#but we will try and we will work things out and muddle through together and it will be worth it

[graveyardgarlic]

rough week emotionally + period didn’t help but it is finished now + had a big heart to heart w jamie which has cleared the air so much and made everything feel lighter and less huge and terrifying and unthinkable . everything will be okay + we love each other so very much and love really truly is the main thing :’•)

[lieslab]

Maybe dreams are meant for sleeping

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Minho X gn reader

Summary: Your boyfriend's sudden coldness towards you causes you to assume the worst.

Genre: Angst with a happy ending

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: I've been giggling over this for a while now. Shout out to the requestee because this made me giggle and kick my feet. I love a good misunderstanding that leads to something exciting. Anyway, since my schedule was train wrecked, I'll post my next fic on Sunday, schedule on Monday, another fic on Tuesday <3

_ _ _

Rain-swollen clouds burst open at approximately four-something in the morning. The heavens opened and the rain poured. It hit the roof so hard, Minho was certain his movement would be muted, but your body had other plans. 

Twenty minutes later, your arms wrapped around the robe you put on. The shuffling of your house slippers fell victim to the pounding rain drops above. Minho’s body sat in the dim fridge light. He moved about in the dark kitchen, stirring through items, and looking for last night’s leftovers. 

He didn’t realize you were there until you reached up and flicked on the kitchen light. “Minho?” You called, reaching up to rub your sleepy eyes. “Minho? What are you doing? It’s so early, you should be sleeping.” 

He froze with his eyes locked on the glass container of rice. He made a large batch last night. Large enough, it’d last the two of you a few days. He planned to put it with his lunch. Of course, he could have eaten in the building’s canteen, but he wasn’t sure he’d have the time. 

Lately, the guys had been so busy. Time muddled between their busy schedules. Management wanted everything done all at once. Twenty-four hours wasn’t enough time for a single day. You understood that, right? 

“I have to go to work early.” He avoided your sleepy eyes. Instead, he spun back to the marbled countertop. He worked quickly, placing the leftovers into his lunchbox. “I didn’t know until late last night. You were asleep when I got the text from my manager. There’s a photoshoot we have to attend.” 

“I wish I would have known. I wanted to make breakfast for us to enjoy together. I’ll have to wait for another day.” 

He nodded and sucked in a deep breath. “Yeah. I’ll let you know when I’m not so busy. I’ll try to talk to management. I’ll see you later.” 

You waited for the words, but they never came. You shut your eyes, expecting the warmth of his body, but that didn’t show up either. He left you standing alone in the kitchen. Without kisses. Without an “I love you.” He left your heart as cold as the downpouring rain outside. 

Your eyes reopened. You assumed he’d rush back and make amends, but he didn’t. The front door opened and then it shut. A faint jingle of keys, the lock turned, and then nothing. You were left alone to your own thoughts. 

A deep breath in and letting it out slowly. It hurt, the startling realization that you weren’t imagining things. Distance grew between you and Minho. You couldn’t place what you did wrong. 

It's always been a fear, deep down, he’d find someone better than you. Maybe, he finally realized he didn’t have the time for love in his life. Being an idol is hard. He spoke so openly about it, maybe his own words struck a chord in his heart. A realization drove the point home and now he’d abandon you, unsure of how to state the truth. 

You tried not to let it bother you, but it stung. Invisible wasps flew above your head and stung your brain; a thousand different thoughts, each one pierced the skin with a more potent venom. 

It all circled back and clouded your self-worth. What if you weren’t good enough? What if he really did find someone better? What if? What if? What if? 

It’s always been good, the relationship between the two of you. You cherished it with everything you had. It meant whispered words of affection while you played with his hair. A silent fondness in your eyes while you watched him consume the food you made. 

He always joked he could make the dish better. Suggesting things to add, gesturing to different items housed in their locations. Nonetheless, he still ate everything you put in front of him. Every grain of rice, every smear of sauce, he scooped it up with his spoon and swallowed it. He never thanked you out loud, it was more of a silent thing. 

He’d wash the dishes afterwards, insisting he had to do them because you spent so much time cooking. Other times, he’d walk behind you and wrap his arms around your body; a human-formed shroud of love. He didn’t need to thank you for the dish. You would have made him a thousand dishes without the need for compliments. 

Compliments were nice, but the warmth washed over you when he scooped up a second bowl. Ladling in broth, using chopsticks to grab more meat, scooping up vegetables while he mindlessly said something needed seasoned more. Yet, when you offered him the option, he refused, insisting he’d manage. 

The one time he insisted something needed more salt, he added a few more sprinkles. Popping the warm dumpling in his mouth, he paused and his eyes widened. An eye twitched and you forced a hand over your mouth to keep your laughter at bay. He never proclaimed something needed more salt again. 

In the silence, ground sausage sat in the fridge. Eggs hid in the darkness of a cardboard carton. You purchased fresh bagels from a bakery last night. You figured you’d have so many hours before they lost that fresh-baked taste. 

You expected to share a homemade breakfast with Minho, but his disappearance left your soul aching. You stared where his body once was. A coldness crept down your spine and your heart wavered. The burn of tears brimmed against your eyes, but you didn’t stop it. 

Like the downpouring rain, your sadness leaked out. It soaked your cheeks, but you didn’t wipe it away. Instead, you sniffled and flipped off the light. The early morning darkness made you feel worse. You spun around, heading back to the safety of your bedding. You’d cocoon yourself in and try to feel normal again. 

More importantly, you’d tried to pretend Minho was at work and not at someone else’s house, making their heart his newfound home. 

~ ~ ~ 

A few days later, the sound of forks scraping against porcelain plates caused your eardrums to shrivel. You winced when your own fork caught the plate. In front of you, Minho twirled pasta around his fork without a care in the world. 

You came home from work to the scent of tomatoes, oregano, and italian seasoning. Garlic wafted through the air and greeted you when you stepped into the kitchen. With his back to you, Minho used tongs to place pasta on plates. “You’re home just in time.” 

You hummed, unsure of what to say. Things between the two of you felt different since the other morning. You wanted to bring it up, but fear stopped you. What if you were right? What if he really moved on, or decided he didn't want to do this anymore? Whatever it was, you hated it. 

Fear kept you cautious and on the tip of your toes. Your heart wavered around him. Paranoia grew and you hated to admit it, but it followed you around like a shadow. When would he slip up? 

Maybe you’d overhear a phone conversation where he’d admit his real feelings. Perhaps, his new significant other would show up and you’d catch it all in the act. You couldn’t stand the waiting, it felt like torture. The scent of a body spray that wasn’t yours. A hoodie that Minho had never owned. 

So vigilant, you were on the constant lookout. You wanted to point and accuse him, drive the nail home, and have a final aha moment. You waited and waited, but it never came. The longer it went on, the more irritable and restless you became. 

If Minho could have his secrets and stop loving you, you could do it, too. In your own way, you’d play his game. You’d treat him just like he treated you. 

So you sat in silence at the kitchen table. Your fork scraped against the porcelain plate. You didn’t thank him for the meal. In fact, you didn’t say much of anything. You picked at your spaghetti, not feeling like you could consume much of it. The garlic bread, you managed to get in a few bites. 

“Are you feeling ill?” Minho asked after a while. 

You looked up blankly, not sure you heard him correctly. “Huh?” 

“I asked if you’re feeling okay. You’re not eating much. You’re not talking a lot either, it’s not like you.” 

You shrugged, brushing him off. The clock on the side of the egg-shell white wall ticked. Your fork scraped the plate again. You twirled the fork and waited. 

Minho stared at you and his eyebrows furrowed. He didn’t say anything else, he waited for a confession. You refused to break. Maybe you were being petty, or maybe you were giving him a taste of his own goddamn medicine. 

Hurt turned into annoyance and that annoyance grew into anger. You wanted him to hurt. You wanted to break his heart. You wanted to do everything you could to make him feel like how you felt. 

Hurt. 

Isolated. 

Angry. 

Afraid. 

You wanted him to be afraid. You wanted fear to grip his heart and squeeze, causing longing to take over. Maybe he’d realize you were irreplaceable that way. Without you, life would be miserable, wouldn’t it? 

The ticking of the clock marched on. Soft breaths came from your chests. You didn’t meet his eyes. Another sharp squeal of your fork. His eyebrows creased with worry and then his chair grated along the tiled floor. 

A hand reached out, gently cupping the top of your empty hand. “Hey, talk to me. What’s going on with you?” You looked up for a brief moment, enough for your eyes to meet for a few seconds, and then you pulled away. 

Your hand left his. Anger rose up the back of your throat. The acidic tomato and basil seasoning of the pasta sauce swirled in the darkened depths of your stomach.“Nothing,” you mumbled, refusing to meet his gaze. “Nothing is wrong. I’m fine.” 

“Don’t do that. You’re clearly not fine. Talk to me. I can’t understand what’s happening to you.” 

“How ironic,” you grumbled. 

“What?” 

“I said I’m fine!” You snapped, jerking yourself away from the table. Your wooden chair jerked back with a loud sound and you stood up. “If you can’t understand the problem, Minho, maybe there isn’t one at all.” 

His face fell and his head tipped to the side. He watched your disappearing body in confusion. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He called after you. 

“Figure it out!” 

He sat in silence, unsure of the issue. Tears blurred your eyes, but you didn’t sob. You didn’t spin around and demand answers from him.

Instead, you stormed into your shared bedroom and slammed the door shut, a loud and cold action; the painful reminder that you wanted to be alone for now. 

~ ~ ~ 

Over the course of the next week, the relationship between the two of you grew more and more rocky. You avoided Minho more and more, pulling away from who you thought was the love of your life. In your eyes, he let you. 

You waited and waited for the day to come. You knew it was only a matter of time before the truth rolled out. At least, you were expecting it this time. He wouldn’t get the satisfaction of breaking your heart. You broke your own heart mere days ago. 

He didn’t have time to explain himself. He couldn’t, not fully. Not when you worked and his work was dragging him further and further away from you. New things popped up. Fan signs, photoshoots, interviews, and the finishing touches on an album planned for early next year. 

He wanted to find the right time to confront you, but it never worked. You didn’t give him a chance. You’d been going to bed early. By the time he came home, you were sound asleep in bed. He didn’t want to wake you up, so he let you sleep. When you woke up, he’d already be back at the studio. 

You missed him like an abandoned dog craved the warm hand of their previous owner on a dark winter night. He filled your dreams. When you’d wake in the middle of the night, between his gentle snores, you’d roll over and curl into his body, holding him tight. You needed him far more than you’d admit out loud. 

Too afraid to lose you, Minho made plans for today. On a Friday, you’d be home earlier than usual. Today, so would he. He’d confront you and things would go back to how they should be. 

Dozing off on the suede couch, you didn’t hear the sound of Minho’s keys jingling and hitting the lock. The front door creaked open and he cautiously stepped inside. Holding his breath, he paused and waited. 

The murmurings of some romance show fell from the television. You picked romance because you were swaddled in your own self-pity. What better way to bring yourself down again? Watch random couples fall in love. Watch it pull them together and break apart in painstaking ways. Love has always been such a contradicting thing. 

When Minho called your name, you glanced up with half-droopy eyes. Sure you were dreaming, you mumbled his name. “Go away. I’m so mad at you, I don’t want to talk to you.” 

“Why are you mad at me?” 

“Because you’ve been distant and ignoring me.” Your bottom lip trembled. “It really hurts my feelings to watch you become so closed off. It’s like you don’t love me anymore.” 

“Is that what you think?” 

“So I’ve been trying to ignore you,” you continued, “because I can do that, too. I can ignore you and maybe you’ll see how much it hurts me. I can’t even recognize you anymore. What are we?” 

You jerked upright, letting the tears fall down your cheeks. “I love you, you know? I love you and you’re making me feel like I don’t exist.” A sweater sleeve wiped across your nose. “So who is it? Who is the lucky new person that stole your heart?”

“You are such an idiot.” 

“An idiot?” You wailed. “You broke my heart! It’s like you hate me now! I don’t even know what I-” Your words caught in your throat and a pathetic whimper came out. 

He walked over to you and gently grabbed your hand. “Hey, I didn’t mean it. You know I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry, okay? I’ve been nervous and I guess I’ve done this the wrong way.” 

“Nervous to break up with me?” 

His head shook and he smiled. “I can’t break up with the love of my life.” He reached up, gently brushing your hair back. “You look like a splotchy clown when you cry.” 

Your bottom lip trembled. He grabbed your other hand and squeezed, trying to hold onto you. “I’m not breaking up with you.” 

“Then why do you keep acting like it? Stop dancing around the question and tell me. Trust me, I can handle it.” 

“I…” He trailed off and sighed. “Just stay here for a moment, will you? I’ll show you instead of telling you. Just stay here and I’ll be right back.” 

“Promise?” 

He nodded and stood up. “Give me a minute and I’ll be back.” He spun around and disappeared.

You wiped at your eyes and blinked rapidly. Murmuring voices came from the television until you reached over and turned it off. When footsteps reappeared, you looked up. Minho approached you with a small box in his hand. 

“What is that?” 

He sank back down between your legs, letting his elbows rest on your thighs. “I’m sorry I haven’t been a good boyfriend lately. I’ve been struggling to keep this a secret. Every time I look at you, you make me want to blurt it out loud.” 

You raised an eyebrow, unsure of what he meant. He lifted up the small black box. About the size of his palm, he reached down and tugged the box open. To your surprise, a ring sat pressed between two velvet flaps. Your eyes widened and you gasped, it jerked you right awake. 

“Wait, what?” 

“I was trying to figure out how to do it. I wanted to propose to you properly. I’ve been thinking about it for a while and I know you mentioned you wanted to get married. You’ve never exactly told me how you wanted to be proposed to. I didn’t want to ruin the surprise, but…” 

“This entire time, I thought you hated me. I should deck you for making me feel worthless. Is this my birth stone?” 

“Yeah. It’s pretty, isn’t it? Almost as pretty as you. Do you want to try it on?” 

You nodded and let him grab your hand. He popped the ring onto your left ring finger. As you observed the glimmering oval stone, he grabbed your other hand. “How does it feel?” 

“Perfect.” You didn’t take your eyes off of it. Instead, you lifted your hand, letting it catch the sunlight slipping through the window. “Why didn’t you bring this up from the start?” 

“You like surprises and I only get to propose to you once. I love you so much, but I was so nervous about this. I’ve been restless. Every time I look at you, I want to gush right then and there. You make me feel like a little kid with a huge crush.” 

Your bottom lip wobbled again and his face fell. “Hey, hey, please don’t cry. I’m sorry, okay? I won’t do it again. I’ll take the ring back and plan something grand. Tomorrow, I can-” 

“No.” 

“What?” 

“Yes.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“Can you hear? I said yes, you loser. This implies we’re getting married. Look at it!” You shifted your hand again, letting the reflection sparkle. “It’s gorgeous.” 

“But-” 

“Do you want to marry me, or not?” 

“What? Of course, I do!” His hands dug into your thighs desperately. “Yes, absolutely. I want to see you walk down the aisle and everything. The whole nine-yards.” 

“Then yes. Let’s get married. What are we waiting for?” You tried to stand up. “Let’s go to the courthouse now.” 

“WHAT?” 

“You heard me. Come on,” you shifted again. “No take-backs. You wanna marry me soooo bad. You’re down so bad, you’re a simp.” 

His face went blank and he blinked. “I suppose I deserve that for being distant.” 

“You deserve to shine my shoes until next year.” 

“Hey!” 

But I’ll be nice and say you can make it up to me by doing the dishes for the next month. You know how I feel about the dishes.” 

“Only if you cook for the next month.” 

“Ha!” You reached out, playfully slapping his chest. “I knew it! You love my cooking!” 

“You can’t poison me if we’re engaged.” 

“But it still means I can kick your ass any time of day.” 

“Kiss it, you brat.” 

You stuck your tongue out. He reached up and pinched it between his fingers, causing you to freeze. Your cheeks went bright red and your eyes met his. 

“Fine. You can keep the ring, but we’re planning an actual wedding. We’re not rushing the wedding. We’re going to communicate and talk to one another. Do you understand me?” 

You timidly nodded and he let go of your tongue. You pulled back, wiping your face with your sleeve. “Wow, that was um…” 

“Hot?” He guessed. 

“Gross, actually. Now you’ve got my tongue germs. How does that feel?” 

He reached up and wiped his fingers against your bare thigh, causing you to squeal. “You really love pressing my buttons, don’t you? Keep pressing them and see how far that attitude gets you.” 

A grin lit up your face and he pulled away. “Don’t even start.” You grabbed his hand before he could get far. He groaned and tipped his head back. “What more do you want from me? I said I was sorry.” 

“I want a proper kiss.” 

“Oh, that I can do.” He jerked forward, grabbing the front of your shirt. He pulled you back to his face. “Just remember who’s in charge here.” 

You reached up, flicking his nose playfully. “Who has a ring on their finger and who doesn’t?” 

“You brat.” 

“Jackass.” 

“Dipshit.” 

“Bastard.” 

He opened his mouth, but you cut him off with your lips against his. Heated and flushed, you chased the kind of kiss you’d been missing out on. Desperate and hungry, you clutched the front of his shirt and pressed him closer to your body. 

You wanted it to last forever, but he pulled away after a few seconds. You whined his name in misery. “Easy there, brat. You’re kissing me so much, you’re forgetting to breathe. Take a deep breath before you end up dying from lack of oxygen.” 

“What a beautiful way to die.” 

“Who’s the simp now?” 

“Minho, shut the fuck up and kiss me again.” 

Before he did, his hand curled around yours and the cool ring brushed against his fingers. As your lips met again, he took pleasure in knowing you were his. His and his alone. 

Even if you were a brat, he loved you just the same as he always had; the same as he forever would.

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

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[bigfan-fanfic]

Some Type of Way (Male!Reader x Joel Miller)

Sarah smirks at her father as the man helps her gather her overnight bag for the sleepover.

"Wipe that look off your face it or it'll stay like that." Joel nudges her shoulder playfully. "What are you even smirking about?"

"Someone has a daaaaaaa-aaaaate."

"Smart mouth."

"Buy my silence."

"I'm letting you go on this sleepover, aren't I?"

"Yeah, cause you have a daaaaaa-"

He tugs her out of the kitchen by her backpack. "All right, I have a date. Happy?"

When she finally gets to plant her feet, she looks up at him. "Are you? I mean... how many dates is this? Have you two-"

Joel raises an eyebrow. "Do you really wanna ask that question, baby girl?"

"Ew. No, never mind." she shudders. "But still... you like him a lot."

"Yeah. Yeah, I do."

"Dad?"

The car pulls up. She has to go, but he can tell this is important. "Yeah, baby girl?"

"I like him too." she says softly.

Joel hugs her tight for a moment and they share it together. All the things they don't say, all the hopes they have. Then she smirks again.

"Say hi to him for me."

"Will do. Now you call me if anything happens. I got you that dang cell phone for emergencies."

"Yeah, Dad!"

She breezes off, and Joel stands on the porch, distracted, until you pull up.

He holds you tight when you hurl yourself into his arms, pulling you inside, closing the door on the world so he can just experience you.

Joel's life is pretty stressful. Being a single dad, dealing with his less-than-steady carpenter work, and trying to muddle through. But you are always his oasis, it seems.

He wants to give the people he loves everything, and he hates that he sometimes can't give them all he thinks they deserve.

But you don't ask for much, really. No matter how many "stay-in" dates with crappy spaghetti with store-bought sauce he makes, you don't ask to go out for fancier meals. Sometimes you even take him out.

Sarah likes you too - you relate to her well, even if you try to not get involved in her raising, knowing Joel might take offense.

He feels some type of way about you. And though you both know he's head over heels for you, you've never rushed him to say it.

Joel has always been uneasy about owing people. But with you, the emotion of gratitude is something powerful.

"I thought we would cook together this time, so I brought some stuff." you grin, and he kisses the top of your head.

"And here I thought I'd be your personal chef tonight. What, you don't like my spaghetti?"

You wink. "I love your spaghetti. But I think you'll love my garlic bread more."

When you first started dating, Joel was rigid in trying to maintain the role he thought he had to play. Provider and rock, masculine and constantly steady.

But your ease and the comfort you bring to him has allowed him to soften, to show you his true self, the one that usually only comes out around Sarah.

He's a jokester, with a wry and sarcastic wit, but also happy to follow along and find something to enjoy or find something humorous in any situation.

He puts on some music from an old CD and you two dance with each other as you cook and bake the garlic bread.

"I'll handle the cleanup. So we don't have to worry about it in the morning." you offer, and Joel winks.

"You mean I ain't kicking you out right after tonight?" he teases, and you smack him in the gut. "Fine, fine, but you let me cook breakfast for you."

"Oh, you drive a hard bargain, sir. But I guess I'll allow it. Besides, I got the whole weekend off, so I can stay over if you want."

Joel comes over, wrapping his arms around your waist and kissing the back of your neck. "Do you have to leave?"

He's asked things like this before, flirting and romantic, but you sense something... more, this time.

"Well... my lease will be up in a couple of months."

He stiffens, recognizing the unsaid offer, and then he hugs you closer. "I'll have to talk to Sarah about it, but... how would you feel about moving in here?"

"Are you sure, Joel? I know you're starting to save up for your startup and-"

"I want this. You. I want to wake up with you and take you to bed. I think I wanna share my life with you. Fully."

There's a moment you turn and kiss him where he knows he should say it, but he just can't, yet. He's far too cynical and far too wounded to say it without knowing for sure.

But ironically, the fact that you don't push is bringing him to that conclusion anyway. "You make me feel some type of way, Joel Miller."

He kisses you back, barely resisting the urge to pick you up and carry you off right then. "So do you, babe. So do you."

He'll tell you. Soon enough. After all, you two will have all the time in the world...

[amalainse]

𖦹 MOONLIGHT ON THE RIVER ⇆ keigo "hawks" takami

┆︎summary ┆︎you're the only one for him. you have to know that, you have to.

┆︎tags┆︎established relationship, hurt/comfort, vanilla sex, intimacy, body worship, oral (r!receiving), fingering (r!receiving)

┆︎wc┆︎2.01k

┆︎an┆︎idk i don't think we give vanilla enough credit i'm sorry i can't be freaked out 24/7. and yes this title comes from a song by the same title by mac demarco.

this is your first real healthy relationship in...maybe ever.

the most you and keigo ever argue about are chores. or which unlucky soul has to be the one to get out of bed and answer the door for the delivery guy. sometimes he says he'll take out the trash but when you get home from work, it's still there. he says you always leave your shoes in the middle of the walkway (you don't) and that he can't help but trip over them.

things that are big disputes for most couples, like the leasing or the topic of parents and family―those are always discussed civilly. both of you reach the agreement that you'll talk when you've sorted through your emotions. when you're calm. in fact, you don't even think keigo's so much as raised his voice at you the entire two years you've been together. you only realize how easy it is with keigo whenever you confront the real fear that you could lose him.

"hey, turtledove" keigo says from somewhere near your left. you manage enough of your strength to shift your eyes to him. just enough that he should know you aren't purposefully ignoring him when you inevitably do not answer.

he stands in the doorway of the bathroom, clad in only a pair of simple black boxers. fresh from the shower, if the steam billowing into the bedroom is anything to go by. you remember him getting in, promises of, we'll talk when i get out, let you get your thoughts together murmured quietly into your cheek when he kissed you farewell.

you don't know how long he's been in there. just that you've been staring up at the ceiling, trying to muddle through the murk of your feelings. there's a soft creak in the bed, keigo's knee hitting the mattress as he lightly prods at you again.

it's not fair to him, you think idly. the way you're acting. silent and distant, lost in thought. but you're oh so weak to him and you turn over on your side so that you don't have to look at him. five years of therapy and all you can manage is a quiet, "it's nothing you did, keigo. i'm just...i need to―have to keep-"

a frustrated sound escapes you. it isn't him and you don't want him to blame himself. it's you and your doubting mind, that's the issue. and you hate when you get like this. keigo's hand settles at the small of your back, gently rubbing up and down comfortingly. then, his hand dances up your back, over your shoulder as he gently urges you onto your back again.

his shadow settles over you comfortably, and the way the moon settles behind him makes him look beautiful. like something unattainable. there's a knit of confusion and concern in the center of his brows and his hand settles over your breast, next to your heart.

"i'm worried about you turtledove" keigo says, after a while, voice quiet in the short distance between you. "it's not like your usual off days" he tacks on after a while. followed up shortly by a please in a tone that's uncharacteristically begging for him.

"you're the first good thing i've had...in a while, keigo" you tell him shakily, eyes roving over his face as you watch him piece the puzzle together. "i want to be good enough to keep you, if that makes sense"

it's stupid, juvenile. you know keigo loves you. anyone with a pair of decent pair of working eyes can see that. there's a long pause, emotions flitting over keigo's face as he sorts out his own thoughts.

the sheets rustle as he mirrors your position on the bed ; flat on his back, head craned to stare deeply at you.

"you never have to worry about that" keigo promises, voice strong and sure. "i'm not going anywhere, you know that"

and you do. but its no secret the sort of man keigo was when you met. some model or actress or hero in his bed every night, faces plastered all over the news. you aren't any of those things and until now, there was no real reason for you to worry about that.

"i know" you reply, meaning it. "i guess i just. i feel...a little insecure. i love you so much. i don't want to lose you"

the rational part of your brain agrees. but the irrational part―the part of you that has just been so loud these past three days. that's the part you can't silence.

"i can't see myself with anyone else. i don't want to" keigo says, and you find yourself chuckling softly. he pinches your side, darting down to kiss your cheek and then the corner of your mouth. and finally, a proper kiss at last. "don't laugh at me. i mean it."

you know keigo wouldn't do something as baseless as cheat. you've long gotten over the fear that any man would cheat, chasing after the first young skirt he sees. you've been cheated on before. you know that if keigo wanted to, he would. you could control his every move but if keigo was that type of man, nothing you could do would be enough to stop him. but he doesn't. for some reason beyond you, keigo is perfectly happy bickering over your shoes in the walkway and what to make for dinner.

"i mean it" he says again, eyes reverent and voice serious. he kisses you once more, moving his mouth against your own and your reciprocation is more than enough for the chaste kisses to grow in ferocity. "she's nothing to me. not compared to you. you're..."

keigo trails off. gently rubs the back of his knuckles down the side of your cheek. he sits back on his haunches, simply admiring the view and you don't bother to hide the fact that you're doing the same.

his hands slide down the length of your body, curling underneath your thighs to pull you in closer. his voice takes on that same begging tone from earlier. "tell me you understand" he pleads.

"i know" you promise in return. "i love you"

your hand pulls through his hair. keigo pushes his face into your hand like a cat seeking heat. he kisses you again, a series of kisses that burn like liquid fire in your veins. laying claim and reassurance in the same breadth.

"i love you too" he murmurs into the skin of your neck, voice more of a purred rumble than anything else. those beautiful red wings are tucked, folded neatly over one another, and when his back arches slightly so that he can rub greedy hands all over you―and you see that the feathers twist and shine in the moonlight.

a moment of silence passes. keigo toys with the hem of your sleep shirt. asking permission. "anything i can do?"

"keep going please" you swallow thickly, trying to mask the neediness in your voice. by the long look keigo gives you in return, you can tell it hadn't worked.

he stares like he's trying to unravel you. its as unnerving as it is pleasurable, and you shift underneath him, trying to turn away.

keigo doesn't like that. clicks his tongue, gently cupping your jaw and turning your face so that you're eye to eye. once more, the staring starts. his gaze is purposeful, intent as he watches you―free hand gently playing with the waistband of your plain cotton underwear.

"you just need to look at me" he whispers, pushing your underwear to the side. the cool air brushes against your heated cunt, and keigo stares at the exposed flesh as if he wouldn't want to be anywhere else.

goosebumps rise on your arms at the notion.

and he's nothing if not efficient. no sooner than the words leaving his mouth and he's twisting, getting comfortable and his mouth is enveloping your sticky cunt. a choked off noise escapes you, and without him needing to direct you, you spread your legs to make more room for him to settle between them.

soft pinpricks of pleasure dance down your spine, clenching tightly in your lower stomach. keigo massages the soft skin of your ankle, humming into your cunt as his lips circle around your clit.

another feeble whimper tears from your throat and you shift, throwing one leg and then the other across his shoulders. keigo rolls with the motion, not once separating from your cunt as he switches from dragging his tongue through your folds and suckling on your clit.

you roll your hips against his face, seeking more of that friction. another sound, the cracked syllables of keigo's name leaving your lips as you stare down at his blond hair peeking from between your thighs. he's content to let you shift and writhe against his face―but not before long and he's pressing your hips down into the mattress to keep you still.

two thick fingers slide into your cunt―the ache at the stretch quickly passes over to pleasure, too much, nearly overwhelming. keigo only shushes you softly, kissing at your inner thigh absentminded almost. and then his tongue is returning to your sensitive clit, laving over it again and again and again.

keigo pulls away slow, like it kills him. his fingers are pulled out of you completely, but only for a moment―just long enough to pull your underwear down your thighs and flinging them across the room like they've personally cursed him. his hand presses you down again, because you've started to squirm restlessly, spreading your thighs so far apart that it almost hurts.

"not too much?" keigo inquires, rubbing the soft skin of your inner thigh almost reverently.

you shake your head, voice clogging up in your throat. "no. keigo―"

the way you say his name is almost helpless, a plea. keigo murmurs a soft, i know sweet girl, i'll give you what you need, and returning to kiss your clit, sliding his fingers back inside. you make a sound, a cross between a squeal and a groan when keigo pushes his fingers in so deep, crooking them just right, rubbing incessantly against your g-spot.

your fingers tighten around the sheets, palm slick with sweat as your back arches off the bed. keigo makes no move to hold you down this time―instead doubling, tripling his efforts. there's the ever-so-familiar coil in your belly, uncurling faster and faster. your breath picks up, whines more pronounced.

with just one more suckle at your clit, just one more curl of his fingers deep inside you has you falling apart with a jagged moan, fingers tightening so hard in the strands of keigo's blond locks that he makes a soft grunt below you. keigo doesn't work you through it, instead slowly pulling his fingers out to push them into his mouth instead, watching you with intense focus as you climax.

you fall back, completely boneless. it would be uncomfortable, being nearly trapped under the driven way keigo stares at you, if you weren't already so used to it. so instead, you catch your breath, listening as your gasps even out to soft puffs of air.

"good?" keigo asks, once you've come back to yourself. your chin dips to your collarbone in a shaky nod.

it means so many things. good? as in, are you feeling okay? did he do a good job? do you need more? good? as in, do you understand now?

there's no doubt in your mind now. not when the moonlight shrouds keigo in an ethereal light and he stares down at your naked body like he has witnessed god himself craft you whole. his past, your past―it's exactly that. something of the past.

his present and his future, both of them are yours.

"are you?" you ask, tugging him down to kiss him, tasting your essence on his tongue. "good?"

you can feel keigo smile against your mouth, against the side of your face, dipping down to kiss right over your heart. "as long as you are"

© amalainse -- do not copy, steal or plagiarize my works.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

On Good Behaviour 4

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, threats, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: after release, you try to get on the right track but your new boss isn’t much help. (ex-con reader)

Characters: Loki

Note: My sinus is inflamed but I can't stay home bc the squatter's gf is coming today.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You fidget behind the desk. Restless. Horrified. Why did you do that? 

The biggest lesson you learned in prison was to forget your pride. Leave it behind and muddle through. It took a lot and it wasn’t easy. That’s exactly what you need to do now. 

How far did you get and he’s going to spoil it all? You can be mad that he pushed you, that he touched you, but you can’t let that anger get the best of you. You know what happens when you do. 

You grip the edge of the desk and stand. You go to Laufeyson’s office door. You swallow down your agitation and knock. You let out a long breath. 

You almost knock again as you await an answer. When he opens the door, he stands back, noticeably so. 

“Should I prepare myself for a second assault?” He snickers. 

“Mr. Laufeyson,” you begin, “please, tell me you didn’t call Dina.” 

“She did not answer. Yet.” His eyes flick up and down derisively. 

“Please, don’t. Please. I’m so sorry. You know how badly I need this job and I’m trying--” 

“Oh, yes, you put a rather lot of effort behind that slap--” 

“It wasn’t--” You stop yourself and shake away the protests. “No, I did. I hit you and it doesn’t matter why. I’m sorry. I really am, I promise it won’t happen again.” 

He tilts his head and smirks. He slides his phone of out his jacket pocket. A timer runs on the screen. 

“Well then,” he taps the big red dot. “Now that we have that on record...” 

“What? Why... Please, Mr. Laufeyson, don’t--” 

“Let us get the order of things. Firstly, you do not tell me what to do. Second, I do know how sorely you require this position, and finally, should you want me to keep this to myself,” he wiggles his phone, “and give Dina a glowing review of your performance, you will do everything I say. More than that. And you will be sure to thank me after for all the grace I’ve shown a pathetic wretch such as yourself.” 

You withhold a glare, bristling at his list of demands, not to mention his insults. You are entirely powerless. You know it, he knows it. It’s clear that he won. Another lesson from prison; know how to lose without losing everything. 

“I understand, sir,” you utter. “I will not argue. I will listen and do whatever you tell me.” 

“Do you understand?” He slides his phone into his pocket as he grips the door frame. He stares at you. You frown as sweat beads on your neck. 

“I think...” you murmur. 

“So, when I tell you to turn in your panties, you will do so?” He opens his other hand expectantly.  

You look at his palm. Your brows draw together in confusion. The air sucks out of the room and the walls pulse as they get closer and closer. You lift your eyes to his face. His smirk says it all. 

Your heart thumps, so hard you feel it behind your ears. There were guards inside. If you let them put their hands up your shirt, you could get extra shower time. You hold back a shudder and set your chin. 

You push your skirt up your thighs and hook your thumbs under your panties. You roll off the plain cotton and step out of them silently. You clutch them tight before you shove them into his hand. His fingers close around the fabric and your hand. 

“You forgot something,” he taunts. 

You swallow, “thank you, Mr. Laufeyson.” 

“You will look my in the face,” he commands. 

You lift your gaze and wave on your short heels, skirt still rumpled around your thighs, stomach hollow and boiling. “Thank you, Mr. Laufeyson.” 

He snorts, “very good, darling,” he tugs the panties free of your grasp and unfolds them. He tuts, “you will find something more... alluring.” 

You search his face, hoping it’s just a play. Like the woman who stands in your cell door and spits on the floor, making herself known. He doesn’t relent. 

“Yes, sir, I will.” 

“And a skirt with a little less... reticence, yes?” 

You’re not entirely sure about that word but you get his meaning. You force out the same surrender, “yes, sir.” 

“Very well. I trust you understand me thoroughly. You may return to your work. You’ve a long day ahead.” 

You nod and back away. He stays in the door. You feel him watching you. You fix your skirt before you sit and hold back the tremble itching under your skin. You stare at the monitor, away from him so he can’t see the wobble of tears along the brim of your eyes. 

💼

There was a day in prison when you decided you didn’t want to live that life anymore. When you looked around at all those women who were on their second, third, or lifelong stint; who accepted it as their fate. You remember it clearly. Out in the yard, hands behind your head, stomach to the pavement as the guards shouted and broke up the bloody fight near the fence. 

Laying in the gravel, sun beating down, listening to the crack of bone on bone, the snarls of anger, you knew that was it. You either sink into the pit and let the muck drown you, or get out and turn it around. Like the prison counselour said, you’re still young enough. 

You really believed that. Up until now. Up until you’re sitting at that keyboard, typing to keep from thinking, crushed beneath the will of a new warden. Serving a new sentence you earned. 

Your knuckles tingle. So dumb. How long did you work on your anger? How many hits did you take inside and swallow down. You want to be better but maybe better isn’t for you. 

You wince as the door behind you opens. You don’t react otherwise. You keep your eyes on the screen, fingers moving. You finally got the admin down to a tee, not there’s new duties you’re not sure you can handle. 

You tense as Laufeyson sighs and stands behind you. You expect the touch this time. Dread it. His hands settle on your shoulders and knead. He hums as he leans in to read the screen, his stomach pressing to the back of your head. 

“I must say, your style is not without merit,” he purrs and drags his fingers along one shoulder. He tickles along your neck and up your cheek. “And you do learn rather quick...” he trails back along your shoulder, “though you might have more experience than I could know.” 

He follows the length of your arm as he comes around the chair. He snickers as you draw back from the keyboard. Your muscles tauten and your bones lock. You would stare at the wall when the guards touched you. You only reacted when then went for your pants. 

“It has been a stressful day,” he drones as he lifts your hand, “I do find myself a bit stiff.” 

He turns his back to the desk and brings your hand to the front of his trousers. You flinch as he pushes your palm against his hard length. Disgust curdles in your stomach as you gulp. 

“You might think of a way to ease the tension,” he peels his hand away and leans on the desk. You don’t move. You just stare at your hand. “Well...” 

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson,” you shift and wheel the chair towards him. 

You move mechanically. You grip his belt buckle and unlash it. You let it hang from the loops as you open his fly. He wiggles as your hands brush his trousers. You tug down the zipper and blink. You steel yourself as you withhold the quiver crawling beneath your skin. 

Don’t show fear. For all the hits you took, the ambushes, the screaming in your face, you learned that you do not show how afraid you are. You just keep going. 

You pull his trousers down past his bulge then curl your fingers over the top of his silken boxers. You could roll your eyes. Of course he must have everything perfect. No cotton for him. 

He groans as you stretch the elastic over his tip and tug them down to rumple with his trousers. He bobs before you, shamelessly. You let a long breath through your nose and grip him. He jerks and gives a soft hiss. 

“I know it is your nature but do not be cruel, darling,” he reaches to pet behind your ear. 

You nod, “yes, sir.” 

You keep a firm grip but not so tight. You pump up to his tip and hear how he sucks his breath in. He rescinds his touch to push back the tails of his shirt as you work him in a slow rhythm. He watches you as he sets his feet. 

Heat scalds from the meeting of flesh. Flowing from your palms, up your arms, across your chest and blazing in your face. There were some women inside who tried too. A bunk mate you didn’t have for very long. 

“Oh, darling, you have quite the touch for a beast.” He cooes. You can’t help but stop yourself. You grip his base and look up at him, a flicker of defiance. He smirks and tilts his head. “You’ve something to say?” 

You inhale again, “thank you, Mr. Laufeyson.” 

You fall back into tempo. You feel his pleasure building as he squirms. His fingers curl under the edge of the desk as his chest rises and falls shallowly. His little purrs itch in your ears. He rasps and drones as he dips his chin down. 

“You don’t want to make a mess, darling,” he warns. 

You look up at him. He grins and brings a finger to your lower lip. He winks. You lock your jaw to keep from growling. You might bite it off if he tries. 

You roll closer as your hand goes tip to base and back again. You point his tip towards you as you hide beneath your lashes. You’re sickened, not only by him, but by yourself. You are weak and you have no one to blame but yourself. You robbed that bank, you ruined your life your own damn self. 

“Oh, yes, darling, you are divine...” he hisses and twitches. 

He cums just as you think to open your mouth. Some spills inside, most spurts up over your face. You close your eyes and let the slimy strings coat your face. You ease your motion as he flinches and groans. You peel away your slickened hand and show your palm as you sit paralysed and shamed. 

“Mm, yes,” you hear a tissue wisp from the box, “I do feel rather lighter.” 

You use your knuckle to clear a glob from your lashes and peek at him as he wipes himself clean. He crumples the tissue and leaves it by your keyboard as he stands. He fixes his boxers and pants and hums. 

“As you were, darling,” he checks his watch, “I believe that would be your break.” 

You gulp and shudder out a breath. Your voice scrapes up your throat, “yes, Mr. Laufeyson.” The air stagnates as he waits by his door. “Thank you.” 

You cringe at the last two words. He snickers. “Oh, you are very welcome.” 

He leaves you. You reach for the tissues and your water bottle. You wipe away what you can then go over it all with the tepid filtered water. You don’t care that you’re ruining your make up. It hardly matters. It’s all ruined now. 

You grab the wadded tissue he left behind and shove it all down into the bin. You swivel back to the desk and rest your elbows on it. You drop your head into your hands as your stomach clenches violently. Your nails sink into your scalp and your teeth grit. 

If you didn’t care, you would hurt him. You would grab him by his balls and twist. You would bite and claw him. You would put him on the floor and stomp him. Spit on him. 

But you won’t. You will obey. He will not be the reason you go back. 

[amyispxnk]

My Kind of Woman

Chapter 7: You finally find, you and I Collide.

Series Masterlist || Previous Chapter

Series summary - Your song captivates Joel the second he hears you that night in Jackson, but he struggles to work up the courage to confess his feelings. With some (very heavy) encouragement from Ellie and Tommy, you two get closer and closer until he finally thinks he’s ready.

Chapter summary - Ellie turns 16, and the night goes even better than you and Joel had planned.

A/N: GUYS YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND HOW MUCH SCREAMING AND GIGGLING TOOK PLACE WHEN I WROTE THIS CHAPTER. TRUST YOU WILL NOT BE DISAPPOINTED.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Word count: 2.9k

Warnings: fluff, dirty dirty thoughts, masturbation (f+m), language

DO NOT COPY THIS FIC IN ANY WAY PLS AND TY.

Planning for Ellie’s birthday was challenging, but not because of the actual party. No. It was because of how much time you were spending with Joel.

It was really testing you, especially when he’d do things like turn up at your house with flowers or a pastry - jus’ a little thank you for all the help, y’know - he’d tell you, or when he invited you to his house and you’d turn up to him freshly out of the shower, hair damp and skin glistening, the water droplets clinging to him and just begging to be licked off.

Or like right now, as he was almost curled around you showing you the chords to a new song on the guitar.

For Ellie’s birthday, you of course suggested singing something for her; and it wouldn’t just be a simple ‘happy birthday’ (although you did plan on embarrassing her with that at some point during the event), it would be a version of one of her favourite songs - Take On Me.

Joel told you she listened to it all the time on her Walkman and even asked him to teach it to her, but she just couldn’t grasp all of the bar chords it required.

You could though, but still with some difficulty, resulting in Joel having to put his hand on yours to guide you through the motions, resulting in you practically in his lap as he manoeuvres this, and resulting in you being so flustered you can’t help but mess up the chords over and over again, causing the cycle to continue.

“Can we take a minute?” You ask, trying not to huff in frustration as you strum yet another muted note, fingers not quite strong enough for it when your brain is so muddled from the proximity with him.

“Sure, darlin’. Wanna do somethin’ else?” He smiles softly. He’s so at ease with you now, and it makes your heart flutter knowing you managed to secure a little bit of Joel’s affection and companionship for yourself. Lord knows it makes about half the female population in Jackson envy you.

You nod, and the two of you discuss the actual event. You decided on the Tipsy Bison, and easily secured a day there considering Joel’s relations to the 2 in charge, and your status as a performer there. Joel will help get Ellie there at around 5, and you and her friends will surprise her.

For decorations, you’ve made a ‘happy birthday!’ banner and a few hanging streamers. You also put in an order for a chocolate cake at the town bakery - Ellie’s favourite flavour according to Joel.

About 2 hours later, you’ve managed to get through the song a few times with him, and he’s left you with his handwritten sheet music to practice. As he uses the bathroom, you war with yourself in your mind because, you’re staring at the music right now and getting giddy thinking about the fact that he hand wrote the entire song out for you, and you’re blushing because his handwriting looks so good. You know it’s stupid and keep trying to snap yourself out of it, but your heart keeps thumping in your chest, telling you how special this all is and how much all this time spent together must mean.

He comes out of the bathroom and you can’t help but ask if he wants to stay for dinner. He says yes, of course, and you start cooking up some venison.

You sit down and pour some whiskey for the two of you - a risky move, which you’re fully aware of, but you don’t actually mind at this point. What happens, happens, right? You use this same logic when refilling the glasses.

He’s courteous as always, complimenting your cooking, thanking you for the help with Ellie’s birthday yet again, and offering to wash up afterwards.

“No, no, you’re my guest, Joel. Just sit for a bit. I know I’m exhausted after today.” You sigh, picking up the plates.

“All the more reason I should be cleanin’ up for ya,” he argues, and you just roll your eyes, moving to the sink.

You settle into a peaceful silence. It’s late, you’re ever so slightly drunk, and you’ve had a really long evening. It’s so quiet, in fact, that you let your thoughts wander, and don’t realise he’s coming up behind you until he accidentally nudges your hip, making you shriek and almost drop the mug you were washing.

“Shit, Joel!” You gasp, before dissolving into laughter at how much you overreacted.

“Sorry, hon.” He smiles lazily, making your heart flutter. His thumb tweaks your nose and your brows furrow. “Dunno how you got soap on yer face.” He mumurs, and you blink at him before coming back to your senses.

“Oh! Thanks, sorry.” You squeak, turning back to finish the washing and to hide your blushing face. He comes up next to you to help with drying everything off and your heart is about to burst from your chest by this point because you’ve just realised how domestic you’re both acting right now, how domestic this entire evening was. Talking with him on the couch after drinking coffee together, playing guitar before cooking, eating, and washing up, all together. There wasn’t a moment of discomfort or tension, and you realise just how wonderful he really is. And you realise how badly you want to kiss him, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. He’s zoned out looking at something through your kitchen window, thankfully, so you can look at him a little more clearly. You just want to grab his gorgeous face and kiss him with everything in you. It’s been months of waiting, building all of this tension until you can finally have him. Maybe the alcohol is getting to you, but you’re about to actually act on what you’re thinking when you realise your hands are covered in soap and so are his, and that it’d probably be weird to grab him and get soap all over him, making you sigh and shake your head.

The two of you chat some more about the birthday party before he leaves, and you practically run up to your bedroom, throwing your clothes off and then throwing yourself into the bed.

You hated the apocalypse for many reasons, and one of them was the fact that you still hadn’t managed to find a sex shop with any toys still in working condition. Your fingers would have to do - and right now they were actually working just fine as you worked yourself up, tracing slow circles around your clit and hissing when you finally start applying direct pressure to it, your other hand cupping your breast and teasing your nipple. You close your eyes and imagine it was his calloused fingers roaming your body currently, imagine his lips all over your skin and on your cunt.

Your gasps get higher, louder, and when you finally tip over the edge, it’s his name which floats past your lips. Your entire body trembles as your hips buck from how hard you fuck yourself on your fingers by this point, wanting this orgasm to last as long as possible, your mind conjuring up downright sinful images of you and Joel in this very bed and making you so horny you can barely think.

You finally come down from the high, panting and trembling, and stumble to the bathroom to clean up before falling asleep.

-

Joel’s night doesn’t play out too differently from yours. The whiskey you’d so dangerously decided to supply him with clearly played with his mind, resulting in him getting hard towards the end of the night after bumping into you. He had to touch you in some way, and came up with the weak excuse of something being on your face - there was, but it really wasn’t necessary for him to touch you and get rid of it. He had to restrain himself from cupping your cheek and kissing you right there. Your fucking doe eyes, your parted lips and flushed cheeks were making his efforts to keep from getting hard futile, and he hopes he didn’t seem like he was running away at the end, since he was actually just trying to hide his boner.

He’s thankful Ellie’s already in the garage when he gets home, because he’d genuinely crawl into a hole and die if she saw him in this state - drunk, dishevelled, and horny. He runs up to his room and locks the door behind him, always a little paranoid, before pulling his boxers down and letting his head fall back against the door when he finally wraps his hand around his cock. The precome which falls from the tip already provides some lubrication, but he spits on his hand before continuing to pump himself, imagining what he could’ve done tonight, what could’ve happened in that kitchen.

He could’ve cupped your cheek, pulled you closer and kissed you hard. Your tongues would clash together and you’d melt in his arms as you let him dominate. When you parted from the kiss, cheeks flushed and breathing heavy, you’d look up at him through your eyelashes and-

“Fuckk.” He moans, breaths coming quicker as his mind jumps to the main event of this little fantasy, knees almost buckling as he quickly squeezes the base, trying to stave off his release just a bit longer.

It seems to work and he continues letting his mind wander.

You’d look up at him, wide eyes peering into his as you asked to suck his cock. He’d never make you - in fact, he’d probably just eat you out instead before fucking you - but if you wanted it he wouldn’t deny you.

He’d nod and you’d sink to your knees in front of him, getting to work fast and wrapping those plump lips around his tip, starting to bob your head. His hand matches the pace that your mouth is at in his mind and he groans, hand working over himself even faster and faster until he finally comes, spurting release onto his hands and stomach as his brows draw upward and he gasps your name.

-

July 23rd finally rolls around, and you get out of bed unbelievably excited. You love Ellie, and you can’t wait to give her the best surprise ever.

The entire plan works perfectly, and she arrives just after 5 with Joel to the surprise at the Tipsy Bison. After everyone greets her, they sit to listen to your performance.

“Now, before we begin, I just wanted to say a few words for the girl this song is dedicated to,” you start, smiling as your eyes meet Ellie’s, she’s sat at the front of the crowd of course. “Ellie, you are the most wonderful kid I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting. You never fail to make my day better, and you always make me laugh - even with that terrible joke book of yours.” She rolls her eyes playfully and there are a few chuckles from the group - clearly she submits everyone she’s close with to the torture of her puns. “We’re all so grateful to have a friend like you, and you deserve the best birthday ever. Hopefully we did a good job.” You chuckle. A few cheers from the crowd, Ellie already beaming before you start playing the song.

When you do begin the song, she actually squeals from excitement, bouncing on her feet. You didn’t know her to act so excitable, especially in public, but it just makes you even more proud since you’d clearly done well by surprising her with this song.

Talking away,

I don’t know what I’m to say

I’ll say it anyway

Today’s another day to find you

Shying away

You don’t want the mood to be too low, although you smile softly at the sight of Ellie and Dina holding hands and murmuring to eachother about something, clearly having a little moment together.. but this is meant to be a party.

So, your strumming gets faster, singing louder and increasing in speed too, as you get some cheers from the crowd, a grin spreading across your face when you hear Joel’s encouragement too. Some people sing along, and people eventually start swaying and dancing. You take a little pause afterwards as people socialise, putting a song on the jukebox and setting your guitar down, sipping some water.

Ellie comes up to the stage with Joel, her smile so wide it prompts your own. You love making people happy, especially kids, and especially this kid.

“That was so fucking awesome! Thank you so much!” She beams, coming up to you and hugging you tight. Your brows raise and you hug her back, meeting Joel’s eyes. He has that look in his eyes you’ve noticed a lot more recently. You refuse to believe it’s the look of love, but.. what else would it be, really? It’s definitely some sort of affection for you, seeing you bonding so well with his surrogate daughter.

“That’s okay, honey. I’m really glad you liked it.” You say, and she thanks you again before requesting another song by A-ha, and you nod, recalling how to play it thankfully, before she leaves to go talk with her friends.

You sigh happily as you watch her go, beyond pleased with the outcome of the party, almost forgetting Joel who still stands before you.

“You were amazing, sweetheart.” He says, still smiling, making you blush when you thank him.

“‘s all thanks to you, Joel. You taught me the song.”

He hums, hands in his pockets. “But you played it up there, and you did it so well.”

“I guess…” You mumble, still a shy reciprocant of praise even after playing and performing in Jackson for all these years.

“Hey, don’t sell yourself short. You’re a real star.” He says, voice a little softer now, just intelligible over the music. You meet his eyes, so earnest and warm as they gaze into your own, and your breath catches.

“Thank you.” You say at last, smiling bashfully.

An hour later, some alcohol in pretty much everyone’s systems (even Ellie’s, after much pleading with Joel, arguing that 16 is basically 18 and that it’s the apocalypse anyway, man!) and your singing session over, the jukebox takes over and plays songs randomly. You sigh wistfully when ‘Collide’ plays, reminding you of that night not so long ago with Joel. The first of many perfect nights spent with him. He seems to have the same thought as he meets your eyes across the room.

Thank fuck for the alcohol, you think, when he comes up to you and boldly asks for a dance. There are people still on the dance floor, mindlessly chatting and dancing, so it wouldn’t be too obvious or embarrassing, you figure, nodding and taking his hand. You almost shudder at the feeling of it - have you even held his hand until now..? You don’t think so. But you still manage to control yourself.

That control flies out the window when you actually start dancing. The song isn’t exactly made for slow dancing, but you’re still close, and you know you’re close enough for him to see you blushing. You don’t really know what possesses you, because after a few murmured words, looking up at him as you dance, you’re taking his hand and somehow dragging him outside. Nobody even notices, and you’re thankful for it, unsure of how to navigate things after you finally do it.

You finally kiss him.

You get outside of the Tipsy Bison, soft orange light painting your faces, a cool breeze in the air. You exhale shakily, thinking of what to say before looking back up at him. All logic and thought fly out of your mind when you meet his eyes. They’re glowing in the sunlight, yet his pupils are so dilated as he looks at you. You can’t think straight and all your mind - no, your heart - is telling you to do is to just kiss him.

So you do, and it feels perfect.

Months, months of torturous waiting for this moment, and it’s actually fucking perfect.

He’s stunned for a second before he’s kissing you back hungrily, a hand tangling in your hair and the other wrapping around your waist, spinning and pinning you back against the wall. You moan softly as he presses into you, forgetting himself briefly.

The soft sound brings him back, though, and he parts from you, forehead resting against yours as he pants softly. You giggle, adrenaline high, and he smiles, huffing a little laugh.

“Well, shit.” A voice comes from your side, and you squeak, eyes shutting before you turn to see Ellie. She’s grinning as you squirm, the cheeky little bugger.

“Ellie-” Joel begins, suddenly sobering up, worried that Ellie won’t be comfortable with this at all.

She is though, laughing to herself before muttering “fucking finally” and heading back inside.

“She’s not wrong,” you murmur, still smiling, “that took us way too long.”

He nods, agreeing before kissing you again, a little softer this time, but it still makes you weak in the knees.

If he wasn’t drunk, and it wasn’t Ellie’s party right now, he’d definitely ask to take you home.. But he can’t tonight. You don’t ask either, probably in the same thought process as he is.

That doesn’t stop you from spending the rest of the evening together, chatting with friends here and there, but being inseparable otherwise.

It definitely doesn’t stop you both from darting back outside at least 5 more times during the night to make out like a pair of horny teenagers, either.

Thank you sm for reading, I hope you enjoyed! Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated <3

Next Chapter

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[eponymous-rose]

Some (many) thoughts on Arcane s2 while it's still fresh in my mind:

(tw: discussion of fictional depictions of suicide)

I'm gonna do some nitpicking here, but only because I really did like it overall - I think for me s1 was a solid 10/10 and this season was an 8.5/10, so I'm certainly looking forward to rewatching it! The animation was a big step up from s1's incredible work, the music was great, the performances were fantastic. I do think the overall writing/story fell down a bit, though.

It's weird, because my go-to when character arcs feel rushed is to want more episodes, but I don't think that necessarily would have solved my issues with this season.

Cait turned on Ambessa on a dime - we love to see it, but I think we maybe needed a few more overt hints of her discomfort with her position, maybe a sense of wrongness in their adoptive relationship and some parallels with Jinx & Silco given what Vi says early on ("why are you the one acting like her?"). Ambessa believes her daughter to be lost, and Cait has lost a mother - they were certainly playing on that substitution, but the eventual turn, while fun, felt a bit quick and unearned. I saw someone joke about the word "Cupcake" flipping Cait back like a sleeper agent, but that's kinda how abrupt things felt.

I think Mel's plot largely hung together okay, although it was pretty disconnected from everyone except Ambessa - would've loved to have seen some acknowledgement that Cait was filling her shoes as Daughter for a while there.

Isha was sweet and I liked the parallels with the Powder-Vi relationship (LOVED Jinx running with the pink chalk and Isha with the blue), but I think the sacrifice metaphor got a little muddled. The parallels with Powder charging in and killing everyone around her, versus Isha charging in and saving everyone but herself felt a little forced and I struggled to see how they served the greater narrative. The whole point of Powder's failure was a messy combination of bad luck, overcompensating for what she perceived as a lack of confidence in her, etc. Isha had Jinx's confidence on her side, I guess, and now of course we have the foreshadowing of Jinx dying to save someone else, which she's been trying to do since Act II.

Suicide was a pretty heavy concept throughout the first season. We had the parallels of Jayce and Viktor, we had the little-remarked-upon moment where Viktor hesitates before cutting the wire on Jinx's bomb. I actually think this season did pretty well with those two (although I'll talk about a couple things that irked me below), but the concept that we can't escape the things that we've done and we instead have to find salvation in those around us felt kind of contrary to Jinx's finally finding a way to die for her sister. I don't know that Jinx's story was necessarily supposed to feel satisfying or complete, but without another season there's not much to dig through there.

And that brings up the main reason I don't think more episodes would have resolved my quibbles with this season: it was pretty prone to overexplaining. To me, one of the most exceptional things about that first season was how little it explained. You had these gorgeous, evocative flashes of Vander trying to kill Silco, Silco stabbing him and fleeing into the night, and that's all we needed! That's it! We didn't need to know the specifics, we didn't need more backstory than that - the whole point of the season was that these kids are trying to make their own stories, and these guys have set the stage and are in the process of bowing out. Much as I loved the glimpses this season into the past generation's adventures, it felt like it was pinning something down that was more effectively left to the imagination.

There were also some weird fumbles with discussions of disability, especially in that last episode. I loved so much of what season one did with it - the older generation of Zaunites almost all had some form of disability due to the way they'd been systematically poisoned and their constant exposure to danger, and that was a really in-your-face way to challenge the early "why can't we all get along" stuff. And so much of Viktor's and Jayce's arcs are tied in with the sense of time running out and how Heimerdinger's long-term goals are incompatible with helping the people suffering right now. But instead we get this weird "you didn't like your imperfections so you tried to eliminate all imperfections", which doesn't quite ring true.

We just fundamentally didn't get to a resolution that I think was heavily implied, especially in Act II. "No one in power is innocent" is a great, raw line, but we didn't really see it play out. Instead, we have everyone stopping from othering each other in order to band together against an even bigger Other. As a side note, I don't think that Sevika's ending is meant to be a positive thing - we see from the skeptical looks of others that she's got a long road ahead. The revolution we saw coming just sort of fizzled out, and I think it's still on the horizon, which makes things feel incomplete.

There were also a lot of notes that repeated instead of echoing or harmonizing. We had variations on the theme of Vander dying three different times. We had Vi being unable to kill her sister several times. The repetition felt a bit like it was filling time instead of moving things forward the way s1's plot kept pushing.

This season is also the first time I felt the hand of League of Legends Canon shoving the plot into place. We knew Vi was heading for that enforcer uniform, but after the initial conflict it sometimes felt more like we just unlocked a new skin for the character. The Vander-as-Warwick stuff was kind of silly and out of left field, although it was executed pretty well and certainly pulled at the ol' heartstrings. Ekko getting his time abilities was fun and impacted the final fight, but I feel like we were missing something there as well that I'm having a harder time putting my finger on. Some of Viktor's lines felt designed to make the League players in the audience go "HE SAID THE THING". And I hate the feeling of setting up the Next Installment in the Cinematic Universe, probably just because I'm exhausted with Marvel stuff - I'd love for an adaptation like this to be able to really and truly stand on its own.

Overall, it just felt less like the characters were driving the story and more like they were ticking off boxes, which is just something that any good finale has to contend with one way or another.

Anyway, that's a lot of nitpicking. Fundamentally, this felt almost like it was a really strong fic that did a surprisingly good job of wrapping everything up and was stunningly put together in places... but still lacked the spark of the original.

Stuff I loved: Vi/Cait getting a pretty strong arc and certainly the first lesbian sex scene I've ever seen in a TV-14 cartoon. Animation and score was stunning. I did love the what-if of episode 7 - something I've been waiting for them to acknowledge is that literally everything that happens in the show follows from that one break-in during episode one. I actually think Vi and Jinx's reunion and reconciliation felt earned.

I'm curious how I'll feel on subsequent rewatches - the first time I watched s1, I remember being blown away but not in a "this is the best thing ever" way, and it wasn't until the second time that it really clicked for me.

[jeezlouiseoncheese]

yeah, I know that “the Fears work differently in TMAGP” and all, but isn’t it weird how much the Eye (for the most part) seemingly doesn’t? Like, lots of the fears in TMA had cults and roles and practices closely tied to their existence, and only the Eye gets to keep both the Institute (and, assumedly, by extension the Archive, which is already established as something core and closely important to the Eye outside of Jonah Magnus’ involvement) and its Archivist/s? Heck, it even keeps the tape recorders, despite them being so closely tied to the Web in TMA— while the rest of the Fears become more and more muddled together, the Eye as a Power seems to be far more separate and powerful.

The other entities left may have semblances of avatars, but none of them represent one clear Fear anymore, not like [ERROR] clearly represents the Eye. I mean, what is Mr Bonzo? The Stranger? The Flesh? The Slaughter? None of the “externals” fit clearly into one or the other, beside maybe Lady Mowbray. And even then, she’s got cannibalism mixed in, so there’s hints of Flesh again. And to add onto that, none of them seem to understand what they’re doing. Sure, most of them understand that it feels good and they want to do it, but none of them seem to understand what’s behind it. We haven’t met any cult fanatics with strange powers or people who use their patrons to their advantage. There’s no apparent Smirkes or Leitners trying to understand or catalogue them, not counting whatever the OIAR’s trying to do, given that’s probably at least partially led by the Eye itself with jmj and FR3-D1. Meanwhile, whoever or whatever [ERROR] is, they clearly understand their role. Their purpose seems a lot clearer than the other Externals, clearly connected with the tape recorders rather than being done just out of a need to feed or for murderous fun. Not to mention Eye-aligned things have always had more clear roles and purposes as opposed to other avatars— we don’t get examples in TMA of Eye avatars or entities outside of the Archivist(s) and the Pupil of the Eye, to the point (in my opinion) I don’t think there are any. Ink5oul doesn’t know why she does what she does, and she’s terrified. [ERROR] clearly understands why and what it is, even if we the audience don’t know that yet. I think it’s clear to me that the Eye may have been tricked in order to get out, but it still has some power above the other Fears in this universe. It’s still early enough that the other entities don’t have cults who know their names or establishments that serve them in secret, but the Eye already has the OIAR through FR3-D1 and jmj. It’s already watching. It tried something with the Magnus Institute already, it’s already planning things. Usually that’s the Web’s job, but we haven’t really seen much Web-adjacent stuff. A little addiction related things, sometimes a little creepy-crawlers and losing control a little, but nothing obviously Web (at least in my opinion). No spiders (sad. My arachnophobe brain misses being spooked by that in audio form), no manipulation, no grand plan you can’t— okay maybe a little of that. But it’s not as huge a focus as all the Eye stuff is, which is… weird. The rest of the fears seems to be grouped up together as more of a conglomerate of “Externals” that the OIAR (which is very Eye-aligned atm) “works” with in some way (interesting dynamic there. just reinforces the whole “the eye has the power still” idea for me), but the Eye remains separate.

Just makes me really curious how that’s going to develop once these Externals get more clued in on what they’re feeding.

[amuseoffyre]

Just had GO s2 on in the background while I was doing some craft and some percolating thoughts came out of the first Maggie and Nina exchange.

Nina: See anything you fancy? Maggie: Oh. Yes. Coffee. Nina: The usual, then? Don't tell me, it's in here. You're a skinny latte. Maggie: You remembered :) Nina: A lot of people in this head, and a lot of coffees, but I only remember the regulars.

Now bear with me on this mental ramble as I try and put these thoughts in order. I'll divide it into three points:

Mind-altering and memory muddles

There's a running motif through the whole season about memory and the loss thereof:

Gabriel removing his memory ("all the bits that make you you")

Crowley forgetting who Furfur was repeatedly

Aziraphale and Crowley's miracle basically casting confusion over the bookshop and muddling everyone's minds

the threat of erasure of memory and demotion (and am still sure Muriel is a previous demotee on account of the 37th level thing. 3s and 12s! Those are the recurring numbers in the book! 37 doesn't make sense! 36, yes! 37, no!)

putting memories somewhere else (Gabriel's fly but also Aziraphale's journals)

Coffee

As with the memory element, coffee is a running theme through the whole show as well.

Crowley chugging espressos like there's no tomorrow

Give Me Coffee or Give Me Death - "does anyone ever choose death?" asks the Metatron, when the answer is obvious

Coffee's symbolism in the final 15. Let me yell about the symbolism of Coffee = Crowley and all things mortal and living and human and earthly. OR DEATH. ("I have ingested things, you know")

The flavours in the Metatron's coffee order also having allegorical symbolism - almond branches in various parts of The Book are a reminder that God is Watching.

The human avatars of the angelic and divine

Initially when I started watching S2, I assumed the parallels between Maggie and Nina were obvious: Maggie, the sunshine one, is the Aziraphale, while Nina, the grumpy one, is the Crowley. But I was wrong.

Nina is the human avatar of Aziraphale.

Maggie: how can you think about that after all this? Nina: People need coffee, I sell coffee, it's my coffee shop.

Nina defines herself by the place she works, it is who she is and she does it because people need it (coffee), much like Aziraphale defines himself by the place he worked (Heaven), it's who he is (an angel) and he does it because people need it (goodness).

Likewise, when they go and tell Crowley off for the way he's interfered in their lives, Nina says she's just getting out of a messy relationship and isn't ready for something new yet (again, Aziraphale and Heaven vibes because that fully impacts every decision Aziraphale makes through S2) and if Maggie is around when she's ready, then maybe, they can try. ("If she's there" "I will be :) ")

And then we have Maggie, the Crowley avatar. Useless at saying what she wants to say, tries to express herself and her emotions with gestures and gifts, offers her company and time when Nina needs it, happy to help her despite the way Nina is wary of the kindness being shown.

By the end of the season, Nina is caught behind the bar of her coffee shop, working and serving ungrateful people, while Maggie is alone in her empty shop, asleep on her counter, paralleling Aziraphale going back to work in a place where he will run himself off his feet to do the right thing, while Crowley is left with an empty shop.

But now to spin back to the original quote from 2x01, it feels like all of these motifs are tying together and foreshadowing something, very possibly an Aziraphale who has lost his memory/had his memories stripped away.

Let me rewrite the lines with only a tiny couple of changes:

Aziraphale: See anything you fancy? Crowley: Oh. Ngk. Company? Aziraphale: The usual, then? Don't tell me, it's in here. You're the demon Crowley. Crowley: You remembered :) Aziraphale: A lot of angels in this head, and a lot of demons, but I only remember the regulars.

If I'm right, he remembers Crowley, but only the surface level like Nina remembers Maggie. Nothing about who they were to each other, nothing about what has happened. But have no fear, Muriel has the bookshop and the thousands and thousands of years of Aziraphale's memories bound up in text form.

Especially prescient since Muriel is given a book by the Metatron Crowley which is a novel where a man pieces together a story from documents that have been left behind. Schroedinger's journals will be making a return in S3, I have no doubt.

[honeywyrdie]

Sweet Spot {part 4}

{part 1}{part 2}{part 3}{part 4}{part 5}{part 6}

Baker Felix x Florist reader

summary: At the reception, you're in the spotlight in a few different ways. Felix seems to be a little too good at this fake dating stuff, making everyone at the wedding believe you two are madly in love. While you try to figure out your own feelings, your ex certainly doesn't seem to handle it well. // genre: fluff, angst, eventual smut // word count: 5.9k // warnings: adult dialogue, sexual themes //a/n: Thank you for being patient my little cherubs! Life has gotten hectic, but this is a bit longer of a chapter than I expected. 💘 if you're not on the taglist and would like to be, please reply to this post or send me an ask!🥰

(⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄)⁄

I have only posted this here and on AO3 - user: spookwyrdie

The weather couldn’t be more perfect for this reception. A cool breeze flutters through the cream table cloths in the reception area. Felix has his hand on your lower back as you walk in, looking at the small place cards to find your names. You can tell by the dueling decor of the reception that the bohemian switch was recent. Your arrangements bring that artsy, free spirited vibe with the traces of twine, lace, and grasses, but most of the decor follows the standard wedding trends. The drapery is pressed and pristine, the tableware was white with gold detailing, and everything is shiny. It definitely isn’t unattractive, but you know that it clashes a little in terms of taste.

The table setting for the bride and groom was front and center, currently empty while the wedding photographers took advantage of the golden hour sunset in the vineyard. At one end of the table sits a large light green, tiered cake. The theme of the cake is very floral - there are small bunches of pointy, textured leaves surrounded by a pattern piped on meticulously to look like macrame, adorned with small round sprinkles like scattered pearls in the frosting. It’s a gorgeous cake, complementing the floral decorations you had worked so hard on, as if you and whoever the baker is were on the same aesthetic wavelength.

“I’ll grab us some drinks, go sit down,” Felix says, trailing his fingers across the small of your back before leaving. You feel the loss of heat from his hand immediately and miss it. 

“Something sour for me please!” you call after him as you wander over to the table where you and Felix will be sitting. 

“Y/n!” a voice squeals behind you. Johnny’s younger sister comes up behind you and wraps her arms around your shoulders with a giggle. “It’s been ages! You look fantastic.”

“Lily! Look at you!” you said, spinning around to greet her. “You look like a whole-ass adult now!”

When Johnny had introduced you to his family, Lily had loved you right off the bat. You told her all about the flower she was named after and for a birthday gift one year, she made you a small ceramic garden pot with a pattern of lilies. One thing that Johnny could never take from you was the fondness his family still felt. When the two of you broke up, you were determined to keep in contact with some of them, mostly checking in on them from afar on social media.

“You have to sit right next to me!” she beams at you. Nudging you with her shoulder, she says, “You are also required by law to tell me about the pretty blonde boy you’re with.”

You beam at her. “That’s Felix, we’ve been dating for a few months. I’ve known him for years now but we only recently started dating. It still feels brand new.”

“Between you and me,” she says, leaning in with a whisper, “I like Jenny but I was really hoping for you to be my new sister-in-law back in the day. Johnny’s an absolute ass for losing you. But I’m glad you found someone! Especially someone who looks like they walked out of an elven forest.”

“Who walked out of a forest?” a deep voice questions behind you. Felix smiles down at the two of you, drinks in hand. He sets down a mojito in front of you, the mint and lime perfectly muddled together.

“You, obviously!” says Lily, excitement tugging at her lips as she gestures towards Felix’s appearance up close. “You’ve got a whole Legolas thing going on.”

Felix chuckles as he sits next to you, scooting his chair close enough that his knee touches yours. There’s a shiver that runs down your spine the longer you feel his body heat seep into you at this simple touch. 

The wedding party starts to walk in as the music swells from the DJ’s booth. It’s like a second wedding processional, the bridesmaids and groomsmen walk in, this time a little more loose and casual. 

Felix drapes his arm around you and places his hand at the back of your neck, thumb resting right at your hairline. You look over at him and smile. He’s so good at this, it almost feels natural. The way his hands easily find your body, the way you lean into his touch, it’s like you two instinctively orbit around one another. You fell into this so easily, it’s easy to forget that after the wedding is done, it’ll be over. 

It’ll be over. 

You clench your teeth together hard at the thought, dejection filling your veins. In an effort to drown the bittersweet feeling, you knock back the rest of your mojito, the mint cooling your throat.

Jenny and Johnny make their way in, smiling and waving at everyone as the DJ announces them. Johnny’s eyes scan the room and he falters for a moment when he spots you. At the same time, Felix starts to massage the tense muscles of your neck, fingers gently trailing up into your hair with a light scratch. You lean in to the comforting touch, your eyes glazing over, fully forgetting Johnny’s sharp gaze. The cool sensation of the mojito does nothing to quell the warmth building in your stomach. It’s a bold feeling, a confidence simmering in your body under Felix’s kneading hands. Fuck it, you think. If this is the one night you get to be with Felix, you’re not going to let the opportunity slip through your yearning fingers. If there’s a night to let the delusion take control, tonight is that night. You put your hand on his thigh, squeezing into the muscle of his thigh, mirroring his motion on your neck. Out of the corner of your eye, you see him readjust in his chair, lurching slightly in his chair.

After the couple sits down at their table, the food is served. The vineyard must have a special deal for big events like this, because the food is also fairly boring. The focus is definitely on the wine pairings over the actual dinners served. There’s bland chicken, sauteed summer squash, and some kind of starch. What they lack in interesting food, they make up for in wine selection. A sommelier flits around the room with the medallion shaped tastevin around their neck.

You’re not even paying attention to the meal to be honest, with the way that Felix has shifted his chair so close that his thigh presses up against yours. He seems like he’s attached to your hip, obsessed with the way you brush your fingers up his leg absentmindedly. Even when he’s just chatting with the rest of the table, he finds a way of touching you somewhere, his body needing to be in constant contact with yours as much as possible. Your hand finds its way onto his body just as often, wanting to soak up as much of this feeling to burn into your memory.

A hush falls over the room as the toasts begin. The bride’s mother makes a teary eyed speech about a new chapter in life, the best man makes a thinly veiled sex joke, and the maid of honor gently threatens Johnny’s life if he’s not able to keep Jenny happy. There’s a strange tone the maid of honor has when speaking about Johnny, a sarcastic sneer marring her face that feels a little too genuine to brush off as a joke. Jenny keeps nervously sipping at her champagne, a rosy hue painting her cheeks, eyes downcast. 

Felix’s arm is resting on your shoulders, pulling you into him more and more as the speeches go on, to the point where you have to wrap an arm around his waist to stay balanced. He smells so good, the slight perfume from the glass of wine on his breath and his fresh scented cologne mix together, swirling around you. Every time he chuckles at one of the toasts, it rumbles through you, a feeling more than a sound. Before you know it, you find yourself leaning your head onto his shoulder, tracing your nails over the embroidery of his shirt - your hand having slipped under his suit jacket a while ago. 

As the speeches drone on, Felix leans down towards you, face inches from yours, and murmurs, “Have I told you how good you look this evening?”

You look up at him, focus shifting back and forth between his dark eyes, he’s so close. “You may have mentioned it once or twice.”

“Well, allow me to mention it again,” he chuckles, as if the two of you are sharing a secret. He whispers even lower, “Did you see the look Johnny gave us when they walked in?”

“Barely.”

Felix hums. “Distracted?”

“Yeah, someone was massaging my neck so well, it made me forget where I was,” you say, a coy smile playing at the edge of your lips.

“Well…” Felix responds, his whisper at ASMR levels in your ear, making your skin tingle. “I could see why he’d be jealous.”

“Time for the cake!” Jenny’s voice squeals out, her volume rising as much as the color in her cheeks. She and Johnny stand as one of the event staff workers brings them the cake cutting knife and the photographer hovers around, flashing pictures as they both grasp the knife. 

They slice into the bottom tier of the cake, the green frosting giving way to a dark chocolate cake inside. They each take a piece on a small plate to feed to the other, Jenny laughing as she takes her fork and boops Johnny right on the nose with the frosting. Everyone in the crowd giggles as Johnny stares at her with a gob of green on his face, cheeks reddening.

The giggles turn to a collective gasp as Johnny takes his small plate, picks up his piece of cake, and smears it all over Jenny’s jaw, smashing it into her face. She yelps in shock as Johnny cackles. 

“Hey babe!” he cries, teeth glinting in the flash of the camera. He points to his chin, mocking her. “You got a little something right here!”

Jenny just stares at him, taking in the situation. No one is cheering or laughing other than Johnny, the room is full of uneasy murmuring. Slowly, Jenny begins to laugh, diffusing the tension only slightly, as she begins to wipe the cake off of her face. Her laughter doesn’t meet her eyes, you can see that much from where you’re seated. Felix looks at you with wide eyes, silently asking you what the fuck just happened. You shrug, just as shocked as he is. 

As the maid of honor rushes up to fuss over Jenny and her makeup, the DJ grabs the mic. He laughs nervously before trying to redirect everyone’s attention. “Alright everyone, line up for some cake! No need to use your face, we will provide you all with forks!”

A cautious titter runs through the room as people get up to join the line for cake. Felix smiles at you, biting at his bottom lip with his teeth. “Want to go get a slice?”

“Sure,” you say as he pulls you up from your seat.

“I won’t smash it into your face, I promise.”

As the two of you wait in the line for cake, Felix gets giddier, smiling wide and bouncing on his toes a little. You watch as different people in the crowd grab their plates, take a taste, and have a strange reaction. Some gasp in delight, mutters of wow echo around you, while others take their bite and their faces twist, bewildered at what they’re tasting. You have absolutely no idea what to expect when you get your plate as a staff member hands you and Felix a slice. The green icing and dark, moist cake look gorgeous, at the very least. You start to lift your fork to your mouth.

“Wait! Don’t take a bite til we’re back at the table,” Felix says suddenly, an impish look on his face. “I want to see your reaction.”

You cock an eyebrow at him, but oblige his weird request. You sit down, just the two of you, and you look at him, silently asking if you can finally take a bite. Felix is watching your every move, smiling with his bottom lip captured between his teeth. He looks like he’s about to unwrap a Christmas present. You lift the fork to your mouth once more, sliding it between your lips.

Mint... and chocolate? Your whole face scrunches up, it’s like toothpaste invading your dessert. One of your least favorite combinations, whoever popularized mint chocolate deserves jail time in your eyes. It dawns on you, looking up at Felix suddenly.

“You made the cake for this wedding?”

He’s giggling now, eyes disappearing into little crescents. “Yes! I told you mint chocolate was a controversial flavor.”

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?!” you exclaim. “Is that why you showed up so early?”

“Yeah, this was the delivery I made in the morning,” he says.

“So you’ve known Johnny and Jenny this whole time?”

Felix wipes his eyes from laughing at your reaction to the strange cake combination. “No, no - only Jenny. Johnny never came to any of the tastings, I didn’t put two and two together until today that we were working the same wedding.”

“So he was up my ass about the floral arrangements while he couldn’t even be bothered with any of the others?” you muse. What was it with Johnny constantly trying to undermine you? He neglected other wedding planning responsibilities while making sure he found the time to critique you. Then he stressed Jenny out by implying you’re incompetent. Is this the only reason he invited you?

“I guess. He really seems like an asshole, Y/n. How long did you guys date?”

“Just over four years. It was during college, we broke it off when we started drifting apart. Y’know, career stuff, different future plans.”

“Was he always this much of a dick?” Felix asks, taking a bite of his own cake. 

“Not really, when it ended, it sorta just fizzled out, but he wasn’t angry or rude when it happened. We agreed that whatever spark had been there previously had fully died. It got weird after we broke up when we tried being friends, so we became the kinds of friends you only see at big group functions.”

“He seems bitter. You don’t deserve any of that, whatever it is.”

“Maybe he is, I don’t know,” you say, pinching your brow. “Remind me in the future to never work at an ex's wedding ever again.”

“If it were up to me,” Felix mutters under his breath, looking away, “you wouldn’t have any future exes.”

“What?”

Just then, the mic turns on in the DJ booth, whining from the feedback for a second, drowning out any other conversation.

“Alright party people! It’s time for our two lovebirds to have their first official dance as a married couple!” The DJ says in a corny radio announcer voice. Jenny and Johnny shuffle to the dance floor, their smiles a little too tense to look natural. The DJ cues up their song, some slow ballad. You can’t even tell what it is because the way Felix laces his fingers with yours, squeezing gently, has your heart rate doubling.

Johnny and Jenny start their dancing, swaying back and forth. They’re not looking at one another, their movements stiff and a little awkward. Johnny steps on Jenny’s train, leaving a gray mark on her dress. She starts whispering angrily at him, their expressions fill with irritation. As the song ends and everyone politely claps, despite the awkward tension between the two. The DJ gets on the mic again.

“The bride and groom have requested that we open up the floor to all the couples in the crowd. If you’re in love out there, grab your partner and come to the floor!”

Felix grins wide at you and grabs your hand, pulling you out of your chair. You balk at him, following as he drags you to the dance floor. You join the other couples as another slow dance cues up. Johnny’s parents are there, arm in arm. His mother catches your eye and gives you a wink. 

Felix pulls you into his arms, clasping your hand in one of his and the other wraps around your waist. He brings your knuckles to his lips, placing a feather-light kiss on them. Your heart skips a whole beat, pounding extra hard as it catches up - you didn’t know it could do that. That’s something that only happens in romance novels.

He spins you around slowly, eyes locked on yours, his gaze soft and eyes sparkling. You’ve literally never seen a more beautiful person in your life, your breath catches in your throat just looking at him. The room fades away, you barely even notice the other couples that dance around you, the only person that matters is the one radiating sunshine in front of you. Warmth seeps into you where your bodies are pressed up against one another and you imagine the rhythm of your heartbeats match in this moment. 

You don’t even notice when the song changes and other people join in on the dance floor, filling all the extra space on the floor. Lily comes up and bumps you with her hip, smiling at the way you jolt in surprise. 

“You two look really good together!” she shouts over the upbeat music that blares through the speakers now.

She turns to Felix, who is still holding onto you, affection etched in every crevice of his face.

“We have a very fond place in our hearts for Y/n. You better take care of her, Legolas,” she says, playfully threatening him with a poke to the shoulder.

Felix laughs, pulling you closer, taking your hand and placing it over his heart. “I plan on it, you have my word.”

Satisfied with his response, she saunters away to dance. Felix takes your hand and spins you around, breaking the thick tension between the two of you. It’s so easy to get swept away by him, you almost let yourself believe he genuinely returns your feelings. He presses your back against his front as a sultry song comes on, swaying against you. He nuzzles into your neck, sending a shock of arousal through your body.

“I like putting you on display like this,” his voice nearly growls in your ear. 

Throwing caution to the wind, you decide to lean into the flirting, emboldened by the growl in his throat. Consequences be damned when he’s breathing into the sensitive skin of your throat.

“I like when you put me on display,” you respond.

He leans away from you, throwing his head back as he groans. You smile as you innocently grind your ass into his hips. His hands shoot out, grasping at your hips, fingers digging into the flesh. “You’re gonna get us both in trouble if you keep doing that.”

You laugh as you grasp his hand, spinning away from him like a ballroom dancer, yanking him towards you. He stumbles into you, laughing as he nearly tips over. Your arms wrap around him in a big hug as you both end up a giggling mess as you sway on the dance floor. 

Eventually, you find your forehead pressed against Felix’s, calming down but still beaming at him. 

“Hey…  I want to say thank you,” you murmur. Your voice is low, but he’s so close so you know he hears you.

“I’m a really good dancer, I know,” he replies, chuckling. “No need to thank me.”

You smack him lightly on the shoulder with a huff of laughter. “No, I’m serious. Thank you for being my date tonight.”

“Of course,” his voice dips low again. 

“You don’t have to keep up the act though, I think we’re believable enough,” you mutter, looking down at your feet.

Felix reels back at that, pulling his head away from yours to look at you. There’s a confused frown on his face. “Who’s acting?”

You avoid his eyes. “I just don’t want you to feel pressured to keep up a fake identity. You’ve definitely impressed everyone with the boyfriend treatment.”

“I’m not feeling pressured to do anything, Y/n. I’m acting this way because I enjoy doing it.” he mutters back intensely.

You roll your eyes. “Be for real, Felix. I know you don’t feel that way about me.”

“Who said I don’t feel that way about you?”

“Don’t lie to me!”

“Who’s lying?!”

“Shhh!” you whisper. Your voices weren’t raising too much to be heard over the music, but you still wanted to be cautious. “I don’t need you getting my hopes up like that.”

“Y/n, I swear…” Felix says, clenching his jaw, looking away from you while he composes himself. His hands find your waist, gripping into the fabric of your dress, looking you deep in the eye. “You want to talk about getting hopes up? You want to talk about long nights chatting and trying my baked goods even when I had work at 4 AM? Or brushing up against me and holding my hands while I help you with floral stuff? Being there for me when I need you, knowing you will drop everything at a moment’s notice to help me? Today is the first time I’ve ever felt like you might actually feel something for me after years of being obsessed with you.”

“What?” You halt in your tracks on the dance floor, shock freezing you in place. He leans back into you, pressing his forehead against yours with a sigh.

“I have loved you for ages now,” Felix murmurs, his eyes fluttering shut. “I’ve just been waiting for you to notice.”

You are silent, a thousand different emotions quaking through you as you listen to Felix confessing. Anger that he didn’t do it sooner. Fear that he might be lying. Shame that it took you this long to figure it out. But overwhelmingly you feel elation, your heart soars into your throat. Words escape you, knowing that there’s only one real way you can respond.

You grab him by the lapels and pull him into you, connecting your lips in one quick motion. His lips are plump and malleable, molding over yours as he gets lost in the feeling. He gasps, stealing the breath from your mouth, when he realizes what you’re doing. Pulling back slightly, he checks to see if you really want this, if your desire matches his. All he sees is your fierce gaze, dripping with lust as you lick your bottom lip, waiting for his response. This will change everything, but you’re ready to trust Felix as you fall. 

His hands cup your cheeks as he swoops back down, capturing your lips again. Plush and warm, your lips gliding against one another, pulling his bottom lip into your mouth and nibbling lightly. You don’t care that you’re in view of everyone else at this reception, right in the middle of the dance floor. All you care about is the way Felix licks your bottom lip, asking to deepen the kiss. You surge into him, tongues entwining, falling into him further as you both battle for dominance in this heated moment. Arousal sears through you as you press your pelvis into his as your hands clutch the material of his jacket. You lose track of time and space, all that matters is Felix and his constellation of freckles.

You hear someone cheer, some applause, even a wolf whistle. You detach from Felix long enough to realize that the attention is on the two of you. Your cheeks burn with embarrassment as you pull away slightly from Felix, sheepishly smiling at those around you. You notice Bobby and Peter off to the side, beers in hand, as the source of the wolf whistles. You’ve never been so happy to be so embarrassed.

The reception continues, the two of you continue to dance and steal kisses throughout the evening. There’s a kind of magic between the two of you on the floor, one that other people notice. After all the stress of the planning, prep, and setup, you feel all that melt away as Felix encircles you once more, singing along to some of the songs in his deep voice.

The night continues, most people are a few drinks in at this point. The dance floor is getting louder and messier. Shoes have been kicked off, faces are red from exertion, voices are slurred. You have been so wrapped up in Felix to do anything other than flitting around the dance floor, depending on the song that’s playing. You catch up with your friends and some of Johnny’s family members that you’re fond of, introducing Felix to them. They offer him warm welcomes and knowing smiles.

 Jenny and Johnny are nowhere to be seen on the floor, staying behind their table for most of the evening. Jenny ventured onto the dance floor a few times for her bridesmaids, but for the most part, there’s a bit of a dark rain cloud over the newlyweds. Jenny leaves her new husband at the table and goes to whisper in the DJ’s ear.

The feedback from the mic squeals again as the DJ starts a new announcement. “Who’s ready for the bouquet toss?!”

You feel bodies move past yours, gathering into one area as Jenny stands at the front, ready to chuck the bouquet behind her head. One of your least favorite parts of any wedding, knowing how hard you worked on the bouquet. You and Felix stand off to the side to give the grabbing hands more room. Felix can’t be bothered to look at anything or anyone else in this room, staring at you with hearts in his eyes as he holds you at the waist.

“Just a heads up, I’m really bad at throwing!” Jenny says, with a grin as she turns around. She goes to fling it over her head towards the crowd, but it doesn’t go in a standard arc up and over. Somehow, physics worked differently with this bouquet. She tosses it over her head, it shoots out to the side, hitting Felix in the face.

He scrambles to pick up the bundle of flowers as it topples to the ground, spluttering through some of the pampas grass that got stuck to his mouth. The laughter that comes out of you is a deep belly laugh, you double over. Felix waits above you as you take a few moments to stop cackling in his face before he hands you the bouquet with a peck to your cheek. Even though there are a few disappointed faces in the crowd, you get another round of applause as you hold up the bouquet.

The mic squeals again, the constant interrupter of the evening, as Johnny grabs it suddenly out of the DJ’s hand. His eyes are bright and his cheeks are a ruddy shade of red, he’s definitely had too much to drink tonight. 

“Yeah! Everyone give it up for Y/n!” he slurs into the mic. “Our florist and my ex!”

There are a few scattered claps of confusion from the crowd, unsure of what’s happening. 

“We’re celebrating love tonight, me ‘n Jennyyyy,” he draws out the last syllable of his wife’s name, trying to sound cutesy. “Y/n, we’re so happy you finally found someone. We were starting…. to get worried!” 

He takes a few gulps of air to calm his hiccups, you start to feel the color rise in your cheeks.

“Cuz…y’know. That clock…. Tick-tock, tick-tock!” He waggles his finger back and forth like a swinging clock pendulum. “And you chose the baker! Give it up for the baker everyone! He made the cake tonight…”

You and Felix just stare in shock at Johnny’s impromptu drunken rant. Your heart drops into your stomach. Why is he doing this to you? 

“Y/n, why’s he so pretty? Too pretty for a guy, amiright? When… you first showed up with him… I thought! You had gone lesbian!” He guffaws into the mic. Peter, Bobby, and some of the other groomsmen start to make their way towards him from the back of the crowd, trying to get to their friend before he makes a bigger ass out of himself. Johnny takes another sip of his drink, “FUCK YOU GUYS, that’s funny! Hope you guys are happy, because I’m REALLY FUCKING HAP-”

Jenny yanks the mic out of Johnny’s hand, arguing with him in a low voice. Peter and Bobby come up to him, trying to grab him by the shoulders to take him out to the vineyard for some air. He tries to wrestle out of their grasp, shouting “HAPPIEST NIGHT OF MY LIFE!” as they force him out of the reception.

At the same time as Johnny’s outburst, you’ve already turned on your heel, marching out of the reception through the main hall. You have no idea where you’re headed at this point, you just need to get away from all the chaos. Even though he was drunk, that gives him no right to insult you like that! Who the hell does Johnny think he is? Your face burns as the anger and embarrassment crash through you.

“Y/n, wait!” Felix catches up to you, grabbing your hand to get you to slow down. 

You’re panting, trying to get as far away from the reception as possible, but you stop at Felix’s gentle grasp. As you turn, he pulls you into a tight hug.

“I could go beat his ass for you if you want. I have like… a lot of medals in taekwondo,” he says. Your heart rate starts to slow at the deep pressure he wraps around you. Somehow, you manage a small chuckle as all of the anger pumping through starts to dissipate. 

“No, don’t do that,” you murmur into his shirt. Your eyes prick with tears, but you’re too mad to cry at the moment. “Just get me out of here.”

“Will do!” he says, pulling you in the direction of the main lobby. As you get to the door, he stops short. “Wait! I have to go grab you something! It’s important!”

Felix jogs away towards the kitchens, leaving you alone with your thoughts. You take a couple deep breaths, the summer evening air gentle and breezy still. It makes you so angry that Johnny needed to make himself feel big by trying to cut you down. 

-Putting you on the spot like that and attempting to insult you was the perfect cherry on top of this shitty event for you. You had worked so hard to make their floral arrangement look good, roll with the punches when there were huge changes at the last minute, and take it on the chin when he tried to insult you again and again. Attempting to insult you by bringing up your fertility, sexual orientation, or commenting on anyone’s gender was laughable to you, that wasn’t the issue though. Your issue is that Johnny continued to be the worst version of himself in an attempt to be spiteful towards you. He ruined multiple people’s night, including his new bride, by shining his horrible spotlight on you.

Felix jogs back with a small paper box and fork balanced in hand. He grabs for your hand with his free one as he continues down the hallway. He peeks his head into one room, the groom’s dressing room, finding it empty. Pulling you inside, he whirls around and shuts the door. On the nearby vanity, he sets the box down, opening it gently.

“I made you something,” he says, handing you the box. You peer inside and it’s a slice of speckled cake with a light yellow frosting. “I knew you weren’t going to like the mint chocolate one, so I made sure to grab a slice of the earl grey with lemon before I left this morning. I remembered it was your favorite from that batch I made last week.”

Your eyes water at the gesture. Felix always  remembers all the small details. He cares for you in a way you don’t even think about until it’s been sitting in front of your face for ages, plain as day. Of course Felix returns your feelings, he’s been so obvious about it now that you know! He would ruin his sleep schedule to stay with you, coax you to bed when you were too stubborn to do it yourself, bring you your favorite treats on your worst days without you asking - almost like he knew intrinsically what you needed. All the signs have been there for years that he wants to be more than your friend, your insecurities were just clouding the view. 

“Felix…” you murmur. Setting down the cake, you bring your hand up to his cheek, caressing your thumb over his cheekbone before placing a chaste kiss onto his lips. You pour all of your unspoken feelings into this kiss. Pulling back, you say, “I’ve loved you for so long, I got too comfortable in the unrequited feeling. I always talked myself out it.”

“I know you’ve had some…baggage with dating in the past,” Felix says, gesturing to the outside, as if pointing to Johnny. “So I’ve been waiting for you to catch on at your own pace.”

You smile at him, like dawn breaking on your face. “I’ve caught on.”

He leans down to kiss you again, hands cupping your face gently like delicate porcelain. The crisp, clean scent of his cologne wafts over you, and your hands clench in the fabric of his shirt as you tilt your head to deepen the kiss.

“Wait, wait,” he murmurs against your lips. “I want you to try the cake first.”

You huff out a laugh. “Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously,” he says, biting his bottom lip with a smile.

With a feigned sigh, you pick up the box and fork, stabbing into the fluffy cake. You take one frosting heavy bite. It’s just like you remembered - the herbal flavor complementing the tender white cake with the tang of the lemon curd and frosting burst in your mouth. It’s a beautiful combination of sour and sweet. Felix watches your eyes flutter shut at the taste.

“Fuck, Felix, that’s delicious,” you say.

“Y/n, you’ve got a little-” Felix starts, tilting his head towards you.

“Oh my god!” you lick your lips, trying to get the extra frosting that escaped. Felix’s eyes are glued to your mouth, watching your tongue slide over your bottom lip. You thumb over the area, trying to wipe any excess off. 

“Did I get it?”

“No, not like that,” Felix says as his eyes darken. 

He grasps your chin in one hand, lifting ever so slightly, as his other hand drags a finger through the frosting of the cake, picking up a dollop, and smearing it on the side of your lip. 

The touch is electric, eyes locked onto his as he brings that finger to his mouth again. He licks the rest of frosting off of it, gaze never leaving yours for a second, watching your eyes dilate with want. “Let me help.”

He drags your face towards him, his tongue lapping at the frosting he’s smeared on your lip, pulling your mouth to his. This kiss is different, all the chaste feelings are gone. All that’s left is pure lust, a deep desire to claim the thing you’ve both wanted for so long.

taglist:

@binniesbabe @jeonginsleftcheek @ivydoesit23 @stayatinykatsy @mong---mong

@palindrome969 @dottydarling @chiaki-nanami-aesthetic @minnieprincess85 @jabmastersupriseee

@birdfool @jaquisos

[bookvvitch]

♡ Kissed By The Baddest Villain ♡

Link To Masterlist

WC: ~3,000

CW: dirty talk, heavy petting, fem dom. Proof read but no beta.

Ch 5: Practice Makes Perfect

Today is different than most days, in that you and one other individual have been tasked with pulling the information out of a couple of guards who may have overheard a conversation about UA high school. One person is to come with you for your own protection, the “muscle” so to speak, while the others hang back at the hideout. You get why they need only two people for this mission. Sending in the entire league would be messy, difficult to coordinate, and would more than likely blow your cover due to the lack of stealth involved. There isn’t much of a reason for them to muddle things up that way when Kurogiri can warp them to your location at the drop of a hat. That part is no mystery to you. 

What you don’t understand is why you’ve entered the den to see everyone drawing straws over who had to escort you to the location. 

“Looks like you’re comin’ with me today, doll face,” Dabi’s voice trails hotly through his teeth as he shows you the short straw he’s drawn. 

The others are all quiet, tempering their pissy attitudes, which you mistake for their relief that they don’t have to babysit the weakest link in the League Of Villains chain. It’s not lost on you that you don’t offer much in the way of capabilities compared to the others. Sure, your quirk is useful, and you have many positive attributes which you’ve cultivated throughout your entire life spent in villainy—however, you’re aware that you aren’t super agile, or strong, or even particularly able to defend yourself outside of who you’re using your quirk on. And now Dabi has, quite literally, drawn the short straw and must perform as your defense himself. How humiliating.

Dabi flips his middle finger at everyone behind his back as you two walk out the door. 

He gets to spend essentially the entire day with you now. 

Fortunately, the pair of you are stealthy enough that the guards don’t hear you coming. You aren’t what you would consider to be a graceful person, nor are you particularly light on your feet, but you know how to avoid getting caught. You’ve seen too many others get their asses handed to them making even the faintest of noises trying to get to your parents, so you’re aware of what to listen for, where to position your feet, what to avoid. This makes it so easy to sneak up on these two that it’s almost laughable. They’ve been left out here like sitting ducks. 

Your quirk only works on one person at a time, so Dabi handles the larger of the guards as you work on his counterpart. First thing he mentions is his Grandma. Yeesh. It feels kind of fucked up to do him this way, but he’s not cracking in dreamland, so you’re going to have to use dear old granny as leverage. It takes over an hour for him to finally relent, but it does eventually do the trick. You almost want to say sorry for the things you made him see. Grandma’s melting eyeballs don’t exactly just leave your thoughts once they’ve been shown to you. 

Regardless, you got the information you needed. UA is planning a training camp for the upcoming season when the new recruits are in. That’s plenty of time to get the Vanguard Action Squad together and even more time to plan. The others will be pleased with what you’re bringing back for them. 

“Think Shigaraki will be happy with what we were able to get from those guys?” Your attempt at smalltalk appears to be falling flat as Dabi rolls his eyes. 

“Dunno,” his timbre is smoky and low, “Don’t really care, either,”

He comes closer to you as your footsteps echo throughout the alley, warmth radiating from him to an alarming degree. There’s always heat coming off of him, but this time, he’s absolutely sweltering, leaving scorch marks in his wake. It’s concerning to say the least. 

“You seem warmer than usual,” you say, slowing your pace.

“I just watched you make some motherfucker see his grandma burning in hell and you’re worried about me being warm?” He replies sardonically.

Your gate pauses, brows flexed.

“I'm serious. I can feel you from all the way over here. Did you get hurt?” You ask him, searching his form for any obvious signs of damage. 

He looks to the side opposite of you, pale skin becoming flushed, “No more than usual,”

You grab his hand, leaning against an old brick building to examine the areas most affected by his flames. The touch feels something akin to sensual, your fingers tracing over the lines of his palm, eyes narrowed in concentration as your lips part to reveal the smallest click of your tongue. He taps his foot anxiously, tugging slightly to encourage you to drop his hand. This touch is too much. Too much, and not enough. 

“Quit worrying about me. It’s nothing. My hands just get kinda hot when I use my quirk for too long, and that guy was a fighter,” 

“You have blisters here. I saw you touch the pavement you’d heated up, so I figured something like this would happen,” your brows pinch, “We should really run some cool water over them. It’ll help,”

“Psh. That won’t do shit, doll. Might as well kiss it better if all you’re gonna do is ru—“

The words catch in his throat as you lift his hand to your mouth, pressing a soft peck to the center of his palm. You smile up at him as if you’ve done something simple, mundane, like you changed a coffee filter so he wouldn’t have to. 

“Better?”

He can feel the entire world coming to a screeching halt. His eyes are so wide you’re worried they may be about to pop out of their sockets entirely, his whole body bristling, voice faltering in choked stutters before any syllables can string together into a coherent thought. After several seconds of regaining his composure, he jerks his hand away from you, stuffing it into his pocket, the healthy skin of his cheeks bright pink. 

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s just go,” he murmurs under his breath. 

Fuck. He’s such an idiot. Why didn’t he kiss your hand back or something? Why can’t his heart calm down enough to sweep you off of your feet? Now you’re both heading back to the bar where all of those other puds are going to fumble over your attention just like he is right now. 

One day they won’t, though. 

One day, someone is going to grow a set of balls, and ask you out. 

Dabi’s eyes linger along your body, taking in the curve of your waist, the way you look in those leggings you’ve poured yourself into. Goddamn. If a member of the league doesn’t ask you out, someone on the street sure as hell will. 

“Hey. Yumemi,” his voice cuts into the air, dense and ice-cold, a stark counter to his raging heat. 

“Hmm?” You turn to look at him. 

Your hair is all caught up in the wind, eyes hazy and aglow, like moonlight coming gauzy through the treetops. 

“Don’t dress like this again,”

His command has you taken aback, a gasp caught behind your lips, the small bubble of air clinging to the roof of your mouth. 

“And why is that?” You cross your arms as you question him. 

He watches the way your hip pops out when you become irritated, your attempts to thwart his comment only adding to how adorable you look. Your lips are pursed and nudged to one side, brows lifted in annoyance, one leg jutted out to keep him from walking any further in front of you. Dabi averts his gaze, cutting his eyes to the ground to keep from letting your irises burn holes into his own.

“C’mon. Don’t make me say it,” he swallows the lump in his throat. 

Just tell her she looks good. 

Just tell her she looks good. 

Just tell her she looks good.

“You… I don’t like when you’re dressed like that,”

Sweet Mary mother of my ass, why is that what came out?

You scoff, “You sound like my father. I’ll tell you the same thing I tell him—get over it,”

The rest of the trip home is silent, aside from the arsenal of screams running through Dabi’s head.

When you arrive back at the bar, you’re immediately slinking into your room, giving a polite wave to the rest of the group. Toga follows suit, grinning at Dabi on the way. 

“What did he do?” She asks, taking a seat next to you on the bed. 

“He told me he doesn’t like when I’m dressed like this,” you sigh deeply, “Straight up told me not to dress like this again. Can you fucking believe that, Toga?”

Her smile bears the points of her fangs when she says, “I can believe it,”

“I just… I don’t understand,” you fall back, exasperated, “I’ve actually asked them if they dislike me, and they’ve said that they don’t. Then they do things like this. They tell me they don’t like how I dress, or jump away if I show any sort of even friendly affection, and they’re constantly fighting any time I’m around. I think they’re just trying to spare my feelings or something,”

Toga smoothes the pleats of her skirt, tossing around the dichotomy she’s faced with: the internal struggle within her of whether or not to let you in on the secret game she’s been playing. Fortunately for you, she can’t keep a secret to save her life, even if said secret is partially her own. It’s a truth she knows for gospel. She’d might as well share it.

“Mimi, listen. They’re my best friends. I know them better than I know anyone else. But since you’re my best friend, too, I’m gonna be real honest with you,” she exhales sharply, eyes glinting, the steel in her gaze enough to cut you open, “They wanna bang you and don’t know what to do with themselves,”

“W-what?!” Your voice squeaks, startled to the bone, and you nearly jump from the bed in response.

“Mhm,” her voice ticks up at the end of her phrase, “Half of them have never even kissed a girl and I bet none of them have had any relationships at all. I bet Dabi hasn’t even had sex before. I know Spinner and Shigaraki haven’t. I asked once and they got all defensive. But they’ve all been after you since day one. I’ve been watching it all from the sidelines. I’m surprised that I kept it to myself for this long, I usually can’t,” She rolls around on your bed in a fit of giggles with the way that your expression gives way from confusion to shock. 

You smear your face with both hands.

“So what are you gonna do?” Her voice is laced with something heavy and eager as she leans in to inspect your face more closely.

“I.. I don’t know. I’ve never been in this situation before,”

“You could always make them make the decision for you,” 

“Meaning…?”

Toga balls her fists and places them at her chest, closing her eyes, “If it were me, and this were Izuku and Ochaco, I would jump all over them. We’d all kiss and cuddle and do other relationship things,” golden eyes flicker open, “But you have something I don’t,”

“I do?” Your face screws up with the question.

She nods her head, “Subtlety,”

“Subtlety.. Hmm… Oh,” your eyes snap wide, “subtlety,” 

Alright. Yeah. You can be subtle.

You’re nervous when entering the den, Toga grinning broadly behind you, her mouth stretched impossibly taut across her face. The butterflies are overtaking your belly when she skips over to the couch, leaving you to your own devices. You make your way to the kitchen for a much-needed glass of water, desperate to ease your nerves after the news you’ve just received. It’s a small room sequestered in the back of the bar with little in the way of appliances, snug, hardly a facility at all. The oven is half the size of what you’re used to and the refrigerator is so minuscule that it sits atop the counter, which Mr. Compress is leaning against, his mask already removed to eat an onigiri.

“My, Yumemi, you look as though you’ve seen a ghost,” he tells you between bites. 

“Sorry, I just.. uh…” you think back to what Toga told you a few minutes prior, wrangling in some confidence as you join him at the counter, “Dabi said something to me earlier,”

“Of course he did,” Atsuhiro scoffs.

He pats your hand, the scarlet of his glove the same as the heat festering within you.

You swallow hard.

“Yeah. He said he doesn’t like the way I dress,”

“I can’t say I’m surprised,”

You look at him through your lashes, “Do you like the way I dress?”

He stiffens—in more ways than one—at the husky tone your voice has taken.

Time stretches on, the tight quarters closing in, stirring you up even more.

“I.. I think you always dress quite well,” he says after several heartbeats, and you hum to yourself, pleased with the red hue of his face. 

With a quick glance over his entirety, and a note to yourself at how well his figure is cut in his attire, you open your mouth, lolling your tongue out to receive some of his food. He knows the drill by now. Knows that his compliance has always been appreciated but not required. However, tonight, it feels like much more of a demand. It feels as though he’s the subservient role this time. 

Atsuhiro pinches the pickled plum from his onigiri between his thumb and index finger, and instead of allowing him to drop it into your mouth, you lick it from his fingertips. His breath hitches at the back of his throat. What is happening? You’ve always been so ingenue, and now you’re sucking at his fingers? 

You are absolutely beyond enjoying this. You release his fingers with a pop, and he grips the counter with both hands, eyes wide and near-frantic. Toga was right. They don’t know what to do.

“Anything else you wanna feed me while we’re in here?” The look you give him borders on smug. 

You fucking love how flustered he is right now. 

God, you should’ve tried this weeks ago. 

“L-like what?” The question shakes from him like a branch in the wind. 

You lean into him, a surreptitious flicker in your gaze, “I’m sure you’ll think of something. Let me know when you do,”

Atsuhiro lets out a jumble of sounds not too dissimilar from a sentence as he crumples further against the countertop. It isn't terribly often that he's left without words. In fact, he could count on one hand how many times that's been the case. But never has it taken him quite so offgaurd. This encounter has been intense.

You saunter out of the kitchen, leaving him there, wide-eyed and sweaty. 

Holy shit. 

Holy fucking shit. 

That felt… really good. 

————

You can’t sleep for the rest of the night. You’re too pent up, too high off of the experience from earlier. The way he looked at you, the wilderness in his eyes, the way the perspiration dotted his brow—it’s too much for you to handle. You can’t quiet your mind enough to rest. So here you are, watching TV in the dead of night, pleading with the universe for more. The rest of the league is, to your knowledge, asleep. But the universe has heard your plea. Spinner emerges from his room, somewhat shocked to see you still up and about. 

“O-oh, Yumemi, hey. Are you having trouble sleeping, too?” He stammers, voice strained. 

“Yeah,” you pat the spot next to you on the couch, “Care to keep me company?”

Spinner shuffles in his place, then nods gently, forgoing whatever had initially led him into the den to sit with you. He keeps himself pressed to the farthest side, sunk into the crux of the arm, hands clasped together and knee bouncing, anxiety seeping from his every pore. 

“What, uh.. What’re you watchin’?” The words don’t come naturally to him, the stress apparent in his tone. 

“Mmm, nothing too interesting. I’d rather talk to be honest,” 

“To me?”

“If that’s okay,”

“Y-yeah, of course, I just… uhm, what did ya wanna talk about?”

“Well, Toga said something really interesting to me earlier,” you scoot closer to him, and he tenses, his stomach folding in on itself. 

His throat bobs with his swallow, “She did?”

“Mhm. She said you’ve never kissed anyone before,”

“What?! Fuck, Toga—“

“Is it true?”

From Spinner’s neck to his face washes in a pretty shade of pink, “I mean..” His eyes dart around the room before he relents, “Y-yeah. I guess so,”

“You could practice on me if you wanted,”

The room falls silent aside from the thumping of his heart, pulse in his hands, his mind scrambling to regain sentience.

“This.. This is… D-did Dabi put you up to this?” He cannot fathom a world in which this is an actual offer. 

From you. 

“No,” you say softly, placing a hand on his bicep, the twitching of his muscles able to be felt through his hoodie, “I just thought that, y’know, maybe you wanted to kiss me. For practice. It doesn’t have to be anything serious,”

“I h-haven’t ever—I—well, I-I don’t—“

“We don’t have to, if you don’t want me to be your first kiss,” in spite of feeling somewhat dejected, you understand if this isn’t how he wants his first encounter with a woman to go. Maybe he wants his first kiss to be more meaningful than what you’re offering him right now.

“It’s not that!” He jolts, “I just.. I won’t be very good at it if.. i-if we do,”

So Toga hadn’t steered you wrong. 

It really is all of them that are interested.

You giggle, “That’s why it’s practice,”

Spinner attempts to muffle a yelp as you climb atop him, straddling his waist, plush thighs caging him in. 

“Ready?” You ask him, patting his cheek.

He shakes fiercely enough that he can feel his bones rattling, barely able to finish nodding before you close the space between the two of you entirely, and he lets out a little grunt in surprise with the way that your body slots against him. You ghost your lips across his, plant your hands onto his heaving chest, his heart beating so harshly you can feel it beneath your palms. Gently, you lave your tongue into his mouth, careful not to overstimulate him. A curse leaves him as you part to see the look on his face, and you’re glad you’ve done so. His eyes are heavy, glassy, almost pained that you’ve separated from him this soon. He licks his lips, tasting what’s left of you, his breaths shallow, quick and noisy as a camera’s shutter. 

He’s a fucking mess. 

For the first time, you can sense the prowess of your sexuality coursing through you, neurotoxic, electrifying. 

“Are you finished, or do you think you need more practice?” You catch your bottom lip between your teeth, run your fingertips down his neck in featherlight strokes. 

“More,” he gasps, “I n-need more practice,”

Satisfied with his answer, you press your mouths into a deeper kiss, one that’s hungry, heavy, hot. Naturally, he lets you take the lead. You devour the opportunity with great rapture. He moans into your mouth softly, tentatively, as if he’s struggling to keep these sounds from gushing out of him. It’s cute. Especially when he hovers two shaking hands above your hips. 

“Touch me. Let me hear you. It’s all part of the experience when you kiss like this,” you whisper into the corner of his mouth. 

“Okay, I’ll—ahh—“ his voice cuts into a groan when you lower yourself further onto his lap, and his hands instinctually grip your waist, claws pricking at the skin on either side. 

“See?” You grind up and down the straining length that throbs in his sweatpants, “Doesn’t that feel better, Spinner?”

He tosses his head back onto the couch, his hair mussed behind him, and ruts into you in sloppy, inexperienced movements. 

“Can.. Can you call me Shuuichi?” The words come out so faint that they’re barely audible. 

You grin, grazing the length of his cock so that it rubs your aching clit, and he chokes on a whine that tumbles from his throat. 

“Does it feel better, Shuuichi?”

He melts at the sound of his name, eyes fluttering, brow tilted up into an expression that can only be described as euphoric. All he’s able to muster up is yet another nod of his head, barely holding on to the ever growing tension that’s building within his core. You’ve become incredibly aware of how close he is to cumming in his pants, so you ease the heavy petting, focusing more on the tangle of teeth and tongue that your kiss has evolved into. You nip at his lower lip, eliciting something between a growl and a groan from him. 

Spinner is already almost there. He’s right on the edge, panting, whimpering, cock pulsing against the pressure betwixt your thighs as he trembles and grips your hips fervently. You have a few options. You could let him cum in his pants, watch him unravel here underneath you. Then there’s the next selection of you escalating things, riding him outright, maybe sucking him off. He feels big through his clothes, and though you’re sure he wouldn’t last long, you’re pretty positive he would be a good fuck. 

Or…

“Well, Shuuichi,” you part from him with a wet smack of your lips, plopping back onto the cushion opposite to him once more, “That’s what kissing is like,”

He clutches his still-heaving chest, hair thoroughly ruffled, his currant eyes half-lidded and glazed with desire. 

His mind having been properly disconnected from his body, he asks, “Could we practice more?”

With great difficulty, you stifle a snicker, catch it in your mouth before it can touch the air around you. He really wants you. It was so easy to get him there, so fucking hot to see how pent up you can make him. You want to fuck him. You really do. 

But you want to play with him a little more before you get there.

“Another time. We’ll practice more later. I think I’m gonna go to bed right now, though. Night, Shuuichi,” you say this as nonchalant as you can, traipsing to your room, listening intently at the way he exhales slowly and deeply to calm himself as you exit.

You really like the art of subtlety.

[vaguelyapeanutbutterandjelly]

This isn't over, I hope you know.

Price x Male Reader Requested: Yes! But there were some technical issues. Pt 1 (Here! :])/ ??? Warnings: Break-up, Argument, Angsty angst angst A/N: *Drops this and scuttles away* This was intended to be longer but I'm cutting it in half to see if Tumblr will actually let me post it. If it does the 2nd-supposed-to-be-this-part will be out soon after :]

"Look, [Name], I get you need attention-" John started, following your pacing form as you quickly walked back and fourth in his office. Whipping your head to meet Johns gaze dead on. Your eyebrows raised as you stalled for a second. Jaw dropping as you quickly caught up with what he said, your blood boiling with nothing put resentment and frustration, "Attention? Atten-" Taking a deep breath you summoned all you had to just keep yourself from yelling. This was something that stayed between you, and him. "John when was the last time we slept in the same bed? Hmm?" You snarled, arms uncrossing so you could use them to accentuate your point. Anything to try and convey your anger to him, to somehow shove his own actions into his thick skull. John's eyebrows furrowed as he sat back in his seat. A calloused hand coming up to rub his beard like he did whenever a missions plan changed last minute, or a recruit did something stupid. He looked exhausted, and annoyed. Fucking. Annoyed. Like you were just a child that was having a tantrum over not getting a treat. Not like you were his boyfriend of 6 years. Like you weren't the man he'd laid in bed with, whispering honey sweet words of a distant future where you'd settle down and marry. Like you weren't justified for being upset that he'd been ignoring you for months in favor of his beloved taskforce.

"When was the last time we kissed, John?" You spat, "Do you even remember? It was a month and a half ago. 45 days ago." Throwing your hands up you began to pace again. Quickly walking back and fourth to try and do, something. You weren't even sure why you were anymore, your thoughts too muddled to make out anything coherent even if you tried. You were probably working yourself up, probably making yourself more angry then the situation called for. But at this point? You deserved to be angry. You deserved to be fucking pissed. You weren't even looking at Price, "Do you really have nothing to say, John? Do you-" John stood up, slamming his hands on his desk with a harsh slam. Making you jolt to a stop, eyes wide as you stared at him. Johns usual calm, even soft demeanor around you turning into something you didn't recognize. "[Name] for god's sake I don't have time for your shit. I have things to do and that doesn't include you having a tantrum in my office. Get your fucking act together or get out, lieutenant." John practically yelled through gritted teeth as he glared at you standing there. Probably looking like a deer in headlights. With a long exacerbated sigh he sat back down in his chair. His eyebrows knitted together as he looked down to whatever paperwork he was busying himself with. You simply stood there in shock. He looked so much different now then he did when you'd first met. Johns famous mutton chops were starting to grey and all the stress he constantly held made him look 10 years older. His soft baby blue eyes now were jaded and grey. Filled with a hardness you could only get through time. Then it just, clicked. John, your John, was always a workaholic. Against his best interest he'd work himself into burnout just to be overworked and under-appreciated the next day. Only to wake up in the morning and do it all again. But your John would always make time for you. He'd always make sure, even if it was 10, hell, 5 minutes, some part of his day was spent with you. That John would be the first to seek you out after missions and check you over for injuries. To make sure you were alright. His hand resting on your shoulder just a second longer then it should as he passed you a loving look. Grinning ever-so-slightly before going back to his normal stoic appearance. But the man in front of you wasn't your John. Your sappy lover was long replaced by Captain Price, smothering John with his overwhelming force until there was nothing left of the man.

[zkaus]

Daniel's Journey Towards Armand:

"He had been a young reporter, roaming the bars of the world with his tape recorder, trying to get the flotsam and jetsam of the night to tell him some truth."

"Well, one night in San Francisco he had found a magnificent subject for his investigations.

And the light of ordinary life had suddenly gone out."

"Now he was a ruined thing."

"He was an expert on Armand, wasn’t he, he had studied every detail of Armand’s youthful body and face."

"He had never been revolted by Armand, he had to admit it. What he always felt was ravening and hopeless desire."

"Everything would go all right for months as Daniel felt compelled to move from city to city, walking the pavements of New York or Chicago or New Orleans. Then the sudden disintegration. He’d realize he had not moved from his chair in five hours. Or he’d wake suddenly in a stale and unchanged bed, frightened, unable to remember the name of the city where he was, or where he’d been for days before. Then the car would come for him, then the plane would take him home."

"You came back to me because you wanted to, Daniel,” Armand always said calmly, face still and radiant, eyes full of love. “There is nothing for you now, Daniel, except me. You know that. Madness waits out there.”

"I’d rather die than see you die, Daniel.”

“Then give it to me! Damn you! Immortality that close, as close as your arms.”

“No, Daniel, because I’d rather die than do that, too.”

Armand on the pain of loving Daniel

"In time I conceived another love naturally, a love for a mortal boy Daniel, to whom Louis had poured out his story... I later made into a vampire for the same reasons that Marius had made me so long ago: the boy, who had been my faithful mortal companion, and only sometimes an intolerable nuisance, was about to die."

"Daniel himself had no use for the world, and had come to me hungering for our Dark Blood"

"Heaping every luxury upon him, I only sickened him with mortal sweets so that finally he turned away from the riches I offered, becoming a vagabond. Mad, roaming the streets in rags, he shut out the world almost to the point of death,"

"I, weak, muddled, tormented by his beauty, and lusting for the living man and not the vampire he might become, only brought him over to us through the working of the Dark Trick because he would have died otherwise."

"My love for Daniel had never been entirely honest, and always viciously possessive, and quite entangled with my own hatred of the world at large, and my confusion in the face of the baffling modern times"

"That is no mystery unto itself, the making of Daniel. Loneliness will always inevitably press us to such things."

"I was a firm believer that those we make ourselves will always despise us for it."

"There was never any innocence for us, there was never any springtime.There was never any chance, no matter how beautiful the twilight gardens in which we wandered. Our souls were out of tune, our desires crossed and our resentments too common and too well watered for the final flowering"

On Marius caring for Daniel while he was mentally unwell

“. . . I took Daniel with me because he needed me. I took Daniel because it’s unendurable to me to be utterly alone."

“Daniel is very good at putting together the houses. See how intricate they are? This is all that Daniel does now.”

"I’ve come here with Daniel alone. Daniel always needs someone to look after him. It suits me to be near Daniel. Daniel doesn’t have to speak. That he is here is sufficient.”

David on seeing Daniel sane again:

"Quickly, he locked in on his companion: the tall thin boyish young man with the violet eyes and the ashen hair whom Lestat had so aptly called “the Devil’s Minion.” It was Daniel who had interviewed the vampire who was Louis de Pointe du Lac, thereby giving birth unwittingly and innocently enough decades ago to the collection of books known as the Vampire Chronicles.

It was Daniel who’d captured the damaged heart of the Vampire Armand and been brought over by him into Darkness. It was Daniel who had languished for many a year—shocked, deranged, lost, unable to care for himself—in Marius’s care until only a couple of years ago when his sanity, ambition, and dreams had been restored to him."

On Marius loving Daniel

"Marius loved Daniel. He had salvaged Daniel from the aftermath of that storm, and never for one moment regretted it. Marius knew that Daniel had also salvaged him from the same chaos, becoming for Marius someone Marius could care for, someone Marius could personally love. It meant the world to Marius that he was not walking on this beach alone, that Daniel was walking at his side."

"Daniel was a disciplined hunter, master of the Little Drink in a crowd, and a slayer of the evildoer only. Marius was certain of that."

Louis on the reunion of Daniel & Armand

"Armand and Daniel Malloy were out hunting alone in the gentle warm rain."

"[Marius] he'd lost his longtime companion, Daniel Molloy, to Armand again, and these two remained at Court only because of the threat to the Prince, and hoped some night to be free to go to Trinity Gate in New York."

[cryptidghostgirl]

The Land is Inhospitable and So Are We (Chuuya x Reader) (slight Dazai x Reader)

Pairing: Chuuya x Reader//Dazai x Reader

Description: Y/n left the Mafia, along with Chuuya, behind. She made her choice and it was most definitely her choice. There is no escaping the consequences.

Next Part: Coming Soon

Warnings: Angst, drinking your feelings, Port Mafia cannon stuff. You guys know the drill. I think that is it, please correct me if I am wrong.

Word Count: 2,103

Master Lists:

Master Lists 

Hazbin Hotel Master List 

Bungou Stray Dogs Master List

A/N AHHHHH! I am actually so excited to start posting some of my other work here. I wrote this little fic back in november (ish?? I think??) and it is what I have decided to start with in my reposting of wattpad stuff here because it is short and sad and under-appreciated on wattpad. Enjoy!

Chapter One: bug like an angel

Y/n sat alone at her favorite bar, turning her mostly empty glass of liquor slowly in her hand and watching the reflections of the dim lights in it. To anyone else, it would appear she was waiting for someone and maybe, somewhere behind those cold eyes, she was. After all, this is where they'd always come to be together, the three of them. Anniversaries were supposed to be a happy thing but in this moment, she couldn't feel anything but emptiness and loss.

"You dug your grave and now you must lie in it silly girl. Made promises you broke, so they broke you right back. Amateur. What else did you think was gonna happen?" she scoffed quietly beneath her breath before downing the rest of her drink.

With sudden assertion, she set the glass down on the bar and stood. Having already paid her tab, she gracefully put her coat on and, with a blasé wave of thanks thrown over her shoulder to the barkeep, took herself out into the cool night.

—— Did I make him a promise I couldn't keep? or am I going to be a man and do something about it?

Dazai looked around the room that had been his home for almost as long as he could remember. There were memories woven into the very fibers of the deep red carpet and the grains of the wood floor. This had been his childhood, his whole life, the only one he'd ever really known.

 Looking around, a myriad of minute details caught his eye. It was as if some part of him had already made the choice he was mulling over in his grief muddled mind and was trying to memorize it all, trying to take in every inch of it before he couldn't anymore. 

Look there, it said, that bottle of wine is empty because you shared it with Chuuya just last week. And there, that's the rose Y/n gave you randomly one day that you hung up on your wall till it dried. Somewhere in one of those drawers is a scalpel, in the back of that closet, there's a loose board that hides a scrap of Akutagawa's old coat you two found him in. There is a bit of your first coat there too, and Chuuya's from when you found him. And Y/n's she left here of course. Look here... see there... notice this... this plaguing infestation... this gap... this raw, bloodstained history you call a life.

He sighed again, turning his eyes away and running a hand through his already messy hair.

"I am so tired of this." he mumbled aloud, knowing no one was there to hear it.

Taking a step over to the dark wood dresser, he picked up a slip of paper worn with age. The pencil marks on it were blurred from the oil on his fingers, having read it again and again in the past year.

Thoughts continued to swirl around his head as he looked down at the blood soaking his frame.

"But what would I do with all this rage if I were to? Would it have a place to go?"

Dazai found his thoughts drifting to a time a few years ago. The three of them had snuck out into the night and found a bar, a little safe haven in all their madness. Y/n, mediator as she was, had smoothed out any disagreement, any anger spawned from snide remarks. Her exhileration at being out in the air that sharp January night had been all they needed. He had fed on that infectious joy of hers, a spot of light in the darkness that consumed them all and somehow, never went out. Not once in the six years Dazai had known her had he ever seen it even falter.

After dropping the drunken Chuuya safely back at his door, he had walked with her to her own room. They were less than sober themselves and Dazai couldn't help but laugh at his companion as she skipped down the hall, humming softly.

"What is it? Do I look weird?" Y/n asked, suddenly rather self conscious as she heard Dazai laugh behind her.

"Not at all." he smiled, catching up to where she had stopped in the hall, "Just a little unbecoming for the Port Mafia's youngest executive."

"Watch your tongue, dog." she joked, shoving his shoulder lightly, "I could have you drawn and quartered for a comment like that."

"Ooh, how medieval. I'm soooo scared." Dazai sarcastically responded, rolling his eyes as they started to walk once more.

"You better be, I am the notorious wielder of bacchic frenzy and hedonistic release after all." she teased right back.

"I'm too hedonistic as it." Dazai mused happily, "Your power would have no hold on me."

"That's just because no ability has power over yours which means it is cheating. I, Y/n the great, do declare my subordinate, Dazai Osamu, to be a cheater."

"Hey!" he pouted back for a brief moment before they both dissolved into giggles.

Before he knew it, they reached her door. It was an all too familiar thing to him, covered over with little notes and drawings he and Chuuya had left for her over the years that she had refused to take down for sentimentality's sake.

"Thank you for letting me convince you to do this." she said, turning to face him in the dark hallway.

Surprised, Dazai stood silent for a moment before taking a hand from his pocket and placing it on her head.

"Your hope shines in this dark place." was all he said in response.

"I've always known I was too full of feathers. My mother used to say it to me. She said it would kill me someday." Y/n mused softly, pushing the taller man's hand from her hair and holding it in her own, examining it as if it were some precious jewel.

"How do you do it?" he found himself asking, the alcohol coursing through his veins.

"It's just who I am. Plus, if you're just asking that in order to mimic me, remember: my mother was right. I'll be bent over from wishing and surrounded by false promises before long."

"You're too good for that."

"I am not good."

Y/n dropped Dazai's hand and looked up at last to meet his wide brown eyes. His frown only deepened with her gaze.

"I'm not good!" she insisted again, with a slight smile "I am full of all this rage. No one who is good should ever be as angry as I am. Besides, I know my place and I have learned to be content with it. I have learned to find the sun where it is shining."

"You're my sun." he said softly.

Y/n didn't respond but met his eyes once more and Dazai found them to be full of a grief he hadn't seen before. Maybe it had always been there and he had just never been close enough to notice.

"How do you do it?" he said gruffly, sticking his hands back in his pockets and looking away momentarily.

"Do what?"

"How do you deal with all the rage."

Y/n's eyes grew wide for a moment.

"The wrath of the devil was also given to him by god." she said after some thought.

"I never took you as the religious type." Dazai chuckled, lightening the mood slightly.

She smiled and shook her head.

"I'm not but this anger is a part of me whether I want it to be or not. I can sit and let it fester, or I can embrace it and learn to love it as it loves me."

"Aren't you afraid you'll be hated for it?"

His question came out as barley a whisper, a breath with substance.

"You and Chuuya have stuck around, haven't you?"

He turned the paper over in his hand. The backside was empty save for his name, written in that achingly familiar script that had plagued him since the first time he saw it. Dazai had never encountered another person who's handwriting suited them as perfectly as hers did. He shook his head slightly, placing the paper back down. His mind was made up. After all, she had left, she had made it out and, as far as he knew, lived to tell the tale. If she of all people could be redeemed, then why couldn't he?

——

Y/n woke up the next morning with a terrible hangover. Sluggishly, she pulled on her usual attire and dragged herself to work. Grabbing breakfast on the way, she somehow managed to make it to the office only an hour late and with her headache having subsided.

"Morning everyone, sorry I'm late." she managed through a yawn as she stepped inside, "I somehow managed to sleep through my alarm."

Her new life was no place for lies and secrets, Y/n knew that, but when your raised a certain way, things follow you. She couldn't help it and sometimes, her little lies even surprised her.

"Just don't do it tomorrow." said Kunikida, lightly hitting her on the head with his notebook.

"I won't, I won't." she hummed in response, draping her coat over the back of her chair.

As she went to sit down and start on the paperwork from her last mission, Kunikida spoke once more.

"The boss wants to see you in his office." 

"What for?" Y/n asked, looking up at him with surprise evident in her eyes. 

Kunikida shrugged. 

"He's speaking to a potential new hire, apparently he wants your opinion on the matter."

"Mine?"

"Seems like a waste of time. The man has an irresponsible, lazy air to him." Kunikida continued as if he hadn't heard her question. 

"I guess I'll go see what he needs."

Y/n knocked gently on the boss' door and did not move to enter until she heard the command from inside.

"You ask to see me sir?" She said with a respectful bow once the door was shut. 

"Yes, sit down."

Y/n nodded and moved to take the empty seat in front of his desk before noticing a strangely familiar person sitting beside it. Her eyes grew wide with disbelief for a moment before she quickly fixed her expression into a small, pleasant smile.

"What is it I can help with."

She could feel his eyes on her as she look straight ahead at the boss who took a sip of his tea.

"Y/n, this is Dazai Osamu but I'm sure you know that already."

"Yes, of course." she nodded, still absolutely avoiding the man beside her.

"He wants to work here."

"And why should you?" she asked, suddenly fixing her strangely cold attention on Dazai. 

"My, haven't you changed." he smiled back at her. 

"Your coat is different."

"And your feathers appear to have gone."

Y/n was silent for a moment. 

"Not gone, just quieted. This is my hiding place, why are you here?"

"I thought you might know one another, it appears however that you two even have a history." the boss chuckled warmly, bringing the attention in the room back on him, "Tell me Y/n, this man claims to have been a Port Mafia executive. He says he wants to leave it behind, to 'be on the side that saves people.' Can you confirm his story? Back up his intentions?"

"You never asked anyone to back up my story or my intentions, why bother with this one?"

"You were sincere." the boss answered cooly, "This one appears to have something to hide."

Y/n rolled his words over in her mind for a moment, sparing Dazai a fleeting glance before she answered. 

"Dazai and I grew up together. He was my subordinate and must have been promoted to take my position when I left. I do not believe there is any reason to not trust his intent in this situation. In fact, I had a feeling something would happen and he'd follow me someday."

"Thank you Y/n, that is all. You may return to your work."

"Yes sir."

Y/n stood and bowed once more. As she turned to leave however, Dazai grabbed her wrist lightly. She looked down at his still seated form, her eyebrows raised.

"How's that wrath of yours?" he asked with a seemingly harmless smile. 

Y/n took a deep breath before moving her hand carefully from his grasp. 

"How's your hedonism treating you lately?" she threw back and the door clicked shut softly behind her.

[kellanved-ammanas]

TF2 Drabbles: Heavy/Medic & Sniper - Just an Observation

Summary: Turns out that circular breathing (vital to playing the didgeridoo) can help to alleviate snoring. At least one merc (probably several), having been reliably informed that they snore, starts pestering Sniper for lessons.

~

Medic hadn’t necessarily said it as a complaint, just an observation. One of a list of reasons why they only shared a bed in a sexual sense and not just in general. His main reasons had been being a doctor/scientist meant sometimes he needed to be up at odd times of night to take care of a patient, do something with an experiment, and/or to handle a medical emergency. Heavy being disturbed from sleep by all that too wouldn’t do anyone any good. The, “Besides, you snore, it would be hard to sleep next to,” had been just an additional reason.

It was all perfectly logical. Heavy had no complaints. He had no desire to possibly be woken by Medic’s sometimes needing to get out of bed at odd hours. So them separating to sleep in their different rooms was perfectly fine with him. What about after this job though? Presumably one day they would, if not retire together, still go somewhere else together. If it was just the two of them, those disturbances would be less likely to pop up frequently enough to be an issue. Heavy’s snoring would remain though. If it was loud enough to be an additional reason they couldn’t sleep side by side then surely it might be enough to be a main reason too.

And so, after only a handful of days after the discussion about possibly moving into the same room, Heavy made his way to Sniper camper van. He paused outside, hand already raised to knock. There was no reason to be nervous. But still, asking for help never felt right. Handling problems directly on his own was preferable. Technically he could teach himself this on his own but the only books he would be able to get on the subject in America were ones written in English. He could muddle though of course, he was more than conversational in the language after all, but it would be much faster and easier to just ask Sniper. No hunting through bookstores for something that would take even more time and effort to read and understand required. Especially since a book couldn’t reliably give him any feedback no matter how easy it was to read. So, not letting the hesitation hold for more than a handful of seconds, he forced himself to knock.

The sound of Sniper’s didgeridoo playing inside stopped. A few seconds later the door opened, revealing the man himself. “Uh… hey, mate.”

“Hello. I have problem. Doctor says I snore. I have heard that…” Heavy paused again. Probably the was a proper phrase or term for it in English that he’d never heard before because it wasn’t exactly the kind of thing that normally came up in their line of work. “…that type of breathing when playing wind instrument can help with snoring.” That should make clear what he was asking for, right? “I was wondering if you could teach me, please.”

Sniper let out a slight chuckle before replying. “Engie was here just the other day with the same request. So uh… I guess I’ll tell you what I told him. I ain’t sure how good a teacher I’d be but I suppose I got nothing much else to do so I’m willing to try. We could do it this weekend, midday Saturday, same day I’m gonna try to teach him.”

“That is acceptable. I will be here. Thank you.”

[sachermorte]

You give the idea that youve already really made it. Maybe you dont try to, but you seem.. sucesfull. Accomplished. Happy. Doing things and getting them done and having a large list of things youve already done behind you. You are confident and very bold in an almost, sometimes, annoying manner. Perhaps I only see you as that only because I'm jealous of how easy you love yourself. Your ego definetely gives the idea that youve made it and if not the "making it" is in your grasp. Idk. You live in one of the most beautiful places on Earth and you buy beautiful items every other day and you teach what seems as magnificent things magnificently and people love you, admire you. Are jealous of you. Havent you made it?

I'm sorry if this seems like hate, it is not. I respect you. And I understand if this jovialness is after it all only a persona for the internet. If it is, it works very well. You dont have to answer this, of course.

The attitude is a bit of a front. Not just for the internet, but for everyone who knows me in real life as well. I would feel as naked without it as I would if I went out without clothes. But also I think it's fully real? As in I've been wearing it for so long that it's melded into me, and now I'm just sort of like this. It's very Falco-esque in a way. Depends heavily on my mood and whatever is going on at the time.

I have my problems, of course. Trauma and mental illness and instability in my moods and relationships. My job security is only until the end of May. I have to find another legal justification to stay in this place that I love after I graduate with my master's. Something always comes through to save me from utter disgrace and ruin but I'm getting sick of counting on miracles. I have financial issues not because I'm necessarily spending beyond my means all the time (most of the things I pick up are only a few euro with very notable exceptions) but because I make just barely above the Armutsgefährdungsschwelle and had to dig myself out of a pit after the third worst time in my life. I seek out human contact because I don't do well alone, but if we spend too much time together too quickly I start to become disgusted with my own feelings.

Do people love me? Do they admire me? Are they jealous of me? I honestly can't tell. I'm notoriously bad at gauging someone's positive emotions towards me. I'm always utterly floored when someone says they were thinking about me when I'm not around. It just doesn't register. The idea that people love me sounds strange. The idea that they admire me is flattering. The idea that they're jealous of me feels alien, if only because I know the intricacies of my own situation. I think they're all very nice thoughts, but I struggle to fully integrate them.

But then, who isn't sailing through a secret storm, so to speak? I try to be good to myself even when things are a bit hard, because things are always a bit hard, and I want the good memories afterward. I'm living in the only place on earth worth living still muddling through somehow, despite it all. Not everyone can do that. Haven't I already made it? Haven't I just?

I don't know if I'm happy. I don't know if anyone can truly be said to be happy. But I am making a committed effort to enjoy myself. Maybe that's what matters.

P.S. I read this last night and wanted to give you a proper response once I'd thought about it, but I was h o w l i n g over "you are confident and very bold in an almost sometimes annoying manner". I honestly consider it one of the highest compliments I have ever received. It's uproariously funny. I kept coming back to read that very line over and over and cackling to myself about it. I want to have it printed and put in the binder of testimonials I have because I forget that people think fondly of me. Christ. I'll drink to that. Here's to annoying confidence and boldness. Somebody put on Egoist by Falco.