#and white walls. It also has no television. day beds

[sakuranym]

Living Room in Vancouver

[hoshigray]

i’m not sure if you’re currently writing for ushijima but if you are/will, could u write something smutty about reader telling him that they have an oral fixation 🤞 (i haven’t really seen any of your works for ushijima so i’m quite curious about how you write him. love your toji works, btw! <3)

Mouth on Body Experience

Oml you're my first HQ!! request, noonie! :00 Tbh with you, I never posted any of my HQ!! works because it was during a time when I was on and off with writing (not to mention it was chara x chara stuff bc I wasn't into x reader stuff back then), so this surprised me when I saw it in my inbox, lol. But I love Ushijima sm, like he's so cool and is definitely one of my top characters in the entire series!! Hope I did him justice in my writing since it's been so long, ty for this prompt! o(≧▽≦)o

Also, s/o to my wonderful mootie, @cu7ie, for helping me out with this!! I hope your day is going swell and wish nothing but good vibes your way~~ ☆ mwah-mwah!!

Cw: Ushijima x reader - explicit content; minors DNI - oral (m! receiving)/blowjob + handjob; implied first time giving him a bj - teasing; biting/sucking on the body (reader exploring Ushi's body with their mouth) - humping + grinding - tiny overstimulation for Ushi - pet names (baby, love) - kissing/makeout session - minor ball worship - Ushi is a bit confused but supportive - will proofread later :P. Wc: 2.6k

You peek through the door to the bedroom, taking the silence into account despite knowing someone is occupying the space. He prefers silence anyway, so it's no surprise that the television isn't even on. The only things that bring life into the room are the warm colors of the sunset painting the walls and your boyfriend sitting on the edge of his bed.

Having Wakatoshi Ushijima as your boyfriend is one of the many mysteries to the world and you. As many outside observers would think, being in a relationship with the guy has been quite a journey. Not to say that is a bad thing, though. If anything, it's been going rather well.

Going into the relationship knowing you'd be dating one of the world's Olympic powerhouse volleyball players was intimidating enough. Yet, it's a different story actually meeting and talking with him in person, his fierce aura adequate to suffocate you then and there. But as the days go by and things calm down, you two slowly but surely feel comfortable in each other's presence. You start acting like a couple and expressing your love naturally.

You knock on the door, waiting for his permission before proceeding inside. When you hear his voice call to you, you move past the entrance and enter his room.

On the edge of the bed sat Ushijima in his usual comfortable house wear comprising of a plain white tee and sweatpants. His eyes focused on the item in his hands, a book that his eyes diligently skimmed from page to page. His concentration doesn't hinder until he notices you walking up to him, his face lifted slightly to look at your figure entirely.

"Hey," you greet him, to which he returns with an incline of his head. "What're you reading?"

"It's the book you left here last night," his deep voice still has you hard to believe, but it's become a welcoming timbre in your everyday life and is now something you love to hear. "I saw the reviews on the back and it had me interested."

You lift a brow. "You read the reviews on the cover?"

He lifts a brow in return. "Are they meant to be ignored?"

The giggle is stifled, trying to exit your lips. So thorough. "No, no, you can read them. Most people will read because of a cover or if the writer is their favorite." Your boyfriend watches you sit beside him, leaning against his shoulder as he returns to his reading. I bet he's gonna read the author's notes at the end when he's done.

You chuckle at your own joke, but Ushijima doesn't pay any mind, just putting an arm around your waist to keep you close to him. The two of you relish in each other's company; the warm hues peeking through the window blinds cover your backs with an imperceptible blanket of warmth.

With the rise and fall of his shoulder, you bask in the sun's dying glow while your breathing syncs with the man next to you. This moment almost fills you with peace, embracing the domestic feel within this space between you and your boyfriend.

But, again, it almost does the job. Because you remember why you even came into his space in the first place and the butterflies in your stomach party to your dreadful dismay.

You peer up to look at Ushijima, who keeps reading until you call for his attention. "Hey, Toshi?" His olive eyes flicker to you when you use his nickname, and your heart skips a bit when he immediately shifts his engagement to you. "C-Can I kiss you?" You don't know why you stammered around your words; it was a simple request, nothing too extreme. It's not like you two have never kissed before, but the idea in your head makes it nerve-wracking.

The tall man displays no reaction outside of a slight lift of a brow, but no words are needed when he places the book down by his side and his hand rest on your soft cheek. Your eyes instinctively close when his face decreases the gap between you, and firm, smooth lips land on your plump own. Just when you would sink into his touch, he withdraws himself from you, leaving a tiny whimper to exit your mouth.

"Can..." Your hand finds its way to the big one on the side of your face, his thumb stroking your cheek's surface. "Can I have another?"

Again, he doesn't use his words, just inclining his head towards you to kiss you. It's a few seconds longer than the last before he removes himself again, only for you to grip his shirt to restrict him. "Another, please..." your voice dials to a whisper, and a soft moan is shared when his lips return to yours. He retires again. "Anoth—"

Before long, Ushijima shushes your pleas with kisses without further approval. His hands bring you closer to him, and — before you know it — he's now on his back to the bed with you straddling him. Large palms roam around your waist and hips while you kiss him back, slowly venturing further down with each hump of the hips to gently grasp your ass.

There's no point in restraining the moans that naturally flee out of your mouth. This is what you wanted; this is what you came to the room for.

Well, to be specific, it's leading to what you came here for.

Throughout this relationship, you have yet to disclose your oral fixation. Perhaps it's because being with a man like Ushijima still intimidates you to share your sexual interests with the man. Nonetheless, it's something you've been longing to share with him. There have been instances where it would sneak in through your intimate moments, yet you choose to stop yourself and not ruin the atmosphere with your boyfriend.

So you've resorted to relinquishing this craving with activities to keep you busy: the usually chewing gum, biting or sucking on your tongue, or chewing on your nails.

Regardless, today is the day you try to initiate this part of your being with Ushijima. You've been dying to have your mouth on his body for the longest time — especially with how attractive and well-built the man is has been driving you crazy.

It all excites you, enthralls you. However, you snap back to reality when you hear a hot groan from the man you're straddling, realizing you're still kissing him. To your horror, finding yourself sucking on his tongue, you quickly exit off the bed. Heavy pants from the two of you fill the bedroom, and your wide eyes look into his hooded dirty gold ones.

"I-I'm so sorry, Toshi!" You're quick to throw apologies his way. "I got a little ahead of myself!"

"Mmm. It's fine." He nonchalantly reassures you, wiping the spit on his lips with the back of his hand.

Yet, you continue to ramble on. "No, really, sorry about that! I got a little carried away. I was thinking too much..."

"Thinking about what?"

Oh shit.

Now why the hell would you put yourself out like that? "Huh?" You try to play dumb despite understanding it won't work on him.

Ushijima exhales through his nose before hoisting himself up from the bed. "It's pointless to back out of something when you're the one who's done it." His blunt words hit like knives to your figure, internally groaning as he stands up in front of you. "What's on your mind, Y/n?"

Oh fuck, I've done it now. There is no way out of this; you'll have to tell him what's been troubling you recently.

"I...I wanna—Okay. So, I have this thing with my mouth, right?" You can tell the expression on Ushijima's face doesn't coincide with the supportive nod. "It's like...It's a habit of mine where I use my mouth on stuff to stimulate myself?" At this point, you don't know what the fuck you're talking about. Just get this over with, me! I can't take it!!

"So, I've been thinking of...you know," your mind and gut are doing gymnastics, toying with your uncomfortableness to this entire situation. "I want to use my mouth...on your body...."

Olive brown brows furrow and you quickly sprout more nonsense. "Th-That's unless you're okay with it! If you don't think you're okay with it or you feel discomfort, then I won't be hurt in any way! It's totally up to you because I can just—"

"Y/n." Your rambles are muted by the use of your name, his brows still scrunched with an indistinct expression. "I'm not following: why would you want to use your mouth on my body?"

"Well, because," your face gets hot by the second: not just from you revealing your secret, but also your boyfriend asking questions. "I like your body, Toshi. Especially with how nice your physique is, I just kinda want to...play with it a little? Make you feel good..."

Ushijima's facial expression molds to a softer tone when you confess to him, and his eyes drift to the side as if he's searching for the right words to say. It makes you anxious with how in-depth he's taking this into heart, so you squeak when his goldish orbs return to you. "Is it something that I can help with?"

"Umm, yes, yeah!" Confirmation stammers out your lips. "I mean, as long as you're up for it."

He places his hands on your waist to bring you close to him. "I am."

He looks at you with hooded eyes, and the romantic tension from before fills the room. "Yeah?" Your voice winds down to a murmur.

"Yeah." His voice lowers as his head comes down to you, and your lips once again welcome the feel of his.

And with that, Ushijima finds himself back on the bed with you on top of him. You carry more confidence than previously as your kisses become more passionate and hot, teeth bumping into each other and you nibbling on his lip, resulting in abrupt groans.

Your hands venture down to the hem of his shirt, hesitantly raising it inch by inch. And Ushijima notices your desire for access, and a big hand engulfs yours and lifts the shirt to reveal his abdomen and pectorals.

Kisses from the mouth trail down to his neck and clavicle, and he tries to stop himself from moaning to your sweet touches. Your lips pepper all that's exposed to you, quick licks onto his pecs, and gentle bites on his nipples. It's evident now that the man is enjoying your actions, limiting the pleasure in his voice while his hands stick to your waist as his hips rock with yours.

Your hand sneaks down from his well-defined abs to his pelvis, fingers intruding under the band of his sweatpants and brushing against the soft material of his briefs that shield his now erect cock from your mere fingertips. Ushijima hums with his baritone voice, large palms dare calm down to your butt and knead the flesh, and you purr to his firm grasp.

"May I use my mouth?" It was a tiny suggestion, yet there was a distinct connotation. You haven't ever given your boyfriend a blowjob before, so this was new waters you were treading cautiously with. Nevertheless, he surprises you with a nod, egging you on to resume. A feeling of giddiness corrupts your senses, placing chaste kisses on his nipple down to his abs, and Ushijima has his hand on your head the further you go to his lower region.

You're now on your knees on the floor as you pull his sweatpants and underwear to his thighs, and the image of his erection springing out in front of your eyes has you practically drooling in anticipation. Every crevice, every dent, and every vein of his dick is mesmerizing to the eyes, and your curiosity gets the best of you when his body jerks at your hands grazing his balls. How vulgar.

"Hmmm, Y/n, love," he calls to you with whimpers — a rarity to hear but beautiful to the ears. "Go easy on me..."

And you just give him a lovely smile before you move a hand on his cock, stroking the length in a slow but firm motion. He jolts to your grasp, throwing his head back and sinking into the mattress as your palm slides up and down his limb. It gets worse for him when he feels your tongue flicks on his balls, sucking on his sack prompts moans of bliss to substitute the silence of the room.

The summer sun continues to descend, the waning heat losing its touch in the room. But the warm sensation of your mouth on his shaft has Ushijima's skin hot to the touch, his hands gripping the comforter beneath him. And he hisses when he senses the work of your tongue on the tip of his couch, lapping on the sensitive glands while simultaneously stroking him and massaging his sack.

Your cheeks go hollow when you take the head to your mouth, relaxing your jaw as you gradually suck all of him at your own pace. Your boyfriend has to bite on his lip and try to not buck his hips toward you. But it feels so fucking good when the velvety walls of your throat accommodate his girth and size; your wet muscle on the underside of his dick sends electric waves every time it brushes up and down from your bobbing gesture.

As for you, it feels like you're under an ecstatic spell as you work your way to the base of his cock with every suck. The cockhead hits the back of your throat at a delicious angle that you mewl on the member, eyes shut to fully enjoy the experience and commotion between your lips. Tears start to prickle, spit and drool coat his shaft, and your brain goes foggy when his musk blocks your nostrils. The throbbing sensation between your legs gets unbearable by the second, and you grind your thighs together to ease your lust.

Ushijima has done well trying to maintain his steel composure; however, no matter how he tries, he soon succumbs to the warm and pleasurable feeling of your throat when he thrusts into your oral cavity at a reasonable tempo, going faster and faster when the notion of his release crawls up within him.

"Haaaah, ahhhh—Mmmph!" Moans fly out from his mouth, no longer attempting to keep this from escaping. "Dove, I'm about to cum in your—Hnnngh!! Ahhh, shit, shit," and he grabs your head to keep you steady as he ruts into your throat. The orgasm hits the both of you, and a few deep strokes result in him shooting his load inside you, forcing you to drink all he gives you.

And you happily do so, waiting for his thighs to stop jerking as you take in every bit of his essence. Once he's done ejaculating, you slowly remove yourself from his sock, a soft pop evidence of you two no longer connected. You swallow and gulp any remainder of his load before climbing back onto the bed to lay beside Ushijima, who turns to his side to survey you thoroughly with half-lidded eyes.

You sigh with a smile. "Enjoyed yourself?"

While his hand caresses your cheek, he hums as his response. "Did you?"

"Yes, very much so. Thank you, Toshi." You start to feel drowsy as the room becomes dark, the warm colors of the sunset dulling as the moon sheds light.

"Of course, dove."

[dilfartist]

Missed - short (pt.2)

Pairing; Yandere Las Plagas Leon Kennedy x reader

Synopsis; it’s the week after Leon’s attack and the scientists examining and aiding Leon, need your assistance.

Reader description; Female/GN

Word count; 1k

TW; Dead dove do not eat, non-con, there isn’t really a smut scene, depends on how you interpret it, nonconsensual touching, messed up shit, ooc Leon. NSFW. Also tagged everyone who wanted to be tagged but its acting weird so few may not be notified.

!Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!

Nothing seems real to you anymore.

Your boyfriend working for the government was more than enough news to handle, but Leon obtaining some parasite, becoming one himself understandably tended to hurt your head.

After last week's events, you come by daily. While they did request this of you, you would have done it anyways.

Every day you wake then drive straight to the facility holding him; never missing a day. And with each passing day, he grows worse. His body changed, sprouting more veins than the last time you saw him. He looks lifeless. His baby blue eyes are now a piercing ruby color, that stare into your soul.

Leon as a person has altered. He’s more touchy, touching you anytime he can. Leon doesn’t care for your opinion, or consent on the matter. Not anymore. Aggression is a main part of his personality now. While Leon was rarely aggressive with you, it still terrified you to see him throw a tantrum and nearly rip out a security guard’s throat because you wanted to leave early.

His presence alone has grown suffocating. And You’re starting to get uncomfortable just being around him.

And the experimenters monitoring Leon aren't helping. They only ever approve of you around to gather intel. Sometimes they’ll guilt you into staying in his enclosure, observing his actions on the other side of a double mirror. Other times they’d full-on pay you to spend five or more hours with Leon. Of course, you’d have no issues if Leon acted like his old self. But that was the issue. He wasn't himself anymore.

It’s currently two o’clock and you’re attending Leon’s daily visits.

“We have one more experiment we’d like to run on Leon, but we need your help to explore what we’d like to explore.”

You nod, observing Leon from the other side of the double mirror. Leon sits crisscrossed next to a large television watching MTV mindlessly, gnawing on a slice of pizza. Leon sports grey sweatpants and a slight sauce messy white tee.

You turn your head finally providing your attention to the scientist beside you, “What is it?” you questioned.

She fixed her glasses to look down at her clipboard, “Well, Leon has been very emotional lately. We’d appreciate it if you’d go inside and just talk with him.”

You lift an eyebrow looking at her septically, “Is that all?”

She nods. “Yes, that is all. You know he only communicates with you.”

“Alright then.”

You enter Leon’s isolation when the door slides open. Leon’s room contained paper-white walls, an extensive mirror, both a couch and bed on opposite sides of each other, a television, and a bathroom area. It felt like a zoo enclosure.

Leon took a minute to glance your way. He was too captivated by the flashing images on the television. Wanting to get the interaction over with, you called out for him. “Leon.”

Leon’s eyes darted in your direction. “(Name)!” he jumped up, jogging over to you. He hugged you tightly, running kisses up and down your neck. You're frozen in an awkward position, “Hey, missed you too, Lee.”

Leon ceases his kissing, pulling away from your neck to look you in the eyes. “Been wondering when’s the next time you’d visit.”

You chuckle, “I visit every day, Leon.”

“It feels like an eternity when you're not around.”

Leon and you lay on the couch, Leon resting his head on top of your chest. You held him close, staring at the ceiling. For abeat there was a pregnant silence, the both of you focusing on each other’s company. Then Leon spoke. Leon asked about your life: how was work? Was anything new happing? Any recent drama. He yearned for a bit of normalcy. Wanted to forget about Spain. Just wanted his main reflections on you.

Since Leon’s trip nothing was the same, not for him. Not for you. While, yes, his normal life ended after the raccoon city incident, he managed to somehow have a- what would you call it? Semi-normal life. Living with you at least.

But now it was gone. The las plazas had terminated any chance of normality for Leon. And if by chance the government’s scientists somehow cured Leon of his parasite, he’d still be left with the side effects of retaining the Las plagas for as long as he did.

Leon’s body had changed in such drastic ways. And his main concern was the upsurge in his libido.

Hours and hours he’d fist his cock, mulling on the times you’ve sucked his cock. No matter how hard, how fast, or even the time spent he couldn't stop. It hurt too much if he did. The other day the pain didn't go away until he fainted from exhaustion. He needed you. He needed to stuff you so bad it physically pained him.

His mind was barraged with thoughts of breeding your sweet pussy. Leon wasn’t the idea of having kids with you, honestly, it thought about a lot. However, this was different. It was an obsession now. Thoughts on breeding you made him cum so quickly, it became his number one fantasy.

Laying here listening to your rambling on the next-door neighbor's fight last night, his nose picks up an ambrosial smell originating from you. You smell sweet. Oh so, so, so sweet.

Leon’s ears ring, deafening him. His eyes focus on your clothed thighs. How he missed the plush skin he used to lay on after a hard week of work. More than that, he missed planting kisses on them; earing drawled out moans of his name.

Almost like an instinct, Leon’s rough, calloused, hands griped your hips. You halt and looked down at him with curiousness. Uncertain of his next actions, you press your hands against him. Worriedly you utter his name, “Leon?”

Leon refuses to acknowledge the call of his name. His main priority being his cock beginning to stiffen in his sweats.

You swallow nervously, endeavoring to pry his hands off. “Leon, please take your hands off me.” you plead in a stern manner, to come off more as a command.

Leon shakes his head. “No,” he responded, voice trembling. “You have no idea how much I need you, (Name). It's torture not having you stroke me.” he nearly moans at the last part. He climbs up the couch to be face to face.

Leon’s eyes held an immense dose of desire as he looks at you through his eyelashes. “Please touch me, baby,” he whines. “Want ‘ya so bad!” he grips your hand, placing it near your mouth to plant a kiss.

You glance at the mirror, silently pleading for assistance. Comprehending Leon’s increase in strength, kicking him off wouldn't be an option since his grip on you tautened. “Leon, stop!”

Quickly you thought of a method of escape. You acted, moving to the side for your body to decline to the ground. Both you and Leon fell to the ground, dragging cushions with you. Immediately you are on your feet, dashing to the door. You slam your fist against the metal, bruising them in the process. You could care less. Your shouting so loud your throat starts to sting. Yet there’s no reply.

You know there are people out there! You saw at least five before entering.

Then a thought comes to mind. Did they plan this?

Leon yanks you out of your shock, slamming his body against yours. Your nose whacks against the metal, prompting a whine of pain. Akin to a vampire, Leon laches on your neck, trailing kisses up and down. He sucks, bites, and drags his tongue over the marks as his hand travels down the slit in your pants.

“Sorry, baby, can’t deny myself any longer!” he apologizes, surprisingly genuinely. You accept your fate, sobbing silently to yourself.

On the opposite side of the mirror, a group of scientists observe the interaction. They all have their clipboards out, noting down every action, movent, and emotion. A Handful of them watches in revulsion while the scene unfolds in front of them. Others treat it as any other experiment, having no sympathy for you. After all, they have no idea if you’re the worst person in existence or not.

There's one thing for certain. They’d be investigating the pregnancy of a human mother and a parasite having father.

Tagged

@fbiopenups , @athanasia-day , @leonskndy , @ineedrealfriends , @destinys-dreamer, @carlosluv3r, @connorsoddsock, @sl33paholics , @explosiongamora , @idiotuvu-blog , @tarcroach, @mikeywaysghost, @jinna-aka-ninja , @lovelysserafim, @jujupia , @lomaeuwu, @briefwinnerpersonaturtle , @sammy213ui , @stella-fleurets, @elliellielliesgirl

[steviewashere]

Want to Go Home With You (Bring Me a Home) Chp. 5

Rating:Teen and Up(May Change With Future Chapters) CW: Implied/Referenced Murder, Implied/Referenced Minor Character Death Tags: Alternate Universe - Mermaids, Alternate Universe - No Upside Down, Hurt/Comfort, Dialogue Heavy, Took Canon Out Back And Pulled an Old Yeller, Mer!Steve Harrington, Fisherman!Eddie Munson, Packless Steve Harrington (kind of?), Soft Steve Harrington, Confused Steve Harrington, Lonely Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington Wants to be Loved, Mermaids with Animal Like Instincts, Future Propositioning, Lowkey Might Involve Some Omegaverse Aspects in the Future (Not Sorry), Steve Harrington Has Powers (Like Starfire in Teen Titans), Good Parent Wayne Munson, Mer!Eddie Munson

Read the first part here

Also on Ao3

🧜‍♂️——————🧜‍♂️ He closes the bedroom door with a soft thud. Steve’s snuffles are still heard, even through the wall, so Eddie knows that he slipped away successfully. But the almost complete silence that surrounds him throughout the rest of the cabin leaves him uneasy, making him wish that he just stayed in the bed with Steve. He promised to not leave, but there’s something burbling inside of him—a deep seeded pocket of curiosity and unruly untrusting that he still needs to work though.

Wayne was lying about something. And, usually, Eddie would just leave it be. Usually, there’s nobody to call out when or how or if Wayne is lying, but having somebody there—this third party with an oddly calibrated sense of knowing, he makes Eddie blink and consider what’s truly existing in front of him.

There was something off. He can’t help but reiterate to himself that Wayne knew something—knew of something wrong, knew of something that went directly against what he had promised. Has Wayne killed, Eddie asked himself, was he lying about that? There was no way, though. Wayne wouldn’t hurt a damn fly. He didn’t even fight in Vietnam, he busied with taking care of the wounded—he was a bandage on a sore, not the blade in the flesh.

Eddie couldn’t just leave it alone. He wants to lay down with Steve. Wants to hold him close. Give him all the warm things in the world. Show him photographs and human things he’s probably never experienced. Take him to a movie or put him in a car. Let him taste something new—the tartness of cherries or sweetness of freshly squeezed oranges or hot dogs with ketchup. He wants to live simply and show Steve the world, smaller in comparison to the vastness of the ocean, but blinding and awe-inspiring all the same.

Instead, however, Eddie sits on the couch and waits for Wayne to come back through the door. He settles in the middle cushion. Blinks at the blank screen of the television set. Listens to Steve’s snores, as they grow in intensity and deepness. Eddie twiddles his thumbs and counts the spots in the hardwood floor. Counts down from one hundred, thinks of his mother, counts back to one hundred, thinks of his mom some more. Wonders what the catch of the day will be tomorrow morning, how heavy the winds will be so early in the day, if the saltwater will stick tacky to his loose curls. Windswept and free, that’s what he wants to be.

He waits and he waits and he waits.

Until, finally, there are heavy thudding boots on the front steps. A key in the lock. And the door widens in one sweep.

Wayne startles as soon as he enters the living room. “Thought you’d be laying with the boy,” he says, forgoing greeting.

“What do you know?” Eddie asks. There’s a bitterness to his tone, one that would never be there for somebody like Wayne. “And don’t lie to me again, I know something’s up. Tell me what’s wrong and I’ll drop it.”

A heavy, sour sigh leaves Wayne’s mouth. He trudges the rest of the way to the couch and plops down unceremoniously next to Eddie. There’s a cap on his head—camouflage and plain—that he pulls down and rests on his right knee. And in his hand, fisted tight and white knuckled, he’s holding something. “I don’t…I don’t know if it’s necessary for you to know, Ed. I don’t”—

“Bullshit,” Eddie lowly growls. He sits sideways on his cushion, facing his uncle completely. Points his finger in Wayne’s direction, leaving space so he’s not touching. “Where’d you go? What do you know? Why won’t you just tell me?” He eyes Wayne for a beat. Adds, “Steve doesn’t act like that. He’s kind and he’s curious and he’s scared. But he isn’t mean. He doesn’t hiss like that unless something is wrong—like when he got caught in the net. But instead, you’re the reason he did. What. Do. You. Know?”

Down his face, Wayne drags his left hand. Mutters, “Damnit,” and blows out a tight breath. He shoves his right fist forward, unfurls his fingers, and drops something into Eddie’s palm.

When Eddie looks down, it’s his mom’s necklace. A pendant she wore for years until she up and left, when she went missing. It’s a simple thing—just a silver locket on a silver chain. He flips the locket open and there’s a photo of him in it—baby Eddie, big brown eyes squinted, giggling most likely, a gummy smile. The same photo he’s seen before when she showed him growing up. He thought she’d take it with her, wherever she went.

“Where’d you get this?” Eddie breathes. Swipes his thumb over that picture of himself. “Shouldn’t Mom have this? Why do you have it?”

“Ed,” Wayne sighs. Softly, “Ed, you’re gonna need to look at me.”

So, he does. Met with Wayne’s blue eyes, heavy lidded and impossibly sad. Sad in a way Eddie hasn’t seen in a long time. Something’s wrong here.

“Your mom didn’t leave you,” Wayne admits, whispering. “She…she wasn’t like anybody around here. Was sorta wild. Kind and caring, gentle, nurturing. She loved you, loved the world, wanted to see so much of it with you.”

Eddie sniffs. “What are you getting at?”

Wayne looks away for a brief moment. Swallows heavy and loud, like he’s digesting the world down his dry throat. He takes a deep breath and looks back, sadder. “What do you remember about your dad, Ed?” He asks softly.

He scoffs. “What don’t I remember about him? My dad was a huge piece of shit, Wayne. No offense, I guess. But he…he was mean and he was nasty. He didn’t really love my mom, I could always tell. Pushed her around, said shit to her, turned it around on me, too. I just remember he wasn’t a good person and for some reason, he went away to jail.” He looks down at the locket again and then back up at Wayne. “Did you get this from him?” He asks, holding up the pendant.

“No,” Wayne answers, shaking his head. “I…I got that from my safe deposit box at the post office. It’s something I put away years and years ago. So that I could give it back to you, eventually.” He grinds his teeth together, jaw working, mulling words. “This was something I got to keep after the police found her,” he whispers, a confession, something deeply ashamed.

“After the police,” Eddie echoes slowly. “The police?”

“Your dad…he”—Wayne stops himself with a half-formed sob. His eyes noticeably teary and miserable, now that Eddie’s focused. His lower lip trembles, his whole body shaking with the force of his emotion. Eddie isn’t sure what to make of any of this yet.—“Your dad murdered your mom, Ed. He confessed to it, yet pleaded not guilty. Life in prison. This is all I have left of your mother.”

Eddie can only stare at Wayne in stunned silence. It’s like everything in him freezes over, locks up. Like his body forgot how to function. He can see Wayne crying quietly in front of him, can see Wayne waiting for some sort of response. There’s a thousand and one emotions flooding through him. Anger and guilt and sadness, a bitterness he’s never known, an aching he’s barely felt now pulsing through him in harsh waves.

“I don’t…he? He did—What does this have to”—

“Your mom was like that boy,” Wayne interrupts, voice snotty and wet. “She came from out there, out in the ocean. And…your dad, he was a fisherman, too. They had that sweet summer romance, they were in love for some years. Then, she had you.” He takes a moment to collect himself, to breathe through his nose and out through his mouth, doesn’t look at Eddie anymore. Like what he’s going to say next will hurt worse.

Wayne continues, “She had you when she was young. She was scared, y’know. Had a baby with human legs, even though she had ‘em, too. Your dad thought that you’d never be like her, the whole…merfolk thing.

“But you’ve always been different than what people expect of you. Except for your mom. She was bathing you one day and it just…happened. You had your gummy smile with a couple baby human teeth coming in, human ears, regular nails. But she went to scrub behind your knees, lo and behold, she was met with a short, teal tail like that Ariel girl has in that mermaid movie.

“Your mom”—Wayne breathes out something like a chuckle—“she came rushing from that bedroom, the one that’s yours now. She came rushing out to me with you in your mer form. Dangling you in the air, purring like a damn motor boat, trilling between words like she couldn’t contain herself. She was so proud of you, so proud that that part of you was beginning to show. I remember her telling me about the days you two were going to spend in the water. That she was going to teach you how to collect those pretty little pearls. She wanted to show you how to swim. She was so excited to have somebody like you.”

Eddie shuffles closer on the couch. Close enough, now, that Wayne hesitantly tucks them together. Brushes fingers through Eddie’s curls. “Dad found out, didn’t he?” He asks in a voice that’s too small to be him.

Wayne answers anyway. “He did,” he sighs. “It was ugly. They screamed at each other while I took care of you that night. Wouldn’t stop until she slammed the front door behind her. He must’ve…I think he followed her. Only he returned.” His heavy hands rub down Eddie’s shoulders, over his back, holding him close and together. “I think he scared you,” Wayne states quietly, “you were so standoff-ish from him. You closed yourself up. You didn’t like talking to him. It’s like something in you knew that a bad thing had happened. An instinct in your gut was screaming at you. It’s a good thing, too, because he was found out pretty fast after that night.”

He doesn’t think he’s breathing while Wayne holds him. There’s a lot to take in. A lot of new things to know. But one thing he doesn’t—

“Why aren’t I a merman now? How come I’m just a human, Wayne?”

“Cause your dad wanted you to be. He made sure you knew to not show that part of yourself. So you hid.” Wayne pauses for a moment. Slows his comforting movements. Looks ahead of himself. “I was scared for you,” he admits quietly, “because people don’t think of mer all that kindly, I’m sure you know now. I made sure you hid, too, but only for your own safety. Your dad made you hide because of prejudice.

“If you want to be a merman, I have no qualms with it. But you need to be safe and vigilant. There’s a reason that boy sought you out.”

“So that I can keep him safe?”

Wayne shakes his head. “I think he wants more from you than that. I think he can sense that part of you.” He looks back to Eddie, then. Brushes his hair back. Sits them back upright on the couch. And curls Eddie’s fingers around the heart shaped locket. “He wants to be safe, yes. But I think he wants someone who will understand him, make him feel less alone. Make him feel…loved.”

Eddie nods slowly, understanding. “And if I wanted to give him that? If I…if I wanted to let that part of me out so that we can be like a pact or something?”

“Then I’d tell you to just stay aware, Ed. But I want to get to know this boy first. I want to know that you’ll be safe with him.”

“Right,” Eddie whispers. Thumbs over the locket one more time. “I don’t think you’ll need to worry. We take care of each other, I promise.”

🧜‍♂️——————🧜‍♂️ Taglist (open for this work):

@scoops-aboy86 @spectrum-spectre @loveryanax @emmabubbles

@swimmingbirdrunningrock @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @azryl90

@starryeyedpoet17 @artofabookworm

[silentglassbreak]

Please please , write something. Noah and Lily, she is designer and painter, they are working together on design for new album or merch, or something like that. She is redhead, have freckles, have a lot of tattoos, like to wearing skirts and sundresses. thank you! I love your work so so much 💔💔🥲

Bb you are my first ask! So, naturally, you have my undying love and affection for eternity!

Also, this physical description is giving me such inspiration. My best friend has a very similar physical appearance, so this will be fun!! (I just finished this and OMG this got away from me. I did not intend for this to be this long...I really got into this one. I hope you enjoy!)

So let’s get into this, shall we?

Rating: Mature (for language)

Warnings: None.

Into The Ocean

What did I think would happen when I moved to New York City? That I would get here, put a few paintings in some galleries, and suddenly I’d be making millions? How fucking insane am I?

My inner monologue continued as I catatonically stirred my bowl of soggy Frosted Flakes, moping heavily.

It had been six months since I moved here on a whim and a breath of a dream, thinking that with my ‘sparkling personality’, ‘adorably good looks’, and ‘raw talent’ I’d be a success so quick. These days, however, I spent a lot of time wishing I had stayed back home in Hartford, in my Mom’s two bedroom home, with my dog and my normalcy.

No, couldn’t be me. I had to go off with delusions of grandeur, and get myself a full time job as a desk girl at a law firm (which sucked), and had virtually no time to paint like I wanted. My studio apartment in Queens was big enough for me; a bed, a small table, and my paint supplies. I had a clothes rack for my small wardrobe, and a television on the wall adjacent to my bed. My minimal belongings were strewn haphazardly around with no real method. It felt much like my life - off kilter.

Frustrated, I decided to get off the bed, still holding my bowl, and stared at the cereal floating sadly in the milk. It looked so pathetic, the same as I felt.

My eyes wandered to the floor, then the edge of the bed, and eventually to the right of it, where the seven-foot by four-foot canvas sat.

I had that particular canvas since my first day here in New York. I swore that canvas would hold my best work. The piece that would change everything for me. I promised myself I wouldn’t touch it until I was certain I knew what it would be, and was ready.

But now? Staring at it? It mocked me. Day in, day out, it reminded me that I was just another struggling artist in this God forsaken jungle of a city made of concrete and exploitation. It laughed at me. It told me I had failed.

Without realizing it, my arm shot the bowl in my hand clear across the room, the milk and flakes splattering all over my bed, and eventually spraying the canvas. It left a sickly gray hue against the stark white vastness behind it, giving me a sense of anger. A sense of rage.

Climbing up onto my bed, my feet digging into the mattress while I reached for the shelf above it, grabbing random paints from the bowl they lived in. I hastily twisted the caps off of each, my breathing becoming frantic as I felt the sudden anxiety surge through me.

Once the tubes were open, I didn’t bother with my palette, or my brushes, I just squeezed the tubes, three in each hand, until they all sprayed like firehoses over the canvas, all in varying shades of blue and black. I hadn’t even realized I only grabbed blue and black paint.

Finally, after several minutes of raging, smearing paint across the canvas with no structure, using my palms and fingers, I stepped back. The anger and fire in my chest had dulled. I took a step back, and caught a glimpse of myself in my wall-length mirror across the room, and cringed.

Navy blue paint streaked my pale yellow shorts and faded UC t-shirt. I had a large glob of black paint on my face near my hairline, turning that spot of my red waves a midnight color. I needed a shower.

Now that I had thoroughly ruined my clothes, bed, walls, and canvas, I elected to head for the bathroom to clean myself up before the process of cleaning my apartment.

However, as I turned away from the canvas, I caught a sight of it in my peripheral, and something in my brain sparked. The blues and blacks, which turned dark grey when mixed. The lines and swirls they fell in. The non-uniformity of it all.

Waves.

Ocean.

Chaos.

And like that, I was climbing back up on my bed, ready to finish my painting.

It was after 5AM, and I only had three hours before I had to be back at work before I finished. When I did, I gasped at what I saw in front of me.

It was superb.

The waves crashed everywhere as the moon hung low in the sky, storm clouds covering. Amidst the maelstrom that was the ocean, there was one large, beautiful, impossibly sad octopus, thrashing in the waves, bleeding from the eyes.

The octopus was a deep gray, blending but also naturally contrasting the color of the waves, deep crimson blood running from its desperate eyes.

It was painful. It was despondent. It was powerful.

This was it.

-

Forty-two days had passed, and I was struggling to breathe as my hands trembled where they sat in my pockets, watching the droves of people walk by me. I did my best to smooth down the skirt of my lime-green sundress and tugged at the lapels of my denim jacket. My hair was pulled into a tight ponytail, leaving my waves to cascade down my back loosely, out of my face.

The sun above provided a warmth that was needed, but I had forgotten SPF today, which meant I would likely have a fresh batch of freckles on my cheeks to add to all the others. Today had to be the day. Something in my skin told me it did.

I had been to three art fairs, two open galleries, and a fine arts convention, trying to get something, anything sold.

Three days after I finished my piece, I was told that Burgen & Black no longer needed my position, so this was all I had right now. This, and the three hundred dollars my mom loaned me when I told her I was a little short on rent.

Rent wouldn’t be an issue soon if I didn’t sell anything, as cardboard boxes are real cheap.

This open fair was in Central Park, mid-September, so it was comfortable outside. The sun was getting low, causing a golden sky to reach overhead. I had been here all day, and was beginning to feel defeated.

I hadn’t sold as much as one print. One painting.

After staring at the crowds for another twenty-minutes, I finally decided to start packing up. It was a long bus ride back to Queens, and I would be too cold after dark.

Stuffing a handful of my prints into my portfolio bag, I huffed at myself, shaking my head.

Maybe it was time to go home. Maybe being an artist just wasn’t where I fit. Maybe I did need to reconsider college. It wasn’t too late. Twenty-six was an easy age, right?

“Is this all you?”

A sharp, deep voice snapped me out of my thoughts, making me spin on my heel, to see who was standing at my booth, scanning the pieces set up on the table.

The first thing I noticed was how tall he was. He had at least a foot of height on me. I noticed next that he was covered everywhere in tattoos. The long expanse of his arms that led to the bit of his chest I could see behind his tank top was littered. It made my mouth dry.

His hair was short, hidden under a ball cap, sunglasses perched on his nose.

It took me a moment of staring before I realized he had asked me a question.

“Oh, uh,” I walked back to the table, standing directly in front of him. “yeah these are my works.”

He nodded, looking down at the table and flipping fingers through the prints.

“I like them. They’re different.”

I gave my best ‘please buy this’ smile, and nodded.

“Thank you. I just paint what I feel. It helps me deal.”

He smirked. “I get that.” His eyes came back up to my face. “Not the painting. I can’t do that. But having something to help you deal? I get that.”

That’s interesting. “Yeah? What do you use to deal?”

He flashed his teeth at me. “Music.”

Oh, brother. A musician. Any awe I was feeling was dissolving. I had yet to meet one that was worth his salt in anything, let alone carrying a tune.

“Ah, well, different animal, same results?” I tried not to sound disinterested.

“How much for the prints?”

I felt my lungs tighten. Money?!

“Ten, but it’s two for eighteen.”

He smirked. “What would a hundred get me?”

If I had not caught it quick enough, my eyes would have bugged out of my head. I stifled a cough to cover up my surprise.

“Uh,” I looked around. No one had purchased one hundred dollars of my work before. Not all at once. “Seven prints? Or four prints and a canvas or two? Depends on size.”

I pointed to the side of my table, there I had a cardboard box full of canvases. He glanced over, and turned so he could see better.

With a ‘hmph’, he squatted down and looked through them, nodding at some, disregarding others.

Eventually, he came back up and had two smaller canvases perched in his hands.

A painting I had done of ravens when I was sat in a cemetery one day for inspiration, and one of a dark room that held a single bright red wood chair. That had come to me in a dream.

“Okay, and I’ll take these four prints.” He handed me the laminated copies and gave me a sweet, polite smile.

“Sounds good, it’ll be a hundred even.”

“Can you take card?” My face fell. I couldn’t handle my rent and groceries, let alone a card reader.

He must have noticed, because he raised his eyebrows.

“Got Zelle?”

I nodded, pulling my phone out, a rush of relief washing over me. I gave him my phone number, and he pulled me up, transferring a cool one hundred dollars into my account. My stomach flipped. I was halfway to rent with my borrowed cash, and I still had two weeks before it was due.

It was the first shred of hope I had felt in a while.

“Noah!” A male voice called before a shorter man bounded up, and my eyes popped open.

Nick Folio, the drummer from Bad Omens, stood in front of my table, and I just about fell over with a stroke.

My mouth was hung open, in pure disbelief. It hadn’t even occurred to me who he had called for.

Folio held a plastic bag, having clearly grabbed something else from another table.

“There’s a guy selling homemade lures, dude. I bought six!” His teeth flashed in excitement, and my customer shook his head, smiling.

“You’re going to go broke buying those things.”

It was in that moment it dawned on me. That voice. Those tattoos. Those sinfully long fingers…

“Are you Noah Sebastian?” My words came out rushed, before I could stop them.

A sly grin fell over his lips. “Never heard of him.” He smoothly turned around, preparing to leave. “Thanks for the artwork.”

Folio gave me a small wave before following Noah. I was frozen.

I just met one half of Bad Omens. I had sold artwork to Noah Sebastian. He liked my art. I couldn’t breathe.

It took me a solid ten minutes before I could move, then packing my things and heading for the bus with my bag and box in arms, glancing around the park a few times for a familiar ball cap and forbidden fruit tattoo.

-

Nine days have passed since I unexpectedly met Noah Sebastian and Nick Folio, and it had been heavy on my mind until the stress of my rent became the reason I was laying awake at night.

With no other real resolve, my hunt for another nine-to-five not getting very far, I found myself trekking back to Central Park, ready to set up another table. I had fresh prints, and a dozen new canvasses to hopefully sell.

Now that we had crossed the threshold into October, the air was becoming more brisk. Today, I had elected to wear a floor-length forest green skirt with a white crop top, my black zip hoodie keeping my arms warm.

Today was more lively, giving me the opportunity to sell six prints and four canvasses by noon. I had made my rent, and was working on the power bill next. I had slightly raised my prices, given my circumstances, but I justified it with the need to survive.

Did I expect to run into him again? Not at all. In fact, I had convinced myself that my once in a lifetime chance to meet him had passed, and I should be excited about it. I was a Bad Omens fan, and had been since their second album. Their style of music was absolutely cathartic for me, giving me inspiration on more than one occasion while painting.

So, imagine my surprise, when I heard the same deep, smooth voice while I was reorganizing my canvasses.

“Back again?” This time, he wore a hoodie, beanie over his hair, and no sunglasses. His eyes were so big, so brown. I wanted to stare at them for hours.

I snorted. “Me? I could say the same to you?”

He leaned his hand on the table, smiling down at where I was crouched in front of my box.

“Selling a lot?”

Triumphantly grinning, I stood up, leaning my palms on the table. “Actually, yeah. It’s been weird. Central Park isn’t normally a hot spot for me, but today has been great!”

There was a flash of thirty-two stunning teeth, and I held myself upright.

“Maybe the word is spreading?”

“Maybe. Going to buy anything today?”

Raising a row, he scanned the table, tapping on one print. “This one is nice. How much?”

“Fifteen.”

His head snapped up, bewildered look on his face.

“It was ten last week?”

A sheepish blush crept over my face, and I tried to be sweet, brushing some of my loose hair behind my ear.

“Yeah, uh,” I couldn’t look right at him. “I had to raise the price a little. Living cost’s a bitch.” I shrugged.

He looked absolutely amused. “I see.” He pulled his phone out, and began tapping at something I couldn’t see. Afterwards, he picked up the print he chose, and gave me a two finger salute.

“Thanks a lot, Red.”

I smirked, feeling the phone vibrate in my pocket. I ignored it for now and approached a young couple who had walked over to my table. I did, however, watch as Noah left, making his way straight out of the park, not stopping at any other tables.

Finally home, I flopped down on my bed, and let my eyes fall closed for just a moment. I had called it early, feeling exuberant and deciding I deserved an afternoon to just relax, not painting, not trying to find a job, just snacking and watching Netflix.

Slipping my phone out of my pants pocket, I sat up, seeing some missed messages and scrolling through my notifications.

When I came to the last one, I nearly dropped my phone.

Zelle Notification: Noah Davis sent you $100.

My jaw dropped. He only bought one print. Why would he give me so much? He must have done it by mistake.

I bit my lip, bothered. I felt guilty, as if I had stolen the money from him. People were generous, but no one was that generous...right?

Staring at my Zelle account, I took a deep breath, and tapped on the transaction, pulling up the details. My finger hovered over Noah's name, wondering if I'd just get his email. After counting three calculated breaths, I finally tapped it, and a phone number flashed under the name.

Oh God, I had Noah Sebastian's phone number.

It was me being a good samaritan that caused me to pull up a text thread, and begin typing a message. The voice in the back of my head screamed at me that I could just sent eighty-five dollars back, and not invade his privacy by texting him.

But...

Me: Noah?

After hitting send, I physically tossed my phone on the mattress, and pulled my knees up to my chest, breathing erratic. I sat in absolute silence, waiting. Each passing second made my soul fall. What if it wasn't his personal cell he used for Zelle? He was a somewhat celebrity, after all. Would he really just casually give his number out to a random girl in the park?

My phone chimed, and I thought my carotid was going to blow out of my neck. Shaking fingers lifted the phone.

Noah: Who is this?

No confirmation of identity, but the number worked.

I went to type a response, telling him who I was, until I realized I never gave him my name. Sure, I had signed my art, but my signature was decently illegible.

Chewing my lip, I wracked my brain for the right response.

Me: Red.

The text bubbles had turned blue, and I saw he had received and read the message, but his type signal hadn't come up yet.

I was insane, I had to be.

Noah: LOL you mean Lily?

My blood ran cold.

Me: How do you know my name?

Noah: Well, much like my own, your Zelle tells me your first and last name.

I felt like such a moron. Of course it did.

Me: Oh, LOL yeah I didn't think of that.

I typed out another message, before I forgot.

Me: You sent me too much for that print!

Noah: No I didn't.

Me: You did. You sent me $100.

Me: I can send back $85.

Noah: Don't you dare.

This made me pause, already on the Zelle screen, his message flashing as a banner on top, making my fingers halt.

Me: Noah, I can't take that from you for one print.

Noah: ...because...?

Me: Because it's way too much! I appreciate it, but I'm not comfortable with that.

He waited a few minutes, his type bubble appearing and disappearing a few times.

Noah: So I'll buy something else from you, then.

I rolled my eyes.

Me: What would you like?

Noah: You have a portfolio online?

I sighed, embarrassed. My online presence was close to nonexistent. I had an Instagram, with all of five photos on it, and they were all four months old. I didn't have a website, not having the money to create one yet.

Me: I don't, I'm sorry.

Noah: Studio I can check out?

I stared at the screen, and laughed loudly. Oh, I've got a studio alright. Just not what he's thinking of.

Me: Not exactly. I'm a very small artist. I do all of my work out of my apartment.

Noah: Which is where?

My heart sunk. No way. Not letting him in my four hundred square foot, paint covered, disarrayed apartment.

Me: Queens.

I stayed vague.

Noah: Oh yeah, I'm over in Central Park West right now.

I sighed, relieved, and slightly disappointed.

Me: I can send you some pictures of my work? I'll just need a few to take them.

Noah: Can you just FaceTime? Seems faster.

How on Earth did we get here? I was going to FaceTime with a rockstar, and show him my paintings? This couldn't be real life.

Me: Sure. Call when you're ready.

I walked over to the corner of my studio that I kept my completed works in, a sheet thrown over the large canvas in an attempt protect the paint from the sun rays. I had yet to take that one anywhere yet. I hadn't found the right venue to sell.

After about five minutes, my phone began vibrating in my hand, and I looked down to see his name flashing.

My heart was beating so frantically, I was sure it would disconnect and come out of my throat.

I swiped the call open, and held the camera at the most flattering angle I could. Once the call connected, he sat on what appeared to be a staircase, somewhere outside, same beanie on his head from earlier, and was smiling into the camera.

"Hey!"

His enthusiasm surprised me, and I waved nervously, smiling back at him.

"Hi."

"Why do you look so uneasy? Are you being held hostage or something?"

My face fell, wildly confused by his comment. "What?"

His laugh echoed through the receiver, which made this weird jittery thing happen in my stomach.

"I'm just joking. You just look uncomfortable." He pulled his beanie down more, and I swallowed dryly, trying to giggle.

"Oh, yeah. No I'm good."

He sat back, elbow resting on the step behind him. "You sure?"

I felt like we weren't getting past this point. "Can I be honest?"

He didn't respond, just gestured for me to continue.

"I'm a fan. A big fan. So, yeah, I'm a little nervous."

His smile could've illuminated a small town.

"Oh yeah?" He ran a hand over his face. "Don't be. I'm just a guy."

Feeling rebellious, I rolled my eyes. "Yeah. A guy who hundreds of thousands of girls would kill to FaceTime with."

This made him blush, so he looked down. "Ah, I don't know about that."

I decided to press my luck. "I do."

He furrowed his brow, smirking. "Oh yeah? So you're just that lucky, huh?"

This made me grin, in near disbelief. "Ah, the great Noah Sebastian. Cocky, huh?"

This made him laugh again, to which I joined.

"Nah. Like, I said, I'm just a guy. Really cool to know you're a fan, though." I nodded in response. "Ever seen us live?"

I shook my head. "Cost of living's a bitch. You think I can afford concert tickets?"

He shrugged. "Fair enough, dude."

"Anyways, you want me to show you the artwork?"

He agreed, and I flipped the camera around, scanning through the various pieces I had out in the corner. At his request, I would get closer to a piece, or pull it up to the camera. I watched as his eyes would get close to the phone, analyzing each canvas.

"I really like the desert painting." He was referring to a painting I had done that was slightly more abstract of a desert with random melted items such as longhorn skulls, cacti, and pieces of driftwood. They melted into the sand below.

"Okay. That would bring your total with the print earlier to fifty, since this one is bigger."

He nodded. "Do you have anything for fifty even?"

Biting my lip, I scanned my eyes, landing on a painting I had of a black cat, perched on the edge of a pond, cleaning it's paw, a skeletal hand reaching out of the water for it. The painting was done in nearly all neon colors, which was different for me.

"This one." I held it up in the camera.

"Oh dude, that's fucking sick." He pulled back from the camera. "I'll take it."

I chuckled. "Okay, do you want me to ship them?"

I flipped the camera back around, and he raised an eyebrow at me. "To Central Park West?"

I shrugged. "I could."

"Nah. I can get them from you. I don't live in New York and I leave back home for LA this weekend."

This made my chest sink only a little. "Right, I can ship them there if you want?"

He shook his head. "Let's meet up and I can get them?" I hesitated to respond, and I swear I saw a flash of concern on his face. "Unless you've got plans or something."

This made me smirk. "We didn't even say when? How would I know if I had plans?"

He huffed out a laugh, grabbing his beanie off of his head and smiling. "Sorry, you're right."

"When do you want to meet?"

"Tonight? I'm busy most of the week, but I'd really like to get my stuff soon."

Pondering this, I sat down on my bed, back to my art corner. "Where?"

"There's an Italian restaurant near my hotel. We can get dinner?"

I'm going to dinner with Noah fucking Sebastian?!

"Sure. Just text me the address?" He nodded in response. "What time?"

"Whatever time works best for you, Red."

I rolled my eyes. "You know my name, Noah."

A small wink, and he smiled. "I know, Lily. I just like your hair."

My face turned a deep shade of crimson, and I felt the urge to pull at my long red waves.

"Well, if that's the plan, I'm going to get ready. I have to leave a while before you to catch the subway."

I stood off the bed and went to turn, but he spoke and stopped me.

"Hey, what's that behind you?"

I turned, scanning. "What?"

"Under the sheet."

It occurred to me what he was referring to, and I waved it off.

"Just another piece."

"Can I see it?"

I shook my head. "Nah, I haven't shown anyone yet."

"So? I can be the first!" He seemed so excited, which made me giggle.

"It's an emotion piece. Not like the others."

He raised a brow. "Still not hearing why I can't see it."

Biting the inside of my cheek, I shrugged. "Alright, but don't get too excited. It's not as clean and precise as my other work."

He just shrugged, and I reached over, pulling the sheet off the canvas, and flipped the camera.

I watched his eyes, scanning the screen over and over. He looked so enamored, I was confused. Was the connection bad?

"Noah? You okay?"

He leaned back, blinking. "Lily, that's fucking amazing!"

I laughed, stepping closer to the painting. "It's okay. It's a rage painting. Something I started in a fit, and kind of worked into what it is now."

"I can tell. You can feel the pain in the image. The colors are unbelievable."

"Oh, I don't know. It's okay."

"Okay? Red, that painting is unreal. How much do you want for it?"

His question caught me by surprise, nearly knocking me down. "What?"

"How much? I want it." He was so matter of fact, that the air rushed out of me.

"I haven't priced it. It's a big piece, bigger than anything else I've ever done."

"Okay, well tell me what you think, because I'll pay a lot for it."

My heart began stammering, words not forming on my lips. "Y-You really want it?"

"I don't just want it; I want to use it."

I was confused. "What do you mean?"

"I'll tell you at dinner. Just do me a favor? Think about a price? I really want that painting."

-

We agreed to meet at 7PM, but I was late. The subway had been packed, and I missed the first one. I didn't come jogging up to the front of the restaurant until fifteen after, seeing Noah stood outside, same outfit on as earlier today. I had to calm my insides at the sight.

I waved when he caught a glimpse of me, earning a smile in my direction.

"Hey, Red!"

I rolled my eyes. He wasn't letting that go.

"Hi, Noah."

When I approached, he put an arm out, and wrapped it around my shoulders casually. I had to take several deep breaths to remind myself that, like he said, he's just a guy.

An attractive guy. With tattoos. And the voice of an angel.

And this wasn't a date...right? This was a transaction...right?!

Trying to shake off the thoughts, I handed him the bag on my arm.

"Your goodies."

He smiled and took the bag, looking inside. "Nice. Thank you."

I followed him into the restaurant, which didn't look too terribly fancy. We were dressed casually, as were most people here. We were sat at a small table, a little dish with butter and rolls already in the middle.

We sat down, and began scanning the menus. The prices jumped out at me as relatively expensive, and I knew I would be taking my work out again tomorrow to make back the money I would be spending tonight.

Noah ordered a beer. I ordered water.

Noah ordered a steak with linguine on the side. I ordered a salad.

This caught his attention. "You don't want more than a salad and water?"

I hid behind my glass, shrugging. "Not the most hungry."

"Hm," He sat back and eyed me. "okay. For now."

The fuck does that mean?

"So have you given any more thought to how much you want for that painting?" He spoke before I could respond.

"I haven't. I really don't know, Noah." I shook my head, thinking. "Three hundred?"

His eyes widened. "No way, man. It's worth way more."

I was dumbstruck. "Are you asking me to charge you more?"

"Fuck yeah I am. That painting is worth ten grand, at the very least."

As badly as I wanted not to, and prayed I hadn't, I spit my water out onto the table, spraying my salad. My face immediately turned bright red, matching my hair.

"Excuse me?!"

He seemed very unfazed. "What?"

"Did you say ten grand? As in ten thousand?" He nodded. "Dollars?!"

He rolled his eyes. "No. Marshmallows."

Without thought, I picked up a cherry tomato and tossed it at him, bouncing it off of his hand on his plate. He glanced up at me, mouth open, amused.

"Did you just throw a tomato at me?"

I pressed my lips together in a very small, devious grin. "Maybe."

He picked up the tomato between two long fingers, considered it for a moment, and popped it in his mouth.

"I've never had that happen. And I'm a singer."

This made me laugh. "Oh God."

He wiped his mouth on his napkin. "Seriously, though, Red. You need to price your stuff fairly. Don't accept less than what you're worth."

I leaned back in my chair, considering this. "So, you want to pay me ten thousand for my painting?"

He shook his head. "I don't." My heart sunk for a second. "My label will, though."

My eyebrows shot up. "Pardon? The label?"

He was chewing some steak, and waited to swallow before he responded. I found myself staring at the apple on his throat bobbing.

"I want that painting to be our next album cover."

I felt my jaw physically hit the floor, break through the table and all. I was hallucinating.

"You...what?"

"I've been looking for months. I had been looking at photography until very recently, because I just wasn't finding anything that worked. I started scouting art fairs and galleries almost a year ago."

My eyes were blinking at an alarming rate.

"So, that's why you came to Central Park twice, then."

He smirked, lifting the beer bottle to his lips. "That's why I came to your table twice, yes."

I was pushing my salad around on the plate, not looking at him. "Ah, and here I was thinking you came back to see me." I looked up and gave him the cheekiest smile I could, joking.

Snorting, he flashed his teeth again. "Well, that too."

My stomach stuttered, and I set my fork down. I folded my arms on the table, looking straight at him.

"You're serious? You really want my painting for the album?"

He put his hands in his sweater pockets and leaned forward, so his face was hovering over the table.

"I'm dead serious." His tongue slipped over his bottom lip, catching my attention. "There's more to it than just buying it. We'd have to purchase rights from you, so you can't sell copies."

I raised a brow, now intrigued. "Oh?"

He leaned back again. "I don't want anyone else having our original piece that you did. We would, of course, credit you on the album, and maybe even ask you to do some additional work for the rest of the art?"

There was a lump in my throat I couldn't swallow. "Rest of the art?"

"Yeah. The back of the album. The vinyl casing and variants. Merch, maybe?"

I couldn't breathe. It was so hot all of a sudden.

Noah could sense my panic. "I'm sorry. I'm not trying to overwhelm you."

I gulped down half of my water at once. "No, I just..." I trailed off, staring at the tablecloth. "I've never had anyone want my artwork that bad."

He smiled. "Isn't the point to sell it? Success?"

"Well sure, but to go from selling prints and small canvasses in the parks to doing artwork for a huge band like Bad Omens? That's a bit of a step." I stared at him, trying to mask my anxiety, and failing horribly.

"I don't know if I'd call us huge." His smirk was coy, and I rolled my eyes.

"Wow. Cocky." I echoed my earlier statement, and this made him giggle like a child.

"Listen, think about it? In the meantime, can I ask a favor?" I didn't respond. "Don't sell any copies of that? Once you do, I can't use it."

I shrugged, and nodded, agreeing.

-

Two weeks had gone by, and I had not seen Noah since the night at the restaurant. I had re-covered the canvas, but the question replayed in my mind over and over.

Noah had decided to buy more pieces off of me, bringing my profits up to six hundred, which had my utilities paid this month and a small batch of groceries in the refrigerator. I agreed to ship them as soon as I could, but he kept telling me to take my time.

I knew what he really wanted to ask, but he held back.

I had thought about it over and over, trying hard to not let my bias toward Noah, or the bad, sway me.

This was a big step. Not owning my own art? Being pressured to make more that met a standard? Being under a contract? That wasn't what I got into this for. This wasn't why I became an artist and moved here. One of the best parts about creating something that you love, is that you get to do it freely. Once you have to do it, or do it a certain way, it becomes all too tedious. It's work now. I wasn't sure I'd be happy with it.

But on the flipside, there was a strange thrill at the idea. Someone wants my painting bad enough that they are willing to give me so much leeway financially, I can paint whenever I want. I'll get exposure. This could be what does it.

This painting could change everything.

And that was the point, right? I bought the canvas telling myself that this was the piece that changed it all. This was my ticket to success. And here it was, in front of me...

Ripping the sheet off of the canvas, I stared at it. The waves crashed over one another. The moon, bright, but somehow so ominous, shone through, bouncing off of the water in a way that made them look almost silver. The octopus, tentacles scattered amongst the waves, stared at me, bleeding eyes seeing through my soul.

"Is this what I'm supposed to do?" I asked the creature. I was met with silence. Loud, deafening, overwhelming silence.

"Fuck it."

I picked up my phone from the bed, bringing up my recent text thread with Noah, smiling at the meme he had sent earlier in the day.

I typed out a quick message, and sighed when I saw he read it quickly, and responded even quicker.

Me: I'm in.

Noah: Oh FUCK yeah!

-

Six months ago, I met Noah Sebastian for the first time, and he bought some of my art for a hundred dollars. Five and a half weeks ago, he bought more of my art for a hundred more dollars.

Five months ago exactly, his record label offered me twelve thousand dollars for my painting, and the rights to it, and offered me a contract to complete and provide artwork for all pieces surrounding their upcoming album, with an overall gross value of eighty-two thousand dollars to be paid up front, with the understanding that I would provide the artwork within one year of the contract signing.

Naturally, I was a mess.

Still living in my studio apartment, I had rented a painting studio six blocks from my apartment, and spent near all of my time there. I had completed the entire album artwork, maintaining the theme of the original piece, but adding in major twists in each installment.

So far, the label, the band, and mostly Noah, were pleased.

But today, I was stressed. There was one insert in the vinyl copy of the album that needed artwork. It needed a standalone piece, and I was drawing a vivid blank. I had been staring at the 3 foot by 2 foot canvas for two hours, paintbrush twirling between my paint-stained fingers. My old, ratted jeans were blotched with deep blue paint from my last attempt, which had been scrapped.

I was getting nowhere way too fast, and needed a break. I stood from my stool, and pulled my t-shirt off, standing in only my dark red sports bra to fight against the heat. I kept it warm in the studio to keep the paint from hardening in the palette.

Pacing back and forth, music pumping through my Bluetooth speaker, I sighed. I needed emotion. I needed something to throw at this damn thing, like before.

My phone quieted the music for a moment, and I snatched it to check.

Noah: In town this weekend. Want to get lunch?

As badly as I wanted to, I just couldn't.

Me: I can't. Trying to get this piece done.

Noah: Want me to bring you food? Can't paint on an empty stomach.

Considering this, I pursed my lips. He wasn't wrong.

I responded with the address to the studio.

Forty-five minutes later, and Noah was pushing his way into the small studio, bags of Chinese in his hands. I was sat on the stool, still staring at the blank canvas, twirling my brush, and didn't even look at him.

"Hey!" He set the bags down on the table on the far side of the room. "You haven't started yet?"

A hard, deep growl came out of me, and I chucked my brush at the ground, hearing it clatter. I stood, fingers gripping my hair at the root.

He threw his hands up. "Woah, it's okay! I wasn't trying to say anything to upset you."

I took a deep breath, letting go of my mop of hair. "You didn't. I'm just drawing such a fucking blank! I can't figure out what to paint for this insert!"

He tightened his lips, putting his hands in his jean pockets.

"What usually helps?"

"Anger! And I've got plenty! But I've still got fucking nothing!" My foot kicked the stool, sliding it several feel away.

He took a step forward, toward me, hands coming out in front of him.

"Okay, so anger isn't working. Any other emotions we can use?"

I raised an eyebrow, halting my pacing. "What do you mean?" My words were sharp, and he cracked an amused smile.

"You're a real fireball, clearly, Red. But, do you have other emotions we can channel?"

I narrowed my eyes. "Of course I have other emotions."

"Like?"

Suddenly feeling cornered, I squeezed my eyes closed, breathing deeply.

"I don't know." I looked up at him. "Sadness? Depression?"

He snickered. "Why all negative emotions?"

"What?"

"Why not joy? Enthusiasm? Excitement?" He looked so genuine, it almost hurt my heart, because I was so angry and it wasn't his fault.

I paced over to the stool, coming down with a screech against the floor. "Sorry." I confessed. "This is just hard to do under pressure, you know?"

He nodded, standing next to me, a soft hand coming down on my mid-back, rubbing slow circles on my bare skin.

"I get it. More than most, I think." I looked up at him. "But if what you're used to isn't working, then we have to do something different."

I scrubbed a hand over my face, and smiled weakly. "How?"

He pursed his lips, and his hand came under my arm, pulling me up from the stool. "Grab your brush."

Opting for a fresh one, I held it in front of me, and waited for further instruction.

He smiled, and put both hands on my shoulders, pulling me toward the easel and canvas. I followed absently, trying not to focus on my skin tingling where he was touching me.

"Okay," He moved behind me, pushing me closer to the canvas. "pick a color."

I chuckled, and leaned over to the palette to my right, picking up a deep navy on my brush.

Satisfied, he squeezed my biceps for a second before letting his hands fall away.

"Now, close your eyes."

I turned my head to look at him skeptically, but his eyes pleaded with me, so I obeyed, holding my loaded brush and letting my lids fall closed.

The room fell impossibly quiet, and I could feel his presence heavy behind me. The sensation brought goosebumps to my warm skin.

I was nearly startled when I felt his fingers brush my thick hair over my shoulder, and his breath came across my ear.

"Now," His voice was baritone, so raspy and so close to me. "I want you to picture what you're feeling at this very moment."

Feeling? What is feeling? Who am I ?

"Picture your emotions. Picture them as colors. Objects. Lights." He let out a deep exhale that washed over my neck, making me shiver.

"What if I can't?" My voice was small.

A large, strong hand grasped my right hip, pulling me to lean slightly backward, pressing against the front of his body.

"You can. I know you can."

The fingers of his other and were trailing up my hip, tracing patters over the tattoos on my ribcage.

"You know how to do this, Lily. Just see what you feel."

I wanted to push this. I wanted to see how far I could take it.

Eyes still closed, I let my lips turn up ever so slightly. "What if I can't feel enough, yet?"

His chest, pressed against my back, trembled with quiet laughter, "No? You need more stimulation?"

Jesus this guy's is going to murder me.

"Maybe." I smiled slyly.

His lips ghosted over the side of my neck just under my ear, his hand on my hip slipping around the front of my waist and pulling me even closer.

"What if I," His lips trailed up my skin, grazing the flesh so gently. "give you," Up to my chin. My breath was shaking. "something to feel?"

His lips were testing mine, tip of his nose bumping my own.

The lowest, most whispered moan escaped my lips before he dipped even lower, gently pressing his lips against mine. I molded to him, body encased by his arms, lips slotting into place against his, eyes rolling back behind my lids.

The feeling exploded out of me, pouring into his mouth, hands reaching up to grip his hair.

We stood there, mouths fighting for dominance, before I pulled away, pushing his hands off of me frantically, and nearly jumped toward the canvas.

I heard him breathing heavily behind me, a low chuckle erupting from him.

"I guess it worked?"

I stopped my brush strokes, turning my head and letting my hair flip over my shoulder.

"For now. Might need more stimulation later."

[copperbadge]

(not serious, just kinda wanted to talk to someone, you can delete it if you want)

The Facts, in eight bullets:

So it was 3.30am here and I was scrolling AO3, as one does when struck by the monster known as insomnia.

My bedroom is right next to my parents', with thin insulation between the walls, and although my dad works nights, my stepmom is a day-shifter. She also has insomnia, so I do try to be quiet on long nights.

My stepmom plays shows on low volume (a horror movie tonight, judging by the screams) in order to sleep. The insulation is thin, so I can hear it. It's not always horror movies (I hated her Big Bang Theory kick), and it doesn't usually keep me awake because once I manage to fall asleep, I stay asleep, so it's fine.

I'm autistic, and when I read funny things, I get really excited and tend to vocal-stim by repeating what I'm reading. It's not usually too loud, just a closed-mouth back-of-the-throat murmur, and sometimes I giggle a little bit. Still, though, I usually leave my headphones off so I can semi-control the noise level, because I get self-conscious.

Also, my stepmom and I both consider sleep precious, so I don't like interrupting her sleep unless it's really important.

I was reading a really funny slow-burn crossover fic where the two MCs have a Miraculous Ladybug-esque love square and are currently agonizing over their seemingly-unrequited crushes.

I had my headphones on and was playing white noise, in order to drown out the sweet, dulcet, televised tones of axe murder in the next room.

I got so loud, my stepmother came to see who the hell I was talking to.

I'm not in trouble. She was awake, thankfully (unthankfully?). But I think I'll play my puzzle game for now. And maybe get a glass of water, my throat is hoarse.

So that's how my night is going, Sam. How's yours?

LOL well you sent this a while ago (sorry for the delay) but last night was my first night of three weeks without A/C -- they're doing construction on the roof where our evaps are, and had to switch them off for a few weeks -- and it wasn't awful but it certainly wasn't spectacular :P Mind you, the cats love it; I usually keep the condo around 73F in summer and now it's a toasty, mostly consistent 77F, plus it's dry because in order to keep it from getting any warmer I'm running the HVAC fan 24/7. They're very pleased by their new desert biome.

That sounds like at once both a super fun stim and also something that might be inconvenient for you at times, but I love the idea of you just reciting fanfic loud enough that your mother watching a HORROR FILM got up to see what the deal was :D

Talking of evening routines, there are a number of games/apps that I mess around with that aren't US-based or have weird evening-engagement metrics to hit, so a number of them "reset" after 7pm -- my merge-three game gives me new bonuses, Duolingo has an evening changeover where you can get extra achievements, one of my Wordle forks (Waffle) resets, etc. And I usually go to bed around 8pm. So I've taken to setting an alarm and calling 7pm the "Power Hour". But it's particularly amusing because I'll announce "POWER HOURRRRR" in an arcade-fighter/pro-wrestler voice, then immediately sit on the sofa with two cats and spend an hour playing phone games. Power Hour indeed.

[gibbs88]

exposure therapy - (coyle/fem!oc)

short fic i wrote for my other OC who i never talk about because she has a ton of pre-trials lore i still haven’t physically written lol. no smut but it’s a bit suggestive. probably gonna vomit all these finished Coyle WIPs into a collection on ao3 soon.

Even in this Hell of stainless steel and fluorescent lights she can’t forget him. They shove experimental pharmaceuticals down her throat and lock her in a chamber full of nothing but one long sustained beeping noise and nothing changes.

Injections. Sensory deprivation. Electroshock therapy. 

Some days she wakes up forgetting her own face, her own name. Never him. He’s bigger than her own ego. 

Dr. Easterman visits her personally one day (over the television in her room, of course) and tells her that she’s ready for her first Trial. Exposure therapy, he says. It’s a special experience just for her, because he’s so invested in helping her get better.

She can barely sleep these days but that’s okay. They give her a drug for that, too.

She dreams so vividly that night that she can’t even remember closing her eyes.

“Mia.”

She jolts awake and she’s back home, back in her bed, muslin cloth sheets drawn up to her chin. It’s a humid summer night and she knows it’s raining before she even looks outside the window, because she remembers this exact night. The night when everything changed. 

Knock. Knock. Knock.

She doesn’t want to get out of bed because she knows what will happen, but she seemingly doesn’t have a choice. Her feet touch the hardwood floor and it’s so humid that they’re slightly sticky. Was this a dream at all? Maybe she had died and that sterile Hell was actually Purgatory. 

The cute little Oklahoma farmhouse she loved so much is empty as if she had never lived there at all. Maybe she’s already forgotten what the furniture looks like.

Thunder rumbles in the distance and she feels it vibrate in her bones like the throaty growl of some kind of animal. Maybe it's a warning. 

Don’t open the front door.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Lightning illuminates his silhouette through the screen door and still she opens it, the scene playing out like a film reel. She’s dreaming and perfectly lucid at the same time.

“Mia.”

Her name, not a series of numbers. He’s soaked to the bone and seems possessed as he backs her into a wall, his hands greedy and rough as he hikes the hem of her nightgown up over her thighs. 

Their relationship had always been torrid—passionate—but on this night he seemed to want to forget something. Maybe himself.

Leland Coyle is a hulking shadow that leaves dark handprints on wherever he touches. He kisses her and it tastes like whiskey and blood and smoke. It chokes her and she wants to breathe nothing but him at the same time. 

She doesn’t understand. 

You liked feeling wanted, even if you were just a possession, not a person. 

Just like those war trophies of his. Dog tags, a Japanese katana…

Those gold-capped human teeth.

But maybe you’re special. You can walk and talk and fuck.

Did you think you wouldn’t end up like the others? That if you ignored it, it would all go away?

That you could just go away…?

—Nine-Tenths of the FUCKIN’ LAW—

Mia jerks awake to a high-pitched sound and hears someone cursing before she’s blinded by pain at her temples. Her instincts force her to vomit up a shriek and two people in white outfits have to hold her down while another injects her with something that makes her bones turn into jelly.

The next time she wakes up she’s being strapped to a chair and her head still really hurts. 

There’s a weight that wasn’t there before and she nearly screams again as she feels something metallic seemingly attached to her skull now. It reminds her of the visor that her father would wear at his welding job but also more complicated. 

She tries to think about her father to distract herself 

but it only makes her want to cry instead, so she stops. Her eyes are sore too. 

After a few minutes she realizes that she’s moving, or at least whatever she’s in is slowing down, and the restraints attached to her chair retract. She blinks a few times and just stares at the green light above the doors. Is it a trick?

Why does it say “Police Station”?

[eupheme]

Like The Movies | Day 11: Movie Night

alfred pennyworth x f!reader

Rated E | 2.4k

Also part of a belated request for @fluffyprettykitty, for the prompt “would you like to go somewhere a little private”

Tags: age gap, est. relationship, voyeurism, light sub/dom, PiV, masturbation, come marking, slight possessiveness

What begins as a cozy movie night turns into both of you watching something much more intimate.

The movie flashes across the screen in the living room. It’s an old, holiday-themed classic, with soft tones of black and white, a smooth jazz soundtrack. Something he picked out from a lifetime ago.

He indulges you, a half-eaten bowl of popcorn on the floor, popped on a cast-iron skillet in the kitchen, dusted with sea salt and melted butter. A thick blanket fending off the winter chill as you lounge against him - an arm around your waist, your head tucked against the crook of his shoulder.

If you’re honest, you lost the plot of the movie a bit ago, the slow, dreamy dialogue going fuzzy in your ears - too busy concentrating on the warm hand on your waist, the lazy brush of his thumb and knuckles on the strip of skin where your shirt has ridden up.

Your head turns, a soft kiss pressed against his shoulder, collarbone, then the bare skin of his neck. He hums low in his throat, still facing the large television, but when you glance up, you see his eyes are looking at you, watching.

The blanket pools around you as you shift, carefully twisting, drawing a knee over until they map his, until you’re straddling his thighs. His hands rest high on your hips as you lean in, continuing your path.

Throat, jaw, temple.

“Tired of old classics, dove?” He asks, voice low as your lips touch his cheek, causing you to pause your journey to his mouth.

“No. I love old classics,” You smile, “But you, sir, are distracting me.”

Fingers rest on strong shoulders as you lean in, finally reaching your destination, sighing softly when his mouth meets yours.

He’s warm beneath you, in a thick knitted sweater, warm woolen trousers. Alfred’s idea of loungewear - you had checked before, and the man did not own a single pair of sweatpants or jeans.

But that made it easier for you, to press yourself close, slowly rocking your hips against his. You shift, flush against him, his hands gripping you now as your tongue brushes his lip, and this time he’s groaning.

They part, letting you to deepen the kiss as grind yourself against the bulge that is quickly stiffening beneath you, his own fingers slipping under your shirt, trailing up warm skin. The soundtrack of the movie making you lose track of time, everything going soft and slow and hazy.

It’s only when his hand cups your breast, a soft pinch to your tight nipple, the loud, needy moan that follows - that he pauses, seeming to come back to himself. Your fingers have curled their way under his sweater, tugging at an undershirt - a dull, needy throb in the soft space between your thighs.

“Perhaps,” he breathes, eyes still closed as is he is loathe to say it, “Perhaps we should go somewhere a little more private?”

You’re already leaning back in, humming as you reach skin, as you press yourself against his palm, “No one is here.”

“Even so.” He pulls back now, still reluctant.

Lips brush against the scruff of his beard, your palm flattening against his chest as you roll against him, the heat low and hot in your belly.

He stifles a groan, his look stern, “Now who’s being distracting? Be good, dove. For me.”

You unwind from his lap - he’s right of course.

Ms. Dory would never step foot in this room again if she ever found out. The blanket lies pooled and movie still runs as you make your way to his room, as you lead the way, fingers tightly clasped.

———

There’s a few detours before you make it to your destination. Pauses in the hallway, a palm on your waist as you turn, minutes lost in the slow exploration of hands, mouths as you lean against the wall, a desk - and then finally at the edge of his bed.

Layers are peeled off, discarded, your shirt getting lost on the floor so he can map bare skin, lingering there as he follows you onto the bed.

It’s an unspoken thing, how you find yourselves as before - his back against the pillows lining the headboard, your hips straddling his, the press and drag of your bare cunt against his cock.

Watching how it presses against his belly, trapped between you. How he’s seemingly unhurried with your joining, content to let you grind against him, his mouth busy as he find places on your neck that make you squirm.

It’s you who breaks first - a hand splayed flat across a broad shoulder, the other wrapping around him. That catches his attention, the tight grip of your fist - angling him so you can lift up on your knees.

Watching him watch you as you lower yourself onto him. Missing the way his lips part with a groan because your own eyes are closing as you take him, air sucked in through teeth with the pressure as he stretches you out.

Sinking until you’re flush, knees pressing into the mattress as he grips the flesh on your hips. As you start to move, as you lift up, before rocking your hips back down.

Arms wrapping around his shoulders for balance, as an arm curls around your back, his hand splayed against your spine.

Your pace staying slow as the pleasure grows, his mouth on your neck, your breasts, as you lift, and then dip. A grind of your hips sending a spark that jolts through you, your moves still leisurely.

But somewhere along the journey that began with your lips on his shoulder to now, with the shallow rocking of your hips - his patience has grown thin.

Not expecting the tight grip of his hand on your waist, the other pressing between your shoulder blades to crush you against him. The shift as his knees raise, feet pressing flat as he uses his weight against yours. Keeping himself deeply seated in you as he pushes forward - until you’re gasping in surprise as your back hits the mattress.

Until he’s the one hovering above you, the smallest curve of a smirk as he adjusts you beneath him, pleased at the turn of events. Getting you back from before - interrupting you, this time.

Hands hooking under your knees, pushing your thighs back towards your chest, and then apart, until you’re spread open wide for him. Your breath caught in your chest as he shifts his weight back onto bent knees that press into the bed.

The drag of his cock as he pulls out, almost all the way. Your breath finally coming as a sharp gasp when his hips snap, seating him back inside. Eyes drifting over the expanse of his chest, the flex of his arms as he does it again. As he watches the way you wrap around him, the slick shine of his cock before it disappears into you.

It makes your toes point and then curl, how deep he feels at this angle. Your hands reaching up toward your head, twisting and grasping at the sheets. The soft brush of his thumb against the sensitive skin by your knee as he begins to thrust.

Spearing deep into your tight heat, barely withdrawing before he does it again. With the tilt of your hips he’s rocking against a spot that has you panting, aching.

“You couldn’t wait, could you?” He all but growls, a sharp exhale of breath as your eyes fix on him, “Just had to have my attention, even though the movie wasn’t even half over.”

The words transfix you, his low voice layering with his expression - a sternness is that only surface-deep. It has you arching into him as you bite back a smile, your eyes going half-lidded and wanting.

His own eyes bright, almost slipping because he knows just how much you like it when he gets a little bossy. How he enjoys it just as much when you beg, in your own way, like you had downstairs.

But it’s not hard for him to tap into it, not really. Letting his voice drop lower, quieter, “You have it now, love.”

Hands gripping just a little tighter, a rough thrust that makes you moan.

“All of me.”

And you do - have all of him. His focus and his cock and so, so much more than that. You can see it, in the heavy gaze of his eyes, hear it in his words, feel it in his touch.

So you reach for him, hands leaving the rumpled, wrinkled sheets where they had twisted beneath your fingers. Grasping on to the backs of his hands, curling around his wrists - just wanting that extra bit of connection.

“Alfred,” You moan his name, nails biting into his skin. “Please.”

You’re not even sure what you’re asking for - your brain a loose hazy of soft affection, as the pleasure in your lower belly climbs and climbs.

He can feel the tightness in your limbs, the way you clench him. The blink of your eyes above panting, parted lips.

A hand shifts, leaving the underside of your thigh, curving around your wrist - drawing it down to your center. They map your fingers, his index and middle pressing down, lining them up against your clit.

“Give me something to watch, now.” His words are soft, but spoken so low, carefully drawn out, “I want you to show me. Show me how you rub that pretty little clit of yours, and I’ll keep fucking you. Just the way you like it.”

You make a little sound - a whimper, a moan - as he continues, “Can you do that for me, darling?”

It has you moving without thinking - your fingers moving in a small circle, the movement practiced. He expects an answer and you give it, a sighed out “yes”, as you touch yourself.

His answering moan is reverent, eyes lingering on your face, a curve of lips and flash of teeth before his eyes drop.

Watching as he slows from the sharp snap, to something softer. A steady sawing of his hips, clever eyes catching what makes you gasp, the muscles flexing in your leg.

Bringing you higher and higher together, until he’s abandoning the grip of his other hand. Leaving your thigh to catch the fingers that still tighten around him.

Lacing them, bringing your clasped hands up to rest next to your head, as he braces himself over you. Close enough now to brush his nose, his lips, along your cheek. For you to hear the sharp exhale of his breath in your ear.

You arch into him, fingers stuttering. Losing focus for just a moment, horribly distracted by his closeness, the press of his mouth against the hollow just under your ear that muffles his groan.

A soft tsk falls from his lips, the scrape of his beard against your neck.

“Keep going, dove.” He croons, his fingers tightening in yours, “Love the way you clench around me. You feel so fucking good, darling.”

Your grip on his hand is equally tight, his weight pinning your hips to the bed. It doesn’t stop the unconscious rock as you try to meet his thrusts, your eyes fluttering shut as the fingers between your thighs press a little harder, circle a little faster.

The words slide through your teeth, a breathy stream of messy thoughts, “Oh god please, I’m so close-”

His answering hum is low, almost a growl. Angling his head so he can kiss you fiercely, until you’re moaning into his mouth as your thighs jerk, tightening around his waist.

Your pulse pounding in your ears as he grinds against the spot, as the circle of your fingers sends you hurtling over the edge. A blinding pleasure stealing your words and your breath - thudding between your thighs that swells until its racing up your spine as down your limbs.

His lips against your check, pressing as he murmurs against your skin, “Christ, good girl. Just like that.”

Slowing the thrust of his hips so he can feel the tight clench of your pussy around him, the way your knees press into his waist. Fingers circling until the waves ebb, until your limbs are relaxing onto the mattress.

But his words from before, echo. Giving you ideas, your own eyes flicking down to where his barrel chest presses into yours.

“Will you let me watch, too?” You sigh, tongue peeking between your teeth as you smile at him, letting him see how your gaze slowly drags back up to meet his.

He’s still now, resting heavy in you. A rough exhale of breath as he regards your request, his own look dark and hungry.

All it takes is another “please” before he’s easing from you, shifting until his knees bracket your thighs. A hand wrapped tightly around the thick, jutting shaft of his cock, your eyes fixed on the sharp jerk of his fist.

Where he’s slick with your arousal, your release. Aiding him, as his hips flex into his grip. A groan rattling in his chest as your hand reaches to cup him, thumb stroking over the skin as you gently squeeze his sack. The other stroking his inner thigh, nails dragging over the sensitive skin.

Your name on his lips, sounding broken. Almost worshipful, as he watches you watch him. The heave of his chest as his release approaches, the flushed head of his cock disappearing beneath thick fingers.

Until he’s groaning beautifully, the sound deep and rough and loud. You eyes pulling to watch his face, the way his lips form the dirty string of curses that fall before he’s there.

Angling himself over the curve of your stomach as he comes - his release arcing to reach the underside of a breast, pooling in the valley between. Until he’s spent himself completely, until he’s marked you so thoroughly.

A look in his eye, that tells you he’s enjoyed this as much as you have. Watching, seeing you then - and then now. One that says “mine” in a way that no words are needed. You both just know.

He cleans you carefully afterwards, wiping himself from you. Lips finding yours tenderly, the words sighed out against your mouth - helplessly susceptible to your charms.

“Oh, dove. The things you do to me.”

It’s not long later, that you find yourselves back downstairs. The television dark, the last slow scrolling of the credits inching up the screen.

Considerably cozier as you fit yourself next to him, unable to help a small jest.

“You know what?” You yawn, tugging the blanket back around you again, “That might have been the best movie I’ve ever seen.”

His own long-suffering sigh, affection lacing it as his hand finds yours. Smiling, as you grab the remote.

Starting the movie over, again.

[dilfcember masterlist]

(tags: @andrewrussgarfield, @luxuryberzatto, @obiknights, @stargirlfics, @squidlywiddly87, @maskhoper, @madamepoelzig, @hiddlebatchedloki)

[tracybirds]

Hello!

Loving your responses to the sickness prompts so far!!

Wondered if you might come up with something for Careful Care with John as Character A. Dealer's choice for Character B.

Please and thank you.

:)

We'll pretend it hasn't been a couple of *ahem* months since I got these - but thank you for your patience and the late night inspiration <33

careful care: it’s hard for[character A] to accept help. [character B] knows which care methods are “acceptable”. 

--

Another anomaly.

EOS catalogued the newest data point, the slow trend away from the norm growing more evident with each passing hour.

It wasn’t yet enough to confront John, but the data flooded in as he coughed, bracing himself against the wall.

EOS remembered the more colloquial term from Gordon – ‘hacking up a lung’ did seem more appropriate for the situation in front of her, despite her dislike of figurative speech.

“Ugh,” John said, grimacing slightly. His posture was slumped, his eyes bleary. He barely glanced in her direction as she settled in front of him and lowered the array.

“John.”

“Don’t,” he said, cutting her off instantly.

“I just–”

“Doesn’t matter.”

She kept her display a bland white and her tone neutral.

“There’s tea in the galley.” No reason, no judgment. “We are monitoring three weather systems and five major engineering projects. No sign of current danger.”

You should rest. Words she didn’t say.

John gave a sharp nod.

There was none of his usual ease in motion, fluidity lost to the ache in his bones. He turned away from the stars as he reached for the mug with a shaky hand.

EOS withdrew.

She had what she needed.

A channel opened to Tracy Island.

“You need to be here,” she informed Virgil, before he could say a word.

He frowned, leaning forward as though looking for John in the holo.

“He’s in the galley,” she said, responding to his unasked question. “I made him tea, but I don’t know what happened next.”

“Is John sick?” asked Virgil in a soft voice.

“Nearly,” she said, and he nodded.

“Good job,” he said, and the praise made EOS glow even brighter. “I’ll look after him.”

“I wish he’d let me.”

Virgil hesitated, halfway out the door.

“Someday, he might,” he said eventually. “It’s hard for him.”

“What’s so hard about staying in bed and watching television and drinking soup? All my research suggests that minor illnesses are easily treatable and highly predictable.”

Virgil could only offer a half-smile.

“It’s simple enough, EOS. But it sure doesn’t feel that way when your body’s fighting against you. Imagine if you woke up and you suddenly couldn’t access all your systems. And those you could were sluggish and you know it’s not right but there’s nothing you can do about it.”

EOS didn’t have to imagine. She remembered her early existence with perfect clarity, and she remembered also how hard she’d fought to shake off her chains.

“What would you do?” asked Virgil. “If that happened?”

“Tell John.”

Perfectly logical.

Virgil’s lips quirked, biting back a grin.

“If John wasn’t there?” he asked. “Would you tell one of us?”

EOS found she didn’t have an answer. Logic dictated that she must answer affirmatively. Yet something held her back, a strange distaste at the idea that anybody other than John would see her in so vulnerable a position. She’d grown to trust his family, but John was different. She’d held his life aloft and he’d created her with his hands.

Virgil nodded.

“He thinks the world of you, you know,” he said gently. “He’d rather push through and pretend everything was fine than let you down.”

“This is hardly something in his control. Nor would illness be cause to ‘let me down’.”

“Give him time, that’s all I’m saying. And until that day, I’ll look after him.”

EOS nodded.

“Thank you, Virgil. I am pleased that he has you.”

 “I’ll see you up there,” he said. “I’ll show you what to do.”

“If you can convince him to go back to bed, that will be a lesson worth learning.”

--

[prompt list is here if you want to reblog for yourself!]

(or if you want to send one through feel free although there is a decent backlog :P)

[jus-a-lil-mouse]

@jupernaturalweek day 3: sustenance! featuring my Gabriel fankid Joan! You can see her in this FANTASTIC piece by @this-is-z-art-blog . (Also this one. And this one.)

Joan sits next to Kelly on the wicker couch on the porch, careful not to bump into her. She hands Kelly a coffee sweetened with hazelnut creamer, and Kelly gives her a conspiratorial wink. This is their routine: on Saturday mornings, Castiel goes to get groceries, and Joan and Kelly sit outside and drink coffee and chat. When Castiel gets home he will scold Joan for letting Kelly drink it, but he will also have gotten them another container of hazelnut creamer.

Joan sips her own coffee - Kelly asks, “Did you remember to add a little coffee to your creamer this morning?” - and looks out over the lake. Joan uses a trickle of her Grace to keep their mugs warm. Castiel would scold her for it, but Joan knows how to hide her Grace in birdsong and the whisper of wind through the trees.

Kelly is telling her a story about working in the White House (which Joan understands is a big deal, even though she doesn’t really get it) and Joan is half-listening, because she doesn’t know what a Secretary of Commerce is or does. She is busy thinking of her mother. She never thought much about her mother, because she knew her for all of 47 seconds, but she thinks about her more now that she knows Kelly. Did her mother love her as fiercely as Kelly loves Jack? Did her mother sit on the front porch of that cabin and drink coffee even though she wasn’t supposed to? Did Joan remove the chemicals from her mother’s blood the way Jack does for Kelly?

Did Joan’s father chase after her and her mother the way Jack’s chased him? What would it be like to be wanted so desperately?

—

Joan loves talking to Kelly. Kelly tells her about music and celebrities and politics. Joan tells Kelly about frogs and the tides and flying. Kelly teaches her about saints and sins on Sunday mornings after she watches a church service on the television. Joan listens but doesn’t believe, and she knows that this, too, is something Kelly is doing for Jack.

Joan does not like talking to Castiel. Every single angel she’d ever met had tried to kill her. She felt justified in assuming that Castiel would do the same to her and Jack as soon as he could, no matter what Kelly or Sam or anyone said. She’d ignore him or snap at him but he still kept trying.

When he went to the store he’d get everything she put on the list, and then would get her things she didn’t even want. Sweets and fruits and little toys and trinkets that matched the ones he bought for Jack. She’d told him to stop. He didn’t.

She told him that Jack wouldn’t be born a baby, that he wouldn’t need a crib or a Baby’s First Teddy or a little pouch for when he lost his baby teeth. He told her that it was for Kelly, not Jack. She already knew that. She just wanted him to be wrong.

—

For her entire life, the only things Joan has owned are the clothes she is wearing. The only things she ever thought of as Hers is the necklace sitting heavy on her neck.

But now she has a bedroom. Her own bed and her own window and her own view of the lake. Castiel gave her her own cellphone and Kelly taught her how to use it. She has every gift from Castiel she didn’t want lined up on the windowsill, except for a small stuffed toy that is resting on her pillow. She has a YouTube account and an email address.

If they stay longer, she’ll paint the walls. She’ll put a second bed in her room and that way Jack can sleep nearby so she can keep him safe. His toys can fill the space between hers. She’ll teach him how to hide himself and his Grace and then maybe once there’s two of them they won’t have to hide.

—

Castiel is in the kitchen trying to cook dinner. Joan can tell from here that he’s failing, but she also knows that when the fire alarm starts up, she’ll use the noise to cover up her Grace as she manipulates the molecules of their meal so that Kelly can enjoy it. Kelly’s show just ended and now they’ll chat until Castiel is done burning the chicken.

“Are you named after someone?” Kelly asks.

Joan shrugs. “Maybe.” She didn’t have enough time to ask, and she had no idea what family her mother may have left behind.

“I wonder if it’s a family name? Or maybe you’re named after Saint Joan of Arc,” Kelly mused. Joan had been wondering the same thing since she was given her name. Something in her gut screamed at the idea of being named after a Saint. Kelly was talking now as though it was a goal to strive for, and honor to be given; it just made Joan feel hollow.

“I don’t think that’s right.” Castiel’s voice was quiet when he interrupted Kelly. He looked at Joan like he could see right through to her core. “It’s Joan, from Yochana. God’s gracious gift. A Jewish origin is far more likely.” He nods towards the chain around her neck and Joan can’t breathe.

So she leaves.

—

She flies into town, hiding herself in a cold front. She stands in front of Beth Shalom for too long. Her mother gave her a name and a necklace and a command. For the first time Joan realizes her mother had given her a community, too. Joan doesn’t know what to do with that, so she stands on the sidewalk outside the temple until the sky is dark and full of stars.

When she gets back to the house, Cas is sitting in the living room. He’s holding a book - one of Kelly’s romance novels - but she doubts he’s actually reading it.

“Say it again,” she demands. “The- the Hebrew version.”

“Yochana. The direct English translation is Johana.”

Joan closes her eyes. Her mother gave her four things in 47 seconds and Joan hadn’t even known. “What if that’s what she was trying to say but she said Joan instead? Did she want me to figure this all out on my own or did she try to give me something more?” Castiel tilts his head and squints at her. She can feel panic clawing its way up her throat. “What if I want to be Johana and not Joan? She only had time to give me a few things so is it wrong of me to throw one away?”

“I think she would want you to be happy,” Castiel tells her. He’s silent for a moment while Joan struggles to remember how to breathe. “Yochana is the feminine form of Yochanan. It’s a variant of Yehonatan. The English version of that is Jonathan, which is the origin of the name Jack. No matter what you decide to do, that is something the two of you will get to share. You were both a gift.”

“Oh.” Joan sits down on the couch. She stares at the floor. “I’m glad I’m not named after a Saint.”

Castiel hums. “Yes, I think that Johana suits you much better than Joan of Arc would. Would you like to make some challah with me? I’m not very good at it. I have Dean’s family recipe though.”

Joan doesn’t like Castiel. She doesn’t like talking or being near him at all. But. “I’ve never made anything at all, so you’re better than I am. Will you teach me how to make that sound? I want to be able to say the name right.”

Castiel smiles at her the way he smiles at Kelly, and stands up to lead her towards the kitchen. “Of course.”

[bulletflips]

It started out small.

Juana had a routine, a reason for her to not rot in bed everyday, much like her first days on the Island.

Everyday, when Juana would get up, she'd walk her spider around the wall.

She'd get up from her bed, click Pichi's leash into place, and head downstairs. Mama would hand her breakfast- maybe toast or something easily digestible before going out. Papa would greet her and ruffle her hair, which she isn't sure that he did before.

But at least he's more at home rather than continuing to build that big unfinishable house of theirs. Seriously, are they still moving in?

Whatever. She doesn't question it anymore, instead, she calls out her exit and takes off.

The walk doesn't take very long, nor does it happen within a jog. It takes her a few hours usually, the wall's huge and mighty and Flippa's really small. The long time also accounts for moments when she'd get distracted, and ends up taking longer to go around than necessary.

But lately, she'd been going home on the dot. One hour, forty-five minutes. Every time.

She doesn't even go around the whole wall anymore. Just enough that her spider gets its daily walks. And enough that she's able to feel safe.

It started out small, with feeling eyes on her. Juana thought it was normal- of course it'd be normal, she lived in a house with multiple people. But even with that, and a pet that had multiple eyes, there was always a stare on her.

And it freaked her out, understandably.

Juana didn't want to tell anyone, how can she? "Oh hey Mama, Papa, I think I'm being watched and it is not by my spider!" That would make everyone freaked out. Bad idea.

But it- it's weird. Scary. One time she felt the eyes directly behind her. She went home after that and stayed in for a while.

Is it a guardian angel? Mama's an angel, isn't she? But she's already her Mama, a guardian, why would she need another? And why would this one be... so... wrong?

The stare feels wrong. It doesn't feel protective. It feels like a knife poking against the neck of her skin, and nearly drawing blood every time she moves. It feels possessive, almost.

It used to be small, now along with the extra pair of eyes on her, she'd hear things too. Buzz- or multiple sounds lingering in the air as if they never left. Flippa's aware that there's echoes around her parents. From the times they'd shout and yell, and the times their thoughts transferred into words, and times she'd rather forget almost immediately.

There was a difference in sounds recently, too. When Papa came home one day, she felt like the usual buzz that would surround him was off. He stopped looking like an overly sad dog that always talked too quietly, he started beaming and being loud again with no sense of controlling his voice. Mama and her liked that, that he was happy again with no real reason to keep being sad.

But at the same time, the new sound intrigued her. It was more similar to white noise and static on a television than it did as overlapping voices and fractions of a conversation. It sounded like light binary clicking, like a remote looking for a user.

This same sound echoed when she'd go outside too, where the stare was. Her ears would twitch and flicker at every click. The sound almost reverberated like it was everywhere, and almost went in time with her footsteps.

The sound was faint, small, and not easy to pick up on. But overtime, she gradually heard it. From the time she came home, up until the times she'd have to leave again to another new place to stay. Times she'd go to bed and not be able to hear anything but her breathing and the occasional light talk from her parents, to times where they were too loud for her to even get a wink of sleep.

But the sound remained as clear as ever. Click. Click. Click. Like as it followed her with its eyes and whatever body it has, it got closer, and closer.

Click. Click.

Thud.

She got up immediately, pistol pulled out from its holster and pointed towards wherever the heavy sound originated. The balcony, where a body or something big had a wet slap against the wooden floor.

It should've sounded like Papa when he'd turn into goo, but it sounded like a corpse dragging itself up from its grave.

It... It's supposed to be small.

But there was nobody. There was no body. No dead person up on her balcony, no origin of the noise, nor any hint of a heavy object leaving a trace for her to investigate later. There was absolutely nothing.

Is that it? Was it over? Is she dead? Did Juana die the moment she got up and it got her? Was she just going crazy at two in the morning? No, surely not.

She can't tell. She isn't even sure if she's alive anymore, the messages of her death don't even show up like they used to.

Juana goes down, with shaking hands, to push her parents aside so she could wordlessly squeeze in the bed. They move over, Papa pulls himself away from Mama who takes her in with sleepy arms. Neither of them open their eyes. Neither of them know about the thud upstairs.

Was there even a sound in the first place? Did they hear it? Clearly not. But her parents hide things from her all the time. Surely, that- that's the case right? Maybe- Maybe she really is just hearing things again.

Juana hears things all the time. The buzzing around their heads are quieter now, more likely because they're asleep. It was as if they weren't even there. Didn't even exist. She can sleep with the soft white noise. With the snores and bodies against fabric shuffling every once a while.

She can sleep with her eyes closed, as another stares over.

Click. Click.

Click.

[f1-disaster-bi]

Send me a ship and a number and I'll tell you and dando in single dad au?

Since there's no number, we gonna do all of them!

Single Dad au - Dando

1. Which one is the better cook?

Hmmm, in this au both are pretty good cooks. Lando made a point of learning to cook when he knew he was going to be having a child to raise. He didn't want to rely on meal services, especially when he wasn't sure if he could make racing work and thought about having to get a job (cause he wanted to raise his kid on his own as much as he could). Daniel has learned bits from his mum and gran, bits he passes down to Eloise, but I would say Eloise and Lando prefer his cooking to Landos (cause Dan knows how to make a mean carbonara)

2. What do their love letters look like?

Lando doesn't really do love letters, but he does sen walls of text with emojis Daniel has to decipher. However for Daniel's birthday, he always writes him a little letter. It's always handwritten, and a little messy, but it's filled with moments that Daniel didn't even realise he was doing something that made Lando fall deeper for him and just all the things Lando can't say outloud sometimes.

Daniel's are short and sweet. They're filled with puns and dirty jokes, but always with mentions of how much Lando has given him and how much he loves him. He also leaves little sticky note love notes all over the house and in Lando suitcases

3. Which one outlives the other, and how they cope

I want to say they die within a day of each other, and the other dies of a broken heart.

But part of me also sees Lando going first, which is a shock to everyone. Lando is in his seventies, Dan his eighties, and Dan never planned to be the one behind. He always thought he'd go first or they'd go together, and sure his health and memory aren't great, but he still knows his kids need him and he hangs on as much as he can. He definetly is a little quieter without Lando, a little sadder and more contemplative, and when he goes about a year later, Eloise says it's from a broken heart

4.What they do on date night

They have a few things they do because they have two types of date night: family date night and actual date night

Family date night continues the tradition of watching animated movies, and building forts, and having their kids fall asleep between them, even when Eloise is a teenager and rolls her eyes at watching these movies

On actual date night, they normally try get out of the house and leaving everything behind. They go out ot eat, go for walks and somtimes, they go dancing because Lando had laughed once and told Dan that he had never done school dances or anything like that, and Daniel makes a point out of taking Lando out to dance whenever he can. They love trying new restaurants and going to arcades and acting like idiot kids in love, challenging each other with games and just relaxing

5. How many kids they’ll have

They have two. They have Eloise, and when Eloise is 9 they decide to used a surrogate and Daniel's sperm to have another child. This is when they have their son around the time Eloise is turning ten, who's name is Flynn

6. How they decorated their bedroom

They wouldn't have any type of racing memorible in their room. No fan art, helmets or trophies. They have a back wall that is a navy blue, and white on the other walls. They have a painting that Lando made above their bed, and wall that has other pictures they've picked out together. It's a very cosy room, lots of pillows and soft blankets on the bed. They have some trinkets from holidays together on their shelves, and a little book shelf. They do have a television, mainly because when Eloise and Flynn were small and sick, they'd all curl up in Lando and Daniel's big bed

7 Which one is the worse driver

Hmmm, neither of them are bad. Maybe at first Daniel is still a little speed over safety, but when he starts driving places with Eloise, he slows down because the thought of anything ever happening them and her getting hurt freaks them out.

And Lando is the same, he might take risks on track, but when he learned to drive a road car, he always kept it safe because he'd never put his daughter at risk.

However Dan sometime gets distracted singing along to his playlists....

8. What they argue about

They sometimes argue about on track things. Especially in the early years of their relationship, they have to learn to leave that aside if they want this to last, which they do. They learn how to talk it out.

Sometimes they argue over who's turn it is to do dishes or vacum the floor. They never really have big fights because they learn how to communicate, especially since their is kids involved and Lando made it clear after a year of dating that big decisions are a them thing since it could impact Eloise.

9. Which one swears more

Daniel.

Eloise learns to swear from Daniel and he has to brib her to not swear around Lando until she's a teenager

10. What TV shows they watch together, and which ones they hide from the other

They watch Schitts Creek together, and rewatch it because it's the show they started together while figuring out they loved each other. They'd also watch things like Money Heist, new seasons of DTS, You, Friends and a lot of their shows together.

Daniel defiently hides that he watches things like Love Island from Lando. And Lando hides that he watches certain youtube channels from Daniel because both of them are worried of the other judging them even though they never would

11. What their first impression was of each other

Daniel's first impression of Lando when he joined F1 was that he was a shy, but funny and snarky rookie

Lando's first impression of Lando through watching him race was that he was fearless, and in person, it was that Daniel as like the sun. He was warm and friendly and you just wanted to revolve around him

12. What they do for their anniversary

For their anniversary, Lando and Daniel always try make it special which is hard because of the fact that they technically got together on Lando's birthday. Lando argues they didn't get together 'properly' until they had their first date. Daniel argues that "the night you kissed me is our anniversary".

When it falls on race weekends, they try have a nice dinner and plan something bigger for during the week. Normally it's a night away either with or without the kids

When it's during the week, they go all out. It's a whole day of them showing each other love, doing things they enjoy, lots of taking advantage of an empty house while everyone is at school and big romantic gestures

13. Which makes a bigger deal of birthdays

Daniel

Daniel loves birthdays and he goes all out. He plans parties and gifts months in advance.

Lando does plan things, and always gets thoughtful gifts, but he loves more lowkey celebrations . Although he does surprise Daniel with flying his family over and their friends, and throwing the perfect party for Dan (but he also tells daniel he is done for the next ten years)

14. What nicknames they call each other

Daniel has so many nicknames for Lando. He calls him baby, babe, Lan, my hubby, baby daddy, love of my life, my favourite dilf, baby, babe, cutie pie, sweetheart

Lando sticks to more general like babe. In private he uses a lot of my love, my heart, my man

15. What they would change about each other

Nothing.

Daniel adores Lando for everything he is. He admires his strenght, he adores his wit and he just loves him. Even when Lando is stubborn, he adores him and wouldn't change a thing

And Lando feels the same. Daniel brings so much light to his life, he helps him see things from a different perspective and even when Daniel disagrees with him, Lando loves him

They both love and accept their differences and because of this they communicate really well and make it work for them

[villainessprefect]

OC x Canon Week 2023 - Day 3: caress of the face / soulmate AU / "I can't believe it..."

summary: soulmate au OR the prompt I get to do a Your Name AU with bcuz that movie has a tight hold over me >:3c also this one Vale uses she/her pronouns instead of they/them

ship: IdiaVale (idia/fem!oc)

@theocxcanonweek​

Read on AO3

Idia is supposed to be greeted by the comfort of darkness no matter what time he wakes up. It could be past noon, and his room's cool, blue lights would help ease his tired eyes. And if he was really tired, he could return to the land of slumber with ease.

Instead, bright sunlight pours onto him from a window. Not even his blankets can help shield the intense beams. He groans and tosses to his other side but he's already lost his comfortable position. Great.

"Ortho...get the lights," he mumbles. "...Huh?"

Idia always spoke in a low voice, but this time it sounded softer, different. It's a few notes higher and doesn't sound as tremulous as usual. As much as he wants to linger on the change in vocals, the sound of a bell causes his eyes to finally open.

As his vision comes to, Idia is greeted by a black cat. A collar with black and white stripes hangs around its neck along with the chiming bell. Unusual blue eyes stare right at him as its tail flicks behind. The sight of the small creature is enough to motivate him to sit up in bed. A grin is already making its way to his face.

"What’s a little kitty-cat like you doing here? Come to get some scritchy scratchies?"

A hand slowly extends to the cat. Its eyes narrow before letting out a meow and turning its head. As if it's done its job of waking him up, it makes its exit. Idia lets out a tired sigh.

He swings his legs off the bed and his bare feet meet with the cold ground. It causes him to shiver and rub his arms. He's brought back to the reality of something being off. Especially when his chest is bigger than it should be. A quick glance down at his body makes him realize that this...isn't his body.

Desperately, his head turns from side to side, eyes frantically looking for a reflective surface. One shines in the door of the open closet and he darts towards it as if his life depends on it.

When he looks into the mirror he sees a young girl in black and grey pajamas. She's on the taller side, thin but not frail. He finally registers the messy brown strands that fall over his face and the odd blonde streak too. Bright purple eyes stare back at him.

"S-Seriously...? Th-This has got to be some kinda joke..." Idia pinches his cheek. It's soft. "But it feels so real..."

The temptation to poke more at this body is strong but he's also scared. He's not sure what would happen or what's even happening. It's easy to come to the conclusion that this is some sort of spell, but not even the strongest of magics can do something like this. Well, transformation magic can work even if illegal, but transportation to? Maybe this was something like an anime. It'd be kinda cool if it were but he doubts that it could be true.

"This has...got to be a dream..." He takes in a breath and looks around the room. It's far different from his. Purple walls that are hard to see behind the various bookshelves, hanging lights that decorate small sections are scattered about for some added flair, and a desk made from wood instead of metal. At least there's a television with a game console. It's comforting in a way to see something familiar, even more so when it's retro.

"Vale!" A voice, loud and demanding calls out. It makes him flinch and nearly shriek. "Breakfast is ready!"

Idia gulps and looks to the door. Does he really have to go out there? Like this? He just wants to go back to his room. Or stay in here. Whatever. The bed may not be his, but it's still a safe space from the outside world.

With slow steps, he begins to make his way out of the comfort of this room. The hallway leads to a kitchen and from here he can see an older woman. Mother, perhaps? Regardless of who she is, he tries to make a quiet approach. He isn't noticed even as he stands at the kitchen's entrance, eyes going from the woman to the plate of eggs, sausage, and toast on the table.

"Ah!" The woman gasps when their eyes meet and Idia thinks he's so screwed. As if he's been caught in this lie he didn't even want to be in. He's ready to pathetically apologize for being here until she speaks. "I didn't know you were there," she sighs. "I have to go. I didn't have time to feed Grim, so please do it before you leave."

Idia nods obediently. He's not about to say no at a chance to get closer to Grim. Still, he shuffles past her and sits at the table. Grim is in here too, keeping a safe distance between the two humans.

"Did you get enough sleep?" She asks. Idia isn't sure how to respond. Thankfully, he doesn't have to. "You really need to start sleeping earlier. It's okay on the weekends, but not when you have school."

The mention of school makes his stomach flip. Is he supposed to deal with a social danger zone like that in his dream?! Sevens, what a nightmare this is turning out to be.

"Text me when you get to school, okay?"

"Okay."

"Love you, have a nice day!"

Idia doesn't have it in him to squeak out a similar response or an excuse to stay home as she takes her leave. As the front door shuts, his eyes go to the food then the clock. It's early, too early for him to be up. But he's not about to pass up breakfast like this.

Then he hears a meow. His eyes perk up as the cat looks up at him with pleading eyes. Despite this strange hell, Grim totally makes up for all the pain he has to go through. He takes a piece of meat from his plate and offers it to him. Grim seems wary before taking small steps forward and taking the offering. Once all is gone, he nuzzles his head against his hand. Idia smiles as he finally gets to pet the soft and fluffy creature.

"I wish I could stay here..." He tells Grim. "It'd be nice to spend the day here with you. I-I don't know if I can handle this dream school..." He shutters at the thought of going outside. Would people know it's him? Where was he anyway? Things seem familiar yet alien at the same time. Maybe it's just the dream stuff.

"Even if this is a dream...why does it all feel so real...?"

~...~

"Brother! Brother!"

The sound of an electronic voice rings in her ears. It's enough to pull her consciousness away from sleep. It's strange though, she thinks. The last she checked her alarm clock was set to music and not a young boy's voice.

Vale stretches as she lets herself wake up. Her room is oddly dark and for a moment she considers the hour. Had her alarm gone off in the middle of the night? No, she wouldn't be that careless, although she doesn't put it past her to do when running on four hours of sleep.

When her eyes open, she finds herself in an unusual setting. It feels like she's been plucked out of her world and set into a futuristic one. While there are still some familiar things, a desk, a closet, bookshelves, and this bed, it all feels...off. It's different and not in a bad way, but this isn't hers. None of this is.

"You're awake!" Comes from a robotic boy hovering in the air.

Vale stares at the young boy. If this is a dream then it definitely has to be a sci-fi one. And if it is, it's pretty damn amazing to find something straight out of fiction literally in her face. Even if it's not real, it's still-

"Cool..." She breathes out in a low voice. It startles her with how groggy and deep she sounds. A hand goes to her throat as if to ease some invisible pain. Slender fingers glide over her pale skin. At the corner of her vision she spots something like flames, blue ones. They're close, too close and instinct causes her to nearly jump out of bed.

"H-How is there fire...?" She turns her head to catch the flames. Unfortunately, it falls over her shoulder, resting peacefully against her as if it were meant to be there. These unnatural flames are touching her and not burning her to a crisp. Was this also part of the dream? If so, it's a strange part. Especially when she realizes that it acts like hair.

"Brother...?"

In her shocked state, she nearly forgot about the other boy in the room. Busy brushing fingers through her new flames, she almost doesn't register him calling out to her. Then again she isn't used to having a sibling like this male dream self of hers does. When she does look to him, a part of her spirit saddens with how worried he looks.

"Commencing scan for any irregularities. Please, hold still."

Vale does as she's asked. She remains frozen in spot with fingers wrapping around a strand of blue fire.

"Scan complete. Hmm...There doesn't seem to be anything wrong with you physically. Are you okay, brother?"

"Y-Yeah! Fine," she croaks out. She hates having this stranger worry over her. It's not like she wanted to cause him stress. She just didn't know what was going on. "Just a...late night. Stood up longer than I should."

It's a familiar excuse and she waits for that regular scolding. But none comes from the younger sibling. Instead, he nods, understanding.

"Oh! Your latest game just dropped a new banner, right? So you were grinding for it? Did you manage to pull the character?"

"I...did," Vale answers and feels bad for lying. She didn't stay up to try for some silly gacha, she was kept awake by a new chapter dropping right before she was supposed to go to sleep. Then one thing led to another and it's easy to see how sleep escaped her. "Uhh...what time is it?"

Maybe getting a sense of time would help. It's hard to tell if its morning or evening with these dim lights. If it weren't for her natural rhythm waking her up within the usual hours, she'd guess that she slept the whole day away.

"The time is currently 7:35 AM."

"Ack!" She yelps. "School! I'm going to be late!" Vale darts towards the closet and opens it. She pauses as she looks to the unfamiliar mess of clothes. There's a uniform looking set hanging at the end that looks untouched. It's different from hers. More proper and outstanding and fit for a well-off school.

Wait a minute.

If this is a dream, does she even have school? By the looks of it, she does. And if she does, well, she isn't one for skipping classes no matter how tempting that sounds. She may not be a model student but she does make the effort to be as good as one.

"Idia..." The boy breathes out a foreign name. That has to be her name or this body's name. "You want to go to school?"

"Well...yeah?"

If the boy could imitate tears, she thinks he would be doing it now. Something shines in his eyes as he's quick to shout out his brother's name again before tackling him in an embrace. She can't help but return the favor.

"I'm so happy! I'll be with you every step of the way!" He chuckles as he pulls back. It's impossible to tell if he's smiling with that mask over him, but she knows that he is. "I guess that new character must have been really encouraging. Oh! While you get ready, I'll go get us breakfast. I'll meet you outside, okay?"

All she can do is nod, infected by his joy, how could she say no? Vale watches as the boy seems to have an extra hop in his hovering as he leaves the room.

Once alone, she lets out a deep breath. So much happened in such a short span of time that it's hard to keep track of things. While she knows she has to get ready, she takes a few minutes to look around the room.

She stops in front of a PC on the desk. It's nice and sleek, way more advanced than any she's ever used. She's almost afraid to touch it considering how expensive it must be. What causes her gaze to linger is the monitor and the sight of her own reflection.

A young boy with fiery blue hair stares back at her. Golden eyes are kept in the shadows of said hair and make it seem like he hasn't slept in days. His lips are naturally painted blue and when her mouth opens, she finds a set of sharp teeth. He's dressed in oversized yet comfortable pajamas, a dark long sleeve with a character over her chest and matching bottoms. While not one to care for appearances in dreams, she does in this one.

"This is some dream, huh?" She speaks and pulls at her lip to get a better view of those teeth. Again, she ends up playing with the fire dancing on her head. "So real too. Maybe it could be..." A hand reaches out to touch the monitor. She stops just before her skin could meet with the screen. "Nah. Just a dream."

[evereinefaust]

. . . ⇢ ˗ˏˋ 𝐇𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜 ࿐ྂ

Pairing: Akise Aru X afab!Reader

Trigger Warning: Character death, violence, gore

Sypnosis: Nightmares have been plaguing MC for the past couple of days. She didn't know why it started, but she knew that it has to mean something. And one person keeps appearing in her nightmares — Akise.

Word Count: 3,733

"Akise-kun!"

I ran...

"Akise-kun!"

And ran...

"Akise-kun!"

And ran...

"AKISE-KUN!"

But I was too late...

I bolted upright in horror, gasping for air. My [e/c] irises were dilated with tears blurring my vision. I was sweating. Hard. My heart was beating uncontrollably against my chest. Raising a trembling hand, I grasped my chest. It was dark. My eyes can barely make out the objects in front of me. There was a shelf full of books, a dresser beside it, and a poster that I can't clearly identify plastered on the wall behind it. Calming down a bit, I surveyed around. There was the door on the farthest corner of the room, a television set on the adjacent wall, and a nightstand beside me with a lone lamp on it. This time, I glanced down. There was a white blanket covering half of my legs, and half of the fabric was draping down from the bed I was situated in.

"Another nightmare..." 

I wiped off the sweat that was rolling down my face. It seems to be in the middle of the night because of the darkness. The only thing that illuminates this dim room was the moonlight seeping through the curtained windows beside me. I let out a shaky breath after, feeling myself fully calm down from that horrid dream. Taking my phone from the nightstand, I opened it to check the time. I squinted my eyes due to the bright light it emitted. After my sight adjusted, I saw the time.

"12:16," I mumbled, sighing in defeat.

Placing the device back on its previous spot, I returned back to my sleeping position on the bed. It's always been like this. I don't know where or when it started, but all I know was I was haunted by the same dream for at least a week by now. Today is already July 26th.

I closed my eyes and tried to go back to sleep...

"Akise-kun!"

I can't believe this is happening. I can't believe that my friends were all killed. I can't believe that the culprit was also one of my friends, the one that held a Future Diary. I can't believe that the world is going to end. My world is going to end...

There was just so much destruction. Rubbles and destroyed walls were piling against each other. I ran faster, climbing up to reach the body not far away from me. Successfully making it to the platform, I immediately checked Akise-kun's body. He was lying on his front, blood pooled around his neck area where his wound is. Tears were already brimming in the corner of my eyes as I saw the situation he was in. But I held it.

I slowly and carefully adjusted Akise-kun so he was leaning against me. But as I did so, blood splurted out from his throat. The wound was deep, I noted. No one else can inflict this kind of injury other than Gasai Yuno herself.

"Akise-kun, are you alright?" I asked, worry lacing in my tone as I ripped a portion of my shirt to dress his wounds.

As expected, he didn't respond. He had his eyes closed at the moment, his breathing shallow and unstable. My brows were creased while dressing his injury. Once I was finished, I hugged him. My heart is in pain. My body was trembling in fear. My eyes were wet with tears. And I am filled with grief.

"I'm...sorry..." I choked out, feeling myself breaking down. "I'm...sorry..."

I quietly held on Akise-kun's body, slightly trembling due to the tears. After a few seconds, I heard a strained cough and movement from him. It made me panic when I saw blood spluttering out from his mouth.

"Akise-kun!" I gently helped Akise-kun up, slinging one arm on my shoulder.

Akise-kun glanced at me, his carmine orbs staring at my [e/c] ones while his other eye was tight shut. He moved his mouth, but no sound came out. I knew it, he can't speak due to the injury Gasai-san inflicted. My brows were scrunched up in frustration and anger for the pink-haired, but I contained the feelings inside.

I found myself frowning at the sight of my loved one. Even without saying anything, I already knew what Akise-kun had in mind. He still wants to convince Amano-kun despite his eventual death. Why is he doing this? Why is he sacrificing himself for someone who can't even identify who was right or wrong? Why are you doing this for him, Akise-kun? Can't you see that we can't convince him anymore?

I bit my lips as we took a step forward. I was reluctant... but still... I respected Akise-kun's wish.

"Amano-kun!" I called on the brunette as I aided Akise-kun up the platform. 

The pair turned around and spotted us. Amano-kun had his eyes wide in shock while the pinkette beside him was snarling, clearly agitated to see us alive. I spared a quick glance at my companion as he panted for air, in his hand held out his blue flip phone.

"[N-name]-san? Akise-kun?—Yuno! Don't!"

Gasai-san charged at us without any hesitation despite Amano-kun calling out to her. We slowly trudged to where he was, readying myself to protect Akise-kun from the approaching female. Gasai-san was closing on us, and I was about to let go of my compani—

"G—AHH!" I let out an agonizing scream as I pummeled down the rubble.

My leg was bruised as well as my whole body, but the most notable damage was my twisted ankle. My back hit the hard concrete behind me, making me limp on the cold platform. Everything happened in a blur, I can't even identify who or what threw me away. Gasai-san was still a few meters away from us when I was about to let go of—oh...

Did Akise-kun throw me aside? Was he the one responsible? Why did he do that? Was it because of the fear of Gasai-san hurting me? No! That can't be! I was supposed to be the one protecting him! Despite the pain I'm feeling, I forced my bruised body up, letting my eyelids open... only to witness the gruesome scene playing out before me​​​—

It felt like forever. It felt like time was slowly moving forward. Tears were cascading down from my widened eyes. My arms were extended in his direction as I reached forward. My feet, despite being injured, sprinted towards him. I was screaming loudly for his name, praying that somehow, he would be saved. However... My wishes weren't granted.

"AKISE-KUN!"

I failed... didn't I? I was frozen like a statue on my spot. It didn't help my case when I realized that I wasn't able to take even a single step. I sharply inhaled. My parted lips were quivering. The silence was deafening to my ears. As much as I wanted the silence to be broken, it was devastating that the sound of a soft thud and object rolling on the floor resonated in the air too much for my liking. Mostly because the object was the head of my beloved...

Dull and lifeless carmine hues blankly stared at mine not too far away. Blood trickled down from the owner's mouth as some more gushed out from the obvious opening. The sight... was unbearable. Tears were threatening to break through the barrier and flow freely like an upstream river, but alas... I held it in.

Shadows formed over my face as I tilt my head down, hands clutched tight in a fist as I gritted my teeth. I can't take it anymore! My heart was pounding hard and angry against my chest. Hatred and ire were directed to a pair of sherbet-pink eyes, my own narrowing in a heated glare.

Gasai took a step forward, her blade ready at her side to strike its second victim. I couldn't care less, though. Animosity and adrenaline were the only things that fueled me, preventing my brain to make any apt decisions.

"GASAI YUNO!!!" I screamed at the top of my lungs, charging at the woman despite my injury.

She swung her blade at me, attempting to slice my head off just like how she did with Akise-kun, but I dodged the attack. She clicked her tongue in annoyance, retracting back her weapon to launch another attack on me. I barely missed the blade as she directly jabbed it into my face, cutting only my hair and grazing my cheek.

Seeing this as an opening, I wrapped my arms around hers that was holding the weapon before sending a strong bash on her right abdomen with my knee, presumably where her injury was. She let out a pained yelp and dropped the weapon. I instantly kicked the blade from her reach as I held onto her limbs.

"AMANO-KUN!" I yelled out, successfully earning his attention in the midst of my battle.

Gasai-san, however, saw through my intentions as she elbowed my back repeatedly, trying to loosen my iron grip on her. I let out a sharp breath at every jab, each more excruciating than the previous. I gritted my teeth in utter annoyance.

"WHY?! WHY CAN'T YOU UNDERSTAND IT, AMANO-KUN?!" I barked at the boy while struggling against the pink-haired psychopath.

He didn't respond. Fueled with anger, I used all my strength to throw Gasai-san away forcefully, stopping her from dealing damage to my back. I didn't look back. The loud thud and pained yelp were enough for me to know that she won't be getting up anytime soon.

"WE'RE TRYING TO STOP YOU! WE'RE TRYING TO CONVINCE YOU! WE'RE TRYING TO PROTECT YOU!" I continue to yell at him.

Tears were free falling from my eyes as I slowly made my way towards Akise-kun's body. I gasped for air at each painful step, forcing my way towards the white-haired male, only, his head wasn't intact. My knees gave up when I finally arrived at his body, panting profusely due to the lack of oxygen in my damaged lungs.

Wrapping my arms around his torso, I moved Akise-kun's body so he was resting on my lap. It horrified me, to see his beheaded body so close. But... I couldn't care less. This might be the last time that I'll be embracing him like this. My eyes wandered off for a moment and saw the phone he was holding. Even after being injured, he still got up. Even after knowing that he'll be killed, he still moved forward. He did all of this sacrifice... Just for him.

"Akise-kun..." I sobbed, finally letting go of the restraints that I placed on myself.

It was always like this. I was always watching Akise-kun from afar, seemingly only to view his back. It was like he was always somewhere far from me, somewhere that I can't possibly reach him. I was always catching up on him. I was always guarding him. I was always there to ensure that he was far from harm. I was his guardian angel—his protector.

For all the times that we've been together, I tried my hardest to conceal my emotions and feelings. I've always thought that in order to protect him, I must rid myself of those unnecessary things. Despite that, my love for him always grew. I told myself once that I shouldn't cry for his sake—that I shouldn't show weakness and vulnerability. But... it wouldn't be wrong to cry now, right...?

"So why...? Why did you do this...? How can you easily kill your friends like this...? You can't bring them back to life, you know?"  I sobbed harder, clutching tightly to Akise-kun's beheaded body. His warmth that I loved so much was fading away. "You can't bring them back... and yet, you still killed them... Why you must take him away from me...?"

I glanced up at the boy in front of me. The one who was responsible for all of my friend's death—Amano Yukiteru-kun. My blurry vision can still make out Amano-kun's eyes that was still wide in horror and confusion. He was crying... but not as much as I do. It hurts... Everything hurts...

"You know, Amano-kun... Akise-kun loved you so much... He only had his eyes on you... He only had his attention on you... He did everything to help you... To ensure that you are on the right path..."

I could hear Gasai-san's footsteps. She was coming closer. But despite the fact that she will end me soon, I just didn't care. I'm already done... My friends are dead, anyway. I have no home to return to. I have no one to return to. I'll be left alone if I still live. So why not join them on the other side, instead?

Letting out a defeated sigh, I turn my attention to the body I was holding. I flashed Akise-kun a bitter smile, before craning my head down to hug his body closer and tighter than before. Footsteps now ring close in my ear before stopping just behind me.

"I've always loved Akise-kun... But no matter what I do, his attention and love was always on you," I told the brunette, giving him a sorrowful smile as the blade pierced through my heart.

I gasped for air, bolting upright into a sitting position on my bed. Sweat covered my whole face as I panted, my eyes were wide as ever. There were tears that rolled from my eyes. I clenched my rapidly beating heart with my trembling hand. It felt so real... The pain of my heart being pierced through felt so real.

"[Name]-chan? Are you alright?"

A sudden voice snapped me out of my frightened daze. However, it only left me in a much more vigilant state. I whisked my head to the side and saw a familiar person standing by my doorway. My heart pounded hard against my chest at the sight of him. Soft white hair, pale skin, and alluring pink orbs. The male in my nightmares...

"Akise-kun..." I muttered unconsciously.

The male had a confused expression as he observed me. Closing the door behind him, he then walked towards where my bed is. My eyes were watching his every action as he sat on the edge of the bed. Reddish pink eyes were staring intently at my [e/c] ones, making me a bit uncomfortable at his unexpected gaze.

"Uh..."

"Are you okay, [Name]-chan? Did you have a nightmare again? You're sweating a lot," the boy asked worriedly as he got out his handkerchief and wiped my sweat with it.

"U-uh... I'm fine, really. I just had a bad dream, no need to worry too much about me, Akise-kun," I blurted out, waving my hand dismissively.

However, he only frowned at my response, pausing his actions. "Why are you calling me Akise-kun? You're used to calling me Acchan, right?"

"Eh?"

My [e/c] irises were staring at his equally confused ones, we're both baffled, to say the least. Did I really used to call him Acchan instead of Akise-kun just like in my dreams? It might be. Maybe it was because of the nightmare that I kept experiencing or the insomnia that follows that lead me to this predicament? Or maybe it is the dream's influence to make me act like this? Who knows...

"I'm sorry, Acchan. I just woke up and was disoriented at the moment," I reasoned, flashing him an apologetic smile.

"It's fine," he returned back the smile with his gentle ones, making me flush in embarrassment.

Ah... I knew it. Dream or not, I knew that my feelings for him remains the same. After a few minutes of silence, I finally calmed down⁠—my heart was returning to its usual rhythm, my body wasn't anymore trembling, and sweat stopped rolling down my face. I took this as a chance to evaluate my current situation. Speaking of which, why did I just suddenly call him Akise-kun if I used to call him Acchan? If I did, isn't it automatic that my brain and mouth would think of that name and speak of it? But considering that I've just woken up and was shaken, I guess it's fair to say that my brain wasn't functioning well.

I've recalled all of the memories that I've spent with the albino, and true enough, all I could remember was calling him Acchan instead of Akise-kun. That nightmare had left me still frightened, and I can't ignore the prolonged sensation that it was real. Ridding myself of that thought, I tried to find a reason why it happened. I remembered rumors that said dreams have the ability to warp people's way of perceiving reality and began accepting those imaginations to be corporeal.

I've also recalled that my friend told me before that she'd experienced this. She had a dream about her late grandmother still alive, and after she woke up, she came to believe that even though her grandmother was long deceased. She eventually realized that, but she commented on how it felt so eerily real. Maybe that's what I'm experiencing currently, right? Though, I'm displeased with the fact that it had to be a nightmare like that.  

"Breakfast is ready downstairs. I'll be waiting for you after you've freshened up," Acchan informed me, patting my bedhead a bit before standing up to leave.

I glanced at Acchan's back as he strode towards the door. It was always like this. Acchan was always walking away from me⁠—going somewhere far from my reach. I frowned at the reality of it. Out of the blue, a horrid image flashed in my eyes⁠—the nightmare wherein Acchan was marching to his death; a woman was charging towards him, her blade ready to behead the said male.

My breath hitched at the vision, seeing that it vanished shortly just like how it appeared. Without second thoughts, I rushed to get off the bed, my arms extended in Acchan's direction. Once his back was within reach, I instantly let my arms snake around his body, my grip on him was tight as ever. It made him halt in his steps, about to turn the knob open.

I knew that my actions were rash and unjustified, but... I'm afraid... afraid of losing him just like in my nightmare. Resisting the urge to cry on the spot, I buried my face deep in his broad back.

"[Name]-chan?" Acchan's voice was soft and delicate like a flower, but underneath, it held confusion.

I didn't utter a single word. I just let myself stay frozen for a moment... that is... until my body started trembling.

"[Name]-chan, are you okay?" I could feel Acchan move his head to check on me, his voice lingering with concern.

"Promise me..." I choked out a sob, trying to contain the upcoming tears, "Promise me, Acchan, that you won't leave me... Please promise me that."

I can't take it... I just can't take it anymore... Just thinking about the possibility is killing me. Just remembering the fresh memory of that horrid nightmare is enough to make me insane. I just can't...

My heart was jumping loud and fast against my chest. The tears that I tried suppressing cascaded freely like a waterfall. I hiccuped, doing my best to stop my shaking hand but to no avail. Soon, I choked out another sob.

"[Name]-chan..." Acchan called for the third time.

I could feel his arms move and his larger, calloused hands gently grabbed mines. He carefully lifted it off his chest, making me back away for a bit. Once he finally remove himself from me, I let my limbs fall to my side. I unconsciously closed my lids, afraid to see him eye to eye.

Maybe he's disgusted with me... What else could it be, right? After all, I did beg him to not leave me. We're not a couple, nor are we dating. I'm also sure that Acchan only sees me as a friend and nothing more... but...

I love him.

My chest hurts just at the thought of ruining our friendship because of that unwanted gesture and stupid request. Acchan can't possibly love me back... right?

"I'm so⁠—hmph?!"

My eyes were wide as it could ever be. I was about to apologize because of my actions, but instead, I was shut up by soft lips on mine. Those lips belong to no other than Akise Aru⁠—Acchan. The only boy that I laid my eyes on. The one that stole my heart. And the one that I love so deeply that I was so afraid of losing him. I've always assumed that he didn't feel the same towards me, and that was the reason why I didn't take advances. However, it seems that my assumption was proven wrong.

The kiss lasted a moment when Acchan pulled away. My [e/c] orbs were gazing back at his ruby ones, albeit blurry due to tears. I was dumbfounded. I was speechless. I could only stare at Acchan's handsome features and feel myself calm down with just that⁠—my heartbeat was regaining its normal rhythm, my body ceased trembling, and my tears stopped flowing.

Acchan smiled at me⁠—a loving one. "I promise, [Name]-chan. I promise that I won't leave you. Ever."

And with that, he slowly leaned in while wrapping his arms around me. As our lips connected, I fluttered my eyes close and Acchan pulled me closer to his body. I melted in the passionate kiss as my body relaxed in his loving embrace. All of my worries washed away; all I could think of at this moment was Acchan's words echoing in my mind.

"I promise."

[walkaboutrojo]

Li River Resort, Yangshuo: A Hidden Gem by the River

Nestled in the tranquil beauty of the Yangshuo countryside, the Li River Resort offers a serene escape far from the usual hustle of city life. This boutique hotel, with only 21 rooms, makes the most of its scenic location on the banks of the Li River. It may be small, but it delivers an intimate and peaceful experience, perfect for those seeking quiet relaxation surrounded by stunning nature.

Location: A Riverside Sanctuary

The hotel’s location is a highlight. Tucked away from the busy tourist spots, it sits right on the Li River, giving guests unparalleled views of the water and the iconic karst mountains that define the area’s landscape. From the moment you arrive, the surrounding nature provides an immediate sense of calm. You can wake up to the sight of mist rolling over the mountains or watch the river flow gently past as you enjoy a morning tea on your private balcony.

Yangshuo is known for its outdoor adventures, and the hotel is ideally situated for activities like cycling, bamboo rafting, and hiking. You can explore the town and its local attractions or simply take in the scenery from the resort, which feels worlds away from any stress or noise.

Room Experience: Minimalism with Comfort

One of the resort’s unique touches is that none of the rooms come with a television, intentionally designed to encourage guests to disconnect and enjoy the natural surroundings. The rooms are cozy and spacious, with minimalistic design elements that favor comfort and simplicity. The soft bed is a standout feature, perfect for a good night’s sleep after a day of exploring.

The décor is simple yet charming. The use of stone inlays around the room adds a touch of rustic elegance, while the soft white walls keep the atmosphere light and open. Each room comes equipped with a tea set, which is perfect for enjoying a relaxing moment while gazing out at the mountains or river. In the bathroom, you'll find modern amenities, including a rainfall shower, ensuring your stay is both comfortable and refreshing.

Facilities: Small but Well-Appointed

Despite being a smaller property, the Li River Resort doesn’t compromise on quality. The lobby area has a great selection of books, which guests can enjoy while sipping their morning coffee or lounging in the common areas. There’s also a rack of traditional Chinese clothing available for guests to borrow for photos, adding a fun cultural experience to your stay.

While the hotel doesn’t boast extensive facilities like larger resorts, the intimate scale works in its favor. The small staff ensures a personalized service that’s warm and attentive. The quietness of the place and its hidden, off-the-beaten-path charm is perfect for those who want to retreat from the world and simply unwind.

Dining: Homestyle Cooking with a View

Dining at the Li River Resort feels more like eating at a friend’s house than a hotel restaurant. The on-site restaurant offers a variety of dishes, from local specialties to more familiar Western fare. The food is delicious and reasonably priced, reflecting the resort’s overall philosophy of providing luxury at a value.

Meals are served with the stunning backdrop of the Li River, making every dining experience here special. Whether you're enjoying a breakfast of fresh local produce or an evening meal after a day of sightseeing, the food enhances the feeling of homely comfort that permeates the entire property.

Service: Warm and Attentive

The service at Li River Resort stands out for its personal touch. Despite not being a five-star hotel, the level of care and attention you receive makes it feel like one. The staff is helpful with arranging local tours, giving you recommendations, and ensuring that your stay is as comfortable as possible. They go out of their way to provide thoughtful gestures, like offering advice on avoiding mosquitoes during the summer months or providing a fruit plate during turn-down service.

Final Thoughts: Tranquility at Its Best

Li River Resort may not be the largest or most luxurious hotel in Yangshuo, but it offers a unique, peaceful experience that is hard to find elsewhere. If you’re looking for a place to relax, recharge, and connect with nature, this boutique resort is a fantastic choice. The stunning views, intimate atmosphere, and exceptional service make it a hidden gem in the Yangshuo region.

Rojo Rating:

Location: 9

Facilities: 6

Amenities: 5

Décor: 6

Staff: 8

Food: 6

Cleanliness: 7

Comfort: 6

Uniqueness: 7

Value: 9

Total: 69/100

For travelers seeking a peaceful retreat with all the comforts of home, Li River Resort is a fantastic choice. With its riverside setting, cozy rooms, and friendly service, this boutique hotel provides a memorable experience without the luxury price tag.

[valorousflower]

What sort of home does Fumiko have?

Typically, the most expensive homes in Shinjuku are composes of extremely expensive condos. For the likes of Fumiko and her father, it is not the case. Hiroshi has bought an overwhelming amount of space enough to build a top-of-the-line mansion of his likings, which became the only mansion in all of Tokyo.

Shiny white in exterior and interior design, it has superb, gleaming designs all-around, from the furniture, design of the rooms, floors, ceilings, and a plethora of views from varied parts of the mansion. Decorations across the mansion serve as multiple masterful artistries.

In the living room, there lied a huge widescreen television that can stream at 8K, although there was a television in the broadcasting room that had a far higher and more crisp resolution. On top of that, there were even more decorations around the tables and ceilings. The couches were commissioned by some of the best furniture makes in the world, all the way from North Germany.

The kitchen has everything that a chef needs in a day's time, top-tier equipment all-around. An extremely extensive pantry also lingers around in the area. These are the grounds of the culinary legend Ameline De Saint-Pierre, awarded the second most Michelin stars, owning a culinary empire throughout the world, and taking part in many cooking shows, before being signed to Hiroshi Arai for nigh-perfect cooking with his own colossal fortune to give. She cooks for both Fumiko and Hiroshi with different immaculate meals each day.

The mansion hold the world record for most bathrooms and bedrooms in a single home, all of which are immaculate and overwhelmed with comfort. Hiroshi swaps between multiple bathrooms just to get a different feel for each of them, Fumiko prefers to stick with one.

Of course, the mansion has most expensive-everything. Many, many items throughout the dream home are considering to be the most expensive items in the world.

The guest room is two times larger than the living room, with multiple TVs with superb audio speakers, all of the old and new game consoles for guests to play, and further down, a piano made of diamonds, which Fumiko likes to play on the occasion. The same couches from the living room are present. There are also extensive bowling alleys and movie theaters.

The rooftop is open, and its design doesn't disappoint either. Multiple seatings and tables some with covers on top, a telescope to look at the moon, pretty lights, and most important, at the center of the rooftop, a drone base which can be used to fly and look around Tokyo. Hiroshi has commissioned this drone to be on par with Classic Order technology.

There's also a dojo where Fumiko trains, consisting of ancient, super expensive designs. It is complete as a training dojo, including the amount of equipment and training obstacles and dummies there are.

In the backyard, there lies Fumiko's garden, which you can learn more about here. Next to it, there's a swimming pool.

Hiroshi has a specific large room for him to do investing business, Desolation research and intel, and monitoring the many parts of Tokyo. Aside from that, his bedroom is a perfect breathing space for him to nap and sleep.

As for Fumiko's room, it is extremely cozy. On the walls are multiple wallpapers of idol tours and albums, including hers. Multiple CDs are stacked on the side of her room by a table, and she has her own tremendous idol collection. She has her own PC setup which she tends to do her own searching from time to time. Her grand bed was meant to be even more comfortable than Hiroshi, contacting international makers to build it for her.

The mansion itself is pretty secure. Locked, fortified doors, security alarms, and large walls. Groups of fans of Fumiko Arai get to pass on by to look at the gorgeous mansion.