#editing lines over and over before i post the pages

[beannary]

I love your little prince au!

It's so interesting to see Big Mama being so caring, until little lines like ''It is only with my help that you can be your best self'' and you just see how manipulative she is to poor Donnie

Can't wait for the next part!!

im so glad that youre liking the au so far! and im so happy that like big mama is coming off as both like caring but ultimately manipulative because that is exactly the vibe im going for!

[enhanced-operatives-division]

Prism's concept art has been. Deeply on my mind. They had some killer ideas for her and ummm.....sobs in my hands. I love her?

[dee-the-red-witch]

How to ACTUALLY date a trans girl

(This column was originally submitted to Autostraddle as a reply to their "A Trans Guy’s Guide to Picking Up a Trans Girl" but since they've apparently passed on it, it gets to be posted up free everywhere else instead.) Picture this- you’re a trans woman who’s been in transition for three years now. Your dating life has gone from abysmal to amazing in alternate fits and spurts and you’ve found not just one, but three awesome partners despite the many, MANY pitfalls you’ve experienced along the way. And then one day, your social media feeds ping up with screencaps of a guide to picking up girls like yourself. Needing a good laugh, you click through. And read. And proceed to smack your forehead with your own palm in frustration a few times and giggle and some other lines on the first readthrough. But things feel off, so you read again. And begin to seethe. And then start opening up the Word document and start typing frenziedly into it. Because honestly? At the end of the day, as a trans lesbian who dates all sorts of people on non-male parts of the amorphous spectral mass that is Gender, I feel like I’m obligated to. I wanted to go into that first reading and find a column that actually got things right, and this was so far off the mark in the worst ways, so I feel like I have to set some things down on paper. Because this guide reads, in so many ways, like everything my cisfem friends have complained about in the straight dating scene for years. Reading through it that second time, I felt almost the exact same sense of of sheer grease and sleaze that I’ve felt reading incel pickup guides. I felt like I was being seen as a pretty object at best and a disposable sex toy at worst. I wasn’t treated as human. At best it was a bunch of stereotypes, none of which applied to me. But under it all, I saw other bits- the tricks an abuser used to lure me in. The lies my rapist fed me. The excuses made by folks online for why I should be treated like a monster or thing because of my identity. You know, the specific blend of misogyny that singles out transfem identities in general- transmisogyny. And since we’re addressing the elephant in the room, I want to address a few particular points from Gabe’s article before I give you some real idea of how to go about this. And I want to emphasize here- this is after editing out a page of swearing, going over Gabe’s own past history of transmisogynistic writing, and just cutting it down to the actual points where the original article really went wrong, and also pick up a few points at the end that’ll actually work well for trans guys or anyone else who might be interested in a relationship with a trans girl. First off, if you’re trans as well? Stop playing the ‘we’re both trans’ card. ESPECIALLY if you’re coming at it from a ‘Why yes, I used to be a woman’ angle. For one, you’re telling us at the same time that you see us as former men, which is usually very much not the transfem experience (Personally, I always felt like I was putting on a ‘man’ act. All the time. Badly.) and for another, you’re being transphobic to yourself and your own identity. If we’re there to date you, it’s as the man you are- be that guy.

Secondly, just because the trans woman experience shares similarities with the experience you had trying to be a woman up until you came out and transitioned, it also has staggering fundamental differences, and your attempts to relate are going to highlight those differences in ways that aren’t going to work in your favor. We didn’t get to go shopping in public, or if we did, it was fraught with fear at being caught out in the early stages of transition, followed by massive frustrations with both trying to figure out where we fit into women’s sizing. And then discovering that absolutely nothing available in local stores, including thrift shops, would fit right, especially not that cute choker we’d always been drooling over. That nothing smelled right for lotion or perfume because we were dealing with a body chemistry that was going through a slow shift on HRT. And we don’t need or want to be reminded of just how much we stand out from the other girls in those kind of regards.

Also, maybe, just maybe, don’t do things that would get seen as completely misogynistic and creepy if you pulled them on a cisgender woman. Don’t go digging into her socials- stalkers and chasers pull that crap and it’s beyond tiresome. Don’t try to deduce what her pretransition life was like, that’s for her to share, if she chooses to. Don’t see her as a stereotype- some of us never played New Vegas, owned cat ears, or like thigh-highs. On that first date if you ever get there, don’t bring her flowers, lovebomb her like mad, constantly find little ways to touch her, any of that- if she has any experience, she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop in response, because she’s had this treatment before and it ended oh so badly. Just be yourself. And get it through your head that the bear is still definitely a choice regardless of everything- after all, we have examples like Gabe to prove that transmisogyny certainly isn’t limited to cis folks.

What should you do? Treat her like any other woman. Treat her like a human being, because we get so little of that, even from the rest of the LGBTQIA+ community. Yes, you’ll more than likely have to take initiative, because we’re used to seeing our attractions, needs, and desires as being perceived as aggressive or predatory by others. When you touch her, do it with assertion and intent- none of the little brushes and stalker moves- ask if you can hold her hand, or put an arm around her, so she knows you actually want to be here and want contact with her. Listen to her, and pay attention- let her be open and honest about her experiences and interests, and remember what she tells you, because she’s going to need to know that she’s wanted and valued for who she is and what she’s into, and it will be part of how she connects to you. And finally? Common sense and communication- every last one of us is different in a lot of ways, and asking or making room to talk about things from physical contact and sex to social activity or group outings or anything else can save a lot of blunders from ever happening. All in all you can and should date trans women! Please! A lot of the best relationships I’ve ever had were with other trans girls and I don’t regret any of those. But you have to put down the pickup guides, stop seeing us as fetish dispensers and sexy lampshades, and actually deal with us as people, first.

[ghost-proofbaby]

OH SAY LESS 14 WITH ASTARION PLEASE

so this is my first time publicly writing and posting astarion, so please be gentle. higher word count solely because i felt the need to add lore because, ya know, first time writing him! also, i changed the line just a tiny bit to better fit the character and scene. ALSO, uh... this is a little fade to black. i'm sorry. it just got too long.

14. "Oh, you're hard to please."

warnings: foreplay, sorta fade to black smut (it's there if you squint your eyes), an ungodly amount of pet names, mentions of past sexual abuse and healing from it, technical game spoilers, not edited, 18+ so minors do not interact

pairings: astarion x afab!reader (no pronouns used)

wc: 4.4k+

join the smutty party! send me one of these smut dialogue prompts with a character

How long had it been since Astarion had actually enjoyed sex? Craved it, even? 

If he recalls correctly, it had to have started to become tainted well over a century ago. Somewhere between the first and the third victim, when he’d realized how every single beautiful soul he had entrapped were simply being lured to their own death. And then, the sour taste left in his mouth only became more pungent the longer it went on, the more he came to the realization of just how used he felt. His body was no longer his own – it technically hadn’t been his from the very second he’d emerged from his own grave, and Cazador had been waiting for him – and everything about the act became an old rehearsed dance that he’d grit his teeth through. A chore, something to make his stomach churn, something to regret. A means to an end. 

Plainly put, it had been a while. 

But then you happened. You, who hadn’t blinked an eye when the first time you met him, he’d literally threatened you with a gods damned blade to your throat. You, who had repeatedly trusted him, even when it had been an objectively stupid thing to do. You, who had always offered him the utmost patience and genuine understanding, to the point in which if he thought about it too hard, he’d probably cry. You, who had led your group of misfits with brain worms right into victory, with plenty of personal demons defeated along the way. 

Personal demons including Cazador. 

Maybe that’s when things changed for Astarion. He’d already fallen for you before your group had reached Baldur’s Gate, he’d already gotten to know your body intimately before ever laying eyes on that ridiculously oversized brain you somehow made look easy to defeat. But that had been different, hadn’t it? He hadn’t really wanted to do that (not meant as an offense to you – certainly not after all was said and done), but had thought he needed to. To gain your trust, to gain your protection. And in the end, it turned out he never needed to do such a thing. You’d never said it outloud, probably at risk of making him feel even more regret after you’d learned all his secrets and darkest corners, but he knew. 

And knowing that you didn’t view him as something purely sexual, as a means to an end, as an item to use – well, it had the opposite effect of his request to no longer be viewed in that light. 

“What are you doing?” he says as he quickly looks up from his current book he’d been pursuing the moment you’d entered the room. He hardly cared for the words on the page – he just needed a way to pass the hours until you were available again. 

It was a hard habit to kick. Being so codependent on you, even with the end of the world resolved and the gift of safety being handed over to him on a silver platter. 

“We received mail,” you’re grinning wickedly as you hold up an embellished envelope, delicate fingers pinching the parchment as if it were the greatest gift to ever exist. He’d argue the real gift at hand was the last three months – time spent with you, in a place he can call home. But nothing could impede on your good mood as you throw yourself down on the mattress beside him, “From Withers, of all people!” 

His brows shoot up for just a moment before his face twists up with something akin to distrust, “Withers? What in the Hells does that sack of dust and bones wan-” 

“A reunion,” you cut him off, the look on your face warning enough against his attempt at an insult. “He’s reaching out to all of us to bring us together for a celebration, to check in on everyone, let us see each other again. Apparently, we were the easiest of the bunch to find.”

Astarion quickly lets out a tut as he snaps the book shut and discards it on the bedside table closest to him, “Well, we certainly need to fix that. Soon enough all of those little shits are going to end up on our doorstep, preaching about the power of friendship and how they want to check in on us.” 

You snort at that, laying flat on your back with your hair wildly spread out in a makeshift halo behind you. The sight causes something to stir within him, his gut twisting as he watches the way your knees knock together before slowly falling apart, your legs settling down as flat as the rest of your body.

He hadn’t taken you since that night at his grave. Before the epic final battle, before the two of you had made the decision to settle down somewhere for some well-earned peace and quiet. 

The moonlight dances past the open curtains, and his breath catches in his throat at the way the blue shadows dance across your skin. It almost reminds him of the first time he’d seen you fight. It hadn’t just been the blood splattered across your cheeks that had really gotten the better of his curiosity (even if that’s what he had told you when you asked), it had been the sunlight. Those rays of gold that had mingled with your own aura of warmth after you had helped the tieflings for the first time. 

You put the sun to shame, truly. And he missed it – Gods, did he miss it – but he was content to bask in the peace of night for a few months more before he finally cut you loose from the leash to begin your next phase of adventures to find him a cure. You had promised him you would, had already dedicated plenty of free time to research, and all you really needed was his word to begin. 

He’s selfish. The two of you can find a way for him to walk in the sun once more another day; all he wants right now is to bury himself in your warmth, to slot his body between your thighs, to hear every breathy gasp and the way you’d practically sing his name-

“Star?” you’re looking up at him from an awkward angle, eyes owlish and chin tilted painfully far back as you clearly await an answer to a question he’d been too lost in a daydream to overhear, “Did you hear me?” 

He clears his throat and adjusts the pillows behind his back, keeping him propped up as he admires you, “Of course I did, darling.” 

“Then what did I just say?”

“Something about how we’re absolutely not going to this reunion, yes?” 

Your smile is nothing but patient as you flip onto your stomach. He watches the way your shorts ride up your thighs, how the top of the soft fabric bunches at your waist. His fingers practically twitch with the need to weasel their way under it, to press his cold fingertips into warm flesh and hear you preen. 

Whenever you’re ready, you had whispered to him one night shortly after saving the world. Just tell me when, and I’m yours. 

He was ready. Insatiably ready, really. 

“Very funny. I said we should go, though. It’d be nice to see everyone again, wouldn’t it? All our friends?” 

You’re still talking about this damned reunion. Astarion has half the mind to figure out a way to summon the insufferable skeleton right here, right now, and drive a dagger into his bones until he’s truly nothing but dust. Solely for the distraction. 

“Your friends, my dear,” he corrects gently, “We both know they’re only overly fond of one of us in this relationship, and it certainly isn’t the one that they repeatedly threatened to stake.” 

The furrow of your brows is impossibly cute – he knows that look of determination. It’s the same one you wore when he mentioned it was likely that the two of you would never find a cure to his condition. 

“Our friends,” you insist, “Karlach adores you, Star. And Wyll has always been proud of you, whether he told you as much or not.”

“And what of Gale?” 

Your lips twitch at that, “Gale… certainly wouldn’t stake you on sight.”

“Ah, yes,” he flourishes, trying to keep his eyes from wandering anywhere but where your hands press into your cheeks as you prop your face up to speak to him, “Not staking me. The ultimate sign of kinship.” 

Focusing is a losing battle when you roll your eyes, and he finds his mind overtaken with insatiable lust again. Imaginative ways that he could have your eyes rolling for him under different circumstances. 

“You’re not getting out of this. They are your friends just as well as mine – so argue all you want, but we’re going to the reunion.” 

“Are you sure there’s no other way I might be able to…” he pauses with intent, finally lifting one of his docile hands to your cheek, letting his finger graze the skin with a feather light touch before it travels back into the mess of your hair, “Persuade you otherwise?” 

You almost fall for it, too. Your eyes flutter shut, your head tilts into his touch as if you were starved for the connection. But even with the lack of sexual intimacy, you both know there hasn’t been a day that has gone by in the last three months where Astarion hasn’t found a way to get his hands on you.

Holding your own, resting his cheek on your shoulder, spinning you like a child in the kitchen – he had quite the sudden arsenal of romantic gestures that didn’t involve old wounds. It had been awkward here and there, some of them landing and some of them leaving you both looking like fools, but he was trying.

Almost as hard as he was currently trying to not jump your bones. 

When you recognize the innuendo for what it is, however, you harden immediately. Your shoulders set, a frown settles, and your eyes open with set determination he knows he can’t falter without speaking plainly to you. 

“No.”

“No?”

You’re quick to lift yourself up onto your knees, putting distance between yourself and his hands, “The days of weaponizing sex are over. I don’t even want to joke about that.” 

And, oh, he’s finding himself in quite the mood tonight, because as soon as you’re retracting, he’s following. As you settle on the haunches of your calves, he’s lifting up from his reclined position, leaning forward so that his face is breaths away from yours. 

“I mean it,” you warn, narrowing your eyes and holding up a finger in that small space between you two. 

He tests his luck, wasting no time in snapping his fangs just millimeters from your skin. You both know he wouldn’t actually bite you, but it still humors him to see the way you whip your hand out of his reach. 

“Were you not the one who insisted that we ask before we bite?” you snap, and his smile only worsens. Like a cheshire cat, like a child never scorned by the world – he’s radiant and basking in the moment. 

He lets out a small hmph before saying, “You’re no fun, my dear. Come on – just play with me for a moment, won’t you?” 

Your face softens at his teasing tone, and he can see the way he’s withering away your defenses one by one. There was once a time where he’d done it with malicious intent, but this time around, it’s with nothing but good intentions. 

If you asked him, he’d go as far as to swear it on his own grave. 

“I’m sorry,” you apologize as if you’d done something wrong, and it makes more than half of his own playfulness drain from his face in absolute displeasure. Before he can so much as open his mouth to scold you about unnecessary apologies, you’re continuing on, “I just… After everything we’ve been through, it’s not something I find particularly joyous to joke about.”

What a rare thing, to have found someone to bare your soul and all your burdens to, and watch them offer to help you shoulder the weight without second thought or regret. 

He’s never met someone like you in all his years, and he might never again. 

“And if I told you I wasn’t joking?” he asks slowly, carefully, trying to choose each word with the utmost care, “I’m not weaponizing – I’m offering.” 

Whenever you’re ready. Just tell me when, and I’m yours.

He was ready. Very, desperately, sorely ready. 

The topic of the reunion is all but forgotten as you process his words, nose twitching as you decipher all that’s he laying out before you. “I want more than an offer.” 

“Excuse me?” 

He can’t help the small laugh that leaves him as he sits up properly, leaning into your space fully now with one hand pressing into the mattress just beside one of your thighs. He can feel the heat radiating from you, smell your blood rushing to your head as you try to be sensible. It’s a pitiful excuse for an internal war; all he has to do is close that conveniently small distance between your lips with his own, and you’ll have lost all sense of logic. 

“You’re…” you trail off, searching his eyes as if he holds the answer you’re currently looking for, “You’re sacred to me, Astarion. You must know that. And it will take much more than some joking offer to convince me to have sex with you when I know-”

“I’m not joking,” he’s nearly whining, letting his forehead fall forward to press to yours, “Gods, I am not joking about this. Cross my heart and hope to die again.” 

If he has to beg, he will. 

He’s spent two hundred years in an insufferable position of pure misery, pure shit, and the realization that he’s finally free has everything clicking into place. Proof of the change exists solely in the fact that he could have resorted to his tired old seduction routine from his life before to get what he wanted, but instead, he’s trying to just communicate. 

It was a novel moment. 

But he could appreciate it later, when the crotch of his pants wasn’t becoming increasingly uncomfortably tight and he wasn’t watching you closer than prey. When his stomach wasn’t so tight with desire and anticipation, just waiting for your word to indulge. 

“Do I need to beg?” he sighs, his lips brushing against yours ever so slightly from proximity. He catches the shiver that runs up your spine. “We both know I’m not particularly fond of it, but if I have to get on my knees for you- well, actually, that’s the entire point of what I’m asking.” 

You laugh at that, and his gut twists again, because it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever had the opportunity to hear. Something more breath than any vocality, something sharp and spelling out the loss of words on your tongue. 

Your silence is enough for him to push it all a step further. Forehead still leaning against yours, he properly presses his lips to yours this time, slotting them between softer than a feather’s caress. Finding home as he can physically feel himself steal your breath away. His fangs just barely nip your bottom lip, unintentionally but still eliciting a delicious reaction of a gasp that makes him graze you a second time just to feel the way you’re leaning into him more, becoming absolute putty in his hands. Pliable for his taking, and Gods, he wants to take you. 

Something snaps. 

All hesitation has vanished as he grabs at your hips quickly, making use of the way your brain has gone blank from a simple kiss in order to lay you out below him. He moves you with ease, incredible speed in slotting himself between your legs before he’s caging your entire body in with his own. The squeak that leaves your lips from his manhandling affects him even more than your gasps had, a low growl shaking his chest as he kisses you deeper. Tasting, begging, searching – he wants this, but he needs to know that you want this just as badly. 

Your hands find purchase on each of his shoulders, squeezing tightly as if needing something to tether yourself to. You pull him in closer for a second, eagerly returning the kiss, almost feverish in the way you drink him in. But the next, you’re pushing him away, a game of want and sensibility still clouding your judgment impossibly. 

You always were stubborn about things like morals. And, well, it wasn’t very moral to just jump right into sex with your traumatized boyfriend who had explicitly said not to view him in terms of sex, was it? 

It was Astarion’s own damn fault. 

He could have just acted like a normal person, initiated a normal conversation in which he renegotiated his boundaries. But you’ve been on his mind all day, and he’s long since proven since the very day that you met him that he has little to none impulse control. 

“My, my,” he murmurs, pulling back from the kiss, eyes wild, looking at you with even more hunger than he had the first night you’d given him a taste of your blood in camp, “You’re just an impossible thing to please, aren’t you? Do you want me near, do you want me far? Tell me, my love, what do you want?” 

He settles all his weight onto one of his forearms as the other slowly brings his hand to your side, caressing over the soft fabric of your shirt – a shirt he’s quickly realizing is actually his own. He recognizes those flowy sleeves, that lacing across the chest, the off-white tone that had seen better days. Given all its wear and tear, he’s almost sure that it’s one of his shirts he had grown most comfortable wearing during the nights of your adventures against the Netherbrain. 

It’s cute. A sort of domesticity that he can ponder over later, when your legs aren’t hanging on his hips and your breaths aren’t coming out staccato as he hovers just out of reach from you. 

“I want whatever you want,” you whisper. Your eyes flutter open, looking at him with pupils so dilated they could swallow him whole. 

“Let me be very clear, then,” he hums, cold fingers creeping their way to the hem of the shirt, slipping beneath with practiced ease to find the smooth skin of your hips below. They dance and skitter up, up, up until he’s brushing against your ribs, “I want you. I want that warm cunt of yours, I want to feel every gasp and breath as your walls squeeze around me. I want to fuck you until you’re unable to walk on your own two legs, until you can only remember my name. I want to watch you come undone, my dear, and for it to be my own undoing.”

Your lips quiver in anticipation, and he feels your thighs tighten their hold on him, “Such pretty words. And… and no ulterior motives? No sense of obligation?” 

“None at all,” he smiles, a predator closing in on his prey, “I’m choosing this. If you want it, if you’ll have me, then I’m ready, pet.” 

Pet. The nickname rolls off his tongue, and he can imagine your walls fluttering just as your eyes do. 

Your hands lift from his shoulders to bury in his hair instead. One cradling the back of his head, the other resting on the nape of his neck as you toy with a snowy curl. It unfurls him further, has him humming lowly as he dips down to recapture your lips and bring you into him even closer. Closer. He needs all and any space between the two of you to become nonexistent. To feel every inch of your skin pressed to his, to allow you to physically curl up into his chest just as you had his mind all those moons ago, to make a home in a room with your name on it already somewhere between his third and fourth rib. 

“Do you really have to doubt if I’ll have you, my love?” you mutter against his mouth, smile breaking the kiss momentarily before he’s back with a vengeance. You don’t care – you’re apparently in a chatty mood, dodging his kiss to get your last words in, “There’s been a space in my heart for you since the moment I first met yo-”

“Yes, yes, very romantic,” he interrupts urgently, suddenly tugging your shirt up, “But, truth be told, love? I’m hoping there’s a space between your legs for me at this moment.” 

You snort, eyes pinched shut as you attempt to shake your head at the ridiculousness of the words that just left his mouth. At any other moment, you might point out how the outrageous comment is just another defense mechanism, veering him away from having to acknowledge the gentle sentiment behind your own words, but now’s not the time. When you open your mouth, probably to say something exactly along those lines, he rolls his hips down against yours, pinning your lower half deep into the mattress. You feel just how hard he is through his trousers – it’s impossible to miss, but he’s deliberating being sure that you feel it as he lets the tips of his fangs sink into your bottom lip. 

The resolve of fighting against his wishes is quickly dissolved. One thing after another, and Astarion has you bare beneath him before any other distractions or annoying conversation can send the two of you further off track. Your, his, shirt is tossed to one side of the room. Your parents fly to the other side of the bed. Only once he has the entire spanse of your body nude and vulnerable to him does he take the time to pause, to look down at you with absolute adoration. 

“Gods, you’re beautiful.” 

He’s said those words to you a million times before. Consistently greeting you with them, muttering them in the dead of night, whispering them as he kisses you awake. But they never lose their weight. And certainly not now, as he’s looking down at you like it’s the first time he’s ever seen that freckle on your chest or the curve of your stomach barren before him. 

“Please, if you’re comfortable with it…” you start, voice laced with desperation, but he shakes his head. 

He’s full of interruptions tonight, “Consider me comfortable with anything unless stated otherwise for this moment, my sweet.” 

“Take off your clothes, Astarion.”

His giddy smile should annoy you. That smug satisfaction in finally, finally getting his way as he undresses himself at almost twice the speed that he had stripped you. And yet he knows you’re enjoying yourself just as much as he is. You’re reveling in drinking in the bare caricatures of his body, every inch and every curve exposed to you just as you are to him. And when his cool skin meets yours again, his body sinking right into that space between your thighs that you’ve granted to him, you let out a short gasp that reminds him that you want this just as badly as he does.

You’ve waited just as long as he has. 

It almost mirrors that night on his grave. The slow descent of his body against yours, the way he slides a leg up to spread your own even further for him as he crawls his way back home to your lips. Unlike that night, however, he isn’t taking quite as much care, his movements far faster and far more needy. 

He’s been waiting long enough. He’s denied himself long enough. 

It really doesn’t matter when the last time he had enjoyed sex had been, because all that he cares about is that here and now, in this moment with you, there’s not a trace of imperfections to taint his enjoyment. 

Cazador is dead. The brain has long since been defeated. You are both safe. 

As he sinks into your heat, the only thing on his mind is that contentment, overwhelmed with the feel and smell of just you. 

He’ll never be a slave again. Never be viewed as something to simply be used and disregarded again, if you have any say. And one day, some day, he’ll even feel the warmth of the sun again. Thanks to you.

But until that day, the warmth of your love is enough.

When you sigh his name out so delicately, jaw all but unhinging itself in bliss as your back arches in reaction to his touches, he knows he’s made the right choice. 

And he supposes he lied, in a way, earlier. 

You’re not that hard to please – not when it comes to him, at least. Not when it’s his hands trailing along your skin, not when it’s his lips and fangs nipping at every opportunity. And certainly not when it’s his name that’s being chanted like a prayer from your lips in time with every thrust, every stroke, every single movement with the sole purpose of making both of you come undone. 

Astarion no longer questions when the last time he enjoyed sex was in the aftermath of it all. With you, pressed into his side, sweaty forehead nuzzling his chest, the only thing he cares about is the next time he’ll be able to do so. 

“We’re still going to that reunion,” you murmur, half asleep, fading away from him quickly to fall into blissful unconsciousness. 

He almost doesn’t breathe in fear of disturbing you. He’ll waste the night away, laying here, still as a statue for your comfort. 

It’s no surprise when he refuses to put up a fight, instead his hand simply drawing soft stars across the back of your bare shoulder blades as he sighs, “Yes, dear. We will. Now sleep.”

“I love you.” 

The words tumble from your lips so carelessly, so easily and without hesitation, he nearly shakes you awake to hear them once more. Again and again, he needs to hear them, to be reassured that you feel for him as ardently as he does you. 

But he has the rest of your forever to hear them. So he lets you sleep, sending you away with a simple press of his lips to your temples as your breathing evens.

“And I love you, my dearest sun.”

[alessiasfreckles]

amnesia - part 6 (ona batlle x reader, alexia putellas x reader, ona batlle x alexia putellas)

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5

a/n: this is a short one, sorry! but the next chapter is coming and will be a lot longer x

-------

“We can’t tell her,” Alexia said after a moment of silence. “She’s only just started getting her memories back, I don’t want to overwhelm her. She’s already had to deal with so much in the past few weeks.”

“Fuck,” Ona repeated. “I should never have come here. I just got her to forgive me, to trust me again, and now this, fuck!”

“It’s okay,” Alexia said, trying to soothe the younger player. “It’ll be okay. We’ll figure it out.”

“How? I promised her, no more lying! She’ll never forgive us.”

“It’s not… lying, necessarily. It’s just not telling her something,” Alexia said, sounding like she was trying to convince herself of that fact just as much as she was trying to convince Ona. “Not telling isn’t the same as lying.”

“Mierda,” the brunette dragged her hands down her face. “This can’t happen again.”

---

You hadn’t heard anything from Alexia or Ona all day, which was a little odd, but you supposed that they were at training and it was to be expected that they couldn’t be on their phones 24/7. Still, you found yourself missing them, both of them. 

Plus, you were bored, and started to feel frustrated about all of the hazy spots in your memory. So, you did what anyone in your position would do and googled yourself. First you read through your wikipedia page, which, to be fair, you’d already done a couple of times since waking up. Nothing really stood out there, except for some lines under ‘Personal life’ that detailed your involvement in the LGBTQ+ community. 

Where else could you find out more about yourself? You deliberated for a minute before going on Twitter and searching your name - you had a hunch that you’d been told not to look yourself up on social media before, that it was something most players tried to avoid. Still, you figured that social media would probably give you some more information, even if it was just about what people thought of you.

Once the search loaded, your laptop was flooded with posts about your accident, people theorising about what had happened, how you were doing. Scrolling back a little, you found posts with pictures of you and Alexia at the café you’d gone to together, with captions talking about the two of you. Some of them speculated what you were doing, if you were dating - you had gathered that your relationship with Ona wasn’t public knowledge, although a lot of people liked to talk about whether or not you were together.

As you kept scrolling, you realised that there was a fairly large amount of people who were convinced that it was Alexia you were dating, not Ona. You looked at photos posted of the two of you, people gushing over the way you were looking at each other, the way Alexia would touch you, her hand on your shoulder, your arm. You saw countless edits of the two of you, snippets of videos where you were deep in conversation or laughing together, Alexia’s smile always directed at you.

For a brief moment you wondered why the two of you weren’t dating, why it was you and Ona, and then felt guilty for even having that thought. You loved Ona, you knew that, you could feel it throughout your body, permeating your bones. Still, the thought remained at the back of your mind, no matter how hard you tried to ignore it.

By the time 4pm rolled around and Ona finally rang your doorbell, you were so bored and sick of your own thoughts you could scream. 

“Thank god you’re here,” you said as she came in. “I’m so bored I’m going to rip my hair out.”

“Oh, so you just want me around to keep you entertained?” Ona asked, a mischievous grin on her face. “I see how it is.”

“Yep,” you shrugged. “Gotta keep things interesting somehow, you know?”

Ona swallowed down the guilt rising in her throat as she thought about that morning. She couldn’t let you know anything had happened. It wasn’t going to happen again. It was a one-off, a mistake. “What have you been up to today?” she asked brightly.

Your stomach twisted as you thought about the videos of you and Alexia. “Not much,” you quickly said. “I looked myself up online a bit, but there’s only so many times I can read my own wikipedia page before I start to feel like a narcissist.”

Ona laughed, not questioning your day’s activities any further, and the wave of relief you felt was tinged with shame.

[delusionalmultilingual]

Title cover by me, please ask for permission to use. Not the panel but the editing :)

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Todoroki's sick?

This is just a drabble for the moment but if I post this hooray you get to see what sort of lovesick lonely relationship I want.

ITS A COMPLETE SLOWBURN PLEASE DONT HATE ME

Contains: Vomit, Illness, Spoilers.

Todoroki gets sick? Thank god your there to help him you pitiful bastard.

Your in your last year of U.A, just after your exams he gets sick. Where did Shouto go?

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"Todoroki Shouto." The same monotone voice came from your tired teacher, had his eyebags dropped even more? His eyes had surely gotten more red. He looks stoned, you wish you could be too.

Zoning out for a second too long you feel a glare from your teacher who had probably said your name mote than three times by now, flicking his scarf to slide right past your ear, a whooshing sound which jolted you out of your zoned out state.

It was the same silence, the same silence that had gone on for the past three days. Time doesn't normally matter to you, the world moves either to quick or too slow so you do your own thing.

"Focus or I'll make you run laps."

You flinch and look directly at your teacher who had moved towards your desk, black eyes slowly emitting the gloomy red that scared you sometimes. Sitting up straighter then you had ever sat you gave him a small smile before nodding a small apology. Thank god he was tired or he might have probably killed you by now.

"Ah, [Your Name]. Is there something bothering you?" Uraraka asked beside you quietly as you all began writing. To which you turned to see her eyes locked with yours.

You respond with a quick 'hm' shaking your head trying not to worry your friend, shifting your focus back to your writing as you tried not to think about specific things.

'I wonder where Todoroki is...'

'Is he with his dad? Maybe his mum...'

You shake your head and pinch your arm to refocus feeling a hint of heat on the tips of your ears. Your eyes staring intensely at the word 'mixture'.

'Fuck, that's also like him.'

Rubbing your temples now, and running a hand behind the back of your neck and pressing down on the sore spot that had grown increasingly through the pressure of homework and assignments, Hero work too.

A low muttering came from Midoryia, he was back to his usual ways even while Mr Aizawa spoke in his colourless voice. And Ashido and Kaminari were whispering to each other trying to get some form of idea as to what to write.

If you were completely honest you didn't know what to write either, the work was something about Physical and Quirk development, which was a pain when you had learned majority of it in middle school.

Yet you didn't know what to write, even if you knew about what you were learning, you still didn't know what to write. Maybe it was the three assignments that you turned in earlier today, maybe you were just burnt out.

Aizawa's words were now muffled through your thoughts as you doodled over your pages of lined, neat work. They weren't the best but they were cute enough to stay in your book.

"But sir this is too difficult!" Mina and Denki whined in unison, snapping you out of your stage of drawing and listening into the bickering, Bakugou yelling at them from across the room.

"Shuddap. If you werent so stupid maybe you would understand!"

Aizawa sighed yet again, sleep deprived probably, maybe an insomniac. "Bakugou, get back to your own work."

After a miniature altercation between Aizawa and Bakugou, it ended with Bakugou going quiet and grumbling as he continued working and Aizawa scolding Mina and Denki.

Uraraka was giggling beside you, covering her smirk and lowering her head further than what it usually is and trying to compose herself. Her brown hair was definitely longer than what it was in your first year, down to her shoulders now.

She complained that it was getting too long and that she needed to cut it but she didn't have the money, so when Momo offered to pay she declined and said that her hair was fine the way it was.

Even if she was your friend she's a little too anxious about money, even if it was ten dollars. You knew it was because of her background but she's going to be paid a shit ton in the future, if she continued with her path of being a pro.

You ponder on the small parts that you were thinking of before. 'Three days.', was the main thought as you were distracted yet again, which ended with the sake old lecture about listening and paying attention by Aizawa.

***

"[Your Name!" Tsuyu and Mina ran after you, the entire of U.A walking the same paths as the rest of the years. It was your last year, last year of all of this. It sparks an anxious pain in your chest but at the same time motivation.

You turn to face your two friends and Mina practically jumps into your arms and nearly takes the both of you to the floor. And now your winded as Tsu drags Mina off you.

"Are you going to come to dinner tonight?" Tsu asks, her croaky voice comes from her, shorter than Mina and you but thankfully taller than that purple balled idiot. He hurt your neck often when he gave you creepy smiles and all his perverted stuff.

A shrug comes from your shoulders which ends with a pampering Mina begging you not to stay cooped up in your room for the rest of winter holidays. A short answer came from your lips and Tsu's tongue was sticking out as she smiled warmly.

"Probably not, I gotta get this resume in."

Tsu nodded and pulled at Mina's shirt and trying to usher her away as to not hold you back any longer. She might not have spoke many words but she's very expressive through her emotions.

Eventually she was picked off bit by bit, and the dormitory was around a minute away walking. You were tired, but now having to write up a resume that you were planning on doing a week earlier, didn't happen. The procrastination got to you before you even started.

So you began walking, thinking about how to start on your resume even though it was simple, obviously you had to start with your full name, address... 'Would it be the dorm number or just U.A?' The thought ran through your mind before getting thrown into the many other thoughts.

You gave a small wave to Sato who was watering some of the flowers that the class planted earlier this year. He waved back only a few seconds after you, and by then you were already at the steep of the stairs. Pushing the doors open to the smell of Bakugou's food.

Ignoring the smell you looked at the elevator before taking the stairs, you were only on the first floor anyway. It was a flight of stairs, the least you could do is not be lazy.

When you unlocked your door, the small 'rodent' so you claim it to be meowed and purred against your leg.

"Hey Asana, what'cha doing pretty?" You ran a hand along the curled soft hair of your cat, you weren't really supposed to have pets in the dorms but they didn't have to know about him.

Sure, Asana was a male cat with a girl's name, but he didn't know that. He can't understand English, sometimes that makes you suspicious of him. So you shut the door behind you, picking him up and smooching his head three times before he places a paw to your nose.

"You stink."

Asana responded with a long meow, of course. He wanted food, you place him on the ground and sort him out. Flopping onto your bed with a groan of relief when the softness of the cushion collides with your back.

In less than a second, the little rodent you loved so much had jumped on you and was making biscuits on your chest, putting all his weight on his front paws, making you wheeze in pain, how could a cat be so heavy?

He purred loudly and soon after fell asleep on you, which left you scrolling on your phone and typing up this resume that you definitely needed to do before you left school. And of course it would probably take three seconds to finish, but you had sooooo many other things to do. One of them was steal Bakugou's recipe cause damn his cooking is amazing, he would mind so you would have to do it in secret.

Did he even have a recipe to follow? It would surprise you if you didn't, maybe Sato could help. Bakugou never seemed to mind him helping with cooking, he'd prefer him cleaning or doing something else. But only a grumble would be his response.

Thinking over your plan you knew it wouldn't help, you were already on social media and Mina had posted a class photo, Sato was there as well. Damn, he probably ran so he wasn't late.

It was already dark, maybe you could order in. You didn't have much energy to cook anyway, Bakugou definitely wouldn't waste his precious time cooking for you anyway, you were 'a pain in the ass'.

'Ah, I forgot about Todoroki.'

The thought that crossed through your mind from earlier today had reached you again, Midoryia said that he wasn't out with family. Iida said that he had probably become ill, with his continuous efforts at school.

"Asana, should I message him?" You ask your cat, he wasn't going to respond. Either a meow or his ears twitching would be the response.

He was dead asleep. On your chest, curled ears twitching when you sighed deeply and looked at the name on your screen, 'Shouto'. He had a small emoji next to his name, thanks to your creativity of putting what their quirks were as emoji's.

After a long groan and thinking you fumble around messaging him quickly.

'Hey Todoroki, I was wondering how you are doing since you haven't been at school.'

Sent.

Fuck.

Squeezing Asana'a pretty white fur he responded back with a low purr. Three minutes go by, feels like forever and the embarrassment of messaging someone you don't usually message. Ah, this is shit.

Your phone lights up, the notification carxges your eye.

Shouto 🧊🔥

'I'm unwell.'

Dry text. As usual, it didn't bother you as much as it used to, he's gotten better since first year.

'Would you like me to get you something?'

You message back immediately, the heat rushing to your face.

Shouto🧊🔥

'Porridge and Orange juice?'

Was all he replied before you sat up, Asana jumping off and getting comfy on your bed, maybe you should change. Sweats and a singlet? Yep.

Grey pants and a black singlet was what you wore, bringing up a hot bowl of porridge and a carton of Orange juice that was in the fridge, wasn't yours but you'll buy another one for whoever complains.

He was on the fifth floor, wasn't a preference, you would complain if you had to go up five floors.

You reach his room that was labelled with his name, Todoroki. And you knock on the door, it was dead quiet. Usually you would be able to hear Jiro playing her instruments but she was gone as well.

The door clicks open and you see Todoroki, taller than you. His hair a mess and both of his hair colours mixing with eachother, he has showered. But he looks like a mess.

"Can I come in?"

You ask quietly and he covers his cough with his elbow, nodding and turning around so you can go inside his dorm. Very traditional, you saw it a few times while studying with Sero. He cleans regularly, but it's gotten messy since he's been sick.

There was a bucket next to his bed, has he been really sick? Maybe Gastro.

"Sit back down I don't wanna make you run around or something." You usher him back to his futon, you have the kindest expression on and aren't trying to push him around too much.

The room has a hint of sickness in it too, maybe you would get sick too. Oh well.

He sits down with his legs crossed and looks up at you, his face puffy and his hair still a mess, he looks like his gaze is a blur and you gently give him the porridge.

"Have you been eating?"

This is awkward, first you had to message him and now your stuck in his room, with him when he is sick. Your eyes wander and he eats the porridge slowly, blowing on the spoon a few times and switching off his phone. He nods to your question, responding back in a sick and croaked speech.

"Mhm, not much."

Your breath tightened, his voice was usually deepish and monotone but when he's sick. Jesus, gonna take the life outta you.

In less than a second that all changes when he leaps towards the plastic bucket beside his futon and gags profusely, throwing up the porridge he had eaten mere seconds earlier, his stomach trying to throw up on an empty stomach now.

You quickly make your way towards him and kneel down beside him, he puts a hand out to stop you but you move his hair out of the way. It had gotten longer throughout the years but your pretty sure he's been missing his hair appointments.

"Come on Todoroki! Why didn't you let us know." Grumbling beside his ear, he wipes his mouth before sitting back up again, washing his mouth out with the cup of water beside the bucket and spitting it into the bucket.

He goes to stand up, but you keep him sat down, giving him the carton of orange juice that you had brought earlier, were you holding that while keeping his hair out of the way?

"What are you doing?" He asks in the same groggy probably drugged up voice while watching you pick up the vomit filled bucket and taking it to the toilet in his room.

You look back at him, pushing the toilet seat up and pouring the foul substance into the toilet. Flushing it before closing the lid. "You need to rest. Your not getting up unless I'm gone."

Strong tone and using the shower head in the bathroom to rinse the bucket, you turn your head to see if he agrees.

"It's only a stomach bug."

"A stomach bug that makes you look like your about to die."

"Every illness makes you look like that."

"Your not getting up unless you need to go to the toilet. Your quirk is going to drain your energy so don't use that either."

He sighs, not wanting to argue and knowing you were kind of right, he hated to admit it but he actually liked that you cared for him like that. He had gotten used to looking out for himself but when his friends and classmates helped him he realised he also had to look out for others.

"Fine."

He couldn't help it however. He wasn't that sick, right?

You sit down beside him on his futon and look at the half eaten bowl of porridge, he was drinking the juice in hand and staring at you with those oh so beautiful eyes. But it's when he leans over and rests his head on your shoulder that makes you freeze.

"Thanks."

Was all he spoke before closing his eyes and breathing in your scent, you were confused as to why he had done so. Maybe he liked you? Is he clingy when he's sick?

You chuckle and pat his back, he was already relaxed into you but your physical touch made him melt, his body weight becoming evident on your body. So you use majority of your strength to keep sitting up, while adjusting to his weight.

His eyes were closed against you and his breathing became quieter and quieter until you almost could mistake him for being dead. It was soon you realised you were both breathing at the same pace. Did that always happen when two were so close?

Spotting a damp rag on the floor, you pick it up to feel if it is still cold, it wasn't. You couldn't move yet because he was practically attached to you. Jolting when you moved even an inch, so now you were laying down beside him on the single futon. His head against your arm and his arm along your waist.

This wasn't like him, for sure. Was he mistaking you for someone else? Your hoping he's not, cause whoever he would be thinking about like this. Wasn't you.

"It's cold." He speaks quietly, it's only then that you realise the chill in the air. It was already night? But the sun was up, you checked your phone that was sat in your pocket. Your eyes widen at the time. Two hours?!

Two hours had gone by and you could have finished this resume. You couldn't have wished for anything better, or worse? Todoroki Shouto was asleep on you, but you needed to finish this resume.

"Todoroki-"

"Shouto."

"Uh- Alright then. Shouto, I have to get this resume done."

He grumbled and geld onto you tighter, looking up at you, oh lord, he was adorable. Looking up at you with his opposite coloured eyes and pouting ever so slightly.

"Just do it in here."

"Ok then."

Why would you want to argue with him like that? You felt a sense of pity because he was sick, but also because he actually wanted you to stay with him? Your living a dream that you so desperately don't want to end. Maybe if he was well this would send you head over heels.

***

"Hey Todoroki! Where's [Your Name]?" Mina asks with her usual bubbly attitude, staring up at the taller boy with her 'raccoon eyes' as others have said.

Todoroki looks up from the book he was writing in, locking eyes with Mina, Asui was standing next to her with her frog-like tongue sticking out as he responded, scratching the side of his neck.

"She's not feeling well."

"What?!" Mina exclaims, her hands coming to the top of her pink curls quickly as she looked shocked. "She didn't even go anywhere! How did she get sick?"

"She came to visit me when I was sick." He replied back in a monotone speech and got back to writing whatever was on the board. Not knowing how excited Mina looked when she turned to Asui and giggled running off.

'Did I say something wrong?'

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This story is officially FINSIHED! I know I definitely lost some sort of motivation towards the end, I hate slowburns but I do say so myself. This is alright.

Proofread!

Thank you for all the support I have been getting! d=(^o^)=b

[gonnalosemydougdimmadomedamnmind]

It's literally impossible to read bat fanfiction because it's all based off those ridiculous fanon tropes that spread like crazy and people take as fucking biblical!!!!! Dick was never a jerk to Jason when he was Robin- they got along because Dick is mature as hell and in one retelling- Jason was a jerk to him!! And when he came back as Red Hood he had literally not a single damn reason to treat Dick like shit! Not a damn one! But he did, didn't he? Cause he's the fucking asshole! How dare you make Dick grovel towards that bastard! Dick has only ever tried to help him! Reached out during his Batman run, over and over! Also- Dick never put Jason in Arkham with Joker just a few cells down???? What the fuck! The Joker and all those other fuckers had been broken out of Arkham by Black Mask already for like the whole run??? Jason went to Arkham after losing to Dick, and Gordon put him in there because One he fucking deserved it, Two the literal circumstances?? And at that point!! Arkham was fucking rehabilitated itself!! By Dick!!! Because Bruce had him go undercover there for real, and Dick was actually tortured there before he got out!! So Dick put in the work to get that shit in order to actually help people!!

Dick never chose Damian over Tim- Tim refused to engage with him over his grief, shut him out, and left of his own devices! He never told Dick his suspicions on why Bruce was alive, never! And Tim is not the one to bring Bruce back either, there's a whole team at that point! Dick learns Bruce is alive through tossing his 'dead' body into a pit and the body comes to life as a zombie. Tim didn't tell him shit! Tim is also not a little crybaby- Damian cutting his line was a fucking blip on the page, he was momentarily shocked, that was it! He put Damian on his Hit List, which is why Damian cut his line. And his first attempt at "murder" is just pushing Tim off the dinosaur statue in the cave, he didn't go all assassin on him! Also Dick wasn't even there the first incident and wasn't told about the second incident. Alfred is the one who gave Damian Robin and Dick accepted him because he saw that Damian needed help! He needed guidance! He didn't fucking fire Tim the way Bruce fired him, and fuck all of you for thinking that Tim or Jason or fucking anyone has more right over Robin than Dick Fucking Grayson! He tried to promote Tim and Tim walked off. How dare yall make Dick fucking grovel towards that bastard!!!

Jason did try to kill all three of them!! Why does everyone just gloss over that like what the fuck??? Why does he get a pass for every shitty thing he's done??? "Bad writing" stfu this is the same dude that without hesitation kills random criminals, people who deal drugs, do you know how many random ass people deal drugs??? Jason doesn't give a single shit about being his own type of hero or saving Gotham his own way, nor do the people think of him as their savior!! Are you people fucking delusional?? I saw a post that said citizens would trust Jason over CASS and I cannot Believe the hallucinations yall are seeing???

It is literally downright impossible to find fics about Dick or Damian or Cass or fucking any of them that doesn't include these literal bullshit fanon takes!!! It's impossible!!! This fandom sucks!!!! You don't even need to go buy the comics, all these popular takes have been debunked right here on tumblr!!!! Also Dick can do literally everything!! He's hypercompetent as hell, die mad about it!! Jason doesn't like Wonder Woman???? Where the fuck did that come from??? Wayne Family Adventures is not real!!! Those people could not BE more out of character!!! Look at Bruce for crying out loud!!! Yall know that man ain't act like that!

Edit: leaving this here in case anyone wonders what my hot take is towards this question I was asked: "have you considered tho, that fanon is more fun..."

Well of course fanon is more fun if you're a fan of Jason or Tim. Fanon actively caters towards those two pasty white boys. Fanon actively shits on Dick and Damian though. And for Dick? He literally never did that shit! It is all made up! It's literal character assassination?? But by the fans?? And for Damian? He was 10!!! He grew up as an assassin! He was actively trying to grow with Dick's help! How can yall see him as the bad guy?? And not the literal bad guy, (Jason), and the 17 teen year old who literally fought him back btw, (Tim), like old boy did not act victimized the way you people portray. And Jesus for Cass? Cass is just a prop in fanon. So what exactly about this should be fun to me? Like seriously.

[that-one-anxious-mango]

Hi love! I hope you are feeling/doing better! I was just thinking about the Days of Our Love series. Any chance we might get an update soon? I miss it!

Oh, New York. How I Love You. (1)

Summary: Austin's best girl comes to visit him in New York to cherish the time they have together before he leaves to Australia, in what becomes a very eventful two weeks together.

Word count: 8.2k

Warning: LONG POST!

Contents: Lots of fluff. Mentions of childhood trauma. Sexual Content (Oral: Fem receiving, hand job: Male Receiving), emotional situations.

A/N: Hello beautiful humans, it has been a minute. Don't drag me please. I just always take so long because I want to always put out the best content. Would you believe me if I said this went through TWO edits. Geez! But all in all, I hope you enjoy.

PS: Everyone feel free to comment, send more letter, and reblog! Much Love *hugs* Tags: @purejasmine, @wacoshuffle , @flyestvenustrap , @louisejoy86 , @unicoreads, @incorectly

______

“ Are you seriously going to take all of that to New York with you? Why don’t you just take one suitcase and then buy some outfits to wear there, ya’ know. “ Phoebe chirped from her spot laid out across your bed while flipping through a HG magazine. 

“ I agree. Buy some cute outfits and surprise him that way. Then you’ll have room to bring back the clothes you buy for you and us.” Alex continued to play a riveting game of tug of war with Magnus on the floor.

Her last comment made a laugh erupt from you in the closet, “ Yeah nice try, buddy. I’m not bringing you heifers anything back but some damn keychains and the lasting scent of the smug and smoggy New York air on me the next time we see each other.” You yelled back. “ And plus it’s gonna be cold outside.” 

Phoebe laughed while Alex scoffed, “ UM! Excuse me ma’am, but as a friend, need I remind your ass that this was a part of the deal. Since you’re abandoning me, The Travel Buddy, to go FORNICATE with Mr. Goldilocks in New York instead of HOME with me for the Winter Wonderland Festival. You promised to bring me back something nice to add to my outfit for the Warner Bros. charity event next month.” She recalled the promise that you did in-fact make to cease her tantrum at the time. 

“ And on top of that, I’m also the one silk pressing your hair for this trip, ma’am. AND taking care of my fur nephew that you’re abandoning as well. Therefore,  I DESERVE SOMETHING.” She added. 

“ This is true.” Phoebe co-signed, continuing to flip through the pages. 

You cut your eyes at her when you entered the room again to walk a pair of shoes over to your bursting suitcase.

“ Yeah. Yeah. I’ll make sure to bring you back something for your pain and suffering. Brat.” You muttered the last part. “ AND fyi his hair is black now.” 

Alex grinned while blowing you an air kiss that you grab and pretend to smush in your hands. 

“ You know you LUHHHHH me, girl.” She teased. “ Now hurry up because I don’t have all night to do this. I don’t know why you didn’t just get braids or some passion twists put in like a normal person going on a trip .” 

“ What’s love got to do with it?” You sassed. In return you were met with a pillow to the side and giggles around the room. “ And don’t rush me! I’m almost done.” 

“ What time is Austin supposed to be coming to get you from the airport? Phoebe questioned. 

“ Noon.” You answered fighting to try and fit a scarf into your luggage. “ My flight leaves at noon and I should be there by evening. I’m not exactly sure when, I just know their three hours ahead. 

“ Okay. Cool, just make sure you let us know when you’re in the car and everything. “ Phoebe noted.

You scoff, “Like yall asses won’t be watching me on 360 anyway. Stalkers.” 

“ Hey! You should be happy that somebody cares enough to stalk your ass. People go missing everyone, B.” Alex mocked the line from Paid in Full. 

“ Yeah. I know. I do the same thing with ya’ll.” You huffed, “ Okay. I think that’s it.” 

“ Good! “ Alex jumped up, “ Now go and grab my hair bag. So we can start on this head, honey. All this dang hair.” She looked at the long blow dried mess on your head. 

“ I know damn well that is not a damn hot comb.” You deadpanned. 

“ Do you want the hair straight or not? We have heat protectant, so relax. Whenever we both get back I’ll come over and we can do a treatment to make sure your curls revert back right. I got this. Now tilt your head down..” 

Phoebe giggled watching the two of you fuss at one another, “ Yeah you better sleep pretty tonight, babes. Head on hands, silk scarf, and turn a fan on so you don’t sweat.”

“ I'm aware.” You sighed, settling into the chair and began to listen to Phoebe as she started her descent into her plans while you would be away.

“ OW! ” You jumped at the sudden sharp burning feeling on your scalp, “ Alex really.”

“ I barely touched you! It’s the steam.” She giggled at the scrunch on your face, “ Hehe. My bad.” 

______

The Next Day…

After a couple goodbyes to your fur baby and helping your driver wrestle your large suitcase into the back of the car Austin had sent for you against your wishes, you found yourself tiredly weaving about through LAX. 

You’d already pre-checked everything, so once you went through security and went to make sure your gate existed, you’d found a very overpriced coffee place and ordered a little danish and iced chai to settle the nerves.

It wasn’t until you were in a seat by the terminal happily scrolling away on your phone that you got a text message from Austin. 

Sweet Baboo: can’t wait to see you. enjoy your flight. love you. :3

Once you boarded, the flight had been fine and you’d done exactly what was predicted of you.

You’d read for a good couple of hours and then slept a good chunk of the rest of it. The flight was smooth with no delays.

When the pilot announced your descent, anticipation began to build up in your chest

Quickly you pulled out the mini mirror from your carry on bag and went to fix your minimal makeup and undid the head scarf on your head to reveal the flowy silk press that fell down your shoulders. You combed it out and fixed your little cute airport outfit in preparation to get off.

Seeing as you were in first class, against your wishes also,  you were one of the first to exit the plane. You made it to baggage claim where a nice older gentleman with a sign had begun setting your luggage up for you on a cart and offered to push it down to the terminal.

“ For Miss Y/L/N.” He’d smiled.

“ Yes, I’m her.” You nodded. 

“ Wonderful I’ll be helping you with your luggage. Compliments of a Mr. Sweet Baboo.” He told you with a grin on his face.

You stifled a part of your laugh as the two of you began walking through the airport, “ Did he really ask you to say that? “ 

He nodded, “ Yes, He did. But I don’t mind. One of the more milder things I’ve been asked to say in my time doing this job.” 

“ I can only imagine.” You laughed. 

“ Quite cold outside. But you look bundled up.” The man smiled.

“ Oh yeah. It’s the Sahara in here. I think the breeze will actually help cool me down.” 

The sharp chill of the evening wind swiped at the little exposed patches of your face as you made it to the extremely congested pick up and drop off area. It felt near impossible to try and find which car belonged to your boyfriend in the sea of what felt like a thousand black SUVs littering the street.

It wasn’t until you spotted a familiar head of slicked back raven hair stuck out one window that you recognized your boyfriend as he made his way out the car.

A squeal unintentionally left you and Austin smiled a mile wide as he opened his arms up to you, “ There’s my girl.” He laughed, catching your body that was flung into him. “ Hey there. Mr. Sweet Baboo.” You giggled into his neck, placing a kiss there.

He’d taken his time unlatching you from him until he offered to quickly help the man load the trunk since he’d spotted what he believed to be the shine of a camera in the distance. 

You didn’t have time to breathe once you both were inside and the door shut. The partition was already rolled up and once the car started to move, and so did Austin’s lips against yours. Your body had suddenly felt like it was on fire with a flame that only he could put out. 

Your hands were attached to his face while his own were free to roam the parts of your body he’d missed in his absence. 

A small moan escaped you at the sensation of his hand kneading your thigh under his touch and pulling you further into him to the point of being in his lap now. 

“ Fuck, I missed you, Baby.” He groaned.

“ Not as much as I missed you.” You mumbled in-between kisses, hands feverishly grabbing at anything on his body that would keep him tethered to you. 

He smiled into your lips, “ Is that a challenge? Because believe me, before this car even hits the main streets I can prove that I missed you most.” He whispers, hand sliding to rest just under your abdomen. Your breath hitches and the most indecent thoughts begin to pool around in your brain. 

You giggled feeling his fingers sliding up your cardigan, “ Okay..okay..okay. I believe you.” 

“ I can’t wait to get you home, all to myself.” His words came out muffled, but had all the same effect as you found yourself pacing your breath and clenching your legs together. 

“ You look cold, sweetheart. Let me warm you up.” 

The ride had been agonizingly long with Austin teasing you every chance you got. 

When the two of you arrived at Austin’s brownstone, your eyes couldn’t register just how beautiful it looked from the outside. Almost like something you’d see in movies like Autumn in New York or Maid in Manhattan. 

“ Aus it’s beautiful.” You mumbled out taking in the glistening snow that littered the cement steps beyond the black steel gate.

“ Thank you. Can’t wait to get you inside of it.” He smiled, pecking your lips before getting out.

To your protests, he’d gotten all of your bags himself and took them inside as you huffed and whined, “ I wanna help! It’s my stuff. Aus! It’s too cold for you to be out here doing this by yourself.” 

“ Nope. Just get your cute ass in the house. ” You rolled your eyes at his smug grin.

The minute you stepped inside the foyer of the home Austin had literally swept you off your feet, dipping his face into your neck to administer kisses. 

You laugh and thrash in his arms the entire way to his gorgeous couch, ridding yourselves of your coats. 

“ So, first, “  He plopped down next to you, instantly reaching his arms out to pull your body into his lap. “ Are you hungry? I know you didn’t eat on the plane. And before we do anything else I wanna get you fed if need be.” 

“ No, not really. “ You leaned back against him, “ I think I’m just hyped up on the adrenaline of getting to see you.”

“ Yeah me too.” A finger traced along your neck just where your hair fell past, , “ Damn. Look at your hair. I knew it was long, but I’ve never seen it like this. It’s beautiful.” 

“ Thanks. I wanted something a little more manageable since our itinerary is a bit packed. It’s not big and unruly like usual.” You played with your ends. 

“ Stop it.” He scolded, “  Big? Yes. Unruly? No. I love your hair in its natural state babe. It’s cute. I love watching you take care of it. It reminds me to stay up on my shit.” 

“ Yeah, no 2 in 1 conditioner for you buddy.” You reached to pick at one of his dark locks close to his ear. It was still taking some getting used to. 

“ Hey.” He turned to nip at your hand, “ There wasn’t any 2 in 1 shampoo before you and there damn sure won’t be any now that I’ve been exposed to the good life.”

And a good life it was! You’d exposed Austin to all the skin care, shea butter, oil pulling, essential oils and everything else needed and now mysteriously you had products coming up empty all the time.

“ I know babe I’m just teasing. Excited for this weekend with you.” 

“ So am I. Gonna’ feel good spending time with my girl. Kinda miss my little buddy though. “

“ I know me too.” You pout, “ But I promise you he’s living his best life with his Aunt Alex. He’s already had a pup cup, two treats, and last I knew was taking a nap in her office on a pile of heated blankets.” 

“ You’re going home to a diva, baby.” He smirked, imagining the little dog buried in blankets fast asleep. “ So, back to this itinerary that was mentioned.” 

“ Yes! It goes by day to optimize experiences and time.“ You pronounced proudly, bouncing on the couch.

“ Really? “ 

“ Truly. I wanna make the most of our time together.” You replied. 

“ Okay, do tell. “ His eyebrows raised in amusement, “ What’s on today? “

“ Today’s agenda is light because it’s the first day and I already knew I’d be tired. So the only two major things on the list are having dinner with my Sweet Baboo and unpacking.” 

“ Nice! And we can make all that happen. Let’s take a look at the other days.” 

And you did, together you examined the well planned and thought out itinerary in front of you.

He nodded , “ Looks good. We may have to make a couple of adjustments if that’s okay with you. I have some surprises in store.” 

“ Ouuu! What?! Tell me.” You practically bounced in his lap. 

He smiled, “ If I told you it wouldn’t be a surprise then, would it.”

“ Not even a hint.” You whine, slightly puckering your lips, and playfully batting your mascaraed eyelashes. 

“ No. Nuh uh. Not gonna happen. But you’re cute though, baby.” He pecked your lips.

You groan, “ Fine! On second thought I am hungry. Feed me seymour.” You goofed trying to imitate the rich voice of Levi Stubbs. 

The lines of his lips curl, “ C’’mon then Audrey II. You can keep me company while I start dinner.” 

And you did just that perched on a chair at the island while the two of you made small talk.

“ That can’t be all.” He softly laughed, “ I haven’t seen you and I wanna really know how my girl is doing? Tell me. I know there's something.”

“ I mean there really isn’t much to tell, baby. I told you. It’s just been work..writing…Magnus..and missing you.”

“ How about that lease? “ Austin said, rolling out the dough in front of you.

Your shoulders tensed, “ What about it?” 

“ You talk to your building manager about whether you're renewing or not this spring, yet? ” He inquired about your plans for your apartment, which was really his not so subtle way of asking if you’d thought anymore about his offer to move in with him after Elvis was estimated to wrap this summer.

Although you and Austin had been together for almost six months at this point, you weren’t exactly sure if you were completely ready for that kind of commitment yet. Granted when the projected time of wrapping would come around the two of you would be coming up on a year, you still had some things holding you back about the whole ordeal.

“ It’s on the to - do - list…” You stretched, “One of the many adult things to eventually be handled.” 

“ Uh huh. I see. “ He mused,” Well like I said before. I wouldn’t mind coming home to you and Magnus every night. And when I’m home you're either always at my place or vice versa. In my eyes it would just make sense.” Austin explained. 

Your hands fidget with the brown place mat in front of you, “ I hear you and I understand, babe. And I promise I’m really taking all of this into heavy consideration. “ You settled. 

“ Good, I can live with that. Now get up, come over here and help me by cutting the sheath on these asparagus.” Austin instructed, while heating up his rosemary and pepper butter mix in his skillet.

Your eyes widened at the opportunity to help, while you could cook you were unashamed to say that you had hard limitations of what you could and couldn’t make. Whereas Austin on the other-hand was practically a chef with the way he could make his assortment of dishes. Which in turn made him the primary cook of the relationship while you were always happy to be captain of the clean up crew. 

“ Oh yay. I get to help.” You hopped up, “ And you're going to let me use a knife! Sick! “ 

Now becoming skeptical, Austin cocked his head rethinking his offer of a sous chef position, “ On second thought maybe you should stick to being my honorary taste tester. Quite good at that job, peaches.” 

“ Nope. I’m helping. “ You rolled up your sleeves, “ Now prepare to see some clean beautifully mutilated asparagus, babe. “ 

“ Jesus.” Austin groaned, placing the steaks in the sizzling pan.

______

Your dinner of sirloin, seared asparagus, garlic and herb mash potatoes, and bread you couldn’t pronounce right was absolutely splendid. 

And now being presented in-front of you was just the dessert to top the night off: A thick and nice slice of strawberry drizzled NY cheesecake.

Favorite of yours.

As you began to indulge in your sweet treat you teased yourself by wondering if there was any way the night could possibly get better. 

Then it hit you…you could knock one of your tomorrow's itenary items off tonight without any worry.

So, yes. It definitely could. 

“ You know what would be really good, right now.” You mused aloud at the island. 

Still turned Austin asked, “ And what would that be, sweetheart? “ He continued loading the dishwasher. 

“ A nice hot relaxing bath. “ 

“ Uh huh.“ He sounded

Grabbing the towel off the stove handle, Austin walked over to the island to lean in. 

“ Okay. “ He simply said, “ Your wish is my command.” 

“ Really? “ You nervously scraped your fork against your plate.

“ Of course. This trip  is all about you. So, if the best girl wants to end the evening with a bath. Then it’s my job to make it happen.” He washed his hands. 

“ Just stay here and finish your dessert. And then come up. Alright? “ He instructed, coming around to stand in front of you, taking your face into his face.

“ Okay. “ You nodded.

He returned the gesture and placed a chaste kiss to your forehead on his way out before heading upstairs. 

You could hear the faint sounds of water running as you struggled to calm your weirdly nervous stomach and finish your dessert. 

By the time you made it up stairs and into the bathroom the lights were dimmed and  the aroma of jasmine bath salts and vanilla bubble bath filled your senses.

You weren’t spooked when you felt him appear behind you. 

“ Let me take this off of you.” His fingers danced along the curves of your side as his hands moved along to lift your shirt over your head. 

You sucked in tiny breaths the rest of the time he took to undress you. Ever so often you’d catch his eyes and smile, turning away to blush.

Once you were as naked as the day you were born, he gently helped you step into the creme claw foot tub.

“ You wanna get in? “ You sheepishly grinned.   “ Plenty of room.” Kicking up your feet over the side to expose the suds and bubbles that dripped down your legs.

Knowing that he’d already restrained himself while helping you undress, Austin wasn’t too sure he’d be able to handle any accidental slips of the hand or touching by any means without immediately yanking you out the bath and into the bedroom for some extremely intentional touching of his own to you.

“ No, I’m okay. This is about you. So, enjoy your bath, babe.” He smiled leaning over to grab at the loofa.

, “ Stop it. You’re fine.” Austin playfully scolded, watching the pout spread on your face.

“ If you want we can both sit on opposite sides. “ You offered just as a lightbulb went off in your brain, “ OH! Or you could lay with your back against my chest and my arms around you like Vivan and Edward in Pretty Woman. I’ve actually always wanted to do that.” You confessed your little fantasy. 

“ Plus. You did say this weekend was about me.” You moved to place your hands on the tub and rest your head on them, “ And what I want right now is for you to come in here with me. Now,“ 

Austin’s cheeks warmed in affection and amusement as he watched a twinkle appear in your eye at the idea of getting to live out another one of your little rom-com fantasies. And how you’d suddenly gotten a bit bold in your request. 

He sat there for a moment contemplating when ultimately he decided who would he be if he couldn’t be the person to fulfill your fantasies and desires. 

He blew out air, “ Fine. I’ll be the Edward to your Vivan, babe. But just know the accidental touching and moving needs to be kept to a minimum. “ You watched as he stood up to pull his shirt above his head and shimmy his pants. “ I mean it. I am a man of virtue after all, honey. A delicate flower you could say. So, I expect to be treated as such.” He teased.

You didn’t have a smart remark to quip back at him because your mind and eyes had both been polluted with the images of him bare before you in all his glory.

Instead you mustered a playful cat call, “ Yeah take it off! Look at those cheeks! “ 

All Austin could do was smile and shake his head as he walked over and maneuvered himself to get in and sink in between your legs. Your arms found a home around his shoulders and your lips made quick work of placing innocent enough kisses to his skin in places you knew may be less…inflammatory than others.

And you could tell by the low and almost soulful groan Austin let out once he was fully  submerged in the calm of the warm water that this was something he needed too. “ Feels good..” He mumbled letting his head back to rest in the valley of your naked breasts. 

“ Good.” You replied, as you too were enjoying the warm intimacy of the atmosphere. 

“ We don’t do this enough at home.” Austin sounded as you used the soft silicone loofah to scrub and wash his chest.

“ What? “

“ Relaxing…soaking like this.” He rubbed at your knee that was exposed out of the water. 

 “ I agree.” 

“ So..” He squeezed the sponge he’d grabbed and dipped into the water on your back, “ You excited for tomorrow? “

You nodded, “ I am. I’ve visited here once on a family trip and another time for a work thing. But I’ve always felt like I’ve never gotten the true experience. And since Aunt Kiki lives here now I’ve been wanting to visit her. But of course she’s away on a work trip this time of year.”

“ Mhmm.” A hum can from Austin as you move your hand lower.

“ Watch yourself.” Austin mumbled, grabbing that hand to interlock it with his. 

And you did, you made it a point to keep your hands clear of the southern equator of your man. That was until you felt him let guard with a sigh and push back into you. 

This was the moment you took your opportunity.

A breath hitched, “ Y/N…what are you doing? I thought I made it very clear the stipulations of this arrangement. “ 

You crane your head down to rest your lips just above the shell of his ear as your hand continues to move toward its desired destination. 

He tensed against you when you went to lightly grip at his now half-hard cock in your hand. You moved it up and down a bit before stopping and using the pad of your thumb to quickly run across his tip.

Involuntarily Austin lets out a small hiss at the sensation, “ Alright, that’s enough of that. “ He hand comes to try and halt yours. But you use your leg to stop him.

Instead you ignored him, keeping your attention focused on guiding your hand to stroke him up and down. The water of the tub has begun to sway from the movement, “ I’m not done.” You whispered in his ear.  “ You said this weekend was about making me feel good.” 

Your tongue darts out to lick and bite at his ear,  “ You wanna know what would make me good? 

“ Yes.” His answer sounded strained against his voice. By now he’d ever so slightly begun to move his hips upward into your hand, beginning to get lost in the sensation of his touch.

“ What would make me good right now is for you to be a good boyfriend and cum all over my hand for me.” You say, mindful to increase the pace of your hand. “ Please can I have it, baby. Will you give it to me? Will you give your cum, baby? “ 

“ Oh fuck.” Austin’s head dives back against your breast and his eyes are tightly shut as his  body begins to become overwhelmed with pleasure. Your words doing something to him, of course he’d heard you be verbal during exchanges, but never like this. “ I’ll give you anything you want.” He groaned. 

“ That good, Aus? “ You used your free hand to come from its place on his chest, to grip at his chin and guide his head to loll to the side. It gives you access to attach your lips to his in what could only be described as a sloppy exchange of love. You swallowed his grunts and groans in your throat while he allowed your soft whimpers to enclose his lips. 

By now the water of the tub began to slosh with bits beginning to fly out of the tub and onto the floor from the impact of Austin’s hips coming to meet the pace of your hand.

He reluctantly forced his mouth away from yours, saliva collected on his cheeks. “ Fuck, just like that. Baby you’re gonna make me cum if you keep doing this.” 

“ Yeah? That’s what I want, baby. Give it to me, Aus. Show me how much you missed my touch, baby.” You moaned dipping your head to suck on skin you’d long ago identified on his neck to be his “ sweet spot.”

With that he couldn’t contain himself anymore and you watched as his face contorted into a beautiful display of pleasure and angst,  his eyelashes fluttered as he shot his thick ropes of cum in your hand. You keep stroking him through it until a hand shoots out to stop you. This time it succeeded as you ceased your movement, and watched his chest heave up and down.

Your hand rubs at his shoulder to help ground him and bring him back to you.

After a couple of minutes with a huff he speaks, “ Was this your plan all along? To get me in this position, baby. So you could use me this way, as your play thing?  “ He accuses. 

“ Guilty.” You whispered, thinking about how this all was in-fact a long game in getting him here. You knew had it been in the bedroom or anywhere else he would have undermined your advances and made your own pleasure the main focus as usual. But you figured that if you could essentially “ trap him “ into a smaller more controlled environment where you could take the reins a bit, you could finally have a moment to adore your boyfriend the way he always makes sure to adore you. 

“ What am I gonna do with you?” He groans and you smile, placing a kiss on his head. 

Eventually with no more funny business involved, you both take turns cleaning each other off before he gets out and wraps a towel around his waist. And then comes back for you, plucking your wet body out of the water. 

Routines are done and pajamas are thrown on quickly before he ushers you both to lay in the big king size bed. 

You relish the opportunity to sleep in his arms after so long. It seemed like it’d been a day and forever. When really it’d been about five and a half weeks. 

“ Quite the little show you put on there in the bathroom.” He whispered.

“ What can I say, I missed seeing the faces you make like that in person. All those facetime calls just don’t do those flushed cheeks or sweet strangled moans justice,baby. Needed to see it.” You shot back, and went to lightly play at the dip in his shoulder.

“ I see we’ve grown quite bold in my absence.” He muttered, trailing his eyes to your thigh that peaked out from the slightly raised shirt.

 “ So what about me? When do I get my own personal refresher of your moans and the way your body arches off the bed when I use my fingers to touch your spot? “ 

At his words, you could feel your heartbeat begin to race and the all too familiar aching and yearning you’d been feeling throughout your body return.

“ I don’t know. I haven’t felt like that in a while. I’m not as good as you with my hands, baby. “ You casually say.

“ Well. I don’t particularly plan on using my hands tonight. I’ve got a bit of a different approach since we’re so eager to try out new things. “ He said.

And then he said something that knocked the wind out of your chest.

“ Instead I want you to come and sit that pretty pussy on my face.” 

It would take you many moments and labored breaths of shock before you mustered up your bewildered response, “ You want me to what?! “ 

“ You heard me.” Austin laughed from underneath you. You were straddling his lap while he lay flat on the bed and you were pretty sure that maybe he wasn’t getting enough oxygen down there as it was.

“ Aus. You can’t be serious. I-I’m not a Polly Pocket sized girly, babe. I have a nice amount of meat on these here bones.” You countered, “ I’m not sure this is a good idea.”

“ What? You don’t think I can handle you? Is that it? “ His voice purred, fingers dancing up along the curve of your spine. 

“ Of course not! “ You clarified, “ It’s just that…that.” You huffed trying to gather the right words together.  “ I want you to be able to breathe , babe. HOW WILL YOU BREATHE?! “ 

You watched his face turn in amusement at your flustered state, “ Don’t you worry about that, babe. I’m a big boy. I’ll figure it out. And if not…. when they find me you tell them I died happy and stuffed in-between the sweetest place on earth.” He said, immediately you felt your cheeks flush, “ These thighs.”

“ AUS! “ You softly slapped at his chest, “ Be serious.” 

He laughed ,“ I am. They’ll find me with a permanent glistening smile.” 

You groaned trying to shimmy off of him but his hands at your sides stopped you. “ Uh huh. From when good ole’ Rick and Mortis set in.” 

“ I’m not asking again, darling. “ You yelped when he grabbed your thighs and moved you further up his chest, close to your neck, “ Get up here.” 

“ But Aus I- “ You cut yourself off with moan when you felt his hand come to fondle at your breast. 

“ What was that? I’m sorry I may not have caught that.”

“ I-w-well-” 

He had your virgin ass absolutely flustered. 

“ Take em’ off. I want em’ off of you.” He mumbled,scooting you further and tugging at your night shorts. 

Obliging, you somehow managed to rid yourself of your shorts and his shirt. At that moment it took all the courage not to fold right there. 

You leaned forward against the pretty dark wood headboard to grip at its edges in a fair attempt at stabilizing yourself in your squat. 

The plan had been to lower yourself down nice and slow, but leave it to your boyfriend to be an absolutely impatient brat to knock the wind out of you by slamming you down against his face. 

You went to make a remark of protest but soon found that the second his tongue touched you, you’d been left unable to form long coherent sentences. A simple moan of, “ Austin!” Was all that was mustered. 

He groans as he begins to eagerly lap and lick at your drenched pussy. The vibration alone makes you tighten your grip. 

Using his hands he bares down pressing you further into him as you cry out from this new intense feeling. He's calculated with how he uses his tongue to tease the entrance of your opening before gliding it back to suckle at your poor throbbing clit. 

The more and more sucks, the more your juices uncontrollably leak from you, until now the sounds of lewd slurping and your moans come together to echo off the walls. 

“  That feels so good.” You mewl, unable to control how you begin to grind your pussy against his face. 

He lifts up a little bit to mumble, “ Yeah? Am I making this pussy cry with my tongue? She talking to me, honey?” He sends a long lick up your slit making you jump. 

“ Yes! Your tongue is so good, baby. It feels so good.” You cried out. 

You could practically feel him smile into your pussy when he closed the gap, obviously satisfied with desensitizing you this way. 

From there he really started to lay into you, when he laid his tongue completely flat on your clit you couldn’t help the pleas that spilled from your mouth, “ Yes! Yes! Yes! Just like that! Aus, PLEASE.” You began riding his face with more urgency. 

A hand came to smack and grip at your ass to help you with your motion, by now your stomach had begun to build up into that all too familiar knot of delicious agony. 

“ Oh shit! Oh shit! Oh shit! “ You squealed, “ Aus I’m close! I gotta get up.” You tried scrambling off him and out of his grip, out of fear he truly wouldn’t be able to breathe from how hard you were about to flood his face. 

Little did you know that was all the motivation he needed to go harder, using his tongue and mouth to take a grip on your clit that outta to be illegal. He sent a series of smacks to your exposed ass to let you know that you had better not go anywhere. 

Tears sprang in your eyes, “ I-I. It’s too much! “ 

You white knuckled the headboard as your body began to heat up and spark with your impending orgasm. “ Aus I’m about to cum all over your fucking face!” 

“ That’s it, baby. Let go for me.” He moaned out against you. 

Gripping your ass harder he helped grind you faster against his tongue until he felt your body begin convulsing above him, “ I’m fucking cumming! Aus! Yes! Yes! Yes! “ You hissed, feeling the floodgates overtake you. 

After cleaning you up with a couple more licks and slurps, he catches your limp body and gently lowers you to lay next to him. 

Through hazy pleasure ridden eyes you look over to see that previously mentioned glistening smile set across his face as he lays triumphantly next to you!

You feel the bed dip as he disappears into the bathroom and returns with two damp towels: one for you and one for him. 

He goes to really clean you up before hoisting you in his arms and carrying you to the bathroom to pee. 

After everything is said and done, he brings a now sleepy you into his chest, arms creating a warm cage of comfort, “ So, will I be doing that again this weekend?” His hands rub your back. 

You nod and he smiles, “ That good? “ 

Voice cracking you whisper back, “ Could you not tell by the way I left Lake Erie on your face that it was fuckin’ amazing.” 

“ Just checking. “ He laughed, “ Next time we’ll try for the Mississippi, yeah?” 

_____

Next Day

Madison Square Garden 

New York Rangers vs Philadelphia Flyers Game 

“ I can’t believe I’m actually doing this. I’ve always wanted to go to one of these.” You squealed looking out at the crisp white ice while you were surrounded by thousands of other people.

Cup of water in hand and popcorn in lap, you’d dressed in thick wool lined jeans , a Flyers jersey, converse, and had your baseball cap to the back in spirit of your first time seeing a Flyers game in person. 

Austin laughed and took a sip of the wine he’d gotten. “ I’m glad we’re enjoying ourselves. I keep forgetting you told me you were a little hockey fan. Would have never guessed.”

You laugh, “ Yeah. When I was little my Aunt dated the guy who did the sound at the games for the Blue Jackets so we always got tickets. She’d go and take us up on the weekends and I can remember just always having the best time. Ever since I’ve become quite fond of hockey. The smell of the wet ice when they redo it, the chill of the arena, the way the glass rattles when the players zip by. I love it.” 

Austin noticed the way you hadn’t taken your eyes off the ice the entire time you were talking about this little passion of yours. A smile passed his face in satisfaction that he’d learned something new about you. For most of the rest of the time he got more pleasure from watching you watch the game then actually paying attention to what was going on himself. 

The way your nose scrunched when a shot was missed, your little squeals when your team regained the puck, and even how you held your own and  weren’t afraid to get back with surrounding audience members who may have said something to you out of the way.

This was hockey after all.

By the time halftime rolled around you were content at watching your favorite little segments. 

Kid of the game, celeb look alike, and your personal favorite: The Kiss Cam. 

The cliche track by Sixpence None The Richer echoed throughout the arena as you watched couples old and young peck each other and giggle for the camera.

It warmed your heart, but what happened next made it drop to your ass and roll onto the ice.

Because suddenly, your face made up in about a million pixels on the big kiss cam screen, there you and your grinning boyfriend were on display for the whole world.

People around you had begun to cheer and you could see Austin’s face was turning a shade of candy apple red. 

“ Aus.” You whispered, half covering our face.  The encouragement and cheering only grew louder and you felt Austin’s hand come to remove yours from your face. “ Hey. C’mon we can’t let everyone else have all the fun.” 

“ Just pretend it’s you and I. Only us. Okay?” He whispered, taking your face into his hands. 

You nodded and took a deep breath closing your eyes with a mixture of excitement and nerves pinging through you as your lips connected with his in a sweet little innocent kiss. 

The whoops and cheers intensified around you and when you pulled away you saw the wide smile Austin had his arm around your waist and you both waved to the camera one last time. 

After you were off Austin wrapped his arms around you, placing a kiss on your head, “ Always wanted to kiss a pretty girl on one of those things. Never thought I’d ever get the guts to do it.  Guess dreams come true.“ He laughed.  

You could still feel your heart pounding in your chest a bit thinking about how you’d replay that moment in your head for who knew how long to come, “ Yeah. They really do, they really do.” 

He placed a kiss on your hand and the both of you returned your attention back to the screen just as an older couple appeared. 

Eventually after some shouting, another small bag of popcorn, and twenty autographs from Austin to some fans later, the game was over, the Flyers beat the Rangers, and the two of you happily walked along to the car. 

“ Home for a nap. “ Austin suggested. 

“ Yes Please.” You yawned, feeling the excitement of the day beginning to catch up with you. 

______

Austin’s Brownstone - 8:23pm 

“ Well, Good Evening sleepy-head.” Austin greeted your groggy figure as you sat up with a pile of blankets sliding from you. 

“ Evening?! “ You yawned while looking around at the dimming sky outside the big bay window in the living room. “ My gosh, babe. How long did you let me sleep? What time is it? Don’t we have reservations? “  

You looked over to the loveseat where Austin had his feet propped up with a book in hand.

“ Woah. “ He held up a hand, “ Slow down. Take a breath.”

“ I let you sleep because you needed to rest, Babe. It’s about eight-twenty five right now and I called and canceled the reservations we had because truth be told I’m a little tired too. “ 

Your bottom lip stuck out and you went to protest but he held up a hand. 

“ So, instead I thought maybe you’d want to order in. Your choice. Thai, Italian, Mexican…”  He threw out the options. Nothing sounds good.

“ Do you know any good sandwich places? “ 

______

Forty five minutes and two wrapped hero sandwiches later…

“ Two-truths and one lie go.” You randomly said, reaching for one of his fries. 

“ Hmm. Alright. Well, I once shared the same production lot with Beyoncé and met her. “ He began, “ Two, I used to come home every single day in elementary school to eat lunch with my mother, and I once played a sad tree in my acting group’s play when I was younger..” 

You threw up your grease ridden hands, “ Automatically I'm gonna assume that the Beyonce thing is unfortunately untrue because I don’t think you would’ve held out on me like that. And I’m almost positive from that picture your sister showed that you were a sad bird in that play. So,I don’t know…maybe the lunch thing. I wouldn’t think an elementary school would let a kid walk home like that? Right? “ 

Austin smiled, “ Well my dear. Unfortunately this one you’d be wrong because all through elementary school I did in fact have a standing lunch appointment with my mother everyday.” He revealed.

“ Really?! And the school just let you go? “ 

He nodded, “ Yeah. We started doing it because of how shy I was. I couldn't really make friends at that age because of it, so sometimes it was hard being in school. Everyone knew everyone in town so the walk home and back was a breeze. We always ate P & J’s and watched cartoons or old westerns.” He recalled the fond memories. “ I know with work and other things at the time I’m sure her doing it wasn’t exactly ideal, but she still always made it work.” 

Your heart swelled for him as you reached out to rub his shoulder.

“ Awe, Austin, that sounds so sweet. She seemed amazing. “ 

“ Yeah, she was.” He sighed, “ She really was.” 

“ Wish I’d had a mom like that.” You sighed, “ I wish I would have had a mom period. “ 

As soon as the words left your mouth and you saw the look on Austin’s face, you instantly felt embarrassed. 

It wasn’t like Austin didn’t know about your situation, it just wasn’t something that you had in-depth discussed before. And you also really weren’t trying to make this seem about you either. It was just a little slip of word vomit.

You backtracked, “ I mean I do have a Mom. Just, it’s rather I just…have no idea where she is. Sorta…” 

Noticing you were about to say more but held yourself back, Austin encouraged you to continue, “ Hey. It’s alright. Tell me.” 

“ Okay well. From what I know, my Aunt said after I turned a year my mother wasn’t really around much. Started going out and hanging around with friends all hours of the night, and she just really didn’t seem that interested in Gracie and me anymore. Even disappeared for days at a time.” 

“ She left my Dad a note one night. On it she explained that she couldn’t imagine another day of being a mother. Specifically she said that it was draining something out of her that she was afraid she’d never get back. That we’d all be better off without her being there, herself included.” 

 “ I was only a year and some change and Gracie was almost five. And Dad did the best he could raising two girls by himself. He didn’t date much or anything really. Just was a devoted GM Plant worker and an even more devoted Dad.” 

“ A couple years later he found out that she’d remarried, moved to a part of Spain, and had more children. So, he made the decision to go to court and officially file for full custody of us. Which she didn’t contest, naturally.” You continued, “ I don’t think he ever really got over it, unfortunately.” 

“ He never talked about her at all.  And when he passed away when I was thirteen from congestive heart failure we went to live with our grandmother in Georgia. Gracie graduated and decided to move to Texas to pursue a career in public service. And after graduation I got a scholarship to Arizona State, so my grandmother moved and then decided to travel the world.” 

“ If you don’t mind me asking, has she ever tried to reach out? “ Austin questioned. 

You nodded, “ Only once. Not to me though.” You clarified.

“  When Gracie got married. Somehow she’d found Gracie’s address and sent a letter. Gracie read it but never responded. And she never told me what the letter said either. Her silent way of still protecting her little sister. I guess.” 

“ Would you have wanted to know what it said? “ 

“ I don't really know. Maybe? Maybe not? “  You answered. “ She wrote it just to Gracie. So, I'm sure there’s a reason for that.” 

“ Being honest….” You started feeling your lip begin to quiver and eyes water at the incoming thought. “ I always wondered if I was the reason she left? Like maybe I was hard to take care of or if carrying me did something negative to her. I-I *sniffle* It doesn’t sound like she wanted to leave when she had Gracie, so why after me? Why didn’t she stay? “ 

Your vision had full on fuzzied out now and your cheeks were slick with tears, turning his head to look at you all Austin could do was feel his heart ache. 

He tried to reach out  but you instinctively moved away trying to cover your face, “ Don’t. It’s fine.” Your voice cracked. 

He frowned, “ No it’s not, babe. You’re upset. My best girl is crying. Nothing is ever fine when my best girl is crying. It’s very far from fine actually.” He fussed moving toward you still. 

“ Hey.” He cooed, while reaching over to gently grab you and pull you onto his body, “ Hey. Shhh. It’s okay. Let it out.” He encouraged, rubbing your back and placing a kiss to your head as small sobs still escaped you. 

A hand went to your head to hold against him as he offered you all of his love and comfort.

After a while you’d began to settle and quiet at the warm feeling of being enveloped in his arms and calmed by his words. He hated that you were feeling this way. In situations like this it truly made Austin appreciate his mother, he couldn’t have imagined ever having any other maternal experience then what he had. He wished everyone could have had that. 

“ Hey, look at me.” He cupped your face and wiped at the tears while you sniffled, “ Anyone would be lucky to have you in their life, sweetheart.” 

“ I’m lucky to have you in my life.” He affirmed while making sure your eye contact never broke, tears forming in his.  “ You hear me? I love you.” 

You nodded, clinging to his shirt, “ I love you too, Austin.” 

He smiled, “ Of course. Snot and all.” He teased making you giggle and shriek away from him. 

He went to lean over and hand you the tissue box he’d snatched.

“ Now, let’s get into bed. How about a shower and a movie? Any movie you want.”

At this declaration you perked, “ Any movie? “ 

Now a bit skeptical, Austin still nodded, “ Any movie.” 

______

“ Okay, I changed my mind. Any movie but this one.” He groaned.

“ Austin.” You mirrored his groan. 

“ Fine.” He mumbled dragging you into his arms as the beginning of Lilo and Stitch played on the screen.

“ You really like this movie, huh? “ Austin chuckled into your headscarf. 

“ It’s my favorite! I was obsessed when I was little. I had a lilo and stitch lunch box, bed set, and all kinds of stuff.” You explained.’

“ And have you ever been to Hawaii? “

“ Nu uh. Haven’t gotten around to it. Maybe one day.” 

“ Uh huh.” Austin yawned.

Maybe one day real soon…

[hwaightme]

Take me back

THIS IS 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI FOR BIKER!HWA’S SAKE (nsfw tags under the cut) (masterlist) (join taglist)

🏍️ pairing: biker!seonghwa x afab!gangster!reader 🏍️ genre: smut, pwp, exes to lovers, fluff, a little angst, romance, just two fools in love 🏍️ summary: you want to convince yourself that you do not need seonghwa, that your rejection is for the best, but when instead of another rose he is the one waiting by your door, you are not so sure. 🏍️ wordcount: 6.9k 🏍️ warnings/tags: biker!hwa, quick solo edit, language, hwa has grills, head over heels enamoured hwa, mention of contraband/dealing of illegal substances, rejection, knight on a bike courting you, discussion of gang activity, set in strictland, lmk if anything else 🏍️ a/n: why hello there <3 i am trying to get back into writing, and seonghwa + the song 'take me back'… transformed me. always, any notes, reblogs and comments are appreciated, much love~

🏍️ perma-taglist: moved to the end of the post!

🏍️ nsfw tags: sub!hwa and soft dom!reader, no protection (wrap before you tap pls), oral (both giving and receiving), hints of scent kink but more for hwa's perfume, dirty talk, intense pet name content (baby, darling, sweetheart, love, pretty boy), praise both ways, riding/cowgirl, reader double orgasm, overstimulation, slight dumbification, creampie, implied cockwarming, cuddling and two people falling in love more and more with each passing second

It did not take much effort to figure out who left the solitary rose on the window sill, between floors three and five - an ironic nod to tradition despite the world moving in a four four time,  right on the stairwell that led to your apartment. A white rose sculpted to an ideal by nature and by a cosmetic selection, cut away and left a stilled beauty in full bloom, honoured to wilt in your presence. Picking it up with two fingers, you admired the careful handiwork employed to remove the thorns, because heaven forbid you were to hurt yourself. A smirk pricked at the corner of your lips, but you dared not reveal it - the admirer could be waiting just for this, and you were not feeling particularly merciful tonight. Twisting the rose a couple of times, noting the lack of any tears, breakage in the petals or even as much as a hint of browning due to thoughtless damage, you turned your attention to the stark white sheet of paper, neatly folded in half so as to conceal the contents. Though, who else would dare touch any gifts that were obviously left for you? Certainly not those who knew you, or knew of the admirer who was waiting for a single sign that you would accept the offerings. Opening up the note, you found a new selection of confessions written in poetic lines, ink meticulous, a permanence introduced in a neat and familiar hand, every stroke a cry for you, over you, a projection across the city in an attempt to win your heart. Just like last time, except this time the theme was the moon instead of the sun. The stars, the ocean waters, the air embracing you. If one were to paint a portrait through the words etched onto the pages that you had become a secret collector of, you would become the universe. All-encompassing and all-consuming, having permeated into the heart, soul and mind and turning into reason and motivation, you were the eternal muse. Gaze slowly drifting from the page and onto the dim, dark street outside, you looked out at the corner of the street, right to where it faded into a miniature intersection, leading to a shopping district that was long abandoned and shut down aside from a few underground businesses and repurposed buildings that a regular passer-by would, or should never visit. You would never admit it, but you had grown to expect the silhouette that waited for you, maybe even welcome it. A singular constant in your daily life, one that you hated to admit, but had transformed into a grounding, a tether to something less than madness.

It was not comforting, however. Far from it. The man who was leaning against his motorcycle, side profile distinguishable against the faint lights emanating from the far backdrop was someone who had brought you emotion. And just as the government had prescribed in its comically persistent propaganda, disease was human emotion. Whether one served the nation or was working against it, whether one was a public figure for peace or a private figure for war, the state of feeling was oftentimes a disadvantage. It was, most certainly, the case in your line of work, despite you never directly subjecting yourself to risk - you were not that foolish quite yet. But the dedication of the man in black, blue and silver was forcing you to reconsider. Eroding the boundaries you operated within, knocking on the barriers to find a hollow which he could break. One of these days you knew that Seonghwa was going to be the death of you. Or perhaps the revival. Folding the note tightly shut you pressed it against the rose’s stem, and holding both items between your fingers you began your ascent to the door of your apartment, keys dangling from their ring that was in your other hand.

Soon enough, you heard the rumbling of the engine; that same motorcycle which you had come to see more often than the supplies you managed. As you slid the key into the door, you shut your eyes, imagining Seonghwa’s journey away from your complex. How his glasses, those you had joked about being from a laboratory, would glimmer under the jittery neon of old signs and the fading streetlights. How he would accelerate at the end of the road, making a sharp turn to the right. The grip you had on the note and the rose tightened as you recalled the exhilarating feeling of having your arms wrapped around his sensational waist, feeling the toned muscle underneath his black tank top, snaking your hands, letting them roam his body as he struggled to contain himself and keep on driving. You paid the risk no mind - if anything, this risk was the one you preferred so much more, over any other you had to keep subdued under a brutal thumb. Wondering why your mind was so afflicted this evening, you raised the rose again, detecting nothing suspicious. It was only once you raised the note as close to your face as possible that you rolled your eyes and let a sigh escape you. Of course, the perfume. That damn sweet perfume, with hints of coffee and vanilla, one only he could wear, one that you swore you would never be able to rid yourself off, even if you were to burn the house down and shed your own skin. The memory would remain and you knew that if anywhere, anyone, anyhow would let this perfume enter your system, only Seonghwa would be on your mind. Cursing under your breath, you finally unlocked the apartment and entered, washed over with a sense of dread due to your evident proximity to the handcrafted abyss. It was only a matter of time that this game would end. 

Kicking your shoes off your feet and ambling to the living room, you approached the glass that you had positioned at the centre of the tiny dining table, taking out the rose you had previously received and replacing it with the new beauty. Mumbling a goodbye, simply to remind yourself of the fact that you could speak, more than anything, you let the flower disappear in the bin that was across the corridor, in the kitchen. You returned, regarding the white rose again, imprinting its every curve in your mind and hesitantly allowing yourself to compare the softness of the petals to your admirer’s lips, and moved to the cabinet off to the side. A contraband piece, unregulated, from someplace abroad that clearly had more daring, inspiring tastes than your home ever could, which was exactly why you had your loyal employees smuggle it along with the regular supplies to feed the insatiable demand of the sinful city that turned into bills for you. One door opened, another, a few numbers on a keypad pressed and you were in - one of the numerous safes hidden around the flat, the only ones that would stand the test of time, with this one containing the butterflies that plagued Seonghwa, those that he could not help but share with you, fighting pleas that you contained in steel. A cage for the emotions that the man stirred within you, your keeping of the notes supposedly out of sight and out of mind was the last resort for denial. You did not want to witness your demise, and yet, in the night when you were tossing and turning back and forth, illuminated by a hazy blue and grey, your retinas had every note burned into them and your brain would repeat every line back to you over, and over, and over again until you were lulled into a slumber, again, induced by the notion of the one man who you were trying your hardest to avoid. He was behind every corner, physical and spiritual. 

He was in the way you cleared away the dishes after eating, the ghost of his torso pressed against your back as he would leave a peppering of kisses over your shoulder, in the crook of your neck and stopping right over the jugular, caressing the sensitive skin with his breath. Seonghwa was in the way you lied down to bed, always occupying the same side, gliding under the sheets that, even though you had washed them, softened them time and time again, you swore still held his echoes - how your body tried to reignite the reminiscence of how his arm would languidly find purchase on your hips or waist, how he would whisper sweet nothings into your ear, the shameless adoration tickling your cheek and colouring it in a faint blush. As you shut the safe with more aggression than anticipated, making the cabinet rattle from the impact, you shut your eyes, the sensation of the memory becoming too strong to handle. Seonghwa’s hands tracing abstract shapes on your stomach, sides, seemingly absent-mindedly trailing upwards to tease a timid gasp out of you, only to follow the curves and contours of your body down until he could have you in ultimate pleasure. And how, polite as ever, he would ask for it. Ask to touch you, beg for it unabashedly, recounting just how good he had been for you, how he would do anything for you, should you command him. 

Seonghwa’s blind faith in you, his trust in harmony between outlaws and the timelessness of your union was the very reason you stepped away. With every fibre of what you had remaining of your tainted heart you wished for him to find someone better, someone safer, as far as possible from the rotten criminal hydra of which you were one of the many heads. Part of you always held onto the hope that he would leave the city for good. You knew there were better places out there where he could thrive not as a gang member or a fiend of the roads, but as an artist, a dreamer. You had heard enough stories of lands across the oceans where the sun smiled down on those who walked the grounds there, and how people had choice. Desperately, you wanted Seonghwa to make the right one and leave. But all your senses were far too close to overpowering your rationality that served as the single stop sign for the both of you. The one flicker that would set the gasoline ablaze, and leave you two to burn, unable to turn back. Without bothering to turn on any lights, you felt for your bedroom, stripping off the clothes that screamed both business and dealing, and collapsing onto the covers. Hands tracing the lace of your lingerie, you mused what the man of your dreams and nightmares was up to, across the district, under the same omniscient and omnipresent moon, perhaps thinking of you. His name rolled off your tongue far too easily, too comfortably for it to be forbidden. You knew exactly what would happen should he appear instead of another rose, and this awareness - you feared.

As soon as you stepped into the complex, met with the ancient and occasionally flickering bulb that hung right above the entryway, barely outside of the swinging reach of the rusted metal door, you felt the air had shifted while you were gone. The first sign, however, you had caught onto a lot earlier, during your brisk walk down the street, where you caught sight of a familiar motorcycle parked some ways off to the side, obscured by the smog-dulled trees and coughing shrubbery, and only just peeking out from behind a couple of dumpsters. You had to give it to Seonghwa, the place he chose to hide the vehicle was one of the best in the vicinity, but it was not a surprise - something told you that he had your part of the city mapped out and committed to memory, judging by how easily he navigated every corner, and knew exactly where and when you could catch sight of his presence. Slowly, you stepped towards the stairs, trying to steady your breath, failing to ignore the accelerating pace of your heart. The drumming overtook you, pushing away any sense of control and commitment to rejection, and it was as if you could feel every capillary, every artery and vein being set on fire, oxygen being reduced to nothing, lungs screaming and smoke filling your skull. Leaden legs lifting themselves one step, another until you covered the first flight, making a turn. Forgetting to count, you let your instincts guide you, and even though you knew that you were not going to find them, you were half hoping for another rose and note, a secure arrangement that meant you could fool yourself into not feeling as strongly as you, in reality, did. Suddenly, your suit was too tight over your body, the collar digging into your flesh, the sleeves constricting. You wanted to melt away, sink into the floor, turn into concrete, into the walls or the particles that drifted with the drafts before you were to come face to face with what you were so adamant on denying, with whom you were so adamant on denying. The sturdy soles of your dress shoes resounded on the hard stone stairs, marking your arrival. There was no going back, not now, not ever. As soon as the door to your part of the complex closed, so did the door to a destiny without the man who you could now spot on the next flight of stairs, sat outstretched on the cold angularity, elbows perched on one step higher than his body, impeccably balanced while his legs, bent slightly, were stationed on the flat turning. As you regarded his form through the dark grey, sparse railings, taking in the gravity of his unbelievable presence he did not spare you a single glance, instead choosing to remain downcast, peering off to the side, at the merging of the wall and stairs, or maybe he was caught up in his own thoughts, much like you had been a few too many days and nights.

It was only when you stopped right in front of him, stock still, crossing your arms - be it in defence or in threat, did he look up at you, shattering your heart into an innumerable torrential downpour of pieces. Eyes hidden behind those clear visor glasses were misty, hinting at unspilled melancholia, unexpressed need that only you could tear out of him, a living energy that had always been a sacrifice to your being. At your feet, much like how he was now, even though the pose which he had found himself in was nothing like what he had meant in the notes, in the actions, in the past. Seonghwa pushed himself off the stairs, sitting up straighter, head tilting upwards to not break eye contact. Almost as though if he were to look away, you would evaporate. The buttoned up silver collar of his jacket, concealing a few chains underneath, was gently applying pressure to his neck as he moved without daring to make any excessive movements, including adjusting his clothes. The man determined that he was toeing a far too dangerous line to try his luck with confidence.

After so long, after so many roses, after so many secrets that he had spilled in his poetry he could not continue any longer. Gone were the days when your mirage was enough, a hallucinatory visitation in the middle of his day never did satisfy him, but out of fear of disappointing you, he never went ahead with his urges and the cries of every nerve cell. Distance. A hint of your existence, a glimmer of the lights in your apartment, a dismissive picking up of his gifts from the window sill - those were his only joys as of late, but even that was no longer enough. He wanted you. He needed you. He needed you like a man needed air, needed earth, water, and fire. Seonghwa marked too many days on his calendar, drove too many miles without there being one last hope. So he gave into a risk, and bet his own life on it. As he allowed himself to drown in your ethereal glow, the beautiful, pleading man only just caught onto the words that sliced through the months of silence.

“No rose this time?”

Seonghwa let out a breath he did not know he was holding, and reached out for your legs, pulling you closer to him in a desperate call. Wrapping his strong arms around you, he pressed his forehead into your thighs, only a bite of the lip holding him back from breaking apart. He could not care less if you were going to scold him for crumpling your outfit, or for staining it with tears if they were to spill, for it was worth it. You were real. You were here. You were speaking to him and regarding him. Practically falling onto you and at your feet, Seonghwa wanted to be as close as possible, blend with and into you. Taken aback by the suddenness of the lurch towards you, you could only hold your hands up and let the proximity intoxicate you. Staring down at the top of his head, you had to give up your equilibrium to the man if you were to stay standing. Stay above him. And yet, a stray hand found itself floating through and towards the dark, slicked back locks that your palms remembered far too well. As you followed the lines of each strand, digits grazing the scalp, gently patting the impossibly soft and luscious hair, Seonghwa breathed raggedly beneath you, shaking ever so slightly. For how long had he been keeping it in, you wondered. For how long had he been carrying the weight of feeling with him without letting it escape into public exposure. Gently, you hooked the glasses upwards, letting them rest on the top of his head - a gesture that made him look up once more, hands still clenched around the material of your trousers. A flush of pink across his face, glistening eyes and the beginnings of a waterfall marking his relief threatening to trickle down his cheeks. You noted how his lips parted a couple of times, almost like he was in search to find the right words to say to you, maybe he had even already found them, but none made their way to your auditory, remaining a pantomime. Seonghwa was waiting for everything, and his everything was you.

“Oh come on, Hwa, why are you- up. Let’s get up, yeah?” you motioned with both hands for him to get up, and when he would not follow took a hold of his forearms, tugging until he submitted to the request, more moisture rushing to the surface as he was now right here, level with you on the same ground, in one another’s arms like before, with his nickname turning to the most magical melody when you uttered it, “Hwa, no, don’t cry, baby, I can’t stand to see you hurting.”

Thumbs running under his gorgeous eyes, over the stunning smooth skin and hands stopping to cup his face, you admired him with a full heart, letting go of prior inhibitions. There was no point in trying to ignore what had always been, what you would never be able to escape. You hated how you made him feel this pain. You knew you were the instigator, it was obvious to anyone how you were the one who did not want to follow through with hardships and looked for an easy way out, only finding dead ends and lies in the process. His aroma embraced you in a hypnotising cloud, the same one that never left you. The addictive sweetness that you wanted more, more of until there was nothing remaining. Leaning closer to Seonghwa, you took it in, faces a mere centimetre apart, suspense on a single breath. 

“I’m sorry, I could not help it… I-”

“I should be the one who is sorry, baby, don’t say that,” he was too good for this world, you concluded yet again. The longer you knew Seonghwa, the more convinced you became that he was not meant for the city, nor for the life you or he led. You needed to work harder if that could mean buying your and his freedom out of this system.

“Sorry…” he mumbled again, unsteady, inching towards you until his nose brushed against yours. His gloved hands were securely under your suit jacket, toying with the fabric of your white shirt. You nudged him again, reassuring that he was doing everything right, that at least now, he was safe. With you, he was safe.

One of your hands etched the alluring edges of his jawline, travelling down his body and stopping at the jacket. Index finger under the collar, you tugged on the silver material, earning a deeper, expectant sigh from the man. As you snapped the button, pushing the outerwear apart to give you access to his accessories, you felt the metal - warm from the impossible heat oozing from Seonghwa, and slid your digits down the middle of the chest, stopping momentarily at the solar plexus, catching the erratic rhythm of his heart, so intense that you would not be shocked if it were to jump out at any second. You pulled at the black material of his tank top, forcing him to be up right against you, and to stop him from attempting to apologise any more, shifted attention to direct him by his chin. At your mercy, Seonghwa followed. Plush lips parted in anticipation, glossy orbs gaining a darker undertone in the palette contained within, he waited for your final say.

“Did you miss me?”

“Yes. Damn, yes. So much. Too much.” he whispered feverishly, fingers digging into your hips as he sensed your intentions.

“In what ways did you miss me, Seonghwa darling?” knowing that he would achieve nothing if he were to close the gap now, your reawakened passion darted between watching how your mouth moved as you spoke, and studying your irises, head clouded by what had been, and what could be.

“In… every way.”

“Oh, baby, you’re going to have to be a lot more detailed than that.” you mumbled against his lips, leaning away just as he was about to instinctively seek you out.

“I… your company… your words…”

“Should I move? So we can talk?” you teased, jokingly trying to detangle yourself, but to no avail as Seonghwa’s hold got only stronger, and you felt the leather of his trousers fully aligned and pressed against yours. He was impatient, seeking any form of friction, and yet was still holding out well. 

“No… please Y/N.”

“Then tell me, what did you miss, exactly, so I can help you out?” an intensity behind the question threw Seonghwa off balance, making his head spin. Your newfound mastery of the dual renaissance bled onto the pages of the future, yet to be written, determined by every action.

“Your lips.”

“Mhm,” you leaned closer, planting a pack on his lips when he least expected it. Just enough to make him realise what you had done, but not any more, denying him the satisfaction of falling into you. Upon hearing his frustrated whine - music to your growing desire, you continued, “what else?”

“Your- your tongue.” he stuttered, eyelashes fluttering as he glanced everywhere except at you, all while rocking ever so slightly on the spot.

“Elaborate, sweetheart, or do I need to drag everything out of you?” you tightened your hold on his chin, dragging him back to you. 

“No. Goodness… this is embarrassing…” 

“Oh, is my poor baby getting shy? Since when? You always made such pretty sounds for me and now can’t tell me what you want. How am I supposed to take that, hm?” Seonghwa’s cheeks transformed before you, traversing every shade of pink before settling on the deepest hue, “will you be good for me, Hwa? Will you tell me what you missed?”

“I,” he paused, reconsidering, weighing his words, “I miss the way you make me lose my breath when you kiss me. I miss how you unravel me, ruin me with your tongue and mouth around my cock. I miss the feeling of you riding me, I love how every part of you and I is riddled in pleasure as I fill you up with cum and how you don’t stop until I am barely present, and then you bring me right back. I miss how you know me. How you- how you taste. I miss you, Y/N,” he shot at lightning speed, stumbling over his words as he revealed the scenes of his long-standing collections of fantasies that echoed from when you had lived heart to heart, body to body.

The depiction set you ablaze more fiercely than before, and any hints of fear were fully replaced by a carnal greed for the man before you. Need was an understatement. You redefined sin with your voiceless urgency, pushing yourself into Seonghwa’s arms fully, feeling a considerably stronger pressure against your hips where he was standing - clearly you were not the only one who was damning the existence of locks and doors that were barring you from direct access to your apartment.

“See, was that so hard? Now, let me show you how much I miss you.”

A rush, an all consuming energy, a passion that you had not known, taken for granted and realised only when you purposefully lost it and gained it back thanks to Seonghwa being the one to not give up on you, on the flame the two of you created. Your lips moved in a seamless tandem as you stumbled forwards, pushing Seonghwa closer and closer to the door. Fortunately, he had a good enough sense of his surroundings to not trip, falling only for you. You hummed into the sensation, heat pooling to your core as you tasted the coolness of his grills. Nipping at his lush lower lip, you beckoned him to deepen the kiss, a request to which he obliged almost immediately, tilting his head for a better angle. Groaning into the intimacy, you fished out your keys, and after a couple of clumsy tries, finally heard the click of the mechanism. With his foot Seonghwa curled around the door, opening it to give the two of you access, and just barely, you managed to catch it back and slam it shut. As soon as the sound reverberated over the two of you, a switch flipped in your lover, and his hands which were previously almost tied to your hips now freely roamed your body, relearning it, tracing every curve like there was nothing better in this world. Like you were the statue of a goddess and he was a devoted sculptor, working on the masterpiece for all of eternity, aware that he would never be able to replicate the true beauty but still remaining fixated on the blessing that was the process.

Shoes left in a messy pile on the doormat - a problem for later, the two of you tripped over one another, choosing to remain in one another’s arms as you finally made it down the corridor and to your bedroom. As you stood by the frame, you ran over Seonghwa’s inner lips with your tongue, seeking access, and relishing in his taste, better than you could have ever recalled even if you made the effort to. Seonghwa tasted of longing, of a faith that was so rare you swore he was a man from long-forgotten myth or fairy tale, and of the slightest hint of strawberry that he loved so much - the first contraband not meant for human ruin that you had arranged transport and distribution for. Tongue grazing the gold that covered his lower teeth you were finally fully aware, trusting the now; you were not dreaming, you were with him, and you need not deny yourself nor him.

You led him deeper into the room, patient as he felt for the bed behind him to obediently take a seat. Taking his glasses off his head, leaving them on top of a dresser, and motioned for him to rid himself of the jacket and gloves, an order that was punctuated by the articles falling with a thud to the floor. Chuckling to yourself as you recalled Seonghwa’s usual concern with neatness and organisation, the action turned to be a confirmation of his yearning for you. Your own jacket now hanging off the back of a chair located in the far corner of the room, you sauntered back to Seonghwa, swinging a leg over his lap and taking a comfortable seat, facing him. His breath hitched as you grinded closer, feeling his clothed arousal against your body. Following the motion with a few more moves of your hips, Seonghwa gasped, letting his head fall forward, forehead hitting the crook of your neck.

“Y/N, please.”

“Please what?”

“I need you…”

“How do you need me?” you coaxed every wish out of him, gaining pleasure every time he would pause to contain his urge to hide, to back out of answering you, aware of the consequences if he dared to question or dishonour your demands in this sultry ritual.

“I need your mouth, please love, I cannot stand this.”

“But it is right here,” you pointed at your lips, reddened from the previous contact, a coy smile rendering Seonghwa helpless.

“Do you not feel it? Please Y/N I am begging you I need you to su-”

“Not so fast, pretty boy, I need you to convince me.” you cut him off before he could finish his sentence, “can you do that for me?”

“Yes, a million times yes. Please.”

“I suppose I’ll be nice and help you with my clothes,” one button, another, it seemed that Seonghwa was counting with you, ravenous. His hands undid the button and zipper of your trousers, pulling at them to ask for you to let him slide them off. In a few practised moves, you were left only in your bra and panties, a lacy white, earning whispers of praise from Seonghwa, a love for just how well the piece he had bought you some time ago looked, and you, by a twist of fate, happened to choose to wear today.

“Will you lie down for me? All the way up,” without further explanation, Seonghwa shimmied backwards until his head practically hit the headboard, eyes remaining on you, widening as you hastily took off your panties, exposing what he had been pleading for. Crawling towards him, you placed a hand on his chest to tap him out of a lustful stupor, “now darling, can you show me how much you missed my taste?” a nod, another, but you did not move, “words, Seonghwa, I need words.”

“Yes, let me taste your pussy, please.”

“Of course, since you asked so nicely.”

Positioning yourself over Seonghwa’s face, you gripped onto the headboard and lowered yourself until a hungry tongue ran over your already soaked folds, making you gasp. With tentative licks he drew tender, slow circles over your clit before dragging his tongue back to taste you fully, moving in and out of your hole, curling into it. He returned his attention to your sensitive bud, rolling right over its tip, earning a rewarding moan which spurred his eagerness to drive you to higher pleasure. Knuckles turning white from your efforts to maintain at least some illusion of balance, your breaths quickened as he continued to run his tongue over your core, accelerating the buildup of your climax with every flick. Attentive, worshipping every part of you, he sucked on your clit, relishing in the taste of your slick that now coated him. 

His hands found purchase on your thighs, levelling you and bringing you even closer to him until his nose was pressed against you, and tongue driven deeper into your wet cunt. A parched man, Seonghwa groaned against you as he felt the first signs of your approaching orgasm, with the vibration sending an electrifying jolt straight to your core. 

“Ah- Hwa I-”

“You taste so good, thank you, love,” he mumbled from under you, only to return to abusing your heat with his swift tongue, speeding up as he felt your pussy begin to clench, beg for more, and a light trembling start to course through your muscles. Burying his head between your legs and lapping at the nectar from the lustful, voracious pokes into your hole at the very base to intricate sensuality over your clit, Seonghwa drove you over the edge.

Supporting you through your orgasm with his powerful arms, he moaned as you rode it out, drinking your release and revelling in its sweetness. Stars in your vision, you struggled to lower yourself off your lover, a shudder running over your body as he lifted you a little higher, sliding upwards to give himself a better angle. The action snapped you out of a loss, and you found yourself kneeling next to him, smiling in gratitude.

“Such a good boy for me, thank you my love.”

“Always. May I… kiss you?” he inquired meekly, wondering if his present state could potentially deter you.

“Of course,”  you leaned in, closing the space, tasting yourself on Seonghwa’s lips, tongue and grills, but even then, nothing could be more perfect. His hand stretched to run over the side of your face, motivating you to come closer. Fingers in your hair, tugging ever so gently left you breathless. Breaking away, you mumbled promises against his lips, hands moving to work on his leather trousers.

Getting the hint, his top, too, was soon found strewn on the floor, leaving him in the accessories that appeared to only highlight his beauty, so meticulously picked and paired that you had to force to take your gaze away. His irresistible tanned body, every rise and fall of his chest highlighted by the shadows that decorated the room. His beguiling, glazed over expression that was trained on you as you planted kiss after kiss on his torso, each making him question if he could ever breathe again.

“I missed you, Hwa, so,” one peck, “so,” another, “much,” ending below his navel, hand hovering over his member, so painfully erect that you almost felt guilty for getting him to eat you out first.

“I missed you ah-” hand coated in precum and your spit, you positioned it at the base of his cock, causing the abrupt cut in his response. With a steady pumping, you addressed Seonghwa, feigning obliviousness.

“Sorry, you were saying?”

“I- I- fuck-” squeezing its girth, you rubbed circles over the tip, making him lose his train of thought, or its remnants.

“So?” holding his dick in place, you waited for his response before reacting to his earlier words.

“Y/N I missed you- ah shi-” upon hearing the sought after phrase you lowered your head.

Opening your mouth, you shifted position to take in as much of him as you could, gliding your tongue against the shaft in practised motions and moaning as you felt him twitch with the warmth. The dribble that ran down the still exposed length added to the wantonness of the situation as you left behind any wish to remain cautious with Seonghwa; after all, he had been explicit with his love for ruin. Centering yourself, you relax your jaw further, taking in more until you could sense the tip approaching the back of your throat. You placed one hand on your lover’s pubic bone, warning him to not buck his hips, even though you were perfectly trusting of him remaining obedient. Dragging your head up and back down, it was easier moving to the sounds escaping from Seonghwa’s throat.

Gripping onto the bed sheets, he was abandoning the clarity and resolve with which he had showed up at your door so many times. Rose after rose he had not been sure if it was you he was convincing or himself. But here, amidst the unfathomably divine pleasure, Seonghwa was merely grateful for how trivial it was, how natural it was for you to take him back. His high was fast-approaching, but before he could act on it you were already removing yourself with a lewd pop, fingers between your folds and twisting to massage your overstimulated clit. Unclasping your bra, you noticed Seonghwa’s otherwise unfocused gaze immediately switching to paying close attention to your breasts, cock twitching in anticipation as you repositioned yourself to be on top of him. Teasing the tip of his leaking member by trailing it between your folds, you watched Seonghwa’s face contort in pleasure once more, wholly submitted to you as you guided it inside of your pussy. As you sank down on him, sighing from the way in which he filled you up, pushing against your walls in all the right places, Seonghwa grunted, eyes squeezed shut, overwhelmed from the stimulation. It was clear that he was using all the strength he had left to hold himself back from acting rashly - he wanted you, he missed you, and he was not about to let this heaven go. 

You started to ride him, hands on either side of his body as you lifted your hips only to drive them back down, sheathing his member inside your cunt. Conscious of the fact that he should let you take the full lead, Seonghwa took to searching for anything better to hold than the sheets, crumpled into oblivion and leaving little in terms of comfort. Grounding him as you rocked your hips forward and back, you found his arms, gliding upwards until your fingers intertwined. Seonghwa’s eyes snapped open and he stared at you open-mouthed, in disbelief at your initiative for what he had clearly remembered you labelling as ‘too close for comfort’. Instead of abandoning the gesture, you tightened your hold, your own moans amplifying and joining his breathlessness as the knot in your core grew tighter and tighter with every thrust. 

“Is this- what- you cannot live without, Hwa?”

“Fuck- yes, yes, yes-” words spilled out of him while you picked up speed, spurred on by the nudge of his hips that signified he was close. When he was not submerging himself into pure darkness, he could only manage to register the rhythmic motion of your breasts and an 

“Can’t stop thinking of this pussy even when your cock is stuffed inside, huh?”

“Love this pussy- please, Y/N…”

“Love to be fucked dumb by me?”

“Yes, please I- I am so close Y/N…” his wavering voice and feeble pants cried for affection, which you readily provided even though you had no plans of slowing down.

“I know, baby. Fill me up, fill me up with your cum. You can do it darling-”

Seonghwa did not need any more encouragement. With a final groan, suppressed only by a snapping of his jaw to turn the sound into a prolonged hiss, his hips bucked uncontrollably into you, painting your pulsing walls with ropes of white, the awaited release rendering any speech into indecipherable babble. But you still had your high to chase, and restarted your movements, grinding your hips over his throbbing member to build up your climax while Seonghwa held onto you, whining from the excessive stimulation.

“Such a good boy for me, letting me cum over your cock.”

“I- this is too much I-”

“Are you feeling okay, baby?”

“Don’t, please do not stop- I want to make you- ah, cum,” he answered, each word uneven as you raised yourself repeatedly until, with one final movement and the stroke of the tip against your most sensitive spot, you collapsed on top of your lover, a shiver running over you as your pussy clenched around his dick, milking him of the last of his release.

Rolling over to the side, but not quite wishing to move, you remained in one another’s arms, sweat glistening in the night light, adoration ablaze in every feature. Sliding out his softening member from your warmth, a shy smile adorned his lips as a mixture of slick and cum followed, spilling onto your gorgeous thighs. He tapped you on the shoulder, helping you up so that your faces would be level with one another, and pressed his forehead to yours. He focused on your proximity, pulling you closer, closer until there was no space left. He never wanted to let you go. Never again. If you so wished, you could walk away, but he was sure that his heart would remain with you.

If you wanted to, you could throw it away, burn it, cut it into pieces, but it would still be yours. As he saw his future being written in your pupils, he planted a loving kiss on your lips, for it to be returned with just as much feeling. No longer did you wish to hide it away from him. Your emotion, your expression and vision were his. It was clear to you that there was no one else in this universe who could be trusted more than him. If he so wished, you would let him leave you in the cold. If he decided you need not create, you would agree. If innovation was not in his plans, you would follow. In love was sacrifice, in love was offering, in love was future, in love were you and him. It was as simple as the unfurling of a pearl white rose, as clear as ink on white paper.

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[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I don’t know if you already wrote about this so forgive me if this is a repeat question but, what do you think about Leona’s depression? I feel it’s pretty obvious in game and yet it’s always glossed over as him being ‘lazy’ idk but I don’t find many talking about his really shitty mental health with any seriousness.

Surprisingly I haven't addressed this (at least not in detail)! So thank you for bringing this to my attention; I definitely feel like I've heard people (especially Leona fans) discuss this quite frequently. If you look in the right places, you’re sure to find insightful commentary on the subject! I know I certainly have, but I've yet to say my own piece on it yet.

Now, before I actually get to actually rambling, I want to preface this post with a few points so we can walk in knowing the perspective I'm coming from. Analysis isn't a "one size fits all"! My experiences and background will color the lenses through which I view Leona’s mental health.

First and foremost, I usually don't go out of my way to claim, "this character has X condition" beyond what is outright stated or implied in canon. That does NOT mean that I disapprove of fans who may have their headcanons that say otherwise or project onto or relate to characters' mental health. You can consume the media you like however you want! I am just saying that I don't have this preference so I feel somewhat uncomfortable speaking on this matter.

Secondly, I am trying to approach this situation from a very clinical viewpoint (as I do have knowledge in this area). This means that when I look for “implications” or read between the lines, I am doing so as objectively as I can. It’s how I choose to process and understand characters from a health angle. This does not mean that my opinion is certain; you could very well find someone else in this area that gives you the opposite opinion. As always, I warn you that my response is for fun, it is NOT meant to be taken as medical advice.

Lastly, PLEASE READ THE ENTIRE POST before you comment or share your own thoughts. I'm up for having a discussion, but I ask that you not do so without getting the full context of my thoughts. It’s a lot of information, and I did my best to break it down in a way that (I hope!!) is easy to understand.

CONTENT WARNING: due to the nature of the question at hand, I will be discussing or mentioning potentially triggering topics such as ***depression, suicidal ideation, dieting, homophobia, and substance abuse.*** Please look away if you are not in the right headspace to read about such topics.

Okay, let's rip the band-aid off now: I don't think Leona is clinically depressed.

Pause. Rewind. Take note of my careful wording there: clinically depressed. I don't think Leona is clinically depressed. What does that mean, and how does that relate to "being depressed"?

I think when people describe Leona as "depressed", they commonly mean that he "has depression", not that he is just feeling sad or has low self-esteem. By "having depression", I'm going to assume they are referring to "major depressive disorder", which is the technical term for the condition.

"It's just an abbreviation of the longer term. What's the issue with using 'depression'?” you're probably wondering. “You understand that we mean major depressive disorder.” Well, equating the two does NOT a diagnosis make.

Mental conditions such as major depressive disorder are documented in a handbook known as the DSM (or the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders). The latest version, the DSM-5-TR (5th edition with text revisions), was published in 2022. The DSM is a manual that sets forth criteria for each diagnosis in its pages. Of course, this includes major depressive disorder—and it may surprise you to learn that Leona does not meet its diagnostic criteria.

A diagnosis of "depression" (the term I will henceforth be using as shorthand for the disorder) is much more than having persistent feelings of sadness or hopelessness, being unmotivated/lazy, and wanting to sleep often. (I bring up these three things specifically because they are the ones I see being pointed at most frequently to “prove” the diagnosis.)

In order to be formally diagnosed, an individual must be experiencing at least 5 or more of the following symptoms during the same 2-week period:

Depressed mood most of the day, nearly every day.

Markedly diminished interest or pleasure in all, or almost all, activities most of the day, nearly every day.

Significant weight loss when not dieting or weight gain, or decrease or increase in appetite nearly every day.

A slowing down of thought and a reduction of physical movement (observable by others, not merely subjective feelings of restlessness or being slowed down).

Fatigue or loss of energy nearly every day.

Feelings of worthlessness or excessive or inappropriate guilt nearly every day.

Diminished ability to think or concentrate, or indecisiveness, nearly every day.

Recurrent thoughts of death, recurrent suicidal ideation without a specific plan, or a suicide attempt or a specific plan for committing suicide.

At least one of the symptoms should be either 1) depressed mood or 2) loss of interest or pleasure in activities they previously found enjoyable. Furthermore, the symptoms must cause what is known as "clinically significant distress", which is defined by impairment in important areas of functioning. This includes, but is not limited to, socialization, occupation, and/or education. The symptoms must also not be the result of substance abuse or another medical condition, and the individual must ever have experienced mania or hypomania.

Let’s briefly go through each criterion + additional documents and see what evidence there is or isn’t to support it:

We do not have his medical records to cross reference, so for the sake of convenience let’s assume no underlying or additional medical conditions.

We must consider additional context about family, lifestyle, etc. which can confound his symptoms. For example, as a prince, Leona has grown up having most things done for him by servants. This is what he is used to. So when we observe Leona not doing basic things for himself (getting food, doing laundry, making his bed), how much of this can we truly attribute to an underlying condition and how much of this can we attribute to Leona being accustomed to a certain kind of lifestyle?

Leona (at least from what we know of) does not experience mania, nor is he depicted as taking mind or behavior altering substances.

Of the first two criteria, Leona must fit into one: either 1) depressed mood most of the day, nearly every day, or 2) markedly diminished interest or pleasure in all, or almost all, activities most of the day, nearly every day. These depend on how you interpret his actions and behaviors. Personally, I don’t think Leona strongly fits into 2 because he still has an interest in his hobbies like Magift/Spelldrive and playing chess (though his involvement in it varies depending on the context). I will concede that there is stronger evidence for 1 over 2, as Leona has definitely expressed sadness and despair regarding himself and his future prospects. It is these thoughts that drive him away from home and keep contact with his family at a minimum. It is these thoughts that prevent him from seeing himself as worthy or even capable of change—a sentiment he shares in book 6, when he encourages Jamil but does not grant himself the same kindness or optimism. For this reason, we will go with the first criterion.

He has not experienced notable weight loss nor gain, nor a notable increase or decrease in appetite. Regarding his general diet, Leona has expressed a preference for meat and rejects vegetables. This by itself does not really provide any useful information in of itself; many people have this preference.

Leona does not experience a slowing down of thought. He is still very sharp and quick-witted in responding to his surroundings, especially in potentially dangerous ones, and coming up with an appropriate plan to counter. It can be argued that Leona has had a reduction in physical movement, as many characters often make remarks about how they perceive him as lazy or not doing much. However, this criterion actually refers to the speed at which one completes an activity and as far as I know, Leona is not said to be moving sluggishly, he only conducts himself in a manner that can be described as "lazily elegant". Even if we stretched the definition to encompass long-term goals he is putting off (like graduation), this criteria is still not counted for Leona since the wording used in the DSM-5-TR states “slowing down of thought AND reduction in physical movement” must be present. In other words, both must be true, not just one of them.

Leona does seem to experience some level of fatigue or loss of energy. This could be one way of interpreting his desire to sleep excessively instead of tending to more meaningful matters (like class). Fatigue, in this case, can also refer to emotional or mental fatigue. The sleep, then, can serve as a means of escape from reality for Leona, but it does not indicate actual physical tiredness. Rather, the tiredness can be intangible. This is also a potential explanation for his lack of motivation when it comes to some activities, especially those that demand him to take charge.

Leona does appear to experience feelings of worthlessness, though perhaps not excessive or inappropriate guilt. In fact, I would wager Leona does not demonstrate the latter, although this could be attributed to the fact that we are not in his head and he does not open up to others about his feelings. For example, we still don't know what his feelings are on almost killing Ruggie in a fit of rage. This does not discredit this criterion though, as the wording in the DSM is “feelings of worthlessness OR […] guilt” meaning one or the other suffices. It is no secret that Leona seeks recognition for his skills—something he was denied as a child and even put down for. While he is aware of his strengths, he has moments when he doubts himself (stating that he can’t change, or giving up when he realizes his plans won’t work so what’s the point in trying?), the contributions he can make (even when his older brother reassures him he can help their country), and encouragement from others (Jack telling him his play inspired him).

As I've said before, Leona does not have a diminished ability to think or concentrate. It has been shown to us time and time again that he doesn't do schoolwork not for lack of trying or lack of understanding, but because he thinks of himself as above it. Leona has already been tutored by the finest teachers royal money can buy, so he believes there is not much else for him to learn. He is also not shown to be indecisive--he can make decisions very quickly and can guide others or at least convince them to go along with him.

Leona does not have suicidal ideation or have recurring thoughts of committing suicide/death. While it's true that this is a game rated for ages 4+ (and therefore has restrictions on what content is and is not allowed in it), TWST has demonstrated to us that there are ways to imply suicidal ideation and other dark themes without explicitly saying it. (One notable example is Idia in late book 6, where he drops lines like "I'll go with you" and expresses dissatisfaction with "this world" to Ortho, who is known to be dead. To this, Ortho reassures him and encourages him to keep living. In fact, I could go on a whole tangent about how Idia better fits the criteria for major depressive disorder, but we're not going to get into that here.) The fact that TWST does not really imply this about Leona makes me think this is not true of him.

It can be said that the symptoms Leona does have are clinically significant, as his behavior is shown to have significant impact on his studies to the point where he was held back a grade. This was not because he did not know the material, but because he failed to find the motivation to attend class and to do his assignments. It also appears that Leona didn't really make an effort to work toward his future until book 7, when he actually talks his internship plans and about wanting to graduate.

We may guess that the symptoms persisted for two weeks or more (given Leona’s history and involvement in the main story), but the frequency of the symptoms is unclear since the game controls what we see of Leona and what we don’t.

Taking all of that into consideration, Leona does in fact exhibit depressive symptoms, but only 3 at most (I say “at most” because we have no idea about the true frequency at which some behaviors occur; we aren’t with Leona 24/7, nor has he reported it to us) out of the 8 total criteria. That’s 2 short of a diagnosis.

“But wait, there’s a lot of information missing here! We don’t have medical records, his weight and appetite changes, etc.” That’s true—but see, the main issue I take with diagnosing fictional characters in the first place is that we oftentimes do not know a character in detail enough to understand the full scope of their lives and symptoms. Noticing a few details is one thing and valid to an extent, but to evaluate an individual is not purely observational. This is particularly true for TWST characters, as even though there is plenty of content to refer back to for behavior, there is still a lack of really going into daily activities or deep feelings (beyond the one post-OB flashback for the OB boys). We cannot observe their behavior extensively. Because of this, tons of key criteria may not be visible to us from the audience’s perspective, let alone a medical history or other data to consider for assessment. We will almost always have an incomplete profile of a fictional character. Health is holistic and not entirely based on what we as individuals see or on all anecdotal evidence.

Just as health considers all parts of the individual, we, too, must consider individual cases of depression. It is possible for depression to exist without a diagnosis—many people (especially older adults), unfortunately, go undiagnosed for their condition. At the same time, it is possible for Leona to have depression which manifests in an atypical way. Each person with depression presents differently than the last, so I so not intend to make any blanket statements about the general population with this condition. The only statement I am making here is that based on my own interpretation of the current lore TWST has granted is, Leona Kingscholar does not satisfy the criteria for a formal clinical diagnosis, at least not for major depressive disorder as is defined by the DSM-5-TR.

Interestingly, Leona does fit the diagnostic criteria for a subclinical form of depression in a 1994 version of the DSM (IV). Minor depression or minor depressive disorder, colloquially known as “everyday depression”, is defined as having 2–4 depressive symptoms persisting for more than 2 weeks. One of these symptoms must be either depressed mood or loss of interest. It should be noted that this terminology is no longer recognized, as new information is added and dropped from the manual all the time. The information is flexible based on the consensus of a panel of hundreds of experts. Older versions of the DSM can be horribly outdated and it is not advised to reference them over newer ones. (As an example, "homosexuality" was legitimately listed as a mental illness in the very first version of the DSM. Yikes. Thankfully, this was dropped from the DSM-II. Other conditions like "multiple personality disorder" are granted new names like "dissociative identity disorder" or reworked altogether as our studies and understanding of mental health and science improve. It is important to keep up with the research coming out and update our approaches accordingly.)

We do not currently have a label for Leona’s situation aside from perhaps experiencing depressive episodes (periods of notable sadness lasting under 2 weeks) and exhibiting some depressive symptoms. I must stress that just because we lack a full-blown diagnosis, it doesn’t mean that it doesn’t impact his life. Leona is shown to very clearly be struggling with his mental health. He spends a lot of time in bed, typically cannot be motivated to attend class or do complete assignments, and has moments where he thinks very lowly of himself in spite of the confidence he exudes to others. What's more is that because Leona does not speak to others about what he's going through, it comes off as laziness or arrogance to his peers. Think of it this way: if you have a bad day and snap at a stranger or an acquaintance, the stranger/acquaintance is far less likely to grant you grace or forgiveness for your behavior compared to, say, a friend. They are not as familiar with you, so they will have less patience and are less likely to consider what you may be going through on a personal level. This also applies on a fandom level; if a fan is not actively reading between the lines, they, like Leona's peers, may miss the depressive symptoms he is displaying because they aren't looking for it. How many people can we say are close friends with Leona for him to open up to them about his circumstances? I would say Leona barely even lets his own dorm members be intimate enough with him to let them know about this part of himself. He has Savanaclaw backing him, but he probably does not talk to the mobs extensively. Ruggie is his errand boy, but I doubt Leona pours his heart out to him. And Jack is the newbie who did technically betray their dorm, so Leona might not trust him. Forget about people beyond his dorm. Even his family is not much better off; we've seen that Leona tends to brush off his brother's friendliness and attempts to make amends. There is no strong support system in place for him, which is tricky because Leona perpetuates it by keeping others at bay. In the light novel adaptation of book 2, Leona has an inner monologue about how he is afraid of letting others give him hope because it will encourage him to try again, only to fail another time. I imagine similar logic applies here; he is afraid of showing his vulnerable side because it might give him hope for change when he as late as book 6 expresses that he has given up on himself. I think that this is the detail about Leona most look to when they consider his mental health. The hallmark of depression is, after all, the feeling of perpetual sadness and despair itself. Most do not realize that other factors are considered.

From a clinical lens, it is not “obvious" that Leona is depressed. However, I understand why the prevailing sentiment tends to skew in the opposite direction. For the layman, it may be difficult to distinguish what is and is not clinically significant enough to warrant an actual diagnosis. Again, most will cite the same three pieces of information to support the depression reading: Leona's irritability, his unwillingness to participate, and the rejection he experienced as a child (which has now manifested as self-doubt and low self-esteem). Characters are often judged based on fans' own experiences, and this naturally comes with biases and subjectivity. Thus, some fans may project their own understanding or preconceived notions of what the "typical" depressed person acts like in their head onto Leona. This is normal human empathy at play. I believe that other fans see depression in Leona either because they experience it themselves or are familiar with someone in the same shoes. It can be difficult, and at times we can find solace and solidarity in fiction, especially if we find a character that “speaks to us” and seems relatable. That character may be Leona for some people. If you see do see him in this light or relate to his situation, I’m not invalidating your feelings. On the contrary, I'm happy that you were able to find comfort in him and that a piece of media you love can serve as a coping mechanism. You keep on doing you!

It is at this point that I will reiterate what I said at the start with a little extra nuance: I do not think Leona clinically depressed BUT I do believe he has depressive symptoms and poor mental health as the result of his cumulative circumstances. It is possible for him to have major depressive disorder, but we cannot determine this for certain with the information available to us right now. We are still missing several key components that would typically be considered in the evaluation process.

I think it's important to step back from focusing on labels and instead focus on the individual experience, and how you can still grow as a person and not let a perceived label define you. Leona is definitely working on himself! Changing, particularly changing a deeply ingrained mindset, takes much time and effort. We may not see the progress since Leona tends to hide it and/or we have limited intractions with him. We may not always see giant strides because the process is difficult. Even so, Leona is trying to jump over those mental and emotional hurdles. He's putting his all back into Magift/Spelldrive training. He's attending classes and doing the assignments. He's going home for the holidays. He has an internship planned. He wants to graduate. I've enjoyed following Leona's journey of growth and self-development and seeing all the intense discussion surrounding that. It all comes from a place of love and wanting to support the characters we care about, no matter how we may individually view him.

[deadsetromance]

literally anything with gerard way please im begging

FORGET ME

not my gif!

gerard way x gn!reader

summary:  you can’t tell if you’re unwelcome in the band, or if you’re reading too much into things. maybe it would be best if you just left…

warnings: angst! , language, non edited writing. a happy ending if you read between the lines.

note:  thank you for the request!!! i hope you enjoy ! i’ve seen several ideas like this and i finally thought i’d try my hand with a band scenario :)

you wished things were simpler.

you wished gerard wouldn’t toy with your feelings the way he did. you wished there was more to it all then holding hands in the darker corners of the backstage lots. you wished you could show more than shy glances and quiet whispers when you were wrapped together in hotel beds. you wished you actually knew what you had with him.

you wished he wasn’t the lead singer and that you weren’t just the drummer.

for once, you wanted to be selfish…to put your foot down and scream, and say that it wasn’t fair. you wanted to be able to have it your own way, to finally be able to breathe.

but you were never really good at sticking up for yourself.

☠︎ ☠︎ ☠︎ ☠︎

you never particularly liked the way you looked in magazines. maybe it was the poses, or the fake blood, or…. it didn’t matter though, you promised your mother you’d send her one. you did it with every magazine you’d find in convince stores, you’d write her a note and have the guys sign it for you before you posted it off to her. 

the issue you were flipping through boasted an “exclusive” interview with the members of my chemical romance on page thirteen, and you smiled thinly. at least the pictures they used were nice. 

the man at the register cleared his throat, and you looked up. “you gonna pay for that?” you looked around, to find the store empty. he gestured at you again, and you quickly walked up to the counter, pulling out your wallet. your shoes squeaked against the linoleum.

you stood awkwardly as he rang you up. was he looking at you funny, or were you just imagining it? you didn’t speak much as you paid, handing over a five dollar bill. you would have bought a pack of cigarettes too, but frank had borrowed money from you, and all you had was whatever change you got from the five. 

you banged your elbow on the way out of the market. it was colder outside compared to the store, perhaps because of the morning rain. hopefully they had the heater on in the bus.

if only the bus had been in the parking lot.  

like the inside of the store, the parking lot was empty. they had left you behind. again.

you used the payphone behind the gas station to call gerard. when he didn’t answer, you called frank, then mikey, then ray. no one answered. you should have expected it, really. 

you had no money for a taxi. it seemed as if you had no choice but to walk to the hotel, though you didn’t know where that was. you walked away from the store, guessing which direction the bus went. it was a shot in the dark, and all you could do was hope that it wouldn’t start raining as you walked.

☠︎ ☠︎ ☠︎ ☠︎

the cuffs of your jeans were soaked by the time you made it to the hotel. it was late, and the hotel staff looked mildly worried at your arrival.

they told you that the others had arrived earlier, and already settled into the room. they had headed out to a restaurant without a care as to where you were. 

you had your pick of bed, though your choice was limited to one or the other.it was a sort of roulette to see who you would be sharing with. you’d go to bed angry tonight, bitter, and fall asleep long before they came back from dinner. 

☠︎ ☠︎ ☠︎ ☠︎

 you had a headache. the lights in the interview room seemed too bright, and the arm of the sofa wasn’t very comfortable. gerard woke you up earlier than you would have liked. it was fine though… you just had to finish the interview first and then you could sleep on the bus. you tried not to think about the morning, when you had woken up curled into gerard. maybe you should have slept on the couch, saved yourself the trouble of whatever inner turmoil you had going on. 

you didn’t speak much, with most of the questions being directed to gerard and frank. not that you minded, because the interview would go by faster that way. 

the journalist was a guy you knew from kerrang! you couldn’t remember where you met him though…maybe at a gig or…

“i hate to make you pick favorites, but for this next question you’re gonna have to.” now you remembered. he did a one-on-one a few months ago, backstage before a festival. “let’s start with gerard.” 

you didn’t really want to answer the question, so you listened instead. you’d make something up when it was your turn, and hopefully you were last to answer. 

“well, thats hard… i mean i love all the guys, and mikey’s my brother, and frank and ray are so talented…i dunno” gerard laughed, sliding down the couch. 

frank looked like he was about vibrate out of his seat as he beamed at the camera. “well, ray is just an amazing artist and he get’s so fuckin’ into what he does.”“i mean i, guess he’s my favorite, because i’ve just learned so much from him, really.” 

ray was next. “well i mean i get along with them all, but i think i’d have to say gerard, just because i’ve known him for the longest.” 

you wanted to yell at the interviewer for asking the question. you felt like you were going to puke as you waited for mikey to think about it. “uh…i don’t… i mean maybe my brother gerard?” 

you pretended not to care that you hadn’t been mentioned once. was it because you were a drummer? because you hadn’t been with them since the start? because you were replaceable? 

“y/n? what about you?” you’d pretend their answers didn’t hurt, and so you smiled just as bright as before. you just had to get through this interview and then you could take a nap on the bus. 

“i don’t really think that’s a fair question,” you just had to answer a few more questions and then you could get back on the bus. “y’know i don’t really think i have a favorite. well, i mean…can’t i say that they’re all my favorites? guess i love them all the same.” hopefully they wouldn’t ask you to elaborate, because you didn’t know if you could.

you felt like it was too quiet when you finished talking. maybe it was shame…maybe you should have kept your mouth shut and picked someone.

the interview felt like it dragged on after. you tried to stay on your best behavior, but as every minute passed by you felt the life drain out of you. 

the interviewer didn’t notice the way your smile dropped every time you were ignored, or spoken over. he didn’t notice, but the fans watching the interview would. 

☠︎ ☠︎ ☠︎ ☠︎

you felt drained. interviews always made you stressed, and added onto the poor nights sleep you had last night, you felt awful. 

the interview went terribly, so you smoked by the dumpster behind the building. hopefully you could forget about everything.

 frank had been talking to one of the producers, but they should have wrapped everything up by now. you put out your cigarette and headed back to the bus.

you would have been worried about keeping everyone waiting, but it was clear that you hadn’t. they had left without you. again.

never in your life had you felt so small. you wanted to scream, or, cry, or do something. you didn’t. it was instinctual, the phone number you dialed was second nature. 

your voice was calm as you told gerard to turn the bus around. you didn’t care to hear his explanation, if he gave one at all. you waited for them to come back and pick you up.

you didn’t understand how they forgot about you again, and again, and again. fuck, this time you had been sitting right next to them for nearly an hour. yet you were gone for less then five minutes, and they had forgotten about you. 

you didn’t understand how gerard could be so sweet to you, only to act like you didn’t exist. he was gentle when he woke you up, when you found yourself wrapped in his arms. so why did he forget about you so often? why did he ignore you, and speak over you? he made everything so much harder.

the bus pulled into the parking lot before you could think about anything too deeply.

you ignored them and their pleas and apologies. you didn’t care, and you were far too tired to put up with their bullshit. 

frank followed you to your bunk, but you pushed him away, pretending to read the magazine on your bed. it took time, but in the end he got the hint and left you alone. 

irony was bitter on your tongue when you looked at the page you had opened to. it was the magazine you bought from the convenience store the day before, opened to your interview.

you could hear a whispered conversation coming from the front of the bus, and you grit your teeth. still, your eyes scanned over the print, intrigued, because you couldn’t remember that particular interview for the life of you.

“…oh yeah, touring with my chem is just an amazing experience! i mean i’ve only been with them for a year maybe? it’s just great. i wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. 

sure touring has its ups and downs, but i love it. okay…so i’ve been left behind a rest stops a few times, and it does get hard, but i have so much respect for the guys. 

you can tell they love what they do, and i love being a part of not only the creative process, but just…being able to do what i do?! its awesome!! the fans are amazing, and i wouldn’t be where i am without them, seriously! 

really i wouldn’t want to be doing this with any other band.”

you wished you hadn’t read it. you looked so happy in the picture they printed, smiling and crammed into the group photo. what happened?

a part of you wished you never joined the band. it was nothing but heartache, just like what you felt now. you were angry, and so tired, and above all confused. 

your picture beamed up at you from the page, and you felt nothing but white-hot anger. with a scream, you hurled the magazine out from your bunk, not caring where it landed. 

it wasn’t until your breathing became uneven that you realized you were crying. the conversation in the front of the bus stilled, and you heard worried footsteps. 

while you couldn’t stop your crying, you still rolled over, and did your best to pretend you didn’t notice them. someone was standing outside your bunk…you could feel it. but you ignored them, and cried yourself to sleep.

☠︎ ☠︎ ☠︎ ☠︎

you wanted to pretend yesterday had been a bad dream. the magazine sitting on the table, opened to page thirteen, let you know that it wasn’t.

the second you crawled out of your bunk and to the dining area everyone’s head snapped up. you hated it.

you didn’t know what to say or where to look. so you looked at the cup of coffee on the table. you knew it was meant for you, the mug was your favorite, and whoever had prepared it made it just the way you liked your coffee. you wanted to cry.

the “i quit,” spilled out of your lips before you could stop yourself. you were met with protests, and apologies, and pleads, but you didn’t listen. “i hope you can find a drummer, because i’m done here.” 

deep down some twisted part of you enjoyed their reactions.

���︎ ☠︎ ☠︎ ☠︎

you had started to pack your shit and call in a few favors. your apartment seemed so empty when you thought of it, so you’d couch surf for a while. 

no one had talked to you since you ‘quit’. not that you minded entirely…it made things easier. thursday’s show would be your last with the band you decided. you refused to let them treat you the way they did, refused to listen to any of their reasoning. maybe you were jumping the gun...but you didn’t care. right?

the air was crisp, and you could near see your breath when you stepped out to stretch your legs. it felt too early to be at a rest stop, the sun barely peeking above the horizon. you leaned against the bus as you smoked, a habit you’d come upon after being left behind more often than not. 

it wouldn’t really matter if they had left without you this time, you were already on your way out.

it was strange, the way that you could pick gerards footsteps from the rest of the guys. you could tell it was him coming down the steps before you even caught sight of him. 

“hey.” he sounded shy…and it all felt so unnatural. you almost felt bad. “i just wanted to say that we- i’m sorry.” 

“okay.” couldn’t he see that the apology had come too late? you wouldn’t lie…wouldn’t say it was okay and then act like you were one big happy family again. 

“you have every right to leave. we’ve treated you like shit.” it was all starting to sink in. it all seemed so final…so foreign. you were leaving and that was it. this whole time you hadn’t even stopped to think…jumping at chances before you even weighed your options. 

“why?”

“i don’t know. and i know i can’t speak for the others. it’s just weird…being on tour. it takes its toll y’know? and i just get in my head. some days i feel like i’m still asleep. but that doesn’t make it okay.”

“i know.” listening to him bear his soul like that was hard, but he still left you feeling like you were buried in questions. “leaving me behind and all that wouldn’t have hurt so much. but i never knew where we stood. what we were…” he took a sharp breath, and you flicked the ash of your cigarette away. “keeping it a secret–hiding in dark corners and trying not to get caught–that’s what hurt the most.”

“i really do care about you. i know i didn’t do the best job at showing it and… fuck i was keeping you at arms length.” his shoulder brushed against yours and for a moment the both of you fell into tired silence. “you can hate me, but i’m putting it all out on the table. i really really like you. and i want to fix this. i don’t want to lose you.” maybe you were stupid for loving him, even though he left you behind at rest stops and hurt your feelings so often. but your chest squeezed, and for once you stopped to think for a moment. 

is this really what you wanted? cutting it all short so abruptly like this? a part of you mourned what you knew would never come to be. but somewhere inside you…this little coil of something you couldn’t understand slithered around. you were moving so fast, and you didn’t want to let go. 

you knew what you were going to do.

“we can start over. make it real…if you want.” you couldn’t seem to help but squeeze back when his hand found yours. “we’ll keep in touch okay? i’ll sit the rest of this tour out…take a breather. and then we’ll see how it goes from there.” 

you talked well until the sun came up…about the new drummer replacing you—tucker—,about plans for the future, about stupid mistakes, and whatever else you could think about. they would go on with the tour and do good and play music. you knew that.

 he wished you luck, and you kissed him. it felt like a goodbye and new beginnings all in one.

 you wouldn’t take back your resignation…you wouldn’t forgive, at least not for now. but you would look at things a little differently now.

 you’d climb back into the bus, the guilt that had been bubbling in your stomach dying down a little. you would play your last show, and then climb into a taxi and head back the way you came. this time…with four less people.

[sugar-grigri]

I think I remember you making references to Fire Punch in a few analysis post so I assume you've read that one, but have you read Goodbye Eri, and if so do you have any particular thoughts you want to share on it? It might be my favorite, although it's hard to rank Fujimoto's works because there's something different I like about all of them.

Hi Yuta! or is it Fujimoto?

2022, Goodbye Eri is released and I'm in for a huge slap in the face! I've finally got the chance to talk about it, so thank you!

It's hard to come after the war after this one-shot has been the subject of so much analysis, interpretation and criticism. But I think it's a work that's deliberately designed to be a trap, and the first mistake would be to try absolutely hard to determine whether Goodbye Eri is true or false. 

Trying to detect the true and the false is futile, not that it's really impossible, but arguments could be several pages long and the theories put forward would remain mere hypotheses because no explicit confirmation is given. Quite simply because this is not the aim of the work, nor a satisfactory way of reading it. 

For example, when Yuta's father seems to be getting angry with Eri, we understand from Eri's "And Cut!!!" that it was all a set-up. So, as a good reader, we can only assume that what follows is pure reality. However, the father, now an actor, if he should play his line differently.

As another illustration, when Eri is close to death and Yuta are talking, there are a few hints that they might have a relationship, but this is denied by Yuta himself, in a discussion with Eri's friend. 

The film plays with this to such an extent that all sorts of theories are possible. It could just as easily be interpreted as there being only two films (on Yuta's mother and then on Eri's death), two films but in different ways: one about Yuta's mother and a second film about Eri, as a vampire, with the end scene played by Yuta's father and by Eri before her death.

This explains why, even after Eri's death, Yuta continues to film because the film isn't actually finished yet, the editing being there to reverse the scenes played chronologically, to make it look as if Eri was still alive, and so on. ..

As you can see, it all makes sense, and our preference is purely personal because they all work. But I'm not going to play that game, because it only shows me one thing, and that's that the plot surrounding Eri is deliberately obscure. 

I've seen a lot of people describe Goodbye Eri as a work about dealing with death - the way we want to remember those we've lost, etc... It's about mourning, symbolically saying goodbye, hence the title. Which is true! But it goes further than that.

Eri's plot is deliberately obscure because the right way to appropriate the work is not through her. She's the character we know least about. Physically alone, we learn that she wore glasses and braces. Mentally, she was more annoying than she seemed in the movie. Eri is a mirage in which we won't find answers, so we have to learn to say goodbye.

The only reliable information given in this OS is that everything is filmed by Yuta's phone. And in reality, you know Yuta better than Eri, so it's him you should turn to...

Hi Yuta!

Yuta is almost never shown in this OS, as he is always filming. And when he is shown accurately, it's when he's inspired by other films by watching them with Eri, in other words, he's continuing to work on his own film by watching others. 

Yuta's first film began as a result of his mother's narcissistic desire, as he was celebrating his birthday, discovering his gift, a smartphone, all of which was directly taken over by his mother, who asked him to film her until she died.

By keeping only the good sides of his mother, ignoring all the abusive parts of her, Yuta does not follow his parent's wishes, he does it for himself, showing what he himself wants to retain from his childhood, his story, in order to move forward properly.

But as everything is filmed, it gives the impression that the videos have been passively lined up without any sorting, without any choice. Yuta takes his revenge because he refuses to film his mother until the day she dies, stopping before then, preferring an explosion to conclude his film. It's brutal because it's as if Yuta's tastes, his little touch of fantasy, are suddenly surfacing, while the rest of the film is just as personal, just as him. So when his film is mocked, it's a work so personal that Yuta wants to die. 

It's not insignificant that it's Eri who intervenes, whose only certainty was that she loved not only the films but also Yuta's, simply because she saw not only Yuta's mother in this film but also him, whom she considered to be the best character. She wasn't revolted by the ending, because she was aware of Yuta's touch throughout the film. The same ambiguity then resurfaces, we don't know if Eri is in love with Yuta, she corrects him to say that it's these films, the two are so linked, that liking Yuta's films is tantamount to liking the teenager. 

Yuta follows Eri's desire to produce a film that is above all personal to him, to the point that when Eri sees her last moments narrated by him, she sees Yuta more than herself, because she is seen through someone else's eyes. 

For me, there aren't two or three films, but just one from start to finish. Because you see, we've said goodbye to Eri, we've got out of her tricky story to reflect on Yuta, but we still haven't stepped back enough. Because you know who made the film, and it's not Yuta, it's Fujimoto. So, third stage :

let's salute Fujimoto. 

The film we've just seen in this OS deals with a number of overlapping themes, the way in which a loved one is portrayed, the relationship with others, death, creation, but above all, the extent to which a work is personal. Goodbye Eri is a pretext for Fujimoto to show us the extent to which even the cutting is the fruit of reflection, is already a message.

In this OS, all the boxes are in the video format of a smartphone, each moving, static shot depends on Yuta, just as each shot is in the third row, drawn by someone.

People make the mistake, like the first audience of Yuta's film about his mother, of relating to works as linear stories to be trusted, even if they film his mother every day, Yuta's editing is his way of counting a story, it is certainly not the truth in all its neutrality. It's only at the moment of the explosion, which expresses the most of Yuta's personality, that people get upset.

This offbeat, absurd explosion is something that Fujimoto punctuates in his works, yet they are both thought out and personal to him. But they are often mocked as a way of poking fun at his work. What Fujimoto is saying is that the work doesn't become brutally personal for the controversial, offbeat moments, just the way he depicts a scene from life is personal. 

People believed this version of the author's mother, otherwise they wouldn't be outraged by this disgraceful way of portraying this nice woman at the end, so in itself, Yuta's film worked. But all this is just a pretext for Fujimoto to point out that he is the author of all his other works, CSM, Fire Punch, Look Back, Just Listen to the Song... They are just like another film made in response to the positive or negative reactions of the others.

Fujimoto likes to trace the common ground between these works, which respond to each other. Each one, placed side by side, is an attempt by Fujimoto to upset his audience a little more, a second or third try.

The mistake is to separate the author's touch from his work, just as we are tempted to focus more on Eri than Yuta. Just as Fujimoto reminds us through this OS, who writes, draws Goodbye Eri. The first part of CSM was turned upside down by the fact that Makima was a demon from the start, abusive to the point of being the antagonist.

A violent and abusive maternal relationship. The design of the mother is also a bit similar. Mentions of the breasts, something that also went down quite a bit and left its mark on a lot of readers because it was so out of sync. The emphasis on cats... A rejected boy. A work focused on female characters.

Goodbye Eri is a work in which Fujimoto makes fun of himself, his works and the things that bring them together. Yes, there will be an explosion if the author so decides. Yes, Eri can live again, be a vampire, if the author so decides, but what's to stop him making his characters die, and then bringing them back to life a few pages later? 

The characters' plots are the authors' playgrounds, whether you like it or not. You can't detach works from their authors, or read works as unrelated things because they were written by the same person. Talking about death, life, mourning, love, with a touch of fantasy is what Fujimoto does in each of them. 

So if you're lost, remember that what you're reading isn't in the title but in the author. 

[siriusleee]

Like Blood on Iron | Part 4

Historical Executioner AU

Summary: The executioner has always been an enigma to you - drawing you in. His sword drawing a line in the dirt as he made his way to the village center, and leaving back to his cottage on the outskirts of town. However, your curiosity can't stop the future your family has planned for you.

Warnings: smut, female x male sex, blood, death, decapitation

Word Count: 5.6k

A/N: Three very important updates for you guys, please read:

My tag list has gotten way longer than I'd ever expected it to get. Honestly, I thought I'd have like 3 readers and that's it. It is taking me almost an hour to get everyone tagged, update the tag list, and go back to old posts and comment to people who Tumblr won't let me tag. Because of this I will no longer be doing a tag list. In an effort to make this easier on myself and get these posts out faster, please subscribe to my Ko-fi page OR enable notifications for when I post. Subscribing to Ko-fi costs nothing, and I do not expect you to send me any money. It's just the one page I have that I can send out quick updates.

However, I am currently super poor. For anyone that doesn't know, I am an English Literature teacher. This year I moved from middle school to high school, and buying all the supplies that I need for this new grade level is killing me. I am working at a part-time job to afford it, but if you can and want to, I'd love it if you donated. I just bought $40 worth of glue sticks; it's very expensive. You can donate through my Ko-fi. Thank you to @gazs-blue-hat and @devcica for donating to my wisdom teeth surgery - I just made the first payment; I love you guys.

I did not edit this. I literally finished and am hitting post; school starts tomorrow and the first 3 weeks are so exhausting, I will be going to bed at 4 p.m. each day. So I wanted to get this out to you. Adamantine Chains will have a new chapter posted tomorrow. If you see any egregious errors, please point them out and I will fix them. previous chapters + future preview: - one - two - three - preview

The sound of Lily's soft breath in your ear tries to lull you to sleep, tries to force your jaw to relax but you can't. For the first time since your outburst with Jonathan, Lily had crept into the bedroom the two of you used to share. She had curled into your side; her breathing wasn't even before the door cracked open again and Maggie snuck in to sandwich Lily between yourself and her.

Lily's hair tickles your shoulder as you keep your eye on the window - the warmth is fading faster each night, but when you tried to close it before you went to bed you couldn't bring yourself to do it. You needed the feeling of the cool air in the room. 

"Are you going to watch?"

Maggie's voice is so quiet it seems to get carried away by the wind. The bed shifts as she turns to look at you over the crown of Lily's head peeking above the covers. You turn, fingers brushing Lily's hair out of your way. In the darkness, Maggie's eyes gleam at you. 

"I don't know. He told me not to, but I think Father will make us."

Maggie breathes in sharply - once - just enough for you to know whatever she's about to say angers her.

"I think Father is making everyone go. Why did he tell you not to go?"

You want to tell her his name - as much as you know - is Ghost. To call him by his name, but you keep that information tucked close to your chest. 

"I don't know; he didn't say."

The conversation hangs in the air between the two of you, floating with the dust that blows in from the windowsill. Maggie's eyes burn across to you before she rolls back away from you, her hair dark against the pillow, curling down her neck. Mirroring her you roll away, eyes focused on the silver starlight you can see out the window.

You awake to soft hands shaking you awake; through your sleep you see Mother pressing one finger to her lip. Her eyes say it all to you - it's time. You slip out of bed leaving the warmth of Lily behind as the cool morning washes over the bare skin that shows from your nightgown. Mother hands you a dress, a thick black one. The same one you knew Maggie wore two years ago when Father's mother died. 

You pad out the room behind her, trying not to wake Lily up. You let the bedroom door shut softly behind you before you speak.

"I have to go?"

"Lily is staying behind with the Morris girls. Your father expects the rest of us to be there." Mother's voice is tight; she's already dressed in a black dress, simple and loose fitting. She refuses to make eye contact with you as she speaks. "I will be downstairs. You have to be dressed soon."

You dress quickly, ducking back into the room to grab your boots and underdress. Back in the hallway, Maggie crosses you, dark purple shadowing under her eyes - you expect the same exhaustion to be painted across your face. 

The temperature feels twenty degrees colder downstairs; you wrap your arms around yourself. Father is absent from his place at the table. A single slice of toast sits in front of Maggie, the neatest nibble taken from one corner. You drop down across from her and neither of you speak. 

A knock at the door jolts your heart - you shove away from the table before Maggie can. On the other side stands Mrs. Morris and her two daughters, still in their sleeping clothes and barely awake. Without her having to ask, you take one of the girls from her; Mrs. Morris follows you quietly to your bedroom where you tuck both girls in beside Lily. They fall asleep almost immediately.

On your way out of the room, you shut the window, pulling the latch down so that they can't see outside.

You wait at the dining table with Maggie; Mother and Mrs. Morris speak quietly in the kitchen. When the morning bell tolls, the two of them emerge out of the kitchen. You and Maggie follow behind them, pulling your cloaks off the hook by the front door when you pass by. You wish instead to have Ghost's cloak, the heavy and warm scent of him enveloping you instead of the cold wool you wrap around your shoulders. 

The four of you fall in line with the rest of the village, letting the wave of bodies push you toward the town center. Each step you take is heavier, harder to take than the one before. Ghost's voice, warning you not to come, not to watch, rings in your ear with a high-pitched drone that grows louder with each moment. The square is almost full whenever you arrive; you let yourself get pushed away from your Mother and Maggie until you're situated near the far side of the square, right where Ghost will first walk in.

The crowd tries to situate themselves as the council shuffles onto the platform. Your father stands at the back, face pale and empty. Even from this distance, you can see the tremor in his hands as he walks. Behind him, shackled in heavy iron chains, Uncle Henry walks up the platform escorted by two men you've never seen before. His face is gaunt and slack, his lip torn and blood dripping onto his chin.

The abject horror of it hits you all at once and you realize why Ghost had warned you not to come. All at once you think about the executions you had sat in your bedroom trying to strain to see, all the times you watched Ghost come up the street eager to get a glimpse of him and all the families that had been in the same place as yours is now. You think of all the times Father left his boots outside after execution and wonder if blood had splashed on them. You feel sick, horrified. You want to search out the families who had been ripped apart by the executions and beg for their forgiveness. 

A hush falls over the crowd like a velvet blanket pulled up too high. You strain past the ringing in your ears to try to hear the heavy sound of boots that you've gotten used to hearing in the midnight light. The sound is different now, leadened and sinister. Drawing your hood over your head you keep your eyes fixed on the point you know Ghost will emerge from. 

He seems to dwarf everyone in the crowd when he arrives, sword glinting in the early morning sunlight. You're torn between trying to press closer to him and pulling away as the thought of what he's about to do courses through you. He walks slowly, regret heavy in each of his steps as he mounts the platform. 

The head councilman speaks, but you can't hear him above the roar in your ears as you watch Ghost situate himself to the side of Uncle Henry. He turns his face towards the crowd and his eyes search through every person before they land on you. He shakes his head just a fraction of an inch, and you know he's telling you to look away - to walk away before he swings his sword.

But you're rooted to the spot - you can't move as the councilman stops speaking and Ghost raises his sword, his eyes still locked on yours.

There's a moment's pause when his sword reaches its apex - a moment where you hope he'll lower it down and walk away. But the sword falls heavy; you manage to clench your eyes shut at the right second, but you still hear the heavy sound of Uncle Henry's head hitting the wood, and your mother's scream.

When darkness falls, no one stops you from walking out the front door. Father had not come home - you knew he was burying Uncle Henry somewhere, and Mother had to be carried to bed by you and Maggie. Upstairs you'd heard Lily sobbing; Maggie was the only one to witness you slip out the front door. 

The red that dripped off of Ghost's sword as he walked back home is long gone in the dust and daytime; even so, you imagine that you can see it trailing in front of you as you walk, tripping over stones in the dirt. There's betrayal here, you know, running away to the home of the man who executed your uncle, but you don't know anywhere else to go. 

Eyes peer down at you from their windows as you pass through the village, but for once you don't care if anyone runs home to tell on you. You're not sure Mother or Father would even be able to comprehend what you were doing anyway. 

Like he knew you were coming, Ghost sits on the step, hands folded neatly in front of him. He doesn't look up at you, doesn't rise until you're within touching distance. An empty glass sits at his side; without speaking, he pushes himself to a standing position, glass snagged up in his large hand. You don't wait for him to beckon you as he walks inside.

You grimace at the warmth of the whiskey as it goes down your throat. You had never liked the taste of alcohol, but when Ghost sat it down in front of you you had reached for it without hesitation. The glass is heavy in your hand.

"I told you not to come," Ghost says, lowering himself down into the seat across from you. His voice is stern, but without any judgment for you attending the execution.

"I didn't have an option." You speak so quietly, you're not sure if he hears you over the wind and the crackle of the fire. 

"You always have a choice."

"No, you always have a choice. You are a man; you don't understand what it's like to have someone dictate your entire life to you. I had no choice because my father said I had to go. And soon it won't be my father telling me what to do, but Jonathan. And I'll be shackled to a life of listening and obeying."

You shove the glass you'd drained towards Ghost, shaking your head at him when Ghost moves to fill it again.

"I'm sorry your father forced you to watch." 

"My father," you pull your tangled hair over your shoulder, running your fingers through it to distract you from Ghost's eye burning at you over his mask, "thought that if we didn't come, it would show some level of guilt. I should be thankful that he let Lily stay home, but-"

"But what?"

"But I saw what the execution did to my mother. My mother is not a weak woman, but she didn't want to go. She can't do blood - it makes her sick for days. My father told me once it had to do with something she saw as a child, but wouldn't tell me more. She never attends the executions. But he forced her, knowing she's going to be regulated to the bed for the rest of the week. And I-"

You can't get the thought out - that you are a horrible person for how excited you used to be for the executions. Ghost waits patiently, leaning back in his chair, the wood creaking underneath him. You study the patterns of scarring on his fingers as they splay across the table. They're clean, no blood and dirt crusted beneath them.

"I am a horrible person," you finally sob out, fingers pressing into your eyes to try to press the tears that threaten to come out, "I have spent months waiting for an execution to come around; all I wanted to do was see you - I didn't think about everyone that was losing their life. Or their families, or you."

"Or me?" Ghost's voice is rough; you pull your fingers away from your eyes to look into his; they're dark and unreadable. 

"I've never thought about what you must experience - doing the bidding of the council."

"I think you'll find I know more about being forced into doing things I don't want to do than you think."

The wind increases outside, the sound of leaves and sticks hitting the sides of Ghost's cabin. You wonder if it's Uncle Henry, angry with the town and determined to tear it apart. 

"How did you end up here?" The question tumbles out of your mouth, and you feel ashamed as soon as you say it. Ghost's eyes flash, his nails dig into the wood of the table. You expect him to ignore you, but he pushes his hands into the collar of his tunic, and pulls out a necklace. With a flick of his wrist, he pulls it from around his neck and flings it to you. It lands a tangled mess in front of you.

"Read it." His voice is a solid command you follow, fingers tracing the edge of the cross as you pick it up; the metal chain snakes across the grain.

"Lieutenant Simon Riley - King's Guard 141st Division - you were in the King's army?"

"I was a part of the King's Guard; we were tasked with protecting the king when he traveled or during battle. There were four of us."

"What happened to the others?"

"I'm all that remains of the 141. We were-" his voice is whiskey thick, and when he swallows, you hear the heaviness of it, "ambushed. I was not able to save them. And so my punishment for not dying with my brothers was to live out my days as an executioner."

The metal is warm against your fingers, as you trace the engraved letters of his name. Simon Riley. Thoughts swirl in your head, and he seems to read them as you reach across the table to pass the necklace back.

"In this house you can call me Simon. Outside only Ghost."

The weight of the day - of Simon's background pushes against you. The small patterings of rain begin to hit the windows as you stand, taking your glass off of the table. You leave Simon as you refill the glass, bringing an extra for him. You drink yours in one go, refilling it again before you pass Simon his. 

The corners of his eyes are tight as you step beside him, the glass held out to him. His hand wraps around your wrist, warm and electric. A stone settles in the pit of your stomach as a fire spreads across your skin from where he grabs you. 

"You drink much more and you won't be able to make it up the path home."

"Just put me under the table then."

The corners of his eyes relax, and then turn up just slightly as he takes the glass from you with the hand not holding your wrist. He keeps you close to his side as he uses the hand with the glass to push his mask up just over his nose; the edge of a ragged scar peaking out on his cheek. He downs the drink in one go and grabs the glass you'd intended for yourself before finally letting you go.

You'd never enjoyed the way being drunk had made you feel, but as the world outside Simon's cabin swirls around you, you feel nothing but the warmth of the whiskey in your veins. The rain falls slow and heavy, warm despite the cool wind that had taken over the village. You reach one hand out to let the droplets pool into your palm, the rest of you shielded by the small awning above you.

The door opens behind you, the dim firelight spilling onto the rain soaked ground in front of you. The shape of Simon wraps its shadow around you along with the musky smell of him. You watch his shadow as he leans against the doorframe.

"We could run away together."

You had thought about it for a few weeks now. It had started out as a ridiculous fantasy - the two of you riding out on horse in the middle of the night and disappearing into the forest together. It had started out innocently enough, just the two of you escaping with each other, but now -

"Where would we even go?"

Simon's voice is soft, rolling through the rain drops as it passes by you. The timbre of it makes your mouth dry, or maybe it's the whiskey.

"Anywhere. Across the sea. Somewhere just far enough that know one would know who we are."

Simon's shadow ripples; you watch his shadow as he reaches to his chest, to where you know the cross hangs. 

"You could go," he says, "but I will always be marked."

You don't know what he means, can't remember if he's told you something or not. But you let the reckless abandon that started building at you so much earlier in the day take over you. Simon's figure backed by the firelight makes your fingers itch to reach out and tangle them in the front of his tunic.

"But would you go?" You ask, voice rising and falling. "If you could, would you go with me?"

The silence stretches thin. Simon chews on the inside of his lip; the doorway groans beneath his fingers as they dig into the wood. 

"You're drunk," he finally says, the words falling from him. "And you're not happy. I should take you home." His warm hand wraps around your elbow; you jerk it back and in your drunken state stumble. You try to catch yourself, but your feet slip. Simon tries to catch you, his hands wrapping around your elbow, but your feet tangle together and the two of you fall. Simon twists, getting his body halfway underneath yours. 

The two of you land hard in the mud, your forehead clipping his chin. The two of you lay awkwardly, one of your hands on Simon's chest and the other buried in the mud. You try to push yourself up, hand slipping, to peer down at Simon lying beneath you. Mud is splattered across the exposed skin around his eyes. He reaches the hand that had wrapped around your back - the only part of him that has escaped the mud- to your forehead, fingers gently wiping away the warmth that had started to form there.

"You're bleeding."

"Is it deathly?

"I think you'll live."

He pulls his hand away, covered in your blood, and the rain washes it away slowly - the red tinge traveling down his wrist and disappearing into the hem of his tunic. You feel his heartbeat quicken in his chest as you shift so that you're straddling one of his legs. 

"Can I ask for a favor Simon?" You swallow heavily, trying to swallow down the nervousness and embarrassment that's threatening to explode out of you.

"Anything."

A red blush starts to creep up your chest as you speak, each word measured and bitten off carefully - worried that if you speak too fast, Simon will disappear.

"I won't lie and say I haven't kissed my fair share of boys. But I've never - I've always been too worried to - to do anything more."

You feel Simon's thigh tense between your legs, and the feeling tightens the knot inside of you.

"If I'm going to be forced to give myself to someone I don't want to, I want to keep something for myself. I-"

Simon's hands tighten painfully around your waist; you hadn't even realized he'd grabbed you or that your hands had snuck down so that they framed his face, your wet hair creating a curtain between the two of you and the rest of the world. 

"There are some things you can never take back - that you may regret." 

"Why would I regret you?"

Your question cracks the tension between the two of you for weeks. You collide together, the kiss frenetic, your teeth clicking against each other as Simon tangles his hands in your hair and pulling you closer to him. 

He pushes the two of you up, grabbing you beneath your thighs as he rolls and stands, pulling you up effortlessly. You wrap your legs around his waist as Simon stumbles back into the cabin. Your fingers tease the edge of his mask; Simon shakes his head and you pull them away, still worried that at any second he's going to tell you to go home. 

Your shoulder hits the doorway of his bedroom, but you barely feel it as Simon kicks the door shut behind you, darkness enveloping the two of you. This time when you reach for his mask, Simon doesn't stop you from sliding it off of him. His hair is warm and wet; your fingers catch on the tangles there. 

Simon presses your back against the doorway as he lowers yourself to your feet. You pull away from him, unable to catch your breath as your hands slide beneath his tunic. His skin is soft and scarred; you trace your fingers across a jagged one that bisects his chest. Simon's breath hitches when you trace it to his nipple, your fingers ghosting across the sensitive skin there. 

Simon lets you pull his tunic off of him, his fingers tracing the lacing on the front of your dress. He hesitates there, waiting for you to say no, to push him away.

"You've seen me naked before," you whisper, trying to loosen the tension, your fingers curling around the waistband of his pants. "No reason to be nervous now."

"It's different," Simon says, pressing a kiss to the base of your neck, tongue trailing upwards to the shell of your ear, "to think about what it would be like to touch you, and actually doing it."

His admission that he's thought about you like that - the same way you had shamefully thought of him on nights alone in your bed - sends a spear of want through you. You pull him closer, straining to reach up and kiss him again, but Simon keeps himself away.

"You can go home," he whispers in your ear, teeth nipping the sensitive flesh, "I wouldn't be angry with you. I would find no fault with you at all."

And you know he's telling the truth - if you said so at any point, he'd let you leave and wouldn't hold it against you. But you can't even entertain the idea - the instinct to wrap yourself around him, to claw at him and at yourself until the two of you are open for each other, is too much.

You reach up and place your hands over his, guiding them so that they pull at the laces of your dress, the bodice falling open. You shrug out of it, letting it pool at your feet as you kick it away. Simon's hands linger chastely at your side, fingers barely skimming your skin.

"I'm not breakable Simon."

"Of course you are," Simon sighs as you trace your fingers softly up his neck and to his cheek. His breath hitches as your fingers tease the edge of the scar you'd caught a glimpse of earlier when the two of you were drinking. You trace it, trying to map the features of his face. It ends at his hairline, a second scar bisecting it.

"It's my cross to bear." Simon's voice rumbles deep; you can feel it in your chest. "It's my mark as an executioner - the righteous hand of God."

I will always be marked, he had said earlier and you realize what he'd meant. 

Simon wraps his hands around the back of your knees; he pulls you up until you're forced to wrap your legs around his waist to keep from falling. He kisses you again, clumsy - you can feel him shaking beneath the soft skin of your hands. He pulls your hair so that your neck is exposed to him; Simon trails kisses down, nipping at your collarbone.

He's hot, his skin and mouth burning you up. You try to grind yourself against him, to get some sort of friction, but Simon's hands keep you just far enough away from him to drive you crazy. His knees hit the side of the bed and buckle; he drops you gently to the bed. The dark scent of him, and the whiskey that still pulls at you makes your head swim. 

Simon's hands are firm on your knees as he pushes them apart and pinning you down.

"If I start to hurt you-"

"Simon, please." 

He presses your thighs down harder to the bed, stopping your squirming. 

"It can hurt. If I start to hurt you, I need you to say something; I need you to promise that you will."

His fingers have inched upwards and you try to buck your hips and make the connection; Simon digs his nails into the sensitive skin of your thighs and the feeling makes you gasp - more electric than anything you've experienced before. 

"I," you swallow hard, Simon's nails scratching down you lightly pulling all the air from your chest, "I promise."

You're ashamed of the moan that you let out when his mouth finds your core, your back arching off of the bed. Simon's tongue is velvet on you, lapping at your wetness with a gentleness you wouldn't have expected from his size. 

You'd listened to other girls in the village talk about this - about their quick trysts with the boys in the village and how it felt to be pawed at. But this - this was like nothing you'd ever imagined it could be, and nothing like the girls described it as. 

Simon's hands keep your knees apart as his tongue swirls your sensitive spot; your back arching off of the bed as you grind down onto him. His fingers trace patterns in the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. When his fingers reach your wetness, you can't help but clench your knees around him, nervousness and embarrassment filling you. You had never let any of the boys you'd kissed touch you - the thought of their fingers inside of you disgusting, but the want for Simon to stretch you out is enough to make you pull away - not sure how to react. 

Simon's tongue slows as he pushes your knees back down with one arm, his mouth pulling off of you with a pop. In the absence of him you buck your hips, but he doesn't move. He presses a kiss to the inside of your knee, and when he speaks, the brush of his lips on your skin makes you shiver.

"We don't-," he swallows, heavy in the darkness, "we can stop if you want."

"No." It's a pathetic whine. You can feel his smile against your thigh, teeth nipping at your skin.

"You're going to want me to stretch you out a little."

His words pull a gasp out of you; you clench around nothing at the thought of him filling you up. Simon's hand traces your wetness gently, before he pushes in one thick finger. It burns as he pumps in and out of you; you're so tight he can barely move in and out of you. You can't tell how long it takes before the burn starts to dissipate; like he can read your body, Simon slips another finger in.

Simon works you until you're comfortable; the sounds you make are filthy. You're so wet you feel yourself dripping onto Simon's wrist. He latches onto your apex, and the feeling sends you over the edge. You come with a choked sob; you try to reach down and stop his hand, but he pushes you away and continues until you can't take it anymore. 

He pulls his fingers out of you, as you beg incoherently - but you're not sure what you're begging for. 

Even in the darkness, Simon's a shadow when he crawls up your body, lips skimming your hip bone, your stomach, your collarbone. A muscle twitches in your thigh; you can't catch your breath in the heat that radiates off of Simon as he dips his head down to kiss you. You dig your nails into his side, and buck your hips up, but he pushes them back down gently with one hand. 

Simon pulls away just enough to speak, lips brushing against your as he does.

"If you want me to stop-"

You feel crazed - the way you claw into him, trying to pull him into yourself, the way your lips crash against his, teeth clicking together in a way that would be painful any other time. Simon snakes his hand between the two of you; you jump when it brushes past your clit. You can feel yourself dripping already - wetter than you'd thought you could get. 

Simon lines himself up with your entrance, and pauses, resting his hand on your chest. His fingers stretch across the expanse of skin, calluses raising gooseflesh.

"You're shaking."

And you are; it's overwhelming - the smell of him enveloping you, the expanse of his body, hard muscle under a layer of soft downy, and being broken down by him. The thick feeling of being stretched out. 

"I'm alright."

It comes out whispered and broken, but you are. You've never felt like this; never thought that you would. You wrap one hand around this wrist at your chest and beg.

"Simon please. I can't - I," you can't get the words out, can't explain that you can't take the feeling of being empty; of being without him. 

Simon presses into you, just barely, but it's enough to make your back arch and your nails to scratch down his arm. He hisses at the feeling, teeth nipping at your earlobe. He moves slowly; the sharp feeling of him is enough to cause you to hyperventilate. On instinct, you press your hands to his chest; you can feel his desire to move faster in the way his muscles bunches beneath your touch. 

"Do I need to stop?"

"No - it's just - you're too much."

You can feel his smile, brief and small, as he presses his face into your shoulder before he bites down. Hands finding his hair, you grip tight enough that you're sure it must hurt him, but he doesn't say anything.

You can feel every inch of him stretching you out; Simon's voice is soft in your ear as he whispers to you to relax - that you're doing so well. One of his hands trace down your side, trying to soften the gooseflesh. The other pushes your hair away from your forehead, fingers pausing at your temple. 

The world pauses when he bottoms out; you can feel him in your throat - he's burning you up from the inside, his skin fire against your own. Simon's mouth his hot against your skin as he trails kissed across your neck. You know there will be marks there tomorrow - something you'll have to hide - but you don't ask him to stop; you beg him to keep going. 

"I need you to relax, my love." His soft voice in your ear makes your fingers curl against the blanket bunched beneath you. "You're too tight."

You try to relax beneath him, but you can't - you can't.

"I can't."

"Just breathe love."

You focus on the movement of his chest against yours, and try to synch your breathing with his. Simon lays his hand against your throat, your pulse slowing beneath the pads of his fingers. His tongue snakes out to trace the shell of your ear, and he rocks himself against you.

You're ashamed of the sounds that escape you, you press your hand to your mouth to try to muffle yourself, but Simon pries your hand away and places it on his shoulder.

"Don't try to be quiet."

His words cut into you, and you grind yourself against him trying to match the rhythm he's setting. 

Sweat and slick mix between your thighs; Simon pushes your knees towards your chest and the shift in angle tugs at something inside of you; you can feel yourself unraveling faster than you did earlier. Simon's nails dig into your skin as he moves faster. Your hands press on his chest, his stomach, trying to find some space to breathe, but his grip on your waist doesn't let you move.

Simon finds a brutal pace. You dip your fingers between the two of you until you can feel him pumping in and out of you; Simon moans at the feeling, nails piercing your skin hard enough to make you gasp. 

He grabs the hand you have between the two of you and guides your fingers to your apex, forcing you to swirl your fingers around yourself. 

You try to commit the feeling of him to memory: the texture of his skin, the sound of him panting in your ear, the feeling of his thumb tracing the contours of your nipple. Your second orgasm starts to break around you, and in the haze, you realize that you will never have this kind of moment with someone else.

The thought puts a knot in your throat; you pull Simon down to kiss him; he must sense your desperation as he slows down, hand wrapping around the back of your neck to pull you closer. 

His body shudders once and he pulls out; you feel the heat of him spill out across your stomach. The wild thought of reaching down, and taking some onto your finger to taste possesses you, but your fingers are still clutching at Simon. You can't figure out how to loosen your grip.

Simon pants between your thighs, one hand still wrapped around your neck as he shifts so that he's laying down beside you. You shuffle, kicking the blanket down beneath you until you're able to pull it up around you. 

You want to say something, anything to dissipate the air that stills around the two of you. But as Simon pulls you into his chest, anything you could think of is washed away. 

Tag List:

tag list: @silverianni, @milfs4lifee, @koi-feish, @shirabeastly, @pookie90, @ghostlythot, @hearts4sky, @crystallizedtime, @the-worlds-tempest, @myconglomerateromance, @elena-ph, @chaoticgoblindev, @pipocfamily, @canadianmilkbag, @caspertheassholeghost, @2512121morningstar, @glitterypirateduck, @elli0t3r, @clairdelunelove, @captainprice4life, @generaldestinychild, @crowsjourney, @c0pernicus, @wistfullyhypomanic, @arbesa-mind, @ray-rook, @daisyfrubies, @september-22-1996

If you are on my tag list - please read my author's note!

[lukolabrainrot]

Just a little palette cleanser after the wild day yesterday, and what I anticipate (might) be a pretty interestinggg week.

I want to add a few things as well:

I am not going to be talking about JD anymore unless we get SOLID confirmation something is going on with him and N. I can't stress this enough though (I WOULD BE ABSOLUTELY, POSITIVELY SHOCKED IF THEY WERE DATING). If you read between the lines just a little bit with the publicly available information regarding JD and what we know about N, you would understand why I have come to that conclusion. However, I am not going to specify about that anymore here, you are free to do some research though if you would like through SM. DO NOT LEAVE ANY COMMENTS THOUGH ON ANYONE'S PAGES, PLEASEEEEE.

I want to paint a little picture for you on what I think is going on (just a theory of course):

SOOOO many things played out on a VERY public stage for L/N during the PR tour for like 6 months. And they were NOT subtle about their feelings for each other, which is why a lot of us are still here on the ship. However, the situation was pretty messy BTS (particularly for L). I talked a lot about my theories on that here. Sooooo, I think L/N might have taken some space after the London premiere to process a lot of things, and I think things were quickly unraveling with A. The Italy bday trip bs was the last straw, there was a HUGE falling out of some sort, and L and N started talking/hanging out again and something shifted (in a positive way for us Lukola fans), and tbh this shift has probably been bubbling for a while. Then N proceeded to post all those L coded crumbs (and tbf, this man is ALL over her grid and L is okay with it apparently, she's been sending a message for a while if you put the full picture together). N has ALWAYS been private about this part of her life since being in the entertainment field, but for L, she isn't. Just think about that for a second. Why might this be? I'll let you come to your own conclusions on that... So how do the JD pics fit into all of this? Well, I think this theory sums up my thoughts pretty well. I think the pics served as a distraction to take the heat off of L (and L/N) because of all the hate and attention L is still getting because of his personal life. We know N is very protective of the people she cares about (and I think she REALLY loves L and knows he's going through a really hard time rn), and so she coordinated for the pics to be released early this week to get some of the attention off of him and onto her for a change. And JD is a good friend, so agreed to it, and will get some exposure from this which could help his career a little since he doesn't have the same level of "stardom" as N. I think the pics might have also served as a statement of sorts that a lot of the hate towards L was totally unwarranted and not justified. She can do something VERY similar to his "papgate", and not get the same type of hate. Lastly, I talked about my thoughts on a lot of the recent L coded crumbs from N here. My thoughts really haven't changed. N is VERY tuned in to the fandom, and wanted us to know about her mans y'all. If she was with someone else, she wouldn't have posted WHAT she has posted since the Italy bday trip. She can definitely be a little shady sometimes, but she is NOT cruel. Why would she kick him when he's down? She wouldn't! Sooooo, everything else we've seen the last week is kind of just smoke and mirrors imo.

One more thing, please remember to critically analyze all sources of information. Look at the FULL picture of everything before jumping to any conclusions.

I've had a lot of thoughts the last couple of days, so I wanted to get it all out. Just my thoughts of course, but I don't think there's any real reason to freak out right now.

[williamswifey]

hiii i love all of your fics! could i request a bella ramsey x reader where the reader is part of a well known film like stranger things or a marvel movie and everytime bella and them are in an interview they gush about the reader’s character in the other film, which fans notice and think is adorable😭

𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔 - 𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀 𝐑𝐀𝐌𝐒𝐄𝐘

pairing ; bella ramsey x fem!reader

summary ; bella thinks you’re a fantastic actor and rants about it 🤷‍♀️

content warnings ; none, intense fluff

a/n ; sorry for the filler posts lately, i’ve been lacking in the creativity department for actual plots, so plz send in asks to get my creative juices flowing

masterlist

stranger things season four recently came out, and being one of the main characters, you had been extremely busy with interviews and premieres.

it was all so exciting, you loved seeing fans reactions to the show. you loved being tagged in fan edits, and you loved replying to dm’s and tweets.

just when the buzz from the recent dropping of the season began to die down, you and bella had been invited for an interview by vogue, to give a tour of your shared apartment while answering questions.

you had gotten the email from your manager while you had been finishing up a load of laundry, and you we’re static. you and bella’s relationship had gone public about a year ago, even though the two of you had been dating for longer.

there wasn’t much content out from the two of you, aside from social media posts. now that you thought about it, you and bella had never actually been in an official interview together.

sure, the two of you had been interviewed during premieres together, and the paparazzi took photos of you two together all the time—you had never actually sat down with them for an interview.

you excitedly walked downstairs, seeing bella curled up on the couch with a book in their hand. their head peeled upwards when you came into their line of vision, a small smile tugging at their lips.

“hi, darling,” they said in a soft voice, patting the spot next to them.

you grinned and laid besides bella, your head resting on their lap. bella began to play with your hair, successfully beginning to lull you into a gentle sleep.

just before you allowed yourself to slip into unconsciousness, your brain reminded you of why you went to find bella in the first place.

you opened your eyes, and rolled over to face bella. you gently pried the book out of their hands, placing their bookmark you bought for them on the page they left off at.

you yawned before you began to talk, causing bella to chuckle at you, poking your cheek.

“i thought you were a sleepy girl,” they said, tilting their head to the side.

“i am,” you said, rubbing at your eyes, before sitting up straight, “but i had something to ask you first.”

“oh?” bella said, their interest suddenly peaking as they leaned forward slightly.

“nothing bad,” you assured, taking their hand as you fiddled with their rings, “but i got an email from my manager, asking about a vogue interview with us. we’d have to answer a few questions about each other while showing them our apartment. i think it’s an awesome idea, but if you don’t want to it’s totally fine and—”

bella noticed you beginning to ramble as they placed their free hand under your chin, your eyes meeting theirs.

“i’d love to.”

you smiled, and made a mental reminder to email your manager back. in the meantime, you resumed your previous spot on bella’s lap, feeling their gentle hands against your hair as you fell asleep.

***

two weeks and days worth of cleaning later, you and bella were sitting on your couch, waiting for the camera crew and interviewer to arrive to your apartment.

your apartment was in the heart of los angeles, so traffic was always pretty intense, especially in the late afternoon. you were attempting to mentally prepare yourself to answer questions while bella scrolled aimlessly on their phone.

eventually, you grew bored of staring into space and looked over bella’s shoulder to see whatever they were doing on their phone. you giggled when you saw bella staring at a photo of you from your most recent press event.

“…bella my love, what are you doing?”

bella grew startled as their phone nearly flew out of their hands, face pink. however, bella wasn’t embarrassed about the fact they were looking at photos of you—in fact, they were proud.

“just looking at photos of you, reminding myself how lucky i am.” bella replied, and your face now turned the shade of pink bella’s was moments ago.

bella was such a sap sometimes.

“you’re cute, you know that?” you said, pressing a few kisses to bella’s face.

you two began to play fight, and a few seconds later, bella had pinned you to the couch, and was kissing your neck playfully while you giggled.

your fun was cut short by the doorbell. you groaned, sliding out from underneath bella as you made your way to the door, quickly fixing your hair and lipgloss.

the interviewer arrived with a camera crew, and you and bella began the tour.

***

after a brief tour of your apartment, the camera crew and interviewer got settled on your couch as they began to prepare you both for the interview.

they promised nothing too invasive or intense—but you weren’t worried. your manager promised your assistant had reviewed and approved every question on the list.

bella seemed to be a bit more jittery, and the obnoxious interviewer clearly took advantage of that—as they decided they’d ask bella a few questions first.

“so, bella,” the interviewer began, turning her attention towards bella, “have you gotten the chance to see stranger things season four yet?”

bella shifted in their seat. you honestly had no idea if they watched it or not, and their reply was a complete surprise.

“i have!” bella replied enthusiastically, beginning to fiddle with their rings the way they did when excited, “y/n was absolutely fabulous, as always. and her character? my god. i’ve never rooted for a protagonist more. y/n’s acting is incredible. sometimes i’d be watching the show in our bedroom while y/n was in the living room reading…and i’d just be like—holy fuck. i live with this person.”

bella’s response to you and your character had you blushing manically. your cheeks were bright pink as you fought back a smile, intertwining your hand with bella’s.

their eyes met yours.

“do you really mean that, bels?” you asked softly, heart fluttering as bella nodded.

“more than anything. but i have to admit, your character is way cooler than you,” bella joked, ruining the moment as you gently shoved their shoulder and playfully stuck their tongue out at them.

bella giggled, the both of you completely forgetting that the interviewer was still there, and the camera was still recording.

the two of you were quick to pull it together again, professional as can be.

“but, yeah,” bella said after a moment, “i saw stranger things and it’s probably my favorite tv show at the moment—but i might also be biased.”

this made a chuckle slip past your lips.

you rested your head on bella’s shoulder as the interviewer glanced at the pair of you.

“now y/n,” the interviewer began, “now i guess it’s your turn. i assume you’ve seen the last of us, so what did you think of it?”

your grinned was so large you felt your cheeks widen. as you opened your mouth to speak, you knew your words would rival bella’s previous in an instant.

[galeorderbride]

Intimacy Prompt: #43!

43: falling asleep with their head in your lap

Thank you sm for the prompt request!!

I like the idea of post game Professor!Gale when he first starts teaching. Maybe full of self doubt over whether he’s a good teacher, feeling frustrated that his pupils aren’t understanding concepts right away (mostly blaming himself). And Tav just comforting him at their home. 

A shortie ft. Gale x tav (uses she/her pronouns but no physical descriptions). Fluffy cuteness, comfort and nothing more 😊 

Rating: T

Count: 1337 

…

Gale was always a man to pour over documents with immense detail, but tonight, he seemed to be studying the same page on repeat. Pen scratching against the paper to the point of tearing, the sound of him mumbling to himself. Gale usually took so much pleasure in hours of research, absorbed in the material, but not this time. He mumbled, perturbed by his own work as he’d scold himself under his breath. 

For the first few hours, Tav left him to his work, knowing he wouldn’t feel better until he completed the task. Until he missed dinner, even when she called for him. No matter how much work he had to do, he’d made a habit of joining Tav at the table. She watched the clock tick, waiting for his steps down the stairs as the plate of chicken and vegetable stew grew colder. She should’ve checked on him already, but ever the people pleaser, she didn’t wish to bother him while in focus. 

Finally, she got up from the table and took his bowl in hand, travelling up the narrow stairwell. If he didn’t come out to eat, she would go to him. 

The wooden door was closed tight, but unlocked. Tav knocked a few times before entering, saying, “Gale, my love, are you alright? Your soup is getting cold. I know my cooking isn’t quite as good as yours, but it can’t be that scary.” 

He replied through the door, voice muffled but obviously exhausted, “Sorry, Tav, would you mind putting it away for me and I can reheat it later? Forgive me, dear, I have more to do than I anticipated.” 

Unsatisfied with his response, Tav sighed and entered his study. His back faced her, seated at his desk by a large window, fresh snow tapping against the glass as the evening turned to night. Candlelight illuminated piles of parchment around him, dotted with ink smudges and overlapping line edits. A mug of green tea sat on the end, untouched and cold. At the centre of it all was Gale, her loving fiance, slumped over the cherrywood surface with his head in his hands. 

Tav approached him, standing behind his chair as she placed the bowl on the desk and brought her hands to his shoulders. Velveteen fabric softened against her touch, lowering herself down to kiss the crane of his neck. The tension in his muscles was palpable, yielding even to the lightest rub. His tired eyes met hers, nothing but tenderness in those dark, chestnut eyes in desperate need of nutrients. 

“Gale, what’s wrong? You look as though you’ve just discovered the darkest secret of Nessus,” Tav asked. 

“Perhaps I’d feel a little better if I did,” he said, voice husky from tiredness. “At least then I’d provide a bit of value somewhere.” 

Tav looked over at his work, deciphering the multiple revisions to see he wasn’t doing research, he was strategizing classroom discussion. Private tutoring sessions, patterns of abbreviations for illusory spells, even planned workshops focusing on specific incantations. All the ideas were scratched out, or little comments written on them like ‘stupid’, ‘no’ and ‘absolutely not’.

“Are you doing lesson plans?” She asked, unable to conceal the confusion in her voice. 

“Failing lesson plans,” he said. “My students aren’t responding well to my current teaching style. They aren’t understanding concepts, their spell performance is mediocre at best, and I can see their eyes glazing over when I give my lectures on the ethics of phantasmal casting.” 

Riveting stuff, truly. His fixations on magical concepts that could get him going for hours if one wasn’t careful. Part of why Tav fell so deeply in love with him, rare to find such passion for subjects. She remembered nights at camp, taking peace in listening to his current fascination at the time. The only solace to such a deadly adventure. But perhaps a bunch of young apprentices weren’t as rose-coloured. 

“Well, you’ve only just begun teaching, love. Maybe you just need to get to know your students a little more, see what they want to get out of the class before you write the next manual on workshopping,” Tav said. 

“Perhaps I’m just not as good a teacher as I thought,” he said, voice lowering into a sombre tone as he sighed, throwing the quill pen across the desk. 

Tav ran her hands from his shoulders up to the nape of his neck, beginning to play with his hair. She gave a cheeky grin,“Last time we talked about students, I recall you thinking it was all their fault for not understanding.” 

He chuckled, “I blame you. Showing me love and humility. Now all I can do is think I’m the problem.” 

“I’ll venture to feed your ego more,” she joked, “Come, let’s take a rest for a moment.” 

Hand-in-hand, Gale followed her to their shared bedroom. A warm fire crackled in the hearth, the scent of balsam and mint enlivening the room from a scented candle on the mantle. Snow fell harder now, forming into a windy current that would surely become a blizzard by bedtime. A perfect environment for calming comfort, as Tav helped Gale remove his shirt, leaving him in nothing but lounge pants. After Tav put her own nightgown on, they crawled into bed. 

Gale rested his head on Tav’s lap, tracing his fingertips across the bare skin of her legs. Meanwhile, her hands ran through his hair again, brushing through the fine strands of beautiful, brown hair speckled with streaks of grey. Tav nestled in the pleasant bliss of hearing his even breath, calming with every stroke across the side of his head. The beat of his heart against her skin, so gloriously alive. There was once a time when he was willing to let that human beat expire, and how far he’d come, now absorbed in her embrace, filled with endless love and compassion. Even if that meant there wasn’t much power. There was no need for it in a caring household like this. 

Little kisses tickled the top of her thighs, mixed with the graze of his beard sending her into a sleepy comfort. She could play with his hair all night if he asked, such a simple, delicate pastime that reminded her of just how much she adored him. 

“Hmm, if you keep doing that, I may just fall asleep, my love,” he said, voice already trailing. His words slowed every time he was fighting sleep, mind always on overdrive but his body couldn’t always keep up. 

“Rest on me, Gale. I don’t mind,” she said, in a gentle whisper. 

He adjusted his position, wrapping his arms around the leg he rested on as if her thigh was a teddy bear. Her other leg crossed over his bare back, their bodies tangled within each other. Tav hummed a light lullaby, her voice like medicine to Gale’s ears as all his stress washed away. All that remained was the sensation of smooth skin, her nurturing voice, and the peace of being enveloped in the embrace of his greatest, most cherished love. 

As she sang, his eyes grew heavy, muscles loosening to the magic of her compassionate hands. That irresistible weightlessness began to overtake him, every thought of self doubt beginning to fade to a tiny smile. The lure of her song was so strong, she might’ve been one of the harpies they encountered back at the Emerald Grove. Their life had changed so much since then. His personal songstress caressing him in their queen sized bed, downy sheets and feather pillows as their shelter rather than tents and rocky ground.  

“Tav…I love you,” he said, lulling slowly into a peaceful sleep. The tapping of snow against the window, the snap of flame, her voice, all sending him into a comforting slumber. 

“I love you Gale Dekarios,” she said, moving a final piece of hair behind his ears before he fell into a deep sleep, making her laugh as he let out a small, adorable snore.