#eventually I want to do full pieces of all of them

[hvbris]

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎 & 𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐓 @multipleoccupancy

Violet stood up with Theo, but she didn't what to do, she didn't know how to calm him down as he pulled at his hair. So, she just stood there, awkwardly hovering next to him. With tears in her eyes. "I know," she said, "but I don't want you to be stuck here because of me. You have to get out, Theo."

She shook her head. "I can't sneak out with you, I'd be a fugitive for the rest of my life." Had she made a mistake, telling him the truth? Maybe she should have lied better! "Maybe Agent Davidson will give me a deal, eventually," she attempted to lie, almost trying to repair broken porcelain, knowing full well that the pieces would not go together, "maybe he just needed time to think about it."

Finally, she gently took his hands, trying to move them away from his hair. "I think that's a mighty fine idea, Theo. You'll come back, and you can even close this place down for good. You'll be an FBI agent, remember? You'll be able to prove how terrible the ward is, and you can even send 'em all to jail for what they've done. But you can't do that if you stay here, so you have to go."

His heart started to sink as Mauve started explaining. In some ways he thought he knew that the Inspector was not offering her a deal too, he'd seen it, how she wasn't threatened, how he didn't offer his hand. But he had to get out, he had to leave, he couldn't stand another day let alone the threat of being stuck there for the rest of his life. He shook his head in some disbelief, almost a denial of what she was saying. He couldn't leave her either as tears started to roll down his cheeks too.

He let go of her hand and stood up, putting both his hands in his hair and pulling at it in his upset and stress while he tried to work out what, if anything he could do. He didn't want to stay in the ward, he wanted that deal from the Inspector, it was everything he had dreamed of but the thought of leaving Mauve in the ward, alone was such a horrible idea, that he should walk completely free while she was stuck. It wouldn't be fair. It wouldn't be right and worst of all he had the horrible knowledge that he would forget.

"I don't want to leave you here," he sputtered through his sobs, barely able to look at her as he wracked his brain hard trying to come up with a solution. He knew if he refused to leave without her he would just be left there too, for the rest of his life. Her plan to show Heartland the tentacle was some hope but what if it wasn't enough? And he'd just promised not to tell anyone, anyone else about monsters and that there were people fighting them. "Maybe, maybe you can sneak out with me?" he suggested, his voice cracking and squeaking as he plucked at straws. "I can stuff paper in the locks again, I can -" what could he do? "I'll come back! I'll come back and get you out of here if I have to." How long would that take though? He was only 16 and he had to be 23 before he even got into the academy.

[syndrossi]

Ah, re-read Ned I and I really like the voice you gave him. It feels right -- a Lord's voice, full of the tangled logic or figuring out what's going on and making decisions, but also soft and gentle with two very scared children.

I wonder how he and Daemon will get along when Daemon eventually arrives, especially considering Ned just asked Daemon's sons to call him 'father'.

I did debate with myself just how "sharp" Ned would be reasoning about the twins' possible origins, and their implications, but the thing with Ned is that he's not stupid. His flaw is more that he assumes others will play by the rules and although he's willing to entertain suspicions about people, like Baelish, once they "prove" themselves to him, he tends to trust them. I also feel like he's uniquely poorly equipped to deal with Lannisters, because he's all order and honor, and they are pure, rulebreaking chaos. (Jaime attacking his men, Cersei tearing up Robert's final decree, Joffrey's bloodthirst for his head, Tyrion's...everything.)

Given Jon's Targaryen ties, I'm willing to bet he's kept himself reasonably apprised of all things Targaryen. He doesn't have spies of his own, but he knows the Rhaella's surviving children fled to Essos. He's aware of the Golden Company, since they're well known sellswords. He knows what happened to the Blackfyres, and that they use Targaryen names. So he is capable of putting the pieces together enough to come up with a fairly reasonable explanation for who the twins are.

But the whys and hows and the full dangers of claiming them to be his bastards (which, on the surface, seems to protect Jon) don't entirely occur to him in the way they might to others. Or they do on some level, but he also doesn't want to doom two children, much less some of Jon's only surviving Targaryen kin, to death.

(I just realized that by Ned's theory, the twins would be Jon's little uncles. How cute!)

As to Daemon's reaction...well. He's a bit more secure about being the twins' father after two years, but given Ned's bond with Jon, and how familiar he is with him, and how natural it seems for Jon to defer to him, and the clear affection, let's just say that some of his insecurities are going to come roaring back as righteous anger. Hopefully someone quickly explains to him that Ned claiming that his sons are his bastards was a means of protecting them...

[seasidefae]

ooh please think out loud about full throttle in here if you want to,, no pressure but I haven't been able to stop thinking about it since I saw the first post

thank u for giving me an excuse to yap

i have 2 drafts written so far 😭 one’s for their first meeting, the other is a scene during aus gp24 when oscar makes his first paddock appearance.

but then i also think about oscar meeting piñon for the first time, or the inevitable meeting the parents/friends where oscar goes “i’m dating an f1 driver” and nobody believes him until carlos shows up one day in brighton (bc big romantic gestures fix relationships all the time). or carlos invites oscar to play golf and to meet lando, only to find out oscar did not underestimate his golf skills (he is so bad). or something smutty like phone sex or smth

i’m debating making this a series of one-shots?? but i’m fully focused on witm right now and can’t commit to do requests

ps. in my head, full throttle carcar is way more domestic than witm carcar? they’re basically the same, except without the kids and the amnesia plot. just way less angsty, a lot more flirty and playful and all the good stuff. i don’t know yet the turmoil i’ll eventually put them in. jealousy? the toll of a hidden relationship? 🤷🏽‍♀️ it’ll come to me eventually when i’m ready to post this in bits and pieces, or when i’m done with witm — whichever comes first

[armandsbf]

Might’ve messed around and created a new OC for Interview with the Vampire. I honesty love her so much, and I wanted to introduce her and all the one-shots I’ve written for her so without further ado, allow me to introduce Lissette de Lioncourt!

Moodboard

Character summary:

Lissette de Lioncourt was a young Parisian orphan before Lestat found her in 1906 when she was only four years old. He felt a kinship towards her, a spark he hadn’t felt in more than a century and she felt it too. They looked so frighteningly similar, one could confuse them for blood related father and daughter. He took her in and made her his own.

She is a bold young girl who over the course of this series will grow into a strong woman and eventually, a vampire herself. Lissette is sweet and loud and easily excited. She loves to read and play the piano, and she loves her family most of all. She is deeply sensitive due to being so sheltered by Lestat and did not outgrow that side of her nature. She loves with her whole heart and lets it consume her totally.

However, she does struggle constantly with having lived under such an unstable home in New Orleans, with constant death and fighting. Being as sensitive as she is, she’s internalised a sense of responsibility for the happiness of those around her and they grow to expect that from her. When she fails to live up to this, she cannot help but fall into her sadness and self-blame.

Over all, Lissette de Lioncourt is a girl with a big heart who only wants everyone around her to get along so she may finally live in peace.

So I’ll be posting one shots of Lissette within the show and giving context with each one. I’m writing a full story on Wattpad under the same username which will take a while to complete, but I really wanted to share my prewritten bits and pieces for future episodes somewhere and I thought this was the best place to do it. If you wanna check out the full story in chronological order, please do so on Wattpad but if not, just enjoy the bits I post on here.

SPOILER WARNING FOR BOTH SEASONS.

I will delve into everything on here, just so all of you are aware.

Anyway, I love Lissette so much and I hope you guys love her too!

[unfriendlies]

completely caught off guard, garam let out a soft yelp when angel had picked him up to hold him in his arms instead of on his back. he was quick to wrap one arm behind the man's shoulders while the other hand held on tightly to the opposing shoulder to ensure he wouldn't fall even if angel lost his grip. his brows furrowed, just staring at angel. he was so strong. another thing garam couldn't recall his now ex-boyfriend doing; carrying him, regardless of position. it was always something his friends did. when asked, his ex would tell garam his legs still worked so he could walk himself wherever they were going. he was starting to really question what he ever saw in the other man, he was probably the least romantic partner garam had ever had. if he was going to be completely honest, angel was far more romantic towards garam than his ex was. that fact made his expression soften, a small smile growing. "i'm not that skinny," he said softly, pulling his hand up to the curve of angel's neck. his weight was never something he worried about before because he ate relatively healthily but he had noticed he lost weight recently which he could now blame on his relationship. after being dropped down onto angel's bed, he let go of the blanket and shifted so his head was on one of the pillows. when he was asked about his preferences, his expression fell once again. it wasn't because he didn't want to talk about it, he just wasn't expecting angel to want to know. he was quiet, not because he didn't want to talk about it but because he was silently questioning why angel wanted to know. was it because he was worried? that was the only reason that made sense. the only other thing he could think of was angel was asking because he wanted to have sex with garam but that didn't seem plausible at all. he was sure that angel would have made some sort of attempt to flirt with him, hit on him, something to let garam know he wanted something more from him. but angel didn't do that, at least garam didn't catch on if angel had made some sort of move. garam exhaled heavily as he threw his arms up over his head, unintentionally making his shirt rise, revealing his lower stomach and the bruises his ex left on him. "sometimes it's okay." he replied, staring up at the ceiling. "i really didn't like it at first but..." he paused, making an attempt to shrug his shoulders, but the gesture was a bit difficult to do with his hands above his head. "i got used to it." he added in, glancing over to angel with just his eyes but he was quick to return his gaze up to the ceiling. "there were some things that i liked but not when it happened all the time. i think i like it better when somebody is more gentle with me. like, they're afraid if they push too hard, i'll break." maybe break wasn't the most accurate term to use, it was more like he didn't want somebody who wanted to hurt him. "i think i want softer passion. not so fast, not so hard... but i still want to feel his emotions when we're together... if that—" his full attention turned to angel, "does that make sense? i want to feel like i'm the only person in his life that matters, i want to be able to see his love for me when i look at him... i want to feel like i'm more than just a piece of ass, you know? i think that's what i want." he couldn't even say for sure, it was just that soft and passionate were the complete opposite of what his ex showed him whenever they were intimate. their intimacy lacked all intimacy. the man focused on what would feel good for him instead of garam, he never felt love when they were together. it felt like it was purely physical between them. but maybe explaining as much as he had was a bit of an overshare. even if angel asked, garam didn't have to go into the kind of detail he did. "you don't have to worry, i'm not going to let somebody treat me like that again. and i'll make sure whoever i eventually get involves with has your stamp of approval, you seem to know who isn't good for me better than i do..."

Garam’s nod as confirmation was all Angel needed. He stood quietly as he watched his best friend grab his phone. The taller man watched the other’s facial expressions closely before realizing the alcohol was beginning to affect him. A shiver rippled through his spine seeing Garam’s ex crying face on the screen. His lips were pulled tight as his eyes shot down. Angel thought seeing the man crying would bring him joy. He was getting back just a fraction of what he put them through. But it only made his stomach turn. His skin felt itchy and gross. He cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck. “Let him suffer” he managed out glancing back up only to catch Garam texting his ex. Angel raised an eyebrow as Garam giggled which must have been contagious. The raven-haired man smiled offering a small giggle back. It was great to hear his friend laugh again. The screen was flashed to him once again. This time he didn’t look away. Scanning the text Angel let out a sharp breath. That text wouldn’t go over well but Angel couldn’t worry about that right then. “Take me to bed” Such a small sentence stopped Angel in his tracks. It wasn’t like the man hadn’t said it before. Angel had gotten used to carrying drunk Garam through the streets to either of their apartments. It was the way the man looked at him for a moment. His arms stretched out ready to be lifted. It took the man a minute to compose himself. Finding the whole scene rather adorable. “You are such a child” he teased to break the silence as he scooped his best friend up into his arms bridal style. “Easier to carry you this way…while you are staying here we are going to get some food in your system. You have never been this light” Angel commented as he guided them to his bedroom. As they made their way through his apartment he couldn’t help but think about Garam’s past relationships. They seemed to get worse with each one. Angel always kept his feelings silent. Watching each relationship pass by. It killed him his best friend hid so much of what was going on. Angel never judged him or so he didn’t think he did. But for sex to be that violent and their argument to lead to this. Angel couldn’t wrap his head around his best friend enjoying that. The grip he had on Garam tightened as they entered the bedroom. He was starting to feel the effects of their drinks but kept his composure. His focus was on making sure the man in his arms was okay. Angel stumbled lightly managing to get his best friend to the bed with a slight thump. He chuckled tucking his curls behind his ears as he sat on the edge of the bed. The question he wanted to ask hanging on the edge of his tongue. Even drunk he didn’t think this was the best time. But he knew he wouldn’t have the nerve to ask any other way. Besides the other was drunk as well. It made it easier somehow. “Garam?” Angel would never ask questions like this sober. He didn’t pry in such ways. He knew his best friend was private. The same way he was. “Do you really enjoy rough sex like that?” His words were slow, almost careful. To ensure he was saying the right thing. His eyes avoided his best friend. Angel looked down at his hands which he had been biting at out of habit as he waited for his answer. His feelings for Garam were festering inside him. In his drunken state, he was thinking he could never live up to that. He couldn’t see himself hurting Garam in any way. As he sat there the guilt of the question started to sink in. “Y-you don’t have to answer that. Sorry…these damn drinks” he muttered picking his head up and flashing one of his smiles.

[elexuscal]

i must've made a post about this like a decade ago when it happened, and even writing it i know it sounds like a "and then everybody clapped" moment. but it's been on my mind with the current Gravity Falls renaissance-- the release of the Book of Bill (I still gotta read it) and my sister watching the series for her first time with me.

But okay. Go back nearly a full year; I'm teaching English. This sounds very sophisticated but I assure you it was not. I was in [Asian location redacted] and I was in the unhealthy environment of the Children Educational-Industrial Complex. e.g. a bunch of tutor centres that promise the moon for giving kids as young as six the edge to put on their eventual university applications, that are very mismanaged and underpay the actual new college grads doing the teaching.

okay, so that's the situation. On Saturdays I work a whole gamut of classes on drama and poetry and theatre, from like the wee toddlers to eighteen year olds working on reciting Macbeth.

I'm teaching like a 2-hour session of the 8-10 year olds, and we take a ten minute break. I drink some water, eat an orange, enjoy having a couple brief moments of me time, etc.

The room I'm teaching in has windows into the wall that also functions as the white board. Coming back in from the break, I see the kids have scrawled all over it in the board marker pen-- genuinely not an issue, I told them to have fun. But the center piece of their little recess is a triangle with a bowtie and red eyes, looking impressively ominous.

The kids look at me. They giggle; their expressions are mischievous, challenging. They want me to comment on it, and more to the point, they want me to be confused.

I cock my head and I say, "He's missing his tophat."

and the kids all LOSE THEIR FUCKING SHIT

[gingeremu]

Always an angel never a god

[lovelookspretty]

routledge!reader x rafe, after big john comes back and finds out that both of his kids are dating the camerons, he gets mad, especially at his daughter, cause he thought that she wasn't thinking straight. After a few days, he throws a stupid comment about rafe when they were with the rest of the pogues and reader just snaps at him. pure angst now 🥰 she realises that he's never been a good father, only caring about treasures and yells that she wishes he never came back. Then goes to rafe, crying, for comfort 💕 (i love angst im sorry.)

hold me close

rafe cameron x routledge!reader

warnings: angst, swearing, a kiss, pretty safe !!

authors note: OKAY ik thats trevor n not rafe but erm, we’ll pretend bc that pic is what gives the energy for this oneshot. anyway hii, hope u guys enjoy this one. feel free to send any requests guys! n thank u for 1k followers yesterday. ilyasm <33

you sit in the backyard, the soft hum of cicadas filling the warm night air. the pogues are just behind you, laughing and talking in a huddle. it feels good to see them like this again—normal, for once, after everything.

after the chaos of the last year, of treasure hunts, betrayals, and close calls. you’ve always tried to stay out of it, letting john b and the others chase after the gold while you lived your life. but eventually, you couldn’t stay on the sidelines, not when rafe got involved, not when it became a matter of life and death.

it’s been hard, being stuck between two sides, torn between your brother and your boyfriend. but tonight, you just want peace.

you glance over at your dad, sitting a little ways away from the group, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied grin on his face. big john routledge—alive, after these three years. you still can’t believe it sometimes.

he looks different, a little more worn, a little rougher around the edges, but the way he carries himself hasn’t changed. he’s still larger than life, still full of stories, still your dad. and god, you missed him.

he catches your eye, and for a moment, it’s like nothing has changed. like you’re just a kid again, sitting with your dad, listening to him talk about his crazy ideas, his wild adventures.

“you know,” he starts, leaning forward, “i remember that time you and john b tried to catch that fish out by the dock, and you both fell in. i swear, i thought i was gonna have to drag you two out myself,” he says, chuckling to himself, shaking his head like the memory is some long-lost treasure of its own.

you smile, even though it feels a little bittersweet. “yeah,” you murmur under your breath.

you pull at a piece of grass by your feet, your fingers absentmindedly tearing at it. you’ve waited so long for this moment—for him to come back, for your family to feel whole again.

but now that he’s here, you don’t know what to do with it. you can’t shake the feeling that something’s changed, that he’s not just the dad you remember, but something else entirely. still, you can’t help but feel like the little girl who always looked up to him, who wanted nothing more than to make him proud.

“i never thought we’d see you again,” you mumble, your voice low, barely above a whisper. you don’t look up from the grass, your fingers still picking at the blades, but you can feel his gaze on you.

“i never thought i’d be back either,” he admits quietly. “but i couldn’t stop thinking about you two. every day out there . . . i thought about coming home.”

you scoff softly, a bitter smile pulling at your lips, even though you don’t mean for it to. “but you didn’t,” you say, barely above a whisper. “you didn’t come back for three years.”

he shifts in his seat, his fingers tapping against the arm of the chair. “it wasn’t that simple, y/n,” he says. “i was trying to protect you. there are dangerous people out there, people who want what we’re after. i couldn’t come back until i knew it was safe.”

you nod, but it’s a hollow gesture. you’ve heard it all before from other people—the excuses, the treasure, the danger. it always comes back to that.

you glance at your friends, laughing and sharing stories with each other. you’ve spent so long trying to push this life aside, to live outside of the mess of treasure hunts and betrayals. but it always pulls you back in.

“yeah, you always did put the treasure first,” you murmur as you face forward again. you’re not even sure if you mean to say it out loud. it’s more to yourself, just a thought that’s been living in the back of your mind for too long.

“don’t do that.” he leans forward, his voice soft, almost pleading. “i did it for you and john b,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “for our family. i wanted us to have something—something big, something that would change everything.”

“yeah, but we didn’t need that,” you say, your voice small, but firm. you’re still pulling at the grass, twisting it around your fingers. “we just needed you.”

he doesn’t say anything for a moment. it’s like he’s trying to figure out what to say, but there’s nothing that can fix the years of distance. nothing that can make up for what you lost when he left.

there’s a long silence, and for a moment, you think maybe this is as close as you’ll ever get to understanding each other. you don’t want to fight tonight. you just want to sit with him, to pretend that things could go back to how they were before.

“so,” he starts again, his tone shifting back to playful, like he’s trying to lighten the mood, “you and john b teaming up with the others to chase down treasure? guess it runs in the family.”

you laugh, but it’s a little forced. “yeah, well, i tried to stay out of it. but . . .”

“but what?” he presses, leaning forward with a smirk. “got a little taste of adventure, didn’t you?”

you glance up at the marsh, a faint smile on your lips. “something like that,” you mutter.

but you don’t mention rafe, don’t mention how he’s become a part of this tangled mess, how hard it’s been being caught between him and your family. you’ve already told your dad the day you reunited a few days ago in barbados. didn’t end well that time either. you don’t want to ruin the moment, don’t want to start another fight.

but, as if the universe is reading your mind, your dad shifts the conversation in a way that makes your stomach drop. “just promise me,” he says, suddenly serious, “you won’t let that rafe cameron kid get too close. he’s no good, y/n.”

the words hit you like a slap, and for a moment, you just sit there, staring at him. it takes you a second to process what he’s said, to even understand the casual way he’s dismissed rafe, like it’s nothing. like he’s nothing.

“and i hear john b’s with sarah now, too?” his tone shifts, bitter and disapproving. “so now both of my kids are wrapped up with the camerons. hell of a choice you both made.”

you freeze, your stomach tightening. there it is. you knew it was coming, but it still hits you like a punch to the gut. it’s not the first time he’s made a comment about rafe, and you thought you were doing the right thing confessing what’s changed since you last saw him, but now he’s dragging john b into it, and that makes it worse. so much worse.

“dad,” you start, trying to keep your voice steady, but there’s an edge to it, a warning. “don’t.”

he shakes his head like you’ve said something ridiculous. “no, i am gonna say something. sarah, rafe, they’re cameron’s kids. ward cameron’s kids. you’re smart enough to know better than to get mixed up with people like him. they’re bad news. always have been.”

“yeah, but they’re not like him,” you snap, your voice sharper than you intended. “sarah’s not ward. rafe’s not ward. they’re not their father.”

he just laughs, but there’s no humor in it. it’s harsh. “you really believe that?” he asks, shaking his head again. “they’re camerons. it’s in their blood. you think you’re any safer with rafe than you were without me here? because i’m telling you right now, you’re not.”

you stand up, your hands balled into fists at your sides. you’ve heard enough. for days now, you’ve listened to him make little digs about rafe, about the camerons, and you’ve kept your mouth shut. but tonight, it’s too much. you can’t keep it in anymore.

“three years, dad. three years you were gone, chasing your stupid treasure, while we were stuck here. john b and i had to figure it out on our own. so don’t stand there and act like you have any right to tell me who i should or shouldn’t be with.”

big john looks at you, stunned, like he’s seeing you for the first time. but you’re not done. there’s too much you’ve kept bottled up, and now it’s all spilling out.

“you care more about that gold than you ever did about us,” you say. “you care more about treasure than you do about being a father. you don’t know anything.”

big john’s face hardens, his jaw clenching as he stares at you. ��i know enough,” he says, his voice cold. “i know who the camerons are.”

“yeah?” you snap, your voice breaking. “well, maybe if you’d been here, you’d actually know something about me too.”

you turn on your heel, ready to storm off, but the moment you move, you notice it.

the pogues are silent now, all of them watching. sarah, jj, pope, kie—they’re still, their conversations dropped as they stand there, wide-eyed and uneasy. john b, though, he’s just sitting there with his can of beer held low in his hands, lips pressed together. you can tell he’s heard it all before. he’s not going to step in because he knows you need to let it out.

you’re just done with it. you take a step forward, ready to leave this backyard and the suffocating tension behind. but something stops you, a feeling gnawing at your chest, pulling you back. you hesitate, turning just enough to glance at your dad over your shoulder.

he’s still staring at you, his expression set like stone, as if he’s waiting for you to say more, to take it all back, maybe. but you won’t. not now.

your voice wavers, but it’s steady enough. “i wish you never came back.”

his face doesn’t move, but something flickers in his eyes. you don’t wait for him to respond. you turn away for good this time and walk out, leaving the backyard behind.

before you know it, you’re at rafe’s house, your knuckles rapping against the door almost frantically. you pace, glancing down at your phone, watching as the notifications keep coming—texts from john b, a few from kie, and even jj. they're all asking the same thing: ‘ where are you? ’ or ‘ are you okay? ’

you drag your hand down your face, trying to ignore the tightness in your chest. before you can get lost in your thoughts, the door swings open, and there he is.

rafe stands in the doorway, his expression unreadable. he leans against the doorframe for a second, his lips slightly parted, taking you in. you know he’s already pieced together what’s happened from the voice messages you left on the way over. not that he’s the type to acknowledge it with some grand gesture or comforting words.

he doesn’t say anything, but he steps aside without much ceremony. you slip past him and leave your phone in the foyer, tossing it carelessly on the side table as you pass, the pinging of messages finally fading into the background.

you make your way down the hallway, not even sure where you’re going, but your feet carry you to the living room. rafe follows close behind, his presence looming, but not overbearing. his eyes are trained on you, watching as you take in the dimly lit room. there’s a bottle of whiskey sitting on the coffee table, a glass next to it, already finished. it’s so rafe—quiet, controlled chaos.

you stop, your breath shaky, your chest tight, and before you can hold it back, everything comes spilling out.

“he doesn’t get it, rafe. he just doesn’t fucking get anything,” you start, your voice louder than you intend. you turn to face him, your hands gesturing wildly as you try to make sense of the mess of emotions coursing through you. “i mean, he’s been gone for years, and he comes back, and suddenly he thinks he can just . . . control everything? like he gets to have an opinion about my life after everything he’s done. he doesn't even know me anymore.”

rafes eyes are fixed on you, and he’s listening, letting you get it out. his jaw twitches slightly, but he stays silent, just watching as you unravel in front of him.

“and it’s like . . . it’s like no matter what i do, no matter how hard i try, it’s never enough! not for him, not for john b, not for anyone!” your voice cracks, and you press your palms against your temples, trying to hold yourself together, but the tears are already brimming, threatening to spill over. “i didn’t ask for any of this. i didn’t ask to be stuck in the middle of all this shit with my family and you and . . . god, it’s too much.”

you turn away from him, your breath coming out in shallow gasps now as you try to steady yourself. but it’s no use. you’re falling apart, and it feels like the weight of everything is finally crushing you.

before you can say another word, rafe steps forward, his arms sliding around you in one swift motion. “alright, alright, c’mere,” he murmurs, his voice soft but firm. “c’mon.”

you collapse into him, burying your face into his chest, the tears coming freely now. he holds you tight, his chin resting lightly against the top of your head as his hand rubs slow circles on your back.

rafe’s not one for words, and you don’t expect him to be, but this—this is enough. the steady rise and fall of his chest, the way his arms keep you grounded, it’s enough to make the world stop spinning for just a moment.

you don’t say anything else. neither does he. the silence stretches on, but it’s not uncomfortable. for once, you feel like you can breathe.

even though he’s holding you, his mind seems elsewhere—his jaw clenched, muscles rigid beneath the surface. it’s not hard to guess where his thoughts have drifted, especially after everything you told him in those voice messages.

you can tell he’s upset. not just because you’re upset, but because of what your dad said—about him, about his family. his body is stiff as he holds you, and you know him well enough to see the silent anger simmering just beneath the surface. his eyes aren’t on you; they’re somewhere distant, staring past you as if he’s imagining your father’s words in his head.

“i’m sorry about what he said, rafe,” you whisper into his chest, feeling the way his breathing shifts, more shallow now, controlled. “he said something about sarah and john b, too.”

he doesn’t respond right away, but you feel his hand pause against your back, fingers pressing a little harder. for a moment, it feels like he might pull away, but instead, he just tightens his grip on you. his silence speaks volumes. rafe is the type to internalize everything, to let it fester until it boils over, but you can feel it now—the tension thrumming through his entire body.

“doesn’t matter,” he finally mutters, though you can tell by the way his voice is low, that it does. “it’s nothing i haven’t heard before.”

you pull back slightly, just enough to look up at him, and his eyes flick down to meet yours. they’re darker than usual, clouded with frustration, but he still tries to soften his expression for you.

“he doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” you say quietly. “he doesn’t know you.”

for a moment, neither of you speaks. rafe’s hand resumes its slow, steady motion against your back, though the tension hasn’t fully left his body. you can feel the war going on inside him—the part of him that’s angry, defensive, but also the part that’s trying to be here for you, to let go of his own frustration long enough to comfort you.

“fuck him,” rafe mutters after a long silence, his voice barely above a whisper. “he doesn’t get to talk about you like that. or me.”

there’s a dangerous edge to his voice now, but you know it’s not directed at you. he’s angry, not just at your dad, but at the situation—the impossible mess you’ve both found yourselves in, caught between your family and his.

“i don’t care what he thinks,” you murmur, holding onto him tighter. “i’m here with you. that’s all that matters.”

he doesn’t respond, but his hand moves to the back of your neck, his fingers curling gently into your hair as he exhales, long and slow, like he’s finally letting go of whatever was eating at him.

for the first time tonight, the room feels quiet as the two of you stand there, wrapped in each other’s arms.

you’re gazing up into his eyes, searching for something—comfort, understanding, maybe a little reassurance. your hands find their way up his shoulders, one resting gently on his collarbone while the other slides higher, rubbing the area around his ear and jaw.

“you know that i love you,” you murmur, your voice soft but steady, as if the confession can dissolve the tension still hanging in the air.

rafe stares down at you, and in that moment, you can see everything in his eyes. he’s never loved anyone more than he loves you—the way you stood your ground against your own dad tonight, defending yourself and defending him and his family. it’s a vulnerable space, one he doesn’t often let himself occupy, but with you, it feels different.

he nods, pressing his lips together as if trying to hold back a flood of emotion. then, with a sudden urgency, he leans down and kisses you deeply. the taste of whiskey lingers on his lips. it’s a kiss that speaks of everything unspoken.

but just as quickly as it begins, he pulls away and presses a soft kiss to your cheek. you close your eyes into the gesture, feeling the warmth of his lips linger against your skin.

rafe goes back to resting his chin on your head, his breath steady as he holds you close again. you breathe in his familiar scent, a mix of sea salt and something distinctly rafe, and let the silence wrap around you like a comforting blanket.

in this moment, nothing else matters. not the fights, not your dad’s harsh words, not the stupid tangled web of family and expectations.

just you and him, together, holding onto each other for as long as you can.

[ashherahh]

your first time with your future spouse +18

Note: Please take it if it resonates, leave it if it doesn't. Meditate before making your decision. It's completely okay if you don't resonate with this reading. The collective is huge and I'm sure you'll receive the messages you need in due time.

pile 1

You're seen as quite meek by most people and even by your future spouse when you first meet them. Eventually they learn what a little freak you are! You're so prim and proper and polite in front of others but when you're alone you're a bit depraved. You're what people would call a mental slut.

The energy I'm picking up is that you weren't really sexually compatible with previous partners and so you just thought that you're not someone who feels that intense sexual attraction people always seem to be talking about. That doesn't stop all the thoughts you have.

There's a strong energy of abstinence but there's definitely an underlying energy of someone that is like a caged werewolf under a full moon.

To explain what I'm seeing, it's as though you do get sexually aroused but no one seems to tick your boxes in a sense so you haven't gone all the way in a hot minute. It's like mentally, you're really pumped up and then you're in front of someone and it's like being thrown with a bucket of ice water. I am seeing a problem with climaxing and your mind kind of wanders a bit.

When you first do the deed with your future spouse, you give disclosures and you do make them aware of how you feel about sex and your experiences. You're very open with them, mainly because you don't want to get your hopes up and you don't want them to be disappointed.

Your future spouse is very patient with you and they're very understanding. I'm seeing you're very comfortable with them, that's why the two of you are able to discuss intimacy so openly.

Lemme tell you something, they are so confident in themselves and they're going to teach you a thing or two. Wink wink, nudge nudge.

They keep this to themselves because they don't want you to overthink your first time together and they want to keep you as present in the act as they possibly can.

You ever crave something but you can't seem to figure out what it is? Then when you do stumble across it, it's like puzzle pieces falling in place. That's what your first time with them is like.

I'm seeing that they hold you quite close to them through the entire act. They'll keep your back to their front or they'll put you in positions where you feel like they're all over you.

They talk you through it, not really dirty talk but more like they give you a lot of praises. I'm seeing that they touch your belly a lot, that's a very sensitive spot for you that you didn't even know about.

Your future spouse has stamina and I do see it takes a while for you to orgasm the first time but their focus is completely on you. They really get off on seeing you thoroughly pleasured. You two leave each other feeling so satisfied, and it only gets better from there.

pile 2

You love your future spouse's voice and their hands. It's as though your entire body is voice activated around them. That's the first thing you notice about them. I'm seeing that they have an accent different from yours as well.

They have a very commanding energy. Someone who is very solid and stable and career oriented. Big boss vibes.

They use that same energy in the bedroom...

Hehehe oh they like to stand behind you and whisper in your ear, even if it's normal things, they like to tease you and see your reaction to them.

They have beautiful hands and because they've picked up on how much you like that part of them, they're constantly putting them on display so to speak. They also like to flex around you too. The physical attraction between the two of you is so carnal and thick, you could cut through it with a knife.

You two know each other, I am seeing a work setting. You're in an environment with them whereby if you weren't, you wouldn't know one another or be in the same circles because of how different you are. I am seeing that you guys are not dating when you have sex for the first time but it does become an exclusive relationship afterwards.

You mask your attraction to them behind annoyance, but because they're quite attractive and very charismatic, they can see it and they do things on purpose to get a rise out of you. Your discussions become quite heated with them, they like to debate with you.

Your future spouse is a brat tamer and you're a brat. Even if you're not into the BDSM lifestyle, they're definitely not vanilla, that's the kind of dynamic you have. So, your first time with them is very... unplanned. It's sudden and kind of just happens but it's so explosive. I see this happening in their space so to speak.

They spent so long teasing you and riling you up, that they have been doing it to themselves in the process as well.

It's as though your spouse was waiting so long for this and they have no control at all. They're like someone starved and they want to do everything with you. Meanwhile you're just head empty because did you want this all along? Ohmygoodness, you did!

Goodness, your first time is more like a quickie because you two just can't control yourselves around each other!

You both come to terms with your true feelings for each other during the act. It's like a revelation. You can't get enough of one another.

pile 3

Tantric sex. Your first time with your future spouse is so spiritual, it's proper lovemaking. Not rushed, no anxiety, no overthinking. This is like a joining of souls.

I'm seeing that you and you future spouse take the act of sex very, very seriously. You two are very involved in spirituality so you both don't want any unwanted soul ties or things like that. I am seeing you two waiting a looooong time before having sex. I'm seeing strongly that many of you will wait until you're married, I'm not seeing a conventional marriage ceremony either.

Because of the lifestyle you practice, you want to make sure that you're in this forever. Your future spouse already feels that they'll spend the rest of their earthly life with you and so they're not rushed to have you the first time. You on the other hand... you're chomping at the bit to have them and they know it but they always redirect your energy. Your libido seems a lot higher than theirs on the surface, but it's only because they've been practicing on controlling theirs a lot longer than you have.

I see that they were born into this lifestyle and these spiritual practices, and you only started later in life.

They try and get you to do other activities to get your mind off of sex but sometimes you'll just be looking at them and they'll catch you and be like, "Nah uh, not my goodies, not yet."

It's really not that they don't want you but they want things to be in place before they have you like that so to speak. Sometimes, even though you understand where they're coming from, you still feel at times that they're not into you.

All of that goes out of the window your first time with them!

They really set the mood with candles and music. They take their time preparing you as well. They'll give you a full body massage. They love to use their mouth on you... So, foreplay will have them with their head between your legs for a while.

I'm seeing that their eyes are on you constantly, even in the throws of pleasure they'll try to keep looking into your eyes. They'll be watching your reactions and they love to hear you.

Phew! It's hot in here!

You were not expecting your future spouse to be so intense and so passionate. Their sexual energy is not really "aggressive", it's more sensual. They want all of your senses to be tantalised. All of those times they have you do something else will be so worth it.

[hana-no-seiiki]

YANDERE HUSBAND x GN CELEBRITY!READER

— based off of a dream i had of a childhood friend/crush. hiatus not over tho lol.

— morally bankrupt reader. clingy husband. the usual yandere stuff.

YANDERE! HUSBAND who was your childhood best friend. Your parents shipped you two since you could speak.

YANDERE! HUSBAND who had a crush on you since forever. He doesn’t even remember a time where he didn’t get butterflies and an aching need to be the only one close to you

YANDERE! HUSBAND who’s the biggest flirt. He knows you the best. Although you were completely oblivious. He’d always try to be around you, compliment you, tease you.

He’d give you matching keychains, and would beg his parents to buy whatever gift he’d think you’d like.

YANDERE! HUSBAND who sadly had to move away for a while. He comes back during high school. And the first thing he asks while he’s there? To be put in the same class as you.

Now that you two are older, you finally started to notice how much of a tease he was. Always grappling unto a piece of your attention.

You acquiesce and begin to date him. Not necessarily feeling anything for the guy but thought it was high time that you finally settle down. It was the perfect storyline you could share once your ambitions were fulfilled.

That and cause your parents would only let you go to acting school if he married you.

Which you two eventually did before college. Was it rushed? Definitely. Did you even love the guy? Nuh uh. But you had places you had your sights set on. And he was the only path.

YANDERE! HUSBAND who drops out to be your full time househubby. His parents could always give him a job at their corporation anyways. There was no real pressure for him to study and get a job.

YANDERE! HUSBAND who almost always supports your acting career. Watching all your shows, movies, and interviews. Basically buying out all the merch you featured in. And paying advertisers across the globe to have your face plastered everywhere.

YANDERE! HUSBAND who unfortunately stops you from having any romantic or sexual scenes. Essentially blocking you from any roles that could be your breakthrough just cause it could have a tiny kiss or so.

Your anger at his blatant attempt to have control over you began simmering. Ever so slowly reaching the surface. Not improving at all when you found out he’d been trying out a job that his mother gave him.

Fuck the gifts. Fuck the yachts and cars he’d swarm you with. Why did he get to do what he wanted and you didn’t?

So you follow him to work once, only to catch him in a compromising position with a coworker.

You didn’t care about him or his business beneath the sheets really. So you had to thank the gods above that you knew exactly what and how to do the following act.

Cry. Scream. Throw things at them.

The coworker already left. Shuffling as they tried to hide from your anger.

Your husband is unresponsive. Catatonic. Even more of an excuse to hurt him.

You call him filthy, uncaring, the worst man to ever exist. Hell, even some of your true feelings come out as you yelled about how you regretted ever being with him.

You find out later from his mom that he had been framed. That this coworker was just trying to get money out of the heir.

Still, you wanted out. He had already served his purpose and you needed to expand your horizons.

A week later of radio silence from him as you prepared the divorce papers he walks in.

Covered in red his hands caressed your face,

“You called me filthy did you not? So I cleansed myself with their blood.”

[ashfae]

The thing about romance is, it makes a good story.

As soon as Neil described season 2 as "quiet, gentle, romantic" I figured we'd be in for it, because as he's the first to point out, writers are liars. And the best way to deceive is with truth.

Season 2 is romantic. The trappings of romance are everywhere. Crowley tries to set up Nina and Maggie by trapping them under an awning during a rainstorm, a classic cinematic bonding technique. Aziraphale's chosen method comes from his beloved books: the ball, the dancing, appearing as a pair in public, hands held as you twirl gracefully with your heart thrilled and racing. If they can set up a sensational kiss that will unlock the happy ever after. They've lived on earth, they've studied the tropes, they know how romance works.

The problem is a story is only a story.

Nina and Maggie had the classic romantic setup completely by accident before Aziraphale and Crowley ever began trying to interfere with them. They get locked in Nina's coffeeshop. They can't escape or communicate with anyone else, they end up talking by candlelight because there's no electricity, Nina offers wine. Maggie mentions how she'd hoped for a chance to talk to Nina, and now here they are. It's every bit as much a standard as what Aziraphale and Crowley attempt to arrange. Blanket scenarios galore exist because of that starting point. We love that story. And there's nothing wrong with that.

But it's still only a story, it's not enough. Because once that moment of connection is over, however lovely it was, all the rest of the world comes flooding back in in the form of dozens of angry text messages. Nina's messy entrapping relationship hasn't magically gone away just because she and Maggie shared a romantic encounter.

And it's so tempting think oh well, that's easy. We'll just give them more romantic encounters and eventually those will overwhelm the rest of the baggage. Must do, because it'll make them fall in love, and once they realize they're in love that trumps all other considerations, right? So it'll be fine. Love Conquers All.

Neil also mentioned Pride and Prejudice.

Darcy knows he's in love early on and makes a disasterous proposal that shows that he has no understanding of Elizabeth's perspective, possibly hasn't even thought about it. They've been meeting in forest lanes for walks, conversing, had tete-a-tetes in the sitting room, danced at a ball. And while his turn of phrase isn't as flattering as he thinks, he's still offering her everything he thinks she wants and needs: affection, security, his good name, wealth, an escape from the embarrassments of her situation, the world. How can there be anything to object to? Why would anyone ever refuse so much of value?

Elizabeth quite rightly cuts him to pieces. He lashes back with a few hard truths of his own and they separate. During that separation, he thinks and he learns. He takes to heart the criticisms she offered, re-examines his assumptions, opens his eyes. Thinks about her perspective and how sometimes the only difference between pride and arrogance is where you're standing. He does the work. When they meet again he tries to demonstrate that he's learned--not in order to court her again (yet), but because the only real apology he can offer, the only one that would have weight, is to show that he's grown, he listened to her. He changed.

Elizabeth of course has her own journey, accepting that many of her own conclusions about Darcy were erroneous because they were formed without her having the full picture to hand, and once she's done that she has to apply it to her own situation as well. She loves her family, but they do place her at a disadvantage on a number of levels, leading eventually to full-out disaster as her younger sister carelessly ruins all of their reputations. It's hard to admit, it's mortifying, but Darcy was offering her a great deal she needs. His offer did have worth for all that she dismissed it as an insult. And as she learns to value his own character more highly, and then as she sees that he did listen to her even though she insulted him so thoroughly...well, she grows too. And when they do eventually come together it's not because of courting and balls. There's a big romantic gesture in his rescue of her sister but even that isn't why they'll get their happy ever after. It was just the catalyst for the conversation. They win because they've learned how to understand each other and how to communicate for the future. How they can strengthen and support each other, how to balance their strengths and weaknesses. The films leave them at the wedding, but the book shows a bit of their marriage too, and during it they keep learning from each other. Their relationship is held up as a superior love story for good reasons.

The end of season one was romantic too. Crowley stopped time rather than face a world where Aziraphale would never speak to him again, Aziraphale walked into hell to protect Crowley, they dined at the Ritz and toasted the world. But then they stopped. Sure they spent time together, talked, enjoyed each other's company. But if they were talking about important things would Crowley still be living in his car? They had a bit of respite but all that real world baggage that exists outside of the romantic moment hasn't been faced, none of it. Four or five years sounds like a long while but for beings who are quite literally older than the earth? That's just an intermission.

Nina's relationship ends, leaving her with a tangled mess; Maggie realises the sweet dream of love she's been longing for isn't as important as the real Nina. They talk. They plan. Nina will sort through her life, get closure, figure out what went wrong with Lindsay and what she wants from a relationship, learn how to ask for respect instead of just bending under her partner's demands. Maggie will support Nina the way Nina needs, which sometimes means helping her get oat milk for the shop and sometimes means giving her processing space. They're on the same page; they're going to do the work. That's why most likely they'll succeed. To quote one of my favourite fanfics: it's not happily ever after, but it's a chance. It's all going to be okay. (The Profane Comedy by Mussimm, who absolutely nailed this theme)

The romance is nice, it's lovely. We need it to keep ourselves going. To give ourselves the dreams that help us get through the days and nights. But it's not the relationship. It's not enough on its own. The wedding can be the grandest most beautiful ceremony ever with doves flying and sweeping music and bells ringing, but that doesn't guarantee the marriage will last.

Crowley and Aziraphale have had their romantic gestures, oodles of them. One wing raised to protect the other from falling stars, another from rain. Shared ground, shared interests, hands offered in friendship and held on a bus. They've tried to get to the same page, they really have. They just aren't there yet. The biggest most important things still haven't been talked about, and season 2 showed there are even more of those big important things than we'd realised.

The show paints Maggie as Aziraphale's foil and Nina as Crowley's, even to the point of Nina casually calling Maggie 'angel'. But Aziraphale's baggage is Nina's. The toxic relationship has to be processed and understood and closed, and it hasn't been, despite season one. Lindsay never really liked Nina very much, for all that they tried to keep her trapped; Heaven never really liked Aziraphale very much for all that he believed in it. They both let themselves be used. But Lindsay left Nina and went to their sister's, whereas now the head of Heaven has reached out to Aziraphale and said here, we can fix this, you can fix this, don't you want to fix this? Others are already writing about that and maybe I'll add to it later, not sure. And Crowley, like Maggie, has had a sweet dream that he has to set aside. Maybe he'll be able to pick it up again eventually, maybe not. But sometimes you offer support by buying oat milk or rescuing your beloved from the legions of hell, and sometimes you do it by standing back while they sort through their shit.

Quiet, gentle, romantic. It was.

But that's only part of the story. Now they have to do the work. They thought they had, but they were wrong, because there's so much they just hadn't touched yet and tried to cover over with relief and sleight of hand and alcohol and forgiveness. The apology dance doesn't mean much without showing that you listened and learned. They've faced so much trauma already and that should have been enough, we wanted it to be enough and so did they and it's such a blow for it to turn out that there's still more to do, that the baggage hasn't just gone away and can't be hidden under blankets or soothed with cocoa. The texts are still coming in and demanding answers.

But it'll be okay. It will. It's still a chance. And one that in the long run makes them better, builds something real that lasts.

The best stories, the ones that last longest and become classics, are the ones that don't end with the kiss under the awning or the blanket scenario or the wedding. They're the ones that heal us while the characters heal themselves. It's hard to accept that there's still more to do. Harder to imagine how it can possibly work out. And yes, bloody frustrating to wait and see.

And we'll get through that interim by telling even more stories. Because the story is never just a story. It's how we get through the work, it's what we tell ourselves so we can do the damn work. Stories are what we cling to and how we remind ourselves we're human and connect. A book is a person you can carry with you. We're not alone, none of us, stories connect us because we love them and see ourselves in them, which means we see each other.

Aziraphale's back up in Heaven to deal with his unfinished baggage; Crowley left his behind long ago and it's clearly going to come back and bite him in the arse however much he tries to go his own way. And they can't help each other with that. Not yet.

But they'll get there. So will we.

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

THE THINGS YOU DO FOR LOVE... ; SATORU GOJO

synopsis; satoru begs you to wear the frilly maid dress he bought. against your better judgement, you indulge him.

word count; 7.0k (this was supposed to be short but i miss him terribly)

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, fluff fluff fluff!!, sickeningly sweet, literally just satoru being down horrendous, lots and lots of petnames (he is embarrassing), he’s ur biggest hypeman, entirely sfw!! (i feel like i have to specify that…), reader is a lil grumpy, satoru gojo is the most insufferable man on earth <3

a/n; this is just a silly lil wip i found in my drafts…. i dont remember what possessed me to write this i just think satoru would cry and fall to his knees and throw up blood if he saw u in a frilly dress

”— no.”

the word rolls off your tongue, instantaneous, with a decisive kind of sterness. leaving no room for hesitation, doubt or indecision; not a single gap for his argument to fit through, no loophole he could take advantage of to persuade you into giving in.

but despite all that, satoru just won’t back down.

”come on, baby, please?” he pleads, voice coaxing and sugary sweet. you can almost see those puppy dog eyes of his from behind the black glass of his shades. ”i already bought it and everything!”

”i don’t care,” you spit. a halfhearted attempt at appearing annoyed, in hopes it’ll distract him from the strawberry flush of your cheeks. ”i’m not wearing it. you shouldn’t have bought it, in the first place.”

”but sweetheart,” he drawls, tinged with a sadness he knows tugs at your heartstrings. ”it’s so cute. you’ll look so adorable.”

”not happening.”

”but —”

”— no. i’m seriously not wearing it, satoru.”

it’s harsh, the flow of your words, sharp and firm; but that’s your only option when he gets like this. your only slim chance at survival, being almost painfully direct. that doesn’t stop your resolve from weakening pitifully when satoru’s posture wilts, though, obviously exaggerated but still somehow effective. you debase yourself for being so weak for him. 

but giving in just isn’t an option, this time. 

under normal circumstances, it wouldn’t take too long for him to persuade you. satoru can be annoying, extremely so — but when he’s being so stubborn about something, there’s usually a good reason for it, even if it’s just that whatever he wants you to do will make him happy. to you, it’ll do.

(his happiness is your priority, after all.)

but in this case, there’s just no way. absolutely no way in hell.

he’s still holding that thing up, like he genuinely thinks it’ll support his argument, swaying it lightly side to side. it really, really doesn’t. it does the complete opposite, in fact.

”but angel,” he tries, again. you wonder if he’s eventually going to run out of petnames, or if he’ll just keep cycling through them until he runs out of air to breathe. ”don’t you wanna see how it’ll look on you?”

a sharp scoff flows from your lips. 

he can’t be serious. 

you really, really, really don’t. if anything, you want everything in the world except for that. you’d rather smash a glass bottle into little pieces and eat them one by one. you’d rather sit on satoru’s lap in a room full of other people. you’d rather jump in front of a moving train with explosives tied to your back.

— it’s so frilly. 

you almost couldn’t believe it, yourself. when he barged into the room, cardboard box in hand, fresh from the mail; all while wearing an excited grin, foreboding, but you were too mesmerized by it to even notice. 

it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, so you didn’t think much of it. satoru buying you gifts is not in any way unusual, even and especially if you tell him not to — and usually, it’d be a sweet occasion. the kind of moment you can soak in, drink up, and then recall fondly for the rest of the week. 

every single detail is worth cherishing. how excitedly he always opens it up, eager for your reaction, and how you always thank him, no matter what it is. sincerely, because satoru can be awkward with his affection, but his love bleeds through in moments like these.

from expensive, well-kept bouquets to little flowers on the side of the road; from thought-out gifts to little trinkets; no matter what it is, the sentiment remains the same.

(this made me think of you. i want you to have it. 

i remembered you mentioning this brand. i love you.)

a way for satoru to show his love, without overwhelming himself or you. a way of easing him into it, when everything is still just so new to him. 

buying you whatever catches his eye is the perfect solution, according to satoru. and it exasperates you, sometimes, when you come home to five amazon packages right outside your doorstep — but deep down you know it’s more for him than you. because it makes him happy, to be able to, allowed to show his love for you in ways like this. in normal ways, easy ways, that say more than his words ever could. 

(being granted the luxury of making you happy. of loving you, even if satoru doesn’t think he’s very good at that, just yet. but he is good at impulse buying things he knows you’d like; so that’ll have to do, for now.)

which is why you couldn’t help but let his infectious joy seep into your bloodstream, trickling its way through your veins with a sweet kind of fervour. couldn’t help but smile, a tender curl of your lips, in tandem with his cute little grin. couldn’t help but grow a little bit excited, as he opened the package — 

to reveal a cutesy, frilly, maid outfit.

— and then your mind screeched to a halt. 

the look on your face must have been something special, horrified and flustered in equal measure. almost in disbelief, as he immediately began to gush about the outfit in his hands. look at the bows, isn’t it cute? god, you’re going to look so pretty. i mean, you always do, obviously, but —

you weren’t really listening. all your mind could do was spin in circles, trying to get some read on the situation, but it was just no good. he genuinely, thoroughly, truly and sincerely expected you to put on a goddamn maid outfit. 

if he had bought it for himself, then maybe you would've been at least a little bit excited. you’re sure he'd look good in it; with those big blue eyes of his, that cute, happy grin. so good that your heart would probably combust, a little. melt through the floorboards. 

but no — he wanted you to wear it. 

and despite your instant, firm protests, he just will not give it up. your boyfriend is a stubborn man, so it’s no surprise, but it’s still enough to irk you.

”satoru, for real. no! i’m not wearing it!”

”but you’d look so good,” he whines, loud and grating as he inches closer to you. still holding the dress up like a prize; you back away, instinctively, like it’ll burn if you touch it.

”i don’t care! it’s a maid outfit! why the hell would i ever wear it?” 

sunglasses seated at the bridge of his nose, satoru allows you to catch a glimmer of his eyes — an effective method of persuasion. he definitely knows their power, and he’s definitely flaunting them for the sole purpose of making you falter. that manipulative scumbag.

the fact that it actually works makes you even angrier, though.

a sharp turn of your head, and your gaze falls on the windowpane, lingering there as you grumble under your breath. he’s so annoying. you’re growing more and more flustered by the minute, too. 

”— because you love me?” 

satoru tilts his head, white locks of hair following the movement. soft and silky, nice to run your fingers through, but you chase the thought away as soon as it enters your subconscious. he looks almost hypnotizing under the sunlight, with the golden rays illuminating his features, smoothing over the contours of his face — as if the sun was made solely to shine on his skin.

and ah, you think, there we go. satoru’s classic tactic; using your love for him as a bargaining chip, pouting down at you like a kicked puppy. you like to picture his eyes all watery and glassy, everytime he tries it, as if he’s some rejected cartoon-mascot. so silly. 

valiantly, you fight off the temptation to smile, gracing him with another little scoff instead. shooting him an unimpressed look, a tiny raise of your eyebrow. ”that won’t work on me.”

”aww, come on,” he almost coos, inching closer still. ”don’t you love me? my sweetiepie? my cute lil’ mochi?” 

(he’s getting bolder with the petnames, you note. as if that’d change anything. they’re so cheesy it makes you recoil.)

”obviously.” you deadpan, trying your best not to let affection seep into the words. but you see satoru’s lips curl up, anyway. ”i’m still not wearing it, though. sorry.”

satoru sighs. heavy, exasperated — dare you say defeated? for a second, you delude yourself into thinking he might actually give in, for once, spare you both the trouble — 

until he falls to the floor, knees hitting the soft flooring with a loud thud. awfully dramatic. he clasps his hands together as if to beg and plead, a starved dog at your feet, and gazes up at you with newfound determination.

”please, baby — i’m begging you,” he groans, voice sad and pained, agonized, like you just threatened to break up with him. silly, silly man.

”don’t grovel.” a sigh drops from your lips as the pads of your fingers go to massage your temples. soothing what you’re almost sure is an incoming headache.

and he makes a certain noise, almost a whimper, like you just kicked him in the gut. you glance down at him as if to signal really? with your eyes, lips parting to speak — 

but your breath only hitches in your throat, and no sound comes out.

satoru’s eyes are almost teary. peeking out from behind his shades, big and glassy, eyelashes dewy with what you know are just crocodile tears. he’s far too skilled at it for his own good, though — maybe you should be supporting his acting career, instead of the weird teacher-slash-sorcerer thing he’s got going on.

and you’re weak, you realize, terribly so. because something deep within your chest constricts, at those sad eyes, heart squeezed painfully, and when you speak you note that your voice sounds a lot softer. 

”satoru,” you sigh, again; more resigned this time, a little fatigued. missing the way his eyes glint at the sound, as if sensing an opportunity. ”really. i’m sorry i wasted your money, but it’s just… not happening. okay?” 

attempting to sound delicate, your voice settles on a soothing tilt, like an adult speaking to a tantrum-throwing child. hoping it’ll be enough to make him falter even slightly. 

it isn’t, of course; if anything, his determination only grows. 

”even just for a short while?” he tries, voice sweet and pliant. all daisies and sunbeams, tailormade to tug at your heartstrings. ”just an hour or so! then i’ll be satisfied.”

”an hour? no way!” you scoff.

and this time, you don’t miss it. from behind those shades, a certain glimmer of something flickers through his irises — something keen and observant. a certain dread crawls its way down your spine.

”so it’s fine if it’s less?” he grins, changing tactics, smooth and decisive. ”half an hour. that’s as low as i’ll go.”

”oh my god.” an exhale, drawn out and exhausted, from the very depths of your chest. ”satoru. toru. no. i’m not wearing it at all. this isn’t an auction.”

”but it could be,” he purrs, still on his knees. it makes him look a little bit disturbed. ”c’mon. why are you getting so shy? guess what — i’ll even settle for twenty minutes. just for you.”

oh, he’s just awful. you want so badly to be mad at him, and that teasing, smug, shit-eating little smirk of his — but you can’t. 

not when he looks so effortlessly pretty, bathed in the light of the sun, surrounded by a mellow glow so tender it makes him look something like an angel. not when he’s acting so characteristically himself, so stubborn and infuriating and entirely impossible not to love. 

another sigh. you’re a little surprised you have enough air left in your lungs to breathe it out, and as much as you hate to admit it, you’re beginning to grow just a bit tired of the back and forth. ”i’m not shy,” you huff. ”i just don’t want to. it won’t look good on me, anyway.”

satoru blinks. genuine surprise shines in his eyes, for a second, like you caught him off guard. ”huh? of course it will. why wouldn’t it?”

a pause. gnawing at your bottom lip, you avert your gaze, trying to find the words. ”it’s just… tacky,” you settle on. ”it’ll look weird.”

”it won’t! you’ll look so cute!”

another huff, as your dispassionate, bored gaze meets his. ”and how do you know that?”

satoru's answer is instantaneous. ”you always look cute. just wanna see how you look in this,” he chirps, brandishing the outfit with barely contained excitement. thoroughly giddy. ”when i saw it, i knew it’d look adorable on you. and i’m never wrong!”

a soft pout plays at your lips, in the wake of his eager sincerity. barely noticeable, just a little embarrassed, but it’s there. and satoru’s seen it, finally — the road to victory. he knows he can win this, if he’s smart about it.

”i just wanna see you in it. just for a second. please? pretty please?” he tilts his head, tantalizing, showing off the blue of his eyes and the curl of his lips. ”then i’ll never ask you for anything again. promise!”

”okay, that’s a lie and we both know it.”

the grin that blooms on your lips is a mistake, you quickly realize, because satoru interprets any sign of joy on your face as positive approval. his determination grows.

”yeah, yeah… but i mean it! i won’t bother you if you just wear it once. just once!” he puts a single finger up, to emphasize the point. ”just wanna see my precious baby all frilly and cute. won’t you indulge me, oh my dearest?”

he’s grinning, now, all soft and teasing. it’s more breathtaking than he’ll ever understand. he’ll never even come close to understanding how gorgeous he is, like this — when there’s no one around to perform for, when he can just be himself. when it’s just you, and satoru, and the feeling of having all the time in the world.

(even if you don’t.)

and you know your face must be flushed, a soft cherry red, as your gaze falls to the floor. the heat on your cheeks and neck, the pitter patter of your heartbeat; you feel it all. 

and it’s embarrassing, to find yourself so fervently twisted around someone’s finger — to find that you don’t even really mind. being wrapped around satoru’s finger isn’t so awful, all things considered. it’s a scary thought, for sure, but he’d never abuse the privilege. probably.

— a sigh. 

you still don’t want to wear it. you really don’t. it’s just awful. tacky, and embarrassing, and overall unpleasant. 

… but if it’ll get him to stop nagging you like this… 

and if it’s just for a short while…

silence, only silence, spilling into the sunkissed air. outside your apartment, the sky melts into a buttery orange hue. an intense contemplation is etched into your eyes, and satoru takes note of it; opting to put the final nail in the coffin. his very last bid.

”fifteen minutes. then you’re —”

”ten minutes,” you cut him off. sounding just a tad exhausted — resigned to your fate. 

and satoru doesn’t even bother trying to hide his excitement. suddenly beaming, he shoots up to his feet, and it causes you to jolt. ”perfect,” he grins, holding the dress out toward you. a little too eager for your liking.

”— but seriously. i’m only wearing it once. never again,” you tilt your head. ”got it?” satoru just nods, happily, so excited he’s practically jumping up and down — and despite everything, you still can’t find it in you to be angry. 

he looks so earnestly giddy.

eyes brimming with suspicion and weariness, your hands reach out to take it into your arms; the puffy dress, the frilly headwear, and the black thigh highs. you’re surprised he didn’t invest in a pair of shoes, while he was at it. just to complete the set.

(you decide not to comment on it, knowing he’d have some poor, overworked shoemaker on the phone within seconds.)

”need my help putting it on?” he purrs, face suddenly very close to yours — and the sudden stutter of your heartbeat sparks a hitch of your throat. desperate to cover it up, you shoot him a hefty glare.

”oh, shut up,” you hiss, but satoru only grins wider. soft little giggles flowing from his lips, like a schoolgirl teasing her upperclassman. silly.

a heavy hesitance rests on your features, as you give the outfit another chance. judgemental eyes trailing over the bows and frills, giving it a thorough look, until your lips curl down into a soft frown. it’s not that bad, but…

”it’s kinda ugly,” you lie, decisively.

”really? i think it’s cute, though.” 

”yeah, ’cause you have no taste.” a click of your tongue. ”what’s so great about maid outfits, anyway? i don’t see the appeal.”

satoru smiles. carefree, amused — still very much teasing. ”well, we’re about to find out,” he chirps.

you give him a look, eventually giving way to a soft exhale. ”fine — but only ten minutes. at most.” a pause, as you stop to think. what else? ”oh, and no taking pictures.”

”— i’m taking pictures.”

…

the exasperated look you send his way doesn’t seem to phase satoru even in the slightest. he continues to smile at you, unbothered, soft around the edges, and you know you’re not winning this one either.

”… fine,” you sigh. ”but — not too many, okay? and you aren’t allowed to show anyone, either.”

”of course not,” he scoffs, almost offended. ”as if i’d let anyone else see you like that.”

stuck between feeling relieved and put off, you settle on simply letting it go. and satoru continues to speak, reassuringly, glossy lips shining in the sunlight as they part.

”rest assured, baby,” he hums, a melodic lilt to his sugarsweet voice. ”this stays between us. i swear on my honour.”

you snort. ”like you’ve got any of that.”

”mean. anyway — c’mon. i can’t wait any longer.” before you can think to protest, he’s ushering you away in the direction of the bathroom, big hands heavy on your shoulders as they push you. still hesitant, you make no move to resist.

(what have you gotten yourself into?)

with one final sigh, your fingers curl around the doorknob, outfit hanging off your arm. not before sending one final glance back at satoru, reinstating your conditions. ”just this once. then you’re selling it. or burning it.”

”yes, yes — you have my word,” he promises. before you can narrow your eyes, he pushes you forward, gently; bouncing excitedly on the balls of his feet. ”go on, i’m waiting!”

”yeah, yeah…”

the door closes behind you with a soft thud, and the reality of the situation begins to finally dawn on you. the maid outfit weighs heavy on your heart, but light in your arms — you gaze down at it with pure contempt. it’s not like you have a choice, though. satoru won’t let you wriggle away from this one. and maybe, just maybe, a part of you wants to indulge him, after all.

(his smile shone so brightly, in the light of the sun.)

and it’s almost cautious, the way you begin to dress yourself; first the thigh highs, black and silky, then the outfit itself. pulling it over your head, your arms sneaking through the openings. 

it’s a perfect fit. 

a second passes. you stop to think, brows furrowing in suspicion — did the little bastard measure you? just to make sure he got it exactly right? he has been rummaging through your closet more than usual, recently, but you didn’t think much of it. over the years, you’ve conditioned yourself not to question the things that he does. that sneaky, sneaky man.

after putting on the headwear, you finally lift your gaze, tentative and slow — to take a peek at your own reflection. the flush on your face stands out, a contrast to the black and white colour scheme of the outfit. 

and you can’t help but exhale, a little exasperated.

it’s so… frilly. there are frills on the sleeves, on the shoulderpads, on the skirt, on the hems… everywhere. little bows litter the surface of the smooth fabric, a big one attached to the collar, and several smaller ones across the sleeves. 

and as much as you loath to admit it — it is kind of cute. 

still, you can’t shake the feeling that you’re only embarrassing yourself. it’s hard not to think, when a maid outfit is staring into your soul through the mirror — and you just so happen to be wearing it.

(what the hell are you even doing?)

a low groan slips from your lips, and you crouch down, to bury your face in your knees. the flush of your cheeks is beginning to spread towards the tips of your ears, growing hotter by the minute. satoru’s about to see you like this, of all people. how on earth will he react?

(what if he thinks it looks weird, too?) 

”i’m still waiting!” a voice suddenly exclaims, sing-songy and sweet, and closer than you realized. has he just been standing there and waiting in silence, this whole time? of course he has.

”just —” you croak out, words a little strangled. ”just… give me a minute.”

satoru lets out a high-pitched whine, cheek pressed against the cold wood of the door. ”but i’ve been waiting so long already!” he complains, pouting, the urge to see you growing unbearable. impatience tugging at his heart, so excited he can barely pull himself together.

(all he can think of is you, you, you.)

curling up into a little ball, you attempt to swallow the bundle of nerves in the back of your throat — but that jittery, feather-light feeling of your heartbeat just won’t go away. it makes you feel a little paralyzed.

you're actually, genuinely, sincerely about to go show off a goddamn maid outfit. what the hell.

when you finally grasp control over your vocal cords and part your lips to speak, the voice that spills out into the air sounds more than a little meek. but you can’t quite bring yourself to care, overcome by a heart-tingling nervosity and the heat of your skin.

 ”… i don’t want to.”

satoru pauses. 

he can picture you, in his mind’s eye; the way you must look, right now. clad in frills and a cute little skirt, face flushed red and embarrassed, as you shift from foot to foot. and it takes concentrated effort, to bite back the coo that threatens to crawl up his throat — but he knows it’s still not too late for you to change your mind. if he wants to see you, he needs to be careful. so he tactfully opts not to tease you.

”come on, angel,” he soothes, instead. voice smooth like honey, like coffee with cream and too much sweetener. ”don’t be embarrassed.”

you stay silent, still attempting to suffocate the tinge of humiliation in the depths of your chest. so satoru continues. ”just come on out, hm? might as well get it over with. then you won’t have to think of it again.”

a moment passes.

”… do i have to?”

the corners of his lips curl up.

ah, you’re so cute. all embarrassed, almost childish, in the way you’re still trying to be difficult; and satoru just indulges you, all too eager to get you to show yourself to him. ”yes, you do,” he coos. ”be good f' me and come on out, okay?”

a couple moments pass. eerily silent, growing second by second. the only sound that fills the air is that of satoru’s soft breathing, the distant whirring of the ceiling fan.

until finally, he hears the squeak of the bathroom floor. you stand up, turning to glance at your reflection in the mirror one last time, before hesitantly reaching for the doorknob.

it’s slow, the way you open the door, agonizingly so — pushing at it slightly and dragging the movement out. and you can feel satoru’s presence, right behind it, as he takes a step back to give you space. when you finally step over the threshold, you adamantly refuse to meet his gaze.

(satoru’s breath hitches in his throat.)

there you stand, gaze stubbornly averted, expression flustered and mildly annoyed. cheeks dusted a dark cherry-red, that crawls towards the tips of your ears as you fidget with your frilly, oversized sleeves. they’re dressed in little bows, awfully cute, and so is the skirt — short, but not enough to expose the skin of your thighs above the thigh highs. you still squirm a little, thighs pressed together. 

and then, of course, the big bow on your collar to complete the look. pink in colour, a stark contrast to the whites and blacks of the remaining outfit.

after a moment passes with nothing but pure silence, your lips part to speak. doing anything you can to stop yourself from looking over at the man in front of you, afraid of what you’ll see. ”i don’t think it suits me,” is muttered, a tiny huff. ”… and i still don’t see the appeal, by the way.”

— but satoru doesn’t answer. 

he just stares. uncharacteristically silent, in a way you’re wholly unaccustomed to. enough so that you find yourself gnawing at your bottom lip, fidgeting with the hem of the skirt, hoping the smooth texture will soothe your nerves a little. the beating of your heart resounds in your ears, sending blood flowing through your veins with excited pumps.

the silence festers, and all you can do is let it grow, your nervosity thickening with it — until it’s just too much to bear. 

(ahh, you knew it. it really does look weird, doesn’t it? that’s to be expected. 

still, you can’t help but feel just slightly dejected.) 

”… why aren’t you saying anything?” 

the little mumble comes out sounding embarrassed, and maybe just a little defeated, too. but satoru doesn’t hear it. as your gaze falls on the man in question, slowly, you take in his expression with a frown on your face — and realize that he isn’t just keeping quiet. 

he’s completely stunned. 

no matter how hard you stare, you can’t seem to get a good read on his expression. he’s just standing there, face completely blank, eyes entirely obscured by the black of his shades. the light streaming in through the glass of the windows has shifted its course, falling away from the two of you — but you still see the vague, red tinge crawling up his neck. 

and as soon as you spot it, satoru begins his descent.

crouching down to the floor, silently, he brings his hands up to cover his face. feet against the ground with his knees folded, pressed against his chest, stilling as he inhales sharply. shades seated on top of his head, pushed up by his hands when he buried his face in them. a groan drops from his lips, muffled by the skin of his palms — but you can hear it clear as day.

”hold on, just… give me a minute…” he finally croaks out, words somehow tiny. almost shy. 

upon closer inspection, you realize your eyes weren’t deceiving you — there really is a red hue to his neck, one you aren’t used to seeing on him. strawberry-tinged dust, staining his smooth skin, the tips of his burning ears. satoru actually looks flustered, for once. and your heart can’t help but flutter.

— he thinks he might actually, genuinely die.

it’s a wonder, he thinks, that he managed not to fall to his knees the very moment he laid eyes on you. all dolled up; frilly and cute, in his own words, though they don’t come even close to properly describing how adorable you look right now. with your flushed face, shy eyes, and all those little frills and bows adorning your dress. rendering him speechless, clogging up his throat with pure unbridled love. a mouthful of honey, too sweet for even him to swallow.

god. god. he really, really needs to pull himself together.

crouched down like this, face hidden behind his hands, he can physically feel himself grow more and more flustered. senses invaded by the sound of his heartbeat, deep and visceral, until it’s all he can hear — he knew you were going to look cute, obviously, but he was seriously underestimating you. your cuteness is lethal. 

even just the sight makes him weak in the knees. even just the thought of you makes him feel a little like his heart is attempting to break out of his chest. hurling itself at his ribcage with ferocious resolve, like he could keel over and die of heart failure at any given moment. he’s pleasantly surprised that he’s managed to suppress the loud squeal his body keeps trying to let out, honestly.

and while satoru struggles with his deep, internal turmoil, all you can do is watch. looking down at him with wide eyes, as his skin flushes a bright pink, like little chrysanthemums blooming from his neck up to his ears. 

yeah, you think, there’s no doubt about it. satoru is flustered. it’s not a side of him you get to see very often, so you can’t help but be just slightly caught off guard. staring at him silently, until you snap out of it, eyes simmering with something soft and delighted.

he’s so cute.

(and maybe, just maybe — it makes you want to tease him, a little bit.)

so you crouch down, facing him with your knees against your chest, jaw resting on your crossed forearms as you gaze at him. he’s still not looking at you, face hidden behind his palms, shying away from your view.

and then you sigh. the sound catches his attention, soft — and just a little bit dejected.

”… you’re the one who wanted me to wear it,” your lips curl down into a pout, ”and now you won’t even look at me?”

satoru stiffens. 

(you sound sad. you sound disappointed.)

slowly, he parts his fingers, desperate to soothe you — blue eyes peeking out through the gaps, as if the sight of you could blind him. he then proceeds to move his hands, tentative, laboured, like he’s dragging heavy weights off his body. like it’s a struggle. 

with his face finally exposed, all flushed and pretty, bright azure eyes stare at you; brimming with pure adoration. 

satoru exhales, almost shaky. he has to take another moment to simply look at you, as if drinking in every inch of your expression. memorizing every corner of the face he’s grown to love so much.

a moment passes. then two.

then, he practically pounces on you — engulfing you like a tidal wave, trapping you in his big arms as they go to curl around your waist. shades falling off at the impact, hitting the floor with a soft thunk.

”you’re killing me,” he whines, loud and right by your ear. nuzzling into you, squeezing you like he’s a puppy with a chew toy. ”you’re so, so, so cute. d’you want me to have a heart attack?”

a hitch of your breath. that’s all you can manage, utterly failing to keep up with him as he presses you up against his chest. rocking you back and forth in his embrace, smearing open mouthed kisses across your skin; whining and murmuring about how adorable you look. 

a flurry of warmth, of love, of something a little too precious for words. something distinctly satoru, that makes you forget about everything else — as if the world stops spinning somewhere outside of his arms. as if that’s where you belong.

all you can do is indulge him. maybe you’re spoiling him a little too much, but it feels nice; letting him drown you in his overwhelming affection. the thought of creasing the dress doesn’t even seem to cross his mind, as he squeezes the life out of you.

evidently, satoru suffers from an acute case of cuteness aggression. 

”so adorable,” he murmurs, leaving wet kisses on your cheeks. his exaggerated mwahs make you feel just a tad shy. ”my little sweetheart. all dressed up for me.” 

squirming in his hold, he only brings you closer, smothering you in his warm embrace. the slightly erratic beating of his heart is all you can hear, with your cheek squished against his chest. arms keeping you nice and still, lips lingering over that one ticklish spot behind your ear. 

a little giggle slips from your lips, and satoru feels himself smile; wide and giddy, boyish and adoring. nuzzling into the comfort of your chest, soft fabric brushing against his skin, a low whine escapes his throat. ”can't take it. wanna put you in my pocket.”

”your pocket?” a grin blooms on your lips, words dripping with honeyed amusement. satoru grins right back.

”my pocket,” he hums, approvingly. ”you’re just so cute and small. gotta keep you close, so i don’t lose you.”

a huff, lighthearted. 

suddenly, the grip around your midriff tightens — and you’re hoisted up, stumbling a little as satoru lets go of you. still holding onto you by your wrists, softly, delicately, as if you’re made of glass. when you lift your head, all you can see is his satisfied little grin, and the twinkle of his eyes.

your heart flutters. 

satoru gazes at you, silently, still drinking you in. every second spent staring into the brightness of your eyes fills his heart up just a little more; colourful, heart-shaped candies, scooped up and poured into the hole in his chest. patching it right back up, so effortlessly sweet that it makes him want to pluck every star from the sky and offer them at your feet. 

”alright,” he breathes, taking a step back. breaking the delicate silence, a little dance between him and time. fingers still curled around your wrist. ”do a twirl for me.”

a humoured scoff. ”hell no.”

”aw, come on! you gotta pose for the photo, baby.”

before you know it, satoru’s got his phone out — and it’s aimed right at you. by the time you notice it, you’re fairly certain he’s already managed to snap a couple pictures. so all you can do is sigh, in faux exasperation.

”c’mon, c’mon,” he coos. ”give me a smile, pretty.”

a roll of your eyes, as you bite your lip to muffle a soft bout of laughter. it doesn’t really work. ”i’m good.”

satoru seems unaffected by your words, pulling back from your touch reluctantly; just so he can make a show out of playing the cameraman, switching between elaborate positions and taking pictures from angle after angle. somehow, you get the feeling he’s forgotten your request to keep the pictures to a minimum.

(he looks like he’s having fun, though. so you let it slide. just this once.)

”god. you’re way too cute for your own good, you know that?” he murmurs, leaning down to take another picture. and it flusters you, how smoothly the words slip from his lips, how it seems like he barely even has to think about them at all. 

it’s a little embarrassing, in a heart-fluttering kind of way. but you do your best to hide it.

”you’re a sap,” is all you say, soft smile playing at your lips. 

”and you’re adorable,” satoru grins. 

then he slips his phone into his back pocket, satisfied with the collection, and grabs your hand.

his fingers curl around yours, softly — and then he lifts it up. bringing it to his lips. they’re warm, as he kisses across your knuckles, the tips of your fingers. soft as a feather, tickling your skin. 

(as if he’s whispering psalms under his breath. as if he’s worshipping you.)

then he tilts his head, eyes gazing at you sweetly. sweeter than fresh mandarin slices, splotches of marmalade, his favorite caramel fudge. and his eyes crinkle, crow’s feet and dimples peeking out as he smiles, an easygoing kind of joy blooming on that pretty face of his — youthful, boyish. it suits him more than anything.

his voice comes out smooth, awfully coaxing. so very easy to give in to, paired with that breathtaking grin. 

”one tiny twirl?” he asks, politely.

he’s so annoying. 

(but you’re far too in love to say no.)

so with a single roll of your eyes, and a soft little scoff, you relent. indulging him once more, just one more time. just one little twirl.

satoru feels his heart squeeze painfully, deep within his chest, as he watches you spin around. skirt and frills ruffled by the movement. just once, a soft little twirl with your fingers intertwined. far too precious for his heart to take.

when you stop, just a tiny bit dizzy, he leans in, and the kiss he leaves on your forehead is soft. chaste, but it still pulls a blissful sigh from the back of your throat. satoru’s lips curl up against your skin, before he pulls back — eyes almost overflowing with affection.

”cutie.”

you blink. 

averting your gaze, flustering a little under the weight of his love-filled eyes, all you can do is emit a soft little huff. embarrassed, as it flows from your lips. but it only makes satoru’s smile grow further.

”okay, okay. you’ve had your fun.” you clear your throat. ”time’s up.”

suddenly, satoru’s eyes fill with something akin to dread — nose crinkling, just barely, a sign of his displeasure. ”noooo,” he whines, draping his arms around you. tugging you close. ”just a little more? please? pretty please?”

”nope! we said ten minutes. no take backs.”

”can’t i have an extension? since i’m your favorite?” satoru pouts, puppy dog eyes in full force. only this time, they don’t work as well as he’d hoped.

”nope,” you repeat, popping the p. ”sorry.” another whine buzzes right by your ear, and you smile. 

”and then we’re burning it.”

”noooo!” 

”sorry, but it’s gotta go.” you bite back a soft grin. satoru sounds agonized, voice dripping with grief, and it makes your heart dance with barely contained laughter.

”but then you can’t wear it anymore, baby…”

”that’s kinda the point, toru.”

”but you’re so cute in it,” he pouts, bringing you closer still. squeezing at your waist and rubbing his cheek against the top of your head. ”it’d be such a waste if you never wore it again, don’tcha think?”

he’s trying his best, you can tell — attempting to make you falter, coax you into wearing it just a little longer. but for today, you’re done indulging him.

”well, too bad.” nuzzling into his neck, your tone settles on a firm tilt; decisive, as you nip at his skin. just a little teasing. ”i said i’d never wear it again, and i meant it.”

a moment passes. maybe it’s the warmth of your lips on his skin, or maybe he can tell you aren’t budging — whatever the case, satoru finally seems to relent. an exhale tumbles from his tongue, deep and drawn out. ”fineee,” he drawls. ”i’ll just buy you a new one.”

”i won’t wear it. i’ll just get angry.”

”at lil’ old me? really?”

”really really,” you click your tongue. ”if you love maid outfits so much, why don’t you wear one yourself?” a beat. ”it’d look good on you.”

satoru perks up, suddenly. pulling away so his eyes can meet yours, bright and teasing, glazed over with something excited. ”oh?” he purrs. ”you wanna see me in one, huh? so bold, baby.”

a scoff slips from your lips, sharp but tinged with laughter. ”well, it’s only fair, right?” grinning up at him, your hand reaches out to smooth away his bangs. fingertips trailing across the expanse of skin, touch so very tender that his eyes flutter shut. ”i think you’d pull it off better than i ever could, anyway.”

a hum buzzes in his throat, seconds ticking by slowly; a dance with him and time. an attempt to prolong the softness of the moment.

”hmm… well, i’ll consider it.” just barely holding back a smile, he leans into your touch. ”you gotta wear it with me, though. we can buy a matching set!”

”that makes no sense,” you huff, with a raise of your brow. ”i’ve already worn it once, so next time, it’s gotta be all you.”

”sorry, baby, but you need to do it too.” he cradles you close, smoothing a palm down your spine, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. chest rumbling with the smooth timbre of his voice, words rich with teasing fondness. ”i’m too shy to do it by myself.”

and you really, really wish you could be angry with him — but it’s just impossible. 

satoru is just way too lovable, smile far too sunny and warm for you not to melt under. and his caress says more than words ever could, light and doting, careful and loving; like how a believer cups a handful of holy water. as if you could slip from his grasp at any moment, so he has to keep you extra close.

in the end, all protests and complaints die on your tongue. you only laugh, soft and breathy, filling the air with a fondness so palpable you can almost taste it. bordering on something close to a scoff, but never quite getting there. 

eventually, satoru does — begrudgingly — let you change out of the outfit. whining a little, sulking a tad, before brightening right back up again. like clockwork, the sun peeking out after a rain shower, the calm after the storm. always that same happy smile, wrapping you around his little finger.

satoru, in all his glory; your very own pocket of sunshine. annoying, stubborn, thoughtful — 

and yours, wholly and thoroughly.

(while you’re busy gazing at him adoringly, satoru grumbles under his breath. contemplation painted on his features, as his mind spins in circles. frills, bows, lace…

what kind of design would make him look the prettiest for you?)

[vampirehoon]

txt reactions when you fall asleep on a couch (_ _ )z

a/n ✧ this is my first try at group reactions and i hope they’re ok. i would love to do more of these with requests of what to do. i would gladly take requests (also thank you for the likes!)

✧ YEONJUN

he’d been showering before he’d join you to watch a movie together but he took longer than you expected.

he found you fast sleep on the couch, pillows propping your head up and a blanket draped over your legs and waist.

ofc this man would find you very adorable, covering his wide smile as he fondly takes a pictures to stop himself from saying how cute you are out loud (he doesn’t want to wake u up.. yet)

he’d leave you to tidy up your bedroom so he could wake you up and take you to bed.

insisting he hold you bridal style back to bed, you held onto him weakly and he brought you to bed safely.

you two got cozy in bed, in each other’s arms, and yeonjun’s smile didn’t fade even after falling into deep sleep.

✩ SOOBIN

soobin promised you that the two of you would head back home before your heels would cause you pain.

the party and you and soobin went to was amazing and lively but at what cost when you could feel the blisters developing on the back of ankle

soobin found himself deep in a conversation with a friend of his and you found a soft couch to land on and take off your heels.

the couch felt like heaven and your feet felt way better that you drifted to sleep on the couch.

soobin ended the conversation, knowing that’s it late and he should get you home and when he finds you on the couch asleep, he doesn’t want to disturb you.

he brings a chair beside you, as you took up all of the small couch, and admired you silently. he’d ease you awake by playing with your hair.

he’d eventually get you fully awake, carry you (along with your heels) to the car, and head home to sleep properly.

✧ BEOMGYU

you and beomgyu travelled to place similar to ikea to browse furniture and also to mess around

you and beomgyu faking a dinner in a simulation kitchen and laughing when he hit his head with a cabinet (you felt bad but couldn’t stop laughing)

it baffles you how fast you got exhausted with him, and it didn’t help when beomgyu invited you to test out some couches

he’d stretch his arms out to you, whining“lay with me”, and you’d roll your eyes and join him.

he made them really comfortable and the third one, beomgyu joked if you both could lay here for a minute or so.

so he did and it didn’t help you at all, your blinks got heavy and you didn’t want to fall asleep in a store but you did

beomgyu could tell you feel asleep when he moved his head and you held him tighter.

he thought you were absolutely adorable, and totally would buy the couch now so he wouldn’t have to move you or disturb your nap.

he said to you he’d love to snuggle at home as he woke you back up.

✩ TAEHYUN

taehyun had an opportunity to take you along with him to a friend meet up dinner.

the place you ate at was really elegant and the food was really delicious.

a bit too delicious that you ate more than you normally would.

food coma hit you as soon as taehyun and his friends excused themselves from the table to go to the bathroom. you were left in the booth alone where you all sat - absolutely full.

you only rested your head down on the seat to rest but you ended up falling asleep.

and it seemed like you were drunk because you were out cold and one of taehyun’s friends asked if he had let you drink.

which he laughed at, and gave you a bit more time to sleep. you can’t sleep there forever and taehyun knew there was a way more comfortable bed waiting for you at home.

taehyun woke you up and adorned a smile, softly speaking to you. “let’s get you home cutie.”

✧ KAI

you and kai had spent a good chunk of the afternoon building a couch you got from ikea

many troubles of finding pieces and having to double check lead to being very tired.

you built it and enjoyed the couch in its glory, sitting and then stretching along the cushions

kai thought drinks would be refreshing after this hard work so he excused himself to go get some from the kitchen.

he spent a bit deciding whether water or lemonade would be more refreshing and ultimately picked water.

he came back and saw that you fell asleep and he found it endearing. he understood and was curious for himself of how comfortable this couch was.

without hesitation, and with the same fatigue, kai joined you on the couch and fell asleep beside you.

opening his eyes later to bring you into his chest so you could snuggle better.

[sunderwight]

It's so good when Shen Qingqiu takes care of Luo Binghe. In canon and also in fics. I especially am in love with when he does his hair or helps him dress, it's just so pleasantly domestic. Also endearing whenever SQQ gets a bit fanboy-ish about it, because that's Luo Binghe and SQQ can dress him up in every cool or sexy outfit he has a face thick enough to pay someone to actually make!

I wonder if he ever shares this wisdom with Shang Qinghua. Like at some bitching session or other SQH is sighing a bit about how MBJ always wears like the same three outfits, and don't get him wrong they're all great outfits, but he noticed Luo Binghe flaunting yet another fresh look the other day and part of him really wants to see Mobei Jun in something different...

And then Shen Qingqiu is just like, you're the Lord of An Ding Peak, you handle the basic wardrobe necessities for an entire sect? Go pay someone to make cool/sexy outfits and literally put them on Mobei Jun yourself! You're married to the guy, aren't you?

Shang Qinghua is like "wait you can do that? I can do that? that's a thing that's allowed?" and Shen Qingqiu rolls his eyes and calls him a dumbass and points out that Airplane himself wrote about the intimacy of Luo Binghe's harem members dressing him and it being an even bigger deal for demons than humans, and Shang Qinghua cannot for the life of him remember this but it does sound sort of familiar. So off he goes to nervously sketch out some ideas for outfits, and then get told off by the seamstress he tries to commission for not having realistic ideas about how fabric works. But he does have Mobei Jun's measurements and after some discussion he gets a bunch of stuff that looks even better than his initial ideas, eventually, and then he just has to... give them to his king...

Shang Qinghua awkwardly presenting the topic to Mobei Jun like he's expecting to get a hard "no", but he blinks and his king is naked and standing expectantly in front of his fancy full-length mirror. Shang Qinghua has only ever helped Mobei Jun get dressed when he was injured in the past, and then usually only just putting his arms through some sleeves on an outer robe. They've undressed each other for sex, but putting the clothes on really is a different kind of intimacy. Especially an outfit that Shang Qinghua had specially made to suit Mobei Jun, to highlight the features he likes best about him. Striking blue and icy-white, with hints of An Ding's colors as accents, showing off his build to full effect, etc etc. Shang Qinghua layers each piece on and then does Mobei Jun's hair too, muttering quiet approval for how the look comes together while Mobei Jun preens under all the attention.

Of course, afterwards Mobei wants Shang Qinghua to dress him every day, which isn't always logistically feasible, and MBJ also intends to return the gesture.

Luo Binghe dresses Shen Qingqiu too of course, but Luo Binghe is aware both that other guys want his husband and also that Shen Qingqiu will refuse to go out in public if Binghe dresses him in anything revealing, even if he still lets him put it on, plus Luo Binghe was raised with human sensibilities about modesty. So all in all any "sexy" outfits are reserved for private time at home, and what he puts Shen Qingqiu in for daily wear is all stuff that is perfectly befitting a Qing Jing Peak Lord and scholar.

Mobei Jun doesn't have human modesty sensibilities and also doesn't see any reason why Qinghua shouldn't show off his own best assets while he's going about his day, so, Shang Qinghua is about to rue the hell out of a lot fashion-related world-building decisions he made a lifetime ago...

[monstersholygrail]

Okay so about your bird colony.... do you have any specific birds in mind? Like vulture, hawk, raven, parrot, etc.?

You can envision any kind of bird you’d like! I personally though have always seen them in my head as Scarlet Macaw Hybrids

I just imagine their hair being one of the colors of their wings or some beautiful combination of the colors. And they’d totally use their looks to their advantage.

TW: kidnapping, dub con, hypnosis, yandere behaviors.

The Bird Hybrids know they’re beautiful and how alluring and majestic they are. And they can’t imagine why you aren’t eagerly jumping at the chance to be their mate.

The beauty of their wings and their gorgeous vibrant coloring works on you with everything else. Whenever one of the bird hybrids needs a break, it doesn’t take much seducing to get you to let them take a break. Even if you’re in the zone and don’t want to stop the routine you just melt for them.

Or when they’re so desperate to fuck you and they wanna stay after class. Sometimes you’ll dare to say you can’t because you want to go home or, god forbid, you have plans to be with someone else instead of them. They’ll surround you, wings fanning out, and with big pouts on their faces. Asking you why you’re leaving them when they need your help so badly.

You’re not strong enough for such an attack and you give in easily. They relish in you canceling your plans for them and make sure to give you extra love and attention while they fuck you as rough as you can beg for.

Eventually they’d reach a point where they would make sure they can have you all to themselves. Not wanting to risk it anymore. It’s time for you to be their mate officially and be with them.

So one day they’d bring you in and show you a special dance they choreographed all on their own. They would use their wings to slowly lure you in and hypnotize you till you’re pliant enough to take into their arms.

They’d all fly you to their giant nest where they all live together. You’ve never seen them all together. Usually they break into groups for all your classes every week and you see them in chunks. But there’s more than you ever realized.

And they don’t give you time to realize much. They’re on you before you can piece together what this all means or what just happened.

The only thing before you is a sea of hazy colors, your eyes clouded over with lust. You get lost in the pleasure they drown you in, all of them taking turns filling every hole you have. Thrusting into you with vigor and taking your plump body like it’s a prize they’ve finally won.

All you can do is moan and bask in the sensation coursing through your body. Your eyes taking across their lovely feathers in awe. Gasping and quivering as they caress your body in passing. A few of the bird hybrids daring to put them inside you.

The more you cum the more cock drunk they get you. You can’t help but pop a feather in your mouth and suck greedily. Loud chirping pierces the air and the hybrids currently fucking you all slam their cocks inside your spent and dripping holes with even more ferocity.

You scream around the feather as you cum again. Your pleasure causing all the other bird hybrids to shoot their own loads deep inside your exhausted body. It drips out of you as soon as it enters you, joining the rest of the puddle beneath you.

You briefly mourn it, hating not being so full. But luckily another group of mates quickly come to replace the ones who’ve been sated. As soon you as you feel their presence, unable to detect movement besides the shift of color, you spread wide for them. Basking as their praises immediately meet your ear. A second later you’re filled again and the color of their wings seems to brighten spectacularly.

[foone]

Look if there's one thing, just one thing, that I wish everyone understood about archiving, it's this:

We can always decide later that we don't need something we archived.

Like, if we archive a website that's full of THE WORST STUFF, like it turns out it's borderline illegal bot-made spam art, we can delete it. Gone.

We can also chose not to curate. You can make a list of the 100 Best Fanfic and just quietly not link to or mention the 20,000 RPFs of bigoted youtubers eating each other. No problem!

We can also make things not publicly available. This happens surprisingly often: like, sometimes there'll be a YouTube channel of alt-right bigotry that gets taken down by YouTube, but someone gives a copy to the internet archive, and they don't make it publicly available. Because it might be useful for researchers, and eventually historians, it's kept. But putting it online for everyone to see? That's just be propaganda for their bigotry. So it's hidden, for now. You can ask to see it, but you need a reason.

And we can say all these things, we can chose to delete it later, we can not curate it, we can hide it from public view... But we only have these options BECAUSE we archived it.

If we didn't archive it, we have no options. It is gone. I'm focusing on the negative here, but think about the positive side:

What if it turns out something we thought was junk turns out to be amazing new art?

What if something we thought of as pointless and not worth curating turns out to be influential?

What if something turns out to be of vital historical importance, the key that is used to solve a great mystery, the Rosetta stone for an era?

All of those things are great... If we archived it when we could.

Because this is an asymmetric problem:

If we archived it and it turns out it's not useful, we can delete.

If we didn't archive it and it turns out it is useful, OOPS!

You can't unlose something that's been lost. It's gone. This is a one way trip, it's already fallen off the cliff. Your only hope is that you're wrong about it being lost, and there is actually still a copy somewhere. If it's truly lost, your only option is to build a time machine.

And this has happened! There are things lost, so many of them that we know of, and many more we don't know of. There are BOOKS OF THE BIBLE referenced in the canon that simply do not exist anymore. Like, Paul says to go read his letter to the Laodiceans, and what did that letter say? We don't know. It's gone.

The most celebrated playwright in the English tradition has plays that are just gone. You want to perform or watch Love's Labours Won? TOO FUCKING BAD.

Want to watch Lon Cheyney's London After Midnight, a mystery-horror silent film from 1927? TOO BAD. The MGM vault burnt down in 1965 and the last known copy went up in smoke.

If something still exists, if it still is kept somewhere, there is always an opportunity to decide if it's worthy of being remembered. It can still be recognized for its merits, for its impact, for its importance, or just what it says about the time and culture and people who made it, and what they believed and thought and did. It can still be a useful part of history, even if we decide it's a horrible thing, a bigoted mess, a terrible piece of art. We have the opportunity to do all that.

If it's lost... We are out of options. All we can do is research it from how it affected other things. There's a lot of great books and plays and films and shows that we only know of because other contemporary sources talked about them so much. We're trying to figure out what it was and what it did, from tracing the shadow it cast on the rest of culture.

This is why archivists get anxious whenever people say "this thing is bad and should not be preserved". Because, yeah, maybe they're right. Maybe we'll look back and decide "yeah, that is worthless and we shouldn't waste the hard drive or warehouse space on it".

But if they're wrong, and we listen to them, and don't archive... We don't get a second chance at this. And archivists have been bitten too many times by talk of "we don't need copies, the original studio has the masters!" (it burnt down), or "this isn't worth preserving, it's just some damn silly fad" (the fad turned out to be the first steps of a cultural revolution), or "this media is degenerate/illegal/immoral" (it turns out those saying that were bigots and history doesn't agree with their assessment).

So we archive what we can. We can always decide later if it doesn't need preserving. And being a responsible archivist often means preserving things but not making them publicly available, or being selective in what you archive (I back up a lot of old computer hard drives. Often they have personal photos and emails and banking information! That doesn't get saved).

But it's not really a good idea to be making quality or moral judgements of what you archive. Because maybe you're right, maybe a decade or two later you'll decide this didn't need to be saved. And you'll have the freedom to make that choice. But if you didn't archive it, and decide a decade later you were wrong... It's just gone now. You failed.

Because at the end of the day I'd rather look at an archive and see it includes 10,000 things I think are worthless trash, than look at an archive of on the "best things" and know that there are some things that simply cannot be included. Maybe they were better, but can't be considered as one of the best... Because they're just gone. No one has read them, no one has been able to read them.

We have a long history of losing things. The least we can do going forward is to try and avoid losing more. And leave it up to history to decide if what we saved was worth it.

My dream is for a future where critics can look at stuff made in the present and go "all of this was shit. Useless, badly made, bigoted, horrible. Don't waste your time on it!"

Because that's infinitely better than the future where all they can do is go "we don't know of this was any good... It was probably important? We just don't know. It's gone. And it's never coming back"