#and i wanted it to just have. a sort of melancholy ending. i really really hope people like it

[reikunrei]

it has been posted... my baby....... my creature.... it is out in the wild for all to read. time to go turn off my brain for a while. i hope folks enjoy it :3

[neverendingford]

.

[clockwayswrites]

Birds and Mice and Tea Parties 20

Masterpost

AN: B really was trying his best to protect Danny last time, he just was missing too much information. Poor Danny...

No reading over. We suffer and post at 2am.

-

It had been two weeks since the last rogue Wayne visit.

Danny hadn’t intended to keep track. There was no reason to. One visit from Cass and one from Tim did not a pattern make.

He tried to dismiss the observation. He had plenty to do; it wasn’t like he didn’t have friends. The bi-weekly trivia group would start meeting again soon. He also had a TTRGP session that did its best to meet around all that life threw at them. Tucker and him played online games when they could make schedules match and he and Sam talked when she was stateside. He even had regular lunches with coworkers!

Still, there had been something different about spending time with the family.

So no, Danny hadn’t meant to keep track, but he still knew it had been two weeks and a day. But of course he wouldn’t see the Waynes that often. Bruce was a very busy man and most of the children would have no reason to come to W.E. They had their own lives with work and school and being kids or young adults. The other visits had simply been flukes, as nice as the visits had been.

The subtle feeling of melancholy that had settled over him was ridiculous and he wasn’t having it. His mood was simply off because of the whole Ancient thing. The way it was affecting his health didn’t make feeling better any easier either.

Danny leaned against the wall of the elevator as he tried to catch his breath. He really shouldn’t be walking right then to get lunch, not with the way that he felt, but he hadn’t had anything at his place to make lunch with. He hadn’t had the energy to go shopping. He’d just go somewhere close instead of walking to anything on the other side of the park.

The natural reverb of the lobby assaulted Danny as he stepped out of the elevator.

He just had to get through the lobby, the street, the restaurant, back through the street, and through the lobby again. Then he could hide in his office and eat. Or he could hide in there and eat as long as Lucius didn’t find him. Maybe even Lucius would give him a break today though.

“Dr. Fenton…?”

Danny looked up from rubbing his neck.

It was Tim. Damian was at Tim’s side, flanking him like a little guard dog and scowling. Tim was frowning too. Danny immediately wanted to fix whatever was wrong.

“Look at that, a pair of Waynes. How are you two?”

“That is unimportant,” Damian said with a little sniff. “You are clearly unwell. I assume you are returning to your apartment to rest?”

“Oh, no, I’m just going to go grab lunch. I’m alright, really,” Danny said and put on the best smile he could muster.

Tim and Damian looked at each other in some sort of silence conversation. Danny started to edge away from them, thinking he could escape before they came to some sort of end. He really needed out of the lobby and its echoing sounds.

A startled shriek from the entry way cut off that plan.

Danny twisted to face the sound as he stepped in front of the kids.

Of course it was a rogue, what else would it be in Gotham? It was a rogue, but at least it was the Mad Hatter and his squad of likely mind controlled goons. He usually wasn’t prone to death and destruction like some of the others were. But still, Danny felt his metaphorical hackles rising. The kids were here.

The kids were here and sure to draw the Mad Hatter’s attention if he saw them. Danny stepped slowly backwards, herding the kids away from the scene. At least they weren’t far into the lobby.

“Back up to the stairwell,” Danny said lowly, trying to cast his voice behind him.

“Tch. We can—”

“The elevator, the back left one,” Tim said quietly but firmly over his brother’s protest. “I have a code to take it to a safe room in the basement.”

“If he kills the power,” Danny started.

“The elevators have emergency back up.”

“That’s not very good behavior for a tea party, is it?” the Matter Hatter shouted at someone.

Danny bit back a rising noise of anger in his throat. His fingers twitched to act. But he couldn’t. The best plan was to get the kids out of there away from any action.

“Yes I see, Damian,” Tim hissed. “We’re almost to the elevator.”

“Call it as soon as you can,” Danny said. Was there a reverb to his voice? It felt like there was a reverb to his voice. No, no, he couldn’t, he had to…

“That’s better! See? This is how you behave when someone invites you to a tea party! Now where is that little dormouse?” the Mad Hatter called. “I know I saw him come in here! With an even littler one too.”

He wanted Tim.

“Calling the elevator.”

“Another mouse? A rat? A cat?"

The Mad Hatter wanted Tim and Damian.

“Here mousy mouse mice… where are you?"

Danny would not let that happen.

“Oh there you are! Hiding back by the doors, of course he is!” The Mad Hatter said. The crowed parted in fear. His wide, manic eyes looked right past Danny and he grinned. “Get them. We have a tea party we’re late for.”

“Over my dead body,” Danny growled.

The Mad Hatter blinked at Danny like he just noticed him for the first time. His goons rushed past him and through the crowd. “Oh, who are you? Never mind, if death is what you want, we can make that happen.”

Danny couldn’t hold back the chortling laughter. “See, that’s where you have a problem you don’t even know you could have.”

“And what is that?”

“You couldn’t handle my dead body,” Danny said just as the first goon reached them.

Danny stepped forward. He ducked under the swing of the punch and used the momentum to spin the goon around. With a push of his ghostly power, he sent the attacking goon careening into the next one and they both went tumbling.

“Danny, it’s here!” Tim shouted.

Not turning his back to the attackers, Danny stepped backwards into the elevator. Tim slammed a button and the doors basically snapped closed, much faster than they should. Danny was left staring at the polished metal surface of the elevator. Luminous green stared back at him. Soft black feathers dotted his temples. His fingers ended in talons. And he could feel it.

He could feel the skin on his back started to split.

Wings.

[moonstruckme]

hi, love! i have a silly request for james or sirius. there are a lot of wonderful fics out there where reader or the love interest confess their feelings when they’re loopy from drinking or being sick and whatnot, but i think it would be quite funny for reader to just, completely sober, get fed up one day by how lovely he is. She confesses but she’s so angry that it doesn’t even register as a confession at first.

Thanks for requesting lovely!

Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 1.4k words

Sirius is braver than you are. You’ve always known it, but you think he likes to remind you by doing things like this, sitting on the edge of his building’s roof with his legs dangling off the edge. You don’t have nearly enough trust in yourself not to lean too far forward and go toppling over, so you’ve got your legs drawn in close to your chest and have situated yourself a few inches back from the edge, watching Sirius as he tempts fate for his lungs as well. 

“I sort of knew he was going to end it tonight,” he says, smoke billowing out from his mouth into the darkness. 

He’s melancholy but trying to hide it, looking off into the distance instead of at you. Your heart aches for him. Sirius likes to pretend that these little rejections don’t phase him, that he’s only dating casually and having fun, but he gets attached quickly; when things don’t work out, he hurts. 

“How did you know?” you ask. 

“He said he wanted to talk over dinner.” 

You wince. “Yeah, that’s never good.” 

“No.” Sirius smiles wryly, the cherry of his cigarette flaring orange as he takes another drag. “But I suppose I can hardly blame him. He wanted something easy, and I’m hardly the easiest person to be around.” He laughs. It’s not a happy sound. “I really make you work for it.” 

“Sirius,” you chide, already exhausted. 

This, unfortunately, isn’t uncommon. Sirius’ heartbreaks, big or small, always come with a horrid bout of self-deprecation hidden under the facade of humor. Even hearing about his dating life isn’t so bad as this; you’re somewhat jealous of the people he finds attractive enough to date, sure, but what you really want, most of all, is for Sirius to be happy. You’re fine with it if someone else is the key to that. But hearing him like this, using jokes to paint himself as worse than he is, is agonizing for you. 

“Don’t say that. It’s not work to be around you.” 

“Oh, but you would say that.” If there’s some bitterness in Sirius’ voice, you know well enough that none of it is for you. He turns to look at you with one eyebrow raised, unable to keep himself from flirting even now. “You’re the sweetest thing on this side of the equator, babe. We can’t expect everyone I go out with to have your saintlike patience.” 

You level him with a stern look despite your heating face. “Stop.” 

“M’just saying,” Sirius goes on, unaffected by your remonstrance, “it’s not like I’m bringing tons to the table.” 

“Don’t say that. You don’t have to bring anything to the table, it’s not an exchange of goods.” 

“But that’s sort of how it starts, isn’t it? And what do I have to offer? Fucked up ideas of intimacy?” 

“You have plenty to offer.” 

“Right. Like a cold, bony shoulder for them to lie their head on.” 

“Sirius—” 

“I’m careless, and impulsive, yet unbearably clingy,” he’s really on a roll now, laughing at himself as he talks and brings his cigarette back to his mouth, “and Evans is always saying I’m arrogant—”

“That’s”

“Plus the anger issues I suppose, and altogether that’s really not—” 

“Oh, would you quit!” Your voice climbs to a shout. Sirius turns to you in surprise, and you snatch the cigarette from his mouth, putting it out on the ground. His eyes follow the movement. 

“My cigarette,” he says bemusedly. 

“Fuck your cigarette!” You’re seething, his words nettling you worse than insults against yourself, and Sirius looks at you like you’re something new and unexpected. Good. Maybe he’ll listen. “You are not difficult to love.” 

“Now, I’m not sure I quite said—”

“No, shut up!” You pin his stare with yours, vehement. “You are smart, and kind, and brave, okay? You are impulsive, but it’s because you’re brave. And you’re not clingy, you just care, Sirius, I—” Your voice grows fraught, and you have to fight past an intrusion in your throat, blinking away some dampness in your eyes. “I don’t want to be a part of your pity party if it’s just going to be you shitting on yourself. You’re a good person, and you’re easy to love, and for those of us that love you, it’s—for all of us, that love you, it’s awful to hear you talk about yourself like you’re not. You’re great to be around. It’s not work.” 

Your voice gets softer at the end, squashed defeatedly under the weight of your emotions. Sirius’ brow pinches. 

“Okay, okay.” He holds up his hands like he’s surrendering, then like he’s reaching for you. “Message received; I’m the shit.” 

“You are,” you insist tearily. “You can’t say it like you’re joking.” 

A little laugh stutters out of him. “I’m sorry. C’mere, babe.” 

If there was ever a time to hold out on going into Sirius’ arms this would be it, but you’re not sure you’ll ever have that much willpower. He folds you into him with one hand, using the other to brush away the still-hot cigarette butt before pulling you closer. 

“And your shoulders are nice,” you whimper, pushing your cheek into one to prove it. 

Sirius chuckles again. “Thanks, sweetheart.” He rubs tentatively between your shoulder blades. You feel bad that you’d met up tonight so you could comfort him, and somehow you’ve made it the other way around. “You’re too good to me.” 

“I’m not just saying that because I’m good to you.” You pull back from him, wiping under your eyes. “You’re a thousand times better than you say you are.” 

“I…” Sirius’ expression looks somewhere between confused and disbelieving, but there’s a caution there you know enough to be wary of. “Did you mean what you said about loving me?” 

Your heart stutters. “I said all of us that love you.” 

“No, but before that,” he presses. “You said those of us, and then you changed your mind, but it seemed like you were talking about you.” 

You shut your eyes, mortified. “That wasn’t the point.” 

“You did mean it, didn’t you?” Sirius’ voice isn’t gentle or pushy, just full of pure, bald curiosity. He sounds mystified. “You really feel that way about me?” 

“Sirius.” You keep your tone measured. “I realize you’re having a shitty night, but please don’t make fun of me right now—” 

“Hey.” Sirius sounds so genuinely wounded that you open your eyes. Once you look at him, his expression gentles. “Hey, I wouldn’t. I’m just surprised.” 

You give him your best attempt at one of his wry smiles. “Well, you shouldn’t be. I’ve just finished telling you about how lovely you are.” 

He laughs again, a breathy, startled sound. And beyond your humiliation, you can still appreciate the rare privilege of seeing him like this; shocked into his truest, most genuine self. 

“Yeah, but you’re only supposed to tell me nice things to make me feel better,” he says. “You’re not supposed to start believing them.” 

You decide to give him a pass on the self-deprecation, but you shoot him a half-teasing irked look. “Thin ice, Black.” 

“Fair enough.” He’s smiling an awful lot, his real one, pretty and dashing at the same time. It keeps coming back like he can’t hold it at bay. “I’m in love with you, too, you know.” 

Your heart can’t decide whether to be in your throat or your stomach. You feel like you’re choking on air. “Don’t fuck with me.” 

“I’m not fucking with you,” he laughs. 

“You are not in love with me.” 

“I am! And who are you to decide? You don’t get to tell me everything about myself, you know. I can know some things.” 

“But,” you’re shaking your head, bewildered and still looking for the trick, “why haven’t you said something?” 

Sirius shrugs, the first hint of that feigned nonchalance making its return. “I didn’t think you’d want to hear it. I do make you listen to me whine about all my woes and heartaches, after all. It can’t be very attractive.” He shoots a look at you, sizing you up. “Why haven’t you?” 

You sigh. Your voice comes out quiet. “I was always hearing about all your woes and heartaches. With other people.” 

Sirius makes a low groaning sound, but he nods. “Sort of shot myself in the foot there, I suppose.” He offers you a little smile. “Maybe we both ought to have given ourselves a bit more credit.” 

You rub your lips together, grinning despite yourself. “Maybe so.” 

[legandairy-horror]

Does anyone else feel a strange sort of dread waiting for new deltarune chapters?

It sounds crazy right? I admit it's a weird feeling for sure, and I'm not even 100% sure if dread is the right way to describe it. But as more info is revealed and the next chapter inevitably gets closer and closer to releasing I can't help but feel a strange sort of, melancholy? Longing? The only way I can describe it is "when you know the goodbye is coming". The strange somber feeling when you know you’re going to have to leave stuff behind, but aren't quite ready for it yet.

warning: words. Homestuck

In 3 months Chapter 1 will be 6 years old, and in 2 months Chapter 2 will be 3 years old. Deltarune is ostensibly in Early Access but this release schedule puts new chapters closer in time scale to whole sequals if anything, which they most assuredly are not trying to be. This has created a strange situation in the fanbase that I don't think I've ever truly seen anywhere else. One where, In the time between chapters It feels like everyone has had their own chance to decide what Deltarune is to them. To create their own version of this story, to write their own themes that they want to see explored, to imagine their own events and plot twists they want to see play out.

@lynxgriffin Paper Trail Comic Being an Alternate Story following off of chapter 1

@lilybug-02 The Chara Timeline Being one of many interpretations on the popular Asriel & Chara roommates headcannon.

@huecycles Andromeda Chapters being their interpretation on the full game

The innumerable Deltarune Theorists and analysts like HalfBreadChaos, Andrew Cunningham, Stuffed Alpaca, etc. etc.

@vyletbunni Deltatraveler being a whole ass fangame based around a chapter 2 meme that it has long since outlived

And that's kinda the thing isn't it? Once more deltarune comes out, a ton of these projects will just become outdated, it's an inevitability. So what will happen to them? will they become forgotten? maybe, maybe not, it's impossible to tell. but either way it feels kinda sad to think about yknow? that one day all the time and effort spent and all the memories made might one day just cease to exist.

There's a lot more I could say on this topic if given the chance but to keep this tumblr post from morphing into a 2 hour long video essay in text form let me leave off with this.

In the age of the internet and social media there will always be a fan of something. Nothing truly dies quite like it used to anymore, regardless of whatever influencers want you to believe. But that doesn't mean things stop changing, that there wasn't a past that has since been left behind. I'm a Homestuck fan. more specifically I'm a Late Homestuck fan, one who came in after the comic had already ended and it's peak in popularity was long behind it. The fandom's still around all these years later. But it'd be foolish to admit that, 8 years after the comics controversial end, the inescapable trend of new fans replacing old fans has left the fandom wholly disconnected from the monolith that it once was. the only remnants of which lie in decades old discourse and fanfiction. Like old relics of a long forgotten city, waiting to be excavated under a fine layer of dirt.

Before I close out here I just want to make it clear: I'm not saying that we should be trying to return to some nebulous "glorious past" that never really existed. I'm not trying to deride Toby Fox for not working in the sweatshop hard enough to produce more content™, or whatever you wanna try and spin-doctor this post into. It's just a thought that creeps into my head every now that I wanted to share, see if anyone feels the same, yknow?

Besides it's not all doom and gloom. For those of you OG Homestucks who read till the end. You remember Heinoustuck? Guidestuck? Nightfall? Fucking Ke$haStuck? yeah those are still going by the way! after years of inactivity they've now started back up again. some under new authors and some by the same author but still!

You could say a lot about that but to me at least, it makes me feels hopeful in a way. That, even if not everything will survive. we'll at least have some mementos to remember what came before.

[cherryrikis]

ONE LESS LONELY GIRL - 007 ! a statement

PAIRING idols riki x fem reader

SYNOPSIS fans always point out the chemistry between you and riki, and it only continues to grow after you become mc’s together on music bank. but as your feelings rise, so does the tension. and people begin to notice, so you try not to let riki know how you feel. but unbeknownst to you, he feels entirely the same way.

authors note i was out all day to the point i almost forgot ab this smau ngl. + in honor of my fav @/hannicorpse bc she turns 18 today!!

previous <> masterlist <> next

“y/n? its rinnie. lets go out. you havent gotten out of bed in days. its not the end of the world. ill take you to a nice cafe.” haerin said as she knocked on the bedroom door.

“dude, too soon. no cafes.” you heard danielle mutter as she lightly hit haerin’s shoulder.

“y/n, its dani. please come out?”

hesitantly, you got up slowly and unlocked the door. behind it, revealed danielle, haerin, hyein, and minji, all holding essential items they knew would comfort you. ice cream, tissue, ramen, all sorts of stuff.

“oh, poor yn..” hyein pouted with sympathy as she pulled you into her arms. she wasn’t wrong, poor you. your eyes were puffy and red from crying, on top of your heavy eye bags due to the lack of sleep.

“y/n? someone’s here to see you.” hanni informed as she came up the stairs.

your stomach dropped to the floor. you felt your heart pounding out your chest, it almost came out your mouth.

“tell him to leave.” you scoffed, turning to go back into your room.

“it’s not him.” minji cut you off as she pulled your arm to turn you around.

slowly, the five girls moved out the way to reveal jungwon and jake, standing at the bottom of the staircase. “hey y/n.” jake politely waved.

“we’ll give you some time.” minji and danielle nodded as they took the others into the second bedroom.

“i know what you’re thinking. and before you say anything, riki didn’t deny it by choice. if it was up to him, the whole world would have already known how much he loves you. but the manager insisted it was this way. even bang pd wanted your word for the article, yet they just wanted to leave you out of it.” jake spoke slowly to you as jungwon wiped away your dry tears with a wet tissue.

“where is he right now?” you whispered. you were almost unsure if they could hear you or not.

“still locked in his room. you two are in the same boat right now. he’s just like you, he refused to leave his bed.” jungwon chuckled as he attempted to lighten the mood. “we talked to the manager this morning, and last week after the scandal first came out. but there’s nothing we could do.”

“thank you for trying. i had no idea. i just, i really can’t face him right now.” you sighed, rubbing your forehead in annoyance.

“we understand. take your time. i just hope you two are back in shape for music bank, when you guys have to go on in two days.” said jake, before he got up to get more water from the kitchen.

“wait- then, who covered for us five days ago? if i didn’t show up, i assume he didn’t either.” you furrowed your brows.

“eunchae and sangmin came back temporarily due to the circumstances. but you two are required to be back by this next airing.” jungwon informed.

“jungwon, we should get going. but it was lovely talking to you. see you around.” jake politely interrupted as jungwon followed him out the door.

you remained sat on the couch in silence. “what am i gonna do..” you murmured.

TAGLIST (italics = couldnt be tagged) @hannicorpse @luvvhaerin @chaevibes @en-verse @ren2jay @choppedballoondetective @heartheejake @imanalien143 @istglevi-gotmesimping @yndairy @eleanorheartschishiya @lonelylandofan @gweoriz @jaemified @onlyhyunjin @softpia @frecklesbrownies @riksaes @wensurr @rikifordmiami @brideslit @ant-onie @yumilovesloona @aeminju @hoonics @catecita @clampclover @rei4sunoo @addictedtohobi @rikidaze @baekxo07 @xotyla @melancholy-z @rikisgeef @jung1w0n @tocupid @onlyseung @i03jae @iheartshopping @istphanie @queenriki7 @academiq @1117promises @nctislifue @haechansbbg @rairaiblog @nabia-bia @pkjay @lixiebokie @hiekoo @r1kizerr @d-dilemma @kingofthekards @iilwji @hoonatic @woorcve @enhaz1

[cinnamonest]

ohman ohman- listen-

I've been reading the kazu/scara/albedo/xiao posts (modern au or not) and it just got me thinking about how much stronger men are compared to women-

It's totally accurate how they end up dominating reader with their strength. Like I'm not weak at all irl, but god help if I can ever beat the skinniest dude in an arm wrestling match and these shorter and slim boys got me feeling all type of ways. Like OKAY, maybe darling still has a decent fighting chance with them vs with boys like childe etc but the formers' arms, hands, legs, fingers are still bigger and longer than yours dhdjsksj. For the incel ones (because they don't have that supernatural strength and all as in the canon AU) it might just be one of the few things that boosts their ego, lol!

So real omg I remember there was a point in time where like, I thought that guys were only stronger because they were bigger/worked out more and that if a guy and a girl were the same size and worked out the same then they'd be equally strong, and that scrawny guys were weak… as you can imagine I got humbled so fast lmao

(also thank you anon after the e-girl post I’ve been eager to make a post with all the modern AU boys :3)

-

Deeply in love with the thought of both parties having the gradual realization of just how drastic the male-female gap in strength is — a devastating slap in the face from reality for darling, and a euphoric power trip for him.

Especially with the modern AU for those boys, like… sure, you both know deep down that guys are naturally somewhat stronger, but neither of you realized just how much.

Society’s tendency to shy away from acknowledging the topic has perhaps left darling a bit naive…. dangerously so. Like, playing-with-fire levels of naive, cocky and bratty towards boys like them even after they’ve kidnapped you, thinking that well, they’re short, lean boys, so surely they can’t hurt you, and if they try you can just fight him off, right? It’s not like he’s a broad bulky guy, whom you’d actually have reason to fear…

You may get the chance to notice it more subtly at first — you watch as he picks up something rather heavy around the apartment and think to yourself how odd it is that there’s no strain on his expression, no grunting as one would do when performing physically strenuous tasks, in fact he picks it up and carries it over with a perfectly neutral expression, like it’s not even difficult… maybe it's just not as heavy as you thought…?

But it quickly proves to be what you fear — the reality is you have severely underestimated this aspect of sex difference.

Xiao actually has the most wholesome, tolerable version of this. He has a tendency for not verbalizing his thoughts, he just sort of… does things. One of the more common manifestations of this is that he just. Picks you up.

You’ve been sitting over there doing your own thing for a while like you requested, but now he’s lonely and sad and he wants you over there with him so he just walks over, locks his arms around you and suddenly your feet are off the ground.

He just sorta disrupts you from whatever you're doing and carries you like you're a limp sack of flour on a regular basis, setting (or throwing) you down wherever he wants you to be instead. It's easier than asking you to move. It doesn't even really occur to him that this surpasses your assumption of his strength capacity until you mention it… and at first he thinks nothing of it, but gradually, hearing you grunt in surprise each time you're hoisted upward and the way your feet kick outward actually starts to feel quite nice. A little ego boost, even if he's quieter about it than the others. He didn't realize he was so strong compared to you.

And then you start coming to him to get him to open jars and pick up things you can't, and while he does it all with the same fairly melancholy demeanor as always, internally it actually makes him very happy and prideful each time, makes him feel needed and important and all. He focuses less on the aspect of your weakness and using it against you (unless he’s mad), and more focuses on being strong and hoping that you like it, carefully coordinating efforts to show off in ways that he thinks are subtle enough to seem unintentional (spoiler: they’re not). Unfortunately, mixing protein powder into energy drinks does significantly impact their taste, but he views it as worth it. In the fantasies that play out in his head, maybe one day you’ll even outright tell him he’s sooooo strong in that cute voice like the girls in visual novels do.

Thankfully he's not too outwardly obnoxious about it, and he doesn't degrade you for it (again, except maybe a bit passive-aggressively, but only if you're being mean and hurt his secretly very sensitive feelings first, OR unintentionally due to his dense nature and consequent tendencies to make very blunt statements without thinking them through). He may or may not be deliberately tightening the jars each time he closes them to ensure you need him for it next time, though.

Scara is the inverse because he doesn't really see or emphasize it as himself being strong, more like you being weak.

But no, maybe he's wrong. At least in that case, he has his whole body weight to rely on keeping you down, so that's probably why it felt so easy…? Until then you're being whiny and bratty and he pins you to the wall instead, wondering why you're acting so upset yet not actually fighting him for real… then he realizes you are actually trying. You’re not just half-heartedly tugging in a whiny way, you’re like, actually trying to pull yourself out of his grasp, and giving it your all.

He's also caught off guard by it, early on. Here he had all these backup plans to subdue you if you managed to writhe your way out of his grasp or fight him off, but then in your initial struggle, he quickly realizes how incredibly easy it is to keep you pinned down, and no such plans are necessary.

…And that’s the best you can manage? Seriously? That’s how much weaker you are? It's almost astounding. The shock quickly transitions to pure amusement and satisfaction, and once this difference is discovered, he's going to use it to make your life hell.

He loves the newfound discovery, and actively exercises it at every opportunity. It scratches the itch of those sadistic impulses just perfectly and soothes any bruises to his ego, especially with how apparent it is that it upsets you, how you struggle harder and harder and your eyes prick with humiliated tears and you groan in frustration. So he just ensures he utilizes his superior strength constantly, always holding you down or grabbing you by the arm and keeping you in place, always holding you into uncomfortable positions in bed, and the more you struggle to no avail, the more he seems to enjoy it.

It's actually kind of hilarious too, how you can just be running your mouth and snarling at him one second and pleading and teary-eyed the next, forcibly bent over and held down with your face smushed against the countertop, begging to be let back up, trying with all your might to push your palms onto the surface and push yourself back up to no avail. Him mocking you the entire time doesn't exactly help you keep the tears in, either, but when you start crying it just makes things worse, since that's just used against you to tell you how emotional you are. Emotional and dumb and weak, girls are really such a handful to deal with, sigh…

You can tell how much he enjoys constantly reinforcing your awareness, reminding you of the difference, and it infuriates you — and the more it infuriates you, the funnier and more satisfying it is for him, and the more he does it, and the miserable cycle continues. The only way you were able to actually get some leverage was by insinuating that he only enjoys it because he needs the ego boost as psychological compensation for being so small for a guy… and while you know you're right, the resulting soreness was ultimately not worth the momentary satisfaction of saying so.

Albedo is the most obnoxious about it because one, he's the most acutely aware of it from the start and will make sure you are as well, and two, he finds the whole thing amusing. The man is whipping out the studies and Science™ to explain exactly why he has nothing to fear from you and why you'll never be able to overpower him. Blah blah skeletal muscles this, sexual dimorphism that, fiber size anaerobic muscular metabolic capacity something something… it's too confusing for you to understand, the only thing you know is how infuriating the smugness is.

It's cute to him that you initially have no concept of your inferiority. You still try and fight him and push him and take things from him, only to end up pinned down or hoisted up. Like a… dumb little animal of some kind, that walks right into an obvious trap or attacks its own reflection, is how he sees you. He has no issue telling you this either, he likes seeing how furious it makes you, knowing you can't do anything about it.

He's the worst about constantly applying this as much as he can specifically in bed, too. Keeping your hands pinned above your head, making a point to inform you that restraints aren't really necessary due to your physical inferiority. Telling you with that infuriating dry tone that if you hate it so much, surely you can summon the strength to break free… saying that always ensures you put on a funny little display of struggling.

He’s selective, though, about how he torments you, so the severity of how unbearable he makes the matter depends on how you react to it. His form of sadism is a quiet one, but still quite obvious with how he picks at your weaknesses — so if it’s something that doesn’t bother you that much, he’ll go for something else, but the more it upsets you to be reminded of how much stronger he is and why, the more outright insufferable he’ll be, ensuring you’re constantly reminded that it’s only natural — a smug gesture of faux comfort, disguised as reassurance of normality, but deep down you know it’s really intended to rub salt into the wound by reminding you that it’s essentially immutable, making you feel powerless. He’s a little bastard like that.

Although out of the four, it's by far the most amusing (or vaguely terrifying, for you) with Kazuha.

It's all so… subtle. He’s so sweet, so gentle in his voice and demeanor and mannerisms, and then you find yourself bristling as you watch him snap something in half, lift something, bend something, whatever, that you definitely would not have thought he should be able to. Something that makes you do a double take and sit there slack-jawed and wide-eyed while he continues to go about whatever he’s doing, talking about this or that in that soft voice.

And then when you watch movies laying in bed and try to wiggle away from his hold, the way you feel it tighten so hard you fear your ribs will snap, and he wraps his fingers around your wrist so hard your hand goes numb, you realize it’s not taking any effort on his end at all, he's doing it practically half-asleep.

Even though those incidents make you uneasy, he’s just so gentle-natured that it’s easy to forget and end up acting out at him yet again, getting mad and being a brat, you even go so far as to try and hit him — but he catches you by the wrist, holding your arm firmly in place.

Very firmly. So much so that, when you reflexively jerk backwards, you would have thought you were pulling against an iron chain. He doesn't budge. It makes your heart skip a beat, especially when you see the slight twitch to his smile.

And then you see his eyes widen just a bit. Perhaps surprised at how light your pulling feels, how little strain it causes him.

He never really addresses it out loud, but you can tell that he's increasingly aware from that point forward of just how big the strength gap between you is.

It's actually a bit insulting once you start noticing the shifts and changes — he doesn't tie you to the bed anymore when you sleep. Why would he? It'll be so easy to just pull you back down when he feels you move. You can easily tell that he's noticeably more at ease, he goes from having just the slightest detectable panic when you start to defy him or struggle to being completely unbothered, now that he's realized your defiance holds no weight. He starts a habit of giving you a little warning squeeze if you're making him too upset and being very very bad, just a light little tightening of the grip on your wrist or waist as if to remind you that you both know how much stronger he is than you, that your being very unwise to upset him… and you always notice how his smile grows when it shuts you up instantly.

It's honestly almost more infuriating that he does it all so quietly — you almost wish he would acknowledge it, but instead you get this quiet, unspoken realization and mutual understanding, a ‘you know he knows you know’ sort of situation, and with that mutual understanding comes your gradually increasing lack of defiance, a slow despairing acceptance… and you can tell it makes him very, very happy.

[ikeuverse]

PARTY IN THE U.S.A — s.jaeyun

PAIRING: jake x fem!reader  GENRES: fluff, humor  WC: 2.5k+

WARNINGS: just a few curses and (a lot of) kissing.

SYNOPSIS: you've never missed watching your best friend play, but unfortunately a match falls right on the day of a super-important exam. jake is distraught because it's right when his team loses, making him listen to the one song that everyone knows he listens to when he's sad… it's up to you to sort it out somehow.

NOTES: the vote for the next story had our dear jake as the winner, so here it is! i wrote this one a while ago at the time of the live he said he listens to this song when he's sad, so i thought about it and just came up with this. i hope you like it!

masterlist

"Are you really not going to watch my game today?" Jake's melancholy voice almost made your heart break even more.

It was more than obvious that you wanted to go, not least because you had never missed a single one of his games for the university team. But that same university was tearing your sanity apart by holding an exam in the middle of the afternoon, where more than half the students would be watching the soccer team play.

Jake was the top scorer. Famous for his relentless passing, his perfect goals – not to mention his breathtaking looks. You, as his best friend, couldn't deny the slight crush you felt. It was ridiculous to say that kind of thing when you knew that half the campus fell in love with him.

But on that particular day, it wasn't as if you weren't going because you wanted to. Your teacher would kill you – and your whole class – if you missed that test. It was important. So was Jake's game. Ever since you became friends at the beginning of high school and he joined every sport possible, you went to watch him play. It was a tradition for both of you, even if it was raining. That's why you accumulated raincoats of all colors in your closet and even one or two different umbrellas; one of them even too big for your liking to hold your friends when they went with you.

You did everything for Jake and he recognized that, so much so that he felt selfish when he sulked all day just because you weren't going today. He wouldn't meet your eyes once you got on the pitch.

He couldn't hear you shouting his name after a goal or even running up to the stands and hugging your friends. A mere excuse he had since you were always with all of them, so Jake could hug you too.

A long sigh left your lips as you left the university hall. The pencil and pen pressed against your fingers as you walked through the corridors with the thought that you had done well. The content was extensive, and the whole thing was giving you a headache, but studying every night had been worth it after all. Because even when you felt tired, even when you'd exhausted yourself studying at night, Jake would show up to keep you company.

Shit, Jake. You quickly checked your cell phone for a message from him, because by that time the game was surely over.

To your surprise, he hadn't sent anything, but your cell phone had hundreds of messages from Jungwon and Heeseung. Your heart sank at this.

Dialing the number of one of the boys, you were grateful when Jungwon answered on the second ring.

"Y/n?" he didn't even wait for you to say anything, just seeing your name flashing on the screen of his cell phone.

"Jungwon, hey. Is everything okay?" you knew it wasn't. And Jungwon knew that you were smart enough to know that since he had called your cell phone at least six times. Heeseung called four more.

"Well, no..." there was a slight pause on the other end of the line, his footsteps instinctively tightening as he walked across campus "Can you come to our apartment?"

He didn't even have to ask you once more to get you to agree and say you'd be there as soon as possible. It was a relief that the boys' apartment wasn't so far from the college, even if running hadn't been a good idea, but the desperation of Jungwon's call made your heart squeeze and think of a thousand different scenarios.

Had Jake been hurt during the game? What had happened to make things go wrong like that? The thought of Jake being hurt made your whole body ache, and he blamed himself for not being there and for not providing enough assistance.

It was the only game you hadn't been to in all these years of friendship, so this feeling was rather new. Add to that the fact that you'd had a crush on him for a while, wanting to see him play or do something alongside him, but that was something that wouldn't even come out of your mouth.

Standing in front of the apartment complex, it didn't take long for you to enter and go straight to the elevator that gave access to the boys' floor. But especially today, the journey seemed much longer and more time-consuming, and you'd been doing it for so long that you couldn't even count, but it was torturing you so much.

"Y/n" Jungwon called out as soon as the door opened, without letting you realize that you had already reached their floor, stopped at the door and even rang the bell.

"Hi" you hugged him briefly, entering the apartment and being greeted by Heeseung with a quick hug as well "So?"

"Look…" Jungwon sighed as he closed the door. The three of you walked to the center of the room as he took the initiative in the conversation "You know, we lost the game today…"

He didn't want you to feel guilty at all. Jungwon understood about your commitments, even Sunghoon was with you – because he was from your class – taking that damn exam. You both lost today's game.

"What? Wait… Did you really lose?" your eyes widened.

"It was just a friendly, anyway" Heeseung flopped down on the sofa, picking up a cushion to rest his head on "The problem is that Jake is devastated."

Yes, he hated losing a game. You knew that.

"But I don't think it has anything to do with our defeat today" Jungwon nibbled the inside of his cheek, staring directly at you. Your eyes wandered between him and Heeseung, a frown on the face of the older man sitting on the sofa.

"He's been listening to Party in the U.S.A since we arrived, y/n. You need to do something because I can't take it anymore," he exploded.

You laughed softly, seeing Jungwon give you a disapproving look straight away. Perhaps they had rehearsed a better way to tell you something, but Heeseung's impatience made him practically beg for your help.

"And how am I going to do that? Maybe going there will be worse because I didn't go to see today's game…"

"On the contrary" Jungwon quickly interrupted, "You're the only person who can make him turn that thing off."

"Why?"

A moment of silence and Heeseung dropped the cushion, getting up from the sofa.

"It's so obvious, y/n" he rolled his eyes, but there was a playful smile on his lips as he took hold of your shoulders and led you down the corridor of the apartment. The corridor gave access to the three bedrooms as well as the bathroom.

Jake's room was the last in the corridor and, as soon as you and Heeseung got close to the door, you understood why the other two boys were so frustrated. The music was extremely loud even with the door closed – and possibly locked – while you could hear nothing but Miley Cyrus' voice.

You turned to Heeseung, noticing now that Jungwon was also behind him. Both of them looked at you with such anticipation as you stared back at them.

"How am I supposed to compete with that? When he hears that song…" you whimpered, Jungwon taking the lead to hold you by the shoulders this time.

"We trust you and the power you have over that crybaby" he winked at her, laughing and making her laugh too "Now make him turn it off or I'm breaking that little speaker today."

Both you and Heeseung knew that would never happen. It would be easier for the older one to break the speaker or for you to hide it in your apartment than for little Jungwon to do anything that would make Jake sad or even angrier.

So, turning towards his bedroom door again, you dared to give it a few knocks.

No answer.

A few more knocks and Jungwon's hands came off your shoulders. You heard footsteps moving away, looking back while the two boys were still there. As if to encourage you.

When you knocked once more, the music seemed to get even louder. As if Jake didn't want to be interrupted from his moment. You snorted at this and turned the handle on an impulse, praying that it was open or you'd punch that door until it opened.

And to your surprise it was. Jake didn't usually lock his door because he knew his friends wouldn't come into his room unless he gave permission when he was in those melancholy moments. He hadn't realized that you had opened the door until the bang of closing it made him jump out of bed.

Looking at you with an astonished face, Jake got up from the bed and practically ran towards you. His eyes were glued to yours, bright and fixed on your eyes. He didn't look like he'd cried, but he was about to if you hadn't shown up for a few more minutes.

"Y/n? What are you doing here?" he asked, you were only able to understand because of the proximity. Your shoulders shrugged and your hands went straight to your ears, indicating that you couldn't hear properly because the music was still too loud "Fuck, I'm sorry" Jake ran over to the speaker to turn it down to a considerable volume. He didn't want to stop listening to you because he still felt bad, but he would leave the music in a more comfortable setting so that he could hear your voice more clearly.

"What did you ask me?" you said after he came closer, big eyes staring at you and lips parted.

He didn't need to know that you had heard him perfectly, you just needed an excuse for him to say something and then think about how to continue the conversation.

"What are you doing here?" he asked again.

Jake seemed restless in his seat, his hands hovering at his sides and sometimes going to the hem of the sweatshirt he was wearing to play with something between his fingers.

"The boys couldn't stand the music" you smiled, but he didn't reciprocate because he had looked away from you "And I wanted to know how you were after the game."

"We lost" he said dryly, staring at you for a brief moment "Happy now?"

Jake walked away from you, his hands running through his hair as he let out a long sigh. He had his eyes closed, but you couldn't see because he preferred to keep his back to you.

"Why would I be happy about this, Jake?" you didn't want to feel upset by his tone, knowing that it was a big part of the frustration he felt. Jake sighed again, turning towards you.

"Because in all these years of friendship, you've never lost a game I've played" he was angry, you could see the way his brow furrowed as he spoke. His forehead wrinkled and his lips reddened because he had brushed his teeth a few times before speaking.

"I had a test today, it's not like I'm going to lose your game because I just wanted to," you said in the same tone, trying to get it into his head once and for all.

Jake knew he was being selfish, he knew it, and he would never interfere with your future either, because university was important to both of you. But the frustration over his newly discovered feelings for you, Heeseung, and Jungwon's teasing and the loss of today's game only intensified and he knew he would explode at some point.

Listening to Party In the U.S.A would be the only thing that would de-stress him from that whole incredibly shitty day.

"Anyway, Heeseung said it was friendly, it wasn't even a big deal" you shrugged and didn't know why you'd said it. But you knew it hadn't been a good idea when Jake got angry again. His eyes darkened and he was about to scream from the looks of it.

"So my game was no good, y/n? Is that what you mean?" he asked, you opened your mouth to say something, but Jake was quicker "You know what? Fuck, it really wasn't a big deal whether you went or not" he turned the music back up to the same volume as before, if not even louder.

The looping of Miley's voice had never entered your mind so much at that moment and you knew you wouldn't be hearing that song for weeks to come.

Talking to Jake hadn't gone as well as you'd hoped because not only was he upset, but you were upset too. It wasn't possible that your best friend was acting like this just because you hadn't gone to the game.

But then Heeseung's words echoed in your mind. It's so obvious. You didn't like to play the fool for that kind of thing, especially when it seemed to be completely reciprocated. Losing Jake's feelings for you wasn't in your plans, even more so after you came to accept that you felt it too, even if he didn't know it.

So your body acted better than your mind and, before you knew it, your hands were resting on the back of his swivel chair. With a little effort to make it spin along with Jake's body, you managed to catch his startled gaze as he started to face you.

"Y/n, you—"

"No time for bullshit, you little shit" you cursed angrily, but your actions said completely the opposite when your fingers gently held Jake's face just to keep him in place.

You pressed your lips to his and a long sigh came out of Jake's mouth at the sudden contact. He remained static for a few seconds, processing whether this was really happening or whether he was imagining it too much. But no, he wasn't dreaming and he realized it when the tip of your tongue pressed against his lips to ask for passage.

Jake gave in willingly, he wasn't going to turn down something he dreamed about practically every night even though he thought it was wrong to fantasize about his best friend.

In one swift movement, his hands grabbed your waist and pulled you onto his lap. The kiss took on even more rhythm and desire as the two of you attacked each other's lips. Your hands tangled in Jake's hair and pulled slowly as he pressed you against his body.

Gasping breaths, foreheads pressed together and the tip of his nose lightly brushing against yours.

"Jake" you called after a period of silence, him murmuring softly as he caressed your waist over the T-shirt you were wearing.

"Yeah?" he replied.

"Don't listen to that song anymore, please?" he laughed at your question, opening his eyes to find yours still closed.

You were so beautiful, but you looked even more stunning with your lips red and moist with his saliva mixed with yours from the kiss you shared with him, sitting on his lap. Jake couldn't help letting out a sigh, closing his eyes, and brushing his lips against yours again.

"Only if you kiss me more often like you did today," he whispered, causing a shiver to run through his entire body "I bet that'll calm me down more than any song I could ever listen to."

© ikeuverse, 2023. do not copy, translate or steal my stories.

[sincere1ystar]

Alone Again

peacekeeper coriolanus snow x fem! reader

You and Coriolanus have always had a complicated relationship, and before you can mend it fate makes a decision for you.

There were two men who lived within coriolanus snow. The first one was Officer Snow who held his head high and was highly respected among his fellow peacekeepers. The second one was your Coryo who came to your house every night in fragmented pieces. Yet you would always put him back together again while he whispered empty promises to you among his sobs.

He came fractured to you every night and you slowly put him back together every night. As the sunlight poured through the windows, he would be as good as new again. He left you a kiss on your cheek every morning before he put on his peacekeeper uniform and left before anyone noticed he was gone for too long. You were happy to see him at peace during the mornings, knowing that his melancholy would arise with the moon and he would come back to you bruised and broken yet again.

Sometimes you wondered how much longer you could put up with it all. Coriolanus sweared that your love could heal all his wounds. Love, that’s what shackled you to him. He truely knew you, he would trace over the little details over your skin that you never knew existed and somehow always knew what were you feeling by the look in your eyes. But he still kept himself so guarded around you, you could see it in the way all his expressions seemed calculated and how he sometimes bit his lip mid conversation, making sure to never reveal too much. Did you really know the man you loved?

Despite his flaws, you knew he loved you and you comforted yourself with the fact. He still made effort for your sake even when he was in vain. He would always come back to you, was it for your sake or because you were all he had left?You weren’t picky, you never received much love growing up so you latched onto what you could get and you refused to let go of Coriolanus even with calloused and scorched hands begging you to let go.

When the appearance of his footsteps on your doorstep was replaced with a letter, you don’t read too much into it at first. It was later than his normal arrival time and you decided to peek out the window to see if you could catch any sight of him. Instead you were met with a flimsy piece of paper that that didn’t even meet up to his presence. You opened it hoping it was just a warning that he would be coming home later than usual. Your face fell when you slowly unfolded the paper and realized that Coriolanus wasn’t just held up by his peacekeeper duties.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

To my dearest,

It seems our path has come to an end. Not like I wanted it to, I avoided shortcuts and alternate routes. I always knew deep down we were on limited time, still like a foolish boy I pushed it down hoping for a miracle. Don’t hate me, fate is a cruel thing and set us up from the start knowing we would never stand a chance. Don’t wait up on me either, I won’t come back. Perhaps this was for the best, a soul as gentle as yours was never meant to be with my tainted one. I hope you’ll move on, it’ll be best for you and that’s all I’ll cared about from the start.

Forever and Always,

your Coryo

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Even know that he was gone he was stil asking so much from you. “Dont hate me.. Don’t wait up on me.. I hope you’ll move on”. You should be angry, yet you can’t help it as tears slip from your eyes. You gave him everything you were, you gave him your being and soul all for a piece of paper with his written words on it. Your tears fall on the paper smearing the ink. Destroying the last memory you would ever have of him. Still, the letter couldn’t capture the way he always knew how to make up for his mistakes or the way his apologizes ran sweet through his mouth like honey. He had turned you into some sort of fool, crying your heart out over a man who could only offer you “I’m sorry’s” instead of “I do’s.

Too little too late.

[liillyliilly]

Take Me Back

hinata shouyou x reader words; 1345 synopsis; breaking up and making up with the one that he couldn't let get away from him.

“Take me back to that summer in Brazil playing beach volleyball.” 4 missed calls.

In a language he doesn't call his own but feels like home he leaves voicemails for her. He clears his throat, and says his piece. He knows he should be loving his girlfriend here in Japan, but he's too addicted to the taste of brigadeiros and pavé in her mouth. Brazil warmed his senses up to a new style of play and a new way to love.

He looks at the clock on his wall, it’s a perfect 12 hour time difference. He’s going to bed, she just had lunch. She never calls him back though. She only texts through Whatsapp when she has the time to properly respond, around midnight her time and lunchtime for him.

“I know it's been a while and I haven’t reached out.” 12 missed calls.

She showed him around Rio when no one else could. She was the one who ended up having to endure him when he underwent his first really bad sunburn. He remembers the way she laughed at him for forgetting sunscreen, “tão burro” she kept repeating while rubbing aloe vera on his shoulders. He remembers whining so much that she poked him in the forehead before putting her hands on her hips and chastising him in her Portuguese that was just way too fast for him to catch any of the words.

He had to meekly apologize with a pout, and she forgave him with a kiss.

Maybe that’s why he still sometimes forgot to put on sunscreen when he was playing volleyball.

“Thought I’d regret you like a teenage tattoo but I miss you, baby what can I do?” 14 missed calls.

In Brazil Hinata only got good at swimming because she loved to swim. And because she wore the best swimsuits, but that’s not his only sole reason for getting into swimming. She could swim circles around him, but he still had fun treading the water.

Sometimes, she liked to duck down into the water and tug on his legs. The first time she did that, Hinata thought he would die and that the tug was a result of a shark. The way she just curled into herself and giggled when she popped out of the water and observed his reaction was unparalleled by any other prank he’d gone through. Her joy at his pain was unusual but also intriguing.

Those little games, sometimes back and forth, but mostly her playing them on him was something he missed when he got back to Japan. When he got back, he went into his apartment expecting her to be dancing samba in the living room to afrobeat music. When she wasn’t there, a pang of melancholy strung at his heart. His home here was less alive.

“Why do I shiver thinking about you?” 17 missed calls.

No matter how much his friends and family compared him to the sun, he still thought that he paled in comparison to her. Bright, loud, and glad to be doing her own thing.

There’s always the possibility that he developed some sort of codependency on her. Despite her free-spirit and slightly loner dependencies, Hinata stuck to her like glue. When she would try and slink off into the night to go clubbing, he would bring her in and make traditional Japanese dishes for her to try. Hinata introduced Oikawa to her, which may have been a problem, but she didn’t seem to enjoy Oikawa’s overwhelming embrace of machismo culture. She liked Hinata’s gentle and silent strength over a boastful, loud power.

A guiding hand on her waist rather than pulling her along by the hand. A kiss to the shoulder instead of tearing her away from her conversations for a breathless kiss. Early morning texts to say good morning instead of late night, ‘you up?’ messages. Hinata was everything she wanted, or so Hinata thought.

Apparently, going on three dates in a row wasn’t considered an exclusive relationship to her. So when Hinata saw her with a different guy on the beach, using his towel that she always lent him, tucking her hair behind her ear the way he was supposed to, Hinata didn’t know how else to react.

Throwing a volleyball at the back of the guy’s head was probably not the right move to make, but it was the move he made. The other man just rubbed the back of his head, saying that ‘estrangeiros’ were always a little too obsessed with fine Brazilian women. She just smacked Hinata upside the head, but when he looked at her with sad eyes and with his bottom lip just a little jutted out, she ran a hand through his hair and brought him into an open mouth kiss.

He did have to apologize to her other date, and he ended the conversation by saying that she was still off limits.

“You're still the one I’m thinking about.” 20 missed calls.

Hinata was tired now. It was one in the morning and he was leaving her messages while he laid in bed waiting for sleep to finally take him. Was he desperate? Likely and affirmatively yes.

She told Hinata that long-distance wouldn’t work out, and that he should enjoy finding other people to date back at his home country. He wanted to argue with her, but she said it was final.

She was just there for a while, embracing him in his time in Brazil, and then since he was leaving, she would become merely a part of his memories. Her ease of farewells ripped his heart out. He wished she would’ve fought for them more, fought for him more. But you can’t ask people to stay who don’t want to stay of their own will. So he left, and she said good luck.

When he went back to Japan, he was worried about her. So he did ask Oikawa to check in on her and make sure she was doing okay. Then when Oikawa would send occasional pictures of them at the beach, with their tongues sticking out and hair wet from the ocean water, Hinata wanted nothing more than to be back in Brazil enjoying life. Oikawa would send other photos too, with her permission, ones where Oikawa caught her surfing a wave with practiced skill and ease of enjoyment for the activity, or when she was just laying on the sand stretching in the warmth of the sky.

They were friendly, sending messages frequently during the weeks of his initial return. Then as the months went on, there was less connecting the two, she didn’t respond to messages that quickly. She didn’t update him on life back in Brazil, and he stopped giving her play-by plays of all the games he participated in and who he had met up with.

He got a Japanese girlfriend, and she was nice. But she wasn’t the girl he wanted to go home to everynight.

“Maybe I still want something about you?” 26 missed calls.

There was a saying, from some American poet, someone he learned about but entirely forgot. The saying talked about the influence of yearning. It is the worst poison, best medicine, and key to so many doors.

He was out and about, looking for some lunch now. His sleep was restless. Maybe a fruit sando would be the best solution to the hunger pangs in his stomach. Exchanging cash for the food, he sits outside on the patio, unwrapping the foil and taking a bite.

She finally responded when the time neared midnight in her timezone, texting him. She asked if he knew what he was doing. She asked if he was inebriated last night. She asked if he was still dating his girlfriend. She said that if he was still dating her then he wasn’t being nice. She said she would never date someone who cheats. Hinata screenshots his text exchange with his newly ex-girlfriend.

She sends an eye roll emoji.

He smiles.

Midnight in Brazil. 0 missed calls. One incoming call.

[fayes-fics]

It Had To Be You: Chapter 9 - Nobody Else Gave Me A Thrill

Masterpost PREV | NEXT

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, Modern AU

Summary: You two finally figure it all out on New Year's Eve...

artwork credit @colettebronte

Warnings: none, really… just some swearing and love confessions.

Word Count: 3.8k

Authors Note: A multi-chapter modern rom-com retelling of When Harry Met Sally. Here we are; this is the final chapter! Both reader and Benedict finally see the truth. There will be a short, hopefully humourous epilogue to this story as well, which I will post tomorrow. Thanks to @colettebronte for betaing. I hope you have all enjoyed this fic <3

For the next few weeks, the dreary weather, the clocks changing, and the chilly nights drawing in match your sullen mood. Your argument with Benedict at the wedding made you so sad but resolute to try and put it behind you.

It's the last weekend in November when you are buying a Christmas tree that you feel the worst. Making a mess of dragging the tree back to your place alone, leaving a trail of needles behind you, you stop halfway and slump onto a doorstep. Recalling with perfect clarity how you and Benedict had bought one together from the same man the previous year, laughing carefree as you easily carried it between you. Then you drank mulled wine as you haphazardly threw on lights and ornaments, dancing to cheesy Christmas songs. It's what you miss the most—his companionship, the ease of time spent with one of your favourite people.

Just as you are wrestling the tree through your front door, exhausted, sweaty and prickled by a thousand tiny shitty needles that seem to have it out for you, your phone pings with a message.

BB: I'm sorry for how things ended at the wedding. I've been thinking about it for weeks now. Please call me. I want to talk. 

Pride (and your current disastrous had-a-fight-with-a-tree-and-lost appearance) stops you from doing what you genuinely want to—picking up your phone and Facetiming him to sort it all out.

Not ready yet.

__

Two weeks later, it's mid-December, and you are sitting cross-legged on your living room floor with a big glass of wine, wrapping presents for friends, when your phone pings again. For a while now, almost every day, he has been sending links to Insta posts with adorable and hilarious content. Each of which you have enjoyed but couldn't bring yourself to reply to. This time, it’s a message.

BB: If you are available at the moment, please call me.

You stare at the little pop-up notification and take a gulp, a weird weight in your chest at the idea you might cave this time. Perhaps. Once you are done wrapping this gift. A few minutes later, your phone pings again.

BB: Okay, I assume no call means:

BB: (A) you can't take a call right now

BB: (B) you can, but you don't want to talk to me or 

BB: (C) you desperately do want to talk to me but are trapped under something heavy

BB: If it's A or C, please call me back later, doesn't matter what time

BB: Also, if it’s C, please call 999 if you are in danger, then call me after. I don't have any heavy-lifting equipment… 

You can't help but giggle at his gentle, silly humour, attempting to diffuse the tension. A large part of you wants to call; you even have the phone in your hand, but at the last minute, you rest it against your forehead with a sigh, something stopping you. Your stupid rebound fling being the biggest one, Benedict’s cutting remark about how quickly you let someone else into your bed, making your stomach roil. 

Still not ready yet.

—

“Obviously, she doesn't want to speak to me,” Benedict laments, his words muffled into a scatter cushion on Kate and Anthony’s sofa. 

It's the morning after they've returned from honeymoon, three days before Christmas. While they are thankful Benedict popped over with some basics to make breakfast, they could do without his melancholy—they’re much more about a ‘let’s have newlywed sex on the kitchen table’ vibe.

“What do I have to do? Get hit over the head? Be in some calamitous accident?” Benedict whines, twisting his head in aggravation as if trying to burrow himself head-first into the furniture.

‘What do we do?’ Anthony mouths to Kate, who throws her hands up defeatedly.

‘How should I know?’ she mouths back, frowning. ‘He's your brother.’

‘Your friend's fault,’ Anthony shoots back.

Kate crosses her arms and gets a look like a sour lemon, and he instantly regrets that line.

Benedict lifts his head to look up at them, and she has to stifle a giggle behind her hand at the deep red imprint of the cushion zipper on his forehead.

“If she wants to talk to me. She will call me back, right? I'm done with making an idiot of myself….” Benedict claims boldly.

__

You are sitting on the sofa at your childhood home early evening on Christmas Day, almost disgustingly full of Baileys (your mum's tipple of choice on this day) and Christmas pud, watching The Wrong Trousers - a family tradition - when your phone pings with a message.

It's from Benedict and your stomach vaults. You honestly thought after more than a week of silence, he had given up trying. And part of you was so sad. There is no text this time, just a video attachment. You excuse yourself to the downstairs cloakroom, taking a seat on the closed lid of the toilet, intrigued as to what it is.

The video starts with him looking directly into the camera, his handsome face filling the frame and making your stomach swoop again. Fuck, you have missed seeing it.

“Merry Christmas y/n. I hope you are having a nice time. I miss you, and I hate how we left things,” he opens honestly, “and when Bridgertons don't know what to do, we always act stupidly. It's our ‘thing’. So here, You can blame this on my genetics...”

The video cuts to black briefly and then fades into him, a huge 6ft lump, crowded behind a plastic toy piano on the floor, probably one of Daphne’s kids' toys. You instantly giggle at the ridiculous visual as he apes a maestro, closes his eyes as if about to play Chopin, and flexes his hands. Then, the tinny, electric sound of some familiar notes being played hesitantly begins. He isn't exactly a natural pianist.

“Hey, I didn't just meet you, And this is crazy, 

You know my number, So call me maybe,

It's hard to feel right without you, lady

You know my number, so call me, maybe…”

You are instantly laughing. He's such an adorable, charming idiot. Sitting behind a miniature plastic piano and playing, half in earnest, half in jest. At least his voice can hold a semi-decent tune. It brings an affectionate mist to your eyes even as it continues…

“Before you came into my life, I missed you so bad

I missed you so bad; I missed you so, so bad

Before you came into my life, I missed you so bad

And you should know that, I miss you now… so, so bad….”

For the last few words, he slows down the song and looks directly down the lens pointedly.

Something in his pleading look is the straw that breaks the camel's back proverbially, and with a slight tremor in your hand, you scroll to his name and hit the FaceTime button before you can think twice about it. The sound of the tone, as it rings, feels so loud, and each crisp ‘bringggg’ makes your nerves jangle. Just as you are about to hang up, the call connects.

“I'm sorry it took me so long to answer. I had to find a private spot.” he sounds a little winded.

“Where are you?” you frown, an unfamiliar background behind him.

“My childhood bedroom. Aubrey Hall.”

“Oh my god! Show me!” You enthuse, your initial equivocation derailed by nosiness, which you decide to frame instead in your mind as mere curiosity.  You never got to see it the wedding weekend for, well, reasons you don't want to dwell on right now.

He quickly flips the camera around, giving you an audio-guided tour of the room he grew up in. Dark blue walls with framed posters for his beloved Blur alongside Travis, Radiohead and Shaun of the Dead. Silly stick-on glow-in-the-dark stars on the high ceiling that are likely too high for anyone to bother getting out a ladder and peeling off. Shelves with little wooden car models he made with his dad before he died, mixed in with certificates of achievement from school, shiny brass archery trophies, and his early sketches in those cheap snap-in frames. And lastly, a collection of jagged small rocks and colourful pebbles. It makes you feel so very affectionate for little teenage Benedict.

“You are bloody adorable!” you blurt out, almost forgetting all the awkwardness from the past few weeks.

The camera flips around, and his lopsided grin fills the screen. “Thank you. I try to make a habit of it…”

You smile back and then sigh. “I’ve missed this,” you confess quietly, wistfully. 

“I’ve missed this too. You. Us. Can we please be friends again? Please? I know we both have a lot of things to talk about. With that night and all… but… can we reset? I need you, Bluey. I am miserable without my best friend,” he pouts, his raw honesty making your chest ache. 

It’s exactly how you feel, too. Except with a massive pang of regret that he seems to want to forget your magical night together. Sex is never like that, at least not for you—electric and addictive. Doing a reset to save your friendship feels like the most logical step. Still, it doesn’t stop the “what if” fantasies running in your head with increasing frequency, especially on a day like today—nostalgia, sentiment and overindulgence swirling in your being. 

“I would like us to be friends again,” you exhale, a lie by slight omission, drumming your fingertips on your cheek nervously to stop you from saying more. 

“Wonderful! Then it is so! I can’t wait to see you again! Are you going to the New Year's party? The one Simon & Daph are hosting at the Sky Terrace? Cos if you are, I was wondering, if you don’t have a date if we could go together? We always said we would be each other's plus one if neither of us is with anyone…”

That he wants to completely reset to that world makes your heart crack. You want to scream at him, ‘No! I want to be your real date! Pick me, for real, this time!’

“I… can’t do that,” you waver, and it comes off sounding tired.

“You have a date?” It’s soft, hesitant, trepidatious.

“No…” you admit, “I just don’t think it’s a good idea to go together like that. I… I can’t be your consolation prize anymore, Benedict,” you blurt out, the hurt taking over your tongue.

The look of stunned surprise on his face makes it worse. As if he had never even seen it from that perspective.

“That’s not what I….” he begins but is interrupted by a loud door bang as it slams into the wall and a yelling voice.

“Stop fucking hiding and get your bloody arse back downstairs. You can’t miss family dinner on Christmas Day!” Colin scolds loudly offscreen.

“I’ve got to go…,” he sighs reluctantly as an arm manhandles him up and off the bed. “Merry Christmas,” he adds, belatedly realising you both forgot to say it earlier on the call.

“Whoever it is, hang up. No one is more important than family on Christmas,” Colin gripes. “That’s it, I’m taking your phone…”.

The screen is filled with random shapes and loud noises as they seem to wrestle like children. And then the call suddenly disconnects. 

You sigh and tip sideways against the cold tile of your parents' cloakroom wall.

Merry Christmas, indeed.

__

Benedict takes stock of his surroundings. December 31st, 11:00pm, lying on his stomach on his sectional chaise, staring up at the big flatscreen on his wall.

This isn't so bad… he tries to convince himself. I've got Jools Holland’s Hootenanny - the only decent New Year's programme, some Glenfiddich and Mini Cheddars - the best snack there is… 

He sighs and realises how pathetic he sounds, even in his own mind, alone in an empty flat.

__

The man whirls you around, and you are almost thrown straight into Kate and Anthony.

“I should never have let you drag me to this,” you grouse so only they can hear.

They both shoot you an apologetic look until you are whipped away again. This man’s dancing style is more akin to a waltzer amusement ride than anything sensual or fun. Your shoulder is already aching. It's a far cry from the surprising salsa Benedict pulled out of the bag last New Year’s Eve. And the idle thought of him has you spiralling…

“Mind if we stop?” you puff as the band finishes the song with a flourish. He’s some slick European investment banking type, and really, you couldn't give two shits about offending him, merely your ingrained politeness kicking in.

He nods and goes off to grab drinks as you stand, hands on hips, trying to gather your breath as you watch all the people moving like a mass of limbs on the crowded dancefloor as the following number begins.

Why the fuck am I here?

__

This is much better… Benedict rationalises to himself as he wanders down the rainy, empty East London streets not far from his Hoxton pad. Who needs to be at a big, crowded party pretending to have a good time?

He pauses outside a trendy shop on Old St, selling overpriced crap that he's not even sure what it is.

See? I can do some window shopping. He tells himself silently—clutching at anything to distract himself from the creeping sense of dread in his gut. A slow twisting knife as he thinks about you dancing the night away, ringing in the New Year with some fancy, handsome man who definitely doesn't deserve you.

What does it matter to me? We are just friends. Best friends… the only friend I ever want to see every day… the only one who truly matters….

He has thought about how to repair the damage between you so much over the last few weeks that he's exhausted himself. Really, he just wants you back. All of you, ideally, but being realistic, any part of yourself you will let back into his life. The suggestion of a reset he made on Christmas Day being his cowardly way out.

—

You are fake laughing at the banker’s story as you lean around the pillar you are backing yourself against in an attempt to secure more personal space. Glad of the heated lamps and the glass overhang to shelter from the drizzle.

“I'm going home,” you growl.

“You’ll never find an Uber,” Kate points out deadpan as you turn back around and keep faking amusement.

__

Just as his thoughts spiral, Benedict hears a chuckle on the other side of the road. There, a couple are laughing together, wrapped in each other's arms, kissing, looking like no one else in the world matters… and it’s like a lightning rod hits him square in the chest.

Suddenly, all he can see are images of you, fluttering like motioned-filled playing cards from above, swirling into his eyeline, then floating onto the glistening pavement around him. Vignettes of his life and where you intersect at so many pivotal moments. The day he left uni - the car ride where you bickered like an old married couple, the day he moved to Paris - your dilated pupils and hitched breath on the Eurostar when he whispered in your ear, the unerring sympathy when you heard about his divorce, the way you held his hand when you wandered after dinner somewhere (he doesn't even recall where… only that it was with you), watching movies together on FaceTime, your incredulity when he confessed to his uneventful recurring sex dream, your surprise and, yes, arousal as he led you in the salsa dance, the way you tucked so neatly into his arms haunting him. And finally, how it felt to be buried inside your gorgeous body as you clung to him, calling his name like a siren song, intimacy like he has never known, the profundity of the connection petrifying the very life out of him. 

But as he stares down at his tatty old Converse, the same ones he wore the day you met, in fact, all he sees in the puddle beneath him is the simple truth he has been in denial about, possibly for a decade or more. Rippling refractions of your face - your knowing smile, bright eyes, your wonderful, happy expression…

And before his brain acknowledges it, his feet are moving….

Walking fast…

Then it’s a jog…

Then it’s a run….

.. his feet carrying him to the one place he knows with every fibre of his being he wants to be.

—

You wander as if in a daze, seemingly surrounded by nothing but couples, kissing, dancing, whispering, and it's the final straw. You spy Kate and Anthony sipping champagne together and slope over.

“I'm going,” you sigh.

“But it's almost midnight,” Anthony protests.

“Being surrounded by people kissing is just…” you shrug, melancholy creeping in like a clingy fog around your heart.

“I’ll kiss you,” Kate placates, and Anthony perks up to no end at that suggestion, nodding enthusiastically as you both roll your eyes, bemused. “Stay? Please?” she pleads, pouting and grabbing your hands.

“Thanks, Kate. But no. I have to go. Have a wonderful night,” you bid them, kissing her gently on the cheek. “Happy New Year,” you whisper as she returns the greeting.

__

Benedict's lungs are burning as he races down Old St towards Shoreditch, not far from where you celebrated last year. He ignores the ache in his muscles and keeps going, checking his watch to see 11:56pm and racing harder.

I need to be there at midnight!

__

As you walk to pick up your coat, a sight makes your heart leap into your mouth and stops you dead in your tracks.

There, rounding the top stair, casual in old faded jeans, those ancient Converse and a chunky knit jumper… is Benedict. Hair fluffy and dishevelled from the rain, out of breath and scanning the crowd desperately. As if he is seeking someone.

Then his eyes finally land on you, and your world tilts. 

Oh god, is he here… for… me?!?

Then he is striding purposefully towards you, and it seems like the crowds part. His eyes blisteringly intense, like they were on that fateful night. You try to school your face, aiming for casual indignance; you probably fail spectacularly— your heart thumping wildly.

“I've been doing a lot of thinking…” he begins as he pulls up before you. “And the thing is… I love you..”

Everything grinds to a halt, and your head feels dizzy.

This must be a prank, surely?

“What?” you stutter, disbelief rocking your core.

“I love you,” he says with a simple shrug as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

“Ben.. I… what do you expect me to say?” you blurt out, floored.

“How about you love me too,” he smiles a tiny fraction, and you hate it.

You hate how RIGHT he is. Your body is a total jumble of live wires, but your mind is suddenly calm. It's like the clouds of your thoughts part, and it all seems crystal clear. And yet, something in your stubborn heart won't let you admit it. Terrified what it could mean to voice it.

“Look, Ben, I know it's New Year, and I know you may be lonely tonight. But please don't do this,” you implore haltingly, tears prickling hot in the corners of your eyes, “...not like this,” you whisper, defeated.

“Okay, how about like this….” he throws his hands up. “I love that you won't admit you love me. I love that you are looking at me like you want to kill me right now. I love that my body is screaming at me cos I ran here as fast as I could.” he gestures down at his slightly shaky legs.

“Ten seconds to New Year's!!” a loud voice blares out over the speakers.

“TEN!!” the crowd chants.

“I love that we are idiots who would never admit to how in love we are.”

“NINE!”

“I love that you are my blue lobster, rare and beautiful as a diamond but a delicious soft treat under that hard as nails shell….” 

“EIGHT!”

He tilts your chin to look up at him, a thumb swiping a tear you didn't even know had escaped. 

“SEVEN!”

“Don't leave me out here in the wind, y/n…,” he murmurs softly.

“SIX!”

“I… I love that you never give up,” you whisper so quietly even you can barely hear it. 

The smile that lights up Benedict’s face makes your whole being feel like the stars live inside your chest.

“FIVE!”

“I love that you take homemade salads on a road trip,” he smirks playfully, referring to the first day you spent together all those years ago.

“FOUR!” 

“I love that you kept your amazing dance prowess under wraps,” you laugh over a stilted snuffle, everything in you fizzling.

“THREE!”

“I love that I can still smell you on my clothes after we spend the day together,” he sighs, moving in closer, your eyes hypnotised by the movement of his cupid’s bow.

“TWO!”

“I love that you came here tonight,” you admit, your hands circling his forearms as you sway slightly in unison.

“ONE!”

“I love that you are the last person I want to talk to before I go to sleep at night,” he confesses, his lips ghosting over yours now, smiling crookedly even as he speaks.

“HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!!” the crowd chants.

All around you, party poppers go off, colourful ribbons of streamers, and the sound of glasses clinking fills the air. But it’s background noise, your whole focus on each other.

Finally, your lips meet, the fireworks under your ribs matching those in the skies above, the same as it was that first time weeks ago. You melt into each other's embrace, your kiss a seal of a pact and the promise of something new and infinite.

“For the record,” he rumbles, his minty breath hot on your lips, the strains of Auld Lang Syne ringing around the rooftop. “I'm not saying this because I’m lonely and not because it’s the New Year. I came here tonight because when you finally realise you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start…”

“...as soon as possible,” you exhale, completing his sentence with him as he nods, grinning from ear to ear. 

The drunken chorus around you gets louder; he chuckles and shakes his head. “I’ve never understood this stupid song.”

“I think it’s about remembering not to forget. Or not forgetting to remember. Or something,” you peal a laugh, knowing you are talking gibberish and not giving a damn. “Anyway, it’s about old friends,” you add pointedly, moving in for another spine-tingling, heart-melting kiss.

As you part, he cradles your jaw in his hands. “It was only ever you, y/n,” he sighs, hazy eyes burning into yours, his whisper fervent but contented into your skin. “It had to be you.”

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @amygdtjhddzvb @sya-skies

[crepesuzette2023]

I know this is a broad question, but if you had to pick, what is the most angsty Mclennon fic you’ve read so far ? You have some amazing recommendations and I’m looking to hurt my own feelings lol

Hi st-john!

Thank you for the ask! This made me think about some of my angsty forever-faves in general, sorted from subtle to savage. (Under the cut.)

If you want to skip straight (do we use this word around here?!) to the fics I personally find the most angsty: they're at the bottom of this post. I also included some dark/angsty stories here, but I didn't want to repeat any recommendations.

Your ask helped me understand what it is I find the most angst-filled in mclennon, so thank you for that. I was surprised to see so many canon-adjacent stories on my list, and I think it shows that, to me, the most potent angst doesn't come from outside threat but from their minds, as evidenced by events that actually happened. The two of them being scared of (and turned on by) the big fat x they mark on their shared psychosexual map is one of the most attractive aspects of mclennon for me—followed by the two of them taking x for granted, and being permanently damaged once they realize they lost it forever. I also like stories that show their mutual resentment, even as they're into each other (sometimes literally). Anyway, under the cut are some of my favorite angsty fics in three handy categories:

1.) Carry That Weight/Love is Strange: Their relationship is deep and doomed and addictive. These stories are all set during the Beatle-years. I'M GONNA HAUNT YOU (sexysadie): 1968. John and Paul talk about women, but really, they talk about each other. A brief story about longing in the absence of hope. WALKING CLOSE AT HAND (harmonising): John and Paul as pair of broken mirrors, haunted by death in all things. Their love as beautiful magic-turned-curse. LET ME ROLL IT (@downtothe-lastdrop): The 1968 NYC Apple Launch Divorcemoon from Paul's POV. Lively and detailed, and drenched in what it must feel like to drown in unspoken words. I THINK OF THINGS WE DID (J_deandra_j): 1965. John and Paul fuck in Austria during the filming of Help! There is something intangibly upsetting about this story: anger and frustration; lust and sex with little room for softness—but it's so good and real and raw while it lasts. This one is impossible to forget! John POV. HOW YOU WERE DIVERTED (candle_beck): Paul handles John. This is about sex as one of the things that is "just them"—an urgent and rough emergency intervention. 2.) Tributes to the Canonical Breakup. To me, the break-up is an angst-filled nightmare. Not to mention the looming day of John's murder. I love stories that explore the break-up and its aftermath with compassion. And, as painful as it is, I especially love stories that make me feel that the love was there, always (even though it wasn't enough). THROW THE WINE (@savageandwise). This one is such a classic I imagine everyone must have read it, but I can't not mention it. It was one of the first fics I read—arrow through me, and such. The more painful it gets, the more it slows down. That takes courage. YOU'RE A DREAM LOVER (@dailyhowl). John and Paul share dreams and love each other in their dreams—gloriously so—but in the end, the dream is over. The most brutal aspect of this one is seeing Paul in the end, alone. I STILL MISS SOMEONE & CLOSE THE DOOR LIGHTLY WHEN YOU GO (RosalindBeatrice). Paul and John become lovers in the 70's, but their encounters are few and far between—and in the end, darkness falls. But there's also the mercy of honesty, tears, and, yes: sex. Beautifully melancholy story about the vast distance between bright stars. ONE NIGHT IN BANGKOK (@backbenttulips). Apologies to the writer in case my "angsty" reading of this one misses the mark! Above all, this is a hot hot hot story about John and Paul hooking up in Bangkok and fucking every which way, remembering the past and seizing the present. But it's also a story about a relationship that no longer exists: their musical partnership. They destroyed the one place where their love had a home. Now, faraway hotel rooms will have to do—and there are no goodbyes or plans for a next time. (I must repeat how hot this is though.)

3.) "A day may come when the courage of Men fails, when we forsake our friends and break all bonds of fellowship, but it is not this day."—Except it's exactly this day. Deep pain and sadness: the break-up is final; no one was saved. [Writers mentioned here: this is meant as a compliment. All of these stories are so good. It's not for nothing that I was never able to forget some lines from these stories, even though I read them very early on.]

HEAR ME, MY LOVER by @savageandwise. (Unfinished, but feels finished.) At the time the Beatles break up, Paul attempts to kill himself. He lives, but much else is destroyed. No one is wrong or right—their love and fracturing cut all possible ways. I read this as a literal translation of what the loss of the band (and John) meant for Paul, for a while.

FOUR LAST SONGS by @celebratorypenguin. This AU (four parts) explores what would have happened to the Beatles if John hadn't been the one to die first. Sentences from this one still live in my brain. The story is both sweeping and deep, and covers the POV of all four Beatles. Its truly an alternate history of the band, and it's very sad. But so, so beautiful, too.

Bonus Materials: John and Paul never became John&Paul. Everyone comes at this differently, but to me, the idea of them meeting, and falling in love, and turning away from it, is as angst-filled as the worst of the the break-up. That's why I think these two are among the best, most courageous, but also most angst-filled, of all mclennon fics: ALL THE BOYS ARE SINGING LOVE SONGS. (@dailyhowl): Paul settles down with Dot and they start a family. He and John meet again, and the spark is still there, but after a night together, the fear of starting over is greater. This magnificently written story fucked me up, and I've yet to pick up the courage to read it a second time. To quote the writer: this is a story about "the angst of living in the prison of society-approved masculinity." Yes. "Happy ending seekers need not apply." That is fair. As a happy ending seeker, I comfort my tender shipper's heart with the exhilarating fact that the real John and Paul did, in fact, become lovers become famous with the Beatles and formed a close musical partnership. THERE ARE ALWAYS FLOWERS (tarenas). This is a story I mentioned in my overall favorites post, and it's not, strictly speaking, all angst (to quote the writer: "this is about being sad and middle-aged, but it's also about being so happy and middle-aged!") It's not even J/P: it's mostly Paul/George, and their relationship is beautiful and real. Still, as a reader I was aching for the other life that could have been, and that is woven through the events of this story with incredible artistry: the Beatles, which everyone misses without knowing why. The great love between John and Paul that ended when John chose someone else. This is the magic of RPF: reality is the shadow event included for free. (Unfinished, with have all four n on-Beatles POV's. So far: George and Ringo.)

[yandere-pleasure]

⌦ .｡.:*♡ Yandere Izuku Midoriya x Reader

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ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ɪᴢᴜᴋᴜ ᴍɪᴅᴏʀɪʏᴀ

ᴏᴠᴇʀᴠɪᴇᴡ: ɪᴢᴜᴋᴜ ᴍɪᴅᴏʀɪʏᴀ ɪꜱ ɪɴ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ᴠɪʟʟᴀɪɴ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴠɪʟʟᴀɪɴ ɪꜱ ʏᴏᴜ.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Izuku Midoriya otherwise known as the hero 'Deku' has a genuine secret of being in love with a villain. 

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ The two of you met by blood. Having been called on a report of crime. He steered himself to the site, he was seconds late, inhale after exhale. You were standing above a lifeless body, while crimson began to drown the pavement. "Are you a victim or a villain?" Midoriya asked almost hesitant to hear the response. "Why can't I be a hero?"  You asked in a low voice, Midoriya couldn't quite put his finger on it, it sounded just like him, in his voice, and in his font. You sounded like you were mocking the term hero but just as equally you sounded saddened by the idea that you weren't hero a sort of pity statement. The situation felt dangerous and by the lack of movement in the citizens lifeless body he knew it was too late, that idea made his hand clench in his glove.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ "You can be a hero but heroes don't kill"  he stated frankly eyes lowering in either pity or empathy he couldn't even really tell. You shook your head this smile on your face. "Then I can't be a hero" you mumbled low shaking your head, with that pitiful smile. "I'm sorry"  you mumbled shrinking into yourself, turning your back against him, you slowly walked away. Midoriya didn't know why but he let you. He let you run away. The ambulance came, carrying out the body, they were saved, the autopsy reported that she intentionally avoided lethal arteries. His question was 'why didn't you kill the citizen? Why only injure?'

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ He hadn't heard about you for months, he searched for information of cases you could've possibly been involved in. Nothing, you were the starting of an end, and just as equally as a dead end. The citizen you killed turned out to be involved in a number of criminal cases, that were poisoned, whether it be witnesses never coming forward, the charges being dropped. A guilty citizen allowed to walk free because the justice system did them wrong. Midoriya empathized. 

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ It took one night, you approached him, while he was on night watch. "Hero Deku can I ask you a question?" your voice seemingly appearing out of nowhere, you seemed full of melancholy, and almost sheer anguish, as if it pained you to be near him. Rhetorically he thought how ironic it was that the invitation to question was a question in of itself, holding back his internal joke. He glanced to your direction. Nodding his head and you read his motions despite the canvas of he night. 

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ "Did you ever want to become a villain?" you asked your head low, letting out a sigh at the end of your question. Midoriya stood up straighter. "I don't think want is the right term, I just knew that I always wanted to be a hero no matter if I really could" Midoriya struggled to piece his thoughts together to express himself. "Did you ever want to become a hero?" He responded, the air hung heavy, the wind stayed quiet. "I don't think anyones first thought is to become a villain" you responded, you almost sounded pained to say it. 

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ "Why can't you be a hero?" Midoriya asked, the idea felt so simple in his head, all he ever had was the desire to be a hero with that ideology it almost made him negligent sometimes. If you wanted to be a hero, why couldn't you be one, the idea baffled him. "I'm just not a hero" you state, rubbing your shoulders along your arms. 

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ "Then why do you talk to me?" Midoriya asked at a loss for words, and will. "Although I know you don't understand me, I feel like at the same time, you can save me, I think I just want to be saved"  you smiled and you almost seemed embarrassed. "I hope I can, I mean I'll try my best" he stated, rambling with an awkward smile. "Have you harmed since?" Midoriya questioned as a hero it was an obvious and or expected question you shook your head. "I thought I was being a hero" you blurted aloud.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ "What does it mean to you to be a hero?" You asked curious and bug eyed Midoriya paused, placing a hand to his chin, taking a moment to mumble to himself in thought. There were plenty of answers to this, but not the right one for him. Midoriya thought back to his younger days of idolizing All Might, although he still does idolize him, what he idolized him to be, it clicked. "I think its giving hope, I think anyone can be a hero, if they give someone hope" Midoriya finished his sentence taking a glance at you for inspection, you were quiet. "Do you think I can make someone hope?" You asked almost pitiful, Midoriya scrunched his face. "I hope for you to be a hero, I hope I can be your hero, you're my hero you give me hope for you!" Midoriya stated almost announcing. You smiled at him, nodding your head. "I hope I can be a hero just like you, Deku" you beamed. 

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Days, and weeks passed. Midoriya thought back to you and your conversations, wondering how you faired. Supposedly the victim, had turned himself in for his crimes, although that most likely wasn't your intention, it worked. They also hadn't pressed any charges against you, which did make Midoriya relax. Another month passed, and he saw you at a park during his shift. Midoriya jumped beside you and you jumped slightly startled. You looked at him with a delighted smile. "How are you hero Deku?" You mused with a hum, he blushed, flustered. "I'm good..." Midoriya muttered off, at a loss. "What is your name?" Midoriya spoke with a pause, feeling somewhat dejected. 

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ "(Y/n)" you stated, with a smile. "Any ideas on a hero name?" Midoriya asked with a delighted smile, "well, I have to work towards the effort to be a hero, but I think I'm going to try to enlist into an hero academy" you smiled happily, making idle conversation. "Is U.A high school on your list?" Midoriya asked with a curious glass, you nodded your head enthusiastically, having reclaimed yourself into a 'Deku Fan', U.A High School was certainly on your agenda. 

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ "I want to be just like you, a good step towards that is attending the same school as you" you chirped. "Although I'm aware it is no easy effort" you state still humming happily on the casual park bench, beside Midoriya. Midoriya beamed, "I'll be sure to help you in anyway I can, lets trade contact information, so we stop meeting by chance" Midoriya stated with a shy smile. You nod your head, feeling somewhat embarrassed you reach out your phone while the two of y'all made idle chatter. 

"ʟᴇᴛꜱ ᴍᴇᴇᴛ ꜰᴏʀ ᴄᴏꜰꜰᴇᴇ? ᴛᴇᴀ? ᴡʜᴀᴛᴇᴠᴇʀ ʏᴏᴜ ʟɪᴋᴇ"

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[deepestnightcolor]

If you haven’t gotten sick of writing Sam fics I would love some headcanons with a little plot of him x a kind of stoic/shy reader who’s into music like him ☺️☺️ maybe a platonic to huge crushing on his end?? (Ofc mutual pining though, because who doesn’t love Sam?? 💕💕)

ᴀ/ɴ: HEHEHE, okay, this was also so fun to write. I love oblivious Sam, okay? I hope you can enjoy this one - it turned out much longer than I wanted it to, whoops! Thank you so much for your time and request, love!

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Sam (SDV) x GN!Reader

ᴡᴄ: 1301 words

ᴍᴅɴɪ ✧ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: none, just fluff.

☾ ꜱɪʟᴇɴᴛ ᴍᴇʟᴏᴅʏ ☽

You were stoic – always had been. Not that you weren’t friendly, no, quite the opposite! You were a person with a heart of gold, Granny Evelyn would say. Always listening to people with great interest and concern, taking on every request on the blackboard, never missing a birthday. It was just that nobody had ever heard you speak more than three words in a row and avoided any and all eye contact; no one had ever seen you laugh or…show any emotion, really. However, that didn’t mean that Sam didn’t find you absolutely and wholeheartedly adorable. He had already tried to pick up a conversation with you more than once but had always been left with the realization that you abruptly stopped speaking after forcing out three words, only humming from then on out. Sam had realized that you liked music about two seasons in – by accident, really. He had seen you standing in front of his window as he played his bass, bobbing your head to the gentle music that sneaked out of his room. However, once you had realized that you had been caught, you looked like a deer in headlight, turning on your heel and abandoning whatever it was that you had been doing. Once the blond had been tasked to bring you some of the crispy bass his mother had made and found you sitting on the front porch, playing an ukulele and singing a quiet tune. It had been drenched in melancholy, and if Sam wasn’t entirely incorrect, one of yearning. He had struggled to step into your field of view, something inside of him refusing to force this moment to end. Yet he had sensed it carried some sort of intimacy; one that you weren’t ready to share. But Yoba did his heart pound for you – his blood was rushing so loud in his ears that he was sure it could have created its own orchestra. He had been especially loud as he entered your property, even going through the trouble of pulling his oversized headphones from his head, pretending he hadn’t ever heard a thing. “The ukulele,” he murmured upon seeing your deer-in-headlights look, “I like it. Like a mini-guitar.” You looked at the instrument that was still in your hands, then looked back up at Sam. And for the first time, Sam actually saw you smile and was addicted.

Sam decided that your shared love for music could be a possibility to build a bridge between the two of you. His attempts were simple at first, opening his window whenever he would play the bass. Sometimes he would catch a glimpse of you, smiling to yourself as you listened to the piece he played.

Sam would try to figure out your favourite songs. Watching you in the saloon and how you reacted to the different records that played. It would take him a while to figure out that when you tapped both your foot and nodded your head meant that you liked the song a lot. He would be quick to take a note, which would lead to his friends affectionately teasing him about carrying a notebook around with him.

Whenever Sam knew you would be around to hear, he would play the tunes that seemed to be your favourites. And really, at times, they would bear fruit with you smiling up at him, not clapping lightly instead of running away. He would give you a thumbs up, heart leaping in his throat at the realization that he had made you smile again.

Once, after he had written a song late at night, he took a walk around town. As he passed your farm, he could hear the ukulele again. Almost shyly he would enter your farm, waiting for you to shoo him away. When you would smile at him, he would come closer. “I liked that. What song is it?” He would ask, hands crossed behind his back. “Wrote it myself,” you’d tell him, adding, as if you had always spoken more than three words, “for someone.” Sam’s brows would furrow at that – because it had sounded a little like a love song.

Sam would decide that he would like to hear your opinion on one of his songs, given that you had shared one with him. He would tape the paper to the side of his house just beneath the window and hoped you would see it on your daily stroll through town. His face would flush with redness when he found the note that had been placed next to the paper reading: “Nice. Sing it for me once?”

And he would sing it for you, standing in front of his house. This felt too personal to be separated by a wall, he would find. And really, you would sit down in front of him, and Sam felt like he was playing in front of way too many people in a way too crowded room. But the way your eyes would sparkle at him, the way you would tenderly smile, it would give him the energy to give his best.

The next morning, he would find a paper taped to his window and find a song that had been jotted down in your handwriting. He would read through the lines, brows again furrowing as he realized that it talked about a man and a lyrical self that yearned for his attention, but just couldn’t find the words.

He would take the note back to your farm and would tape it to the wall with the words “Nice. Sing it for me once?” scribbled on a note placed next to it.

He would feel anxious all day, checking beneath his window for a new note what felt like every five minutes. He would be so nervous, speeding up and down in his room, sitting down at his desk to write, just to jump up again.

When you finally would get back to him, he would be in complete awe as you sing, staring at you like an angel in disguise of a farmer. “And?” You would ask. “That was…wow. Thank you.” There wasn’t more to be said; he would be at a loss for words.

Sam would try to get you to sing with him every now and then, but you would just smile at him. “Once you figure out who my songs are about.”

Ever since, Sam would listen even more closely to you. Trying to find clues in everything.

He would try luring you out of your shell even more by writing more heartfelt songs as well, but you would simply smile at him instead of dropping more hints.

At some point, Sam would whine to Sebastian, telling him about some lyrics. The less private ones, of course, and he would make Seb swear on his bike that he wouldn’t tell a soul. “Sounds like you, doesn’t it,” Sebastian would say, without even looking away from the screen of his computer. When he finally did, he would notice that Sam had long vanished from the spot on the couch, already on his way to the farm.

“Are the songs about me?” Sam would yap, all breathless as he would stare at you with doe eyes, and it would be the first time he would hear you laugh. It wouldn’t be loud and all-consuming like he had expected, but gentle and filling. “Fuck, I really thought I would make a lyric like “I really like you, Sam.” I began running out of ideas.”

Sam would stare at you, before hugging you tightly to his chest. It wouldn’t surprise him that you returned the hug, and it wouldn’t put any shame on him that you would be able to hear his thundering heart, playing its very own song for you.

[vickyvicarious]

So, I noticed something kind of interesting today. Seward's diary never mentions Renfield by name. And that's not totally out of the ordinary for him - I went back and looked, and there are several other times so far that he doesn't name him (18 June, and 1, 8, and 19 July). But in each of those entries, Seward is entirely focused on figuring out Renfield; nothing else is discussed at all. Not naming him is simply because each entry is continuing the same thought/preoccupation. And in fact, on both the 8th and 19th, he calls Renfield "my friend" - the lack of name is not due to emotional distance.

But today it felt more like that. We haven't heard from Jack's diary since the 24th of August, when Renfield escaped on his own terms briefly rather than taking the intentional opportunity given to him. That whole "plan" was a huge unprofessional mess on Seward's part, and I wonder if he realized that at least a little. He went quiet for a good few days, until he heard from Arthur, and then in his treatment of Lucy we see him being a much better doctor and friend than he's ever been to Renfield. Where he's drugging Renfield to sleep so he can go through his journal, with Lucy he is very respectful and makes sure he has consent to share medical information. And so on. Obviously he thinks of Lucy and Renfield in very different ways and has different standards for what is acceptable to do - or even considered as an option.

But I still find it interesting that when we see him writing about Renfield again, this first entry feels a lot more removed than before. It feels like Seward is trying to be more professional and less emotionally involved. He names Renfield at the start by his supposed disorder ("Zoöphagous patient") and at other points refers to him again by role ("my patient") or what he represents ("a wonderfully interesting study"). But he never calls him by name or by any more affectionate nickname such as 'my friend'. He also notes his madness multiple times, musing about madmen and lunatics and wishing he could understand his mind.

A part of me wonders if there is a slight element of Seward recognizing just how out of control his own behavior was getting, and trying to rein it in. It would make sense for him to be doing so either after the escape plan went wrong (and Renfield was furious with him in particular, and he ended his entry saying he'd never forget that night) or after the company of people like Lucy and Van Helsing helps to sort of forcibly reconnect to friends who keep him more humane/sane himself. As well a patient he deeply cares for and wants to treat respectfully (Lucy) potentially making him feel a bit off-balance in how he is treating his 'other' favorite patient (Renfield).

I do have to point out how all of this more distant wording is just dehumanizing Renfield in another way, of course. And it doesn't seem like much about Seward's actual behavior has changed - he still folds pretty easily in the face of Renfield's "cringing" supplication/flattery, and thinks he is indulging him in order to better understand. He still is obviously fascinated by him and takes a strong personal interest in his care. But it feels a little bit like the way he talks about it is at least trying to be more distant.

...Though maybe that's partially just his melancholy. Seward talks multiple times today about not understanding/wishing he could understand Renfield. And for the most part, it reads as more frustrated/downtrodden than previous times. He doesn't have much speculation to offer until the very end of his entry. Is it possible that he is feeling a bit upset about not being able to figure out Lucy's illness, and it's spilling over?

And there's of course the really eloquent line in the middle of this entry describing how he feels returning to "all the grim sternness of my own cold stone building, with its wealth of breathing misery, and my own desolate heart to endure it all." That makes it sound a lot like his time with Lucy and Van Helsing (and talking to Arthur) was really good for him. He needed this friendly socializing, and even if the circumstances weren't ideal, he got to spend time with people who genuinely care for him. Who aren't just using him when they ask for things, who are just as eager to help him, who like him for who he is and have fun being with him. And then he goes back to the asylum.

He doesn't truly like it here. It's not good for him, he's at his worst when he's isolated here. And yet I wonder if, upon his return today, knowing Van Helsing has left and that he's returning (at least mostly) to his customary isolation, he feels much more aware of that than ever. In the past, he's thrown himself willingly if not eagerly into his work, but even the fascination he still feels doesn't seem to boost his mood today. I think he's feeling lonely.

I also think he's feeling a little bit of resigned "this is where I belong" and his more distant language reflects that. It's not just Renfield, after all. It's Lucy, too - he's been calling her by first name in his letters to Arthur, but today in his private diary he calls her "Miss Westenra". And it's not just because he's talking out loud, because he's called her "Lucy" in his diary before. So the more formal address today seems to fall in with the pattern happening with Renfield too. He feels alone, he feels lonely, and so his wording displays less connection to others.

[deceitful-jester]

{!!Short angel in two of the pictures is a man and uses He/Him, curly haired vamp in third pic uses She/Her!!} I was briefly in a Curse of Strahd. . . Thing, it wasn't really a campaign, my partner just wanted to see if she could handle running a module and doing text based stuff, it was really more of a test run for a potential polycule campaign than anything else, and when I actually liked Strahd instead of hating him, she was not prepared to progress, since the options were either homebrew a lot of stuff or say 'Bad ending, you go in the basement forever', but I drew all of this while we were playing. The second to last one is the first attempt I made at drawing Strahd and I do not like it, but I'm throwing it in the pile anyway. The curly haired vampire on the purple background is "Doru". You see, my secondary character, Michael, has been a fully-fledged vampire for about a thousand years, so when we found her in her father's basement, instead of killing her, Michael fully turned her so she could have autonomy, and then Michael helped her figure out her gender and she stayed with the party. The other character that isn't Strahd is, of course, Eddie, who took an immediate liking to the count, particularly because Strahd has a very similar demeanor to a plush wolf with ruby eyes that Eddie treasures and that already had a backstory before I knew anything about CoS and so Strahd, wolf boy that he is, decided to start trying to lure Eddie away from the party by invading his dreams wearing a wolf mask and encouraging the association. I have devoured every Ravenloft book that features Strahd since this happened, and I am going sort of crazy now that I am out of them, especially since I was really enjoying where this campaign was going and I seriously doubt I will ever have a chance to play the module again with a DM who is even slightly compassionate towards me or my stance that the blurb at the beginning of the module that serves as a vague-post about Stephanie Myer is cringe and that Mormons in general {Strahd's original creator is a Mormon just like Myer} have bad takes on vampires and that actually it is deeply bigoted that her opinion is that sympathetic vampires are entirely antithetical to the original morals behind vampires {I think it's great when a monster portrayed as representing 'the other', usually the queer or racialized other, is allowed to be portrayed as cool, fun, romantic, sexy, or at the very least, complex and worthy of being empathized with}, and so I shall have to content myself with daydreaming and being filled with melancholy until the special interest passes, just as the mists themselves would have wanted. Oh well. Maybe I'll have the energy to run it eventually and I'll make Strahd the most deliciously problematic trans and bisexual representation ever and then let all of the PCs kiss him, because that's what we all deserve. Good God I love problematic bisexual vampires