whatever you do. Anything you add to that wonderful base you have is just a bonus ♡

#stray kids x reader #stray kids x you #stray kids x female reader #bang chan x reader #changbin x reader #lee know x reader #hyunjin x reader #lee felix x reader #seungmin x reader #jeongin x reader #han jisung x reader #stray kids headcanons

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keets-writing-corner · 3 months

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One thing I noticed is that Lucifer doesn't disassociate when singing, and what's one common factor in his songs? Charlie, so I like to imagine that in these instances he's so focused on her that his depression temporarily takes a back seat because he loves his kid so much that he forgets why he's sad in the first place.

ooh I like your headcanons!

hmm I guess we could look at this a couple of different ways (some of what I'm about to say comes from personal experience which may be different than what some other people experience so idk feel free to agree or disagree with my musings)

So dissociation doesn't [technically] affect your ability to speak, it affects your ability to focus. The way I was talking about it in my analysis was that it nerfed Lucifer's conversation comprehension, with him being unable to follow along the entire time (and consequently either has NO idea what anyone is talking about or only gets half the picture).

The only times Lucifer really fumbles his words is when he gets nervous around Charlie either cuz he's trying to make a good impression

Or when he realizes his depression is biting him in the ass and he just missed crucial pieces of information and cannot bluff his way through the conversation

Although shout out to that one time we caught him realizing he needed to bluff and stumbled a little

But otherwise, he articulates himself perfectly fine, cuz again, dissociation isn't about speaking ability so much as it is about focus. Even in my bouts of dissociation I can verbalize myself just fine for the most part, it's whether or not what I have to say is relevant to the conversation, which uh Lucifer also showed off at some point when he thought Charlie was asking him about the hotel's appearance rather than her actual plan to redeem sinners and comments on the railings. (Or idk there is another interpretation that he was avoiding the subject, maybe it was both he disassociated while Charlie was explaining everything to him but did catch that she wanted to redeem sinners at some point, but didn't quite understand what she was asking until she clarified? he didn't seem surprised when she did clarify so I'm assuming he ended up catching it at least once)

So I'm bringing this up because it ends up being kinda hard to tell whether or not he is or is not disassociating when he sings, cuz the dissociation wouldn't affect the singing at all.

When he's having a sing battle against Alastor, sure he's articulating himself well and presenting his points, but we don't actually know whether or not he's following along what Alastor is saying. Honestly, Lucifer vs Alastor just seemed like 2 territorial chickens yelling at each other trying to be louder than the other one. Maybe Lucifer is catching everything cuz his jealous and rage helped him focus for once, maybe he's not catching everything but he doesn't need to catch everything to know that he doesn't like Alastor and he doesn't need to focus to tell Alastor how much he dislikes him.

But what about the other two songs, "More than Anything" and "Finale"?

He is technically outright having a conversation with Charlie in the first one and in the second one, he seems fully aware of the context of the situation and is focusing more on a lifting spirits role

Well it could be a lot of things I think. I don't think it's that the depression or the sadness took a back seat, that's still present. From my own experiences, it is possible to get yourself to focus in a dissociative episode when the subject matter is something you're passionate about or in Lucifer's case, someone that he loves. We know the dissociation was unfortunately strong enough that it was making him miss out on a lot of things Charlie (aforementioned loved one) was telling him, especially in the beginning.

But looking at "More than Anything" what changed in that scene? He was with Charlie the entire episode but that was the first scene where he really managed to hold a conversation. I think it was a combination of: Okay his baby girl is there and she NEEDS him, and he opens up as to why he's hesitant about her plan. He's not explicit with the mention of his trauma, but trauma does make someone more alert. I'd also like to give a special shout out to @in-fair-verona-we-set-our-scene who made these lovely tags on my analysis post

Specifically, I want to talk about that they mention that Lucifer is being a lot more genuine in his song with Charlie, aka he's not masking. He's not trying to hide or bluff how he's doing. He's not putting on a show, he's not being goofy or larger than life, he's being genuine and his genuine self is tired, sad and resigned. Let me tell you, my dissociation is 100% worse when I'm masking.

I think in "More Than Anything" a mix of things are going on, he's not needing to mask for a minute which boosts the focus, he's opening up about trauma and it's being gently received which boosts focus, and he's talking to someone he loves about something he was once passionate about which boosts focus. So ye! It could entirely be that in that song he was not dissociating!

As far as "Finale" I legitimately can't really tell whether or not he is? He's not really having a conversation with anyone, he's just trying to uplift his daughter, and again, in my experiences, dissociation doesn't necessarily nerf your ability to speak. We also know that he knows how to put on a show even in the depths of the dissociation like in "Hell's Greatest Dad" soooo as for that song... -shrug-?????

There is an element here that we have to take into account. Hazbin Hotel is a traditional musical, so we must look at a theater saying, "When the emotion becomes too strong for speech, you sing." Which is more or less what happened in all the songs Lucifer was a part in, so there's definitely some meta technical things going on in that a song wouldn't be very dramatic if the person singing it was dissociating the whole time? I mean I guess it could be done, I've just never seen it? Usually the musical number has to be clear in its purpose. The protagonist of Dear Even Hansen can sing just fine when any other speaking parts he fumbles with his words a lot.

AAAAAAALLL of this to say: Does Lucifer stop disassociating when he sings? -shrugs- I think it really depends on the context, but I wouldn't at all be surprised cuz high emotion can lead to greater focus in a moment. Although it's really cute to think that he doesn't dissociate cuz singing with Charlie is just that much of a boost for him cuz he loves his wittle girl

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bouncybongfairy · 8 months

Text

Woodstock 1999

Rick Sanchez x Fem Reader

Summary: After attending a house party, thrown by your friend Summer, you end up meeting Rick. While making small talk, you tell him about the Woodstock 99' documentary that you had just seen and that you wish you could have seen Korn from that festival. Rick is confident that you wouldn’t be able to handle yourself in a crowd like that. When you disagree, Rick tries to call your bluff. By taking you to an alternative reality where Woodstock 99 is taking place.

Word Count: 3k+

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You were sweeping the floors, finishing up your shift at the grocery store you worked at. It was Thursday and the store had been relatively quiet for most of the night. Only a couple more customers were wandering the isles, picking up last-minute items.. You were pretty tired, this started as a summer job but you ended up keeping it throughout the school year. It was nice to have extra money for clothes and outings with your friends, it almost made up for how depleting work was. You heard the assistance bell ring from the register, which prompts you to run over. You were pleasantly surprised to see Summer and her mom, you share most of your classes with the redhead. She has actually spent the night at your house a couple of times and vice-versa. You give her a quick mom and start scanning her items. Her mom was going on and on about how all the bottles of wine were for a family event, you looked over at Summer who was rolling her eyes. You held back a chuckle and continued to make polite conversation with Beth. After you bagged their groceries, Beth walked back to the car but Summer stayed back to talk.

“So obviously the family event thing was a lie but I am throwing a party tomorrow while my parents are doing this couple retreat thing. You should totally come,” Summer said.

“Yeah that sounds really fun, did you already invite half the school?” you joked while wiping down the counter.

“A lot of people are coming, yeah, but it’ll still be fun,” she said.

“Yeah for sure, do you want me to bring anything?” you asked.

“Just your hot ass and maybe a bottle would be cool. My mom is calling. I got to go but I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said while walking away.

Normally a house party isn’t really your scene but you were feeling kinda excited. For the past two months, you’ve been in a bit of a funk. Only going to school and work, not feeling up to doing your make-up most days, and dressing pretty bummy. You felt like a good party would break you out of that. Summer and you had a lot of mutual friends so you knew you would have company no matter what. You checked out the last customer and locked the door behind them. You grabbed some stuff for your lunch tomorrow and two bottles of Red Berry Ciroc. The store was owned by an older gentleman who sadly had dementia, his 29-year-old son now runs the store. As long as you gave him an extra ten for each bottle you bought he would look the other way when it came to age. You took an Uber home and immediately got in the shower. Scrubbing all the sweat off your body and lathering your hair in shampoo as Molly Kate Kestne’s Prom Queen blasted through a speaker. You stayed in the hot water until you felt at risk of passing out. You give your mom a kiss on the cheek, wishing her a good night before going to your bedroom. After turning on Jersey Shore as background noise, you fall asleep in your towel; completely worn out by your school and work week.

When you woke up, you were surprised that you slept through the night considering you didn’t get too comfortable before falling asleep. You were feeling extremely well-rested, it wasn’t until you were halfway done with your hair that you remembered about Summer’s party. You were super excited, you had this Saturday off which meant you didn’t have to worry about having a hangover. You throw on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt and start gathering things into your book bag. Once you got to school, you couldn’t stop counting down the hours until you could leave. It felt like years had gone by once it was finally time for lunch. You were sitting with a group of friends who were all talking about Summer’s party. Maybe it’s because you have a job but your friends seem a lot less mature over these past couple of months. It seemed like if it wasn’t posted or extremely extra then it didn’t happen. I don’t know, it just felt like they did everything for shock value or clout. You thought it was weird how upset they would get if they didn’t look good in a video of them taking a shot or not taking a picture with the blunt before it was smoked. Sometimes you wish you could record how they act during those times and show them later. You pick at your salad, tuning out of their conversation until the bell rings.

Once the last period ended you bolted out of the front doors and made your way home. You flat ironed your hair and started applying a bit of makeup. Rummaging through your closet, you ended up wearing a tube top and a pair of baggy cargo jeans. You grabbed one of the biggest purses you could find grabbed a tee-shirt and wrapped the two vodka bottles in a way that avoids any clanking sound. Your pen, make-up bag, charger, and a couple of other items. You end up walking to Summer’s house seeing that it’s only a 20-minute walk. When you got there, the sun was just barely setting and teenagers were flocking to the house. The house was practically shaking due to how loud the music was. When you walked in you practically had to wave a cloud out of your face. Summer immediately noticed you when you walked in and came over to greet you.

“Hey! Oh my gosh, I’m so glad you came!” Summer said.

“Yeah me too, I needed this really bad. Also.. here are those bottles,” you said, taking the vodka out of your purse.

“Wow, I didn’t think you were gonna bring anything. I’m gonna chill these,” she said, grabbing the bottles and leading you into the kitchen. When you walked in Rick was leaning against the countertop. She shoved the bottles deep into the freezer, in hopes of speeding up the process.

“If you can’t drink -burp- the liquor at room temperature you’re probably not mature enough to be drinking at all,” Rick said, taking a swig from his flask.

“What if we just prefer it chilled? Just because you can doesn’t mean you shouldn’t” you point out.

“Yeah, Grandpa and after I smoke I don’t like the way hot ass liquor feels on my throat,” Summer said, closing the fridge door.

“Doesn’t matter whether your liquor is cold or hot, your party is gonna suck since you put a ban on any of my friends coming. Seems a little like bigotry in my opinion,” Rick said.

Summer ignored him and led you to her bedroom where a girl from your school Tricia Lange was packing a bowl. You asked Summer if it was okay to leave the party unattended. She joked ‘That’s what Morty is for’ which made you and Tricia laugh. She offered you greens which flattered you, after cornering the bowl you handed it to Summer. Coming off a two-week tolerance break, the weed was hitting you fast and hard. You tilted your head up and blew the smoke up into the air. Tricia complimented you on how pretty you looked which made you blush because.. hello its Tricia Lange, one of the hottest girls in your grade. You guys were making small talk when Summer pulled out a pink crystal and started crushing it into a fine powder.

“What is that?” you asked.

“It’s a Kalaxian crystal, it’s pretty mild like snorting molly kinda,” Summer said, lining up the power.

“I.. don’t know about that,” you said looking at the powder suspiciously.

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about it showing up on a drug test or anything. It’s not detectable with Earth’s drug tests,” Tricia said, setting her hand on your shoulder.

“No, well that’s good to know actually but imma need to see you take a bump before I do,” you said.

“You humor me,” Summer said, using a hundred-dollar bill to snort the powder, her eyes turning a baby blue.

Summer passed the tray to Tricia who mimicked her action. Your heart was racing as her manicured hands passed the tray over to you. Not wanting to come off as a prude, you took the rolled-up bill into your hand and brought it up to your nose. You sniffed the powder into your nose and coughed a little because the taste was so foreign. The two girls lead you downstairs where the party is now packed and a bit unhinged. Couples making out against any available wall space they could find, groups of people who were surrounding a person smoking out of a gravity bong. Drugs by Lil Aaron was blaring out of several speakers, drowning out almost every other sound. The three of you were dancing together in the living room with several of your peers. You were feeling so euphoric and magical; like you could float off the ground if you really tried. It was then that Summer reminded you of the Ciroc bottles that were in the freezer. All three of you took a shot and cringed as it went down. Summer and Tricia left to go to the bathroom leaving you in the kitchen. You were pretty intoxicated at this point and started to wander. You end up in the garage, where Rick is sitting at his workstation.

“Out!” he barked which caused you to jump and gasp due to how loud and aggressive he sounded, he didn’t even look up.

“S-sorry I -which way..” you started but Rick got up and walked over to you. He grabbed your chin and tilted your head up.

“I told Summer to stop giving K-Crystals to her little friends,” he said, seeing the effects from your eyes. You looked over a noticed he had a Woodstock 99’ ticket pinned onto his wall.

“You -hiccup- went to Woodstock 99? You- you’re so lucky you got to see Korn from that crowd,” you slurred without breaking eye contact. He laughed and let go of your chin and walked back to his workstation.

“Did you actually go?” you asked, walking over to him.

“I thought I said to get out earlier,” he said.

“I have selective hearing,” you said, picking up a screwdriver.

“I’m lost, is that supposed to be my problem?” he said.

“Well it -burp- if you really wanted it to be,” you giggled.

“Yeah as much of a catch as you are, I think I’ll pass,” he laughed.

“Oh please I bet I’d be the best pussy you’ve had in months,” you laugh but quickly change expressions as Rick stands up and towers over you.

“Do you really think that you would be an unachievable fantasy to me? Like I’m some sad old stockbroker who has to rely on naivety to get laid? Don’t insult me,” Rick said, taking a sip of his flask without stepping away.

“Your shirt -hiccup- looks so soft, imagine if we could have gone to Woodstock together. You’re so tall that I wouldn’t have to worry about guys reaching up and groping me and I would have the most amazing view of some of the coolest bands of all time,” you said, feeling your high slowly start to come down. He smirked at you before turning around locking the garage door and opening a portal, dragging you through it.

“What- where are we going?” you asked confused, adjusting your eyes to the suddenly sunny skies.

“To call your bluff. There’s no way you could last here, it was kinda a shit show if you didn’t know,” he said.

“I know, I watched the documentary on Netflix,” you said very matter-of-factly.

It took your eye a couple of minutes for them to adjust but once they did, you couldn’t deny you were a little taken back. There really was a lot of nudity and white-boy aggression. You hoped Rick didn’t notice, but every once in a while, you would look behind you to make sure he was nearby. The first thing you wanted to do was get to the airbrush body paint station. You wanted Korn written across your chest in black and pink. At this point, the high of the K-Crystals was completely worn off and all you wanted was a hit of something. It was then you realized you still had your purse, you blindly reached your hand in until you felt your hand hit the cold metal of the battery. Your mouth begins salivating as bring the cart to your lips and take a long drag, blowing it up in the air. You take a couple more drags and notice that the artist has stopped. When you looked down he was just looking up at you. He was probably in his early 30s and had a 90s haircut that was short and spiked with blonde tips. Without breaking contact take another drag and exhale as you speak.

“Sorry, did you want a hit?” you asked playfully, looking over at Rick who was smirking with his arms crossed, evaluating the situation. The guy airbrushing you looked up at Rick who started to speak.

“You know you didn’t come across to me as one of those girls who have nipple piercings,” Rick said.

“Yeah I know, they’re hot right?” you asked to adjust the one that didn’t have any paint on it yet; they were bars with a chain that supported a pink bedazzled saturn charm.

“So uh, Maria is gonna finish up our piece cool?” he said, getting up before either of you could respond which caused both of you to chuckle.

After you were finished up with the body painting tent you made your way to the main stage. Hundreds of teens and young adults were making their way to the exact same location. It was weird because even though you knew what was going to happen, you were still bubbling with anticipation. Rick laughed and mocked you because he knew you had seen exactly what happened and still bubbled with suspense and excitement. When you asked Rick if you could actually sit on his shoulders he didn’t say anything, only nodding in agreement. You were trying to pry about the first time he ever experienced this but he would always give you a bullshit excuse like he was too wasted to remember. As you walked, guys kept approaching you, trying hard to keep conversation. You tried to be polite and at least slow down as you respectfully deny their advance. You even stopped a couple of times but Rick would gently bump into you with his body from behind to keep you walking. Once you got into the crowd, Rick took the arm and pressed his body to your back. He started guiding and shaving his way through the front of the sea of people while having his arms raised, protecting you from the crowd.

Normally if someone was being more polite it would have taken forever to make their way to the front. Rick however wasn’t sparing any feelings as he pushed and shoved. As you people watched, you couldn’t help but take in how different people were in the 90s. One of the biggest things that tripped you out was seeing how different the hair and make-up were of the girls around you. Super thin eyebrows, a thick eyeliner waterline with clumpy mascara. Your lashes were huge and your nails were so long, it felt like everyone was staring at you. Most of the hair extensions were god-awful but you gave them a pass considering this was a festival. The cameras were so retro-looking and looked bulky on the crew’s shoulders. Rick pulled a plastic baggie of pink powder from his lab coat. You assumed these were the same crystals you smoked earlier so didn’t think twice when snorting your fair share. Only later to find out that it was actually Molly, normally you’d be freaking out but I mean… You were in an entirely different dimension. Seemed kinda late for that. Once the intro started, Rick bent down slightly allowing you to sit on his shoulders. You could feel the energy of the crowd growing. It was almost like your heartbeat was getting more intense as the music’s rhythm began picking up.

A camera was coming closer to you, you blew it a kiss and then took a drag of your pen. It could have been because of the drugs but you felt like you were so high in the air, you could see the top of everyone’s head.; like you were a skyscraper. You were truly having the time of your life, it was nice being able to be carefree. Being able to get as wasted or naked as you wanted knowing you had someone to take care of you. You were gently running your fingers through his hair, tugging on it a little bit. You leaned down and whispered into the top of his head,

“Thank you for taking me here, this is amazing,” you said.

He didn’t reply, just ran his hands up and down your leg, starting at your knees and ending at your ankles. You were feeling accomplished that he didn’t get the chance to call your bluff as he put it. When Korn wasn’t playing you could barely hear yourself think over how loud the crowd was. You couldn’t tell if Rick was mad or just concentrating. After a while, you were getting overstimulated by everything going on around you. You asked Rick if you guys could head home, and he opens a portal directly underneath you guys, dropping the both of you back into a garage. You grab the extra tee shirt from your bag and throw it over your body.

“Thanks, we should do it again sometime,” you said before exiting the garage to find summer.

#rick sanchez x reader #rick and morty #rick c137 #Woodstock 1999 #Rick Sanchez FanFic #Woodstock #Korn #korn band #Rick and Morty #alcohol #drinking #smoking #weed smoking #Rick sanchez x you #rick sanchez x y/n

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jaynovz · 6 months

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Is it time for me to foam at the mouth about one of Silver's most batshit insane decisions in the entire show?

(So the ramble underneath this is literally 2k, so like, make good choices I guess. also pls imagine me as Pepe Silvia meme the entire time)

So I see people talking a lot about how Silver is fucking deranged bonkers banana cakes he has 10,000 snakes in his head instead of a brain and of course I agree this is just Canon.

However, the moments that we focus on are like 3.3, doldrums talking to Billy about Flint controlling reality when he's starving and dehydrated or like what he says in response in 3.10 when Flint tells him his story, about Thomas.

Both of those are very very good moments for Silver being fucking crazy and saying things out loud with his human mouth that no regular unfucked human being would come up with, he set new RECORDS for it, agreed.

TODAY I want to talk about a different moment, what I think is the most egregious example of Derangement. It's in the Silver-Flint gold conversation in 2.7.

Quick context-- Before Silver meets back up with Flint in 2.7 he was sent after a VERYYYY dissatisfying conversation (aka "the gold is still a priority" where Silver challenges Flint on the Vane and the fort and Abigail Ashe plan and Flint lies to his face) to go influence the men to vote for Flint's side of things over Hornigold's. After dealing with the Logan situation in the middle of that (which I don't actually think Flint ever finds out about Silver helping to cover that shit up, but that's not the point right now) he shows back up right in the middle of Hornigold addressing the pirate council and accusing Flint of a bunch of crimes (most of which are accurate lol) and Flint is Angy about "where the fuck has you [Silver] been?" and Silver tells him (loud enough for the entire council to hear mmhmm) that the gold is gone.

Now the order of the scenes, the timeline, means The Reveal about the gold is with Max later, (right, that later is the point it becomes real for us because we're finding out the same as Max's that Silver has made the gold disappear) and so it's hard to keep in mind until a second watch how the entire time there in the tent and Silver is putting on this performance, such a good show about it the whole time and then he goes and talks and gives the speech to the whole fucking combined crew and that entire time we don't know yet.

But Silver knows. He has already engineered a situation where he has convinced to the scouts that they're going to sell the location of the gold to another crew!! He has already removed the Urca gold from right under Flint's nose!! (Which is like the thing that Flint has been working towards for an unknown amount of years since he found out about it right? This thing, this sort of mythical amount of money, which is going to solve problems and effect change and build a future and fulfill Thomas ideals.)

And while he's talking he has already waved his hand and made it disappear in the narrative and he did it so skillfully that we don't even suspect that this is happening until the reveal and so sometimes it's hard to go back and think about the 2.7 tent conversation.

Potentially it doesn't quite HIT on the first watch. Maybe not even the second.

But yeah what I want to draw attention to is that... this ENTIRE TIME, from the moment Silver shows back up, he is putting on the performance of his fucking life. He's ALREADY met the scouts Vincent and Nicholas on the jetty, he's ALREADY convinced them ON THE FLY ON A WHIM to lie to Captain Flint. He's ALREADY coached them through exactly what to say to sell it, to lie to Captain James Flint's fucking face. right??? and THEN only after that does he goes to meet Flint.

And the very specific thing I am focusing on isn't even THAT gamble, which is fucking SCARY CRAZY ALREADY. But the WAY this boy pulls the bluff out, the lengths he goes to during the next convo in the tent about "there is no we. the gold was the inducement" and all that. You know the scene.

I wanna underline how Silver decides midstream, midargument to... FLIP IT AROUND and accuse Flint of making the gold disappear.... when Silver literally just made the gold disappear.

Silver: I believe I've been clear about the nature of my investment here. The gold was the inducement. Now no gold… Flint: It's an unfortunate development that we have to adapt, and quickly. Silver: Adapt? I've had about my fill of adapting lately. Doing your bidding, keeping the crew in line for you. Flint: I wasn't the only one to benefit from that. Silver: It certainly seemed that way. Even now you're the only one benefitting from it. Flint: What are you saying, that I'm benefitting from the gold having disappeared? Silver: It certainly solved a number of problems for you, didn't it? I have half a mind to wonder if you didn't orchestrate this whole thing to your advantage.

So yeah I'm uh, I'm literally foaming im frothing im cappucino right now. I want to put this UNDER THE MICROSCOPE AND STUDY HIM. what in the FUCK. Silver knows the entire time, this ENTIRE EXCHANGE, that not only is the gold still on the beach but that he is gonna fucking SELL THE LOCATION to Max and Rackham. And then sits there cool as a fucking cucumber with his mask of irritability...(because of course if he had nothing to do with it!!) Like of course he would be mad that the gold is gone, because the gold was the inducement RIGHT.

All of the rest of that is a foundation for like the craziest part isn't necessarily that he's putting on the act That's in keeping with him, we've seen that, we saw that he was getting more and more frustrated and that part doesn't surprise us that like he would... I mean we saw him steal the page and we saw him burn the page and we have seen him make these types of kind of batshit decisions so we're like "okay this this checks out."

But the truly deranged part where it goes beyond like it just like they're like literally... he. he. HE ACCUSES FLINT OF THE THING HE JUST DID. There was no reason for you to say that and at this point it's like he is SEEING how CLOSE he can get to the fire, he is seeing how much RISK can be pulled off. He's getting off on poking and sleeping dragon in the eye when he knows very well the entire time that he stole the fucking dragon's gold.

"I have half a mind to wonder if you didn't orchestrate this whole thing to your advantage."

I--

it's... it's some reverse psychology bluffing gamble, it's "let me say what has happened, let me literally ADMIT WHAT I JUST DID but no YOU did it, I projected it onto YOU. hope that you don't think about that too hard. let me hope that this works out"

There was... THERE WAS JUST NO REASON FOR IT. He was already pulling it off, the conversation was. "There is no we" and "I was clear about the nature of my investment" THAT'S ENOUGH. STOP.

there's just no reason for him to have done that but it's because he's fucking crazy he's a crazy person

The way his brain works just does not follow lines of logic like a sane human being!!

FURTHER POINT--

this is how we also get to the point where he convinces himself to go to Charles Town (because we see him go to Charlestown!! we see him on the ship the next time!! in 2.8!!)

and he says to the scouts that, yknow, paraphrasing "we came on this endeavor in order to allay suspicion about the fact that we have all double crossed this crew that we are sailing with right now including Flint"

now the thing about that is that and I think I've mentioned this before, but I don't know if I've said it in a formal post that so many people had defected/deserted because the gold was gone and they had no appetite for storming the fort after that. And then Silver went and convinced to the rest of the crew remaining to go to Charlestown to seek the pardons right and that's what Flint wanted him to do. So if Silver then defected because the gold was indeed the inducement and there was no gold then I don't think Flint would have fucking batted an eye!!!

And neither would anyone else!! because even though Silver is very useful to Flint as a tool right now, Flint was very mission-focused, very Miranda-focused very pardons-focused, very "let's fulfill Thomas's dream"-focused. So even though he does and has needed Silver a lot recently to influence the crew, I don't think he was really thinking about him basically for two-three episodes after that basically. Cuz they don't talk again, right, and they are just not in each other's orbit for 2.8, 2.9, 2.10.

So what that tells me is that Silver goes to Charlestown and he just... really didn't have to he could have stayed in Nassau and assisted Max or just laid low until the gold got retrieved and then potentially taking his share and left before Flint crew got back!!

I've talked about this specific part before where Silver says that their safety is contingent upon whether Flint is successful in his endeavor or not. Like he says that out loud to Vincent (which is the most bat ship banana cakes bonkers thing ever) about it because he's basically hitched his horse to the outcome of this pardon situation when he absolutely didn't have to do that to get the goal he and the scouts could have all just deserted and no one would have been the wiser because so many crew had, including Dufresne, because of the gold situation!!

Now there's some arguments here about well.... one of our main characters cannot just leave.

But because the writers have created a party member who wants to leave the party what they then keep having to do is invent more and more convoluted mental gymnastics to himself to continue staying and following Flint which is why at the end of the day I sort of can't really see a situation where the Silverflint thing is not like the main thing because they're both obsessed with each other in different ways (and Silver is obsessed first because he doesn't fucking leave and there's a bunch of reasons he should and there's a bunch of chances for him to do so) and so it all starts to look real fucking gay

But yes uh circling back... Silver lies to Flint's fucking face about the gold, going so far as to ACCUSE HIM of making it disappear, then goes on an extremely dangerous errand trapped on a ship full of people who he double crossed with two scouts with loose lips... when, in order to guarantee his future, if we're looking at actual real logic and actual real pragmatism and survival instincts and not just "oh I have to follow Flint because ummmm -dial up sounds-",

Then he should have stayed in Nassau.

#black sails #black sails meta #john silver #long post #disclaimer that I basically just sat in the bed last night and did speech to text ramble to my phone for an hour #and this is what we came out with #please imagine in all ways but physical me sitting next to you on a comfy couch with two fingers of rum #furiously ranting and gesturing about him with a roller coaster amount of volume variation #and you would be accurate as to the mood this post is supposed to convey #thoughts #like I cannot stress how long of a post this is I am not sorry but also buckle up buttercakes #i ahve been waiting for nearly a month to fully articulate this and I still dunno if I managed it #okay I've been waiting three years #i think i repeat myself oops #Charles town au

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breannasfluff · 8 months

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One minute, Wild is cursing the rain, and the next he’s stepping through a portal to sunny skies. It’s early morning instead of afternoon and the sun casts long shadows, still rising. While the temperature is mild, it holds a familiar scent of rock and marsh. The chirp of his slate picking up a signal is all the confirmation he needs; they are in his Hyrule.

Moving to the side as the others exit the portal, he brings up the map. Washa’s Bluff is dead ahead of them. “Hey, good news! We’re close to a stable.”

Legend glares from where he’s wringing water out of his hat. “How close is that? Knowing you, you’ll drag us halfway across the map and call it a quick jaunt.”

“Actually close. Like, half an hour, if that?” The champion grins at the vet, not put off by the caustic response. The rain makes all their scars ache, Legend most of all. Wild’s lucky the shrine didn’t leave him incapacitated, rather than inconvenienced.

“Close means dry clothes.”

Wind slides to the ground and puts his face in the grass. “I’m so wet,” he moans into the dirt. “I want to change now.”

“Then change.” Sky’s pulled off his cape and seems to be considering if he can use it as a towel on his dripping hair. No one escaped the downpour unscathed.

“But that’s work!”

“Do you want to be lazy and wet?”

The sailor gives an inarticulate screech. Wild winces at the volume, but the kid does sit up and starts yanking at his wet clothes and bags. It’s accompanied by some colorful swearing which makes Time scrunch his face but hold his tongue. No one is up for the verbal battle of stopping him.

Four ranges around the edge of the group, looking at the slight hill they’ll climb and the canyon edge behind them. “Hey, Wild?”

“Yeah?” He moves toward Four but stops when the smith grimaces. Reaching for his aura reveals the problem; he lost most of the control he had before going through. The careful layering is more of a haphazard stuffing. It will take time and concentration to straighten it back out.

Instead, Wild backs up a few paces and raises his voice slightly. “What’s up?”

“Is there something on the top of that hill?”

He follows the pointing figure, then grimaces and looks at the map. “Yeah, enemy. Lynel.”

“A lynel?” Time joins him, hand going for his sword on his back. “Can we avoid it?”

The champion gives him a nonplussed look. “Yeah? Lynels are nothing to worry about. We’ll just walk around the base.”

“Nothing to worry about?” Legend butts his way into the conversation. He’s given up on the hat and it drips slowly down his back. “Lynels are dangerous.”

“I mean, yeah? But it won’t bother us.”

“How do you know?”

Wild grins, ignoring when Time’s eye twitches. “They run away from me.”

The Chain has no answer to that so, once Wind is changed into dry clothes, Wild leads the way up the hill. They circle the base of the rock in relative silence.

There’s no reason to worry; Wild’s encountered plenty of lynels on his journey. Generally, unless trapped by geography, they flee at his aura. It’s a handy perk, actually. While they do have excellent weapons, he��s forgone fighting most of them on his journey. Moldugas are a lot more fun, anyway. Although, lynels are rather horse-like…

“Hey, Wild?”

Four’s voice so close is not what the champion expects. He jerks his attention back to the situation at hand. They are rounding the base of the rocks and the smith presses closer, despite the discomfort he must feel. “That lynel is getting closer.”

It’s true. The lynel is staring at them, teeth bared and tail snapping in irritation. It comes further down the rocks, hefting a bow. The stripes gleam in the sun.

Wild makes a face. “Silver lynel. Don’t worry though, it’ll go away.” He waves vaguely to the others, gesturing behind him. “I might make you, ah, uncomfortable, though.”

Time grabs Wind and then Four, pulling them back. The others back up slightly as well. Wild would like them to move further, but it should be okay. He’s been practicing. Maybe he can direct it more, forward? The direction of the lynel?

The monster roars and puts an arrow to the bow. He’s waiting long enough. Concentrating, Wild shoves his aura forward and out. It’s twisted and tangled after the portal and shoddy attention, sending tendrils snapping in all directions. Toward the danger, he tells himself, concentrating on the roaring animal.

It’s clear the moment the lynel feels him because the roar cuts off abruptly. It stands, stiffly, then takes a hesitant step backward. Wild turns to the others with a grin. “See? I told you it wouldn’t come down. Now, can we go?”

Time isn’t pleased with the solution, but finally nods and pushes the heroes forward. Wild leads the way, keeping an eye on the lynel as they round the rock. It paces on the hill, watching them, but doesn’t advance.

The strange, tree-like structure of the scablands comes into view. Two of them frame the road to the stable. Twilight breathes a sigh of relief and claps Wild on the shoulder as he strides forward. The others edge along, keeping a wary eye between the hill and Wild.

Right, he should pull himself in so they can continue. His aura, still alert for danger, is hard to wrangle. It takes patience and concentration to ground himself, neither of which the champion excels in.

Time brings up the rear of the group and does a quick scan. “Okay, Wild, where do we—”

Four screams.

Read the rest here!

#eldritch lynel #eldritch wild #lu wild #lu time #lu warriors #lu sky #lu twilight #lu legend #lu hyrule #lu four #lu wind #hurt/comfort #linked universe #linkeduniverse #breannasfluff

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skylarstark4826 · 6 months

Text

Neytiri does not regret her actions under stress. Her oldest son had just perished, she could not allow her daughter to befall the same fate.

Using Spider was not a calculated decision, but it was a fair one, she thinks. Slicing his chest was a warning, a good one. And if Quaritch had not released her daughter, she would have driven the knife through his chest. She knows that as clearly as she knows of Eywa's existence.

A son for a son.

But, being an uncalculated decision, she hadn't considered how she would feel after the fight. After giving Netayem back to Eywa, and settling into the Metkayina village for good; after settling Spider into a hut just a minute's walk away from theirs. She hadn't expected to be haunted , to feel the heat of Spider's body under her hands before she falls asleep, to hear the gasp of his breath when no one else is around, or to see the red of his blood on her knife in her dreams.

She hadn't expected to feel angry.

She hates the way he scurries around her, avoiding eye contact. He hides behind Kiri and Lo’ak and even Jake doesn’t seem to notice, but the way he trails her movements without looking directly at her makes clear the intention of the action.

And somewhere along the line, she decides she doesn’t deserve this sort of fear.

Is it not clear to him what was at stake? He grew up around her, and for one action to make his fear so palpable -

This can’t be the only reason for it.

And it isn’t, she realizes, after listening in on a conversation between the human boy and her children.

“She wouldn’t have killed you,” Kiri is saying, matter of factly. “It was a bluff, she’s too good to kill a kid.”

Something sour curls in Neytiri’s gut - guilt. Anger. Kiri does not understand what it is like to lose a child, to fear losing another. Goodness has nothing to do with it.

“I don’t know,” Spider says. His voice is smaller than Neytiri has ever heard it. Quiet. It’s out of place next to her daughter's strong vocals. “She’s never liked me around. And she’s never…had a problem killing sky people before.”

And there’s an inflection there. Some secret meaning that makes Neytiri’s eyes narrow.

Who is he referring to?

“Psh. You’re hardly a sky person at all at this point,” Lo’ak comforts.

Neytiri leaves as the conversation shifts, feeling stranger than she had before.

Angrier.

~ ~ ~

As with all things, it gets worse before it gets better.

“Quaritch is alive,” Jake whispers to her without preamble. Their children are asleep on the floor next to them.

Neytiri’s heart sinks. “No,” she states. It isn’t denial, she simply can’t see any way he’d be alive. “No you killed him.”

Jake shakes his head.

“You let him live,” Neytiri hisses incredulously.

Jake pauses for a moment, considering. His eyes look off into the distance, somewhere past their hut. Neytiri hopes, for his sake, that he isn’t considering lying to her.

Eventually he shakes his head. “Not me.”

Neytiri’s face goes hot as she realizes. He’s looking off toward Spider’s hut.

Neytiri growls. “You mean to tell me -”

“Spider saved him,” Jake interrupts before she can wake their children with her volume.

Neytiri reaches toward her bow on reflex. “I’ll kill him. I should have killed him before!”

“No!” Jake snaps, grasping her wrist in an iron grip. His eyes bore into hers. “I agree with you on most things, love. But this one I cannot.”

Neytiri does not release the bow. Instead, she gestures toward her children. “We’re one less because of him!”

Jake shakes his head. “Netayam -” he pauses, voice crackling with emotion. “Netayam died before this, you know that.”

“Because they went back to save him!”

“They were too good to leave him behind…again," he tacks on.

Neytiri drops her bow, burrowing her face into her hands. She feels as if her anger is justified, and yet, no one else seems to agree. There is something wrong with this situation. With Spider. “Why? ”

Jake pulls her closer, pressing her head against his chest. “Quaritch saved him from some terrible things the RDA was doing to him…and from you.”

Neytiri sobs.

“Spider said he was returning the favor. If you ask me, I think it’s because he couldn’t watch someone die if he had the chance to save him.”

“He would’ve died in battle. It would’ve been as honorable a death as that demon could get.”

“Most humans don’t see it like that. We don’t have Eywa to return to.”

Neytiri sweeps her eyes across her sleeping children once more, wishing, longing for the chance to go back to how things were.

“Neytiri, my love,” Jake lifts her face. His eyes meet hers. “Promise me you won’t hurt Spider. Promise me. ”

Neytiri sobs again. “I promise,” she says, only because she can see how much it means to Jake that she agrees to this.

His forehead bumps hers softly, and his eyes close - in relief, she thinks.

“I See you.”

“I See you .”

~ ~ ~

Spider senses the shift in attitude. He hides from her even more often, stops coming to their hut to meet with Kiri and Lo’ak.

Kiri notices.

“I don’t care why you’re angry with him,” she says. Neytiri wishes she hadn’t inherited her father’s bluntness. “But he’s wallowing and he feels guilty about something, and I know he’s too good to have done anything wrong. Nothing that can’t be fixed.”

Neytiri doesn’t answer. Kiri squints up at her.

“He’s scared of you. Fix it. Please. ”

Neytiri sighs, placing a hand on her daughter's head. "I will do what I can."

She can keep an eye on him, at least.

~ ~ ~

Spider has trouble in the village, Neytiri notices.

Na’vi stumble out of his way as he passes, or they curiously pull his hair and pinch his skin until he drives them away with his hisses, and there is no in between. Despite this, he manages to befriend both Tsireya and Aonung. A feat even her own children could not do nearly so easily.

The leaders' children follow Spider, observing him. Much like the scientists at Base Camp observe the Na'vi. The parallel makes Neytiri's eyebrows furrow when she thinks about it.

Soon enough, they're approaching Lo'ak outside the hut where Neytiri can hear, asking permission to bring Spider on hunts.

"I don't care," Lo'ak answers casually. "Spider does what he wants. He'll follow you if he likes you."

Neytiri frowns.

Spider used to follow her.

The acidic feeling in her stomach frustrates her. It isn’t anger, she’s felt anger. Hatred? No…jealousy. Jealousy? Of two Metkayina children?

Being in the water so often must be confusing her mind.

And yet, she watches. Even as she supervises Tuk, diving through the water on her Ilu, her eyes stray toward the human and his new Na’vi friends. Waiting, maybe, for something to happen. For some excuse to intervene. Kiri catches her watching, once, and grins in a way that makes Neytiri roll her eyes.

Soon, she does have to intervene.

Aonung and Kiri are in the water, watching Spider pace on the docks. They’ve teamed up to tame an Ilu for Spider, just outside the Sully’s hut. Unheard of. Impossible. Neytiri is almost disappointed in her child for assuming it could be done, until she remembers that Kiri seems to make anything seem possible.

They’ve been trying since the morning began.

“Now, get on!” Kiri says, waving Spider over. She has one hand on the Ilu, gesturing toward Spider with the other. Aonung’s braid is connected to the animal, a baby. Small enough that Spider won’t be hurt if the animal lashes out.

Spider shifts his feet, looking entirely bored. “Can’t we try again tomorrow?”

Aonung huffs. “It’s not that hard!”

“Not for you! You’re literally built for this!”

Kiri glares at him. He sighs, shifting again, and then his feet are moving as he runs into a dive.

His form is good. He looks, for all intents, as if he’s been riding Ilu since childhood as Aonung guides the Ilu into a gentle swim. Kiri ties his wrist to the saddle, customary for those learning to ride. Everything is going well.

At least, until Aonung’s braid disconnects.

Suddenly, the baby Ilu is panicking, shooting off into the water. Spider is yanked underwater, and Neytiri wouldn’t care normally. He has his mask to breathe, and Neytiri wouldn’t particularly mind if he didn’t. But Kiri is panicking, and she’ll surely despise herself if anything were to happen to Spider. Stupidly.

So Neytiri dives into the water and unties Spider’s wrist as Aonung tries to subdue the animal.

He shoves away from her, swimming back to dry land on his own.

Ungrateful, Neytiri thinks, huffing.

Kiri pulls her into a hug, though, and that makes it worth it.

She releases her mother to check on the human, apologizing for the mishap. Aonung looks sheepish from where he’s wading in the shallow water.

Spider plops down, kicking his feet in the sea. “Thanks,” he mumbles when Neytiri passes, half hidden behind Kiri.

Useless, Neytiri thinks. Coward.

~ ~ ~

Eventually, Neytiri manages to find Spider where he can’t hide behind someone.

Fishing, alone on an abandoned islet. And failing at it spectacularly.

“Who taught you this?” She asks, blunt, before he’s noticed her presence. He fumbles the crossbow, shooting an arrow off into the water, nowhere near any fish. He fixes his feet, prepared to run.

“Uh. No one. I watched.”

Neytiri yanks the crossbow from his hands, ignoring his grasping fingers. “Who made this,” she asks disdainfully. The mechanism is wrong, and the carving is lopsided.

Spider frowns, shuffling his feet. “I did.”

Neytiri raises her eyebrows incredulously.

Spider jumps to defend himself. “It’s not like anyone taught me, I watched some of the villagers make one and I thought I could figure it out, but I didn’t realize this wood would be so different from anything I’ve carved with! It’s too soft!”

Neytiri silences him with a look.

And isn’t that interesting? Spider has never been particularly easy to silence.

The power she holds over this child, now, it’s -

Interesting.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. “I was trying to help.”

Neytiri sighs angrily, taking pity on the boy. How can he allow himself to live with the Metkayina without being useful? So she reaches behind herself, grasping her own crossbow off her back. It’s a whole lot bigger than the one he’d carved for himself, but if he can figure out how to use it he’ll be better off. “Try this one.”

He takes it warily. His eyes never leave her other hand, maybe expecting something.

She’s half surprised when he manages to hold it the way he’s supposed to, muscles tensing with the strain. It’s hilariously large in his arms, and the kickback skews his shot, but…he wasn’t lying when he said he’d watched. His stance, at least, is correct.

Neytiri slinks behind him, scrutinizing. He startles, turning to keep his eyes on her.

(Brown eyes, peering up at her, knowing she’s about to do something she can’t undo.)

She grips his head in her hand, none too gently turning it back to face the ocean. He doesn’t protest, not physically. “Focus,” she snaps.

He does, though his hands shake. He’ll never get a fish like that. So she uses one hand to steady his arms, and places the other on his middle back to steady the kickback. His trembling only worsens.

“Calm yourself. Shoot.”

He does, and even through the palpable tension, he manages to get a fish. Neytiri straightens herself, fighting a grin off her face. She has no reason to feel proud of him. She is doing this for Kiri and Jake, and because she may as well keep him where she can reach him. But she feels proud anyway.

He breathes deep; his mask hisses. It is useful, Neytiri thinks as she watches him dive. He has no need to hold his breath underwater with that thing pumping oxygen to him all the time. He won’t slow them down in that sense, at least. She remembers Tuk complaining about their need to breathe more than the Metkayina when they first arrived in the village; she doesn't envy those times.

And it is an easy weakness.

“Good,” she says when the boy resurfaces, trying to keep her voice emotionless.

Spider averts his gaze to the flopping fish, fiddling with the arrow stuck inside it. “Thank you.”

Neytiri nods, and that’s the end of that.

~ ~ ~

Later, Spider visits their hut to return her crossbow.

He leaves a basketful of fish as well.

~ ~ ~

The next time Neytiri catches him alone, he doesn’t notice she’s there.

He’s fiddling with the condensed oxygen tank connected to his mask. Steeling himself, for something. And then the oxygen canister is no longer connected, and he’s swiftly reaching to the side to grab a new one, one of many provided to him from Base Camp. His cheeks are puffed out and quickly turning red.

Oh, she thinks. He can’t breathe.

It would be easy. To take the new canister away from him. To let him die the way he should’ve allowed Quaritch to die. To rid herself of this difficulty.

But - he looks small, here. Vulnerable in a way that makes her gut clench. She remembers the feel of his small human body under her hands again, the quick deep breaths of a child about to die.

She sees the light leaving Neteyam’s eyes.

She shakes her head clear of this image, just in time to watch him catch her eye. His strange brown eyes widen, and he fumbles the canister.

It plops into the water.

Neytiri watches.

He moves to dive in after it, blinking the Pandoran air ferociously out of his eyes. He won't be able to find the canister like this. He wouldn’t even be able to keep his eyes open underwater, probably.

So Neytiri - hesitating only slightly - shoves him away from the edge and dives into the still water herself.

She’s not a good swimmer, not like her children have learned to be. But she can catch the little oxygen tank easily enough. Resurfacing, she clumsily connects it to his breathing machine. The gasp of breath he takes is enough to silence the roaring in her head and the churning in her gut.

She hates the way she cares for this boy. When had that happened?

“I’m sorry,” he gasps, trembling with fear. "I - that's never happened be-"

"Shut up," Neytiri snaps.

His hand flits up to his chest as he breathes heavily, settling against the healing cut she'd left there. He attempts to pass it off as a scratch. It doesn't work.

Neytiri sighs, glaring at the scarring mark. "I sense…I've made a mistake."

Spider shifts onto his ankles. He's silent for a beat, and then - "You did. You should've done it. Killed me."

Neytiri startles, looking at the boy. His eyes bore into hers, entirely serious.

"You’ve been too nice. Everything is messed up because - because I was too weak to get out of there myself. And 'cause I couldn't - I couldn't let him die. I - I couldn't," his voice breaks off. Tears fall behind the mask. Neytiri itches to wipe them away, but she fears any movement would scare him. "Things will never be okay again," he finishes.

Neytiri drops to her knees. She watches the water as it laps against the shore. "I am angry," she starts. "I thought I was angry at you. What you did - was…but I don't think that's it. I think…" Neytiri pauses, searching for something she doesn't know is there. But there are no words to describe her emptiness, and if there were, she would be saying them to Jake, not to a child she's just learned not to hate. So she places a hand on his where it's clutched against his wound. "I shouldn't have hurt you."

"You should've -"

Neytiri silences him with a glare, grasping his tiny human hand in hers. "I should've protected you. Kiri would've forgiven me for letting her…she wouldn't forgive me if I killed you."

Spider's shoulders shake. He turns away to let the tears fall, and she waits as they pool in the bottom of his mask. "I miss Netayem," he chokes.

Neytiri allows a tear of her own to slide down her cheek. "He is with Eywa," she says. For the first time since the ceremony, she finds, she feels okay with that.

She leans toward the human boy, pressing her forehead to the top of his head.

She isn't angry anymore.

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scummy-writes · 5 months

Text

Winter Comforts

A fic for @misty-moth. Thank you for your support!

Pairing: Arthur/Reader

Words: 2143

Tags: Depression, comfort, fluff

The snowfall after your first night at the cabin was more than anticipated, causing an extra chill in the cabin you rented for the week. While it wasn't unwelcomed as an added bonus to the atmosphere of your lovebird vacation, it was enough for Arthur to designate himself as the one to take Vic out, refusing to let the risk of illness touch you.

And that's where he was now: out in the yard, watching the way you busied yourself with putting another log in the fireplace. There he stood with arms crossed, puffs forming in the air from his deep sighs.

Meanwhile Vic stepped cautiously through the snow, his small, boot clad paws crunching with each step. He only stopped exploring long enough to relieve himself, and in that time his owner finally stopped looking so worriedly in your direction, crouching down to make eye contact with Vic with new determination.

“Alright, Vic, we have our work cut out for us this week. Our bird has been putting on a brave face for us and refuses to say what's truly bothering her.”

Vic looked at Arthur with a small huff, chilly even through the sweater you'd knitted him, as he tried to finish his business as fast as he could manage. Yet Arthur continued, his focus on figuring out how to triumph over your depression causing him to neglect the cold.

“I've already devised plans to keep her mood up, in and out of bed, but what I need from you is the best charm you can manage. I need you to harken back to your youthful days as a pup and pretend to have that energy once more! Of course, this isn't all for nothing- with her mood lifted, she's bound to spoil you tenfold, Vic.”

Vic huffed once more, giving his owner a tired look before shaking the snow from his fur. But the man continued, used to this behavior for years.

“And… I'll let you get onto the bed with us in the mornings we're here. What do you say?”

The shaking slowed to a halt as Vic contemplated the words, staring Arthur down as if to call his bluff. But when Arthur merely just stared back, waiting for an affirmation of sorts, Vic slowly began to wag his tail before taking determined steps towards the cabin.

“Atta boy!”

Inside, the fire you set up crackled and popped, providing a comforting warmth to the abode. Once you had finished stoking it, you couldn't manage yourself up off the floor. Instead, you seemed entranced by the flames, watching them dance as your thoughts whirled in your head. You hardly seemed to notice when the other two came back in, only breaking out of your trance when Vic excitedly collided with you, paws hitting your back in excitement.

“Whoa!”

You turned to face the pup, chuckling as you saw his boots had been kicked off in a haphazard trail towards you, tag wagging wildly as his round eyes looked up at you. An impossible gaze to resist, and you found yourself smiling once more as you stroked his head, cooing as Vic melted at your touch.

It didn't take long for him to curl up by you, overjoyed in the belly rubs he received as Arthur doffed his overcoat and shoes.

“I say, Vic strolls into the room and you're putty in his paws! Won't even pass me a glance.”

There it was- that adorable grin when he was being ridiculous. At the sound of your chuckle, relief washed over him. It seems as though your depression wasn't as poor as he feared.

You met his gaze as you rolled your eyes, continuing to pet Vic's stomach.

“Are we going to have this conversation again? About how many more merits you have in comparison to a dog?”

“Well, I do distinctly remember you insisting I was acting like one last night- hey!”

Laughter followed as you playfully threw one of Vic’s boots towards Arthur, the writer mocking offense as your giggles persisted. Soon, the two of you were caught up in tossing the boot back and forth, teasing words before each one, and Vic settled down with a huff of understanding that belly rubs were long gone for the moment.

It had been a while since the two of you could settle in like this. You sat between his legs as you both stretched out on the couch, nestled in a blanket while Vic sprawled out in front of the fireplace. While he dozed, the two of you read a book of your choosing; Arthur, a mystery novel from a new author, and you, a random romance you had plucked from the mansion’s library.

With a pencil in hand, Arthur underlined descriptions he favored while making notes in the margins, humming intrigue at the way the plot was unfolding. For him, it was easy to deduce from the beginning who was at fault in the story, but he was enjoying the way the author could still make the story interesting despite that. Certainly a novel he’d recommend to you. A copy he hadn’t marked in, of course.

Between every few pages, he’d cast his eyes towards you. He couldn’t get a good read on your face in this position, but every so often he’d feel the way your breath would pause at a passage, how your shoulders would tense- and sure enough, one look at the book in your hands would confirm the male lead blundering his way through affections.

Another reference to add to his mental notes, of what made your heart speed up.

Yet now, he watched you thumb the corner of the pages rhythmically, the same set of pages you had been reading the past time he checked on you. He furrowed his brows, but allowed himself to read a few more pages of his novel before worrying further. But when he looked back, you were still doing the same- shoulders tense as you were lost in thought.

What kept causing that? What was making you worry on this little retreat? When Comte had offered to let Arthur use this cabin as a romantic get-away, he had been hoping this would cure those bouts of long sighs and tired eyes. But they kept persisting, no matter the amount of hugs and kisses Arthur gifted, among more sentimental offerings.

Carefully, he set down his pencil and book aside, wrapping his arms around yours. Setting his chin upon your shoulder had some tension melt away, but you were still wound tight in other ways.

“Luv…” he murmured against your ear, massaging his thumbs against your skin, “what’s troubling you?”

“I’m fine.”

The response was automatic, almost cold in the attempt to dismiss his worry, but you faltered immediately, fumbling over your words to ease the bluntness, “I mean- I am fine. I’m okay, I promise.”

You turned to face him then, a soft smile on your lips, but it was a poor mask that was easy to see through. And there, Arthur was at the crux of how to handle the issue. Pushing too hard could result in you hiding even further away. Meanwhile, time may be what you needed, but… It was difficult watching the way you crumbled, even if it was in small pieces.

He hummed in response, a gentle kiss pressed against your cheek. “Haven’t we discussed this, luv?”

You drum your fingers on his arm, neglecting his question. So he continues, calmly. In a quiet tone that causes your motions to stop.

“I know all too well how one may be keen to hide it all away- that void threatening to swallow you whole, how your heart aches through the days. But we promised each other to speak up before that burden gets too heavy.”

The crackling of the fireplace fills the air, merging with the tension after his words. Arthur watches as your eyes flit away again.

“I feel like I should be saying that as well.”

“What ever do you mean?”

Glancing at him again, there is a murmur of frustration in your gaze, mixed in with your own worry.

“Do you think I wouldn’t have noticed? You can try to hide by flirting like a man preparing to never see his lover again, or by covering my concern with kisses and prose, but you can’t hide those bags under your eyes, or those times at night when I wake up in your bed, alone.”

Arthur frowns.

“Luv…”

“I don’t know how else to make it clear to you that I am here for you. I’ve tried so much…” You trail off, voice raspier than before.

In the moment that you take to briskly wipe at your eyes, Arthur realizes where this enigma of your worry stemmed from. And he wants to laugh mockingly at himself, for getting so lost and scared at the sight of depression taking over you, that he neglected to consider the most damning possibility.

His arms hold you tighter, letting you continue to refuse looking his way. He doesn’t prod or force you to turn around, knowing well by now that when your emotions overflow, it’s difficult to let anyone watch. So Arthur holds you, letting tears fall down your cheeks as you process your next words, trying to convey your struggles.

“I know I can’t take away your pain. I know that it will linger inside of you, no matter how many years we stay together. No matter what luck comes into our lives. But I can be here for you. I can listen, I can hold you when it’s too hard to handle the world- I can do so much, but only if you let me in, Arthur.” Another shaking breath escapes you, and your next words come out so quiet, as if you’re fearful of the words themselves, “if we can’t talk about these things, how are we supposed to stay together? To get married…?”

With that, you crumble apart. Arthur pulls you properly into his lap now, letting you nuzzle into his neck, letting his shirt soak up your tears. Each shaking sob from you has him murmuring reassurances, promises that saying such a thing wouldn’t bring ruin to the relationship.

And he waits. Until you can breathe properly again, until you’re ready to listen to him to speak.

“I think we’ll be fine.”

“How can we be when-”

“For instance, did you know we’ve been worrying ourselves sick over the same issue?”

You peek up at him, questioningly. Arthur takes that moment to brush back the wet hairs sticking against your face, his smile soft.

“It seems we’re both having trouble letting each other in on the secrets of our heart. I can’t promise that there won’t be moments like this again in the future, but for now…” Arthur presses a chaste kiss against your temple, sighing along with you, “I can apologize. I didn’t realize you felt like this, luv. I’m so used to burying my emotions that I neglect understanding it can hurt others.”

“I’ve been trying to think of how to bring it up, but…I just kept getting scared that this wouldn’t change.”

“It will. I’ve just got to get used to the fact that I’m lucky to be loved by you,” he pecks your cheek once more, “and I’ll stop leaving you at night when the nightmares plague me.”

You study his face with your reddened eyes, and Arthur tries to ease the pangs of guilt in his heart. But you seem to relent, shoulders relaxing as you return one of his earlier kisses.

“You promise?”

Arthur hooked his pinky with yours, grinning, “promise.”

Vic gave you a dubious glance after inspecting the sugary fluff on your finger, giving it a few more sniffs.

“It won’t bite you! But if you don’t want a bit of marshmallow, I can just take it back-”

A low whine rang out once you pulled your finger back, and you and Arthur fell into a fit of giggles at Vic’s contradictory behavior. But you gave him another chance, and the pup happily lapped up the small treat before you could take it away again. Yet, after a few smacks of his jows, Vic unceremoniously plopped the now-wet mess on the carpet. At your surprise, he merely settled into a comfortable heap in front of the fireplace again, his curiosity sated over what you and Arthur had been laughing about for the past few minutes.

After cleaning up, Arthur watched as you happily stick another marshmallow onto your stick, poking it into the fireplace while you used your free hand to pet Vic. The puffiness of your eyes had calmed down enough, and now the smile left on your face held no hidden meaning; you were happy. Relaxed. Everything that Arthur wanted for this trip.

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