#Oh in case I’ve been wondering how am I and where I’ve been:

[in-study-hell]

what am I even doing

[seilon]

pro: ran into a coworker at a bar last night who I don’t really talk to usually (he works upstairs, I work downstairs) and we talked and im pretty sure we were highkey flirting and he bought me a drink and the bar merch shirt i was interested in and thanks to the power of alcohol i guess i asked for his number and he gladly gave it to me and. yeah

con: i have the second worst hangover i have ever had and have been fighting for my fucking life just to eat saltines

[marvelouslizzie]

Pretty Little Thing - co-written with @notafunkiller

Summary: Your long-time crush, Bucky Barnes, is a regular at the bar where you work, and tonight, it's impossible to avoid serving him for the first time.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: +18, alcohol, oral sex (f receiving), rough sex, unprotected sex, dirty talk, pet names, no mention of y/n

Word Count: 3.8K

A/N: @notafunkiller and I merged our separate ideas into one and this is the outcome. It was so much fun to write. We hope it'll me the same while reading too.

All work is ours, please do not repost or translate without our permission.

Every like, comment, and reblog is highly appreciated. Don’t hesitate to message us. Unless it’s hate. That’s never welcome.

You thought this night would be calm and easy, that nothing significant would happen. All that changed when Bucky Barnes set foot in the bar. It’s not his first time here by any means, but until now you successfully managed to avoid him by asking the other bartender to serve his side. This time, unfortunately, you are working alone. It’s a slow night, so there’s no way you can really avoid him.

You watch him find an empty place and sit down, and you really don’t know what to do. You can feel yourself sweating already. You are so nervous. Not because you are afraid of him or anything. He doesn’t look scary. Not to you. You are afraid to embarrass yourself in front of him, but you should be able to ask for his order and serve it without messing it up. That’s not so hard. 

Just keep it simple, you tell yourself.

“Hey, what can I get you?”

Bucky looks up from his phone straight into your eyes, and you freeze a little.

“Hello, do you... a draft beer, please.”

His answer confuses you. That’s not his usual order. 

“You sure you don’t want something stronger? We have that bourbon.” You curse yourself internally for paying attention and not being able to hold your tongue.

He raises his eyebrow surprised. “How do you know that? There is no way you served me any drinks cause I would remember you.”

He frowns as soon as he finishes speaking. Maybe you helped your colleague or maybe you were informed about what he drinks just in case he showed up. He’s still the Winter Soldier after all.

“I never served you before.” You say with a shy smile. You hope this is enough of an answer for him.

“Do I look like a bourbon man?” He asks playfully before giving you a smile that transforms his face a little, softening his features. 

“You look like you enjoy quality stuff, and between you and me, our draft beer is shitty.”

That comment makes him chuckle. You’re so distracted by his face that you don’t notice how his eyes fall straight to your breasts.

“Thanks for the tip. Normal beer then?”

“If you insist.” You smile and open the small fridge under the bar where you keep some of the beers. You quickly open it and put it right in front of him, not realizing that gesture shows off your bartender skills a little bit.

He doesn’t look away from you as he takes a big sip before placing the bottle on the table quickly.

“For how long have you been working here?”

“For the past year.” You avoid making eye contact while drying some of the freshly washed glasses.

“Oh.” He sounds kind of taken aback. “I’m surprised you never served me. I’ve been coming here for what? Seven months?”

“Eight.” You bite your bottom lip as soon as the word slips out, trying to shut yourself up so you won’t mess up even more. What were you thinking? Well, you weren't…

His eyes immediately glow, and you wonder if you fucked up for good.

“So you’ve been keeping an eye on me?” He brings the bottle to his mouth and before you can say anything, you watch him finishing it in one go.

“I just noticed you.” Of course, you kept an eye on him, but you played it down a little.

“Well, I didn’t notice you,” he says regretfully. “And I wonder how. I am pretty aware of my surroundings... especially if they are full of beautiful people like you.”

You can’t help but blush, yet you try to sound unaffected. You don’t know if you succeed or not, though.

“This place is usually so crowded and full of… people. So it’s normal.”

“Neah,” he denies immediately. “Have you been hiding or something?”

“I was just on the other side of the bar.” And you were trying to hide from him, saving yourself from this embarrassment because you knew if you talked to him you would fuck up. You were right.

“So I was on the wrong side this whole time.” He shakes his head. “Another beer, please, doll.”

“The same?” You ask while trying not to dwell on the pet name he uses.

“Yes, please. And one drink for you. Whatever you want, if you are allowed to drink, of course.”

The way he offers to buy you a drink surprises you. You feel quite nervous, but you try to maintain your calm. He’s probably just being nice, right? 

“I am allowed to drink, but that’s not necessary.”

He pouts. “I didn’t mean you need to talk to me for it, doll. There are no conditions for this drink.”

“Oh.” You didn’t even think he would take it this way. “That’s not why I said it’s not necessary. I wasn’t worried about that.”

“Okay. Whatever you want... I won’t insist.”

“It’s just… I am allowed to drink whatever I want. You don’t need to pay for it.” You try to explain so he won’t take it the wrong way.

“Alright,” he says, a little distant, as you open up another bottle of beer and put it in front of him. 

“I just didn’t want you to pay extra when I can get it for free.” You don’t know why you are explaining yourself like this. It’s normal not to accept drinks from customers.

“It’s fine, I totally understand. Thank you!” He reaches for the bottle immediately.

You take a fancy glass out of the rack and pour yourself one of the ready-to-serve cocktails that your colleague prepared, right in front of him. He doesn’t say anything as he keeps staring at your hands.

“Thanks for the drink.” You say while putting the bottle away.

“Me?” He asks surprised. “Thought this is on the bar.”

“Well, you gave me the idea, and if you really insist on spending your money so unnecessarily, who am I to stop you?”

“That’s a good attitude.” He smiles again before bringing his bottle close to your glass. “Cheers to a good Thursday in a lovely company.”

You clink your glass with a smile on your face. It seems like he finally understood your intention, so you feel relieved. 

“How does that taste?”

“Don’t let the color fool you, it tastes really strong but delicious.” You look at him for a second and notice that got his interest. “Wanna taste it?” You offer your own drink to him, and he contemplates for a few seconds before leaning in.

“Yes, I am curious.”

You hand the glass to him. Your fingers touch for a second, and you get so excited that you worry about dropping the glass. It’s like your heart is in your throat.

“Your hands are cold,” he comments casually before taking a sip right from the spot covered by your lipstick. You gasp. You have no idea if he did it on purpose, but the way he’s drinking it… your body is responding to that so much. You clear your throat, trying to calm yourself down. 

“Delicious.” He smiles, handing back your glass, and you notice a bit of lipstick in the corner of his mouth.

It creates this internal dilemma. Should you just let him know about it or act like nothing happened and let him walk around like this? The second one could cause him a lot of embarrassment, and you don’t wanna be the reason for that. That’s why you suddenly find yourself leaning closer to him, just to wipe the lipstick off. He doesn’t move an inch, not jumping like you would expect, letting you touch him. When you realize what you are doing, you suddenly feel super self-conscious. 

“You…” You gulp down. “You have… lipstick on… just here.” 

You keep rubbing your finger against the corner of his mouth. You feel his stubble and how soft his lips are, but you try not to think about it. He chuckles, covering your hand with his. It surprises you so much that you freeze for a second. Then you look into his eyes, struggling to see if you made him feel uncomfortable or not.

“So considerate of you. Thank you.”

You move your hand away from his mouth but not away from his touch. Somehow you can’t find the strength to do that. 

What he does next, though, makes you completely breathless. He brings your hand to his mouth again, but this time he presses his lips gently against your skin, smiling right after. Your eyes open with surprise, feeling completely speechless, yet you don’t move away. You don’t even realize you are smiling slightly.

“Your hands are still so cold.”

“Yeah…” You try to speak, but it feels like your words are stuck in your throat. “They are always cold.”

“We need to change that.” He places another kiss on your hand.

*

He’s surprisingly nervous as he leads you to the living room. Based on his confidence back in the bar, you didn’t expect him to become so shy all of a sudden.

“Do you want some coffee?”

“No.” You answer quickly. The only thing you want is to feel his lips again but you keep that thought to yourself.

“What do you want then?” 

It’s obvious in his tone and the way he looks at you he doesn’t ask you about drinks.

“You.” You can’t believe you said this out loud, but it’s the truth.

He doesn’t need another push as he comes closer, grabbing you by the chin. Your lips crash together with an almost desperate hunger. He takes the opportunity immediately, getting his tongue inside your mouth in a fervent exploration. The sensation is electrifying.

You let him explore your mouth while you focus on his taste. It’s so unique and tasty, you just can’t get enough of it. Your hands slowly move toward the back of his head, pulling him closer.

“Fuck,” he groans when he feels your touch, breaking the kiss just to move his lips to your neck. 

“Mhmm… James.” His lips feel so good against your neck. It just sends a jolt of arousal through your body.

But then he freezes, with his mouth glued to your neck. You open your eyes confused wanting to ask him what happened, and that’s when you realize what you’ve just said.

“You know who I am?” His voice is a warm whisper against your skin.

“Of course, I know who you are.” You make it sound so natural as if there’s no way you wouldn’t know who he is. “You think I go to the houses of men I don’t know?” You say playfully.

“I didn’t mean that...” He raises his head from the crook of your neck just to look you in the eye. “I didn’t mean it offensively, I just wasn’t sure. I’m just stupid, I didn’t expect it.”

“I know who you are, James Bucky Barnes.”

“Fuck,” he groans, bringing his thumb to your bottom lip. “Say it again.”

“James Bucky Barnes or just James?”

He kisses you more desperately than before, his hands finding your hips as he gently grabs them, pulling you so close that you can feel his erection. You gasp so softly, but he hears it anyway, and you settle on his hard cock so it’s right against where you want it to be.

He moans. “Let’s go to the bedroom, doll.”

“Why?” You ask innocently as if you don’t know what he means. “Isn’t your couch comfortable enough?”

For him? Sure. But for you?

“The bed is better.”

“Okay.” You sound so obedient suddenly as you wrap your legs around his torso.

He immediately lifts you up without effort, and you smile, letting him carry you toward his room. He’s a super soldier after all. He closes the door with his foot as soon as you’re inside, then he gently puts you on the bed, like he’s afraid you might break. The way he’s acting is so endearing, but you want him to let go really badly. Even the manner he starts to take off your pants is too gentle.

You let him undress you the way he wants, though. Then you move closer to him, taking his clothes off, your movements not as gentle as his. You are impatient and needy. You see him holding his breath when you reach to touch his chest, close to where his metal arm begins, so you lean in to leave a kiss right there. You don’t know if you are crossing a line, but you have to. He should know that this is not something that would bother you, on the contrary, it turns you on even more. When he doesn’t move away from you, you keep kissing around his scars and his chest. Your hand is on his shoulder, gently caressing.

 “That feels so good, doll,” he says with a sigh before he grabs your waist. “but it's time for me to eat.”

You find yourself on your back so suddenly that you don’t even have time to react. He quickly settles between your legs and you understand exactly what he meant. He lifts them enough so you can rest them on his shoulders as he gets more comfortable on his tummy. You feel a hole in your stomach immediately. You can’t believe Bucky is between your thighs, about to eat you out.

He’s taking his sweet time at first, kissing down your thighs and even smelling you before he finally brings his tongue to your entrance.

“Come on, James. Don’t tease me.” You look down just to see him smiling.

“Why not? You seem to enjoy it.”

“I would enjoy it more if you stopped teasing and started eating.”

Surprisingly, Bucky doesn’t waste more time and properly starts to fuck you with his tongue. He’s not too quick, nor too slow with his moves, and you’re shocked when he brings his fingers to your mouth. 

“Need you to make them wet for me, please.” Even while saying that, he sounded a little too polite.

“On one condition,” you say, looking directly into his eyes. “Stop acting like I am made of glass.”

“But you kinda are.”

“I am not. Believe me.”

He says nothing, making sure to lick your slit before getting his tongue inside you again, his fingers, glued to your lips. You take it as a silent agreement and you open your mouth, suck his fingers, and let him wet them. When he thinks it’s enough, he gently takes them out and brings them right to your clit. He doesn’t touch it directly at first, teasing around it until you move your hips a little, needing to feel your clit stimulated.

“Please.” The way he’s taking his sweet time is so frustrating.

He lets his hand drop and instead of feeling his fingers on your clit, you feel his tongue at the same time he gets a finger inside you. You moan loudly, finally getting what you wanted from the start.

His other hand reaches for yours when he hears you grabbing the sheet, and you immediately hold it, enjoying how his cold metal feels. When you feel the second finger and he scissors both of them inside you, you’re shocked by how close you suddenly are. You can’t help but arch your back and move your hips, needing it faster.

He reads the signals pretty quickly and lets you use his mouth while he keeps pumping his fingers. It doesn’t take long for you to gasp, moan, and start to shake because of the pleasure he’s giving you. 

“James! Shit. I’m- gonna… ahh… come.”

You moan louder than you expected, dropping your head against his sheets, possessed by a great wave of pleasure. You want to tell him not to stop anything, but you can’t. And you don’t need to as he keeps licking and fingering you while you ride your orgasm out, prolonging it as much as possible.

When it’s done, you are feeling so good yet you are hungry for more. You raise your head a little and see Bucky still between your legs, but this time his beard is covered with your slick. He looks so handsome. His blue eyes are shining and his hair is all messy. It makes you wanna kiss him and that’s exactly what you do. You reach down to him, and he meets you in the middle, kissing you the way he was just eating you out: with passion and hunger.

He’s less gentle than before as you feel his hands grabbing your breasts, but it’s still not enough. You cover his hands with yours and push him to grab them harder than before. You let out a muffled moan while kissing him.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.”

You find yourself blushing like you two aren’t having sex. To mask your reaction, you reach out to his hard cock, gently grabbing it.

“Oh god,” he groans as he instinctively squeeze your breasts harder.

“Mhmm, yes.” You lean into his touch. “Just like that.”

Bucky looks at you as if you said something shocking. Is he not used to communicating during sex?

“What? Did I do something wrong?”

“You’re surprising me for someone so delicate.”

“I told you, I am not.”

He smiles. “Do you wanna help me put on a condom then?”

“I would love to, but…” You smile. “What if I told you I am clean and on the pill?”

“Fuck, I need you.” He kisses you suddenly. “Now.”

“I am right here.” It sounds so calming. “You can take me however you want.”

You’re not only on your back in the next second, but you also have his cock lined up at your entrance.

“Jesus, doll! For a pretty little thing, you’re quite nasty.”

“I just know what I want.” And this is it.

He nods, wrapping your legs around his ass at the same time he pushes inside you. In a second, your head is thrown back while you moan loudly. The way he fills you is so delicious. It makes you feel so full but not uncomfortable.

“You’re taking me so well already.”

“Please…” You raise your hips to create more friction. “Please, move.”

He brings his mouth to your breast a little before he starts thrusting, making sure to leave a small hickey right on top of it. It hurts so good, and you moan without holding back. It is music to Bucky’s ears. He just wants to hear it again, so he does it again.

“You want it rough, don’t you?” He thrusts harder than before. “You’re so needy.”

“Yeah.” Your voice is so shaky already. “I told you already.”

“Told me what?” He teases. “I don’t remember.”

“That I am not made of glass.”

“No, you are made for me.” He brings his hand to your face to move the hair strands that cover your eyes. “For my cock.”

“In that case…” You don’t know where the sudden rush of confidence comes from. “You are made for me. To fill me up.” You move your hips again, trying to fuck yourself on him.

“Oh, god. You’re so fucking wet,” he moans. “I am, I’m gonna fill you up so much.” He kisses you suddenly, your teeth almost crashing together because of the thrusts, but you don’t care.

“Can’t wait.” You tease him. “Don’t hold back, okay?”

He says nothing, letting his head drop a little so he can suck on your neck properly. He’s definitely fucking you harder. He pulls until he’s almost completely out of you before thrusting inside you again. And again. And again. It takes your breath away. The way it makes you feel is indescribable. You lose the little remaining control you had and just turn into a moaning mess. 

“Say my name, baby. C-come on.”

“James?” You sound hesitant even if you don’t mean to because you don’t know which name he wants to hear.

“Again,” he begs, his metal arm on your leg pushing it right against his ass.

“James!” This one comes out so naturally. No questions, no hesitation. You just breathe out his name with a moan.

“God, you look so beautiful. So pretty with my cock inside you.” His thrusts get faster, and you have no idea how he can speak so well while you’re a mess.

“I’m so close,” you can barely say without taking a breath in the middle of the sentence.

“What do you want?”

“Just… harder.”

“Like this?” He asks, suddenly thrusting a little harder than before. “Or like this?”

“This! Yes! Just like this!”

“You just want it hard.” He whispers against your ear. “What a dirty girl.”

You hear him, but you can’t respond. You are too busy coming all over his cock, and it feels like you are in heaven. He continues to fuck you as the pleasure fades away, murmuring how pretty you are and how good you make him feel before he comes, too, grabbing the bedpost behind you with his metal arm. It makes a clicking sound, but you don’t care, opening your still foggy eyes just to watch him.

There’s so much come. You can already feel it dripping out of you as he keeps fucking you. You expect it to end soon, but it doesn’t. It goes on and on. The way he loses control as he comes just triggers another orgasm out of you. You would be surprised how quickly you could come again if it didn’t feel overwhelmingly good. You can’t think about anything other than him and the way he makes you feel.

His come is getting all over your thighs and ass, and the bed, as he moans. “Kakaya khoroshaya devochka.” What a good girl.

You can’t help but laugh despite not understanding a word of what he says. “Is that Russian?”

He opens his eyes, and the blue you love is almost completely grey. “Yes.” He sounds confused, too. 

“What does it mean?” Your afterglow can’t overshadow your curiosity. “If you don’t tell me, this isn’t happening again.” You try to make it obvious you aren’t serious with your playful tone. Especially not after those orgasms.

“Look at you, little and feisty, blackmailing me.” He chuckles before leaving a kiss on your lips. “I told you what a good girl you are. I didn’t realize I spoke in Russian.”

You laugh a little. “Say it again.” You give him the cutest look. “Please?”

“Ty moya khoroshaya devochka.” He repeats softly. You’re my good girl.

You don’t even realize how content you look as you keep smiling.

“Now, I can get used to that.”

“Say my name again, please.”

You love the neediness in his voice. “James?” You tilt your head a little. “Or would you prefer Bucky?”

“Fuck, it doesn’t matter.” His thumb is suddenly on your lips. “I can get used to that, too.”

[landorris]

melbourne anymore l oscar piatri x ex!reader

summary; where oscar and yn decide break up but they’re not very good at staying friends. part two

fc; madison beer

warnings; english is not my first language, kinda sad but cute, inspired by “kansas anymore” by role model <3

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

yourusername

liked by redbullracing, maxverstappen and others

yourusername oh f1 you’ve been good to me! thank you to @redbullracing for inviting me for the weekend and congratulations @maxverstappen1 on your win, amazing performance! 🦁🧡🏆

user1 first we don’t hear about yn for months, and then when we hear is f1 related AND about max…… WHAT HAPPEN WITH OSCAR

user2 yall i think they broke up

redbullracing thanks for coming queen! hope to see you again soon! our writing’s on the wall tell us you’ll be back 👀💙💙

yourusername 💙💙💙

user3 that last part is kinda sus

user4 what is yn up to

maxverstappen1 thank you yn!! hope to see you again soon!

yourusername hope to see you again soon to max!

user5 this friendship is amazing

yn’s phone

a month later….

oscarpiastri

liked by yourusername, mclaren and others

oscarpiastri thank you australia for this weekend, felt good to be home! 🇦🇺🦘🐨

user1 yn liking oh man…

user2 the friendship bracelets 💞💞💞

user3 yn is in australia, you think she was there?

user4 great race osc!

yn’s phone, first is the night after the race, second is the morning after

a few weeks later…

f1gossip

liked by user1, user2 and others

f1gossip spotted! oscar piastri walking around the paddock with a new girl! we haven’t seen him with a girl since he broke up with yn, seems like he moved on! we love to see him happy😁😁

user1 im pretty sure that’s norris sister

user2 lando would never let this happen

user3 yeah look at his happy face 😑

landossister that’s me! he was just keeping me company cuz my brother abandoned me, i also happen to have a boyfriend so please confirm everything before you post things like this, thanks!🧡

(ps. do you have any ideia how hard it is to find a photo of this man with lily where he isn’t all smiley and giggling????????? this man is IN love)

yn’s phone

moths later…

yourusername story

replies:

user1 oscar???

user2 who’s the musician guy?👀

yourbestfriend FINALLY

yourusername it’s coming out today i can’t belive

yourusername do you think people will like it?

yourusername what if he gets mad

yourbestfriend they’ll like it

yourbestfriend and he’ll be proud just like i am

yourusername i love you

yourbestfriend i love you too

yourusername

liked by yourbestfriend, oscarpiastri and others

yourusername heyy!! so i’ve been working on something for a few months now and i am more than proud to announce that my first album just came out!! i actually loved how this turned out and i hope you do to🫧🫧🫧🪽 melbourne anymore is now ours in all streaming plataforms 🤍🤍

yourbestfriend SO SO SO SO PROUD OF YOU

yourusername I LOVE YOU

user1 i didn’t know you could sing wtf

user2 this is amazing

user3 on repeat

user4 track five omg

user5 this is def about him

user6 mom and dad broke up

user7 a breakup album about oscar was not on my 2024 bingo card

user8 they still in love with each other

user9 superglue is so cute😭😭

user10 OSCAR LIKING😭😭😭😭😭😭

oscarpiastri

liked by yourusername, mclaren and others

oscarpiastri I dreamt of this day as a little kid back in Australia. A trutly unbelivable feeling. Thank you to everyone who helped me and everyone who belived in me. One down too many more to go 🧡🫧🪽

mclaren SHOW THEM HOW IT’S DONE

landonorris proud of you brother

user1 OMG OSCAR WON

user2 NOT HIM WINNING AFTER THE YN ALBUM

user3 the emoji choice😟 '

user4 yn must be so proud

user5 i wonder if he heard the album

yn’s phone

let me know if you liked it, and in case you did vote here to decide the ending, thank you for reading it!💞🪽🫧💘🐨

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

The Better Man

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.1k

Warnings: fluff, minor angst

Summary: You're a single mom who hates bringing men into your life only to have them leave. Your daughter deserves better than that. You're currently dating Spencer, and you're wondering if it's the right time to bring him into her life. Will it be worth it?

Square Filled: “you want? you want? you want? what about what I want?” for @anyfandomgoesbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

I can do this. I’m more than capable of getting breakfast ready for both me and my daughter. Even if she is screaming her head off. Oh, please be quiet. Please make it stop.

“Gemma, please stop crying. I am getting your food.” She continues to cry. “Baby, please. I’m working as hard as I can right now.”

If anyone were to look in your kitchen window, they would see a woman who is just trying to feed her child while looking like a raccoon with messy bedhead hair. The bags under your eyes don’t help your case, either, but you haven’t gotten much sleep this past week. Gemma has been sick and has been keeping you up at all hours of the night.

Sometimes you feel like a shitty mom because it seems like whatever you do isn’t enough. Being a single mom is hard. No one told you how to do this. No one gave you a rule book and said, “Here you go! Study for the final exam!” where the final exam is actually having a kid. You’re doing the best you can do even if it doesn’t feel like it.

Before you can start crying because Gemma is crying, you plate some bananas, cereal, and small strawberries on a plate for her. She immediately stops crying when the food is in front of her, and she digs in. You chuckle tiredly and kiss the top of her head. She is getting so old. It seems like yesterday you birthed her when really, it’s been eight months.

Your phone rings and you light up at seeing Spencer’s name.

“Hey,” you answer.

“Hey. I’m off this weekend if you want to hang out.”

“I don’t think I’ll be able to get a sitter,” you sigh. “I’m pretty low on money right now.”

“That’s fine. I don’t mind if you bring her along. I understand if you don’t want to, but I’m really great with kids. I’d love it if she came along.”

You and Spencer have been seeing each other for a few months but he hasn’t met your daughter yet. You don’t want to introduce her to someone new if they’re not going to be in your life for very long. You really like Spencer and you hope he’s going to be in your life for a long time. He’s been very patient when it comes to your daughter, and maybe it’s time they meet.

“Why don’t you come over? I’d feel more comfortable having a date here.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I think it’s time you meet Gemma.”

“Okay, yeah! I’ll bring some food over and we can cook together.”

“That’d be amazing,” you smile.

“I gotta go. I’ll see you Friday.”

“Okay. Bye.” You hang up with a huge smile on your face. “You hear that, Gemma? You get to meet Spencer. He’s a sweetheart. You’ll love him.”

She squeals in response but it’s mostly because she wants more bananas. You’re not worried that she will love him, it’s if Spencer will love her. You can’t think about that. You have work to get to. The call center you work at has a daycare attached to it for parents who can’t get someone to watch their kids, so every day is Bring Your Daughter To Work Day.

The weekend comes faster than you expected but that means Spencer gets to come over. He might even spend the night if all goes well. When Spencer comes over, he is nothing but sweet towards Gemma. She is playing in her playpen but as soon as Spencer walks in, she squeals and crawls over to him.

“Spencer, this is Gemma. Baby, this is Spencer.” Spencer grins and picks her up once she gets to him. “I’ve been trying to get her to walk lately. She turns eight months next week.”

“Hi, Gemma. Do you want to walk for Mama? Yeah, I can see it. You’ll get there,” he chuckles.

Spencer brings in the groceries he bought so you two can cook lunch while Gemma plays and watches Spongebob. While you don’t know how to be a single mom, and learning every day to be better, you’d rather do this than be with the ex who knocked you up. He left you when you were pregnant so it’s just been you and Gemma for a long time now. It’s hard to let men in your life, especially with a kid so young, but Spencer has been nothing but a complete gentleman to you. He takes things at your pace, never does anything to make you uncomfortable, and always puts you and Gemma first.

Dinner is spent talking about your week and the plans you have this weekend and afterward, Spencer goes to the living room to play with Gemma some more. He’s really warming up to her. Maybe this is going to be a good thing. Your phone rings and your blood runs cold when you see who is calling you. You excuse yourself and step off to the side while Spencer tosses Gemma in the air a few inches only to catch her. Her laughter makes this night all the better.

“What do you want?” you ask when you answer the phone.

“Hey, you got any money to spot me? I’m in a bit of a pickle,” your ex asks.

“Are you kidding me right now? You call me up after how many months only to ask for money?”

“Can you do it or not?”

“Fuck no,” you hiss on the phone. “This might be in your grand plan, but I want you to actually start acting like a dad and be there for Gemma. You know, the daughter you have?”

“You want? You want? You want? What about what I want?”

“You’re a piece of shit.”

“Fuck this. I can’t believe calling you was ever a good idea.”

He hangs up after those harsh words, and you try your hardest not to cry. He’s fucking lucky you’re not going after him for child support, but maybe you should.

“Y/N! Look!” You look at Spencer and Gemma to see her walking toward him on wobbly legs. “She’s walking!”

“Gemma!” you gasp and rush over. “You’re walking, baby!”

Before she can fall to the ground, Spencer scoops her in his arms and kisses her cheeks. She has no idea what is going on but she loves the attention. Spencer looks like he doesn’t want to be anywhere but here. Seeing him with Gemma today has only made you realize that he’s the only man you ever want in Gemma’s life.

x

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[merakiui]

promising young man.

yandere!riddle rosehearts x (gender neutral) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, one-sided student/teacher relationship, obsession, dark thoughts, jealousy, delusion, brief descriptions of blood/gore, violence, death, murder, brief nsfw note - riddle's perfect world comes crashing down with the arrival of foreign exchange student azul ashengrotto.

He meets him in Intro to Psych.

Azul Ashengrotto struggles to parse English, but he’s dressed like a businessman with his pressed suit and leather Oxfords. The only thing that reveals his status as a student is the black backpack he carries to class. Riddle’s seen him around campus a handful of times. It’s hard to miss him when he seems to throw himself into social circles with practiced grace.

This is the first time he’s ever had class with him, though, and so now he gets to see him in a classroom setting. There isn’t much about him that immediately strikes Riddle as odd. He’s well-dressed and prompt with a polite tongue. Every time he speaks in his thick accent, the one that just commands admiration and attention, that tiny Italian flag pinned to the strap of his bag becomes even more apparent.

Riddle’s not sure what he’s doing in this class. Perhaps he’s aiming to study law as well. He’d hoped to find more people with similar academic hobbies and interests and, while he’s yet to form any lasting bonds, he’s been wondering what sort of person Azul is.

On the first day of class, he introduced himself with confidence: “Buongiorno, amici. I am Azul. I look forward to the year with all of you.”

Though the structure and pronunciation of English proved awkward in his mouth, that didn’t stop him from opening himself to others. He’s friendly and outgoing, always welcoming conversation when it’s thrown his way. Riddle finds it impressive. If he were in Azul’s shoes, he’s certain he’d feel just a little lost attending school in a new country, far from home, surrounded by people who speak a completely different language. But Azul is resourceful, a dab hand at communication despite the barrier in vernacular. Perhaps that’s where his charm comes from.

Riddle thought the two of them might get along.

But then Azul proved academically formidable, and then you began to pick his brain after class, during time that was specifically reserved for Riddle so that he could discuss psychology with you.

So now Riddle sits in his seat, impatiently awaiting his chance.

“The law over in here is fascinating,” Azul says, leaning closer as you show him something on the desktop computer. 

“What’s it like where you’re from?”

“Mm. How to explain… The law is…”

“It follows a civil law tradition,” Riddle pipes up, casually flipping a page in his textbook. He does it for show. He’s aware it probably makes him look like an arrogant know-it-all.

You peek past the screen at him. “Oh! Riddle, you’re still here. Hello!”

He hums, warming under your gaze. “I always am.”

“What was it you were saying about the Italian legal system?”

Azul stares at him. An unhappy frown tightens on his face.

Uplifted with pride, swimming in the clouds, Riddle elaborates: “I’ve only just started researching it, but it’s very interesting. In the realm of criminal law, trials are often led by judges or a select few to form a panel unlike the juries we have here. Of course you’ll find differences everywhere. All countries have justice systems and law enforcement. Still, it’s fascinating to compare and contrast the fine details.”

From across the room, Azul’s stink eye has never been more obvious.

“Ah, that’s right. I’ve heard a few things regarding the way cases are handled over there. From what you know, Azul, would you say the system is harsher here than it is there, or is it the other way around?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Azul says, and that polite mask of his slips for a second. “I’ve never done crime.”

Riddle snaps his book shut and rises from his seat. “Let’s hope not. You’ve a promising career ahead of you.” He smiles sweetly at Azul like he’s particularly stupid.

Azul tracks him as he packs his belongings away and strides towards the door. His brilliant blue eyes are dark. “Ci fai o ci sei?” he mutters, clicking his tongue discreetly. “Rompipalle…”

Riddle will later learn these are slang phrases. He’ll learn a lot of things later—things he thought he’d never need to learn.

Thinking it a joke, you laugh and wave your hand about dismissively. “Aren’t you going to stay, Riddle? I watched the first episode of that podcast you recommended.”

Riddle perks up at that. “You watched it?”

“This past weekend, yes. It’s a riveting series. They really dig deep into the facets of a criminal.”

“Don’t they just?” He hugs his textbook close to his chest, nearly vibrating out of his skin. Finally, the moment he’s been waiting for—an opportunity to speak with you. “I’m amazed at how much time and research goes into each episode, and they always treat each case with tact. It deserves so much praise.”

Azul glances between the two of you. Riddle is sick with satisfaction. Once more, his blue hues land on him.

“You like criminals?”

“Not in that way, of course not.” Riddle shakes his head. What a preposterous assumption. “I find their minds to be exceedingly, bewilderingly captivating.”

Azul blinks back at him, owlish. He doesn’t seem to grasp most of what Riddle’s just said.

“In short, I think they’re a fine learning experience.”

“An experience? Non capisco.”

“For those wishing to pursue a career in criminal justice or law. Think of it like watching a tape from a criminal investigation. It’s important to study the interview techniques and tactics utilized by detectives to understand what’s most successful in gathering a proper confession.”

Azul nods along. “Ah, capisco.”

“We’ll cover things like that later in the semester. Don’t feel so overwhelmed, Azul.”

“I’m not. I learn as I go. Grazie, Professor. You’re very kind.”

“I’m happy to help. If you ever need anything, my office hours are on that sheet I gave you. I had a colleague of mine translate the syllabus for you. If you have any questions or need accommodations of any kind, let me know.”

“I will.” He fixes the strap of his backpack and, after bidding you a final farewell, stalks past Riddle out the door. His footsteps echo down the hall until eventually they’re no more.

“Riddle, if you have a moment, I’d like to speak with you.”

“Of course. Anything,” he says hastily, his heart stumbling in his ribs. 

“If you wouldn’t mind, could you help Azul out? I notice he struggles taking notes during lectures. If you’d be willing to share your notes with me so that I can get them translated, that would be great.”

Riddle doesn’t want to share, but this is an opportunity to be praised in spades. “I’d be glad to. I’ll scan and email them after each class.”

“Thanks, Riddle. Your notes have always been so organized. This is a huge help. I’m sure Azul will be just as grateful.”

I’m not doing it for him, he thinks, bitter and envious.

But he just smiles, standing a little taller when you compliment him.

Your notes have always been so organized.

What is he getting so territorial for? He’s had you for four classes in past years. Azul’s only known you for a few measly weeks. That’s nothing compared to the special bond you have with him.

Riddle isn’t worried.

1 September, 20XX.

Dear Diary,

(Name) Rosehearts has quite the lovely ring to it. Far more musical than that of (Name) Ashengrotto. I’m almost certain he sits there in class, silently drooling over Professor. Just last week, he took my seat at the front. The gall to do such a thing! Can you imagine? He must know that seat is the best for getting a perfect view of Professor. It’s childish to bicker over seating arrangements and I refuse to stoop to his level. That said, the seat is mine. Professor’s time is mine.

I’ve deigned to share my notes, but only because Professor put such faith in my abilities by personally asking me. Even though it’s foolish, I’m tempted to sabotage the notes so that Azul will have incorrect study material. But that would be unfair and an infraction upon all that I stand for when it comes to academic fairness. Thus, I’ve refrained from doing anything of that sort. I’m certain Professor would disapprove.

It makes me happy to know Professor listens to the podcast I recommended. I wish we could discuss it at length, but Azul is always there and he takes up so much of what little time there is. It’s infuriating. I wish he would just drop out of the class. That way it will be just Professor and me, as it was intended.

Perhaps he will once the coursework comes knocking.

Sincerely, 

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle slumps forward over his desk and combs his hands through his hair.

“That rotten Azul…” he sneers, his face scrunching into something sour. “He’s always monopolizing your time… Does he not realize how important it is to me—how much I look forward to talking to you? And you smile at him… You look at him with those sweet eyes of yours and he’s completely undeserving of such treatment! It never does anyone any good to be greedy, yet there he is…”

He inhales deeply, holds it for a few seconds, and then exhales.

What am I supposed to do? How can I make this right again?

Azul isn’t breaking any rules. It’s not a crime to seek you out for conversation after each class ends. But therein lies the issue. There is nothing wrong with that. It would be wrong if, say, there was an illicit exchange between the both of you. Like a taboo relationship of sorts…

Riddle startles in his seat, his eyes blown wide.

Azul isn’t having a secret affair with you, is he? Not that it could be considered cheating when you’re not yet married (and Riddle intends to keep it that way). He has a plan. When he graduates, there will be no formal barriers holding him back from starting a relationship with you. He can email you freely without the need to circle back to academics. He can invite you for tea or coffee and the two of you can chat about things that aren’t school, and it won’t be weird or overstepping boundaries. Because he won’t be your student anymore. He’ll be Riddle, your former student. And former students have better odds than current students, do they not?

He’s thought it out carefully. He was raised to be responsible, to do everything right.

And though he’s thought of it in passing—considered what might happen if he were to try to play at being a seductive siren—he’d never truly act on such folly. But Azul… It isn’t too impossible to theorize he might be sleeping with you for a better grade. What if he’s forced you into it? What if he has some sort of wicked blackmail? What if you’re holed up in your office every day, scared for your career, while Azul bends you over the desk and uses that boyish charm of his, that silky-smooth accent, to coax the sweetest of sounds from—

Riddle shakes himself free of that thought. He’s not going to imagine it any further. He doesn’t need to be plagued with graphic imagery, gross as it may be.

Even though he chases the fantasy from his brain, it returns to poke at him. He gazes at his lap, noticing the substantial strain in his pajamas, and groans.

It would be easier if he wasn’t where he is now. Logically, he’s aware he doesn’t have much of a chance. Neither does Azul. Unless he’s sleeping with you in secret. Then he has a chance. But he’s not. He can’t. That’s against the rules.

And even if he was, it wouldn’t be very fair for him to do the very thing Riddle’s abstained from.

His hand closes around his dick. He feels pitiful as he pumps himself to scandalous visions. 

It’s not fair.

He should have a chance. In a perfect world, he’d have you. He’s earned this, hasn’t he? He’s worked so hard. So why isn’t he allowed to have you?

It’s not fair.

Why does Azul get to relish in your attention when Riddle’s left alone in the shadows? Why can’t you look at him like you used to? Why can’t you praise him for knowing all the answers? Why can’t you tell him good work when he does just that? Why must you coddle Azul? Riddle thinks he can speak perfect English. He’s just playing it up to look weak and pathetic—to garner your sympathy!

It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair.

He’s the good one. The one with perfect marks. The one with perfect attendance. The one every professor holds in high regard.

Riddle squeezes himself and sucks in a breath through grit teeth.

He’s not funny like Azul. He doesn’t have that awkward charm Azul has. He can’t speak another language fluently. He’s never traveled out of the country. He thinks he knows everything, but he only knows so much.

He can fascinate you with the intricacies of his mind, each fold primed for education, but Azul can do better because he has social experience.

Riddle can’t believe it. He, of all people, is jealous of someone.

Cum oozes from his dick and coats his fingers in a pearly-white. It isn’t satisfying.

Right then, he thinks his world would be better if Azul stayed in Italy.

Or maybe it would be better if Azul wasn’t in his world at all. 

On his way out of class, Riddle stops Azul in an empty corridor.

“I know what you’re doing,” he says, pointing an accusatory finger at him.

He blinks back, oblivious. And then he smiles, revealing a row of perfect teeth. “What I’m doing?”

Riddle won’t say it. He can’t. Because then he’d be admitting the truth Azul’s trying to pry from his heart, whether that’s his intention or not.

“You know very well what you’re doing.”

A silent head tilt is his reply.

His temper is nearing its boiling point. It’s been on a low simmer ever since Azul first bewitched you, and it’s threatening to spill over.

“I see the way you and Professor look at each other during class. You may think it discreet, but I know.” Riddle folds his arms over his chest, feeling very proud of himself for successfully playing Sherlock. “I can tell there’s nothing formal about it. So how long has this been going on? How long have you been flouting the rules?”

Azul stares at him. His shoulders shake with his chuckle. “You’re funny.”

Riddle startles. His accent—

“I’m here to learn just as you are. What I do outside of the classroom is none of your business, so it would please me greatly if you could stop prying.”

His eyes narrow into vicious slits. “If you lay a hand on—”

“Oh, I’ve done more than that.” Azul smooths the nonexistent wrinkles in his sweater vest. The same brand of sweater vest that Riddle wears. “But you have no proof. The courts here will want that, won’t they? Or is it harsher here? Will you need to peer inside Professor to see for yourself? I wouldn’t know. I’ve never committed a crime.”

Disgust pools in his stomach. He feels like he could vomit, and it isn’t because he’s appalled by the conspiracy Azul’s proposed. It’s because he should’ve been the one to do it if it was that easy. Instead, he musters a mean glare.

“Who are you, Ashengrotto? What do you want?”

“I’m just a student like you. I want to learn lots from Professor.” He brushes past Riddle, his voice a melodious hum. “And some things can’t be taught in the classroom.”

Riddle opens his mouth to let the angry tirade fall, but he chokes on the words. There’s so much he wants to say, but all of it will come out accusatory. And that’s where Azul has him pinned. It’s all baseless accusation.

He doesn’t want to believe it. Surely you wouldn’t… It’s impossible! An academic and social infringement! It’s wrong!

It should’ve been him.

Later that evening, cooped up in his room, Riddle scrawls furious lines in his diary: He’s a liar. A cheat. An embarrassment to this institution. I should be the one who holds Professor. I should be there in Azul’s place. I’ve worked so hard. I deserve it. I’ve earned it!

He can’t let this madness go on any longer. He won’t tolerate it.

Looking at it logically, Riddle has illustrated the negatives and the positives in his notebook.

If Azul’s insinuations are true, then all Riddle needs is valid evidence. Unfortunately, that would mean you might lose your job given the circumstances. If it’s consensual, both of you are equally at fault. If it’s not, Riddle hopes Azul will burn in a terrible blaze.

But if you do happen to lose your job, it would relieve some of the weight burdening his situation. He could start a real relationship with you. It’s plausible! Perhaps not very realistic, but there’s always a shred of hope to be found in misfortune. 

Riddle wonders if he should just ask you and save himself the headache.

He gazes sidelong at Azul, who has since claimed that seat for his own, and chances a glance at his open notes.

That’s Riddle’s handwriting.

He’s sure of it. That’s his handwriting. He writes his notes in cursive. He writes in a perfect, elegant slant. His letters always connect. There’s no denying it; that’s his handwriting on the page.

A disturbing thought crosses his mind: Has Azul been practicing my handwriting?

It sounds impossibly silly. Who would devote so much time to something so witlessly fraudulent? Riddle wracks his brain for a reasonable explanation. Why would he need to practice someone else’s handwriting? Riddle could understand if Azul struggled to write in English. Most of his work is submitted in his native language. You allow this exception even though Riddle finds it unfair. Maybe it’s because you treat Azul’s work like it’s something special, and you jump through all of these hoops just to get it translated. Why can’t you treat his work with that same amount of care?

Riddle drags his pen along the page, scribbling mindlessly. Why is he doing that? He has nothing to gain from writing like me.

But then Riddle realizes the notebook is the same as his. The same color, in fact. He wonders when Azul purchased a new one. Did he purchase a new one, or has he always had this one?

Riddle looks down at his notebook.

That’s Azul’s handwriting.

He blinks twice and rubs frantically at his eyes. When he looks back at Azul’s notebook, it’s to a page filled with Azul’s stylish scrawl.

Have I…been copying him this entire time?

No, surely not! He would never plagiarize. That’s one of the biggest sins of academia. He couldn’t live with himself if he did that!

Besides, he’s not the copycat. It’s Azul in his sweater vest, boasting the same writing implements as Riddle, using the same brand of notebook. Riddle’s not copying him. It’s Azul. It must be.

It can’t be Riddle. He’d never do such a thing.

After class, you call Riddle up to your desk. He hesitates, his heart thrumming wildly, and shuffles over.

“Yes, Professor?”

“Riddle, I’ve been wanting to talk to you about something.” You withdraw last week’s assignment from a folder and set it down. “You wrote this, did you not?”

Riddle scans the typed document. “I did, yes.”

“May I ask if the Italian was intentional?”

“The Italian?” he parrots, confused. “I don’t understand what—”

In between brilliantly articulated paragraphs, he’s sprinkled in Italian words and phrases.

He coughs out a rattled laugh. “I must have been studying it for another assignment before I did yours. I…can’t believe this happened. It was fully unintentional. I’m very sorry.”

His face is flushed cherry-red. He’s never felt more humiliated.

“It’s not a big deal. I just wanted to ask. It definitely confused me.” You take the paper from him, smiling that understanding smile he loves so much. But then, rather intrusively, he wonders how many times those soft-looking lips have been on Azul, wrapped around him, sending him to cloud nine… “I actually asked Azul to translate it for me. He said all of it was written correctly. You must be very adept in your Italian.”

“I… I suppose I am,” he answers after a tense minute.

His brain is swirling like sediment stirred up on the ocean floor. When did I pick up Italian? I’m not taking any language courses this semester. I don’t even own an Italian dictionary… Just what in the world is happening?

“Ah, you don’t have to look so pale! It’s not going to affect your grade. I only wanted to fulfill this nagging curiosity of mine. Thank you for all the good work you do.”

Riddle nods mechanically. When you ask if he has time to stick around and discuss more psychology podcasts, he shakes his head and mumbles a feeble excuse.

He tears through his desk and all of the drawers in his room in search of it. If it’s not there, he can relax. If it’s not there, he can chalk it up to stress. If it’s not there—

It’s tucked away in his bookshelf. A little pocket dictionary. English to Italian. And it’s been bookmarked and annotated.

Riddle pulls it from the shelf in a baffled daze. When did he get his hands on this? More importantly, when did he read through it? In a hurry, he empties the contents of his backpack and flips a few pages in his notebook.

His notes from class. Dated for today. Written in Azul’s script. And at the top of the page, an exact copy of his signature, a name that isn’t Riddle’s: Azul Ashengrotto.

Riddle peers at his trembling hands. He flexes his fingers, curls them into a fist and then unfurls them.

He seizes his psychology textbook next and skims the chapter index in search of an answer. He lands on it. Page 371. Dissociation.

Two minutes into a phone call with Trey, he’s asked a simple question: “Are you speaking with an accent?”

Riddle bristles. “Of course I’m not. Of…course I am not,” he says, sounding the words out. His brow furrows. Why does my tongue feel so clumsy in my mouth? “I’ve always spoken this way, have I not?”

“I can’t say. I mean, come on, Riddle. You’ve gotta be pulling my leg.”

“You know very well I don’t pull legs, Trey.”

“You told me buongiorno when I picked up.”

“I did not!” he snaps, scandalized. “I said good morning as I always do.” And then he pauses. “I… I did say good morning, didn’t I?”

Trey’s silence is answer enough.

Riddle sucks in a sharp breath. Neither of them says anything.

Eventually, Trey speaks. “Do you want me to come up there? I could bring you a tart or…something. You sound…tired.” He chooses his words carefully. “Silly question, I know, but I’ve gotta ask. You’re not overworking yourself?”

“No, not at all.”

“And you’re getting enough sleep? What about food?”

Riddle frowns even though Trey isn’t there to see it. “I’m fine, Trey. Midterms are coming up. I’ve got to focus. I refuse to fail.”

Again, the other end is quiet. A minute later, Trey says, “Do you have time this weekend?”

“This weekend?” Riddle flips his planner open to this week. “I do.”

“All right. Is it cool if I visit?”

Riddle almost declines, so it surprises both him and Trey when he replies with, “Please.”

“I’ll be there,” he promises, and the call ends before Riddle can say grazie.

Trey brings six strawberry tarts. Riddle shares three with him over tea at the campus café.

“So what’s up?” Trey points his fork at Riddle. “You sound like yourself, but you don’t seem…fine.”

Riddle chews thoughtfully. He can’t confide in Trey because Trey wouldn’t understand. Because he’d apply Trey Logic to everything, and Trey Logic is almost always sensible. Riddle doesn’t want to hear it.

“I submitted an assignment in Italian,” he says instead, casually, as if it’s not a big deal.

Trey looks at him like he’s grown a third eye. “Since when do you know Italian?”

“I dabble.”

Trey laughs. Upon seeing Riddle’s serious expression, the humor sticks in his throat. “Oh, you meant that. Well. That’s…good then? If it’s for a foreign language course—”

“It was for psychology.”

“You…wrote in Italian…for a psychology assignment?” he reiterates, attempting to parse it. He drags his fork through his cut of tart, but he doesn’t bring it to his lips. “Why?”

“I couldn’t say. It perplexed me to no end when I realized it. My professor thought it was curious.”

“It is. I mean, you don’t find that just a little…unusual?”

Riddle stares at him over the rim of his teacup. 

Trey tries again. “Was the Italian correct, at least? It wasn’t all nonsense?”

He nods. “It was as if I was translating and switching between words. Like using the Italian word in place of an English word.”

“Huh…”

“It’s not very impressive. I can do much better than that.”

“I’m not doubting your capabilities. I’m just…trying to understand why.”

Riddle smiles. “Why not? I think it’s very good to study another language. It opens more doors for opportunity, and it’s a challenge that proves rewarding in the end.”

“Is that it?”

“Precisely.”

The conversation comes to an abrupt halt there. Trey changes the subject. They chat the afternoon away.

Later, Riddle returns to his diary.

He writes an entire entry in perfect Italian. Workbooks pile up on his desk; he’s not sure when they got there. He’s filling them out so fast his hand gains new calluses. 

Azul visits your office around the same time Riddle used to. Now it’s Riddle who trails after him, hoping to catch him in the middle of a nefarious scheme. He’s not sure he’s ready for whatever he might learn, but he swallows his rage and carries on.

Azul turns just as Riddle ducks around the corner, perfectly out of sight. He waits until he hears the tell-tale click of those pristine Oxfords against linoleum before continuing. Azul walks right past your office and then he’s gone. Looking both ways, Riddle creeps further down the hall.

Where is he?

There’s a tap on his shoulder. He whirls around, startled, and is about to unleash verbal tyranny when he stops short. You stand there, looking positively puzzled. 

“Are you looking for something, Riddle?”

“No… I—” He cuts himself off. “Actually, I was hoping I might discuss something with you. The final project.”

“Oh, of course! Did you come earlier? I stepped out of my office for a second. Sorry if my absence had you looking all over.”

Riddle falls into step with you. “It’s quite all right.”

He’s not sure what he hopes to find by sitting in front of your desk, gazing at the familiar interior of your office. He manages to get through all of the questions you ask him regarding the final project.

“I have too many ideas,” he lies, “and I’d like assistance in narrowing the topics down to one.”

He glances slyly at the floor. Would Azul be bold enough to hide a voice recorder or a camera somewhere? Or is there something of Azul’s left in here? A cheeky means of marking his territory, maybe?

Riddle turns up empty.

He stalls the conversation expertly for ten more minutes. During that time, he can’t locate anything from his semi-thorough observations.

Maybe it’s hidden in your desk. Maybe there’s nothing at all.

No. No, there has to be something.

He thanks you for your help and, shouldering his backpack, leaves.

Just as he turns down the hall, Azul steps into his path.

“Your mind is exceedingly, bewilderingly captivating.” He snickers like a devil. Riddle wants to punch him. “So many ideas. Where do you have the space for all of that?”

“It’s not polite to eavesdrop.”

“Oh, is that so?” Azul taps at his phone and then turns the screen towards Riddle. There’s a picture of him in the hall, looking awfully disoriented. “It’s not very polite to stalk now, is it, amico?”

Riddle narrows his eyes. “How easily that accent comes. Almost like flipping a switch.”

“Non capisco.”

“You should know you’re going to ruin your life and Professor’s.”

“I’m not.” He smiles cryptically. “You’re going to ruin it for me.”

Fed up with his attempt at mind chess, Riddle stalks past him in a huff.

You walk into class five minutes late, disheveled and breathless. You’re babbling about a meeting that ran late, but Riddle can’t trust that.

Meetings don’t end in frazzled hair and crooked ties.

What’s even more damning, perhaps, is when Azul Never-Late-to-Class Ashengrotto walks in fifteen minutes after you. He sits in the seat beside Riddle. There’s not a hair out of place on his person. Except there is. The glass face of his luxury wristwatch is smudged with a fingerprint.

Riddle wonders what forensics would have to say about that.

He phases in and out of focus during the lecture. He can’t stop searching you for fine details. He can’t stop questioning Azul’s presence beside him.

How dare you? he thinks. How dare you defile my professor? What makes you think you have the right to do such a thing when I’ve been working hard all this time? When I’ve been nothing but perfect…

He glances at his notebook. A single phrase has been scrawled over and over, so manically that the lines loop and overlap in angry criss-crosses. Lo voglio morto.

At the end of class, Riddle catches Azul in the hall.

“I would like to review with you for our upcoming midterm.”

“What an honor.”

Riddle hums. “Let’s compare our notes tonight. You can stop by my room after dinner.”

Azul grins like he can read through Riddle. Like he’s in on a joke Riddle’s not privy to.

“I would be happy to study alongside you,” he says, his accent thick.

Riddle imagines a rope around his neck. A rope of thorns and barbed wire, pressing into his jugular until, inevitably, it severs his head clean off.

Azul arrives on time. He really does feel like an echo of Riddle. Same school supplies. Same notebooks. Same fashion style. Same manner of writing.

Riddle shuts and locks the door behind him. He doesn’t waste time waltzing around the subject.

“You’re the reason Professor was late today.”

“You’re mistaken. I simply lost track of the time.”

“That’s not true.”

“Then what is? I had nothing to do with Professor’s tardiness. If it bothers you so much, why not tell Professor to be more conscious of the time?”

Riddle grits his teeth. He’s sick of this. Sick of these mind games. Sick of all this mental chess.

Sick of the fact that he gets to have you when you should have been Riddle’s from the start!

“You’re a liar! Do you know the gravity of your actions—the severe consequences that’ll undoubtedly befall Professor? Do you know you’re jeopardizing a brilliant mind all for your own immature fun?”

Azul holds his hands up in mock surrender. “Those are harsh accusations. They could ruin my life, you know.”

“Oh, like that’s such an issue.” Riddle scowls.

“Your room is quite nice, I must say.” Azul looks around, his hands in his pockets. He spies the many Italian workbooks lining Riddle’s shelf, and a slimy smirk pulls at his lips. “Imitatore,” he marvels, his eyes bright with an eerie sort of joy. As if he’s just discovered a particularly filthy secret and can’t wait to tell someone.

“If it isn’t the pot calling the kettle black.”

“And what makes you think Professor would ever entertain you?” Azul rounds on him, still smiling. “Professor loves me most. There was never any room for you.”

Riddle hears the distant crackle of something fraying. “You’re wrong.”

“Am I? All I did was take your best characteristics and make them even better. Italian lovers are a romanticized ideal abroad. You were never an option, let alone a consideration.”

How dare you. How dare you. How dare you!

Azul steps towards the door. “Addio. Le mie condoglianze.”

That something inside Riddle finally snaps, and with it goes his restraint. He grabs Azul’s wrist and yanks him to the floor. There’s a struggle for survival. During the scuffle, Azul claws at Riddle’s arm and face. Riddle kicks him down. And then his fingers wrap around his psychology textbook—all 800-something pages, a hardcover—and he brings it down, brutal like a guillotine.

“How dare you walk away in the middle of a conversation!” he berates, lips curled in a monstrous sneer. “How dare you touch what isn’t yours—what you didn’t earn!”

He thinks he sees a real smile on Azul’s face, but in the midst of blind rage he can’t tell.

He sees red. He feels red. It splatters his room in a mess of broken bone and pulpy gore. It flecks his face, warm and thick and soupy.

It all ends with Intro to Psych.

Riddle is bathed in blue light, afloat on a chaotic sea.

Distantly, in the back of his mind, he can hear his mother in hysterics: What have you done?! Do you have any idea what you’ve just done—the future you’ve so carelessly thrown away?! All of my hard work?! Do you realize what you’ve done?!

And he does.

If there’s anything Riddle has ever been one-hundred-percent certain of in his life, it’s this. He sits on the steps to his dormitory, battered and bloodied, and bites into the strawberry tart clutched between crimson-stained fingers.

Despite the crisp autumn air, he feels warm.

An officer approaches him just as he’s licking his fingers clean of strawberry and blood.

He holds his arms out before the woman can say anything. He already knows what comes next.

Riddle has always wondered what criminals think and feel in the aftermath of grisly crimes. He can’t feel much of anything other than hollow relief. Maybe that’s just the adrenaline snuffing logical thought and remorse. He thinks everything and nothing all at once. He’s sure he’ll feel it all come crashing down when he’s sat in the station for questioning and then the reality of his actions will seep in, awakening him from a vile, murderous dream.

Right now, he isn’t concerned with that.

You lived filthy and you died just the same, Riddle thinks as he’s led to a police car. And now there’s no part of you Professor will ever want.

[literaila]

could you write a really fluffy peter Parker fic for Valentine’s Day (with banter ofc)

valentine, oh mine

tasm!peter x reader

a/n: this is not cute or fun or any of the things i aspire to be. it is painful. peter dies (he doesn’t). don’t read this.

*

“will you be my valentine?”

“hello, peter,” you answer, through your toothbrush. the words are deadpan. “i’m doing well, thank you. how are you?”

“better if you answer the question.”

you laugh, letting his response linger for a moment as you try to discern where, exactly, he is. your mouth tastes like spearmint, and it would be perfect to kiss him with. even though it’s monday, and almost midnight, and he shouldn’t be here.

for a whole multitude of reasons (number one being that you know he’ll keep you awake for at least a couple of hours more).

“where are you?” you ask him, listening to ruffling and a whine from the other end.

a manly whine, he might tell you, if you could see his face and make fun of it.

“stop deflecting. you don’t wanna be my valentine?” you can hear the frown.

and then there’s a horn, signaling absolutely nothing.

you spit into the sink, and put him on speaker as you rinse.

“i’ve gotta say that this is one of the more underwhelming valentine proposals i’ve gotten. you’re not even here. instead you’re…” you drawl, “where, again?”

“this is just further proof that i’m always thinking about you,” peter tells you, recalling an argument you’d had the day prior.

about how he wasn’t paying attention to you—or the conversation you were trying to have with him about one of your coworkers—but instead, according to him, thinking about you.

which did not help his case, of course. instead you’d given him the silence treatment for three minutes while he groveled—poorly.

and you doubt that he was thinking about valentine’s day when his eyes were glued to your lips the entire time.

“again,” you tell him, trying to hide the sound of a smile in your voice, “i would rather you just listen to me. answer my question and i’ll answer yours,” you bargain.

“how’s that fair? i asked first.”

“i asked second.”

peter sighs, and there’s a brief pause where he breaks up. you mess with the sound settings to no avail. up or down, his voice is distorted.

“are you—“ his voice wonders. “i was gonna tell you—“ and then a pause. and then. “are you giving me the silent treatment again?”

“cant hear you,” you hum. “somethings wrong with your phone.”

“how do you know it’s mine?” his voice enters again, breaking back and forth. another honking, and silence as he puts himself on mute.

because you’re no fool, and you know that peter would’ve answered the question already—if only to get you to answer his—if he didn’t know that you’d scold him for it.

“cause i can hear the wind while you swing,” you tease, though swallow, your voice is aiding the anger you should feel—because your boyfriend is a liar, and a traitor and you kinda hate him.

but you’re not really angry. you haven’t seen him since he left your house at six in the morning, so that’s probably why.

“i—“ there’s a pause. and then his voice is clear again. “that’s my hairdryer.”

“are you lying to me, peter?”

“it might even be the connection,” he continues, idly. “may’s been complaining about the service but i’ve been too busy to check the box, so—“

“are you still lying to me?”

you can almost see him swallow. “…no?”

“i told you not to call me when you’re out.”

“so you never want me to call you?” he asks, mock hurt. “when i’m not out, i’m always with you. i thought you liked my phone calls, and my voice if my memory serves me. someone really liked it—“

“you know what i mean.”

“do i?”

“peter parker, unless you want me to hang up—“

“okay, okay,” there’s still no swinging. “i’m sorry.”

“no, you’re not,” you whine, sitting on your bed and listening closely so he can’t trick you again.

“i actually am this time,” he swears. “i won’t do it again. but this is a very important matter.”

“swinging while talking is basically like texting and driving, and if i was doing that i’d be getting an earful from you.”

“it’s so not the same thing. first of all, spider senses, please keep up,” he tells you, laughing. “and who am i going to hurt in the open air?”

“a pigeon,” you say, almost angrily. “they’re an endangered species, you idiot.”

“they’re definitely not.”

“okay, then, yourself. who’s going to be my valentine if you slam into a wall and crack your head open?”

peter would not look cute without his skull, you remain firm on this fact.

you can hear his smile. “i knew you wanted to be my valentine.”

“before i knew you were lying to me.”

“you lie to me all of the time,” peter argues.

your brows furrow. “when?”

“when you said that you don’t like it when i call you,” he murmurs, almost soft, still teasing. “i know you do. you miss me.”

“i miss my boyfriend,” you answer, biting back some other remark about how you don’t miss him at all—honestly, you’re trying to prove that you’re not lying. “but apparently i’m talking to a superhero.”

“oh, did i forget to mention that? must’ve slipped my mind.”

“where are you now?” you ask. “it’s quiet.”

and then there’s a tap on the wall to your right.

“peter…”

“yes?”

“is that you?”

“maybe.”

“are you kidding?” you grumble, crawling on your knees to push back the curtains and open the window. you frown as you unlatch it, hands interrupted by other ones, doing the same thing. “how long have you been sitting out here?”

“since ‘are you lying?’ i think.” he says, in a terrible impression of your voice. “it’s cold.”

you pull him in by his wrist, immediately pushing him off when he tries to land on your bed on top of you.

peter pulls his mask off, smiling at you. “hi.”

“i’m mad. go take a shower.”

his fingers tip-toe up your arm, trying to get you to shiver. “are you really?” he hums.

“yes.”

“how can i make it up to you?”

“find me a better, non-lying valentine,” you tell him, pouting as you look away.

“is this supposed to be an answer?”

“why didn’t you just wait?” you ask instead. “if you were going to come here anyway, why didn’t you ask me in person instead of being a disappointment, and breaking a rule?”

“i don’t recall signing a contract…”

you groan, sitting up and crossing your legs as you look at him. unfortunately for you, his hair has fallen over his eyes just right, and you still want to kiss him.

“take me seriously.”

“i take everything you say,” he leans in, “very seriously.”

you push his nose. “you don’t.”

“i do!” he swears, grabbing your hand. “i’m listening. tell me what’s wrong.”

he says this condescendingly, because you already told him—kind of—but he knows that if you have to repeat it, you’ll break.

“this is why they say familiarity breeds contempt.”

peter smiles. “are you feeling contemptful right now?”

you nod.

he leans again, and you cant push him away. “how can i help?”

“you can apologize.”

peter’s smile grows softer as you look at him with eyes of steel, like he finds this version of you cute. your pout and your false anger, all bundled up into one perfect package.

just for him, you suppose.

he leans in some more, “i’m sorry,” he says, softly, just brushing your lips. “i was excited.”

you purse your lips, even while his are soft and teasing against them. it feels kind of like a feather brushing your skin, like peters got his own secret form of tickling you.

teasing you, like he always does. familiarity breeds contempt, and comfort, and confusion, and…

he kisses you fully, this time. a gentle peck. “i wanted to hear your voice,” he admits. “i’m impatient. i should listen to you more.”

“right…” you whisper, with him, as your only form of acknowledgement.

“i won’t call you while i’m out, okay? or i’ll pause somewhere.”

your brows are permanently fixed together. “don’t pause. just… get some headphones, or something.” you let your lips relax, finally, and they fall against his just as a consequence. “i like your voice too,” you admit, quietly, as an afterthought.

peters smile is bashful. “like wireless ones? not sure how that would work under the mask…”

“you made the suit,” you tell him, leaning back. “you cant figure it out, genius?”

“i’ll do it for you, i guess,” he sighs, but his fingertips trace the skin on both of your arms, simply because he’s that close.

“thank you.”

“are we done fighting now?”

you frown, pushing his hands away so you can cross your arms. “no. you really asked me to be your valentine over the phone?”

peter sighs, shaking his head. “i knew i should’ve gone with the skywriting.”

“or,” you say, rhetorically, “i don’t know, maybe a box of chocolates? flowers? a quick ‘hey, will you be my valentine?’ before you left this morning?”

“that’s so lame.”

“so is asking me over the phone.”

“i was excited,” peter argues. “i wanted an answer.”

“well you didn’t get one.”

“yes i did,” he tells you, finally grabbing your arm so he can pull you on top of him (because seriously, this is unfair).

“no.”

“you said i was your valentine,” he reminds you, tilting your head up so you’re looking at him.

“you’re mine,” you tell him, rolling your eyes. “i never said i was yours.”

“wow,” peter murmurs. “that might be the worst thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“please. i called you a vermin to may the other day.”

he pouts, childishly.

“ask me nicely,” you say, after a moment.

“i did.”

“ask me nicely again.”

there’s a pause where two stubborn people meet at a head—literally, head to head—and consider the prospects of losing this battle.

but peter is softer than you are, when you tease a smile on your lips, he breaks. “will you be my valentine?”

“hmm,” you ponder, looking away. “i’ll think about it. i mean, there’s a lot of options to choose from.”

peter bites your nose in retaliation and the two of you laugh until you’re dizzy

*

[lenoraslament]

Lorenzo Berkshire x Reader

Suddenly Requited

2.6k words fluff/smut

I’ve gotten quite a few requests for Enzo story. I have to be honest I haven’t felt as confident writing for him. So I stole from a short story that I began to write but turned into nothing…So here goes.

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, some fluff, college age Slytherins, unrequited love, curvy reader, insecure reader, oral ( both receiving), piv.

There is nothing as painful as unrequited love. Enzo had been the object of your adoration for years, the truth of your adoration had been woven into your friend group as common knowledge.

They all knew you loved him and truth be told so did he. There were moments where you wondered if he could feel the same. The push and pull of minor flirtations always leaving you confused but he never truly looked at you that way.

So you watched him date girls you knew, have relationships, chip off pieces of your heart as you sat and let your heart bleed.

This summer was business as usual, the lake house. Even though it had been a few years since Hogwarts you were still tight. You and the other Slytherins in your friend group were all to meet up there separately as it was the middle of the summer. Most of you scattered to the winds of different colleges or paths but this brought you all together.

The house stood quiet in the evening when you arrived, the white slat house with blue shutters always made your heart flutter. Up the wooden steps to the large porch you walked. Were you the first one? You figured this was the case until steady footsteps walked towards the door. The door swung open and the sight of Enzo standing there with his sheepish smile made your heart stop.

“Oh hey Enz,” you said softly as you quickly glanced away. He was too handsome, too tall and glowing from sweat.

“Hey Y/N, fuck it’s hot, the AC must be out. Do you know a cooling charm? I feel like I’m going to die”. He said as he surveyed the blush on your cheeks. You nodded and walked in the door past him dragging your bag behind you.

He was right the room was sweltering, the whole house was. If downstairs was stuffy, upstairs was an oven, you pointed your wand and cast the cooling charm but it wasn’t powerful enough to work instantaneously. You both sat down across from eachother on couches with open windows billowing with a too gentle breeze.

“Where the fuck is everyone?” He asked almost in an accusatory tone. It pissed you off a little, sure you had a crush but this being alone together wasn’t a scheme.

“How am I supposed to know,” you grumbled.

His mouth opened to answer and then it occurred to you to check your phone.

The group chat messages told a tale of summer laziness, arguing over taking the train or flying. It was too far to apparate. It seemed that they had all come to the conclusion to come down tomorrow morning. Enzo had his phone out reading the same messages as you. Unwittingly you both made eye contact and looked away.

“Great,” Enzo said making you scoff. Asshole. You didn’t know what his problem was because you two usually got along.

“I’m going to bed,” you sighed and stood up, two steps up the stairs to your usual room and that heat hit you like a tidal wave. You were not going to lay up there in the sweltering heat just to make him more comfortable. Fuck that.

You walked back in and he didn’t even look up from his phone.

“Goodnight?” Enzo asked sounding a little lighter, you saw the smirk and you knew. He had claimed the only bedroom downstairs.

“I’m going to sleep on the couch,” you said haughtily, decidingly annoyed with his behavior. His grin as he tried not to look at you was as maddening as it was handsome.

“You’re on the comfortable couch…move,” you said. Enzo finally met your frustrated expression with a smile.

“Oh are you going to sleep in that?” Enzo’s eyes swept down your body, to your jean shorts and plain t shirt. Even though you knew he was mocking you, seeing him eye you up made you blush.

“Well no I’m going to wear my pajamas,” you said, “if you leave”.

“Why do I have to leave?” He asked, you tilted your head with a disappointed glare. He was fucking with you. You knew he loved the attention. Your attention. It wasn’t enough that he had nearly half the girls in school dreamily staring at him, he had to fluster you. Just because he could. Because you were in love with him.

After years of these remarks, something inside of you snapped and you decided; two can play at this game. The dim lamp lit room helped embolden you and you walked over to your bag seated in the middle of the living room. So you pulled your shirt and shorts off standing there in your underwear. The action was so quick it startled you both. The realization of your own daring behavior made you reel. Immediately you regretted it. You wanted to pull your clothes back on but a tiny part of you couldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing you chickened out so you began to rifle in your bag.

Enzo had never seen a body like yours before. Before he saw you bathed in the warm glow of the soft lamp , he liked his women fit. Small perky breast, slim waists with toned arms. Women he could run miles with,and pull back home for rigorous, athletic sex.

He stared at your jarring beauty, wanting to drown in you. Soft curves in soft light. Shadows deepened the ripples on your waist and under the curves of your breast. A generous handle of hips he had the urge to sink his fingers into.

You thought him infallible. Years of perfect women with perfect bodies paraded in front of you. There wasn’t any hesitation to pull off your shirt and shorts in front of him so you could change. To stand there fiddling with the contents of your suitcase. You never considered he would care. Before you pulled out your pajama shorts you looked over at him.

The way he stared made you stop dead in your tracks. His hand rested on the counter, one hand laid unnaturally on his chest. Unbeknownst to you, he didn’t realize he was doing this. Hand over his heart, he did not turn away when your eyes met his. It would be understandable for you to assume he was only surprised by your nudeness. Both of your eyes only locked for a second before his eyes trailed back down. He drank in every slope, feeling a heat in his face rise. You were shocked by his face, lips parted, eyes lazily moving over her. Is he? Checking me out? Me? The realization emboldened you further.

You reached behind her and unhooked her bra. Letting it fall to the floor. A soft gasp escaped from his lips. Full heavy breasts, another novelty he had yet to experience. There were many things he enjoyed in this world, working with his hands, tinkering and fixing things. Sometimes even sports and reading. But he never cared for art.

His sophomore college year he sat bored through an art history class for what should have been an easy elective. Their required trip to a museum left him mostly unimpressed. The warm humid day hinted too much of summer to be ruined by cool, musty gallery air. Stern moon faces of renaissance women stared back at him.

They all seemed to scowl, resenting his presence as well. Finally a respite in the form of natural light pouring in a hall rescued him from the formal stiffness of oil paintings, it was hall of statues. Soft marble. Women draped over carved stone. Their alabaster skin catching light, catching shadows. So creamy and delicate he wanted to place his mouth against them and bite.

Now, you stood silently reminding him of those statues. Those soft natural women molded from stone. Their beauty so absolute it needed to be captured.

No words hung between you. Only the soft deep breaths that had joined in unison. He took the first step, hesitating finally letting his eyes reach yours again. He wanted to know if you would jump back, yank your shirt on and run out.

You felt like you were being tricked. The man you had loved your whole life, seeing you in a way you rarely let yourself be seen. By the time he crossed the room, the arousal was palpable. You were scared just then, even though you understood now that he was wanting you. His first touch would say everything.

He was a man after all. If he reached for your breasts first, you knew that this would be the only night you would be together. If he grabbed for your waist, it might be rough and quick. An urge to be met, filled and abandoned. Years for you however , of waiting for this moment. Was he really seeing you? Beyond a quick conquest, would he send you out quickly in the morning? Or even worse, in the middle of the night?

All these thoughts raced through your mind as he stood in front of you but luckily did not register on your face.

When he finally reached for you, he cupped your face. Now you gasped, as he lifted your chin and kissed you. Deeply, softly, quickly finding a rhythm. Your lips and tongues sliding, breathing in each other’s breaths. His hands finally moved down onto your sides and you moaned into his mouth. You were ready to sink down onto the floor but he pulled away, “wait”, he whispered, and your face fell.

He took your hands, “let’s go to the bedroom”. Relief poured over you, and then he did. He led you down the hall, onto the bed. He was thankful for the curtain pushed aside, moonlight bathed in lighting their way. He wanted to see you, needed to. Your kissing became needy, his mouth trailed to your breast letting his tongue lazily lick your nipples before sucking each one. You bucked her hips, whining. Your hands moving endlessly through his hair, fingertips touching his shoulders trying to take in as much of him as possible.

He kissed stomach, lower and lower until he was teasing your thighs. Gently, he moved your legs apart until you were completely vulnerable to him.

Your legs trembled even before he touched you. Your breath hitched in anticipation, he took on a new playful air kissing each inner thigh with a smile enjoying the writhing underneath him. He put a finger in his mouth moistening it before relieving your ache. He traced his finger down your center. You were almost embarrassed at how loudly you moaned. His head dipped down between your thighs, he lapped against the heat until he found your clit. Your hips jumped up letting him know he had discovered the perfect spot. His mouth grinded leaving you wet and writhing. He hooked his arms around your legs, not giving until he felt them stiffen.

You threw your head back and cried out, almost sitting straight up from the flurry of pleasure. He held on letting you ride his mouth until your orgasm subsided and your body lay weak and dazed. When he sat up he saw your flushed cheeks, he wiped his mouth on the bedspread.

Now he could barely contain the burn of desire. He painfully hard further aroused at your outcries of pleasure. There was no mercy shown and he pulled you up by your shoulders to roughly kiss you before leading your mouth down to him.

You were erratic kissing his chest and neck, your nails sunk down his abs. Years of lust were radiating from your touch as you took him eagerly in her mouth. You couldn’t take all of him, although your eyes watered with effort. Your mouth was filled, you bobbed her head back and forth swallowing saliva letting him reach towards your throat. The unflattering noises, a soft choke or gag were covered by him uttering encouragement “oh fuck, yes, oh my god”.

The tenderness he had shown you at the start was overtaken by an animalistic need to take you. His hands tangled into your hair, he thrust into your mouth. When you both locked eyes, you saw his brows furrowed together his mouth was half open. He nodded at you rife with pleasure “good girl”.

The phrase could have sent you over the edge again, you were dripping down your own legs.

Suddenly he pulled your face away letting you crash onto her back against soft sheets. He crawled between your legs, putting himself at your entrance. You both had been lost in your actions, in the deep burning need for each other’s bodies. Now face to face you felt too vulnerable, you reached up and touched his cheek saying his name softly.

You both knew it was a question, he nuzzled it and placed his hand over yours.

Your hair lay behind her in wild waves, cheeks were flushed, even in your concern you had a dreamy look on your face.

“You’re so beautiful” he said earnestly, and reached his face down to kiss you deeply again. He felt you relax, and he slid inside of you slowly. Both moaning into kiss, breathing sighs of relief.

He rose above you putting more vigor into his thrusting. He folded your legs back and pushed against them to penetrate further, your mouth agape watching you throw your head back in pleasure crying out. He knew he couldn’t last long like this. The sight of your breasts jiggling, the scrunch of your face, the sound of your moans were bringing him too close. He stopped and laid on his back pulling you with him, so you climbed on top of him.

Normally you hated this position. Your mind would hone in on the perspective of your partner. Could he see my belly? Did my face look fat? Was I jiggling? It was too much exposure for you, sometimes even in the dark.

However bathed in moonlight you watched your lovers face. It was open and pleading. His hands squeezed your hips, you could feel him push against you, “ride me” he said. Not asked, demanded. You slid down him slowly, a hum escaping your lips. You began to rock back and forth, arching your back letting her body become an S.

The fluidity of the motion made you feel sexy, and threw your head back. He watched you blossom, lost in the moment. Continuing to move against you, holding your hips, he was so close. You felt herself near orgasm. You locked eyes, panting and moaning loudly. You tightened from your orgasm your hips bucking, it sent him over the edge and he let go inside of you.

In a flurry of breaths you reached for each other simultaneously. You came crashing down next to him in bed, tentatively. His hand snaked over to the small of your back to pull you in. You kissed for what felt like forever, until their lips were tired. Until it stopped feeling foreign. You were near sleep but was scared to close your eyes. It was too perfect, you wanted it too much.

His eyes were shut, the soft smile you had known for so long on his face. You laid staring at him, trying to breathe softer maybe he would forget you were there.

Unbeknownst to you he understood a semblance of what you were feeling. There wasn’t much room for doubt, because he knew what you couldn’t say.

He knew you loved him. He felt you watching him in the dark, too tired to explore his own feelings. Caught up in the moment he felt selfish for wanting you and selfish for not having the answer you were waiting for.

Relief came in the form of exhaustion. You could barely fight it, his eyes opened and he put his hand on your face.

“Goodnight” he said kissing you on the forehead. The reassuring act of tenderness finally let you surrender and you closed your eyes, relaxing into his embrace.

Part 2?

[ironunderstands]

2.1 was so good holy shit (spoilers, obviously)

GOD THEY ATE AND IM SPECIFICALLY GONNA TALK ABOUT HOW WELL THEY WROTE RATIO IN THIS BECAUSE IM FOAMING AT THE GODDAMN MOUTH IT CHANGES HOW YOU VIEW EVERYTHING BUT IN A GOOD WAY.

so, let’s start from the beginning in 2.0 I want to walk you through my experience of it

ratio mean to aventurine, everyone gets mad. I feel weird about it, pre-2.1 I come to the conclusion that he got used as a plot device in that scene, since being racist contradicts his core motivations and the dialogue is awkward and has no real reason behind it, I chalk it up to bad writing but ultimately forgive it because 2.1 seems centered around Aventurine so they need setup for that

2.1 drops, my bsf plays the update throughout the night and we are losing our shit. He gets to the part where Ratio “betrays” Aventurine. I fucking lose it, I try to reconcile this with my preconceived notions of ratio, they don’t match up at all, his behavior that whole time doesn’t in the slightest. I am confused, I wonder if I have been wrong about him this whole time, if his whole speech on the Space Station and his character quests were some kind of fluke. I mean it could be in character? Knowledge of how a stellaron works could save millions if not billions of lives, invaluable information which Ratio would have trouble turning down because of its value. It still feels deeply wrong, Ratio isnt a backstabber, and he wouldn’t so easily bargain with Sunday over information he has no confirmation of (and could likely obtain in some other way).

The story continues, me and Haseeb (aforementioned best friend) are still pissed, I’m losing it because my favorite character just did something so unforgivable and out of character and I feel like a complete and utter idiot for interpreting a character to be a good person when they so clearly weren’t. Well, I (luckily) was so so so so so so so wrong about that, as it was all a setup, a plan devised by Aventurine to distract Sunday and forward their goals. I’ve never been happier, and suddenly every weird behavior, every “this doesn’t make sense” goes from “bad writing” to perhaps one of my favorite retroactive twists in fiction.

Ratio belittling Aventurine for his background doesn’t make any sense, I mean we literally saw the guy give a whole ass speech about how he believes all people deserve access to knowledge and that everyone is capable of being creative and having intellect, but that they just have to try for it, and if they are incapable of it, he DOCTOR Ratio is there to lend a helping hand. To cure the galaxy of stupidity, something which he views as not the lack of knowledge but rather the misuse and misinterpretation of it, how he depises the Genius Society because they mostly do not try and use their intellect from the betterment of other, and actively guide/encourage other scientists (and in Hertas case the researchers at the space station) to view knowledge as some sort of prize or commodity rather than tool. This notion is what causes Screwellum to acknowledge that Ratio is more like a medical doctor than a scholar. And this notion is something Sunday Isn’t Aware Of.

Sunday doesn’t know who Ratio really is, he may have heard of his various exploits, but Ratio has a reputation for arrogance, bluntness and insensitivity, something which Ratio plays up to the nines. The 2.0 scene with Aventurine goes from seemingly massively OOC for Ratio to him actively playing up his negative reputation to play into Sundays perceptions of the pair for their plan. Ratio->

a) makes it seem like Aventurine fucked up and he’s mad at him for losing the cornerstones, something which Sunday would see and go “hmm they don’t like each other

b) this “oh I can drive a wedge between them” notion gets worse (although in their case better) when Ratio brings up Aventurine’s (not entirely accurate) background. Sunday now thinks he has leverage over Aventurine and even more of a chance of getting Ratio to betray him. Ratio also makes it seem like he just learned this information by stating he “did his homework” and this supposed unfamiliarity with one another would give Sunday more confidence to try and drive a wedge between them

c) this makes it seem like the IPC are unaware of the Families constant surveillance, as it looks like they are having an important conversation in a private room, which would make Sunday think they are unaware of his eyes and ears everywhere

Now let me qualify this notion with more evidence because you could still try and argue that the deal Ratio and Aventurine struck was post 2.0 argument

Topaz (my glorious Queen). At the end of the 1.4 (or was it 1.5?) Belabog quest she has a conversation with Aventurine in which he requests for her help in Penacony, and we do not get a confirmation on if she said yes or not. Until 2.1, in which the the Topaz (and Jade) stone in in Aventurines possession, meaning she took him up on that offer prior to 2.0 because how else would he bring multiple cornerstones there, which we know there are many because Ratio says he lost the cornerstones, not just his own. Topaz would not give this item up easily or on a whim in between 2.0 and 2.1, meaning she would have to be let in on his plan prior, meaning the plan was formed prior. Since Ratio was also assigned to this mission keeping him in the dark would make negative sense and actively undermine their collaboration, something which he brings up in their fake argument

2. The Final Victory Lightcone. I originally thought this scene to be after their argument for complicated reasons, the most important of which being the minor snippet of conversation we see between Ratio and Aventurine during the first time we meet Acheron. Aventurine mentions 3 chips, Ratio doubts him, and the lightcone description starts with Aventurine questioning his doubt and firing three shots, a perfect correlation that made me place the order of events in that way. However, we get to see the snippet of conversation between Aventurine and Ratio in game, right before they meet Sunday, not prior to the lightcone events. However, they are still clearly connected for aforementioned reasons, just in a different manner, let me explain. Now we know the three chips reference not bullets but the three cornerstones, and Ratio openly expresses his doubt because the family is always watching (something which I will get into) and because a part of him does doubt this plan will go well. However, Aventurine prior reminds him of the events of the lightcone with the three chips. My interpretation is that Aventurine took that gamble in the lightcone to convince Ratio to go along with his crazy plan since if he can win a game of Russian Roulette with an unwavering smile on his face he an insane gamble means nothing to him (ratio doesn’t buy it because it’s ratio but the sheer audacity or you could say the “charming audacity” makes him go along with it). In my opinion this scene only makes sense pre-penacony, due to the timeline of events, which is why I believe it the reason for the events in it has to be Aventurine trying to convince Ratio to join in.

3) The family is always watching. During the 2.1 story quest it gets brought up several times in many different ways that it seems like the family has eyes on everything and everyone. Sunday’s fuckass bird is everywhere, and the man himself (minus being a goddamn biblically accurate angel) is covered in eye shaped shit and possesses close ties with the Harmony, which lends itself well to a character that knows things considering the Aeon itself is a conglomeration of many different perspectives. He fucking perception checks Aventurine, when the crew goes to look for info on firefly they learn the dream pools monitor people’s vitals and everything, even producing a dialogue option where the trailblazer states they feel like their every move is being watched. Topaz gets stalked by bloodhound members upon arrival, I could go on. TLDR Sunday knows almost everything that’s going on in Penacony, this is what leads him to believe the traitor is within the family, and his access to knowledge is something the IPC 100% knows about. I mean they have been presumably attempting to try and get it back for a while, and they would reasonably extensively try and learn everything about it. The Family notoriously hates negotiating with them so the IPC either learning and/or coming to the conclusion that the Family is watching their every move isn’t a ridiculous notion. If this conversation was genuine, if Ratio truly wanted to discuss this matter with Aventurine, why would he do it in a likely wiretapped, not very soundproof room where any passerby could hear Ratio loudly exclaim that Aventurine lost the very important cornerstones and that he is also one of the most despised groups in the galaxy because that would really do numbers for both their reputations. If you think about it, this not being staged is an incredibly stupid blunder on Ratio’s end (minus the deliberate OOCness) because of all the places Ratio could set up a very important meeting he does it in one of the worst places ever.

4) The dialogue in the scene. It’s awkward, it’s so awkward and the whole “also my family died I didn’t get an education” seemed so tacked on the first time I watched it. Knowing now, it seemed so tacked on because it was, Aventurine had to shove the info in there somewhere and their incredible conversational skills decided that was the best part in there. Ratio fucking leaving before Aventurine is even done talking goes from a “huh weird” to a “wow he is really playing up this arrogant scholar role”. And if Ratio is playing the arrogant scholar, Aventurine is playing the dumb, helpless, blonde to a T. Losing the cornerstones and acting nonchalant about it, letting Ratio insult him so callously and letting the insults slide, talking absolute nonsense at the end about random things that don’t matter, sadly lamenting into the distance that he’s alone again. Bro is playing it up and I live for it. They also and play up these personas in their little adventure prior to meeting Sunday, Aventurine asks stupid questions like wondering about the species of the bird that make up the statues and talking about how he wants to play in the sandpit and even insulting Sunday a bit, behavior that would make Sunday think him unprepared and unserious rather than cold and calculating. If Aventurine does that well, Ratio plays up his arrogant, uncaring scholar persona to the nines. He insults any and every decision or thing Aventurine does, loudly sighing of how happy he is to finally have some peace and quiet when Aventurine leaves his sight for 0.00008 milleseconds, pointing out his sarcasm, beefing with a random Pepeshi bodyguard no reason, pointing out his sarcasm, just the exaggerated way he talks in general, and suggesting he admit Aventurine into the Genius Society (even Ratio wouldn’t stoop so low as to suggest Aventurine was worthy of that).

Moreover, this is really, really tragic because I do think there are several moments of genuine banter and fun the two share “Ratio, you’re huge!” was not added to the script to enhance the plot guys. And obviously Aventurine knows most of Ratios behavior is acting, however he has such severe trust issues, and Ratio is so damn straightforward and blunt that he worries the man was serious about some of it which just breaks my heart. Soft Ratio please add it give me one conversation, the note at the end of 2.1 doesn’t count it’s too short.

Ultimately, knowing what I know now I can’t help but view the 2.0 conversation with Aventurine as being anything but staged, it simply makes no sense otherwise, and it happily obsolescent Ratio of his sins. This was a bit incoherent I honestly just wanted to rant (if you couldn’t tell haha) but I hope you enjoyed it regardless. I need sincere Ratio more then I need oxygen and I’m not afraid to say it.

[alotofpockets]

Holiday break | Mary Earps x Reader

Where you enjoy a Barbados holiday with your wife

Woso masterlist | Words: 1k

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“Welcome back to another edition of Mazza’s hotel tours!” Mary says as she opens the hotel room door and urges her fans inside, and by her fans she means you holding the phone to upload the video to her TikTok later. 

“A lot of you wonder who films these hotel tour videos and today I would like you to meet the lovely videographer.” She takes the phone from your hands and turns the camera around. “It’s my lovely wife!” You wave at the camera. “Alright love, give that back now please. The people aren’t here to see me, they are here for the legendary Mazza.” The camera captures the way you lovingly look at your wife before she hands you back the phone. 

“And now onto the tour! Welcome to our beautiful room in Barbados.” You follow Mary around as she shows off your hotel room, in each room she mentions something about the decor, and makes it show like she always does. Your wife was known for her TikTok’s and even on holidays the woman did not disappoint. 

On the balcony overlooking the beach Mary finished the video, “Thank you for coming along, and I am sure I will see you again soon!” 

Mary made quick work on editing the video, while she was laying in your arms. A couple minutes of editing and the video was posted. “Alright, do you want to go to the pool or the beach first?” She asked, turning in your arms so she could peck your lips a couple of times after her question. “Wanna go check out the beach first?” 

After a short walk you arrive on the white sand and see the turquoise water up close for the first time. “It��s so beautiful.” Mary smiles at you, “Yeah it is, just like you.” It didn’t matter how many years you had been married to the goalkeeper, she would never stop flirting with you. “Alright flirt, let’s find a spot and enjoy this holiday.”

It didn’t take long before Mary ran into the ocean and dived in instantly. “Baby, come on! It’s so nice.” Who were you to say no to her? You approached the water at a slower pace, but once your feet touched the water, you got to the same level of excitement of your wife. “I can’t believe this place is real.” 

Mary took hold of your hand and pulled you closer to her, “Well believe it baby, and it's our home for the next week.” You grabbed her face with both your hands and kissed her. “This holiday is going to be perfect.”

In her hotel tour video she had said they would see more of her soon, and when Mary saw you peacefully sunbathing on your towel, she had the perfect idea of what to do next. She grabbed her phone and an empty bottle before walking to the water's edge.

“I’ve got probably the worst idea of my life, so I am documenting this in case it will be my final TikTok ever. So, my wife is over there napping in the sun.” She zoomed in on you laying on the beach. “And I have this bottle that I just filled with water from the ocean. I think you all know where my head is at right now. Anyways, if you don’t hear from me again, this is proof that I deserve what’s coming to me.” Mary laughs at the camera before she turns the camera around and approaches you slowly.

The moment the cold water hit your back you shot up, “Oh my god that’s so cold!” You jump up to shake off the cold water and see Mary laughing with the camera on your face. “You’re dead, Earps.” You say before you start chasing after her. The video ends when you tackle your wife to the ground and the two of you roll onto the sand. Mary ended up posting it like that, with your permission of course. You made her think you were even, but you had already thought of your revenge plan, you just had to wait until you were at the pool. 

A plan that came into action the next morning. “Oh baby, I saw this fun trend where people put their phone down and then step over it in one location, and then again in a new location so it looks like they travelled through the phone. Here, let me show you some examples.” You grab your phone and open your saved TikTok’s to show your wife the trend.

Mary loved the trend and asked what you had in mind for the location. “So, I was thinking we start it here, like fully dressed and then we end it at the pool in our swimsuits.” Mary was on board and you set up the shot at the hotel. 

She stepped over the phone first, and you followed. Then you changed into your swimsuits and headed down to the pool. It was still quiet, so you had the pool to yourselves. You set up the phone so the background showed the pool and the beautiful surroundings. Mary jumped over first again and then turned around, waving for you to come too. You jump over and run to hug her, but instead of hugging her, you push her into the pool. “And that is how it’s done.” You say to the camera as you pick it up to walk over to the pool’s edge. 

“What do you have to say to the fans, baby?” You smirk wide at your girlfriend leaning up on the pool’s edge. “If you mess with your wife, she messed with you back?” You nod, “Yeah, remember that people!”

You set the phone away and join Mary in the pool. “How about no more pranks for the rest of the week?” Mary swims towards you, “Hmm, what’s the fun in that?” You roll your eyes, Mary knew you loved pranks just as much as she did.

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[verinarin]

𝙃𝙞𝙨 𝙢𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙪𝙧𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙨; 𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙬

in which he lets her measure his body for a new set suit for him, riddling him with her innocent touches; his view meaning the fic is written in his point of view

fluff with a lot of tension, like drenched with it. Gallagher lowkey being obsessive and loves to tease and spoil his little lady; 2K words!!

It’s Saturday.

She said she wouldn’t be home until later tonight, so I’m alone for the rest of the day. I’ve been sharing my roof with her for around 3 months now. Funny, I seem to forget how quiet this place is without her. At this hour she would be on the couch with the television on, her favorite shows would air around this time.

Am I being a creep for knowing her daily schedule like this?

Hope not, I mean that brat has been stickin’ beside me ever since day one.

Ah shit, it’s supposed to be the other around. She’s my secretary, but here I am acting like I’m some sort of personal assistant of hers, ah that little minx had me all wrapped around her pretty little manicured fingers huh?

Can’t complain though, not when she does her job perfectly.

It’s just that I rarely wanted her to work, to begin with. Her day consists of following me around like an assistant yet she treats me like I’m her assistant instead. Ahahaha I ain’t setting up a good example as her boss, but then again no one could blame me.

I mean with those fucking doe eyes and pouty lips, she’s the type of woman people wrote on their poetry. At this point, It’s clear as day that I miss that little brat. Y’know I’ll just take a quick shower before she comes home, I don’t want her to drag me to the bathroom again like yesterday.

Stepping into the shower made me realize that every single thing here smells like her. Her vanilla-scented shampoo bottle sits next to mine, her body scrubs, her soap. Damn, I never realized how much product she used, no wonder she cooped up in her for a good hour or more, being a pretty lady like her looks like hard work, perhaps harder than my line of work.

She smells like heaven afterward though, so I won’t complain.

Never mind, I would actually complain about one thing.

The fact that her scent drives me crazy sometimes, not to mention the fact that while working she often clings to me like a second skin. The amount of questions I get asking about why my clothes smell like vanilla and roses is crazy. The other hounds, hell even Siobhan tease me for smelling like a lady.

Well, as long as I don’t reek of smoke and alcohol like I used to I guess it’s a good change. As the cold water rinses through my body, I start to worry about her. She’s an adult, she would be fine traveling around Penacony, but why am I worried about her like I’m her old man? Probably because she didn’t tell me where she was going, this girl goes on a shopping spree almost every week and the one thing she never forgets to bring is her walking ATM, which is me.

Should I go look for her?

Nah, she must’ve needed some time alone. She’s probably sick of an old geezer like me, all I could entertain her with is my crappy dad jokes and a little mixology classes here and there. She seems to like my cringe dad jokes though weirdly enough and she also learns quickly on mixing beverages.

Once I finished rinsing my worries away, I put on a pair of sweatpants. I sigh as I brush my damp hair back remembering that I forgot to bring my shirt inside, my age is starting to catch up on me. Oh well, it’s not like she’s coming home soon. I let out a small chuckle as I looped the small towel I used for my hair around my neck.

The mirror in front of me reflects my rugged face, my fingertips graze upon my stubble feeling the sharp little hairs protruding from my cheek. I’ve been thinking of shaving it clean off for a while, but I remember her weird fondness for my stubble. That girl loves rubbing the back of her hand across my face like I’m some sort of a dog, which in this case relates to my line of work funnily enough.

I figured I’d let it be for now, can’t have her whine about my appearance now like she did last month when I talked to her about cutting my hair short. Her argument was if I did cut my hair she wouldn't be able to play with it anymore, such a silly girl that one.

I should fix myself a cup of coffee before cleaning around the house, it ain’t like I have anything better to do other than waiting for her like a lost puppy. I let out a hefty yawn as I walked towards the kitchen. It's easier for me to find things these days since she arranges it in a specific way. Before her, it took me around 5 minutes to search for the coffee bean, but now I can see the labeled jar from far away.

I couldn't help but let my lips curve into a small smile as I twisted the jar open, the charming scent of the coffee beans she picked emanated through the air, that little lady has good taste I must admit. Heh, she must’ve learned it from me. She used to be a tea gal before she met me, but now it seems she quite enjoys a little more caffeine here and there.

Can’t help to let out a small smirk as I brew myself a cup of coffee. She utterly consumes me at this point, every single damn thing reminds me of her it ain’t funny. I never thought I could still feel this giddy like a teenage kid at my current age, but then again she had always said that I still have my child-like wonder.

I rest my body against the counter, the cold marble hits my bare waist making me wince at the sudden temperature difference. After this, I’ll do laundry and then afterward I should start preparing for dinner.

As I lost myself in my thoughts I could hear the sound of a key twisting inside the keyhole, ah she’s home. “I’m back. Miss me, old man?” she muses as she turns her head towards me.

“Nah, I’m starting to miss my short-lived tranquility though,” I smile, pressing the rim of my glass against my lips to hide my smirk. She on the other hand has her eyes wide open, her mouth wide agape.

She stares at me a little too long before I finally break the silence between us, “Why'd ya look at me that way kid ?” I ask as I gaze toward her small face, analyzing her expression.

“You’re practically half naked, but wait that’s good actually,” shit, I forgot about that. She starts to walk towards me with a nasty smile, oh she’s scheming something alright.

“What? why is it a good thing? you've never seen a man’s body before ?” I snicker, masking away my flustered interior.

“Oh because I could clearly measure it now,” she smiles. Now hold on, measure what ??!!! The seemingly ambiguous sentence drives my mind toward possibilities that would definitely put me behind bars.

“Measure what huh ?” I let out a small chuckle, I put my cup down and leaned towards her eye level.

“You definitely won’t fit a size XL,” she sighs. Well ouch! cut me some slack little lady. I might be slacking off on my training, but I’m still in good shape. “What a way to break this old man’s heart you little brat, fyi I’ll definitely fit a size L,”

“Said that to your shirt. The poor thing needed its button to be stitched back up yesterday,” okay maybe she’s right but it still stings, my lips curve downward as I look at her, she’s out here breaking my heart to pieces.

“I’m not saying you’re putting on weight, what I’m saying is I want to measure your measurements so that I can buy you something custom-made,” she caresses my chest as her eyes lock towards mine.

I could feel my heartbeat drumming against my eardrum as her touch burned against my skin, marking it as hers. Fuck, feels so fucking good to feel her touch. Is it greedy for me to want more of her?

Her pink ‘nd soft lips curve into this delicate smile.

Fuck, she looks so pretty like that.

“Oh, what’s the occasion for dressing up this old hound ?” I smile as I lean forward to close the gap between us, trying to take control of my not-so-innocent thoughts about her lips.

I can’t recall anything worth celebrating between us, maybe the fact that I’m cutting down on smoking, but that’ll be worth something when I fully ditch it.

She merely chuckles before lightly hitting my chest like I’m telling her a funny joke, “You are an old man after all, how can you forget that three months from now is going to be the annual family?”

Ah right….

I was never the person who enjoyed those fancy parties, but hey I have her by my side so maybe I might change my stance.

“Those types of events were never my thing,” I avert my gaze, my finger drums against my nape.

“Well those types of events are my thing, so you’ll come right?” I mean with those puppy eyes, of course I’ll come.

“Fine, I guess this year’s gala could be bearable with you by my side,” I could only sigh as I stroked her hair, truly she dictates the same way as an old friend of mine.

With a smile that rivals the sun curving on her lips, she pulls out a measuring tape from her purse. Ah, so this is the ‘measuring’ part she talked about.

“Since when you’re a tailor,” I snicker as her fingers trace the long tape to find the zero mark.

“Oww hush, you’ll be the first person I’ll measure so be kind,” she mutters as she unravels the tape, “Alright lady,”

She leans closer to me as her finger holds one side of the tape beside my bare ribcage, “Stay still,” she mumbles, easier said than done.

How can I stand still when her fingertips press against my skin? It’s my damn Achilles heel. She’s too close, way too close. I don’t know how to act nor what to think when she’s soo damn close to me, the air feels stuffy and the atmosphere feels way too intimate and somehow sexual?

Kill me now.

She almost has her small face pressing against my chest, my bare chest to be exact which made this seemingly harmless interaction so dangerous.

Her other hand still struggles to find the tape behind my back. “Your chest is too broad,” she complains, I just let out a snicker at her statement which made her lose her focus.

“M’sorry anything I could do to help ?” I couldn’t do anything though, I could only extend my arms to the side to let her in, closer to me.

“Just stay still,” she huffs. Alright then, I’m cool as a cucumber. Without any warning, her cheek presses against my chest as she hugs me.

The warmth of her skin seeps through my cold chest, now this warmth burns inside me. “Ah! This works,” well I’m happy for her but there’s practically no distance between us, not even an inch.

“Stay still ol’ hound,” I must’ve been moving too much. I look down at her, her fingers skillfully bring the other side of the tape in front of my chest.

Now her forehead rests against my chest as she struggles to read the number that transpires, “Uhhh how do I read this again ?” she huffs.

“Can’t read a simple measurement now ?” my hand finds its way back toward her head, brushing a loose strand back behind her ear.

“Don’t tease,” well of course I’m going to tease as if I’m not the one who's secretly flustered as hell.

“Alright got it, now I’m going to drag this down to your waist,” she smiles as she drags both of her hands down and tightens the tape around my waist.

I never thought of myself to be a squeamish person, but I am now. “Oh wow, your chest and waist ratio are quite something….”

“What d’ya mean by that ?” I ask as she looks up towards me, “Your waist is quite slim and also your shoulders are broad so you do have that hourglass silhouette…” she muses to herself.

Well, ain’t that interesting…..

“Oh yeah your shoulders and back !” she naps herself back from her trance, cute.

With that, she took a couple of minutes to measure my upper body to the best of her abilities. Albeit the fact that I need to crouch down a bit for her to be able to measure my shoulders and back.

She takes a couple of steps back with newfound determination exuding her. I guess it’s from the fact that she’s getting the hand of measuring me.

“Are we done now ?” I ask, rather impatiently. Her fingers still linger in any direction she wants. Mapping every single inch of me into her memory.

“Still a long way to go,” she huffs. I see that she wants me to be as still as a mannequin, the things I do for her…

She hums a familiar tune, a song I like to hum. She crouches down bringing the tape around my hips, then she circles back in front of me, “Pardon my intrusion,”

Well the sentiment is rather too late now, she had been breaching my personal space since the very beginning. She couldn’t help but rest her forehead against my lower stomach as she looked down, reading the tape.

“Take your time, s’not like I could go anywhere,” I sigh as I stroke her hair, letting her silky smooth locks stream through my fingers. “I thank you for your coordination,” she snickers as she looks up at me, pretty little thing she is.

So stinkin’ cute. I smile as I cup her cheeks, letting my thumb graze against his lower lip, “Anytime, Lady,” I reply, before casually folding my arms back against each other.

Why the fuck did I just do that?

“I’m going to go lower now, I need to get some measurements for your pants,” she continued her current action without any signs of discomfort, thank god. “Oh wow even a pair of pants, you spoil this ol’ hound too much,” I feel as though my chest cavities were filled with cotton, making my heart all warm and soft.

“We both know you spoiled me rotten, Gallagher,” she cuts me, the tape now encircling around my thighs.

“Have I now?” Honestly, she deserves more than I could afford.

“You have you silly hound. Now let me repay your kindness,” her face now rests against my thighs as the tape travels slightly lower.

“Heh is this your way into getting to my pockets again,” I snicker, knowing that it’s one of her best manipulation tactics. Acting all cute and then stealing my money.

“Hey! I’m spending my own paycheck on this mister,” she protests as she stands up. “Oh, she’s a big girl now. She doesn’t need my money anymore right ?”

“Well technically no,” she looks away to the side, biting her lips in annoyance.

“She doesn’t need my money, but I’ll give it to her anyway because she has me wrapped around her little fingers,” I cup her cheeks, guiding her face to see me. “Cuz she’s my lil lady,” I smile as I press our forehead together, I can feel a thin imaginary veil between us.

“Of course I am and you’re my old hound,” she wraps her arms around my neck as my hand rests on her waist.

The thin barrier that puts a blur in our relationship, but somehow it just feels right, whatever we are it’s perfect. I don’t need more or less, just her warmth against mine.

[arc-misadventures]

What are those: wallow decided to go to beacon academy with winter to go see how wiess is doing but instead meet with jaune

The Dragon’s Diamond

A small bullhead flew through the air towards, Beacon Academy. It was a privately owned airship that belonged to the, Schnee Dust Company, and right now it was carrying an assortment of precious cargo: The daughter of the founder of the, SDC, Willow Schnee. Her eldest child, Winter Schnee. And a locked cased filled with diamonds of various sizes, and quality. At least what they assumed were diamonds. For they had come here to see if they were in fact real diamonds.

Winter: I’m sorry mother, but I must protest; Why did you have to come along to handle this simple endeavour; you could have simply handed over your, and my diamonds to, Klein, and let him handle it. Why did you have to come along?

Willow: I needed a vacation. This seemed like a reasonable excuse why to do so. Besides, it also gives me an excuse to be around my daughters. Is there something wrong with me desiring to be with my family my dear?

Winter: …

Winter: No, no there isn’t anything wrong with that, it’s just unexpected is all.

Willow: I understand, but being away from home also keeps me away from drinking. I’ve managed to at least reduce the amount I’ve been drinking substantially, but being around your father long enough will lead me back to drowning myself in the bottle again. I cannot allow that to happen.

Winter: I… I’m sorry, I thought you chose to leave for different reasons.

Willow: Like trying fine, Valian wines?

Winter: Ahh! Yes… Yes I thought so.

Willow: Well, depending on what, and where we’re having dinner I wouldn’t mind a suitable wine to go along with it, but I have to stop drinking. Not so much for myself, but for you, your sister, and your brother. I… I want to stay a part of your lives, to see you grow old, and start families of your own in the future. It would be a shame if I am to deny myself these opportunities because I drank myself to death…

Winter: Thank you, Mother. Hearing you say that means a lot to me. But, if you want to give up drinking, why are you looking forward to having wine with your meal?

Willow: I’m slowly weaning myself off drinking. Not everyone can just go cold turkey now can they?

Winter: I would prefer it if you did.

Willow: Well, it would probably be for the best if I did, but… Oh, we’re here, let’s continue this discussion later, and find your sister.

Winter: Very well then, Mother.

As the ship landed the mother, and daughter duo grabbed their luggage, and made their way towards the academy. As they neared closer to the tower, Willow couldn’t help, but take in the sights around her.

Willow: Oh my… Beacon Academy is such a lovely place.

Winter: Yes, the warm breeze, and vibrant greenery give this place such a relaxing air to it.

Willow: I know, Weiss went to, Beacon to escape father in, Atlas. But, do you suppose this rich atmosphere contributed to it?

Winter: I believe it was more so her desire to escape, Father. But, this is a nice benefit.

Willow: I hope she is feeling happy here.

Winter: Me too.

Willow: But, where do you believe she is?

Winter: I have no idea, there should be an information desk up front we can ask.

Willow: Or, I suppose we could ask him if he knows where, Weiss is.

Winter: Who?

As they drew closer to the, Academy they saw the statue out front, and a student sitting on the base of the statue. They noticed that he was seemingly mumbling to himself as he ran his hands through his golden hair as he evaded the white horns poking out.

Winter: A faunas?

Willow: Excuse me, young man?

: Hmm, what? Oh, hello.

Willow: Hello. I was wondering if you could help us.

: With what?

Winter: We’re looking for my sister, Weiss Schnee, do you perchance know her?

: Weiss Schnee? Yeah, I know her, we’re friends after all.

Willow: Excellent, can you please lead us to her?

: Sure I can… I can…?! Hurk?!

His hand quickly came up to cover his mouth, seemingly trying to repress a gag. His luck failed him as he continued to dry heave until a he opened his mouth, and a belch of fire erupted from his mouth before he fell into a small coughing fit as small jets of flame escaping his mouth with each cough. As soon as his coughing fit ended he popped a small white marble into his mouth, before turning to address the duo.

: Jacques you cheap bastard! (Cough!) Ahem, sorry about that, upset stomach. Hehe…

The duo looked at him in stunned shock, taking a moment for themselves to collect themselves. Willow seemingly able to keep her wits about her.

Willow: A-Are you okay?

: Yeah, I’m fine.

Winter: But, you just belched fire?

: That’s a semi-common occurrence.

Willow: But…?!

Winter: Wait, Mother… Male, blue eyes, blond hair, horns, and can breath fire… You’re the, Dragon King, Jaune Arc, aren’t you?

Jaune: That’s me, well mostly. I’m not a king of any sorts, but I am a dragon faunas. Anyway, my name is, Jaune Arc, nice to meet you.

Jaune offered his hand for the pair to shake as they introduced themselves in kind.

Willow: Willow, Willow Schnee, it’s a pleasure to meet you.

Winter: Specialist Winter Schnee.

Jaune: So you’re, Weiss’s family? That explained the smells.

Winter: Smells?

Jaune: I have a highly, highly acute sense of smell. I can smell familiarity’s between people, to the point I can tell if someone is related to another.

Winter: That sounds like an impressive ability.

Jaune: It has its downsides… Like my little sister trying to use me as a bloodhound…

Willow: You said you are friends with my daughter, Mr. Arc, can you lead us to her?

Jaune: Uhhh… No, no I can’t. She went into, Vale with the rest of her team just a little while ago.

Winter: She did, why?

Jaune: I don’t know; I left to ‘throw up,’ and when I came back she, and her teammates had disappeared. My sister said that they had made an emergency trip to, Vale, and that was all there was to it. Do you want me to call her, and let her know you’re here?

Winter: No… Well, maybe we should.

Willow: Oh dear… I was hoping to surprise her with our sudden visit.

Jaune: You can still do that if you want.

Willow: We can, how?

Jaune: Weiss, and her teams room is just down the hall from my teams room. You can wait there until she arrives.

Winter: What do you think mother?

Willow: We might as well, this young man has graciously offered us his place to us while we wait for your sister to return. We won’t be in there for a few hours at most.

Winter: Very well, we graciously accept your kind offer, Mr. Arc.

Jaune: My pleasure, and please, just call me, Jaune.

Winter: Very well then, Jaune.

Jaune: Even if you rejected my offer you’d no doubt be taken to my room anyway so I could inspect those diamonds, and any other gemstones of yours. If there are any that is…

Winter: What are you talking about?

Jaune: Two things: Those are, Fortress grade safe-boxes, made by the, Gem Refinery. To which I own, I know my merchandise. Especially the safe-boxes…

Willow: Wait, you’re the owner of the, Gem Refinery?

Jaune: Yes, I am. Second I over heard, Weiss… screaming to her father on how she wanted her entire families precious jewels so they can be appraised. And, who is that appraiser, me: Jaune Arc, the Lapidary Master!

Willow: You’re the, Lapidary Master?!

Jaune: Yep!

Willow: I don’t believe you. You’re just a teenager, and you’re supposedly the worlds most renowned fine cut gem grader?

Jaune: Oh, just you wait, and see darling! Now then, lets go look at some pretty stones!

~~~

Jaune: Hmmmm…?

Jaune hummed in speculation as he examined a rather large diamond on a gold ring with a jewellers magnifier. Willow looked on in a chair besides him, while, Winter look on from his bed as, Jaune worked.

Willow: That was the engagement ring my husband gave me, he said it is one caret diamond ring.

Willow: …

Willow: It is a diamond ring… Right?

Jaune looked at, Willow, back to the ring, and then back to her. Their eyes stayed locked for a moment before he threw it into his mouth, and a hard crunching sound soon followed this action.

Willow’s face fell into her hands as she groaned in disbelief at what she had just witnessed, again.

Willow didn’t believe, Jaune when he started sorting her diamonds into two piles, one labeled real, and labeled fake. The ‘fake’ pile had grown considerably larger then the ‘real’ pile to the point she doubted he was actually genuinely grading her diamonds, and was trying to steal them. To prove his innocence, he grabbed a sizeable real diamond, and bit it. The sound it made was akin to bitting a jaw breaker: hard, and solid, as if one smacked their head against a wall.

Jaune, then grabbed one he deemed a ‘fake’ and bit into it. The sound was like someone bit into a hard candy, and wanted to chew it up, instead of sucking on it; Loud, and crunchy.

He made this a habit whenever she doubted his expertise, as a master gemologist. A habit she had come to dread because of the details that followed with it.

Luckily that was the second to last diamonf he needed to inspect, and she knew for certain that the last one wasn’t fake.

Willow: At least tell me the ring was made of gold?

Jaune spat out the piece of metal next to the pile of fakes, she grimaced as she looked at him as he regretfully smiled at her.

Jaune: Well… Pyrite, isn’t called ‘fools gold’ for nothing… hehe…

Willow: Gods dammit… My husband bought me a fake engagement ring?! How cheap of a man is he?!

Winter: More so then we could possibly believe…

Jaune: I doubt he was in this case.

Winter: What do you mean?

Jaune: Well… From what I’ve been told your father is a greedy whore. Uhh?! N-No offence.

Winter: None taken.

Willow: Please, feel free to continue badmouthing my husband at your leisure.

Jaune: Okay? Anyway, your husband is a greedy whore, from what I’ve seen. And, from what, Weiss has said about him is that he doesn’t commit to anything that doesn’t have a shiny price tag attached to it. I think he acquired these gemstones as a future investment. Liquid assets as you would put it.

Winter: That sounds like something father would do, but why would he buy fakes? My father is a greedy bastard, and will do everything to save a chip. He wouldn’t buy fake diamonds, there’s no value in that.

Jaune: Maybe he didn’t know he was buying fakes?

Winter: You believe someone swindled him?

Willow: It is a logically sound idea when you think about it.

Jaune: I’m well aware of several infamous gem pedlars. Give me a list of your sellers, and I could identify who is a legit seller, and who is not. Because there are some real ones here, so maybe he bought the fakes from one person, and the real ones from another.

Willow: I believe they were all acquired from one person, at least the vast majority were.

Jaune: And, that person’s name is?

Willow: Cartiff… Cartiff… Oh, I forget his first name.

Jaune: …

Jaune: It wouldn’t happen to be, Quintin now would it…?

Willow: Quintin… Yes, Quintin Cartiff, that was his name. How did you know?

Jaune: Quintin… Quintin Cartiff…

Willow: J-Jaune? Is everything okay…

Jaune: Quintin CARTIFF!!!

Winter immediately jumped in front of her mother pulling her mother back. Her hand stayed on her blade as she saw a truly terrifying sight. Within the space of a blink the calm, and happy boy revealed a monster of fire, and ash. His head realed upwards as he scream his name in a bloody rage. Winter got to see first hand the hidden fang he hide behind that warm, and inviting smile of his. The way his mouth shut, terrified her knowing full well he could bite down into someone in mere seconds, and could easily pierce through aura, and flesh like it was tissue paper. She marvelled at the sight of blue flames erupting from clenched fangs. The reports she had seen about the dragon faunas were fragmented, and vague, but even those brief insights paled in reality at the sight before her.

The flames, erupting from, Jaune’s teeth slowly fettered out as a finally deep exhale escaped his lips, he shook his head as if trying to shake off some sort of ill feeling upon him. He leaned back in his chair to look at the mother, daughter duo as he gave them a nervous, and embarrassed smile as he awkwardly scratched the back of his head.

Jaune: Ah haha… Sorry about that… I didn’t expect hearing his name to set me off like that… Hehehe… Sorry…

Willow: It seems you are well acquainted with this individual?

Jaune: As well as I would like to be. The bastard is an infamous counterfeiter, specializing in fake jewels. Particularly diamonds. I met him years ago after I just started out my… passion for collecting precious gemstones. He sold me some nice diamonds the first few times, but then he came back again, and the ‘diamonds’ he brought were all fakes. He denied it of course. Then I ate his ‘diamonds’ to prove to him that they were all fakes.

Willow: Oh, so eating fake diamonds is not a recent habit you’ve developed. I thought it was just for show.

Jaune: Well, yeah it kinda is. I mean what better way to prove if a diamond is a fake?

Winter: Do you often eat precious stones?

Jaune: No, I tend to eat, Dust more so then cubic zirconia, and the like. That’s why I was belching fire earlier, Weiss fead me some, SDC Dust that made me sick to my stomach. Jacques is such a cheap bastard…

Winter: Wait, you eat, Dust?!

Willow: And, what does my husband have to do with that?

Jaune: Okay, one box left to examine!

Jaune simply ignored the ladies questions as he took out the last box. It was a seven inch cube box covered in various locking mechanisms that, Jaune was quite intrigued on opening it himself. But, in the pursuit of time he just handed it over to, Willow who opened it herself. And, upon it’s opening, Jaune beheld a beautiful sight. The one diamond he had been hoping to see for ages.

The famous, Schnee Diamond.

The diamond was cut into an orb with a with a three diameter, roughly making it the same size as your average baseball. It shimmered, and sparkled like a star under the light of his desk lamp. He extended the talons on his hand as he picked it up, and inspected this prized jewel. Turning it over as he marvelled in its beauty.

Willow: …?

Willow: Do you like it, Mr. Arc?

Jaune: …

Willow: Do you like it, Jaune?

Jaune: …

Willow: Jaune!

Jaune: Huw? Oh yeah, It is such a marvellous diamond… I’ve been dreaming of seeing it, holding it within my hands to marvel in its splendour since I first saw photos of it, and I must say those photos do it no justice in its magnificent.

Winter: Are you sure it’s real?

Winter cheekily remarked as, Jaune was lost in the beauty of the diamond in his taloned fingers. Her smile fell as she heard the most beautiful ringing sound she had ever heard as he tapped the diamond with his talon before turning to face her.

Jaune: Hear that? Humans can’t here this sound, most faunas can’t hear it either, but I can. Most diamonds are too small to make this an audible sound for most people to hear it. But, this diamond is big enough for anyone to hear it singing. Only a real diamond can make such beautiful sounds.

Willow: It is such a beautiful sound, I had no idea such sounds can come from a diamond.

Jaune: Only a few bare such elegance… Oh I wish I could have this diamond for myself… But alas, I doubt your open to selling it. Are you…?

Willow: If I was… Hypothetically speaking, how much would it be…?!

Jaune: Three billion Lien.

The duo looked at him astonished at the thought that, that diamond was worth, Three Billion Lein. The sense of unquestionable authority as he stated this didn’t make them question the possibility that he was gaslighting them so he could get it for a fraction of the price.

Willow: Oh my… I… I did not expect that…

Jaune: Didn’t you have it graded before?

Willow: Decades ago, and back then it was nearly a billion lien. But, to imagine the price has gone up that much… it’s unbelievable…

Jaune: It would be the worlds most valuable diamond, but that title was taken away from it a few years back.

Winter: Oh really? What took it’s place?

Jaune: This…

As if appearing from thin air, Jaune held out before the duo a diamond; A diamond cut into a sphere with a diameter of five inches across. Winter’s breath was stolen away as, Willow at the beauty presented before her. She carefully took it from him, fearing the validity of the rumours that he would gut her if she touched it. But, it appeared as if he was offering it to her to hold, so she took it.

She was amazed by its hefty weight, as she saw the light sparkle across it surface. She was amazed when her father showed her the, Schnee diamond, but the splendour of this diamond put it to shame so thoroughly she couldn’t find it in herself to complain about it in the slightest.

Willow: The Translucent Apple… Oh she is absolutely gorgeous~!

Winter: You’re the owner of the world’s largest diamond…?! That makes sense because you’re such a gemstone lover… But wait, where did you pull that out from? Do you just keep it hidden on your person at all times.

Jaune: Not in the shower.

Winter: What?!

Willow: It is truly a marvellous diamond. It was an honour to hold it. Winter, do you perhaps?

Winter: Nnnno, no I wouldn’t. If our family’s diamond is worth three billion, it terrifies me to hold something worth…

Jaune: Five billion Lien.

Winter: Five billion Lien… Wait, what really?!

Jaune: I am not considered one of the richest men in the world for nothing.

Winter: Five billion… And, he just has that up his coats sleeves?!

Willow: Well, it was a pleasure, despite the sheer disappointment of it all, no fault upon you, Jaune. I thank you for grading our families diamonds, and other precious stones.

Jaune: My pleasure… If you want, I can set you up with a jeweller from my company. I can confirm whole heartedly their validity as the genuine article.

Willow: I would appreciate that very much. But, there is something I would like to ask you…

Jaune: That being?

Willow: I heard you were offered gemstones as a dowery of sorts… Does that offer still stand?

Jaune’s burning focus of ingraining the beauty of the, Schnee Diamond upon his mind had finally been broken. Not even offering up the, Translucent Apple for, Willow to marvel at had broken his singular concentration of the diamond within his talon fingers. But, that one question broke him from his stupor like a gunshot to the heart. For he knew all to well what the dowery for this proposal would be.

Jaune: A-Are you offering me this diamond for your daughters hand…?

Willow: Indeed I am.

Winter: Mother no!

Winter exclaimed in shock as she looked at her mother as if she had lost her sanity. And, worry as, Jaune eyed the diamond with a new burning intensity trapped deep within the very depths of his soul.

Jaune: This… This is a priceless family heirloom, you wouldn’t simply give it away for me to accept, Weiss’s hand in marriage would you?

Willow: The diamond would still be in the hands of a, Schnee if you married my daughter, so it wouldn’t be lost. And, I never said anything about you marrying, Weiss now did I?

Willow looked to her eldest child with a smile as, Winter’s voice failed her. She was dumbfounded that this conversation had taken such a drastic turn. Was her mother seriously offering up the family’s prized heirloom for her hand in marriage?!

It was unthinkable. That her mother would do this to her on seemingly a whim. It scared her. But, what truly terrified her was the deafening silence that followed as, Jaune looked between her, and the diamond.

At her, and the diamond.

At her, and the diamond.

At her, and the diamond.

And, then at her, and only her.

Winter gulped in fear at the sudden turn her life was about to make.

[alilarew23]

the first manifestation is [in] the body

i want you to genuinely ask yourself if the reason you’re struggling to shift states is really due to a lack of faith/belief in your power as god of your reality or if it’s because you’re biologically addicted to the stress hormones associated with “trying” to manifest your desires.

i think most people, like myself, discover the law of assumption at a time when their inner/outer worlds have crumbled.

they’ve lost something or someone dear to their hearts. they’ve been fired. the business deal they thought for sure they had in the bag fell through.

but here, someone on tiktok says, i have a solution. decide what you want. affirm and persist until it shows up.

now, to be clear, i am by no means against affirmations if they work for you, if you’re truly repeating phrases as a means of reminding yourself you already have/are that which you desire to be, or if said repetition helps you shift states.

if something works for you, great.

keep repeating.

but i think there’s a general misunderstanding surrounding the term “persist” that can (and often does) have seriously detrimental implications for people first learning about/applying the law, especially those who haven’t read or listened to material from neville or edward art (yes, there are other wonderful teachers, but for me, the neville-edward duo is where to start).

persist, put simply, means to know, to continually accept your assumption as true despite lack of immediate evidence in your physical world.

acceptance does not imply—and does not demand—any work on the part of the assumer.

acceptance is by nature gentle.

it is a pleasant, “yes, i already am. yes, everything already is. yes, my prayer has been answered. thank you.”

but there’s this energy a lot of supposed-teachers have attached to the term that makes those applying the law think they need to work.

PERSIST PERSIST PERSIST UNTIL IT SHOWS UP.

meaning, if you are not working, if you are not affirming and visualizing and scripting and SATS-ing every second until who knows the exact moment your desire materializes, it will not materialize.

which then gets people in the state of working, of trying, which by nature has force/anxiety attached to it.

which implies not being/having.

how can you work to get something you already have?

how can you try to become something you already are?

when people start to realize this, usually because they either get exhausted and depressed from all work and no results, or they manifest their first neville book that begins re-orient their relationship to the law, they might have the realization that, oh! this can be…mind-bogglingly easy.

like, i legit just decide i have/am something and go about my life and it appears in my physical world?

what a relief!

but then…immediate anxiety sets in.

NOT, at least i don’t think—and of course this isn’t always the case, there are exceptions—because they don’t believe in the law or intuitively know/feel their power to select and step into the reality of their dreams, the one inherently granted to them by their god-selves, but instead because they have trained their bodies to not trust—to not feel safe within—their power.

to not allow for the naturalness of having/being what they desire to effortlessly take over.

which is the key to successful manifestation.

it’s like, oh, ok, it’s done!

but five minutes later, the body says, where is all that anxious energy i’ve been hit with non-stop for the past seven months?

now, if they could sit with this discomfort, they might realize that, actually, that *lack* of anxious energy is a signal to the inner man/subconscious mind/whatever you want to call it that—hell yeah! we have this thing now!—hence the immediate build-traverse of the bridge of events, and a rapid materialization of said desire in the physical world because they are living in the end (present, not desiring)—and that realization might make it easier to stay in the being/having state.

but instead, there’s the bodily pull-back to the trying state.

which leads only to more exhaustion and frustration and depression and the cycle begins itself again.

but there’s such an easy fix.

i did it.

you can do it, too.

here it is.

STAY.

in that feeling of relief. of ease. of almost-disbelief.

at all costs.

it sounds so silly to say your life depends on you sitting in this sort of discomfort, because—what?

how could simply being/knowing/gently accepting be this uncomfortable?

it shouldn’t be, and i’m genuinely sorry for all of us who have had to do the work of un-learning the persist-work stuff, but also, maybe it isn’t work.

maybe this, too, can be easy.

gentle acceptance.

we already are. everything already is.

it is a blessing to exist in and accept this naturalness.

[kurishiri]

03 . . . happy birthday, alfons! ˗ˏˋ🪞´ˎ˗

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

— cw: a bit suggestive, more soft alfons hours.

Alfons: A birthday that will remain in my memory... you said?

A: ...If that’s the case, I would be remiss if I felt that the day has been going swimmingly as you hoped.

Kate: Eh...?

Alfons: This birthday has been so full of ridiculous coincidences, I couldn’t forget it, even if I really wanted to.

Kate: That… doesn’t seem to hold much positive meaning.

Alfons: Oh, I fully assure you I mean it in the best way possible though?

(And once again, it seems like he’s the one being considerate toward me…)

Alfons: …Let me tell you something, Kate. Of course, it would have been wonderful if everything had gone as you planned.

A: Would you not agree, though, that success could be celebrated with just about anybody?

A: A day such as today, where we can laugh together at having gone through so many comical blunders…

A: …If you ask me, that feels much more special than simply celebrating that things have gone according to plan, and it will also stay in my memory as well.

Kate: Now that you mention it… maybe… that is true?

Thanks to Alfons explaining his thoughts to me in such a clear way, connecting his reasoning together,

gradually, yet surely, I was able to think of these blunders as a good thing.

Alfons: Things such as success and failure, sadness and happiness… if it is you I am eating with, every flavor is second to none.

A: So that’s why, come now, won’t you give me your final present?

A: No matter if the present comes out as you have planned, or something has gone awry…

A: Your goal to make this a birthday that stays in my memory is going quite swimmingly, I’d say? You have my congratulations.

(No matter if it’s a success or failure… that’s the first time I’ve heard something like this.)

Encouraged by Alfons’ words, I took the final present out of my bag.

Kate: Here you go. It’s my final present to you… a bouquet of forget-me-not flowers.

Alfons: Hehe, I see you’ve chosen flowers based on my name. Not to mention, the bouquet is quite darling. Thank you for this.

A: …Oh? And what’s this?

Alfons’ eyes were drawn to the card that was attached to the bouquet.

Kate: The florist attached that card on. It’s one wishing you a happy birthday.

Alfons: …So I see.

Kate: Uhm, if there was a blunder in there—

Alfons: No? Come then, how about we look at the flowers together?

Saying this, Alfons took me to stand in front of the mirror in his room.

Reflected in the mirror was Alfons, who was holding the bouquet of flowers, and me.

(…Thank goodness. The flowers look pretty, and the card is there too.)

(And the card says ‘Happy Birthday’ on it too… wait, huh?)

The things reflected in the mirror should appear flipped horizontally, and yet I could read the card’s message clearly through the reflection.

Kate: Alfons, this card…

When I shifted my gaze from the mirror to the bouquet, just as I had thought, the card’s message was written backwards.

Kate: It looks like the message was written wrong… I’m really sorry, to have another blunder like this…

Alfons: …Now this here is most definitely not a failure, but rather a success, no?

Kate: Eh…?

Alfons: Something that becomes correct when reflected in the mirror… it’s as though this gift was prepared specially for me, wouldn’t you say?

A: I would expect nothing less of you, Kate.

As if I myself were looking at a mirror, Alfons managed to completely turn that failure into a success.

(As I thought… Alfons really is a kind person.)

I thought there were many things I couldn’t get a grasp on about him, but I felt so happy at his kindness, which I could easily feel.

And I loved his soft expression he would give me when I felt down.

(It’s Alfons’ birthday, and yet I’m always the one who’s being made happy like this…)

(I wonder… is there anything that could make Alfons happy as well?)

As I searched my memory for something… I recalled his birthday last year.

Kate: …Alfons, could you please sit on the bed?

I had Alfons sit on the bed before I went atop his lap.

Alfons: …Well, seeing you so bold is a less than common sight indeed. Why on my lap?

Kate: Because, last year, when I was on your lap like this, you said you enjoyed it…

—— Flashback ——

Kate: …? Wait, why do I have to be on your lap…

Alfons: Need you even ask? Obviously, it’s because I enjoy it.

—— End flashback ——

Alfons: …I wasn’t aware you had remembered such trivial words from way back then.

Kate: Well, whenever it comes to you, I have quite a good memory.

K: No matter how trivial, or how meaningless they may seem… I haven’t forgotten a single thing.

Even if you do carry a fate where you will end up forgotten, I will never forget you.

As though Alfons had picked up on my silent resolve, he quietly smiled at me,

but he left me with no answer in return.

(I’m sure Alfons can’t believe in a future where he can escape from his tragic fate now.)

But, that was something that couldn’t be helped.

If he were to hold expectations that he could escape from it when a method to do so hadn’t yet been found yet, he would only get hurt.

(So, that’s why… you don’t have to believe in such a future right now.)

(After all, when I do find a way to escape it, I’m sure you will be very happy about it.)

Alfons: …You did say that you went on top of my lap because I enjoy it,

A: but can I say the same for you, being on top of me like this?

A: Seeing as last night as well, you were on top o—

Kate: T-this and that are different! Stop saying such strange things!

Alfons: My sincerest apologies.

When I retorted in a panic with a pout… it was after that I noticed.

That in order to lift my gloomy mood, he had been teasing me.

Alfons: So? Would you care to tell me what you plan to do next?

A: If you don’t mind, though, I will also do what I would like too.

With an air of mischief, his hands undid the ribbon on my clothes.

(At this rate, I’ll slowly melt completely into his touch… so before that,)

Kate: Wait a minute. There are other things I remember.

K: If I remember right, ‘Since we’re celebrating my birthday, is it not natural to give the birthday boy a kiss, at least?’… was it?

Last year, Alfons had used his ability on me, having ensnared me in his temporary illusion,

causing me to kiss him of my own accord.

Kate: Happy birthday, Alfons.

Alfons: …Truly, I am thankful for all the wonderful presents you have given me.

A: Every single one… they have all been engraved. In my heart, that is.

A: However… I did also say that I wished for a most passionate kiss as well.

Kate: That…

(Indeed, I remember last year, he did say that.)

(And, I also remember all the lewd things we did after that.)

Alfons: …Don’t tell me you have forgotten that?

(When he says it heartrendingly like that, I can’t feign forgetfulness with him.)

Kate: I haven’t forgotten. …In fact, I remember it. I remember it all.

Alfons: Then, I do look forward to it.

Once again, our lips touched, and I slipped my tongue in his mouth, which was slightly ajar.

I couldn’t do it as well as Alfons, but I still tried my best, in my own way.

But…

Alfons: I see you could use some work on your kissing, Kate.

The moment our lips parted, Alfons said this with a smile playing on his lips.

Kate: ‘Could use some work’… and here I was trying to do it like you…!

Alfons: I could feel a desperation quite reminiscent of a dog wanting to lap at its owner’s face…

A: Ahh, but if anything, you are more akin to a cat to me.

Kate: …I think it’s just you have much more experience than me in this, so you’re too good at this, Alfons.

When I narrowed my eyes, sarcasm laced into my tone, Alfons responded in turn gave me a flat affirmation as if saying something like ‘that may also be the case.’

(I wanted to satisfy him, so I tried my very best… but was this kiss a blunder too?)

Though he had given me words of encouragement that these blunders would remain in his memory, I still felt my mood would plummet once again.

Alfons: So, that’s why, I implore you to not become good at this.

Kate: Eh…?

Alfons: You were the one who said ‘it’s just you have much more experience than me in this, so you’re too good at this,’ no?

A: If that’s the case, just like now… it’s alright to not know any kiss other than mine.

(When he says it like that, it’s almost like…)

(…he’s saying, ‘Don’t kiss anyone other than me.’)

Hearing that possessive side of him, my mood lifted once again.

Alfons: Come now, Kate. One more time.

The things we were doing were things only adults would do, but the way he was demanding it seemed a bit childish, and I found that somewhat adorable.

Kate: Hehe… alright then.

So that neither he nor I would forget this… with the taste of clumsy kisses, we carved this very moment, deeply so.

Fin.

← prev fin. epilogue →

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[lunisoular]

Hello!!

I wanted to ask if you had any asl brother fanfictions??

I'm literally not even close to those episodes but I've seen so many spoilers and art about them that I'm already obsessed lmao

It's totally cool if you don't have any or just don't want to share, it just seems like you would know some good one lol

Hope you have a good day! 😁

SO SORRY FOR THE LATE RESPONSE tumblr hasnt been notifying me lately

there’s so many fics i’ve gone insane over i’d be overjoyed to share !!!!!

i don’t know if u or anyone else want to avoid major spoilers, but just in case, i put a red star (*) next to those that have them 😗

light up, light up - taizi

aaah taizi has so many great fics but this is one of my favorites; u can go thru all their op works to find more i didn’t list. it’s focused around sabo and is like a role reversal. definitely teared up

a little murder never killed anybody - loserlife592

family reunion !! asl expresses their ways of affection and boggles some minds. so cute……..

a song to bring you home - taizi

canon divergence—not sure how much u’ve seen, but it’s definitely still worth the read. it’s wonderful and cute and makes me ILL

without you by my side - capisback

ace and luffy get into a small scuffle; ace figures things out eventually. brotherly love….. oh im dead on the floor it’s wonderful

fish day (it takes a village) - hyperbolicreverie

luffy drags ace and sabo to a festival. they have fun, there’s cool villager dialogue that never fails to satisfy me, and cuteness

*all for one - missmungoe

okay i have a fair amount of alternate marineford fics but damn it i am nothing if not a sucker for good endings. read if ur fine with slight spoilers lol !! good bonding moments

soft and quiet and peaceful - whirlybird70

snow day….. just some nice fluff. can never go wrong with that

where the wild things are - space_ghost_with_the_most

FRIEND GHOST HAS LOVELY FICS !! u should check them out !!! 23k words of feral jungle children asl and it’s WONDERFUL

light up the sky (with you) - whirlybird70

luffy once again drags ace and sabo to have an adventure, this time with fireworks !! + makino cameo. it’s so cute the way they’re written…. !!

bedtime rituals - poisonstain

sweet n soft sickfic…… the series is about something different, this is a flashback, so u can check out the other fics in it if u’d like !

signal lamps - cowboy_emoji

ace and luffy catch fireflies, dadan and luffy talk a bit about ace. luffys his weirdly perceptive self; dadan continues to deal with them. love <3

*take a step in mine - soccersarah01

another alternate marineford—if ur fine with spoilers, it’s good ! it takes a sec, but sweet asl reunion <3

*time moves through you - lampalot7

technically only ace and luffy but i’ve reread this one so many times. it does have both marineford and gear 5 spoilers tho, so keep that in mind if u want to avoid them. time travel, little luffy cameo, AUGH it’s all so cute

*there is thunder in our hearts / you were always gold to me - taizi

these are also both alternate marineford + the latter gear 5, sorry 🫢 i think u get the gist by now

put your faith in what you most believe in - taizi

taizi just has lovely asl fics it’s insane. sickfic, sabo worries, but they both feel better in the end <3

here in spirit - lampalot7

GHOST ASL FIC !!!!! i’ve loved it for a while, and it inspired a few aspects of my own ghost au. made me cry……. god i love ghosts

close calls (or, monkey d. dragon’s no good, very bad day) - isntitlupintic

dragon’s perspective and focuses a lot on him, but there are some sweet asl moments !!! dragon saves the day !

[darkcircles4lyfe]

This doesn't have anything to do with anything, but i had a talk with a friend a few days ago, about shonen biasis and the way this shapes our expectations, and mha came up so i remembered how so many people apply those biasis HEAVILY into the manga, to the point that they sound like they're looking for a different story.

And one of those things that it seemed to be MOST talked about is exactly bkdk's relationship.

I have seen many times people from the fandom (sometimes really angrily) point out how in most cases Katsuki seems to basically take up not one, but four roles in Izuku's life and this includes putting him in situations that people associate with the MC's love interest, and it is weird that, despite Izuku "having a girl" for people to make assumptions about, he seems to completely repulse any female character that could be the counter part to Izuku's.

And this made us wonder if Katsuki's placement in those roles and lack of interest was made specifically because the author precisely did not want the actions that both do for each other as romantic but a whole another thing entirely, as a subversion for the these classic tropes, as he did by making the conflict between Ochako and Himiko not a "rivals fighting for the affection of a boy" but something that is connected to the plot of these characters instead.

Oh you bet! I am always down to talk about this, because I think about it a lotttt.

This reminds me, recently I remembered a funny habit I used to have with books I read. Like, back in middle school. I used to start by flipping directly to the last page and reading the final sentence. Usually this did not spoil anything whatsoever, but sure enough, by the time I read through the whole book, that sentence would take on new meaning.

So I started musing about what it would be like if only I could do this with bnha, if everything was already out. It made me feel so nostalgic…

Will the last panel be something grand, or something small? Hopeful or sad? Distant? Intimate? A parting message to the reader? Will it look like almost nothing of consequence to the unknowing eye—yet burst with hard-hitting subtext?

Of course I wonder about all the twists and reveals that might be still ahead of us, but it’s kinda soothing to think about how the whole thing could be put to rest. Because then I realize I’m not worried.

For once, this is not because the story is following so many tropes so predictably that I know exactly, in so many words, how it will end. It’s more like the story is a close friend who I’ve gotten to know well enough that everything they do is so “them” it makes me smirk. I'm often marveling at how Horikoshi has managed to pull all this off. How is it that (at least here in the west) people who aren't really paying attention call it basic and cookie-cutter. Even a Japanese animator called it "classic," and this interview shows such obvious dissonance between Hori and the interviewer, just... wow. But it's so clear that bnha has broken just about every rule in the book at this point, so much so that I struggle to condense it into words. I'm like--*gestures broadly at everything*--why haven't more people picked up on it??

Yet we still get bombarded with people saying "it's a shonen, c'mon, we all know how this will end." Um. No you don't. I KNOW there has to be a bunch of people who are secretly frustrated by Kacchan taking up all the roles and getting all the moments. It's not even in a mysogynistic way, because Kacchan is the most anti-dudebro character imaginable. Bkdk's relationship isn't intended for them and they know it... and you know what, I'm starting to ramble. You've heard all this before. The thing I should really be focusing on in your ask is the part where you mentioned how you and your friend were speculating about bkdk ending up as "a whole other thing entirely" rather than simply romantic.

Well, fuck it, I've been biting my tongue, but now might as well be the time I talk about this. I got into a bit of a disagreement with someone over it once and then I shut up. Because it's very difficult to approach the subject without being lumped in with those people who see bkdk as "brotherly" (ew) or otherwise try to push some "crisis of male friendship" agenda, or at the very least without being accused of enabling people to make excuses against bkdk being canon ad infinitum. So let me be clear that I do NOT want bkdk to have an ambiguous or open ending. I want their complexity and importance to be acknowledged. I want them to use their words. I think we may have created a bit of a false dichotomy there.

I am aromantic, and to suggest romantic relationships are inherently the most important and intimate goes against every fiber of my being. I also reject the idea that cut-and-dry gay representation is more desirable just because it is more easily understood by the masses than aspec representation or representation of relationships "beyond" both romantic and platonic. We recognize how ridiculous it is for people to expect Izu*cha at this point, right? Well, the reason they're so confident anyway isn't just because of heteronormativity. It's also because of amatonormativity, the assumption that romantic attraction trumps all: no matter how much focus bkdk get, Izuku blushed at Ochako, so that automatically makes them more "important." THAT is the notion that I want to challenge most. More than anything, I want bkdk's relationship to be fully acknowledged because they have so much more going for them than just attraction.

You and your friend make an excellent point, that it would be very much in line with Horikoshi's taste and the patterns of his writing so far if he chose to subvert the shonen romance trope not just by giving it to two boys, but also by disregarding its premise entirely. It's unlikely he'd try to stuff them into such a copy-paste ending right at the end.

So maybe they won't get the blushy confession, the obligatory kiss, the wedding, the 2.5 kids and a white picket fence. That's fine, we shouldn't pretend those tired tropes are suddenly revolutionary just because they're gay. But don't be disappointed! Without them, we have more room for things that are actually personally meaningful to bkdk to stand out and receive the nuance they deserve: talking through their feelings openly, building each other up like no one else can, understanding each other like no one else can, smiling at each other, embracing, holding hands, rushing to the other in the hospital, being glued at the hip (or even closer), healing mutual trauma, putting each other first in all things. Maybe we'll also get confirmation on Ochako's side as she moves on from her crush on Izuku. You know what other shonen manga took this exact angle as a way of subverting tropes and presenting genuine complexity? Blue Flag! There are so many ways to do bkdk justice.

Even a kiss isn't out of the question, if the right opportunity comes along. A perfect example of what I'm talking about is Good Omens (major season 2 spoilers) because the kiss between Crowley and Aziraphale was not at all about canonizing them. It was an expression of pain and desperation that just made sense at that particular moment. Neil Gaiman was adamant that if it took that kiss to understand the context of their relationship, you really weren't paying attention. I respect the hell out of that.

Recently I was even daydreaming about bkdk getting something similar to the sort of uh, shall we say tasteful nudity, that togachako got, because of how Izuku appears in the vestige realm.

Ya know like not in an nsfw way but in like a "this is so deeply intimate and soft that I feel like I'm intruding" kind of way... yeah. Because it represents vulnerability and openness and acceptance of someone as they are. And I don't care if people call that bait. It's not. It's beautiful. It’s honest.