#maybe I sound unfair I know but I can't anymore...

[katerinaaqu]

Have you seen the new epic saga, it's something alright lmao

Of course I haven't seen it given that I never followed the live streaming to begin with not even in the first two sagas that I genuinely liked, much less now but a friend wanted to fill me in and since you asked and I wanted to be accurate, I tormented myself for almost 16 minutes to listen to the plot changes that I was told there would be and I am like

WHAT THE FUCK DID I HEAR?!!!!!!!!

I am sorry but again speakig purely on plot of course because honestly the music is really solid as always and the singers were amazing to transfer the emotions they wanted to transfer. Loved some of the melodies given, for example the intro of Charybdis was my favorite part I think but I am like HOW IS IT POSSIBLE THAT ALMOST ABSOLUTELY NOTHING OF THE FREAKING ODYSSEY IS IN THIS SAGA?!!!!!! Like he just kept the bare minimum again!

Sorry for the runt but yeah here goes:

"Not sorry for loving you"=> After all that backlash that song got even from the most loyal Epic fans he still kept it. I mean I admire his loyalty to his ideas but like he should have known that the song was not a good idea. I mean it was almost clear from the song's ideas that Jorge would dodge the subject of SA and that he would leave his fans guessing (smart move gotta give him that) at first given the suicide attempt Odysseus make but now it seems almost clear that he would want to dodge the subject just like he dodged the Circe thing it is just that right now he couldn't do it as blatantly because Calypso was an infamous moment of the Odyssey And of course the "I love you" Odysseus said...I said it before and I say it again it reminds me a blunt way to translate the reconsiliation of Odysseus and Calypso in the Odyssey. Okay even Odyssey was interesting in that (see my other analysis) even Homer uses the phrase "they rested by each other's side enjoying their closeness" so in one way even Homer seems to be implying that Odysseus forgives her and even tries to see it from her point of view but honestly what else could he do? Hold a grudge? A day before he would be FINALLY given the tools to make a raft? I think not. It almost felt like Odysseus felt sorry for Calyspo for one second in the Odyssey, when Calypso, a literal goddess, compared herself to his wife. It was an almost pity move on his part at that moment. Dunno what the musical wanted to do with this but this was not the way to do it! All the context of their talk and all was lost! If anything he tried to use a made-up thing, AGAIN to show some compassion for Calyspo. Calypso was already a lonely deity. That tragedy was enough for her. She didn't need any more tear-jerking stories for people to feel for her more in my opinion (kinda like whatever PJO did if I am not mistaken...either way yeah...)

"Dangerous"=> You know...at this point I am not even surprised that he made Hermes and Odysseus interract....like that would be my least of my problems. He does make Odysseus interract with all the gods under the sun in the musical even if Odysseus only interracts with is Hermes at Circe's island ONLY and Athena in the Odyssey and that after he has been through everything! Either way of course we would have Hermes there but like again with all the things we have from "video game logic" or whatever he wants to do...Hermes gives him another bag?! like I have no idea what is going on here! The only thing I would praise here is the emotional preparation for a possible reunion with Athena given how Hermes doesn't tell Odysseus who helped him so maybe he has an emotional load there.

"Charybdis"=> Okay for starters.....WHAT THE FUCK?! What is Charybdis doing AFTER Ogygia?! Not even a flashback!? (and I was wondering where the "Hermes told me" thing came from in that preview) Like where is that damn desperation of Odysseus having to face Charybdis right after he lost everyone?! Alone and hungry in the sea after a terrible storm that took away his men?! I also love it really how everyone thought originally that at least Charybdis would be accurate to the text and everyone was making their analysis and "look how fighting he is here compared to after when he wants to throw himself in the sea in Ogygia" and now it is clear that this thing came AFTER Ogygia for some reason. Like I am not even surprised anymore that some of the most iconic moments of the Odyssey were twisted. It almost seems deliberate at this point like "yeah let's change exactly the most iconic parts" that's why Circe was changed, Sirens were changed, Skylla was changed, Charybdis was changed...even the storm after the Helios island... The intro slaps no lie there but honest I have expressed my opinion on that before and got in trouble but I think that moment of desperation shouldn't be a fucking epic song. It was a man hanging for dear life from a tree! Trying his best not to die! (made also one small thing here) And like I get it, if someone sees that escape as "epic" for being so dramatic and impressive, I get it. have epic music in the background but what on earth with the lyrics? Like "destroy you"?! Really? or "bring it on!" like the last thing Odysseus wanted in the Odyssey was Charybdis to...bring it on! Lol! You may as well speak on the "I'm still fightng here" thing, I totally get it why, but to actually challenge the beast seems totally random. But then again I guess it fits more with THIS context given how he thinks he is now favored by the gods? In the Odyssey he was alone abandoned by all and everything with no hope left so I guess...

"Get in the Water"=> Like okay I have seen this in more replays than I can count from the very beginning from the demos till now. Ironically out of this whole thing it could be lowkey my favorite! Lol! Mainly because it fits the Odyssey PARTIALLY (yeah again Poseidon never wanted to kill Odysseus. That was written straight out in the freaking Odyssey! Even 1997 version that was inacurate as hell in many things did that right!). I would have loved it if this song was Poseidon having a monolog and Odysseus having his cries like "oh no!" or prayers as a second monolog. Like not actually interracting but have two parallel monologs! This trope is not used much and I wish I saw it more. Like Odysseus praying to Poseidon but Poseidon doing his thing alone and the two not having a dialog to each other. Apart from that the song was as we expected so far. Maybe the last part had me a bit iked but again I feel like it would be massively fixed if the two characters had parallel monologs and not actually interracting. I also love it how casually we have Odysseus accuse Poseidon in this saga for destroying his men while he CONSCIOUSLY killed the last of those himself.

"600 strikes"=> I'm sorry but....WHAT THE HELL DID I JUST SEE?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!??!?!??!?!?!?! Like I am sorry never felt like good music was so wasted in my entire life ever since the Siren fiasco! Like the song is amazing musically but what the hell did just happen?!?!?!?!?! For starters the underworld has a bus service apparently and all come up... I feel like Jorge uses this as a pattern at this point. When scenes like the underworld attracted so much fans and emotions from people who praised his choice to bring the ghosts and the voices up he wants to use it every time to focus on emotional load in a similar manner (like I said never followed him for real so I am not sure how much of it was planned before and how much of it was done on the way). But yeah of course we would expect the appearance especially with the hype at Love in Paradise. But excuse the fuck out of me WHAT!? Odysseus beating up Poseidon with his FUCKING TRIDENT with the power of friendship?! LOL! I have no idea what to take of this! We do know humans fought gods before (Diomedes looking at you) but ironically to my knowledge NEVER THE BIG THREE! Like you know...fucking ZEUS POSEIDON AND HADES?!? The three main pillars of the world (Heaven Earth Underworld)?! I don't think I ever loved a lyric so much (Odysseus admitting what he became from his trip) and so cringe at the same time (Fucking POSEIDON begging for mercy?! and calling him "monster" for fighting back?!" I am not sure to which to cringe first). Is this supposed to be the part where Odysseus redeems himself against Poseidon?! To dodge the fact that Tiresias DIDN'T give him instructions to break the curse?! So basically Odysseus redeems himself for what he did...by stabbing a fucking god?! Like...remember how Diomedes was cursed by the narrative for stabbing fucking Aphrodite after fucking ATHENA ordered him to?! Yeah right that works! What the hell?! And the final part was supposed to be some sort of redemption from the pattern "All I hear are screams"?! Like "how will you seel at night?" and the response "next to my wife"?! Is that supposed to be the last of the "all I hear are screams" pattern?! Is this supposed to be the ultimate "monster move" of Odysseus or something?! And of course we had to have an encore from the previous bag of winds scene as well like yeah once more the god Poseidon the fucking literal god of seas and land inhabited by humans, the guy who has the epithet Προσκλύστιος (Prosklystios)= the one who strikes against (to imply the waves) was taken down by a bag of winds?! I mean yeah makes total sense!

You know...it almost feels like Jorge read my fanfiction with his men supporting him against the Trojans! Looooool just kidding I just am too shook by the random things that come out of that magic hat! Like yeah Odysseus swimming, literally SWIMMING for two days in a fucking storm to reach Scheria was not epic enough apparently...we needed some sort of final boss god fight here...like Hades game or something like yeah...what's next?! Odysseus will shoot fucking ZEUS with his bow with the blessings of Athena to get even in thenext saga?!

Also of course we have sped up plot again because screw the Phaeaceans, the very reason Odysseus even TELLS HIS STORY! The one we could have his redemption, his cry and the move of compassion from them (not to mention it makes so much more sense than someone traveling on a freaking RAFT from Calyspo's island all the way to Ithaca since the Phaeaces gave him a ship and all) unless they somehow pop up later which I doubt... I also heard that the storm or whatever is signifying Penelope the coming home of her husband? Not sure again not following but yeah

To conclude as always music-wise really solid work very good harmonies and by n large very good intros

Plot wise

WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?!?!?!?!?!?!?

Again I deeply apologize on the Epic fans out there and even to the creator himself if I sound harsh! I know but still...I just cannot anymore...the plot is like killing me!

and these are my PERSONAL OPINIONS! If you love it good for you guys! I just had enough of it really. Is it impressive? HELL YEAH is it creative ABSOLUTELY!! is it good? To me absolutely not! Honest never expected to say that but I think the "Get in the Water" is the song that makes the most sense out of it.

PS: I am sure the animators did a FANTASTIC JOB in their work too! And I believe I will see impressive stuff from now on! The same good job as the singers did!

[imrllytootiredforthis]

sweet treat for a sweet boy<3

pairing: felix x reader

warnings: dom reader, sub lixie, boypussy felix, lollipops used for their non-intended purposes (food play), minorly mentions reader has a dick like once but can be imagined as a strap or real, think that's it :) -- MINORS BEGONE -- based on this vid (porn link⚠️)

a/n: was honestly too tired to edit this shitshow but whateverrrrr😌

imagine making lixie hold his legs up, his arms tucked under knees to keep his drooling pussy on show for you.

sweetly whining and pink, eyes screwed shut from the vulnerability of the position. open and wanting and so, so wet for you.

he can't think properly. everything is a haze in his muddled brain. sanity thrown to shit when you slowly, tortuously work him up.

and how is he supposed to think properly while you're teasing him like this? keep any kind of composure with your nails-dragging along his inner thighs, around his pussy lips, barely ghosting over his cute clit?

it would be unfair for you to expect that of him.

so he'll whine again, breathy and pathetic. his pink lips turned down into a slight frown all the while, because shit, won't you just touch him?

he's ready to beg, plead, cry for it-he needs it, so, so bad.

you seem to read his mind, because of course you can. you know him and his body better than he does himself at this point.

you spread his legs just a little bit to peer up at him from between them and his bottom lip juts out further.

you only give him your own mocking pout in reply "just be patient baby." you glance back down, pulling that damned lollipop out of your mouth to blow at his wet folds.

he wants to cry.

your tongue wraps around the pink treat, tracing around the circumference of it before kitten licking the tip all while his eyes hold yours.

the sight makes slick drool down his pussy, clenching around nothing. hungry, he wishes it was around you.

you wrap your lips around the lollipop, slowly, tantalizingly. he whimpers, his hips swaying but your eyes only flicker down for a second, ever the amused at his display of need.

and then you're looking back at him, challenging him. to say something, to do something. besides thrusting up into the air like a desperate whore in need of a fucking.

but he is. for you. his clit throbs with the need for attention; your fingers, your tongue, your dick-anything.

"please! just do something-anything! i can't-"

your eyes light up like he's promised something away that he shouldn't have, "anything?"

you look too happy. like a cat playing with a mouse. ready to devour it yet too eager to not play with your dinner.

but he can't do this anymore. he can't wait. he can't stay sane while you look him in the eye like that, sucking on the damned fucking lollipop and fucking smirking like you-

"-anything!" he gasps, his body seizing at the soft touch of your fingertips to his folds, collecting the fluids and bringing it to your lips with a soft hum.

"okay then lixie, just remember. you said anything."

and fuck. fuck.

that damned fucking lollipop,

that you've been swirling around on your tongue for the past ten minutes, more using it to tease him than for your own enjoyment.

"fuck."

his voice is hoarse and whiney. you think it's the best sound in the world.

"baby, it's not good to swear."

well fuck you and fuck that and fuck him-please, for the love of god please fuck him.

because that stupid lollipop that's been in your mouth is warm and wet and round, pushing between his folds and dragging along the seam of his pussy.

teasingly pressing against his clit, before moving just as quickly, leaving him to only cry out and dig his nails into the plush of his thighs to keep from crying.

"oh, you poor thing. so needy~"

he thinks he gasps when you push it into him, he's not sure though. maybe he gasps, maybe he moans, maybe he cries. he can't think over the buzz of every nerve ending and the roaring in his ears and the overwhelming pleasure when you pull it out and shove it back in just as fast.

and you do it again and again, watching his expression carefully as you start a cruel pace. as his mouth falls open and his eyes grow watery.

and you smile, because fuck he's so pretty like this.

you press it deep inside, hitting something that makes his back arch, a sharp keen careening from his bitten lips. and you speed up, hitting that spot over and over and over again.

your wrist cramps but you hardly care. it's worth it to see him like this.

to watch his legs shake and his eyes, wide and teary focus only on the point where the lollipop disappears into him, seeing hints of the pink candy before it's just the white of the stick.

his body heats up, almost burning as if liquid fire runs through his veins as if it's too much but it's not enough and he needs more.

you seem to read that thought too, bringing your hand from his thigh to rub at his clit in quick, harsh circles in tandem with the thrust of the lollipop.

"shit-i'm cumming, i'm gonna cum!"

you go faster and he can hear the slick sounds of it working inside of him, lewd and wet and moving easily in and out. squelching with every time you drive it into him.

you barely look at him before you're focused back between his legs, tongue peeking out to glide over your lips.

"it's okay, cum for me baby."

his cunt is twitches, wet and hot and begging to let go. you sigh softly pressing down on his clit harshly, making him scream.

he came with a pathetic cry, tears pricking his eyes and running down his pretty freckled cheeks; his pussy spasming around the lollipop, as his clit quivers against your finger.

he groans weakly, mewling as you help him ride out his high, shaking at the oversensitivity.

slowly, you pull out, sticky strands of cum webbing out as his cunt flutters.

you lean forward, pushing his thighs apart as you hover over him.

"open up baby~"

a/n: guys, be honest with me, am i disgusting for this?🤨🥴

the question at the same time though is do i care?

[yuutawe]

TAKE A BITE INTO MY HEART﹕yuta okkotsu. . .

when death strikes down those you love most, a desperate binding vow proves to be the salvation.

ꖛ warnings!‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎(overall) nsfw + angst with happy ending(?)‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎major character death !‎ blood and death (mentions + slightly described) + a bit of gore (hearts) ! cannibalism ! ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎yandere appeals (?) ! mutual obsession ! jjk manga spoilers for the end of the shinjuku battle arc ! i basically threw every rule from the universe out of the window (this is not how binding vows work and im nearly sure of it, lol).

ꖛ about. * reader is gender-neutral. no anatomy specified + they/them pronouns and genderless nicknames.

ꖛ inspired by‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎so, i went back to watching hannibal. blame the homoerotic subtext in the cannibalistic series for this idea.

ꖛ author's note * repost because i can't see my post in the tags (sob). originally posted this in nov 28th.

ꖛ word count ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎1.410 (1.4k)

‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎[ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎NOT PROOFREAD!]

how do you undo what can never be undone? a person's comfort when someone dies is usually knowing that it was inevitable. this fate awaits us all in the end. soon, in a day or ninety years, we too will be hidden in large wooden boxes, burned and turned to ash, or left to rot in the darkest, most forgotten corner of the world. but death changes people. its touch is not meant for those who remain alive, but it changes them all the same.

as you changed when yuta died.

the flowers seem too alive when they arrive arranged in bouquets, tied with ribbons that are too vibrant. that color bothers your eyes. or maybe he seems too colorless. it's uncomfortable.

that body on the stretcher is uncomfortable. it's unfair and uncertain. when ieiri and the others left the room ── give them a moment of privacy. you know how important it is ──, whispering behind your back as if you were an abandoned stray animal. a homeless animal, with no place in the world. pitiful. like a creature abandoned on the side of a dirty road. everyone stops to look at the tragedy, but not to help. and how they mourn. they cry more than you.

poor things. they were so happy.

swear i don't know how it happened. one minute he was fine, and the next...

i didn't think he wouldn't make it. i didn't expect this.

i can barely imagine how they must be feeling. imagine seeing someone you love die in front of you, like this.

the sound of metal being punched takes you out of your thoughts. the idea of ​​people saying this now, with you right there with his dead body in front of you, just infuriates you so much that you punched the metal tray without even realizing it. simple as that. anger took over your muscles, and several sterilized tools were thrown on the floor. everything so fast. how can something happen so fast?

how did it all happen so fast?

he was fine. he said he was going to be fine. damn it, yuta promised he was going to stay. that he needed to fight, needed to help. your role was to stay here and give support to miss ieiri.

“asshole.” you can hear yourself mumble, your voice choked with tears. “you promised.”

when you touch his hand, searching for a familiar comfort, you find only an empty shell. normally, his long fingers would gently curl to hold yours. those warm hands would hold yours and yuta’s sweet voice would murmur it’s going to be okay, my love. we’ll make it, we always do.

lying son of a bitch. that’s what you want to scream, as the words mix with please, wake up. wake up and look at me. come back to me.

his body is so cold. not cold in yuta’s way ── warm hands and cold body, but cold like death. cold because the blood has stopped running through his veins, icy because his muscles don't move or contract anymore, his organs don't work.

just a few minutes. it's still surprisingly cool for a fresh body, but he's cold in a way that almost burns you. your aching heart can’t take this sight, no.

your body bends, and your lips touch his icy forehead. those closed eyes, those blue and depressed eyes need to open again. it's the only thing that's right. a dark whisper runs through your mind. he could come back, couldn't he? so many sorcerers have already cheated death. why did her scythe need to fall right on your boyfriend?

it wouldn't be like that. not if you're really here to change the course of history. a living and perfect heart beats in your chest — his, static and dead, is still red. it's still possible. it will be messy and completely crazy, but who's going to stop you?

who would try to execute you both? without the higher-ups, the sky's the limit and the new jujutsu society rises from the rubble of the old. and what golden age doesn't deserve its own champion? may he rise from the ashes and become the new champion of a sick society: recovering from the rot caused by the corruption of the old jurisdiction, yuta will overcome death and return to his place, by your side.

only by your side.

the blood is sticky, gooey. the bright red is so grotesque against yuta's pale skin that you wonder if perhaps god created blood to convince humans to kill less. it didn't work.

as the incision is made in his chest, you quickly put your fingers inside his body. a little searching, and with more effort, you hit his heart. great. with some difficulty, you cut a piece and brings it up to your mouth.

gulp. your swallowing is like the ringing of the death bell.

his blood stains your index and middle fingers — and greedily, you raise them to your lips and stain them with red. it's like lipstick. there's a certain romanticism in that.

the price to pay is not a debt that will be collected immediately. this could backfire very quickly, perhaps in a way that no one can stop. but if this gives him back to you—

the doorknob lowers, and someone grumbles behind the door. there's not much time. you don't have any more time. hey, did you lock the door? whoever is speaking, their voices seem like background noise as you lean in to kiss his cold lips.

may you share a life, may you share gifts and curses again. pure, mutual love overcomes every kind of mortal wound and lacerating incision.

you can almost feel a deep discouragement ── no answer. it didn't work? why? do you have to take a life to give another? it would make sense. bam. bam. open the door, they say. scared of what you might do to yourself.

a hand reaches up and grabs the back of your head, pushing you down once more. and yuta leans up, his lips wrapping around your bloody ones eagerly.

the salty tears run down your cheeks, and your hands let go of the scalpel to cup his face in your hands. it’s almost animalistic, desperate, as pure love invades you both.

he leans back, breathing heavily. oh, he is breathing. yuta okkotsu has returned from the dead thanks to you.

“what is going on— i can’t— my head hurts.”

the pain that hits you right after is almost unbearable. it's like being torn in half and then put back together in a completely different way.

he holds you, still trying to shoo away the ringing in his ears. “love— love, what’s wrong?” yuta asks, grabbing your hand to settle you. to push the pain away from your beating heart. 

the heart you two now share. two halves of your heart, shared to pump life through your bodies. you’re weakened, but he is alive. it was worth the price.

the door is broken down with a bang, but you can't make yourself care. your arms wrap around what used to be a corpse, but now is back to being your sweet, lovely boyfriend. he hugs your waist, his fingers grabbing at the flesh as if he wants to make sure you’re real. this is real.

“you’re alive, baby.” you sob, and he gently kisses your tears away. “it’s okay. you’re okay.”

and when the others enter the medical bay, all they see is yuta, who was dead less than a minute ago. he has a new scar on his chest, a vertical cut. the scalpel that was used to help you with the process has long been forgotten, thrown on the floor.

your chin rest at the top of his head, and it feels like you can finally breathe after drowning in grief for cold hours. — years, it’s what it felt like. he nuzzles into your warmth, stealing some for his own body.

his blood is flowing again, but he's still a little pale and the temperature is freezing in the medical bay. he rests his head against your shoulder, watching all the shocked and confused reactions from everyone else.

it's like walking straight into a sacrilege, something impossible, something that should never have happened. the breakdown of the natural order happened here, in this room. and yuta is alive.

alive, and staring at them with cold blue eyes for interrupting your moment.

© made by spiralryomen on tumblr. do not copy, repost, translate my works in this or any other site — inspirations allowed with credits.

[talaok]

hi bestie, I've been thinking about your incredible writing and I thought of something, if it's okay for you, it would be an interesting fic, thank you very much for the dedication and love you put into your works, they are perfect.

We always see fic scenarios out there where Pedro is insecure about the age difference, exposure and privacy, but what about a totally different scenario where Pedro tries to convince the reader that none of that really matters because they are in love? and that they will be able to get through this? (In this case, I don't think the reader would have a problem with the age gap, but she would like to have a "normal" relationship and not one where they can't hold hands, kiss or be seen together because of the paparazzi...

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x reader

warnings: angst

a/n: thank you soso much love💖, and im sorry if this isn't exactly what you had pictured

it's stupid how you got here.

How you ended up sobbing on the couch as your boyfriend tried to understand what was going on.

It was just a stupid couple, a stupid couple kissing on the subway... in public.

And all you could think about as you came home was how unfair it was, that you and Pedro couldn't do that, that you had to hide your relationship in the confines of your apartment, that you couldn't kiss, hold hands, or hug him in the street like you longed for.

it made you think, but it also did something else, it made you realize.

It made you realize just how tired you were, just how exhausting having to pretend like you didn't love someone more than life was, and to have to watch that person, the man who's the object of said love, pretend the same thing.

It was exhausting, and you were exhausted, and as much as you loved him, you'd started to realize that maybe you couldn't, that maybe it just wasn't meant to be.

"sweetheart..." he murmured, softly caressing your right arm, as you hid your face in your own hands "What are you saying?"

You'd only half explained yourself before the tears started, so he hadn't understood completely, he had gotten a part- and he didn't like what he got, it was destroying him actually, but he still had hope... maybe he had simply misinterpreted it all.

"I-I'm saying" you sniffled, peeking up at him, "I'm saying that I don't know if I can do this anymore"

"What?" he breathed, his heart breaking into a million pieces with a simple sentence "Y-you can't do what?" he asked

Hope, hope, he needed to have hope.

This couldn't be it.

No, not like this, not now- fuck, not ever.

"this- us" you explained, tears falling from your eyes without a break "The hiding, the secrecy, not being able to kiss you whenever I want to, I-"

No.

He couldn't give up

"then let's tell everyone!" he begged, taking your hands in his, ignoring the void in his stomach, the sickness in his throat "we-we can do that, we could just-"

"you know I can't" you stopped him "My career is still at the beginning, if this got out it would destroy my image, they'd start saying that I'm with you for the fame and then no one would hire me anymore"

"but you're not" he murmured "You're not like that"

"I know" you shrugged "but how would they?"

"I-I'll tell them" He spoke, trying to sound more confident than he felt "I'll tell everyone how much I love you, how important you are for me, how amazing you are, I'll-"

it was your turn to beg now

"stop" a sob crept up your throat "stop, I just- I can't"

"Sugar, please" he whispered "I love you" he promised " I love you so fucking much, and I can't lose you- not like this, I just can't"

Your eyes were focused on where your hands were intertwining, not able to meet his gaze.

Guilt was eating at you from within, filling up your lungs with smoke until you couldn't breathe.

"I know you do" you spoke, your voice a faint thread "And I love you too, but that's not what this is about, it's about how exhausting this is- I mean, don't you feel it too, aren't you tired too?"

Your eyes were melting with his now

"yeah I am" he nodded "but if it's what I need to do to be with you, then I gladly do it. I'd do anything for you sweetheart- I'd jump off a bridge if you asked me to"

A soft, silly smile pulled unconsciously at your lips.

And he saw it as a victory, a small one, but still something, a crack he'd created.

"Please sugar" he squeezed your hands "Please don't do this, I'm begging you."

"I love you. I love you more than anything, more than myself, more than life itself, so please, for the love of god, don't do this"

"Baby I-"

"Please-" his eyes were shimmering "we'll get through this, we'll find a way"

"what way?"

"I-I don't know yet" he admitted, his voice lower "but what I do know it's that I can't lose you, not over something like this, and that I'm gonna work my ass off to find a solution"

"yeah?" a snort bubbled from your nose

"yeah" he smiled, leaning closer so his hot breath was fanning over your mouth "So what do you say," he asked, "you trust me?"

And at that, you couldn't help but smile

"I do," you said "I trust you"

[dilvuc]

I'm back >:)

So my request is very simple. It is a continuation of the Sampo x Fashion Designer Male Reader.

Giving them a secret relationship isn't always gonna last long, no? So I have this nice idea on my mind.

While the reader is talking to Gepard, the guards ship them (Gepard and the reader doesn't know), maybe even Pela joins in because why not? It's fun to ship your co-worker and your designer from time to time.

So while Sampo is walking down near the restricted zone (or maybe even areas where there are guards) he overheard their conversation. He didn't mean to! He just wanted to know what's the hottest gossip about the Silvermane Guards! He didn't know that he's beloved was shipped with the Landau Captain.

From here I'll just make it briefly.

Sampo gets jealous (somehow) and he's moody

Seele notices this

They talk about it (more like questioning Sampo)((Sampo trying to avoid the question))

Seele listened to Sampo ranting about some guy he's dating (Sampo describing the reader)

Seele meets the reader first time and puts two and two together.

Seele talks to reader about some guy (Sampo) being moody because of him

Reader confronts and comforts Sampo because, yes.

-Li anon <3

(sorry if I seem annoying in chat by the way)

❝secret relationship❞ pt. 2

𝖌𝖊𝖓𝖗𝖊: fluff

𝖌𝖊𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖗: male

𝖙𝖎𝖙𝖑𝖊: secret relationship: misunderstanding

𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌: sampo x m!reader

𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌: none

𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞: now that you two are secretly dating, people have not find out about it except in the underworld. the overworld started to misunderstood you and gepard as a couple which made sampo also misunderstood this and think you were cheating on him

“Again with the cape? What were you thinking?” you huffed while examining gepard’s ruined cape. gepard embarrassingly apologized, “S-sorry…It won't last like this forever…”

“Ugh…I should find a way to keep your cape from going into ruin.” you sighed before pointing your finger into the blonde's chin, “This'll be your last time, got it?”

gepard gulped, “Got it.”

“Good…I'll fix up your cape and from now on I will no longer charge you. Consider yourself lucky…” you deadpanned. the blonde haired male chuckled, “Right…”

“Don't you think Captain and [Y] make a great couple? They seem so close.” One of the Silvermane Guards gossiped.

“Yeah. It's obvious since they always physically touch each other like they're dating.”

“Ha. I say that they're secretly dating~” Pela smirked, grabbing the attention of the guards. “Captain was the first customer when [Y] started his business. They spoke to each other all the time.”

Unknownist to the Silvermane Guards, a blue haired male was eavesdropping on the conversation. He was disappointed when he found out that people in the overworld are shipping the captain and his beloved. that's completely unfair…

▬▬ι══════════════ι▬▬

“I can't believe I've been cheated on by the one person I loved…” sampo sighed with disappointment, rubbing his temper. he obviously thought that his beloved was secretly dating gepard behind his back. It really hurts to think about it. dear aeon, does everyone hate him in this world? were you just using him until he let his guard down so you could turn him into the silvermane guards? aeon, he's overthinking it. he doesn't think you would do that, right? right?

“Geez. I can't take it anymore.” seele groaned. “What's the deal here? Why are you sighing so much? It's getting annoying.”

“Nothing…” sampo frowned. seele narrowed her eyes, thinking that the male was lying. the sadness in his voice sounded real. too real. she sighed, placing her hands on her hips, “Ok. What's up?”

“I don't wanna talk about it.” sampo looks away with a huff.

“Come on. You know you want to talk about it. Tell me what the hell is going on with you?” seele furrowed her eyebrows.

“Oh. Nothing, a certain diva fashion designer was being shipped with the silvermane guard captain. They seem so close that it's almost like they were secretly dating.” sampo protests almost immediately. “The pretty boy with such great fashion sense, cool [h] hair, beautiful [e] eyes, and cute face is probably using me as his pawn or something in order to bring my guard down to turn me in, is now being physically attracted to the captain. It looks like I’m the fool to think that someone finally loves him.”

“...Geez, that's rough. Maybe I can meet this “boyfriend” of yours.” the female hummed, rubbing her chin. to be honest, she has never seen the two together in the underworld at all. she heard about them, but never believed it, so she wants to meet this guy that sampo describes.

▬▬ι══════════════ι▬▬

seele arrived in the overworld to look for the “boyfriend” that sampo describes. great fashion sense, cool [h] hair, beautiful [e] eyes, and a cute face. the last one sounds stupid. what guy has a cute face other than the bronya? seele notice a shop with clothes at the window, so…that must be where the fashion designer is. unexpectedly, she didn't have to go inside because you were already outside…looking for someone, perhaps?

seele approach you, “Hey, are you that ol’ fashion designer who designed Bronya’s uniform?”

“Eh? Yes, I am. And, you are?” you raised your eyebrows at the female. seele sigh, “Listen, a certain fool was complaining about another guy. He thought he was cheating on him with the captain.”

you were trying to process who the female was talking about but the word “fool” caught your interest. she was talking about sampo. that fool, but why is he complaining about you? cheating? he wouldn't think that about you, right?

“Ah. I see. I'll see what I can do to clear off the misunderstanding…” you sighed.

▬▬ι══════════════ι▬▬

you arrived at the underworld to look for sampo. you were hoping to clear off the misunderstanding between you and gepard. you ask natasha about his whereabouts and she stated that the male was certainly at the mine.

sampo seated at the camp complaining to a peak about you and gepard. “Can you believe it?! I have been cheated on, huh? That no-good, sharp tongue…”

“Go on. Sharp-tongued…?” you trailed off, startled sampo. the blue haired male looks away with a huff, “Aren't you supposed to be with your…so-called boyfriend?”

“So you heard the rumors, did you?” you sweatdropped. “Don't be so dramatic about it. It's not like the rumors are true.”

“Then why are you so physically touchy with the captain all the time, huh?” sampo argued. “You're never touchy with me. I want to be touch, attractively~”

“It's no big deal. It's just a touch.” you deadpanned.

“Hmph. How come you never let me be free as charged? I'm your boyfriend after all.” sampo scoffed.

“Just because you're my boyfriend, doesn't mean I give it away for free. Besides, Gepard only gets a free cape once.” you stated. sampo pouted, “Do you really love a con artist like me? Someone who likes to toy with you? Or get on your nerves all the time? Someone that not many people like?”

“...Yes. I love your dumbass. I enjoy you toying with me even if it backfires. Yes, you get on my nerves, but that doesn't mean I will get sick of you.” you admitted, stepping closer to the blue haired male. you then hold a bouquet of flowers, “There are no others like you. I don't wanna find anyone else besides you. Fuck the rumors. You're the one for me, dumbass.”

sampo turned into a red tomato, turning red from head to toe. he can feel eyes on both of you. you weren't done yet, “I'll marry you to prove that you'll be my idiot forever.”

“Hey! Hey! Hey! L-let's not take it to the next level!” sampo stammered, feeling embarrassed by the fact that the people were cheering for you. oh my fucking god, he loves you so much.

╰┈➤ author note: please note that this is a slow update. i will still accept your request, but it will take a while since i'll be working on my books on wattpad. if you wish to read those books, here's my wattpad account.

rules

hsr masterlist

[ghostfanwriter]

✨🥐 𝐊𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐝 🥐✨

Part two to Pink Velvet.

🥐 Pairing: Single dad, young Joel Miller x Baker! Reader

✨ Setting: No Outbreak Au! Joel's the biological father of Sarah and Ellie.

🥐 Synopsis: Joel starts working on the renovations around your bakery. But he's willing to do more than just fixing your floors for you.

✨ Features: Joel and reader flirting some more, reader being helplessly down for Joel (and Joel eating it UP), a lot bit of a competency thing from reader.

🥐 Word count: 4.2k

✨ About this/Author's note: You guys seemed to really like part one, I can't tell you how happy I got with all the comments on it 🤧 This one is pure fluff and flirtation. I love watching them being all awkward and giggly next to one another. It's cooking, friends, and they know it.

Hope you like it 🩷

You hear a soft sound while you're putting the chairs up so you can sweep the floor. After you don't pay it any mind, you hear a proper knock on your door, and it startles you, making you jump and laugh while you walk towards the door, Joel laughing on the other side.

"Sorry, I tried not to scare you, but you didn't hear it the first time." He says, laughing as you make room for him to walk in.

"Not, it's fine. I just wasn't expecting you to be here early, I was trying to finish cleaning before you arrived." You explain yourself, locking the door back.

"Did you just close?" He asks, noticing the dirty dishes on top of a few of the tables.

"Well, my closing time is never my closing time, you know? People arrive five minutes before closing and I just can't tell them to leave." You say.

"And they never even ask what time you're closing?" He asks and you laugh.

"Some do. But they stay anyway." You say, and he shakes his head.

"Well, I'mma help you so we can sit down and talk, then." He says and you smile.

"Thank you, Joel." You say as he gives you no time to protest, going to the dirty tables and picking up the dishes, putting them on the counter, then going around and putting the remaining chairs on top of their tables.

"You know what's really unfair?" He asks, and you frown.

"What is really unfair?" You ask.

"You know my name and I don't know yours." He says, and you smile, saying your name.

"Nice to meet you." He says your name, and you love how it sounds on his lips.

"Nice to meet you too." You say, swiping a table so you can sit down.

...

"So, tell me about what needs to be done here." He says, sitting across from you.

"Well, first the floorings." You start. "They're... Not great. There are hollow pieces, uneven parts, it's all scratched and the color's not so nice anymore, the tiles of the bathrooms are stained and gross. So I'd like to change all of them." You say, and he nods, a cute pout on his lips as he keeps his eyes on you while you talk.

"Alright, fully changing the floorings will require a few hours to work on them and then a while of no one walking over them, is that ok?" He asks, leaning down to touch the floor.

"Yeah, no problem. Sundays I only open in the morning, just to sell some bread, but it's always the same people, so I could just let them know I'd be closed on Sunday. Maybe try and deliver them the breads if they want." You say.

"Great. I could start on Saturday night and let it rest until Monday morning." He says.

"You can do the whole flooring in just one night?" You ask, shocked.

"Yeah, my brother helps me out when I need it. I'll just bring him with me and we should be done quick. Maybe in like... Four or five hours" He says.

"Alright, that sounds good. I can work on the bread for delivery while you two do it. Does Saturday night works for you, though?" You ask.

"Yeah, any day that works for you works for me." He says.

"Oh, ok. It's just that, you know, Saturday night. Maybe you'd have something to do." You say.

"Trust me, I don't know what going out at night feels like for a very long time now. I'm always working at night." He laughs.

"I know. I miss it, but since I opened I haven't really been going out much neither." You admit.

"Well, now you're gonna spend the nights here watching me renovate your shop, how exciting is that?" He jokes.

'Oh, watching you be skillful and fix things, carry heavy stuff around and make my bakery look better? That's very exciting.' You think to yourself.

"Can't wait." You say, and he laughs.

"So, floorings we can't do much for at least a week, then. Is it ok if I work in one bathroom at a time? Maybe you keep just one, would people hate that too much?" He asks.

"No, I don't think so. I'm ok with that." You say.

"Alright, so I can work on it before the floorings. But you mentioned the walls and lights too?" He squints his eyes.

"Yeah. I think the old renter used to hang big and heavy stuff on the walls, so they're full of big holes." You say, and he looks around, frowning when he doesn't see anything. "I covered them." You say. "With the paintings."

"Why do you need me then? You're already so good at this." He jokes, and you laugh.

"I'm talented." You shrug, laughing.

"That you are. That cake?" He says, his eyes growing wide as he remembers the taste.

"You liked it?" You ask.

"Oh, I fucking loved it!" He says. "We ate the whole thing in like... Ten minutes." He says.

"Really?" You ask, your smile even bigger, even though you can't help but wonder... Who's we?

"Yeah, I mean, I'm sorry." He says, his tone suddenly getting serious as he leans over the table, touching your forearm, your chest suddenly filling with air. "But we destroyed that beautiful thing you created." He says, laughing.

"Oh, my poor baby." You whine dramatically, making a cry face, and he laughs.

"Do you do it all yourself?" He asks, and you nod.

"I do." You say.

"Well, you're in the right business, that was insane." He says, and you can feel your cheeks on fire. "Is there anything else?"

"What?" You ask, a silly smile stuck on your face, still flustered with his praising.

"Anything else you want to work on?" He asks, laughing.

"Ah, yeah, hum... There's an infiltration on the open patio, on the back." You say, and his eyes grow wide.

"And we're here talking about holes in the wall?" He asks, concerned, his laugh telling how funny he thinks your priorities are.

"I'm sorry!" You say, laughing at yourself. "They just annoy me so much."

"Can I see it?" He asks.

"Sure, it's over there." You point to the patio, getting up, and he follows you.

...

You remove the planter from the corner where the infiltration is and he bends down to take a look at it.

"Well, this is not looking good." He says.

"Is it too bad?"

"Yeah, the concrete is pretty wet, there may be a broken pipe underneath here." He says. "Was it like this when you rented?" He asks.

"Yeah. I asked my landlord about it and he said he'd get a guy over to check on it, but it's been a year and still nothing." You explain.

"He won't fix it." He says, like he's certain of it. "But neither should you." He says.

"But you said it's not looking good." You say, confused.

"Because it isn't." He says, getting up, standing close to you. "But it's not your problem, you shouldn't pay for it."

"I was gonna ask you about that." You say, your voice small as he's towering over you. He smells so good, he's so big, so... "Do you want something to drink?" You ask, your throat dry all of a sudden.

"Yeah. Do you have coffee?" He asks.

"Coffee at night?" You laugh, walking back inside.

"Still got a lot to do when I get home." He says, sitting down as you brew him some coffee.

"So, how much of what I have to do here do you think I should ask him to help me with?" You ask.

"Anything that's structural, permanent or semipermanent." He starts. "The infiltration, the tiles and the floorings, basically. You won't take the floorings with you when you leave, and they seem like they haven't been touched for a long time, so you're gonna up the value of the space. The infiltration is here since before you, so it's not your problem." He says. "He should fully pay for both, as far as I'm concerned."

"Don't know if he's gonna like to hear that." You say. You know the man, unfortunately.

"I can come over if you want. I can bring you a detailed budget and project plan, we sit down and talk to him." He offers.

"When, you think?" You ask, bringing him his coffee, sipping on some water.

"Thank you." He says, drinking it. "I just have to take a look around, take some notes, see what kind of materials you want, maybe in one week we can have it all. Maybe earlier." He says.

"Cool. One week is long enough to decide everything and tell everyone about the Sunday when I'll need to close."

"Alright. So I'll take a look around." He says.

"Ok, I'll be in the kitchen. Just call if you need anything." You say, getting up.

...

You finish what there was still left to do in the kitchen while Joel inspects the place. After you're both done you close everything.

"Do you want a ride?" He asks after you close the door.

"No, it's fine. I gotta run some errands, buy some groceries." You say. "Thank you, though."

"No problem. I'll text you tomorrow so we can talk floorings and tiles." He says.

"Uhum. Thanks, Joel. See ya." You say.

"See ya." He says, waving goodbye before crossing the street, going to his car, and you walk away.

For the next three days he texts you, you send him the type of floorings you want, he explains to you the durability and maintenance costs and efforts of each option, and you ultimately decide everything you want.

You set a meeting with your landlord, and Joel says he'll join you, like he promised he would.

...

"So, how do you want to do this?" He asks.

"I don't know." You admit. "What do you think?" You ask.

"I think you should talk to him, and I should just back up what you say." He suggests.

"What if he doesn't listen to me?"

"Then I'll deal with him." He says, his tone almost intimidating.

"Ok." You agree as you watch the man walk inside.

"Alright, now what's this about?" He asks, as sweet as always. His eyes roaming from you to Joel, and Joel hates how the man eyes you up and down.

"Hi, Michael, look, I wanted to do some renovations, like I told you, so I called Joel." You say. "And we talked about the floorings and the infiltration on the back—"

"You're not expecting me to pay for it, are you sweetheart?" He cuts you, his tone condescending, and you see Joel's nostrils widen.

"Those were bad before I got in, you knew about the loose tiles, the worn out floorings, the infiltration was already pretty bad. And you know that." You say, angry. "You even said you'd fix that before it became too much of a problem." You add.

"Don't remember that." He laughs.

"Do you really wanna fucking do this?" Joel asks, his ever so deep voice even deeper, none of the usual softness coating it.

"I'm not here to talk to you, ok? You're just trying to make money out of this situation." Your landlord tries to sound convincing.

"If you don't work on this I'm gonna have you sign this aknowledgement notice saying that you were aware of the infiltration before she rented the space." Joel says, placing a paper on top of the table. "Because if that shit gets worse and she loses equipment, one of her clients or God forbid, she gets hurt... She's gonna sue you and then you're gonna lose a lot more money than you'd spend to fix it now." Joel says firmly, and you take a deep breath in. He's always so sweet to you, but the angry yet somehow professional tone he's using with your landlord makes you almost melt.

"How much is it gonna cost?" He asks, his bravery finding a short end on Joel's dominant presence.

"I made a budget for her. Found the most affordable materials and I separated my labor's cost on each part of what needs to be done here." Joel says, handing him a folder filled with numbers and project details.

"And what else needs to be done?" He asks you.

"Some of the lights are not working, even after I changed the lightbulbs, the floors are terrible, some of the tiles on the restrooms are falling down and the walls are filled with holes." You say. "Now I told Joel I didn't mind paying for part of this. Especially the floors, because I need a specific flooring, and it's a little more costly than other, worse options. So I suggest I pay for Joel's labor in all of these, except the infiltration and split part of the costs of the floorings with you." You add.

...

After some more back and forth you get to an agreement you're all satisfied with. Your landlord ends up paying for all the structural and permanent fixes, and Joel tells you that it's ok for you to pay him a bit per month.

On the first day of the renovations, Joel's working on the infiltration, breaking the old and humid concrete so he can access the pipe and see what's wrong with it.

He wants to make sure he at least changes the pipe today so the leaking stops, so he's outside, focused on finishing it as fast as he can.

But his work is interrupted when you scream from the kitchen.

"Fuck!" You scream, and he comes in running, his eyes and nostrils wide, his protection glasses still on, a cloth on his shoulder, his neck glistening with sweat, his hair slightly stuck on his forehead, his arms so big, his torso and belly slightly outlined on his shirt—

"Are you ok?" He asks, scared, pulling you out of him.

"Me?" You ask, confused, finally finding his eyes.

"Yeah, you!" He says. "You screamed, I thought something happened to you."

"Oh, God, no! No, Joel, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry." You say, starting to laugh. "I'm just used to being here alone, I... I'm sorry, I'm fine." You explain yourself, and he laughs, his shoulders dropping as his body relaxes.

"Jesus, you almost fucking killed me." He says, a little out of breath while he removes his protection glasses.

"No, I'm sorry." You say, laughing, feeling funny for him caring about you.

"What happened?" He asks, leaning on the doorframe, still catching his breath.

"Oh, it was my fucking mixer. It was weird for a while and now it just doesn't wanna work anymore." You say, frustrated, going towards it to grab the dough that's inside it.

"Do you want me to take a look at it?" He offers.

"No, it's fine. You're already busy out there, I can call some technician tomorrow." You say, and he makes a 'tsk' sound, grunting at you.

"I'm already here, I'll see if it's something I can fix. You don't need to spend more money." He says, his look telling you he wouldn't let you say no as he uses the cloth he had on his shoulder to clean his hands.

"Thank you." You say. "Can you take that tray for me, please?" You ask, and he holds it in front of you, so you throw the dough in it and he puts it back on top of the table. "Thanks, gotta finish kneading it now." You say, setting a timer for fifteen minutes and starting to knead it.

He kneels down next to the mixer and uses his flashlight to inspect it.

"Did you smell anything burnt?" He asks, and you frown.

"Don't think so." You say, struggling with the dough.

"What did it do, exactly?" He asks, turning to look at you.

"It started kinda like... bumping, instead of it's constant movement?" You say, trying to see in his face if your words made any sense. "Like, usually it's pretty smooth, but then it started doing like—" you say, moving your arms to mimick it's bumpy and stiff movements. "And then it just stopped."

"Great demonstration, thank you." He says, his face showing pure satisfaction, and you laugh.

"Told ya. Talented." You joke, making him laugh before turning back to the mixer.

"Alright, I think I saw some oxidated parts. You'll probably have to change them, but I can oil them so you can use it until you get the new parts." He says.

"Sure, thank you." You say, and he goes outside, coming back with a can in hand.

He grunts as he kneels down next to the mixer, putting his flashlight in his mouth so he can properly oil the machine.

You watch him as he opens the can, throwing the lid on the floor besides him and wetting a brush, oiling the mixer parts.

His proactivity, his capacity, his availability to help you makes your knees weak, make you want to go to him — jump on him —, kiss him, thank him, fuck him.

Make sure he's well fed, well taken care of, make sure he's happy, he feels loved. Show him just how much you appreciate him.

"You got paper towels?" He asks, already up, startling you.

"Yeah, yeah, hum... They're over there." You point, almost out of breath. Both because of the kneading and your thoughts.

He rips two sheets of the paper and comes back, kneeling back down besides the mixer.

"I made a mess on your floor." He says, sounding apologetic.

"Ugh. How dare you, Joel? Make a mess while you fix my broken mixer for me?" You say, playfully. "How dare you try and not make me knead everything by — grunts — hand?" You say, grunting with the force you're making.

"That's a lot of dough, huh?" He says, standing next to you, watching you knead the dough from behind your shoulder before walking away to throw the paper away.

His smell — God his smell —, so woody and masculine, so strong and so gentle at the same time, the comforting warmth his body emanates, his soft and deep voice, so close to your ears...

All of him making you feel lightheaded, like you're drowning on the man, like you're incapable of peacefully coexisting with him without having him take over you.

"Yep, brioches, rolls, sweet breads." You say before the pause gets too long. "All the same dough." You add, almost jumping when your timer goes off. You look at it, turning your head, confused.

Has it been fifteen minutes already?

"It's this one." Joel says, coming back close to you with another timer in hand. "Croissants." He reads the name written on the tape you put on the timer, and you sigh.

"Shit." You say under your breath.

"What's wrong?" He asks.

"The croissant dough is chilling, and it's good to roll out and shape now, but I still got ten minutes on this one." You say, and he catches the distress and tiredness on your tone.

"Can I help you?" He asks, his voice soft and gentle.

"Don't tell me you know how to shape croissants?" You joke sweetly, looking up at him and laughing.

That'd be too much to ask.

"No, that's not I'm my book, sorry." He laughs, his own tone sweet and playful. "But I know how to squeeze things." He says, almost suggestively, you could swear. "I mean, how hard can this be?" He says, pointing at the dough with his palm.

"Oh, yeah? Go wash your hands." You say, and he goes, smiling.

He comes back, his sleeves rolled up, forearms looking obscene almost, his strong hands looking like they would feel so good, like they'd squeeze and hold you so nice...

"What do I do?" He asks, pulling you out of him again.

"You're gonna knead it like this. You lift it, then slap it down, then turn it and do the same. As soon as it gets less sticky you can start doing more like, pressing down and rolling it motions." You say, showing him how to do it.

"Alright, cute, thank you. Let the professional work now." He jokes, pushing you aside with his body.

"Ten minutes, huh? Professional." You say, and he gives you a desperate smile.

You grab your dough on the fridge and come back. Then you take the rolling pin and smack the dough a few times, startling Joel on the first one.

"Love for the craft, right?" He jokes, noticing the lack of delicacy on your movements.

"I like to think about some clients when I do this part." You say before thinking, and he laughs.

"Sounds therapeutic." He responds.

"The butter is actually pretty hard. Gotta break it a bit so I can roll it out." You explain, and he smiles.

He could listen to you talk about baking for as long as you wanted.

You start rolling the dough out, and he focuses back on his own dough.

"Look." He calls your attention. "Not sticking anymore."

"Now you can press and roll it." You say. "If you stand on your tiptoes you can put more force into it."

You set the a ruler at the top of your dough and start cutting it in long and thin triangles. But then your sight escapes from it, finding Joel at the other edge of the table.

His arms muscles flexing as he kneads the dough, his thick fingers piercing into it, his nostrils widening as he uses all his force and body weight — he learned so fucking fast — to work the dough. You're completely lost in him. Lost until you hear...

Your name?

You look at up at his face, a cocky smile on his lips.

"If you told me croissants we're about measurements I'd have done it." He jokes, his smile getting larger as your eyes widen. "Did you mess up your measurements? 'Cause I wouldn't have messed mine up." He teases, his puffy and red cheeks showing how hard he was holding his laughter back.

"No. No, I'm just—I'm just thinking here." You say, embarrassed to be caught mid daydream.

"Thinking, huh?" He asks, panting. "How much longer, again?" He asks, turning his head to look at the timer in front of him.

"Five more minutes." You say, laughing, and he shakes his head.

"Fuck— alright, I take it back. This is hard, Jesus Christ." He admits, stopping as his muscles give up with his laughter.

"To think that I used to wake up at four in the morning to make these everyday." You say, and he shakes his head.

"That's what you were thinking about?" He asks, smirking.

"Kinda." You admit.

You weren't... But he doesn't have to know that.

"You always did it all by yourself?" He asks.

"Pretty much. At first I had my mom help me, but then I realized that overnight proofing and simplifying my menu was better than working all day everyday, and now it's just me." You explain. "Well, me and my mixer." You say, pitifully looking at it.

"I'll fix it, don't worry about it. It needs some rest too." He says. "And well, you have me while it's broken, so that's not perfect but... At least you're not alone." He says, smiling sweetly at you.

"It feels good. Having someone to talk to." You admit. "Though I'm starting to really worry about how many rolls I'm gonna have to make you to pay you for this." You say, and he laughs.

"Never enough." He says, going back to knead the dough.

As the renovations progress, Joel spends each day more and more time in the kitchen with you. Even after he fixed your mixer, he still found reasons to spend some time there talking to you.

And it's not like you didn't escape your own chores to go talk to him. Your favorite thing to do was using him as a beta tester for new or improved recipes.

...

"Do you like raspberries?" You ask, coming close to him while he's applying the new tiles to the bathroom.

"I do." He answers, smiling. His smile sweeter everytime he looks at you.

"Try this." You hand him a small spoon with a raspberry custard. "Is it a bit too sweet?" You ask.

"Just a little, but yeah." He agrees. "Is it for a cake?" He asks.

"Donuts." You say, and he pouts, closing his eyes like you've hurt him.

"Get away from me." He says, handing you the spoon, gently pushing, and you walk away, laughing.

...

"Joel, catch." You say on another day, coming under his stairs and throwing him a pesto roll.

"Fucking amazing." He says with a mouthful after taking a big bite.

"Thank you. I'm testing them." You respond, almost skipping on your way back to the kitchen.

"Make some garlic ones!" He shouts.

"No!" You respond from the kitchen.

"Why not?" He yells, almost disappointed, his voice chocked on the rest of the roll he shoved in his mouth, and you come out of the kitchen.

"Because people come on dates here all the time!" You yell. "I don't want them kissing each other with garlic mouths." You say, already closer to him.

"Hmm. Is the atmosphere here romantic?" He asks, screwing a lightbulb.

"Very romantic." You say, smiling up at him. "Don't you think?" You ask him, and he finishes with the light, that starts brightening all of his best features as he climbs down the stairs, stopping close to your body.

"The only way to know is having a date here." He agrees, his eyes scanning your face, a sweet and adoringly smile on his lips. "You—"

When he opens them, one of your times goes off.

"My donuts." You say quietly, and he smiles, watching as you walk back into the kitchen.

...

"Are you ok with my brother coming over tomorrow?" He asks, throwing his equipment on the back of his truck.

"Yeah, sure. I don't want you going through the whole floor by yourself if you can have some help." You say, smiling.

He nods and stands near you, awkwardly shifting on his feet.

"Can I... Ask you something? And it's ok if you don't want to, I mean..." He stutters.

"What is it?" You ask.

"Is it ok if I bring us something to drink tomorrow?" He asks.

"Sure, I was already gonna bake you some rolls anyway." You say. "But is it to give you energy or to celebrate after you're done?" You ask with a smile, and he frowns, making you tilt your head to the side.

"No." He laughs, scrunching his eyes, gathering the courage to just say it. "I just — laughs — It's not for me and my brother... I wanted to ask you out, but we're already gonna be here tomorrow, so I was thinking of asking if we can hang out here, since we're already gonna be... here." He says, speaking fast so he doesn't have time to second guess himself.

"So you're asking me out... But in?" You ask, playfully, trying not to sound too excited.

"Yeah." He laughs. "Exactly." He says, his cheeks puffy and red as he looks down at you. "But I mean, I get it if you don't want to, if you want to keep it professional, you know?"

"Hmm, professionalism is kind overrated." You say.

"Alright, tomorrow night then." He's quick to say, not giving you time to second guess yourself. "We kick my brother out and hang out." He says, sighing, all of his stress leaving his body at once.

"Sure." You agree, laughing.

"Don't bake any garlic rolls, though." He adds, that sweet smile back on his lips.

"Oh, I'll exclusively bake them." You joke, and he smiles.

"See ya." He says.

"See ya." You say, walking away from him as he gets on his truck.

You're trying not to get your hopes too high. You are.

You're telling yourself there must me something about him that'll shatter the man you know. He can't be this charming, funny and good person he seems to be.

Or maybe you got lucky. Maybe he is all that.

Maybe tomorrow you're gonna have a great time, maybe you're gonna kiss him tomorrow.

You can't wait for tomorrow.

Hope you liked it 🩷

I wrote it right after finishing Pink Velvet, and spend the last week editing it. This series is so warming and comfortable for me that it hurts, I'm so happy you seemed to like it as much as I do 🩷🫶🏻

My Masterlist 🩷

[shorelinessightlines]

He ended up doing it on a Sunday. Race weekend. Daniel put his fist through the drywall after his first DNF of the season, and Max broke up with him on the spot.

It had felt very 2018, their argument. Max's head fills the blank spots in his memory with old footage from their pre-Renault days. Daniel, for better or for worse, has not changed so much—it makes it easier to substitute the finer details.

Details have always been difficult for Max, which makes him feel shitty. People think he can't remember because he doesn't care, but he does, he swears he does. There's a lingering, near-permanent part of Max that aches for the smell of Daniel's burnt eggs and charred toast late at night, one that hurts more when he wakes up in the morning to the sound of birds and not the smoke alarm going off.

Caring makes no difference. He's unsure if they were still in their racesuits, or if they'd changed out of them in the few hours it had taken for media duties, debriefs, and post-race apologies slash unfollowing-sprees to wrap up.

The particular characteristics of their argument fade away to this: Daniel had said, "Fuck you, Max," innocuous and unsurprising, but it had brought him back to days at the karting track, the other kids flitting around and shouting swears they only just learned how to say.

Max had run them into a barrier, they complained to their parents, but he would already be sprinting over to Jos, holding up his helmet like, Did you see that? I was brave. I didn't back out. I did exactly what you told me to do.

"That is unfair," he had responded, feeling not very much like himself, and Daniel had looked at him like he had two heads.

"You're dumping me."

Daniel, likely, had never been dumped in his life. Why would anyone dump Daniel? Daniel was fucking perfect and this—this was just another thing Max had managed to fuck up.

"I am not dumping you, Daniel, always you use such ugly words, it is—"

"Max, oh my god, shut up. You're dumping me, and I get you're having a rough time right now, but this is—god, this is just crazy."

Max sniffed then, maybe, sad and angry and violent-feeling. Boiling inside. Hating Daniel in the moment and knowing he would miss him in the morning.

"You—Daniel, you know. Fuck you, this is not fair."

Max told Daniel about the karting tracks. Max told Daniel everything, like his crush on Mark Webber growing up and when his dad died. His hands had been shaking from the weight of his phone in the middle of their Monaco apartment and all Max could think to do was tell Daniel, because he told Daniel everything and Daniel would surely know what to do.

"You wanna talk about unfair? I just had one of the shittiest races of my goddamn life and—" Daniel swiped a cheap lamp to the floor. The bulb shattered. "—my boyfriend is breaking up with me at the racetrack not four hours later. Fuck, isn't that unfair, Max?"

Max's voice tembled when he talked. "You punched the wall. You are so violent, Daniel." It comes out wrong, but it's true. Daniel is violent like Max's father. So is Max, most days.

"I am not Jos," Daniel spit; he knew what Max meant, he knew Max better than anyone and it was still so angry. Daniel hated Jos, and god, Max never used to think like this before but it's so easy, these days, to be reminded of his late father. Last names, misplaced shadows, bruises that had purpled unevenly on Daniel's knuckles—familiar and disgusting and angry. This is not fair.

It was a regular spat—Daniel yelled and cussed Max out and punched a wall and broke a lamp and it was all normal. But fuck, all Max could do was be reminded of the karting tracks, of his dad, and that made Max feel even worse because everything reminded him of his dad and racing reminded him of his dad and Daniel reminded him of his dad and the hole in the drywall reminded him of his dad and—

Max remembers (details, details, details—) the distant way he had said, "I will not do this with you anymore."

It's only been a few days since Max and Daniel broke up. He thinks he is already starting to regret it.

---

Max has taken to imagining a life where he is, perhaps, a fish.

It would fit the empty, white nature of his apartment—if it were in reality a fishbowl, and he just swam in circles endlessly. If Daniel were his fish-friend and they lived their fishy lives together. Nothing could be so bad, of course, if there was Daniel.

But, this is not possible. Jimmy and Sassy would simply eat him.

"Nah, mate," Not-Daniel materializes on the couch. Max doesn't question it; Not-Daniel has been showing up on his couch a lot as of late, to fill the vacancy Real-Daniel left behind. "Nah, Sassy wouldn't eat you. Jimmy, now... that's another story."

"You underestimate Sassy."

"Oh no, far from it," Daniel's voice is strange and round because he's gaping his mouth open and shut to imitate a fish. He looks silly. "Sassy's too cunning. She's waiting for Jimmy to eat you so she can tell me what happened and I'll throw Jimmy out the window. Then she'll have the apartment all to herself. It's quite the plan, actually."

Max laughs at that and blows imaginary bubbles to Daniel, which he catches and throws back at him like a baseball. Then Max throws a pillow, and Daniel laughs too.

"I wish we were really fish," says Max. "I don't care if Jimmy would eat me." In the perfect world of his daydream, Daniel responds:

"Yeah, we'd make the best fish couple, don't you think?"

Of course, Max broke up with Daniel two weeks ago, so he has taken to telling these things to Lando instead. Lando has much less interesting responses, like, "Are you sure you don't want to see a therapist?"

Max scowls.

"I do not want to see a therapist. Why would I need a therapist?"

Lando raises an eyebrow, then both eyebrows. A strange habit.

"Your dad died, like, a week and a half ago," Lando ticks off on one finger. "You broke up with Daniel after five years together, you drove possibly the worst race of your life last weekend, and now you think you're a fish." Lando wiggles four fingers in front of the camera. Max wishes Lando were here in real life so he could shove Lando's dumb fingers into Lando's dumb face.

Then he reminds himself that Lando is his friend, and then Max feels shitty and angry and just like his dad. (Everything these days reminds him of his dad.)

"How lovely."

"Nah, I wouldn't say as much." Lando has a strange expression on his face, the grainy quality of the phone camera merging his eyebrows together into a caterpillar. "Mate. Get help."

"I do not need help."

"That's exactly what Daniel would say." Fuck you, Lando.

Max feels a sudden, sharp pang of anger and regret at just the sound of Daniel's name—wrong on Lando's tongue, marred by a British accent and a chaotic friendship that always managed to make Max insecure. Fuck you fuck you fuck you. You don't know him better than me.

"Daniel would not say that," he says instead of screaming. His voice sounds odd and strained. Mean. Angry. "Daniel is—Daniel would not say that."

Lando says, "Maybe not when you knew him, but you two haven't been teammates for five years. That changes more than you might think.”

"Daniel—"

"—didn't tell you when he got fired, did he?" Lando raises his eyebrows again, because he knows he's right and he is a smug dickhead.

No, Daniel didn't tell Max when he got fired. Max found out through Instagram of all places, and it had felt especially strange back then because they lived together and Daniel told him everything.

It was an exchange—Daniel would spill all his insecurities and his break with Michael and the way the car felt more like a death trap than a vehicle most days, and Max would tell Daniel about how much he missed eating breakfast with Victoria on Saturdays, about the dumb photoshoots Red Bull made him do now that he was a world champion, about Jos and the moment he died and the way Max felt shitty and free and so violent.

But Daniel didn't tell Max when he got fired, and he didn't tell him about his eating problems, and he didn't—fuck, Daniel was so kind and so gentle and sometimes he punched walls so hard the plaster crumbled from the power of his fists.

Daniel was one of those things that hurt more that it healed. Soft and tender in the right places—if Max pushed too hard, he would bruise him. If Max touched his shoulder he might scratch himself on Daniel's sharp edges; might break, like the walls did, under the force of Daniel's anger.

He feels like he's breaking, now. He needs Daniel, all the time, bruises and scars and plaster and all. (He needed his dad, too, and he has come to wonder if needing vicious things has been written into code, much like racing has. If his dad taught him brutality with the braking zones, at the karting tracks all those years ago.)

"I can recommend you a therapist," Lando is saying in this coddling kind of tone, the one you would use on a baby.

Max had never been coddled. It feels odd to hear it now, at his grown age, by a friend two years younger than him who probably found out Daniel was fired exactly when Daniel did.

He says, "Fuck you," and doesn't really mean it.

Lando responds, "Can't do that if you're a fish."

---

Jos's funeral is on a Sunday. Race weekend. The Australian Grand Prix.

Max is convinced Jos wrote that specifically in his will just to screw Max over one final time. Unnecessary, really—Max still jumps at his own shadow, when he mistakes the rigidity of his own shoulders for his father's.

Max catches a glimpse of his silhouette on the grass, bulky and stiff next to the thin lines of other attendees. He grimaces.

It's too sunny out, for a funeral. Max feels overheated in his black suit. Victoria stands at his side and wipes sweat from her brow, equally uncomfortable in a black dress and heels. Jos's other children, most of which Max honestly forgets exist some days, stand ramrod straight and look appropriately sad, sweating through their Sunday-best while their perfect blue eyes and slightly chubby faces scrunch up in grief.

Max tries to imagine Jos yelling at these kids and thinks bitterly that to them, Jos was maybe a good father. A good man, husband, citizen. They must miss him so much, they must be so sad he is gone.

Max tries to find an emotion within him that is not confused or afraid, and comes up empty.

His half-sister finishes the eulogy abruptly—it's wet-sounding, something guttural and painful clogging her throat. After that, the rest of the service passes by quickly. He stays behind with Victoria while all the guests file out and his half-siblings get ushered to the car by their mother; it would probably look bad if Max were the first to leave his father's funeral.

When the last guest has disappeared into the parking lot, Max flops down beside his father's freshly-dug grave and puts his head to his knees. Victoria sits down much more gingerly, careful not to ruin her dress.

"He was a weird dad," she says, unprompted. Max supposes this is the part where they are supposed to mourn him. "I don't remember too much of him. He always took you places and left me home with Mom."

"He took me to the karting tracks."

"Yeah, I know." She sighs. "You missed a race for this. He would've hated that."

Max supposes he would have. He can't decide if that makes him sad or angry or—or vindicated, somehow. Max is sure that if Daniel were here, some more prominent emotion would have risen to the top, just to pick a fight with whatever Daniel wanted to say.

They could never seem to settle when it came to Jos Verstappen.

"Do you think Daniel would have missed the race to be here?" The words bubble up, unbidden. Max practically chokes on them. To be with me, lies unspoken between them, solid like a rock in Max's throat.

Victoria looks at him with something like pity. "He had a habit of doing anything for you," she says like it's a bad thing, "if only you would ask."

Max does not say anything to that. He's not sure there is an answer to be had.

Victoria nudges him with her shoulder. "He won today, you know."

"He did?" The fondness cuts its way out of him. Home race. Big deal. "That's good. He deserves it, of course."

"Hm. He wouldn't have, if you'd been there."

Max bristles at that. He used to like being better than Daniel, being compared to Daniel. He used to like it because Jos liked it, and he wanted Jos to like him.

"Daniel is a good driver."

"No championship, though."

"You sound like Dad."

Victoria smiles, wry. "Fuck, don't we all somedays. You know, I yelled at Luka at the karting tracks the other day to brake later. It was like something came over me, you know? It felt like—like this is what we were born to be. And that felt dumb and ugly and I fucking cried in the bathroom when we got home."

Max gets that feeling. "I broke up with Daniel because he punched a wall," he offers, and it's so stupid, the way Jos has wormed his way into the best parts of their lives and rotted there, like a dead dog in the town well.

"Ah. I was wondering why you didn't ask him to be here."

Max shrugs. He is silent for a while, trying to pick out the right thing to say, and then:

"Do you miss him?" Victoria asks. "Despite the violence?" He wonders if she means Daniel or Jos.

He says, "Is it bad, if I do?"

---

Max is not all that surprised when he wakes up on Tuesday morning and finds Daniel on his couch. It used to be their apartment, after all, and Daniel still has the key.

Daniel is awake when Max stumbles into the living room. His stubble makes him look more tired than he actually must be. He says, "Howdy," in an exhausted and sheepish tone, and Max says, "I was going to drop off your things, I promise."

Daniel blinks.

"That's not what I'm here about."

"Oh." Max blinks too. "How was Australia?" He’s pretty sure he’s already had this conversation with Daniel at least four times in the past week since the funeral. Well, there's no harm in trying again.

"It was great. I won."

"That is good, for the team. I knew you could do it, of course, I told them so."

Daniel shakes his head. "You would have won, if you had been there."

"You sound like my dad," Max blurts out. It is true. You do sound like my dad. Victoria sounded like my dad. Everyone sounds like my dad.

Daniel narrows his eyes and doesn't say anything. Please do not look at me this way. It is not my fault he is haunting me.

Max scrambles to find something else to talk about. "I will make us breakfast," he says, already shifting away from the couch. “Cereal is fine, yes?”

"Uh. Sure. Sounds nice."

Max escapes to the kitchen, which is, in reality, only a few feet away. Still, the separation of the counter and the couch enforces a sense of distance—protection.

Daniel, of course, does not obey the invisible boundaries Max has outlined in his head. He rises, takes a few steps, and now he is in Max's space; lingering like he doesn't know what to do with himself, purposeful and aimless and intrusive.

"Do you—do you need help?" Daniel is peering over his shoulder. Max looks at him, their faces close. Then, he looks back at the two bowls he had laid out on the countertop and frowns.

Max's shadow splays itself across the countertop, and the broad line of Jos’s shoulders stares at him, aloof and alone. For a second, he wonders if the silhouette is Daniel’s, and it is Max who is the ghost.

He feels his heart sink, like the other four times Not-Daniel has woken up on Max's couch since Jos's funeral. Not-Daniel is still saying: “I can help, if you want me to.”

Max feels inexplicably angry, at that—wants to scream that of course he needs help, he has always needed Daniel’s help—Daniel used to char the toast and burn the eggs and make coffee that tasted like burning rubber. Max has not yet learned how to make breakfast without Daniel fucking it up.

Jos used to fuck up the breakfast too, a traitorous voice whispers in Max's ear, and he tenses.

It is different, of course, Max knows this. Jos burned the toast because he didn't care if Max ate ashes. Daniel burned the toast because he loved Max, and he couldn't help but ruin some things.

Max remembers to reply, trance-like, “No. I am okay. Sit back down.”

He turns to look at Daniel, and finds he has magically appeared on the couch once more.

The first time this happened, Max had freaked out, had thought he was going crazy. Now, it’s more disappointing than anything.

Logically, Max knows that he dropped off Daniel’s copy of the key a while ago, along with Daniel’s hoodies and knick-knacks and journals. Daniel has not actually been in their apartment in a very long time, and Max knows this because he has not had to replace a dented pan or nicked glassware in a decent amount of time.

He asks Not-Daniel, as he preps two bowls of cereal: “Do you remember what we were wearing, when we broke up?”

Daniel has always remembered little things like that. Small, tiny, minuscule details that Max could never seem to grasp.

“Nah, mate. I forgot.”

Details. Max was never so good at them.

[jeonqkooks]

half past you | myg

pairing: musician!yoongi x reader rating: PG genre/warnings: exes au, exes to ???, angst, drinking, unedited, ehhhhh that's it probably word count: 1k note: i do not know what this is, or if it even makes sense! a spontaneous drabble courtesy of the sunday blues :D

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

Yoongi is getting big.

Not physically.

Well, maybe he's getting physically bigger too. You don't know that.

It's half past ten, and you're half over Yoongi, half drunk from drinking wine out of a shot glass in this almost empty bar.

Let's start over from the beginning.

What you mean is, Yoongi's career is taking off.

You don't want to sound like a bitter ex, but you don't particularly enjoy reading his name on news articles, hearing his music come on the radio, watching his face start to appear on fashion magazines more frequently.

You're happy for him, you truly are. You just resent the reminder that this is what he chose over you.

What he left you behind for.

Okay, that might be a little unfair.

You know that it was a decision that you both agreed to in the end, but every time you're intoxicated, you can't help the thought.

You left me.

You left me.

You left me.

Flagging down the bartender, you ask for a refill. He complies, though he still shoots you an unsubtle look when he goes to pour more rosé into your shot glass.

The shot glass makes it fun, and makes you forget that you really don't like the taste of wine of any kind.

But Yoongi does.

You're sitting in Yoongi's favorite bar, drinking an alcohol that Yoongi likes but you can barely tolerate, while he's out there somewhere singing at yet another sold out venue. After the gig is finished, he'll probably have a companion for the night too.

He doesn't know that you miss him. You miss him so much that it feels like you've forgotten how to breathe. Just the mere thought of him is enough to bring tears to your eyes.

It's been three months since you last saw him, since he packed up his things and moved out of your shared apartment. He told you that it was for the best, and you believed him. You still do, because Yoongi was always the logical one.

You couldn't follow him on tour, and he convinced you that it was better to end things on your own terms than to let the inevitable distance end it for you. He was probably right, but that doesn't mean that you haven't been going through hell since he made his swift exit.

Maybe you were stupid, or unlucky, or a disastrous combination of both. You knew that this was his dream for as long as he could remember. He worked his ass off his entire life to get where he is now, to have all of the things that he has accomplished along the way. You knew it. You were even his biggest supporter during the two years that you were together, rooting for him at every turn, holding him up whenever he wanted to fall down.

Yes, it was what he wanted ever since he laid eyes on a guitar for the first time. It was his dream before he met you, and it will still be his dream long after you. Even though he loved you, this would always be his destination. You both realized this when it was already too late.

You down your last shot of the night, wincing when the unpleasant taste tickles the back of your throat. As you make your way to the door, there's a silhouette in a corner booth that makes you stop. You think you might know who it is, but when the man turns his face toward the light, your heart immediately drops.

You blink, then chuckle to yourself. It's a laughable offense, to even think for a split second that this stranger bears any resemblance to your Yoongi.

Well, not yours anymore.

On the cab ride home, disappointment occupies the seat next to you. You don't know what you would've done if it did turn out to be Yoongi at the bar. Pretend that you didn't see him and run away maybe? That seems like the most plausible scenario.

He must have moved on already, and you wouldn't even blame him if he has. He isn't the sentimental type, isn't one to have moments of weakness and look for comfort at the bottom of a glass. Yoongi isn't the type to get drunk and be hit with an overwhelming need to call you up late at night to tell you that he's thinking about you. It's only you that wishes for him to go through the motions the same way you do.

You wish you weren't so easy to let go of.

You wish he loved you more than you loved him.

You wish you weren't meant to always be just second best.

Too bad there isn't a shooting star.

There's not a lot to be done whenever you get like this. This being falling down the rabbit hole of missing Yoongi until he's all you can think about. You just have to wait for the feeling to pass, maybe cry a little, fight the twitch in your fingers when they threaten to take your phone hostage and text him, repeat the process a couple of weeks later.

Disappointment follows you out of the car when you arrive at your building. It walks up four flights of stairs with you, then down the hallway. You expect it to wait patiently next to you as you fetch your keys and welcome it into your home like you always do.

But when you reach your door, you notice that disappointment is nowhere to be found. That it suddenly vanished into thin air, leaving no trace behind at all.

Instead, you find Yoongi, who sits on the floor in front of your home.

Yoongi, whose eyes light up when he hears your familiar footsteps and looks up at you standing right before him. Yoongi, who scrambles to his feet instantaneously, a little clumsy in his movement.

Yoongi, who has a slight flush on his face, painting his cheeks rosy as if he's been drinking. Yoongi, whose pupils still dilate as he takes in the sight of you.

Yoongi, who is usually confident and callous, but is now speaking in a timid tone that you suspect would be similar to yours if you ever call to tell him you miss him.

"Hi."

all rights reserved © jeonqkooks. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 21.08.2023]

[kmazines]

Our Little Home

pairing ; dad!seungcheol x female reader

warnings ; grammatical mistakes

You look at the clock, its 8.30 pm already. You look at your daughter's sleeping face. Smile plastered on your face as you watch your little princess sleeping sound in your arms. She was a perfect mix of you and Seungcheol but to you, he resembles your husband more than you. Her long eyelashes, her dimples and especially her eyes are the exact copy of your husband.

"Well, she's mine so.." he was always proud and rub in on your face about it whenever you jokingly complaint to him at how unfair it is that she start to resemble him more each days. Especially nowadays, not just his look, she even start to act and sounds more like her dad.

You want to wait for Seungcheol to come home too but you're just so sleepy so you fell asleep with your daughter snuggling in your arms.

You're woken up from the stronger and tighter hug around you. Confused, you open your eyes only to be greeted by Seungcheol's smile in front of your face. You furrowed your brows. Still so confused.

"What's wrong?" He chuckled at your expression.

"Where's Ahreum?" your asked slowly almost like whisper.

"I've put her to sleep in her crib", you looked back, peeked at the crib behind you. Her crib not too far from your bed so she won't be woken up by your night talk with your husband but also close enough for both of you to wake up if she's having trouble or crying at night.

"Maybe we should let her sleep with us tonight?" your question making Seungcheol pouts.

"My wife don't want to cuddle with me anymore huh. Hmmp I'm so sad now, I'm not that important anymore..I'm hurt ", he said so softly, still so dramatic, pretending to be sad.

"Oh, said the one that hug and kiss Ahreum first when he comes home", you counter him back.

"Hey but you got kisses and hugs tooo," his whines was a bit louder this time. You shushed and slapped his shoulder softly, reminding him about your sleeping daughter.

"And why do you think she's being extra clingy and insist sleeping with me tonight? She's gonna be upset tomorrow so don't say I don't warn you. It's hard to persuade her to eat her dinner. I swear if she's start throwing tantrum, I'm so going to make you feed her in your meeting room", you pouted. Seungcheol was supposed to come home for dinner but he got called into last minute meeting, so he couldn't get home early.

You're used to it so you don't mind. Despite Seungcheol being away a lot, he really know how to make it up to both of you when he's home and around, so you never can get mad or upset with him knowing he did his best. But your daughter are still so small and young to know or understand it, so it's upsetting her sometimes.

"I know, sorry for that. And thank you. I know it must be hard for you to handle our daughter alone," he leaned his face closer, stamped a long soft kiss on your forehead. Seungcheol know you always try your best to explain it to your daughter about his job and he can't thank you enough for that. He always think about how lucky he is to have you as his love, his life partner and the mother of his child.

"Especially nowadays she seems to be so into her princess role. Isn't its too early for her to have that attitude? I don't think I let her hang out with Hoshi or Joshua that much yet" you both chuckled at his remarks. You wrapped your arms around his waist and rested your face closer to his chest.

"You're looking at your mini-me, so I don't think you should put that blame on your members ", you mumbled, making him scoffed.

"Mommyyyyy", You felt a sudden weight on top of you before you're attacked with kisses all over your face from your daughter. You opened your eyes to see Ahreum being all giddy on top of you. Seungcheol was standing right behind her laughing at both of you.

"My baby, you wake up early today huh. Did you play with your dad?" Ahreum nodded her head and giggled when you stamped kisses all over her face back. You then sat her down on your lap, her back against you. You softly brushing her messy hair back, reaching the cute strawberry hair clips on your bedside table and clips her hair gently, not to hurt her but secure enough to keep her hair tidy.

"What happened? What did you do?" you mouthed towards Seungcheol, trying not to let your daughter heard. Seungcheol responded with a smug little smile. Enough to confirm you that you don't need to worry about Ahreum being upset about last night.

"Breakfast is ready, mommy. Me and daddy made it for us!" seeing how excited she is right now, you know they're having fun preparing the food. Ahreum loves helping with cooking and baking, that he takes after you so kudos to Seungcheol for using it to his advantage.

"We made breakfast. Come on" he kissed your forehead before taking Ahreum from you and carrying her outside to the kitchen.

"What happened?" you gasped when you walking towards the kitchen. Your eyes glued to the mess behind the dining table. You shook your head to see the mess they made in the kitchen over making the breakfast. The pans and plate all over the sink.

"Breakfast?" Ahreum looked at you, fishing for some compliments. You look at the breakfast they made. Fried rice with fried eggs on top, butchered one if you must add. There are also some sausages and chicken nuggets on the table. Two cups of coffee and a banana milk, Ahreum favourite.

"Thank you so much baby. Mommy so lucky, my Ahreum is so good and kind, even helping daddy make breakfast for me" You cupped Ahreum's cheeks and shower her with kisses all over her face.

"Me too, me too", Seungcheol playfully hopped towards you, face closer to yours waiting for kisses. You cupped his face and kiss both his cheeks, making your kid giggles at the sight. You pulled his face closer.

"I'm not cleaning all that" you said before give him a peck on his lips.

"Don't worry I'll clean all of this" Seungcheol giggles.

"Me too me too, I'll clean with daddy" Ahreum chipped in from behind.

"She's the mini you indeed", you both laughed. Your little family enjoy the breakfast as slow and calm as you can. Not that calm actually, with this father-daughter duo, your life was full of chaos, but the kind of chaos that you're thankful for.

Seungcheol told you to rest while he clean the mess but you insisted to help. Your daughter popped up sometimes to help with simple task before fully distracted with her toys.

P/S : I hope you enjoy this! I have this in my draft for the longest time. I wanted to post birthday post for Scoups but I've been distracted, fighting with Joshua's antis, akgaes and delulus and didn't finish it on time so I'll post this one instead. Been missing him so much too, my heart hurts.

I don't do taglist and smut, sorry in advance (｡•́︿•̀｡)

[theproseshechose]

I am so over getting over you. I've been doing it for years and honestly, I'm starting to think it's one of the things I'm just naturally bad at. Every morning I wake up and think, this is the day I'll be free, and then I see a toothbrush or a shadow or my own stupid face in the mirror, and I'm right back where I started. t's embarrassing how little I've moved on.

You're it. The person. Like the capital-letter kind. There's no denying it anymore, even though I've tried. God, how I've tried. You're the person I measure all other people against, it's unfair to them, really. They walk in and say something like "I prefer dogs over cats" and I think Well, she would never say that. I can't stop doing it. You're the standard, the ruler, the whole damn measuring tape. And I am so tired of pretending otherwise.

I'm tired of pretending I haven't replayed every glance, every half-smile, every second of us that felt like it might have been real. Tired of pretending I don't ache for the sound of your voice and the way it softened when it was just us. I'm tired of pretending I didn't see the way you looked at me. - That look wasn't nothing. It just wasn't. You didn't look at anyone else that way. - Tired of acting like I didn't notice the way you stood closer to me than you had to. Tired of convincing myself your laughter around me wasn't different, wasn't softer, wasn't ours, and of convincing myself I was just imagining things. Because I wasn't. I was someone to you and I know it. I'm done acting like the way you looked at me was just a coincidence. Like we weren't a little bit extraordinary, even if only for a moment. You've always been the person, no matter how many times I've tried to swap you out for someone else — someone easier.

When you disappeared, it felt final. Like a door slamming shut, a light going out. I thought, That's it. That's all I get of you. I cried in grocery store parking lots, in bed, in the shower while the conditioner sat too long in my hair. I cried so much I got bored of crying, which is a weird thing to feel. But now? Now you're back and I don't know if it's luck or destiny or just dumb coincidence, but I want to believe it means something.

I thought you were gone forever and now you're here, or at least close enough to count as here and I get to hope for you again. Do you know how wild that feels? Like winning the lottery and finding out it's not cash, it's something better — time with you. I'm so grateful - stupidly, deliriously grateful for it. And yes, maybe it will hurt. Maybe I will embarrass myself, but I want to hope now.

Honestly, what's left to lose? I've already made every mistake in the book when it comes to you and maybe I'll make a hundred more. But I'd rather make those mistakes, one after another, than sit here wondering what might have been. Hope, when it comes to you, feels like the highest, purest thing I've ever touched. If humiliation is the price of trying, then fine: Here's my dignity. Take it.

If it hurts me, it hurts me. If it crushes me, it crushes me. I don't want to be practical or logical or whatever else it is people tell you to be when the person you love doesn't love you back. I want to hope. For you, I'd fall flat on my face a thousand times and then I'd get back up, knees scraped and teeth gritted... because I know you're worth it.

I just want the chance to show you who I am now. Even if it's only once. Even if it breaks my heart all over again. Even if it's just for one day, one conversation, I want you to see me. To see who I've become. The real me. The one who never stopped looking for you, even when you weren't there. I've become someone you'd recognise and also not recognize, someone you'd be curious about. I've been out in the world and now I have stories and scars and things I know you'd find fascinating, if you'd just let me tell you. You'd look at me and see someone you could sit on the floor with - our knees touching while we talk about everything and nothing until the world fades out.

I'm not a little kid with too many feelings and nowhere to put them. I think you'd be impressed by the way I walk into rooms without apologizing anymore, the way I know things now, the way my hands look now when they're doing things that matter. I wish you could meet the person I became without you, for you. A person who loves you so much it's ridiculous. And you'd probably laugh at me, but that's okay, too. I like the sound of your laugh. Even when it's not for me.

Maxi Merlin

[strwbmei1]

omg a honkai writer... could you write dr mobius bending afab reader over her desk after they distract her just a little too much when shes working🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️ pls pls

cw: sub!afab reader, spanking, office sex, usage of y/n, strap action, cunningilus (reader giving), reader has a skirt, reader is a bit bratty, a bit of fluff if you squint, degradation

Your lover, Mobius, or as people call her; Dr. Mobius�� was holed up in her office again. She was always so easily absorbed by her thirst to learn; not even noticing when it's been days since she last slept.

It wasn't the first time you had to visit her personally to remind her to take care of herself. Partly because you were the only one she let into her office, aside from Klein and Dr. MEI— both of which were also workaholics.

Whenever you stopped by, Mobius would grumble saying you didn't have to; that she can handle herself, things of the like. Though she always appreciated your small gestures— she was busy.

She didn't have the time to entertain you when you kept on pestering her with questions; only giving you small nods and hums as you asked about her job and when she'd be done.

Mobius couldn't hold herself back anymore when you dropped one of her tools and bent over to pick it up, your skirt barely covering anything. "Y/N, come here."

It was about time Mobius relieved her stress.

NSFW under the cut!

If Mobius wasn't supporting your body with her knees, you're sure you wouldn't be able to keep your balance— not with the strength in which she was slapping your ass.

"How many times have I told you not to distract me when I'm working?" Her tone was sweet yet mocking; each word said as she left your ass with another mark of her hand.

"I'm sorry, I just wanted to-" Your words are cut off by a sharp gasp as she hits hard. "Such a whore, showing off your ass to me. You want my attention that badly?"

"Then you better put that mouth of yours to use. I don't want to hear any more of your pathetic excuses." You gulp before nodding, barely able to position yourself between her legs with yours still shaking.

With Mobius, you never knew what you were gonna get. She'd be affectionate one day; and completely ignore you on the next.

So you decided to tease her; pushing her panties aside and diving into her wet folds— leaving her clit, the place where she needed you most, untouched.

Bad idea.

Did you think Mobius wouldn't notice, of all people? You should've known. Or maybe you did it on purpose? Maybe. Maybe you were just so desperate for her attention.

Either way, regret washed over you as Mobius pulled you by your hair. "Brat. You think I'm playing around with you?" Her pupils narrowed with lust; a look that always ended up with you losing your ability to walk.

Within seconds, she had you bent over the desk. "All you have to do for me is sit still and look pretty. Can't that small brain of yours even do that?"

Mobius didn't even have to look when she penetrated you with her strap; a testament to the multitude of times she's had you in this position. "Mobius please, the others are gonna hear-"

"So what? You're the one whoring yourself around with such a short skirt." You yelp as she slaps your ass again, the sound muffled as she presses your head on the material of her desk. "Just be a good girl and let me use you."

She starts pounding into you animalistically, no regard for you whatsoever. Your skirt wasn't even that short; Mobius was just looking for an excuse to take her stress out on you.

Always so unfair; how she would use you for her own pleasure, how she would punish you on a whim, and most of all— how she managed to make it all feel so good.

You can feel her breasts against your back as she leans in, thrusts getting more sloppy and erratic. "Fuck... The one thing you do right is let me use your tight hole like this. Fucking slut."

The grip she has on your waist is sure to leave bruises the next day— but you'll wear them with pride, won't you? Let everyone know how good their Dr. Mobius is fucking you; as if your moans that could be heard from the hallways weren't enough.

"I'm going to- kh.. I'm cumming..!" You moan out, but she continues thrusting; firmly holding your body in place as you squirm. "No more, I can't-"

One of her hands comes up to cover your mouth. "You wanted my attention, didn't you? Just shut up and take it." You can feel your release building up again as she thrusts into your abused cunt, helpless as you're unable to do anything but beg for mercy on her strap.

With one final thrust, she buries herself deep inside you; making you cum again. Your legs shake as your fluids form a puddle on the floor.

"Tsk. That should teach you."

———————————————

╰┈➤ Taglist ; @blue-spices , @fvrina , @dukemira , @sensanctuary , @large-octahedron

[merakiui]

VNSJSCJSKKGKSKWKF PUNK JADE????? as a jade stan i am CLAWING my walls istg

so we have himbo jock virgin floyd,, WE HAVE TO ELABORATE ON PUNK JADE CUZ THE THOUGHT OF HIM JUST MAKES MY WORLD SHAKE

seriously still kicking my legs at that tag omg the thought of punk jade fkkfjsjjc like those stereotypical wattpad bad boys but somehow he's a little more charming and... tolerable (to an extent), i guess...

he leans on lockers, probably rides a motorcycle his rich ass mafia father gifted him, and is definitely brooding and mysterious, but oh my god is it so attractive... you don't mind and it's as if you were put into a spell; especially after you realize you're tangled up in the sheets of his bed, your mind hazy and memories hardly legible <3 you realize he's just as bad as his brother but then again, he's soooo much better in bed, you don't mind in the slightest anymore !!! <33333

fjsjjfjdkrjv i'm just spilling my brain worms now jade has affected me once again

— (a new-ish follower named star hehe <3)

orz punk Jade is so fine omg,,,,,, he has so many piercings, a few very intricate tattoos here and there, and in my heart he kills it on the electric guitar. <3 he rizzes you up with just a few chords and you know his fingers do more than skillfully play chords. Omg omg and he has a split tongue!!!!!!! He always wears his hair in messy styles, uses hair gel to keep it spiky when he wants it to be, and maybe he smokes on occasion; perhaps even coerces you into smoking. >:) getting high with him is an experience omg,,,,,,, maybe you hotboxed with him in Floyd's van once and the two of you kissed a few times and you learned that he's so good at kissing???? So much better than Floyd, and you have to wonder how he's leagues better when Floyd's so social, loved (and feared) by all, popular enough to be with anyone he wants. Jade's just so alluring in a way that his twin isn't. Whereas Floyd's all broad shoulders and bulk and muscle, Jade's all lean muscle and willowy and agile.

You don't trust him to take you for an innocent ride on his motorcycle, so Jade suggests using Floyd's van for stuff. Floyd doesn't really care because he's so busy with sports; his van is already messy enough (he draws the line at cum stains, though. At least, cum stains that don't belong to Floyd himself lol). It's a little unfair that Jade's really good at sex because you want to experience all of this technique with Floyd (who has yet to make you cum with his dick, mind you). Jade just knows what tips you over the edge. He wrings orgasms out of you like he's trying to prove something, and maybe he is. You never really paid much mind to him because he was the "quiet twin," the one who, despite his notable fashion and style, didn't really draw your eye.

Jade just loves showing up in your life when you're trying to avoid him and his bad influence. He teases you about that all the time, playfully calls you good girl/boy/goody-goody when you insist you're only visiting his apartment to see Floyd. He has the stickiest, sleaziest smile on his face when he lets you in, speaking in that mocking drawl of his, "You know Floyd has practice at this time, right?" And god you want to punch him, kick him in his dick, tear his hair out. But you don't because you can't. Because he's addicting. Because he's good at fucking you and talking to you and being your friend and making sure you're safe and sound when you have a bad trip and asking if it feels good when he lays you down in Floyd's van and ruts into you like he has all the time in the world. You hate him, but then you don't because he's so much better than Floyd. And of course you still like Floyd, but he doesn't hit in the way Jade does.

You wake up in his bed more times than you can count, twisted up in the sheets or, more recently, in his arms, and Jade has such a fun time teasing you for it. But then he's so tender in the mornings, so soft and gentle, caressing your cheek or pressing kisses over the marks he left the night prior. The two of you are way more than friends, but neither of you say anything to make it official and so you're stuck in a situationship that feels so comfortable and enjoyable.

Omg and when he plays the guitar for you....... orz Jade is the worst thing to ever happen to you (or so you adamantly claim), but he's also the best because if it weren't for him you'd never form such a genuine connection with him. <3 also, he opened your third eye. You shouldn't settle for bad, sloppy sex with his brother when he can fuck you six ways from Sunday and leave you satisfied each time. He takes immense pride in this, too. Annoying, but you love him. You really, truly, honestly do.

[thisapplepielife]

Written for a @astrangersummer.

The Remnants

Week #11 Prompt: Sunglasses | Word Count: 898 | Rating: T | POV: Karen Wheeler | Characters: Karen, Steve Harrington | CW: Prior Major Character Death (Unspecified Member of The Party) | Tags: Future Fic, The Party, Unnamed Character Death, A Look at Grief, At Loss, Steve Harrington is Still Their Babysitter Person, The Kids Are Home For A Funeral

Inspired by the song Pink Skies by Zach Bryan.

The kids are in town for a funeral. 

Karen has been listening to them move around the basement, getting ready to go. She doesn't want to make them wait, not on her. Not today.

She's touching every surface in her kitchen, every counter, frantic. It doesn't make any sense. They were just here. She's sure of it.

She laid them out with her purse. She swore she did. 

She's yanking open drawers, then slamming them shut, over and over.

"Can I help you find something?"

It's Steve Harrington, standing at the edge of her kitchen.

She's not surprised to see him, because the kids don't want anything from anyone, except Steve Harrington, and she's had to stand back and accept that this isn't something she can fix.

She can't make a pot roast, and let them run wild on their bicycles. Not now.

If Steve can ease any of this for them, in any way, she'll be grateful. 

"My sunglasses," she says. They have to leave, and soon, but she can't go without them. 

Steve pulls his own sunglasses out of his shirt pocket, and hands them over, "Until yours turn up."

Karen takes them, isn't sure what else to do, and lets him lead her to one of the waiting black cars. He's not a kid, not anymore, none of them are, even if she'll always see them that way.

Even as they have to go to a funeral. 

After, Karen watches as Steve Harrington herds the remnants back through her house. All that's left of their little group. The Party. The fuss and fight gone out of them, now. The boys, and later, the girls, that trampled up and down her staircase, excited and loud, are now long grown. Men and women, somehow here in their places. 

They haven't all been gathered together, not all of them, not in years. Maybe not since Ted's funeral. 

Burying parents, that's the stage of life they've reached. It's a rite of passage that sneaks up on you, hard and fast, and often before you're ready. But it's the order of things, to be expected, even when it's a complete surprise.

But they shouldn't be burying each other. Not yet.

And now that they have, now that the seal is broken, they won't ever be whole again.

It's unfair. 

Now, they're silent as they walk past the doorway, and don't even look at the growth chart they all spent so much time and energy trying to be the tallest mark on. 

She listens to them go down the stairs, and maybe it's her imagination, or her failing hearing, but they still sound exactly the same as they did as kids. 

Now, though, the noise stops too soon. One pair of feet too few.

She leans in the doorway. Listens. Hand touching the carved-on piece of wood. The growth chart on the door frame started as Nancy, then Mike. By the time Holly came, all these other kids had scraped their own right alongside her kids. Cheating, standing on tiptoes, so desperate to grow taller than each other. 

The funeral was beautiful, but the kids are all pretty stoic. Like they didn't even notice. They aren't kids, not anymore. But they still feel like her kids, always will. All of them, and now one is missing. 

They've had a practice run at this at twelve-years-old, but then they got a do-over. They learned to believe in magic, to believe in the impossible being possible.

She knows that won't happen again. This time it's for real. One of them is really gone, dead and buried, and they don't know how to act.

She doesn't know how to act.

She's still supposed to be the adult here. The mom.

They'd spread their wings. Flew far, and wide, but always flocked home, together. 

She's pretty sure that won't happen again. They're cleaning the basement, clearing the drawers, mopping the floor. Steve's been up and down a dozen times, digging under the sink for cleaning supplies, then carrying up box after box, taking them out the front door, and she doesn't know where it's all going. 

Just that it's already gone.

The basement, their safe space, can't go on with one missing. Won't.

So, they're closing up shop. 

And she's having to watch from afar. Only getting kernels of secondhand knowledge from her daughter's ex-boyfriend. 

It's a strange life they've all lived.

But once they got past that, she thought they'd made it. That they'd all be fine. 

That she would eventually go first.

She wishes she could go back to the start. When Mike was so little, and just meeting Dustin, Lucas and Will for the first time. When they were just old enough to ride bikes down the driveway, and then later, out of sight. Not to be seen until the streetlights came on again.

Kids don't roam like that now. Her grandkids sure don't. Their parents, far too well aware of what can go bump in the night.

She listens.

It's quiet, too quiet, down there. 

She misses the sounds of screaming, tumbling dice and curse words they weren't supposed to be saying, but did anyway when they thought they could get away with it. 

She settles in her chair, and gets poked in the thigh. She reaches down, and her sunglasses aren't lost. 

Just broken. 

Just like everything else here today.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @astrangersummer and follow along with the fun!

[valya-kingoftherats]

Fair Fight

Your back hits the mat with a muffled thud, and you swear for a second you can't breathe. Doesn't matter. You are back on your feet quicker than any human would have any right to be. Stand up. Square your shoulders. Feet apart but not too much. Ready for her.

"Again." You growl. Chest heaving with every breath. You aren't giving up. You can't.

She doesn't understand that when you fight her, you're fighting for your life.

"As much as I'd love to keep kicking your ass," stupid smug smile. This time, you are going to wipe it clean off her face. "Maybe it's time you took a break?"

The only reason she's doing any better off than you is because she's won every round today. Every. Single. One. Unacceptable. Pathetic. You need to do better. Have to do better.

You can't read her. Stupid static head that feels no different from them once it gets to trading blows. You need to be able to take her in a fair fight. Then maybe you'll stand a chance if the worst really does happen.

"Sounds like someone's looking for excuses to call it a day." You grin as you taunt her. She won't say no, she won't quit either. "Starting to show your age, Marshal? Thinking about retirement?"

"Given the current score, I'd say I'm not the one who should be looking into retirement." Got her. She's back on the mat and back in position. This time, you won't mess up.

"Esta vez vas a caer, idiota." You think you have got to have the advantage this time. Just because you've lost doesn't mean you never landed any good hits. Unlike you, she must be hurting some.

It's an unfair advantage, but for now, you'll take it.

You may have taught yourself how to fight, but you did a damn good job of it as far as you're concerned. Focus. Stay on the defensive initially. Figure out the normal way how she moves and what her tells for attacks are. It's simple. You can do that.

You dodge the first punch, and you're pretty sure she isn't putting in as much force with her right side. Good. That you can work with. Spin around quicker than she can regain herself and deliver a kick to the back of her shins. She doesn't fall.

Dammit.

She isn't talking anymore. No quips. No teasing. Both of you are solely focused on the fight. Blow for blow. Dodging and countering. When it gets like this, you don't, can't, see her. Just static that's no different from back at the Farm. Can't tell her from them. Spar from genuine fight. It gets hard to sort out the difference and still stay focused enough to remember where you are.

She's back around, and you take a swing only for her to seize your arm and yank you forward. Not so fast. Dead weight. You allow it, and the lack of resistance sends her off balance. The jab to her shoulder lands without a hitch.

See? You are capable. No doubt. Show them who's the weak one. Good for nothing but sitting all dolled up in some stuffy room gathering intel. Fuck that.

They never saw your potential.

You almost miss how her weight shifts. Right foot coming forward, oh so subtly. Not for you, though. You catch the kick coming a mile away and make yourself scarce. You can't keep from smiling. You finally did it.

This round is yours.

You know to lead with your non-dominant foot. Not to telegraph your every move. Just one kick. One to her chest is all you need, you can feel it. You'll have won. Beaten the horrible static, no powers needed.

And it lands. Beautifully. You relish the 'huff' that comes out of her as it connects. Finally. It's all you. No one can touch you. You'll stop them all. Never ag—

"¡Mierda!" Wind rushes by you. She's still quicker than you'd given her credit for. More agile. She took you by the leg and took you down with her. No, not just that. She used you to break her fall. Wind knocked out of you, you try to beat back the surge of panic because you can't breathe for real this time.

"Guess this means I won again." And she's right. She has you pinned. Again.

"Fuck!! Why can't I beat you!? ¡¿Qué carajo me pasa?!" You don't get it? Are you that reliant on being one step ahead? Reading your opponent's every move? Crutches. Too dependant. You need to do better.

You have enough strength to less then gently shove Julia off of you. Back on your feet. Nails digging deep into your palms to beat back the pinpricks of tears starting up in the corners of your eyes. Insult to injury. Pathetic.

"Valya, you good? It's just a sparing match." She's up on her feet and only a few paces behind. "No te tomes las cosas tan en serio."

Hands on you, and you flinch away from invisible touches before you realize you shouldn't do that. Breaths going from exhausted ragged to fearful rapid all too quickly.

She's going to question you about that later. You're sure of it. But she feels like them, and you can't help but react accordingly. Self-preservation. Learned responses.

More hands, but these ones have a presence to them. Tugging you off the mat and away from Julia. "Call it a day. I don't feel like dragging the two of you idiots to the infirmary." Themmy snickers, but you know they're serious.

More quietly, they add, "Hey, you're okay. Whoever you thought you were fighting, they aren't here." They sit down on the bench, and you slump down on the floor between their legs. Relax as they lazily drape themself over you, chin on your head and arms around your shoulders. This is okay. Safe.

You watch as Julia comes to sit on the floor a little ways in front of you. As she takes a pull from her bottle of whatever sports drink she's currently endorsing. That she swears up and down is good, but you're well aware of the way her eyes keep darting to your own bottle of regular water.

You know she'll drink it all in one go, so you down a little more than you really need to before tossing the bottle at her. Maybe with a little more force than needed, but you're still sore from the repeated training failures.

She gulps it down far too fast for someone whose own drink is 'refreshing' and 'good for you.'

You ease up more as Julia and Themmy bicker back and forth about if it's the winner or loser of the day that buys the drinks tonight. Themmy is still a warm presence on top of you, Julia's smile is bright and warm, and she's talking to them, but her eyes are on you.

You can relax. This is your life now. Has been for years. You're okay and need to remember that. Enjoy spending time with your friends.

And you know for certain that next time you'll win the training match.

[poeticlilies]

Hi!

I have a request for Fukuzawa (again, becouse last time I requested you did such an amaizing job and I ended up fangirling for a good 20 minutes). Sooo, I think Fukuzawa has some nightmares (probably before ADA, but maybe even after it) becouse of his past, and all the things he has done or happened to him. So maybe something with him having a nightmare and for the first time he isn't alone becouse his S/O is there to comfort him. So basically just some comfort for Fukuzawa, he deserves it♡

As always if you don't feel like writing this one that is compleatly understandable.

Have a nice day!

♡ Hush, darling..

Fukuzawa Yukichi x Reader

Desc: Comforting Yukichi after a nightmare. (gender neutral reader)

TW/CW: nightmares, violence, blood, injury, death of reader (in nightmare), panic attack, anxiety, hurt/comfort, mentions of hell/god/heaven ("thank god", "if this is hell", etc)

The first thought that ran through his head was "Why am I here?"

Why here, of all places; this godforsaken place where he was holding onto you, soon to be your body.

Tears ran down his cheeks as his heart rapidly sped up; hands cupping your cheeks as he cradled you in his lap, begging you not to go, and to spend just one more year, one more month, one more week, one more day, one more hour, one more minute with him and just please don't go.

Your eyes were closed, already; skin so cold you couldn't have been alive anymore, and he sobs harder, finding it hard to breathe as he wails and yells in anger, grief, despair, and shock. Screaming to the world about how unfair it was, and that he had given so much, so so much and why couldn't you just let me keep the one thing, the one thing that gave me solace in this horrid place.

The blood of yours bleeds into the grass; staining the verdant green a dark crimson as Fukuzawa cries, unable to cope with his grief as his hands are coated in a thick red liquid, the life essence of yours.

He stares at them, still sobbing; everything is a sea of red, everything is red as he stares, and all he can think about is your cold figure lying in his lap as the world bleeds into a mess of nothing but red, red, and red.

Somewhere, in the haze of his mind getting melted and fried, he remembers something; that he didn't even get to say goodbye to you before you had gone, and that makes him sob harder; hands clutching at his head and staining his silver locks as your complexion pales beyond the palette a normal, alive human being should have.

And he knows this is his fault; that his past has finally come back to take revenge, "an eye for an eye", and take you from him as atonement for his sins.

And then it's over-- the world abruptly turning black like a television screen turned off.

He can't see anything; cant feel, can't hear, can't smell as he writhes around, wondering if this is hell.

He feels hands on his body, on his cheeks, and he stops; because they are warm hands.

Slowly, he settles; world finally coming back as his eyes adjust to the darkness, and he sees the figure of you, hands on his cheeks as you whisper something that sounds incoherent to him as the pounding of his heart drowns out your voice.

"i-is--" he finally whispers, voice cracking. "i-is that you?"

You nod; and he breaks down again, thanking the heavens, the gods, anyone up there who has fulfilled his wish and turned his nightmare into a lovely, blissful dream; one where you were alive and well, and where he was on your shared bed, safe and surrounded by the comforters you bought because you had deemed them out of hundreds "good enough" for him.

And he cries; possibly harder than he has ever before, because nothing shakes him to his core and tears his heart apart harder than the possibility, the very notion that you might leave him here in this cold, dark place.

You surround his senses, blocking out everything else as you hold him close to your heart and whisper loving, gentle phrases he doesn't think are meant for him in his ears until he recognizes the fact that it's just the two of you.

And it hurts so bad but feels so good; he's never been comforted, been held, like this ever; maybe he has, in his earliest days on this planet; but he doesn't remember them, only the harsh, harsh pain and hurt that courses through his veins. The unfamiliarity makes his heart twist itself into knots, tearing vessels and tissue as it curls up, trying to reject the affection because it knows once it accepts it will never, ever be the same without it.

You comb a hand through his hair; his silvery white locks, messy but otherwise clean, as you continue to whisper gentle, gentle phrases that empty your heart out for him, that present yourself bare to him as you offer what relief you can to his suffering, and he cries, harder; half in disbelief and the other half in a foreign emotion that you would show the most vulnerable sides of yourself in an attempt to alleviate his pain.

Eventually, he settles down; curled up in your arms as he drifts back off into sleep, tears dried up as your warm hands and warm body capture him into your embrace. No more dreams plague him tonight; your love preventing his mind from making up more scenarios of "what-ifs" as you lie next to him, shielding him from the cold with your warm body.

--

yIPPEE !! woo

[i-write-things]

Hey Pen, hope things are going good for you. An idea struck me today. Yan!Chrollo (not so sure about the regular one but, who knows, maybe it works) Takes darling to meet the Troupe and maybe get along with them and all that, they're his group after all. (and since darling's been confined and only seeing him, so it got tiresome/boring - for the darling, that is) BUT darling ends up falling in love with one of the members instead. Sounds like a recipe for disaster. What do you think? Sorry if it doesn't make sense or it's weirdly worded.

Oh, this...this would break my man's dead heart.

Chrollo is very patient. Yandere or not. It takes quite a bit to truly upset him. But this? Yes...this does it.

If it where anyone else, perhaps a friend of yours, a stranger, ect., then it's no problem for Yan!Chrollo. He'll just make sure you don't love them. For example, he'll spread false information about them that will make you hate them. Or, y'know, he could just kill them. A classic choice.

But a troupe member? He feels betrayed in two different ways. More so from you. He knows he shouldn't feel that way, because his darling hasn't fallen for him yet. And he especially knows he shouldn't feel that way towards his troupe member. It's not their fault, after all. Plus, he's quite confident that his members would never dare to try to steal you from him. But that doesn't take away from the fact he is upset.

Taking you to meet the troupe was supposed to be a nice thing for you. You've been cooped up in whatever place he has been keeping you in. So he decided to take you out somewhere to interact with others. He knows very well that humans are social creatures. So not only would it do you some good to interact with other humans other than him, but it would also serve another purpose. Anything you tell them, they tell him.

So you can imagine he doesn't care all that much when you first start requesting to go along with him when he sees the troupe. He thinks maybe you just want to interact with other humans, he understands. He also is pretty relieved. This could not only mean that they would tell him more about you, but it's also a good sign you're going to come around soon and maybe return his love.

However, what he isn't slow to notice, is how you spend most of your time with one member in particular. And while at first, that's just who he assumes you get along with best, he very quickly realizes otherwise. The way they make you smile much easier than he does, despite being 10x more charismatic. The way you tend to stand closer to them when talking to them, as opposed to how close in proximity you stand to him while talking.

The next time he mentions going to see his troupe, he denies your request to go along with him. If you keep pushing, he will eventually respond with "Why? So you can speak to your crush, [troupe member]?" Yes, he does call you out like that.

If you deny it, he just chuckles in a similar fashion to when he chuckled right before he revealed to Hisoka he couldn't use nen anymore. He then goes on to tell you about everything he notices about your behavior around them that points to having a crush. If you just act shocked, but never deny it, he just leaves about his business. Until you ask a question that makes him slowly turn around.

-"Why?" -"Why? Why won't I let you see them? Well, simply put, I find it unfair how I put all my patience towards you. How I care about you and think about you constantly, yet you fall for a person who would have likely killed you had they not known your association with me." Yes, he goes for a low blow like that. Of course he does, he wants you to forget all about them, and love him instead.

After that, he just leaves. He leaves you alone for quite a bit, actually. He wants you to reflect on what he said. Can't you see? They wouldn't care about you even a fraction of what he cares about you! They wouldn't keep you company, give you constant attention, give you gifts, and do all the things he does.

You've gone from having a least a little human interaction, coming from him, to none for a solid couple of days. While he spends this time away, he just thinks a lot about what it is you like about said member and not him? He would change a couple of things about him to be more similar to them, but at the same time, he wants you to fall for him, not them.

You're not the only one to hurt from being alone for so long. Chrollo is also missing you deeply. Don't worry, as he comes back, he has a gift for you that he stole got for you. Then he'll continue to give you some extra attention. Hopefully your time away from everyone have you enough time to think about how lucky you are to be with him.

Oh, and as for the troupe member, he doesn't say anything to them about it. After all, it's not their fault. And if they ask why he stopped bringing them, he straight up tells them, "Hm...They needed some time to themself, that's all."

...He trusts them, but it doesn't take away from they fact they still worried about you.