#forgive my shaky af hands

[theinternetisaweboflies]

Colleen Moore's Fairy Castle

[promenadewithme]

Happy Sappy Hormones

a/n: I know, I know. I've been away for a while. but I have my last final next week and after that I'm turning off med head and turning on writer mode! I've been watching criminal minds and I'm only on s2, but I already have this MASSIVE crush on Spencer Reid. So here's a little blurb I wrote recently. It's not proofread, so forgive me for any mistakes. Pairing: Spencer Read x profiler! you (no use of y/n) Warnings: slightly smutty, but nothing graphic. next chapter is going to be graphic af. um.. let me think... one bed trope, overnight stay at an in, pre-sex, all that tension (at least I aimed for it lol) and pining. Word Count: I have no idea

Am I sweating? I think I’m sweating. How the hell am I supposed to sleep next to this man? Fuck this stupid inn for having only one room with one bed. How cliche of them.

I peek at him and he’s looking up, head against the wall. Spencer swallows, throat bobbing up and down. He has such a nice profile, sharp nose and jawline, the most pronounced cheekbones you will ever see in real life, brows that always seem to be furrowed in thought, pillowy lips that I can’t help but picture against my own. And that hair… Those fluffy chocolate waves that beg for my fingers to mess up.

He’s soft but manly. Angelic heart with a dark mind. 

I rake my eyes across his face once more and notice that a bit of a stubble has grown since this morning. What would that feel like brushing against my neck? Better yet, what would they feel like between my thighs while he-

Nope, too far. I have gone too far.

A blush creeps up my neck to my cheeks. Sleep is the last thing on my mind right now.

“Did you know that sharing a bed is actually good for your health?” he blurbs out, still looking at the ceiling. 

So he’s uncomfortable too. Great.

“How so?” I ask, playing with the hem of my shirt.

“It releases serotonin, dopamine and oxytocin.” he states matter of factly.

“The golden trio of happy sappy hormones.” I quip.

“Something like that” he smirks, giving me a quick look before continuing. “Our pituitary glands transform serotonin into melatonin, which is the hormone that controls our sleep. That’s why cuddling in general makes you sleepy. Serotonin is also known as the ‘happy hormone’ because it’s a mood stabiliser, but it’s more than that. It regulates body temperature, improves memory and aids learning.”

I feel Spencer’s body slowly relax into the mattress as he speaks, so I spur him on.

“Is that so?” I say, trying to hide how much his intelligence affects me.

This man could open a book on gut microbiota, read it to me outloud and it would still be like dirty talk to me. 

“Yes.” he smiles timidly and scooches closer, turning his body in my direction.

 “What about dopamine?” I ask before I let my mind wander again.

“Dopamine is the reward chemical, it’s the rush you feel when you get a good grade or when you eat or sleep.And it’s um…” he pauses and starts playing with the sheets between us “It’s also released when you’re sexually attracted to someone.”

“Oh.” I say in almost a whisper. I must be releasing a lot of that lately.

“Yeah.” he says, taking the hem of my shirt from my grasp and toying with it himself. “It also causes our body's physiological reaction to attraction.”

His finger brushes against my stomach, leaving goosebumps in its wake and making my pulse skyrocket. 

“Which reactions?” I ask but the air seems too shallow, there’s not enough oxygen in my lungs.

He finally looks at me and my breathing stops. His hazel eyes bore into mine like they can see my soul. I’m afraid he knows how much I want him, I’m afraid he’ll see how much I wish he would drift his hand further down until he reaches the part of me that wants him the most.

He lifts his hand to my face and trails a shaky finger down my cheek and neck before saying “Like blushing,” his hand trails softly down my arm and my skin pebbles up where he touched “Goosebumps,” he makes it to my wrist and presses down on my artery “quickened heartbeat,” he bows his head and kisses my hand softly, never taking his eyes from mine “the effect of dopamine is obsessive and almost drug-like, you can’t stay away from the person you love and you don’t want to either.”

I can’t breathe. I feel myself shifting closer to him and my attention is fully on his lips. Those lips that never stop moving and I never want them to. Except, right now, I want them moving against mine. 

“What about oxytocin?” I whisper, forcing myself to look at his eyes, his gorgeous hazel eyes. 

“The love hormone.” he mumbles, bringing his hand to my neck while his thumb strokes my cheek. “It’s released in mothers during labour and when in contact with their newborn, but also during sex.”

We are so close that I can see the faint freckles that dust his nose, I’d never noticed them before.

“Any benefits?” I ask, spreading my hands on his chest. He’s so warm.

His voice is low and husky when he answers. 

“Lowers your blood pressure and cortisol levels,” his nose brushes against mine and I look at his lips again “reduces stress.”

“That’s um…” What was I saying again? His lips brush against mine once. Twice. “That’s nice.”

He dips down once more and captures my lips in a slow kiss, like he’s testing the waters. I sigh and my arms make their way around his neck. Spencer darts his tongue out and takes a quick swipe at my bottom lip, I let him in. When his tongue brushes against mine tentatively, his chest rumbles with his low groan and I sink into his arms. 

He grabs my left leg and throws it over his hips so I’m straddling him. I feel his erection between my legs and moan into the kiss. My hands go up to his hair and his locks are even softer than I thought they would be. 

I pull back only slightly “I think we’ve been very stressed lately.”

He nods and kisses me again before saying “Only benefits can come from this.” 

“Yeah, we’re just taking care of our health, right?” 

We stare at each other, panting in unison.

I shouldn’t do this, this will only complicate things. But how can I think of that when he’s looking at me like I’m the hottest woman on earth? How can I think this is wrong when I’ve wanted this for so long? When his soft hair is disheveled by my touch, his mouth swollen from my kiss, his pupils dilated with lust for me, making his hazel eyes dark. 

Just once, I get the chance to do something for me, something that will make me feel good with someone that makes me feel good and seen and beautiful. 

Fuck it. 

I lick my lips and bring his face towards mine in the hottest kiss I have ever had. 

--------

PROLOGUE HAD BEEN POSTED!

[over--heaven]

oc (s/i) x canon week day 4

prompts: "why are you angry with me? you broke my heart!"

canon characters: dio brando (jojo's bizarre adventure)

word count: 815

notes: stupid crazy ass vampires. also i love how i ended up dropping so many canon lore nuggets when this was supposed to be a fun yume event

taglist: @cinnbar-bun | @violetsareblue-selfships | @iceicewifey | @tidekissed | @dmclr | @newdaybreak | @everynya | click here to be on the list

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eloise had barely brought her blade up to dio’s neck when somehow he disappeared from under her nose in the blink of an eye. it didn’t take her long to catch on to the trick; it was his power again, though she still hadn’t figured out what exactly it was. the other vampire had remanifested behind her, grabbing her by the back of her neck.

“a pathetic attempt at murdering me?” he sneered, glaring down at her through narrowed eyes. “i’ve fed you, protected you. i have done my best to give you a home with me. and this is how you repay me,” his grip on her neck grew ever tighter, nails nearly piercing into her skin. “i don’t know what else you could possibly want.” the venom in his words made her burst out laughing, as loudly as she could despite the man’s hand around her neck.

eloise continued to laugh, causing dio to give her a look of confusion. all of it was so... painful. the past couple of months that she had spent holed up in dio’s mansion only served to reopen old wounds and make them even deeper. she felt at home with him, just as he said, and it filled her with an irrational fear. she was miserably torn between forgiveness and rage, unwilling to submit to the part of her heart that desperately wished to return to how things used to be.

“why are you angry with me?” she questioned with a scoff, turning to look him dead in the eye. “you broke my heart!” the tip of her knife found its way to his stomach, piercing first through the fabric of his mustard jacket, then his bodysuit before the skin (of the body that she had discovered wasn’t even his).

strangely enough, this time dio didn’t move an inch. he allowed the blade to plunge into his flesh, sinking to the hilt. the silver coating caused the wound to singe with a hiss. his gaze flickered to her hand, her shaky grip becoming more apparent by the second.

“... did this make you any happier?” dio’s eyes appeared cold, but within them hid something melancholic. eloise was quiet. the tears that began to flow down her cheeks said more than enough. her grip on the knife loosened. it stayed wedged in his flesh, blood oozing slowly from the wound and staining his clothing dark red.

“i don’t believe for a second that you’re sorry! for all i know, i’m just another stupid little replaceable minion to you.” the years of resentment continued to bubble up into her throat.

she paused, her words slowly sinking in. “i don’t understand why you’re so hung up on me. you’ve never apologised even once, nor have you ever told me that you love me. why are you trying so hard to act like you do?”

dio’s eyes widened as his irises gleamed red in the darkness of the room. oh, how he despised being the subject of her wrath.

“i never got to!” his voice boomed. the tension in the air seemed to dissipate instantly as eloise’s expression switched to one of disbelief.

it was ironic, wasn’t it? dio, who now possessed the power to manipulate time itself, telling her that he hadn't got the time. he felt a little strange admitting it out loud, and with such fervor too. it was so difficult to explain; the turn of events that led him to the bottom of the ocean for a century without eloise even knowing a thing. it occurred to him how pained she must have been, not hearing a single word about him since he left. 

“i am sorry."

"i never got to tell you that i loved you. and i wasn't going to say it while i knew you hated me. but i still love you.” he saw her mouth open and he quickly cut her off before she could speak. “i never told you what really happened after i left. the situation became rather… dire. i couldn’t send you a word.”

his explanation felt frantic, like he was desperately attempting to salvage the pieces of their old relationship that were wilting away by the minute. his hand fell from her neck to her shoulder, his grip now gentler. he wouldn’t have been surprised if she tried once more to run away, but instead she stood fixed in place, staring at him expectantly.

“i… cannot tell if you’re being serious.” eloise laughed dryly. dio was unsure whether or not to laugh along.

he grimaced at the thought of remaining unpardoned in her eyes. it was a horrific possibility indeed, but it faded into a distant worry as soon as she spoke again. 

“but i’ve always given you the benefit of the doubt, haven’t i?" she paused, deep in thought.

"it seems like we've got a lot to talk about.”

[redfoxdude07]

I'm bored, so have some blurry doodles of BWii characters

Forgive the blurriness. My hands are shaky af and my phone is stupid

[mxvladdy]

Diavolo- True Form

Whoooooooo weeeee! ‘Pologies for the wait on these longer posts. I’ve been hit with a one two punch of house emergencies and sudden costly ass repairs, so my creative juices have been rightly squashed as of late.

Plus side I got my drawing tablet and drafting table back so I can neaten up my blog lay out now (yay!) 

Anyway this one was a challenge in the best possible ways. I really like Diavolo because of how little we know about him so it gave me some wiggle room. Or at least what I know of him- im only on like chapter 23 of the stories. Idk if I did him justice as this is angsty af but I sure had a blast writing it!

Hope ya like! Next up: Beelzebub 

Trigger warning: Mention of blood, and swearing. 

Diavolo-

He'll never show you, so don't ask. His true form is god-like in its own right and such knowledge, such truly raw demonic power in its natural form is not for your mortal eyes.

No matter what your lineage, it would break you. And despite his roles and being the literal devil, he doesn’t want you suffering.

Sometimes when he thinks you wouldn't notice he relaxes his hold on reality, just a fraction. He wants to relieve some of the tension that is always building just below the surface. Like closing your eyes when you have a tension headache. The mental energy he has to exert to keep face is enormous. Regular glamour doesn’t work nearly as well as his own, or Barbato’s magic.

But you see hints during your downtime spent in his company. A ripple in his reflection on the window pane. Unexplainable shadows dancing across his exposed skin. Too many teeth in his mouth when he laughs. Sometimes when you stare into his eyes you see something indescribable staring back behind them. His usually warm and inviting gaze darkening. A barest flicker, a hulking bestial thing kept locked behind in his golden gaze. It's enough to freeze the blood in your veins.

On certain nights when you can slip away from the brothers you stay in his room. Lying  awake, you watch his magic wane and shift as he slumbers. Sometimes you see runes, or at times letters. You are tempted to write them down and ask Solomon. But something stops you each time.

The worst images are the faces. Unknown souls trapped beneath his flesh clawing to be freed. Silent screams fading back into his body as he dreams. Your fragile fingers trace the patterns they leave as you wait for the next day wrapped in his embrace.

Only once have you seen more of his form then he would ever wish. The depths of his strength and mental fortitude were unknown to you so the slip up took you both by surprise. He masks the error well, but the sudden shift in energy in the room couldn’t be suppressed .

You are suddenly so aware of the oppressive weight of gravity on your frame. Your bones grinding together under the force of his aura. You panic, desperate by the need to breathe, but are unable to draw even the smallest bit of oxygen as it is robbed from the room. Time and reality wrapped too, distorting in ways only you thought only Barbatos could do. You knew in that moment the sudden dread of death, how mortally was but a rusty shackle tethering you down.

He collects himself, dispelling the energy and locking his glamour down tight to protect you. But that split second of fury felt like an eternity to you as you sink to the floor. You hiccup a shaky sob and shiver. Your fragile human mind bowing under the strain of what it cannot comprehend. Scolding hot tears fall from your cheeks, before splashing crimson the stone below you.

You didn't approach him again for over a month. No matter how strong you are, some things were better off unseen.

Mini Fic

He didn’t know. For once in his ancient pitiful existence, he had been unaware of his surroundings. It had been for just a moment, one tiny crack in his veneer. The foolishness of Mammon and Belphegor’s actions finally poked the right nerve. He wouldn’t hurt them, for Lucifer’s sake. That prideful demon would never forgive him if he did. But he could scare them. A quick look at his true self; a flash of the deepest bowels of hell. Enough to give them a reminder of their positions and standing in his court. He had expected their whimpers of fear, could taste the acidic tinge of it exuding from their pores. What he didn’t expect though was your blood curdling screams alongside.

Ironically, he would have to thank the second eldest later. His fast thinking is the only thing that saved you from complete damnation. His body shielded yours, taking the brunt of the stronger daemons hellish might for you. What little magic Mammon still had left used to protect you. Though, while your vision was blocked, you could still feel his oppressive presence. It racked your mortal flesh. Diavolo knew what affects his power had on humans. He spent years breaking and consuming damned souls with zeal after all.

The brothers had run from him after that, screaming for Simone. Barbatos following close behind, a look of consternation on his usually impassive face. You had been so limp in Mammon's arms. Diavolo could do nothing, shocked by his own weak will and realization that he might have ruined everything. You had been whisked away so quickly by his faithful servant and the brothers that he hadn’t had a chance to look you over himself. But the brief moment he saw will haunt him for years to come. Your eyes red from the sudden haemolacria, the blood staining your clothes and face. Your fingers digging away at your soft skin, black and purple blotches staining what he could see. Mouth opened wide on a silent scream. He knew what you must have seen. The souls of the damned trapped under his glamour breaking free to latch on to your unmarred soul trying to drag you back with them.

Against his butler's advice he stands at your door now days later trying to see you. He couldn’t sit around and just hear updates second hand. The brothers had been keeping guard most days in a valiant attempt to keep him away. But he could only be waylaid for so long before he used his rank against them.

He had arranged a full council meeting. Every one of the brothers knowing full well it was to get them out of his way. Yet, the order was absolute. This time none of the brothers could reject it. Barbatos would keep them in that room for eternity if he so wished for it. He hated using his age and power against them, but he saw no other way to get to you.

It was foolish now, standing as he was in front of your door. A part of him hoping you would turn the knob and let him in. Let him comfort you for once, instead of the asinine distractions the brothers offered. He could help too. Hells, he wanted to. He wanted to be closer to you. Power discrepancy be damned. The other part of him knowing it was for the best that you didn’t. Your guardian and tormentor all in one. He listens to your muffled sobs for a moment fighting with his feet to stay cemented to the floor instead of heading back in defeat.  

"When my father was still around he took me down to the deepest depths of the kingdom. Where the worst of the traitors and sinners are imprisoned." His deep baritone rumbles through your door during a break in your crying. "It’s a place few seldom go; even now I have yet to return. Back then he told me ‘there will never be a human soul that is undeserving of punishment. Even the ones destined for the celestial realm are tethered to sin.’ At that time I believed him. The things I saw in your realm... " The prince chuckles wearily.

He remembers the ever present scowl on the old King's face. His dark eyes looking out at the sea of damned souls he controlled. Even as a young daemon, fresh into his wings and still sharpening his horns to impress others he could tell how much his father detested his position. How it had warped him, turning him bitter and cold, even to his mate and only child.

Diavolo never wanted to be like that. Not to the ones he supposedly cared for at the very least. "I think that is why he hated the other realms so much.” He continued. “Humans, for their ability to choose which realm they would eventually end up in after they pass. That even the worst sinners could find redemption enough at the last moment to get to the pearly gates. While daemons, no matter how well they served, or the duties they did for the good of their own would never be seen as equals to our celestial counterparts or yours. That this existence is all we'll ever be destined to have. Nightmares and monsters, stories to tell little human children to keep them in line.” He pauses, collecting himself. “I believed wholeheartedly that every human deserved the punishments only my kind could dowel out. But, in this past year I have spent with you, I find myself changing. You are so undeserving of such torment. Somehow you are understanding and forgiving beyond measure to us. You handle our ill tempers with such grace. For daemons such as us, it is staggering, and humbling. I regret that I have hurt you so deeply and have broken your trust. I swear it as the head of this realm I would never intentionally do so." He looks at the door handle willing it to open. " I am so sorry."

Your crying picks up again. Huge heaving sobs that rattle your chest. Great Father, he just keeps making it worse. Clearing his head Diavolo turns.

Rejection of this nature was new to him. No one had ever dared to ignore him, especially such as this. The royal in him- his father's blood- seethed that he would even stoop so low as to grovel to a short lived thing like yourself. Even deeper yet, it demanded another taste of your essences. You little soul kept safe behind your rib cage. He wanted it added to his collection, kept tucked away deep within his maws.

It was sick; it was wrong. He chokes on the idea. The intrusive thought burrowing deep. How deplorable was he? Perhaps the angels were right to keep him out of heaven.

You didn't show to class the following day, or the days after. Unsurprising to him and the seven of the inner council. He figured the other day wouldn’t change anything. But it was utter agony to him. These days trapped in his office only getting short and curt updates on your health from Lucifer. It had been a special kind of torment.

Today he sat once again at his desk staring at some godforsaken bitching of a royal cousin. He knew this whelp. Some backwater thrice removed eons ago. Yet he was demanding an audience? The gall. The ink of their eligible handwriting makes him cross eyed. Would this day ever cease? He looks to his hourglass, the sands within seemingly frozen in time.

"My Lord, perhaps you should take a moment to stretch your legs?" Barbatos moved from his corner. Gloved hand coming to rest on top of the same three lines he had been reading for the past two hours. "This work could wait another evening I’m certain ."

"Did I do the right thing my friend?" Diavolo doesn't even bother answering the question his servant posed. They both knew he wouldn't. "This program. Our human exchange students. Solomon is one thing, but-"

"Your will and path is absolute." Barbatos states. "There are no mistakes within you, merely stumblings onto different paths."

With a gentle push Barbatos moves the hulking demon out of his way to collect and organize the scrolls and letters scattered about the large desk. "You made the right choice bringing them here. Look at what they have done. They are entertainment to you are they not?"

The prince rose knocking his desk aside and descended on his butler. His true form out in all its unholy glory now. His highly condensed magic distorting the study as if he was a black hole. The axis of the room shifts. His priceless collection of books and toys disintegrating from the cold radiation he emits.

It was all for show really. There was nothing he could do to an ancient being such as Barbatos. So he lashed out, throwing a tantrum in the security of his office. The hopeless agitation he felt fueling the flames of his rage. His butler had only added holy water to his already festering wounds.

Barbatos had been by his side for time in memoriam. The crafty bastard had helped raise him. Had shaped him into the ruler he was today. If anyone could break and remold him it would be his oldest companion.

The dark haired daemon waited for the waves of agitation to dry up. Moving only when the prince was in his more presentable demonic form. Large barrel chest heaving as he reined himself in. “Are you back to your senses?” He asks coolly, already categorizing the items to replace and furniture to be mended.

"I had not meant for it to go like this."  Diavolo croaks into his hands collapsing back on what remained of his desk. Building a bridge between realms, yes. That noble idea was the greater purpose of this program, but the rest of it. The classes, and dances. The parties where he threw his newest toys about to see how they would react to things other mortals worshiped? That had been for his own curiosity and amusement. Lesser beings navigating a foreign world blind to the dangers that were right under their very nose. Bring a mortal with no magic into his realm? Deep down he knew this was an inevitability. Especially with the freedoms he granted them. He just didn’t think he would get so attached.

“No one believes that you would hurt them on purpose.” His butler cuts off his downward spiral. “It would ruin the program. That is what you are so stressed about, right?” Barbatos eyes him skeptically. Diavolo, himself, and Lucifer had spent many sleepless weeks constructing and negotiating this program. If the Arch Angels heard a mortal was hurt down here it could very well end this little escapade. But the look in the prince’s eyes told a different story.

A warm glow emanated from his cheeks and he was unable to meet the old daemon’s gaze. Ah. "Or perhaps things have changed?" Barbatos smiles coyly up from beneath his bangs. "You are your mother's son after all. Neither of you were ever able to stem your bleeding hearts for long." Diavolo squawked indignantly but didn’t argue. Instead he merely turns a darker shade of red and curses under his breath.

He skipped out on court that evening. Not that he cared much. The other nobles would no doubt use the time to gossip about his whereabouts and uncouth behavior of late. Truth be told, he was avoiding the brothers more than anything else. They had made it expressly clear (some more then others) how they felt about him currently. He wouldn't doubt that Belphegor had a few more brothers on his side now.

Instead he stood at your door once more with a tea tray in hand. He had bumped into Simone on the way. The angel had come to bring you dinner and to check up on the last of your wounds. Celestial magic worked miracles on those who have been touched by the darker arts. Diavolo was grateful for his talents. And, by some miracle, Simone had made it abundantly clear he was not going to bring this to the higher ups on his end either.

Upon seeing the prince slinking up the house's stairwell the other man had simply smiled and offered him the tray. “I suddenly got a message from Luke. Could you perhaps drop this by our friend’s door?” Diavolo had accepted without preamble, large hands dwarfing the platter of little tea cakes and sandwiches. The young cherubs work no doubt. His cooking was a fine treat, and a great incentive to at least open the door.

“Hello again.” He knocks twice. “I just wanted to check in on you. I know I am the last person you wish to see but I was hoping to talk?” Silence greets him. Were you awake? He breathes deeply and focuses on picking up your vitals. You were up, your heart thumping steady somewhere in the room. That was good. “I also have dinner for you. Simone had an urgent matter to attend to so he- for better or worse- entrusted this to me.”

Diavolo searches hopelessly for something else to say. He couldn’t just leave the food and go. He needed to see you. “I don’t plan on staying long today. I understand when I am not wanted, but I cannot help myself but be worried for you. Perhaps this is just me contritioning, because I know I caused this. The amount of times I have been called a ‘ass’ by Solomon over this have been staggering.” He rambles. After another bout of silence from your end he coincides. “I see- I will leave the food by the door and let you rest.” Defeated he puts the food down and turns to leave.

The door clicks open slowly. One bloodshot eye peeking through the crack. “Oh mio piccolo mortale.” He loses his grip on your shared tongue at a loss. You looked- you must have been in the hall longer then he or the brothers had known. Such damage couldn’t be done in a few moments. Your skin was healing as nicely as Lucifer had said, but the deep purple scarring still remained on the surface. The burn pattern of it all was random. Twisting wounds that reflected an oily sheen from the light of the hallway. “I-.”

“I know-” You cut him off with a raised hand. “and I feel as though I owe you an apology too.” Your voice was so weak and shaky. A mockery of your normally strong and jovial tone. Hearing you laugh at school had brightened the dreary halls. He hadn’t realized it until you weren't there.

“You owe me nothing.” Diavolo says in earnest. He watches you contemplate your next words before throwing whatever you were going to say away.

“Would you like to come in?” Your eyes drop to the tray. “Luke always makes more than I can eat.”

“I don’t think that would be wise.” He backs out. All his plans crashing and burning around his feet. His actions had been irreparable.

“Perhaps not,” You open the door wider taking the tray and heading to your side table, leaving him no room to argue. “But then again, being a lamb among such wolves as yourself and the brothers isn’t smart either.” You meant it as a joke but he couldn’t even muster a chuckle. It was true. Gods. “Dia-” You approach him again but falter at the last second.

As much as you wanted to be close to him again the memories were still so fresh in your mind. The cold hell fire of his magic ensnaring you, searing your skin. The whispered words of sinners long since past still echoing in your head, all in languages you’ve never heard before. The worst though had to be the screaming. Lost souls begging for help. Some sounded so familiar…You shutter involuntarily.

You wanted to hate him for this. Curse him for putting you through this pain. But how much could you blame him? Or any of them? They were daemons. Whether he meant to hurt you or not, it truly had only been a matter of time before it happened. It would be hypocritical of you to fear or hate him forever over this. Six of the seven brothers have threatened your life before, and you have forgiven them. Hell, one of them actually killed you. What’s more was that Diavolo’s wrath hadn’t even been directed at you.

Wrong place at the right time; seemed to be your forte. “Please, come in.” You repeat again firmer than before mustering up either courage or sheer human stupidity to order him in. You couldn’t tell the difference anymore. “We need to talk.”  

He enters, following at your heel like a lost puppy. All air of princedom gone as you clicked the door shut. Diavolo fiddles with his hands, old habits from childhood coming with his nerves. He didn’t know what to expect anymore. Yelling? Some kind of beratement? A plea to go home and never look back?  He would let you.

You pass by him, giving him a large berth of space to get to your seat. “Tea?”  

Diavolo jerks his head to you. He had forgotten momentarily the plate of food he had used to get access to you. You smile sheepishly pushing it and a plate of sweets towards him with your unbandaged knuckles. He doesn’t move till your hand retracts back to your lap. You jerk your head to the open seat waiting for him. You weren’t going to take no for an answer.

“I- thank you.” The daemon sits making himself as small as possible in the straight back chair. He takes the porcelain and drinks mindlessly. The scalding hot tea doing little to help the tightness of his throat, but it did thaw some of the ice in his mind.

“Are-how…” He fumbles so unsure of what to do next. “I see you’ve been keeping up with your school work.” Diavolo closes his eyes, wincing internally at his words. That’s what he comes up with? Idiotic.

You smile anyway, eyeing the massive pile of books and paperwork spewn about your bed. “Yeah. I’ve taken to doing my school work with Levi in his room. Mammon and Beel are nice enough to drop it off to the teachers when they are due.” He nods. He knew this of course. But it was nice to hear it from you. But yet, you don’t meet his eyes. Far too afraid to see what hid behind them.

The thought of being dragged back into those dark depths again makes your pulse quicken. You instead stare at your nail beds, finding them more interesting. They were purple now. The nails stained black by the contact with his magic. “Will- will that go away?” He asks. Demonic curses or taints were nigh impossible to remove fully. Disgustingly, he hoped they didn’t. Then your nails would match his. The darker depths of his soul coo at the idea, happy that in a small way every daemon would know your his. Not as good as a pact, but as close as he could get to being a part of your little mortal life.

“I’m not sure.” You reply honestly bringing your hands up to place them on the table. “Simone and Solomon have done what they could. But, it is as good as it’s going to get for now. They say it could fade with time.” You look up at him, eyes gazing to the left of his face. “Luke thinks I should see a stronger angel.” Diavolo winces, the thought stung, and terrified him. “I told him no.”

That surprised him. This was your chance. The celestial realm had been skeptical from the beginning. If they knew, it would be a perfect caveat for them to step in. “Why?” Finally you look at him. The fear was still there. Hesitation evident in your eyes. Yet you forced yourself to look at him, fighting through your trepidation.

“Did you mean what you said earlier? About your father and what you think of me?”

“Of course.” He replies without hesitation reaching for your cold hands. You flinch but don’t move away. It felt-nice. His warmth chasing away the perpetual chill that covered your fingertips. Idly you stroke his strong hands with your thumbs.

“Then, I think we can work on this privately.” Slowly but surely you felt like you could fix this. Not for the program, but for yourself.  

[thatesqcrush]

Soul Savin', Pt. 4

Rafael Barba x Reader. AN: Taking a lot of liberties and using a lot of prompts and part of a challenge here, specifically: @madpanda75‘s “from your smutty prompt list, can you please do “Friends don’t do this kind of shit!” where Barba and the reader go to a bar, have some tequila, then do some body shots” as well as @delia26′s “I turned out liking your a lot more than I originally planned.” Finally, using Jewel’s “Who Will Save Your Soul” as part of @thefanficfaeriebirthday challenge.

CW: language, some parts NSFW. Some dub-con, because they’re buzzed,angst, continued slow-burning. Flashbacks are indicated with italics.

AN: Please forgive any typos. Again, writing through grief is weird AF. I’m trying my best.

WC: 2600

--

Rafael signaled for the bartender.  Six shot glasses were lined up. You each lifted a shot glass. “For Sean,” you proudly exclaimed.

“For Y/N, the best detective and friend a man could ask for. Well done today.” Rafael returned. You gave him a toothy smile and clinked your glass with his.

“Otra vez.”

Rafael nodded and lifted his shot glass, and quickly tossed it back before tuning the glass upside down on the bar top.

You gave him a small head nod and did the same; you both repeated the same with the two remaining glasses. The endorphins from the honeytrap mixed with the buzz from the alcohol was making you feel warm; your inhibitions were starting to fade. You didn’t care for the consequences – all that mattered was that you wanted Rafael and were tired of keeping your feelings at bay. Desire was bubbling at the surface, ready to spill over like a pot of boiled liquid.

You made your decision. You asked the bartender for the bottle of tequila, salt and limes.

“What are we doing? Body shots?” Rafael laughed, his eyes crinkling.

“Yeah, what of it? Lets live a little,” you stated. “Have you ever done a body shot?”

Rafael didn’t immediately respond and you squealed with delight. “Oh, this is going to be fun!”

You reached over and grabbed Rafael’s hand and ran your tongue on the back of his hand, just below his index finger. Rafael’s heart pounded in his chest as he watched you pour the salt on his skin. You ran your tongue over the salty skin and then knocked the shot back. You grabbed a lime wedge and bit down, sucking on the lime juice. You gave Rafael a smile, with the lime wedge in your mouth before removing it, dissolving into a fit of giggles. “Your turn.”

Rafael let out a shaky breath. “Are you sure?”

You nodded. You unzipped the zipper of your very oversized sweatshirt slightly, and shimmied the material off slightly. You pushed your hair back  and tilted your neck, exposing your skin.

Rafael’s eyes darkened at your exposed skin. His mind flashed to earlier in the evening, as he watched you shake your shit all over the strip club, like you owned the place. His cock twitched again and he decided to give into his desire.

Rafael stood and took a step closer to you. He helped you stand up, and he wrapped his arm around your waist, bringing you closer. You were millimeters apart. His large hands were soft and warm and he gently tilted your head. Skin exposed, he lowered his face to your neck. Your skin, which was still covered in body glitter, smelled like warm vanilla. He quietly groaned before taking a long broad swipe along your neck. You moaned and it was euphoria in Rafael’s ears. He pulled back, shook the salt shaker onto your skin, and resumed his actions. You squirmed in Rafael’s embrace, biting your lip hard to prevent you from obscenely moaning. As Rafael sucked a mark into your neck, you gasped, “Friends don’t do this kind of shit!”

“Then I guess we were never friends,” Rafael husked in your ear, before pulling away to toss the shot back. Rafael slammed the glass down on the bar top. You grabbed Rafael’s face with your hands; his five o’clock shadow prickled your palms. On wobbly tip-toes you stood and pulled him into a kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck. The kiss was intense, all teeth and tongue clashing against one another, desperate and hungry. Finally, Rafael pulled away and you briefly whined at the lost connection. The dark look in his eyes sent an involuntary shiver up your spine.

“Let’s get out of here.” You requested.

“Are you sure?” Rafael asked. ‘Please say yes, please say yes.’

You stepped closer to him and placed a small kiss on the corner of his lips. “Yes guapo.”

Rafael let out a shaky breath. He hadn’t been called guapo by someone significant since Yelina and hearing you call him that made his heart skip a beat.

“If we want to get out of here, I have to pay the tab.” Rafael murmured returning your small kiss with a small kiss of his own. He signaled for the bartender.

“I’ll get us a cab.” You offered, nodding your head to the door. “I’ll see you outside.”

You shivered while you tried to hail a cab. It was warmer earlier, but it had cooled off substantially.  The city smelled like petrichor and the street glistened as it had rained earlier. Just as you were about to just give up and call an Uber, a yellow taxi-cab slowed down and pulled up.

You opened the door and poked your head in. “Just waiting on someone.” The driver nodded and you leaned against the side as you waited for Rafael.

Rafael burst out and looked frantically side to side, and you could feel the sigh of relief he exhaled as he noticed you. He quickly strode over and cupped your face with one hand. His other hand settled on your hip.  Wordlessly, he captured your lips with his once more. You let out a sigh as he sucked your bottom lip. The kiss continued for another five seconds before you were interrupted by the cab driver.

“Are you two getting in or am I wasting my fucking time?”

You both jumped and you felt your cheeks grow warm. “We’re coming – hold your damn your horses, Jesus fucking Christ!”

Rafael chuckled at your outburst. The driver huffed and Rafael rolled his eyes as he entered the cab after you. Rafael rattled off his address and you felt a mixture of relief and excitement to be going to his place, versus yours.

The streetlamps were a blur as the cab sped towards downtown. The entire ride was filled with the two of you kissing, desperate for each other’s touch.  You rubbed his thigh through his pants and Rafael nuzzled your neck. The heady scent of his cologne invigorated your senses. Rafael’s lips ghosted along your skin and your pussy throbbed against the confines of your jeans. You were already so aroused, and nothing had even started yet. Rafael couldn’t wait to show you how much he wanted you – to feel you. His pants felt tights and he was desperate to relieve the ache that had settled.

Music on the radio played quietly. If you had truly listened, you would have realized that “Who Will Save Your Soul” was playing.

Who will save your soul when it comes to the flowers now Who will save your soul after all the lies that you told, boy And who will save your souls if you won't save your own?

 The cab finally came to a stop. The cab driver barked at the two of you, causing you to both jump. Rafael apologized and handed the driver a large bill, well covering the ride plus tip and then some.

 “Mr. Barba, good evening. Welcome home. Ms. Y/N, lovely to see you again.” The doorman greeted.

 Rafael coughed slightly, trying to regain some composure. “Good evening Anthony.”

 You gave Anthony a small smile and wave, murmuring a hello; you allowed Rafael to grab your hand and let him lead you in.

 --

You both tumbled into his apartment. Lips still connected, Rafael used his leg to slam the door shut behind him. Hands were everywhere, desperate and eager to touch one another’s flesh.  One of Rafael’s hands slipped under the hem of your sweatshirt and traveled upwards. He was extra cautious with his movements, as he knew your side was bruised from being kicked earlier. As he made his way to a breast, he was pleasantly surprised to learn you were bra-less. His hand cupped and squeezed one globe, before moving onto the other. With his thumb and index fingers, Rafael rolled and tugged at your nipples, until they were hardened pebbles.

“Too many clothes.” You managed to say breathlessly in between kisses. Rafael nodded and pulled away. You were both breathless from your intense kissing session. You reached for the hem of your sweatshirt and flipped it over your head before moving your hands down to your jeans and unzipping them. You kicked off your shoes, before pushing your pants off. Rafael followed suit – shoes, shirt, then pants. Rafael’s gaze traveled over your body and lewdly, stroked himself through his boxers.

With a growl, Rafael was upon you once more, his lips crashing against yours. You whimpered as you opened your mouth, allowing his tongue to enter. As your tongues tangled, Rafael’s hands traveled to your thighs. He gave them a squeeze before lifting you up. You wrapped your legs around his waist and he carried you towards his bedroom. You collapsed onto the bed, a tangled mess of limbs and Rafael rolled you, so he was on top. You hissed slightly, the pain from your ribs, were sobering to not just you, but to Rafael too.

Rafael propped himself up, his arms along side your head and he looked at you, his face full of concern.

“Y/N “ he began, his voice somber. “Maybe we shouldn’t do this.”

You leaned up and pressed a hand onto his chest, pushing him off you. Rafael sat on his haunches while you sat up fully. “Wait – why? Don’t you want this?” After a pregnant pause, you continued, your voice low, near a whisper. “Don’t you want me?”

Rafael leaned over to press a gentle kiss on your lips and then rested his forehead against yours. “I do – believe me I do. But you’re hurt and we have both been drinking.”

You bit your lip and nodded slowly, feeling your cheeks grow hot with embarrassment. “Okay. I’ll just get dressed and go.”

You began to move but an outstretched arm stopped you. You looked over your shoulder at him.

“Stay the night. Please.” Rafael implored, his eyes searching yours. You wanted to, so badly. Part of you hesitated to wonder if in the morning Rafael would still be interested or if this would be chalked up to a mistake of too much alcohol. You had a feeling the friendship was effectively ruined. But you were a consummate professional and even if your friendship was ruined, you would not let it get in the way of work.

“Y/N… please. Say something.”

Your eyes flickered past Rafael’s shoulder to the alarm clock on the nightstand. It was late and your buzz was starting to fade into exhaustion. You weren’t wild about really leaving at such a late hour, even if you were only a few blocks away. You agreed and internally decided to make sure to leave before Rafael woke up in the morning.

Rafael pulled you into a soft kiss. “I’ll get you something to wear.” The bed creaked as he stood and he made his way to his drawer, where he pulled out a pair of sweatpants, which he quickly slipped on. Rafael fussed a bit more, looking for something you to wear. He eventually produced his old Harvard Law t-shirt and gave it to you.

Rafael climbed back into bed and you snuggled on his chest where sleep befell you both.

--

The next morning you woke up to the smell of coffee and cinnamon. From a distance you could hear music in the background. You winced as you sat up. Sunlight pored into the bedroom through the curtain and you raised your arm over your head in an attempt to block the light. You looked to the left and noticed Rafael wasn’t in bed. You glanced at the clock – it was 9:15 A.M. You were appalled that you slept in and did not get to sneak out. At the corner of the bed were your clothes piled neatly.

“There’s my answer.” You mumbled to yourself. Your stomach growled and you made a mental note to grab something on the way home. You took off Rafael’s shirt and slipped your clothes back on. Your sweatshirt reeked of booze and you crinkled your nose in disgust.

“Just play cool – say Olivia called and you had to come in after all.” You told yourself. “Totally believable.”

“What’s believable?”

You jumped, startled. You turned around and found Rafael in the doorway, an amused look on his face. He stood shirtless, his sweatpants hanging dangerously low on his hips. You felt your mouth go dry as you drank him in. You noticed one hand was balled in a fist and the other, held a glass of water.

“I – I – uh, good morning Rafael.”

“I figured you could use this – for the hangover and your ribs,” Rafael continued as he dropped two pills in your hand.  “I have coffee in the kitchen, and I was about to order some food.”

You mumbled your thanks and took the painkillers. Rafael watched you intently as you chugged your water. You wiped your mouth on the sleeve of your sweatshirt and thrust the glass back into this hand. “Thanks for letting me stay the night. I should go.”

“Look, I know last night wasn’t ideal.” Rafael protested, setting the glass down. “But I meant what I said. I want you. I turned out liking you a lot more than I originally planned.”

You cocked your head, studying his expression in a veiled attempt to eek out anything that would indicate what he was saying wasn’t truthful. “Come.” Rafael outstretched his hand and nodded his head towards the living room.

You took Rafael’s hand and allowed him to lead the way. “I should have done this that night you were here – when I invited you to hear my closing.” Rafael looked through his vinyl collection, quickly finding the record he was looking for. You instantly recognized the cover to the record as the one you chose. Rafael waited for the turntable platter to stop spinning before he gently removed it and returned it to its cover. Finally, Rafael set the new record to play and Moonlight began to play.

Rafael returned to you and took you into his arms. He caressed your face gently, pushing your hair away from your face. “I should have kissed you that night. And every night before then and every night after. I shouldn’t have waited.” Rafael lowered his face and brushed his lips against yours. You felt your heart swell at his proclamation and eagerly returned his kiss. His stubble prickled your skin and you lasciviously wondered what it would feel like in between your legs.

Your tongues gently rolled over one another’s as you each explored the caverns of your mouths. You moaned slightly and Rafael took the cue to deepen the kiss. Your hands ran up and down his defined arms, before running down to his sides. Rafael nipped your bottom lip and sucked it in between his teeth, causing you to moan.

Rafael moved back to your neck, focusing his ministrations on a particularly sensitive spot. You ran your hands into his hair and gripped tightly as he sucked a mark into your neck. You whimpered as he used the tip of his tongue to soothe the bruised spot.

“Still have to go?” Rafael asked breathless, his voice hopeful as he pulled away. He beamed inwardly with pride at the hickey that was beginning to develop.

You shook your head, smirking. “No.”

“Good. I want to have breakfast and I bet you’re just delicious.”

You laughed heartily at his comment and then squealed as he picked you up, hoisting you over his shoulder and leading you back to his bedroom.

TBC.

Tags:  @melsquared79 @madpanda75 @youreverycolor @tropes-and-tales @neely1177 @the-baby-bookworm @mrsrafaelbarba @skittle479 @ottosuricato @delia26 @sass-and-suspenders @mommakat32 @dreila03 @beccabarba @garturbo @lovebennycolon @imjustreallynosy @sweetsummertime99 @whyissvuruiningmylovelife @scarletsoldierrr @cesarofangirl78 @redlipstickandplaid @redlipstickandblacktea @zoeykaytesmom @differentshadesofgray @misssirenlove @esparza-army @bananas-pajamas @mishaissocoollike @fanficfaeriesrafaelbarbalibrary @theenchantedgalleryofstories @thefanficfaerie @trekinthruthestarwars @catnip987 @choppedgalaxynerd @pieceofshittytitty -anyone else, just ask, xo

[excelsi-or]

21/12/19 - dance (woozi)

to a boy i love right now

w.c. 1.4k

A/N: Please forgive the Christmas fic in June L O L. I’m posting as I edit and this is just...... where we are. Also isn’t time an illusion? especially right now. Stay safe. Stay educated. xx

Black Lives Rec: Check out these IG illustrators and support their work! Amina Aly is a Muslim Somalian Canadian artist who works in gouache. Her pieces are so vibrant. Awuradwoa (pronounced uh-ra-ju-uh) Afful is a Ghana Canadian digital illustrator. She does a lot of character design. Her pieces remind me a lot of Pixar animation style or Carmen Sandiego. Abelle Hayford is a digital illustrator. Their designs range from character designs to background illustrations. I love the movement in their lines. Their characters have so much life. Bianca Xunise is a comic illustrator. Her comics are about black lives and what it’s like to be black. She has a very simplistic style, which is pleasing to the eye. Her words are also very powerful. Brie Henderson is currently a Netflix and DC colourist. I originally found her work through her Good Omens fan art. She’s currently running a character design mentorship for the month of July for black artist. 

December 3, 2019

December 21, 2019

“Ji!” she calls from the front door, slipping out of her heels. “Are you ready? We’re going to be late for this party!”

“I hate this idea.” Jihoon’s bedroom door opens to reveal the man in a three-piece black suit. He’s working on tying his tie, but keeps fumbling with it. “Do you know how to tie a tie?”

She snorts as she crosses the room over to him. “You’re hilarious. No. Let’s just find a video.”

Jihoon looks up, his eyes immediately skimming over her. 

She looks down at the forest green dress. “Nice, yes?”

He chuckles and pulls his phone out of his pocket. “Even if I said no, you wouldn’t care.”

She leans over to peck his cheek. “Good answer.”

Once his tie is tied and he tucks a stray piece of hair behind her ear, they head downstairs where the car she rented is parked out front. She tosses the keys to him and he stares at her, confused.

“I hate driving in heels.” She climbs in.

Jihoon rolls his eyes, a smile on his face, as he slides into the driver’s side. She has the venue already inputted into the GPS. Seatbelts on and after checking all the mirrors, he signals left and starts en route. “You know, when you asked me to meet your family, I didn’t expect to be wearing a suit.”

She shakes her head in dismay. “My family likes fancy Christmas parties. And while we have dressed fancy before,” she motions towards her dress, “this is over the top for us.” She reaches over to adjust a piece of his hair that’s fallen into his eyes. ”I honestly think it’s because you’re coming.”

“So they’re forcing me to look like I’m going to get married?”

Laughing, she looks out the window. “Maybe. They probably want you to be impressed with them. I wouldn’t put it past my dad.”

“You brought a change of clothes for the way back, right?” Jihoon glances over at her as he turns left.

She nods. “It’s in the trunk.”

“Good. Last thing I need is you sitting in the passenger seat in your underwear because you hate the dress.”

With a smirk, she rounds on him. “Really? You wouldn’t like that? For an hour and a half?”

“We’d get in a car crash,” he answers honestly.

While he is nervous, Jihoon wins over her parents in an instant. Her grandmother adores him after a first meeting, even more so when they start talking about old songs from when she was a teenager. She has to physically drag the man away from her grandmother, who likes to chat.

Her siblings are already seated at a table closest to the dance floor. There are two seats vacant for them and she sits Jihoon next to her younger brother’s girlfriend rather than right next to her older brother. As soon as he sits, the grilling starts.

She can’t do anything about it, but Jihoon takes it in stride. He tries his best to not give typical Jihoon answers, elaborating where he can. He doesn’t overshare, but she doesn’t want him to. She wants Jihoon to be as comfortable as possible. Her hand finds his under the table when her sister asks him if it was love at first sight.

Jihoon hates talking about sentimental moments like that with other people. Their first kiss, first time, first (proper) date, most of it has been locked away. She’d watched Jihoon tense as soon as her sister asked the question.

“No,” Jihoon answers slowly. His eyes dart towards her two brothers flanking him on either side. “It wasn’t at first sight,” Jihoon’s fingers wiggle nervously between hers, “but I fell in love pretty quickly.”

Gently, she squeezes his hand as the girls all awe loudly around them. His hand has gone cold and she rubs it between both of hers. She glowers at her younger brother before he can roll his eyes, already knowing her older brother is smiling.

When the music comes on an hour later, their table gets up to join the rest of their family and friends on the dance floor. She and Jihoon twist in their seats to watch. 

“I think you did alright,” she chuckles.

Jihoon pulls her hand into his lap, toying with her fingers. “Thank god.”

One of her cousins comes over to them, laughing. “Come on! You can’t just sit here all night!” 

Sighing, she gets up. When she tugs on Jihoon’s hand, he shakes his head. Not wanting to push him any more tonight, she lets go.

The second a slow song comes on, she walks back towards the table where Jihoon has been sitting all night. She’d checked in on him between songs, worried he was bored. Luckily, a few members of her family had sat with him and everyone else twirled her around to tell her how great they thought he was.

She offers a hand out to him now.

Jihoon tugs her closer, his hands resting on her waist.

“I wanted you to come dance,” she says.

“Jagi, I don’t—”

“Please. You’ve been sitting all night. I feel bad.”

“Your family is nice and I want you to enjoy yourself. I’m happy watching.”

She shakes her head. “One dance with me, please?” She drops a hand from around his neck to one of his on her waist and tugs him towards the dance floor. Jihoon glances around at the other couples swaying to the music and then back at her.

Her hands are already playing with his hair. Smirking, she asks, “Do you not know how to slow dance?”

“I’ve never had to slow dance before,” he hisses.

Snorting, she takes his hands from his sides to place them on her hips. She then sets her hands on his shoulders. “This is how people dance their first dance.” 

They sway like this for a while and Jihoon naturally pulls her closer to him. 

“Fast learner,” she hums, her fingers once again toying with the hair at the base of his neck.

Jihoon taps out the rhythm of the music on the small of her back with his fingers. She can’t help but stare up at him, watching his facial expression change as he gets into the song. He’s on high alert though, aware that her entire family is likely watching them. Using his chin, she guides his gaze back down to her.

“Hi, remember me?” she teases.

Jihoon’s breath is shaky. “Sorry.”

“What?”

“Your dad is watching us.”

She sways them in a circle so that she can get a look at her parents. She catches her dad’s eye, her smile disappears and her gaze hardens. With a grin, her dad’s attention returns to her mother.

“My mom heard I was coming and she asked when she gets to meet you in person,” Jihoon says.

When Jihoon calls home, sometimes she’ll jump into the call briefly. His mother is always sharing recipes that Jihoon liked as a kid. 

“It definitely won’t be like this.” His eyes go around the elaborately decorated dining hall of a hotel. “Your family go all out.”

“Only for today,” she promises. “It’s not usually this extravagant.”

“Well, if we did go visit my parents, it would be just us. Likely dinner.”

She nods. “That sounds great.”

Jihoon leans down to rest his forehead against hers. “It really can’t just be us, can it?” he murmurs.

Their swaying has slowed a lot, as Jihoon has them nearly pressed together. But she can tell Jihoon’s getting tired. “Sorry, Ji, no. But back home, it’ll just be us. Gyu texted me and said he’ll be home in the morning.”

Jihoon’s eyes widen a little as he pulls away form her. “Why?”

She shrugs, pecking his lips. “I just asked if it’d be possible if he could stay at Wonwoo’s for a night.”

Jihoon smiles and hugs her around the waist as the song ends and spins her around. “You’re making breakfast then.”

She rolls her eyes with a smile. “Sure, Ji. Whatever you want.”

Jihoon’s eyes narrow as he pulls her towards the table. “Why are you being so nice?”

“I thought I’d say thank you for coming to this.”

A glint in his eye makes her want to take back her words, but he doesn’t often look smug. Normally, it’s her. She has to admit, it’s kinda hot.

Next: January 10, 2020

[ts-into-the-coinverse]

Made of Love, Chapter 28

<< Previous|Next >>

Table of Contents

Ship(s): Logicality, (platonic) Prinxiety

All Characters: Thomas, Virgil, Roman, Logan, Patton, Dr. Picani, Joan, Talyn, and Deceit

Synopsis: Humans Roman and Virgil get wrapped up in some serious magic business without meaning to. Their other companions aren’t exactly as they seem, either. Together they all must defeat a great threat for the safety of humanity.

Chapter Desc.: Fellas, is it gay to cuddle your homies to comfort and give them warmth? Virgil's asking for a friend.

TW: Cursing

Prefer to read it on Ao3? Click here!

To say that they watched Logan like a bomb reaching its final digits was an understatement. The rest of the day, Roman, Patton, and Virgil refused to let him out of their sight. Virgil was sure he was annoyed with the constant attention, but he proved too exhausted to argue.

He didn’t recall what happened.

All he felt was pain. His chest ached and he was sure his limbs were being pulled apart from his body, but then he woke up on the couch. From his perspective, it was a mere few seconds between unfusing and waking up at home, when really it was several minutes. Several, tense minutes that stretched to feel like hours. But this also meant they were still lost on what happened.

“Maybe you should head to bed,” Patton said softly near the end of the day. He held Logan's face in his hands. "My stupid, brilliant mage." He brought their foreheads together.

Logan hummed, eyes fluttering closed and wrapping his hands around Patton's wrists. "Some of those words don't seem like they should go together."

"And yet you make it work."

A soft laugh passed Logan's lips. "Don't be mean while I'm gone."

Patton's hands lingered on Logan's face as he stood up. "I won't, I promise."

"Alright. Goodnight, everyone."

They all wished him goodnight before he shuffled down the hall. Patton kept his eyes on him until he disappeared from view. The stress didn't leave with him. There was still a high amount of worry in the air, clinging to their throats.

After a beat of silence, Patton broke it with, "Virgil, let me see your ankle."

Virgil blinked in surprise. He didn't tell Patton about his ankle. He didn't even mention it out loud. And even if he did, he half expected Patton to not do anything about it. "What?"

"I saw the way you were walking. Show me."

He didn't think he made it that obvious. Truth be told, it didn't even hurt all that much. Regardless, he did as he was told.

When Patton pushed his pant leg up, Roman winced at the sight. It was swollen and there were already faint bruises forming around the bone. "How did this happen?"

“Spider Lady decided to web my foot when I was running.” Virgil suppressed a wince when Patton placed his hands on his ankle. Okay, so maybe it hurt a bit more than he thought at first.

“It’s only a sprain.” Almost as if to emphasize it wasn’t that bad, Patton retracted his hands. It looked and felt fine. “Next time, don’t turn your back on a threat.”

Virgil moved his foot around. Nothing protested against the action, so he curled up with his legs on the armchair and offered Patton a tiny thanks.

Patton nodded in acknowledgment, sparing a glance at Roman as he did so. A sad, bitter smile spread across his face. “That’s a familiar look.”

Roman steeled away his expression, almost defensively. “What look?”

“That’s a look Booker always gave me whenever I did something overly Machai.” Catching sight of their minor confusion, he elaborated, “Thomas’s dad.”

“Why would he do that?” Roman asked before Virgil could.

Patton sighed, heavy with memories. “He didn’t trust me at first. He was convinced I would do something to hurt them. Not that I can blame him or anything. The Machai didn't exactly give themselves a household name by being friendly.” He sat back with a small grimace. “We tolerated each other for Logan and Brigida’s sake, but we learned to get along eventually. He didn’t have any more problems with me until… well…” He fidgeted with his fingers. “After Arlene took Logan, I… I did some things I’m not proud of. Things I don’t think Logan would ever forgive me for doing if he ever knew. And I… I think I scared them.” Hurt and regret showed clearly on his face before he shook his head to rid himself of it. “He much preferred Picani, anyway.”

Virgil frowned. "So you didn't get along at first."

Something almost sounding like a laugh left Patton's mouth. "Goodness, no. I mean, Brigida trusted me only because Logan did — and she had never heard of a Machai elf before. But Booker knew what I was from the beginning." He paused. He stared at a blank space on the wall. "Sometimes I could swear he knew the things that I did from the way he looked at me." There was another pause before he composed himself. "It took about a century or two until we actually liked each other."

"Why did he even stay if you didn't like each other?" Roman asked.

Patton didn't look as if he wanted to answer, but visibly reconsidered. "He was staying with Brigida. And Brigida only wanted to stay because she saw that Logan and I were on our own. She practically started mothering us the second she saw we were just two kids by ourselves. There was no way she was leaving."

There was another beat of silence before Roman stood up. "I think I'm gonna head to bed, too." He didn't wait for anyone to respond before leaving the room.

Virgil frowned again. He made to follow after him, but Patton stopped him.

"Virgil wait."

He looked back.

Patton was on his feet with a forlorn expression on his face. He struggled to find the right words. "I'm sorry. For, for everything. I wasn't — I didn't think about how much it would actually hurt you. I just… needed someone to be mad at. It wasn't fair."

Virgil hesitated. He wasn't quite sure how to respond.

“You don’t accept this as a good apology. You don’t ever have to accept any apology, even. I’m going to do whatever I can to make it up to you. I just hope that one day I’ll be able to earn your forgiveness.”

Without thinking much of his answer, yet meaning every single bit of it, he said, “You will.” then left to go check on Roman.

The next morning he woke up content and comfortable. It took his sleepy brain a few seconds too long to realize why that was. And it was because he was in Roman’s bed. With Roman. They were still in their clothes from yesterday, which indicated that they fell asleep during their talk last night. Their legs were tangled together and Roman’s face was buried in Virgil’s chest. He doesn’t remember how they ended up this way, but then he thought back to the very first night they ever spent in this house and how Roman had clung to him then. It seemed Roman just found the closest warm body and latched onto them. Sort of like a leech.

Unfortunately, it meant Virgil was stuck. One of his arms was underneath Roman. With his free hand, he searched blindly for his phone. It was a bit difficult since his hoodie was half off and Roman held onto it as if it would disappear, but he managed. He squinted through his sleepiness and saw it was a bit after ten o’clock. They slept in.

Virgil figured Roman was going to be pretty peeved about it, but maybe he should have woken up earlier.

Right on time, Roman started to stir. He stretched across Virgil like he was unaware he was there at all. Then he opened his eyes. He blinked at Virgil a few times, not saying anything, until he whispered a soft, “Good morning.”

Virgil held back a scoff. “You gonna get up now?”

Roman sighed, snuggling closer to Virgil. “No.”

Of course. Virgil rolled his eyes but didn’t make any intentions to move. He’d never admit it out loud, but he was pretty cozy. It was warm despite the fact that they were on top of the blankets rather than under them. Roman was like a mini heater. “Do you feel any better?”

“Hmm. A little bit.” It sounded like he was going to fall back asleep. “Feel less confused.”

That made one of them at least. During their talk last night, Virgil started to wonder why their experiences were so different. Roman could recall more things about his past life than Virgil could. Not specific details or exact scenes, but enough to recognize there were memories that weren’t his. He admitted that his most vivid dreams were always altered in some way to fit his life. His mom, dad, and siblings used to show up in them, for example, and say things that wouldn’t make any sense — make references he shouldn’t have understood. Yet he did. At least in the dream. And then Virgil started showing up in them the moment they met.

Really, that should have been a hint that something was up, but regardless… Why did Virgil not have the same thing? Assuming that Booker and Brigida died around the same time from similar circumstances, shouldn’t that mean their reincarnations would experience similar things? But that wasn’t the case. It was like Virgil had a vague, shaky connection with Brigida. A faded childhood memory at best. And then there was Roman, who seemed to be stuck in the past as well as the present.

He had no idea how past lives worked. Roman had no idea how past lives work. There was a chance no one else in the house knew either. It was a weird situation all around. Perhaps it was something that could only be learned through experience.

Whatever the fuck that entailed.

Their cuddling was interrupted by a knock at the door, making Roman groan. Virgil felt the vibrations in his chest. Even more so when Roman answered with a cranky, "What?"

Patton popped his head in somewhat hesitantly. He didn't comment on their position or acknowledge it in any way. "I was just wondering if you two were awake for breakfast. I was about to start on it."

Roman grumbled something incoherent.

"We'll be out in a bit," Virgil answered.

Patton left with a nod.

"I'm not moving," Roman mumbled, getting cozier as if to prove his point.

"You're gonna have to eventually. You're really gonna stay in yesterday's clothes all day?"

That was more than enough motivation, so it seemed.

After their small breakfast, Virgil realized they were missing people. He almost didn’t notice due to the last few days of everyone being mad at someone and refusing to even entertain their presence. But they were over that now. Somewhat. “Where are Logan and Thomas?”

“Thomas spent the night with Joan and Talyn,” Patton responded from where he was cleaning the kitchen. “And Logan’s still sleeping.”

“Still?” Roman questioned. “Hasn’t it been like twelve hours?”

"Give or take." He stopped what he was doing with a sigh. "I can't imagine whatever happened to him is easy to recover from. I couldn't… do anything about it."

And that was the worrying part. If Logan had to do this on his own, it wouldn't be good. It was getting rough. As time progressed, it got worse and worse until who knew what would happen next. They had to do something. What that was, they didn’t know. The only solution so far was to get his magic back to him. But no one knew how long that would take. If it ever happened at all.

“I’m sure he’ll bounce back,” Roman said. It almost sounded like he was trying to convince himself. “Nothing’s been able to keep him down yet.”

Logan still didn’t wake up even as it approached one o’clock. Patton checked up on him every few minutes, unable to stay still in any way. He came back with the same results: still sleeping, but alive. He couldn’t do a thing to change it. Which Virgil assumed must have bothered him. His whole magical identity was about healing people, but he couldn’t help the one person who needed it.

“Alright,” Patton sighed for the millionth time as he walked down the hall. “Thomas needs a ride back and I’m taking him grocery shopping with me. You guys need anything?”

Roman waved his hand without lifting his eyes from the computer screen.

Virgil rolled his eyes. “We’re good, Patton.”

“Call me if anything comes up.” He grabbed his keys and left.

Virgil sighed and put his head back down on the couch. He was scrolling mindlessly through random apps on his phone so he could have something to do. The house was too quiet. Even with Roman grumbling to himself over things about the photo he was editing. The quiet was just different today. Maybe it had to do with the potential doom. Maybe. There was no way to tell for sure.

Either way, Virgil tried not to think about it. The timelines that haunted his dreams had finally backed off. But their images still stayed. He knew too many ways in which this could end. There was a lot. So many. But he also knew that he didn’t know all of them. He wasn’t a Seer. His brain wouldn’t be able to handle all of that information. He didn’t know what was worse; knowing a few timelines or not knowing all of them. Would knowing all of them have better odds? Would it not matter either way? Well, there was one thing he knew for sure — this sure as hell wasn’t helping his anxiety.

He decided to play a game to use his brain for better things.

After twenty minutes or so (in which Roman loudly exclaimed he fucked up something and Virgil loudly ignored him), Logan shuffled down the hall. They didn’t notice him at first — he was so quiet — but when Virgil glanced up he almost dropped his phone on his face. Partly because he was startled. Partly because Logan looked like a goddamn ghost. He was curled in on himself, holding onto his arms like there was a cool chill blowing through him. There were bags growing under his eyes. They didn't look too focused. Like something woke him up before he was ready.

"Where's Patton?" He asked. Was he trembling?

Virgil sat up, alarmed. "He just left. Dude, are you okay?"

"It's cold."

It wasn't. "Yeah. Okay. Come over here." He stood up as Logan walked over to him. He placed a hand on his forehead and pulled back with a hiss. His skin was ice cold. It almost hurt to touch. "Shit. You're freezing." He gently set Logan down on the couch and shot Roman a worried glance.

"I'll make hot chocolate." He took off to the kitchen.

Virgil shrugged off his hoodie and put it around Logan. He was just about swimming in it, but he didn't appear to mind. He curled further into it like a blanket. To aid the heat, Virgil joined him on the couch and brought him close to his side. Even through the fabric Virgil could feel the cold. It was like trying to warm up an ice cube. “What the hell is happening to you?”

Logan shook his head, crawling closer to Virgil’s warmth. “I don’t know.”

He tried to suppress a shiver when their skin touched. God, he was freezing. “I’ll get Roman to call Patton.” He heard the heater turn on and held back a sigh of relief. As much as he wanted to help Logan, he could feel his own heat being seeped out. It wouldn’t do any good if both of them were cold. “Roman —”

“I got it.” He had his phone up to his ear as he walked back into the kitchen.

This time, Virgil did let out a sigh. He could feel Logan shivering still so he wrapped both arms around him and held him closer. Logan was practically in his lap at this point, but neither of them cared to comment on it.

“I’ve never been so cold before,” Logan spoke around chattering teeth. “I didn’t know it was possible.”

“Yeah, well, usually people are in cold places when that happens. Maybe you’re just lucky.” Virgil didn’t understand how Logan's body could be so cold. The house wasn’t even remotely chilly. It was a comfortable temperature. And yet Logan felt like he had been rolling around in the snow.

Roman walked into the living room with a steaming mug. “Patton said he’s on his way.” He handed the mug over. Logan made minimal effort to move and grab it with unsteady hands. Roman frowned at that. “You know, skin-to-skin contact is best for hypothermia.”

Both Logan and Virgil immediately shot that down. “If you try to take off anything, I’ll break your fingers,” Logan added. Though it didn’t sound very threatening with his weak voice and chattering teeth. “And I’m not experiencing hypothermia.”

“How would you know? Most people that experience hypothermia don’t even realize that it’s happening.”

Logan paused. “I hate when you’re right.”

A faint smile twitched at Roman’s lips. “I’ll take that as a compliment. Be right back.” He left before Virgil could question him. He returned a moment later with an armful of blankets from his room. “I’m not going to try to pretend I know what the fuck is going on, but at least I can try to apply what I do know.” He wrapped the blankets around both of them before joining them on the couch.

Virgil could already feel the warmth the blankets were holding in, but he could also feel how cold Logan still was. There wasn’t much else they could do. Warming up took time. If it worked. And Virgil hoped it worked. He didn’t know what they would do if it didn’t. He didn’t even know what would happen if they didn’t. If a person succumbed to hypothermia, then the end was less than optimal. But this wasn’t a normal case of hypothermia. They were in a warm house in Southern California in the middle of the afternoon. None of those things combined caused hypothermia.

It had to be a magic thing, and if this was a magic thing, then what the hell would be the end outcome? Would it be the same? Would it be worse? Would something else happen? He didn’t fucking know. He doubted Logan even knew; he didn’t seem all that lucid. This was weird and different and stressing Virgil down to his very last nerves.

Patton rushed through the front door not long after. Virgil was almost sure he was going to bust it off its hinges again. Thankfully, it stayed attached, and Thomas trailed in behind him with less urgency and more confusion.

“Are you okay?” Patton kneeled in front of Logan and took his face in his hands. “Oh, honey, you’re freezing. How did this happen to you?”

“We were kind of hoping that you would have some answers,” Virgil replied. “None of us know anything. He just came out like this.”

“Umm,” Thomas stood awkwardly to the side, “did I miss some things?”

Roman, Virgil, and Patton all glanced at each other. Roman was the one to stand up. “Come on,” he led Thomas away, “I’ll catch you up.”

Patton took his spot. “I don’t — I don’t know what this is.” He hesitantly retracted his hands, yet they still hovered. “I don’t know where to start. I don’t know what I’m looking for.” He looked at Virgil, lost and helpless. “There has to be something else you can give me.”

Virgil’s chest twisted. “I’m sorry. I know as much as you.”

He turned his eyes to Logan. “Are you okay? Do you hurt anywhere?”

Logan shook his head. “It’s just cold.”

“I can’t do anything against the cold, sweetheart, I’m sorry.” He dropped his hands. “You’re just gonna have to wait for Virgil to warm you up.”

It took a while for that to happen. But after two cups of hot chocolate, a heating pad provided by Roman, Patton fluttering around nervously, and a very sweaty Virgil, Logan wasn’t frozen anymore. The color returned to his cheeks and he fell asleep with his face buried in the crook of Virgil’s neck. This was great for a number of reasons. Number one; Logan wasn’t dead. Number two; Virgil was going to be free from the heat generator they made. And number three; Patton would stop suffocating them with his worry.

It wasn’t a secret that he was upset about not doing anything. Despite things still being awkward between him and Virgil, he couldn’t stay away for long. He would walk away for a minute or two, but then come back and hover nearby. He wasn’t patient. It wasn’t a habit of his to wait around for someone else to make people get better — he made people better. He could heal cuts, bumps, and scrapes… but not sicknesses. And that’s what this was, really. A sickness. Logan was getting sick without his magic, and he would just get sicker and sicker until either he got it back or Altair won.

“I’ll take him off your hands,” Patton whispered. He began to pull back the blanket layers to gather Logan in his arms. Virgil’s hoodie still hung over his shoulders. Before he carried Logan off, he stopped to give Virgil his full attention. “Thank you.”

Virgil paused mid-shrugging off blankets to stare at him. “For what?”

“For helping him.”

“It’s not like I would have let him freeze.”

“I know, but…” He glanced down. “I was completely useless. I, I wasn’t able to do anything. And I probably won’t be able to do anything in the future. So it… it just means a lot to me to know that someone else cares.”

Virgil considered his words. “We all care.”

“And I’ve never been more grateful for that.”

Virgil watched him go without another word. He continued to push off the blankets so he could cool off. He considered, for a moment, if this was the first time Patton ever had to put Logan’s life in someone else’s hands. But he had a funny feeling that wasn’t true.

The next morning, he woke up to find his hoodie at the foot of his bed. A purple patch over the hole in his pocket that he hadn’t had time to fix.

(Next)

[afewmarvelousthoughts]

Stay Ch. 12

Master List: @afewmarvelousthoughtsadmin

Pairing: Natasha X Reader (Female)

Summary: You have a gift, the ability to see other people’s innermost secrets. For years you used it to gather intel for the highest bidder when you take on The Widow. After she becomes more than a mark the two of you spend years stealing moments. Post snap you wait in your designated meeting place, look back on the sordid past you share with the woman you love and hope against everything that she’s still alive.

Warnings: None

A/N:  I won’t call this fluffy. That just doesn’t quite fit it. But I will say it’s... hopeful. Love is fucking complicated y’all. Also, this is a shorty but this exchange needed to be solo.

I just have to say that I LOVE how much y’all respond to this story. It fills my heart more than I can even say. I didn’t realize how many other queer folks wanted to see a fic like this. Everytime someone comments, reblogs, or reaches out in any way to say they never see WLW like this in fic my heart breaks and soars. If we want to be seen we gotta do it ourselves. I fucking adore all of you! (Non-queer readers, y’all are bomb af too!)

Tags are open!

@mywinterwolf @disagreetoagree @breezy1415 @peachthatdrinkslemonade @5aftermidnight @jeromethepsycho @marvel-randomness @daniellajocelyn @katecolleen @yanginginthere @wonderlandmind4 @piensa-bonito @for-the-love-of-the-fandom @lesbian-girls-wayhaught

- March 2006 -

You sit in the open window of the hotel watching the sun slowly fill the overcast New Orleans sky in pinks and purples. The air is cool but heavy and damp to the point that it seems to make the cigarette between your fingers hard to light.

Smoke curls out of your nostrils as you glance back at her sleeping form on your bed. Your heart constricts and you grimace. How could seeing her there make you so happy but hurt so badly at the same time?

Sighing you turn your focus back to the sky and the slowly awakening city. Hoping the nicotine will help you sort the chaos in your skull and chest. The sheets rustle behind you but don’t look back.

“Morning,” her voice sends shivers up your spine. A yawn, “We still doing the not talking thing?”

Slowly you turn to her, the question making your temper snap, “Depends. You still doin’ the not answering my questions thing?” You flick the cigarette out the window and climb back in. She wraps the sheet around herself and glances away from your burning stare. “Yeah. Thought so,” you plop into one of the chairs.

“What do you want me to say, Y/N?” Her eyes are glassy.

You don’t have much fight left in you, “Anything,” your tone is tired.

“Nothing I say’ll justify it… I know I fucked up…”

“Yeah. But I need to hear you say it, Natasha. I need ya to help me make sense of what went through your head at that moment because…” You rest your head in your hand for a second, trying to grab at your crumbling composure.

Your whole life you’d been abandoned, sold off, passed around. She knew that. Her walking out with nothing more than one word on shitty hotel stationary made you feel, once again, like you were just something to be used and cast aside.

“Here,” she stands to move toward you, “do you want to just-”

“No,” you glare at her and she sits back down. “I want you to tell me.” It matters. You’re not sure why but it does.

She takes a shaky breath, looking down at her hands. A few minutes pass before she responds, “Ok… Ok. It wasn’t because I thought… you didn’t love me or know me enough to understand… I didn’t want you to have to understand.” Her eyes meet yours, “Does that even make sense?” She shakes her head, “I wanted to keep it away from you. I thought the KGB would come down on me hard… And I knew I’d be blacklisted… Something like that it leaves a stain…” She swallows a sob and you force yourself to stay put.

“I didn’t want to taint your reputation with my poison.”

You snort, “I clocked you as a coward from the beginning but my reputation? Really, Natasha? That’s bullshit.” Shaking your head, “Don’t fucking hide behind that.”

“I’m not hiding,” there's a bite in her tone.

“No?” You lean forward resting your elbows on your knees, “So you thought I gave a fuck about this sorry excuse for a livin’ I have more than you? You thought I was more invested in… Fuck,” you lean back running your hands through your hair. “I would have left it all for you.” The past tense tumbles from you without a thought and you see it hit her like a blow. It wasn’t intentional. It was honest.

Before you would have cashed it in, gone underground. The two of you could have figured out together what a normal life was since neither of you had ever had one. Now though… now you didn’t know. You loved her but it no longer feels like enough.

“I realized that after I left…” You watch a tear roll down her cheek and grip the arms of the chair to keep from rushing to her side. “You always thought I was worth more than I was… I couldn’t stand the thought of being there when you realized you were wrong.”

That hangs as you try to sort yourself out. You want to give her some sort of absolution but the hole she left in you is still bleeding.

“I still think you’re worth the world, Nat…” She looks at you like you’ve slapped her. “There’s no part of what happened that was your fault. You tried, if you could have stopped it you would have. I assumed that from the beginning.” The relief that shows on her face is great but you know you’re about to rip it away.

“But you leaving… That showed me we aren’t on the same page.” She opens her mouth, “Don’t,” you hold up a hand. “You didn’t even let me know you were ok. Just disappeared. If you had stayed we could have worked this out, just like before, even if we had to split up but you didn’t. You made that call on your own and that’s not how this works.”

“I know… I… I’m so so sorry.” The sincerity of that statement rolls off her. She truly is sorry… but sorry isn’t enough.

“I know you are. I am too-” Suddenly she’s off the bed kneeling in front of you grasping your hands.

“Please, let me fix this, Y/N… Please.”

You shake your head, “Get off your knees woman,” grabbing her shoulders you pull her up with you. You thought this was what you wanted, her to beg for your forgiveness. You were so very wrong.

Your tone is hard, “You don’t beg anyone for shit, not even me, that’s not who you are. You’re Natasha fuckin’ Romanoff, don’t you dare forget what that means.”

She breaks your grasp and slumps into the other chair, “It means child killer.”

“No, it fucking doesn’t,” your voice is low. “You don’t have to let it. Remind them, all of them, who you are. Don’t you dare let them take that from you.”

Her lips curl up a bit before her face contracts in pain, “But I lost you… haven’t I.” You stare down at her for a second before closing your eyes to try to find the right words.

You open them slowly to see tears silently running down her face, “No.” She makes a small noise, you give her a half smile. “Honey,” it feels weird to say it, “I’m so caught in your web I don’t know I’ll ever be free of it… But, I’m gonna need time…” Wiping the tears from her face she nods and you sit on the end of the bed facing her.

“What… what do we do then?” Her voice is thick with emotion.

“You’re gonna get your shit together. Get out of that musty rot pile and get back out there. Don’t let anyone believe that was your call, wipe it from your ledger.”

“Easier said than done,” she says, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

You laugh a little, “Yeah, but you’re a stubborn ass, you’ll figure it out.” This earns you a smile and you can’t help the flutter in your chest. “As for me, I’ll keep doin’ what I do.”

“And… what about us.”

“We’ll find our way.”

She looks pained, “So… just hope we cross paths again… I… I can’t do that, Y/N. I love you. I want-”

“I wanted you to stay by my side… Stay through it all but you didn’t.” Your clipped tone stalls the conversation and chills the air. “I can’t just move on like nothing happened, Nat… I… Can’t.” She stares into the middle distance for a moment, processing.  

“January,” she says matter of factly. You look up confused. “January, next year. We meet at the Palais.” A soft smile lights her face, “I’ll be ready, I swear, and if you still want me-”

“I do want you,” you whisper.

“Then New Year’s Day, 2007, we start over, clean slate. Figure out what our path forward looks like.”

Before agreeing you take a minute. Her face is open, her energy hopeful. She really believes you can both build something… You do too, you really do, underneath it all. “Ok. New Year’s.”

“Really?”

You can’t help but laugh a little, “Really.”

The two of you agree to keep the phone line open. Check every few days just in case one of you ends up in a bind. Beyond that, no contact.

As you watch her dress your resolve wavers. Could you really last until fucking January… But you were being honest when you said you needed time. She needed the same, needed to get her own life back in order and you wouldn’t be any help there.

“Be safe out there,” you tell her.

She smiles, “You too.” There’s a moment that hangs, “I love you, Y/N.”

The words stick in your throat, the emotions in your ribcage. Unable to say it or show her in your signature way you lean in and kiss her softly.

Her eyes are sad but understanding. The door clicking shut sounds like a gunshot to you. Once again… she’s gone.

[kewltie]

“I’m so, so sorry Your Majesty!” Izuku says, bowing profusely in front of her table. “Please excuse my tardiness. An issue suddenly came up, and I had to resolve it right away.” As he raises his head, he wraps his arms carefully around his tummy. It’s not there yet, Izuku knows, but he frets all the same.  

Empress Akai places her teacup back down on the table and smiles at him but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.  “No matter,” she says, gesturing to the chair across from her. “Please have a seat Midoriya-kun.”

With a shaky exhale Izuku nods his head and gingerly sits down, resting both hands protectively against his stomach. He can’t help feeling like he’s on pins and needles, gearing up for his own execution but he knows the Empress wouldn’t ever dirty her hands like that. There are worst things than death and they are both intimately aware of that.  

“Would you like to add anything else to eat?” she asks, hand hovering close to a tablet screen built into the large dining table.  

Izuku shakes his head; his nerves are too frayed and he doesn’t think his stomach can hold it. “No, thank you.”

For a moment, his eyes wander pass her head to glance around the grandeur of the private suite that feels entirely too empty and cold and he, a small insignificant thing trapped within its four walls. When the hostess had escorted Izuku further into the VIP area, where the Empress await him in one of the rooms, he had bypassed the line of heavy duty Imperial Guard stationed outside the stretched out hallway leading into the suite. It doesn’t take much for him to get the blatant hint. It’s part intimidation and a show of power.

The hostess had guided him through a great double doors and into a massive room that seemed to swallow him whole. He was immediately met with a crystal chandelier that hangs above them; the dinnerware sets made of porcelain and intricate gold linings platting the table, and the foods spread out before them are extensive and every bit mouthwatering as he could ever hope for. Even the décor, golden undertones cut into large handwoven tapestries as it serve as a backdrop and antiques that are worth its weight in age scattered across the room, does not let up.

All of it is enough to make him feels out of place and outclassed. He had even put on his best dress pants and shirt that he only wore once to a formal event with Katsuki at the Imperial Residence, but even that wasn’t enough to keep the insecurity down.

As anxiety and doubt dig into his heels, Izuku’s gaze once again falls back to the woman who is the source of his wariness.  

Katsuki’s grandmother, the Empress of Japan, had never once requested to speak to him alone despite Izuku having known her since he was eight years old. There was always Katsuki or someone else between them as though they were too far apart in social status and power to ever allow to exist in the same space. But she had always been a benevolence force in Katsuki’s life ever since the death of his parents, scooping Katsuki and Izuku right out of the Hiroo Friends and into a home where they could grow and prosper.

It doesn’t necessary make her kind though. Or gentle even.

Empress Akai may be old and passed her prime, but she doesn’t carry herself like that. There are streaks of grey carefully woven into her hair like ornaments instead of a sign of aging. Her eyes are keen and her smile is sharp and pointed as she turns it toward Izuku. An old dragon, Katsuki had called her half admiration and grudging acceptant.  

Katsuki’s grandfather, Emperor Hideo, is the one seated on the throne but he has bedridden for several years now. Nobody say it out loud but they know the true head of state is currently the Empress, who although has no real blood tie to the throne wields an iron fist as she alone carries the burden of the nation on her shoulders. And she does it with her head held high and her feet planted firmly on the ground.

It makes her an effective ruler but a terrifying woman to face.

“Um, is there something you would like to talk to me about, Your Majesty?” he starts, crossing his ankles underneath the table. Izuku doesn’t get the intricacy of the cloak and dagger that comes with politics but he will rise to the challenge anyway if it mean he can get her approval. They may not be on friendly terms with each other but she’s important to Katsuki so that make her important to him.  

Empress Akai levels a piercing look at him. “You and Katsuki are close,” she says evenly. It’s not a question but it’s a loaded statement, anyway.

Close doesn’t even begin to encompass everything he and Katsuki are to each other and she knows it just as much as he does. “Yes,” he drawls, his right hand clenching tight against his stomach.

“In the orphanage where there too many kids and lack of adults to go around, I can see why you and Katsuki cling to each other,” she starts, “but you’re not children anymore. Nearly adults by society’s standard, so I thank you for being there for my beloved grandson after all these years but your service is no longer needed.”

Izuku blinks, nearly jerking out of his seat. “W-what? I’m sorry, Your Majesty but what do you—” 

Empress Akai raises her hand deliberately and cuts him off. “I will name Katsuki my crown prince after he graduate from high school this year,” she says, and it’s a knife to his chest.

Izuku’s breath hitches. The news doesn’t come as a surprise to him. After all, the Empress has been grooming Katsuki’s ascension to the Chrysanthemum Throne since she had picked them both up from the orphanage nearly ten years ago. He had heard it enough times to know she wants to keep the Imperial Seat within the main family and Katsuki is the only direct descendant she has left. The Imperial Family is dying and Katsuki is their last hope.

“And I want nothing to hinder his rise to be my heir,” she continues blithely, each word twisting the knife further in, “so Katsuki’s strange obsession for you is unnecessary and must be uprooted at all cost.”

“I—“ Izuku starts and then shakes his head, his mouth going dry against the nauseating feeling like he’s being unseated, “Your Majesty, please reconsider your decision! Kacchan and I have been together since we were children so to separate us now would only hurt the both of us.”

The Empress’ lips thin out. “As I understand it, you also lost your only parent in that careless accident alongside my daughter and that useless husband of hers, Midoriya-kun. It’s unfortunate that you lost so much at such a young age and my heart go out to you but Katsuki doesn’t owe you anything.”

Izuku’s deafening silence following that is hard to argue.

The Empress sighs. “Rie,” she says, waving her hand forward.

A familiar figure appears right before her as though the Empress had summoned her with a single word. “Your Majesty,” Shirane Rie, the Empress’ personal aid, says as she hands Empress Akai a thick folder before disappearing back into her corner.

“Thank you, Rie,” The Empress replies, placing the folder on the table in front of her.

Shirane had been so quiet and unobtrusive that Izuku forgot that between him and the Empress, they’re not the only one in the room. It should have been expected because the Empress has always keeps her loyal right hand close to her side, silencing carryout out her duty like the world’s most efficient machine. Izuku can’t remember a time when the Empress is without Shirane.

“All the information that pertains to you are all collected here in this folder,” the Empress explains, addressing Izuku with cold indifference eyes, “I had my Intelligence Agency dig into your family history and background.” She taps a finger on the folder pointedly. “Born to Midoriya Inko, who got pregnant when she was only seventeen to an unnamed man and was the sole provider of your household. Your mother also lost her own parents long ago before you were ever born and was raised by her grandmother before she passed away from old age. You have no other extended family to rely on so when your mother died, she left you all alone in this world.”

Izuku swallows around the stiff knot in his throat.

“The clothes you’re currently wearing, the roof over your head, and the food on your table. Those are all provided by Katsuki isn’t that right?” Empress Akai asks even though she clearly already knows the answer to her own questions. “You have no immediate family, no money, and no standing outside of Katsuki but my grandson is still a child under the law and all that money must come from somewhere.”

Izuku’s twists his hands underneath the table and tries to open his mouth but it wouldn’t budge as though it was sewn shut.

“Forgive my bluntness, Izuku-kun, but you’re a leech on Katsuki, on my family really, so how long do you plan to suck him dry before you no longer have any use for him left?”

It hurts.

Those perfectly sharpen words was enough to break the chain of silence surrounding Izuku. He slams a hand against the table and the impact is loud enough to sting his palm, causing the surrounding silverware to rattle from their place. “Never! I would never use Kacchan like that. I love him,” he insists loudly and fervently. “He could be a beggar and I would still follow him anywhere. I don’t care if he’s a prince or not, I just want to stay by his side so please, please don’t separate us. I would never do anything to jeopardize Kacchan or his future.”  

“My Katsuki,” the Empress begins, and the possessive way she lay claimed to Katsuki as her owns make Izuku’s heart throb uncomfortably in his chest, “is brilliant and headstrong and since the moment I met him, I saw that he got the aura of a great ruler around him. I know he’ll do many great things for our nation and people and I want nothing to hold him back from his destiny.”

Izuku knows all too well that Katsuki’s ambition and greatness is too immense and significant for Izuku’s alone to contain. Katsuki got grand plans to change the world, to make it a better place for not just them but everyone before and after them. He is meant to stand on the biggest stage on earth and lead Japan right to the top, and Izuku has no right to tie him down with his affection.

He knows it. He knows it all too well, but Izuku is selfish and thought even if he can’t stand next to Katsuki then let him stay within his large shadow. He just wants to be close to Katsuki, to be beside him and that’s all he had ever wanted.

“Can you be one hundred percent sure that you won’t harm Katsuki in the future? That you won’t be the cause of his downfall? Because you’re a nobody who is trying to attach himself to the future Emperor of Japan. How do you think the public will see your relationship with Katsuki and not tear it apart?” she asks him. “Their Emperor besotted with another man with no social standing and family. That kind of stigma will mar and plague his rule.”

Izuku’s eyes drop to his lap helplessly for a brief second before it jerks back to the Empress. “Kacchan won’t let it get to him though. He’s strong enough to bulldoze his way through it,” he insists.

“Alright, fine,” Empress Akai says, and a long sigh leaves her but it doesn’t sound like defeat. “Let me phrase it this way instead: if you love him then let him go. I already lost my daughter to that man who stole her away from me but I won’t make the same mistake twice.” She looks at him with the same pair red eyes that remind him keenly of Katsuki but while Katsuki’s eyes are warmth and familiar to him hers fiercely cold and harsh as it cuts him to the bones. “You may not have any family left but Katsuki is the only family I got left. Do not make me remember the painful experience of what it means to lose someone I love again. He’s my only connection to Mitsuki and I won’t let you take him away from me.”

It’s not a warning but it’s a fact. A fact that is sharpened and raised against him. She won’t give Katsuki up to Izuku. She’ll do everything in her power to assure that Katsuki will sit on the throne and Izuku as far away as possible from him.

It’s a war of attrition that Izuku has no hope of winning.

“I—I understand, Your Majesty. I won’t see him anymore,” Izuku murmurs. The words are dragged out of him like barbed wired cutting into his flesh with every breath.

“Good,” she says as though she expected it. “I will provide you with a check for two billion yen to secure your future in the next decades. You can use to it to buy a house, pay for college, or waste it away for all I care. Just do not approach my grandson anymore. Leave him alone and I’ll make sure he won’t search for you either.” 

If Katsuki was in his place, he would have fought to the bitter end for them but Izuku is not Katsuki. Izuku is not strong like him and surely not brave enough to stand against the entire nation and the Empress either. If he had said no today, then the Empress will not give up her mission to systematically remove all traces of Izuku out of Katsuki‘s life. It’s a simple truth that he has come to accept with a bitter certainty.

The Empress is a harsh and unforgiving old dragon in front of him but she is a grandmother and before that she was a mother and she loves Katsuki absolutely even as it clashes with what Katsuki actually want. This he understands completely because he too loves Katsuki enough to go against Katsuki’s wish.

He doesn’t have any power to go toe to toe with the Empress and what the weight of her station allow her to do, but this at least he can protect. He gently runs a hand over his still flat belly and commits everything he got to it. If he can’t have Katsuki then at least he’ll have a piece of him.

“I don’t need that money,” Izuku insists loudly, raising his head to meet her eyes head on for the first time. “But do not worry Your Majesty, I’ll keep my words. I’m not doing this because you told me to but because I love Kacchan more than you could ever hope to understand and I want the best for him too.”

He gets up from his seat and with a hand close to his belly as he gives her a low bow. “Thank you for inviting me to dinner to have this frank discussion with you, Your Majesty, but I’m sorry that I must take my leave now,” he says even though he hasn’t touch a single bite on that table. He raises his head just in time to catch her narrow eyes of annoyance but doesn’t stay long enough to listen what else she has to say.

Izuku is weak and pathetic and he wishes he could be better, but this will be his choice at least. He chose to walk out, chose to end this, and chose to keep this precious secret with him so that even she can’t take the last gift that Katsuki had given him.

[luckyspike]

Do I Have To (Cry For You) - A Good Omens Fanfiction

So there’s this Nick Carter song I was listening to while I was mowing the grass and I caught a case of feelings from it so instead of pulling weeds or doing anything moderately useful like laundry i wrote this story instead

in which crowley and aziraphale finally fucking talk about their stupid feelings for each other

it’s soft af

they dont bone down sorry

(link to AO3 if you prefer to read there)

-

The angels - one of which was Fallen, but who’s counting - dined at the Ritz, and a nightingale sang in Berkeley Square. And then, after one angel (not Fallen) consumed the entirety of two entrees and one heavenly dessert, the pair walked to Soho, elbows brushing the whole way, shoulder-to-shoulder, warm and soft and mellow, conversation washing over them and topics changing like currents in a stream. They walked with practiced ease to a bookshop, where they stopped, and looked up at the illuminated sign.

“Just like it always was,” Aziraphale sighed fondly, his voice thick with … something, love and joy and sadness, and a sappy little smile on his mouth.

Crowley snorted. “Some of the books are a bit newer, I think, but you’ll sort that out soon enough.”

Aziraphale didn’t look over, although he twitched a little. “Oh? What a surprise. Perhaps, ah … well, you were here this morning, so perhaps you could show me?”

“What, and spoil your fun?” You go too fast for me, Crowley. “Nah, I’m beat anyway. Think I’ll head back to Mayfair, sleep for a week or two.”

The angel’s smile faded, and his lips pressed to a thin line. “I do have a few bottles of quite nice wine. We could work on them. I’ve been saving them for a special occasion, and I can’t much think of one more special than averting armageddon.” He did look over now, cautious. “Go on, have a few glasses and we’ll sort through the new books. They’ll have to be re-shelved.”

Crowley might have whined. Something inside him did, anyway. Yes, it whined. Yes, have a glass and sleep on his couch and -

You go too fast for me, Crowley.

“Wouldn’t like to impose,” he said instead.

“I’m inviting you in.”

“I’m really tired, angel.”

“Then sleep on the couch.” Aziraphale was getting annoyed now, brow furrowed, well on his way to frowning with disapproval. “Come in, Crowley.”

Crowley turned to him then, scowling. “Bit much for one night, don’t you think, Aziraphale?”

That stopped things faster than Crowley’s work at the airfield the day prior. Aziraphale blinked, and put his head to one side. “I - what? What do you mean a bit much?”

Crowley groaned, and pushed his sunglasses up, the better to rub his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Save the world, dinner at the Ritz, drinks at your place, crash on your couch, eh? I’m not blind*!” He dropped his hands, but his glasses stayed pushed up, mussing his already-messy hair. “Give up with the tempting, Aziraphale. We switched back eight hours ago.”

[* Although, taken literally, this was somewhat of a lie. Fortunately, Crowley was not intending to be taken literally, and although not 20/20, his metaphorical vision was considerably better than his literal 20/200.]

“Tempting?” Aziraphale sputtered for a minute. “Crowley, I - my dear boy, that is to say … Crowley, this is hardly anything new!”

“Not all at once! Aziraphale, listen, we’ve done a lot in the last day or two, and - and I thought I lost you and then I didn’t, but now you’re back and -” Oh no, he thought, I can’t stop talking, and even as he thought it the spirit of something - possibly God, or possibly 6000 years of repressed affection, but who knows - seized his tongue and pressed on, “- and I didn’t lose you and I can’t do it again, angel, don’t make me step away again.”

“Step away?” Aziraphale gestured emphatically to the doors of the bookshop, dramatic and annoyed and now a little angry. “I’m literally asking you to step inside!”

Crowley opened his mouth. Gestured weakly to the door. And then it came out, blurted and desperate and exhausted, “It just seems a bit fast, doesn’t it?”

Aziraphale froze. Then, slowly, he lowered his hands to his side. He took a breath, chest rising and falling deliberately. “Anthony Crowley,” he said quietly, calmly, “please go into the bookshop.” He looked to the demon, expression firm and brooking no argument. “I think we need to have a conversation.”

Crowley went inside.

“1967,” Aziraphale said, as soon as the doors closed behind them. “You’re talking about 1967.”

Crowley turned to face him, hands in his pockets, eyes downcast behind the glasses. “Yup,” he replied, with no small degree of misery.

The angel shook his head. “Oh, Crowley. Now, shut up for this part, because I’m going to say some things you’re going to hate, but I do rather think you’ll like it at the end bit.”

“Uh?” Crowley looked up, brows knit, concern etched on every line on his face, and then a little alarm, when Aziraphale grabbed his shoulders. “Uh!”

“You idiotic, oblivious, considerate, soft, patient, infernal creature,” Aziraphale snapped, shaking Crowley a little with every adjective. “You’ve been standing on the brakes since 1967?”

“Yeah,” Crowley said, a little weakly, wondering when Aziraphale would get to the part he’d like. So far it wasn’t looking good.

“And you didn’t think my feelings toward you would change?”

Crowley frowned. “You did refuse to run away to Alpha Centauri when -”

“Because Alpha Centauri isn’t Earth!” He swept a hand around himself. “Crowley, yesterday I thought - well, I thought that we didn’t have to change. I thought we could avert the war and go back to being a fairly incompetent angel and demon, and I figured at some point I would probably tell you that -” and now it was Aziraphale that was floundering, his tongue running away with the conversation with very little input from his brain but quite a lot from his soul, “that, that Crowley, demon and angel or angel and Fallen angel or however you want to look at it, I figured at some point I would - I would tell you that … that I really quite like you.” He took a breath, and then scowled. “Oh, sod it, that’s not very accurate, is it? I love you, Crowley, I do, and at this point it’s ridiculous to pretend otherwise.”

“Love?” Crowley repeated, faintly, painfully conscious of Aziraphale’s hand on his shoulder. “You …” He gestured between them, vaguely, and trailed off.

“Yes. Yes, Crowley, I love you and at this point it’s ridiculous to feel afraid that if anyone knows about it it’ll get messed about,” he said bitterly. “That was the fear, all along, wasn’t it? And that created the problem. I didn’t want things to change, so I couldn’t change. If I just pushed back hard enough, I thought, nothing would change, at least not soon, and maybe eventually I would tell you how I felt.” He sighed. “I’ve been rather a misery to be around, I’m afraid."

“Never,” Crowley said, completely genuine. “When, er … how?”

“The eighties,” Aziraphale groaned. “Oh, thirty years, Crowley. But I thought, no, the less said the better, if you don’t change anything nothing will mess it up, you won’t get in trouble. But then the world was supposed to end and blast it all rather than admit how I felt to you and help you, I decided to double down on being distant and try to prevent Armageddon with sheer stubbornness, just so I wouldn’t ruin everything before I had the chance to let you know.” He let his head fall back, eyes closed, another groan of frustration and hurt rushing out. “It was all rather beastly of me.”

“A bit, yeah,” Crowley agreed. “Sorry. The eighties? Was it that day down in Blackpool?”

“I am sorry,” Aziraphale said, softly, letting his hand finally fall from Crowley’s shoulder to his own side. “And to think that tonight I’d try to force it, like I haven’t led you to believe -”

Crowley blinked, and then, without truly knowing why, grabbed the angel’s shoulders. “Hey. Aziraphale?” Blue eyes met his - truly his, because his glasses had slid down to the tip of his nose quite a bit ago, now - and he swallowed. Worked up a shaky little smile. “I forgive you. For what that’s worth.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale’s face softened, the anger and hurt crumbling away, and for a second they were back on a hot, sunny wall, with stormclouds mounting in the distance and all of eternity stretched out before them. “Oh, my boy. It means quite a lot to me.” He seized Crowley, pulling the other into an embrace, and was not at all surprised to find it returned with more strength than the demon’s skinny frame looked capable of. “Thank you, Crowley,” he murmured into the nape of Crowley’s neck. “For everything.”

There was silence, and Crowley continued to hold Aziraphale tight, like a man crossing a desert might hug the first tree of a vast, lush forest, when he comes upon it.

“You know,” Crowley said after a while, his breath brushing Aziraphale’s hair, making it tickle a little, “you being a gigantic bloody prude might have saved the planet, though. If you’d just come out with all this two days ago we would’ve been off to the stars and this place’d be kaput.” Aziraphale, unable to help himself, snorted a laugh into Crowley’s lapel. “So I guess there’s that.”

“They do say everything happens for a reason.”

“Don’t start with that toss.” He nuzzled Aziraphale, just behind the ear, a soft brush from the tip of his nose, and then released him, taking a half-step back. He pushed his sunglasses up his nose and stuffed his hands back into his pockets. “Well.”

Aziraphale sighed. “I am sorry, Crowley. Really. If you …” He swallowed. “If you don’t want to stay, I understand. I’m sorry for being so pushy earlier. Get some rest, and … I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

“Ready?” Crowley barked a laugh. “Angel, you said it yourself - I’ve been standing on the brakes for fifty years for you. I’ve been ready.”

“Ah.” He frowned, a little sad, but then took a breath, and raised an eyebrow, and allowed himself a little half-grin. “I thought I heard you say you were tired, though.”

Crowley hummed, and moved to stand next to Aziraphale, one arm slung over his shoulders as he steered him toward the back room, the two of them in lock-step. “And I thought I heard you say you have some nice wine and a couch to crash on.”

“Ah, well. So you did.”

-

I've been all around the world, done all there is to do But you'll always be the home I wanna come home to You're a wild night with a hell of a view There ain't no place, ain't no place like you There ain't no place, ain't no place like you

- Backstreet Boys (No Place)

[imagineunderneaththemountaindeep]

The Undertale Crew ~ Kissing Headcannons

People like me are ruining the fandom. But...

Here y’all filthy sinners. Also, warning: if complete and utter fluff is not your thing, then I advise against reading this post. Also includes PDA and height headcannons because I have no impulse control.

~Sans~

-Soft and gentle. Almost like a face-nuzzle. With his teeth. Because... no lips... He’s actually kinda surprised that you don’t dislike the feeling of literal teeth against your skin, but he doesn’t really complain since, well, you like them.

-Too lazy to always go up on his toes to smooch your face or wait for an opportunity when you’re down to his level (his level is 5 foot. He smol), so you find that he has a fondness for your hand or, if you’re minuscule enough, your neck. Also, he never asks to kiss you. It’s spontaneous and kinda jarring because, y’all could be doing nothing when surprise motherf*cker you just smooched the skeleton.

-Caution: he might fall asleep half-kiss if you’re lazing around during it, and/or there is a 99.99% chance he’ll follow the display of affection with a display of puns on said affection. Bad puns. Stop him.

-Likes to receive kisses on the cheek. Not too much effort, but he knows you love him. Plus, you’re lips are soft, and he enjoys the feeling of them on his bones. They’re nice, but he doesn’t want to abuse his privilege, so he won’t demand much of you.

-When you lounge around with him, there is a high percentile chance he’ll nudge your temple once or twice. It’s lethargic and faint, but you know it’s there. He just wants to make sure you still tolerate his presence, no biggie.

-Overall there isn’t a lot of kissing initiated by him, but he’s contented with you just being there, and he makes sure his lethargic opposition to PDA and/or excessive apathy doesn’t get in the way of you fully understanding that.

~Papyrus~

-Boisterous, and usually painful because his overzealous nature can get in the way of the common sense that his teeth hurt like balls clunking against your comparatively squishier lips that exuberantly.

-But sweet and genuine kisses nonetheless, swollen bruises aside.

-Picks you up in a swinging hug almost every time without fail. Will make you feel fairly dizzy by the end of it, and not just because of the affection. Will also trigger fear of heights if you have it, probably. Because, I don’t know, a 7 foot something monster is picking you a few feet off the ground? He might accidentally throw you once in a while. Whoops, nope, he didn’t mean to do that. Forgive him.

-Likes to proclaim his uttermost feelings to you in-between smooches. Even in public. PDA to him has no bounds. If you’re uncomfortable with that amount of... zest being shown to others outside of your home, he will pitifully attempt to restrain himself until you get back to the house.

-He just loves you too much, dammit.

-He likes any and all kinds of kisses, but has a squeamish dislike for French-kissing. It isn’t because of you, or anything, of course. He just feels as if it’s too... scandalous to be doing on a normal, everyday basis. Also, the tongues. Why. It just doesn’t look like a good time to him, and he’ll be hesitant on trying it.

~Undyne~

-Fuhuhuhu kissing is for the weak, nerd!

-She is weak. She is very weak.

-Passionate as all hell, she’ll pick you up and proceed to nearly cut your face into slivers with her sharp teeth. If she isn’t able to lift you (which would be a very rare occurrence, since she’s strong AF and 6′ 5″) or you’re just that much taller than her, she’ll wrap her arms around your neck to plant a few than just one on you.

-It usually ends with a kind of breathless ‘Fuhu! Love you, babe!’

-She doesn’t mind PDA, but she is very respectful of your boundaries and will even stop being so brash if you kindly ask her to subdue her muscles, because they’re hard and painful and she often underestimates her own strength. She might be a little downtrodden that she’s accidentally been hurting you, but she’ll take whatever measures it takes for it never to happen again.

-Like Papyrus, kissing with her has no bounds. But, unlike Papsicle, she can 100% do French-kissing and will. She enjoys smooches on the lips or anywhere on her neck, and she will just melt if you start to kiss her scars or gills.

~Alphys~

-Chaste, shy, and barely-there. She’ll also stutter out many apologies afterwards, or, if not that, you’ll hear a quiet ‘hhhhnnnnnnnn’ when she hides her reddened face in her claws.

-Very smol at 4′ 4″, you can lift her and smooch her at the same time.

-Very embarrassed and blushy but loves you very much and will take all of you abuse undying displays of your utmost love and cherishing with minimal internal death.

-That being said, she will flush and bear it through PDA, but you’d have a pistachio-sized brain to even imagine that she’d return the favour outside of closed doors. The second you get home, she might be comfortable with a few kisses, but before that she Suffering.

-Likes all kisses that don’t involve the lips or anything below the neck. Cheeks, foreheads, noses, ears, even eyelids are all acceptable places to smooch her and she will 100% appreciate.

~Toriel~

-Motherly and... you have to remind her that you’re her S/O and that she can kiss your lips, otherwise she’ll just be very self-conscious about it until the day she dies.

-Very fluffy and tender. She usually bends down to plant one on your temple or on your head, but when she’s sitting with you and your heights are then similar, she goes for your cheeks and nose. And what I mean by similar heights, I mean she’s 8 foot something and she’s almost 99% of the time taller than you.

-Nose-nuzzle champions 20XX, no effort required. None.

-PDA is a bit stilted in public, both because of awkward height-differences and awkward social situations. She is usually surrounded by children 24/7 and would rather not be a bad influence upon their behavior... but she is more than willing to hold your hand in her paw or nudge your temple once in a while.

-Likes ear-kisses. They tickle both you and her, sure, but if you want to see her begin to giggle semi-immediately, just attack her floofy ears with smooches. (You also might get some hair stuck on your lips, please pardon her).

~Asgore~

-What kiss? I’m allowed to kiss you? Since... when?

-You have to tell him that you like him very much and that he 100% has permission to smooch you to get him to even attempt stealing one.

-A bit gruff because he underestimates his enthusiasm at times, but his big muzzle and heaven-sent beard make up for it. It’s so s o f t. Literally God’s gift to your face. His beard feels like it’s made of the inner layer of fur off of a Siberian Husky. And, if you know what I’m talking about, you know that that shit is fluffy.

-Has a weakness for your cheeks and jawline because you complain that it tickles. He will tease you to no end about it and there is a 1000000% chance he will continue to pester you with his floof.

-PDA is... inelegant, per say. He’s most likely way taller than you (nine foot something, anyone?), so it’s much more noticeable than if he was about your height, and people are watching, and he’s worried you’ll get bullied because of him being your boyfriend, and- save him.

-His favourite kisses include nose-kisses and cheek-kisses. Smooch this man on the nose. Become the next nose-nuzzle champions. (Although he might be insecure about doing it again; it brings back some bad memories for him).

~Grillby~

-He’s a literal kitten when it comes to this. He becomes really cuddly and giggly, and you can almost always tell when he wants to kiss you because his flames flare a bit and he adjusts his glasses, not looking at you straight in the eye and crumpling his posture.

-Very warm, genuine, and wholesome, just like him. If he gets permission to kiss you, he tries his best not to let his shyness get in the way of giving you the best smooch he has to offer. It feels as if you’re being enveloped with a fresh-out-of-the-dryer blanket and you’ve just stuffed your face into it, although with the literal Godsend of a ginger, loving, utterly sincere kiss.

-Not gonna lie; he’s the best kisser out of everyone on this list, and is the only person to truly treat kissing as a Big Deal, besides Nabstablook. Also, his first kiss was likely you, as he did not have any prior relationships Underground. Every kiss is treasured with him and he will never forget a single one.

-PDA is a bit overbearing, to be honest. Like Grillby, please, for the love of God, stop hanging off of my arm-! He just loves you too much, dammit. Whenever you enter the bar, whenever you’re on any public dates, whenever anything happens, you will most likely get a face-nuzzle and a few kisses on the cheek from your favourite, six foot fiery boyfriend. If he wasn’t such a kitten, he’d be scary as hell at that height and with that amount of fire (pun intended).

-He likes any kind of smooches, really. As long as you’re willing to provide them then he is Down.

~W.D. Gaster~

-You thought Grillby acted nervous when asking for a kiss? Ha!

-He wrings his hands together, sweats, stutters and almost gives up because he finds that he looks pathetic like this. Pick up on the slight changes in his mood or habits and you’ll know when he wants something like this, saving you both the ungraceful dancing-around-each-other.

-Gentle, a bit shaky, and dry because goddamit, Gaster, can you just take care of yourself and drink water like a normal person but otherwise very heartfelt and sweet. Kinda tastes like cherry lollipops or sriracha sauce but shhh accept it.

-Has to bend waaaayy down to smooch you, but he can and will do it. It’s kinda funny to see an 8 foot monster basically at a 90 degree angle, and you better tease him about that because it gives his face the most adorable dusting of lavender you will ever witness.

-PDA is everywhere. He loves to hold your hand, link arms with you, and, if you let him, he’ll kiss the literal hell out of your face. Loves to rest his head on yours or have you lean up against his chest because then he knows you’re there, you’re his, and you’re not going anywhere.

-He enjoys whatever kisses you’re willing to give him. Just... smooch his entire face. Return the favour. Assert your dominance. Start a war.

~Burgerpants (Felix)~

-He won’t initiate kisses. He just won’t. Too nervous. Too insecure. What if you don’t want to be kissed? What if you don’t like smooches? What if you actually don’t like him? What if- save him.

-His tail swishes, his ears flatten, his fur and paws get hot, and you can hear the faint rumble of a purr in his chest when you lock lips. It’s an unsure AF kiss, but you know he loves you when he goes as far as kiss you when you ask. He also tastes like cigarette smoke and fruit-flavoured vape, but don’t mention it if you don’t want an even more self-loathing kitten on your hands. You’ll also probably get cat fur on your lips and in your mouth. Sorry ‘bout that.

-Is a bit short at 5′ 9″ (well, at least, to him he’s too short), so there’s a chance that he has to physically move more than he’d like to in attempt to smooch your cheek. It makes it 100000000% more embarrassing, and gives a thousand more situations that won’t go wrong, but he thinks they will anyway.

-PDA is stunted. There is none of it. He’s too Anxiety-Ridden for that. He’s also terrified that Mettaton will see you hanging around the burger joint and fire him as well as give you both bloody ears. He might hold your hand in his paw or wrap his tail around your legs if he really likes you enough, though.

-He’d be surprised that you’d want to kiss him, so he’s accepting of all smooches. But don’t be shocked when sometimes he doesn’t want one. He’s a cat. What do you expect? Cats are assholes sometimes, live with it. You’re the one who went so far as to find a boyfriend in a cat, so accept the consequences of his moments of being a prick.

~Nicecream Man (Nicey/Bleu)~

-This goober loves you so much. Too much. He’s all over you at all times during the day, and he doesn’t ask for kisses before he initiates them. They’re all just sweet nuzzles with his velvety-soft nose with the ‘mwah!’ sound effect afterwards, but he’s too much of a cornball to care how sappy he is.

-You know the Thumper thing? Yeah. When you smooch, his ears twist like pretzels and his foot involuntarily thumps against that ground. He probably won’t fall to the ground every time you two snuggle each other’s faces, but the first time you two kiss, he’s definitely falling to the floor in a melted, lovestruck puddle of joy.

-He tol at 6′ 3″, and he’s very lanky so he most likely is gonna lean down do that he can smooch your cheek. And, even if he is that much of a tower, he still hangs off of your arm (like a child) and wraps his fingers around yours, letting his head rest on your head.

-PDA is everywhere. Like, gross, get a goshdarn room. There are no limits to him, but he will be respectful of your boundaries if you set any. He gives you personalized Nicecream messages within the wrapper, and most are so bad. ‘Love you, beautiful!~~~’ ‘*Kiss* >//u//<’ ‘You’re the light of my life and you should never forget that. If you do, I’ll give this to you again.’ ‘You’re the most perfect person to ever-’ I think you get the point.

-Likes the kind of kisses that are light but chaste. The cheesier the better. He’s not really the passionate romantic, he’s more of the ‘buy them dinner and take them on a moonlit walk in the park’ kind of guy than the ‘butter then up so they’ll screw me’ douche. So his romantic advances are mostly just in hope of cuddles and sweet words.

~Mettaton~

-This darling loves you, don’t get him wrong. He adores every piece of your body and every fragment of your SOUL. He’d trade the rest of his life for another day with you if you were on your deathbed. But he cannot give up his fame. His stardom. You will be all over every media whether you like it or not, and there will most likely be no privacy in your relationship.

-When you kiss, he tries to do it as far into solitude as he can get you two. He wants your behind-the-scenes to be remotely between you and him, because, as you stepped into his life and made him feel things he had never felt, he became annoyed with the fact that paparazzi followed your every movements. It finally got to him with you around.

-He wraps his robotic arms in a burrito around your body, squeezing every plausible area of your outer self with those metallic noodles, picks you up, and then plants one on you; passionate and utterly dramatized, just like him. It’s warm, despite it being metal, and surprisingly malleable. You don’t know how, but okay. You’ll roll with it. Either that situation, or you both are basically trying to meld bodies whilst dancing, hands knowing no boundaries, faces locked in a battle of domination. Pick your battles. Win the wars.

-PDA is a bit of a bitch with the public always trying to breathe down your backs, but Mettaton will always make sure that you’re as comfortable as he can possibly make you when camera flashes begin to stalk you as their prey. It’s not all day every day that the paparazzi tail you both, and only on those days does MTT smooch your cheek and wrap an arm around your waist. Otherwise, he will limit himself to modestly holding your hand or having an arm snugly around your shoulders until you get home, where you’re (hopefully) alone.

-He’s eccentric. He likes kisses with energy, with movement, with... uh... something else going on. He’s a man of passion and vigor, and he strives on dancing and play-wrestling. He also won’t argue if you pin him down and kiss his neck.

~Nabstablook (Nabstabot EX)~

(Background- I headcannon that MTT convinced Blooky to meld into a robotic body once they reached the surface so that he would be more physically pleasing to their new fanbase of humans. Nabstablook wasn’t keen on the idea, but fell for his cousin’s pleads and did it so that MTT wouldn’t be disappointed in him. He never fully became corporeal, though, and can exit his body whenever he pleases).

-Hahahahahahahahaha save him. He doesn’t understand what romantic love is, to be honest. Why does he feel hot in his chest, why is his SOUL feel like its trying to break out of its glass casing? He doesn’t know how you make him feel that way, but he knows that he cares about you and that he feels good in your presence. (MTT soon tells him that he’s fallen deeply in love and suddenly he feels as if he hasn’t done enough for you so cue anxiety).

-His kisses are small and timid, much like him, but you can sense the meaning behind them. He doesn’t take things like that lightly, and you have to respect that about him or else you could very well make him assume he’s inadequate or, even worse, break his heart. He’s also 5′ 3″ in his robot body, so he is smol and adorable and please smooch this bean’s nose because he will blush really hard.

-He shakes when you kiss on the lips, his fans whirring to try and cool his robotic body so that he doesn’t overheat and his hands trembling against your shoulders. He cries a bit every time (and he profusely apologizes) and, the first time you smooch his face, he ends up aborting mission. He n o p e s right out of his robot and that’s probably the first time you see his ghost form. He starts sobbing because he thinks you’ll think he’s appalling and he’s sorry for making you see something like that, so you have to sit him down and go on a spiel that he’s beautiful, no matter what form he takes. Then he cries because he loves you and he’s never heard someone say that about him before.

-PDA is awkward. MTT wants you on every magazine, every TV program, every DJ Napstabot merch item, everything. Blooky gets really anxious when in the eyes of the public, so you both decide that you’d give each other space outside of your homes. Not that he doesn’t love to hug you (because you’re soft and warm and beautiful and he doesn’t know why’d you love someone like him) but he’s bad at life. He has too much social anxiety for that.

-If you want him to blow a fuse, kiss him anywhere but his cheeks. Smooching his neck will cause the most embarrassed squeak you’ve ever heard in your life, his fans buzzing so loud that everything else mutes. He likes being kissed on the cheeks, head, and, once he gets used to it, the lips.

I think that, overtime, you can tell when I got to my favourite characters. Whoops, sorry about that. If you want more in-detail headcannons or fanfiction requests, please don’t be afraid of asking! I’ll happily write you an indulgent fic, if you so desire~

~Mod Jellyfish~

[ao3-hipster-fangirl-trash]

Frost the damn cupcakes

Merlin x arthur

Made for anonymous (lets be real, made for my weird af friend Kayleigh)

Prompt: merthur 43: frost the damn cupcakes

Summary: Merlin always seems to act a bit weird before an execution, he thinks that arthur probably doesn’t notice but he does, yet today is different, today is worse than any other.

Word count: 2211

Warnings: death/execution, angst, crying, a whole bunch of emotion pain

lol I’m not sorry, enjoy!!

Arthur knew that the day would be bad when, instead of the curtains being drawn and accompanying a chirpy or sarcastic remark from his manservant, instead he got a nudge and a “Wake up.”

Yup, today was definitely going to be a bad day.

Of course that was only a hinting factor, the real contributing factor was that today, a young wizard was to be executed for ‘crimes against the kingdom.’ Arthur knew that Merlin would be frosty today, and probably for a few days afterwards, always keeping himself reserved and in a corner through the entire execution, avoiding the ceremony afterwards and trying his hardest not to look arthur in the eye. That was the rotten part, that the only person that arthur truly trusted, saw him as a horrible being, that caused death and destruction, and couldn’t even look at him sometimes.

The execution itself went as it always did, uneventful.

Uther gave a speech warning those against the ‘evils’ of sorcery, trying to sway them in their paths, and about how this man in front of him had been ‘corrupted,’ and eventually, the drum began to roll.

The man looked the royals, each in the face, giving them one last look of pain, then turned to the side, giving someone in the audience a nod.

Arthur traced his line of sight to see a familiar figure dressed in a blue shirt, with a red neckerchief and tears tracking down his face, unashamedly looking the man right in the eye and giving him a nod of solidarity, before Uthers hand fell, Merlin flinched away from the scene, and the axe severed the head in one clean movement.

Arthur turned back to the crowd hoping to spot the red neckerchief again, only to see that the crowd had consumed the square in the usual pandemonium, swarming away from the head rolling around on the floor, and going home to discuss the hatred of the king.

Arthur swept back inside, following his father through the halls until they separate at the stairwell, arthur going to his chambers, and Uther to the throne room, no doubt to boast and brag about how quickly the execution went, and to receive praise for his judgment, arthur on the other hand only wanted to reside by himself, and finally remove the stupid cloak which had been choking him all day.

He opened the double doors to an empty room, with clothes still scattered around and his breakfast left on the table, still not removed from the room by his forgetful manservant, who seemed as absent as ever.

Arthur sighed and pulled off the cloak, draping it over the chair and gently pushing his hand through the fur at the top and the inside, meant to keep him warm when the weather took a turn for the worst.

He took in a deep breath and began to remove his armour, until he was left in his undershirt and trousers, and walked over to the bed, lying down on it. He let himself relax for a bit, almost drifting off until he heard the door open slightly, then shut.

“Sire?”

Oh shit, not prat, or clotpole, or your (sarcastically) majesty, but sire. Merlin really didn’t want to talk today.

He began to mill around the room with his back to Arthur, picking up the discarded cloak which had been forgotten on the chair, and moved over to the bed, to find Arthur, spread eagle, lying down with his eyes closed facing the ceiling.

“Merlin, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Merlin sighed and continued his path around the room, rearranging small things, making sure that they were properly dusted, before moving onto the next object, clearly avoiding looking at Arthur, and trying to keep himself busy.

Arthur gently opened one eye to see merlin at his left, rearranging a bouquet of flowers in their vase, keeping his gaze glued to the petunias which were before him.

“You knew the sorcerer.”

Merlin froze, every muscle in his body suddenly locking in place and forcing him to remain immobile. His breaths became quick and shallow and his hands began shaking. Arthur swore to this day that he could hear small, shaky breaths making their way through the shallow ones, almost as if Merlin were crying.

“Merlin, look at me.”

Merlin remained still, his eyes still straining to gaze only at the flowers, which had suddenly become far more interesting to him than the current conversation. His hands slowly curled into fists and he felt his nails dig into his palm, making crescents in the skin beneath them.

“Merlin,” Arthur stated firmly, this wasn’t a request anymore, this was a command from his prince and boss, and he knew he had to obey.

Merlin turned to face Arthur, his eyes still cast down, looking at his boots which were shuffling uncomfortably. One of his nails pierced his skin and he felt blood pool around the finger, before rolling to the bottom of his hand and dropping onto the tiles, then another, and another.

“Your eyes are red,” Arthur stated, “Have, Merlin have you been crying?”

Merlin remained silent, the blood still gently dripping from his hand to the floor, it would probably leave a stain of some point that merlin knew he would be cleaning up with a brush and some cold soapy water.

His breathing was still shallow, and he was trying his hardest not to look arthur in the eye, but he found himself flicking to them every so often, expecting to see disappointment and disgust lurking in the blue, only to find something that looked suspiciously like pity and… fear?

Arthur pendragon, was afraid.

Merlin's eyes quickly flicked back to the ground, but the damage had already been done, and he knew that he would have to look back at him. He knew that he would meet arthur's eyes and arthur would see how scared and upset merlin was. And he would know it was because of the sorcerer, because in some cases, arthur wasn’t completely useless.

“Merlin,” It wasn’t harsh, unforgiving or disgusted, it wasn’t commanding or spiteful, it wasn’t kingly, godly or knightly.

It was soft, and kind and forgiving, it made the back of Merlin’s eyes sting and he knew he was going to cry, he knew he was going to break if Arthur said his name in kindness one more time.

“Merlin, what’s wrong?” Instantly, the tears began to fall, tracking down his cheeks, wiping away the grime from working earlier, and settling on his jaw, not falling, but just waiting for a little while.

“Look, I, I don’t want to talk about it, I, I’m fine,” he whispered, barely able to be heard.

“No you’re fucking not, Merlin please, I’m your friend.”

Merlin took in a sharp breath between his teeth, almost as if the word offended or hurt him, but one thing at a time, and right now Arthur had to help the man crying in his room.

Merlin sniffed and looked back up at Arthur, his eyes still brimming with tears.

“I knew him.”

“Knew who?” Arthur thought he knew, he wished he didn’t, hoped with all his heart it wasn’t, but he was sure it was.

“The sorcerer.”

Arthur was frozen, his face a stoic mask and his body completely immobile, but whilst he was physically still, his brain was rushing at the speed of a frightened stallion.

“You, knew him?” he wanted to ask everything, how, who, why? All questions that came to mind, but that would only help him, not Merlin.

“His name was will, and he used to live in Ealdor, he was my friend.”

Before Arthur knew what he was doing he had engulfed Merlin in a hug, his arms wrapping around Merlin’s waist, pulling him close and holding him steady. Merlin nuzzled his head into Arthur's neck and began to sob, gradually slipping to the floor, until the both of them were sitting on the ground, relying on each others embrace, where Arthur held Merlin delicately, whereas Merlin had let his hands wrap around Arthur’s biceps, holding onto them for dear life.

Arthur looked towards Merlin, who had stopped sobbing, and had moved on to periodically sniffing, but who was still lying on Arthur, his eyes half closed and his cheeks redder than before, almost the same shade as the tip of his nose.

Arthur bent down and placed his chin over Merlin's head, pulling him ever so closer, guilt consuming arthur a little more, every time he thought more about the situation.

“I’m sorry.” Merlin looked up at him, his eyes flicking between Arthur’s and waiting patiently for him to continue.

“I’m sorry you had to watch your friend die, I’m sorry I didn’t stop it from happening,” Arthur had his eyes closed, his brow was knitted together and he looked truly remorseful.

“Arthur-” Merlin brought up his hand and rested it on Arthur’s cheek, tethering him to reality.

“You’re not the one who killed him.”

Arthur nodded, but still felt guilt building up in his stomach with every second that he thought about it.

Merlin’s hand tilted Arthur’s head gently towards him, guiding him to look at Merlin’s deep blue eyes, which seemed to glow ever so slightly, perhaps it was the sunlight in them? He didn’t care, all he realised was that they were getting ever so closer, and occasionally flicking towards his lips.

He began to lean in, hesitantly and gently, his own hand making its way to Merlin’s cheek, before their lips gently brushed together, then were crushed against each other in desperation.

They moved in an almost rehearsed synchronicity, yearning to stay connected for an eternity, their lips merging in a fit of passion, as Arthur felt a feeling deep in the pit of his stomach, an almost painful fiery jab of something that could only be described as pure, unadulterated elation, urging him to hold Merlin tighter and keep him here forever. Merlin reciprocated, gripping Arthur’s shirt, desperately trying to eliminate any sort of space between the two of them, not caring that the shirt cost more than every house in Ealdor combined, he just wanted Arthur closer to him.

Arthur was gripping Merlin’s hair, tangling the strands between his fingers and pushing Merlin closer towards him, messily and hungrily devouring his lips in a frenzy, tears streaming down both their faces as they thought of the circumstances that brought them together, yet only letting it fuel them further and further until they had to come up for air.

Merlin gasped, panting, with his eyes closed, as his forehead rested against Arthur’s, who seemed to be in the same state as him, and felt himself give a small smile, before moving back in and giving the crown prince a gentle peck on his lips.

“Arthur, I- Oh dear gods.”

Arthur and Merlin turned towards the door to see Morgana standing at the entrance, her eyes wide with a tray of cakes on them, completely speechless at the sight in front of her.

“MORGANA!” Both Merlin and Arthur chorused, as they tried their damned hardest to get to their feet and regain some sense of composure, despite how far away composure may seem considering their crumpled clothes, swollen lips and messy hair, pointing in all manner of directions.

The more they struggled to get up, the worse it seemed to make it, getting them more and more tangles, almost like a chinese finger trap, the more you try to escape the more you seal your fate.

“We were just-”

“You see I-”

“It’s not-”

“OH would you shut it please you two,” she stated, with an air of finality, “You must think me completely blind or a fool.”

Both of them gulped.

“Anyway, Arthur, I brought these up for you, you seemed stressed earlier, however I wouldn’t be opposed to you sharing them.” she said with a cheeky smile, and closed the door behind her.

They both looked at each other, then laughed before finally untangling themselves.

They looked towards the tray in curious wonder, at a small array of pastries, mostly french or danish, before seeing a small round object that looked suspiciously like a cake of sorts… in a ….cup?

“Is that a, a cake?”

“In a cup… a cake cup?

“Cupcake.”

“Ohhhhhhhh.”

They lifted a small bowl with frosting in it, before looking at one of the small cakes, and dipping it in, before merlin lifted it to his lips, taking a small bite and feeling his own eyes light up, dang, this tastes good.

Arthur was still looking at the cake, confused and completely weirded out by a pastry, whereas merlin seemed to be wolfing his down with vigour, until he saw Arthur take a bite and recoil at the almost savery tread.

Merlin laughed and brought the bowl towards Arthur, with a wicked glint in his eyes.

“Arthur?”

“Mmmm?”

“Frost the damn cupcakes.”

[tcobeauty]

BEAUTY HAULS: Ulta Owns My Soul

Despite waiting patiently for the 20% off entire purchase coupon I knew had to be coming soon (and then finally showed up–more on this later), in the meantime I spent far too much time on Ulta's mobile app stocking up on some maintenance items and picking up a couple of splurges on sale. The first step is admitting you have a problem, RIGHT?

On that BOGOHO tip: The Schick Hydro5 razors (which, I know, I need to switch to like Harry's or something, but I only recently got back into shaving on the regular, so I'm just trying to stock up and save while I can), which I didn't realize until after the fact that these weren't the Sensitive Extra-Hydrating version, so hopefully they won't tear my flesh too terribly. L'Oreal was also BOGOHO, so I grabbed their lightweight, self-contained True Match Mineral Foundation (they no longer make the Translucent version 😥) and my all-time favorite liquid eyeliner, Linear Intense, which I wish they would make in every goddamn shade that exists—the felt tip is still the absolute best liquid liner delivery mechanism out there.

Sale-wise: The Joico Shampoo and Conditioner were 2 for $20, which is a GREAT deal on this color-depositing product that keeps me relatively vibrant in the last couple of weeks before a hair appt. I'm switching back to the Shea Moisture Shave Butter after finally using up the Whish Shave Cream—I love the way it smells, but I can't justify the cost. 

I've recently become obsessed with nude nail polish (symptom of being in my 30s, i suppose) and I now have a foursome (lol) of this Sally Hansen Color Therapy polish and it's fast becoming one of my favorite nail color products in general. I love that you don't need a base coat, it helps repair and moisturize (ostensibly, anyway), and it wears several days with no chips, which are always the bane of my nail existence.

Last but not least: the Tarteist Matte Lip Color was on sale, and there's a part of me that, no matter how dry and flaky my lips get with most matte colors, is also kind of obsessed with finding one that doesn't make my lips look like The Mummy and is forgiving with shaky-hands application. That MIGHT just be this lip color, which is also one of the more perfect nude lip colors I've ever come across for my skintone. I was expecting something a bit more pink, but in this case, I think it works.

Paid: $92 | Value: $130 Savings: $38 / 29%

So yeah, despite the sale prices, the BOGOHO deals, and rewards points, not the best haul overall. With my ongoing spending tracking, I'm trying to really focus only on getting products I already know and love, and/or something I've been wanting to try that will replace something I've been using, and then only if it's on sale.

Buuuuuuuuuuut suffice to say that when my 20% off coupon finally DID arrive, I was more than ready (and more than a little perturbed at myself for not being able to hold out until it arrived tbh). Not the most exciting of purchases, I'll admit, but I stocked up on plenty of staples and a few new goodies to try.

I suppose I should find a hairspray like half as much as BedHead Masterpiece, but until then, I'll buy it in multiples every time it's on sale. Other regular faves include the Whamisa Sea Kelp mask (I'm SO GLAD Ulta carries it so I can at least get some rewards points and discounts as opposed to Glow Recipe, which I love, but hardly ever has sales or promos), my all-time fave Shea Moisture Superfruit Multivitamin Firming Hand & Body Scrub, the Schick Intuition razor (don't hate, it's for convenience and I'm lazy af when it comes to body hair removal), and a waterproof Maybelline Lash Sensational mascara.

I carried on a bit more with my recent seaweed kick and picked up a travel size Shea Moisture Age Defy & Color Protect Sea Salt Texture Spray, which has a nice, lightweight texture but also still has actual salt in it, so I'm not sure how they get away with "color protect," in the name, so we'll see about that. I've been curious about The Body Shop's line of natural skincare products, so I figured this cute little kit of seaweed-based products with a cleanser, toner, matte-fying moisturizer and night treatment would be fun to try, especially as the heat and humidity start to work their way into my pores.

Maybelline had a buy-two promo, so I got this Color Jolt Intense lip paint which was SORELY misrepresented in the photo on the website, because I thought it was actually metallic, but it is instead a pretty standard creme mauve. I'm not mad, I'm just disappointed. And then I love the Color Tattoo Chrome cream eyeshadow format and texture, but this Gunmetal shade is much darker than it appeared on the website, which leads me to believe that Maybelline needs to get their shit together with regards to product photos. I will say, however, that my tarte silver liquid eyeliner looks GREAT overtop of it—a dark shadow with a lighter, metallic eyeliner might be my new fave look!

I rounded out my haul with a travel-size ZOYA nail polish remover that I already REALLY like – it removes color quickly and efficiently, doesn't dry out my nails and make them more brittle than they already are, and has a relatively pleasant smell. And then I just couldn't resist this goofy-ass unicorn-themed Pacifica Sugared Amber Dreams Rollerball and while it is very sugary-smelling, I think it will layer really nicely under some of the other Pacifica fragrances I have, specifically the fig, which I've been trying to layer with vanilla and it just keeps getting lost underneath.

Paid: $103 | Value: $158 Savings: $55 / 35%

Definitely a better haul overall, thanks to that elusive 20% entire purchase coupon, but still not my best. Ulta is my home for staples and favorites, and I've only recently started to get into more of their bigger beauty brands (except for UD, I've loved that shit for what seems like actual decades). Still, I got my first Ulta Rewards card in like 2001 and have been a Platinum member for at least half that time, so I'm not going anywhere. They also have the best rewards program BY FAR, and pretty much always have, which is why I tend to buy so many staples and basics from there, with a few splurges on sales every now and then.