#(this took a frustratingly long time to figure out how to make)

[thegoddamnedwatchmen]

[mangomonk]

i've been dreaming

↳ summary: read this drabble and pt. 1 first! remus deals with the repercussions of falling in love too late. ↳ content: angst, happy ending, mentions of eating/sleeping properly ↳ a/n: get comfy, this is a long one! i really appreciated and loved each comment from pt. 1, it made my day to see y'all scream heartbreak. would love to hear your thoughts on this one : D anyways, i went back and forth on my characterization of remus a million times, but i hope this version of him resonates and i hope you enjoy :") tense/grammar is all over the place, minimal proofreading but i've stared at this for too long. p.s. i'm kinda proud af about connecting the titles, they're from ivy by frank ocean.

Remus has been dreaming. Every time she had looked at him, he had felt like he was dreaming.

There wasn't a moment in particular that Remus could name when he realized he wanted her to look at him. He was in the middle of it before he even knew he had begun, though maybe a part of him had known it would have been futile to resist when she looked at him like that.

Or maybe it had been an accumulation of moments of Remus longing for her to look at him.

Maybe it had been when they had started their fourth study date together when Remus had decided he needed to act like a normal person and have strict boundaries instead of casting sidelong glances at her over the top of his book. He couldn't help but look at her as he tried to figure out why in the world a girl like her would ever agree to date him in the first place — he had only really asked so that he could be rejected and put the whole thing behind him.

But it wasn't his fault that the more glances he stole at her, the more he noticed the way her expression changed with each new story she read. It wasn't his fault that her lips parted when she was concentrating too hard on Ancient Runes. It wasn't his fault that her lips were the same color as his mother's tulips. But she never noticed when — or how — he looked at her, to his mingled relief and disappointment. It wasn't his fault at all, he reasoned — anyone would notice these things if they just looked at her properly. It baffled him a little how no one else seemed to have noticed this things about her yet.

It had been that day that Remus had decided he needed to start acting normal. He needed to learn how to control his eyes before he bore holes through her face. So he had focused on reviewing his Magical Theory textbook. Even though he had been rereading the same line for over five minutes. Even though he was so painfully aware that if he moved his leg out just slightly, his knees would knock against hers. Even though he could begin to feel her glancing up at him from across the table. When had he become so attuned to her gaze?

But he hadn't looked up, frustratingly going against every fiber in his body, because he needed to be normal and have boundaries and this was temporary. Even if she was looking at him like that. Remus Lupin, with his ever so strong willpower, hadn't looked up to meet her not-so-secret secret glances and had scribbled a note on his scrap of parchment and slid it over.

Hogsmeade this weekend?

Or maybe it had been when they had gone to Hogsmeade, the first time they had done anything together outside of studying. Asking her to go was a stroke of madness, but Remus had reasoned it to be a healthy show of their relationship, no matter how temporary it was supposed to be. It wouldn't make sense if they were dating and only ever studied together, right?

Right.

He had thought about sending an owl to cancel, even as he tried on Sirius's shirt for the second time — the night before, he had come to the sobering realization that all his clothes were plain. He had thought about telling her that he caught a cold, even as he let James slather Euphemia's silkifying potions through his hair. He had still been thinking about canceling even as his feet took him to the entrance gate—

—and she had been wearing a skirt.

It had been one of those long and flowy Muggle skirts — Remus had never before paid attention to women's fashion, but after that moment, he realized that maybe he ought to subscribe to one of Lily's Witch Weekly magazines so that he could get her more skirts, or rather, more of anything, he thought she'd look pretty in anything. Had he said pretty out loud?

Remus Lupin didn't have butterflies in his stomach, he had damn hummingbirds.

"Hi," he had said, a little too tersely and sharply.

"Hi," she had said back, all smiles. Despairingly, he had noticed that she was wearing lipstick. When he stared at her a little dumbly and didn't say anything back, her smile turned nervous as she fidgeted with the collar of her blouse. Impulsively, his eyes darted to follow the motion. "So... Hogsmeade?"

He wasn't going to tell her she looked pretty because he had laid out his boundaries. And if he started, he would never stop— "You look preautiful," he had blurted, stricken.

Her eyes had widened a fraction before she broke into a laugh. A proper laugh, not the quiet, library huff type of laughs he had grown fond of hearing. The warmth in his chest had spread all over and it had felt like it got to his head as a fog, rendering him unable to think. Remus had no idea what to do with the new, dizzying knowledge that she looked absurdly stunning when she was laughing, but all he could think about during their walk to Hogsmeade was how he might make her laugh again.

Or maybe it had been the first time he had properly introduced her to the Marauders. She had stepped closer to him instinctively — perhaps nervously, because Sirius was staring at her too appraisingly with narrowed eyes — when the back of her knuckles had brushed against his. Remus had nearly jumped out of his skin. Sirius's gaze had darted to him swiftly, his gray eyes knowingly bright with interest.

"Pleased to meet you," Sirius had said a moment later, his face breaking into a warm smile, but Remus wasn't paying attention anymore. He was just trying to figure out how he might hook his pinky with hers.

All this to say that there hadn't been one particular moment Remus Lupin could have pinpointed that had sealed his fate of wanting to be under her gaze.

The first time she looked at him, it was the start of nothing and when she looked away that night, it was the end of everything.

Remus wished she yelled at him. Hell, he even wished she had called him a monster, cursed him, hexed him. Remus thought that he would have been happier if she looked at him with contempt and disgust in her eyes, which only weeks ago had been his greatest fear when he considered telling her about his lycanthropy. The thought back then had kept him up at night, but Remus found himself dreaming for it now. Anything if it meant that he didn't hurt her the way he had. He found himself dreaming that she would just look at him again.

If Remus thought he had been panicked that night, it was nothing compared to the next day when he realized she was avoiding him. She hadn't shown up to the Great Hall — Remus knew this because he got there the moment the doors opened to make sure to catch her — and she didn't show up to any of their classes for the remainder of the day. The Marauder's Map showed that she was unmoving in her dormitory. When Remus finally did catch sight of her the next day in the Great Hall, he burst to his feet but froze a moment later. She walked past him, her expression one of unfamiliar blankness.

"Y/N!" He called, lurching forward towards her.

When she turned away from him to avoid meeting his gaze, Remus felt something like dismay sink so heavily and swiftly in his chest, like a stone thrown into a calm lake. The idea that Y/N wouldn’t look at him again drove him half-mad with a panicked disquietude that sent him scrambling to find a way to talk to her again. 

He tried in the Great Hall, but she stopped coming. She would arrive just late enough that class would start and would disappear the moment class ended. She stopped going to the library. Even with the Marauder's Map, he had no luck. The closer he tried to get to her, the further she stayed away.

Remus thought he was dreaming when he saw her alone in the corridor one Hogsmeade weekend when he couldn't bring himself to leave.

"Y/N," he said instinctively, hopefully. She looked up, her surprised expression immediately shuttering close. "Can we talk? Just for a moment?" He asked, stepping towards her. When she didn't move away, he straightened, encouraged.

“I know,” Remus began, his throat bobbing as he swallowed back the jolt of despair when he realized that she still wasn't looking at him. The despair only grew into a gnawing worry when he noticed the way shadows lined her eyes, the planes of her face hollower. Was she taking care of herself? "I know you don't want to see me anymore, cariad, but—"

"You don't get to call me that anymore."

He sucked in a breath, steeling himself before continuing. "Okay," he whispered, "Okay. I know. And I'm sorry, Y/N. I've never been more sorry in my life. And I won't ever ask you to forgive me. But, but I'm selfish because I want you to know that it was real for me."

She looked like she was folding in on herself as she clutched her forearms. "It wasn't real. You don't actually like me, Rem— Lupin," she said evenly, her tone neither cold nor warm. "It could have been anyone else."

"No, I do, I do," Remus lurched forward, desperate and earnest and wishing. "I like you, and maybe it wasn't real in the beginning, but it's real now. Like isn't even a strong enough word for how I feel about you, Y/N. I lo—"

"Don't." At the harsh steeliness of her tone, Remus froze, stricken, his heart dropping to his feet. "Don't say it."

"But it's true," he whispered entreatingly, imploring her to look at him again. "It's been true for awhile now."

"I don't believe you."

Each word hit him in the chest like a sharp pang, the stricken feeling in his chest clenching around his heart. "Okay," Remus swallowed back the crumpling sense of despair as he nodded earnestly. "That's okay," he whispered, as if not to spook a wild animal. "I... I'll show you." He had so much he wanted to say, so much that he wanted to show her. If he had been honest since the beginning, he wouldn't have hurt her. But maybe if he was honest now, it wasn't too late — he could still fix things. "You have my heart, Y/N," he continued softly, "—and you can break it, if you want, if you'll give me another chance—"

"I don't need it," she said quietly, looking away from him again. "Nor do I want it."

— — — — —

Remus stopped dreaming as he stopped sleeping.

"You should get some sleep tonight, mate," James said as he edged near his friend. "Full moon coming up."

Remus grunted in his response as he continued writing at his desk.

"Prongs is right," Sirius agreed, exchanging a quick look with the others. "She'll come around soon, anyone with eyes can see how you look at her. And how she looks at you."

"Why don't you talk to her again?" James suggested gently as he sat on the edge of Remus's bed.

"She doesn't want to," Remus said quietly, a blot of ink pooling at the end of his quill as he tried not to think about their last conversation.

"Why not write her a letter then?" Sirius asked. "Look, Moony, we're worried about you..."

A letter, Remus thought dimly as he stared down at the parchment in front of him.

Cariad, he began before setting his quill down to stare at the word. The first time he had called her cariad had been a slip of tongue. When he was younger, before his father had burnt himself out trying to find a cure to his lycanthropy, his father used to call his mother cariad. It was like a gentle period at the end of each sentence, an endearment that said everything all at once.

It had slipped into the end of his sentence one morning when he had asked her if she wanted orange juice or apple juice. Maybe it was too early to confess love, but it had slipped out, subtle and quiet like their time together.

"What's that?" She had asked, her attention now caught. "Car-iad," she said slowly, as she tried pronouncing the word carefully. Remus had thought he could have kissed her then.

"It's Welsh," he had said, keeping his tone light and casual as he reached for her cup.

But she had been as attentive as ever, her eyes seeing right through him as they tracked across his face carefully. It didn't help that he could feel his ears begin to burn. Despite himself though, Remus delighted being under her attention, and had relished it even as she narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously. "For?"

Remus had schooled his expression carefully. "For 'Y/N can never pick between orange juice and apple juice,'" he had deadpanned, inwardly delighting in the way her lips twitched as she huffed, unconvinced.

"Today is an orange juice day," she had declared finally. Remus had bit back a smile as he poured her juice. When she took it, she had smiled at him around the rim of the cup. "Thank you, cariad."

Remus had thought that he was dreaming.

Remus picked up his quill again and got a fresh sheet of parchment. Dove, he began again before promptly crossing it out. A new piece of parchment. Y/N, he started again. Y/N. Y/N. Y/N. He missed saying her name. When the squeeze in his chest got too tight to ignore, he set his quill down and rested his forehead against his desk and closed his eyes. He had hurt her so terribly, the person he loved. And Remus resented himself for it. He didn't have the right to call her cariad or dove or darling or anything anymore. He didn't have the right to wallow in pity. He didn't have the right to try to fix things when she so clearly didn't want him anymore.

"Remus Lupin," a voice snapped sharply as the door to the dormitory flew open with a boom. "How could you—"

“Lily!” James blurted in clear alarm. "Lily, what are you doing here?"

"I'm here because you lot have really gone too far this time," Lily seethed, her eyes as fiery as her hair as she stalked into the room. "Remus, I thought you were better than this! Y/N hasn't—"

"Lily!" James jumped to his feet in a rare show of courage against the witch. He let out a nervous laugh, but to his credit, stood firm even as Lily rounded on him. “You’re making him feel worse!”

For a moment, Lily turned on James, an incredulous expression on her face before her gaze slid over to Remus, who still hadn’t looked up during the exchange. She faltered, her scowl softening as her gaze darted back to James who gave her an encouraging nod. But then the fiery-haired girl straightened. “He should feel bad,” she admonished, though the venom had begun to dissipate from her voice. 

“And he does,” Sirius supplied helpfully from his corner of the room. “Moony hasn’t really, er, moved or spoken in days, really. We’re all getting concerned.”

"Well neither has Y/N," Lily grumbled, though her tone was beginning to soften rapidly.

This caught his attention. Remus lifted his head to look at her. "Has she been taking care of herself?"

Lily narrowed her eyes at him, a crease forming between her brow as she looked at him assessingly. "Have you been taking care of yourself?"

Remus didn't say anything to this as he turned to rummage through his desk. "Will you make sure she eats and sleeps properly?" He said before finding the stack of parchment he had been looking for.

"It took me nearly an hour to get her to understand that I wasn't a part of the mess you had created," Lily said, though not harshly. Remus ignored the look of pity in her eyes as he busied himself with cobbling together a few more sheets of parchment. "I think you should be the one making sure she's alright."

At this, he paused to look down at the parchment. “She doesn’t want to be in the same room as me, let alone speak with me,” Remus pointed out, his voice unsteady. In a quieter voice, he added, “She can’t even stand looking at me.”

The room fell silent. Then finally, Lily spoke up again. "Fine. I'll check up on her but not for you, but because I'm her friend. And if you ever considered her at least a friend, you ought to do it too sometime and have a proper conversation with her."

Remus bit the inside of his cheek as he turned to proffer the stack of parchment to Lily. "Can you also give these notes to her? It's for Ancient Runes. I charmed the handwriting so she won't know it's from me, but—"

"Remus," Lily sighed, but took the notes anyways as she looked down at his desk curiously before sitting down on the edge of his bed. A pause. Remus could feel her eyes seeing right through him. "Were you ever going to tell her?"

Remus tried not to look like he was unraveling. "I don't know," he admitted honestly. "I wanted to and I didn't want to all at once all the time."

He had thought about telling her before. But to do so meant that he would have to tell her about his condition, and that had sent him into a stricken spiral every time he had thought about it. He had thought that if he told her, she would look at him differently, with pity or repulsion in her eyes. He had been so afraid, so, terrified, of that look that every time the truth nearly bubbled out of his throat, he'd choke on it. But now Remus knew that the worse thing wasn't that she would look at him like he was a monster. It was that she wouldn't look at him at all.

It had always felt like he was running on stolen time, but each grain of sand in their hourglass had felt so startling incandescent that it had been easy to pretend that they weren't trapped in a fragile glass of his own making.

Every moment he had thought to tell her, she would turn and look at him with such fond adoration that Remus would swallow the words back in. She always made for such an arresting sight that Remus felt his breath still as affection would bloom so violently, so dizzingly, so distractingly, in his chest that it became hard to say anything at all.

He was distracted by the way little crinkles would form on her nose when she was thinking too hard. He was distracted by the way he could hear her smile in her words. He was distracted by the way she breathed and walked and loved, slow and steady, to a silent metronome.

And the honest truth was that Remus was more than happy to be distracted by her.

— — — — —

When Remus woke up from a dreamless sleep the morning after the full moon, he found himself, predictably, in a bed in the Infirmary. It must have only been dawn — he could tell the room was still dim behind his eyelids as he did his mental check of his limbs. No new scars please, he thought wryly once he confirmed all his limbs were in place, albeit sore and strained. Remus sighed. Then came the more dreaded question.

"Did anyone get hurt?" He asked, his voice hoarse from his transformation.

He expected one of the boys to respond, but when no response came, his eyes flew open in a panic. They normally stayed the night in the Infirmary to get their checkup from Madam Pomfrey — Remus knew they were just there to keep him company, though they always deflected when he tried to usher them back to the dorms ��� and they were normally the first to assure him that no one had gotten hurt. Alarmed, Remus sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed hastily to look around, his joints groaning in protest.

"Are you hurt?" A voice next to him asked.

He was dreaming again.

Y/N was sitting in a chair next to his bed, alarm quickly breaking through the remnants of the sleepiness that clung onto her eyes as she scanned him hastily as if to ensure he was still in one piece. There was an imprint of his blanket on her cheek. Remus's fingers twitched to rub it when she spoke up again. "Should I call Madam Pomfrey?"

So it wasn't a dream.

At the sobering realization, Remus shook his head hastily. "No, I, uh, I'm fine," he said, the words faltering on his lips. Suddenly he felt very seen. He had never wanted her to see him after a transformation, especially not then, when he was all fresh scars and worn bones. He felt like a shell of himself. "What are you doing here?" He asked quietly, fixing his gaze on his hands and noticing a new scar across the back of his hand, still red and shallow. He couldn't quite look at her now as shame and mortification flooded his system.

For the first time in his life, he wished she wasn't looking at him.

"You guys normally come back earlier on full moons," she said, still looking at him. "I was worried that..." She fell silent. So she had even known their schedule, he despaired.

"I see," Remus said tightly, feeling drained.

When he didn't say anything else, she spoke up again tentatively. "Sirius told me to tell you that no one got hurt—"

Chagrin and shame roiled in his stomach as he stared at the new scar on his hand. "You can go back now," he interrupted, grasping the blanket tightly. He wished she wasn't looking at him, he wished that he didn't have a new scar, he wished that the floor would just open up and swallow him whole.

He wished this was all just a bad dream.

"I'll go if you want me to go," she said quietly. Remus couldn't tell what expression she was making because he couldn't bare to look at her. Pity, fear, disgust. He was sure he'd never recover if she was looking at him like that— "But I... I don't want to go."

His gaze darted from his hands to her face. She was biting on the inside of her cheek, her eyes wide and imploring and distracting. Slowly, it became easy to breathe again. The imprint of the blanket was fading from her cheek. Remus still wanted to rub it off.

"Okay," he acquiesced, the word coming out as a soft breath. She relaxed back into the chair. "I never wanted you to see me like this," he murmured quietly, feeling all too cracked open under her gaze.

"Remus," she began, also whispering as if not to break the fragile peace between them. His heart stuttered dangerously at the sound of his name from her lips, but he shouldered forward, adamant to not let himself start dreaming again.

"Have you... been well?" Remus asked, first as a deflection before he took in the shadows on her face. It was like once he started, he couldn't stop. "Have you been eating properly and sleeping enough—"

"Remus," she said again, this time more urgently and softly. "I got your letters."

Remus paused, his dry throat clicking as he swallowed. "So you knew the notes were from me," he murmured, rubbing at the base of his neck. "Sorry, I thought they would help, but I'll stop if you're uncomfortable—"

"No, I mean, I got your letters," she said, reaching into her book bag.

To his horror, she pulled out a stack of parchment. Some of them had were heavily creased from being balled up, but someone had carefully straightened them and piled them up. "You weren't supposed to see those," he blurted, mortified now. "I threw those away."

"I know," she said, her gaze fixed on the letters. They weren't really letters at all — he had never been able to get past how to address her. He could catch glimpses of his chicken scratch handwriting. Y/N. Dove. My sweet girl. Cariad. My love. Cariad. Cariad. Y/N. Y/N. Y/N. "Lily gave them to me. She also gave me this—" Carefully, Y/N pulled another familiar piece of parchment from her bag. This one was filled and messy with different colored inks across time.

Remus's mouth went dry. He didn't need to look at it to know what it was because he had it memorized.

Ketchup and pepper with eggs (prefers sunny-side up)

Three younger brothers

Likes mum's knitted sweater the most -> owl mum how she did it??

No favorite color, but it's probably green and yellow??

Needs a midday nap most days

Likes long skirts (or is it because I complimented it?)

Y/N is Sisyphus and the question of orange juice or apple juice is the rock

Peonies

Chocolate frogs (non-jumping)

Always needs hair ties -> ask Lily if Hogsmeade has any

Tea = 3 sugars, lots of milk (prefers juice though)

Give notes for Ancient Runes

Find out if there are hair tying charms

Jane Austen

Christmas ideas: skirts, cat, necklace, journal, hair ties

"You weren't supposed to see that," he said again dumbly.

"I know," she said again. A pause. "I believe you."

Remus's head snapped up to see that she was looking at him. He was dreaming again. He shook himself out of it. "No, you don't have to," he said hastily.

"No, Remus, I believe you that it was real," she said, her words choppy as she wrung her hands together. He wanted to reach out and cover her hand with his but instead he sat perfectly still. "But I— But I was so hurt by you," she whispered.

"I'm so sorry," he said with every fiber of his being. "I was afraid and selfish and I hurt you and there's no forgiving that."

"But Remus," she said, looking up at him finally. "I've missed you. I miss you so much and I don't know what to do—" Her voice cracked. Remus felt like something in him cracked open again.

"Oh, cariad," he breathed. "Can I—" He faltered, but miraculously, she picked up on what he meant. Wordlessly, she surged into his arms and for the first time in weeks, he felt like he could breathe again. "I'm so sorry, my sweet girl," he murmured into her hair as he breathed in her familiar scent. "If... if you'll have me again, can we start over?"

"Only if it's for real this time," she mumbled into his shoulder with a dry huff of a laugh as she clutched him back. God, he missed her laugh.

He pressed a kiss against her temple, the first of many. "It's real. Very real."

Remus prayed he wasn't dreaming anymore.

— — — — —

a/n: thanks for reading :^) would love to hear thoughts! my masterlist here

[sanspuppet]

👀 riding Mingi’s abs…..just saw a that photo shoot whit him in all denim, like the shirt is a denim crop and and bestie 😮‍💨😮‍💨 that would be the best funishment

MDNI ! smut

- W/T: sexual tension, abs riding, choking, fingering, squirting, sliiight degradation

—

You couldn’t fucking take no more. You wanted to enjoy your date with your boyfriend that day, but you had no idea he would wear a denim crop, that did nothing but accentuate his waist, so tiny and sexy, not to mention how his abs were exposed. Mingi couldn’t have not noticed that you didn’t even looked up at him when he talked to you, your eyes seemed glued to his waist, yet he was somehow enjoying your drooling reaction. It was a long evening of you getting distracted by his hips that you needed so bad beneath you. On the other hand Mingi did nothing but secretly smirking back at you, feeling your eyes constantly down his lower body. But at the end he proposed you to spend the rest of the evening by his house, god only knows what were his purposes… well somehow you could figure them out too, and by your situation in that moment you hoped with all your heart that you weren’t wrong. In fact, you wanted to fuck him so bad, so bad that you were feeling icky about how fucking wet you were, you just wanted to take care of it by using him, or vice versa, you literally didn’t fucking care about the details. Mingi noticed it, he knew every time when you got needy but damn… you literally looked like a bitch in heat from how you were clinging to him and how you stared at him, your entire behavior screamed that you wanted to be bred badly.

When he first stepped into his house he turned around to face you, holding you by your waist as he pulled you over the living room. Mingi looked down at your short figure compared to his tall one, a smirk forming on his lips. “Will you tell me what got your attention that much, pretty?” his nose brushed yours, ready to lock you in a long kiss. You wanted him now, there was no point in teasing each other any longer, you wrapped your hand behind his neck and pulled him closer, your tongues diving into your mouths while he busied himself with unbuttoning your shirt, his movements were messy, too eager to be done properly. You did the same thing with his denim crop, throwing it somewhere on the floor. You pulled away from your sloppy kiss and placed your palm on his naked chest, his heartbeat was faster than ever. You pushed him, making him fall down on the couch, he looked up at you with hooded eyes. His tongue trailed a wet line over his lips. You both stripped down completely, never breaking eye contact.

He patted his lap, moving you to sit on him. You glanced at his huge cock twitching at his movement. You sat down on his abdomen, his erected crotch pressing against your back sent shivers of arousal down your spine. “Ride my abs baby, i’m sure you’d want to” He took your chin in his fingers, forcing you to look at him. “Say it, am i right?” You automatically started rubbing yourself against his toned pelvis, his hand quickly gripped on your waist. “Fuckin say it before doing it, little slut” You sighed frustratingly. “Fuck— please Mingi i wanna ride your abs” He pinched your cheek, his cocky behavior showing. “That’s my good girl, you can go on now.” You let out the most feral sighs and loud moans once you started moving, forwards and backwards. You felt every little hill of his abs stimulating your clit, it was impressively good, a fucking bliss. You just needed more friction but your mind was already in a blank state, you threw your head back as you moved faster, your nails dig deep into Mingi’s shoulders. He was admiring you, every single detail of you, he noticed it, and loved it. Jeez if you were such a piece of art to him in that moment. “Don’t worry princess, i’ll help you” he said when he noticed you struggling to get to the highest. He quickly wrapped a hand around your throat, gripping tightly enough, the other one moved down your core, fingering you with all of his fingertips at a fast pace. He raised your head when you kept looking down at you wet cunt. “Eyes on me pretty, you know i want you to look at me whenever you cum. Feels good huh? You such a slut, getting off to my abs”

It was then that you loosed your fucking mind, you were fucked out, your mascara was smudged all over your eyelids by your teary eyes. You whined and moaned without even realizing it. Your lips were of a cherry pink from how hard you bit on them. Your hair a complete mess. And it also was when you finally got off of your high that you noticed you squirted all over his chest. Mingi was looking at all your figure with a proud smirk, his finger caressed gently your back.

“You’re the prettiest like this”

taglist: @bunnyluvr25 @xonga @bro-atz @wisejudgedragonhairdo @therealcuppicake @hongjoongswifefr @sugarnspice630 @stolasisyourparent @kaimisutra @jyunhosbby @pancake-freckle @cherrycel

[peppertoastuniverse]

more than a late night snack: – gojo satoru chapter 3: green tea

contents: gojo satoru x reader, tw!ptsd, swearing, FLUFF FLUFF FLUFF, satoru being down bad and not knowing it yet, satoru not being good at feelings summary:  after trying to cheer you up after a bad day, gojo starts to wonder what these growing new feelings towards you mean.

wc: 2.5k

oh no. were you crying? did he make you – now gojo really didn’t like this, he’s almost panicking, heart racing to an unfamiliar rhythm. he winces, “shit, babe.” refusing to meet his eyes, you wordlessly shake your head.

previous chapter ll master list ll next chapter

you will yourself to unclench your jaw as you rustle into your pockets to fish out your loose change. today was just not your day – after a week of decent sleep you had your first setback in the form of a vivid nightmare that frustratingly did not allow to you go back to sleep. sighing, you add some coins into the machine and press the buttons on the right side to select your favourite bottle of green tea.

grinding your teeth while you shake off the residual panic that’s rooted within your subconscious waiting at the vending machine for your drink to dispense. you were making progress – the nightmares weren’t happening as frequently but you were getting frustrated at your slow progress. sure, other students had nightmares but never as bad as yours were.  were you that weak that you couldn’t fight off your own imagination? if only you had moved quicker, fought harder … maybe everyone wouldn’t have died and you – 

you shook your head at imposing thoughts and impatiently rubbed your temple to calm down the consistent migraine you had. at least the green tea would awaken your drained head and provide some relief from your racing thoughts. you breath hitches as you watch in slow motion as your bottle of green gets jams against the glass of the vending machine.

you blink, biting your lip. luck was not on your side today.

 you sighed heavily, feeling tears at your waterline. oh god, you were going to cry. okay, okay. that’s okay, you just needed to recollect yourself, right? no biggie, it happens, it’s not the end of the worl–

“ooooooh fuck, babe that’s unlucky,” says a sing song voice from behind you.

not this, not now, not gojo.

you unfortunately hear his cheeky smile before you see him. if you were having a bad day and satoru gojo showed up, it was just about to get worse. creeping into your peripheral vision you see messy white hair, dark sunglasses and an infuriating grin. if you turned around you weren’t sure if you were going to yell at him or burst into tears, so you clenched your fists, shut your eyes and hoped he got the hint to leave you alone. you at least hoped that geto was with him, at least if his trainer was there the blue eye beast would be more tolerable.

but luck was not on your side, only hearing one set of foot steps drawing closer and closer, you hold back an audible groan. you shut your eyes tighter around the sound of his voice, hoping that the darkness would smoother his presence. if you cried here – in front of him – you would die of embarrassment. you knew that he would never let you live it down. he still teased you that time you cried when you ate something too spicy after a mission with ieri and geto 4 months ago.

“- last time, it took like 6 colas to unlodge my original cola from this piece of shit. suguru practically died laughing. this one’s the worst,” he said banging his fist on the side of the vending machine hopelessly. “ya gotta go to the one near the gym, babe!  that one is waaaaay newer and better stocked too, but i mean shoko keeps hogging all the strawberry milk. i mean… i guess– we could also just break on the vending machine if-“

yikes. how long had he been talking?

you sigh and finally open your eyes to find him animatedly talking, hand on his hip, other hand on his chin, looking closely into the machine - nose almost touching the glass - trying to figure out a plan to get your bottle of green tea out. if you were stronger or if you had less pride you’d admit that it was almost endearing.

“- or I could- hey? babe? how come you never listen to me???” gojo turns to look at your vacant expression, his lower lip jutting out exaggeratedly, blue eyes burning bright with a tinge of annoyance.

shit, he caught you.

you sigh trying to drain the increasing flow of water in your eyes. “im just having a bad day, gojo. sorry,” you say sheepishly.

gojo eyes widen to take in your appearance, you slightly hunched shoulders, cheeks flushed at being caught. wait.. were your eyes more watery than usual? rims with a tinge of red, eyebrows downcast, you were fidgeting with your fingers unable to look at him in the eye. something explodes in gojo. did.. did he make you upset?

oh no.

the thought of him being the cause of your sadness almost made him want to throw up. he did not like this at all. but.. why was he feeling this way? maybe he needed a cold drink too. or- or maybe.. was it the tea that was the cause of your reaction? oh god, did he have to fight a bottle of green tea? he was one of the strongest he could do it; he’d definitely break the machine in half to get it for you, he would if that’s what you wanted. is that what you wanted? hell, he’d buy you green tea everyday - he’d buy out every store in Tokyo for you if it meant you’d smile.

he was a good friend - he’d do the same for Suguru or shoko, right? he just wanted you to be happy. but when you turn your back to him, gearing up to make an escape, he feels something else drop in his stomach.

“hey - hey it’s okay! i’m not mad, i swear,” he says moving closer to you, awkwardly bumping your shoulder with his.

perhaps it was the combination of his unusual sweetness and the acknowledgment of your fragile state, you feel your eyes grow misty once more. why was he so infuriating? you didn’t want to deal with him, you didn’t want to hear his taunts or his obnoxious comments. you didn’t have the headspace to come up with a witty response or to roll your eyes at him right now. but luck was not on your side today.

 attempting to save yourself from the embarrassment from him seeing your threatening tears fall, you begrudgingly lean your forehead gojo’s shoulder, nose facing his arm conveniently hiding your face. why did embarrassing moments always happen when he was around? you hated it but the need to hide, to disappear was far greater. you sniff softly.

realisation widens his blue eyes. oh no.

were you crying?  did he make you – now gojo really didn’t like this, he’s almost panicking, heart racing to an unfamiliar rhythm.

he winces, “shit, babe.” refusing to meet his eyes, you wordlessly shake your head.

c’mon keep it together. gojo can’t see you like this. “i-is this about the green tea- like it’s not your fault! the machine does that all the time, you didn’t break it or anything! it’s just like – “ “c-can you just.. just shut up for a sec.. please,” the weariness and fatigue coating your words. you sniff, fully succumbing to your bad day, hands moving quickly to rub the tears that lightly fall from your heavy eyes. gojo immediately quiets – a rare sight. fidgeting with his hands, he’s at a loss for what to do. you’re so close, so willingly close to him. your skin is comfortably warm and he’s surprised at how pleased he is that you’ve chosen to get close to him.

he raises his hand and pats your head as he listens to your breathing, trying to offer some semblance of comfort to you even if he knew that you wouldn’t fully accept it from him.

your eyes shut, unconsciously you lean into his soft touch. it felt nice, almost reassuring. “..what’s going on, babe?” he asks quietly, not wanting to upset you more than you already were.

“im.. im not babe.” he hears you muffle against his shoulder, voice still raspy with an abundance of unshed tears. “ and .. my head isn't for patting.”

gojo snorts and makes a point of fluffing your hair to your annoyance.  “yes, you are,” he mumbles, uncharacteristically gentle, his hand stilling on top of your head.

“are you… are you okay?” he asks, concern in his voice. this new sense of helplessness from you was strange to him. even that night when you made udon together, you were out of it but you were still composed albeit exhausted. you’ve always had a bit of fight, but today your meekness and defeated tone started to make him worry.

“i.. i’m just…” you say as you struggle to find the words, unwilling yourself to vocalize your weakness to him. “..i’m not sleeping well," you put simply.

“how come?” he takes his large hand off of your head, instead moving to unconsciously play with a lock of your hair.

“… thinking too much, i guess.” fragile voice threatening to crack. you clear your throat swiftly. “i’ll be fine.”

gojo’s hand settles behind your neck, his warm hands offering a strange and new comfort. he stares at you with a look that you don’t understand, his blue eyes shining. was it understanding or knowing gojo.. pity?

you flush. you detach yourself from him and turn your back swiftly to hide yourself from him. hopefully you’d disappear if he didn’t look at you.

“y’know you don’t have to do that, right?”

you turn slightly angle your head to look back at him with a questioning stare. what is he getting at? “well.. you always hide.“ he states plainly like it was the most obvious thing in the world, “you don’t have to hide with me.”

you blink, red rimmed eyes not looking at his face, instead choosing to focus on the ground beneath him. you weren’t used to gojo being like this towards you, but maybe –

“..and ‘member, babe? six eyes i’ll catch it anyway, so don’t even bother trying- ” yeah he ruins everything. you shoot him the most murderous look you could muster.

getting the hint, he backtracks quickly “..uhhh I just mean, i'm – we’re here for you, you know? shoko, suguru and me. but since i’m the best -“ “nope. you’re at the bottom of that list.”

“wha- the bottom?” he gapes at you disbelievingly, hand over his quickly beating heart. “nuh uh! wait whose at the top then?! don’t tell me that it’s sug-“

you chuckle at his playfulness, you found amusement in seeing him all worked up. his eyes would blaze brightly, slender nose scrunched up, plump lips sculpting into a pout.. he was ridiculous. tilting your head up, your eyes finally meeting blue.

there was so much you wanted to say to him, but you settled on something that nicely encompassed everything:

“you’re so dumb, gojo.”

gojo slowly blows air out of his nose, he swallows his whines and instead pouts slightly at your comment. good this was good, if you were being mean to him then things were getting better - you were feeling better. calling your name he gestures you closer to the vending machine. you follow slowly, unsure of his intent. he inches closer to you, so close that you could feel the warmth radiating off his lanky frame and the fresh smell of his shampoo.  

did this guy know the concept of personal space? why was he so close?

“i’ll get your tea out for you. i can blue the machine if you want! or-or I can –” he says with an easy grin.

your cheeks twitch up, threatening to smile. “you’d blow up my drink then you idiot,” you say voice infinitesimally stronger now, tone more playful.

“yeah, but if i were you i’d want revenge!”

“what, on the machine?” your eyes roll before looking down at your green tea bottle still hopelessly stuck. just like you were.

“dude of course! the bastard stole your green tea!  let’s fuck it up!” his eyebrows wiggle, bright blue laced with mischief.

you snort. “you’re crazy, gojo. if you want to burn some energy go spar with suguru!”

“what, him?” his nose wrinkles at your first name basis with his best friend – and not him. “why ask him when you’re here already? but y’know, i feel like we’d make a good team don’t ya think? we could do some damage together!”  if you didn’t want to tell him exactly what was going on, he could take your mind off whatever is making you upset, it’d be a win. and he always wins.  

“i’m not fighting the vending machine.” you deadpan, fingers coming to pinch your nose bridge, exasperation eclipsing sadness.

“what, babe? you don’t think I’d win???” gojo incredulously whines.

“are you seriously asking me that question right now?”

“all im hearing is that you don’t think i’d win against a cheating vending machine!!” gojo huffs dramatically, crossing his arms and turning away from you.

you fully laugh. his ears perk up happily at the noise, he bounces on his feet while mentally patting himself on the back. he made you laugh –  perhaps luck was on his side today.

he claps his hands suddenly. “right then babe, let’s go!” gojo practically shouts. giddy from his win, gojo quickly grabs your wrist and drags you behind him, the pathetic bottle of green tea forgotten still suspended, leaning on the glass. your eyes widen as you feel the warmth of his hand around your wrist.

“he–gojo! HEY! where are we going?! gojo, slow down, why are we running?!” you ask jogging to keep up with his long stride. "hey!" you sharply shake wrist connected to him to get his attention. “we’re going – oh sorry!” he turns his head, white hair catching the light as he notices your increased pace, he slows down to accommodate your shorter stride.  “we’re going to the convenience store to get some green tea, duh. oh my god, can we get some cake too? oooOOOHhH, let’s get the new strawberry cream cake they have! can we??”

“okay, but you’re paying.” you say amused at his excitement. gojo grins happily, “you think I’d let you pay? c’mon!” shaking both of his hands excitedly, jostling your whole arm when he holds your wrist.

“you can let go now, gojo…” you say, barely noting the way that his grip on you grows a little tighter.

gojo blinks as he hesitantly drops your wrist. quickly recovering, gojo exclaims, “awwwwwww, i thought we were just starting to get alon -” offering you a teasing smile.

“oh my god, let’s just go.” rolling your eyes. taking large strides to walk past him before turning back in a huff annoyed to see that he wasn't following you.

you sigh dramatically, “I’m going by myself if you don’t –“ he quickly falls in line with your steps.  “im coming, im coming! jeez babe, you’re so demand–“ you slap his arm sharply, eyes blazing, all previous sadness forgotten, suspended for the time being. gojo laughs loudly at your expression.

gojo’s day just got better and judging by the pep in your step, he smiles to think that yours did too.

A/N: i loooooove him, he's such a lil puppy here. -- head image credit: unknown! credit goes to the rightful artists dividers from: @/adornedwithlight

[sirfrogsworth]

Help Save the FrogFamily Home

This community I’ve built has been so incredibly generous to me over the years. Part of me feels I don’t deserve to ask for another thing. But I am facing desperation and I don’t know what else to do.

I’ve had a rough couple of years. First, my beloved corgi, Otis, passed away. Then my mom’s health took a turn. I had to take care of her all on my own. And eventually, COVID took her from me. Then my dad’s body began to fail him. I had to be his full-time caretaker. I had to watch his body and mind slowly deteriorate until he finally passed away in March.

I wish I could just take some time to mourn my parents and heal my soul…

But life decided against that.

We tried to make plans so that I would be taken care of after my father’s death. That I would be able to stay in our family home for as long as I desired. But those plans are falling apart at the moment.

Lawyers and probate and debt collectors, oh my.

There is a chance we can get everything sorted, but all indicators show that it could take a while before that happens. Possibly a long while. And my disability payments aren’t even enough to cover the mortgage–much less all the other bills and expenses.

I need to buy time.

Literally.

I need to extend my financial runway long enough to get things sorted. The longer that runway, the better the chances are I can figure all of this out.

I need time to sell all of my parents’ valuable belongings. I need time to fix up our very large separated garage so I can rent it out as a workshop or storage. I need time to fix up the house so it is suitable for a roommate. And I need time to work with social security so I can possibly find financial independence for life.

Unfortunately, without that time, I could face homelessness. I’m sure I could find a place to stay for a while, but I would lose the only home I’ve ever known. The home my mom and dad spent a lifetime fixing up and perfecting. The place in this world I feel most safe and comfortable.

I’ve already lost so much recently. I’m not sure I could bear losing my home as well.

If I lost my home I’d probably have to live on couches for up to two years until government housing was available. And then I’d have to spend the rest of my days in a small single room apartment. I know there are people who would feel lucky to have that, but I’d really prefer to stay in my house if possible. And I don’t think anyone would blame me for wanting that. Especially when all I need to make that happen is a little time.

So I am asking all of you to help buy me some time.

Every $1200 equals another month I have to sort things out. I honestly don’t know how much time I need. I would hope 3 to 6 months would be enough. But the wheels of bureaucracy can move frustratingly slow. So the more time I have, the better the chances are I can save my home and secure my livelihood.

Thank you so much for reading this.

Check out the GoFundMe page here.

[thewulf]

I Want To || Darrel "Darry" Curtis

Summary: Request - Can you do a Darry Curtis x Female Reader where she's pony's bestfriend bc they live in houses really close (greasers and all). She's always had eyes for Darry and he her but bc she was so much younger... Read Rest Here

A/N: For the sake of the story I made reader the same age as Soda (16 going on 17) BUT still Pony’s best friend because Soda is also Pony’s bestie. They’re all a buncha besties (including Johnny!!). Reader is v soft lol. Thank you for the request as always! Hope you like it :)

Pairing: Darrel "Darry" Curtis x Female Reader

Word Count: 3.7k +

TW: crying, shaking, panic attacks, angsty

Shivers racked down your spine as you realized the Soc boys were actually following you. You’d had a sneaking suspicion they were following you after your friends peeled away to their respective houses on their walks home. But you’d all but confirmed it when you purposefully took the wrong street to see if they were in fact following you. They were.

Peaking over your shoulder you shuddered seeing the Soc boys car creeping along behind you. They wouldn’t jump a girl would they? You didn’t think they would, but then again, ever since Pony up and disappeared not too long ago leaving one of them dead, Bob Sheldon, things had changed. They stopped playing by the unwritten rules between groups after Johnny apparently stabbed him, killing him.

Where was Dallas when you needed him to walk you home? It truly was the first time you had been alone since Ponyboy, and Johnny vanished four days ago. Soda made sure to walk you to school. Dally or Two-Bit picked you up. They weren’t taking an eye off you, no. Not after the comments Steve and Soda heard at the gas station from other random kids about the Soc’s revenge. Randy had a plan, and you were a part of it.

You continued walking trying your best to come up with a strategy. It was the damn blue mustang which meant you really had to figure this one out. Randy was following you. Bob was Randy’s best friend and if he was as crazy as you thought he was he might just try and kill you in retaliation for his own friends death. You wouldn’t put it past the man who thought he was above all else.

Without so much as a second thought you booked it across lawns, making sure to take every way but the road hoping to lose the creeping Soc’s. You didn’t have time for tears now, no. You had to get to the Curtis household. One of them would be home. If not one of them then surely Dally, Two-Bit or Steve was there. Somebody had to be there. It was home away from home, there was always a random boy there.

Fortunately for you, you knew the area a little bit better than Randy and whatever fool was in his passenger seat did. You full out sprinted towards the Curtis residence when you finally made it their street. You flew past your house knowing nobody was home to make sure they wouldn’t actually kill you.

You heard the tire screech of the blue mustang gun it as you made it towards the unassuming house just a few roads down from yours. You flew through the front door gasping for breaths before slamming the front door closed, locking everything you could in your field of vision.

“Darry! Soda!” You called out between heaving breaths and throwing your backpack on the ground in front of the door like it’d stop them if they came barging through. They wouldn’t though. They knew better than to fuck with the Curtis household. Darrel was a lot of things, but he’d never take getting attacked in his own home.

“Jesus Christ kid. You about knocked the damn door off it’s hinges!” Darry’s booming voice bellowed from the kitchen before he saw your shaking frame hiding away from the front door. He stepped closer before much more calmly asking, “Hey, what’s the matter Bubs?” It was rare for him to call you that let alone with that caring voice. It’s like he knew how frustratingly attractive you found him. But no, nothing could happen. You were his kid brothers best friend. Off limits or some stupid shit like that.

You just pointed towards the door shaking your head, “Randy.” He caught just how shaky you were. You must’ve been terrified he’d concluded. He wished Soda was home so he could comfort you. He prayed for Pony’s return, but he just knew it’d be a while before he saw that kid once again. But he knew. He knew Ponyboy would come home. He couldn’t leave his brothers. He couldn’t leave you.

He looked towards the front lawn through the windows before turning back to you and grumbling a quick, “Stay here.” He was out the front door faster than you could protest. You paced back and forth through the living room into the kitchen and back. You were nervous. Nervous for him. Nervous for Pony and Johnny. Nervous about it all.

He walked back through the door before shutting it, “They’re gone kid.”

You frowned at the nickname. It was like he was mocking you. You knew it was exactly right having a big old crush on your friends older brother. Your own friend. The man who grew up faster than he wanted too to help Soda, Ponyboy and you have somewhat of a normal childhood. The man you had admired for a long, long time. The woman he chose to marry would be one hell of a lucky lady you had concluded. The man loved harder than anybody you had known. He cared so deeply for those around him. He pushed people hard because he knew he could get the best out of them. He wanted more for you guys than he ever had a chance at. His life was decided for him fairly quickly once his parents had passed. He wouldn’t have changed it other than them staying alive.

You placed your hands behind your back to hide their shakiness, “Thanks for checking Darry.”

“You ‘lright?” He walked towards you giving you a once

“I’m fine.” You hummed looking at the ground instead of him.

“You’re shaking bubs.” He noticed. Because he always did. He noticed everything. There was nothing you could realistically hide from him.

You straightened under his gaze, “Adrenaline or whatever. I’m still trying to catch my breath. You know I don’t run by choice Darry.”

His eyes scoured over your body once more before smiling at you poking fun at yourself, “Alright. If you say so. Why were you walking home alone anyway? You heard Soda and Steve. It’s dangerous.” His tone tightened up after he knew you were okay. That was one of the things you had grown to adore about the man.

You smiled knowing that was much more like him, snapping at you for being so thoughtless, “I waited! Nobody showed up.” You tried defending yourself, but you should’ve known Darry wasn’t going to lose this argument.

“You could’ve called. I would’ve gotten you.” His eyes burned into yours as you had to look up to meet his stare. You certainly didn’t feel like his kid brothers best friend in that moment. You felt seen. So seen by the man you held so dearly in your heart. How were you supposed to go on dates with other greasers when they were such knuckleheads compared to the man you had grown to love and adore? It was pointless and a big waste of your time.

“I thought you were at work. Can you blame me? You’re always there.”

He rolled his eyes, “Soda would’ve came.”

“He’s working Darry!” You countered with amusement in your voice.

But he wasn’t amused. Not by your terrified glance towards the door. Not by the shaking that still had yet to subside. But he cooled it knowing the reason he lost Pony was because he blew up at him. He couldn’t do that to you too, “Look, kid. I promise I’m not yelling at you. I just need you to be careful. Randy’s out there looking for revenge. And I really can’t stand the thought of him putting a hand on you. So please, for our sake just be more careful. I can’t protect Pony right now, but I can you. Let me.”

You nodded up at him, “I can do that.”

His eyes looked from yours back down to your trembling frame, “You’re still shaking bubs.”

With the look that he was giving you it felt like you were going to confess all your feelings right then and there. Thank goodness you didn’t. Even though you had a sneaking suspicion he knew exactly how you felt about him.

“I can’t stop.” You admitted knowing a lie would be too obvious at this point.

He walked over and grabbed a blanket from the couch, “Come here

You shook your head, “You don’t have to Dar. This is enough.”

He ignored you, instead ducking into the kitchen, “I want to. Coffee or tea?” He asked you once more.

“Tea would be great.” You answered him knowing he was going to make one or the other if you didn’t answer. It was his style, his love language. He wanted to take care of those he loved and you fell right into it.

“A little milk and sugar. Just how you like it.” He smiled setting the mug down in front of you on the coffee table.

You looked at the tea, then to him and then back to the tea with a flush coating your cheeks. You sure weren’t doing a good job hiding those feelings, “Thanks Darry.”

He took a seat on the couch next to you, “You got it, bubs.”

You grinned looking over to him, “Haven’t heard you call me that in years.”

He huffed looking away from you, “It fits.”

“I’ll take it.” You grabbed for the tea letting it warm your hands before taking a sip, “It’s better than being called kid.”

He looked over to you, “You are just a kid.”

“I’m almost seventeen, Darry. Momma’s already talking about sending me off to college.” You laughed at the ridiculous thought, “Like we have the money for that. I’m sure I’ll end up at the grocery store or gas station.”

He shook his head so fast you would’ve missed it if you weren’t already looking at him, “You’re meant for so much more. I’ll tell you what, since you’re almost seventeen or whatever I’ll stop calling you kid if you let me call you bubs.”

You smiled at the sweet sentiment, “I don’t think so Darry. I think I’m right where I’m meant to be. You know, not everybody wants to run away from this life. I wish I could take this burden from you Darry. But I can’t. I’m also not going to pretend I hate this life because I don’t. And I’ll take it. Bubs it is.”

He looked down feeling it all hit him at once, “You ain’t a burden. None of you are. I just want you guys to have a choice. I didn’t.”

You took a long pause not sure if you wanted to say it. But there was a reason Ponyboy had run away with Johnny. Maybe he needed to know, “Sometimes it feels like it.”

You heard him suck in a breath surely not expecting this conversation to go on between the two of you tonight, “’m sorry bubs. So sorry.”

“It’s okay.” You wanted him to look at you. He was so freaking handsome and God all you wanted him to do was look right at you. You wanted to reassure him. He was a good older brother. He was doing the right things even if he couldn’t properly express them to his kid brothers. He loved and he cared even if they couldn’t see it. You knew he felt like he was failing but he wasn’t. Ponyboy was just learning and growing.

He shook his head, “I don’t think you ever get mad.”

You laughed this time, “I get mad at Pony and Soda all the time. I just don’t get mad at you.” You shrugged setting down the tea knowing you had opened the conversation wide open now.

He gave you a curious glance as he studied your still trembling hands. You were doing a good job at hiding it, but he noticed, “Is that so?”

You grinned, “I guess it’s your old wiseness. How could I get mad at that?”

“Hey smartass. You want dinner?”

You laughed feeling like the weight had finally been lifted off your shoulders, “There’s the Darry I know.”

He scooted closer to you sensing something was off with you. It wasn’t like him to press but something told him he needed to, “I’m going to ask you one more time. Are you alright?” It wasn’t lost on you that he was looking at your fidgety form under the oversized blanket that framed you. How could you lie to him?

“I’m scared Darry.” Your voice wavered as you tried your hardest to keep the welling tears unshed, “I’m scared for Ponyboy. For Johnny. I’m so scared they’ll never make it home.” And the thought of it made you spill those tears right in front of his oldest brother. You thanked whatever lucky stars you had that Sodapop wasn’t home. You could only take this humiliation in front of one brother.

Without so much of a second thought he pulled you right into his arms. Which meant you were sitting right in his lap. He pushed your head down into the crook oh his neck while he let his hands run up and down your back. He felt your cries before he heard you. You were fighting with all your might not to break down in front of him but his softness towards you was making it all the harder.

“Shh, It’ll be alright sweet girl.” You felt him give you a gentle squeeze, pulling you closer into his chest before he continued, “You really think Ponyboy won’t come home to us? To you? That kid is so lost without you. He’ll be back. I can’t promise you much, but I can promise you that.” He rocked you back and forth in his arms in complete silence. The only sound coming from you muffled cries. He held you longer than he needed. You’d stopped crying into his chest nearly five minutes ago, but he simply held you. One hand around your back and one hand cradling your head. It was exactly what you needed. Dally always knew.

“It’s okay. You’re okay. You’ll be okay.” He whispered as he held you. You fisted at the denim shirt he had on grounding yourself into him.

You pulled back looking over his concerned face. Why him? Why did you have to fall in love with the one person who would never love you like you loved him back? You took a shaky breath, “Thank you Darrel. I couldn’t do this without you.”

He brushed the stray tears away from your face, “Can I tell you something? Between me and you?”

You nodded quickly feeling the shivers run up and down your body from his hand running up and down your back as if was second nature. You were wear for Darry Curtis and everybody knew it. He had to know, had to, “You can tell me anything Darry.”

He leaned down to whisper in your ear, “I think you’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever met. Inside and out.”

Your eyes shot to his with a wide expression, “Say you’re serious Darry.” You couldn’t believe him. In all your years of pining. Of making it rather of how you felt about him. You never even caught a hint that he could feel the same for you. This was new and so wonderfully different than the Darry you knew. Was a major breakdown all you needed to break down his walls?

“’m so serious, bubs. When am I not?” He smirked knowing he had you beat there. He was the most serious guy you knew. Everyone knew it. Don’t mess with Darry Curtis.

“You got me there Mr. Curtis.” A laugh escaped you as you burrowed your head into his neck once more, “Can I tell you something Darry?”

He smiled looking down at you curled into his body. You were too cute clinging to him. He didn’t want to admit how many times he’d imagined something of the sort. How could he think of you like that? He knew you since you were six. You moved in down the street and were fast friends with Soda and toddler Pony. Pony was attached at your hip and the rest was history. You might’ve been two years older than him, but you treated him like your equal. He loved that about you.

“You can tell me anything pretty girl.” His smirk only grew as he felt you grinning into his chest. Darry had always adored the spit fire of a girl. You were a born greaser, through and through. You had a mouth, but you had hands to back it up. Darry or Soda had to step in on your behalf many times because the Soc’s refused to fight a girl. You’d been roughed up a few times to ‘put you back into your place’ but it never worked. Your mouth only got bigger. You’d become a staple in their life so seamlessly that Darry couldn’t imagine his without you in it. He didn’t know when he started to like you, nor did he know when he fell in love with you. But he knew it. By the way he wanted to comfort you. The way he craved to see you smile. How he wanted to rip Randy’s head right off when he saw your face of terror. He loved you. And he was tired of hiding it for his kid brothers sake. Like you said, you weren’t a kid anymore. They could handle it.

“You’re the most handsome man I’ve ever laid my eyes on.” It came out with less confidence than you would’ve liked but it was out, nonetheless.

He gave you a squeeze, “Can I tell you one more thing?”

“You can” You nodded your head on his chest. Your heart rate rising at what he could possibly tell you.

“I love you.” He let out a sigh, “Yeah, I love you a whole lot.”

You pulled away from him for a moment. Shock taking over, “You do?”

“I do.” He answered back quickly trying to hinder any doubts you might’ve had.

“That’s great.” You smiled up him. Your eyes ran over his features as you really looked at him up close without any interruption. He was so handsome, so freaking pretty. It was unreal. Your finger ran over a curl that had made its way over his eye. You brushed it away so you could look into his light blue ones.

“Is it?” He smiled as he too looked right back into your eyes, relishing in the small touches you had given him. He shivered slightly at your touch as goosebumps ran down his back. Oh, he was a sure sucker for you.

You hummed while continuing to brush your hands thought his hair. He’d just showered, fresh from any of the greasy gel he’d yet to put in it. Your hand glided seamlessly over the semi-damp curls that framed his face so beautifully, “It is. Wanna know why?”

“Tell me.” He played along with you. Darry rarely had patience, but you seemed to be the exception. You seemed to calm him instead of aggravating him. You pushed his buttons in the right way. He knew a girl like you would never come around again in his lifetime. If he didn’t go for you he’d have to settle for somebody and wonder what his life could have become if he didn’t take the leap with you. He wasn’t going to let that happen though. No, he was taking his chance.

“Because I love you too.”

The words were something Darry Curtis wish he could have recorded to play back. You had loved him too. He was sure those lingering glances and longing stares hadn’t meant nothing.

He smiled, more than elated by your admission, “Let me take you out on a proper date then. Friday for dinner. What do you say sweet girl?”

You grinned at the newest nickname. How you’d gone from kid to bubs to sweet girl within a day should’ve given you whiplash. But you were more than happy for the change. It might’ve seemed oh so sudden to everyone around you, but it had been years in the making between the two of you. Pony never noticed a thing. Soda noticed everything. Darry ignored it for a while, until he couldn’t ignore it any longer.

“Sounds like a plan.” You brushed your hand along his cheek just wanting to touch him. You couldn’t help the smile that overcame you after seeing the trail of goosebumps your fingers left, “I’m not telling Soda though. That’s up to you.” You stuck your tongue out knowing you left him with the worst part of the whole ordeal.

“If that’s what it takes then I’ll happily tell that little grease head. And Pony too when he makes his way back. Serves him right for cutting out on us like that.” His smile grew as he saw your face light up in joy at his words. He was all in. He was fine telling them. He wanted them to know. He wanted people to know you were his. Certain assholes named Randy would back off. He could properly protect you without it being too overbearing. His heart nearly burst out of his chest when he saw your terror-stricken face not only an hour prior. He nearly broke down as you were sobbing into him, clinging to his shirt with your life. He knew it was now or never with you and he wanted to commit. He wanted you. He always had and now was the time to take.

You laughed at him making light of a situation that was already so hard for him. He was so strong for everyone. Especially for you, “It’s a date then.”

A sigh of relief left his throat as he pulled you in for another long hug, “Finally. I’m going to take you out to the nicest dinner.”

You shook your head, “You don’t have to do that.”

He chucked loving that you hadn’t moved from his lap. He could seriously get used to this. It wasn’t often he got alone time around here, let alone with just you. He needed to cherish this time with you knowing it came around few and far in between.

“Like I said,” He brushed a stray hair away from your face as you looked his over, “I want to. For you, I want to do anything and everything.”

Permanent Taglist (Message me or comment below if you want to be added!) : @loving-and-dreaming @kmc1989 @memeorydotcom @matisse556 @buckylov3r @taygrls @ah-blossom @hardballoonlove @rosiahills22 @djs8891

Request Taglist: @fluentmoviequoter

[thegainingdesk]

The Grommr Profile of Dorian Grey

Dorian finished the last chicken wing, delicately wiping his hands with a napkin, before dabbing at the sides of his mouth. “And one hundred!” He beamed at the camera, and rubbed his middle, not-so-subtly lifting his t-shirt to reveal taut, flat six-pack abs. “Guess that will sort me until dinner,” he said with a wink to his audience.

He looked at the comments on his livestream. Most were in awe, as usual, at how much he could eat while maintaining his stick-thin figure and classically handsome good looks. Others, frustratingly, accused him of being a fake - of using some contraption or camera trickery to make the food disappear, of editing in CGI food, of bullimia. He'd done live shows, week-long streams, streams in nothing but his boxers, but nothing would ever convince some of his viewers.

One in particular caught his attention: lol, why are you all commenting like he'll respond? everyone knows he films these over like a week and then edits it together after

Dorian gritted his teeth. “Actually, user WelcomeToMyFistedMind, comment at fifteen thirty-two and eighteen seconds, this is very much live. And actually, I don't think I am done quite yet.” He stood and walked to the kitchen, coming back with a box of two dozen donuts he'd bought for tomorrow's stream. He sat back down and pushed the first one into his mouth, grinning around the custard that oozed out.

Forty-five minutes and twenty-four donuts later, Dorian flashed one last smug grin at the camera and closed twitch. He leant back, lifted up his t-shirt and ran his fingers lazily up and down his treasure-trail, following the center line between his abdominals. Despite the literal pounds of food he'd eaten in the last couple of hours, his stomach was as flat as ever, his twinkish frame showing none of the effects of the food he ate day in, day out.

His channel, MukbangBangYoureDead, had exploded in viewers ever since he started it a few years ago, until he was now one of the most famous mukbangers on the internet. He could not only eat more than all of his competitors, he made it look easy, and all without gaining a pound.

Of course, he had something that they didn't - the deal. He'd been hesitant at first, didn't believe the strange visitor that had come to him one night could or would deliver on its promises. But here he was, years later, making tens of thousands of pounds a month, all without consequence.

Thinking about the deal, he opened Grommr on his phone and brought up his profile. He whistled as he saw the updated weight - 576 pounds. He'd been flirting with 570 for a while now, and was pleased to see how far he'd stepped over that threshold. Time, he thought, for an update for his loyal fans on that platform too.

He pulled his trousers off and threw them to the side, leaving his t-shirt on. He walked to the mirror and admired his toned, pencil-like legs, his lightly muscled arms, the way his t-shirt draped from broad shoulders and tight pecs over his narrow waist, and his large bulge constrained by a designer jock-strap in bright yellow. He raised his phone up and took a picture, and proceeded to take his shirt off. He raised one hand to a lightly-haired pec and gave it a squeeze as he took a second picture. Finally, he lay down on his bed, snaked some long-slender fingers into his waistband, and raised his phone to take another photo from above.

He uploaded the pictures to Grommr without even looking at them - he knew there'd be no point, that they'd look completely different in just a moment or two. They appeared one by one as they uploaded.

Each showed a behemoth of a man. In the first the man stood in a mirror, wearing a t-shirt that cut into fat hanging from his sides and strained to cover large, pendulous breasts. His gut hung out and down, covering his genitals - a small pop of yellow beneath his love handles was the only hint that he was wearing any underwear. The man's face was huge and round, his features almost amorphous. Small, piggy eyes sat above bulbous cheeks, which merged into a ring of fat around his head, his chin a mere dimple in the fat around his neck. Even in the still image, it was clear that the man's arm was straining against its own weight to hold the phone up.

The next photo was much the same. The same morbidly obese figure stood in the same mirror. This time, the pitifully small t-shirt had been discarded to reveal cascading flesh hanging to the side, lying on the mountainous belly. One hand grasped one of the tits, bloated fingers digging into the soft flesh.

In the next, the figure was laid prone. Gravity had pulled down on the soft flesh and caused it to drop down and pool around the figure. The moobs lifted up towards the man's non-existant neck and chin, his gut spread out, his face expanded in all directions. New rolls and folds had formed - where arm met shoulder, where joints bent, or where his gut bunched up against itself. In the brighter lighting, painfully red stretch marks bloomed across the man's skin, circling his thighs, his love handles like loaves, across his dropping breasts. The man's left hand struggled to reach around his gut to grasp at the waistband of a straining jock strap, within which a small bump suggested some long-forgotten nub of a cock, sunk deep within the fat that spilled out around the underwear’s pouch. The man’s face was red, and seemed to strain as he struggled to maneuver his own flesh.

Dorian watched on in boredom as the first few comments rolled in. The usual adoring fans, begging to know the secrets to his titanic weight, proclaiming they’d soon look the same, asking to meet up. He would wait until a few of his regulars sent their customary tips, then go on with the rest of his day. In the meantime, a couple of the comments caused a smile to spread across his angular face.

MayContainDonuts: MealWithTheDevil looking great as ever! I don't know what it is, but he always looks so much like that one mukbang guy? Obviously fatter, but just the eyes and nose and stuff? I wonder if they're related?

BloatGoat: Do you mean MukbangBangYoureDead? If you can find some of his old photos the resemblance is uncanny. People used to think they were the same person but obviously not. Definitely could be related!

Dorian smirked and went to close the app, stopping only to check a small notification that popped up at the top of his screen. There would be routine server maintenance the next day, and the site would be down for around eight hours, starting mid-morning for the UK.

Dorian sighed. He hated server shutdowns, and this would be the longest he'd experienced yet. Still, he had a while to prepare. He'd have to cancel some lunch plans, but he could make up some lie about being ill. He got dressed, stood up and left to go buy enough food for tomorrow.

Dorian paced around his flat nervously the next morning. He checked his watch - 10:01. He quickly tried to bring up Grommr - sure enough, he was met with an error message about the server being down. It would start soon enough.

The first sign of it was his t-shirt. Previously loose, after about five minutes he found he was having to fuss with it to get it to sit right. another five minutes and it had begun riding up around puffy lovehandles and a firm paunch, while his sweatpants were starting to slip down an expanding rear. Another ten minutes and he took the t-shirt off, freeing a large beer gut that bounced when he walked. His sweatpants had grown almost skin tight around hefty thighs and would soon be too tight for comfort. He knew that this was only the start.

The hunger started then; sickly, stabbing pains in his newly expanded gut. He put two pizzas in the oven and sat with a donuts while he waited, knowing that soon his body, and his appetite along with it, would soon be able to accommodate all the food.

Just under thirty minutes in, Dorian's gut started to rest on his lap when he sat. He leant back, the swollen sack of fat at his middle dragging along his lap as he did so, and his cock began to harden. He reached a hand up to scratch the pink stretch marks beginning to form below his budding moobs.

While stuffed to the point of breathlessness just five minutes before, his stomach was still expanding, and he could feel the gnawing hunger begin to creep back in. He belched and stood, tottering slightly at the near-total shift in center of gravity since he’d sat down. He peeled off his sweatpants, struggling past his wide arse and flabby thighs, then gathered as much food as he could in his arms, using the top of his gut as a shelf and cautiously made his way back to his sofa, where he collapsed down, put on a trashy movie, and continued to eat.

Dorian continued to grow as his pile of junk food diminished. He savoured the feeling of soft, supple skin sliding past skin as he swelled - his growing tits pouring out onto his behemoth gut, his underbelly coursing forwards across rotund thighs dimpled with cellulite, his fat pad oozing around his perpetually hard dick. He knew to wait though; the bigger he was, the hotter his eventual orgasm would be.

Dorian looked down and surveyed himself. His body was beginning to be defined by rolls upons rolls. He estimated himself to be around the size he reached last time there was some server downtime; his profile had put on at least a hundred pounds since then. He lifted a heavy arm and used a hand to probe his plush flesh, sighing at the way his newly chubby fingers sank into the fat.

Still, the hunger increased. Dorian tried to lean forward to grab his phone, but found his own sheer bulk resisted him, pushing him back. He spread his legs and allowed his gut to fall down between them, the shift pulling his body forward in his seat and causing a dull ache in his lower back. He picked up his phone and with clumsy sausage-like fingers brought up a delivery app. He allowed instinct and hunger to take over - spring rolls, beef, chilli beef, sweet and sour chicken, duck pancakes, chilli chips, everything he saw he was ravenous for. He'd not been this big before and the hunger was deep. He pressed order, only briefly worrying about how he'd answer the door when he had no clothes that could hope to fit him.

Dorian’s body continued to expand. There was an alienness to his new size; his thighs had to splay around his hanging gut, his arms sat uncomfortably on top of thick pillows of fat at his sides, each joint filled with lard, and most of all was the awareness of gravity, how it pulled at his body and how his body answered in kind by dropping down and down.

Half an hour of nagging hunger later, his doorbell rang. He threw himself forward, but fell back to the sofa. Even that unsuccessful effort left him winded. He rolled to the side, fat cascading over fat as he did so, and staggered to stand sideways, his arms shaking as he heaved with all his might against the sofa. He grabbed a blanket and draped it over him; it barely covered his torso, but it was the best he could do.

How had he never realised how easy walking was before? Now, every step needed to be purposeful and required a conscious effort to propel his weight forwards. He had to wheel each thigh out and around past the other, each one a lead weight to be lifted. Dorian reached the door panting and sweaty, his hips burning with the beginnings of pain. The delivery driver looked on in shock, and then in slow horror. Dorian didn't care, he just grabbed his bags and slammed the door, before making his slow way back to his seat.

As he fell back, the sofa made a loud crunching sound and he felt himself sink deep into the cushions. He shuffled over the other side as best he could, each movement sending shockwaves across his body. He piled his bags into the crater left on the other side of the sofa and ate directly out of them, the table now wholly unreachable.

Dorian suspected he stopped growing around the time that he'd finished his food. If nothing else, the hunger had stopped. His torso had become a series of rolls, each one wrapped around his entire body and piled on top of the next. His limbs had become huge sacks of flesh, spreading out beneath him, the only evidence of his joints small, soft dimples in the thick casing of his body.

Dorian knew he'd waited long enough now. He pushed a stubby paw into the deep fold underneath his gut, reaching for the hard nub of his cock not yet swallowed by his fat pad. It was no use however, the heavy weight of his belly pressing down and closing off his own groin from himself. He leant to the side and spread his thighs, freeing up access and shifting his weight off from his lap, but still his fingers had to squirm past sweaty flesh into the small crevice left of his crotch. He grasped at the hard head of his cock, finding it in a shallow depression of flab nestled in dense pubes. With two fingers he did his best to jerk himself off, but to no avail - there was simply not enough cock left and not enough space to handle it in. Desperate for release he began to thrust, rocking his pelvis back and forth, so that the thick shaft of his penis slid within his own blubber, fucking his own body. He closed his eyes and ignored the tortured groans of the sofa below him as his pleasure grew. It only took a few minutes for him to cum, semen coating his fat pad and thighs as he yelled out.

Dorian slumped back, gasping for air, and exhausted, drifted off into a sleep.

When he woke up, it was dark. He could still feel the weight of his body pulling down. This wasn't right. As slow as it took for the weight to pile on, usually it melted away in seconds once the servers were back online, which should have happened hours ago. He checked the time - 23:24. Had something gone wrong?

He checked Grommr - the site was back up. He tried to log in - nothing. App - no. Browser - no. He tried to type his password in again, fat fingers mashing against the keyboard so that he had to try again slowly, deliberately. Nothing worked. He felt his heart pounding somewhere beneath his bosom.

Finally, he noticed an email in his inbox.

Grommr admin team - lost profile

During our recent scheduled server update, a small number of user profiles were unfortunately lost. We are sorry to tell you that your profile was one of those that we have not been able to recover. We are doing everything we can to recover lost profiles, but we are sadly not…

Dorian stopped reading. He looked down at the acres of flesh that were now his body. He lifted an arm up and let it fall, watching it shake and wobble in the dim light. What would he tell his family? His friends? His fans? This couldn't be happening.

Through his panicked breathing and heavy heartbeat, another feeling began to grow - Dorian Grey was beginning to feel hungry.

[skxllz]

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬♡♡▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

“ fi- ” you sighed for the umpteenth time within the last ten minutes, trying your best not to frustratingly spazz on your girlfriend while she looped and pulled at the fabric around your neck. the two of you were attending a dinner from this recent job she had gotten —it paid well, was fairly easy and was a keeper— and she wanted you to look ‘ superb’, her words, but it wasn't helping that she had no fucking clue what she was doing.

fiona's tied bowties in the past for her brother's during school events, but those were easy. she's never had guidance for a regular necktie — all the guys she's dated in the past were all shitty and never wore suits, and it's not like she had a good father figure around to teach her shit incase of emergencies. so, you couldn't exactly blame her, but she wouldn't even let you budge so you could help. it was irritating.

“ I almost- ” she's sticking her tongue out and squinting, trying to focus as her fingers worked. “ got it- ” and she's looping it the wrong way again.

finally, taking ahold of her hands, you slowly pull them away from the sleek blue cloth. she's looking at you with parted lip, face surprised since you never denied her anything — but now, for once, you were permitting her from helping. “ fiona, ” you softly yet sternly spoke, as to show that you weren't mad. “ I got it, alright? just watch, baby. ”

“ but- ”

you gave her a knowing look and she pressed her lips together, reluctantly sighing. shoulders dropping. “ okay.. ”

after fiona dropped her hands to her sides with a pout, you leaned forward to place a soft peck to her cheek. “ just watch. it'll help you out later on. ”

a brief lesson began, then. you demonstrated by repositioning the necktie; crossing over each side, then bringing the fatter end in a loop around the skinnier end. slowly up through the connected side, so she could see, and over through the loose juncture - only to pull it tight, and loosen it from your neck just a bit.

your brows raised to her watchful eyes, “ did you get that? ”

fiona tilted her head, eyeing you for a moment. the cogs in her head were turning, going through each image in her head to make sure she memorized what you had did, before she nodded. “ yeah- yeah, I got it. ”

that's when you untied the cloth from your neck and grinned at her, gesturing the female forward, “ show me then. ”

her eyes briefly lit up. it was adorable to see her so excited to do something just for you - made your chest warm and heartbeat pick up.

you were lucky to have her.

she stepped closer and wrapped her digits over the cloth. pulling one side over the other, fiona followed the steps you previously displayed; her movements nimble, slow. she didn't want to mess up again.

and her progress had showed, as soon as she slowly slid the knot up your neck to gently tighten it - enough to where it wouldn't come undone.

this caused you to smile down at her, “ ya’ did great, fi. ”

the praise went a long way with fiona. she sheepishly grinned and ducked her head to prevent you from seeing how red get cheeks got from that compliment alone - but you saw anyway, chuckling under your breath.

slipping a finger under her chin, only to pick her head up. her brown, doe eyes were sparkling like crazy; glassy from feeling proud of herself. it was a simple task, but just the fact that you took the time to show her meant so much.

you leaned in and pressed a kiss to her lips, humming. “ I love you, gorgeous - now come on. we're gonna’ be late. ”

[goldenhypen]

⌏⎯ TAKE ME

pairing… jake x fem!reader | genre… fluff | wc… 0.7k | warnings… none

a.n… idk if y’all remember my post ‘gorgeous’ but y’all seemed to rlly like that one, so if you’re looking for smth similar,, i suggest you read this one 👀 no promises it’ll satisfy but i’m just rlly missing this man and needed to do smth about it :’) enjoy <3

jake checked you out from behind, his eyes slowly trailing down your figure, and then back up as you looked at yourself in the mirror, making final touch ups to your appearance as you were almost ready to leave.

"can i come?" you heard, jake’s voice low and soft as he stepped closer to you.

immediately, his hands met your waist, circling around from behind as he pressed his body against yours.

but before letting yourself melt under him, you turned around under his fingertips, placing your hands sternly on his chest and almost pushing him away, "no, it's only the girls today."

ending with a shake of your head, you looked into his eyes again, expecting to meet an understanding gaze, but to your surprise, his stare was strong, intense. at this, you parted your lips to speak, but the words found themselves stuck in your throat, and suddenly whatever you had on your mind escaped your grasp.

he leaned in closer, his eyes intently on your lips. and before you could even react, he was already kissing you, not even a second later, already somehow managing to take your breath away.

the passion poured into the kiss caused your legs to grow weak, but his strong hold prevented you from going anywhere even if you tried.

eventually, he pulled back, leaving you in a daze and whining at the loss, finding yourself leaning in for more.

but his next words stopped you.

"can i come?" he asked again, an almost hint of amusement in his voice.

eyes never leaving his lips, without thought, you nodded, the desire to kiss him again still clouding your mind. and before you knew it, you were grabbing him by the collar and pulling him back in.

however, unable to even fully savour the moment, he pulled back, a cheeky grin plastered on his lips.

"great!" he exclaimed, a look of joy spreading across his face. he leaned in closer again, looking deeply into your eyes. "i’ll get ready then,” he whispered before giving you a wink and walking away.

blinking a few times, you stood there dumbfounded. it took a moment for reality to sink in, and when it did, you realised, he really tricked you.

wasting no time, you followed him frustratingly, upset that he not only fooled you into letting him tag along for something he wasn’t invited to, but he also left you craving for more kisses, and the fact that he left you longing for more fired something up in you.

you stormed after him, opening your mouth to speak, but before your words could escape, he already beat you to it.

"you know, i was only teasing you," he started, turning around with a chuckle, making you feel both relieved yet foolish at the same time. “i wouldn’t ruin today; i know how much you’ve been looking forward to it,” he paused before continuing in a playful tone, “even if it means having fun without me.”

“you wouldn’t ruin it,” you clarified.

“you get the point,” he said. “you look really pretty today, by the way.”

he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close. you chuckled, resting your arms around his waist and head on his chest.

“thank you,” you let out softly. “i wish you could come, you know i do.”

“no, i know,” he laughed. “you can just make it up to me by taking me out next time, yeah?”

“you’re acting as though this is some sort of long goodbye—like we’re not going to see each other for a long time,” you smiled.

“i mean, i don’t know about you, but to me, four hours without you feels like forever.”

you pulled away slightly, narrowing your eyes at him before smacking his chest.

resting back down, you let out, voice just above a whisper, “so cheesy.”

you remained there, cherishing his warmth for just a few moments more, but eventually you pulled away.

he noticed as your eyes met his lips, and taking the hint, he quickly met you in the middle.

“i’ll see you later, okay?” you said, resting your forehead on his, a small smile lighting up your face, a sight that never failed to leave jake’s heart doing crazy flips in his chest.

he pulled you in once more, his hands holding the sides of your face.

“continue when you get back?” he suggested as he finally pulled away, a smirk growing on his face.

you left one last quick kiss on his lips.

“i’ll be back before you know it.”

a/n… ahh first work since the hiatus hehe hope this put a smile on your face :)) as always, reblogs, feedback, etc are always always appreciated !! love u mwah <3

[skylitstories]

unfinished soukoku oneshot :) (let me know if i should finish it lol)

1.4k words, hurt/comfort, touch starvation + touch aversion “What the hell did you do?” The redhead snapped, finding himself frustratingly frozen in place.  Despite their mask, the assassin seemed to smirk. “It takes a bit to set in. Don’t let anyone touch you, unless you want to have even more blood on your hands.” Panic and confusion took twin positions in the forefront of Chuuya’s mind. “The hell does that mean, you crazy bastard?” Their smirk widened, hand slipping off of Chuuya’s wrist. “Don’t worry, you’ll survive it. I’ll let you put the rest together.” or, Chuuya gets hit by an ability that will kill anyone who touches him. This isn't a problem until a mission requires Corruption.

It all began on a joint mission between the Port Mafia and the Armed Detective Agency.

Of course, it was Chuuya and Dazai who were selected for the task. It seemed like the universe, and the people at their respective organizations seemed outright determined to place the two in close proximity whenever possible.

Most times, they both played up a practiced annoyance at having to even set eyes on one another, sending harsh quips back and forth in a public and dramatic fashion. It felt normal to the both of them, in a way that nothing else had in a long time. 

The mission was excruciatingly simple. Perhaps that is what makes how desperately wrong it went all the more difficult to comprehend.

Everything was going smoothly, between the lack of any alarms being raised and a successful kidnapping of a certain powerful figure-- there was even a clear escape route. Until, of course, Dazai decided to peek around the man’s office.

“Idiot!” Chuuya had stage-whispered, still occupied with keeping their target from trying to escape. “We need to get going, there’s no time for your stupid ass to go snooping.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dazai replied, languidly coming to rest his arm on the desk and leaning over with a taunting smirk. “You’re almost as particular with your plans as Kunikida.”

For some reason, Chuuya had gripped harder onto the arm of the man they were intending to kidnap, enough to make him let out a muffled cry of pain into the duct tape over his mouth.

“Let’s just go,” The redhead had ground out through his teeth. “Come on, bastard. I’m sure you can handle not being a selfish ass one damn time.” 

Not sensing the change in Chuuya’s demeanor, or perhaps just choosing to ignore it altogether, Dazai had continued a lazy stroll around the office, pulling file cabinets open and leafing absently through the papers held within them. 

“We have plenty of time,” The detective had said, waving a hand at Chuuya in a gesture that could only be described as dismissive. “Feel free to go on without me, now that the mission’s completed. I’ll go back to the Agency later.”

Without thinking, Chuuya had scoffed aloud. When he spoke, it was as though his every word were a blade dipped in venom. “Great to know you’re still the same old Dazai.”

The words themselves wouldn’t have been enough to give the brunette even a moment of pause. No, it wasn’t until the end of the sentence that Dazai even really registered what his former partner was saying. Something in the way the redhead said Dazai’s name like it was a curse, like it was something that disgusted him to even say, had set something heavy with hurt and anger in Dazai’s chest.

“And what is that supposed to mean?” Dazai had straightened, setting the papers down and taking a step towards where Chuuya was by the window.

Chuuya, being fractionally more insightful than Dazai, had realized that somewhere along the course of the conversation, their mostly-playful bickering had dissolved into something more serious, something harsh and angry that they hadn’t fallen into since Dazai had left the Port Mafia.

That didn’t mean he was going to stop.

“It means,” He said through gritted teeth. “That even though you’ve run off to play pretend and try to be the ‘good guy,’ you’re still the same exact asshole that I knew.”

Dazai’s gaze sharpened, and if it were directed at anyone other than Chuuya, it would have struck a lightning bolt of fear through whoever was unfortunate enough to be met with it. 

That won’t work on me, dumbass, Chuuya thought, but did not say. Nothing you can threaten me with will ever hurt more than when you left.

“Why are you doing this?” The brunette asked, not quite hiding the way his fists clenched in his jacket pockets.

Because I want to hear you talk again. Even if it’s to shout at me and call me a hundred terrible things, I would tear the world down to hear your voice for just a moment longer.

“Just trying to make you pause and actually look at yourself for a minute,” Chuuya says instead, forgetting all about the hostage and the mission and any semblance of discretion. “Making sure you’re not deluding yourself into thinking you’ve changed even a little bit.”

A stab of something pierces Chuuya’s chest at the way Dazai’s expression shuts down, the way the angry light behind his eyes falls further and further away, growing colder and duller until it’s gone.

And suddenly, Chuuya is faced with the same dead eyes that Dazai had worn every day of his life when he was still with the Port Mafia.

In truth, the redhead had been painfully aware of how much Dazai had changed since joining the Armed Detective Agency. How he had been more lively, easier to talk to, and seemed to maybe have a trace of happiness behind the cold shell Chuuya had always known the brunette to be.

It wasn’t until all that was gone in an instant that Dazai’s former partner realized just how much had changed. 

“Maybe you’re right.” Dazai said. Not an accusation, nor a question. More of an observation, something forged in neutrality and designed to pierce Chuuya’s heart.

I did this. He realized, all notions of continuing this argument leaving his mind at once. 

“Maybe I am.” The words tasted like poison on his tongue, coppery like the nail he felt himself hammering into the coffin where their partnership rested. 

Dazai nodded, and that was when all hell broke loose.

All at once, the hostage had taken advantage of Chuuya’s brief moment of vulnerability to wrench himself from the man’s strong grip, rolling onto the floor and making his way under the desk. On instinct, Chuuya lunged for him, only to find himself stopped by a harsh, unforgiving hand wrapping around his wrist and pulling him back.

His mouth opened to snap at Dazai, because who else would dare distract him from their mission? The word died in his throat when he was met with a masked face disconcertingly close to his.

“Who the fuck are you?” Chuuya gritted out, trying futilely to wrench his wrist out of their grip. 

After a tilt of their head, they whispered a few words that were muffled by their mask, and suddenly an overwhelming dread whited out Chuuya’s mind.

“What the hell did you do?” The redhead snapped, finding himself frustratingly frozen in place. 

Despite their mask, the assassin seemed to smirk. “It takes a bit to set in. Don’t let anyone touch you, unless you want to have even more blood on your hands.”

Panic and confusion took twin positions in the forefront of Chuuya’s mind. “The hell does that mean, you crazy bastard?”

Their smirk widened, hand slipping off of Chuuya’s wrist. “Don’t worry, you’ll survive it. I’ll let you put the rest together.”

Chuuya still couldn’t move.

…

When next he came to, it was to the familiar feeling of being in a moving car. His eyes fluttered open slowly, lightheadedness bringing a strange cotton-like feeling to his mind. 

“Welcome back to the land of the living,” Dazai’s voice came floating through the car, barely loud enough for Chuuya to even comprehend. “Care to explain what happened in there?”

“Not r’ly.” The redhead muttered, curling himself towards the window.  

“Not an option.” Dazai shot back.

Why is he pushing this? Chuuya thought miserably, head pounding as he pressed his temple against the window. 

“Because,” Come the answer, and oh, Chuuya said that out loud. “You froze up when that assassin got you, and promptly passed out as soon as they left.”

Before the redhead can even attempt to formulate an answer, the detective cuts him off. 

“And every time I tried to carry you out, you flinched and started pleading that I don’t touch you.”

Fuck. There went Chuuya’s chances of hiding this particular incident.

“Explain.” Dazai’s tone left no room for argument.

“Fucker hit me with ‘n ab’lity,” The redhead tried to explain with his leaden tongue.”Said nob’dy could touch me.”

There was a pause. “And you just took their word for it?”

“F’ck off, Dazai,” Chuuya really didn’t have the energy to deal with his former partner being disappointed in him. “No point risk’ng it.”

There was a pause, and for a moment Chuuya let himself believe that maybe Dazai had actually respected his judgment and let something go for once.

“I’ll research abilities that have restrictions on touch,” Is what the detective says when he eventually does speak. “We’ll get you out of this, Chuuya.”

Chuuya doesn’t think he’s being too delusional when he hears a promise woven into the words.

[blysse-and-blunder]

in lieu of a labor day long weekend

11pm, sunday, september 1, 2024

couldn't remember if i've done 'in lieu of a long weekend' before, so i specified. raise your hand if you're spending the day off doing more work than ever, because you're a grad student and/or poor planner!

reading

francis spufford's cahokia jazz (2024) absolutely entranced me this week. i couldn't put it down, stayed up all night (literally) to get through the big confrontation and then stayed up to make sure i knew how things shook out afterwards. i have found two book reviews which seem to agree that there's a lot to 'work through' here, pull-quote below, but this was not my experience-- i was thoroughly hooked by the (to me) subtle and eloquent clues about how this timeline was different from our own, and fascinated by the city politics, religion, infrastructure-- if anything, the focus on public transit struck me more than the exposition! shoutout to the streetcars!--but most importantly, maybe, spufford knew how to write his protagonist's relationship to music, and incorporate joe's jazz into his pov in a beautiful way, a real way. i'm fucking mourning the what-could-have-been of cahokia, of indigenous america, of. god. that vision of a different form of modernity-- not less complicated, not less industrialized, with all its own moral ambiguities and darkness...but nevertheless a living society.

from the new york times' review, ivy pochoda:

Reader, let me ask you a question. How much work are you willing to do to dive into a new novel? Do you want to step into a speculative world frustratingly close to our own? Do you want to spend time in an imaginary city constructed with the world-building minutiae of a high fantasy novel? Do you want to engage with new forms of government and religious sects? Are you cool if there’s foreign language peppered throughout? How about the Klan? A Red scare? A nascent F.B.I.? A love story? Do you also want jazz? And do you want all of this to be part of a detective novel?

fucking of course YES I DO.

also finished just today, the personal librarian (2021) by Marie Benedict, Victoria Christopher Murray, narrated by Robin Miles. i had known there was a belle da costa greene award offered by the maa for medievalists of color, but it took me until reading this novel to actually learn anything about belle herself, and i am thrilled it exists. i'm so, so glad she existed. figuring out how to work her into my medieval book syllabus as we speak. a very different book than the one above, though they both must have taken a huge amount of research and informed imagination and inference-- belle destroyed her correspondence, apart from her business letters apparently-- but the academic in me was hoping there would be. two or three more skosh more precision and detail in the discussion of manuscript / incunabula research. there was a lot of 'the beauty of art' and 'the value of the written word' but it felt a little cursory. still, i know i'm an outlier. the discussions of her relationships to her parents, her identity, her passing, were all executed with so much care.

watching

the build up of intensity / count-down to the opening of the restaurant in the bear s2 was getting to me in the count down to the new semester, so i turned to something a little different. what if this is the year i actually get into psych. so far, signs point to this being a good decision. just finished the spelling bee episode (s1e02 i think? i didn't realize that the pilot was two parts, i thought those were two separate eps but whatever) and it was absurd, but. i'm just so glad to be watching tv made in an era where...you have to watch the screen to get everything that's happening! and there are contrived/ridiculous premises in the same episode as some layers are built up in the main characters' relationships and actual, like, continuity! it's a serial detective show that is at bottom incredibly silly but i'm here to over think and get invested in it. love to see dulé hill in a lead role. what the hell was i doing in 2006, when not watching this.

listening

i'm exploring a bit lately, new music, new (to me) artists-- I think i'm enjoying pop girlies at the moment, song of the summer etc., and charlie xcx's brat and caroline polachek have both been on my repeat list, but i don't have a ton to report yet. honestly this week it's been a lot of listening to the podcast a more civilized age: a star wars podcast (thanks @knifepadme for the rec!!) break down over andor. it is so incredibly cute to hear how excited they get over the first three episodes, and continue to get over the whole first arc. TELEVISION! it makes me feel like i'm rewatching the show with friends, their insights and the parallels and interpretations they keep pulling out are enriching it a lot, but also their star wars nerdery is picking up on things i wouldn't have thought to get excited about, and predictions that never occurred to me, and it's. delightful.

playing

finished chants of sennaar! total play time was about 20 hours, and that's with getting all the glyphs and all but two of the accomplishments (a little sore about that since I'm pretty sure i was in proximity for at least one of them that ended up not counting, but, whatever). i did consult a guide for the final series of puzzles, not the last language but the stuff that came after, i guess because i wanted to be completionist about it--but there were also some obstacles that weren't logic or anything, but more about learning the game's patterns (the first thing i looked up was staring right in front of me, i just wasn't paying attention to the right shit). there was a moment when the genre of the game shifted, i think i've mentioned before maybe, and it happens again towards the end-- but this time it didn't hit in quite the same way? perhaps because it wasn't as big a shock. more of a 'oh well, i guess this might as well be happening' reaction. i'd done a few of the puzzles out of order, i think, earlier than they'd anticipated / as i was progressing up the tower rather than all at the end, except for one at the very bottom that i had to go back and find (thank you to the people online who write guides and do playthroughs).

i really loved the visuals and design of this game-- the colors, the angles, the wild perspectives in some of the scenes. i liked that, once i'd gotten the hang of something, i could typically repeat that manner of thinking and succeed the next time as well-- a game about learning. learning to learn!

making

sewed part of one of the new patches onto the jacket. just barely worked out a stitch i could handle, only to have my housemate lend me a little rubber finger...thingy, and make everything so much easier. why did i decide to sew through denim and multiple layers of stitching? because i don't trust the iron-able backing, and also love to make life harder for myself i guess.

working on

it's been syllabus lockdown hours over here, and considering that the first class is thursday, it will continue to be until the absolute last fucking minute. i want too much and also shy away from making literally any decision. you'd think that this level of avoidance might make it easier to productively procrastinate by working on other things, but that's a funny joke.

[solomons-poison]

wait aaa so you’re doing kiss prompts? i can’t find the prompt list but i’ll request your fav one with the lovely sorcerer Solomon ofc 🫶🏻

I am! I have the prompt list linked at the bottom of each answer and I'll link it on this one, so if there's a number you'd like in particular, then feel free to send in another request~ for now I'll go with number 4 :>

Solomon x GN!reader

♡ kissing their nose to watch them blush

Solomon could be frustratingly composed. It took a lot to catch him off guard, and seeing him flushed red and with unsure or shocked expression was incredibly addictive thanks to its rarity. Thus, occasionally it would become a game between you and Asmo to see who could break his composure first. However, your plans often backfired, and you'd find yourselves getting flustered instead, totally thrown off your rhythm as your lover only laughed at the way he'd managed to turn it around. He was simply too perceptive sometimes.

It took a long time in your relationship to figure him out. Lots of studying, observing the way he reacted to different "stimuli", almost like an experiment to gather all the necessary data to make your next move. Honestly, if Solomon knew what you were doing, he'd likely be proud to know that 1) you were so interested in him and his reactions and 2) that you were working this hard just to one-up him. However, each way you tried to look at it, you just couldn't seem to figure out how to get him.

Finally, though, as genius often does, an idea hit you unexpectedly. In a very rare instance, you'd happened to wake up first, giving you time to admire your beloved. He was usually the last to go to bed and the first to wake (seriously, when did he sleep??), so you didn't get to see his vulnerable sleeping self very much, if at all. And boy was it gorgeous, his soft white eyelashes lying against his cheeks, hair a little messy from his sleep, and a peaceful expression on his face. Honestly, it was easy to stare, just absorbing this sweet image into your mind. That was why you almost didn't notice when Solomon started to shift in the beginning stages of waking. But he inhaled deeply, shifting into a new position right before his eyes fluttered open.

You were quick to settle, shutting your eyes and evening out your breaths to appear to be sleeping, and it seemed to work as Solomon stayed quiet, clearly trying to prevent you from waking. Warm fingers suddenly touched your cheek, gentle and loving in their caress, and it made your heart ache to feel the love in his touch. You wanted so badly to lean in to him, but you had an objective to meet. Eventually, his weight shifted on the bed towards you, his hand moving to softly cup the back of your head. He often gave you a forehead kiss in the morning as his wake-up call, and you knew exactly what was coming.

That made it easy, then, to catch him off guard. Just as you felt him lean forward, you opened your eyes and shot up, kissing him on the nose. Solomon instantly froze, hand still behind your head but arm suspended in the air as his sleepy brain struggled to compute what happened. Finally, you could see the blush creep up his neck and into his cheeks, mouth opening and closing as he struggled for words. It was the prettiest sight you'd ever seen, and it was worth Solomon's kissy revenge right after that. Your idea may have only worked this one time, but as you two dissolved into sleepy giggles, you were perfectly okay with that.

—

Send me a type of kiss and a character!

[nephilimeq]

Hey, I was just wondering what age you thought Derek was in season one? Cause it’s a heavily debated and unknown piece of information. Me personally I always thought he was 19 in the pilot, and this was before I had read anything about the writers wanting him to be that age in the pilot. It was just the way he acted, to me, it doesn’t seem like a mid-20s man. Also stiles says the fire happened “ like ten years ago” but then a few episodes later Peter says he’s been in a coma for 6 years. So I was just curious what you thought. Also stiles saying that is always made out to be taken as it literally happened exactly ten years ago, and people always bring it up but they never talk about how long Peter said it had been.

Sorry if this is long I just enjoy your blog and your thoughts. I wanted to share mine while also hearing it from your perspective. Hope you have a wonderful day, you deserve it!

This is a very tricky subject to handle, because the writers made mistakes in their own timeline so they switched things around.

But in the very first episode Stiles says that Derek is only a few years older than them. I always figured that Derek was around 19 in Season 1, while Stiles was 16.

The reason why they messed everything up so horribly is because they hadn't actually created a timeline for all the events when they started writing, and to me, it made the show feel like a fan fiction writer who was just making it up as they went and then all the reviewers were saying, "Hey, you have a few continuity errors," and instead of trying to make it work, they just made something up and didn't really try to go back and adjust anything.

There's a scene that happens when Stiles is asking Peter and Cora about Derek's past (Season 3, Episode 8 "Visionary"), and he is trying to find out how old they are, and this train wreck section of dialogue occurs:

Stiles: Okay, if Derek was a sophomore back then, how old was he? How old were you? ...How old are you now? Peter: Not as young as we could have been, but not as old as you might think. Stiles: Okay, that was frustratingly vague. How old are you? Cora: I'm seventeen. Stiles: See, that's an answer. That's how we answer people. Cora: Well, seventeen how you'd measure in years. Stiles: Alright, I'm just gonna drop it.

This dialogue made me so pissy when I heard it the first time because I knew that this was the writers' response to the viewers and fans. The fans are Stiles in this conversation, and the writers are Peter and Cora being purposely "frustratingly vague" in the hopes that we'll just "drop it", which a lot of us did because they wouldn't give us any straight answers.

They messed up and they know it.

In my head canon -- because it makes the most sense to me -- Derek is three years older than them. Canonically, Derek is actually only ten days older than me, as seen in this enhanced screencap right here (from Season 1, Episode 11, where Kate has him kidnapped and held up in chains):

So according to this he would have been around 22, about to turn 23 in the first season...but here's something to take into consideration. This driver's license isn't for California -- it's for New York. I have a theory that he got a professional fake I.D. so that he could do more jobs (such as bartending) while he was out of state.

Now, when Stiles mentions the fire was "like, ten years ago," I genuinely think that he was just generalizing. Derek was sixteen when Kate took advantage of him raped him, which means that the fire happened when Stiles was around twelve/thirteen (as he has a canonically April 8th birthday, so it all depends on the months).

Regarding anything Peter might have said...please remember that it has been firmly established in the show that Peter is an unreliable narrator. Stiles openly admits that to Cora in the previously mentioned Season 3, Episode 8, "Visionary".

A lot of these issues are because of the lack of consistency from the writers.

I think the biggest problem was when they cast a younger Peter and totally threw the timelines off, trying to make him only a few years older than Derek -- which he wasn't. Peter is Derek's uncle, for crying out loud! The man would have been in his late twenties, early thirties when Derek was a teen, barely looking any different than he does in the show...and yet the writers and producers thought that making him look almost like a teenager was the right call.

I do think it was a last ditch attempt to try and make Derek waaay older than Stiles because they didn't like the shipping -- but they had already established too much of their timeline at that point and simply messed up and didn't have the guts to admit it.

Simply put, I genuinely think Derek was nineteen and turned twenty during season one.

Hope that answers your questions, anon!

[throwaway-yandere]

A/n: ansy speaking, not her. Please. P l e a s e. Don't read ANY of the endings unless you've reached the end of the story in your own way.

Link to the fic.

Gepard Landau died on the same day you lost your leg. That was all you remembered.

His funeral was befitting a Landau. You didn't exit the car and simply watched from afar. No one knew who committed the crime, as far as everyone was concerned, you were also a victim of an aggressive assailant. Serval had done eerily good work at making you scarce. The visitors were either distracted by the fact you were just a few feet away from witnessing them lower down his casket or were too busy mourning over the loss of a great soldier.

Yet, there was someone who wasn't as convinced as the rest. 

Sampo knocked on your window that day, grating you with the happiest sounding "condolences!" he could boast. At the time, you wanted to punch his face in but feared you'd get an earful from Mrs. Landau. A no-last-name orphan like you can’t just buy a car.

You rolled the window down. Hearing him out was better than feeling whatever sinister emptiness resided inside your heart. 

Sampo cheerfully reached his hand out to shake yours forcefully. "Heyya there, friend! Long time no see, eh? Guess you can't catch me now, not with those legs, I mean."

You can't believe you laughed at such an insulting joke. 

"What do you want, Sampo…?"

"Hmm? Oh, nothing special."

The shady merchant rested his elbow on the car, giving you a lopsided smile. He radiated pure confidence, a trait you lack in those defeated times.

"Say, if I told ya I can bring lil Geppie back, would you make a deal with me?"

You scoffed.

"Bring him back?"

"Uhuh."

You chuckled emptily, staring away. The words that escaped your lips did not come from the heart, but it was the only thing you could insensitively joke about in response.

"If you plan on bringing him back, you might as well make him exactly like my type. Otherwise, what's the point?"

You slowly regained consciousness, your eyes fluttering open to reveal that you were positioned on a couch inside a dimly lit room. The air was musty and the only light source was a vintage-looking fan. We have received all the intel we needed, but Kafka was nice enough to watch the rest so you should probably thank her for adding this in our data bank.

A figure materialized in front of you. He was a dirty blonde man with a soft and concerned expression plastered on his face. This man knelt beside you and asked: 

"How are you feeling? I’m… I would like to apologize for yelling at you. It was not my intent to frighten you so much. I was caught up in my selfish emotions. Please forgive me."

You took a moment to assess yourself, noting that even though you were disorientated— you don't feel any physical pain or emotional distress. His presence compelled some sort of familiarity but your memory was frustratingly blank. 

As you tried gathering your thoughts, the sound of a distant radio static buzzed your ears. It was persistent. You strained to listen, but the man was oblivious to it. His blue eyes solely focused on you.

“... Are you alright, darling?”

You gave up trying to hear the noise and focused on your surroundings, ignoring him in the process. 

The space you were in was a deserted therapy office. The wallpaper, which had formerly looked rather professional, was peeling off and fading. There were lingering odors of mold and rot. The furniture was peppered in dust and cobwebs clung to the edges of the tables, cupboards, and walls. It simply wasn't a place to be.

There were remnants of the previous doctor inside— a torn chair, a used fountain pen, and most intriguingly, rowed forgotten photographs that have likely lived past the faces depicted. You swore you could recognize a person or two in those photographs. One had stylishly long blonde hair with blue streaks. She wore thick-rimmed glasses and a contagious smile as she lovingly wrapped her arms around an embarrassed young man and someone who looked exactly like… you?

As you gazed back at the dirty blonde man, it finally clicked. Though your memory fails you, you were almost certain he was the young man in that image. 

"Gepard?"

"I'm not–" He exhaled, soundingly resigned to his fate. "Nevermind. Yes, that's me."

Did you get his name wrong? Or was he just too quick to say no?

“...Was I wrong?"

"No, I could be him if you want me to be." He smiled weakly. “And based on what just occurred, I can surmise that is the case. I won’t try to be anyone else anymore.”

The radio static continued, stealing your attention once again. You turn to Gepard, desperation was evident in your voice. "Can you hear that? The static…”

He placed his head above his fist, pondering your words. "I... I don't hear anything. But if you’re hearing static, then I can only guess that Serval is overdoing her job.”

You raised an eyebrow, speaking slowly as if you didn’t want to come off as idiotic. “Serval is here?”

Gepard shook his head. “Not in the Back Alley, no.”

“Then what was that sound–”

“Just an old doctor’s device from the Xianzhou Loufu. No need to worry, (N/n).”

Gepard cleared his throat.

“(Y/n), I’ll have to go away for a while. Can you promise not to leave? It won’t be long– I’ll merely fetch you something to eat and drink.”

“But that shouldn’t be your responsibility. Having you do such simple tasks would bring me shame,” you shook your head incessantly. “Besides, I’m not hungry!–”

“(Y/n).”

He glared at you, feigning coldness. You were unconvinced but decided it was best not to test him. Gepard had always been caring for his people.

You nodded in agreement, your voice barely a whisper. "Okay, fine... I won't leave. I'll stay here."

“Do you swear it?” You’re not the sharpest person, but you still noticed how Gepard’s eyes lingered on the locks, contemplating if he should trap you inside.

“I promise.”

He smiled. 

"Good. Stay put and don't open the door for anyone. Dangerous creatures are lurking outside."

“Wait!!!”

As he turns to leave, you reach out, your hand instinctively grasping his arm. 

You nearly didn’t speak a word after. His eyes were dilated– afraid. But that fear was gone in a blink of an eye. You immediately let go of his arm. You had a feeling something traumatic had occurred that was similar to the action you had done.

Then again, he just spoke of dangerous creatures beyond this clinic. Perhaps it had something to do with them.

“...Please, exercise caution." You continued.

His gaze softened as his hand gently covered yours. 

"I promise, I'll be careful. My priority is to protect you, always."

The sound of footsteps outside drew your attention and your heartbeat quickened, worried about the aforementioned creatures in Gepard's warnings. Thankfully, it was just the man himself. He returned with a tray containing a straightforward supper. The aroma of warm soup and freshly baked rye bread wafted in the air, creating a cozy ambiance. Once upon a time, you would’ve politely declined this offer but you didn't sense any other noble birth in the room aside from him. Most importantly, you didn't sense Mr. Landau's presence.

He set the tray down in front of you, slightly ashamed about his delivery's lack of quality and quantity. "Here, eat. It's not much, but it'll help."

“T-Thank you…” You reluctantly took the plastic spoon. “But… would you mind filling me in with what’s going on, Young Master? I can’t remember a thing.”

“Master…” Gepard tasted the formal honorific and cringed. “First– what can you recall about yourself? What’s your occupation?”

“I’m a servant of the Landau family, taken generously by Mr. Landau’s endorsement.”

That man? Generous? As if.

“And the Silvermane Guards?”

You tilted your head.

“They are one of Belobog’s last bastions. Why do you ask? Has something happened at work, master?”

In other words: you don't remember what happened. To you, what happened around 5 years ago or so never occurred if you can't recall your time as a soldier. 

Serval's new device had worked, for sure.

Gepard exhaled loudly, “confirming” your suspicions.

“I’m not your master anymore, (Y/n).”

As you look at him now, something feels different. You were inclined to believe there is a merit to his words.

"Was I fired?" You asked, terrified.

He held your hands. His hands felt unusually warm and his eyes brimmed with an emotion you can't put a finger on. Gepard looked… hesitant, yet determined. A near oxymoron.

And he decided to commit to the worst idea he had in mind.

"... D-Darling, don't you remember?” He chuckled nervously. “We're not in that household anymore. We've eloped. We left everything behind to be together."

Your heart skipped a beat. You didn't take the time to think of his words and your mouth ran on autopilot. The Landau's principles were ingrained in you as much as it did to the siblings.

"Eloped? But... why? What about your family, your responsibilities?"

The sadness that flickered in his eyes was then swiftly replaced by a reassuring smile. "Dad never understood us. S-So, we decided to escape! To build a life on our terms."

That doesn’t sound like something Gepard would do.

But, if he would do that for you, then…

Foolishly, you still found yourself swept away by his romantic fibs of leaving everything behind for these flights of fancy. The stuttering happiness in his voice is infectious, and you can't help but feel a sense of elation. It's as if a weight has been lifted from your shoulders. Just as Sampo would've wanted for you.

… Doesn't that mean Gepard loves you as much as you love him?

"Why can't I remember that?"

"You must've just been too tired, sweetheart," Gepard muttered sweetly. "We had quite the busy day yesterday trying to find a safe location." 

"I... I can't believe it," you stammered, undeniably disbelieved and overjoyed. "W-We're alone together, just the two of us?"

Gepard nodded solemnly, looking to his left. His eyes were looking anywhere but at you.

"Yes, (N/n). It's just you and me now. No more hiding, no more pretending. We're free to be together, forever."

The truth of your past may be hazy, but the promise of a new beginning was exhilarating enough to discard any bad histories.

Gepard asked, slightly frowning. 

"But for this to work, I need you to follow my commands, is that okay?" 

"Okay." You nodded eagerly. “What is it, Young Ma— Gepard?”

“When I tell you to close your eyes, you’ll close your eyes. If I told you to cover your ears, you’ll cover your eyes.” Gepard slightly tightened his hold. “And when I told you to not question what you see, you won’t ask or try to rummage your head for memories or information. Is that clear?”

You were used to his authoritative tone. It was the mark of a Landau, it no longer struck fear in you as much as a normal citizen would have been. Instead of intimidation, you were informed of how dire these commands were, and you accepted without doubts much like a soldier.

“Understood. I’ll follow your commands to the best of my abilities.”

Gepard smiled.

"You're so obedient for me…" Gepard caressed your cheek with the back of his palm. "Just how can I reward you for this?”

"It's okay. You don't need to do that."

"Are you sure?"

"Affirmative."

He grinned wider and buzzed with happiness. 

"You make me feel so loved."

Gepard slowly cupped your cheek, eyes slit in a lovelorn gaze. His mind raced thoughts about your lips. How soft would they be? Would your lips feel chapped? Would he grip your shoulders should he part them open with his tongue? Much more ideas in that nature flooded his head, which only fanned the flames that heated his cheeks and ears. He wasn't sure how you'd react if he indulged himself— if you would forgive him for this— but he knew that if he didn't do it now, his curiosity and drive to keep you to himself will worsen.

He looked away, eyes childishly closed shut with a slight pout.

"(Y/n)."

You pretended not to know what he was thinking to save his pride. "Yes?"

"... Would it be alright if I add another segment to that list of commands?"

Just like his favorite theatre actress, your eyes crinkled as you put on a sly smile with good-natured mischievousness. Before leaving your hand pressed on your cheek, you adjusted a strand of hair and combed it back, angling your head at your best side. Needless to say, you were having fun toying with him. 

"Yes, sir."

"... G-Good."

Gepard cleared his throat.

"If I tell you to k-kiss me, would you?"

You chuckled.

"That doesn't sound like a command—"

"Kiss me, (Y/n)." He ordered, but as soon as those forceful words escaped his lips, he froze and raised his hands, attempting to take it back and sheepishly apologize.

That didn't stop you from taking him by his collar.

You grinned.

"Much obliged."

He released a muffled yet pleased noise as you pressed your lips against his.

As Gepard's lips met yours, neither of you cared for how dusty the place was or how eerie the surroundings were– it was only the two of you, alone in a gentle embrace. His lips were soft and tender as his thumb slid up the back of your palm, wordlessly asking for permission to deepen the kiss. You obliged by slipping your fingers through his hair– and that snapped something inside him.

Gepard instantly pulled you closer.

"M-Mhmm…"

His arms were forceful yet overprotective, enveloping you as though you were delicate. The warmth of his breath and his near inaudible yet high-pitched whimpers seeped into your very being. These served to make you feel safe and cherished. He tilted your chin up, faltering to catch his jagged breath despite how feather-like his movements were.

This is what the real Gepard Landau had always wanted.

This bliss is what he failed to attain.

Time stood still as you melt into each other. Gepard was savoring every moment– every connection between you two– before he pulled away breathlessly. With eyebrows furrowed, he loathed himself for needing air, but his expression softened as he caught you heaving. 

"I-I'm s-sorry–" he breathed in. "I s-should've practiced moderation."

His cheeks flushed more as he watched the silvery saliva that linked you both disappear, sputtering apologies for being "too rough" when he was anything but.

Gepard gazed into your eyes as you snaked your hands from his nape to his arms. He returned the favor, embracing you as the most precious treasure he's ever held.

With a soft smile, he whispered against your lips. 

You’re very obedient.

You’d do every word he says, wouldn’t you?

"T-Thank you for being here, for loving me. You're everything to me."

Then, stay here.

Never leave him alone again.

The soft morning light peeked through the thick curtains, painting the room in slivers of white and gold. Having no need for human necessities such as sleep, Gepard sitting by the bedside couldn't help but smile as he watched you rest. The sight before him was nothing short of wonderful. The soothingly paced rise and fall of your chest and the way your eyelids fluttered slightly in your dreams— mesmerized his unblinking eyes. He prided himself on abstaining from holding you for the entire night to not disturb your sleep. Gepard was content with simply gazing, without looking away for a single second.

Not once.

He won’t leave you ever again.

A soft sigh escaped his lips. In the “warmth” of this morning light, he knew that he was exactly where he was meant to be—by your side, in this makeshift realm.

He then whispered to you, knowing that you wouldn't hear them but wanting to express his emotions nonetheless.

"I wonder why Gepard used to deflect your affections so much. If I obsess over you then that means he loved you just as much… But there’s no point mulling over this, is there?" Gepard muttered.

As you writhe in bed, he carefully draped your blanket further upward, worried that you’d get cold. 

"Then again, unlike me, he has always been a man of tradition. He probably did not see it right to pursue a romantic relationship with someone under his station. A true Landau." 

The man’s smile disappeared. 

He is not Gepard. Not even his ghost. He is a manifestation of how the man desperately didn’t want to follow the family’s code of conduct. The true Gepard had always secretly wanted to break free from his shackling family bloodline but his father wanted to adopt you. And he couldn't bear the thought of having his dream spouse as his sibling either.

Despite that, the real Gepard had never resorted to manipulative tactics to control your emotions and actions. Not once has he tried gaslighting or using his position of authority to influence your decisions. Gepard was obsessive, but not unkind. He thought that perhaps letting you go would be a greater act of love. 

Such a “considerate” gesture failed. No longer do those sentiments matter now.

Gepard watched you sleep silently. As he fixed your stray hairs, he couldn't help but ponder over the subtle signs that your mind was broken. You seemed unfazed by the fact that you had both your legs, despite being paraplegic in reality. Similarly, you didn't react to how you’re wearing a wedding ring that you never had nor the sight of his arm, even though he had lost it before.

This alley you shared was a twisted reality. A merely distorted version of the past and present fueled by your desires and wishes– and you were lost in a maze of your own making.

Deep down, Gepard was disappointed that you couldn't see through the facade, that you couldn't recognize the monsters that followed you both as a manifestation of your psyche that wanted you to confront the truth. 

As he sat beside you, Gepard felt a heavy weight in his heart. He wanted to shake you awake from this dream, to make you see that the person before you was not him, but merely a reflection of your deepest desires.

But he held his tongue. He was far more selfish than the real Gepard, and that selfishness kept him alive longer than he did. Instead of breaking the happiness you and Serval carved for yourself, he stayed by your side. Thankfully, Serval is too caught up in her distress, thinking that she could save you from this alley. She cannot. The only thing she’s doing is making matters worse for you with that device of hers. But that’s okay. He would be there for you, even if you couldn't recognize him for who— for WHAT he truly was.

Gepard sighed wistfully.

You won’t get to know the truth.

And it’s for the best if it meant having you all forever to himself.

For this is the only way "Gepard Landau" can atone for his sins.

[thedeerman]

Do You Want to Know?

Hey all, I've been writing nonstop because im obsessed with these stupid idiots and im so excited for whats coming up!!

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

Ch5: Realize

Alastor woke up earlier than he’d like. A lot earlier. But… He woke up. Which meant he fell asleep. He tried to think of falling asleep the night before, vaguely remembering tossing and turning late into the night. But at some point, for the first time in days (weeks?), the radio demon had at least a few hours of solid rest. Alastor sighed. A deep, heavy, appreciative sigh. I don’t know how it happened, but bless the sins it did. He had no fretful dreams. No sudden, panicked waking. No feeling like there was still a hole torn into his chest. 

The demon shook himself awake, not allowing his little bit of rest to be spoiled by thinking of how unrestful he’d been recently. Don’t ruin a good thing, he thought as he prepared for the day. He picked up the envelope on his desk on his way out and made his way toward the kitchen to make coffee. His shadow followed wordlessly, seeming to smile wider than it had in days. Alastor ignored it, figuring maybe the thing had been tired too. Does it get tired…? He wasn’t sure. He’d never thought about it before. 

Coffee was made, and the daily chore board was still out and displayed in the meeting room. Charlie was nowhere to be seen, but it looked like the board had been updated. Curiosity led the radio demon into the room to get a closer look. No senseless chores with Lucifer today, thank the stars. Only his regularly scheduled hotel running nonsense. He went to turn away, but his eyes caught something before he could. A name. Lucifer. What’s he going to be doing today…? Alastor stopped himself suddenly. This is enough. This needs to stop. He cringes, remembering the contents of the letter that he had written last night, before getting some well needed rest. Why was his mind so frustratingly stuck on Lucifer recently? Alastor skimmed over the schedule again and decided that the morning meeting wasn’t important today. Nothing was important today. There was one place and one place only that he needed to be if he was to fix this, and it sure as shit wasn’t under the same roof as Lucifer.

Alastor waited until Charlie made herself known to excuse himself for the day. The princess seemed disappointed but understanding, as always. He patted the girl on the head before handing her his daily envelope and taking his leave. 

Lucifer’s morning was uneventful. Really uneventful. As in, out of the two most noticeable beings in the building, only one was present for their morning meeting. There were plenty of sinners in the hotel, but as far as Lucifer’s fleeting attention was concerned, the only souls that mattered were Charlie and Alastor.

Lucifer stops mid-stride at that thought. What in the absolute fuck? This was getting to be… too much. Like, genuinely honestly too fucking much. The king of hell had spent a lot of time alone. His wife had left him decades ago, taking Charlie with her. After the loss of the only light in his eternal life, he didn’t really get out much. Depression took over, he spent day after day working on silly little rubber duck toys (okay, maybe he still does make them here and there, what of it?) and there were times when literal years went by without so much as touching another living soul. That screws a guy up, right? 

Lucifer continued aimlessly wandering down the long, empty halls, letting himself reason that this was all just a response to some kind of mental illness or something. It’s not like a mentally healthy individual would want anything to do with Alastor… But then his mind does what his mind does. It spiraled. And by the time he’d looped around the entire ground floor of the hotel, he was already wondering if Husk would make him a breakfast cocktail. Husk… Suddenly, the king gets an idea. It might not be a good idea, but it’s an idea nonetheless. He put the idea aside, letting it simmer a bit before deciding on it. For now, he was going to go back to his room to read today’s letter. 

Once he got to his tower, Lucifer carefully pulled the papers out of his pocket. He glanced over today’s writing prompt first, already wondering what question would put Alastor at the forefront of his mind yet again. Well, aside from the question of where he’d gone off to early this morning. Not your business. Not your problem. The king looked over the mostly empty page. On the top, the prompt read: “Name one thing that you assumed about your person but have since realized that you were wrong about.” Lucifer let a few stray thoughts run through his mind. I assumed a lot about him. Some of it was right, like… he’s an asshole. But some of it was wrong, like… Lucifer glanced at the radio on his shelf, thinking again of the calming music that he fell asleep to the evening before. The angel was too deep in his own thoughts to get this done right now. He turned his attention to the sealed letter addressed to him. Tearing and tossing the envelope onto the floor, he slowly opened the perfect square inside. Lucifer’s eyes ran over the words. It said:

“Name three interesting things you’ve noticed about your person.”

One thing that I’ve found interesting about you has been your sudden dedication to the hotel. You weren’t around before the attack, but ever since, you’ve been here every single day. A second thing that I find interesting about you is that you tend to walk most places, even though teleporting would be easier. The third interesting thing that I’ve noticed about you is your new bowtie. 

The color suits you. 

If Lucifer’s jaw could have hit the floor, it would have. The first point stung a little, the awful guilt he felt over not being in Charlie’s life up until now was still pretty fresh. But he takes a moment to also acknowledge that it mentions his continued dedication since getting here. The angel shrugged at that, okay, so that part isn’t ALL bad… and moves on to the next point. It was true, he did walk most of the time. He hadn’t realized that anyone noticed. Walking gave him a few minutes to process going from someplace comfortable and private to going someplace filled with other troubled, tortured, miserable souls. It was a soothing routine. And that brought him to the final point in the letter… It was… a compliment! A straight up, no nonsense compliment, no hidden meaning that he could find, just a genuine nice thing being said about him. 

Lucifer glanced at the corner of his desk, locking his eyes on the two perfect little squares that sat there. He opened each of them up and read all three of them, one by one. First,

One thing I admire about this person is his raw power. It has a lot of potential. Another thing I admire is his determined unwillingness to back down from a challenge.

Next, 

One thing I am curious about is your absence throughout the day. Aside from scheduled meetings and chores, you almost always seem to be missing.

And finally,

One thing that I’ve found interesting about you has been your sudden dedication to the hotel. You weren’t around before the attack, but ever since, you’ve been here every single day. A second thing that I find interesting about you is that you tend to walk most places, even though teleporting would be easier. The third interesting thing that I’ve noticed about you is your new bowtie. 

The color suits you.

The fallen angel read the notes over and over, and noticed that the first letter was formatted differently from the others. Like the writer was answering the question directly to whoever had asked, rather than to the person intended to read it. Lucifer stared at the pages like they would eventually give in to his questions, telling him exactly who was writing to him. Not knowing who he was assigned to didn’t bother him much before, it was a gentle curiosity at best. But now, this person complimented him. There had to be some ulterior motive, but how? How could someone manipulate his feelings about them when he didn’t even know who they were? People didn’t just give compliments to him. Not even his own wife (ex wife…) gave out free compliments. His mind flashed to his typical, pre-mixed mess of anger and depression that always took over when he thought of Lilith, but it was amazingly short lived. Lucifer didn’t let his thoughts take hold and drag him into an ex-wife shaped emotional breakdown. He managed, somehow, to break free of the thoughts almost as soon as they started. He looked down at his new bowtie and then back at the final page in front of him. His cheeks warmed up noticeably as he again read the line at the bottom. 

The color suits you.

Several minutes of silence later, Lucifer remembers the idea he had earlier. He decides that he doesn’t actually have much of anything to lose and opens a portal down to the hotel bar. 

Cannibal Town was one of the more pleasant areas of Hell, and all credit was due to the overlord ruling over the territory. She was tall, sharp, wise, and kind. She was also one of Alastor’s most trusted confidants. As the radio demon pushed the door in front of him open, Rosie’s head turned towards the sound. She immediately lit up at the sight of her dear friend, rushing over to greet him. “Alastooor! I wondered when you would stop by again!” He nodded, and quickly said, “Rosie, dear, do you have a moment?” The cannibal overlord’s smile widened as she rushed her visitor into the small sitting area in the back of the shop. It was closed off from the rest of the building and Rosie had made it nice and private. Alastor sat at the table, as he had many times before, lost in his thoughts. His thoughts about…

Rosie interrupted his wandering mind with “Are ya hungry? Want a little something to nibble on?” As much as Alastor typically loved Rosie’s assortment of fingers and legs and whatever else she may have gathered up, he just couldn’t find his appetite. “No thank you, but I do appreciate it.” Then he added, “I’ve come to ask for some advice.”

Rosie left the snacks where they were and went to the table to sit across from her friend, bringing only a small tea cup along with her. Alastor could feel her black, endless eyes watching him, quietly, as he formed his next thought. Once he could find the words, he leaned across the table just a bit, as if someone would be listening in. “I’ve been experiencing some… problems.”

“What kind of problems, hun?”

Alastor’s smile was strained, almost a snarl, as he thought about the past few weeks. His sleeplessness, the flashbacks, the panic, and of course… “Lucifer.”

“And what has the king done now to deserve such a reaction?”

Alastor closed his eyes for a moment, trying to mold his thoughts into words. “Nothing. He’s been very… civil” the demon starts. “But… There's something else.” With a heavy sigh, he began explaining the princess’s new activities to Rosie, and that he was being forced to write anonymous letters to the devil. He went on, describing his inability to sort his thoughts on the fallen angel. At first all Alastor wanted was for him to leave. His very presence jeopardized all of Alastor’s plans, ones that he had painstakingly put together over the course of months. He told her about his contradicting thoughts, how he wanted to be far away from the king, but also as close as possible. How he couldn’t get the idiot out of his head no matter how hard he tried. He told her what he had written in the letters, how all he could think of the night before was that the angel was actually listening to his radio broadcast, how looking down at the wide eyed king made his dead heart beat louder. 

Rosie listened in silence, sipping her tea and dunking a severed finger into the hot liquid before biting into it. She waited patiently as Alastor continued.

“That isn’t all. I’ve been experiencing these terrible flashbacks… From the battle.” He took a moment to remind himself not to let the anxiety take over. “I keep seeing it again and again. I can’t sleep. I can’t even walk down an empty hallway without being strangled by my own memories.”

Rosie spoke up. “I didn’t realize the invasion had affected you like this…” Her frown was quickly replaced with a gentle smile. Then she asked, “Is there anything that helps?” This made Alastor pause. After a moment, he admitted that the previous night, he actually slept for a few peaceful hours. For the first time in weeks. But he couldn’t fathom why.

When he looked up, the overlord in front of him had a mischievous smile on her face. She was trying to suppress it, but it was obvious that she was failing. “Now Alastor. Didn’t you mention that you spent the evening thinking about Lucifer and how he’s been tuning into your show?” The radio demon was still. He stared into the black holes that were Rosie’s eyes, confused. She let out a sweet, giddy laugh. “Alastor, honey. I’ve known you for a long time. A long time. And I genuinely never thought this would ever happen. But who am I to deny what’s clear as day in front of me?” Alastor was getting uncomfortable, but only slightly. He forced himself to take a breath and looked again at Rosie. 

“I find suffering just as fun as anyone else in Hell, but even I am lost at your response to my… problems.” Rosie looks at him with a knowing look in her nonexistent eyes. 

“Okay, listen. First off… with the battle. You’ve never been one to run from a fight unless it’s looking dire. So I suppose I’m right in assuming that you got hurt pretty good?” Alastor gripped his microphone protectively, willing his mind to keep him here, in Cannibal Town, in front of Rosie. “Yes” is all he says. 

“Well, that fact isn’t going to change. What’s happened is done and over. But sometimes in a near double-death experience… Well, physical wounds aren’t the only ones that need time to heal, you know?” Alastor took a moment to consider this. There were very few times in his life or death where he felt so helpless. He didn’t remember dying. The bullet that killed him had gone straight through his brain and his death was over before Alastor even knew it had started. The only other time previous to the invasion where he felt so helpless was…

He forced his mind away from the thoughts he felt beginning to rise to the surface. Another unhealed wound, the demon thought to himself. He was silent for a long time, and then let out a sigh. “I suppose you may be right. Perhaps this will pass in time.” Rosie’s smile grew again. 

“Now, with your other little-” she chuckled at the height joke, “issue.” Alastor leaned forward, his mind now firmly placed in the present. “Do you really not see it, dear?” He shook his head, confused as to what this woman could be possibly going on about. “Please,” Alastor says quietly, “If you understand how I can remedy this, explain it to me simply. In plain words.”

Rosie took a moment before sharing her thoughts. “Okay.” Her smile fell a bit as she continued, “Now, all I know is what you’ve just told me. But I’ve been around a long time, and the way souls interact with each other is my specialty. You know that.” Alastor nodded slowly. “So, what I’m about to say may sound odd to you, but keep in mind that I have very good reasons to say it.”

It was quiet for too long. Far too long. Alastor was about ready to fill the building with an unholy amount of radio static just to bring an end to the silence when Rosie finally spoke again. “The feelings that you’re describing to me aren’t a problem, dear. It isn’t hate at all, it’s interest! You’re interested in him. There’s nothing wrong with that!” The radio demon’s eyes narrowed at his friend’s words. “Interest?” He questioned.

“Yes! The kind of interest that one soul gets for another. The kind that leads to spending more time together…?” As Rosie waited for the demon in front of her to piece her words together, Alastor sighed. “You think I want to be friends with him?” Rosie laughed, “No! Oh Alastor, you’re too funny. I guess I’ll just come out with it.”

“Yes, please do,” Alastor hissed, losing his patience. Rosie is overcome by another fit of giggling, trying to hide her wide smile behind the cup in her hand. What she said next, she said in a sing-songy voice, with a smile wider than even that of the demon sitting in front of her. When she finally says it, it’s like she’s been holding it in for hours. 

“You have a CRUSH, Alastor!!!”

The bar isn’t entirely empty today. Angel was sitting on one of the barstools, watching Husk with a really odd level of intensity. I mean, the guy was just wiping down the counter. What was so interesting about that? He sat down a couple of seats away from the spider demon, not wanting to intrude on anything. And yet, before he could even ask for a drink, Angel was perched on the stool next to Lucifer, staring. Staring at… him. The king felt his face get warm at the sudden attention. He opened his mouth to speak but it was too late. 

“Heya, short king~” He didn’t know how to respond to that. Before he had to make a decision, a fluffy paw set a drink in front of him. It was the same drink as last time. The king gazed up guiltily at the bartender. Husk grinned and said, “Uh huh. Figured.” Angel watched the interaction without a word, but Lucifer could just vaguely make out a sudden feeling of annoyance coming from the demon. Or maybe it was jealousy? Why would this literal porn star be- But the discomfort was gone as soon as it arrived, dissipating immediately as Angel’s eyes met with Husk’s. And then both sets of eyes simultaneously looked to the king. 

Lucifer started stuttering, “Uhhh… If you were in the middle of something, um, I can, I can go, I-” It was Angel that interrupted him. “No, that’s not it. We uhh… We wanted to talk to you about somethin…” Lucifer’s eyes went wide at this. They want to… Talk to me? He struggled to put on a casual look. “Yeah! Yeah of course! Uhh.. What’s, um, what’s up?” His smile was beyond forced, probably looking as ridiculous as it felt, and his mind was racing trying to figure out what it was these two demons wanted to talk to him about.

Angel continued, “See, Husky and me have been noticin’ some things.” Husk spoke next. “Yeah. Some worrying things.” If the devil was capable of having a heart attack, he would've found out right about then. He didn’t even get a chance to ask what they were talking about before Husk continued. 

The bartender let out a heavy sigh. “Listen, highness. It ain’t my business really, but it’s getting a little…” Angel spoke up. “Weird? Obvious? Embarrassing? Oh, definitely embarrassing. The second hand embarrassment I get watching you two is-” Husk glared, stopping Angel mid sentence. The cat demon went on. “I seen the way you look at him. And you might not notice, but he’s been looking at you a hell of a lot too.” He shrugged. “All I’m sayin is, everyone’s already expecting it now. Might as well give it a shot.” Lucifer was lost. Completely and utterly lost. 

Angel piped up then, adding “Okay, but all I’m sayin is you betta hit that. You might be the only one that can!” Husk put a new drink down in front of Angel, briefly distracting him with the bright pink liquid. Lucifer can’t figure out how to speak all of a sudden, but manages “Ummm… I… I really honestly don’t know what exactly is happening here… Who exactly.. Uhh, what are we talking about again?” Was he drunk? No, he’s barely had a sip of his liquor. So why isn’t this making sense?

Husk speaks again. “Look, everyone in the hotel notices the tension. It’s getting painful. The two of you can’t even be in the same room without making the new residents uncomfortable. None of them understand what’s going on. They’re constantly waiting for some kind of blow up between the King of Hell and the Radio Demon.”

The… Alastor? What? The king must make a face of some kind, because Angel puts his fluffy head down on the counter with a thunk. The devil could barely hear the muffled voice say “Really has been a while for ya, huh?” Lucifer was past confusion. He mentally started back at the beginning of this interaction, hoping to understand this better the second time around. Well, he came down to the bar to ask Husk about Alastor and-

Oh. 

Ooooooohhhhhhhhh.

Shit.

“Now he’s gettin it,” Husk mumbles to Angel. The spider peered at the king for a moment before downing his drink and turning his body fully to face Lucifer. He put his hands on the king’s shoulders as if afraid that the man was going to flee from the conversation. Angel’s large, mismatched eyes drilled into Lucifer as he said “Listen up, short king. I know it’s been a long time since you’ve been in the game, so I’m gonna help ya out. First things first, let's get it all out there. You’ve obviously got a thing for the strawberry pimp radio star.” Lucifer opened his mouth to speak but Angel's second pair of arms appeared just in time to put a finger up, stopping him. “Don’t try to argue, we’re past that point. You like him. And lucky you, Husky over here thinks Mr. Fancy talk radio voice himself has the hots for ya, so no need to worry about that!” 

It’s a good thing Lucifer didn’t actually need to breathe. Because that was absolutely not on the table right now. Angel kept speaking, watching the king closely. “Now, here’s the hard part. You have to actually initiate something. I get it, sin of pride and all. But if one of ya doesn’t start this talk soon we’re all gonna lose our minds.” Husk sighed, leaning against the bar. Angel looked at the king for another long moment and finished with “We’re here to help ya. So now that that’s outta the way, why don’t ya start spillin’ it?”

Alastor didn’t host his radio show that evening. After his visit, he needed some time to think. Before leaving Cannibal Town, Rosie gave him a small stack of literature on various topics involving relationships. The promise to return the books to Rosie was the only thing keeping the demon from burning the things on sight. He did not need a relationship. He did not want a relationship. Alastor had never fallen in love, in life or in death. He had become close to others plenty of times, Rosie being an example. But of the many times someone had been interested in Alastor, it was never reciprocated. 

The radio demon sighed. Now he was the one with the interest. He sat at the desk in his tower.  Alastor’s shadow then motioned towards the pocket on the demon’s coat. Charlie had given today’s envelope and paper to him on his way back in, after his brief trip out. He’d placed it there and forgotten about it. It wants to read the letter…? Alastor eyed the entity suspiciously before quickly opening and disposing of the envelope. The paper inside read:

“Name three interesting things you’ve noticed about your person.”

Alastor,

I’ve noticed many interesting things about you. The first was your shadow. It really is an interesting being. 

At this, the demon’s shadow practically purred. Alastor’s eyes went wide at the response before waving his hand to motion the thing away. He continued reading. 

Another thing I’ve noticed that I find interesting is your coffee mug. It’s a silly pun, but still funny. And the third thing I find interesting is your radio show. It isn’t what I expected. 

Ignoring the mention of his shadow (again), Alastor thought about the other two points. His smile widened a bit at the mug reference. It was the radio demon’s favorite piece of dishware, afterall! And then… Whoever’s writing to me has listened to my broadcast… At that moment, Alastor wondered for the first time if maybe, possibly, the resident writing to him was the same resident that he had been writing to. 

But the thought didn't take root, as Alastor knew of multiple others in the building that listened to his show semi-regularly. And his simple, jazz-filled broadcasts always seemed to surprise, so it wasn’t exactly new information. He appreciated the sentiment though, reading the words over again in his mind. Alastor was never opposed to being complimented. 

After a moment, the demon remembered the other half of the project. His letter to Lucifer. The letter from today’s envelope was smoothed out and placed in the stack with the others. Glancing over the new paper, he read the writing prompt. “Name one thing that you assumed about your person but have since realized that you were wrong about.” Alastor closed his eyes, replaying the events of the day. It’s not until shortly before he goes to sleep that he finally puts words on the page in front of him.

It’s Quiet Time. That’s what Niffty called the short span of time between the night owls and the early birds, where absolutely no one was around. Well, not no one… Nifty’s favorite part about Quiet Time was the visitor she sometimes got, an old friend. The little maid had known Shadow for as long as she’d known Alastor, and that was quite some time now. In the span of those many years, there were plenty of times when Alastor was asleep and Niffty was not. And during those hours, Shadow and Niffty spent their time together. 

Shadow had not been coming to see Niffty much after the angel’s attack. Niffty knew what that meant, Alastor wasn’t sleeping. The being was odd, it had the ability to leave Alastor, going quite some distance before restrictions set in, and yet rarely left the demon’s side during waking hours. It’s something that Niffty would ask about, if Shadow could speak. But he can't, which sometimes leaves him limited. He can write if there's a pen around, but most of his thoughts can be made perfectly clear to Niffty without the need for words. They’d spent decades together, words weren’t necessary. But now, for the second night in a row, Shadow was here! Smiling and spending time with the quick little demon running up and down the halls. 

Shadow stopped suddenly, frowning. It took a moment before Niffty realized her companion was no longer behind her, having stopped her scurrying at the end of the long hallway. But looking back, Shadow was motioning down another hall. Niffty ran back to the entity to see what she’d missed. But when she gets there, she sees nothing of note. She glances at the shadow on the wall and then hears it. Ever so faintly. Music. The little demon tiptoed carefully towards the sound, wondering who else in the hotel would be up and about at such an hour. And playing music? What instrument is that? It sounds familiar… When she finally reached the source of the sound, she and Shadow both peeked around the edge of the doorway, into the room that Lucifer and Alastor had recently cleared out. Is that…? She suddenly realized where she had heard the instrument before. That first time the king came to the hotel… He fought with Alastor and played this thing.

Realizing that the fallen angel was facing away from the door, the two watched a moment longer. The maid took note of the shiny, golden instrument Lucifer held as he played a sweet tune. Niffty and Shadow share a moment’s glance before silently backing away from the room, leaving Lucifer to play his music in peace.

[delimeful]

a still-glowing ember (2)

warnings: g/t, remus pov-typical violence/gore/innuendo, ignoring one's needs/magical burnout, self destructive behavior, hypothermia, death mention

-

If Remus didn’t find his brother soon, he was going to burn this stupid forest to the ground.

He decidedly ignored the way the night’s cold was seeping into him, frost biting deep enough that he probably couldn’t even conjure a spark, let alone a flame.

That wouldn’t stop him. He’d figure out how to start a fire the human way if that was what it took.

(And afterward, if Roman’s spark had already extinguished by the time he found him– he would find him– Remus would figure out how to burn to death the human way, too.)

They’d never be able to come back to this valley, anyhow. Remus had snatched three whole territory markers from a shifter as he headed north, using the decision-making process that had gotten him labeled ‘a danger to himself and others’ at his first colony.

What could he say? Roman was the closest thing he had to impulse control.

He’d considered going back for another one– the temperature drop as the sun set was killer, literally– but stealing foxfire was the sort of thing one couldn’t repeat without getting gleefully disemboweled by a pissed-off fox shifter, and who would track down Roman then?

Already planning exactly how he’d make fun of his brother for losing to a measly storm, Remus flapped his wings sharply, sending another wave of warmth through them and ignoring the way the cold pit in his chest deepened a bit more.

It didn’t matter. He’d always wondered what it would feel like to gutter down to ashes, anyhow.

The world’s most torchable forest continued to look the same no matter how far he flew, all thick-trunked trees and mossy undergrowth that he’d normally be eager to taste test. There was barely anything resembling a breeze, so the murmur of rustling leaves had been completely overtaken by the hum of insects and distant calls of night birds.

The lack of wind was just another stroke of bad luck. Normally, without any drafts to coast on, sprites would find a perch to occupy. He couldn’t glide for long, meaning that his half-frozen wings were working twice as hard to keep him in the air.

He had to keep moving. Roman was out there somewhere, perched in one of these identical trees or flitting from branch to branch in his own search. If he actually cared that Remus was missing, that was. Remus’s brain was beginning to suggest otherwise.

Maybe he’s glad to have the chance to get away from you, his mind offered. You should hunt him down and break his wings into little frozen splinters.

There was a heavy thud and rustle nearby, and Remus veered towards it, because investigating things that could potentially murder him sounded way better than listening to the squishy gray matter in his skull.

The source of the commotion turned out to be a sizable bear, shuffling its way down the trunk of a large tree. Remus circled around the scene on quiet wings, taking in the practiced movements of the beast.

Oh yeah, that could definitely murder me, he thought, successfully sidetracked. In a single hit, even. One of those paws probably weighed as much as three of him.

It was a moon bear, he was pretty sure, just barely able to see the telltale sliver of cream fur on its chest in the dark of the night. Not one of the more carnivorous species, boo.

No idea what it had been doing up there, but he didn’t have time to pursue the distraction any further.

With all the turning, his glide had shifted to more of a controlled fall, and he flapped his wings a few times, ignoring the way the bear’s attention shifted towards his direction. The flaps were frustratingly weak, slowed by encroaching icy numbness, and he forced another surge of warmth through them.

His spark pulsed painfully, and in the next moment, his vision blacked out entirely.

His wings flailed out to try and brake automatically, but vertigo had struck like a viper, and he could hardly tell up from down. There was wind in his ears now, which probably meant that he was currently hurtling towards a very splattery end.

He’d always said he wanted to go out screaming and covered in someone else’s blood, but he couldn’t even draw breath to yell, his whole body struggling to right itself amidst the pain of nearly burning himself out.

There was a sudden impact against one wing, hard but thin– a branch? Any semblance of direction vanished as he tumbled head over heels through what felt like an endless stretch of bush. Each stinging lash hurt, but by the time he hit the ground, his momentum had slowed enough to make the impact totally agonizing instead of extremely fatal.

He lay there for a few long moments, stunned or possibly paralyzed. He couldn’t really tell if the snapping sounds had been the branches around him or all of his bones. Slowly, his vision began to fade back in, each blink bringing a new arrangement of black spots.

Distantly, he finally registered an odd sound, one that was gradually growing closer.

Snuffling.

Oh, right. The bear.

Moon bears weren’t particularly active carnivores, but their primary meat intake was carrion. He remembered because he’d thought it was extremely funny, and also an excellent fact to gross Roman out with.

Remus attempted to twitch a wing, and failed miserably. His whole body felt like it had been tenderized into a paste.

… He was pretty sure he counted as carrion, at this point.

Getting eaten by a bear was a cooler death than hitting the ground because he forgot how to fly, at least.

The rustling of leaves intensified as something began pushing past the bush’s branches, presumably searching for him.

There was the sour taste of misery on the back of his tongue, knowing that if Roman was still alive out there somewhere, Remus had abandoned him with not even a corpse left behind. It was his own fault, he thought with a pang of aimless violent fury. If he’d been smarter or quicker or more reserved about his search, he wouldn’t be in this mess.

He was distracted from the impulse to bite down on his own arm– half to vent his anger and half because if something was going to eat him, he wanted the first bite– by the sensation of something soft and warm grazing him.

It was like his body remembered it was freezing all at once. He leaned against the warmth despite himself, his breath catching as a new wave of involuntary shivering agitated every bruise and bump he had, and struggled to think past the sensation.

The thing grabbing him wasn’t a bear mouth, he realized, mildly disgruntled. There were no teeth. Only a bunch of flexible, appendage-like protrusions poking through the brush and curling around him.

The mystery of it all was the only thing keeping his mind off his shrieking nervous system as his battered frame was steadily pried free from the bush’s tangled grasp. He stared down at the fleshy lump settled across his chest like a band and abruptly realized he was looking at a fingernail.

A hand. Had a human somehow grabbed him? Remus blinked, dizzily sinking into the warmth of it. Maybe they could help him with the forest fire. He’d been planning to set something on fire human-style, hadn’t he?

“Try to stay awake. Your body temperature is dangerously low,” a low, measured voice informed him.

Remus hadn’t even realized he’d closed his eyes until he opened them to the sight of a considerably larger face looking down at him. Not human after all, going by those fangs and the round, fuzzy black ears atop the stranger’s head. Where had he seen those ears before…?

The stranger had continued talking, not that Remus had caught any of it, and was now levering his arm up between two fingers and pressing on it. It felt gentle, but sensations could be deceiving in the cold, so it was totally possible he was about to watch his humerus get snapped in two. The stranger was staring at him expectantly now, as though a question had been asked.

Remus didn’t have an answer, but having finally figured out just what kind of shifter was holding him, he did have something to say. Inhaling past his bruised ribs, he tilted his head back against the palm he was resting on to make eye contact.

“You’re beary hot,” he managed, and with his piece said, proceeded to immediately pass out.

–

Remus woke up to fur in his mouth.

“Pfah,” he said, coherently.

The fur underneath him twitched, everything swaying slightly as though wherever he was laying wasn’t exactly solid ground. He was also sweltering, which was a great state for him to be in if he didn’t want his spark to go out from overstress. Really though, how much fur did one have to inhale to start coughing up hairballs?

There was a careful oversized breath, and then the surface below him abruptly shifted to something much flatter and smoother. Fabric, Remus realized, his cheek pressed against distinct woven threads.

“Hello,” a voice rumbled through him, large and close. “You’re on top of me. Please don’t be alarmed.”

Remus waggled his eyebrows blearily, still too disoriented to even contemplate being alarmed. Besides, he didn’t startle easily. He was normally the one alarming.

“Did you at least buy me dinner first?” he asked, his delivery weakened by the instant pain that blossomed in his chest. “Ow.”

“My apologies,” the voice replied. “I was unable to reduce the bruising of your ribs, since applying ice would have only worsened your condition. I did not prepare any dinner, because you were unconscious.”

Either this guy had the best deadpan in the business, or the innuendo had completely flown over his head. Remus was delighted regardless.

He struggled to push himself upright, his entire body protesting severely, and a giant hand lifted into his line of sight, hurriedly curving around him as a supportive measure. The feeling was familiar, and Remus went rigid as he recalled exactly how he’d gotten here.

“Where are we?” he asked, all traces of his lackadaisical attitude gone.

If the stranger was surprised by his sudden intensity, he didn’t show it. “My home. It’s a cave near the northwestern edge of the valley, and I brought you here after seeing–”

“You motherfucker,” Remus swore, and twisted to bite down on the stranger’s hand.

The fingers contracted briefly, but surprisingly enough, didn’t collapse down to instinctively crush him.

“Ow.” The stranger’s voice was insultingly monotone about the attack, which admittedly hadn’t even broken skin. “Stop that. There’s no need, I don’t intend you any harm.”

Seeing that his best efforts weren’t cutting it, Remus unlatched his jaw and craned his neck to scowl up at them. “Forget harm! You kidnapped me while I was in the middle of something!”

“Yes,” they replied dryly, “dying. I noticed.”

“How long has it been?” Remus asked, shoving to his hands and knees. “Is it still night?”

There were two hands hovering anxiously over him, now. “Not long has passed. There are still several hours until dawn breaks. Why?”

“Because I’ve got a featherbrain brother to find,” he said, “so sorry to smash-and-dash, stranger, but you’ll have to abduct me to your cave against my will another time.”

The stranger went quiet for a long moment, during which Remus painstakingly managed to push himself up to a standing position, though his wings were limply dragging behind him.

He couldn’t really see very far before his vision went blurry, so he wasn’t sure entirely where the exit was, but he could figure it out. It was a cave, after all: either he’d find the opening or he’d walk endlessly deeper and deeper into the earth like a dumbass.

Before he could successfully balance well enough to take a step towards one of those destinations, though, a shadow fell over him.

“My name is Logan,” the shifter spoke up, “and I’m afraid I can’t let you do that.”

As easily as a breeze would pick up a leaf, Logan scooped Remus off his feet back into his cupped palm.

“Nobody ‘lets’ me do anything!” Remus snapped back, thrashing as best he could against the grip. Seeing as he currently had the strength of a newborn kitten, it didn’t do much. “Come on, you can eat my corpse later, I’ve got time-sensitive shit to do!”

The comment earned him a minor twitch. “I have no desire to eat your corpse. That would defeat the entire purpose of this venture, which is to prevent you from becoming a corpse in the first place.”

“My corpse, my business!” It was frustrating to know that if they had met in normal circumstances, Logan was exactly the sort of stiff-backed repressed nerd that Remus would have delighted in teasing. Almost as frustrating as the fact that the dork wouldn’t let him go!

With a huff, Remus gave up on avoiding agitating his wounds and threw himself into struggling with no care for bodily harm.

“Listen to me,” Logan tried, sounding slightly more harried. “Your internal temperature is only barely beginning to recover. If you expose yourself to the frigid weather outside for any longer–!”

“Oh, I’ll expose myself alright,” Remus snarled, because what was the point of nonsensical threats if they couldn’t also be saucy? “Roman is out there in that weather!”

“And you’ll be no help to him if you choose to freeze to death out of simple, ignorant stubbornness!” Logan literally growled, the noise vibrating through Remus and lingering in the back of the shifter’s chest. “I will help you search once you’ve stabilized, but until then, you are at my mercy.”

Remus stared up at him, in utter disbelief that someone could make playing nursemaid to a sprite sound so threatening.

Logan’s expression softened, but his grip remained firm. “I refuse to sit by and watch such foolishness. I won’t be made to explain it to your brother.”

Maybe it was the way his words assumed Roman’s survival after Remus had spent the whole night imagining the worst, or maybe Remus was just exhausted enough for a rational argument to have an effect on him for once.

Either way, he clearly wasn’t winning this fight. He let his body flop limply against Logan’s hand with no little amount of petulance.

“If you don’t help me search, I’ll learn how to perform surgery on giants just so I can fill your organs with flesh-eating wasps.”

Logan took the concession for what it was, and only raised an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t it be simpler to lock me in a room with the wasps? My flesh would be eaten either way, right?”

It was the perfect question to distract himself with. Remus launched into a heated defense of the differences between external versus internal flesh consumption as torture methods, barely noticing as Logan carefully moved his limp wings back into a more comfortable resting position.

The shifter kept asking questions as he cupped his hand against his chest, creating a cushion of warmth on all sides. Remus kept talking even as drowsiness began to set in, a sprite cradled up against the heartbeat of a bear shifter. Heh. He had always wanted to cuddle something that could maul him.

Remus knew the warmth rekindling in his chest was his spark. Still, it felt a little like hope, too.

… Blech, Roman had been rubbing off on him.

He’d have to return the favor once they were reunited.