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burnyouwithacigarettelighter · 1 year ago

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IT’S YOU, HAPPY ALL THE TIME ─── jonathan breech ✧☾𖦹

ೃ⁀➷ “I ask Jessica what drowning feels like and she says not everything feels like something else." — ‘Jessica gives me a chill pill’, Angie Sijun Lou.

pairing. jonathan breech x reader

summary. you’ve bared your heart to your bestfriend, jonathan, more times than you can count, whilst knowing practically nothing at all about him. what is friendship if it is not equal… what is love if it is not returned? can your relationship survive such one-sidedness?

warnings. swearing, TW mention & description of suicide/attempts & depression, very introspective/kind of a character study???, alcohol & drug use, pining, ANGST!!!!, crying, fluff, smut with feelings, p in v, unprotected sex, oral sex (f), SMUT UNDER THE CUT!

word count. 10k (WTF??!?!!??)

a/n. the title is from “she won’t go away” by faye webster:) btw this is… rly angsty (and SO long omg im still in shock) so beware🫡 ALSO IM SO SORRY FOR NOT POSTING IN WHILE!! SCHOOL IS KICKING MY BUTT & THIS FIC WAS AN ABSOLUTE MONSTER TO WRITE LMAO

There are very few words in your vocabulary you can use to accurately describe Jonathan Breech.

The boy is an enigma, a matryoshka doll that never ends: he is witty and lighthearted and sarcastic, but you’ll always catch that edge, the air of malaise he carries around himself, the unspoken elephant in the room that screams WHO ARE YOU REALLY?

He had always been more of a figure, a landscape; something to witness, observe-- experience without letting it do the same to you. You don’t know if that’s something you want, either: there’s an imbalance in his hilarity, and he always takes things a step too far. Jonathan lights matches and lets them burn all the way down to his fingertips; he shaves and lets the blade leave stinging little nicks, rivulets of blood running down his neck; he chainsmokes cigarettes in his room and only opens the window when he feels his heart hammering in his chest, desperate for air.

You meet him — or, first experience him in a similar fashion: he had been in the university library, standing on top of a creaky, old bookshelf, shouting something you couldn’t understand over the music blasting through your headphones. You could certainly see him though, gesturing animatedly, dressed eccentrically in his signature winter trapper hat and a velvet blazer. That thin, effeminate figure of his was making winding, marionette-ish steps along the wood, an action that had everyone readying themselves to catch his inevitable fall.

Then, seemingly out of nowhere and catching you completely off guard, you caught his eye. He began stepping from one shaky shelf to the next, a complete miracle none of them toppled over, before stopping on one close enough for you to read his lips.

“Hi,” he mouthed, shifting uneasily on his left foot before regaining a steady balance, “you’re in my class, right?”

You nodded, hesitantly— yes, truthfully, you’d seen him in your Introduction to Literary Studies course a couple of weeks ago, sporting the same outfit as he did now, but you thought nothing of him. He’d been generally well-behaved then, asking slightly odd but in-tune questions that more or less answered all your inquiries, so you didn’t think the guy would have a penchant for, well… book-shelf hopping.

He grinned, about to say something else, before something — or someone, made him flinch. A professor, probably, considering the unintelligibly muffled, booming voice behind you. However, Jonathan made quick work of the situation, sneakily climbing down and escaping out the door.

The next time you see him, he’s sidled up beside you in your shared class. “Mind if I sit here?” a familiar voice had asked, to which you murmured a non-committal knock y’self out, before realizing with wide eyes. His presence had caught you off-guard, as he so often did, and you sensed a pattern blooming.

Jonathan certainly made for an odd desk-partner; his personality warped the environment around you, and it was suddenly so much easier to tear your eyes away from the lecture and land on Jonathan’s own. It’s something you never thought you’d ever do, because you adore the material being taught.

At the end of class, he asks you out for a drink: he’s just found the best Irish stout in the entire city, and what better way to make it known than to take anyone and everyone he knows there?

Rejection is written on your face clear as day— you have class tomorrow, an essay that needs to be finished, and honestly, pubs just aren’t really your scene.

But in the end… you still bite. You can’t help it: he’s disarming and warm and looks like he should smell like a bonfire. Somehow, that just does it for your brain; it’s here you learn of the charm that is Jonathan Breech.

That night goes everything and nothing like you expected: you expected not to be able to predict his actions, and that’s exactly what happens. When you meet Jonathan at the aforementioned pub, it’s not actually the one he’s meaning to take you to— it’s just the closest public place to the on-campus dorm, which is where he says he’s rooming.

“‘ve got a neighbor m’pretty sure is trying to sleep with me,” he says absently, ushering you onto the back of his bike, which had been leaning against a NO PARKING sign. “He’s always toget’er wit’ our dorm advisor, so I should l reject him before I get kicked out, if y’get what I mean.”

Now, you honestly should’ve expected this from a guy who jumped from six-foot book shelves, but Jonathan’s biking is all swift turns and jilted stops, mere milliseconds from repeatedly running red lights. You want to ask if he just learned how to ride the thing yesterday, but can’t, not with how utterly reckless and shameless he is about it, his terrible steering making you instinctively wrap your arms around his chest.

You clutch him tightly, making him hum in approval, and you feel your ears burn flusteredly. You would’ve pulled away, but then he cut from the right lane to the left in one swift move, barely missing several cars, and you practically shrieked instead. “Oh my god!”

“Sorry,” he apologizes quickly. You can’t see his face, having shut your eyes in fear, but after hearing the blatant cheekiness in his tone, you can imagine clear as day how gleefully it contorts. You want to slap him somewhere, anywhere, but that’d defeat the point of being mad at his recklessness, so you squeeze him tighter instead, and he chokes on his breath. “Jesus-- m’sorry, really!”

When the two of you make it to the pub — alive and uninjured! — annoyingly all the way across town, your first few steps off his bike are stuttered, dizzy: “We are-- not going by bike next time,” you gasp, leaning against a random brick wall.

“Next time, eh?” He grins, and this time you really do slap him— just on the arm, bless your self-control and niceties not to beat this oddly comfortable-to-be-around near-stranger to death.

The pub, with its forgettable name and dingy stools, has a minimal, lackluster crowd. A kitschy neon sign flickers and dies as you walk in, making you raise a brow, but Jonathan merely drags you by the arm to a cozy corner table, then disappearing deeper within the venue before returning moments later with two pints of black beer in tow.

“Go on, then,” he gestures, setting the tall glass on the table, sitting down in the chair in front of you and taking a hearty sip of his own drink.

You let out a little hesitant sigh at his words, before relenting and taking in a long gulp of the liquid. “…Huh,” you remark, impressed. Jonathan smiled knowingly behind his glass, letting out a smug little ah, you see?

“Worth the long ride?” he inquired innocently, as if that was the only thing wrong with the night.

“Worth the ride, but not worth almost dying for,” you rolled your eyes goodheartedly, knocking back the rest of the bitter drink and making him whistle.

The rest of the night goes like this: Jonathan orders two more rounds of the quality Irish stout before the two’ve you are stumbling out of the pub, exploring all the nightlife there is to offer, like the crowd surrounding an out-door live comedy group performing down the street that has you and Jonathan giggling for hours after, or the underground speakeasy you accidentally find yourselves shoved into, a nasally guitarist singing on a smoky stage, several more drinks finding themselves in your system despite how nauseous you already feel.

“You-- d’you fancy him?” Jonathan slurs behind you, steadying himself by pressing his hands to your waist.

“F-fancy who?” you blink blearily, leaning into his warm touch.

“Who else m’I talkin’ about, girl? The singer!”

You shake your head no numbly, practically collapsing into his arms now, your head lulling on his chest. You’re so close you can smell the distinct scent of his skin, that unique musk everyone has, and it’s strangely familiar, like those smells that evoke old, nostalgic memories. It’s like how sunscreen summons the smell of the sun after a childhood beach day, or how vanilla extract takes you back to the smell of your mother’s baked goods on a specific winter evening.

“Reckoned you wouldn’t,” he assumes, hands coming away from your waist to wrap his arms around your shoulders, swaying to the music slightly in the crowded club, “looks like a -- right bleedin’ dope… wit’ that mop of hair.”

You giggle, alcohol riddled beyond belief, unable to formulate a response with the conflicting blurry thoughts in your head: it’s telling you Jonathan Breech isn’t the crowd you want, that you need to go home and work, that you let loose too easily— but it also tells you that you can see yourself becoming friends with him very, very quickly.

It’s there, in that club, Jonathan Breech moves into your life and fills a gaping hole you didn’t know existed, like a hole in your stockings you only notice when you get home. You have friends, certainly, more than you can count on both hands, but they never get as close as Jonathan does. After that night, an unknown force pulls the two of you together, making you run into him everywhere, and a tight friendship blooms like a lilypad in a raging storm; beauty within the chaos. In the multitude of close friendships you’ve harbored, he is the first to see so many sides of you. The last thing that did was your mother; it had only ever been your mother.

He is an endearing, amazing friend, both the intent listener and the charismatic speaker all at once; he knows his friends like the back of his hand, can recount their life like he can count the number of moles on his face-- but you, and everyone else, know absolutely nothing about him.

At least, close to nothing-- you know he likes ice cream and hanging out and going to the pub; you know he likes biking and doing drugs and women; you know he hates the sea and his brother and his father, but you don’t know him. All you’ve ever seen him do is smile or laugh or shout in mock anger; there is a carefully glued mask on his face he takes meticulous caution in preserving-- he is terrified to let go, despite the blasé persona he lets on.

Or maybe the mysterious matter of your bestfriend is tripping you up for no reason; maybe you’re psychoanalyzing something that doesn’t need to be psychoanalyzed, reading between lines that don’t exist. But if you were asked to answer honestly, there’s just something about Jonathan you don’t get. There is a split seam in the tapestry of his life, missing pieces in the story he pretends to tell with utmost accuracy. There are things that he never talks about, that he recoils when asked like you’ve poked a tender wound.

“So, what were you doing before… all this?” You ask him once, laying on his messy bed in his dorm-room and scanning the water-damage constellations dotted along his popcorn ceiling. By all this you mean going to university, being the resident party boy, aimlessly pursuing a degree you’re 99% sure he picked blindfolded (culinary science) and standing here, with you, snorting a line of something on his creaky wooden desk.

Jonathan freezes, still hunched over. “What d’you-- what d’you mean?” he says, tone breezy but, uncharacteristically tense… jilted and preoccupied. You could’ve brushed it off as him being seriously focussed on his drugs, but the way he shifts, how his shoulders curl in like he wants to disappear, tells you otherwise.

“I mean, before going to school here… y’know, what were you like as a dumb teenager?”

You two’re twenty, barely not-teenagers, but it still makes a world of a difference: you’re living away from home, doing what you want, experiencing (a juvenile, naive version of) freedom and adulthood.

“I dunno… kind of a tool, that's f’sure,” he chuckled, rubbing his nose roughly. He’s being funny on purpose, a jester’s distraction: he doesn’t want you to realize his answers’ not really one at all.

You shifted on his bed, now leaning against his headboard. His answer strikes you as odd and uncharacteristic despite his attempts to evade suspicion: usually, Jonathan pounces at the chance to yap on and on. “What, the great Jonathan Breech doesn’t have any wild stories to tell? No bones broken, girls dumped, houses trashed?”

He snorted at that, like some inside joke you weren’t privy to was brought up in your words, and he descended back down on a carefully partitioned line of white. “I broke my baby finger once,” he relented vaguely when he finished, dusting off the table and licking the remains off his hand. “I cried and I cried and I cried.”

“Did it hurt that much?” you grinned, mind trailing off to imagine a baby-faced Jonathan Breech, a juvenile highschool boy, doing something silly to break that finger. Maybe he accidentally flung off his bike, broke it because of a dare, or maybe it happened just by slipping and falling.

“It - uh… didn’t hurt enough,” Jonathan smiled, tight-lipped and paltry. All at once the air in the room had changed, like someone attached a vacuum to the window and sucked everything out.

Your grin fell, and you watched him carefully: perhaps, had you not been as close to him as you were, he’d have let something show. A twitch in the smile, a break in the facade. But you were, and his face stayed the same, and your thoughts ran circles around themselves. This was… something else, something belonging to the part of his life he didn’t talk about.

The atmosphere had grown tense, taut, a rubber band twisted ‘round and round, threatening to burst, so you leave the matter of his injury alone; of his life alone. You go back to staring at his ceiling, he goes back to his drugs; Jonathan collapses within himself, and you don’t notice how badly he suffocates… how suffering in silence is also accompanied by the overwhelming desire to be found.

ii.

Sometimes, despite his self-imposed distance, Jonathan lets someone look inside his head.

You are both the sometimes and the someone; you don’t know why it’s always you, but you chalk it up to the fact that beneath his unpredictable demeanor, the murky and unreadable feelings he holds for others, is this uncharacteristic constant: he holds a softness for you. It’s what lets you know there’s something haunted lurking beneath his happy-go-lucky surface.

You don’t know where this softness comes from, either. But you know you see it, in lingering touches, tender duchenne smiles unlike the devilish tilt his lips usually hold, how he clasps his hand around yours after a night at the pub and walks you home because he knows you get paranoid. You see it in how he comes over to your apartment when you don’t answer anyone's calls during exam season, how he remembers what your mother’s name is and what your childhood pet was and what your favorite flowers are. How his lips brush past your cheek when he pulls away from hugs, his hands shuddering around your shoulders, like he’s afraid he’ll crush you.

You only wish you could do the same. You want to sit by his side and mend his heart, lend an ear to his most mundane fears, you want to take his hand into your own and kiss it softly, return all that he has done for you, take the same as you have given to him: what is friendship if it is not equal, what is love if it is not returned? It is something broken, unable; split halves of one heart, an imbalance in the scale, Bonnie without her Clyde, a fish out of water.

Jonathan pours his heart into your own, filling holes you know you don’t have, and you think he may be overcompensating for something else, seeing things in you that really belong to him. It is maddening, and you just want to beg and plead he lets you in.

But you settle for the gentle pokes, the prodding, and try to decipher the vague answers he gives you. Most days, you can’t really make sense of it.

“Sorry,” you apologize, about to leave the outing you planned with Jonathan — studying, or, trying to study, at an intimate coffeebar the two of you frequented — “my dad’s gotten drunk with his lads and my mum needs help dragging him home.”

“Hey, hey, don’t worry. I get it: my dad used to do that all the time,” he waves your words off casually, but you don’t miss how jilted he says used to and the pain in his tone at all the time.

“Oh, surely she was fit to go to the madhouse?” you laughed once, responding to Jonathan’s complaints about an eccentric classmate in his agricultural studies. He laughs back, he always does, but this one is hollow, forced; barely stopping a grimace from coloring his tone.

You notice these things like it’s a shadow following someone in the sun. He is lying, hiding; about something you don’t know but it is happening. It is happening, and you are so very curious: you pick up on the littlest tendrils of him, fed wholly on any information you can squeeze out. He is a mystery you want to delve within completely; answer that question of WHO ARE YOU REALLY? and leave no room for error.

You’d give yourself to him the very same if he merely asked; you’d whisper childhood fears and tell the origin stories of faded scars on your knees and why you check under your bed before sleeping. You’d detail your entire life from sunset birth to starry night end if he even made a passing comment about knowing; you would trust your love, your heart, your entire life in his beautiful, shaky hands. This is the relationship you have built around yourselves, and it is beginning to feel terribly one-sided.

Alas, your curiosity overwhelms him, and you take it too far, just once. Only once.

“Where’d this come from?” you murmur, brushing your fingers over a scar above his eyebrow. It’s something you see only now, his hair mussed and wild from the various blankets and pillows on your dinky couch.

He’s crashing at your apartment tonight, an invited event, because you often miss him like you miss home; the boy is sneaky— he slinks away like a street cat and only comes back for food. It’s only fair he lets you wrangle him back like this, making him stay by your side at least once a week.

Your words make him freeze, like he often does; it reminds you of hikers, who freeze when they see mountain lions— he thinks if he stops and stares and pretends to disappear you’ll look the other way, drop the question, forget him completely.

But you don’t. You don’t know what’s affecting him -- not that he wants you to -- so you just stare back into his cornflower blue eyes. You stop and stare and see right through him; you hold the question like a knife to his neck, and commit him to memory.

“The scar?” Jonathan pales, shuddering despite it having long since been healed over. The aftershocks of an earthquake.

You simply nod, fingers pulling away. You’re still closer than ever though, the two of you being the only things in your cramped concrete apartment, the chosen movie on your telly still running and long forgotten.

Your attention remains on him, brandished into something dangerous, like you’ll carve the answer out of him if you have to— but the moment passes. He doesn’t say anything and you accept that as the answer. Gone is your razor-sharp focus, and there is nothing more to the matter.

But Jonathan doesn’t register this, no, he’s thinking, gears in his head turning and creaking. His tongue grazes against the backs of his teeth, jaw chattering like it was as cold as it was when… as cold as it was back then, and he doesn’t want to tell anyone— but it’s you. You’re not just anyone.

You’re the one he holds a certain softness for. The one he equally bares his heart to and holds the most secrets from. The one he’s most terrified to know. The only one he wants to know.

So, he decides to tell a partial truth— something digestible. People adore that which can easily slide down the gullet: news headlines don’t detail the goriness of a murder, they give the “insider” scoop of the scared neighbor. To be able to digest information is what makes the world go round, and he does not think you could digest the full truth-- he does not think he wants you to.

He feels ill at the thought of anything between you changing— oh, how ruined he’d feel if you began treating him like fucking glass.

This abhorrent social pressure is what makes Jonathan grit this sentence through his teeth: “I got into a car accident,” he gulps dry, “when I was nineteen. Was drunk… went fer a spin. I skidded off a -- um, an empty highway. The tall sorts; high up, y’know. Fell.”

His voice makes you look back up at him, and your eyes are beautiful and tense— it breaks his heart. He knows you’re probably thinking it was in-character, how expected that is of Jonathan Breech, how you’ll easily take this partial truth, how you’ll never know the full one until it comes in a letter under your door and he’s long gone.

“Tell me,” you ask him, lips falling into a near-frown instead of laughing or grinning wider. It’s hushed, whispered like a secret, “What did it feel like? Falling, I mean.”

Jonathan licks his lips, bores his shaking gaze into your own, and tells you not everything feels like something else. That the word connotes all you need to know. Falling meant he was falling; his arms raised and the air took him and that was it.

It makes your brows twist and your lips press into a thin line: his nonchalance is worrying, no more his signature characteristic— there is something wrong about this apathy toward injury, toward the potential death.

“Is that how you broke your finger?” You murmur, and it startles him. How you pieced the two things together, how you weaved a web from what little you knew about him; how futile his attempts to hide could be.

“What?” he responds, hoarse. There is a lurking shadow in his bones telling him he’ll taint you, telling him to be ashamed, telling him how badly you will never be his. It is such a damning reality, that no matter how much he may yearn for you, he is too incomplete to meet your needs; he is too hurt not to hurt you too.

“The car accident. Is that how you broke your pinkie?” you repeat, and you gripped his hand resting at your side, bringing it up to present the finger to him like he forgot where his pinkie was.

Jonathan’s gaze darts from you to the finger, and he feels his insides quiver; so badly does he want to spill his entire soul to you. But that internal reminder -- hurt people hurt people hurt people -- makes him settle for nodding, parted lips locking closed.

Nothing special happens that night, no shocking revelation or bombarded confession; Jonathan nods, keeps his lips sealed, and gets up from the couch, figure dreary and fatigued. He murmurs an incomplete excuse, something half-baked and blatantly unconvincing that he has to leave, and you let him go. You think you’re imagining the shudder in his shoulders, the shake in his voice as he says goodbye, and you let him go.

It’s there, like that club so long ago, you discover another thing about Jonathan Breech: push too far and he shuts down, closes shop and puts up his guard forever. It’s the mere fact of how attentive you are to his words; you remember how he broke his finger, and he realizes he cannot hide from you any longer.

You’re reaching a point in your friendship -- your relationship, no matter platonic or romantic for all lines have been crossed; nobody is so raw to one another with love not involved -- where you’ll bare your hearts on your sleeves, share your every thought and dream and fear. But Jonathan won’t be able to reciprocate, and the very thought of rejecting you, betraying you, makes his stomach twist in knots. That crestfallen face of yours would haunt him for all time, your every melancholy feature burning into his memory like the scars left by cigarettes on skin.

So he leaves, hurt people hurt people hurt people echoes in his ears all the way home; he turns into an alleyway shortcut and prays death swoops down and takes him right there. He leaves his consciousness curled lovingly in your arms; his shell walks home and prays you’re none the wiser. But you’ve already reached that point in your relationship; you already know.

When people die, or friendships do, sometimes they end with just a goodbye, a mild, casual goodbye because you think there’ll be dozens, hundreds more-- but there won’t be. Suddenly, alone in that cramped apartment, the buzzing from the tv filling your ears, your couch still warm from someone long gone, you know.

You know you startled him, that he’s left your apartment and he’ll never come back. Your heart cools, and she whispers that you took it too far, that you crossed a line you were never made aware of, that when you see him in class tomorrow he might not sit next to you, he might not talk to you, that you might lose him forever because he is too stubborn to open up and you are too stubborn to let him go.

Well, you were too stubborn to let him go.

It’s three weeks before you speak to Jonathan again. Three long, dragging weeks, moments in time where he avoided your gaze, evaded your presence, slipped past you before you got too close. You certainly try, of course— you seek him out every chance you get, trying to get an I’m sorry, please talk to me out before he runs off, but it’s virtually impossible.

Once, after class, you’d caught him in the middle of a flurry of exiting students by the velvet blazer, your hands curled around the lapel. “Jonathan,” you panted, trying to drag him off to the side to escape the bustling activity around you, “please, we need to talk--“

But then Jonathan had faced you, eyes widened and spooked like he’d seen a ghost, a never-before-seen-by-you fear covering his gracefully cut features, before he tugged off the black blazer and escaped into the crowd. He had seen you, widened his eyes, left. Such a simple action tore your heart in two; it had confirmed your suspicions— you’d gone too far, he was never coming back, and you were all alone. There you stood, fingers wrapped around one of his favorite articles of clothing starkly without its beloved owner, completely alone.

In three measly weeks, he has put up a biting winter of distance between you two.

Your feelings are unable to comprehend themselves— they fight and sob and run circles around your mind, they make you doubt, crumble, devour yourself from the inside out; they make you ask yourself what you can do to salvage this, what can you do to fix this? What is there to make of him, of his behavior; what do you do with yourself and this guilt?

If you could imagine time was a construct, you were certain you could convince yourself this stretch of time was nothing… propel yourself into a present where Jonathan does not afflict your mind, take over your every thought— does not ruin you like so. If only you could do that, you could close your eyes and reopen them when you’ve let go. But you were always too stubborn to let him go, weren’t you?

It’s three weeks to the day before you speak to Jonathan again, and it happens through the crack of his dorm door, your arm wedged through it because you know he is not cruel; he will let you in without a doubt.

“Please,” you plead to Jonathan, “just— I just want to talk. Please?”

He stares at you straight, expression cold and reserved, before he breaks and pulls away; bites his lip, lets you in his room, doesn’t look you in the eye. Looking around, you sense something in his dorm has changed; it had gained a bereft quality, like it was attuned to Jonathan’s state of mind and felt depressed beyond your comprehension. There was a cold air to the place, an utmost frigid demeanor to a room incredibly warm just weeks prior. In your absence, the dorm had been neglected, gutted, abandoned.

“I’m sorry,” are the first words that tumble out of your mouth. “I- I know you don’t like… talking about -- about your life before here, and I’m sorry. But please, Jonathan, just talk to me. Tell me what I can do to make it up to you.”

He sits down on the edge of his weak bedframe, pulling his knees up and pressing his face into them. “You don’t need to-- don’t… don’t apologize. You don’t need t’make it better, either. All’s grand.” he promises, words muffled and shaky. It’s a weeping kind of tone; you could just as easily imagine him sobbing with that voice.

Your brows knit. Your emotions are wavering, treading brutally between disbelief, despair and rancor. “Then -- then why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you avoid me? Why did you - why did we spend these last three weeks playing cat and mouse, if you weren’t mad at me? Is this your sick idea of a joke?”

“No! I-- jesus christ,” Jonathan looked up from his hands before immediately pressing two fingers between his eyes, “I wasn’t … avoiding you.”

“I haven’t seen you in weeks!” you point out painfully, exasperated. “You know, you’ve been avoiding me for longer than this. You— you push me away any chance you get. You’re afraid. I don’t know of what, but you’re- so fucking secretive, and it’s tearing me apart.”

“I’m not - afraid of anything. I’m just a private person— you know this. Would you, if I ‘pushed you away?!’”

At his denying deflection, something within you snaps: “Why won’t you - fucking let me in? I’ve — I’ve bared my soul to you; you know me from the inside out. I trust you with my life— why, why can’t you do the same?”

“I didn’t ask you to do that! And I didn’t — I didn’t mean t’get so close to you, okay?!” He bursts, and you flinch. His hands shakily come up to his face once more; he wipes roughly but it’s no use— you’ve already seen his delicate tears threatening to spill, and it burns more holes in your heart than you thought his suffering would.

“What are you talking about?” you pry, now without any cautious reservations about his demeanor.

“I didn’t mean to get so fucking attached, because - ‘cause I…” Jonathan’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, “fuck.”

“What?” you repeat, but it’s softer, concerned; how quickly his body language shifted from irritated to terrified has you scrambling to support him. “Talk to me,” you ask, taking nervous steps closer, like you were approaching a wounded animal.

He sucks in a sharp breath, and holds it, like he did cigarette smoke, before exhaling heavily. “Okay- okay. When I was - nineteen, I drove a car… I drove off a cliff and tried t’kill myself. I was-- admitted to a psychiatric hospital for a year, and when I got out I moved here f’school. I- I… promised m’self I wouldn’t let anyone get too close.”

The confession hangs in the air, a lonely little thing; it’s a bleeding piece of his own heart he’s plucked and placed in your palms. He shudders, and you want to nurture it like nothing else. This is a culmination of a year’s worth of evasion coming to a close; you’re seeing him completely, rawly, for the first time.

“But- but why? You don’t have to— Jonathan, you don’t need to do that just because you - you… y’know.”

“I’m- I know that,” he starts brashly, defensively. “It’s b’cause I am very, very aware of my - of m’own self destructiveness…” His words taper off into something of grief; the Sisyphean struggle of wanting to live, while that depressive boulder pushes him back, colors him completely. “I just… I didn’t want to - t’hurt anyone in case I -- in case next time I succeeded.”

“Next time?” you repeat, and your voice broke in a way you wish was less vulnerable, less blatantly miserable.

“This is why I didn’t want to—“ Jonathan sighs, deflates, “I’m not telling you this because I want you to - t’fucking save me, okay? I’m telling you this because you wanted to know, and I couldn’t hide from you anymore. Because you asked.”

“You didn’t need t’hide it in the first place!” you exclaimed, coming closer to him. “You’ve never had to hide a fucking ‘ting from me.”

“You wouldn’t have understood!” He said back, volume nearing a shout. “You’ll treat me differently now, you see, you’ll look at me fuckin’ different—“

It made your heart sink-- how sure his words were, how certain he was of your rejection. How little trust did he have in you?

(You remember he wanted to sink, too-- lose himself in the baby blue sea; let it swallow him whole and never be seen again.)

“You - you really think I’ll treat y’differently because of this? You know my every crevice, my every thought-- I have never once doubted that you’ll accept me.”

“I-I… why should I - expect any of this to stay the same?”

Suddenly, you took his face into your hands. “Because I-- I fucking love you, okay? And it’s not just friendly, or romantic, even if it’s both— I’m… I love you like nothing I’ve ever loved before. I accept and adore your every skill and flaw and antic; you wormed your way into my heart and I want to worm my way into yours.”

“That doesn’t mean—“ Jonathan tried to interject, a noise all utter disbelief. You cut him off, though, continuing your sudden confession; you hadn’t been privy to these own romantic feelings of yours till moments prior, but everything being said just felt right.

“Jonathan, I don’t care if you drove a car off a cliff or cyanide-poisoned our professor or blew something up, because I love you. You, with all your problems and great, big, beautiful life. All I want is for you to want that life; I want you to want me in it. I feel it in my bones that I’m meant to love you; you are meant to be my home, you are everything I am supposed to know. It won’t fix you or fix anything at all but I just need you to know-- I need you to know the why to my every action. It’s because I love you.”

He looked up at you, wide-eyed, head resting in your gentle hold. “I - don’t know what to say… are you - for real?”

“As real as can be,” you smiled back at him, tracing circles along his smooth skin; you could’ve drank in that attentive stare of his for hours upon hours. “I love you, and nothing and no-one, not even you, can change that.” An aching grip had clenched around your heart at his words, that blatant disbelief: are you for real? God, had you ever been-- had you ever fucking been.

Jonathan’s mouth opened to speak, but instead, he let out an agonizing sort of cry; an exclamation of utter surprise at the loving acceptance. Then, he hesitantly leaned into your touch, as if he’d never hugged before, wrapping his arms around your waist to snatch you as close to him as possible. He held you tighter and tighter as the seconds went by, like this was all a mocking dream his yearning mind had made up; that if he closed his eyes now he’d wake up desolate, alone, without you for eternity. His worst nightmare.

“…God, I’m so - fucking stupid,” he grumbled, sounding angry, but you could feel vulnerable, hot tears soaking into the fabric of your shirt. “To assume you, of all people, would act that way… you of all people.” He said that tenderly; you of all people certainly meant miles more things you weren’t explicitly aware of, but you still felt the sentiment. “I’m not -- poetic or anything like that… but I love you, too.”

You chuckled a beautiful, wet laugh. “You don’t hafta’ say anything sweet or special. You’re everything to me.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, before wrapping his fingers around your wrist and pulling you onto the mattress with him. He flipped you beneath him, and held himself up by the forearms laying on either side of your head. “Fuck, I love you. I love you.” Jonathan repeated the words several more times, strange and foreign but right at home being said to you. Like his mouth was made to only ever say I love you to you.

Suddenly, you pressed your lips to his, shutting him up momentarily. You could still feel the vibrations of I love you rumbling in his throat as you kissed him. Your tongues danced along one another, an all consuming waltz; you wanted to know everything about him, down to the taste of his tongue, memorize how sweet his mouth felt on yours. Oh, how you longed for this moment; how could you ever think about love again, and yearn for it, without thinking of Jonathan?

You reckoned that’s what this had been the whole time; your love started as a little flame, something under the guise of friendship, but the two of you had fanned it, nurtured it-- all of a sudden the miniature warmth of platonic love burst into a raging, adoring fire. You’d fed this flame with tenderness, and it responded in kind; you could never again look at Jonathan without a certain intimate reverie. Perhaps that’d been why Jonathan found it so hard to cut off this relationship as he had dozens others: something primal and unconscious within him had begged him not to let you go— some higher being knew his home was only ever in your arms.

Jonathan deepened the kiss hungrily, pressing his weight onto you and pushing you into the mattress. Your head was spinning from the lack of air, and one of your hands had to sneak beneath his hat and tug at his hair to get him to stop. “Hey,” you panted, looking worriedly into his eyes, “what’s up?”

“Sorry,” he apologized sheepishly, hanging his head lowly for a moment before meeting your gaze once more, batting his long lashes. “Jus’ missed you. Thas’ all.”

“Missed y’too,” you murmured, pulling him back down to kiss you again. Your hands left the crown of his head and trailed down his backside, tracing over the curves and bumps of his frumpy yellow v-neck sweater.

That touch of yours seemed to spur him on even more, and his kisses began to travel; along your jaw, to your pulse, down the long ravine of your neck, tongue darting out to lick the hollow of your collarbone, making you squeal. He chuckled against your skin, a genuine amusement rather than the mocking one you two so frequently practiced, and it all went downhill from there. His hands skillfully tugged off your tank top, knee between your clenched thighs, more teasing kisses being planted along your now bare -- save for your bra -- chest.

You didn’t mean to come over, profess your love and suddenly jump into a steamy, yearning makeout session (which, you were pretty sure was venturing off into sex…) but you supposed that apologizing— arguing, whatever —meant your relationship went back on track to wherever it was heading… which may have been set to end with an ardor romance anyway. This love of yours would’ve bursted at the seams of friendship; it could not be confined by such mere things as labels.

“Fuck,” you groaned, arching into his teasing kisses along the peaks of your breasts, his hands ghosting around your clothed chest but never touching. “Please, Jon.”

You could feel his cheeky grin on your skin, “Tell me what you want, love.”

“…Take this off,” you demanded gently, referring to Jonathan’s sweater.

“Your wish is my command.” he snickered, obliging and removing the yellow knit-- as well as his white undershirt and pajama bottoms. He was left in a pair of boxer-shorts and that silly, silly winter-trapper hat, his fingers sneaking up to your supple thighs and tickling the edges of your jean-shorts; a silent plea.

“Eager,” you mumbled, noticing his over-compliance in completely stripping, smiling and guiding his hands to the waistband of your shorts to tug the tight article off.

When he did so, you shivered, both at the feeling of being only in your underwear, as well as Jonathan’s sharp, attentive gaze. “You’re so beautiful,” he panted, eyes exploring your every sweet feature.

He was enamored with your bare body, not in a sexual way despite the blatantly sexual situation, but rather in a worshiping, religiously devoted way. It may’ve been blasphemous to think so, but Jonathan’s sudden chaste kisses along the curve of waist only seemed to prove you right; his mouth on you was gentle, like he’d held you before, except now without any guilt or hesitation. It was a holy way of loving you; something all-consuming, becoming the epicenter of a life, becoming the purpose, motivation, and belief all at once.

That familiar broiling in your gut occurred as he made his way closer to the pulsing, lace-covered place between your legs; your hands were gripping the sheets tightly in pure anticipation, his hot breath on your sensitive skin. “Don’t be such a tease,” you pouted, legs fumbling for purchase along his body, trying to pull him closer to you.

“We’ve got all the time in the world,” he hummed, but his fingers still curled into the band of your baby-blue panties and dragged them down in one desperate go, “but I do wanna taste you….”

Jonathan’s veiny hands pried your quivering thighs apart, murmuring an offhand already stole y’panties, don’t get all shy on me now when you whimpered flusteredly, before he descended on your dripping lips, licking a flat-tongued stripe up to your clit.

You gasped at the sudden action, but it quickly morphed into a choked moan when he pressed himself further and parted your lips, nose to your pelvic bone; he made quick work of you, artfully curling his long tongue into your hole and slurping your slick.

“So sweet,” he praised, the vibrations of his voice making your thighs clench around his head. He hummed in amusement at your reaction, lapping you up quicker; he kitten-licked and slobbered, feeding on your sticky cunt, tongue darting in every direction, feeling your walls and prying deeper into your hot hole, which ached for the cock straining against the mattress now. The bottom half of Jonathan’s face was now positively soaked, glistening with his own drool and your needy wetness, all of it mixing dirtily and sliding down the length of his neck.

“Jon!” you mewled, hands tearing off his trapper hat and flinging it elsewhere before curling your hands into his mousy brown hair and pushing his face deeper into your pussy, desperate to come. You were riding his face now — or, attempting to, more accurately bucking up into him — adoring his unceasing ministrations. He was basically fucking you with his tongue, overstimulating your clit with teasing licks then pulling away, feeling along the ridges of your walls.

“Pick m’hat up later, love,” he tutted, pulling away slightly to see where you’d haphazardly thrown it, and your desperate whine neared a sob. He breathed in sharply, taking in how quickly he’d undone you: in a matter of minutes, your expression had grown wanton, eyes blown out, drooling, hair askew, bra riding up your tits and revealing your sweet, puffy nipples.

Jonathan quickly forgot about the state of his beloved hat, and went back down on you, mouth devouring in full force once again. You rolled your hips forward, and when he pulled his tongue out of your wet hole to suckle softly on your fleshy nub, your eyes rolled back into your head and your legs shook around his face, toes curling tightly. A choked moan left you alongside the sudden climax, sounding a hundred percent pornographic and all for him.

You panted, silent and unmoving for a moment, and Jonathan began moving to get up and let you take a breather before continuing, absolutely terrified to push you too far or do anything you didn’t want to do— he was the spontaneous one, and you were the responsible one, but that didn’t mean he ever wanted to force anything upon you. His simultaneous decisions were made mostly in part with your interests in mind; he made the decisions you were too nervous and over-thinking to choose quicker.

However, you took a long breath, then trailed your hand over the painfully noticeable bulge within his soft boxers. “Wan’… make you feel good,” you murmured, flattening your hand against his erection.

Jonathan inhaled sharply, pitifully affected by the minor touch but holding back with an incredible amount of self restraint. “I can wait,” he offered sweetly, one of his hands coming up to your flattened hand’s forearm to rub the skin.

You shook your head foggily, cupping him through the fabric, slowly adding friction by sliding your hand up and down.

“S-shit,” he bit his lip, “you want this now, baby?”

You nodded vehemently with a whimper, and to make more of a point, you reached behind and unclasped your bra, tossing it elsewhere on his dirty dorm floor, before beginning to slip off his underwear.

The hand on your arm stopped you, though, in favor of doing it himself and pressing his weight further onto you, your chests flush with one another. You were only able to take in thin breaths, making your head spin, but it also amplified the arousal blooming in your cunt when Jonathan slotted himself at your soaking entrance, collecting his saliva and your slick on his tip.

Before he pushed in, however, his head dipped into the hollow of your neck, plush lips brushing past the shell of your ear. “Is this okay?” he murmured, pressing a wet kiss to your temple.

“Please,” you whined, hands pushing flat on his back to bring him closer to you.

With that, Jonathan slowly buried his length within your cunt, making your breath hitch. “I love you,” he groaned, entering you inch by inch, relishing how your warmth swallowed him whole. “Fuck, I love you so much.”

Your hole was stuffed beyond belief, but Jonathan was gentle with you, caressing your waist with the rough pads of his fingers and massaging you, trying to ease his entrance into something painless. Obviously, with that length and thickness it couldn’t be painless at all, but his attempts helped your mind drift off elsewhere and take some of the attention off the stinging stretch.

After a long moment of ragged breathing, Jonathan cooing words of praise into your neck as he kissed you without moving, you dug your fingers into the skin of his back: “More,” you choked out, the fullness in your cunt now feeling delicious rather than cringeworthy.

He smirked against your skin, “Looks like you’re t’eager one now.”

“Oh, get on with it,” you rasped and he let out a low chuckle, sliding out of your hole before thrusting back in. That first movement already made your hips jerk up into him, back arching. It was like all the warmth in your body had collected in your cunt, leaving you freezing from the tips of your toes to the top of your head, but still with a needy, burning fire in your insides.

Jonathan’s pace was affectionate and rhythmic: you could feel the tenderness in his each and every gentle roll of the hips. It made you feel like the sun, how attentive he was, but he was also so fucking slow. If anything, that had your walls clenching onto him harder than if he hammered into you— that slow build-up of friction was dizzying. You squirmed, cunt clenching and contracting around his smooth thrusts— you wanted to take him within you completely, cause more friction for you were going stir-crazy with this lazy speed.

“F-fuck! Faster, please,” you cried out, unable to take his sensual movements any longer. Your legs were twitching with his patient movements, and you could’ve sworn you saw a cheeky grin on his lips. The bastard— even in sex was he teasing you, wanting to torture you until you gave in to the pleasure and begged him to ruin you.

Sure, this was your first time together, and was going extremely pleasantly and sweetly, but you were actually pretty fond of the idea of letting him pound into you like there was no tomorrow…

At the lewd thought, your walls pulsed around his cock, making him buck up unintentionally, hitting that sweet spot within you. He grunted at the feeling of your tightened cunt, while you cried out his name, pleasure running like a current through your body. Your face was on fire, reminiscent of a raging fever, and your insides were coiling— god, how did his cock just feel so perfect within you?

“Oh,” he grinned in a pant, “found y’spot, didn’t I?”

Jonathan didn’t give you a chance to speak before he pulled out so far his tip was the only thing in your hole, before slamming back in and making your eyes roll to the back of your head. Props to him-- he hit your g-spot with utmost accuracy, and you let out a long, stuttered mewl, scratching at his freckled back, legs twitching. Your wail was almost catatonic, loud and cock-drunk, dripping unabashed, filthy pleasure.

“Makin’ such sweet noises f’me,” he praised huskily, hair sticking to the sweat on his forehead, “fuck, ‘ve gotta hear that again.”

He must’ve noticed your neediness earlier, when he was slow and languid, for the new speed he set was double- no, triple that: his hips were snapping against yours, balls smacking filthily against your lips, left hand pinning your hips down and letting him sink into you faster. Shocks of pleasure tore through you at the sudden increase in speed- he’d inured you so well to the torturously slow pace from earlier that this new frenzied one felt like getting hit by a bullet train. You were overstimulated and needing more of him all at once, practically vibrating with need under his touch.

“I’ve- hnngh- wanted this…” you gasped between moans, “f-for so long…”

“Wanted m’cock?” Jonathan questioned in a hiss, feeling with his every inch how your walls absolutely soaked him. His tone was, obviously, sarcastic, but it still made you feel incredibly lewd.

You shook your head numbly, “Wanted you… I love you, Jon!”

“So fuckin’ beautiful,” he purred, fucking you faster and making you writhe beneath him, “love you s’much.”

Jonathan targeted the spongy, swollen spot deep within your cunt, suddenly filled with a renewed vigor and motivation to make you come as quickly as possible, and he pounded into that one, specific spot, watching how you twitched and squirmed, heavy moans exiting you. He was relentless, hands reaching to hook under your knees and spread you wider.

At the new angle, his cock penetrated you even deeper, fuller, which you thought wasn’t possible with how goddamn full you already felt, but when his thick cockhead brushed up against your cervix you thought you were going to burst. Then, one of his hands came up to your tits to knead the flesh, and you squeaked when he tweaked your soft nipples. He was pawing at your sweet tits, fondling you in a needy, boyish way, like yours were the first pair of boobs he’d ever felt.

“M’close!” you gasped, mind going fuzzy with pure ecstacy. Your skin prickled with goosebumps, cold sweat running down your spine, a terribly stark in contrast feeling to the warmth buzzing under your skin.

“C-can’t last much longer either,” he choked, still pumping in and out of your sticky hole and savoring the feeling of your tight warmness on his long length. He looked absolutely exquisite above you, and you lost yourself in the ethereal picture. Maybe you were in love, or maybe he really was just an empyrean beauty; you took in the sight of his focussed iceberg blue eyes, the cute flush spreading along his pale cheeks and bare chest, how he bit his pink lips to muffle his needy grunts and moans.

Then, you mewled and convulsed around him, your walls spasming and contracting as you came undone, reaching the precipice of your pleasure. That made him fall off the edge— you had tensed all over- all over, and Jonathan couldn’t help how his hips stuttered, knees buckled, cock twitched; he only gave one last, powerful thrust into you before spilling himself inside of you. He painted your soft walls white, and you felt that familiar heat spreading within you; you welcomed it completely, and wanted such warmth to be there forever.

You milked him for every last drop, cunt like a vice grip, and Jonathan gave you another wet kiss, this time on your lips, and your hands wrapped around his neck, allowing you to kiss him back. Your brows knitted at the sour taste of yourself on his lips, but it just made everything feel so real— Jonathan and you had “made love”. It was a phrase you always wrinkled your nose at, feeling uncomfortable and juvenile at the intimacy it entailed, but now you understood it completely.

“I love you,” you repeated for what felt like the hundredth time, unable to say anything else that conveyed what you felt for him.

Honestly, you weren’t sure anything could accurately do so— you felt infinitely about him, your love touching all edges of your mind, heart and soul, filling you completely. You supposed you felt about Jonathan how the sun felt about the moon— without one, there could not be the other.

“I love you-- too,” he responded, pausing in the middle at the aftershocks of your orgasm, which had caused you to tighten around his softening, sensitive cock for a second.

You peered deep into his baby-blue eyes, watching the utter love that coloured them; it was like submerging yourself in a great blue ocean, except you didn’t want to come out, because you knew you wouldn’t drown in those eyes. No, you knew Jonathan would always be there to pull you out.

Speaking of pulling out… Jonathan slipped himself out of you softly, careful not to agitate that first stretch any more than necessary, before collapsing back into your arms. The two of you tangled yourselves in a messy flurry of limbs on his cushy mattress, sweaty and breathy, something that should’ve been terribly uncomfortable but just wasn’t— you swore you could fall asleep anywhere, no matter your own state or the circumstance, as long as you were with him.

Blearily, both your eyes began to droop, until you gave into the familiar presence of deep, dark sleep. It was a dreamless sleep for you, but you had an ever present comfort at his weight on yours, something you could feel even in unconsciousness.

Hours later, in a brisk, shuddering early-morning that you felt all over due to Jonathan’s unruly habit of opening his window at the peak of the day’s hottest weather and forgetting to close it before cold nightfall fell, you awoke to Jonathan watching you carefully, so close you could feel his warm exhales of breath on your cheek.

There was no goodmorning or anything like that, just pure, uninhibited being, reveling in the space you two occupied together. Like you two were the only things left in the world.

When Jonathan noticed you woke up, he shifted, presumably to extract himself from your grip. You stopped him, though, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and bringing him closer to you.

“What did it feel like?” you asked instead, for the last time. You brushed your fingers over his scar, and, knowing exactly what you were asking, this time Jonathan doesn’t flinch away. This time, he leans into your touch: it doesn’t burn, not anymore, and he wants your tenderness to swallow him whole.

You didn’t mean what it actually felt like, of course. You meant, what were you thinking? What have you done, and what will you do to yourself? You meant, I love you.

“It felt like,” falling; not everything feels like something else; I raised my arms and the air took me and that was it-- “it felt like… giving in. Letting my desperation find its purpose. It felt like I’d reached a point of peace… gained clarity after a long stretching, wounded moment came to an end. It felt like becoming something only meant to be talked about in past tense.”

You don’t say anything to that; you know he doesn’t want you to. There’s no need for you to hush or plead or make better, you just need to listen, and love him. He knows you accept him for everything he is, all his flaws and his strengths; he knows your love is all accepting- it veers on saintly.

At your silence, he melts into your arms and you can finally relax; there is an admission in the action, a release, an acknowledgement -- is suffering in silence not also accompanied by the overwhelming desire to be found? -- you have found him, at last, and you will never, ever let go.

You take it too far, just once. Only once. And you let him go just once, only once; never again.

#cillian murphy #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy smut #jonathan breech #on the edge #jonathan breech x reader #jonathan breech x reader smut #jonathan breech smut #cillian murphy x reader smut

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potol0ver · 1 year ago

Note

Could you write a fluff piece for Erik where yn is reading and Erik wants attention so yn reads to him? Something like that! Gn reader pls

I love fluff pieces with Erik so much- this will most likely be pretty short (sorry) but I hope you like it.

Tags;fluff, GN reader, Erik being the shy man he is, Erik being absolutely obsessed with the reader in the best way.

It's been a while since you and Erik had this kind of day, where it was slow yet comfortable. Him somewhere in his abode going between his diorama and his music, all while you do your own hobbies in a corner he made just for you. The low lighting of the candles with the cosines of your corner calmed you as you read your book.

Lazily holding the book in one hand you could see Erik sitting at his organ in the corner of your eye. As you read you can’t help but start to feel sleepy, you never realized how comforting the air Erik has was until now. Your eyes were fluttering shut before you saw Erik looking at you, quickly turning his gaze elsewhere when he realized you caught him staring at you.

With a lighthearted chuckle, you call out for him to come over to you with a tone you know Erik couldn’t resist. He walks over to you trying his best to not have a bashful expression. “Mon ange, would you like something from me?” you ask looking up at him.

A barely visible blush covers his cheeks and his eyes flicker off of you for a moment, “Yes mon amour… Erik would like to spend time with you…” he said like a timid child, turning his head away slightly from you as if he was trying to hide more under his mask.

Smiling you move over a little and pat on the love seat for him to sit down with you. When he does Erik gently pulls you close and lays his head on your chest, your legs tangling with each other. As you both settle he wraps his arms around your torso, hugging you like a giant teddy bear.

Smiling sweetly you gently run your fingers through his hair, causing Erik to slowly relax more into you. “My angel, I only have a couple of pages left until I'm done with this chapter… would you like me to read them to you?”

Erik doesn't look up at you but gives a small nod with a quiet hum of approval. People might think he only likes your voice when your singing or laughing, but the truth is the mere sound of it gives him ease.

As you start reading, you hold the book in one hand and your other gently carding itself in his hair. In the moment Erik was convinced he was in heaven, the sound of your heartbeat and voice with your touch, enveloped him so warmly he started to drift off to sleep.

You don't truly know when Erik fell asleep, but when you did realize you could feel your heart skill a best from the soft relaxed look on his face. He really did feel at peace with you. With a small sigh, you set your book down and kissed the top of his head before leaning back and trying to sleep yourself, enjoying this tranquil moment.

#erik poto #phantom of the opera x reader #phantom of the opera fluff #phantom of the opera #phantom of the opera 1990 #phantom x reader #erik destler #Erik deslter x reader #phantom of the opera 2004

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thatndginger · 3 months ago

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A Little Intro

Let's try this again, shall we?

I’m K (she/they), an overworked, perpetually exhausted cog in the corporate machine who's chosen method of staying sane is writing about queer idiots getting into trouble.

I live in the northern half of the US Rockies with my partner Cryptid, who features fairly often on this blog. Other featured family members are my four dogs and one cat. Since this is a personal blog as well as a writing one, you'll find occasional posts about my interests outside of writing as well. You have been warned~

My primary WIP is an urban fantasy project called Shapeshifter.

Set in a modern-day version of our world, Shapeshifter is a low-magic urban fantasy setting. Magic is a subtle force, incapable of knitting wounds back together or creating fireballs, but a force all the same. Werewolves, vampires, witches, and all manner of supernatural creatures exist openly in the world in small numbers. In the United States, the largest numbers congregate in the city of Moressau on the coast of Washington.

Morressau has all the problems of a major city and then some. Vampire queens and werewolf mob bosses vie for territory and political power while the powers that be turn a blind eye as long as they get a cut. The regular folk do what they must to get by, carving out lives for themselves in a city that only sees the sun thirty days of the year, determined to find happiness in the dark corners of a city that cares for them as long as they care for it.

Most of the current focus of Shapeshifter is on the first book, Into the Storm, and the trio of main characters. As a bonus, I've started a second wip following two other characters in a tiny mountain town in Wyoming called The Runaway. You can find out more of both below.

General tags: #wip: shapeshifter, #shapeshifter vibes

There’s a routine to Kerr McKay’s life. Help his not-a-boss smuggle goods around the city, get into fights with vampires and werewolves, run from cops, go drinking with his best friends Jay de Lange and Warrick Salehrad. Oh, and occasionally turn into a dog. Just a day in the life of a shifter living on the fringes of society.

You can read the first three chapters on AO3!

Until a new face appears at his favorite bar, a new gang starts trying to weasel it’s way into his territory, and his not-a-boss makes it clear that the last thing Kerr should be doing is getting himself involved.

Kerr has never been good at taking orders.

Tag: #shapeshifter: into the storm

Temperance Maddox is running from his past.

All he wants is to forget. The things he's done, the things he's witnessed, the things he knows. And the best way to forget is to put a couple thousand miles between himself and the place that haunts his nightmares. Until Temperance finds himself stranded in a middle-of-nowhere town and relying on the kindness of strangers as he re-learns what it means to be a human being.

You can read the first two chapters on AO3!

Dean Matthews is trying to build a future.

He's got people who depend on him, who love him despite all that he is. And he'll do whatever it takes to make sure he never lets them down. Even if it means learning how to be something he never thought he could be. Then a stranger finds their way into Dean's quiet, routine life and challenges everything he knows about himself and the life he's built.

Tag: #shapeshifter: the runaway

If you've made it this far, you may as well get to know the extra extra bonus wip of this blog: The Dragon Project. Borne of a particularly rough patch of overtime-induced burnout, The Dragon Project is a fluffy, lighthearted wip for when I just need something easy and fun.

Set on the fictional continent of Ostrera in a time period similar to our own 1860's, this is a world where people ride domesticated dragons. These dragons are of average animal intelligence and lifespan, more like horses than the sentient, talking dragons commonly found in fantasy stories. I don't have much for this wip other than artwork and vague ideas, but it's here all the same.

Tag: #the dragon project

#writer intro #writeblr introduction #writing masterpost

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labrxnth · 1 year ago

Text

Prison Break- Part 9 (Leon Kennedy x Reader Series)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8

Tag List:

WC: 2725

CW: Alcohol mention, alcoholism mention, suicidal tendencies mentions, overall depressive themes

Summary: First part of the date night you and Leon planned

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* : ｡ﾟ☆. ───

If there was one thing you were sure of in this life, it was that Leon Scott Kennedy would be the death of you.

Not in an “endangering your work partner” way, but in a “this man is too attractive, even looking at you will cause you to go into cardiac arrest” way. So much so, that you were dressing up for your date, maybe a little bit too fancy, but you wanted to look good.

You were seated in your room by your vanity, trying to choose which piece of jewelry would suit you and your skin tone better. Looking in the mirror, you could tell you may have been overthinking this, but the look on Leon’s face would all make it worth it.

The black fabric of your dress hugged you in all the right places, the neckline was a high jewel neckline. The bottom flared out with a slight ruffle going down to about your knees. To put it into simple words, you felt like a million dollars.

The clock on your dresser read that it was 6:13, about fifteen minutes until Leon was supposed to show up. The perfect amount of time for you to finish dressing up.

You seemed to get lost in thought as you applied the last details to your makeup, thinking about any and every way that the night could go. Images of a perfect dinner, all planned out, exactly how you wanted it to go. The two of you actually talking about things, more than you had in the past, and pushing forward through everything.

The least you could do was stay with Leon as he worked out his thoughts and emotions now. After all, you weren’t there for Leon a couple of years ago and it still hurts you to think about.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* : ｡ﾟ☆. ───

January 2013

Your hotel room was cold and lonely, something that wouldn’t have made you think twice about in the past two years. But this year, it hit. There were no happy birthdays sung, no friends, no coworkers. And the thing that stung the most, no Leon.

Last year, Ingrid had taken you to a bar and the two of you drank in solidarity to having an awful job. It was lighthearted, but based in reality, and it was what you needed. This year, you were sent to the middle of nowhere tracking a rumor. It wasn’t what you wanted or needed.

And of course, due to Simmons being a traitor to the D.S.O., everyone was on high alert on sending agents back and forth.

The hotel room you were staying in wasn’t doing you any favors for bringing a cozy atmosphere. The room only had one overhead light for the small room, the furniture was a neutral ashy grey or brown, and overall it felt cramped. The table you were sitting at was small and round, looking like something you would find in a basement and the chair was surprisingly sturdy, yet comfortable. The wallpaper reeked of cigarette smoke and had hazy stains to it.

It sure did pay to be one of the top government agents in the United fucking States.

You looked out the window at the snow hitting the ground. The street lights reflected off of it, making it twinkle. Lost in thought, you brought the whiskey glass up to your lips.

The chirping off your phone caught you off guard and you scurried to pull it out of your pocket. Looking at the callerID, you saw a name you hadn’t in awhile:

Leon Kennedy.

“Our last call was supposed to be a week ago,” You answered as the FaceTime got settled on the screen. You placed your phone on the table, balancing it in front of a book and a box of tissues. You were so focussed on setting up your phone that you hadn’t seen his face yet.

“I know, I’m sorry. You know how it is,” His voice responded.

“Being the President’s Golden Boy sure is a hefty job. Remind me to fail a few missions so I don’t become you,” You teased as you managed to finally settle the phone on the table.

“Yeah, it sure does…..” Leon’s voice trailed off. You expected him to respond teasingly as well, and you looked at the little screen on your phone. With one look you could tell, Leon wasn’t doing well. At all.

“Leon, what’s wrong, what’s going on?” You asked, wanting to know what your work partner and best friend had been battling.

Leon had shared with you his past, the things that you hadn’t read up on before you joined the D.S.O.. He shared the nitty gritty details, and about the effects it had on him, the nightmares, the sweats, relapsing into old addictions.

Back then, he was proud that he had managed to pull through the thick of it and he was doing better. But one look in his eyes, even through a screen, you could tell he was going through it.

“(Y/n), are those bruises and scratches on your face? What happened?” He asked, trying to change the subject.

“Our job is fighting, I’ve been fighting. Now answer my question,” You replied shortly, leaning back in the chair and crossing your arms. Over text he had said that everything was slow and okay, it was alarming that he was keeping something from you. Especially when it came to his well being.

“I’m just tired, I haven’t been able to sleep again,” He said and awkwardly fidgetted.

“Is that it? You look like you lost weight,” You replied.

“I didn’t call for you to tell me I lost muscles,” He scoffed.

“When I get back, I’m gonna check in on you, like really check on you,” You said, narrowing your eyes.

“I’m not that bad. I haven’t needed an actual wellness check since 1999,” Leon replied. “And anyways, you might be coming home soon. I’m requesting to pull you back.”

You blinked at the screen a few times, letting his words sink in. You had been out here for months, slowly chipping away at maybe learning something about a new virus in production.

“And like it or not, I’m picking you up from the airport,” He added, a slight grin on his face.

“Absolutely not, I’m not dying the second I step foot back in D.C.,” You protested, with a sense of humor.

The two of you shared a few laughs, but as it died down, you looked at the screen closer. You noticed his usual dirty blonde hair had gotten darker, and…. Was he wearing eyeliner?

Maybe it really was a bad decision for you to go on an undercover mission. He looked like he was one breakdown away from going to a Daughtry or a Nickelback concert.

“When am I getting pulled?” You asked a little too eagerly. You were desperate to help your friend out of his middle aged, divorced dad, look.

“Hopefully, Friday,” Leon replied, his hands bringing a whiskey glass up to his lips. The way he threw it back without any change in demeanor, made you feel uneasy. The sooner you got back the better.

Friday was in two days, two days couldn’t hurt.

“Anyways, I was calling to tell you Happy Birthday, and that we can celebrate when you’re back in town,” Leon said. His eyes had seemed to glaze over after he put the whiskey glass back down.

“Is that a promise?” You asked.

“It is,” He replied, his sky blue eyes looking at the screen earnestly.

“If Ingrid’s free, it’ll be easy to plan-”

“I was kind of hoping it could just be us,” Leon cut you off and ran a hand through his hair.

“Just us….” You trailed off. Looking off to the side, you were desperately holding in your blush. “Yeah, that works.”

Leon slightly smiled and nodded. “Now I have an excuse to bring you back faster,” He replied and chuckled. “Happy Birthday, (Y/n).”

His whole demeanor had changed over the course of the call. Now, he seemed more relaxed and happy to talk to you.

“Thanks, I’ll see you in a few days. And lay off the eyeliner,” You replied and smiled.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* : ｡ﾟ☆. ───

The ringing of your doorbell brought you back to the present. Hairbrush in hand, blankly staring at the mirror, you realized you got so lost in your own past that you had zoned out.

“You can let yourself in, you have a key!” You raised your voice to cut through the apartment.

In reply, you heard the front door open and close, shoes being kicked off, and something heavy being dropped on the counter. “Running late, as usual?” Leon’s voice asked.

“No, I’m ready, just lost in thought,” you replied and stepped through the door.

The two of you looked each other up and down, you in your black dress, hair, jewelry, and makeup, and Leon in his dark blue shirt and black straight legged pants. His shirt was either linen, or something similar, a dark midnight blue color with ribbing, and his pants were sort of wide legged and black. The two of you were dressed to the nines, like you had agreed on.

Leon was breathless. Obviously he knew you dressed up well, but he was always awestruck when you walked into the room. Tonight, you looked like an absolute goddess, and he was a mere worshiper.

“You listened to the dress code,” You said and smiled. Your voice seemed to bring him back to the present.

“Yeah, perfect for a takeout pizza night,” He replied and smiled.

The two of you walked over to your counter where there were three pizza boxes. Two for each of your tastes, and one as a common ground. There were boxes with garlic bread and fries, and cans of soda.

“How much do I owe you?” You asked and walked to grab the paper plates.

“Nothing,” He replied and opened the boxes. “Being here is payment enough.”

The energy between the two of you was weird. It was like two magnets that were touching, and being kept away from each other. You wanted to hold him, the truth was you wanted him to hold you, like he did so freely in San Francisco.

In the bustle of getting the food ready, your hands lightly skinned each other. Leon slightly jumped and sheepishly pulled his hand away.

“No, it’s okay. You can touch me,” You said softly. The tips of your ears turned pink as your eyes stayed locked on what you were doing.

“Do you mean that?” Leon asked. You could tell he was looking at you, but you couldn’t meet his eyes.

“Yes,” You answered. His hand gently held your face and turned it so you were looking at him.

“Then look at me and say it,” He said softly. His eyes were unreadable as he locked eyes with you.

Your (e/c) eyes met his. “I mean it,” You said, meeting his volume and tone.

He grinned a bit and pulled you closer to him, his hand resting on your waist. “Tell me if it’s too much,” He said. “I haven’t really gone on a first date with a friend in awhile.”

“Nothing is too much,” You replied and slightly tilted your head.

“Really?” He asked, his eyes searching yours.

You nodded and kissed him on the cheek. In a rush, Leon pulled you into a real kiss, his arms wrapping around your waist. Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling the two of you closer together.

The heat growing between the two of you was undeniable. His hands trailed down further to your thighs. A fluttery feeling trailed down your neck as his lips did.

“We… should eat….” You trailed off, trying to catch your breath.

Leon lifted you onto a free space on the counter. Now that the two of you were somewhat eye to eye, his forehead leaned on yours and his eyes locked on yours.

“I’ve waited for years, and you always slip through my grasp. I’m not letting you go. Pizza is reheatable,” He said, his voice almost carrying a growl and kissed your neck again.

Your stomach growled loudly, interrupting the moment you two were having, and he looked at you.

“We should eat….” He trailed off, looking at you. “You’re hungry.”

You nodded and took his face in your hands, feeling his stubble on your palms.

“We can pick up later,” You replied and kissed his cheek.

Looking at him, you could almost laugh. Both of his cheeks and all around his mouth he had lipstick stains and his hair was a little tousled. It was cute.

You giggled to yourself and he raised his eyebrow, leaning closer to you. His hands were placed on the counter top and he tilted his head a little bit. “What’s funny?” He asked.

“My lipstick is all over you,” You replied and tried to get it off using a napkin.

He grinned and blushed a little bit. “Hopefully later it’ll be on other things?” He asked and raised his eyebrows.

You looked at him, almost not believing the words that came out of his mouth. “Wowwwww, does this really work with all those women I watched you pick up at the bar?” You asked and chuckled.

He shrugged. “Usually,” He replied and kissed you on the cheek. “What do you want? I can’t let a fancy lady serve her own pizza on her paper plate.” Leon grabbed a paper plate and opened the pizza boxes.

One had your favorite flavor, another was cheese, and the last one was peppers and grilled chicken- Leon’s favorite. Looking over the boxes, you decided on your usual.

“I’ll have one of mine and one cheese please,” You asked, slightly kicking your feet while on the counter.

You watched Leon take one slice of cheese and a slice of your favorite and put it on the plate. He set the plate down on the countertop and grabbed his own.

“Eat,” He said softly.

“I wanted us to eat on the couch, that’s why I set it up that way,” You protested.

Leon looked over at the couch and saw that you had rearranged the couch to have a lot of blankets and pillows. “You want us to eat where there’s more stuff that would have to be washed?” He asked. “You’re already risking a 200$ dress.”

“It’ll be fine, I have stain remover,” You said and looked at him. You went to get down from the counter, but Leon stopped you. He put his plate down and picked you up, moving to put you on the couch.

“I can walk,” You said and squirmed in his arms.

Leon chuckled a bit. “Just let me dote on you. You never do,” He said and put you on the couch. “You’re always painfully independent. Telling me you can do everything and handle everything on your own.” He added.

“Because I don’t want to-” You got cut off by him handing you your plate again.

“You deserve to have someone do things for you,” He replied and sat down next to you.

You leaned your head on his shoulder, taking a bite out of your pizza. “I know…. It’s just hard to let people do things for me.”

“I know,” Leon said softly. The two of you looked at each other and slightly smiled.

After a few minutes of eating and small talk, you kept thinking about the question at the front of your mind.

“Hey Leon,” You said quietly. “What are we gonna be?” You asked.

“You know the answer to that…. That is, if you want,” He answered. At long last, you knew clearly the two of you were on the same level and understanding. What used to be hazy and vague, was now out in the open clear as day.

Maybe you always knew what he wanted and you were too scared to push forward, but now you were confident. You knew what you wanted.

You wanted forever with him.

“Yeah, I’d like that,” You said softly.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* : ｡ﾟ☆. ───

#resident evil fanfic #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #resident evil fanfiction #leon s kennedy x you #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy

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flowersandbirdsflyingfree · 5 months ago

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With TF2 being a main focus again, I’ve decided to at least write my self-shipping stuff for fun for myself!

Although Excavator will likely star in future writing and/or comics, I have to admit I have more fun just slapping myself next to Medic because that is self-love to me. So the lines may blur a bit

Edelweiß (TF2 Storyline)

How did this happen? Excavator wasn’t sure herself. Seeing as Medic threw his hippocratic oath out the window, he isn’t the most reassuring. Yet they developed a close-bonded friendship with each other.

Excavator is the one who usually throws Medic a bone the most on the battlefield (and sometimes literally too). She’s fended him from near death experience many times. Her help extends in her free time to care for the baby baboon nursery and some voluntary projects.

Archimedes has taken a liking to the digging woman. She shares her sunflower seeds with him. There isn’t a day she doesn’t ask for him when seeing Medic.

It wasn’t until Archimedes had heard Ex open up about her feelings for Medic. Medic was intelligent, charismatic, energetic, surprisingly patient with her, incredibly dreamy… Archimedes spoiled this secret to the doctor!

At first, he thought it was endearing she found someone like him to be gush worthy. He might’ve playfully flirted with her in amusement to surprise her. But it’s not long until he realizes he felt the same way.

Excavator is his best friend. Ex always put him first and supported his dreams. But he also felt his efforts to protect her were fulfilled with being taken for granted. She was very sweet yet a force to be reckoned with. So much that factored in his deep-rooted affection for her. A grounding force for his racing mind.

Medic and Heavy already dated in the past, so he was worried of ruining another work relationship becoming awkward. He took the risk anyways, and luckily for him, everything turned out far better than expected.

Edelweiß (Modern AU)

Medic has cheated the devil before, so he WILL do it again! He not only lives in the same modern day as me, but he doesn’t look like he aged at all. Nothing genetic rewiring and black magic can’t fix! Doing so has allowed him to sneak into being a doctor again in a new state. He carries out his medical mysteries at home which may or may not include copious amounts of stealing for materials and tools.

We bump into each other in the middle of a HomeGoods. Although he got in to escape the cops in the evening, I’m just looking for a lamp to put in my new apartment since I just moved into town. We feel drawn to each other and exchange numbers. It’s not long at all until we become great friends.

It wasn’t long until I found out his dirty little secret in his… medical interests. However! I promised him I’d tell nobody about it. But in exchange, he found that I would have to help him as his partner in crime

Of course, feelings manifested regardless and the two of us became the world’s most unhinged power couple (well, second most compared to Zhanna and Soldier)

Now time for fun mushy stuff!

We definitely enjoy just sitting beside each other and reading our books. Usually we pick out our own separate novels. But we do like to occasionally read the same book together before bed. This will vary from a picture book to huge medical textbooks

Our main ship song is Here Is The House by Depeche Mode. Runner ups include Edelweiß (yes The Sound of Music one), Who Knows What Love Is by Strawberry Switchblade and My Heart Goes Bang (Take Me To The Doctor) by Dead or Alive

We pretty much bounce off each other’s playfulness. If you stood in another room all you’d hear is endless giggling and maniacal laughter. His energetic, kooky nature is one of my favorite things about him

Medic does enjoy teasing me for his amusement. Something about seeing me so shocked or horrified over his dark jokes or some sort of medical rambling is adorable. It's never anything mean thankfully, just lighthearted banter

I do have to chase after him sometimes if he's accidently caused anything life threatening.

We do work together. Enjoying one another's presence is a big thing for us. There are two desks down in the lab extension to our home. One for his studies and another for me to craft nearby him.

I'm genuinely surprised just how much of a hidden romantic he is. He never fails to surprise me with roses and never turns down the chance to cuddle at all. He's old fashioned but never fails to make me smile.

We both have a shared past trauma about dating partners. We used it as strength to be better people for ourselves and each other. There's at least an understanding of what we don't want to ever put each other through knowing the feeling of abuse. With my more complex childhood things however, he's not at all bitter about it.

Nothing's better than falling for your super best friend <3

#edelweiß #my writing #self-shipping #f/o community #romantic f/o #self ship

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carica-ficus · 19 days ago

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Review: Knot My Type

Author: Evie Mitchells

Date: 04/08/2024

Rating: ⭐⭐⭐⭐

_________________________________________________

Another book I got during one of the "Stuff your kindle" days! Contemporary romances are not really my genre of choice, but this novel won me over with its witty title and cute cover. Moreover, the premise sounded really interesting.

The story follows Dr. Frankie Kenton, a sexologist with a popular podcast, that gets offered the opportunity of her life when she gets nominated for a renowned award for her work. Frankie is determined to bring out her A-game for her following episodes, so she decides to discuss a question from a listener, prompting her to delve into something she's not familiar with, so she decides to find someone with more experience - a local rigger called Jay Woods. Frankie soon finds out she's more than just fascinated in his work, and Jay finds out life has more to offer than a bland everyday monotony.

The first few chapters really bring the reader in with its interesting and diverse characters, lighthearted style, dynamic dialogue and unique relationships. Mitchells manages to portray their characters' every day lives, as well as their motivations, personalities and dreams, in just a couple dozen pages, which pushes the story forward and building up the base for a promising read.

Frankie proves to be a strong lead in the book. She is a defined, confident young woman who knows exactly who she is and what she wants from life. Jay, on the other hand, cannot let go of his past and has no idea what to do with himself, but there's a sort of whimsy to his character and a sense of wonder, so when he meets Frankie, both of them hit it off quickly. The chemistry between them is based on complementary personalities, although it does expand to their sexual compatibility and physical attraction. Mitchell adds on to their instant affection, building up a relationship between them that is romantic as much as platonic, which in turn makes the book quite enjoyable and their romance interesting to follow.

While Frankie's disability isn't one of the main focuses of the story, it does play a big role in her life and is an important element of her character. Mitchell doesn't portray her disability as a tragedy, only focuses on how it alters Frankie's everyday life. When she agrees to be tied by Jay in his class, Jay needs to accommodate for her lack of movement, but he doesn't alter his approach nor his process. Although there are several situations when Frankie highlights the difficulty of being disabled and the ableism she experiences from the people around her, Jay's and her relationship center around good communication and its merits. Sex and love are enjoyable for both parties when they listen to each other's needs.

The bondage scenes are very well written, with a lot of attention focused on the different sensations and emotions during the scene. On the other hand, aside from those at the very beginning of the book, there are no more instances of rope play. Instead, the sex scenes become pretty much monotone. It is a shame the author forfeited her chance at exploring their combined sexual preferences some more, especially considering that Jay holds a sex class and Frankie is a sexologist. In turn, the second half of the book loses some of its allure. The third act breakup doesn't do it any favors. It seemed a little forced and that both Frankie and Jay lost some of their specific personalities. Especially Jay who, although completely obsessed with Frankie in a cute way, hasn't been given the chance to shape into his own unique persona.

Furthermore, as Frankie and Jay start dating, the author switches her language during sex scenes. The characters thirst for each other since the beginning, but their thoughts become weirder with each page. There are quite a few weird phrases and sentences, ones that ruin the fantasy of the book and bring the reader back to reality. It almost reads like the author is trying too hard to make the characters appear quirky and relatable, so instead they turn into strange concepts one cannot connect to.

While the multiple insights about accessibility and ableism Frankie offers were interesting, they almost always felt forced and unatural. It was if the author didn't want to accidentally write something insensitive, so she resorted to info-dumps that read like a copy-pasted wikipedia article. It just didn't seem like realistic dialogue. While I appreciated that the book tries to educate, it manages to do so more effectively through Frankie's actions and life, than by dry, carefully constructed sentences.

Another issue I had is a personal one - I am not that into dirty talk, at least, not to the extent that is offered at some of the later scenes. Mitchell seems to have completely turned around the way Jay and Frankie sleep with each other. In the beginning, most of the sex centered on different sensations, later it all became drowned in dirty talk, so much so that the sex scenes mostly just turned into dialogue which made them bland and unenjoyable.

"Knot my type" turned out to be a fun and lighthearted read. Frankie and Jay are both lovable characters and their chemistry is interesting enough to follow throughout the book and to root for their relationship. While I did have some issues with this novel and do feel a little disappointed by the lack of kink that the beginning promised, I enjoyed it and would even recommend it.

#knot my type #evie mitchells #contemporary #contemporary romance #romance novel #romance book #book photo #book review #recenzija #moja recenzija

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locallixie · 2 years ago

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homesick — ni-ki

> summary . after a few years of being away all across the globe, you're finally home again. continuation of this

> genre . fluff, light angst, time-skip, future au, friends-to-lovers, young adult!niki, gn!reader

> warnings . none

(wc) > 2.0k

(sunny's note) ☆ this had been sitting in my drafts for way too long, writing something lighthearted for a changeㅠㅠ

"Are you coming home for the new year?" You sat by the window of your small studio, it was around the end of December and you had already spent Christmas alone in the states.

You held the phone close to your ear as you changed position, "I'm not sure, there might be no flight." Sighing, running a hand through your hair. "It's been really hectic lately, and I just don't know if I can even have time for myself anymore."

With work and work on your hands, piling up everyday leaving you with only exhaustion and anxiety. You barely had any sleep the last few days, up with a cold cup of half finished coffee and a banging headache. After graduation was years-long of regrets and wanting more in life, student debts, rent and all the adulting.

Experiencing your quarter-life crisis after getting your first full-time job in a ruthless industry, questioning everything and your own existence was all of 'what went wrong?' But sure, of course you got used to it by the time your income was stable enough to put food on the table.

You lost contact with everyone from home, you picked up your relatives' calls once or twice every couple months. On your birthday or on holidays to catch up on things. Social medias just farther validating your loneliness, with close friends and family having fun with their superficial online lives that rubbed it in your face on every post. Fomo? Probably.

"I'll buy you a plane ticket, please come home, I haven't seen you in forever." He offered, the goodness in your heart wouldn't let him do that though.

Grabbing your face in defeat at his presistence, "No, no, you don't have to do that. I'll come home, alright?"

You could sense his demeanor softening when he finally got what he wanted, you even heard a little giggle slipped through the speaker of your phone. He knew what he was doing, he knew how you operate all too well. You had a soft spot for him and he used it to his advantage. Like to convince you of flying almost twenty hours from across the world back home for the holidays.

"I'll see you soon then, I'll come pick you up from the airport." Before hanging up, "I miss you a lot, [Y/N]. Bye."

You sighed in your place, you were taught to not make promises you couldn't keep. You would be disappointing him if you didn't show up like you told, the begging and desperation that laced in his voice was enough to break you. He really wanted to see you again, after having to watch the love of his life driving away without a return being consider, you should know why.

There weren't many flights available during a busy time like this, arriving late a day or two was expected. Lucky you, you were able to book a plane ticket right before the end of December.

You packed up most of your stuff into one big suitcase, the rest into a large duffle bag that went on top. Going home empty-handed might be disrespectful, you didn't forget to stock up a quarter of your luggages of solely gifts and trinkets you found on the way home during flight transit.

How long have it been? Three or five years, could not remember. Texts and calls from Riki, you failed to response. His dedication and patience left you with nothing but guilts, you felt bad for the poor boy but it seemed he refused to quit.

He should have been mad at you, but he was just not, stating that he understood and nothing more. You wouldn't blame him if he were to be upset at you, if his red face was the anger resulting from being ignore or left on read as you did too many time to count.

If only he screamed and cried, or blew up on you would you be relieved. No, he kept on texting you and calling whenever he felt you were available enough to talk, it made you felt like you were the worst person to ever exist.

How have you been? Were you coming home anytime soon? Have you been feeling lonely or homesick even? All the words he sent from across the world did nothing to comfort you, still, it kept you going.

He looked so happy on all his Instagram posts, he should move on from you and live his life since he was doing well without you around. Maybe, you were holding him back? 'Cause...you didn't think you have ever seen him smiling this bright before.

Walking out of the door, to the main exit of the airport with you luggages in hand. Your mind was blank and off to somewhere after over hours of flying, eyebags adorned your drowsy eyes.

"[Y/N]!" Hearing your name from a voice of much familarity, it sounded like a daydream and was nowhere near real. Snapped, breaking your afternoon daze and the flowiness you felt in your head. In a large crowd ahead, you spotted him.

It tugged on your heartstrings in a split second, he was all grown and no longer the immature little child you once see him as. Your sweet Riki, where had he gone to!

Standing next to him, his stature almost overshadowed yourself. He used to stand to your chin, you would always rub the top of his head. But now, he was strong enough to throw you over his shoulder. You were terrified of the younger's sudden boldness, hiding your face as you two kept attracting weird looks from outsiders.

"Riki, put me down, people are looking at us." You whispered in his ear, your face blushing crazily as you felt yourself getting hotter and hotter the more he held you close. Your hands holding onto the rough fabric of his trench coat, one of your arm around his neck for security—which he laid a kiss that went unnoticed.

Putting you on your feet, he took a good look at your entire being. "Oh wow, you changed quite a bit." Of course, you did. Might he had forgotten it have been a long while which felt like an eternity at this point, seeing you right there in front of his very eyes was a surreal experience. Not that he had somehow forgot your appearance, or the bashful expression of yours with both your cheeks flushed in a lovely pink. You, being here in flesh and bones was far-fetched to say the least.

You sure looked a little different to what his memories told, but the thing that stayed the same was the way you still made his heart helplessly crying for love. Broken him once or twice, disappointed him when you left saying that there was nothing else for you here. Yet, his feelings stuck around nonetheless. Tokyo, Seoul, New York, or Sydney, would never feel as magical as having you beside him.

The radio could not dissolve or help with the thick atmosphere between the two of you, looking out of the window of roads and cars was far more easy than talking to him in a private space. You could see him glancing at you once in a while, his fingers around the steering wheel when all it wanted was to hold your hands.

"How was America, seems like you had fun." Riki began.

You sighed, darting your eyes farther into the scenery outside. You did not have fun, you were miserable. But what else could you do, there was nothing left for you here as you already said before. What other choices did you have beside from leaving? None, you had none. You didn't want to be a burden, not to your family, not to your friends, and definitely not to Riki.

You packed up all you had left in your possession, and left the country and everything you ever knew. Hoping that the U.S would give you another chance to re-do everything, give you another shot at life before you decide to fall. You wanted to be in a place where no one know of you, where you could make new memories and finally letting go of your past.

Completely lost in a new world, you adjusted to your unfamiliar environment with much difficulties. There were time, you must admit, you were so sick to the point you were tied down to your bed. With only yourself to rely on, life was hard. But hey, you pulled through and you should be proud of yourself for doing so.

Little did you know, you weren't the only one who was severely homesick. He too, was just as homesick as you were. 'Cause you were his home, the one person in the world he was happy to see every-time life was in a shamble. Being in your embrace gave him the old feeling of being carried to bed after falling asleep during the car ride home. How could he be okay when his home was so far away from him? The warmth and comfort that left him cold and lonesome every time winter come by for a visit, missing someone as he admire the summer rainfall.

You had enough courage to look at him now, "What about you, what's going on for you?"

"I'm finishing college soon, all the things undergraduates have to deal with." Riki told. To be totally honest, he has no idea of what he wanted to do next after getting his college degree. Whatever life would lead him to, letting it freely flow and undisrupted.

And silent it went once more, exchanging looks as if to tell each other unspoken thoughts that should be kept locked away. Let life flow freely, you should not disrupt it. What had been set in motion, could not be change.

"I love you, [Y/N]." Blurting out, there were too many thoughts running across his head that words just spill out all it wanted with no sense of control left over. He didn't cry, even though he desperately wanted to. His heart already wept all its tears for him, it did so he could stay strong and say all the loveliest things about you.

The car stopped at the red light, giving you time to make up your mind. Say the right thing! If you couldn't, let your heart speak for yourself just this once. Right before the timer hit one, you pulled his collar toward you, pressing your lips against his. You could not bare to face the world in your view, to keep yourself from falling apart you shut both your eyes tight.

Three or five years, too long to hide. You knew everything changed, in the way Riki would look at you, or the way he used his language that gently hinting the love he has for you was becoming overwhelming. If love hurt this much, why did it feel so good to be able love someone? Tell him that it was okay to miss you this much, that it was okay to feel pain, that everything was okay 'cause you love him too.

Beep! Beep! The vehicles behind his car was starting to blow on their horns in anger. For a minute, you both forgot about everyone else. Pulling away from each other in a panic, he went back to driving. You couldn't help but laugh, chuckling yourself away after not being able to do so for an unbearable amount of time. You had never felt so contented and naturally happy, you wanted to just indulge yourself in this feeling forever.

"What are you laughing at, are you laughing at me?" He smiled, one hand on the steering wheel the other holding yours sweetly.

This, this was the moment he was looking forward to for long. His long for home was ending when you came back, he no longer feared being far away. Where ever you might be tomorrow, you had his heart to keep you company. And in turn, he had yours. But for tonight, please keep him company with your presence.

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maddie-grove · 2 months ago

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I’m kind of trying to figure out the middle-grade author Natalie Honeycutt. I’ve only read three of her books, specifically:

Invisible Lissa (1986): a low-key, well-observed novel about elementary school bullying.

Josie’s Beau (1987): a novel that’s similar in tone to Lissa, albeit aimed a couple of grade levels higher, but it’s way weirder because the plot depends on some of the most bizarre parenting I’ve seen in the genre. Josie is the heroine and Beau is her long-time best friend. There’s some “do I have a crush on my guy best friend now that we’re teenagers” stuff going on, but mostly the book is about how Beau’s hippie mom is refusing to help him buy a skateboard solely because she thinks he’s picking fights with the school bully and that’s not very pacifist of him. She will not believe that he’s just getting beaten up by this other kid through no fault of his own. Josie’s solution to this problem is to direct Beau to tell his mom that she, Josie, has been beating him up because she’s dealing with teen angst/jealousy of her older sister. Beau’s mom buys this story and isn’t mad at him anymore, which suggests a frankly labyrinthine view of gender and violence that one lighthearted middle-grade novel can’t hope to unpack. And it doesn’t!

Ask Me Something Easy (1991): this is more of a YA novel, although the action takes place over a long stretch of the heroine’s childhood and adolescence. It feels more like a 1970s YA novel, like something Richard Peck or Robert Cormier would have written. There is also a lot of horrible parenting, but this time it’s clearly supposed to be horrible. In the wake of a contentious and financially difficult divorce, Addie, second of four girls, becomes the scapegoat for her mother’s anger and anxiety, something that her older sister also participates in. (The younger two girls, twins, meanwhile develop the habit of speaking mostly through their dolls and attributing all their negative emotions to said dolls.) It’s not a peculiar book, except that it’s a little old-fashioned in style and way darker than the author’s other books.

And none of this would be unusual if Honeycutt were very prolific, but she wrote about ten books and as far as I can tell this is a representative sample. She kind of seems like she never totally found a niche. I like her, though; she has a good sense of setting (San Francisco Bay Area) and child psychology.

#I really like when mg/ya authors are specific with setting #because I think it’s tempting to make that kind of thing generic for younger readers #at least with contemporary ya #books #reading

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herearedragons · 1 year ago

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OC Cutscenes

So I thought it would be cool to write down the cutscenes my characters would have for high/low approval if they were companions in Inquisition (and then it ended up being oops all high approval and also way longer than I intended). I'm going to tag some people in case you also have ideas, but you don't have to do this, obviously. It also doesn’t have to be Inquisition.

Tagging: @dungeons-and-dragon-age @shaykai @astertataricusblog

Neilar Lavellan

Ways to earn approval: supporting the Dalish, supporting mage freedom, valuing family/community and tradition, humorous/lighthearted or witty/sarcastic conversation options.

Moderately high approval. Triggers the first time you enter the library with high enough approval. The Inquisitor catches him wandering between the shelves with a couple books; upon being spotted, he startles and swears that he's not doing anything bad and also his boots are clean, he checked. The Inquisitor has a chance to respond with differing levels of friendliness, but either way Neilar explains that he's been trying to read some books in the library, and each time he messed up in some other way and ended up being yelled at - for tracking dirt into the library, smudging the pages, taking notes inside the book... He promises he's not doing it on purpose, he's just not a reader and doesn't know how to behave around books.

He explains that he's trying to read up on demons, the Fade, Andraste and Orlais; these are things he tried to avoid, generally, so he never bothered learning much about them. But seeing as the Inquisition deals with these on a daily basis, he doesn't want to be ignorant while everyone else has at least some idea of what's going on. If pressed, he'll admit that the reading isn't going very well and he's having trouble focusing on the books. The Inquisitor then has an option to ask him why won't he just talk to people instead, and he will explain that he doesn't want to be seen as ignorant, especially since he's Dalish. If he messes up, it might lead people to make assumptions about his clan and the People in general, and he can't allow that to happen.

The Inquisitor has a few options to question him about his life in the clan, and at the end of the cutscene can either promise to make sure to give him easy access to the library (yields approval) or tell him that he should probably stick to the things he's already good at (yields disapproval). The Inquisitor can also suggest that they can read the books to him if he wants, and can follow this up with a romantic option (something generally suggesting they enjoy his company). For a non-male Inquisitor, it leads to him carefully making sure they know he's not available; for a male Inquisitor, he'll laugh the suggestion off, but will be somewhat flustered.

Aqun Adaar

Ways to earn approval: supporting mage freedom, being critical about the Qun, supporting research and scientific progress, inquisitive/skeptical, rational or hopeful dialogue options.

High approval. Triggers upon entering Skyhold's courtyard. The Inquisitor is greeted with a weird contraption made from gears, wooden beams, ropes, levers and archery targets. Aqun explains that Cullen asked him to make target practice a little more challenging for the soldiers, so he's been working on a moving target system for some time. He then asks the Inquisitor to help him test the machine by pulling some levers, and picks up a bow. In the following sequence, the Inquisitor is able to have a back-and-forth talk with him while choosing targets to activate, which Aqun will then shoot down.

There are options to remain silent during the whole sequence, in which case Aqun will also not talk much, remarking upon the first hit that this definitely helps his nerves after the events of the last played story mission, then noting on the second hit that the tension of the ropes is a little off, ad then staying silent on the next few targets. If the Inquisitor chooses to talk, they can question him about engineering (he'll say that his mother taught him and he enjoys the trade), about his fighting skills (which will prompt him to talk about the Valo-Kas and briefly mention his Tal-Vashoth father), or ask him how he feels about the general state of things in the Inquisition (his response varies depending on the point in the story, but the general sentiment will always be that he's concerned about the future).

Either way, he'll eventually mention that he thinks a lot about all the ways everything could go wrong, but it's inevitable to think this way with his occupation. After all, he has to think about the most efficient ways to destroy things and people every day, and even when you build something, you should at least try to guess how and why it might fall apart. He will then ask the Inquisitor if they agree, with a slightly different wording if the Inquisitor is also an artificer. Disagreeing with him and saying that not everything has to fall apart yields approval, as well as agreeing and saying that it's always good to be cautious. You can also just be rude and say that he's talking nonsense, which he will slightly disapprove of, but then admit that even to him these kind of abstract thoughts sound nonsensical sometimes. The next dialogue wheel has a romantic option available to an Inquisitor of any race/gender (something along the lines of suggesting that the Inquisitor feels safer/more secure with him around), which will take him by surprise and cause him to miss the last target; the other options will end the conversation with him hitting the last target and thanking the Inquisitor for their help.

#reupload #tag games #oc: neilar lavellan #oc: aqun adaar #herearedragons meta

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ruki--mukami · 2 years ago

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Being today a special day, the young woman decided to take a day off to be able to give all her time and attention to her life partner, her lover, her husband... The vampire who would celebrate another year in his long life on that cloudy afternoon, overshadowing the scorching rays of the sun to welcome everyone in its shadow.

In fact, that made it a perfect day for the married couple.

Irina arrived at her familiar abode with black boxes in hand that she had hidden in her parents' house in order to give the raven-haired man a pleasant surprise. The gifts were carefully placed on the dining room table accompanied by beautiful blue periwinkles and spotless jasmines to present an almost flawless welcome as her necklace of brilliant sapphire and emerald that was presented to her on her own special day.

The few servants had been blessed with a vacation after doing their job of leaving the home in a perfect state, as the blonde woman wished to be alone with her husband in the comfort of their home.

Soon, the sound of the metal rubbing against each other from the giggling keys caught Irina's attention. Finally, he is home.

Irina quickly hurried to get to the front door so she could receive the newcomer with a warm smile, running to serve him with delicacy and affection.

"You've finally arrived, how good... I was waiting for you."

She spoke placing her feminine hands on the man's broad shoulders as she rose slightly on her tiptoes, wanting to catch the Mukami's lips with her own in a chaste but affectionate kiss.

"Happy birthday, my dear Ruki." She smiled softly, narrowing her eyes a little as she joined their foreheads together. "I have something prepared for you, but I think you already expected that." Irina giggled softly, kissing the boy's cheek before taking his hand. "Let's take a look, I hope you'll like it."

Wasting no more time, the champagne haired woman dragged Ruki to the dining room where she had prepared her little surprise.

This time it wasn't something very extravagant, but it was a very intimate detail.

Leaving the Mukami's hand for a moment, Irina undid the tie on one of the boxes in order to present the cake she had baked herself, obviously with that humorous and dorkie touch that she loved to show in the company of her dear husband.

"I know this is not a classic birthday cake, but I wanted to give you something not so repetitive." Irina excused herself while giving a lighthearted chuckle. "I had to bake it at my parents' house so I could hide from you. It would be impossible to prepare a surprise for you knowing that you don't like me very much when I'm not around for a long time."

"I made the dough with beets and coffee, plus the frosting is actually a whipped cream cheese so it shouldn't be too sweet for you." She pointed out knowing very well the preferences of her spouse.

Leaving the dessert aside, Irina brought the other gift boxes in front of the jet waiting for him to open them.

In one of the black boxes there was a pair of personalized socks, again with the touch of humor that Irina loved to use so much.

"You're a bit of a curmudgeon when you get away from everyone so you can be alone with your books, you seem to need a 'do not disturb' sign taped to your forehead, so I bought some socks that would do just that perfectly." Irina couldn't help but clasp their hands in a firm grip, as if Ruki would dissipate at any moment, leaving her longing for his company again. "Speaking of reading... Later we could read a little together one of your favorite books in our garden after dinner, in the moonlight and the candles perched on the green grass of our own little flora... The two of us alone with each other's company. I think that's just perfect, don't you think?"

Finally it was time to deliver the most important gift of all. In another of the boxes there was a book made by Irina's own hands, who chose the best wood and leather to make that little souvenir for herself.

"Here... If you open it like this, you'll have a mini album of our photos together in the most special moments. The trips we had, the celebrations, our little adventures or just casual photos to remember the moment. We have such a long life that sadly we won't be able to remember in detail what we lived together, so I always try to capture our time to never forget it."

Suddenly, the Owl's cheekbones began to turn a soft reddish color due to the heat that rose to the female's face.

"I— I wrote some of my thoughts or feelings about you or us in general that went through my mind and heart at the time, just below the photos... Sometimes I don't know how I can tell you these kind of things since I lack the words, so I decided better to express it in writing."

The blonde held the air in her lungs for a moment, and raised her gaze to fix it on the other, forcing the essence of their irises to intermingle until making her own landscape, feeling like a collapse of galaxies every time they exchanged glances.

"I would love to be able to give you everything to make you happy since you deserve it, and I would love to be able to leave a deeper mark than your past so that you can start a new page. I'm here, only for and just you, being by your side as always and taking care to let you know that I will love even your most serious sins because they are part of you."

Trapping Ruki in a loving embrace, Irina immediately closed the distance between them brushing her cherry-like lips as a threat that at any moment she would seal her adoration for her husband.

"I could point out that you have questionable ideals for human morality, but that's what I love the most about you. I adore that we have our differences and often have a daily challenge because you try to have the power. It is a part that although it bothers me at the time, I end up falling in love even more to be able to live a life far from a fairy tale."

Unable to resist anymore, the blonde linked their union in a slow and passionate kiss, filled with a deep affection that would be impossible to describe, leaving it as a secret that only the hearts of both vampires know. Irina dragged her fingers through her black hair to tangle the strands around her digits, while her lips danced with loving aggressiveness until they were almost numb and out of breath.

The woman separated for a moment, as always with a excited smile and a sweet and dreamy look that she only showed her spouse.

"Happy birthday again, Ruki. Let's have a memorable day together, yes?"

||*coughs dust* luckily I got some energy for Ruki's bd 🏃🏼‍♀️✨️✨️||

"Irina... You're home. And here I thought I would've arrived before you, but it turns out I was mistaken. What a pleasant surprise indeed," the Vampire smiled ever so slightly, quickly transforming from bewildered to besotted the instant their lips met. "It smells quite fragrant, and I don't sense any other presences in the area as well. Don't tell me... You secured the estate for just the two of us? All for my birthday, no less. You truly went out of your way for my sake, even though it's just any other ordinary day—"

Halting his train of thought, Ruki recalled the last birthday of his that the couple celebrated together and how Irina surprised him in such a similar yet different way. Before he met the eminent, champagne-haired woman who now stood before him as his cherished wife, the Vampire always considered birthdays to be little more than a worthless, sentimental, and time-wasting occasion amidst a pathetic world of trial after tribulation. However, meeting someone beyond special—having the ultimate privilege of spending this time with the woman he loves more than anyone he has ever encountered and will encounter in the future—reminded the eldest Mukami just how precious this date could be for the two of them, whether it was his own birthday or Irina's. Together they would forever find new ways to surprise the other despite their long-lived, immortal years.

"—No, I suppose that's not true whatsoever. Each moment I spend with you, I realize that I don't feel the same as I did in the past. There was a time I would've undoubtedly scoffed at a birthday surprise like this, thinking very little of it. I would've questioned your reasons for going to such great lengths to impress me, but I can see clearly now. I can see that it's not just some ploy to get on my good side, or to gain something else in return for your noble efforts. This... This is all the work of someone who genuinely cares for me. Ha, how strange... It's strange I can say that so easily now, thanks to you, Irina."

When his beloved wife showed him to the dining room with the most forward cake he has ever seen, Ruki failed to stifle a chuckle of disbelief, eyes drawn to the large cursive letters on the top of the jet-black dessert.

"How rude," he said jokingly, shaking his head as if the whole display had been a dream. "If I am 'your toxic,' then what does that make you? My antidote? No, that's far too generous... You must be some undiscovered form of arsenic if I'm toxic."

Slowly tilting his head to the side, Ruki caught a glimpse of the text on the side of the cake which only exacerbated the wicked smirk on his face.

“Not very subtle of you, but then again, you never were. I do love that about you, Irina. I can’t believe you hid a cake this straightforward from me… but I can’t say I dislike it at all. Just from the scent alone, I can already tell it was baked with incredible attention to detail.”

Given the cake’s foundation and lack of sweetness, the Vampire found himself wanting to try a bite immediately, but he would wait for the most opportune moment to exult it within the comfort of his spouse, perhaps even feeding a mouthful of it directly to her the way a doting husband would, even if the thought of doing something so embarrassing vexed him.

After the blonde presented the carefully selected yet oddly charming gifts to him, again, Ruki could not help but snicker.

“What outrageous socks these are… I’ve never seen anything like them,” he cachinnated, picking the socks up by the cuffs to examine them further. The garments struck him as unusual, yet perhaps this was also his wife’s way of telling him to relax every now and then and literally put his feet up rather than sit so stiffly in his armchair. “Fine, I’ll be sure to treasure them, especially when they complement those livestock slippers you gave me last year so well.”

Upon hearing the Owl’s suggestion, coupled with the not-so-subtle message on the cake, Ruki soon imagined a number of different possibilities for their night together. One of relaxation, yet also a romantic tryst dripping with passion.

“Certainly. I’d love to read outside for a change now that the weather has been more forgiving as of late. Especially with you by my side, Irina. The flowers have begun to bloom so beautifully, but they still pale in comparison to you. And,” he leaned in closer, letting her take his hands into his while he gently pressed his forehead against hers as his voice took on a seductive lilt, “if the reading doesn’t tire you out, then I know exactly what will help you sleep soundly.”

Lastly, yet to the zenith of his satisfaction, the book filled with their most cherished memories together instantly suffused Ruki in a stupor of elation as he relived those moments page by page, observing how joyous the two of them looked at the ceremony of their union, the cruise ship that showed them to various wonders, and the safari in which the wild animals looked tame compared to the married couple.

“I don’t know what to say, Irina. Truth be told, it occasionally irritated me whenever my photo needed to be taken more than necessary, but in the end I’m eternally grateful you would capture these timeless memories of us. You look far more photogenic than I do, though. Perhaps that’s the natural talent of being an idol? Or perhaps my wife simply possesses a smile unlike any other,” he praised sincerely, holding the Owl close to him. “I’ll always keep this with me no matter what.”

Despite the hardship Ruki endured as a human child that led to his vampirism in the first place, he always kept his father’s memento close. However, entering this new chapter of his life, and staring directly into the vibrant photos and innermost feelings Irina confided underneath its contents, he decided to himself that he would keep this book in his strap from here forward instead, taking his wife’s words seriously. Both figuratively and literally, he would cast away his past and no longer dwell on it for the sake of their marriage and sooner or later, their own family, focusing on what he considers dearest.

“You already have. You have left a mark so deep, so permanently etched into my very being, that I could never let you go. Everything from that smile of yours, to these hands that caress me so delicately, to the future we will share together—I will protect it all. Next year, the year after that, just like I promised you I would. Everything from the brightest of your aspirations that you strive so earnestly to reach, to the darkest of your soul that you try to keep concealed, I shall continue to love all sides of you. It’s true that we have our differences, but you have challenged me to think in new ways as well. You’ve taught me so much without realizing it, Irina. And I’m only excited to see what else we can learn from each other.”

Lips reconnecting once more in their loving embrace, Ruki leaned forth into the kiss, supporting her waist with calloused hands. Closing his eyes and sighing contentedly, his dexterous fingertips brushed up the small of her back to shorten the distance between himself and Irina, pressing his lips roughly and possessively in a campaign to reclaim her as his. His tongue sneakily delved past parted lips, seeking her own in a playful dance, not only finding but also mating with it. Through the sheer fabric of her blouse, the Vampire’s large, strong extremities roamed her supple body before finally pulling away, sultry azures glued to her own dazzling emeralds.

“Yes, let’s share this day together. I’m quite famished—and not for the cake, either. Come now, despite its appearance, it had some rather wise words hidden on the side, wouldn’t you agree?”

Without warning, Ruki ghosted a hand down her thigh, slowly pulling Irina into his arms completely, sharp fangs peeking through a mischievous grin.

“The only thing that would make this birthday even better than it already is for me is seeing my wife in the throes of pleasure.”

#diabolik lovers #ruki mukami #mukami ruki #ask #rp #diabolik lovers rp #birthday event 2023 #iricathel #irina avenel #rukina #(( AAAA I MISSED THESE TWO SO MUCH T_T ))

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