#And I’m sure they’ve done a lot of those

[proudfreakmetarusonikku]

some utdr human kids

[wickmitz]

I decided to start talking about Wick and Rocky's relationship because I like their dynamics too, I like seeing Wick scared of Rocky and Rocky being aggressive with him, which is unusual because Rocky is rarely aggressive with anyone, but of course Wick is an exception to rule

Also my mini opinion about their possible relationship, I think that if Rocky didn't have to fight for his place, then he and Wick could become friends, or at least tolerate each other a little, I also see some superficial similarities, their gentlemanly and romantic natures, and their common love for explosions (remembering the quarrymen chapter), but this is my assumption, I think that I don't understand the characters' personalities well, so I can be wrong in this assumption, something like that. So, what do you think about their relationship?

for starters, i cannot thank you enough for this ask! as i’ve said previously, i have many thoughts on these two, so it’s nice to finally be able to share some of them. although given the extent to which i think about them, i apologize in advance if this is sloppy and sort of everywhere … while i’ll try to structure things the best i can, i cannot promise i’ll succeed! but hopefully this is an enjoyable reply nonetheless.

one of my favorite things about rocky and wick’s relationship is absolutely how aggressive rocky is towards the aristocrat ; he is prone to glares and cruel jokes and borderline hissing whenever the man is within his line of sight, or can be brought to a wailing-fit over the mere mention of his name from miss m’s mouth. there is a childishness to it, but a very prominent threat as well in spite of rocky’s usual incompetence. so he goes out of his way to posture around wick, readily lying and adorning himself with the gangster drapes he so badly wants to wear, in the hopes that it intimidates … will even badmouth wick’s family and make fun of his name and rock related obsession to mitzi, and so on so forth! yet all of this is very reminiscent of schoolyard bullying rather than anything too severe, though we as the audience understand rather quickly that rocky would bash wick’s head in with a tire iron if he could. ( translation : if it wouldn’t earn the tears or hate of a certain beloved mitzi may ) and it’s all very intense despite the absence of actual violence! and i understand why many fans see this as unusual for rocky and believe that it’s only wick who makes him act so aggressively, but i’d argue it isn’t really wick at all that prompts such scary reactions from him … and that rocky is a deeply angry character who’s a.) been boiling quietly for a long, long time and b.) has turned wick into a punching bag of sorts for this inner world of resentment and hurt. basically, when he’s judging the well-to-do or poking fun, his eyes don’t look at wick and actually acknowledge him as sedgewick sable ; instead this is a being, something vague and metaphorical, who threatens to upseat rocky’s permanence in the lackadaisy and steal away his savior, and he’s had a hand in the violinist’s misfortune for a long time.

obviously, rocky doesn’t think wick robbed him of his family twice over and made him homeless, but he is channeling the fear and anguish of those events into his loathing for wick, if that makes sense? it’s easier that way -- to finally have an outlet for everything bleeding inside of you, to be able to bite and claw at something without feeling conflicted or having to take personal accountability for your own mistakes … which is something that i think rocky does struggle with to a degree. he is sort of a finger pointer! his pain has to be worth something, it has to be for someone else ; spending years homeless and losing his last bit of family was for freckle, and the scrambling of his literal brain was for mitzi, and that means he can’t ever be angry with them! well, except that he is, somewhat, but he buries it deep down instead of feeling it. with freckle there is a sense of strain between them -- an air of ‘you owe me’ from rocky to freckle as he uses freckle to appease miss m, and he constantly pokes fun at his cousin too. it’s lighter than his jabs at wick, but there’s a constant pestering, a reminder of how good freckle has it : how he’s got the mom and the house and the job and the girl most notably. i don’t think rocky is intending to come across as mean, and to his credit he hardly does! but it’s rather clear to me that some part of him, some hidden and deeply hurt part, is rather indignant about taking the fall for freckle all those years ago. which he can’t understand, because how could he? he made that choice, he decided to take accountability for something he didn’t do because he loves freckle and knows it’d be so easy to believe this family tragedy was roark’s fault ; the devilish child he was, all troublesome and too broken to properly fit anywhere. so there is a disconnect born here, where rocky can’t comprehend that he’d be angry at freckle, so instead these not so great feelings are placed elsewhere and silently boil over time. and with mitzi … i don’t think he’s angry at her per se, but there is a frustrated and desperate chorus of : why him and why not me, when i’m the one out here dying for you? which is certainly unpleasant. of course, rather than allowing those feelings to be more aimed at miss m, whom he feels unloved by, he ( again! ) represses these emotions and allows them to fester into his greatest fears and fantastical complexes. i think there is a lot of other miscellaneous anger he could have towards others too … perhaps some part of him is sore upon seeing ivy’s normal lifestyle, watching her go to university and knowing that’s been taken from him. or an ache felt when hearing stories from zib and the band and how they used to travel successfully, living as nomads, and rocky is all too reminded of his similar lifestyle and how he couldn’t make it work as effortlessly. people with immense trauma are more prone to irrational anger and jealousy, to viewing everything around them as unfair and believing it’s even more unjust that so many people get to live comfortably while they’ve suffered. a situation that gets more messy when you’re someone like rocky, a man who’s willingly made choices that have harmed himself and wants to continue on with his smiling, bumbling fool of an act. he does not want to be angry, does not want to see it within himself, i think, which leads to an accidental increase of it.

all of this is to reiterate that wick is a scapegoat for rocky and nothing more. it’s why he’s rather hypocritical whenever it concerns the man. for example, it was stated by tracy that he looks down upon wick for his excessive presence at the bar, yet he appears to enjoy hanging out with zib -- who drinks just as often! he makes fun of how all wick ever talks about is rocks, when he himself is prone to poetry rambles that people find irritating or boring, and etc etc. this is also just a human nature thing, to critique someone you heavily dislike and even going as far as to belittle things you love or do in your own day to day because you just hate them that bad! but given rocky’s willingness to befriend anyone, it more so reeks of a dehumanization element. wick is every obstacle in his way, every divine force that threatens to send him packing again, so he is equal parts unnerved by wick’s presence and angry about it. it is mostly a fear response we are seeing, an emotion that’s morphed into long held resentment and anger. so his actions are extremely defensive, with him trying to push wick far away and keep him and mitzi separate, like some sort of animal attempting to ward off a threat that’s come too close to their home. despite the loaded animosity there, this hate has hardly reached its peak … but it shall only grow more intense as things continue onward i’m afraid, since as it stands ( in the comic at least ) rocky is at an all time low … and is ten times more desperate. i’d honestly say wick has become so warped in his mind’s eye that he can only strive towards ‘winning’ over the other man, because that’s all he can see anymore. i think mitzi implying that wick willingly helped her out, the intense head injury, and rocky’s fragile emotional state is exactly what pushes him towards premeditated murder in look-see. i don’t know how people perceive that arc, but to me it’s very clear that rocky actively sought to see the deaths of wes and fish that night. going as far as to lament that he’d be, “very disappointed if ( he ) dreamed them,” and purposefully luring the marigold duo away to have freckle pick them off. while you could argue that this was a smart move, in a gangster sort of sense, there’s still no denying that rocky is oddly chipper about the whole thing and is now seeking death out ; whereas before his methods of vengeance were just, well, ruining people’s livelihood but ultimately leaving them alive. this isn’t to discredit the fact that rocky is going through something! he is in a very muddled and dark place, mentally and physically, but even tracy has said that the head injury hasn’t changed rocky’s personality -- it’s only brought things to the surface.

source : q&a with tracy .

which, yeah! makes sense! head trauma can cause a person to become a wreck emotionally ( think mood swings, irritability, etc ) but it doesn’t completely morph someone either. personality changes may occur, but it’s not like you’re being rewritten entirely, you know? and given tracy’s old statement, it’s clear that ‘personality changes’ aren’t a side effect he’s suffering from. something that adds to my beginning statement, which is that rocky is a deeply angry and troubled person, more so than fans give him any credit for.

however, to touch upon your mini opinion about these two, i actually wholeheartedly agree that rocky and wick could become friends if circumstances were different. they do in fact have many superficial similarities, but one of the more prominent things they deeply share is never really belonging in the groups they frequent. this is more overt with rocky’s character, yet wick faces it too in subtle ways. the well-to-do crowd, seen through the investors, find the gentleman to be lacking in about every place imaginable ; to them he is an obsessive freak who cares too deeply for meager rocks, something they constantly mock him for, while he’s also being noticeably set apart from the rest of them … he seems younger than the investors, more excitable, passionate, and a little less experienced, and doesn’t seem to care for money or reputation as much as them either. there is a constant rubbing between him and them, where what he enjoys is seen as wrong, such as his love for the lackadaisy and his choice in paramor, a grieving widow with extremely dangerous ties. we also know that wick doesn’t have many friends at all, with the only two he has being lacy and church ( church is listed as such on his character profile, in a sort of tongue-in-cheek way ), both of whom work for or with him. they are obliged to hang around, and while they care in varying ways, they are prone to judging him just as much. honestly, it’s not shocking that wick seeks refuge at his chosen speakeasy! but even there he is rather distant from everyone else. he doesn’t speak to zib ever in the comics, nor seems all too close with viktor, ivy, or horatio … it is merely mitzi he is close to, even if he knows of the other people who work there. and, once again, wick very obviously doesn’t fit in. he is not gangster material, could never be an atlas may replacement, much less someone who could get his paws dirty in such an active way. so he has his feet in two different worlds and doesn’t know how to fit into either of them, or which one he actually wants to fit into more. i think in many ways rocky could relate -- these are two very lonely people who wish to belong somewhere and be accepted by some group or another but go about it in all the wrong ways. wick, who is too hesitant to fully commit to what he wants and is worse off for it, and then rocky, who obsessively throws himself against what he wants until he breaks every bone in his body. they also have explosives to bond over, lol, and other miscellaneous things like their taste in women i suppose … but this potential bond adds to the tragedy of lackadaisy, where we see two people who on every level should get along but we’re burdened with the knowledge that it’s an impossibility anyway, because there’s no removing the circumstance of which they’re in.

though i like to believe that despite wick’s fear of rocky, he maintains a kindness towards him regardless. i think his worries about rocky are rather surface level … he doesn’t know the boy at all, really, and thus can’t make heads or tails of him, hence him believing the lie in balderdash. so when i’m feeling particularly self indulgent, i like imagining a world where they’re forced together and sort of ‘stuck’ together ; to which rocky finally breaks and exposes his wounds to wick, in every sense of the word, and wick finally gets him. the aggression, the possessiveness of mitzi … it is all fear and desperation and a profound sadness, things he’d sympathize with. if rocky was able to explain that he loathes wick because if he saves the lackadaisy then mitzi won’t need him anymore and that it’s not fair that wick gets to so easily fix things when rocky would give his soul for his home, for her, and how wick could render every sacrifice he’s already made for naught by smoothing things over with some greenbacks and he can’t lose this, he just can’t --! … which, well, wick is too kind of a man to be able to do anything except feel awful, even though it’s not his fault at all. here we have two people who could coexist! and they should, since rocky logically can’t do every speakeasy job ( band member, rumrunner, mitzi’s shadow, also the guy who gets the money for the hooch ) by himself, just like how wick can’t save the lackadaisy with only his cash and limited booze stash. it’d be a joint cooperation, a collaboration between them, both equally important in the grand scheme of crime’s every turning wheel … but rocky’s rage and fear won’t let him see that, and likely never will. still, in scenarios where everything ends up alright for the lackadaisy and the people involved in it ( which is not how canon will go, by the way ), i fancy wick and rocky getting better within their relationship. rocky will always be prickly and quick to upset around the other man sadly, but perhaps he could see wick in a softer kind of light. or at least understand vaguely enough that he isn’t out to get rocky, so to speak. and then maybe wick learns that pancakes soothe rocky’s ire and poorly makes them anytime he wishes to talk to the man, and other fun things like that! but you should have more confidence in your character analysis skills, because you were spot on ( at least in my eyes ) about them potentially getting along if things were different. it’s certainly a fun aspect to play around with, and is important to note when discussing their relationship so you can fully understand just how warped rocky’s perspective on things are. and how unstable and traumatized he is too, of course </3 sidenote, but i also hope that throughout everything i’ve said here, or anything i’ve said before on my blog, that my love for rocky and my own sympathy for him comes across well enough. while he’s deeply flawed and i have no qualms discussing said flaws in depth, i also don’t think of him as some insane freak who’s evil at his core or anything like that. honestly, i adore analyzing him so much as a character because of how far down his issues go! he’s very well written, i’ll say, as is wick and many of the other characters, but i digress.

once more, thank you for the ask! i’ll end this here because i fear if i don’t i’ll start going in circles, since their relationship is so vast and very important for rocky in a character sense. hopefully i shed some more light on it though! i love these two to bits and pieces and i wouldn’t be half as invested in lackadaisy if their dynamic wasn’t so monumental -- at least to me.

[machveil]

CoD Headcanon: Fashion

let me info dump on how I think the CoD men would dress, pretty puh-lease? Kyle “Gaz” Garrick, Simon “Ghost” Riley, John “Soap” MacTavish, John Price, Gary “Roach” Sanderson, Keegan Russ, and König

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick:

actually wanted to make this post because of him, “Thank you, Kyle.”, we all say in unison

I oh so desperately think he dresses so casually it looks clean as fuck. he’s definitely the best dressed out of the 141, in my opinion. going for groceries? meeting up at a pub? Kyle looks great! also, bottom left photo? holding true to the board, I firmly believe Kyle has totes - different colors, some with logos, a couple well used and loved. totes and caps, Kyle has a nice collection

my fun little headcanon is that Kyle will match his outfits to whatever hat or tote he plans on using for the day. and he has a wardrobe to match - t-shirts, button ups, jumpers, turtlenecks, Kyle has variety. a lot of them are gifts from his family (who have his fashion sense down to a science). his aunts and uncles definitely pay the most attention to what Kyle’s wearing whenever they see him, they never miss when buying him new jeans or shoes

Simon “Ghost” Riley:

as fearsome and intimidating as Ghost is, draped in military gear and holsters, Simon prefers to be comfortable. a majority of his civvies are for his comfort, soft and warm jumpers that bag a little. he keeps it simple, his signature black clothes are really the only thing that carries over from service. that said, I think he’d look good in brown too. still a noticeably darker color compared to most, but it gives a nice contrast to his usual monotone look

it might seem counterintuitive to wear long sleeves when he’s had all this tattoo work done on his arms - fair enough - but I don’t think Simon necessarily cares to show them off. he has his fair share of t-shirts, but he really only wears them when it’s exceptionally warm out. that, or Simon has them on as an undershirt at the gym, hidden beneath his black hoodies. does the 141 poke fun at him for dressing nearly all black every time they see him? yes they do, does Simon care? no, he’s a sucker for a dark aesthetic

John “Soap” MacTavish:

Johnny dresses like he’s ready to go to the gym, but it’s why we love him. I swear, it could be freezing outside and Johnny would be wearing short, he’s definitely one of those people, “Hm? Nah, m’not cold.”, he’s actively trying to not let his teeth chatter. Johnny loves a good hoodie, especially if they have drawstrings - this man has an oral fixation, let him chew on those strings, damnit! oftentimes the drawstrings on his hoodies are fucked up and thready because he’ll absentmindedly nosh on them

I’m not afraid to say he’s the closest on this whole headcanon post to dressing like Adam Sandler - there’s definitely been times he wore the rattiest clothes ever outside and people mistook him for being homeless. the nicest thing he’ll consider wearing out is a t-shirt, zip-up hoodie, and jeans. I think Johnny’s a little nose blind to his own scent, sometimes he’ll think a hoodie is clean but he forgot he sweated his ass off in it two days ago at the gym. puts it on because… well, it just smells like him, surely it doesn’t reek

John Price:

I had such a hard time finding photos that matched my thoughts, but when I found them? oh, these matched. I’d like to call Price’s look “blue collar husband comes home after work” - do we get that vibe? simple man, he likes his blue jeans and a plain shirt. has a wide variety of nice, leather belts though, the only bit of his wardrobe he really splurges on. the simplest out of the 141, but he cleans up nicely with just a shirt and some jeans that hug his thighs just right

he’s a fan of t-shirts, the fact they show off his biceps is purely coincidence. he low-key dresses like a dad, but he rocks the look. he’s definitely the type to have vintage leather jackets, beat up, brown coats that are durable. they’ve seen better days, were new and shiny once, but John likes them a little weathered and worn. he’s not beating the bucket hat allegations

Gary “Roach” Sanderson:

I’d love to say ‘I don’t make the rules’, but I do. I’m putting my foot down and saying Gary dresses like this. he always wears a white t-shirt, is it the same one? does he have dozens? who knows! he’ll causally swap between pants and shorts, whichever is appropriate for the weather. button ups, he owns so many. never buttons them, just wears them open over his t-shirts. it’s casual, but the simplicity of it unironically makes his outfit look super clean

Gary will dress this way until the day he dies. it’s just how he dresses, no variation unless there’s an important event - holidays, an army shindig, I dunno, a wedding (if he could, he’d show up in his usual civvies). you would have to beg Gary to try a different style, he’s silently stubborn about it. he doesn’t make a fuss if you buy him a hoodie or sweater, just know he’ll throw a quiet strike by tucking it into the back of his closet

Keegan Russ:

biblically accurate Keegan Russ is a biker, what can I say. two words: leather jackets. he likes the aesthetic, owns a handful - hand-me-downs, thrifted, vintage, new. a majority of his wardrobe is black, I personally think his favorite color is blue, but he enjoys wearing black more. he likes wearing t-shirts, purposefully showing off his well-trained arms. he really only owns jeans, maybe a pair of nice slacks

you know what? gonna be honest, not much to add on, I just think Keegan is hot and would wear this haha. it’s nothing flashy, but if you’re into bikers it’s definitely eye catching. on another note, I think he’d paint his nails matte black. do I have any reasoning? no, I just think he would, or maybe just a clear coat. that, and he definitely wears silver rings. not all the time, but he does wear them on occasion

König:

if König isn’t in fatigues he still looks blatantly military. now, I didn’t include it in the board, but he has way too many pairs of khaki cargo pants. like an absurd amount - imagine a reasonable number of cargo pants and then add ten more pairs. back to the board, man cannot escape camouflage and green in general. whether it’s pants, shirts, or sweaters, König has it in some shade of green

otherwise, he actually enjoys itchy, scratchy sweaters. you know the kind that makes your skin red after wearing it a little too long? König eats that up, for whatever reason it feels nice to him. course, he does have standard, comfortable sweaters and hoodies. it’s a bit of a hassle to find clothes in his size though, sure they make them big, but König would appreciate if they were more fit to his build than overly baggy. lucky for him, his mama was a seamstress and taught him how to sew - he adjusts his clothing as he sees fit (he’ll still grumble about it though)

manifesting just one CoD man into being so I can play dress up with them🎀✨pretty please, I just wanna make him look so good - Soap and Roach might put up a fight though…

thanks for reading my behemoth of a post<3 hugs and kiss🌸✨

[irafuwas]

some thoughts on how lilia views love

I’ve been watching through the Stitch event and there’s a bit of dialogue Lilia says that unfortunately made me Think, so I wanted to gather my babblings here.

This post contains spoilers for: Book 7, Tsumsted Wonderland 2, Lost in the Book with Stitch, Spectral Soiree/Endless Halloween, and Tamashina Mina

After spending the day fighting off Gantu’s robots, scavenging for food, and exploring the island, the boys rest for a bit in an old cottage they found. Lilia wants to take the opportunity to spruce up the cottage and make it more resort-like while they’re enjoying this “vacation”, and Riddle and Jack are both surprised and a bit peeved to hear him say this.

Riddle: Don’t you want to find a way off this island as soon as possible, Lilia Senpai? Malleus Senpai, Silver, and Sebek… Everyone at Diasomnia must be worried sick about you right now. I should think you’d want to assuage their concerns a tad bit faster!

Lilia: …Thing is, I trust them.

Riddle: You trust them?

Lilia: Mm-hmm. Knowing them, no doubt they understand I’m safe and sound and having a good time right now. Malleus and the others know I’m not the type of guy who’d get in a pickle over something as trivial as this. And that’s because they know me very, very well – just like family!

(snipped)

Lilia: It’s truly wonderful having people in your life who trust you and wish the best for you - and for whom you do the same in return - no matter how far apart you may be.

When you take this dialogue and look at in isolation of this event, then it’s a wonderful thing to hear Lilia say. He trusts his boys and they trust him - because they’re family, and that’s what families do. It’s always great to hear the characters themselves acknowledge their strong bonds with each other, and I thought it was really cute how Stitch got so happy to hear Lilia talking about his Ohana.

But when you take what he said and consider the broader story of Twisted Wonderland (vignettes and events, included), and you consider other things he’s said and done in the past… This dialogue just hurts.

There’s been small moments here and there that made me think Lilia has kind of an unhealthy(?) or warped(?) view of love. I’m not sure what the best word for it is, but I’ve noticed that he doesn’t like people worrying over him, he doesn’t like emotional farewells/sappiness, and he really doesn’t like letting others see him when he’s weak.  Additionally, he seems to value himself very little – he doesn’t think people would be worried about him if he were in danger, or that people would be happy getting pictures of him, or that his departure in Book 7 would hurt those around him so much. I’ll go ahead and put examples for each point so you all can understand better what I’m trying to say.

He doesn’t like people worrying about him

We can see this partly from the quote this whole post is based on, as well as from Book 7.

Based on his conversation with Riddle, Lilia’s way of thinking appears to be:

If someone trusts me -> that means they wouldn’t worry about me

As well as:

If someone worries about me -> that means they don’t trust me

But we do worry about the people we love and care about, don’t we? We worry about our spouses getting home safely from a business trip, and our kids making friends at school, and our friends acing the interview they’ve been practicing for because we love them, don’t we? And because we want the best for them. But it doesn’t seem like Lilia thinks the same way.

And to add onto this point, it’s very clear the boys do worry about Lilia a lot, contrary to what Lilia claims. Due to Lilia’s departure, Malleus brought a snowstorm to the island in his sadness, Silver considered dropping out of school and leaving with his father, only to end up breaking down and crying in front of their crown prince of all people, and Sebek used his one wish to make Lilia be healthy and have him stay with Silver forever. They were all worried terribly about him in their own ways, but it doesn’t seem like Lilia ever noticed (or maybe he did, and just didn’t want to bring it up for some reason. Who knows.)

At any rate, he also gets mad (well, more like tsundere lol) at Silver when the boy was on the verge of tears after Lilia took a nasty hit for him. (I know this exchange occurred with General Vanrouge, and he was quite the asshole back then, but he’s still retained that dislike for people worrying over him.)

Lilia: Oh, would you quit it with the sniveling. I drank the potion, didn’t I? I just to rest for a little bit, and then I’ll be good as new.

He doesn’t like emotional farewells/sappiness

He exhibits his distaste of sappiness in Book 7 and the Welcome to Tsumsted Wonderland 2 event. In the latter, when everyone is saying goodbye to their tsums, he mentions he doesn’t like the gloomy atmosphere. He wants goodbyes to be happy (and most likely, free of any emotional weight). The same can be said in Book 7, when he wholeheartedly agrees to the going away party the students wanted to put on for him, as well as when Silver mentions his father had wanted them all to send him off with a smile. I’m not sure if Lilia just doesn’t enjoy people getting serious with their emotions towards him, or if he doesn’t like seeing it in general. It gives me Macho Man (tm) vibes, kind of? Like, “don’t let people see you cry and feel sad because then you look weak” kind of thing but idk.

Lilia: Farewells are certainly sorrowful, but I hate leaving things on such a gloomy note. Let’s keep our chins up until the end. Tsum, your ability to surprise others was exceptional, and you made today so much fun. So long!

He really doesn’t like letting others see him when he’s weak

There’s still a lot of loose ends to be resolved in Book 7, one of them being the full extent of Lilia’s motives for wanting to leave so suddenly. It does seem to be he’s telling the truth that his magic ran out early, since he couldn’t muster up enough strength to fight back against Malleus when he was about to Overblot, but we don’t know if the real reason for that is just because he “went a little to wild” in his youth, like he claimed, or if something else caused his magic to deplete so prematurely. But we did hear him reveal a little bit of his motives when he was talking to Floyd at the party.

Floyd was dismayed he never got a chance to fight Lilia, and he wished he could’ve seen Lilia go all out at least once. When he asks Lilia why he’s dropping out, Lilia says under his breathe that he didn’t want “them” to see him so weak.

Lilia (whispering to himself): …It’s because I didn’t want them to see me so feeble.

Regardless of why his magic ran out and why he wants to go the Land of Red Dragons of all places, we know part of the reason for his departure is because he doesn’t want Malleus and the others to see how far he’d fallen from his former military glory. (sidebar: I have a feeling he thought he’d be a burden on Silver and co. with him losing his magic, and he was trying to leave so quickly to escape his shame towards his rapid loss of strength and independence (I imagine since he’s a magical being who comes from a country that runs on magic, him losing his powers must feel very isolating and limiting, like he’s lost a lot of the control he used to have over his own life).)

He doesn’t think people would be worried about him if he were in danger

In Endless Halloween/Spectral Soiree, Lilia was surprised by how much Silver and the others had been worrying about him and Malleus when they disappeared. Interestingly, even though Lilia is the one that Silver was the most relieved to see (it’s hard to tell with the live 2d models, but it looked like he went up to hug? Lilia and Lilia slapped his hand away), Lilia later says “I didn’t think you’d be so worried about us.” (referring to himself and the others involved with the party shenanigans).

(I am aware they changed this line to “I didn’t think you’d be so worried about me” In TWST EN, but I’m just focusing on the JP version).

I just found it weird that even though Silver was very clearly worried about Lilia the most, Lilia kind of redirected Silver’s concern over from “Lilia” to “Lilia and everyone else”. Did it make him uncomfortable to hear Silver was that worried about him? I’m not sure, but it just stood out to me as being a little strange how he responded, and how surprised he was that his own son would get worried about him suddenly disappearing.

He didn’t think people would be happy getting pictures of him

At the end of Lilia’s Tamashina Mina vignette, Yuu stops by Diasomnia to give him some photos he’d taken of Lilia on their trip, and Sebek, Silver, and Malleus are delighted to see them, since it’s not often they get to see photos of Lilia. Lilia is surprised at how happy they are to receive those pictures of himself. But why wouldn’t they be happy? They love him and treasure him dearly, of course they’d be overjoyed to have pictures of him to remember him by. It’s like he thought they wouldn’t care about him that much, which is really bizarre, considering the whole “even if we’re not related by blood we’re still family” thing he told Malleus before.

Lilia: To think, you’d all be so delighted just to see some pictures of me. I never would’ve imagined you’d all react like this.

He didn’t think his departure in Book 7 would hurt those around him so much

This relates back to what I mentioned in the first point, but there’s one scene that demonstrates this perfectly.

After Silver breaks down in front of Malleus, Malleus teleports both of them to Lilia’s going away party. All eyes should have been on Malleus with how strangely he was acting, but the first thing Lilia honed in on was that Silver had been crying. And not only that, but Lilia looked surprised that Silver had been crying. And why wouldn’t he cry? The one person who formed Silver’s entire world and sun and stars was about to leave him and go die all by himself on the other side of the planet. There is no reason Lilia should’ve been surprised at Silver’s tears, yet he was. And I gather that’s because he never thought the boy could ever possibly want to choose to stay by his side, to choose him over all the hopes and dreams he’d burdened on the poor child from the moment he could walk, to choose him over his real friends and his real family members.

I hope when Lilia “wakes up” from his dream, the first he does is ask Silver what he’d been crying about back at the party. And I pray to god they will actually talk things out and Lilia will finally apologize for how much of a complete idiot he’s been acting.

My headache’s coming back so to wrap this up quickly, my current understanding of Lilia Vanrouge is that he either doesn’t realize just how loved and cherished he is by his family members, or that he does realize it and just pretends not to. If it’s the latter, which is what I personally lean towards, I think he does this as a means to protect himself.

He’s already lost so many of his loved ones, and he very well may be putting up these walls around his heart and pushing away the people who love him just so he doesn’t have to get hurt again. We don’t know how he became an orphan, but his birth family either gave him up or passed away and left him behind. Even when Queen Maleficia took him in, he was always made the scapegoat for the princess’s schemes, and it sounded like he was brought up more as Levan and Mallenoa’s inferior than their equal. And then war struck their nation. And then his one best friend went missing and the other one probably gave up her life trying to protect the very child who'd go on to shatter the ice surrounding his wounded heart.

Perhaps with Malleus and Silver and Sebek now, he thought his best option would be to exit their lives before they had a chance to do the same to him, because he knew they would do the same to him. Everyone does.

As a final note, I still keep going to back to what he said in Cater’s Halloween vignette. I think this one line sums up his views of love better than I ever could:

“But the more precious a bond is, the more pain it can inflict.”

(source)

[storiesfromafan]

The Prank - Mattheo x Reader

A/N: I bring you all a Mattheo Riddle one-shot! I've been struggling with writing insporation for all my current works 😭 So please bear with me 💜

Prompt: “I’m going to break your arm like you broke my heart”

Pranks. A Slytherin's dangerous and destructive pass time. About 98% of the Slytherin house loved a good prank. The more damage – physical or emotional – the better. And the three best know Slytherin pranksters are Theodore Knott, Lorenzo Berkshire and Mattheo Riddle. They salivated it, and relished in it. Always trying to out do the others last prank.

Many have fallen subject to them, and a lot more in the cross-hairs too. Most Professors hate to have them in their classes because of their ways. And other Professors gave them detention before they’ve done anything. Many students even stayed clear. You being one of the few exceptions. For you were entangled with Mattheo, your loving boyfriend.

You put up with your boyfriends past time. You never stopped him, nor do you condone it. He was his own person, has his own mind. There was one time a prank dragged you in was when it involved a group, one of them being a good friend of yours. After that happened, you out your foot down. And so the three made sure to be more thoughtful, thinking it over before doing it.

It was early evening, just before dinner time. In the Slytherin common room, by one of the fires, was Theodore, Lorenzo and Mattheo. All three lounging around and talking shit. Shit about other students and Professors. It was all calm and leisurely.

That was until the common room door opened. And the loud stomps across into the landing atop the stairs leading down into the belly of the beast were heard. With the silence, those closest to the stairs heard a loud sigh or huff. Following it was the loudest, angriest voice. The pain in their voice sent chills down all to hears spines.

“MATTHEO RIDDLE!!” you yelled. Uncaring of how loud you were, or of your tone. You were furious, and hurt. Wanting blood.

Mattheo – who had been lounging on a couch – jumped, scurrying to sit up. He turned to look behind the chair, and to the stairs. Stomping down those stairs you finally came into view. The way you stood tall, face red and looked like you had been crying. That got Mattheo's attention. He fumbled to get up and move towards you. When you saw him you moved to him, meeting half way.

The fire in your eyes, the anger he could see clear as day. “I’m going to break your arm like you broke my heart!” your voice cold, and deadly.

Mattheo's blood ran cold. “H-huh?”

Your teary gaze darkened, drawing in on the boy before you. “You heard me!”

“L-love...” Mattheo sputtered. “I-I don’t know what’s going one?!”

You lifted a shaking fist, held tightly in it was parchment. You took a deep breath, trying to remain calm. Then you threw the crumpled parchment at Mattheo. He fumbled but caught it. Looking to the parchment and then back to you, confused on what it meant.

“How could you!” You half whined, half whimpered. “I thought I meant so much to you!?”

“You do love” Mattheo replied quickly.

“Then why? Why break up with me over parchment!?” you finally broke, voice dripping in anguish as the tears finally fell.

Mattheo's eyes widened. “WHAT!? I didn’t love!!”

He continued to tell you how he hadn’t sent you a parchment message, nor did he break up with you. All the while you cried and argued with him. Back and forth you went. Mattheo trying to grab a hold of you, but you pushed his hands away. One thing led to another, and to the surprise of Mattheo and everyone in the common room, you slapped him.

You looked from Mattheo, to your hand. Shocked you had slapped the gorgeous boy. Shakily you took a breath and released it. Then you turned, talking off to your room. Tears still streaming down your face. Mattheo stood there shocked, cheek hurting from your actions.

He stepped forward, “(Y/N)!” Mattheo called, voice breaking and laced with confusion and hurt.

Then he heard it. A snigger. Which turned into a full on laugh. Turning on his heel, Mattheo was greeted to the sight of Theodore laughing like a lunatic. Lorenzo looking to the laughing male like he had a second head.

“O-oh man” breathed Theodore holding his sides. “T-the look on your face!”

Confusion marred Mattheo's face. His mind going over everything, eventually putting the dots together. Your hurt and anger, the parchment and Theodore’s delight and laughter. Now he got it. His friend pranking him.

“You!” Mattheo growled. “W-why!? Why’d you do it!?”

Theodore’s laughter died down, a shit eating grin upon his lips. “Paybacks a bitch, right?”

Ah yes. Just a week ago Mattheo had pranked Theodore. It was when he was chatting up a girl he’d been eyeing for a while now, a girl he contemplated turning his back on his playboy ways for. But in came Mattheo. Causing havoc with his prank, that lead to that girl getting angry with his friend, and not talking to him since. Along with detention for the disruption that came to the classroom.

Mattheo saw red. Ready to lung at his friend but Lorenzo got to him first. Holding him back, talking to him. Somehow he got through to Mattheo, who took off towards the dorms. He had to get you to talk to him.

Lorenzo turned back to the pleased Theodore. “Really? You couldn’t have just did something that would get him detention?”

Theodore thought about it. “Nuh. Plus, he’s no fun since he’s been tied down".

Lorenzo rolled his eyes before walking away from his friend. He wasn’t going to support this. Not one bit. “Just remember" he threw over his shoulder. “Mattheo won’t take this lightly...”

That sobered up Theodor. “S-shit...”

[moondirti]

pregnant diner waitress reader just has a dirtbag babydaddy, calling her and screaming the whole over the car and her being late.

honestly i hadn’t planned to have her baby daddy in the picture at all but the angst potential here… too tempting to pass up

PART 1 • PART 2

tags: simon x reader x johnny. darkfic. dirtbags. verbal abuse (not by ghost or soap). pregnant fem!reader who still hasn’t realised she’s being actively abducted.

It takes a bit to convince you to let them drive you home.

Your resistance is met with a paradoxical reaction by both men. On the one hand, there’s a warm comfort at the knowledge that you aren’t so easy to take advantage of. Even in your distraught state, you push back against every solution they propose. It is quite a detour, I’d hate to inconvenience you or I’m sure I can get a friend to come out instead. You’re wary, though your exhaustion sways you to assume the best of them, which means that you aren’t quite at the point of flat out refusal.

Otherwise, they – Simon, in particular – simmer in frustration. Red wine in a saucepan, reduced to a stronger version of itself over flame. Bitter. Strong. More insistent: cannae rest easy tonicht knowing we left an expecting hen tae fend fur herself. They poke at the knot until they find a loosening, tugging, tugging, then abandoning it once a more promising end appears.

Eventually, their combined efforts (though most of the credit can be attributed to the sincere, puppy dog look Johnny sports at all times. Hard to resist, even for Simon) dismantle your willpower. You duck your head in a modest thank you and shuffle behind them, seating yourself firmly behind the drivers seat even though you’re offered shotgun, hugging your bag over your belly.

“Do you need me to type in the address on google maps or something?” You say after they pull out of the parking lot.

“Y’were on about Adderford.” Simon meets your wide eyes in the rearview.

“Yeah.”

“Reckon I know the road.”

Simon does know the way, and so does Johnny. Adderford, off of exit A36. Near a polluted lake that was the victim of an attempt to turn the town into an industrial hub. Nothing to show for that, of course – all it has to offer now is a poor quality of life for all those who weren’t fortunate enough to get out.

Yeah. They know the way, and their confidence must set a precedent for the trip. Your anxious fidgeting stops after 10 minutes of driving, and you’re smiling at the nonsensical story coming from the passengers seat a mere 5 minutes later. In the meanwhile, your rationalisation is visible. Simon watches your gaze flicker back and forth between them, then around the car that must feel luxurious next to yours. If they wanted to do something bad to you, then they would’ve already done so. Besides, what kind of delinquents drive a wrangler?

30 minutes in, you’re fast asleep.

They really couldn’t have asked for a better turn of events.

They come up on exit A36 and stick to the middle lane, passing the little sign that points to Adderford being a couple miles out. Past the point of no return, beelining towards the secluded house they’ve made your new home, and you can be none the wiser. Johnny can’t believe their luck, babbling in a hushed voice about how nice it’ll when you to wake up in their bed.

The fantasy loses its grip when your phone rings, blaring from deep within your bag. Panic ripples across your face, jolting you from your sleep as you scramble for the device. The series of events unfolds in far too familiar a way for one of them. Simon – a buried torment wringing around his guts as he listens in.

“H-Hello? Shit. What–” You’re breathless, stuttering. Back to that scared little thing they found by her car, crying. “Please- please calm down.”

And though you try to keep your voice low, they leech on to every word you say. Someone on the other line yells, indistinct insults punching through the mic and landing. You wilt, tucking your lip underneath two teeth, waiting the anger out.

(Tommy donned the same expression those nights when things got bad. Simon remembers hugging him against his chest so he wouldn’t have to face the misery his brother’s countenance wrought.)

“You shouldn’t- I’m sorry, but I thought I c-changed the locks. You’re not allowed to be in… not in my apartment.” More yelling. Soap twists a fist, concoting a hundred different ways he can track whoever it is down. Make them pay for their abuse with their own tongue down their throat. “It’s none of your business- you left…”

“Easy.” Simon whispers to his partner.

“Si.”

“I know, boy.” Perhaps all too well. It gets harder to keep a firm steer over the wheel.

“Don’t accuse me of– my fucking car broke down! You shouldn’t even– fuck! Hello? Hello?” A low scream tears from your throat, prelude to the aggressive shoving of your phone down into back your bag. Trembling fingers press down over your eyes, rubbing until your tears soak into your skin. Ridding of the evidence to your dismay. You suck in large gulps of air, holding them in your chest until it aches, then gasp out equally hefty exhales.

No one speaks for a while. Then–

“I don’t think I should go home right now.”

Too broken for them to feel anything but overwhelming pity. Johnny clicks his tongue, looking over his shoulder so you can latch on to the sincerity that seems to calms you so.

“O’course. Whatever ye need, lass.”

Your frown softens “There’s a motel–”

“Next one’s farther ou’ than our place is. Can’t take you there and back m’fraid.” Simon interjects. Like a record scratch, or sandpaper on an already raw moment. It must make him an awful man to use your earlier propriety against you, but conviction has superseded his desire to act decently.

Sure enough, you visibly blanch, shaking your head and stumbling over your words.

“No! No, of course not. Of course- that was so silly of me to ask. You can, I mean… you can drop me off anywhere, really. I’ll sort t-things out for myself.”

“Not what I meant, pet.”

You don’t catch on. He doesn’t repeat.

Johnny bridges the gap.

“We’ve got a spare bedroom.”

next part

[bunni-v1]

Can I please request a reader that has been so traumatised by what’s happened in the Scarabia book that they actively avoid the entire dorm and have Ace and Deuce as their guard dogs (I love those two and I really love how you wrote them as the readers protective besties during the Malleus break up fic). Like how would Kalim, Jamil and Adeuce react to that?

I find it really cathartic when I read fics that have the characters feeling guilty after what they put the reader through whilst the reader is getting support from their friends.

(Something I’m really salty about in twst is how no one ever holds the overblots accountable for what they’ve done. I full on agreed with Ace when he told Riddle that crying wasn’t going to erase all that he did before the overblot and I literally fell in love with him when he punched Riddle after he insulted us/Yuu/the player. I understand that those boys are traumatised and are in desperate need of therapy and overblotting was the only way for their problems to be solved but the treatment they inflicted on Yuu/us was downright hellish. Azul made us homeless and tore us away from the only family/comfort we had in twst (the ghosts) and then sent the tweels to terrorise us in our attempts to reclaim said home and free our friends from servitude; Jamil kidnapped us, hypnotised us, locked us up in a room against our will, isolated us from Adeuce and took away any contact we had with them, forced us on long marches in the dessert and turned a blind eye to our clear suffering during that time; Vil acted like a literal demon to not only us (and then almost made my Deucey cry) but everyone else as well and that was before he decided to try to murder an innocent teenager. Like why does no one understand just how much this can damage an actual child who has no magic and has been stripped from their home and family?)

Reader Terrified of Scarabia After Jamil’s Overblot

TW: PTSD; Mental Breakdown; Disassociation; Mentions of Abuse; Kalim and Jamil are tragic

Info: Ace, Deuce x Reader (platonic or romantic); Kalim, Grim x Reader (platonic); Jamil and Reader (neutral)

🍓I love requests like this tbh. My own OC sorta has her own grapplings with this stuff that I like to touch upon, and I’m excited I get the chance to talk about it here :) THIS IS LONG AS HELL BTW(like this intro here lol). I had a lot of fun writing it :))) I added a cute, shorter little grim part, because our little guy deserves more lovin’ than he gets. I also decided to do a cute little (read: long) intro, and then head cannons since you didn’t specify for either. I hope you enjoy this style, and I’m sorry for the wait <3

You had been through… a lot in your time at Night Raven College. Being thrown into a completely different world would’ve been enough, but it seems that the great seven thought you needed some extra troubles. You weren’t sure how you could’ve encored their wrath, but you were, and you were chugging along despite it all.

First was the attack from the phantom in the mines — something that should’ve been foreshadowing for what was to come. You didn’t even do anything to be in this position. It was Ace Grim and Deuce, but you got dragged into it all because you were “Grim’s keeper.” You managed to befriend Ace and Deuce though, so it wasn’t so bad.

Second was Riddle with his unending temper and strict rules. Despite everything telling you to just stay out of it, your good-natured heart just couldn’t stop you from helping Ace and Deuce. Nearly dying in the process, you managed to help Riddle and made newfound friends in Heartslabyul. 

Third came Leona, the selfish, stuck-up, lazy no-good prince of the Savannah. You knew he was trouble from the start, and you wanted nothing to do with him or his little lackey Ruggie. Then he hurt Trey, and you couldn’t stand by while he reigned terror on the school. He was a favorable ally to gain in the end, so you could dismiss his actions so long as he kept in his lane.

Fourth was Azul, another student you figured would cause you trouble. With the extra scary Jade and Floyd always tailing him, and that too buttery sweet voice of his, you were determined to keep your distance. Again, however, your friends were in trouble and you couldn’t help but help them. Azul was a broken person, and you could sympathize with his struggles. He even gave you a job at the lounge to help with funding yourself, so he couldn’t be all that bad.

You’d come to dislike the other house wardens out of principle. A pattern had emerged among them, and you weren’t going to fall victim to another horrific overblot. You still had suction cup-shaped bruises on your arm from Azul’s breakdown. Leona had given you more than just a nasty burn from the scalding hot whirlwind of sand he conjured up. The scars Riddle left behind on your face and arms were healed, but they still ached when you touched them. All painful reminders that you could not truly trust anyone here, that anyone could lose control of themselves and hurt you. Yet…

When you met Jamil in the kitchen, he seemed so kind to both you and Grim. He seemed so genuine and honest. Maybe it was wishful thinking, or maybe it was you missing your friends, but you wanted to trust him despite your gut feeling to be distrustful. Could everyone here really be that bad? Certainly not. Ace Deuce and Jack went here as well… so surely… surely…

The alarm bells didn’t ring at all during the dinner, and Kalim — despite everything you’ve been through — seemed so nice, if not a little overbearing. You could see the tiredness on Jamil's face, and you had the kindness in your heart to express your sympathies. And oh, Jamil so humbly assured you that he was fine. Filling your head with little half-truths and ideas that Kalim had been overworking not only him but the other students. That he had been acting “off” as of late.

You saw Kalim’s sudden shifts in personality. How he would be so sweet, so kind and soft. How he made sure you were enjoying yourself, made sure you ate to your heart's content, made sure you were comfortable in your uniform and your sleeping quarters. Then he would be yelling at everyone, demanding unspeakable exercises and work.

If Ace were there with you, he would’ve called bullshit. Still, you trusted Jamil to start. You actually believed he was kind and had good intentions. You believed that Kalim was the real evil here.

Then he wouldn’t let you and Grim leave, and the students were suddenly so aggressive toward you. He took everything you had and stripped you of your dignity and pride until there was nothing left but fight.

Truly, you didn’t realize it was him that was the issue until he was over-blotting in front of your eyes. It wasn’t an unusual sight to you at that point, you’d defeated multiple overblots and befriended these people. You don’t know what it was. The way you’d trusted him. The fact that you felt truly alone without Ace and Deuce. This one broke you…

You just didn’t feel a damn thing after he was saved. You felt no pity, no joy, no relief. Absolutely nothing, an empty void in your chest. Even as everyone around you celebrated, there was nothing. You stood watching everyone parade around with glee blankly, unable to speak to anyone around you. Just listening to the voices that had begun to mesh together.

You didn’t show anything until Ace and Deuce showed up. Something about their faces, the way they were looking over you, the way they seemed so scared for your wellbeing… it made you cry. It made you cry and cry and cry until you couldn’t make any noise and then you cried some more. They had to drag you away from everyone because you just couldn’t quite stand upright when Deuce would try to get you to walk away with him…

The days after were blurry. You remained holed up in your dorm, unable to really move from your bed. Ace and Deuce stayed in their own separate room next to yours. You could hear them talking through the walls about how worried they were about you, how angry they were at Jamil, how angry they were at themselves for not getting there in time to help you. If you’d had the energy, you would’ve scolded them for being so hard on themselves, but you could hardly speak in the first place.

They cared for you as best as they could. Deuce attempted to cook the recipes Trey sent him over magicam, making sure you ate and stayed hydrated. Occasionally you’d hear Azul downstairs, and Deuce would give you something nice from the Monstrolounge — free of charge, he promised. You could tell that he wasn’t sleeping much in his worry over you. 

Grim remained at your side as loyal as a dog and boasting that he’d keep you safe, but you knew he was scared too. He proclaimed that he would keep you safe, but you could feel him trembling at every sudden noise. You had to comfort him from the horrific nightmares he was having. That was okay, though, he was family and you were his.

Ace was the only one who really kicked your ass into gear. He’d tug you out of bed and into the shower as people began to return from winter break. Made you go on walks around campus to show you that you were completely safe. Eventually, he’d been able to get you to visit Azul to thank him directly for his kindness. He wasn’t soft or gentle with you, that wasn’t in his character at all, but he made sure you felt safe enough to return to classes before they started.

They both worked hard to help you recover, but you were still so afraid…

Ace

-Ace isn’t exactly the most comforting person, and he never claimed to be. 

-He’s not good at reassuring people, but he’s good at being honest, and if he was being honest he knew that you were safe around him and Deuce.

-He walks you to and from classes, spends most of his nights in your dorm doing whatever the hell you’d like him to do without complaint, distracts you when you’re freaking out, and most importantly keeps that snake as far away from you as possible.

-If he was being honest with himself, which was his whole thing, he didn’t really get your reaction to everything. 

-You’ve all been through this before, it's textbook at this point. A guy does some shady shit, a guy gets caught doing said shady shit, a guy overblots, and you defeat a guy with the power of friendship. Boom. Done.

-He’d get it more if you were completely alone, but grim and the octanivelle freaks were there! Kalim too, and he’s always seemed pretty nice. Not the best company, sure, but still you had people helping you out.

-When he looks at your face and sees how tired you are, he forgets the logical stuff. All he can hear are those horrific sobs you let out when you saw him and how you nearly ripped his uniform in half with how tightly you were holding him and Deuce.

-If that was too much for him, he can’t imagine how badly it must’ve felt for you. How bad it must still feel.

-So screw what he thinks, he’s gotta make sure you’re taking care of yourself.

-He doesn’t ask you how you’re feeling, he knows it's not good. He focuses on keeping your mind off of everything that might trigger you.

-Reroutes your paths to classes to avoid Jamil and Kalim completely. Sure it’s longer and more annoying, but it's better than you going dead silent and shutting him and everyone else out again.

-He does everything in his power and you’re doing so well… and then the VDC happens. 

-You’re given the title of manager and you’re forced to be around these people who terrify you. 

-Vil won’t budge on anything and sevens Ace wishes Rook would let him try out a little target practice with the (illegal) bow and arrows he’s got in his room.

-He keeps himself between you and Jamil at all costs. He won’t let Jamil bother you at all, not that he was trying in the first place.

-The real issue is Kalim, which sounds crazy, but it’s true.

-Kalim is so… forceful. A pretty strong word, but honestly the only one Ace can think to use.

-He’s really nice, really sweet, seriously such a good guy… but you’re still unsettled by him.

-There are several times during practices that Ace has to yell at him to just leave you alone.

-Sure, it gets him a pretty big scolding from Vil, but he couldn’t care less honestly. He doesn’t wanna risk you having a panic attack because Vil doesn’t wanna be a responsible leader.

-You confide in Ace a lot. How you really want to move past all this, but Crowley won’t provide you with any form of therapy, and you’re just not ready to forgive Jamil or Kalim for what happened.

-He won’t tell you this, but hearing you talk like this breaks his heart.

-You’re normally so strong, so brave, so confident… and now you’re absolutely broken.

-He’s proud of you for putting on a brave face to placate Vil, but he’s angry you have to.

-Surprisingly, though, you do begin to warm up to Kalim. Just a little. 

-It's only when Ace, Deuce, or Grim is around, but it's a really big step forward in his eyes.

-You’re getting back to where you used to be little by little.

-He still won’t give you or Jamil the chance to reconcile, but you honestly couldn’t be more grateful for that.

Deuce

-Deuce is incredibly different from Ace in how he handles everything.

-He’s a delinquent, sure, but he’s a Mama’s boy at heart. Therefore, he’s much more equipped to help you emotionally through all this than Ace.

-Where Ace is the harsh pushing force to keep you going, Deuce is the calm where you can rest and cry your heart out for as long as you need.

-As I mentioned, he makes sure you’re eating and drinking and at least speaking to someone.

-He asks Trey for recipes without leading on to what’s going on and asks Cater for advice on helping someone feel safe after a traumatic experience.

-It’s not subtle, but it helps.

-He handles making all your meals, even though he isn’t the best cook, he absolutely puts all his heart and soul into everything he makes.

-A good portion of his days are dedicated to cooking for you, and he gets pretty damn good at it by the time classes start up again!

-With Sam’s shop closed, he has to go into town to get the ingredients he needs, and then he has to spend hours preparing and serving the food.

-He watches you eat, encouraging you that everything is safe and that he made it all by himself by hand. 

-He doesn’t question why things ended up this way for you, he wonders how can I help?

-And he does help, a lot, more than just with food.

-Sometimes, late at night, he hears you crying alone in your room. He gets up from his own bed, quietly enters your room, and holds you and grim while you both tremble in fear.

-It makes him so mad. Mad that this happened to you. Mad that Jamil did this in the first place. Mad that he couldn’t help more than he already is. 

-Like Ace, he accompanies you to all your classes and makes sure to stay close to your side if any Scarabia students are around.

-He’ll go anywhere you need him to, and if you’re not comfortable being alone and he’s got plans, you’re invited to join him. No matter what anyone else thinks.

-Things get better little by little. You make strides in your ability to be independent again and you’re smiling and joking around like you used to. You even agreed to try out for the VDC with him and Ace… a big mistake.

-He didn’t expect to actually get in, let alone get in with Jamil and Kalim. If it were just that he could’ve been civil, but no, you had to be dragged in too… because that’s always how it works out.

-He has to hold himself from getting in Jamil’s face more than once because just him looking at you is enough to send you into a clear panic attack.

-Deuce does his best to comfort you between all of this, though. Being your shoulder to cry on and trying his best to be your protector… it's just hard. Hard to see you like that, and hard to keep his cool for your sake.

-It's worse with Kalim because both you and Deuce know he means well. You both know he wants to reconcile, but you’re not quite ready.

-Deuce helps the confrontation with the two feel a bit easier though. He acts as a mediator between you and Kalim, and eventually, he’s proud to say he helped you trust Kalim just a little bit.

-Jamil… both of you could use some work, but Deuce is more willing to hear you out on him than Ace is.

Grim

-Grim was there with you the whole time. He understands the fear you’re feeling deeper than anyone else.

-He could just tell something was wrong the second he saw your face. Despite all the celebrations, he was focused on making sure you were at least a little okay.

-He tried to talk to you, tried to make you feel okay, but the only comfort he could offer you was letting you hold him while you cried.

-He could still hear your cries, and they made him want to cry too. He almost did, but he was your guard cat — he had to be strong for you.

-Unlike Ace and Deuce, he never left your side. Not a second. He was there with you from the moment you were unwittingly kidnapped to the sleepless nights in your dorm to the horror of finding out you’d have to work closely with Jamil for the VDC.

-He made his distaste for him very known, sure to make a snarky comment at least once every time he saw him. 

-It was so bad, at one point, that Vil had to give him a stern talking to. He didn’t stop regardless.

-You are Grim’s best friend, the only family he has, and Jamil hurt you in unspeakable ways. He couldn’t just sit back and be okay with that.

-He’s really such a good guy.

Kalim

-Kalim means well. With his whole heart, he has the best intentions… just not the best execution.

-See, he didn’t notice initially that anything was really wrong the whole time.

-He didn’t suspect Jamil at all. In fact, he thought that you were really enjoying your stay in Scarabia, you seemed so happy and chatty up until Jamil flipped things on their head.

-Call him air-headed, but he was caught up in his own whirlwind of emotions at the time. You know, the whole betrayal of his supposed best friend took a toll on him too.

-It wasn’t until you were sobbing your throat raw that he realized something was really wrong.

-The look of sheer terror on your face when you made eye contact with him sent shivers up his spine.

-He knew that look. He’d worn that look on his own face too many times as a young child.

-Believe it or not, without Jamil’s intervention, he knew to keep his distance. He knew he had to give you time to adjust.

-Then a few days turned into weeks and weeks turned into a little over a month, and he had hardly seen you around campus.

-You are avoiding your normal route to class, and when he did see you he was also greeted by the harsh glares of your good friends.

-He understood if you’d never want to talk to him ever again, honestly. He couldn’t blame you. You were more headstrong than him, after all.

-Still, when the VDC came around… he was hopeful. Truly he was hoping that something would give.

-He would talk to you in hopes of showing you that he meant no harm, but Ace or Deuce or even Grim would shove their way between the two of you.

-Several times Jamil had to tell him to knock it off because “It’s not worth forcing.”

-Still, he wanted you to know he felt bad. He felt horrible.

-In a very un-Kalim-like move, he quietly asks you if you can speak with him. Alone. But in a crowded enough area that you wouldn’t feel threatened.

-He didn’t expect you to accept it, he wouldn’t have blamed you at all. But you said yes. 

-You showed up, with Grim by your side, which was fine. He earned some apologies too.

-He poured his heart out to you, apologizing for things that he couldn’t even control. In turn, he listened to you rant about how scared you were, how angry you were, how you wished you were any of these things.

-And after that, things improved. Slowly, but surely. You became more comfortable around him, and you spoke to him again.

-Sure, you wouldn’t be caught dead at one of Scarabia’s parties, but you considered him a friend. 

-That’s all he could ask for.

Jamil

-Jamil is the monster in your story. 

-He’s the evil guy who kidnapped, manipulated and lied to you.

-He’s the one who used his misplaced anger as an excuse to hurt others.

-He’s the boogyman who made you endure days of long and hard training, just because he could.

-Of course, he felt bad. What he did was unspeakable, but he was more concerned with how his reputation would last after the overblot.

-More concerned with it not getting out for the safety of his family.

-Even with you sobbing, he just thought you were being dramatic in all honesty. You have a reputation already, he knew you’d been through this whole thing before.

-It didn’t really strike him how badly it affected you.

-He didn’t notice how you switched paths, how you were never in the same area as him for long, and the glares of your friends never once phased him.

-Even Ace’s snarky comments during basketball didn’t bother him for a second.

It wasn’t until he accidentally bumped into you in the hallway, and he saw the look on your face that he realized.

-The terror in your eyes, the way you shrunk back as if he would strike you. It was the same way his parents acted around the Asim’s.

-If he were a more insane man, he might’ve found it liberating, but it wasn’t.

-He had become what he hated to you, he had done what he hated to you. 

-Jamil was not only your monster, but he was his own.

-He steers clear of you and keeps as much distance as possible for both your sakes.

-He couldn’t handle someone looking at him like that, and he was sure you couldn’t handle the sight of him after what he did.

-Still, this is NRC, and luck is never on anyone's side here.

-Both of you are forced into a position where you cannot escape the other, you have to learn to live with the awful pits in your stomachs.

-He keeps Kalim away until you both are on good terms, then he simply watches quietly.

-He won’t apologize, he won’t antagonize, he won’t speak unless spoken to.

-You two never truly recover your small lasting friendship, but you do make amends with each other.

-During the trip to the scalding sands, you get to meet Najma, whom he’s confided in about ‘accidentally upsetting a classmate’.

-You get to have a good talk with her, and it makes you really realize some things about Jamil.

-You realize he’s just as broken as you, just as tired as you, and that he feels the most immense amount of guilt for hurting you.

-You, being you, find it in your soul to forgive him.

-Nothing really changes between you. The guilt is still there, and the fear still shakes you to your core, but you both have closure.

-In a situation like this, closure is the best grace a person can ever have.

[calypsocolada]

how the jjk boys react to being jealous...ft. itadori, megumi, gojo, nanami, & takuma

authors note: MERRY CHRISTMAS

cw: slightly suggestive, angst, healthy jealousy

wc: 3.6k

Itadori doesn’t really get jealous much but when he does he’s pouty. He’s late for a date one night and when he opens the door to your favorite restaurant he spots you in the corner. You’re smiling and laughing at something the waiter had said. Itadori felt a pang of jealousy in his chest. He was just about the only one who could make you laugh like that and he didn’t like some random guy trying to take his place. Your eyes meet Itadori and they light up. The waiter looks back, a bit flustered when he spots the sour faced Itadori. 

“I’ll get those drinks in for ya.” He says and walks away rather fast. Itadori leans over the table and kisses your cheek as he slides into the booth across from you. 

“Sorry I was late,” he starts as you smile. 

“Everything okay?” You ask, your infinite kindness speaking. He nods his head. 

“Christmas traffic.” He shrugs as you nod your head in understanding. 

He obviously didn’t want to say but he was out getting you a present. He didn’t fancy himself good with gift giving but he had an idea late last night and was hunting around for the item all morning. He finally found it then realized he was gonna be late. 

“I’m glad I got all that crap done early.” You said as he reached for your hand, pulling your knuckles to his lips to press a kiss. The waiter comes back and sets the drinks down on the table and Itadori can’t hide the look on his face when the waiter smiles down at you. He pouts a bit when you smile back. He knows you’re being polite and he also knows he’s being pouty. He can’t help it. You’re a lot of things Itadori likes. You’re kind and caring, funny and smart. He likes the way you think and your attention to detail. He’s lost a lot of people he loves and lately the way he thinks about them has changed. He’s become over protective but he can’t help it. He can’t lose anyone else. 

“Yuji?” Your voice breaks through to him, he was lost in thought. He blinks, clearing his throat. He tells the waiter his order and watches as the man shoots another one last flirty look at you before leaving. You hadn’t even given the waiter the attention he wanted. Instead you were reaching across the table for Itadori’s hands. “You sure you’re okay?” You ask and he gives your hand a gentle squeeze. 

“I think the waiter has a crush.” He says and you start to laugh. 

“Yeah I noticed that. I’m glad you got here when you did.” You say and he calms. He knows you’re not the type who would cheat, that's not really where his jealousy was stemming from. It was just the fact that he liked being the one to make you happy and didn’t trust strangers. He gives you a soft smile and you cock your head slightly. “Wait…” you trail off and when he looks at you you have a smirk on your lips. “Are you jealous, Yuji?” You ask and Itadori shakes his head. 

“I- Of course not! I just- I noticed he was a little smiley that’s all.” He stutters out as you raise a brow, slowly nodding your head. 

“Uh huh.” You jest, hiding a giggle behind your hand. 

“Okay fine. Yes a little,” he relents as you nod along with his words. 

“That’s cute.” You say and he gets up, sliding into your booth. It was all very smooth. 

“No I’m not,” he says, pink cheeked as he presses a kiss to your lips.

Megumi is very protective, and gets jealous pretty easily. He doesn’t open up to many people and so when you cracked him wide open with your kindness and patience he didn’t know what to do. He also didn’t know what to do when you became good friends with Todo. That freaked him right out. You two were polar opposites but he’d see you across campus with that giant idiot drinking tea or laughing together. That made him sick to his stomach with jealousy. Nobara and Itadori are sick of hearing about it. They’ve told him time and time again to just ask you out but he couldn’t. He couldn’t just ask you out, it had to be special. He had to know you felt the same, he didn’t want to embarrass you or make things awkward. 

So instead he got stuck in a cycle. Of hanging out with you and blushing and crushing and being crushed when he’d see you giggling with Todo the next day. 

After about three weeks of this cycle Megumi couldn’t take it anymore. He couldn’t think of you being with someone else. He wanted you so bad it was messing him up inside and out. He saw you across the courtyard one day and suddenly his feet were taking him to you. Todo was first to look up. He gave him a sharp look. Todo didn’t like him very well for stupid reasons Megumi didn’t care to think about anymore. You turned once you saw Todo’s face. Your face lit up, a smile overtaking your lips. 

“Fushiguro,” You crooned, “Want to join us?” You asked. Megumi cleared his throat. 

“Can we talk?” He asked and your brows raised slightly as you nodded your head. You excused yourself and jogged to catch up with Megumi who had wandered off a few feet away. 

“Is everything okay?” You asked as you caught up with him. He had his head down, his hands stuffed inside his pocket, he looked almost nervous. 

“Uh yeah, everything’s fine.” He mumbled quickly. He couldn’t look at you, he was so damn nervous. “I just- I was wondering,” he cleared his throat again. “Are you and Todo- uh, together?” For a moment you stared at him, processing his words. 

“Together?” You echoed and he finally met your eyes. He was blushing, cheeks rosy red. And that’s when it all clicked together for you. The red cheeks, the hopeful look. You sucked in a breath. “Oh, Fushiguro.” You said and then couldn’t help but let a small laugh escape your lips. He looked tortured. “Are you jealous?” You asked and his eyes widened. 

“What- of course not! I was just- I was asking.” He said all in one breath. You smiled up at him, his hair was a mess from him nervously running his hands through it. You reach up and run your fingers through it to smooth it out. He froze under your touch, like a deer in headlights. 

“Todo and I are friends. In fact he’s like a brother.” You said but your words did nothing to ease his thumping heart. He was still nervous and the fact there was no romantic connection between you and Todo meant something that made his hands shake slightly. 

“Oh, okay- that’s yeah- that’s good.” He stuttered. You smiled at his words. 

“That’s good, huh?” You asked with a sly smile. He swallowed as he nodded his head. “Why’s that, Fushiguro?” Seeing him like this was a treat. Megumi was always very put together. Very stoic and calm. But right now you were making a mess of him in this courtyard. 

“I just- well,” He scratched at the back of his head. “Todo’s not right for you. That’s why. I was just looking out for you.”

“Looking out for me, huh,” You smirked, you reached for his hands, he was trembling slightly. “That’s awful kind of you.” You say as your warm fingers meet his cold ones. “And what would be right for me?”

“Hmm?” He barely mumbled out, eyes locked to your hands on his. 

“You said Todo’s not right for me, so what would be right?” You ask, thumb tracing circles in his palm. You were being very distracting on purpose. You liked Megumi and Todo had recently been coaching you on how to possibly get Megumi to confess. Most of his pointers were very direct so you took a few and decided to be sly. 

“You need someone smart,” he starts out, it makes you laugh. 

“Todo’s very smart.” You say and Megumi makes a face that makes you giggle. “Alright, so someone smart.”

“Uh huh, and patient,” he adds. You nod. “Someone who’s not a meathead.”

“You sound a bit judgmental, Fushiguro.” You jest, your teasing must’ve calmed the situation down because Megumi looked less nervous. His fingers interlock with yours, shocking you slightly. 

“I am judgmental, I want the best for you.” He says and your heart skips a much needed beat. It was your turn to be nervous this time. “Todo’s not the best.“

“Then who is?” You ask and he looks at you with those pretty eyes. 

“I am.” He says and something shifts in the air when he steps closer. 

“Fushiguro,” you start, as his hand slides against your cheek, fingers brushing your hair behind your ear. 

“Don’t you agree?” He asks huskily.

Gojo is the worst. He’s more jealous than any man you’ve ever known. A waiter will bring your food and smile, Gojo a moment later will say, “Your boyfriend is so nice.” Always stuff like that. 

So one day you decide to play into it. Gojo has always been a little jealous of you and Nanami’s friendship. You two met in school, you couldn’t stand Gojo back then, you hung out with Nanami and Haibara. 

You got early to a Jujutsu High meeting and instead of saving a seat for Gojo you sat beside Nanami. Gojo got there late and when you turned his eyes met yours and you just gave him a sly wink. After the meeting you hugged Nanami goodbye and walked over to your boyfriend. You could tell he was annoyed, you gave him a smile and a quick kiss on the cheek. 

“That meeting ran long.”

“It sure did,” He pouted, following you out to the parking lot. “It would've gone faster if you had saved me a seat.”

“How would that make it go faster, Satoru?” He grabs you by the wrist, pulling you out of the hall and into a dark back room. 

“We could’ve slipped away,” he whispers against your neck before pressing a kiss there. “Instead you chose to sit next to stuffy.” He trails kisses up your neck to your lips and presses his body against yours, pinning you to the door. 

“That’s not nice.” You say slightly out of breath. 

“That’s why I said it,” he mumbles against your lips.

Nanami sat straightening himself at his desk. He took in a deep breath and ran his hands through his hair. The deadline was creeping closer and closer and god dammit he couldn’t get ahead of this thing. He’d been working on this damn project for hours now. He reached up and loosened his tie, nearly taking it off. There's a soft knock on the door and you peek your head in.

“Sir, can I interrupt?” You asked and he looked up, he could feel his stress depleting just at the sight of you. 

“Yes, of course.” He waves you in. You shoulder softly inside, a tray in your hands. You give him a soft smile as you set it down on his desk. 

“I brought you your favorite sandwich, Sir, and some hot tea.” You say and Nanami can’t help but give you the smallest of smiles.

“You are an angel.” he says, pushing his keyboard out of the way. You go to slip out of his office. “Wait.” He asks, you stop turning back to him. He cuts his sandwich in half. “Have you eaten?” He asks as you glance at the sandwich then back to him, shaking your head. “Sit with me,” He offers. You walk across the room and sit opposite of him. He slides half a sandwich over to you and you smile at him.

“Thank you sir.” You say.

“Please, you can call me Nanami.” He says he's told you this a few times but he is your boss after all. You nodded your head, soft apologizing as you bit into your sandwich.

“Nanami,” There was another knock at the door. Nanami’s boss walked inside as you straightened. “How’s the project going?” He asked, his eagle eyes skimming along the curves of your body before looking at Nanami. Nanami saw the whole thing, saw the clammy uncomfortable look on your face. Nanami didn’t know this but the higher up boss was quite the ass, he constantly hit on you, never remembered your name and also never looked you in the eyes, he was always too busy checking you out. 

“It’s going.” Nanami answered shortly. The boss walked a few steps in, cocking his head to the side. 

“Take a break there, sweetheart?” He asked you as you went red, instantly embarrassed.

“Y/n, her name is Y/n. And I asked her to since she’s working overtime with me.” Nanami says coolly. The boss raises his brows, looking between the pair. 

“Well don’t work her too hard there, Nanami.” He says, winking to you before exiting the room. You turn back but your appetite has gone slightly. 

“Does he talk like that to you often?” He asks as you look down at your hands. 

“It’s okay,” You say. 

“It’s really not.” He says softly. You look up and meet his kind eyes. Usually when you went to HR about things like that you were ignored. You need the money and you liked working here, especially working for Nanami. He had a trusting deposition about him. You swallowed dryly.

“Yes, he talks like that to me all the time. It’s-- it’s not a big deal, I can put up with it.”

“I’ll take care of it.” He says simply, taking a sip of his tea. 

“You’ll take care of it?” You ask as he gives you a nod. 

“You don’t have to put up with anything, you're not some pretty thing for him to ogle.” He says and meets your eyes. You wonder if Nanami thought you were pretty before your mind realized how silly you were being. You cleared your throat.

“Thank you very much, Sir-- Nanami.” You said. 

Nanami did take care of things. In fact you never saw that ignorant boss ever again. You also accidentally ran into him outside of work a few days after the big boss was fired. You waved at him, from across the bar. You didn’t know if it was inappropriate to share a drink outside of work but Nanami waved you over.

“I didn’t want to interrupt,” You said. “I just wanted to thank you for taking my side.”

“You're not interrupting.” He says, his voice warm like cinnamon whiskey in your stomach, something fluttering at the way he looks down at you. “I’m sorry I didn’t notice sooner.”

“You couldn’t have.” You say. “All that matters is he’s gone.” You say and he nods his head, raising a glass to that. You and Nanami spend the entire night talking and when it’s time for the last call he buys you one last drink and you two leave. He walks you back to your house and drapes his jacket over your shoulders, you two talk the entire way there. You get to your door and unlock it, holding it open. “Want to come in, warm up a bit? I could make some coffee?” You ask. Nanami leans on the door, he looks behind you like he is contemplating the pros and cons of coming into your house past midnight. You think for a second he’ll turn you down but then he pushes off the doorframe and nods his head. He brushes past you as you shut the door behind him. You fix him coffee and stay up talking with him until the sun starts to rise. You laugh when he gasps at his watch. 

“Fuck,” He groans. “I have to work in forty-five minutes.” He pushes up from the table. 

“Oh, shit, I’m so sorry.” You apologize, springing up from the table. “I can give you a ride.”

“You stay home, take the day off.” He says, reaching for his jacket. 

“I can’t do that to you.” You say, reaching for your own coat but he catches you by the wrist, the contact shooting through your body. 

“I want you to.” He says softly, your eyes locking. You can’t help it, you spent the night trying not to stare at his lips, trying to be very professional but dammit you weren’t perfect. Your eyes dipped to his lips as you cleared your throat. 

“Maybe you should take the day off too.” You say and Nanami looks down at you with those searching eyes. You're standing right by the front door, the hallway never felt smaller between the two of you. 

“And do what?” He asked, his voice husky. Your throat went dry. 

“Well, you're already here so maybe have some breakfast.” You say, taking a half step closer to him.

“Thought you said you couldn’t cook?” He asked teasingly, taking a step closer to you.

“Eggs and bacon are fairly easy.” You whisper and reach across the small space to straighten his tie. His eyes follow your hands. 

“It's hard to mess them up.” He whispers back, hands slowly sliding onto your waist, fingers dipping into your hips. You try very hard to hide your smirk.

“I could use some help,” You say, letting your fingers slide off his tie and around the back of his neck.

“Thank god I’m here then.” He says and dips his head down, you tilt your head and your lips meet.

You rushed forwards, shouldering through hospital doors. You race around the corner and scan the door numbers, searching for thirteen. You spot it at the end of the hall and pick up speed, tears pricking at the sides of your eyes as your hand meets the cold steel of the door handle. You wrench it open, you see Nanami first, he stands, hands in his pockets. You brush right past him and see Takuma. He’s sat up in the bed, awake, despite what the doctors told you on the phone. He has bandages across his torso and two cuts on his face. Fresh tears spring to your eyes as you rush to the bed and he opens his arms for you to fall into. 

“I’m sorry,” He mumbles against the top of your head. He knows he scared you, that's why he’s apologizing. You knew nothing about the Jujutsu world, only bits that Takuma had told you, which is few and far between and also just really out of reach to understand. The only thing you did know was that Takuma came from most of his missions badly roughed up. You hated his job, it scared you shitless everytime he was gone and your phone would ring. You knew a lot of those sorcerers didn’t make it home after missions.

You sniffed, as Takuma wiped the tears from your face gently. This happens every time. 

“I’m alright, I’m right here.” He spoke softly to you. A sort of mantra that calms you down. You pushed up slightly and pressed a kiss to his lips, your finger tracing a new scar down the side of his face. You turned to Nanami. 

“Can we have a moment?” You asked and the blond man nodded his head, leaving the room. 

“Honey,”

“Ino, I told you. I told you how much I hated this job of yours.” You start. “Do you know how fucking scared I was driving over here?” You were crying again, Takuma pulled you back into his chest. 

“I know,” He sounded so guilty, so apologetic. “I told Nanami to let me call you, so you wouldn’t worry.” He said, kissing the top of your head. 

“I hate this. That no good mentor of yours is gonna get you killed.” You grumbled.

“I thought you liked Nanami?” He asked as you pushed up slightly to be able to look at him. “Thought maybe you liked him even more than me.” You scoffed at that but when he didn’t laugh you realized he was a bit jealous. 

“Ino, I am your girlfriend, we live together, I’m currently crying on top of you. I love you, not your stuffy mentor.”

“He’s not stuffy.” He says as you press a kiss to his lips. 

“He’s not you either.” You say and Takuma can’t help but smile at that. “Is that why you’ve been working so much? Because you think I like Nanami more?”

“Maybe…” Takuma mumbles. Your hand slides against his jaw, running through his hair, fingers playing with the ends. 

“That’s really cute, Ino.” You say as he throws an arm around your waist, tossing the blanket over you two. You kick off your shoes as he presses another kiss to the top of your head.

“Sorry, we're spending Christmas night in the hospital.” He says as he grabs the remote, clicking through channels.

“We spent your birthday and thanksgiving here too, it’s like our little tradition.” You say, knowing how macabre that sounded. He shuffled down a bit and pecked a kiss to your lips.

“I’ll get better, baby, I promise.” He promises as you turn to face him in the bed. 

“I know you will. I have no doubt about that.” You say with a sure smile.

[bluejeanstrash]

11/10

a/n: i got this idea from an nsfw prompt generator so if anyone else has already done this, that could be why ✌️

tags: fwb! seungcheol, overstimulation, semi-dacryphilia, forced orgasms

w/c: 2.3k

in hindsight, telling the most competitive guy you know that you may or may not be faking your orgasms with him was probably not the best idea.

it was just 4 hours ago when jun had suggested a game of truth or drink. and it was just 3 hours 45 minutes ago when he had asked you ‘have you ever faked an orgasm?’

‘yeah?’ you’d answered like it was the most obvious thing in the world. and because whatever was in that alcohol was making you loose-lipped, you had continued.

‘in fact-’ a pause ‘-and i’m not proud of this, but i’m really good at it. the guy could never tell’

there was an immediate murmur of we can tell around the table but you interrupted.

‘trust me, you can’t. those guys still think they’ve given me the best sex of my life but they were horrible. i faked it so i could get done with it and go home’ you took a sip of your drink despite answering.

‘so, anyway, yes i’ve faked it. many times’ you had concluded, looking directly at seungcheol when you said that. you didn’t mean to look at him, he was just there in your line of sight.

he also had this funny expression on his face, somewhere between amused and offended.

were you trying to tell him something?

seungcheol and you were in a (secret) friends with benefits thing. you didn’t really call it that but that’s what it was. it had happened as a result of another game of truth or drink around 3 months ago, and thankfully, every orgasm with him in those 3 months had been very much legit.

so, when you’d seen him outside the bathroom later you’d clarified.

‘you know i wasn’t talking about you, right?’ you reassured.

‘of course you weren’t’ he answered like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

it had annoyed you. no man should be that confident.

‘oh? confident much?’

he’d leaned in, a little too close for being in public, and said ‘i may not know a lot of things...but i know how to make a woman cum’

and as his thumb softly grazed your lips, he’d stated ‘i know how to make you cum’

‘do you?’ you retorted, moving back ‘or have i been faking it and you just think you’re doing a good job?’

you don’t know why but you kind of wanted to piss him off. i mean sure, you were sleeping with him, but seungcheol was your friend before a fuck and it was always fun messing with him. 

‘what are you trying to do?’ he’d asked, an eyebrow raised in mild annoyance.

is this a challenge?

‘i’m not trying to do anything’ big. fat. lies. ‘i’m just saying you’d never know’

sounds like a challenge to him.

(12:40 am)

‘please, no more!’ you move under his arms, writhing desperately.

‘answer the question’ he holds you in place, his grip tightening around you.

‘how many was that?’

‘f-fou-r’

‘did you fake that one?’ he asks softly.

‘no, i didn’t! i fucking swear!’ 

‘hmmn’ you feel a trail of gentle kisses travel up your neck ‘but you said i would never know, remember?’ 

seungcheol’s voice sounds sweet. so very sweet. but you know that tone—it's pure condescension masquerading as sweetness.

right now, you’re sitting on the floor, back pressed to seungcheol’s chest, locked in his heavy arms. 

after jun’s, he’d offered to drive you home, which had recently become code for ‘let’s go fuck’. and before you could even kiss him at your apartment, he’d grabbed your vibrator.

he’d made you sit in front of the floor length mirror, nestled in between his legs, with a towel laid out underneath as he played with you. were you getting pampered today? maybe.

it sure felt like it after the first orgasm, and the second. but when he’d moved on to your third before you were even done with the last, you realised what this was. a lesson. a lesson for running your mouth.

‘another one then, just to be sure’ he hums, before pressing the vibrator back against your clothed cunt.

40 minutes in and seungcheol hadn’t even bothered to take your panties off. there was something quite erotic about seeing that damp patch on your underwear spread as he made you cum over and over. proof, he called it. and by now you were soaked, the silky fabric clinging to your puffy lips.

you squirm at his words, fingers digging into his skin at the overstimulation. he doesn’t even flinch.

‘look what you’re making me do to you’ he clicks his tongue like it’s a pity. like he doesn’t fucking love it.

‘you know i want to let you go, right? but we just have to be sure so there’s no confusion about this in the future’

subtext: if you ever fucking insinuate that i can’t make you cum, i’ll make you cum until you’re begging me to stop.

you try and wriggle again, but there’s no point—you’re completely at his mercy.

‘tsk, don’t move around so much. you should rest now. you’ll need the energy’ he cooes.

you can only whine helplessly at his words as you feel your brain and body consumed by a familiar high. and so you cum again, moaning his name as you do.

‘how many?’ he asks while you’re still coming down from it.

‘f-five’ 

‘did you fake that one?’

you tell him you didn’t. you promise.

‘are you sure about that?’ 

‘i’m sure! seungcheol please’

‘hmmn’ for a second there he actually contemplates letting you go but your cocky little words ring in his ear.

‘i’m not’ sadistic fuck. and once again you feel the relentless vibration as you jerk forward, your legs clamping shut. immediately, seungcheol drags you back, his lips gathered in a pout of displeasure as he drapes one heavy leg over yours to spread you open. 

‘where are you going? hmmn?’ he presses the head against your throbbing clit, not letting up for even a second as he forces another orgasm out of you. your sixth.

drained. that’s how you feel after you cum, your body falling limp against his. ‘seungcheol, i’m done’ you whine feebly, hoping to garner a little sympathy.

‘no, no’ he shushes you ‘we’re not close to being done here. i haven’t even seen your pretty pussy yet. how can we be done?’

he leans forward, two fingers grabbing the fabric of your wet panties to pull them aside. ‘how pretty’ he smiles, gaze fixated on your slick cunt, and a split second later you hear the hum of the vibrator again. the second it touches your exposed cunt, a sharp gasp escapes your lips.

‘f-fuck’ you curse, feeling that knot in your stomach just a few minutes later.

‘coming already?’ he taunts as you end up giving him another. 

‘that makes seven’ he counts it for you like he’s helping you out. you’re not sure how far he wants to push you today, but you do know you need to make it easier for you somehow.

‘please…can’t anymore…the vibrator’ you manage to string together in between quick gasps. the intensity of it against your swollen clit is too much. you need relief—something soft, something warm, something gentle—like seungcheol’s fingers. 

after what seems like forever, the buzzing stops. ‘thank you’ you whimper and are met with a wry chuckle, his body shaking behind you.

‘you shouldn’t thank me yet’ he whispers. one of his big hands wraps around your throat giving it a light squeeze before sliding down your body to your cunt, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

‘so wet for someone who’s faking it’ he mutters to himself, thick fingers sliding in between your wet folds as he scoops up your arousal, pushing it back inside you. his finger slips in so easily that he adds a second. as he fucks you, fingers moving in and out, a vulgar squelching noise fills the room.

‘so fucking wet’ the softness of his voice now layered with something heavier. you can tell feeling you with his bare hands must’ve really turned him on. or at least that’s what his hard on pressing into your back is saying.

as you watch his fingers disappear inside you and come out all slick and shiny, your body somehow starts to crave another orgasm. 

he knows it too. the way your walls begin to squeeze around him as he curls his fingers up, two stimulating your g-spot, while his thumb rubs your clit, all working up an incredibly hard orgasm. 

‘go on…let me see you cum for me’ his voice is all you needed to hear, because a second later you come, for the eight time, gushing all over his fingers. 

‘look at yourself’ he commands.

you do, looking lazily at your reflection through tired eyes.

‘look’ he grabs your face, forcing you to look.

‘what’s that dripping out of you?’

your eyes drop to the towel that has a very telling wet patch on it. getting overstimulated with the vibrator always made you a little messy but not like this; never like this.

‘answer me’

‘cum’ and so much of it. the way it’s stained the towel, the way it’s spread all over your inner thighs, and the way it’s still dripping out of you is such a pretty sight for seungcheol.

but you’re exhausted. it was so intense and there’s no way you can do it again. 

‘seungcheol…i don’t have any left in me’ he can’t help but smile at your silly little statement.

‘no?’ he plays along, pulling you closer. his one hand grabs your breast, softly caressing it, before taking your nipple in between his fingers. his other, slides down to your swollen clit to rub in slow circles. and finally, his soft lips kiss down your neck, peppering little pecks along the way before stopping at that spot that only he knows exists. and as he stimulates all three so slowly and sensually, you feel your body start to betray you. 

‘when did you turn into such a little liar, hmm?’ he asks, feeling your body start to tense up like it always did before release. he knows this feeling, he’s felt this over and over for the past three months—you can’t fool him. and as you bite back your moans, it takes over, and you cum again. number nine. seungcheol smiles to himself, and doesn’t stop.

he keeps going despite you just having given him one. it’s sore and sensitive but the way his lips have latched on to that spot on your neck it’s impossible not to surrender.

in a consistent rhythm he builds your high back up - neck. breasts. clit. you look at yourself in the reflection and god, it’s so erotic. the way he’s holding you—tight and completely under his control, his arms flexing as he masturbates you—makes you dizzy.

you want to curse and scream as you cum but you’re too overstimulated to formulate a single thought. only eager little moans spill out of your mouth.

‘go on, i know you want to’ he coaxes as you do, thrashing and tugging at the fabric of his pants.

‘i thought you had no more left in you?’ he teases as you come down from your tenth.

maybe it was a lie before but now you really don’t. isn’t 10 enough? he has to be satisfied with that. there’s a few seconds of silence when you think he might be. he lulls you into a false sense of security as your eyes fall shut, and then the sick sound of the vibrator fills the room again. no.

‘what do i need to do?’ your eyes sting with regret as you feel it touch your extremely sensitive clit.

you know what you need to do. you just don’t want to do it.

he pushes it harder, toying with you. fine.

‘i’m sorry, okay?’ a desperate apology finally spills out. 

‘i take it back! you would know if you made me cum’ you whine. he says nothing, simply increasing the intensity.

‘i’m sorry’ your voice breaks as two perfect tears roll down your cheeks. until now, seungcheol had only ever pushed you to tears from the denial of pleasure, never from too much of it. he finds it incredibly arousing.

‘you’re so fucking cute when you’re desperate’ he says, looking at your pathetic reflection in the mirror. you look so pretty with those wet eyes and a dripping wet pussy that he suddenly feels forgiving.

‘cum for me again and i’ll let you go’ he kisses your neck. a wet little kiss.

‘i can’t’ you cry, tears flowing free now. ‘i can’t’ 

‘you can’ and you will for him.

‘you’re going to give me one more’ he says like you have no choice in the matter and presses the vibrator harder against you as you grab onto his arms. 

‘shhh, don’t cry. be a good girl now and cum for me again. then i’ll believe you’ he cooes.

‘show me…show me how you can’t fake it with me’

as your start to spasm, your body shaking under him, you let out a moan, half of pleasure, half of exhaustion. you grip him harder, nails leaving red scratches all over his pale skin as the orgasm takes over.

he watches, fascinated at how you’re still giving him body shaking, toe curling orgasms after this many; at how your body moves at his command. he’s satisfied.

finally, you hear the buzzing stop as he puts the vibrator away. he wraps both arms around you, holding you in a tight embrace, his lips brushing against your ear.

‘how many was that?’

‘eleven’ you admit, not believing the number coming out of your mouth.

he smiles. god, it feels really fucking good to have been proved right 11 times. his eyes drop to the mess you’ve made—on the towel, on his hands, between your own legs and he feels extremely smug.

‘so, did you learn your lesson?’ he asks sweetly, placing a single kiss on your shoulder.

‘yes! i did. i promise!’ 

did you? well, if this is your punishment you may just have to piss him off again.

[rileyslibrary]

The Log Cabin: Hurt

Synopsis: You and Ghost are on your way towards your shared vacation in Scotland.

Relationship: Simon “Ghost” Riley x GN!Reader

Word Count: 1.4k

Notes:

This is the second part of the story. Here’s Part 1 if you’re interested.

Hurt/comfort.

Render by @gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot.

No warnings. Lots of emotions towards the end, though.

———————————————————————

“You sure?” You ask as you approach a red light.

Ghost closes his eyes and leans back in his seat. He lets out a long and loud sigh behind his mask.

“This is the fifth time you’ve asked if I’m sure,” he protests. “Ask me again, and I will throw you out of the bloody car.”

He won’t do it. He used the exact same threat when you voiced your concerns the third time. You understand him, though; you’re not even on the highway yet, and you’ve been bugging him with your insecurities.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper and lower your head to the water bottle you’ve secured between your thighs.

He turns to look at you, then shifts his focus back to the road as the traffic light turns orange.

“I don’t do charity work when it comes to vacations,” he reassures you and changes gears. “I’m absolutely certain of my decision.”

You drive through the city streets, trying to reach the highway. You look out the car’s window; there are curious glances directed at you from the outside. People look alarmed, old ladies clutch their purses tighter, and fathers hold their children closer.

You can’t blame them; they’re looking at two masked figures in a car filled with tools and gear in the backseats.

“We look like we’re about to rob a bank, don’t you think?” You ask, concerned, as you observe a woman ushering her son into a store upon spotting you.

“Don’t take it off yet,” he warns you. “Wait till we get to the highway.”

He’s right. His face is unknown in the city, whereas yours is, and any identification could link him to you. That’s why he handed you a plain black balaclava before you left the base, ensuring your mutual anonymity. It’s a small city, after all.

“What if we get stopped by the police?” you ask. “Someone might have alerted them.”

He shakes his head. “Unlikely,” he replies. “The police is familiar with me and my car. Many soldiers keep their identities concealed due to the base. Civilians aren’t accustomed to it, that’s all.”

He stops at a zebra crossing and motions with his hand at the people waiting, giving them permission to cross the road.

“Look at them,” he whispers as he watches them successfully reaching the other side of the pavement. “So eager to display their faces, like they’ve never done anything sinister in their lives.”

You look at him from the corner of your eye, wondering if his words hide a twinge of guilt or envy—a yearning for freedom, just like those civilians crossing the street. They are free to walk as they please, while he is doomed to wear a cloth on his face until he’s away from anything human.

You tug at your mask. “It’s getting quite stuffy in here; mind if I...” you say and motion towards the car’s A/C controls.

He shrugs. That’s your “go ahead” sign.

You enter the highway, and he removes his mask. He reaches into the back pocket of his seat and tugs his balaclava there. He scratches his left cheek.

You follow his lead but tuck yours into your door’s side pocket. Now that your mouth is free from obstructions, you can drink water. You open the bottle and drive it into your mouth.

“Easy with the water,” Ghost advises. “We won’t find any stops for the next three hours.”

“Three hours?!” You ask.

He nods, his eyes still fixed on the road, indifferent to your shocked reaction. He reaches into the side pocket of his door and pulls a pair of sunglasses out. He secures them on his face.

“I have never seen you with sunglasses before.” You comment.

He smirks. He looks very handsome when he does that. Not conventionally attractive, though. He has a very rugged, almost weird, to point out beauty. Like those second-hand objects you find in an antique shop; they are bizarre to look at, but you can’t shift your eyes away from them. You want to study and analyse them as closely as possible.

You stare at his profile and notice him looking back at you. He still has that smirk on his face. You divert your attention back to the road.

“Sorry.” You murmur.

He looks ahead and his smile widens.

After some time, you reach your first stop; a service station with a convenience store, and fast food joint. Ghost asks if you want to grab a bite, and you shake your head. In response, he motions towards the side of the gas station.

“Loo’s over there. I’ll refuel the car.”

You hurry to the restroom; the last thing you want is to hinder his program. You better be as fast and efficient as possible.

When you return, Ghost is already in the driver’s seat. You settle into your seat beside him, apologising for your delay. He clicks his tongue.

“You went to the restroom; no need to fret.” He says as he hands you a few snacks he bought from the convenience store.

“For me?” you ask, surprised.

“For you,” he confirms and starts up the engine. “So you don’t start whining that you’re hungry when we are in the middle of nowhere.”

The rest of the trip is beautiful. The landscape shifts profoundly, from the mundane colours of the city to the towering trees that grow denser, with hues of green more vibrant than any photo could capture. The radio plays some mainstream pop music, which doesn’t suit the scenery but makes everything less awkward between you.

Occasionally, you spot a flock of sheep and comment. Ghost doesn’t respond but shifts his gaze from the road to where you’re pointing so he can give you his full attention. He smiles every time, and you wonder whether he’s genuinely happy or just trying to act friendly. Then again, when did Ghost ever try to act friendly? He’s enjoying it as well.

You must have reached the outskirts of civilisation now since the radio has started to make white noise. He switches it off.

Silence. Awkward silence.

“Sorry.” He says, which is very ironic since he was the one who lectured you a few hours ago to stop apologising for things you can’t control. “I don’t have any CDs.”

An arrogant chuckle escapes you. You didn’t mean to come across that way, but there’s no need for CDs; although the car isn’t new, it has built-in Bluetooth. You wonder if he knows it.

“Do you mind?” You ask, showing him your phone.

He looks at it, raising an eyebrow from behind his sunglasses. He must be thinking you’re asking for permission to call someone.

You connect your phone to the car’s Bluetooth and launch Spotify. Music starts playing again. His attention alternates between the radio and your phone.

“Why don’t you look at that!” He remarks. “I knew you could do that; I just never bothered to figure out how.”

“I’ll show you later.” You reply.

“Do you take requests?”

You nod and smile. “What’s your poison, Lieutenant?”

“Johnny Cash.” He replies. “Hurt.”

You nod again, search for the song and press play. You try to enjoy the scenery, focusing on the trees and farms passing by, but Simon’s choice of song wraps around you.

“I hurt myself today

To see if I still feel

I focus on the pain

The only thing that’s real.”

You turn to look at him. He holds the wheel with one hand, his other resting on the car’s window. He leans against it, his face propped on his hand.

“And you could have it all

My empire of dirt

I will let you down

I will make you hurt.”

You want to comment on the song, but your throat feels tight like something’s choking you. You swallow hard.

“What have I become?

My sweetest friend

Everyone I know goes away

In the end.”

Tears fill your eyes, threatening to escape. You don’t have sunglasses like Ghost does. It’s a matter of time until he notices.

“If I could start again

A million miles away

I would keep myself

I would find a way.”

It’s sadness, melancholy—that's what you’re feeling. But is it for Ghost and his poor song choice? Or is it for you?

For your family, your friends, and the vacation you won’t get to enjoy with them? Who are you mourning exactly? He seems to be at peace with his choices. When will this bliss come to you?

Will it ever come to you?

“Hey,” he calls out, and you turn to look at him.

Too late; he already noticed.

“It’s okay,” he soothes you. “Let it out.”

As if you wanted his permission, you begin to cry uncontrollably. You gasp for air. Ghost presses a button on his door which forces your window to open slightly. The crisp air slaps your face, but you focus on the pain, just like the song says. Your nails bite into your palms as you squeeze your fists, and that water bottle falls from your legs onto the car’s floor.

Ghost reaches over, turning the volume higher as if he’s permitting you to cry as much as you want and scream as loud as you please. You turn your head to the side, looking through blurred vision at the colours of green blending together.

He clasps your fist in his hand. You refuse to relax it.

“It’s okay.” He repeats as you pass the blue sign marked with a white ‘X’ that welcomes you to Scotland. “It’s going to be okay.”

Your first unclenches and you open your hand.

———————————————————————

Part 3 (final) this way ->

[theautisticwriter]

Love Letters: Yandere! Helluva Boss characters X G/N Reader

Characters- Blitzø, Moxxie, Millie, Loona, Stolas, Asmodeus, Fizzarolli

Show- Helluva Boss

Genre- romantic, yandere

Summary- Mini love letters from your not so secret stalkers admirers!

Warnings- swearing, pet names, yandere themes, mentions of planned kidnapping, stalking, delusional characters, unwanted attention

Word count- 1.5K

Extra notes- I have a Hazbin Hotel version of this uploaded as well!

key: f/l = first letter of your name, y/n = your name, n/n = your nickname

———————————————————

By this point you know who it is y/n, I’m the only person COOL enough to send u romantic as fuck letters like the old people do

Sorry for eating the food u made last night, when i was raiding ur fridge it looked so fucking good (and it was, who knew u could cook :P). i left u a pony as a replacement, u can’t eat it but it’ll make u think of me ;) and that pony cost me a FUCK ton of money, collectors addition and shit. i know, bad fucking ass right??

the stupid shitty loud alarm u installed didn’t work when i came in, ud be much safer with me and loony. that’s the plan anyways babe, u have NO idea the fucking creeps that live down here, they’re all fucking animals and ur…not, a fucking asshole i guess.

i drew you smth (it’s the thing stuck on the back of the envelope with the glitter glu)

^glue

it’s me and u holding hands, like other couples do. we’re better than those corny fuckers tho, hence the crowns on our heads.

ignoring my texts, BLOCKING ME (still upset about this BY THE WAY) and then ignoring my very nice letters is kinda a dick move f/l, but it’s whatevs. everything is almost ready for ur move in. i cleaned up n everything :D

from the only bitch worth ur time,

blitzø

&lt;3 (ignore that, moxxie threw a gun at me and my hand slipped, might fire him)

———————————————————

Hiya sweet cheeks!!!

It’s Mills here, just checking in! Via letter! Ain’t that just the fanciest little thing? Mox said it’s the best way to show thought and care to someone, so here’s all my thoughts and care, just for you!

How’ve you been? Good I hope, I’ve been just peachy thanks for asking! My Ma and Pa are super excited to meet ya one day, they’ve even started planning the wedding! Now I told them to slow their horses down, and not the overwhelm ya, we’ll get to that don’t you worry darlin.

Im just so excited to write this letter for you! Ain’t it so romantic?? I’m practically squealing in delight at the thought of you opening this and swoonin’, that’s what you’re doing, right?

Now i’m writing this on my break, and my boss really needs me back in the game! I got employ of the month! Most amount of kills, with the best and bloodiest results baby!

Until next time sweetheart,

Your Mills! ♡

———————————————————

Hi y/n,

It’s Moxxie here, I was a little nervous to send this letter to you, but I always try to follow my heart, and my heart was telling me to communicate with you in the most romantic way I know how due to our current circumstances of being so far away. It’s hard, for the both of us i’m sure, but we’ll be okay y/n.

As much as I don’t get along with my father, he has been helpful with my preparations for your arrival. It’s a big deal, moving in together. I’m sure your anxious, I am too, but in the best way possible. Love is pure, and can make somebody feel whole, it’s a wonderful feeling. I never want that to be taken away from me, and you are the source of all my love. That’s why we need to be together, being only half a demon isn’t good for the soul.

We can do lots of fun things together as well, like go to the opera, or to musicals, or I can show you my shooting skills. My boss says that I have a pretty good shot, which is the biggest compliment he’s ever given me. And we can do things you like too, marriage is equal of course. Obviously, this will all happen later done the line, you’ll need time to adjust, and I understand that. I understand you.

I’m running out of room on my page, but I will write to you again tomorrow. Please respond? Just once, y/n? It’d be nice, to hold something from you since I can’t hold you yet.

All my love,

Your Moxxie <3

———————————————————

Uh, hi?

Wait, you don’t put ‘uh’ in letters do you? Or put wait whilst you think, fuck shit fuck

Sorry, I’m new to this. Normally I just send a text to people but, your phone is off at the moment I think? Or you lost it? Or you blocked me?

Either way, I’ll send you these stupid letter things until it’s back on. So, uh, what are you up to? Blitz has been up my ass about meeting you, heads up, when I come get you and bring you to our room he’s gonna go all psycho dad mode and integrate you, but he’ll back off after a while. He’s a dick sure, but he does want me to be happy. And your, likeable or whatever, so i’m sure you’ll get along.

Once you get comfortable at home with me, Blitz said you could work with me at I.M.P. You’ll be like the co-secretary or something. You won’t be put in danger, I won’t let that happen, you’ll just get to sit with me. We can watch things together, if you wanted.

I guess i’ll see you soon, how do you end these?

See you,

Love from,

Regards?

Bye y/n,

Loona.

———————————————————

My dearest y/n,

I hope this letter finds you well. I yearn for your presence here, besides me. It’s quite lonely without you, I will admit my dear. It would be oh so wonderful if you could write back. I understand you may be preoccupied with your current activities, but I can’t help myself from desiring a response. I know, it’s selfish of me to expect you to reply to my letters when you’ll be here with me shortly, but I can’t keep my thoughts at bay at the moment.

Your face is a constant in my mind, night and day, asleep and awake, your voice in my mind calms me when I need it most, your smile brightens the bleariest of moments and so on. You can imagine the difficulties I’m facing with no response from you, but that’s alright. If you can’t write back to me dear, I won’t pressure you. Your time is precious, and we will have all the time in hell quite soon. Isn’t that exciting?

I can give you the life you deserve n/n, any luxuries or mundanities you wish for will be handed to you on a silver platter. Or a golden one, if that’s more to your liking? We can properly discuss the specifics once we are together. How thrilling, the though of you and I together at last.

We truly are written in the stars!

Yours until the end of the sky and then some,

Stolas.

———————————————————

Hey there baby,

It’s been a while, huh? I’m sorry if you feel neglected babe, it’s so hard keeping in contact with you when you’re so far away hun. Wouldn’t it be so much better if you were here with me? Sure I’ve got a lot of meetings, being a sin and all, but I’d be at your beck and call n/n, you could even be my new excuse to leave those awful “business” discussions. They barely talk business with me, it’s just complete bullshit babe.

I know the lust ring can be intimidating, we have quite the reputation, but I assure you, love is not a foreign concept to me. Romance is one of my most favourite things! Though that’s a secret, let’s keep that between us, yeah? That side of me is reserved for you n/n.

It’s so boring over here without you, I feel like i’m just lounging around and last time I checked, I was the lust sin, not the sloth sin. We’d have so much fun together babe! Can’t you picture it? Even if you can’t yet, I can wait. Having you near me will be enough, you are enough just as you are.

Sincerely yours,

Asmodeus (Ozzie) xoxo

———————————————————

Heya cutie!

Letters are a lot harder to write than I thought they’d be y’know? I’ve rewritten this like 16 times already, sheesh. It just feels so awkward, I can’t see your reaction to my words which means I can’t fix any mistakes I’ve made :(. I’m sure I haven’t made any though! Right? This letters going really well so far and is definitely wooing you, right, y/n?

Hah, I’m asking questions as if you can reply right away. Silly old me, I don’t know what i’m worrying about! We’re meant to be together. I know it’s super sappy, but we’re like soulmates. Soulmates are bound to be together! That’s why I’m bringing you home soon, I can’t wait! I’ve got sooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo many awesome tricks to show you!

And, the best news, I quit my job!! ༘⋆-ˋˏ ༘⋆-ˋˏ This means, we will have a LOT more time with each other, and you don’t have to worry about Mammon being possessive over me, because fuck him! I’m my own clown! Or, well, your clown.

I can’t wait to see you! This is going to be great for us, I pinky promise :P

Love from,

Fizzarolli !!!! ༘⋆!!,-!ˋˏ!!!

———————————————————

[live-laugh-lenney]

need some angst so bad — maybe where reader lives with george, arthurtv, chris — arthur major fancies her, but has noticed chris or george has been taking a liking to her, flirting, etc. maybe him getting jealous and confessing his love??? and if you wanted to spice it up a little, throw some angry sex in there

a new arthurtv fic that is yours to devour! there is lots going on in my current drafts and over on my google docs and a lot going of 'work in progress's that has been started - including 'locked in' which i know a lot of you have been asking about - and i'm hoping most of it will be with you guys soon! thank you for being so patient with me - life has thrown a few curve balls at me and i haven't been online as much as i hoped to be recently so it means a lot that you guys are sending in stuff to keep this stuff going, ha. <33 word count; 6.8k ** TRIGGER WARNINGS; SMUT, FOUL LANGUAGE, ANGST **

"He's been such a grump tonight."

YN looked over her shoulder and in the direction of where Arthur was sat sporting an unhappy look on his face; his lips pouted and in a sunken manner that she hadn’t seen a smile on all day, slouched down on the sofa and barely interested in the party happening around him nor the music that was clinging to the atmosphere of the room, with his eyes glued to his phone screen and his thumb tapping away as he scrolled his socials to distract and distance himself from the rest of the room. Keeping away from the chaos of the house party, where the majority of their friends had gathered to celebrate YN’s decision in moving in, was going on.

"He’s been weird with me all day," YN admitted and Chris couldn’t help but give her a strange look, eyebrows furrowed on his forehead, "I don't know what I’ve done wrong, or whether I’ve said anything to upset him, but he's barely spoken a word to me all night. I could have sworn he was so excited for this to happen."

"That is weird."

"I honestly don't know what I’ve done so I don’t know how to make it up to him or how to apologise to get him to come over and enjoy himself," YN frowned, turning in her chair and tearing her attention away from Arthur and looking back to Chris, clasping tighter to the red solo cup that held her drink in her hand, taking a sip from the straw that was peeking over the rim, the top completely sodden and chewed upon yet she couldn't be bothered to get up and grab a brand new one from the cupboard, "we're all having fun over here. Playing games, having a good time, singing and dancing, drinking all the booze. And there he is, grumpy and antisocial, sitting by himself and barely involving himself with anyone."

Chris leaned over the small gap between their stools and squeezed YN’s knee reassuringly, acting as a silent 'don't worry about it for now’, before retracting his hand after a brief moment so he could finish off the dribble of his vodka and soda left behind in his cup. Standing to his feet, he held his hand out and pulled YN from the stool she was sitting upon, with his intentions being to get her another drink because it seemed like she needed it. He could read Arthur like a book, having known him since they were school kids, and he didn’t want YN to get upset over the man having a moment of uncertainty in his own mind… a moment where Chris could tell Arthur was suffocating in a room full of those he was closest to.

"Let’s get a refill and join in with George’s game of 'ring of fire'. Take your mind off of him being grumpy. Everyone else is here for you tonight, yeah? Let’s enjoy that."

"I’m not sure I want to. Look at the state of that pint glass," YN frowned and looked at the glass in the middle of the dining table, filled with a concoction of god-knows-what. No doubt a mix of lagers and ciders as well as the spirits that everyone seemed to be on, "if I drink whatever they’ve mixed there, then I will definitely spew everywhere and christen the toilet in a way that won’t be pretty."

Chris couldn’t help but roll his eyes - there was no way she would turn down a drinking game and it made him feel internally frustrated knowing she was doubting her enjoyment because of Arthur feeling sorry for himself. It wasn’t like her to not get involved, to turn down an offer of shots, to stay away from the excitement of the party happening around her. He stood beside her at the kitchen counter, where there were bottles of half-filled Smirnoff and Gordons as well as Southern Comfort and Sourz littered around, and he topped up his drink with a lot more than a double vodka, simply eyeballing the amount of alcohol he wanted in his drink and YN couldn’t help but laugh at how his glass was practically more than half mixer and half booze. Following suit, without a care in the world on how much Southern Comfort she tipped into her used cup because she felt she’d gotten to that point of the night where the taste of alcohol had disappeared, pouring lemonade on top and watching as the bubbles almost fountained down the side.

And yet she couldn’t help herself, once she grasped her drink in her hand, from looking over her shoulder to see if Arthur wanted another beer opened. A peace offering, if you will, to clear the air between them and start fresh. She hadn’t seen him get up all night, nursing the same bottle of Peroni for over an hour and a half, and she was certain it was probably warm and very flat and not so pleasant to enjoy. Except her eyes landed on an empty sofa cushion, where he once sat, with his unfinished Peroni bottle forgotten about on the coffee table.

"Where did he go?"

Chris shrugged, "forget about him for the moment. Can we, at least, go and have a dance or something then? if you won't play a drinking game, at least have a boogie? This is so unlike you, YN. You’re usually the life of the party."

"I might go and see if I can find Arthur first," she stated and she turned back to look at him, a pang of guilt bouncing around in her chest when she saw Chris’ face drop with sadness, "I’m only going to see what's wrong with him. Maybe I can coax a smile off of him, get him to come out and have some fun. It doesn’t feel the same without him here. He needs to be here."

She turned away from the counter and stepped in the direction of the fridge, which was once filled with beer and chilled ciders as opposed to its usual job of chilling their day-to-day food, and pulled out a fresh, cold bottle of beer in her free hand, uncapping it with a bottle opener before worming her way through her friends, insisting she'd be back in a moment when they asked her to join in with them. With Sabina trying her hardest to pull her in the direction of the excitement, and George looking at her with a pleading look because he needed help in the game he suggested they play, and she could feel Chris following her until he took the empty seat beside Arthur Hill and tried his best to fit in to the game that must have been near completion. 

Her feet took her towards the small hallway that led to the bedrooms of the flat, stepping foot in front of the door that was opposite to hers and tapping her knuckle against the wood softly, tentatively calling out his name at a volume he should have been able to hear her.

"Arthur?"

She used her elbow to push on the handle so the door would open and, to no surprise, she found him sitting on the edge of his bed. His phone had been chucked in a frustrated throw, by the looks of how and where it had landed on the mattress beside him, his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands with his fingers digging deep into his eyes as the silence of his room was broken by her voice. 

"Arthur, are you okay? You’ve been-"

"I’m fine."

It wasn't said maliciously but it had been said with a tone that felt harsh, snapping at her suddenly and it took her aback, the look on his face stern and unhappy and it dawned on her that she must have done something to upset him for him to speak in such a way. And she wanted to find out what so she could live with him (as well as George, Chris and Arthur Hill) with no animosity in the air to bring the mood down.

She stepped further inside his bedroom with a plan on breaking the barrier he had built to keep her away because she wanted to work things out, right then and there, kicking the door shut with her heel and hearing it click closed at the door frame.

"Something is wrong with you, Arthur. You’re bringing the enjoyment of the night down."

"Then go back out there and leave me alone. I didn’t ask for you to come and find me, YN."

His words hung heavy in the air and YN took a deep inhale of breath, trying not to let his mood and his words derail her on her plan to get him to come out and enjoy the celebrations happening on the other side of his bedroom door. Because she wanted him to come back out to enjoy everything with everyone, she wanted him to partake in celebrating this new venture for her and for the friends she was moving in with, she wanted Arthur back to his usual self. The anger in his words, the tone that wasn’t his usual tone, struck her inside and she could feel her heart beating heavy and fast behind her ribs, yet she held her ground.

"I don't want to go back out there whilst you’re so upset," she insisted, holding out the beer for him to take, "I brought you a Peroni in, a fresh one, because George is necking them like there's no tomorrow and they’ll-"

"I don't want it."

"At least-"

"YN, I said no," he grumbled lowly and looked at her properly, brown eyes dark and his jaw was tense, her eyes widening ever so slightly at his attitude, "go back out there with Chris. I’m sure he's wondering where you are."

YN scoffed heavily and shook her head in disbelief, setting the opened beer bottle down on the desk before placing her own cup next to it, stepping towards him and he stood up from the bed to move away from her. Shaking her head at how his assumptions - his silly and stupid guesses - had brought out a side that no one had ever seen come from Arthur.

"Is that why you're angry with me?"

"What?"

"You’re angry with me because I’ve spent more time with Chris tonight than you? Because I'm having a good time with him at my own moving-in party?" She questioned him and his eyes sporadically darted around his bedroom so he didn't have to look in her direction, chewing on the inside of his cheek because she could see right through him and he didn’t want her to know that… because, of course, she was right. "I’m right, aren't I? You’re jealous?"

"I’m not," he hissed, "I just don't feel like I’m in the partying mood."

"Rubbish, Arthur. That is total bollocks," YN cried out, "you were raving on and on and on about this party the other day. You went out and brought all the booze for us. The food. You were the most excited out of all of us to welcome me into this flat."

"Yeah, well… I guess things change, YN."

"Not as drastically as you’ve just changed over your stupid assumptions," she fired back at him in a tone that almost matched his, yet she couldn’t bring herself to speak to him so harshly, placing her hands on her hips and popping a hip, "Arthur, come on. what's the matter?"

The silence of the bedroom was thick with tension. Suffocating. Thick enough to be cut with a butcher's knife. And she could feel it as she stood and waited for an answer to roll off of his tongue. An answer that would come out sounding like an excuse as to why he wanted to hide away from everyone, with a frown pinching the features together on his face to accompany how he felt, instead of enjoying the party with all his friends as they celebrated this new venture they were about to embark on.

His heart was pumping behind his ribs, his hands turning into fists on either side of his body, and it took everything within him not to grab her face and project his feelings through the form of physicality rather than verbally, a desire to cover ravenous kisses along the expanse of her neck, showing her just what the problem was.

Because she was the problem.

He hated the way she had taken Chris up on his offer on going out for dinner before they joined in with the party later on that evening and he hated the way she was so excited to go out with him and how it was all she went on about for most of that day. He hated the way he had to help her choose an outfit to wear because she couldn't decide what looked better on her and he hated how she'd been around his friend all evening as opposed to hanging around with him. He hated how she made no effort to keep him included, how he wasn’t a priority during the night, how she seemed to be much happier talking to Chris than she had ever been with him. 

Which, if you asked YN, she would retort because of how ridiculous he sounded.

She didn’t think of it as a date and Chris had made it clear that it was just “lunch with a friend” to welcome her into the flat and explain how it was going to be the craziest path she’d gone down, and nothing but that. 

"Fine, you want to know?"

She nodded with no hesitation.

"You."

"Me?"

She pressed a hand to her chest and he could see the hurt in her eyes as she looked at him, her lips parted and her cheeks bright pink once she managed to look at him, her eyes beginning to water at each of the corners yet she refused to let any of her tears fall down her cheeks because he didn’t deserve them. In that moment, he was acting like an ass and she hated the man that was standing before her, glum and in a mood that had ruined what had been a good day. 

He didn’t deserve the attention was giving him… yet she couldn’t bring herself to turn on her heels and walk out the door.

"Yes," he said, "you. You've been the problem the whole night. In fact, all day. You've been a problem all day."

"What did I do?"

Her voice was shaky and she didn’t think she could trust herself to say anything in fear she let her true feelings come clear for him. Keeping her words short, to the point and brief, because she could feel the lump in her throat beginning to burn, making it hard to swallow and making her head ache. The tears built up more and more as it became tougher to hold them back and he could see them glistening underneath the bedroom lighting. He could see the upset he was causing yet he couldn’t stop himself from carrying on.

"Is Chris the reason you moved in with us? Because you just want to be near him all the time? You crave the male attention so much that you took us up on our offer so you could be closer to him?" Arthur questioned her intensely and she gasps, breath catching in her throat and she gulps back what she wanted to say, "I get the feeling, after today, that you love the attention he's given you."

"Arthur-"

"No, it’s my turn to speak since you wanted to know what the problem was," he held up his arm and lifted his finger to his lips for her to keep quiet, "all night, you've been hanging off of him. Standing with him, barely leaving his side, letting him get you drinks. You have other guests here and you choose to stand with him all night."

"He's my friend-"

"That’s total bollocks," he mocked her and she frowned heavily at him, "friends don't go out for romantic dinners. Friends don't touch each other's knees. Friends don't go to a party and pretend to be the only ones in the room."

"I-"

"You’re oblivious to everything, YN.”

He paused, and he really wanted to stop himself from talking because he couldn’t bear to look in her teary eyes for any longer and shout at her as he tried to navigate through his thoughts and his feelings and the emotions that came with it. And it dawned on him, in that moment, that he’d definitely taken it too far… 

“YN, you’re oblivious to me."

He swallowed thickly and, in that moment, he took in the look on her face that he really wished he hadn't seen. The way her eyes glistened under the gentle light of his room, the way she picked at her fingers as she tried to busy her mind, the way she stared at the ground once she saw him looking at her and not in the direction of his face.

"YN-"

"No, Arthur, please carry on," she whispered, "tell me how much of a slag I am for the male attention. Specifically from a man I have no interest in."

"I never called you a slag, for god sake," he said, rolling his head back and digging the heels of his hands into his eyes, groaning heavily in annoyance, "YN-"

"I wasn't trying to be a problem for you, Arthur. I didn’t think anything of it. Me and Chris, it was nothing. We never went on a date and nothing happened tonight. Whatever you think happened, it didn’t," she looked up from the carpet and took a look at his features, his eyes softer than they were before and he looked almost apologetic, "I don't like him like that."

"You really could have fooled me," Arthur grumbled and she rolled her eyes at him, "seriously."

"He’s fresh out of a relationship, Arthur. I don't think he's looking for anything," YN said, "I wouldn't do that to Shannon anyway. It’s girl-code not to go for a friend's ex-boyfriend. It’s not right and I’m not going to ruin a friendship for a man who has been my friend for years."

He perched himself back down on the edge of the bed, just inches from where he had sat before, and let his back fall against the mattress with a heavy groan releasing from deep within his gut. Almost sounding embarrassed for jumping the gun, for assuming, for not being a grown man and, instead, acting like a schoolboy who had just had his heart broken by his first crush. And as much as she wanted to sit beside him, to calm the atmosphere down and to give him an understanding explanation that was a lot more chilled out now they’d taken a moment to breathe, YN couldn't help but stand and watch him as he covered his face with his hands. She felt nervous just standing in the middle of his bedroom, unsure of whether she should leave him to wallow in self-pity or stay and work things through with him, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

"If you weren't so anti-social tonight and kept yourself away from the party, you would have realised that me and Chris were talking about you," YN broke the silence, taking slow steps towards to where he was sprawled out on his bed and sitting herself down beside him, her thigh connecting with his, "I was talking about you, Arthur. Because I care about you, you’re probably my best friend out of the four of you living here, and me and you… we were so excited to finally be living under the same roof. I wanted you out there, I wanted you next to me and in the conversation so I could talk to you."

He refused to look at her, burying his head further into the palms of his hands because the more she spoke, the worse he felt. She wrapped both her hands around his wrists to pry them both from his face, revealing the guilty look that pinched his features together once he’d realised he’d overreacted over something that he’d created in his mind. His eyes stayed trained upon his ceiling, as much as he wanted to look at her and take in her appearance, because he knew he’d cave once he made eye contact with her. She let go of his wrists and he clasped his hands together and rested them on his chest.

"Why?"

"Because it felt weird that you weren't involving yourself like you normally do. I wanted you to come and enjoy the party with us," YN admitted, "with me."

"You could have invited me over," he grumbled and, eventually, he shifted his vision and looked at her, his eyes no longer looking dark and were filled with a little more emotion, soft and sweet and like his usual self, "I’m sorry. I guess I got a little jealous."

"A little?"

"Okay," he puffed out a breath and laughed softly and she smiled, watching as he sat himself up and twisted his body around so he could look at her face-on rather than with a craned neck to the side, "a lot. I got jealous and let it come between us."

"I don't like Chris like that. He's my friend. Now my roommate. I don’t want him. But, you," she took both of his hands in her own and squeezed them tightly with her fingers, letting her thumb brush over the skin just below his knuckles, "you're just something special, Arthur Frederick. You have me intrigued."

The way his full name rolled off of her tongue erupted something inside of him that felt volcanic hot and he longed to hear it again.

"How so?"

"I want to explore you," she brought her bottom lip between her teeth and she chewed on the soft and pink flesh and he could have sworn his cock twitched in his trousers at the momentary look she gave him as she gave her lip a nibble, "all of you, Arthur. I want you. I don't want anyone out there. I don’t want Chris. I want you. I’ve always wanted you."

"Then have me," he whispered, low and raspy and the way his breath fanned across her face made her feel weak at the knees and she knew she would have fallen to the floor if she was standing so she was thankful for the soft material beneath her that kept her a little more stable in the situation, "I'm all yours, YN."

And that’s all it took.

The party outside the door faded away and the space between them became minimal and, as their breaths mixed together, he brought his hands up to cup her cheeks perfectly in his palms, bringing her closer in hopes to close off the gap between their bodies and not just their lips, hastily and quickly in a kiss that the two of them had longed to endure for a while. His lips tasted like beer whilst hers tasted like lemonade and a hint of whiskey from the Southern Comfort liquor she’d been sipping on all night, his favourite taste on someone who’d become his favourite person, and it only enticed him to deepen their kiss. Her arms hung around his neck, fingers clasping around the hairs at the nape of his neck, to encourage the encounter happening between them to become more lust-filled, more deeper.

“Are you sure about this?”

She felt her back hit the mattress as they shuffled into a more comfortable position on the bed, her head sinking into the pillow that cradled from her neck and up, and it wasn’t long before the view of the ceiling was intercepted by his face and her breath hitched in her throat. His hair fell over his forehead, eyes drunk on the sight of the girl he’d been longing for beneath him, forearms placed either side of her head and he used his upper body strength to prop himself up above her. 

“I’m sure,” she whispered, her resolve staying calm and steady and unwavering as the moment presented itself perfectly, “so sure.”

She brought his head down to her level using the grip she had clasped into his hair and their lips joined together in yet another devouring kiss, his tongue on a mission for entry into her mouth, which made her stomach tingle and her fingers tighten around his hair. His tongue collided with hers, muscle fighting muscle, and she could see why he was so proud in telling the world that it was his strong muscle in his body. The atmosphere had changed from a suffocating and tense feeling where neither of them could bear to look at the other to a slightly more unbearable and suffocating sexual tension that felt like a scratch both of them needed to itch. His lips worked their way down her jawline, peppering wet and open-mouthed kisses across her skin, before his face disappeared into the crook of her neck. Slowly lowering his body upon hers, one knee keeping her legs from closing fully and one keeping him stable and holding some of his weight so he wasn’t squashing her. Nibbling at her flesh, sucking and leaving marks behind that he wanted everyone to see once they walked out of his bedroom, and deep down, he wanted Chris to see. In hopes that he’d get the hint that she was his and no one else’s. That she wanted him and had eyes for no one else. That their date, that she said wasn’t a date but was definitely a date in Chris’ eyes, meant nothing but lunch with a friend. That he was one of the reasons why she was now living across the hallway and not across the city.

The feeling of his stubble scratching at the skin of her neck brought goosebumps up on the surface of her arms, the way his weight situated upon her and the way his hands roamed her body sent a shiver down her spine, and the way she felt his breath fan across the skin of her exposed collarbone made her sink deeper into the mattress beneath her. Certain that she had melted into a puddle, much like a snowman melting on a warm winter’s afternoon. The noise of the party just outside his bedroom door went completely forgotten about. The muffled bass of the music pounding the walls, yet neither of them cared for the people out in the living room because they were too sucked in with being with each other.

It wasn’t long before she found her fingers undoing the buttons of his shirt, shoving the material off of his shoulders to reveal the sleeper build he kept from the internet, his body sitting up for a moment so he could shrug it off and throw it aimlessly in the room, going completely forgotten about for the moment, and landing in a place in his room that he didn’t really obsess over because he was desperate to get back to the taste of her. His hands repaying the favour as he slid his hands underneath the hem of her t-shirt and he used his wrists to slide it over her head, revealing the plump swells of her breasts decorated with a lavender laced bra that cupped them perfectly. 

“I’d like to think you wore this for me.”

“How do you know I didn’t?” She whispered in response, unknowing of the ache in his belly that had started to form, “how do you know I didn’t anticipate this?”

She felt exposed as she lay beneath him, her chest on full show, as he looked like a hungry schoolboy drinking in her appearance in a fantasy he dreamt about too frequently. The only piece of clothing still attached to her body being the ripped jeans that gave less to the imagination; hanging loose around her hips with a slight rip at one knee and a gaping hole on her opposite thigh that ran down to her other knee. 

“You drive me crazy,” he admitted, leaning back as his fingers worked on undoing the button of his trousers and it enticed her to do the same, toying with the button of her jeans so she could give him the opportunity to pull them free from her legs, “I’d have made a move sooner if I wasn’t so stupid in my feelings.”

“You weren’t stupid, you idiot,” she rolled her eyes at his dramatics and watched as he pushed away from her body and back onto his knees, awkwardly shuffling out of his trousers and kicking them off the edge of the bed, letting them fall in a heap at his bedside and revealing the hardening bulge that stretched his boxers to accommodate his throbbing and pulsing cock. She felt herself tingle between her legs at just how he was feeling in the moment and she was glad he was eager for this to happen as much as she was, “we don’t need to dwell on that now, right? Don’t ruin the moment, Arthur. Not now.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he murmured, digging his fingers into the waistband of her jeans and giving them a tug to reveal the matching, lavender-laced pair of knickers that matched her bra, “christ.”

“Come on, silly boy, what are you waiting for?” 

She lifted her legs and watched as he pulled the denim from over her ankles, tossing them behind his head and she watched as the material nearly wiped his desk clean, knocking over his pen pot that spilled over his desktop. Something he could worry about once the morning came along. He didn’t seem to care, though, as he pressed his face into the flesh of her stomach and let his mouth drag across her skin. Skin that was so soft and so smooth against his stubble-dusted cheeks and, with a deep inhale, she smelt like the coconut shower gel that lingered in the steam of the bathroom after she was finished with her shower. Her fingers combed his hair as his curled into the elastic of her knickers, pulling them free from his skin having left tiny indentations upon her hips, as she couldn’t have anticipated the moment more.

“Fuck the foreplay, Arthur.”

“But-”

“I need you.”

It came out as a beg and she didn’t care how pathetic or needy she sounded to him. She was desperate to feel him slide between her dampened walls, that were calling out for him, screaming to feel satisfied by his touch. As much as she wanted to be devoured by his mouth, she just needed to feel something better. Arthur's eyes darkened with desire at her words and he paused for just a moment, searching her face to make sure she was certain. And, when she gave him an eager nod of encouragement and gave him the answer he was hoping for, he wasted no more time.

“Another time then,” he grumbled with a rasp in his throat, “trust me, I’ll have you on my tongue next time.”

That made her feel giddy.

Next time.

Oh, there was definitely going to be a next time.

There was no way she wanted this to be a one time, drunken night spent with him after a silly argument where they had finally confessed a tiny inkling of their feelings towards each other. She was obsessed with his touch, his stare, the way he focused his attention on her in a room and she was under a spell when he had her right where he wanted her. A spell cast upon her, and only her, when he spoke so eloquently and intriguingly.

The room was spinning and she felt even drunker; maybe the many Southern Comfort’s she’d necked prior to this moment, in the kitchen mixed with dribbles of lemonade, didn’t help but he definitely had a way with words that made her knees- no, her entire body, go weak.

“We’ll have to see how well you do here,” she grinned cheekily and he shook his head in amusement, “don’t make me wait any longer, Arthur. I need you.”

And he obeyed.

She watched him intently as he dug his hand beneath the elastic waistband of his boxers and pulled them down to the tops of his thighs, wrapping his fingers around the girth of his length and giving himself a couple of pumps with his wrist before he situated himself above her. He positioned himself between her legs, his eyes locked on hers as he slowly pushed inside her, wanting to watch every emotion that tore through her body, eliciting a soft gasp from between her lips as she welcomed him into her warmth. The feeling of him stretching her, filling her completely, had her insides burning with ecstasy. He paused for a moment, letting her adjust to his size, waiting for her to give him the go ahead to continue.

"You okay?" he whispered, his face inches from hers, “tell me if it hurts and I’ll stop.”

YN nodded, wrapping her legs around his waist to pull him closer, gulping back the moan that was bubbling to escape, knowing she wouldn’t be able to keep her volume at a level that kept their escapade a secret.

"Perfect," she breathed out slowly, “it feels perfect.”

Arthur started to move, setting a steady rhythm as he rocked his hips against hers, and YN clung to his shoulders tightly. Her nails digging into his skin as pleasure coursed through her body, leaving tiny crescent-shaped indents in his skin, decorating his shoulders with a mark of the satisfaction she was feeling. Their lips meeting, again, in a passionate kiss that muffled their moans as the party continued just outside the door.

"Fuck," Arthur groaned, dropping his forehead to rest against hers as he bottomed out and let the pleasure take over his entirety, "you feel amazing."

YN wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him even closer as she adjusted to his size. After a moment, she rolled her hips experimentally, urging him to move and he took the hint and began to thrust, starting with slow, deep strokes that had YN arching her back in pleasure.

"More," she panted, digging her nails into his shoulders, "faster, Arthur."

He obliged, picking up the pace and angling his hips to hit that perfect spot inside her with each thrust. The room filled with an array of sounds; the sloppiness of his thrusts as he pleased her with his throbbing length, the heaviness of his breathing that escaped from his parted lips as he gave her exactly what she wanted with an amount of effort that he hoped was enough to show her how much he longed for what was happening, the sultry moans and appraisals that flowed off her tongue each time he managed to press at her internal buttons that had her squirming beneath him and gripping his skin tighter. The pounding of the bass music happening just outside the door getting even more muffled by how they weren’t holding back on keeping non-verbal.

He could feel the knot in his stomach unravelling every time she tightened her walls around him and, in his own clouded mind, he was hoping she was getting as close to a climax as he was. His thumb rubbing circles beneath her clitoral hood and her hands came up to hold either side of his face, keeping his eyes on hers.

“Please,” he whispered softly down to her, “do it with me, yeah?”

She nods in response and gulps back the thick lump in her throat, his thumb working harder on rubbing continuous circles on the small ball of nerves between her folds, her legs quivering around his hips and he could feel the way the hold on his face was loosening around his cheeks. Moan after moan after moan escaping her gaping mouth and her hands come down to cover her eyes, feeling the white hot and piercing knot in her stomach screaming out to loosen up, her toes curling as she allowed herself to lose control and release all the built up tension in her body that came with the pleasure he was applying to tiny bundle of nerves. His orgasm soon followed suit, painting her stomach with his release, his groans becoming slightly more guttural and raspy and she combed her fingers through his hair as he dribbled the last few drops onto her skin.

He fell on the bed beside her, adjusting his boxers so he maintained a slight amount of modesty, gulping back the dryness in his throat that made him crave that Peroni she had entered his bedroom with. Her heavy breathing made her chest rise and fall, his own chest falling rapidly rhythmically, and their elongated heavy exhales were the only thing that kept the room from complete silence - that and the music coming from the speakers in the living room… and oh boy, were they glad of that because it saved an awkward conversation once they left the room to join the rest of their friends.

“What do we do now?”

“I think,” he paused for a moment…

… and YN thought it was to add some effect to the words he wanted to say yet in his own mind, that was still clouded and fuzzy from the post-orgasm feeling, he wasn’t entirely sure what their next move was. He was still trying to find the words to explain how he had longed for the moment where he got to kiss her, how he wanted to hold her, how he had thought about the kind of intimacy they brought to the bedroom.

“I think we get you cleaned up first and then we go from there,” he laughed and she suddenly felt a little dirty. Not that it was a dirty act or anything but it was made more apparent to her that what had happened had actually happened and it wasn’t a dream or a daydream, “yeah?”

She hid her face in the crook of his neck and nodded gently, a slight wash of embarrassment wavering over her as she tried to ignore how she was covered in the ending of his arousal, and felt his lips press against her hairline.

“But I think we figure out the next move together,” he suggested, craning his neck so he could look down at her, her forehead glistening with a thin sheen of sweat and her eyes were glossed over, yet they held a form of passion that had his tummy tingling and had him unable to look away, “there’s no denying what just happened. We might as well see what happens next.”

“But what does it mean for us?” She wondered curiously, a hint of hope in her words that his next sentence was going to be something she wanted to hear, “what do we figure out together?”

“I think we give it a shot,” he said, “I’m not letting you go. Not now, not ever. And I’m game to try us out if you are.”

There’s a silence that falls around the room, broken ever so slightly by a brief cheer of appraisal at the change of song happening out in the living room area, and he doesn’t need to hear her verbal answer to his question. The gentle squeeze she gave him, from the arm draped over his hip, was all he needed to know she was game for whatever life threw at them next.

There’s a silence that falls around the room, broken ever so slightly by a brief cheer of appraisal at the change of song happening out in the living room area, and he doesn’t need to hear her verbal answer to his question. The gentle squeeze she gave him, from the arm draped over his hip, was all he needed to know she was game for whatever life threw at them next. 

“I’m glad you didn’t stay mad at me,” she whispered softly, looking up at him as he looked down at her, sweat covering his skin and his fringe sticking to his forehead, “you’re the last person I want to upset, Arthur. Ever.”

“You didn’t upset me,” he responded, a lopsided smile on his lips that was full of tiredness but complete euphoria, “it was me that upset me. My own fault for being jealous and blinded by my own assumptions, I guess. I never actually bothered to know the truth and I should have just grown up and told you how I felt from the beginning.”

“I might have to make you jealous a bit more often,” she giggled softly, placing her hand flat against his stomach, “I think that was the best sex I’ve ever had. With anyone.”

“Don’t flatter me,” he snorted out a laugh and stretched an arm out around her shoulders and pulled her closer into his side, “do you think we can enjoy this moment a bit longer or should we go and show our faces out there?”

“Soon,” she closes her eyes in content and lets out a heavy, happy and satisfied sigh, “let's just enjoy this moment for a little bit longer. Let them wonder.”

if you got this far then thank you for reading! i hope you enjoyed this one as much as i enjoyed writing it... it's definitely one i'm proud of! my inbox is always open, too, so feel free to send in some ideas and flood my messages with stuff you guys wanna talk about! x

[solarmorrigan]

No Accounting for Taste

For the @steddie-spooktober day 11 prompt: "That is the dumbest looking jack-o-lantern I've ever seen." Rated: T | Words: 1114 | CW: None | Tags: established relationship, bickering, fluff, annoying older brother behavior Divider credit: @steddiecameraroll-graphics

Follows day 3: Tastes Better on You

“Wait, no, not like that.”

“Do you want to do this?”

“No, I just – like, you should make it a little pointier there and–”

“I will give you the knife, just–”

“Steve, if you’re going to stab Eddie, can I have his share of the pumpkin seeds?”

Steve and Eddie both look up from the pumpkin they’ve been arguing over to where Max has spoken from across the kitchen.

“Also, I’ll need a new ride home, if you do,” she adds, her own focus still on carving out the mouth of the pumpkin she and El are collaborating on.

“I’m not going to stab Eddie.” Steve rolls his eyes. “At least, not if he makes up his mind.”

“I have made up my mind!” Eddie insists. “It’s very made up! I’m trying to impart my vision of a perfect jack-o-lantern to you, and things are getting lost in translation.”

“Uh huh.” Steve turns an unimpressed look back on the pumpkin. “You want the eyes pointier?”

“Yeah. Really make those corners sharp,” Eddie says, dragging his finger around the edges of the eyes Steve has already carved in.

“Well, I’m wielding a steak knife, but I’ll see what I can do,” Steve drawls.

“I’m using a steak knife and I’m not having problems,” Dustin pipes up from behind his pumpkin.

“Having problems keeping quiet is what you’re having,” Steve mutters, already applying himself to carving out the corners of the eyes, and Eddie snorts out a laugh.

Sharing a pumpkin had seemed like such a good idea at first. Max had offered to share with El, since El had never carved a pumpkin before, and they aren’t having issues. And at first, neither had Eddie and Steve; Eddie had dealt with the “slimy shit” and gutted the pumpkin, as promised, and then he’d pressed the handle of the knife into Steve’s hand.

“I killed it, now you’re going to carve it,” he’d insisted.

(This had been as much to include Steve as it had been to keep him from snapping at anyone who came too close to getting pumpkin innards on the kitchen floor.)

“Are you sure?” Steve had asked. “I haven’t carved a pumpkin in a long time. I don’t even know what to put on there.”

“Of course I’m sure.” Eddie had pecked a kiss to Steve’s cheek. “You carve, I’ll direct. I have a vision.”

It turns out, however, that getting Steve to see his vision has been rather difficult. It has so far involved a lot of charades, references to movies Steve hasn’t seen, and one instance of attempting to use Mike as a prop (this had been short-lived and not particularly helpful). The results are… mixed.

Steve is certainly getting the eyes to a finer point, though Eddie will admit there are limitations in using a steak knife as a carving tool (he would, however, love to see Mrs. Harrington’s face if she were to learn that her nice cutlery had been used on pumpkins by a feral pack of teenage misfits). The nose needs some fine-tuning, and the mouth is… well, Steve had done his best. That one’s kind of on Eddie; he’d told Steve to make the teeth “needlelike,” and a few had come out so thin that they’d snapped right off.

But the remaining ones do look like needles!

“Okay, so, for the ears–” Eddie starts, only to be cut off when Steve’s head snaps up from his work.

“Just how complicated is this thing supposed to be?” he demands.

“We’re almost done, I swear.” Eddie tosses his hands up in surrender.

Eyeing him with suspicion, Steve is likely just about to tell Eddie how far he trusts that assurance when Mike stumbles right into their staring match.

“Hey, do you guys have the– holy shit.” He pauses, whatever it is he’d been about to ask for forgotten as he takes in an eyeful of their pumpkin. “That is the dumbest looking jack-o-lantern I’ve ever seen.”

“Okay, y’know what, Wheeler?” Steve gestures at Mike, apparently forgetting (probably?) that he’s holding a knife as he does so.

“Actually, Michael,” Eddie jumps in, subtly pushing Steve’s hand down in the process, “our jack-o-lantern is genius.”

Mike shoots him an impressively bitchy look of disbelief, so Eddie goes on.

“See, the rest of you can have your pretty, symmetrical pumpkins, carved up all nice and neat, but do you know what that’s going to attract?” Eddie looks around at the assembled teenagers without waiting for an answer. “Vandals! Nothing is more tempting on Halloween night than the prospect of smashing a perfectly carved jack-o-lantern.”

“And you know this, how?” Lucas snarks.

Eddie ignores him. “Meanwhile, mine and Steve’s masterpiece will be practically invisible. It’ll escape the night unscathed and live to see the dawn of November!”

“Because it looks like someone already kicked it in,” Mike deadpans.

“It’s called camouflage, Wheeler,” Eddie shoots back.

“D’you think Mike’s will be the first to go?” Steve leans in, stage whispering to Eddie.

“It’s a pretty tempting target,” Eddie agrees in an undertone that isn’t at all quiet. “But then, Henderson’s is pretty big…”

“Hey!” Dustin squawks, popping up from behind the pumpkin that had nearly taken both him and Steve to get from the van to the kitchen.

This is the beginning of squabble over whose pumpkin is nicest and thus most likely to be vandalized, and whether or not this is a compliment, which Eddie observes with glee.

“Steve!” El calls over the ruckus. “I am finished with the seeds.”

While Steve can’t stand the feeling of pumpkin guts on his skin, El had deiced the sensation was a delight, and so had been tasked with separating the seeds from the pulp for roasting. She’d taken to the task with single-minded zeal, only emerging to offer the occasional opinion as Max carved their pumpkin.

“That’s my cue.” Steve hands the knife to Eddie and presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I’ll let you take care of the ears.”

Eddie watches as Steve crosses through the chaos of the kitchen, dodging waving hands and piles of pumpkin chunks to reach El on the other side.

“Wow,” Steve says, eyeing the large bowl she’s nearly filled, “that is a shit-ton of seeds.”

“A shit-ton,” El agrees solemnly.

“Yep, Hopper’s going to appreciate me teaching you that one.” Steve claps his hands together. “C’mon, let’s get those rinsed, and then we’ll season them.”

Turning back to the mess that is their shared jack-o-lantern, surrounded by the din of arguing teenagers, Eddie can’t help but grin. There’s really no saving the thing, but he thinks he loves it anyway.

[kurishiri]

alfons v.s. ring . . . ring schwartz epilogue 💍

— this translation may not be 100% accurate or contain creative liberties due to characterization or narrative flow purposes. if you enjoy, please consider reblogging, but don’t repost these or claim these as your own!

— cw: suggestive undertones.

Kate: If it’s come to this... then let’s do it! I mean, pretending to do naughty things!

Ring: Y-yeah, I do know that’s our only choice here, but... there’s no way I could do it.

R: Um, those kinds of things... I’ve never actually done them before!

R: But... s-since you’re really cute... I’m sure you have plenty of experience and whatnot...!

Kate: W-what do you mean, ‘plenty,’ there’s no way I have that much experience! Anyway, forget about that, we need to do something about this...

K: Ring, you go shake and push on the bed to make it creak!

K: And I’ll listen in on the other room and make sounds to match!

Ring: ...That seems more doable.

Ring went atop the bed and started to jump on it.

The bed did start creaking, to be sure, but it also was making some jarring noises that made me think the bed was really about to break down.

Kate: Could you be a bit more gentle though, Ring? It’s too much...!

Ring: Oh, umm, then... how about this!?

He briskly stepped off the bed before he put both hands on the bed and started to push down.

By doing so, he could create a good creaking sound that didn’t go too far.

Woman’s voice: The bed from the room next door has started creaking.

Man’s voice: In that case, they’re probably just a pair of lovebirds. Guess we were worrying ourselves over nothing.

Woman’s voice: ...That said, don’t you think it’s strange that there’s not a peep from the other side?

(Oh, that’s right! I have to make noise too.)

Kate: Ah, ahh... ahhn...

Ring: H-hey, um. I can’t say I’ve heard others doing you-know-what before, so I may be wrong, but...

R: When women do, you know, the deed, do they really sound this monotone...?

Kate: I mean, we’re not actually doing it, so that makes it harder...

Woman’s voice: The panting from the room next door sounds a bit strange, wouldn’t you say?

Man’s voice: It sounds real flat...

(First Ring, and now the two in the next room over are doubting me too...! At times like these, then...!)

Kate: I-I’m really, really sorry! I’ve been told by a lot of partners that my panting sounds suuuper flat!

At this point, I decided to play into the role of ‘a woman whose pants sound flat’ as I raised my voice.

Ring: N-no matter how you are, I won’t mind at aaalll!

While continuing to push down on the bed, Ring returned a fitting line in response.

...Very monotonously, may I add, for the both of us.

Woman’s voice: ...Huh, I guess they really are just one odd couple.

Man’s voice: I mean, seeing as they’re using a room of a strange manor like this, that would be a given, probably.

Kate: Oh, thank goodness, it seems they’ve bought the act...! Let’s keep this up then!

Ring: Alright... but, sorry, I’m a bit hot, so I’ll take my jacket off.

Seeing as the bed is hard, having to push down hard enough to make sounds continuously must have taken a considerable amount of stamina.

With that, Ring casually took off his top layer and put it aside.

(...)

Maybe because of the way his clothes fit his body so well, his well-trained muscles were brought to the surface.

The sweat that came from shaking the bed moved traced the back of his neck, making him quite sexy.

Ring: ...Kate? Is there something wrong?

Kate: N-no, not at all! It’s nothing——

Taken aback at having become more conscious of Ring, my legs buckled suddenly,

and, preparing for the impact, I closed my eyes then and there.

Kate: ...!

(Hm? Wait, it doesn’t hurt...?)

Ring: Are you okay?

When I slowly opened my eyes, there Ring was, nearby, as he asked with a touch of worry in his voice.

(So Ring is the one who saved me and stopped the fall...)

Our bodies were touching, and I could feel his body was a bit warmer than mine, and he gave off a pleasant, earthy scent.

(Even though he’s holding me in his arms, he seems completely unperturbed... his appearance hardly betrays the fact he must be training regularly.)

(...Wait, what in the world are you looking at, Kate!?)

Kate: T-thank you for saving me. I’ll let go now.

Ring: ...Wait.

Kate: Huh...

When his earnest voice stopped me stiff, Ring’s hand gently slid to my cheek.

(W-what the...!?)

Ring: Your face is all red. Did you hit it somewhere?

(Oh... so he was worried for me.)

Kate: N-no, I didn’t. I’m fine.

Ring: But...

Kate: It’s just... we’re so close together that I’m a bit nervous... is all...

Ring showed no sign of pulling away himself, so I opted to give him an honest answer then. And when I did, Ring also turned red, as though it had moved over from me to him.

Ring: I-I see... then, umm, I’m glad if you’re okay.

R: Sorry for keeping you like that. ...And should we continue then? What we were doing before, I mean.

After that, we continued our act of panting and shaking the bed until we exited the room.

Ring looked exhausted as we exited the room, and there was Alfons, waiting out in the hallway.

Alfons: Thank you for your hard work. Now then, were you able to listen in for what we needed?

Kate: Yes, all of it and everything...

Alfons: My word, is that a hoarse voice I hear? And not only that...

A: I see Ring has stripped his outer layer off and is positively sweaty as well.

A: Would it be safe to assume... you two have gone aaall the way, by any chance?

Ring & Kate: “No!” “Absolutely not!”

Fin.

will vs darius jude vs nica alfons vs ring

← prev fin

END NOTES: this story was so silly and makes me smile whenever i read it, haha. ring seems to be the most popular of the vogel trio, seeing he has gotten a dark mafia design, and it’s not hard to see why. his charm is in his innocence, and it’s like a breath of fresh air in this game, and i hope i could capture it too.

i’m overall curious about all the vogel members and feel this story event is a strong debut for all three. thank you for reading, and hope you enjoyed! i’d love to hear your thoughts as well ♡

full masterlist 🪞💍

[acozysoulwrites]

Buried feelings | Astarion x Tav

Description: Astarion recalls being buried alive when Tav finds a man in the graveyard suffering the same fate. This leads to lots of emotions he isn’t sure what to do with.

Not anyone could say they’ve been buried alive. Even fewer could say that they’d been buried alive for a year. Astarion wondered if anyone else at all could say that. He could. Sometimes he had nightmares of being back in that coffin.

Sometimes it only took the smell of freshly dug dirt, or a stroll past a graveyard to stir the dread deep within. He hated how weak these simple things made him feel.

Earlier today, Tav led them through the graveyard in the lower city. Karlach found her parents gravestones and said a few words to them. Astarion wasn’t sure what he believed, but he could tell she felt the things she spoke.

On their way out, they noticed a freshly filled grave, a pipe stuck from the mound, and Gale was the first to notice the faint cries for help that erupted from it. As Tav dug into the shallow grave, Astarion’s throat tightened, his mouth grew dry, and he fought the urge to look away as the all too familiar feeling crept into him.

“It’s probably nothing, we should just go” He scowled, a glint of desperation flicked across his face.

“Star, if someone’s in there…” She gave him a look, the same look one would give when begging their beloved to keep a stray puppy or kitten, and despite how badly he wanted to be anywhere else right now, a sigh escaped him, and he submitted.

“Go on then, since you need to be everyone’s hero” Astarion grumbled, guilt running through him at the hurt expression that crossed Tav’s face. He meant to speak those words more softly just now.

The shovel soon came into contact with something hard. Surely enough, a coffin. Karlach helped Tav pry the lid open, before it could even open half way, a man shot up, nearly knocking the two back onto their arse. He gasped for air, clenching his chest as panic filled his frantic gaze.

Astarion stayed back while the other’s spoke with the stranger, asking him all sorts of questions and receiving few answers. His mind was elsewhere, it was distant and stuck. He couldn’t help but feel anger. Why hadn’t anyone noticed him? Not once during all those years did anyone come to his rescue, not a single God, not an angel such as his beloved Tav, no one. For a year, he waited, cried, and begged. Screaming as loud as he could until his voice was but a rasp and he swore he could taste blood.

Suddenly, tears were gathered at the corners of his eyes, glistening in the sunlight, they threatened to fall as he looked upon the man they’d saved. The man with a second chance at life so much earlier than Astarion had been given his.

Tav was finally satisfied with the explanation the man gave her as to why he had been buried, and she turned. Astarion watched as the man scurried off into the bustling city, gifted another chance at life. Surely he wouldn’t waste it on getting into squabbles with the higher ups.

“Gods, what an idiot” Tav scoffed, earning nods of agreement from Gale and Karlach.

“Can’t believe the things we run into sometimes” Karlach chuckled.

Astarion remained quiet, and it wasn’t until he felt Tav’s eyes on him that he spoke. He quickly fixed himself, his face fell, his eyes rolled and he spoke.

“Are you quite done saving every sad sop you come across?”

Karlach and Gale laughed and walked on, they were tired and heading back to camp. Astarion began to follow, but Tav stopped him, her hand gently grabbing his arm.

“Star…”

“I’m fine, love” He affirmed, his typical response to her pity. Pulling away from her grip, he takes off in camp’s direction.

-

The sun had begun to set. The smell of Gale’s stew traveled through the air, exciting those who actually ate in camp. Tav sits by the fire, listening as Lae’zel and Shadowheart discuss the gods and other religions. She couldn’t help but smile at their relationship and how it had gone from hate to well… whatever they were now.

As the others in camp chatter and buzz about the day’s adventures, Tav feels a sudden emptiness where someone is missing. Astarion. She stands, brushing herself off as she glances around camp. Her vampire companion was no where to be seen, so she knew where he must be.

“Star?” Tav pushes the flap of his tent open and finds him lying in the dark with only a candle by his side.

She creeps inside, letting the flap close, leaving the sun behind as she settles next to him.

“Talk to me”

Astarion’s eyes flick from the fire to his hand, then back again. “I’m fine”

Tav raises an eyebrow, her disbelief so strong that Astarion can feel it, and he sits up. “That’s not true.”

Astarion shoots her a look, but it falls short when he sees the genuine concern in her eyes. “It’s nothing” He had lost all fight in disguising the discomfort that lie deep in his heart.

Tav sighs and she scoots closer, when he doesn’t scuffle away in disgust, she settles close to him. He was doing it again, shutting down. He did this when things were too much in his head, he locked himself within. It was the only way he knew, the only escape.

“Is this about earlier? That silly man who got himself buried alive?”

He doesn’t move and that answers her question. Tav’s heart breaks. Gods, how she wishes she were around back then, how she wishes she could have found him. She’d have dug him up with her bare hands if that were all she had.

“My sweet, you know i’d have come for you, you know i’d have saved you in a heartbeat”

Astarion’s lips part, anger sparks like a dying fire inside him. “You… You didn’t though” he frowns, eyeing her as guilt sets in, he knows it was impossible, that she didn’t know, and a part of him fears he didn’t deserve to be saved, not then and not now.

His voice wavers as he speaks, “No one did.”

He knew he couldn’t blame Tav for the abandonment, yet a part of him seethed. It clawed at him from the inside. He wondered if she’d ever passed him in the streets of Baldur’s Gate, if she’d have noticed the lifelessness in his eyes as he gazed her hungrily. If she’d have turned and ran from him and his plans to take her into the night, back to Cazador like many others before.

Tav reaches out and places her hand onto his cheek, she rubs her thumb gently underneath his eye, just across his cheekbone.

“You know, some people don’t deserve to be saved”

Her words send an ache through him, the next words she’d speak would surely come with a heaviness. He didn’t either, did he?

“But you? You deserve it most” She hums

With this, he leans into her touch, warmth spreads across his face and into his limbs and he nearly goes weak under her skin. His hand slips around her wrist and he holds her there, taking in her scent, listening as her blood runs through her veins.

“It gets better, i promise” she whispers, pulling him into her arms, she leans back and he lays atop her, his arm around her neck as he hugs into her body.

“You seem so sure” He hums, inhaling deeply from her neck.

“As long as i’m here, i’ll make sure” Tav hums, placing a kiss atop his curly hair.

[zabiume]

say yes

orihime doesn't actually believe him at first when he asks her out | (ao3)

Orihime doesn’t actually believe him at first when he asks her out.

The weeks leading up to the wedding pass by in such a rush that she’s mostly just focused on planning her leaves at work and getting the veil done in time. Even though it was handy to have the Kurosaki Clinic as a meet-up location for everyone, she hadn’t actually planned to spend so much time there. There was so much to do off-late, and the last thing she wanted to do was distract Ichigo from his studies (contrary to his lackadaisical attitude, she knew he wanted to do well with his courses). But an evening had become many evenings, and Ichigo’s sisters were so sweetly persuasive that Orihime often found it hard to say no. The Kurosakis were a rowdy family, but they were warm and kind and welcoming in a way that was addictive to just lean into. Ichigo had to have gotten it from somewhere, after all.

And then the wedding happens, and Rukia actually wears the veil, and she’s so busy crying that she hardly has the time to process what it all means. Marriage had always been a distant concept to Orihime. Sora had never married, and she had never actually given much thought to it until she saw Rukia walk down the aisle with her own brother—somber and serious and beautiful. A bride.

It was only when her eyes met Renji’s that Rukia’s expression broke into a small, knowing smile. A Rukia smile, undoubtedly, with all its usual restraint, but there was a familiarity to it that gave Orihime pause. It felt like a secret shared. It felt intimate, a wisdom beyond Orihime’s years. For the briefest of seconds, she wondered what that must feel like. That closeness. That vulnerability.

Then she felt afraid—and promptly beat her curiosity back into submission.

So when Ichigo admits that he’s been thinking about her for a while, that he’s been harboring feelings for her, it doesn’t really—register. His eyes are uncertain, searching, and she instinctively wants to reach out to him, but she doesn't know how. She suspects she must have stuttered something back, but she is, ultimately, in utter shock. Four years of doodling his face on notebooks and following him to hell and back, and she never once thought about what would happen if he honestly, seriously, actually liked her back. It doesn’t make any sense.

In the end, she realizes she must have misunderstood him, which sounds a lot more like her the more she thinks about it. Her daydreams about Ichigo have always been vivid with detail, turning his mild affection into rapturous sentiment, so she files it away as her usual whimsy and moves on.

But then Ichigo asks her if she wants to go on a walk one day, and Orihime isn’t sure. They’ve done things like that before, but those instances were spontaneous—him walking her back home after she dropped her notes off at his house, or him lingering by her doorway, long after a hang-out with their friends. He’s never asked like this before and it feels—different.

And when she actually shows up to the end of her street where they were supposed to meet, he looks nervous. Worse, he can tell something is off.

“Is something wrong?” he asks with a small frown.

“No! No, of course not,” she blurts, then quickly smiles as if to pacify him.

They walk up to the river together and find themselves strolling along the bank for a while, but it’s quiet. Orihime keeps trying to recall what he said at the cafe the other day, about what he could have possibly meant when he said, I’m trying to be honest about my feelings and it’s okay if you want to stay friends.

Her nails dig into her palms.

“It’s kinda cloudy, huh,” Ichigo remarks, a little sheepish when he looks over his shoulder at her. Orihime’s stomach drops at the way he looks, windswept and casual with both hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket. His eyes are so warm, so kind, and she wonders if he knows that she loves him. Something lurches within her, and she almost feels sick as she stops in her footsteps.

"I'm sorry." She shakes her head. "I'm sorry, this is just. This is a lot."

"What is?"

"This," she whispers. She dares not call it what it isn’t, already wanting to flee. Ichigo’s eyes widen, and she can tell he’s realized, kind of, what she’s talking about. She pushes on, her voice small and guilty. "This doesn't feel very real to me."

A casual conversation with Ichigo is all well and good, even if it makes her stomach goopy sometimes and she’s got to scream herself hoarse into her pillow to beat down the rush. But she just can’t picture Ichigo doing that about her. Even her wildest imagination draws short.

“Are you talking about what I said the other day at the cafe?” he asks quietly.

Orihime nods, not really looking at him but out towards the Karakura horizon.

“Do you—do you not feel the same?”

The shock of that question instantly draws Orihime’s attention back to his face. She realizes he’s trying to brace himself, and the corners of his eyes are creased like it would…

(Like it would hurt if she says no)

“It’s not like that,” she mutters, mustering courage. But it falters when their eyes meet, and she flushes. Even saying that much is too much. Still, she finds her voice for long enough to say, “But, um. You said you liked me.”

It’s Ichigo’s turn to flush. “Y-yeah.”

Oh.

“As—as friends?” She wants to kick herself for asking the question, and then promptly wants the ground to swallow her up when Ichigo looks like he’s in pain.

“Ye-No—I mean.” He covers his mouth with a fist to clear his throat. “I just, uh. You know. I like being friends with you, obviously. But it’s—it’s not. Fully, like.”

Orihime nods quickly but completely devoid of comprehension.

“I think it’s been a little different for a while now,” he admits, almost guiltily. “Maybe for a long time, I don’t know.”

Orihime tries to breathe, to think of the implications. But in the end, she’s just swept away by the golden sunlight on his face, by the courage it must have taken for him to admit such a thing. She still has a hard time wrapping her head around it, but she recognizes, intuitively, that he’s trying to give her something. Something important. And she can’t not handle it with care. Not when it’s from him. Even if it feels like she’s cupping her hands around something tenuous.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier,” he adds, and she can tell from his tone that he’s serious. “I think I was trying to figure it out for myself.”

Orihime laughs feebly, embarrassed. “You don’t have to be sorry for something like that.”

Ichigo smiles a small smile back at her, both hands in his pockets. He still looks tense, uncertain, and Orihime wants to make him feel better, but between them is a wall that hasn’t come down before, and she doesn’t know what it’s going to feel like when it does, but she bets it's intense. It has to be. She hates to admit that she’s a little afraid of it.

“It doesn’t have to be anything you don’t want it to,” Ichigo says quietly. “We can forget this happened.”

Orihime watches him, the way the light hits his face as he waits for her answer. She shakes her head. “No, I just.” She braves herself to look up at him, to try and say what she has in her heart. “Can we take it a little slow, Kurosaki-kun?”

_____________________

Tatsuki calls her crazy for not jumping him the second he confessed, which is really typical of her, but Chad just frowns when she tells him what happened.

“You like him,” Chad points out.

Orihime nods. That’s not something she’ll ever deny.

“He likes you.”

She gnaws her lip, fighting down the anxious surge in her stomach.

“He does,” Chad insists. “I know him.”

For a minute, Orihime stews on his words, the two of them quiet as they walk along the side street together.

“Give him a chance,” Chad says, glancing down at her with a small smile. “Let him show you. Ichigo won’t let you down.”

_____________________

Orihime pays a little more attention.

There’s a little bookstore in midtown Karakura that she likes, and she builds the courage to ask him if he wants to go with her.

(“That sounds like a great idea, Inoue,” he’d breathed, and Orihime wasn’t sure if it was a trick of the light or if he looked a little relieved by her initiative).

Either way, Orihime watches the slouch of his back, the thin, long lines of his fingers as he gently pulls books out of the shelves and frowns at the little blurbs on the back. His movements are so familiar to her by now, but she ends up watching him more than the books, fascinated by his every gesture, the firmness of his shoulders, his arms.

“Here,” he says, and she starts a little. He’s holding a book out to her with a little smile. “I think you’ll like this one.”

She takes it from him gingerly. It’s a heist adventure set in outer space—exactly the kind of thing she likes to get lost in during breaks at work, and it touches her deeply, the fact that he knows what she likes to read—that over years of borrowing and lending from each other, he’s learned. She smiles and holds the book to her chest, determined to find something for him too.

But fundamentally, the truth is that Ichigo is no different from who he used to be. Even as they talk about their friends, or when she brings him yakisoba and they sit by his bedroom window to eat it, he’s still the same he’s always been. He talks flippantly about his teachers but passionately about his classes. He scoffs at the ridiculous things she says and teases her about her wild imagination. He looks lost when she meanders her way through a story but listens patiently anyway. These are all things that the Ichigo of last year used to do. The Ichigo she knew and had grown comfortable with, to a point where she didn’t feel conscious about being in his room, or talking to him like this, with no one else around. It’s easy to forget that he likes her in those moments, which makes her think maybe he doesn’t like her that way at all—maybe he was just trying to tell her how much he values her as a friend, and she was reading into it too much, or projecting or—or—

(Or he’s always felt like this, her brain provides. She takes a gigantic hammer and smashes this thought, then steps on it with her foot for good measure.)

Orihime knows that Ichigo has always loved her—just like he’s loved Chad or Rukia or a person he just met that needed saving. Ichigo is a kind, giving person. She knows better than to mistake that for pining.

But there are times where his thigh brushes hers, or she laughs at something he says, and he gives her a look, a look that he’s never given her before, tentative, searching. She wonders what would happen if he would lean down and kiss her then, just his mouth on hers, nothing more. It’s nothing she hasn’t imagined before, but like all her other fantasies, it’s not something she’s ever thought would actually happen. She’s imagined burger kingdoms (because if there’s a Burger King, he has to have a home, right?) and clouds that taste like cotton candy, and this is just one of those things—perfect, but too good to be true.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” she pictures telling him. “I like you,” she pictures telling him. She even knows the exact face he would make, a little stunned, because she’s always coming at him from a little left of center. A little tender, because he’s always been so kind to her. Ichigo would never hurt her, but she’s a coward all the same, satisfied with having him only in her burger-kingdom-candy-cloud fantasies. She’d never know what to do if he gave her his hand.

She throws her head into her pillow and screams. At least this hasn’t changed—and it provides her a little comfort.

_____________________

He’s walking her back home from his house one day when he says, “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”

Orihime whips her head up so fast she nearly gets dizzy. “What?”

He doesn’t look at her. “I’m terrible at this. Being a boyfriend.”

Orihime wants to reassure him of his merits, but she’s still stuck on boyfriend. Kurosaki-kun, her boyfriend. The shape of those words makes no sense, not in that order, not even rearranged. A hysterical part of her wants to laugh, and then lie down sideways and roll all the way home.

Ichigo lifts his gaze from the ground and frowns at her. “You don’t believe it.”

“Kurosaki-kun?”

He kicks at a pebble in his path and watches it totter out of the way. “You don’t believe that I like you.”

It’s only slightly accusing. He mostly just sounds sad, like there’s something wrong and he has no idea how to fix it.

“That’s not—” she begins. True, she wants to say, but she can’t bring herself to admit that it would be a little bit of a lie to say she had wholly embraced this idea that Ichigo was apparently in love with her. “Kurosaki-kun.” It comes out a little helpless, and she can’t help but stare up at him, hoping he’ll understand.

“I do, you know,” he says quietly. Stubbornly, almost. There’s a determination in his eyes that’s so familiar to her by now, a brimming thunder in him that speaks of hidden depths—things he feels that he can’t quite find the words for. Ichigo has always spoken so much with so little that when he says, “I do,” again, she knows. He’s been saying it to her in one form or another for a while now. Had he always been, even when he hadn’t quite known that that was what he was saying?

“I’m the terrible one.” she says finally, shaking her head. “Kurosaki-kun—Kurosaki-kun is so brave, so warm.” She looks up at him, and she tells herself she isn’t going to cry, even if she feels it at the base of her throat. “I wouldn’t even know what to do if you gave me your hand.”

Surprise breaks out on Ichigo’s face, followed by understanding.

“You could hold it,” he said quietly. And then color fills his cheeks, his own admission embarrassing him as he looks away from her face. “I-If you wanted to.”

Orihime lets out a breath, the thrill of possibility and permission making itself clear in the air between them. She stares at his hand, so large, so there, and lowers her own to lock their fingers together. Warm. His hand is warm. Her cheeks are on fire. Ichigo still doesn’t look at her, but his cheeks are pink too.

“I’ll hold it,” she decides, carefully cradling it with both her hands like it’s the most important thing in the world. Ichigo nods and squeezes his grip. She squeezes back.

They walk home that way. Neither of them says a word.

_____________________

Later that night, much, much later, Orihime rolls over in bed and stares out her window. It’s dark outside, quiet, and all she can think about is Ichigo. She’s spent a few nights like this before, her love for him so full that it had a presence of its own in the room. Ichigo, with his hand on his chin, talking about anything, everything. Ichigo at war, his back to her because he trusts her with it. Ichigo’s hand in hers, not limp, not asleep, but awake and alive and hers to hold.

I like you, she tries with her mouth. I like you.

She picks up the phone and dials his number without thinking about it, really.

There are one, two, three, four rings between them, and then his voice arrives on the other end, thick with sleep, concerned. “Hello?” A pause, like he’s pulled the phone away from his ear to see who’s calling. “Inoue?!”

“Kurosaki-kun,” she returns.

“What’s wrong? Are you in trouble?”

She smiles. “No. I just…I wanted to tell you…”

“Tell me what?”

“I like you, Kurosaki-kun,” she confesses, true and soft and clear. It’s only when she’s said it that she realizes it’s the first time she’s said it to him out loud, with him awake to hear it. “I like you,” she says again, stronger this time, more insistent—no room for error, or misunderstanding or doubt.

There’s a long silence on the other end, and it draws for so long that Orihime almost falls asleep to it, but for once she’s not afraid. She’s ready for the wall to come down, however long it takes, or however fast.

Finally, Ichigo laughs, just a heavy exhale from his nose. “Sheesh. Is that it? I thought you were seriously in trouble or something.” He doesn't sound disgruntled, though. He sounds pleased. Thrilled, really. It's like the warmth is emanating off of him, and Orihime can feel it all the way here, three blocks away. And then he says, “Me too,” and it’s like he’s here, burrowed in her ribs alongside that beating thing she calls a heart.

She falls asleep that way, her phone cradled to her chest, static waves connecting her to him. It’s the best sleep she’s gotten in years.

_____________________

Some time later, after a few days have passed, she takes him to the park for a date, his hand in hers as they walk between the trees. He’s in a light jacket that looks good on him; she’s in his coat, two sizes too big on her.

“I want to race you to the end of the park,” she declares, tilting her gaze towards him to see his reaction.

He blanches. “It’s the middle of winter.”

“That makes it sound like you don’t think you can win in these conditions,” she observes, tapping her chin with one finger. “Could it be that the mighty Kurosaki-kun is…slacking…?”

Ichigo frowns. “Oi.”

“It’s just a few hundred meters,” she assures him.

He sighs, letting go of her hand and heading over to the other side of the walkway so he can get into position. “Ready when you are,” he says.

Orihime grins. They ready, set, go it, and then she’s darting, dashing through the park like her feet can’t carry her fast enough. Ichigo is hot on her heels, but it’s clear she’s going to be the winner, wind whipping at her hair and her clothes. Something fuels her from within, gives her a boost that makes her reach the park’s edge a second faster than he does, shoes roughly scraping against the pavement upon her landing. She could have run forever with how buoyant this feeling is in her chest, but she settles for grinning, holding her hands out to him as he catches up to her. He’s sulking.

“I’ll buy you hot chocolate,” she promises soothingly, then laughs at the hope that strikes his face. It’s cute enough to deserve a kiss, so she stands up on tiptoes and plants one on him, her lips soft against his cheek.

“O-Okay,” he breathes, a little flush rising to his cheeks.

“Let’s go!” She pumps one fist in the air.

Ichigo takes her other hand, tugging her back before she can walk into oncoming traffic. She settles back with a sheepish grin. He shakes his head. They look both ways this time.

Then they cross the street.