#my heart laid bare (aesthetic)

[mellowwillowy]

TWST x Self-aware Yan Cannibal AU Ft: Unhinged GN Reader

𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐛𝐲𝐮𝐥

Unbirthday party has always been a merry occasion for 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐛𝐲𝐮𝐥. Not only does he get to eat the strawberry tarts, but he also gets to have Trey's meat pie specialty.

Pigs who dared to enrage the tyrant by upsetting you, the law, are sent to the kitchen for the butcher and baker to process into something edible.

The card soldiers cheer in joy and anxiety, pleased to be able to taste the main course yet sweating over the idea of screwing up and ending up on the silver platter.

Yet part of them does not really mind if it's meant that they will be devoured by you, the law, their grace. Ace and Deuce have always irked Riddle but the sight of you smiling along with their pranks and mischiefs save them from the trouble they are about to face.

Cater will always upload it on magicam, boasting the sight of you enjoying your stay in 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐛𝐲𝐮𝐥 as you nibble on the tart. Baked and minced to your favorite, as usual. Trey and Cater sure know their way around this, memorizing how you like it by heart.

--

"Looks like you two are having a hard time cleaning the guillotine huh?" You stopped in front of the guillotine, watching the other students along with the ADeuce duo wiping the blade that had severed yet another pig for you to feast on soon.

"Uh yeah, troublesome as always, I hate having this bloody mess all over my hands." Deuce furrowed his eyebrows, waving his hands for you to see. Ace immediately elbowed Deuce, "Dude, you are splattering the blood all over me!"

You chuckled at the duo before turning back your focus on Riddle and his chaperones, "I assure you, those blood does taste good too if you know your way around it."

Trey and Cater raised their eyebrows and glanced at each other, seemingly knowing what they would present for you at the next Unbirthday party.

"Is that so? Then I'll make sure to have your Grace have a taste of it at our next tea party."

𝐒𝐚𝐯𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐰

It's only natural to see the beasts ripping the guts out of the prey with their bare fangs. 𝐒𝐚𝐯𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐰 surely offers an entirely different vibe when it comes to banquets.

Until Leona signals them, the beasts are nothing but starving predators, ready to shred the prey into minced meat. But Leona is nothing but a calm and obedient beast when it comes to you, eagerly waiting for you to give him the accord.

One tilt of your head and a nod is all it takes for Leona to snap his fingers, the chosen beasts leaping toward the prey eagerly as their claws and fangs tore them apart.

Jack was the fiercest among the others, even more than his seniors. For someone who held an upright moral integrity, he had it revolved around you and all sense of justice had been laid onto the tip of your tongue.

Ruggie on the other hand only watched in amusement next to Leona, waiting for the next batch of captured prey to be feasted by him. He would not cut line and steal a bite of what's not given to him from you, oh nooo, he was a patient hyena.

Leona cocked his head to you, eyes focused on you while waiting for you to lock your eyes with his, "Should I grab one for you to eat too, your Grace?"

𝐎𝐜𝐭𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐞

Mostro Lounge has always offered the best dining experience. It is not to be doubted again that 𝐎𝐜𝐭𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐞 is most definitely going to serve you the finest meal, personally handled and cooked by the Tweels.

And of course, those who fail to fulfill the terms of Azul's contract have to feel how the merfolks gut them, spilling their whole innards all over as they choose which part is considered the most delectable for you.

From the sophisticated look of the beverage, tinted dark red yet a hue of purple could be seen, giving it a pleasingly aesthetic look for you to fawn over before you drink it down.

On the silver platter was a heart, decorated with things you had no idea about but you had seen back in your world. Fancy diners always do that, you thought to yourself.

"Only the best part for your Grace." Jade bowed down as he adjusted the plate and utensils. Floyd was grinning from ear to ear as he dusted the sugar cube into your drink, "And something refreshingly sweet for ya' highness!"

You gave them a curt nod before slicing it, Floyd kneeling down next to you while his face rested on your chair's armrest, eyes glimmering in excitement as he waited for your feedback. Jade might not show it in his face but even you could notice how his feet tapped against the carpeted tile, something you'd never see from someone who could stand still for hours without moving like an inanimate object.

You gave them an approving nod and smile as you took a sip from the drink Floyd personally went over length to make for you, "Satisfactory as usual."

A pair of hands clasped on your shoulders from behind, Azul cooed right into your ear "But your Grace, surely it can go beyond that no? We'll make sure of that the next time you choose to feast here."

𝐒𝐜𝐚��𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐚

Banquet has always been something that is always happening due to Kalim's nature and Jamil has never really found any joy from it.

But all that changes if the banquet is thrown for you. Oh, how the viper ensures himself to go beyond length in preparing the dishes. With Kalim's endless riches, he can use all sorts of ingredients one would never be able to obtain without spending a fortune for their rarity. Only the freshest and best ingredients are allowed to be used for your meal and so are the living meat of the students.

Everything must be set to a T. Kalim may not be a tyrant but when it comes to you? He's unconsciously pointing his fingers and brows scrunched at anything that is not abided by perfection. The lamps are not hung at the right angle, the pillows have not been changed into new pillows and the animals must be paraded in order and not roam like wild beasts. Anyone who just ever makes the slightest mistake will be sent straight to the kitchen as an ingredient. Had it not been for Jamil's suggestion to send them all bruiseless, they would have been beaten until they were nothing but pulp.

You were taking in the sight of the parade, everything was as amusing as you had always remembered. But the true highlight lay in Jamil's cooking, if you have to pinpoint the best cook in this twisted wonderland then it had to be Jamil. Unlike the finery of Mostro Longue, Jamil's cooking had a different feel to it. It was not as aesthetic yet it did not change the fact that it still looked pleasantly delicious. If Mostro Lounge accounted for the positioning of the food in a numerical and angle way, Jamil offered everything in a neat bulk. Curry, prata, shawarma, and all. Its display screamed for people to grab one yet no one dared to unless you ordered them to do so.

You cocked your head toward Kalim who was sitting right next to you, eyes glimmering in adoration as he drunk in your expression. Oh, would you finally like to have a bite? He held one of the shawarma out toward you with an empty plate in his other hand.

Jamil had ensured that there were 2 different platters, one for you which was made from the best ingredients and seasonings, while the other was less if compared to yours but still delicious nonetheless. One was made from meat and blood that had been considered the best while the other was made from those that failed to pass through the requirements.

You took a bite from his hand, savoring the taste of Jamil's hard work while enjoying the show of Kalim's tyranny. Truly, you love being able to taint your beloved sunshine.

"Say say, are you enjoying it all, your Grace? Not even a beat of music missed and all the food that sprawled across the room is ensured to be of the best quality." Kalim brought a goblet onto you and you held it in your hand. He gave you another grin that was just as blinding as the sun, his finger beckoned Jamil to pour you the carmine drink, squeezed from their cries of agony and pain before they were minced.

"But of course, your Grace has no need to hesitate to point something out if it's not to your liking," Jamil chimed in as he watched you swirl your goblet. The two of them stared right into your eyes, eyes enchanted by you despite one being an enchanter, "Because we seek only perfection for your Grace's taste."

𝐏𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐟𝐢𝐨𝐫𝐞

𝐏𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐟𝐢𝐨𝐫𝐞 prides themselves in their pitch-perfect diet. So what if their Grace has a different taste in the feast? All they have to do is readjust and tailor the whole dorm's diet to yours.

The fairest one of all, wearing a tiara that shines even brighter than any tiaras Vil has ever seen, truly living up to the radiance you emit just from sitting on the very throne with him standing right next to you.

It appeared that preparing a banquet was a huge feat for 𝐏𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐟𝐢𝐨𝐫𝐞 as they were divided into 2 teams. Team One prepared the whole occasion while Team Two flocked toward you, amusing you with a theatric show as you watched them from your throne.

It appeared that Rook's fascination with the world of theatrics and you worked really well as he 'acted' out the role of a lover professing his love toward the protagonist really well. Strings of bizarre praises and wishes rolled from the tip of his tongue smoothly as though it was by nature for him to act so already.

Epel on the other hand was all energized to drag the qualified livestock into the kitchen after Vil had inspected them all personally. The livestock was to be of a healthy diet, bruiseless and ailment-free before it was allowed to be cooked and feasted by the Grace.

The moment Rook was notified that the whole banquet was ready, a trumpet was blown and you were led to the dining hall which had been decorated to match your attire. Were you wearing something cute, pure, sexy, cool, or pop? Either way, 𝐏𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐟𝐢𝐨𝐫𝐞 never missed a beat in losing its elegance no matter what the theme was.

"Allow me," Rook pulled the chair for you to sit on before he readjusted the platter asymmetrically. Right next to your seat on the right was Vil sitting while the rest of the body stood, not daring to sit unless you allowed them to.

Seeing Epel all giddy observing you, you beckoned him to come to you and he whispered into your ear, "I seasoned it!"

You cocked a questioning eyebrow toward Vil and he could only sigh with a chuckle, "Oh what will I do with your Grace's taste bud?"

Rook poured a carmine red fluid into your glass, its smell told you that it was not made just from a fine wine but rather, a fine blood.

"A fine cocktail of white wine, dyed with a carmine golden drop, hand-picked and squeezed personally by me. Truly, your favorite, your Grace."

𝐈𝐠𝐧𝐢𝐡𝐲𝐝𝐞

Honestly, what do you even expect from all these anti-socials? They are nothing but a bunch of hikikomori yet the Shroud Brothers just know how to surprise you!

Unlike the impractical methods that the others use to earn just a golden drop of blood from the livestock, the dorm has created countless practical devices that help them to create something quickly.

Compressors that grind down the gutless livestock into a fine drink. Shredders that allow them to save time from having to shred from chunk by chunk. And a practical inspection device that helps Idia sort out the best for you to feast on.

Ortho had to be the most eager one of all, singing non-stop as he ensured all were to be finished quickly when you informed him that you would be choosing 𝐈𝐠𝐧𝐢𝐡𝐲𝐝𝐞 for your next banquet.

They specialized in efficiency and speed but that did not mean they lacked the skill of cooking a delicious dish. While it may be pale when compared to other dorms, 𝐈𝐠𝐧𝐢𝐡𝐲𝐝𝐞 is a great option for when you are craving for something and want it to be on your plate in a short moment. They might not score 12/10 but they were able to at the very least score 8/10. Surprised much? Ortho had been practicing how to cook and all from the data Idia inputted into him.

"Uurgh.. uhh... y-your Grace... so what is the verdict? A level up? Or an increase in the ranking board? O-Ortho is really expecting your answer..."

You raised your eyebrows at his stuttering, "Getting better," you stopped for a moment to chew again, "and delicious."

Ortho immediately leaped toward you from Idia's back, causing him to squeak, his metal arms wrapped around your neck, "I'm glad! Please keep on coming here and I'll make sure to be the best cook you'll ever have!"

Idia brought a napkin over to your face, "Yes... should your Grace ever need for a quick meal, please come by... Me and Ortho... and Ortho... will always be ready at your disposal."

But who were you but the all-knowing God, you knew there was a slight taint of blot in your meal, Ortho, you assumed.

𝐃𝐢𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐧𝐢𝐚

Lilia has to stay away from the kitchen. But don't worry, the bat is entrusted with hunting down livestock for the youngsters to process into something edible.

Malleus on the other hand is ready to strike anyone down with lightning should they make the slightest mistake in the banquet preparation.

Sebek is in charge of inspecting the livestock while Silver is in charge of the most gruesome part of the job (which was appointed by you for fun.) which is gutting. Surely tainting someone so pure like him has to be your favorite feast.

The candles on the table were all lit in emerald hue, fireflies surrounded you as Lilia levitated around you, joyously guiding you toward the dining table.

There you could see Malleus sitting on the second host seat, his hand prompts you to take a seat across from him. Lilia pulled the chair for you to sit before Silver walked out of nowhere, holding a plate of dishes for you to feast on.

Sebek on the other hand had been arranged to stand right next to Malleus, part of him was happy yet part of him envied Silver. Nonetheless, no barks had ever slipped past through his sealed lip.

"Kukuku, the boys went through great details and length in preparing this whole banquet, well, me included. It was fun hunting down these livestock for you," His index finger felt your platter, "it makes me feel like I must pick the ripest for you... feeding you... aa~"

Soon, he brought a forkful of meat sliced by SIlver earlier while you were distracted by Lilia. Malleus smiled at your dazed-out face and the way realization washed over you.

"May your Grace enjoy the blessing that you have graced us tonight." Malleus raised his goblet, urging you to do just the same.

"Cheers!" Lilia wiped your mouth with the napkin, Silver's hand holding out your filled goblet.

𝐃𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐂𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐞𝐲 ???

"My words! Did you have fun, hm?" Crowley immediately lunged toward you the moment you entered his office. He gave you the cutest pout you could ever see from him, his cheek rubbed against yours repeatedly.

"Are you jealous, Dire?"

"Of course not! How can someone as magnanimous as I, be jealous of my own fledglings?" And as though to prove to you his seriousness, he even posed ridiculously with his staff.

You cackled at him before giving him a kiss on his cheek, "I'm home, Dire."

Crowley stopped acting up and turned serene, giving you a smile that didn't seem to reach his eyes.

"Welcome home, Master. Dinner's ready as usual."

Oh old times... ???

[causenessus]

Love Languages. | Bungou Stray Dogs

inc: dazai, chuuya, akutagawa, tecchou, jouno

written in 2nd pov (female reader implied)

song recc: do you love by trish toledo & baby bash

word count: 2324 words

pretty sure everything is written in lowercase except for names if they didn't look ugly capitalized bc aesthetics !!! had tons of fun writing this I apologize, this is barely proofread and for literally every character I got too caught up in specific examples and scenarios and just kept building off of it but I think they're kind of sweet so I hope u enjoy <3

dazai osamu - acts of service

“she peels an orange for us in the morning / she woke me up to give me half” golden girl - frank ocean

he’s terrible at taking care of himself, so someone who takes the time to care for him just makes every wall crumble

he’s probably horrible at remembering to eat as well, so if you make something for him he’ll treasure it forever

bonus points if your job requires you to wake up earlier than him (which isn’t hard, he def comes in a little later than his coworkers) and you leave something for him to eat when he wakes up or to take with him to work (or both <3)

he’ll start to look forward to waking up in the mornings in hope that you’ve made him something

never asks you if you’ll make something in specific or if you’ll even make him something at all. he adores anything you make and doesn’t want to make you feel obliged to do something if you happen to be tired and don’t want to cook tomorrow

voices all his appreciation for you when you both have laid down to go to sleep

“bella, I can’t tell you how much it means to me, all that you do. you really don’t have to make me anything if it’s a hassle in the morning or when you get home. you already work so hard.”

you turned onto your other side to face him, pushing a stray lock of hair behind his ear as you smiled, “I do it because I want to, ‘Samu. and because I love you. if I can’t spend the day with you because we’re both at work, at least I can take care of you.”

his chest buzzed with so much happiness his eyes stung for a moment. he held himself back from saying that he didn’t deserve you. saying something like that wouldn’t solve anything. instead, he’d make himself worthy of you by helping out as well

he probably can’t cook very well but he finds other ways to help, washing the dishes, doing the laundry, getting groceries, and cleaning the place so that there’s less on your plate

ask him to do anything and he’ll get it done for you as soon as possible <3

I think that for him, receiving such sweet love without any words is foreign to him but is just what he needs. he’d rather show how much he loves you than say it (although he loves to tell you it as well). getting out of bed could be so difficult for him some days, yet having a goal for himself has motivated him to become a better person. he wakes up, excited for what you may have made him and ready to do whatever he can for you

nakahara chuuya - gift giving

“they asked, ‘do you love her to death?’ I said, ‘speak of her over my grave and watch how she brings me back to life.’” - mahmoud darwish

it’s easier for him to express how much you mean to him by giving you everything you want and everything he thinks you would like

he still tells you that he loves you every chance he gets, but oftentimes it is accompanied by a gift, no matter how small it may be, from just a single rose to a whole garden

for him, it gives a new purpose in his work; he’s working in order to get you whatever your pretty heart desires

he’s proud to use his hard-earned money to buy you things (rather than spending it all on wine <3 ily chuuya)

the easiest thing he can always get you is a favorite snack or drink and he’s got a whole system for it

he knows every store it’s available at and many of the clerks are familiar with him from the sheer amount of times he’s visited them to buy something for you. it never grows old for him, his favorite thing to do is buy you something on his way home from work or during the day when he’s planning to surprise you with a visit

he keeps a mental list of what your favorite things are. you’ll tell him about something you like without thinking anything of it but he’s already planned out when and how to give the item to you. it’s always on his mind what he’ll buy you each day, and it’s always worth it seeing you enjoy whatever he’s bought you

sometimes it’s as simple as a coffee and he’ll drop by your work to give it to you in person

“hanging in there, Angel? need a little pick-me-up?” he has the biggest smile on his face every time he sees you, and bringing a gift for you with him only adds to his excitement

“you spoil me, Chuuya,” you wrap your arms around his neck, leaning further into him as he holds you in his arms.

“what kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t?” he responds, rubbing your back as you sigh.

receiving gifts from you is just as sweet. no one has ever given him as many gifts as he’s given others–which is fine with him–it’s not about what he’ll get in return and he knows that not everyone expresses their love the way he does

but he’s touched whenever you get him something. since giving gifts is so meaningful to him, it means even more that someone would go through the trouble to give something back to him

he’ll keep whatever you get him close to him at all times and smile every time he sees it or remembers it

once, you bought him a new chain for his hat and he hasn’t changed it since. it only made the hat more special to him now that it reflects two people that had changed his life

akutagawa ryunosuke - words of affirmation

“my love, you are worth it all.”

we all know how the boy responded to dazai’s praise or even simply just the words “dazai wants to talk to you”

to hear a person who has persisted through his stubborn, aggressive defense say they still love him causes him to start to soften for you

he’s been surrounded by harsh words and people who have exploited him and brushed him to the side whenever he wasn’t needed all his life, so it stirs his heart to hear someone notice things about him and who tells him that they want to stay with him

it’s something reserved for solitary moments just between the two of you for sure, but that makes the time all the more special because he can let down his guard and just be with you

his past has made it hard for him to believe he is worthy of anything other than the murderous skills he’s harnessed in order to get him to where he is in the Mafia, but you’ve shown him that there’s more to him than just how well he can use Rashomon

he never bothers to try and listen to what other people are saying but he always gives his full attention to anything you have to say

he doesn’t even like to hear compliments from anyone else, he doesn’t trust them at all but he trusts and believes anything you tell him, knowing you have the purest intentions of loving and supporting him

after a job, all he wants to do is go home. by the end of the day, he’s sick of everyone around him so on the rare occasion that you decide to visit him, he won’t even notice until you call out to him

he had just finished a job, it was successful, but it had gotten messy. Mori had already told him off and he didn’t want to hear anything from anyone else. he stormed past every piece of vermin that had decided to get in his way, their whispers just barely reaching his ears

“Ryu!” you called out from amongst them, waiting by a door.

“What?” he hadn’t meant to snap, especially when he realized it was you talking to him and his face immediately relaxed when he saw you.

“oh, [y/n].” he immediately started to make his way towards you, the pounding in his head slowly starting to disappear the closer

“I came to pick you up, I’m glad I had good timing,” you smiled, offering your hand.

he took it gently, giving it a soft squeeze, “I’m sorry I responded so rudely, I didn’t–”

“you’re okay, Ryu,” you placed your other hand on top of it, looking him straight in the eyes, keeping a loving smile on your face, “you don’t ever have to be sorry. you’re doing just fine. even better, actually. I’m so proud of all your work and I’m sure you’re tired after everything today. it looked busy.”

the words erased every memory of Mori’s scolding that his head had latched on to in order to beat himself down later on. he felt his cheeks warm a little as he looked away, “you’re too kind to me, [y/n].”

tries his best to also put into words his appreciation but it’s so hard for him to verbally say it; sometimes it comes out wrong

instead, he’s opted for notes most of the time, leaving them on your bedside or in your bag, telling you how thankful he is for you and that he loves you

suehiro tecchou - quality time

“on the train we swapped seats, you wanted the window and I wanted to look at you.” - mahmoud darwish

my boy is always so busy

as soon as he’s off work he just wants to be wherever you’re at

he’d doesn’t mind silence and doesn’t care where he is as long as he’s with you

sometimes gets off work and if you’re not home yet just sneaks into your workplace to be around you

adores following you around and doesn’t always know exactly what you’re doing but he’s just happy to tag along

grocery store dates are some of his favorite moments with you

he loves everything about convenience stores

he loves food and the endless aisles of colorful packages and choices

(it gives him ideas for new food combinations <3)

once bought a himalayan salt shaker simply because

“look [y/n]! they make pink salt :0”

later put said pink salt on top of strawberry ice cream bc they were both pink

he also loves getting to look around the store all the while following you. he admires your organized grocery lists and how you’ve already planned out what you’re going to buy

once you tried to send him out to grab something in an area you’d already passed so that you could continue going down the list

“can you go grab some carrots for me, love? sorry, I forgot to pick them up when we were in the produce section.”

“of course 🙂” his heart is shattering inside of him at the thought of being separated from you.

“do you want to stay with me and we’ll go back later?” you ask, looking up at him with a knowing smile.

“yes pls”

groceries stores are not the only place you guys go tho i promise

if you’re still in school, he’ll accompany you on study dates 

never bothers you under any circumstances and if he is and you tell him he’ll stop right away

he could spend all day looking at your pretty face even if you never once looked at him <3

jouno saigiku - physical touch

“you kiss the back of my legs and I want to cry / the sun has come this close, only the sun” “GPS” - Shauan Barbosa

although he can’t see you, he knows your body by heart <3

he’s spent so much time tracing it over and over with his hands

i think his favorite thing to do, especially after a long day at work is flop onto you and just listen to your heartbeat. probably also intertwines one of his hands with yours, often runs other across your skin

loves when you touch him just as much

if he’s lying on top of you and you decide to run a hand through his hair, all of his problems have just melted away

you both have definitely fallen asleep like that countless times no matter what time of day it is

he’s always finding ways to be in close contact with you, making sure that you’re safe and near him

again, he loves loves loves to hold your hand, he’ll reach for it any chance he gets

will also settle for an arm around your shoulder though as long as you’re close to him

definitely the type to also rest his head on top of yours or on your shoulder every chance he gets

if he needs to fidget he won’t even play with his own fingers he’ll just play with yours

i think that with the loss of one sense, the other senses hold so much meaning for him

it’s easier and more meaningful for him to show his love and how much he trusts you through touch rather than just saying it out loud

comes up from behind you to hug you a lot, especially in the kitchen or when you’ve just come home he’s there immediately, hugging you to recharge

“how was your day, my love?”

you always relax in his arms, turning your head slightly to kiss his face which he’s let rest on your shoulder, “it was missing you.”

he placed a chaste kiss on your lips, “i’ll make it all up to you now, darling.”

there was one time that he let you do his hair

he’s never told you how much he enjoyed it; he didn’t even know what you had done to it, but being near your warmth is all he needs and can ask for <3

[pickingupmymercedes]

It was always them - Lewis Hamilton 1/3

An Invisible String Theory Story - It was always them (pt.1). It still is (pt.2). It will always be (pt.3).

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

warnings: none, it's pure fluff.

wordcount: +1K

a/n: I need to give all the props to @greedyjudge2 for getting me to finally write this.

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

______________________________________________________________

The soft hum of the apartment filled the quiet morning. Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, a warm glow washing over the NYC living room.

Lewis was sprawled on the sofa, a cup of coffee in hand, his eyes glued to his phone, scrolling through his emails.

The soft padding of bare feet interrupted his focus. He looked up to find Y/N, a bouncing figure of energy, emerged from their bedroom. Her hair still damp from a shower as her eyes sparkled with excitement, a stark contrast to the lazy demeanor he expected on a Sunday.

"You have to see this, Lew," Y/N's voice, filled with excitement as she chirped, her voice carrying a playful lilt and, in her arms, she clutched a stack of thick, glossy papers.

"Is this what I think it is?" he replied, a lazy smile spreading across his face. He set down his phone and reached for her, pulling her into a warm embrace.

Y/N wriggled out of his arms and sat down beside him, her eyes gleaming with anticipation. "The first draft of my Balmain collection," she said, her voice barely containing her enthusiasm.

Curiosity piqued; Lewis raised an eyebrow as he sat up straighter, "Oh?"

His heart swelled with admiration. He knew how much this meant to her. After five years of revolutionizing sports fashion with Ferrari, she had decided to take on a new challenge. It was a bold move, but watching her grow and evolve in high fashion had been nothing short of inspiring.

"Let's see it then" he said, his voice steady, gesturing for her.

Y/N carefully laid the sketches out on the kitchen island, a pristine expanse of black marble. Lewis got up and enveloped her in his arms as his eyes scanned the sketches.

The designs were definitely a departure from the sports-inspired aesthetic she was so known for, but they still carried her signature flair. The colors were bold, the silhouettes modern, and the overall aesthetic was undeniably Y/N. It was a perfect blend of her signature sporty elegance and the high fashion world she was now navigating.

"I wanted to create something that was both timeless and modern," she explained, her voice soft. "Something empowering"

"These are incredible, Y/N," Lewis nodded, impressed. "You've done that and more," he said sincerely.

A radiant smile spread across her face. "You haven’t even seen them all" she said, her voice filled with mock disbelief. "I was worried it was too much of a departure from my usual style."

"It's not," he assured her. "It's just a different expression of your talent. You've always been able to adapt and evolve."

She nodded, her eyes sparkling. "I know, but I had never strayed that far."

Lewis turned her in his arms and caught her chin so she would look at him "I'm here to support you every step of the way," he said softly. "I know you can do this. You're one of the most talented people I know."

She leaned into his touch, a small smile playing on her lips. "Thank you, Lew. It means the world to me."

He let her go as he reached for the sketches and continued to look through them, he noticed a recurring theme - strong, independent silhouettes but always with a softer note. It was a reflection of Y/N herself.

"You've captured the essence of Balmain perfectly," he said, his voice filled with admiration. "It's bold, but it's still undeniably you."

Y/N beamed. "I wanted to push the boundaries of what Balmain can be," she explained. "To create something that's both classic and contemporary, strong and feminine."

Lewis nodded "You've definitely achieved that." He picked up a sketch of a tailored blazer, the fabric adorned with a subtle Balmain monogram. " It's them but it feels fresh and modern."

Y/N's eyes lit up with gratitude. "I'm glad you like it," she finally said, her voice trembling slightly. "I was kind of nervous about showing you."

"Why would you be nervous?" he asked, taking her hand in his. "I have complete faith in you."

She squeezed his hand. "It's different when it's your own full collection. It's like putting a part of myself out there."

"You're going to kill it," he assured her. "I know it."

He’d always admired her ability to create something out of nothing. From transforming the world of F1 fashion to now, venturing into the realm of high fashion, she was a force to be reckoned with. And yet, despite her accomplishments, she still sought his opinions, her eyes darting to him every few seconds as he went through all the designs.

Y/N explained her inspiration for each piece, the symbolism behind the colors, and the story she wanted to tell. Lewis listened intently, offering his feedback when asked. He was impressed by the level of detail and thought that had gone into every aspect of the collection.

"I love how you’ve sneaked motorsport elements into the designs," he commented, pointing to a dress with intricate leather detailing.

Y/N grinned. "I knew you'd appreciate that," she said. "It's a nod to our roots."

Lewis chuckled. "You're getting too good at this, you know."

"A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do" she replied, playfully batting his arm.

Just then, as he studied a particular sketch, a memory flickered to life.

He was still a Mercedes driver then, trying to flee from the frenetic energy of the paddock. But amidst the chaos of the circuit, a figure had caught his attention. He saw her standing amidst the chaos, a breath of fresh air in the sea of team uniforms.

She was wearing a tailored pantsuit in a shade of crimson that echoed the Ferrari red, a bold statement in a side of the paddock dominated by neutral tones and controlled imagination.

He'd been drawn to her immediately, a silent acknowledgment of her presence.

He'd asked around, of course. Who was this woman who commanded attention without even trying? The answer both surprising and intriguing: the responsible behind some of the newer Ferrari designs he'd admired from afar. The one he was sure had a new eye behind them.

Y/N's voice pulled him back to New York. “Earth to Lewis?” she teased, waving a hand in front of his face. “You okay there, lover boy?”

He blinked, snapping out of his reverie. “Yeah” he managed, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. “Just thinking.”

“About what? Questionable fashion choices?” she asked, feigning offense.

He chuckled. “Far from it. I was actually remembering you a few years ago and that crimson pantsuit.”

Y/N rolled her eyes playfully. “Smooth. But I'm glad you remembered. I was hoping you would.”

______________________________________________________________

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[withwritersblock]

Please Please Please

~Please Please Please by Sabrina Carpenter~

Author's Note: I love this song with my whole heart Summary: Kirby and Y/N soft launch on social media Warnings: none I think Word Count: 1,907 Kirby Dach x fm!reader

Kirby and Y/N have been together for almost a year. It was safe to say it was the best year of her life. They were both in the limelight, at different levels. Kirby played for the Montreal Canadiens while Y/N had a few million followers on Youtube and Tiktok. 

For the two months leading up to their one year anniversary she wanted to slowly introduce her followers to him. A few years ago, her followers hated the idea of her being in a relationship and Kirby’s fans tended to attack any girl that was involved with him. So they thought it would be for the best to ease into the relationship.

She laid on the bed, running her fingers along his chest. Today was the first day she was planning on giving her followers a glimpse of Kirby. She had briefly mentioned having a boyfriend in her most recent Youtube video. Her followers were instantly invested in the idea.

“Are you coming to the game with me?” Kirby asked, his voice rasped as he spoke. She hummed as she stared towards her light pink nails tracing along his skin. “Good, I’ll hang in the WAGs suite with you,” he leaned towards her, kissing the top of her head. 

“Yay,” she mumbled as she slowly climbed out of the bed, he pouted slightly. He watched her walk towards the bathroom. 

“Hey, where are you going?” he asked, a small smile on his lips. She spun around, running a hand through her slightly messy hair.

“Coffee, want some?” she offered. He stood up from the mattress instead, “Oh, are you going to join me?” she asked in a teasing tone, “Don’t want breakfast in bed?” she continued on. 

He smiled widely as he bit his bottom lip,”Pretty sure I already had my breakfast in bed,” he teased as he took a hold of her waist pulling her towards him. She gasped as her back hit against his chest. 

“You’re awful,” she mumbled as he guided them both out of the bedroom, while he still held her to his chest.

“You love it,” he mumbled into her hair. She rolled her eyes as she reluctantly stepped away from him pulling her phone from her pocket. 

“Yeah, maybe,” she mumbled as she pulled up her Tiktok, “Do you want to start to be a little bread crumb in my videos?” she asked in a dramatic theatrical tone. He chuckled as he walked towards the coffee pot.

“Wherever you need me, babe,” he said excitedly. He began adding coffee grounds to the pot as she began searching for songs for her video. “Do I need to pose? Smile? Flirt with the camera?” he asked dramatically. 

“I don’t think I’m going to show much of your body. My fans are nuts, they’ll find you by the ring on your finger,” she said laughing. He nodded while chuckling. She stared towards his bare back, admiring the muscles as they slightly tensed as he moved. “I think I’ll wait until you’re in your suit for tonight,” she mumbled as she leaned forward onto the counter.

He turned the coffee pot on before he spun around, meeting her gaze. He crossed his arms over his chest, a small smile on his lips. “They may show me on the broadcast, you know. If your fans are as crazy as you say then they’ll find out that way,” he expressed.

She let out a dramatic groan, “You’re right but I got an idea that it won’t be too obvious,” she teased. He rolled his eyes playfully.

~

It was about an hour later and she had about fifteen seconds filmed. It was all short but aesthetic looking moments of her day. Her Tiktok persona was vastly different from the videos she posted on Youtube. She was a daily vlogger for both accounts but her Youtube was more raw and real. Her Tiktok stuck to the more aesthetic and pretty parts of her day. 

The first clip was a sleepy moment in the mirror, the second was her cup of iced coffee she made, and the third was her getting dressed. It was simple but it was cute. It was a weird way of helping her mentally. Creating a cute video of her day helped her avoid staying in bed. 

She sat in her vanity, recording for her Youtube channel. She was doing a Q and A for her channel. She had a collection of questions from her Instagram she planned on using. She was halfway through her makeup and halfway through her video when she finally addressed the boyfriend situation. 

“This next one is-are we going to get to see your boyfriend soon? So my boyfriend and I have been talking about that and we are going to do a soft launch. I hate that phrase but after what I expressed with my last boyfriend, I think this is for the best. I already know that many of you will try and investigate who he is. I can’t avoid that but I can spare my feelings for a while,” she explained, a small chuckle falling from her lips after she finished speaking. 

“Hey baby, what suit looks better?” he asked as his head was down staring towards his feet. He was holding a dark blue and a cream colored one. He lifted his gaze to see the camera set up on her vanity. His mouth formed a small O shape as his cheeks flushed red, “Oh sorry, I didn’t realize you were filming,” he clambered as he stepped away towards the door.

“No, it’s okay, let me see,” she uttered as she tilted her head to the side. She only had one eye done. He tilted his head to the side, a small smile forming to his lips.

“You look gorgeous,” he mumbled.

“It’s not even done yet,” she mumbled shyly.

“Still gorgeous,” he let out. He took a deep breath, holding the dark blue to his body for a few seconds. He then did the same with the cream. 

“I haven’t seen the cream in a while, go try it on,” she ushered. He nodded, leaving the room. 

“I did see this question a lot-What’s your boyfriend’s name?” a small chuckle fell from her lips, “If I told you guys that you would probably figure it out right away. So all you guys get for right now is boyfriend. You guys kept asking if he didn’t like being on camera and that’s why I haven’t shown him. But it’s more of a privacy thing. We wanted to be secure in the relationship before I plastered it all over social media. Also, people who put every aspect of their relationship on the Internet scare me,” 

She paused as she continued finishing her eye shadow, it was a subtle look but it was glittery. “Babe,” Kirby mumbled. She spun around, admiring the cream color suit. She nodded dramatically with a wide smile on her face. 

“You have to add this back into your rotation, I love it,” she muttered. He dropped his head, smiling shyly before he stepped out of the room. 

“Thank you, baby!” he shouted. “We have to leave in like twenty!” he explained.

“I’m almost done, promise!” she shouted back. She looked back towards the camera, “I think I will definitely film moments with him, of course. May even leave that moment in the video. I don’t know yet, but he’s going at my pace and what I’m comfortable sharing. So it’ll definitely be soon. Anyways-” she finished off with her outro, showing off the finished makeup look. 

After ten minutes, she was completely ready. Kirby stood still, his hands in his pockets as she rested her hand against his chest. Her light pink nails were in view. She filmed a short clip, practically showing him off. “Got what you needed?” he asked while resting his hand onto her hip, toying with the belt loop on her jeans. She hummed, her chest aching slightly.

She filmed the outside view of their drive from her apartment to the arena. She didn’t film the arena, or the game itself. It would’ve been extra obvious. Despite the difficult season the Canadiens were having, they won their game 2-1 in an OT goal by Nick. It was amazing to watch. 

She ended up filming the dinner the team and the WAGs all went to, she filmed her food, not anyone involved. She drafted the video to post tomorrow morning instead. It was a great day and documenting it made it even better.

~

The following morning she had shown the Tiktok to Kirby before she posted it. He helped her with the caption, finding himself clever in the process. They both kept refreshing the app, looking at the comments waiting for someone to try and guess who it was. 

It took four minutes for someone to guess that it was Kirby. Although, the longer the video remained up on Tiktok the faster the comment got buried on her page. Everyone else was simply freaking out that she wasn’t lying about having someone. Which was a common comment she got when she first brought him up.

He rested his head onto her stomach as she had her laptop on her chest. He ran his hands up and down her side soothingly as he was in and out of sleep. She was editing her video while he slept.

She watched the clip of Kirby asking her which suit looked better. A small smile formed on her lips to see him act all shy. She spent twenty minutes simply editing that twenty second clip, trying to disguise his identity. She covered the majority of his frame with a meme photo. She didn’t distort his voice, simply covering the majority of his body. She would just let people speculate on if it was him or not based off of his voice.

She watched the clip, smiling to herself. She tapped his back, and she sat up quickly. “You okay?” he forced out, blinking his eyes rapidly. She chuckled.

“Yes, pretty boy,” she mumbled, reaching behind her computer, rubbing the small stubble on his jawline. “Watch this,” she explained, spinning her laptop around, playing the small ten second moment. 

He laughed as he saw the megamind meme covering the majority of his frame. “What the hell?” he said while shaking his head.

“What do you think?” she asked with a small smile on her lips.

“I think it’s funny,” he let out as she spun the computer back towards herself, “I think you should also leave it in,” he mumbled, laying back down on her stomach. She nodded.

“I think so too. They’ll definitely recognize your voice but it’ll work out,” she mumbled as she continued to finish editing the video.

It took her another hour to finish editing the video, and another hour and a half to process and upload the video. For the second time that day they laid beside one another staring at the comments.

No one seemed to try and dissect who he was. “The way she looks at him! Stop it right now,” she read out loud, “This is cute,” she mumbled.

“He sounds hot,” he read out, “They know what they’re talking about,” he teased.

“Of course that’s the one you read,” she said, shoving him slightly. 

“It’s true,” 

“Oh please,” she let out while rolling her eyes playfully.

[meowmeowmeowmeow4x]

Dark Blue Moon and the Suffering Sun Chapter 5

I hope ya'll enjoy :D please comment and reblog, it really helps out (i just want that juicy feedback babyyy)

Two pristine white suits stood in the doorway. The laboratory's glaring white light bared down from behind the two men, framing them in an uneasy, uncertain shadow. Despite being indoors, the agents wore cold sunglasses, and one would be forgiven for assuming they were permanent fixtures on their heads.

"Our deepest condolences, Mr Wayne." The so-called Agent K said. Bruce Wayne noted not the slightest hint of condolence or sympathy.

He considered himself an effortlessly logical person. Someone who got what needed to be done, done. Someone who push away fear and stress in order to chip through the walls and find a path to victory in any situation.

But now, as he stared at the pile of bloody and torn clothes laid on the examination table, a DNA test on the side showing MATCH in bold letters, Bruce found himself blanking for the first time in years.

The first time since Jason...

Damian's tracker had blinked its last only hours before, and Bruce hopped on the first boat he could procure and organised a search part, recruiting the help of the local and governmental siren hunters, not that he was not still suspicious, but man power was man power, and his son was on borrowed time.

Time that had to be paid back.

"We could not find a body, sir. Your son has likely been consumed by the sirens."

No body. None. And that was not for a lack of trying. Divers had scoured the ocean floor underneath vigilant patrols. Sonars echoed across the bay and surrounding reefs. Nothing, not hide or hair or even a bone.

Bruce needed to stay calm, to stay effortlessly logical. There was no way to confirm a death just by some bloody clothes and a lack of a body. He needed to find a way, the only way.

"Thank, gentlemen. I'm gonna need a moment alone. I'll be returning to my room." The crack in "Brucie's" voice was not fake.

When Bruce got back to his hotel room, its emptiness like poison to his eyes, he beelined to his laptop. There he opened the staticky and blurry video showing the moment of disaster.

Damian was on the boardwalk, taking a moment for himself to get away from the hustle and bustle of yet another vapid party. All he wanted out of this trip was to see the fish...

An explosion rocked the boardwalk, sending splinters flying. The camera blurred into static. All that could be made out was a hand grabbing onto Damian's foot and pulling him under. The feed cut out.

Bruce played the recording again, and again, and again. Just like he had been doing all day. It was so blurry he couldn't even identify the colour of the hand.

Each time, his heart broke a little more. A tear came closer and closer to tearing its way out behind the barrier he'd put around his heart. The barrier these damn kids have wormed through over time.

Bruce dialed the phone. It answered on the first ring. "Dick, gather the family. I have some bad news..."

Danny buckled the last belt in his collection around his tail. Funny thing about belts, is that they're still useful even if you aren't wearing pants. The Fenton waterproof torch, the Fenton Stinger, Fenton Lipstick Laser among several other greatest hits slotted neatly into the loops of his belts along his tail. All he needed was a jacket and he might have a biker aesthetic to rival Johnny's.

Damian had spent the past hour or so pacing back and forth, trying to get a hang of his fins and occasionally bumping into a wall. Kid was itching to go out, and had taken to waving the Fenton Anti-Creep Stick around at imaginary enemies, despite having complained about the "inelegance of such a crude weapon."

"You will know suffering." He muttered. "I will make you beg for deliverance." He scowled.

Maybe Danny should introduce him to Sam. He feels like they'd get on like a house on fire.

Damian clung to his shoulder again, little arms wrapped around his neck for purchase as he swam out the cave. The Anti-Creep stick sat comfortably in a holster wrapped round the kid's waist with a knot Danny had to retie six times because he was so small. It was mid afternoon and the sun bathed the reef in bright colours like a warm blanket.

"We should keep an eye out for any other weapons. Our current stock is not enough."

Danny snorted. "You sound like a serial killer talking like that, you know?"

"I am more dangerous than a serial killer." Damian huffed. Danny could feel the offence radiating off him. To think that a himbo like Bruce Wayne could spawn someone with this many sticks up his ass. "And more intimidating."

"Please threaten me more. I'm shaking in my non-existent boots."

Damian growled. A deep guttural sound that rumbled his chest and tickled Danny's scales. Well, it would've been deep if Damian weren't half Danny's size.

"Where is your map and compass? How are we to get to Panama without navigation equipment?"

"Relaaax! We don't need a map because I've got a little something called celestial navigation." See Sam and Tuck? His space obsession was useful in his siren life!

The smaller siren head sank and banged on Danny's. "It is broad daylight."

Danny grinned over his shoulder. "Yeah that was a joke."

Damian screeched.

Danny laughed as he surfaced and got himself some fresh air. Calm waters for miles around them. Slowly he kicked off the swim, building up speed. "Relaaaax. It doesn't take a genius to figure out we need to go south."

"The only reason I have allowed you to live is because you are my only way home."

"As if I couldn't literally sit on you and you'd be helpless."

"I should invite you to try!"

Thousands of miles of blue ocean stretched on in every direction Damian looked. Below the two of them, the ocean floor lay deep enough that all Damian could see was a blur. Just above, the surface of the water rippling from slow winds blazes past. Phantom's strength lets them cut through the water at breakneck pace. The water rushing past his ears and fins reminds him of flying with Jon, if only much thicker than air in the upper-atmosphere.

Light from above, and unending darkness below. It was the darkness that Damian focused on. Occasionally, a tingle spread down his back and through his tail, like a warning, only for nothing to be visible underneath. The first few times, he shivered from surprise. Then it just unnerved him.

He'd read about lateral lines on sharks and other fish before, as a curiosity. Never had he imagined he would come to possess one himself, and never that it would feel so natural that it was difficult to parse it out from all his other sensations. The idea of not feeling this new sensation felt foreign, and unnerving, even though this form was the foreign one.

He would never admit this to anyone, but he didn't know much longer he could deny the creeping feeling on his neck. For all Phantom appeared friendly, Damian knew nothing of his motivations, or even his true character. If Phantom decided he didn't want anything to do with Damian, then what? With no weapons save a measly baseball bat, no contact with the outside world, no armour, no legs, no support and no knowledge of how to survive, he would be good as shark meat.

Damian tightened his grip on Phantom's neck. He was supposed to be above fear, and yet why was his heart pounding so hard?

A series of fast clicking echoed from the distance. Damian jerked his head to the left. Through squinted eyes hie made out long slender forms swimming parallel, their tails undulating up and down.

"Are those dolphins?" Damian muttered.

Phantom turned to the same sight, and raised his eyebrows. "Huh, I guess they are-" Damian jerked Phantom to their direction.

"We must approach them immediately!"

Phantom's body almost tumbled out of his normal swimming rhythm from the shock. "What? What for?"

"We must! The only reason I agreed to come to Amity Island was to see the sea creatures."

"Dude, you know dolphins can be total assho-" But Damian was having none of it. To solidify his point, he clamped his teeth into Phantom's shoulder, focusing them on the part where bone jutted out. Even if they couldn't penetrate, the blunt force against bone would be very painful.

"YOUCH Alright alright alright alright can you please stop biting me!"

Phantom rerouted their course, and Damian chittered in satisfaction. "Excellent."

The dolphins were as beautiful and majestic as he could have ever imagined. It was a small pod, comprising of about five adults, all swimming together in stunning synchrony. Phantom swam at a cautious distance, close enough to admire but too far to touch. How he longed to pet a dolphin... Even Damian slapping him with his tail could only move him an inch closer.

"Dude, I've dealt with dolphins before, and they're literally the most evil beings on the planet, right next to toast and Vlad."

Damian huffed. If only he had a camera on him. To swim alongside dolphins at top speed, out in the wild... He was pretty sure he was drooling, or would have been.

He'd just have to commit the scene to memory, and paint it when he got home.

The thought of home made his fins droop a little.

He felt a finger poking at his cheek. "Hey Damian, you ok? Fine, I'll give like two inches, but that's it."

Damian snappes teeth at him. "I am perfectly fine. Just thinking."

Before Phantom could get closer, Damian saw one member of the pod swerve right for them. Instinctively, he ducked, only for the dolphin to somersault overhead, twirling three times before 'landing' right of them. Two more of its podmates followed suit as they danced in circles around them. One of them came so close he could even catch its scent. It smelled tangy, like freedom and excitement.

Seeing dolphins performing manoeuvres at aquariums was one thing, sitting in dries seats what felt like half a world away from the water, but here? Damian felt the water stolen from right out of his gills.

And the best part was rubbing it in to Phantom. "What was that you said while disparaging these beautiful creatures?"

"Dude, don't these guys smell weird to you?" Even now he was suspicious? The dolphins smelled perfectly fine.

"Not in the slightest. I believe you are just trying to save face."

"Dude, I've seen dolphins before. Plenty of them, but none of them smelled this.. familiar."

Then again, now that Phantom mentions it, those moves seemed just a bit too disciplined for a wild animal. Just a bit too measured...

Damian's hackles spiked up. They were surrounded.

"Phantom, get us out of-"

Deafening squeals blasted from every direction. The noise was so horrible Damian could barely see. His ear fins felt like cracked glass. His field of view was getting darker. They were sinking.

Phantom moved Damian so he was flat against his chest and curled up. The boys crash landed into the barren sea floor. Pain erupted from every surface as debris and particles tore scales and broke fins. Phantom's screaming mixed into the water with teal blood. He held onto Damian like a vice the entire time.

They finally came to a stop. Damian's head spun and spun and his ears rang. He dimly noted the criss-crossing ropes of a fishing net entrapping them. Above him, the blasted dolphins loomed over them in circles like they were sharks, and in the centre floated a man in a large metal suit, a metal suit sporting a malicious, leopardlike grin, a grin that for a moment he could not place, until his mind cleared.

That was the last thing he ever had ever seen as a human.

[fireflyinks]

Could you write a smut fic about Noah Calhoun from the notebook? I love your work and writing style, and would love to see how you interpret the character.

first time

noah calhoun x reader smut

contains : smut, loss of virginity, p in v, praise, fluff, very vanilla

a/n : yes ofc! thanks for leaving a request :) i love noah (and pretty much any ryan gosling character) with my whole heart.

18+ MINORS DNI

Noah’s truck dragged down the gravel road which led to my house. I’d been waiting on the porch for him for an embarrassingly long time, even though he was perfectly on time. I just liked being outside to see him drive up to my house, and I refused to risk him being early and missing it.

“Hi Noah,” I called out as he got out of his truck and ran up the wooden stairs to meet me.

“Hey beautiful.” He pulled me into a firm hug. It felt nice, I hadn’t seen him in about four days since he’d been so busy with work, but it felt like an eternity.

The hug lasted about ten seconds before he pulled away and kissed my cheek, looking down at me and smiling.

He reached for the door and opened it for me, and I quickly made my way in. My parents were out of town, and I had the house all to myself. Of course, my parents would’ve never let him and I hang out alone, especially not in my room, even though Noah and I were eighteen and legally adults. I was still under my parent’s roof and those were the rules.

They had been hesitant about Noah and I seeing eachother at first. I was a good girl, good grades, never got into any trouble, and Noah was Noah. But he grew on them, so were allowed to date.

With certain restrictions.

I walked to the kitchen, giving the freshly baked plate of cookies to Noah. “I made your favorites.”

If I had to give a girl life advice, I’d say ‘get yourself a man that looks at you the way Noah Calhoun looks at a plate of cookies.’

“You’re too good to me.” He smirked, taking the plate from me.

We sat in silence in the living room as we ate, just enjoying each other’s presence. Noah knew it was going to happen tonight. I knew it was going to happen. Neither of us were brave enough to admit it.

But god, I wanted it. I’d been hoping Noah did too, but we were never alone enough to experiment anything. Even at Noah’s house, where his dad basically didn’t care what we did, we didn’t want to risk him walking in or over hearing anything.

As if reading my thoughts, Noah cleared his throat.

“Look, I know you’re probably assuming that I expect for something to happen just because we’re home alone, but I just want you to know you don’t gotta do anything if you don’t want to. I’m just here to be with you, and I won’t be upset if you don’t feel comfortable enough to…”

“I want to.” I interrupted him quietly.

He raised an eyebrow, “Are you sure? I mean really, it’s up to you.”

“Do you want to?”

He nodded immediately, “Of course I do, but I want you to feel comfortable too.”

His genuine concern for how I felt made my heart flutter.

I grabbed his hand, interlinking our fingers. “I want it more than anything. I promise if I get uncomfortable, I’ll tell you immediately.”

Noah smiled, standing up and picking me up from the couch. I giggled as he carried me up the long set of stairs to my bedroom.

The difference between him and my room’s decor was almost comical. He stuck out like a sore thumb compared to the baby pinks and the overall aesthetic.

Noah laid me down on the bed, crawling on top of me and placing small kisses all over my face and neck. He was gentle and slow, which I appreciated since I’d never done anything like this before.

He pulled away for a moment, slipping his shirt off. I took the opportunity to lean forward and take mine off as well.

Noah kissed down my ribcage, fumbling with my bra’s clasp in pursuit to take it off. I laughed to myself and helped him.

“You’re so beautiful.” He looked at my bare chest in awe. I couldn’t help but blush shyly, since he’d never seen me this uncovered before.

“Th- thank you.” I breathed out slowly, maintaining eye contact with him.

He continued kissing down my abdomen, until reaching my skirt. Noah looked up at me, as if asking for consent once again.

“Please, Noah.”

He slipped my skirt off slowly, leaving me in just my underwear. Examining the pink fabric for a second, he smiled and looked at me.

“These are pretty.”

I blushed as he took them off of me. Noah breathed out almost harshly, looking me up and down. He stood in silence for a couple of seconds.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, slightly panicked.

“I don’t understand why any guy would wanna be with a girl other than you.”

I giggled, “What do you mean?”

He spoke as he began taking his jeans off.

“You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen and I ever will see. Nobody else could ever amount to you, you know that?”

For a blue collar country boy, Noah had a way with his words I’d never understand.

I felt myself getting wetter than I had already been from him undressing me.

“You’re so sweet, Noah.”

He stepped out of his boxers and climbed on me once again.

“Are you ready?” He asked, positioning his member against my core.

I nodded slowly, preparing myself for the pain I’d heard first-time sex would bring me over and over and over again.

He pushed into me, sighing in pleasure.

“How do you feel?” He whispered after a moment, after entering me fully.

It didn’t feel as bad as I had expected, just a bit uncomfortable, but exciting at the same time. This is what I had been waiting for, Noah was finally giving it to me.

“Good- not too bad. You can move.”

Noah slowly began to piston in and out of me, careful not to go too fast. He placed his hands on my hips. The pain slowly crept away, replaced with genuine pleasure. I let out small moans with every thrust, and Noah grunted ever so often.

“You feel so good, baby. You’re so so so good for me.” He said in my ear, trailing down to my neck and sucking on it lightly as he continued to thrust.

He continued at this pace for a while, until I was ready for more.

“More” I sighed out.

“More what, sweetheart?”

“Faster, deeper, I just want more of you.”

He nodded, quickening his pace. I threw my head back in pleasure, softly moaning.

“I- I don’t think I can last much longer.” Noah mumbled against my neck.

I shook my head, “Me neither.”

“Come for me, baby. Show me how good I’m making you feel.”

I nodded, feeling the tight coil in my stomach snap ever so suddenly, and I released onto his member. He moaned, pulling out and finishing on me.

“Thank you, Noah.” I sighed, looking down at his load on me.

He interlocked out lips, kissing me passionately.

Pulling away, he spoke against my cheek. “I’ll be back, gotta clean you up.”

He went to my bathroom for a moment, coming back with wet rag.

“How do you feel?” Noah asked, hesitantly.

I smiled, “That was perfect. So much better than I thought it would be.”

Noah pretended to be offended, “Ouch, were your expectations really that low?”

I rolled my eyes, laughing, as he continued to clean my stomach with the rag. “No, but I just expected it to be awkward and painful because that’s how everyone describes it to me, but it wasn’t either of those things. You made it perfect.”

Noah smiled, kissing me again.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it pretty girl. It was great for me too. You have no idea how nervous I was.”

He left again, coming back without the rag.

I looked up at him, feeling more emotions than I’d ever felt in my eighteen years on earth.

“I love you so much.”

Noah climbed into the bed with me, pulling us under the covers.

“I love you more, sweetheart.”

[themareverine]

BED OF BONES

─ Logan Howlett x fem!OC

synopsis: When he promised her something different, she didn't think it would be this. Alaskan stars, scraping to survive, trying to feel. Anonymous faces in a forgotten frontier. It isn't much, it's barely living—but really all she needs to live is him.

warnings: comic adaptation, pre-established relationship from my Mare & the Wolverine series, angst, survival aesthetics, mentions of hunting, dead carcasses, extreme minimalism, blood, mentions of Logan's time at Weapon X, implied sexual content.

a/n: after listening to the podcast drama Wolverine: The Long Night and its sequel, Wolverine: The Lost Trail, i'm kinda obsessed with Richard Armitage's take on Logan. tortured, angsty, deeply raw and emotional—sign me right up for that. there's a scene that describes Logan's living conditions when he makes his home in nowhere Alaska, and I haven't been able to stop thinking about it.

MASTERLIST | NAVIGATION

Conditions beyond the four walls of the high-woods cabin would be not far removed from that of frozen hell, if laid out parallel to the everyday eye. Void of sunlight at dinner hours. Harsh wind howls, clawing the boards of the condemning thing so bravely titled architecture—even at this altitude, as the crow flies from the water.

Mountain landscape is wild, unforgiving—snow manages to hurricane in sideways, somehow, snaking between trees and low brush, rock. Drives a hard blanket of heavy wet to the once-lush forest floor. Thick trees Goliath tall in an unmovable, chaotic troop. Lowlight, and you would never see the slatwood slapped together with tar and faith—evergreen fronds sentinel away the world, strong walls taunting the world beyond the reach of woods. 

When the sun breaks the horizon over the water, the world will be still. Canvas of untouched snow, pure like a virgin, will breathe life into the forest again. Creatures will cull from their caves and beds, will roam freely the fresh from God—breathe air normally unthinkable to mortals. Mountain stone, miles away in the untouched Yukon, will reach jagged fingers to heaven, as if they themselves in their might will rip God from heaven. Kissed with snow even at a distance, they impose harsh laws of the wilderness—survive or die. Life, or death. 

There are no lines to walk in Alaska when it comes to the games of living and dying. They are the masters, humanity but an unwise player at the table of chance. Fools before the slaughter. Life, here, is fickle—left up to the false gods of chance and fate. Day and night. Sun and moon, life falls on the blade of time. 

Time, and most often attributed by headlines and big-city newscasters, luck—either kind. Four-leaf, or devil-may-cry. The fortunate see the colors of sunrise, breathtaking and pure, over crystalline waters whitecapped with rage and promise. The not-so, well—

—they become quickly acquainted with that throne the mountains try to steal from God. 

For those who try to die and don’t—for them—it’s another thing altogether. An Eden, the holy-of-holies away from the battle of living, the war of the being seen. Paradise lost to the knowing. A forgotten frontier, cursed and barren in the hands of men ill understood of the way the wolf walks, the hunger of prey scratching at ice in spring. Fruitless and forbidden, existing on maps as No Man’s Lands and undesired terrains— spinning in the hearts of those who cry someday and never again. 

A simple life with little reward beyond morning, Alaskan wilderness reeks of chore and survival. Mundane and petulant. Concepts now lost in the age of machines, swipe right, thumb left; technology’s far-reaching lust of instantaneous gratification. Such things scream louder than the cry of fresh air and escapism, of ample and simple. 

Man is blind to the fruit of the earth, lost to concrete. And concrete always wins—the machines. They always win. 

“Where are you, Logan?” 

Pacing the threadbare boards of the cabin—minding the one every fifth step, it wobbles with the threat of breaking—has yielded no different answer to the question Mare Howlett has asked four other times, checking the sky outside as if the night will change as the hours do. Fire snaps from the hearth on the west wall, blasting heat throughout the small, single-room space like an oven. Sweat has started accumulating between her shoulders, the river of her spine. 

It’s after one. In the morning, at least. It’s hard to judge the night by the black veil of the sky, but, she’s learned over the years. Watching the moon, forces of habit—the amount of hours spent not sleeping in the darkest midnight would make God laugh. It had become life, just another part of heartbeats and pulses, blood and living—sleep was, most of the time, a luxury. Expensive, if you knew it. Dangerous. 

Palms slick with worked-up perspiration, two more paces has her in a staring contest with the door. Her eyes flick to the slide-board lock—-it’s knocked back, any wind could force it open. And that makes the corner of her mouth lift with amusement, the thought of the wind—he would be furious. 

Time and countless time again in the six months they’d been squatting here on Alaskan rock he’d checked this very lock. Like it was his religion, and in a way, it is. Staying alive is a form of religion to those not guaranteed daylight again, Logan had always told her that. Full time job stayin’ this side of the dirt, honey—just to see the next sunrise. I’ll get you to the morning, sweetheart, don’t you worry.

If staying alive was religion, they wrote books. 

Logan may as well be a priest. 

Back teeth gnaw at the mesh of her cheek, canines pinching the chap of her bottom lip nearly to the point of blood—any second she expected the sting of copper on her tongue. Rocking forward on her toes only to fall back to her heels, her arms cross at her chest, leathers of her jacket groaning with the effort. Eyeballing the door may as well be willing it to vomit what she knows it doesn’t have, so she turns on the ball of her foot—thick wool from her sock catches on the callous of her heel. Doesn’t care, hasn’t ever cared. These were the same pair of socks she’d been wearing since Christmas—last year. 

Low hunger gnaws at her guts like a wolf biting at the marrow of bones, sucking every last drop only to burn again tomorrow. It’s only been a four hours since he’d taken north, but it may as well be eternity—even God had created oceans in less time, had knit man together out of dust. Perfect, savory meat boils in delicious broth in the thick pot at the hearth, simmering like it has for hours even before the sun had fallen. Bread, laborious bread warms on another of the hearth’s rocks, golden. Glistening. Practically the food of gods. 

And butter—she hadn’t had butter in weeks. It taunts her from its little throne, a pewter dish sat not a stone’s throw from that very hearth, far away to keep soft but not destroy. Logan had surprised her with convenience groceries two weeks ago, coming up the mountain from the water—even the growl of the truck had felt heavier. She’d heard the thunk of something in the bed as he’d pulled up to the door, heightened senses triggered by the crunch of snow, the little squeak of extra weight on the shocks. 

“Figured some food we didn’t have’ta kill would make your day,” not that fresh game had been an issue—Logan was an excellent hunter. It came with the territory—with the Wolverine. Venison, rabbit, goose—they hadn’t starved, by any stretch of imagination. Field dressing just didn’t top her list of favorite activities, even as a wife. 

He’d almost smiled when she’d popped up from her place before the fire, dropping the rucksack off his shoulder to his feet. Presenting it as if it would cleanse him of sin, “Would you believe they had butter. And honey,” her smile couldn’t have been any brighter, giggling like a child at the feet of Christmas as she’d curled her arms around his thick neck, chilled with the bite of night and dusted with snow and cigar smoke. His nose had brushed into her hair, hand at the back of her neck as he’d pulled her close. “‘Sweet’n you up a little, hm?” She hadn’t expected him to have the jar on his person, but he’d plucked it from his pocket with gusto, like a proud child. 

“Excuse me?” her nose had crinkled, shoving his hand down in favor of running her nails along the line of his jaw, through his beard. Mutton chops. Features that belonged to her. “You saying I ain’t sweet?”

How he’d laughed—“Darlin’. If you were any sweeter, my teeth would rot outta my head.”

Nevermind such a thing being the opposite of possible—-they’d found creative ways to use the precious commodities of honey and sugar. She’d never seen him be so greedy. Quick work fo the goodies aside, the rest of the haul she’d squirreled away in the corner, among their provisions—provisions not so playworthy. Due for water, which is what had sent Logan north, away from her. Two kliks to the stream, the hunting grounds. He’d check her traps and trails—pastimes for him, duties for her when he was away earning greenbacks on the water. 

Even here in the woods, away from the living, money was a god. 

It never took him this long—an hour, maybe. Logan was nothing if efficient, especially on nights like tonight when the weather challenged even the unkillable. Not that he actively worried, being unkillable, but for her sake he made tracks and kept them quickly. He was on the water so often, every second he was here she kept him here—memories of simpler days chiseled her into a desperate little thing. Reduced to the ashes of wanting him close, of fighting to keep his body. How had she ever not wanted him around, survived distance? Opposite schedules? Grueling nine-to-fives, endless missions that always seemed over before they began. 

Cursing memories hadn’t ever been something she’d imagined herself doing, but, she did. Multiple times an hour. If being mutant—if being unkillable—meant holding onto every memory, in vivid and living color, God must’ve really stretched His hand the day He had given Logan breath. Some days never seemed to end, trapped in this prison of  cabin in the hell of the woods, alone with her own thoughts. Memories of the living, of the dead. They cut deep like adamantium, unforgiving thieves.

A bed of bones, the place of nightmares coming to life like Lazarus from the grave. 

Walking on the tips of her toes, hands fiddling with the buttons of her flannel, the snap of the fire almost oversings the unmistakable crunch of snow beyond the walls. Heart kicking heavy behind her ribs, pain flares in her chest—and for a moment, she thinks maybe it has touched bone, but quickly disregards it when blood hurricanes through her skull. Pupils blown wide with thrill, heat floodgates down her spine, sending lightning energy through every nerve in her body—-she all but leaps like a cat. 

Flesh between her knuckles split, mutation coming full force without even thought. Habit, like breathing—-takes little thought. Hardly removed from sucking air into her lungs, it’s muscle memory. A slight trigger of muscle, a flick of the wrist—she’d gutted men with less effort. And it doesn’t even take suspicion, being afraid, not like before. Once, maybe—but now it’s daily motion. The nine-to-five. 

The little thrill of clotting blood has her glancing at her weapons, her bones. It marveled her still, how beautiful and precise they were. How, somehow, they looked like her—how bones could look as if they belonged somewhere. Considering them for all of a few second has the porch step moaning like a lover, creaking in the way it had since they’d paid the deposit. Floorboards vibrate with weight, tremble with the weight of presence, and before she can even think to maybe, by chance, consider it isn’t Logan—-it kicks open, bounces on the hinge as it hits the wall, light from the fire bleeding out into the open maw of midnight beyond their haven. 

Fractions of seconds and he’s still lingering in shadows, Logan stepping through the front door. Thick snow clings to his boots like a bad habit, which he knocks off on the frame. Cheeks blazed with color, if he were anyone but the Wolverine he’d surely be aching with dangerous cold, but, he isn’t—barely kissed by the weather. Merely flirting with the idea of conditions. Facial hair frosted and eyelashes blinking away remnants of snow, he looks more Hallmark than he does Survivor—Logan has always thrived, though. Any celebrity pales in comparison, even in the blood and guts of survival. 

He doesn’t miss the weapons drawn at either of her sides, elephants in rooms of their own power. Brow triggered up in surprise, his eyes flick up to hers. Not upset, but the cant of his head suggests amusement. 

“Jumpin’ at shadows, pretty?” 

Tension that’s been hanging like a lead ball in the center of her breastbone releases, and like barbed wire it releases down her spine, cutting away stress hormones and adrenaline. Loosens the knot between her shoulder blades that kicks like a mule. Snikt. And as soon as the claws come, they leave. 

“Shadows are better company than suspicion.” Disregarding his jibe that teases the edges of her resolve, she approaches, holding open the door with a foot. He finishes knocking off his boots at the door, “It’s been hours, Logan. I was beginning to worry.” 

He chuckles, and it’s like honey whiskey—low and warm, setting her blood on fire like it’s gasoline. “Always worryin’,” his lips press into a thin line, “when you stop, hell’ll be as frozen as my ass.” It’s untruthful, but, the point lands—his brows lift at the muscle in her jaw ticking with the strain to not smile. Soft eyes flick over her features carefully, wrinkles drawn around their corners with a lift of a barely-there, quicksilver smirk.

After a few seconds beneath his gaze, she shifts—ignores the something, whether it’s heat suddenly kicking around the cradle of her pelvis, or the pang of hunger in her gut, she isn’t sure which. He fights a smile, she can see the muscle in his jaw tick. Watches the swell of his tongue tracing his front teeth as he watches, studies—concentrates. When his eyes lift from their stalking of her abdomen, he takes a more serious tone. 

“Hungry?” 

He’s able to hear her gut sounds, she knows that. Being an endless abyss is, well—there’s nothing like it. A lifetime before her mutation, she’d eaten like a bird. Now food is a culture, a thing which to obtain, treasure. Worship. Either of them were always hungry—insatiable creatures always prowling, snatching when well within reach. Bears before hibernation and after, equal amounts of desperate and always empty. Fact which prompts the growing supply of kill buried in the shed beyond the cabin, hanging carcasses and squirreled-away skins. Normal, since her mutation—hunger came with rapid-fire metabolism, with regeneration. Logan had been consuming food like a cretin since before she knew him, certainly. 

She lies. “Not really.” Hell fed on such lies. And Logan knew it.  

Audacity to call her on her bull had always been one of Logan’s strongest suits in their relationship, even before the vows binding them together in the sight of God and Canadian law—he doesn’t hesitate to call her BS. “Well, that would be somethin’, wouldn’t it?” His lips dust hers in a chaste kiss before he’s leaning back outside the door, reaching for full water canisters. Already dusted with frost and sloshing with the slush of chilled, partially-frozen snow. 

Passing one to her, “Too bad I don’t believe you.” The back of his knuckles are warm, somehow, skimming along the line of her jaw. Logan runs hot, always had—part of that regeneration that won’t say die. 

The question hadn’t been so much a genuine investigation as Logan’s roundabout way of admitting he was on the hunt for something for his gut, a practice only time would perfect to know. Years together had shown his hand—she knew him pretty well. Wolverines, after all, were sheltered. Hideaway creatures by habit, preferably unseen and unknown outside of their own order. At their genesis, she hadn’t been—had been privileged, really, with what he’d let her see. 

Now, she’s one of him. Two of a kind, two of a breed—two where there, once this side of heaven, had only been one. God had willed it. Genetics executed.  Two Wolverines, running in the same lines, stalking the same moon—she didn’t, wouldn’t, wear the name, but it was the same class, different act. 

Biting the inside of her cheek, she gestures with her head towards the fire, their feast awaiting. It’s one in the witching hour, but who couldn’t eat?  “Stew and bread, on the hearth—knew you’d be hungry.” And she does, like so many other things. 

Lips tipping up, he chortles. Pleased. The housewife in her keens. “Y’know me pretty well.” 

Keening into his lingering touch, his appreciative hum is deep. Echoes off the adamantium in his chest, a low thing that rises her womb from the frozen wastelands—he’s tired. His deep eyes hold hers, unwilling to let go—dangling on some precipice, the edge of glory. And she can see the shadows fall in like soldiers, demons. Frothing, uncaged phantoms that lap up the blood of his living, his being. Wolves that pick him from between their teeth—had, for centuries. For nearly two centuries, he’s been mummified in unknowns, in could’ves, should’ves, maybes. Such memories, such living, came calling when the sun was low and sleep was little more than a dream.  

Taking the canister from her, Logan rests the pair in the corner, beside the standing bath bucket and towel. Limp accommodations compared to a lifetime ago, in mansions and gardens. What she wouldn’t give for a deep, lava-hot bath in a swirling tub of bubbles and bought water, champagne and silk. Faraway dreams, certainly, but beautiful ones—-sugarplum, delicious. Kicking the door closed, she drops the sliding lock, moving to the fire to roust the stew. 

Checking the bread with the back of her fingers, which has swollen to a delectable, Betty Crocker-gold, she lifts the lid of the thick pot with the hem of her flannel. Thick broth bubbles with heat, the swirl of meat and carrots all but mouthwatering. Eyes moving to consider him, he stretches his hands while glancing out the window. Thumbs rubbing hard, deep circles into the heel of his palm— shrugging out of his heavy jacket, brushes off the remnants of hell outside. 

Laying it out before the fire, he sheds his best and outer flannel. Squats to begin unlacing his boots in nothing but jeans and that faded, almost-stand-in-the-corner t-shirt they’d nabbed from a boutique in NOLA, dodging agents and suspicious eyes. It needs washing, she should take it to that north stream and beat the living hell of it on the rocks, but—another day. Better time. She’s too enthralled with the idea of his boots being sat in the corner, empty, to worry about laundry. 

It lifts her brow. Logan doesn’t ever not wear those God-heavy things, even inside. It’s one of the habits of an all-soldier mindset, that little piece of go, go, go that never leaves the living who have crawled beyond blood, through bone. Actually, in the last year—since X, since…since the labs—she’s maybe seen Logan’s actual feet a handful of times. Even in bed, when he so gorgeously steals her breath. Makes a prayer out of her name. Reminds her to whom she belongs—they’re there. Tangled up in bed, hard against the soft heat of her feet, their tomorrows. Always on, symbols of a living weapon. 

She should be more careful, Learn by example, pretty. But freedom is rapturous, too good to spoil with adrenaline and survivor’s guilt, cold fear. Tastes sweet—forbidden fruit.  

Kicking them off with a groan, Logan sheds thick woolen socks. Lays them before the fire beside his outer layers, like sacrifices. And they are, in a way—and, nose even scenting the savory pull of stew and warm, carby bread on the hearth, the entire room fills with his scent. Cigars and snow. Cold and pine. His freshwater kiss still lingers on her lips—the scent of the stream clings to his clothes, even before crackling flame. She can feel him move even in the depth of her bones, which practically sing with every breath he draws—how he stands in front of the hearth, fire kicking shadows over his features. 

Everything about him is like living color. Heightened senses, hunger. King returned to his castle, he takes up the air like it’s a throne. Turning from the fire, Logan drops one of the cut oak stumps before the fire. Makeshift furniture for a keeps-out-the-wind home, she swears to Christ she can hear the shift of adamantium in his skeleton as he lowers onto it. Watching her intently, he nods to the pot. Elbows on his thighs as thick, calloused fingers scratch through his facial hair. 

His back arches in a catlike stretch, a small smile trying to play on his lips. “Smells like jackrabbit,” that roundabout way, smells good, “what else you got in there, pretty?” Pretty. Even now, years later—it raises pink to the apples of her cheeks. Fondly, Mare remembers the first time Logan had ever graced her with such title, title he’d been using for years—even in the blood and sinew, even in the waist-high sludge of the stay-alive. 

Pretty, not aesthetically— in soul. 

Turning, she retrieves the bread from the stone hearth and tosses it his direction. He catches it like a pro. “Carrots, the last of the potatoes. A hit of whiskey,” his brow raises suspiciously as she smiles, “I’ll have to get some staples from the store next time you leave me with the truck.”

She stands to retrieve the hollowed gourd bowls, balancing them in her palm before stooping to dip them into the stew. Handing one of them over, she receives the half loaf he’s split for her. 

Sinking to the floor, cross-legged, it takes seconds before the bread is gone. Warm, in the pit of her gut. Logan is practically licking his bowl, “I was thinking we could get some rope—I’d like a washline,” she shrugs a shoulder, nodding towards the door, “and we could use some lumber. Couple of the boards are rottin’ out—I’d rather not heat dirt.” 

He knows. Nods, “I’ll make it happen,” and it won’t be difficult—Logan makes good money working the rigs. Cash, no questions—no fed papers or taxes, identification is laughable. Half the men on the crew are probably anything but Jim, Jack, and Johns, but she prefers it that way—even if Logan refuses to use another name. 

Money is good—and money spends anywhere, just as easy as anything. And it’s low man’s work, but Logan doesn’t care, simple work means clean breaks when the time comes. Less complicated, less messy. One thing they could never get enough of is cash, and if the work is honest—well. Can’t ask for more’thn that, darlin’. 

Get around Benjamins, Logan called it. Cash moved, and one could go anywhere for the right price. 

Precisely why she’d been trying to drive through his thick skull her want of a job. Not anything long-hour or even long-term—this makeshift home was her first responsibility, her priority. But, if she could work in town, off the mountain and with people, she could keep an eye on the happenings. Scout out the bodies, the gossip—something Logan couldn’t do for days out on the water. She’d already been approached for some work in the bar, and contacts at the local watering hole weren’t a bad thing. Network was everything, the grapevine was even faster than Google. 

And God never said discounted booze was an unwelcome thing, either. But Logan had been adamant she stay on the mountain—selfish reasons. Out of sight, out of mind. Beyond the press of curiosity.

He, after all, worked the water in a town primarily built on the foundations of fishing. One woman in Burns for every five men, and it didn’t take Hank McCoy genius to do the math. Two weeks—ten days for her to beg the truck off of him, and he’d done so with such reluctance that she’d had to practically fuck logic between his ears. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t care, got a high off controlling her. Logan hadn’t ever superimposed harsh rules in their union, just expectations and thrills. Satisfactions and proud-ofs, she knew the things that stoked his trust and kept him coming home. Logan was a simple man, and he didn’t need much from her—he wanted, but never towed the line. Wanted her to thrive, to love, and that was a fine line to draw in the sands of marital relations—especially from a man who knew little to nothing about lasting love. 

In simpler days, he asked very few questions. He’d cut out his heart and hand it over, if the situation were right—hedged bets on her, even in the early days of her mutation rearing its ugly mug. Cared very little about outside opinion, there wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle. Watertight confidence and grave-tight faith —in her. In other people, well, that was another shitshow. 

Logan didn’t trust anyone even farther than he would be able to toss them off his claws.  

After a few heartbeats of quiet, she stands. Sets aside good-enough dishes, blows out a long breath between her lips. Rising on her toes, she about-faces on the ball of her heel to face him. “Logan—” stops short when she notices his attention is welded to her in an unshakable way that implies the study of fine artwork. Some soft, dreamlike look on his face—wrinkles around his eyes deepen, smile growing a little more lopsided, a little more white. Her brow furrows, head canting to the side. Never unappreciative of his attention, she managed a little chuckle, “—pfft. Staring much?” She fingers one of her curls behind her ear, which has fallen from her half-loosened bandana. 

Dismissing her with a little shift of his shoulder, he lifts a hand and crooks a finger for her to come. “You gonna blame me?” Can’t argue with logic that knocks the wind from her bones, sends her knees together like some kind of schoolchild. “C’mere, darlin’.” Leaning forward, his elbows find his thighs —she can’t do otherwise. 

Foot over foot, she crosses to him in a handful of steps. She lifts fingers to card through his hair, his big hands anchored on her hips. Strong thumbs rub gentle circles as he shuffles her a little closer, leans to nuzzle his nose beneath her breast, against her ribs. Breath heavy against the apex of her heart, her nails gently rake through his mutton chops, one of his hands moving behind her thigh, nudging her to lower to his lap. 

“You gonna let me ask you something?” 

He hums, nodding once. “Depends what you wanna ask, honey.” Ask me later. Much, much later. It’s there unspoken, in the depth of his eyes and the half-cocked smile that deepens the wrinkles at his eyes. 

Familiar territory—he’s due on the water in two days. Never knows how long he’ll be gone, it’s always a heartbeat too long. Hours may as well be days, days small eternities in the eyes of heaven. Being alone is a burden, high in the air, among the silent evergreens and giants of mountain shadows. Logan left her too often for a man who promised never to—promised life. And this may not be much of a life, but it was theirs together—and all her living really needed was Logan, anyway. 

Dropping her full weight to his lap, the boards beneath his oak stump creak a little, surprised. Resting her hands on his shoulders, her thumbs trace his defined collarbones lazily, the muscle of his arms and familiar veins alive with his moving, breathing blood. His palm presses hard around the back of her neck, thumb tracing over her steady pulse—other fingers dip into the soft curve of her hip. A flick of his wrist tips her pelvis forward, against his. Hardly feeling her weight, her hand presses against his abs, feeling their definition. Engaged, riveting. Almost trembling. 

And suddenly the room is barely contained, a dreamstate of everything and nothing at once. Logan’s fingers, working buttons on her shirt steadily, like a pro. Flesh seeking flesh, fingertips brushing against breastbone. Deep breaths, the steady pulse in his chest is strong, alive—possessive, hers. He eats every one of the shallow breaths she manages between biting the corner of her lip and the tip of her tongue. 

Keening, drunk on the dark of his eyes, how the fire moves in and out of them like dreams—the methodical way he fingers aside the front of the flannel hanging open on her frame. And it’s so intimate, at its finest— heart-to-heart, bone to bone. Logan’s bed had never been anything but this, close. Open, unified. Everything he’d ever wanted, all he’d ever asked—-share, honey. Share me. And she does, willingly, gives what he asks, even unto the half of her soul. 

His head tips back just enough to manage a half-cocked smirk at her as her fingers curl into his shirt, skips through the hair on his arms. He pulls the bandanna from her hair, lets it fall from his fingers. Chuckles at the way her cheeks flame, hair wilding away every direction as his fingers pick, play with it like it’s a plaything, amusing. Her eyes fall to the floor, but two strong fingers on her chin pull her attention back. 

Saying nothing but managing a low hum, he kisses her. Deeply. Almost hurts how good he feels—how she can taste the water of the stream somehow, still, in his mouth. Push and pull, give and take—Logan pulls a whimper from somewhere along her spine, guides her arms around his neck. She obliges, folding against his chest—-chest to chest, she can feel familiar muscles in her musculature itching. Burning between her knuckles, begging. Starving, craving. 

Kissing her hard and rough, heat curls low in places only God had designed. “Hold tight,” before his hands slip under her ass, lifting her as if she’s nothing with little more than a huff and a flex of muscle and heat—and she isn’t nothing, but that’s aside for a mutation that enhances everything all at once. 

Kicking the stump aside, it rolls noisily until it thunks against the wall, her legs firming up around his waist. She smiles, touching her forehead against his. Nose nuzzling the end of his, his heavy feet carry her the God-knows how many steps to the corner—-their corner. And before she can even haul in another full breath, her toes kiss the thick spread of hide as he lowers her to her feet—deer, bison. Elk, bear, wolf. Prizes from six months of survival, success. Need for blankets doesn’t exist when you have the whole of the woods to suffice, and Logan had learned how to cure hides years ago.

The warmest, safest bed she’d ever slept in. 

Big hands practically shove the flannel off her frame, toss it somewhere in the abyss of existence beyond the positively filthy way he suckles a thick mark to the flesh of her neck. Greedy, like a man just fat on hot stew and bread—his fingers curl over the waistband of her jeans, old Wranglers she’d been making due for over a year. A tighter fit than before—she’s gained weight. Fresh diet and good air, peace made her fat. And while Logan may be the chiseled sun to her Icharus, she’d never been lean, never been built right—he hadn’t ever cared. Still didn’t, his low moan in her evidence enough. 

Taking his face between her hands, she softly presses her lips against his. Nips at his bottom lip, takes her time—slowly manages to her knees. His fingers in her hair tips her head back enough to look her in the eye, an amused glint lighting up the flick of a smile on his mouth. Closing her eyes, her fingers curl into the denim clinging to his thighs, breathing in a heady whiff of him as her nose gently bumps the front of his belt buckle. 

Forehead brushing the hair on his abdomen, she feels him shed the t-shirt she still needs to take to the stream. It takes herculean will to not lose track of her surroundings—the makeshift cabin in the deep woods, the fire that seems to roar a stone’s throw from their nest. Food that’s low and warm in her belly, the small shed with hanging meat for tomorrow’s another-stew. Washing that needs done, wood that needs split—there’s a dozen things that need doing, but that’s the way of this life. This life he’d given her, fought for her. Logan had waged war against the coming future for this—this moment, this iteration of them far beyond the reach of Weapon X, the faraway memory of the X-Men. Of the secret they bury, deep in bones and marrow. In the depths of the living. 

It wasn’t what they’d originally thought, not even close. A lifetime away, but it’s enough. He’s enough. God, and peace—-Alaska. Logan. 

Taking her chin between his fingers, Logan crouches. Kisses her, sweetly—like in the early days, when this, this life would’ve been laughable. The stuff of nightmares. He reaches for the thick splay of bison hide, her favorite—draws it over her shoulders. His eyes land heavy in hers, searching, scouting and tracing the lines of the moment. She’s able to read it in his eyes—-he doesn’t want to leave. Will never want to leave, but the Wolverine has lived a life of doesn’t-wants. If it means her happiness, he’d stay. A thousand times and again, he’d forsake the world and weld himself here. 

But going means safety. And that, she knows, he’d fight any long war for. 

His brow pulls into a deep line, uncertain of the look on her face. “You ok, darlin’?” He tips her chin up a little, eyes shifting before his palm moves to cradle her cheek. The pad of his thumb traces the plush of her lips, until her hand at the buckle of his belt gently pushes him to the mess of deer and elk and bones they call theirs.  

Drawing the bison skin tighter around her shoulders, she swings a leg over the cradle of his hips. Looks down on his quirked brow with a quicksilver smile of a thing she can’t quite put a finger on. And, with a brush of her fingers through the curl of hair on his chest, she shrugs a shoulder. 

“I’m fine now,” lowering to kiss the corner of his mouth, she hums as his finger traces up her spine, down again. Callouses rough against her warm skin. “You’re here, and I’m just fine.” 

And that, really, is the truth of God. 

tags: @fandomxo00 @permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88

Based on the podcast─

[miel-ji]

Rosé

Genre: fluff, established relationship

Pairing: Lee Know x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3.9k

Warning: hopelessly in love, heated kiss, food, suggestive, implied sex scene at the end

Summary: Your boyfriend, Minho, texts you to come over to his place suddenly without giving you many details, only to pretend that you’re going on a really nice date

A/N: titled this rosé purely for aesthetics and they drink rosé in the fic lol

It was becoming unbearably close to when you would finally be free from work for the weekend. You were glancing at the clock every couple of minutes just to disappoint yourself that the hands on the clock had barely even moved. Your leg would not stop bouncing, and no matter how hard you tried, you could not focus on the work in front of you. You had already finished up the important tasks thirty minutes ago, and this was more just to keep busy while still on company time.

You did not particularly have any plans for that weekend, but you were just ready to be released from the schedules of work and have your freetime. Every Friday the same feelings arose, but who didn’t get excited because of time off? Just when you felt like you were going to burst from anticipation, you received a text from your longterm boyfriend, Lee Minho. All the anticipation shifted into giddiness, and you had to physically stop yourself from letting out an excited squeak as you quickly grabbed your phone to read the message.

Min <3: I hope you’re not doing anything later

You: Maybe, maybe not. Why?

Min <3: Just would hate for you to be ditching plans when you come over to mine at 7:30

You: Is this your way of asking me to come over?

Min <3: No… You’re already coming over ???

You: Sorry, I have plans…

Min <3: Yeah, with me. Keep up babe 😘

You: Okay, I’ll come over

Min <3: Pretend we’re going on a really nice date

You: Are we going on a really nice date?

Min <3: See you at 7:30 😉

You: Can’t wait 🤍

The conversation with Minho did nothing to settle your nerves. If anything, it made them worse as you were restless to leave. You and Minho had been dating for over a year now, but time has never changed the way your heart would still speed up from a simple message from him. You had to bite your lip in order to contain the smile that threatened to split across your face as you kept reading over the messages. However, it seemed not even that could stop the happiness that poured out of your phone screen and onto your face when you heard someone clear their throat beside you and pull you out of your haze.

“Minho?” Your closest colleague to whom you subjected to all of your ramblings spoke up once she got your attention.

“Yeah,” You sheepishly smiled and could feel your cheeks slightly warm up. You shouldn’t be embarrassed that you’d been caught ogling at your phone once again because of Minho when this happened at least twice a week. Not to mention this was the same colleague that you could gush over all the details of your boyfriend with. She’s seen the pictures. She understands. “I think I got a date tonight.”

“Ooo, how exciting- wait, did you say you think?”

“Yeahhh, he has a strange way of doing things sometimes… but I’m sure I’ll love whatever he has planned. My weirdo.” You smiled fondly again while thinking of his unusual tendencies that you find nothing but endearing.

“You’re a weirdo.”

“I don’t mind being a weirdo if he is too.”

“Ew… please never be that lovesick to my face again,” Your colleague creased her eyebrows and twisted her mouth in fake disgust.

“Hey, I’m not that bad,” you playfully scowled.

“You’re a second away from hearts bursting out of your eyes like in the cartoons,” she deadpanned.

“Yeah, okay. I get your point,” You glanced up at the clock right as the minute hand ticked, and everyone was able to leave from work. You made quick work of getting your things together, and you were about to dart for the door when your colleague laid a hand on your shoulder to stop you.

“Fill me in on the details on Monday?” She was wearing a cheeky grin. You knew she loved it.

“Was going to even if you didn’t ask,” You winked at her before finally getting to leave.

Your work was only a twenty minute walk from your home, but today, it seemed to take even longer. You were energized by the thought of what Minho had planned as you sped walked through the city to get home. You had plenty of time to get ready before Minho wanted you to meet, but that didn’t slow you down. You were light on your feet not even aware of them moving as you practically floated to your apartment.

When you entered your home, your cat was ready to greet you, scurrying across the room while meowing at you. Before you did anything, your top priority was to crouch down and softly scratch your cat behind the ear while cooing and asking how his day was. Eventually, he decided that you’d given him the proper amount of attention that he required and left to go nap in the afternoon sun filtering in through the living room window. You put your stuff down on the counter and decided to deal with it later since right now your focus was getting ready to see Minho.

When Minho texted you earlier, you assumed by “really nice date”, you should dress up a little, so you had taken the time to shower, do your hair and makeup, and choose a nice outfit. The last task was the most difficult since you always needed to take everything out of your closet and try it on to be able to determine if you were in the mood to wear it or not. You safely assumed that whatever Minho had planned, you wouldn’t be returning back to your apartment that night, so you made sure to check if the plants needed watering (and not forgetting to actually water them), and leave your cat with some food. You believed that your cat secretly didn’t mind when you left to spend the night at Minho’s because you always gave him a treat before you left, and Minho even sometimes gave you toys to bring back to him if Minho didn’t come along to give them to your cat himself.

You set off once again into the streets of the city in the direction of your boyfriend’s place. Your feet were well accustomed to the walk, so you mindlessly traveled while shooting Minho a quick text to let him know you were on the way. You let your mind wander thinking about all the possibilities of what Minho’s text could mean. Your boyfriend was known to be spontaneous, but this often led to some of your favorite memories with him like getting your favorite food at midnight and having a picnic in the moonlight or camping at home in a pillow fort and baking s’mores in the oven when your actual camping plans fell through. Before you knew it, you were approaching the familiar building that housed Minho, and in what felt like a second after that, you were raising your fist to knock against his door.

You had barely rapped on the door twice before it was being pulled open to what could only be described as a sight from your dreamiest fantasies. Your boyfriend was standing before you wearing a beautifully warm smile on soft pink lips with round eyes that sparkled with adoration as he gazed down at you. “You look absolutely stunning, my love.” His gentle voice floated up to your ears just as soothing as the low music you could hear coming from somewhere within his apartment.

“Thank you,” you felt a fluttering in your stomach from the way he was looking you over, and you stepped across the threshold into his apartment with your own smile tugging at your lips. “And you look devastatingly handsome,” you said as you turned to face him again, and he was pulling you into him by your hips. His fluffy brown hair was slightly curled and fluffy but you could still tell the effort he put in to get it neatly styled as it spilled over his forehead. He leaned in close to you and let his eyes close as he rested his forehead against yours.

You let yourself soak in his presence as he enthralled your every sense. His intoxicating scent almost made you dizzy, but his strong hands still on your hips steadied you. Soon enough, his nose was bumping against yours as he angled his head to seize your lips with his in a slow sensual kiss. His velvety lips worked in tandem with yours, and when his tongue slipped into your mouth, he tasted warm and sweet. He was taking his time with you as if he had all the time in the world to be in this moment with you, as if there was not any place he’d rather be but here kissing you.

Fervent hands worked their way up your sides, and they made home, tangling themselves in your hair that you had spent so much time to get to your liking. You couldn’t bring yourself to care if he messed up your hair when he was kissing you like this. When his hands were touching you like this. You only sighed into the kiss as your lungs finally looked for air, and Minho did the same when your hands cupped his sharp jaw. You didn’t necessarily want to stop now or ever, but you had just gotten there and had all night to continue. When you two finally found the strength to break apart and you faced Minho again, his lips looked even more tinted from their previous entertainment.

Your hands continued to cup his jaw as he spoke, “thank god, you’re finally here. Been waiting forever.” He says as if to softly scold you.

“Please Min, I got here at exactly 7:30,” you said, unimpressed by his dramatics but quirking your lips in a small smirk.

“I don’t care. It’s still been too long since I’ve last seen you.” He had one arm wrapped around your waist to keep you against him, and the other still rested in your hair.

“We see each other almost everyday.”

“That’s not enough,” his voice almost held a whiny quality now as he complained.

You couldn’t help but giggle at your boyfriend being impractical, “and what would be enough?”

“All the time,” he answered quickly and unwaveringly.

“How about you can see me whenever you want?”

“Mmm,” He tilted his head and looked up as if to consider it. “Promise?”

“Promise,” you held out your pinky, and he linked it with yours to seal the promise.

“Hey, love?” Minho’s gentle silky voice returned. “Can I show you something?” You nodded and allowed him to lead you by the hand through the foyer and into the open floor plan of his apartment. As you stood looking at the scene before you, everything was so well- constructed that you knew it couldn’t just be another one of your boyfriend’s whims. Your eyes shined, reflecting the love that had been put into transforming his apartment into the perfect dinner for two.

The lights were turned low, and there were candles dispersed throughout the dining area that spilled its soft light over everything. In the center of the table, there was a gorgeous bouquet of soft pink roses, pure white baby’s breath, warm pink carnations with soothing greenery that accented the flower's beauty even more tied together with some delicate ribbon all for you. The lulling music from before was still playing in the background, and the air was filled with a mouth-watering aroma that could be explained by the creamy steak fettuccine neatly plated on the spaces decorated for two beside each other. Even in the smallest details, Minho was thinking of you, knowing that you preferred to sit next to him rather than across. Although you knew that he also always wanted to be within reach of you to keep a protective hand on the small of your back or your thigh, so maybe this decision wasn’t entirely based on your wants.

The scene before you caused the most dazzling smile to break out across your face as your heart swelled from overflowing with love. You could feel Minho’s eyes on you as he watched your reaction, his own wide boxy smile causing his eyes to crinkle at the edges. You were still observing all the details from the petals sprinkled along the floor and table to the note card peeking out from the bouquet with a special message for you when Minho lowered his voice in your ear, “the food is going to get cold, love.” His breath tickled your ear, and the sound of his deep voice made goosebumps arise on your skin.

“Minho, this is… I want to say amazing, but that doesn’t sound like enough to describe how much I love it…” You tried to express yourself, but words seemed to be failing you right now. Minho just squeezed your hand to reassure you that he understood how much you appreciated it. He always understood. He led you, once again, over to your seat before pulling it out for you to help you sit down. Once you were situated in your seat, Minho took his own beside you and unfailingly rested a warm hand on your exposed thigh. “Did you make this yourself?”

“Yes, I spent all afternoon setting this up and cooking everything for you. I made everything from the steak to the sauce myself,” Minho said so casually, like he was completely unaware how admirable this feat was. “Would you like some rosé, darling?” He retrieved a tall glass bottle of wine from a silver ice bucket that sat on the edge of the table and started using a corkscrew to open the wine. You enjoyed the view of his focused expression and pretty hands twisting until he could pull the cork out, and you gingerly handed him the wine glass that was by your plate.

“Thank you, my dear,” you answered, and he poured the sparkling rose-tinted wine into your glass before pouring himself some. He raised his glass to you to which you responded by clinking them together and taking a small drink. “You really don’t know how perfect you are, hm?”

“Oh, I do.” He winked at you before lightly laughing at his own flirtations, his giggle ending with a small ah. “Go ahead and eat, love. I guarantee that it’s delicious.” You could tell that he was excited for you to try his newest venture in cooking from the encouraging smile he wore.

You eagerly swirled the pasta around your fork and made sure to get some steak too, and as soon as you took a bite, your eyes widened from the explosion of flavor. Minho giggled again at your expressive reaction before taking a bite of his own. You had to eat slowly in order to process the entire flavor profile of the juicy steak and creamy sauce. “Min, this is your best dish yet.” You had to will yourself not to make a sound that embarrassingly resembled a moan, but you still failed after the second bite from the perfection of the food.

“You always say that when you eat a new dish that I make,” Minho said impassively but you could see him fighting back a smile and the tips of his ears turning red.

“That’s because you somehow manage to get even better at cooking every time. I would even choose to eat the dishes that you’re not satisfied with before any other food.” This time Minho didn’t fight back the smile that curled up the corners of his lips as he gazed at you before returning back to eating. “I think I know what makes this one so special though,” you said, picking up another forkful and acting like you were examining it before eating.

“And what’s that?”

“It’s made with love, isn’t it?” you teased him.

Minho scoffed, “Don’t be ridiculous. It's made with sirloin and parmesan.” After a second, he quietly added, “and love..”

“Aha, I knew it,” you took another bite, satisfied while smirking. From that point, you slipped into casual conversation as it flowed naturally and comfortably between you. You always knew that Minho was genuinely interested in whatever you had to say as he intently listened to you with eyes and ears tuned in only to you. You both took turns animatedly engaging or attentively listening as you talked about your days, reminiscing on memories, and whatever else came to mind.

There were never lulls in the conversations or awkward pauses with Minho once you truly got to know him and were able to let your guard down around him. However, as the night went on and the hour got later, you could tell he was growing restless over something. He was starting to fidget in his seat, and his leg was continuously bouncing under the table. He seemed a bit distracted, and he even jumped a little in his spot when you placed a hand on his knee to try to calm him.

“Love, is something wrong?” you tried asking him, but once he took in the worried expression on his face, he was quick to soothe your concern.

“I’m perfectly fine, I promise,” He took your hand in both of his and placed a light kiss to the top of your knuckles.

You knew he was up to something, so you just hoped that he would admit it to you soon. It didn’t seem like something was bothering him, but he just seemed nervous like in those stereotypical rom coms right before they propose. You were sure he wasn’t about to propose since you’ve never had that conversation yet. You both were serious about each other, having remained in the loving committed relationship for over a year, but those conversations were always a matter of what if not a matter of when for now.

That couldn’t possibly be what Minho was so worked up about that was until he disappeared into his room after you’d finished dinner, and when he came back to where you’d moved to the couch, he was hiding something behind his back. Now, it was your turn to be fidgety as you felt your heart start to race and your stomach doing flips. But the black velvet box he revealed was too long and shallow to be a ring box, so you knew it must be a necklace. You weirdly felt a tinge of disappointment, but it was replaced with excitement once again once your boyfriend spoke up.

“I got you something…” He sat down beside you on the couch with a shy smile before opening the case to present your gift to you. It was a dainty rose gold necklace with two hearts that were linked together, and it was beautiful.

Your eyes moved from the pretty necklace from his hands up to the loving expression he wore on his face, “Oh, Minho… I love it.”

“Can I help you put it on?” He beamed at you and carefully removed the necklace from its case.

“Yes, please.” You turned your back to him and lifted your hair out of the way. His arms slipped around your neck and carefully brought the necklace around you. You smiled down at the pendant that represented your hearts entwined together and the feeling of Minho so close behind you. His hands and breath were warm against your skin, and even after he had clasped the necklace, he lingered for a moment. “Love, you really didn’t have to-”

“Move in with me,” he breathed as if he had been holding that in. You stilled, caught off guard before slowly turning to face him. You searched his eyes for answers, and a heartbeat passed between you two before he spoke up again. “I’ll let you redecorate all you want. You could fill our place with your books and plants and whatever else. I don’t care. I want it all.”

“Min-”

“Or I could move in with you or we could get a whole new place.” He powered through aching to get his point across. His ears were completely red now, and the flusteredness was even creeping up his neck. “I just can’t get the thought of coming home to you every night out of my head.” You slowly blinked to make sure that your perfect boyfriend sitting in front of you was real, and you could feel your eyes were getting glassy. His words were still sinking into your brain and heart stopping you from being able to speak, so Minho continued on, “I want to come home to you every night and hug you while I sleep and cook breakfast together in the mornings and see you cuddled with our cats on a lazy afternoon and spend the rest of our days together because you're it for me, y/n.” He finished all in one breath and you could see his eyes were also glassy.

“Did you just say our cats?” You were grinning ear to ear, fighting back the warm tears of happiness that welled in your eyes. You cupped his face, and he could see some of his tension melt away from your touch.

“Yes… as in mine and yours. As in I already love your cat as my own, and I wouldn’t want anyone else taking care of our cats but you.” The look of his deep brown eyes gleamed with vulnerability as he gauged your reaction to his confession. You felt so much joy spilling from your heart that laughter bubbled in your chest and slipped past your lips. Minho frowned at you not anticipating this reaction, but his cheeks were still squished in your hands making it look more like a pout. You leaned in and kissed him over and over until he joined in on your bubbly giggles in between each kiss. “Y/nnn,” he whined while grabbing your wrists to get your attention. “Please, I feel like I’m going insane waiting for your answer. You’ll at least think about it?” He entwined your hands and placed them in his lap.

“Yes, of course, yes. I want all of those things with you too, Minho. I love you so much it hurts. You’re it for me too. Always and forever.”

Minho leaned over to initiate another kiss between you to communicate all the love he felt for you. His grip remained firm on your hands that were still linked together in his lap, but his kiss was gentle and intimate as your lips became one and your breaths melded together. You leaned into him more with every brush of his smooth lips against yours as you craved more. “Always and forever,” He mumbled into your mouth with your eyes still closed and lips still pressed together.

Later that night that was now drawing near the earliest hours of the next day, you were lying in Minho’s arms. Your head was lying on his bare chest, using it as your pillow with his arm tucked around you and resting just underneath your breasts. The lower half of your bodies were tangled together under the sheets, slightly slick with sweat from the activities that left both of you with blissful smiles and a euphoric glow. Minho was busying himself with playing with your fingers like they were the most interesting thing in the world to him, “I can’t wait until we can fall asleep like this together every night.” His voice was low, and he turned his head to lean down and kiss your temple.

“I can’t wait to tell our cats.” You craned your neck to look up at him to see him matching your own wide smile and earning a soft chuckle from him.

“Me neither, love.”

[deus-and-the-machina]

MCYT Yuri week - day 5, rare pair

day late for @mcyt-yuri-week but it's okay. I dedicate this one to my friend @rachelsquill because I know she really likes this pairing :D yadda yadda its on ao3 please go kudos and comment if you can.

Gem had been looking to the end of the week every day now. Her special guest, fellow princess Katherine, was coming over for tea and pastries and she was bursting at the seams. 

The other empires were lovely, sure, but they weren’t always on the same wavelength. From the moment she’d met Katherine, she’d known that their princess personas would get along swimmingly. Both of them valued nature, aesthetically pleasing builds, and pretty dresses. It didn’t hurt that Katherine was clearly strong, her well toned arms laid bare with her strapped dress. 

Gem could usually handle herself, but this princess character wasn’t really a fighter. Having not only a fellow princess, but an ally who could be her knight in shining armor, well that was a tempting prospect. 

The day of their meeting, Gem went about her house getting things in order. Usually the small sun forged creatures she’d created to populate Dawn would help tidy things up, but she wanted to do it herself today just to make sure things were exactly in place. 

Dusting off chairs, placing tablecloths and setting the table, she did it all. But the best part of it all was the baking. While several kettles were set on the stove to boil (because you could never have enough), she opened the large tome of a cookbook gifted to her by Sausage and decided to follow a poppy seed lemon bread recipe. It had a honey glaze on top, and Gem could think of no better gesture to show off the primary resource of her empire. 

It was a surprisingly soothing process. Gem stirred the batter while humming, thinking of potential conversation topics. Perhaps Katherine would want to talk trade or economics? Trade maybe, but no definitely not economics. Katherine did not have the air of one interested in such matters. They could discuss combat, but Gem’s character wasn’t meant to have any interest in such things. 

She was sure she’d figure something out. Conversations were best when they were natural, after all. 

The bread was placed in the oven, then topped with the glaze, then placed on the windowsill. It was ten minutes til, and Gem scuffled about to get everything ready. The table was outside, but close to the door of her house so she could easily make the trip to the kettle. The little round table covered with a sun print tablecloth was decorated with a tasteful vase, teacups on platters next to small plates for the poppy seed bread, yellow napkins with orange stripes at the borders, and a small bowl of tea bags in the center. There were several kinds available. Gem figured it would be fun to rummage around in the bowl for a bit, searching for one’s favorite kind.

Before she knew it, the time was upon her. Princess Katherine strolled into Dawn chipper as ever. She carried a basket on one arm, which she extended to Gem in greetings. “Thank you so much for inviting me! It’s just some flowers, but hopefully they’ll make for some nice dyes, or just decoration!”

Gem smiled back and thanked her profusely before leading her to the table. “So!” she began, heart in her throat. “Katherine. What have you been up to lately?” A bit casual, but personal.

She bounced her foot, seemingly in excitement. “Oh, it’s been great! Actually,” she looked around conspiratorially. “You remember what I told you about my secret?”

“Your monster hunter one? Yes I remember.”

“Shhh! Not so loud!” Katherine couldn’t help but giggle even as she said it. “Well…I was thinking that it’s maybe not such a good idea for me to be going out by myself so often, you know?” She peeled off a glove to show Gem her hand. There was a rather long cut on the back of it. It was mostly healed now, but the edges looked puckered, as if it would scar.

Concern pooled in her stomach. “Did a creature do that?”

“No actually, I scraped my hand on a tree branch.”

“Oh. Wait, why would that make you ask for help?”

She fiddled with the glove, looking down. “Because it happened when I wasn’t watching myself! It can be really dark, and natural dangers can be just as annoying as monstrous ones.” With a sigh, Gem reached forward and took Katherine’s hand in hers. Her genuineness was endearing.

“May I?” she asked. Katherine nodded, a faint blush creeping up her face. Gem placed a kiss on the back of her hand, right on the scratch. She held contact for a moment, then pulled away. “I can’t actually kiss it away, but let's hope that helped!” Nailed it! She thought giddily.

“Still, I don’t understand why you’d come to me. I’m not really a fighter…”

Katherine tilted her head. “You’re not? Could’ve fooled me. You have such strong arms…I’ve seen you lift super heavy boxes before!”

Sheepishly, Gem smiled. “Ahaha well, I have done a bit of lifting in my time. But fighting? Not really.”

“I could teach you then!” Katherine exclaimed. “I’m sure having a princess of Dawn fight alongside me at night would be just swell.”

Man. Gem really wanted to commit to the character, she did! But running around killing monsters with Katherine at night, especially if she also got to help protect her, sounded like an awful good time. Twiddling her thumbs, she thought about how to spin this. “You know,” she began. “I do recall a few sword fighting lessons from my youth…” and also from last Thursday. When I put Etho flat on his back on Hermitcraft.

Beaming at her, Katherine grabbed both of her hands. “That’s perfect! We can start there. I’ll have an ax, you’ll have a sword and we can be a monster fighting duo!”

Flushing, Gem nodded eagerly. “Looking forward to it!”

[sercphs]

@ayermite asked: asks for a heart laid bare [OPEN]

Sinner Rhea (what are her chances of rizzing up Seth?)

💔 Non-existent || 💗 Very low || 💗💗 A little || 💗💗💗 Hopeful || 💗💗💗💗 High || 💗💗💗💗💗 Maximum

VISUAL ATTRACTIVENESS: 💗💗 (purely aesthetic appreciation of looks)

"Rhea... One of the sinners of Limbus Company's mobile department, right? The LCB? I don't see anything special about her attire. Standard-issue uniform with personalization."

FRIENDSHIP LEVEL: 💗 (how close a friend they consider them)

"We've talked a few times, so we're not strangers. At least, not from my end. She's no good at hiding that look on her face when she sees me - like she's being haunted by a ghost of her past."

SEXUAL DESIRE: 💔 (wanting to have sex with them)

"Not interested."

ROMANTIC INTENT: 💔 (hoping for a romantic relationship)

"This relationship is strictly professional. I am a liaison to Limbus Company from Shi West on matters that require special advisement. Relationships with contractors are a very bad idea."

[american-dream-novel]

BIRDIE GISH-SATO.

twenty-eight. she/her. illustrator & aspiring mangaka.

VISAGE.

5'5''. Broad-shouldered. Red is her signature color; it's been practically two decades since someone saw her natural hair. Like to spike up her hair into liberty spikes (strangely, this is indicative that she's going through something). Covered in tattoos; some tats of note are a pin-up of a siren wearing a “I HEART NY” shirt on her right bicep, a rat king on her right shoulder, and a silly stick-n-poke of a lil devil. closest visual reference is Miki Berenyi of Lush.

PERSONA.

A pessimist or an optimist; it depends on who's asking.

laid-back in comparison to the average human, but tends to be the "high-strung" one amongst her friends

pushy, stubborn, knows what she wants and grabs life by the balls

emotionally isolated (one could call her emotionally constipated); afraid of intimacy yet craves it. avoidant.

principled, caring, dedicated and loyal to those she trusts. She cares deeply about her community and is extremely protective of those she loves.

tries to not judge others but she clearly does

artistic, passionate, silly, utterly refuses to take shit from anyone

HISTORY. tw: mentions of cancer, death

in her words: "my parents are probably the most interesting people I know"

daughter of two nomads — Poppy Sato and Winston Gish. Birdie spent most of her first decade of life traveling across the country, moving from town to town. Part of this was due to money, part of this was due to the unconventional nature of the Sato-Gish household.

Following her father's diagnosis with cancer, they moved to Michigan, where her grandparents lived. Birdie was 14. This is where she met Judi & Eddie.

During her senior year, Birdie's first girlfriend, Jac, passes away in a car accident. Barely graduating, she goes to NYU for illustration.

WHERE SHE IS NOW: lives in Manhattan with her boyfriend of six years, having recently quit her lucrative job at a comic book label and returned to her managerial position at McDonald's

METAPHORICALLY... why is she a cannibal? I think of Birdie's cannibalism as a result of her protective nature and as a manifestation of her feelings of powerlessness. A central theme to Birdie is repression, specifically the sort that arises as you enter adulthood and find it is harder to be yourself in this world than you thought. She's gone from being a dreamy, wide-eyed optimist to being much more realistic in her goals and in what she thinks is possible in a world like this. Sorta like a revolutionary, watered down. She has a compulsive need to eat people she senses are bad, people that are a continued threat to what little peace there exists for her community. This most often looks like eating venture capitalists and crypto-bros (I wish I was joking).

AESTHETICS ° STYLE

[purplekoop]

I do feel somewhat insane with all my War Bots ramblings laid bare thus far and then also there's this other, much less organized but also older expansive game concept I have across thoughts and google docs that I've yet to share here... Well, that describes a couple projects actually, but that's besides the point.

The one I'll go into just a bit for now is Darkworld Showdown, a platform fighter in a world plagued in eternal night, with an original cast of characters that span all things "horrific", with all manner of monstrous, undead, unholy, and otherworldly fighters taking part in battles caught on camera by a top-secret government organization.

The idea came about after I accumulated a number of gimmicky or otherwise fun-sounding ideas for platform fighter characters, but felt they lacked a coherent theme to tie everything together. The initial idea was called "Worlds Showdown", an even more generic name that was alluding to how every character was from a different planet, explaining the wildly clashing aesthetics. This still felt like a pretty weak idea overall, aside from a few fun character concepts. The breakthrough came when I learned about Darkstalkers, which is, to paraphrase greatly, like Street Fighter but spooky themed and also after using five suitcases of illegal substances. Don't worry about that second part.

So the idea was simple: take the most spooky-adjacent characters from the existing bunch, modify some of the others, forget about the weakest of the rest, and then expand the cast from there to fill the niches of unfulfilled spooky and fighting archetypes.

Now, this initial stage of DWS was years ago now, and was heavily collaborative with a friend who I've had increasingly spotty communication with since then. They suggested several full characters and helped brainstorm ideas for others, so they're an undeniable part of the project. Due to not wanting to do too much without them, I've since focused more on other ideas, primarily of course being War Bots.

Now I'd go more into the cast and lore, but most of it is years old and very poorly organized across a single multi-purpose discord channel. I'd at least share some art, but again, unfortunately, most of it is old! very old! and bad! I got a couple with decent art at least, so as a little sampler I'll give them a brief showcase.

The first is, perhaps unsurprisingly, a personal favorite of mine: the demon luchador Diabla!

A prideful but ultimately kind-hearted demon, Diabla is a star wrestler in a supernatural fighting circuit. She's the dedicated grappler of the cast, lacking in mobility in range, but making up for it with devastating close-quarters damage and combos. She always fights for a crowd, with her unique Crowd Appeal mechanic hyping up the in-game audience when she uses flashy moves or lands a hit after taunting. The more fired up the crowd is, the more flaming her tail is, showing how powered-up some of her moves become. If she's in a bad spot, she can trade in her hype for a blazing inferno of glory with one of her special moves, depleting her flame entirely but letting loose a massive explosion that increases in size and power the more fired up she was beforehand!

An opposite in size, playstyle, and morality, the other face I have for now is Astrel, the cosmic jester!

Astrel was a normal puppet used in an astronomy show, but was infused with an unusual celestial power after the incident that left the world in eternal night. They now have aspirations of keeping the night sky visible forever, and ascending even further into the stars. The little pest fights from a distance, leveraging their accordion-like arms for long-reaching attacks. They also can deploy their Orb of the Cosmos, which will float in place until recalled, and will retain the strength and launch angle of whatever attack it was last hit by, be it Astrel's or its opponent's, serving as a tricky tool for either player to make use of. Astrel is very floaty and light, and lacks quick close-range attacks, making them very vulnerable when a foe closes in, but is thoroughly skilled at making that as tricky as possible to accomplish.

And... alright I don't have any better images for this one, but last up for now is the slime next door, Mugie!

...yeah that's it. Best I got for picture quality.

Once a girl named Maggie who died in a tragic accident, her memory was recreated using a synthetic organic compound made by her father, and so she was brought back to life as a being made entirely out of gelatinous green slime. Mugie is the beginner-friendly (and just plain friendly) all-rounder of the cast, with no crazy strengths or gimmicks, but no major flaws either. She has a well-rounded set of attacks utilizing her gelatinous nature, such as throwing a small bit of her goo as a bouncy projectile, or flinging herself using her own elasticity. Her playstyle is fairly adaptable, and her overall simplicity makes her easy for new players to use, but her individual moves have more advanced mechanics for experienced players to master.

Hopefully I can get a few more characters polished up and ready to show soon, because I'm pretty fond of this gang of weirdos. There's some great ones to look forward to: a fencing vampire, a shadowy boxer with a name you're never gonna see coming, a girl who's equal parts shoto and kaiju, a weird fish, and an oversized hunk of unholy roadkill.

I also hope nobody minds me indulging in this other project of mine for a bit. Don't worry, War Bots isn't getting shelved or anything. The recent inexplicable influx of unwanted hero shooters from actual companies is less demotivating than you'd think, but it's more just my interest in the already existing ones has hit a lull. On the contrary, I've been on a pretty decent fighting game kick lately, playing Ultimate and Third Strike a fair bit while also getting into some of the older King of Fighters games along with my sibling because of the SF6 announcements. And those are just the games I've been playing recently, let alone the more obvious aesthetic inspirations like Darkstalkers itself and Skullgirls. And also Rivals of Aether is cool but that's on my Steam account and my computer situation is! still a situation!

Anyways uh. fighting games are cool. this is mine. hopefully. I think the buff demon lady is neat.

[petal-monster]

Relics of a Digital Haven

some thoughts about an old MMO i used to play

>> Read on Neocities <<

---

During my adolesence I spent entirely too much time playing an MMO called Spiral Knights. A charming hack and slash with a delightful aesthetic, it holds a special place in my heart as many such formative virtual spaces do. Existing at the tail end of what may really have been the last vestiges of online games as social spaces, it is for many people a space in which they made lasting friendships, for some of us a space in which we first experimented with who we were. And not unlike those of us who shed facets of ourselves we found no longer fit in those digital realms—Spiral Knights like most games developed update to update—underwent similarly dramatic changes during the time I knew it.

In 2011 Spiral Knights introduced a horror-themed level type called Candlestick Keep, an abandoned library haunted by the game's undead enemies. Unique to this level are the Grimalkins, a special kind of foe that serve to distinguish Candlestick's tone by circumventing the rules enemies in Spiral Knights normally have to follow. They can traverse through terrain as if it wasn't there, and ignore both weapons and shields, meaning the player can only flee from them. Also unique to Candlestick is a torch mechanic, where players light up safe zones these pursuers can't venture into, thus the level develops a specific eb and flow as you retreat to and from pockets of safety while solving puzzles. The result is an experience that by drawing light inspiration from Survival Horror games, exists in stark juxtaposition to the rest of Spiral Knights—it feels uniquely tense and nerve wracking.

Or at least, it did in the year it was introduced. In 2013 Spiral Knights received one of its largest updates, a major overhaul that among many other mechanics, introduced a dash to the player's moveset. Suddenly it became possible to simply dart through a grimalkin without consequence, and with this feature alone the scary atmosphere that once defined this set of levels totally dissipated. Playing through Candlestick Keep today is a strange and disjointed experience—a relic of a time when Spiral Knights was a different game.

The Arcade is an area situated at the top of Haven, Spiral Knight's social hub. In the early days of the game's lifespan it was a bustling hub of activity as it served as the gateway into the levels that comprised the meat of Spiral Knight's content—and more than that the playerbase would actively fight over the arrangement of these levels by spending resources they could acquire while adventuring. This was an illustration of how, in its early days, Spiral Knights was designed around the idea that players should have a real material influence on the game world. But over the course of 2012 a series of updates introduced an entirely separate narrative progression players advanced through by participating in preset "Missions" that were accessed directly from the game's UI. This subsequently rendered the function of the arcade inert, with the random levels mostly serving as a novelty. And then in 2013 the same update that brought the dash to the game also removed the ability for players to influence level arrangement—which brings us to today, where the entire arcade sits abandoned at the edge of Haven—a relic of a time when Spiral Knight was a different game.

Of course at this point, Spiral Knights itself is a relic. Over a decade old now, very little remains of the original development team who have since left to other studios, and the playerbase has dwindled to but a tiny fraction of what it was in its heyday. As a result, much of the game's servers are totally empty. While the Arcade is abandoned by virtue of its vestigial design, the rest of Haven has been abandoned by the passage of time.

There's a unique beauty to the remnants of manmades structures worn down by the passage of time. The melancholy of seeing their purpose erode, their foundations laid bare. They are relics of a time when the world was a different place. Over the past decade urban exploration has seen a huge explosion in popularity, whether it be those of us entering these concrete skeletons ourselves, or the proliferation of content online allowing anyone to experience those sensations vicariously. It's the drive to chase that emotion that motivates us to clamber into forgotten architecture as much as I suspect it also motivates the creation of post-apocalyptic media—we are entranced by the visage of ruin.

Online spaces however, don't age in the same way that those built of brick and mortar do. So as long as you can connect to them, they remain a window into a world from years ago, unchanged in all the time that's past. The abandonment of a physical space reflects in how it appears to the world—the abandoment of a digital space has no such influence, they are moments eternally etched into time.

Candlestick Keep is according to the blog post that accompanied its introduction, "the remnants of the once prosperous Owlite Academy, now overrun by undead horrors". It is literally a constructed haunted mansion, put together by developers to make you feel scared. But that's all it ever was, a construction. A spooky video game level made to be haunted by spooky video game monsters, it was never really a place, it never actually got abandoned.

Haven however, is supposed to be a communal hub. Its a bright cheerful place players used to socialize within. But as you stand in it today—this space so obviously built for people—you are keenly aware that you stand alone. The city hasn't changed in all these years... but the people are gone. Only Haven itself remains—a relic from when Spiral Knights was a different game.

[shoheiakagi]

I would like to see the band girls aesthetic plus more detail on Chitose and Mikototsu relationship(I'm a shameless fangirl here I can't help it) ❤ with love, redlovesashes

@redloveashes So I’m currently on my phone and away from my laptop, so I’ll like give brief overviews on the aesthetics of the girls. Once i get near my laptop, i’ll create some edits!

ABC boys as rockstars

Miyako: long and straight black hair, red lips, pale skin, long skirts and blouses, expensive jewelry, warm hugs, deep voice, kimonos, neutral colors, eyes crinkling while laughing, hands on hips and steady eye contact

Izumi: blond hair, black leather jackets, chunky combat boots, cigarettes, dark eye makeup with heavy eyeliner, long black nails, raised eyebrows, monotone voice, empty bottles of liquor, dark lipstick

Kaoru: short black hair, streetwear, abs, lips pulled up in a cocky smirk, cropped tops and baggy pants, cartilage piercing, junk food, carefree and blunt, toned legs, loud snorts of laughter

Sakuno: long and wavy brown hair, mini skirts and dresses, cherry blossoms, hair clips, giggling behind the hand, puppy dog eyes, blushing cheeks, heart shaped sunglasses, lots of pink with shades of red

Chitose/Izumi:

Izumi learns about Chitose through her friend, Maria. After Chitose casually breaks up with Maria, the darker haired girl goes in a spiral, which unfortunately the media has a blast with. Izumi personally witnessed Maria’s breakdown, seeing her get constantly plastered in dingy bars and get into fights. So it’s safe to say that Chitose is her least favorite member of a group she already dislikes

Chitose being Chitose, doesn’t take her too seriously at first. She’s a hot girl, who’s in a group with other hot girls, so he’s having a tough time to pick his favorite right away (if he had it his way, he’d definitely have a fivesome with the entire group lmao)

even when he notices her cold attitude towards him, he still doesn’t take her that seriously. Ignoring her insults, he would have a lazy smirk on his face while cornering her against the wall

Chitose is honestly impressed when he learns about Izumi’s body count, trying to coax her into a competition on who gets laid the most

Izumi scoffs at first but slowly starts to warm up to him, finding him fun to be around. They soon start to party together, where they definitely hooked up once, twice, or maybe even more

Chitose would entertain other girls, which would bother Izumi just a little bit, before she brushes off her feelings and hooks up with other guys, which chitose definitely notices

Mikoto/Totsuka

To be honest, they will be more of a minor/supporting pair since this au focuses more on the abc boys

But I like the idea of the nation’s sweetheart secretly fucking his hot ceo lmaooo

Like just imaging all these interviews and tabloids trying to see if Totsuka is dating any other idol, and how he apparently seems to hover near this female idol a lot at award shows, only for him to be sucking on Mikoto’s dick while kneeling under his desk

but sex aside, while both are good friends with kusanagi, there was always a more intimate connection between mikoto and totsuka

secretly, mikoto would overspend the company’s budget by trying to get the best stylists and staff for totsuka, wanting him to succeed and reach his goal

but as totsuka gets even more famous, and gets even more praise, mikoto can’t help but feel that he’s getting farther away from his grasp. theyre barely able to get a glimpse of each other in the company building, let alone meet each other in his apartment, because of totsuka’s packed schedule

and it doesn’t help that the less he saw totsuka, the more totsuka is seen publicly interacting with other celebrities who are enamored with him

[yurrfttboyy]

I arrived at my Uncle Mike’s right on time. He was chillin on the couch, scrolling on his phone when I knocked. He let me in and settled back in, and I headed towards the guest room to unpack. I had moved to the city for my job, and since he had an extra room he reluctantly agreed to let me stay with him, as long as I pay $600 a month and stay out of the way.

My Uncle Mike was different from the rest of the family, he was cool. In his late 30’s, no wife nagging him, always dressed nice and going out to do what he wants to do. He was living the life unlike the rest of the family back home- all married and raising kids, desperate for freedom and fun. I always looked up to him for his laid- back attitude and cool aesthetic.

I unpacked everything and returned to the living room. His bare feet were propped up, I froze in my tracks. I must not have noticed before, but my uncle had some really hot feet. I had a raging fetish for men’s feet, but I was super embarrassed and secretive about it, so I often act awkward whenever presented with a pair of hot feet when trying to not stare too much or give myself away. He didn’t seem to notice me staring throughout the night, so I just sat there and chatted and took in the sights as he scrolled through his phone and made small talk with me.

The next time I saw them was a few days later. He had just come home recently and was airing out his feet, I just came in from work. He had been to the laundromat and his clothes baskets were covering the couch cushions. When I came out he noticed the lack of seats, “Oh shit bro, I’m sorry. You can sit down there on the floor. Hopefully my feet don’t stink too much” he chuckled, making my pathetic c0ck tingle with excitement. I obliged, sitting on the floor close to his feet. I stared just like the other night, thinking he never noticed.

The third encounter was on Saturday. I was off work and my Uncle asked me if I wanted to go outside and smoke a doobie with him. I agreed, and we went out. He sat in the only chair, then commented “Oh shit, I forgot I only have one chair. Floor again?” He half asked/half ordered. “Poor guy, your gonna be used to my foot stench in no time. There never seems to be a seat for you” he teased in a light hearted way as we smoke the joint and chilled.

Later that same Saturday I caught my uncle after his workout. He just came in, I was sitting in the one cushion available. He was incredibly lazy and his clothes baskets were all still stacked on the couch, so I got up and offered him his seat. “How considerate of you, but you might want to go hang out in your bedroom. I’ve been working out sockless, and my feet are going to fucking stink. You really don’t want to be sitting down there like you were before” he said, sounding dramatic and serious.

I was taken back, completely stunned by his words! I didn’t know how I was going to do it, but I knew that I NEEDED to sit down there and experience the stink he was describing to me. So I came up with a quick save, “Oh no, oh well. I don’t get this channel in my room and I have to see who she’s going to pick at the end. I’ll just breathe out of my mouth, hit me with your best shot” I said, bullshitting like a desperate foot pig.

He shrugged his shoulders “Ok buddy, don’t say I didn’t warn ya.” As he slid his shoes off. He wiggled his toes luxuriously, and I made sure to catch every single whiff that I possibly could. I tried to be nonchalant, but at some point the smell had me intoxicated and I started to get less stealthy.

I was met with this the following Monday after we both got off of work. “Let’s cut the games man, you’ve been perving on my feet since the day you got here. It’s been a real hoot teasing the fuck out of you, but it’s time we bring it out in the open. Why don’t you get down there and give Uncle Mike a foot rub, you can stick my work socks in your mouth and listen to the new house rules I’ve come up with for you. Your going to be my foot servant, and you are going to love every second of it. But first- go put this chastity belt on.

I used to look up to Uncle Mike as a role model, now I look up to his feet as I shower them with licks and kisses. He’s completely exploited me, making me do all of the chores, cook, run his errands and pay all of the bills just because he knows I need to worship his feet. He’s kept me in chastity nonstop since that day, it’s been almost 2 years now, and each day I fall deeper in love with his stinky feet. He’s got me exactly where he wants me, and neither one of us could be happier about it!

[gargoyle-chronicles]

HOLD ME ~ par V. Roman

It was cold, it was dark, and for a moment I didn’t know where I was. I always made it here though. No matter what I did, I always found my way back here: some place I didn’t know. At least this time I remember everything that happened. Part of me wishes I had blacked out, but every detail was branded in my head with the rest of my mistakes.

I didn’t really drink, but I hadn’t been feeling like myself lately. I applied the glass to my lips. Sweet, spiced, and spirited. Familiar, yet queer to the tongue. Iridescent blue and violet lights danced faster than the girls. The music wasn’t bad, but it was giving me a headache. I had no reason to be here. 

A brunette with eyes darker than her hair paraded back to her space on the loveseat. Pomegranate lipstick refused to leave her lips, no matter how many times she kissed the glass of the tumbler. Sheer long sleeves and a cherry red dress draping over honeycomb skin. She was drenched in red. Even her cheeks were a heated crimson. Her button black eyes snagged on to me with a vibrant smile. My heart seized and shrivelled, like an autumn leaf catching fire. It was a feeling that caught the throat. My face twisted. Nothing against her. It was just me. I hated feeling weak. Her smile faded and I turned away. I had no reason to be here.

I rapped my knuckles against the wood. “Hey,” I called, “Close the tab for me, yeah?”

I rifled through my pockets to pay the odd number I owe and then some before pushing my way to the door. Everyone, despite their drunken and gay stupur, eased aside to make way for the hearse. The cold winter air surged forward. Half of the moon’s face hid beneath the blanket of black and stars. Music and laughter swam up from Riley’s lake like wind chimes in the night. The water was shallow and known to freeze over this time of year. Christmas lights twinkled in the trees, brighter than the stars. The ice glistened different shades of green and red as clusters of people whirled around in skates. The blades cutting across the ice so that the lake appeared an enchanting cerulean satin gown with white lace laid intricately across its face.

I kept to the sidewalk, tightening my coat against the cold. Cher used to tell me that all of my clothes were for style not warmth, which wasn’t entirely true. She stood in the center of that lake with a mitted hand out to me, asking for a dance. We waltzed until her playlist ended. She led me up the faded wood of the stairs to her apartment on Riven Street where we talked over cups of cocoa. She figured marshmallows were pretentious and served only for cheap aesthetic value. We used whipped cream instead. I couldn’t remember a word we said, but I remember her smile. Hyacinth and charming. Watching her was better than stargazing. I remembered every inch of her.

Stationed lights pooled across the cement walkway, lightly illuminating the bushes and trees around the path. I slowed to a standstill. The jovial plays of people and the marching of cars were now a distant tune. I was going in the wrong direction.

Sighing, I turned back the way I had come. I was surprised to see the button-eyed girl from the bar, arms folded across her chest, glaring off into the trees which were abandoned to the lonely abyss the lights couldn’t reach. Even with the lush black fur coat around her she was shaking, which made sense. Her pale legs were left bare to the cold, bruising her knees a ruddy red. More surprising than her were the two cinder blocks parading beside her like bodyguards, one a brown-eyed blond and the other a sharp chin with a tossle of dark hair. He had the same dark eyes as the girl, and he was glaring directly at me.

“Friends,” I slurred, already full of dread.

“What the hell is your problem?” Snarled wannabe-Edward Cullens. He was probably the brother.

I arched a brow. “Like, my immediate problem or—”

“Don’t be smartass.” Snapped Blondie, taking a ‘threatening’ step forward. Cullens held him back. Scary.

“Better than being a dumbass.” I murmured, only just loud enough for them to hear me.

“The fuck’d you say?” Blondie yelled. He was clearly drunker than the rest, but not as angry as the brother. He may have been calm, but there was a subtle fury in his eyes.

“Why did you insult my sister?” He demanded.

“What?”

Annoyed, Blondie sucked his teeth. “You turned your nose up at her, asshole!”

“Smart asshole.” I corrected, “And I hardly insulted her.”

“You rejected her,” Cullens spat, “That’s the same thing.”

“You ruined her night!” barked Blondie, “She just went through a bad breakup. She doesn’t need a jerk like you messing her up.”

I eased out a tired sigh. It was hard to see the stars with the glaring light of the lamp post, but they flecked through. I used to watch the stars every Friday night at this park. I would bring blankets and a full picnic basket. Cher would bring candles and her CD player. Neither of us really knew the constellations, but they were just pictures in the stars. We could see whatever we wanted. She turned a mess of white dots into the craziest things. I could have listened for hours. I did listen for hours. The glare of the lamp burned away the sky, abandoning me with Count Dracula and Twinkie.

“Get over yourselves.”

All three flinched, aback.

“‘You, you, you.’ You’re all willing to scapegoat me for her insecurity. Like hell I insulted her. I just reminded her that someone she loved can’t love her, too. That doesn’t sound like a me-problem.”

Button Eyes finally turned to face me, but she didn’t make to speak. This wasn’t about me. It was her. She was having a bad night in what would be a collection titled bad times. It wasn’t just tonight. Looking at her straight, I knew. Her dark eyes hummed a sad melody, but she kept it inside. She was on the brink of falling apart. The wet gloss of her eyes made that clear. I wasn’t going to break her, too. Her company on the other hand…

The blond rushed forward before Prince of Darkness could stop him. He grabbed me by the collar of my shirt, the alcohol seeping from between grit teeth. His eyes were narrow and bloodshot. Drinking did him no favours. His otherwise plain face was dressed red from sleeveless emotions rather than cold.

“What are you, in love with her?” I snorted, “I got news for you, Prince Charming, she doesn’t notice you and never will.”

Knuckles pierced my right cheek, and snow slammed against the other. Prince Charming pinned me against the snow, shaking hands gripping my collar. I smirked.

“Does it hurt to know she fell for a stranger like me before she fell for a bitch like you?”

His face contorted with rage and envy. He socked another blow. My teeth bit the flesh of my lip, cutting against the skin. 

“I could have been in her pants before the end of the night, and you’ve probably waited years.”

Another sock to the face. This time my nose consumed the blow, a piercing sting that made my head reel. The adrenaline of the moment didn’t deny me a sick smile. He scowled at my grin, pounding more hits to my face. I didn’t count how many before the other guy hauled him off.

“Fin, cut it out! Calm down!”

“Yeah,” I scoffed, “Down, boy.”

His pale face burned a violent red. I flashed a condescending smile. The brother grimaced. “You, learn some goddamn manners and try not to be an ass to strangers.”

“Says you thugs,” I growled. I spat the blood to the snow, and caught the deepening eyes of the girl. Her button-eyes were still wet, but the film of tears only served to magnify their beauty. It wasn’t about looks though. Whether she knew it or not, she didn’t want someone like me. Someone who went to bars when they were bored and wanted to waste time. Someone who was adverse in social settings and started fights like tantrums for attention. Someone so afraid of being weak that they would hurt anyone close to them and push them away until they’re gone. Someone ugly. She didn’t need me. She needed stability. She needed clarity. She needed time with herself. But right now, more than anything, she needed to get out of the cold. She was shaking worse than before, rubbing her legs together for warmth. She must have been freezing. I clenched my jaw shut, but not enough to silence.

“I admit, though, your sister’s worth a pretty penny.” I sneered, “Maybe you should stop whoring her out before someone tries to wallet her, huh?”

Both of them went rigid. 

And that’s how I got my ass kicked this time.

I didn’t black out, but my body did. I estimate a broken rib, a broken nose, a swollen eye, a cut cheek, and bruises to count until New Year’s. They left the way they came, abandoning me under the blinding light. All of my limbs are buzzing, my heart is kicking and screaming in my chest, and I’m laughing my aching ass off. 

Slowly, I begin to put my feet beneath me. I stumble a bit, but otherwise, I’m able to stand. Something warm and sour rubs against my teeth. I spit out the blood and watch it settle into the snow. It tastes like bronze on my tongue but I know it’s worth less than that— to the point of being worthless. My heart falls back into its dull rhythm, becoming silent to my ears once again. My muscles relax, but rested sorely. My feet drone forward. I don’t know where. The half-moon stared blankly down at me like a reflection in black waters.

I’m still going the right way. A bench sits huddled beneath a tree on the hill, beaconing rest. Weary, I stumbled up the clumpy slope

If I had fought back, then I might have been able to get Black Parade and his Labrador off me. But I didn’t want a fight. I didn’t. They did. They wanted to fight. They wanted to fight and who was I to deny them a few good swings? Besides, the fight was bound to happen. They had their mind set on me face down and bloodied. I couldn’t stop it even if I wanted to. I couldn’t stop it if I wanted to. A sharp pain cut into my side. 

“Denial may be easy for you, but it’s not your colour.”

Okay, it’s not that I couldn’t. I didn’t want to. I’ve never wanted to. I’ve always been this way— starting fights for a bit of fun. I have a talent for making things worse. This is the me that I have always been. The kind of guy that goes places he doesn’t belong, to do things he has no business doing— instigating trouble or else fanning the flame. Hell, I throw throw kerosine to a candle for a bit of fun. This is just the way I am, and that may be an excuse, but that didn’t make it any less true. I know what I am. A disastrous mess that likes making bigger messes.

“If you know it’s a problem then stop!”

Damnit, even now, her nagging doesn’t stop. She’s in my head, but she’s not here. She won’t even come near me because I’m fucking up my life and dragging her down, too. But I never asked her to get involved. That was her choice. I never wanted her help. I was fine without it. She’s the one who wanted to intervene in my life like the control freak she is. I may get involved in bad business, but she gets involved in everyone’s business.

I didn’t need her guilt-tripping me for coming home with bruises. I didn’t need her scolding me. I didn’t need her babysitting me all the time. I didn’t need her analysing me— confronting me when she knows I’ve messed up— when I know I’ve messed up. Prodding me when I’m sad— encouraging me when I’m afraid. Holding me when I felt alone and broken, as if her hands would keep me together. Loving me when I—

I collapse at the foot of the bench, overwhelmed by all the dumb, fucking memories of her. The memories I ruined. For both of us. Cold travels down my throat, warming in bitter lungs. My body caves in at the exhale.

I never wanted this.

Flurries slowly swirl down from seemingly nowhere. The night sky seems so endless from here, but of course it ends somewhere. Right? At some point the sky ends, or at least is broken. All the spheres end at some point; the atmosphere, the stratosphere, the exosphere… And then what? Not that it matters. At some point it’s all the same. A bunch of black holes and dark matter. I sigh, the sound dull in my ears now clogged with snow, blurring the music of the world around. I was numb before I laid in the snow, but now the cold burned my corpse. I lost time laying in the snow, a shallow grave. It swaddled me and pulled me in close to its chest.

Get up.

It’s so comfortable. The cold seemed to take away all the pain. 

You’ll freeze to death.

Feeling numb isn’t such a bad exchange. To get rid of this feeling, I would give up anything… all of it.

“Hey!”

I wake up with a start. Clumps of snow stick to me like moss on a log. It has stopped flurrying, and my skin has sapped to a dull shade of brown. The clock tower’s bell wails in the distance. My body feels like ice.

“Are you listening to me?”

 She stood still through my snow-flecked lashes which ornamented her frame with small pearls of white. Her long brown hair was now cut short, a shade of gingerbread highlighted with hazel cream. She stands bundled in earthen tones with knee high fur boots. Mint green eyes sprinkled with clusters of amber train sternly on me. Her fuzzy brows are furrowed in worry. She looks different, but I recognise her. Cher always looks at me with that face.

I need to say something. Something to let her know how sorry I am, so that she knows I want to erase the disgusting trench of time between us that she hated. I need to tell her that I only want her in my life. She deserved so much better— deserves so much better, but looking at her now I know I can’t live without her. I need to say something.

I reach out to her. She coils back. All words fall back to form a lump in my throat.

I was sorry. I was just so sorry. A sorry excuse, a sorry lover, a sorry mess, a sorry fool, a sorry low-life with sorry habits trying to exist in her life where someone else should be— someone less sorry. The world grew to a black blur in my head. It became so big I lost myself in it.

I sink to my knees. The snow on my eyes fades into tears. Everything in me aches. With every mourning gasp that wrenches from my throat, my body seizes, shaking helplessly like Autumn leaves in a storm. This hurt worse than all of the beatings combined. Everything detached and drifted away. I can’t take this. I fold myself into a ball, trying to breathe between sobs, but every icy breath only cut my tightening throat. 

“Shh.” She kneels down, and the pieces of me float into her arms to be wrapped up again. “I got you.” She whispers.

Being held in her arms only made me cry harder. I couldn’t stop. 

“It’s okay.”

If Cher would only stop worrying about me, then she could be happy. Cher deserved so much better. Someone who would come home with something to make her smile— give her a perfect date— buy her flowers and chocolates— someone romantic and together. Someone who she didn’t have to worry about collapsing on the side of the road or finding in the gutters, or crystallising to a statue underneath a park bench. She deserves better than me.

Cher held me, shaking and sputtering snot-nosed sorries while sobbing in her arms just like she used to. Her arms were the only thing holding me together. She always was.

I know she can’t do it forever. I can see it in her eyes. I don’t want to think about that right now. All I want now is to fold into her arms. So that's what I did, and I let it all out.

not a part of Faust lore, but a favourite of mine.