#not sure if I agree with it as much anymore but seemed interesting enough and I agree with it enough to still post it

[just-an-enby-lemon]

I geninally don't give a shit that the Ben Barnes Dorian Gray movie didn't made him blonde I do care that they made it a redemption through love narrative when the og was so cynical about that. Dorian killed (directly and inderectly) the two people who went "I can fix him".

Sybill who Dorian himself considered a person that made him better and that made him want to be good. Someone who Dorian belived he loved! (Though of course he didn't) Sybill who would've done anything for him and belived him to be good.

And Basil who Dorian says could've helped him (but also blames for his missfortune) and who actually had a "I can fix him" speech and offered to help Dorian get redemption.

Now I do think while love both of this cases have their nuances. With Dorian loving Sybill's acting and characthers way more than he ever loved Sybill and with Basil loving the Dorian he idealized more than loving Dorian (though he seems to accept and love the real Dorian enough to offer him redemption and devotion anyway). But there was love! And they could have helped! But Dorian literaly saw Sybill's death as a fitting tragedy for his life and Basil's confession as boring. He killed the people he loved. Dorian never wanted redemption he wanted to be able to still be an awfull person but never have to confront his morality (in a mix of guilt and purity culture that is as always so subversive in it's pressure).

Redemption through love doesn't work if the person being loved isn't putting an effort. No matter how much Dorian says it Sybill doesn't make him better, he doesn't idealize her nearly enought to abandon his pleasures. And no matter how much Basil wants to he can't help Dorian because Dorian doesn't want to be better, Dorian doesn't care.

It is the final thing that ends Dorian. His realization that he doesn't want to be better, that he didn't spare the girl because he cares for her or for morals or for anything at all but because he doesn't want to see himself as bad. He wants to do bad things and still feel beutifull. But the tragedy is he can't.

[laurasimonsdaughter]

Picture this: Dragons using their caves to age cheese. Dragon Cheesemakers!!

The dragon coiled his enormous body, completely blocking the entrance of the tunnel that lead to the caves.

“No,” he snarled, smoke pluming from his nose.

The cheesemonger pinched the bridge of her own nose. “Look, I explained this to you at the start,” she tried once more. “I make cheese.”

“Yes,” the agreed, nodding his scaly head.

“Then I bring the cheese here.”

“Yes.”

“Then you store all the cheese in your cave, keeping it at the perfect temperature and humidity.”

“Yes.” He sounded particularly proud of this part.

“And then when the cheese has ripened,” she concluded. “I come to pick the cheese up again.”

A thunderous scowl clouded his maw. “No.”

“But that’s how it works!” she cried in exasperation. “I make the cheese, you store the cheese, I sell the cheese, I make more cheese!” She peered up at him. “You do realise I cannot bring you new cheese until I have sold this cheese.”

The dragon considered this for a moment. “Ah, but what if—” he began. “What if you go and make more cheese. And bring me the cheese. And I put it in my cave, with the rest of the hoard. And then I keep it there forever.”

“No,” she said flatly.

It was remarkable how much a dragon could look like it had just swallowed a lemon.

“You can’t keep cheese forever,” she insisted. “It will spoil and go bad!”

“You said it would get better and better!” the dragon roared indignantly. “And I take good care of them! With the air flow and the humidity and the temperature!”

“And that is great,” she said, trying to smile through her frustration. “But when a cheese is ripe, it’s ripe! Then you should not be kept anymore, it should be eaten.”

The dragon scraped it’s formidable claws against the stony ground and sulked.

“Look…” The cheese mongering business did not tend to require a lot of sweet-talking, but she was making an effort. “I’m sure the cheeses that aged in your cave are the best cheeses people have ever tasted. When they find out how delicious they are they will want us to make loads more. Maybe several caves’ worth!”

The reptilian eyes stared at her with disgruntled, reluctant interest. “Several caves?”

“If we’re lucky! And I could make so much cheese that I could bring you new cheese as soon as I pick up the aged cheese. Your cave would never even be empty!”

This seemed to strike a chord. The dragon lifted his head a little.

“And that would really be much better for the rest of your hoard,” she continued with fresh inspiration. “Because if you leave cheese too long, it might go bad and spoil the cheeses next to it too!”

A nervous ripple went through the beast’s scaly body, but he clearly was not convinced just yet. “But what sort of a hoard is it if I have to give it away,” he complained.

“Well! Cheese is not just any old hoard! It’s a developing creation! And you will have a hoard that is constantly developing too. Constantly changing, but, if we do this right, never shrinking.”

The dragon looked at her solemnly, wavering with uncertainty. Perhaps she shouldn’t hold it against the poor thing, it must be a difficult concept to wrap his head around.

“And I will tell you what,” she said encouragingly. “If business is good, I can start investing in some really good crumbly cheeses. You can keep those in your cave for five whole years!”

“That is quite a long time for humans, is it not?” he said, sounding a little more cheerful.

“Very long. Especially when it comes to cheese. Cheeses that have been aged that long are very expensive.”

In retrospect, she should perhaps have led with that. Gourmand or not, a dragon was still a dragon after all. A glittering, toothy grin appeared on her recalcitrant business partner’s shout and he moved just enough for her to move past him into the mountain.

“Tell me more about this expensive cheese that crumbles.”

She hid a smirk. “If you help me carry some of the current ones out, it would be my pleasure.”

[solarmorrigan]

The Witch and The Carpenter

For the @steddie-spooktober day 23 prompt: Witch Rated: T | Words: 2862 | CW: None | Tags: fantasy AU, witch!Eddie Munson, carpenter!Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington gets migraines, Eddie Munson needs a hug, Steve Harrington needs a hug, they're perfect for each other hugs all around Divider credit: @saradika

Eddie hears about the new carpenter within hours of his rolling into town – of course he does; any witch worth their salt knows exactly what’s going on in their town at all times (it’s hard not to, when you’re the one providing the potions and charms that help everyone else keep their secrets).

His name is Steve, and he’s come with hopes of filling the hole left when Benny, the previous town carpenter, had died without an heir to his business. People say that he seems hardworking and capable, that he’s strong and handsome, that he’s friendly enough, but that there’s something a little distant about him – a little lonely (though the older ladies who give Eddie gossip do tend to romanticize at times).

Eddie doesn’t expect to meet him as soon as he does, but before even his first week in town is out, Steve turns up on Eddie’s doorstep, looking at once earnest and wary, and just as handsome as the gossip had said.

(Not that that last bit has any bearing on anything.)

“People in town say you’re the one to see for remedies,” Steve says when Eddie gets the door open.

“People in town say a lot of things,” Eddie replies. “But in this case, they’re right. Come on in.”

Inside, Eddie finds out that Steve is seeking a remedy for headaches. But not just any headaches; these seem to be full-body affairs that can keep Steve down for days at a time. He gets dizzy, nauseous, is bothered by any noise, and even candlelight can be too bright for his eyes.

Eddie mixes him up something strong, gives him strict instructions on how it’s to be taken, and then moves on to the matter of payment.

At that, Steve begins to look sheepish.

“I’ve only just set up my business. I… don’t have much money yet,” he admits. “I was hoping you might be willing to do a trade.”

Eddie cocks an eyebrow at him. “And what do you have to trade that you think might interest me?”

“Your door?” Steve offers.

“…what about my door?” Eddie asks after a long moment of confused silence.

“It sticks. You were having trouble getting it closed earlier. I could fix that,” Steve says.

And it’s true – Eddie’s front door does stick. So does the back door. The shutters often refuse to open or shut properly, and the porch sags a little, and there’s a leak in the roof when it rains hard enough. While Eddie is the best in the business when it comes to working magic, he’s not so handy with home repairs.

(It doesn’t particularly help that witches exist in an odd sort of social limbo. Every town needs one—this is generally acknowledged as truth—but no one particularly wants them around. Eddie lives a little ways away from town, up against the forest line, where it’s easy to ignore him and his shabby house unless someone needs something from him. No one has ever exactly been chomping at the bit to come help him fix the place up.)

Eddie shouldn’t say yes. He often trades goods and services, but he doesn’t know this man. He doesn’t know if he’s reliable, doesn’t even know if his work is any good – but something in him wants to agree, anyway.

Maybe it’s the earnestness of his offer, or the hope in his expression that he’s clearly trying to quash, or maybe Eddie’s just a sucker for a pretty face, but eventually he finds he can’t say anything but, “Okay, sure.”

“Thank you,” Steve sighs as he accepts the potion. “How would tomorrow work for you?”

Still not entirely sure he expects Steve to show up, Eddie says that tomorrow is fine. If he doesn’t show, if he thinks he can fleece a witch and continue living peacefully in town, he’ll quickly find out otherwise. And if he does come back – well, it would be nice to have a door that doesn’t stick anymore.

“What’s your favorite color?” Steve asks before he leaves.

“Red,” Eddie answers, one brow raised in a question that Steve doesn’t answer.

“Red.” Steve nods. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The next day, Steve is back bright and early with a bag of tools and a pot of paint. He tells Eddie not to mind him, he’ll just get to work and try to stay out of Eddie’s way, but Eddie can’t help but watch as Steve inspects the door hinges, the frame, and then not only trims the door down, but sands and paints it, too.

Red: Eddie’s favorite color.

Anyway, it isn’t Eddie’s fault for getting distracted. There’s an unfairly attractive man doing manual labor in front of his house, what’s he supposed to do?

Eventually, though, Eddie does force himself to look away. He shouldn’t get attached to things he knows he can’t have. He’s the witch; he’s in the background of everyone else’s story, he doesn’t get to have one of his own – especially not with someone like Steve.

And that’s fine, Eddie had accepted that long ago. He likes being able to help people, and it’s sort of the only thing he’s any good at. He won’t deny that it stings sometimes, the way people talk about witches—about him—but what should he care about what other people think?

In any case, it doesn’t matter, because once Steve finishes with the door, it’s unlikely the two of them will cross paths again any time soon.

Steve finishes the door (it now opens and closes smooth as butter) and goes home.

And comes back the next week.

“Finished what I gave you already?” Eddie asks.

Steve shrugs. “Stress always makes the headaches worse, and with travelling and setting up shop…”

Eddie nods, pursing his lips in thought. “I could make you a bigger batch, but it would cost you more.”

“I can fix those shutters.” Steve nods towards the windows. “And you mentioned something about the back door?”

“You’re going to neglect your real customers, spending all your time fixing up my house,” Eddie teases.

“I can make the time,” Steve says, smiling at Eddie. “I think it’s worth it.”

Eddie has to turn away again, reminding himself that Steve is talking about the medicine, not him.

He fixes up a bigger batch of that same strong potion he’d made the previous week (“I’ve never had anything work so well,” Steve had practically gushed. “It was more than worth my work.”) and Steve comes back the next afternoon to start work on the back door.

They talk more this time, when Steve takes breaks, when Eddie is between tasks and brings him cool water to drink, and Eddie finds that Steve is funny and sweet, and catty and sharp, and a bigger gossip than even Eddie himself. And he reminds himself, again and again, that Steve is not for him. This isn’t how the story goes.

Witches don’t get nice things.

(And that’s fine. Eddie is fine with it. He’s fine.)

They do, however, get increasingly nice houses, apparently. Or at least Eddie does. Steve paints the back door red, too, and then gets to work fixing the shutters. Those, to Eddie’s bemusement, he paints a buttery, golden yellow.

“They don’t exactly scream ‘witch’s cottage’,” Eddie points out.

Steve only shrugs. “It’s my favorite color,” he says, flashing a grin at Eddie. “Besides, I think they go with the doors.”

Eddie doesn’t argue.

It goes on like this. Eddie brews medicine for Steve’s headaches, and Steve finds things around the house to work on. He fixes the leak in the roof, the creaky porch steps, the drawer in the kitchen that will never stay closed; his business picks up in town, but he always makes time for Eddie.

As much as he can, at least.

“I’ve got a few big orders built up,” he says apologetically one afternoon as he collects his medicine from Eddie. “I’m not sure when I’ll have time to get to the cabinets like I said I would, but I can pay you–”

“Nah.” Eddie waves Steve’s offer away before he can pull out any coins. “I’ll just put it on your tab.”

Eddie doesn’t do tabs.

Steve looks skeptical. “If you’re sure…”

“Of course I am. And if, for some reason, you welch on our deal,” Eddie gives Steve a sharp grin, “I do know where you live.”

“You should come visit, then,” Steve says.

Eddie falters. “What?”

“If you want to, I mean.” Steve shrugs, avoiding Eddie’s gaze. “Just– if I can’t make it out here, maybe you could come see me, instead.”

And again, he’s so earnest, trying so hard not to look too hopeful, that Eddie can’t say anything but, “Alright, I will.”

The way Steve lights up at that is worth just about anything he could have Eddie do.

Eddie tries to remind himself of this as he ventures into town the next week.

He doesn’t go into the town proper very often; he grows a lot of what he needs and trades for a lot of the rest of it with customers; he’s a rare enough sight that some people stare, and whisper, and Eddie does his best to hold his head up high and walk without a care.

And if he pulls faces at some of the more egregious offenders, causing them to gasp and scurry away, scandalized, well – Eddie is allowed his simple pleasures.

Anyway, Steve is all smiles when he finds Eddie at his door, and that’s the most important thing. He ushers him through the shop (a large, warm space that smells of wood shavings and sweet smoke, just as Eddie’s come to associate with Steve) and into the living space above. He serves Eddie tea and cake with a studied nonchalance that says he doesn’t want Eddie to realize how excited he is.

How excited he is to see Eddie.

Eddie searches for anything else to focus on before he does something ridiculous, like act on the rising warm feeling in his chest. He finds it, oddly, in Steve’s eyes.

“Have you been sleeping?” Eddie asks him; the shadows beneath his eyes look almost like bruises.

Steve shrugs. “I’ve been busy.”

His hands are shaking, Eddie realizes, as he pours the tea for the both of them. Steve must notice Eddie noticing, because he folds his hands back into his lap with a little huff.

“Happens sometimes,” he says brusquely. “More annoying than anything. Carpenters are supposed to have steady hands.”

(Eddie wonders sometimes what must have happened to Steve, but he’s seen some of the scars that adorn his body, has seen the faraway look that gets into his eyes from time to time, and he thinks he knows. Steve has the bearing of a soldier, and the eyes of a man too kind to have ever been made to fight for a king who doesn’t give a damn about him.)

Taking the hint, Eddie changes the subject, but the thought of Steve’s shaking hands follows him home. All those tools, all those sharp things he works with – maybe Steve isn’t his, not his to worry over or to care of, but Eddie decides he’s damn well going to do it anyway.

The next time Steve comes by, Eddie slips him an extra packet along with his usual potion.

“You brew it like tea,” Eddie says to Steve’s confused glance. “Should help steady your hands, when you need it.”

Steve stares down at the packet for several silent seconds. “You didn’t have to–”

“But I wanted to.”

Shaking his head, Steve looks back up at Eddie. “How can I–”

Eddie waves him off before the question is fully formed. “Let’s say it’s on the house, for my best customer.”

“I’m not sure that’s a compliment,” Steve says, not without amusement.

“Then how about my favorite customer?” Eddie offers.

Steve is smiling now. “Are you allowed to have favorites?”

“I’m the witch,” Eddie reminds him with a smirk. “I can do whatever I want.”

And so it goes.

And so it might have continued going, if it hadn’t been for the night Steve turns up at Eddie’s door well after dark, looking grey and haggard and haunted.

Eddie ushers him in, sits him down, makes him some tea, and tries to get some words out of him.

“Do you make anything to help people sleep?” is what Steve finally asks.

“I can,” Eddie says slowly, watching Steve carefully.

Steve drops his face into his hands, rubbing harshly at his eyes. “I just– I just want to sleep. I don’t want to dream, just for one night,” he says, so low that Eddie has to strain to catch all the words. “Just once.”

Eddie weighs his options. He knows how to make an elixir for a deep, dreamless sleep; he won’t deny that he’s used it himself, when certain memories had become too much, but that’s exactly how he knows that it hits hard and fast. It can be disorienting – maybe even a little dangerous, if you don’t know what you’re doing.

“I can make something for you,” Eddie says, “but only if you stay here tonight. I don’t want you walking back home in the dark, it isn’t safe.”

“I don’t… I don’t want to impose,” Steve says, as if he could ever be an imposition to Eddie.

“I’d feel better knowing you’re here,” Eddie says, and that seems to break Steve’s resolve.

By the time Eddie finishes the elixir, Steve is barely awake in his seat. He doesn’t even argue when Eddie leads him to his own bed, lays him down, and tells him to drink.

He’s out like a light in minutes.

Eddie closes the bedroom door and sets himself up in a chair by the fire, but he doesn’t sleep for a long time.

He wakes in the morning to the sound of someone moving around in the kitchen. He follows the smell and coffee and sizzling bacon to find Steve there, flitting around the room, cooking.

“Hey.” Steve smiles, broad and true, when he sees Eddie in the doorway. “I was going to come wake you soon, breakfast is almost ready.”

Eddie blinks at him, wondering if maybe he’s the one who took the sleeping elixir, because he can’t quite fathom what he’s seeing: Steve, happy and sleep-rumpled, using his kitchen to cook breakfast like it’s familiar to him, like it’s something he does every day, smiling at Eddie like he’s the final piece missing from the morning.

“I don’t know how I’m going to repay you for what you did last night,” Steve says, determinedly poking at the bacon in the pan. “I can’t– I can’t tell you how much I needed that. How much it helped. But I figured I could at least start by making you breakfast.”

Eddie watches him cook, and feels like his heart is about to crack, because for some reason he’s getting this taste of what life could be like, but he doesn’t get to keep it.

This isn’t for him.

(And Eddie wants to be fine, but he isn’t. He isn’t.)

Something must show on his face, because when Steve looks up at him, his own expression falls into a concerned frown. He forgets all about the bacon and moves over to Eddie, arms outstretched to place his hands on Eddie’s shoulders.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, so invested, so concerned, that Eddie feels like he might lose his mind.

“This isn’t right,” Eddie manages, and Steve only looks more upset.

“Should I– should I not have done this? Did you want me to go, or–”

“I never want you to go!” Eddie blurts. “I always want you here, but this—this morning, breakfast, you—I don’t get to have this. It’s – it’s not right.”

Steve’s expression softens, eyes warming with understanding. “You can have it, if you want,” he says softly. “You can have me. You always could have. Since the beginning.”

Eddie shakes his head. “This isn’t… this isn’t how the story goes.”

“Then let’s write a new one,” Steve says.

There isn’t anything Eddie can think to say to that, but that’s alright, because that means his mouth is unoccupied when Steve leans in to kiss him.

Steve never has to trade anything for his medicine ever again, after that, nor does he have to come over to fetch it – he’s already there. Eddie’s house becomes the nicest in town, what with his live-in carpenter, and all. It’s painted in bright colors, and it draws people in, and makes them want to stay just a little longer, exchange pleasantries just a little more, and get to know Eddie just a little bit better.

Steve keeps his workshop in town, goes there every morning, and returns to Eddie at night. They start their days with breakfast together, and they end them in bed, pressed together like spoons in a drawer, and with every day that passes by, Eddie believes, more and more, that maybe this is something he gets to have.

Maybe this is something he gets to keep.

[aurumalatus]

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 (𝐇𝐎𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐓 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔)

pairing. kinich x fem!reader

word count. 3.4k

genre/warnings. childhood friends to lovers (yes kinich literally invented this trope okay. sue me), mini-drabbles, childhood to university, modern!au, fluff and slight angst, lots of bantering but it's light-hearted i promise

summary.

you've always been a sore loser—kinich is just the only one brave enough to say it. or, you and kinich fall in love over the course of your lives, and one thing never changes—you're both idiots

author's note. credit to @/scythidol for the header images! a bit of a different fic format this time (who is she....). i'm sick over kinich, i have nothing clever to say or excuses to make. that's all, thank you for reading! i'm finishing this at 5am so i'll fix any errors later lol. reblogs/interaction highly appreciated!

I.

“You’re annoying.”

The old TV in your backyard treehouse buzzes with static and the constant thumps of Kinich’s fingers against the controller buttons.

It’s a summer evening—crickets chirp merrily in the grass and lightning bugs float lazily through the air, glowing among the stars. You’re sitting next to him, knees pulled to your chest and the straw of a Capri-Sun settled between your lips.

His reaction (or lack thereof) to your words leaves you less than entertained, a sour pout fixed on your lips as he sighs.

“You’re a sore loser. We said whoever got up here first got to play first.” Despite the intense game occurring on the screen in front of him, he diverts about half his attention to watching you out of the corner of his eye. “And I got up here first.”

“But you always win,” you whine. Kinich nudges at his own juice box with his knee, and you roll your eyes before picking it up and holding it to his lips—he drinks gratefully, still focused on his game. You’re not sure why you keep agreeing to this bet; you don’t think you’ve ever won.

“Then you need to get faster.”

Both of you know that such a feat would be impossible—Kinich has been the fastest kid in your grade since you started school. His athleticism affords him a bit of popularity, still at the age where winning a playground race is essentially the deciding factor between the cool kids and the lame ones. But he’s not interested in any of that, and he makes that quite clear in his actions.

After all, all the popular kids avoid him since he started a fight with them last year. 

“They were saying things about you,” he’d shrugged, like it was no big deal. The school seemed to think a bit differently, and his suspension felt like the longest week of your life.

The screen flashes then, a loud and colorful display that shows the words “you win”. Kinich leans back in his seat, a pleased half-smile spreading across his face. 

“Okay, now you can play.”

He tries to hand you the controller, but you huff, crossing your arms and turning away.

“I don’t even wanna play anymore.”

Kinich is far more mature than you at this age—even your own mother tells you as much—so he merely sighs, accepting of your tantrum.

“Okay, what do you wanna do then?”

You ponder that for a moment. There’s a lot of things you do often, but many of them are things that Kinich is much better at than you. Playing video games, climbing trees, riding bikes—he’s far more talented at them all. It’s one of the reasons you even became friends in the first place—you’d practically begged him to teach you to beat the final boss of Super Mario Galaxy, and the rest was history.

“I don’t know,” you mumble noncommittally, blowing your straw wrapper at him. It lands right on target, bouncing lightly off his forehead as he rolls his eyes.

“Come on, whatever you wanna do, we’ll do it,” he says, poking at your cheek. “I’ll even play house.”

And you know Kinich hates playing house—he has boundless amounts of energy most days, and house isn’t “challenging” enough of a game for him to expend it. But he does it occasionally, just for you.

You brighten at the prospect. 

“Really?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he sighs, already descending the treehouse ladder, waving you along. “Let’s go inside first, though. I’m hungry.”

Scrambling to your feet, you jump down to meet Kinich, already standing in the grass.

“Last one inside is a rotten egg!”

II.

The rainstorm ends just as classes dismiss—when you walk out the school entrance, a slight drizzle is still letting up, fresh puddles lapping at your toes. Kinich’s gaze finds you instantly as he slinks out of the school gates, bag tossed loosely over his shoulder.

“My socks are wet now,” you whine, patting down the edges of your skirt to look down at your shoes. You’d only just bought them recently, and your mom likely wouldn’t be pleased with the prospect of you ruining them so soon.

Kinich chuckles at first, a snarky sound as thick as the gathering clouds, only to sigh when your pout persists.

“Alright, alright,” he relents, squatting to the ground and gesturing for you to get on his back. “Don’t say I never did anything for you.”

He’s a bit frail, still in his growing phase—his bones and muscles shift rhythmically under his skin as he walks—but he’s so distinctly warm. The heat makes you curl closer, nose brushing against his neck.

He walks you home most days like this, spending the day at your house until the sky grows dark with dusk. His home life is something he rarely discusses, but you know enough, and you’re happy to welcome him to yours.

“You’re slow,” you mumble into his shoulder. The steady thump of his steps is comforting, nearly putting you to sleep.

“You’re heavy,” Kinich replies teasingly, adjusting your weight atop his back. His words are biting, but he’s being careful with his steps nonetheless, taking each one lightly so as not to jostle you.

“You’re rude,” you scoff back. His nose scrunches in annoyance when you loop your arms tighter around his neck, pretending to choke him as punishment. “You’re not supposed to say that to a girl.”

He blows his bangs out of his eyes, peering up at the newly visible sun that starts to dip low in the sky. You watch a cat scurry through the bushes to your right, golden eyes peering through the foliage before disappearing into the darkness. 

“Yeah, that’s why I’m saying it to you.”

Kinich is always a bit wittier than you, a bit quicker to the punch, but you like that about him. You like a lot of things about him, and you’re sure he knows it, too. A weighty silence settles between the two of you, unnatural—it’s usually you who fills the silence, and Kinich who patiently listens.

But something bigger sits at the back of your mind, and the words are having trouble surmounting the obstacle of your tongue. 

You’re still floundering for something to say by the time your house appears in the distance. The sight lights a fire under you—you don’t want to discuss something like this with your mother in earshot. You force the words out, voice weak and small.

“I heard Mualani confessed to you yesterday.”

The rumor had flown through the school like wildfire. Mualani is popular with the boys after all, so there’s bound to be quite a bit of heartbreak if she ends up in a relationship. Someone had seen them together at that sakura tree behind the school, and it instantly became a hot topic—it’s all you’ve heard about all day.

And though you know it’s not really any of your business, you can’t help but be curious, and the thought fills you with dread.

You manage a glance at his expression, searching for any sort of unrest, but he doesn’t show any at all. In fact, he seems wholly uninterested in the topic.

He shrugs. “Yeah, so?”

You take a deep breath for courage—you’re not sure you want to hear his answer. 

“So? What did you tell her?”

And it’s nothing against Mualani, really—she’s kind and beautiful, and you wouldn’t blame Kinich for falling for her. She’s never done anything wrong to you at all. But a beat passes, and you’re already halfway through mourning the end of your long-time crush when he replies.

“I told her I was flattered, but I wasn’t interested.”

A sigh of relief escapes you then, but you reel it in quickly—he can probably feel you relax against his back at his response.

“Oh,” is all you say, as aloof as you can manage. Kinich latches onto your hesitation instantly.

“Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” comes your hasty reply. “...Is there any reason you said no, though?”

He frowns. “I don’t know. She just isn’t my type.”

“...Then what is your type?”

You’re going too far, you know—even just speaking the words has your chest twisting painfully, and you want to crawl into a hole and disappear. If Kinich isn’t an idiot, he can surely tell why you’re practically breathing down his neck over the whole thing.

But maybe Kinich is a little bit of an idiot, at least about these things, because he merely shrugs.

“Not sure. Never really thought about it.”

A frost unfurls in your chest, bitter—of course Kinich wouldn’t know, he’s never thought about anyone that way. Including you.

“Right.” You attempt a laugh, teeth gritting. “It’s all stupid anyway.”

You drop your head into his shoulder, trying to hide the pained expression on your face, and only then does Kinich’s stare flicker to you, soft.

“Right,” he says, a quiet rumble from his chest. “It’s really, really stupid.”

III.

Walks turn to drives when Kinich turns sixteen and buys his own car.

He’d saved up for months, working part-time jobs on weekends and after school, until the day finally came when he pulled up into your driveway, keys in hand. Your mom had been overwhelmingly proud—bought a cake and everything—and you’d merely been grateful that you no longer had to beg her to drive you places. 

It’s nothing crazy, just a simple sedan, but it represents a freedom that the two of you have never experienced together before.

That’s how you end up parked underneath the flickering streetlight just outside your house, excitedly recounting a story to your best friend. He’d driven you home from your club after school, an errand that always ended in several other stops—today, it had been fast food and boba.

His eyes seem to glow in the fading daylight, a pretty jade and amber that you’ve always thought was beautiful. It feels a bit more intense with his stare trained on you—Kinich isn’t the talkative type, sure, but he always ensures that you know he’s listening.

“So then she was asking me about you.”

“Mhm.”

“And get this,” a nervous chuckle escapes you then, “she thought we were dating.”

Everything falls still.

It’s times like this that you really start to hate just how unreadable your best friend can be. Despite how much you tease him for it, you actually enjoy how difficult it can be to force an expression out of him—it’s a little challenge every day. But now, when you’re on the precipice of pouring your heart out, his impassive expression stings.

Nothing on his face changes, save for a slight tilt of his head—he’s considering your words. The silence feels endless; a lump starts to form in your throat, humiliation burning at your cheeks. 

“I know, it’s so ridiculous,” you assert hurriedly, trying to avoid the rush of shame. “I mean, we would never—”

“Tell her we are, then.”

You’re sure that in that moment, your heart stops. 

Truthfully, you hadn’t planned to get this far—you were planning on brushing over that part of the story and moving on, but something deep in your heart had forced it out of you. Now, you aren’t sure what you really want to happen.

It’s always been your underlying fear, that once Kinich finds out, everything will change. Or even if he does return your feelings, it’ll all go up in flames eventually and you’ll never be the same. It’s terrifying enough to have kept your mouth shut all these years.

A tense laugh erupts from your throat, cutting through the silence. “I—I mean, it’s not that simple—”

He arches a brow. “Do you not want to?”

That’s another difference between you and Kinich—he’s far more straightforward about getting things that he wants. It’s one of the reasons that people misinterpret him as cold, but he sees it as being logical.

You gnaw at your lip, fingers tracing over the car door. Do you?

If the countless daydreams and romantic notebook doodles are anything to go by, you do. You really do. You’re just not sure if you’re brave enough to take that step.

When you look at him again, he’s observing you carefully, a delicate fondness lying in his stare. You shrink under the weight of it.

“No, I do,” you admit quietly. 

The moment falls still, and your eyes are drawn to the only movement within your line of vision—the quick bob of Kinich’s throat. Then, his hand advances toward your face at a measured pace, giving you endless opportunities to retreat.

Of course, you don’t.

“Can I…?” he asks, barely a brush of a whisper. The tension runs thick in the air as his tongue peeks out, swiping over his bottom lip at a tantalizing pace. It’s nearly enough to drive you crazy, but you know he’s just as anxious.

“Yes,” you breathe, wincing at the sound of your own voice—it sounds almost too eager.

But Kinich presses his lips to yours all the same, soft and wanting, and your heart flutters in your chest. It’s a chaste kiss, nothing like the fireworks-exploding-making-out-with-tongue types you’ve seen on TV, but it’s just right—it feels like him, and that’s all that matters. He pulls away slightly, lips still millimeters away from yours.

“I like you. If I’m not wrong, you like me too. I think it’s that simple.”

You almost want to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. Though you’d never admit it, you’ve practiced this scenario thousands of times in front of your bedroom mirror—what you would say to him, what he might say to you. Leave it to Kinich to not follow the script.

But he’s always done things his own way, so really, you should’ve expected this.

Gently, he reaches for your hand, fingers slotting through yours with ease. You sigh.

“I guess it is.”

IV.

“...that far, huh?”

Kinich stares at you upside down, head dangling off the edge of your bed as you sit at your desk, laptop keys clicking rapidly. He knows you’re serious about your future goals; you both are. He just never imagined it would bring the two of you so far apart.

You pause with one hand resting on the mouse, still staring at the screen. The map looks so daunting, too daunting, and you can’t imagine being that far away from him. 

An awkward, weighted silence hangs in the air, and by the time a few seconds pass, you’ve already foreseen eighty different bad endings for this situation. Clearing your throat once, you force yourself to speak.

“Kinich, I—”

“I get it.”

He doesn’t mean to interrupt you so suddenly, but he does. He couldn’t stop himself if he tried. Because while he does understand—he really does—he also can’t help the stinging sensation of tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. It feels pathetic. It feels selfish. Here you are, chasing your dreams and supporting his, and he’s caught on the fact that there will be a little space between the two of you. And it’s not like it’s anyone’s fault, but maybe you’ll get tired of waiting and—

“You’ll come back to me, right?”

There’s an unmistakable thickness to your voice, evidence of the steadily growing lump in your weary throat. It grows larger with every passing second, an insurmountable mass dwarfed only by the impending distance between you and him.

That question catches Kinich off-guard, and he nearly wants to laugh then; not because he doubts you at all, but because he doesn’t, and he finds it ridiculous that you would ever think otherwise. Here you are, worrying about him.

Kinich doesn’t have any doubts or fears. He never does when he’s with you.

Maybe that’s why.

With a light laugh, he lets his eyes flutter closed, finally allowing an uneven breath to fill his lungs. The natural light outside is slowly dimming, the fluorescent lamps dotting your street flicking on one by one. He knows he should go home soon. His car is sitting outside, the same one the two of you have had endless adventures, fights, and make-ups in. It’s the same one he will use when he moves an unfathomable distance away from you. The same one he will use on the day you will cry, clinging to him like your life depends on it, before watching him disappear into nothing but a mere dot in the distance.

His fist clenches at his side. 

But you’re still here, the closest feeling he has to home, and you’re still in love with him, and he is still in love with you.

Maybe that’s why this is enough, for now. 

Turning onto his stomach, Kinich sees you right-side up this time, and it’s like nothing has changed.

“Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to.” 

V.

A knock echoes on your apartment door in the middle of the night.

You raise a brow at the sound, a bit unnerved—a lone college girl answering the door in the dark isn’t the safest thing, you think as you peek one eye through the peephole. But there’s a familiar figure standing outside, and it has your hand turning the knob immediately and flinging the door open.

He’s here.

“Kinich,” you breathe, in disbelief. Last you’d heard, he was somewhere halfway across the country, and certainly nowhere near your front door. But he’s here, in a black hoodie and grey sweatpants, looking like he’s just walked out of your dreams.

“Hey,” he says simply, as if his appearance hadn’t been totally shocking. He takes advantage of your shell-shocked state to invite himself inside, curiously looking through your apartment. “Nice place.”

You step aside in a daze. “Kinich—you—what are you doing here?”

He’s holding three flimsy bags in his fist, grocery store logos and restaurant labels stamped over the plastic, keys hanging off his pinky finger. He’d come prepared, clearly, but for what you’re not sure. 

He towers over you a bit more than he used to, hair a bit longer, and everything about him feels so grown up. It reminds you of all the moments the two of you have missed over the years, how much change has occurred beneath your nose, maybe without you realizing. 

He spreads the bags over your kitchen table—the mouth-watering smell of Chinese takeout filters through the air, and your stomach grumbles in reply. But it’s your tear ducts that react initially, a sting at the corners of your eyes as you squeeze them shut.

Kinich doesn’t notice at first, absorbed in inspecting the photos displayed on your wall—photos of you, photos of him, photos of the two of you together. It makes his chest warm that you still think about those times. He does too—after all, it’s rare that you leave his mind.

But he turns back to you, tears running rivers down your cheeks, and his breath hitches.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, carefully cupping your face. A lilt of panic laces his voice. “Does something hurt? Are you sick?”

“You’re here,” you sob, curling into his shoulder. None of it feels real. He’s warm and firm beneath your fingers, and you clutch at him tighter, half-expecting everything to disappear. It’s so much different than FaceTime or calling or anything else you do when he’s away. Because right now, he’s completely within your reach, and everything falls into place.

“Of course I am,” he murmurs. You cry into his hoodie, soaking the fabric with your tears, but he holds you close all the same. “Because you’re here.”

You spend a few minutes that way—you crying until your tears dry over your skin, and him comfortingly rubbing at your back. Air slowly returns to your lungs, and you sniffle, glassy eyes meeting his. 

“But why? I mean, it’s the middle of the semester, isn’t it?”

A rare half-smirk graces his lips.

“We made a promise. I came back to you first. So I do believe that means that I win,” he says. If you weren’t so emotional, you might have rolled your eyes—of course, all he ever focuses on is winning.

He drags you over to the couch, laying down and pulling you on top of him, safe. You draw closer to him, tangling your limbs together until you’re not sure where he ends and you begin.

“You’re annoying,” you whisper, muffled into his chest.

Kinich shakes his head, pressing a kiss to your forehead. 

“You’re still a sore loser. Thought you’d grow out of that by now.”

You grumble a few choice words at him, and he smiles—a sight that only you and the stars can claim to have ever seen.

And he’s right; you are a sore loser, and he’s been right just about every time he told you so. But you find it doesn’t matter, not really.

You could never win against Kinich anyway.

(Maybe you never wanted to.)

[7ndipity]

Shy

Yoongi x Reader

Summary: You’re desperately craving your boyfriend's attention, but are too shy to ask for it outright. Luckily, Yoongi knows what you want anyway.

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: +18 mdni, smut, swearing, unprotected sex(don’t do this pls), soft dom-ish Yoongi, brief mentions of insecurities, not proofread

A/N: Thanks @theuselessdaydreamingidiot for requesting this! I had so much writing this one, I hope you like it!

Masterlist

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He had to be doing this on purpose.

Normally, Yoongi could read you like a book, whether that was knowing whether you’d had a particularly rough day or just what food you were craving, all you had to do was look at him and he would know what you wanted.

Which was why his current lack of response to your attempts to gain his attention was so frustrating.

The two of you hadn’t been able to see each other all week due to your work schedules, and to say you were starting to go a little crazy was an understatement. As soon as you got to his place, all you had been able to think about was jumping his bones. Normally, you didn’t consider yourself a particularly horny person, but being without your boyfriend for any extended amount of time definitely tended to make you extra needy.

It didn’t help that your boyfriend in question somehow managed to look so fucking hot all. the. time. Even the simple sweatpants and white tee combo he was wearing was enough to make you clench your thighs together with need in your current state.

You’d tried your best to ignore it through dinner, but once the two of you had cozied up together on the couch to watch an episode of a drama, you couldn’t take it anymore. You were hyper aware of the warmth radiating off of his body, his arm looped loosely around your waist, the scent of his cologne filling your senses and drawing you closer, tucking your face against his neck as the ache in your core grew stronger.

Fuck you wanted him so bad.

Usually, all you needed to do was just give a little hint that you were in the mood to Yoongi and he would take the lead for you, asking in a low voice if you wanted to make each other feel good, an offer that you always readily agreed to.

But tonight, nothing seemed to catch his attention.

You let your fingers dance over his skin, tracing little patterns over his arm, up his bicep to his shoulder and back again, trying to elicit a response from him, but all he’d done was tighten his other arm around your waist ever so slightly.

Deciding to try being a bit more direct, you shifted around in his hold, pressing teasing little kisses along the underside of his jaw, knowing it was one of his weak spots, hoping he would finally catch on to hint at what you wanted.

Yoongi hummed appreciatively, but his attention was still fully locked on the screen in front of you, relaxing further into the couch.

You drew back slowly, frowning in frustration as you studied his side profile.

Maybe he was just really interested in the show, maybe he wasn’t in the mood, you weren’t sure, but you felt too shy and awkward to ask outright.

Giving up, you slipped out from under his arm and stood up.

“Where’re you going?” He asked, finally looking up at you with a small frown.

“I’m tired, I think I’m just gonna go on to bed.” You lied.

“Are you sure?” He asked with a slight pout. “You want me to come with you?”

Yes please! “No, you stay and finish the show.” You pecked his cheek. “G’night, Baby.”

You quickly made your way down the hall to his room, not bothering with a light as you climbed into bed, curling onto your side away from the door, staring at the wall in frustration.

You don’t know why you hadn’t just said yes when he’d offered to come with you, maybe then he would’ve caught on if you’d tried again? Or maybe he was intentionally ignoring you as a way to tease you for your shyness with him.

You don’t know why you always felt so shy to initiate anything sexual with Yoongi, it wasn’t like your relationship was particularly new or anything, but everytime you even thought about saying the same things that Yoongi said to you, they sounded so awkward and unsexy, not at all like when he said them. When he said them, you felt your stomach drop in the best way, your knees turning to jelly as your heart rate picked up. In just a few words, he could completely turn you to putty in his hands, a skill you desperately wished you possessed at times like this. Instead you were laying in bed alone and irritated.

No more than five minutes had passed before you heard the bedroom door behind you open,

Yoongi’s footsteps padding softly across the carpeted room to the bed.

You heard him chuckle softly to himself before the mattress dipped under his weight, quietly sliding under the covers and shifting over till he was pressed against your back, draping an arm over your waist.

“Babe? Are you asleep?” He asked softly.

“ ‘m trying to.” You grumbled, brushing his arm off of you. “I thought you were watching your show?”

“I missed you too much.” He said, nuzzling his face in your hair. “It’s no fun without you.”

You didn’t respond, but he could sense you soured mood

“I’m sorry baby. Was I not giving enough attention earlier?” He wound his arm around your waist again, pulling you close as his lips trailed along your neck and shoulder, mirroring your actions from earlier.

You squirmed slightly against him, not wanting to cave so easily, but his wandering hands and warm breath against your skin flooded your core with arousal, your breath hitching and coming out unsteady.

“Let me make it up to you.” He murmured against your skin, his hand making its way under your shirt, fingers brushing over where your skin disappeared under the material of your sleep shorts.

Fuck, you were so weak for him.

“Please.” You breathed, arching closer to him.

You made a soft noise, something between a whimper and his name as he continued to leave a trail of kisses against the flushed skin of your neck as his fingers slipped under the waistband, creeping lower till they brushed your pubic bone, just shy of where you needed him.

You squirmed in his gentle hold, bordering on desperation now.

“Yoongi,” You pleaded. “Please.” You needed him, and you weren’t sure how much longer your sanity could hold out against his teasing touches.

“I got you, baby,” He assured you softly, retracting his hand. “I’ll take care of you.”

He gently rolled you over, caressing your face before bringing his lips to yours in a tender kiss.

You sighed in relief, looping your arms around his neck to keep him close as he shifted to hover over you, settling between your legs that fell open to accommodate him.

His grip on your waist tightened in surprise as your tongue delved into his mouth, swallowing down the sweet, almost inaudible groan that left him as your wet muscle tangled with his own.

God, you were addicted to the taste of him, light and sweet with a faint bitterness of the wine you’d drank at dinner.

His fingers dug into your thighs, dimpling the flesh as he ground his hips against yours, pressing his growing erection against your clothed core, your arousal soaking through the material of your shorts and making them stick to you slightly.

You don’t know when he removed his sweats, all you were aware of was his fingers hooking in the waistband of your shorts, tugging them down as you lifted your hips to help him remove them, leaving you both bare from the waist down.

“My sweet baby.” He hummed, leaving another trail of wet kisses down your throat as he brushed two fingers through your slick folds, making you hiss as he teased your throbbing clit.

“Fuck Yoongi, please!” You begged. You had lost all patience, shamelessly bucking against his hand to any sort of relief, and in turn breaking any resistance he held.

As weak as you might have been for Yoongi, he was even more so for you, willing to give you anything you wanted and more. You could ask him for the moon and he would find a way to technically give it to you.

Removing his fingers, he shifted position to align the tip of his cock with your entrance. You were so wet and needy already, he slipped into you easily without any prep, sinking in all the way to the hilt in one go, making your eyes roll back in pleasure at finally being filled.

“Fuck, you feel so good, Angel.” He groaned, watching the way your hungry cunt swallowed him so eagerly. He pulled back, rolling his hips into yours slowly, letting you feel every inch and vein of his cock as it dragged against your walls.

“Fuck Yoongi, faster, please.” You practically mewled, clinging to his shoulders.

It was almost embarrassing, how reactive you were, how fast you fell apart for him, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care, all you wanted was for Yoongi to fuck you properly.

The desperation in your voice sent a shot of electricity straight through Yoongi, making his cock twitch inside you as he immediately picked up the pace, plunging back into you quickly and setting a pace that had your toes curling.

His arms were braced against the mattress on either side of you, caging you in while your own hands clutched feebly at his back, nails scraping against his skin, leaving bright red lines and crescent marks in their wake.

Yoongi buried his face in your neck, groaning out with nearly every thrust, not bothering to try and muffle them as he knew they only spurred you further on as well, making you clench and spasm around him.

“F-fuck, Yoongi! I-I‘m close!” You managed to whine out,

“I know, baby, it’s okay.” Yoongi panted, kissing your neck. “Let go, I’ve got you.”

A few more thrusts of Yoongi’s hips were all that it took to tip you over the edge, a sharp ringing filling your ears as your high crashed over you, flooding your senses and causing your muscles to contract and spasm in bliss.

Yoongi followed almost immediately after you, spilling deep inside you with a broken groan, body going stiff over yours as he shuddered through the aftershocks.

He half collapsed on top of you, rolling to the side to avoid crushing you as you both lay there, chests heaving as you tried to catch your breath.

“Feel better?” He asked breathlessly.

“Yeah,” You replied weakly. “Thank you.”

“Anytime.” He grinned, leaning up to kiss your cheek. “Though, you know, if you wanted sex, you could just ask. You don’t have to keep teasing me till I say something.”

“So you were paying attention earlier!” You exclaimed, sitting up to look at him. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I was waiting to see if you would say something first,” He said, sitting up as well. “But then you went off to sulk instead.”

“I wasn’t sulking.” You pouted.

“Yes you were.” He smiled softly, wrapping his arms around you. “What I want to know though is why? Why won’t you ever initiate sex with me directly? You always kinda dance around it till I make the first move.” He looked down at you curiously.

“I don’t know.” You looked down, feeling your face heat up. “I guess I just feel kinda shy.”

Yoongi let out a short burst of laughter.

“Babe, you are one of the least shy people I’ve ever met!” He laughed. “I’ve seen you make friends in the middle of the grocery store after having a full blown debate with someone over the validity of skim milk!”

“That’s different! This is you and me, it’s feels embarrassing!” You buried your face in his chest, earning another chuckle from him. “What am I supposed to do, just jump you as soon as you walk in the door and say 'I need you in me or I’ll die'?”

“I mean, that would be really hot,” He smirked, earning a weak smack from you. “But seriously, you don’t need to feel embarrassed with me. Anytime you’re in the mood, just tell me. Hell, we could even make up a codeword if that makes you feel better.” He offered.

“What, like ‘Pineapple’?” You asked, incredulously.

“Sure, if that’s what you want. As of now, Pineapple means sex.” He announced, making you burst into a fit of laughter of your own.

“You’re insane!” You giggled.

“Only for you.” He said with a grin. “I mean it though, I want you to feel comfortable talking to me about stuff like this.”

You nodded, letting you head rest back against his chest.

“Thank you.” You said. “For not making fun of me.”

“I would never.” He said seriously, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

You drifted off to the sound of Yoongi’s heartbeat, completely and utterly content.

You did, however, wake up the next morning to several containers of fresh pineapple in the refridgerator.

“You think you’re funny, don’t you?”

“I think I’m hillarious.”

Taglist: @sopebubbles-replies @btsw1fe @this-must-be-my-tardis @whitefoxgirl @bethanysnow @coffeedepressionsoup @main-bangtansmauyeondan @feminympho @a-gayish-unicorn @dfqcsqueen @mother2monsters @captainorangegoose @k4ngelz

[lillotte17]

Jumping on the Veilguard Banter wagon bc I'm back in the Solavellan sauce, but I can't seem to focus long enough to finish anything bigger ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

~~

“I can see the wheels turning in that big bald head of yours, Chuckles. What world-ending secrets are you pondering this time?”

“I was merely… Would I be correct in assuming that you are still in contact with former members of the Inquisition?”

“I might be. Why? Looking to liven up your days with another round of mental chess with Tiny? Not sure he’d agree to that. He’s pretty mad about the ‘ripping open the sky again’ thing, although he did think it was funny that you picked Tevinter.”

“No. Thank you. I do not think it likely that the Iron Bull and I could have any sort of conversation that did not end in violence at this point.”

“If you’d prefer, I’m sure I could get Sparkles over here to yell at you about all of this instead. He’s just as mad, but much less likely to try and bury an axe in your skull.”

“I did not ask the question in the interest of having you summon old acquaintances, Varric. I was simply…curious.”

“You can say her name, you know.”

~

“The former Inquisitor-”

“Are we really doing this?”

“…Is she well?”

“How do you think I should answer that question?”

“Honestly, if you are capable.”

“You wound me, Chuckles! I don’t deal in salacious idle gossip.”

“You wrote an entire book about her.”

“I write books about everyone.”

“Varric.”

*sighs* “Look…nothing I could say would make you feel any better. Good or bad, it is what it is. Knowing about it won’t change anything, so why does it matter?”

“She always matters.”

“Could have fooled me.”

~

“I have to ask, is what Varric wrote in his book about you true?”

“Knowing his penchant for peddling exaggerations, half-truths, and blatant falsehoods? Probably not.”

“So, you weren’t madly in love with the former Inquisitor?”

“That is… I have a deep respect for the former Inquisitor, and I am not going to discuss her personal feelings or private affairs.”

“That book has sold enough copies to rival Hard in Hightown at this point, I don’t think anything in there is private anymore. Besides, I was asking about your private affairs, not hers.”

“I am not going to discuss those, either.”

“Oh, so it is true!” *laughs*

[vanesycho]

welcome to stray kids headcanon！| m.list | 1,7k word

stray kids as friends with benefits | who can continue without any feelings? who can't?

방찬 bang chan | he will be completely gentle and protective towards you. he will consider your wishes rather than his own and will make sure you are getting enough pleasure.

It would be hard for him to form a bond with anyone else, so I can see that he will only be with you. even thinking about being with someone else makes him question his loyalty and even if he tried, he wouldn't be able to. for him, this kind of relationship is only between you and him.

I think he will succumb to his feelings, he is an emotional person and it seems like he can't sustain this kind of relationship for long, but he can still stay silent. he may occasionally compliment you during sex, but you can't tell if he really means it. he will try to keep it up as long as he can. If his feelings start to get the better of him, he may decide to end this relationship and distance himself from you.

"I wanted to keep quiet just to be with you, but it's getting harder to carry this burden, y/n. I can't hide my feelings for you anymore."

리노 lee know | he is definitely controlled. he acts as close as he needs to be in a relationship and doesn't cross boundaries. he is someone I think he can handle. he will talk to you outside of this relationship but even in this he knows how to maintain boundaries. If he realizes that you are unknowingly getting close to him he will back away, he doesn't want you to think the wrong things or get carried away. he has no intention of being friends with you, just sex and that is enough for him.

as long as this thing between you continues he won't be with someone else, he just doesn't prefer it. he doesn't need someone else when he already has someone, he doesn't care if you are with someone else, all he cares about is you being there for him when he needs you.

"I see how much you value me, but maybe the best part is that we don't push each other too hard."

창빈 changbin | oh he's definitely falling for you. it'll be hard for him to stop. this kind of relationship is not for him at all, he had no idea why he got into it but now he's paying the price by liking you. changbin is an emotional person, even if he tries not to show it. so the slightest bit of interest you show him will make him think that you have an interest in him in his delusional world.

this will bother him for a while and he'll wonder if he should tell you. if you're with someone else, he'll 'joke' about it.

'It's not fair for you to do this when you're the only one in my life. that's not what we agreed on.'

i still don't think he'll be able to handle it for long, he doesn't want to lose you but the confusion in this relationship is wearing him out.

"i don't want you to misunderstand but i don't think i'm the right person for this. i feel like i'm falling for you more and more every day. maybe it's better if we end this."

현진 hyunjin | It 'might' be easy for him to have a non-emotional and fun relationship. he might invite you on dates outside of that and whine about not being able to win a plushie as if he didn't ruin you last night. It might be normal for people to think you're dating, you deny it every time, but after a while, he might start to wonder. If you're coming to the dates and you're not with anyone else, then why aren't you guys dating? that would solve everything faster.

he feels like it might help it put sex on the back burner for a while and focus on him.

'look, I'm the one who understands you the best, I wouldn't miss me if I were you'

'can you believe jisung said we look like a couple again today? that's weird, but you have to admit that we look good together'

he'll try to confuse you with things like that, well...whether it works or not is up to you of course.

I don't think he'll say that by asking you out on a serious date. more often he will say it out of the blue when you are together on a normal day, petting the dog or shopping at the grocery store.

"how do you feel about dating with me? I am the only person you do these things to and the only thing missing is a ask. I don't think there is any need to complicate things, besides i think we both like each other anyw- look! here is the chocolate you wanted."

한지성 han jisung | jisung is the worst person for this relationship and he still doesn't know how he got into it. for some reason i can see him doing it because he likes you and can't say it and then starting this with you so he can be close to you. or maybe he got nervous because others provoked him and told him he couldn't do it things like this.

because dude, i don't think there's a chance he won't have feelings. this topic will hurt him more emotionally and he might ignore you for a while. he might compliment you every now and then, try to show it somehow. he'll try to make things more than just sex between you. but if he can't show it, he'll eventually give up and say it.

he'll probably blurt out that he loves you during sex.

"i love you, i fucking love you so much. why can't you see that? i want to do these things as your boyfriend from now on."

필릭스 felix | he's complicated. you don't know if he's acting so close because he really loves you or if you're misunderstanding because he's really kind. he can really be the sweetest and best partner you've ever seen and thinks about you in this relationship. if felix doesn't have feelings for you, he can still act close to you. more like a friend you can talk to.

'look, i know what this relationship is but if you really need help, don't hesitate to call me. i want you to know that i care about you beyond that.'

if he does have feelings for you, he can spend some time alone to clear his head, he'll respond to your messages briefly and tell you that he's busy. during this time, he'll gather his thoughts and think it's more appropriate to tell you, he can't continue this knowing that he has feelings for you.

"i think i started to have feelings for you without realizing it. i'm sorry if i ruined everything y/n. but i don't think i can do these things anymore knowing that i love you."

승민 seungmin | this might be easy for him. he knows what not to do before starting a relationship like this and of course he doesn't forget the most important rule 'no emotional attachment'. knowing this and trusting himself, he doesn't think he can form an emotional attachment. if you're really in a difficult situation and don't have anyone to talk to, he'll be there for you but he doesn't see it as appropriate to meet up outside of that.

don't get me wrong, I'm not saying he's not an emotional person but if he's not sure of himself, he won't get involved in such things. he has a side to his life that you don't see and he prefers only those close to him to see him like that.

it's important for him to know what makes you feel good during sex, he wants to do it properly and if you don't like something, he wants you to tell him clearly so he can act accordingly afterwards. talking about such things comes easy to him and he wants you to feel comfortable too. do you want to hold hands during sex? he'll definitely keep that in mind.

"come on, tell me. I can't make you feel good if I don't know what you like. we're both in this together, and I care about what you like. I want my partner to feel good."

양정인 yang jeongin | this is fun for him for a while. the idea of freedom that comes with being young entertains him and he might start this to be like the others in a way. he's someone who doesn't know how to keep boundaries, so he'll invite you out on dates other than that. more fun dates where you hang out as friends and where sex isn't at the forefront.

you can see that he's the same in real life like he's the same in sex, he's hyperactive and never stops, he's not quiet during sex and he likes to tell you how good it feels even if he doesn't moan.

you can still see that he's more cheerful on dates, he might make flirty moves on you without realizing it, he's a total boyfriend material and he likes that idea.

still, this thing he started for fun and to be like the others might end up costing him. he might think like hyunjin, since you do everything together, what's the point of you not dating?

it might be hard for him to figure this out on his own, so i can see that he'll get help from someone. he gets advice from each of them and wants to make the right decision.

he's starting to love you and he doesn't want to lose you, all the time he spent with you so far is precious to him, you are precious to him. that's why he won't hesitate to tell you that he loves you when he's sure.

"this situation was fun but now every moment I spend with you makes me feel like my feelings are moving to another dimension. It's hard for me to continue like this but if you let me...I want to continue as your boyfriend from now on."

[belovedmuichiro]

I saw a post once that entertained the idea of Tsutako being in the background of Sanemi’s hometown in the anime, and it got me thinking about a sanegiyuu childhood meet cute.

…

- When Giyuu was 13, he took a trip with Tsutako to a neighboring city where her fiancé had come from

- Though Giyuu was a much friendlier person as a child, he was still quiet, reserved and nervous. As a result, being in a bigger city was overwhelming and he struggled to keep up with Tsutako as they walked

- Before they could reach her fiancé’s home, Giyuu was separated from her in a crowd

- Without any people skills to speak of or the confidence to ask for help, Giyuu let the crowd swallow him up until he found a small spot he could cower in

- He ended up hiding under the stairs of a shrine where nobody could see him. He cried so quietly, nobody could possibly hear him either, but a boy did miraculously find him

- The boy was strikingly beautiful with stark white hair and piercing eyes. His presence made Giyuu stop crying almost immediately, but only because he was mesmerized.

- When the boy spoke, he was blunt and sort of rude but Giyuu hung onto every word he said as if he was a kind spirit come to save him

- “You cry like my little siblings,” he observed. It was a simple, random sort of thing to say but it perplexed Giyuu so much that he didn’t cry any longer

- Giyuu learned that this particular shrine is where the boy would find one of his brothers hiding, so when he saw Giyuu curled up, he thought something might’ve happened to him

- Giyuu reluctantly explained he was separated from Tsutako while visiting. In truth, he wasn’t sure if he should trust a stranger but they were clearly of a similar age and that put him at ease compared to an adult

- The boy gave Giyuu a small canteen of water before they could continue because the crying had obviously overwhelmed him. He then asked for the fiancé’s name, which he scowled upon hearing, surprisingly knowing the person

- “Is that bad?” Giyuu nervously asked

- “He’s one of the sons of our landlord,” the boy explained, “He’s fine. His family’s a buncha dicks.”

- Profanities aside, Giyuu asked if he could lead him there, and the boy agreed

- “What did his family do?” Giyuu asked on the way

- “Their kid brother said some shit about my family bein’ too big and my brother got into a fight with him about it.”

- “How big is your family?”

- “Nine of us. I have six siblings.”

- Giyuu learned that his mother had just given birth, which prompted the rude comment from their landlord’s son. He also had a father who he didn’t want to talk about on account of him angering some violent people

- Though the boy didn’t seem terribly interested in prying into Giyuu’s life, he still asked, “What about you?”

- “I just have my sister. My parents died when I was young.”

- “Lucky you have a sister.”

- “Yes… I’m Giyuu, by the way.”

- For a moment, the boy looked hesitant to give anymore details about himself, but must’ve decided he doesn’t have much to lose.

- “Sanemi.”

- On the way to the landlord’s home, it began to rain so Sanemi pulled Giyuu aside near a food stall to wait it out.

- Giyuu, as luck would have it, did have a small amount of money on him and suggested they share a meal.

- Sanemi agreed, not letting on that he rarely has enough money to ever eat out. However, Giyuu became curious when Sanemi awkwardly held his food at his side and wouldn’t take a bite.

- He didnt want to admit it, but his plan was to pocket whatever Giyuu bought him to bring home to his family. He wasn’t going to tell Giyuu, but the boy’s earnest, honest face pulled it out of him

- In response, Giyuu bought him another and asked that he feed himself as well

- When Sanemi finally did eat, Giyuu smiled for the first time. It flustered Sanemi, who quickly learned he couldn’t handle a pretty face

- When the rain ended, people came flooding to the streets in overwhelming numbers that scared Giyuu again

- To reassure him, Sanemi grabbed his hand and returned his earlier smile, promising he’ll be okay as long as they stick together

- Giyuu took to Sanemi with awe. The crowd was still scary, but Giyuu grounded himself in the feeling of his companion’s hand and trusted his word.

- Eventually they did find themselves at the landlord’s house. Most of the family was out looking for Giyuu, but luckily Tsutako stayed and was there to greet him.

- This was also a relief to Sanemi, who wasn’t sure he would be able to resist driving his fist into the face of the boy who fought with Genya

- Sanemi intended to leave with no commotion, just an odd empty feeling at the notion of leaving his new acquaintance, but Giyuu stopped him

- “Thank you for helping me,” he said with much more confidence than the first time he spoke. “You’re very kind, Sanemi.”

- Sanemi, flustered, shrugged and promised it was no problem. “Couldn’t just leave ya there…”

- “Maybe we’ll see each other again.”

- When Giyuu said this, he held onto the hope that because Tsutako new husband had close ties to Sanemi’s, they would surely meet again one day

- It was hard to explain but Giyuu felt drawn to Sanemi, like he was a special person he was meant to meet

- Of course, he couldn’t predict the tragedy that would befall both of them

- Years later, long after Tsutako and the Shinazugawa family were murdered, Sanemi was welcomed into the Hashira and finally met Giyuu again

- Only this time, he was quiet and cold. He didn’t give any indication that he remembered Sanemi and didn’t have any of the kindness he was full of as a child. Sanemi decided that he must’ve turned into a conceited ass with no time for the little people, he probably didn’t even remember him.

- But it was impossible for Giyuu to forget who Sanemi was. Even under all the scars and curses, he was still the boy who saved him that day. But Giyuu knew they had fundamentally changed as people, and clearly Sanemi wanted nothing to do with him any longer

- Unfortunately for them, the draw remains there no matter how far apart they try to drift.

[star-wrote]

Need

ao3 link

Character: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader | Prison Era

Summary: After somehow convincing Daryl to let you go on a hunt with him, you stop to admire a pretty flower. Little did you know, the pollen would have an… interesting effect on you.

Warnings: smut, swearing, sexual details, sex pollen??, insecurity on daryl’s part, a little fluffy, a little angsty, apparently no threat of walkers bc they get it on in the woods.

Word Count: 2,500 ish

18+

Convincing Daryl to let you tag along on a hunt was a task in itself. He was the closest thing you had to a best friend these days, so he knew how antsy you got when being behind the prison gates for too long. He felt the same way. That didn’t mean he was going to let you go out into possible danger any easier though. You practically had to drop to your knees and beg him to let you join, swearing you’d bring extra luck for him to catch a deer. Muttering something like “ain’t need no luck” under his breath, he eventually agreed to let you join. You pretended not to see his cheeks redden when you wrapped your arms around his neck in an excited hug.

That was about two hours ago. Now, you were following him through the forest as he tracked some animal. You were doing your best to keep quiet, given the fact that he had scolded you just about five minutes ago for walking too carelessly (whatever that means). You started to grow bored. Sure it was nice being away from the prison, but you figured your best friend would entertain you in at least some conversation. You should’ve known better, this was Daryl Dixon.

You were about to suggest playing a silly game of truth or truth when you saw something pink out of the corner of your eye. You paused and walked over, observing a beautiful flower that looked like it belonged to a storybook. Your internal battle of deciding whether or not to pick it was fast as you assumed a walker would just trample it anyway. So you picked it.

Daryl knew right away that you weren’t following him anymore, so he paused for a drink of water while he watched you get distracted by a flower. He rolled his eyes, but couldn’t fight the smile as he noticed you pick it and immediately bring it to your nose to inhale the scent. As you pulled it away from your face, he saw it left pink specks of pollen on your nose.

“Ya got a lil somethin’ on yer nose.”

Instead of a reply, he was met with a series of four loud sneezes.

“Jeez woman, gonna draw all the walkers in.”

You giggled, wiped your nose, and finally replied with a small, “sorry.”

“If yer done pickin’ flowers, let’s get back to trackin’ this deer,” he said as he grabbed his bag from where he placed it on the forest floor.

You gasped, “You didn’t tell me we were tracking a deer! I told you I would bring good luck.”

He rolled his eyes at you for the second time that day and muttered “stop.”

It started as an ache in between your legs. It wasn’t particularly unpleasant, but it was surprising how strong it was.

You weren’t unfamiliar with the feeling of arousal. You were a girl who knew her own body. At least before the end of the world. There wasn’t enough time, safety, or privacy to bring yourself pleasure. Not to mention the lack of people throwing themselves at you.

Still, it was unfamiliar for you to feel so much arousal on a hunt with Daryl.

Daryl.

You found your gaze wandering to the archer taking sure steps in front of you. His shoulders seemed to be broader than normal… no, he was always this large. Your eyes went lower as you found yourself thinking about what else had to be large, accidentally letting out a whimper.

Daryl didn’t stop walking, just tossed a “ya okay?” over his shoulder.

You shook your head, as if it would cleanse your brain of the impure thoughts you had for your best friend, and answered.

“Yeah, sorry, just tripped over my feet. You know me, super clumsy haha.” Stop talking!

He just grunted in response. Phew.

You wondered if he would grunt like that while he was deep inside of you…

This time you actually did trip, bumping into the firm man in front of you. He whipped around and grabbed you by your shoulders.

“Tha’ hell? What’s gotten into ya?”

Not you, sadly.

He looked at you more deeply and noticed your face was flushed pink like the flower you still held in your hand, and your chest was rising and falling with heavy breaths.

“Are ya okay? Ya bit?” He asked with a worried look as his eyes ran down your frame.

It wouldn’t make sense for you to have gotten bit, he was with you the entire time. No, it was something else.

You looked up at him with a glazed look in your eyes and got out the words “so hot.” You weren’t sure if you were talking about your body temperature or him at this point. His big hands on your shoulders felt as if they were burning holes through your skin. The ache between your legs had turned into a stabbing pain, and your lower stomach felt a different kind of hunger. Lust.

Daryl was beyond worried when he saw you drop your flower to clutch at your stomach. His eyes looked to the flower and recognition finally crossed his brain. Oh no.

He scooped you up bridal style, and you all but moaned. Now that he knew what was happening, a blush reached his face. He carried you to a nearby willow tree next to a lake and sat you down under the shade. You whined when he let go, so he made sure to at least grab your hands with his.

“Sunshine? I need ya to listen to me.”

You met his eyes and nodded, but still had a glazed over expression.

He sighed, knowing this was the best it would get. “I think tha’ flower ya smelled was one of those aphrodisiacs. A really strong one too. I remember reading about it in that unique plants of Georgia book ya found for me.”

Your eyes widened and you let out another whine. “It hurts so bad. I- I need. Ugh.”

“Ya need to just wait it out. Could be a couple of hours.”

“No Daryl I can’t. I need you to fix it. Please fix it.”

He wasn’t sure what you were asking for, but he knew he’d give you anything if you asked him with those big, round eyes.

“Honey, I’m not sure what yer askin’.

“Need you to fuck me.”

That stopped his breath where it was in his chest. His eyes widened as he looked anywhere but your desperate face. He knew you weren’t in your right mind. You didn’t actually want him, you just wanted to act on the arousal you felt. He wasn’t sure he could handle your touch if it wasn’t genuine.

He was drawn out of his thoughts as he saw you strip your shirt off out of the corner of his eye. Somehow, his face grew even more red.

“Nah, you don’t wanna do this. You don’t want me.”

“Daryl please, I only want you. I’ve only wanted you for so long. Since the farm. Not just your body, but your soul and mind and thoughts and oh my god please I just need you to fuck me. Make it go away please.” You cried.

His heart stopped at your confession. Was this true or was it just the drug from the flower talking?

He brought his hands up to your cheeks and looked into your eyes as you nuzzled into his warm palms.

“Need ya to look at me.” He waited until your eyes met his. “Need ya to tell me that you really want this, want me. And that ya wont regret it.”

You brought your hands to his on your face. “I promise. I want you. I want you so bad. Only you.”

With that, he roughly pushed his lips to yours in a heated kiss. You could’ve melted then and there. Especially when you moved your hand to wrap around the back of his hair and heard the sound he let out. A kind of grunt that you had only heard in your dreams until then.

“Imma take care of ya. Don’t worry baby.” He panted.

Clothes were off in an instant, but Daryl’s shirt stayed on. You knew about the scars and had seen them a few times, but you didn’t want to push him. Plus, you weren’t in the state to reassure him much anyway.

He currently had you on your back on the soft moss next to the willow tree, his mouth sucking your clit and fingers deep in your pussy. He said he needed to warm you up, even after you tried to convince him you were warmed up enough. You had a feeling it was more for him to prepare himself anyway.

It was heavenly, his eyes closed and arms wrapped around your thighs. His tongue never stopping at lapping up your wetness. His fingers gently but firmly hooking into you at a steady pace. It was perfect.

But it wasn’t enough.

“Daryl, please, I need more. I need you, please.” You gasped out.

He released your clit with a wet pop and pulled his fingers out of you, licking them clean of your juices. Your eyes could’ve rolled back in your head at the sight.

“Alright,” he rasped out, “quit yer whinin’ girl.”

You grinned up at him as he pumped his cock in his hands. You knew he was big.

He must’ve seen you drooling over his dick because he smirked and gently caressed your cheek before popping his thumb into your mouth for you to suck.

You weren’t sure where this newfound confidence came from, but god you loved it.

He took his thumb out and shushed you as you whined in protest.

“Ya ready for me baby?”

You could’ve nodded until your head fell off. His “warming you up” took the edge off, but the ache was back in full force, begging for you to just jump on him.

“Please Daryl. Need you so bad.”

“Alright, alright. Tell me if anythin’ hurts. I’ll try and be gentle baby.”

Your heart swooned but your lust clouded brain wanted you to yell at him to not be gentle. Instead, you settled on nodding at him.

Daryl placed his tip at your entrance and looked into your eyes as he pushed inside. Any amount of hesitance he felt dissipated as soon as he felt your wet, warm walls squeezing him.

The stretch you felt was the relief you needed. You felt your thoughts clear, as well as your clouded eyes.

Daryl noticed the change immediately and kissed your nose, then your forehead.

“Ya okay? Want me to stop?” He asked with a hint of embarrassment. Now that he solved your “problem” he was worried that you’d suddenly find him less appealing and grow disgusted with him. He tried to push the thoughts away, but his brain has always been programmed to doubt himself. He felt your arms snake up his back and hold on tight to him as your legs wrapped around him to keep him inside of you.

“Don’t you dare stop.” You breathed out, still accommodating to the stretch you felt between your legs. “I still want you. Still need you.”

Even though the effects of the pollen were sated as soon as he entered you, that didn’t stop you from being turned on by the archer. You always knew you wanted something more with him, and now you were finally getting it. So you bucked your hips up further on his length with a moan.

He closed his eyes tight to prevent himself from thrusting the rest of the way into you. He knew he was big, and now that you were thinking more clearly, he knew that he had to be more gentle. When he opened his eyes, he saw you looking at him with wide eyes and your teeth tugging on your lower lip. God, you were beautiful.

He brought your hands above your head and locked your fingers with his. Then he slowly and finally filled you up the rest of the way. You both gasped and squeezed each other’s hands.

You let out a whine when he pulled out again, but sighed as he thrusted back in.

“Harder, you won’t break me.” You pleaded with him.

“I gotcha.” His next thrust was hard enough for you to release his hands and clutch onto his back. He leaned on one of his arms above you and brought the other to press into your lower stomach. “You feel me right here, baby? So deep huh?”

“Oh my god!” You moaned out for him. “Daryl… feels so good.”

He just thrusted faster and harder in response, desperate to make you feel good like you deserve.

He felt you tighten around him and he read your body signs with ease, as if you two had done this a million times before. He brought the hand was pressing on your lower stomach down to find and circle your puffy clit, getting a reaction immediately. You gasped and scratched your nails down his covered back as you somehow got out the word, “gonna-“

“I know, let go for me baby, c’mon.” He felt himself getting closer, wishing so bad that he could stay inside your cunt and finish there, but he knew the risks.

You tugged his body into yours as you finished around him, squeezing him in more ways than one.

Daryl let you ride out your pleasure before pulling out of the sweet cunt that kept sucking him in. It only took two pumps for him to release all over your inner thighs with a raspy grunt. He sat back on his knees and watched as his cum trickled down the puffy wetness between your legs and fell into the moss below him. He wished he has a camera in a moment like this, but he decided to settle on a mental snapshot for later.

He grabbed his handkerchief from his pants on the forest floor and wiped his cum from your thighs. You smiled up at him even though he wouldn’t meet your eyes. You grabbed his hand when he finished and brought it up to your lips to kiss his knuckles.

You could’ve laughed at the blush that crossed his features. This man just said the dirtiest things to you without shame, but got so shy over a small kiss to his hand.

When Daryl finally met your eyes, a look of relief showed on his face as he saw the smile that graced your lips. He suddenly collapsed onto his back next to you and brought your face to his in the sweetest kiss ever experienced between you two.

“This wasn’t a one time thing, right?” You asked, furrowing a brow at him.

He pecked your pouted lips again. “Nah, now that I have ya, I ain’t lettin’ ya go.”

As you and Daryl enjoyed the blissful silence together, tracing fingers along each other’s frames, you both jumped when you heard sticks cracking a couple of feet away.

You both relaxed when you saw that it was the deer that brought you both out here in the first place. You started giggling uncontrollably, scaring the deer away.

Daryl scoffed. “Last time I take ya on a hunt with me, woman.”

You just continued giggling into his chest with the smile that he adored.

[heartshapedbubble]

Ello can I request a Norton Fools good x fem reader where she came across the blown up mines and sees Norton (in his hunter form) she’s scared at first but starts to recognise him and slowly starts to approach him reaching her hand up to cub his cheeks ( bro this man needs all the love! )

HOO BOY i agree tho... his release made me regain my interest in norton🫡🫡

[not to be a scum but i'm still open for sanrio emma comms btw😭😭]

fool's gold: imagine...⛏️

cut for length!

paying the bills has become a hellish cycle. break your back to pay off the expenses, relax for the following twenty-ish days, and be sent into frenzy again, not knowing if you're going to have a roof over your head tomorrow or not.

you found yourself hopelessly skimming through newspaper, looking for any job offer possible that would easen up the burden on your wallet. The paper was plastered with offers from bars, post offices and restaurants, but those were a always gamble. will you get your wage or not? and if you will, when? too much effort for something so high-risk.

at last, a small offer in the corner of the page caught your attention. pressed in miniscule letters, it said: MINE RESEARCH. EMPLOYEES URGENTLY NEEDED. EQUIPMENT PROVIDED. underneath the text, an attractive number: $15,000 payed off immediately after the job is done.

not only could this solve the rent for the following 3 months, you'd also have some money left for yourself! you rang the number the second you got home and successfully scored the job, due to the urgency of the situation.

it took you a day or two to start thinking about the job. what do you exactly need to know for mine research? probably at least some physical strength and stamina, you thought. surely it can't be too complex.

you arrived at the mine right on time, the sun slowly slipping back into the horizon to let the moon take center stage. to your dismay, you realized no one else applied for the job. maybe this wasn't a good idea after all? crawling through the narrow, rocky terrain all alone doesn't sound like the ideal scenario. no living being in sight, and 20 minutes have already went by.

still, that money is way too good to pass up. you picked up one of the yellow helmets piled up at the entrance, prayed to whatever god out there that your flashlight has enough power to last the following 2 hours and mindlessly rushed into the collapsing mine.

for the following 10 minutes, your sight unfocused while your mind took the lead, in front of and all around you just rocks and grime, shadows dispelled by the flashlight held by your hip like a lance. only after a good 5 minutes of running did you realize that you, in fact, have no idea what you're supposed to do. what qualifies as mine research? mining, inspecting the ores, measuring the surface?

all sweaty and breathless, the tunnel led you to a large room inside of the mine, the roof extending towards what seemed like a pitch black abyss. carts messily thrown around, bumpy and unpolished geodes laying all over the place, when was the last time a living being stepped foot into this mine? it made sense that such a large sum of money was needed to attract volunteers.

you carefully moved through the rubble, trying to avoid stepping onto pickaxes and shrapnel splayed all over the ground. since you forgot about the gloves your bare hand now held onto the unpromising terrain, the other firmly squeezing the only source of light in this limbo.

the surface grazing your hand now seems like it became... smoother? no longer does it cut and pierce your palms. it's bumpy, but at least you're not risking an infection anymore.

moving inch by inch in fear of falling, the stone below changes its form. you don't even pay attention to the fact that you're now grabbing onto cloth and that, below your palm, a steady pulse is faintly beating.

it's already too late when you realize that you're not alone, and the stone below you starts to take shape and morph until it extends towards the ceiling, now towering over you, slouched like a ragdoll.

complementing the cold shades of grey, a face emerges from the shadows. pale, with defined cheekbones, although malnourished. only his bust passes as human, as below his collarbones there's nothing but a mosaic of pebbles and boulders forming his torso, arms and legs. it - or he, perhaps - is breathing with struggle, coughs interrupting his wheezes here and there.

you feel a sense of dread overcoming you. you freeze on the spot, but he doesn't budge, either. lifeless except for the fact he's breathing and his heart ticks like a machine.

you draw back a step, and he lunges forward, seemingly still not used to this monstrous body of his. he could harm me with ease if he wanted to, a thought suddenly manifests in your mind, and with newfound bravery you inspect the cryptid like a sculpture. your hand grazes over his bumpy and unfinished hands, tugs at the remains of his clothes around his chest. he groans, in annoyance, you assume, but doesn't resist. you climb up a cart to reach his face, your fingers pinch his stubborn hairstrands, inspect the cavity in which his other eye once laid. in a moment of either stupidity or courage you roughly pinch his cheeks - they're cold to the touch, but it's funny how naturally does his intimidating face mush like a little boy's. kind of cute. after a minute of cooing to yourself two of his rocky fingers gently pinch your wrists and put them back to your sides, but his one foggy eye doesn't divert its gaze from yours.

perhaps the flashlight can last an hour more.. you've just began getting to know him, and the mystery of the mine and his origin still lay cold for you to discover.

[moonstruckme]

You’re poly!marauders writings literally soothe my anxiety I love it so much. Could I please request poly!marauders comforting reader the night before a big presentation she’s super anxious for because she hates public speaking. I feel like they’d be so soft and encouraging when they realise how sad and anxious she is about it. You’re the best lovely 💗💖🩷

Thanks sweetheart!

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 957 words

James erupts in applause as you click to the final slide, and Sirius sticks his fingers in his mouth, whistling loudly. 

“Fantastic job!” James gushes, fawning. “Never seen anything like it. Will this presentation be considered for a nobel prize?”

“It ought to be,” Remus agrees, also clapping, albeit more normally. “That was great, dove. They’re gonna love it.” 

“Are you sure?” You look to the screen uncertainty. “The ‘thank you’ slide isn’t too informal?”

“No,” Remus confirms. “I think it’s the perfect way to signal that you’re done.” 

“But did I talk too fast? I do that sometimes.” 

He gives you an odd look. “Did you think you were talking too fast?” 

You shrug, looking at your pajama bottoms like there’s something interesting down there. “I can’t always hear it myself. Maybe I should run it through one more time, and you can let me know?”

“Wait, again?” Sirius sounds slightly alarmed. “This is a very interesting topic, but I think six practice rounds is probably enough. What, are you gonna give us a test or something?” 

You cringe. “Sorry, I don’t mean to keep you captive. I can practice it by myself.” 

You close your laptop, thinking of going to your room, but James says, “Wait, sweetheart, why do you think you need to run through it so many times? It seems like you’ve got it.” 

“I just need it to be, like, muscle memory,” you reply. “A lot of the time, once I get up there, I sort of…it’s almost like I can’t think anymore, and if I don’t know the presentation super well I won’t know what to say.” 

“I don’t think you need to worry as much as you are.” James’ voice has gone soft in that way he does when he wants to be extra kind. “Every time you’ve run through it tonight, it’s been flawless.” 

You scoff. “Yeah, because it’s just you guys.” 

“Oi,” Sirius pipes up, faux indignant. “I’ll have you know we are the most critical audience you’ll ever meet. If you can do it in front of us, those dolts will be no problem.” 

“Yeah, don’t be nervous.” James gives you a smile. “You’re going to do great.” 

“That’s a lot easier said than done,” you sigh. 

Remus pats the arm of his chair, and you abandon your laptop, letting him pull you into his lap. Your boyfriends have the ability to bring emotions you didn’t even know you had straight to the surface, and you feel unexpectedly teary as he kisses your temple. “Would it make you feel better if we came to watch tomorrow?” he asks lightly. 

You give him a small, sad smile. “Thanks, but even if you did, everyone else would still be there. It’d be a pointless trip for you.” 

“Not if you could have a hug afterwards.” He sets his chin atop your head like he’s going to make you a fortress out of his own body. “Or if you just want support in the audience, we don’t mind.” 

“I appreciate it,” you reply, “but I’ll be okay. I just need to get it down so that I don’t mess up.” 

“And what if you do mess up?” Sirius asks, characteristically blunt. “Would it really be the worst thing in the world?”

You blush, and Remus rubs your upper arm comfortingly. “No,” you admit. “It would just be embarrassing. It would kind of ruin my day, to be honest.” 

Sirius nods, looking at you evenly. “But then you get to come home, and it’ll be over. Maybe we can get you a treat or something to have tomorrow evening after you get home. That way you get a reward no matter what.” 

You fidget in Remus’ hold, and you know they’re not going to like what you’re thinking, but you say it anyway. “I won’t deserve a reward if I mess up, though.” 

“That’s not true,” James fires back instantly. “The reward doesn’t have to be only for if you give your presentation without a single hitch. It could just be for trying.” 

You’re quiet, pleading silently for a change in topic. Remus drops another kiss on the side of your head. “You’ve worked hard on this, dovey. It’s really good, and even if everything doesn’t go as planned tomorrow, you still put a lot into it,” he pauses, stooping his head so you’re looking at him. “You deserve to feel good about yourself.” 

You try to shrink, but he won’t let you, trapping you with an immovable arm around your shoulders. Remus is strong when he wants to be. He raises his eyebrows, a tiny smirk playing on his lips, until you smile. 

“Okay, you’re right,” you capitulate, leaning your head on his shoulder. “Thank you guys.” 

“Maybe it’d help if you got the presentation off your mind and just relaxed for the rest of the night,” James suggests. “There’s no point in fixating on it anymore, you’ve done all you can.” 

“Yeah, that sounds good,” you say, and then Sirius is squishing into you and Remus’ chair, sitting half on top of both of you. 

“Our poor baby,” he whines, words muffled against your cheek. “I’m sorry I made fun of your practice, sweetpea. I didn’t know you were so nervous.” 

You laugh as he moves down to your neck. “It’s okay, it’s—quit, that tickles!”

Sirius ignores you, pecking relentlessly up and down your neck as Remus struggles to keep the both of you from falling off the armchair. “You’re going to do so good,” he promises ardently. “You know that, right?”

“She doesn’t even have to know it,” James speaks for you as you gasp for breath between giggles. “We know well enough to make up for her.” 

[cattlemons]

heyy, it’s the anon that sent in the request about wanderer with a reader who has a bad relationship with their father :) if it’s alright maybe i can just go by 💿 anon? i have another kinda personal request, and again if you don’t feel comfortable writing it please let me know. 

I have a control freak mother, who is obsessed with our family looking perfect from the outside. for example, about a year ago i had plans to k!ll myself, and i broke down and told my mom, and her response was taking away my phone, computer, everything that i could communicate to people with. She called me an attention seeker and told me that i wasn’t allowed to tell anyone else about it.  

It can either be new or a continuation of my first request, whatever you feel like writing :) thanks so much, lovely <3

The Weight of A Memory

TW: Suicidal ideation, emotional distress, pretty sure there's a cuss somewhere, 1,7k words

a.n. can be read as a continuation to this but fine as a stand alone. More below for you, 💿anon

“So, you’re saying it can work? Erasing a memory from the Irminsul, I mean,” you prodded the man beside you for what felt like the fiftieth time after his prior admission.

The wanderer’s eyebrows twitched in annoyance as he scoffed at your question; a desperate one he suffixes. 

“I only told you that because it seems plausible but even I don’t know the complexity behind the damn tree,” he hissed before adding a quiet “yet” to the back of his remark. 

“Honestly, I don’t think we can progress anymore on this topic,” the aloof puppet gruffed out, “the best we can do at this point is to abandon the title entirely and find an object much easier to study than the Irminsul. It’s a massive retrospective joke that we thought ‘Selective Memory Alteration via Mental Connection to Irminsul’ would be a good research title. We can’t even get access to the tree, much less experiment on it.”

He’s definitely right, but you can’t bring yourself to agree, not when he just alluded to the possibility. 

“We don’t have to gain direct access, we can just connect through the meditational route, you know, incense and the likes?”

The Wanderer let out a mocking snort as he looked at you like you’d said the most absurd thing he’d ever had the privilege to hear. 

“The ‘meditational route’ you throw around so easily takes years to hone, idiot, it’s not just smelling salts and candles. You’re a researcher of the esteemed Akademiya and this is your idea? I don’t want to be that person but it looks like you’re desperately clinging onto a failed idea.”

On a normal day, you would know well enough that he’s only trying to dissuade you from wasting your time on something pointless but, unfortunately, for both you and him, today has been an absolute shitfest for you. Where you’d normally sigh at his crass way of speaking, today you decide to one-up him and say some rather nasty things as well. 

You suppose it’s only fair that monkeys see, monkeys do. 

But what started off as annoyance quickly turned into genuine anger as more ugly words and defined poison spewed out of what was supposed to be a discussion session on your research. He said some painful things and, admittedly, you did too. It, soon, spiraled out of both of your control as things started getting painful especially when he asked what all this insistence was for. 

“Why are you so hellbent on going through with this title–and don’t you dare tell me it’s just because it interests you! You’re much too smart to make such a lame excuse.”

You were silent as embarrassment leaked from the corner of your eyes because truly you did not know. 

Or, rather, you did. You just didn't want to admit it to him. 

Taking what you hope are your things, you rush out of the grand hall, passing by the walls of books and scrolls. You need to get out of there before it suffocates you alive, whatever ‘it’ may be.

The Avidya Forest is a good ways away from the main city of Sumeru but The Wanderer took it all one stride at a time, all in the name of tracking you down. 

Truthfully, in the empty echoes of the cavity he calls his heart, he feels bad for the things he’s said. He knows he shouldn’t have questioned you too harshly, not when you seemed so unsure of it in the first place, but he needed to know why you wanted this so badly; partially because of the intuition he spent millennials sharpening told him to and the other half because he’s seen this desperation before, back when he donned red, black, and gold. 

He followed the path he’s sure you must’ve taken and started guessing when the beaten path petered off. 

He was right to place his bets on the left fork because he found what he was looking for, albeit not in the condition he was hoping for. 

You were hunched over under a tree, clearly sobbing.

The Wanderer almost scoffs at how pathetic this all was, more so his insistence to come find you than your evident sadness. 

Making sure to step a little louder, he made his presence known. He hopes you’ll extend an olive branch of sorts and start the conversation but he supposes it’s too much to expect such mercy after how the situation unfolded. 

He sat beside you but you made no effort to acknowledge his existence, much less be forgiving. He’s fine with it. If you won’t talk, he’ll just have to talk for the both of you. He’s not particularly good at discerning human emotions but you mirror a certain grief he’s experienced three times too much. So, even though he’s probably extremely behind the curve in expressing human sympathy, he can, at least, offer the empathy of a hurt soul. 

“I don’t know what the fuck happened to you but the divine can’t fix it for you, you know. It’s stupid and damn near fruitless to place your hard-earned hopes on a tree. I don’t know what you’re trying to fix but whatever it is you’re trying to erase, I guarantee it'll bite you back in the end if you do it this way.”

He expected at least another hour-long silence but you took the bait and he’s grateful that you did; even if it did hurt him a bit to see the effects his words had on you. 

“You know what’s stupid? Not telling me how you know all of this. How do you know I'm trying to erase something? How do you know it won’t work? How do you know it can’t fix the hurt I’ve been through? How in all Teyvat do you know forgetting won’t make things better because I am about 99% sure I’d be much happier if I don’t remember the attempts I cry about at night,” you heaved as a wave of heaviness you did not know you carried wracked through you. 

You’re not quite sure how he’s got you to open up about your father once before but, damn it, he’s going for another record by digging deep into your personal hardships. 

He stayed silent in what you assumed to be stunned silence but by the time you turned your head to look at him, his eyes carried no surprise, they carried a shared sorrow instead. That’s when you knew that this whole debacle was a mirrored event for him. Something he witnessed himself go through and is now witnessing in you. Epiphany struck like thunder because now you know that's probably how he knew what you were planning; he's done it once before.

If you had any piece left to break in your heart, you’re sure it’d break for him too.

“You’ve tried it before, haven’t you? Erasing a memory in the Irminsul?”

Your question was met with a mocking scoff but unlike the last time he did it, this one was targeted towards himself.

“I’ll do you one better, I tried erasing myself off of it.”

You greeted his admission with silence, you’re not quite sure if it’s some sort of absurd understanding or profound shock. The man beside you has not only tempered with the Irminsul by erasing himself but lived to tell the tale. You have no clue what would drive someone to do such a drastic measure but you realize, in a way, you were not much different. 

“I was abandoned by my creator, by the people I ate and drank with, by a god and by its maker and the pain made me bitter so I tried it yet I’m still here. I know that the whole research is just a facade for your true goal.”

You can’t help but avert your gaze, caught red-handed. 

As you let his words sink in, your realize the hope you once carried were diminishing by the second. A weight dropped onto your shoulder making you curl into yourself even more. You held yourself in a shoddy attempt at mimicking some comfort.

“So, there’s no end to this, is there? Not even the Irminsul can help me,” you asked, sullen and all of a sudden so tired of everything. 

He let the quiet fester just long enough to have you break down again. He did not mean for more tears to fall from your eyes but he’s not sure how to tell you that there was no hope in the Irminsul to fix your hurt. How should he phrase what he thinks you need to hear?

“There is no way for the Irminsul to help you, us. Even if you forget, there’s no assurance it won’t come back to your mind and make things feel ten times worse,” he tells you in a tone so close to a whisper. 

He watched as you sobbed at how futile everything was, how hard it all was. 

He let you grief for your loss of an easy way to happiness.

“But I won’t say there’s no way out.”

You looked at him, your tear-filled human eyes meeting his glass puppet ones.

“It’s a lot of effort, much more than I’d like to give sometimes. Hell, it took a god and some otherworldly intervention to get me back to the baseline of a decent human,” he laughed pitifully, “but it’s possible. If it is for me, I don’t doubt for a second it is for you too.”

His words did little to ease the barrage of tears streaming past your cheeks but amidst the throes of emotion, it comforted you, much like the weight of a blanket on top of a sore body, a heaviness that seeks to drown out the sorrow instead of crush the happiness. 

You looked away to wipe the snot and waterworks away. You wanted to thank him and maybe say your fair share of apologetic lines but when you turned back around to face him, he was gone. 

The tree branches swayed as the wind rustled the leaves off of their seat on the bark. On the space that he occupied just a few seconds ago were some of the stuff you must’ve left back when you rushed out of the Akademiya and amongst it was a small note. It wasn’t the neatest of handwriting and it was a crude, almost cold letter (if it even counted as one considering it consisted of only a few words) but it brought a tiny spark of warmth into your heart.

I’ve done it before. I believe in you.

To 💿anon, I'm so sorry this took so long. My exams drained my energy and I did not want to write you something half-assed so I waited until my schedule cooled down a bit to continue where I left off. Just like last time I hope this brings you some comfort and if you need to share please feel free. Much love <3

[nonexistentbeanbag]

not at all my usual stuff but can we please take a second to acknowledge how much Trump has ruined…everything??

Long one so please stay with me

Donald Trump has been in or around the oval office since I was 9 years old. Think about that for a second. Donald Trump. Has been in the running for president for a decade. Reality TV personality DONALD TRUMP was and will be the president of the United States of America.

Before Donald Trump politics used to be that, politics. Politicians were advocates for policy they deemed to be in the best interest of America and the American people. They were (for the most part) educated people who cared and wanted to make their mark on the history of the country. They respected one another and at least outwardly, seemed to care about the American people. Presidential candidates got where they were, not only due to charm winning over Americans, but because of their tangible policy that was in the best interest of Americans. They were intelligent and qualified.

Donald Trump is not that.

When was the last time you heard not only Donald Trump, but really any presidential candidate, concede that the opponent they're running against has a good point, or is a good person? When was the last time you heard a presidential candidate respect their opponent as an individual who wants what's best for the country? Odds are, not since 2016 at best.

Reality TV personality Donald Trump ruined the reputation of the POTUS. He fostered a climate and set a precedent where internet "stars" like Mr Beast can say they'll run for president, and we don't laugh at them. We see that as a genuine possibility, and horrifically, them winning is not outside of the realm of possibility. Fucking Kanye can run for president and could win. That's insane. The president is no longer an educated person with ideas for improving the conditions of the people. They don't have to be that anymore. The president just needs to be a big enough personality to gain your attention for their own gain.

Donald Trump ruined the race for president. We don't base people off of their merit anymore. We base president on who is loudest, who most easily gets your attention. Who can make the most baseless, wild accusations and claims, and rally people to their cause that means and advocates for nothing.

Not only has he ruined the position of President, he's ruined the American people.

We can't agree to disagree anymore. He's gathered a significant portion of the population, straight cis whites, and rallied them together against the rest of us. He's somehow managed to regress the education and tolerance of the American people by decades.

The people who voted for him don't fucking understand what tariffs are yet believe his claims that more or higher tariffs will fix the American economy.

"The colored are out to get you. They're trying to make white people a minority in this country" "The gays are shoving their sexuality in our face. It goes against the Bible and the core traditional beliefs of marriage" "Trans people are mentally sick and trying to indoctrinate your kids" "Immigrants don't belong in this country and they're trying to take your jobs and paychecks".

Whether these are his true core beliefs or not doesn't matter. This is what his followers feel and believe, and he does nothing but fan the flame of bigotry and prejudice.

Each of his campaigns have been built off the backbone of intolerance and hate. People want someone to hate, to rally against, and he gives them someone. Everyone. His opponents, his detractors, anyone who dares to criticize or look into his wild claims and shoddy policy.

January 6th is indicative of what modern day America looks like. Politics is no longer about civil disagreement or difference in preferred methods of reaching Americas goals. It's about winning.

"I want my side to win and I'll do whatever vile or immoral thing I have to do to make it happen. No I won't look into my candidates policies and make sure it's sound and aligns with my personal values, I'll take their word for it. Instead, I'll burn ballots, I'll fight strangers, I'll storm the capital, because I have to win." And he encourages all of it, because it gets him support, it gets him votes, it gets him money, and it gets him power.

Donald Trump is not a politician. He is not a president. He is a felon. An assaulter. A criminal. A terrorist.

He is a man with power who wanted more and used the American people to get it.

[rosquinn]

Very very disorganized X thoughts

Based on mostly voicelines

His incoming lines make me think a lot, honestly

X is a liar, as it's stated several times in-game. He hides in his Goldberg machines and creates his own reality for fun, and quite possibly to feel safe from the external world. All of his confidence shows in times where he knows he has the full control of the situation ("Haha... I got you! I won't let you go, unless you agree to join my experiment!"). He likes to push people into his own world, but he's also dependent on them; he needs people to show them his machines, no matter how much he tries to satisfy his own desires with his creations, if there's nobody to test them on or show them to, what's the point?

"Try my new inventions... Ah! I had never prepared for a plan B in your absence..."

"Can I borrow you tonight? I really need your help for my new machine... please?"

"It's so nice to meet you! I've been waiting for so long!"

So, despite the confident and self sufficient facade he likes to put on, X is constantly referencing and asking for the attention of those around him ("Please live up to my expectations, colleagues!" "Ah, I seem to have grown a bit taller recently. Can you tell?"). If he ever takes an "imposing" role, it's when he's 100% sure he has enough power to enforce it, and he does want to have that power and confidence permanently and don't depend on other people and the external world anymore ("The day I've waited for has finally come. Welcome to my world."; Bottom of Insight line).

He reaffirms everyone likes him although of his eyes, something that caused a lot of rejection from people his age ("My eyes.. a little scary, aren't they? Kids new to the orphanage were a little afraid of them, but in the end everyone likes me."), and possibly the adults in charge of them themselves. He's dealt with a lot of rejection and mistreatment since he was a kid, and he looks for validation constantly, hiding under fake confidence and acting rebellious and chaotic on purpose to reaffirm said facade. He references his orphanage quite often in his voicelines, only when he's talking to Vertin, a friend he presumably can trust.

Going back to his Incoming voicelines, the first one really sticks out. They're both completely different reactions to the same threat, and one if them is most likely an act. My point is: considering X's facade mostly consists on appearing capable of anything, in control and smarter and more powerful than other people I don't know why he'd pretend to be scared.

Given how he talks about the orphanage, being a place where kids weren't even fed enough, didn't have winter clothes, weren't even allowed to exit the building, how much he liked to cause trouble, even trying to scape once, and how orphanages were in that period of time, it's highly possible kids faced physical violence from the adults in charge of them. Imo, the first line is genuine. He's recognized a threat, he knows he lacks enough power to face it, and he's scared of getting hurt. The second one is just another attempt at looking like he's in control of the situation. As I've said before, these lines are specially interesting to me because he is in battle, where he isn't in perfect control of everything, that's not his world completely and he can't drag people into it like he does at Laplace, so it makes perfect sense that he drops the facade for a moment facing a real threat.

Maybe this was all really obvious but whatever. I like him a lot

[waiting-for-a-sunny-day]

1. “You think you’re the only one who can find a date?” Geto paused his inspection of himself to meet Gojo's gaze in the mirror. “Ah, no, sorry. You don't go on dates. You have to know the other person's name for it to count as a date.”

Behind the near black of his sunglasses, Gojo’s eyes widened with exaggerated offense.

“You can’t slut shame anymore, Suguru. It’s 2010,” Gojo teased, as he flopped back on Geto’s bed.

“I’m not slut shaming you. I’m saying you’re not in a position to act like me going on a first date is a scandal."

Gojo tipped his head backwards and leveled Geto with an over-dramatic eye roll. 

He does that to make people notice how pretty his eyes are. 

“It’s not a scandal. It’s…”

Whatever Gojo thought it was was a mystery, because he was uncharacteristically lost for words. 

Despite what Gojo might accuse him of, Geto was not a sex negative person or a prude. 

He was just madly in love with his best-friend-slash-roommate, and every time Satoru stumbled home with his clothes rumpled and his hair fingered through, Geto felt like burning Tokyo to the ground.

It was all the unhinged, unrealistic pining that led Geto to make this plan in the first place.

The Plan: Geto was going to get over his straight, no-strings-sex-only, relationship-phobic best friend.

Step One of The Plan: Find literally anyone else in the entire world that he could think about kissing without wanting to die.

- - - - Read more cut - - - -

A month earlier, he’d gone so far as to get a guy’s phone number. He’d popped into a café after a particularly foul curse he’d absorbed – hoping to wash the taste out of his mouth with tea and a pastry – and the barista had such a stark white shock of messy hair that Geto had done a doubletake to make sure Gojo wasn’t fucking around in a coffee shop on some bizarre mission objective.

The barista had been, admittedly, extremely attractive. His hair was bleached, but it suited him, and he had pleasing, well-proportioned features. Working on pure adrenaline and determination, Geto had asked him for his number. The guy had turned beet red but managed to stutter out his info to Geto.

Almost as soon as Geto left the café, though, the little nits and snags started to pop up in his mind.

Obviously, the eyes were all wrong. The shyness wasn’t right. The smile. His voice. He wasn’t tall enough, and his hands didn’t have that same graceful strength.

It was a laundry list of how fake-Satoru was emphatically not Satoru.

Geto wasn’t even all the way down the block before he deleted the barista’s info from his phone.

Now Geto was on attempt number two: a first date with a man who in absolutely no way resembled Satoru Gojo.

His non-Gojo-ness was exactly what prompted Geto to ask the man at the train station for his number. Shota was short, burly, square-faced, and serious. Geto had only clocked the man’s interest by the overly long looks he’d shot him.

At least I'm good at reading people…

“Hey, you should bring her back here,” Gojo said – pulling Geto’s attention back to the present. “We can watch that new horror movie. Human Earthworm.”

…unlike my oblivious best friend.

“Are you seriously asking to be the third wheel on my date?”

Gojo’s face was upside down - his head practically hanging off the end of Geto’s bed. The odd angle must have been what made Gojo’s smile look off.

“You worried she’ll be more interested in your hot roommate?”

Geto shot him an unamused look.

“I don’t know why anyone agrees to sleep with you,” Geto lied. “Your head’s so big, it seems like a crush risk.”

“They can tell I’m killer in bed,” Gojo smirked. “The risk is worth the reward.”

Geto turned away and pulled at the shirt he was wearing. He didn’t totally love it, but he also didn’t care as much as he should about impressing Shota.

It wasn’t as if Geto was about to fall in love with this train station stranger, but if he at least went through the motions, maybe his brain would get with the program and start considering non-Satoru people as potential romantic interests.

“But, seriously, Suguru,” Gojo said as he folded his hands under his head – making the hem of his shirt ride up. “What’s up with this date? I thought you weren’t into that sort of thing.”

Geto’s eyes drew immediately to the sliver of skin above the waistband of Gojo’s slim-fit black joggers. 

The peek of skin couldn’t have been more than an inch wide, but Geto could see twin ridges of definition. The visual set Geto’s mind racing, thinking about the rest of Gojo’s skin.

Damn him for having a nice body.

“I’m trying to make myself get into it,” Geto said, wholly distracted by seeing Gojo’s abs and trying to not let his body get worked up, as if he were still a horny highschooler.

“Ohhh,” Gojo replied, his tone brightening. “I get it.”

Geto’s stomach flopped over as Satoru sprang up.

Did I just out myself?

“What do you get?”

“Nothing,” Geto said with a toothy grin that implied otherwise. “But - just so you know - I like you the way you are, Suguru.”

The idiot part of Geto’s heart – i.e., the whole of it – thumped hopefully.

“If you don’t want to date anyone, don’t date anyone,” Gojo added, cheerily. “I won’t let anyone talk shit about my best friend. I mean, who cares if you’re a virgin?”

Geto’s idiot heart plopped down into his stomach.

Gojo thought he was a crotchety prude who’d rather spend his whole life celibate than have any fun, and he still definitely had Geto squarely in the friend zone.

Obviously you’re in the friendzone, you idiot. He’s straight.

(Complete fic on AO3)

[juuuulez]

📰 | part two: capulet.

info: Carl Grimes x Saviour!Reader, female reader, father-figure Negan, enemies to lovers, forbidden romance, no use of (y/n) because immersion.

summary: During your first visit to Alexandria, when Carl misfires a gun, you’re instructed to “babysit” him. This does not go very well.

previous | next

I’m glad everyone liked the first part!! This one is definitely more juicy. Kids being kids. Writing the next part now, let me know if you have any particular requests!

Also (finally) titled!! Drawing heavily on Romeo and Juliet, except… more spiteful at the beginning.

A few days later, and you’re back.

The town of Alexandria is actually quite nice, when you aren’t being cooped up in a cell.

Your fellow Saviours seem to think so too, exploring the place, taking supplies they deem useful for the Sanctuary. After all, there’s mouths to feed, therefore you’ve stopped feeling bad for all these communities you bleed dry.

Well, you felt a little bad last night.

The lineup was rough, it always is. You hadn’t seen the brunt of it, instead sitting safe in the RV where Negan had all but interrogated you regarding your time locked up; coming from a place of concern for your well-being. But you stepped out just as dawn was beginning to hit, and saw the aftermath.

It was just for a few seconds, to retrieve a weapon from Dwight, but you felt a twinge of guilt as Negan taunted that poor boy.

At least he wasn’t wearing the stupid hat anymore.

Whatever, it didn’t matter. At least that’s what you told yourself. Guilt had no place in the apocalypse, especially not for the Saviours, a group of well earned apex predators in this bleak world.

That’s how you saw it.

You oversee the work of your people whilst Negan is talking with Rick. Everybody respects you.. or maybe everybody is scared of you. Scared of your father. Either way, it works.

You’re comfortable as a leader. Somebody who can give orders without hesitation. At the start, there was resistance. Who wanted to be ordered around by a teenage girl? But eventually everything fell into place, and people realised that you were a central part to this operation.

Then the sound of a gunshot rings through the air, putting everybody on edge. Weapons suddenly unholstered, dropping whatever menial task they were completing.

You command them to stand down with a wave of the hand, going to investigate yourself.

Fortunately enough, the situation has already been handled.

Or mostly handled.

“Just who I wanted to see.” Negan says with his usual prowess, however it’s dimmed by an underlying irritation. He brings you further into the room with a gloved hand on your shoulder.

He positions you there like a prize, something valuable. Or maybe a dangerous weapon. A constant show of ‘look at what’s mine, look at what she can do.’ You quite like that.

“Now, it appears that young Grimes is too trigger-happy for his own good,” Negan continues, to which you finally notice Carl standing in the middle of the room, “So why don’t you babysit him for me, darling?”

The boy is practically seething. That same expression you’d seen at the lineup, pure anger and rebellion.

You could feel yourself beginning to smile.

“Of course,” You agree, a grin spreading across your lips, “I’d appreciate a tour, to see if anything here interests me.”

There’s no reply. Carl glares at you, then shoots a pleading look at his father, but to no avail. Rick nods his head in the direction of the door, and you feel like you’ve just won the lottery. This was going to be good.

Now, you didn’t enjoy toying with peoples emotions, per-say. But getting them all riled up sure was fun.

And a teenage boy? This was like a gift from above.

Grown men grew tired of your commanding nature, they’d get violent, speak out of line. It was a dangerous game, one that you loved. Like a cat and mouse, or Icarus flying too close to the sun.

A teenage boy was much more in your ballpark.

“You play sports?” You ask Carl, who is walking a few paces behind you, begrudgingly following despite the fact he was meant to be showing you around. But you didn’t mind.

He doesn’t answer.

You turn to face him, shooting him a backwards glare of what the hell is your problem. “What, you took a vow of silence, or something?” It’s snarky, immature, prodding the bear.

But it works.

“No, I don’t play sports.” Carl answers reluctantly, his tone flat and unamused. It’s becoming more and more evident that when you’re in power like this, in control, you can be a nightmare.

You don’t bother to suppress your grin of satisfaction, turning back away from him, “Yeah, didn’t think so, stringbean. Bet I’ve got more muscle mass than you.”

This must do something, as suddenly Carl has closed the few paces between you, and is blocking your path from continuing. He’s in your face, closer than comfortable, but you love it.

“What the hell’s your problem?” He asks, clearly angry at your snide little comments. That righteous attitude is back. “You can’t come in here, and tell everybody what to do. We’re gonna fight back, and when we do, you’ll be sorry.”

You give him a firm shove, letting Carl stumble a few feet back, “Yeah, how’d that go for you back there, huh? Aim much?”

It’s a low blow, you know that, which is why it feels so goddamn good.

He opens his mouth to speak, but you interrupt him.

“Didn’t shoot me at the satellite station, either. I’m starting to think you’re more harmless than you’re letting on.”

“I’m not exactly in the interest of murdering children,” Carl retorts angrily, “What are you, twelve?”

“I’m seventeen!” You yell back at him, walking swiftly past the boy, but making sure to harshly bump your shoulders together. “Now show me your armoury. You’ve got something of mine.”

You’re walking too quickly for Carl to shoot back a comment, and he needs to awkwardly skip in order to catch up. This time he takes a few strides forward, making the effort to walk just fast enough to stay in front of you.

He wants to be in charge.

Luckily, you love to be petty.

As the pair of you reach the armoury, you swiftly side-step Carl, entering the room first, much to his dismay. You’re eyes are scanning the shelves, rows and rows of guns and weaponry, with one thing in mind. The bat.

“Too bad we’re confiscating all your guns, this is quite the collection,” You comment, finding a supply sheet to glance over, “Good job on that one, by the way. Aren’t you helpful?”

Carl essentially ignores your sarcasm, speaking from the other side of the room, “Looking for something?”

You turn, a momentary flash of confusion on your face, until you realise that he’s got it. The metal bat clutched in one hand, held up tauntingly. When you take a step forward to retrieve it, he only takes a step back.

“That’s not funny.” You say, a sense of agitation in your tone, that dominant and teasing persona gone in an instant.

It only causes Carl to grin, taking pleasure in this momentary inch of power he’s gained.

“You even know how to play baseball?” He asks, switching the bat into his dominant hand, pretending to slowly swing it.

“I do, actually,” You snap, reaching out to finally grasp the metal bat, taking it from his grip unceremoniously, “Wanna see? I can use your skull as the ball.”

This works to shut him up, judging by how Carl’s eyes narrow into a glare, but he doesn’t dare to say anything. You take this as a victory, once again knocking shoulders as you leave the small space, not bothering to shut the door behind you.

You’re not even a few meters down the street before there are footsteps again, Carl still following you, despite wanting otherwise. It makes that malicious grin to return.

“Aren’t you obedient?” You quip, not even bothering to look back at him as you speak, as if he isn’t worth the time. It’s a power trip, one you’re addicted to, one Carl is unknowingly feeding into. Or, maybe he does know, but can’t do anything about it.

Carl scoffs, “Coming from you. Do you always do everything Negan tells you to?”

It’s smart, getting you to roll your eyes in displeasure, that metal bat swinging by your side as you walk. “It’s called being a good soldier, like you would understand.”

“Yeah? Soldier, or pet?” He continues, and you can basically hear the grin in his voice.

The fuck does he know?

You finally spin around, grip tightening ever so slightly on the bat. Control is slowly slipping through your fingers, this stupid back and forth game beginning to get on your nerves, despite being the instigator.

“You wanna talk about pet?” You spit, closing in on his personal space, “Rick tells you to murder twenty people, and you do it? That’s called being a little bitch, okay, daddy’s boy?”

This works, as Carl’s face twists into a look of anger, his fists clenching at his sides.

But you continue, “This stupid group has had this coming for a long time. There’s no such thing as being the good guys, you’re just another bunch of stupid pricks, who need to be put in their place.”

It snaps something inside of Carl, because suddenly he’s giving you a harsh shove, where you stumble a few feet backwards. You mirror his childish temper, throwing your body at him with equal force, where the two of you awkwardly wrestle in the middle of the street.

You attempt to gain leverage, steeling your feet into the ground, bending your knees. Then, out of nowhere, you’re raising your arm with the bat, ready to try and dislocate his shoulder, or something. Anything. Just to show that you aren’t weak.

But before you can swing, there’s resistance, and you snap out of this little squabble to realise that somebody else is holding your bat.

“The hell are you doin’, girl?”

Negan swiftly lifts the bat from your grip, holding it at an arms length. You let go of Carl, whipping around to glare at the older man.

“He’s being a total jagoff!” You shout, twisting to see a similar look of discontent on Carl’s face, like he’s itching to leap back into your little fight.

It’s no use, because then Negan is holding your shoulder, giving you a gentle push in the opposite direction, “Truck, now. We’re making our departure.”

And you listen, despite everything telling you to continue. To prove yourself, maintain that power.

To make matters worse, Carl has taken this experience as some sort of mental victory, yelling out from the footpath, “Daddy’s girl!”

You can only turn, angrily giving him the finger as you storm off towards the gates, but it acts as fuel to the fire. Getting sick of that stupid expression, you turn back away, footsteps quickening in an attempt to seperate yourself from the ever so slightly humiliating experience.

Next time you’ll get him.