#i almost added it’s a wrap too but i had to refocus

[moondogmatinees]

top 5 Mariah songs

millions are wondering thissss. including me. i’ve been thinking about my response to this ask for two days

breakdown

all in your mind

outside

infinity

ribbon

i could literally do 5 more and almost did but i have to stoppppp. honorable mention to the live/music video version of o holy night which i didn’t add to make more space

[janitorhutcherson]

Apocolypse (Mike Schmidt Fluff)

haiii guys mike schmidt fluff that’s not edited that i wrote for sophie girl plz enjoy💕

——————

It was cold, rainy, dark, and the mild smell of mildew wafted through the kitchen from the leak we were far too broke to fix as I stirred a pot of spaghetti sauce on the stove for the 100th time this week. Abby’s comfort food, spaghetti, had been the only thing she’d promised to scarf down this week, since she’d reverted back to her state of pre-teen defiance. Mike had refused to oblige in the beginning, but I reminded him that this was not the first instance of this, and that a week later she’d be back to normal.

There was a constant tsunami of negativity in my head, convincing me I belonged everywhere and nowhere all at once. The Schmidt family were my family, too. I knew this. Mike reminded me of this every day he called me ‘wife’ as an endearing pet name, when he would remind me that we need to go grocery shopping for our shared space, or when he’d mention a planned future vacation. Abby called me her sister, told me she loved me, and even called me names during fights as if I were blood.

This was home, but why couldn’t I allow myself to relax as if it was?

Abby was currently in her room, finishing up some homework she had so desperately tried to avoid until Mike demanded she get it done before dinner. Mike was nowhere to be seen, that is, until a pair of arms drifted around my waist, kissing my neck and interrupting my endless flow of mind numbing thoughts. My brain refocused on the task at hand, the sound of Apocalypse by Cigarettes After Sex playing from the low radio in the background, adding a softer ambience to what once felt like a tense space.

Mike’s body tensed up against mine as our skin touched, almost as if my muscles had sent him a single of distress, calling out for help like some sort of helpless stranded person at sea. His chin fell down to rest on my shoulder, his breathing heavy against my ear as he slowly began to sway to the music as he always did. He loved music and always had. Soft melodies quickly replaced the habit of crickets and rustling leaves at night, something I’d soon grown accustomed to after many nights of sleeping aside a snoring Mike Schmidt.

“You okay, baby?” Mike asked sweetly in my ear, continuing to sway side to side as I stared down at the spaghetti sauce that was seconds from burning if I didn’t refocus my attention. I leaned forward, turning the eye of the stove off and pushing the pot back, allowing the boiling pasta to continue to cook. I didn’t react to Mike, causing him to shift from foot to foot, the change in his weight distribution felt in my back. “C’mon, honey, talk to me,” he mumbled out, spinning my body around so that my back was leaned against the stove, my eyes facing into his worried hazel ones.

A sigh escaped my lips as I noticed the worry etched into his face, a sight that always made my stomach drop and my heart pound in a bitter sweet way.

He cared, but he cared so much he was hurt.

My eyebrows furrowed as I forced a smile and Mike frowned, shaking his head. He didn’t say much else but instead mumbled a simple ‘come here,’ and once again his arms were wrapped around my waist, this time in a loose manner. He began to sway our bodies back and forth again, this time with his forehead placed on mine. I could feel his breath and hear the loud ‘thump’ of his heartbeat and I couldn’t help but to smile, closing my eyes and basking in the moment.

Got the music in you, baby, tell me why…

As the music played, Mike leaned over and turned the radio up, his hips now moving with mine at a less subtle but still melodic pace. His hands rubbed gentle circles at the small of my back as his giddy smile seeped directly into my core, causing my cheeks to heat up as he looked at me with that love struck look that hit every single receptor possible in my body.

You’ve been locked in here forever…

“God, you’re so fucking gorgeous,” Mike muttered to me, furrowing his eyebrows as he leaned forward to press a soft, sweet, tender kiss to my lips. Fireworks went off in every part of my body as I felt like I was vibrating, my head starting to spin.

And you just can’t say goodbye…

A small laugh left my lips of embarrassment as I looked into his eyes, my arms hooking around his neck as I moved my body with his now, pressing my body to mold with his perfectly as it always did. We were like complex decorative lego pieces clicking into place every time, made for each other in a way that we couldn’t fit with anyone else. I closed my eyes for a moment, basking in everything I could.

“Your lips, my lips,” Mike sang out loud this time, his teeth showing with his cheesy grin. He was off key and he sang it low, his voice cracking, but god, I didn’t care. It was like an angelic siren song from heaven to me.

“Apocalypse…” We finished off singing together, both of our eyes now closed as we basked in the love that beamed off of the other. I became painfully aware of my silence, the thoughts that once drowned my brain like a tsunami taking over subsiding. I took a short but steady breath as I played with the baby hairs on the back of his neck.

“I love you, Mike Schmidt,” I said, my voice dripping with sap that it always did when my feelings for him became overwhelmingly apparent. Mike’s eyes opened to lock with mine once more as once of his hands came up to rest on my check. “And how I love you, sweetheart,” he practically sang out, our lips locking in one final quick peck.

Perhaps I did belong here, because even in the simpler moments where everything was suffocating, Mike Schmidt was there, his lips, my lips, a perfect puzzle piece snapping into place

I am always home in his arms.

[therandomavenger]

My 2023 in Sales

I hardly ever look at my sales dashboard on the kdp site. I maybe check in once a week (or less) It’s not that I don’t care, its that looking at it too often drives me to despair. But tonight, I took a look to see how 2023 went. I’m not going to use specific numbers but focus on comparing this year’s performance to previous years (no one needs to see these numbers. I am not a bestseller). This is a much more hopeful way of looking at things.

I released 2 books last year: The Soul Cages, which was a standalone paranormal romance novella, and Blade of Shadows, Wings of Light, the doorstopper first book in my Ascension Apocalypse Urban Fantasy series. I was nervous about this, because these were both queer books, and I would be trying to break into a completely new audience for myself. I had no idea how that would go.

Well, I sold three times the number of total books than I sold in any year before. I made almost four times the amount of money.

All the Promised Stars was still my bestselling book, but I think its numbers are inflated because I spent a week in July advertising it and giving it away for free. So, that’s probably skewing the numbers a bit. I did make money from that book, but probably a quarter of those ‘sales’ were free downloads. Which, I’d done that in years before and not found many takers, so this is absolutely a victory.

But right behind ATPS was The Soul Cages. I sold almost as many copies of that. I did run a bargain booksy promotion combined with a 99 cents sale, and that helped. But still. A lot of people (for certain values of a lot) bought this book.

Right behind TSC was Blade of Shadows, Wings of Light. There’s a little bit of a drop off here, but it’s not as large as it could have been considering that I basically released this book into the wild and asked it to fend for itself. I promoted it on my social media, but I didn’t run any ads or a bargain booksy for it. It was so long, no one in the usual groups I can count on even wanted to review it (which, fair). So, I’m really happy it seems to have found an audience.

A couple of takeaways for me here.

I should keep writing queer books. I don’t absolutely suck at it! I’m as surprised as anyone!

Also, there’s a huge drop-off between book 1 and the rest of the Broken Stars books. I think I know why that is. I’ve gotten pretty good feedback on book one, but I pretty much wrapped up the story. It was intentional. It was sold as a romance book and the romance threads were closed off. Also, when romance readers read an entire series, they usually want a new romance in each subsequent book. They want that series to stay like romance novels. The Broken Stars books change genres into the romantic sci-fi drama category. That is not necessarily the same audience. The romance readers who came in liked the romance book but weren’t interested in the thriller that was book one, or the dramas that were books 3 and 4. That is because of the way I sold them. Going forward, I can refocus my marketing efforts to attract readers who would be more interested in what the rest of the books were.

That said, if people bought book 2, Among the Captive Stars, it looks like they went on to buy books three and four. I’ve done no marketing at all for these three books (except a blog tour I did for book 4). Huge drop off from 1 to 2, not much of a drop off at all between the other three books. Which means, when the right readers found the books, they read the rest of the series (I hope they stick around for the next 2 books). If I refocus the marketing on book 1, maybe I can get more of those readers who will stay for the whole thing.

Also, my standalone romance did well. It was actually a romance. I was pulling no bait and switch series shenanigans here. People liked it. It got some complimentary reviews. Some people lamented that it was too short, but that just tells me they wanted more. I should absolutely release more standalone queer speculative romances. I’m working on one now, in fact! And it left Novella territory a long time ago.

I feel really good about all of that information.

I don’t focus a lot on sales because that is not why I do this. It does appear that, as small a number as the dollar amount is, I am slowly finding an audience. I just need to market correctly to find the people who will love my books. They are out there. I’ve never had a return (if that means anything)

Also, about 40% of my monetary earnings were from Kindle Unlimited Page Reads. As tempting as going wide seems, I’m probably staying in the KU program, for now. We’ll see if that dries up in the future.

So, that was my 2023 in sales. If people saw the actual numbers, they would laugh. But Every year my audience grows and that is what is most important to me.

[cherriesgore]

lust for life (luke skywalker/f!reader, 18+)

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⊱ ━━━━━━━━.⋅ εïз ⋅.━━━━━━━━ ⊰

꒰ ͜͡➸ pairing: luke skywalker x afab!reader

꒰ ͜͡➸ fandom: star wars

꒰ ͜͡➸ word count: 7.4k

꒰ ͜͡➸ summary: loving to push luke to his limits, you decide to try a new form of overstimulation together

꒰ ͜͡➸ tags/warnings: literally pwp, NO MINORS 18+!!!! handjob, dom!reader, sub!luke, overstimulation, (light) cum play

꒰ ͜͡➸ authors note: this is part of a new series i’m starting of explicit star wars reader inserts named after lana del rey songs - the songs don’t necessarily have any connection to the content of the writing, i just love lana

find and read the series on ao3 here

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He looks so good beneath you that you unconsciously slow your movements for a second, desperate to admire his flushed features, commit his furrowed brow and quivering lip to memory.

It’s been less than a second without your hand stroking him before Luke starts whining, a pathetic, mewling sound, like a stray cat that needs a home. You know his hands would paw at you, try and refocus your attention to his cock, if they weren’t pinned firmly above his head. Nothing ties him down this time, however, he is well aware of the nature of punishment you would dish out were he to even attempt to alter their position, and so, they stay put.

“Patience, Luke,” you scold him, a playful lilt to your voice. It was hard to hide your excitement when you knew what this build up was leading to, when you remembered that Luke had seemed equally enthusiastic about what you had wanted to try tonight. “Only good boys get to cum. You know that.”

He whines beautifully in response, his eyes squeezing shut. With his lip trapped between his teeth, he makes an effort to untense his thigh muscles, relaxing himself. He was so good like that. He eventually manages a little nod in your direction, signalling his acknowledgement of your statement. Normally, you’d have preferred his words, but it seemed like he was just as wound up as you were, tonight, so you make the decision to let it slide, ghosting your hand over his inner thigh and humming.

The hand you have his cock wrapped in once again starts its ministrations, and Luke releases his bottom lip from his teeth with a sigh. When he opens his eyes, you can’t help but give him a little smile, and he can’t seem to help but return the favour, before his expression twists into one of pleasure as you twist your hand just like he likes it, nice and firm, but not too tight, your thumb putting extra pressure on the throbbing vein that runs the length of the underside of his cock.

He chokes out your name in a moan, and you know you’ve almost got him there. You have to resist the urge to still your hand, to pull away and leave him begging and pleading, as was per usual with Luke. No, tonight you wanted- needed him to cum all over your hand, and you needed it now.

In preparation for what was to come, you shifted your body to angle your naked thighs towards his own, starting to straddle him. Maybe it was your added weight on the sensitive skin of his thighs, or maybe it was the way your new position reminded him of what was to happen next, or maybe it was way you leaned down to lick against his lean chest, wet with perspiration, murmuring about how much you loved his cock, how much you loved the way he tasted, but soon Luke was letting out pant after pant, a sure sign that he really was close.

“Be a good boy for me, Lukey,” you administered the final push. “Cum all over my hand.”

With one last sharp twist of your hand, you made the quick shift to fully straddle him, sliding your slick cunt down over him just as the first spurt of his warm release shot out of him - and straight into you. Luke practically screamed your name, followed by a string of ‘Kriff!’s and ‘Oh, Maker!’s. You couldn’t contain your own moan as you finally felt him inside you, along with his spend now coating your walls.

Luke couldn’t stop panting, his hands flying from their place above his head to grab your thighs, the movement rocking you in the process, only making him whimper as you were involuntarily shifted on his cock.

Your eyelids fluttered as you took a moment to collect yourself. When you cast a glance down at Luke, he looked ethereal. Tears stained his rosy cheeks, more already brewing in his hazy eyes as he looked up at you, seemingly transfixed. His lips parted, there seemed to be a never ending string of noises pouring out his mouth, as he tried to gather himself, though his attempt was considerably less successful than your own.

“Too much?” you checked in, bringing a hand up to cup his jaw, stroking over his tear tracks and doing your best to catch his gaze. It was hard when his eyes seemed to want to dart all over your body, trying to take in every little detail of your naked form, much as you had been doing to him.

He shook his head, before realising after a moment that that wasn’t enough. You saw his throat bob as he carefully swallowed, finding his voice once more. “N-no,” he choked out. “Maker, no, could never be too much. This is- you’re- perfect, kriff, you’re so perfect, I don’t-”

“Shh,” you instructed, moving your hands behind you to rest on his thighs, giving yourself more leverage. “As long as you’re enjoying yourself, you just lay there and take it, my precious boy.”

He whined and nodded, moving his hands back to their previous position. What a good boy, you noted. You’d have to give him an extra reward later.

For now, you started a slow rhythm, mostly grinding down against his now softening cock, finding the angle that had his pubic bone hitting your clit just right, making you moan and squirm almost as much as he was.

Neither of you were expecting Luke to cum again, as he had stated that he was mostly interested in trying this out for your pleasure, but it was undeniable that he enjoyed the overstimulation on his spent cock, what with his thighs quivering and bucking up to try and meet your movements.

“Need you to cum,” Luke muttered, his voice beyond wrecked, completely hoarse. He had surprised you by speaking up, as you were sure he was far past still having control over such a thing, and in your state of shock, you had accidentally bounced on his cock, creating far more friction than either of you had experienced thus far. Luke let out a groan. “I-I was such a good b-boy for you, need you to cum and s-sh-show me how good I was. Please.”

Nodding, finding yourself a little beyond words at this point, you steadily tried another little bounce on Luke’s cock and found yourself moaning out at the feeling, beginning a faster rhythm than you had had before, now more determined than ever to reach your peak.

Just as you were about to warn Luke of your impending release, you watched as he brought one hand down from above his head, shakily reaching for your stomach, where some of his cum had hit, just before you had sunk down onto him. He collected the mess on his fingers and dragged them down over your lower belly-

You practically squealed when he began rubbing at your clit, using his own cum as lubrication, somehow managing to move his fingers just the way you liked, even in his fucked out state.

“I- I’m gonna-” Before you could finish the sentence, your eyes had squeezed shut as you came with a moan, clamping down around Luke’s cock. You continued moving on top of him throughout your orgasm, his fingers never letting up on your clit. You presumed he really must be loving the overstimulation he was experiencing, as he actively tried to prolong your release.

With one final grind of your hips, you slumped forward into Luke’s awaiting chest, his arms encircling you and holding you close. After a few measured breaths to regain the feeling in your arms and legs, you shimmied your way up his body, his soft cock slipping out of you. You shifted to the side of him and brought his head to rest on your shoulder, stroking through the matts in his blonde hair.

“Was it everything you imagined?” he murmured, clearly close to sleep, as he peered up at you, struggling to keep his eyes open.

“All that and more,” you smiled at him, giving his forehead a gentle kiss.

[elizabeth-mitchells]

Andy keeping and caring for Quynh's gear and gives them back to Quynh when she escapes

Every day Quynnh is more and more… herself. There are bad days and setbacks and nightmares and everything in between. But Quynh is a warrior, and she wants her life back. She’s putting an extraordinary effort to reclaim her life, her love, and her joy. For Andy, it’s been something beyond admirable to watch, and she feels more in love with her with every passing second. For example, she’s overwhelmed with joy at Quynh’s giggling reaction when she takes her to the abandoned mine in France.

“This is new,” Quynh murmured as she traced her fingers over centuries-worth of art and weapons that Andy had deemed worth keeping. Quynh felt a pang of pain thinking about those five hundred years she missed, but with a quick shake of her head she decided to refocus her attention elsewhere. “Ah, now this is familiar,” she smiled, picking up an arrow that she remembered used to be her. She miscalculated, thinking it wouldn’t hurt, but once again she made an effort to shove down those feelings. “Poor thing has seen better days,” she added, studying the extremely worn-down weapon.

“Yeah, I was a little slow in figuring out some stuff needs special care to be preserved,” Andy said, scratching the back of her head a little embarrassed. But as soon as an idea popped in her mind she stepped closer to Quynh. “Which reminds me… there’s something I want to show you, if you’re in the mood for a small trip with me?” Andy asked.

Quynh had been avoiding looking at her, fearing her emotions would finally overflow, but she couldn’t hold back her smile when she noticed a bit of nervousness creep into her lover’s tone. When finally Andy’s hands found hers and held her delicately, Quynh looked up. “Let’s go then,” she answered.

--

For months Quynh had been putting almost insane effort at keeping her emotions in check. It was getting increasingly difficult, especially considering that Andy’s trip was to Vietnam. The feelings creating a storm inside Quynh’s heart were indescribable. The world had changed so much it was difficult to wrap her mind around it, but seeing at least some slightly familiar places, some slightly familiar traditions and sights and culture, it was almost too much. And then they finally arrived at the safe house Andy had as a destination.

It was a beautiful place, much more comfortable than most safe houses the team ever had. It was well kept and Quynh didn’t know how, but suspected Andy had put an unusual amount of money, time and effort on this place. It didn’t click until Andy brought her to a special room, where even the doors seemed strange to Quynh. She didn’t think inside that strange room there would be anything familiar, and she was immediately proved wrong.

“I was a little late in thinking about it but, not too late, thankfully,” Andy started explaining as they stepped into the room. “Back then it was a matter of bringing the most delicate things to specialists every few decades or so. It wasn’t until around the time we found Booker that I really thought of having one place where I could safely keep all our most important belongings.”

That’s what it was. That room was filled with modern shelves that look a little strange to Quynh. The temperature and the air were controlled, some things included labels and instructions. Specialists from all over the world in weapons, metals, and art, visited that place regularly to take care of all the objects kept there. Paintings, sculptures, axes, swords, bow and arrows, jewels, dresses, things that immediately sparked some of their best memories together, little things almost entirely forgotten but undeniably familiar. It was all complicated, but the message was clear. Andy had kept, collected, and taken care of everything Quynh had left behind, and it was all there, waiting for her, just like Andy, knowing she’d come back.

“Quynh? Was it a mistake?”

The fear and worry in Andy’s tone was what it took to shake Quynh out of the daze she was in, and realize she had started to cry. No more holding back feelings then. She threw her arms around Andy and held her as tightly as possible, crying against her should and when she calmed down the only thing she wanted to say was “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

Andy was smiling brightly, even through her own tears. She tightened her arms around the love of her life one more moment, kissed the side of her head and finally asked, “Does that mean you want to stay?”

“Stay?” Quynh pulled back enough to look at her as she asked.

“Yes, stay here,” Andy smiled, her uncharacteristic nervousness showing up once again, “It’s not just this room. I’ve kept this one house always ready in case you came back. It’s really beautiful and it has everything we need and I think you’ll like it and… it can be just you and me, for as long as you need.”

Andy got her response in the shape of a kiss that told her everything she needed to know. There was no reason to worry. Despite all the time apart, despite the new scars and pain, they were still the women that had loved each other for thousands of years.

[wordynerdygurl]

A Wonderful Christmastime

Author’s Note:  Well Hello All!  I hope that you’re all taking care of yourselves and staying well!  My tag-list is open and you know I love the validation of reblogs, shares, tags and adds!! I have been working on a larger OC story which has kept my from my Loki writings, but I entered a challenge posted by @toomanystoriessolittletime​ for the Christmas holiday.  If you aren’t following, please do as she’s got a great little Advent Calendar of seasonal stories for you!  One a day through the month of December!  

I chose a prompt based off of my least favorite Christmas song.  Ever.  Like in the history of humanity.  Like, my family torture me with it because of how much I dislike it.  This story is a chance to take a little lighthearted revenge on Sir Paul McCartney and also, hopefully, help you all enjoy a Wonderful Christmastime!   Also, isn’t this gif the cutest thing in the world?  My thanks to the OP and creator for it... it’s amazing and I love Christmas Loki!! Pairing:  Female Reader x Loki

Summary:  Everyone has a favorite holiday song... when Loki learns which one you dislike, he uses it to his advantage. Warnings:  Christmas holiday mentions, SMUT, Oral (F receiving) and MF Sex, also, the over use of a certain song that makes me, personally, crazy!

This was it.  That perfect moment when all of the holiday hustle was behind you.  Nothing to buy, nothing to ship, nothing to wrap, nothing to bake.  It was all over.  You had made it through another Christmas Eve.

Your well decorated tree sat in the corner, presents tucked below for you and Loki in the morning.  The frittata was resting in the fridge along with the two bottles of Prosecco you planned to have with brunch.  Hell, it was the holidays, after all.

But that was for tomorrow.

Tonight you were relaxing after an afternoon of family Christmas fun.  Nieces and nephews, piles of shredded paper, stacks of snacks and so much laughter your belly muscles were sore.  And through it all Loki had been a champ! Holding your hand, rubbing the small of your back, pulling out your chair; Loki had put the other partners to shame.  Whether he was telling bawdy but tasteful jokes to the men who drank cheap beer around the TV, sharing hair care tips with your sister’s oldest girl or whispering with your mom in the kitchen, he was always where he needed to be.  For the first time in ages, you had been able to enjoy the day fully, and you knew Loki was the reason why. After getting home, trading your dress and boots for comfy shorts and a sweatshirt, you padded into the living room.  Loki was there, sitting cross legged, digging through your bag of swag.  He had put seasonal music on in the background while munching through a plate of Auntie’s sugar cookies, two well poured goblets of red wine waiting to be had at his side.  God, he was good. “Is one of those for me?”  You couldn’t help smiling.  Loki, looking like a little kid, over excited and surrounded by all the trapping of Christmas just felt so precious. It took him a moment to reply as he was solely focused on the handmade puzzle box your mother had crafted for all the guys this year, “Hmm?  Yes… one’s for you…” Kissing the top of his head, careful not to dislodge his Rudolf blinking antler headband, a gift to Loki from your youngest nephew, you moved towards the couch.  Sipping from your glass of wine, snuggled under the softest chenille blanket your sister-in-law could find, you sighed contentedly.  Victory over the holiday season felt amazing.  Now all that was left on your to-do list was eating, drinking, and enjoying alone time with Loki until New Year’s.  Suddenly exhausted, you felt the lovely warm drag of drowsiness and snuggled deeper into the sofa.  Shuttering your tired eyes, you listened as Loki stood up, off to hunt up some more food, no doubt.  Visions of sugarplums danced in your head as you started to succumb to a sweet slumber. That’s when you heard it.  

“The moon is right, The spirit’s up, We’re here tonight and that’s enough…” Groaning, wide awake now, you sat up with a shout, “Loki?!”  Like magic his raven head popped around the doorframe, his reindeer antlers askew, a candy cane hanging out of his mouth, “Yes?”

“Um… question:  What are we listening to?” Stepping back into the living room, his new holiday flannel shirt open at the neck, Loki leaned over you, husking playfully,  “Music.  At least, that’s what I believe you Midgardians call it.” “Ha ha.  Yes, I know it’s music, but this particular song?”  You couldn’t keep the tartness from your tone as you pressed your nose into the handsome one on Loki’s face. Pausing, listening intently, Loki cocked his head to the side.  Singing along, his bells jingling, “Simply having a Wonderful Christmastime!” “Ugh.  That’s what I was afraid of!”  Flinging a hand over your eyes, you grumbled, burrowing back into the cozy couch as a means of blocking out the obnoxious noise of the worst holiday song in the history of humanity. Making himself comfortable at your feet, pouring himself another glass of vino, “I like it.  It’s simple.  Direct.  What are you doing?  Me?  I’m simply having a wonderful Christmastime!” From deep in the cushions, muffled but forceful, you pleaded, “Make it stop!  Please!” “What for?  It is still Christmastime, is it not?  And we are enjoying a wonderful time, aren’t we?” Turning back to face him, a Scrooge-like scowl on your suddenly serious face, “I’ll do anything to get you to turn that off.” That got his attention, “Anything?”  Sitting up quickly, you reached for your blanket only to feel Loki snatching it out of your grasp, “You said anything, darling.” Tugging on the plush fabric, practically pouting, “You’re not going to take my new fluffy blankie, are you?” “Oh no.  That’s not nearly enough to stop me from playing my favorite Christmas carol.”

“It’s your favorite, now?  Loki, you just heard it.” Waving your gripes away, pinning you under his arms and under your blanket, “I love it.  It’s my favorite.  You can’t mess with perfection.”

You wiggled, trying to free an arm or a hand, anything to help defend yourself from Loki’s soft, but effective attack, "Perfection?  Loki, it's awful."

"I disagree.  But…”  Brushing a gentle kiss to your captive lips, making you melt into his warm touch, Loki made sure to keep you immobile.  Unraveling under his ardent attention, you gave up fighting, focusing on Loki’s roving hands through the protective layer of your new throw.  

Lost in his lips, you ignored the wretched recording still spinning, until sitting back with a sly smile Loki continued, “Regardless of my newly acquired antlers, I am a reasonable man.  I'm willing to hear your side of things.  Convince me, dove."

Looking up at him through your lashes, licking over your bottom lip that tasted of Loki's peppermint, it took you a moment to refocus on your argument.  Sighing doggedly, “It’s just garbage.  Too sweet, too synth-pop.  It’s plastic.  There’s no substance to it.”

At least Loki did you the service of considering your answer.  He paused, listening to the offending tune, starting to hum along once more.  “I don’t know.  It sounds like church bells ringing.  And I like when the kids start singing!”

“You couldn't.  Those are two of the worst things about it!  There’s not a single redeemable factor in it’s trite,  super saccharine, four minute run time.”  Agitated now and edging into anger, your voice kept rising, spurned on by the inability to get away from Loki’s plush prison, “Also, get off me!” “Can’t do it.  But-” nuzzling into your neck, tasting along the tendon there, “-I can replay this song.”  “That’s it!”  Fury tinted your words as you tried harder than ever to break free of your fleece prison but Loki was brick heavy, unmovable, and impossibly giddy at your predicament.  All things which only added fuel to your fire.  Wriggling like mad, struggling to kick a foot free, you squirmed desperately for leverage.  His response?  A deep chuckle, “Is that all you’ve got, darling?”  Laying those long, lanky bones on top of you, holding down the throw’s corners in a way that made fighting futile, Loki smirked at your distress, “I still don’t see why you hate it so much.  It is a simple song because we’re simply having a wonderful Christmastime!  It’s in the title after all.” With cheeks hot from exertion, fully frustrated and forced to listen to Paul McCartney’s bland holiday ballad start a second time, you nearly shrieked, "I hate it, Loki!  Loathe it, really!  The lyrics are basic, the keyboard is tinny, and Sir Paul is better than that!” “Is that all?” “No!  It's even worse when someone else sings it, like those kids from Glee or an up and coming Country artist making their first holiday record!"

Beneath the blanket your chest rose and fell with bothered breaths.  From rubbing against the couch your hair stuck up in odd angles and you could feel heat rising off your neck.  How had you gone from almost asleep to a blanket related battle royale?  Loki, taking advantage of your confinement, kissed your forehead sweetly, and the change in tactic caught you off guard.  His lips grazed the tip of your nose as you huffed out a pout, eager to see where his mischief making would lead.  Pressing his forehead to yours, that deep sonorous voice whispering lowly for your ears alone, "Not a compelling enough argument for me to turn it off, I'm afraid." And to your holiday horror the song in question started again.  Grousing, "Don’t play it again!  Please!  I’m begging you!” “Already begging darling?”  Thick with mocking, Loki slotted himself between your thighs, keeping you from fighting back with any power. Whining full out now, poking out your bottom lip, “Come on!  Please, let me up and turn this off!” “Why, of course, my pearl.”  With no effort on his part, Loki scooped you up, blankie and all, pulling you tightly to his chest.  Gripping your bottom, his fingers firm through the cotton of your pj pants, he squeezed hard enough for you to yelp. “Hey!”  But that’s all you managed before his talented tongue invaded your mouth.  Now the only thing you could hear was the shaky exhale of your shared sighs and your own needy mewls when Loki started to withdraw.

Godly hands drew your thick and comfy sweatshirt over your head, leaving you bare against the cuddly softness of your new blanket, a perfect dichotomy to the heated hardness of Loki’s chest.  With your arms finally free you tangled your hands in the long tresses of your lover, distracted from the awful music by his groan, “Easy darling.” But now that the tables were tipped in your favor, you had no intention of going easy on Loki.  Not after his antics tonight, not a chance.  Tugging hard enough for him to wince, you ground against his lap with a nip to his neck, “Turn it off then.”

“Now, why would I do that?  Aren’t we still enjoying a Wonderful Christmastime?” Bouncing in his lap, purposefully teasing your mischief maker with a smirk, “We were until you let this terrible song play!” Laughing heartily, Loki stroked over your bare shoulder, one hand resting on your waist and the other cupping your cheek.  “If I wanted to, my darling, I could change your mind.  I could make you adore this song.” “Is that so, Odinson?  I doubt it.”

“Doubt me?  On this, Christmas Eve!  When you know the feelin’s here that only comes once a year?” A confident nod was all he got for an answer.  In a flash you were laying on the soft rug, your legs wrapped over Loki’s and your new blanket tossed to the side.  Fiery kisses to your chest and neck led him to the shell of your ear where he hummed hungrily, “The moon is right, the spirits up…” Enjoying his mouth but not his music, you shoved against his shoulders, panting, “Don’t sing, just kiss me.” Licking into your mouth, Loki’s tongue obliged your need as his hands skated over the curve of your hip, breaking your kiss to croon, “We’re here tonight, dove… and that’s enough.”

“Loki… please stop…”  You fisted his shirt, pulling at the buttons until his muscular torso was under your fingers, strong and solid.  Pushing the plaid cotton off his shoulders, you let your nails drag over Loki’s naked back as you shifted your hips, subtlety be damned. He took the hint.  Nipping a trail over your tummy, Loki kept his eyes on yours as he shucked your shorts, snorting, “No panties?  Naughty!” “If that’s naughty, Loki, then what you’re doing to me is positively evil.” That made your lover grin, his eyebrows lifting in a wickedly Grinchy smile before caressing the inner skin of your thigh with his clever mouth.  Slithering closer to your center, sweeping his tongue in swirls, you couldn’t help the excited shiver he created.  It was enough to block out the terrible song now that you had something more arousing to hold your attention. Using those long, deft fingers, Loki parted your folds with a murmured moan, “You’re so wet, darling.  Maybe you like this song more than you let on?” A curse for him and his rotten taste in Christmas music died in your throat as Loki connected to your sacred skin through a carnal kiss.  Those strong forearms ensured that your knees stayed open wide as his tongue tasted, teasing your clenching cleft, humming with appreciation at your body’s response.  Circling your clit, sucking gently before changing direction and licking your lower lips once more, Loki had you teetering on the cliff of climax in minutes.

Your stomach tensed, ready for release.  Delicious waves of orgasmic bliss were pulsing through you, needing just a touch more friction, a little more pressure in order to crash over you.  Gasping out incoherent whimpers, fingers ruffling Loki’s dark hair, you can’t fight the neediness that he’s created in you. It just feels so incredible, something Loki knows you’re enjoying, “Like that, darling?” Passion clouds your vision as your desire crests, unfulfilled, “You know I do, Loki…” Fingers slide sensually through your slit, his bright eyes on you, “How much?  How much do you like it?” Shaking your head, still foggy with needs unmet, “So much, baby.  I love making love to you so much.” Bumping against your swollen bud, pressing down firmly, Loki begins using his hands to entice you towards ecstasy.  Two fingers enter you easily, delightful, sure, but not as filling as Loki’s hard member.  Reaching for him, you want to lose yourself in loving and being loved by your space god, “Sing for me, dove.” Beseeching you breathlessly, Loki’s hand stills, keeping you at the fringe of falling apart.  Waiting for your reply impatiently he asks again, “Sing, please.” “A song?” His reply is a shake of his dark head.  Slowly, smoothly, Loki withdraws his fingers, only to press them into your yielding flesh once more, “Yes, my darling.  Sing my favorite song!”

Sucking a bruise onto your inner thigh, those fingers of his spreading your walls, the exquisite pressure on your straining clitoris.  Any one of these distractions would have been hard to concentrate through.  Experiencing them all together?  Overwhelming.

And that’s the excuse you would use to explain what happened next.  “The party’s on… The feeling’s here…” As soon as the words left your lips, Loki’s attention resumed in earnest, “That’s it, dove!  Keep going!” “That only comes, this time of year… Ah!  Loki!” Loki watched you lustily.  Your eyes half closed, legs splayed lewdly, a nervous grin on your face.  He never wanted you more.  Slipping out of his jeans, wasting no time, Loki guided his hardened cock into you with a satisfying sigh. Your response to his abundance?  “Oh shit, Loki!  Yes!”  Snapping his hips against your pelvis, iron banded arms clinging to you, Loki stuttered, “I don’t hear you singing!” “We’re simply having a Wonderful Christmastime!”  How many times did you repeat the chorus?  Hard to say.  It became a mantra.  A thing to chant in time with everyone of Loki’s deliberate and deep thrusts. This time, when you felt the familiar stirring of your satisfaction, Loki didn’t stop you.  Encouraging you with a soulful kiss, his stroke surging in time with Paul McCartney’s crooning, you came apart in each other’s arms with a smile.  The song started again and you couldn’t stop the giggles from bursting out of you, “What’s so funny, dove?” “You said you could make me like this terrible, horrible, awful song.” Sitting up and taking you with him, Loki chuckled as he kissed your hand, “Hey, don’t make fun of the best holiday song I have ever heard.”  Pulling your new blanket around the both of you, “I still hate it, but-”

“But?”, his eyebrow arched in surprise, waiting for you to continue.

“But I don’t hate it as much.” Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, playfully ribbing you, “Do I have to force you into having another Wonderful Christmastime?” Biting your bottom lip, you returned the favor by sweeping a stray lock of Loki’s black hair over his shoulder, “Babe, you could make crazy, insane love to me each day and every night… and-” “And?”  Kissing Loki lightly on the nose, you stood up on shaky legs and started towards the hallway.  At the entry way you turned back letting the blanket fall to the floor, “-And Wonderful Christmastime would still suck.”  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

To My Many Minxes:  @toomanystoriessolittletime @vodka-and-some-sass @just-random-obsessions @brokenthelovely @lots-of-loki @thefallenbibliophilequote @scrumptious-finicky-illusion @iamverity @mizfit2 @sammy-jo1977 @wolfsmom1 @jessiejunebug @iluvsumbucky @unadulteratedwizardlove @procrastinatinglikeabitch @shxdowofdarkness @nonsensicalobsessions @ahintofkiwistrawberry @alexakeyloveloki @rorybutnotgilmore @crystalizedcaramel @lokislittlecorner @capcapcapsicle @jamielea81 @caffiend-queen @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore @jenjen8675309 @that-one-person @roguewraith

[duchesschameleon]

light the candles

summary: a little Jewish education, some Hanukkah decorations, and warmth provided by candlelight (aka an extremely self-indulgent and slightly cathartic fic)

pairing: Aaron Hotchner x GN Jewish Reader words: 2.5k title from: candlelight by the maccabeats

You look at the little snow-covered tree JJ and Morgan insisted you decorate your desk with earlier and sigh. It’s late, you’re still at the office working on consults and a report from your latest case, and the tree is another thing that’s adding to your mounting headache. It’s such a little thing, you shouldn’t feel guilty over it and it shouldn’t bother you this much. But it does for some reason, and you can’t shake it. You let out a sigh and rub your eyes, trying to get yourself to refocus on the paperwork in front of you. It’s a tree, it’s not the end of the world. It’s a snow-covered tree, it won’t hurt you, you tell yourself. And it works for a bit. You feel yourself sink into the rhythm of paperwork, blocking out the world around you.

Its Aaron’s hand on your shoulder that pulls you from your trance and you startle as you look up at him.

“Sorry, I tried calling your name,” he starts, clearing his throat as his eyes dart around your desk, “why are you still here? Go home, paperwork will be here in the morning.”

“Seemed better to get it done now,” you shrug, “Anyway, there’s not much for me at home. I do live alone.”

Aaron huffs out a laugh in acknowledgement. “But it’s the holidays. Shouldn’t you be decorating or getting gifts or just, I don’t know reveling in the holiday spirit?” His hands are firmly placed in his pockets, making him appear almost awkward and nervous, but you ignore it. There’s no reason for Aaron Hotchner to be awkward and nervous around you.

Your face sours a bit, and you lean back in your chair, “you mean get into the Christmas spirit?” you scoff.

“No,” Aaron frowns, “I mean the holiday spirit. Hanukkah starts soon, doesn’t it?”

Your speechless for a moment, shocked that he remembered. You don’t talk about being Jewish a lot, just little things here and there about getting challah for shabbat, lighting your candles when you can, or wearing your Chai pendant. It’s small things and details that are easy to forget or slip out of people’s minds. “Uhm, yeah, it starts in a week or so,” you stammer out. “But there’s not much to prepare? My gifts to my family have already been sent and I don’t decorate much. Doesn’t make sense when we’re probably going to get a case and be traveling. Anyway, it’s importance always gets blown out of proportion because of its proximity to Christmas.

Aaron nods and lets out a little huff of air. “Got it.” He checks his watch and sighs, noting the time. He rubs his forehead, contemplating something. “Well, if you won’t go home to your place then come on over to mine. I, uh, may have bought some Hanukkah decorations for Jack and I to put up and we could use your help.” Aaron’s neck flushes and he looks down at his feet. Suddenly, his nervousness makes sense, and you feel your own cheeks heat up. “I understand if you don’t want to, or it’s overstepping but I still –”

“No, no I’d – I’d really like that,” you interrupt. A small smile spreads across your face and you look up at Aaron. “You know I’ll never turn down time with Jack and I guess I can help decorate.”

Aaron flashes you one of his blinding smiles, small enough to not look totally out of place on his face but still full of joy. “Good, because I probably won’t be able to answer most of his questions about Hanukkah. Figured I’d go straight to the expert for that.”

You laugh as you start to clean up your desk, organizing files so that you can pick right up when you get into the office tomorrow. Aaron runs back to his office to grab his keys and coat, a small smile gracing his face. When he comes back to your desk, you’re standing waiting for him.

“I took the metro in today, mind giving me a lift to your place?”

“Not at all.”

The ride is quiet, comfortable. The silences that fall over you two usually are comfortable, a by-product of working together for so many years and spending those years in close contact. It’s hard to be a part of the BAU for so long and not be comfortable around each other.

And while you might be comfortable, Aaron is trying to hide how tense he is in the driver’s seat. Getting you to his apartment, to spend time alone with him (and Jack) outside of a work setting is something he’s been trying to do for a long time. It took some courage, and a good excuse, but he did it and now he’s nervous all over again about what it’ll be like to have you in his space. At work, there’s a clearly defined line of professionalism he cannot cross. But in his apartment, his home, and with his son he’s not sure he’ll be able to stop the feelings he’s harbored for you for a while.

The drive to Aaron’s isn’t very long and soon he’s putting the car and park and jogging to try and open your door for you. When he realizes you’d already opened it, he offers you his hand instead and you roll your eyes as you take it.

“Always the gentleman, huh Hotchner?” He flashes you a smirk in return and you chuckle as he leads you to the elevator of the parking garage, still holding your hand. It’s nice, his large hand enveloping yours and providing warmth to your chilly fingers. You certainly aren’t complaining and wouldn’t want him to drop your hand.

Jack’s running to the door as you enter the apartment and immediately wraps his arms around Aaron for a hug. “Aunt Jess let me stay up late ‘cause you said we were gonna decorate tonight!” Jack exclaims, excited for an extended bedtime on a school night.

“Yeah buddy! I brought over a friend too, to help us with those new decorations I got, remember?” Aaron asked, leaning down to hug Jack and press a kiss to his hair.

Jack nods before looking around Aaron to wave at you and say hi. You wave back at him before unwinding your scarf and unbuttoning your coat. Aaron’s behind you to help take your coat off and hang it up and you’re startled by his closeness. He was close enough for you to get a whiff of his cologne, something subtle but spicy. It sends a shiver down your spine, being that close to him.

You shake it off though as he moves into the apartment to grab the decorations he’d purchased. You follow and sit on the couch as Aaron places the bags on the coffee table. Jack hops up next to you and reaches into the bag, pulling something out.

You see the item and gasp, looking at Aaron over Jack’s head. “Really?”

“I overhead JJ and Morgan talking about wanting to decorate the office and I know they tend to be well, one track minded. I wanted to make sure all bases were covered.” Aaron shrugs, and you see that his neck is turning red again.

“This is, incredible,” you breathe as you help Jack paw through the bag. There isn’t much, but it’s something and it means so much to you. Dreidels, strands of blue lights, a plush menorah for Jack to fill at home, an electric one for you to plug in at your desk, and gelt. Bags and bags of gelt. As you open the items, you explain what they are to Jack. That dreidels are both the spinning top itself and a game you play, that you play with gelt and then you can eat it because it’s a chocolate coin, and the menorah. You save it for last, telling him the abridged story of the Maccabees and how they fought and then discovered the oil left in the temple should only last one night but miraculously gave them light for 8 nights.

You keep it short, mindful of the time and Jack’s drooping eyes. He is excited about everything and demands you come over another time to play dreidel with him and to bring latkes, he said they sounded yummy and wanted to try some. You promise him that you will and give him a hug goodnight as Aaron makes sure he gets tucked into bed.

Most of the decorations are still spread on the coffee table in front of you, a few of the light strands hung up at Jack’s insistence. You’re still shocked that Aaron went through the trouble to find all of this and even more surprised he’d wanted some of it for his home, not just for the office. You flip through one of the children’s books Aaron had bought to help Jack understand the Hanukkah story and smile at the illustrations. You’re so engrossed in it that you don’t hear him return and get startled at him sinking into the couch next to you.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” Aaron says. He clears his throat and twists to look at you, “Thank you for doing this. For explaining Hanukkah to Jack and indulging him. And me too, I guess.”

You smile warmly at him, “Of course, it’s nice to know that people do want to learn. And you know I can never say no to Jack,” you laugh.

“Oh yes, there is a track record of that,” Aaron jokes. As you laugh you notice how close he’s sitting to you and your filled with warmth, though a little confused as to why he’s so close. It’s closer than he ever sits next to you, including on the jet. You settle into it, but his nerves from earlier seem to have transferred to you. You’re hyper-aware of Aaron’s presence and it puts you on edge. You know that you’ve been ignoring and pushing down the attraction you feel to him, the way you gravitate towards him. You know that you ignore it in the name of professionalism, of not crossing a line. But there’s also part of you that’s scared to put yourself and your heart on the line by giving in to your feelings. Aaron is your friend, your boss, someone who’s been a part of your life for years. To ruin that, to lose that would be devastating. So, you’ve continued on as if there are no romantic inclinations.

Besides, you’ve convinced yourself there’s no way Aaron reciprocates your feelings. He’d been so in love with Haley and hadn’t made any steps towards moving on or starting another relationship for so long. There’s no way that he’s taken a romantic interest in you, not now.

“You still here with me?” Aaron says, pulling you from your thoughts.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Just…thinking.”

“About what?”

You swallow, trying to figure out the best way to answer. Obviously, something is different about tonight. Aaron’s been hovering all evening, close to you and holding your hand and you’re sure he rested his hand on your arm or shoulder while you explained Hanukkah to Jack. He’s tactile, in a way he’s never been before. Now that Jack has gone to bed and you two are alone, you’re forced to really confront what it could mean.

“Did I lose you again?”

You shake your head and shoot him an apologetic smile, “I’m a little distracted, sorry.” You take a breath, determined and turn to face Aaron, “There’s something, different tonight isn’t there? You held my hand on the way here and you’ve been hovering close all night. It’s different than when we’re at work and it’s just…it’s distracting,” you blurt.

Aaron’s eyes meet yours and he takes your hand again, “It is different. You’re here at my apartment, and you’re so good with Jack and I just, I wanted it to be a little different, if that’s okay with you?”

“Are we going to keep dodging around it? Because this is, it’s a lot Aaron. It’s something I haven’t dared hope for, and I don’t want to mess anything up between us. You mean a lot to me. As a friend, a coworker, and as someone who’s been in my life for years at this point. I can’t lose that, not now.”

“Hey, hey,” Aaron’s hand comes up to rest on your jaw and he makes you meet his eyes, “none of that talk. Nothing is going to ruin what we have. You aren’t losing me.” The conviction in his voice helps calm your nerves, but there’s still so much left unsaid.

“Aaron, we have to be on the same page. This isn’t a one-time thing for me. I like you. As more than a friend. As someone I want to have in my life for a long time. For forever, really. I can’t say I love you right now because I’ve spent so long pushing all this down but it’s a real possibility. I can see a life with you, and I know that I could love you. If we do this, Aaron I’m pretty much all in.” You’ve laid your cards on the table, put it all out there. Aaron squeezes the hand he’s still holding and grips your jaw a little tighter, making sure you don’t turn away from him. He sees you, and you can’t hide.

“We’re on the same page. You just spent an evening with Jack and I teaching us about a holiday we don’t celebrate. I don’t think I can say it anymore plainly that this isn’t a one-time deal. I know I’m falling in love with you. Have been for a while,” he huffs out a laugh, “I see that life with you, and I want it. I know it won’t be easy with work, but we can figure that out and deal with the paperwork, I just know that I want you in my life, in Jack’s life, and I can’t lose you either. I want more time with you than we spend together in the office and I just, didn’t know how to tell you. But I want this. I want you.”

You’re verklempt, a mist clouding your vision. You smile and Aaron and he returns it. You both lean in and then he’s kissing you, his lips moving over yours and oh this is something you can get used to. Kissing Aaron Hotchner is something you could easily do for the rest of your life. When you separate for a breath you tell him that and it draws a chuckle from both of you.

The details will come later, telling Jack and the team and Strauss but for now, you’ll sit on his couch and kiss him. There’s some lost time to make up for anyway.

And if you’re over for dinner a few days later, well that’s just fine. Aaron greets you at the door with a kiss and takes the bags out of your hands and into the kitchen. It’s the first night of Hanukkah and you’ve brought latke supplies to fulfill your promise to Jack. And when you light the first candle in your menorah, Aaron wraps his arms around your waist and you settle into him, content.

tag: @qvid-pro-qvo (if you want to be tagged in future fics - when I write them oops - let me know!)

[19tozier]

wish you were sober pt. two (richie tozier)

part two of this imagine

warnings: swearing, angst w/ a happy ending

[losers + reader are 16+]

as much as you wish it didn’t, that night after the party changes everything.

you don’t really know what to do with yourself. your heart aches to believe what richie said, but the larger part of you knows he was just drunk. he’s been your best friend for years, there’s no way that he actually likes you, let alone loves you. you just need to forget about it.

you don’t really know what to do about it, though. the logical part of you says it would probably be best to avoid richie for a while, at least until your feelings settle down again, but you’re not strong enough to do that. you’ve never gone longer than the weekend without seeing him; you don’t think you’d survive not having him within arm’s length.

but still, your blood burns whenever he’s close, so almost without you realizing it, you put distance between the two of you. not much, not enough to ruin your friendship, but enough to be noticeable. always at least one loser between you at all times, never being alone with him, talking to him really only when there are other people around. you know he has to have noticed and you feel guilty as hell to hurt him like this, but you’re slowly dying and he has no fucking clue.

you do, however, notice when sandy stops eating lunch with all of you. you notice when his jean jacket stretches over his own shoulders again. and you notice how no new girl shows up under his arm. you notice it all, and it makes you think.

hope is a dangerous thing. it can kill you if you’re not careful.

you think you’re doing a pretty good job of it, all things considered; you still laugh at richie’s jokes, you still banter with him over mundane topics, you still team up with him to rag on any of the other losers. you’ve always believed yourself to be a bad friend because of your feelings, betraying his trust and his privacy by being so in love with him. you’re certain you’re obvious because sometimes you feel like your love for him is bursting out of your skin, but you’ve never admitted it in as many words. you’ve never told anyone about your feelings for him, not even bev or stan. it is a secret you intend to take to your grave.

you only realize you’re wrong when the tension between you and richie explodes.

it starts at lunch one day. you’re all sat around your usual table, being as rowdy and out-of-control as all of you typically are. you’re sitting in between bill and bev, laughing at the story eddie tells, consciously keeping your eyes away from richie. any time you look at him, you can’t pull your eyes away because of how beautiful he is.

still, you’re only so strong, and when eddie gets distracted by bill asking him a question, your eyes flick to richie’s face. you jump when you find him already looking back at you.

he raises an eyebrow at you, a cheeky grin spread across his mouth. he’s got his hair pulled back in a bun today, a few unruly curls spilling out against his cheekbones in a way that’s unfairly attractive. you’re stricken by it, especially when he drops his eyelid in a wink. it’s so hot, you want to climb him like a tree and kiss him—

you jerk, ripping your gaze away from him. you desperately refocus on eddie, ignoring the way bev nudges you. your cheeks are flaming, something hot traveling through your chest and down your arms. you can feel richie’s gaze still on you, prickling and too perceptive. you feel flayed out under it, like he will be able to read your love for him in every line of your face.

you very carefully do not look at richie for the rest of lunch.

you almost think you’ve gotten away with it. richie doesn’t try to catch your attention again, and when the bell rings you book it out of the cafeteria before he can try and talk to you. you don’t share any classes together after lunch, and you think you can probably avoid him after school too if you pretend to talk to one of your teachers. you’re fine. it’s fine. you can do this.

you’re still thinking about it when you take your customary trip to the bathroom, the way you always do sometime during fifth period. it’s less actually having to go to the bathroom and more needing to get out of class, still jittery from lunch but starting to crash and burn out from the school day.

you’re swinging the hall pass around your finger, humming to yourself as you take the long way around, when you pass by the janitor’s closet and feel a hand wrap around your wrist to yank you in.

you squeak in surprise, your heart in your throat, before anger takes over and you whirl on who grabbed you. you can’t see in the dark of the closet but that doesn’t matter. “what the hell? not funny, asshole, who do you think you—”

the chain for the light is pulled. your words die in your throat when you find yourself looking up into richie’s face, his jaw tensed and his eyes dark.

“who do i think i am?” richie prompts when you don’t finish, glaring down at you. his arms are crossed over his chest. “well let’s see, who am i? maybe your best fucking friend who you’ve been avoiding? yeah, that sounds about right, doesn’t it?”

you gape at him, your brain still struggling to make sense of what’s going on. your voice is weak when you mumble, “i‘m not avoiding you.”

“bull-fucking-shit,” he sneers. “you’ve been avoiding me for like, two weeks now. the only reason we’re talking right now is because i pulled you in here, because if i’d have asked to talk you would’ve just blown me off.”

he’s not wrong; you probably would have. still, you blink at him, your eyebrows furrowing. “how did you know i’d be walking by?”

he glares at you, like he’s furious that’s what you’re focusing on instead of what he’s saying. “you always go to the bathroom during fifth period. you had to walk by eventually.”

slowly, the confusion fogging your brain is clearing, giving you the space you need to throw up your defenses. deflect, you tell yourself. “so what, you decided the best course of action was to skip class and wait for me in a janitor’s closet? you couldn’t have thought of literally anything else?”

“i tried!” he growls, his voice rising in volume. “i tried to talk to you about it last week and you just made some excuse and fucking left! you won’t even look at me, toots, so what the fuck else was i supposed to do?”

“not wait in a dingy ass closet?” you bite back, rising up to your full height. it’s not much, not compared to his, but it makes you feel more powerful anyways. “do you ever listen to eddie when he talks about germs?”

richie ignores you, taking a step closer to you. you mirror that step backwards. “you’ve been avoiding me since that party,” he says like you haven’t even spoken, “so something had to have happened then but i don’t remember anything about—”

anger erupts inside your chest, spilling white-hot through your veins and making your hands tremble at your sides. “that’s the fucking problem, richie,” you interrupt him, your voice cold. “you were wasted and you don’t remember anything.”

he blinks at you, his shoulders tensing slightly. “so something did happen then. what the hell was it?”

all at once you are so sick of this conversation. you wish you could go back in time and not go to the bathroom today. you wish you could go back and not have gone to that party. you wish you could go back and never have met richie. you don’t really mean that, you know you don’t, but in this moment you are so hurt and so tired that you do. you feel tears prick at your eyes.

“nothing,” you say, working to keep your voice cold and not let your exhaustion creep into it. “i’m going back to class.”

you reach for the door handle, intent on getting as far from here as you can, but richie presses his hand to the door to keep you from leaving. you glare at him, tugging fruitlessly at the handle, irrationally furious over the strength of his fucking noodle arms.

“nuh uh, we’re not done talking yet,” he snaps, his eyes sparking hotly. “what happened at the party?”

“nothing happened at the party,” you nearly snarl. it’s true, after all; nothing had happened at the party. it was only when you took him home that he had said what he did.

richie growls, stepping closer again. you take another step backwards, your back hitting the door. he’s so close now you can see the circle of brown in his left eye. “stop fucking lying, (y/n). tell me what fucking happened.”

the heat rising from his skin sets you on fire, the scent of his cologne making your head foggy and adding to the blaze of your anger. it rises and rises inside of you, quickening the pace of your heart and making your stomach clench, before finally, with the suddenness of a rubber band snapping, you can’t hold it in anymore.

“fine! you wanna know what fucking happened?” you hiss, jabbing a finger into his sternum. “i drove your sorry ass home and got you into bed and you fucking told me you wished i was your girlfriend instead of sandy.”

his brow furrows, his nose scrunching slightly as he stares down at you. “that’s it?” he asks. you nearly start screaming before he continues, “you’re mad at me because i told you the truth?”

abruptly, you’re even more angry. richie’s never been a cruel or even a mean person, but this feels like he is willingly tearing you apart. sure, he could be an asshole, but you’d never thought he would make jokes like this at your expense, nor that he wouldn’t know where to draw the line. part of you wants to punch him and part of you wants to cry.

you settle for scowling at him. “stop fucking teasing me, richie, it’s not funny.”

he rolls his eyes at you, frowning. “who said i was joking? (y/n), you’re fucking oblivious if you think i haven’t been in love with you since before we even fucking met. sure, probably shouldn’t have admitted that while i was drunk, but guess i just needed some liquid encouragement.”

his words draw you up short. he looks so sincere but you’re hesitant to believe him, certain it’s a joke. things like this don’t work out for you. you don’t get to have the cliche fairytale moments. you’re certain he’s going to laugh and yell how he’d gotten off a good one, but as the seconds tick by he just watches your face, not even trying to fill the silence that is steadily growing thicker. his expression doesn’t shift from the vulnerable earnestness it had settled into.

finally, you manage to shakily murmur, “but what about all of those girls?”

he sighs, carding a rough hand through his curls. “just a distraction. they were fun and all, but they weren’t you, doll. you’re my best girl. no one could ever compare to you.”

“and you’re not—” your voice cracks. you stop, clear your throat. try again. “you’re not joking?”

the smile that spreads across his mouth is soft, sweet, a little bit shy. the way you are suddenly realizing he has never looked with anyone other than you. “no, sugar,” he murmurs. “i am absolutely, 100% not joking.”

your breath stutters out of you, your shoulders slumping against the door. you have emotional whiplash from the past several minutes, abruptly exhausted over what is one of the most insane experiences you have ever had. and you’d bashed in the skull of a murderous demon clown at thirteen. part of you doesn’t think this is real, but if it’s not, may as well take advantage of the dream.

“hey rich?” you whisper, reaching out to touch his ribs. he shudders.

“yeah, doll?” he murmurs roughly.

you smile up at him, brushing your thumbs along his waist. “kiss me?”

he smiles back, reaching to tuck your hair behind your ear. “don’t mind if i do.”

he kisses the laughter right out of your mouth, getting close enough to press you back against the door with the bulk of his body. his hands slide around your hips, his teeth catching around your lower lip, and he whines when you reach up to tangle your fingers in his hair. his mouth tastes like the mint gum he likes to chew and the smell of him is dizzying up close, you think you might drown in it—

the sound of the bell breaks you apart, both of your chests heaving and your lips swollen. you stare up at him for a moment before you both burst into giggles.

“fuck, i love you,” he beams, kissing you again.

you grin back, brushing your thumb along his cheek. “i love you too, tozier.”

his expression goes so soft it hurts to look at, but you can’t look away. he shakes his head, still smiling. “do you wanna ditch the rest of the day and go get milkshakes with me, baby?”

you nod, slipping your hand into his when he offers it to you. “i would like nothing more, rich.”

[allmightluver]

First lines meme

Ooo! 😲 thank you for the tag @justanotherfoolhere !!

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20 just list them all!) See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening lines. Tag 10 authors!

I’m incredibly shy so if you would like to do this, I tag you!!

Ah I have some old stories from old fandoms (or side fandoms I should say), but as for MHA, most of my stories are just wips right now. I have approximately 5-6 stories in the works right now, however 3 are just thoughts yet, not written out, 1-2 are RP’s with another person that I’m not sure if I have the ability to share yet 😅, 1 is....extremely, well...NSFW 🙈 even the first line asfkgkka I’m not going to do that one, you’ll just have to read it on ao3 when it’s done 😖

However! I do have a massive story that’s been in the works for over a year now (atm it’s around 57,800 words), I’ve actually gotten stuck on it half way through and a friend is helping me by rping those parts with me. If anyone remembers from forever ago, I talked about writing a story about Toshinori actually becoming addicted to his painkillers, and overdosing during class, that’s this story. I have a good chunk of this written, so to make up for my lack of stories, I’ll post a few paragraphs of the beginning! (I hope that’s ok! 🙈)

((I should note, I don’t normally rp, the ones I’ve done are just with a close friend or two))

So, here’s a few paragraphs of what I’ve been calling “Painkiller” under the read more...

Eyelids sluggishly rise. Each blink seems to be getting slower and slower. And he’s still talking. How the soft furred mammal at the front of their table can speak for hours at a time without so much as a break is a superhuman feat. Of course, the principal isn’t human at all, which probably is how he can accomplish it.

Black eyes glance at the clock on the wall across from him. 1:50 p.m. This was supposed to be a short meeting. A quick briefing on the school’s protection and security upgrades. This is also the time to give feedback on how the procedures seem to be working. It had started during their lunch break at 12:30 p.m., and it’s still dragging on. Snipe as well as a few other teachers that have classes to teach at this time are absent, but the rest of the available staff are present.

Shota massages his eyelids, refraining from gritting his teeth against the stinging, and promptly tipping his head back to apply his eye drops. They’re almost gone, he’ll have to get a refill from Recovery Girl. Shota lowers his head once again, black locks falling back over his face.

He’s exhausted. A full night on patrol and then the morning teaching at UA. He’s done for the day after this, and all he wants is to sleep. He’ll still have to check in with Eri to be sure she’s been ok throughout the day, before he can collapse on his bed. 

Eri was still adjusting to living at UA, but seemed to be doing well so far. When he couldn’t be with her, she had another teacher or staff member watching her. Thankfully, there hasn’t been an instance with her quirk going out of control. Yet. He hopes to keep it that way. She’s just starting school, but slowly. She has a lot of learning in just living before she can worry much about academic intelligence. But Shota has no concerns of her being able to catch up to her age and grade level. Eri’s proven to be smarter than they’ve given her credit for. Perhaps wiser in some ways than a kid her age should have to be.

Shota usually teachers her in his spare time. His hero work has decreased due to his stacking responsibilities. Last night was the first in close to a month, and he can feel in his sore muscles that it’s been too long. Thankfully, he can rest tonight, but if Nezu didn’t hurry this conference up he’s going to be pulling another all-nighter. The temptation to pull out his sleeping bag and snooze in the chair he sits is becoming harder to resist.

Shota’s gaze moves across the room at the other occupants.

Mic sits to his right, closest to Nezu. The man’s listening, but one can see the bored expression on his face as he picks at his painted nails.

Midnight across the table seems a bit more focused. Her arms rest on her lap as she listens to the white animal, adding in her thoughts every now and then.

Cementoss and Ectoplasm sit next to her, both relatively silent.

Shota’s eyes flick to the chair next to his left before moving to the closed door at the room’s entrance.

Yagi had been here as well. A few minutes ago, he had politely excused himself from the room and had yet to reappear.

Maybe he made a break for it, Shota thinks with envy. Though he knows it’s a lie.

It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for the Number One Hero to duck out of meetings and public places for short periods of time. No one questioned him on it, assuming he had business calls or the like. He was All Might after all, and surely a very busy man.

But now the Symbol of Peace is dead, and still the brief intermissions continue. In fact, they’re increasing in frequency. Shota has high doubts about the possibility of impromptu hero phone calls from the man’s agency, but doesn’t dwell on it.

Everyone, even All Might, has secrets. It isn’t Shota’s job to nose his way into everyone’s personal life.

His sore eyes blink in mild surprise when the door he had been focusing on slides open, and the man in his thoughts shyly stoops his head under the doorway to enter back into the room. Yagi closes the door again and takes his place beside Shota, moving quietly to attempt not to draw attention to himself. But it’s a wasted effort; whenever he’s present, all eyes immediately are drawn to him. Plus, it’s hard to ignore a 7 foot man.

Shota turns away, attempting to refocus on whatever their eccentric principal is speaking about.

For a while, the meeting draws on as usual, Nezu doing most of the talking and the other teachers providing input as they see fit. The way the conversation is leading, it seems like things are starting to wrap up. Finally. The last class of the day starts at 2:20 p.m. and that doesn’t leave much leeway room for any teachers that need prep time.

Shota leans back with a silent sigh through his nose, crossing his arms. The sooner this is over, the sooner he can go check on Eri back at the dorms, and the sooner he can crash. Thinking about anything other is too hard to concentrate on.

Through his sleepy fog, something moves in his peripheral vision. Instinctually looking over to his left, he notices the lanky man next to him has wilted in posture, much like a plant with no water. The haze in Shota’s brain clears only slightly, having something more interesting to observe.

Now actually taking the time to study the other, Shota notices the haphazard blonde mane looks messier than normal. Yagi’s long, sinewy hands are placed comfortably on his lap, though a subtle tremble is running through his frame. A sheen of sweat is starting to form above his brow. Though his eyes remain fixed on the principal, the unfocused haze in the cyan pools gives Shota the impression Yagi isn’t paying attention. The normally bright irises are dull and almost completely hidden in the surrounding black sclera.

He looks pale. Must be sick. Shota lets his attention drift back to Nezu. Toshinori Yagi is a grown adult; he can take care of himself. If he doesn’t feel well, he’ll go home. These thoughts stubbornly go through Shota’s mind just before another pushes itself in.

He remembers the tall man entering the teacher’s lounge only two days after the Kamino incident. Yagi had been completely wrapped in bandages, bruises and stitched up cuts littering his body, and one arm was in a sling. Everyone had expected him to still be in the hospital, and not back to UA for at least a week, maybe two.

Shota recalls the other teachers chastising the ex-hero and trying to convince him to go home, to rest. Yagi had politely smiled, one that made Shota’s teeth grind at the obvious artificial gesture. The smile didn’t reach his eyes, only present to soothe their worries.  But Yagi thanked them for their concern. Even then, their coworkers had tried to assist him in any way possible. He had always insisted he was fine, respectfully refusing their help. It became hard for their colleagues to accept when it was obvious the injured man was struggling with even the simplest tasks.

Recovery Girl had made frequent appearances, much to Yagi’s dismay. It was unfortunate his body couldn’t handle her quirk, and he had to heal naturally, so she made it her job to monitor him. She didn’t even try to deny she was only there to check in on him, to make sure he was behaving himself, at least to the miniscule level she could except from Toshinori. She was always disappointed, and expressed so outright. But she could do little to sway him in his own self-care habits, and he always waved her off with another deceptive smile.

If he had forced his straining, overworked, body to comply during that time, what’s stopping him from teaching his class in 15 minutes?

More movement next to him puts Shota’s thoughts on pause. Dark eyes flick over to the older man, being as inconspicuous about his spying as possible. With the black hair covering his face, most people probably can’t tell where he’s looking anyway, and he’s not moving his head at all.

One of Yagi’s arms slowly lifts to his face, resting his sharp elbow on the table. The large and scarred hand covers his mouth, baring his bony wrist and too-thin arm as his sleeve slides down a few inches. The pose might be meant to look like he’s simply resting his chin, gaze still locked on Nezu like he’s listening intently. But sitting this close to him, Shota can see how the tremors in his body have increased, sweat starting to run down the deep crevices of his face in tiny rivers. The glazed over look in those black eyes has been replaced by one subtly emitting a fight or flight expression.

Shota frowns. He’s gonna barf. The pro briefly wonders if he should use his capture weapon to grab the trash can in the corner of the room to prevent a mess on the carpet, or worse, the table.

Before he can act, Yagi’s chair abruptly slides backwards as the retired hero wrenches his body up, fumbles with the door handle, and rushes out of the room as quickly as his unstable limbs can carry him. He barely manages to slam the sliding door shut behind him before he’s out of everyone’s sight, the hasty squeaks of his shoes on the tile floor growing more and more distant.

Nezu pauses at the sudden outburst, all the room’s occupants staring at where All Might had disappeared. The feel of concern weighs heavily in the atmosphere.

Although Yagi had often left before, he always excused himself quietly or snuck away when the attention wasn’t on him. Something this dramatic has never happened.

-----

And we’ll leave it there for now! This is still a wip remember, so things may be changed here and there, but I hope this makes up for my lack of other stories!

[wordsandshawn]

Notice

Just a little fluffy imagine with four different scenarios all about knowing each other so well you notice all the little things that no one else would pick up on. 

|| message me || masterlist ||

word count: 2.2k

~

Today is your best friend’s twenty-second birthday. She’s throwing a little party at her house, and you are excited to celebrate her and to finally have a reason to let loose. You’re also looking forward to seeing a lot of your friends who you haven’t seen in a while. Since you all attended the same high school, a lot of Shawn’s friends will be there too, and you’re glad Shawn actually happens to be home this weekend. For once, you’re not having to go to the party alone, which makes it all even better.

You and Shawn arrive together, of course, but after greeting everyone, Brian practically drags Shawn outside where his friends are hanging out, and your best friend pulls you into the kitchen to take your first shot of the night with her and a few other friends. After that, you lose Shawn and find yourself milling around inside, talking to friends you haven’t seen in a while.

You’re a few drinks in when you spot Shawn come in from outside. He scans the room briefly before making eye contact with you and smiling then he disappears into the kitchen and you refocus on your friends. A few moments later, you’re absorbed into a conversation when Shawn walks by. He wordlessly slips you a bottle of water he had grabbed from the kitchen and briefly greets your friends before excusing himself and walking back outside to return to his friends. You unscrew the cap to the water bottle and take a sip, knowing that the water will do wonders to offset the amount of alcohol you’ve already consumed, and you’re grateful Shawn brought it to you because you wouldn’t have put in the effort to go and get one yourself.

About an hour later, you realize that you haven’t seen Shawn in quite some time, so you walk outside in search of him. You involuntarily shiver when the cool night air hits you. You’re wearing a sweater, but it’s not as thick as it probably should have been for a night like this. Making your way to Shawn, you take a seat next to him on the outdoor couch, glad that he’s sitting near the fire pit. You greet his friends and join in on their conversation. You can feel Shawn moving beside you, but you’re listening to Jon tell a story, so you don’t look at him until you feel a weight on your shoulders and glance over to see that he had taken off his jean jacket and placed it around your shoulders. He’s wearing a long-sleeved shirt, and you know he wouldn’t accept the jacket back even if you tried, so you just thank him quietly, moving your hand to squeeze his leg gently. Even after all this time, you’re still surprised when Shawn notices things about you that no one else would notice. He somehow seems to know how you’re feeling even when you don’t tell him.

-

It’s in his mannerisms. That’s what tips you off to recognize that Shawn is not feeling completely like himself today. You noticed the way his fingers drummed constantly on his knee until you placed your hand over his, causing him to still. He makes eye contact with you, but he doesn’t say anything, so you don’t either. 

You noticed how his hair was messy when he got home from the studio, messy like he had been running his fingers through it for the past few hours, something he only does when he’s frustrated or struggling. 

You noticed how his phone kept ringing, and it was always Andrew, throughout the evening. Shawn’s eyebrows would knit together each time before he answered the call. Andrew was asking about scheduling, talking details of the upcoming tour, wanting information about how the album was coming along. You couldn’t help but wonder why all of this had to be discussed at eight pm on a Monday night, but one look at the stress written across Shawn’s face and you don’t say what you’re thinking. Instead, after Shawn’s phone starts ringing a third time, you stand from your spot beside him on the couch. Walking to the kitchen, you fill the tea kettle with water and place it on the stove. Turning the dial, you listen to gas stove click a few times and then watch the fire flash to life. You retrieve two mugs from the cabinet and then dig through the pantry in search of teabags.

Shawn’s still on the phone with Andrew when you return with two cups of steaming hot tea. You hand one to Shawn, and he immediately takes it, moving his phone away from his ear long enough to press the speakerphone button as Andrew’s voice floats through the speaker on the phone. He puts the phone down next to him on the couch and scoots a tiny bit closer to you. “What were the dates you want off again?” Andrew asks.

“June 21st through the 30th.” Shawn recites from memory, meeting your gaze as a small smile crosses his face. That’s the week of your birthday, and Shawn has already told you he wants to take you on a trip, a little getaway. Most people have to request for vacation a month or two in advance, but Shawn is requesting it ten months in advance, and you know he will have to repeat these dates countless times to make sure nothing gets scheduled.

Andrew starts talking again, but you drown out his voice, taking a sip of your tea. Shawn’s drinking his tea too, but you can tell he’s still listening, even if he doesn’t really want to.

Finally, the call ends, and you put your mug down, scooting closer to Shawn. He takes the hint, putting his mug down on the coffee table too, before wrapping his arms around you. Tilting your chin up, you plant a kiss on his jaw, and he smiles. You can visibly feel his body relax next to yours as he sighs quietly. Sometimes, you ask Shawn about what’s stressing him out, ask him if he wants to talk about it, but tonight, you don’t. You know that he’ll say something if he wants to talk and having you close is what helps him relax. After the long day you’ve had, there’s nowhere else you’d rather be.

-

It’s just one of those days, sometimes they happen without reason. There are just some days where you feel more anxious than others. It has taken you years to learn to pick up on your own bodily cues, years to know yourself enough to know your limits and your emotions in order to be able to take care of yourself and prevent things from becoming too much.

This morning, you knew from almost the moment that you woke up that you were feeling uncharacteristically anxious, even though you couldn’t pinpoint exactly why you felt that way. Sometimes, not knowing or understanding the reason for your anxiety makes it all feel worse because you feel helpless.

You had spent the night before at Shawn’s place, and you have the morning off. You’ll have to go into work for a few hours in the afternoon, but you have the morning free to spend with Shawn before he goes into the studio for a bit. This knowledge consoles you a bit, but the feeling of anxiety doesn’t dissipate, no matter how hard you try to stop feeling that way.

It takes a while, but after you and Shawn finally drag yourselves out of bed, he suggests going to the coffee shop down the street, and you agree. It’s not a far walk, and it’s one of Shawn’s little routines, something he does often when he’s home, and he knows you’re never one to decline coffee in the morning. When you get to the coffee shop, you order first, adding a decaf onto your usual latte order. Shawn orders his americano, and you’re walking back to his condo hand-in-hand before long.

Later that evening, when you’re back from work and Shawn is back from the studio, the two of you are in his living room, sitting on his white couch. Shawn’s playing around on his guitar, and you have your laptop open in front of you, getting some work finished that you weren’t able to complete while at work. It’s a comfortable kind of calm evening, the only noises disrupting the silence in the condo are the sounds of you typing on your keyboard and Shawn strumming his guitar.

“Are you feeling better?” Shawn questions, seemingly out of the blue.

“Hmm?” You look up from your laptop to see Shawn already looking at you, one hand resting on the neck of his guitar, with the other one gripping the side. His question catches you off guard because you had never said anything to Shawn all day that would indicate you weren’t feeling fine.

“Are you feeling better?” He repeats the question with genuine care in his voice, although you had heard him clearly the first time. When you still just stare at him, wondering what he’s getting at, he explains, “I know you were feeling anxious this morning.”

“How did you know?” You question, amazed that he had picked up on it. He hadn’t mentioned it earlier.

“You ordered decaf coffee at eight am.” Shawn says as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. “The only reason I’ve ever seen you drink decaf before noon was because you felt anxious, so I just figured.” He shrugs.

-

It’s a Friday night and Shawn’s home, so that means that his friends are over and it’s loud and crazy and fun, and you wouldn’t have expected anything less. You show up late because you had gotten stuck at work. When you walk in the door, the music is blasting, and you’re so ready for a drink, but you want to find your boyfriend first. Shawn’s on the couch, laughing at something Brian is showing him on his phone, and he doesn’t notice you until you’re right in front of him.

When he sees you, a smile spreads across his face, “Hi Y/n! You finally made it!” His cheeks are flushed, and his smile is reaching all the way to his eyes. He stands from his spot on the couch and pulls you in for a hug. You hug him back and then tell him you’re going to get a drink, asking if he wants anything, but he just shakes his head. He pulls you close to him again, telling you he loves you, and you laugh at how he already seems pretty drunk, but return the sentiment before walking away.

From the kitchen, you pull a can of coke from the fridge, pouring it over ice in a plastic cup before looking for the bottle of rum you know has to be around somewhere, all while keeping an eye on Shawn. He’s happy, of course he’s happy. It’s a Friday night, he’s home in Canada, and his friends are all over. But there’s something about this happiness. It’s a different kind of happiness, like more than just him being excited to be home, and you’re not quite sure what it is, but you notice it.

Seeing Shawn blissful like this never fails to make you smile. It also helps that it’s a Friday night and you don’t have to worry about work until Monday. After about a half hour, Shawn finds you in the kitchen where you’re just standing around chatting with some friends. He takes your hand in his, and gently tugs. When you look at him, eyebrows knit together in confusion, his eyes are shining. He has that happy look on his face, and he gently tugs again. He doesn’t have to say anything, you say, “I’ll be right back,” To the group, and follow Shawn to where he leads you out onto the balcony.

“Shawn, it’s freezing,” You say, but stop your complaining short when you can see he’s practically giddy. “What’s going on?” You question, feeling a little bit of worry, but by the way that Shawn is so happy and has been so elated all night, you can’t imagine it’s anything but good.

“The album is done.” The words tumble out of his mouth like it’s been taking so much effort to hold in, and even in the dim lighting, you can see the joy and excitement in his eyes.

“What!? Really?” You respond in disbelief. You didn’t expect it to be finished this early, and you’re not even sure how it happened.

“Yes. I wrote the last song today, and it was one of those songs, one of those that just came out so perfectly, and it’s the last track. I can just feel it.” He’s smiling, and you lean in to hug him, squealing in excitement.

“That’s amazing, Shawn!” You say, finally letting go of him, “So that’s why you’re so happy tonight? We’re celebrating the album being done!” You shout, turning around to go back inside and celebrate because now you know that you have something to celebrate.

He takes your hand, gently pulling you back to him, “I didn’t tell anyone else,” He says once you’re facing him. “I just wanted to keep it between us for tonight. They’ll all find out soon enough.”  

“Alright, we’ll celebrate later then,” You say without missing a beat.

He laughs, but then says, “Is that a promise?”

You roll your eyes and take his hand, dragging him back inside.

~

If you enjoyed reading this style of four different scenarios with the same theme, I wrote a few others a while back if you want to check them out: Playful, Thoughtful, and Caring 

thanks for reading! 

[outbythehighwind]

Tifa’s Fighting Style

One of the things that impressed me most about FF7R is Tifa Lockhart’s combat. Her mechanics were dazzling. Her combos left me awed. Her style was so realistic, but... what was it? Naturally, I did some digging, and happened to stumble across a blog where most of the work had already been done. So this post is courtesy of Flowerslightning, with thoughts and elaboration on my part. THANKS AND CREDIT TO THIS WONDERFULLY INSIGHTFUL BLOGGER (do check out her tumblr for more fantastic content).

First, let’s note that Tifa’s combat design is very much in the field of fighting games. To some degree at least, developers take inspiration from real-life arts. The style of Tekken’s Lei Wulong, for instance, is based on the Drunken First. Street Fighter’s Chun Li uses the model of Chinese Kenpo.

The FFVII devs - to my knowledge - have revealed nothing on Tifa’s inspired martial arts background. She adopted the monk style (the fisticuffs of FF-verse) from a traveler named Zangan. That’s all we know. She trained (obviously very hard) as his pupil for the 2 years between Cloud leaving Nibelheim and Sephiroth burning the town. Zangan then brought her to Midgar and continued his travels. The only path for discerning real-arts inspiration is through observing Tifa’s fights - though even such attempt is limited. Her style is not as straightforward as Lei’s or Chun Li’s. She seems to employ a mix of martial arts, specializing in the offense and using speed and dexterity to her advantage.

Here are the main styles that Flowerslightning deduced, supported by some of Tifa’s abilities.

1. Muay Thai [demonstrated by Somersault].

This is the known as the “Art of Eight Limbs” and is commonly referred to as “Thai boxing”. It differs from traditional kickboxing (which has its roots in Japan) most notably in being an 8-point instead of 4-point striking system. In other words, Muay Thai employs elbow and shin strikes in addition to kicks and punches. Tifa’s kicks, I would say, are actually more akin to kickboxing, for Muay Thai places emphasis on heavy kicks involving the shin bone. Yet her acrobatic style is very akin to the latter.

In addition to the key boxing techniques of both the Thai and Japanese art, Tifa’s elbow maneuvers provide further evidence for the former. This is most evident during her fight with Loz, where she uses her elbows for offense and defense. One could say she expanded her Thai-based skills during in the 2 years that followed saving the world.

Running a new bar and raising two under-10-year-olds would have left at least a... smidgen of free time, right?

2. Muay Thai [demonstrated by Refocus].

Some may suggest this move of Tifa’s is a Taekwondo technique (we’ll get to that lovable sport soon, don’t you worry), but I agree with Flowerslightning in that her jumping style is more Muay Thai. Almost all Muay Thai techniques use movement of the entire body, rotating the hip with each kick, punch, elbow and block. This to me is the obvious discerning factor. Tifa exquisitely throws her whole body into the majority of her combos and limit breaks, ground and aerial alike. Specifically through that neat hip rotation. Refocus is but one example of many.

PS. Don’t you just love her boots? The gloves are really something but, those red boots... Just look at them.

3. Taekwondo [shown in Overpower].

Literally the “Way of the Hand and Foot”, this is a Korean martial art set apart by its emphasis on kicks. Head-height kicks, jump spin kicks, swift kicks, the list goes on. (But of course, there’s plenty of hand blocking and take-downs too.) Did you know that Taekwondo is part of South Korea’s military training program as well as their national sport? Its skillset is heavy in self-defense.

Tifa is mostly an offensive attacker (and wow, do her strikes deal devastating damage). Yet her aerial maneuvers and acrobatic footwork certainly have elements of Taekwondo. What makes the Taekwondo kick-style unique is its elaborate, advanced forms. Xtreme 720s, for instance, are underpinned by precise technical soundness and accuracy.

Yes, these are literal 720° mid-air turns with a SERIES of kicks timed in utmost precision. They require extraordinary strength. Something Tifa deceptively pulls off with ease, no?

4. Hēi-Hǔ-Quán [displayed in Starshower].

Flowerslightning deduces this ATB ability to be a Boxing combo. Though to me it looks more like Hēi-Hǔ-Quán (lit. ‘Black Tiger Fist’, a Shaolin striking art from China). Watch her hands closely: the thumbs are curled like the fingers rather than wrapped around them to form a fist. Tifa’s wide stances and acrostic kicks are a little less tiger-esque than Hēi-Hǔ-Quán, but there is definitely resemblance of the style there too.

All in all, she seems to employ a mixture of Shaolin arts and Boxing. Her finger-positions for fast jabs (as in Starshower and the Loz fight) are predominantly of the Tiger Fist. Her more powerful strikes, meanwhile, include Boxing crosses, hooks and uppercuts. The sewer cutscene demonstrates this clearly, when Tifa & Cloud encounter the Sahagin.

And damn, do we love the back-to-back Cloti in that scene. Surely I’m not just speaking for myself here.

5. Boxing [displayed in Unbridled Strength].

Tifa’s aforementioned fist moves and powerful finishing punches are no doubt reminiscent of boxing. Also, she always enters a fight with her fists closed in a boxing stance (whether she will employ Shaolin or other hand techniques is irrelevant). Take her cutscene against the Whispers where she, Cloud and Aerith arrive at Sector 7. She begins with a cross and follows with a rotated hook - one of the most basic boxing combos.

BONUS FACT: Rather than orthodox, Tifa always employs a southpaw stance (right hand and right foot forward). This is the preferred stance of a left-hand fighter. Is Tifa left-handed? Considering her fighting alone, yes is the plausible assumption. Here are a few examples:

     - Unbridled Strength has her delivering a finishing blow with her left hand. We would expect such a move to be done with the power hand.

     - Her single strike that hurls Loz across the church is also with the left hand. This punch is not part of a combo; she could have used either hand.

     - In guard position, her left is the rear hand, to both attack and protect herself.

     - And of course, in southpaw stance, she always begins with a left-hand strike.

However, all of Tifa’s general actions (to my observance) - like bartending, catching Aerith in the sewer, carrying the Buster Sword into Corneo’s quarters, etc. - suggest that she is right-handed. So why use the left, the weaker, as her dominant hand in fighting? Could she actually be ambidextrous? That is a possibility. But weighing up the evidence in addition to Tifa's ingenuity, this could well be out of fighting strategy.

Southpaw can give Tifa a strategic advantage, you see, because of the tactical and cognitive difficulties her enemies would have of coping with a fighter who moves in a mirror-reverse of the norm. In other words, she takes advantage of the fact that most fighters lack experience against lefties. Doing this:

     - opens up chance for a variety of surprise combos;

     - puts her human enemies in danger of KOs by what would otherwise be ordinary strikes; and

     - enables her to trick her opponents should she unexpectedly convert to orthodox during fights.

Pretty damn awesome, huh?

6. Gymnastics [dodging maneuvers].

Gymnastics, like fighting arts, enhances balance, strength, flexibility and agility - the four areas Tifa excels at. Now, we’ve talked a lot about her strong points. But what of her weaknesses? Players will have noticed immediately that Tifa has a major setback. She can accurately be described as a glass cannon, due to her low HP and defenses that counter-balance her speed and dexterity. That is precisely what makes playing as her so compelling; you get that sense of life or death intensity. The fight feels REAL. She is the least OP character in the party, in addition to by far being the most difficult to master. Utilized properly, she can be the strongest of them all. And wow, is that rewarding or what?

Because of her weak defenses, Tifa must constantly remain on the move, and gymnastics is the quintessential means in doing so. Hand springs, aerial cartwheels - you name it, she’s got it. As if those kicks and uppercuts don’t scream epic enough already. Doesn’t it just make her even MORE amazing?

So I’ve added Hēi-Hǔ-Quán to Flowerslightning’s conclusion: that Tifa’s combat is Mixed Martial Arts, with her dominant skills as Kickboxing, Taekwondo and Muay Thai. And of course, the interweaving of Gymnastics, which adds an elegance to her epic kickassery.

Tifa lost her teacher after just two years, and spent the last five managing & running a bar, serving as AVALANCHE’s funder & treasurer, and effectively solo-raising Barret’s little daughter. Add two more years, and we have a completely absent Barret, a very sick child in addition to the one she is (now permanently) raising, and a depressed, distant Cloud who has left her to struggle as a solo barkeep, full-time nurse and single mother. How on earth did she find the time and will to master her fighting techniques?

Yes, we are talking about fiction, but this woman is nothing short of incredible. Not simply as a fighter - that isn’t even the start of it. Tifa is, to me, the character who has had it the hardest. Yet she perseveres. And not only that, but she gives. She gives and gives, and doesn’t give up, even when everyone else around her has. In addition, she is the only ‘ordinary’ member of the party: Cloud, on top of military training, had his senses enhanced with Mako & Jenova cells; Barret literally has a gun for an arm; and Aerith as the last Cetra possesses exceedingly strong magic. Tifa, like with everything she does, worked hard to hone her skills. And that, to me, is incontestably admirable.

As Flowerslightning put it, she was “ready to go through hell and yet still remain soft”. And those virtues she held to, where most people would have quit. Compassion and perseverance to the end, the two traits that uphold her - to me - as the most inspiring hero of fiction.

[autumnslance]

((Shadowbringers post-5.3. NSFW for naughty language and a scoundrel scandalizing his girlfriend.))

The ceremony was lengthy, the lists and speeches interminable, and Aeryn struggled to not doze off. She shifted in her seat as the sermon continued.

Thancred dropped his arm from the back of her chair to her shoulder. “Sleepy?” He pitched his voice so only she could hear.

“Mm-hm,” she replied, then whispered, “How’re you staying awake?”

She realized it had been a mistake to ask when a wicked grin curled up his lips. “Well,” he murmured. “I’ve been thinking about all the carnal things we’re going to do when we’re alone later.”

Her eyes widened and the heat bloomed on her cheeks. “Thancred,” she hissed, sitting up straighter.

“What?” he asked, amused. “Woke you up, didn’t it?”

“The worst,” Aeryn muttered fondly while he snickered.

She counted up to two minutes before he leaned close. “Now that I’m thinking about it, though…”

“Thought you already were?”

“Your jacket will have to come off.”

“It tends to when retiring for the night—”

“So I can put my hand on the back of your neck to hold you in place when I bend you over the nearest table.” The hand on her shoulder slid over until his fingertips were brushing the nape of her neck under her hair and collar.

Aeryn sucked in a breath, heat flaring once more...and not just in her face, godsdamn him. “This isn’t appropriate,” she whispered, eyes darting to check if anyone else had heard as she adjusted her seat again to cross her legs.

But the Warrior of Light and her companion were in the Fortemps box, high in the rear of the small auditorium, the other Scions having found reasons for their absence, including Alphinaud; not even their resident diplomat wanted to sit through another Ishgardian ceremony as a favor to their highborn friends. The heads of the elezens in the seats in front of them were barely visible, and heavy drapes separated the other noble boxes, forcing one to lean forward to glimpse other High House attendees—she had waved to the disgruntled-looking Stephanivien de Hailenarte earlier, presence no doubt forced as he always preferred to be in the Manufactory.

They were as alone as they could be in such a public venue.

“No, I suppose not,” Thancred agreed, sounding far too amused and looking completely at ease as he leaned back in his seat. His fingertips continued to tease her neck.

She counted another minute while the priest droned on before Thancred’s fingernails ever so gently pressed into her nape while he whispered, “Nor would it be appropriate to mention how much I wish to push up that skirt to sate my curiosity; full tights, or stockings? If the latter, are you wearing garters?”

“I’m not telling you,” she hissed, highly aware of his hold on her neck. She tried to pay attention to the priest once more, but her pulse was growing louder in her own ears and prevented any comprehension.

“I’m hoping for stockings,” Thancred mused. “Then they can stay on as I run my hand up your thighs until I find the hems of your smalls.”

Aeryn bit the inside of her cheek and tried not to squirm. She wasn’t giving him the satisfaction yet.

“I shall run my fingers where fabric meets skin,” he said, speaking in the rumbling purr she enjoyed him using in the bedroom which was not helping. His fingertips still massaged her neck. “Until I hear that delightful little whimper you make when about to beg of me.”

She was certain her face was on fire now.

He leaned close. “Only then, darling, will I test to see just how wet you’ve gotten,” Thancred’s whisper was a thunderous growl in her ear.

Aeryn’s boot hit the floor more heavily than she intended. She tried to look casual as she recrossed her legs and swallowed. She was not telling him how heated she was getting now.

“I haven’t decided yet,” he continued, lips brushing her earlobe. “If I’m going to remove your pantalettes entirely, or pull them just far enough aside to ravish you with my hand.”

She could practically feel his smirk as she gripped the armrests and tried to focus on the priest expounding at the podium. The man’s name escaped her at the moment.

Thancred made a long, thoughtful “hmm” noise; that was utterly unfair. “I suppose it won’t matter when I’m stroking you until you come for the first time for me.”

“We are in a church,” she hissed, trying to ignore the sudden throbbing between her thighs. While Aeryn didn’t believe in the gods anymore, she knew he did—if he had the shame to behave.

“And?” he asked. “Only men have such hangups, not the gods themselves. Especially if one’s studied them and what they get up to, and just why certain places are considered sacred.” The casual brushing of his fingertips over her neck still was not helping. “If I could I’d have you right here, as Thaliak did Azeyma in what became one of their holiest temples.”

“You are making that up,” she said, voice hoarse.

“I’ll show you the texts,” Thancred replied. “Perhaps after having you over the table. I think slowly to start with,” he added idly. “Just to feel you, tight and warm around me, savoring you over and over, building the pace and intensity until you come for me again.”

The auditorium burst into polite applause, startling her and drawing attention to the stage. The small squad of knights being honored for their deeds on the Gyr Abanian battlefields stepped up to receive their awards and promotions.

Aeryn took the opportunity to breathe, clapping as well. “Remind me not to ask how you handle boredom again,” she muttered, attempting to sound grumpy and knowing she was failing.

Thancred chuckled as he joined the polite applause, her neck regretfully free of his touch now. “Kept us awake through that sermon, didn’t it?”

“You’re just hoping I jump you as soon as we return to my room,” she accused in a whisper that didn’t sound as disgruntled as she wished.

“I would definitely count that as a bonus,” he replied. “I have to admit that I wonder what it would take to get you to ‘jump me’ before we reach privacy.”

“Not happening,” Aeryn retorted, attempting to refocus on the stage as the priests and officers went over each knight’s deeds.

“Are you sure?” Thancred asked, that dangerously amused tone returning. “You’re so quiet, it wouldn’t be difficult to find an alcove in a side hallway, perhaps an unused confessional, and press you against the wall, lifting your skirt and legs.” His hand now rested over hers upon the armrest, his thumb rubbing gentle circles on her wrist.

She tried to affect a scowl while continuing to watch the stage. Soon enough, Thancred rumbled a thoughtful “Hmm.” She watched him from the corner of her eyes.

“But if the goal is to get you to initiate, then perhaps you’d prefer to pull me into a dark side room or corner and make me lean on a wall while you get on your knees. I would muss that lovely hairstyle you’re wearing, though.”

Aeryn took a deep breath before she could respond. “I can hardly manage that properly in private, you’ll be sorely disappointed if I try in public. Which I won’t,” she hastily added, seeing his grin.

“Practice makes perfect, darling, and you have been improving,” he assured her, giving her hand a squeeze. “Besides, it would give me cause to reciprocate. That’s what you really enjoy, isn’t it? Me on my knees instead, scribing you poems directly until you’re shaking?”

The imagery was in her mind now, damn him, remembering keenly the last time he had spoken a poem between her legs; his tongue and fingers had left her on the edge of bliss for the better part of an hour before finally tipping her over.

“Of course, then I might actually have to cover your mouth, as you almost make noise when I extol your virtues upon your virtue.”

She eye-rolled at that. In part to cover the little thrill up her spine when he spoke of keeping her quiet. She might have to examine that in more detail later.

“I believe in that case I would bring you close, then wrap your legs ‘round my waist and fuck you against the wall until we’ve both had our pleasure.”

Aeryn bit her lip. His precise deployment of profanity had caused another heated surge low in her belly.

“Then we’ll retire to your room, and then I’ll bend you over the table for more.”

“Think so?” Thank goodness, she managed not to squeak.

“Assuming you’re amenable, of course,” he whispered, giving her hand another squeeze. The ceremony was nearly over.

“I suppose you’ll have to see. When we’re in private.”

He chuckled again, and she did her best to pretend to ignore him in favor of what was happening on stage.

The end of the service and the following hour mingling in the hall removed most of the scandalous conversation from her mind. Aeryn and Thancred wove through the crowd, greeting old friends, smiling and nodding as they were introduced to various people, and otherwise engaged with the upper crust of Ishgardian society until Aeryn’s head spun.

Some baronet was standing far too close and acting far too familiar; she was ready to snap when Thancred stepped in, offering an arm. “Beg pardon, but they expect us at Fortemps Manor,” he said smoothly, smiling at the baronet though his eyes glinted with warning.

Aeryn tucked her arm in Thancred’s. “Of course. You must excuse us, ser.” She barely gave a nod before Thancred pulled her away. “Thank you,” she murmured as they wound through the press of people, hardly thinned despite the hour.

“We should have left a quarter bell ago,” he replied. “You were close to overwhelmed.”

She gave his arm a squeeze. “Not so long as you’re around to keep me steady. Or rescue me from obnoxious nobles.”

“More rescuing the nobles from you,” he replied dryly, smiling as she laughed. He guided her down a narrow stairwell, away from the main hall and exit of the cathedral. “We should be able to leave through a side door to avoid the crowds. But first…” He veered, pulling Aeryn through a door into a small storage chamber, rows of robes hanging along the walls, shelves and boxes of other vestments filling most of the room. Only a narrow space next to the door was free of clutter, and that was where Aeryn’s back pressed as Thancred initiated a passionate kiss.

The earlier conversation flared to the forefront of her mind. Her face—and other parts of her, dammit—heated again while he held her close, the kiss long and deep and oh so promising.

Eventually they pulled but ilms apart, Thancred letting out a satisfied sigh as he leaned his forehead against hers. “I needed that.”

“You’re rather intent on this little fantasy of yours, aren’t you?” she murmured affectionately.

“I perhaps did work myself up, teasing you,” he responded, voice low. Beneath the amusement was a desire that made her breath catch.

Aeryn cleared her throat. “Well, that’s your own fault. We’d best be getting home…”

His hands ran up and down her arms. “You are so…Coerthan tonight.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” She arched her brows.

“Outwardly acting the prim and proper maid, while truly you want very much to be completely undone,” Thancred murmured in that delightful low bedroom voice as they kissed again, his hand on her hip pulling them together and now her heart was racing.

Aeryn pushed him away, holding a finger up as he affected a pout. “First, I am not, you’re being ridiculous—”

“Always, where you’re involved, but you really are—”

“And second,” she continued, a touch exasperated. “We are still in a church and need to return to the manor.” He gave her an expectant look. She sighed. “Once there, I may be persuaded to let you have your way with me.”

“May?” Thancred grinned.

Aeryn smiled oh-so-sweetly back. “Depends how cold the walk between here and there is.”

“I feel compelled to point out we have a perfectly warm room right here.”

“Absolutely not.”

“For an adventurer, you’re certainly lacking a sense of it.”

Aeryn rolled her eyes and gently shoved him aside, leaving the storeroom. Thancred laughed, catching up and reclaiming her arm. “Very well, my dear. Allow me to escort you, and I shall hope you are very cold and require warming once we are within the privacy of the manor.”

Her blush returned and she sighed again, though it turned into a bout of giggles as they left the cathedral.

[justcallmefox89]

Truth or Dare Part 3

It’s Arianthi’s birthday and Diavolo has decreed she can have anything the Devildom can provide.  She requests a slumber party at the House of Lamentation; her, the brothers, the angels, Solomon, Diavolo, and Barbatos.  Asmo has suggested a game of Truth or Dare and everyone is ready to play, but things quickly spiral when secrets and risky dares collide. 

TW: body image issues. eating disorders

Written from the perspective of my female MC, Arianthi.  

I’m adding a different mood playlist to each installment of this series, just songs that I listened to while writing and feel embody each part of the story.

Blackpink - Playing with Fire

Ursine Vulpine - Wicked Game (cover)

Dark Sarah ft. JP Leppaluoto - Dance with the Dragon

Arctic Monkeys - Do I Wanna Know

Hollyn - I Wasn’t Good Enough for You

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Everyone refreshes their drinks and we all gather in a circle on the floor; Belphie immediately lays his head in my lap and Asmo cuddles up on my other side.

“Hey sleepyhead, you have to play too,” I say, ruffling Belphie’s hair gently.

He gives me a lazy smirk.  “I will.  I can’t wait to learn all your secrets.”

“Oi!  I wanted to sit next to Arianthi!”  Mammon complains.

“Too bad!” Asmo and Belphie say in unison, wrapping their arms around me. 

I shoot Mammon an apologetic smile and he grumbles as he walks away and sits next to Simeon. 

“Ok, what are the rules to this human game?”  Diavolo’s eyes are glittering with excitement, while Lucifer looks like he’s trying to hold off a migraine. 

“Super simple,” I answer.  “Everyone takes turns asking another person truth or dare.  If you say truth you have to answer whatever question you’re asked, no matter what it is.  If you say dare then you have to do the dare, no exceptions.”

“Ok!  Everybody is clear on the rules so let’s go!  Birthday girl gets the first turn!”  Asmo squeals in excitement.

I take a glance around the circle and settle on Beel, innocently eating cake. 

Perfect.

“Hey Beel, truth or dare?”

He looks up from his plate in surprise.  “Ummm, dare I guess?”

You truly are a kind and generous God.  Good lookin’ out. 

I shoot my eyes heavenward for a moment, then refocus on Beel.

“I dare you to streak around the House of Lamentation.  Twice.”

“Urk!”  Beel chokes on his cake, and Mammon slaps him on the back.  Eyes watering and cheeks flushing Beel looks at me.  “For real?”

“It’s the rules.”  I shrug innocently.  

Asmo is cackling with glee next to me, Diavolo is snickering, Lucifer looks like he wants to die, Solomon and Satan are wearing matching smirks, Simeon looks scandalized, Belphie is silently shaking with laughter, Leviathan is red to the tips of his ears, Mammon is glaring at me, and Barbatos is stone faced. 

Beel shoves his plate away and heaves a sigh as he gets to his feet.  He slowly starts stripping down, until he gets down to his boxers.  He starts to walk to the front door before I stop him.

“Uh uh Beel, boxers too,” I say with a smirk.

He blushes all the way down to his chest and quickly steps out of his boxers.

“Goddamn Beel!” I exclaim without thinking.  I already knew he was ripped but this....... this is perfection. 

“Arianthi!” Mammon claps his hands over my eyes while Beel rushes out the front door.  

We all rush to the windows to watch Beel complete his laps around the house. Mammon stays close behind me trying to cover my eyes every chance he gets.

“I could give you something to look at that you’d like better than Beel,” he mutters in my ear angrily.

I turn around and look him.  “Do you really mean that Mammon?  You want me to see you like that?”

“W-w-well I mean,” Mammon stutters are he turns bright red. 

He’s saved as Beel sprints back into the house and slams the door behind him.

I roll my eyes, frustrated with his emotional constipation.  “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”  

I turn and start walking back into the living room.

He grabs my arm to stop me.  “Whaddya mean by that?” 

I try to jerk away from him but he holds tight.  

“C’mon, answer me.”  Blue eyes meet mine, pleading.

“Let her go.”  

We both jump at the sound of Diavolo’s stern voice behind us.  Mammon opens his mouth to argue, but Lucifer’s presence next to Diavolo stops him.  He lets go of my arm and takes a step back.

“It’s fine guys, we were just talking.”  I give them a quick smile.  “Let’s get back to the game.” 

We all settle into our places in the living room.  

“Ok Asmo, since this was your idea it’s your turn,”  I tell him.

Asmo grins, slowly looking around the circle until he settles on Solomon.  “Solomon, who has been your best lover since you’ve come to the Devildom?” 

I roll my eyes and laugh a little.  

Typical Asmo.  He has to know the answer will be him. 

Solomon takes a sip of his drink, his expression serious.  “Definitely Arianthi.” 

Oh shit.

“What?!”  Mammon’s yell is so loud everyone winces. 

The rest of the group immediately starts bombing Solomon with questions. 

Asmo turns to look at me, his expression equal parts shock and pride. “Seriously?”

I shrug and take a long drink.  “Yeaaaaaah.”

“I’m both jealous and intigued,” Asmo says, curling a lock of my hair around his finger.

“Asmo!  Get your filthy hands of Arianthi!”  Mammon yells again. 

He whirls around to look at Solomon.  “When the hell did this happen?” 

Mammon turns back to look at me.  “I thought I was supposed to be your first man?”

I stare into my drink, knowing I have nothing to feel guilty about but feeling guilty anyway. 

Solomon looks at him and shrugs calmly.  “It was Asmo’s turn and he’s asked one question.  I believe that’s all I’m obligated to answer.”

“You motherfu-” 

“Ok, so I think it’s Diavolo’s turn,” Asmo interrupts.

“Solomon, truth or dare?”  Diavolo looks unusually serious. 

The brothers and Simeon all turn to look at Solomon, waiting on his answer.

Well, damn.  

I chug some more of my drink, already dreading where this is going.  

“Truth.”

Goddamn you Solomon.  Goddamn you and your magic dick and your pretty face.

“When did you and Arianthi have your little encounter?”  Diavolo’s tone is cool, his expression unusually serious. 

Lucifer tenses next to him, while Barbatos is almost smiling.  

Once again, Solomon is the epitome of calm.  “The first week of the exchange.”

Solomon directs his next comment at Mammon.  “At that time I believe you were still refusing to call her by her name and doing anything you could to avoid your responsibilities towards her.” 

Solid point Solomon.  Solid point.  

Mammon starts to stand but is yanked down roughly by Beel.  

“Your turn Mammon,” Diavolo says, not taking his eyes off of Solomon.

These motherfuckers. 

I realize what’s happening a moment too late. 

They’re working together.  Assholes. 

I scowl are the carpet. 

Belphie wraps his arms around my waist and hugs me.  He realizes what’s happening too.  I relax a little more when I feel Asmo's hand squeeze mine.  

“Solomon, truth or dare?”

“Truth.”  

Of course Solomon isn’t going to back down from their little game.  

I finish my drink and start in on Belphie’s. 

Lucifer attempts to cut in. “Maybe you should choose someone who hasn’t gone twice in a row Mammon.”

“Nonsense.  We play by the human rules,” Diavolo answers before Mammon can.

Lucifer sits back and waits for Mammon’s question like the rest of us. 

“Where did this little hook up happen huh?  ‘Cuz it sure didn’t happen here, I woulda known about it.”  Mammon is straight up pissed and my guilt is slowly turning into annoyance. 

He has no right to be angry over something that happened months ago, before we had even started hanging out.  He didn’t have a claim on me then.  Shit, he doesn’t even have a claim on me now.  

“At the library.”  Solomon smirks.  “If you would like specifics on where in the library- on one of the study tables, against a bookshelf, in front of the window that looks out over the quad, and in one of the armchairs.”

Diavolo and Lucifer look like they’re in shock, Simeon looks like he desperately wants to be anywhere else, Beel is still eating cake not even tuned into what’s happening, Levi turns red and stares intently at the carpet, while Asmo, Belphie, and Satan are outright giggling.  Barbatos just looks at me with a smirk.

“Wha-?”  Mammon is so angry he can’t even speak.

“It was a busy afternoon.”  Solomon takes another drink, looking at Mammon over the rim of his glass.

I snort into my own drink, laughing, Asmo’s giggles infecting me. 

Mammon looks at me, a mixture of rage and hurt on his face.  “You really think this is funny?  Him just spouting out your business like you’re just some -”

“Some what?”  Belphie interrupts, suddenly alert.

Mammon bites back a response.  “Nothing,” he mumbles.  

Belphie looks up at me from his position in my lap.  “I think I’d like to take a turn now.  Arianthi, truth or dare?”

“Dare.”  

There is no way possible this night can get any worse.  Might as well just go hard in the paint.

“I dare you to kiss,” Belphie trails off as he looks around the group.  “Levi.”

Levi’s head shoots up so fast I’m afraid he cracks his neck, while Mammon lets out a low growl of pure rage.  

I shrug and finish off Belphie’s drink, before I slowly crawl across the carpet to Levi.  When I reach him I throw one leg over him and straddle his lap.  

Levi is blushing so hard I can almost feel the heat radiating off his face.  

I put my hands on his shoulders and lean down to whisper in his ear.  “Hey, if you’re uncomfortable or you don’t want to do this we don’t have to.  I’ll make Belphie give me something else.”

Levi doesn’t say anything for a long moment, refusing to meet my eyes.  

“It’s ok Levi, I don’t want this if you don’t,” I reassure him as I move to get off of his lap.  

His hands shoot out and grip my hips, firmly settling me down into his lap.  

“I want this,” he whispers so softly I can barely hear him.

I can feel everyone’s gaze on us as I tip Levi’s chin up so I can look at him.  He’s still a little flushed, looking nervous but also excited.  I can feel his hands shaking as he holds onto my hips.  

I gently bring my mouth down to his.  I can hear the wolf whistles and Mammon’s shout of anger before I devote my full attention to the kiss. 

Levi is clumsy at first, pressing his lips a little too roughly against mine.  I lick at his lower lip, encouraging him to open his mouth, flicking his tongue with mine when he allows me access.  He moans into my mouth at the intimate contact, sliding his hands under my robe to stroke my back, before pulling me down while simultaneously thrusting up against me.  

My eyes fly open at the contact and I gasp, giving Levi an opening to fully explore my mouth with his tongue.  I eventually pull away, giving his lower lip a little bite before I rest my forehead against his. We’re both panting a little, and I reluctantly pull away from him to return to my spot next to Asmo and Belphie.

I sneak a look at Diavolo and Mammon.  Diavolo looks extremely displeased and Mammon looks like he wants to murder Levi.  Mammon glares at me with something like betrayal on his face.  I return his look with a stubborn one of my own.  

He doesn’t own me.  He can’t even admit that he cares about me.  

“Damn.” Belphie smirks at me as I reclaim my seat.  

“Ok Satan, your turn,” he calls across the room to his brother.  

“Mammon, truth or dare?” 

Oh no.  That’s the smile that means nothing good is about to happen. 

I try to telepathically beg Satan to forget whatever he has planned.   

“Truth I guess.”  Mammon shrugs.

“How do you really feel about Arianthi?”  Satan asks. 

Oh no.  No no no no no.  Belphie and Satan are trying to force Mammon to say how he really feels about me.  On one hand, yes, he needs to admit it or quit trying to claim me.  On the other hand.......this could be a total disaster.

Every eye in the room is now fixated on Mammon.

“Whaddaya mean?”  Mammon scowls.

“It’s pretty obvious that you have a crush on her.  Do you want to date her?  Will you miss her when the exchange program is over?  Or would you want her to stay?” 

Mammon shrugs.  “What do I care what some stupid human does?  She leaves and it’ll be like she was never here.  Not like I’d ever date her, I’m THE great Mammon after all.  I’m a damn model............. if somebody’s going to be with me they have to look good.  I’m one of the lords of the Devildom, why would I settle for some chubby, average looking human?”

Suddenly all the air is sucked out of the room.  I can only focus on Mammon.  I halfway register Belphie sitting up and Asmo gasping next to me.  I can’t breathe.  He could have broken one of my bones and it would have hurt less.  Suddenly the old chorus of doubts begin running through my mind. 

Not good enough, not skinny enough, not smart enough, not pretty enough, never never never enough. 

I’m on my feet before I realize what I’m doing.  “I uh, I’m going to run to the bathroom real quick.”  

I’m faintly aware of Diavolo trying to grasp for my hand before I bolt out of the living room and up the stairs to my bedroom.  

------------------------------------------------------------

Solomon looks at Mammon stoically.  “You really are the stupidest demon in the entire Devildom.”

“I can’t believe you said that,” Simeon scolds.  “That was unnecessarily cruel Mammon.” 

The twins glare at him while rage twists Asmo’s delicately pretty features.  “You asshole!  You complete and total scumbag!  If I could set you on fire I would!” 

“I didn’t know this was going to happen,” Satan says softly, a guilty look on his face.

“No one blames you,” Lucifer reassures him, while Barbatos and Diavolo nod in agreement. 

Levi glances nervously at the door, wondering if he should go after Arianthi. 

I don’t want her to hurt herself.  I don’t know how she’ll take this.  And I’m the only one who really knows........

“Why’s everybody all mad at me?”  Mammon asks, throwing his hands up in the air.  “I just answered Satan’s damn question.” 

Levi snaps.  “You know why?  Because we all know it was a bullshit answer!  We all know you want her but for whatever stupid reason you won’t admit it!  She cares about you even though you’d sell her for a fucking Grimm and you bounce back and forth between being jealous and treating her like she’s replaceable! She’s deserves so much more than you.  So much fucking more.”

Levi launches himself at Mammon and the room erupts into utter chaos.  

------------------------------------------------------------

I open the door to my room as quietly as I can and sigh in relief when I see Luke is still asleep.  I pass my hand over the closed door, murmuring the words to the spell that Solomon taught me to ward the door against demons.  Only humans and angels can pass through. 

I can’t handle seeing the boys or Diavolo right now.  

I numbly gather up some clothes as I make my way to my bathroom.  Belphie’s sweats.  Beel’s t-shirt.  Levi’s hoodie.  

I drop the clothes on the tile floor and softly click the lock.  I lower the robe Asmo gifted me and look at myself in the mirror.  

Fat arms.  Thick legs with cellulite on my thighs.  Love handles.  

I pinch at the excess skin and fat on my stomach and feel the oncoming sting of tears. 

It’s stupid to be surprised by this.  So fucking stupid.  Stupid to get your hopes up.  Of course he doesn’t care about me.  He’s right.  He’s absolutely right. 

Panic starts to rise as my shoulders tense up and my stomach clenches.  I struggle to control my breathing as I remember everything I’ve ate and drank tonight.  

Get it out, get it out, get it out.  Do better, be better, be worthy. Get it out.

I turn on the shower to drown out any noise and I reach for my toothbrush on the sink.  I kneel in front of the toilet as I gag myself.  I’m vaguely aware of someone knocking on the door and I think I hear Luke’s voice.  I ignore it.

Get it out.  Do better.  Have more control.  Be better.  Be worthy. 

----------------------------------------------------------

Luke runs out of Arianthi’s room and down the stairs, speeding towards the living room where he can hear raised voices.

“Hey!”  He gasps, screeching to a halt just inside the doorway.  

He’s momentarily speechless watching the scene unfolding.  Mammon has a bloody lip, while Levi has the beginnings of a black eye.  Beel restraints Levi and Lucifer holds onto Mammon.  Everyone is screaming except for Barbatos and Simeon who are backed into a corner, out of the fray.

“Hey!” Luke shouts.  He shrinks back as every gaze in the room turns to him. 

Simeon crosses the room to stand next to him.  “What’s going on Luke?  Is everything ok?”

“I-I woke up in Arianthi’s room and I heard her in the bathroom.  I think she’s sick,” Luke answers softly.

Levi’s head snaps up.  “What do you mean sick?”

Luke hesitates at the intensity in his voice. 

“What do you mean sick!”  Levi shouts. 

“The shower was on so I couldn’t hear very well but I’m pretty sure she was throwing up.  And crying.  I knocked on the door but she wouldn’t answer me and it was locked, and I was worried so I came looking for you guys because I didn’t know-”

Levi wrenches away with from Beel with a sudden burst of strength and sprints out of the room, moving towards the stairs.  The brothers and Diavolo hesitate for a moment before chasing after him, leaving Luke, Solomon, Barbatos, and Simeon behind.

Luke looks at the others, worried and confused.  “What’s going on?  Is Arianthi going to be ok?”

“I really don’t know,” Simeon whispers. 

[caitybug]

How about number 10. lifting someone up out of excitement 🥺😍?

(Ps. It’s OtherWorldsIveLivedIn❤️❤️)

Hi Love!! Thanks so much for the prompt @otherworldsivelivedin <3

This is a normal/college au meets tutoring? Kind of? It’s all vague because I’m mainly here to focus on the Hug and Lifting bit haha. 

I hope you enjoy <3

If you prefer, here is the ao3 link!

I’m staring at my computer screen, one click away from finding out my final grades for the semester. 

Baz is sitting on his bed, acting nonchalant, but he’s listening.

(I know he is.)

He’s worked as hard as I did on these scores, it’s natural he’d be curious.

I raise my hand, trying to convince myself to press the mousepad. To go forward.

Fuck.

“I can’t do it,” I state, closing my laptop and running my hands over my face.

I’m resigned to never know. Who cares what grades I made this semester? I’ll certainly find out what happened if I’m not allowed back next year. 

(At what point do universities kick you out? After the first, second, or third failed semester?)

“Snow,” He drawls, sitting up, putting the book he was pretending to read down.

(I know he was pretending. He hadn’t flipped a page in ten minutes.)

“Pitch,” I growl.

I hate when he calls me Snow. 

He pauses, an eyebrow raised and a smirk on his lips. 

“If you won’t look, can I?” He asks instead of letting loose whatever insult he was going to say. “I worked hard tutoring you this past month, and I’d like to know if I was successful or not.”

I roll my eyes, handing him my laptop. 

He helped me a lot.

Which was shocking, considering what we were before this all began. 

Our relationship before was best described by Penelope:

“It’s like watching two threatened peacocks, both with their feathers fanned out and ready to fight.”

Agatha had added on to it, saying that it would be true if the two peacocks were also both trying to bang.

(I left so fast after that, I forgot my food.)

Baz opens my laptop.

(She wasn’t wrong, unfortunately.)

Over the past month, I came to realize that I didn’t really hate him. 

Quite the opposite.

“Well?” I say as he stares at the screen. I’m waiting for a reaction.

Instead, he puts it on my desk.

“You should look, they’re your scores,” he says quietly. 

I frown, panic slowly rising in my chest. 

Did he already look?

(Were they bad?)

“Simon,” he says softly. I look up at him immediately. He’s not used my name before. It’s always Snow with Baz. “You worked hard. It’ll be good.”

I take a deep breath and enter my password on the website.

You worked hard.

His hand is on my shoulder, giving me a light squeeze. 

It’ll be good.

I click the final button, holding my breath for what lies ahead. 

I sigh when I see the next page.

“Well?” He asks.

“I entered my password wrong,” I mutter, retyping it. (Forgot to capitalize the first letter.)

He scoffs, leaning to half sit on my desk. 

(I can smell his shampoo.)

(Cedar and bergamot)

I look him up and down out of my peripheral while I wait for the page to load. He’s looking ahead, obviously deep in thought. His arms are crossed over his chest, watch letting a bit of sun shine off it onto the desk. 

I see him start to move and I refocus on the screen, only to see it.

My grades.

And I’m amazed to see they’re….

Good.

“I passed!” I shout, standing up suddenly, knocking my chair over. 

Baz lights up, standing straight. “Really?” He asks. 

I nod.

In the next millisecond, the world feels like it’s falling out from under me. 

(It is, in some weird way, I guess.)

Baz has his arms wrapped around my waist, holding me tight and picking me up. I put my hands on his shoulders as a brace as I hold on to dear life. 

“I knew you could do it!” He says. 

Baz says it with the intensity and light that makes me believe it for a minute.

When my feet touch the ground our eyes are locked, both of us smiling, a laugh of excitement still etched on our faces.

His hand moves to my face and my chest warms.

This is new.

“Simon,” he whispers.

I put my hands around his neck and pull him down so our lips are almost touching. My eyes are still in his, searching.

“Can I?” I ask quietly. I feel like I know the answer, but I want to have confirmation.

I want to know that he wants this too. 

He nods softly, barely, before I crash into him. Lips against lips, arms wrapped around each other pulling us closer.

Closer.

Even closer.

And it’s good.

Better than I thought it could be. 

It’s like I’m breathing him in. Letting him consume me.

Letting myself consume him.

When we pull back, I let my eyes open again. 

His hair is tangled (from my fingers), his chest is rising and falling with the deep breaths he is taking, and he still has a hand on my cheek.

He rubs his thumb back and forth and I let my eyes fall closed again, sitting in the sensation. 

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while, now,” Baz whispers.

I nod, leaning up to give him a chaste kiss again, already missing his touch when I pull away.

“Me too,” I reply. 

He huffs in laughter and pulls me by my chin, kissing me until I forget any ounce of worry I had about my grades.

[j0ne-jjk]

The Universe has Moved for Us

우주가 우릴 위해 움직였어 The universe has moved for us 조금의 어긋남조차 없었어 There wasn’t anything even slightly out of place 너와 내 행복은 예정됐던 걸 Our happiness has been destined

- lyrics from Serendipity, BTS, sung by Jimin

Couple: MiniMoni Characters: Namjoon, Jimin Genre: Fluff (very slight angst) Rating: PG

Tags: Namjoon, Jimin, MiniMoni, NamJi, FLUFF, so dang fluffy, tiny bit of angst, nothing too serious, more just worry, hand-holding, date-night picnic, kissing, hugging, I said it was fluffy!, canon compliant, established relationship, long-term relationship, characters are engaged, sorry if that’s a spoiler?, nothing dirty or even bad language lol, I don’t think there’s anything else.

Glossary of Korean words:

Hyung used for one male to address an older male

Aein “sweetheart”

Jagi / Jagiya “honey” or “darling

Aegiya cute way to say “baby”

Nae sarang “my love”

Naekkeo “mine” (said with aegyo- cuteness)

Kamsahamnida thank you

Halmeoni grandma

Harabeoji grandpa

Orin wangjanim “my little prince”

-ssi honorific meaning “sir”

Yeoboseyo “hello” over the phone

        Seoul was always busy. Even after 7:30 PM on a weeknight. The traffic in the downtown part of the city moved as if it were one, fluid unit. Everyone was always in a hurry; always rushing to get somewhere important. As with any metropolitan city, there was little space in Seoul to stop and take a breath. To attempt to recover from the grinding pace of daily life- especially Idol life. 

        The company car moved in harmony with the evening traffic, steadily passing people on sidewalks and businesses turning on their lights for the night. Namjoon released a sigh as he looked out the deeply tinted windows. A slight, reassuring squeeze came from the petite hand that was linked with his larger one. He returned the squeeze as he shifted to look down at his boyfriend seated beside him, soft, dark eyes looking deep into his own. “The workday is over, naekko, you don’t have to keep thinking so hard. Just relax for me, okay, Joonie-hyung?” Jimin smiled encouragingly, gently leaning his small shoulder into Namjoon’s upper arm. Namjoon’s ears redden slightly at the overly cute nickname and moves their clasped hands to Jimin’s knee, sighing again, “You’re right, jagiya. And I will. You know it just takes me a little while to unravel from the day.” The smaller man nods, content with the answer he received, and rests his head against his boyfriend’s strong shoulder. Both men sit and breathe in the familiar closeness of an evening drive through the city. The sky outside continues to darken as the private car drives on toward Ttukseom Park and leaves the company building further and further in the distance. 

        “Kamsahamnida. Can you come back to pick us up at 9:00 pm, please?” Namjoon waves to the company driver. When he turns, Jimin is standing under the glow of a streetlamp, holding their kimbap take-away, a sweet smile on his angelic face. The smile grows as Namjoon closes the distance between them, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to Jimin’s forehead. “Let’s walk down and find a place by the river to sit and eat our dinner,” Namjoon suggests, taking the bag of food in one hand, Jimin’s tiny hand in the other, and leading the way down the walking path toward Cheongdam Daegyo Bridge. The pair finds a slightly secluded picnic table with a view of the bridge and the city skyline across the river, perfect for a late evening dinner. Being the more domestic of the couple, Jimin busies himself with wiping the table, passing out napkins, and giving each of them a squirt of hand sanitizer. He then opens the expertly-made kimbap, all of which the two usually share. 

        Neither can recall how it started, but it’s weekly tradition that Thursday nights are date night for take-away from their favorite kimbap place. The shop was owned by an elderly couple that had grown very fond of all seven of the boys. “Halmeoni said she missed us the last two weeks, aegiya. She insisted on giving us an extra cheese kimbap. She said she and harabeoji watched us on TV,” Jimin paused to smile up at his boyfriend as he divided the gifted kimbap between them. Across the table, Namjoon returns the smile, dimples appearing on his cheeks, “So generous. Bangtan might not have survived if halmeoni hadn’t given us so much free ramyeon.” He pops another piece of his cheese kimbap into his mouth, looking over the river, distant memories seeming to float by with the current. Jimin waits another moment and then clears his throat timidly, “Halmeoni also asked how you were doing,” he pauses, giving his boyfriend an intentional look, “she wanted to remind you to sleep well and take care of yourself.” The tips of Namjoon’s ears were tinged slightly pink and he shifts on his side of the table, “well, halmeoni is wise. I guess I need to catch up on my sleep in case she checks in on me next week,” he teases, chuckling lightly, avoiding his boyfriend’s eyes. 

        Namjoon stands from the table, collecting the trash and placing in a nearby bin. Jimin joins him and the two head toward the nature trail, hand in hand, walking at a leisurely pace. The pair strolls in comfortable silence for a while, admiring the river and the local flora in the waning evening light. A little ways ahead, they follow a slight fork in the path, arriving at one of Namjoon’s favorite places in the city- a stone bench, slightly secluded by bunches of rivergrass and cattails, and setback right from the riverbank. The couple takes a seat, Namjoon wrapping his strong arm around Jimin’s slim shoulders, the two fitting like a custom-made set. They take in the distant, twinkling lights of the skyline across the river and exchange a few quiet words of conversation before Jimin straightens a little and clears his throat. “You know, jagi, halmeoni isn’t the only one who wants you to take care of yourself. She isn’t the only one who worries,” he begins, voice small, eyes focused on the city skyline across the river. He breathes in deep and continues, “I worry about you, aein. I want you to take care of yourself,” at this, Jimin pulls himself from under his boyfriend’s arm and turns toward the taller man, eyes wide and beseeching,“I know you’re busy, Joonie-hyung. I know our schedule is packed, but you have to rest too, jagiya. Let me be there for you- please.” He suddenly places his tiny hands on Namjoon’s knee, words tumbling out like autumn leaves over a waterfall. Namjoon’s eyebrows are knitted together in concern, but his eyes are soft and filled with adoration. “You don’t have to work yourself to the bone for everything to be done and done well, Joonie-hyung. I care about you so much, aegiya. I love you with my whole heart,” Jimin’s pretty face is flushed slightly pink, his dark eyes wide and shining in the subtle glow from nearby streetlamps. He took a deep breath and waited for Namjoon’s response. 

        Seoul was always busy. Even nearing 8:45 pm on a Thursday night. But here, on this slightly secluded stone bench in Ttukseom Hangang Park, time seemed frozen. The genuine affection shared between the couple seated on this bench was almost palpable. Love surrounded them like a hazy, pink cloud of perfume that invaded their senses, creating lasting, core memories. Namjoon finally blinks, coming back down to earth and allowing his eyes to refocus. Without a word, he reaches out and wraps Jimin in a hug, pulling him close. They stay wrapped in each other's arms for a moment, reveling in the closeness, the tenderness; breathing in each other’s scent. Namjoon pulls back first, keeping one arm around Jimin’s and letting the other fall to rest his slim knee. He peers deeply into Jimin’s dark eyes, pressing a light kiss to one soft cheek and then the other, before saying, “I love you too, jagiya. And I know you love me. I can see your love in how you smile when our eyes meet from across the stage or you find me in a crowded room. And I can feel your love in the way you hug me like all your worries have melted away.” He smiles reassuringly, running long fingers through Jimin’s silky, black hair, “I know I need to take a step back, aein. Maybe a few steps. Starting tomorrow, I will. You’re right, jagi, I know everything will get done, especially since I have the six of you to support me. I don’t have to work myself to death.” Namjoon chuckles at his dark joke, but his face falls when he feels Jimin shudder under his arm at his final word. “Oh jagiya-” Namjoon begins, hand moving down to rub soothingly along his boyfriend’s narrow back. Jimin interrupts, placing both small hands comfortingly on Namjoon’s chest over his heart, “that’s exactly what I’m trying to avoid, aegiya,” his voice tinged with a hint of heartache floating just under the surface. He continues, eyes glistening, voice hushed, “I couldn’t b-bear to lose you, nae sarang.” His voice wavers as he leans forward, curling into the broad chest before him, Namjoon’s strong arms wrapping securely around him again. 

        The river below seemed to sparkle from the enchanting mixture of streetlamps, city lights, and car headlights from the bridge. The moon and stars added their ethereal glow which painted a heavenly highlight across Jimin’s cheeks. This subtle radiance made Namjoon’s breath catch in his chest as Jimin lifted his head to look up at his boyfriend. Namjoon smiles reassuringly and runs his thumb over his boyfriend’s cheek, “Orin wangjanim, I promise I’m not going anywhere. You know that.” Orin wangjanim- my little prince. Jimin’s eyes light up at his favorite term of endearment, used by Namjoon only on the most special occasions. Golden memories rapidly flood his mind with the moments he’s heard that nickname; before their first kiss, when they first said “I love you”, when Namjoon proposed. Jimin lifts his tiny hand, gazing at the simple, gold engagement ring there as he speaks, “You’re right, aegiya. We’re in this until the end. Please let me help you bear your burdens. Like we say, teamwork makes the dream work,” he finishes with an awkward ‘finger-gun’ and clicks his tongue. Both men burst out in laughter, basking in the lightness of the mood. As their laughter fades and the moment turns tender again, the moon and stars reflecting in their love-struck eyes. Jimin reaches up and cradles Namjoon’s face as their lips meet in a kiss, moving in a familiar, comfortable dance. For just a moment, the stars from the sky above seem to come down to suspend around them. 

*Ding* The 9:00 pm alarm on Namjoon’s phone chimes, rousing the couple reluctantly from their kisses. The shorter of the two stands abruptly, putting on a mock-serious face and planting his tiny fists on his hips. “Come now, Namjoon-ssi. We must not delay our departure any longer,” he commands in a silly, deep voice (what he calls his ‘grown-up voice’). His boyfriend’s eyes crinkle in amusement as he stands, swinging his long arms toward the path, and arranging his face in a similar way. “Quite right, you are. Let us away, then,” he says in English, attempting a British accent. Always easily amused, Jimin can’t hold a straight face any longer and bursts into a fit of laughter, doubling over and crumpling to the ground. Also laughing (but not quite as hysterically), Namjoon crouches in front of his boyfriend until he recovers, “you good, jagiya? Come on, let’s head to the exit and find the car.” Jimin nods and smiles, brushes dust off of his jeans, and links his fingers with Namjoon’s. 

        As the couple nears Ttukseom Park’s exit, Namjoon’s phone vibrates with a call from Yoongi. “Yeoboseyo hyung. Ah yeah. Okay we will. Thanks, later,” he ends the call, pocketing his phone and looking at his boyfriend, “That was Yoongi-hyung, reminding us we should post on Bangtan’s Twitter to thank ARMY for keeping Butter at number one on the Billboard charts for a fourth week. Maybe we could take a selca when we get in the car?” he suggests, shrugging his wide shoulders. Jimin skips along in excitement, smiling wide, “oh what a good idea, naekkeo!” Once the car is headed toward Namjoon’s apartment, Jimin eagerly pulls out his phone, “ready, jagiya? Big, cute, smile!” They lean their heads together and smile contentedly. *click* The shutter sound indicates the picture is ready. Jimin reviews the photo and quickly posts it to the group’s Twitter, miniature thumbs flying over his phone’s keyboard. “ARMY will love this, don’t you think? We look so-” as he turns, soft, full lips meet his own, kissing him deeply. Jimin melts into the kiss, sighing. “Yeah, I think a MiniMoni selca will be pretty popular,” Namjoon smirks, eyes twinkling, as he pulls the smaller man close by his side. He kisses the top of his head, then turns to look out the window at the passing city. Jimin knows his cheeks are pink as he switches off his phone and settles back into the warm chest behind him. 

        Seoul was always busy. Even after 9:14 PM on a Thursday night. The traffic moved in a single fluid unit, like the water in the Han River, that passed continuously by the secluded stone bench. Everyone was always in a hurry; but there were some ways to slow down. Some pockets of solace even in a bustling metropolis. Evening picnics of kimbap take-away, walking hand-in-hand through Ttukseom Hangang Park, meaningful moments on a riverbank bench illuminated by the moonlight, selcas in the backseat of a company car, and affectionate kisses all caused time to slow down and even stop. The warm, intimate feeling of love surrounded the couple in the backseat, hanging in the air like a nebulous cloud of the sweetest perfume. The promise of a shared future and acknowledgment of mutual support making it all the more precious. As the private car continued down the city streets, the couple continued forward into a future full of endless possibilities as vast as the stars in the night sky. 

[flightlessangelwings]

Deserving of Love

Frankie Morales x gn!Reader

Word count: 1.6k

Rating: G, This is just pure fluff

Inspired by the idea from @libellule2001​ 

It was the middle of the night when Frankie woke with a start. His heart raced and his breath was quick as the images from his nightmare flashed through his mind again. He buried his face in his hands as he sat up and tried to calm himself down. It was then that he looked over to your sleeping figure in the bed next to him. Looking at you helped to bring his panic down more than anything else, and he couldn’t help the smile that came across his face as he watched you sleep.

Frankie reached his hand out and gently brushed a lock of hair off your face so he could see you better. He didn’t mean to wake you, but the touch made you stir in your sleep, and you opened your eyes.

“Frankie?” you mumbled as you sat up to be next to him, “You ok baby?”

“Yeah, fine,” he spoke softly, “Sorry I woke you baby.” He dipped his head down to look at the sheets on his lap.

You shifted yourself so that you sat up next to him and kissed his shoulder. You knew better than to take him at his word by this point, as this happened many times before, “Another nightmare?” You ran your hands up his arm before you nuzzled yourself against him and wrapped your arms around his bare chest.

He let out a deep sigh before he answered, “Yeah…” he seemed like he may elaborate at first, but Frankie just let the thought trail off into the night.

“You don’t have to talk about it, Frankie.”

Frankie turned to face you, “Let’s lay back down,” he said before he brought his arm around you and guided your body back to lay down. You had no objections, and immediately wrapped yourself around him.

You lay your head on his chest to listen to his heartbeat: your favorite sound in the world. You always loved it when he held you close like this: with his arms securely around your waist and your bodies touched each other as much as possible. The feeling was mutual for Frankie as well, and having you pressed up against him helped to keep him grounded. It meant more to him than he could say.

Some time passed by when neither of you said anything. Words weren’t needed, and you both just lay together in the comfortable silence as you just enjoyed each other’s presence. Frankie thought you had fallen back asleep because you were so quiet, but you were determined to stay awake for him for as long as he needed you.

“You still awake?” you whispered.

“Mmhmm.”

Frankie couldn’t help the way his mind drifted. The unpleasant thoughts continued to plague him, no matter how hard he tried to fight them off. After everything he had been though, it’s no surprise that his past haunted him. But that wasn’t what kept him up at night.

And you could tell that something was bothering him. This was the third night in a row that he woke up in a frantic state from a nightmare. You were there for him, like you always were. Like you always will be. But, you also didn’t want to push him if he didn’t want to talk about it. It did make you worry, however.

“Frankie,” you spoke as you laid against his chest, “What’s wrong?”

His breath hitched in his throat as he froze for a moment. He could lie and say it was something else or that it was no big deal, but he didn’t want to do that. “It’s just…” he started before he trailed off again.

You broke yourself away from him, but only far enough so you could prop yourself up on your elbows and look at him directly, “Talk to me, baby.”

That look in your eyes almost brought Frankie to tears. That sincere look and those eyes that held so much love. “The truth is,” he paused with another sigh, “I don’t feel worthy of you.”

“What?”

“You’re such an amazing person,” he said your name with such tenderness that your heart skipped a beat, “You’re smart, you’re beautiful, you’ve got the biggest heart. So what are you doing with someone like me?” He thought back to his nightmare as he spoke. Frankie had dreamed that you decided you couldn’t handle what happened in his past anymore and left him all alone.

“I love you Frankie,” you said simply, “That’s what I’m doing with you.”

Frankie cupped your face, “I love you too baby,” he brushed his thumb over your cheek, “But I’ve done a lot of things I’m not proud of. At all. And you deserve better than me.”

“Listen to me Frankie,” you held his gaze as you spoke, “The only person who decides what I deserve is me. And if I decide you’re the one for me, then you’re the one for me.”

“But…”

“We’re all done shit we wish he could forget, Frankie,” you cut him off, “Believe me. That doesn’t mean we’re not worthy of love. And I want you to have my love, if you’ll take it.”

He smiled softly, “Of course I will. As long as you’re willing to give it to me.”

“Then we’re good,” you tried to lighten the mood.

“We’re good,” Frankie echoed before he pulled you in for a kiss. You responded immediately and deepened the kiss. It was as if a fire was lit between you as you kissed each other with such passion. It was as if you tried to prove without words how much he meant to you, and he did the same.

When you finally pulled away for air, you smiled so brightly at Frankie that you practically lit up the room. You cupped his face much like the way he held yours as you stared into his eyes. You knew he loved you, but you could still see a sadness behind those eyes. And it ate you up to see it. 

You placed a soft kiss on his cheek before you spoke, “Frankie, I know you don’t think you deserve me,” you placed a kiss on his neck, “But I want to show you how much you really do,” you picked up his hand and placed a kiss there.

He watched in awe as you continued to place gentile kisses everywhere you could reach. Frankie never had someone show him such tenderness like this before, and he thought his heart would explode out of his chest. He said your name like he was praying to a goddess, because to him, that’s what you were.

When you heard his voice, you stopped your shower of kisses and looked up at him with a huge smile on your face. Even in the dark, you could tell your attempts to cheer him up worked. You rested your chin on his chest as you held his hand. Frankie’s other arm stayed around your waist to hold you at his side. A million thoughts ran through your head as you stared at him.

“What is it?” Frankie asked.

“Just thinking,” you answered in a dreamy voice.

“About what?”

“You,” you poked at his stomach and let out a little chuckle before you continued, “About the first time we met at that bar that one night. I knew you were a good guy from the get-go, you know.”

“How could you tell?” He furrowed his brows.

“Well for one, you saved me from that creeper that would not leave me alone all night.”

“Anyone would have done the same,” he dismissed the thought.

You have him a pointed look, “Frankie. There were 20 other people at that bar that sat back and did nothing. It was only you that finally told him to fuck off.”

Frankie’s face softened, “I couldn’t watch it anymore. But I had to do something when I saw him spike your drink when your back was turned.”

Your mouth dropped open in surprise, “You never told me that before.”

He shrugged, “I didn’t want to freak you out or anything.”

“Good call,” it definitely would have scared you if you had known that. You wouldn’t have been scared of Frankie of course, your intuition told you he was a trustworthy man from the moment you met. But the spiked drink scenario was always on the back on your mind whenever you went out. But, you had to refocus. “And what about the time we got into that car crash? You refused to let someone look at you until you were sure I was ok, as much as your stubbornness pissed me off at the time,” you added that last bit with a dry laugh.

Frankie listened to your every word while he ran his fingers across your face and hair. “I’d do anything for you,” was all he could think to say.

“And what’s why you deserve me baby. I know I’m safe when I’m with you.”

Tears welled in Frankie’s eyes. But this time, they were tears of happiness, “Fuck, I love you,” he captured your lips with another kiss.

“I love you too,” your voice was soft against his lips, “We good to try sleeping again?” 

“As long as you're here.”

“I’ll always be here, Frankie.”

And with that, Frankie’s mind was settled and the negative thoughts were gone. He made himself a silent promise that he would always do anything for you to keep you safe and keep himself worthy of your love. You fell asleep almost right away, tucked snugly in his arms. Frankie listened to your heavy breaths for a few minutes before he followed you into dreamland.

~

Notes: I thought about adding smut to this, but I decided to keep it just pure fluff this time. So, I can always write a Frankie smut later if y’all would be interested in it! I also kinda want to write a fic expanding on their first meeting that I mentioned here, so that may be coming in the future as well. If anyone wants to be tagged in future Frankie fics, just let me know :)