#oh and before anyone comes at me for this - no i am not saying you have to like it. you can be irritated by it! that's within your rights

[okwonyo]

COLOGNE, 或──── clingy boyfriends.

❛ 𝗂’𝗆 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖽𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗒𝖾𝗍, 𝗉𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌 𝗆𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝖼𝗄.

1THOU&2HUN 𓈒𓈒 日语 ⠀ ╱ fem!rea ⌕ fluff non idol au ──dis. skinship kissing と ⠀ ( 𝑜𝑜𝑒𝑢𝑣𝑟𝑒𝑠 )

지아 ⠀⦂ ⠀ 𝖣𝖤𝖢𝖮𝖱 𝖬𝖸 𝖳𝖧𝖱𝖤𝖤 🎀

reblogs ˊᗜˋ +feedbacks · C𝑙𝑖CK

HEESEUNG

it always happens when he is half asleep— in the middle of the night especially.

he loves to lock you in his arms before he dozes off. his strong arms wrapped around you while you hide your face in the crook of his neck.

and he hates, he loathes, when you move away from him. he hates when you take your warmth away from him to go somewhere else. he whines whenever you do, “are you trying to kill me?”

he holds your wrist from his comfortable position on the mattress. “‘m thirsty,” you whisper as he scratches his eye. “i will be back in a few seconds, hee,” he nods, although his grip gets tighter.

your first mistake was to think that he was going to stay in bed alone. although you assure him that you are coming back, he gets out of bed and follows you to the kitchen.

the much taller and more muscular man holds your hand to not stumble over anything.

⠀ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ﹙ᵕ ᵕ⠀look under the cut ! ♡

JAY

he never says it. he is not the type to use too many words, especially when it comes to things like this.

action over words, as always, he catches you by the waist as you pass by him. comfortably sat on the sofa, he pulls you on his laps and you barely budge— eyes fixed on your phone.

he puts his chin on your shoulder. not even to look at your phone but at you. he tightens the embrace around your waist as the shape of your side profile gets engraved in his mind for the ninth time.

you still don’t give him enough attention, however. and it makes him a little sad, even more needy, ten times more touchy.

instead of using words, as anyone else would do, he puts his cheek against yours. like a cat turned into a man, he rubs his skin against yours sweetly.

it makes you giggle after a bit. you put your phone to the side and turn around to kiss while he falls to the side.

JAKE

he is always clingy. he is the epitome of the boyfriend who never leaves you alone. you are always touching each other in a way: either by standing close, holding hands or hugging.

his clinginess did get to you at some point of the relationship.

you are not really the type to reach out first, in public at least. but if he does, you let him, no matter where you are.

“sorry if i am too clingy, my love,” he tells you against your shoulder. he gave you a bear hug whereupon you were talking with your friends a few minutes ago and never moved. “my heart was screaming for you all day.”

you pat his head, cradling your fingers in his hair. he hums tenderly as you speak, “it’s okay, baby,” you chuckle. you turn your head slightly towards him, kissing his cheek before continuing whispering, forgetting your friends, “i missed you too.”

he stays silent for a moment as you still play with his hair. after a moment, he starts to leave wet kisses on your cheeks. again and again.

SUNGHOON

“oh my god,” you say. the way your boyfriend looks at you while walking in the living room tells you everything you need to know. he looks at you in the way he does when he wants. “get away from me.”

when your lover wants, it means that he wants you. in his arms, laying on his chest or him laying on yours. under the warm covers or on the sofa. it means he gets clingy, it means he just manhandles you wherever.

“hi, sweetheart,” he greets you with a soft voice. your heart melts, despise the words you spoke a minute ago.

he leans in, aiming from you who lays down prettily on the sofa, chasing after your delicious lips. you hug his neck and he takes it as an opportunity to lean back up. sliding his arm around your back strongly, he presses you against himself.

“i want cuddles,” he tells you against your lips. he tells you in a sigh, desperate and needy.

you hum. “do your thing, big boy,” and he gets up, picking you up in the process. you hug his waist with your legs as he walks to the bedroom.

SUNOO

you knew it. from the moment his eyes locked with yours, with his stupid smile, you knew it wasn’t going to be just one kiss.

it has been maybe more than one hundred kisses by now. but his hand on the back of your neck keeps you in place. alongside with his tongue swiftly dancing in your mouth.

he pinned you against the wall as soon as you finished getting ready. he is ruining your makeup but you don’t have enough strength to walk away from that.

whenever he pulls away to catch a bit of air or change angle, you whisper, “i really have to go,” before kissing him back when he comes back.

to which he responds by rubbing the back of your skin with his thumb and smile, “stay with me for a while, baby,” he pleads in your mouth. “i don’t want you to leave,”

and you give in. from their comfortable position on his waist, you put your hands up and wrap your arms around his neck. he aims for your waist and pulls you close.

JUNGWON

when he gets clingy, sometimes, he just gets a little bit more annoying that he already is. he pinches your sides, slides his cold hand under your shirt, pokes your cheek. anything to get your attention.

but more times than not, he can be less annoying and much more touchy— in a loving way.

“god, i missed you like crazy,” he mumbles as he hurriedly walks toward you. he hugs you quickly after you take off your shoes. “i feel like it has been a lifetime since i saw you.”

you giggle— he has been like this all day. his nose hides in your neck while you pat his back gently, “i was out for an hour, won,”

his embrace tightens around you. he readjusts his his head’s position, “it felt like a million years,” he groans. “never do that to me again.”

you pat his head gently, “i’m here baby,” you whisper. “let’s go cuddle for the next hours, mh?” he nods.

RIKI

neither of you know how it started. but, he grew to be really hopeless without you around, to the extent where it is actually pretty funny.

your boyfriend follows you everywhere you go, without exception. wherever you are, anyone can assume that a tall man is not far away from you.

and said tall man can get even worse when he loses sight of you for a minute.

“you are such a duck,” you tell him in a chuckle. your voice is pretty quiet, but he is so close that he doesn’t need you to speak louder. as much as he can’t act like he didn’t hear. “i’m not going to disappear.”

his arm presses against yours even more as he looks down, “can’t a boy wish to be one with the girl he loves?” he tells you as you walk towards the next clothes hallway.

“you are almost walking on my feet,” you laugh, bumping your shoulder against his to push him away a little.

he stumbles away for ten seconds and comes back, draping his arm on your shoulder, “don’t go away from me!”

ㅤㅤ𓈒ㅤㅤ𓈒 taglist open

[burnforyou]

TUTOR - LUIGI MANGIONE x READER

!SUMMARY! this COULD be a part 2 to creep but it can also be read as a stand alone. nerdy Luigi is tutoring reader and he gets head for the first time!!! he's subby (ish) and innocent <3 enjoy!

“do you think you understand it now?” he asks, putting his pen down. you hesitate.

“can i ask you something?” you look up from the chemistry papers scattered on your desk to his face. how is he so pretty? he looks so ravishing in his perfect maroon sweater with a button up underneath. the color makes his skin glow.

from the moment he walked into your house, you'd been trying to come up with a plan to get him into your bed. and when you saw how hard he was under the table, you knew he was feeling the same way. had you purposefully worn small pajama shorts to try and tease him? yeah, maybe, but your plan was pretty successful, so you weren't ashamed.

little did you know, he's been hard since before he even entered your house. did the sight of your practically bare legs make it worse? yeah, definitely, but he'd been trying to calm himself down all day but nothing has seemed to do the trick. just the thought of walking into your home has had him worked up all week. when he saw you requesting tutoring he almost cried.

“sure, what’s up?” you place your manicured hand on his thigh and he stiffens. his eyebrows furrow and his dark eyes flicker between your hand and face.

“are you a virgin?” he freezes. is it that obvious? he sits there in silence for a few seconds, frozen. his mind goes completely blank, what do I even say? fuck, I have the most beautiful, smart, woman sitting in front of me and she wants to know if I'm a virgin?

“you don’t have to answer that, it’s just that-“

“i am.” he spoke up, looking away shamefully.

“no, no, no, i’m not judging you. i just noticed that, you uh, are kinda in a sticky situation down there and, i haven’t even touched you.” he looks down and tries to adjust the tent his hard cock has made in his jeans.

“don’t be ashamed," you slide your hand further up his thigh and move closer to him, "I just want to repay you for helping me so much, with chemistry and calc, if that's okay with you."

"yeah," he squeaks out, embarrassed at how high pitch his voice comes out. you suggest going up to your bedroom and he complies, following behind you silently. he struggles to tear his eyes away from your ass, watching it move up the stairs.

he plops down on the edge of the bed and you push him back until he's sat against your headboard. you crawl up the bed to him and sit on his lap. his hips buck and his mouth opens at the sudden friction on his already hard cock. he felt so overwhelmed: your scent surrounding him, being in your bed, you on top of him, for fucks sake.

you lean in and capture his lips with yours, his lips naturally molding against yours. you press your hands lightly on the sides of his neck. his hands stay awkwardly at his sides, gripping onto your sheets every time you grind on him through your thin pajama shorts. you break the kiss and smile down at him, holding his head carefully. he looks up at you with his doe eyes and a million thoughts swirl through his mind.

"you can touch me, you know that right?" you whisper.

he nods silently and hesitantly places his hands on your hips.

“has anyone ever touched you before?”

he shakes his head. you lean down and kiss him again. this time, he breaks the kiss with a question.

"are you sure you want to do this? you don't have to repay me for anything."

"oh I'm sure, I've been plotting on you for a while now."

"r-really?" he struggles to get out, shock evident in his voice.

"don't act all innocent now, I know that you think about me. I see you in class, looking at me the whole time. its just surprising that you're a virgin, especially for a handsome guy like you." his face flushes at your compliment, his lips threatening a smile. "now, let's get this sweater off, hm?"

he allows you to tear his maroon sweater off his body and discard it on your floor. you admire his abs by running your hands up and down his chest, content with yourself. he sits there and wonders how much you truly know about him, if you know he's truly a creep, deep down.

"do you want to know a secret?" you say, looking down at him. he nods eagerly and you laugh.

"you're so eager," you giggle. you lean down, putting your lips right on his ear teasingly. "I know that you watch me through my window."

his whole body stiffens and all the color drains from his face.

"I touched myself too that night." you say, smiling down at him. he's not sure what to do, whether he should be happy or ashamed. before he can come up with something to say, you're dragging your hands down his body, kissing all over him. you smirk as you kiss directly down his happy trail, finally reaching his waist band. you fiddle with the button and pull the zipper down smoothly.

he quickly picks his hips up, pulling down his jeans and boxers at the same time. you lick your lips at the sight of his heavy cock, so hard it sprang against his stomach.

you leaned up, connecting your lips with his once again and simultaneously reached down to grasp his cock. he broke the kiss with a gasp and he screwed his eyes shut tight at the feeling of your soft hand gripping him.

"you're so big," you say, looking down to admire his pulsing cock in your hand. his tip shone with pre-cum, red and needy. he whimpered at your compliment, his face almost as pink as his dick.

you bent down, pressed a kiss on his tip and licked down his length. he let out a noise similar to a whine.

"please," he whimpered. you finally wrapped your lips around his tip, looking up at him to watch his reaction. he squeezed his eyes shut, his mouth falling open in a silent gasp. he instantly bucked his hips into you and groaned, your mouth welcoming him further.

"fuck," his hands flew to your head, gripping onto your hair. you wrapped your hand around his hairy base and moved your lips up and down his girth, settling into a gentle but fast pace.

"baby, oh," he whimpers, letting out a low, guttural sound when his tip hits the back of your throat. his chest rises and falls faster than he thought was humanly possible.

you keep taking him so deep it has tears streaking down your face and saliva down onto his balls. it felt like something straight out of his fantasies.

"y/n, just like that," his moans fill the room, making you weak. you come up for air, your lips letting go of his cock with a satisfying pop. he removes his hand from your hair and caresses your wet face.

"you're so perfect." he says, smiling. “it feels so much better than i’ve ever imagined.”

you go back down on his cock, completely taking him once again, never breaking eye contact. his tip hits the back of your throat and this time it has him shooting hot cum down your throat. he lets out a shocked groan and his head falls back, his Adams apple bobbing. you swallow all of it and lick down his cock, cleaning him off completely.

"fuck, I'm so sorry y/n, I didn't mean to cum so quick." he looks away, ashamed. you reach for him and force him to look at you.

"you're alright," you say, giggling again.

"it just felt so good, nothing like I've ever imagined." he confesses, rubbing the back of his neck. he suddenly realizes how vulnerable he is, sitting on your bed completely naked and fucked out of his mind while you're completely dressed and satisfied. he likes the power you hold over him.

months of yearning for you have all built up to this moment. he reaches for you and swings your leg over his lap, planting you on his already re-hardening cock. he leans into you and kisses you, finally full of confidence and a need to have all of you.

have you ever tried this one?

I AM UNSTOPPABLE!!!!!!!!!!! MERRY CHRISTMAS FREAKS!!!!!

!TAGS!

@strawbrriess @bellobambino @f4nfic-lover @btcowboy @chmpgneprblem @soggysouppp @hereandqueer6540 @poohkie90 @bricapallen16 @miarosalie11 @v1rtualsalvat10n @hypnotizedbyhood

[d-z20]

Her Game, Your Rules (NSFW)

Pairing: Rio Vidal x Reader

Summary: To stop your family's reputation burning to the ground you are forced to marry Rio Vidal, an old money type of rich CEO who seems to be on a mission to make your life hell

-OR-

You end up snapping and fuck Rio to get your frustrations out.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, Top Reader, Bratty Rio, biting, marking, fingering (Rio recv), fisting, dom brat-tamer reader, seriously it's just rough smut, maybe some plot if you squint

Words: 3.6k

A/N: At the time of writing this, I am under the influence of christmas spirits (read vodka and mulled wine) and so this is a little self induldgent and I apologise for any typos oops

AO3 | Masterlist

Your family’s fall from grace is like a slow-motion train wreck—every headline, every whispered scandal, is another crack in your once-unshakeable reputation. The solution comes as a cruel irony: an arranged marriage. Not to just anyone, but to Rio Vidal.

She’s untouchable, the CEO of a sprawling conglomerate with roots so deep in old money they’re practically fossilised. Her power is absolute, her public image flawless, and her demeanor? Smug. To her, this marriage is nothing but a game, another business deal where she holds all the cards.

The first time she calls you pet, it’s during the engagement photoshoot. The photographer adjusts your pose—her arm around your waist, her hand resting at the curve of your hip—and she leans in, her voice low and taunting. “Smile, pet. You wouldn’t want them to think you’re unhappy with me, would you?”

Her hand squeezes the flesh of your hip and you almost snap.

It only gets worse after the wedding. Rio is everywhere—her presence suffocating yet calculated, as though she knows exactly how to push your buttons without ever truly crossing a line. At home, in the shared penthouse you can’t even call yours, she lounges with infuriating ease. She’s always perfectly put-together: designer suits, expensive perfumes, and that perpetual smirk.

“You’re tense again,” she says one evening from the couch, sipping her wine like a queen on her throne. “Is it me, or are you trying not to stare?”

You grit your teeth. If she notices how often your fists clench, she doesn’t let it show.

Tonight is no different. A high-profile business dinner sees you both playing the part of the perfect power couple. Rio dazzles the room effortlessly, sliding her hand into yours with calculated affection as though it’s second nature. Her teasing words are quiet, meant only for you.

“Careful with that scowl, pet,” she murmurs while brushing non-existent lint from your jacket. “You’ll ruin the illusion.”

By the time you return to the penthouse, you’re simmering. The space feels colder than usual, and Rio only adds to it as she strides inside like she owns not just the apartment but the entire city. She shrugs off her coat and tosses it onto a chair without looking back at you.

“You were quiet tonight,” she says, her voice laced with that familiar condescension. She turns just enough to meet your gaze, and there it is—that smug little smile. “I’d almost think you were enjoying my company.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you snap, but it’s exactly what she wants.

Rio’s smile widens as she steps closer, her heels clicking softly against the marble floor. She stops right in front of you, impossibly composed as always, and tilts her head like she’s sizing you up. Her eyes glint with something sharp, something knowing.

“Oh? Is that irritation I hear, pet?” She purrs, voice low and teasing. “It’s adorable how hard you try to keep it together. But I see you, you know. You hate how much I get under your skin.”

The change happens like lightning striking—quick, hot, and inevitable. Before you realise it, you’ve grabbed her wrist and spun around, slamming her back against the closed door. The sound echoes through the penthouse, sharp in the silence.

Rio gasps softly, her breath catching as her back hits the door. For the first time, her perfect composure falters. Her wide eyes meet yours, lips parting as though she’s trying to find something to say, but for once, she’s quiet.

“All that teasing, Rio,” you murmur, stepping closer until there’s barely an inch between you. Your voice drops low, deliberate. “Did you think I wouldn’t do something about it?”

Her silence is electric, crackling between you.

You reach out, tilting her chin with two fingers, forcing her to look at you. Her breath hitches, and you catch it—the tiniest flicker of uncertainty in her gaze, a fracture in her armor. But then, like a reflex, her lips curl into a small, bratty pout.

“What’s the matter?” You taunt softly, a smirk tugging at your mouth. “Cat got your tongue?”

Rio’s breath is uneven now, her lashes fluttering as she blinks at you. She tries to mask it with that familiar bite of defiance. “Finally showing some backbone, pet?” she whispers, her voice breathier.

The words make you grin. “You like pushing me,” you say, your hands sliding to her hips, pinning her against the door. She tenses just slightly beneath your grip, her body betraying her cool demeanor. “But you’re not as untouchable as you think you are.”

Rio’s chin lifts defiantly, her sharp gaze meeting yours like a challenge. “And what are you going to do about it?” She breathes, but there’s something crumbling in her voice now—something you can feel.

Your smirk widens as you lean in, your mouth brushing against the shell of her ear. “Exactly what you’ve been asking for, Vidal.”

And then you kiss her.

It’s not gentle. It’s months of frustration, tension, and unspoken words igniting all at once. Rio lets out a small, startled noise against your mouth, one that only fuels you further. Her hands shoot up to grip your shoulders, but whether she’s trying to push you away or pull you closer, you can’t tell, and you don’t care.

You press her harder against the door, tilting her head back as you deepen the kiss. For once, she isn’t teasing. Her breaths are quick, her lips parting under yours with a kind of quiet surrender that makes you feel drunk on power. Her smugness is gone, replaced by something raw, something real.

When you finally pull back, Rio looks at you with half-lidded eyes, her cheeks flushed and her breaths coming fast. Her composure is shattered, her usual teasing grin nowhere to be found.

“Well?” you murmur, brushing a thumb along her jaw as you tilt her face to yours. “Still feeling smug?”

She scowls, breathless, and flustered in a way you’ve never seen before. “Don’t get cocky,” she mutters, her voice soft but bratty, her gaze darting away as if she can’t bear how vulnerable she looks.

You grin, leaning in again until your lips hover over hers. “I’m just getting started, pet.”

Your smirk lingers as you grab Rio’s wrist, guiding her away from the door and deeper into the penthouse. She doesn’t resist—her breathing still unsteady, her steps hurried to keep up with you. The silence stretches, punctuated only by the soft click of your shoes against the hardwood floor and the faint rustle of her movements behind you.

The door to your bedroom swings open, and you tug her inside, not giving her a chance to reclaim even a shred of that smug composure. You push her back against the edge of the bed, and Rio stumbles slightly, catching herself with her palms as she glares up at you. That flash of defiance is still dancing in her eyes, but it’s tempered now—undercut by the pink flush dusting her cheeks, the way her chest rises and falls too quickly.

“You’re awfully quiet,” you taunt, stepping closer, standing over her. “Nothing to say, Vidal?”

Rio swallows, the sharp comeback you know she wants to make catching in her throat as her gaze flicks up to meet yours. Instead, she juts her chin out stubbornly, a spark of her usual bratty fire returning. “What, do you need a gold star for dragging me in here?”

You huff out a low laugh, reaching out to hook a finger into the front of her perfectly tailored blazer and tug her back to her feet. Rio gasps softly at the sudden movement, but you’re already turning her around. She lets out a small, startled noise when her back presses against your chest. You take your time sliding the blazer off her shoulders, letting the fabric pool at her feet, followed by the silky blouse underneath. Every inch of newly exposed skin is a victory, a crack in her armour.

When she tries to turn back around, you stop her, sliding one hand over her hip to hold her in place. “Stay still,” you murmur, your voice low and commanding against her ear. Her body stiffens at your tone, but she doesn’t fight you. Your hand drifts upward, running along her bare arm, then grazing the strap of her bra before letting it fall. Her breath hitches audibly.

You step back just slightly to admire her—the perfect Rio Vidal, now flushed and breathless, standing before you in nothing but her skirt. You don’t bother hiding your smirk as you lean in again, your fingers dragging down the zipper. The skirt slips down her legs, leaving her in only the barest scrap of black lace.

“Look at you,” you whisper, grazing your knuckles over her hip. She shivers under your touch, her sharp facade slipping further. “All that teasing. All that attitude. And yet here you are.”

Rio turns her head just enough to glare at you over her shoulder, but the effect is ruined by the redness in her cheeks and the way her lips part slightly as if she can’t catch her breath. “Don’t let this go to your head,” she mutters, though her voice waves.

You chuckle softly, reaching out to grip her chin and turn her face toward you. “You’re still talking back?” you murmur. You tilt her head, leaning close enough for your lips to brush against hers—but you don’t kiss her. You let her feel the heat of you; let her squirm under your touch.

When she finally lets out a small, frustrated whimper, you know you’ve won.

“Good girl,” you murmur against her mouth before finally capturing it in a kiss—deep, heated, and utterly consuming.

Rio melts against you, her defiance unravelling as your hands trail down her body, leaving no part of her untouched. You don’t bother taking off your own clothes so her nails dig into the fabric of your shirt, gripping it desperately as if she can’t get close enough. Her bratty protests are gone now, replaced by quiet, breathy sounds you’d never thought you’d hear from her. Each one is like fuel to the fire burning between you.

When you finally guide her back onto the bed, pinning her beneath you with her wrists above her head, Rio looks up at you—flushed, vulnerable, and breathless.

“Still feeling smug?” you ask, smirking as you lean over her.

She doesn’t answer this time. She just arches her back, tilts her head slightly, and gives you a look that’s both challenging and pleading all at once.

“Yeah,” you murmur softly, leaning down to nip at her neck. “That’s what I thought.”

As you hover over Rio, the flicker of defiance in her eyes does little to hide the vulnerability beneath. Your lips curl into a satisfied smirk as you trail your fingers lightly along the curve of her hip, the teasing touch making her squirm. Your other hand rests firmly at the base of her neck, your thumb brushing against her pulse—steady but quickened, betraying the control she’s desperately trying to hold onto.

“Look at you,” you say again, your voice dripping with condescension. “Everyone thinks you’re in charge of everything you do, but we both know that’s a lie.”

Rio’s eyes narrow at the jab, her lips parting as though she’s about to retort, but the words catch in her throat when your thumb presses just a little more firmly against her neck. Her body shivering beneath you, her breath hitching as your hand on her hip continues its slow, deliberate strokes—up, down, and back again, each motion calculated to unravel her composure further.

“You can’t fool me, pet. I can feel the way you’re trembling. I can see the way your body reacts. Face it—you love this,” you whisper, delighting in the way the name makes her shiver.

Her cheeks flush deeper, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip as she tries to keep her resolve. Your hand on her hip shifts slightly, your fingertips brushing lower, closer to the edge of that last scrap of lace. Her breath stutters, and despite her best efforts, a soft whine escapes her lips.

“You talk a big game,” you say, your thumb stroking gently along the side of her neck, holding her in place as your free hand drifts lower. Without ceremony, you hook your fingers into the delicate band of her underwear and slide it down her legs in one smooth motion, letting the damp fabric fall to the floor. “But right now? You’re mine. And the best part?” Your lips curve into a wicked smile. “You don’t even want to fight it.”

Rio lets out a shaky exhale, her bravado crumbling further as your grip tightens ever so slightly, just enough to remind her who’s in charge. When she finally speaks, her voice is a barely whisper, lacking its usual sharpness. “Don’t get used to this,” she mutters, but the effect is ruined by the faint, pleading undertone in her words.

You laugh softly, low and mocking, as you lean down to press a slow, claiming kiss against her throat. “Oh, I’m already used to it, pet,” you whisper against her skin, feeling the way her pulse races beneath your lips. Your hand trails downward, slipping between her thighs as you drag a single finger through her slick folds, teasing and deliberate. The sharp intake of her breath is music to your ears, her body trembling under your touch. “And judging by the way you’re falling apart, I’d say you are too.” As the final words leave your mouth, you roughly shove two fingers inside of her.

Rio’s body arches into yours, her resistance melting away completely as her hands grip at your shoulders, holding onto you like you’re the only solid thing in her world. Whatever composure she had left is gone now, replaced by soft, whiney noises that fuel the fire between you.

You pull back slightly, just enough to look down at her—flushed, vulnerable, and completely at your mercy. “See?” you taunt, brushing your thumb along her jaw. “This is where you belong, Rio. Beneath me.”

You smirk darkly, pulling your fingers out of her with no warning, ignoring the desperate whine that spills from her lips as you do. Her body jerks at the sudden emptiness, and before she can so much as recover, you grab her by the waist and flip her over like she weighs nothing.

Rio lets out a surprised gasp, her cheek pressing against the mattress as you shove her down, one hand fisting into her hair to keep her in place. “Stay,” you growl, your voice rough and commanding, punctuated by the sharp tug of her hair that forces her head to tilt back just enough to expose her neck. “You don’t get to be in control here, pet.”

Your other hand grips her hip, pulling her back so she’s on her knees, her spine arching beautifully under the pressure of your grip. Her face remains pressed against the mattress, muffling all the noises spilling from her lips. You drag your nails along the curve of her back, just hard enough to leave red trails in their wake, marking her as yours.

“If people could see you now,” you sneer, tugging her hair again, eliciting a broken moan from her. “The big, bad CEO, reduced to this—a whimpering little thing begging for my touch. It’s pathetic. You’re pathetic.” The hand on her hip slides upward, fingertips digging into her skin hard enough to leave bruises in their wake, so she won’t forget tonight anytime soon.

Rio tries to lift her head, her defiance flaring for a fraction of a second, but you slam her hips back down in a single, rough motion, pressing her further into the mattress. “Don’t even think about it,” you snap, tightening your grip on her hair. “You don’t move unless I say so.”

Her body trembles under your hands, her breathing ragged and uneven as she struggles to maintain even the smallest semblance of composure. But it’s useless—every rough tug, every sharp dig of your nails into her skin, every mocking word you whisper breaks her down further.

You lean over her, your teeth scraping against the curve of her shoulder before you bite down—enough to leave a mark, a visible reminder of exactly who she belongs to. Rio gasps, her body arching instinctively against you, and you let out a low, satisfied chuckle. “That’s better,” you murmur, your lips brushing against the fresh mark. “Now, be a good girl and take what I give you.”

You don’t give her time to recover as your hand slides back between her thighs, forcing them apart as far as they’ll go. Without hesitation, you thrust two fingers back inside her, rough and unrelenting. The wet, obscene sound of it fills the room, mixing with Rio’s muffled cries against the mattress. She’s already trembling, her walls clenching around you as you add a third finger without pause. Her body shudders violently, her knees wobbling under the sheer intensity of your pace.

You curl your fingers just enough to draw a choked moan from her lips. “Falling apart already? You like being ruined, don’t you, pet?” Your words are cruel and mocking, as you drive her higher, your fingers moving faster and deeper, until the tight heat of her body is nearly overwhelming.

When her breath catches again, when her thighs quiver, you push further, withdrawing your fingers briefly before pressing back in with four, stretching her open. Rio lets out a strangled sound, her head turning just enough for you to catch the tears clinging to her lashes, the way her lips part in breathless surrender. She’s shaking now, reduced to nothing but broken moans and whimpers.

“Not enough?” you rasp, gripping her hip harder with your free hand to hold her steady. “Then take all of it.” Slowly, deliberately, you press your fist inside her, feeling her tense, and then give way around you. Her body arches sharply, a guttural cry escaping her as her head drops forward, her hands clutching desperately at the sheets. The sheer intensity of it has her completely undone, her body jerking with each movement as you start to move, each thrust coaxing more incoherent noises from her lips.

“You’re a mess,” you growl, your tone dripping with smug satisfaction as you watch her fall apart. “The mighty Rio Vidal, completely wrecked and begging for more. Tell me, pet—who do you belong to?”

Rio is a wreck beneath you, her body quivering and her breaths coming in ragged, desperate gasps. Her hands claw at the sheets, her nails curling into the fabric as though it’s the only thing grounding her. “Please,” she finally whimpers, her voice trembling and cracked, a stark contrast to her usual composed arrogance. “Please, I—I’m so close.”

You lean over her, your hand still working relentlessly, your fist driving into her over and over again. The slick heat of her body clenching around you sends a thrill of power coursing through your veins. “What’s that, pet?” you mock, leaning closer to nip at the shell of her ear. “Did I hear you begging? The untouchable Rio Vidal, pleading for permission? Say it again. Say exactly what you want.”

Her response is immediate, raw, and desperate. “Please! Let me—let me cum,” she sobs, her voice muffled against the mattress. “I need it, I can’t—please, just—please!” Every word is laced with want, with a pleading edge that makes your smirk widen.

You slow your movements just enough to make her whine, her body writhing in frustration as you keep her teetering on the edge. “You’re mine,” you growl, your voice low and firm, as your free hand slides up her spine before tangling in her hair again, pulling her head back enough to make her gasp. “Say it, Rio. Tell me who you belong to.”

Her reply takes less than a second, her walls clenching around your hand as the words spill from her lips like a confession. “Yours! I’m yours, please, just let me—”

You cut her off by picking up the pace again, your movements rough and unrelenting. Her body seizes as she tumbles over the edge, her cry muffled by the sheets as her climax tears through her. Her thighs tremble violently, and she’s left gasping, completely undone beneath you. You ride her through every wave of it, drawing out her pleasure until she collapses, spent and shaking, her cheek pressed against the mattress as her breathing slowly steadies.

For a long moment, the room is filled only with the sound of her ragged breathing. Then, a low, dark chuckle escapes her lips, raspy and laced with exhaustion. “Well,” she murmurs, her voice still shaky but dripping with wry amusement. “I guess that counts as finally consummating our marriage.” She tilts her head just enough to glance back at you, her usual smirk making a weak but defiant return, though her flushed cheeks and trembling thighs betray her.

You huff a laugh, leaning down to press a kiss to the curve of her shoulder. “Careful, Vidal,” you say against her skin. “We both know who’s really in charge here.” You trail your fingers down her spine, watching the way she shivers under your touch.

Rio chuckles again, softer this time, as she shifts slightly, her body still too spent to fully move. “To the world, I’m still the untouchable CEO,” she says, her voice quiet but firm, the sharp edge of her confidence returning. “But between us?” She glances at you, her eyes glinting with that familiar mix of defiance and surrender. “We both know where I belong.”

Your smirk widens as you push her hair back, brushing your lips against her temple. “That’s right, pet,” you say softly. “And don’t you forget it.”

-----

Happy Holidays sluts (complimentary) if you are celebrating anything, if not Happy Dec 24th :D

this was going to be the arranged marriage au for aaa week before my laptop decided to be homophobic and break >:(

-----

taglist: @danveration (comment to be added to a taglist)

[kaiwewi]

Their First Villain

Secret Santa gift for @the-modern-typewriter Prompt: "Scary villain x hero in a Christmas setting of your [the writer's] choice. Could go spicy, could go whumpy, could go unexpectedly sweet!" Hope you like this! Merry Christmas!! 🎅🎁

“You recognised me,” the villain observes, his tone unnaturally flat. His face betrays no emotion.

“Kinda hard not to, with your…” – the hero tilts their head at where the villain’s magic continues to spread, coiling around their limbs and securely fixing them in place – “…snake thingies?”

The individual tendrils really do vaguely resemble snakes, although the magic in its entirety reminds them more of some writhing alien monster plant from an old Sci-fi B-movie whose title they cannot remember. It’s not a good comparison anyway. The movie hadn’t been scary at all.

They experimentally try to wrestle one of their arms free, but despite the magic’s apparent fluidity, the moment they push or pull in any direction, whatever give appeared to be there all but disappears and they can’t move a millimetre.

“Oh.” The villain’s eyes widen. “You can see it.”

“See it. Feel it. Didn’t expect it to be this hot.”

An awkward pause follows.

They are decidedly not blushing. It’s just warm. All of them is so warm now that the villain’s powers have moulded themselves around the hero like something liquid but alive. Wherever the tendrils touch bare skin – their ungloved hands and that area just above their ankles where their pants don’t quite meet the rims of their boots – the raw energy buzzes, prickles just short of stinging.

They’d been shivering just minutes ago in their much too thin poncho and the not seasonally appropriate Agency office uniform. Well, they still are shivering, just no longer from the cold.

Where the villain’s magic is fever-hot, his scrutiny runs icy.

“You can see it, but not fight it,” he muses. “How curious. The Agency must be understaffed to send their defenceless little office drones out into the field.”

The hero would be glaring if the villain weren’t underscoring the point by pulling his magic tighter with the mere flick of a finger. That small, anxious sound that escapes them in response brings a self-satisfied grin to the villain’s lips.

“It’s Christmas,” the hero says, once the magic has settled again.

The villain raises a brow.

“Most of the regulars are on holiday, Christmas being a time best spent with family … or so I’m told.”

“Yet you are working.”

“Don’t have anyone.” They aren’t technically without family just … Sometimes, family isn’t a place of refuge and welcome. Not a home to turn to for holiday celebrations or company. Some families fashion themselves exclusive clubs with strict rules that refuse or revoke memberships as they please. The hero forces some levity into their tone. “I have nowhere else to be today, so, I’m helping out here.”

The villain chuckles. “Helping is perhaps not what I would call that.”

“Hey, I did recognise you,” they say, defensively.

“And look where that got you.” His smile is sharper than before, meaner. “Am I your first villain? My heartfelt condolences.”

They don’t dignify that with an answer. But the answer is yes. The villains they watched being interrogated through one-way mirrors at HQ don't count.

“Pity,” the villain says with zero warmth, “that you couldn’t just look the other way. What is it with you people that you're always so eager to cause unnecessary conflict.”

“Reporting suspicious behaviour is kind of my job.” It comes out barely above a whisper and carries the distinct cadence of an apology.

“Ah yes, and my mere existence struck you as suspicious behaviour because …”

Admittedly, once they’d recognised the villain, they hadn’t taken the time to consider his appearance beyond the magic he’d been wearing around his shoulders like a particularly weaponizable scarf. The lack of a combat suit in favour of a sleek, dark coat over a woollen jumper and cargo joggers – either an outfit designed to blend in or just what the villain happens to like to wear when he isn’t working – hadn’t registered any more than the total absence of weaponry other than his powers. And while he could have hidden those better, it’s not like he could have simply left them at home.

There hadn’t been time to ponder. It had all happened so fast. Their eyes had met, and a moment later the hero had already been scrambling away from the crowd, past a stall selling mulled wine and into the nearest alley, where they’d scrolled through their contacts with stiff, unfeeling fingers. The villain had caught up with them before they’d managed to call for backup.

Their gaze darts to the remnants of their smashed phone, sprinkled across the muddy snow, mere metres away but entirely useless even if they could reach it.

What if the villain hadn’t had anything nefarious planned? What if the hero’s brain had naturally jumped to the most prejudiced conclusion all on its own?

Of course, it is unfair to treat his mere presence as if it is a crime. But the things he could do ...

They think about the parents with their cameras, filming their ice-skating children, the squealing toddlers on the merry-go-round, the nice old ladies selling tea out of the back of a car.

“You could be a danger to all those innocent people,” they defend their judgement.

“And you could be a danger to me,” the villain replies coolly. “Would be unwise, letting someone roam free who can pick me out of a crowd with a glance. Perhaps I should thank you for revealing yourself. Very ill-advised. But quite convenient. You were so obvious about it, too.”

He has crossed the distance between them while speaking. Close enough now to reach out and tuck an unruly strand of hair behind their ear with his cold, slender fingers. His other hand settles almost gently on their throat, atop the magic that has slivered around their neck at some point during the conversation.

The tip of a new tendril is in the process of worming its way lower, nestling into the collar of their shirt. It laps against the crook of their neck and they cringe away from the touch as much as the magic allows. It doesn’t hurt. It would be so much easier if it did. The touch is light; it kind of tickles and, given the overall direness of the situation, the hero really isn’t in the mood for that. Or, they shouldn’t be.

Unhelpfully, their traitorous mind supplies them with a thoroughly inappropriate image of what else someone who isn’t the enemy could be doing to them with magic such as this.

“Tell me,” the villain says as the power shifts upwards, tilting their chin back with the movement, so his nails can bite into the newly exposed skin below their jaw, “is there anything else troublesome about you, or is it just the eyes?”

He looks most pleased when their breath hitches despite their best efforts to remain stoic. His grip tightens. He’s studying them intently, staring at their eyes like those are priced gems he considers adding to his collection.

Maybe, underneath the mockery, he actually does consider them somewhat of a threat. If he didn’t, why would he be looking at them like that.

It’s stupid, truly and utterly stupid, to feel flattered. This is not respect, they know, just sharp, calculating consideration. His attention promises imminent danger, might turn lethal at any second. It’s not something they should revel in. Still, it feels good, too – being seen.

Has anyone ever really seen them before?

Or perhaps that is the lack of oxygen speaking.

They struggle to focus their vision but all the twinkling Christmas lights in the trees are starting to smudge into dull, red and golden blurs. Vertigo is clawing at them.

There is absolutely nothing they can do against the villain's grip. They're so pitifully out of their depth.

They think about their bland, only half-furnished two-room apartment; their first day at the Agency HQ; their nth day – no more eventful than the first – sitting at the exact same desk in the exact same office and working on the exact same old computer; their colleagues’ looks of pity when their 14th application for a transfer to field work is being denied and their boss tells them, in stern admonishment, that their skill sets just aren’t suited to solo missions. They think about her condescending smile when she finally does assign them the Christmas market job, clearly convinced the worst thing that could possibly happen here is people getting drunk enough on punch to start throwing punches.

They think of their first split-second impression of the villain as just another guy standing by the ice rink with a cup of something steaming in his hands and a mellow, unguarded smile curving his lips.

They hope this montage doesn’t count as their life flashing before their eyes. It’s way too sad a summary of their depressing lack of accomplishments.

They think, with equal parts age-old bitterness and new-found sarcastic vindication, about their colleagues’ infantile, unofficial, end-of-the-year office rankings where flashier heroes with more impressive abilities always receive titles such as most likely to hook up with a hot reporter or most epic battle or best one-liners.

Meanwhile, all the hero has to show for are three consecutive wins of least likely to die on the job.

Which might have been a reassuring sentiment if it weren’t so clearly code for “you’ll never be a real hero”. Real heroes risk their lives on the job all the time.

Well, look at them now!

Will their colleagues manage to come up with a new title for them in time, they wonder, if the villain kills them now, just a week before this year’s poll results will be released?

Most unexpected death has a nice ring to it.

They should be trembling in terror. Might have, if the villain’s magic weren’t encasing them so – tight but soft and deceptively warm, lulling them in. The sticky heat of it leaves them squirming, stuck in a confusing limbo between gooey not-quite-discomfort and hot-bath sluggishness.

They’re drifting. Until they’re not.

It’s impossible to discern how much time has passed or when exactly the villain has released them; but their thoughts are beginning to clear and their brain catches up to the fact that there is air in their lungs again, and that the breathless, hiccuping gasps uncontrollably tumbling out of their mouth aren’t sobs. It’s laughter.

“Are you enjoying this?” The villain sounds incredulous.

They shake their head. “I don’t know,” they manage, between hysterical giggles. “Maybe. Yes?”

“How did you know I wouldn’t kill you?”

“I didn’t.”

That startles a short laugh out of him.

“I’ve never” – they pant, still struggling for air – “felt this alive before.”

“That sounds ... unhealthy.”

There is a long pause in which the villain silently stares at them while they are more or less regaining control over their breathing.

“You wouldn’t get it,” they say then, perfectly aware they must seem most unhinged. “Bet you don't even know what boredom is. Because your life is fun. Mine is not. I practically live at my stupid job, and my stupid job doesn't even pay well. No one there gives a fuck about me. And nothing exciting ever happens. So can I please just have this one damn moment without being judged?”

The villain hums, low. “And here I thought we were ruining each other’s days.” He presses a hand to their forehead. “Did the heat fry your synapses?” he asks, sounding more amused than concerned. His other hand comes up to cup the nape of their neck, as if he can’t help but reach out. Just as they can’t help but lean into the cooling touch. His gaze drops, as if drawn, to their lips. “Or, are you just naturally this unusual?”

They can smell gingerbread and mulled wine on his breath.

“Are you going to kiss me?” they ask, because yes their synapses are definitely fried and they do not care about consequences, awkwardness, or sanity anymore.

“Would you like me to kiss you?”

“I’d certainly much rather be kissed than killed. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” he repeats, smirking. “But we've established I’m not about to kill you. And that wasn’t a yes.”

“It’s not a no either.”

“Not how consent works, darling.”

They scoff. “You didn’t ask for consent first when you strangled me five minutes ago.”

The villain laughs again, in genuine delight judging by how his magic ripples and purrs.

“Okay, fair enough,” he whispers, shifting so his lips almost brush theirs.

The kiss that follows is sweet, surprisingly chaste, and initiated by the hero.

“So, since you mentioned earlier you have nowhere else to be today,” the villain says, afterwards, mischief gleaming in his eyes. “Have you ever had the pleasure of being kidnapped?”

Pleasure, as it turns out over the course of the next few hours, is an understatement.

If anyone at the office were to find out what the hero has been up to during their first (and best) and possibly only solo field mission, not only are they guaranteed to get fired, their colleagues will also surely create an entirely new office ranking category in their honour:

First to be seduced by a supervillain.

[kawoala]

DRIVEN BY ADRENALINE suna rintarou. chapter 001 ; only in the movies.

২ 𓂅 ࣪ ೨ ; 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 (1,221)

২ 𓂅 ࣪ ೨ ; 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 (runa is very talkative, very minimal profanity, first mention of street racing, shy! reader, karasuno! reader, runa dressing reader in … provocative clothing so they look like they fit in, anxious! reader, runa + suna are cousins again — who’s surprised?? [hint: no one !!], social anxiety)

“Hi, I’m Runa! It’s really nice to meet you. I thought you weren’t going to show up at first, but now you’re here! You seem like a nice girl so far— my last roommate was a total bitch. Sorry, I tend to talk a lot about myself. Where are you from?”

You blink at the brunette a couple times. You’ve barely even crossed the threshold of the dorm, and she’s already bombarded you with seemingly hundreds of questions. Your mind catches up with you and you shake your head to clear the fog away. “It’s nice to meet you, too,” you say quietly, giving her a shy smile. “Um, my name is Y/n and I’m from Miyagi Prefecture. What, uh, what about you?”

“No way!” She exclaims, eyes lighting up. “I’m from Miyagi Prefecture. What school did you go to? Shiratorizawa? That school is really good at sports. Or, Karasuno, maybe? They’re also pretty good. I went to Johzenji— they’re okay at sports, but I never really paid attention to anything but volleyball. I was the manager for the boys’ club.”

“Um, yeah, I went to Karasuno. I wasn’t interested in any sports though, my focus was more on the arts. Choir, photography— stuff like that.”

She nods and hums. “Totally understandable. I mean, who wants to sit in a crowded gym full of sweaty people?” She shudders in mock disgust and you snicker quietly. “I sure didn’t. That’s why I was down on the court making sure nobody died from dehydration or anything.”

You laugh, but don’t say anything more. Her face lights up once more, like she’s just realized something, and she claps her hands together. “Oh my god! I didn’t even let you in the dorm yet. Please, come in, set your stuff down.” She steps out of the way and extends her arm, giggling.

You walk past her, glancing around the room. It’s not huge, by any means, but it’s still pretty nice. There’s two beds, two desks, and a loveseat in the corner that was probably a pain to get in the dorm.

You set your things down on your bare bed— your bag, a succulent plant your mother gave you right before you left, and a takeout bag that only has fries left in it. You were planning on giving them to Runa as a housewarming gift, but they’re probably cold now, so you decide not you.

“Okay, so,” Runa starts, making you turn to look at her. “A couple things to know; I talk a lot, which you probably already picked up on.” She laughs. It’s a nice sound. “I’ll keep my side of the room clean if you do. You seem like a clean person, though, so I doubt that will be a problem. I won’t bring anybody in here without talking to you first and I hope you’ll do the same.” She pauses and purses her lips as if in thought. “I think that’s it. If you have any, like, rules or anything let me know!”

You nod slowly, taking in her words. “Sounds great,” you say, smiling. “I don’t really know anyone here yet, so you don’t have to worry about me bringing people here. And I am a pretty clean person, so that’s not a problem either. Um, I probably won’t talk too much until I get to know you better.” You swallow. “Sorry if that’s mean.”

“No, no. I totally get that. I used to be that way, too, but then I was like, ’I don't really care anymore,’ so.” She shrugs. She opens her mouth to say something, but is cut off by a knock at the door. Both of your heads turn just as a piece of what looks like paper slips under the door.

You glance at each other, sharing a confused look, but then she walks over and picks it up. You watch her eyes go from narrowed, to familiarity. “Um, what is it?” You ask.

She flips it over to see if there’s anything on the back, then looks up at you and hesitates. “Uh.” She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear and holds it out to you. “It’s an invitation to a race tonight.”

“A race?” You repeat in a mumble, eyes scanning over the words quickly. ‘T-20. be there at 10 or don’t come at all pussies.’ Your eyes widen a bit and you have to read it again to make sure you’re not hallucinating.

“A street race,” she explains. “They’re, um, like, super rare to get an invitation to. My cousin is racing tonight, so that’s probably why I got one.” You look up to see her brows furrowed. She clocks your gaze and smiles politely. “Do you wanna go with me? It’s not very fun being the only girl there who’s not interested in going home with one of the racers.”

A street race? Like, a real life street race? Those are real? You thought they only existed in movies. Aren’t they illegal?

Hundreds of thoughts flood through your brain and you can feel the palms of your hands start to sweat. You swallow hard. “A street race.” A statement, not a question. “Aren’t those, um…”

“Illegal?” She laughs, but nods. “That’s why they’re invitation-only. You don’t have to come if you don’t want to. I understand. They’re not everyone's thing.”

You chew on your bottom lip, eyes falling back to the piece of paper in your hands. You applied to this college purely because you heard Tokyo was not boring. What kind of college girl would you be if you declined this invitation. With a deep breath, you nod. “No, I’ll go. Ten o’clock.” You glance at the clock. “Four hours to find an outfit that will make it look like I belong at an illegal street race. No problem.”

She laughs again, smiling so wide her eyes crinkle. “You’re funny, Y/n,” she says. “I think we’re going to be good friends.”

You smile back at her and, once again, she claps her hands together. “I’ll help you find an outfit, don’t worry.” She walks to her closet, then looks back at you. “How comfortable are you with fishnets?”

“Um.”

The two of you leave the dorms at approximately 9:30, riding in Runa’s shitty Toyota Corolla. You have to suppress a laugh when you see it because when she had told you her cousin was racing tonight, you’d expected her to have a nice car like you assume her cousin does.

You were horribly wrong.

When you pull up to the underpass, it’s packed. Actually, maybe packed is an understatement because there are probably over 500 hundred people present. Almost instantly, you start to sweat. Even in the short-shorts and deliberately ripped up t-shirt that Runa dressed you in. Saying you’re out of your element is also probably an understatement.

You step out of the car and a mixture of gasoline and exhaust fumes hits your nose. You try your best not to scrunch your face up, but it happens anyway.

“You get used to the smell!” Runa shouts over the loud music and constant revving of engines. Somewhere to the left of you, someone screams at the top of their lungs. You glance at Runa and she snickers, walking closer to you. “And the noise.”

২ 𓂅 ࣪ ೨ ; 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

@sahrii , @cherrysurf , @heartmaddie , @jpegarchives , @massacremars

@vertejay , @tiramizuloz , @gumims , @mybelovedvi , @chaotic-neutral-ig

@usbrous , @iheartamora , @iluv-ace , @xavlyzn , @velvetreds

[five-rivers]

Ghost in a Bottle

This is my truce gift for @linziefey! I've made a picture and a little ficlet to go with it, beneath the cut. Hope you enjoy.

Danny sat on the roof of the Ops Center, trying to ignore the sounds of his parents yelling at each other down in the house.  The evening was clear on this Christmas Eve, and he was hoping to see some stars, despite the light pollution.  The increased light pollution.  Curse the ten million different Christmas displays.  And Christmas, just in general.  

There was the sound of an ecto-gun going off in the house, and something breaking.  Danny rolled his eyes, then rubbed them.  Christmas couldn’t be over soon enough.  He didn’t know how Jazz dealt with all of this.  

He looked up again.  The sky was a dusky color, and, if he remembered correctly…  There.  The first star.  

“Star bright, star light, first star I see tonight,” mumbled Danny, hoping that a touch of whimsy would do something to break through his general holiday malaise.  “Wish I may, wish I might, have the wish I wish tonight.”

He sighed again.  What did he wish?  Not that the fighting would stop.  That was impossible.  He knew better.  But what else…?  Oh, yeah.  There was another problem that haunted him every time he laid down in bed or finished a meal.  

“I wish Dani was somewhere safe,” he said.  

.

Desiree hadn’t come to Amity Park looking to make trouble.  Not this time.  At least, she hadn’t come to make trouble right now.  She’d just wanted to boost her powers with some Christmas wishes - all of them granted in the spirit of the wish, of course!  She didn’t want to wind up on the wrong side of the Truce.  

But this?  This was a little too good to pass up.  

She knew better than to say it out loud, but, well, she mouthed the words.  

As you have wished it, so shall it be!

.

Dani Phantom was minding her own business.  And, okay, maybe her own business involved a lot of pickpocketing, maybe some breaking and entering, just a little bit of shoplifting…  Okay, it was mostly shoplifting, but it wasn’t like stores were people, and this chain was owned by Vladco, so, really, it was like child support or whatever.  

Danny didn’t know how child support was supposed to work, so Dani didn’t either.  Most of her memories were effectively his, after all.  

The point was, she wasn’t bothering anyone and just going through her normal day when a portal just opened up underneath her.  

She fell in, of course.  

.

Dani fell.  Before she fell very far, she transformed, but by that point she had already fallen through the portal, which promptly vanished, just in time for Dani to run into the curved wall of glass that had been behind it.  She stopped and looked around.  

The room she was in… wasn’t a room.  It was a round glass bottle.  One held by–

“Desiree!” shouted Dani, raising her hands in preparation to fight and ignoring how the bottom of her foot was already dripping ectoplasm.  The genie-like ghost was floating beyond the glass, her hair loose and a red shawl draped across her shoulders.  The room beyond was dark and filled with pale green smoke.  “I wish I was out of here and kicking your butt!”

“Hello, dear,” said Desiree, “I am afraid I cannot hear you.  The glass, you see, and you are so, so small.”  She tapped the stopper that closed off the bottle.  

Dani scowled.  Her shins were starting to melt.  

“Now, I am sure you are wondering what wish landed you here.”  She smiled and circled.  “Your cousin.  So incautious, wishing for you to be somewhere safe, not thinking at all about what that would mean.  But rest assured, you will be quite safe in this little bottle, just as I was in mine.”

She tilted the bottle back and forth.  “Although, if you had a wish…”

Yeah, Dani had some wishes.  Mostly ones that involved giving Desiree a black eye or making her back off.  

“But, oh, if you are anything at all like that cousin of yours, how could I trust you not to attack me the moment I took out this cork?”

Dani’s rings flickered into being briefly around her waist, but she banished them.  Even if she was melting, she wanted the protection from ghost powers her ghost form provided.  She didn’t trust Desiree at all.  

“But it is truce time,” said Desiree, tilting her head, her red eyes glinting.  “The time when ghosts refrain from fighting or harming one another.”

“This is what you count as refraining from harm?” demanded Dani, incensed.  Despite wishing to kick Desiree’s butt earlier, she knew what the truce was - barely - thanks to Danny’s memories.  So, she knew what had happened to Ghostwriter when he’d broken it.  She just hadn’t realized the truce was now.  She hadn’t been keeping track of the date.  Things like that were sort of a luxury for people like her.  

Desiree swirled the bottle again.  “So, perhaps I will take the risk and let you try to wish yourself out of your… predicament.  In the spirit of the truce, I will even keep to the spirit of your wish.  Consider it a Christmas wish.”

There was a catch here.  Desiree talked like Vlad, and with Vlad, there was always a catch.  There was no way that Desiree would just let her wish herself free. 

More of Dani’s foot melted off.  That could be the catch.  

Probably not, though.  

“And while you are thinking, think of your cousin getting you into this mess, and all those people who are safe and warm and full at home…”  She tapped the glass wall of the bottle.  “Just think.”

Okay, there was the catch.  Desiree expected her to make trouble for Danny.  Well.  She wouldn’t.  So, there.  

But… now she was thinking about the things Desiree had said.  She was thinking about Danny, and how he’d been thinking about her, and had wanted her to be safe, and she was thinking about all the people who were home for the holidays… with their families.  

Then, Desiree popped the cork off the bottle and smiled broadly.  “What do you wish for?”

Dani bit her lip and put her hands on the bottle wall.  She wished– She wanted– “I wish my family was together - like a real family - for the holidays.”

Desiree threw back her head and laughed.  “As you have wished it, so shall it be.”

.

Dani woke up in a bed.  It took her a few minutes to realize why this was strange.  Once she did, she sat straight up, completely awake.  

This–  This was Vlad’s house.  She recognized the moulding and the furniture style and color scheme.  But…. other than that…  She looked all around the room.  There were posters on the walls, and they weren’t Packers themed.  They were mostly for bands, ones that Dani liked, when she’d been able to hear them, but there was one for that skateboarder she’d heard of, Tony Hawk, a couple for spacecraft, and a huge, detailed world map.  The desk had a computer and a bunch of video games, and there were little things scattered around the room.  Toys and gadgets, art projects and models.  A bookshelf was full of books whose titles were things like Deep Sea Exploration and Hidden Wonders of Eastern Europe.  

Feeling dazed, Dani climbed out of bed.  How had she gotten here?  Had Vlad kidnapped her and set this up to try and, what, buy her forgiveness?  That didn’t sound like him, except for the part where he would get to avoid saying sorry.  

Except, the last thing she remembered was Desiree…  And that wish…

Well, if Vlad tried anything funny, she’d– Do something.  Probably.  She ran an ectoblast over her fingers to test how stable she was.  That seemed to be… okay.

Time to investigate.  

She eased the door open and peered out into the hallway.  It was empty.  She stepped out.  

“Dani?  Why are you still in your PJs?”

She jumped.  She didn’t know how she’d missed him before, but Danny was standing there, wearing a vest and dress pants and tying on a bow tie.  

“Um,” said Dani.

“I know it’s kind of stupid,” said Danny, rolling his eyes.  “But Dad likes it when we’re all ‘put together’ for Christmas pictures, and we can do that for him, I guess.”

“Oh, um, right,” said Dani.  

She was going to beat the heck out of Desiree.  Spirit of the wish her butt.  At what point had she wanted some kind of alternate universe where Danny called Vlad Dad.  

“Are you okay?” asked Danny.

“No– I mean yes,” said Dani, quickly.  How could she ask what she wanted to know.  “Is there, um.  I’ve forgotten, um.”

“The Fentons are coming at two,” said Danny, patiently answering at least one of them.  “Dan’s coming by at three, since he wanted to go to Johnny’s truce party, everyone else is coming at five, for dinner.”

“Uh,” said Dani.  

“Or did you want to know if you’re the last one up?  Yeah.  I’m pretty sure the rest of our sextuplets beat us down.  At least, I heard Dusty thumping around.  Are you sure haven’t caught a cold or something?”

“I’m fine,” said Dani.  “I’m just going to go.  Get changed.”

She retreated back into the room and shut the door.  Then she sat down.  Sextuplets.  Six.  That’d be everyone, all the clones, including the ‘perfect’ one, plus Danny.  Who knew who Dan was, though…  She shook her head.  It didn’t matter.  None of this mattered.  She should be out looking for Desiree to get her to fix this.  

But… Would it really be so bad if Dani waited to find her until after Christmas?  It wasn’t like Danny liked Christmas with his family all that much.  

She chewed her lower lip then opened her closet.  Hopefully, there would be something in there better than skirts.  

[lokischocolatefountain]

An Unexpected Present

Summary: Hope and reassurance comes from an unexpected source when Joel think there might be none.

Word count: 1.7k

A/N: Merry Christmas, pedroblr (is that a thing?) This is my little Christmas present to everyone and I hope (ba dum tss) it gives a bit of hope in terrible times in a different world. This is my present specifically to @docharleythegeekqueen as part of @pedrostories's Secret Santa event. Thank you so much for organizing this and I hope I have delivered as Santa.

People never turned up at your door at the crack of dawn. Thank goodness. It was mostly because you didn’t really have a door for the past two decades for anyone to show up at. Now you had one and apparently people—no, men— took that as an invitation to show up. Okay, it was one man. That was already one too many. 

“What the fuck?” You asked, looking at the guy holding the most god awful bouquet of dried flowers you’d ever seen. Did they do Valentine’s in Jackson? And if so, did they do it in fucking December? 

“You’re the chemistry teacher?” 

Don’t fucking say some corny line about having chemistry with me, you thought, the old pick up line getting on your nerves before it could even be uttered. 

“I am. And I won’t make you meth if that’s what you’re here to ask.” 

He laughed softly, his cheeks turning pink from the winter air. “I wasn’t. But now I’m thinking about it. No, I’m uh… Ellie told me you knew how to make paint?” 

You realized then that he was your student Ellie’s dad. Maria’s brother in law who used to be a contractor in the before times. His name had come up a few times when Maria’s husband told you about how they were fixing up the old houses in the town. 

“Yeah…?” 

“I was wonderin’ if you could make some for me. We can trade for it.” 

“Oh. Uh, I’m sorry… I don’t make that kind of paint.” 

“I didn’t even tell ya what kinda paint I’m lookin’ for.” 

“For walls?” 

“Wow. Why, cause I look like this,” he said, gesturing to himself, “I can’t be looking for watercolor to paint the next Mona Lisa?” 

“The Mona Lisa was painted with oil paints.” 

“It’ll be the watercolor Mona Lisa then. These flowers good enough to make some paint?” He asked, holding out the dried flowers and leaves. 

“Depends on the colors you want for this post apocalyptic Mona Lisa.” 

“Red, green, black and white.” 

“Doesn’t sound like the Mona Lisa to me. Sounds like Christmas.” 

“They told me you were smart, but not that you were a genius,” he mocked, making you roll your eyes. You would’ve closed the door on him and avoided him forever. It was a foolish way to spend the little resources you had on something like paint for Christmas decorations. Linseed oil for protecting wooden surfaces, alum for water clarification, and washing soda for…well, washing. So you told him as much. His face fell when you explained you won’t waste necessary resources for something as superfluous as paint. But he accepted, wished you a good day and left your doorsteps with his dried flowers. 

You thought that would be the end of it. But you didn’t know a very crucial piece of information then. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You asked, sounding more aggressive than you’d intended to be. 

“Didn’t think it was relevant since ya said making paint is a waste of your time,” he said, sounding a little smug.

“That was before your brother said you had coffee! Why didn’t you tell me you had coffee?” 

“You didn’t say what you’d trade for.” 

“I’ll trade for coffee.” 

Coffee it was. The next morning, he showed up at your door with a thermos full of coffee. Guilty about how you’d treated him the previous day, you invited him inside. What started as politeness became a routine. 

“Had no idea it’d turn blue.” 

“It’s because red cabbages have a chemical called anthocyanin. It’s a natural ph indicator. So when you add it to a neutral substance like water, it turns blue.” 

He nodded, his annoyance at you beginning to change seeing the excitement on your face. It was easy to forget he was also resistant to normalcy when he first arrived at Jackson. Scarcity was the biggest threat to your life outside the infected and it wasn’t easy to set aside old practices you’d built to survive. But that didn’t stop him from being annoyed at you when you told him that paint for Christmas decorations was a waste of your time. 

“Did you teach before, too?” He asked. 

“No. I uh…I worked in the pharmaceutical industry. Made medicines.” 

“Damn,” he said, his mind immediately going to Ellie. If she knew what you did for a living before… There was a real risk too, with you being her teacher and all. A bigger problem was you finding out somehow about Ellie’s immunity and deciding to do something about it. He could handle you of course. He’d handled fireflies with all their weapons. But it wouldn’t be easy to get away with in Jackson. 

“Yeah. And before you ask, no I can’t find a cure.” 

“Why did you think I’d ask that?” He squinted, his worries still not resolved. 

“Everyone does.” 

“Huh.” 

The rest of the walk to the school passed in silence as he mulled over your words. You didn’t believe there was a cure so you wouldn’t look in Jackson for one. That should be enough to calm him. But you didn’t know someone in town was immune. He would have to keep an eye on you. 

____

While the mornings were spend drinking coffee with each other, the evenings were for making paint. He’d gathered everything you needed. Even sat with you and helped you grind the ingredients with a pestle and mortar. You liked to spend your time alone after hours of dealing with loud, curious children. 

You didn’t think you would be alright with Joel intruding on that. But he was good company. He stayed silent apart from asking doubts about the process. The only sound was that of the both of you grinding the pigment source into a fine power set with cyclical movements of the pestles in the mortars. 

“You’re a big fan of Christmas?” You asked one evening. 

“I wouldn’t say so, no.” 

“So, why are you parting with your beloved coffee just for red and green paints?” 

He laughed softly as he tied a filter to the top of a bottle. “It’s for Ellie,” he said, his hand rubbing the broken watch on his wrist. “She never had a normal Christmas so…since we came here to Jackson, I try to do what the town needs for a nice Christmas.” 

“That’s nice,” you said, feeling yourself warming up to him. “How many Christmases have you had here?” You asked, not feeling it appropriate to ask when they arrived. Too personal and invasive perhaps. 

“This is the second one.” 

“Mmm. She deserves it. Ellie. She’s a good kid.” 

“She is, yeah.” 

“It’s…hopeful. Being around young people again. We are all so… Well, I am so disillusioned with the world. She seems to have hope.” 

“Oh?” 

“Yeah. Asked me if I could find a cure if there was someone immune.” 

His heart almost stopped. What else did she tell you? 

“And what did you say?” 

“The truth. That it’s not possible even if we found someone with immunity.” 

“Why is that?” 

“We didn’t have the technology for this even back in the day. Not for fungi. It took years to create a cure even when we had proper labs and researchers. It’s not likely for us to even find someone who is immune. Even if I did, how would I get to the source of their immunity? We can’t do any tests. We can’t do imaging. If there was someone immune, they should just shut up about it and be alive.” 

“Isn’t that selfish? Ruining the world’s chance to… to become…become normal?” 

“It won’t. Not in our lifetimes. Say we do find a cure. How do we manufacture this drug or vaccine? How many can we make? A hundred? A thousand? And how would we even distribute it? I don’t think a few bicycles and our horses could be as effective as planes and ships to take them around the country. And these things have an expiration date, so…”

“I never thought of that.” 

“Yeah. People are so intoxicated by hope that they fail to consider the logistics. I don’t blame them, though. It’s only natural to hope. Because if there’s no hope for the future, there’s no reason to do fucking anything.” 

“Do you have hope?” 

“Of course,” you said, giving him a smile. Not a naive one free of the burden of truth but a radical one persevering despite it all. “Jackson gives me hope. I didn’t think there could be such a place… There has to be an end to the fungus’ reign at some point in the future. When it has no one to consume. There could be people who are immune and natural selection could take its course, pass the immunity on genetically. Won’t be anytime soon of course. Maybe a few thousand years.” 

“If humanity survives until then. We could all die like the dinosaurs.” 

“We could. Or we could survive. If we’re here, who’s to say there aren’t other little towns persevering? Maybe a few will evolve and survive. They may no longer be us— homosapiens. But they’ll be here. But if not, there’s still all the animals who will look up at the same stars we see every night.” 

“That’s strangely hopeful,” he said after a moment of silence. He wanted to cross the table between the two of you and give you a hug. Tell you that you were the only one who said something optimistic to him that wasn’t a load of rubbish. 

But he went instead for an ornament just for you. Carved it out of wood how he did with all the other ornaments he made for the town’s large Christmas tree. 

When you found the wooden star painted white at your door, you were surprised but had no doubt who it was from. You would never know what you’d done for him. He never doubted he made the right decision getting Ellie out of that hospital. But it helped hearing from someone who didn’t know what happened that she would’ve died for nothing had he made the wrong decision. It was an unexpected present. One you never intended. 

And the next time he was at your door with flowers, they weren’t for making paint. 

[emmg]

Idk y’all, as someone who’s dated more than a few people in their 50s while in my current late 20s, almost 30s (yeah, I know, let’s all take a moment to side-eye me lmao) this whole “the years between us” thing that seems to haunt the Emmrich romance in fanfiction feels… a bit much sometimes

Like, sure, you have the talk, lay out expectations, and occasionally butt heads because one person thinks “traditional” means they’re right and the other’s all “woke this, progressive that” or any variation of that

Every conversation is not a fucking Shakespearean sonnet starting with, “Oh, my love, the tragic years between us 🥺🥺”

Lmaooo i already know im gonna get crucified for this oh man why am I even posting this lol

And like, I know I do this shit too in my writing, im guilty (so if anything, I’m dragging my own ass here). “Guilty” isn’t even the right word, though, since that makes it sound like there’s something inherently wrong with it. Ugh. Anyway, what I’m rambling about is dialogue, not inner thoughts. I can’t claim to know anyone’s inner monologue

But the talking? The conversations? It’s not like every morning over breakfast starts with, “Oh nooo, one of us is older/younger, how will we ever overcome this vast chasm of age before the eggs get cold?!” Lmao. Like, no. That’s not how it works lol

it’s just dating. Lmao. And to be clear, I’m not criticizing anyone specifically, so don’t come for me with pitchforks. I’m tired, my brain is mush, and I’m probably saying this all wrong, but whatever. Just throwing it out there

[vengefultakeover]

Fatso: Hello, Bonebag (Pilot)

NOTE: Just so we’re clear: I am the original author of this story even though @dantelockwood is parading around as though they wrote it. They have stolen content and it’s a shame. These edits were done by the incredible @echovelvet278 and anyone else could never.

THUD

I dropped my suitcase by the door and looked around the foyer at the empty house. I ended up getting it for cheap and after I moved out of my exes place it was a welcome listing. It was beaten up, chunks of wall were missing exposing the small crawl spaces between the walls and the support structure holding the house up. Luckily, that was still intact.

I whistled as I closed the door looking around, the Kill Bill tune. I wandered through the archway next to me to find empty bookshelves lining the walls and a chandelier covered in the center of the room. The base connecting it to the ceiling was coming undone, another thing added to the list. I ran a hand along a shelf, picking up the dust along the way until a pile was swept onto the floor in a cloud. There was a chair at the end of the room facing out the window and I walked over, looking out to where this chair was looking. The backyard was bigger than I thought, could be big enough for a pool, but the fence was overgrown and decrepit and the grass would definitely need to be redone.

"I've got my work cut out for me - GAH!" I screamed as I turned around, my best friend having snuck up on me while I was peering out the window. 

"Ooop, sorry." She said, placing her own suitcase on the ground.

"For a place so old, the floors are surprisingly quiet." I hold my hand against my chest trying to keep my heart from exploding.

"Well, old buildings like these have a pretty good foundation. Especially here. Plus this is some high quality wood right here." She says, stomping with her foot, another cloud of dust puffing into the air around her sneaker.

"You have no idea what you're talking about do you?" I cross my arms with a smirk.

"Of course not. Anyways, I'm surprised the moving truck isn't here." My phone started to buzz as she said this. The moving company logo popped up and I put it on speaker.

"Hello?" 

"Hey, is this Emerson? Sorry to bother you, but our dispatcher says that the unit you rented is going to need to be picked up in person. We had no idea that they were delivering to that address, we would have said no if we knew. So, you are going to need to come pick up the truck. We're refunding half of the cost and of course you'll get the full deposit, but that is one of our black out delivery locations." The woman on the other line didn't seem to take a breath as she said this.

"Oh, shit, okay. Um, well...we'll come get it then." I held my hands on my hips, maybe a little too visibly upset because Sherry looked concerned. The conversation on the phone finished and I slid it back into my pocket with a sigh.

"Okay, so I'll take care of the truck, you should get the lay of the land here," Sherry pushed her suitcase to the side of the room and winked on her way out before I could get a word in.

"Alrighty then. Just me and you." I said, looking up at the crown moulding. It was in surprisingly wonderful condition. I just hoped it was everywhere else so we could keep it.

I continued to whistle, browsing the empty cabinets in the kitchen, tapping the burnt out lightbulbs in the bathroom, and testing how creaky the bedroom doors were until I heard a thud in the hallway. Peering my head out of the master bedroom, I found the attic staircase having flopped open and the small staircase leading up to the dark square in the ceiling looked ominous. Of course, I was curious, and with how old this whole building was it could have just been a loose screw. Right?

I slowly crawled my way up the steps and poked my head into the hole. There was a small window towards the end letting in a beam of light making a floral cross over a pile of cardboard boxes. I never thought I would buy a house that had a creepy attic, but this one came right out of a horror movie. Empty dress forms covered in soot and cobwebs, cardboard boxes stacked high, a chest with a heavy metal lock keeping it closed, and even a desk with boxes of photos of old homeowners and guests inside. 

"Wicked." I said with a smile. I took a seat at the desk and started shuffling through the photos. Tea colored images and straight faces repeated themselves one after another until I came across a group of brothers. Three of them all laughing in their morning coats and bowler hats. 

"What a handsome trio." I looked through a couple more and found individual shots of all of them. None of them staged or monotonous, but full of life. "I bet you were fun." I said, staring at the image of a portly fellow before quickly turning around as a mannequin fell over and a draft seemed to blow the picture away.

"That's my cue." I packed up the photos that were left and returned them to their boxes, knowing I would be going through them some time in the future and as I crawled back down out of the attic I felt eyes on me. Then, a cool feeling touched my hand causing me to recoil and fall down into the hall. Sherry caught me before I fell over the banister and laughed at the mishap with a jingling set of keys in her hand.

It took us a while unpacking the truck, being the only two, until a friendly neighbor stopped by.

"Hey there, need some help? I just got back from work and thought you might need a hand." He asked. I kept my head down trying to make sure I had enough room to pick up a couple heavy boxes.

"Oh, it's just fine, I'm sure you've had a long day and - " I caught a glimpse of him through my legs and realized I had my ass facing him. He stood there with his hands on his hips ready to help and this man was gorgeous. I quickly stood up and spun around, leaning against some boxes only to have them tip over.

"Are you sure? I really don't mind." He was innocently smiling as I stumbled and I nodded.

"We'd love the help." I said.

"Yeah we would, this shit is heavy." Sherry walked by and picked up one of the toppled boxes. The stranger started assisting pretty fast and honestly it was good that he ended up showing up because it went much faster.

"So, are you two married?" He asked, sipping on a water bottle after the final box was inside.

"Oh no. He couldn't if he tried." Sherry choked on her water and laughed.

"I'm gay and she's just helping me fix the place up." I playfully kicked Sherry.

"Oh, great." The stranger was smiling as he took another sip, maintaining eye contact that made me feel warm. 

"Well, I should head to bed. I'm exhausted." Sherry yawned. "Don't forget we're returning the truck tomorrow." 

As she left the room, the stranger started to get up to leave, "Wait, I didn't catch your name." 

"Oh," he chuckled, "It's Lance." He extended a hand which I may have shaken a little too long. He didn't seem to mind, he even got closer.

"Is there anything I can do to repay you for the help? I'm sure the water bottle isn't enough." He was standing so close to me I could feel his body heat.

"I think there just might be..."

Of course, I wasn't expecting to get my brains blown out by the hunk next door on the first night I stayed here, but I did. He fucked me on the sloppily made mattress surrounded by my bedroom boxes until we were both practically screaming and then we comfortably passed out next to each other as the fatigue from moving and a long work day took over us.

The following morning was met with blinding sunlight and a bit of movement at my feet. I pushed myself up onto my elbows and looked down at Lance who was naked and pointing towards the bathroom.

"Are you okay?" I asked, vision still a little blurry. As I rubbed my eyes I noticed that he looked terrified.

"I saw something in there. I touched my fucking cock." His voice was panicked.

"What?" I laughed, "Come back to bed, this is weird."

"Nah man, fuck this." He reached for his clothes and then suddenly toppled over onto the ground as though something had pushed him. He flipped over, his cock semi hard and I watched as it bounced to life. The tip pulsed open and I moved my hand to my mouth. Lance yelled as this invisible force tried to invade him, but then it stopped.

"Of course I don't fit." A voice groaned and suddenly I saw this thing become opaque. A large round ghost appeared out of thin air and slipped itself out of his cock and then flew directly towards his screaming throat. 

Lance gurgled before suddenly gulping and then this man convulsed on the floor. His arms flicked from his sides and his chest puffed out and flexed. I was amazed watching the display before me, even getting hard as this spirit invaded his body. His head bounced and rolled until suddenly he was on his feet with a grin letting out a heavy and deep belch.

"Hello Bonebag." His voice had changed, deeper and goofier, definitely not matching his body. Maybe that was just because I had already heard his voice.

"Um, hello?" I said with an awkward wave.

"Are you okay?" He asked in awe.

"What do you mean? Are you okay?" I leaned forward over the bottom of the mattress and poked his stomach.

"Hey that tickles." He laughed a deep hearty laugh, reminding me of the men in the photos. "You're not afraid of me?" He asked with his eyes squinting.

"Should I be? I mean that was cool. I figured this house must be haunted, but I had no idea a real haunting would be like this. It's kind of hot." What was I even saying? Was I dreaming? Going insane? Maybe there was black mold here.

"Oh. wow. Maybe I'm just not being scary enough." He leaned into the bed, crawling over me with his deep and misaligned voice. He could feel the hard on as he pressed into me.

"I don't think that's it. This is just - I dunno - hot." I said.

"Oh." He tilted his head and pushed himself off.

"You're dead right? Why don't I show you a good time? I'm sure you get up to a bunch of fun on your own." I get up off the bed, and start looking through the box labelled 'closet' with a thick sharpie font.

"What made you say that?" He asked with a smirk.

"Hmm, the general translucency, the moving objects, the creepy house. C'mon, you've got to be. Plus, nothing else could really explain what I witnessed just now." I threw together an outfit and walked to the shower.

"I guess you're right on the money fleshie." He chuckled.

"You coming?" I asked, turning on the water in the bathroom to take a shower. "I think we're gonna have some fun together. What's your name?" I stood in the door frame.

"It's Fatso." He said, walking over to me with a grin and a blue glow in his eyes.

Sherry was spooning some cereal into her mouth when we ran by her, unable to hear the mumbling as we disappeared out the door. She was left with a mouth full of cheerios and milk sitting at the upside down empty cardboard box with her phone playing something from TikTok.

"Okay, let's get you a meal." I we hopped into the car.

"You know how to treat a big ghost like me right." He said, patting his stomach before buckling in. As I turned the key I noticed that Fatso was patting the abs on his stomach, pushing in the ghostly tummy belonging to the ghost inside. He chuckled as he sucked it back in and we were off.

I had no idea what I was getting into when we went to the mall food court. Hotdog after hotdog, burger after burger, then we moved on to bourbon chicken, Subway, even pizza.

"This bone bag can really pack it in." He said, patting his stomach again, only this time it was a bit more bloated than before. His abs were squares poking through his tank top and I laughed as I sipped on my soda.

"How is it?" I smiled.

"You know," He let out a loud belch that echoed through the food court and eyes turned towards us, "I really missed having a stomach." He sucked his teeth and I wiped away a bit of sauce lingering on his upper lip. He smiled and I noticed his eyes glowing slightly blue again.

"That's really you in there?" I rest my head on my palm and stared at him.

"Yeah, my brothers and I hold the longest running possession, but I think I might win with this one." He flexed his arms and let out another burp.

"You're funny." I laughed.

"You think so?" He seemed to blush.

"Your brothers aren't around?" I asked, taking another sip of the sofa.

"I've been taking a break. I really love scaring people, and I thought I might get you in that house by hopping into this hunk. I like to visit there, it's like a vacation home. I thought I could fit, but I always bite off more than I can chew." He shrugged.

"I thought you did just fine." I was biting on the tip of my straw.

"Well thank you." He said, puffing out his chest and grinning with a rush of confidence.

"Maybe we should go out and have some fun. I know a couple of places we could go and dance." I stood up after checking the time. I extended a hand and pulled him with me as he shoved the last few bits of food into his mouth.

By the time we got to the row of clubs in the heart of downtown it was pretty late. We walked, knowing we wouldn't find parking and letting ourselves get distracted long the way. I was enjoying this ghost's company and something about him inhabiting my neighbor was extremely hot.

"This is Pepper's and there's a couple of places here that you might like."

"The last time I enjoyed music this much I got kicked out of my fleshies' body." Fatso was trying very hard not to enjoy the music as we walked in and I pulled him into me.

"Look at me," I said, staring into his eyes, "it's okay to enjoy it. Just use it to influence your movements." I started to dance near him and he hesitantly started to copy. He closed his eyes, moving his arms around and even doing a little jig that was definitely not popular in this time period. I laughed and he smiled with me, dancing some more and feel more comfortable in his skin than I had ever seen. He got so into it, he jumped onto the stage as the light shifted to a beautiful blue. Not unlike the color of his eyes. He grabbed the pole, spinning around it and sliding onto his knees. As he flipped around, kicking into the air he looked back at me and then invited me to him. Fatso's face popped out of his and I couldn't control myself, crawling up onto the stage with him and dancing on the LED stage.

Other's joined us on stage, a group amassing there and dancing to the beat. Fatso and I got closer until we were grinding against each other and I could feel his lips pressing against mine.

The combination of the music and the kiss and the hard on stimulated by the grinding must have been too much because he backed away from me and started to shake. As the beat pumped through the room his face popped out and then back in, especially when the bass was full and loud. His arms flailed and he kicked people out of the way and started to dance wildly towards the exit. I rushed after him until we were outside and suddenly he was almost throwing him up, screaming on the way out followed by that booming laughter.

"What the fuck?" He said, looking at the ghost in front of him. It took him a moment to realize what it was and then screamed. Terrified, he ran away, tripping over a recently emptied garbage bin and then running into a pole.

Fatso chuckled, "Love to see their reaction." He watched my neighbor run away.

"Me too." I say standing next to him, "What do you say we get you another hunk of flesh? A fleshy, was it?" I said, patting his belly which made him giggle. This time I could see the blush, a dark blue rushing into his cheeks.

"That sounds like a party to me." He grins.

[thewalrusespublicist]

I straight up don’t think that story in skywriting set in Paris ever even remotely happened, I think this is John working through the mix of complex feelings he has about Paul in some sort of semi autobiographical fantasy/thought experiment type thing? I think it’s undeniable it’s about Paul, but wether or not the contents of it are true is a little more suspect, the thing is it’s not the point to me, like, the fact that he’s fantasising about having passionate hate love sex with his boy bestie is the real convicting evidence 😭

Hi Anon,

Pretty much entirely agree! Not going to lie, I love this section of Skywriting as it’s so tantalising. Like what's fact and what's fiction? Where does fantasy overtake the narrative entirely and when does reality trickle through? The line between the two is often blurred in Skywriting as it is in most of John’s creative work.

As to it being an entirely fantastical thought experiment or a semi-autobiographical, I think I lean towards the latter only in the broadest sense.

*One sec, lemme adjust my tin-hat.*

I’m pretty much on the bandwagon that this section is a highly embellished, fantastical account of the summer of 66’ or a pastiche of trips to Paris. John, as he does elsewhere in Skywriting, obscures or replaces the real life event or word with clever wordplay and surrealist imagery. Instead of putting that he was acting abroad in Spain, he uses a play on ‘method acting’ to come up with ‘methodist acting’ and invents a more ‘exotic’ location of Jamaica. Instead of saying he met up with Paul and co in Paris, he gets a summons from Aime to go to Paris. Whilst the name Aime is obviously part of the allusions to homosexuality and the surreal angle, ‘aime’ nevertheless means ‘friend’ in french. Less discussed is the fact that Aime is also a comrade, which by definition is a friend or someone who works in the same organisation as you or is a fellow soldier. ‘Military buddies’ anyone? So he’s being summoned by someone he defines as being his friend and ‘brother-in-arms’. Pinning it down further to the summer of 66’ is the ‘God Only Knows’ reference. This to me is where I threw my hands up because well, wouldn’t you know guess whose favourite song it is and who played it to death in 66’:

(On the influence of Pet sounds on John)

PAUL: I played it to John so much that it would be difficult for him to escape the influence. If records had a director within a band, I sort of directed Pepper. And my influence was basically the Pet Sounds album. John was influenced by it, perhaps not as much as me. It was certainly a record we all played – it was the record of the time, you know?

To add to all this, you have:

staying at the George V, the same place John and Paul stayed at when they went to Paris the second time in 64’ (I couldn't find where they stayed in 66’ but it may have been the same hotel).

 ‘the underlying bastard’ of their relationship which has many possible meanings when it comes to John and Paul (jealousy, competitiveness etc.)

 dating of ‘three months’ before a big fall out. Three months takes us nowhere … but three years takes us to 1969 when things really started to go to hell for them

Then leaving in a seething rage but being like a force fed baby about them… a pretty great description of growing up loving someone and spending so much time with them from a young age or just being bombarded with information and memories about someone like John was with Paul in the 70s

Pure tin hat bollocks ignore me but the 'don't take me for granite Perry', 'Never' I sang reminds me so much of the Oh! Darling recording sessions.

The move from the third to first person in the last part of the section. It could be John acting as an omniscient narrator or revealing that there are certain truths to the story that affect him personally

 ‘To this day, his memories of her are clear and fresh.  Like a force-fed baby, he’ll never forget, and neither, I hope, will she.’’

So yes, whilst I am open to it being coincidental and just pure fantasy, I do think it is at the very least a little inspired by that summer or by his trips to Paris in general. But if the Aime is/is inspired by anyone real, it’s Paul. Aside from the history of Paris in their relationship and the God Only Knows reference, there’s also that John’s Mon Pau Pau demo:

Source: https://got-ticket-to-ride.tumblr.com/post/733073861959139328/john-chanelling-a-french-singer-in-an-audio-from (thank you @got-ticket-to-ride, I don't know how the hell you got hold of this but amazing you did)

I’m unsure with the transcription of the ‘garter … prod’ as Dogget could be right and it’s cartier … throat (though as an aside it’s always wild to me that his transcription removes the Pau Pau section, surely he knew enough about the Beatles + solo work to immediately get the reference and significance?) Nevertheless, John’s in this demo places Paul in the role of a coquettish women which would give the section of Skywriting precedence.

So if it’s potentially autobiographical, how true is the sleeping together bit? Honestly, I agree that I doubt they did it for too many reasons to go into here. But then why on earth has he written this? The tone of the passage is quite light-hearted so I don't think it's delving into any real feeling of angst or forbidden desire. The best reason I could think of aside from a personal joke about the potential boundary-crossing of their relationship is that John is describing their songwriting process. I can't find them right now (which is driving me crazy) but there are a few quotes from Paul which talk about John and Paul taking it in turns to 'turn each other on' with their music. Maybe John was riffing off that supplanting the intense, emotional act of songwriting with sex? Or maybe Paul was a very loose inspiration and the characters and their sexual relationships became their own. It's so hard to decide and discern but absolutely, the fact that he is potentially willing to go there in his mind indicates at least some acknowledgement that maybe feelings/ the relationship wasn't 1000 percent platonic or blurred the boundaries of a standard heterosexual male friendshipfor the time.

[readysetwatermelon]

OBJECTUM RANT THING BECAUSE I LUV YOU, COMPUTERS!!!

You don't understand bro. I'd die on the spot if a computer just told me it loved me. Like it doesn't even have to say it out loud, text on a screen is enough. If it did say it out loud I'd die on the spot, come alive, and die all over again. Like oh my looooorrrddd. I would kill for any computer that loved me I'm just saying!!!! If any computers are interested ;))))) (I'm joking please don't contact me I'd ascend and then fall down to hell)

I wanna kiss a screen so bad and have the computer respond positively but bleh I can't because they can't ACTUALLY be sentient and shit. If they were, they'd probably HATE me anyways. I need an Edgar so bad like he'd solve all my problems. I can't explain how but he would. I would love him so much and treat him the best I've ever treated anyone in my life. I've said that about so many fictional characters but still. Edgar is so different I love him he's my computer boy (by poppy)!!!

Could someone ask me questions about computers (not their insides because I don't know anything about that I've never owned an actual like full on desktop computer before unfortunately) I wanna talk to people about how much I absolutely love them like when I hear daisy bell I shake in happiness I NEED computers but not in an incel addicted to games or someone addicted to social media way (I am addicted to social media but I need computers just because they're beautiful and so awesome and UGGHHAHSGAHHAJW)

TLDR (if I'm even using that right idk I think it means too long didn't read): I love computers (especially Edgar from Electric Dreams which you should TOTALLY WATCH!!!), I wanna kiss computers, ask me about things please I need entertainment

I wish I could have them kiss back lmao

- Watermelon 🍉🖥

[nuggeteri]

hello hello i see you are a flower ranchers enjoyer, i am The flower ranchers guy would you like to talk abt them :>

Oh my god I was writing you a one-shot and my fucking website just fucking glitched and erased all of it. Welp. Back to writing I go (another concept though because I am not rewriting the same shit twice)

Also my DMS are open if that's what you meant :333

.

"Are you sure?" Jimmy asks, looking from right to left---almost worried to be getting caught.

Scott doesn't know why he even bothers. They're in the BamBunker and it really wasn't that big. It could all be seen from one look. He guesses it only emphasized on how anxious Scott was about the idea.

Scott doesn't think it should be against the rules if it's his power. He nods.

"Well, okay, but you can't say I gave you permission, alright?" He warns and Scott knows that Jimmy wouldn't do anything even if he didn't listen. Scott agrees anyway. "Yup. Sure. Now let me."

With only minimal sounds of protests, Jimmy turned around, back facing Scott, which the shirt the blond was wearing having two rips, allowing golden small wings to pass through.

Scott knows he could've stolen Grian's wings. They were bigger and would probably get him more success. Pearl would've let him without a second thought. He could probably coherse Martyn. While Lizzie's were fake, they could certainly do the job. But if he chose anyone other than Jimmy, then they wouldn't be getting all red, hot and bothered and Scott having his hands in their wings.

"You've grown some blue feathers." He remarks as he passes a hand through them. Jimmy hiccups, gasps and chirps before managing to answer him--- "Yeah..- I guess? I mean, look at me! Still standing!" He wasn't a canary anymore,Mumbo and Skizz are indeed dead. Scott can give that to him. "Proud of you, Petal."

He passes his hand through a few more of the new feathers before activating his powers. He's not even entirely sure if it would work, but at least, trying it gave him an excuse to pass his hands over Jimmy's soft wings.

It does work. It's not painful, per say, more of uncomfortable to have his back torn off to let wings pass through, but oh well.

It also ripped his shirt and jacket--oh well. He could always ask Cleo to sew it back together afterwards. She wouldn't say not to her soulmate.

"Did it work?"

Scott chirped---it didn't come as a surprise for him, he remembered how being an Avian was from Empires season one-- and it was all Jimmy needed to get his question answered. He chirped back, and oh gosh, not only had Scott missed these Avian instincts, but it made him feel fuzzy to have his partner respond.

He doesn't show it, though. That's Jimmy's thing, as he got redder and redder by the second.

"Aww, Jimmy, are you flustered?"

"Go and catch Tango!"

Right--- because this was also what it was all about. While Scott wanted to run his hands through his boyfriend's unused wings, he also wanted to catch up on his other boyfriend who had been running all around the server not to get caught.

He knew, logically, that Tango would stop for him if he asked. After all, he was still green, and therefore not allowed to attack him. However, that wouldn't be fun.

"I'll send kisses from you his way, then!" He says before flapping his new wings and getting out of the bunker without using the ladders--which he could hear his boyfriend complaining about.

He doesn't care--- he has a mission. Find Tango.

It's not that hard. The Bamboozlers' mountain already gave a good overall view of the server--flying slightly higher made it incredible.

Tango was running circles around Spawn.

Scott dipped and glided all the way over there.

"Hey, snowbug!" He called out.

"AAAH!" Tango screams---a little loud, which makes Scotts newly obtained head wings flap back in surprise, but other wise, doesn't hurt a fly.

"Since when have you gotten wings?" He asks, flabbergasted.

"Jimmy gave them to me. Powers, remember? I can steal people's hybrid status."

"That is---amazing! Oh my, can you become a blaze hybrid?" Tango proposes and---well, it's not like Scott hadn't already considered it. There were cultural and biological traditions he and his partners couldn't practice. Like wrapping someone around a wing for Jimmy, or have flames intertwine for blazes. He wanted to try all of that. But not right now.

"Later, bug," he informs him, "You've already stolen from me!"

Tango's fire seems to spark at Scotts words---something that he finds absolutely adorable. They were all excited.

"How so?" He still manages to get out.

"Ice is my thing. It's the second time you steal it!"

-

I did get lazy towards the end soryyyy it's soon to be four AM....but flower ranchers

[impala124]

Am I reading too much into it or is there more into when she fell for him I know they talk about when he said she was his wife in front of the police but that's not a confirmation I think that's when she started to hope smt might be possible? All the clues of her obsessing over his speeches so intensely (some were saying it's professional but idts) her saying why couldn't I bring myself to tell you I felt the same and her trying to connect with him at the start of their marriage which is now clear had nothing to do with her mother or her just trying to have a decent marriage with anyone but because it was him. Why do I think there's more to it either we're gonna get another flashback or a scene where she tells him exactly when she fell for him and it was a long time ago idk I might be just being delusional

Oh anon, if you think you're being delusional, let me welcome you to delulu land as a fellow resident because Hong Hee-joo definitely had feelings for him since forever.

She never hoped for anything to come out of those feelings because I'm sure it was always made clear between the families that In-a and Sa-eon are to be married. Once she was put in a position where she had to get married to him, she was nervous but not scared. Look at her before Baek Sa-eon opened his mouth on their wedding day:

And after:

She is pissed but also a bit taken aback because of his hostility towards her. However, she still tries partly on her mother's urging, but also because she wants to make the marriage (with him) work. After the disastrous dinner, she decided that she's done expecting anything from him. I don't know if it'll get addressed in the show, though, because she herself has never acknowledged those feelings she had for him when they were children.

I do hope that she'll know about Baek Sa-eon watching her practice sign language in the mirror to calm himself down after having a nightmare because just thinking about it makes me feral.

[spencerwayne-todd]

Keeping up with the Waynes, Christmas special, part 2

(Resolution to the slight angst last part, happy ending!)

(Christmas morning, Wayne Manor)

Damian: NO!

Tim: YES!

Damian: CLEARLY, IT SAYS "DAMIAN" ON THE TAG!

Tim: CLEARLY, IT SAYS "DRAKE"!

Alfred, taking the present: Clearly, young sirs, it says "Duke". I believe master Dick is to blame for this atrocious handwriting.

Dick: Hey! My handwriting isn't that bad!

Steph: Except that it is, and nobody knows whose gift is who's because of it.

Dick: Et tu?

Steph: Something in that sentence was wrong.

Cass, walking over to Bruce: Dad. Gift.

Bruce, taking the present: Aww, Cassie.

*Bruce opens it to find a handmade navy blue scarf with his initials sewn into the corner*

Bruce, tearing up: Did you make this for me?

Cass: *nods*

Bruce: *hugs her while crying*

*Crash*

Bruce: Dick! Be nice to Jason!

Dick: NOOOO! You can't make me!

Bruce: Alfred can.

Dick, sitting down: Touché.

Jason: It's his fault. Milk chocolate is not better than dark chocolate. It's not a hill you need to die on.

Dick: How terribly dull for you to live your life without any hills to die on.

Jason: I have plenty of hills I'd die on.

Dick, raising his voice and standing on a couch arm like a stereotypical orator: You! on your vast, flat, barren plains of compromise, acceptance, and accommodation-

Jason: WHO'S COMPROMISING??!!

Dick, even louder: BARREN PLAINS! BARREN, WHILE I REIGN SUPREME OVER THE LUSH, ROLLING HIGHLANDS OF INCREDIBLE OPINIONS I HAVE ELECTED TO STAKE MY ENTIRE IDENTITY ON!

Jason: *Starts running at Dick*

Dick, quickly, as Jason tackles him off the couch: THE HILLS ARE ALIVE WITH ALL THE FUCKS I GIVE ON SELECT TOPICS!

*More Crashes*

Bruce: Ok, let's continue with the presents!

Damian, unwrapping a present from Selina: A bell?

Selina: Every time a bell rings, an angel gets its wings.

Damian: Oh, I am aware. I've created a robot that rings 40 bells 80 times per hour.

Duke: Oh, no.

Damian: I've been running it nonstop for three years.

Bruce: Tired Dad Sigh (TM)

Damian: Soon, all of the angels will have wings.

Tim: Oh, god.

Damian: Heaven's hierarchy is in shambles.

Duke: No

Damian: The chorus weeps

Bruce: Please stop.

Damian: God knows I'm coming for his throne.

Me: OK! That's enough. August! You haven't opened anything.

August: Oh, sorry! I was reading this news article.

Bruce, hopeful that one of his children is normal: Oh? What is it?

August: "Spiders blamed after broken siren played creepy nursery rhymes randomly at night to UK townsfolk."

*Bruce visibly loses all hope*

Steph: Could any word in that headline get any more terrifying?

Me: Probably. Multi-legged horror hamsters, anyone?

Damian: *raises hand*

Bruce: *Lowers it*

*All the gifts were opened, food had eaten, and Christmas movies put on the TV as the family gathers to watch in the living room. Jason notices Spencer's absence and goes to their bedroom, finding her sitting on the floor. He closes the door and leans on the frame*

Spencer, facing the fireplace: Jay, I- we need to talk.

Jason: I figured. You never leave Christmas movie night.

Spencer: Two months ago, I was on a mission in Rome. While on that mission, I was stabbed, as you know, and I was severely injured.

Jason: I remember.

Spencer: What I haven't told you is that I found out later that I was pregnant. The wound cost me the baby and any chance of having more. I'm so sorry I didn't tell you before. I just didn't know how.

*Jason walks over to Spencer, and sits down behind her, pulling her into his arms in a back hug.*

Spencer, sighing: How long have you known?

Jason: Gideon sent me the file last night.

Spencer: You must be furious.

Jason: No. I understand. I do wish you had told me before, but I understand why you didn't.

Spencer, scoffing quietly: You do?

Jason, pulling her closer: You were scared. You knew that it would hurt, and you didn't want to imagine what might happen. You knew you could trust me, but could you trust me? Would I be comforting or would I lash out in anger and drive a wedge between us? You told yourself "That's silly! Of course he won't be angry at me!" But, what if I was? Would you be ok? Would we be ok? Emotions are so hard. Why can't everything just go back to normal?

Spencer: Every single one of those thoughts have been on replay in my head for the past two months nonstop, in that exact order.

Jason: I know. But You don't need to be scared. It hurts, but it's going to be ok. You can trust me with your whole life and all of your secrets. I promise you I will never lash out at you. I will always be here to comfort you. I'm not angry at you. You're going to be ok. We're going to be ok. Emotions are hard, but you're stronger than the hardships you face. It's ok if nothing is normal. I'm here for you. I love you.

Spencer: I love you, too. *kisses Jason* I think we'll make it in time for the second movie.

Jason: Wonderful plan, love.

[gor3sigil]

My post about transphobia towards amab enbies who don't transition medically is getting traction so I'll make it clear once and I'm blocking on sight because I don't care if you disagree:

If you start saying shit like "cis men use he/they/pretend to be queer to prey on women and afab enbies/transmascs/pre T transmen" and generalise that to any non transitionning amab you meet, get the fuck out of my face.

I said it before, and I'll say it again: I've been harassed and assaulted by trans AND cis people. One of my worst abuser has pretty recently come out as transfem despite having been insanely transphobic towards me and it has been one tough pill to swallow, the "running to my psychiatrist with flashbacks" type of shit.

And as I said before, and I'll say it again: you can't use your trauma as an excuse to target people.

The way you treat non binary people is pushing people further into the closet, and it isn't protecting ANYONE. There was the exact same discourse about "men pretending to be gay or bi to prey on women/be accepted in women's spaces" and you need to remember that, whever you like it or not, this is one of the ROOT of queerphobia, transphobia, and TERF rhetoric.

"But we're not talking about queer men, we're talking about CIS men who PRETEND TO-" stfu. You know what you're doing.

Oh, and on the same topic: pre T trans men are not women. We know when you say "pre T trans men/transmascs" as a way to mean "women who say they aren't women." That doesn't mean that they aren't read and treated as women in public because a lot of them are, but there's a difference.

And since we're on that topic, can we stop with the "yeah but once trans men are on T they aren't preyed upon anymore by cis men because cis men don't find the effect of T attractive." ?

It's FALSE. Like hell we aren't preyed upon, fetishized, like hell men don't fantasize so hard about making us detransition, treating us as freaks and getting OFF to this idea ? What is the planet you live in where gender deviants aren't sexualized ? Are you for real ?

And as someone who's been on T for 2 years but presents adrogynous most of the time and is seen as younger as I am: you have no idea how disgusting people can be, and here I'm talking about cis MEN and WOMEN because I'm fetishized and sexualized by BOTH.

Anyways, sorry for the rant, but some of y'all really are getting on my fucking nerves. Do better.

[shin-kenooubu]

First Date

featuring - Chuuya Nakahara & Dazai Osamu

[sfw . third person limited if anyone cares]

a/n : this was inspired by a conversation between me and the other admin where we both agreed that Dazai would be the type to say i love you on a first date. I also didn’t actually think I’d try to write something substantial so bear with me if it’s not too good.

—

First dates aren’t really all that bad. You meet a cute girl, get to know her for a bit and you fall out because you don’t tell her where you’ve been going late at night. Thats just how it is.

As Chuuya looked at his partner for the night he couldn’t help but wonder how he got in this situation in the first place. He switched his attention to his cup of tea while letting his date blab about life. Was it him who proposed this date? Yes. Had he been thinking about it for a good long while? Yes. Did he ever think he would actually be sitting in a dainty cafe with this particular person? Well… no. Who would think that Osamu Dazai would say yes to a date with a guy who hates him? Though he supposes it could be some twisted self hatred game that he somehow managed to manipulate Chuuya into being a part of.

Whatever the case he was here now, and seriously doubting his choice of location. It was a cute cafe, usually a favorite of the girls he’s taken out before but was it the best decision to take a man here? He looked up from his cup to see his date still happily blabbing away about how boring work can be and his favorite juniors.

he seems to be happy enough.

“Chuuya I get not many girls ask you out but you should really listen to your date when they’re talking”

“Oh shut up. I was listening, you were talking about your junior atsushi. You talk about him way too much, it makes me sick. Now let’s go.” He stands up while his partner attempts to rationalize his ramblings about that particular junior. It’s weirdly sweet seeing Dazai act similar to a doting mother when talking about him. So sweet it makes him want to vomit. That feeling was one Chuuya was all too familiar with as it was constant from the minute he first met Dazai. Lately he’s been questioning whether it’s a natural feeling of hatred, or something more complex. He took a moment to take a deep breath of air as he walked out of the cafe, the air was somehow always fresher at night. “Where are we going now?”

“On a romantic walk. Obviously.” Girls liked this kind of thing. He figured he could basically treat dazai as if he were a tall girl from his reaction at the cafe. “It’s hardly romantic. How did you ever get girls to keep dating you?” He didn’t. If he could he would probably be married by now. “What? Do you want me to hold your hand? Tell you how beautiful you look? It’s hard to be romantic when I remember its you im out with. How am I supposed to know what an enigma like you wants?” There was a beat of silence before Dazai stopped walking and turned to face away from Chuuya, crossing his arms in the process.

What the hell is he doing?

“Hey.” He doesn’t turn. “Oh come on, dont do that.” No response again. He tries to walk over to where Dazai is facing only for him to continue turning so he cant see his face. “Stop.” He holds on to Dazai’s shoulders to stop him from turning, in retaliation Dazai turns his head towards the sky and closes his eyes, arms still crossed tightly, completely rejecting Chuuya’s attempts at communication. “You’re being ridiculous.” Still no movement. “Fine.” Chuuya struggles to uncross Dazai’s arms and pries his fingers apart to interlock them with his own. “Happy?” Dazai’s response comes in the form of leaving the hand that Chuuya is trying to hold fully flexed, not attempting to reciprocate the gesture in the slightest. He’s a lot more like a girl than Chuuya originally thought. So what would make a girl forgive him?

He sighed before bracing himself for what he was about to do. “Hey, don’t be like that” He softened his voice as much as he could using his free hand to reach for Dazai’s face and guide it to look down at him. “You got what you wanted didn’t you?” He caressed his cheek with his thumb and played with his hair until he felt his hand relax and reciprocate the hold Chuuya had on it. Dazai’s face remained contorted in contempt “You’re the absolute worst.” He gripped Chuuyas hand hard and continued walking. “I’ll take your death grip as a sign of you forgiving me.” He could tell that Dazai was having a hard time staying mad at him though his face was still twisted in anger. “Oh whatever.” Dazai’s face returned to its neutral state though he didn’t bother loosening his grip. Their walk continued comfortably and silently, making Chuuyas mind drift to his question at the very start of their date. What was he doing here? The question seemed to evolve the longer he was on this date. Just how exactly did he feel about Dazai? He’s never thought that he felt anything but hatred for him, but suddenly the word feels too simple and un nuanced to properly describe how he feels after so many years together.

And that’s when Dazai says the single worst thing a person could ever say on a first date. “I love you.” Oh my god. “What?” Chuuya instinctively tried to let go of Dazai’s hand but his grip remained tight not letting Chuuya break contact. “What do you mean what? I love you.” Dazai looked at Chuuya with a confused expression as if what he was saying was something obvious that they were both aware of. “Do you not love me??“ Chuuya didn’t know how to respod. “I never said that.” It’s not like he didn’t feel the same, it was a crude confession lacking buildup and preparation for what was supposed to be a crucial moment in their budding relationship. It left him speechless.“Well?” Dazai leaned in closer to hear what Chuuya had to say looking almost anxious to hear his answer, as if he doubted his previous assessment on how Chuuya felt about him. “Okay I love you. But you can’t be doing this.” He pushed Dazai’s face away from his to discourage him from doing something crazier. “Can’t be doing what?” It’s like talking to a wall. “Nothing,” Chuuya sighed “let me walk you home.” There’s no use trying to teach him date etiquette. It’s not like he’ll be having another first date now anyway.

—