#his grave is real though and it will always be a place where i can meet him right?

[rootedinrevisions]

No Nut November...or Not

SUMMARY: When a harmless bar conversation turns into a bet about who can last the longest during No Nut November, the stakes are set. They both assume they can outlast the other without breaking a sweat. What they don’t anticipate is you–their mischievous partner–who takes it as a personal challenge to make the month as impossible as humanly possible. Because why should they get to have all the fun?

A/N: Thank you so much to the Nonny who sent in this request! This one is a little more outside my comfort zone than what I normally write, but I think it turned out okay. Please let me know how you feel about it!

WARNINGS: 18+ MINORS DNI. SMUT. (Lingerie, Spanking, Slight Dom, Unprotected Sex (be responsible people), P in V (reverse cowgirl), Voyeurism/Exhibitionism (not sure if this counts in a poly relationship but including it in case)

WORD COUNT: 6.1k

TAG LIST: IN COMMENTS

If you would like to be added to any of my Tag Lists please feel free to comment, send an ask, or send a DM and I'll be happy to get you added! Below are the fandoms I currently write for.

Glen Powell: Himself (RPF), Characters He's Played

Twisters: Tyler Owens, Boone, Scott, Javi

Top Gun: Maverick: Rooster, Hangman, Bob

Marvel/MCU: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers

WWE/Wrestling: Cody Rhodes, Corey Graves, Damian Priest, Drew McIntyre, Finn Balor, Jimmy Uso, Jey Uso, Kevin Owens, L.A. Knight, Pat McAfee, Roman Reigns, Seth Rollins (if there is someone you're thinking of from WWE and they aren't on the list feel free to ask! There are so many guys on the roster that these were the ones that came to mind.)

The Hard Deck was alive with its usual hum of chatter and laughter, the jukebox belting out an old rock anthem. You leaned back in your chair, nursing a cold beer as you watched Jake and Bradley settle into their usual rhythm.

Jake smirked, his signature cocky grin firmly in place as he tipped his bottle toward Bradley. “Face it, Bradshaw, you just can’t handle the pressure. That’s why I’m better at pretty much everything.”

Bradley rolled his eyes, though the twitch of his jaw betrayed his annoyance. “You keep telling yourself that, Bagman. Last time I checked, you couldn’t keep up with me in the air…let alone other places.”

His gaze then shifted to you and he shot you a wink. You hid your smile behind your bottle, enjoying the way their bickering played out like clockwork. It was endearing in its own way, how the two of them always seemed to push each other just to prove who could come out on top.

“Alright, alright,” you interjected, setting your drink down and tilting your head at them. “What’s it going to be this time? Another darts match? Arm wrestling in the middle of Penny’s bar?”

“Don’t even think about it boys,” she interjects from behind the bar causing your lips to curve into a smirk.

Jake turned to you with a gleam in his eye, his grin widening. “Nah, that would be too easy, sweetheart. I’m thinking something better. Something that requires real willpower.”

Bradley scoffed, but there was a flicker of curiosity on his face. “What are you thinking, Hangman?”

Jake leaned forward, bracing one elbow on the table. “No Nut November.”

The words hung in the air for a beat before you burst out laughing, nearly spilling your beer. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I’m dead serious.” Jake looked over at Bradley, his eyes glinting with challenge. “Think you’ve got the guts to keep it together for a whole month, Bradshaw? Or are you gonna fold like you always do?”

Bradley narrowed his eyes, his lips curving into a slow, confident smile. “You’re on. But don’t come crying to me when you lose after, what, three days?”

“Three days?” Jake repeated mock outrage in his tone. “I’ve got steel discipline, Bradshaw. You’re the one who’s always got his head in the clouds.”

“Oh, this is good,” you said, shaking your head in amusement. You could already tell where this was headed, and it was going to be entertaining, to say the least

“What’s the wager?” Bradley asked, his eyes not leaving Jake.

“The usual,” Jake said with a shrug. “Loser has to do whatever the winner says. No complaints, no excuses.”

Bradley nodded, extending his hand across the table. “Deal.”

They shook on it, their grips firm and their gazes locked in mutual defiance. You snipped your beer, biting back a grin as an idea began to form in your mind.

If they were really going to go through with this, you might as well make it interesting. After all, wasn’t it your duty as their partner to keep them on their toes?

“I hope you two are ready,” you said, your voice deceptively sweet as you leaned forward, resting your chin in your hand. “Because I’m not about to make this easy for either of you.”

Jake arched a brow, his smirk faltering just slightly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, you’ll see.”

Bradley’s eyes flicked to yours, a mixture of curiosity and apprehension flashing across his face. But neither of them had the chance to respond before you stood, finishing the last of your drink and setting the bottle down with a soft clink.

“Good luck, boys,” you said, giving them a wink before walking away.

Behind you, you could hear Jake muttering, “What the hell does that mean?”

The next evening, the glow of the Hard Deck’s neon lights and the buzz of competitive banter were a distant memory. In their place was the soft hum of music drifting from the living room speaker and the warmth of home-cooked comfort filling the air.

Jake and Bradley’s off-base apartment had always been a haven of sorts—a space where the three of you could unwind, trading the chaos of your days for shared laughter and easy companionship, and a lot of physicality. Tonight was no different.

You stood in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up and a grin tugging at your lips as you recalled the way Jake and Bradley had shaken on their bet the night before, each so sure of their resolve. It was all in good fun, of course, but watching them try to outlast each other was going to be a source of endless entertainment. Especially if you had anything to say about it.

The smell of garlic and herbs filled the cozy apartment kitchen as you stirred a simmering pot on the stove. Bradley leaned beside you, chopping vegetables with steady precision, while Jake stood at the counter, tossing together a salad. It was a rare quiet evening for the three of you, the kind of domestic tranquility that felt all the more special amidst the chaos of naval schedules.

You glanced at Bradley out of the corner of your eye. He was focused on his task, the rhythmic thwack of the knife against the cutting board filling the space between the three of you.

Setting the spoon aside, you turned toward him, brushing your hand lightly along the small of his back as you reached for the bowl beside him. “Thanks for helping out,” you said, your voice casual but laced with a subtle warmth.

“No problem,” Bradley replied, his tone as calm as ever. He didn’t look up from the cutting board, his focus unbroken.

Undeterred, you let your fingers linger a moment longer than necessary before pulling away, casually brushing against his forearm as you leaned over to grab a kitchen towel. Still no reaction—though you noticed the slightest twitch at the corner of his mouth.

From across the kitchen, Jake chuckled softly. You looked over your shoulder to find him watching with a smug grin, one eyebrow raised as if to say, “Really? Is that all you’ve got?”

Game on.

Turning back to Bradley, you stepped closer, reaching for the bowl of chopped veggies just as he finished. 

“Let me get that,” you said, letting your fingers trail along his wrist as you took the bowl from him. This time, there was the faintest flicker of something in his expression, but he quickly masked it, his lips curving into an almost imperceptible smirk.

“Thanks,” you said sweetly, placing the bowl on the counter and brushing past Jake on your way to the fridge.

You could feel his eyes on you, but he didn’t say a word, his hands continuing to toss the salad with deliberate nonchalance. Smiling to yourself, you opened the fridge and retrieved a bottle of wine, taking your time as you returned to the counter.

Jake didn’t react when you sidled up beside him, leaning slightly against his arm as you reached for a corkscrew. But when your fingers brushed his wrist—lingering just long enough to feel the warmth of his skin—his hands faltered, sending a stray piece of lettuce tumbling onto the floor.

“Oops,” you murmured, hiding your grin as you grabbed the corkscrew and stepped back. You almost painfully slow, bent down to pick up the lettuce, making sure the skirt you were wearing slid up giving Jake just the tiniest glimpse of the frilly lace of your underwear peeking out at him.

Jake shot you a look, his smirk slipping for a fraction of a second before he composed himself. 

“Careful there, darlin’,” he said, his voice smooth but with a slight edge as his hand moved to your hip.

From the corner of your eye, you caught Bradley glancing over, his smirk now firmly in place. “What’s wrong, Seresin? You’re not getting distracted, are you?”

Jake’s jaw tightened just enough for you to notice, and you bit back a laugh, turning your attention back to the wine. 

“Oh, don’t tease him, Bradshaw,” you said innocently, pouring three glasses with careful precision. “I’m sure he’s fine.”

Jake’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly, but he said nothing, instead focusing intently on his salad as if it were the most important task in the world.

You smiled to yourself, setting the glasses on the counter. This was going to be even more fun than you thought.

Dinner was ready not long after, and the three of you settled at the small dining table tucked against the window. The kitchen lights cast a soft glow over the scene, the faint hum of music still playing in the background. Plates were filled with the fruits of your collective labor: roasted chicken, sautéed vegetables, and a fresh salad that Jake had insisted was “restaurant-quality.”

You took the first bite, savoring the flavors as they hit your tongue. But instead of keeping the reaction to yourself, you let out a quiet, almost breathy moan, closing your eyes as though the simple taste of the meal was enough to send you to heaven.

When you opened your eyes, you caught both Jake and Bradley staring, their forks paused midair. Their gazes flicked to each other in a brief, wordless exchange before they simultaneously looked down at their plates, the muscles in their jaws tensing as they focused a little too intently on their food.

Suppressing a grin, you stabbed another piece of chicken with your fork, dragging it slowly through the sauce before taking another bite, this time pulling the utensil from your lips with an exaggerated slowness. You made sure the movement was subtle enough to seem natural—just enough to plant the idea without making it obvious.

The effect was immediate. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Jake shift in his seat, adjusting his posture in a way that suggested he was trying to ignore you. Across from him, Bradley chewed with deliberate focus, his expression unreadable except for the faint tightness in his jaw.

“Everything okay?” you asked innocently, looking between the two of them.

“Fine,” Jake said quickly, his tone light but clipped. He took a long drink of water, his eyes trained firmly on his plate as if it held the answers to all of life’s mysteries.

“Yeah, fine,” Bradley echoed, though his voice carried a hint of strain as he reached for the salad bowl, pretending to busy himself with serving more.

You leaned back in your chair, letting the silence settle for a moment before leaning forward again, your fingers brushing against the edge of your fork. There was a bit of sauce clinging to the tip, and instead of reaching for a napkin, you raised the utensil to your lips, your tongue darting out to catch the stray droplet.

It wasn’t dramatic—barely more than a flick—but the tension in the room crackled like static electricity. Jake’s fork clattered against his plate, and Bradley muttered something under his breath, though neither of them said anything directly.

Satisfied, you straightened in your chair and continued eating, keeping your movements deliberately slow and casual. You were playing the long game, after all, and the night was still young.

The evening stretched on, the kind of Saturday night that carried the promise of an easygoing, relaxed vibe. But the air between the three of you had changed. Every glance, every subtle movement felt charged, as if all the teasing from dinner was quietly simmering beneath the surface, waiting for something to tip it over the edge.

As the game time drew near, you decided to take a break, excusing yourself with a casual, “I’ll be right back. Gonna get comfy for the game.”

Jake barely looked up, his attention already focused on the TV screen as he pulled up the Longhorns' game schedule. Bradley nodded absently, taking another sip of his beer.

You made your way toward Jake’s bedroom. His closet door creaked open, and you moved quickly, your fingers brushing past the shirts hanging neatly in a row until you found it—the burnt orange jersey. You had no intention of wearing it the traditional way, though.

Next, you turned your attention to the bottom drawer of Jake’s dresser. The one that, over time, had become a place for a few of your things—your stuff from nights spent at their place, the clothes you didn’t mind leaving behind. You sifted through the familiar pile, your fingers grazing the fabric until you found what you were looking for. The lacy black thong with the satin bow on the back, a gift from Bradley on your birthday last year.

A smile tugged at your lips as you stripped out of your clothes, quickly slipping into the thong and then pulling the jersey over your head. The fabric settled comfortably against your skin, the oversized fit doing little to hide the outline of what you were really wearing underneath.

When you emerged from the bedroom, your eyes met the living room where the guys were settling in. Jake was already lounging on the couch, the TV lighting up his face as he focused on pulling up the game. Bradley was standing near the fridge, mid-drink when he saw you. His hand froze, the bottle of beer almost slipping from his grip. His eyes widened, his throat bobbing as he took in the sight of you in nothing but the jersey.

Jake’s gaze flickered over to you, eyes widening for just a moment before he cleared his throat, his focus shifting back to the screen as though it was the most important thing in the world. But you could see the slight tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers tightened against the remote as if it were somehow anchoring him.

Bradley, on the other hand, had a harder time hiding it. His eyes followed you across the room, the surprise quickly turning into something unreadable, but not before his lips parted as though he might say something—until he caught himself. Instead, he looked down at his beer, taking a long swig to steady himself.

You smirked, casually flopping down on the couch beside Jake, making sure to let the fabric of the jersey shift just enough to give him a better view of what you were wearing—or, more accurately, not wearing underneath.

You knew exactly what you were doing.

Jake’s hand settled on your thigh, warm and heavy, sending a shiver through you that had nothing to do with the cool air from the open window. You smiled, resting your head against his shoulder, and wrapped your arms around his arm for good measure, leaning in close to him.

As you shifted your position, tilting your knees slightly, you felt the jersey ride up a bit higher, just enough for the lacy black thong to peek out from beneath the fabric. It was a calculated move, knowing full well that Bradley would notice.

Sure enough, when he finally settled back onto the couch on the other side of you, his gaze flickered down. His hand, perhaps on autopilot, reached out, brushing against your nearly bare skin, and you couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at your lips. Bradley’s fingers squeezed the flesh there, just a little too long, a little too possessively, before he quickly pulled his hand away, his eyes darting up to meet yours.

You tilted your head back into Jake’s side, letting out a soft, content sigh, and allowed yourself to sink into his warmth. The move was deliberate, a subtle taunt that made Bradley’s jaw clench and his nostrils flare. He tried to look away, but he couldn’t quite keep his eyes off you, and you reveled in the power you held over the two men tonight.

“Enjoying the game?” Jake asked, his voice low, as if he didn’t want to break the spell you’d cast. His fingers tightened on your thigh, pressing just enough to remind you of his presence.

“Mmm,” you replied, letting the sound linger in the air, your breath warm against his neck.

Jake leaned in closer, his lips brushing your temple as he whispered, “You know, you’re really playing a dangerous game, don’t you think?”

You looked up at him, your expression innocent, the tease in your eyes impossible to hide. “Maybe,” you replied coyly, “but I think it’s one you’ll both enjoy losing.”

The game continued, but the real action was unfolding right in front of Jake and Bradley. You could feel their eyes on you—the weight of their attention was undeniable. Jake’s hand had barely moved from your thigh, and Bradley’s fingers lingered there, giving you little indication that he had any intention of stopping. They were both wound tight, and you were enjoying every minute of it.

As the Longhorns scored a touchdown, the roar from the crowd on the TV mixed with your own excited gasp. Without thinking, you jumped to your feet, the burst of energy sending you bouncing up and down in celebration. You felt the jersey ride up as you raised your arms, the fabric lifting just enough to expose the small, barely-there thong underneath.

Your ass swayed with each bounce, the thong almost completely exposed, offering a perfect view of your bare skin to both men. The sensation of their eyes locked on you was intoxicating, but you didn’t stop. You made sure every movement was deliberate, a tease designed to keep them both hooked.

Finally, you turned around, your back to them now. The jersey hung just low enough to cover your front but did nothing to hide the thong from their view. You felt their stares burning into you, the tension between the three of you palpable in the air.

With a grin, you smirked over your shoulder, catching their eyes before saying, “Man, I love football.”

Jake shifted uncomfortably, his hand now tight around the beer bottle in his lap, but he didn’t say anything. Bradley, on the other hand, couldn’t hide his reaction. His jaw clenched, his lips pressing together in frustration. His hand moved to the front of his jeans, adjusting himself. It was as if he couldn’t stop himself, like every instinct he had was telling him to do something more.

The tension in the room was unbearable, and you could practically feel the moment when Bradley’s restraint finally snapped. As you smirked over your shoulder, still reveling in the heat of their gazes, you noticed the way his hands tightened into fists at his sides. His jaw was locked, his body rigid as he tried—unsuccessfully—to stay composed.

Then, without warning, he shot up from the couch. “Screw this,” he muttered under his breath, his voice low and rough, filled with frustration.

Before you could even react, he was on you. One moment, you were standing in front of him, and the next, he had you hoisted effortlessly over his shoulder. You gasped in surprise, but the only response from him was a determined growl.

You kicked your legs slightly, but it was no use. Bradley had you completely at his mercy, carrying you down the hallway toward his room with a purposeful stride.

Jake called out from the living room, his voice laced with disbelief. “Bradshaw—what the hell are you doing?”

But Bradley didn’t even look back, his focus solely on you as he carried you down the hall, ignoring whatever punishment Jake might throw at him. The bet? The consequences? They didn’t matter in that moment. All that mattered was the desire that had been building up in him, the need to finally act on everything he’d been holding back.

When he reached the door to his room, he kicked it open with one swift motion, stepping inside and slamming it shut behind him. As soon as it was closed, he dropped you onto the bed, his eyes dark with intensity.

“You’ve been teasing us all night,” he growled, voice thick with desire. “I couldn’t take it anymore.”

You smirked, already knowing that you had pushed him too far. But that didn’t stop you from playing along, feeling the thrill of victory in the way you’d slowly unraveled him.

Bradley didn’t care about the bet anymore. All he cared about was you, and right now, that was enough.

As Bradley moved over you, his hands working the black thong off of your body with an urgency that matched the heat in his eyes, you felt a sudden shift in the atmosphere. The door swung open with a creak, and there, standing in the doorway, was Jake. His smirk was wide, his eyes gleaming with that same cocky confidence, but there was a sharpness to it now—a flicker of something darker beneath the surface.

He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, clearly enjoying the scene unfolding before him. His eyes shifted between you and Bradley, taking in the sight of the thong being discarded carelessly to the side. The silence that followed was thick with tension, an unspoken challenge hanging in the air.

Bradley’s fingers paused for a moment, as if sensing Jake’s presence, but his focus quickly returned to you. The momentary distraction was all Jake needed. Without breaking his smirk, Jake pushed off the doorframe and strode confidently across the room.

“Bradley, step back, baby,” Jake’s voice was low, filled with a knowing taunt. He sat on the edge of the bed, eyes still on you as he placed a hand on your waist, guiding you down across his lap.

You gasped, a mix of surprise and excitement flooding through you as you found yourself positioned across his strong legs. Your heart raced, but the smirk never left your face.

“You’ve been a naughty girl, haven’t you?” Jake’s voice was suddenly darker, his tone shifting as he ran a finger down your spine. “You think you can tease us both, and get away with it?” He gave you a playful, but firm tap on the back of your thigh, the sting shocking you.

He leaned forward slightly, pressing his lips to your ear. “Well, it’s time somebody put you in your place.”

Bradley watched, still breathing heavily as he stood at the foot of the bed, his hands flexing with restrained hunger. The game had changed entirely. You had crossed a line, and now, both men knew it was their turn to take control.

Jake’s grip tightened around your waist, pulling you closer as he positioned you more firmly across his lap. He traced a finger across the curve of your backside, his voice rough as he said, “This isn’t over, sweetheart. Not by a long shot.”

The first smack comes without warning, a startled cry leaving your lips as you feel the sting of Jake’s hand.

“That’s one. You’ve got nine more. Think you can handle it?”

You nodd, but Jake just makes a tsk tsk tsk noise with his mouth before delivering another smack to the same spot.

“Use your words. We’re back to one. I can do this all night.”

“Yes. Yes, I can handle it.”

You hear Jake let out a low chuckle before saying, “Damn right you can, baby.”

The final smack echoed through the room, sharper than the rest, and you couldn't suppress the gasp that left your lips. A wave of heat rushed through you, a mix of sting and longing building in your body. Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, the tension of the moment overwhelming.

Jake’s hand lingered, resting gently on your sore skin, the warmth of his palm contrasting with the burn of the smacks. For a brief moment, there was silence. You could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest, and the weight of his touch seemed to calm you, despite the ache.

"Good girl," he murmured, his voice softer now, but still full of command. His hand moved slowly, rubbing circles into your tender skin, soothing the burn as he spoke. "You did so well for me."

You could hear the pride in his voice, and feel the shift in his demeanor as he leaned down to kiss the top of your head. It was a small, almost gentle gesture, but it spoke volumes in the context of everything that had just transpired.

His fingers traced along your back now, his touch lighter, almost tender. "I know you can take it," he continued, his tone warm. "You’ve been so good for us tonight."

The praise was enough to stir something inside you—something that made the lingering sting worth it. He could still dominate you, but in this moment, you were his, and he took care of you in a way that felt like both power and care.

“Now, here’s what’s going to happen next, sweetheart,” Jake says. “Bradley here is going to lay on his bed, and you’re going to ride him, reverse cowgirl so he can watch that pretty ass bounce as your ride him. And so I can watch your perfect tits bounce.” You involuntarily squeeze your thighs together at his words. “And I’m going to stand at the end of the bed and I want your eyes on me the whole time. You understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good girl,” Jake says before helping you up off his lap.

The moment you lift yourself off Jake’s lap, there’s a quiet shift in the room. The tension in the room grows as you crawl up the bed, hovering over Bradley, who’s now lying back on the bed, his eyes dark with hunger but also something else–softness, a trace of tenderness mixed with the primal need.

As you settle above him, the weight of your body supported by your hands on either side of his chest, Bradley’s hands reach up to pull you down. He doesn’t waste a second, his lips finding yours with an intensity that makes your heart race. The kiss is almost electric, his lips hungry, but gentle enough to make you melt against him. The urgency fades slightly, and you find yourself losing a bit of control as you sink into the warmth of his embrace. His hand moves to the back of your neck, holding you close as if he doesn’t want to let you go.

The kiss deepens, and for a moment, everything else falls away. It's just the two of you, your bodies pressing together, the soft sound of your breathing filling the space between you. You feel his heartbeat against yours, steady and warm, grounding you in this moment. It’s different with Bradley—there’s a tenderness there, something that contrasts with the more commanding side Jake showed earlier.

When you pull away, your lips still tingling, you can see the quiet satisfaction in Bradley’s eyes. His hands slip down your sides, tracing the outline of your body as if committing every inch of you to memory.

“You’re incredible,” he whispers, his voice rough with desire, but there’s a softness to it, a reverence that makes your chest tighten.

You smile, leaning in to kiss him again, but this time it’s slower, more deliberate, and you can feel the shift between you—less about the tease, less about the game, and more about the connection.

You shift, moving so that your back is now towards Bradley, and your gaze finds Jake’s. The electricity between you three is palpable, the air thick with the kind of unspoken connection that runs deep. You can feel Bradley’s hands on your waist, steadying you, but it’s Jake’s eyes that hold your attention now—dark, intent, but filled with something else. There’s a depth in his gaze, a silent understanding, a promise that whatever happens next, it’s about the three of you as one.

You reach down, tugging the burnt orange jersey off, letting it fall to the floor in a fluid motion, leaving yourself exposed before them. The vulnerability stirs something within you—both exhilarating and grounding at once. With each passing second, the trust between you grows stronger, the knowledge that you're not just being seen, but truly understood, is almost overwhelming.

You pause, locking eyes with Jake, and the tension rises again. His presence is commanding, but it's the gentle weight of his gaze that gives you the confidence to continue. Slowly, you begin to lower yourself, the movement calculated and deliberate, not just for them, but for yourself. 

Bradley’s hands guide you, steadying you as you move closer to him. Your eyes flutter close as you feel the stretch of Bradley as you sink further and further onto him.

“Uh uh. Eyes on me, baby.” Jake reminds you.

You nod and open your eyes, yours immediately find Jake’s green ones. They’re darker than normal, laced with desire and need.

“You’re perfect,” Bradley whispers, his voice thick with emotion. You can feel the weight of his words, not just in his tone, but in how his hands trace over your skin, grounding you in this moment.

You stay locked on Jake’s gaze, the intensity of his eyes grounding you in the moment. The air between you two feels thick, like a promise that’s been quietly building, waiting to be fulfilled. His face softens, but there’s a quiet strength in it that makes your heart race. 

Bradley’s hands move to your waist, his touch steady and sure. He guides you gently, helping you find your rhythm as your body begins to move, slow and deliberate. His touch is a contrast to Jake’s silent command—Bradley’s touch is soft, like a grounding force, holding you steady.

You feel the heat rising, your chest tightening as the tension builds. But through it all, Jake’s eyes never leave yours. There’s something magnetic about the way he watches, as though he’s seeing you—every part of you—in a way that makes you feel both vulnerable and safe, all at once. His jaw tightens as he shifts, the intensity in his gaze never faltering.

With every small movement, every shift of your body, you feel the pressure building. Your breaths come quicker, your heart racing as Bradley’s hands guide you.

“S-shit,” you hear Bradley mutter from beneath you, causing you to clench around him.

Bradley’s hands move to your back, his fingers tracing slow, deliberate patterns against your skin. His touch is tender, guiding you closer, helping you reach a place of intensity that feels almost overwhelming.

And then, it comes—like a wave crashing over you. You can feel the pressure building, the world narrowing down to the feeling of Bradley’s hands on your skin, his body beneath you, and Jake’s steady gaze pulling you deeper. Every part of you is alive, connected, and entwined in a way you’ve never experienced before.

Your breath catches as the moment hits, your body trembling as you reach the peak. Your eyes never leave Jake’s, and for a brief moment, everything else fades away. There’s nothing but the bond between the three of you—the love, the trust, the unspoken understanding that this is where you’re meant to be. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. Shit.” Bradley grunts as you feel ropes of his seed release into you.

You collapse on the bed against Bradley, your body spent and trembling, Jake’s smile softens, a quiet satisfaction in his eyes.

“You’re incredible,” Bradley whispers, pulling you into him, his hands still on your back as he kisses the top of your head. His voice is filled with a tenderness.

“You’re perfect,” Jake adds softly, his voice low and comforting.

Bradley shifts beside you, his fingers brushing against your skin as he looks over at Jake. There’s a quiet moment between them, an unspoken understanding passing between the two. With a soft chuckle, Bradley pushes himself up from the bed, his gaze lingering on you for a second longer before he speaks.

“I’m gonna head to the bathroom. Jake, you wanna take care of her while I’m gone?” he asks, the affection in his voice evident.

Jake’s response is immediate, his eyes softening as he watches you. “Of course,” he says, his voice low but filled with warmth.

As Bradley moves to the bathroom, Jake crawls onto the bed beside you, a quiet smile tugging at his lips. His presence is a steady, comforting weight as he shifts closer, opening his arms for you. You don’t hesitate, scooting over to him, seeking the comfort of his embrace.

You curl into him, your body instinctively leaning into his warmth as your head rests against his chest. The steady beat of his heart is a calming rhythm beneath your ear, and you let out a soft sigh of contentment, the tension of the last few minutes slowly ebbing away.

Jake wraps his arms around you, pulling you in closer, his hand gently stroking your hair as he settles against the pillows. His touch is soothing, almost protective, and it fills you with a sense of security that you can’t quite put into words.

“You did so well,” Jake murmurs, his voice soft and tender. He presses a gentle kiss to the top of your head, his fingers tracing light patterns on your back. “You’re incredible, you know that?”

You smile against his chest, the words washing over you like a balm. You can feel the warmth of his body, the affection in every movement, and it’s all you need right now. The bond between the three of you feels unspoken but undeniable, and in this moment, everything feels right.

As you settle more comfortably against Jake, his arms holding you close, you allow yourself to fully relax, your body melting into his embrace. The soft sound of Bradley’s footsteps in the bathroom fades into the background as you lose yourself in the warmth of Jake’s care.

The world outside this room doesn’t matter right now. There’s only the three of you, your trust, and the quiet love that lingers in the space between. And for the moment, that’s all you need.

As the warmth of Jake’s embrace settles around you, the exhaustion from the long day and the intensity of everything that’s happened begin to catch up with you. Your body feels heavy, your mind slowly unwinding as the last threads of wakefulness start to slip away. You’re so close to falling asleep, the soothing rhythm of Jake’s heartbeat lulling you deeper into comfort.

But then, there’s a soft rustle of movement. You feel the bed shift slightly, and soon, Bradley is back. He’s holding a warm washcloth, the scent of soap and something faintly floral filling the air as he gently presses it against your skin. The touch is tender, careful, as he begins to clean you up, his fingers moving gently over you.

“Let me know if I’m being too rough,” Bradley murmurs softly, his voice a whisper in the quiet room, his gaze focused on his task. There’s no rush in his movements, only a quiet affection, as he takes care of you.

Once he finishes, he places the cloth aside, his hand lingering for just a moment before he pulls back. You feel the bed dip as he moves around, and then, in the next moment, he’s crawling onto the bed beside you. His arms slip around your waist from behind, pulling you into him, and you easily melt back into his embrace, feeling the warmth of his body against your back.

You’re trapped now, but it doesn’t feel like a prison. Bradley’s strong chest presses against your back, his arms holding you securely while Jake, still on the other side of you, continues to hold you close. The two of them surround you, their presence comforting, and you can’t help but feel safe in their arms.

“Comfy?” Bradley murmurs against your ear, his breath warm against your skin.

You nod slightly, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “Wouldn’t want to fall asleep any other way.”

The steady sound of their breathing, the warmth of their bodies, and the quiet intimacy of the moment all wash over you. You can feel yourself drifting, your body sinking into the bed, the pull of sleep becoming harder to resist.

Just as your mind starts to fade, you hear Jake’s voice, light and teasing, cutting through the soft lull of the room.

“So, Bradshaw,” Jake begins, his tone dripping with playful mockery. “Not even twenty-four hours, huh?”

Bradley chuckles softly behind you, his fingers idly tracing circles on your waist as he gives a quiet, amused grunt. “Yeah, yeah. Shut up. I don’t need to prove anything to you.”

Jake snorts, a low, amused laugh slipping from his lips. “Right, but it’s nice to know you’re still a little bit predictable.”

You can hear the affection in Jake’s voice, his teasing not mean-spirited but filled with that familiar bond that the three of you share. As the sound of their laughter and gentle banter continues, the exhaustion pulls you under, and you finally surrender to sleep, the two men’s arms around you the last thing on your mind as you drift away.

[rosenclaws]

the trials of fate (red string AU) || Worst!Logan Howlett x Reader

summary: You and Logan were connected, soulmates. Destined to be together. Then he got sick and then he died and now you're alone and the string that connected you is gone. When Wade brings back a new Logan things get complicated and you want nothing to do with him.

warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, reader digs their nails into their face once, swearing, reader drinks a lot, no regard for the fox timeline sorry!

wc: 4k

a/n: Okay my soulmate au is here!! I love Logan angst and I just couldn't help myself and I had to write this soon. My birthday is soon so I should still have that other fic up on my birthday? May be late sorry!! But either way I hope you enjoy this.

The Red String of Fate dates back to ancient Chinese mythology. The idea that people are connected by an invisible red cord. At the end of your cord is your true love, your soulmate. Destined to be together through space and time. The string and tangle, bend, stretch, but never break.

You know this to be true because you can see them.

Not everyone can, in fact it’s very very rare. One might think of it as a gift but to you it’s a curse. You found your soulmate, you had him. It took a while to find him but you did. Your string led you straight to Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters. To a man named Logan. You never tried to follow your string, allowing him to come into your life naturally. You felt the tug of your string the moment you walked through the doors.

You were a mutant yourself and though your powers weren’t meant for combat you were happy to come and teach. The cord pulled and pulled until you found yourself in front of the history classroom. You looked down. Your red string was tied around your wrist and your eyes followed till you reached the end. Around his pinky was the end of your string tied in a bow.

"Can I help you?" He had asked in a gruff tone.

The moment he looked up from his desk was the moment you knew it was real. Like they would write in books where you meet eyes and the whole world stops. He was tough, angry, loved to drink and yet he was everything you could have asked for. Love didn’t come easy to him and he made it clear. Still you wouldn’t give up, a thread may connect you but you fell in love with the man standing before you. He was a good man, whether or not he believed it. You always thought he was a good man.

He loved you, he loved you the best way that he could and you loved him. He made mistakes, a lot of them but he always came through in the end. Promising that he’d love you no matter what, that you two were truly meant for each other. That he would belong to you and you to him.

So through it all you were by his side. Charles seizures, El Paseo, Laura. Even as he was slowly dying he did everything for you, for Charles, for Laura Up until his last breath he spent it protecting those he loved.

When he died you felt that piece of you die with it. The legend claims that the strings don’t break but you saw it first hand. The color faded from your cord and it unraveled itself. Falling to the floor unceremoniously, like it was nothing. Like your love was nothing. Your heart ripped in two. You tried to stay strong for the children and though you offered to take them back they declined. You shared a heartfelt conversation with Laura and they were off.

You sat by his grave for who knows how long. Staring at the X shaped marker. The man below the ground was your everything and how he’s gone. Your wrist felt empty. You couldn’t stop rubbing the spot where the string once sat. You were lost, your whole family was gone. So you packed up what little you had, got into the beat up truck, and drove as far as you could. You drove and drove until you approached the familiar woods of Westchester New York.

The mansion was still there. The doors creaked open as you pushed through them. Immediately you were overwhelmed by memories of you and Logan in this place. You thought you were done with tears but somehow you keep crying. Maybe this was a mistake. Coming back to this place. It was painful to even look into his room. But this was all you had. So you sucked it up and slowly started to put the mansion back together. Eventually people found you again. Mutants who needed shelter from the world and you let them stay.

It wasn’t a school anymore but it was a place to sleep. Years passed and eventually you met Wade. God was he annoying. So fucking annoying and still he managed to weasel his way into your life. A friend. He would say stupid shit and make plenty of ill timed jokes but you found yourself growing to like the guy. Then he went quiet for a little bit, giving up the superhero life for something more mundane. Not that you could really blame him. You wish you had done that.

Selfish? Yes but if you had disappeared then maybe Logan would still be alive. The two of you could have had a peaceful life. Sometimes you dream of him. Of what a life would have been like. The dreams are nice. Then you wake up and you have tears streaming down your face. A phantom tug of your wrist that only reminds you again and again that he’s gone.

Then one day Wade calls. Cheerfully telling you he has a surprise for you and invited you over for dinner. So you accepted. When you walked through his door though, you didn’t expect his so-called surprise to be Logan. 

“You made it!” Wade hugged you but you remained limp. Eyes glued to the man standing by the window talking to Laura of all people. You shove Wade off of you and shut your eyes. Is this another dream? Maybe a nightmare.

“No no no no.” You mutter to yourself as you dig your nails into your face. When you open them he’s still there. Standing there with this stupid smile and stupid face and stupid hair.

“What the hell Wade!” You hiss as you drag the man to the kitchen.

“The cat distribution system chose me! I couldn’t leave him, he was too lonely.”

“God can you ever shut the fuck up!?” You want to strangle him so bad. How could he so casually bring you here. Did he think you’d jump for joy? That seeing the ghost of your dead husband would fix it all? No. It doesn’t.

“Don’t you see what this means? This is prime sequel material. Give you the Disney princess, I can say that legally now, ending you’ve always deserved.”

Every bone in your body tells you to punch him but you can’t bring yourself to. He meant the best, even if he had a really fucked up way of going about it.

“Just. Keep him away from me.” You push past Wade straight to the alcohol. Needing anything to keep your mind off the man on the other side of the room. The dinner drags on too slow, you barely eat your food as you keep hearing his voice. People are talking on either side of you but you can only hear his voice. God he sounded the same. You sneak a glance and he’s sitting, laughing with Laura.

Oh god she’s gotten so big. Would she hate you for leaving her? What happened? You kick yourself over and over, you should have protected her but you were caught up in your own grief. You thought she’d be okay on her own.

As dinner winds down you find yourself outside, the cold air feels good as you sip on your drink. How many beers have you had already? Eh, Who cares?

“Hi.” You flinch when you hear her voice. You turn around and see her. Tears well up in your eyes as you take her in. She’s grown up so much.

“Laura,” You brush a strand of hair out of her face.

“It’s good to see you again.” She says. You wrap your arms around her tightly.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry I left. I should have gone with you guys.” You let go and hold her by the shoulders.

“What happened?” She sighs and sits down on a nearby bench. You sit close as she starts to tell you the story. Growing up, the TVA, the void, and then how she met Logan and Wade. It sounded unbelievable but you couldn’t help but smile at points. She’s still the same badass girl she always was.

“I should have been there.” You say guilty. She shakes her head and rests her head on your shoulder.

“I got to live my life, find myself because of you. Because of him. I wouldn’t change anything.” She’s much younger than you but she seems to be the one with her life together. You’re happy for that. Wishing nothing but the best for her.

“Have you talked to him?” She asks. You don’t answer.

“He’s…different. Mean, angry, but he showed up. Helped save the world.” You listen to her talk.

She’s bonded to this Logan and you can’t fault her for that. They talked all night. But you can’t push aside everything that easily. So you stand up, give her one last hug, and tell her she can find you anytime. Your doors are always open to her. Without another word you walk away from Wade’s apartment and back to your own little world.

You thought that would be the end of it, you really hoped it would be. That you would never have to see him again. A part of you longed for it. To hold him. To feel him. But he’s not yours. Your wrist remains bare and while everyone else seems to be happy, you’re still stuck in the past. You avoided Wades calls and kept to yourself.

Choosing only to spend time with Laura when she asked. Usually it was lunch but sometimes it was just coming over to watch a movie. It was nice, you really did miss her. It was supposed to be lunch today but she was late.

Finally she knocks at the door and you get ready to tease her for being late. Instead when the door opens you see him. The words die out in your throat as you stand frozen.

“Can I come in?” He asks but you don’t really hear him. You get it, he’s standing here and he’s Logan. But it feels like you’re staring at a ghost. His voice doesn’t sound real. This doesn’t feel. Real. He places a hand on your shoulder, a worried look on his face. The moment his hand meets your shoulder you jump back. Hissing like it burns. He jerks his hand back.

“What the fuck?” You rub your shoulder and finally find the words to say anything.

“What are you doing here?”

“Laura can’t make it, she sent me over here to tell you.” He says flatly. He’s lying. Looks like he’s got the same tell. You scoff and narrow your eyes.

“She has my number, she could have called me.” Logan shifts on his feet. Clenching his jaw slightly as he sighs.

“Fine. I wanted to come. I needed to see you.” He confesses.

“Look I don’t know who I was in your universe but I’m not them so I think you should go.” You try to close the door but he pushes it back with ease. He walks into your apartment, slamming the door behind you.

“What the fuck Logan.” You huff as he steps closer to you.

“I’m sorry okay but I saw you at Wade’s and you didn’t even spare me a look all night.”

“Sorry that I wasn’t jumping into the fucking arms of a man who looks like my dead husband.” You spit harshly.

"Oh and seeing my dead soulmate is easy for me?” He spits back. His eyes flashing with anger for a second before he tries to calm himself down. Which isn’t easy but this is important.

You soak in what he said. So you were soulmates in his universe too. And you were dead. Maybe you have more in common than you thought. He takes a deep breath and starts again. There’s more vulnerability to him this time. It’s peeking through his tough exterior as he tries to explain it all.

“I know that, we’re not the same people and I would have left you alone if it wasn’t for…” He looks down at his thumb and rubs it along his other fingers.

“What?” You don’t understand what he’s talking about. Logan looks up, confusion on his face.

“Logan what are you-” You cut off as the realization sets in. No. No. No. NO. You look down at your own hands and see nothing. You shut your eyes tight as you clench your fists.

“Sweetheart..” “No! Don’t call me that.” You shove his chest harshly.

He’s not your soulmate. He is not your Logan. This is a cruel cruel fucking world apparently. As if you haven’t lost enough in your life now it’s taunting you with. With this.

“There’s nothing.”

“You couldn’t see it in my world either.” Logan tries to talk but you glare at him.

“Well I can in this world and I’m telling you there’s nothing!” You yell.

The feelings you’ve pressed down and down were bubbling to the surface. God you hated it, the heartbreak, the pain, the grief. You couldn’t even stand to look at him right now. He’s a reminder of everything you’ve lost. It could never be the same.

“Get out.” Your voice starts at a low growl but Logan hears it loud and clear.

“If you would just-”

“No. I mourned you. I watched you die and I watched our connection, our cord fall off like it was nothing. I can’t do this. So just Get. Out!” You scream.

An uncomfortable silence settles and Logan relents. He has so much he wants to say to you but you it's not the time. So he leaves. You wait for a second after the door clicks closed before you let it all out. Sobs wracking your body as it feels like you’re reliving that terrible day.

Logan stands on the other side of your door. Hearing every whimper and cry. It breaks his heart. He could break down this damn door and scoop you up in his arms. Hold you close. You’re his soulmate, the love of his life. But he just can’t. Time, that’s what you need. So even though it pains him, he walks away. He won’t give up on you though, he swears. 

-

Life after your little conversation with Logan fucking sucked. You stopped talking to Wade, to Laura. Kept to yourself in your apartment all day. All night. You ignored the calls, the knocks at the door. You just stopped everything. Drinking away the pain until it lulls you to sleep. The only peace you get. Even then the nightmares don’t stop. Every moment of your life is torture.

The worst part was that sometimes, you swear you feel it. That tug. That sign that there’s someone on the other end. But the man for you was 6ft under. You wonder if it was really there. If this Logan wasn’t lying. Even if he could see it, that didn’t mean you wanted it. How could you? Would this Logan die just like yours? Would you have to watch his slow painful death again? You couldn’t, you just couldn’t.

Eventually it all became too much. Like just being in the same city was too close. You needed to get far away. As far as you fucking could. Away from everyone who knew you as you are now. You pack your clothes, leave a note for Laura and get into your car and drive. It all feels too similar. Driving away until you couldn’t anymore. Ignoring the tugs on your thumb. Telling yourself that it wasn’t real. That your brain was tricking you.

Finding some cheap motel deep in some random town. This could be good. You’re far from anyone who knew you, knew Logan. It was good. The bed creaked and there were roaches in the bathroom but still. This is for the best. 

-

Logan knew something was up the moment you had left. He could just feel it. He watched the string get tight and tighter, stretching beyond its limits. Still it didn’t break. He barged into your house and found you gone. He swore and nearly took Wade's head off when he opened his mouth. He didn’t waste any time. Stealing Wade's car without a second thought. He didn’t know where you went but he just drove. All he knew is that he lost you once. Somehow the universe decided he would get another chance and he was not losing you again. 

He followed his gut as he drove through different states and towns. None of them felt like the right place. The cord on his thumb tugged and tugged. Like it was guiding him right to you. Finally he rolled into some old town in the middle of fucking nowhere. There was nothing in this town. A store, a gas station, and a bar.

Guess that’s all people really need around here. Still something inside of him tells him to stop. He pulls up to the dusty bar lot. Feet heavy as he stomps through the doors. His eyes scan the patrons and he realizes why he came here. There you were, sitting at the bar alone. You looked tired, exhausted really. But you looked like the empty shell of who he knew. He can’t stop himself as he walks over to you. What does he even say? I tracked you for days and now I’m here. No, that's not right. You don’t even notice he’s there. Too wrapped up in your head. So he sits and orders a drink. Still mulling over what to say he decides on something short. Just one word.

“Hey.”  You shoot up in the seat. Eyes wide as you look over to see him. What the actual fuck.

“You left.” He says like he’s confused on why you did. Was it not obvious? You stare at him in disbelief.

“Fuck this.” You mumble to yourself.

You throw down some money and slip off the seat. If you were lucky this was just a really bad dream or hallucination. If you weren’t lucky, which you never were, then he tracked you down and somehow fucking found you.

“Wait.” Logan pays for the drink he didn’t even touch and follows you out.

“Go the fuck home!” You yell as you hurry towards the motel. He’s hot on your tail, not letting you out of his sight.

“No, we need to talk.” He follows you all the way to your motel room. You open the door and try to slam it closed but he’s too quick. 

“Running isn’t gonna fucking help. Trust me.”

“Oh give me a fucking break. Of all the people to preach that to me it’s not going to be you.” You hiss as you try to push him out.

He’s like a fucking wall as he stands in the way. You hit his chest over and over but he won’t budge. He grabs your wrist and pushes you into the room. Pushing you against the door.  Stopping you from going anywhere.

“Get the fuck off me!”

“No, just listen to me for fucks sake.” He growls. You let out a frustrated scream and finally relented. 

“I lost you, in my world I lost you and I was never the same. I know how you feel, I really do. Fuck I held your cold, lifeless body. You say you watched your cord break well. I basically snapped the cord myself. Walking away, letting you die.” His head drops as he seems to relive it all over again. His grip on your wrists loosen, your arms sliding down to your sides.

“Then I show up here and I wake up and this is here.”: He lets go of one of your wrists to show you his hand. His thumb is still bare to you but he sees it. It’s connected right to yours.

“I’m not the same man, I’ve done some terrible things and I regret them every day but it made me the man I am now. I know that means jack shit to you but it means a lot to me.” He cups your face, letting your hands free. If you were to leave he couldn’t stop you but you find yourself planted to the ground.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve this, but you’re my soulmate. We’re meant for each other. I’ll belong to you forever.” You tense up as you recall your Logan saying those very words. It’s too much. You can’t, you just can’t. “

Stop please,” You beg. Tears starting to fall from your eyes.

“I can’t do this Logan, watching you die killed me inside. I loved you, I still love you but, I can’t. I’m scared.” You cry and he wipes away the tears. He keeps you close, knowing the pain, the fear.

“I read a lot about soulmates, you were always jealous I could see cords and you couldn’t.” There’s a hint of a smile as he recalls his life with you.

“You made me read those books. In them they say that two people are connected forever. Through time and space. Maybe through universes too.” He tilts your head and leans closer, his lips ghosting yours.

“I know you’re scared, I am too. But I promised to love you, to take care of you. We’re not the same but we can learn to love each other as we are. Broken, tired, full of baggage.”

You look at him, he’s got the same eyes. The fear of losing him again still fills your heart. Could this really be destiny? Were you meant to find each other? Fate is a funny thing isn’t it.

“Kiss me.” You whisper and he does. Smashing his lips onto yours with a ferocity that takes your breath away. He’s hungry, desperate as he moves you from the door to the bed. The bed creaks loudly as the two of you fall onto the bed. Your hands run through his hair as his arms wrap around your body.

“Logan..” You gasp as he bites your lip roughly, allowing him to deepen the kiss.

It feels so right, so perfect. Being in his arms is everything you need. You pull away breathless, foreheads resting against each other as you catch your breath. He sees the vulnerability in your eyes. The walls you’ve built up start to tumble down and Logan proudly holds the hammer.

“I love you, I’ll always love you.” He caresses your cheek as he stares into your eyes.

“I love you too.” You close your eyes and pray when you open them he’ll still be there.

You feel the tug on your thumb and this time you don’t ignore it. Slowly opening your eyes you look down and see it. You can actually see it. It’s a different shade of red and now it’s on your thumb tied in a bow. You follow the string and it leads right to Logan.

“I see it.” You whisper in awe. Logan smiles, tightening his hold onto you as you keep your eyes on the cord. It’s a little worn down but so are the two of you. It’s perfect.

“Let me take you home.” Logan says, burying his face in your neck. Kissing every spot he can.

Home. You hadn’t thought of any place as home in a long time. But now you have one. A home with Logan, with Laura. Even with Wade and Al and Peter.

But what home really is, is right here in Logan's arms. You feel a weight off your chest as you melt into his arms. Letting yourself be happy, finding yourself in a situation you never thought you’d get to be in again. 

Somehow, through space and time, through all of the multiverse. It doesn’t matter how or when. You two were destined to be together.

Forever and Always.

[yrbladie]

♡ ﾟ˖ ॱ ▎WHEN THEY LOSE YOU ㅤ𝅄 🌿 ꒱

˖ ࣪ ayato, diluc, kaeya, neuvillette, zhongli

warnings ：angst, hurt no comfort, mentions of death and body (yours), sad bois, some have quite a comforting ending, others not so much, gn! reader, established relationship, implied marriage (ayato, diluc, zhongli), reader is called 'beautiful' (kaeya), spoiler free, non fluent writer

ㅤHe doesn't weep at first. Don't get him wrong, though, it's just that how could he ever fathom the thought of not having you by his side anymore?

ㅤYou were taken from his arms so suddenly that he wondered if you were ever real since the start, or only a fragment of his imagination, something that had always only belonged to his most beautiful dreams.

ㅤThe only way he knew you were indeed real was by the way people would talk behind his back when they thought he wasn't paying attention, talking about how sloppy he had become. Or the way he would still find small bits of you sprawled over his desk. Trinkets you gave him, and the letters you had sent to him the last time you went to visit your homeland for a week, knowing your lover would miss you too much.

ㅤIt suddenly dawns on him at that moment. How you were not there anymore, how he would never see you again, see your bright and beautiful smile or hear your giggle at his poor cooking skills.

ㅤAt that moment when he suddenly misses you, Ayato gets up and goes to visit you. In a place he never thought he would see you. Buried under the Sakura tree you planted with him last summer, the one where you both had wished for it to be as eternal as your love for each other.

ㅤHe sees your grave filled with flowers and gifts from the people you had known, and even finds the bouquet of flowers Thoma had sent under his name. And he kneels beside it, staring at your name written there.

ㅤHe still felt guilty, that he was not there for you when you needed him the most. That he was busy with work above anything else again. He could have protected you oh so easily, and he wasn't there.

ㅤ"I hope you can forgive this stupid lover of yours, my dear."

ㅤForgive him for everything. Forgive him for not loving you better, and for not being strong enough to be there when you died nor when you were buried.

ㅤAyato now knew, dreams are never meant to last.

ㅤWhen people saw you both together on the streets, with Diluc carefully holding your hand or touching the small of your back to guide you through the streets, like you were made of the finest porcelain, everyone thought they were going crazy.

ㅤThere was no way, the master Diluc Ragnvindr, the uncrowned king of Mondstadt, unmatched in every possible way, had gotten himself a lover.

ㅤWhen you arrived it was like a breath of fresh air for everyone who knew Diluc. You made him a different man, made people see a different side of him Diluc himself doubted existed.

ㅤAnd you were everything to him. Until the fateful day you were forcibly taken from him.

ㅤBut still, he couldn't hope to grieve, he had no time to let himself stop and rest, not even for a minute. In a minute so many things can happen, just like in a minute you were gone.

ㅤDiluc still had Mondstadt to protect, and he would focus solely on that for as long as there was still air in his lungs. Even if his torn heart still churned in pain everyday.

ㅤEven if in the darkest hours of the night, just before dawn, he would still sit alone in his dimly lit room, the weight of his grief pressing down on him like a heavy shroud. The walls of his manor, once filled with laughter and love, now seemed to echo with the emptiness of his loss. The air was heavy with the scent of fading memories.

ㅤEverything in your shared room is a bittersweet reminder of the warmth that had once been, now slipping through the cracks of time.

ㅤOutside, the world moved on, without you. And Diluc couldn't understand it, for his world was you. Every moment without you felt like an eternity.

ㅤAnd in those short moments he wept. Letting the pain flow freely, as if by releasing it, he could somehow reach across the chasm that separated you both. And he still could somehow feel your presence in brief moments, a soft whisper in the breeze or a fleeting glimpse in a dream.

ㅤDiluc had experience in mourning, and he knew that one day, the sharpness of his pain might dull, but his love for you would remain eternally vibrant, a testament to the life you had shared.

ㅤIn his own way, he would carry on, honoring your memory with each step forward, holding you close in the chambers of his heart, as he navigated the path of grief, one tear and one memory at a time.

ㅤIn that way, Diluc could forever hold you close to his heart somehow. The idea that you would have liked that he kept protecting those you had come to love, gave him comfort as he got up for another day.

ㅤYou were his first, but also his last.

ㅤOh, to be loved by the Cavalry Captain, with his deceiving smiles and well thought words. People used to call him such a heartbreaker before you came along and showed to all that Kaeya Alberich could be so much more than that.

ㅤIt seemed like he always had a smile reserved only for you. Different from the grins and crooked smiles he gave for others. With you nothing was ever fake, you had managed to tear down the walls he built to keep himself safe each and every time, no matter how much he tried to keep you at an arm's length.

ㅤBefore Kaeya even noticed you had already made a home in his heart and had no plans of leaving.

ㅤBut of course, fate had always found its way to mock him. He could but only watch as your life slipped past his fingers like sand, no matter how much he held onto you and begged the skies not to take you. Not you too.

ㅤIn the end, Kaeya still had to carry back your lifeless body to Mondstadt, back to your home where you belonged.

ㅤBut did he still belong there now? He was once again reminded of his purpose, the destiny that hung heavily above his head, like a death sentence forever haunting and taunting him. A destiny he just couldn’t seem to escape.

ㅤCursed to loneliness, to destruction. He should have known he didn’t deserve all the happiness you had brought along with your love to his wretched life.

ㅤYou had slipped away, leaving behind a void that seemed insurmountable. In the beginning, Kaeya refused to acknowledge the cruel twist of fate. He clung to the hope that this was all a nightmare, a cruel illusion that would dissipate with the morning light.

ㅤDays turned into nights, and reality set in, stubborn and unyielding. The denial that had once shielded him from the harsh truth began to crumble like a fragile dam battered by the relentless waves of sorrow.

ㅤHe still remembered everything about you. While others would talk about how sweet you were to everyone, Kaeya would remember the laughter shared on lazy Sunday mornings, the whispered promises exchanged under a blanket of stars, and the simple joys of a life built together.

ㅤHe still had your portrait on his desk, a painful reminder of how beautiful you looked when you smiled up at him. And he still wondered how you were. Are you happy now, wherever you are? Are you safe?

ㅤOr do you miss him like he misses you?

ㅤKaeya only found solace on those lonely starry nights, where he laid by himself on the grassy field he always hated, saying the grass always got stuck at his hair as you laughed, calling him such a drama king.

ㅤAnd as the first rays of dawn began to set in, he smiled.

ㅤThe pain remained, a constant companion, but it transformed into a tribute—a testament to a love that transcended the boundaries of mortality. With a heavy heart, he got up, in a silent acknowledgment that life, though forever altered, would continue.

ㅤHe would carry your cherished memories with him into an uncertain tomorrow. With a newfound strength—a resilient ember burning in the ashes of loss, Kaeya had to carry on.

ㅤEven if his fate overtakes him once more one day, the whispers of your voice, urging him to embrace life would always remind him that there was something out there worth fighting for. And that one day, when his body and heart rests for one last time, he will meet you again.

ㅤThe skies of Fontaine have never been cloudier than since the day you died. The rain poured down, seeming endless. Like a mourning prayer for another loss the nation held.

ㅤYour funeral was quiet and quite lonely. You had not really been a person that went out each and everyday, or that easily befriended all that you met through your day. You were a common person, like any other in Fontaine, maybe just a little weird with your outlander ways.

ㅤBut Neuvillette still loved you anyway.

ㅤYour love for each other was nothing grand nor loud. It was almost timid, but shined brightly like an unwavering ember.

ㅤSo it didn't come as a surprise that no one knew about your relationship with each other. Neuvillette was, before anything, an important and key figure in Fontaine, his every move scrutinized under the city's gaze, yet whose true emotions remain hidden behind a mask of stoicism.

ㅤEven to the end, he couldn't even attend your funeral. Watching from the sidelines, like an outsider. He watched as your loved ones paid their respects, leaving their flowers and good wishes that you now may be safe, in the arms of the gods.

ㅤNeuvillette wanted to scoff at this. The gods were silent as their people suffered under their gaze. And most of all, there was no space for people like you on their golden mighty thrones.

ㅤWhen everyone parted and left only your lonely tombstone, did Neuvillette finally came to pay his own respects as the rain fell heavier, a reflection of how he felt inside. Like a storm that could never break free from the clutches of a well maintained facade of a composed judge.

ㅤYou made him so vulnerable as each time you touched his skin, his heart longed for more of you, with feelings he couldn't understand.

ㅤIf only he had noticed sooner, if only he had met you sooner.

ㅤIf only you were still here. To show him comfort once more.

ㅤBut as the calm and collected Iudex wept by the lonely grave, you were still gone.

ㅤAnd in the next day and even the next after that, every day became an act. An imperturbable, endless theatrical piece. Worthy of even being presented at the opera house.

ㅤAnd as Neuvillette still conducted each trial with unperturbed accuracy, the outside seemed to have forgotten about you. But not him, never.

ㅤHe still heard your voice, just outside his office, while you laughed with the Melusines. He still asked for two cups of tea to be prepared and people wondered who the other cup was for. And he still had the official documents where you accidentally doodled on and had apologized profusely for doing it, but Neuvillette had never held it against you.

ㅤAnd he still loved you. Each day when the rain started again, the pitter patter sound followed the judge as he disappeared through the corners of Fontaine to find you once again.

ㅤHis life was destined to be eternal, and so was his love for you, despite the fact you weren't by his side anymore.

ㅤAnd as Neuvillette still found small flowers and trinkets left on your grave, he knew he would not be the only one to forever remember about you.

ㅤThe God of Contracts was no stranger to loss and to mourning. He himself had buried more friends than he could count.

ㅤHe had an immortal soul and an unyielding memory. His friends were forever reminders on his everyday life, that he got to walk the places they never had a chance to see.

ㅤEvery time, he caught himself reminiscing about you, about your shared laughter under the bustling night time of Liyue, and the dreams over breakfast.

ㅤAnd how fate took you away from him.

ㅤThe town now seemed to be filled with a haunting silence, even if nothing much had changed. The vendors still called for him to eat and buy their products, he still watched the same plays and stories. But now every corner held a memory, a reminder.

ㅤDays turned to nights, and nights into days, but the pain persisted, insistently. Zhongli found solace in the shadows of the past, where memories of your happiness still lingered like a sweet melody.

ㅤHe never thought of himself as someone to be stuck in time. But your presence and your loss seemed to have made an ever deeper impact on his life than he initially thought.

ㅤAs the years went by, he would still wait for you. With the hope and the heartache that the skies would relent at his incessant prayers and return you to his arms, in another form, in another life, it didn't matter.

ㅤStill, he knew he was not alone. Hu Tao would pat him in the back gently in an almost nudging manner every day, encouraging him to go out again, to rest more. And slowly Zhongli felt like he could gather the shattered pieces of his heart again. Like his wounded soul still had a purpose.

ㅤEven if his body and mind eroded until there was nothing more left of him, he thought that all the memories of you would still be his most cherished treasures.

ㅤAnd so, in the quiet town where love once blossomed and sorrow cast its shadow, Zhongli would learn once more to carry the weight of loss with gentleness. The stars above forever witnesses of his eternal and enduring love for you.

ㅤIn the small shrine he built above your grave, where Zhongli could still feel your presence sometimes, through your pictures and the incense. His heart was finally at peace.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ《◇》

[ragingbookdragon]

Blame It On The Beach, Grown Men Don't Cry

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader One-Shot

Word Count: 1K Warnings: Explicit Language, Angst

Author's Note: Someone on TT said "What if Hangman lost his wingman?" in response to Rooster's "The only place you'll lead anyone is an early grave." ...enjoy :')

**********************************************************************

Hangman, the only place you’ll lead anyone is an early grave.

He lay in his bed, replaying the words over and over again, guilt and shame swirling in his gut as he remembered the way everyone looked on with pity when the words left Rooster’s mouth. He hid the immediate reaction behind an amused smile, but inside, turmoil was eating away at his rib cage. Before he knew what he was doing, he thumbed through his contacts and pressed the call button under her name. It rang and rang until the voicemail answered.

Hey, hey! Can’t come to the phone right now, I’m busy flying high! Leave your name and message and I’ll hit you up when I can!

He frowned as he pulled the phone away from his ear and set it down on the nightstand before he rubbed the back of his palms to his eyes, hard enough that he saw stars glinting in them. He debated getting some shut eye, but maybe a run around the flight line would burn off some of the emotion he felt. It’s what he always did when things got to heavy to handle.

The shrill notes of Zach Bryan’s “I Remember Everything” startled him and he quickly grabbed his phone, swiping it before he put it to his ear.

“Hey Jake,” she greeted over the line. “Sorry, I was brushing my teeth and didn’t hear my phone.”

He smiled tightly even though she couldn’t see it. “Nah, don’t worry, it’s fine. I just…wanted to talk.”

“Ooo, are we having girl problems again?” she teased and this time, his grin widened.

“No, no girl problems today,” he answered. “Just…wanted to hear your voice.”

The line went silent for a moment then she asked, “You okay, Jake? You sound upset about something.”

Even hundreds of miles apart and over a telephone line, she could still read him so well.

“It’s nothing major,” he said, shrugging his shoulders.

“C’mon, pretty boy, lay it on me. What’s up?”

Jake’s jaw clenched and he sighed quietly before saying, “You remember Rooster?”

“Rooster…” he could imagine the pinching of her expression as she desperately tried to recall the name and face.

“Bradley Bradshaw?”

“Ah, Rooster! Yeah, I remember him. Overly cautious and rather quiet if I recall.”

“Yeah…” he murmured. “He…said something today at the Hard Deck that got to me.”

She hummed. “I also don’t recall Rooster being the type to antagonize anyone unless provoked. What’d you do?”

“How do you know I did anything?” he retorted with an irritated expression.

“Because your big head likes provoking for shits and giggles. C’mon, Jake, what’d you do?”

“It’s…about the mission we’ve been recalled for.”

“Yeah, I remember you were saying you were recalled back to Top Gun. What’d you say at the bar?”

Jake made a nose in his throat akin to annoyance. “Again, not everything is my fault.” He defended but her snort had him smiling, and then he frowned and murmured, “I made some dick comment about the others following me as team leader.”

“Okay, so you being you?” she responded confused. “And I’m assuming that’s where Rooster comes in?”

He didn’t respond for a moment.

“Jake?”

He clenched his jaw, “Rooster said…he said…” Jake let out a sigh and muttered, “He said the only place I’d lead anyone is an early grave.” He heard her intake of breath, and he continued, “And then everyone got real quiet and I…”

“Jake, it wasn’t your fault.”

He shut his eyes. “It was.”

“Jake,” she murmured. “It was an accident.”

“It doesn’t make me feel any less guilty,” he said softly. “I…I left you behind, my wingman, and you—”

“Jake, I got shot down by a bogey. Not you. You didn’t do anything wrong. You upheld the mission standards.”

“I fucking paralyzed you!” he hissed. “And got you medically discharged! I did that!”

“Jake, I’m not mad at you. When are you going to let it go? I’m not angry. I let it go.” She hummed softly. “Jake, just because I’m not in the Navy or in a jet anymore, doesn’t mean I’m not still enjoying my life. Honey, there’s more to life than flying and service.”

“But you wanted to be an admiral…and teach at Top Gun,” he said softly.

“Jake, honey, you’ve gotta let it go,” she murmured. “My life now is not your failure.”

He felt the sting burning hot in his eyes as he shut them. “I can’t forgive myself for what I did. For what I did to you.”

“Oh, Jake Seresin. Such a contrast to be so cocky yet so soft and caring.”

“Don’t patronize me,” he whispered.

“I’m not. But you have to admit, it hurts to hide that bleeding heart you’ve got behind that big ego of yours.”

“…maybe a little,” he muttered.

“Jake?” she asked softly.

“Yeah?”

“You gotta start letting it go, honey. I’m not mad and depressed with life anymore. Honey, I’m happy. I work a good job, I have a good home and good friends. I help other veterans like me. Jake, I’m okay.”

Jake’s throat tightened impossibly. “…you sure?”

“I’m sure, honey,” she answered. “I’m right as rain and go for lift-off.”

“Yeah?” he asked through the tears.

“Yeah, Jake, I’m good.” She shuffled around on the other side of the line. “Now, if I know you, you’re gonna go take a run to burn off all this unknown emotion called ‘feeling.’”

“Ha-ha, very funny.”

“I am. I’m hilarious.” She laughed on the other end of the line. “And remember, Jake, never be a stranger, okay? Working pelvis and legs or not, I’m still your wingman.”

“Floating like a butterfly?”

“And stinging like a bee,” she answered with a smile. “Love you, Jake. I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”

“Yeah, you too,” he murmured, hanging up. “I love you too.”

He set his phone back down on the nightstand and looked at the ceiling with a tired expression, then he turned out the light and rolled over, closing his eyes.

[urmomschocolatemilk]

Simon x reader

This is something I wrote a while ago, its honestly old and I might've posted it before tbh. It's not proof read at all so sorry if it doesn't make sense. I was lowk going through it during the time I wrote it to and it lowk sucks so yeah...enjoy!

Your hands are folded neatly in your lap, resting on top of your legs that are tucked under each other in a criss-cross position like you were taught to sit in elementary. Your back is straight, your posture unusually rigid and proper for someone sitting inside their own home. The lights are off and the streets outside your window are empty. Everything is dark, quiet, peaceful. You think you like the world better like this. 

You try to sink further back into the soft cushions of your couch, try to relax and let go of all the pent up stress and sadness manifesting itself in tense muscles. It’s no use though, almost like your body doesn’t think you deserve the smallest luxury of comfort.  

There’s a rolling in your chest as you stare out into the dark abyss. Your heart beats with hurt, the type that makes you want to reach into your rib cage and squeeze it until the pain is quelled. Where there was once sadness and sorrow is now filled with a gut churning emptiness. Your mind is quiet yet so loud all at the same time, your heart so heavy and so empty. The worst part of it all though is nothing feels real.  

Everything is so far but so close all at the same time. Maybe you’ll wake up tomorrow, on soft cotton sheets, and the cold of your satin pillow case and this will all have been a dream. A reality that only existed in your mind.  

Your fingers burn as they brush against one another, your face sticky with dried tears. Your eyes and lips are slightly swollen and your face is puffy. You’ll need to ice it in the morning.  

The bedroom door creaks, and your head turns towards the sound.  

“Sweetheart?” A gravely voice calls to you. His accent is think, his voice deep and ravished with sleep. You’re still so lost in your thoughts that his voice sounds distant, like background noise at the back of your brain. Your brows furrow in worry and concentration as you try to focus in on it.  

“Simon? Did I wake you?” You ask. You’d tried to be as quiet as possible.  

He pauses to take in your figure for a moment, assessing the situation. Ever the soldier.  

“No.” His gruff voice finally responds. You had. But he figures it’s best not to tell you. There’s a pause of silence before he rubs his eyes and speaks again, “Come to bed.”  

“I’ll be there in a bit.”  

He shakes his head, pushing himself off the doorway and crossing the dark space in a few long strides. Before you can protest, his arms are wrapped around you, lifting you from your spot on the couch, he sits in your place, placing you on his lap.  

His presence is calming, the weight of his arms around you grounding, and the feeling of his chest rising and falling against your back soothing. It pulled you out of your own head.  

Simons has never been good with words; he’s always been better at taking action. The first time something like this happened he wasn’t sure what to do, wasn’t even sure if he was going to be able to help. But this silent, wordless comfort was what you needed. 

It was easier to focus on everything but voices in moments like these. Specifically touch. That always felt the realist. 

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, shifting under you to get more comfortable and tugging you down with him. The warmth of his body coaxed you to relax and when his fingers started to need at the newly formed knots in your back you obliged, melting into him.  

“Feel good?” He mumbles to you quietly. You hum a yes in response, slipping your eyes shut. A wave of drowsiness hits you.  

Your ear rests against his heart, you tune into the sound of soft thumping. Briefly you wonder why listening to the muscle that breathes life into someone is so soothing. The thought is fleeting though, as sleep is pulling you into its hold. Your tired mind aches for rest and you agree, letting yourself slip out of consciousness.  

[angstywaifu]

heyyyyy......can you do a one where the reader dies and how do you think the fourthwing men will be during and after it....

This was not what I expected when I said I wanted more of these. I love and hate this at the same time….. My poor boys. I tried to do Dain, Sawyer and Ridoc…. I just could not think of anything. If I do think of something I definitely will come back and edit this.

Garrick.

I think this will extend to a lot of our boys (especially our marked boys), but anyone he considers a friend is someone he considers to be close to him. But I do think we will get some deviation between someone who is a friend, and someone he is romantically involved with.

Regardless this man will be upset, but I don’t think he would outwardly show that. He likes to keep up appearances, so I think he would keep most of his grieving and sadness behind closed doors or around the ones he cares about. Like Xaden he is a leader, and he wants to keep that appearance up and not look weak. I do however think if you were romantically involved with him, there would be a higher chance of him breaking down or lashing out when initially finding out. This would probably come down to how he finds out though. If he watched it happen during a fight/battle, this man is definitely lashing out at whoever caused it, making sure they meet their end by his hands if possible. I don’t see him out right tunnel visioning them, but it would be pretty close. If he finds out after it has happened, he would go silent, internally trying to process what’s happened before walking off. The only indication he’s hurting would be him slamming a door open/shut as he walks away.

Afterwards I think he would take some time to come good again. He’d probably keep up the appearance he’s fine and doing ok where he can, but he’s definitely more moody and grumpy than normal. But I think when he’s on his own in bed at night is when he would let out his emotions properly. He’d probably visit your grave or a place you liked to go to and just sit and remember the times you did have together.

Xaden.

I feel like we can all imagine what this man is going to be like based off how he talks to Violet and what he is willing to do for her. So lets base this off as if you were Violet. Unlike Garrick I think this man would tunnel vision if he saw you die in a fight/battle. He is seeing red till that person is six feet under. This man is willing to sacrifice and do anything for you.

If he isn’t there when it happens, you better hope you’re not the one to tell him. Shadows would swarm from everywhere as he glares down at them, demanding they tell him everything and to take him to you immediately.

Afterwards this man would be moody and lash out if someone even looked at him the wrong way. He wont admit it to anyone, but he always carries something of yours with him after.

Bodhi.

He would definitely be shocked. Tears forming in his eyes, shaking his head in denial. He can’t believe you’re dead. You can’t be. If he was there he’d cradle you in his arms, hoping you’d open your eyes and it would all be a bad dream. But the weight of you in his arms is all too real.

Afterwards he would be very quiet. He wouldn’t be moody like Garrick or Xaden. Not even trying to hide how broken he is after. He’d definitely visit your grave or a place you liked frequently. And if he couldn’t, he’d always make sure to take something of yours with him as a reminder. A necklace, a book you liked, maybe even a drawing you did. He just needs something of you nearby for those moments where he just wants to sit on his own and remember you.

Liam.

He’d rush over to you, the word no falling from his lips repeatedly as he sees you lying there. Just like Bodhi he can’t believe you’re dead. He just kneels there holding you, running his thumb across your cheek as he cradles your head. Silent tears falling down his face. The others try to talk to him, get him to move. But he doesn’t register any of them. Not till Xaden kneels next to him, finally braking him from the trance he’s in.

Afterward he does his best to be his normal self. But the spark that’s usually in his eyes is long gone. His smile not as bright as it used to be.

He’d definitely make a wood carving that represents you. Your dragon if you were a rider, or a flower or animal that reminds him of you if you weren’t. He’d sit it on his bedside table where he can see it every morning and night. One day Xaden comes to see him and sees it, a smile pulling at his lips when he notices it.

Brennan.

I could see him instinctively going to heal/mend you, a knee jerk reaction to seeing you hurt. But a voice in the back of his head reminding him of Naolin stops him just before he can place his hands on you.

On the outside, he appears fined his features giving nothing away. Internally though he’s a mess. He isn’t a stranger to loss and death, but something about it being you is eating him up inside.

Due to his position, no one knew how close you two really were. So to the others he looks fine. Nothing has changed. His mood might seem a little off here and there. But nothing that could alarm anyone to the emotions running rampant in his head.

Late at night he would sneak out to your grave. Just sitting there as he either reads, writes or even just to talk. Something he thinks goes unnoticed, but a few times Mira or Violet have seen him sneak off.

[neonpaperlanterns]

Hi! I hope you're having a good time of day!

I was curious if you would be open for a more angsty story with the bestest boy DogDay? Like, they have an encounter with CatNap where Angel gets an open wound that they need to stitch up later. And DogDay can't do anything about it with his hands being too big, so all he can do is comfort his Angel and encourage them? Just him being as supportive as he can be and amazed with his Angel's determination?

It's okay if you dont want to write something like this though! Thank you for your time! Your stories are really good with their captivating nature!

[A/n: So I hope you like this anon. I think I went deeply into the angst.]

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If only

It all happened so fast. One moment you were next to DogDay and the next you were gone. Flung across the rubble as if you were an unloved toy.

And standing in your place was Catnap with his mouth hung open and red smoke spilling everywhere. After years of exposure DogDay had grown unaffected by the worming hallucinations. He knew what was real and at first he assumed what he was seeing wasn’t. 

It couldn't be. 

No matter what you always got back up. You were their shining light, their hope, their Angel. You always got back up. So the fact that you weren’t moving just had to be fake. The slowly pooling puddle of red he was seeing? Trick of the smoke. It had to be. You were fine. He was sure of it. 

His Angel always got back up. 

Always.

But then why did it feel so real? It couldn’t be. It wasn’t. It was the smoke playing tricks on him. Peeling back the layers of his frazzled mind to poke and prod at something new he could be taunted with.

A wheezing laugh made his head snap up. The cat was looking at him. That horrible smile he saw in his nightmares and every fractured mirror was turned towards him. Malice and a sick sense of satisfaction dripped from that grinning face. 

“Is something wrong?” DogDay felt something hot and acidic pool in the back of his throat. 

“Is it them?” His hands are trembling as Catnap moves his gaze over to you. He can’t move his arms as the former Smiling Critter sways towards you. His gait slow and with purpose as those eyes that only held deranged devotion glanced back at him.

“Oh, must not be.” It was said with a gravely snicker a single dirty purple paw rose into the air. It was done so slowly, as if Catnap wanted him to see every minute movement. Even through the dim light and thick smoke he can see the twitching claws that hover over you. 

And you still haven’t moved. Still lying limp as that monster loomed over you. He felt like his heart was going to beat out of his chest at this clear taunt. 

“Are- AAAHHHHHHHH!” A horrendous screech filled the air. Blips of orange were beacons in the crimson fog. DogDay felt himself lurch forward, arms still shaking, as he watched Catnap rear back. A bright flare sizzled in his throat as he stumbled away. 

“Let's go.” Your body slams into his as you shuffle him along. Your grip on him is tight as you take the majority of his weight. He’s reeling as joy sears through him. It was a trick. You hadn’t actually been crumbled beneath that cat. You were fine. He had just been seeing things. Tears pricked along his eyes. He was just so happy. His Angel was okay and had been the entire time. 

And he didn’t want to let go when you stumbled into a supply closet. He wanted to stay in your arms but as you sagged to the floor he noticed something. Pulling away he thought he was still under the effects of the red smoke. 

He had to be. 

Under the flickering lights he saw how your side was soaked with blood. Gnarled slashes marred your skin. 

“What…” Shakily he reached out. He was so sure you had been alright. So sure that it had all been a hallucination. That it had just been Catnap messing with him because he found a new weakness to exploit. But it hadn’t been. 

DogDay doesn’t know what to do. He is just as useless right now as he was when you had been lying there. 

“We shouldn’t stay here too long. I’m sure Catnap is going to be very upset when he recovers.” You're fumbling around the closet, pushing and moving things around. He wants to help you but he can’t. 

“Hey, are you still with me?” A hand is placed on his shoulder. It startles him and he lists backwards. But you don’t let him fall. Your arms wrap around him, steadying him.

“DogDay are you okay?” You sound so concerned but you shouldn’t. He’s fine, you’re the one that got hurt! He should be asking you these questions. He should be helping you!

“Angel I..” His voice came out hoarse and warbled. He can’t even speak properly! What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he help you? Why couldn’t he be there for you? You asked for nothing and he couldn’t even do that! You did everything, all the time. It was always you and he loved you for that. But God he just wanted to do something for you. If only he was a bit more like you. 

Why couldn’t he be more like you? 

Why did he have to be him?

[stitched-mouth-vs-the-world]

can you do a gideon graves x gn!reader? any hcs (sfw or nsfw) about anything is fine :3

Dating Gideon Graves Would Include…

Pairing: Gideon Graves x GN! Reader.

Summary: Read the title.

Warnings: Both SFW and NSFW (sections are separated: SFW is first), You take Gideon to therapy because he needs it, Gideon is selfish, Oral sex, 69 position, Mentions of cum, Face-sitting, Face-fucking, Aftercare is necessary!

Writing Time: 30 minutes.

Word Count: 716.

A/N:

I think I went on a rant here… but it’s ok. Hope you enjoy!

—-///—-

SFW

• Dating Gideon “G-Man” Graves… woah.

• You must be bold or something.

• If you’re not, I have no idea what you’re doing.

• Gideon is a little shit, most of the time.

• He loves to tease.

• He wants to see his lover look up to him with tremendous trust, respect and admiration.

• All things I think partners should look at each other with, but Gideon can definitely take it too far at times.

• He wants to submit to him in all ways.

• He’s your saviour and your kind, without him you would be nothing.

• Not very healthy at all.

• For example, he expects you to constantly ask him for permission for everyone.

• Generally he’ll always say yes and laugh at you even asking.

• But if you ever think you don’t need to ask, you’re wrong.

• Do something he’s always said yes to before without asking him prior and he’ll be upset.

• Gideon has got major issues.

• I think you could convince him to go to therapy, both on his own and with you (couples therapy).

• But it might take a couple asks.

• And when you do convince him, he’ll think he’s basically sacrificed himself for you.

• One session and he thinks he’s a new man and YOU owe him for going.

• Will absolutely expect some kind of reward.

• Gideon is a weirdo too.

• It’s normal for him to hang around outside while your taking a shower, kind of weird.

• Won’t join without an invite but it’s still weird as hell.

• Gideon loves to watch you do anything tbh.

• Cooking, cleaning, brushing your teeth, go to work, work, come back from work…

• The little everyday tasks everyone does is just a little more interesting to Gideon when he sees you doing it.

• He likes it if you watch him too, it’s kind of a weird form of love to him.

• Your therapist calls it abandonment and attachment issues.

• Gideon thinks that’s BS and claims he just loves to look at you.

• Which he does, but your therapist is still right though.

NSFW

• Most ‘rewards’ Gideon expects demands are sexual.

• You shouldn’t have to be even told to get on your hands and needs for him after he’s gone to therapy for you.

• Your place is either besides him or underneath him.

• Gideon’s preferred position is 69, don’t fight me on this on.

• In this position, you both get pleasure.

• And despite how selfish Gideon can be, he does want you to feel just as good as him.

• When he’s forcing his dick down your throat and slapping you in the face with his balls, you must surely be enjoying it just as much as him, right?

• And obviously he’ll go down on you afterwards, because that’s only fair.

• Gideon gives oral real lazy though.

• Expects you to just sit on his face but be careful of his hair and face.

• Gideon has definitely flipped out before and killed the mood when you once accidentally came on his face.

• Only in his mouth, inside of him or away from him where it won’t make a mess.

• But obviously he cums all over you, whenever he wants to.

• That’s one of his selfish needs.

• Gideon is surprisingly great at aftercare.

• He will bring you a towel or carry you to the shower, whatever you want.

• Clean you up himself and the toys too if you use them.

• And bring you some tea or water as well.

• Then cuddle you when your both all cleaned up.

• After sex is one of the rare times you’ll see Gideon being kind.

[heaven-s-black-box]

Notes- Worlds Collide Anemo Boys minus Aether x gn!reader

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Recovery date: September 20th, 2024

Description: ok, fourth time?! I rlly am addicted to ur blog atp ╰(*´︶`*)╯♡ so uh this time, maybe the reader and the anemo boys meeting their deceased friends and family? Separately ofc, but maybe not for aether bc I don't rmb him having any deceased friends or family. Thank you, and as always, feel free to delete if this is too angsty for u!! (i think i might come back a lot, so can i be ⭐️ anon? If u allow, ofc!) aaaaaa im so sry i forgot to say that for the anemo boys, i meant that if they're decreased friends and family were still alive what would their relationship be with the reader aaaaaaa in sry😭😭

Notes: This work was recovered in conjunction with researcher ⭐️, we thank them for their contributions. So glad to have you back! I will say it's funny that you were worried it would be too angsty, and I think I made it angstier because bringing the dead back/ making it so they never died would seriously change our character and their stories. So I found other ways for them to meet reader!

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Venti

Unfortunately, retroactively reviving the nameless bard would cause a lot of problems

But, Venti likes to think about how your lives might play out if he were here somehow

He thinks you’d get along

You’d love the bard’s lyre playing

If you sing/play an instrument with Venti, he’ll totally write songs for the three of you

Likes to think you’d play pranks on the bard with him, maybe you would, or maybe you’d scold him

If you ever got married the Bard would be his best man

Xiao

Once fell asleep to Cloud Retainer’s dream machine

He “awoke” to thundering laughter and a hand slamming against a table

You were sitting against a tree, his head in your lap, and his fellow yaksha were sat around the nearby table

Bosacius is slamming one of his hands against the table as he’s doubled over laughing

Indarias is laughing too, she’s leaning against Bonanus who’s trying not to spill her wine

Menogias is trying to use one of Cloud Retainers many inventions to grill fish with Pervases

It’s when he starts to sit up that you realize he’s awake

He notices your clothes are different, they must have been made by Menogias

Before he can say anything, he’s called up to play his flute

You join the other Yaksha at the table as he starts to play, and as he closes his eyes he sees many others approaching from the distance

Kazuha

Having settled in Inzauma with you, he finds his sleep to be deeper and more restful

This results in him dreaming more, finally able to indulge in the deep sleep required

On this night, he opens his eyes to find you crouched down with a white cat

It’s his friend's, though he thinks it’s odd it’s not standing guard of his grave

Then his friend speaks from above him, calling you adorable

He looks up to find him lounging in the tree branches

His friend looks down at him and calls him lucky, asking to be invited to the wedding

Before Kazuha can say anything else, his friend jumps down and challenges you to a sparring match

You eagerly agree, declaring the winner Kazuha’s best friend

He sits back to watch, joined by the cat, with a fond smile

Heizou

Heizou dreams of his friend often when the festival where they met rolls around

This year you attended together and left an offering at his friends grave after

Maybe that’s why tonight he doesn’t think this is quite a dream

It feels too real

You lean against him, leaning across him to talk animatedly with his friend

He should feel embarrassed as you swap stories

He should remind you to eat your food that’s growing cold

Instead he places a kiss on the top of your head and turns to his friend

Two can play at this game, he cuts in with an embarrassing story of his own

You’re thrilled, and Heizou finds himself keeping you up right on your stool as you laugh so hard it shakes

He’s glad you got to meet his friend, and he thanks whatever power gave him this chance

Wanderer

It’s a gift from Nahida

When you agree to spend the rest of your life/ forever with him

That night you dream of the furnace, and Niwa and his family

The boy, his first friend, is there as well though he’s grown

Niwa pours you some more tea as you happily discuss your most recent trip together to Sumeru

It all feels so comfortable, Wanderer finds himself slumping against the table

The boy struggles to peel a bulle fruit, and you gently take it from him to help

Niwa elbows him and whispers something about children

He rolls his eyes

The boy sets the bulle fruit in the middle for you all to share

The next morning Wanderer finds his pillow stained with tears

[vidavalor]

This is why The Book of Life is both the most grave threat in GO... and also complete bullshit

I win at attention-grabbing titles today, I think? 😊I don't think that Is The Book of Life real? is the question. I'm more interested in:

Who *believes* that The Book of Life is real and how does that impact their decisions?

Early in S2, there's the scene between Beez and Crowley in Hell, wherein they tell him that Heaven is threatening anyone involved with helping Gabriel with "Extreme Sanctions," which they define as being written out of a thing called 'The Book of Life'. They say that this doesn't just erase someone from existence-- it makes it so that they never existed at all in the first place.

While 'The Book of Life' (and a thing called 'The Book of The Damned') have a place in religions in our real life and are likely being alluded to a bit here, we know that GO puts its own, wonderfully subversive spin on things. More importantly, the scene between Crowley and Beez where Beez defines The Book of Life for us actually might tell us what the deal is with it already.

Crowley, upon hearing about The Book of Life as a threat, immediately tells Beez that there is actually no such thing. He says that they-- meaning the two of them-- made it up back in the day to tease more innocent angels. Crowley is confident of this fact when he's not always confident about his pre-fall recollections and, as a result, we're inclined to trust his opinion here, right? It's Crowley's doubt in himself that has caused us to start to complicate a thing that might actually be deceptively simple: it's not a thing.

We see the realization that Crowley is likely correct flicker on Beez's face when Crowley tells them that The Book of Life is not real... and then quickly disappear and be replaced by an attempt to gather their pride.

Both Beez and Crowley have faulty memories and many scenes in S2 show Crowley's struggle to recall some people and events from when he was an angel. Even if you think that Crowley plays with knowledge of this with other angels and demons (like with Furfur and/or Saraqael) and purposefully pretends to forget them, he admits to Gabriel near the end of S2 that he knows what Gabriel is going through from personal experience.

What Crowley is sure about, though, is a memory that he has of him and Beez teasing some angels and making up The Book of Life. Lord Beezlebub, though, doesn't have this memory. It's perhaps trauma-blocked for them, the way that many of Crowley's own have been and many still are.

When Crowley tells them that he's sure that The Book of Life is bullshit, we see a flicker of vulnerable horror pass over Beez's face for the briefest of moments before they double down and insist that, no, he has to be wrong, The Book of Life is real.

Why do they do this? Because they know that Crowley is likely correct and they're embarrassed.

Imagine being Beez, running Hell for all those years, and jumping to do whatever Heaven tells them to do to try to maintain order and stay alive, only to find out that the thing Heaven's threatening them with? It not only doesn't even exist but Beez themselves is one of the people who made it up. Heaven took Beez's memories and, with them, some of their sense of self, and then turned around and weaponized those memories against them. They've been frightening Beez half to death and making them do their bidding by threatening them with something they and Crowley once jokingly made up once while being silly and stupid.

That's... pretty dark, no?

Making matters worse? They once ordered Beez to try to kill their old friend, Crowley, and here he is in the present, the only person they can go to for help with finding the person they love before he's harmed even more by these same people who have hurt all of them... and Crowley remembers the friendship they once had more than Beez does. He has a kind of sweet memory of the two of them being friends and he's acting like one in the present by trying to look out for Beez through telling them the truth as much as he knows it. He's being kind to them...

Beez can't stand it. They don't think they deserve it and they feel like such a fool. If they admit the truth-- that they think Crowley's memory is correct and that they were wrong about The Book of Life-- then they're admitting that they were duped by Heaven for longer than anyone can count.

Would Crowley care about this or think lesser of them? No. He would empathize. It's not like he's not in the same boat as Beez, having also been harmed by Heaven and facing difficulties with his memories. He would understand and he'd continue to be kind about it... but Beez has their pride. Beez is embarrassed-- so, they double down. They change the course of the season as a result.

They tell Crowley that The Book of Life is a real thing and emphasize the threat. This causes Crowley to begin to doubt the validity of his own memory. It triggers his lack of trust in himself. He's already vulnerable about his memory but he was sure about this particular memory-- until Beez starts insisting that he's wrong. (To be fair to Beez, they both have such shit memories that it's easy to see how they'd both wind up operating under the assumptions that there's a real threat, even if talking more to one another and trying to figure it out together would have been the healthier way to handle it.)

Crowley thinks, well, Beez has run Hell for ages and surely they'd know more than him if Extreme Sanctions are a thing or not? He presumes that Beez has seen it done before, since they're insisting that it's real. He presumes that he's the one who is incorrect and, as a result, becomes convinced that Aziraphale is now risking his very existence to help Gabriel.

This then becomes Crowley's primary motivation for the whole season.

It's even eclipsed the terror he has over the idea of Aziraphale falling because, at least, if the worst happened and Aziraphale fell, he'd still be there. If Heaven erases Aziraphale from The Book of Life, though, according to Beez, Aziraphale will have never existed at all.

At thinking this a possibility, Crowley races back to the bookshop to help protect Gabriel as a way of trying to help protect Aziraphale. All season long, the threat of Aziraphale being The Book of Life'd looms large for Crowley. He even growls at Gabriel at one point that Aziraphale is risking "his existence" to help him. Gabriel also can't help Crowley determine if Extreme Sanctions are really a thing or not-- even if he likely would have been in a position to know previously-- because Gabriel's brain is experiencing technical difficulties and playing nothing but a Buddy Holly song for all of S2.

Crowley is also hesitant to tell Aziraphale about his fear of The Book of Life threat because he knows that Aziraphale is skating on the edge of a breakdown and that, while Aziraphale is strong overall, he is very, very fragile about the fact that Heaven abandoned him and no one has talked to him over the last four years until Gabriel showed up at the door.

Crowley also knows that Aziraphale is sensitive about the fact that all of what little information they can gather about what's doing in Heaven & Hell is coming from a demon Crowley knows because it highlights that, after all the years he gave Heaven, Aziraphale was left without anything remotely close to a friend up there, while Crowley still at least has a contact in a demon who needs him and his experience. That said demon also has a thing for Crowley adds further complications.

So, in an effort to not worsen things and to try to protect Aziraphale, Crowley doesn't tell him that Beez reached out to him for help because he doesn't want to tell Aziraphale that Beez needed him and that they had what is, for them, a fairly friendly chat. As a result of trying to keep that to himself, Crowley can't mention his terror over The Book of Life to Aziraphale.

This means he's alone with the thoughts of it for the season and his already high anxiety is worsened by the fact that seeing Gabriel's memory loss reminds him of his own frail memory, causing him to doubt himself more, and helping convince him that Beez was correct and they're all in massive trouble. He's not the only one trying to protect someone by not mentioning a threat to their existence, though...

The season goes on and Aziraphale goes to Edinburgh. On the way back, he lets Shax into The Bentley and Shax comments that she is "bemused that Crowley should risk his existence" to help Aziraphale. Aziraphale doesn't immediately question this as related to The Book of Life because he assumes that Shax means that Hell would destroy Crowley if they determined that he was involved-- that it's the same threat to Crowley's existence that has always existed. Still, it amps up his worry for Crowley's safety and when he gets back to London, he doesn't tell Crowley about his having met Shax.

Because Aziraphale doesn't bring this up, there is not an opportunity to for either of them to mention exactly how worried they are that the other might die over all of this. The subject of existence-- and how Crowley is worried that it ties to The Book of Life-- continues to not come up.

Fast forward to The Final Fifteen and now we have Michael in the bookshop living room, yelling that they're going to erase Aziraphale from The Book of Life. This is the first time in the season that Aziraphale has directly been confronted with the concept of Extreme Sanctions.

Michael, for their part, seems to genuinely believe in The Book of Life. We have several scenes earlier in the season showing Michael making a power grab in Gabriel's absence and tussling with Uriel over what little power either of them really do have. It's likely that, even if The Book of Life is a thing that does exist, Michael doesn't actually have the ability to erase anyone from existence. (Not even a fascist regime would be dumb enough to give that power to Michael lol.)

What could be the case, though, is that the angels are also told this is real from being the frightened cherubs back in the day lol and all presume that The Supreme Archangel must have the power to do this because, well, they're The Supreme Archangel. (Even if it's really The Metatron who runs the show.) Michael thinks that if they sound like they have the power, it's as good as actually having the power, and it will result in them being seen as Gabriel's replacement. You know the idea of acting as if you already have the job you want to get the job you want? Michael seems to be doing that in 2.06.

What's true, though, is that there is no evidence that Michael has ever seen a case of Extreme Sanctions in action, either... and there's also zero indication that The Metatron actually told Michael that they were authorized to do such a thing, if it does exist. The opposite, actually, seems to be true...

What we did see is The Metatron order Saraqael and Michael to find Gabriel without specifying how and that Michael then took it upon themselves to enlist Beez for assistance. At no point does using Extreme Sanctions seem to be anything but Michael's idea of a motivational tool to get Beez to help them find Gabriel (as Michael didn't know that Beez was already personally motivated to locate Gabriel... and then help keep him away from the angels).

So, we're saying that Michael doesn't actually know fuck all about fuck all where this topic is concerned and them threatening to use Extreme Sanctions doesn't actually mean that they exist. This is pretty heavily suggested by this scene here...

Whoever the being being played by Derek Jacobi who shows up at the bookshop in the middle of Michael's 2.06 tirade actually is-- Satan, The Metatron, Satan-in-The-Metatron, All of The Them standing on each other's shoulders in a Metatron suit, whoever-- Michael comes to believe that this is The Metatron... and this being whom Michael believes is The Metatron shuts down the idea that Michael could write someone out of The Book of Life hard.

While this can be seen as another type of power play-- shutting down Michael to establish that he's actually the most powerful person in the room and that being a low key threat to all of them, including both Michael and Aziraphale... it doesn't necessarily mean that this being is lying about The Book of Life.

For one thing? Michael, once told that the being in front of them is The Metatron, believes it, so, when whom they think is The Metatron tells them that what they're saying about The Book of Life is "utter balderdash-- I mean, complete piffle", Michael doesn't say anything that suggests confusion over that.

If The Metatron was the one out here authorizing Extreme Sanctions and telling Michael to threaten anyone helping Gabriel with erasure from The Book of Life, Michael would have started to splutter here and said something along the lines of 'but, but, Daaaad, you said I could?!' lol. Instead, they appear to just be embarrassed to have been caught out threatening something they can't actually do. This furthers the suggestion that, not only can Michael not actually do it, they've probably never seen it done-- adding to the suggestion that The Book of Life is not actually a thing.

Complicating matters is that, for their own safety, Beez and Gabriel are gone by this point in the story-- and Gabriel has his memories back. If Gabriel had still been in the bookshop at this point, he could have made it clear that Michael didn't have the power to do that and he might have also been able to tell Crowley and Aziraphale that The Book of Life isn't real, provided he knew the truth about it. One of the reasons to pull Gabriel from the story prior to this, from a writing standpoint, would be to take away a character who could provide Crowley with that knowledge because the point of Crowley having been panicked about it all season is to lead to it affecting how he views the events in this episode and the plan he makes and tries to convey to Aziraphale in the pivotal "no nightingales" scene. You could argue one of the reasons to wait so long for Gabriel to get his memories back in the story is for this purpose-- any sooner and there would have been time to tell Crowley the truth and then you wouldn't have Crowley trying to save Aziraphale from non-existence in 2.06 by suggesting the only thing he can think of that might keep that from happening (which we'll look at in another meta about that scene.)

Because "The Metatron" shuts Michael up about The Book of Life, Aziraphale puts it on simmer in the back of his mind because, as he goes with "The Metatron", he has other, more devilish, concerns on his mind. There is evidence in 2.06 to suggest that, by the time he's come back to the shop after talking with "The Metatron", that he's pretty convinced that there is a strong possbility that this is really Satan and that he could be falling/about to fall.

He tries to convey this to Crowley but Crowley is not only blocked from seeing it because Satan can influence him-- like he did to prompt Crowley into identifying him as The Metatron-- but because Crowley still thinks the bigger threat is The Book of Life. He's still worried that he can't trust his own mind and that Beez was correct. In reality, though, all of the bells and whistles and noise about The Book of Life serves as a distraction from the real threat, which is Aziraphale falling. This influences what plan Crowley comes up with a bit while Aziraphale is with "The Metatron" because his motivation is to keep Aziraphale from being written out of existence.

Now, sure, it's possible that Heaven went and invented The Book of Life and made it a real weapon after it had just originally been a thing Beez and Crowley made up but if you look at what it's supposed to do, it's easy to see how unlikely that actually is. Why?

Because Heaven is a fascist regime run by The Metatron so the goal is always for him to maintain control over his little empire thing here and Extreme Sanctions? It's actually the exact opposite of that. We all know about the butterfly effect-- the idea that a single butterfly flapping its wings in one moment of time, if altered, would cause a ripple effect of other things to be altered that basically changes the course of the known universe, right? If Heaven really were to make it so that even just one of their angels were made to have never existed at all, they've essentially created a parallel universe. While those might likely exist, actively making them is not at all the goal of a character like The Metatron, who has a hard enough time keeping his own regime in line in this present universe.

There's also the question of the fact that this would be erasing one of God's creations in a way that reverses Her decision to have ever created them in the first place and I highly, highly doubt that The Metatron actually has the power to do that, let alone any of the other angels. That feels very "only God could ever do this and She has no desire to" to me.

Beyond that, there's how Crowley phrased it to Beez: "It's just something we used to joke about to frighten the cherubs."

On a show with language this deliberate and that uses the etymological histories of words as part of telling its story, it seems worth pointing out that the origin of the word 'joke' is basically wordplay itself. This would seem like a suggestion to look at the wordplay that sits there in the phrase "Extreme Sanctions" because this very dark-sounding thing can also have a more positive connotation.

While sanctions are a penalty imposed for breaking a rule or an agreement or a law, to sanction something can have one of two extremely different meanings. One is to enforce the penalties we're talking about but the other is the exact opposite of that-- it's to give an official stamp of approval for an action.

Those who are helping keep Gabriel safe from The Metatron in S2 are threatened with "Extreme Sanctions" by Heaven... as in extreme punishment... but they'll likely be met with extreme sanctions by God... as in, God approves of them working together to protect Gabriel and of the actions they'll take as a result of what they learn by doing so.

God's like great job, you guys, extreme sanctions for real, keep it up, now go free the others 👍👍👍make it happen, make it real, kids, let's fucking go... it's not coincidental that I sent you the angel whose name means "messenger" to tell you that I'm giving this whole plot some extreme sanctions here...

You want to erase someone from The Book of Life? Ironically, from what we've seen, besides God, only Crowley himself could probably do that because doing so would alter the makeup of the universe he created and completed with Aziraphale's help.

This is the literal Book of Life:

[homemadesterekpie]

for the people who watched Downton Abbey do yall remember the arc when Anna gets assaulted by that shit stain of a vallet and starts pushing Bates away because of it? and then Bates practically forces Mrs. Hughes to tell him the truth and the goes to “confront” Anna about it?

well i’ve always wanted a story like that for Sterek. the sheer emotional satisfaction that single scene between Bates and Anna is so beautiful and amazing i always wanted something similar for them.

the only thing that i would change is that Derek would find out on his own about what happened to Stiles.

Stiles feeling absolutely disgusting and drowning in shame about what happened even though none of it was his fault. he can’t look Derek in the eyes anymore. he shuts down every conversations Derek tries to have with him. he evades Derek’s touches like they physically hurt him. he starts sleeping at his dad’s place again even if he’s moved in with Derek months ago.

it comes to a point where Derek thinks he’s going insane because he has no idea wtf is happening. Stiles smells of misery and pain and the smell just keeps getting worse and worse.

until it all clicks together and when it does he’s running at neck breaking speed to the sheriff’s house and he goes through Stiles’ old room’s window like old times and he hears Stiles in the shower so he just stands there and waits for Stiles to come back in his room.

but as he waits he can hear Stiles crying in the shower. and its not pretty, its those painful hacking sobs and wails that sounds distressingly similar to the ones Stiles was making when Derek had been gravely injured after fighting to protect the town against [insert a real nasty villain thingy here] and they hadn’t been sure he would make it.

it takes everything in Derek not to rush into that bathroom and take Stiles into his arms and comfort him but he makes himself wait for him. makes himself listen to Stiles’ anguish until finally the noises subsides somewhat and Stiles finally makes it out of the shower and the bathroom.

at the first sight of him Derek’s heart gives a painful pang. now that he knows what happened he wonders how he hadn’t pieced it all together faster, he’d been so blind. but he isn’t now. it takes way too long for Stiles to notice him standing there at the window but his eyes seem to be glued to the floor these days.

when he does notice Derek, his eyes goes wide with shock and the acrid smell of fear almost knocks Derek back a few steps. it’s a smell he hasn’t smelt from Stiles targeted towards him in years. his very soul aches with that realization. but then Stiles’ eyes falls right back to the ground and the smell of fear abates to give way to the distinct smell of shame.

Stiles asks him what he’s doing here. he sounds annoyed. but Derek can hear the tremor in his voice. he can see how tightly wound Stiles is. his shoulders are shaking with it under the thin sleep shirt he’s wearing.

Derek just says he knows. and Stiles stops moving. he was rummaging in his sock drawer but at Derek’s words he goes still.

it takes Stiles multiple attempts but finally he says “what?” and he sounds so small and vulnerable.

Derek just repeats that he knows, he knows what happened and as he does, he approaches Stiles slowly like he’s approaching a wounded animal.

but before he can touch him Stiles darts away from him saying he’s fine. i’m fine Derek, okay i’m fine! but he’s still not looking Derek in the eyes and his bottom lip is wobbling.

Derek decides to try another angle and ask why didn’t Stiles tell him. and immediately tears starts falling down Stiles’ face.

Stiles just says that he was too ashamed and that he knew Derek would find a way to blame himself when it was actually all Stiles’ fault. and then seeing Derek isn’t saying anything Stiles finally adds that he feels too dirty to be with Derek and that he doesn’t think he’ll ever be clean again. and a sob escapes him and thats when Derek finally engulfs Stiles into his arms.

Stiles keeps sobbing brokenly into Derek’s chest and Derek fights his own tears as he tells Stiles in a strained voice just how much he loves him and how he’s Derek’s and nothing would ever change that. Derek would never let him go and would always love him no matter what. he’d always be beautiful and precious to him, etc, etc.

Stiles goes back home with Derek that night. they even make love again. it’s slow and gentle and Stiles cries during it but he never tells Derek to stop even tho Derek asks him about a hundred times. Stiles feels a lot more like himself the next day. Stiles had been so used at having Derek be his rock, his sun, his centre, that pushing him away had made the whole situation worse. Derek is the foundation of his support system.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Mirion Malle’s “So Long Sad Love”

On July 14, I'm giving the closing keynote for the fifteenth HACKERS ON PLANET EARTH, in QUEENS, NY. Happy Bastille Day! On July 20, I'm appearing in CHICAGO at Exile in Bookville.

In Mirion Malle's So Long Sad Love, a graphic novel from Drawn and Quarterly, we get an all-too-real mystery story: when do you trust the whisper network that carries the fragmentary, elliptical word of shitty men?

https://drawnandquarterly.com/books/so-long-sad-love/

Cleo is a French comics creator who's moved to Montreal, in part to be with Charles, a Quebecois creator who helps her find a place in the city's tight-knit artistic scene. The relationship feels like a good one, with the normal ups and downs, but then Cleo travels to a festival, where she meets Farah, a vivacious and talented fellow artist. They're getting along great…until Farah discovers who Cleo's boyfriend is. Though Farah doesn't say anything, she is visibly flustered and makes her excuses before hurriedly departing.

This kicks off Cleo's hunt for the truth about her boyfriend, a hunt that is complicated by the fact that she's so far from home, that her friends are largely his friends, that he flies off the handle every time she raises the matter, and by her love for him.

There's a term for men like Charles: a "missing stair." "Missing stair" is a metaphor for someone in a social circle who presents some kind of persistent risk to the people around them, who is accommodated rather than confronted:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Missing_stair

The metaphor goes like this: you're at a party and every time someone asks where the bathroom is, another partygoer directs them to the upper floor and warns them that one of the stairs is missing, and if they don't avoid that tread, they will fall through and be gravely injured. In this metaphor, a whole community of people have tacitly decided to simply accept the risk that someone who is forgetful or new to the scene will fall through the stair – no one has come forward to just fix that stair.

The origins of this term are in BDSM circles, and the canonical "missing stair" is a sexual predator, but from the outset, it's referred to all kinds of people with failings that present some source of frustration or unhappiness to those around them, from shouters to bigots to just someone who won't help do the dishes after a dinner party:

https://pervocracy.blogspot.com/2012/06/missing-stair.html

We all know a few missing stairs, and anyone who's got even a little self-reflexivity must wonder from time to time if they're not also a missing stair, at least to some people in their lives. After all, friendship always entails some accommodation, and doubly so love – as Dan Savage is fond of saying, "There is no person who is 'The One' for you – the best you can hope for is the '0.6' that you can round up to 'The One,' with a lot of work."

And at least some missing stairs aren't born – they're made. Everyone screws up, everyone's got some bad habits, everyone's got some blind spots about what others expect of them and how others perceive us. When the people around us make bad calls about whether to let us skate on our faults and when to confront us, those faults fester and multiply and calcify. This is compounded in long-tenured relationships that begin in our youth, when we are still figuring out our boundaries – the people who we give a pass to when we're young and naive can become a fixture in our lives despite characteristics that, as adults, we wouldn't tolerate in someone who is new to our social scene.

To make all this even more complicated, there's the role that power plays in all this. Many missing stairs are keenly attuned to power dynamics and present a different face to people who have some authority – whether formal or tacit – to sanction them. This is why so many of the outings of #MeToo predators provoked mystified men to say, "Gosh, they never acted that way around me – I had no idea."

These men aren't necessarily clueless. There's a predator who once traveled in my circles, and when he was outed, it wasn't just men who were shocked. My professional and personal life includes a large cohort of socially and professionally powerful women to whom this "missing stair" presented an impeccable face on every occasion. None of the people this guy looked up to ever witnessed his behavior firsthand, and for complicated reasons, none of the lower status (younger, less experienced, and not exclusively female) people whom he preyed upon came to us.

Which brings me back to Cleo and Charles, and the mystery of what Charles did to Farah in art school, many years before. The people in Charles's circle have an explanation: Farah was Charles's first heavy crush, and he courted her in ways that crossed the line into harassment. But – according to Charles's friends – this was a temporary condition that Charles outgrew, and it was only later, when Charles was in a healthier relationship with someone who reciprocated his affections, that Farah retaliated by attacking him to their small art-school circle.

This is just plausible enough – Charles was young, still figuring stuff out, he made a misstep – that Cleo is able to console herself with it. But as Charles grows more irritable and belittling of her, and as Cleo's friends gently encourage her to dig further rather than burying her lingering doubts, a much uglier truth comes into view.

Malle handles this all so deftly, showing how Cleo and her friends all play archetypal roles in the recurrent missing stair dynamic. It's a beautifully told story, full of charm and character, but it's also a kind of forensic re-enactment of a disaster, told from an intermediate distance that's close enough to the action that we can see the looming crisis, but also understand why the people in its midst are steering straight into it.

This transitions into a third act where Cleo leaves Montreal and finds herself in the midst a very different social dynamic of people who have figured out a far healthier way to manage their interpersonal problems. This short conclusion is powerfully satisfying, showing how it's possible to live without missing stairs and without the immediate expulsion of anyone who has a "problematic" moment.

The missing stair phenomenon would be so much easier to deal with if every missing stair started out as an irredeemable monster. We could fix all those stairs and declare ourselves done. But – as Malle illustrates – there's a reason it's so hard to fix those missing stairs. Every good friendship has some give and take – but every missing stair takes too much. Knowing the difference is a skill you learn through hard experience, not one you're born with. Learning when to call someone out, and when to call them in, is a hard curriculum – and it's even harder to know when to keep trying to help the people in your life be better selves, and when to protect the other people in your life from their worst selves.

Malle's book is packed with subtlety and depth, romance and heartbreak, subtext that carries through the dialog (in marvelous translation from the original French by Aleshia Jensen) and the body language in Malle's striking artwork.

Support me this summer on the Clarion Write-A-Thon and help raise money for the Clarion Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers' Workshop!

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/25/missing-stair/#the-fog-of-love

[deadhands69]

Ghost

Tomura Shigaraki/Tenko Shimura x gn Reader

"you can’t turn off that you’re dead, you just deal with it" Contains: chapter 423 SPOILERS, angst, some comfort/hope (idk I think it's cute,) everyone dies in the end. [quick read; wc: .7k]

Falling apart and blown away like dust, is this how everyone felt when he decayed them? 

As suddenly as it came on, it's over. All is still. The universe stops with a quietness reminiscent of a snowy day. 

When Tenko Shimura opens his eyes, everything is distant. The air is heavy but he feels weightless. It's like a dead controller, he can see the screen but nothing he interacts with ever has a response.

There is no light at the end of the tunnel, nor is there any raging against it. There's only the world, dulled. And it's different.

He can walk through walls now.

Initially, he wasn't sure what that meant but he's figured out a lot since then. Where to go. How to pass the time. It doesn’t really matter what he touches anymore.

I guess you could say he's a ghost. Maybe a spirit. Whatever he is, he's certain he's not alive. Not when he moves through a world that's impossibly far away. Everything dangling right in front of his face, but out of reach. A reminder that he's no longer a part of this. 

Most of the anger he had in life is gone now. It doesn’t matter anymore, it never really did. Now it’s replaced with a new emotion.

Longing.

He resigned to watching you. 

Your life played out in front of him like a movie. One that he wasn't recasted for. 

Seeing your new friends. New apartment filled with different furniture. Your new life, while his time has grown stagnant. Like a book you set down mid-chapter, left to collect dust without a proper ending. 

And he can’t do anything about any of that.

Stuck witnessing you mourn him, not knowing he's an arm reach away. Every tear you shed falling to the ground instead of being caught and wiped away by his fingertips. 

He wishes he could reach out and touch you. What he'd give to feel the heat of your skin against his one last time. He's never wanted to be a mug so much in his existence: keeping you warm while held tightly in your hands. 

He'd do anything to comfort you again. 

Sometimes you feel a cold chill over your shoulder. And when you cry, the feeling surrounds you. 

Tenko has no grave. Nothing for you to visit. There isn't any specific place to sit while you recount your life to him. At first, you texted his number, but eventually it was disconnected. After a while, you began speaking aloud to him. This surprised Tenko at first, that you'd bother to talk to him when there are so many living people to enjoy the company of. He finds himself preferring it though and luckily, you never stop. He wishes he could respond. Every bit of energy left in the being he is now aches for you to know he's there, listening. 

He's always listening. 

In your apartment.

When you quietly murmur to him in the place you first met.

Every time you're walking alone, pretending he's still by your side. 

Not knowing he is. 

Sometimes you still get the feeling you had whenever he would walk into the room. 

He wishes he could hit reset. Try it all over again and make different decisions. Ones that would lead to a better ending. He's thought up a thousand good outcomes, all spent with you instead of…whatever this is.

But death comes with no reset button. It's a lesson Tenko has been repeatedly forced to learn. 

The more he accepts, the easier it gets. But accepting never alters anything real and he can’t either. Bound to watch, listen, and notice without any outlet for change.

This went on for years. Just as he got used to it, everything flipped again.

One day, you're crossing the street while running late. Rushed, it didn't occur to you to peel your eyes from the ground. A clash of metal rings out around you and the world swirls. 

You don't even feel it. 

Tenko watches helplessly as your body hits the ground. His vaporous arms unable to catch your fall. 

Dazed, you press up from the ground. Everything feels far away. You feel someone's arms around you, helping you to your feet. When you look up, suddenly you can see him too.

m.list

[fushipurro]

Our Hopes in Death

☆ Synopsis: Nanami had many regrets in life, something that haunts him even in death. Nobara, a life taken too soon, is one such regret he wishes he could take back.

☆ Content: major character death, spoilers for shibuya incident, hurt/comfort???, grief/mourning

☆ Notes: not an x reader, but shoutout to my poopynation oomfies for making me suffer with this thought so much that i had to write it (don’t kill me please!!!)

The last thing Nanami saw before his sight turned black was Yuji’s sorrowful expression. He was yet another person ─ a child ─ Nanami failed to keep safe. It’s one of the biggest regrets he’s had in life, one that he knows now followed him to his grave when another of his students is now in front of him.

Nobara Kugisaki.

Last time he saw her, she was safe ─ alive, and in the flesh. A large part of him hopes that the apparition before him is just that, but at his heart, he knows this is the real deal.

“Sensei?” she says with confusion evident in her speech. She puts a hand on her hip, taking in what can only be described as an airport, or a mirage of such. “We’re dead, aren’t we? Why the hell are we in an airport and not some cloud in the sky.”

Nobara was never one to sugarcoat her words, something Nanami always admired about the young teen. He wished he had her confidence, her will, her everything that made her the fighter she was in life when he was her age.

Maybe Haibara would still be alive if he did something different, or the many others that slipped through his hands.

She raises a brow at his silence, but it doesn’t stop her from flopping down in the empty seat next to his own with a heavy, frustrated sigh. “That rat bastard tricked me,” she snarls, closing her eyes with clenched fists. “I would’ve had him if I was faster! Poor Itadori; I’m sure it wasn’t pretty watching me go.”

Yuji.

From her words, Nanami feels the pain of his regret more than ever before, comparable to a time before when he left the world of sorcery behind. From Gojo getting sealed, to watching Nobara and himself be killed before his eyes… that boy’s life is hell on earth.

He hopes Megumi is safe after that mystery savior from Dagon’s domain disappeared with him.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there to protect you,” he finally says, pushing off his seat to kneel before her. He looks just like how he did that last time he saw her, alongside Akari, when all three of them were alive. “I should never have left you alone. None of you children should have been in Shibuya today.”

A gentle smile appears on Nobara’s face, though her eyes read a solemn note. “It’s alright, Sensei. Like I told Itadori, I’ve had a pretty good life.”

His eyes fall from her face to his hands ─ hands that could’ve stopped or delayed the inevitable. She’s a child, she shouldn’t have had to die. He should have been more careful, maybe kept her by his side or made sure she got away.

Mahito was too much of a wildcard for anyone their age to have had to go up against.

Junpei, Nobara, countless other innocent lives, and the painful thought that Yuji is likely fighting him at this very moment. He has to believe Yuji will pull through and win, or at the very least hope Sukuna interferes like the first time around. It’s unlikely, but hope is all Nanami has right now.

“Where do we go now?” Nobara asks, standing upright again. “Does this place even have an exit?”

Outside the large glass windows, the roar of a plane can be heard taking off. Perhaps this airport is a purgatory where the options of where to go are of your own choosing, or maybe your tickets are predetermined ─ signed and ready to go whenever you board.

“There should be a directory board around here that might help,” Nanami tells her. What airport or building of this size wouldn’t have something like that? If he can’t find that, then he’ll stick with her until they find someone else.

Her eyes light up with realization, and near child-like wonder. “Ohh, good idea! I wonder if there’s any cafes or vending machines around here, like those cake ones that sing after you order from them!”

In another life, this is all Nanami would have wanted. No battles, no bloodshed, no curses ─ just children and adults, eager to enjoy all the good life has to offer.

If he does get another chance, he hopes his next life is easier even if he feels it to be a selfish thought. Maybe then he could marry the bakery girl or that one close friend from his days in school. Given the choice, he’d gladly become a parent as well, and hopefully to a daughter.

He hopes that with whatever children he may have, that he’s able to give them the best chance at life ─ one that won’t end before they’ve even lived. This time, he’ll be there to protect them, and to assure he lives a life without regret this time around.

“Why don’t we go looking then?” Nanami asks, holding out his hand to Nobara. “I won’t leave you alone, not this time.”

She graciously accepts with that same smile that seems to light up the airport sky. The two of them now walking hand in hand, like a father and his daughter. If this is all he can have in the next life, then he hopes to have this. And should he ever have that daughter he dreams of…

He would name her Nobara.

[wannaeatramyeon]

Lookism boys crushing on YOU (part 2)

(Samuel, Zack, Daniel, Eugene(!!!)) Part 1 here

Samuel

Be real. Samuel doesn't look like the way he does, and dress like how he does and get zero attention. He's intense and sensual anyway, and he has a healthy appreciation for sex so him taking notice of you and being aroused isn't new.

But then these thoughts. These childish, optimistic ideas of you and him rising to the top together just takes a chokehold. It's a distraction he doesn't need.

He will 100% block out these feelings for you, he has loftier goals than chasing after you.

He's a very busy man. Places to see, things to do. But with you on his mind, mistakes creep into his work. Little errors here and there. This will never do. Guess he'll have to deal with you head on.

Zack (I love this man and feel guilty. Forgive me Mira)

Imagine his surprise when instead of looking for Mira in every situation he starts looking for YOU.

Can't sit next to Mira for lunch? Oh I guess sitting next to Y/N isn't so bad. Partnered with Y/N for a project? Hehehe guess we have to spend more time together.

Oh this remind me of Y/N. Wonder what they're doing today? If they like my hair like this. Do you think they would like this cologne? What about this shirt? Should I text them? You get the idea.

This would all come served with a heaping side of guilt and confusion though. He's pined and chased after Mira for YEARS and everyone knows it. And then for someone else? to come along? that he likes?? He's always been painfully obvious with his affection and hurting anyone is the last thing he wants. Prepare for some awkward confessions and conversations.

Daniel

Sure, everyone likes Daniel Park. His pretty face and body means that people tend to hide their uglier side from him. But Little Daniel? Piggy? He's not used to positive attention.

You with your kind demeanour and sweet smiles. The way you always ask about his day, how you make sure he's in on the joke, how you include him and never leave him out. You treat him the same no matter which body he's in, and that's what finally pushes him over the edge.

Little Daniel will hang around you a lot more. It's nice to be himself and be in his true body with you. To see that your affection is genuinely for him.

You make his heart flutter and he can get surprisingly shy and insecure around you but he enjoys looking after you. Always carrying your books or bag, offering you his jacket, making sure you're ok. Any snacks? You want a drink? No? You sure??

Eugene

Look he's a very important man with a very important job. This is an inconvenience at best, and nothing will come of it.

He stays professional. He knows what the company handbook says and he doesn't want you to feel remotely uncomfortable. Eugene still can't help but look forward to meetings where you're by his side or when you're in the car together and share little inside jokes and smiles.

And when you notice he's working late, and bring him a coffee? And remind him to not work himself into an early grave? And how a chat with you feels like it lifts off all the stress of the day?

He allows his gaze to linger a little longer on you. He gives himself this little indulgence to tide him over to another day.

[yuri-is-online]

Hi Yuri! I hope you are doing well<333 I really enjoy reading your writing and I am always more fond of reading the little octatrio fish gang! I dont really know how this usually works because I never send in any asks at all nor do I see your rules list or anything but if you dont mind I would like to make a request<3

A mc who finds an out of tune and old piano and fondly remembers that they used to play piano back in their world. And perhaps Azul hears in on this and despite the piano being old and out of tune, it is rather beautiful how you play it because of how imperfect the notes are being played out. (SORRY I WAS LISTENING TO FALLEN DOWN AND THE FEELINGS WERE JUST SURGING AND THE BRAINROT WAS TOO MUCH)

You dont have to force yourself or anything! Please take care and dont feel too pressured! <3

The Most Romantic of All Arts (Azul Ashengrotto x Yuu)

Hello dear friend and I am doing quite well thank you! I'm pleased you like my writing; the octotrio is what finally cracked my resolve to check out Twisted Wonderland and put FGO on the back burner so I suppose I shouldn't beat myself up too much for writing about them so much. I am sorry I caused you stress with my lack of rules, I don't usually send requests or asks myself, so I felt really bad to have frightened you. Not too sure if this will end up being what you had in mind, it got away from me a bit.

Also when you say Fallen Down, you do mean the Undertale soundtrack piece right? It's a soothing song I listened to it while I was plotting this to try and get into a similar headspace.

notes: they/them used for Yuu, header taken from the painting Spirit by George Roux (1885) which I found on this wordpres blog article I took the title from, it's a neat painting, Azul learning to find beauty and love in imperfections is important to me ok? Other works can be found on my masterlist here.

Sometimes you wonder if Ramshakle is sentient. The old building has more rooms than you know what to do with, and lovely as the ghosts are they don't fully remember what they were used for, if they remembered in the first place. But still there was something about those rooms that seemed to love you; he guest room almost built itself up around you, the kitchen had only needed some basic repairs before it was ready to help play host again, and no matter where a fire place was found it was always eager to burst to life and warm you and Grim.

It does not have the same love for Azul, he'd complained as much when you talked about just what it was he wanted with the building after the events of his overblot had cooled between you.

"It's got a graveyard in front of it, though?" That really had been the crux of your whole argument. It was hard to be annoyed with his laugh when it sounded so nice, the genuine amusement a refreshing difference to his previous performitive indifference.

"Yes," he muses, sipping at his real before he continues, "I'm not bothered by that much, ghosts and grave ships aren't uncommon sights under the sea, but I always forget how unusual humans think they are."

"There's a lot of superstitions about places where people are buried." You mean it as an explanation, but it brings an odd look to Azul's face, like there's an emotion bubbling beneath his surface he doesn't want to acknowledge but is too strong to suppress. It settles over you both, as you try to focus on drinking your tea while your host seems content to let his grow cold.

"Well, I suppose it's a good thing that ruin isn't really sentient." He sounds almost bitter, disappointed in how long he has let his drink cool you decide as he reaches for the pot and warms it with some fresh tea. "Otherwise, I'd accuse it of trying to keep you."

It's a silly thought, but the sight of this latest discovery really does have you wondering. You are supposed to be in that wonderfully accommodating kitchen making snacks for when Azul decides to "coincidentally drop by" later this evening to "go over the Lounge's expenses" in your guest room. On a Tuesday. When it was almost guaranteed business would be slow enough to keep anyone from wondering too hard about where he'd gone or the twins from being too upset about running things. But instead of "just wanting to try" a new recipe, you are here, tucked in a room just a bit further down the hall from the guest room watching Grim give his best impression of Ace after completing a magic trick. Because stars know he has never seen any other magicians.

"TA-DA!" He puts both of his paws out to really sell the piano at the window. "See, I told you I had a great surprise!"

"I'm sorry for not believing you." You say and try not to laugh with just how much more proud that seems to make him. "But where did you find this? Or how I guess, unless you moved it?"

"Nah." He shakes his head before remembering he's supposed to be the "great" Grim. "I mean I could have! But I'm just so cool I managed to find a piano here already, so all I had to do was clean it up instead! You're welcome henchuman." You scratch just behind his ears and politely ignore his purrs as you examine the piano and its bench. They're old, likely just as ancient as everything else in the dormitory and likely extremely, achingly out of tune. But the mere sight of it makes your fingers itch, and Grim barely has to whine "Well ain't you gonna play somethin'?" Before you're at the bench, experimentally pressing the keys to try and sound out something.

Twinkle twinkle little star, how I wonder what you are-

You hum it rather than sing, irrationally worried Grim will somehow figure out it's a lullaby and complain that you're babying him instead of cutely dancing along with the music like it's one of the cassettes Deuce let you borrow. He cheers for another, and you oblige, letting your muscle memory carry you as far as it can as you try searching your brain for just what it was you wanted most to hear from yourself after all this time being unable to play.

And missing the click of a heavy door down the hall in the effort.

Azul hears nothing at first, and though it does disappoint, it does not bother him. He's had a long day, one about to be made longer still by the grey zone already draping itself around his thoughts as he shrugs his blazer off to his shoulders while en route to the Ramshackle guest room. He pauses, for what he tells himself is only going to be second, at the kitchen door and is left unrewarded for his detour.

You aren't there: and that does bother him somewhat, even if it should not if his pretext is to be believed. These visits were too commonplace to be random, but maybe you'd made plans, deciding not to look past his excuses for the evening. Maybe you were asleep, tired of the day or just plain tired of him. But there is a kettle sat on it's base, mercifully not on just yet, but two mugs and the pour over cone set next to as if it was expecting company. The nerves remain knotted in his stomach, though the cause shifts towards something more welcome.

So you do have a mug purposefully set aside and designated just for him, and is that a little recpie card with notes on coffee taped to that tin? These things should worry him, the picture he snaps and immediately hides in a folder should be for a purpose. But it's separate from those ones, labeled something inane and barely full with how careful he is to have his longing remain unseen. He wonders, briefly if it would be an intrusion to make the drinks himself. If it would reveal to much to show outright he knows the way you take yours instead of just saying it in time with your order, but knows that would not be the exact issue here. He is a guest, and guests limit themselves to the halls and that room he forces himself, with haste that would be noticeable if you were there to see it, back down the hall and back towards the guest room. Azul has work to do, he can content himself with the warmth the mental image the cups on the counter produces until something forces him to pause at a door once more. The piano is old, droning out a tune that is unpolished and rusty from the player's lack of practice but filled with such a specific sort of joy it has him actually running towards it.

You sit at the bench, a serious look of determination on your face so unlike the usual Yuu it can't help but be cute. Grim sleeps contentedly on your lap as you continue searching for the threads of melody still trapped inside your head from years of only occasionally reluctant practice. It's an unfamiliar tune in composition, but not in feel. There's words to this song, maybe not in the form of lyrics, but there all the same for him to stumble even closer to as he comes to a halting stop just behind you and the music ends in a surprised crash as you whip your head around to see him.

"Azul!"

"Very sorry to interrupt." He holds up both hands in surrender, composure only just maintained as you check to see Grim still asleep and laugh nervously. "I didn't know you could play."

"Can't really." You say somewhat bitterly and more confidence comes to Azul as a slight plan froms in his mind. "I'm really out of practice ugh. I know it shouldn't annoy me! But with how everything's been since I showed up, it's just not been on my mi- Oh hello?"

Azul fully removes his jacket and sets it on a side table close to where he had been satanding, moving to sit on the bench next to you. He has enough mercy not to loosen his tie or do anything else scandalous, but the close examination he gives to the keys could have fooled you. "Pity it's so out of tune, this is a nice piano."

"I know right! I'm really happy Grim found it." You resist the urge to poke his cheeks some and Azul lightly, trying not to too openly relish in your surprise reaches one arm around your back to place his hands into a similar position as you had been earlier, tucking you close to his side.

"May I?" He's smug. Too smug it's robbing you of sanity.

"What's it going to cost?" You try too hard not to sound like you're flailing as you look to see your question hasn't even phased him at all.

"Oh normally I wouldn't dream of charging for a performance," he clearly lies "but it's been such a long day I wouldn't say no to a cup of coffee." And he's off, music only marred by the off key of the piano in a clearly purposeful display of talent meant to sear itself into your mind enough that you don't think about his request too long. You and he are from two different worlds, but he knows that music has a way of gapping that if the stories of the mermaid princess told him anything at all. So when he purposefully slows the song at its end, he knows you know, that tricky smile he swore once he'd always hate kicking his heartbeat up again as you lean fully against his shoulder.

"Beautiful." You say, not bothering to give the compliment direction as he can't help but agree. "We should play together next time."

"I-" You pick yourself up and what he wants to say slows when you pick up his jacket for him and hold out a hand. Later, he all to easily decides. Later, without Grim and with specific time set purposefully aside so you know just how much it matters. "I would like that. You'll have to show me the songs that you can remember from your world." And he takes your hand just to soothe some of the ache, trying and failing not to show just how happy he is when you keep it.