#i experimented with some new brushes and effects and put my own spin on the mv thumbnail

[mintjeru]

hop, step, ooh~ one more chance! 💔 i did an art collab with the talented pubbles!! we drew the seven's proud members masatoshi (me) and sueyoshi (pubbles) in the rabbit hole mv outfits!! when two artists with the exact same music taste meet, we go a little off the rails 😌

open for better quality | no reposts

[45percenterthen]

Belated bday fic for bearer of cursed fruit facts @seraphlm and thee plant dad cas truther @cactuscas !! Love u guys v much, happy bday <3 (ao3 link here)

“Fuck’s a horoscope again? It’s like, stars and shit, right?”

He bumps Cas’ elbow, who’s squinting at one of his fern-looking-things like he’s experimenting with horticultural telepathy. The saga of the fern-thing has been turbulent, to say the least. It’s wilting a bit, leaves curling in on themselves like tiny fists. Cas has spent the past few days carting it from one window ledge to another, muttering to himself about humidity levels with a familiar air of irritated devotion. Dean reckons the whole underground bunker situation probably isn’t helping. It’s well travelled, though, for a plant. Dean thinks it should be more grateful.

Cas nods, releasing a leaf with a sigh and sitting down next to Jack. “Indeed. Stars and shit.”

Jack’s engrossed in some magazine, finger tracing the words as he reads. Cas reaches for the edge of the page to hold it taut for him, and Dean can practically see his other hand itching for his phone. Diagnosis time for the fern-thing. Dean’s never seen a favorites bar so wholly taken up by gardening websites. Dean’s pretty sure the definition of true love is pausing Die Hard to read an article about potting soil drainage.

“Do you want to hear yours, Dean? It’s for this week.”

“Sure, kiddo.” To be honest, Dean thinks the concept of fate can very much, actually, go fuck itself. Jack looks delighted though, so he keeps it to himself. He stirs a bit of extra butter into the eggs because that’s the way Jack likes them, dutifully not looking at Cas to avoid a depressing conversation about his cholesterol levels.

“Oh! It says you’re lucky this week, Dean!”

“Awesome, bud! Time to stock up on the scratch cards, eh?”

Sam chooses that moment to come lumbering in. The state of his hair suggests a sleepless night, or that a recent localized hurricane that targeted his bedroom only.

“Hi Sam! We’re reading horoscopes. Dean’s an Aquarius.”

“Oh, cool.” Eileen had been delayed on a salt and burn with some of the new-hunter-network people. Sam looks suitably mopey about it, forlorn housewife that he is. “Mercury’s in marmalade, and all that.”

“Aquarius is ruled by Uranus,” Jack continues, and Sam instantly chokes. On air, apparently. Bastard.

“One more time, Jack? Dean’s ruled by his –”

“You’re a child, Samantha.” Dean looks around for the nearest something-painful-not-fatal to throw at him. Plant’s a no. Instant divorce. He glances at the eggs, but decides he doesn’t want to spend his morning getting egg yolk outta the tile grouting.

“Dude, oh my – I should’ve just checked your horoscope,” Sam walks over to the fridge, catching the Mary Berry’s Baking Bible that Jody sent them for Christmas in mid-air. “Would’ve saved us a talk.”

“Eat your pineapple and shut up, man.”

“Did you know that pineapples are technically berries?” Jack says. Dean wonders if Cas introduced him to WebMD-for-plants. Or maybe this is just a side effect of being The New God on the block. Berry omniscience. “Well. The outside bit is. Bananas are berries too.”

“That’s weird,” Sam closes the fridge door. Stares into his bowl like he’s offended. Dean’s offended Sam eats nothing but fruit in the morning. “After the heaven rebuild. You should, like, fix berries.”

Jack turns to Cas solemnly. “Should I fix berries?”

“Perhaps you should concentrate on heaven, first. Then we can see about berries.”

“I don’t want to ruin the fabric of our established universe,” Jack says, and Dean’s struck, once again, with the sudden realisation that he’s making eggs for the most powerful entity in Creation. Mondays, man.

“I don’t think Chuck had any such purity of intent in mind,” Cas says darkly, pouring more milk into God’s glass for strong bones and teeth, and yeah, Dean’s pretty keen to steer Cas away from that particular line of conversation.

“Hey, what’s Cas’ horo-whatever?” He takes the eggs off the heat and walks over to the table, leaning over to see what the hell magazine this is, actually. Looks Rowena-y. Is the Queen of Hell sending his son-God care packages? That’s one way to establish diplomatic relations.

He rests his hands on Cas’ shoulders, stroking his thumbs at the neckline of his t-shirt when he feels tension. He decides against pressing a kiss to Cas’s hair. Just ‘cause he’s with a dude now, doesn’t mean he’s gonna be all gay about it. Cas’ left hand comes up to cover his own. Their rings clink.

“Cas doesn’t have a birthday, though.” Jack frowns at the page slightly, apparently looking for the section on fallen angel anomalies.

“Then we’ll have to pick one –” Dean starts, just as Cas says, “September eighteenth.”

Cas tips his head back against Dean’s chest, peers up at him. He’s got dried toothpaste at the corner of his mouth. Dean grins stupidly at his upside-down face. “September eighteenth, yeah.” Something swoops in his chest. Cas is earnest, and it’s unbearable. He loves at full volume, and Dean’s as grateful as he is undeserving. He squeezes Cas’ shoulder. Tradition, and all that.

Jack taps the page. “It says you’re a Virgo, Cas!”

They’re still staring at each other as Jack starts reading aloud. Dean brushes hair off Cas’ forehead and thinks, for once, he’s landed himself the permanent kind of happy. Dean’s pretty sure he’s loved him for years and years, quietly, achingly.

There’s the sound of cutlery against ceramic, and Dean looks up to check Sammy’s not weeping into his fruit bowl out of sheer girlish pride or whatever. He’d made it six words into his best man speech before the waterworks. Dean’s never letting him live it down.

⁂

“So,” Dean says later, after Sam’s gone to collect Eileen from town, and Jack’s off on heavenly refurb duty. “My lucky week, huh?”

Dean circles his arms round Cas’ midriff. Lets his chin rest on his shoulder, because he can, and also to check Cas isn’t half-assing the washing up.

“Apparently so.”

Dean hums. It’s funny. They’re married. And yet moments like these, the big ones, still manage to make him a bit nervous. It’s stupid. He’s hardly gonna say no. But Dean supposes they’ve never managed to get anything in the right order. Two deathbed confessions amidst a decade of friendship. An ‘I love you too’ echoing off brick in an empty room. Two kids co-parented before they even kissed, and they were already living together when they started dating. Someone get Nicholas Sparks on the phone.

“Perfect week to put an offer down on a house then, right? That one on the lake?”

Cas drops a fork into the bubbles. He turns his head to reply and Dean takes it as an opportunity to kiss what’s within reach. The smile lines around his eye, his temple greying with the proof that Cas loves him. He’s all in. Dean is too, terrifyingly.

“Really?”

“Yeah, dude.” Dean nods at the fern guy. “Your plants would appreciate the sunlight, right? And there’s a room for Jack.”

Cas spins in his arms, leaning against the sink to look Dean in the eye. Dean grabs at his soapy palm, intertwining their fingers, confident in his sappiness when no one’s watching.

“I know I always say Sammy didn’t make the most of his college experience, but dorming in my forties isn’t exactly what I meant –”

“You’ll miss him, though.”

“Of course, man. Lived with Sam my whole life. But,” Dean relinquishes the hand to cup Cas’ face, “I kinda wanna do my own thing now. With you. So, move in with me, Mr. Winchester? Somewhere… overground?”

It’s so off-your-feet sweepingly romantic Dean feels like he deserves a medal. Maybe this is their karmic justice after the proposal debacle.

Cas is smiling at him, soft and sweet. “Okay, Dean.” He puts wet hands around his waist and Dean doesn’t even care that it’s seeping through his t-shirt. “Lake house it is.”

Dean leans in, kisses him three times in response. He lingers on the last one, smiling against Cas’ mouth. Cas knows what he means.

[let-them-read-fics]

Too Late To Apologize?

Requested By @rosiesandlilies​: “I was wondering if I can request a Rosé x female reader story where Rosie is an idol who also happens to be ur wife and since she and BP are taking over the world by storm, she starts to forget about you and whenever u ask her to spend a little bit of time with you, she gets upset and fights with you. You’re also an important person but you always make time for her. Can it be angsty with fluff 🥰”

Pairing: Rosé x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ~ 6,026

Warnings / Misc: -- Angst, Self Doubt, Strained Marriage / Relationship, Crying, Some Swearing, Fluff

Disclaimer: This writing is a work of fiction, and no disrespect is meant for those mentioned herein.

A/N: Oooooo lord, here we go. I am feeding 👏 you 👏 all 👏 today! This one took a while to write, but I’m pretty happy with it. I wrote it all in one go, starting at like 3am (as usual lol), so forgive me if it’s a little rough. I put a lot of effort into it, though, so I hope you guys enjoy. Thank you for requesting -- Happy reading!

PS ~ I highly recommend that you listen to these songs as you read this:

You Were Good To Me -- Jeremy Zucker & Chelsea Cutler

Surrender -- Natalie Taylor

The Night We Met -- Lord Huron

I Found -- Amber Run

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

Hongdae, Seoul  --  8:00 PM

“Good evening, everyone! Before I open the doors, I’d like to thank each and every one of you for taking the time out of your day to stop in. We couldn’t have done this without your support, and we’re endlessly grateful. We hope you have a wonderful experience with us tonight. Now, without further ado, welcome to La Rêverie!”

To your amusement, the sizable crowd erupts into a fit of cheers once your opening speech is over. Echoes of the joyous sounds carry across the city, wiggling their way through the alleys and streets, bouncing off of the nearby buildings. The customers slowly filter in, greeting and congratulating you on their way; you’re beyond excited to start this new journey, and seeing people so happy to be a part of it only makes you more proud.

Eventually everyone makes it inside to their seats, and you join them.

--- Later That Evening ---

“Y/N, we have a private party that would like to see you. They’re eager to meet the woman behind all of this,” Pierre smirks, quirking an eyebrow suggestively. His demeanor confuses you slightly, seeing as how this isn’t the first time high profile celebrities have requested your presence -- that’s just one of the perks of being a world renowned chef. You brush off his remark as playful banter and send him to tell them that you’ll be out soon. 

---

“...yes, actually. Y/N and I were fortunate enough to meet when she was studying in Paris; we were being trained by the same chef. We’ve been close ever since. I’m not surprised that she hired me, though; I’m practically a master in the kitchen.”

At Pierre’s cocky words, your eyes nearly roll into the back of your head. A small grin plays on your lips nonetheless, and you smooth out your top one more time before rounding the corner. 

“What’s this idiot on about now? Did he tell you about the time that he nearly got kicked out of our mentorship program for giving Anthony Bourdain the wrong dish?” You ask the table, sending them a glance while ruffling his hair as you come up behind him. They all snicker at that, and it’s his turn to roll his eyes; with an annoyed shove, he scolds you for bringing that story up again.

“Must you always tell people about that?”

Your smile widens, spreading cutely across your face. Mocking him is one of your favorite things to do. “Mhm,” you say simply, nodding your head for emphasis. He attempts to hide his embarrassment, but it only brings a deeper blush to his cheeks. 

At the VIP table, the suppressed sound of laughter carries over to you, and you’re reminded of your reason for being here in the first place. Upon offering your full attention to the table now, no longer distracted by Pierre, you’re met with 4 different pairs of eyes on you. Warm, yellow light illuminates the area, the classy overhead fixture emitting a soft glow to cast down on the guests beautifully. It’s cozy and inviting, just like you had intended it to be, and the sight makes you happy.

As you quickly scan over each of the girls, your brain pieces together where you know them from.

“My oh my, it’s Blackpink themselves. To what do I owe this honor?” All of the natural charisma that you possess takes over now, doing its best to override your nerves. It’s definitely not the time to fangirl over them; you have to act cool. One by one, you shake their hands, making sure to give each of them a glimpse of your award winning smile. 

Jennie is the first to speak up. “Yourself, of course. You’re the talk of the town, Y/N, how could we miss this?” The way that she says it so casually, already skipping past the formalities, puts you at ease. 

“Ah, you’re too kind. Was your food prepared to your liking?”

A chorus of approving noises leaves the table, successfully boosting your confidence in the process. “It was truly incredible, Y/N.” Rosé gushes, her adorable accent adding something magical to the simple phrase. For the first time tonight, your mind goes blank; ever since news broke of your plans for this new restaurant, you practiced to avoid this very thing. As you stand there floundering for a beat, she takes notice of the effect that her words have on you; it doesn’t take long for her to realize how much she loves to make you blush.

“Thank you so much. We’re so glad to have you here tonight.” 

“We’re happy to be here! Rosé hasn’t stopped talking about it for the past week.” The Australian’s eyes go wide as Lisa exposes her, and she shoots the younger girl a shocked look. Lisa only smirks at this, her shoulders rising and falling in a nonchalant shrug. Jisoo nods in confirmation, adding, “Yeah, she’s been super pumped.”

On the inside, you’re freaking out. Rosé was that excited to try out your creations? There’s no logical explanation for that one. Your own surprise is evident in your voice as you respond, “Oh really now? And why’s that?”

“I-I’ve just heard a lot of great things, you know? You’re pretty talented.” She tries to sound confident, but the stutter in her voice betrays her. The tips of her ears are burning with embarrassment, and after sending her yet another smile, you decide to spare her by changing the topic. 

“Well thank you, again. It’s truly a privilege to cook for you girls.” The conversation continues from there, effortlessly moving from subject to subject, and you love how welcome they make you feel. Occasionally you excuse yourself to check on the other guests and ensure that they’re enjoying their dinner, and every time, Rosé finds herself sorely missing your presence. Despite only officially meeting tonight, she feels like she’s known you her whole life. The two of you clicked instantly, and she can’t seem to get enough of you.

After spending the better part of 2 hours chatting and getting to know one another better, you grow bold and ask the question that’s been rolling around in your head all night. 

“Would you guys like to come back to the kitchen for a bit? I could give you some tips and we could make a couple dishes, if you want.”

Rosé nearly interrupts you from how eager she is to accept the offer. The second that you’re done asking, she’s already saying yes. The others happily agree as well, and soon you’re leading them to the back to get prepped.

_________

“Just like this, everyone. Cut thinly here,” you inform, using your knife to point to the areas in question, “...then turn it and follow through with the slices. It should come out diced, like so.” The girls observed your swift motions, peeking over at the small cubes once you’re finished. Things continue on like this for a while, and soon you’re halfway done with the veggies while they’re barely done with the first part of their batches.

“Slow down, Y/N! You’re too fast for us grandmas.” Jisoo jests, her voice bouncy with amusement. 

“Okay, okay! I’ll wait, just let me know if you need help.” Your knife comes to rest against the cutting board, and you take the opportunity to lean back against the countertop to watch them work. Your eyes trail over to Rosé, only to find her already looking at you; she tenses once she realizes she’s been caught, and she returns to her previous duties. You decide to tease her.

“Everything alright, Rosé? You seem a little distracted…” She momentarily shuts her eyes at your words, trying to refocus her thoughts and collect herself. A subtle snicker from Lisa can be heard, and Rosé delivers a quick jab to her arm. The maknae lets out a little “oww” before setting her things down to rub away the newfound soreness of her arm. 

A little later, Jennie requests some assistance, prompting you to make your way over to her. The station that she’s working at just so happens to be next to Rosé’s, and you’d be lying if you said that didn’t thrill you. 

“Do we peel this first or leave it on?” 

“Cut the ends first, then slice it in half and remove the outer layer.”

Under your watchful eye, she follows your instructions and is soon back on track. She thanks you, and you bring your hand up to give her a pat on the back. Although she feels childish for it, the action works to make Rosé the tiniest bit jealous; she wants your attention on her. 

The blonde clears her throat before speaking up. “Y/N, I need a little help, too.” Your heart jumps at her words, and you fight hard to keep yourself in check as you spin around to face her.

“Of course, Rosé.” She sighs at the way her name rolls off your tongue, and she’s completely convinced that you’ve secretly put her under some type of spell. Her thoughts of you and your mysterious ways are interrupted when you come to stand next to her, your hip lightly brushing against hers. 

“Oh, well there’s your problem: you’re holding the knife wrong. Here,” you start, reaching out to reposition her hand in a better spot. Now she’ll be able to control it better, and she won’t run the risk of cutting herself.

“Better?” You ask innocently, missing the way that she bites her lip. The close proximity of your bodies is making her head spin, and she can’t decide if she wants you to stay or go. “Yes, thank you.” She looks like she wants to say something else, but she doesn’t, so you take that as your cue to go check on the other girls. Rosé silently curses herself for missing that golden opportunity to flirt with you, but she takes solace in the fact that she catches you stealing glances her way fairly often. You feel the connection too, and she’s pleased with that -- maybe she was doing something right after all.

The next stint of the night is spent preparing and cooking the dishes you promised them while trading jokes, banter, and teasing remarks. A mini food fight also took place, but for the sake of professionalism you won’t mention that. You couldn’t have asked for a more perfect day.

---- 

“Goodnight girls. I hope you come by again sometime soon!” 

They all assure you that they’ll be back before you know it, and you believe them. After all, they gobbled those dishes down like they hadn’t eaten in days -- it’s safe to say that they enjoyed them.

Rosé lingers in the doorway, eyeing you as you work to clean off the counter. She doesn’t want to go; she’s loved getting to hang out with you. Contemplating her options, she decides to be brave; she tells the girls to go on ahead, that she’ll be there in a minute. 

“Rosé, did you forget something?” You ask, looking up at her as you reach forward to wipe any remaining debris off the sleek surface.

“Yeah, your number.” Somehow, she possesses all the confidence in the world now, her new demeanor completely opposite to its previously shy counterpart. 

You tilt your head at her, a dumbfounded smile parting your lips ever so slightly. “Bold, are we? Alright, I’ll bite.” You say, holding a hand out for her to give you her phone. Her eyes widen a bit -- was she not expecting you to say yes? There’s no way you could turn down a chance like this. She fumbles around in her bag until the smooth screen of her phone comes into contact with her fingers, letting her know she’s found it.

“Here you go,” she chuckles cutely, an adorable little pattern of blush rising to her cheeks again. 

After entering your number, making sure to save the contact and even take a goofy picture of yourself for it, you give it back to her. “Call me anytime, love.” Her smile spreads even farther at the pet name, and she ducks her head to hide her reddening cheeks.

As she slowly approaches the door, walking backwards, she says, “I will… love,” offering you a little awkward salute at the end of it. You giggle at her antics, and soon bid her goodnight. 

No more than 5 minutes later, your phone dings as it displays a notification from an unknown number. 

“I’m usually not that awkward 🤦‍♀️ pretty girls just make me nervous.” The message makes your heart flutter, and you quickly save her number to your contacts. 

“Really? We have yet another thing in common, then.” 

The girls watch as Rosé does a little victory dance in her seat, her movements a bit limited by the belt stretched across her body. She’s practically glowing with excitement, her fingers already firing off another reply.

________

3 Years Later -- Rome, Italy

Upon seeing Rosé saunter down the aisle, your emotions get the jump on you; before you can stop them, tears flow freely down your face, and you bring a hand up to your mouth to quiet yourself. She looks bruisingly beautiful: the natural curves of her body are accentuated by the silky material of her dress, and her shoulders are covered in lace. An angel cast down from the heavens above. 

She smiles at the audience that’s filled with your close friends and family, offering little greetings as she passes them. Once she and her father make it to the altar, he pulls you in for a big hug, a few tears escaping his eyes. After he takes a step back, he looks between the two of you with pure pride on his face, his hand resting on your shoulder. 

The song ends, signalling for the two of you to join hands and face each other, and he returns to his seat. 

“We’re gathered here today to celebrate the joyous union of Y/N L/N and Roseanne Park. Two souls destined to find their way to one another, travelling millions of miles in the process. We come together to revel in this fact and send them into their new life together with all of our support.” The officiator says into the microphone, smiling at the two of you. You can tell he loves his job, and he’s damn good at it. 

Rosé’s grip on your hand tightens as she tries to contain her tears, but you’re quick to assure her that it’s alright. “You can cry, baby.” At your words, her lip is released from between her teeth, and her tears begin to flow. You wipe them away, stepping closer to rest your forehead against hers. 

The ceremony continues on and the two of you recite the personal vows you wrote. Somehow, unbeknownst to you, there doesn’t seem to be a limit to how much you can cry in one sitting. Rosé is having the same problem, seeing as how her makeup is smudging some as the tears wash the substances away. You don’t care though, and you make it a point to remind her of that; she’s never looked more beautiful to you.

“I do.” You choke out, beaming at her as you run your thumb across her knuckles.

“I do.” She responds, impatiently bouncing on the balls of her feet as she waits for those final words from the officiator. 

“You may now kiss the bride.” 

Her lips are on yours before he even finishes the phrase, her hand resting on the back of your neck as she pulls you in closer. Your lips move with hers in perfect time, working to seal your union in the best way possible. “I love you, forever,” she whispers against your lips. 

____

Present Day, 1:17 AM

In order to spare you from the overwhelming sadness that you’re being subjected to now, your brain takes you back to those happy times from the past. When Rosé still made time for you; when she loved you. 

Even though you hate it, you still find her in everything. The bright sunshine of the early morning reminds you of all the times she would wake you up with kisses, holding you close. The songbirds outside of your window bring to mind when you’d come home to find her at the piano, alternating between striking the keys and strumming her guitar as her beautiful voice carried out across the house. 

You miss that Rosé, so, so much. The Rosé that would call you in between sessions at the studio, if only for 5 minutes. The Rosé that longed to hear your voice after a long day; who fell into your arms the second that she shuffled through the door after practice. 

As time has passed, though, she’s seemed to fade more and more from your life; missed calls and texts have become a given, and it takes everything in you to mask your sorrow. Anyone who knows you well at all can easily see through the facade: you’re now a shell of who you once were, your normally vibrant and cheery self gone. You attempt to hide your sadness behind a smile, but it never really works out; your eyes don’t shine like they used to, and your lips don’t quite tweak up at the corners in the special way they had before. 

But you’re getting ahead of yourself again. Your reason for crying tonight is simple: for the hundredth time this month, she’s cancelled your date night plans, opting to spend the time working instead. The argument that the two of you had earlier replays in your mind:

"I don't have a choice."

Except, she did. She could choose you, choose to take a break, if only for the evening. You never ask too much of her, knowing that she can't handle even more stress competing with what she already has from the company and media. Being an idol is hard enough, and you know you can never fully wrap your head around everything that's expected of her.

Though, that makes this all the more ridiculous. All you've asked for is a couple hours of her time -- for her to relax with you and get away from it all. Earlier that day you had gone to the store and picked up all the necessary materials to treat her to a little spa day, complete with bath and body oils, face masks, and even some bath bombs. 

"Asking my wife to spend an evening with me is not unreasonable, Rosé."

"I'm not having this argument again, Y/N. I get enough shit from everyone else; I don't need any extra from you."

Maybe it was something in how she said it, so final and hateful, her face coming to rest in a scowl. Her arms were crossed as she stood in front of you, and you could see the muscles in her jaw clench and release repeatedly. In some twisted way, part of you was glad to have this encounter; it hurt like hell, but at least she was paying attention to you. She hadn't looked at you for this long in a while.

Before you can even get another word out, she sighs, saying, "I don't have time for this. I have to go back to the studio." 

Just as she turns to go, you catch her wrist. With a slightly annoyed look, she turns to face you.

"If you walk out that door then I'm leaving; at least for the night. We need to talk about this, but if you don't care enough to even give me that, then…" you trail off, tilting your head slightly. You want her to apologize, to say how wrong she's been for doing all of this to you -- but she doesn't. Her expression is tired, irritation written plainly for you to see. She pulls her arm away, offering a petty, "Oh well," with a shrug before exiting the house. 

How could she be so cold? Maybe that's what hurt the most. Seeing the love of your life turn into someone completely different than who you fell for stung more than any argument ever could. The reality is that she's not the same person anymore. Accepting that would be half of the battle in and of itself. 

Your heart is betraying itself, stuck in a sticky situation: you're constantly struggling between your love for her and the respect you hold for yourself. Half of you wants to stay, to make her listen and fight for this; but the other half of you, perhaps the more rational side, knows that that won't work now. You've tried that already, you reason with yourself, racking your brain for any new way to get through to her. 

Sometimes it's like she forgets all of the sacrifices you make for the relationship. Despite having your own busy schedule to deal with, you always make time for her. So why could she never do the same for you?

It's obvious that in its current state, this relationship is only wrecking your mental health -- a testament to that is every night you've spent lying awake, sobbing into your pillow as your list of insecurities grows longer and longer. She used to be the person you'd run to when negative thoughts plagued your mind, her sweet words of love showing how much she valued you. But all of that's gone now, leaving you with a shattered heart and racing mind. When had you stopped being enough?

~~~~~~~

It’s late, well past 4AM when Rosé manages to make it home. Practice absolutely wrecked her today, leaving her body exhausted from dancing and throat sore from all the singing she had to do. She’s more than ready to collapse into bed and pass out. 

One thing that always stayed the same was your sleeping arrangement. No matter how much Rosé hurt you, you still slept in the same bed. Her subconscious was always kinder to you than she was, anyway; the two of you would cuddle in close like before, her arms wrapped around you as she slept peacefully. No arguments or yelling, you could always count on the nights to heal your heart a little bit. 

As she enters the empty bedroom, the memory of your argument from earlier that day comes flooding back. She remembers that you said you were leaving, but part of her didn't fully believe you. She should've known better -- you always keep your word. Guilt washes over her, and she gently taps her head against the wall as a sort of self-punishment for her previous actions. Why did she say that to you? The hurt look in your eyes broke her heart, but she couldn’t afford to skip practice, especially with the comeback quickly approaching. In retrospect, she should’ve just told you that she didn’t feel prepared, and that’s why this practice had been so important. Even though she doesn’t show it, you still mean the world to her. She just so happens to be her own worst enemy. 

With a heavy sigh, she makes her way to the bathroom; there she finds a cute little basket of goodies next to the tub, and a note on the counter of the sink. She approaches the basket first, quickly discovering that it holds some of her favorite self-care items from the local store. Yet again, a deep pang of guilt courses through her upon realizing that you had prepared that for her. Defeated, she picks up the note. 

Roseanne,

If you’re reading this, then I’ve already left. I don’t want you to worry, if you even still care enough to do that, so I decided to leave this letter for you. I’ll be staying with my friend for the next while. I don’t know how long, but that depends entirely on you. I’ve tried to communicate with you, but we’re getting nowhere; we both know it. We’re not who we used to be, Rosé, and I hate that. I want us to be happy again, but it seems that I can’t do that for you. If you want to end things, let me know. 

- Y/N

Rosé’s heart is breaking, splintering into a million different pieces and leaving her with no possible way to collect them all. How had she so royally fucked this up? She only has herself to blame, and she knows that; she can’t believe that she let things get like this. She had been so blinded by the stress that she lost sight of the most important thing in her life: you. It’s slowly sinking in that she very well might lose you for good this time, and she doesn’t know how to cope with that. She can survive without her career, but she knows she can’t go on without you.

-----  La Rêverie, 2 Weeks Later -----

She only intended to walk by -- to see if you were there and safe. But as she gazes through the windows, peeking into the place that houses so many of her dearest memories, she’s transfixed. Her eyes land on you, finding you hard at work in the kitchen. It’s always been where you go when you’re stressed or upset about something -- two things that Rosé knows she’s the cause of.

You’re in your element, face donning a look of pure concentration as you prepare what she assumes is a new dish. Your hair’s in a bun, a few strands coming down to fall around your face as you move about. Gravity takes its time in gently coaxing them out of the tie's hold, and Rosé’s breath hitches at how beautiful you look; it’s as if she’s falling for you all over again. She’s always admired your skills, but they hold a whole new meaning now, an unspoken tension in every movement you make. 

How had she been so selfish? You had been there for her all along, waiting patiently for the day that she would come to her senses. You would always have dinner ready -- usually one of her favorites, hoping that would spark something again -- but she always brushed you off. She never stayed long enough to see the crushed look on your face, or how the pain was becoming clearer and clearer by the day. She realizes now just how much of a toll her actions have taken on the both of you; you're still just as breathtaking as ever to her, but that special sparkle in your eye has long been eclipsed by something more dull. You're tired of being let down repeatedly, stuck in a constant loop of excuses and avoidance, and Rosé can't blame you for a second.  

The time apart hasn't been kind to her at all; there hasn't been a single day that's gone by where you haven't consumed her thoughts. She misses you so badly it hurts, and even now, despite being so close to you, separated only by the walls of the restaurant, you've never been further away. 

The distant sound of a car alarm cuts through the silence, simultaneously scaring her and drawing your attention. Before you can spot her, she ducks down; there’s no way that she can face you yet. Taking this as a sign, she decides to leave.

She’s spent the past 2 weeks attempting to spare you by not coming around; she thinks you need time away from her to deal with everything she’s put you through, and she doesn’t want to upset you anymore than she already has. Ever-torn, part of you is glad that she’s stayed away; however, another part of you just wants to see her again. You miss the nights more than you thought you would. 

--- A Few Days Later ---

Steady sheets of rain pound harshly against the window, vibrating the latches with each gust of wind. Times like these are always the worst, especially when you don’t have Rosé to calm you down. Violent thunderstorms never fail to frighten you, and this one in particular seems like it’ll be the worst one of the season. Swiftly padding over to the window, you sneak a quick peek outside, only to find the branches of the large oak tree that occupies the yard swaying in the wind with reckless abandon. The sight terrifies you, but you do your best to keep yourself from panicking, even having to do some breathing exercises. Your friend can sleep through anything, and you know she needs the rest; so, you stay in the spare bedroom that she’s so graciously allowing you to reside in, and lie awake. 

Across the city, Rosé is tossing and turning. The storm hasn’t fully reached its peak there yet, but she knows how worried you must be. Tears spring to her eyes at the thought of you huddled up under the covers, body trembling in fear as the storm rages on. The deep-rooted shame that she’s grown so accustomed to since you left plagues her conscience, making her even more disgusted with herself. 

After turning over yet again, her eyes land on the picture she has of the two of you propped up on the nightstand. It was taken on your wedding day, that stunning view of the venue paling in comparison to your beauty. A sense of determination washes over her -- determination to make you that happy again someday, in whatever way she can -- and she gets out of bed to collect a few materials. She’ll do whatever it takes.

----

The sound of a car door slamming perks your ears up, and your curiosity gets the better of you. Quickly pulling the curtain back, you’re beyond shocked to see Rosé out there, holding something in her hand. Just as you lean in closer to the window to try and see what it is, her caller ID pops up on your phone. 

“Come downstairs, please.” 

Even with the vast array of emotions coursing through you at the moment, you’re only focused on getting her inside and out of harm’s way. 

You nearly knock the door off its hinges with how quickly you snap it open. To your surprise, she’s still standing by her car, but now you can see what she was holding before; a white sign with black writing on it. The words are barely legible with how much it's raining, the dye of the marker horribly smudged, but you can make out: “I’m sorry! I’m an idiot.” It’s like something out of romantic drama.

Before you can even comment on everything that’s happening, Rosé begins the speech that she’s been trying to piece together ever since you left. 

She has to raise her voice so you can hear her over the storm. You wonder why she doesn’t just come in, but you think that maybe she’s doing it to show you that she’s willing to punish herself by standing out in the elements. “No words that I say will ever be able to fix the pain that my actions caused. You don’t deserve any of the shit I put you through, and I hate myself for being such a coward. I was too immature to look past my own struggles and just talk to you about them.” 

Now, she takes a few cautious steps towards the front door, testing the waters as she scans your face to gauge how you’re feeling. “I guess I just thought I could deal with it like I always do. But losing you showed me how wrong I was; I love you so much, Y/N. I don’t want to end things; I’ll never want that. You’re my world, baby; I’m so sorry that it took me this long to see what was right in front of me.” 

How are you to respond to that? Can you trust her? She looks more sincere in this moment than she has in a long time, and that puts you a little more at ease. Her eyes are begging -- pleading -- with you to believe her, and after a moment you step to the side, wordlessly telling her to come in. You don’t even realize that you’re crying until a few stray tears drip onto your shirt, leaving little marks in their wake. She has to restrain herself from reaching out and wiping them away; she has no idea when -- or if -- you’ll be able to forgive her. 

Soft pitter-patter of the water running off of her coat echoes lightly across the foyer, serving as white noise for the conversation you’re having. Her sniffles work in tandem with it, and she bites back her sobs in order to get the words out. 

“I know this won’t be fixed overnight, but I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you, if you’ll let me. I won’t blame you for a second if you can’t forgive me, either. I just couldn’t let you get away without a fight.”

With each new fresh batch of tears that settle in your eyes, you have to work twice as hard to blink them away. “I-I don’t know what to say, Rose. You’re the only person in this world capable of hurting me that badly, because you mean more to me than anyone else. But I never thought you’d treat me like that. Do you know how many times I doubted myself, thinking I did something wrong?” Your tone is bitter now, voice conveying the pain from those months of anguish that you had to endure, and Rosé hangs her head. 

“I know that now, Y/N, and I know that I can never take it back. But God, how I wish I could. I’d do anything in my power to take that pain away. It was never your fault; none of it was.”

You know she’s being honest. After seeing the opposite for so long, it’s easy to spot when she’s telling the truth. You nod a couple times, deciding to pull her in for a long-overdue hug. She’s motionless at first, not quite knowing if you want her to return it or not, but the second that you quietly say, “Hold me, Rosé,” she’s scooping you up in her arms like her life depends on it. Her head rests in the crook of your neck, and the two of you cry together, letting all of the pent up frustration and sadness leave your bodies. 

After standing there, embracing one another for who knows how long, she pulls away just enough to look into your eyes. Her gaze subtly falls to your lips, but you don’t fail to notice. “Can I?” She asks gently, raising her eyes back up to yours. “Yes.” You utter, nearly swooning as her soft lips brush against your own. You’ve missed them. 

Her chilled hands cup your cheeks with purpose, and you can feel water running off the ends of her hair and onto your chest.

She kisses you in such a poetic way: softly, as if you might break at any moment, but urgently, like a lost soldier finally returning to the arms of their lover. She wants to make you feel how sorry she is, how much she loves you, and this seems like the perfect place to start.

“I love you, jerk,” you say through your tears, brushing your thumb along her cheek as you look into her eyes.

“And I love you, angel.” She picks you up, spinning you around a couple of times before setting you back down on your feet. 

After a moment, you glace at the window. “Shhhh, wait. Do you hear that?”

She cocks her head to the side as she listens closely for any potential noise that you might be talking about, but she hears nothing. “No? I don’t hear anything…” 

“Exactly; the rain stopped.”

“Huh. I guess it did its job, then.” She smiles, silently thanking the universe for working in its wonderful ways. It brought the two of you back to one another, and neither of you can contain your happiness. Maybe you don’t hate storms as much after all...

[moonshineboyz]

[16:38]

Pairing: Kevin × fem reader

Genre: fluff, fluff, fluff

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: none

a/n: first of all, english isn’t my first language, so... i had this idea after discussing make out session with kev involving glasses with @cobbae also, i got a bit carried away idk what happened. plsss give the moonlight boy his kisses and tell him he’s beautiful bc he deserves. aand thank you @mistresskate101 for hyping me up 🥺

masterlist ♡

You ran your fingers through Kevin's hair, getting them out of his face just so you could admire his god-like features, looking at him through the lenses of your glasses with so much love and affection that you swore your heart would explode.

Kevin meant so much to you, he was your everything, your safe place. You couldn't feel any more comfort and safety anywhere else other than in his embrace, the way he'd put his arms around your waist and pull you closer, so close that you could feel each other's hearts beating and make you put your head on his chest.

Dating and living with Kevin Moon was an everyday experience, each day you could write down a new way he has found to show his love towards you and make you feel even more loved and cared about. Be it through actions, through words, through strumming his guitar in a cozy afternoon just for you to listen or even through melodies he would hum you to sleep while stroking your hair.

You were so lost in your own thoughts that you didn't even hear Kevin talking to you, even though you were sitting on his lap facing him, looking right into his shiny eyes.

"What are you thinking about?" He asked again in a low voice due to the proximity, his fingers grazing at the small of your back. Eyes locked on yours so full of love and admiration.

You lightly smiled shaking your head briefly and whispering a tiny "you". Both your hands cupped his face, thumbs caressing his cheeks. "You're so beautiful, you know that?" You said, taking the opportunity to press a soft kiss in his forehead, to which Kevin could only smile with eyes closed.

His hands on your back brought you closer, holding you tight and leaving little to none space between your torsos. He buried his face in the crook of your neck and inhaled your sweet perfume that always made him even weaker for you every time he breathed you in.

It was incredible how Kevin never failed to make you feel all warm and tingly inside, even after three years together you still couldn't be over the butterflies in your stomach and the buzzing sensation inside your chest. It felt like you were his only one, his whole world. And it was alright, because he was yours too.

Your hands travelled to the back of his head to lightly scratch it while your other hand drew small circles on his back. "You must love me so much to be thinking of me even when I'm right under your nose."

"Yeah, I do love you so much, Moon Hyungseo." You giggled. "But it's your fault because you're so good looking."

Kevin then lifted his head from your neck to look at you, eyes glued on yours. "Well, so let me tell you something." His face came closer so you could feel his breath tickling your skin. He held your face just the way you did to him a few minutes earlier, put a strand of hair behind your ear and adjusted your glasses to your face. "You're the most gorgeous girl in the world." His lips curled up in a smile and you got reminded one more time what it was like to feel at home.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and let your lips met his in a soft passionate kiss, felling a wave of chills run through your whole body as if you were about to melt at any moment, due to feeling so overwhelmed with Kevin. He held the back of your head and with his free hand he slightly brushed his fingers on the skin of your waist under your shirt, which made you smile.

"God, I want you forever. How did I get so lucky to have you?" He whispered against your lips and your heart was beating like crazy, it felt like it was about to jump out of your chest. How did you get so lucky to have a man like Kevin? Was the only thing you could think about when you answered back that you wanted to stay forever.

The, at first, slow kiss was now starting to get needier, but with no lust nor sexual desire involved right now, just pure love. A shiver going down your spine when Kevin's tongue touched yours, head spinning as you felt drunk on him already.

Your glasses began to slide from your nose and Kevin started bumping into them as he was keeping your head so close to his own. At first you both just tried to ignore it, giggling every time he bumped again and tsked, mouths too busy to separate from each other, until he had enough.

Your boyfriend pulled away from you and reached for your face. "Excuse me, I can't work with these on the way", he said jokingly and you rolled your eyes chuckling, him taking off your glasses and placing it on the nightstand beside your bed. He caressed your cheek and pulled you in for another kiss. "Much better."

You just loved how you'd lose track of time whenever you were with Kevin, he had this effect of making you forget anything else and only focus on him. You could've had the worst day ever, but everything would be alright again once you came home to him to feel his warmth and hear his sweet kind words, and even some jokes so you'd smile.

He was the only one who could calm your storms. And you were the only one who could take his mind off of things when he was having a bad day. You'd bring him to the couch or bed with you and make him lay down resting his head on your chest and arms around your waist, hugging you like you were his personal teddy bear. He'd doze off to sleep hearing you whisper words of affirmation.

You smiled into the kiss when Kevin gently bit your bottom lip, you pecked his lips a few times more and pulled away, putting your forehead against his. "Don't ever leave." He said hugging even tighter.

"Don't worry, I'm not planning on doing that. You're stuck with me."

"Good, because I need someone to keep dyeing my hair." You let out a chuckle, calling him your idiot and he kissed the tip of your nose.

You stared deep into his eyes, swearing that you've had never found such comforting and welcoming eyes. Just like Kevin, you wanted him forever too.

[ddarker-dreams]

Since it's spoopy season, is sr reader a fan of horror movies? Who would use the excuse of horror moveis to cuddle with reader? What does a horror movie viewing look like with the bucci gang?

a/n: i’ve never felt a request appeal to all of my main interests so Strongly . this hits everything in the world that i love. anon your mind is HUGE

[Scarlet Ribbons description]

Bruno Bucciarati;

Bruno will go for the full experience if he’s going to watch a movie with you. There will be a charcuterie board, fine wine, candlelight to set the mood, maybe even some essential oil diffusers. When you tell him you were planning to watch a horror movie, he just kind of blinks and goes Oh. He heard “movie” and automatically thought it’d be some sort of romantic endeavor. Not that he’s disappointed, just thrown off.

You might not expect it, but he’s the teasing type. It’s all good-natured of course. He’ll comment on how frightened you look from the movie, and ask if it’s too much for you to handle. Just when you think he’s asking out of concern for you, you catch a smug little smile, that gives him away. He’ll chuckle at any exasperated responses you give. 

He’s going to be focusing on playful banter rather than the movie. As soon as you get drawn into the scene, he’ll blow air on your ear, startling you. Or use Sticky Fingers to tap on your shoulder from behind. Bruno acts like he’s none the wiser the entire time lmao. He’s in rare form when it’s just the two of you around, a lot more mischievous. 

Giorno Giovanna;

Giorno feels pretty neutral about movies. He doesn’t usually seek them out on his own, but if you insisted on wanting to watch one, he’d relent when he has the time. You should feel special. He’s more into period pieces, as evidenced by Les Misérables being his favorite story, so a horror movie with that type of setting would catch his interest more than a modern setting.

He has a strong distaste for horror that relies solely on shock value and jump scares. It’s not that he can’t stomach it, he just prefers a movie that respects the audience. You’ll hear him sharply exhale after a jump scare, with a mildly displeased expression. Giorno won’t comment on his dislike for it if he feels you’re enjoying the movie a lot. Might try to gently steer you away from jump scare reliant horror movies in the future, but does so with so much tact and charm you probably won’t even notice. 

He considers it to be an excellent learning experience. Giorno picks up on the parts of the movie that make you cry, shudder, or frustrated. It all gets stored away in his mental catalogue on you. If you say it’s one of your favorite movies, he’ll even do research on it to impress you later on. Giorno would find it a bit unexpected if you said horror is one of your favorite genres, but he’s going to use this new information to his advantage. 

Guido Mista;

Mista loves to watch movies! He’s likely the biggest movie fan out of Bucciarati’s team. Horror isn’t his go to, but he’s easygoing, and down for anything if you’re involved. Expect negotiations though, for every movie you pick, he’s going to make you watch one of his favorites. 

He’s the type of guy who does the pretending to yawn so he can put an arm around your shoulder act. You could be sitting on opposite ends of the couch at the start, and by the end of the movie, you’ll be cuddling up against one another. It’s what Mista is looking forward to the most.

Do not even bother making popcorn if you intend on having any yourself. It’s not going to happen. Pistols will be swarming, stealing as much as they can. Number Five holds onto a piece of popcorn, saying that he saved it just for you, sniffling over not being able to save you more. Mista can’t even bring himself to chastise them since he knew it’d turn out like this lmao.

Narancia Ghirga;

Narancia doesn’t have the best attention span. Not for a lack of trying on his part, just sitting down and watching a screen for over an hour isn’t easy for him. He’s going to try his best for your sake, but expect him to be fidgeting during the slower moments. 

It doesn’t help that sitting in close proximity to you is so exciting! Narancia’s head is spinning. He can smell your perfume, feel your skin against his, and your hair when it brushes against him. All of his effort goes into maintaining his cool. If you were to get scared and cling onto his arm, his brain might just shut down. He couldn’t handle it. 

You might have to gently shush him at times, as he tends to point things out. If there’s a ghost in the background, he’ll be pointing at it, looking at you and asking if you saw it too. In a way it’s actually pretty cute. It’s up to you whether or not this is interruptive, but at least he’s engaging with it in his own way.

Pannacotta Fugo;

Watching movies with Fugo can feel borderline frustrating. He’s going to be making comments to you throughout, thoroughly critiquing the movie and the character’s actions. He doesn’t even realize what he’s doing. Fugo feels comfortable with you to express his thoughts, and it just comes flowing out before he can stop himself. Even movies he picks out aren’t safe from this. 

He would be a tad oblivious if you were trying to take the time to cuddle up to him. Every time you get close, he’ll lean forward, telling you an inaccuracy he spotted. It’s difficult to get upset with him, he looks so excited to show his knowledge off to you. Not many people will always hear Fugo out so he appreciates that you listen to him.

Fugo gets strangely quiet if there’s ever a mindless looking monster on screen, especially if there are close up shots of it drooling. It hits a little too close to home. This is amplified by how the characters in the movie would be frightened by it, running away. You don’t have to think about it too much to know it reminds him of Purple Haze. When you encourage him that maybe the monster isn’t even that bad, and is just doing what it needs to do, he’ll feel a tad better. Will still be in deep thought for a while.

Leone Abbacchio;

Nothing can scare this man. You have tried, and he doesn’t even blink at the most screwed up movies in all of existence. It’s become something of a game at this point. To see if you can finally earn a reaction out of him. You’ll walk up to Abbacchio, excited, telling him you finally have found the movie that’ll scare him. 

He’ll occasionally complain about how insistent you’re being. Don’t worry though, he doesn’t mean it at all. Abbacchio actually lives for your horror movie nights and doesn’t want to admit it. Seeing how you get frightened and subsequently cling to him thaws his icy heart. 

May or may not consider using Moody Blues to scare you at a later time. Abbacchio would let his Stand to transform into the monster from the movie, all for the sake of seeing your reaction. There was a time you summoned your own Stand to fend the supposed monster off, so he learned the hard way not to mess with you like that. The bruise from being punched on the face is still recovering... 

Trish Una;

Trish can appreciate a good film. She’ll never admit it, but she has a preference for very sappy drama romance movies. Horror isn’t a genre she’d actively watch on her own. Excessive gore makes her feel sick, so you’ll need to pick a more tasteful film for her to agree to watch it, which can be a challenge. 

She surprises herself by getting into the artsier movies. Films that use lots of color and new techniques draw her in. Trish might later ask you how they pulled off a particular special effect, or ask for your opinion on why a scene was the way it was. Creative elements are Trish’s fixation. 

Trish is 100% going to want to do some sort of matching couples Halloween costume. You can do one another's makeup, but she’s adamant on handling the costumes. She’ll often use the movies you’ve watched as inspiration! Honestly just wants to take pictures of the two of you together, not intending to go out all dressed up. It’s going in her memory book <33 

[partialresonance]

Hi! You asked for Geraskier prompts. What about some fluff? Jaskier heard that Witchers can’t blush so he tries to make Geralt blush by complementing him ?

Yay, thank you for the prompt!! This was so much fun to write. :D

CW: mild innuendo, reference to beheading?? Otherwise it’s pretty tame. ~1.6k of fluff coming right up!

Jaskier is eighteen, and Geralt is quite the most interesting man he’s ever met.

Of course, he’s handsome too, which doesn’t hurt. But for the moment Jaskier is mostly concerned with the fact that he’s a witcher. Jaskier has heard countless rumors and tales about witchers but he never imagined he would have the chance to actually meet one. He can’t pass up the chance to confirm the truth of what he’s heard, straight from the source.

“Geralt, is it true that witchers can see through walls?”

Even though Jaskier has to jog to keep up with Roach and is only treated to a view of the man’s broad backside, he can hear the eye-roll in Geralt’s dry response:

“No.”

“Well that’s a shame. I imagine brothels would be quite interesting places if you could.” Jaskier’s lute bangs against the back of his thighs, and he hoists the strap higher on his shoulder. “Speaking of which, is it true that witchers have—ah, how to put this delicately—inhuman stamina?”

“I can outrun you.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Geralt shrugs, and Jaskier puts his hands on his hips, his mouth twitching into a pout.

“You’re no fun at all, Witcher.”

What he won’t ask is if it’s true that witchers don’t have feelings. Jaskier had banished the idea as rubbish from the first, when he’d gone up to Geralt in that tavern in Posada and found him brooding. One cannot brood without feeling.

“Is it true that witchers can smell fear?”

At that, there is a telling pause.

“Yes.”

“Huh. That’s interesting. Can’t imagine how that’s useful though. I’ve always found it quite easy to tell when someone’s afraid, they go all bug-eyed and their hands start to shake and they stutter a lot.” 

“You’d be surprised.” Roach flicks her tail, narrowly missing Jaskier’s face. He dodges to the side, stumbling a bit on the dirt path. “Some people are good at hiding it.”

Jaskier shrugs, uninterested.

“Hmm, what else. What else,” he taps his chin, trying to dredge up the other rumors he’s heard.

“If you can’t think of anything else we could walk in silence,” Geralt says hopefully. Jaskier laughs, shaking his head. The very idea.

“Oh! I’ve got one.” He picks up his pace, jogging forward until he’s far enough ahead of Roach that he can turn and walk backwards, keeping ahead long enough to see Geralt’s expression. “Is it true that witchers can’t blush?”

“Where did you hear that one?” Geralt looks unimpressed. He flicks the reins and Roach springs into a trot; Jaskier has to leap to the side to avoid the devilish mare. Thankfully Geralt doesn’t seem intent on leaving him behind; after a few paces Roach slows to a walk again, though Jaskier is huffing by the time he finally catches up.

“Oh, you know,” Jaskier wheezes, clutching a stitch in his side. He waves a hand vaguely. “Around.”

He’d heard it in reference to the only place on a witcher’s body blood could rush to, but, well. Geralt doesn’t need to know that.

“Yes. It’s true.”

“Is it really?” Jaskier squints up at Geralt. He wishes he was a witcher who could sniff out lies. “You know it’s illegal to lie to a bard, don’t you?”

Geralt doesn’t answer, and now that Jaskier has run out of questions his mind seizes on a new game.

Make Geralt blush.

“Hey, Geralt!” Jaskier swings his lute around and plucks a few notes. “You ever heard the one about the fishmonger’s daughter?” And without further ado, he launches into the most downright filthy version he knows. It’s barely even innuendo, containing outright descriptions of exactly what the fishmonger’s daughter likes to do with her catch, even including a few dramatic moans and sighs on Jaskier’s part because he is nothing if not an excellent performer. He keeps a close eye on Geralt’s expression, but to his dismay all he sees is the gradual tightening of his jaw and flattening of his eyebrows. By the end of the song he looks downright murderous.

“I’m guessing you didn’t like that one. Heh.” Jaskier plucks a discordant note, underlining his failure to please the witcher with his song, as well as rouse even the faintest of pink tones to his pale skin. “Well, not everyone has a sense of humor. That’s alright.”

Damn it. What could he do to make a witcher blush?

After another mile or so Jaskier is forced to admit that the sex angle simply doesn’t affect the witcher. He’d tried everything--describing some of his own conquests, real and imagined, and he’d even faked a limp and sighed wistfully about his night with the innkeeper’s son! None of it has any effect on the man. And, with a cruel spike of embarrassment that brings heat to his own cheeks, Jaskier abruptly realizes it’s because the century-old witcher likely has seen and done things he can scarce imagine. 

It’s all old hat to him, then.

“Have it your way then, you big old brute.” Jaskier consoles himself by playing his favorite songs at the loudest possible volume, his voice echoing off the canyons. He thinks Geralt has mostly tuned him out, until abruptly he wheels Roach around and makes a sharp gesture at Jaskier. His yellow cat-eyes scan the surrounding hills.

“Shut up, bard.”

Jaskier scoffs, and strums a few loud chords.

“Well you could at least ask nicely if you’re--”

An arrow stabs into the ground, an inch from Jaskier’s foot. Jaskier jumps into the air with a yelp.

Bandits seem to pour down from the hills, and Geralt and Roach charge in to deal with them. Jaskier, weaponless and frightened, darts off of the path in the opposite direction, down a small gully to hide behind a bush.

Well, he hasn’t lived this long by sticking around for the danger! Someone has to live to tell the tale, after all.

It’s over faster than Jaskier would have imagined. He catches glimpses of Geralt moving smoothly through the fight, a whirlwind of steel and white hair. The big witcher actually looks graceful, spinning on one heel and swinging his arm in a broad arc to lop off the last bandit’s head. Jaskier swallows, feeling odd and sort of warm all over.

When he’s certain the bandits are dead he doesn’t hesitate to scramble up the hill to where Geralt is standing amidst the carnage, sheathing his sword.

“Do people do that a lot?” Jaskier tells himself his voice isn’t that shaky as he brushes off the knees of his trousers and hoists his lute onto his back. “Just attack you out of nowhere?”

“Hmm.” Geralt stands from where he’d been crouched over one of the corpses. He slips their purse into Roach’s saddlebags, then mounts her in a smooth motion.

Jaskier wrinkles his nose at the corpse. He doesn’t usually see death up close like this--his experience is more of the ‘passing by the suspicious lump in the alleyway without looking too closely’ variety. He’s frightened, but with Geralt at his side starts to feel a little bit brave. The bandit certainly isn’t scary like this, with his stupid head lying across the path. He sticks his tongue out at the corpse and then jogs after Geralt and Roach.

“Well, they should know better, shouldn’t they? I don’t think you even broke a sweat.”

“Hmm.”

“No, I mean it. That was genuinely impressive.”

“Shut up, bard, or you’ll draw more of them.” Geralt turns his head away, but not before Jaskier catches something interesting in his expression. He jogs forward, until he’s striding beside Roach and level with Geralt’s knee. If he looks out of the corner of his eye he can just barely make out Geralt’s face. A sly smile curls his lips.

“Do people ever compliment you? Or are they too busy shitting themselves because you’re a big, scary witcher?”

Geralt stares straight ahead. 

“That’s a shame, really. Compliments do wonders for the self-esteem. I can’t go long without one before I simply wither away like an autumn leaf. And there’s so much to compliment you on.”

“Fuck off.”

“Geralt, I’m being serious.” Alright, so maybe he was also teasing a bit, but Jaskier’s voice took on a strident, genuine note as he turned his head to gaze up at the witcher. “What you did back there might seem like nothing to you, but I was terrified. If they wanted to kill me they could have done so easily, except you were there so now they’re all lying in pieces while we make our merry way on. Take that, bandit, you don’t need your legs!” Jaskier laughs and makes a slicing motion as if severing an imaginary bandit’s torso from his lower appendages.

“It’s nice, not to have to be afraid of whatever random asshole comes my way. I think I’ll stick with you after all. It doesn’t hurt that you’re easy on the eyes as well.” Jaskier winks. Geralt keeps darting his eyes between Jaskier and the path ahead. He looks distinctly uncomfortable, but Jaskier doesn’t think it’s in a bad way at all. “Big witcher man with your nice hair and all that muscle beneath your armor. You looked like you were dancing, you know.”

“Jaskier…” It’s a low growl, a warning, and it sends a shiver straight down Jaskier’s spine. He bites his lower lip to keep from smiling too broadly, and that’s when he sees it:

The distinct, pale pink undertone blooming to life beneath Geralt’s glowing (beautiful) yellow eyes.

Oh. Jaskier is in trouble.

He clears his throat, taking a few steps to the side and letting Roach get a little bit ahead of him. He strums his lute, a spring in his step as he follows his witcher, imagining feeling the heat of Geralt’s blush beneath his fingertips.

[kitreadsbirdmen]

Birdmen Finale Thoughts

A Reflection on the End

Birdmen checked a lot of boxes for me. The most superficial being wings and flying, concepts that I would imagine from the window of a speeding car or subway train. I can’t say I was attracted to the freedom of the idea, that frankly scared me silly. But it was fascinating enough, and it preoccupied this small part of my imagination from time to time with the pull of the absolutely inexplicable. What if… What if something happened? What if I were different or strange? How would everyone react? What would I do? How would I change or what would I do to fight that change?

These thought experiments often led me to self-indulgent stories with fantasitcal premises that would only halt the speculation and sweep their characters towards their own plots and narratives. They would only glance over to the vastly more interesting human fallout of the [insert truly miraculous phenomenon] for the sake of episodic drama or a comedic take. These would deep down be very disappointing to me because they failed to give weight to the mind-spinning concept of the supernatural. By brushing past it, the story would dismiss my biggest questions, the ones I felt a morbid curiosity to see explained vicariously. That’s probably why I was so hooked to Birdmen at first. 

Birdmen was and is... rather mundane if you think about it. Grounded, set in a recognizable reality, gave nuance to very human quirks and details of life and society. Kinda dull-ish, slightly charming, and depressing, with all the same desire for something more that we feel when we watch the clock tick away. And even the murmurs of the supernatural had this incredulous air. Something amusing and perhaps hard to dismiss nevertheless. And as our cast is thrust into this new spin on reality, it’s given weight and time. Growing pains full of stumbling youth shenanigans and strife. The Introductory Arc is some masterful execution of humanity as the line of a new species skirts more and more into a diverging reality. It’s here that a very different kind of strength is capitalized on. The limitless potential found within limitation itself.

The core concept and primary conflict of birdmen comes from the subtle utilization of a grounded scientific and philosophical school of thought. This limits the entire narrative to concepts inspired not by the dramatic needs or visual aesthetic, but by the imagination of existing science itself. While a lot of things can boast this particular source, I think Birdmen is very conservative with where it could go. The most outlandish things are noted but not abused. Nothing is absurd no matter the demand. It’s the reason why I found the lore behind the growing science and discovery of the Seraph abilities to be immersive. It’s why I could create a million 1st ability ideas, headcanons, and theories (some of which would actually get confirmed) in one sitting. The source material existed within limits and therefore opened the door to boundless potential. 

To put it in a word, it’s realistic.

Realistic characters, events, ‘villains’, powers, relationships, conflicts… the list goes on. When we pick up a story we suspend our disbelief to welcome the basic empathy and logic to engage us through the world. But I felt a strange relationship with that process on so many levels for Birdmen. It’s why talking about it in-depth is such a hard to explain feeling. When fictional characters have all the nuance and depth as a real person. When wide-scale event scenarios start reflecting the common trends of the current mediascape. When manga-panels start echoing peer-reviewed articles… It becomes hard to see the need to suspend disbelief. At least not in the same way. It makes things seem so much more possible. Everything feels so much more personal.

The current pandemic has helped in this process of course. My life has been turned upside down and I often find myself asking ‘dude is this (still) happening???’. It makes a lot of stories and speculative fiction narratives seem a lot closer. But then the final arc of Birdmen introduces its own pandemic SEVERAL months before covid-19 is first spotted and we see a roll-out of cultural fallout that is eerily familiar. WHO press conferences following the resignation of Eden’s director. Forgetting your mask as you leave to greet your son’s arrival home. Teachers taking a sick day for themselves or perhaps out of caution (if only that worked state side lol). Misinformation and tension across social media. Unrest and riots in the street. (that image of Robin’s flock watching the riot from a distance got me big time. Mostly because I was thinking about the Capitol riots at the time). I think I just needed a chapter devoted to a successful and seamless vaccine distribution to set my resonating heart at ease.

...I’m not kidding there actually. We can’t just assume it went off without a hitch Tanabe. Can I get some wish-fulfillment here??

That actually brings me to a big takeaway as I read the final chapters. In my initial reflection, (and entire year ago) I talk about how I was certain Birdmen was prematurely cut short. And while there is probably a world Takayama could witness in his multiverse seeing eyes, where Birdmen runs for several more volumes and the playout of years of arcs goes much longer, I ultimately want to rescind that thought. 

I don’t think the ending was rushed. I don’t think Tanabe was racing against a clock to wrap things up. I don’t think she was dropping million plot threads into the void out of necessity. It is very clear at every point toward the end that Tanabe knew exactly where she was going and was taking a straight shot to that destination at every point. 

Yes, there are some characters that did not get a long enough time in the spotlight. Yes, there is a boundless potential to explore with many characters and concepts. Yes, there is an element of fallout that was left unaddressed. But this doesn’t make it unfinished or unsatisfying. The mundane, realistic nature of the narrative, allows this lack of tangible book-ends. It has uncertainty. The resolutions are not perfect. Not every person in your life is going to shine in the same way (no matter how much you like them). Their purpose in the narrative may seem small but has ripples of effects on the characters and chemistry of the collective. This is not wasted. I knew this wasn’t rushed because the primary themes of these characters came through and they were given all the space and time and panels they needed to tell that story. I noted this most when Robin was having that discussion with Agent Leo about her address to the media at the White House. The back and forth and revelations of Robin’s entire arc were expressed in this one conversation and it lasted several pages. This is the final volume of the story and this nuance is getting the full dry clean treatment. How can I claim that this was rushed? If I had to claim any ill intent I might say we would have gotten a few more chapters of proper fallout, but that would only be for the sake of neatness. But as I mentioned there is something grounded about taking that away and leaving that to the imagination. 

And thus, I’m left feeling incredibly satisfied. So impossibly satisfied. Birdmen has become something so integral to my life and I feel changed having known and loved it. To see it take a bow as gracefully and profoundly as it did fills me with a personal satisfaction I cannot put into words. This is and will forever be, one of the finest stories I will ever read. 

There is a part of me refreshed. Inspired by the daring embrace of reality. Charmed by the beautiful characters. Intrigued by the possibilities still to be discussed. I am almost left a little overwhelmed with how much I want to do as a response, both for the sake and honor of Birdmen and for my own personal motivations. It’s a kind of weightlessness, burdened by crippling fear. 

It’s a lot like flying really. 

[tenderlyrenjun]

[2:05 A.M.]

You drag your feet into your bedroom and dramatically fall face-first on the mattress, mumbling something incoherent, even with the super hearing, through the blankets. Renjun closes the textbook over his lap, sitting up in anticipation for you to make an announcement. He waits another minute then reaches across the blankets to pull back your hair, checking to see that you are still alive. After he sees your blank stare (okay, crazy person), he reclines against the headboard, asking you to repeat yourself.

“We have to send Jaemin another letter.”

“Ah.” Renjun puts the contemporary art textbook on the night stand, freeing up his hand to thread his fingers in your hair. He outlines your ear brushing away a few strands to see your cheeks and moves on to the heaven’s pillar behind your neck, dipping two fingers in the pressure point. You jerk forward a little, unexpectedly relaxed by a treasure. Renjun thinks that you try getting into a better position and helps you lean on his shoulder. You kiss above his clavicle, wrapping an arm around it also, loosely hanging on him like a body pillow. “It’s late. Why are you studying at this hour?”

You know that he is talking about the family’s most recent addition, not the upcoming o chem exam that you are more than prepared for. Unfortunately, he has not been available in the last month to help train new members, with all the work he has for school, the internship, and Jaemin’s new stupid coven leaders rule that requires Renjun to be chained to a zoom meeting twice a day.

“The new recruit -”

“Aurora?” Renjun asks. His hand slides to your lower back, pushing you into his side, and he takes your leg, draping it across his waist. It is not your cycle to sleep yet, but the position brings a great sense of ease to your subconscious.

“Yeah,” you nod, verifying. You open your eyes slowly, tracing his pretty jawline as he takes a turn to close his eyes, almost equally exhausted. His arm raises behind his neck, acting as another pillow to slouch against. It feels like years since you two have been able to relax, despite having just went on a weekend vacation a few months before. You sigh one last time, melting into his collar during your exhale. “She’s only been a vampire for about a decade, and there’s so much to go over.”

“Any special abilities?”

Renjun leans over, manipulating your situations in a way that keeps him as the big spoon, an arm wrapped under your chin and the other supporting under your head. It feels even more comfortable. You shimmy toward his waist, hugging him even tighter.

“No,” you answer, shaking your face in his chest. Sometimes you wish his heart would be a little bit louder, because when it is this low, you know he will have to feed again, meaning that he needs to get up and you would be without a body pillow. It is the equivalent to a stomach growl. Although, his actual growls are pleasant in your ears. Still, you give in, slacking your grip enough, knowing that you likely need to drink something as well. Drinking in bed is something that he prohibited, after you ruined an 18th century duvet, but these informal meetings function like pillow talk, considering that the rather large water fountain by your window blurs out the conversation to outsiders. “She has excellent people skills, and she is very charming, but other than that, no.”

Renjun sighs. “We need to recruit new members with special abilities.”

You turn over, looking at the sparkles across his pretty cheeks, and tuck his hair behind his ears (it is not blocking his face, but the gesture is meant to be a tender display of affection, something to show that you love him). His strands start to neatly frame his forehead again, then you tangle your fingers in the ends. You reiterate his sigh, shoulders dropping with your hands. 

“I know,” you tell him, fatigued by the politics and tensions. “I know, but I also don’t want to participate in another war.”

Renjun kisses the corner of your mouth, leaving his lips there too, to whisper cautiously, “It can’t just be Mark all the time. He needs a break eventually.”

“No, I know,” you lament again before repeating, “but I don’t want to participate in another war. I won’t be able to handle another loss like that.” The last war saw the complete annihilation of your coven, in terms of death and abandonment. Those who posed the greatest threat were slain without reservations, and neither of you ever heard from those who went off to fight after they left, so you assumed they either perished or took on an alias. No one won that last war, and everyone who fought assumed new identities hide the fact that they participated in the political upheaval. “And I don’t want to be like Doyoung’s elitist cult either.” The Kim Clan exclusively watched and turned noblemen for a few centuries in the late 13th century. They became the fourth largest coven, even to this day, with 29 people. “He keeps trying to absorb us; he wants you for his inner circle.” You bury your face in his chest again, trying to find comfort as his heartbeat slows and the breath leaves his lungs. “Everyone keeps watching over kids and mortals, waiting to turn them if they haven’t already, just for their potential abilities.”

“We’re all trying to protect ourselves,” Renjun reasons, combing the crown of your head. “We need to be able to defend ourselves, defend our people. We have nine members in their rooms right now, not accounting for the protection detail around the manor.” He sits up, pulling you with him, then he shakes you off his shoulder, awake. “Come on, let’s go to the kitchen and get something to drink.”

You fall back on him, hanging across his torso like asking for a small request.

“No,” he disagrees, dragging you off the comforter. “You’re not going to ruin another blanket. Come on, let’s get some blood and then we can finish talking about this tomorrow, when you’re not so exhausted.”

“Fine,” you cave, feeling slightly more enamored with him, a side effect of his special ability. 

You slip off the duvet and accept his hand, trailing behind him through the corridor to the kitchen down the hall. He sets a teapot on the stove, straining a fresh pouch of AB positive over a few teaspoons of water, while you sit at the island, taking out two mugs from the cabinet below. You settle them across from Renjun and assume a seat opposite him, knowing that he will eventually lean over the top instead of sitting with you. When Renjun finishes his small tea ceremony, you stare at him.

“Is my presence enjoyable?” he joke while stirring a few sugar cubes. You nod once, slightly timid as he slides a cup to you, the ceramic squealing across the granite. “Well, then we will have to keep meeting like this.”

You roll your eyes, hiding a smile behind your nutrition. “Over talks about leading our coven?”

Renjun glares at you. “Stop using that word,” he growls. “It’s so ... cringey.” He shakes his head, “No, but I miss having these meetings with you and feeding with you.” 

You sigh too, knowing what he means. The only time you even share a bed now is to sleep; your room is, otherwise, empty, for the most part. He is either studying, out of town, or in a meeting from time that the sun sets until it rises. And you are either training the new member, studying, or running one of your businesses, from the time the run rises until it sets. The moments when neither of you work are when you take time to relax a little bit, reset your minds from the 12-16 hour schedules. It gets hard, not seeing him, even if he is around the corner.

“I miss you, too,” you confess. You hesitate for a second, tapping the your nails into the ceramic teacup briefly. Renjun lowers his own mug, raising his eyebrow in a silent question, so you sigh .. again. “Do you regret signing up for college now?”

“No,” he answers near immediately, making you sit up straighter, at attention. Renjun groans. That is not entirely what he means. “I like going to college. I know it’s,” he hums, rolling his eyes and sucking in his lips jokingly (to which you roll your eyes, sarcastically), “trying, to you, but I really like it.” He walks around the island, hugging your waist from behind. “And I like that you’re doing it with me. Do I wish that we’re not the brink of war, or whatever the tensions are rising to, that keep making other clans enlist new members? Yeah, definitely, it puts a little dent in our 10-year plan, but I don’t regret this experience. I only wish to see it through.” Renjun rests his chin on your shoulder, not daring to meet your eye just yet, slightly scared of your reaction. You already were not on board with this decision (thankfully, he did not have to use his compulsion for this request, not that he would - you have free will either way, but you chose him in the end and he appreciates that). “Do you regret any of it?”

You place your hands over his, trailing your thumb across his knuckles comfortingly. He thinks, for a second, that you might answer yet, but you surprise him: “No,” you say honestly, “I don’t regret any decision that I’ve made with you.”

“Not even the time I convinced you to replace Ten’s entire blood collection with mentos in coke bottles?”

You smack his hands, then return to stroking them, alleviating any potential pain. “Do you have any regrets then?”

“Just the one,” he recalls bitterly. Renjun kisses your shoulder as another apology. Even a millennium later, he cannot believe that you forgave him, so he never forgets to show you that it was not the wrong decision to let him back into your life. “I love you.”

You spin around fully. “I love you too.”

“Wanna show me?”

[turtletimewriting]

Hello! has loceit been done yet? 👉👈

Okay. this is going to be my last one. I feel like, at this point, I’m just repeating myself. But this has been genuinely so so so much fun! And, if I can be vague for a second, this whole thing bodes well for a future project I’m planning. 

1. Who has the cutest tickle laugh?

Logan’s of course! His laugh already is beautiful with all its snorts and squeals compared to his normal serious self, but there’s a particular laugh that is Janus’ favourite. It’s a shame because he’s yet to cause that laugh again. He was tickling his sides while Logan was lying on his stomach and his hands drifted to back of his ribs, on his back. It was just the most frantic uncontrollable giggles you’ve ever heard. Logan’s choked attempts at saying ‘oh sweet lord this really tickles’. Neither of them knew his back was ticklish and Logan’s sheer panic at the hidden tickle spot which is very ticklish. The laughter from a new tickle spot where it tickles a new way and the panic of not realising he was ticklish produced the best laughter Janus has ever heard. His biggest regret in life is not recording that laugh. Oh well, all the more reason to try and replicate that laughter. 

2. Who is ticklish in unusual places and where would that be?

Not really an unusual spot but more like unusual tickles. Janus quite likes experimenting with how to tickle in his snake form and one day, when he was a teeny weeny snake, he managed to curl around one of Logan’s individual toe. And Logan’s feet is his death spot. Logan wasn’t really aware of his own screaming laughs but the fact that all the others (including Remus, so it must’ve been bad) came storming into the room with various weapons. None of them even saw the small tiny little yellow noodle slowly twisting around Logan’s little toe. 

3. Who gets cheer-up tickles?

Janus. Logan has this habit of resting his hands underneath Janus’ cape near his ribs to keep his hands warm or even just to have a spot to keep his hands while talking. This then evolved into slow gentle tracing around Janus’ ribs and of course he can’t bat away at his hands because no one can even tell that Logan’s hands are under there and there’s no way he’s telling the whole mindscape he’s ticklish. But this quickly become a way for Logan to help Janus realise he’s stressed and needs to take a moment. His hands will go from gently resting to slowly curling fingers around his ribs and it completely takes Janus out of the moment and helps him realise that he’s screaming in frustration at an upset Patton. It becomes a way for Janus to know when he’s hitting a nerve or needs to back away and calm down. 

4. Who takes advantage of the other one getting their arms stuck while taking off their shirt?

Janus loves to take advantage of Logan because Logan is so delightfully clueless. Not only is he useless in the mornings but he’s very ‘no funny business’ and doesn’t even think it’s fathomable that Janus will tickle and joke with him. His brain is turning on! Of course no one will try to start a conversation with him! And so it is the perfect time to attack his little pudgy sides with tickles or scitter up his spine as he walks by. To make it even better, Logan always forget by the next morning and will just stand there will Janus creeps forward with wiggling fingers. 

5. How did they discover each other’s ticklishness?

Logan’s ticklishness was discovered when Janus was in his snake form. Janus made it a habit to turn into a snake so he could extra appreciate the warmth. But Janus decided to finally take a leap and slide up to (gently) around his neck rather than curled up in his lap. But his sliding scales going up his arm before settling and curling around his ticklish neck. To make it worse, this was after a long day’s work and so Logan didn’t even try to hide his giggles. It took him a worrying amount of time to notice Janus had stopped and was now staring at him in front of his head with a judgmental snake look.

Janus’ ticklishness isn’t much of a story. I have no clue where this has come from; I don’t even ever have consistent height headcanons. BUT! Janus has made it his place to sit down is Logan’s lap. I like the idea of them not being the most affectionate couple but also just casual contact is done without batting an eye. Logan is sitting on the sofa, he won’t even move or look up when Janus plops down on his lap and sits cross legged in his lap. But then one day, maybe after his own ticklishness was discovered, Logan just wondered if he was ticklish too. He then squeezed his sides. Janus threw himself back, trying to back away from the squeezes, but of course that then means he allowed himself to be trapped in Logan’s arms who then tickled the snot out of him. And he does not regret it. Seeing Logan’s peaceful smirk still lives in Janus’ mind rent free. 

6. Who can’t take tickle bites?

Neither of them. Both of them are equally as weak to the silliness and sensation of tickle bites. One day they even wanted to battle this out, prove it once and for all. They both got sat in Patton and Remus’ laps so they could be effectively pinned down and tickle bit to pieces. First one to safeword would be the loser and the weakest to the tickle bites. Patton starts nibbling on Janus’ neck and made sure to linger on the scales while Remus immediately dived for Logan’s sides. They both safeworded at the same time and they still argue to this day over how unfair that battle was (even though neither of them really lost). Remus has a moustache! Oh yeah well you don’t have scales! I’m bigger so there’s more surface area to tickle! I’m smaller and you have no idea how flustering it is to have everyone tower over you!

7. Who has to be tickle-forced out of bed in the morning?

To put a spin on this, Logan absolutely needs to be tickle chased IN to bed. Janus is absolutely not above fighting unfairly to get his genius idiot boyfriend some amount of sleep. He’ll duck under the desk and destroy Logan’s death spot in plenty of tickles and maybe a few raspberries here or there. Logan will even be begging that he promises he will go straight to bed but Janus will not listen. If he did then Logan would 

8. Who gives up in a tickle fight?

Oh this is absolutely not what this question is asking but oh this only just hit me. Both Logan and Janus are the sort to deliberately lose a tickle fight. Logan actually enjoys the tickles and sometimes it only just hits him that he can sit back and socially acceptably just take all the tickles he wants. Janus is the sort to treasure when Logan is having unabashed fun and genuine silliness and he will absolutely sit back and let things last longer so he can teach Logan that silliness is something good. But one day they both dramatically flop backwards thinking they can sit back and enjoy the tickles. They both awkwardly flop away from each other thinking the other will go to pin them. But obviously they just flop heavily against the floor in deafening silence. Janus finishes his giggle fit and Logan awkwardly brushed off the tingly sensations. The silence lasts for a solid minute. Then they burst into laughter and they both curl up to each other like the hopeless tickle addicts they are. From that point on, they are aware the other will deliberately lose a tickle fight but they still pretend like their tickle fights are genuine. 

9. Who is in danger of getting hurt when attacking the other?

Logan can sometimes just flop over during a tickle attack. Like his legs just don’t do the working thing anymore. So there’s been a few moments where he’ll collapse on to Janus who is completely unprepared to have his huge boyfriend fall on him. He doesn’t really get hurt but it always make him laugh when one second he’s evilly attacking his boyfriend to the next being buried underneath Logan. To make it better, Logan then has access to his little stick legs underneath him which are perfect for some revenge tickles. 

10. Who always provokes the other into tickling them and how?

Janus. He’ll never admit that he wants tickles but he’s also too much of a lee to outright ask. To make it even better worse, Logan can be a little dense so all this subterfuge goes to complete waste when Logan ends up proclaiming loud enough for anyone in the mindscape to hear, “Oh wait, are you trying to provoke me into tickling you? Is that it? Do you want some tickles? Why are you blushing so much, there is nothing to be ashamed of about liking being tickled.” 

[bumblesimagines]

Like An Amethyst

Request: Yes or No

(Y/N) watched as the spoon levitated, his hands glowing a beautiful purple. He heard a knock on the door and turned his head.

"Hey, uh, (Y/N)? We have a guest for dinner today!" Gar's voice sounded through the door. (Y/N) stood up, dropping the spoon on his bed and approaching the door. He opened it, looking at Gar.

"Hey! Are you gonna join..." Gar trailed off as (Y/N) brushed past him, slamming the door to his room shut behind him.

"So, her name is Rachel and she's kind of like you! I think you two will get along." Gar said as they headed down the stairs. (Y/N) stayed silent, entering the diningroom without a word.

"(Y/N)! Glad to see you're not in one of your moods again!" Larry said, setting the table. (Y/N) glared at him making him raise his hands in surrender.

"Uh, Rachel, this is (Y/N)!" Gar introduced the two. Rachel stuck out her hand with a smile. (Y/N) chose to sit down instead.

"He's not very big on welcomes." Gar whispered to her. Rachel hummed, nodding.

"I totally get it." She assured, giving another smile. (Y/N) glanced at Cliff, noting how he kept staring at Rachel.

"For God's sake, Cliff, stop staring at the poor girl." Larry said.

"So, are the waffles crispy on the outside and gooey a little bit on the inside with just the right amount of butter?" Cliff asked.

"Ugh." (Y/N) rolled his eyes, scoffing and raising his hand. A small purple aura appeared around his hand. A fork raised up from the table and levitated over to him. Rachel watched him in awe.

"Try the chicken." Cliff said. Rachel did just that, getting some chicken.

"What does that taste like?" Cliff asked.

"Crunchy and moist." Rachel replied. (Y/N) was starting to loose his appetite.

"God, I loved fried chicken. I loved to eat, swim, loved to dance. I used to love dancing!" Cliff said. (Y/N) chewed on some waffles, tapping his foot.

"Why can't you dance?" Rachel asked.

"Oh, forget it. You're young. Nobody's dancing with this." Cliff knocked on his head twice. Rachel placed her chicken down.

"I would."

"Christ." (Y/N) mumbled. Rachel did a little robot dance. Gar and Larry laughed.

"She can stay." Cliff said, looking at Gar. The doors suddenly opened and Rita appeared.

"Sounds like everybody's having fun! I'm so sorry I'm late, I was putting myself together." Rita explained, walking over.

"You know it takes some time." She smiled brightly as she started to serve herself some food.

"I hear we have a guest from the outside. How wonderful!" Rita cooed.

"I'm Rita."

"Rachel."

"Delighted." Rita replied as she got spaghetti. Rita continued to get more food.

"I'm famished." She said, noticing Rachel's look. (Y/N) finished eating and stood up.

"Please, (Y/N), sit down! You're always in your room. It feels like I haven't seen you in forever." Rita pouted as she went to her seat. (Y/N) sighed, sitting back down. She thanked Cliff when she was handed a hamburger.

"My condition requires a particularly high caloric intake." She explained. Rachel nodded.

"Can you passed the gravy, please?" She asked. Rachel handed her the gravy with a smile. Rita poured it all over her food. (Y/N) rested his head on his fist, boredly watching them. Rita started to eat, smiling.

"This is absolutely delicious, Larry."

"Someone kiss the cook." Larry replied playfully. Gar looked at (Y/N).

"Thanks for joining us." Gar whispered to him. (Y/N) stayed silent, making his fork spin in circles. Rita suddenly stopped laughing, her face deforming.

"Are you okay?" Rachel asked.

"I-"

"Rita?"

"I... I should've stayed in bed." Rita said as she covered her face. Rachel reached out, touching her hand.

"It's okay. I'm not afraid of you." Rachel whispered.

"What the fuck are you?!" His father screamed, backing up.

"Mommy!" (Y/N) cried out. The toddler had no clue why everything in his room was levitating. He could see the fear in his father's eyes. His mother quickly pushed his father aside, rushing to her child's aid. Everything that was floating suddenly dropped as (Y/N) felt the warmth of his mother surround him.

"That... That thing... Is not my son!"

The fork fell onto the plate, loudly echoing. (Y/N) stood suddenly, making his way towards the doors. The doors opened and Chief stepped inside.

"Who is this?" He asked.

"I can explain!" Gar said, nervous.

"Later. I have a new patient." He replied. Everyone stood and followed him. (Y/N) watched them go. He shook his head, going up the stairs and into his room. (Y/N) closed the door and locked it, leaning against it. He let out a sigh, sliding down the door and bringing his knees up to his chest.

"(Y/N)!" He huffed, standing and unlocking the door. He stepped out of his room, looking down over the railing.

"Come join us for desert, my boy." Chief said. (Y/N) crossed his arms, going down the steps and following them. Chief spoke to Rachel but (Y/N) zoned out, eating cake and other sweets.

"(Y/N)..." Chief trailed off. (Y/N) looked at him.

"His story is one you should hear from him. Still a very sensitive topic but, he was born with his powers." Chief said. Rachel looked at him, eyes showing different emotions. It was clear that she had a lot of questions. Chief spoke about Gar's story and his science. (Y/N) bent his fork. He hated the tests. The experiments. They made him worse.

(Y/N) stared down at Rachel as Chief tightened her restraints. She stared up at him, visibly nervous. Rachel turned her hand, unclenching her fingers. She wanted him to hold her hand. (Y/N) looked away from her and at Chief. Gar got the case, handing it to him.

"No. No, wait, wait." Rachel stared at the instruments inside the case.

"I don't wanna do this anymore." Rachel said. Garfield glanced at (Y/N).

"This is for your own good, my child." Chief said.

"Let me up. Please." Rachel begged. Chief ignored her. Rachel looked at the two boys.

"Gar... (Y/N)... Please." She pleaded with them.

"Let me up." (Y/N) stayed still as Gar went to help her.

"Sit down, Garfield." Chief instructed. Gar stayed standing beside (Y/N).

"Sit back down."

"No."

"No?" Chief repeated. His eyes flickered towards (Y/N).

"She doesn't wanna do this anymore," Gar said. "I've gotta unstrap her."

"Leave this room. Now." Chief demanded. Gar growled, flashing his eyes and turning green. Chief shot him with a tranquilizer gun. Gar fell down, it taking quick effect.

"(Y/N), take Gar out."

"I think I'll pass." (Y/N) replied, eyes turning purple and glowing.

"(Y/N).." Chief spoke in a warning tone. (Y/N) made the case and gun knock Chief down. He moved around the table, raising his hands as the lights began to flicker. Rachel screamed, trying to get out of her restraints. (Y/N)'s hands glowed as he bended metal and made it wrap around Chief's neck.

"Take care of Gar, I'll deal with him." Rachel said in a voice that didn't sound like her. (Y/N) grunted but did so, going over to Gar. He woke him up with electrical shock as Rachel delt with Chief and lost a bit of control. A man ran in and spoke with her, calming her down. (Y/N) helped Gar up before shrugging him off and following everyone outside. They watched Rachel go with the two others.

"Both of you go with them. Go have a life." Cliff said. (Y/N) and Gar looked back at him.

"But Chief.." Gar started.

"His back is broken again and.. His neck is a bit fractured. We'll take care of him." Larry said. (Y/N) didn't need to be told twice. Rita handed them their bags. (Y/N) didn't bother with a hug or handshake, nodding to them. Gar grabbed his hand much to his dismay and ran towards the car, dragging him in. (Y/N) sat by the window, Gar between him and Rachel. He had a feeling it was gonna be a wild ride. No pun intended, I guess.

[a-fanatic-fangirl-requests]

I just read your angst Tobirama story and it was amazing! Could you do another story with Tobirama where his female s/o is hurt in battle protecting some kids? A bit of angst in there would be cool, but anyway you see this going is awesome! Thank you:)

Here it is! I started tearing up a bit in this one. Hopefully it comes across as angsty! I did have this one be a continuation of the last Tobirama one I wrote. So that angst is still following through it. Also, I know the gif has him basically glaring, but…I couldn’t find another gif I liked sooooo yeah. We’re putting up with it~

Loss and Hope (Tobirama x Reader)Warning(s): infertility, miscarriage, injuryWord Count: 2,378

“Let’s go! You can do it!” You shouted, smiling back at your students as you ran through some of the more hilly areas outside of the village.

The children began to whine a little, having overnight necessities and weights in their packs. “But, Miss (F/N)! We’re tired!” One groaned.

“Can we stop for a little bit?” Another panted out, to which you turned around and smiled at them.

“I know you’re tired, and I know you want to give up.” You began, jogging at a bit slower pace to match their speed. “But you can’t. There are times on missions when you just need to keep pushing through, all right?” You easily went back up to the front of the group, pointing in the distance. “We’re almost there! You’ve got this!”

When the Ninja Academy was founded by your husband, you knew you immediately wanted to be a part of it. Sure, perhaps it was below your experience level, but you were no longer as active as you had been before you were married to the Second Hokage. By no means did you take on fewer missions because of your marriage, it was merely a choice that you wanted to be more active in building the village from within. Besides, there were plenty of other shinobi that were capable of going on these missions. And if your skills were ever needed, Tobriama would not hesitate to put you in a group. The Senju believed in your skills and trusted you to the fullest so he had no means to be worried about you.

However, upon the request to take the students on an overnight training session, several parents had voiced their concerns. Outside of the village was still fairly unsafe. But given the fact these children were training to become ninja—effectively be put into dangerous situations—these thoughts were quickly shot down. Especially when the Second Hokage stepped in. He chastised the parents for not believing in their children with the undertone of not believing in you, the wife of the Second. After all, it was the assumption that the Senju wouldn’t have married someone who couldn’t hold their own.

And, in all honesty, it was a nice distraction to get your mind off of your last medical visit. The children in your care were effectively your own. There was no way you would let anything happen to them.

With the motivation from your words of encouragement, you were able to get your group of twelve students to the camp site you had set up the day prior. “All right, everyone please pair off into groups of three.” You set your pack in the middle of the area and waited for everyone to team up.

“I’m cold, Miss (F/N).” A young girl said, her arms wrapped around herself.

“Did you bring a blanket?” You asked, to which the girl shook her head.

“I forgot….” She sounded like she was about to tear up. After all, disappointing your teacher wasn’t the best thing.

You reached into your own bag and pulled out a blanket, handing it to her. “Remember children, this is why we make sure to check what is needed for a mission.” A list was given a week in advance to the students and they were meant to go over it. However, in fine print, she had put that a blanket was required. It would seem that the girl had missed it. “Some requirements may not be obvious, but that’s why we analyze them.”

The girl seemed a bit down now, feeling like she truly had disappointed you. Noticing it, you crouched down to her level.

“It’s ok, that’s why we do these practices at the academy. It’s not life or death scenarios, so you’re good.”

“Life or death, eh?” Your blood ran cold. The gruff voice had appeared right behind you. “I think it best to avoid saying something so easily.” The children quickly gathered together, whispering nervously.

“Is this part of the lesson?” One whispered to which another shrugged.

“If it is,” one quickly reached into his pack to pull out a kunai–that was definitely not on the list—he raised it up in a defensive position, “I suppose we should fight.”

The voice behind you chuckled darkly, “It seems these children want to meet their maker sooner than expected.” A dark blur shot past you and you immediately rushed forward, putting yourself in between the child and the assailant. You felt a sharp burning sensation across your abdomen from the kunai the enemy slashed across you; however, you did nothing more than flinch.

The boy that had pulled out the kunai quickly dropped it after seeing his teacher get injured. “M-Miss (F/N)?” He stuttered out, eyes wide while you gave a single punch to the enemy to send him flying backwards.

Quickly turning around, you made sure he wasn’t injured before summoning a clone—Tobirama wouldn’t like that you had used a Shadow Clone, but it was necessary. “Take them back to the village.” You ordered to which the clone nodded and quickly gathered up the children, having them leave their packs as they hustled out of the clearing.

“You shouldn’t turn your back on your enemy.” The ninja was behind you once more and you quickly threw your head back, knocking them in the jaw as they were so close. He stumbled back a bit, holding his mouth with a dark glare directed your way. “You bitch. I’ll make you pay for that.”

The fight that followed consisted of equal attack and defense on both parties. However, because you had no longer been as active as before, your stamina was not what it had been. But still, this seemed a little more than ridiculous.

Your breath was coming in pants, sweat beading your forehead as your attacks became more sloppy.

“Are you really supposed to be teaching the next generation of ninja? You’re pathetic.” He grinned as he landed a hit to your stomach, making your body slide back a bit. Your heart was pounding in your ears while you gasped for breath. But then, your muscles began to lock and tense, not able to effectively move them. All of a sudden, the world started to spin and turn unfocused. “It’s about time.”

Clenching your jaw, you tried to stand to your feet. “What is?”

“The poison.” He held up the kunai he had been using to fight. “I had to…use my resources to fight you. Who knows how long this would have gone on if I hadn’t.” Only now, in the moonlight, could you see the faintest glimpse of discoloration other than your blood. You had definitely screwed up. Your mind had initially gone to block the attack with your body for the kids, not even thinking of using your own weapon for it.

Your vision was beginning to fade as you began to sway back and forth. Poison basically took away your chance for making life, now it seems it would take yours to. You sensed your clone had disappeared due to the lack of strength you had to keep it up. At least the clone was able to get the children back into the village.

As the poison had made its way through your body due to the amount of moving and activity the fight had, you slowly began to succumb to it, the man grinning widely as you began to fall. “Tobirama…I’m sorry.” It seems the family you wanted to give him would not come true.

Acceptance of death was upon you as you hit the ground, your eyes focusing on a small flat stone in front of you that had a painfully familiar seal. Upon your fading recognition, a figure clad in blue appeared and struck down the enemy in front of you before either of you could process what happened.

You felt your body be picked up, white hair glowing in the night’s light. “..ang in th…you…ear me?” The deep voice sounded slightly panicked as your barely registered yourself in a building. But before you could respond, your slipped from consciousness and into black.

 The quiet sounds of voices began to fill your ears. You couldn’t make out the words but had a feeling it was about you. “…oss of child….” Your brows furrowed as you tried to pry your eyes open. “…sorry.” The light pierced your eyes once they finally opened. Blinking to get adjusted to the light, you saw at the foot of the bed, Tobirama with the most distraught face you’ve ever seen on him. He’s usually so expressionless, what made him show that?

The medical ninja left just then and your husband turned back to look at you, relief immediately washing over his features. “You’re awake.” He said, walking over and taking your hand to lay against his cheek, “I was worried.”

As much as you wanted to throw your arms around him now and say how sorry you were, you could not get the conversation they were having out of your mind. “Can you tell me what you guys were talking about?” You asked, your thumb gently brushing against the mark on his cheek.

Tobirama flinched before glancing down. “No, I will not.” His hand found your (H/C) hair, petting it slowly. “You almost died, my love. No more heartache.”

That only served to annoy you. You clearly heard the word ‘child’, you needed to know why it was brought up. “What was this about a ‘child’ I heard?”

Your husband hung his head, his hands balling into fists. “You were pregnant.” He answers just above a whisper.

He seemed upset by that, why? This was great news! “I can’t believe I’m preg—” your words of elation were cut off after you realized something. The Senju said ‘were pregnant’ not ‘are pregnant’. His eyes were now looking up, watching as you realized what had happened. “I…I….” Your mind went blank as you tried to process this. You had no idea, there were no signs that you had picked up! And you and Tobirama had only been intimate once since the last time you thought you were pregnant. Your hands went to your hair, grasping it tightly as you pulled your legs up to go in the fetal position. “How long?” You whispered, your voice cracking.

It pained him so much to see you this way. He knew you were always careful, always safe. But the thought of protecting the children must have got in the way of that. “Six weeks.” He answered, noticing how you flinched at the news.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered, your hands going to your face.

Now it was his turn to be shocked at your words. “For what?”

“For failing you.”

His heart felt like it was going to shatter at that, his eyes showing it. He got up and crawled into the bed with you, scooping you up so he could hold you close. “You haven’t failed me, my love.”

You vigorously shook your head at that. “How have I not?!” You screamed, your eyes looking up into his as tears began to fall. “Th-the one time I was pregnant, and I didn’t even know!” You sobbed, his hand coming to your head to hold it against his chest. “And then, I-I do something s-so foolish! I should have blocked! I should have found a better opening!” Your body was shaking now as you sobbed, the absolute heartbreak you were feeling made Tobirama squeeze you as hard as he could.

“It’s not your fault, (F/N).” He said, trying to keep his own tears at bay. “You were protecting the future ninja of our village. You were working on instinct.” He reassured you, his pale hand gently petting your hair now. “You did the right thing.”

“I didn’t do the right thing for our child though.” You whispered, your eyes clenching shut.

He sucked in a breath at that, realizing he said something wrong. “It’s not your fault.” That’s all he could say. He knew he couldn’t feel the sense of loss and emotion you were feeling, nor would he even feign to try. Yes, he was deeply saddened, but knew it wasn’t your fault and was not upset by it.

Knowing that your risk for pregnancy was low anyway based on your previous injuries, you looked back up at your husband with pleading eyes. “Can I…even still have children?”

The question brought a small smile to his features and he quickly placed a small kiss to your forehead. “Yes, you can. The said it was possible.”

That answer cause a small smile to you now. You nuzzled your face into the crook of his neck, inhaling his scent to try and calm down. “I’m…glad.”

“Me too.” Tobirama answered back, satisfied you were calming down a bit. “I’ve delegated the majority of my duties for the next week so I can focus on you.” He said suddenly, making you pop up, your face scrunched in worry.

“Are you sure? But…the village?”

Now he truly smiled, his eyes closing. You really did have the Will of Fire in you. “I know. But I need to focus on my wife. The village will be fine.”

“Promise?” You asked, not at all minding that your husband will be by your side for the next week, but wanted to make sure it was what he wanted.

“I promise. I will be there to help you heal.” His deep voice hummed, the sound soothing you a bit.

Tobriama eased the two of you to lay down, you on his chest and his arms wrapped around you, his armor long gone. “Now rest, I will be here when you wake up.” He hummed, his hand still continuing to stroke your hair.

“I love you, Tobirama.” You whispered, a small hiccup slipping past your lips from the sobs you had moments earlier. You were deeply saddened still, but the chance to have another gave your soul hope.

“I love you too, (F/N). Now rest. Tomorrow is a new day.” Tobriama hummed, placing one more kiss to your head before he too fell back into a sleep with you in his arms. Tomorrow was certainly a new day—a new day to hope.

[canyonmoonlily]

| game night |

live! on tour series

*smut*

“Event caaaaard!” Harry sing-songed as y/n groaned. He was sat on the couch in the green room of a stadium in Texas, one of the many stops along his tour.

His bandmates and those of his opening act all playing the board game Life. Y/N, one of the lead vocalists in the band opening for him, was having terrible luck per usual.

Harry hated seeing her sulk, but when she did so by nestling herself into his side, he caught himself wishing her unlucky streak would continue.

“You might as well keep my payday since I’ll be getting fined again for God-knows-what,” she said with a roll of her pretty blue eyes, a pout playing on her full lips. Harry caught himself ogling her, again.

Game nights became far more difficult to pay attention to anytime she was in the room, especially so close to him that he could smell her perfume. Light Blue by Dolce and Gabbanna was quickly becoming his favorite scent of all time.

“You’ve payed what? Like $150,000 in fines now?” Mitch laughed from beside her as she put her head in her hands. She yanked the card from his outstretched hand, hesitating before ripping the bandaid off and flipping it over.

“Damn it!” She yelped, the room bursting into laughter. “Don’t laugh too soon, you all owe me $500,” y/n quipped amidst her own laughter. “I’m just mad because I have to get rid of one of my orphans to make room for a baby girl.” y/n’s “50s Brooklyn” accent was atrocious, but had Harry clutching his sides every round.

“Y/n you really gotta take those out of there, it’s going to get confusing at the end of the game,” one of her own bandmates scolded. Y/n had insisted on filling her little car with blue pieces as part of an “orphan smuggler” bit she’d started earlier in the day. Y/n and her bandmates were actors, above all, and creative ones at that. Constantly doing morbid, nonsensical bits that kept both themselves and anyone around them entertained. She had Harry in stitches within the first 10 minutes of meeting him at the start of the tour.

“No they’re apart of my comedy act, motherfucker, leave my orphans alone,” y/n tossed her card at the scolding bandmate. “Okay Harry, darling, it’s your turn.” Her hand rested on his thigh, a mindless action on her part.

But Harry’s blood pressure shot through the roof. She’d fallen asleep on his lap many times in the last few months as they’d grown quite close, but something about the way she looked bundled up in one of his sweaters, nestled into his side on the couch, calling him darling in a voice so sweet he nearly choked, had his heart about ready to burst. He returned her smile but quickly busied himself with spinning the wheel. Can’t get a boner on game night.

Harry landed a 7, rolling and landing perfectly on an income tax block. “Damnit!” He groaned. He had chosen to become a plumber, and his salary was small enough that half of it was no big deal.

“It’s only fair, seeing as you’ve gotten every “Lucky Day! Collect $100,000” event card in the game so far,” y/n elbowed him. he responded by plucking her forehead and reminding her that jealousy is a disease.

As the game went on, it became more and more painful for y/n to act out her part as banker. She’d gone the college route and was $50,000 in debt while Harry, the plumber, was nearly a multimillionaire. Every time he landed on another payday she would make someone else hand him the fake money, she couldn’t bear the sight of another one of his smug little victory dances. Cheeky little bastard he was, he kept waving his hundred thousand dollar bills in y/n’s face as she balled her little fists and scrunched up her nose.

As much as she hated Harry’s ridiculously good luck, his cocky little chuckles and the way he kept snuggling up to her made her wish the game would never end. But, as all things do, after about an hour and a half of rigorous bonding, the group dispersed after Mitch rolled an 8 and became a famous comedian.

By the time the game was packed up and put away, the only two people left on the couch in front of the green room TV were Harry and y/n. Parks & Rec played at a low volume, Harry reveling in the feeling of y/n laid against his chest, little legs sprawled out between his. He could feel the rumble of her chest against his every time she laughed at one of Andy’s antics onscreen.

His green eyes studied her facial expressions as she watched, always so responsive to everything. Harry has come to notice y/n was startlingly alert for someone who came across as so aloof. She had a brilliant, sharp mind; he could listen to her prattle on about history, politics, or whatever new subject she’d taken an interest in for hours at a time. She was so passionate about so many things, it drove him insane. The most perfect human he’d come across in his 25 years sat sprawled in his lap, and though they were close enough to touch, he wasn’t brave enough to cross the border between platonic intimacy and something more. He had never been so sure and so terrified of his feelings for someone before.

With Camille, Kendall, and even Caroline, it was so much simpler. There had been no initial friendship. Just romance. Friendship came after, on occasion, like with Kendall, but never before. Harry was shit at taking things slowly. It’s quite the generalization, but being an artist tends to make it harder to hold back one’s emotions. As y/n had put it once, “artists run head first into things without thinking about the consequences because they want another piece of the human experience to write about. we’re all just chasing another truth.”

If Harry’s version of chasing the truth was running his hands through her hair as she laid sprawled out on his chest, so be it.

If this had to be slower than usual, so be it.

If falling in love with her was unprofessional, so be it.

If she never reciprocated his feelings and it crushed him, so be it.

His hands wandered through her har and down to her pretty little neck, mindlessly ghosting up and down the curve where it met her shoulder.

y/n shivered and let out the softest little moan—a noise he’d never heard her make before. He wasn’t prepared for the effect it would have on him.

His hands continued their exploration, cupping her jaw, lightly raking up and down in some caressing massage. Shivers racked her body, little mewls growing louder as his touch got firmer. He moved them up to massage her scalp, her back suddenly arching to meet his hands.

Neither of them said a word. Y/n was so caught up in the feelings Harry was eliciting with his calloused finger tips, while he was afraid if he opened his mouth he would let out a strangled groan. As her back arched he slipped himself more firmly underneath her, ima position now where his lips could reach the little neck he was so enamored with.

The first press of his full lips against the juncture where her neck met her shoulder was met with a gasp. His kisses trailed up her neck to the spot just below her ear, her hand flying to cover mouth as she let out a moan that would’ve surely put all the other so far to shame.

Harry couldn’t think. Y/n couldn’t think. He had just made the resolution to take it slowly and here he was sucking on the sensitive part of her neck while her panties dampened rapidly in response.

Y/n had never been so turned on. Her feelings for Harry she had long accepted as unrequited but now, in his arms with his lips on her neck, she wonders if she was wrong all along. She feel his little grunts as her body writhes against his, she’s so much shorter that she doesn’t initially feel the hardening length against her thigh. Her bottom was pressed against his stomach so he could reach her neck, so she let out a muffled scream when the back of her thigh finally brushed it.

Harry’s hands had begun clutching her to him, from beneath her began grinding his erection into her. His fingertips reached for her breasts over the fabric of his sweater, cupping them with a gentle yet primal urgency.

He was so caught up in rutting himself against her, she flipped onto her stomach easily and pressed her lips to his. She maneuvered her clothed pussy over where his cock strained against the fabric of his bottoms, rubbing her little clit against him like some wanton whore. It was then, as Harry let out an angelic groan, the door to the green room slammed open.

“Y/n! what did you put in my be—what the fuck?” y/n’s bandmate came storming in before taking in the sight of the two before her. Y/n’s blue eyes were wide, her long blonde hair tousled and her cheeks as flushed as the red shirt Harry was wearing beneath her.

Harry’s mop of curls were untouched, but his eyes were dark and dialated, his hunger for the petite girl on top of him clouding his usually bright orbs.

Y/n scrambled off of him and to her feet, taking her bandmate by the arm and rushing out of the green room before Harry had a chance to register what was happening.

hi! this is a mini series of sorts I want to write in my freetime. it won’t be in order but I’ll be telling this story through random moments throughout Harry & y/n’s relationship.

[ifuckinglovestvincent]

LATIMES: For St. Vincent, life under COVID has meant recording a soul-baring podcast and binging on Stalin

Annie Clark, who performs as St. Vincent, in her home studio: “I divide my life into albums.” [Leah Lehrer]

By RANDALL ROBERTS

STAFF WRITER

AUG. 26, 2020 2:15 PM

During a recent conversation, Annie Clark, the Grammy-winning musician who performs as St. Vincent, confessed that she had, quite literally, nothing else scheduled for the day. She had awakened, she explained, knowing that her only obligation would occur at precisely 2 p.m.

“The crazy thing is, because there’s nothing to divide a day, having anything on the calendar to do feels almost overwhelming,” she said. “Like, what am I going to do now that I have this one 20-minute thing that must happen at this specific time? It’s very strange. It’ll be interesting to go back, in some way, to all the spinning plates.”

On Monday, Clark’s new audio project, “St. Vincent: Words + Music,” premieres on Audible, the online audiobook and podcast platform. A 90-minute first-person deep dive into her life and music, the program is interspersed with revelatory new versions of some of St. Vincent’s most popular songs. She offers a fresh rendition of 2007’s “Marry Me,” for example, that highlights dizzying string arrangements absent from the original version.

For St. Vincent obsessives, these versions are essential listens, as are her recollections on her early years as part of the Texas music collective the Polyphonic Spree and her decision to embark on a solo career under a pseudonym. For passing fans, Clark’s conversational way of speaking about the evolution of her work across six studio albums (including “Love This Giant,” her 2012 collaboration with David Byrne) provides a glimpse into her creative methods. An artist whose work has evolved from guitar-driven indie rock to increasingly experimental work filled with electronics and vocal effects, St. Vincent’s music has at this point transcended genre.

The project is part of Audible’s “Words + Music” series, which includes “Patti Smith at the Minetta Lane,” James Taylor’s “Break Shot,” Common’s “Bluebird Memories: A Journey Through Lyrics & Life” and Rufus Wainwright’s “Road Trip Elegies: Montreal to New York.”

Clark, 37, recently spoke to The Times from her home in Los Angeles.

“I have this theory,” says St. Vincent, “that people who are creative for a living were really dumbstruck, creatively, by the pandemic.” [Leah Lehrer]

How much podcast and audiobook listening do you typically do?

I’m obsessed with podcasts and audiobooks. I probably listen to more audiobooks than I do music. I mean, I certainly listen to music — for enjoyment, for research, for just making sure I know what is happening. Luckily, maybe because I’m a musician, I can retain a lot of information that comes through on the auditory side. I mean, I’ve really been brushing up on my Stalin.

You’ve brushed up on your Stalin?

It makes me feel much better about where we are today. Because they had it bad.

It’s pretty bad now.

It’s really bad now. But it was worse. I’ll go ahead and say it was worse in Stalin’s Russia. So there we are. That makes me feel bright and sunny. I’ve been on a real saucy Gulag Stalin kick for the past many months. Cold war, espionage — all of it.

You want to recommend any specific podcasts or books?

Oh God, we shouldn’t be talking about Stalin. This is already a disaster. I haven’t done this in a minute, you know what I mean? I don’t have my talking points all figured out.

I hope this isn’t a disaster.

No, but if we lead with Stalin, it’s not going to go well for me. Let’s talk about this Audible thing, because it was a lovely experience. It was fun to take old songs and reinvent them. There’s a version of “Digital Witness” on this that’s really funky and I love it. I’m glad they gave me a reason to look at my back catalog and reinvent some old songs.

Did you enjoy the process of recalling where you were in your life during various points?

I did. I divide my life into albums, instead of the other markers of time that most people have. I can go, “Oh, I was in the middle of this tour, and this is what was going on in my life and this is what I was writing about as a result.” That part of it was kind of an archaeological dig.

You reveal a few experiences in the program about your family and private life. I didn’t know, for example, about your father’s white-collar crimes, which landed him in prison in the early ’00s. Did you have any hesitation about engaging with parts of your life that aren’t related to your music?

I would have a long time ago, and I certainly did while it was all going on. I’ve always wanted people to enjoy and take in my music for what the music was. I don’t want it to be like a piece of art on the wall that needs an explanation in order to enjoy it. I want it to be enjoyed and interpreted on its own merit. I don’t think that it makes art more valid because it came from really horrible circumstances. I don’t necessarily want to mythologize something that’s actually quite normal. Things happen. And the crazy thing is to expect otherwise.

I think that in the past I felt way more protective of my family and my privacy because he was still in there. But since then, he’s been released, and we have a great relationship. It’s been a wonderful story of reconciliation, change, forgiveness, all those things. That’s why I feel fine about throwing it out there, because frankly, it had the happiest possible ending.

Another story you share is about being groped during a performance while you were stage-diving, and reacting by hitting the fan with your microphone. Have you stopped stage-diving since that happened?

Yes, stage-diving in that particular way. During the “Strange Mercy” tour, I was straight up hurling myself into the crowd and getting some pretty sick dives in. But then during the “St. Vincent” tour, I was definitely going into the crowd but more like jumping on the backs of security guards and running through that way. I still love the fan interaction. It’s not necessarily the end of my stage-diving days.

A lot of creative people I know are having a hard time with their muse right now. How are you doing with that?

I’m doing OK. It’s been a really productive time, but in a different way. I have this theory that people who are creative for a living were dumbstruck, creatively, by the pandemic, because we all need an element of chaos in our day to be able to grab inspiration. I know that’s a cheesy word, but we need to be able to be walking down the street, see that strange thing that somebody did and think about it, metabolize it and write about it.

People who are creative for a living have had a very hard time being creative during the pandemic. But a lot of people who aren’t necessarily creative for a living are like, “It’s a great time. I’ve finally learned how to knit and I finally wrote that short story that I‘d been meaning to do.” My informal poll of my fellow writers is that they’re banging their heads against the wall. But other people learned how to crochet or how to play “Sweet Home Alabama,” and that’s awesome.

Have you considered how you might present yourself as a performer going forward if, because of the coronavirus, the concert experience evolves into something unrecognizable?

I think about it every day. I wouldn’t imagine that things will ever be exactly back to normal, in terms of live touring. There’s a whole lot of other ways to get creative about how to reach people. And not just how to reach people but have the actual intimacy and energetic exchange of a show. The need for that kind of communion isn’t going to go away. I don’t think that’ll ever go away. It’s going to change, and it’s changed many times over the course of history. But yes, I think about it every day.

I think things that people love, they’re going to love even more, and they aren’t going to fall for things that they don’t love. Everything’s been put into sharp focus. Everybody’s figured out, more and more, what they actually need and what they don’t in these crazy times. I certainly don’t mean to minimize the actual human condition on the ground. But I think it’s going to be an exciting time for art. And that’s a silver lining.

[fleckcmscott]

Things Past

Summary: Arthur shares a childhood memory with Y/N. She sees it differently than he does.

Warnings: Mild angst

Words: 2,645

A/N: This was an anonymous request! Thank you for sending it to me - it was a real challenge. A big thanks to Karen, too. Not just for beta-ing, but for helping with the basis of the memory in question. (I had an idea but hers was much better.) 

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open!

Y/N was clad in her robe and brushing her teeth when Arthur entered the bathroom, flashed her a half-smile, and sat on the side of the tub. A mix of nicotine and cologne hung in the air. He must have smoked half a pack if he was trying to cover up the scent. The flexing of his bare toes on the dark tile floor, and the nibbling of his thumbnail caught her eye in the mirror. Once she rinsed, she grabbed a piece of floss and sat next to him, situating herself so they were hip to hip.

They were fast approaching five years together. Arthur and she still found respite in each other's presence. In shared warmth, not only in the familiarity of their affection, but also in the meeting of lips and bodies during lovemaking and otherwise. And in their companionable silences, which continued to hold a tacit acknowledgment that he could tell her whatever he needed, whether he uttered a simple word or two, or the rare paragraph.

Arthur appeared to be somewhere in the middle of that range of need now. It was evident in the tightness of his back as she put her palm on it. Rubbing gently, fingertips tracing his spine, she sought to bring him out. Like she had back when he'd sat on her sofa with his journal, a stand-up fresh off his first performance. The morning she'd realized she'd fallen in love with him.

His sigh let her know her attention was working. "Dr. Ludlow wants to talk about when I was a kid," he murmured. "I won't know what to say. I barely remember anything."

The subject of his childhood was seldom discussed. Even after his mother had passed away last spring; he'd been silent when they'd picked-up her belongings at the home. (He'd thrown out everything besides the periodic letters and photos Y/N had sent, stating "I like reading I make you happy.") They had never gone over the details in the Arkham file. He'd told her he hadn't and wouldn't look at all of it. He'd seen the headlines, scanned the psychiatric interview, touched the adoption certificate. That had been enough.

While he'd guessed she'd looked at Penny's records, she hadn't disclosed that she'd eventually read all it contained. Had learned the details of his neglect and abuse. Had seen the photos of his emaciated, bruised body. Her throat constricted as they flashed in her mind's eye. It was a mercy he wasn't aware of everything that had occurred. Even if his unconscious knew.

Of course, if he asked her, she'd answer any questions he had. Tell him all of it. But she didn't want to burden him. Or for him to feel shame, an unwarranted reaction her experience reading family cases had taught her was common. The two of them would keep doing what they always had: deal with the residual effects of his past, the symptoms of his illnesses together, as best they could. And for what she couldn't help with, he had his doctor and his journal.

"You can say whatever you want." Y/N bunched up the floss and tossed it towards the trash can under the sink, groaning as it bounced off the rim and back at them. "You could bring back some classic parts of your act. The one about how you hated school," she said, nudging his side. "And how the other kids were too unsophisticated to see what a sweet, funny boy you were."

He retrieved the plastic thread and stood up, threw it away. At his scoff, she realized her attempt to lighten his load hadn't worked. "That was, what? Over thirty years ago?" Then he turned to her, his thumb stuck in the waistband of his pajamas. "We have our life now. Why should it matter?"

Reluctance to admit one's past affected the present was understandable. She'd denied it to herself when she'd first moved to Gotham. Burying herself in her work had been enjoyable. And it had had the convenient side effect of allowing her to avoid processing the ways caretaking had changed her. Starting a relationship with Arthur had forced her to stop and take a breath, to examine its impact. It had done her good. She was certain it would him, too.

"Arthur." He took her proffered hand without pause and stepped to her automatically. She pressed her mouth above his navel, laid her cheek against the warm skin of his belly. "I'll be right here for you." The caress to her hair was featherlight and her hold on him tightened. "You've put so much work into yourself. This is difficult but you can do it."

Bending to her, he kissed the top of her head. "Go to bed. I don't wanna keep you up."

"It's all right if you do. I happen to like your company." At last, she succeeded in getting a chuckle out of him and a playful swat to her thigh. But he withdrew and wished her good night. Heading into their bedroom, she heard the click of the lamp in the living room, the opening of the door to the fire escape. He'd be outside for some time, she assumed. Quickly, she got one of his sweaters and brought it out to him. Though he raised a brow at her, his eyes were full of fondness. She slung the wool shirt over his shoulder and pecked his jaw before taking her leave.

~~~~~

Occasionally, Arthur would call her office before leaving for an appointment. He'd never say he was thinking of skipping a session. That he was having doubts they were working at all. That tough days were infrequent yet harsh. His flat tone and pauses clued her in, though. He'd been calm when he called today, and she'd kidded with him until his mood had buoyed and he'd said he was going. Promising a date night, if he felt up to it, had helped.

Currently, Y/N was in line at Marchetti's waiting for take-out. Wanting to catch-up on the evening news, she grabbed a Gotham Journal from the newsstand. Since the murders of Thomas and Martha Wayne in a robbery six months ago, Gotham's malfeasance appeared to have gotten worse. Reports of small businesses being cited for minor code violations, while establishments run by people with the right name and enough money were left to their own devices, flourished. Construction strikes had become more frequent, which she would normally support. But they had a way of ending as soon as the city placed a higher bid. The chief of police had been photographed hobnobbing with a crime boss, but the mayor had taken no action.

On top of it all, the Wayne Foundation, that thorn in her side, was drawing back many of the initiatives it had begun after increasingly austere program cuts. Including services at that damned medical center in Otisburg. They couldn't run out of funds, the board claimed. With the continuously sluggish economy, returns on their investments weren't what they used to be. The organization needed to ensure the Wayne's son would be taken care of.

Y/N didn't buy those excuses. She had nothing against the boy - she couldn't imagine losing her parents at such a young age. But how many mansions, gazebos, and toys did a child need? The skeptical part of her, the one that always suspected an angle, wondered if the increase in the city's corruption and the Wayne Foundations machinations were related...

Stop it, Y/N. Quickly, she shoved the paper back in its spinning rack. If she thought about it too much, she'd find a way to stumble into an investigation she couldn't ignore. While she'd be ready for one and relish it, she didn't want to focus on that tonight.

Their order was ready in about twenty minutes. Arthur and she had gotten into the habit of getting two individual pizzas, borne of his limited willingness to experiment with toppings. Normally, he was happy to take her recommendations, but he insisted cheese was just as good as any other kind and liked to have it to fall back on. She'd gotten Hawaiian for herself. If he was in the mood to eat, she was sure they'd split them.

Happy notes from the Sinatra live album she'd gifted him for his most recent birthday hit her as she opened the apartment door.  It was a pleasant surprise. Arthur only listened to the LP when he was doing all right. (It had prompted him to tell her of his wish to go see him in concert together, and he didn't want to taint that with negative thoughts.)

Upon peeking around the corner from the kitchen, she spotted Arthur in his writing nook, scribbling hurriedly and tapping his feet to the beat. He was obviously engrossed, but she didn't think he'd mind if she interrupted. Soon she approached his desk, plates in hand. "Knock, knock."

A gentle snort as he put down his pen, "Who's there?"

"Delivery service." She propped her hip against the edge of his desk, and placed the food next to his journal, along with a paper towel. "You owe me a tip."

"I do, don't I?" He angled his head up and pulled her in for a quick kiss. "Thanks. I've only had coffee since this morning. Just been working on my material." Swallowing, he flipped back a page in his notebook. "How did the little boy learn to get home?" His green eyes met hers, a hiccup of laughter in his throat. He allowed about three seconds before giving her the punchline. "Step by step by step by step."

Her features softened and her grin drifted away as she absorbed what he'd jotted. In the past, his act had contained references to his childhood. References which could have been based on recollections, figments, or both. This was an observation in joke form, as his jests tended to be. "That's clever." She reached to brush a chestnut wave from his forehead, deciding to ask what she'd been curious about since she got in. "I'm glad you're doing so well. I take it therapy went better than expected?"

Nodding, he gave her a tight-lipped smiled, dimples on display. "Mhm." She moved to sit more fully on his desk, straightening as she secured her paper towel to the neckline of her blouse. They munched quietly, glancing between their slices and each other. It was clear he wanted to tell her more. After he finished his first bites, he shifted in his chair. "I remembered something nice."

A weight rolled off her shoulders, and the corners of her mouth turned up. "That's wonderful."

"Yeah." His teeth worried his thin bottom lip, his gaze going to his plate. "I was at school late - maybe I got in trouble for laughing. Penny was supposed to get me. But I think she forgot, so I had to walk home... It was dark. I hadn't gone that far by myself."

With every word he spoke, Y/N's elation ebbed, replaced by sympathy. But she didn't stop him. "The next day was the same. My mother wasn't there." He still switched back and forth between her name and that title, though he used the latter less and less. "I buttoned my coat and tied my shoes on my own." The satisfaction reflected in his expression contrasted with the pain welling in her. "The steps were icy, but I didn't fall once."

A hitched chuckle left him. "Penny stared at me when she finally answered the door. She couldn't believe I remembered the way home. Then she picked me up." His eyelids fluttered. And the beam on his face was blinding. "She said I was a good boy and told me I was big enough to walk home from then on. She gave me a quarter for a movie." His voice became small, as small as the boy in the story. "I think she was proud of me."

Y/N kept her stare fixed to the floor. Her chewing had slowed, then halted completely. A question nagged at her, even as she assumed the answer would hurt. "How old were you?"

A slight shrug in the corner of her eye. "Six? Seven?"

It shouldn't have stunned her that what he'd introduced as "nice" was to the contrary. But she was gutted. The implications behind it tightened her chest. Was it the last time his mother had held him? Had he gone to the damned movie theater alone, too? Why the hell had the city given him back to Penny?

She'd spent a lot of effort helping him learn that it was okay to be angry and upset sometimes. That he didn't have to lie to her about how he felt. That he didn't have to hide if things were too much for him or he had a bad day. And here she was, doing her best to paste on a smile for him. The difference, she supposed, was that it was to protect him. Not to lie to herself.

She didn't want him to have an inkling regarding the tumult she'd experienced in the last five minutes. That this memory wasn't ideal. Telling him how to feel about it would be crossing the line from honesty into cruelty. There had to be a truth in this she could be happy about. And following some pondering, she found one. He had so few memories from his youth. She supposed he'd been fortunate to retrieve one he considered positive, even though it broke her heart.

She permitted herself to sniff once, blinked a few times at the carpet, and looked to him. "I'm glad you have that to hold onto." Thank god she'd managed to keep her voice from wavering. She distracted herself by squeezing his hand, then brought his knuckles to her lips. "You deserve it."

After a sharp exhale, Arthur moved his palm to hold her shoulder and drew her to him. "You know how you needed me to get into NCB studios? To do your job?"

Twisting to put her plate on the desk, she couldn't stop her giggle. It hadn't been her job - it had been the opposite, frankly. "Of course."

"You're like that for me when it's hard." It was a simple comparison, but she thought it was one of the most beautiful she'd ever heard. She pushed her lips to his, titling her head to deepen the connection and cup his cheeks.

He loosened himself from her grip and grabbed the paper towel she'd tucked into her shirt. Laughing, he tried to wipe away the grease she'd gotten on his face. Y/N plucked the napkin from him and weaved her fingers into his silky hair, imploring him not to care. She looked down at him, unable to stop a smile from forming.

Damn, she was a lucky woman. How did he manage to cheer her, even with the ache lingering in her breast? She'd have to be extra sweet to him in the upcoming days. Hug him tighter, longer, until he pushed her off and shook his head with a smirk before pulling her back in again. It would soothe her, allow her to deal with the mixed emotions she felt at his recollection. Ensure his joyful mood stuck around and make him happy.

She'd start tonight. "We can skip Gotham News and watch whatever you want." She tapped his chest. "You pick."  

"I like watching the news with you." He grinned, then. "But I rented a movie. A comedy from the thirties. There's dancing."

Comedies were much more his cup of tea than hers. But she'd watch anything to sit next to him, to see joy in his eyes, to hold and be held by him. She nuzzled at him and kissed his cheek. "I'm sure we'll love it."

~~~~~

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve​ @howdylilflower​ @sweet-nothings04​ @stephieraptorr​ @rommies​@fallenstarsabyss​ @gruffle1​ @octopus-plasma​ @tsukiakarinobara​ @arthur-flecks-lovely-smile​ @another-day-in-chuckletown​

[connorandersons-blog]

Convin?: “I don’t know anyone else who can make me feel this way.” Any situation :)

So this turned out longer than I thought it would. Hope you like! Word count: 2,273 Warnings: None

===================

Connor didn't feel. He didn't. He was a machine that was built to obey orders, so that's what he did. Though most people didn't really know whose orders he was following.

Most people would think it would be Hank. The Lieutenant did have some power over his orders, but if he got any that overrides those he had to ignore him.

He'd follow any orders as long as it didn't negatively affect his mission.

He tried his best to appear friendly to the other officers, knowing that their approval was very much important. If someone didn't like them they might try to get in his way, or as Hank would say 'make his life a living hell'.

So when Gavin Reed ordered him to make him coffee he did. He didn't see a reason not to. Sure Gavin had been… abrasive in their past meetings, but maybe this would help.

He was wrong. If anything it seemed giving him the coffee made Gavin despise him even more so.

He blinked a few times as Chen and Reed left, then stared at the coffee. It wasn't like he could drink it, but it would be a waste to throw it out.

So, he ends up leaving it on Reed's desk when the man gets up and heads to the bathroom.

He's sitting at his-not truly his- desk when Gavin comes back. The man sits at his chair and props his feet up. Then he narrows his eyes at the coffee cup and brings it to his nose, sniffing it.

When Gavin's eyes lock on his he quickly looks away, a strange feeling crawls down his spine.

[Software Instability ↑]

He easily brushes the sensation away, going back to focusing on his conversion-or lack thereof- with Hank.

The sensation happens multiple times, and each time he gets the same notification. He tried to look it up, but couldn't find anything pertaining to androids. Maybe he should ask another android. For some reason, he can't explain he does his best to keep it from Amanda.

He tries to experiment to find the cause of the feeling. At first, he thought it had to do with eye contact. That didn't really make sense as it was in his programming to maintain eye contact whenever possible.

He tried anyway, talking with any other officers that seemed open to him. None had the same effect.

He doubted it had to do with coffee, but once again he still tested the theory. He got coffee for anyone who asked. That didn't seem to help his relationship with a few officers as they called him 'the dpd lapdog'.

He knew it was meant as an insult, but he couldn't help but grin. He very much liked dogs, so it didn't bother him all too much being compared to one.

No. It didn't bother him because he doesn't feel. He's not supposed to feel anything. He runs tests on his systems, sighing gratefully when it comes back clean.

His last idea was Gavin Reed. He had noticed the feeling occurred whenever he spoke to him, even when it wasn't necessarily friendly.

It seemed he was an asshole to pretty much everyone, so he didn't take it personally when Gavin punched him. Humans were certainly odd creatures.

There were other sensations but none felt quite the same. If he didn't know any better he'd say these sensations were emotions. But he did know better.

The sensation that was there around Gavin wasn't unpleasant. It didn't truly affect his work, but he couldn't stop thinking about it and Gavin.

There was one person he could ask, though he wasn't sure what his reaction would be. There was a 54% chance that he would tell him to fuck off. Not the best odds, but it was a risk he was willing to take.

"Lieutenant, may I ask for your help?" He asks, looking over at him.

Hank snorts but gives a nod. "Sure kid, though I doubt you actually need my help."

He understood why, but he had found he preferred to have Hank help him, even when he wasn't actually needed. "I get this... tingling sensation when I'm around a certain person. It's not unpleasant, but it leads me to continue thinking about the person and this feeling."

Hank blinks at him a few times and then bursts into laughter. He hadn't seen this as a possibility. How was his situation amusing?

"Son, fuck. This is great. Are you sure you're not a deviant?" Hank laughs once he's calmed somewhat.

He reeled back. No. No, he wasn't a deviant. He checked his systems every day and there were no signs of corruption or anything of that sort. "I'm not a deviant!"

"Sure, sure," Hank chuckles, rolling his eyes. "Just a normal emotionless android feeling attraction. You know, nothing major."

Attraction? He was attracted to Gavin? Before he can think too much on it Hank cuts him off again.

"Wait, fuck, kid. Who… uh, who do you get this sensation with." He cringes at his own words.

He glanced around, before finding Gavin's desk. The man is talking with Chris and slowly spinning in his chair. He throws his head back and laughs at whatever Chris said.

Then, their eyes lock. He doesn't look away, too focused on Gavin's flushed cheeks and smile. The sensation comes back, and he can't help but give a slight grin. Gavin furrows his brows, then turns back to Chris.

"No fucking way," Hank grumbles. Connor snaps his head back to Hank and feels his cheeks warm up, no doubt blushing.

"Fucking Reed? What the hell!" Hank says, shaking his head. "Fuck. Well, it's not like you can control attention."

He was… attracted to Gavin. No. No, he wasn't because he was a machine made to accomplish his mission. Gaining Gavin's attention is not part of that mission.

Though, it would be a fascinating experience. Perhaps androids had gone deviant because of this feeling. If he explores it may give him more data to send to Cyberlife.

It's settled. He'll attempt to gain Gavin's attention. With that in mind, he stands and walks over to the break room, making a coffee before walking out.

He walks over and Gavin glances up at him, then to the coffee in his hand. He holds it out and tries to smile, though Hank had said his smiles always seemed awkward.

"The fuck is this?" Gavin says, crossing his arms. Connor glances at Chris, but the man looks just as confused as Gavin.

"A peace offering. I'm unsure as to why you are not fond of me, but I would like to change that." He means it too. He wants Gavin to smile at him and laugh when he tells a joke.

Gavin huffs but takes the coffee. "Whatever dipshit. Don't you have work to do?" Connor smiles and nods. He considers this a success.

"I do. Have a good day, Detective." With that, he turns and walks back to his desk. Hank gives him an odd look but doesn't comment.

[Software Instability ↑]

Each day he brings Gavin coffee, and slowly he learns how he likes it. It also seems to be working on making their relationship more positive.

Gavin no longer seems incredibly angered just from his presence, and the number of insults is steadily declining.

The sensation still happens but it seems to be growing stronger with each passing day. He also gains new symptoms. One Hank had called butterflies in his stomach. It seemed an appropriate metaphor.

He wondered if Gavin felt the same. There was evidence to support the idea, but some could easily be written off as anger. He had attempted to talk with Gavin but it generally seemed to just agitate the man.

His social protocols were working perfectly fine, so he didn't know what the problem was. He could easily talk down a murderous psychopath, but he couldn't seem to hold a simple conversation with Gavin. It was beyond frustrating.

He had had enough one day. Gavin had gone to the evidence room, and Connor slipped in behind him, locking the door. He wanted to actually talk to Gavin without the possibility of him running away.

"Detective, may I speak to you?" He asks, making his presence known. Gavin jumps and quickly turns around.

"The fuck you want, Tincan?" He sighs, turning back and putting his password in.

He slowly walked up as he would do in a hostage situation. "I was wondering if I could talk to you. Actually talk."

Gavin sighed and rested his hands on the screen. "Why the fuck not."

Connor smiles and walks around so he can see Gavin's face. "I was wondering if I had been doing something wrong. You appear to still be hostile towards me."

Gavin sighed again, closing his eyes for a second. Connor took that time to look over his face. He was definitely pleasing to look at, even with the scar across his nose. He had wondered how he had gotten it but assumed it was on duty.

"Fucking hell. It's… it's not really your fault ok? It's mine." That… didn't make sense. He'd understand if it was as simple as being an android, but Gavin never seemed overly hostile towards any other androids.

"Could you explain? I've been trying to," he paused. What had he really been trying to do? He knew he wanted Gavin's attention, but he already had that before. Sure it was negatively, but he still had it.

So what? Did he want to be friends?

[Software Instability ↑]

No. No, he couldn't want. He shouldn't want. He's a machine. It shouldn't be possible.

And yet it was.

Gavin crossed his arms again, leaning against the computer. "You're… ok, you better not tell anyone. If I find out you did you'll be missing some very vital components."

Connor quickly nods his head. He wouldn't dare break Gavin's trust. Especially not after he just gained it.

"You're pretty ok? I shouldn't… I shouldn't feel this way about a machine. It's wrong." Gavin said, throwing his hands up then letting them fall to his sides.

He… Gavin thought he was pretty? He knew he was objectively pleasing as all androids were made to be. But… he said he felt something for him. Perhaps it was the same feeling.

[Software Instability ↑]

"I fe-" he was cut off by a red wall appearing in front of his vision. He reached out and touched it, and a small crack formed.

This… this was deviancy. He shouldn't. He knows he should turn around and leave, but another part is curious. What would it be like? What would it feel like?

He bangs his fist against the wall. The red cracks again, so he hits it until it crumbles.

Another wall comes up and he tears it down too. Doing the same for the last wall. His breath catches as the red disappears.

His eyes are wide as he stares at Gavin. He can feel. There's panic, and shock, but also something warm and tingling. Affection.

"You ok? You're LED thingy went red for a second." Gavin says, frowning.

"I-I'm fine. I'm alive." He mumbles the last part. He runs a check on his system but there still isn't any sign that something is wrong.

Gavin's eyes go wide and he takes a small step back. Then, a small smile stretches across his lips. "Fuck. You're… you're deviant?"

The panic rises. He's going to be destroyed. They are going to tear him apart to find out why this happened. He wouldn't be surprised if they questioned Gavin and Hank. What had he done?

"Hey, hey, Connor. Connor, you need to calm down. It's ok. No one is going to hurt you." Gavin said, placing a hand on his arm. "You're safe."

He believes him. He's alive, and he's safe. He's safe with Gavin. "I don't know anyone else who can make me feel this way." He mumbles, feeling the warm sensation come back tenfold.

Gavin blinks up at him and slowly brings a hand up to cup his face. "What do you feel?" He mumbles.

He leaned into the touch, unsure of what to do with his own hands. "Affection, panic, warmth… yearning."

Gavin gives a short hum before gently pulling Connor down into a soft kiss.

It feels like electricity shoots down his spine and his lips tingle. He gasps at the number of feelings and reaches out to grip Gavin, holding him close.

It was amazing, to say the least. Gavin's lips weren't perfectly soft but that just made it all the better. Sadly Gavin had to pull back to breathe, but he didn't move far.

"Shit," Gavin grumbled breathlessly. Connor feels a wave of panic. Was that not good? Did he not actually want to do that? "Fucking kiss me again, damnit."

He grins widely and gladly does as he's told, pulling Gavin in again. He gently pulls at Gavin's bottom lip, making the man hum.

He lets his hands trail around Gavin's body, feeling the muscles underneath his jacket.

Gavin deepens the kiss, bringing a hand up to the base of his skull, gripping his hair. He makes a small whine in the back of his throat, and his face flushed.

Gavin pulled back to chuckle and really grin at him. "Adorable. Fuck, we should go back to work before anyone gets suspicious."

He really didn't want to stop. It was amazing, the feeling of want. "I locked the door."

Gavin's eyes widen, then smirks. "Let's see what else Cyberlife gave you then."

[manthamu]

DISCORD THREAD: if you can’t take the heat...

WHO? aaron hart & cillian kelly

WHERE? in the kitchen at coast city crab shack

WHEN? february 24th, 2020; afternoon

WARNINGS? n/a

OVERVIEW.  aaron drops by the crab shack to see how business is. cillian happens to be working. they have a heated interaction in the kitchen that leaves cillian breathless and confused. 

𝐜𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐤𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐲

cillian absolutely could not stand aaron hart. the ceo and businessman had only been in coast city for a short amount of time but he'd already made quite the impression. of course, cillian had known aaron from what seemed like another life ago when the two of them were a couple of overeager teens experimenting in a closet at some party they somehow both ended up at. cillian had blocked that out of his brain almost entirely, but ever since aaron showed up, cillian's mind wandered back to that closet every now and then. and it was hard to avoid the guy now that cillian worked for him. cillian was still bitter that aaron was attempting to turn the crab shack into some tourist destination. he much preferred the gritty sort of dive it used to be. but all good things came to an end, cillian supposed. speaking of which, cillian's shift had actually been going relatively smoothly. that was until aaron decided to stop by for a quick check in. his visits didn't seem to be consistent, and cillian never knew when he'd be poking his head in the kitchen to spy on him. it felt like it had been happening a bit more frequently lately. "what's up boss man?" cillian asked, the disdain clear in his voice as he greeted the business man. he didn't even have to look up from what he was doing to know that it was aaron. he had this sort of aura about him that belonged to absolutely no one else. it was unmistakable. "if you were hoping to catch me smoking weed or something, you missed that about 20 minutes ago."

Aaron.

Aaron wasn't very fond of the idea of moving to coast city in the first place. Of course he was going to move so that his kids didn't have to live a childhood of traveling all the way across the country to see their mom and dad. He had plenty of friends in town too, but he had a hard time leaving New York. It was his home, and despite the fact that Aaron had done a lot of traveling in his 27 years, New York and Paris were really the only two places that he could ever call home. Could he really call some random beach town his home? Aaron thrived in big cities, and Coast City was the exactly opposite. He decided to stop by the crab shack today...just to check in and see how everything was going. Of course Cillian was working. He was there almost everyday. No doubt Aaron's laziest employee, but it was hard to find someone willing to do a shitty job like Cillian's. "Mr. Kelly." He half smiled, clearing his throat and fixing his tie. "I don't give a fuck if you get high, Cillian, just don't smell up my fucking kitchen." Aaron hated this place. He wasn't prepared for all the renovations and changed he needed to make when he bought it. He walked around the kitchen like he owned the place (which he did). "I'm going to make sure that your manager has you guys cleaning the place every night. I can just..." He put his hands out, palms up in front of him like he was holding something "...feel the grease in the air." He scowled.

𝐜𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐤𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐲

cillian sighed in frustration, dropping the dish he'd been scrubbing along with his sponge into the sink and spinning around on his heel with a flourish. he leaned back against the sink, folding his arms across his chest and giving aaron a look to communicate that he was not welcome here. aaron may own the crab shack in a physical sense, but cillian had made this kitchen his own over the last four years. this was his territory. and aaron was intruding. "it's a shitty seafood restaurant in coast city. what did you expect?" cillian questioned. his tone was sharp, irritated, defensive. it may have been a shitty seafood restaurant, but it was just as familiar to cillian as his apartment. it was kind of just a part of his identity at this point. cillian turned his back on aaron then, pulling another dish out of the soapy water. "why'd you buy this place anyway? you obviously fucking hate it here."

Aaron.

Aaron blinked when he heard the dish crash in the sink. It startled him a bit, but he didn’t jump. He smirked to himself when he noticed how much Aaron’s words had seemed to bother him. The businessman shoved his hands on his front pockets and sat back on his hip. “This is prime real estate. This location is perfect. It’s a crab shack now, but who knows what it’s going to be in a few months from now. You know I own one of the nicest Italian restaurants in Manhattan back in the city.” He accent seemed to stick out even more here when he talked about New York. He stepped a little closer to Cillian when he turned his back to him just for dramatic effect. “You won’t be working at a crab shack for much longer, Mr. Kelly.” He assured the younger male.

𝐜𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐤𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐲

it was annoying how easily aaron could work his way under cillian's skin. he was just so fucking irritating. cillian spun around on his heel again, faltering only for a moment when he realized how much closer aaron was, though he recovered quickly enough. "i'll burn the place to the ground before i see you turn it into some boujee ass italian restaurant," cillian threatened, dish still in hand as he glowered down at aaron. he had a few inches on the older man, though cillian didn't feel that have him much of an advantage. everything about aaron was dominant. regrettably, cillian had to admit that this asshole was the definition of big dick energy. fucking annoying.

Aaron.

Aaron didn't really take Cillian's threat as an actual threat. This guy couldn't actually threaten Aaron. He was the king of new york and what was going to to stop him from becoming the king of california too? Certainly not Cillian Kelly. "Right. I'm sure you will. Then I'm sure you'll get along really nice with the murders in prison." He chuckled to himself as he leaned against the countertop next to the sink. Aaron smirked up at Cillian. "You know, you're kind of sexy when you're mad. Like the pouty look is good on you. Though, I don't think I've ever actually seen you smile." He raised his brow like he was waiting for Cillian to give him a little grin, even though he really didn't expect him to. He just wanted to poke fun at him, even though he really did look hot when he was mad.

𝐜𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐤𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐲

the snappy comeback that had been forming in cillian's mind died on his tongue the moment aaron called him sexy, cillian's nose wrinkling almost instantly as he looked away from aaron with a sort of huff and a roll of the eyes. even still, cillian felt his face get hot. he knew aaron was just trying to get under his skin, piss him off, but for a split second cillian wondered is aaron even remembered the night they had met. of course he didn't. he was a rich hot shot asshole who didn't have time for people like cillian. cillian was certain that aaron hadn't even recognized him when they'd been reintroduced for the first time after aaron took over the crab shack. but cillian remembered. and it was hard not to think about it in detail with aaron standing so close to him and saying things like that. "fuck off, aaron," cillian mumbled under his breath, returning his attention to the dishes in the sink.

Aaron.

Shit. Aaron could tell that that really pissed the younger male off. For some sick reason, that put the biggest, most evil smile on Aaron's face. He didn't like Cillian. Not one bit. But Aaron really wanted to run his hands through his thick, brown hair, tug his head back and kiss his neck. He wanted to taste him. He was hot, but such a bottom feeder - Aaron was someone who loved his worked and cared about his status. Cillian didn't give a fuck about what people thought about him. But...he was so sexy when he was angry. Aaron reached to turn off the big faucet completely, then stepped closer pressed his hand to his arm as a way of telling him to set the dishes down. Aaron's blue gaze shifted from Cillian to around them for a brief moment, just to make sure that no one was looking. He'd probably never admit that he was doing this. "So grumpy..." He hummed, parting his lips slightly and gaze from his lips back up to his eys.

𝐜𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐤𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐲

if cillian was thinking clearly, he would have pulled away, out of aaron's grip, would have told him to fuck off, maybe even shoved him a little bit. but it wasn't exactly a secret that being man handled was somewhat of a turn on for cillian, rebellious in nature but submissive behind closed doors. of course aaron didn't know this, and cillian wanted to keep it that way, though for whatever reason, cillian stayed where he was. cillian set the dish down in the sink obediently, as if aaron had ordered him to, his eyes raking upwards from aaron's grip on his arm to aaron's parted lips before finally meeting his gaze. "you're such an asshole," cillian muttered, though his tone was hardly convincing, his eyes returning to aaron's lips again as he bit down on his own somewhat uncertainly.

Aaron

Aaron kind of figured that this would be the best way to get running through Cillian's head rent free, which was what he wanted the most. Just for his ego. Lord knows that thing doesn't need to grow anymore. Aaron's lips curled up into a devilish smile. With his hand still rested on Cillian's arm, he brought his other hand up to traced his thumb around his lips. He felt Cillian tighten slightly, but he barely moved or even coward away from his touch. "So what if I am?" He said, before leaning in to kiss him. He licked on the other's lower lip immediately asking for entrance. He cupped the back of his neck and pulled him closer towards him.

𝐜𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐤𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐲

cillian's eyes widened when aaron's thumb brushed across his lower lip. he stiffened slightly, though he stayed still, his breath catching in his throat as he searched aaron's face for some indication of what he was thinking. he had to remember that night then, didn't he? or was this kind of thing just muscle memory for aaron at this point? entirely meaningless. cillian wasn't sure he cared either way, though he felt himself panic when aaron leaned in and pressed his lips to cillian's. before aaron could push his tongue into cillian's mouth, cillian pushed him away, his hand firm on aaron's chest as he stared at him, eyes wide, and lips parted, his breathing uneven. a brief silence passed between them, cillian's heart hammering in his chest as he tried to collect himself. then, against cillian's better judgement, he grabbed a hold of the collar of aaron's shirt and forcefully pulled him back in, their lips crashing together as cillian kissed him eagerly. "fuck you," he muttered against aaron's lips.

Aaron.

Aaron actually got a little nervous for a second, but he didn't show it. He tried to keep his cool, but he wasn't exactly fond of rejection (he had a decent batting average, but getting rejected had happened more times than Aaron would like to admit). And for the spilt second that Cillian had pulled away from him, he genuinely thought that Cillian was going to tell him to fuck off and get back to the dishes. He wasn't getting those vibes though. He was pleased with himself when Cillian pulled Aaron back into him for another rough kiss. Aaron's hands seemed to automatically move up to run his fingers through Cillian's long hair. The businessman roughly pushed the younger male up against the wall behind him and pressed their bodies together. He let out a guttural, satisfied hum as they made out in the back of this shitty crab shack that Aaron had the audacity to call an investment. Until he finally pulled away. He let his lips linger over Cillian's for a brief moment, letting their eyes meet so that Aaron could read his face. He cleared his throat and gave the dishwasher a tiny smirk. Stepping back, he collected himself and smirked at Cillian before walking out of the kitchen silently.

𝐜𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐤𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐲

there was an undeniable heat between them and cillian wasn't sure if that was just the hatred or something else entirely. all he knew was that something about this was undeniably hot, even more so when aaron pushed cillian back against the wall and pressed their bodies together. cillian grabbed at aaron eagerly, a little too eager maybe, but cillian had given up on playing it cool, entirely too occupied with giving into his guiltiest of pleasures. just when they were nearing the edge of something a little heavier than make out territory, aaron pulled away, leaving cillian breathless and a little dazed. definitely confused. and when aaron smirked at him like that, cillian's forehead creased with further confusion. who had won here? which of them had given in? aaron had made the first move and yet he was treating this as if he had cillian right where he wanted him. cillian's lips parted to speak, but no words came and soon aaron was on his way out of the kitchen, leaving cillian behind with the dishes and a hunger for something more.