#and it doesn't sound like all that but it was such a lovely outfit

[obeymeluv]

In Your Defense [PT 1 - Heartslabyul, Savanaclaw]

You decide to work at Sam's for Valentine's Day and your crush just happens to hear a customer hitting on you. If they get arrested, can you be their alibi? AKA: This person has a death wish and you find out your crush might be jealous?

Note: Each one is random and some will be longer than others. If I made everyone the same length this thing would be MASSIVE and I would probably die.

Not proofread because of the length. Trying to get everyone done today. It's my last day off for a few.

Whatever part Ortho is in will be platonic, obvs.

Happy V-day!

Riddle likes to think he's made great strides not being angry but hearing some utterly disgusting joke about 'how much do you cost?' sends him like nothing else ever has. This guy is tall and so unimpressive, so plain, so average that Riddle can't really recall him at all. Maybe that's just the absolute fury blurring his vision. He knows he's not breathing but his chest isn't burning near as much as his face; the heat is spreading quick and he can feel it in his cheeks and neck. Temples pounding, his vaguely aware of the growl bubbling in his chest as it threatens to slip past his clenched teeth.

Ace calls it his teapot snarl.

Before Riddle knows it, he's flown off the handle and he's going off on a rant. The whole shop is quiet, people physically backing away as he just methodically unravels everything about this cretin from outfit, posture, presence, delivery, unoriginality--everything. Honestly, he doesn't even remember everything he said. The redhead doesn't even tune back into the sound of his own voice until he ends the onslaught with, "You've just paid twenty thaumarks to embarrass yourself but that pales in comparison to the fact that you thought you had a chance with them. You should be ashamed!"

The man slinks away, sad little bag dragging off the counter.

Whispers and giggles diffuse throughout the shop. He ignores the looks that come his way, using the time to come back to himself. Riddle fixes his cute casual clothes, content with the fact you picked them out together. He catches sight of the matching rose clips on your outfit and in you hair and smiles softly. "A strawberry cookie and a cake pop, please." he clears his throat, fishing his wallet out of his pocket.

Sam had an assortment of sweets and he was going to capitalize on strawberry's popularity while he could. He saw you root through the display case, carefully considering the designs even though they were all supposed to taste the same (allegedly).

"Sure thing. Your total is 12 thaumarks. Thanks for stopping by Sam's Mystery Shop! Happy Valentine's Day!"

He hands you the thaumarks as you take the time to slide the I LOVE YOU cookie in his bag.

----

Deuce is an honors student! He is a good boy that's going to make his mother proud!

HE IS SO GOING TO PUNCH THIS MOTHERFUCKER IN THIS FACE!

His shoulders tense, fist clenching at his side. "Why, you think they're cheap? Something to be bought? What an insult!" his head snaps up as he stares down the slightly taller boy. Deuce's teal eyes turn a dark turquoise; the giddy glint of seeing you and chocolate eggs in one place turns to something sharp and steely. He hands the chocolate eggs to Ace, turning right back around to stare the creep down. Old habits die hard; he's grinding a fist into his hand.

"Aren't you the guy always complaining about limited time sales being unfair? Not my problem you missed the window." the guy scoffs, leaning back against the cashier counter. "Anyways," the guy tilts his head back and starts talking to you.

You look uncomfortable and angry that you can't handle this yourself. Professionalism and all.

"You may have caught the window but I'm about to show you the door." Deuce draws up on him with a quickness people have never seen. Not many people know about all the fights he used to get into. Gripping the guy's hair almost to the point of pulling it out, steering him like a panicked bull, Deuce all but chucks him out the front door of the shop. He turns around to walk back inside and buy his chocolate eggs but that spine-tingling feeling of someone fixing to take a cheap shot makes him pivot and nail the guy with a solid kick to the chest. The guy falls back on his butt, breath hitching.

Deuce scoffs and wipes his shoes on the step before going into the shop. The door is almost closed behind him when he hears a strained grunt. He's been in enough fights to know the guy is off the ground and making one last attempt to catch him from the back. More than done with this and just wanting his damn eggs and to say hi to you in all your festive lace, he shoulder checks the door like he's trying to shove Jack out of the lunch line (which he would NEVER, EVER DO).

The guy falls with a satisfying thud and Deuce tries his best to relax his face as he resumes his place in line. It's red from aggravation and the fact he's fishing for his thaumarks because he's forgotten what pocket he put it in. "Sorry about that," he tries to uncrumple the thaumarks a little before handing them to you. "And the face. My face. Not your face! Your face is fine! Like, you're not ugly! I just, uh--"

"Take the change, Deuce-y!" Ace is standing behind him, guiding his nervous body like a puppet. He makes Deuce grab the change and turns him around, shoving him away from the counter before he can make it any worse. "Now help me move this guy's body! He's out cold!"

---

Ace can only laugh when he hears that line. First of all, it's weak. Secondly, the dude must not have any faith in his game if the delivery depends on you being captive behind the counter. During work hours. With an obligation to be forward facing and listening to whatever he says.

"Why? You worried about your budget, buddy?" Ace laughs, hands laced together behind his head.

The guy snaps up, stick-straight. "N-No! I was just--" his face is blooming pink.

"People aren't products, bro. There's no discounts." Ace shakes his head.

"W-What I meant was, I want to take you on a date!" the guy turns back to you and flashes a big smile. All of Ace's pouty mutters fall on deaf ears. Not because he's being quiet, but because the guy is straight up ignoring him. He's not sure where the idea comes from--he'll blame it on an itchy hand--but he sneaks a couple of small candies in the guy's pocket. Sam's familiar top hat bobs into view, snaking around the shelves.

"DON'T FORGET TO PAY FOR THE STUFF IN YOUR POCKETS!" Ace felt confident in his sleight of hand tricks. It wouldn't be the first time he tricked NRC students. It's actually really easy to do. That works in his favor because if everyone can't get their story straight or agree on what they saw, he's a free man.

Sam materializes at the edge of the aisles and seems to stare into the boy's soul. "Young man, please step aside."

Ace looks like the cat that ate the canary as he moseys up to the counter and slaps the box of cherry cordials down. He buys a cherry sucker at the last second, not seeing it at first. "Thanks, Sweets!" Ace winks at you as he strolls out with the bag.

Sam nearly scares him out of his skin, leaning against the wood just outside the door. Ace finally feels the tug of shadows on his feet. "Speaking of sweets," Ace flinches and hides his ear with his blazer, groaning as Sam hooks an arm around his neck and pulls him into his chest sternly. "I understand your frustration, Little Imp. Young love is adorable in all it's wiles! But mark my words, Little Imp: if you lie about wrongdoings in my shop again, you will not come back. Clear?"

"Yes sir." Ace gulps.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Little Imp."

---

Trey isn't really surprised to hear what he just did. 'Boys will be boys', as the saying goes. Frankly, he's disappointed. He's heard smarter things come out of his little brother and sister.

He adjusts his glasses, mentally trying to relax the knot between his eyebrows.

Should he say something? Of course he wants to. It's you! He's been on the other side of the counter plenty of times and has had vivid daydreams of sticking a customer in a stand mixer. But, then again, he has a reputation to uphold and anything he does could reflect back on Riddle.

And send Riddle into a fit, giving him something else to handle.

The more he thought about it, the more he realized he'd have the element of surprise. People--especially men--don't cook enough to know how much arm strength it takes to lift twenty pound bags of flour on the regular. Or the stamina it takes to walk said bags from Sam's shop to Heartslabyul. Even the small five-pound bag of sugar in his basket would suffice as a weapon; the sugar was packed enough to hit like a brick if he lobbed it.

Trey's running the options through his head, almost settling on just saying 'how much for you to stop?' when he sees the end of a sucker rolling between the guy's teeth. Too easy, Trey pushes his glasses up on his nose, hand hiding his smile and the quiet incantation for "Paint the Roses".

All of a sudden the guy is gagging and running for the door. You and everyone else are wondering what the hell just happened. He doesn't come back in. One brave soul suggested he had a really bad gag reflex and the sucker did him in. Only Trey knows it was a mix of sour milk and the pungent soy sauce tart nightmare he tricked Riddle into making once.

"Just this, please. Oh! And what Sam had on hold for me." Trey hands you the sugar, relishing in the brush of your hands.

"Candied violets and a bag of sugar. Twenty thaumarks, please."

"Thanks." Trey smiles at you, laying the sugar flat so his delicate, delectable candied violets don't get crushed.

"Thank you." you smile brightly, handing him the change.

----

Cater wants to gag. Normally Valentine's confessions are cute and IN THE RIGHT SETTING pickup lines are amazing. This? This is a tragedy. Mostly because there is ZERO chemistry and you look #uncomfortable.

He's big on consent since he's always looking for collabs and people to pose with on Magicam so maybe that's why this scene bothers him. Aside from the fact that you're out of this guy's league, obviously. Like, it's really an insult to your time.

'How much do you cost?' Really? You're #priceless.

His brows furrow, lips thinning as he wonders what to do. He plays with the idea of Split Card and creating a small crowd of copies to boo and jeer the guy but the store would be even more packed than it already is. Cater's green eyes twinkle as it hits him. Turning his phone longways, he zooms in on the guy and tells him to keep going because he's live on Magicam. "Don't worry! I've already got all the V-day tags on there! Everyone will see it!"

He's friends with practically everyone at NRC so this guy will be seen by everyone.

Something sick and unfriendly and satisfied swirls in him as the guy's face pales in real time. If he zooms in a little, he can get the beads of sweat in there. "I'll, uh--another time, okay?" the guy darts off and abandons his handful of candy at the register.

"Haul coming later! 'K, bye!" Cater sends a peace sign to the camera, smiling at his own face. He swipes the little chocolates into his basket nonchalantly. He's not even the biggest sweets person but those are his now!

"Gonna have a spicy Valentine's Day, huh?" you ring up the cups of spicy ramen.

"You know it!" he laughs.

"I get it. You have to balance out how sweet you are." you smirk up at him. "Twenty-four thaumarks, please."

#in love. #kiddingnotkidding. #sendhelp. #downbad.

----

Leona doesn't even know why he bothered to show up to Sam's. He could just send Ruggie to get whatever he wanted. The variety of jerky was somewhat tempting but he could just as easily take the bus and get a proper meal off campus. And yet, he stood there with a gloved hand in his pocket, tail swishing back and forth in mild agitation. His green eyes sweep over the winding line until they land on you at the front.

His cheeks warm a little and he scoffs at himself, pretending to pick through the hanging strips of sunflower seeds as the line moves. Every step gets him closer to this soft, powdery scent with just a hint of sweetness. He starts to blame it on all the chocolate and candy and sugary shit exploding out of every possible spot in the store but there's this unmistakable undertone of skin.

Your skin.

He's only caught the scent a million times while hiding from people in the Botanical Gardens. Or when he's forced to attend class, catching a hint of you in the halls.

Leona's not sure why he cares anything about you because you're not magical. You're not interesting.

You shouldn't be, but you are.

You're literally the only person he's ever met from another world. You have no context for the Sunset Savanna or the hierarchy of it. To you, everyone is impressive. He can be something to you.

Why does that matter? He doesn't even know. That's what he tells himself, anyways. You say you have no magic but Leona thinks you can read minds. The look you always give him isn't a pitying one, but a curious one that seeks to dissect him and force him to face everything he keeps shoved deep down inside himself.

Part of him is waiting for the day you pull the right thread and he comes undone in the way he knows he need but can't find the strength for. Somewhere in that knotted mess is his true feelings for you. The stuff he can't admit.

You stand admirably on your own two feet, roughing it out like Ruggie, but you're so far from the intimidating women of the Sunset Savanna. You're approachable and soft; you're built like prey but you have the quick thinking of a predator.

Something in your demeanor changes--your hands pause and flutter nervously--and he's on alert. He's careful to relax his grip lest he crush the box of protein bars for Jack. His ears sling forward and his eyes narrow as he catches that half-baked flirting attempt. Leona doesn't even bother to hide the sneer twisting his face.

Just the thought of you with that hopeful schmuck is nauseating.

Suddenly the scent of all the males around you is overwhelming. Disgusting.

"If you have to ask about the price, you can't afford it. Haven't ya ever heard that before?" Leona 'hmphs' triumphantly, one hand on his hip as he bends down slightly to stare the chump in the face. "Askin' about the price is tacky."

"Wh-what was my total again?"

All Leona had to do was stare at the back of the human's neck. Humans, much like prey animals, grew really squirmy when a predator stared at them too long. Or encroached on their space, much like he was doing. It was for the hell of it at this point.

Leona made a mental note of the guy's face as he scampered off like a terrified cub and looked forward to the day he could send a stray spelldrive disk in his direction.

"Hey Herbivore," Leona plunked the basket down unceremoniously.

"Hey Leona," you looked down at the random stuff in his basket, trying not to smile at what just happened. Something warm and--dare he say it?--proud welled up in his chest when he realized you were happy about him scaring the guy off.

The heart-shaped stickers he kept finding on everything when he got back to Savanaclaw helped, too.

----

Ruggie lived for the holiday specials at Sam's. He was a bit put out that he wasn't picked to staff the Valentine's shift but the in-store discounts were a small consolation. It'd be better if he could stack them with an employee discount but he'd take what he could get! His mouth started watering as soon as he entered, sniffing out deliciously fluffy donuts.

Hopefully people would be distracted with the lollypops and chocolates and leave his donuts alone!

He choked down the occasional nervous whine when people gravitated too close to the donut display, distracting himself with the decor and wondering what would be most profitable to flip. His eyes began to wander to the people in front of him; Ruggie tsk'd at how casual and unguarded they were. Ripe for the picking, he looked at their wallets and fistfuls of thaumarks just out in the open.

If he wasn't worried about being banned from Sam's and losing some gigs he'd--

"How much do you cost?"

EXCUSE ME?! Ruggie freezes, eyes going wide and ears twitching when he hears that. The dude said that and LIVED?

Oh, right. You're not a Savanna girl. The girls back home would beat him up and make him pay them to stop. Or just smack the shit out of him hard enough to put him in a coma. Maybe break his jaw so he can't drop anymore awful lines.

Women are to be respected! Not treated like something you can purchase!

Given that you weren't a Savanna girl and were bound by the rules of 'I'm currently on the clock', Ruggie took things into his own hands. You could just treat him later!

"Laugh with Me!" Ruggie hisses, backing into the closest display. It was a little bump to him but far more to the guy up front. He waved his arm around, skimming the bags of gummy candies while the guy at the register knocked down a whole tower of balloons on a stick. Bending over just enough to line the guy's head up with the counter, Ruggie lunges forward.

WOMP!

Oh it was so satisfying. The guy is hopelessly, helplessly stunned. He gathers his bearings and Ruggie slides his foot out; the guy loses his footing and slams into the counter again.

Only two times before he gives up? Kind of weak-willed, Ruggie thinks with a little smirk as he side-steps the disoriented guy and waits patiently to check out. Sam tends to him while you get the donuts he's been craving.

They'll taste even better because they smell like you. Happy Valentine's Day to him!

-----

Jack is usually very stoic but a lot of people mistake his stoic observation for irritation. He would blame it on his intimidating physique but he's not sorry and takes great pride in his appearance. He's a beastman--a Howl!--he's supposed to be intimidating! Intimidating appearance aside, Jack is also a very helpful soul.

A good boy, if you will.

The only reason he's in Sam's is on Ruggie's behalf. He was tasked with picking up a few things and was more than happy to help out his senior. They were from the same dorm, after all! Practically a pack! You have to help your pack!

He's not really bothered by the amount of people, more focused on keeping his tail out of people's way and making sure he doesn't knock anything over. All at once, the atmosphere changes a little. There's a hint of sour in the air and a noticeable hike in someone's pulse.

It's your pulse. You look...distressed? Why are you distressed? Where is the threat?

Whatever it was, he missed it and he's cursing himself.

His ears swing forward as he catches bits and pieces of conversations. Some people are complaining the guy is taking too long, other people are laughing at his crappy pickup line. Some people are wondering if it's going to work.

This was a weak display if he ever saw one. The guy didn't even look confident in himself! All of your body language has now firmed up into rejection but the guy's not getting the hint. He's trying the 'oh, c'mon!' thing his siblings do when they want to play.

You don't know it, but you've been feeding Jack when he trots by in wolf form. He likes to finish off his morning jogs in wolf form to really stretch his joints and obliques. It was supposed to be a one-off thing, him following the tantalizing aroma of food to your door. Your cooking is fantastic and while you don't know that you're a pack mate, you're a pack mate!

You're just a pack mate who feeds him and gives him occasional pets. And these to die for scratches that he'd kill to feel with his real skin instead of fur. Any touch would be fine, really. Not that you'd ever know.

Jack doesn't even know he's growling until people start moving out of his way. The growl crescendos as he walks towards the guy. Tail bristling, Jack opens his mouth to show off sharp canines. "Get lost! They're not interested in you! They're just trying to work!"

As expected, the guy tucks tail and runs. Jack snorts, licking his lips that have suddenly become dry. His ears don't know what to do, caught between catching all the murmurs behind him and wanting to press down in embarrassment.

It's quiet but he hears it. "Thank you, Jack."

"Don't mention it," he crosses his arms, looking everywhere but you as you scan his items. He was avoiding looking at you directly but he notices you slip a few extra beef sticks into his bag. He blushes.

Yeah, don't mention that either.

[shinningdance]

Undercover prep

something silly :))

summery: you help the guys getting ready for an undercover mission. Silly little moments ヾ(≧▽≦)ヾ

warnings: none!!

words: 1166

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

"What even is that?" Johnny asks, turning his face so you couldn't put that weird thing on his face.

"Eye shadow..? I'm making that fake scar on your cheek with that." You explain, gently putting a small bit of it on his cheek, faking a healed scar.

You're currently sitting on his lap, his hands on your thighs to keep you stable and so he doesn't accidentally knock something over. When you agreed to help them get ready, they didn't think it would go like this, not that they're complaining.

From the corner of your eye you can see John tying his tie, which doesn't match his suit at all. Not even a tiny bit.

"Please tell me you have another tie." You huff and shake your head slightly before focusing on Johnny's fake scar again.

John pauses and looks down at the tie in his hands. "I do...but what's wrong with this one?"

"Brown suit and gray tie don't match, simply rule." Kyle answers for you, tying his own tie. Well, at least he's trying.

"They do match, no?" John asks, frowning at the tie before putting it down. "...Which color then?"

"burgundy." You answer almost immediately. "It should be in the third drawer."

While the other men are scattering around trying to piece their outfits together, you keep drawing the fake scar onto Johnny's cheek. He keeps starring at your face with a goofy grin on his lips. He lets you move his face left and right as you try to get the best angle to draw.

"Do i have something on my face?" You mumble without meeting his eyes, too busy perfecting the fake scar.

"Just bonnie eyes..." He grins, squeezing your thighs gently. His grin grows wider as you gently push at his chest.

"Let me concentrate." You warn, grip becoming tighter on the brush.

The door opens, Simon entering with a small plastic bag from the nearest store. His long legs carry him towards you and the Scot, what would be at least 10 steps for you are hardly 5 for him.

"Got the hair gel." He mutters, voice low as ever.

"Thank you..just put it down on the table." pointing towards said table you realize there is zero space. A small mirror and the make up scattered on it. "...nevermind, put it on the floor."

The only answer you get from his is a small grunt as he does what you say.

"Who's the unlucky bloke who's hair is getting destroyed?" Johnny chuckles, feeling not one bit sorry for the man.

You pause mid stroke and look at his shit eating grin, turning your head towards Simon, you can see the smile under his balaclava.

"You are the unlucky bloke." crossing his arms and tilting his head at the Scot you can see the amusement in his eyes.

Johnny's grin falters for a split second before he quickly recovers, shaking his head with mock seriousness.

"Nah, nah, not happening. My hair’s got a reputation, mate. You wouldn’t ruin a national treasure, would ya?" He looks at you with big, pleading eyes, but you’re already reaching for the gel Simon brought.

"National treasure? More like a national disaster," Kyle chimes in from the other side of the room, struggling with his cufflinks.

John chuckles as he swaps his tie, while Simon crouches down, inspecting the products on the floor with mild disinterest.

"You’ll survive," you say, scooping a small amount of gel onto your fingertips. Before Johnny can protest further, your fingers are already running through his hair, working the product in. He tenses for a moment, then sighs dramatically, slumping slightly in the chair.

"If this goes wrong, I’m blaming you," he mutters, though he doesn’t move away.

"You trust me, don’t you?" you tease, raising a brow as you continue styling his hair.

Johnny hums, then smirks. "With my life. But my hair? That’s pushing it."

Simon huffs out something that sounds suspiciously like a chuckle, and Kyle mutters, "Dramatic bastard."

"You love me," Johnny fires back.

"Questionable."

"You’re all children," John comments, straightening his tie in the mirror.

"Yet you keep us around," Simon replies smoothly.

You finish with Johnny’s hair, tilting your head as you inspect your work. "Alright, not bad. You look less like a feral dog and more like a decent human being now."

Johnny gasps, hand flying to his chest. "Ye wound me, bonnie."

You roll your eyes, grabbing a cloth to wipe your hands. "You’ll live. Now, go put on your damn jacket before I start matching your tie to your socks too."

"Can't exactly do that with you on my lap." he counters, leaning back in the chair.

"If you'd let go of my waist i could actually stand up." You retort.

"What is going on with your tie?" John mumbles as he looks over to Kyle, who is taking his tie off again.

"Not my fault this tie doesn't know how to cooperate." he grumbles and looks away, almost bashfully.

A small giggle escapes your lips as you stand up from Johnny's lap, ignoring the small whine he makes. You pick the tie up and turn Kyle so he's facing you.

Without saying anything you begin to do his tie, a simple windsor knot. You gently pat his chest after you're done and step back. "Don't you look handsome" You grin and feel your cheeks flush as he brings your hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles.

"You don't look to bad yourself." he smiles and gently drops your hand.

A second later you can feel another body pressed against your back, their head going for your neck in an instant. Simon's arms go around your waist, holding you against him. "It's devastating that you're not with us on this mission, would love to see you all dolled up."

You grin and lean back, one hand lifting to pat his cheek. "You can always take me on a date, would be all dolled up for you."

"Next Saturday, just get dressed up and leave the rest to us." John declares, already planning on which restaurant you all will go to.

"I call dibs on picking up the lass!" Johnny states as he re-appears in a dashing navy suit, the fake scar on his cheek and his new hair style making him look like a completely different person.

"No fair! You did that last time, it's my turn." Kyle protests and pulls you into his arms, stealing you from the tall man.

"Maybe that's something we should discuss after the mission?" Simon questions, shaking his head at this silly argument.

"He's right, let's go." John commands, but before he leaves he places a quick but loving kiss to your forehead.

Simon places a quick kiss to the top of your head before following his captain.

The two sergeants place a messy kiss on each of your cheeks before you're left alone in your home, waiting for your return.

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

a/n: like every damm time i gave up towards the end :(( already questioning if i want to make a part 2 of this where the focus is on the undercover mission. thoughts???（＾▽＾）

[hcneymooners]

⋆ up until the very last ember of my heart extinguishes, i will be thinking of you.

dj!mel x best friend!fem!reader. men & minors dni.

synopsis: you & mel have always been thick as thieves, and things have yet to change. but lately, you've been thinking of mel differently and, well—maybe you want more. cw: dj!mel, best friend!reader, female!reader, no age gap i fear, you guys are in your twenties, modern!au, resolved sexual tension, pining, friends to lovers, clubbing, not actually unrequited love, explicit sexual content, dom!mel, sub!reader, lowkey y'all are switches, wall sex, tender sex, vaginal fingering, edging, cunnilingius, oral sex (r!receiving), couch sex, mel is actually insane about you, obsession, possessive behavior, squirting, face riding, pet names, you guys are very soft for each other.

notes: i love her so much guys; i'm gonna be sick. hope you enjoy. this is really rough for my first time back in a while but it is what it is, hmm?

“you’re loyal to her. i’ve never gone a night without seeing you here.”

the words are screamed directly into your ear and you stumble a bit, already off kilter thanks to the lychee martinis you’ve been sipping since the beginning of the evening. the world is beautiful like this: slurred into soft strobes of turquoise, gold, green that caress the sweaty gleaming bodies of the people spinning within it. the set for tonight is still danceable but decidedly slower than usual, honing in on the loneliness and escapism other people may desire on valentine’s eve.

you blink blearily at the girl vibrating next to you. she shakes with a jitter you know belongs either to ketamine or cocaine—or perhaps both. ck-ing was a popular method of dressing up a club night in london. you stop swaying to the beat, body still as you focus on her completely. mel once told you that this was your pull—this ability to make whomever was in front of you feel as though they were the most important thing in the world to you.

“sorry, what?” you finally push out.

“mel,” the girl shouts again, gesturing to the stage way up front. “whenever she’s performing, you’re here!”

you glance up at the woman in question, face softening as you watch the way her body flows into her highly practiced routine of dance. tonight the movements are more minimal, courtesy of her dress—a masterpiece of fanned peacock feathers that catch and scatter light with every subtle movement. the feathers are arranged in a mesmerizing spiral from the jeweled clasp beneath her arm, each eye seeming to watch the crowd as she moves. it's shorter than her usual style, ending mid-thigh in a flutter of iridescent tips that make her look like some rare, exotic bird. every time the bass drops, the feathers tremble in response, creating a hypnotic dance of green-blue shadows across her skin.

it’s not typical for a dj-ing outfit, but mel has cemented herself as a rich girl with a talent. everyone knows who she is, who her mother is. they love that she comes down to their level during the weekends, covers herself in glitter and spins together a beat like some kind of opulent spider.

"yeah," you shout back, your voice still managing to sound tender. "she's my best friend."

the words feel both true and incomplete in your mouth - they always do. you've been "best friends" since you quite literally crashed into her at university, spilling your coffee all over her white hermès sweater. instead of the fury you'd expected, she'd laughed, dragged you shopping for a replacement, and somehow ended up buying you three sweaters instead.

that was mel all over: excessive, generous, impossible to refuse.

"lucky!" your momentary friend shouts back and your mouth dips into a smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes.

lucky. right. lucky to be the one who holds her hair back after bad nights, who listens to her practice sets until dawn, who knows exactly how she likes her tea when she's stressed (earl grey, splash of oat milk, two sugars). lucky to be the one who gets to love her from this careful distance, never quite close enough to risk everything.

the girl disappears into the crowd, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the music again. mel's current track winds down, bleeding into something slower, more haunting. you recognize it immediately—it's one of her original pieces, the one she'd made you listen to first, cross-legged on her bedroom floor at 3 am, her face anxious and hopeful in the low light.

the memory makes your chest ache. up on stage, she's different from that vulnerable version of herself. her movements are precise and controlled, even in that impossible dress. you watch as she adjusts something on her deck, the feathers shifting across her back like ripples in dark water. when she reaches up to adjust her headphones, the dress catches the light in a way that makes your breath catch.

you're not the only one watching. the crowd around you is entranced, and you hear snippets of their whispered appreciation. the warmth of your tipsiness is starting to wear off. you’re suddenly so much more aware of yourself, of the differences between you and the luminescent girl on stage.

tonight you’ve chosen a simple black midi dress with a scoop neck that cups your chest gently. the tops of your breasts swell up softly at the mouth of the fabric, gleaming with a golden sheen that could only belong to your beloved diamond shimmer bath and body works mist. your hair has been longer by a copious number of extensions, the bundles pooling together at your lower back. tinsel is strung artfully in-between some strands, a careful layering courtesy of mel.

as you look around at the people around you, you feel boring and a bit underdressed. everyone is suddenly so much cooler than you and the thought brings a rush of warmth to your cheeks, the embarrassment strong in its resurgence. you shift in place as the song changes to something a bit more fast-paced. there’s a chorus of screams, shouts of pleasure, and the floor begins to shake as people flood it to dance. you smile tightly as someone slams into you rather harshly, their apology half-assed and unfocused.

you clutch the top of your mother’s vintage ysl clutch, the chain a bit rusted and the body bulging with a combination of your house keys, your lip combo, some shit from work you didn’t take out in time, and the normally slim body of your phone which as been made bigger by the chunky sides of your artisan bedazzled phone case. the multiple polaroids of you and mel in the back didn’t help the situation in any way, the glossy memories slightly distended by the rolled bills you’ve tucked back there for emergencies.

as you turn to navigate the sudden pit of people, the music lowers just enough so that mel’s soft steady voice bleeds through. the lights flash once, twice, a third time; the bulbs are hot and pink. you know what’s coming, but you still don’t turn around, though your mouth twitches in a smile.

"hey, london," mel croons and the crowd screams back at her, eager to greet the woman soundtracking what is probably just another tuesday evening. "i have a question before i finish up. i don't want to forget."

your heart stutters in your chest. she does this sometimes, turns you into an unwitting participant in her performances. you remember the first time she did it, six months ago, how your knees had gone weak at the way she'd claimed you so publicly, so casually. how dangerous it had felt, how thrilling.

"has anyone seen my girl?"

the crowd goes crazy and you lift a hand to your mouth to hide your smile, heat flooding your cheeks. you hate how easily she can undo you, how these little moments of possession—even if they're just part of her show—make your pulse race. your free hand unconsciously touches the delicate gold chain around your neck—her birthday gift from last year, a tiny hextech crystal pendant that she'd said "reminded her of home."

"i came in with her. you know her, right? gorgeous little thing in a short black dress. kind of looks like…"

you close your eyes, remembering how she'd fussed over you earlier tonight, her fingers gentle as she wove tinsel through your hair. 'perfect,' she'd murmured, her breath warm against your ear, and you'd had to suppress a shiver. now, surrounded by strangers who are about to echo what you've felt for years, the irony isn't lost on you.

she trails off, holds out her mic to a group of girls right below her who giggle out the finishing portion of her sentence.

“…the love of my life!” they sing, drawing out the ‘i’ for a long while.

mel’s laugh echoes through the speakers, the sound throaty and raw. on cue, the music begins: “please don’t be love of my life” by caitvi, (calvin harris mix). they were a rock band that accidentally stumbled into becoming the summer muses for every edm fiend in existence.

you clutch your empty martini glass with a renewed strength, fighting until you manage to clutch a hand on the bar. the bartender smiles at you, complimenting your perfume which you don’t even think is still on your skin. you say thank you anyway, laughing openly as they tease you about your fondness for lychee. you’ve always been this way, you want to say, always holding on to what you know in the hopes that it’ll eventually love you back.

instead, you look over your shoulder at mel’s far off silhouette. there’s a moment where she looks up, seems to look at you. you don’t know if she really sees you, given your distance and the disorienting nature of the club. you smile regardless, raise a hand to wave lightly. the chrome bow on your acrylics flashes meanly, signaling your position.

she looks way, smiles earnestly at the crowd, and you drop your hand. the moment is broken, like always. as you move to pull your refreshed martini by the stem, mel’s dj tag sounds: sounds of birds of paradise, interwoven into one another over a damagingly sad violin sample. it’s her way of letting the people know that this will be her last couple of songs for the evening.

the birds’ calls fade into the melancholy beginning of “healing” by gordo featuring drake. the opening notes reverberate through you and you press your lips together, body thrumming with the effect of being noticed. she had seen you. that was the only reason she was playing this song. it had been your favorite for the past month, and now here it was on blast at one of the most elite clubs in the city.

‘i want to see you dance to this,’ she’d told you one evening, her mouth trailing against your shoulder. you were twisted together in your bed, the blankets plush around you as the two of you shared her airpods. ‘i want to see you have fun, lose yourself.’

‘i can’t lose myself,’ you’d said back, mouth rising in a secretive smile.

mel had lifted your hand teasingly, bit it gently, and then interlinked her fingers with yours.

‘don’t worry. i’ll find you.’

you look back at her, find her leaning over her deck with a finger pressed pensively to her mouth. she quirks an eyebrow and gestures to the crowd, as if asking why you’re not inside of it. you smile despite it all and abandon your martini, wiggling through the gaps of people until you're up front.

the bass drops and the crowd surges forward, but you hold your ground, eyes locked on mel. she's watching you now, really watching you, her movements more deliberate as she works the deck. you recognize this version of the song; it's her own remix, the one she'd been perfecting for weeks in her home studio. she'd added layers of ethereal synths that make it feel like you're floating, like you're the only person in the room who really understands what she's trying to say.

she gestures to her security guard, a subtle movement that you've seen countless times before. within moments, strong hands are parting the crowd, creating a path to the booth. your heart pounds as you're ushered up the steps, into her domain of switches and lights and pulsing energy. the peacock feathers of her dress brush against your arm as she pulls you close, her free hand settling on your waist.

"dance with me," she murmurs into your ear, her voice carrying despite the thundering music. her fingers trace patterns on your hip, and you wonder if she can feel you trembling. "show them what this song was made for."

you let your body move with hers, falling into the rhythm she's created. the feathers of her dress catch the light with each movement, creating a private light show just for the two of you. she keeps one hand on the deck, maintaining the perfect flow of music, but her other hand never leaves your body, guiding you through the dance like she's afraid you might disappear if she lets go.

the crowd below is going wild, but you barely notice them. all you can focus on is the way mel's breath catches when you press closer, the way her fingers tighten on your waist when you roll your hips. the tinsel in your hair catches the light, mixing with the iridescent shimmer of her dress until you're both wrapped in a cocoon of glitter and sound.

"see?" she whispers, and you can hear the smile in her voice. "i told you i'd find you."

the words send a shiver down your spine, and you turn your head slightly, catching her gaze. there's something different in her eyes tonight, something that makes your breath catch in your throat. maybe it's the valentine's eve atmosphere, or maybe it's the way the lights are hitting her face, but for a moment, you let yourself believe that the look she's giving you means what you want it to mean.

she transitions into the next song seamlessly, but keeps you close, as if she's forgotten that this isn't how she usually ends her sets. as if she's forgotten that you're supposed to be just her best friend, watching from the crowd like always. as if, just for tonight, you could be something more.

the spell breaks when you catch a glimpse of your reflection in one of the booth's chrome panels. you see yourself pressed against her, see the way you're looking at her: desperate, obvious, completely transparent. the music suddenly feels too loud, the lights too bright, your skin too tight. you're acutely aware of every place her body touches yours, and it's simultaneously too much and not enough.

"i need—" you start, but can't finish. mel's hand tightens on your waist for a fraction of a second before you pull away. you gesture vaguely toward the floor, not meeting her eyes. "sorry, i just—"

you don't wait for her response, practically stumbling down the booth steps. the crowd that had been watching your dance parts easily, perhaps sensing your urgency. you hear the next dj's tag start to play—some remix of a taylor swift song—which means mel's set is over. which means she might follow you. the thought makes you move faster.

you trip over your feet, your heel catching on the bone of your ankle as it lifts and you fall. your knees crack against the ground, but you regain your momentum. your neck is warm and you lift your hair with one hand as you spin, eventually locating the flickering neon sign denoting the bathroom.

the bathroom is mercifully empty when you burst in, all perfectly-cut marble and deep blue lighting that makes your reflection look expensive and almost admirably tragic. you press your palms against the cool counter, letting your head hang down as you try to steady your breathing. the bass from the club thrums through the walls, muffled but persistent, like a heartbeat.

“you’re always so fucking stupid,” you whisper to yourself, watching a tear splash onto the marble. you'd let yourself get carried away, let yourself pretend. but mel is mel. this is the girl who turns heads when she walks into rooms, who has fashion houses begging to dress her, who could have anyone she wants. and you're just… someone else.

her best friend, you suppose. the girl who’s responsible for holding her hair back when she's sick, who listens to her practice sets, who loves her so strongly that it feels akin to having a spear sunk through your chest.

the bathroom door opens with a soft whoosh, and you know it's her before she speaks. you can smell her perfume. it’s something custom-made in paris, a mix of lily, amber, and caramel. you don't look up.

"hey," mel says softly, and you hear the click of her heels on the marble floor as she approaches. "what happened up there?"

you close your eyes, trying to ignore how the marble feels like ice beneath your palms, how your body still burns where she touched you in the booth. "nothing happened, melly. i just needed some air."

you use your nickname for her as a way to disarm her, but mel has always been immovable when it came to getting something that she wants. the silence that follows feels incredibly long, but you know it hasn’t even been ten seconds. you lean forward, splash water on your face. blindly, you search for a paper towel but you’re handed a small hand towel instead. your makeup transfers onto the fabric, staining it with the traces of your exhaustion and loneliness.

"[name], look at me." her voice is gentle but firm, the same tone she uses when she knows you're lying. when you don't move, you hear her sigh, the sound followed by the soft rustle of feathers. then her hand is on your shoulder, turning you around.

she's closer than you expected, close enough that you can see the individual glitter particles scattered across her collarbones, catch the faint sheen of sweat at her temples from performing. the peacock dress seems alive in the bathroom's soft lighting, each feather shifting with her breath. you try to step back, but the counter prevents your retreat.

"you were crying," she observes, reaching up to brush her thumb beneath your eye. her touch lingers longer than necessary, and you hate how your body betrays you, leaning into her hand like a flower seeking sun. "why were you crying?"

"i wasn't," you lie, even as another tear escapes. "it's just the vodka. you know how i get."

"yeah," she says, and now both her hands are cupping your face, forcing you to meet her gaze. her eyes are dark, intent, stripped of their usual playful gleam. "i know how you get when you're drunk, and this isn't it. this is something else."

you try to laugh but it comes out choked. "melly, please—"

"when you were up there with me," she interrupts, one hand sliding down to rest against your neck, her thumb pressed gently against your pulse point, "what were you thinking about?"

the question hangs between you, heavy with possibility. you can feel your heartbeat racing beneath her thumb, wonder if she can feel it too. the bathroom suddenly seems smaller, the air thicker. somewhere outside, the music has changed to something slower, more intimate. the bass line crawls up through the floor and into your bones.

this is how love always finds you, corners you. it's a snake that's flat enough to slide underneath the door. you always watch it passively as it slides up your body, only crying out when it bites.

"i was thinking," you start, then stop, swallowing hard. her eyes track the movement of your throat. "i was thinking about how great you were tonight, how—how beautiful you are. ‘nd i was thinking about how some things can look real without being real. like stage lights. or club nights. or best friends who—"

you cut yourself off, but her grip on your neck tightens slightly, just enough to make your breath catch. the feathers of her dress brush against your thighs, a whisper of sensation that makes you shiver.

"or best friends who what?" she prompts, her voice low, almost dangerous. she's close enough now that you can feel her breath against your lips, can smell the champagne she'd been sipping between sets.

the door to the bathroom opens, the sound of the club surging in, and you both freeze. mel doesn't move away, doesn't drop her hands. instead, she leans closer, her lips brushing your ear.

"we're not done with this conversation," she murmurs, the words a promise that distills heat through your body. "come on."

she pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, and the look in hers makes your knees weak. you open your mouth to respond, but—

the bathroom door swings shut again, leaving you both in that suspended moment. your "okay" comes out barely above a whisper, but she hears it. of course she hears it. she’s always heard you, even when you chose not to speak.

♤

the ride home is thick with unspoken words.

mel's driver, marcus, keeps his eyes professionally forward as you slide into the back of the bentley, the leather seats cool against your bare legs. mel follows, close enough that the feathers of her dress spill over onto your thigh. neither of you speak, but her pinky finger finds yours in the darkness between your bodies, hooking together like you used to do in university when one of you needed grounding.

london slides past the tinted windows in a blur of neon and shadow. you watch the reflections of passing streetlights play across mel's profile, catching the sharp edge of her jaw, the elegant line of her neck. she’s removed her performance jewelry, but missed a spot of glitter near her ear. without thinking, you reach up to brush it away.

she catches your wrist before you can retreat, her thumb pressing into your pulse point again. the car feels smaller in a matter of minutes, the air between you charged with electricity. she turns to fully face you, bringing your hand up to her mouth so that she can slide your pointer finger into her mouth. the suck of her lips is gentle, tender. you watch her head bob as she slides down further, then pulls off.

she doesn't let go of your wrist for the rest of the ride.

when the car pulls up to her mayfair townhouse, you feel like you're moving through a dream. the click of her heels on the steps echoes in the quiet street. to you, they're like gunshots and you have the irrational thought of the neighbors coming out to complain, to tell you that your desire is choking them in the same way you feel now. your own steps are less sure, thanks to the martinis and the way your whole body seems to be humming with anticipation.

she fumbles with her keys briefly, something you've never seen her do, and then you're inside. the door closes behind you with a soft click that seems to echo in the darkness. neither of you move to turn on the lights. the moonlight filtering through her floor-to-ceiling windows is enough to see by, casting everything in shades of silver.

she looks unreal, like a figment of your imagination. you pinch the inside of your thigh, letting out a hiss of air from in-between your teeth. she moves closer, fingers the indentation where your nails had dug into the skin.

you shake, but she only steadies you.

"melly," you start, but she shakes her head, settling both hands on your waist.

gently, she maneuvers you until your back meets the wall. a hand lifts to settle at the base of your neck, her lithe fingers threading into your hair so that she can cup the back of your head. she’s making sure your head doesn’t hit the stone, sacrificing her own skin to ensure your comfort. the thought makes you warmer than before.

mel watches your face, her eyes almost erratic as she searches for whatever sign she needs. she comes flush against you and your legs part instinctively to make room for her, spread to accommodate the whole of her.

she lowers her head, mouth coming to burn against your neck as she presses a kiss there. you let out a small, weeping sound as if her lips have enabled a release inside of you. in a way they have. you soften, melt into her and find the strength to touch her.

your hands grasp at mel’s neck and she hums in satisfaction, working her teeth into the meat of your neck like a vampire. she pulls back only to look down, freeing a hand from your waist to inch the hem of your dress up.

you moan brokenly as you grow more exposed, your cunt wet against the baby blue lace that holds it. the moonlight sneaks between the both of you and renders the fabric practically translucent, the blue so light in its glow that it seems closer to white.

“you’re so beautiful, baby,” mel whispers and you blink at her, your throat tight. “you always say it about me, and i never understand it. when i look at our pictures, i don’t see anyone else.”

your eyes slip low, going tender, and you cup her face.

“you’re perfect, mel.”

“i guess we’re a good match,” she murmurs and then she’s in you.

the motion is so smooth, so quick. you hadn’t realized she’d peeled the fabric of your panties back, pushed them to the side. you know nothing now except for the steady pump of her fingers. there are two working deep into the heart of you, searching and spreading your slick heat.

you cry out, eyes wide like a doe’s. mel only smiles, predatory and slow. her teeth gleam, two rows of perfect pearls. you feel out of your body, but she brings you back in with every stroke inside of you. her breathing is becoming heavy, labored. her eyes seem a little wild and the hand on your neck moves briefly to squeeze tightly at your waist until you let out a deep “unh.”

mel grins again at the sound and it makes you surge forward, crushing her mouth into a bruising kiss. you bite at her bottom lip until she opens and lets you in, your tongue lapping all over as if to consume her. she slips a third finger inside of you, curling at the walls of your cunt to make you clench down.

you continue to kiss her, tilting your head so that angle is better. you slot together perfectly and she moans into your mouth, increasing the speed of her thrusts. you break away from her and study her face, taking in the way her lip gloss is smeared wickedly around her mouth. her lips are swollen and dark and she takes one in between her teeth as she works deeper into you.

your head falls back and she returns her hand to the nape of your neck, catching you before you can hit the wall.

“you’re okay, mama,” she murmurs and you nod, eyes focused somewhere distant on the ceiling.

she knows how you get, how disassociative you can become when you’re overwhelmed with emotion. she watches as you go somewhere she’s unable to follow. your chest heaves with every exhale and she leans forward to press a kiss to the top of your tits, then another right in the middle of them. her mouth is dusted with glitter when she pulls away.

you fuck down on her hand, an animalistic moan crawling from somewhere deep in your chest. mel fucks you harder, grunting as she shifts you bodily up and down with the effort. you keen as she uses her thumb to rub your clit, the circles tight and concentrated. pleasure arcs white and hot up your spine and you close your eyes, mouth falling open silently.

“that’s it,” she says. “come on, baby. come on.”

“mel,” you gasp and she laughs lowly.

“what happened to melly?” she teases and you whine, a foot kicking out as she presses against your g-spot.

“melly, please,” you whisper. “fuck, please.”

“please what?”

"just please.”

nothing changes. she only watches you squirm and beg like a whore, her face impassive. it was moments like these where you were reminded of her mother. the thought sends another shot of arousal to your cunt and it drools down mel’s wrist, sticky and warm.

“mel, fuck. fuck, i can feel it. i’m almost—i’m right there. just please, baby.” you’re crying now, disoriented and breaking apart with every push of her fingers. “please. please, melly, please."

you drag your eyes from the ceiling to her face, your pupils dilated and bright like stars. her face suffers through a range of emotion before she curses and yanks her fingers out of you.

“no,” you sob, and she sushes you.

“just hang on a minute, mama. hold on,” she soothes, her hands coming to lift you from beneath your thighs.

mel moves quickly and you take comfort in the fact that she needs this as much as you do.

you find yourself draped over the couch, your stomach resting on the arm of the chair. there’s a slight application of pressure as mel forces you into an arch, your ass and cunt pushed up. she nudges your legs apart and then gets on her knees, her hands coming to rest on the back of your thighs as she leans in and puts her mouth on you.

“oh,” you moan and she hums into you.

she’s methodical and precise, her tongue slipping into the mix and filling you as best she can. her pace increases as she licks you front to back, twisting so she can suck and nip on your clit. you let out a high mewl as she grips the plush flesh of your ass, rocking you slowly until you’re able to continue the rhythm on your own.

the heat returns, spirals up from your stomach into your chest and throat. you whimper, letting your head fall forward and down. your eyes squeeze shut as you focus on riding her face, swiveling your hips in small circles to better grind your clit against her nose.

again you can feel it, that call to somewhere distant. mel feels the way you tighten around her tongue, the sudden stiffening of your thighs. she knows you’re just there, right at the golden gate of your private paradise so she removes her mouth and focuses completely on stimulating your clit with her fingers.

“mel,” you breathe. “melly—”

“i know, mama. you can do it. cum on my face. cum all over me, princess. mess me up, hmm?”

you reach down and she reaches up, instinctively understanding what you’re aching for. just as your fingers intertwine, you fall apart. your arch drops and mel hums, closing her eyes as you squirt over her. she can feel you trembling and she opens her mouth lazily, letting your cum drip into it as if it was some sort of sacred rain.

her fingers lace with yours properly now, no more tentative pinky holds. you grip back with the strength of a soldier at war, your eyes rolling shut as you hump against her face and ride out your high. mel only lets you use her, dragging her other hand down to grope at her throbbing pussy.

eventually, you settle and she tugs you down so that you’re sitting dazed and lax in her lap. her hands squeeze your ass as she noses at your cheek, slipping a light kiss onto your cheek.

"hey. hey, baby, look at me. are you with me?”

“ye—yeah,” you get out. “‘m with you.”

“let’s go upstairs," she says softly, and it's not quite a question. "unless—"

"yes," you interrupt, squeezing her hand. "yes."

mel makes no move to get up, however, and you watch her face.

“melly?”

"i need you to know," she says, a hand coming up to trace your jawline, "that whatever happens next… this isn't just because. this isn't just because we were dancing, or drinking, or—"

"i know," you whisper, even though you don't, not really. but you want to believe. god, how you want to believe.

mel shifts, tilts you so that you’re on your back. her braids have fallen from her signature bun, and they block out the little light spilling in from the window.

“baby, i want you. i love you, i need you, and i can’t—i can’t tell you enough how much i’ve wanted this. nothing matters to me more than you.”

“i know, melly. trust me, i understand.”

she shakes her head, opens her mouth. you lift a hand, dig your nails into the sides of her throat as you clutch at it for just one second.

“i understand.”

it feels like she’s been the only thing on your mind since the day you were born. you’ve been waiting for her ever since.

© hcneymooners.

⚚ wife tag: @s-4pphics

[sobbingscripter]

Tags: [mlw][mdni][established relationship][oral (f! receiving)][fingering][shower sex][wrongful use of water][wet t-shirt][temple kisses][i don't make the rules, but there's a lot of them][grinding but not where you thinkkk~][maybe food play, idk][just the tip][missionary][mating press]

Wally had a plan.

A good plan, relatively thorough, and romantic. All of which were crucial to whether or not this date would go good.

A good, sweet morning wrapped up in the loving embrace of your arms, paired with the sweet, tightness of your cunt cockwarming him while the sun rises from just below the horizon. With the feeling of your fingers carding through his hair, your lips ghosting over his jaw and murmurs of sweet 'I love you's in the air.

Then, you'd have breakfast that HE learnt how to make. Through numerous WikiHow articles and YouTube tutorials.

Then, you'd go about your day where flowers would be mailed to your job, and the two of you would have a nice lunch. Specifically, a picnic in the park and for dinner, you'd have take-out and the scallions in the soup would be shaped like cute hearts, because if your love is in soup, it's eternal.

But noooooooooooo.

The universe has a fucked up way of ruining the speedster's hopes and dreams.

The takeout place burns down, the flower company doesn't get his order, he oversleeps so he doesn't get to make you the whole, magical experience of cockwarming while he feeds you breakfast.

"I'm sorry." Wally murmurs softly. "I should've planned better."

Rain continues to soak through his shirt, the fabric getting heavier and clinging to his torso in the way that makes your eyes linger, a slow smile spreading on your face as you unabashedly watch the way the shirt sticks to his tightly toned belly. Abs on display in the most demure yet slutty way.

"It's okay."

You reassure softly, although your eyes don't move from where you can see his nipples through his shirt.

"Are you seriously staring at my nipples?" Wally let's out a choked laugh, dimples deepening in his cheeks as he looks down at you, gingery hair wet and clinging to the back of his neck, as well as his forehead.

Your outfit's less soaked than his.

Seeing as he made a makeshift gazebo with his windbreaker, using his speed to his advantage to tie the arms to the lowest hanging branches and tucking either of the ends between messy and spiky edges of the branches.

Too small to accomodate both of you but good enough to keep you from thoroughly soaking your plaid Chanel skirt and you shift, your boots scuffing against the wet grass.

"Yeah." You hum softly. "They're so cute and like, hard."

Reaching out, you press down one of his perky nipples and Wally snorts. "Freak."

"Come stand with me. You're gonna get a cold." You chide Wally with a huff, grabbing the front of his shirt and tugging him out of the rain, his body pressed against yours and strong, muscular hands move to bracket your hips, his thumbs brushing over the flesh your fluffy knit sweater fails to over and he looks down at you.

Fucking hearts in his eyes.

The moment seems perfect right now. Raindrops pelting around you, the sound of wet grass sloshing underneath your boots as you shift at the feel of nipping cold and a warm hand moves to cup your cheek as Wally leans down, his lips pressed against yours. It's so sweet.

He kisses you like it's the only slow thing he'll ever do. Lips moving against yours in a slow, synchronised motion that you both seem to fall into so flawlessly, his hand on your hip shifts and instead, his arm's wrapped around your waist while your own hands interlace at the nape of his neck.

You can barely hide the giggle that leaves you when you feel the way Wally's hand lowers, taking the sweet and romantic opportunity to slide his hand beneath your skirt. Damp digits paw at the fat of your ass and you pull away.

"Creep." You mock him, nipping at his bottom lip and you see the pretty twinkle of his eyes as he stares down at you, a grin on his face, freckles dusted over his rosy cheeks.

"Guilty." He hums softly, before leaning forward, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear.

"We should get out of the rain, yeah?" There's a low huskiness to his voice, a sweet yet sultry tone that hints that there's a lot more waiting for you at home than there was waiting for you at the park.

And you nod your head, bashful and adoring as you murmur a soft 'mhm'.

˚˖𓍢ִִ໋❤️་༘🎀˚˖𓍢ִ🌹˚.

Hot water sprays down on your skin, and you let out the softest sigh, frozen bones easing at the warmth before the shower door is abruptly opened and Wally stands in all his freckled glory.

Hair still damp from the rain, that shit-eating grin on his face.

"Scoot over." He instructs, but he's already stepping over the threshold of the shower, shutting the door behind him and readjusting the showerhead to spray more in his direction.

Wally's always been a bit of a selfish showerer.

His body nearly presses yours against the tiled walls as he soaks up the scalding water, letting out controlled breaths before meeting your narrowed gaze and he lets out the softest little breath. And he reaches towards the temperature dial, shifting and switching it, until the water's a pleasant, lukewarm temperature before he hums.

"Upsy-daisy." He lifts you with ease, your knees hooked over the crooks of his elbows, your back pressed against his chest and he presses a sloppy kiss against your temple.

"Wally, what are you— oh..." The gruff complaints die in your throat when Wally shifts your body towards the shower stream, your thighs spread obscenely wide as the solid stream of water pelts down against your clit, and you purse your lips, brows knitting at the pleasure that's not quite enough to get you anywhere but it's nice enough for you to not want it to stop.

Wally hums in pride, freckled cheeks splitting into a grin as you feel the muscles of his core flex absentmindedly, his cock twitching to life, hardening and pressing itself against your neglected cunt. And he presses the sweetest kiss against your cheek, loving and adoring before he breathes your name so sweetly.

"Help me out?" He coos softly. "Just the tip, though. I wanna make you feel good."

You nod your head, biting your bottom lip as you reach down between your thighs, grabbing a hold of his cock and you give his tip a few swipes of your thumb, feeling the way his breath hitches against your back before you ease his flushed tip into your hole.

Just the tip.

Wally can't help the way he sighs at the warmth of your cunt, wrapped so sweetly around his leaky tip as you spasm so subtly. And he clicks his tongue, his hips twitching and giving you the most shallow thrusts, all as he reaches for the showerhead, detaching it and bringing it closer.

"Wally, I don't think—"

Your opinion dies quicker than you'd like to admit because when the water pressure changes, and Wally's controlling the placement, you feel your head tip back against his broad chest. Your lashes flutter closed and faint moans leave your parted lips as your thighs tense and flex, although they're still kept in a long distance relationship.

"You look so pretty." Wally coos sweetly, cheeks flushed and his wet body feeling slightly cold at the breeze that creeps into the bathroom and he dips his head, pressing a soft kiss against your lips before asking you, so sweetly.

"How do you wanna come?"

That question has no business making your cunt drool, walls and nerve endings burning with that sickening desire to come as many times as you can and you swallow.

Sure, this feels great but nothing beats—

"Your tongue and fingers."

You sigh softly, bringing up one hand to curl in his wet hair, nails scratching at his scalp so affectionately.

"Nasty, greedy girl. Tongue and fingers?"

Wally teases you but he wastes no time in setting you on your feet, placing the showerhead back on its spot and kneeling in front of you.

The muscles in his thighs spread out, his core tensing and his cock twitching upwards at the water that pelts down onto the two of you. It's a comforting spray, warmer than before so Wally must've changed the temperature while you were trying to find your brain.

And he guides one of your thighs to rest over his shoulder, the heel of your foot bumping against his back and Wally presses a kiss against your inner thigh. And he places your hands on his head, before lowering his head.

He drags his flattened tongue over your cunt, tasting your slick and feeling you throb against his tongue and he groans softly. Your fingers tangle in his hair, head tipping back against the condensating tiles and you let out the softest sigh. Your tummy tenses when he swirls his tongue around your clit, just before he dips it into your cunt, only for a little bit.

He can taste himself just a bit, the taste of his precum has drastically improved since you've started seeing each other.

Maybe because instead of living off energy drinks and take out, Wally's seeing fruit on a daily basis, instead of treating it like a distant relative.

Two fingers plunge into your cunt at a speed that makes your belly dip inward and your hands fist his hair tighter, a low moan leaving your lips and Wally lets out a boyish giggle.

"Yeah. Does it feel good?" He coos softly, juniper gaze lifting to glance up at your face, seeing the way your brows scrunch in that adorable way, the way your lips part to let out whimpers and whines as his tongue rolls around your clit, suckling at the bud until you let out a pitched moan.

Wally hurls you at your oncoming orgasm with the strength and speed that a cat knocks a glass off the table. And you nearly scream, your knees giving out beneath you but Wally keeps you steady as you buck against his face, his tongue and fingers working in tandem to draw out your orgasm for as long as possible.

Because he loves watching the way you crumble against a damp, tiled wall. Hair clinging to your forehead, face ruddy and hot breaths mingling with the steam in the air and you look so fucking gorgeous when you look down at him through bleary eyes. Watching as his tongue cleans up the slick that paints your puffy pussy with glossiness, licking along your thighs before Wally rises, forearms braced on either side of your head before he smiles down at you, head cocked and he presses a kiss against your forehead.

"You good, pretty?"

You can barely nod your head as Wally's hands move to bracket your hips, thumbs brushing over the protruding bones as his head dips to press kisses along the curve of your neck. Before his hand shifts, to squeeze the fat of your ass, feeling the flesh in his calloused palms and he groans softly.

"Shit." He breathes out before swallowing. "Okay, we're gonna finish showering, then you're gonna order pizza while I get the room ready and then we're gonna... Fix this Valentine's Day, okay?"

This is the most instructions Wally's ever given you. Literally ever.

And you can't deny that it's kind of sexy.

˚˖𓍢ִִ໋❤️་༘🎀˚˖𓍢ִ🌹˚.

"Wally, I'm eat—" Your words are broken up in a gasp, cheese, sauce and doe tucked into either of your cheeks and you shift, letting out a slurred whine while Wally's hands pry your thighs apart.

"Don't be selfish." Wally hisses, his tongue curling against your overstimulated clit, sensitive bud peeking out from between your folds and he forces your legs apart, your plate resting on your belly, and Wally lays down on his stomach as he sucks your clit so sweetly, peeking up at you over the decorated porcelain rim of your plate. And you whine, completely unsure of which route to take.

You could keep eating.

Or Wally could keep eating.

"Just keep eating." Wally's nose bumps against your clit, his tongue tracing hearts over your cunt before he flicks it just right, and he rests his head against the flesh of your thigh.

And he doesn't even pretend that it's tedious.

Delightful hums leave his lips in the form of low, reverberating groans, his grip on your thighs borders on almost clingy as he paws at whatever flesh he can get to and his sock-covered feet kick. You don't even have the time to question why his socks has your pictures on it before he's tucking two fingers away in your gummy walls.

Gently curling them, sweetly coaxing you towards another orgasm that has your heels digging into his back, your eyes rolling back and your hand nearly dropping the cheesy slice. And you whimper.

"Wally... 's too much, too sensitive...—" You gasp with a whine, lashes fluttering and tears brimming at the corners of your mouth as his fast flicks and his eagerness make you see God.

Wally ignores you.

Blatantly.

Only lifting his head to scowl at you before ducking back down, his feet kicking and his hips occasionally grinding against the messy sheets, a perfect hill for him to rub against like an animal in heat.

Needy, whiny and so, so achingly hard.

He lets out a familiarly whiny groan, tears brimming on his lower lashline, green eyes becoming bleary as he sucks, nips, drags his tongue and circles. All in perfect movements and God, being a speed freak really had it's perks.

Including the fact that he had the uncanny ability to make you come whenever he wanted to.

A walking, talking vibrator.

Wally coaxes your third orgasm out of you, slick dribbling down his chin and his palm, before he lifts himself, carding his fingers through his hair and staring at you with a heated gaze.

His broad chest heaves, his carved abdomen tenses and flexes, and his hands rest on your thighs, warm palms easing the almost painful burn in your core, and your gaze lowers. Lowers all the way to below that gingery happy trail and you swallow.

"Wally, did you come?" You question softly, lips pursed as you try not to let out a snort of laughter as pearly beads continue to be pushed out with each twitch of his still-hard cock.

"I got really into it." He's not even embarassed, simply moving the messy sheets out of the way and guiding your thighs over his, and notching the flushed tip of his cock at your sopping, slick-soaked pussy.

And he pushes into you, hands grasping the sheets before he stops. Abruptly.

"I need to pull out." Wally announces and you wish you could say he was joking. But his expression doesn't say he's joking.

"Like, right now?"

"Literally right now. Please don't move. I'll lose so much aura, baby, please. Keep still."

Wally begs you, and like a normal woman, and a woman in love, you obviously start to clench and spasm around his leaky tip. And Wally whines.

"You're gonna make me come..." He whimpers, bringing his hand up to bracket your face, forcing you to look away from him.

Wally knows you'll never let it down if you see the way he looks. All red and flushed, weak and teary-eyed as he tries to keep his cool.

He doesn't get why now, of all times, his stamina's playing games with him but he does know one thing.

"Can I come inside?"

Taglist:

@lucky-beheaded 🌻

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@allycat4458 🪻

@anesthesia-4rizzle 🎀

@feral010 ✨

@blckbarbiedoll 🌷

@custardpuddingprincess ⭐

@couldeatthatgirlforlunch 🦄

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@queen-of-gotham 🦇

[dinkerr]

loser vi humping her pillow when you're not around!!

vi's entire world evolves around you. you're an echo in her head that never takes a break, she's always thinking about you and she wouldn't be able to find it in herself to want it any other way. she'd let you take her heart clean apart if it meant it'd help yours beat.

she's lying restlessly on her bed, her cheek resting against one of the many pillows and teddies she has there, her hands occupied with her beat down phone that has subway surfers playing on the cracked screen. her eyes are squinted, tired and focused on the game like it's the most interesting thing she could be doing, though her eyes immediately perk up when she gets a notification from you, and she's immediately reminded on why she's doing everything in her willpower to not think about you.

she presses on it, how could she not, and she immediately lets out a breath seeing the photo attached is the outfit you had put together earlier for today. you're perfect and she's reminding herself that it's just a photo. it's just a photo of you and what she had missed out from because she didn't see you today.

but that doesn't stop the dull ache of need she feels in her pussy. she squeezes and shifts her thighs together to try to find any form of friction, which ultimately leads to her letting out a sigh that's almost full of frustration of not getting able to see you today.

she's discarding her boxers that are slick with her wet arousal and moving to sit up on her knees, her hand reaching for the pillow her head was previously resting on and folding it. she straddled it, her hands holding the front of it to momentarily steady herself after her weight was put onto it and beginning to impatiently roll her hips quickly after, letting out a moan at the friction that's directly on her cunt.

shes looking down at her dimly lit phone with her eyes focused on the photo of you again, her hips mimicking the motion they move in when she's riding you. she whimpers at the thought of doing that - riding you with your hands on her ass to encourage her movement while you kiss and coo at her. the only thought she has in her mind is you, how you'd be murmuring sweet words into her ear and kissing her neck if you were right here next to her.

it only drives her on in a way she's never had with anyone or anything else, letting out louder and needier sounds while she begins to roll her hips at a faster pace and her pierced tits bounce even more from it. she wishes your hand was wrapped around her neck with your other one slapping her ass or guiding your hips.

her eyes roll back to her head when she starts cumming on her pillow, her cum seeping onto it and leaving an obvious wet spot that'd have you laughing and teasing at her if you saw it and knew the reason why. she rides it out without hesitation, her hips having a slight sore ache in them from her actions, but that doesn't stop her from picking her phone up to call you and beginning to move her hips again.

she's so cute i love herrrr AUGHH this has lowkey been my favourite thing to write ever and i love it even though my japanese assignment is due in three hours and i haven't started!! ♡ ALSO please lmk if you like the pictures i put at the top, if i should do it with all my upcoming works or if it looks stupid!

@bblairxe

[socgf]

better left unsaid - dallas winston x reader

it's valentine's day, and reader finds something she shouldn't have in dally's room.

wc: 959

warnings: none just fluff <3

it's not like you had any crazy expectations for what dallas winston had in mind for valentine's day. sure, you spent all your time with each other. you'd gotten real close, in every sense of that word. but he would avoid that commitment conversation like the plague, so you weren't exactly expecting a declaration of love or a bouquet of roses.

but flat out acting like the holiday didn't exist? that was just too far.

the two of you had just left buck's after you'd spent the afternoon doing homework on his bed while he sat around bothering you. like every friday night, dally had stolen the thunderbird to take you to the nightly double. but this was just a routine occurrence, of course. not like he would ever believe in such a mushy holiday.

still, you'd hoped for something - a box of chocolate, some grocery store flowers, maybe a card. you try to take your mind off it as dally puts his foot on the gas, fiddling with his pockets haphazardly.

suddenly, his face scrunches up in frustration and he grumbles, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel as he cuts the gas. 

"hey. do me a favor, will ya? grab my smokes from my desk. top drawer on the left." 

you roll your eyes but go back anyway. his room is the usual mess - clothes draped over the chair, a couple beer bottles on the windowsill, your textbooks and notes spread out on the bed. you yank the drawer open, already expecting to have to dig past god-knows-what to find the cigarettes.

instead, you find a stack of papers shoved carelessly to the side.

you don't mean to snoop, but something about them seems out of the ordinary. it's not like he's the type to be keeping a diary, but these aren't just receipts or homework. as you take a closer look, you see they're notebook pages crumpled at the edges, ripped out hastily, the ink a bit smudged and messy. 

then you see the date at the top of the first one. an entry from over a year ago. you hesitate for a moment, knowing this must be personal. a flicker of guilt runs through you, but you can't help paging through the headers on the first couple of slips. you swear you can make out your name somewhere between the lines, and against your better judgment, you start reading.

november 5th, 1963

she fell asleep on my shoulder at the drive-in today. she really needs to stop doing that. swear i almost decked steve in his face for laughing at it, but i knew she'd hate if i did it. it's funny, she fucking mumbles in her sleep. i swear she said my name a couple times under her breath. i acted like i didn't hear it but i can't stop thinking about it.

january 17th, 1964

she had to babysit pony today and she dragged me along to keep her company. i was supposed to do a run for buck, but i'll have to figure that out later. it's funny, she was real apologetic about it, like i'm ever gonna be mad that i have to spend time with her.

april 28th, 1964

we were watching some stupid rerun in her living room and i guess i must've been exhausted. she started running her fingers through my hair all sweet like she always does, messing it up. didn't have the energy to tell her to knock it off. next thing i know i wake up laying down on her side. she says i knocked out. whatever.

august 12th, 1964

buck decided to go sticking his nose where he doesn't belong last night… asking me about her. why i won't make it official? make what official? i come to her window every damn night. she lays on my shoulder and tells me all her secrets. not like i let anyone else make me act that way. that's official enough for me, far as i'm concerned.

november 1st, 1964

i swear she did something different with her hair today, or maybe her makeup or something, or her outfit. whatever it was. i just couldn't stop staring at her. she's so pretty it makes me forget what i'm thinking when i look at her…christ, i'm sounding like a fucking sap. if buck ever found this, i would have to kill him.

december 9th, 1964

i found her crying today when i walked in. i wanted to hug her or something, kiss her on the forehead and make everything better. i didn't. just sat there smoking by her side until she stopped, let her get everything off her chest. then she had the nerve to say 'thank you dal,' like i did anything special. i have no idea what the hell she sees in me.

january 28th, 1965

glory, she's got the worst taste in music. i told her that today and she threw a fucking pillow at me. truth is i would listen to the beatles for the rest of my goddamn life if it meant she let me lay in her bed and listen to her sing along. it's cute.

february 3rd, 1965

if she finds these i'm gonna have to tell her it's for an english assignment or something. no, never mind. even she wouldn't believe that. man, i'm fucked.

you reach the last entry in the pile, this one laid out nicely with neater handwriting, on a fresh sheet of paper:

february 14th, 1965

if you find this, happy valentine's day. figured there's no point in keeping these a secret. i'm sorry i'm not better at saying it. you should know i'm not much for words. but i mean everything i wrote, doll, swear.

a.n. writing this made my heart all warm and fuzzy haha happy (late) valentine's day guys!!! hope you like it!

[letstalkaboutfandomsbaby]

╔══•.·.☆.·.♥︎.·.☆.·.•══╗

buff guy

╚══•.·.☆.·.♥︎.·.☆.·.•══╝

ʚ Part 8 ɞ

❥ CW: chubby fem reader x buff guy, fluff, picnic date, kissing

❥ A/N: happy belated Valentine's day! If you didn't have a good day, maybe Guy can cheer you up :3

"Where would you like to go this weekend?" he asks, leaning against the coffee bar as you make his drink. You hum in thought.

"I dunno. Where do you wanna go?"

"I don't know. I'll go wherever you want to go." You roll your eyes, but you still smile.

"Well, then it seems like we've got a predicament."

"Seems so."

You huff, sliding his finished drink to him and leaning against the counter across from him. You're smiling at each other, searching each others' faces.

"Move along, Romeo," your coworker says. "We got a line."

"Okay," he sighs, leaning further across the counter to kiss you quickly. "Text me where you wanna go and I'll make it happen."

"I'll think about it," you reply, sticking out your tongue at him. He smiles, grabbing his drink and leaving the coffee shop. You return to work, finishing the rush before standing around with your coworker.

"Do you have any date ideas?" you ask her. She hums, looking up at the ceiling.

"Don't know. Movies and dinner are always good."

"Yeah, but we've already done that a couple times."

She hums again, swaying side to side.

"You could go on a hike, spend some time outdoors. Oh! Maybe a picnic? Now that's romantic."

You nod slowly, imagining it.

"Yeah... that would be nice..."

You propose the idea to Guy that evening over the phone.

"That sounds nice," he tells you. "I'd love to go on a picnic with you."

"You would?" you ask, soft and sweet.

"Of course. Any time spent with you is time well spent."

"You're a sweetie."

"Only to you."

You roll over in bed, snuggling into your sheets.

"I can pack the food and whatnot."

"At least let me pay."

"No. You pay for everything. Let me do stuff for once." He grunts unhappily.

"You're stubborn."

"Don't act like you don't like it." He sighs.

"I do. I like a strong-willed woman."

You giggle, and you imagine him smiling at you.

"What time should I pick you up then?" You hum.

"How about you come by at eleven thirty? That'll give me time to pack everything."

"I feel like you're doing everything and that makes me feel bad."

"But I wanna do this. You already pay for all the dates. This is me returning the favor." You hear him sigh.

"I understand, but it still bothers me. Please let me do something." You roll your eyes.

"How about you get us a nice wine for our picnic?"

"What about dessert?"

"I can handle it." He sighs again.

"Stubborn."

"You literally just said that you liked it," you giggle, and he laughs with you. "Oh, and dress up nice. Wear something that gives off cottagecore vibes."

"'Cottagecore'?"

"Look it up and you'll understand."

"Why should I dress up like that?"

"So we can match and be cute together, duh!"

"You want to match with me?" His voice is soft, hopeful.

"Of course I do! It'll be fun if we wear cute outfits together."

"I'll do it, then. I want to make you happy."

Saturday arrives and you're getting dressed. You choose a bustier sundress you've had for a few seasons, with puffy sleeves and a sweetheart neckline, riddled in a floral pattern. Your makeup is light, cute, gentle. You spray yourself in your favorite perfume before heading to the kitchen. It's there that you pack your picnic basket. It came as a set with dishes, glasses, and silverware, as well as a red and white gingham blanket to sit on. You close it, smiling when the basket is shut with ease.

Right on cue, a knock is at your door.

"Coming!" you call, putting on your sun hat, slipping into your white sandals and grabbing your picnic basket before heading to the door. You open the door, smiling when you see Guy standing there.

He's handsome, very handsome, wearing a rural styled outfit including tan pants and a cream button-up shirt. He turns to face you, eyes going wide, but he doesn't say anything.

"How do I look?" you ask, a bit unsure but still striking a pose. His hand goes to his chest, pressing into his sternum.

"You look stunning," he mutters, as if he's breathless. You feel your cheeks warm as you smile, looking down at the ground.

"You think so? I tried my best to look cute."

"You're more than cute. You're..." His eyes glaze over your body, reaching your face once more. "You're breathtaking."

You touch your cheek, trying to cool yourself down.

"You're so sweet."

"I mean every word, dear." He scratches at his chest before clearing his throat, taking a step forward. "May I give you a kiss?"

"On the lips?" He nods. "Of course."

He leans down to kiss you, pressing his lips against you gently. You kiss for a few moments before you pull away, much to his dismay. You smile shyly.

"We should go." He takes a deep breath, taking a step back.

"You're right. Let me take that for you."

You hand him the picnic basket, and his eyes widen when he grabs it.

"This is pretty heavy; you're strong. What all did you pack?"

"You'll see!" You push against his shoulder. "C'mon, let's go! I want you to see the arboretum!"

"Okay, okay." He grabs your hand tenderly, letting you close your door before he pulls you along to his car. He opens the car door for you, putting the picnic basket in the back seat. Once he's in the car with you, he drives off.

You give him directions to the arboretum, and once you arrive, he parks at the entrance. He opens your door for you, getting the picnic basket and a cooler from the back. You take his hand and guide him through the landscape, pointing out the pond, the butterfly house, and the nature center. The two of you take a paved path through the area before you find a tree that you love, tugging him along into the grass so you can nestle down for lunch. He helps you set up the blanket, putting stakes in the corners to keep it in place. You finally sit down together and open the picnic basket.

"Okay, so I got excited and prepared a lot," you laugh, pulling out containers of food. "I made some caprese sandwiches, so it's got tomatoes and mozzarella and basil. I also made two salads, a cucumber salad and a Mexican street corn salad. I brought hummus and pretzels, because I love snacking on those, and I also brought some grapes. And last, but certainly not least, I made some homemade brownies with chocolate chips." You set all the food down in front of the two of you, looking at him hopefully. He's staring at everything you've prepared, his mouth open slightly. Eventually, he looks at you, awestruck.

"I love you." You curl into yourself shyly, twiddling your fingers. "You don't have to say it back."

"I know," you reply. "I appreciate you telling me how you feel."

"Of course. I want you to know how much you mean to me."

"Well, thank you."

He leans in towards you, pressing a kiss against your cheek. You tuck your chin into your chest, smiling, happy. When he pulls away, you tap his arm.

"C'mon. Let's eat and chat."

You pull out the plates and silverware, distributing food onto each plate as he pulls the wine from the cooler. He pours two glasses, handing one to you and taking the plate you made for him.

"Bon appétit," he says, holding his glass up to you. You tap your glass against his, taking a sip and humming.

"Oh, that's good," you say when you pull it away.

"I'm glad you like it. I was worried you wouldn't like it."

"No, I do! You made a good choice."

"Thank you."

You finally dig into your food, and you giggle when Guy takes his first bite.

"Oh my god," he mumbles, taking another bite of something else, tossing his head back, savoring each bite. "Y/N, this is so good."

"I'm glad you like it! I was trying everything last night and hoping you would like it today."

"I could eat all of this by myself; that's how good it is." You smile at him.

"You flatter me."

"I don't flatter you nearly enough." You chew your food, shimmying a little closer so that you were next to him.

"I wanna know more about you," you say, finishing your cucumber salad.

"What would you like to know?"

"Well, how's your relationship with your parents? What was your life like up until now?"

He chews for a moment, shoveling the last of the Mexican corn salad into his mouth before putting his plate back down.

"My childhood was pretty good at first. My dad is a lawyer and my mom stayed at home. My mom met my dad at law school, but she dropped out when she got pregnant with me. The beginning of my life was nice, but when I was in middle school, my mom was diagnosed with stage four breast cancer." You pause your eating, putting down your plate to listen. "She fought a good fight, but she ended up passing away. Then it was just me and my dad, and my dad was always busy with work so I mostly took care of myself."

"Oh, Guy. I'm so sorry." He puts his hand over yours.

"It's okay. I've made peace with it." He rubs your hand for a moment before pulling it away. "I went to college, got me business degree. Then I got some experience and eventually became the CEO at the company I work at now. I've been there for about four years. My relationship with my dad isn't the best. We call each other from time to time but we don't really visit. He has a new wife and kids that I've met probably once or twice. We're not very close." He looks up at you and sees you pouting, so he gives you a soft smile. "Don't feel bad for me. My life is good, really good after I met you. I'm happy."

"I still feel bad." You rub your hand over his forearm. "I'm sorry your mom passed away, and I'm sorry about your dad. He sounds like an ass." He laughs at that, loud and boisterous.

"Yeah, he kind of is. But it's whatever. I've got a lot going for me on my own, so I don't need him." He looks at you, his eyes gentle. "I think my mom would have liked you. I wish you could have met her."

"I wish I could have met her too."

He takes a deep breath, grabbing his plate again.

"Enough about me. I want to hear about you now."

You roll your eyes but begin to speak. You divulge information about your childhood, your troubles and triumphs, your path in life. Your tone shifts between somber and thoughtful to happy with remembrance. You continue to eat as you speak, giving him smiles every now and then. He listens intensely to every word, nodding as you speak, letting you know he's listening. By the time you're done, he's finished his plate and wine.

"Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me those things."

"Of course. You just told me about your life, so it's only fair that I tell you about mine." You point to his plate. "Would you like some more?"

"Yes, please."

You take his plate, filling it up again and handing it back to him. He thanks you, already digging in to his plate.

"So," you continue, leaning towards him, "let's get to the serious stuff." He slows his chewing and stares at you. You give him a serious look. "Are you a conservative?"

He barks out a laugh, covering his mouth and shaking his head.

"Hell no."

"Oh thank god," you breathe a sigh of relief. "I was so worried."

"What would make you think I was a conservative?"

"I don't know! I don't know a lot about you and so I started getting worried! But I'm glad you're not because if you were, we would have to break up."

"Agreed." He takes a bite of his second sandwich. "I'm assuming there's some follow up questions to that."

"Thoughts on people who are different from you?" He shrugs.

"I don't really care what other people do as long as they aren't hurting anybody. What people do with their own life is their business."

"Oh my god, you just keep getting better and better." He laughs.

"Well, I'm glad you like me more now."

"I like you a lot, Guy." He breathes deep, looking away.

"When you say stuff like that, I just fall for you even more."

"Awww, you're so cute!"

You finish your food, setting your plates down in the basket before sitting back next to each other.

"You wanna do something?"

"Like what?" he asks. You lean back on one hand, patting your lap.

"Lay your head down on my lap." His eyes go wide, eyebrows arched.

"Really? You'd let me?"

"Sure! I think it would be romantic."

He seems to be in disbelief, but he smiles, situating himself before laying back against your legs, sighing when his head meets your thighs.

"Your legs are the best pillow I've ever laid on." You giggle, reaching for the grapes and bringing them closer, holding one up to him.

"Would you like some?"

"Yes please." He opens his mouth to receive the grape, chewing it when you plop it in his mouth. He closes his eyes, smiling as he chews.

"I think I'm in heaven," he mutters, finally opening his eyes to look at you.

"You think so?" you ask, grabbing another grape and bringing it to his lips. He takes it between his teeth, careful of your fingers before pulling it away and nodding.

"This has to be heaven. Why else would an angel be feeding me grapes?" You laugh, tossing your head back.

"Oh, buddy, I'm far from an angel."

"To me, you are. You're perfect."

"I wish I was perfect. If I was, I'd be taller and skinnier."

"Don't say that." He grabs your hand, holding it to his chest. "I don't care what other people think. To me, you're the best thing in this world. I genuinely can't imagine anyone better."

Your heart is racing, your breath coming in slow and steady. Your fingers fiddle with his shirt and you clear your throat.

"How are you not roasting in that shirt? I'm so hot." He furrows his brow, confused, but then you unbutton the top buttons on his shirt, fanning it out to expose his chest. He rolls his eyes and smiles.

"If you wanted an excuse to see my chest, you could've just said so."

You blow a raspberry at him and he laughs, bringing your hand to his mouth and kissing your palm. You're romanced by the action, but you're embarrassed. So you grab his cheeks in one hand and squish them together, moving his head back and forth playfully.

"Noooo," he cries out half-heartedly, eventually chuckling and pulling your hand from his face. He keeps your hand close, kissing your fingertips, looking up at you lovingly. You feel butterflies in your stomach as you let him kiss you tenderly.

"Can I ask you something?" he asks.

"What is it?"

"Do you see a future with me?"

You hum, nodding.

"Yeah, I do. The more I learn about you, the more I like. I could definitely see a future with you, as long as you don't change suddenly or do something bad."

"What's something I could do that would be bad?" You look up at the tree above you, admiring the leaves while you think.

"If you cheat on me, or if you turn out to be a completely different person and you were lying to me the whole time. I would hate you forever if you did that."

"What kinds of exes did you have in the past that would make you worry about that?"

You shrug.

"Shitty ones. As long as you're not like them, you should be fine."

He hums, holding your hand with both of his, staring up at you.

"You're so beautiful, you know that?" You giggle.

"Well, I'm glad you think so."

"I'm just telling you the truth, Y/N. I'm not exaggerating or anything: I'm being honest."

"I know you are." Your free hand finds his head, scratching deep at his scalp. He leans into your touch, closing his eyes and smiling. "Little puppy..."

"Is that what you're into?" he asks, opening an eye to peek at you. You scoff.

"No, not for me. Are you into that?" He shrugs.

"I've tried it before and wasn't really into it."

"Oh, now you've gotten tell me the details." He laughs, sitting up with a soft grunt.

"It was fine, I mean, the woman I was with was okay. It just... she wanted me to put her in a cage and it just killed the mood for me."

You laugh a bit too loudly, holding your stomach and leaning into his shoulder.

"Oh my god, that's great. That's hilarious. Was it an actual dog crate or what?"

"Yeah, it was. She put fairy lights around it too."

You're both laughing now, leaning into each other, rocking back and forth. Your laughter dies down and you realize his hand is on the back of your neck, holding you close. You make eye contact with him, the two of you pausing before crashing your lips together. The kiss is sweet but hungry, anxious, as if you've been waiting for it all day. Your arms wrap around his neck and you sit up on your knees to reach him better. His arms move around your waist and he holds you close, lowering the two of you to the picnic blanket. You're still kissing, but now it's quick pecks on the lips, laughing at the silliness of it all.

You pull away, looking down at him. He's smiling, his eyes squinting up at you.

"You're the most wonderful thing that's ever happened to me," he admits, hands smoothing over your back.

"Oh yeah? The most wonderful thing?"

"Mm-hm." You giggle, shaking your head.

"You're crazy."

"Only for you."

You slip off of him but stay tucked into his side, letting his arm drape over your form. Your hat is discarded, your hair now a mess. You try soothing it but it doesn't seem to do much.

"I like seeing you like this," he says, nodding towards your hair. "You're always so picture perfect; it's nice to see you disheveled."

"Oooh, so you like seeing me disheveled, huh? Sounds like you're thinking about something particular." He smiles, looking away.

"I wasn't, but now I am."

"Naughty."

"You started it."

You rest there for a few minutes, enjoying the cool breeze as it flows over your bodies. The sun begins to move, peeking through the shade and hitting your forms. It warms you up just enough to be comfortable.

"This is really nice," you finally say, focusing on the birds chirping in the trees.

"It is. I wish I could stay with you like this forever." You hum in agreement, wiggling upwards to kiss him on the cheek. He turns his head and meets your lips with his, kissing you again. You share some chaste kisses before pulling away, staring at each other.

"What do you want to talk about?" you ask, propping yourself up with your elbow, looking down at him. He hums in thought.

"I'm not sure. What do you want to talk about?" You shrug, glancing over the landscape as you think.

"We talked about family and politics. Are you religious?" He shakes his head.

"Not really."

"Yeah, me neither." You hum as your finger twirls over his chest. "Do you want kids one day?"

"Hmm, maybe. Not for a while though."

"How many?" He thinks again.

"No more than three. I want our child to have siblings so they're not alone, but more than three is too much."

"Our kids? What makes you think that we're having kids together?"

He pouts, his expression turning solemn.

"You don't want to have kids with me?" You giggle at his sad tone, patting his chest. He rolls his eyes. "You gotta stop teasing me so much."

"You love it." You rest your head against his chest, taking a deep breath. "I don't know if I want to push out more than two kids though."

"Two would be fine, as long as you're okay with it. If you don't want to, we can always adopt."

"You want to adopt?"

"Yeah, I've always thought it sounded nice, giving a child in need a good home. I've always imagined adopting some older kids so they have a good home before they turn into adults."

"That's very noble of you." He shrugs.

"It's just something I've always wanted to do. Would you be interested in that?"

"Sure! Maybe not a lot at the same time though. Like if we have our own kids, maybe we could wait until they're grown-ups before we adopt other kids." He smiles.

"I like that plan."

Silence falls over you again. You listen to the wind pick up and shuffle the leaves in the trees. You glance at the skyline and see clouds approaching quickly.

"Uh-oh," you say, sitting up. "Looks like it's gonna rain."

Guy grunts, sitting up and pulling out his phone.

"Yeah, it says here that it's supposed to rain in the next hour or so." He puts his phone away and looks at you. "Would you like to go?"

"Yeah, I think so. I'd hate to get caught in the rain."

He nods, getting up with you. You pack all of your things and head back to the car, heading home.

"I had a really nice time with you today," you say when you reach your door.

"Yeah, this was really fun. Thank you for going out with me."

"Of course." You motion for him to come closer. He obliges, and when he is close enough, you get up on your tip-toes to kiss him. He sighs into you, hands finding your shoulders and squeezing as he deepens the kiss. You lick over his lip and he gasps, about to pull away, but you put your hands on both cheeks and keep him there. You lick over his lip again and he opens his mouth for you, letting your tongue move in and press against his. He moans softly into your mouth as your tongues swirl around each other. His hands smooth over your back and down to your waist, pulling you up against his body. His figure is firm and steady, keeping you supported as you make out with him.

After a few moments, he pulls away, despite you trying to hold him in place. He licks over his lips, clenching and unclenching his fists as he holds them above his head. You pout.

"You don't wanna kiss me no more?" you ask in a pitiful tone.

"It's not that," he replies, taking deep breaths as he rubs his hands over his face. "I don't want to lose control."

"You know," you begin, taking a step closer to him, encroaching on his space, "at some point, I'm gonna want you to lose control." He scoffs, looking away.

"You can't say things like that. I'll go crazy if you do."

You get a sneaky grin on your face, taking another step and bringing your face close to his. He won't look at you, staring off into the distance. You can tell he's holding himself back, which makes you giggle.

"You're silly," you whisper, giving a quick peck to his cheek. He huffs when you pull away, taking a couple steps back to give him some space again. "Some guys would jump at the chance to go to the next level."

"Yeah, well..." He looks at the ground, shuffling his foot. "I want to do things when you really love me."

"Oooh," you nod, nibbling your lower lip. You glance around, thinking. "Well... if things keep going well, it'll happen eventually."

"I don't want to force you to love me," he says, scratching his jaw, "but I don't want to be intimate with you if there's no love behind it."

"I understand." You reach out for him, and he hesitantly takes your hand. "Thank you for being honest with me about how you feel. I respect your decision."

"Thank you."

It's silent for a moment before you step closer.

"Can we keep kissing though?" He chuckles and nods.

"Yes. I can't give that up." You giggle, propping yourself up to kiss his cheek again. When you go back down, he kisses your forehead, smiling down at you. "Can I call you tonight?"

"I'd like that."

"Okay." He releases your hand, giving a small wave before he makes his way down the stairs and to his car.

As you go inside, you feel sad that you're returning to your empty apartment, wishing he was still with you.

[weirdgenetic-fuckup]

hii if u write angst could u do a metallica one of whatever member u want where they cheat on u and just lots of angst im in the mood for heart ache

A/n: Hope this is angsty enough for you

This was based off of the song 'Blood and Tears' by Danzig, I listened to it on loop while writing this, I NEED THIS SONG INJECTED INTO MY VEINS SOMEBODY SEDATE ME

Warnigns: Angst, mentions of alcoholism, cheating (James on reader), slight gore (reader hits their head on the road), if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

You've lived with James for two years now, having been dating for almost five years. It was late, nearing midnight. The rain was coming down hard and soaking into your clothes as you lay in the middle of the road.

It was really just your driveway, the highway split off and led straight to your house, but you never counted it as your driveway because it was so long and winding. It was one of the aspect of the house you never appreciated much, but James was usually the one driving while you slept in the passenger seat beside him.

Although, his late night drives stopped. For you, anyway. He always asked you to come with him, begging you to knowing he'd be carrying you in afterwards since you'd always fall asleep.

He barely looked at you past 9:00 pm. You made dinner while he watched sports or played guitar in another room. He used to watch you cook, he'd never been a chef himself by any means, but he enjoyed just watching you. You ate in silence now, if you did speak he'd give short and quick answers, doing his best to keep you quiet.

He never turned down sex but you felt disgusting around him and rarely asked. He stopped buying you flowers, which was a weekly occurrence. He never complimented you, instead he made backhanded comments on your outfits and body, offering to take you to the gym.

They engraved themselves in your mind, all his terrible words. "That shirt doesn't fit you stomach anymore." "Were your legs always like that?" Or he'd just stare at you and sigh.

You knew something had been wrong, you came to the conclusion that he'd been seeing someone. After speaking with Kirk, Lars and Rob they did some digging and found out pretty quickly that there was another woman. Tensions rose in the band which made James irritable.

Of course it came out towards you, yelling that you just sat back and accepted after a while.

But he never hit you, so you never said anything. He never hit you, it wasn't that bad.

You'd been sitting in his study, a room filled with band memorabilia that he'd always show off, walking around the room with you and explaining each item. He got mad when you even knocked on the door now, but he got mad when you didn't as well and that was worse.

You sat at the windowsill, watching the rain come down. James loved when it rained, he said it reminded him that Cliff was still with him. He was out with his mistress, Friday night. Date night.

It looked so peaceful out. Thunder boomed, lightning struck the earth far in the distance, but right in front of you it was peaceful. The rain came down hard in big droplets.

You held your hand to the window, wanting to run out there and dance. James wasn't home, no one was home, no one was around at all. For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt a weight lift off your shoulders. You took your chance, not wasting a second to run out into the rain.

The sky was dark and you watched the stars dance from miles and miles away, head resting on the asphalt. Crickets chirped in the background, frogs croaked, the distant sound of coyotes rang out and you waited as they neared.

They'd always come into your front yard and you'd watch them with James as they yipped and played, nipping at each others ankles. If you had leftovers you'd leave them out for them, they weren't causing any harm and you weren't going to eat them. They were sweet little raggedy things, the coyotes, but they shredded their food.

In a pack they could tear you to shreds just the same, still you didn't shiver or shake, you didn't glance around to make sure you were safe. You laid there, silent tears mixing with the rain spattering your face, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

Finally you heard a car getting closer, you didn't have to look to see it was James, you just waited. The lights shown over you and the car stopped only a few feet away.

The door opened and you listened for James's voice. "What the fuck are you doing?" He called, more annoyed than anything. When you didn't move he stepped out of the car and called out your name in a harsh tone. "I thought you were fucking roadkill, I was gonna drive over you." He waited a moment before calling out your name again, this time finally sounding worried.

He rushed over to you, looking over you for any signs of harm. He calmed down when he didn't see any blood, but your clothes were soaked and you were going to get sick. He was tired and didn't want to be dealing with this, but he didn't like the look in your eyes.

Apathy wasn't the right word. There was an emptiness to them, he couldn't remember the last time he saw you smile, or saw a shine in your eyes. He couldn't remember your laugh. A fog swirled in your eyes now and you didn't look right at him, but past him to the night sky.

"What happened?" He asked, brushing the strands that clung to your forehead away.

"She did." You said simply. "You don't have to love me, James." You looked to his eyes, brows furrowed and full of shock, surprise? He didn't know you knew but there was nothing to say anymore. "You know that, don't you?"

He let out a heavy sigh. "I do... I do love you, I promise-" you scoffed, cutting him off and looking back to the sky. "I love you. Don't you ever say I don't." He said sternly.

There was nothing to say, so you said nothing.

He followed your gaze up to the sky. "It's raining." He said. "We should go inside." He looked back to you, your body looking lifeless. "Get up." He was getting impatient. "Hate me if you want, but get up and get inside, I'll run you a bath." He got up, knees cracking as he did.

He waited a moment before repeating himself. He waited another minute before demanding it again.

You didn't move, liking your place you found on the earth, animals all around, man made gravel beneath you. You'd made this grave for yourself. This was your spot now, you belong here. That house was nothing but the shell of what was supposed to be.

"Get up." He repeated through gritted teeth, nudging you with his boot. Not a little sign that you even knew he was there. "God damn it, get up, get up!" He finally yelled, pulling his leg back. He made the move to kick you but stopped just short of your ribs.

His expression fell and he stared down at you, the realization falling on him that he was about to kick you. All those nights he'd stayed up, holding you and whispering sweet nothings into your ear and making you feel safe and protected. Gone. Useless. Less than a thing of the past.

He slowly knelt back down, lifting you up slightly so your upper body was laying over his lap. He kept an arm around you while holding your face in his other hand. "Sweetheart..." He muttered, brows knit together in shame, lips pulled into a pout. "I'm so sorry..."

You couldn't stop a small smile from finding its way to your face. "You're sorry?" He knew it wasn't enough but he hoped it meant something, he knew it meant nothing. "Is she pretty?"

James stared at you blankly for a moment. "You don't want to be asking questions, sweetheart, they'll just make you feel worse."

"Is that something nice you're doing for me?" He didn't respond, he wrecked this with his own selfishness. There was no fixing it, therapy wouldn't help, no ring could save this.

A warm droplet landed on your cheek and you saw it was from James. He did love you, just not nearly enough, nothing he could provide would amount to what you deserved, and he knew that from the start but he tried. Then he lost hope, and ruined you.

He could've ended things right, let you leave and move on from him, but he had to break you, he had to make you hate yourself as much as he hated himself.

"The skies prettier at night." You said, catching him off guard but you spoke again before he could say anything. "You believe in heaven, don't you?" He gave a small nod, opening his mouth to say something but nothing came out. "I think it's pretty."

He held you in his lap, it felt like he was watching the life slip away from you. You knew more than him, you knew it was already all gone. He had stripped you of everything, the rain hitting your face was the only solace, the only thing keeping you breathing.

You sat up, adjusting yourself so you were sitting on your knees with your hands in your lap. "Did drinking help?" You asked, glancing back at him over your wet shoulder.

James hesitated, unsure of where this was going. "Drinking doesn't fix things."

"That's not what I asked."

He stared at you before giving a small nod. "It numbs the pain, makes it easier to push things aside. It keeps you moving." He explained, voice soft and a little shaky.

You nodded in understanding, staring down into the darkness of the woods across the road. "I don't need booze to numb anything." You stated. Everything about this was confusing to James, the way you spoke, how you were acting.

It all became so, so terribly obvious when you moved your hands in front of you, planting them firmly on the asphalt and bashed your forehead into it, your world going black with James screaming in the background.

[anghraine]

Update: let me upgrade that to "what if 'Spock's Brain' was good?"

So, I really, really enjoyed this one despite disapproving of its existence on a certain abstracted artistic level.

Like, do I feel that "oh actually he's not really gone" undermines the power of Spock's sacrifice in The Wrath of Khan? Well, yes. Do I want a series like Star Trek to risk something that big and then hurriedly back away and jettison every new development? Well, no, generally not.

But. But. While it's not the movie The Wrath of Khan is in certain ways—not as self-contained, not as substantial—I ... well, I've got to speak my truth. I actually like it more than The Wrath of Khan.

I HAVE REASONS OKAY.

For one, I much prefer it to both of the preceding movies aesthetically. The costuming is consistently fantastic; the leather jackets are god-tier, especially Sulu's, and the beige sleepwear aesthetic of TMP and the highly militarized one of TWOK are blessedly much less prominent. The Vulcan outfits rule. Kirk has this, like, fluttery eighteenth-century blouse at one point that's fantastic. There's something incredibly vivid and distinct about the details of the settings that I love, especially on Genesis and Vulcan. I love the choreography. The use of intensely vibrant color palettes again is just deeply refreshing. I was genuinely surprised to read that most of it was filmed on sound stages and not on location.

The supporting characters are generally good: the Klingons are fun villains and more memorable than ever before (I love their sarcastic description of the idyll beneath the Federation flag, lmao, and the understated exchange between the lady Klingon and the commander). Our heroes get to outwit some Federation people who aren't evil or anything, but range from mildly disappointing to obnoxious as hell (the Excelsior captain ... heh). David Marcus goes from one of my most hated characters in TWOK to a consistent delight who goes out like a champ. The major let-down is Saavik, who was fantastic in TWOK but is just kind of fine here.

[super long ramble below the cut!]

(I do not like the random pon farr with Saavik, I will admit, just given how much of a mentor-very young protégée dynamic Spock and Saavik had in TWOK. And also the fact that he functionally doesn't have a brain. It's puzzling to me that a barely adolescent Spock would go through pon farr when TOS Spock obviously went through his first in his late 30s, anyway, and I suspect it's mostly there for the usual horny Star Trek reasons.)

But most of all, I find the characterization in this one far more consistent with the details of the established characters than TWOK had, while projecting probable, intriguing character developments into the future for those people. And for me, that makes the arcs and emotional beats hit a lot harder.

TSFS is one of the best Star Trek stories for McCoy, period. He's carting around Spock's soul for nearly the entire movie, and it's both comedic and just really delightful to see McCoy shift between fully himself, or fully Spock, or blurred somewhere between both. I love the bar scene where he's grumpily yelling about how illogical the people trying to deal with him are. I love the switching between very McCoy lines and very Spock expressions on his face. I love the scene where he admits to Spock's body that he cares about him and wants him to be okay. I love his awkwardly respectful involvement with Vulcan mysticism that's got to twig him out, his explicit agreement to risk himself to return Spock's soul, and then the very McCoy aside of "hell of a time to ask."

I think this is one of the first narratives in which his bigotry pretty much vanishes (which makes perfect sense in context, but it's very welcome after him still carrying on the xenophobia torch in TMP and TWOK). It also just feels really nice to see DeForest Kelley get a chance to shine as an actor, which he very much does here.

I was actually thinking about how, IMO, McCoy is not only overshadowed by Kirk and Spock and their relationship in fan perception, but often enough, in how the various TOS narratives are structured, and even in the in-story dynamics. In both TOS and the films, I think McCoy is presented as having strong, fundamentally affectionate, fraught, but ultimately close ties to both Kirk and Spock, and as offering an important counterweight to them in perspective and temperament. At the same time, though, I think he's also kind of stuck on the outside of their little hyper-intense binary system with regard to each other. It makes the triad dynamic of these characters messy and complicated and compelling to me in a way that a more neatly balanced central triad often isn't; McCoy's role is so fundamental, yet the Spock-Kirk-McCoy dynamic so often seems unbalanced in favor of Kirk and Spock within the story in a way that McCoy visibly struggles to navigate at times.

Kirk and Spock undoubtedly care deeply about McCoy—we certainly see them show it—but I don't think that they are at all consistently on his wavelength (or him on theirs) in the way that they're frequently on each other's. I don't think McCoy relates to them in the way they relate to each other. In TOS, Kirk and Spock regularly seem to forget other people are in the room with them, including McCoy; they're mutually puzzled by McCoy's choice to stay with his wife and mutually come around to understanding; McCoy tries and fails to get Spock to back down from repeatedly risking hundreds of people's lives in desperate, likely fatal attempts to save Kirk; McCoy is much more hesitant to accept that something is very wrong with Kirk in various episodes where Spock correctly leaps to red alert; etc. Kirk's matter-of-fact statement in the series finale that Spock is closer to him than anyone else in the universe would not even slightly surprise McCoy himself, IMO.

Even in the movies, McCoy is shocked and enraged by Spock's initial coldness in TMP, where Kirk is visibly much less surprised (though disappointed—he seems to have known what to expect in a way McCoy and the others didn't). McCoy raises reasonable (if mistaken) doubts about Spock's loyalties that Kirk refuses to consider despite rising evidence. Spock bids farewell to the Kirk-McCoy-Saavik away party with an intense "Jim, be careful!" that ignores McCoy and Saavik (as McCoy himself points out), blahblahblah.

I'm not sure McCoy would even want to be part of Kirk and Spock's whole deal—he's typically framed as a more normal person who represents natural human decency, emotion, reasoning, and attachment where Kirk and Spock are (I say with love) kind of unhinged beneath their more measured demeanors. But it's got to feel weird to be McCoy. So having him be the one carting Spock's katra around (and not really liking it, but doing his best) feels interesting and unexpected and strange—and very funny at times—in a way I suspect it wouldn't if it were Kirk in that role. After McCoy's been kind of ... uh, assigned third wheel at birth for so long, there's something rewarding about him getting so much of the spotlight, and very admirably bearing up under the strain of a truly weird-ass situation while Kirk spends most of the film sliding towards the deep end.

Speaking of whom: my main complaint about TWOK was that, especially with Kirk, it tended towards inventing new traits wholesale, and building the film's central arcs around those traits for the duration of the movie, rather than engaging much with the established character. For instance, as I mentioned the other day, a major thread of TWOK was the idea that Kirk is someone who's spent his life evading any serious confrontations with the inevitability of loss or death by refusing to allow them as possibilities, instead relying on being clever and daring and ingenious and determined enough to avoid seriously encountering death/loss/failure. This is not even slightly consistent with TOS Kirk, who has experienced horrific losses over and over and over, and is painfully aware that death is a very real possibility in many situations.

The use of "the good of the many outweighs the good of the few, or the one" is powerful and effective in TWOK, but honestly it is much more the philosophy of Kirk in TOS than Spock. Kirk is not always written evenly in TOS, but his preoccupation with the welfare of the hundreds of people on his ship above his own interests or desires is a very persistent feature of his character. Meanwhile, TOS!Spock is entirely ready to risk those same hundreds of people and his own better judgment if it means even a slight chance of saving Kirk. Spock just ... refuses to give up trying despite the risk to many people, in order to save one(1) man. In fairness, it's entirely possible that "the good of the many..." is a philosophy Spock generally subscribes to on a cerebral level and he just launches all his principles out the airlock when it comes to Kirk specifically. But honestly, I don't think the characterization swap is really about that or about much of anything in TOS, it's about what works for movie Trek.

That's fine enough in many ways (ST historically has had a healthier, looser approach to continuity than other franchises) and TWOK is fantastic in its own right. But the characterization in The Search for Spock feels very TOS to me, despite following directly from the events of TWOK. Like, TWOK has Kirk preoccupied with aging and feeling tired (he uses reading glasses, God forbid). It ends with him being grief-stricken by Spock's loss but facing it, and in doing so, feeling alive and young again. That works for TWOK, but I don't really believe it's where Kirk as a person would be at emotionally at that point, tbh.

I think it's entirely plausible, however, to interpret original Kirk's relationship with death and loss as flawed and unhealthy. It's not that he's been able to evade death and loss by refusing to accept the possibility of them, rejecting the reality that he might ever not win, whatever; rather, Kirk avoids truly facing the horrific scale of death and loss he has experienced by not letting himself dwell on them. He generally represses sorrow, focuses on what can (or should) be done in pragmatic terms, and coordinates his people into solving problems until it's time to move on to something else he can occupy himself with. TOS Kirk knows how to endure, how to reinvent himself, how to keep going. I'm not sure he knows how to grieve.

Certainly, the episodes that deal most directly with grief and trauma make it clear that he has never really moved on, just repressed guilt/rage/whatever in favor of being capable and charming. We see it in "The Conscience of the King," we see it in "Operation: Annihilate!", we see it in "Obsession," it's a whole thing.

Of course, people can't just endure forever. And in The Search for Spock, we find a Kirk who has finally reached the limits of his ability to power through loss. The first bit of the film, showing us a Kirk devastated by grief and blankly going through the motions of Performing James T. Kirk, is some of the best of movie Kirk IMO. To me, it feels like this is a limit that TOS Kirk was always going to hit someday, and Spock's death makes perfect sense as the thing that would leave him just kind of lost.

His attempts to present a good front are visibly strained from the outset, and while he tries to hang onto his principles throughout, he is more of a loose cannon in this film than he's ever been, more determined to let nothing stand in his way, more prone to extremes, more cavalier with life, more enraged but also colder and more calculating. There are times in this film where he seems a thread away from snapping; the effect is not This is who Kirk always was but This is Kirk pushed beyond his limits.

I love Sarek showing up and being accusatory (in a very Sarek way) towards the initially muted, lost Kirk. It's ... well, it's really hard not to describe Sarek as his judgmental father-in-law, not only for TOS shipping reasons, but just the intense "in-laws handling mutual grief poorly" dynamic. The fact that it literally never entered Sarek's mind that Spock would have passed his katra to anyone but Kirk only reinforces this, along with Kirk's quiet "We were separated" explaining why it didn't happen. Yes, of course it would have been him if he'd been available, duh, but he wasn't there.

(I can only imagine what the Kirk-Sarek mind-meld must have felt like, damn. Neither of these men have the faintest idea of how to process something like this.)

ANYWAY. I also really appreciated the pacing of this one, the places where it lingers and where the action crackles from scene to scene. I loved the destruction of the Enterprise and the icily cheerful insouciance of Kirk's "c'est la vie" about the deaths of the Klingon crew (something that at another time might have allowed him to see commonality between himself and Kruge). Loved Kirk both giving Kruge a chance to live and grating out "I have had enough of you!" when he brutally smashes his boot into Kruge's face and kicks him into the lava; you feel he is really on the edge of becoming someone else. I also love that he's smart and resourceful enough to then transport into the Klingon vessel by the simple expedient of knowing how to speak Klingon and impersonating Kruge through a communicator.

I loved the original stealing of the Enterprise and the various crew members getting some moments to shine (justice for Uhura at last, though I think she should have joined them!). I loved the Vulcan ceremony and how it showed the difficulty of the ritual through the offscreen passage of time, and visible general exhaustion, with most of the Enterprise crew having fallen asleep by the time the ritual finished. Loved Sarek coming as close as he ever will to admitting he loves Spock (in, again, the most Sarek way possible) and acknowledging that Kirk made monumental sacrifices to restore Spock's katra to his body.

Loved how there's still a cost to Spock's sacrifice; he's there, he's Spock, but so much is absent. Loved his blankness as he passes his former friends and the bittersweet quality to this after all that was lost to bring him back, the sense that things might never be wholly right, though there's hope that they will. But I also loved him turning back and recognizing that he knows the name ("Jim") that goes with Kirk's face (the only one of them he appears to recognize at all, though it's enough for everyone to break into rejoicing). Love the raw joy in Kirk's visibly tired, dirty face in that moment, even though there's such a long way to go.

So, well. It's my favorite!

J and I are about to take up our ST watch with The Search for Spock!

me: If you think about it, a significant portion of this one is "What if 'Spock's Brain' wasn't terrible, right?

J: oh God. You're not wrong.

[softzosan]

people (especially women) with funky clothes and hair are everything to me

[girlivealwaysbean]

sometimes my bestfriend is like an angel in disguise istg

[earanie]

i guess this is the year i learn stuff about myself if nothing else.

[wttcsms]

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖࣪  lover !!

ᝰ.ᐟ even if he doesn't exude this energy to outsiders, you're happy to know that your boyfriend is the biggest simp around when it comes to you. or: the cute things he'll do for you.  (fem!reader)

featuring yoichi isagi, seishiro nagi, reo mikage, rin itoshi, rensuke kunigami content contains hotel bathroom sinks designed by a man, slight jealousy (reo is the jealous boyfriend), height differences (nagi + kunigami + rin are described as taller), wearing his clothes + clothes is described to be oversized on you (nagi), called a simp by his teammates (kunigami), clingy bf (yoichi <3) author's notes hq version coming soon!!! i just wanted to write something soft n fluffy for once <3

౨ৎ YOICHI ISAGI — goes viral on tiktok when the two of you go on vacation to celebrate your second year anniversary. you're recording yourself from the bathroom of the private villa he rented out for the two of you, and you originally wanted to record what an absolute joke the sink is. there is literally no counter space. nowhere to place any of your makeup or skincare products. yoichi interupts the video unknowingly, knocking softly and asking if he can come in. he doesn't realize you're filming, and it's entirely genuine when he asks, "is everything okay? you sounded frustrated? did you need help opening something?" you laugh before explaining the situation, and he's silent for all but one second before he goes, "oh! i'll just hold your makeup bag, and i'll hand you the stuff when you need it." (poor yoichi means well, but he's standing there for over an hour as you laugh at him when he can't tell the difference between a tube of lipgloss and liquid blush. the look of concentration on his face as he nods intently while you explain what each product is for is absolutely adorable; it's the same concentrated look he gets when he's reviewing game footage, meaning he's taking this seriously for you.) he's also the type that loves to follow you around. it's a common joke for his fans to comment "walk him like a dog, sis!" on any candid photos of you + yoichi because he is almost always holding your hand while trailing behind you. he's like your shadow as he follows you around different stores in the mall, and even when you tell him he can just sit down with the other boyfriends while you just try on some clothes, he refuses to leave your side. tries to follow you to the dressing room, and gets all pouty when he realizes he's not allowed in. makes you walk outside the dressing room with the new outfits on so he can rate them (he is incredibly biased and believes everything looks good on you and forces you to bring everything to the cashier so he can swipe his card to get it for you <3)

౨ৎ REO MIKAGE — cannot handle anyone else taking up large chunks of your time, especially when he rarely gets to see you during game season. makes a face anytime he realizes that the server at the restaurant is a guy. the server will smile at you and tell you that he'll get started on that meal for you right away, and reo leans forward once he's gone and goes, "i can't believe he was flirting with you right in front of me! disgusting!" he's actually convinced that every man in the world wants you for themselves, and if you tease him by threatening to run off with any of these men, he'll instantly frown and start telling you to take that back right now! however, he is entirely convinced that you are the greatest thing to ever grace this earth, and he feels so proud whenever you two are out in public and a fan or an employee compliments you. they could say anything postive about you, and he'll beam with pride, going "i know, right? i tell her this all the time!" it's almost common knowledge that the easiest way to get on reo's good side is to treat you well. he also loves listening to you gossip, and is the type of boyfriend who loves all your friends (even if he can't quite remember their names; it's only important that they treat you kindly and loyally), and hates everyone that you hate. he's also less forgiving than you; if someone backstabs you but you forgive them and grant them a second chance, just know that reo still hates their guts and he'll make it incredibly obvious.

౨ৎ SEISHIRO NAGI — can’t help but make video game versions of the two of you any chance he gets. he’ll pretend to not notice the way your eyes light up when you pass by any claw machine containing plushies of your favorite anime characters, but somehow he’ll manage to find himself at the machine, casually winning you your favorite as if the game isn’t designed to make everyone lose. (he’s just that good.) even if you’re not as big of a gamer as him, he’ll watch you play sims 4 (and subsequently watch you spend 3 hours on the create-a-sim section because you’re trying to create a perfect carbon copy of the two of you.) looks for his favorite hoodie only to glance over at your still-sleeping form on his bed and realizes that you’re wearing it. you look adorable in it; he’s taller than you, bigger in every aspect, so the material swallows you up. (he doesn’t wake you up nor does he ask for it back.) despite the fact that he’s taller than you, nagi is definitely a big baby, and is constantly the little spoon. he loves to come home and bury his face in your neck, loves the way you gently run your fingers through his hair (it’s the easiest way for him to fall asleep), and he’ll constantly try to find ways for you to hold him.

౨ৎ RIN ITOSHI — grants you “scary dog privilege.” literally will mean mug every man in the street as the two of you are walking together. everyone thinks that rin would be a selfish lover from his outside appearance, but he surprisingly puts up with a lot of your antics because he loves you so much. you don’t bother buying a step stool because you count on rin to get you anything you need from the tall shelves (and when you’re mad at him, he’ll purposely find ways to get all your most-used items on a hard-to-reach area so you have to sulkily seek him out and ask for his help. there’s no way in hell you put your face wash on top of the fridge, and rin looks all too happy to grab it for you.) he has a very bare social media account and most of the time, he just posts whatever his publicists draft up for him. the only post he has personally created and shared himself is the one of you on your birthday; in a sea of promotional posters and professionally taken game highlights, the smiling faces of you and rin stand out. (it’s the happiest any of his fans have ever seen him look.)

౨ৎ RENSUKE KUNIGAMI — his teammates make fun of him because he is notoriously loyal to you. they tricked him and took him out to a strip club, and there’s a viral video of kunigami staring intently at his phone, never looking up once at his surroundings. (he was going through your instagram feed + then ran out of photos to look at, so he started going through his camera roll to look at pictures and videos of you.) is the boyfriend who embodies the phrase ‘wear whatever you want, baby, i can fight.’ there’s a photo of you two that did numbers on pinterest. kunigmai is such a big guy, towers over you, honestly, but he readily gets down on his knees for you. in the photo, you two are dressed up to attend a gala. he’s on his knees, and you have one high-heel clad foot resting on the top of his thigh as he looks down and is adjusting the ankle strap of your heel for you. his friends shared the photo in the team groupchat and called him a simp, but kunigami knows that if they had someone half as great as you, they’d act just the same.

[ktempestbradford]

I have been on a Willy Wonkified journey today and I need y'all to come with me

It started so innocently. Scrolling Google News I come across this article on Ars Technica:

At first glance I thought what happened was parents saw AI-generated images of an event their kids were at and became concerned, then realized it was fake. The reality? Oh so much better.

On Saturday, event organizers shut down a Glasgow-based "Willy's Chocolate Experience" after customers complained that the unofficial Wonka-inspired event, which took place in a sparsely decorated venue, did not match the lush AI-generated images listed on its official website.... According to Sky News, police were called to the event, and "advice was given."

Thing is, the people who paid to go were obviously not expecting exactly this:

But I can see how they'd be a bit pissed upon arriving to this:

It gets worse.

"Tempest, how could it possibly--"

source of this video that also includes this charming description:

Made up a villain called The Unknown — 'an evil chocolate maker who lives in the walls'

There is already a meme.

Oh yes, the Wish.com Oompa Loompa:

Who has already done an interview!

As bad (and hilarious) as this all is, I got curious about the company that put on this event. Did they somehow overreach? Did the actors they hired back out at the last minute? (Or after they saw the script...) Oddly enough, it doesn't seem so!

Given what I found when poking around I'm legit surprised there was an event at all. Cuz this outfit seems to be 100% a scam.

The website for this specific event is here and it has many AI generated images on it, as stated. I don't think anyone who bought tickets looked very closely at these images, otherwise they might have been concerned about how much Catgacating their children would be exposed to.

Yes, Catgacating. You know, CATgacating!

I personally don't think anyone should serve exarserdray flavored lollipops in public spaces given how many people are allergic to it. And the sweet teats might not have been age appropriate.

Though the Twilight Tunnel looks pretty cool:

I'm not sure that Dim Tight Twdrding is safe. I've also been warned that Vivue Sounds are in that weird frequency range that makes you poop your pants upon hearing them.

Yes, Virginia, these folks used an AI image generator for everything on the website and used Chat GPT for some of the text! From the FAQ:

Q: I cannot go on the available days. Will you have more dates in the future? A: Should there be capacity when you arrive, then you will be able to enter without any problems. In the event that this is not the case, we may ask you to wait a bit.

Fear not, for this question is asked again a few lines down and the answer makes more sense.

Curious about the events company behind this disaster, I took myself over to the homepage of House of Illuminati and I was not disappointed.

I would 100% trust these people to plan my wedding.

This abomination of a website is a badly edited WordPress blog filled with AI art and just enough blog posts to make the casual viewer think that it's a legit business for about 0.0004 seconds.

Their attention to detail is stunning, from how they left up the default first post every WP blog gets to how they didn't bother changing the name on several images, thus revealing where they came from. Like this one:

With the lovely and compact filename "DALL·E-2024-01-30-09.50.54-Imagine-a-scene-where-fantasy-and-reality-merge-seamlessly.-In-the-foreground-a-grand-interactive-gala-is-taking-place-filled-with-elegant-guests-i.png"

"Concept.png" came from the same AI generator that gets text almost, but not quiiiiiite right:

There are a suspicious number of .webp images in the uploads, which makes me think they either stole them from other sites where AI "art" was uploaded or they didn't want to pay for the hi-res versions of some and just grabbed the preview image.

The real fun came when I noticed this filename: Before-and-After-Eventologists-Transformation-Edgbaston-Cricket-Ground-1024x1024-1.jpg and decided to do a Google image search. Friends, you will be shocked to hear that the image in question, found on this post touting how they can transform a boring warehouse into a fun event space, was stolen from this actual event planner.

Even better, this weirdly grainy image?

From a post that claims to be about the preparations for a "Willy Wonka" experience (we'll get to this in a minute), is not only NOT an actual image of anyone preparing anything for Illuminati's event, it is stolen from a YouTube thumbnail that's been chopped to remove the name of the company that actually made this. Here's the video.

If you actually read the blog posts they're all copypasta or some AI generated crap. To the point where this seems like not a real business at all. There's very specific business information at the bottom, but nothing else seems real.

As I said, I'm kinda surprised they put on an event at all. This has, "And then they ran off with all our money!" written all over it. I'm perplexed.

And also wondering when the copyright lawyers are gonna start calling, because...

This post explicitly says they're putting together a "Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory Experience" complete with golden tickets.

Somewhere along the line someone must have wised up, because the actual event was called "Willys Chocolate Experience" (note the lack of apostrophe) and the script they handed to the actors about 10 minutes before they were supposed to "perform" was about a "Willy McDuff" and his chocolate factory.

As I was going through this madness with friends in a chat, one pointed out that it took very little prompting to get the free Chat GPT to spit out an event description and such very similar to all this while avoiding copyrighted phrases. But he couldn't figure out where the McDuff came from since it wasn't the type of thing GPT would usually spit out...

Until he altered the prompt to include it would be happening in Glasgow, Scotland.

You cannot make this stuff up.

But truly, honestly, I do not even understand why they didn't take the money and run. Clearly this was all set up to be a scam. A lazy, AI generated scam.

Everything from the website to the event images to the copy to the "script" to the names of things was either stolen or AI generated (aka stolen). Hell, I'd be looking for some poor Japanese visitor wandering the streets of Glasgow, confused, after being jacked for his mascot costume.

HE LIVES IN THE WALLS, Y'ALL.

[steddieme]

i love eddie turning into an asshole when he's gay panicking

like he tries so hard to hide his crush on steve he acts like a total dickhead. and steve knows eddie has a crush on him because his years of dating experience don't fail him, so he's very confused and can't decide if eddie is in denial or ashamed of his feelings for him, but he's a little sad either way. eddie just thinks steve is straight and is embarrassed he has a crush in general and doesn't know how to act lmao

like someone will ask something about steve and he'll answer in a milisecond and then look disgusted and make fun of whatever steve fact he just blurted out

jonathan: what's steve's favorite color?

eddie in 0.1 seconds: yellow

eddie immediately after for no reason: which is such an ugly color. who even likes yellow ugh

meanwhile he's yelling at himself in his head to shut the fuck up because he loves when steve wears yellow

robin, who didn't try to answer to see what eddie does: *amused and offended at the same time*

steve just stands in the background all confused and a little sad, because he's pretty sure eddie gives him heart-eyes every time he wears his yellow sweater. so what the fuck is he on about...

or when anyone in any way implies he likes steve he'll turn into his biggest hater

robin: you're so gone for him, man

eddie: what are you talking about? i fucking hate steve, god, he's so annoying

robin: ... i didn't even say steve's name, how did you know i was talking about him

eddie:

eddie: well, i just wanted you to know i hate him, which is unrelated to this imaginary guy you're talking about...

steve is in the break room eavesdropping going what the fuck, because they literally fell asleep cuddling last night

it all comes to a head when they all go out to watch eddie perform at the hideout with corroded coffin. steve wears his hottest outfit, eddie can't stop staring at him through the whole show. afterwards when they congratulate him, eddie turns to steve and tells him he looks awful. and steve just has enough and grabs eddie by the wrist and drags him out of the bar, into an alley.

steve: okay, what the fuck is your problem?

eddie, scared and turned on: huh?

steve: you keep insulting me and it's starting to really get on my nerves, so tell me what the fuck is going on

eddie:

eddie: look

steve: yeah?

eddie: ugh, whatever, okay, i have like the most embarrassing, ginormous crush on you, okay?

steve: yeah, i know that. so why are you being an asshole?

eddie: you know that?? what the fuck, how??

steve: eddie, you're like the least subtle person i know

eddie: fair... i don't know i just panicked because i didn't want you to know

steve: and your solution was to be a dick?

eddie: when you put it that way, it does sound bad

steve: you're a fucking idiot, i can't believe i like you

eddie: you like me???

steve: a fucking idiot, i swear!!!

then they make out and live happily after

not before robin kicks eddie's ass a little, though

[fuiru]

A 44 year old man goes to a K-Pop Concert

I promised you a report on the K-pop concert that I, a 44-year-old accountant, went to a couple of weeks ago with my wife and daughter in Toronto. So here it is.

The band we saw were Ateez. They're my daughter's favourite band and my wife's second favourite. I know most of my mutuals are similarly aged like me and may not be familiar with them so let me give you a brief primer on Ateez.

Imagine the most attractive eight men you can think of, just unfathomably beautiful specimens of aesthetic perfection, and make them sing songs that somehow combine the subjects of 'dancing like nobody is watching' with 'we live in a dystopian hellscape that we must all work together to overthrow'. Give them an ongoing music video story lore that literally nobody - not even the band themselves - understand, so that online discussion of their visual motifs looks more like the fevered rantings of a conspiracy theorist, complete with speculation about alternate realities and time being a Moebius strip. There is also a giant sand timer, for some reason.

That's Ateez. That's what you need to know.

Now, K-pop concerts are very different to the gigs I've been going to for the last 28 (!) years. There's no support act, for a start. Also the band perform for like, three hours, with breaks for costume changes and interpretive dance. Furthermore, hanging above everything is the constant looming threat of mandatory military service.

So this being my first such concert, I wasn't sure what to expect. What happened was difficult to explain, but I will try as I am already six paragraphs into this write-up and I'm too invested to stop now. Here goes:

In his Wicked + Divine comics series, Kieron Gillen places modern pop icons as deities, feeding upon and gaining strength from the worship of their fans at the altar of musical performance. I thought I understood that metaphor. I thought I understood it AS a metaphor. I was wrong, because that night Ateez WERE Gods with a capital G and we were their worshippers, a crowd emanating adoration (in the religious and non-religious senses), bestowing strength upon them and gaining their strength in return.

If that sounds weird, it probably is. But as pointed out above, I have lived over four decades and never yet experienced anything like the overwhelming passion of that crowd, the utter abandon with which they conveyed their love for the band.

"But Fuiru, what of the actual music?" you ask. Thinking back, there was a moment in one of their songs - I can't remember which - where I watched the stage, and the people around me, taking it in, and I thought, "Man, I just love Music". But that doesn't answer your question, sorry.

Ateez's music is bloody great. As a tiresome indie/rock/metal kid I'm resisting the urge to add the usual tiresome indie/rock/metal caveat of "...for pop music" because honestly that does it a disservice. They have some genuinely amazing songs. Halazia is an absolute fucking masterpiece that descends into furious hardcore breakbeat. Bouncy is a big, brash racket that somehow is also a perfect pop song. Utopia, Wonderland, and Guerrilla are similarly superb. The obligatory boy band slow number is represented by Dancing Like Butterfly Wings which will make you cry because you will forever associate it with your twelve year old daughter being pointed to and waved at by her favourite Ateez member (Seonghwa) because of her Seonghwa-branded lightstick.

That might just be me, though.

So in summary: being a 44 year old dad at his first K-pop concert rules and you should endeavour to partake in the experience if the opportunity arises.

Finally, for any Atiny reading this: my bias would be San or Seonghwa but my wife and daughter said they were taken so it’s Mingi. My concert outfit (designed and created by my offspring) reflects this.