#it's a very gloomy birthday for me

[mooodyblue]

me todayyyy 🤸🏼

[darkmatilda]

𝐆𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: teasing spencer leads him to attempt guessing the color of your underwear. and he (almost) gets it right.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x diva!chemist reader, bar, teasing, lots of underwear talk — do i even need to say more?? oh and reader’s wearing a dress. and *surprise* underwear

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 2.1k (+ a little treat/surprise at the end!)

𝐚/𝐧: forehead kisses for the anons who inspired this idea LOVE U

“Hiding by yourself at the bar at your best friend’s birthday party? You should be ashamed, Spencer Reid.”

The man didn’t turn his head toward you right away, and he didn’t seem particularly surprised that you were calling him out. Well, he was indeed sitting at the bar without any of your other friends nearby, slightly hunched, with an expression that suggested he wasn’t in the mood to party—but hadn’t wanted to disappoint Penelope, so he’d shown up.

 He had to know that his gloominess would soon draw you in.You took the most pleasure in teasing him when he was like this, which is why, the moment you caught his silhouette out of the corner of your eye, your legs practically carried you toward it on their own.

At the sight of you, he didn’t suddenly pull his shoulders back to look better, nor did he tilt his chin up with fake confidence. He only gave the slightest shrug—but you saw his gaze sweep deliberately over your body and outfit as you took a seat beside him, turning to face him directly.

Then his slow eye movement suddenly shot in another direction—he nodded toward something.

“As you can see, my best friend has more interesting things to do than play hide-and-seek with me,” he snorted, aiming the sarcastic edge at you and your earlier words rather than at Garcia.

You glanced in the direction he’d indicated, and your eyebrows twitched with interest at the sight of Penelope flirting with some man who was hunched forward to talk to her, trying to make up for the noticeable height difference.

“Our girl is busy hunting. Be patient with her,” you said in a scolding tone.

He caught your gaze, sending you a silent I’m being very patient—without even the faintest hint of a smile.But you weren’t interested in his moodiness just yet, and you ignored him for a moment, observing your friend’s seduction tactics—or rather, the man she was working them on.

“What do you think, profiler? Could there be something there?”

Spencer snorted.

“Exactly. Profiler. It’s usually part of my job to assess different things than whether my friend and some random guy are a match. Like, say…serial offenders.”

You grimaced at his condescending tone. Only then did the corner of his mouth twitch slightly, as if some internal smugness had just bubbled up.

“Imagine he is one of them,” you suggested.

“Then I wouldn’t be sitting here doing nothing. And I definitely wouldn’t be letting her talk to him,” he replied flatly.

You rolled your eyes with an exaggerated boring. Your irritation—entirely his fault—seemed to work like fuel for him. He fully turned to face you now, looking noticeably more energized.

“No, I don’t think anything could come of it,” he added. “Mostly because the guy’s married.”

Your skeptical look.

“Where does that certainty come from?”

“Profiler’s instinct. But seriously,” Spencer paused, resting one elbow on the counter and leaning slightly toward you to point something out with a tilt of his head. Before you followed his gaze, you took a moment to wonder whether he was wearing a different cologne than usual, or if you had simply forgotten what his regular one smelled like. Either way, it was pleasant. His eyes rested on your face for a second, as if to check whether he had your attention. He did.  “Look. Every now and then he moves his hand like he wants to reach for his wedding ring. A typical married man reflex. But he stops himself so he won’t give it away. Just like now.”

The guy indeed made a slight motion with his hand, which he then let fall along his side. With Reid’s comment so close to your ear, it felt like you were watching a National Geographic documentary — except the narrator had a sexier voice.

“Also, see that lighter skin on his finger?”

You narrowed your eyes.

“I see it,” you admitted after a moment. “He tanned around the ring.”

He nodded approvingly.

“You’re learning fast.”

You didn’t let him mock you.

“Can I call myself a profiler now?” you asked.

You could see her barely holding back a scoff.

“To get that far, you’d have to draw a few more conclusions. What you just said—anyone who had a Sherlock Holmes phase as a kid could’ve picked up on it. Or just someone a bit more observant. A real profiler would’ve added something else.”

You stared at him for a moment before rolling your eyes toward the ceiling in mock surrender.

“Fine. Go ahead, show off, profiler.”

You knew he was waiting for that. He didn’t even acknowledge your sarcastic tone—he jumped straight into his explanation.

“Look at his posture. He’s trying way too hard to seem relaxed. Classic behavior for someone who hasn’t flirted in a long time. Which means this is probably his first slip—or attempt, anyway. He had a fight with his wife, it’s recent. He stormed out of the house angry, ended up here, tried to blow off steam. But the more he talks to Penelope, the more his confidence shrinks. Guilt’s creeping in. He didn’t cheat, but he’s guilty of the thought, and that’s enough to wreck his game. He’s getting quieter. Penelope’s picking up on it. Any second now she’ll decide she’s not into this conversation and walk away…”

Reid clapped his hands, triumphant.

Right on cue, Penelope turned and walked away from the guy.

You hadn’t planned to react, but your lips parted and an incredulous snort escaped before you could stop it. You turned to Spencer with open disbelief.

“No way,” you shook your head. You didn’t care how much it was feeding his ego. You shook your head again, more firmly. “No way. I hate you guys. And by you guys, I mean the entire BAU. You look at some random dude and see all that? Is it like that with everyone? You look at me and what—can you guess the color of my underwear or something?”

He listened to your rant with a deceptively neutral expression. Deceptive, because he was trying to look stoic, like your words and the reaction they provoked weren’t flattering him—when in fact, they totally were. Deceptive, because they added just enough fuel to his confidence that, for a second, it took over, slipped past his usual restraint and came out in the form of a smug:

“I could try.”

You tilted your head to the side. Your gaze held no hesitation, no uncertainty, and definitely no shyness—oh no, absolutely not. Your gaze said you sure you know what you’re getting yourself into? Because in no possible universe could you imagine the Spencer Reid you knew speculating about your underwear. Taking it off? Sure. But talking about it with you?

His expression tightened just slightly, like he already regretted his decision. And honestly? He probably did. But he didn’t backpedal with a hasty swallow and awkward excuse. Neither did you. You simply crossed one leg over the other and fixed him with an expectant look. There was already a smug, taunting smile settling comfortably on your lips.

He met your eyes and held them for a beat before taking in a slow breath. That familiar expression began to slide into place—the one that meant full focus, analytical gears turning.

“Well…where to begin,” he mused out loud, his eyes scanning you as if the color of your underwear might be conveniently written across your forehead. Spoiler. It wasn’t. “You’re dressed in black.”

A beat of silence. Your scoff.

“Congrats on the observation.”

“Which means you didn’t have to worry about any color showing through,” he cut in, completely ignoring your jab. Not in a saving face kind of way—he genuinely seemed not to hear it, totally immersed in the challenge he’d foolishly given himself. “So you didn’t have to limit yourself to neutral tones, like beige, which you might pick if you were wearing something light. So I’m assuming you took advantage of that and went with something dark.”

His gaze finally rose from your dress, locking with yours again.

“Hot and cold?” he asked.

“Am I allowed to give you hints?”

He sighed.

You had to admit—it was a good starting point. And maybe it was that tiny bit of appreciation that made you roll your eyes a moment later and mutter, “Burning.”

His grateful nod. The slight twitch of his mouth. He cleared his throat again, forcing himself to continue.

“You could still be wearing beige or white, though. But your outfit today is unusually simple, even boring, for you—”

“Thank you,” you cut in sharply, with a hiss at the end.

“...and you like to stand out, even if it’s just for yourself, so I think it’s not too crazy to assume you went with something bolder. That’s also why I’m ruling out black. Oh, and definitely nothing lacy.”

That last part made you frown. It was said with such certainty you didn’t understand where it came from.

“Profiler instinct again, or do you actually have reasoning to back that up?” you asked.

If everything he’d said up until now was laced with playful speculation, this part landed with surprising confidence. He even shrugged, like it was obvious.

“A bold color and lace is more of a...statement. Usually chosen by women who want to feel a boost of confidence. Which you don’t need. But more importantly, I just don’t think you’d wear something like that just to spend the evening at a bar with someone like me. And someone who’s now using profiling techniques to guess the color of your underwear for… reasons nobody can quite explain.”

The period at the end of his sentence was sharp, but short. He didn’t let you respond, immediately pushing forward.

“And it’s not red.”

That one made you forget everything he’d said before. You hadn’t expected him to rule out red so early. After all, it was—

“It’s your favorite color,” Spencer continued. “You agreed to this whole thing because you knew I knew that, and you were hoping I’d guess it and be wrong. If you were wearing red, you wouldn’t have brought this up at all.”

You were starting to struggle to keep up with his logic. Spencer, on the other hand, was beginning to sound more and more like a brilliant scientist obsessing over his favorite phenomenon. You stayed silent now, genuinely curious what he’d say next.

 He wasn’t wrong. You weren’t wearing red underwear.

“So now I’m hesitating between two colors. Pink, dark pink, and navy blue. Both seem to fit, but I don’t know which one more, so I start considering the symbolism of the colors. Well, pink would be more sensual, even a little cheeky, worn under black clothing. But navy, on the other hand, symbolizes a certain seriousness, stability. Sophistication, even. In the end, I deeply doubt you were sitting by your underwear drawer wondering what your bra color symbolized,” a snort slipped out, but his cheeks began to turn a barely noticeable shade of red.

Well, one of you had to be wearing it that day. For the balance of the universe.

Spencer took another, though not his last, deep breath that evening with you. He took a moment before continuing.

You couldn’t say you weren’t waiting for it, not taking your eyes off him for a second.

“But in the end, I’m going with navy. Reasons are quite simple. First, profiler’s instinct. Second…in my…humble…opinion..you’d look better in blue. 

He finally forced the words out, and you just kept looking at him. In his humble opinion.

Time passed, and he still didn’t get confirmation. All the more, you somehow couldn’t bring yourself to give it to him. Eventually, stiffly and still without a word, you nodded. Once.

“You’re almost right, Doctor Reid.”

He frowned.

“Almost?”

You grabbed the hem of your dress on the side that matched the pair, lifting it just briefly to the right height. Just for his eyes. Your underwear was, in fact, navy.

But also the kind he’d almost ruled out right at the start—lace.

heyy fic’s over tysm for reading but there’s a tiny surprise/crack bit down below if u wanna check it out

:))) 

Penelope massaged her aching temples. Her head was literally splitting, not just from lack of sleep and the alcohol from the night before—in short, her birthday night out with friends. The pain was made worse by the countless screens surrounding her and what was on them. Case files, faces of murderers, often graphic photos.

Ugh. She needed to look at pictures of tiny fluffy kittens.

She scrolled through those little creatures for about five minutes, after which she felt slightly better. She didn’t have anything urgent to do anyway, so she opened Reddit. Just a place where people sometimes asked weird, often hilarious questions.

One of them immediately caught her attention. She clicked.

coworker guessed the color of my underwear and im going ABSOLUTELY FERAL?? 💀💀💀

okay so i’m female and there’s this guy i fw pretty well but he usually pisses me off but yesterday we were at this bar and i was kinda teasing him and told him to guess the color of my underwear and he analyzed me like fucking einstein and GUESSED???? and the worst part is it turned me on??? like somehow it was the most county thing i’ve ever seen and i’ve seen a lot + he literally had his shirt buttoned all the way up to his neck what is WRONG with me

Penelope burst out laughing and her fingers almost instinctively reached for the keyboard.

gurl you just like him! <3

[teddy06writes]

Whumptober Day 5 - Tommy Shelby

Tommy Shelby x gn!reader

Prompt: "You don't need to earn this."

Trigger Warnings: Insecure Tommy

Summary: When your surprises and gentle treatment catch Tommy by surprise, he questions what he'd done to deserve it.

{Support me on ko-fi}

The door to Tommy's office was strong and sturdy, and you could just barely make out your husbands hushed voice on the other side, speaking to someone over the phone.

Tommy had been in a gloomy mood all week, something about Ada wanting to push a new policy that no one else in the family agreed with, and him getting stuck in the middle, as always.

You glanced back in the direction of the dining room, where the dinner you'd made, in the hopes of lifting his spirits, sat ready and waiting, before cautiously knocking, and opening the door a crack.

Tommy looked up and caught your gaze a smile ghosting over his lips. He held up a hand, for you to give him a moment as he finished speaking into the receiver, "Yes, I'll speak to him about it tomorrow. - Yes of course. Goodbye."

As soon as the receiver was back in it's cradle, you were pushing into the room properly, "Hello, Tommy love."

"Hello darling," He stubbed out the cigarette that had been tucked between his lips, leaning back in his chair, "You're back early."

"Or, you've been working so long you've lost track of time?" You teased, moving to perch on one of the chairs in front of his desk.

Tommy sighed tiredly, running a hand over his face, "Maybe I have."

You stood, moving around his desk and behind his chair to wrap your arms around him, resting your chin on his head, "Business alright? Did that Arthur-Ada stuff smooth over?"

"I'm working on it. They can be quite difficult." He tipped his head back to look at you.

You hummed, before straightening up, "I made dinner."

"I've still got work to do, darling."

You turned to him sharply, "Thomas Shelby I did not spend my whole morning begging Polly for this recipe you like for you to skip dinner. Come on."

Slowly, Tommy stood up, a fond smile tugging at his lips as you took his hand, leading him out of the room.

"And I got you a little surprise, for dessert." You grinned, turning to look at him.

He raised an eyebrow critically, "A surprise?"

"I stopped off at that little bakery- you remember the one we used to go to on West Hill, with the tarts you like-" You cut yourself off with a huff, "Well, there goes the surprise, I suppose."

Tommy stopped in his tracks, a frown suddenly on his face as he dropped your hand. Oh no. This is the very opposite of what you had wanted.

"What's wrong, Tommy love?"

He looked at you with clear confusion behind his eyes, "You made me a special dinner. You went out of the way to get me a tart- have I missed something? Read the calender wrong?"

"What?" Your eyebrows furrowed.

"It's neither of our birthdays, and it's certainly not our anniversary, so what's going on?"

You looked around in disbelief, "I need an excuse to treat my husband? I don't have a reason."

"Then why are you doing this?" There's an odd hardness to Tommy's voice. Something between suspicion and sadness you couldn't hope to understand.

"Because I love you Tom, this is what I do when I love people," You reached forward to grasp his arms, "There doesn't have to be a special reason."

This is the truly the first time you've ever seen Tommy perplexed. Your husband, careful and calculating, brought down by the idea that you might love without cause or reason.

"But- I haven't done anything..."

"Oh, Tommy love," You wrapped your arms around him again, and this time he melted into your touch, "You don't need to earn this. You will never have to earn my love."

[electricgg]

Ancient Dreams In A Modern Land

Chapter 3:  Not My Thoughts And Feelings, I Am Not My DNA

Masterlist

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 (Here!) / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 / Chapter 8 / Chapter 9 / Chapter 10 /

Home is a strange word. It can be a feeling or a place. It usually depends on who you ask and the kinds of life experiences they have had.

In the feeling aspect, home can be a person, a food, a scent, or even a thing—a hug from someone special or that favorite food plate from your childhood. The smell of recently cleaned bedsheets or a plushie that, no matter how worn it has gotten with time, still brings the sense of home when you hug it tightly.

As a place, home can be a house, a town, or a spot where good and heartfelt memories are made. Such as the house you grew up in, whose walls hold moments of laughter and tears. First steps. First birthdays. First arguments. Many first moments that bring warmth and peace. The sense of home.

Wayne Manor does not bring a sense of home. Not even a little.

It’s dark, gloomy, and you feel like something is about to crawl out of the shadows and give you a heart attack. Hell, it’s like the dark corners of the halls were alive and breathing. Watching your every move, waiting for any stutter on your step or breathing so they can tackle you and feast on your flesh and blood.

…Maybe she was exaggerating a bit, but you get the point. The whole place screamed gothic horror house, and she did not like it at all.

It felt wrong. Even her body (still feels odd to address it as her own… but it would feel even more strange to separate it as a whole other being) had a negative reaction once Alfred pulled the car through the tall, dark, spiky gates.

Cold shivers went down her spine. The short hairs on the back of her neck stood up, and a feeling of colddarkemptylonelybadbadbadbAD- formed from the bottom of her stomach and made it up to her throat. Holding back from choking on the weird sensation, she swallowed dryly and followed Alfred’s lead.

Home wasn’t supposed to feel like this. She was sure of it.

She remained silent the whole walkthrough. Staying close to Alfred as her gaze wandered around the old and stuffy halls, feeling his quick stares as he guided them towards the kitchen. 

Dr. Vidal had written very clear instructions that the young girl needed some food in her system if the meds she prescribed were to take effect.

Once they made it to their destination (seriously, why does a place need this many halls and rooms? She is sore and walking for so long is not helping.), her stomach rumbled. Loudly. 

Maybe it was her mind, but she swore the sound echoed.

Alfred gave an amused look, covering it with a pointed cough while her cheeks flushed and hands crossed over her stomach.

“Please,” he cut in politely.

He gestured towards the counter with three tall chairs, giving a view of the isle of the kitchen. “Take a seat while I prepare some soup and tea. It will help to settle you down.”

Not thrusting her voice, (Y/N) beelined towards the chair on the right and sat down with a heavy sigh. Lying her crossed arms over the counter, she put her head between them and took a deep breath.

Her eyes stung every time she blinked. They had been like this since they left the station.

The man didn’t comment on her actions, simply continued to go around the kitchen while the kettle heated up on the stove. 

She was grateful for his silence. Her head had been pounding nonstop.

It even hurt to think. Which was hard not to; thanks to her last conversation with Rio.

‘As if any of the words she said could help me out…’ she mused to her thoughts.

Let’s rewind a little, shall we?

•------------------------•

“I need you to listen very well, Pet.”

After her little dramatic act in the showers, the doctor had kicked everyone out between yells and threats so that she could get dressed with some decency. Then, Rio dragged her back to her medical office to make sure she didn’t get cut with the broken glass of the mirrors.

Alfred insisted on staying with her, but Rio’s stare down and snarls were enough to have him wait outside the office with Gordon.

So, it was only the two of them.

Her fingers pulled at the cuffs of the grey sweatshirt, and her bare feet swung up and down since she had sat down on the examination table. Her eyebrows frowned, and she hissed quietly as the tape of the old gauze pulled at the skin and some of her hair. She sniffled a bit while looking down at her oversized pants.

Rio had her back turned as she dispossessed the gauze.

“Your full name is (Y/N) Wayne. You are in Gotham City.”

Her head whipped up.

Rio continued, “You’re sixteen years old. You go to Gotham Academy. You’re in Eleventh grade.”

Finally turning towards her, Rio picked up the new gauze and walked back in front of the girl. Deeply staring into her eyes without blinking.

She didn’t look away.

“Your father is Bruce Wayne. You have multiple siblings, mostly adopted, and just one younger half-brother. The rest are older.” That made her frown, wrongness filling deep into her chest.

“No, I don’t. I only have-”

“You only have Billy, I know.” Rio’s tone was mocking, her eyes rolling back. She wiped down the gash rather roughly, making the girl hiss sharply and glare at the woman in disbelief.

“Interrupt me and you won’t have the vocal cords to complain again.”

(Y/N) clicked her mouth shut.

Rio’s mood switched instantly, giving her a sickly sweet smile and pinching her cheek.

Crazy old lady.

“As I was saying, Pet,” that got her a disgusted look. What kind of person uses that pet name in real life?

But she did not care one bit. “You've got several siblings. Richard Grayson is the oldest. Jason Todd is the second. Timothy Drake is the third one. Then you come in, followed by Damian Wayne. There’s also Cassandra Cain, she is around Jason’s age.”

‘Just how many kids can a guy have?’

“That’s your cover story for now.” Rio finished putting up the new gauze and took a few steps back.

(Y/N) only stared at her with confusion and way too many questions running around her head.

Who was this woman, seriously?

“Wait, what do y-” 

Rio shoved a pointed finger at her face, quickly stopping her. Waving it right in front of her nose side to side.“This is as much as I can tell right now. Use it wisely, don’t give yourself away, stay low, trust your gut, and you’ll survive until our next visit, pet.”

And she walked off. 

•------------------------•

It was like a jigsaw puzzle. 

Too many words. No answers to her actual questions.

At the very least, she had some information and wasn’t going around blind anymore. Which was why she went willingly with Alfred, despite not remembering the man at all.

‘Trust your gut, ’ she said. Well, look at her now. Inside a mansion straight out of the Crimson Peak movie, eyes burning, and an old man (a very nice old man) making her soup.

This new plan was going pretty well.

‘Wayne, huh?’ her mind mused, ears tuning in to the sound of porcelain clicking around the kitchen.

It gave her an odd sensation, knowing ‘her last name’. Like a piece that tried to fit in with the rest of a broken vase. Some parts were chipped by the fall and are now unable to form a complete piece. Something that used to belong but no longer does. Something that has been altered and is no longer the same.

Her age didn’t give the same feeling. It felt right. Years were weird for her, so she had no way of backing up why she felt that way. But for some reason, sixteen felt the right age.

As for family, well, that’s another thing to unpack.

Each name left a variety of feelings underneath her skin. And not pleasant ones.

It left her confused and uncertain. Family is supposed to bring comfort. Warmth. Light. Support. Softness.

She did not feel that when the names were mentioned.

Distance. Cold. Emptiness. Anger. Resentment. Sadness.

So much sadness.

She did not like it. Not one bit.

Why would a family feel that way? Who would allow-

“You are taking up too much space.” A snobbish, and somehow boyish, voice interrupted her musings. 

She lifted her head slowly, hands rubbing around her stinging eyes. Keeping them close as her spine straightened, a few bones popping and making her hum, pleased.

Her eyes then opened to clash with two freezing green emeralds.

For such a young boy, the expression on his face gave him the attitude of a severe grandpa. Sour, as if sucking on the sourest of candies while he critically looked at her up and down with displeasure. One could say he was very offended by her presence or by breathing the very same air as him.

Or in this case, offended by taking too much space on the counter. Which made her snort out loud.

This only made his expression twist deeper.

“Find something amusing, embarrassment?” he spat while keeping a straight posture, arms crossed over his chest.

It only got him a shocked laugh and an unamused look from Alfred.

‘The audacity of this kid, holy shit-’ 

As she turned her head towards Alfred to ask who this boy was, time seemed to slow down. A wave of images and sensations went through her body. 

Cold glares. Nasty snarls. Sharp words. Head turning away. One-sided conversations. Rejected invitations. Sentences getting cut off. Harsh accusations and questioning. Why do you even try? You are not enough for us. Stop embarrassing our name. Do you think we are on the same level? I am the only true-born of our father. Can you just stop? You are not my sister, stop thinking you are.

‘Damian,’ a whisper. Just by her ear. A cold hand on her shoulder.

‘Little asshole. Prickly. Intense. Smartmouth. Way too cocky. And a freakin-’

Time returned to normal. Her ears rang. Her eyes still stung. Alfred, still on the other side of the kitchen, was making his way towards them. He was mostly looking at Damian, his lips already opening up to say something. Maybe trying to get him to apologize.

But her mouth was faster.

“Who fed the freaking gremlin after midnight?”

The silence that came after could be cut with a sword. The three of them remained in their spots until Alfred cleared his throat and put the soup on the counter right in front of her.

“Excuse me for a second while I talk to Master Damian. In private,” he was already dragging the boy by the shoulder, gently guiding him as Damian stared at her with wide, furious eyes.

He planted his feet firmly. Alfred sighed deeply.

“You dare call me such an unrefined-”

“Jeez,” she interrupted him, looking at him from the corner of her eye and taking a quick sip from the soup. “Talking like an old man is not doing you any favors, buddy.”

“I speak just fine!” he snarled at her. 

Rolling her eyes, she turned her back towards her food and continued sipping. She was too tired to deal with spoiled gremlins that needed to be put to bed. And way too hungry.

This did not please Damian.

“Do not turn your back on me, you lowly-“ he was getting in position to tackle her from the back. Fists curled up by his side and legs slightly spread to get a head start at the jump.

But it came to a full stop when Alfred grabbed him by the back of his shirt and pulled him out of the kitchen. The boy was saying some colorfully elegant insults on his way out.

‘Small mercies… serves him right.’ The smug thought had her snickering quietly with the spoon inside her mouth.

The coldness over her shoulder didn’t leave until she finished her food.

•------------------------•

“And this is your bedroom.”

For such a huge mansion, filled with expensive items, portraits, and ballrooms, her bedroom was a bit out of place amongst glamour and rich vibes.

Not only was it pretty far away from the kitchen (a very serious issue), and she had to take a lot of stairs (which Alfred insisted that she shouldn't run up to or take multiple steps at a time), but it was also hidden amongst three hallways filled with old family portraits that seemed to follow you with their stares.

It gave her the creeps.

Until they reached her bedroom.

The air was completely different. A scent of incense accompanied by rosemary and pomegranate filled her nose when she stepped inside. Walls painted a very earthy green, with fake leaf vines attached and hanging around the walls and the ceiling. 

It was also heavily decorated, giving a Maximilist style. Odd frames and figures resembling the moon, the stars, and the sun were all around the place. Painted on the walls, on figurines, on the curtains, and on many other spots. There was also a mix of purple and many variations of said color in the decorations, bedsheets, and pillows.

There was also a desk, which was the vanity as well. Hand-painted around the legs and the frame of the mirror. The table was a bit of a mess with scattered pencils, used candles, brushes, and notebooks.

A bookshelf filled to the brim was taking up a whole corner just by the small stained glass window, showing how dark the night had already become.

It gave a living, breathing personality. Someone’s safe place amongst these dark walls that tried to swallow them up. Hidden away from view, a warm garden with colors and full of life.

The life of a person who was no longer there.

“Your Bathroom is just next door,” he softly broke her away, a hand on her shoulder, while gesturing to the hall.

She nodded, feeling choked up and not wanting to talk. Blinking back tears, suddenly remembering how itchy her eyes had been the whole time she had been here.

Before she could scratch them, Alfred hummed and walked her to the bathroom. She remained with her eyes closed, hissing at the uncomfortable feeling under her lids. The sound of water running made her head turn towards it until Alfred tutted and guided her hands under the water stream.

“Seems like your contact lenses have reached their final destination,” he muttered while she splashed water into her eyes and opened them.

Looking into the mirror once again had her shiver, still unused to the grey eyes staring back at her. They almost seemed fake, if you looked at them closely. Just like-

“...contact lenses?” 

“Yes, my dear. You don’t need them, but you like to use the colored ones,” he sounded somewhat tired while saying that. His gaze was also quite sad. It made her gut twist.

Without a second thought, she put her finger near the white of her eye and saw how the color around the pupil moved. She did it twice, and a plastic came out, falling into the sink.

A dark eye stared back at her. Not cold grey, but a warm color. 

She quickly did the same with the other eye, Alfred warning her to be careful in the background. And after some trial and error, the fake eyes were gone.

“Wow, that’s a huge difference…” she muttered with a growing relieved smile on her face. Sure, she still looked sickly, and her hair was way out of the question, but having eyes that brought a sense of rightness made the weight on her chest lessen a lot more.

The butler remained quiet behind her, watching as the young girl marveled over something so simple as her natural eye color. It was a child-like wonder and quite uplifting for the older man to witness.

Deep inside, he knew she had changed. His old mistress had come home different. From the moment she dove into his arms, crying at the station. When she stood up to the young master, something that had never happened so easily. His mistress was quiet, unconfrontational, keeping her words and thoughts deep inside, never to bother others.

This new person wore her heart on her sleeve, careless of who it bothered. A loud voice, ready to burst out and be heard.

Maybe, just maybe, this new side would make his old mistress be seen.

“I suppose that you would like to throw away the rest of the contact lenses, Lady (Y/N)?”

He smiled pleasedly when she gave him a bright grin over her shoulder.

Alfred liked this new side.

•------------------------•

Bludhaven: 3:45 AM

Three kids in three months. 

It had taken a while for Dick Grayson to link the three cases together. 

Different schools. Different ages, but still inside the teen category. Two boys. One girl. Different neighborhoods. Different hours of disappearances. Even the parents worked on completely different jobs, so company conspiracies were out of the equation.

They were so different from one another in all that matters, yet he couldn’t shake off the feeling that they were related.

He had delved into the files Tim had hacked for him after a certain amount of begging, and it had been consuming most of his free time. Analyzing each word and sentence, looking for anything that could remotely link them to one another.

Which was why he almost fell out of his couch when the very loud ringtone he had for Babs began blaring out of his phone.

Dumping the opened files on his coffee table with a tired exhale, he picked up the call.

“Still awake?” Her teasing tone had him smiling, stretching his back, and leaning against the back of the couch.

“More like still working.”

“Still on the missing kids?” he could hear the concern in her voice.

“Just reviewing the report files from the police. Looks like I’ll have to dive into the family files too.”

Babs hummed quietly, some clicking of a keyboard sounding on the back of the call.

“I can have them ready by tomorrow if you go to bed right now.”

Dick chuckled on the line, shaking his head while closing the files on the table and standing up to walk to the kitchen.

“You are such an angel.”

“Flattery won’t fix your beauty sleep. Bed. Now.”

“Alright, jeez,” he muttered, opening the fridge to drink out of the milk carton. (What Alfred doesn’t know won’t kill him.)

“That’s not what you were calling me for, tho,” he mentioned after drinking his fill. The sigh from the other line confirmed his query.

“No. My dad called earlier today.”

Okay, that wasn’t so alarming in his opinion.

“How’s he doing? Everything alright?”

“Yeah, he is fine. Still adapting to the new doctor on the station but he’ll survive.” He could feel the eye roll all the way from Gotham.

“So, what’s the big deal?” he dragged on the words, as she took too long to answer between questions.

This time, she let out a deep sigh and took a moment to answer.

“Did someone tell you that your sister ended up in the police station today?”

That made him straighten up.

“What? Cass was in the police station? Is she okay?”

Barbara scoffed and groaned at that, making him feel more confused about what was going on.

“Not Cass. Your other sister, (Y/N).”

Oh. That sister.

“Oh,” was all he managed to say, scratching the back of his head awkwardly at this new development.

“Did she do something?” he winced as some thoughts came to his head.

He didn’t talk to her a lot. He was way too busy in Bludhaven, and most of the time he visited the manor, it was to help out on a case and hang out with Damian or whoever was available. To which, sometimes, she was the only one in the manor with enough free time to hang out.

But he always made up excuses. It wasn’t that he didn’t like her or anything like that; he truly cared for her! But he was usually exhausted and just wanted to have some alone time instead of passing the time with somebody.

It was pure coincidence that this only happened with her.

“Well, dad said that she didn’t know where she was and had a fucking head wound. What do you think she did, Richard?”

He grimaced at that. She was pissed off. Very pissed off.

“Sorry, that was a dumb question.”

“Yeah, it was. Did anyone tell you?”

“No, I’m just finding out.” He sighed, passing a hand over his face. “How did it happen?”

“Nobody knows. But the doctor said it was an outside attempt, so someone else did it. Jason’s already searching around for clues.”

“Jason?” That caught him off guard. That guy couldn’t even look at her, and somehow he knows before him? “Who told him? Why is he on this?”

Barbara just groaned under her breath, muttering over stupid men.

“Listen, just go to bed. And try to visit during the week, will you? I’m sure she would like to see you and spend some time together.”

“Babs, please,” his tone turned almost pleading on the line. “You can’t just drop this on me and expect me to be okay with it?”

…

“...Babs?”

The beeping from the other line had him groaning in frustration, dropping his arm down and clenching his hand around the phone. His gaze wandered around as his thoughts began whirling.

Someone had attacked his sister. Hurt her head. She doesn’t remember who did it, but it was serious enough to get the police involved. Nobody told him. And now, freaking Jason was going around on the streets looking for answers as if he even has the right to do so. Hell, (Y/N) is terrified of him. Why would Jason know before him, and why would he act on this? Dick is the oldest, he is supposed to know and act first! And she is not scared of him either! He remembered how brightly and excitedly she acted whenever he came to visit. How she would light up with a simple greeting from him and beg just to hang out with him and only him.

‘Just what the hell is going on?’

“Fuck sleep. I’m driving to Gotham tonight.”

•------------------------•

A dark figure stands before a metal table, surrounded by fridges built on the walls. She grins as whispers fill her in about all that’s been happening out of her sight in this mortal form she had taken for the moment. 

At least until her deal is up.

“And the fun is just beginning.”

•------------------------•

Author's Note: I'm not kidding when I tell you that I wrote this in pure darkness. Power outages are my deepest enemies and my country is literally built on them. And I said this one wouln't be as long as the last chapter. As you can see, I lied lol. And we got a lot on this chapter too! Let me know what y'all think, I love asks and answering questions!! Until next chapter!! Lots of love and tight hugs, GG✨

Tag List:

@bat1212 @kneelforloki @1abi @galaxypurplerose @yhin-gg @cxcilla @momentomoribitch @stargirl404 @initial-ari @welpthisisboring @icefox8155 @bunniotomia @alittlelostmoonchild @devotedlyshamelessdetective @shycreatorreview @nirvanaxx1942 @soulsire @ryuushou

Bonus Memes:

[muffinpink02]

Another Love (flatline)

Okay, this isn’t my usual kind of story, but I’ve always wanted to do a cheating fic. I haven’t been cheated on (yet, hopefully never) so I’m sorry if it doesn’t feel authentic. I took a different approach with it. But yeah, let me know what you think. Also thank you this anon. I know I didn’t do exactly what you asked but I hope you like it.

Warnings - smut 18, cheating, toxic, manipulative behaviour, swearing

word count 6922

The rain outside pelted hard against your living room window, the sad looking drizzle cascaded down the glass like a mini waterfall. The sky outside was grey and miserable, making your normally bright and sunny living room dark and gloomy. But being at the end of the year it wasn't a surprise the weather was so dull, even if you were living in the sunnier climate of Barcelona.

And as it was the end of the year that meant Christmas was only a week away. Which is exactly why you were searching on your phone for a last minute Christmas gift. Well, actually you had done all of your christmas shopping weeks ago. This last minute shop was for Alexia’s mum. Though, this gift wasn't from you, this gift would be from her very unorganised daughter. And just like Alexia did every year she left everything to the last minute and of course she had asked you to help her out.

“You’re better at shopping, amor. Just take my card. I know you’ll get something she likes.”

You of course couldn't say no to your fiance's pleading puppy eyes and honestly you didn't mind, you were better at buying the gifts for any occasion. And Alexia would only end up just buying something last minute that her mum definitely wouldn't want or use.

So you sat comfy on your sofa with a heavy blanket wrapped around you, snuggled in one of Alexia’s thick, soft jumpers, scrolling through your phone in search of the perfect gift for the older woman. You hummed, mindlessly nodding your head to the music that lightly played out of your speaker in the background. After another 20 minutes of scrolling you finally found the perfect gift. It was a beautiful red cotton scarf. Alexias mum had lost her own a couple weeks back, and as far you knew she hadn’t replaced it yet. So this was perfect! 

You added the item in your bag, filled out all the postage information and just before you could click the ‘buy now’ button, your screen turned black. Your phone battery had given up on you. 

“No! Fuck sake.” You grumbled, throwing your head back in annoyance.

What were the chances? I mean you were warned at 20% and 10% but still!

A loud sigh escaped your lips as you reluctantly kicked the covers that were wrapped tightly around your legs, freeing yourself from your comfy cocoon. You were about to go to your bedroom to grab your charger until you spotted Alexia’s ipad sitting under the coffee table. You leaned over and grabbed the device, thanking the heavens you didn't have to leave your spot.

“Please have charge.” You prayed as you pressed the on button.

The apple tech gods must have heard your prayers as the screen sprung to life with a full battery. “Yes!” You cheered as you slumped back into your pit, wrapping the covers around your body. 

You easily unlocked the device, typing in your date of birth for the password. You smiled as the screensaver appeared. It was a photo of you and Alexia last year, when you had been away on holiday, the very same holiday the blonde had proposed to you. You wore a huge smile while the blonde was lovingly kissing your cheek, both your sun kissed skin glowing on your faces.

You could still remember the moment she pulled the blue velvet box out. Your eyes had tears in them the moment she got on one knee, it was the easiest decision you had ever made.

It only made you more excited for the upcoming holiday you had booked. Not that Alexia had any clue, this was a surprise holiday, completely planned all by yourself. It was technically for her birthday but you couldn't wait another 2 months, she’d almost found out about it four times already!

You opened up the website again and found the red cotton scarf, you added the item to your trolley once more and began the process of filling out all of the shipping information again. You didn’t mean to tap the notification when it appeared on the screen, you swore as it instantly opened you up to Alexia’s emails and straight to the one that just landed in her inbox. 

“Shit.” You huffed. 

You were about to click off of the app and finish your purchase and you would have, if it wasn’t for the yellow emoji that caught your eye. You knew you shouldn't have, but something in your gut told you to read the message.

You blinked.

You stared at the screen. 

You blinked again.

Your face screwed up in confusion as you read the words, your heart instantly dropped to the pits of your stomach. “What?” You whispered to yourself

Alexia - I'll see you around 4 after training. Be ready. 

Joe - be quick, I’ve missed you 😘

“Missed you?” You said out loud. What?

No. Wait. Maybe there was more to it than this. Maybe it wasn't what you thought it was, surely not. Alexia wasn’t cheating on you, she’s your fiance for fuck sake, this wasnt what you thought. Just breath, don’t over react. This might be a friend or someone you don’t know, and she's meeting up with them. This might be nothing. Right? It's nothing. 

But, it also might be something. 

You scrolled a little further up on the conversation. 

Joe - Did you have to rip my underwear? 😂

Alexia - Sorry, i'll buy you another pair 

Joe - just for you to rip those too? 

Alexia - maybe 😘

Your breath caught in your chest as the words sunk in. You were wrong, this was clearly more than a friend.

You felt sick.

Your eyes kept going over the words, over and over and over until they didn’t make sense to you. You stared until the black lines that formed letters became small blurs that you could no longer read or process.

Alexia was cheating on you. 

Alexia. Your fiance. Your world. Your life. Your person was cheating on you.

This couldn’t be real, surely not. It must be a prank. A wrong email. Maybe she had been hacked or it's a code for football talk. Maybe …. something? You were so desperate you would believe anything else right now. But it was real, it was right in front of you, in black and white. You just didn’t want to believe it. You couldn’t.

Your mind went completely blank, a numbing feeling sunk into your bones. Nothing was processing right, it was like your body was trying to reject what it was feeling. Even your vision seemed to stop, everything around you seemed to blur. A deafening silence sliced through your head, ringing painfully inside your ears. 

Breath. 

With a shaky hand you swiped up to see how far this went. Maybe this was a one time thing? Not that it made it any easier, well, maybe it would? Maybe. But that thought was killed instantly as you watched the messages between Alexia and Joe go on and on. Your finger kept swiping the screen, watching the days and weeks go by. The dates were going further and further back. It felt like it would never end. 

Your stomach twisted as the dates went back eight months. Months. This had been happening for 8 months. Nearly a year. How? How was she doing this? When was she doing this? Why was she doing this? Countless questions were steam rolling through your head. You didn’t notice your fingers were gripping the iPad as hard as they were until the muscles in your digits started to hurt. 

The messages were short. There were no declarations of love or anything that seemed intimate. Just a lot of ‘when’ and ‘where’ there was the odd flirty message, like the one you read, but nothing cryptic, it almost seemed business li

“W-what?” You stuttered in disbelief.

This surely wasn’t happening, this had to be a dream. A nightmare.

You took a deep shaky breath, squeezing your eyes shut. You wanted to wake up and see that none of this was real. You had to wake up from this nightmare and see Alexia sleeping soundly in your warm shared bed as she cradled you against her chest like she did every night,

Please don’t let this be real. 

You didn’t realise you were crying until your tears began to drop on the screen, blurring the words that had just turned your world upside down. Your body was shaking, trembling hard as your fingers moved to swipe along the messages. You scrolled to the start of their conversation, needing to know how this started. 

No, you needed to see her. You needed to put a face to the name. You needed to see who this Joe was. 

You studied the name of the stranger. You instantly searched for her on Alexia’s instagram followers. It didn't take you long before you found her profile. Her public profile. Did they even care to be careful? The carelessness felt like another kick in the teeth, it almost felt like the stranger wanted you to see her. Maybe she did.

You scanned her profile. She was the complete opposite of you. Her hair, her eyes, her nose, her style, her smile. She was nothing like you. 

She was beautiful. 

Somehow that made the pain worse. You couldn't stop the humiliation creeping down your skin, and your walls going up. Your mind dived into a deep pit of insecurity, not only was you being cheated on, but the girl didn't even look like you. A nauseous feeling flooded your brain. Did Alexia not find you attractive anymore? Was this the kind of girl Alexia actually liked and wanted?

A certain photo caught your interest. Joe was laying beside a pool, her perfect body cladded in a bikini that hardly contained her intimate parts, you scoffed in disgust when you spotted Alexia’s name in the likes. She had liked a few of her photos. Once again not caring about her footprint, she either had no shame or was just careless. It just felt like another punch in the gut. You continued to stalk Joe’s insta, looking for any more sightings of Alexia in the likes or comments, and maybe even a photo. 

She was stunning. She was perfect. She wasn't you.

You felt stupid. So fucking stupid. How many lies had Alexia told you? 

Your mind wandered to where they even met. Was she a fan? Did she know her from a life before you? Did she work for Barca? Did she find her online? On a dating app? Maybe they met on a night out?  It wasn't hard for her to do, you had noticed you had been asked less and less on nights out with the girls. Probably for this exact reason. Was she the only one, or was there others? Or maybe Alexia wasn't even meeting with the team.

Did the team know? Were they aware of what Alexia was doing? You had noticed some of the girls didn’t speak to you as much as they did before, maybe this was why? Maybe they felt bad, too ashamed to look you in the eye. But Alexia could.

Then it started to click, the late nights, the texts from Alexia telling you she was staying behind for extra training, it was all starting to take a different meaning. You pictured Alexia and Joe sneaking around, checking into some random hotel, naked and wrapped up in white sheets, panting and laughing at how clueless you were.  

You could feel the acidic bile daring to rise as you pictured Alexia with your rival. Did she make her feel better than you could? Satisfy her in a way you couldn't? 

That's when the intrusive images flashed in your mind, images of Alexia doing all the things she did to you to your opposite. Did she fuck her the same way she fucked you? Did she go down on her the way she went down on you? Biting at her thighs, making her beg to give her what she wanted, while your fiance smiled up at her with her hazel eyes. 

Her mouth kissing you hours after being with her. That’s when the bile finally rose up from your stomach. You ran to the bathroom just in time to make the toilet as the sick came up. You wiped your mouth with the back of your sleeve, your back slumped hard against the wall before collapsing on the bathroom floor. Your lip quivered as the tears finally spilled from your eyes, your body trembling against the cold tiled floor.

How was this happening? Alexia had proposed to you just last year, you were planning a wedding, a future together, a family. 

What did you do wrong? 

You didn’t know what to do. Should you call someone? Should you call Alexia? No. Should you leave? But where would you go? All your family and friends were back in the UK. You had some work friends here but you weren't close enough for something like this.

Everything was falling apart. Everything you thought you knew was one big lie. How could someone you love treat you like this? How? 

After what felt like hours, you found the strength to wash your mouth and face before carrying yourself back to the living room and opened the ipad back up. Reading the messages that were breaking your heart but you couldn't tear your eyes away.

The messages were short, no more than two lines but every word felt like another blow, another hard hit that made your chest painfully tight. You didn’t realise you were hardly breathing until your body forced you to take one large gulp for air. 

You felt your body go numb when you realised Alexia had met her on your 5th anniversary. 

God, you felt so stupid. You had waited at home for her. You had spent hours cooking a three course meal, all her favourites. 

Your eyes begin to blur again when you read their messages.

Joe - Are we meeting at the restaurant or should I meet you at the hotel?

Alexia - Come to the hotel, I want to see you before I go out

Joe - okay, but this time we have to make the reservation. We missed it last time.

Alexia - well if you hadn't have put on that dress that drives me fucking crazy we would have made it. 

You were broken. 

How was this your Alexia? 

This surely wasn't the same girl that made you feel effortlessly loved? The girl that knew you better than you knew yourself. The same girl that brought you untold happiness, happiness that you never knew existed before you met her. This wasn't the same girl that asked you to dance 5 years ago in the dingy little bar. The girl that had put a ring on your finger promising you a happily ever after. 

How was this her? Your Alexia. Was she even your Alexia anymore?

Nothing felt real. You looked around the living room, it didn’t look right, nothing looked right, nothing was the same. The peace and warmth you felt from the apartment had instantly disappeared, it felt cold, lifeless. 

You jumped when you heard a text come through on your phone, it was from Alexia.

Alexia - Hola, baby, we’re going over game strategy so I will be home a little later today

And there it was, another one of her lies. A heavy weight sunk over your body, making you feel numb to the bone.

You placed the ipad on the coffee table and slowly stood up. Your legs felt like led as you began to walk, you didn't really know what you were doing, your body felt like it was going into some weird overdrive or maybe it was the shock from it all. You stopped and stared at the christmas tree that flickered in the corner, your mind took you somewhere else. You weren't sure how long you were standing there before your legs brought you to your shared bedroom.

—-----------

The familiar sound of keys rattled in the door. It was once a sound you looked forward to, instead your stomach lurched. You took a deep and shaky breath as you got ready to come face to face with your finance, the woman that had shattered your heart into a million pieces. 

“Amor, I’m home.” 

Alexia frowned when you didn’t reply, she removed her shoes and made her way into the apartment to find you. It didn't take her long to spot you in the living room, sitting at the breakfast table. 

The beating in your chest thumped hard when your eyes fell on the blonde. You wanted to hate her, you wanted to instantly fall out of love with her, you wanted to feel nothing when you heard her call you by your pet name, but that wasn't the case. You still felt everything you did before you saw the messages, before you knew the truth.

But you knew where she had been this evening. 

Alexia could instantly tell you had been crying, your blushed cheeks and watery eyes gave you away, not that you were trying to hide it. You wanted her to see the hurt she had caused.

“Bebé? What's wrong?” 

Alexia hurried over to you, she was about to cup your face, but was stopped in her tracks when you moved away. Your eyes met hers, you could see her hair was wet, she at least had the decency to shower before returning home, or make it look like she had just showered after training.

“I know.” Your voice croaked out, the hours of crying weakening your throat.

Alexia’s face frowned in confusion, it instantly annoyed you.

“Que?” 

“Joe.”  Even saying her name out loud made you want to scream.

Alexia’s face dropped, you could see the look of horror as realisation hit her. Her mouth gaped open but no words came out. The silence was deafening, you felt your skin burning, it felt itchy, painfully itchy you wanted to tear it off. After what felt like hours, though it was likely seconds, Alexia finally spoke.

“Wh-what? Who? What do you mean?” The blonde anxiously fiddled with the zip on her joggers. 

You felt your shoulders slump, she didn't even have the decency to just be honest, but why would she? She’d lied this whole time. 8 months. 

“Don’t. Don’t play dumb, Alexia. I saw your messages on your emails.” 

Alexia's frown deepened. A flash of anger flickered across her eyes. “Why were you going through my emails?” 

Was she really going to try and turn this on you?

“What? Are you actually fucking asking me that?” You snapped, your own anger boiling over.

“No! I mean-” Alexia pushed her hand through her wet loose hair, you didn't miss the way it shook. A trait she did when she was nervous. “I don’t know what you’re talking abo-”

“Don’t lie to me!” You shouted, voice cracking. The tears you were trying so hard to hold down bursting at the seams. “Please. Just stop lying, Alexia.” God. You sounded so weak.

Alexia looked at you, those beautiful hazel eyes you loved so much filling with tears. Her foot was tapping against the floor, she looked scared. Good, you thought. She bit her lip so hard it looked like it might bleed. You watched her through blurry eyes, she took a step back from you, covering her face with her hands. Her body stiffened as she took a deep breath.

“She means nothing to me.” Her voice was just above a whisper. But you heard it.

You sucked in a hard breath. Even though you knew what you knew, hearing her confess it hit you harder than you could have imagined. You closed your eyes, trying to compose yourself, but when Alexia put her warm hand on your shoulder you broke down, your skin prickled where she touched you.

“Amor, please. Please don't cry.” The blonde begged. 

You covered your face as the tears streamed down your hot cheeks, you could feel your heart beating painfully fast. It felt like you were about to go into shock, maybe you were, your body felt like it was taking a brutal beating from the inside out.

“You were with her tonight.” You weren't asking. You felt her hand stiffen on your shoulder.

The silence was so loud.

“You were with her tonight, weren't you Alexia.” You repeated. Your tone was sharp. You bluntly moved her hand from you, not wanting her to touch you. You ignored her gasp from the out of character movement from you, but you didn't care. The thought of her hands being on someone else made the pit of your stomach tighten painfully.

You watched as a few tears slipped from her eye’s. You could see the panic starting to hit her. You stood up, you needed to move, you walked past Alexia even though a small part of you wanted to hold her. What the fuck? No. You ignored it. You walked to the open kitchen, you grabbed the sides to help you with your balance, you were sure your legs were about to give up on you, your knees buckling under the turmoil of emotions that ran through your body. 

“I just don’t understand.” You squeaked out, turning your head to see Alexia who looked like a kicked puppy. 

“I am sorry. I-I- she means nothing to me. I swear.” She slowly walked over to you but stopped when you moved away.

You didn't believe her. You would never believe her again.

“You’ve been doing this for months, months Alexia! Lying to me for fucking months, seeing this girl behind my fucking back!” You screamed. Your chest was heaving with anger.

Alexia didn't say anything, what could she say? She stood there looking like she could be sick, the colour draining from her face.

“You asked me to marry you, Alexia. I have a ring on my finger because I love you. Don’t you love me? What have I done wrong?” 

You didn’t know why you had blamed yourself, but it felt like you needed to know. 

Alexia looked panicked, your words clearly making her wince. “No! I do love you! I-I- she is nothing. It’s just sex. It’s just a big mistake. I don’t know why I did it!”

That hurt. You would have some kind of understanding if you and Alexia didn't have sex, but you did. Yeah, of course it wasnt every night, or even every week but you were still intimate. So this must have been more than sex.  

You shook your head, you didn’t believe that, not anymore. You felt so small as your world began to crumble around you. The blonde was now by your side, catching you before you dropped to your knees. 

What was happening? How was this your life right now? It wasn't meant to be like this. Alexia was never meant to be the one that broke your heart.

“Baby, please. I’m here.” She grabbed your body pulling you into hers. 

You had a burning urge to hold her, you wanted to feel safe in her arms like you always did, but you felt weird, her arms didn't feel right anymore. It made you feel sick, you could feel your stomach churning as you pictured Alexia holding your opposite. You flinched away like she was made of fire. 

“Here? You’re here? You havent been here, you’ve been creeping around fucking some girl and god knows how many others behind my back! Don’t you dare say you’re ‘here’. You screamed so loud the neighbours would have heard every word.

Let them hear.

Alexia shrank at your words. You hated that you felt bad. She was the one that had hurt you.

“Why? Just tell me why? Am I not enough?” You felt like you swallowed a stone with that question. 

Alexia sniffled, wiping her tears with her sleeve. It made you realise how little you saw the girl cry. 

“You are everything and more, I swear it. I….I panicked.” Her accent grew thicker as her words shook in her throat.

“What? Panicked for what?” You questioned. 

“After I proposed.” She took a breath for air, her hazel eyes looked more green after she cried. “I panicked and got scared. It was only meant to be once, but then we started planning the wedding. It got more real and I-I just didn't know how to stop.”

“You asked me to marry you!” You said in disbelief. 

“I know! And I still want to!” She whispered.

You scoffed. This girl had some fucking nerve.

“Why would I marry someone who can lie to my face every night? Lie about where she is? Touch someone else and lay in bed with me the same night!” 

The neighbours were definitely getting a show now.

Alexia dragged her face, her puffy lips wet with tears. How could she still look so beautiful?

“I’m sorry. It was all just a big mistake I swear!” She moved closer to you. “Please, amor, forgive me! I have not been myself, I’m so sorry. I love you so much. I want to marry you and be with you! You are my world, my everything! Please! Please forgive me! Please.” She was hardly breathing, her gasps of air were short as the tears came pouring out of her. She dropped to her knees in front of you, her crying getting louder and louder, you thought she might be having a panic attack. 

Your own tears fell from your eyes as you watched the woman you love break down in front of you, you wanted to believe her, but your trust had shattered the moment you read those words. How could you trust her again?

“Alexia.” You whispered her name as you put your hand on her arm. 

The blonde looked up, her wide hazel eyes bore into yours. She looked so tired. She put her hand over yours and stood, her face inches from yours. 

“Babita, please. Please. I love you so much, give me another chance.”

Her large hands came up to your face, you allowed her to wipe the ever flowing tears from your cheeks. Even though it was Alexia who had broken your heart you still needed comfort, you still wanted to feel her. You still loved her.

She took you not moving for a good sign, taking her chances and gently cupping your cheeks. 

“Please, mi amor. I am so sorry. I am such a fool, you’re everything I want. I love you so much. I can’t do this without you.” 

She moved closer to you. Her familiar smell washed over you, she smelt like home. She wrapped you up in a tight hug, you felt yourself lean into her, you didn't know why. Maybe because your whole world had just been turned upside down and you needed to feel something, even if she was the culprit that caused you all this pain.

A couple of minutes passed by, all in silence other than a couple of sniffles from you and Alexia. And in those minutes you weren't sure where you went, it felt like you had left your own body. Like this was all just a big weird dream and you were about to wake up and see that it was all a mistake, see that this wasn't real. 

Maybe you were having a panic attack.

Alexia stroked your hair as your tears still fell, the front of her jumper was wet from your face but you only snuggled more into her.

You hated yourself for it. Why were you so weak? Why were you not screaming and calling her all the names under the sun for breaking your heart? For ruining your self confidence, for making you question everything you thought you knew. Why can’t you do it? 

“Alexia.” You whispered into her jumper.

“Sí, carino?” 

“You-you’ve broken me.” Your voice cracked as more tears came.

Alexia’s tears also sprung to her eyes as she heard your words, her arms held you tighter. She took a big shuddery breath before she kissed your head. “I’m so sorry. I will be sorry that I hurt you, until the day I die.” She confessed. 

Her words didn’t comfort you, not really. They made you wonder about the future you had planned with Alexia. The future you had once been so excited to share with the girl. Now all gone. 

“I will fix this, I will, amor. Please, let me fix this.”

You felt Alexia press her lips on the top of your head. You tried to ignore the warm feeling that swirled inside your stomach. It felt like you were losing a battle with your brain and body. You closed your eyes as a soft kiss was placed on your temple. It was the same spot Alexia kissed every morning. It was so familiar, and yet it felt different. Does it feel different? Or was your brain trying to protect you?

“You’re my world. I promise you I will fix everything.” She whispered into your ear.

Your lips quivered before a small sob escaped your mouth. You felt your eyes release a new wave of tears at her words of declaration, you wanted to believe her. You wanted to believe this could be fixed. Could it? 

Sad watery eyes met yours as you looked up at the girl in front of you. Her hands held your face. It was just you and her, staring at the other. This was the face you wanted to watch grow old. The face you wanted to wake up to everyday. The face you wanted to have by your side for the rest of your life. Now it almost felt like you were looking at a stranger.

Alexia placed her hand under your chin, moving your face to her own. Your body stiffened when you felt her lips press against your own. 

“No.” You whispered weakly as you pulled back.

“Please, don’t do this. I love you with all my heart. Please don’t let this break us.” The blonde whispered as she stroked your face. 

Alexia pulled back slightly to look at your face, her glassy eyes scanned your features, taking in every detail of you. You felt exposed. Completely open to her. It made you feel vulnerable. Alexia had been your world for so long. She made you feel real love for the first time. A love that made you feel protected, seen. 

“I love you.” 

Your brain screamed to run. Leave. Don’t let her fool you. This wasn't right, you knew it wasn't. But your heart didn't agree as you let her kiss you again. The kiss was everything you knew. Her lips were a safe blanket that you could wrap yourself around in. This was what you knew, how were you going to give this up? 

“I love you.” She whispered against your lips as she gently pushed you against the kitchen side. 

“Alexia-”

“Please. I can fix this.” She pleaded as her voice cracked with desperation. 

She leaned her forehead on yours, her body leaning more into you. She closed her eyes but the tears still managed to escape as they dropped on your t-shirt and seeped into the fabric. 

You didn't say anything. All the words you had ever known escaped your brain, leaving you empty. Everything you had planned, all the questions. Gone. You were more ready this time when her lips sunk into yours again, you even opened your mouth, allowing her to push a gentle tongue against yours. You could taste the salt from her tears that stained her lips. 

What were you doing? Why were you letting her in? 

Because you loved her, you loved her with everything you had. Because you were a fool.

Her mouth cascaded down from yours to your jaw, leaving hot kisses on your skin as she made her way down to your neck. You hated yourself when a small groan left your mouth, but it turned into a small whimper as another sob escaped you.

Run.

But you couldn’t, your heart was broken, you needed to feel something, you needed Alexia, she was the one that made everything better, she was the one you went to if you ever felt upset. She was your light. She was who you needed. You just wanted to feel loved even though this wasn't what love was.

Your hands gripped her shirt when she came back to your mouth, you weren't sure if you were going to push her or away or pull her closer. Her kisses grew more desperate once she heard the groan you made, thinking this was the only way to have you back. 

She easily moved you from the kitchen to the bedroom, all while her lips attacked your neck and mouth, making you gasp for air. Your mind was a blur, a blur of pain and hurt. A blur of confusion. 

Your head was throbbing from the headache you caused yourself from crying. You tried to ignore it like the way you ignored the voice in your head telling you to stop this. But you didn't listen.

“I love you. I love you. I can fix us.” Alexia kept chanting.

She laid you on the bed as she slowly removed your joggers. You felt the tears run down your puffy lips, as you reached out for her needing her close to you again. But you couldn't look at her. You couldn't bring yourself to look at the girl you loved and hated.

Both yours and Alexias lips were puffy and swollen from tears. You felt your lips split as you licked them, stinging your plump flesh, you tried to focus on it as Alexia connected your lips once more before she began to move down your body.

“You’re so beautiful. I love you so much, babita. Let me make you feel good.”

You felt your breath hitch as the blonde kissed on your stomach. The familiar feeling of her body pressing on yours grounded you more than you would have thought. You almost forgot about why you were crying. You nearly didn't feel the pain that sunk into every fiber of your body. Nearly.

Her hazel eyes looked up at you as she moved further down. But you looked away, you felt shame flood your chest as you allowed her to remove your underwear. 

“I love you.” She mumbled against your skin. 

You gasped as you felt her tongue swipe through your folds. Your eyes started to wet again as you felt her mouth on you. Her hands gripped at your thighs, pushing you open as she gently licked at your sex. 

You felt everything and nothing. Your body felt like it was on overdrive, wanting to feel Alexia, but wanting nothing to do with her at the same time. You just wanted to feel something. It was an absolute mind fuck. And yet you opened your legs further as the girl wrapped her lips around your clit. 

Alexia stroked your thighs as she used her mouth on you. She kissed your clit before sinking her tongue into your cunt. You felt the way she groaned, probably from tasting your essence as it melted on her tongue. Your own body betrayed you. 

Your thighs started to shake as you felt that familiar swirl start to wash over your body. Alexia could tell straight away. She grabbed your hands that would have normally sunk into her hair by now and placed them on her head. You looked down from the touch, Alexia’s eyes were puffy from crying. She looked at you with a look you didn't recognise. 

Was it regret? Was it hope? Was it guilt for being caught?

Your fingers flexed loosely in her hair as your thighs started to shake. Your orgasm was building but you could tell it wasn't the same, it felt like it didnt know where to go. Or why it was even there. But you let her finish, you let her suck and lick your bud until your body shook against the bed. Your orgasm trickled over your body, leaving you feeling worse than you did. Alexia stayed between your legs to clean you up. 

You felt your chest tighten and your throat close up as a wave of sadness pulled you down. When Alexia reached your face it felt like you were drowning, it must have been your own cries as you shuddered against the bed. 

“Baby, please. Please, I’m here.” 

You grabbed Alexia's hand and pushed it between your legs, you needed to feel something. You still wanted to feel her. You didn't want to feel this sadness that was taking over your body.

Anything. Please feel anything.

“Please.” You begged as you pulled her closer to kiss you.

“I’m here. I’m right here.” She whispered before your lips locked.

Alexia circled your clit a few times before she dipped a single finger into you. You let out a small groan, you could feel you were tight. She pumped her fingers as she kissed your neck, you tried to ignore the tears that fell from her eyes onto your skin.

You hissed as she pushed another finger in. 

“Ho sento. I’m sorry.” She pressed a kiss to your lips as she moved her fingers slowly. “I’m sorry.” 

You grabbed her shoulders as she started to open you up. Her eyes fixed on your face as you closed your own, trying your best to escape today's nightmare. 

“I love you, mi amor. I love you so much.” She mumbled into your neck.

Her fingers got deeper as she moved faster. You finally started to float away as you felt nothing but her inside you, putting all your focus on this one feeling. 

“I will marry you. I want you to have my babies. Please let me.” She started to cry as she fucked you. 

Before you could register what she was saying you let out a loud gasp when she pushed a third finger inside you, but she knew it wasn't a painful gasp. She knew your body, she knew you. Your head dipped back in the pillow as you felt your second orgasm start to rise. Your small whimpers gave you away to the girl above as your nails dug into her arms.

“That's it baby. You’re so good.” She peppered kisses all over your face as she encouraged you.

Your eyes squeezed shut as your orgasm fast apoached. Your thighs shook against Alexia's hips once her thumb began to circle your clit. You felt it. You felt something. other than sadness, just for a few seconds. 

“Don’t stop!’ You begged as your orgasm rushed over you.

“I’m here. I’m here.” Alexia coed at you.

You saw stars as your pussy clenched tightly around the thick fingers. Time stood still as everything went quiet. No voices in your head. No sadness that took over your senses. Your tears stopped for just a moment as you relaxed into the mattress. All the pressure that your body had taken was finally melting away. 

You winced a little as Alexia removed her fingers as gently as she could. You slumped back into the pillow, taking a deep breath of air. You stared at the ceiling before you felt the blonde slot herself next to you. 

“Turn around, amor.” Her breath ghosted the lose her on your neck.

 You slowly moved, you knew she wanted to hold you and you let her without question. 

Was this really your life? Was this really you?

Familiar hands started to stroke your hair. You could feel how stiff Alexia’s body was behind you, maybe she was scared to move in case she frightened you away. 

“I love you.” She whispered again.

You didn't respond. You felt her arm snaking around your side, her hand looking for your own. You didn't think before you gave her what she wanted, her thumb instantly stroked your knuckles. It wasn't long before your tired and sore eyes started to close. 

An hour later you woke up as Alexia stirred behind you, sleeping soundly. You moved as slowly as you could, creeping out the bed as lightly as you could. You grabbed your clothes that you had waiting on the side, along with your suitcase that Alexia missed when she pulled you into the bedroom.

You looked over at her sleeping form, her blonde hair splayed across the pillow, a small frown sat between her brows. She looked beautiful. You almost wanted to climb back in the bed. But you stayed strong. 

“I love you.” You whispered to your lover.

The tears started to form again, quickly falling over your cheeks. You felt sick as you carried your suitcase to the front door. What were you doing? Was this the right thing? Yes. She cheated on you! She’s broken your heart. She doesn't love you like you thought she did. Leave. 

You took a deep shuddery breath before you removed your engagement ring and left it on the side, with the keys to Alexia's apartment next to them. You took one last glance over your shoulder, the Christmas tree caught your eyes as it flickering in the corner. You gently shut the door behind you, a loud sob escaped you as you left everything you thought was your future behind you.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I really loved the Idia's club card, I think it's one of my favorite cards of his, I love the various references to Hercules, the movie, the hairpins, the hoodie, the game pieces, which are very similar to the ones Hades wears in the movie! And I think it's the first time Idia actually looks like he's wearing a school uniform, a school uniform in such a formal way, the sweater and the tie!

I really like this look on Idia too!! The smug expression + hood up suits him well. The tie and sweater vest is also surprisingly so nice on him… 😭

Come to think of it?? This may be the ONLY “Idia in formal wear” outfit that I actually like with my whole chest so far. I don’t find his Nightmare Suit, the birthday lines (Birthday Boy, Union Jacket, Platinum Jacket), or even Suitor Suit super appealing. I think it’s because this one strikes that perfect balance between looking fancy/semi-formal while also highlighting Idia’s true gremlin behavior. The other suits seemed “off” to me because those feel as though Idia is trying to be “cool” or to pass as someone he’s not. EMBRACE YOUR CRINGE AND BE FREE, MY GUY.

I was going to compile a list of references I noticed, but Twitter user @/miu_mt124 already beat me to the punch so I'll link their original post + share their work here:

It's amazing how many references Twst was able to squeeze into a single clubwear card... though I guess it really helps that Hades was shown literally manipulating multiple monster playing pieces in the film. ahudybaysodasda I LSUGHED whEN I NOTICED tHE hAir CLiP SHAPEd LIKE THE lOLLUPIP HaDES OFFerED TO BABY HERc 💀

I also saw some jokes that Idia with his hood up looks a lot like Gregory Violet from Black Butler’s Public School arc. They both have that gloomy emo boi Yana DNA in them 😂

[shakingparadigm]

I'm really enjoying these new glimpses of Till where he seems rather calm? Naturally he still has big feelings and expresses them accordingly, but compared to past instances it's a lot less explosive.

Most of Ivan and Till's fights seem to happen when they're younger. This is most likely because they weren't familiar with each other yet and were still at the age where most things were taken at face value. They're still getting used to each other's "strangeness", and that could be the cause for certain misunderstandings.

By the time Ivan started developing his "attractive" persona, he was much more aware of what made Till tick. Instead of toning down on his behavior, he used it to his advantage.

Throughout childhood, all Ivan knew was that if he performed certain actions he would get a response from Till (whether he intended it or not). Their shenanigans were incredibly childish, but they made a prominent impact on Ivan's perspective. His thoughts gradually transitioned from "I didn't know" to "oh. this is what I need to do so that Till will notice me."

Despite maturing a great amount and presenting a princely image to everyone else, Ivan never grew up when it came to Till. He continued to apply the same tactics from childhood just to keep Till's attention.

This is why the Anakt Diaries mention that though Ivan is mature for his age, he acts childishly when he's with Till. It's what he knows best.

As they grew older, they both became more fine-tuned to certain aspects regarding each other. Ivan understood what would get a rise out of Till and began messing with him on purpose, hoping to get a reaction. Unfortunately for him, Till started getting used to it (for the most part).

Despite his rebelliousness and bold expression, Till is timid when it comes to people. He only attacks when provoked, and unfortunately for someone as sensitive as him, that's quite often. Ivan took great joy in poking and prodding at him until they resorted to pulling hairs.

However, an older Till seems much less inclined to attack a pestering Ivan. In fact, he seems to brush it off suprisingly well. Of course he reacts, but he no longer reacts violently.

He goes back to a neutral (probably mildly annoyed, definitely weirded out) state almost immediately afterwards. The important part is that no hands are thrown. At this point, it's been years of Ivan and Till knowing each other. Till has watched Ivan grow from this gloomy little boy to the literal "Prince Charming" of Anakt, yet one thing has always remained the same: Ivan stayed by his side. Whether they like it or not, being close for so long will eventually endear someone to another. Thanks to the Ivan Exposure Therapy (and probably a bit of his own growing maturity), Till isn't so phased by Ivan's antics anymore. At the very least he seems to reply instead of taking full offense, poking fun at Ivan's lack of a birthday instead of just saying no. Older Till seems less irritated and more like he's just exasperated. Familiar, accustomed to Ivan's presence.

@geospiral already made a great post about what Ivan's side of this whole development might have been like. It's really interesting, so I recommend checking it out!

[pennyserenade]

nothing compares 2 you | dieter bravo x ex!wife reader

summary | a timeline of dieter bravo and his ex-wife's relationship, told in snapshots. rating | (explicit) tags/warnings | smut, mention of drug and alcohol use, angst, language, real yearning hours. word count | 7.8k a/n | happy late birthday to my favorite aries, pedro pascal <3

February, 2010. Someplace in Los Angeles.

Before he is the Actor, he is the Artist.

The art studio next to yours is the size of a closet and it’s his, paid for with his measly actor’s wages. He paints on large canvases with bleak colors and flirts with you three times before he realizes that his reused material does nothing but amuse you.

You can tell he is a man used to getting women easily, and you don’t blame these women: he is a handsome man. He has soft hands, a dimpled grin, and black paint splattered endearingly over his all rugged, too big t-shirts. During one of his lazy flirtations the word “honest” comes to you, and you figure it’s something to do with his eyes — how they’ve got the gleam of truth, even though he doesn’t necessarily strike you as an honest man himself. Maybe this should alarm you, but it’s as exciting as anything has been in months.

He tells you the sun seems to shine eternally in California, and that they always did tell him he was a stormy child, so he paints gloomy when he misses New York. This is a line that works far better than his cheap flirting. Scary as it is, he thrills at the idea of playing his most difficult role for an audience of one: himself, laid bare.

“You any good?” you ask him one day, absentmindedly, in reference to his acting. He shrugs his shoulders. He is letting you into the intimate cove of his inner life: the paintings, the shoe-box closet of a studio. On his canvases, colossal waves defeat tiny, lonely ships; a father holds a weeping mother; a handsome man peers into the mirror of his soul, and finds nothing good.

“Am I any good?” he asks, referring to his art. You nod, finger grazing over the shipwrecked scenes. “They’re sad,” you comment.

“Well, homesickness is a bitch,” he replies. His tongue swipes across his bottom lip in the nervous way you’ve noticed it does. “What kind of art do you do?”

“Happier stuff, sometimes. Mostly right now I’m sketching, looking for ideas. I’d do more models, but can’t find any good models.”

“In L.A.?” he asks. You nod, still picking through his paintings. “I find that hard to believe. I’ll model for you,” he offers.

“What’s your price?”

He doesn’t think it over. He answers, “Free.”

“Oh c’mon.” You look askance at him. “Nothing’s ever free.”

“Alright, then how much can you pay me?”

“I’ll supply lunch.”

He laughs incredulously. “You make no sense to me.”

“I think that’s a good thing. The things that you make sense of seem terribly depressing.” You nod to the painting in front of you, a naked woman stretched out on a mattress, cotton panties with a pink bow tie and a glass of wine in her hand. “Is this what you think femininity is? Breakdowns in pretty underwear?”

Covering your hand, he stops you from flipping through more. “Okay, my price just went up. 10 dollars and lunch. Any other critiques will cost you.” He frowns at the painting, swiping a thumb over the edge. “How do you know that isn’t a real woman?”

You take your hand from him, though not unkindly. You both share the knowing look of two people in the depths of flirtation. “I don’t, I’m being cruel and I’m sorry. But you’re lucky you’ve got a nice nose, because those prices are outrageous.”

His laugh has no room to echo in his little studio, so of course it has no other option but to nuzzle itself in the pit of your stomach. You divert your eyes back to the canvases and their depressing scenes. “I like you very much, despite myself,” you tell him frankly, “but I won’t sleep with you.”

“Why? Afraid of cooties? I’m vaccinated against them.” He lays the charm on thick.

“No. I’ve already had a case or two.” As you look up, you watch his eyes drop to your lips. There is an enticing concoction of nerves brewing inside of you. They churn together mightily as you do your best to make out your next line: “I just don’t fuck actors as a rule.”

He clicks his tongue, leaning in closer. He smells clean, like laundry detergent and toothpaste. “Rosemary’s Baby situation? If so, I get that. That’d do it for anyone.”

“Hardly,” you grin. Your fingers brush against the fabric of his shirt. You tell yourself it’s because you want to keep him at bay, but the surge of excitement you feel doesn’t really indicate that. “It’s just this thing I have. I don’t think artists do well with other artists, regardless of the profession. I’d only make an exception for one man.”

He narrows his eyes, holding himself in the precarious position. “Who?”

“Gregory Peck.”

“He’s dead!” he gawks.

“What a relief, huh?” you joke. “I’d never have stood a chance against him.”

He’s leaning in then, and much to your surprise - and perhaps his too - you close the space between you. It's hardly anything of substance, barely a touch of the lips before it’s over. But he clutches the fabric of your cloth overalls and looks at you like some lovesick puppy, and you know it’s not finished.

There will be more. God, you hope for it.

“If it makes you feel better, I don’t think Gregory Peck would’ve been able to withstand you either,” he mutters.

—

March, 2010

He becomes the exception to the rule. You sketch the curves of his face, shadow in his eyes, pay special attention to the dip in the middle of his lips, and kiss him hard and fast, as though making it rough will make it mean less. He slows you down, laughing lightly.

“Let me be gentle,” he tells you, hand on the small of your back. You nod, nervous - you are always nervous around him, much to your dismay - and he tips back your head with a slight tap to your chin. As you open your mouth, he licks into you, fingers trailing down to the base of your neck and sprawling out across your chest. Dieter touches all that he can, eager and pleasant. He is cool against your skin but warm in your mouth, and you want him so badly you forget yourself, moaning when he presses you against a studio wall with his body.

He smiles against your lips and kisses his way down your body until his knees hit the floor, and there’s no place to go but up. You help him take off your shorts and you go to joke - to say something like “It’s not right that I’m the only one getting undressed” — but it dies in the back of your throat when he puts his hot mouth on you, over the fabric of your underwear. No one has ever wanted you past the point of patience, unable to spare the few seconds taking off your underwear would take. Not until him.

He makes you come without ever taking anything off, and then he does it twice more with your underwear pooling around your left ankle and your right leg propped over his shoulder.

Afterwards he asks if he can take the picture you drew of him home and you say, “Of course,” voice soft, pliable seemingly to affection. He kisses you before he leaves, and you sit in your studio, stunned by this man with his lovely nose and the soft ache you feel at the idea of wanting him more than you should.

You sketch him many, many more times and by the end of the month, you give him what you always intended for Atticus Finch. He draws patterns of the small of your back and dedicates himself to you like a role he’s wanted all his life.

—

November 2010.

He comes to your apartment bearing gifts: a newly purchased DVD player - receipt crumbled in his back pocket - and a movie called The Rapture. His eyes are aglow with boyish excitement when he extends them towards you.

Last time he’d only brought the DVD and you had to tell him that you were a part of the select few individuals in the world who did not own a DVD player. Unfortunately this meant the two of you had to spend yet another Friday night getting well acquainted with each other’s bodies and doing little else. He is not going to let that happen again, he assures, kissing you fully on the lips in greeting. He half forgets his promise when you bite down on his bottom lip, but remembers it when you nearly dropped the movie from your hand.

“You’re insatiable.” He clicks his tongue, a devious twinkle in his eye.

He works the cords into your television and beams when it works on the first try. “I was afraid it wasn’t going to and then I was going to have to ask you to read me the instructions while I tried again. Like some married couple,” he says, stepping back from the television.

The mention of marriage, even in the half baked, joking manner the two of you take to approach everything, makes you feel a bit queasy so you ignore it all together. “What’s this movie about again?” you ask.

“It’s self explanatory.”

“Well, explain it anyways.”

“It’s about the rapture,” he offers simply, with a shrug and an unforgiving smirk.

You make room for him on the couch, picking up the remote. The title screen flashes in front of you and based on the graphics, you get the feeling that this film is low budget. It makes you grin. “What?” he asks, looking at you.

“I don’t know. I had this feeling that you were one of those men who like those unheard of, low budget indie films with nudity and sex in it.” You laugh. “Tell me—am I going to see boobs? A little dick?”

He rolls his eyes, settling in beside you. Plucking the remote from your hand, he turns the movie on. “Maybe if you’re good during the show, but I don’t know. I don’t really like to put out for rude people,” he says flatly. “Now, shut up. You’ll miss the sex and nudity.”

You shake your head, laughing. “Please. You told me you put out for everyone, no matter the situation.”

Without looking at you, he says too soberly: “No. Not anymore.”

You don’t say much else after that. You don't know what else there is to say. After the film, you chalk it up to a crisis of faith. But after the sex, you realize he means: I only want you.

That’s the thing about those actors—you can never know what they mean until it’s too late. He’ll win Oscars for ambiguity.

—

January, 2011.

When you meet his mother, it's by accident.

You’ve been spending more time with him. Recently you’ve even started to call each other boyfriend and girlfriend when forced to put labels on it, but you never crossed this road—the parent one. It seemed far out, in the future, but not necessarily the immediate one. No one brings parents into something this pleasant.

He sleeps over at your place on the weekends, takes you to lunch on Wednesdays, lets you help him pick a home near the studio he’s working for. Then at three o’clock on a random Thursday, he trips over a wire on set and breaks his arm. He calls her before he calls you, and she finds her way to his home, bringing her motherly love into his L.A. life. You aren’t good with parents - not even your own - but you like her. She loves him, calls him Mijo, travels miles and miles and miles for a bone that sits in a cast and can only be repaired with time.

“Mami, this is my girlfriend,” he tells her, smiling ruefully at you. You shrug your shoulders as if to say “What can you do?”

He looks like her, shares the same eyes that you felt were honest, with the same dark brown hair. You are her surprise as much as she is yours, but she takes you in happily, smiling. “I didn’t know-,” is what she says before stopping, thinking better. But you know she didn’t know; it’s only been a handful of months, but you get what her son is like. He doesn’t tell his mother what he should, despite that he seems to tell her everything — a drifter out at sea in the Los Angeles area while she waits patiently for news in her lonely New York.

You witness a divide between them at the quiet dinner you share that first night. She gives him words and he responds with short answers, not harsh or disrespectful, but all of it lacking the ability to be built into actual conversations. He goes to the bathroom midway and you look at her, sorry and worried and she smiles - the same smile he has. You feel like you’ve known her ages when she smiles like that, and you tell her, “I think he’s really upset about his arm. It’s going to put him out of work for a little bit, and he really likes work.”

“Thank you,” she replies, eyebrows creased. “I know that he doesn’t want me here, though. I shouldn’t have come. He is a grown man and I know that but when things like this happen, I can’t help it. He’s my little boy.”

You think back to his paintings, the bleakness of the colors and the darkness of the subjects. “He misses you, I know,” you tell her, “I’ve only been with him for a little bit, but he’s told me a little bit about it. Really, I think it’s the arm. Or maybe it’s me.” You shrug your shoulders. “I don’t think he expected us to meet for a long time.”

“Probably not,” she agrees, smiling a smile that might be a grimace. “I’ve checked in at a hotel, but I just wanted to make sure he was okay.”

“You shouldn’t stay at a hotel.”

“I always do when I come to town.” She waves her hand through the air, dismissing it.

For reasons you can’t comprehend, you tell her, “Come stay with me, at least. I’ve got a nice apartment, close to the beach. He’s in the middle of doing reconstruction on this place, but I’m sure he doesn’t want you to be in a hotel.” You say that even though you aren’t sure; all evidence to the fact that he quite actually does want her in one, for reasons you can’t comprehend.

Before she answers he comes back, looking the same as he did before he left.

“It’s getting late,” he says, looking at you, and then over to her. “You’ve got a place to stay?” he says to her. She nods her head. “I’ll call a ride for you.”

“David,” you intercede, glaring at him now. “I’ll take her. She’s staying with me.”

He shakes his head. “You don’t have to—“ but you stop him with the ice in your stare. He sits back in his chair like a petulant child, and grabs the glass of wine in front of his plate. He drinks all of it down.

You take his mother into your house and she tells you things he probably wouldn’t: the divorce between his father and herself when he was fifteen, the thing that created the sea between them; the way he’s always loved art, that his father was the one who got him into acting and how he found the brush some time in between elementary school and college. She even confesses that her little boy, dark eyed and happy in childhood, is prone to being mercurial, and that’s the thing that makes her worry the most.

“I hope you stay,” she tells you after you guide her to the lone spare bedroom you have. It smells unused, which would embarrass you if not for her comment. “You’re the best one I’ve met. Not that I’ve met many.”

“I will,” you tell her with the certainty you gathered at dinner. You’ve got no evidence for this, either, and yet you feel deep in your gut that it’s the truth.

He calls you when you get to your own bed, no longer pouty. “Thank you,” he tells you in a voice that is looking to be absolved from guilt. You give in easily.

“You’re welcome. Your mother is a nice woman.”

“I know, I know. I love her. I just have a hard time showing it sometimes.”

“That’s worrisome,” you joke, tucking the telephone between your head and your shoulder. You flip absentmindedly through the television stations as you listen to him.

“I think I love you too,” he says. You hear him breathe in after the sentence, like he’s stunned by it himself. “I do,” he adds, clumsily. “I don’t just think. I do.”

You’d never thought about being in love with him. Not until now. “I love you too,” you tell him, slightly bewildered by the fact you can’t pin where it began—or how it’ll end.

“What are we going to do about it?” he asks softly.

“What’s there to do about it?”

A pause. Then, “Nothing. I don’t know. Get married?”

“David-“ you say and he cuts you off, knowing.

“I’m kidding. Not yet.”

“Not yet,” you repeat.

You let it hang between you for five full breaths. It is a lukewarm idea, not altogether unpleasant, but half baked.

“I’ve got to go to sleep. The pain pills are making me drowsy,” he tells you quietly.

“Okay. Goodnight,” you tell him.

You stare blankly at the television, the terrible franchise movie you’ve stopped at not distracting you.

A woman loved. A loving woman. You wonder how these new identities will compete with the other ones, like The artist. The friend. The daughter. The you who likes her own space.

Love is remarkable and unremarkable, happening on a Thursday and leaving you changed for a lifetime.

—

July 2011 A red carpet and a movie premiere, New York, New York.

An interviewer named Natalie asks you what you make of your boyfriend. Cameras flash, people yell at you to smile. You think the question over, and wonder why girlfriends aren’t given public relations too.

“He’s great,” is what you settle with, your smile irredeemably try-hard. They call him Dieter and you have to remember that. Don’t call him David, don't call him David, don’t call him Dav— “Dav—Dieter is very talented and I’m proud of him.”

Later in the week, you will be berated online by women who love him because of the uncoordinated way you stood next to him, and the awkward answers you gave while trying to remember to smile and call him Dieter and to not let them in to your world, even though he wants to hold your hand on the red carpet and doesn’t mind that people know you’re dating. You will laugh, but you don’t ever google yourself again after that.

That night you watch his new movie beside him in a grand theater, sitting in a floor length dress. Afterwards, he introduces you to people you have only ever seen on a screen before. They ask you what you do–if you’re in the “business.” They don’t cringe when you say you’re an artist.

One of them, a man you think is a little too pretentious, says he thinks himself a little bit of an artist, too. David winks conspiratorially at you. You let out a breath for the first time since you arrived at the event; you’re relieved to find your boyfriend does not change in these settings.

“I’m sorry,” he tells you after, when you go home. “About that all, really. I should’ve prepared you better. I knew it wasn’t great for you.”

“I’m not a movie star,” you respond. He smiles endearingly at you.

“Pretty enough to be.”

You grin, charmed. “I prefer the canvas.”

“But us actors, we’re artists too,” he says somberly, before his face collapses into a wide grin.

“You almost made me laugh, winking at me like that.”

You hang your coat next to his, feeling warm and easy. They’d invited you both to an after party, but he just wanted to come back here, kiss all night and maybe smoke some weed. Feels like a Big Lebowski night, he whispered into the shell of your ear on the way out. You don’t have that movie, so you hope he won’t mind the other entertainment you have in mind.

“Did I?” he asks. The question is just something to keep in his mouth as he watches your fingers tease the straps of your dress. They fall off your shoulders. He’s paying attention but he’s not. You are bare naked in seconds, which means the whole night you weren’t wearing any underwear, and that’s great. Hot. He wants to swallow you whole; he wants to marry you.

“Marry me?” he asks, awed

You shake your head, smiling. He grins too, radiant for a rejected man. This is your long suffering joke that will find the path to truth one day. Just not this day. Today all you find is a little more love in you for your movie star.

“I knew you before you were famous,” you say to him, riding him lazily on the couch. He gazes lovingly at you.

“You’re the only one who’s ever known me,” is his response.

—

February 2012

For an anniversary present he buys you an art studio the size of a loft. It’s too much, and he’s happy to give it to you.

“Thank you,” you tell him softly. If you speak any louder, you're afraid your voice might wobble with emotion.

He shrugs his shoulders like it’s nothing. “You showed potential,” he jokes.

Because you were ‘famous’ before he was, he likes to poke fun. He never minded, but now that the tables are turning, you’re reluctant to admit that sometimes you do. It’s not anything to do with the ego — you’re more than happy being the least famous in that respect — but if he comes to an art show of yours, it’s inevitable that a flock of people will gather around him, asking for attention, for autographs. They don’t care about your art as much as your boyfriend. You understand this in his world, with the cameras and the stars, but sometimes the breach of it into yours makes you feel insignificant. You can’t help but think he’s apologizing a little for it with this.

You kiss him so fiercely he stumbles back a little. “I love you,” you say, looking him in the eye.

“I love you too,” he replies softly. “I’m glad you like the present.”

You touch the indent in his lip with your fingertip. “My present seems silly now,” you say, smiling. You feel the movement of his lips as they tug upwards underneath your touch.

“What is it?” he asks.

You look back into his eyes. He looks at you expectantly, waiting, and you lean in, press your ears to his lips. “I got your name tattooed on my ass,” you whisper.

When you pull back he examines your face. You can tell he’s not sure whether you’re joking or not. Really, it could be either. Finally he gives up. “Let me see.”

You lift up your dress. Sure enough, you’ve got a fresh tattoo on your ass, but it’s not his name. Not his given one, anyway. “Bravo,” he laughs, swiping a thumb over your flesh. The letters are small, barely taking up any room at all. He likes it more than he should.

“I think it’s a pretty great present,” he tells you, inspecting the spot for a little while longer.

“It’s silly.”

“Not to me.” He’s on his knees, kissing your thighs. When his teeth glide against your ass cheek, you squeal, turning to look over your shoulder. “Of all the things my name has been spread across, your ass is by far my favorite.”

“I thought it’d make you laugh.” You smile.

“It does, but I love it.” He stands tall, wrapping his arms around you. “I’m going to marry you.”

You arch an eyebrow, turning in his arms to face him. Smiling, you say, “Was that a question?”

“Just a warning for now.”

—

November 2013 A Little Chapel, Las Vegas.

You had the pre-wedding jitters, but now you feel that nothing has ever seemed as right as this: marrying him on a Friday night in a Las Vegas chapel as facetious as you’ve both always treated the topic of marriage.

You knew someday the joke would become serious. He slides a ring that he got three hours ago on your finger, and your two wedding guests clap boisterously. There is the co-star of his who became available at last minute, and a nice lady in the lobby of a hotel who you asked out of fear the co-star wouldn’t come. Your veil is pink and your dress was someone else’s once, in the ‘70s. He wears the beige tuxedo he brought to Vegas for a movie premiere, and a silver heart bolo tie he long ago nicked from your own collection.

A bottle of champagne is opened and shared. He kisses you once, twice, five times, his hand drifting scandalously lower each time. Beneath your white dress is the intricate lingerie set you bought while he was frantically looking for rings. He touches the end of the garter and it doesn’t take much longer for you both to excuse yourselves from the ceremony.

David unwraps you like a neatly wrapped present, preserving ribbons and bows for memory’s sake. Your fingers rub affectionately across his freshly shaven jaw as he tucks his naked body between your bare thighs. “I can’t believe we did that,” you say, voice soft.

“I’m happy we did.” He kisses your bare chest and sinks inside of you, slow, slow, slow, until he is buried within you, close as he can be. You moan quietly, fingers gripping around his arm, your cunt adjusting to the thickness of him.

“I don’t think I've ever been so turned on in my life,” he admits, more sheepish than you’ve ever seen him. His lips brush against yours, before he sucks at your bottom lip. For a moment, he does nothing, only stays buried within you, kissing you tenderly.

Your fingers explore the expanse of his muscular back, traveling over the ridges of his body as his hips raise and he begins to move inside of you. You think you agree: he has never felt this hard - never felt this much - before.

“I love you,” he whispers. It feels like a thing he’s giving to you, asking you to keep safe for him. You wrap your hands around his shoulders and say, “I love you, too.”

After he cums, he says he thinks maybe you’ve been here before, in another life, and that you’ll be this way again, in another. It’s his classic brand of sentimentality and you adore it all the same. If he was any better at knowing himself - if he knew him the way you knew him - it’d come out like this: I love you down to my bones; I love you in a way that defies reason.

You tell him you think so, too.

—

December 2013

When you move into his California beach house, he gives you a key, along with full creative control. “You’re the artist,” he figures, and truth is, he’s never been good at making places his home.

You don’t have much work to do. Because you’ve been with him since he bought the house, it already bears your marks. Pieces of you in the bathroom: the toothbrush, the shower curtain and the color scheme. There is the painting you did of Lee Strasberg in the corridor, hanging like a royal portrait. The bedroom is full of you: your clothes, most of the furniture, one fourth of the sex toys. You renovate a single room in the back, facing the beach, so you can have a home art studio.

You are the happiest you've ever been, and he has never felt so much at home.

—

January 2014

Marriage bliss doesn’t ever stay with you long, but it’s no one’s fault in particular. He picks a grueling role that means something to him and transforms him in ways you don’t understand. You paint when you miss him. Sometimes it happens when he’s in the same room.

Art is important to you both, and the sacrifice feels worth it when you see what he’s completed: A film about the world, about grief, about being human. What you see on the screen is something you recognize immediately. A version of him that you’ve known for as long as you’ve loved him. At the premiere you cry at the opening scene, though it’s not sad. He squeezes your leg.

“I loved that movie,” you tell him on the way home. “Really, it was beautiful. The best thing you’ve ever done.”

He kisses you gently. “I did it for you,” he says.

You believe him.

—

April 2015

You stand at the back of the art gallery, puffing on an indulgent cigarette, fighting off tears. He is on the phone, apologetic and placating.

“Honestly, I forgot. I’m sorry. Really,” he tries to pacify.

“I told you. For months, I told you about tonight.”

“I’m sorry,” he says again. You hate the way his voice sounds: like he’s only sorry because you need him to be sorry.

“I’d never do this to you.” Someone comes out from the exit, and gives you a furtive look. You turn your back to them, embarrassed to be seen like this.

“Don’t do that,” he whines.

“Do what?” you whisper.

“Get mean with me. I am sorry. As soon as I’ve wrapped here, I’ll come to the exhibition.”

You crush out the cigarette with the heel of your shoe, sniffling. “You know, it’s fine. I’ll just see you at home.”

You hear his frustrated groan on the other end. You know that you’re beginning to be unreasonable. This is how your fights have always been: trying to see how far you can push one another until the careful calm gives way to anger. Today he breaks first, faster than ever.

“Goddammit. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

When he arrives, he brings a flock of cameras along with him. They crowd the door and make it hard for people to come in. He squeezes your shoulder in apology, and you take separate cars home.

When you have sex that night, he makes you cum three times. This is how he tells you that you were right—that he’s sorry. Sometimes you think it might be nice if he just said it.

You love him so much it feels like sometimes it might split you apart.

—

February 26, 2017 Dolby Theatre Hollywood, Los Angeles

When they announce his name as the winner for best actor, there is an astonished moment of quiet that washes over your little row. He turns you, wide-eyed and impossibly boyish, a surprised smile turning up at the end of his lips. You rise with him, proud tears prickling at your eyes. He laughs then, his hand gripping at your forearm as you move to embrace him. You the feel the vibration of his joy in your chest.

“Holy shit,” he mutters, running a hand over his face. His mother and little sister crowd around you, patting at his arm, kissing him on the cheek, before he escapes your arms and wanders up the aisle to retrieve his much deserved award.

For a moment, he is the most humble man you’ve ever seen: bowled over by the impossibility of what just has happened to him. He takes the gold statue from the woman’s hand, accepts a hug, and positions himself in front of the microphone. His tie is crooked but he’s smiling so wide that his eyes crinkle, and you feel so thrilled to know that the world loves your husband as much as you do. It has not always been easy to share, but at this moment, you feel the reward for doing it, tenfold. He lifts the statue up slightly, showing you, and you nod, clapping along with everyone else.

“Oh,” he says over the roar of applause. People start to settle into their seats and quiet their claps, and he says it again: “Oh, wow. Um. I don’t think I’m easily robbed of my words, but I would be right now had I not prepared something. Thank you to the Academy, to my director and dearest friend, Thora Mendez, who took this script as seriously as it deserved to be taken and never let anyone tamper with her impeccable vision. Thank you to the three women I brought with me tonight: my mami, who learned English from a television screen when she came here at twelve, and who always let me be whoever I wanted to be; my little sister, Mina, who probably thinks this is the coolest I’m ever going to get.”

He laughs again and Mina rolls her eyes, but smiles widely. “And thank you to my beautiful, beautiful wife, who has read every script with me since I met her. There was no way at all she could know this is where I’d end up. This–” he raises the award high, “--is for you as much as it is for me. In every character I’ve ever had the pleasure to play, there’s a piece of your beautiful mind. I love you all, and would be nothing without you. Thank you.”

When he comes back to you, he puts the award in your hand. It is heavy. You remember a time when he said it wouldn’t matter at all if he won this or not–that it doesn't really mean anything. His bright, dimpled grin shows how much of a liar he’d been.

You kiss him and the entire world fades away around you. All the sparkle and glamor of his world is diluted down to the pure joy of spending this single, incredible moment with him.

“I’m so proud of you,” you whisper, shedding tears. He swipes one away with the pad of his thumb.

“I love you,” he says back, kissing you again.

For the first time in a long time, you feel like you belong in this life of his again.

When he takes you home, it is late, nearly morning. He helps you take off your dress and waits by the door of the bathroom as you scrub off the rest of your makeup. Then he shuts the curtains in your room, blocking out the rising sun, and he pulls you close to him. He kisses your bare shoulder. He smells like mint toothpaste and the faded, warm essence of his cologne.

You part your legs for him and he enters you from behind, molding his body to yours. The sex is slow, his thrusts sleepy and measured, and you hold onto him the entire time, so in love you’re intoxicated by it.

You know will love him forever.

—

August 2017

“What do you mean you’ve found a place in New York?” you ask him, incredulous. He shuffles around your bedroom, hanging up his clothes. Today he looks tired, and it upsets you that you don’t know why. You both talk so little these days, busy and forgetful. But this feels like treason.

“It’s just a little apartment, for when I do plays over there.”

“And you didn’t want to ask me?”

“Ask you what?” he snaps. “I didn’t think you’d be upset about it. I told you a million years ago that I wanted to start prioritizing the theater after I won the oscar.”

“You didn’t think I’d be upset about the fact that you bought a home separate from the one we live in together, and then tell me that you’re going to spend multiple months of each year living there?” You scoff, disbelieving. “Fuck you.”

“It’s not like that.” He has the sense to stop what he’s doing and turn his body towards you. His frown deepens. “You can come whenever you want. It’ll be better for us both.”

“But this is our home.”

“That will be too,” he reassures. “You’ll like it. It’s a studio, with big windows and lots of light. I already bought you a canvas to paint a picture there, too, when you come.”

You feel a lump gather in your throat, but your anger ebbs. He looks so sincere—sounds so sincere—it’s hard to stay angry.

When you walk over to him, he wraps you up in his arms. “New York is home to me. You know that,” he says against the shell of your ear.

You nod your head, but can’t stop the tears from falling down your cheek and onto his shirt. You’re not sure when you stopped being home to him.

—

December 2017 New York, New York

“Baby?” he says.

“Hm?”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

“We can make it better. Maybe go to couple’s therapy.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

“I’m hoping I do,” you breathe out, looking at him.

Your love for him strangles you with its might.

—

February 2018 New York, New York

The acrid taste of failure makes eating an unpleasant task. You know you shouldn’t think of it this way, have tried not to, but you can’t help it. Your marriage is ending and your heart feels like it’s decided to beat slower today, just to torture you.

Or maybe it’s serious, solemn as your lunch-time confession to Dieter. You said you want a divorce and now your heart wants to stop all together, and is maybe making an honest attempt at it. There are old people who die of broken hearts, so why shouldn’t there be a few younger ones that do it, too?

After lunch you considered just going back home. You were tired, anxious, didn’t quite feel right trapped up in Dieter’s studio apartment anymore, waiting for him to come back from his stupid fucking rehearsals. But something felt unfinished, incomplete, so you went back to the apartment and now you wait, staring down at a soggy bowl of cereal while his shower runs.

Maybe you should join him, one last time. The very last time. Bile rises in your throat for the millionth time and you know just the fix for this terrible, never ending nightmare.

When you peek your head into the bathroom, it is filled with steam. He doesn’t remember to turn on the fan, never does. You don’t do it for him this time, just step inside with your surmounting grief and a desperate look in your eyes. Dieter wipes away some of the fog from the shower door. “Everything okay?” he asks over the spray of water. You don’t answer him.

You turn around while you undress, and he pretends not to notice. But he does notice, more than he’s ever noticed before. It’s like the last moments before something tremendously terrible takes over and everything changes: it goes so slow, but later it will feel like it happened in seconds. Time is unjust, senselessly cruel.

His soul feels like it’s being extracted from his body as you step inside the shower with him, the heavy weight of your united undoing drowning you. He wants to confess all—feels like an atheist on his deathbed, turning to God as you wrap your frame around him and cling. Like the fabled man pleading for eternal salvation in his dying hours, Dieter holds your head to his chest and wishes to give you years worth of devotion in seconds. Anything, so long as you won’t give up on him. Please, please, he says without saying, warm hands running over your back. I’ll be better, he longs for you to understand.

But you do understand: you’re no God. If he wishes to enter the church of you, become a devoted pupil, he’s going to be disappointed once more to find the thrum of humanity pulsing in you. Pure flesh, all human. You nag because he makes you nag and a million other things that he doesn’t like—that same old story, repeated and rehashed a million different ways. The moral of it: he doesn’t like you, not really, because you’re not fun enough and you hold him back and he wants more, and you don’t like him because he’s made you nag and you feel like a monster, and you remember once that you had been fun. You recall a movie about a woman without a face he showed you, and you are sick to know that you now resonate with her. None of this is fair and he’s never been religious for anything but the stage, anyway.

This is only scared cowardice because you’ve plunged him into the unknown.

He kisses you first, holds you up, swallows a mouthful of your moans, licks between your legs until the water is tepid. You don’t cum. He doesn’t get all the way hard, only works his way up to semi-erect, then softens completely under his own embarrassment.

They all said marriage wasn’t easy but he figured, sorta, that you’d both be different somehow. At forty, he is officially one year older than his father was when he got divorced from his mother. Maybe you didn’t ask for a divorce last year on purpose, just to give him something, in the grand scheme of things.

Your gesture says: We got a bad one, too, Bravo, but at least you ousted your parents, yeah? And morbidly enough, when he’s really bleeding out about this all later, the thought will soothe him. No mind that he provided no help, that you did it by yourself, because you are thoughtful, selfless, the best wife.

He will miss you more than you think possible—will, too, feel like he’s dying after you get on the plane home, to see your first round of lawyers. The play he rehearses for will be deemed his best yet, but it’s because in the weeks that follow your terrible lunch and your terrible shower, it will be all he allows himself to do in order not to ask you to reconsider him, as a whole.

Because he knows this: he will never be the husband you need, nor the one you want, and it took you so long to ask, didn’t it? You really thought it over, took a plane ride with the thought and still felt it strongly enough to ask after.

—

March 2018

You sign the divorce papers in separate places. He’s got a girl waiting for him outside in the car, half his age and stoned out of her mind. She thinks he’s signing on for another movie because that’s what he told her he was doing. At home, you’ve got a can of black paint and a painting he never finished, waiting for you to fix it or deface it. You’re not sure which yet. A marriage dissolves and takes you both with it.

You will host a slew of successful art shows in the months to come and he won’t work for the entire year, theater or otherwise. You think he’s being merciful enough to disappear from the public eye.

The truth is worse: he loves you so much he can’t bring himself to do anything but to try and forget it. He buries his love for you in a hundred people who aren’t you. Then he anonymously buys a painting of yours for more money than you’d ever think to ask, just because he’s so sorry it makes him sick.

—

March 2019

He buys a book about Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor, who married and divorced twice, and in his first film since your divorce, he plays a doting husband. If it didn’t make him want to die, he would be delighted by a review that says: “For all of his celebrated range as an actor, Bravo oddly fails to capture the sincerity the role requires to make it believable.”

Instead, he calls you. You pick up after the second ring.

“Hello?” you say, a question. “David? Is that you? Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” he replies. The sound of your voice works as a balm to his worries. He feels like he can breathe for the first time in months. The relief is so palpable, it nearly overcomes him. “I’m sorry if I’m interrupting you while you’re doing something.”

“No, you’re not. I was sketching,” you tell him. He forgot how kind you could be. How self-sacrificing. He misses you.

“I didn’t know if you’d pick up,” he laughs softly. “I haven’t talked to you in a year.” He can hear you shuffling around on the other side, and he knows you’re sitting down.

After a beat of silence, you say, “I shouldn’t have, but I saw your movie and it was bad and I wanted to tell you that but then I heard you, and suddenly I wanted to tell you it was good.” You laugh, too. “It wasn’t so bad. Not really. I was just angry when I watched it. I’m happy you called.”

“Me too,” he replies, meaning it with all his might. “I’m happy you thought it was a bad movie because it was. I’m sorry.”

“For the movie?” You laugh again.

“For everything.”

“Oh, well.” There’s a pause, and he can particularly see you at home, on the couch, shrugging despite the fact that he can’t see you. It makes him smile to remember you like this. “I’ve forgiven you.”

“Just now?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s really good of you.”

“Mm,” you acknowledge, “I just don’t want you to make any more shit movies. I used to know you, and that’s embarrassing for me.”

He laughs so hard he starts to cry a little, mostly because he misses you, and because you’re being so nice when you shouldn’t. He clutches the phone in his hand and feels the love in his chest. It’s a heavy thing. “I miss you,” he says. “Not that I mean anything by that. I just needed you to know that.”

“I miss you too, Bravo. Next time you’re in LA, come say hi. I don't want to be your stranger.”

“No, I don’t want that either,” he says. “I’m in town next month.”

“Okay. Let’s have lunch at my house.”

“Okay,” he agrees. “That’d be nice.”

When he hangs up the phone, he feels better than he has in years. He knows he can’t go back with you, that what’s done is done, and he’s sorry, but he’s happy to be going forward now.

You’re the greatest thing that will ever happen to him. This he has, and always will, know to be true.

[shonen-brainrot]

Home in unexpected place - LOV x birthday!Reader (fluff)

masterlist

NOTE: A very dear friend of mine (@doumadono) is celebrating her birthday tomorrow (May 25th), and after reading so many of her incredible stories, I felt inspired to give something back. She’s brought comfort and joy to so many of us through her fics and emergency requests, so I wanted to do something special to show my appreciation!! I know I’m a little early with the birthday gift, but since I’ll be away from my computer tomorrow, I’m posting it today. The story features a quirkless!Reader who accidentally ends up in the League of Villains, and once Tomura realizes she’s his soft spot, he decides to surprise her with a birthday gift (yes, even our gloomy king has his moments.) So with that said: I want to wish you the happiest of birthdays, filled with joy, warmth, and everything you love most. May all your dreams come true, and may your days ahead be filled with passion, creativity, and endless love 💙

Calendar dates never held any real significance in a society so obsessively fixated on heroes and their accomplishments. 

After your parents were killed in a warehouse shootout — an incident sparked by an inexperienced hero who, rather than apprehending the villain, allowed himself to be threatened, endangering everyone nearby — just another casualties in a city that chewed up the weak and spit out their bones — you slipped through the cracks of the system and disappeared into the kind of existence that asked no questions and offered no candles.

Birthdays were for those who had someone — families, safety nets, love wrapped in frosting and candles.

You had a switchblade, a too-big hoodie, and a scar across your ribs that hurt when it rained. So when the League picked you up — more like found you mid-fight, bleeding but still standing against two quirked villains three times your size — they saw something feral in your eyes and made a different kind of choice.

They chose to keep you.

To offer you shelter — skewed, makeshift, but still a roof to shield you from the world. It wasn’t much, but it was more than nothing.

While you lay resting, your wounds carefully tended by Kurogiri’s quiet efficiency, the remaining members of the League convened in the dim glow of their hideout to deliberate on what, exactly, to do with you.

It was Toga who broke the silence first, her voice lit with curiosity and giddy delight. She had made Skeptic pull surveillance footage, eager to study every detail. “She’s quirkless,” she had gasped, her eyes sparkling with fascination. “But look at her move. That’s better than a Quirk. That’s art. She’s art. I’d love to stab her. Just a little!” Her grin was wicked, dreamy, like she was watching a ballet danced in blood.

Tomura had slouched deeper into his seat, disinterest painted across his scarred face like always — but he didn’t argue this time. In fact, he mulled it over in the way only he did, fingers twitching, lips twitching, mind always working. And in the end, he’d offered a half-shrug and a low mutter, “Another pair of hands won’t hurt. She fights for the right cause.”

And just like that, your fate was sealed — folded quietly into the chaos of their broken little family.

A few months after you joined, Toga discovered your birthday. Of course she did.

“It’s totally today,” she declared to Spinner one morning, licking a streak of strawberry jam off her knife with gleeful nonchalance. “Skeptic owed me a favor, so I told him to dig up everything about her. Officially a spring baby. Isn’t that adorable?”

Spinner glanced up from the game he was half-playing on his handheld console. “We should do something for her,” he suggested, already picturing something small but meaningful.

Toga grinned, all teeth and mischief. “I’m baking cupcakes for Y/N! And you’re helping, whether you want to or not.”

Tomura Shigaraki happened to pass by the common room just as they were discussing cupcake ideas for your birthday. He paused — barely a second too long. It wasn’t like him to care about birthdays. The very idea seemed trivial, even irritating. Another year closer to entropy, to dust. 

But you were different. You weren’t like the rest. You were always gentle with them — even with him. Even when he was unkind, withdrawn, clawing at the raw edges of himself in the middle of sleepless nights, you stayed. You never pushed, just offered your quiet comfort. Your presence. Your warmth. The kind he didn’t think he deserved, and certainly never asked for, yet somehow found himself seeking more often than not.

He remembered all those late nights — when he’d spoken aloud thoughts he never meant to, when he forgot how to feel like a person, and you’d simply been there, grounding him.

You never expected anything in return. That made it worse. Or better. He wasn’t sure.

So maybe it was only fair. Fair to offer a gesture, however small, in the name of the day you’d been born into this mess of a world. He didn’t think you were the type to care about celebrations either — but that wasn’t the point. The point was you.

And Tomura Shigaraki wanted to see you smile.

"You? Shopping?" Dabi drawled when he overheard Tomura talking to Spinner about heading to the mall, adjusting his face mask and tugging his dark-indigo hoodie into place. "There’s no way I’m missing this. Watching you wrestle with capitalism sounds like the best entertainment I’ll get all week. I’m coming with ya."

That was how Tomura ended up in a shopping mall. A bright, clean, noisy mall. The kind of place with polished floors and food courts and bored teenagers.

And he was with Dabi, who had insisted on tagging along the second he heard the word mall. He’d probably run out of cigarettes again and figured it was safer to get them himself rather than ask Tomura to do it for him. Shigaraki always picked the wrong brand — some slim, dainty sticks that looked like they belonged in a perfume ad rather than between Dabi’s scarred fingers. And of course, every time, Dabi would give him that withering look, light up anyway, and complain loudly about how it was actually impressive for a man to consistently choose “cigarettes made for women with tiny hands and broken dreams.” 

Tomura stared at a storefront glittering with overpriced items and LED signs. "This is stupid," he said under his breath.

"Yeah, but you’re already committed," Dabi shrugged, sipping something out of a bubble tea cup he definitely didn’t pay for.

They stepped into a shop that smelled like sugar, synthetic peaches, and overwhelming pinkness. Every surface was either glittering, pastel, or plush — usually all three. 

Tomura looked like he’d been sentenced to the ninth circle of hell and had taken a wrong turn straight into a teenage girl’s dreamland. "Why are all the bears smiling like they know something?" he asked, eyes narrowing at a display of aggressively adorable plushies.

"Because they’re judging you, handyman," Dabi replied dryly.

"I should decay the whole shelf."

"And I should get a lobotomy, but here we are," Dabi muttered, trailing after him.

Tomura’s hand hovered over a round, pastel cat pillow, complete with a pink bow and an expression of insipid contentment. He picked it up gingerly, holding it like it might explode. "Would she like this?"

Dabi leaned against a shelf of glittery pens. "She is quirkless, fights grown men and still nearly wins. But yeah, give her the meow-meow. Real intimidating."

Tomura growled and decided to take the pillow nevertheless.

Two stores later, Dabi had slipped a couple of snack packs into his hoodie for Toga — because if he didn’t, she’d pester him for the rest of the week, wailing dramatically about how he never thinks of her needs. 

Tomura, on the other hand, was clearly spiraling. “Y/N doesn’t like useless crap,” he muttered, clutching the strap of his own worn bag. “It has to mean something.”

“Then why are we in a store that sells erasers shaped like sushi?” Dabi asked, voice deadpan.

“You’re not helping.”

“I’m the only reason you haven’t imploded from social contact yet, dumbass.”

They passed a leather goods shop. Dark displays gleamed under golden lighting — tough, practical, functional. 

Dabi stopped and nudged Tomura with his elbow. “She likes useful stuff, as you said.”

Tomura’s eyes landed on a small leather backpack in the window. It was compact, dark brown, rugged. It didn’t scream delicate or feminine — no frills, just clean stitching and durability. It reminded him, painfully, of the last time he saw your old backpack ripped apart mid-mission by a hero’s blast, your face blank but eyes dark with unspoken disappointment.

“…Not terrible,” Shigaraki stated softly, scratching his arm.

“High praise,” Dabi drawled. “Want me to distract the clerk?”

“No. We’re paying for this.”

Dabi actually choked on his own spit. “We’re what?”

Twenty minutes later, the backpack was neatly wrapped in tissue and bagged. Tomura held it like it might catch fire. “I hope the gifts will make Y/N smile,” he muttered.

“Oh my god, you care,” Dabi sang behind a snort.

“Shut the fuck up.”

“You want her to smile. You fucking soft, decaying bastard.”

Tomura adjusted the bag’s strap over his shoulder. “Stop bragging and move.”

They were halfway across the food court when Dabi stopped dead, lifting index finger to point toward a glowing novelty photo booth, obnoxiously pink and buzzing like a trap.

“No.”

“Come on. Imagine her face when she sees your mug in sticker form. We’ll slap it on her notebook. So sentimental.”

“You’re deranged.”

“You fucking love it.”

Tomura didn’t answer — but he didn’t walk away either.

The photo strip was a four-frame descent into absolute anarchy.

First frame: Dabi, grinning like a delinquent cartoon character, struck finger guns at the lens. Tomura, beside him, wore the expression of a man moments from unleashing death upon the mall.

Second: Dabi licking Tomura’s cheek. Tomura mid-snap, clearly a second away from disintegrating the entire booth and Dabi with it.

Third: Both flipping off the camera.

Fourth: Blurry. Possibly due to an accidental fit of rage.

Dabi also managed to wrangle one semi-normal photo out of Tomura — just one, printed on glossy sticker paper. 

Tomura hadn’t been thrilled by the idea (in fact, his death glare could’ve curdled milk), but by then, his patience had already been whittled down to dust. Arguing with Dabi felt like trying to set fire to water: exhausting, infuriating, and ultimately useless. So he sat there, jaw clenched and eyes tired, letting the shutter flash without protest.

Dabi, of course, grinned like he’d just won the war. He examined the strip, smug smirk plastered on his scarred face. He also checked Tomura’s pic, nodding. Without ceremony, he tucked them into the shopping bag with the leather backpack and cat pillow. “Perfect,” he declared, like he’d just found a masterpiece.

You were in the common room, hood over your head, picking broken strings off a guitar you found in a dumpster last month.

You didn’t hear them come in. Not until Tomura cleared his throat like he was allergic to the very idea of saying something nice.

You looked up from the couch, only half-alert, already suspicious. He was standing there, hood down, holding a paper bag like it might explode. Dabi leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, grinning like a bastard who knew exactly what was coming.

Your eyes narrowed. “Did you rob someone?”

“No.” Tomura’s voice was flat. Immediate. Defensive. Dabi snorted. “Not this time.”

Tomura extended the bag toward you without ceremony. You didn’t move. “What is that?”

“It’s nothing.” “Sure doesn’t look like nothing.” He rolled his eyes. “It’s your birthday, dumbass. Take it.”

Your brain stalled. The words hit harder than they should’ve. You blinked at him like he’d just spoken a foreign language. Birthday? You hadn’t heard that word directed at you in, well, long enough. You put the guitar aside and got up. Upon walking to Shigaraki, you reached for the bag slowly, like it might vanish.

Inside, there was a leather backpack, sturdy and scuffed like it could survive the apocalypse. Your fingers brushed across it, and the material creaked beneath your touch. Nestled beside it was a plush cat pillow — ridiculously soft, very girlish, ears flopped to one side like it had just woken up from a nap. And then something slipped out when you pulled the backpack out of the shopping bag: a small photo strip, creased at the edges, and a loose snapshot.

You picked it up, stared, and then snorted loudly. Then you laughed — an honest, bright sound that surprised even you. It bubbled out, cracked your ribs open a little.

“Is this—” you wheezed, “why is Dabi licking you?”

“Impulse,” Dabi explained matter-of-factly, way too proud. “Probably the grossest thing I’ve ever done. And that’s saying something.” Tomura’s face was turning red. Real red.

You looked up at them, something tight in your chest loosening without permission. “…Thanks,” you whispered quietly.

Tomura shoved his hands into his pockets and looked away. “Don’t make it a thing.” But you saw the twitch at the corner of his mouth. The tiniest hint of a smile. Was this bastard actually proud of himself for making you smile, even if just for a heartbeat?

Dabi clicked his tongue. “"Alright, alright," the dark-haired muttered, backing toward the door. "I’ll leave you two alone so you can talk or whatever.”

Before either of you could reply, Toga burst in like a sugar-powered tornado. “Treats?!” she chirped, beaming as she skipped over and grabbed a fistful of Dabi’s hoodie, tugging on it like a child with a vending machine.

Dabi didn’t even blink. “Yeah, yeah, shut the hell up, you rabid gremlin,” he grumbled, digging into the oversized pockets of his hoodie. With a rustle of plastic, he pulled out a handful of snack packs and tossed them into her waiting hands. “Got your junk food, didn’t I?”

Toga’s eyes lit up as she clutched the treasure to her chest like sacred relics. “You’re the best best best friend ever, Dabs!” she squealed, spinning once in place. “Oh! The cupcakes are in the oven — almost ready — and then we’re gonna have a real birthday party for Y/N! Mr. Compress even brought champagne!”

She winked like this was the pinnacle of villain luxury.

Dabi just sighed and lit a cigarette with his index finger with the look of a man who already regretted all his life choices.

Tomura lingered near the couch after you went back to take a seat on your previous spot. His hands were still buried in the depths of his hoodie, shoulders slightly hunched, like he was holding in too many things at once and didn’t know which ones might slip out if he moved too fast.

You turned your eyes to him, expecting him to mumble something vaguely sarcastic and disappear. Instead, he cleared his throat. It sounded less like a habitual tic this time and more like he was preparing for something. 

He scratched lightly at the side of his neck, fingers twitching as if they were debating destruction, then stopped. He didn’t meet your gaze right away. But his voice, when it came, was low and raspy, almost too soft to belong to a man who could erase entire buildings without blinking.

“...So yeah, once again, happy birthday,” he said.

You smiled softly at him, nodding your head in acceptance. 

He drew a breath, deep and uncomfortable. “I know I don’t say stuff too often...” A pause, long enough for your heart to trip in your chest. “But I mean it.”

Your lips parted, stunned into stillness.

He looked down, then quickly back up at you like he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to say the rest if he lost your attention. “I’m glad you're here.” His voice dropped even lower, rough around the edges, quieter still. “You put up with a lot of shit. You could’ve walked, yet you didn’t.”

You swallowed, the heat behind your eyes building unexpectedly.

Tomura shifted his weight, fidgeted. "You’ve been… kind. To me. And I don’t— I don’t get a lot of that. Not really. But you—” His throat bobbed in a swallow. “You’ve shown me warmth. A lot more than I deserve.”

His fingers curled into fists in the pocket of his hoodie, knuckles pressing against the fabric.

Your heart twisted. You knew what this cost him. To say anything at all. Let alone this.

He looked away again, face stubbornly red now. “Don’t make it weird,” he muttered, too late. “Just know I notice. And I’m not… I’m not ungrateful.”

You didn’t say anything for a moment. You couldn’t. Your mouth was full of emotion, unspoken and thick with the weight of everything you’d carried together.

But you got up and stepped forward, closing the distance between the two of you. And you touched his sleeve. Light and careful touch like reaching out to a star you weren’t sure would burn or bless you.

“I notice too,” you whispered. “More than you know, Shigaraki.”

He didn’t speak. Didn’t blink. But his hand, the one closest to yours, shifted, not in hesitation, but in a deliberate choice. He took your hand in his. Carefully. His fingers curled around yours, slow and cautious, as if you were something delicate — something he didn’t want to break. His pinky hovered just slightly above your skin, raised intentionally, a quiet precaution so he wouldn’t brush you with the part of himself that could destroy everything.

That alone made your chest tighten.

You smiled — soft, honest smile — and rubbed your thumb gently over the top of his palm. The skin there was rough, dry, but warm beneath your touch. “Thank you for the gifts,” you gave a nod, your voice low, as if you were afraid speaking too loud would shatter the moment. “These are beautiful. Especially the pictures. I’m going to put them in that scrapbook album I’ve been working on…”

His crimson eyes flicked toward you.  

You stepped a little closer, still holding his hand. “And thank you for reminding me that birthdays can actually be really nice.”

Then, without thinking — or maybe because you’d thought about it too much and couldn’t bear to let it pass — you rose on your toes and pressed a light kiss to his cheek.

Tomura froze. He blinked, mouth parting slightly like he’d just seen lightning strike an inch from his face and wasn’t entirely sure if he’d survived or imagined it.

You might’ve teased him, but the moment was too real for that. 

And then—

CLAP! CLAP! CLAP!

“Woooo!” Toga’s delighted squeal rang out like a firecracker, hands clapping with a grin stretched ear to ear. “Finally! Took you two long enough! You look cute together! Ayyye!”

You startled, and Tomura snapped his head toward the doorway just in time to see Spinner leaning into the room, fingers stuffed between his teeth as he gave a loud, impressed whistle.

Behind him, Dabi stood with his arms crossed and a grin on his face so wide it looked carved into his skull. “Didn’t think you had it in you, Scratchy,” he drawled, eyes gleaming with the kind of teasing that promised years of fuel. “That was almost romantic. A shame she had to be the one to take a breaking step though, handyman.”

Tomura’s eye twitched.

For a second, you thought he’d combust.

Instead, he turned back to the door, shoulders rising slightly, like a threat. His voice came out low and cool, “Get out.”

Spinner’s grin faltered. “Okay, okay. Damn.”

Toga giggled, twirling away from the door. “But we’re starting the party soon!”

“Out.”

With a collective groan and a shuffle of mischievous retreat, your very own band of misfits vanished again into the hallway.

The room fell quiet once more.

Tomura exhaled and looked down at your joined hands. He didn’t let go. Not yet. “…You really liked the gifts?” he asked, voice a whisper. 

You smiled. “I love them.”

And when he looked at you this time, it wasn’t with fear or doubt or any of that old, haunted tension. A serene gaze, the kind worn by someone who takes quiet pride in their actions.

The warm scent of freshly baked cupcakes slowly drifted through the air, weaving its gentle magic around a family forged in the fires of fight and misunderstanding. They gathered — scarred, battered — around the fractured remnants of a shattered world, united in their celebration of one singular, mere soul: you.

For the first time in what felt like forever, something inside you softened. Not faith in the world itself — that had long been broken — but in them, in this ragtag group of individuals who had somehow become your family.

And in the gift they offered you today. A gift far greater than anything wrapped in paper or tied with ribbon.

A home, found in the most unexpected of places.

divider by @doumadono

[frxxxncx]

happy birthday - c. seungcheol

»idol!¡Choi Seungcheol x fem!¡reader.

»Summary: It´s midnight and you´re alone in your apartment for your birthday.

»Tags: smut (MDNI), oral (f. receiving), cunnilingus, pet names, establish relationship, idolau, fingering, countertop oral(?, body worship, dom!seungcheol, sub!reader, reader is mention to have her ears pierced, seungcheol is strong af.

»Words: 1.4k (idk)

note: i feel like as much as Cheol likes people to congratulate him on his birthday, he would try his best to do the same for his partner, idk, it was my birthday like three days ago and i just miss him so much ;c

note 2: Any typo or incoherence that you might find was completely intentional, it’s for the sake of learning about my mistakes.

Your hair tickled on the back of your neck, the soft air of the night making it dance on your skin.

In this particularly cold night, you looked at the moon with a solemn expression in your face, you were sitting in the balcony... alone, with the big and shining sphere who has always been the witness of your bittersweet nights filled in loneliness, but also bystander of those you spent with company.

The memories of his warm body beside you, tugging you into a warm hug seem very distant, like they have been only a long and wonderful dream.

You closed your eyes trying to imagine your boyfriend being there, his hoarse voice congratulating you for your birthday as soon as the clock hits midnight like he always used to do.

Filling your face with kisses and caressing your body with softness, but he wasn't there.

It's been four months since the last time you saw him, his schedule always filled to the brim, presentations, concerts, interviews, flights, pre-recording, you didn't know what to do, you talk all the time, texts, calls, FaceTime, but it's not enough, it's just to little of him for you.

You hugged yourself and the clock rang announcing midnight.

"Happy birthday to me" you said while an uncontrollable tear slipped through your reddened cheek.

You got up, and palmed the dirt of your shirt to get inside the apartment. Dragging your feet, you threw yourself in your bed, crashing into the mattress, hurting your back with the tv controller that was laying there before.

You took the controller from behind your back, to settle in the bed hugging your pillow tightly, arching your back making your shirt -your boyfriend's shirt- lift.

"Fuck, what a nice view" the velvety yet masculine voice of your boyfriend rang in your ears, and startled you sat in your bed.

There he was, standing in the door frame, with a big box of chocolates, a bottle of wine and a cute bouquet of your favourite flowers. His pearly smile lighted the gloominess in the room, making your heart flutter.

"Happy birthday, baby" he said sweetly but with an apologetic smile, maybe thinking you were upset by his tardiness.

You wanted to cry big time, you were certain that he was extremely tired from his rehearsals, but yet you were so happy that he took the time to come.

Euphoric you got out of bed, running to him and jumping on his arms, pinning your legs on his hips and locking your arms in his neck. Seungcheol, was in a tough position, his arms were full with the gifts and now you were clinging onto him like a tick, he has to admit it, his core balance is pretty sick.

Your face rested in the crock of his neck and the woody smell stroke your nostrils, and with that you were sure that him being there was not a dream.

You raised your face, his eyes were like two shining stars and his sweet smile almost made you melt in his arms. With his hands still very occupied, he managed to hug you back and give a loud kiss on your temple.

"I missed you so much" he whispered in your ear, his soft lips caressing your earlobe sending shivers down your spine.

A chill ran down your body making you tighten your grip on his neck.

"I missed you too, Cheolie"

Seungcheol, who was somehow still lifting you, got out of the room and went straight to the kitchen, putting everything in place, the chocolates in the table, the flowers in the pot and the wine, well, the wine in the wine fridge. When his hands were free he decided to sit you in the aisle in the middle of the kitchen.

Your legs and arms untangled from his figure, but he didn't move an inch, with your legs on each side of his hips, he started to leave kisses in the soft skin of your neck, sweet kisses in the freckles of your shoulders, but biting and sucking your collarbone.

His black shirt which you were using was starting to get in the way and quickly he got rid of it. He admired your bare chest, your beautiful and delicate skin, your breasts that fit in his hands just perfectly.

He kept kissing your skin while his hands were now fondling your breast enjoying the soft moans that escaped your mouth. A loud whimper dance away from your mouth, when his lips started to give pecks at your breasts.

He missed you so much, he just wanted you to touch you, draw your whole body with his fingers, engrave every curve of your body in his memory.

The tips of his fingers were now caressing your thighs doing imaginary figures, stroking with care. His kisses got to the base of your stomach, your fingers were starting to curl thrilled.

"God, you're so perfect" he whispered against your belly, making you shiver.

Your hands squeezed tightly the edge of the isle, knuckles whitening at the action and almost losing feeling in your fingers. You laid, your body suddenly feeling heavy, a whine slipped from your lips as Seungcheol’s fingers ran over your clotted cunt, just a little caress over your clothes making you shiver, not even directly and still it felt so good.

He tugged with his thumbs in the elastic of your underwear, stroking faintly with his fingers the journey to your ankles, making your skin burn exquisitely.

Now with your underwear long forgotten in some dark corner of the kitchen, Seungcheol's fingers travelled through the inside of your thighs once again.

As his digits got closer and closer to your core, he stopped, gripping the soft flesh of your legs tightly, making you moan.

Seungcheol put his rough palms in your knees, and testing your flexibility he pushed as much as he could without hurting you, his eyes travelled from your eyes to your cunt, licking his lips at the stirring view, your core sopping in your arousal.

His breath was hot against your wet and puffy lips, how was it even possible for you to feel this worked up when you haven't even started yet?, you were eager to know what was about to come next.

Like two petals the kisses were soft and silky, lips dancing skilfully on your cunt, making you chant his name in an obscene mantra, he drank till the last drop of your arousal, like it was one of his favourite wines.  

His tongue strokes over your sex, drawing fat strips with the hot muscle, enjoying your exquisite flavour like a starving man, but also pleased for being able to make you moan just like a porn star.

You could feel his hot tongue inside of you, his nose bumping with your clit, making your toes curl, you are not sure if it is because you love him so much, but Seungcheol is just so fucking good at giving you head, he knew where to touch, where to suck, he knows your body like the palm of his hand and that makes you even wetter.

And when he pressed his big hand onto your belly you felt how the coil that has been building up started to erupt, like firework exploiting inside of you, and when your orgasm washed you over, he drank it all, leaving you a trembling mess, receiving more pleasure from hearing you become such a mess just from giving you head, ignoring completely the hard on pressing painfully against his jeans.

His blonde hair felt soft against your thighs, when he lifted his face to looked at you, you could help but let a pathetic cry slip your mouth, his lips were bright red and glossy, chin covered in your arousal, he was panting, expression denoting adoration, making your heart melt in the spot.

His eyes looked at you lovingly, his tongue licking what it could from your excitement from his lips, his face got close to yours, lips kissing your earlobe feeling the cold metal of your piercing in his lips.

"I love you"

Your chest tightened, happiness overflowing your body, you stole a soft and innocent kiss from Seungcheol, making him laugh.

"I love you too"

"Happy birthday"

"Well now I'll go get your present" he got up and started to walk towards the door but you were confused.

"Wait" you said and he stopped in the door frame to look at you with a smile, head tilted to the side "My presents weren't the chocolates, the wine and the flowers?" the disorientation in your voice was obvious.

"No, that was just a small gift" he furrowed his eyebrows still smiling, yet his expression was showered in disbelief "Do you think I'm broke or something?"

[ashdreams2023]

Hi! Am new here, when you have the time, can you write lucius malfoy x crybaby housewife, like shes very sensitive and overthinks about making him upset but in reality lucius finds her little actions and mannurisms cute and lovable? (Ik its very specific and i have horrible grammar)

Been a hot minute since I wrote for hp thanks for the ask!

Lucius Malfoy x crybaby housewife (sensitive)

First off this marriage was arranged so you got that going on

He can tell immediately that you feel extremely nervous and just want to make everybody proud and don’t want to upset him

He finds in endearing

"Beautiful beautiful girl relax, it’s only a few days in France, I will be back in one piece"

You worry too much it makes him worried

Sends you lots of gifts, like what’s your favorite Candy that makes your face eyes light up with excitement?

You will find boxes delivered to the house till you’re sick of it

Doesn’t like to see your tears but understands how overwhelming it may be to try to contain all your emotions

Tries to never raise his voice at you even if he’s not in the brightest of moods

Your little acts of kindness to him do leave him breathless at times though

"What do you mean you fed the peacocks and picked all the fallen feathers to make pillows?!"

"I knew you’ll hate I’m so sorry-" "No! I love it!"

He really likes to spoil you, so expect things like taking a day or two off from work to just spend extra time with when he notices you’ve been a little gloomy all alone at home

Goodness even the house elves have to make sure you don’t overwhelm yourself when something doesn’t go as planned

If you remember the small things about him, the things no one really pays attention too, then he’s all yours and no one can say otherwise

Makes sure to spend birthdays together, no matter how busy he is

"You don’t have to do this, what about work and-" "stop hurting your pretty little head with such nonsense"

Actually tries to be decent to the house elves just because they seem to be the only company you have

One time you tried to surprise him at work and he just couldn’t let you leave because in his own words "you came all this way to surprise and you expect me to let you go away this easily my dear?"

The way you smile when he comes back to the mansion, it just lights up his entire day, no matter how shitty is was

Absolutely adores your antics and takes pride in seeing you being the center of attention

"Am i making a good impression?"

"You’re perfection it self"

[casuallyanidiot]

The Beta Test | Chapter 1

[yandere M x Gn Reader]

Local party animal and known social butterfly [name] wakes up to find that they've been abducted by their very reclusive and very wealthy classmate. Why, you might ask, did he do this? Well for one reason of course! He needs to know how he's going to talk to his crush! So now, with their freedom on the line, [name] has to figure out how to get this kid with the one of his dreams or risk never leaving at all. Lots of weird conversations ensue, of course.

2.1 k words Tw. Swearing, kidnapping, mentions of alcohol consumption, mentions of drugging, yandere behavior Prologue Table of contents

West Grove University wasn’t a super large school. It was important to mention this because, as it would happen, you were very well known there. It wasn’t a hard feat to reach, mind you, but still, there were few people who hadn’t heard of you. This was of course because of the fact that you would appear at every single social function that you could.

 Frat parties, fundraisers, birthdays, even baby showers: if you were invited, you were going. Since you were everywhere, it was only natural that you knew people too. In fact, you knew exactly who the man sitting in front of you was at a glance.

 “ Oh you’re from my economics lecture,” you said tiredly. When the words left your lips, he looked to be almost as confused as you were. 

 “ You know me ?” he asked in disbelief and leaned forward. His chair squealed under his weight and you groaned. 

‘My brain is fried,’ you thought with a grimace. You waved at him lazily. 

“ Yeah, you’re Javier, right? Kinda hard not to know you,” you croaked out. Man, your vocal cords felt like they were grating against each other like sandpaper or, like, unspooled yarn. It was a sore reminder that however you had ended up here, it had certainly not been your choice in the slightest. You began shifting around, massaging at your sore and unused muscles. Like you had noticed before, there wasn’t anything in the cell in which you sat. The cold hard floor was biting into your ass, and it did very little to stop you from aching.

It only took a glance to know that he was surprised by your admission, though it was true. Once again, your class size was kinda small compared to some other schools, and that meant that anyone worthy of note was destined to be infamous. While you were talked about due to your outgoing behavior, Javier over here was known for the exact opposite. 

He was a young man of little words, barely heard even speaking to professors after lectures in a hushed tone. He was elusive too. You even had a class with him, yet you could count the number of times he had appeared through the year on one hand. Despite the fact that he was never present, the boy still managed to maintain high-ranking scores with ease. It was pretty impressive actually. Though what made him stand out to you, in particular, were two facts.

One: Javier was so fucking gloomy. Any time he walked into a room, whether that be in a lecture hall or simply passing by in the library, you swear a cloud of darkness followed him in. His posture was always slouched, and bags hung under his eyes like he'd never had a wink of sleep in his entire life. While his clothes, which always seemed to be a pair of black sweats and a white T-shirt, were always clean, his long shoulder-length hair constantly rode the line of looking either greasy or sleek; you could never really decide if it was either of the two.

Two: Javier was, apparently, pretty rich. While he never showed up to lectures, he did go to the secluded and quiet area of the library that you also liked to kick around in. He usually floated over to sit behind a bookshelf in a corner, probably where he thought no one could see him, right in your line of vision. Granted you could only see him because the bookshelf itself wasn't actually packed with, ya know, books, so it was easy to catch a glimpse of him. The dude had the whole fucking apple ecosystem in his bag. Not to mention the luxury brand stationery that he used casually. In fact, everything on him from his slides to the backpack he used was waaaay beyond what the average uni student should be spending, and so casual too. 

Of course you were insanely curious about the quiet, mysterious, and rather wealthy kid that nobody knew anything about! It was only natural. Some people even claimed to have seen him getting into his car which he parked in a secluded area. To no surprise, you were shown multiple photos of him getting into a foreign car with nice rims and everything. 

"Who the fuck is this guy?" They would slur to you drunkenly at whatever party you were at. The phone in their hand would be glowing with whatever blurry pic they had taken, and you would squint at it and shrug.

"No idea."

The little bits of info you got were nothing, but now it seemed like that was going to change. You were going to know Javier Galvan because you had this, I dunno, sneaking suspicion that you had definitely been kidnapped by him.

" R-really?" He blinked at you rapidly with his dark eyes, a finger jabbed at his own chest. You winced and nodded. " Wow, I uh, I didn't think you would. I thought that… I thought that I was going to have to uh introduce myself and stuff…" he trailed off. There was a nervous smile quirked up on his lips, and he shifted his gaze to the side like it was physically impossible to actually look at your curled-up body on the floor. You squinted at him with an eyebrow raised. No fucking way. There was no way that this guy was actually embarrassed by the fact that he had abducted you.

" Well, that's good then. One step further than I had planned I guess," he said, kind of quietly too, and sheepishly rubbed his neck. 

" Yeaaaah right. Do you like… mind telling me what's happening right now?" You asked. There was no use putting it off. You weren't one for mind games either, so it was best to just rip the band aid off so to speak.

Once again, Javier looked stunned by anything you said. Not sure why he was so surprised. You were never the most silent person in the room by any means. He should at least know that much about you. He stayed quiet, and now that you were started to get over the initial spike of fear and confusion, annoyance was fully taking its hold. You gestured, a bit aggressively, at the bars separating the cold cell from the actual room.

" Ohhhhh, Sorry. My bad. You're, uh, probably really confused right now, huh?" He laughed a little. This little shit. He kidnapped you, and he was fucking giggling?

" Uhhhh yeah. That's one way you could take it," you said dryly. The sarcasm in your voice was enough to remind you of the fact that you were very dehydrated at this time. His smile immediately dropped instantly, and you rolled your eyes at his kicked puppy demeanor. If you had known that he was this weird, then you wouldn't have wasted so much of your energy wondering about him.

" O-okay. So, um, you are [Name] [Last name], right?" It took everything in your system to not do a visible double take at that.

" Um Yes?"

He let out a large sigh, posture slumping with relief. " Oh okay. That's good. Good. It would be, haha, like really bad if you weren't," he said while wiping his face. His sweaty palms could probably be seen from space. 

" We have classes together man. I like see you in the library almost everyday."

" Oh, uh, yeah that's right. You're right, sorry."

You pursed your lips as he went on fumbling and fidgeting with his hands. Gloomy and socially awkward. What a combo. 

" Uh so now that we've been introduced, um, I guess I should tell you why I brought you here haha," he said and finally stood up from his chair. He was pretty tall, and loomed over your huddled up self with ease. He was lanky, like a pole, and you shuddered. 

It was easy to forget in your addled brain that you were, in fact, in a very dangerous situation. When hunched in on himself, Javier didn't feel that threatening at all, but now it was clear that this could potentially be very nasty. Had he taken you for revenge of some kind? Did he somehow read your mind over the course of months and dislike the odd light you held him in? Or was it for something dumb like you badmouthing a friend of his? Who knows. If he was rich enough to have a ( pretty nicely decorated) room with a cell in it, then who knows what other crazy shit could be stirring in his head.

" Okay so… I know that you're friends with a lot of people. And um, everybody seems to like you even though you're kinda annoying," He started. Ouch. Coming from him that was not a good assessment of your character.

Still, he looked down at you expectantly after a few moments of silence. You blinked and waved for him to continue. He smiled ,like he'd been cheered on in race, and took a deep breath. 

" So if people think you're cool and like you, then it means that you're doing something right that I'm not." He placed his hands on the bars. They were so tightly gripped that you could see the paleness form on his brown skin. 

" I'll put this bluntly. You're good with people. I don't really get why, but you are, and I'm not. So I need you to help me out," he said. His tone was more serious than before, and the look of his face was anything but rational. In fact he looked void of any emotion.

" Let me guess... I don't really have a choice in this, do I?" You stated, eyes narrowed up at him. The tension held between the two of you was now fully out. If you didn't have a headache before, you certainly would've gotten one by now.

" Well," he said while leaning back," You do... but it would be kind of dumb considering where you're at and all." He looked you up and down as his last words came dripping out of his lips. His almost meek demeanor was completely gone by now.

" So uh, yeah, I need your help. Umm, this is a little weird, but I want you to help me date the girl that I've been in love with all year," he sighed out. You didn't miss the dreamy and wistful stare he held as he glanced up into the ceiling. 

" Wait? That's it?" You asked. Was this guy fucking with you? Like a cruel prank or whatever?

" Unfortunately yes..." he groaned out. " I'm going to be honest with you [Last Name], I'm...Well I'm hopeless. I've tried out so many different things to make me more appealing to her, but nothing works!" 

" So forcing me to be your, what? Chad alpha dude coach? Was you're next best option?" You asked, eyes wide and with the most amount of sarcasm you could muster. He nodded sadly as a sinking realization, even bigger than being kidnapped, came upon you.

You were going to have to get this crazy, antisocial, creepy, and downright pathetic guy with the girl of his dreams? Yeah, this was way too far out for even you.

You sighed ," So, let me get this straight. You kidnapped me so you could talk to a girl better."

He nodded.

" And you did this because you couldn't do it yourself."

He nodded again, looking a bit more embarrassed this time.

" And you're probably not going to let me go until you start dating this girl, are you?"

He winced, and you felt even more annoyed than you thought was possible. Oh yeah cause HE had the right to be bashful here. He cleared his throat gently, refusing to stare in your direction.

" Yes, um, if you help me date this girl before the next school year, then I will let you go," he said. Hints of that serious and firm nature you had previously seen came bubbling up again. You could see the coldness behind his lashes a mile away. Yeah, this guy was not okay. 

" What happens if you don't? Get with her I mean."

It was a simple question, really. Still, his head shot up from its limp state as he looked at you unblinking. His dark hair pooled at his shoulders, and the dim lighting of the room hardly allowed for a full look at him. Still, you could feel the dead gaze, unyielding and terrifying.  You shrunk back in shock. 

" Well, let's hope that doesn't happen," he said simply before leaving the room. The thud of the door and the click of the lock was deafening, and you flinched away. 

In the corner of a cold cell in an unfamiliar room, you pressed your hands to your face as you came to the conclusion that you were completely and utterly fucked.

[hey-itsdollie]

Hi, I love your blog!

Could I please request head-canons for Kaiser, Rin, Sae, Nagi, Bachria, (and whoever else if you feel like, if it’s not too much) of how they’d feel about having a goth gf? 💀 🖤 ⚽️

I ♡ Goth Girls

yesss I've never seen something like this I hope I do it well!

‧₊˚ ┊ Blue Lock boys with a goth gf!

୭˚. ᵎᵎ featuring » kaiser. rin. sae. nagi. bachira.

⋮ ⌗ ┆cw ⪼ fluff, female reader, semi-crack fic, use of pet names, goth reader!

── .✦ Michael Kaiser

Kaiser would be estatic about having a goth girlfriend. Considering he's more eccentric and enjoys eccentric things. He'd enjoy showing you off, always having you send fit checks to him, and even letting you decorate his things like his car, room, and even phone aesthetic.

He adores your aesthetic, giving anyone death glares who choose to look at you the wrong way.

Even a small glance Kaiser is already memorizing the person's face, body structure, and clothes. You don't normally care much but whatever you're laid back about he is more high strung for.

"Michael enough, I know that look."

You would stare at him unamused as he sends death glares at a small child who was just mindlessly staring up at you. Sighing relieved once the kid walked away with their parents.

Back to decorating his room, it was simple Kaiser wasn't one to decorate much considering he often travelled due to matches. So whenever you were over you'd leave something in his room. He had many plushies ranging from gloomy bears, gothic looking bunnies, and even light pastel cats.

Polaroids of the two of you hung from his walls, considering you preferred to take material photos than just keep them tucked away in your phone.

During his birthday you never knew what to get him, you also knew very well he didn't like recieving gifts so you decided to make him things instead of buy him knick-knacks.

Adding to his new decor, crocheted blankets and small plushies were now on his bed.

Kaiser became some what of a softy after getting with you. Sure he threw his tantrums from time to time and had an attitude. But you noticed a change in him, you calmed him down even though he wouldn't verbally admit it.

"Don't move." You ordered one hand gripping his chin as the other applied his eyeliner almost perfectly onto his skin. This had become part of your routine whenever you stayed over at his place, which was often.

"Liebling, how does it look?"

"It'd be better if you didn't move so much."

"I can't help it, I love having my eyes on you~"

Kaiser gave you the attention you never thought you'd want. And sure enough, he grew on you quite quickly.

── .✦ Rin Itoshi

Rin didn't think much about having a goth girlfriend, to be fair he never thought much about relationships in general. He's lowkey the type of guy who doesn't care about how people look or dress. Will he give weird stares? Hell yeah. But it's not like he's going to fully hate someone for it.

When he got into a relationship with you everything was chill. Sure you didn't watch much football, you only knew of the blue lock program due to theory videos on the internet.

So during one of his breaks, you ran into him at an arcade the guys had dragged him to. He was hella nervous. You wore large platform boots, a ton of makeup, and had piercings. Rin wasn't really expecting someone like you to come up to him, the aesthetics clashed- plus he had no idea who you were.

"You're part of blue lock right?"

Rin thought it was a hassle but decided to answer your questions. He just wasn't expecting for you to ask him about brain washing and if there were tunnels under blue lock.

To put it simply he thought you were crazy.

Few months into the relationship and he still thinks you're crazy. Doesn't mean he doesn't love you.

"Please Rin let me do your eyeliner! Just this once!"

You often begged him to try out some things you enjoyed doing. He always said no after you asked to give him piercings. That one hurt you bad when he said no.

"Fine, if it'll make you stop whining."

You squealed and began doing some rubbed out eyeliner on his waterline, grinning from ear to ear as your smiley piercing was on display.

"He loved seeing your smile, the tension in his body melting away as he patiently let you do his make up.

You and Rin were the definition of loser bf and goth gf; while you collected small random figures of skeletons wearing animal costumes he was collecting action figures and football cards.

Just like with Kaiser Rin was heavily over protective with you. Whenever Otoya or Shidou commented on him having a "goth baddie" for a girlfriend he was always 0.2 seconds away from knocking their lights out.

He would do it even if they didn't say anything, knowing you always cheered him on no matter what.

── .✦ Sae Itoshi

Sae had known you for a while, way before you chose your aesthetic and way before he left for spain. Childhood friends you would say whenever someone asked how you knew the red headed football player.

To say he was shocked that you were goth would be an understatement but it didn't necessarily bother him. He found it quite unique, he loved it.

He enjoyed going on shopping sprees with you, not minding that he had to quite close to thrity minutes to an hour for you to get ready. You were laid back and he was aswell, you never rushed to be anywhere.

"You're beautiful Blossom."

Sae would say smoothly watching you get ready using your light up mirror that had bats carved into the wood. You would be painting on your eyebrows, one halfway done as you turned and blew him a kiss.

The press was quite shocked to hear Sae had a unique girlfriend, but he loved showing you off. Your sense of fashion always blew the press away.

Even on dates you often took him to thrift stores, he was used to the idea that he'd need to spend a fortune on his significant other, but instead you made your own clothes and jewerly, and preferred to thrift.

The most he normally spent was on concert tickets. Which he didn't mind considering he got to watch you get all dolled up.

Sae got used to your antics quite quickly. For example, he normally expected to be sent a playlist at 3am from you. The message saying "This playlists reminds me of us" or just a playlist full of song recommendations.

He loved how passionate you were about things even small things that most wouldn't glance at. It made him want to become passionate over football again, it was just the effect you had on him.

And even though you didn't force it on him you tried subtly to bring him and his young brother together again. You spoke to Rin often as he went to you for most things whether it was him asking about Sae or just being agitated about anything and everything.

Of course Sae was aware of this, even hesitantly asking to see any pictures Rin would send you or ask about his brother.

It started with Sae sending check up messages to Rin—he would either get left on delivered or left on seen—but now he has short conversations with Rin.

It's slow but it's something. And he had you to thank for that.

── .✦ Seishiro Nagi

Nagi would not care about how his significant other would look or dress. He'd be quite indifferent about it, considering he probably looks for whoever wouldn't be a hassle.

Reo on the other hand was probably shocked to see his white-haired friend with you. Questioning how exactly Nagi got a girl like you considering how lazy and laid back he was. Was it the height? The looks? Dare he say personality??

You had met Nagi at a costume store, looking for new decorations for your apartment as Nagi was dragged to go shopping with Reo—who was in a completely different store—he just wanted to come in for air conditioning...

He ended up walking out with a scheduled date.

You found Nagi immensely attractive, though others might say otherwise. He seemed like he didn't care about his looks. His hair was messy as if he just got out of bed, his clothes kind of thrown on yet still looked relatively presentable. Not to mention his height and lazy sleepy eyes.

He was just your type.

On the other hand, Nagi wasn't expecting some goth chick who barely met his height with her platform shoes on to walk up to him. If he didn't know any better, he'd think you worked at the shop.

In his eyes he thought you looked like a video game character. Specifically, from a horror game.

Being the blunt man he was he voiced his thoughts. To anyone's surprise you took it as a compliment and asked him out.

The two of you often lazed around together and played video games. Mid way through walks you would remember tiktok trends and decide to do them.

"Nagi just stand there." You would direct before walking up to him and stepping on his dirty converse before kissing him with your hands cupping his face.

Nagi also seemed to enjoy staying at your place more than his own saying "It's cozier" whilst having his head buried into your cleavage. With your black out shades and dark lighting in your bedroom, it was the perfect nap atmosphere.

── .✦ Meguru Bachira

To say Bachira loved having you as his girlfriend would be an understatement.

Showing up to your date with a white shirt saying "I ♡ My Goth Gf" was not that shockingly for you. He seemed to brag to everybody about you, proving to others that he was far scarier than you when they made nasty comments.

Effectively threatening to unleash his monster on them.

You two were like Beast boy and Raven, even dressing up like them for Halloween per Bachira's begging.

Your profiles on anything always matched with icons of Beast boy and Raven. He loved it. To him you were as pretty- if not more beautiful than Raven.

He was sure to take millions of pictures of you in your costume. Saving them and making one his phone's wallpaper.

Bachira was adorable to you, both of you being outcasts in certain situations made your bond tighter. He was the more energetic one in the relationship but it never clashed with any activities or dates.

He often didn't dress up either wearing pajamas or shorts with random graphic tees while you always went out with your outfits and if you decided to wear pajamas your make up made up for your laziness.

Often times your boyfriend would plead with you to do his make up like you would your own. And in the end, he would always act like he was at some hard-core concert.

His goofiness never failed to make you smile. Not to mention his mother loved you. She loved your creative aesthetic, using you as a model for some paintings.

Before going to see you Bachira always bragged about you to his mom saying "Oh isn't Birdie perfect mom!" in response the older woman would just laugh and agree. Happy her beloved son found someone who loves him as much as he loves them.

Bachira was open with his feelings almost immediately, he ran up to you after one of his matches and asked you out. Out of luck you agreed, which led to now.

Your boyfriend laying in your bed practically buried under all your plushies and blankets, refusing each time to put the plushies on the ground saying "Those are our kids! I can't kick them off the bed!"

Soft snores left him as his chest raised up and down comfortably. You smiled taking a picture before crawling into bed with him.

Sorry if anyone is a bit ooc, I enjoyed writing this :P

©hey-itsdollie please don't copy, change, or steal my work. Thank you!

[otomehonyaku]

DIABOLIK LOVERS More,Blood Character Popularity Poll Short Story ☽ Shuu ver.

Original title: 人気投票ショートストーリー、シュウ編 English translation by @otomehonyaku Requested by @aoi-hitomi-50 (happy early birthday to you and Shuu!) Original text can be found here.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

SUMMARY | In this short story, Yui (not mentioned by name) has been with Shuu for a while—a bittersweet feat, since the vampire is not very vocal about his feelings. One morning, Yui accidentally drops her spoon at Shuu's feet while she's having her belated dinner. Spicy events ensue, and Yui cannot help but beg for answers. Will Shuu finally tell her how he truly feels towards her?

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

—Just like that, I became your captive. Even though I could no longer go back, I…

In the small hours of the morning, I was belatedly having dinner by myself when Shuu appeared next to me out of thin air.

“Shuu? It’s unusual for you to still be up this early…” I was so surprised that the hand that was carrying my spoon to my mouth unconsciously paused in mid-air, still laden with soup..

“Yeah, well…” Shuu said curtly while he sat down across from me. 

Was I only imagining it, or did he seem in really good spirits today? I thought I even heard him humming.

“...Um?”

“What?”

“Did something… happen?” I asked him gingerly.

Shuu rested his elbows on the table, still humming, and stared at me intently with a gloomy look on his face.

“Uh…?”

“...Shut up. This is Mahler’s Symphony No. 4 in G major, fourth movement. Look up the title yourself.”

I inclined my head in confusion at his profound answer. My knowledge about classical music was, unfortunately, limited. My mind drifted to the hymns we used to sing in church, and when I moved my spoon again, Shuu suddenly spoke.

“Hey… didn’t you say that I’m the one you love most in this world?

“What?!” I accidentally dropped my spoon because of his off-kilter remark. The shrill sound of the metal hitting the floor reverberated through the dining room. 

“Guess I was right,” Shuu said coolly, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. He eyed me curiously as I tried to regain my composure.

“W-why, all of a sudden…”

I clumsily stood up to retrieve the spoon from under the table. When I lifted the tablecloth, I saw that it had rolled over to Shuu’s feet. It was actually quite convenient that I dropped the spoon—it gave me a way out of the conversation so that I didn’t have to see eye-to-eye with Shuu.

“Ah, there it…”

Just as I slid under the table to pick up the spoon, I heard Shuu’s voice from above me. “What are you doing?”

“Huh? Um, well… I just wanted to grab the spoon…” I said, flustered. I reached for the spoon, and then, suddenly—

“Ah?!”

“Hahaha…”

Of all the things he could have done, Shuu brought down his foot on my hand. I looked up at him with a start. Our eyes met—he held up the tablecloth on his end and leered down at me kneeling before his legs, which were spread wide.

“We’re not done talking yet. Who said you could pick it up?”

“It h-hurts…”

“Of course. That’s because I’m making it hurt.”

I’d thought he was in a good mood at first, but I was at a loss at his behaviour now. I bit my lip. 

“If you want me to let go of your hand, come closer,” Shuu continued.

“Huh?”

“Didn’t you hear me? I’m telling you to come closer… and put your face between my legs.”

“...B-but…” I would die of embarrassment if I were to position my body between Shuu’s legs. Just when I wanted to tell him that, he pressed down on my hand harder.

“Are you saying you’re disobeying me… because you actually like it when I hurt you like this? I guess it’s only to be expected from a hardcore pervert like you.”

“That’s… not…!”

“Not true? Well, how about you hurry up and do as I say, then?”

I’d lost count of how many times I’d yielded to his will when he cornered me like this. It was frustrating, but… I knew it was pointless to go against him. No matter how much I protested, he always made sure he got his way in the end. 

“Ah…”

Feeling defeated, I did as I was told and braced my hands on Shuu’s thighs so I could poke out my head from under the tablecloth. Then, I stuck my face between his legs, careful so as to not bump my head. 

“Hahaha… You look awful.”

“You’re the one who told me to do it…!”

“Well, that’s true, but aren’t you the one who actually decided to follow my orders?” Shuu ventured, his lips curving upward in a suggestive smile. “You’re a stubborn little thing, you know. You’re so in love with me you just can’t help yourself. At least, that’s what I heard… I figured you like this kind of stuff.”

“Who told you…” My voice wavered unintentionally, my heartbeat out of control.

“You’re so red. Bullseye. It’s obviously true, so  it doesn’t even matter where I heard it. Now, come closer.”

Shuu’s unusual talkativeness and assertive behaviour overwhelmed me, and I couldn’t help but obey him. No matter the things he did to me, no matter the cruel words he said to me… I was madly in love with him, just like he said. 

It was not a matter of not being able to go against him. I just…  wouldn’t.

“Come, hurry up… I’d rather you be grateful that I’m giving you this much attention…”

“Ah…”

“That’s it. Come closer. Actually, how about you sit on my lap?”

As if he’d seen right through me, Shuu’s voice was suddenly sickly-sweet, his gaze unrelenting in his efforts to persuade me. Despite my slight hesitation, I was internally overjoyed to hear this side of him. I simply did as I was told.

Our bodies were flush. I wriggled against him to get out of the tight space. It was incredibly embarrassing, but in the end, I managed to lower myself into Shuu’s lap. I braced my hands on his shoulders, facing him directly.

“Hehe… Look at you. I knew you could do it. Complain all you want, but I know you actually love doing naughty things like this.”

“Oh…”

“You aren’t really in the position to say otherwise, you know. Well… I’ll make you do much naughtier things. You love me more than anyone else in the world, right? I like the sound of that. As your reward… I’ll let you kiss me.”

“What…?”

“I’m too tired… so kiss me already. Come here…” 

Shuu narrowed his eyes at me impatiently. 

“Mm… ah, this isn’t bad after all. Your scent… the taste of you… Mmh…”

He had me completely at his mercy. Shuu’s lips found mine over and over again, deepening the kiss, from various angles… From an outsider’s perspective, it must have looked like we were sharing an intimate moment, but I was simply unable to resist his seduction. No, rather… this was…

I actually wanted this.

“Shuu…”

“What?”

“...Does this make you happy? Or… am I just a bother?” I asked him outright in between kisses. I’d been wondering about it for a while now. 

Shuu brusquely lifted me off of his lap and sat me down on top of the table. “You’re putting words in my mouth now? Shut up.”

“I… I figured you’d say that…” 

Maybe, in my heart, I wanted to hear such a predictable answer. Was it because I actually liked his harsh manner of speaking? My thoughts were still racing, but Shuu started stroking my hair and placed kisses on my ears.

“It’s not worth worrying about whether or not I like you… that’s not what I’m interested in. However… if anything, I’m interested in your blood. I crave you… do you understand what I’m saying? You can draw your own conclusions.”

Shuu’s sadistic voice sent incessant chills down my spine. That was all I needed to hear.

“Shuu, I love you…” The words just tumbled over my lips before I could catch myself. 

Shuu chuckled. “Heh… I know. You’re such a lewd woman. I know what you want… and you think I’ll give it to you, don’t you? I’m in a good mood today, so I’ll humour you until you’re satisfied.”

I could feel Shuu open his mouth wide. I waited for his fangs to pierce my skin with bated breath. The sharp tips of his canine teeth slowly hovered over my skin. He seemed to be holding back at first, but his demeanour quickly changed—in a flash, his fangs were buried in my neck.

“Mh…”

To this day, I still didn’t know how to describe this feeling. It hurt, of course, but at the same time, there was no way to put into words the absolute assault on my senses, the numbness that spread through me.

“Ha… Mmh… What a great expression… Agh…”

“Ah…” I came dangerously close to crying out while he drank from me. I desperately pressed my lips together. 

Shuu let out a low laugh. Surely, he thought I was only writhing in agony, but I didn’t mind—that wasn’t exactly wrong, either. 

“You’re greedy for such a meek girl, but… this is a reward, so… I’ll let it slide this time.”

“Mmh…”

A reward… the fact that he used such a word for it was proof that Shuu knew exactly how he was making me feel, and enjoyed it. It made my heart swell with joy. It had probably been a bit tactless to beg him to confess his feelings outright. I was already more than happy that, slowly, piece by piece, he revealed himself to me. 

“Let’s go over here now...”

Shuu’s hands impatiently groped at my chest. A feeling of endearment surged within me at the sight of him behaving like this.

I was completely head over heels for this man. I was far beyond saving, but at least I had some self-awareness. 

My mind wandered as my fingers became entwined in Shuu’s hair, my hands stroking his head. I wanted to shout my love for him from the rooftops, but an indirect approach was more befitting of this musically inclined man. 

Then, suddenly, Shuu lifted his face from where it had been buried in my chest, and told me flat-out, “I love you. Or, rather, I love you, the girl who is completely smitten with me. Got that?”

“Ah…!”

Now I really felt like I would go mad. Unable to contain my happiness, I instinctively covered my face with my hands. My cheeks were red-hot. Shuu saying the words I’d wanted to hear for so long was, without a doubt, the best reward. 

It seemed that, somehow, this languid, young nobleman of the shadows had laid his claim on both my body and soul. There was no going back anymore. And yet…

—I found myself smiling, thinking that might not be so bad after all.

[angelhyun]

back to sleep - ldh

[a/n]: happy birthday to my gemini twin ayyy

pairing: bf!lee donghyuck x reader

[wc]: 626, short n sweet

-> cw: none, just pure fluff :)

prelude: Hyuck never got days off. Everybody knew that, especially the poor man himself, working harder than anyone you've ever known. That’s why it catches you by surprise when you wake up with him in bed next to you, making you feel like it was your birthday instead of his. TLDR: A cute, lazy morning in bed with Hyuck on his birthday.

11:59pm

You anxiously waited until midnight, a minute going by way slower than it would on a normal day. Your fingers danced over the keyboard as you prepared to hit the send button, your message already typed and ready to go.

12:00am

happy birthday baby!!! i love u so much more than words could ever express and i hope u never forget how unconditionally proud i am of u. you’re truly my full sun in a world that can be so gloomy :,) hope to celebrate with u soon my love, sleep well <3

You stay on your chat for a bit, hoping to see him typing, but you knew he was likely with his members. It didn’t upset you, as you knew they loved and cared for him just as much as you did. Content with the thought, you put your phone down, curling up into your blankets as you drifted off to sleep.

His hands were running through your hair as your head laid comfortably on his lap. He was leaning against a cherry blossom tree, the petals drifting through the wind, surrounding you both in a peaceful pink haze. “Hyuck,” you started, looking up at him. He looked ethereal, dark brown bangs resting beautifully on his honey skin—the laidback look in his eyes as he gazed down at you, albeit full of love. He didn’t answer, eyes simply boring into yours. “I love you.” you say softly. He remains still, as if he already knows, the words having no drastic effect on him.

Your eyes suddenly open, the sun beaming through your windows, casting a bright light that you assumed woke you up in addition to your dream. You dreamt of your boyfriend quite often, which he found very endearing. He’d cockily tease that he was always on your mind, though you’d never admit he was right. Despite feeling quite refreshed, you felt like you hadn’t even gone to sleep—as if time didn’t pass since your head hit your pillow.

You decide to turn to grab your phone, wanting to check the time. What you didn’t expect, when you turned, was to have a figure laying next to you. That same dark brown hair from your dream was the only thing that was visible above the covers, making you sit up in surprise, waking the man with your sudden sharp movement. “Baby…” he croaks, voice hoarse from the sudden awakening.

You furrow your brows. Was this still part of the dream? You pinch yourself, concluding that it wasn’t. “Hyuck?” you question softly. He turns to face you, now hugging your waist. “Go back to sleep,” he whines. “It’s too early to be awake.” You immediately lie back down, snuggling yourself closer to your man. You were so surprised. He was home earlier than expected, meaning you’d get to celebrate together.

“Happy birthday, baby.” you whisper into the crook of his neck, a smile adorning your face. “Thank you, honey.” he says sleepily. “Did you get my text?” you ask, clearly not reading the room. He yawns before nodding. “It was cute. Thank you again.” he puts on a tired smile, eyes still closed.

“Since you’re here, does that mean we can celebrate later?” you ask, clearly excited about the day to come. “Yes, later.” he croaks again. “I’m jet lagged. Let’s just cuddle and go back to sleep, yeah?” he asks. You nod and give him a gentle kiss, him reciprocating. “Okay, Hyuckie.” you grin, happy with the compromise. “I’m so lucky,” you coo, fingers playing with his hair like he did in your dream. “It’s not even my birthday, yet you’re surprising me.”

“I know, I’m just perfect, aren’t I?” he teases, earning a playful flick on the forehead from you.

[a/n]: literally just got home now (at 1am) and felt the urge to write smth for haechan’s birthday 🙂‍↕️ i’m dedicated to my craft. anyways, please stay tuned for partition part 2–not too sure if i’m going to give it another name yet or just call it that LMAO also i’m posting on mobile for the first time so sorry if the layout is scuffed. as always, thank u for reading ^3^

[savanaclaw1996]

An Ethereal Beauty------Silver x Fem! Reader (Birthday Fic)

A very Happy Birthday to our beloved Silver!!! Here's a little fic to celebrate our own Sleeping Beauty! Enjoy!

Word Count: 548 words.

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

“Why does he have to be so beautiful?” (Y/N) wondered as you walked through the Diasomnia dorm’s hallways, carrying a bowl of steaming hot mushroom risotto. Today is a special day, indeed. It’s your darling boyfriend Silver’s birthday.

You made your way towards the dorm’s washroom and stopped by the door. You knocked on the door, saying, “Silver-san? Are you in there?” There was no answer. Feeling a little embarrassed about entering the washroom, you hesitated from opening the door. However, (Y/N) can’t help but feel worried about your beloved boyfriend. “Silver-san. I’m coming in.” (Y/N) said as you opened the door.

As soon as you did, you were met with a glorious sight.

Bright rays of sunshine filtered through the washroom windows, casting Silver in an angelic, ethereal glow. Seeing his sparkling silvery locks being pulled back by a simple black headband, revealing his smooth forehead, princely features and bright aurora-colored eyes, you couldn’t help but release a dreamy sigh. He’s just so...beautiful.

In a dark and gloomy place like Diasomnia, he sure stood out with his handsome, ethereal appearance. It's no wonder you fell head-over-heels in love with him. With one hand on the stone mirror frame, he was examining his ears. There was a little scratch on his left ear. “Ah, now that I look closely, I see a wound. Did I rub my ear during training yesterday?” he muttered, examining the scar in his reflection.

As he looked, he also noticed that there was a scar on the back of his neck. (Y/N) noticed it too. “Hmm? I have a scar on my neck too. When did it come from...? I wonder if it was from the martial arts the day before yesterday.”

"Are you all right?" (Y/N) asked, startling Silver out from his musings. He turned to face you. "Oh. Miss (L/N). Forgive me. I didn't hear you come in." he said.

"Does you ear hurt?" you asked. "Yes." Silver replies as he took an ointment jar from the cupboard below the sink and unscrewed the lid. He dipped his index finger into the jar and rubbed the ointment onto the little wound on his ear.

"It's nothing to be concerned about. It's just a little scratch." Silver said. (Y/N) nodded. "I know. I just don't want you to get too rough with your training." you said. Silver nodded in understanding. "I try not to. Alas, as a knight, it is my sworn duty to fight for my liege."

"I understand, Silver-san." (Y/N) replied. The smell of mushroom risotto then caught your attention. "Oh, yeah. I've made mushroom risotto, your favorite. Lilia-senpai offered to help me make it for you, but knowing him, I made it myself." you said. "Also, you'll need your strength to ace Trein-sensei's exam."

Silver smiled softly. He felt very fortunate to have you as his soulmate. So caring, so kind, so compassionate. He then leaned forward towards you and placed a tender kiss on your cheek. "Thank you, (Y/N)." he said gently.

Pink bloomed on (Y/N)'s cheek as you smiled. "Happy birthday, Silver-san." you said before you kissed him on the lips. Silver deepened the kiss. The washroom fell silent as the two of you are locked in a lover's embrace. Just a knight kissing his beloved princess.