#because I already spend too much time on it

[heartsiebyul]

Helloo!! I didn't see anything about requests being opened or not, so I hope this is alright if not, then that's fine too. Could you do the housewardens with a reader that likes to be carried? Like just likes to be carried around places!

╰─▸ ❝ Twisted Wonderland x reader!

Carry me?

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featuring — Riddle : Leona : Azul : Kalim : Vil : Idia : Malleus.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

᭡ Riddle Rosehearts

At first, Riddle didn’t quite understand why you wanted to be carried. “You have legs, why must I do this?” he would grumble, face red, though he always complied.

One day, you tugged on his sleeve and looked up with a pout. “Carry me?” you asked sweetly. He stiffened, eyes darting around before huffing and gathering you in his arms. Whether it was a bridal carry after a long walk through the rose garden or scooping you up because you refused to move from your seat, he always did it, with a huff and a smile.

Now, it’s become a habit. If you so much as raise your arms slightly and whisper, “Carry me?” Riddle gives a quiet sigh before gently lifting you with surprising strength for his size. “Only for a little while” he says with pursed lips. Yet, he always takes the long way to class or the dorm, carrying you just a bit longer than necessary.

᭡ Leona Kingscholar

Leona raised his eyebrow the first time you looked at him, arms raised, and lazily said, “Carry me?”

“Tch, lazy” he chuckled but he didn’t hesitate. It didn’t take long for it to become routine, him picking you up and slinging you over his shoulder or letting you curl into his arms. Leona like having you close, especially when he could bury his nose in your hair and pretend he wasn’t soft for you.

Now, whenever you sleepily murmur, “Carry me?” he rolls his eyes but lifts you with ease, holding you against his chest or letting you rest in his back.

“If you wanna be spoiled, just say so” he grumbles as he lounges under the sun. The truth is, carrying you gives him the perfect excuse to nap somewhere comfortable, with you acting as his personal blanket.

᭡ Azul Ashengrotto

Azul was completely flustered the first time you latched onto him like an octopus and whispered, “Carry me?”

“W-Why would you request something so intimate in public?!” he squeaked. But he was weak to your pout and reluctantly complied, nearly dropping you the first time. Over time, he grew used to the weight of you in his arms and the way you would hum contentedly, as if his arms was the safest place in the world.

Now, whenever you peek at him from behind and ask, “Carry me?” with that hopeful smile, he adjusts his tie and gives a flustered but fond, “If I must…” He’ll act dramatic about it, sighing, muttering about posture and image, but there’s always a soft smile tugging at his lips. He’ll carry you through the Lounge, across campus, anywhere really, especially if he’s trying to impress you.

᭡ Kalim Al-Asim

Kalim absolutely loves that you enjoy being carried. One day, you reached out with a smile and said, “Carry me?” and his eyes lit up. “Of course!!” he cheered, already sweeping you into his arms. He does it all the time now, whether you're tired or not. He will carry you on his back, in his arms, or even balance you on one shoulder if he’s feeling playful.

Sometimes, you don’t even have to say a word, he’s already scooping you up. “You looked like you needed a ride!” he’ll laugh. Kalim doesn’t care who sees or what people think. If carrying you around makes you happy, then expect to spend half the day wrapped up in his arms.

᭡ Vil Schoenheit

Vil took one long look at you the first time you clung to him and softly asked, “Carry me?” He sighed. “Honestly…” But he did it anyway, with elegance and strength you hadn’t expected. “If you insist on being carried, at least allow me to do it gracefully.” And he does, always picture-perfect.

Now, when you blink up at him with that slightly mischievous smile and say, “Carry me?” Vil simply raises a brow and holds out his arms. “Come, darling.” He lifts you with poise, walking through NRC with the confidence of a man carrying the most precious gem. And when you’re alone, his touch lingers just a bit longer, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he whispers, “Anything for you.”

᭡ Idia Shroud

“Y-You want me to carry you?!” Idia short circuited the first time you quietly mumbled, “Carry me?” while curling against his side. His face turned the color of his flaming hair, and he almost tripped trying to lift you. But with time, and lots of private practice when no one was looking, he got more confident. He still prefers carrying you in private, where he can mumble, “This is like, top-tier romance stuff…” while holding you like a rare game item.

These days, if you poke his arm and shyly whisper, “Carry me?” he stammers a bit but lifts you into his arms with care. He carries you to his room, settles you in his lap while gaming, and sometimes even lets you fall asleep there. “cute” he mutters, totally defeated by your charm.

᭡ Malleus Draconia

Malleus is delighted by your liking for being carried. The first time you looked up at him and softly asked, “Carry me?” his eyes sparkled. “Ah… so you enjoy the feeling of safety in another’s arms? Then allow me.” From the very start, he treated your wish like a royal decree. He picked you up effortlessly, as if you weighed nothing, cradling you with the utmost care.

Now, all it takes is a glance and a gentle, “Carry me?” and he’s already holding out his arms. “Always, my dear.” He often strolls through the halls of Diasomnia at night with you in his arms, murmuring stories or soft lullabies. And sometimes, he even takes to the skies, flying gently while holding you close, as if you were his most sacred treasure.

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[stories-i-guess]

I kinda just feel patronized whenever I try being myself or anything…

everyone treats me like I’m a little kid if I’m a bit more excited or upset then they’d like. And just recently, my friend was going to go tell some younger kids there was a dead mouse in the fountain area, so they shouldn’t play in it(there was, she wasn’t lying. But she was sorta looking to make them have a reaction too.), and I didn’t want to do that, so I said she could go tell them herself. She said “but I don’t wanna leave you alone!” In the same tone one might explain to a kid who doesn’t fully know how young they really why they can’t stay home alone.

And if I’m not being patronized I’m being scolded. If I’m not happy and energetic, they find something wrong every time.y resting face looks angry, so whenever I’m just calm, people don’t like the look of my face. And when I’m actually angry they’re mad that I’m not grateful, or that I’m ruining everyone’s experience, even if they knew beforehand that I wouldn’t like it.

Like just right now, my family’s going to go to the Air Force base nearby, to go to the library. They’re forcing me along with them, despite knowing that I hate that library, and that we’re going to go on a hundred other detours I openly dislike. And because of this, I know I’m just going to get scolded.

A lot of people say “be yourself!” But nobody fucking LIKES myself! At least not in person. In the real world, I fumble over words because my brain moves to fast. On Tumblr, I can say what I think, and actually use the words I want to.

I can think something like: “I think equal rights are important because no one deserves to be discriminated against for things they had no choice in, and even if someone is discriminating based on a choice, like religion, I thoroughly believe that no one deserves to be harmed for things that can be easily avoided such as religious disputes.” And I’ll type that down, or write it out easily. But I’ll speak something along the lines of: “Being racist is stupid because it doesn’t make sense to do that stuff for no reason!!” And no one takes me seriously when I say that stuff.

I can’t be myself in person, and it translates to me finding it harder to be myself to new people who don’t already dislike those things, or to people who I meet on the internet. But it’s still so much easier to talk to people like this.

And so I spend more time on my phone.

And so I get berated and treated like a child more often.

Don't become so afraid of being annoying that you don't allow yourself to be anything at all.

[lucydixon]

Bestfriend!Eddie, who doesn't realize that he's in love with you.

Masterlist 𐴱 Taglist 𐴱 Reading List 𐴱 Navigation A/N: Idk why, but I couldn't stop thinking about this. I have a million requests in my inbox, and this wasn't one of them, but I just had to type it out. I'm so normal about him, I swear.

Summary: Headcanons for Bestfriend!Eddie, who is entirely clueless that what he's feeling towards you is so far outside of friendship he couldn't find the door if he knew enough to try.

Bestfriend!Eddie, who’s eating lunch with you, when a boy brings you flowers, and says he bought you baby pink roses ‘cause pink’s your favourite colour.’ 

Then Eddie goes, completely casual, maybe even through a mouthful of food: 

“Her favourite colour is pink, like when the sun is setting, or like that orchid in her parents’ kitchen. Not ballerina pink. That’s the wrong shade, dude.” 

He says it like it’s a well-known fact and not something that only he could possibly know. 

Meanwhile, you’re sitting there with you’re lips parted in shock, and he’s just gone right back to his pretzels. 

Bestfriend!Eddie, who notices subtle shifts in your facial features when you’re upset, but trying to hide it, and ducks out to his van, where he keeps a stash of your favourite sweet treats and wordlessly presses the crinkling wrapper into the palm of your hand in a way that never fails to stun you. 

Bestfriend!Eddie, who gives the most thoughtful birthday gifts, then acts like it’s no big deal when you’re blinking back tears, trying to tell him how much you appreciate him.

Bestfriend!Eddie, who seems to always have a hand on you, whether it's on the small of your back, guiding you through the halls of Hawkins High, or playing absently with your hair while you’re trying to help him study. 

Bestfriend!Eddie, who feels weird when other boys look at you, but chalks it up to not wanting you to get your heart broken. He’s just looking out for you by glaring at them until they tuck tail and run. That’s what friends do, isn’t it?

Bestfriend!Eddie, who stares at the phone for a full minute after every phone call, already missing your sweet voice. 

Bestfriend!Eddie, who looks for you in the crowd at every Corroded Coffin gig and grins like an idiot when you lock eyes and proceeds to serenade you in a crowded room, oblivious to the way you’re swooning under his gaze.

Bestfriend!Eddie, who holds your hand and shares his Walkman with you, even if that means your cheeks are pressed together so the two of you can listen to the mixtapes you make for eachother, which is, of course, an entirely platonic thing for two people to do. 

Bestfriend!Eddie, who finds himself spending a little too much time looking at you sometimes, and thinks that the fluttering feeling he gets in his chest whenever he thinks about you, so always, is his lungs fighting for their lives after years of chain-smoking cigarettes.

Bestfriend!Eddie, who will never, ever take a hint if you’re trying to make a move, because in his mind, you’re just friends, same as you always have been.

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Taglist: @justalotoffanfiction @s1mp-4-ga11y @farrowroyale @awkward00noodle @shokihomin @jjmaybankswifes-blog @mdurdenpitt @buckyswife108 @walleloveseve @zroberts13

[keii-8]

the winner takes it all... | date everything x gn!reader

pairing: various x gn!reader

summary: the house became quieter, and the little life you held within you dulled as they moved on with their lives. leaving you to tend your own feelings.

warnings: realized!characters, game ending spoilers, semi-angst, brief mention of abandonment and attachment issues, suggestive comments, friends/lovers not specified, house-poly. grammatical errors, english is not my first language.

a/n: i've read a lot of misunderstanding regarding the game's ending. most of them states how all of the characters used and left us in the end. i intend to clear that misunderstanding. enjoy!

“Are you sure you'll be okay?”

Spring.

Skylar questions, but in truth, she was uncertain in her Realized form. You have done your job realizing all of your household objects, your bulletin board was filled with their pictures, leaving hers as the last piece of your collage of love.

They have already gone their ways and parted, leaving the house to inspire others in the way you've inspired them in more ways than one. Now, it was her turn to do the same.

“Of course. The house might be less lively but I'll manage.”

The woman who was once your spectacles gazes her eyes to your own, the very part she was allured by you. Your eyes. The very same ones that look at the deepest part of them that were nothing but kind, friendly, and loving.

It was you who gave them purpose, gave them hope and you were also the one who listened, trusted and felt them the most. Your eyes were the ones that made everything for them possible.

“I'm sure you'll make the world a better place, Skylar.”

The world is already a better place because of you.

And to her, your eyes weren't easy to forget.

Parting with Skylar left a sinking feeling within your chest, and you almost felt lost. But the thought of your once household objects became someone they wanted to be left an even deeper feeling, warmth and adoration. You couldn’t thank them enough for keeping up with you all these years.

They were your family, some friends, some lovers, yet you love them all the same. You watched them strive in their own ways and you would always be the first person to know about it. Even if it's through calls, letters, messages or whatnot.

Summer.

Nevertheless, the house feels undeniably empty. There's no one to greet you with their silly yet wholesome antics to catch your attention or come to spend time with you now. Even during the midst of summer. Every corner felt wider, and every object was surprisingly quiet that you can hear a pin drop.

You miss them.

You were uncertain if it's from the feeling that you needed to feel wanted by others in order to function properly, or you just discovered you have the underlying fear of abandonment. Attachment issues could possibly be one of the cards on the table.

You just missed the house being lively. Just like the old days.

However, just as those days passed by in the blink of an eye, your thoughts couldn't help but wander. Wondering what would happen if you decided to keep them as your objects and unintentionally caging them in this birdcage.

Would they still feel content to live with you? Or would they feel entrapped to spend every waking breath with you? Would they deem you as a selfish person if you did? Would they hate you…?

You suddenly felt guilty for thinking that way and shame flooded the pits of your stomach. It was such a selfish thought to think of. It was obvious that they would hate you.

But you loved them too much to keep them. You just couldn't be selfish, not when they have their own dreams to achieve and more emotions to feel on their own accord. You were aware that their emotions and knowledge have its limits, you knew because they served most of their lives as your objects and they were unable to experience the world outside.

You wanted them to experience the real thing. The one thing you couldn't take them away from. Even if it meant you couldn't go out on your own.

In the end, you kept those feelings to yourself.

You got your job back from its limbo state and became the vice president of the human experience in Valdivian. The degree of customer service that you fought and studied so hard for, served its purpose. After a couple of months in the company, you started to advocate for human employment against the technology after almost being replaced by one. AI.

You strived on your own with the passion of your found-family fueling your veins with the world continuing on alongside you.

Leaving your house wasn't easy, but you did it anyway. You've gone to work and spent some of your time in meetings, or at your cubicle. Maybe you can send a request to work from home, that would be a good idea. Just because you have tasted what it's like to meet a lot of people outside the comforts of your home, doesn't mean your social anxiety dissipates that easily.

It became a little cycle of work, especially Tom, your recent manager, would come by your office. Grabbing some coffee, or handing you papers, he even has the confidence to flirt with you during work hours. Although, you brush it off and be professional about his advances. You became on friendly terms with the muscular hunk despite his flirting.

You pressed on with this new aspect of your life, challenging yourself and seeing how far you've reached.

Autumn.

Despite acknowledging the changes for the better, your work and your role in Valdivian has never been an easier job. Similar to the season that brings the coldness to light. Every time you thought that your work would become so easy, it didn't. At least not yet. It was only a hurdle after another.

Finishing documents kept you awake, important calls left you on the brink of starvation, and meetings exhausted you to no end. You were efficient in your work since you love helping others but it seems to drain you mentally for the past few weeks. It won't stop that easily, nor stop any time soon.

And one individual noticed. Mac.

They applied for a job that matched their technological skills for income to support both of you, even though you’ve made it clear that you don't need the money. The company accepted their application and both you and Mac were ecstatic to hear the news when they hired them as an analyst in the crypto-currency industry.

It was all because of your support. They even gawked at your efforts when you decided to expand the office closet for Mac to work in. It was a perfect working space for their wheelchair and the privacy they need, the shadows and the darkness altogether. You just moved the remnants from that lonely place to other available closets. You knew Dorian would be proud.

All was well, Mac thought. You even installed a stair lift for them and they have never felt more seen. Both of you enjoyed your meals together while you both took turns, though it was you who cooked often. Sleeping in the same bed and waking up in each other’s arms. And even taking a bath or a shower together.

However, despite your efforts, Mac noticed that you were being swept by work everyday. They admit their work can be time-consuming and busy as they type in codes or whatnot. But you were even busier than them. To the point you skipped your meals.

“Oh, I'll have to take this call real quick. It might be about the presentation tomorrow. Be right back.”

“Sorry, Mac. I have to run. There's another deadline that came up. Do you want anything that I could get you from the store?”

And then another, then another. Repeat.

You've been burying yourself with work in the past few weeks, deadlines, meetings, emergency calls and whatsoever. It was like a rabbit hole for you to sink through. You go to work every morning with your eyes hollow from the lack of sleep and come back home even more exhausted.

You already missed a reasonable amount of calls from the others who were still updating you even in the tiniest bit. Unread letters, packages that were left unopened, both filling your mailbox entirely. And someone could swim in them any time.

All of them, including Mac, knew that you love helping others until it would reach to a point that you become someone to please others. And also deep down, they knew you missed being wanted, being with all of them. Now, it explains why you were so engrossed at your work.

That's also why Mac immediately contacted their office buddies.

It was another one of those evenings where you got off from work. But this specific night was different and Mac made sure for it to be. They contacted the others, mainly the office residents, to have a fun game night. Of course, Chance and Parker were the experts so they were willing to come.

Jerry and Penelope also came. As for Dasha, they weren't entirely sure due to her busy schedule but she says she'll come straight away after work. All of the food preparations are done, pre-ordered obviously but what can they say? All of them probably can't cook.

“Are the games ready? We have to make this as efficient as possible.” The curly-haired female demanded in a frantic voice. She clearly wants this to be a success. Just for you.

Jerry sweat-dropped. “You've already asked us that a couple of times now.” He couldn't always keep up with Penelope's intensity as she eyed the office desk filled with items of what could be G&G instead of your computer.

Meanwhile, on the other side of your office were Chance and Parker, both in their usual banter. Parker kept being persistent in what games to play, and Chance almost had enough of it.

“We should play… this! Or this? They sure would like… this!”

“Dude. We already agreed on what to play.” Chance sighs. “We’ll resort to your games after we're done with the oneshot.”

“Alright, fine!” The latter groans.

“Hey, I think they're here!” Mac chimed in when all of them fell silent when they heard the front door open. Parker, as enthusiastic as he is, immediately rushed out of the office followed by everyone.

But what they didn't expect was a loud gasp from the game-board addict as they were greeted by a shocking sight. You came home dishevelled and were barely unconscious in the arms of a muscular and dark-skinned hunk, wearing what could be a Valdivian I.D.

The unknown individual was rather surprised to see them, yet unfazed by their shocked expressions.

“Hey, there! I didn't expect anyone in their house at this hour!”

“Who are you, himbo?!” Parker was quick to exclaim.

Penelope wasn't having it either. “A better question… What are you doing with them, huh?”

“I'm Tom! [name]’s recent manager! Nice to meetcha’!” The recent manager seems clueless at the protective gaze being sent his way. He doesn't seem bothered by it. “I take it you guys are…?”

“We're their family.” Mac slightly narrowed their eyes at the man. Guarded by any means necessary while your coworker was still holding you.

When they were objects, they wouldn't be as jealous easily whenever you interact with the other objects around the house. Some already have flings with each other and some treat you as their third or whatever.

But it truly bothered to see you with another, especially outside the house, to be intimate with. Even though it wasn't your intention to be. Tom looked like he is though, his hand gripping your waist to steady you with your arm around his neck.

“What happened to them exactly?” Jerry timidly asks.

“Oh, this little champ right here? They took the whole team out for drinks since their first proposal was a success.” Tom shrugged and they were a bit surprised at how far you've already come with your efforts. Despite losing a small bit of yourself.

“I've come to take them home because they're wasted. Should I bring them upstairs or…?”

Chance shook his head. “That's alright. I'll take them.”

Tom handed you in Chance's arms with no question. A few gibberish noise left you when Chance lifted you by the back of your knees and back. You're exhausted and slurred. Your coworker eventually left with the reassurance that you can come to work late for 15 minutes tomorrow.

Chance carried you to bed with the help of others. Cue, Parker's distraught mumbling of you being a ‘cheater’ while poor Jerry was trying to ease both Parker and Penelope's paranoia. This was supposed to be a fun night to let some exhaustion off, but it seems Mac miscalculated.

They played a few board games when Dasha arrived and parted again for the night for work tomorrow.

But it was evident that one certain thing was bothering you.

Winter.

It's been months since autumn, and that particular day. Waking up by Mac's side in the bed and hungover to the bone. They really helped you from your internal loneliness or selfishness and motivated you to enjoy the things you love.

Whether it would be during your hardships or not, they really helped you a lot. You seem quite content with yourself now. Even work felt lighter during these past few months despite constantly following your routine.

As if the storm passed, a storm one of many.

Work hours already ended, and you were amongst the people who walked along the sidewalk to home. Snow piled against every crevice in the city as cars carefully drove by you to seek warmth of their homes.

Evenings were always cold whenever you walked home, hugging your coat and suitcase close to you. Yearning for warmth to cover your shivering neck.

You couldn't help but wonder. You always feel uncannily safe during winter while walking. It didn't just happen once. There’s always someone walking along with you, an unnoticed presence trailing your every move.

That's when you halted your feet midway and pondered for a bit.

“Jon?” You didn't move nor turn around as you heard footsteps of a stealthy individual right behind you. As if they stepped from the shadows.

“I'm not surprised when you know it's me.”

You softly snickered. “You're once my candelabra and it takes a dedicated homeowner to know the objects around the house.”

His voice paused for a moment. “Good point.”

You shook your head with a light atmosphere between you and continued your walk home. But this time, you were accompanied by the mysterious man behind you. Following you in the shadows and you don't dare to look behind you. The tension is both unwavering.

“So you've been following me around, huh?” You stared ahead, hearing the soles of your feet crunch the snow below. It was cold for a quite while, until your shoulders were enveloped by a warm fabric. A scarf. A red scarf gifted by Jon Wick himself.

“I was just passing by. To see how you're doing.” His voice drew close when he tucked the scarf around your neck, and you heard him step back again.

“That's… sweet.” A smile stretched your lips. “I had my ups and downs with my work if that's not obvious. I take it you're doing well with yours?”

There was a sigh. “If you're going to suggest that I adopt a dog again, you know my response never changes.”

“Oh, come on… You never know for sure whether you like them or not!” You let out a snort, imagining him facepalm behind you.

“[name]...” Jon's voice trailed off in exasperation and you took it as a sign to stop.

“Alright, I don't want to pressure you.” You backed off but your next words caused him to let out a sigh. “I'll just have to try next time.”

Silence, and then… “Fine. Maybe I'll consider it."

That was enough. You cheered to yourself when the man finally gave in through your persuasion. Meanwhile, Jon Wick could only roll his eyes as he kept watch on your back at a safe distance.

Eventually, you both arrived at the bottom porch of your house. A sigh of relief escapes you, and you express your gratitude at the man who you still didn't lay your eyes on to satisfy his secrecy. You walked up to the stairs of your porch but halted when an idea came to mind.

“Would you like to come in?” It was an innocent invitation to have him as a guest, but he didn't take it lightly and snickers under his breath.

“As tempting as it is to release some steam with you…” Cue a flush of red growing from the skin of your neck when you realized. “But I'm sure there's a better surprise waiting for you inside. You might want to take a look.”

“Huh..?” Confused, you turned around to face him for an answer but he was gone. There were no traces of his presence anywhere on the front lawn, as if no one stood in it other than you.

You think back to the words he said and glanced at your front door, as your heartbeat suddenly drummed in anticipation. It somehow felt odd to watch the lights inside gleam, it was tempting you with a welcoming presence.

Your keys jingled and you entered.

“Look who's back. Welcome home, love.”

You stared at the familiar bouncer standing beside the doorway with a look of surprise on your face. He stood guard like never before and he sent you a questioning brow because of the dumbfounded expression.

“Surprised?” You nodded at him as you couldn't find the right words to say, and this caused Dorian to snicker.

“D-davi!”

You heard a distressed call and a strong force crashed to your legs, causing you to tumble backward. The floorboards met your bottom as you couldn't comprehend what happened when something wet tickled your cheeks.

“Davi..?” Giggles bubbled out of you when the dog's tongue smothered you with sweet kisses. Mateo watched the view, smiling when you're back from work. Dorian helped you up and you didn't waste anytime as you immediately embraced them one-by-one.

“Matito? What's going on? The house looks lively.” You were right, it does.

You didn't even notice the joyful chatter that bounced off the walls, footsteps echoing from the ceiling, including the cluttering and sizzling in the kitchen that implies someone was cooking... until now.

“We're here to celebrate the holidays with you!” Mateo exclaims and there was a look of shock flashed over your face again. The house did feel heavy, and now you knew it was because of your visitors.

“Mateo? Is [name] back?” You glanced behind Mateo and two lovely women that were once your ceiling and floor appeared. They look perfect with each other, hand in hand.

“Celia, Florence..!” You happily greet the couple in a hug and both squeezed you right back. The two of them were ecstatic to meet you. Mateo chuckled and exited the scene to give you a moment with them but not before taking your suitcase and scarf upstairs.

“Hello, dear. We're so delighted to see you.” Greeted by elegance herself.

The bubbly woman agrees. “I hope you don't mind celebrating with us and for coming by so suddenly!”

“I don't mind at all! It’s just so sudden…!” You sheepishly scratched the back of your neck until something dawned on you. “Oh, gosh… This didn't disturb your work, right?”

“Calm yourself, dear. It's the holidays, and we like to celebrate our first with you. That's all.” Said Celia, and you smiled sweetly. But then, she was deep in thought. “Actually, it was Mac who invited all of us.”

You were surprised. “They did?”

“They would like to propose something.” Celia said and the look in her eyes already told you that they knew what it was about. “They already talked to us about it. However, it needed your approval.”

You hummed in wonder. “I see… shall we go then?”

“I'll go and find them!” Florence exclaims. “Meet us in your office after a few minutes. You can still go ahead and meet the others.”

Celia nods, quite delighted. “She's right, and you don't need to worry about anything since we already handled the task assignments. Most of them are outside to watch Washford and Drysdale perform in the backyard. It eases the weight around the house.”

You chuckled at Celia's comment before they parted ways to look for Mac in this crowded house. It was somewhat a relief that most of them were in the backyard, you couldn't bear to think the house falling apart if all hundred of them were to actually stand inside.

Celia was right, you don't have to worry about anything when they already did the job quite perfectly. Holly was in charge of the decorations, with the help of strong individuals that could carry her on their shoulder or tall ones that could reach the ceiling.

Stefan and most of the kitchen crew were doing kitchen duty, cooking and making enough beverages for everyone. The dining room was filled with it and you could only hope there were tables in the backyard for everyone to dine together.

Everyone greeted you with wide arms and tight hugs. While some planted kisses onto your face. You were left flustered with their gestures and it felt too good to be true. Roaming around the ground floor, you wanted to know if there's anything to do or help. But they reassured you that they'll handle the rest, much to your dismay.

You went upstairs and you immediately noticed your bedroom door closed but the laughter and talking was clearly heard. The voices contain most of the bedroom crew along with the bathroom crew, talking. Sharing all of the fun experiences they had after finding their paths.

Pride swelled within you when they successfully achieved the things where their own path takes them. They were happy and content despite their own struggles. They were just human with dreams after all.

You didn’t mean to eavesdrop but you were certainly engrossed hearing the travels they all made. Some stories were heavily challenging while some of them were delightful as it sounds. Now you find yourself eavesdropping, as you were too engrossed hearing them so happy, you didn't realize you were in the first place.

Your heart ached for some reason, and you didn’t know why. It was thrilling to hear their adventures, how they strived and chose their own paths. But a thought crept from the back of your mind. You should be happy and yet you feel easily discarded. Too easy to earn your trust, too easy to leave.

No, thinking like this felt so wrong. You thought you'd moved on but clearly you weren't. The feeling of abandonment tightened around your chest, fear returned within you. You couldn't breathe. You couldn't speak.

You hastily turned around to leave.

“If it wasn't for [name], I wouldn't be where I am now.”

Those words made you freeze. You recognized Betty's comforting voice and to your surprise, the others inside followed afterwards. The room was filled with nothing but their exclaims of gratitude. Laughter and chatter ensues in the room. Unbeknownst to them, you heard it all.

They expressed the way you helped them all. It started from your approach for the first time, and you have helped them a lot ever since. It was you who motivated them, it was you who believed in them. It was you who wouldn't dare to give up on them. Always has been.

You were the reason why they became from something to someone.

Your throat felt like it had tightened itself. You then caressed your temple in hopes to calm you down. It slightly did. Hearing those words coming out of them was nothing but overwhelming. Now you feel guilty. For them and for Mac who did everything they could.

Through Skylar's words: you've brought a whole lot of love in this world.

Your love brought them.

You didn't even realize your feet walking to who knows where as your hand caressed your head. Until you bumped into someone. The sensation by how your skin jumped snapped you out of it. Finding yourself staring at Volt, and then Eddie who held a tool by the breaker box.

“Are you alright, live wire?” Volt asks out of concern. It looked like you were out of breath, or had seen something you weren't supposed to.

“Yeah. You look out of it.” Now, it was Eddie. Closing the panels shut and he settled one of the tools down before inspecting your face. The both of them suspected something was up.

“Uhm. Fine…” You shakily exhaled, raking your hair back. “I'm fine…”

Eddie didn't seem convinced. “You don't seem like it.”

“Come here and give us a hug, yes?” Volt spreads his arms as wide to invite you in and you don't hesitate. You did as you were told. Your arms found its way to wrap around Volt's back and buried your head on his chest. It didn't take long when another warmth caressed your side. Eddie.

You savored the hug, even for a moment. Although, it didn't last long when you eventually let go. Missing the way Volt’s face fell when the hug was so surprisingly quick. You weren't always one to let go first and hugging is one of the things you love to do.

“Now, what's going on with that pretty head of yours. Hm?” Volt asked and you shrugged like there was nothing. At least you convinced yourself that it was.

You shook your head with your voice hushed. “The house became quieter than I thought it should've after you guys left."

“I hope you realize that you're not that easy to forget, live wire.” Eddie sighs, and you feel conflicted whether it was to offend you or the opposite.

Volt reassured you the opposite. “He's right. Because of your love and your determination, we wouldn't be where we are if it wasn't for the faith you've given us.”

“I guess what I meant to say was...” Eddie trailed off where a noticeable red flushed his neck. His gaze stilled at yours. “Thank you.”

It was a small gesture, but it did reassure you in many ways. A smile made its way to your lips. You didn't say anything and just pulled them both in an embrace. It was longer than before and it was already enough for the three of you before you simultaneously let go.

“It's been great seeing you guys, really.” A lilt of relief entered your tone as Volt held you by the waist, grinning widely.

“As do we, to you, live wire.” He says. With that, you found your face being smothered by their lips so intimately that others might mistake it as a very sexual gesture. It was far more than that. It was comfortable, reassuring.

You laugh. “We'll catch up later. I still need to see Celia about something.”

“Sure.” Eddie nods and pecks a kiss onto your cheek. “Just find us right after your business. We'll be around.”

You absentmindedly kissed each of their cheeks back and deliberately went downstairs feeling a lot lighter than before. Whatever Mac and Celia wants to talk about, you hope everything will be fine. You trudged to your office to meet with them.

“House Homie!”

You were greeted in your office by five men that immediately tackled you in a group hug, squishing you in the middle. The Hanks look as radical as ever and you almost couldn't breathe if it wasn't for Celia demanding them to let you go. These men had so much energy, she couldn't keep up.

She sighs. “The gentlemen have something important to tell you in regards to the house–”

“We’re staying with you!” The Hanks cuts her off. They couldn't contain any excitement and immediately jumped on you in joy. You couldn't process the news when strong hands engulfed you again like a bunch of puppies. They were everywhere, even Hank #4 was clinging onto your leg while Hank #2 had his arms around your waist.

“Wait, really…?” Your voice came out as muffled when a mop of ginger hair amplified your voice. But there was a hint of shakiness to it. You were really surprised.

“Uh, yeah!”

“Imagine going on adventures with you! Pretty rad!”

“Everyday with you will be nothing but fun!”

“And by fun… we mean it, hot stuff.”

“Alright. Thank you, boys.” Celia sighs out of exasperation once more. “You will be excused. You can bother them later."

This time, the five men listened and exited the room as she wished. Closing the door, there was a sigh from Florence and Celia, and you could only give them apologetic looks before Mac chimed in the conversation. They looked rather somber, and their eyes drooped more than normal.

“I know we haven't been interfacing due to my work, and really sorry–”

“Mac.” You call out to them sternly, guilt washing over you. “You don't have to apologize. If anything, I should be the one apologizing for being stupid and treating you so unfairly.”

You approached them, your conscience gnawing at you relentlessly while it reminded you of your nuisances. The air became slightly tense as you went quiet. You didn't even realize that you took their hand over yours. A squeeze from them helped you slightly calm down.

“I was being selfish. Thinking that every single one of you will forget me. It's… terrifying. Even the thought of you all abandoning me, all alone, it's unbearable."

Your voice lowered a volume as you felt your throat tightening.

"I know this doesn't excuse my behavior. I don't want you to feel like you aren't enough, you are. You really are. I'm sorry..."

The three of them fell silent. Your confession caught them by surprise. The office felt tense and weren't sure if it's you or the room itself, but you certainly felt it spinning. You wouldn't dare say a word after your spiral and your head hung itself low to avoid seeing their faces. They could be judging you, and finding you pathetic.

However, despite no words were exchanged, it didn't happen.

Instead, Celia and Florence looped their arms around you, comforting you with nothing but reassurance and the warmth of their presence. In the middle of the silence, you felt loved, treasured. As if words were exchanged into embrace, burying you in it. Then you felt Mac's thumb caress the back of your palm, soothing your thoughts.

Celia leaned her head to your shoulder. "My dearest, we would never forget nor abandon you. You're too important to all of us."

"She's right. We love you all the same, before and after." Florence patted your cheek so soft that she and Celia hugged you again.

You haven't counted the hugs you've received today, and you were certain it was more than usual. But you aren't complaining. You love every single one of it.

“This proposal I am about to make… Would you like to hear about it?” Once the hug ended, Mac immediately went straight to the point. They seemed a bit happier than earlier. The couple soon lets go and yet their warmth lingering.

You nod at them. “Of course.”

You braced yourself for literally anything and yet you didn't expect for them to take out a large blue sheet with white lines printed on it. Florence helped them settle the sheet on your desk, rolling it as widely as it could. The large print was obviously familiar.

“This is… the house's blueprint.” Your voice was laced with uncertainty, you were rather confused as to why they have this.

Celia nods. “Mac proposed that we should expand the house for more rooms."

"Not only for the Hanks, but for others who wanted to stay.” Florence finishes.

You looked at the couple with another wave of shock flashing through your eyes, and your heart immediately swelled. It caused you to wipe any tears that were threatening to fall. It didn't take long when they started pitching for ideas, including you who suggested some of yours to merge your ideas together and come up with a full-proof plan.

It was doing quite well. And you were excited.

Celia and Florence excused themselves once you all finalized the blueprint. They still wanted to enjoy the celebrations. It leaves you and Mac, enjoying the serene silence as muffled bearings can be heard outside the door. Both of you were quiet for a while, until you heard a faint squeak.

An exhale left Mac's lips, they breathed in. “The identities of future tenants, or roommates, other than the Hanks are still unknown… We could only hope that there would be someone interested.”

“Don't worry. We could always make it as guest bedrooms.” You suggested, turning to reassure them. “I won't be lonely anyways knowing that I have… you.”

Your words felt gratifying, while your lovely smile sent shivers down Mac's spine. You are such a wonderful and kind person, and they love you for that. They just hoped that you would see it for yourself.

To see that a lot of them keeps you as someone important in their lives. They wouldn't dare to leave you.

“Are you sure about this? Won't this disrupt your work?” Your tone, growing anxiously, interrupts their thoughts.

“I made sure that it wouldn't. As long as we keep the bed to ourselves, then I have no objections whatsoever.” A snort escapes them. They didn't mean anything behind it. Mac just wanted to have you all by themself once it was time to go to bed to let their disquietude wash away.

Being in your arms at the end of the day was all they wanted.

You smiled. But Mac with their keen eyes saw through it when a faint smirk played at the corner of your lips. “I'll make sure to pay attention to you later after we're done. I wouldn't want you to feel… neglected.”

If Mac was still a computer now, they would comment how you made their CPU overheat and yet they didn't. Too speechless and rather excited to let words come out. Even their own flirtatious comebacks betrayed them. Mac stays silent, they were glad to finally see this spark in you.

The only thing they can do for now is to accompany you outside to enjoy a lot of activities planned by the others. Where a lot of them will be waiting for you. Even Jean Loo, who will be performing tonight despite being the one taking care of your taxes, and this may be the best time to stop him from doing so before you get carried away.

Everything in the house was planned to your enjoyment, a way to express their own gratitude for being there with them.

Either it was away from you, or not, they will hold your name dearly. Even if it is through the hardships they have to face. You always held them close to your heart as the precious individuals that made your life better, and so as they.

If there was one thing they have taught you: Home is really where the heart is.

And to them, you will always be their home.

a/n: my head is so fried because i was writing this for five days, and words are difficult to form when it comes to writing, for me anyways. it's hard when your english is limited. anyways, scandalabra/jon wick mentioned! my pookie <33

[beomniiz]

TONIGHT ₍^. .^₎⟆ LARA RAJ

❝ I do this all because you’re my superstar. ❞

❪ ㅤ𝓲ndex ❫ ⋆˚꩜｡ ft. hs!Lara Raj x Swimmer!Reader 1616wc ⟢ 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿, mentions of drowning ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱

None of Lara’s friends understood. I mean why would she suddenly show interest in swimming of all things? Lara Raj was a woman of many talents, but swimming was not one.

None of them even recall ever actually seeing her swim— and staying on the shore at the beach obviously does not count. How did the infamous Lara Raj find herself nearly drowning? Well it’s simple really.

One day as she was walking to class she saw this girl— not just any though. Her beauty was enough to turn heads, or at least in Lara’s mind, because according to her friend, the girl was a ‘two out of ten’. Although Lara’s sure she’s higher, that's besides the point.

Lara had her friend— Daniela do a little digging, it turned out that said girl was on a swim team! Which is how Lara found herself in this position, her ears ringing as she found her vision darkening.

The one familiar thing she sees is you. Was she dying? Or worse, dead already? Maybe diving head first on the first day was something not everyone could achieve, the one thing she did achieve was learning she couldn’t swim though! You on the other hand were panicking, hastily you pulled her out of the water, shaking her— even if you knew it wouldn’t really help much if she had inhaled too much water.

You kneeled next to her, placing your hands on her chest and pressed down a few times, until she gurgled up water. As she spit it out, you helped her turn her body upwards so that she wouldn’t choke on it more.

“Are you okay?” You frantically asked, even if Lara wanted to answer— she quite literally couldn’t. All Lara wanted to shrivel up and die as you continued to ask her questions. She just knew her friends would eat her up for this, especially the fact she could’ve died yet all she could think of was the way your hand rubbing her back.

Ever since that day you’ve personally made it your mission to teach her how to swim, because come on, who joins a swimming team without even knowing how to tread!

“Lara.. you’re doing it wrong, again.” you sighed, moving beside her and placing your hand on her back. “you have to relax, or else you’ll never be able to float.” you said for the third time, holding her up on her back within the water.

Undoubtedly Lara was gorgeous, but you could tell she wasn’t listening. It was the little things she would forget, her towel, to be on time, it made you truly wonder why she was even on the team.

I mean— who forgets a towel when going swimming! Lara on the other hand felt like she was on cloud nine, five days a week spending time alone with this gorgeous girl? Not only that, but was her coach— she was your main priority!

The problem arose when finals came. Lara genuinely thought swimming was for fun, not tournaments and all.

“I’m not trying to be rude here but.. I think you should let them cut you.” You said to Lara, walking into the locker rooms. “oh, uhm why?” She questioned, even if she knew the answer.

“Well, for one you can barely tread properly. Second, you're late a lot, not to mention the clothes instead of the swimsuit. Third, you're always distracted.” Oh. Was she that bad? Lara hadn’t noticed how much you’d taken note of her.

“I only joined because—” of you. The words sat on the tip of her tongue, yet she couldn’t bring herself to say them? “Daniela told me.” Oh? This made Lara look up at you, “She said you joined because you needed the community hours, but why on earth would you join if you couldn’t even swim!”

You huffed exasperated, you truly didn’t get it. “I mean there’s so many other ‘clubs’ you could have  joined— origami, dance, vocal—“ Lara could see you rambling on, yet she couldn’t bring herself to tell you the truth, so she lied.

“I wanted to make friends.” She blurted out, referencing the fact that the swim team was the largest ‘club’ within the school.

“Teach me how to swim.. please.” She said, her eyes darting around the room— it’s not like she didn’t want to learn, she just hasn’t treated it seriously because she was more focused on you.

“Okay.. but we’ll have to train on weekends as well, since I don’t really have time to teach you during the week due to nationals.” You said, looking at her— you hoped she was serious, because you’d be upset if she decided to waste more of your personal time if she wasn’t.

It’s really not like you didn’t enjoy spending time with Lara, but you really didn’t have time to waste during nationals.

It’s been four days— and Lara has started to show you how much she really did want to learn. She would meet you during the weekends, where you would teach her various things.

“Okay, to float you have to try and relax all of your body- not just your upper half.” You said, holding her lower back above the water, spreading her arms out on each side, much like a starfish.

“Like this?” Lara questioned, though her lower half was still slowly sinking- which caused you to hold it back up again.

“Floating really isn’t that important, but at least you can tread water now.” You said, helping her submerge her half fully back into the water.

“Let’s call it a day for today, it’s already seven.” You added on, to which Lara nodded— “Thank you, for all of this by the way.” You hummed as you got out of the pool.

“I can walk you home.” Lara offered, which made you smile. “Sure. just let me change first.” You nodded, walking towards the showers. After you were done showering and changing, Lara was waiting outside for you, her hair still damp.

“You’re not going to dry your hair? It’ll get you sick in this breeze.” You huffed, stopping her as you took out your towel, using it to dry her hair. Lara was slightly taller than you, so she had to lean her head down a bit— her friends were never going believe this.

Maybe it was the closer proximity, or the fact you’ve been sending a lot of time together, but Lara felt more confident. “Can we.. hang out something? Outside of swimming.” She mumbled, looking down at you.

“A date?” You questioned, making Lara look away— was she asking you on a date? She wasn’t even quite sure herself, but she was quick to nod anyway.

It’s been a few weeks since then, but you’ve been so busy. Lara was benched for the season and your coach has been hounding you, so you really didn’t have time to train her anymore.

Though, this week was nationals. Lara didn’t attend any of the tournaments, until the second last one— you were up against six others, in lane five.

You didn’t notice her when you went in, but when your head emerged from the water, your lungs expanded as you gasped for air— you noticed her familiar red hair, her brown eyes staring at you.

That day you placed second, which really wasn’t bad— but it was a bummer. As you finished getting out of the shower, ready to collapse into the hotel bed, a knock on the door rang through the room.

You sighed as you opened it, scratching your head— before pausing. There stood Lara, with your jacket and a few other things.

“You did good today!” She exclaimed smiling, though it’s really not like you could bring yourself to. Second place wasn’t bad, it’s just you know within yourself that you could do better.

“put on your shoes let’s go—!” She beamed, your brows furrowed as you looked at her. “Go where?” Lara was quick to reply- “it’s a surprise.” She said, watching as you put on your shoes, before dragging you down the hotel hallways despite your protests.

Lara dragged you like, thirty minutes away! Your feet were aching by the time she stopped you, on a bridge within a park— the view was gorgeous, nonetheless.

“What are we doing here?” You questioned, still a little breathless, meanwhile Lara looked like she was unaffected by running.

“y/n.” She called out, looking at you— in times like these it was when you could truly appreciate her beauty, she was truly gorgeous.

“Thank you for helping me with swimming, I mean it, seriously.” She smiled, her hands were still interlocked with yours from the run. “Of course, I mean it was my job to teach you kind of..” You said awkwardly, you felt like shrinking under her gaze— you two have never really stood face to face like this before.

“I like you.” Lara blurted out, your widened eyes met hers— was this some cruel joke, or was she being serious? “I want to get to know you more.” She said, though you weren’t really listening.

Her words repeated like a mantra in your head, Lara Raj liked you? Suddenly the pieces started to make a bit more sense, why she would randomly join the swim team within the middle of the season with no actual commitment.

“I want to get to know you better as well.” You replied, your voice displaying some of your bewilderment— if that was even possible. Lara’s smile widened even more, if that was possible.

“Let’s go out after your final tournament tomorrow.” She beamed, to which you nodded. “On a date?” You questioned, “Yes, a date.”

[atsa-star-wars]

Hard agree with OP. (I commented under my main, @alexthespaceace.) Here are some of my favorite comments and/or exchanges in case the comments to this post blow up and makes these ones harder to refer back to.

(It'd be nice if there'd been more to the Anakin/Padme relationship than being necessary to make Luke and Leia. As the Puzzle in a Thunderstorm guys often say in early "God Awful Movies" podcast episodes, "You're the movie!" The Powers That Be could've made a non-toxic relationship, but that wouldn't have been good cinema or shown what a shitty person Anakin grew up to be.)

===

jedi-enthusiast Original Poster @askteamgrey Relationships do not necessarily equal attachment.

Relationships are just having feelings for someone and forming a bond with them---whether those are familial, platonic, or romantic.

Attachment, as I've already outlined above, is being unable or unwilling to let someone go, no matter what that might mean for you or them, because you don't want to go through life without them.

They’re two separate things that have the ability to intersect.

ladystonedwolf only seen the movies, but anakin was told by a room full of adults when he was a kid that missing his mother was dangerous. that environment would emotionally stunt any kids ability to healthily process attachments and fears of loss

Avatar alexthespaceace That room full of adults thought he was too old and too prone to attachment (read: selfishness and obsession) to be fit for Jedi training, and Episodes II and III proved those adults right.

fai-gensou Pretty sure this whole argument about attachment wouldn’t be happening if the word obsession was used. Because Anakin didn’t love Padme; he was obsessed with her. You don’t care if your obsessions and your actions to keep it harm you or everyone around you

batidodehuevo I think you are wrong. Anakin didn't turn to the dark side because of his attachment to Pade, it was because he wanted to possess her. In the original triology they already prove that there is nothing wrong with being attached to others. I also miss that Anakin is acting out for Padme because the last time he had a dream his mother died and when he went to Yoda to talk about it he literally told him to let go because people die and there is nothing to do about!

alexthespaceace Yoda doesn't have all the details, and part of the Jedi religion, which borrows heavily from Buddhism, is accepting inevitabilities, like death, even the death of a loved one.

jedi-enthusiast Original Poster @batidodehuevo buddy, attachment IS wanting to possess someone—it’s about not wanting to ever let them go and being willing to do anything, no matter how heinous, just so you won’t have to. Attachment doesn’t mean love and the OT still goes along with Lucas’s message that attachment is bad.

And Anakin literally didn’t tell Yoda anything about Padme dying or a vision, he just said “i’m having dreams of someone close to me dying” (and Yoda even had to badger him to learn that much)—which is-

jedi-enthusiast Original Poster @batidodehuevo -pretty standard for a nightmare and very likely to happen in war. Not to mention that literally no one knew about Anakin’s visions of his mother and that they came true except Padme! Obi-Wan thought Anakin was having dreams and didn’t know what they were about, and Anakin never told him anything else! No one else knew!

So Yoda basically told Anakin that it’s better to celebrate the life someone lived and appreciate the time you had with them rather than being sad and angry-

Avatar jedi-enthusiast Original Poster @batidodehuevo -about not getting more time with them, albeit in typical Yoda-speak. Which is literally advice given in grief counseling. Not to mention that Yoda can’t read Anakin’s mind, so he can only give vague advice to a vague statement.

What else would you have had him do?

clairaworlds Also Anakin constantly undermines her autonomy in tcw. It bothers me so much. She's such a badass in that show and Anakin spends 100% of his time with her telling her not to do stuff she's fully capable of doing or dismissing her work in the senate as not as important as his work in the fighting. It's made me irrationally upset since I first watched the show at like 10

Ngl I think a lot of people, when they talk about Jedi and attachments and how "the Jedi should be allowed to have them," just plain ignore the single most important show of attachment in all of Star Wars.

Padme and Anakin.

Obviously people bring them up 24/7 when they want to bash the Jedi or pretend that Anidala is the epitome of a "healthy relationship" (lmao), but when it comes to the actual point of how their relationship is framed and how it highlights how attachment works/what it does---suddenly all the discussion around Anakin and Padme disappears!

Anakin's attachment to Padme and his unwillingness to let her go is LITERALLY what ends up killing her!!!

He has dreams of her dying, becomes convinced that those dreams are what's gonna happen (despite the unreliable nature of visions), and---instead of actually telling anyone anything in enough detail so they could actually help---he:

- Starts working with a Sith Lord

- Massacres a Temple full of children, the elderly, the injured, etc. and the people who were caring for them

- Helps commit a genocide

- Overthrows democracy

And then, once Padme won't support him vying for them to control the galaxy, he becomes convinced that she's betrayed him and attempts to kill her---then, later on, because of Anakin's actions Padme dies.

----------

THAT is what attachment is and what it does.

Attachment is being unable, unwilling, to let someone go, no matter what that might mean for you or them, because you don't want to go through life without them---and the people you try to hold onto so tight ultimately get crushed in your grip because of it.

Think of it like holding someone's hand.

Non-attachment would be, when the other person wants to stop, letting them slip away and being happy with what you had while you had it---being content whether they choose to stay by your side or run off to go do something else.

Attachment would be, when the other person tries to let go, tightening your grip or grabbing their wrist---hurting them because you don't want there to even be a chance that you would be without them.

----------

So no, the Jedi were not wrong to teach non-attachment and they should not have "changed their philosophies so they were allowed to have attachments" like some people have suggested, because attachment is unhealthy and selfish and all it does is end up hurting those around you.

[w1theraway]

mechanic!vi x art teacher!reader

synopsis: you're vi's daughter's, powder, art teacher. teacher-parent conference comes up, and vi clumsily wants to ask you out

word count: 960 words

warnings: non arcane AU, vander is alive (and mentioned)

notes: first fic and english isn't my first language so pls go easy on me

the smell of dried paint fills the classroom, the finished drawings of the students hang by the wall near the window, left to air dry and leaving the results for the day after.

you nervously fiddle with your pen, clicking it and twirling it around your fingers as you gaze at the clock. its hands seem to move mockingly slow, knowing you're awaiting a certain someone and making the wait more painful than it has to be.

you've already talked to plenty of parents today, some didn't show and for that you were sort of grateful, saving you the headache of another whining grown adult. they love to claim their child is perfect, that they can do no wrong, and make the teacher-parent conference useless, blaming you for their child's action. sometimes you find yourself thinking their children are much more educated than them, wondering where they get their attitude from.

with a sigh, you break free from your thoughts and look up at the clock as the small hand strikes a new hour. 6 p.m.

"she's late" you whisper to yourself, as if afraid of being heard in a room full of people while being alone, lowering your head between your hands and looking down at your desk.

suddenly a knock is heard, despite the classroom door being already wide open. you look up from your desk, seeing her face peeking through the door with an awkward smile that screamed "i know i'm late and i'm sorry"

you clear your throat, choking on your saliva for a split second and ending up red in the face. sighing, you nod at her "you can come in".

she enter the room slowly, still an awkward look on her face. she sits down on the chair put in front of you, on the other side of your desk.

you give her a small smile, picking up your long abandoned pen again, its click loud among the empty,silent classroom.

"so-" you open your mouth to talk, but she almost beats you to it and interrupts you.

"i'm so sorry for being late, i had a problem at work that was taking too long and-"

a chuckle leaves your lips, reassuring her again with a smile. "it's all good, vi. i mean, at least for me..." you chuckle dryly "the school closes soon, so let's make this quick okay?"

she hums ."okay"

you nod at her understanding, starting to nervously click the pen in your hand, while the other free one plays with the hem of your shirt "there's not much to say about powder, she's a great kid. she spends most of the time playing alone, but she's also a good teammate when there's group projects. i'd say she likes being on her own, but not necessarily because she struggles making friends, rather because she chooses to isolate herself.." you sigh "i think your daughter just enjoys being alone...is that what she's used to at home?" a drop of concern could be heard in your voice, though keeping it light as to not come off as rude.

vi blinks, stunned slightly by the question. she stutters a bit "u-uh no, not really. i try my best to be present, but when i'm at work it's her grandpa taking care of her..not a problem is it? right?" she gives a rigid smile, chuckling nervously through her teeth.

you shake your head "that she has her grandpa looking after her? no, it's completely fine. though her social skills could be impacted for when she grows up if she doesn't make any friends, so you should probably talk this out with her okay?" giving her an understanding look, you reach out and cross a line of professionalism to squeeze her hand in support. "don't worry about it, powder is a smart girl. she'll be fine" you give her a smile, slowly retreating your hand.

with a sigh, you get up from your seat, dusting off your skirt , pushing the chair back into the desk and dropping the pen back into it's cylindrical container. you accompany vi to the door and she swiftly skips ahead of you and blocks the doorway.

you give her a puzzled look, but she talks before you can say anything. "uh sorry, i just wanted to ask if you'd like me to walk you back to your car.." she rubs the back of her neck as she says it.

"oh! yeah, sure." smiling at her nervousness, you gesture for her to follow you. as she walks you back to your car, your hands slightly brush against each other, making you blush and awfully aware of your closeness. you look up at her to see if she's noticed, or at least felt it, but she's looking ahead with a straight face.

once you both get to your car, you turn to her "thank you for walking me back"

she smiles back at you " it's no prob"

there's an awkward silence for a split second, before she speaks up again " soo there's this really cute cafe nearby and i uh..was wondering if you'd like to come with me?" she gives you another one of her awkward smiles, her question making you blush.

chuckling , you decide to tease her a little "so...like a date?". you grin at her, enjoying the change in her facial expressions. she smiles back at you "yeah! exactly!"

"then sure, i'd love nothing more"

nodding excitedly, she gives you a big smile "great! i'll text you the details tomorrow!" and with that, she hurriedly runs off for unknown reasons, leaving you alone in the parking lot as you chuckle to yourself "must've been in a hurry.." you think to yourself, getting in your car and driving home.

soo lmk if i made any mistakes/any way to improve my writing! :3

[thesylenttreatment01]

Okay, but what if...

I really like the idea that MC/the reader doesn't like when people buy things for them.

Like, it makes them feel uncomfortable. Maybe its this idea of constantly having to maintain some semblance of equality in a relationship that once someone buys a gift, it must be matched in value and returned in full. Like, once someone buys something for you, you no longer can just enjoy each others company until equality has been restored and the purchase has been repaid in full. So for them, it makes it super hard at first when Sylus just buys things.

Sylus on the other hand, REALLY likes buying things for MC/Reader. Why? because he has more money than he can do anything with. Not to mention, that money is kinda a great representation of human greed. So like, yes, he likes that he has it for utility purposes, but it always leaves a bad taste in his mouth to have so much of it. He would rather spend it on things that he enjoys and precious things to him.

Precious things like MC/Reader.

He likes getting her new things. Clothes in particular, because its something they can go and do together. He gets the spend the day with her and she gets new things to wear that he later gets to see her wear (*cough* take off *cough*) and so its fun for him even if he doesn't say it aloud.

I feel like this would go on for a while, where MC/Reader would protest it, but appreciate he thought about them. Not wanting to be rude so just saying thank you but slowly feeling more and more irritated or resentful of it because they start to feel like the debt is getting larger and larger in a way that they can't walk out of it.

Sylus? Completely oblivious to this. Not because he's purposefully being obtuse, but because people typically protest to be polite. Like saying "you don't have to" while they let you do so. its a way to express gratitude in a way without saying point blank thank you. So, he assumes because MC/Reader typically is a little coy about their feelings this was just another way for them to say it.

However, just as MC/Reader grows more resentful, Sylus is picking up some weird tension. It isn't spoken on, but he can tell that there are less and less times than they get to go do things together. More missions that seem to pop-up out of no where, more strange illnesses and headaches, and more leads that would finally "crack" the case wide open (only they didn't). He doesn't understand why MC/Reader is pulling back, but there was something there.

One night, Sylus invites you to a really fancy place that you KNOW for a fact that you can't afford to split the bill for. You want to see him, it had been such a long time since you two got to do something together-- but how do you explain this to him? If you were to ask if you could go somewhere else, he would want to know why, then you would have to lie about liking the place or something.

THEN even if he did change to the new location (because its Sylus, if you asked him to literally fly to a different country to eat he would do [and has done] that), then he would still pick-up the bill. That bastard always was two steps ahead of you. When you tried to the pay the bill on your last date while he was in the bathroom? What bathroom? he was just sneaking away to pay for the meal. You tried to PREPAY but the restaurant told you they were starting a new policy at the request of a patron not to accept your card specifically ("I guess your money isn't good here Sweeite, we better use mine" he teased you).

Every time you tried to gain some footing, tried to close the gap in the massive debt you already felt, he found a way around it. Trying to think about the mental gymnastics was just too much. SO, you did the only logical thing someone in this situation does... (have honest communication) you tell him Tara asked you for some help on a case and she really needed it done ASAP. work came first ya know? so maybe you two could catch up a little later.

Sylus doesn't respond for a minute, then two, and three. Finally, after about 5 minutes he tells you not to worry about it. That you two would catch up soon.

You thought that you had bought yourself time. A night in and another day to try and procrastinate and figure out how to reestablish equality in the relationship.

You sit down on the couch and turn on a show as you start to scroll mindlessly through social media (because one point of stimulation is just not enough, everyone knows that) and slowly start to feel the immediate anxiety of cost dissipating slightly. However, there was some nagging feelings, something in your gut that felt off.

You learn two things in the next 20 minutes: 1- always trust your gut feeling, you are always right (and remind Sylus of that often) and 2:

NEVER trust when Sylus uses generalized language.

You soon hear a knock on the door, which was weird because the pizza wasn't supposed to get there for like another 20 minutes, but hey, they had that rule of like "if were late your pizza is on us!" so maybe they were just really against giving free pizza away. You pull a brush through your hair quickly as you call out "just a second" and then pull the door open.

That was NOT a pizza delivery man.

Before you, stands a very unimpressed Sylus, who's crimson eyes were narrowed, like he was pinpointing a target as he crossed his arms, "Sweeite, next time you plan to lie about going on a mission, at least have the decency to close your curtains. Mephisto didn't even have to look that hard" he says nodding his head towards the window across from the couch.

Sure enough, when you turn your gaze you see the smallest little ruby red lights reflected outside the black night sky out your window.

Shit.

He stands there watching you, the awkward silence starting to pool around you as he waits for you to respond. He doesn't force his way into your house, but he doesn't look like will take kindly to you asking him to leave, waiting like weird disgruntled vampire. You definitely don't want to have a conversation in the hallway in front of everyone so you quickly invite him in.

Just as the words escape your lips he pushes past you into your apartment and starts walking around the living room, apparently too agitated to sit down(like sure, okay its only your house but whatever).

It was weird to see a look other than utter disinterest and calm across his face. If you weren't the one on the receiving end of that look, you would have probably started giggling how cute it was when he was expressive like this.

You close the door and then awkwardly take a step into the living room as his eyes fall expectantly on yours.

"so....can I get you something to drink" You ask awkwardly. Sure, there was a really unbreakable tension surrounding the two of you as you had just been caught red-handed in a lie, but you were nothing if not the perfect host.

He raises an eyebrow "I'll take water. No ice though--I get enough of the cold shoulder as it is sweetie"

Ouch, okay maybe you deserved that one.

You let out a small tired sigh "Sy, look I'm sorry okay? I just... I was just tired tonight. I didn't feel like doing this tonight."

He hums softly at that, more an acknowledgment than a response, as he slowly paces past your coffee table, gaze drifting over the half-folded blanket on the couch. The faintest curl of a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes "If I’d known spending time with me was this draining kitten, I would have sent flowers and my condolences instead of an invitation."

You felt your heart break a little as you tried to pry your foot from your own mouth. That isn't what you had meant to say, but despite the tone of utter indifference, you could hear the dejection in his words. He was hurt, and you didn't need him to say it to know it.

"Sy, th–that’s not what I meant. You aren’t tiring, it’s just-"

You pause, mouth still open like the rest of the sentence might come out if you just will it hard enough. But it doesn’t.

You shift your weight, as you sit down on the couch, arms crossing tight across your chest as if you were squeezing the words out, like toothpaste from the tube.

“It’s not you,” you try again, slower this time, the words feeling thick in your throat. “It’s just… I don’t know. It’s a me thing. This feeling I keep getting, its hard to explain, b-but it keeps building every time we go out or when you-”

Your fingers clench around your thumb slightly, as you start to rip at the skin around your nails, a hang nail being ripped and pulled out, like the physical pain might outweigh the unspoken words you've held inside for so long. Your eyes remain fixed ahead slightly at the coffee table, you can’t look at him, not yet. You knew once his eyes fixed on your own, all the nerve you had up to this point would be washed away.

“I know you mean well, I actually know that. And I appreciate it--I really do. But I just… I start to feel like I can’t keep up. Like I owe you. And it turns into this weird loop in my head where I’m not your partner anymore, I’m just…”

A breath catches in your throat.

You suddenly feel a soft, albeit cold pressure as Sylus' giant hand covers your own, putting his fingers around your own effectively keeping you from ripping at your now bleeding hand. His thumb carefully grazes over the back of your knuckles. He doesn't speak. He doesn't interrupt you. He never did. He just quietly held you, even in the smallest ways.

He always supported you. You felt your eyes start to burn as your eyes became glassy with unshed tears. You had let this happen. You couldn't believe that you waited this long, that you avoided him and even made him think this was his fault. Because Sylus always supported you, and waiting this long, being without him close you almost forgot that. You take a shaky breath, swallowing hard.

“I’m just… someone trying to catch up. To you. To everything you give without a second thought”

Your voice cracks as you try and clear your throat, you glance down at your hands again --his hand, now warm in contrast to the chill of his tone earlier, still wrapped around yours. Your blood on his thumb now, and he doesn’t even seem to care.

“You give so much, Sy. And I never feel like I can match it. Not just with money or… gifts or things, but with time, with energy, with you.”

You blink hard, using your free hand to wipe away the unshed tears before they can start to roll, but the tears keep pushing their way forward.

“You make everything look so easy. But for me, it’s not. I’m constantly calculating, trying to figure out how to make it fair. Because I don't want to feel like I’m taking advantage of you. Or worse--like I’m just along for the ride instead of actually standing next to you. I-I"

and finally, the tears start to stream "I want to be your partner , I-I want u-us to both be here because we love being with each other. n-not because I feel like I need to repay you. B-but when there is so much you give... it gets hard not to feel that way."

You take a deep breath as you feel his hand envelop the entire left half of your cheek as he wipes away a tear from your face. He doesn't make you look at him, he doesn't push your face towards his own, almost like he knows you need to get this out. But just supporting.

"Your not tiring Sy. I am. my brain is, and trying to figure out and navigate how to stop this incessant nagging feeling that makes me sick to my stomach each time I feel like I am just taking and taking... never giving you what you deserve back"

He’s silent for a moment. Not the cold kind of silence--just the kind where someone is deciding which truth is worth saying out loud.

“Money is inherently filthy,” he says at last, voice low and flat. “It creates and fosters greed, playing on the weaknesses of man and fanning the flame until they are burned alive in their own misery. It makes them easy to buy and easy to control. You see enough of it, and eventually, all it does is remind you how ugly the world really is.”

His gaze drops to your joined hands, blood still on his skin, but he doesn’t let go.

"It's a necessary evil however. It creates power and allows me to live in the world that I do. But most importantly, over all, it provides me with one single, beautiful investment I haven't been able to rival to date."

He tilts your head just slightly to look into his eyes. You see the same warm red, like the red embers of a glowing hearth of the home.

"Money buys time. Time in overly expensive boutiques where we can discuss straps vs strapless, time in new restaurants where I'm forced to wait until the perfectly angled photo can be captured before I can eat my food, and time that I get to spend with the one person who allows me to indulge in my...my favorite form of greed."

He lets the words hang there a moment, his thumb still idly brushing along your cheekbone. Then, after a beat, the corner of his mouth twitches--not quite a smile, but something warmly akin to it.

“And if you’re still determined to keep score…” he murmurs, voice dipping into that familiar warm sardonic edge that you had been craving since the moment he arrived, “then tally up the hours you let me indulge in it.”

He tilts his head just slightly, eyes flicking down to your lips and back again.

“Should I assume you charge by the hour, Sweetie? Or do I need to start negotiating a day rate?”

A laugh gets caught in your throat as you push away the final tears in your eyes. A smile forms on your lips as you gently press them to Sylus' letting a soft content sigh go. The tension from your body melts away just like the tension between you melts from the heated exchange.

You pull back slightly and nuzzle him with your nose and mumble "not only do you get a day rate, but you also get a discount: 15% off for family and friends" You tease lightly with a soft chuckle.

He hums thoughtfully. “15% off? Sounds suspiciously generous. Kitten. Are you trying to scam me, or seduce me?”

You giggle a little as you two exchange small little chaste kisses and mutter "I'm just waiting until I have you locked into a contract, then I'm going to ramp the rates up astronomically"

A slow, warm rumble, like thunder muffled by thick blankets, vibrates against your lips as he chuckles, "mm, benevolence very rarely comes out of the kindness of your heart Kitten"

You smile warmly, realizing that you weren't losing the game and you weren't accruing debt. You two were playing different games. And now? The chasm you felt was enveloping you whole? It was slowly closing. You had a new way for keeping score.

IDK why this kinda started as like a headcannon and then slowly morphed into some kind of fic? I think? idk. I like this idea tho, it was fun!!!

[lostintransist]

CW: Angst. Hurt/No Comfort. Yeah I'm going through some shit but my therapist says that 'you should keep writing, it really seems to help you.' 🤷.

"I won't beg for love from you," your words drop between your body and his. "Not for me, or for them."

Your heart clawed at the inside of your ribs. Trying for escape. It wasn't just your current needs, it was all the ones built up from childhood. No one noticed you. You weren't worth any attention unless you were doing something bad or getting stellar grades. Getting hit, disciplined they called it, never sat right with you. It was the same feeling that kept you from turning to anorexia or bulimia to deal with the complete lack of control, autonomy, choices, you had, or didn't has it actually turned out.

Coming into a relationship with children would always present a challenge. Your kids had a dad, a pretty good one at that. They didn't need another one, but they deserved love from all corners of their life. That included your boyfriend. Or so you thought.

He seemed to disagree.

He stared at you, work face firmly in place. Not a single thought flickered in his eyes as you laid his sins and your aches at his feet.

"They already get passed over by their aunts and uncles for being too much," your emotions are clogging the sounds in trying to escape. "No one will admit it but they don't like my kids, too loud, too emotional, too...too much like me.

You don't have to parent them, that's not your job. They have a dad. I won't accept you rebuffing them though. You knew this when you agreed to be with me, said you understood why I held back from you meeting them because they deserve safety and someone who gives them time, not just money. This wouldn't hurt so bad if you didn't spend an excess amount of time taking your nieces on trips and ignoring my kids unless they are right in front of you. Which, mind you, doesn't happen often as you specifically schedule time with me when they are with their dad."

Your knuckles ache from the force of keeping them from curling. You wanted to hit something, him preferably.

"I can't do this anymore. I already cry myself to sleep over ever birthday party invitation that doesn't make it to my inbox. They can all invite my former mother-in-law who isn't on Facebook. But me? A quick text of even just a picture of the party invite? Can't do it. The pictures I see by accident of the other kids getting love and attention from their childless aunt or even the ones you forget to put in a folder and not in your general photos before showing me something on your phone."

He steps forward now, called forth by the tears you can not longer dam. The hand thrown between you is treated as firm a barrier as the border between North and South Korea. Staring at the back of your left hand stuck between your bodies, your breath catches as you let go of the idea of his ring there.

"Love on other people's conditions is not something I am willing to accept more of." Your hand falls to your side, hanging listless. "I'm sorry."

Turning and walking away feels like peeling the skin from the back of your neck.

He finds his voice now. It cracks on your name as he calls after you.

Flicking a hand over your shoulder you keep moving.

Alone is better than love that hurts.

Masterlist

[bullet-prooflove]

The Farm Boi Series: Bison Daddy - Dennis Whitaker x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @cosmic-psychickitty @sargeant-sad-eyes @caffeinatedwoman @hooks-martin

Summary: Dennis shows you a whole new side after a baby bison is rejected by it's mother.

Companion piece to:

Peppermint - The taste of peppermint will always have a special place in Dennis’s heart.

The Morgue Thing - A miscommunication between you and Dennis almost ends things before they begin.

Written In The Stars - Your first date with Dennis takes place underneath the stars.

In The Park - Dennis reveals a secret after the two of you spend the night together in the park.

Virgin - There’s a rumour going around about Dennis.

Debauched (NSFW) - Karaoke night ends a lot differently than it did the first time around.

Symphony (NSFW) - Dennis has never eaten pussy before…

Pretty Boy (NSFW) - You and Dennis take the next step in your relationship.

Firsts (NSFW) - Dennis experiances alot of firsts during your first night together.

Permanent Marker - You find out about the betting pool.

Denny’s To Do List - Dennis realises he’s in the midst of a sexual awakening.

The Porn Boom (NSFW) - Dennis isn’t like the other man you’ve been with.

Bite (NSFW) - Dennis doesn’t mean to edge you.

Wild Flowers - A crown of wildflowers leads you and Dennis to discuss the issues he has with his family.

A Friend of Denny’s - Your relationship with Dennis takes a turn when his parents come to town.

A Cold Day In Hell - Dennis tries to make amends for his actions.

Gardens of Babylon - Dennis has made his choice, now it's time for you to make yours.

My Future Wife - Dennis makes a promise to you at Jana's celebration of life event.

Dennis isn’t in the bed when you wake up. The sun is shining through the white gauzy curtains and there’s an empty space beside you amongst the fleece lined sheets. He warned you about this, about how his body clock reverts to farm hours when he’s here.

You throw on a pair of jeans and a white tank top before making the journey down the stairs.

The entire house is quiet, there’s just the sounds of the farm emitting through the open stable door as you help yourself to the coffee pot. There’s a mug already set out for you, one covered in tiny cartoon cows. You smile at the sight of it, recognising Dennis’s touch.

You take your coffee exploring with you. You didn’t get to see too much of the farm yesterday as you’d been swept up with the rest of the Whitaker family. You didn’t realise the expansiveness of the operation, from the trees in the cherry orchard to the herd of bison roaming around the pastures, their calves clinging to their sides as they chomp at the grass.

You hear Dennis’s dulcet tones as you stride towards the barn, the low, soothing cadence of his voice fills your ears as you pop your head through the doorway to see who he’s talking to.

Your heart stops because what you’re seeing, it simply can’t be real. Things like this don’t happen outside of those cowboy romance books you read.

Dennis is sitting on the dusty floor of the barn, his back resting against a couple of hay bales. Nestled against him is a bison calf, her head lying in his lap as he feeds her from a litre bottle of milk. His palm strokes through the fur on her neck as the calf guzzles greedily, tongue lapping at the rubber teat.

“You know I couldn’t fall more in love with you right?” You murmur as you lean against the doorframe. He glances up, that handsome smile crossing his features when he sees you standing there, watching him.

“Phyllis’s mom rejected her.” He says sadly, scratching underneath the calf’s chin. “It’s a trickly thing with bison, they’re more wary of humans than cows. They don’t have a great survival rate being bottle fed because they fight it tooth and nail. You have to make them understand that you’re trying to help them, that the bottle is actually food.”

“She seems to be taking to you.” You remark as you take a sip from your coffee mug.

“Trust me she tried to charge me more times than I can count.” He says affectionately, his eyes warm as he looks down at her. “I’m gonna be covered in bruises tomorrow but we seem to come to an agreement haven’t we baby girl?”

The bison snuggles in closer and your heart melts just a little bit more. You’re gonna end up taking this thing home, you think. You’re gonna be the first people in Pittsburgh to have a bison as a pet.

“This was what your brothers were talking about isn’t it?” You say, recalling the conversation from last night about Dennis’s affinity for animals. How he’d nurse them to health, make a friend for life that would follow him around the farm while he did chores. Your man, he was always meant to be a healer, he just didn’t understand that until much later on. “That chicken with one wing, Tripod the dog, animals, they just love you don’t they?”

“Pretty much.” He responds, his eyes fixed on the bottle as the milk level drops below the rubber nipple. He withdraws it from the calf’s mouth and she whines trying to chase it. “You have had enough for now.” He tells her booping her on the nose with his fingertip. “It’s time to get you back into your stall.”

He slips out from underneath her, setting the bottle down on the ground before he raises to his feet. He uses his palms to brush the hay from his jeans as the calf stands up, following his lead.

He tries to lead her towards the stall but it becomes abundantly clear that his baby bison does not want to be separated from her new caregiver. Dennis tries everything, pushing her, lifting her, slapping her on the rump, he even tries to crowd her in but instead she rubs her cheek against his denim clad thigh.  

“So you’re planning on following me around all day huh?” He asks her, his palm stroking over the top of her head. “You gonna help me mend Nana’s fence? Maybe try a few cherries when me and Lola go picking in the orchid.”

The bison snorts and you both take that as a yes.

“Is she our baby now?” You ask him as he walks towards you, Phyllis trotting closely on his heels.

“For the next couple of days until I can get her to bond with Rick.” Dennis tells you as the two of you step out into the sunshine. “He’ll try to reassimilate her into the herd in a couple of months when she weans onto solid food. He’s done it a couple of times when a momma has died or a calf has been abandoned. It just takes some time and a lot of patience.”

His fingers thread through yours as he guides you back towards the house at a slow amble, Phyllis following closely behind.

“Do you miss this?” You ask him, using the mug to gesture at the surrounding farm. “It kinda feels like you’ve fallen right back into it, like you haven’t lost a step.”

“Sometimes.” He says, his thumb tracing over the tattoo on the hollow of your wrist. “But this place, it doesn’t quite feel like home anymore. It’s more like a working vacation.”

You thought that this would happen when he first mentioned the trip. It’s easy to fall back into old patterns when you’re back with family. There’s a sense of obligation there that you can never shake.

“How about after this we take a real vacation?” You say, nudging him with your shoulder. “We could go for a cabin kinda thing, where I sit on the porch and watch you chop wood or the beach where we can skinny dip in the sea…”

“I like both those options.” He tells you, leaning in close, his mouth brushing over yours. “Lying you down in front of the fireplace on a sheepskin rug, making love to you on the beach. I can’t decide which one I’ll enjoy more - Ow Jesus!” He looks down to see Phyllis staring up at him with those shiny dark eyes of hers, she huffs and he shakes his head. “We are going to have to have a real conversation about butting people for attention Phyllis.”

You laugh as you draw apart but Dennis he captures your hand again pulling you back to him.

“She’s gonna end up coming to the wedding with us isn’t she?” You say as you look at the bison and imagining her wearing a flower crown as she trapses down the aisle.

“That…” Dennis says as he tickles the calf’s chin with his fingertips “…is a very realistic possibility.”

Love Dennis? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Before you join the taglist make sure to read the rules here as you otherwise you won’t be added.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[iamthecomet]

Come to Heel

Rating: E Pairing: Dew/Aeon Featuring: Boot Fucking, Mean!Dew, Aeon and Dew are both little shits in their own ways. Mutual masturbation. A lot of build up because that's what I like best. IDK Man it's boot fucking what do you want from me? Dew puts Aeon in his place. Word Count: 4k.

many thanks to @forlorn-crows for the title inspiration

If you want to impress me Aeon, you're going to have to do better than being a little shit. That doesn't work on me."

Aeon swallows. He's quiet for a moment—waiting to see if Dew really wants him to speak this time. Without instructions he's floundering. It's delicious. Dew wants to drown in this feeling, this power, the way Aeon crumples beneath him.

"What does?"

Dew tilts his head, considering. He clicks his tongue. Strokes his thumb along the sharp plane of Aeon's jaw. "Obedience."

Read it all on AO3 or under the cut.

The back bend is impressive. Dew has to admit that—though he'd be hard pressed to do it out loud. He watches the horns of Aeon’s mask kiss the stage as he flattens. Watched Aeon expose himself to stage lights. To Dew's hungry gaze. 

Dew stands closer every night. Boots creeping ever closer to the seam of Aeon’s uniform pants. 

He points, an order, and watches Aeon slide to his knees and tries not to wonder what that desperate compliance would look like somewhere else. 

Wonders if Aeon would bend and break for him like this on a hotel room carpet. 

It isn't like he hasn't had the opportunity. But Dew won't ask. If he does Aeon will have an ego about it. Aeon thinks he's hot shit and every side eyed glance inflates his ego that much more. Every caress. Every time he is whisked away into a hotel room to be played with like a new toy, he emerges cockier, more annoying. Glowing with self satisfied smugness that makes something grind together inside of Dew's chest. 

Dew refuses to participate. Refuses to add fuel to that fire. He will not build Aeon up, can't fathom why anyone would want to. Doesn't the little ghoul have enough confidence now? Doesn't he already think too highly of himself? Like Swiss without the actual experience to back it up. Dew's not playing into it—fuck that. When—not if—he gets his claws on Aeon this tour, he will break him. 

Dew seizes whatever opportunity he can get, knows Aeon will take that finger, pointed at the ground, as another flirtation. And later—when Aeon sidles up to him, cocksure and handsy, Dew slips away. Ignores him. Sliding out of the grip of those spindly fingers and not even sparing a look back at Aeon's confused face. 

Dew sets his trap. Over and over again. And Aeon kneels for him, night after night, falling every time Dew demands it. The screams from the crowd buoy Aeon even more, and of course Dew's sees it. He sees the way the praise lifts him higher and higher, until Aeon has placed himself on a teetering pedestal. 

And all the while, Dew waits for the exact right moment to knock Aeon’s wavering tower out from under him. 

It's mid-tour. Dew barely knows what day it is, each of them blending together with long bus rides, and a revolving door of hotels and catered meals. He feels perpetually dirty. Coated in a fine film of sweat no matter how long he spends in scalding showers each night. 

Aeon's been driving him crazy all day. Something about what happened the night before. A sign with his name on in the crowd maybe. Or that human girl at the bar who was clinging to his arm for an hour before he finally let himself be dragged away from the bar at the hotel and up to a strangers room. Whatever it is, the extra attention has made Aeon unbearable to be around.  Dew's been thinking about strangling him all day. 

Dew watches him out of the corner of his eye through an excruciating bus ride, and a sound check that feels like it is never going to end. Watching as Aeon bats his eyes at every single person he comes in contact with. A guy who works for the venue has been waiting on Aeon hand and foot all day—water, food, new guitar strings, whatever Aeon can ask for the man goes running for it. And Dew can't help but wonder  if Aeon isn't using just a little quintessence on him. 

It doesn't really matter though. Because Dew sees the way Aeon keeps looking at him. Gaze casting toward him like he's hoping Dew is going to praise him too. Like he so desperately wants Dew to be proud of him—wants Dew to engage in the "Everything Aeon Does is Perfect" show—and Dew won't. Dew pretends he doesn't exist, and watches Aeon wobble on his self-made pedestal. Watches him get closer and closer to the edge. 

Dew scents it like blood—the desperation on him. It's only a matter of time. Soon, Dew knows. Tonight, preferably. The ache between them has risen to a fever pitch. Aeon thinks he wants to win, but Dew knows the truth. 

All Aeon really wants—is for Dew to make him lose. 

So, when one of the roadies hands out hotel key cards, Dew trades with Mountain. 

"I'll take the kid tonight," Dew says like he's taking one for the team. He knows Mountain will be game—especially since Dew was originally paired up with Cumulus. Mountain doesn't hesitate, swiping the card out from between Dew's fingers. 

"Bad deal for you," Mountain says, tucking the key in his back pocket lest Dew come to his senses and change his mind. 

Dew shrugs, "I have my reasons." 

Mountain raises two dark brows and shakes his head like he knows better than to ask.  "He'll be happy though—been complaining that you never room with him." 

Dew smiles—wolfish—victorious. "Good." 

"Go easy on him."

Dew shakes his head, barks out a laugh almost devoid of humor. "He's so eager to take it. Why not give it to him and see if really can?" 

"Dew—"

"Don't look at me like that you know he'll love it." 

Mountain scrubs a hand over his face.  "He just wants you to like him, you know."

"I'll like him better with my—"

Dew cuts himself off as Aeon rounds the corner toward them, sauntering. "308, what about you guys?" 

Dew flashes the matching card between his fingers. "You're stuck with me tonight, Bug." 

Dew feels something treacherous slip into his gut when Aeon smiles like the sun has just come out. He bounces on the balls of his feet as the grin widens. And Dew reads all of it, the golden retriever excitedness. The way Aeon thinks this is just an another opportunity to stroke his own ego—that he will have an ego to stroke at all once Dew's done with  him.

"We're going to have so much fun," Aeon says, slinging his arm around Dew's shoulder and enveloping him in the smell of ozone and Swiss' weed. 

"Yeah, Bug," Dew says, wrapping an arm around Aeon's waist, digging his  nails into the space beneath his ribs hard enough to make Aeon jolt against him. When he tries to pull away, Dew holds him fast, solid, fingers digging wicked bruises into soft skin. "We are." 

Dew gets back to their hotel room long before Aeon. He left him with the others in the bus, everyone hovering somewhere between high on adrenaline and fading fast from exhaustion. Dew shoulders his overnight bag and slips out of the bus and into the hotel before anyone else has mustered the energy to get up—to separate. 

Dew has enough time to shower and redress and watch half an episode of something mindless on TV before he hears the key card in the lock.  He wants a cigarette—he settles for cinnamon gum instead, grinding it between his teeth as the door swings open. Dew's stretched out long on top of the bedspread. Fully dressed in ripped black jeans, a black band T, and his boots. Not the stage ones—Papa had a fit the last time Dew liberated those from the costume trailer. Just his well worn docs instead. The ones he takes just as diligent care of as he does his guitars. The leather supple, flexible from years and miles of wear. 

Aeon's eyes flick down Dew's body, they linger on those boots for far longer than Aeon realizes. Dew watches the way Aeon swallows, the way his eyes dart up and away when he realizes he's been caught.  He watches the mask slide back into place—cocky, over-confident, but nervous all the same. Desperate for Dew's approval despite how flippant he pretends to  be. 

Dew doesn't have to feign nonchalance, it comes naturally. He regards Aeon as if bored. 

"You gonna close the door or…?"

Aeon startles into motion, snicks the door shut behind him and tosses his overnight bag on the floor somewhere near Dew's. 

"Are you…are we going out?"

"No," Dew says, eyes flicking away from Aeon and back to the TV. There's some mindless decorating show on. Dew watches as some truly atrocious tile is laid in the entryway of an otherwise beautiful Victorian house. He watches Aeon in the periphery. 

He's off balance now. Looking at Dew like he's a puzzle he can't solve because he's missing most of the pieces. Dew looks back over at him when he starts to feel the way Aeon as staring at him. 

"What?"

"You're…you're wearing your boots." 

"I am."

"Why?" Aeon blinks, confused, body pulled taut like he is remembering the way Dew pulled him closer. Like he is finally deciphering what Dew meant when he said they'd have fun. 

Dew swings his legs off of the bed and stands in one fluid motion that has Aeon taking one stumbling step back. They are basically the same height but Dew feels tall like this. Feels like he towers over Aeon despite being able to look him directly in the eye. Aeon folds so easily, so quickly, the same way he does when they're on stage and Dew points at the ground. 

He stands so close he can feel the magic wafting off of Aeon in nervous waves. Can smell it. Can see the way his pulse flutters, panicked—turned on—at his throat. 

Dew chews his gum, looks at Aeon. They're standing close enough to kiss, close enough for Dew to drag his nose along the length of Aeon's if he wants to. Close enough for him to fist his hand into the hair at the back of Aeon's skull and put him where he wants him. He doesn't have to though. Aeon doesn't need a firm hand, he just needs a little direction. 

Dew motions toward the floor. A gesture not quite as pointed as the one he makes on stage, but the meaning is still crystal clear. Aeon takes a breath—hesitates only that long—before his knees are folding underneath him, dumping him onto the ground. 

He looks up at Dew, blinking, eyes wide, facade already melting. Aeon will be good for him because all Aeon wants, really, is to be good. 

"See how easy that is," Dew says softly, carding his hand into Aeon's hair. He pets him gently. Scratches his nails across Aeon's scalp until Aeon purrs softly, eyes fluttering closed. "You don't have to act like a prick to get my attention."

Aeon's eyes open, just a little. Heavy lidded and lined with exhaustion and a false sense of safety. "It worked."

Dew barks out a laugh—humorless. It's a dangerous enough sound that Aeon goes rigid at his feet. Dew feels the clench in his jaw against the meat of his palm. "You think it worked. You think that's why you're here? You think I'm going to be nice after all of that?" 

Aeon whimpers, eyes snapping open fully this time, air huffing out of his nose. "Dew—"

"What? What were you hoping for here, bug? That I'd kneel for you? That I'd take you apart nice and slow? That you'd get worship after that shit?" Dew's grip on Aeon's hair turns cruel. 

"I thought—"

"That's the problem."  Dew's hand drags down, out of Aeon's hair, down the curve of his cheek to curl  under his chin, tipping Aeon's head back further. Dew feels the beat of Aeon's pulse against his fingers. He tries not to get hard about it—not yet—not while Aeon is eye level with it and will know. "You thought. If you want to impress me Aeon, you're going to have to do better than being a little shit. That doesn't work on me." 

Aeon swallows. He's quiet for a moment—waiting to see if Dew really wants him to speak this time. Without instructions he's floundering. It's delicious. Dew wants to drown in this feeling, this power, the way Aeon crumples beneath him. 

"What does?"

Dew tilts his head, considering. He clicks his tongue. Strokes his thumb along the sharp plane of Aeon's jaw. "Obedience." 

Aeon makes a pitiful noise. Wounded. And something dangerous turns over in Dew's stomach. 

"Will you be good?" 

Aeon's breath hitches, he nods before the words are even fully out of Dew's mouth. Dew digs his fingers into Aeon's cheeks, feels the ridges of his teeth through them, tries not to grin. He's hard against his zipper now—obvious no matter how much he wishes he could hide it. It isn't like it makes a difference. Aeon's glassy eyed already and they haven't even begun. There are times when Dew's obvious interest could stack the deck against him—this isn't one of them. 

The next handful of minutes are borderline clinical. Dew steps back, out of Aeon's range and plants himself on the edge of the bed. Knees wide, feet planted on the carpet. Dew turns the TV off and tells Aeon to strip, and he leans back on his hands as he watches Aeon peel off his sweatshirt, his t-shirt. He kicks his shoes somewhere near their bags, almost tripping over himself in his haste to get his jeans off. All the while, Dew studies him; chews his gum; waits. 

"All of it," Dew says, needlessly, once Aeon is standing there in just his boxer briefs. He's hard too, Dew's eyes catch on the darkening spot of fabric above the head of Aeon's cock. He watches it pulse through the cotton, catalogs it as ammunition in case he needs it. Aeon can pretend all he wants that he wants to be in control. All the words in the world don't matter when his body betrays him. 

The quint ghoul listens, hooking his thumbs into the elastic and divesting himself of the last of his clothing. Dew points to the space between his knees and Aeon is there. A little more of his arrogance has returned, he sinks to his knees fluidly, eyes on Dew's as he does like he's hoping to see a crack in the facade. To find Dew's desire laid out plain on his face. When he doesn't get it, the expression flickers, just a little. It's enough for Dew to feel the heat of it deep in his gut. 

Aeon tries again, leans in, breathes hotly against Dew's zipper. Mouths up along it. Dew can feel the heat of him through the denim, the staccato bursts of breath. 

He reaches forward, and maybe Aeon thinks it's to pull him closer, because the noise Aeon makes when Dew fists a hand in his hair and yanks him away is pure shock—surprise. A startled yelp, eyes going wide as the last bit of hope to flip the script dies in them. 

"Did I tell you that you could touch?" 

Aeon shakes his head as best as he can with Dew's hand still held tight in his hair. "No but—I thought you—I just wanted to—"

"If we're going to play, Aeon, it's by my rules. Ask first." 

"Can I…?"

"No." 

"But—"

"I didn't say I'd say yes did I? Just that you should ask." Dew lets go and Aeon slumps forward, spine curving. He tucks his hands against his bare thighs, drops his gaze to the floor, his cock, Dew's boots. Dew doesn't move. Doesn't inch closer or reach out to sooth the ache away from Aeon's face. The room falls quiet. Dew can hear the TV on in the room  next door; the distant blare of a car alarm; a siren; Aeon's breath. 

"What can I do then?" Aeon asks, quietly but not dejected. Not deterred. "I don't know the rules—I don't—"

Dew clicks his tongue, takes one moment of pity on the little ghoul slumped between his knees. When he touches him this time, it's gentler. A calloused hand cradling his cheek, a thumb dragging over cool dry lips. Aeon raises his gaze to Dew's face and they search each other. Dew for any more signs of Aeon's arrogance—his petulance, and  Aeon for a clue, for mercy. 

"Don't worry, Aeon," Dew whispers, softer now that he knows the fight has drained from Aeon. Knows that Aeon has fallen into step—that he will play whatever game Dew wants. And really all Dew wants is pleasure, for both of them, in spades. "I'll teach you." 

When he folds over himself to kiss Aeon, Aeon surges up to meet him. Dew sweeps his tongue into Aeon's mouth and Aeon tastes like adrenaline, like the stage on a good night, like ritual and worship and the feeling that settles under his skin when the crowd is really good. He tastes like magic. 

Dew pulls back, holds Aeon in place with a hand on his jaw. He keeps his eyes closed as he whispers "I want to watch you cum" into the minuscule space between them. 

Aeon rears back, eager to please. One hand finding his cock, the other steadying himself on Dew's thigh. Dew shifts, presses the toe of his boot into Aeon's wrist. The hand on his cock stutters to a stop. Aeon looks up at him, head tilted. 

"No hands." 

Aeon blinks, looks away as he tries to piece together exactly what Dew wants. Dew nudges his wrist again and Aeon's hand falls away. Dew settles his boot against Aeon's thigh, a steady pressure. 

A hint. 

Aeon, bright as he is, blinks up at Dew through lidded eyes. He's hazy already, pupils blown wide, each blink slow and syrupy. Satanas, he always falls so fast once he strarts. He fights tooth and nail for agency but the second he realizes it's out of his reach he drops like a stone into the center of the lake. It makes Dew feel insane to have this kind of an effect on Aeon. Fills him with a feral power that makes him fell dangerous—like he has ascended to one of the thrones of hell and the entire circle is at his mercy. 

Aeon heaves in a breath, his eyes dart down to Dew's boot pressed where milky skin of his thigh is already going red—then violet as Aeon looses the last grips on his glamour. He looks back up at Dew—then down again. 

"I don't—"

"You've thought about it," Dew tells him. It's not a question, and Aeon's nodding as soon as Dew starts to speak. "You practically beg me for it every night on stage. And now that I'm giving it you, you don't want it?" 

Aeon shakes his head. "It isn't that. I just…" Aeon trails off, his eyes dip away from Dew's face, go back to the carpet. Back to where his cock has started to soften from lack of attention between his legs. Dew nudges it with the toe of his boot and the noise it drags from Aeon makes him feel like he's going to light himself on fire. 

"You just what?" Dew prompts. 

"Don't know how," Aeon's voice is quiet, a whisper, an admission that tips the playing field that much more in Dew's direction. 

"Course you do." Dew drags the toe of his boot down, then up, the length of Aeon's cock. It twitches in attention. Aeon hisses out a breath, his eyes flutter. "Take what you need. That's all you have to do." 

They both go quiet; still except for the slow pass of Dew's boot up and down. Gentle, a barely there touch that has Aeon shuddering beneath him. Hardening against the rubber. And then Aeon moves. His legs spread a little more, he leans back, bracing himself on one hand. His head tips back as he rolls hips up, catches the head on the sole of Dew's boot. Aeon whines, a broken pitiful sound that makes Dew feel like his stomach is in a free fall. He watches, stony faced as Aeon ruts against the  toe of his boot, watches him get harder against the rubber. 

Dew holds his foot in place—that's all he has to do. That and watch. He squeezes at his cock through the denim of his jeans. He'll ask Aeon to suck it later—after. Or maybe he'll just pull himself out and jack off to the sight in front of him. To the way Aeon's cock dribbles pre onto Dew's boots. To the way Aeon's breath rockets out of him with every thrust. 

Aeon's frantic beneath him. His free hand drags up over his torso, pinches at one of his nipples, slides further up into his own hair. Dew tries not to imagine that hand is his—tries not to think about the noises Aeon would make if it was. 

He fails, and before he's telling himself to do it, he's tugging down his zipper and curling his hand around his cock. He's so hard it aches. The first pull feels like relief. The second is like self-immolation. He matches his strokes with Aeon's thrusts. Eyes glued to the way Aeon ruts against his boot. The way the shiny head peeks back up over the toe with each roll of Aeon's narrow hips. 

Aeon flattens himself a little lower and it's so close to the position they're in on stage that Dew almost has to stand up—has to make it right. But he doesn't—it would interrupt Aeon's rhythm. He can't have that—not when Aeon's already so close. 

Aeon cums first with a startled yelp. His head tips back up so he can watch Dew when he does. Dew's hand stutters on his cock, heat builds at the base of spine, spreads through his stomach. Aeon paints the top of Dew's boot and his own stomach in pearlescent white. And then Dew's cumming too—orgasm rushing up to meet him. He shoves his fist into his mouth to muffle the sound, tastes blood as he bites down—glamor failing, fangs digging into soft skin. 

Aeon's kneeling like before when Dew comes back to himself. Torso upright, chest heaving, his body covered in a fine film of sweat. They'll shower, Dew thinks, and maybe if he can muster the energy back into his exhausted limbs, he'll press Aeon down into the sheets and fuck him the way he deserves. 

But for now, Dew studies Aeon while he wills breath back into heaving lungs. There is exhaustion written through the delicate lines of Aeon's face—but pride too. Dew tucks himself back into his jeans and leans forward, into Aeon's space as he reaches for him. 

Aeon looks up at him—there's worship there, awe. And when Dew offers Aeon his hand—knuckles and fingers coated in cum, Aeon doesn't hesitiate to drag his tongue through it. Sucking the tips of Dew's fingers into his mouth; reverent. 

When  Aeon's done Dew cards his hand over Aeon's face, his skin damp with sweat, curls flattened against his forehead. Dew brushes them out of the way, looks down into those violet eyes. Studies the way Aeon's guard drops, watches how pliant and easy he's become, boneless as he sags over himself, shoulders curling, eyes drooping.

"You forgot something," Dew says, softly, trying to keep his voice calm despite the sick delight dragging down his spine.  Aeon blinks up at him.

"Huh?" 

Dew taps the toe of his boot against Aeon's thigh and Aeon jolts, he looks down at the mess splattered across the leather. 

Aeon makes a pitiful noise, broken, distressed and Dew feels like his body is caving in on itself. He'd be hard again if it was possible. As it is the sight before him feels like an electric shock. One he'll take with him into his bunk and every venue shower from here until the end of the tour. 

"Clean up your mess." 

[all-the-hyper-fixations]

What tma characters would write with:

Micheal the Distortion: Glitter glue. don't ask me where it found glitter glue (probably robbed a preschool), or how it's legible. some things are best left unanswered.

Gerard 'Gerry' Keay: objectively the worst ballpoint pen you've ever seen. Probably cost him like 2 cents. It breaks every 5 days and spills ink all over his hands. Yes, he could just buy a better pen that won't stain his hands black, but he's stubborn like that. He spends about 15 minutes each day just shaking it to get the ink to work.

Elias Bouchard: see that face? look into those eyes? that is the expression of a man who only writes with a fountain pen, and he makes sure everyone knows it. If it was anyone else you might think 'oh hey a fountain pen that's pretty cool' or 'wow he must have great handwriting' but when Elias does it its just...so pretentious. So passive aggressive. Like he pulls it out of his pocket even when there's a perfectly good normal pen right there on the desk next to him because he just needs you to know that he doesn't use any old stationary. I hate him so much.

Martin Blackwood: he doesn't write with anything because he already gave all his pens to people who forgot to bring theirs. unfortunately this habit means that he also doesn't have a pen and just sits there in uncomfortable silence because he's too nice to ask for his pens back. Cinnamon roll. Jon starts bringing an extra pen reserved for Martin because he knows this little angel would have given all of his out in the first 5 minutes of any meeting.

Sasha James: have you seen this woman's stationary collection? Her pencil case is a work of art. Every ruler is perfectly straight, every pen cap is pressed on so tightly Jon struggled to pull one off for three minutes straight before Sasha took pity on him. Her whiteboard pens don't even entertain the notion of drying up. She uses pencils instead of pens because she loves the feeling of sharpening each one so pointy that it's probably considered a weapon of war. 10/10 no notes.

Jonathan Sims: Jon. Jon. Jon. I just know that this man was planning on having a fountain pen, probably already kept one in his bag for the perfect moment to subtly reveal in front of all his coworkers and their inferior writing supplies, and right as he was about to, Elias walks in with his own fountain pen. that was the day that Jon discovered how utterly, truly, and deeply he despised Elias Bouchard. Now he has to use a regular old (admittedly nice) black pen otherwise everyone will think he copied Elias, and he will never forget it. Also he's the kind of person to never lend his pen to anyone (Tim is desperate to prove that he let Martin borrow it once, but each time he tries to check the CCTV footage it appears that someone mysteriously seemed to have tampered with it. It drives Tim crazy.)

Tim Stoker: highlighter. Every. Single. Report. Is written in highlighter. He seems to determine to use a different colour each time, and so far he's doing a rather commendable job at it. It sometimes leaks through and stains the desks, which Jon absolutely hates, but it also annoys Elias, so he can never do anything about it lest he wants to admit that they have something in common. Tim knows and relishes this.

Bonus: (slight spoiler) Not!Sasha still uses pencils instead of pens, and her pencil case appears to be as neat as ever, but oddly, she never sharpens them, instead using a single pencil until it wears down into nothing right in her hand. She never seems to notice when this happens.

[angronsjewelbeetle]

I don't know if you have done him already, but could you please do perturabo. Love him. He deserves the world, and I can't give him the world. But I can marry him!

sobs because these have been in here since last year guys im so sorry 😭😭

Perturabo courting headcanons!

Perturabo deciding to court you is simultaneously the best thing that he has ever decided to do, and the worst mistake of his life. 

It begins with a written, yes, hand-written, invitation to dinner handed to you personally by Perturabo himself, he almost hurts you with how hard he deposits the note in your outstretched hand; folded almost like origami, sealed with a glittering gold wax seal. 

That wax seal, you later find out, is an original - Perturabo designed and crafted it himself, a geometric design featuring a sun in the centre.

The dinner is….awkward, at best. Perturabo is incredibly stiff and spends a good amount of time staring at you, his fork paused halfway to his mouth, listening to your every word, and only eating when you stop speaking. His answers are short and he seems very intent on making you do all of the talking. 

He walks you to your quarters afterwards - or, really, you walk, and he escorts you like a guard with his hand hovering just far enough from your lower back for you to feel the heat of his palm and nothing else. 

His love languages are gift giving and intense grumpy staring. 

He’s not actually grumpy, that's just his face.

He has a little statuette that he keeps on him at all times; carefully carved in your image with a sunstone serving as your “heart”. Its back is worn into an arch from him rubbing it with his thumb in moments of stress. There’s a little pocket in almost all of his clothes for it. 

His hands tremble when he touches you, especially if he’s touching your face. He likes to cup it like it’s made from the most delicate of crystal and brush his massive thumb over your cheek, or your lips if you’re talking too much. 

He gifts you many, many things, all handmade, and even the simplest clay cup is decorated with all manner of lovely patterns. 

In the most unlikely of twists; he has a petname for you. It’s rare, but he murmurs it into your head whenever he curls around you in a hug. 

He will never admit his love language is physical touch. But every time his hand cups your back, your cheek, or rests heavily on your shoulder like a pauldron, it feels like a confession. 

Perturabo is a weapon. Your weapon. He will destroy anything you wish him to. 

He sleeps curled around you. The only time he is ever relaxed is when he is physically wrapped around you with as much of his body touching yours as naturally possible. He talks in his sleep; mumbles of dreams, tugs you tighter to his chest like a teddy bear. 

He murmurs long love confessions in the early hours of the morning that you feel more than hear as his chest rumbles with his sleep-rasped voice against your ear. Mutters poetry to the dark of the room, tells the rising sun his deepest adorations, watching as the weakest first rays of light barely brush your outline under his bulk and the covers.

[deerdoegone]

stop caring about how you will get your desires.

hello hello. still alive and on the same bullshit. i have to share a realization i had ages ago with someone, and i've decided to share with the audience of angels (you guys), so please bear with me for how messy this will get because i am clustered, disorganized, and feel like i've been in the rain for a day and a week.

so, what is the point of this? i'm not really recounting a shift—though i will later—why am i frantically typing at 2AM wednesday and poorly proofreading at 9PM a week later? my published archive and the reason to no longer hold onto the realism of your shifts and manifestations.

think 2005 in los angeles at the oscars. i am the youngest to ever receive the award for best director, best original screenplay, and best cinematography at only twenty-two; papers are saying it will never be done again in this lifetime. i am not a nepo baby or some illuminati thinkpiece playset that comes with the aaliyah doll included. i am me. think 2011, and now think harder about a california loft decorated in pink and girly accents with a fluency in ivory and lace. i’m going through boxes from old productions.

photographs on and off set, email copies, receipts from budgeting, everything i’ve stored over the years that’s taking up a suffocating amount of space. wine glass in hand, i'm going through all these overwhelming examples of "have i gone too far?" i mean, how realistic is it for the oscars to let a twenty-two-year-old black woman on the stage and hold an award for merit in three categories? it'll overwhelm you, tying yourself up to realism within idealism. manifestation has to have a pathway, something to click for it to make sense to you. there has to be a step-by-step plan to get that desire. you need to tell yourself that the only way you will get this thing is by finishing your 12-step plan that makes the most sense of how you will get it.

none of that matters. none of your intricate, well-thought-out plan of how you can get a text back matters. you want something? it's already yours. stop thinking that the universe is emotionally disconnected from your relationship with it. it'll happen on it's own, and you do not need realism or to play connect the dots to get the pretty picture.

you set the standard for yourself and push your limits as far as they can go because you fucking can. push your limits until the invisible wall breaks and you fall off the edge of the simulation.

stop worrying about how you will come across money, you do not need to be detailed. "mom will me $5, dad will give me $10, my boss will give me $350" stop it. you could find that money on the sidewalk in a black duffle bag. you could find it neatly wrapped up in a birthday card from your nonna.

just let it go and let it happen as it happens.

so i stopped worrying. it took a crisis induced 25 minutes of "am i doing too much?" before i realized "who literally fucking cares" was my best answer. i took all those photos, emails, reciepts, script drafts, backstage costume prep, i took every last little thing and published my archive in sofia coppola fashion because who literally fucking cares.

being realistic in your idealistic life is gonna get you nowhere because you'll end up spending more time on the details instead of the end result. nobody fucking cares how you got there. you shouldn't care, either.

apply to this shifting , if you want. the second you stop caring it all kind of clicks? that's how i shift, anyways. i think of nothing and nobody. i live out a day and wander aimlessly with no intention. i don't have to feel dizzy, i don't have to feel numb, i don't have to go step by step.

[jiriwoos]

୨୧ ruin me, won’t you?

- pairing: bad boy! taesan x innocent! reader

- contents: soft dom!taesan, thigh riding, praising/degrading mix, corruption kink, slight possessiveness, marking, light overstimulation, p in v, aftercare, lowercase styling

- a.n: red hair taesan u will forever be famous wc: 1.6k

MINORS DNI

he always looks like he doesn’t want to be here.

hood up, headphones in, arms crossed. he never talks in class unless he has to. you’ve seen him fight — twice — and each time it left your heart hammering in your chest, unsure if it was fear or fascination or something dangerously in between.

everyone says to stay away from him.

so naturally, you end up tutoring him.

he doesn’t say much during your first session, slouched in the library corner like he’s allergic to being helped. but he listens. and when you drop your pen, he picks it up before you can.

“thanks,” you whisper, brushing his fingers.

he just hums, low in his throat. doesn’t look at you. but later, when you leave, he waits until you’re a few steps ahead before following. not close enough to walk with you. just… close enough.

like he’s making sure you get home safe.

you don’t ask. and he doesn’t stop.

⸻

you spend the next three weeks pretending the tension isn’t getting unbearable.

he never flirts — not really. but he looks at you like he wants to, and you can feel it in the way his eyes trace your mouth when you talk. he’s quiet, but never when you laugh. that’s when his lips twitch — just barely — and he tilts his head like he’s trying to figure you out.

then one night, after a late study session, it happens.

you’re both in your apartment. you made tea, like you always do, and he drank it even though you know he doesn’t like it. you’re curled up on the couch beside him — far enough that you aren’t touching, but close enough that you could.

and maybe that’s what makes you bold.

“can i ask you something?”

he glances over, one brow raised.

“why do you always look like you hate being around me?”

his gaze lingers a little too long. then he looks away, jaw tight.

“because i don’t,” he mutters. “and that’s a problem.”

you blink. “why?”

he doesn’t answer.

but his eyes find you again — darker this time, narrowed and sharp.

and then, quietly:

“you really don’t get it, do you?”

you shake your head, heartbeat already picking up. “get what?”

he leans in, voice barely above a whisper now.

“you’re too fucking sweet. too good.”

his hand lifts to your face, thumb brushing your cheekbone. you freeze.

“you smile at everyone. wear those stupid bows. bring me snacks like i’m not the same guy people cross the street to avoid.” he huffs a breath, thumb now tracing the corner of your lip. “you shouldn’t want someone like me.”

you whisper, “but i do.”

and then he’s kissing you — rough and slow at the same time, lips pressing yours open like he can’t decide if he wants to savor you or ruin you.

you whimper when he tugs you into his lap.

his voice is hoarse, mouth against your neck:

“ever done this before?”

you shake your head, cheeks blazing. “n-no.”

taesan groans like he’s in pain. “fuck. of course not.”

you flinch — but he cups your face with both hands, gaze steady.

“not judging you,” he says, gentle. “just… didn’t expect you to let me be the first.”

you look up at him, wide-eyed. “should i not?”

his lips part, breath catching.

then he shifts — sits back on the couch and pulls you forward with him, settling you on his thigh. the pressure makes you gasp.

“you can change your mind anytime,” he murmurs, voice lower than before. “but if you’re gonna keep looking at me like that… you need to know what you’re asking for.”

your fingers twist in his shirt. “i want to know.”

he grins — sharp and slow.

“then ride my thigh.”

your breath stutters. “what?”

he pulls you closer, until the seam of your panties is pressed right where you need it. your hips twitch instinctively, grinding down just a little. it’s already too much.

taesan groans. “that’s it. let me see how good you get when you’re messy.”

you hide your face in his neck, but he just grabs your hips and guides you.

“don’t hide,” he whispers. “you’re so fuckin’ cute like this.”

you moan as the friction builds — dragging your clothed pussy against his thigh, trembling as you chase your first high. you’re soaked already, and he feels it. his hands squeeze you tighter.

“look at you,” he says, voice tight. “already falling apart. haven’t even fucked you yet.”

you gasp, hips stuttering. “t-taesan—i think i’m—”

“come for me,” he groans, rocking you harder. “make a mess. be a good girl.”

and just like that, you do — back arching, cunt pulsing through your panties, thighs shaking.

he doesn’t even give you time to catch your breath.

“take these off,” he growls, fingers tugging at your waistband. “now.”

you nod, still hazy, fumbling out of your underwear. he’s already undoing his jeans, pulling himself free — flushed and thick, tip slick. your mouth parts at the sight.

“you okay?” he murmurs, suddenly softer again.

you nod, breathless. “please, taesan… i want it.”

he curses under his breath, lining himself up.

“you’re sure?”

“yes. please.”

he pushes in slow, thick head breaching your tight heat. you whine, walls fluttering around him.

taesan’s jaw clenches, hand gripping your hip.

“shit—so fuckin’ tight. fuck, you’re perfect.”

you’re gasping as he slides deeper, stretching you inch by inch. his other hand cups your cheek again.

“you’re doing so good,” he murmurs. “look at me, baby.”

you do. and it’s almost too much — the way he watches you fall apart, hungry and tender all at once.

he bottoms out with a groan, and you shiver.

“you okay?”

“mhm,” you breathe. “full.”

taesan smiles, slow and crooked.

“yeah? wait ‘til i start moving.”

and then he does.

slow at first — hips rolling up into you, thick cock dragging against your walls just right. you cry out, clinging to him as pleasure builds again, too fast.

his voice stays low, breath hot against your throat.

“so innocent,” he pants. “letting me fuck you on your couch like this. how long were you thinking about it, baby? how long were you waiting for me to take what’s mine?”

you whimper. “a while.”

“yeah? me too.”

his hands roam your body — squeezing your waist, tugging your shirt off, palming your tits while he sucks bruises down your neck. you’re melting in his lap, overwhelmed and aching and on the edge.

“you gonna come again?” he asks, breathless.

“i think so—feels so good—”

“fuck, that’s my girl. soak my cock, baby. make it yours.”

your second orgasm hits harder — walls clenching, mouth open in a silent cry, body trembling in his arms.

taesan doesn’t last much longer.

“gonna fill you up, baby,” he groans. “you want that? want me to come inside?”

you nod, dizzy. “yes, yes—please—”

he spills with a deep groan, hips stilling, forehead pressed to yours.

you’re both shaking when he pulls you close again, wrapping you in his hoodie like you’ll break if he lets go.

“you okay?” he whispers, lips brushing your temple.

you nod, already half-asleep against his chest.

he kisses your forehead.

“ruined you, didn’t i?”

you giggle weakly. “a little.”

taesan smiles. “good. you’re mine now.”

˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

[eldritch-spouse]

I love Velamir. I’m terrified of Velamir. I want to run but I don’t know if my feet would take me towards or away from Velamir. I hope they’re not offended when I try to sneak ear plugs so I can think clearly. Half curious what they’d do once they know I’m still resisting

(This is about the yandere Velamir fic you posted)

[[Several ask under read more!]]

[Velamir sounds like if Kalymir and Velamor had a gem fusion. Horrifying.]

Velamor just needs to calm down. Part of what makes him so terrifying and hazardous in that story is his excitement, which manifests in his influence making people rabid.

Provided he finally starts winding down, things will become less intense and less dangerous for everyone involved. In order to calm down however, you need to come around to the idea of his love.

Your resistance is very frustrating to an angel who knows he could snuff it out of you with the snap of a finger. Velamor was hoping you'd see his reluctance to "pierce you"* as the sign of good will that it's meant to be.

While Velamor can typically be considered patient by others, this is erroneous- As he has a particularly hard time processing anger when it comes from love.

You hurt him so, so so much.

* Piercing refers to the act where a seraphim induces strong infatuation in one or more people, in order to facilitate the creation of amorous bonds. This can be achieved with an actual arrow and bow, or through specific touches.

Sure, but have you considered that he's sleeping right next to you now? You can't expect Vel to keep his distance now that he's found you.

The first time, you are given a vow of trust from the angel, particularly because a seraphim who spends enough time with a lesser knows that said lesser will go through mild withdrawal without them around. Break that vow, break their heart, and you're fetched back by a wailing angel who can barely control his own enraged shaking.

Why would you hurt him? Just why?

The next time, his larger set of wings is quite literally wrapped around you. They function as his halo, so good luck prying them open. Even the mental resilience you'd need to start struggling against such a loving feeling is already so exhausting...

"Marriage" is what the reader thinks will happen. Angels don't marry the way humans or monsters do, they were united by their siadar.

Vel is well aware these ceremonies can no longer be performed the way they used to, being that only someone like Miara can officialize his union. They explicitly need Miara's permission to have this become official, which will land you at the island for an unspecified amount of time.

Miara is likely all too happy to officialize such a thing, delighted that some angels are finally finding their own autonomy one way or another.

Your union is performed an altar still, with an audience of residents and mostly other angels, Miara herself will speak at the occasion. Velamor is given the choice to pierce you, or to have other seraphim pierce the two of you into eternal love. Given how final this procedure is, Vel will take some time to propose the union to you, because he wants it to go swimmingly.

There is an equivalent to a honeymoon for celestials as well, where they're allowed to make their own nests at a certain height. Usually, this would be where the first reproductive efforts are made, but since the chances of you conceiving are low without a nudge from Miara, Vel will treat it as a time for uninterrupted love at both your leisure.

Aw, you're welcum! <:7

If you haven't been here for a while, the current number of angel characters is 4: Belo; Jonesy; Sol and Vel. (A fifth one remains unintroduced but has been seen on the blog)

While Velamor will not deny you the opportunity to feel his form (but come now, don't fondle him in public), don't drum on his chest while he's speaking or his voice will crack- Something very embarrassing for a seraphim.