#that one is thankfully pretty straightforward

[not-poignant]

Hi Piayou mentioned in the FT discord that Hillview only supports 'ethical studios' when it comes to porn. In the context of the UtB universe what does that actually mean/entail/look like?

I love your worldbuilding and all the thought you put into it!

Hi anon!

The ethical porn studios in the Underline universe look a lot like ethical porn studios in real life! (Link doesn't go to an ethical porn studio, it goes to an article talking about what makes them ethical).

This one I thankfully didn't have to worldbuild very hard for, because they already exist. :D

[justletmeon12]

So, I've been watching too much Dimension 20 and Adventuring Academy...

I got fired up/hyperfixated on playing D&D, and I knew a couple of my friends have been trying to get a campaign together for a while, and that we're all about to take two months off for residency interviews.

Long story short, I've played a grand total of 3 hours of D&D, and I'm currently homebrewing a campaign to DM starting in a couple of weeks.

Pray for me.

[fairysongs]

౨ৎ coming home too late﹕spencer reid .ᐟ

summary: based entirely on the song, coming home by beabadoobee. pure fluff.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

includes: soooo much fluff, spencer’s pov, spencer is in love with reader, reader is just as in love with him, very small mention of depression, reader uses she/her pronouns, reader loves to clean, established relationship, derek morgan is spencer and reader's #1 fan, did i mention spencer is in love?

word count: 1.7k

a/n: eeeek my second fic!! i got so happy writing this. maybe the most sickening sweet thing i ever did do. i love beabadoobee's music so much i kinda wanna write a million different things based on her songs. Anyways..!!! as always likes/reblogs/feedback appreciated :3

spencer reid had never felt more relieved to be sitting inside this jet than he was right now.

sure, he’s happy every single time his team is able to wrap up a case. he’s happy every single time they catch the bad guy. he’s happy every single time justice is brought to victims and their families. he’s happy every single time he gets to come home and see you. he’s happy every single time he notices the way your eyes light up when you see him walk through the door. he’s happy every single time you throw your arms around his neck and he gets to pick you up, inhaling your sweet scent as if he’d never be able to embrace you again.

but this time it was a little different. it was currently 6:54pm in california where the latest case was. meaning it was 9:54pm back home. it would take approximately five hours to fly home and another thirty minutes to drive to his apartment. meaning he wouldn’t step through his door until way after three in the morning and he knew you’d be sound asleep by then. and it was saturday, a day that never held much weight to him until he started living with you.

he found out that you grew up with a rather strict routine in your home. your parents deemed every saturday ‘cleaning day’. every saturday you did your weekly chores and that habit stuck with you as you moved on to live with college roommates, on your own and eventually with spencer.

he remembers when he first asked you to move in with him. you’d been dating for about a year and a half at that point. he brought it up in a rather nonchalant way and he was so thankful you were not a profiler and couldn’t tell how hard his heart was beating inside his chest as he started to ask.

“you know… you sleepover here a lot. i mean, you have your own drawer in my dresser, your own space in my closet…” he started one morning, sipping from his mug of sugary sweet coffee. “your skincare stuff in my bathroom, your special shampoos in my shower… your little treats stocked in my fridge…” his lips started twitching, trying to fight the stupid large smile that wanted to show on his face.

you hummed in response, your fingers tapping against your own mug that was full of tea. you hated coffee. when he learned that he bought a box of your favorite tea and kept it stocked in his kitchen. “are you… complaining?” you asked, voice sort of quiet with uncertainty.

he shook his head immediately, realizing he wasn’t being as straightforward as he assumed. “no!” his voice squeaked slightly, causing you to raise your eyebrows. “no… no, i was just… i mean, you spend so much time here and i really love it. i love you being here with me and i… if you wanted to move in i would… i mean, i want you to move in. if you want to. please.”

thankfully your heart was just as pretty as you were and you didn’t let him nervously ramble for too long. instead you walked over to him, wrapping your arms around his neck. you stood on your tiptoes and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. “relax. i’d love to, spencer. but i have to warn you, i’m quite a lot to deal with twenty-four seven…” he would just stare back at you, with nothing but love and admiration pouring from brown hues. he always thought you were so silly when you’d say things like that and he’d spend the rest of the morning telling you that while peppering sweet kisses to every inch of your skin.

he did learn very quickly just how serious you were about your routine. you woke up at six in the morning every saturday. you’d start in the bathroom, then make your way to the kitchen, then collect the dirty laundry from the week, then focus on organizing every little desk and shelf he had in his home. at first you wouldn’t let him help you, explaining that you didn’t want him to feel obligated in helping you with your own crazy little habit. he’d shake his head and just ask you what kind of laundry detergent you liked as he piled clothes into a basket.

“if you keep up with it weekly, then it won’t get out of hand and too big to fix.” you mumbled one time while scrubbing the dishes. “sometimes when the scaries got really bad, i used to forget to keep up with my cleaning. all the mess just made things more unbearable. keeping on top of it makes me feel more in control. even if the ‘cleaning’ one week is just refilling the toilet paper and doing one single load of laundry.”

he nodded his head in response, emptying the trash beneath the sink. spencer was nothing but soft with you, but even more so whenever you mentioned your struggles with depression or ‘the scaries’ as you called it. the two of you quickly fell into a habit every single saturday. you split the work load. you’d do the dishes, he’d carry the trash out, you’d fold the laundry, he’d vacuum the rug. he didn’t have to say it, you’d already know, but he enjoyed the structure of routine just as much as you did. the rest of your saturdays were spent on the sofa, your head in his lap while you forced him to watch your favorite childhood show. takeout food spread across the coffee table in front of you. there was so much comfort the two of you found in the domesticity of it all.

so, yes, he was a little bit upset he missed this saturday and was so ready to get home and pull you into his arms and never let go. he hadn’t noticed him spacing out, eyes focused on the same page of a book he was reading for five minutes, until he heard derek morgan’s voice.

“hey, loverboy!” spencer’s head snapped up, brows furrowing at the man giving him a cheeky smile. “you’ve been staring at that page for an eternity. what’s on your mind, huh?” he asked, although he already knew the answer.

you met the whole team ages ago and every one of them adored you but derek especially admired the way you loved spencer. he’d never say it out loud, unless it was in a teasing way to get spencer to blush, but he genuinely believed you were an angel sent to the boy genius. derek noticed how blissful you made him, how gentle you were and how safe he felt with you. how could his heart not swell in appreciation for the love you gave to his brother?

“i missed cleaning day…” spencer spoke, brows pulling together slightly. there was a soft sigh that fell from his lips as he pulled his phone from his pocket. your last text saying you were gonna stay up and wait for him even though you both knew that you’d fall asleep the moment you got comfortable.

“okay… and is that a bad thing?” derek responded, leaning back into his seat with a slightly confused expression.

“well, yeah. she likes cleaning every saturday and we normally split the work between us. that way we have more time to spend together.” spencer huffed and tucked his phone away again. he closed the book he was reading. “it’s more than just the cleaning, derek. i hate being away from her, you know? we never know when we’re gonna get called away on a case like this and i like spending as much time as i can with her. and i hate coming home late. it makes me feel like i’ve missed so much.”

derek breathed out a laugh but nodded, understanding all too well what he meant. emily prentiss came around the corner, one hand holding a cup of coffee and the other resting gently on spencer’s shoulder. “spencer reid, you have become the most smitten, lovestruck man since you met that girl. and it’s the most adorable thing in the world.” everyone on the jet chuckled softly at that, even aaron hotchner, while he blushed and adverted his eye contact towards the shaded window. he knew they weren’t laughing at him, more so showing an expression of how happy they were that he was happy.

he stepped into the dimly lit living room of his apartment at exactly 3:26am. the tv glowed over your sleeping body on the sofa, arms wrapped tightly around a stuffed red panda he gifted you a few birthdays ago. the netflix screen asking ‘are you still watching avatar: the last airbender?’ shined in his face as he leaned in to shut the machine off. he walked over to your sleepy state, a tiny smile growing on his lips as he leaned in to brush some of your hair from your face. he tucked one arm beneath your knees and held the other one to your arm as he carried you to the bedroom.

you stirred, humming softly as he quietly shushed you. “shh, hi baby. i’m home now. go back to bed, yeah?”

“how was the flight?” you asked in a soft whisper, ignoring his requests. he chuckled, shaking his head and he set you gently on the cushion of his mattress.

“it was fine. too long. i’m sorry i’m home late.” he was just as quiet as you, pulling the duvet over your body and tucking it at your shoulders. he picked up the stuffed animal that had fallen beside the bed and tucked it next to you as well.

“it’s okay. we always have tomorrow.” with your eyes still closed, you smiled as he kissed your forehead.

“yes, my love. we do, don’t we? i’m gonna get changed okay? go back to bed.”

“i’ll wait for you.”

when he was changed out of his work clothes and into his pajamas, he turned back and found you soundly asleep again. he let out a quiet laugh, got into bed and pulled you right to his chest. he played with your hair until he fell asleep too, no longer upset about the day he missed with you because you were right.

he always had tomorrow.

[superbat-love]

Clark tried to resist the urge to fidget, fully aware of the murmurs and suspicious glances from the mafia men surrounding him as he waited outside the lounge. He reminded himself that he could handle this. His objective was fairly straightforward: gain Mario Falcone's trust, find evidence linking him to the Gazzo family in Metropolis, and expose their crimes.

All he had to do was listen in on conversations, maybe snoop around a bit. After all, he was strong and bulletproof—what could possibly go wrong?

Thankfully, his awkward wait came to an end when a stunning woman in a bodycon dress stepped out from the private lounge.

"Mr. Falcone will see you now, Mr. Kennedy," she said.

Clark stood and followed her inside.

The lounge was as garish as he had expected. Red velvet drapes hung from the walls, gold gargoyles leered from the ceiling, and black stone coffee tables sat amid curved leather sofas. The room exuded an air of wealth and power, albeit in an overly ostentatious way.

In the center of the room sat the mob boss, Mario Falcone, with one arm casually draped over the back of a sofa. He was angled toward the man beside him, their closeness suggesting a more intimate relationship.

"Mr. Falcone, Mr. Kennedy is here," the woman announced. Both men looked up, and Clark felt his forced smile freeze in place.

"Ah, Kennedy! Right on time," Falcone greeted with a broad grin. "This is my lover, Bruce Wayne. He’s the one you'll be protecting."

Bruce Wayne, Gotham's notorious playboy, gave Clark a slow once-over, a lazy grin tugging at his lips. Though this was their first encounter, Clark had heard plenty of rumors about Bruce’s scandalous reputation—his affairs and escapades were well-known, even in Metropolis.

Bruce stood and sauntered over, circling Clark like a shark sizing up its prey. Clark nearly jumped when Bruce’s hand squeezed his bicep, trailing slowly down his arm. Bruce finally stopped in front of him, his gaze briefly dipping before meeting Clark’s eyes.

"Nice gun," Bruce murmured. Despite the casual tone, his piercing blue eyes gleamed with sharp intelligence, as though he could see right through Clark.

“I-I’m not carrying one. I was patted down before I came in,” Clark replied quickly. “But don’t worry, I can protect you even without a weapon. I’m... uh, pretty good with my hands.”

Bruce’s grin widened. “I bet you are, Mr. Kennedy,” he purred.

"What do you think, love?" Falcone asked, leering at Bruce.

Bruce draped an arm around Clark’s shoulder. "Oh, I like him already! The last bodyguard you got me was such a bore. At least this one’s easy on the eyes."

Falcone’s smile stiffened, and he regarded Clark through narrowed eyes. Clark swallowed hard. He had been confident about gathering the evidence and getting out, but now, he wasn’t so sure.

[jolalibrary]

4. green smoke

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter four of do me yourself

summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.

wordcount: 3.7k chapter warnings: [see masterlist for series warnings] meet cute, flirting. fluff. flirting in person and over IG. frankie calls you 'rainy' (paint related from chp.1) no other descriptions or name used, you wear a date outfit but not specified and the shoes have heels but not mentioned what kind. minor discussion of past canon events incl. drugs. no use of y/n. an: if this as a friends episode this would be called "the one where they talk"

prev chapter | frankie's ig

key: frankie is in bold, you are in italics

Friday soon arrives.

It comes hand-in-hand with a tumultuous storm, bringing with it ominous rumbles echoing through your house. The air feels charged with tension, wrung tight, all sense—as if it’s holding its breath while the world around seems to retreat into darkness. Even if the time on your laptop says 14:43.

Your gaze fixates on beads of rain running down the window, all racing one another—like you have been for several minutes. The steady patter provides a rhythmic backdrop to your solitude, interrupted only by the occasional sighs that escape your lips and the soft tapping of your pencil against the notebook—a feeble attempt at pretending you’re concentrating.

Pretend is the optimum word.

Merely putting on a show of focusing on the task at hand. In reality, your eyes keep flicking to your phone—the one lying silent on the counter, eagerly anticipating the next notification that’ll make it illuminate.

Your work, the one thankfully with a deadline of next week, continues to sit ignored—barely considered, never mind plotted. Because it isn’t what fills your mind.

It’s him.

Just thoughts of him—mind populated with vivid memories that refuse to fade, unable to stop lingering on the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles or his infectious laugh. The one which has dug itself a place into the walls of your home, lit it up.

Then, you think of his lips, the ones that are purposeful, all heavenly. The mere thought of them sends a shiver down your spine, a longing present, spreading—

Unloading a delivery and you’re falling on me.

It's difficult not to smile at his message.

Something he effortlessly elicits from you now. Has done so since the very beginning. A thing he continues to do so the more the two of you speak.

It's giddy, almost teenage-like, the way your heart scampers to catch itself as your fingers try to pretend they're not darting to reply.

Excuse me? Rain. Oh, that is such a dad joke. It was. I’m pretty proud of it. Bet it made you smile. I will not confirm or deny. So that means it did. Shut up.

Thumbs swirling over the screen, you roll your lips, toes twitching on the floor as you grin.

So, how big is the candle going to be in the middle of the table? Ummm, appropriately sized for a restaurant? Hmm, I have only gone on dates with inappropriately sized candles. Are you flirting with me when I’m at work? Are you saying that like you don’t flirt with me when I’m at work? In my defence, you choose your own hours. Do you mind me flirting with you? Not even a little bit. Good. Because guess what I’m wearing right now? Hopefully nothing. I’m wearing sweats and a baggy T-shirt. Still hot. Get back to work, Butterscotch.

You know it’s not long—a handful of hours until you’ll be across from him.

Likely with your smile hurting your cheeks, eyes unable to stand looking away from him for more than a few minutes. Unable to explain or rationalise how straightforward it is with him, how natural it feels to get swept up in all of this and find yourself wanting to be around him.

Something you try to put to the back of your mind, to not clock-watch, not count down. Doing well at it until you hear your phone buzz and see his name appear on your screen.

The laundry you're putting away ignored, the item dropped from your hand to the floor, before wiping your hands on your thighs, taking a measured breath, then lifting the phone to swipe it.

His voice fills your ear almost immediately. All hello and your name, a can you hear me? following.

And your heart skips a beat—missing a whole thud against your ribs as you stare at the outfit hanging on the closet door.

“I’m really sorry—“

And your heart falls. Descends gradually, like a feather freefalling. Doing so until it has nowhere else to go but sit in the hollow void. Disappointment beating, pulsating.

“—Harold… he had to leave early, his heart was playing up and he said he’d come back. But I can’t make him do that, wouldn’t be able to enjoy ourselves if he just—"

“—Frankie—“

“—And I’ve tried to move the reservation, rang the restaurant. But, they’re booked up and I really want to take you there—”

“—Frankie?”

You brush the fabric, the hanger holding on to the top of the door with sheer will as you do so between thumb and finger. Half-smiling—even still. Listening to the way he takes a breath, to the way he cares so much.

“It’s okay,” you interrupt, swallowing, shoving the dismay down. “I… promise.”

The voice you hear back is soft. So tinged with sadness, and regret, you half-want to call him Butterscotch just to make him laugh. “You sure?”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you reassure him, comfort him—voice steady as you do so, "We can reschedule. It's not a problem."

A moment of silence follows, with a sense of letdown settling in the air like fog. It sits there, resting, hanging. Because even if you know it’s just a minor adjustment, a twinge of disappointment still seeps in. Not so much a sharp pang, but a lingering weight that makes your shoulders sag, as though everything had deflated like a balloon slowly losing air.

“Baby… I’m really sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you assure him, a smile making its way onto your face despite the circumstances. "There's always next time."

“Not drove you away then?” he half-laughs, one you imagine is a little forced.

“Not even a little bit.”

Sighing, you swear you hear him smile with it. “I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

You grin, nothing but light and easy, “Just make sure next time you can show up, that’ll be a good start."

Frankie laughs, it flowing down your ear before it’s joined by a promise that he will and he can call you later, if you like? A thing which sounds like a good idea, even more so when it's followed by the fact he wishes he could stay—talk, but you know. Nodding to no one but yourself as you bid him goodbye, leaning against the wall—hanging up, full of bittersweet.

You let your head fall against it, rolling it there as your eyes flick back up at your clothes, lingering over it.

And an idea appears.

It grows—smothering over sadness before it blooms.

Then, you’re grinning. One almost as large as you do when he makes you giggle. Almost.

You’re thankful the sign still says open when you step out of your car—fingers tugging at fabric, ensuring it sits how it’s supposed to.

Even for a surprise, you wanted to look as picture-perfect as you should have been entering the restaurant. The paper bags catch your leg, noise crinkling against the air as you yank on the handle—entering, being washed in wood chippings, bleach and paint.

For a moment, one stuck between time and space, you look. Glance. Unsure where to find him, until your eyes land on him and find his head lifting at the sound of your entering.

Whatever Frankie had been in his hand dropped, all forgotten. His mouth parting at the sight of you. Taking you in. Sweeping brown, surprised eyes all over you as heat rises up your neck and brushes over your ears.

“I know I’m a little overdressed for buying a hammer, but…”

Mouth falling open, he looks torn between grinning and speaking. “What are you…”

Shrugging, watching his eyes roam up and down the outfit you’d chosen. The one that had been on the hanger for days—one you’d not thought could be replaced by anything else.

“Well,” you begin, smirking, “My date got caught up at work and I’d been really looking forward to seeing him.”

Frankie smiles, hand rubbing along his jaw as he stares.

“But then, someone told me there’s a secret restaurant here. One behind a metal door that says, Staff Only?”

Dropping his hand, and swiping his tongue across his lips—he slowly moves around the register. Coming to join you as you hold the bags up, the heels of your shoes clicking on the shop floor tiles as you meet him halfway.

“I also suspect that you might not have eaten, since you've been alone for most of the day.”

It’s at that moment his stomach roars. It grinds, what you assume is coffee, before groaning inside of him as he claps a hand on his apron.

“The only problem is,” you say, narrowing your eyes, scrunching your nose. “I… I didn’t know what you would like, so I might have bought a ridiculous amount of food.”

Taking a bag, his eyes widen when he opens it. “You’re staying, right? To help me?”

Reaching inside the bag he didn’t take, you pull out a single, battery-powered candle. “It’s a date.”

He gives you a wide smile, his eyes twinkling with happiness. "I just need to lock up," he says.

You watch with a flutter of excited nervousness as he moves around the store, flipping the sign on the door from 'Open' to 'Closed', and then securing the door. The lock clicks into place, echoing in the quiet store. He then proceeds to shut off the lights, plunging the store into a soft, inviting darkness lit only by the glow from the streetlights outside.

Turning back to you, he extends a hand.

"Shall we?" he asks, his voice filled with anticipation. You place your hand in his, feeling the warmth spreading through your fingers.

As you walk together towards the back of the store, a tinge of excitement flutters in the air. The 'Staff Only' sign looms above the door like a secret entrance to a place you shouldn't be, but with a gentle gesture, he ushers you inside.

You don't miss the way his fingers brush your lower back, the heat they ignite up your spine as his chest meets your back, face close to yours. Lingering, eyes sweeping over you.

"Lemme just..." he whispers, elongating it, before he bends to pull you a chair out—one with three wheels, no back—fingers sliding up to brush over your shoulders as you sit down.

“Careful.”

Swallowing, you suppress the effect he's having on you, forcing a smirk. “Oh, I’ll try, Morales. Don’t want you to have to fill out the accident book.”

“Harold would murder me.”

Snorting, you watch him join you—taking the candle from your hand, flicking it on and placing it directly in the middle before the two of you begin taking food out. He gazes at bundled packaged burgers, stealing a fry from the bag before it’s laid out over the desk.

“So, as it’s our third date.” His eyes flick to you, mid-bite of his food as you twirl a fry in your fingers. “I get to ask you challenging questions, right?”

“Fuck,” he says, under his breath. Grinning. “Alright, let me have it.”

Nudging him with the tip of your shoe he laughs. “Okay. You and Luca’s mom?”

“Ah.”

Grabbing a napkin, he wipes his mouth. “You don’t have to worry.”

“And as everyone in history knows, those words are how people stop worrying.”

Smirking, he turns on the wheely stool, facing you, knees abutting yours. “We haven’t been together since he was born—we… we weren’t even together by the time he reached six months. He… he doesn’t know any different. We have things we say, and truly, she’s a fantastic mom, we have a great co-parenting situation.”

“Okay.”

His fingers land on your knee, dancing over them, light and feathery as he sighs. Heavy. Weighted. It makes you swallow, makes you want to dig your fingers into your leg to stop yourself worrying, thinking—overdramatising whatever it is.

Scratching his head, he rolls his tongue from his cheek to the front of his teeth. “I wasn’t a good person then… a lot of shit had happened—I’d left the service, found myself… haunted, I guess? Me and her, we met, we… seemed good. She seemed good. And then, I…”

Your hand slides over his, one of your fries still in hand as you do. “You don’t have to tell me.”

“I want to.”

Nodding, he half smiles.

And then he does.

He tells you about his days in the army—and the sleepless nights when he was back home. The sense of loss he felt without it, the uniform that meant nothing when he joined a regular job. How flying helicopters for people with money who had no cares in the world began to make him hollow, carving a piece inside of him that didn’t fill with laughter at barbecues and trivia nights. He tells you how he’d rambled to someone about the lack of sleep, before he found a little white bag in his locker—an opportunity, a chance to not overthink.

That it had stayed there for days, almost a week until there had been news about someone he had once worked with.

Then he explained how it wasn’t a problem, but it also very much was. How he was lost, drowning—that people reached out, but the lights had been on, but no one was home. How it became a coping mechanism, a small dose to take the ache away—before he learnt he was going to be a dad. Her worries about him making her ignore the signs, much further on than they thought—and then, one month later, how he failed a drug test.

Trace amounts, barely anything, but still plenty.

His license, revoked—paused. His future dwindled, a baby due to arrive, one he’d heard the heartbeat off at the same time as he found himself at the threat of being alone. A second chance dangled, offered—do better, Frank. Don’t be selfish.

“—but, I didn’t change. Don’t change.”

Your heart falls, and descends.

Watching him shake his head, grabbing a handful of fries before stuffing them into his mouth as he chews, and you pick at one from your own box.

“Things were good—Luca, he had ten toes, ten fingers. He was great, happy. It made us being good seem real? But, it lingered, y’know? If work kept me later, there was this distrust, this question. And I couldn’t blame her, didn’t. Never would either. I broke that, I know I did. But…”

“It wasn’t healthy?”

Shrugging, he swallows, before nodding. “Then, I helped a friend, one from my squad. Had to… it was dangerous. I was gone longer than I said—and she worried, panicked. I knew before I left that when I got back I’d likely find my stuff packed—not that I blame her. I know we tried. But, I broke it. But now we’re better… better co-parents than partners, you know?”

Nodding, you chew, rolling the salt on your lips together. A beat passes, ice clanging in the drinks, cartons scratching against the table as the two of you eat.

“That was probably a lot.”

“It’s okay. Are you… are you good now?”

Nodding, he chews another fry. “Clean since Luca was born. Five years, fifty-seven days.”

“Well, I know this might be weird to say, but I’m proud of you.”

Smiling, he chews his cheek, meeting your eyes for the first time since he began sharing. “You’re a bit too good for me, you know that?”

Smirking, you steal one of his fries. “Oh, a hundred per cent. You might have a bunch of followers and good taste in paint colours, but did you know that I can sand down a dresser to the point a prominent Instagram DIYer has told me ‘I did a good job’.”

“Doesn’t sound that trustworthy. Bet he doesn’t know what you call wrenches.”

Pouting, you narrow your eyes as he laughs. “Thank you for telling me.”

Nodding, he rolls his lips. “I had to… ‘cause… are we enacting third date-talk honesty?”

“Of course.”

Half-smiling, he nudges himself closer on the stool. “I really like you.”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you look up at the ceiling, before grabbing his knees and wheeling yourself closer. “I quite like you too.”

Smile spreading, he places his hands on top of yours. “Yeah? Because I wouldn’t blame you for wanting to… run from all of that.”

Smirking, you try to move closer, even if the wheels of both stools try to prevent you. “Did you know, honesty is really, really hot?”

Brows raising, chin lifting, his lips slide further into his cheek. “I’m glad you came.”

“I’m glad too.”

Swallowing, his fingers slide in between yours, eyes flicking from one eye to the other. “I’ve been thinking.”

“Dangerous, that.”

“Well, I’ve seen your house now.”

Nodding, you smile. Feeling it, whatever he’s going to say, ask, think lingering in the silence. His grin widens, a spark igniting in his eyes that sends a rush of warmth through you.

“So, I think it only seems fair you see mine.”

Wiping your hands on your napkin, licking your lips as you cross a leg over the other. “Well, for fair sake I definitely should.”

“Do you want to… now?”

“Tonight?”

Nodding, that same flush of pink rises up his neck, up his jaw.

Smirking, you loosen your hand from his—resting your palm on his cheek, elbow on your knee. “I’d like that.”

The car ride to his should be tense, but it isn't.

Instead, it's filled with soft laughter, teasing comments and shared glances—your fingers twitching, wondering whether a hand on his knee is too soon. Even when everything else feels so normal, natural.

When he pulls up outside his place, anticipation fills the air—a rush of warmth flooding through you, making your fingers clamp together and stare out at the place as he says, this is it.

It’s nice, well-kept—charming, from what you can already tell. Eyes spot chalk drawings on the patio, lit up by the outside lights and a plastic red car close to where he's parked.

“Luca has some good parking,” you smile, pointing to it next to you both. “You learn from him, or?”

Smirking, he undoes his belt. “Maybe, I taught him how to park. I’m very good with heavy transportation.”

You don’t miss the way he emphasises the sentence. Your 'oh' is swallowed by the sound of him opening the door and telling you to wait.

Watching as he moves around the vehicle, his eyes holding yours. Earlier, you'd been thankful that the rain had taken a pause; now you wished it hadn't stopped its lashings that glued clothing to skin, thighs pressing together on the seat before the door beside you opens.

“What a gentleman.”

“Just wanted another chance to chance to check you out, really.”

Swatting him, he takes your hand, his laugh blending with yours as he leads you up to his front door.

If he feels nervous, he doesn’t show it. Finding his keys and slides one into the lock without missing. Opening the door without as much as an awkward shove of the door.

If anything, it’s effortless. It not even squeaking or catching as he pushes it open.

“It’s not a lot…” he begins.

But he couldn’t be more wrong.

It’s cosy and warm. Exuding an unmistakable homeliness that immediately comforts you. Dark woods, off-whites, and splashes of orange, caramel, and greens intertwine harmoniously, creating a space that feels both freshly decorated and deeply loved. A balance you assume exists because of him being the one to bring it all together, knowing from the videos you've seen how talented he is.

As you glance around, you begin to see the traces of the Frankie you’ve been getting to know. Photographs of him at the beach, with his son, with friends and more with Luca at varying ages.

Then, there are the plants. An assorted mix of them, some big that you remember from photos, some greener than others—some tall and in plants with animal faces like raccoons and beavers, others in decorative pots placed on shelves.

As you step in further, you spot furniture you recognise from videos—even noting the stacked pile of books from a photo he’d shared recently and a record player on a side table.

“C’mon, let me show you around.”

He leads you, hand in yours, showing you his well-equipped kitchen, and dining space. Occasionally, he points things out, like the markings on a wall he’s using to measure how tall Luca gets and the scuff marks from dragging the dining table in after varnishing it. Before finally, the two of you are outside the half-open door to his bedroom.

Frankie giving you a wink, bodies almost flush.

“That where the magic happens?”

“Not usually…”

"Maybe that's cause people haven't been saying the right magic words." Shrugging, you lick your lower lip, staring at the beading on the door. "I should tell you, I've heard I'm quite good at magic words..."

You let it linger, sit. Before you turn on your heel, fingers brushing over a table as you head back in the direction of his living room.

He follows, a step or two behind, letting you and your eyes capture all the personal touches before you feel fingers on your wrist, tugging you back, body flush to his.

Wrapping an arm around your waist, you find your throat dry—eyes flicking to his mouth.

“Go take a seat, I’ll bring us a drink.”

It’s soft, the nod you do as he slips his hand from your waist. You move, almost on auto-pilot, to sit down on his sofa, running your fingers over a cushion—one stitched with greens, golds and oranges.

When he reappears, you look up at him, noticing the hint of nerves in his gaze as you plaster on a reassuring smile as he places them down on the coffee table.

Slowly, you reach out, squeezing his hand, "Your home is lovely, Frankie."

He chuckles, a soft blush creeping up his cheeks as he joins sitting down. "Yeah?"

Nodding, you press your knee against his. “So.”

“So.”

With a smirk, you draw a measured breath. “I believe... I want to kiss you now.”

Swallowing, his gaze flickers to your lips, lingering, before snapping back up to your eyes. Warmth spreads over your cheeks, neck and ears. “I believe you should, Rainy.”

A response there, nestled between teeth and tongue, is muffled as his lips meet yours—for the first time in several days.

an: as a warning, the next chapter will include smut. if you wish to skip the smut, you can miss the chapter as there will be no other scenes. the following chapter will pick up the next morning.

NEXT CHAPTER ->

[crazy-only]

the grid meeting your parents ! (fluff)

pairing: f1driver (hamilton, norris, piastri, russell, tsunoda, verstappen) x reader

premise: how six f1 drivers would interact with your parents ! (fluff, fluff, fluff, and more fluff)

preface: YOU GUYS ARE SO SWEET AHHHH like seriously i don’t understand how im getting this much love just writing my horny/love-deprived thoughts but nonetheless i’m close to tears ╥﹏╥ thank you !! anyways who should i write for next ? a pt. 2 with the other drivers ? enjoy <3

hamilton

babe would be experienced with this, know all the right things to say, and when to just nod and pretend like he agrees with your parents. even though he’s been through the same motions of ‘meeting the parents’ a few times before, he knows you’re the right one for him, so lewis will take this opportunity seriously.

that means bringing bags of designer clothes, perhaps a watch for the dad, and, of course, an expensive bottle of wine (he still hasn’t disclosed the price to you (｡ŏ_ŏ)). your boy’s classy and will match his attire to yours. and maybe get your mom to crush a bit on your mans as well. but don’t worry, boy is loyal!

✦✦✦✦

norris

aww i think bby acts confident about these sorts of things in front of friends, but when it’s just the two of you, he shrivels in your lap, anxious at the mere thought of meeting your parents.

he doesn’t want it to go wrong! he needs you for the rest of his life, so he spends days before the actual event asking you what your parents’ interests are, things they would ask on the big day—lando panics big time. and on the day he actually meets the parents, he realizes it was all worth it, because now he can spend the rest of his life with you! (*ˇωˇ*)

✦✦✦✦

piastri

okay this boy knows his personality is special. he knows he can’t exactly be as straightforward as he would prefer to be because there’s a big chance your parents would take it the wrong way. so, as he gauges your parents’ tolerances to sarcasm, jokes, etc., he grows more confident. at first, baby will be quiet, but with time you’ll be dragging oscar away from your parents just because they can’t stop talking so much!

✦✦✦✦

russell

similar to hamilton, this man is ✧classy✧ and makes sure it seems that way. whether it’s a casual dinner or a barbecue, george dresses up in a suit, all pretty, because he wants your parents to know he’s serious! don’t take him wrong though, he’s not afraid to get on his knees to help your parents out. sink is broken? baby is inside the cabinet fixing the faucet as we speak. need more charcoal? he’s already gone back to the gas station to pick a bag up (he’s an f1 driver, i mean what’d you expect?). and don’t worry about if your parents approved of him or not, he’s got ‘em asking when he’s coming back!

✦✦✦✦

tsunoda

aw yuki would be so shy meeting your parents. his relationship with them would be more sweet than anything. less chatting, more jokes! if he burnt the dinner he was supposed to cook for your parents (low chances, but bear with me), yuki would be close to tears. he takes it very seriously!

thankfully your family would laugh it off, and yuki would start laughing as well. if the power went out, jokes would float around the dark room and your parents would see how much he cares about you as he grabs blankets and tea for you. (≧﹏ ≦)

✦✦✦✦

verstappen

baby could simply care less about your parents. all he wants at the end of the day is to be with you. his heart only wants you! how can you blame him? ( > < ) for this reason he tolerates your parents. if they happen to be nice, then he’ll get along great! if they’re not his style, he’ll still pretend like they saved his cats from a near-death experience (eating the wrong cat food).

as long as he has you, max can meet a hundred sets of rude parents and still be happy. <3

[thezombieprostitute]

Tech Tuesday: Lloyd Hansen

Summary: It's your first week on the job and you find yourself having to deal with a very angry higher up.

Warnings: Power imbalance, Yelling. Please let me know if I missed any.

Tech Tuesdays Masterlist

Part 1.5 (Lloyd's Perspective)

You'd survived your first week at the job. It was a nerve-wracking to find out you were the only woman working in the IT department outside of Mr. Pine's assistant. Thankfully the majority of your coworkers were friendly without being inappropriate or condescending. So far you were able to just sit at your desk and do you work.

There's a knock on your cubicle wall and you look up to see Johnny standing there.

“Hey, I need you to take a ticket for me,” he tells you. “I'd do it but I just got pinged by the security measures and that takes priority. Ticket is Hansen-4142. Thanks so much!” Before you can argue he's gone.

Shaking your head you check the ticket. Johnny's not wrong that security takes highest priority and it's not unheard of for technicians to trade tickets. Looking through things it's pretty straightforward. This Hansen person likely tried to update some of the office software and the update messed with their current settings. You get his office number, double check the building floor-plans so you don't get lost, and head up.

Getting off the elevator at his floor the atmosphere is incredibly tense. People are keeping their heads down and trying to make themselves as small as possible. As you get closer to Mr. Hansen's office, you start to understand why. His voice carries and he's clearly very, very angry.

By the time you're right outside his office you're visibly shaking. Part of you wants to run back to the safety of your cubicle and beg one of the bosses to choose someone else. But that wouldn't be professional. It's only your first week, you need to do this and prove yourself to be a good hire. Taking a breath to steady yourself, you knock on the door.

“Get in here!” Mr. Hansen barks.

You open the door, “hello, Mr. Hansen. I'm, um, I'm from IT to fix your computer?”

“Yeah, I figured that,” he bites back. “No one else would be dumb enough to knock on the damn door.”

You nod at his reasoning, “may, I...may I see your computer, Sir?”

He chortles, “It's about damn time the IT department hired someone who knows their place.”

He moves away from his desk and gestures for you to sit. Not wanting to be here any longer than you need, you immediately set about to working. No chit-chat, nothing to give him a reason to yell again. You find yourself getting into the zone, hunting down the needed files, ignoring everything extraneous, and making the changes that are needed.

You think you got everything so you get out of the chair, “please make sure everything is working correctly, Mr. Hansen?”

He gives you a skeptical look as he sits, “that was way too fast to have worked.” You lower your chin to your chest but don't protest. You hear him typing and clicking away for a minute or so. “Huh,” you hear from him. “You're a friggin' maestro.” His tone is more contemplative than anything.

“Do you need anything else, Sir?”

He looks up and seems surprised you're still there. “No. You may go back to the IT caverns.”

Not needing to be told twice you nod and head out. When you're back in the department you see Mr. Syverson and he calls you over.

“Where ya been? Was wantin' to ask you about some of the upcoming projects we got ya assigned to.”

“Oh, Johnny asked me to handle a ticket for him because a security issue came up.”

He freezes at that. “Was it with Hansen?”

“Um, yes, Sir.” You see his face turn red and you're worried you did something wrong.

He takes a breath, “you're not in trouble. You're gonna go finish out that ticket like you're supposed to and I'll talk to you about the projects tomorrow.” You nod and almost run to your cubicle. Behind you, Syverson yells, “Storm! My office! NOW!”

Tech Tuesdays Masterlist

Part 1.5 (Lloyd's Perspective)

Tagging @alicedopey; @delicatebarness; @ellethespaceunicorn; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory; @late-to-the-party-81; @lokislady82 ; @peyton-warren @ronearoundblindly

[its-in-the-woods]

'Down the Rabbit Hole' Chapter 1

Chapter two chapter three Chapter four

Pairing: Walton Goggins x You

Rating: None for this chapter future ones will be adjusted.

Slow build like novel damn length okay, Very Fluffy, Pinch of Angst, Relationship Development, Hurt/Comfort, Older man/ Younger(30s) women, Alternative universe, fictional work (IDK WHY BUT I AM PUTTING IT) Probably more as I go.

Synopsis: Working in film as a make-up artist is hard enough, but then Walton Goggins requests you, well it's way too easy to fall down the rabbit hole.

Note: they are both single, all for fun.

WARNING I do not have this all written out, I do have it plotted out, but it may be a little slower for chapters to come out. Please bear with me. If you know a Beta to edit please send them to me.

Getting the phone call that you're working with Liz again is surprising. You had encountered Liz several times, mostly as a day call trying to get hundreds of extras through a small window of time. She was well-known in the industry as being a giant pain in the ass. Though you had gotten along somewhat well with her, you had never quite felt like the women would have picked you as a second.

Sitting down in the production office you start to fill in paperwork. There is always so much paperwork. Thankfully this would have you working for the next four months. Four months of not having to fill out forms or wonder when your next job would come. Granted you had made a favorable impression with several other heads of department. But if everyone was honest the biz was saturated with less skilled artists who would bend over backward, or forwards, just to get a day in. You flick over the paperwork refilling the same information for the fifth time. 

“Hey, can I talk to you for a second,” It's Liz, done up to the nines as always. Touches of grey hair starting to show against the dirty blonde. She wears all black with a horrid mix of silver and gold jewelry. 

You follow the woman back, completely prepared for her to tell you that you will not be seconded to her. That you'd be moved to 2nd unit or something much more fitting for someone with just “five years of experience”. 

Walking into the little office you place the paperwork on your lap as you sit across from her. The walls have headshots of cast along with information underneath.  You don't pay attention, if you're working a different unit chances are you'd never see them anyway.

“Nice to see you again,” Liz says, you get a feeling that she was putting on a bit of a show. She’s put on a weird smile that doesn’t meet her eyes, not that you could tell she won’t look at you. 

“Likewise, hope you've been doing well,” You reply, you can't stomach being a kiss ass.

Liz makes a humming noise as she flips through the large binder. One of the the few things you both agreed on, is hard copy beat digital work. 

“At the moment you're not going to be seconding with me, you've been requested by the lead.” She gestures over to the wall.

You look over and see Walton Goggins’ face staring back at you. You chew at your lip, you've worked with him twice. Mostly while doing smaller rolls, he had always been easy to work with and hilarious.  

“Ah, I see.” You reply, trying not to act a little flustered. You'd never had an actor request you, it was probably one of the biggest compliments you could get.

“You and Trevor will be working together with Mr. Goggins. I've taken you've read the script?” Liz looked at you through heavy mascara eyelashes. You nodded at the question. “Good. It's pretty straightforward, anything with large amounts of blood will be dealt with by the FX crew. You're basically babysitting and making sure he doesn't wander off covered in gore.”

You can't suppress the laugh at the comment. You could picture the man getting driven away looking like he had murdered a small town. The Teamster would have a fit about cleaning that.

“Sounds good, I am guessing I can increase my pay and kit rental?” You push, requested or not you knew your kit was far better stocked than most. Whether Liz agrees or not would be a moot point.  You could always approach production for a pay raise. Running it through Liz first just kept accounting from jumping down your throat.

Liz stares at you for a moment, her mouth a thin line. For a second you think she may try to argue the wage. Instead, she flicks her eyes back down to her binder.

“Yes, Production has already approved a pay raise for both. As well as sending in a small request for certain products he’d like.” Liz passes you the paper without looking up. On the top is your wage and kit fee, along with product allowance. It's much more than you anticipate, but you keep that to yourself.  

“You can drop your stuff off at the trailer and then go grab what you need. Start things off slow.” 

***

Paperwork done and handed in, you grab timesheets, start packs and, any other office stuff you think the trailer may need. Driving down the narrow alley you park your little Honda Accord beside the make-up trailer. You unload several bins beside the steps before parking. Inside the trailer is pretty sparse. You set out to fill your drawers, stocking the place with all the necessities. Trevor shows up as you're starting to finish up. 

“Heyyyy,” He chirps, coming in with his own kit. The man is tall, slim, with a wicked smile, green eyes, and a riot of brown curly hair. He is a major flirt who loves to chat about anything and everything.

“Hey, Trevor. How have you been?” You give him a hug. The two of you had both started out at the same time and he was as close to a friend as you had in the industry.  

“Oh yah know, just living the dream!” He rolls his eyes, waving his hands in the air.

“Nice we get some space to spread out. Feels homey” You smile as you place paperwork into holders. 

The trailer was a newer model, with four stations, four chairs, mirrors, lights, and shelving. There was also a sink and hair sink. It was nice to have your own space. Often times you were allotted a small tent and much else. But here you had access to everything and it was warm against the never-ending rain. 

“Not to mention getting requested.” Trevor wiggles his eyebrows. “Like I didn't think that would ever happen.”

You both chuckle at the situation. You finish up and make sure all your bits and pieces are laid out. You’d print any notes for tomorrow and get them into binders. Also, need to make sure you are connected with everyone’s clouds. Digital wasn’t your niche but it was necessary. 

“Do you want me to grab anything for you? I am hitting up the usual haunts for goodies.” You ask, grabbing your purse. Downtown would be a nut house but having all the requested products was important. 

Trevor pauses the comb on his chin. “How about I text you the list I need? I think I need like four things?”

“Yep, that sounds good. I will see you tomorrow for camera tests”

***

You do three days of camera testing and running over lighting making sure everyone looks their best. It’s always a flurry, trying to find an easy groove that you all could work with. Liz took the first chair, Katie took the second chair, you were in third, and fourth was slated for fx. It was tight once everyone was in there and warm, but it worked and that’s really all you could ask for. 

Now near the end of the week came the first shoot day. Liz barely makes eye contact with you besides a ‘Good Morning’. You didn’t care, you knew what you needed to do, a detailed email had been sent out last night. Besides Walton, you had three other actors to take care of. Not surprisingly they were all male, Liz’s actual second was Katie. A petite woman with pin-straight blonde hair, a heart-shaped face, and a big personality. She loved doing anything cute and fun. So you got stuck with the rough end of things, but if you were honest that was your wheelhouse. Bruises, cut lips, red-rimmed eyes, bloody noses, looking a bit more disheveled and run down. Yep, all things you could do quickly and efficiently. Hopefully, the AD wouldn’t be too pushy. The first two men are easy enough, you and Trevor fall into a rhythm. Blasting some 80s music as you both drink Red Bulls and dance away. Katie joins in the fun as you all pretend to sing karaoke

The third man doesn’t show, which is annoying as hair in cream blush. You radio the AD who already sounds annoyed. He tells you he will bring Walton over ASAP to you. You let out a sigh and rub your face. You crack open another redbull and take a deep sip. The trailer ran on redbull, which was the preferable alternative. 

“Stepping up!” Yells a familiar voice. Walton comes in with a flurry, coffee in hand, sunglasses pushed up. He wiggles his way through everyone with polite hellos and hugs. He comes over and squeezes you into a tight embrace. You hug back your cheeks going a little pink. The man is striking both in looks and presence, his aura is calm and confident. His hair was jet black with silver sideburns, deep-set hazel eyes, and an infectious smile.

“Oh, it is so good to be back filming. Finally!” He flops himself into your chair crossing his long legs. He is already in costume well fitting jeans and a green button-up. 

“Nice to see you again.” You smile and get to work, “How’s the day treating you so far?”

“It’s been lovely, though I do miss the sunshine. Does it ever stop raining here?.” He chatters on. 

You finish skincare and get down to covering minor blemishes and making sure his eyebrows aren’t too wild. Trevor chitters back with the man as he sorts his hair into something a little neater than the fluff it was before. 

“There you are looking fantastic as always,” You croon and step away from the mirror. The man makes a shocked sound and inspects his face.

“Darlin’ you always make me look as pretty as a painting,” Walton giggles in a higher feminine voice, looking himself over in the mirror. 

“Oh hush,” You giggle back, “get your tight butt to set.” You shooed him out the door, he wiggled his butt and gave you a kiss on the cheek before swishing out the door. 

“That man is hilarious, it’s going to be a fun show,” Trevor stated with a chuckle as he prepared his set bag. “Do you think number three will show?”

You let out a sigh,” Probably not at this point, the AD is going to murder us if we don’t get to set now.”

***

Number three was standing on set, you felt anger roll over your shoulder. He was of average height with a face that looked as if he had a permanent scowl. At least you had brought an extra set bag. You grab the man’s arm firmly, hauling him away to stand under a set light. Trevor immediately trailed after you. He huffs and stands mostly still. You can smell weed on him, and judging by his red eyes he was stoned out of his mind. You hand him eyedrops, and the man sneers at you but puts them in. Letting some of the liquid spills on his face, you sigh.

“Look, nerves are normal.” You mutter more to yourself than anyone. “But coming here stoned and avoiding makeup and hair is not going to win you any brownie points.”

“I don’t need a lecture from you,” The man bites out, walking away as you tuck your brush back into your bag. You grumble and move over to your chair, you make eye contact with one of the AD’s who scoots over to you. 

“I apologize about Arnold not coming to your trailer, I didn’t realize he was here.” The man lets out his own sigh, “It won’t happen again.”

“He doesn’t like us at all. Going to make things a little tricky.” You reply trying not to call him a complete ass about him. 

AD nods his head, “I know. It will be dealt with.”

You walk over to the video village peering at the screens as you say hello to familiar faces. Everyone looked good, even Arnold, at least his eyes weren’t completely bloodshot. You take a particular look at Walton who seems to be letting himself get into character. Something flits in your heart as he looks up at the camera from under his brow. 

***

The day ends and you cycle through secondary actors, Arnold all but running out the door once he is done. You can’t help but glare at the man, the least he could do was say thank you for cleaning his dirty mug. 

You flop down in the chair as the rest of your coworkers clean their things. The buzz of your coworkers is somehow relaxing, you take a sip of cold coffee and clean your brushes. Another knock and you turn to see Walton walking in, he has run his hands through his hair so that it stands straight up.

You let out a chuckle, “Did you stick a fork in a socket.” Getting up to let the leading man sit in the chair. 

“Oh, this?” He says pointing at his head, “I thought it was supposed to look like this.”

The room erupts in laughter as he makes his eyes cross and sticks his tongue out pretending to be electrocuted. Shaking your head you get to work, skincare was just as important as the actual makeup. You were ever grateful the man thoroughly enjoyed being pampered and preened by everyone. Made your job so much easier. 

*I am definitely nervous about posting this. But I hope it's fun and cute. It's going to be a slow build and a lot of back and forth. But I promise it will be fun cute and a little moody. Just a pinch of angst cause why not. *

Chapter two

[sovonight]

finally took a picture of the shirt dress i made ^^

this took ~6 weeks total from start to finish. it's a pretty straightforward pattern, it's mainly because i split my time between sewing & drawing so sewing only gets some of my weekends, and i also ordered a few different fabric swatches before i settled on my final fabric so i spent time waiting for fabric to get to me lol. also, i did make a muslin first, as i'm supposed to!

i used shot cotton so there's a very slight color shift effect--the fabric's made using dark purple + light blue threads, so you see a slightly different mix of the two depending on the angle. this fabric line is meant for quilting, but it's the only shot cotton i found that was opaque in one layer. i guess whether or not it was a good fabric choice is somewhat subjective--but it was at least very easy to sew with!

this dress has 18 buttons, which means 18 buttonholes! even though i made a dozen tester buttonholes on scraps, it was only when i actually started on the dress that i figured out exactly how to set them up consistently each time. thankfully i started from the bottom up so my first tries aren't noticeable 😖

i finished this dress at the end of august, but it's still not cold enough to actually wear this outside 😭 at this rate it's staying on the hanger until november

[perotovar]

tunnel vision — an "aint it sweet" oneshot

pairing: marcus pike x oc!vincent monet rating: E(18+) word count: 1.5k content: fluff, swearing, one (1) handjob, coming in pants, heavy kissing, neck kisses, they're both a couple'a cuties dividers by @/saradika-graphics beta:@kedsandtubesocks (ily)

summary: marcus has a new boyfriend in dc, and they're taking things slow. *written as a part of a loose-fit series following these two. this is the first part ♥

a/n: written as a part of @guiltyasdave 's kiss challenge. i was given the prompt "neck kisses". apologies for taking a million years to write this 🥲

masterlist | for updates, follow @oakslibrary and turn on notifs ♥

Marcus met Vincent two years after moving to DC.

He’d stayed single that whole time and took the time to heal from Teresa and his own mistakes in Texas. He knew now that trying to jump into a relationship was just a deflection from his own insecurities. Growing up with a Latina mother and a hard ass for a father set it in his mind that he had to be married with kids by a certain age. 

When that didn’t happen, he started to panic and latched onto someone he realized he didn’t even really like all that much. Thankfully, his parents gave him the space he needed to figure things out and left him alone. 

Vincent was a patron of a bar Marcus found himself frequenting after work. He wasn’t sure what Vincent did for work at first, but he was always there late. It made sense for Marcus to be there late, given his new position. He wasn’t sure who started talking to who first, but he does remember feeling… light.

Vincent had a warmth to him that Marcus was sorely lacking in his life. They’d meet twice a week and just talk.

Turns out, Vincent was a history professor at Georgetown University. He was… offensively handsome, with shoulder-length dreadlocks and smooth, dark skin. He wore wire-rimmed glasses and dressed sharply. Marcus found himself going lightheaded whenever the scent of Vincent’s cologne hit his nostrils. Vanilla and coconut, with a hint of something tangy. 

Marcus could listen to Vincent talk about pretty much anything, his voice low, measured, and a little quiet. He wasn’t sure how any of Vincent’s students got anything done. 

Marcus was always pretty straightforward about his desires, so during one of those conversations he asked Vincent out. Vincent graced Marcus with a pearly white smile and a shy chuckle. “I’d love to,” he breathed.

That was a few weeks ago now, and they’d just made their way back to Marcus’ apartment after their third date. 

“Vin,” Marcus moaned, tangling his fingers through the thick ropes of Vincent’s hair and gripping tightly. 

Vincent had him pinned to his couch in the living room, their hips rolling against each other. Vincent’s plump lips were latched onto Marcus’ neck, sucking and nipping languidly. Marcus loved kissing Vincent. It always left him breathless and felt like it was an event in and of itself. There was no rush to do anything, no pressure to continue to another “step”. 

“N-not too high,” he gasped, his cock twitching in his slacks. Vincent chuckled and released Marcus’ neck to give him a look that said ‘I know what I’m doing’. Marcus blushed high on his cheeks and shrugged a little. “I have a meeting in the morning, you know?”

“I’m offended,” Vincent scoffed, playfully rolling his eyes. “Thinking I’d jeopardize your professionalism like that.” He reached up to take off his glasses and set them down on the coffee table next to them. 

Marcus blinked, then laughed lightly, his eyes crinkling in the corners. “Get back over here, you,” he smiled, patting Vincent’s bearded cheek.

When their lips touched this time, they fully melted into it. Marcus rolled his hips up against Vincent’s, wrapping his legs around his waist. Vincent made a low noise in his chest and kissed along Marcus’ jaw to the side of his neck he hadn’t touched yet.

Vincent left tender, wet kisses down the thick muscle, then blew softly against the sensitive skin. Marcus shivered and moaned weakly as his cock jumped in his pants again. He was harder than he ever had been in his life and was worried he’d make a fool of himself soon.

Vincent sat up on his knees a little and started unbuttoning Marcus’ dress shirt enough to move it and expose Marcus’ shoulder. He hummed in satisfaction when he saw the blush on Marcus’ cheeks went all the way down to his chest behind the white tank he was wearing underneath. 

Marcus made a weak sound when Vincent’s lips latched onto his neck again, this time lower and closer to where his shoulder started. “Vin,” he gasped, gripping onto Vincent’s broad shoulders and digging his nails in. 

“Yes?” Vincent smiled, voice muffled before he went back to lazily sucking and kissing Marcus’ skin. 

“I’m–” Marcus groaned, his hips rolling erratically. He was almost certain he was going to come if Vincent didn’t slow down.

“You okay?” Vincent chuckled, releasing Marcus’ neck to look at him closely. Marcus was flushed red with big, wet eyes. He nodded and bit his lip, not making eye contact with Vincent. “Hey, what’s wrong?” Vincent frowned.

“It’s nothing, I just… Just give me a minute?” He huffed sheepishly.

Vincent blinked and looked down between Marcus’ legs. He smirked when he saw the twitching bulge beyond the fabric of Marcus’ slacks. “Oh, baby,” Vincent grinned, rolling his own hard length against him teasingly.

“V-Vin, please, I’m–”

“I want you to. Please?” Vincent cupped Marcus’ face in one large hand, his thumb rubbing against his cheekbone tenderly.

Marcus couldn’t remember the last time he felt so exposed and also so safe. He knew Vincent wouldn’t judge him or tease him too harshly about coming in his pants like a teenager after some heavy kissing. 

He let out a deep breath and smiled shyly up at his handsome history professor. “Kiss me again?”

“Happily,” Vincent hummed, shutting his eyes gently as their lips connected again. 

They rocked together jerkily, the sounds of their heavy breathing and the creaking from Marcus’ hand-me-down couch filling the room. Vincent held Marcus close to his broad chest, strong arms enveloping him.

While Vincent took his time kissing and making Marcus feel like he was floating on air, apparently he was very different once he had a goal in mind. Marcus was making sounds he never thought he could make, the heat at the base of his spine overwhelming him. 

Vincent’s hips moved in a slow, steady rhythm, making Marcus’ heart pound and blood rush in his ears. “I’m– I think I’m gonna come, Vin,” he gasped, thighs trembling on either side of Vincent’s hips.

“C’mon, baby,” Vincent grinned, mouth latching onto Marcus’ neck again to push him over the edge.

“Oh, fuck,” Marcus whined, furrowing his brow in concentration. “Fuck!” He gasped as his cock twitched heavily in his pants, coming hard. He moaned as each wave wracked through his body, leaving him breathless.

Vincent hummed in satisfaction and rolled his hips with Marcus, prolonging everything just a little more for him. “Beautiful,” he whispered reverently. He sat up, looking down at Marcus’ spent body and the large wet spot at the front of his slacks. He chuckled at the sight, his own cock twitching in his jeans.

Marcus panted hard, coming down from his peak slowly. He gradually came back to Earth and blushed again when he saw Vincent’s warm brown eyes looking at him. “Stop,” he chuckled. “No one’s made me do that since Ashley in the 7th grade.”

Vincent smirked, chest puffing up in pride. “Well, consider me honored to be among such a prestigious group.”

Marcus rolled his eyes and gently pushed Vincent’s shoulder. “Your turn.” He crawled into Vincent’s lap, wrapping his arms around the other man’s neck. He undid Vincent’s jeans and held his thick cock in his hand through the thin material of his briefs.

When Vincent moaned and bucked his hips, Marcus felt a rush of excitement down his spine. 

“S-shouldn’t be long,” Vincent chuckled, his cock throbbing in Marcus’ strong hand. Marcus hummed happily and latched his own mouth onto Vincent’s neck.

With Vincent’s cock now exposed, Marcus stroked him slowly, teasing the head with his thumb. Vincent breathed heavily, the heat from his cheeks and neck warming Marcus’ lips. Marcus pumped him gradually before he removed his hand to spit into his palm, and returned to his previous rhythm. 

Vincent moaned and shivered at the wetness along his length, lips parted obscenely as he watched Marcus’ hand. 

Marcus sucked hard against Vincent’s neck, nibbling on the thick muscle teasingly. “C’mon,” he encouraged, kissing up his neck to latch onto Vincent’s earlobe. He moaned around the earring there and sped up the fist between Vincent’s thighs.

“Shit,” Vincent breathed, nodding toward his cock. “M-Marcus, baby, I’m–” He smiled, resting his head on the back of the couch as he watched Marcus’ face.

Marcus blushed again and kissed him deeply as Vincent tensed, coming hard all over Marcus’ hand. He groaned into his mouth, hips bucking jerkily with his release. He giggled in the aftershocks, the dopamine rushing through his system as he held Marcus’ face in his hands.

Marcus’ heart pounded in his chest as they kissed languidly, both of them coming down from the moment.

They stayed like that for a while until they finally had to part to breathe. “We should do that again sometime,” Vincent flirted, nudging Marcus’ chin with the knuckle of his index finger.

Marcus laughed, cheeks warm and chest light. He couldn’t agree more.

[kuro4thegays]

- Happy birthday to my dearest scribe

[Word count: 1.9k] [Alhaitham x gn!reader] [Content: birthday fic, tooth rotting fluff, reader is kind of a caretaker for Nahida, they bake a cake together, Alhaitham has the best morning of his life]

“You think we should add more sugar?”

You licked the icing off of your fingertips, savoring the sweetness before making up your mind. “No, this is Alhaitham we're talking about. The more earthy kind of sweet will do.” The ding of the oven interrupted your track of thought, making you stand up momentarily and leave the icing in Nahida’s hands. “I’ll take care of that.”

You returned with the base layer of the cake, putting it down and taking the baking gloves off as you watched over Nahida while she was mixing the fluffy white icing. Fortunately for her, you catched how her hands faltered, motions getting less smooth by the second as she continued the repetitive task. And what kind caretaker would you be if you didn’t jump in to help your dear archon. “You’ve done enough, I think that the icing is ready.”

“Finally…” She nodded thankfully, handing over the bowl into your much larger hands. If it wasn’t for the way she giggled you might have felt a little guilty, but the sound of her cheerful laughter puts you at enough ease to continue working with a steady hand.

“It’s a little embarrassing, but I really have no idea how to approach the decorating part of the process.” You admitted while your hands worked on filling the piping bag, eyes nervously checking your archon’s expression. “Alhaitham is a pretty straightforward person. We should probably go for something simple.” You really did try your best to sound calm and collected, yet the nervous way you held the piping bag gave away everything to Nahida. 

“I think that you’re the only one who could make the best choice here.” Her words really did catch you off guard. She was so innocent and tiny you could actually forget that you were talking to the goddess of wisdom. Still, you consider yourself blessed by her words.

“Thank you.” Your grip on the piping bag turned firmer, moving it up the sides of the cake before making an experimental squeeze. Expectedly, the icing surged out of its confinement, climbing up the cake's side with you as its guide. 

“You wanna write something?” You turn to Nahida only to find her scooping up the leftover cream from the mixing utensils with her fingertips. She, of course, freezed as soon as you looked at her, caught right on the crime scene with the tip of her index finger covered in the sugary sweetness and her face confused as ever.

“You know, sharing is caring.” And who were you to judge? Her face seemed to instantly relax when met with your understanding, so much so that it took her a moment to realize that you had stolen the cream covered mixing utensils right out of her hand. Just like she did earlier, you scooped up the leftover icing with your fingertips before proceeding to lick them clean.

“Mhm, as good as I expected it to be.” You smiled to yourself, you two truly did your work with the icing. “Have you unloaded the groceries like I told you to? The stake should be in the fridge.” Nahida nodded, moving both the bowl and the utensils into the sink. Meanwhile, you proceeded to move the piping bag from the side of the cake up to the edge of the circular surface, decorating it using the finest tip.

“I don’t think that I’m going to write anything.” You finally decide. “There is just so much I could say that this little space on cake won’t do it any justice.”

Nahida gave you her sweetest smile, yet you seemed to be so focused on the task at hand, the gift to your most cherished one, to completely forget about the rest of the world. With the last squeeze you emptied the piping bag, turning around only to find that all the dirty utensils were neatly sorted in the dishwasher. You had no doubt who did it. 

“I didn’t even realize how much time had passed.” You sighed, looking down at your goddess. “We still got an hour before ‘Haitham is home. Enough time to clean everything up.” And with that, you stored the cake in the fridge, turning to take care of the rest of the mess.

—

“Good morning.” You straddled your husband's waist, leaning down to mumble those words in the hushest, sweetest tone you could muster. After all, you didn't want Alhaitham to have an unpleasant waking up experience on his birthday of all days. 

The birds chirped outside your window like a complimentary melody to your voice, the warm sunlight breaking  through the thin curtains and lighting up the room in morning’s yellows and oranges, calling its residence to wake up and join the light breeze under the sunlight. A tiny bird found itself seated on your window stool, perhaps intruding on the personal moment, yet you seemed too busy to notice how it observed your actions.

Your hand found Alhaitham’s bicep, massaging the relaxed, now soft muscle with gentlest feather touches, your lips hovering over his ear to only let a quiet call of his name to escape. “‘Haitham.” You brush your lips against his earlobe, the proximity making the scholar’s body instantly warm up.

And the little kiss you left on his ear certainly didn't help his act. That little kiss that soon merged into an assault on his face, starting with his sensitive ears before moving to kiss the length of his jawline. And you didn't miss the microscopic smile that formed on the corners of his lips, so subtle in its appearance to untrained eyes yet quite obvious to your keen ones.

“Alhaitham,” You mumbled, kissing the corners of his lips. “I know you're awake.” Yet he did not bulge, well, other that almost invisible smirk that seemed to get wider. 

“Tch, Alhaitham…” You were starting to get annoyed, groaning his name, still quiet but now more frustrated with the lack of a response. Despite his stoic appearance Alhaitham was quite a tease and you were his biggest victim.

Still, you were going to force a reaction out of him.

You leaned down, lips meeting his with an unspoken urgency. Little did you know that you had fallen right into his trap. Just two seconds in and you realized that you couldn't pull back. His hand trapped you from the back of your head into the kiss, all while his tongue tried to breach into your mouth, completely throwing out any act of unconsciousness. And you reciprocated, warmly inviting him in as you tried to stabilize yourself.

He pulled away quite abruptly, leaving you gasping and wondering where you had failed to end up a fool in this situation. But as soon as you caught your breath you dared to look back at him only to find those sharp, yet affectionate eagle eyes staring back at you, deeper than you expected them to. “Good morning.” You repeat yourself, your voice appearing much softer than it did moments before.

“A good one indeed.” He took the chance to kiss you again, this time on the cheek, watching it turn warmer in both temperature and color.

“You aren't even going to say it back.” You criticized, resting your head onto his chest, feeling its slow rises and falls.

“Good morning to you too.” Despite his teasing demeanor he was quick to give into your demands, running his fingers through your hair like an unspoken apology.

You wanted to melt into his hands, yet there was still something that you had to do, the reason why you even woke him up like this. “Close your eyes.” You sat up again, setting your weight onto his hips before covering his eyes with your left hand. “Oh?” Alhaitham did nothing to fight back as his world fell dark, he just relaxed into the sheets and let you handle the surprise. 

“Open your mouth.” And he did just as you asked. You grabbed the plate you had left on the bedside table, the one Alhaitham was luckily too distracted to spot, before scooping some cake onto the fork and moving it up to his lips.

He bit onto the cake piece, rolling it over his tongue and savoring the taste. Firstly, he was sure that this wasn't from the Lambad’s tavern, he went there so many times he could guess without taking a single look. But it also tasted awfully familiar, definitely something he had tried before. His heart felt warm, but not the usual kind of warm, no, more akin to that childlike warmness, the kind you would feel when visiting your old house or taking a bite out of your grandmother's warm soup or…

That was it. 

He felt like a child again, swallowing down the nostalgia together with the cake piece, letting it digest and become a part of him yet again. “Where did you get the recipe from?” He asked, getting a chance to open his eyes again when you moved your hands to feed him another piece.

“Ah, long story.” You chuckled. “I was sorting out your books a few months ago when a piece of paper slipped out of one of them. It looked really old, but after taking the time to decipher the handwriting it looked like a cake recipe. Figured that it must have been your grandmother's and thought that it would make for a nice surprise.” You looked back down at him, searching for a reaction in those teal eyes, needing to know how he felt about the matter. “Is it good?”

Alhaitham greedily took another bite of the cake. “Amazing…” He answered before even swallowing, sitting back up to be at the same level with his spouse. Oh, it all made sense now. He can so clearly remember everything now, helping his grandmother bake a cake for his birthday and eating it later the same day with one of her books by his side. He felt like he was floating through the memories, all so lucid yet so real at the same time.

And when he opened his eyes again he was met with an equally beautiful, equally real, sight of the love of his life. Without a second thought he buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent with that selfish affection he always did.

“You really enjoy it, hmm?” You asked, feeling yourself getting pulled right back into the mattress, cuddling up to your husband. He just mumbled something incoherently, all the logic and rationality everyone knew him for gone and replaced with that childlike joy.

“H-Hey…” You crashed with him back onto the bed, fighting not to spill the contents of the plate all over the sheets.

“I love you.” He murmured into your ear, words so full of love you felt like you could melt into him. The way he held you close, strong muscular arms wrapped around your entire being pulling you into him. Oh, and you only pushed yourself further into him, returning all his love with equal enthusiasm. 

“I love you too.” You moved his hair back to plant the softest kiss on his forehead, feeling how he nuzzled right back into you. Yet somehow all that love didn't feel suffocating at all. No, it felt like being enveloped in the warmest blankets, protected from the outside’s coldness while enjoying its softness.

“Should I pack some of the cake and bring it with us to Lambad’s?” You asked, but only got a quiet “mhm…” as an answer. It was a painful reminder to the acting Grand Sage that he has plans for later today. Oh, how he would most rather just stay at home the entire day and forget about socializing.

“Are we even going to Lambad’s?” You retorted, your voice thick with sarcasm. Even if intended rhetorically, Alhaitham responded with seriousness you'd rather ignore. “I’ll think about it.”

You went to Lambad's tavern later that night.

[Writer’s note: I kinda feel like I've made it too short. Like I should have went into more detail at some parts and stuff. Can't really blame myself though since even if I started on Monday I hadn't had much time to write because of life stuff. Literally finishing this at the night of his birthday lol. Overall not that bad, but I'll try harder next year. Bye bye.]

[lizzy019]

𝒮𝓁𝑒𝑒𝓅 𝒲𝑒𝓁𝓁... 𝐸𝓃𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽.

Johnny Cade x Fem!Reader

cw -> somnophilia is implied? really fluffy seggs :))

Word Count -> 1.1K

THIS IDEA HAS ME GIGGLING AND KICKING MY FEET!

Johnny had come over to your house again, eyes watery in fear and his posture closed off. Something had happened in his family once more, and by the looks of his body language, it wasn’t pretty.

A gentle hand of yours came to his back to lead him inside, listening to his soft sniffles and feeling yourself empathize his pain.

“Johnnycake, do you wanna sleep over here for the night? You’re free to do so, you’re not burdening anyone here.” You smiled so serenely, so benevolently, he was sure you could see the hearts in his eyes.

With a soft nod of his head, Johnny followed you close to the upstairs where your bedrooms were and you led him to your own. Hands held in each other’s as you occasionally kissed his cheek.

Finding your room, you gesture him inside and let him sit himself down on your mattress. He doesn't hesitate to, he throws his jean jacket to the side, takes off his jeans, shoes, and socks before crawling into the warm blankets in nothing but his shirt and boxer briefs.

The sight was cute, you honestly watched with a big smile.

Soon enough, you changed back to your pajamas as well and laid beside him to rest.

1 in the morning.

You didn’t know if Johnny was awake or not, but you didn’t wanna wake him.

You could hear whimpers and feel movements, and while you tensed up, you still looked at what was happening.

There was Johnny, helplessly grinding into your ass while whining and squirming.

“Oh sugar, you feel so good..” He whimpered out.

“Johnny! What the hell are you doing?!” You exclaimed in a whisper tone, but immediately cursed yourself for yelling at him. He was already in a bad home, you had to be his safe place.

“Johnnycake, why’re you up?” You asked politely, seeing his sad eyes that absolutely broke your heart. He was a sweetie.

“I- uh.. I just-” Hearing him struggle to make an answer was the most heartwarming thing in the world.

But you knew the answer and you knew it well, it wasn’t uncommon for these situations to come up.

“You need comfort sex?” You asked bluntly, chuckling a bit as you pressed a kiss to his lips.

While Johnny didn’t expect you to be so straightforward and adamant on this, he really needed it. He needed something more than cuddles, and unfortunately that was sex in the middle of the night.

He watched with rapt attention as you slipped off your panties, playing with your own clit to work yourself ready for him before crawling back into a spooning position.

“Go ahead, you can hold my hand too.” You smiled, that smile that always had him regretting every thought he could think. You were just too perfect, he didn’t deserve you.

Johnny got into position as well, hands finding your waist and gently caressing the flesh before he tried to wriggle his erection into your waiting core.

It was cute to see him fumble, and you adjusted your legs just right so he could thrust into you at a pleasant speed.

His hand came to hold yours, the other squeezing at your pretty tits so hard you were sure milk was gonna come out. Johnny indeed had some.. weird kinks, so you wouldn’t be surprised if that was one of them.

Light moans flew from the both of you, your own body failing you as your pussy began to spasm and pulsate from pleasure. Intimate sex always did more for you rather than rough and careless sex.

“Johnny.. Johnny, can you go a bit faster? Please?” You asked through gasps and heaves, his hand moving from your breast to your stomach and then clit to lightly swirl it around.

You almost cried out, but luckily Johnny’s other hand that held yours was quickly able to cover your mouth.

“Oh God, sugar, you feel so good. You’re so pretty, so perfect.. God, I love you.” He whined out, finding a rhythm that suited both your needs and soon you were climbing the stairs of ecstasy.

“Love you too.. oh fuck!” Your moans were thankfully muffled by his hand, his fingers moving to be inserted into your mouth.

Sucking on his fingers was almost heavenly, even if they tasted like how denim smells from keeping his hands shoved in his pockets.

You both were nearing an orgasm, and it was almost heavenly with the way he was doing it. He was prioritizing you while keeping himself right there on the line of ecstasy with you.

You were trying to cry out in pleasure, telling him you were close but you were too busy sucking his fingers as your orgasm began to hit hard.

Pussy walls spasming and clenching, you were sure you were going to squeeze his cock to its limit.

Soon after, Johnny reached a climax too and poured his seed deep into your fertile womb. Luckily you were on birth control, but it still was a lovely experience.

Coming down from your highs, you inevitably fell asleep in that same position you were in, Johnny too tired to pull out and you too tired to care.

Waking up to the sound of soft snores, you rolled over to see Johnny huddled into the blanket for warmth. He was so sweet looking, like an innocent pup.

You shuffled out of bed as quietly as you could, hurrying to the kitchen to prepare some breakfast for your family and for him. It was basic, eggs with toast and coffee boiling in its kettle. The table was set shortly after you made the eggs, and everything was set. Before you could clean up, the sight of a sleepy Johnny hobbling down the stairs made your eyes widen a bit, he still looked exhausted and it broke your heart.

“Mornin’ sugar.. I’m gonna head out.” Johnny murmured, smiling softly at your worried expression.

You were confused, hands gently clasping his forearms and frowning. He wasn’t staying over? But what about his family?

“Johnnycake, you’re not staying for breakfast?” You asked so sweetly, sounding so heartbroken at the fact that he was leaving.

He lightly shook his head, pressing a kiss to your cheek before he went and grabbed his jean jacket. You couldn’t frown any harder, but you begrudgingly watched as he put his shoes on.

“You’re actin’ like you’ll never see me again, baby. I’ll come after lunch, how ‘bout that?” Johnny offered with a smile, waving goodbye.

You smiled and nodded, waving goodbye also and locking the door behind him as he left.

[ferpykins]

hi everyone real quick just wanted to let everyone know abt the modded tumblr apks!!! ads are getting. way too bold and Loud but thankfully ads are simply an ongoing battle that companies continue to lose on :) if you've heard of/used youtube vanced/and or know about sideloading android apps, then please keep reading!

the yt vanced team (or what was left of it at the time) has a new patcher app that lets you take a HUGE amount of apps (including tumblr, spotify, youtube, etc.) and add custom patches to them. what this basically means is that you get a big ol' list of mods you want to enable or disable for your app (including ad blocking!!!!)

keep in mind you'll probably want to disable auto updates through the google play store to not have it try and update an un-updateable tumblr, and as for modding, you might require a specific version of the app you're trying to mod but through sites like apkmirror and the sort, finding the right version shouldn't be too much of a hassle.

now given that all of these mods are not at all supported by the devs of the apps, many things are bound to break for one reason or another, but honestly in my experience, its worth it for not being jumpscared by another god damn ad when i'm scrolling and listening to music.

generally you'll have to source your own apk for the app to modify, but once you've gotten the revanced app downloaded its pretty straightforward from there. here are some links to the apps! https://revanced.app/ https://www.apkmirror.com/apk/tumblr-inc/

[alwaysshallow]

coffee at midnight, part 12

John "Soap" MacTavish x f!reader

Military consumes your private time - to the point that you pretty much can't live without it. All of the boys from Task Force 141 are just like brothers, not only best friends – you know that you can trust them with your whole heart.

Somehow, one of them manages to steal it completely, and that's on Johnny MacTavish. Over months, you learn that's harder and harder to ignore that burning feeling in your heart. (4,6k)

READ ON AO3

previous part

You need a few seconds to understand what exactly happened in the last twenty minutes. A few seconds to look back, before you’ll leave this room—but understanding doesn’t come easy here. You just stare at the dead guy’s body with a wound in his head, thinking it will come to you, eventually.

The whole time, you felt like you were the observer of the situation. Watching everything behind a glass in slow motion, watching a movie where tragedies happen, but in these moments, thankfully, you’re usually not the participant. 

But here, you were a participant. You still are, but it’s hard to believe that so many things took place under the span of twenty minutes. Not an hour, not half a day.

What is funny in all of this, you had a particularly easy job. Had to be the perfect little spy, find the room, take the intel and run away, so you won’t get caught. Simple, yet, ending up tragically in beating up the guy and taking the pendrive before you checked if he’s still alive. You thought the whole situation would result in you having a few bruises there and there, but you made a mistake like a rookie, so you have two gun wounds.

You only blame yourself. It’s something that they teached you about in the military, on multiple trainings—to check. Not even twice, maybe thrice, if you’re not so sure about someone being dead. Because if the enemy is not dead, you’re as hell going to be.

Or, someone from your unit. Almost the same thing.

It was a reflex, when you grabbed a gun and shot the guy in the head. Without mercy in your action whatsoever, but it’s still a tad too late. There’s a bullet in your thigh anyway, your arm has a wound too. Not that bad, as he didn’t really know how to aim after being hit to the head, but… but it’s still only your fault. Even if he looked pretty beaten up, barely able to do anything other than grabbing your ankle.

It makes you angry. 

Not only the fact that you got shot like a rookie, but the fact that there’s no actual way in the world that someone didn’t hear the gunshot. No matter how fucked up and wasted people are, something like this doesn’t miss them. Music isn’t loud enough for them to skip it, at least not the guards that are watching everything like a hawk, waiting for someone to slip, so they can off them, if they are a problem. And here, you definitely are a problem that they’d want to eliminate.

You scrunch your nose, weighing your options. It wasn’t supposed to turn like that, and now you’ve got to think fast, before someone will eventually shoot you. This time, with deadly precision; you don’t escape death twice like it’s a “Final Destination” movie. 

So, you think. It’s not like you can show to anyone that you’ve been shot; there will be questions, assumptions and it will lead to your quick fall. Or, they’re already after you—nonetheless, you just need to go out of there and leave everything behind you. The guy’s dead, there’s nothing to do here. 

Steps that you take are slow; you pay attention to them, way more than you actually need to, but it’s hard to pretend you’re okay. Or to have your back straight, when you have two gunshot wounds and you need to move because it’s gonna be worse.

Being completely honest and straightforward, you’d prefer to rip the dress (annoyingly long dress) and at least try to look at the wound, estimate the damage, but it’s not an option right now. Even going to the bathroom isn’t one: you don’t know if motherfucker didn’t inform someone about your presence here before he died. He had multiple ways to do it, maybe some wouldn’t be visible to you, God only knows. 

All in all, going anywhere to inspect the wound is more dangerous than trying to get out, even if it potentially means you’re gonna pass out in the car. That’s why you push through with a pendrive in your bra (as, logically, it’s easier to steal a purse than having a pendrive slipping out), papers carefully folded in your purse, and a fake smile that you give everyone, so they won’t suspect you’re hurting.

You also tap the bracelet Alejandro gave you in a frantic manner the whole way to the back door, trying to get past many people. The only thing that is saving you is their drunkenness, the way that they don’t exactly get that you’re limping your way to the outside. 

There’s just a few obstacles in your way. Some guards wander there and there, not paying too much attention, but on your way you have to eventually sneak into the small cabin in the men’s bathroom, when you hear them reloading their guns and running towards your direction. Maybe it’s nothing, maybe they’re after someone else, but it’s better to be safe than sorry.

Especially when you’re limping, and you can’t quite do the Mission Impossible moves here; not when you do not want to do anything that might cause another injury. 

Because you probably wouldn’t be satisfied with additional leave. You spent enough time off the team already.

You can’t see what is happening, so you just listen. There’s people surely going forward, not even stopping to check the cabins around yours, but at least two are standing nearby. Talking, and you barely can hear about what—and you can barely understand, as it’s Russian and English at the same time. They have a heated conversation, that’s what you can definitely hear.

“...had to run somewhere,” one of them says. Seeming furious—and you really can’t blame them, you’d be furious yourself, if you’d find a dead guy from your team. Because that's what they did, you assume. “Three clear shots.”

The other man is saying something in Russian—you only catch some words, thanks to Nikolai that taught you, and they don’t seem friendly either. So, the moment they leave, you decide it’s the perfect time to go forward after another look or two, when the coast is clear.

You’re walking way quicker than the last time, caring even less about your limping and disguising your state. You realize that your time here is shorter second by second. It won’t do you any good, but it wouldn’t do you any good to act like you did earlier. At least, you think so.

An absurd idea grows in your mind, when you’re passing through hallways: because you start to debate on exiting the building through a window. It’s the “Mission Impossible” move, many times saved your life, but the last cells of common sense tells you it’s the worst idea ever with a two gun wounds. Not only that, there’s too many people to pull a stunt like that; no matter if it’s breaking the window, or simply opening it.

The idea flies out of your mind the moment someone grabs your arm and yanks you into their direction, to one of the darkest corners here. You don’t even have the time to see the person before you start attacking them; first with a kick, and you follow that with a quick punch in the gut; because screaming isn’t an option. With one man you can do something, but with an army? You’d be dead in seconds.

Surprisingly so, it doesn’t work. Or, it does, but not in the way that you think it would. They’re not attacking you, but they give you a little slap right in your butt, shushing you with a quick “Quiet”. The grip is loosening, and when you see Alejandro right in front of you, you realize that the person who is holding you is no one else but Soap.

They both seem to be scared and concerned at the same moment when you look at them.

“Ye tap the bracelet like crazy and then you attack me. ‘S not a good look on you, lassie,” MacTavish murmurs right to your ear, teasing it with his lips. For a second, you forget why you are here.

“Security’s going like crazy downstairs. What happened?”

Alejandro’s question makes you silent for a few seconds. You give them a faint smile, before you actually answer. “Well. I should start with: I had to kill someone—”

“—And you’ve been shot. Again. What were ye thinkin’?” You grit your teeth, hearing that tone from Soap. It seems patronizing, like you’re gonna get a twenty minute long talk about your decisions; and you hate it in the moment where all you want to do is just lie down and forget.

Yet, you really can’t say that you didn’t see that coming. You’ve been together with them for too long to not learn how they react.

“You know, these days I’m playing as a living human target,” you joke in response, trying not to wince under his touch, when he starts to walk again with you by his side. You find it easier to sneak with them—easier or better, as you have in the back of your mind the thought that they will help you, in case of emergency. They’re like bodyguards, making you feel safer than you felt earlier. “That was funny. You can’t deny it.”

Soap looks far from amused, as you can see. “Oh, very bloody much.”

You raise your eyebrow, surprised at his tone. “It’s not like I’ve done it on purpose. Besides, I’m good.”

“We know,” Alejandro says, before even Johnny opens his mouth. “He just has a lot to say lately, amiga.”

And it seems like he wants to prove it to you that he has a lot to say. He grabs you unexpectedly, bridal style, rushing to the car, Alejandro after him. Not giving a care in the world to the two men that are asking if you are good, they’re just pushing through. 

When you’re in the car, things are even wilder than they were. Before you know it, Soap lifts up your dress—without even asking you for permission—almost seeing your underwear, while Alejandro—more clumsily than not—tries to drive to the safe location, as your previous one already got compromised. Johnny doesn’t even react when you call him by his name; maybe that’s for the better because you’re not sure if you want to scold him or ask what he has in mind. 

After looking at your wound (way too close for your liking—it feels like you’re gonna lose your mind here), he ties his tie right above the wound. Tight. Preventing you from bleeding any further, and then he takes care of the second one. 

You thought you’d feel pain by now, but you’re too hypnotized in his movements to even notice something; it’s difficult enough for you to look at what he is doing, not straight at him, so your pain takes maybe the third place in importance.

It’s not a surprise that he cares, not at all. He always cared. No matter what the situation was, no matter what humor you had, he was always here. A loving man, making you smile with every little interaction, making an actual effort to do that. He was just a pure ray of sunshine on every step of your life, and you always knew that you could count on him.

But situations like this one, where you’re taken care of on a mission, gets to you at a much higher level than anything else he could do. He puts you first before anything, even himself.

“Price said there’s gonna be a medic nearby, so we’ll take you there. We’re… nearby, I think.” Alejandro says out of the blue, looking at you two. “No discussion,” he adds, when he sees how fast you open your mouth, as if to argue with him about it.

You roll your eyes. There’s nothing you can do about their attitude for that matter and you know it very well, so you wouldn’t even try to argue with them—and, what’s more, you’d prefer those two bullets out sooner than later. You’re not a two year old to make a fuss about something so serious. “Fine.”

“Perfect.”

You close your eyes. Crimson red flies right before them, haunting, along with the dead guy’s face, when you ride to the temporary base; it's something you're used to, massacre. Seeing a lot of blood, taking a lot of lives, whether you like it or not. Comes with a job, so you sweep away these images, trying to focus on the moment. You're alive, that's what matters—not who’s dead, especially when the people you love are still alive.

You’re grateful that you didn’t leave them tonight. Could’ve been better, of course, but it’s the thing for the past right now. You don't need to worry yourself with that.

You have enough of a headache when you arrive. There’s maybe two minutes of peace, and it’s broken the minute Price walks in with the whole ass Ted Talk that contains “you need to be more careful” for the twenty minutes straight. When they are sewing up the wound, after telling your captain the whole story, you hear how reckless you were, how rookies make these mistakes, but you shouldn’t.

You know it well, so maybe that’s why you don’t look at him when he says that. There’s a sting of shame, but also an irritation because how long can someone give you a scolding, when they see that you’re aware of everything that happened?

But, even if you’re a little bit irritated, and humbled by him, you know it’s because he cares about you. About everyone in that matter, so if it was Soap, he’d give him the same treatment—after all, you’re his family. Found, almost like a daughter. 

Out of the team, Ghost is the one that gets your jokes about being a living target, when the atmosphere is lighter; not only that, he’s the one to suggest that you should practice more, at which you laugh, asking if he’s gonna help you with that. One irrational conversation leads to another, and time is flowing by.

Price and Soap look at both of you like you are insane, Alejandro says something in Spanish under his nose, but it’s clear that he doesn’t find it funny either, what makes you and Ghost just continue joking. Kyle just snickers in the back, making coffee for everyone, and it’s all so domestic, even when Johnny gets defensive and says something about being stupid. For some time, even your wounds are all forgotten.

At least, it doesn’t bother you until you decide to take a few hours of rest before going into route again. The nap seems important, necessary after getting hit, but you can’t fall asleep; you toss and turn, but it doesn’t give you anything, when the stitches irritate you through your clothes. As much as you try, there’s no sense in making yourself go through that when you have a bandage nearby.

You sit on your bed and start wrapping the bandage around your thigh. Carefully, so it won’t make things worse—because you really want to sleep. Your eyelids feel heavy, everything that you do, every little move feels like you have to put some force into it, so it would be best to go to sleep.

It would be.

“How are you feeling? Better?” You hear. When you look up, you can see Soap, leaning against the door frame. Completely unbothered, like the mission didn’t happen, like you didn’t announce an hour ago that you want to sleep and you don’t want anyone to disturb you.

His shirt is slightly unbuttoned and way more disheveled than it was before; and he looks like a Greek God nonetheless. The one that people worship, look up to, not only because he’s smart but because he’s good looking. 

You almost feel jealous of that; he can’t really stay in elegant clothes more than he’s supposed to, yet he still looks good. No matter if his shirt has seen better times, as well as his hair. 

“Alright. Wound irritates me when I’m trying to sleep, so I’m… doing something with it,” you murmur, noticing how he scoffs at that. “What?”

“Do ye have to wear clothes at all?”

You laugh, shaking your head. Not taking him seriously because why would you? It’s him. Soap, cracking jokes, it’s not unusual. “Johnny—”

He takes a few steps forward; you observe him with double curiosity right now. Like a prey observes the predator, knowing that the attack is inevitable to happen. “I’m completely serious, lassie. We’re not going home for at least a couple of hours.”

“And, your point is?” You raise an eyebrow. It’s not hard to see that he hates the way you act on his obvious tries. Maybe for the first time, he can’t really decide if you are clueless, or if you’re just playing with him.

He purses his lips. For a moment, he’s silent—but it feels like an hour. An hour of longing glances, thinking what to do next. What you should and what you shouldn’t, applying to you and him. You both try to get through the other person’s thoughts with fear of being possibly rejected. Hell only knows how much time you spent on feeling like this in the past; some of that, you remember. But you can’t really recall from your memory when you understood that you feel something more to Soap than friendship. There’s fond memories of fear, annoyance at his actions with other girls, but realization is hard to find. 

“Open,” he says.

You take a shaky breath, looking at him. Your cheeks are hot, making you realize how you’re burning inside as well. Taking a walk on hot lava would be the right equivalent to what you’re feeling right now. “What?”

“Open,” he repeats, tapping your thighs. Kneeling right in front of you, a knight in shining armor, even if his doings are far, far away from that. “Or I’ll make you. I don’t really want to repeat myself again and again, ’m not patient enough for that.”

“Listen—”

“I need to see if you did it correctly, don’t I?” He harshly cuts you off. His blue eyes look like real sapphires now, looking right through yours with a question, even if he knows the answer already. Even if he doesn’t need an answer, if you’re honest with yourself. “Please.”

Please do that for you, so you just allow him to do what he wants. Inspect if you did everything that you needed to, even if you know perfectly well it’s not what he wants to do—at least, not the only thing. He just hides himself behind a barricade, thinking that he won’t get caught. 

He’s slow with his movements—you can’t help but think that it’s to mess with your head more. His “checking” contains lifting your dress higher and higher, without even looking at the bandage once. His eyes are glued to your skin, once again this evening; this time, with plenty of care. It’s clear that he wants something and he’s determined to get it.

There’s not a single protest from you.  

How could there be a protest, though? You want that. Maybe you’re not admitting it in front of yourself, but you do want that, badly. 

You wanted that for a long time. Waited for the right signal from him, so you wouldn’t make a complete fool of yourself if something would go wrong.

His fingertips trace the line higher and higher, feeling definitely confident about what he is doing. You call him by his callsign multiple times, but he doesn’t seem fazed by that; he’s maybe even more encouraged, leaving a single kiss on your thigh. Testing the waters, before he’ll dive deeper into it.

And you’re buying everything that he gives you.

Your last cells of restraint are hanging on a thread. Particularly thin one. “Soap, we—”

“—I’m not on duty right now,” he almost growls. A warning sign, something that you see immediately; as well as the sudden mood change, when he looks up at you. Soft eyes, eyes that could convince you to do anything he wants. “Please.”

“Johnny,” you say, your voice almost a whisper. He nuzzles your hand with his nose, and that alone makes you feel bad because of what you have to say right now. “We can’t.”

“We can’t, or ye dinnae want to?” he asks, taunting. Kissing your wrist higher and higher, crossing any boundaries you had. Folding you, piece by piece, in order to get what he wants. “No one will know.”

“Price said—”

“—He can kiss my ass, if I’m bein’ honest. We have hours.”

And that’s all you need. 

He keeps eye contact with you, as he drags your panties down. Royal blue eyes transform to something entirely different, something dirty, maybe predatory, if you’d look deeper. 

It’s something that you didn’t see earlier—and you thought you knew all of Soap’s faces. Turns out, not only it’s unusual to see this particular one, but you’re determined to learn more about your comrade.

Especially from the lover's side, a side that you don’t know very well. It’s the side that is reserved for hookups only, if anything. 

And normally, you’re experiencing the fun friend, the deep talks friend, so the difference is big, when you were never in a position like that. Under him, basically, but you can’t complain. 

When he leaves hickeys on your thigh, you can’t help but think that you always made fun of him with others—about that side. About him being a lover boy, whenever he came back after having a woman around him because it was easier than admitting that you wanted it to be courted by him. Adored, assuming that he’s a tender man.

He offered it to you thousands of times, serious or not. You always took it as a joke, something that you can laugh on with a glass of whiskey in your hand.

But right now, with his face buried between your thighs, you can’t help but think if you’d only take him more serious sooner, you could have it all. If you could have him, this, and maybe many more because no matter how Soap was, he always took care of things.

Even if it was for a quick moment.

You’re gone the moment he touches your clit; not a coherent thought in your mind. Fixation on him is too strong to care about anything else but his words, when he makes you do everything he wants you to do, like an obedient doll. If he wants you to dance, you’d dance—you lose every ounce of willpower when he speaks. Right now, you’re not even bothered by that fact.

The worst is when he wants you to lay still—it’s nearly impossible, as he speeds up the tempo, then suddenly slows the moment he sees you’re not doing what he wanted. Limiting the pleasure or extending it.

“Waited way too fuckin’ long f’ this,” he murmurs into your skin, when you yank his hair, trying to get him back to action. “Just say please, baby. ‘S all it takes.”

And you do. You say please multiple times, knowing perfectly well that you hate to use it, especially in fragile moments like this one—but when he pushes his fingers in, you forget about it instantly. There’s no other sound in the room besides the squelching, the obvious proof of John making out with your pussy, and you think you can go genuinely crazy.

Which is ironic enough because you are crazy about him. Been for a long time, if you’d like to count.

He seems to enjoy every little “please” that he gets from you, when your orgasm is close—he asks “if you want it”, and you have to beg, assure him that’s what you need. Your fingernails scratch his clothed shoulders, thighs squeeze his head, and he menacingly laughs because that was what he wanted all along.

You can’t hear what he says to you; you only see that his lips are moving, when you’re splayed on the bed, eyes on his fingers where your juices are. Body absolutely limp, with mind full but empty at the same time. It’s a funny feeling, keeping you wondering what will happen next.

Before he even unzips his belt or kisses you, there’s a call on his phone. He almost ignores it—almost. You can clearly see how his smug face drops the moment he sees who calls.

“Price?” you ask, even if you don’t need to. He’s the only man that could get him off the things that he was supposed to do, even if the said thing is you.

Whatever the captain says, upsets him visibly. Soap plays nervously with his mohawk—just like you were, a minute earlier—but he’s way more upset. He just mumbles, “yes, sir,” under his breath, the last thing he wants to say, and he hangs up. “Apparently, we have only thirty minutes now. Not hours like I said.”

You prop yourself on your elbow, looking at him for a few seconds before speaking. You’re torn between feeling disappointed and relieved by learning this information. “Right. I’ll… change, you can go.”

“Or: I can stay. It's not like I haven’t seen ye naked,” he says, cocking his head to the side. Boyish, making you think twice before you’ll actually answer him.

“It’s different this time,” you murmur bashfully, turning to him, so he’ll see your back instead of your face. Hot with emotions caused by his attitude; it’s like a never ending story.

“Different,” he repeats. You feel like he’s burning a hole through you, even if you can’t really see if he’s looking or not from that position. Maybe that’s the effect after you just were trembling in his hands. “How so?”

You want to give him an answer to that, but you can’t find a coherent thought that would satisfy him. If you’d tell him about the high of the moment, he’d probably corner you and ask if you’re not feeling all of it right now—and if you’d say that you’re shy right now, it wouldn’t be a good answer for him either.

You could be compared to a blind person, trying to find the right exit when there’s multiple ones; and you’re sure as hell that they would find the right solution first.

“Just different,” you finally decide to say, after you clean yourself up. Surprisingly, he doesn’t react to that. He’s silent, so you continue to quickly change, and then, the two of you are gone from the room.

The rest of the team are already waiting for you at the back of the building. They talk about something, but the moment they spot you and Soap they stop. If you wouldn’t know any better, you’d think that boys discussed something about you.

“You’re certainly better, huh?” Kyle asks, tilting his head to the side. Observing, just like he always does.

“I mean… it is better,” you say slowly, suspiciously looking at your comrade. “Why?”

“No reason. I suppose someone has magic hands,” he murmurs, a knowing smirk on his face. You do not like that, at any chance. “Wanna share some secrets?”

“You wish, Garrick.” You poke him in the chest with a smile; slightly forced because you didn’t expect that from him. “Better get to the car, or we’ll leave your ass.”

You keep quiet here, and thankfully no one pays mind to that, as you’re usually like this on the way home. Silent and in your thoughts about the mission.

This time, on your mind is John MacTavish.

[briebysabs]

Since I am such a normal individual I’ve decided to attempt breaking down vanoé’s character song “Le Formidable”. I don’t hear much talk about it but the lyrics are just as cryptic and wild as the OP/ED.

Before we get into it, in terms of translation, I could only find one on YouTube that thankfully color-coded the lyrics so I could decipher who sings what. If anyone has any other translations, I’d love to know please. So a bunch of the lines you can kinda figure out who’s singing but here’s how it’s gonna be:

Vanitas =💙

Noé =💜

Vanoe= 💙💜

Simple enough let’s get into it :)

💜: /I want to stay in bed feeling the warmth of the sun and drift in and out of this sweet dream/

Already we’ve mentioned dreaming, a running theme in this song. There is the well-known line Teacher says in chapter 55...

Sleeping, specifically in regards to Noé, is something mochijun makes the audience take note. He can’t sleep without holding something. When he can’t fall asleep, it is highlighted like the night Vanitas rejected Noé drinking his blood. He doesn’t want Vanitas to disappear and I personally like how in the recent chapter, Vanitas stays by his side for a while. Almost like callback to that moment on the train but I’m getting carried away. You get the correlation I’m making, it’ll get very important later on.

We also have those warmth and sun connections to Noé, a large part of his character and Vanitas’ gravitation towards him.

💙: /With this grey weather today, this day will go by without any harmony/

We see Vanitas’ pessimistic outlook on life; grey, cloudy, devoid of color. Devoid of comfort and obviously these two contrasting people will clash but mix together throughout the song.

💜: /Tarte Tatin, Altus Paris! Endless interesting things!/

💙: /It’s always like this! Here and there, endlessly losing sight./

This seems pretty straightforward, Noé is getting distracted by all the wonderful things as usual and Vanitas chastises him. But let’s frame this another way, Noé is choosing to not focus. It’s simpler that way. He’s turning his focus elsewhere to better things, more pleasant things. And Vanitas is trying to wake him up. I’ll explain more in my theory soon.

💜: /What to look for today from this city/

💙: /Ah with all these things/

💙💜: /There is no time to rest/

Simple lyrics here. No comment.

💙💜: /Le formidable! Le formidable! It’s really easy. Just colliding, rolling down, and repeating again/

Here we are entering the chorus. There’s a common thread of repetition in every OP and ED in VnC. Like clockwork, these two have fallen into this pattern.

Colliding- Vanoé meeting, two worlds learning how to come together, joining as one

Rolling down- their downfall, incoming despair and tragedy

Repeating again- they find themselves back where they started, fated to be born and to die

Let me say the first part of my theory and keep this in the back of your head while remembering the lyrics: VnC is not a time loop in the traditional sense but rather a loop of memories. Also keep in mind the first ED Zero: “Now I remember, oh I have never lived a day without you. Untie the layer of memories...”

💙: /This worthless-/

💜: /wonderful-/

💙💜: /world we are walking on. Even not knowing is sometimes nice, right?/

Again, vanoé with different outlooks on life meet each other. But more importantly, we see the display of ignorance or blissful unawareness. We the audience have a vague idea on how this story ends and in a way, so do they. Vanitas knows very well he is doomed and has already entrusted Noé to end his life if it comes to it. But we also don’t know the specifics of their downfall and neither do they.

So this line has a double meaning that refers to the characters and the reader. As yeah it is nice to read vnc and enjoy the happy moments without knowing the painful details of what’s to come.

💜: /Over there something is flapping their wings/

💙: /And these uncountable days pass by. It’s not worth worrying about. So many unknown things, without meaning/

💜: /Escalier! I want to see the bright colors beyond!/

Noé, again giving his attention to supposedly insignificant things as Vanitas tends to see the larger picture, not caring for the mundane. Uncountable days can be matched with the grey weather mentioned earlier. But that also means things are murky, blur together, cloudy. They don’t make sense to Vanitas (such as love, his self-worth, the nature within people) while Noé wants to experience all the brightness of the world.

💙: /I told you to be quiet today, yet here we are!/

💜: /Now you loud person!/

💙💜: /I told you I hardly have time to breathe/

So, hypothetical scenario if we take this song literal: Vanoé is exploring the city because Noe wanted to Vanitas couldn’t say no. Vanitas is fed up and Noé thinks his complaints are aggravating. But this part shows a lack of understanding. They’re yelling about their own hardships but don’t see the other’s perspective.

💙💜: /Le formidable! Le formidable! It’s a simple thing. It’s just finding, losing sight and repeating again/

💜: /I want to dream/

💙: /It’s just a dream/

💙💜: /The world keep walking while not knowing the truth at this point/

Ok there’s a lot to dig our teeth in here. First of all, the finding, losing sight, repeating is another way of describing the colliding and rolling down said prior. Vanoe find each other, they lose each other, it’s fated to happen all over again. Now the big piece here, I want to dream/It’s just a dream. Surface-level interpretation > another instance of their differences. Noé wants be surrounded by dreams and wonder. While Vanitas looks at that beauty and scoff at it, since it isn’t real therefore not worth caring for. But if we read into this carefully, Noé wants to dream. He wants to stay in these memories, he doesn’t want to live in a world without Vanitas.

Let’s go back to OP 1: “I love this world and the light only you give me.”

We know OP 1 is Noe’s POV so let’s ask ourselves why would the Noé we are seeing, the one smiling at all the colors of the world say Vanitas is the only light he has (emphasis on “only”). Because the Noé singing the first OP is operating with far more knowledge and despair. We don’t know the truth at this point. “This world” is not real.

Allow me to offer what I think is happening. Noé and Vanitas meet, they go on this journey of understanding, trust, and love, Vanitas reaches his end and is killed by Noé. Noé lives on. We can tell the Noé writing this story is full of regret and sadness. But why is he writing this all down? He’s retelling the memories, putting them down physically on paper. Two things happened:

a) He exchanged his name with Naenia, wishing to remain in a world with Vanitas in it. Because that wish is still very present, Naenia has great interest in Noé. She mentions seeing him before in Louis but it could be a classic mochijun misdirect and it’s actually from receiving his name in a different iteration. There is that official art with Noé wearing Vanitas’ coat with that goat entity he saw in Gevaudan, pinned to his vest.

However this can only work if Naenia is still around and isn’t resolved/defeated in the memoirs.

b) This is more likely in my opinion. Noé uses the Books and the memoirs act as a catalyst for him to have the world become his memories or for him to live in them. I know only those with blue blood or something can use the books.

Which is why Dr. Moreau had those experiments with Vanitas and Misha. Don’t worry, I already have a theory that Archivistes are some form of blue moon vampires but that is a whole other discussion. Point is, I think the Books of Vanitas are like an Elliot sword situation. Yes, Elliot owns the Nightray sword and carries it around but you don’t know its true purpose in the story until Leo wields it.

Noé causes these memories to replay, perhaps to save Vanitas or simply to dream again. Go back to when he was last happy. But here’s the thing, the Noé in this memory is unaware or ignorant of this, sees his present world as the real one and undergoes the events of the series. Vanitas dies, he lives on, and creates a memory world for himself. Rinse, recycle, repeat. Essentially, the first ED gave it away. The entirety of VnC is a layer of memories. Even the narrator Noé we are hearing is a memory that is trying to manifest a world of his own.

Reality and dreams are all intertwined now and Noé got lost in it. There are leaks in the cracks, for example when Vanitas cries and tells Luna his mother died at childbirth why would he call to her. Initially, you can read this as he’s just missing what he never had. But what if Vanitas’ mother was present in his life 9 memory loops ago but because these memories get further from the truth the more it happens, Noé simply forgot that detail when making the memoirs at some point in time. So now, in the memory layer #52 Vanitas has no mother.

💜: /We will see what we “cannot see”/

💙: /We will know what we “don’t know”/

💙💜: /The final stop of this world that seems to be changing, seems only further ahead/

Noe’s line possibly goes into his Archiviste nature and how he experiences reading memories. It can as well build back into the dream/memory loop thing, he’s seeing things he can no longer “see.”

Vanitas’ line can be drawn to what Noé said during their fight.

Vanitas acts like he has the final word and has a full grasp of how this world/himself works. But he really doesn’t and Noé is living proof of that, proving him wrong on several occasions that there’s still hope, they can’t give up yet, he won’t leave him etc. The final stop of this world is changing, but it’s further ahead. This is a story, a preserved section of time from the past. We gotta ask ourselves... why would the last stop be changing? Again, Vanitas’ death is the final stop but it’s changing, perhaps from the countless iterations we’ve gone through Noé writes the memoirs in a way that delays the ending. So he could remain just a little longer…

💙💜: /Le formidable! Le formidable! Everything is fine. While forgetting, hiding, and repeating it/

💙: /This worthless/

💜: /wonderful/

💙💜: /world we are walking on/

💙: /I don’t know but even so/

💜: /If it can make you smile.../

After this, it ends the song by repeating the first chorus with the colliding-rolling down part so I’ll make this the cutting point. The “everything is fine” totally doesn’t stick out in a story where we know everything will not be fine. The forgetting and hiding goes back to my dream-memory theory, Noé is hiding from the truth in these stacks upon stacks of memories and is possibly forgetting things as they really happened as a result. We already know he isn’t the most reliable narrator. But Noé wants to see Vanitas’ smile.

If it can make you smile again, if it can replay your laughter, why would I ever leave this wonderful lie? In OP 1: “Your laughing was reflected by a daydream”.

I’ll conclude this by saying two things. If you want to get even deeper, you can interpret Vanitas in this song as the voice in the back of Noé’s head. Its just a dream, this world is actually worthless, and Noé is trying to drown out those thoughts. Because yeah they sing lines together but the only time they’re directly speaking to each other is when Vanitas scolds Noé and Noé shouts back, calling him loud. Finally, I could be wrong in all this. I am aware how crazy I may look and I'm so thankful if you read this far.

But yeah if this is anywhere near canon, mochijun must be the most unhinged, absolutely cracked author I’ve ever seen. We’re going into Pandora Hearts levels of intricacy here. I hope you enjoyed my insanity 👍🏼

[dadmareau]

i’m imagining adult dream and baby nightmare having their own shenanigans, it’s significantly less funny though cause dream would just be an emotional wreck

There would be many, many tears.

It feels wrong to call him brother. It's been a long time since he could call Nightmare his brother. But it brings relief. Enormous relief.

(summary of the dream dad au)

Dream would probably be an enormously protective and ruthless parent (end-game), though it would take him a character arc to see past Baby Nightmare as the symbol of what he lost. Although Nightmare is a child, he is still observant enough to understand his presence causes Dream such a great grief that it is palpable in the air when Dream is in the house. This would probably drive Nightmare to fall into further self-loathing and run away, prompting Dream to once again chase after his brother after neglecting him.

Thankfully, Dream would catch him and they could have a nice emotional talk about the past and why Dream "hates" Nightmare. Dream sums it up as the two having a very bad argument that ended so badly they stayed hurt for hundreds of years. Nightmare then asks if he ate the apples on the tree, to which Dream hesitantly says yes.

Eventually, they grow into trusting one another more and bonding better. Dream would not hesitate to act as a guardian to Nightmare and is happy raising him. Dream eventually learns that he can forgive himself because he realizes that he, too, was ultimately a child and just as helpless as Nightmare in the past. Nightmare is observant enough to know Dream is somehow an adult version of his brother, but still views him in a mix of fatherly/brotherly perspective. I think Dream would end up more as Nightmare's crybaby, caring big brother, but it's up to you.

I kind of get the vibe that Dream would be pretty pathetic in the beginning before taking up arms when he realizes Nightmare is still being endangered by the villagers. They probably wouldn't recognize him, since he's got a different temperament (isn't willing to be pushed around by their demands anymore.) They assume he's some kind of new guardian from the tree to replace their old one for the rising demands they're making. Entitled, arrogant, etc.

Dream prefers being more straightforward, so I think he probably betters their situation by just being himself (honest, kind, generous, friendly, caring) and winning over the townsfolk again. But he would absolutely use their goodwill to pamper his younger brother without remorse. He's fundamentally against unnecessary cruelty or violent forms of revenge, but he is absolutely vindictive when it comes to holding the villagers accountable.

Always the goody two shoes, he offers them forgiveness if they repent for being horrible people and change their horrible ways... perhaps by helping him restore his home? And maybe then they'll see that Nightmare is not a monster, but just a little boy...?