#it's bitter because this man has literally never really had anything sweet before

[unclekaz]

i love writing characters because i can look at this and just go 'nolan. machine theory protagonist. that's him.'

[thelampisaflashlight]

Dress Down

[Based on this ask I sent @iamthecomet , Rain is more than a little obsessed with the way Dew is dressed for their ghouls night out at the bar.] Below the cut.

If there's one thing Aether's good at, it's finding a decent bar in the middle of nowhere; He's like a bloodhound for booze, if such a thing could exist, and, while any place would do given how long it has been since the pack has gotten to go out in full force like this, he doesn't settle for anything less than the best.

"Best" being pretty much anywhere that can tolerate their loud, obnoxious asses for more than an hour before trying to kick them out.

Admittedly, though, this outing isn't exactly a celebratory one -some of them might be celebrating, but if they are, they won't dare to say it out loud- really, it's more of a means of destressing and perhaps unpacking a bit of the events that unfolded while they were on tour.

Sister Imperator's death, Copia stepping down from the title of Papa and stepping up to take his mother's place as Frater Imperator... Really, it's a mixed bag of emotions all around, and none of them are quite sure how to feel about, well... everything.

Least of all the older, more seasoned ghouls, who had already witnessed what "retirement" had meant for the previous Papas, though they were mostly hopeful that Copia would not meet the same fate as his predecessors now that his new position was solidified.

Mountain, for example, had breathed a sigh of relief seeing the placard on his office door change from Papa IV to Frater Imperator and not "Papa V", not quite ready to accept life under new leadership just yet.

Now nursing a bottle of lager, the earth ghoul has pressed himself into the corner of the cozy, red pleather bench he's sharing with Cumulus and Cirrus, looking more flushed in the face than expected after only one drink, but, despite appearances, the man's always been a lightweight.

On the opposite side, Swiss is talking to Aeon and Aurora in an animated fashion, hands gesturing wildly as he tells some tall tale or another that's probably only a hair away from the truth, and Dew can't help but roll his eyes when he sees the younger quintessence ghoul looking at the multi ghoul all doe-eyed, thoroughly enraptured by his story.

Personally, Dew's not really in the mood to be out on the town tonight, like Mountain, he's thinking a bit too much about what's to come, too stuck in his head about the what ifs and when's of the situation to really relax and enjoy himself.

He's trying though; Holding a sweaty glass of whatever cheap piss the bar had on tap, because- "No, Aeth, I'm not doing shots with you after what happened last time!"- he'd rather drink something closer to water than relive that experience again, he takes little sips, cringing at the bitter taste.

He's never been much of a beer drinker, he used to be, kind of, he was really more of a "anything that gets me wasted" drinker, but he's toned it down over the last couple of years to the point that certain types of alcohol just don't appeal to him at all anymore, beer least of all.

He gives a bigger sip and sticks his tongue out, hearing Swiss laughing at him from the booth, flipping him off when he sees him whisper the word "princess" under his breath.

"You should get something you'll actually like instead of trying to impress literally no one by drinking shitty beer." Aether says, slipping the glass from his palm and downing it himself, "Eugh, at least something better than this swill... Try a cocktail or something."

Dew grimaces, "Fuck no, I feel sick just smelling anything sweet anymore, plus I don't want a nasty hangover tomorrow..."

"Just switch it up, yeah?" Aether suggests, then whispers, "If you just want a fancy soda, I won't tell anyone else otherwise... I know it's hard not to drink when everyone else is."

"I appreciate that..." Dew says, giving his friend a genuine smile, "I'm okay drinking tonight, since it's a special occasion, kind of, just gonna take it easy though, ya know?"

Aether nods and claps him on the shoulder once before heading off to join the others, scooting a chair over to the table so he doesn't have to take a seat away from them.

Dew considers his options.

He could just order a fancy soda or a mocktail, Hell, the bar even had that weird canned water that looks like a tallboy can of beer, but he keeps the idea in his pocket for later, and instead orders himself the sweetest looking glass of rosé he can find on the drink menu.

He sips it slowly and lets the liquid coat his tongue.

Sitting at the bar with his drink, Dew can't help but feel like a bit of wallflower; Everyone else around him seems to be having a good time, and even went through the trouble of dressing up for the occasion and he's just...

Dew looks down at his outfit, at his lightly stained hoodie, his black skinny jeans with holes in the knees -and another, smaller one near his crotch that is subtly hidden by the black of his boxers beneath- that have seen better days, and his ratty Converse sneakers with dark smudges on the white rubber tips.

He doesn't exactly scream fashion when compared to Swiss, who's wearing a borderline gaudy silk shirt and tight slacks that leave little to the imagination, or Cirrus, who is absolutely rocking a very low cut shirt, braless, and jeans that could very well just be painted on with how closely they hug her curves...

...Or Rain, who took two whole hours to get ready and now looks like the goth nightmare queen of his fucking dreams.

Rain, who has been cozying up to the bartender for the last hour or so, giggling and batting his long lashes at her in an incredibly unsubtle way that is certainly NOT making Dew jealous whatsoever and-

"Aw, fuck."

Dew curses as a bit of his wine sloshes out onto his pant leg, not enough to lose his drink entirely, but enough for him to feel the splash of it against his thigh as it all seems to hit exactly where the rip in his pants is.

Standing up almost urgently, Dew makes his way to the bathroom in hopes of blotting up the mess before it can trickle down his leg and make it look like he pissed himself, but, as soon as he manages to slip inside and shut the door... he hears it open behind him just as quickly.

"You alright?" Rain asks, looking less concerned and more... Dew isn't really sure how to place the expression on the water ghoul's face.

Between his glamour and the make-up obscuring his familiar features, Dew's a little at a loss for what the face he could be making could mean, but the tone...

"I'm fine."

"Good."

Rain closes the door behind them and locks it in one swift motion, briefly walking over to examine the stalls before returning to Dew and-

"Rainy, what are you doing-"

-dropping onto his knees in front of him.

"You've been driving me crazy all night, baby." Rain purrs, running a hand down both his legs, pressing a kiss to his knee, "Dressed up all cute..."

Dew feels a heat creeping up over his face.

"Me? Cute? What, no, I'm..." Dew flusters, "You're the one that's driving ME crazy, Rainy. Look at you."

"Yeah?" Rain coos, "You like what you see?"

He leans back for a moment, putting himself on full display; The flouncy white shirt with the ruffled sleeves, the black corset, the lacy skirt rucked up to expose the black and white socks underneath, and Satanas, the heels...

Rain looks sinfully gorgeous, and here he is, on his knees, telling Dew that HE looks cute, no, there's just no way-

"Can I taste you, Gumdrop?" he asks, leaning in to squish his face against the wet patch on his inner thigh, inhaling deeply, "Please?"

What kind of man would Dew be to deny someone as pretty as Rain what he wants?

"O-Okay..." he whispers, and no sooner do the words leave his mouth, than does Rain's latch onto him, nibbling at him through the whole in his jeans, "Rainy!"

"Shhh..." Rain shushes him, "You have to be quiet, okay, sweetheart? Or do you want the whole bar to hear you, hm? Make a big scene of the door being locked and have them wondering what's happening in here..."

Dew groans as Rain moves to undo his zipper.

"You're so sensitive, you know that?" he teases, "I haven't even gotten my mouth on you properly and you're already ready to give me everything, aren't you?"

"Can't help it...You're just so... so beautiful..." Dew whines as Rain eases his pants and underwear down just enough to expose his ass -and disappointingly not his cock- to the cool air of the bathroom- "Rainy-"

"Said I wanted to taste you, didn't say which part~" Rain says, standing smoothly and bullying Dew up against the counter between the sinks, he stumbles a bit as the other tugs his jeans down further and flushes when the other drags him up with an almost comical, "Upsie-daisy."

Dew feels his back press into the mirror behind him as Rain forces his legs up in the air, and has to slap his hands down on the marble to keep himself from sliding down, "Really, this is-"

He doesn't quite get to finish his sentence before Rain dives in, earning a gurgled moan from Dew as he feels Rain's clever tongue lap at his hole.

"Not fair, Rain, I should be-"

Rain pauses, breathing hot, wet air onto his skin, chuckling, "You should be what? The one fucking me?"

Dew sinks into his hood a bit, mumbling, "Y-Yeah..."

"Hm... Let me think about it..." Rain pretends to consider Dew's request, then with a happy chirp, dismisses the idea entirely, "No, sorry, don't think so, love. Maybe later, but you're not the one who paid off the bartender to make people use the other restroom for the next hour."

"You d-did that...?" if Dew wasn't blushing before, he was certainly pinker than his rosé now, "That means-"

Rain leans over top of him, coming nose to nose with the ghoul on the counter, "She knows I'm fucking you? Yeah."

"Told her you were gonna spill your drink on yourself as an excuse to sneak into the bathroom with me in case she didn't believe me, and then you just happened to pour just a liiiittle bit of wine on your pants and run off..." he says, rubbing their faces together lightly as Dew feels Rain's long fingers tickle his sides, "...Just a tiny wave of my hand and just like that, you're all mine."

"You-"

"So if you think I'm going to let you top after all the effort I went through putting together this outfit and locking this place down, you are sorely mistake, mon cheri~"

"Oh no..." is all Dew manages to say before Rain sets about taking him apart with his mouth again.

It's not long before he's moved again, pressed against the wall, legs spread with his pants pulled down awkwardly to give Rain enough access to slam inside of him as he holds onto him for fear he might tumble onto the floor, unable to bring his legs together to wrap them around Rain's lithe form thanks to his strong arms holding them apart.

Rain is relentless as he pounds into him, and Dew feels the back of his head bump into the tile with every other motion, until Rain shows mercy and hooks one of his legs over his hip and cushions the blow with his hand.

It's a difficult position to maintain, and Dew's pretty sure aside from Rain's impressive grip strength, the other thing keeping him aloft right now is his dick, and something about that has Dew's brain going more than a little screwy.

He's entirely unprepared for when Rain cums inside of him, shockingly cold and a reminder that, right, even in his glamour, Rain's still a water ghoul, and his seed is nothing if not colder than the depths of Hell's frozen lake.

Dew shivers and latches onto Rain, curling against him in a desperate search for warmth, and he finds it in the gentle kisses Rain gives the side of his face.

"Come on, baby, your turn, your turn, Dewdrop."

It's hardly the most impressive orgasm he's ever had, but it's certainly one of the gentlest, and as he dully becomes aware of how he's managed to cum so hard he's painted the front of Rain's silly, flouncy blouse, he can't help but laugh a little.

"You're going to get punished for that later..." Rain clicks his tongue, "For now... gimme your hoodie."

"Can't..."

"Oh? Why not?"

Dew looks up at him coyly, "'m not wearing anything underneath it..."

Rain makes a hurt sound in the back of his throat, "If I'd known that, I would have insisted you took it off first... Oh well, let's see..."

He slides his phone out of his shirt, checking the time, "We still have another fifteen minutes..."

"Rain?"

"How about I give you your punishment now?"

"O-Oh-"

.

.

.

"Geezus, Froggy, you doin' okay, you keep looking like you're gonna fall off the sidewalk the way you're moving..." Aether sighs, pulling Dew upright as the shorter ghoul lurches forward for the third time on their walk home -none of the local cabs would take them... shocker- "I thought you weren't going to drink that much tonight?"

"Didn't..." Dew cringes, pinching his eyes shut and stopping entirely for a moment before regaining his composure, "...Remind me to get rid of these pants..."

Aether furrows his brow, then whispers, "Did you fucking piss yourself or-"

"No!" Dew shouts, drawing the sluggish attention of their drunken friends and one all too pleased looking water ghoul, lowering his voice, "No... It's just... Rain... Inside... and it's..."

The quintessence ghoul looks between Dew's flushed face and Rain's smug grin and puts two and two together easily, "While we were at the bar-"

"No, while we were walking home just now- Yes at the fucking bar!" Dew hisses, "...Twice."

"Rain!" Aether calls over to the ghoul, earning a panicked, squeaky, "Whatareyoudoing-" from Dew before the ghoul motions for him to come over and, "Take some responsibility and carry your boy home, will ya??"

And that's how Dew finds himself hoisted up onto Rain's back -thankfully not fully up onto his shoulders- and, in a way, getting to be on "top" for the first time that evening.

Swiss, despite being piss drunk, takes time out of his busy schedule -trying to climb every light post they pass by- to walk beside them and tease him about just that, albeit none the wiser to the events that unfolded in the bathroom.

[alexxncl]

how the obey me characters like their coffee

brothers, dateables + luke, and side characters

resurgence of my coffee obsession has me thinking thoughts

and i'm right bc they all told me this themselves

masterlist | more drabbles/hcs

lucifer

i feel like he likes his shit sickeningly sweet...like you can barely taste the coffee

so much creamer it almost looks like milk, so much sugar that your teeth will fall out just by looking at it

it used to help him stay awake, but he's immune to it now. he just drinks it to drink it

he doesn't care for iced coffee that much. he had a sip of mammon's and almost gagged

mammon

the blackest coffee you've ever seen, extra espresso shots, whether it's hot or iced

y'all know how pedro pascal and jaemin from nct like their coffee? yeah...nasty

if he hasn't had his coffee, don't talk to him

unless you're mc or luke. then you have a pass

he drinks it before he leaves the house, while he's walking to RAD, while he's in class, while he's at lunch, while he's in detention, while he's-

you get the picture

but he won't admit that he's addicted

levi

he likes chai tea 🫶🏽

coffee never sat well with him, it made him more anxious than he already is

he likes the taste but he can live without it

he drank a bunch of it once while pulling an all-nighter with mammon before an exam...never again

luci and mams keep a very close eye on his caffeine intake

satan

no cream or milk, but a shit ton of sugar

"bitter like my soul" headass

he doesn't drink it often, but he's particular when he does

doesn't like hot coffee because he can't drink it right away

either makes it himself or asks asmo to do it when he's too tired

asmo

more milk than sugar with a pretty design on top

an oat milk girlie

strongly prefers hot coffee but will drink either

he just has a knack for creative stuff, y'know?

i feel like he worked as a batista for a while and does little pop up shops for his fans :(

beel

he doesn't drink coffee like that. it doesnt do anything for him

but he likes sweet things, so he asks belphie to put flavored creamer or sweetened almond milk and a lot of sugar in it whenever he does drink some

he started drinking it to get closer to luci and mams, but he never made a habit out of it like the two of them

asked asmo if he could learn how to make it so that mammon wouldn't run out during the day and is actually really good at it

belphie

do NOT give him coffee

he hates it

it's nasty and it makes him jittery

he'll make it, and he's almost as good as asmo, but he won't drink it. absolutely not

diavolo

never really got the hype until he had some of lucifer's

only drinks his coffee that way now

he still prefers tea, but a little caffeine every now and then won't hurt

he tried black coffee and hated it. you know he loves his sweets

barbatos

drinks it on occasion but will lie if you ask him about it

he's THE tea demon, yk? can't let the title be for nothing

if he makes some for diavolo, he'll drink it however dia likes it

if he's just making it for himself, he likes it with a little sugar and no creamer

simeon

spiked (sometimes, when he's not writing) and black

mainly because he doesn't want luke to drink any and thinks this is the best course of action

also because it keeps him awake

(he's like lucifer, coffee doesn't do anything for him anymore. it's a habit atp)

solomon

spiked and sweet

he's too old and too tired

but it's only ever spiked with top shelf, aged, hard shit bc he's extra

tried it black and spiked and hated it

luke

please don't give the baby coffee

11 year olds don't need coffee

he kept asking to try it, so mammon gave him some of his (much to simeon's disdain) and he quite literally almost died

he'll never touch it again bc why is it so BITTER

he won't admit to it but he cried

mammon has proof - videos and pictures

mephisto

tried it once and threw it away

likes his black like mammon, but way less espresso

only likes iced americanos

also likes them extremely watered down ??? idk man he's weird

raphael

another tea drinker but he likes his caffeinated

can't stand the taste of coffee, he doesn't know how simeon drinks it so often

tried some of simeon's - before he started spiking it, mind you - and threw it away bc he thought it was disgusting

simeon did not in fact cry (yes he did)

thirteen

it depends on the day, but she's a mocha girlie 99% of the time

when just wants coffee or she's having a really bad day, she gets her usual

if it's a really good day, she gets something different

iced or hot, she doesn't care

a very specific order and only gets hers from a very specific mom and pop shop in a run-down area of the otherworld

[skyloftian-nutcase]

A random fun question for you whenever you’d like to answer it: what are some of your characters’s favorite desserts? Or just treat of some kind?

Mystery Link got to try cinnamon buns for the first time ever on his first adventure and he’s never had such an amazing food experience ever since. It might be the only way to bribe the man.

Forsaken Zelda loves chocolate mousse and has smuggled entire bowls of the stuff to her room before. She needs energy for her amazing magic!

Gerudo Link isn’t all that much into sweets, but he likes it if it’s mixed with salty or bitter foods. Also he likes dark chocolate since it’s not too sweet.

Rusl, Link, and Colin all love it when Uli makes pumpkin pie!

Blood of the Hero Link has made literally every dessert ever and adores all of them. His favorite dessert to make is apple pie because he always makes it with his mother. (For extra pain, BotW/TotK also loves making apple pie though he doesn’t remember why anymore)

Abel’s favorite sweet treat is pound cake. He especially likes it glazed with something sweet on top. He doesn’t eat sweets often, though, he likes salty foods better.

Power Link discovered cake rolls with fruit filling after he became king consort and it’s probably the best thing that’s happened to him after the wedding aside from his kids. Impa gives him some once in a while to try and cheer him up. His youngest daughter, Missa, loves them too.

Diplomat Zelda personally loves white chocolate. Sonia loves it too. Orik despises it and thinks it’s the scourge of the earth.

Hemisi didn’t really grow up on sweets, but she’d probably pick baklava as her favorite dessert. Merovar fell in love with chocolate fudge when they visited Hyrule and, if nothing else, having fudge for the rest of his days is now reason enough to invade Hyrule.

The Fierce Deity has very few opinions on food and not much of a sweet tooth. When asked what his favorite anything edible is, he just says milk.

Ganondorf honestly is just happy with simmered fruit. He doesn’t like things too sweet.

[phuljari]

a think piece on how arnav singh raizada realised his feelings for khushi

of course, it would have been discussed numerous times before, we all know what happened and when it happened. i'm thinking more along the lines of why it happened this way. why did it take him so long to realise that these visceral reactions he has over her did not really stem from a place of hate, that hate was just a byproduct, a reaction, because he didn't realise what his emotions meant.

that it was altogether a new feeling, to be so consumed with thoughts of someone (whom you supposedly dislike). he tried so hard to run from those feelings, misdirecting them to hatred, disgust, apathy and what not. it was new— an unknown feeling that made him uncomfortable. i think in a way this echoes what i said earlier too, that arnav never really believed in love. which is why it took him ages to figure out why the hell he was so obsessed with someone who shouldn't even matter to him. i think what he hates the most about feeling attracted to khushi (aside from the fact that he never imagined himself with a girl like her? ie. see how he berates her: status, class, money, god-fearing etc) is the way she makes him feel— weak. and that's the feeling this man has rarely, if ever, felt for anyone outside his family.

also, elaborating on the statement that arnav didn't believe in love (even though no one asked for it lol), it is imperative to add that he has seen love exist, only barely, with nana-nani or whatever stories he heard about them and between mama and mamiji. but what else did he also see? that his dad cheated on his mom. that anjali's first wedding got broken off. and even though anjali was relatively happy with shyam— it wasn't a relationship he had experienced in his childhood, which is generally the time when your experiences shape you the most. so maybe he believed that love exists, to some degree, but not the whole unfiltered ~i would die for you~ love. remember how he convinced mamiji to accept payal? with the 'raizada' reputation? so he hadn't really experienced the best examples of love either.

unlike popular belief that arnav never felt deserving of love, i think that he never completely believed in it. especially not for a man like him who has to be careful around every turn because everyone around him is expecting to benefit from him. remember, this man is hella confident, and believes completely in himself (almost to the point of narcissism, esp in the early ipk days) and his ego is justified, afterall he did do a lot by himself and he's not bluffing about any of it. this man doesn't doubt himself, he could have anything he wanted. even love— that lavanya was willing to give him. but he doesn't believe in his ability to love, not after what he had seen with his parents.

which is exactly why this new confusing feeling, these obsessive thoughts about khushi, the way he felt weak and defeated in front of her was so absurd for him that he couldn't even realise that he was attracted to her. (with her, he has realised his ability to love, to want someone so desperately.) but instead he kept challenging her in order to make her feel weak and defeated. projecting much, sir?

and to be fair, arnav has mostly been a man of his words— truthful. if he said he didn't believe in love before he experienced it with khushi, it means he genuinely didn't. anyway, that's my take.

i have so much more to talk about this man!! for example how his diabetes is literally a metaphor because he can't have 'sweet' things in life?? 'sweet' here literally meaning happiness! happiness translation: khushi. and having diabetes compliments his character so well too? like he was cruel, cold-hearted and bitter (esp about his past, that he never could overcome) and so it aligned pretty well with khushi's 'meetha khaiye meetha boliye' kyuki arnav ko toh meetha bolna hi nahi aata! usse toh meetha mana hai na!

if you're still reading, thanks for sticking around lol

[justanisabelakinnie]

I was pretty bored yesterday and in a bitter mood and so I ended up spam-reblogging a shitload of anti-Madoka Magica posts(and no I’m not sorry, because no matter fucking what I will never stop hating on that trashfest of an anime), and obviously there’s nothing much really that I can say about it that hasn’t already been said by both me and other people in the past but lemme just say how FUCKED up it is…that grown men can look at a genre full of light and hope and female solidarity and empowerment for girls that teaches them that they can be whatever they want to be and that they should never stop believing in themselves and striving for greatness and go “nope, fuck that, instead of all of that happy fun girl power shit let’s write an edgy grimdark dystopia where being a girl with dreams and a desire to strive for greatness is a bad thing that can only end in suffering and punishment, where the survival of the universe and progress of humanity literally hinges on girls being tortured and killed en masse for wishing for something that would make them happy, where girls are universally portrayed as overemotional and impressionable and susceptible and weak and must slay each other in order to survive because they’ll go berserk and monstrous once their power inevitably gets the better of them, and where the only way to escape this ending is by dying and being erased from existence, because that’s the best girls can hope for, and as the icing on the sour cake, let’s aim it at an adult male audience so that they can watch girls suffer and perish and be psychologically broken for their own entertainment, all because they wanted something for themselves and had the gall and the selfishness to go after it.”

And instead of people seeing it for the sexist torture porn that it is it gets glowing reviews on every platform, people eat this shit up and say that this sleazy adult male-aimed show about barely adolescent girls suffering because they wanted something more for themselves is feminist actually, that actually all of the turmoil that the girls go through is a totally girl power metaphor for how girls suffer at the hands of patriarchy in the real world, and how the torture porn got subverted at the end when really all the end did was show the girls continuing to suffer because of their wishes but hey at least they’ll get the sweet release of death in the end, and how the all-male writing staff definitely meant for this to be the next feminist coming of Jesus despite the fact that they say they weren’t inspired by any Magical Girl works that came before them and were instead inspired by porn games…Madoka is the most progressive and revolutionary anime ever really, even more so than those insightful shows about Magical Girls that are actually aimed at girls and actually feature female empowerment and angst done well and not just for the sole purpose of letting men watch female characters suffer, those other shows are just stupid and shallow and bland and don’t know what they’re talking about, Madoka is where it’s at. Take it from me, a 35-year-old man who has never seen a single Magical Girl anime in my life except for Madoka Magica. If you don’t agree with me or if you dare to critique my soulless male gaze moebait, then you’re obviously just dumb and ignorant and don’t understand the deep philosophical nuances of this shoddy anime, I mean just look at Madoka’s mom! She’s the breadwinner of her family! Sure she’s not important to the plot on a whole and it’s not like Heartcatch Precure has done this character archetype better or anything but she’s proof that the writers are feminist icons who set out to empower women! Now watch as me and the rest of my Madoka-loving friends proceed to bully and harass the shit out of you for not sharing our vapid opinions until you either delete your account, change your tune and say you like Madoka now and were so wrong and stupid before, or stop talking about how much you hate Madoka entirely. And anyway teenage girls really ARE irrational, hysterical, and constantly on their cycles. Of course they’ll get taken advantage of for it! That’s not misogynistic to point out, that’s just the biotruth!

[pisspope]

Attack on Titan + Favorite Cocktails

Part 1: Scouts

so I want to make actual cocktails that I feel like represent these characters but it's gonna take some time to craft. so for now here's the regular drinks I think they'd really like + links to the recipes if you want to try them for yourself!

I tried not to include rum in any of the scouts recipes because i don't think that's something they would logically have access to. Connie's recipe includes rum but it can be substituted with vodka quite easily, so i thought it was worth including.

Eren + Feuerzangenbowle

- a mulled wine, but with a sugar cone that u set on fire !!!

- this is one of Connie's favs too but they never let him make it because they don't want him anywhere near an open flame

- eren likes the mulled wine by itself too, when the scouts are in hiding he makes it as a treat on cold nights

- makes it as more of a social event as opposed to just wanting to drink. loves to gather everybody around him while he sets the sugar cones ablaze one by one

- his mulling experience makes him the best punch maker of the scouts too. In a modern!au he's always tasked with making the punch for parties and get togethers. he puts his hair in a little lunch lady style hairnet and gets roasted to shit by Jean.

Mikasa + Kirsch Royale

- red like her scarf 😱😱😱

- very very cherry flavored mixed with champagne

- like mikasa; beautiful, will knock u on ur ass

- historia introduced her to it at her coronation party. everyone's popping cheap champagne and historia Demands that they bring out the good stuff for her friends

- just likes vodka-soaked cherries in general; anything that's spent time submerged in alcohol is her finger food of choice

- if Jean/Mikasa endgame they bond over their love of cherry liqueur idk idk ((also kirsch?? kirschstein?? the flirting opportunities baby))

Armin + Aperol Spritz

- lightweight alert!!!!!

- usually a really light alcohol content, pregame type of drink. just a white wine and some sparkling water really

- armin has two of these when he first drinks and gets absolutely blasted. Someone (probably jean) snuck it from erwins office the night before shiganshina 2 electric boogaloo

- armin drinks it on special occasions. But he also likes to bring a pitcher of it down whenever he talks to Annie

- in the modern day he LOVES Pina coladas, but in universe he has no clue what a pineapple or a coconut is so

- when he goes to marley he also discovers blue caraçao and puts that shit in everything ("it makes whatever you drink look like the ocean!!!")

Jean + French Connection

- called "The Connection" because France doesn't exist

- just cognac with amaretto liqueur

- his dad drinks it; that's it that's the reason

- he thinks it's cool and masc because it's served in a brandy glass and only has two simple ingredients; wants to be seen as an adult and a man's man or w/e

- has a convo post-rumbling talking about how he "wished all alcohol wasn't so bitter tasting". man has had only cognac and a hint of amaretto his whole life. Annie buys him a sweet moscato wine ("her one good deed for the week") and his head explodes

Sasha + Rumplesnuggler

- literally creamy alcoholic hot chocolate (peppermint schnapps and Irish cream being the alcoholic part)

- sweet sweet sweet sweet sweet

- her dad made it for her one christmas and ever since then she's been hooked

- every time she drinks it it takes her back to the cold woods of her youth, of her loving family, and of her moms delicious cooking

- gabi and falco try the non-alcoholic version of this and love it too. instant sugar high

- she also really likes anything with vodka because it's made with potatoes lol

Connie + Green Demon

- midori and lemon juice!!! Toxic waste in a bottle!!

- azumabito brings a bottle of midori as a gesture of goodwill (likely called something else at this point) and Connie just 👀👀 "it's green. Like GREEN green"

- he's putting it in everything, like it's food coloring. Green water, green green tea, green coffee. Menace to society

- he lets niccolo try it and he ponders the taste for a second. "Let me try something". Squeezes a WHOLE LEMON into the glass (he's a chef not a bartender). Tastes it, immediately regrets it. Sooo sour. He's about to throw it out but lets connie try his concoction of the damned first

- Love At First Sip. man never tried that marleyan wine because it's just midori and lemons from here on out

- when he gets married they toast this instead of champagne. heck he might just get married to the bottle

- Connie Springer Midori Melon Man

Levi + Dry Martini

- my first thought was a U-Boot which is just beer with vodka poured in it. this man weighs 100 pounds soaking wet and 50 of those pounds have to be liquor before he feels anything

- instead it's gin and vermouth which is. Not much better tbh

- levi likes to be in control of what he drinks but also what he looks like while he's drinking it. No unsophisticated beer kegs or basic wine glasses. It's martini glass or bust. No martini glass? He'll just drink water.

- same with the olives or lemon peel. No garnish? No drink. he's a little picky

- definitely has a favorite bar that makes it Just Right. probably a bar he went to with Erwin when they were starry-eyed scouts

- in the modern day he also makes a hell of a mixer. Kenny 100% taught him how to make a killer trash can punch

?????????????????????????

Hange + ???

- do NOT engage hange in talks about alcohol do NOT pass go do NOT collect 200 dollars

- their fav drink does not have a name. it is a long island iced tea but made of GARBAGE

- the ingredients change every time but it is invariably disgusting

- attempts at mixing include: pickle juice, barbecue sauce, mayonnaise, seawater, bone marrow, olive oil

- every once in a while a combo will come together that shouldn't work but absolutely does. do not trust this miracle to happen twice

@lemmetreatya @nuri148 @uwubraun u guys said u were interested so!! here it is!! i did it. my opus. im gonna do the warriors next and i already have Ideas

[quoteablebooks]

Genre: Fiction, Adult, Historical Romance

Rating: 2 out of 5

Content Warning: On page sex, misogyny

Summary:

He was a Highland rogue— wicked with a bow and just as wicked with the ladies.

Declan MacGregor hadn’t a care in the world beyond finding a soft bed and willing woman…until he had to escort Lady Liadain Campbell to the English court. The woman needles him at every turn, but he can’t just abandon her to that vipers’ nest without protection.

She never asked for a bodyguard…

Liadain wasn’t thrilled to be left in the care of her clan’s archrival. It was as if the man never had a lady tell him no before! And yet as whispers of treason swirl through the court and the threat of danger grows ever sharper, her bitter enemy soon becomes the only one she can trust…

*Opinions*

So I am doing the alphabet challenge this year and I know this is shocking, but there are not a lot of books that start with the letter ‘X’. So I went onto the Libby app (shout out to public libraries) and found this book while scrolling through the ‘X’ titles. I thought that this would be a fun romance set in the historical beauty of the Highlands of Scotland. Well, it is set in Scotland, that much is true. As for fun…well…it happened. 

Now, I am not going to sit here and shit on mass-market paperback romances because a lot of them are fun and easy reads that pull you into a world for a couple of hours. That being said, I believe that this novel has all the issues with those fun romances and none of the fun. I found the characters very flat and not in the predictable stereotypical way. Neither of the main characters is especially likable, and even when you’re in their heads you don’t get anything more from their personalities. All the side characters were equally forgettable and I don’t think I am going to remember anything from this novel except for the fact that for some reason the author had the Gunpowder Plot as a plot point. That’s right, Guy Fawkes is a character in this novel and the main character is implicated in a plot to kill King James which you know he going to get out of the moment it’s introduced. 

The writing in this novel was not good and I honestly felt as if it could have done with a couple more pass-throughs by an editor. The same words were used for descriptions within the same paragraph that were very noticeable. While I get that the author was attempting to mimic the Scottish accent and speech, I think it was used far too liberally and at times gave me a headache while reading the book. I wasn’t expecting this to be a literary masterpiece, but at times this was to read. Don’t even get me started on the overt misogyny in this book because there were points where I could not roll my eyes hard enough. As this was published in 2013, there is really no excuse, just because it’s a historical novel does not mean you have to hate women except the super special ones that you like. 

This is a romance novel so if the romance between the characters had been good, I would have given the whole Guy Fawkes being in this book a pass. Unfortunately, the romance was not emotionally fulfilling and the sex scenes were a mixture of closed door and erotica that did absolutely nothing for me. Both MacGregor and Liadain never really gave any reason why they liked one another other than they found each other hot. Literally, that’s it. Liadain keeps saying that MacGregor has a sweet side because he shows her an ounce of decency before treating her horribly. Also, if I see the ‘word’ rogue one more time I will scream. Also, this man is supposed to be great in bed and had all these women, yet the sex scenes don’t last more than two paragraphs? The math aint mathing. 

This is a two-star read because it didn’t actively make me angry and in the end, I don’t think it is supposed to be taken too seriously. It would have been two and a half but I honestly could not get over the fact that the Gunpowder Plot was a plot point in this novel. I will not be reading any more in this connected series and hope to find something a little different if I try to do the alphabet challenge again next year. 

[blackhazefanblog]

My headcanons are pretty different from yours XD (in my mind, it's Shicmuon who likes spicy food while it's Lidusis who likes sweets and has feminine hobbies) but it's interesting to see the different ideas we have about the characters!

My favourite ones from yours are the one where Dirod spiked Lidusis' food with spice only for him to love it and Shicmuon liking red and pink!

Some of my own headcanons:

Rood:

Following his memory loss, he did not remember having eaten cotton candy before. An year later he had the exact same reaction to it he had the first time making Kielnode cry. He hid his tears in his hands and Rood asked him if he was crying because he wanted cotton candy but Kiel wanted him to eat it all so he said he was crying because he hated cotton candy. Rood believed him and never offered him cotton candy ever again in their lives and now Kiel actually feels like crying because he wants cotton candy.

Kiel didn't have a good idea of what was appropriate for little kids so he would read beginner textbooks on magic circles to Rood as a bedtime story and that's how Rood got so knowledgeable about them. But as a kid they would make him fall asleep in no time flat and Kiel was convinced he was doing an amazing job parenting.

Despite liking sweets as a kid, he later grew out of it and now likes things that are dark and bitter like his soul dark chocolate and coffee.

Kiel had no cooking skills he could pass on to Rood, and they lived off of ready prepared meals for a long time. Rood acquired more food skills after going on his first few missions, which mainly involved cup noodles and soup with some chopped veggies.

Miss Ren:

Is the only person at Opion capable of making a proper sandwich.

It was only once she moved into Opion that Kiel and Rood began to eat proper meals.

When she found out what Kiel had been feeding Rood all those years she was livid not happy.

She taught Rood how to make a few basic meals so the two guys won't starve or eat garbage while she's away.

Even though he's a genius at magic, Kiel has little to no basic life skills, so Ren's also their resident handy(wo)man who fixes anything that breaks around Opion. (Hence her reaction when Lanoste broke a whole door of Opion in one shot cuz not even her boys are that destructive.)

She is literally the only reason the Chrishi brothers and Opion even survive to see chapter one.

Lin:

Is good at cooking and baking (her family runs a restaurant!).

Always brings snacks for her friends, some of which she makes herself.

She really misses Ben and was very happy when Rood came to Helios so she has someone to talk about him with.

Lidusis sometimes reminds her of Ben, which was why she ends up suggesting a hair cut for him the same way she does for Ben when his hair grows too long.

Iel:

She has a high reading speed, and coupled with all the reading she does she finishes several books each day.

Not all the books she reads are for study, she also reads romance novels. These are one of the books she reads before bed rather than in class.

She's very punctual, but was late for class one time when she saw Blow in a dream and didn't want to wake up before she remembered she was at Helios. (Maybe because of a book she read that night-)

Lidusis:

He has a sweet tooth and enjoys the snacks brought by Lin.

He likes the company of girls and enjoys the time he spends around Lin and Iel because they remind him of Ibriel.

He has a few feminine hobbies, such as embroidering flowers. He originally took it up because Ibriel liked flowers and he wanted to give her a good gift but then she died before he could. He kept the flower embroidered handkerchiefs and eventually gave them to Chevel instead. Chevel criticised that floral patterned handkerchiefs were a lame gift for a guy but still uses them everyday.

He used to make flower crowns with Ibriel. He would pick the flowers while she made the crowns. She made ones for herself, Lidusis and Chevel. Lidusis was always happy to receive his, while Chevel would complain non-stop about flowers being a girl thing but also do nothing to stop her as Ibriel puts his on his head and goes on to wear it for the rest of the day until it was time to go home. (Hence, why Lidusis decided to give him the handkerchiefs anyway and knows he probably likes them.)

Dio:

Early in Helios he joined a local D&D group with some of the other students there (his "friends" who left him when he befriended Lidusis). He made his first character a shapeshifting dragon who was the Demon King's pet and the others thought he was a creative guy with a lot of original ideas. They later found out he was not a creative guy and had no original ideas.

One of the most fascinating parts of the human world to him is the variety of food and he thinks the vending machine in the cafeteria is absolute magic.

His favourite food is meat (I mean, he's a dragon) but after having some, he came to like Lin's baked snacks the most.

Shicmuon:

Likes spicy food, to the point where he eats dried chilies as a snack. He gets his taste from his Eperia, who first tasted spicy food when she had street food with Lanoste one time. Only her inherited constitution allows Shic to eat this much spice and not get an upset stomach.

Followingly, he also drowns nearly every meal in chili flakes. At first the cooks were disappointed the chairman's son wouldn't taste the full flavour of their dishes, but eventually realised they could cook the sloppiest dog food and still get away with it as long as they made it spicy enough.

Has no aptitude for any hobby that require patience, which means pretty much every hobby out there (hence, Eren's comment of him "enjoying what hobbies he has" at the magician's tower when he's picking petals off of flowers).

Following his low patience and short attention span, he DNFs any book he reads (after leaving the palace anyway). But he does like to read action comics; ones with lots of violence and gore. He "reads" many of these in his free time though it's more like he looks at the pictures and ignores all the text like a three year old. (And this is what we see him reading in the extra comic posted on the author's blog.)

Marquis Hadelio:

Ibriel used to always bring home some flowers for daddy. He still has them pressed and uses them as bookmarks.

He argues with Duke Artian every council meeting, but he isn't as intelligent or quick witted as Artian will spend the entire time until the meeting coming up with the perfect comeback for whatever was said last time.

Duke Artian:

Though he's much more quick witted than Hadelio, he's arguably the more petty of the two as he is older but still argues with the same intensity.

He does not tell his wife or anyone else the details of said petty arguments at the council meetings, and he thinks he's in the clear. In reality, Dayner hears all about it in juicy detail at her next regular tea party with Nuadly.

Duchess Nuadly:

She thoroughly enjoys watching Duke Artian and Marquis Hadelio argue every council meeting, and hides a smile behind her fan when doing so.

If they stop arguing she casually tosses in a comment to spark another fire and sits back to watch the show some more.

She keeps a private journal at her residence where she writes down the best parts after every meeting.

It's only "private" to outsiders. After each meeting she reads said best parts out loud at dinner for the whole household to hear, including the maids and servants. (They love it.)

Black Haze fans are you there? What are your headcanons about the characters? Rood Chrishi - When he was a child he like picking up living creatures that Kiel was worried about because most of them are demons - He had to learn to cook for himself because Kiel can't - He is not a picky eater; he has thought of "as long its edible he can eat it," although he still prefers delicious food. - He is really sensitive and conscious of his appearance, especially his height - He's a little fond of dragons - Despite his color scheme being mostly black, Rood's favorite color isn't black in fact he is trying to find a way if there's a way to change his color. - He is secretly a geek/nerd

Shicmuon - Despite how he looks, Shicmuon has a sweet tooth and can actually bake and cook sweets - He knows how to crochet and other feminine activities for some reason - Has low alcohol tolerance and can't handle spicy food - His cold attitude to women has probably something to do with his childhood(or babyhood?) - He has a fondness for red and pink(yes you hear me) - He will beat up anyone regardless of a woman or not, that the association has used up its power so that no one will carelessly annoy him.

Lidusis - He surprisingly like spicy food - One time his brother tried to bully him by putting an unknown amount of spice in his food, he eat it with joy and thought that his brother made him what he liked - He is not scared of horror movies, ghosts, and any paranormal All of this are just headcannon of mine so they are not officially canon. So don't be confused!

[missmaywemeetagain]

Pink Scarf - PART 5 (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Requested: kinda??

(Read more here--Pink Scarf Series Masterlist!)

Prompt: You are part of Elvis Presley's coveted inner circle, and the currently-disgruntled wife of one of the members of Elvis' famous entourage, the Memphis Mafia. After Elvis' dynamite first performance in Vegas, you find yourself in deep water when his magnetism finally gets to you after all these years.  [ Fem!Reader ]

TW: Talk of alcohol and drug use. Infertility mentioned. Cussing. Infidelity. Historical inaccuracies in the Vegas timeline. Priscilla doesn't exist in this timeline.  

Rating: PG (ish?) (but other parts are very NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact)   ||     Word Count: 4114

A/N: Okay, okay, okay, so this part is exposition heavy, and there is drama, but Jack has arrived! I struggled at first bringing him to life and realized we needed some backstory, so this is it. It also feels a little chaotic to me but our reader is in a chaotic headspace, so hopefully it works. Just so you know, if you're here for the smut, it returns in Part 6...

Thank y'all again for your reactions, reblogs, messages, and comments--I read every one and they make me swoon! Keep 'em comin' if you feel so moved (or send me asks since now I know how they work lol)! I put everyone on the taglist who requested it, but please let me know if there are any issues.

I imagined this with Elvis in mind, but Austin!Elvis works here, too, whatever floats your boat! 

Apologies in advance if there are any grammatical errors or TW that I didn't catch. 

It’s not long before Elvis kisses you goodbye, a sweet, languid kiss that has your toes curling all over again. You convince yourself it’s the last time, that you will never, ever kiss him again because that would be decidedly wrong and bad and you never in a million years set out to be a cheater.

It’s not exactly regret you feel. You are upset with yourself for giving into your baser instincts, for stooping to Jack’s level, and letting your bitterness towards Jack dictate your choices, such as sleeping with one of his (and your) best friends. Those things put a sick feeling in your stomach.

But you just cannot bring yourself to regret sleeping with Elvis. Maybe if it had been anyone else, you’d feel a deep sense of shame for that part of it, but Elvis is quite literally one-of-a-kind. Beyond that, he’s also a good friend, someone you already care deeply about. You aren’t sure if that makes things better or worse in the end, but, no, you don’t regret this strange and unreal night with him.

You do, however, feel a deep sense of anxiety around this secret you must now keep. You think about it as you jump in the shower and frantically wash the smell of Elvis off you, the proof of your lovemaking swirling down the drain. You try to think of it as a clean slate, that yes, you did something you shouldn’t have, but now you have it out of your system and can move forward and try, try to make things work with your husband.

The husband who never came back to the room last night, who abandoned you to do god knows what with god knows who.

No, you don’t really regret Elvis, but you do feel furious at the circumstances that brought you into his arms in the first place.

The thing is, without Jack, you have nothing. You have no job; you don’t even have your own bank account. Since Elvis’ world was so consuming, you barely even have contact with those outside the inner circle, and this had been the way of things for the better part of the decade. It is 1969 for god’s sake, and you are not only stuck in a traditional marriage but wrapped up in this crazy world of Elvis Presley, which is anything but traditional.

But you can’t blame him entirely, you think, no matter how much you want to. Jack is his own man, making his own stupid choices, and you don’t have to be a helpless housewife. The world is changing for women, and maybe this whole experience is just your wake-up call to be more independent.

Maybe it’s time to consider leaving Jack, a small voice interjects.

No. No. Fear consumes you at the thought. You wish you could be as liberated as other women, but something deep inside you tells you the lie that you are nothing without Jack.

All these thoughts swirl through your sleep-deprived brain at once. You haven’t slept in over 24 hours, you realize, and you are exhausted, but wired. Nothing is making a hell of a lot of sense and making life-altering decisions right now is probably not the best choice.

Too late.

You are still in the bathroom, finishing cleaning up when you hear the key in the lock. It startles you out of your thoughts.

Jack.

You take a deep breath and try to act as normal as possible.

“Sweetie, is that you?” you call out.

Jack stumbles in, dark circles under his chocolate brown eyes, now glassy and bloodshot, his face drawn. “How’s my treasure?” he slurs, using his pet name for you, as he plants a wet, sloppy kiss on your cheek.

“Fine,” you say, forcing a thin-lipped smile, busying yourself by rubbing lotion into your skin. You stop yourself from recoiling back from him. He smells of stale cigarettes, booze, and a cheap perfume that you don’t recognize. Anger flares inside you, along with a deep sadness.

You know you shouldn’t ask, but you can’t help yourself. “Missed you tonight—turned around and you were just gone after the show. What did you get up to?” you ask, forcing your voice to be light.

“I was out having fun with the guys,” Jack mumbles, the lie so obvious that even if you didn’t know for a fact that he wasn’t with the guys, you still wouldn’t believe him. “And what does it matter? I’m a grown man and can do what I want without your permission,” he adds belligerently, stumbling out of the bathroom.

The more Jack drinks, the shorter his temper gets, and he seems drunk most of the time these days. You absolutely hate how your heart starts to speed up and you suddenly feel meek in response to his change in mood. The man he used to be was so sweet and unassuming. You silently hope he just passes out in the bed and that’ll be the end of it.

“Y/n, is that…? What the fuck is Elvis’ scarf doing in our bed?” he yells from the other room.

Shit shit SHIT.

You freeze. The guilt hits you suddenly, like a mac truck coming out of nowhere. I did a stupid, terrible thing. What in the hell was I thinking?

Do not panic, you tell yourself, your brain moving rapid fire through possible explanations and thank god one comes quickly and easily.

You force a nonchalantness into your voice, “What? Oh, the scarf…well, you know Elvis, sweetie. I told him I really liked the color and suddenly he was taking it off and giving it to me.”

Elvis was famous for his generosity, quite literally giving people the shirt off his back if they asked (though more commonly it was jewelry and cars), so this was not a stretch in the least. You hold your breath, waiting for Jack’s response.

“Well, next time tell him you like his gold watch, will ya!” Jack calls, buying it.

“Sure thing, babe!” You force a laugh. Your heart pounds against your ribcage.

You let out a shaking breath. That damn scarf.

You need to pull yourself together if you are going to keep this a secret. It’s barely been an hour and you’ve already almost been caught. Deceit has never been your strong suit. Looking in the mirror, you search for any other sign of your indiscretion, willing the guilty look off your face. Not that Jack will even notice. But still.

You’re going to need to learn to live with this. Feeling bad about it isn’t going to change anything. Jack certainly doesn’t seem to be feeling bad about the fact he just walked in smelling of another woman, so why should you care?

The knot in your stomach reminds you it’s not that easy.

Jack’s already snoring as you lay down beside him in the bed you shared with Elvis hardly an hour ago. Turning to Jack, you can see some of that youthful innocence from when you were both younger, his freckled face and dusty blonde hair falling on his forehead. He was surely the most handsome of the Memphis Mafia, though the deep scar that ran down his left cheek was off-putting to some.

That scar was the reason he’d met Elvis. Jack had been in a horrible car accident in junior high, one that tragically killed his mother, sent his father down the bottle, and left him with a permanent reminder of his misfortune every time he looked in the mirror. Once he’d gotten to high school, the scar still angry and fresh, some of the older boys began relentlessly making fun of him, bullying him. Well, Elvis, being the kind soul that he is and knowing exactly what it felt like to be different, to be picked on, came to Jack’s defense one day and they had been friends ever since.

When you’d met Jack, six years later, he’d just come back from his two years of military service, having gone in right out of high school. 20 years old and filled with hope for the future, he’d walked into your family’s diner in Memphis in his uniform. You remember that day like it was yesterday, your heart swelling a little. You, at 18, had found him so handsome and his scar made him even more intriguing, even though you already had a serious boyfriend, your high school sweetheart, Ted. Though Jack was quiet and bashful, he quickly became a regular customer, especially when you happened to be working. Eventually, he worked up the courage to chat you up, but only after he’d brought his friend Elvis in to be his wingman.

In 1955, Elvis was just getting big in the South, and when Jack started bringing him in, too, you were even more impressed because he was friends with a local celebrity, albeit one with silly long hair and moody eyes and a strange sense of style. Later Jack told you he’d brought Elvis in to help him start a conversation with you because Elvis was always so good with people and making them feel comfortable. You thought it was adorable that Jack cared so much.

And they were both always kind and tipped well, even if they only had a basket of fries, so you didn’t mind waiting on the strange duo. Of course, at that time, no one knew just how big Elvis would soon become, so you were all just a couple of kids talking and being friendly and having a good time.

Then, when Ted broke your heart and got engaged to another girl quick as lightning, after you had given him everything (thinking that you two would get married), Jack waited for you to mend. He even waited while you rebounded with another guy; in fact, you’d gone on a triple date with the guy, Jack, and Elvis and a few of your girlfriends.

When Jack finally asked you out on a date, you’d told him it was about time. After having been friends for a while by that point, it didn’t take long before you two fell in love. You remember how wonderful and in love you were in those early years, how you would’ve done anything for each other.

Life was moving fast by that point. You’d both watched in awe as your friend skyrocketed into stardom, yet E was still (mostly) down to earth and always generous. By late ’57, when you and Jack got married, Elvis had taken time between shooting movies and making gold records to stand next to Jack in the wedding, offering Graceland up for the reception. Then Elvis was drafted, and other than the sad days surrounding his mother’s early death, you didn’t see him for the next two years.

Despite missing your friend, those two years were wonderful. Back then, Jack didn’t go anywhere near alcohol or drugs after seeing what it had done to his father. You both settled into married life well, Jack with his good job as a mechanic in Memphis (he’d worked as one in the army), and you became a happy homemaker along with helping your family at the diner.

Unfortunately, by the turn of the decade, you both realized something was wrong—you were having trouble getting pregnant. After several doctor’s visits, it became clear that having children wasn’t in the cards for you. This was hard on you both, heartbreaking, in fact. Though Jack never wanted you to feel bad about it, you couldn’t help but feel lacking, that you were responsible for dashing his dreams of having a beautiful, large family.

Right around this time, Elvis returned home from the army with much pomp and circumstance. Though he’d feared his fame would dwindle in his time away, the opposite was true—he came back more mature, his image now “clean cut,” and suddenly he was signed up to be a real movie star. As his fame increased, so did the need to surround himself with true friends and people he trusted. He’d asked Jack, along with Jerry, Joe, Charlie, and the West brothers, to all join him out in California when he was making his films to help with security and things of that nature.

Jack had been reluctant to leave you at first, but you could also tell he needed to process and get away after the news, and it wasn’t going to be forever, just a few movies, a couple months at a time, and the ever-generous Elvis would take care of everything, take care of both of you—you wouldn’t have to worry about a thing.

Then, the guys would all return and the Elvis lifestyle began in earnest. You’d be up all night, partying, sleeping all day, time having no meaning. He’d open theme parks and movie theaters in the middle of the night for all of you to enjoy. Graceland became one big hub for his family and close friends, who all became your close friends. In the early days, you even went to California with them a few times, with the girlfriends and other wives and such. It was all incredibly glamorous and took your mind off not being able to have the family you’d wanted.

But as the years ticked on, the more Elvis became disillusioned with the cyclical and draining direction of his career, the more bored he became, the less you all were invited out to LA, and the rumors of the parties and the drugs and the girls slowly trickled back to all of you left behind at Graceland.

Eventually, when Jack came home, you noticed he’d started drinking, only a little at first, but after each trip it would get worse and worse. For a while, he was still loving and somewhat present when he was home, maybe because he was feeling guilty about leaving you so often (or about whatever scandalous shit was happening out in LA), but he was still there. There would be long conversations and gifts and dates. Of course, the gang of you all still partied and had fun when the men returned home. Things were not all bad. But Jack continued to drift away from you slowly, until nothing you did or tried seemed to really bring back the man you’d married.

It was desperately lonely, and it felt like all your fault, even though you knew logically that it wasn’t. It was just the unfortunate perfect storm of events that kept you married, but often living separate lives. Even with everything, you had once been sure that he had still loved you, and you had still loved him.

But somewhere in the last few years, it had changed, and you barely recognized him anymore. You knew a lot of it was the drinking and the drugs you knew he was doing out in California. You weren’t sure when the women started, or how serious they were, nor did you really want to know. While Elvis had gotten better, healthier, stronger since he gained more control over his career in the last year and a half, your husband seemed irreparably changed, caught in a vicious cycle of self-destruction.

He had become the thing he never wanted to become—his father—and you had become his ball and chain, a weighty responsibility he was forced to come home to every once in a while. You were doubtful he still truly loved you.

But do I still love him?

As you lie there next to him, you aren’t sure. Maybe you don’t want to admit to yourself that you don’t love him anymore. How could you, after what you did with Elvis? The man who, since the very beginning, has somehow been at the crux of the relationship between you and Jack. Always there, ever present in the background or the foreground, save for his two years in Germany.

Images, forgotten moments of Elvis flash through your mind: His lingering flirty eyes at the diner. His crooked smile as he grabbed your hand tightly, pulling you and Jack backstage at one of the early shows in Memphis. How he’d danced with you at your wedding, gripping your waist like he didn’t want to let you go, a sadness behind his smile that you’d assumed was related to the exhaustion of his fame. How he clung to you, sobbing in your arms, when his mother died. How he’d found and paid for the best doctors to find out why you couldn’t get pregnant, and the giant bouquets of flowers he’d sent every day for a week once you’d found out why. How he'd made a point over the years to find small moments with you, whether it was talking about the meaning of life out under the stars or singing hymns at the piano.

Slowly, slowly it begins to dawn on you that it’s possible something else has been going on for a very, very long time.

“I take care of what’s mine.”

Your heart starts thundering in your chest, taking away your breath. There’s no way. I’m just letting what happened affect my perception of things.

But the seed is now there, lingering, planting itself ever deeper as you desperately try to uproot it.

Stuck in your memories and confused by the present, you realize that tears are silently flowing down your face. You sniffle, wiping them away quickly. You turn on your side, away from Jack, trying desperately to sleep, but your thoughts are puzzled, angry, sad, euphoric, churning. And they keep drifting, drifting back to Elvis.

Those haunting blue eyes. The feel of his lips. The way he made you feel so good.  

Fuck.

*

You make it nearly two days before your need for Elvis catches up with you.

That first day, you barely slept, and when you did, it was fitful. However, when Jack woke, he was sober and seemed sorry for abandoning you the night before. He obviously wanted to make up for his behavior, encouraging you to get dressed up because he was going to show you around the Strip, take you to an early dinner at a nice restaurant before he had to work security for Elvis’ 8pm dinner show.

“I’m gonna take my treasure out and show her a night she deserves!” he had exclaimed enthusiastically. He kisses you and holds you at the waist as you walk under the neon lights and for a moment you think that maybe your secret indiscretion somehow subconsciously reminded Jack that he needed to pay attention to you, that you are his wife, that he loves you. For a moment, it feels like it used to. For a moment, you forget it all and feel happy with your husband.

For a moment.

Then he has a double whisky on the rocks with dinner, then another, and another. Soon he is openly flirting with the waitress and while to anyone else looking at you, he just seems like a pleasant guy, you can sense the evening going downhill, his dark eyes starting to glaze and shifting to anyone in a skirt.

You hide your disappointment behind a forced smile and a glass of champagne.

So when it is time for him to join Elvis and the other guys backstage, you give him a kiss on the cheek, and gladly send him on his way.

You linger a little too long at the door backstage, fingers playing with the clasp on your clutch, an overwhelming temptation to see Elvis rolling over you.

No, you can’t. Don’t even think about it.

Originally, you’d planned to go to the midnight show with some of the other wives and girlfriends, but as you hurry away, you realize you don’t think you can see him yet, not just yet. You are too vulnerable. Too tired. Too confused by last night’s possible revelation. Too disappointed in Jack and feeling stupid that you’d thought that things might actually change.

You spend the night in your hotel room instead, reading a book and catching up on much needed sleep.

You dream of calloused fingertips trailing over your body, of deep azure eyes burning into your soul, of full, pouty lips catching yours. Elvis.

You sleep so hard that you don’t even hear Jack stumble in at some god-awful hour.

You wake up feeling refreshed, stronger, like the last few days had been some strange fever dream, though the black and pink scarf draped over the back of the chair reminds you otherwise.

I’ll give it back to him tonight after the dinner show, you think. No more temptation. No confusion.

You have every intention of following through, though as you get ready for the evening, you spend a little extra time on your makeup, putting on your sexiest, most eye-catching little black dress. You are going to hit the casinos with the girls before catching the midnight show, and plan to just slide backstage after the first show to return the scarf before going on your merry way.

You fold the scarf neatly into your clutch, toying only briefly with the silky fabric before locking it away. Yes, this is good, this is the right thing to do, you know it is.

This mantra repeats in your head all the way down the elevator and to the backstage door. Just give him the scarf with a smile and walk away, easy as pie. In your head, you picture it perfectly.

But the moment Joe lets you backstage, you realize that fate has other plans for you. You don’t see Elvis, but you sure as hell do see your husband with his tongue down the throat of some young groupie, right there down the hall, right there for everyone to see.

Your stomach rolls, a bitter bile of shocked humiliation rising into your mouth. It is one thing to suspect, even as sure as you were, but it is something completely different to see it right in front of your face. Fury has your entire body shaking and while part of you wants to scream and break things, you find yourself frozen to the spot.

Jack doesn’t see you and just keeps necking with the girl, who is giggling stupidly. Angry tears burn in your eyes and threaten to consume you. You white knuckle your clutch as if it will save you from physically harming the man you’d pledged to spend the rest of your life with.

It’s Jerry who sees you from down the hall, beyond the offensive scene, and the look of horror, then pity, that flashes over his face humiliates you even more. This is what finally gets you moving, spinning on your heels and heading right back out the door. Once you are out, the tears spill over onto your cheeks, and you frantically brush them away with a shaky hand, heading to the nearest washroom before anyone else can see you.

Locking the bathroom stall door behind you, you finally take a shuddering breath punctuated by a sob. You realize your marriage is truly over, that it is nothing but a façade that placates society into believing that anything in your life is remotely normal. You are furious at Jack, furious at that poor, unsuspecting girl, furious at Jerry, at Elvis, but mostly furious at yourself for ever thinking there was a way Jack would find his way back to you.

And there is the deep, horrid feeling of utter failure—that this was somehow your fault, that you somehow asked for this, that you are a terrible wife and that’s why Jack strays. This is somehow your punishment for not being able to offer him the life he wanted.

Yet, beyond those hellish thoughts, as you let yourself truly feel this out, you almost feel relieved. Relieved that you know for sure, relieved that you can stop pretending like things were as they used to be. Relieved of your guilt about Elvis.

Elvis.

Your tears subside, your anger a little less intense, your breathing evening out and while the sick feeling of being totally humiliated still resides in your stomach, something else rises through it all.

Fuck Jack.

You pull some toilet paper from the stall, unlocking it and finding the mirror. You carefully blot away your tears, grateful that most of your makeup is salvageable, though your eyes are quite red. Rummaging in your clutch, you use your compact and carefully reapply your lipstick. As you go to put the makeup back in the clutch, you see that silky, beautiful pink scarf.

You don’t think twice as you wrap it around your neck.

**

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[i-arch-my-backula]

“Tell me more”: The Grabber x gn reader

GOOD LORD I HAVE SUCH BAD BRAIN ROT FROM ETHAN HAWKE! I’ve needed to write literally anything about this man for such a long time and I think I finally found a perfect thing to do it with. I posted about this before but like I write poems and little horror stories on the side and i have them in a journal so that’s where this idea came from. Also thank you to the person who suggested I use Misery by Stephan King as insporation. I’m reading it right now and it’s keeping me on edge. I would talk more about fun facts about it but this is getting really fucking long so I hope y’all enjoy. 

Warnings: Strong language, kidnapping, Stockholm syndrome?, mentions of head injuries 

It’s been a few days now since you’ve been stuck in the basement of The Grabber. You were walking home from the library, a place you often went to work on your writing when you spotted a man who needed help unlocking his van. You don’t remember much but you remember how strong he was and the cold bitter taste of whatever he sprayed in your mouth. Since there’s nothing else to do you’re trying to sleep again when you hear the unlocking of the door. You sit up on the bed as he walks in. You find he’s holding your journal and a pen in one of his hands. “Hello dove. I’ve had an interesting time reading your writing.” You blink. Processing what he’s telling you. 

“You read my journal.” You ask the obvious question in this situation. With others soon popping up into you mind ‘How much did he read? Why would he read it? What is he going to do about it now?’ He nods. 

“I love your stories, and your poems. Although I do enjoy the horror of your stories, your poems are so sad. The one called ‘Lingers’ really shook me up.“ His tone is oddly cheery. He shuts the door and approches you. You move back on the mattress while he stands closer now. 

“My poems are very personal. I don’t show them to anyone.” You focus your eyes on the soft flexing of his hand holding the pen and journal. He’s wearing the smiling mask, but only the bottom, you can’t handle looking him in the eye. Not after he read so many personal things about you, even if they were coded in poetry. 

“Well I understand that, they are very personal I can tell,” He crouches down and sets down the pen. He opens the journal and flips through a few pages, “I love the story about Trudy. How did you come up with that idea?” He looks from the journal to you. He seems genuine. Not like he’s trying to scare you but like he wants to really know more. 

“Well Trudy is a lonely girl. Often ditched by friends and ignored by family. This is a strong theme on her birthday because everyone seems to forget it. So to ensure she would have the perfect sweet 16 she kills her friends and family and props them up for her party.” You explain. He grabs the pen and stands back up and walks to the side of the mattress. He sits close to you the journal still open. 

“But why would she kill them?” He asks. 

“Well she was never truly loved by anyone. She never really felt comfort from friends or family. She took to hitting her head harshly on hard objects as a form of self harm. Those two things really shook her up. She knew she would never find comfort in life, so she found comfort in death.” He nods. You know you shouldn’t but you find yourself wanting to tell him more. He wants to listen to your stories, he wants to know more about them. 

“What does she look like?” He asks. 

“I picture her as having olive skin and big brown eyes. She has long black hair she keeps in a braid and she wears a lot of sweaters and skirts.” He hums and looks back down at your journal, flipping through a few pages. 

“Now Barbra is implied to be possesed by something that first but her dog right?” You nod. 

“Well what did bite her dog first? Was it an animal? A zombie? An alien?” He tilts his head a little as he asks this. You find it easier now to look him in the eye. 

“I imagine there’s this monster that lives in the woods, something very dark and hidden. It took Barbra’s father but her mother missed the signs it took her daughter too. The monster first takes something from that persons life and infects it, usually with a bite. Then it transfers that venom from the bite to the new host, this case being Barbra. It slowly deforms the host and turns them into something like itself. Something with long contorted limbs and slimy skin. I have lots of fun writing these.” 

“I really like your writing. But I want to know what ‘stolen’ is about.” He hands you your journal on the page with that poem on it. The slight wave of peace drains out of you when you look back at that poem. You feel tears begin to form in the back of your eyes. 

“It’s uh about my past relationships. They weren’t the best.” You shut your journal and look back up at him. His eyes are down and he’s focused on the closed journal. When he looks back up at you there’s something in his eyes. You can’t tell what it is exactly. 

“I don’t want to hurt you,” He places his hand on yours, “I promise I don’t,” You nod. “Well I have a fun idea. I want you to keep writing then you can read it to me.”

“Really?” He nods. 

“Thank you for my journal back. Do you want me to write anything specific?” He thinks for a moment looking down at the pen. You shift in the silence that echos in the room while you wait. Eventually he looks back up at you with wide pupils, leaving small blue rings around them.

“I like the childhood horror theme from Trudy and Barbra’s stories. Write something like that again.” He hands you the pen and stands back up. He leaves you in the basement alone again, but this time, you have something to do. A reason to be here with him. 

[hyunverse]

more than friends | gojo satoru

✧ part two for friendzoned

✧ gender neutral

✧ genre; fluff

✧ requested by anon(s)

✧ note. i swear i'll put a "read more" line later. i'm on mobile rn 🗿

gojo satoru is late again. he arrives at jujutsu tech an hour late, a result of him stopping by a few shops to buy sweets. he could've teleported but for petty reasons, he didn't. "could use some fresh air", he'd reason.

you're standing by the field, monitoring your students' activities. you laugh as panda spin nobara around in the air, inumaki running after her flying body. they're currently hard at work, practising for the school event.

at the sight of you, gojo's reminded of your confession to him. he gulps, hoping the bitter taste on his tongue will subside. but it doesn't. the bitterness— harsher than the taste of dark coffee, doesn't leave his tongue. he hates that.

"they're working quite hard", gojo says, casually. as if acting like he's fine would somehow make things fine.

"yeah", you reply, doing the same thing he's doing. acting like the confession didn't happen. maybe if you tried hard enough it'll be like you didn't pour out your feelings at all.

gojo watches as you laugh at inumaki yelling "tuna, tuna" at the top of his lungs, chasing after nobara. he notices the way your eyes shine while you laugh and how you don't even try to hold back your giggles. gojo finds them cute. he wonders why he hasn't noticed those small details before. a voice in him screams, "it's because you're always saying you're attractive, you never notice others' physicals", making gojo frown. that's partially true and he doesn't like that.

"hey, we should get lunch after this", you interupt his thoughts.

the sorcerer looks up. looking into yours eyes, he tries to search for any sign of sadness, awkwardness— anything that'll show how you're affected by his rejection but he couldn't find any. shouldn't he be happy that you're okay? he knows he should, but something inside of him feels dissapointed.

"yeah, my treat".

six times. gojo had glanced at you six times now, all in a span of an hour. the fact that he even counted shows just how self conscious he's feeling at the moment.

you're twisting noodles around your fork, vegetables abandoned at the side of your plate. gojo, sitting right in front of you eats his mochi quietly. an abnormal silence— the man usually always has something to say. you don't complain though, you needed some silence after hours of training your students.

"hey, look at this video", you break the silence, sliding your phone across the table for him to see. hands on the table, your pinky grazes against his. like it's a reflex, you pull away your pinky, leaving gojo even more confused.

the skin contact between you went by so quick, gojo's mind starts to imagine. a picture of you holding his hand pops up in his mind, and he feels goosebumps all over his body. but the memory of you flinching and pulling your fingertips away knocks out all the images out of his head.

they're acting like i'm poisonous, gojo monologues. he watches from the side of his eyes as you put your hands down under the table, tapping your fingers against the wooden table. gojo pushes your phone back to you.

"let's go", he gets up, and you do too. he holds his arm up to you— a muscle memory. he always does that, it's been a platonic thing all these years.

unlike always, you don't link your arms with his.

day by day, gojo starts to understand his feelings. he had realized that they aren't platonic, but he only realized just how intense his feelings are one day at a meeting.

yaga sits at the edge of the table, scanning the reports in hand. you sit between nanami and gojo, legs crossed.

you've always been a professional shaman. you get shit done and you smile at your coworkers. you have fun, and you're dedicated to your work. "classic lovely y/n", people would say everytime one brings up your amazing mannerisms.

gojo knowing you for years is no stranger to those compliments. however, he draws a line when the "compliments" sound like flirting.

"you're a lovely individual, i'd love to work with you someday", nanami utters, before turning his attention back to yaga. gojo can see the blush creeping up your cheeks, and your fingers fiddling with your top.

"flirting in work now, nanami?", gojo wastes no time to call the male out. nanami looks at the sorcerer, an eyebrow raised.

"it's just a small compliment".

gojo grits his teeth. then why does the small compliment irks him so much?

nothing annoys you more than people ringing your door bell when you're sleeping, not even stubborn curses. still in your pajamas you somehow make it to your door (by somehow, you'd stubbed your toe against a furniture and you walked while holding the wall).

"y/n", a drunk gojo slurs. you rub the sleepiness out of your eyes, inviting him in once you've established that it really is gojo.

gojo walks into your house, crashing right onto your couch. the couch you used to watch movies with him on, sharing laughters and screams together. one time you watched the conjuring with gojo, he spent the whole time during the introduction bragging over how he wouldn't be scared but he'd literally jump at the slightest scary things.

"why are you drunk at 3 am, satoru?", you ask, tossing a mineral bottle his way, "sober up".

he groans and tosses the bottle away, leaning his messy head against the burgundy couch. the leather couch lessens the heat he's feeling on his body.

you chuckle before sitting beside him, closing your eyes shut, too lazy to get into bed. you managed to dodge any private interactions with him for the past few months but since he's knocked out, it should be okay, right? plus it's been so long, you're sure (sort of) he had forgotten about your confession.

gojo suddenly hums a song softly, a song you couldn't quite recognize. he pulls your arm and links it with his.

"you're so beautiful", he says. flat out. just those words. knocking oxygen out of your soul.

"satoru?"

"mhm. so pretty", he says again, making you look up at him to see him looking at you. there are some red hues in his eyes, clearly showing the fact that he's drunk.

that's why you're shocked; gojo satoru is an honest drunk. whatever that comes out of his mouth when he's drunk are truths.

"you think so?", you take advantage of his state. a nod of his head causes your heart to blossom.

"yeah like, i like you a lot. because you're like... really cute. especially when you smile. i really, really want to be more than friends".

[opalesense]

Can I request Diluc going off on a long journey with the traveler and his s/o gives him a fat smooch goodbye in front of everyone and he’s like 👁👄👁 all embarrassed

one goodbye kiss

diluc & gn!reader

1k words • ~6 min. read

summary: you accidentally fluster diluc in the middle of the tavern by giving him a goodbye kiss before he sets off on his travels.

warnings: none!

notes: HAHAHA THIS IDEA IS SO CUTE??! also i’m really sorry i took so long to respond ghdhhsg my mind has been in nsfw land lately... but thank you for requesting, take a kiss from me before you get a kiss from diluc <3

“WE’LL BE BACK IN A FEW WEEKS,” Diluc reiterated to Charles, who was only informed of the winery owner’s last minute leave just mere moments ago. Charles, quite literally in the middle of a shift tonight, wiped down the counter with a sigh. He gave Charles a pat on the back and look of reassurance. “If you ever need anything, just let Elzer know. I’m sure he can find people to cover my shifts while I’m gone.”

 “Come now, Diluc,” Kaeya set his mug down after taking a long swig, “Why don’t you entrust your dear old brother to cover your shifts? You know I’m here almost every night anyway. And you shouldn’t doubt my mixing skills, either.”

 Diluc could only scoff and shake his head at Kaeya. Readjusting his leather sack that carried most of his belongings necessary for travel, he made his way across the other side of the counter in swift steps. He snatched Kaeya’s bottle of wine away from him, earning a pout from the blue haired brother. “That’s your sixth bottle of the day. You’re here almost every night to drink, not work. Nice try, though.”

 “Hey, I was drinking that too, you know,” Rosaria pitched in as well, furrowing her eyebrows as Diluc handed the bottle to Charles, who put it back on the shelf behind the bar.

 “How come the so called ‘protectors’ of Mondstadt get drunk almost every night instead of patrolling the city for danger? Tell me, who’s out there watching the streets right now? Surely it’s a Knight’s duty, at the very least, to do their job sober,” Diluc crossed his arms as he threw out casual criticism at the two drunken night owls.

 Rosaria fidgeted with the blade in her hand and scowled, “I’m not even a Knight, dumbass!”

 “Hey, we have to get going soon and hopefully we’ll be at Liyue by sunrise,” the traveller interrupted the banter and lightened the mood a bit. “Diluc, don’t you want to give a nice goodbye? We’ll be gone for a couple of weeks, after all.”

 Diluc sighed and softened his gaze. The traveller was right. He had learned over the years that goodbyes were always the hardest, and he never wanted the his potential last goodbyes to end in bitterness. It would break his heart to think that someone’s last memories of him could be unpleasant, and he couldn’t stand anymore heartbreak.

 “Fine,” he uncrossed his arms and reached a hand out to Kaeya’s shoulder, giving him a firm pat. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

 “I’ll try,” Kaeya let go of his pout and replaced it with a slight grin, aware of Diluc’s genuine concern laying underneath his lack of words to show for it. Nonetheless, he appreciated his attempts at reconciliation, no matter how small it was.

 “And you,” he turned to face Rosaria, who was playing with the blade effortlessly, “don’t let this idiot go overboard.”

 She simply responded by rolling her eyes. “I’m not his babysitter, but I’ll do you a favour just this once.”

 Diluc then turned to face you. His stern scowl was immediately replaced with a soft grin, his eyes lighting up once he had a good look of your face. You stood up and took a step closer to him, falling into his arms in a desperate, intimate embrace. He sighed as he wrapped his warm hands around you, caressing your back and allowing this moment to plant a seed in his memory that he could carry with him during his travels. He closed his eyes for a moment, tuning out the ambient sounds of the tavern, forgetting about his responsibilities and simply enjoying your presence.

 Alas, all good things come to an end and he knew he couldn’t keep the traveller waiting. His eyes fluttered open as he slowly loosened his grip on you, allowing you to lean back a little and meet his eyes with yours. You cupped his cheeks with your hands, smoothing over his freckled skin with your thumbs and staring longingly into his deep red eyes.

 “I’m going to miss you so much,” you whispered. He studied your face for a few seconds, distracted by the way you glimmered in the dim light of the tavern.

 “I’ll miss you too, my dear–“

 Suddenly you pressed your lips against his, taking his breath away in a kiss that had him take a step back in the sheer impulsivity of it. His eyes widened as he kissed you back, panic settling in as he realized you two were not alone at home like usual. In fact, you were kissing him in front of his travel companion, brother, friend, coworker, and all the patrons currently in the tavern. He grabbed your waist instinctively, wanting to pry you off of him, but knowing that his return home was never guaranteed, he allowed you to continue kissing him and held your waist lovingly instead.

 But soon enough, you pulled your face away and giggled at the sight – his face was priceless! The poor man, usually perceived as grumpy and stern according to most citizens of Mondstadt, stood there helplessly with a crimson blush rivalling his own hair color. With eyes widened, lips quivering, and forehead slightly dampened with nervous sweat, you cooed at his innocent expression, and apologized profusely for the sudden action with sweet whispers as you pulled him in for another hug again.

 “I just... couldn’t hold back, you know?” you admitted, “Sorry, dear...”

 “It’s... it’s okay, my love,” he stared at the ground, avoiding eye contact with Kaeya and Rosaria, who were already trying to hold back their laughs. But they just couldn’t do it, no matter how hard they tried to maintain normalcy, the two troublemakers giggled profusely.

 “You two better shut it before I make you shut it,” Diluc held out his hand, still holding you closely, and summoned a bright flame to spook them. And sure enough, that was enough to keep their lips sealed for the rest of the night. Though, that didn’t stop them from exchanging teasing glances with each other, and that surely didn’t stop the rest of the people in the room to talk amongst the people of Mondstadt the next morning about how cute of a lad Diluc was at the tavern, all because of one goodbye kiss.

[babymetaldoll]

"The Sean Hotchner effect" (Spencer Reid / Reader)

My gif 😉

Requested: Yes

Summary: Spencer is jealous 'cos reader (and the rest of the female team) thinks Hotchner's younger brother is hot.

Warnings: Cursing

Category: Fluff

Word count: 4,5K

A/N: I can' believe I actually wrote a fic! I've been so busy taking care of my grandparents I've just been updating DIWK, 'cos those chapters were long written and edited. Hope you all enjoy this little story, I'll bring you a more next week, hopefully! send you all my love!! be safe babes!

Masterlist

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Working at the BAU, the team was used to seeing the worst of human behavior. Murder scenes, abuse, psychopath, you name it.

That's why seeing the apparition that walked into the bullpen that morning was such a big shock for us, the team's females.

- "What are you doing out of your bunker?"- Elle asked Penelope, who was standing next to my desk. I whipped my head, surprised to see Garcia there, out of the blue, not even looking at us. Instead, her eyes were fixated on someone who wasn't Derek.

- "I was on my way to file the things that I... file?"- Garcia made a pause as Elle and I slowly turned and looked at the guy our tech analyst couldn't stop staring at.

He was gorgeous. Tall, blonde, perfect smile. The kind of guy that could definitely get every girl's attention. We didn't get many of those at the BAU that often, except, of course, for Dr. Spencer Reid. My best friend was hands down the hottest agent in the whole FBI, and I enjoyed having him near. But this guy was completely different.

- "Who is that?"- Elle asked and stood by our side.

- "The Future Mr. Garcia,"- Penelope whispered as the tall young man walked over us and cut us one flirtatious smile. I couldn't help it and returned the smile.

- "Hi"- I smiled and waved- "How can I help you?"

- "Hey. I'm..."

- "Sean!"- Derek Worst time ever Morgan ruined the whole moment as he walked over and took that hot guy away from us. Now at least we knew his name was Sean.

- "You must be looking for your brother."- Morgan said and tapped on his back.

- "Yeah."

- "Right this way"- and that's how that apparition was gone from our lives and directed straight to... Aaron Hotchner's office?

- "Brother as in?"- Elle asked and turned to us, confused- "That's Hotch's brother?!"

- "Maybe Hotch is adopted,"- Garcia whispered, not taking her eyes from Sean until he disappeared behind the door.

- "I feel scammed. We didn't get the hot brother"- I sighed and shook my head- "Well, I might have never solved a case with that smile around the bullpen"- Elle and Penelope giggled, but someone coughed behind my back, and immediately, I knew who he was.

- "Who are you guys talking about?"

Spence Walter Reid was standing right behind my back, and the look in his eyes wasn't as sweet and friendly as I was already used to. He was upset. I just didn't know why.

- "No one"- I lied and looked away.

- "Who were you all staring at?"- Reid asked. I quickly returned to my desk (right in front of his), grabbed a few files, and pretended to be working.

- "Aaron's brother"- Elle explained- "Apparently, we got the wrong Hotchner."

- "Sean?"- Spencer frowned and looked at us- "He just got into Georgetown law school. Maybe he came to pick up his brother to celebrate."

- "Who is gonna celebrate?"- JJ walked over, holding a bunch of folders, and looked at us.

- "Hotch and my future husband"- Garcia sighed and kept looking over at Aaron's door.

- "Sean, Hotch's brother is here, and believe me, he looks nothing like his brother."

Elle smiled and moved a chair across from her desk to make sure she had the best seat in the room to see Sean when he walked out. I shook my head as Elle winked at me.

- "Stop pretending you didn't see him, (Y/N). You were the one who talked to him."

I swear, I could feel Spencer's eyes on me, burning my skin. I slowly turned around and looked at him with a small, innocent smile. But all I got in return was a stern look.

- "I just... wanted to... help him"- I tried to excuse myself, but Elle laughed, and Garcia followed.

- "Sure, babe. He looked like he was hopelessly lost in the BAU. He needed your help to find his brother."- I don't know why Elle was acting like that, but she made sure Spencer would be even more upset than he already was.

- "Stop it! I just asked if he needed any help."

- "Oh! and you would have given him a hand with anything he needed, wouldn't you?"- Elle chuckled and winked again.

- "Oh sweet Jesus, I would. All he has to do is ask, and he..."- Penelope got carried away in second, and she only paused her words when Hotch's door slammed open, and we all looked at Sean storming out of the office.

- "That's Hotch's brother?"- JJ asked, surprised. Elle nodded and literally bit her lips as she stared at him, walking over. Penelope barely even blinked, and I made my best not to make eye contact with him. Instead, I looked at Reid. And he locked eyes in mine, but again, his look was cold.

- "I don't see it"- JJ stared at Sean as he clearly argued with Hotch. I stayed still, sitting behind my desk, looking at the files.

- "You know what?! Don't profile me, Aaron!"- Sean yelled, and I could only imagine Penelope's crush growing bigger with each word that came from his mouth.

- "Now I see it!"- JJ followed Sean with her eyes as he rushed out of the BAU.

- "I hate to see you leave, but I love to watch you walk away."- Penelope whispered, and we all giggled.

- "Do you think Hotch is hiding that ass?"- Elle asked, and I couldn't hold the laughter.

- "I didn't want to think of that!"

- "Oh please!! (Y/N) stop being such a goodie-goodie!!"- Elle smacked my arm and shook her head- "You stared at his ass. Deal with it. You are single! You don't have to pretend you don't see a hot guy when you see one."

- "I saw him. He was cute. I'm just... not... that... affected...."

- "You don't have to pretend,"- Spencer said suddenly and raised an eyebrow- "Your body language indicates that you are nervous. You are blinking rapidly, our pupils are dilated, and you've been bouncing your knees since you sat down. Obviously, Hotch's brother affected you."

I opened my mouth to answer, but Hotch himself interrupted us and announced we had a case. Spencer just kept his eyes on mine for a few more seconds before walking away quickly to the conference room.

- "Looks like pretty boy is jealous,"- Elle teased and stood up too- "I don't know why if he ain't your boyfriend."

- "I know he ain't my boyfriend, and I'm sure he is not jealous. You are all just acting like school girls around a hot guy."- I tried to argue as I stood up and followed them to the conference room.

- "Oh honey, when you see a guy like that, you just can't help it."- Garcia smiled and sighed- "He was the sugar that got me going for the rest of the day."

- "It's only nine am."- JJ added, and Garcia just sighed.

- "That's how good it was."

The case was in Terra Mesa, New Mexico. A clearly angry Hotch announced wheels up in thirty, and we all headed back to our desk to gather our things.

- "Hey, I brought you back your copy of The Illustrated Man"- I walked to Spencer and handed him over his book- "Maybe after the case, we can get a coffee and talk about it."

- "Maybe not"- he grabbed it from my hands and put it on his satchel.

- "Why not?"

- "I don't feel like it."- Spencer avoided looking at me. He just closed his bag and walked away from me.

- "Hey! What did I do?"- I asked him and followed him, but he didn't even look at me.

- "Spencer, I'm talking to you!"

- "And as you can notice, I don't wanna talk to you."

His answer stopped me in my tracks and left me speechless. Spencer got into the elevator and pushed the button to close the door as fast as possible.

He had never acted like that with me. He had never talked to me like that. Shit! He had never been an asshole with me before. I had seen Reid being a jerk with people when he is mad, but he had never been like that with me. And all that just 'cos me, and the girls were a little unprofessional?

Apparently, Spencer was furious with me because during the whole investigation, he kept avoiding me. Of course, it didn't help that Hotch paired me with Reid and Morgan to talk to a young girl who had been abducted from the crime scene.

- "So, pretty girl, I saw you yesterday. Your eyes were shining when you talked to Sean"- Morgan started teasing me the second we got into the SUV.

- "I don't know what you are talking about."- I whispered and looked outside.

- "Oh please, you, Garcia, JJ, even Elle, the four girls were drooling over Hotchner's younger brother."

- "That's not true"- I denied right away- "We were all surprised. I had no idea Hotch had a brother."

And Spencer just snorted at my words.

- "What?"- I turned around and looked at him. He was sitting at the back seat, alone, arms crossed on his chest, avoiding eye contact.

- "Maybe you should stop talking about Hotch's hot brother and focus on the case."- his voice was cold and distant. I tried to read him, but all I could see was anger.

- "Ok, kid."- Morgan chuckled and shook his head - "No need to get all defensive."

- "I'm not defensive. I'm just saying we have to solve a case. People are dead, and you are still rambling about how hot Hotchner's brother is. We are not a fucking gossip show. Enough with it already."

I widened my eyes as I stared at him, bitter and angry. Not really a good combo. Spencer is one passive-aggressive asshole when he is mad, and you don't want to deal with him under those circumstances. Believe me.

But Derek just laughed and continued driving. He winked at me and pretended Spencer hadn't said anything hurtful or even evil. But, to be honest, Morgan looked composed and even amused. In fact, I'm pretty sure he was actually enjoying that awkward ride.

I wish I could tell you that was all Spencer did that day, but no. He actually exceeded himself in the art of being an asshole.

- "We are looking for a cult leader."- Reid started giving the profile to the police department- "Typically men between the age of 25 and 35"- he made a pause and looked at me.

- "What?"- I whispered, thinking maybe he wanted me to continue talking.

- "Nothing. I thought you were going to start giggling or sighing."- Elle and Morgan looked surprised as Gideon frowned, not getting Reid's comment.

- "Over a sociopath underachiever with an extremely abusive childhood?"- I asked him, as I continued describing the profile- "Why would I?"

- "I don't know."- he shrugged and continued walking around the office -"I thought after yesterday, it was going to be your usual behavior around men that age."

- "Reid"- Hotch's voice was cold and severe. Spencer looked at him and turned around to find an empty seat. Aaron continued giving the profile, and I turned to my best friend, enraged. I wasn't going to tolerate that passive-aggressive attitude.

- "Fuck you."- I mouthed and stared straight into his eyes.

Avoiding and ignoring Reid was a challenging task to achieve. Hotch was nice and wise enough to keep us apart for the rest of the day, but that didn't stop him from staring. And his eyes burned my skin each time we were together in the same room.

I made my best effort and avoided looking at him the whole time. But I felt him staring. And though I was honestly mad at him now, a part of me just wondered what on earth was he so upset about?

I found out the whole truth later that night, back at the hotel. I was already in bed, trying to forget about the case, 'cos it had already been solved, and we were supposed to go back home early the following day.

I was alone, 'cos my roommate Elle was in the hotel bar with JJ and Morgan. I didn't feel like going. I just wanted my pajamas and do nothing.

Fine, that's not what I wanted to do. I wanted to be with Reid, talking about The Illustrated man, or any other book, drinking coffee, making jokes, laughing.

But he was mad at me, and now I was mad at him too, which meant things weren't going to be smooth between us in a long while. We had only fought once before until that day. It happened when we first became friends, and we argued over some random Star Wars fact. He didn't admit he was wrong, and when I showed him I was right, he got all defensive and refused to talk to me for a whole week.

Of course, this time, it was going to be a hundred times worse.

I debated whether I should or shouldn't call Reid and yell at him when I heard someone knocking on my door. Of course, I thought it was Elle, so I dragged my weary body from the bed, arguing I had explicitly told her she had to bring her key when she left the room.

But no. It wasn't Elle. In the hall, looking like shit, I found Doctor Spencer Walter Reid.

It wasn't a good sign the way my heart skipped a beat the second I saw him. It didn't get any better when the two of us just stared at each other in silence for a moment, and I felt my whole body tremble only by his presence. I couldn't control it even if I wanted to. I loved him, and it was getting too hard to hide.

- "What are you doing here?"- I made sure my voice was as upset as possible and even made an extra effort to furrow my brows as I stared into his eyes. His look had softened, and you could tell he was nervous. He scratched his hair and fixed his nerdy glasses before speaking.

- "I needed... I wanted... I want to talk to you."- Spencer finally said and sighed, looking at me.

- "Why would I want to talk to you after you humiliated me in front of the whole police department?"

I spat each word and tried to slam the door on his face, but he stopped me before succeeding.

- "Wait, please, (Y/N)"- he pushed the door open and followed me inside the room.

- "Get out, Reid!"- I argued immediately, but he didn't listen. He actually closed the door behind his back and stood behind me. I refused to look at him, 'cos I knew what would happen if I did: I would forgive him too quickly.

- "(Y/N), I'm so sorry. I know I was an asshole. I didn't mean it. I was completely out of place."

Spencer literally vomited his speech in less than three seconds and stayed wordless and silent afterward. I crossed my arms on my chest and stayed still. I really didn't want to talk to him.

- "I'm sorry"- his voice was now a tiny whisper that somehow got inside my heart, melting the fortress I kept building against him.

- "Why did you do it?"- I asked the most straightforward question, but he didn't answer. Spencer stayed quiet for at least two minutes. So I turned around and faced him. His eyes were red, and he was fighting the tears back.

- "Why did you humiliate me, Spencer?"

- "I didn't mean to."

- "So? I don't care what you meant. You did it anyway. You fucking humiliated me in front of the team and in front of the whole police office, and why? 'Cos you were mad at me for being unprofessional? Excuse me, but I think what you did lacked more professionalism than anything I had ever done."

I knew it was a mistake. I knew I didn't have to look at Spencer while I spoke. But I couldn't stop myself. I didn't want to cry either, but I was already too upset and way too tired, so the tears started falling down my cheeks. And his followed quickly.

- "I'm so sorry,"- he repeated and bit his lips, staring at me.

- "Why did you do it, Spencer?"- I asked him again, 'cos I still didn't know why he had hurt me so deeply.

- "I was wrong..."

- "Why did you do it?"

I asked for the third time, and my eyes got lost in his. Spencer was holding his breath and debating himself. I could almost hear his thoughts, 'cos it was clear he was overthinking everything going on inside his head.

But he didn't say anything. Spencer just wiped off a few tears that rolled down his cheeks and shook his head. The silence in the room was overwhelming, and all I managed to do was to sigh, disappointed and broken-hearted, and walk to the door and open it. I only wanted him to leave, but he didn't even move. He just looked at me, clenching his jaw, fighting the tears back.

- "I did it because I am in love with you."

Spencer whispered in the most anticlimactic way possible. I frowned, confused, as he didn't even move. I stared at his gestures, his face blood-red in a weird mix of embarrassment and anger.

- "I love you so much it's driving me insane, (Y/N). I've been trying to tell you how I feel for weeks, but I just..."- he ran his hands through his hair, openly frustrated with his own way to deal with the situation, as I just stayed still, trying to understand what was going on.

- "I know it was stupid, and I wish I could do it differently, but I didn't know what to do. But then I saw you looking at Sean, and I knew you would never look at me the same way, 'cos I know I'm not..."

There was no bigger force in the universe than the one that moved my body unconsciously against Spencer. I grabbed his face with both hands and planted a kiss on his lips to shut him up. I didn't even think about what I was doing. I just did it 'cos I didn't want to listen to his rambling anymore. For once, probably for the very first time ever since we met, I wanted to shut Spencer Reid up. And the best way I could do that was kissing him until my lips felt numb.

I didn't even let him hesitate. He jumped as soon as I touched him, but he didn't reject me at all. Instead, he wide opened his eyes and stared at me as I winked at him, deepening the kiss.

Spencer's hands slowly found their way to my waist and held me closer to him. His lips were soft and warm, moving carefully along with mine, and as he relaxed into the kiss, the better it got.

I had wasted so much time (mostly at work, bored, avoiding paperwork) fantasizing about kissing Spencer. How his lips would feel and taste. If he would make any noise, if he'd be rough or soft... and now there I was, getting all the answers I ever needed.

My heartbeat faster when I opened my eyes and saw him, deep concentrated into the endless kiss. My hands played with his hair, and I felt him hum, pleased with my movements. I couldn't help myself and smiled, not stopping the kiss.

- "What?"- Spencer asked, but his lips didn't move from mine. Neither of us wanted to stop.

- "Nothing,"- I whispered and shook my head softly- "I just like kissing you."

- "I like kissing you too,"- he answered and moved his hands from my waist to my cheeks and held my face. His hands were so big I could feel him covering most of my cheek. He made me feel secure, safe. Loved. All that only from cupping my face.

- "I love you."- Spencer whispered and opened his eyes. I looked at him and sighed, trying to keep myself together, when all I really wanted was to yell and jump and act like a teenager in love.

- "Me too."

That was all I managed to answer, though I knew he deserved better. He deserved to know how much I loved him, how crazy I was over everything he did. Everything he was. But I couldn't tell him that, not at that minute at least. That night I couldn't really speak much because all I wanted to do was to kiss him. I wanted to kiss Spencer Reid until my lips burned.

But he didn't let me fulfill my dream. As soon as he heard me, he stopped the kiss and stayed very, very still.

- "What happened?"- I panicked, I don't know why- "Did I overstep..."

- "You love me?"- he interrupted me, and his eyes filled with tears. Happy tears. His smile was soft and warm as he stared at me, waiting for an answer.

- "I do,"- I murmured and blushed. Was it too late to blush? Maybe, but I couldn't help it. Not when he was looking at me like that. Like I was the most beautiful woman on earth. No. Like I was the only woman on earth for him.

- "I'm so sorry..."

But I really didn't want to listen to his apology. I had already forgiven him. All I wanted was to kiss him again. And again.

I crushed my lips against his, and this time, I felt him smiling into the kiss. I wrapped my arms around his neck, and he locked his around my waist. We were so close I could feel the warmth of his body as he relaxed a little more, and his fingers started caressing the small on my back.

- "Come here."

I took a few steps back, and he followed, keeping as close to me as possible. Finally, I dragged him to my bed, and he laid by my side. Our legs were intertwined as we melted on that mattress, just kissing.

I honestly never imagined I would kiss Spencer. Maybe that's why I enjoyed it and tasted him (and the moment) in slow motion. He sighed and smiled as his lips and tongue played with mine. One of his hands held my waist as the other played with my hair.

It was heaven. I didn't imagine anything better than being on that bed kissing Spencer Reid. He whispered he loved me again, and I sighed. For a second, it felt I was in a dream.

- "Ok, mama, get out of that.... WHOO!"- Derek, JJ, and Elle stormed into the door and caught Spencer and I kissing on the bed. I felt like a teenager all over again.

- "What the..."- Elle asked was holding the key in her hands, eyes wide opened, in shock.

- "My man!"- Morgan was about to start clapping when JJ grabbed him and Elle's arm.

- "The guys need some privacy. Come on, let's go. You can sleep in my room, Elle"- JJ smiled and closed the door behind her back, but less than a second later, Derek walked in again.

- "Smile to Garcia!"- Derek waved, holding his phone. Spencer closed his eyes and covered his face, embarrassed as I grabbed a pillow and threw it over him.

- "Get the fuck out of my room!"- I shouted, and JJ had to pull Morgan's sleeve to get him out of there. Once the door was closed (again), we waited a few seconds in case Derek tried to interrupt us one more time. But he didn't. Spencer's cheeks were burning red, and he looked so embarrassed it was too sweet. So I leaned over him and kissed the tip of his nose.

- "Hi,"- I whispered and smiled. Reid chuckled and moved closer to me, reaching my lips.

- "Hi."- I sighed, strangely relieved to feel his lips on mine again. I was like my body had already gotten used to kissing him and wanted to do nothing else from that moment on.

- "Hi,"- I repeated and smiled.

- "Hi,"- Reid said again and wrapped his arms around me, moving me until I was sitting on his lap. Life was perfect.

- "I'm so glad Hotch's brother came to visit. He should come more often,"- I murmured and giggled. Spencer frowned and shook his head.

- "I think we are good."- he answered and narrowed his eyes.

- "If he hadn't come, you wouldn't have gotten so jealous, and we wouldn't be kissing right now."- I added, and rubbed his lips with mines, just to make a point. Spencer smiled and fully kissed me.

- "I will send him a muffin basket to George town, then."

- "That's very thoughtful. I love that about you."

- "I love everything about you,"- Spencer whispered and sighed, staring into my eyes.

- "Does this mean we are dating?"- I had to ask. Spencer wide opened his eyes and didn't move for a few seconds -"I'm just asking 'cos you said you loved m and I love you, and if you love and I love you, I'm pretty sure dating would the logical thing to do. But if you don't want to, I would totally understand. I mean, maybe I am assuming..."- Spencer's lips against mine ended with my senseless rambling, and he chuckled into the kiss.

- "What?"- I asked him but didn't move my lips from his. Already that might have become my favorite way to talk to him.

- "You are adorable when you ramble."

- "Shut up"- and Spencer smiled

- "Would you be my girlfriend?"- he simply asked and rested his forehead against mine as he stared at me. I smiled and sighed, pretending to be considering my options. I didn't have any. I wanted to be his.

- "Yes,"- I whispered and kissed him one more time- "I would love to, just promise me you will never be a passive-aggressive jerk with me."

- "Never"- Spencer kissed me, and his hands held me tighter- "I'm so sorry."

- "Just kiss me a few more times so I can properly forgive you"- Reid smiled and crushed his lips against mines.

- "Anything for you."

**

Spencer taglist

@calm-and-doctor

General Taglist

@spenxerslut @ash19871962 @all-tings-diego

[reciprocityfic]

#5 for amylaurie

5. that emotional moment that you can't find a plot for.

He’d never had a particularly happy life.

From the beginning, it had been marked with tragedy. He adored his mother, from what he can remember. But his memories, unfortunately, are few and far between. He tried to keep her smile, her laugh, the feel of her hugs and her hand wrapped around his tiny one locked away in his brain and his heart, but over the years, they inevitably began to fade. Before he knew it, he couldn’t quite get the tenor of her voice right, couldn’t remember the sweet words she used to whisper in his ear. She was like a beautifully painted picture, rather than a human being.

If there was someone who adored his mother more than he had, it was his father.

His father took her death the hardest. He tried to find a salve for his broken heart in all the wrong places, began gambling too often and drinking too much, frequently leaving his son alone late into the night to go out and drown his pain in whatever way he could. When his father was home, he could hardly stand to be around him. Everything about Laurie reminded him of her - his eyes, his hair, his nose, his smile. He reached his breaking point eventually, and then he sent Laurie away.

School had never been particularly hard for him. He was smart, he supposed, and he didn’t mind the company of his tutor. Boarding school was different, though. He never quite found a way to fit in. He was too quiet, not quite as rich, and Italian, which mattered in a way he didn’t understand. He always found himself at the center of negative gossip, the butt of too many jokes. He hated it, so he stopped trying to assimilate and let himself fade away into the peripheries of his peers.

When his father died, it was almost a relief; at least the man wouldn’t suffer any longer. But again, it threw him into a world of uncertainty and unfamiliar territory. It sent him to America, into the hands of a grandfather he had never met. As he grew older, he’d come to subtly resent his extended family for disowning him and his parents, and wondered if this grandfather would resent him back.

He didn’t. But his grandfather also wasn’t warm, a product of living so many years alone, Laurie supposes. He knows Mr. Laurence has experienced his share of heartbreak as well; there’s a beautiful piano that sits untouched, that the servants tell him belonged to the old man’s late granddaughter. The few times he tried to play it he’d catch his grandfather looking at him in a way that wasn’t particularly pleasant, so he stopped.

John Brooke - his new tutor - was pleasant enough, earnest and determined to please his grandfather by giving him the privilege of an excellent education. They often butted heads when Mr. Brooke tried to teach him; he couldn’t find him in himself to care much about learning anymore. Couldn’t find it in himself to care about much of anything.

Then, he met Jo March.

His grandfather had noticed his melancholy and sent him to a party to try to lift his spirits. He doubted it would work - how exciting could a party in Concord, Massachusetts possibly be, after all - and quickly found an empty side room to disappear in for a while until he’d spent enough time there that he could plausibly tell his grandfather he’d made an effort to be sociable.

It was there that Jo literally stumbled into him, and changed his life forever.

He’d never in his life met a girl like Jo March, one that was so boisterous and bright and unapologetically herself. In his world, every girl was trained from an early age to be prim and proper and polite, so that someday she might make a good wife and a fine young woman. Jo was anything but, and when he met the rest of the March family, he learned that they all were, in their own way - whether it be Meg and her unabashed love for dramatics and pretty things, or Beth sitting at her piano, playing until her fingers ached.

Or Amy, marching around in a pair of fairy wings and declaring that one day, she would be the best painter in the entire world.

His childhood memories of the Marches were all Jo, her fire and harsh edges and iron will, but Amy was always there at the edges, making herself known. She always seemed to be at odds with her older sister, but he thought that was because the two of them were the most alike in a way, like two opposite ends of the same string. He would always take Jo’s side when she recounted their latest feud, of course, but he couldn’t help his amusement at some of Amy’s antics. He remembers, when Jo told him that Amy had burned her novel, how his sympathy for Jo had existed right alongside of his wild amusement that little Amy March had the gall to even come up with such a thing, let alone follow it through.

But even though Amy was there, along with Meg and Beth, Jo was undoubtedly the main attraction, the sun at the center of his universe. His world was filled with her, with her smiles and laughs and hair and voice, with her words and her thoughts and ideas, and soon his heart was, too. He didn’t know much about love, but he knew he loved her. He knew he wanted her to be a part of his life always.

So, he’d asked her to marry him. It was the only thing to do, wasn’t it?

When she turned him down, he almost hadn’t been surprised. A part of him almost expected it; he hadn’t been particularly excited to ask her, after all. Rather, he’d dreaded it, dreaded the moment that the delicate balance they had built would have to tip one way or the other. He’d always known there was a chance she’d reject him.

That didn’t mean it hurt any less, though. He thinks it hurt even more when she left; he’d always known Jo to dive into every challenge head-first, but then she ran away to New York. She ran away from him. So he followed her lead, as he had learned to do so well over those years with her.

Heading back to Europe was much more bitter than it was sweet, and even the grandeur of cities like London, Paris, and Rome couldn’t stop the vibrancy from slowly bleeding out of his life. What had become a kaleidoscope of colors was now just grays and blacks and whites.

So he drank, and smoked, and gambled, and fucked his way through life, and in a macabre way, never felt closer to his father. Except he wasn’t heartbroken, not anymore - he realized more and more that he never expected her to say yes, not really. That she was right, as she usually was - it would have never worked.

He just felt lost. Unmoored, with nothing to anchor him. And he started to believe that maybe he was simply supposed to live his life this way, alone and adrift and apathetic.

Then, Amy March came barreling back into his life.

She was different, of course - namely, she was no longer little. She had traded her fairy wings and braids for beautiful gowns and carefully coiffed updos, and all her lofty childhood wishes had been replaced with a stoic, resigned realism. It would have worried him, that the world had taken her and hardened her, but he knew that the woman that threw her arms around him and happily shouted his name on that Parisian street, the world around her momentarily forgotten, was the Amy he had always known and cared for, however proper she might be now.

And she was proper, but he found it didn’t bother him like he thought it would. Instead, he admired her for it, that she had managed to grow up so gracefully. She was lovely, he decided. Lovely and refined and determined, so much so that it got him in trouble with her, sometimes. She was constantly after him to be better, to stop his drinking and laziness and make something of his life.

She wanted him to respect himself. He’d never really done that; all his life, he’d known himself to be a bother or problem, a thorn in someone’s side. He didn’t really know how to respect himself, but for her, he wanted to try.

The problem was, it was getting harder and harder to leave her side. She painted in his life with strokes that were insistent, but soft, and he found that her world was just as colorful as her sister’s. It was her own, of course; if Jo had been a red flame, then Amy was a golden glow, like sunshine. But he found that he didn’t mind the differences, that he maybe even preferred Amy’s version. It made him warmer than anything he’d known before.

He doesn’t know exactly when he fell for Amy. It happened slowly, gently, and before he could stop it, she’d taken up all the emptiness in his heart, filled it with light and life and love. Not that he would’ve wanted to stop it; he found he was quite content belonging to her. Even when she rejected him that first time, he didn’t try to remove her. He didn’t resent her, as he had temporarily resented Jo. He knew it was futile, that he was irreparably hers, and he decided that if he couldn’t be with her, he would at least make himself someone she could be proud of. He wanted to be someone she could respect, if he couldn’t be someone she loved.

But then, God had smiled upon him - for perhaps the first time - and she’d changed her mind. She loved him, she wanted him, she loved him. And when he kissed her that first time, she ignited something in him that no woman ever had before. He loved her, he wanted her, her and her only, he loved her, he loved her, he loved her.

His heart sang for her with its every beat. Every breath she took gave him purpose, every smile gave him joy, every kiss and moan and tug on his hair made his blood run hot through his veins. He was so full inside, wanted for nothing. He felt like all his life he’d been trying to shove himself into places where he didn’t fit, whether it be at school or with his father. With Jo. But there was a spot beside Amy, one in which he fit perfectly, like it was created with him in mind. And as long as Amy was beside him, he could do anything, be anything, survive anything.

One of the things that he loves most about her is her beauty. He can’t help it; he is only human. A weak one when it comes to Amy. When she hugged him that first time in France, he’d noticed how the autumn sun had caught the strands of her blonde hair, her cheeks flushed from the way she ran to him. He first let himself realize it in her studio, when she went off to meet Fred Vaughn. There was something about the way her cream-colored blouse laid against her pale skin, the way the blue accents brought out her eyes. How her pinned-up hair showed off her neck. He could do nothing but smile shyly at her, any coherent words suddenly caught in his throat. And every time he saw her, he noticed something else that added to her beauty, whether it be the delicate way she sipped her tea, her lips a pretty pink against the white china, or the way she blushed when he complimented her. Eventually, in a room full of women, she was the only one he could see, as captured as he was by her.

Almost three years later, nothing has changed.

He wakes up in the middle of the night to find her side of the bed empty. He’s almost positive he knows where she is, and almost rolls over and closes his eyes. But he can’t get her out of his head, so he gets up and throws on his robe. The moon shines bright enough that he doesn’t need a candle, and he leaves their bedroom, creeping to the next door down the hall. It’s ajar just slightly, and he slips inside.

And there she is, just where he thought she would be. Standing at the window, staring out into the night. She’s barefoot, dressed in a white nightgown, long hair cascading down her back. The moonlight illuminates her hair and skin. She’s breathtaking. More beautiful than any painting he’d ever seen.

Cradled in her arms is their newborn baby girl.

He doesn’t want to startle her, so he knocks gently against the door. She looks over her shoulder and smiles at him, but quickly goes back to gazing at the newest addition to their family.

He walks over to the two of them, placing a kiss on the top of her head before wrapping his arm around her shoulder and embracing her. There are a multitude of reasons why she might be in here - the baby could’ve been crying, it could’ve been time for a change or a feeding, or Amy simply could’ve missed her, could’ve wanted to hold her and watch her breathe. He suspects it’s the last one, but he doesn’t ask. He doesn’t want to disturb the peaceful scene in front of him.

He reaches a finger down to their baby, taps at her hand, until she opens her fist and wraps all of her tiny fingers around that one of his. Amy turns her face and nuzzles his shoulder, relaxing against him.

He’d never had a particularly happy life.

But standing here now, both his wife and his daughter in his arms, he knows nothing but.

send me a number and a pairing (preferably laurie x amy) and i'll write you a mini fic!

[mae-gi-writes]

Once Again (Pt.2) | Iwaizumi Hajime (Haikyu!)

ONCE AGAIN | PART TWO

Summary:

Iwaizumi’s broken marriage results in his five-year-old son trying to match him up with his primary school teacher, whom he thinks will make a wonderful replacement for a mother. 

Genre: fluff, angst, f! Reader x dad! Iwaizumi

Taglist: @multi-fandom-fanfic, @168-cm-png​, @bakugouswh0r3​, @yatoatyourservice​, @ayocee​, @marvel-ing-at-it-all​, @astrolcve 

A/N: Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist! Thanks to everyone for the kind feedback and for reading my work <3 

< PREVIOUS PART | NEXT PART >

----

He swings his beer over the counter, "one more."

He shouldn't be drinking. Imagine the damage it's doing to his organs, alcohol sweeping through his bloodstream and purging him of all coherent thought. Iwaizumi can hear Oikawa's nagging voice in his head even within the depths of intoxication.

Does he care though? He should. He should care. Because his job is basically to get people in their best shape.

And here he is, drinking away his sorrow, still shaken up by the way Hoisuke's fingers had grabbed for him that night. The bundle of nerves he'd squashed down had only intensified upon dropping his son on his mother's doorstep the same weekend and though he knew he should've said something to Mizune, he couldn't find the will to utter the words out, lest they came back to haunt him.

His phone buzzes in his pant pocket and after finishing it out with clumsy fingers, he manages to press down onto the green button.

"Yeah?"

"You're drinking!"

"No."

"Iwa-chan~" Oikawa's voice pierces through the receiver, sickly sweet and yet with a dark threatening undertone, "what are you doing?"

"Fuck off, shittykawa."

"Where are you?"

Iwaizumi doesn't answer. He doesn't need to, for Oikawa's already exclaiming the said bar's name as he takes another sip of his newly-filled beer glass.

"I thought you said you wouldn't drink anymore," Oikawa reproaches, "think of what Hoisuke would say--"

"I said fuck off."

There's a small pause where Oikawa bristles, before he says in a quieter tone, "what's wrong?"

Still, Iwaizumi says nothing but takes another huge gulp of his beer. His head feels buzzed, disoriented.

"Iwa-chan."

The said man press his lips in a taut line.

"Iwa-chaaaan."

"I'll talk to you later," Iwaizumi barely hears his friend's protests before he cuts off the call and downs the rest of his beer like a parched man, eyes narrowing towards anyone who dares reprimand him of his behaviour.

"One more," he rasps out towards the bartender, whose sending him a look that closely mimics one that clearly says he's had enough. But he scowls in response and that's enough to make the bartender's eyes slip away.

Seriously. What is wrong with him? It's already been four months goddamnit. Get over yourself. He wishes he could punch himself in the face. God, he sounds like a loser. He looks like one. And it's no wonder that his wife has left him for someone better, richer. Everything that he's not.

Not to forget that this wound will never leave their son's heart.

"One rum and coke please."

A presence lingers in his right and the brown-haired man turns with a glare at the ready, eyebrows furrowed and lips pressed in a thin line to scare whatever stranger that comes a little too close for his liking.

What the--

He stares at you. You stare back at him, just as dumbfounded. Looking the same, yet completely different.

"Miss Y/N?"

"Iwaizumi-san?"

He feels the sudden urge to hide his empty glass, "what--are you doing here?"

"Don't look so surprised, Iwaizumi-san," you chuckle at what you think is his flabbergasted expression, "I'm still twenty-six you know. I came here with a few of my friends."

His eyes slide towards the table in the far corner -- easy to spot since it's one of the loudest -- before he almost misses your question, "and you?"

"I come here often."

"Ah I see."

As you pay the bartender who slides your drink over, you bristle for a bit before you ask hesitantly, "mind if I sit here?"

Iwaizumi shakes his head. It's not like he can say no after all. You're his kid's teacher. And shit, how many beers has he had? He better not run his mouth. It's a dirty habit of his whenever he's shit drunk.

"So," you start off slowly, looking so out of place next to the said man with a scowl so dark it can scare off the most violent of gangsters that the corners of Iwaizumi's mouth tilt upwards in amusement, "how's it going?"

Seriously? You're seriously going to do that? His gaze searches your features for a moment, satisfied when warmth floods your cheeks.

You look away, "you don't have to look at me like that, you know. I just thought you’d want some company."

"What makes you think that?” Iwaizumi says while he flags down another beer from the waiter. 

You blink at him, “I can go if you want--”

The man sighs, rubbing his temples with tiredness, “that’s not what I meant.”

A weird, empty gap of silence ensues. Long enough that Iwaizumi gets his fourth beer of the night in his hand and he takes a grateful swallow. 

He really should not be drinking so much.

"Where do you work?” 

You’re persistent. He’ll give you that, “personal trainer. I work at the sports academy.” 

“That’s cool,” there’s a small smile edging upon your lips, “you like it?”

He nods, pauses briefly, before asking, “do you?” 

Of course it’s a little too close for comfort, especially since you’re Hoisuke’s teacher and all. But you merely relax in your high stool, swinging your legs while nodding eagerly. He can’t help but notice the tightness of your dark jeans, your black high-heeled boots, “I don’t see myself working as anything else. I’m bad with people most of the time.”

Taking another swig of his beer, Iwaizumi feels the tension slowly ease up from his shoulders, “well you’re way better with kids than I am.”

“You’re pretty good with Hoisuke."

“That’s because you haven’t seen him throw tantrums.”

You laugh, "oh don't worry, I have. I know all about his little fits. All my kids have one, at some point."

You say it lightly, but there's definitely love laced in your words and for a minute, Iwaizumi thinks back to the way Hoisuke kept on praising you, the way he spoke so affectionately about you.

"Do you still play volleyball?" You ask him while sipping on your drink.

He mimics the gesture, "sometimes. The guys are all over town so it's harder to meet up now."

"Dang, your team was so good though."

"It was Oikawa that held us together. We weren't that good," he tastes the bitterness of Karasuno's victory on his tongue.

"That's not true," you protest, fiddling with your empty glass, "the only reason why I watched Aoba Johsai's games was because I liked watching you play."

Dark coffee-coloured orbs sweep up to yours at that statement, as if trying to peel layers off yout shell, as if wanting to confirm the truth of your words. You feel like cowering away but you don't, instead holding his stare in hopes that he doesn't notice how your hands tremble slightly underneath his scowl.

And then, features softening ever so slightly, he murmurs out, "thanks."

You know he means it in the best way possible.

-----

One drink turns to two. And two multiplies by four. And soon enough you're tipsy off your head and singing so blatantly off-key you wonder why Iwaizumi's still by your side. You haven't been this drunk in ages and this sense of freedom makes you bold; you tug him to the dance floor to join your friends, order shot after shot as the music gets louder and your head gets lighter, proceed to blabber your mouth off about literally anything and everything that by the end of the night, you wish the ground would swallow you whole so you won't have to deal with Iwaizumi the next day.

You're not entirely sure how you find yourself being dragged by none other than the said man himself, or how your nose is currently lodged in the crevice between his neck and shoulders. But he smells good, like citrus and a mixture of mint and-- you sniff a little more -- is that cookie dough? Your mouth waters just at the thought.

"You smell like cookie dough," the words tumble out of your mouth in a jumbled mess and you inwardly feel like stabbing yourself.

So pathetic. Pitiful really.

"That's Hoisuke," Iwaizumi replies, surprisingly patient even when he's clearly not impressed, glaring at the lamppost ahead, "it's his flavour of the month."

"That's cute!" You giggle, "just like you, Iwa!"

The man sighs while shifting his grip upon your waist, "let's just get you to bed."

You probably doze off at some point or black out because the next thing you see upon opening your eyes next is the ceiling.

Hoisting your head up and groaning when your head pounds in warning, you lie back down as nausea takes over.

Shit. This isn't your room. You know that much.

What the fuck happened last night?

You remember dancing atop tables, remember spotting Iwaizumi by the bar and talking to him because he just seemed so sad and lonely. You remember dragging him onto the dance floor, dancing together, his hands on your waist--

You danced with Iwaizumi?!

The thought is enough to trigger another pounding. You groan once more, placing your hand atop your head in hopes that it will stop it from throbbing. It doesn't. But before you have more time to wallow in your self-pity, the door creaks open and your eyes almost pop out of your head when you spot a mop of brown spiky hair enter the room.

Iwaizumi.

Oh fuck. Your brain short circuits. Fuck fuck fuck.

Surprise crosses his face, clearly having not expected you to be awake yet. He walks over to place a glass of water by the nightstand and grabs your palm to tilt two aspirins into your hand.

"How's your head?" He asks.

"Fine," you wince. It's far from fine. In response, he holds out the glass and you gladly wash down the pills, warm and feeling suddenly vulerable under his stare.

Chewing onto the inside of your cheek, you muster up all your courage to ask, "what--happened last night?"

You don't miss the way his eyebrows shoot up, "you don't remember?"

"...no."

Is that amusement dancing in his eyes? You're not sure since it's gone just as quickly as it came before he says, "you got drunk. Danced on the table, had too many shots and made out with two different men--"

"I'm pretty sure the last part didn't happen."

"You said you didn't remember," he smirks lightly.

"I can't even flirt, let alone kiss strangers."

That earns you a chuckle from his part, causing your heart to flutter slightly as he straightens up, "you probably want to wash up. Bathroom's on the right. I'm in the kitchen if you need me."

"Okay," and as he turns away, you quickly add, "thanks, Iwaizumi-san."

He nods back, exiting the room and finally allowing you to collapse back against the bed to try slowing down your galloping heart. Jesus christ, you think to yourself as you slowly take in your surroundings. From the lack of furniture and with only a few clothes flung over a wooden desk chair shoved in the right, you guess it's his room. A closed laptop and a small plant sits on his desk. On the left is the nightstand filled with sports books and some manga, a closet shoved in a corner and the floor is made in veneered wood.

There's no sign of family pictures, nothing that indicates the warmth of a cosy household. It doesn't take a genius to understand why. While Hoisuke had begged you not to tell his father, you weren't a stranger to the young boy sobbing in-between breaks because he misses his mother.

Well, it's not like you're allowed into family affairs anyway, as much as that breaks your heart.

After a much needed shower and a quick brush of your teeth -- you had to make do with using your fingers with his toothpaste, too embarrassed to actually ask him whether he had a spare toothbrush -- you walk out into the kitchen to see Iwaizumi already seated at a quaint wooden table laden with eggs and toast. Behind him sits the kitchen stove and white countertops next to a fridge fitting snuggly on the left corner. On the far right of the room is a large dark grey couch and a tv set, and just behind it is a small hallway which seems to be the entrance -- guessing by the coat rack and array of shoes. 

"Sunny side up or boiled?" Iwaizumi asks as you take a seat opposite him. He has already poured you a cup of strong coffee and you inhale before sighing in bliss. Your headache already feels slightly better.

"Anything is fi--" you're interrupted by his scowl, quickly changing your answer to, "sunny-side up please."

He grunts, passes you the plate and digs into his own fried eggs, the soft boiled ones forgotten at the centre of the table.

"Uhm, forgive me for point it out, but that's a lot of food Iwaizumi-san," you mumble out, not missing the way his features harden slightly.

"Force of habit," he mutters in-between mouthfuls. He doesn't need to say more, for you're pretty certain he's referring to the family he used to have, those lazy Sunday mornings that started out with brunch.

You eat in companionable silence and though it'a definitely less awkward than last night, your mind still races trying to figure out what to say to erase the permanent furrow between his brows.

Or is that his normal demeanour? To be honest, you're not quite sure yourself.

So you settle for thanking him for last night, to which he replies, "do you usually drink that much?"

"No," you duck your head, avert your gaze, "I got carried away. I'm really sorry."

"Well I wouldn't have expected my kid's teacher to be that wild," he muses while taking a bite of his toast.

Alarm zaps through you, making your eyes go wide, "I swear I'm not usually like that, really. I just--this was an exception--"

"It's fine, miss Y/N. I know," his brown pupils lock onto yours briefly, "I'm not going to report you."

"I--" nothing can really make up for your behaviour last night. You know that much, "still, I'm sorry. That wasn't appropriate," you glance up, chest tightening at the intensity of his stare, unflinching. Unwavering.

He cocks his head at you then, a semblance of a smile along his mouth, "I was pretty entertained, if you ask me."

"Was I that bad?"

"No. But let's just say that you won't want to show your face around for the next week or so."

You groan and bury your face in your hands, "what did I do?"

"You might've broken a beer glass or two," he gives you a look, "on purpose. And tried to steal the Dj's headphones cause he wasn't putting the music you requested."

"Oh god," you want to bury yourself right then and there and to your surprise, you see him laugh softly before he nudges your coffee towards you.

"Drink," he orders, "it'll make you feel less shitty."

You're about to retort with a roll of your eyes, only to be interrupted by the doorbell ringing. From the way Iwaizumi tenses, you know it's not just the mail man.

Excusing himself to go unlock the door as you twist in your seat to follow his figure, shock courses through you the moment your eyes land on Hoisuke's.

Then, his mother.

An alarm bell rings through your mind.

"I thought you said evening," comes Iwaizumi's grunt, totally unlike the guy who'd been chuckling a few seconds ago.

"Hoisuke wanted to come back early for some reason," the woman says, her gaze flickering to yours for a brief moment. It's enough to cause you to swallow hard. She continues, "I'll pick him up on--"

"Miss Y/N?!" Hoisuke shouts out suddenly and before you know it, you're being tackled into the child's arms as if you haven't seen each other forever, "what are you doing here?! Daddy!" he whips his head around in accusation, "you lied about not really really liking Miss Y/N!"

"Wha--No!" Iwaizumi yells as you frown in confusion, "huh?"

"Daddy said that really really liking someone means you wanna be boyfriend and girlfriend with them, like he was with Mama before she moved houses," Hoisuke blabbers on, totally oblivious to how the three of you keep on staring at him in growing alarm, "and then I asked him if he really really liked miss Y/N because I really really like miss Y/N but he said no, but that's a lie!"

"Hajime, what is he talking about?" His ex-wife is quick to narrow her eyes, "what have you been telling him?"

"Nothing, it's not what you think--"

"I think," she pointedly glances at you, "I should leave now. We'll talk about this later."

And with that, she swivels around and storms out, leaving the three of you to stare after her in a mixture of shock and confusion.

Hoisuke, oblivious to the sudden tension, blurts out, "daddy, why is Mama angry with you?"

----

The few weeks following the tiny incident that had resulted in an awkward misunderstanding between you, Hoisuke’s parents and the said child himself had caused you to retreat back into the shell of professionalism that included avoiding Iwaizumi whenever it was deemed possible. It hadn’t been hard since he was usually present and waiting outside class to pick up Hoisuke right on time, making it much easier to avoid conversation with him altogether. 

You’d texted iwaizumi right after reaching your humble abode the day he’d practically saved your drunk ass and though you spent a few spare moments to chat in-between the bustling activities of life, it doesn’t erase the fact that he’s still Hoisuke’s father, one of your dearest students. That, and the fact that you don’t really find it fair to put Hoisuke in-between the two of you, if there’s anything worth digging for anyway. 

Who are you kidding? It’s not like Iwaizumi would ever be interested in you in that sense. Having spotted his ex-wife once or twice proved that his style was of more refined women, the type that would drink wine instead of chug down beer and who’d enjoy gifts such as perfume and romantic dates instead of going on grocery trips and meal-prepping for the entire week. 

“Miss Y/N!” Hoisuke’s voice pierces through your thought bubble and your eyes quickly find his grin as he jumps towards your desk, "are you coming to our house this weekend too?!"

"Wh--What? Uhm-- no I don't think so--" eyes quickly flitting over the classroom, you're relieved to find that the rest of his classmates are long gone, "I don't think that's appropriate."

"But why? I even told Mama that I wouldn't be coming this weekend because you were," he pouted and it took all of your determination not to melt, until his words registered in your brain and your eyes widened, "o--oh, but that's--"

"Hoisuke?" You both turn to see his father's head poking through the door. Your body reacts instantly, warmth flooding through your limbs and flushing through your cheeks.

"Daddy!"

"H-Hello, Iwaizumi-san," you bow your head slightly. He returns the gesture, facial expression not giving anything away. His son bounds up to him with just as much vigor, "daddy, can we invite miss Y/N this weekend too?"

You might have laughed at Iwaizumi's shocked face if not for the fact that you are the person in question.

He splutters, "Miss Y/N has things to do--"

"But she came last weekend!"

"Yes well, it's bad manners to impose on someone when they're not free," Iwaizumi replies sternly, "come on now, we're gonna be late for Karate."

With a loud sigh and a scowl that resembles so much like his father, Hoisuke mutters out his goodbyes while Iwaizumi catches your eye, bowing slightly and muttering a silent "sorry" before he guides his son out of the room. You're glad he's out of earshot that he can't hear the stuttering of your heart against your chest.

You place a hand on your chest, sigh tiredly before looking down at your students' papers, "get a grip, Y/N," you mutter to yourself.

But it's not that easy to control yourself when Iwaizumi is making it so easy to like him.

----

Iwaizumi: sorry about yesterday. 

Y/N: it's okay. Hoisuke’s young, it's normal for him to want for a motherly figure around.

Iwaizumi's fingers drum over his knee as he watches with slight interest the newest male volleyball team practice their serves. He shouts after a few, calling them out for theit lazy postures, but other than that he can't seem to stop his thoughts from winding their way back to you.

"Who is she?" Mizune had asked him on the phone on the day following their encounter. Her tone was friendly, yet held that tone of warning that he was so accustomed to.

"How does that concern you?"

"I want to know who you're bringing around to hang out with Hoisuke."

"She's an acquaintance of mine," he paused, "and Hoisuke's teacher."

"That's inapropriate if you ask me."

Scoffing, he replied, "like what you did's so appropriate?"

A small pause ensued. When she spoke next, there was no mistaking the edge to her voice.

"You can't keep using that against me, Hajime."

"Don't tell me who I can or can't hang out with."

He'd hung up without bothering to wait for her response, seething and red hot with rage blubbering through his stomach.

Of course now that he thinks it over, Mizune has a point. Mixing the professional and the personal have never ended in happy endings. Not that this has ever stopped him before. He doesn't believe in what everyone else thinks is right. That's also one of the main reasons why Mizune couldn't handle it anymore. Or so she said before she went to suck someone else's dick.

His phone vibrates and fishing it out, a scowl instantly shadows his face upon seeing Oikawa's name flash across the screen.

Oikawa: Iwa-chan ~ have you asked her out yet?

Iwaizumi has to force himself to stay in control and not pound his phone to pieces when he types out his reply.

Iwaizumi: No.

Oikawa: BUT WHYYYY~ YOU SAID YOU FOUND HER CUTE.

Oikawa: and Hoisuke likes her. He already knows her.

Iwaizumi: I didn’t say that. And she's not interested.

Oikawa: Just because you suck at picking up cues doesn't mean she isn't throwing them at you 😏😏😏

Iwaizumi: shut up, shittykawa.

Oikawa: Just do it or I'll do it for you.

Iwaizumi: I don't even like her that way.

Oikawa: why'd you rant about not wanting to hurt her feelings yesterday night then?

Iwaizumi's hand rubs at his face with a groan. Oikawa's a little shit most of the time, but he's a perceptive little shit.

Oikawa: I mean it. Ask her out or I'll do it for you.

Oikawa: gotta go now. Match is starting. See ya!~ muah ❤

"Dumbass," Iwaizumi growls under his breath before shoving the phone back into his pocket. Easier said than done to ask someone out so casually, especially when she's Hoisuke's teacher.

If she accepts, great. If she doesn't, he'll have to suffer through humiliation for the rest of the year or avoid picking up Hoisuke altogether.

Oh fuck it.

He lets his body send the message before his brain can catch up to the way he has thrown himself under the bus, shoves his phone back into his pocket and tries to put the thought out of his mind even though the device suddenly feels hot and heavy in his pant pocket.

Iwaizumi: we're having takeout and movie night on Friday. You're free to join.

----