#the DIY never stood a chance

[glitchdecay]

【BIRTHDAY】 June 9 is Shinomiya Natsuki's birthday. He hails from Hokkaido and plays the viola. Lived in France as a child. He also likes DIY and has made his own furniture as well. "Let's spend some time relaxing together~"

[firsttimewriter92]

Neighborly shenanigans Pt. 1

Simon "Ghost" Riley x f! reader (Neighbor AU)

Part 2; Part 3; Part 4

Description: You´ve just moved in a couple of weeks ago, trying for a new start. A brief encounter with your neighbor gets your endorphins and imagination going. What is it about the mask?

Warnings: cursing, some dirty thoughts, fluff, a little pining

Word count: 1.917

A/N: Hi everyone <3 This is my very first Simon Riley x reader fic. I´ve written about several characters of CoD but Ghost was always kind of an enigma to me. I never knew how to make him the love interest. But and idea popped into my head after reading some characterization that made it much easier to write for him. So here you go :) Let me know if a part 2 is something you´d be interested in.

“Jesus fucking Christ” you swore as you tried your best to push your heavy apartment door open and balance your bag and groceries through the door. It was a struggle to say the least, but you were damned if you did second trips. Grumbling through your teeth you saw no other possibility than setting down your bag, holding the door open with your foot and grabbing your groceries a little more securely. Bending your knee, you gave your door a forceful push and slid through into your small hallway. Foregoing taking off your shoes you made your way into your open kitchen and set the heavy paper bags down on your kitchen island.

A sigh escaped you and you took a moment just to stand in your kitchen and take in the chaos around you. Half emptied moving boxes were strewn all around your living room, amidst not yet hanging shelves, plastic plants and several DIY projects. Another sigh left your lungs with a huff. Moving and starting anew had seemed like your only option a couple of weeks ago but now you dreaded the silence. You wanted this, ___, you thought. It was your decision.

Your new job was everything you ever hoped for, and training turned out to be smooth sailing. You loved it, you loved your apartment, even though it was far from being finished yet. But still, what you´d left behind still lingered in the back of your brain all too clearly at times. Especially when your heavy door closed behind you every evening and there was nothing but you, your DIY projects, an occasional phone call with your parents and then silence. Silence to wallow in, rake your brain and memories. Memories not even a good Podcast or music were able to drown out.

You weren´t as close with your colleagues yet as to be invited out to the pub after work but that was to be expected. The chances were good though. Maybe just a couple of days more and you´d have at least some kind of social interaction. One step after the other, you reminded yourself. Rome wasn’t built in a day. Your own impatience with yourself was yet again trying to make you feel like you´d made a mistake by moving. A humorless laugh bubbled from your lips as you shook your head. Calm down, you thought. This is your life, your pace. Relax.

A couple of minutes later your food was stored away, veggies and salmon steaming away and finally you sat down on your couch, glass of wine in hand and Netflix on your TV.

“Bloody hell” you cursed as a shot of adrenalin set your brain into overdrive. Your bag. You jumped off your couch and hurried over to the door. Swinging it open with a yank you initially thought someone had put out the lights in the corridor. All you saw was black and not a second later you collided with something solid.

Shaking your head, you realized three things. It was 7 o´clock on a warm day in July, so it couldn’t be dark out already. Your hallway had several windows and yes, the sun was still out. The black wall you just ran into turned out to be a massive chest.

Heat was ascending your neck as you took a small step back and lifted your head to look at the face this quite impressive physique belonged to. What the…?

Before you stood a man, several inches taller than you, frozen in place with his arm lifted as if he was just about to knock on your door. He looked down on you with impressive, hazel eyes. Honey blond, tousled hair adorned his head, falling slightly onto his forehead, wet tips clinging to his temples and a bead of sweat disappearing behind his ear. But that was about all you could make out.

Seeing people wearing a facemask had of course not been an unusual sight for the last three years but he wasn´t wearing one of those surgical ones. His nose, mouth and chin were covered in thick, black material, even spanning over his cheekbones and disappearing behind his ears. When your eyes caught his again you saw them narrowing just slightly and one blond eyebrow ticking upwards.

Something wriggly moved inside your belly.

The man slowly lowered his arm, simultaneously lifting the other slightly, holding out your bag.

“This yours?” a deep, calm voice broke through the silence and the wriggly something inside you spread out towards your chest, down your arms and into your fingertips. You swallowed, trying to gather your wits again.

“Uhm…yes. Yes, that´s mine. Forgot about it” you said with a nervous laugh as you took it from him. He hummed deep inside his chest in understanding. The sound only letting your eyes snap onto his again trying to decipher if the squinting was an annoyed one or an amused one.

Amused, as it turns out. He took a deep breath, the black material of his running shirt as you now realized it was, stretching across the expanse of his chest.

“You know, that´s how you get your identity stolen. Or at least your wallet.” Yeah, there was no question now, he was grinning behind his mask, his tone mildly rebuking but not at all belittling.

A small smirk of your own crawled onto your lips as you cocked out your hip and nodded your head.

“You´re absolutely right, Sir. I´ll cuff my bag to my wrist from now on so this inconvenience shall not occur to you a second time.” You want to be cocky, mister? Fine with me.

Your answer made him chuckle. It was short but genuine. One hand in his pocket he stepped back slightly and only now did you notice the heat that his body had emitted. With one last narrow of his eyes, making the edges crinkle ever so slightly he answered. “Not an inconvenience, Miss. Have a good evening.” He nodded once and walked away to your right.

“Y-you too” you cursed the way your words tumbled. To your surprise he halted in front of the door next to yours and your heart jumped into your throat as he took out his keys. Your eyes still fixed onto his side profile (you still couldn’t really make out any features), he gave you one last look before opening his door.

“And thank you” you rushed out.

He only lifted one hand to give you a small little wave that seemed way too juvenile for a man of his stature and closed his door.

Kind of shellshocked you turned around yourself and let your door fall shut behind you. Clutching onto your bag you didn’t even notice how long you were just standing in your hallway, trying to sort out the wriggling nerves. Who was that? Idiot. Your neighbor. Your neighbor that you´d never seen before. A man like him you´d remember seeing. There´d never been any noise from the apartment next to yours so you just thought it was either a very quiet tenant or one that only went there to sleep.

Sitting down on your couch again you stared at the wall behind your TV. He was behind that wall, doing…things. Existing. Why did that feel so exciting to you? Maybe it was just because that´d been your first real social interaction apart from talking to your colleagues?

Laughing incredulously at yourself you buried your burning face in your hands and giggled. No. No that wasn’t it and you knew it. It was stupid. So very stupid and weird and nerdy and…that damn mask!!

“Whhhyyyy…..?” you moaned grinning and rubbed your temples, finally letting all the pent up adrenalin and endorphins rush through your blood stream unstopped. What was it about men wearing those damn masks? Not being able to fully see their face. Having to find out what there was to them by just their actions.

The fist time you really thought you´d lost your mind was when you actually developed a burning crush on a literal tin can from the Star Wars universe. Oh yeah, sure. Give me a brooding, sarcastic, overworked loner with PTSD and give him a freaking child to protect. Watch him become a devoted, loving single parent. Of course! Yes, let me thirst after him. And did it stop there? Of course not. The pandemic hit and the lockdown had everyone in a chokehold.

The only chokehold you wanted to be in at the time however was one carried out by a video game character called Ghoul from “Call of Obligation”. Tatted up, burly, sharp, dutiful, loyal and fucking hot.

The only thing you were able to see of him? His eyes. Just his eyes and an occasional forearm here and there. Everything else covered in tactical gear and a scary facemask. God that character haunted your dreams almost every night. And now, you had his existing, breathing, heat emitting, real human equivalent living next to you. You felt your insides burn as another funny noise came from your mouth. There had to be something wrong with you. Why was half a visible face or even less, so damn attractive to you?

“Shit must be some kind of kink” you murmured to yourself as you reached for your wine glass.

Why was he wearing that mask anyway? People weren´t obligated to wear one anymore. Was it some kind of training technique while running?

Anyhow, you appreciated the encounter. Your mood instantly better even though the both of you hadn’t talked much at all. He seemed witty. Cocky almost and you liked that.

Emptying your wine, you put the glass back in the dishwasher and walked over to your bathroom when you heard it. The shower in the next apartment was running. Immediately you halted all movement and tried to not even breath. The situation seemed so delicate, like thin glass ready to break. You stared at the wall when something else caught your ears.

No. Did you hear this right? Was he…?

You walked carefully over to your shower and stepped in. Trying not to care about how crazy you must look at this moment, you turned your head to the wall slightly, closed your eyes and listened as hard as you could. There it was.

Low, melodic and absolutely captivating. Over the sound of the water hitting the tile you heard your neighbor singing. Your forehead hit the tile and you breathed as quietly as possible, marveling in the baritone sweetness that could be heard through the wall. All too soon, about a minute later it was over. The water was shut off, the singing stopped.

As if in trance you got your nighttime routine going and a couple minutes later, slid into bed. Knowing where his bathroom was now, you were positive that his bedroom had to be next to yours as well. You tried to hear more, but nothing else penetrated the walls. It made you glad actually. If you would be able to hear him in his bedroom, sleep would turn out to be an impossibility to achieve.

This way, you closed your eyes, got comfortable and let your thoughts drift and wander. Not long after, you were dead asleep. Your dreams yet again haunted, but now, the usual scary mask of Ghoul was replaced with a solid black one and instead of clawing at a fully clothed head between your legs, your fingers tangled into soft honey blond curls.

_____________________________________________________

I hope you enjoyed and thank you for reading. Please consider interacting with this post and give me some feedback. Comments and reblogs always help not only to push my work that I love, but also help to improve my writing and get my imagination going.

Thank you for considering it <3

[hotxcheeto]

heya

could u pls do chloe x reader where they do Something rebellious

━ 𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆

𝙥𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜(𝙨) - Chloe Price x G/N!Reader

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 - Cursing, smoking, drug use ( weed ), underage drinking, stealing of alcohol, jokes of death, kissing, Chloe being Chloe

𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙤𝙛𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 ? - Yeah/Nope

𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙧'𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚 - it's so late omg, hope you enjoy !!

It was late, the sun having long set nearing one on the clock. You laid back on your bed, typing away on your phone as you replied to Rachel and one of her DIY ideas she was having. Blowing up your inbox until you finally had the chance to answer.

You laughed as she sent her ideas of new matching bracelets between the four of you.

Smiling, staring at your phone you nearly didn't hear the light knocking at first. The glass of your window vibrating as it shook from a certain persons force.

You typed something to Rachel, keeping your back to the window Unable to hear the noise when the knocking suddenly got louder making you jump. Finally turning to look over with a huff.

Immediately you knew who it was, sliding off your bed and walking over to the shut curtain. Pushing them aside to see Chloe sitting on your roof, smoking, looking out at the road.

Quickly you unlatched the window and opened it, leaning on the seal while smiling at her. "You're late, doofus." "Am I?" She turned to you, taking a hit of the cigarette. She barely released the smoke, instead grabbing your cheeks and squishing them while kissing you in the process. Loving the sound of your quiet giggles.

"Ew, you taste terrible." "Mm, you taste great." You pushed her forehead, moving back into your room and reaching to grab your phone off the bed. Typing once again, much to Chloe's disappointment. Sitting on the window seal, because if she'd brought the cigarette into your room, she knew she'd never hear the end of it.

"Who is it?" "Rach. She wants to make charm bracelets, each with our own special charm and matching bands." You smiled, reading her message before responding. Not even taking a second to look over at your blue haired, frustrated girlfriend.

Chloe hummed, taking another hit before holding it in between her fingers, blowing the smoke out the window. "I parked my truck down the street. Wanna bounce?" You stopped, pausing what you were doing to give her a look, raising your eyebrow.

"And... go where?" "Anywhere." "My mom will make sure my body is never found, are you nuts?" You laughed, but Chloe only gave you a smile. "C'mon – " She dragged it out, pouting at you. Giving you her best puppy dog eyes, despite knowing that yours were much better.

"Do what?" "Anything – Y/n if you don't leave with me right now I'll..." she thought for a moment " . . .break up with you." You rolled your eyes, sending goodnight to Rachel before shoving your phone in your pocket. "Fine but I wanna wear your sweater because none of mine are clean and it's cold."

You crossed your arms, watching her huff and unzip her black jacket. "Here you brat." "Why thank you." You smiled, putting the back on before shutting your bedroom lights off. "Alright, let's go." Chloe stood up on the roof, taking your hand and helping you through the window and off the house.

Both of you walking hand in hand down the sidewalk.

"I have to stop at the gas station. I'll get beer." "Chloe you lost your fake, remember? Charlie's on paternity leave, he won't be there to know." Chloe only gave you that stupid smile once again, your hand going up to flick her neck. Watching her laugh and move away from you. "You're a good distraction, besides we're not going there. We're going to your boyfriends." You rolled your eyes, opening the passenger door to her truck.

"I hate you and everything you stand for." Chloe flipped you off, climbing inside. Without missing a beat, she took off with sputtering sound coming from the old muffler, leaving her mark on the road and probably waking up half of your neighbors in the process.

Chloe and you sat in the quiet before she began smiling when your legs made their way to her lap. One hand on the steering wheel while the other caressed your calf, soft rock music playing on the radio.

The night was young in her eyes, despite it nearly being two. Inky darkness surrounding the small town that you were driving away from, twinkling stars so perfectly placed in the sky.

You stared out the window, admiring the lights above the truck, how they followed you when you moved. Looking down at you disappointedly. The thought making you laugh quietly to yourself.

"Do you think your mom will notice you gone?" "No, I'd told her I was gonna finish some things and go to bed. She was already asleep by the time I had gone upstairs to 'bed'." Chloe laughed before you shrugged. "Sometimes she wakes up so let's hope tonight is not one of those nights." She then hummed, admiring the way you stared at the tall trees you passed.

Closing in to the gas station that sat on the line between Arcadia Bay and it's neighboring town. Knowing if you tried your tricks anywhere else, it was sure to burn down in hellfire.

Finally the station came into view, Chloe turning into the brightly lit place and pulling up just before the doors.

"Alright, go look nice for the cashier." You hit her arm, feeling her grab hold of the back your head and pulling you towards her. Kissing you deeply. "I want wine coolers." You muttered against her lips as you pulled back. "Watermelon?" You nodded, giving her another light peck to her chapped lips. "Alright."

You went first, unzipping the jacket to show off your tank top a bit. The man working loved how your chest looked. Your collarbones were quiet attractive, or at least that's what Chloe said.

You walked up to the doors, the bell jingling above you making the man look up. Meeting his eyes you gave him a slight wave and an award winning smile.

"Oh, hey Y/n." You giggled, going up and looking at the rows of candy boxes in front of the counter. Taking a few packages and setting them on the counter. "Hi Rodge. It's nice seeing you, I feel like I haven't been here in forever." "Yeah, you look – great." His eyes raked over your body, admiring you, unnoticeably seeing you shift uncomfortably but nonetheless you grinned at him.

"Thanks, oh hey! I almost forgot I wanted chips. Do you have those.."

You continued on talking as Chloe walked through the door, going almost completely unnoticed by the guy entranced by you asking about some stupid bag of Munchies.

"Yeah, but I think they're in back." "Always are." You laughed, leaning against the counter. He disappeared for a moment, Chloe practically sprinting out of the gas station while you stared at the man's broken camera set. Almost laughing that it had gone out.

But like Chloe said, he deserved it. Looking at you the way he did, last time you checked, wasn't he married?

You rolled your eyes at your thoughts, a grin soon finding its way on your lips when he came out with your chips. "Yay!" You gave him your card, watching him swipe it and bag your stuff. Barely taking his gross eyes away from you while you zipped up your sweater once more.

"Thanks." You said a bit coldly, taking the back without a goodbye and walking out. "Later!" You hummed as a response, skipping out to Chloe's truck and climbing inside. "I got you your damn Munchies." "Thanks." She leaned over and kissed your cheek, then where your jaw met your ear.

"Chlo.." You giggled, taking one of the wine coolers and opening it. Taking a gulp of the flavored alcohol. "He's such a perv." You muttered, placing your legs back in her lap.

"Beach?" You nodded, holding onto the seat when she sped out of the lot. Downing the rest of the wine cooler and tossing the empty glass onto the floor of the truck.

"I'll throw that away tomorrow." "It's fine." It was quiet again, the music still going in the background while Chloe tapped the rhythm on your leg. Humming quietly to herself making you smile. Eyes dancing over the side of her face and her profile.

You liked the way she bit her lip while driving, concentrated on her own thoughts and whatever else ran through her mind. Sometimes mumbling things or rambling to you about everything and nothing.

"You alright babe?" "Hm?" She turned to you a few times, going back and forth between the road and your face. "You were staring." "Whoops. Sorry, I liked the view." "Huh."

Chloe swerved into the sand just a few miles down the road, parking her truck right on the shoreline.

"Jesus, you're gonna kill me with your driving." Chloe swatted you away and ripped open the bag of Munchies, eyes on you as you opened another wine cooler. "Not if your mom kills you first." "Don't!" You nudged her with your foot.

"Joyce will kill you first." "You'll save me right?" You shook your head. "That woman could hit me with a car and I'd forgive her." Chloe scoffed taking the wine cooler from you and drinking most of it in one take. "You dick. Don't drink too much I don't wanna die on the way back. Shit, I barely made it here." Chloe laughed, handing you back the bottle.

"You'll be fine. If anything we'll die together. Best death ever!" "Oh yes, how romantic." You grabbed a few chips, looking out at the water through the windshield. Waves lightly crashing against some rocks.

"You have a joint?" "Shit. Maybe?" "Maybe?" You raised your eyebrow. Chloe dug in her jeans for a moment before looking at the sweater you were wearing. "Check those pockets." You dug around for not even a second, pulling out the joint and putting it between your lips.

"Light me." You muttered, muffled by the end of the blunt. "Yep." you blinked and Chloe had a lighter in her hand, sparking the flame and burning the end of the joint.

You inhaled, feeling the burn in your lungs from the smoke. Coughing a bit as you handed it to her.

Chloe rolled down the window grabbing some trash before you stopped her. "So you'll drink, smoke, steal but won't litter?" "Hey, none of that affects the Earth, only me." Chloe scoffed but kept the window done, dropping the trash on your side of the truck.

"I love you." You said in a sing-songy voice leaning back once again. Taking a hit from the blunt, Chloe blew the smoke out of the open window into the cool air. "That's one rule I have for myself." "Rules are for breaking you lameass." You flipped her off, taking the last drink of the wine. "Kiss my ass. I love mother nature, you are an Earth hater."

She giggled quietly, kissing your hand when you reached for the joint. "No, but I am a Y/n lover." "Corny." "Only for you." Chloe kissed your cheek when you phone suddenly vibrated making your heart sink to your ass.

You pulled it from your back and looked at the screen.

' where are you? '

"Well you're fucked up the ass." "I love you more Chlo. I'll be at the funeral." "Funeral?" "Yeah, I'll be in the casket."

Chloe laughed, kissing your cheek while you responded to your mom. "I'm so dead. She's gonna take my phone, I won't be able to hangout for like ever."

"I'll call you on the ouija board, 'kay?" "Chloe, you make me want to punch you." "A punch full of love."

A/n: Family sucks ass sometimes

[acorpsecalledcorva]

Identity Dysphoria

Reading The Sisters of Dorley before during and after TDoV has honestly completely unmade me and reminded me how fragile my identity really is.

For those who don't know The Sisters of Dorley is a serialised novel posted on AO3 but since published in print form that's essentially the extreme version of this post

It's a subversion of the force feminisation trope that takes aim at toxic masculinity, the patriarchy, misogyny, and particularly the transmisogyny implicit in the institution of medical transition.

The narrative is shown through the PoV of multiple characters, starting with Stef, a transfem egg who noticed her town has a "missing person/slightly higher than average height female population" problem and wants to be inducted into the hall. Christine, an inductee in the program in her 3rd year of feminisation struggling to fully embody her new identity, and Aunt Bea, the matron of the organisation and her experience with the previous much more brutal and sadistic regime.

Something that's very common and very carefully explored throughout is all the troubled boys history of trauma and abuse and the incredibly complex relationship that can have when interacting in a cisnormative Patriarchal society.

Essentially these boys have all been victims in their lives, something which society historically has no place for. That identity, of being a victimised male, is rejected at every turn and so they reject it internally as well. Pushing it to the deepest parts of their psyche and replacing it with something else. The thing that media and culture and the legal system have been screaming at them is what a man is supposed to be.

Dorley Hall offers an alternative. A really fucked up abusive and arguably even more traumatising alternative, but an alternative nonetheless. To let go of the "driftwood" they've been clinging to all their lives and learn how to create a completely new identity for themselves that's free from the intense pressures of masculinity.

And uhhhh yeah, that's a lot to think about as a AMAB person with DID that has been through the medical transition system in the UK.

Because hey guess what, realising that my current identity isn't really working out, rejecting it and burying it deep inside me and then coming up with a brand new identity to embody and explore is something I have done many many many times throughout my life.

I have tried to become multiple different kinds of male/masculine person over the years, none of them were sustainable for more than 18 months. Some were queer, others were painfully compcishet, often I thought about the possibility of womanhood and femininity but the conversations around trans people at the time just weren't receptive to the feelings I had and it was very clear to me that being trans was the only way you were allowed to do that.

The doors to feminity were eventually opened just enough for me to slip in (if you wish you were a trans girl then you're probably a trans girl) and so that's the identity I chose for myself. I came out to my wife, I went to the GP to get my referral, and then I just...waited. A 2 year waiting list before my first appointment was welcome at the time to give me a chance to try to understand myself and decide what i wanted, but things are never simple.

This new identity as a trans woman still felt wrong. Presenting femininely and being viewed as a woman was something I very much aimed for, but made me deeply uncomfortable. I told myself it was the dysphoria, that my issues with my body were exacerbated by feminine clothing that stood in contast to how I physically looked. That when I got on HRT this would change and I'd feel better, I just need to trust in the programprocess and one day I'll get there.

Two things happened at the same time. I turned 30, and got my first appointment. Turning 30 made me panic at the idea of spending another decade as who I was and pushed me to order DIY hormones, and I got the letter for my first appointment which meant it was time to start socially transitioning.

Because the NHS does not believe that you can make physical changes to your body without also changing your social status. You have to be out to family and friends and work and college or whatever, you have to legally change your name and have lived experience to prove that you are committed (in reality it's not that harsh but the message is very much that your life will be much harder and you'll be viewed with more suspicion if you don't do these things)

So I was a good little tran and did what was asked if me. And if there's one aspect of my transition I regret? It's that. Because no matter how affirming and inclusive the message from the community is, society doesn't work that way. By coming out as a trans woman, I told the world to expect something from me. And there are much higher expectations placed on trans women for performative feminity than there are on cis women, there just are. A trans woman is a very specific object in the eyes of most people in wider society and I am not that, like, at all.

I hate my legal name and title, showing my ID makes me cringe, going to the doctor and having F on my record and then showing up as me is physically painful. I hate that I feel pressured to dress a certain way when going to events with other trans and queer people just to communicate to them "no no I promise, I'm one of you, don't look beneath the mask please don't look beneath the mask"

Because truthfully? I'm not. I'm not trans. I'm not queer. I'm not anything. Because I was never allowed to be anything.

My trauma extends back to infancy, my development has never progressed in the absence of it. I am completely and comprehensively informed by it. If I'm anything it's Assigned Traumatised at Birth. My identity as a child was formed as a reaction to an unstable environment and trying to survive it. My teenage identity was formed as a means to escape my childhood and trying to become the kind of adults that were more than happy to let a troubled teenager hang out with them. My adult identity was formed as a reaction to "oh shit I'm supposed to actually function now fuck how do I do that" and the many ways I failed. My internal female identities were formed because what happened to me isn't supposed to happen to boys so I made up a girl for it to happen to instead. And my trans identity formed because fuck, what else is there left for me to try? If we wanna get really really real with it, transition was an act of suicide. The attempt to completely obliterate who I was so that I could try to become something new.

The problem is that none of these identities are me, because there is no me. I never formed. I am only and have only ever been a collection of attempts to survive, a reflection of the society that's attacked and assaulted me at every turn. That constantly views me with suspicion because they can tell that I'm not being genuine. Because I can't be genuine.

I never can.

[suguruslut]

Going to a carnival

𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘩𝘶𝘴𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘴

<<< 𝙛𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙏𝙖𝙩𝙨𝙪🐉| 𝙏𝙤𝙧𝙖🐅| 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙖🐕 >>>

Gwen’s Notes: i would take all three of these men to a carnival as my dates. at the same time. just as a social experiment.

🐉𝒯𝒶𝓉𝓈𝓊🍳

-given his lonely childhood, Tatsu never really had the chance to attend carnivals and such, so when you suggest the idea, Tatsu coolly accepts, complaining a little bit about the traffic, jacked up prices, the heat and noises so you won’t catch onto how siked he is to go

-the second you step foot on the carnival grounds, Tatsu is in awe at all the lights, rides, games and food stands surrounding him. he feels like a little kid again, experiencing something amazing for the first time, and before you know it Tatsu is the one dragging you to every booth he sees, keeping a hand on your wrist at all times so you don’t get swept away

-he still wore his suit, but without the apron today, claiming that if you were going to look hot as hell in a crop top and jean shorts, he wanted to look like a “babe” too. hats off to him, the bastard actually did look really hot dressed as a yakuza in a crowd full of sweaty Hawaiian shirts and worn out sandals

-Tatsu can’t believe how delicious the food is; for once he was grateful he didn’t have to pack a picnic for you two, buying all sorts of traditional Japanese street food and a few American things, like foot long corndogs and sugared cinnamon mini donuts ( “Pace yourself, Y/N...we still got churros and hot wings after this.”)

-you stick to the more milder rides, because Tatsu doesn’t really trust the suspicious looking men who set up the creaking rollercoaster, but you don’t mind. watching Tatsu sing karaoke for a contest and annihilating the competition was far more entertaining. he even dedicated his winning song to you, a little number by Shania Twain...

- “Oh, OH, oh, I wanna be free, yeah, to feel the way I feeeeel...Man! I feel like a woman~”

-you and Tatsu both want to check out the craft area, spending a lot of your time discussing househusband trade secrets, getting the scoop on new cleaning products and learning various DIY methods, probably Tatsu’s favorite part of the day. embroidering a cushion for his lovely s/o? just another day in the life of our yakuza househusband

-after walking for a few hours, laughing and pointing out all the sights and fun looking games, Tatsu zones in on a ball throwing game after you comment on an adorable dragon squishable toy a teen boy was trying to win for his girlfriend. poor dude thought Tatsu would be his hero and win the toy for them. sucker

-Tatsu showed no mercy, stepping up and breaking every single bottle with his wicked slider on the first ball, claiming the dragon toy for himself and proudly handing it over to you while the teen and his girlfriend stood there in shock. you named the green dragon Reptar, which Tatsu says was a good name for a worthy “dragon son”

-after claiming your victory price, the two of you winded down by buying some lemonade and going on the ferris wheel together; it was a pleasant way to end the night, admiring the stars and lights as you sat cuddled together, dragon plushie on your lap, Tatsu’s arm around you

- “Hope ya had a good time...I know I did. Yer gonna share Reptar with me, right? Right, Y/N?”

🐅𝒯𝑜𝓇𝒶𝒿𝒾𝓇𝑜🍰

-Tora has been to carnivals before, but only as a crepe slinger, not another chump being tugged along by his s/o. he’s thankful for the switch, though, secretly overjoyed when you surprise him at the end of his shift asking if he’d like to walk around and check out some booths with you

-he knows where all the good food stands are, making you try grilled corn, taiyaki, karaage, and his personal favorite, fried banana split ice cream, which he happily shares with you before discussing the science of making delicious ice cream. you spend at least fifteen minutes listening to Tora and the ice cream genius exchange recipes before moving on to something else

-Tora keeps your hand in his the entire night, growling and glaring whenever someone bumps into you or the crowd starts to get a little too close; the second you ask him to ride with you on a carousel, he lightens up a lot, letting his inner kid shine as you snap pictures of him sitting on a plastic pink horse

-when you stroll past a dunking booth, Torajiro recognizes the dunkee as a cop that locked him up one time. obviously he has to throw some baseballs at the target as revenge, but his rage overwhelms his aim, and it takes thirteen throws before he finally hits the red center, dunking the cop in freezing cold water and laughing his ass off for ten minutes

-hey, if Tora’s happy, you’re happy

-after that incident Tora insists on playing games you find fun, almost crying in joy when you win a coupon for brown rice at the frisbee challenge. you do have to drag him into the freak show tent, though, and he comes out as white as a ghost and looks over his shoulders the rest of the night, insisting the elephant man was after him because Tora “looked at him wrong”

-the real excitement comes when Tora spots a mechanical bull riding competition. did Tora have any experience riding bulls, evil or benign? nope. that wasn’t about to stop him, though, and you can barely watch as Tora climbs up onto the bull and is immediately thrown around like a ragdoll

- “Is that all you got, mechanical bull?!!!!! Bring it on!!! I’ll take all your hits!”

-despite the violent lurches and attempts to throw him off, Torajiro lasts an entire minute, a good fifty seconds longer than necessary. he later informed you (between bouts of vomiting) that he was only on it so long because his foot got stuck in the saddle stirrup and he couldn’t get free. that won’t be the story when you brag to your friends, though

-for his gallant efforts, Tora is awarded a pick between an animal plushie or a free baking class in an upscale Tokyo bakery. you’re shocked that winning such a stupid event would have such a great reward, even more shocked when Tora declines the baking class and instead choses a tiger squishable, which he gifts to you

-you name the tiger Hobbes, and spend the rest of your night walking hand in hand with Tora and explaining the story of Calvin and his imaginary tiger Hobbes to your man, Tora listening with a small smile on his lips, wondering how he got so lucky as to share this night with you

🐕ℳ𝒶𝓈𝒶🥡

-Masa had been to his fair share of carnivals before, but only with his mom, not any friends; you found that extremely depressing, and insisted you go together when the local carnival opened for the evening. Masa slept all day in preparation

-Masa talks big, as we all know, but isn’t actually that much into adrenaline rushes and things that will overexert his lazy self. luckily you’re the same, and you two mostly spend your evening at the carnival avoiding the rides, finding joy in the food and entertainment (who was “ImmortalD325″ dominating at karaoke?)

-the man can eat like you wouldn’t believe, and even though he claims to never have any money, he spends a hell of a lot of yen on cotton candy, pizza, slushies, hot dogs, popcorn, any traditional fatty food he can find. Masa shares with you, of course, and makes sure to tease you when you get food on your face as you angrily wonder how your man can stay so skinny when he eats like the show pigs you saw earlier

-for revenge, you let an eleven year old girl paint Masa’s face at the face painting booth~ Masa is horrified at the colorful flowers, peace signs and other girlish things splashed onto his skin, but laughs it off when he sees how hard you’re laughing. anything to make his s/o smile! public humiliation means nothing anymore--in fact, it’s almost Masa’s way of life

-your next stop is the photobooth! this is a night to remember, you insist, and Masa reluctantly poses with you in all his adorable facepaint glory. you make up for it by getting a pic of you two kissing, however, and there’s a line for the booth by the time you two exit

- “Oh my god, Y/N--they have pony rides! Pony rides, Y/N!”

-Masa is all jumpy and excited while you wait in line with children and their parents, but he gets a little nervous once the time comes to approach the ponies. you tell him it will be fine, and Masa believes you, but still looks anxious as you two climb onto your ponies

-the ride goes smoothly, given you’re only going in slow circles, Masa smiling and cheering much like the children around him. he now believes he will become a famous horse racer one day, a dream cut short when the pony bites his hand when Masa tries to pet his nose after the ride

- “The dream is dead, Y/N...I’ll never become a famous horse racer now! NEVERRRRR!”

- “Mommy, that guy is acting weird towards that pony!”

-there’s one game Masa has to play in order to win a cute dog plushie and impress you once and for all. the game is balloon darts, and Masa is probably the worst dart thrower you’ve ever seen in your entire life. he can’t manage to even graze a balloon, though he does hit another stuffed animal prize and the man running the stand

-after Masa spends FOUR THOUSAND YEN (which he was supposed to pay back to a debt collector...sigh), you decide it’s time to step in. on the first try, you hit a balloon on the top row, dead on. Masa forgets about his shock when you hand him the dog plushie he really wanted, blushing and thanking you like a schoolgirl

-the man running the balloon stand is not impressed

-Masa names the dog Spot. yeah. spot. all your hard work and he names the plushie Spot. oh well...at least you have the cute pictures you took at the photobooth

                                                      🐉 🐅 🐕

[himbowithapen]

Monsterfucktober - Day 12, Ghost

Beverly woke to a bump in the night.

            She didn’t remember hearing it; all she knew was that it was nearing three in the morning and she was now awake. Her throat was dry, and so she decided it was a good time to wander downstairs and fetch some water. When she got out of bed, the old floor boards beneath her creaked. The sound followed each of her footsteps until she left the master bedroom. “Old house noises.” she always thought, and she would be right. The old Victorian property was surprisingly cheap on the lettings site, and when she saw her chance to own a home she swooped in with all the money and finesse she had. The old owner, an old woman, warned her of ‘grave costs’, and during the house tour she seemed worried by the building, but in all her years of DIY, Beverly never shirked at a plumbing issue or woodwork repairs. She took all the building’s faults into account, and paid a decent enough price for the entire building.

            In three months, she’d only managed to repair a quarter of the house. The lounge was coated in a fresh olive paint, the kitchen had been rearranged and all its plumbing sorted, and the stairs had been replaced with sturdier wood. She had only just started working on her bedroom, but hesitated to do anything that would prevent her sleeping there. Only one thing stopped her, and it was the thought of spending a night in the guest room.

            When the previous owner showed her the room, Beverly almost shrieked. The creaky old wood door opened to reveal walls decorated top-to-bottom with taxidermy heads. There were deer, foxes, a badger, and more that she didn’t care to look at. From the moment she first laid eyes on them, it felt as if they were staring back; the fake eyes stuffed into their empty sockets looked unnatural, as if they belonged to a different creature altogether. In the middle of it all was a single mattress, covered by a loose sheet. The lady said it was her sister’s room, back when she lived there. Beverly didn’t think to ask for any further detail. After buying the house she didn’t touch the room, not even for storage. It sat empty, halfway down the upstairs hallway, just next to the bathroom.

            Beverly passed it when she went down to grab her late-night drink, and swore she heard something coming from within. “Just more old house noises.” she reassured herself, taking her first step down the stairs. Without the usual creaking of the old steps, her descent was very silent, which gave her nothing to block out the humming and whooshing emanating from beyond that old wood door. She wanted to dash down, to be away from it, but she refused to let herself be afraid of her own home, so she took each step slowly and carefully until she reached the bottom.

The kitchen, designed to reflect the countryside she was living in, had a britta filter built into the fridge. Beverly poured herself a cool glass of water and looked at herself in the window’s reflection: her hair was a mess, just like every time she woke up. Her arms, poking out from her sleeveless night shirt, were bulkier than she remembered, probably due to all the recent DIY work. She flexed into the window, and laughed at how cool she looked. Then her smile dropped: out of the corner of her vision, she swore she saw another person’s reflection. They were tall, even more so than her, and she was almost six foot. She span around to look at the stranger, but when her eyes found the corner they’d been reflected in, there was no one there.

            Beverly turned back to the window, looking again. The strange reflection was gone. She sighed, then closed her eyes for just a moment. Then, when she opened them again, the figure was back.

            She stood just behind Beverly, arms slung around her neck. Her head rested on one of Beverly’s shoulders, staring up at her face. Its eyes were black, they reminded her of something, but she couldn’t figure out what. Her dark hair was neatly organised into a ponytail, and her face was a chiselled beauty. But all Beverly could focus on was the figure’s tit, resting atop her other shoulder. It felt as if she could reach up and squish it, and she really wanted to. It was the kind of breast she wished she had: not too big, nicely rounded, and with the nipple just right. And with what she was seeing in the window, Beverly couldn’t decide whether to envy the illusion or be turned on by it.

            Just as she blinked, it was gone once more. Beverly looked at her lonely reflection and sighed, then went back upstairs.

Just as she got onto the landing, she felt something calling her away from her usual room. It was as if somebody was there, whispering sweet nothings into her ear and gently tugging her to one side. She thought of that figure she’d dreamt up, and felt her face become flushed. Something pecked at her ear: an imaginary nibble, and just like that she was on board for whatever crazy fever dream she was about to start.

            It led her, invisible but with a soft grip, to the taxidermy room. Beverly stopped at the door and felt a bread of sweat form on her face. “Does it have to be here?” The door creaked open almost immediately, and with a deep breath and closed eyes she stepped inside. Even then, with her eyes shut, she could feel those eyes watching her. She felt frozen to the spot, unable to continue or back away from the room. The illusion pulled her a step closer, and she heard the door shut behind her. Then, something holding her cheeks. She opened her eyes.

            The apparition of that beautiful woman smiled at her, dark eyes scanning over her body before returning to match her gaze. It held her hands and delicately lured her to the mattress. Beverly followed its every move, kneeling on the make-shift bed as it guided her down, then lying down with the womanly figure slowly straddling her waist.

            “I know you.” she began, “This was your room. You’re the old owner’s sister, aren’t you?”

            The figure nodded, looking around at the creepy décor. Her smile dropped, but then returned once she was looking back at Beverly.

            “You’re so pretty, I want to feel you.” She whispered, a hand pulling up to caress the ghost’s exposed breasts. She felt it, barely, and struggled to not send her hand through the faint membrane that was the ghost’s physical form. Its face contorted into a silent moan. Wind whistled underneath the door. “Oh, you like that?”

            The ghost nodded, translucent hips grinding against Beverly’s waist. She could just about feel its presence, and moved her hand up from its breast, towards its neck. She clasped it between her finger and thumb, then very lightly pressed.

            “Only one thing, if we’re doing this, I’m in control, you got that?” The ghost nodded, mouth agape and eyes wide. “Good ghost.” Beverly pushed herself up and threw the figure down. It’s ponytail, while still done up, looked messier than before, and its curvy body jiggled as it impacted the mattress. “Mmmm, I’m one lucky gal so have you haunting me.” She leaned down again, putting her hand around the ghost’s throat and pressing on the sides.

            The ghost looked like a dumb, helpless bitch; exactly how Beverly wanted it. She straddled it, being careful not to fall through, and groped its tit with her free hand while choking it. The ghost squirmed in her grip, trying to break free but smiling like it didn’t want to. Beverly let go of its throat briefly and slapped it.

            “Are you gonna behave for me, or are you going to wrestle against me? Make up your mind before I get both hands around your pretty little neck.”

            The ghost went still, and its smile dropped. In its place was a fearful expression, the kind that read as “I’ll be good.” It didn’t speak, and Beverly wasn’t sure if it could, but she took the ghost’s conformity as what it looked like.  

            “Very good ghost. You look so much prettier when you’re being obedient.” A dumb little grin spread across its face, and Beverly felt the urge to slap it again. She did, and that submissive expression returned. “I love the way you look when you’re insulted.” The ghost smiled again, silently giggling, and she slapped it yet again. “Dumb whore, it’s like you enjoy being smacked. The ghost eagerly nodded, and one last time Beverly slapped it across the face, then returned her hand to its throat.

            She fondled the ghost’s breasts while choking it, having it lick her fingers before rubbing its nipples between them. It writhed and moaned and held onto her wrists whenever she applied more pressure to her rubbing. Then its hand moved down; past its breasts, past Beverly, and down between its legs where it started fingering itself.

            “Want me to help you with that?” Even though she could hardly see it, Beverly noticed how flushed the ghost’s face became. It quickly shook its head, sticking its neck out more and fondling its unattended breast with its free hand. When Beverly moved her hand away from its throat, the ghost gently guided it back. She obliged it and resumed choking and fondling it, but leaned in close to its increasingly dumb-looking face. “I wanna taste you.” The ghost batted its eyes and stuck out its tongue. “No, I wanna taste you.” Her hand tightened around its throat, the ghost’s black eyes bulged.

            Its hand returned from between its legs, now covered from fingertip to knuckle in a wet substance. It held it out for Beverly to taste, and she licked it, all while keeping eye contact with the ghost.

            “You taste like a dumb slut, you know that?” The ghost’s hand shot back between its legs, and its silent moans became more laboured. “Is that all it takes for you? A hand at your throat, another between your legs, and some dirty talk? I was expecting a ghost, not an easy ride.” She leaned down, pressing her chest against the ghost’s. “After this, I’m gonna have you eat me out. How does that sound?” The ghost nodded enthusiastically. “Good ghost.” She squeezed its throat and kissed its face all over: cheeks, lips, earlobes. All of them left that same dizzy, giddy expression on its face. Beverly slapped it one more time and spat in its mouth, and the ghost began to write, even more than before. It shook free of her grasp, groped itself hard with one hand while its hips raised and its other hand wildly stroked its clit. The ghost began to levitate, refusing to ease up on its touching until it came. Beverly saw lust and satisfaction all around the room: not just in the hot ghost, but in all the taxidermy. Then, she realised where she’d seen the ghost’s eyes before. They were dead eyes, just like the ones shoved in each wall-mounted piece. It was part of them, and they were part of it.

            When the ghost came, it squirted all over the room: grey ectoplasm splashing Beverly, the mattress, and every single piece on the walls. The ghost dropped from the air, landing on the sticky mattress and still gently rubbing its clit. Beverly lay beside it, took off her plasm-stained shirt, and pulled it into an embrace.

            “You’re so hot.” She kissed its forehead, and the ghost rested its head against her chest. “I was thinking… I’ve wanted to renovate my room for a while now, but I was scared to sleep in here. But now that I’ve met you, would you like to keep me company?”

            The ghost nodded and raised its head, kissing Beverly on the lips. Their tongues met between their mouths, snaked around each other, and then shook on it. The ghost moved Beverly onto her back, started kissing down her body, and as its tongue brushed against her clit, she thanked herself for the best housemate she could hope for.

[girlreviews]

Review #49: Aquemeni, OutKast

Coming in at one hour and fourteen minutes (!!!), there was this very fun time where, particularly hip hop albums really ran long and featured soundscapes between tracks and running storylines throughout. I mean I’m sure they still do but it was like, a real thing. It’s hard to imagine an album running over an hour these days.

Aquemeni is a few records in but before OutKast really were super mainstream, got burned out and quit — no Heya! here. I feel so lucky to have been growing up and listening to OutKast as they were releasing music, beginning, middle, and end. They were just interesting and different and I kinda think it wouldn’t have mattered what genre they were in (André 3000’s most recent flute record would probably agree). It had something to say about society and the world we live in, it was a relationship between two friends who had serious talent and seriously different approaches but a ton of respect for one another, and it was a ton of other musical influence. This record is so funky.

I could and might spend the remainder of this review writing about Spottieottiedopalicious which I think might be one of my favorite songs of all time. For several reasons.

One, the drums. I can’t even deal with them.

Two, the opening vocals sung by André that are, again, so funky it’s almost not right.

Three, the line “as the plot thickens, it gives me the Dickens reminiscent of Charles”. It’s really introducing the remainder of the song, which is a story, and it is fucking genius. I can’t even imagine how pleased with myself I’d be if I wrote something like that. My ego simply would not be contained. I’d just know I was better than everyone else because I wrote that and nobody else did. And rightfully so.

Four, the brass. Not a sample. ORIGINAL brass. Like, what even is this song? Move this point up to number one actually. It’s ORIGINAL MUSIC.

Why aren’t we talking about it all of the time? Why isn’t it required listening for high school students so they can play it in marching band? I’m dead serious. Okay after fussing about this on the internet for a bit I’m heartened to learn that Aquemeni, specifically, and this is amazing, is played among orchestras because of its incredible composition. Check this the fuck out! The entire album start to finish! Incredible. I am pretty sure, although I can’t find it anywhere now that I have seen a clip of at least one high school band playing the trumpet from Spottieottiedopalicious.

There was a time when this song didn’t exist, and then it did, and we should all be in awe of that the majority of the time. I don’t get why we’re not. Two people met each other and became friends and made music together and created that, and a whole bunch of other incredible music.

When I was an angsty teen, I had tickets to the some tour… I wanna say the Anger Management Tour or something like that, and I was so fucking pumped about it (I hand painted my own shirt to wear, it was the dorkiest shit ever and the less said about it the better). OutKast were headlining alongside frankly, a bunch of other subpar bands that, while I was very into at the time, have not stood the test of time whatsoever (looking at you Fred Durst). It was abruptly cancelled a few days before and I never did get to see OutKast, not at any other festival or show, which is really a huge miss. I traded in those four tickets in exchange for ten tickets to then up and coming band Linkin Park. I still remember the outfit I wore. That was a memory, and not one I’d trade for quite a few reasons, none related to Linkin Park or their music. And I do wish I’d had the chance to see OutKast live, but I can honestly say I know I wouldn’t have appreciated what I was seeing at the time. Maybe it was better that I never got to wear my DIY shirt though. I’ve embarrassed myself enough in this life.

[sashi-ya]

it's me again and requests are open so I wanna request ♥️

May I requests a Law,Luffy,and Kid with a fem S/o (separate) who loves to steal there favorite things? like how would they react?Please and thank you (◍•ᴗ•◍)❤

Hello darling!! Of course!! I decided to write little scenarios instead of hcs just because I thought it was a little more fun. I hope you enjoy them! Thank u for your support and request ♥ ~

SFW ~ Law, Luffy & Kid ~ Reaction to his S/O stealing their favorite things ~

💫 Trafalgar D. Water Law 💫

He would notice if something is missing from him, and that certainly made him get angry at you several times before. But you just love to see his face turn from an annoyed frown, to an out of control one in a matter of seconds (Not only you, but also Shachi and Penguin enjoy making him a little angry from time to time). That day you decided to steal his hat from him while you were having dinner on the Polar Tang. “(name) give me back my hat, right now” he said calmly, yet some veins were starting to swell in his temples. You run through the submarine aisles. You heard Law’s steps following you, not running, but walking fast for sure. You were all laughs and giggles. “I’m gonna put it in the washing machine!! this shit stinks!” you shouted. “WHAT? IT’S CLEAN! GIVE IT BACK!!” he said and you heard him approach you, as he was now running. “ROOM. SHAMBLES”. You thought something would get changed for the hat, but… suddenly, you were in his arms. Law’s face millimetres from yours, his mouth so close you could feel his breath over your lips. “Give it back” he says frowning, yet with a calm tone. “I’ll give it back, only if you give me a kiss” you told him, holding the hat over your head. “Fine…” he said and planted a sweet kiss over your lips. You instantly gave his white mushroom hat back, but he put it over your head and headed to his room, carrying you inside. You can imagine the rest… ♥ ~

🔧 Eustass "Captain" Kidd 🔧

Kid never gave a single fuck about you stealing his stuff because he simply didn’t notice it, until one day that you stole an INCREDIBLY special -and embarrassing- possession… You were wandering around the Victoria Punk when you saw the door to his room open. Open for you to scrutinize everything you wanted. He has never told you not to do it, and because he is not a super talkative person about his past, and you just needed to know, you entered and closed the door behind you. You’ve been there almost every single night, but never had the chance to look deeply into his stuff. You laid your stomach over his cot and your head hung just to look above the bed.  And there it was, a little wooden box. “That’s his memory box, for sure” you say and take the box out. You sit on the ground and open it. Inside there were several pieces of literal metal, a wrench tool, a photo of Killer and him and some random girl and a little metallic robot that seemed DIYed. “This must be something he made, how cute!” you say. And suddenly you heard the door slam. “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING WITH THAT?!!” Kidd shouted. You froze in place, closed your eyes, and flinched. The little robot on your hand got also scared, despite not being a living creature. Hard steps coming towards you, made your ass bounce in place as the wooden floors moved in reaction to Kidd’s walking. He stood up in front of you and told you “WHY DO YOU HAVE THIS? ARE YOU STEALING FROM ME? WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU?!”. “I- I’m not… I’m sorry… I just wanted to know you better… If I ever “steal” something from you it’s just for pure fun, you know?” you told him with tears in your eyes. Kidd has a soft spot for you, and watching you cry instantly turns him into a soft smush of a person. “Oi, don’t… don’t cry. It’s ok. But you shouldn’t be touching my stuff without permission” he said, crunching next to you to wipe your tears. “I’m sorry” you said, sniffling. You kept inspecting the toy in your hands, until you asked Kid “Oi, this is just so cute. Did you do it?”. Kidd’s cheeks turned as red as his hair; he was so embarrassed. “I… uhm… I did it, yes” he said and quickly snatched it out of your hands. “Don’t you ever touch stuff like this without asking me first, ok?” he told you, acting angry. You simply laughed and gave him a sweet kiss over his burning cheeks ♥ ~

🍖 Monkey D. Luffy 🍖

You would say his favourite thing is his straw hat. Surely it is, but he has no problem at all with you wearing it, what’s more you are usually the one that takes care of it during battles. So, what else could you be stealing from him, that could make him really, really act in consequence?... Yeah, you are right, MEAT… “(Name) I have never ever hurt you, but if you don’t give me back my meat you will pay!!” shouts the gum gum boy at you. Chopper and Usopp screaming “give it back!”. Sanji covering his face with his hands because you are over the table, and Luffy too. The rest of course, bursting out in laughter. You run, biting the meat, and that of course get Luffy even mad. “COME BACK!!!” he says and when you reach the grass floor of Sunny’s deck you hear “GOMU GOMU NO…” and a pair of gum stretched arms are around your waist. Next you know Luffy is over you. “GIVE ME MY MEAAAAT” he shouts. You can’t help but laugh and take the bone to his mouth. The future pirate king devours in just one bite the whole cut, including the bone. He of course chokes on it.  “Luffy!!!” you shout laughing still with him over you. Luffy laughs too after being able to breathe properly again and plants a sweet kiss over your cheek. You hug him and enjoy the craziness of being his future pirate queen. ♥ ~

[titan-fodder]

The Sun You Set

Pairing: Hitoshi Shinsou x Reader

Rating: M (mature; mdni)

Word Count: ~14K

Tags/Warnings: alternate universe - fairies, fem reader, grief, loss of a loved one, unspecified illness, mourning/coping, depression, light sexual content, hurt/comfort

Summary: Hidden by the trees and muted by beautiful, beating wings, you learn about love, loss, and the passage of time.

A/N: I don't know a ton about the fae other than some light research, and I did put a few of my own twists on them which I hope isn't disrespectful. This idea just popped into my head at the perfect time, and I took it as a sign. I needed to write this.

To Nyki: Thank you for sharing your love, passion, and inspiration with me even when you're gone. I miss you every day.

~♡~

What happened to the birds?

 You remember the question repeating in your mind over and over as you stood in her apartment for the first time after.

 There was nothing out of the ordinary. The TV remote was still sitting on the arm of the couch, a paperback book open and upside-down on the coffee table, a throw blanket piled on the floor where it had slipped from a cushion. There were dishes in the sink. A load of laundry in the dryer and a pile to be washed sitting outside of the open closet door. 

 What happened to the birds?

 The cage was still there. Pressed against the wall, tiny feathers at the bottom, some strewn about the floor beneath the thin, steel bars. There was a bit of food left in their bowl, their little swing rocking back and forth despite being unoccupied.

 Did someone take them in? Family, another friend, maybe a coworker? Or were they let go of? Could the little lovebirds you’d gotten so used to seeing and hearing be flying overhead unbeknownst to you?

 As you helped tidy up—sorting through belongings, crying, smiling, and being so full of hurt you thought you’d explode, you couldn’t help but wonder… What happened to the birds?

 That was six months ago. 

 The apartment has since been emptied and rented out. You have a few of her things—things she’d want you to have, things she wanted you to be interested in—tucked away in a safe place in your own home. Books and crystals, a couple decks of tarot cards, and little DIY projects she started but wasn’t given the chance to finish. 

 The mystery of the lovebirds was never solved. You’d asked a few people who were just as confused and curious as you, but eventually, the worry drifted to the back of your mind, too focused on making it to the next day to dwell on what seemed like a small issue in comparison.

 Your life has gone back to normal. For the most part. You still think of your dear friend every single day, and when you do, that feeling of being soaked in ice water chills you to the bone all over again. The difference is that now you can power through. The difference is that now you can save your tears for the shower. The difference is that now everyone expects you to be okay.

 You aren’t, but you can fake it. 

 And, over time, you’ve learned a few coping skills. Breathing techniques, the best modes of escapism, etc. What helps the most, though, is finding things that make you feel close to her again—watching her favorite shows and movies, listening to her favorite songs, reading her favorite books, and researching the parts of her life you knew about but never understood.

 She’d always had an interest in the supernatural—practiced witchcraft, read tarot, and had a very particular interest in the fae.

 That is why you are where you currently are: at the edge of the local park, staring into the trees that cast shadows over the swingset. It’s not a forest, just a small wooded area, one she spent a lot of time exploring. Sometimes you would text or call only for it not to go through until hours later. Sorry, I don’t get very good service in those woods. You asked her why she ever bothered going in there, just what was so interesting, but she’d just shrug her shoulders and tell you, venture inside and find out.

 So this is you. Venturing. You have a bag slung over your shoulder filled with a few different necessities—snacks, flashlight, a trowel, some seed packets, and a very interesting book about what you may run into if you’re open-minded. Your hands are also full, clutching onto something you never would have thought you’d hold so dearly: a fairy house. Small, made mostly of clay with some moss strategically placed on the walls. Tiny pebbles cover the roof, and the door was cut out from a piece of wood, round where it’s nestled at the front of the dwelling.

 You’re impressed by the craftsmanship—she must have put hours into this—but not so much the purpose. There’s no way anything will come of it, no way you’ll come back to see little beings inside or even around it. 

 But, she obviously wanted to put it down somewhere, to give it to something, be it the trees or the creatures she believed in. 

 But she can’t now. So, you have to. 

 The book in your bag is a sort of guide to the fair folk—little tips and tricks, what to do and what not to do if you’re given the chance to interact. Some are kind and playful while others are tricky and malicious. You’re not convinced you’ll run into any, but if you just so happen to, you know which kind you’d prefer to meet. 

 There’s a small pocket of your bag that’s easy to reach into, stuffed with little stones—some painted, some naturally bright and shimmering—and as you slowly make your way through the trees and brush, you begin leaving a trail of them. You drop some on the ground, set a couple on low branches. On top of a mushroom. In the middle of a sturdy bush. It’s both a path to you should anything wish to follow, and a path out of the woods, like bread crumbs only… shiny.

 You don’t stop until you’re deep inside, hidden by trunks and branches, the echoes of nature around you, and this is when you realize that this little grove is bigger than you originally thought, feels bigger. It’s probably just a trick of your mind, the creeping darkness paired with the fact that you don’t know exactly where you are. As suspected, your cell service is dismal, but it’s okay. You’ll be okay. There haven’t been any reports of animal attacks in these parts in over a decade, so you’re not worried about that. There’s just that little nagging voice in the back of your head that tells you you should watch out for tiny tricksters who wish to whisk you away.

 Impossible. You don’t believe in them. And, even if you did, why would they really want anything to do with you? There isn’t a single thing about you that could be considered welcoming. Even if you’re kneeling on the ground to place this tiny house at the base of a tree. Even if you’re planting seeds for colorful flowers that will one day sprout up around the clay walls. Even if you’re leaving a sparkling stone at the miniature doorstep. 

 All you’re doing is placating a need that was never and can never be spoken, hopefully bringing closure to yourself and the friend you lost.

 “You're new.”

 You startle hard enough to lose your grip on your trowel, the tool falling out of your hand and landing in the dirt with a soft thud. Neck prickling, you turn your head just enough to see a figure leaning against a thick tree trunk, arms crossed over its chest, head tilted to the side. 

 A male, tall and lean with unnatural violet hair that seems to shoot every which way. He’s dressed a little strangely, like he stepped out of a medieval play in his loose tunic and pants. Bare feet are speckled with dirt, but aside from that, he looks… clean—practically glowing even in the shade. 

 He’s beautiful.

 “I—um—” You swallow, unwilling and unable to tear your eyes away from him as you murmur, “I haven’t been here before. Usually… Make it a point to stay out of places like this…”

 He nods, and you see his gaze flick from your face to what you’re doing (what you were doing). “Then, what brings you here today?”

 “This,” you motion to the dwelling then push yourself to stand. 

 “A fairy house?” He questions with a quirked eyebrow. He looks curious bordering on amused. “You believe in fairies?”

 Shrugging your shoulders, you struggle to find the right words. I had a friend who did. The past tense hurts too much, though, and besides, outright denying it seems somehow disrespectful to her. 

 “I don’t know what to believe anymore.”

 The man takes a step forward, and you fight the instinct to back up, not that it lasts long as a beam of sunlight that shines through the canopy catches his face. There’s a radiance about his skin, like the gleam of the moon only during daylight hours. Even more striking are his eyes, nearly the same shade as his hair but with white pupils. You’ve never seen anything like it before, never imagined what that might look like, but it’s extraordinary and unnerving. 

 Otherworldly. 

 As if he knows what you’re thinking, you see the man toss something up in the air and catch it again, repeating the action absentmindedly, and you realize it’s one of the stones you left behind, a piece of quartz crystal you found on the beach months ago and decided to keep only to part with it today. 

 You begin to put things together, doubting yourself every step of the way. He doesn’t look like any of the pictures in the books, is much larger than you’d expected. There are no wings in sight, but—but—there’s something off about him, an energy you can’t quite place and can’t tell if you like or not. It’s not malevolent, but it doesn’t feel safe either. 

 Heart beating too quickly in your chest, you ask, or really begin to ask, “Are you…”

 “Smart girl,” he grins, catching the stone for the last time then sticking it in his pocket. “What gave it away?”

 “My imagination, probably,”

 He hums thoughtfully, staring for a moment before moving on. “What’s your name?”

 For the first time all day, maybe all week, your lips lift in a small smile. “Nope.”

 “Nope?” He repeats. “That’s a strange name,” but his mouth is also curving. “For someone who doesn’t know what to believe, you’ve done your research.”

 “Yeah, well, I was warned, I guess.”

 You still can’t tell if you’re in danger or not, and you glance around to see if you’d be able to make a break for it with any kind of success. If you’re being honest with yourself, it’d probably take you a while to find your way out even if you weren’t being chased by something, so your chances are not high, and considering what he claims to be, you have a feeling he knows these woods like the back of his hand. 

 “Are you scared?” He pries, posture relaxed, non-threatening, bizarre eyes inquisitive. 

 Sighing, you lean against the nearest tree, careful of the house you’ve just secured. “If my research is anything to go by, not as scared as I should be.”

 He looks at you, scrutinizes as if trying to figure something out, then eventually states, “You’re sad.”

 You laugh only to mimic him, “What gave it away?”

 Expression softening, he moves forward again, still open, still benign. “Would you like to talk about it?”

 It’s an unusual offer coming from a stranger—would you like to talk about it, would you like me to listen—but when you go to shake your head, your mouth opens and you blurt, “I lost a friend.”

 “I’m sorry to hear that,” he responds, handsome face pinching into something sore. 

 “This—” you point down at the fairy house, “—that was hers, and she never… I’m doing it for her. She used to come here all the time, and I just wanted to—to—”

 “Feel close to her again?” He supplies.

 You nod, the lump you’ve grown so accustomed to lodging itself in your throat. “Yeah.”

 “There’s nothing wrong with that.” 

 It’s such a simple thing to tell someone, something any decent person would believe, but it’s still nice to hear, nice to be validated. You’ve been so worried about what others would think if they knew how stagnant you’ve been, how you refuse to move on, but right now in these woods, there is no judgment.

 Granted, he doesn’t know all the details, doesn’t know it’s been six months and you still have days where you can’t stop crying, but no one knows that. No one but you. 

 “Thanks,” you manage. “You don’t have to do that, though. I’m sure you have other… fae business to attend to.”

 He chuckles, a grin morphing his face into that of an angel’s, and the lump in your throat is replaced by the breath that hitches there. 

 “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t mean it,” he informs you. “And, between you and me, there’s not a whole lot to do in these woods.”

 “No? No pranks to play or humans to lead astray?”

 His smile fades, and it makes your stomach flip. There’s no look of ill-intent on his face, nothing that has you feeling fearful, but your pulse still quickens when he admits, “That was my original plan when I first saw you.” You swallow. “But… You’re already lost. In more ways than one.”

 “Oh, and that takes the fun out of it?”

 “Somewhat,” he chuckles. 

 You roll your eyes, deeming it safe enough to take up your previous place on the ground, grabbing your trowel once more. You’re not extremely surprised when the stranger also sits a couple feet away from you. 

 “I’m Hitoshi,” he introduces.

 “Nice to meet you. Still not telling you my name.”

 A quiet laugh, then, “The right choice.”

 For a while, the two of you just sit in silence. You have questions, yes, but not enough energy to ask them. There are probably many inaccuracies in the books you’ve read, but if you’re meant to learn the truth, learn about Hitoshi, you figure you will in time. Right now, all you want to do is finish planting these flowers.

 You suppose you’ve done your job, lured the fae to you—and surprisingly quickly. She would be happy to know that, know that you’ve been proven wrong and that you have no choice but to believe in them now. The job is still unfinished, though, the tiny “yard” of sorts in need of more scaping, so you’ll complete the task and consider it a success.

 Hitoshi eventually starts making idle conversation, mostly about the woods. He obviously knows better than to ask you for any personal details just like you know better than to give them. So he tells you about the trees and the shrubs and the fauna, his voice deep and calming, and you wonder if he’s doing it on purpose, getting you to let your guard down so that he can pounce.

 You also wonder if you care. 

 You’ve felt empty for a long time now. Maybe being in peril is what you need to start feeling whole again—a dark thought, but grief is a dark thing. 

 The sun is slowly setting, the temperature falling, and after patting down the soil just right, you think it’s time. 

 “Looks good,” Hitoshi says. “I know a few others who’ll enjoy this place.”

 “Seems a little small for you,” you comment. 

 “For me, yeah, but not everyone.” He runs his fingers over some of the moss on the house then glances at you and wiggles his eyebrows. “We come in all shapes and sizes.”

 “I’ll keep that in mind.”

 Hitoshi stands first, and you eye his hand when he extends it to you. 

 “It’s okay,” he assures. “You’re not just gonna fall under a spell at the touch of a finger.”

 Even if you did, would that be so bad?

 His skin is warm, an unfamiliar current seeming to pass from his to yours as you take hold of him and allow him to tug you upward. You mutter your thanks then swing your bag back over your shoulder, flashlight ready since it’s doubtful you’ll get back to the park before the sun fully sets. 

 “I can walk you out.”

 “You make it seem like I’m leaving your home,” you huff out a laugh.

 Hitoshi tilts his head the same way you saw when he first came upon you. “Aren’t you?” 

 “I doubt I’ve even seen the beginnings of your home.”

 “Come back, and I’ll take you further in.”

 You have to pick your feet up a little higher as you trudge through the woods, making sure not to trip over any roots or shrubs, and you can swear they’re thicker now than when you initially made your way. The leaves are louder as the rustle with the wind, chittering animals ringing out around you, sounding much too close, and you don’t realize how near you've gotten to Hitoshi until his hand wraps around yours again.

 “I’ve got you.”

 And, you believe him. For no real reason, you believe him. 

 Time dilates. It seems like it takes only a few minutes to get to the edge of the grove which doesn’t make any sense considering how much help you need as you stumble through the brush and startle at every little movement in the shadows of your flashlight. Your eyes finally adjust some when you step out of the trees, the sky opening up to display the full, bright moon hanging high above you. 

 Gently pulling your hand from Hitoshi’s, you hope you sound sincere when you thank him. Your voice and feelings in general have been falling flat a lot lately, so you hope he can somehow sense your gratitude. 

 “For what?” 

 “Sitting with me. Taking on the burdens of a stranger.”

 “It’s been a while since I’ve spent time with a human. I forgot how fascinating you can be.”

 “Yeah?”

 “Fascinating and fragile.”

 You pout but can’t exactly argue. Your heart was made of glass even before your friend passed away. Now that the glass has been cracked, a little tap in just the right place will shatter it completely.

 “Glad I could provide some entertainment, then.”

 “Not entertainment,” he shakes his head, that violet hair becoming even more mussed in the breeze. “More like… Refreshment. Strange but in a good way. Our worlds are pretty different, you know?” You just blink at him, and he snorts. “I guess you don’t. But, I could show you if you let me.”

 “Trying to lead me astray again,” you only half joke.

 “Maybe,” Hitoshi grins. “But only temporarily. I promise I’ll bring you back.”

 Staring at him, you consider it, consider everything you’ve discovered today and how unfazed you are by it. It’s alarming, yes, but you’re either too numb to care about your views being turned upside-down, or you always knew it was a possibility (on a subconscious level at least). 

 “I bet you say that to all the human girls.”

 “Then, you’d be surprised.”

 You should head back home. It’s getting late, and you have work in the morning. As mystical this experience has been, it needs to come to a close. For now, anyway. You’ll more than likely find your way back to these woods, to the little fairy house, and possibly (hopefully) to Hitoshi. 

 He’s been kind, gentle, mysterious enough to fill some of the black holes in your mind with piqued interest. You’re grateful for that.

 “You really should come back,” he suddenly speaks again. “I miss having a human friend. A lot of us back home do.”

 “What do you mean?” You frown. “Is that common for y’all?”

 “Not at all. We just got used to one a long time ago, another girl like you. We all really cared for her,” he tells you with a wistful sigh. “But, she… She died several months ago.”

 Your lungs constrict painfully, vision blurring because you think… You think you know… “Who—what was her name?”

 Hitoshi smiles sadly. “It took her a long time to tell us, but…”

 The syllables blend together, a loud ringing paired with blood pounding in your ears blocking everything out. But you can still read his lips, can still read her name on them. 

 Your flashlight drops before you do, onto your knees, a dramatic pile of limbs as you clench your jaw and try to keep a wounded sob from tearing out of your throat. Your hands ball into fists, blades of grass getting trapped between fingers, and you should’ve—you should’ve asked. Why wasn’t that the first thing you asked him once you found out he was real? It’s all real. 

 You sense movement beside you as Hitoshi crouches, then a warm weight between your shoulder blades when he strokes calming circles over your t-shirt. 

 “You were here for her,” he whispers, and you nod against the ground, evening dew smearing against your forehead. “You’re the best friend she talked about.”

 You sniffle, taking a shuddering breath before croaking, “She t-talked about me?”

 “All the time. Never your name, just my best friend this, and my best friend that. Nonstop.”

 Laughing quickly turns to weeping because it’s been so long. So long since anyone has spoken about her out loud. So long since you’ve been reminded that she exists outside of your pain and guilt memory.

 “Come back with me.” Hitoshi’s voice is low but surprisingly desperate. “Come and meet everyone. Please. We need it��we need—”

 He doesn’t have to finish. You’re dragging yourself back to your feet and wiping your face with the back of your hand. Bag resituated, you start for the trees again. It doesn’t matter what time it is anymore, doesn’t matter that you have responsibilities to attend to tomorrow. All that matters is this—this feeling of learning more about your friend and the company she kept. What better way to feel close to her than surround yourself with those she felt closest to?

 Hitoshi takes your hand again, grip tight as he pulls you right back into the woods you just left. You can’t keep up with his pace, trusting him to catch you every time you lose your footing, trusting him to see what you can’t. Deeper and deeper—into the dark, past the fairy house, through thicker bushes, lower branches, until you are officially astray. 

 The ground becomes mossy and when you squint, you can see that it's growing everywhere, on every trunk, vines wrapping around the bark and hanging down from the canopy. It doesn’t look like the grove you stepped into originally, something entirely different. Something enchanting. That electricity you once felt on Hitoshi’s skin permeates the air, an indescribable aura that you can tell is vital to him and his kind. 

 “We’re getting close,” he huffs, suddenly swiveling and picking you straight up off the ground before he hops over a large root. Definitely would have knocked your teeth out on that one.

 Through another dense curtain of vines, you see it—the twinkling, tiny, dancing lights in the distance. And then you hear it.

 Fluttering. Beating. Wings. 

 Hitoshi shoulders through the greenery then sets you back down, and you’re surprised to find yourself standing on stone. It’s uneven and natural, but it’s sturdy underfoot. However, it’s the least interesting thing around you.

 Jaw dropping, you let your eyes wander, taking in the tiny creatures flitting around, ducking into tiny dwellings on the ground much like the one you placed earlier. The path twists and turns between huge trees you swear you’ve never seen from outside of the woods, and each one has been crafted into a home, assumingly for the fae closer to Hitoshi’s size. As you slowly walk, you admire everything because it’s beautiful, like something out of a storybook, you never would have imagined—

 "How have I never noticed this place before?" You ask in wonder. 

 "Cloaking," Hitoshi answers casually. "We hide ourselves on purpose."

 The trail splits further down, a tree bigger than every other sitting in the middle of the fork. Vines wrap around it in what might be a purposeful way given the fact that they look to form a pattern, intricate and deliberate. The door is painted a dark red, and the steps leading up to it are littered with feathers that range in color, some the same scarlet as the door, others a stark white, all of them with stripes across them that you know to be a troublesome sign. 

 “This is Keigo’s house,” Hitoshi tells you, squeezing your hand as he leads you up the steps. 

 “Who’s Keigo?”

 He smiles softly enough to make your fragile heart beat faster. “Keigo is who kept her coming back.”

 On the top step, Hitoshi raises a fist and knocks twice, but doesn’t wait for a response before he’s twisting the knob. 

 “It’s Toshi,” he announces, then, “I brought someone I think you'll want to meet.”

 It’s warm inside, both in temperature and in tone. Everything is odd at first glance, different from what you’re used to. There’s no furniture, but there are blankets and pillows arranged in what could be a nest. Shelves are packed with various objects, everything ranging from hair clips and children’s shoes to seashells and a very large jar of shiny rocks.

 There’s a fire flickering at the edge of the room, a pit dug out of the wood and lacquered with a protective layer of something to keep the whole place from burning to the ground. It crackles and pops and casts a golden glow on the whole room, but it’s nowhere near as eye-catching as the figure that walks out from the back of the unearthly home. 

 Tawny hair is haphazardly pushed from his face, showing off sharp angles and eyes that are indicative of his inhuman status. He’s pretty more than he is handsome, in loose pants similar to Hitoshi’s but lacking a top, probably to accommodate the wings that are tucked behind him. Plumage, the same as what’s been left on the front steps, is strangely pigmented, waxy, and frail. 

 You have to note that all of the wings you managed to peek at from outside were tiny and luminescent. These look like they belong to a bird, not a fae. A sick bird. 

 “Hello, there,” he greets, words coming out warm but gravely, like his voice has started to atrophy.

 You open your mouth to reply, but a chirping from above draws your attention. Peering upward, you see what look like hand-carved branches criss-crossing into the strange ceiling, and there on the lowest of them are two green lovebirds you could recognize anywhere. 

 You're emotional again, no surprises there. It’s impossible to speak with how tight your throat is, and Hitoshi seems to recognize this, so he introduces you—your role in all of this. 

 Keigo goes stock stiff, lips parting as his jaw drops a little. His wings just barely rise and spread, hands flexing by his sides, and then he breathes, "Is that so?" to which you nod. 

 He swallows deeply, head bobbing then gestures toward the mass of blankets on the ground, his whole arm trembling. 

 "Please. Make yourself comfortable."

 You look at Hitoshi who jerks a thumb to where Keigo just pointed, walking over himself and making it easy for you to follow. 

 “You want anything to drink?” Your host asks, still slightly dazed from you suddenly showing up, you assume. “Not a lot to choose from, but I have water and nectar and, uh, leftover… tea.”

 Something squeezes in your chest because you think you know where he got the tea from and why it’s still here.

 “I’m fine.” Honestly, anything you put in your stomach would probably just come back up. 

 Keigo nods, “Okay,” making his way over and lowering himself to the ground across from you. “Well… hi.”

 “Hi.”

 “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

 “And, I had no idea you existed until now," you laugh, bitter and sorry and overwhelmed.

 Keigo doesn’t seem to mind, the corner of his mouth twitching upward for a fraction of a second. 

 “Kind of hard to explain our existence to most people.”

 Mind racing, you toy with the bracelet on your left wrist, feeling the individual beads, counting them without being conscious of it. You’re finding it hard to respond, hard to speak at all. You have so many questions but no idea how to ask them, so you blurt the first one that actually makes it to your tongue.

 “How’d you meet her?”

 He sighs. “Ssme way Toshi met you, I imagine. In the forest.”

 So, it is a forest, not just some simple grove. There’s so much hidden inside, so much to explore. No wonder it drew her in. 

 “I think she was hoping to be found, though,” Keigo continues, eyes sliding to the ground. “Were you?”

 “No,” you shake your head. “I don’t know.”

 “Maybe you were and just didn’t realize it.”

 “Maybe.”

 Everything is silent save for the crackling fire. It gives you time to think, and you pull a knee up to your chest, resting your chin on it while your other leg curls around in front of your planted foot. 

 “She was looking for you?” You eventually question shakily.

 “Not me in particular but our kind. She once told me that she always believed. She always knew.”

 “Could sense us,” Hitoshi adds. 

 You don’t doubt it. She often talked about the fair folk in the time you’d known her—a new book about them, new stones she planned on setting out in hopes of attracting them, getting excited over flower and mushroom rings. It never bothered you or made you scoff, but you also never really knew how to reply, how to support her without having any real faith.

 “She could sense a lot of things,” you mutter. “Doesn’t surprise me that it extended into realms outside of ours.”

 Keigo lets out a breath of a laugh, his wings ruffling and dropping small feathers onto the floor around him. He isn’t healthy. Captivating like Hitoshi but void of the same glow.

 You wonder if you appear the same way, missing the shine you once had. 

 “What was she to you?” You pry without thinking. “Your best friend or something?”

 Humming, golden eyes finally meet yours again. “Something like that.” 

 You aren’t stupid; there was obviously more there, but you don’t know how a relationship like that would work and honestly don’t want to dive into it right now. You’re already so bewildered and don’t know how much more you can handle. 

 Keigo elaborates for you, though, and it could still be taken as something casual, but the emotion that dances within saffron is so utterly sincere, it brings fresh tears to your own eyes: 

 “I loved her very much.”

 It hangs in the air for a long time, repeating in your head over and over until you're able to agree with three, unstable syllables. "So did I."

 The conversation remains stunted, as if every new line spoken is one that needs to be reflected upon. It’s all so genuine and so hurt. Keigo tells you about how she was well-known in the fair folk community—well-known and well-liked. A deep spring of kindness, never averse to listening to the fae both old and young and never averse to sharing stories of her own. 

 “We found her fascinating,” Keigo says, and you remember the way Hitoshi used the same word to describe you just earlier this evening. “Then it morphed into something else. She was… Bewitching. Breath-taking.”

 Despite the ache inside of you, his words provide you a strange sort of serenity. She was loved by more than just you, more than just her family. She experienced this warmth. 

 “She really was, wasn’t she?” 

 “Yeah,” Keigo exhales like he’s trying to stay calm. “I’ve been around for a long, long time, and no one—no one—has ever lit up my life the way she did.”

 You talk about her like this for a long time, not so much memories as much as her spirit. Keigo eventually sheds his first tear, silver streaming down his face that he doesn’t bother wiping away. Leaning forward, you take his hand and give it a squeeze as you hiccup through your own sobs. 

 Hitoshi has been mostly quiet, but he doesn’t hesitate in covering your free hand with his own, long fingers curling around yours.

 And, that’s how it is for minutes, hours. You have no idea what time it is, but you don’t care. Even if you have to drink ten cups of coffee at work tomorrow (possibly today), this will have been worth it. Finding these people, making this connection—there’s no price that can be put on that. 

 “Please come back,” Keigo all but begs as the three of you stand. He finally wipes his face, scrubbing hands over his cheeks. “Please—I haven’t—No one else understands the way you do.”

 You think Hitoshi might be offended by this, but if he is, he doesn’t speak up. Your relationship with her was different from Keigo’s, but so far, he is who you’ve been able to relate to the most. Her family has mourned her, yes. Coworkers and acquaintances have noticed the lack of her presence. But this cycle of grief you’ve been struggling with… You’ve felt so alone.

 Until now.

 “Y-yes. Yes, absolutely.”

 Keigo hugs you tightly, and you have to wrap your arms around his neck rather than his back to avoid his brittle wings. You think you can feel his ribs cutting into yours, fingers curling desperately into your shirt until he lets go all at once. 

 “Toshi, you’ll walk her out, right?”

 The other fae nods. “Of course,” then leads you out of the house, throwing an arm up in a wave and calling out, “See you soon, Kei.”

 You chance a glance over your shoulder, sad to say goodbye but content knowing you’ll be back again.

 The walk back out of the forest isn’t one you remember well. You recall Hitoshi’s hands on your waist, lifting you over more roots and thick shrubs, and then you’re at the park again, staring into lilac eyes and promising once again that you’ll return. 

 The short drive home may as well be as mythical as everything you’ve just seen. One moment you’re sliding into your car, and the next you’re in the apartment complex parking lot. 

 As you get ready for bed, you wonder if you just hallucinated the entire night. You’re exhausted and therefore don’t have the brainpower for a mental debate, but that doesn’t mean that tiny, unbelieving voice stops whispering doubt into your ear. 

 There’s a chance you’ll wake up in a few hours and have to come to terms with the fact that it was, indeed, all a dream, but God, you hope with everything inside of you that it wasn’t. 

 I need this, you plead with no one. I need them.

 When you wake up to your alarm, you crack open sleepy eyes, vision blurring but able to make out something on the pillow just a few inches from your face.

 A violet, its round petals spread prettily, three plump leaves on a stem that looks to have been cut rather than ripped from its place. 

 Not a dream. 

 You allow yourself to be relieved, almost happy. It's been so long, you almost don't recognize the feeling.

Hitoshi is waiting for you at the treeline the following evening, sitting cross legged while twirling a tiny white daisy between two fingers. 

 “Thought you might come here tonight,” he says as he stands.

 “How could I not?” 

 You’re carrying the same bag as yesterday only lighter due to the lack of gardening tools, and your boots and jeans are a little better fit for a traipse through the forest than the tennis shoes you wore previously. 

 Hitoshi extends a hand that you take without question, and like that, the two of you disappear into the woods once again.

 It’s brighter outside as you make your way toward the world you only barely know. Not quite dusk yet, you can see the overcast sky through the branches, sun trying to shine through thick, ashen clouds. The deeper you get, however, the less light there is.

 That is, until you step through that curtain of vines and find an air of magic and liveliness.

 “A lot of us just woke up a little while ago, so this is, uh… I guess you could call it morning errands?” Hitoshi tries to explain.

 You’ve read that the fair folk are more active in nighttime hours, but— “Errands? Like… like shopping and stuff?”

 “We don’t shop,” he chuckles. “But, you know, trades being made, friends visiting friends, that kind of thing.”

 “Right, of course,” you say like you can actually wrap your head around it all. In time, in time.

 Keigo is sitting on the top step of his tree porch, looking in much the same state as last night. The difference here is that he isn’t alone. Perched on stairs below him are two others—a young man with a face so sharp it’s almost raven-like especially when paired with his jet black hair, and a youthful girl with pink markings on her face and dangle earrings. They’re the size of humans, and you would assume they actually were (humans, that is) if it weren’t for the wings you can see laying flat against their backs, stunning in both their size and pearlescent colors. 

 They’re introduced to you as Fumikage and Kyoka, and you are introduced to them as a friend. It’s a little awkward to stand there as they both stare at you in what could be wonder, but with Hitoshi’s fingers still laced with yours, you have no intention of turning away or hiding your burning face.

 “It’s been very nice talking to you, Keigo,” Fumikage eventually bids, voice much deeper than you expected. “I’ll be seeing you.”

 Kyoka stands alongside him, grinning down at Keigo now. “We'll be back, but for now, we have mischief to make.”

 “Nothing too troublesome, I hope,” he chuckles with a shake of his head.

 Fumikage winks, mouth pulling up in a subtle way, then rumbles an unconvincing, “Never,” before turning to you. “Very nice meeting you. I hope to see you here again.”

 “Oh, you will,” you promise, and both he and Kyoka grin in response.

 You watch as they make their way down the steps, and it’s only when they’re at the very bottom that you see them crouch and then jump, huge wings opening and carrying them up toward the endless canopy. 

 Keigo grunts as he pushes himself to his feet, then twists a few different ways to crack his back, some of his feathers floating to the ground.

 “Come on in,” he offers, opening his door and letting you pass before him. 

 You can hear a short, murmured conversation behind you, Hitoshi asking, “Would you rather talk alone tonight?”

 Then, “No, no, she trusts you, come on.”

 Which seems a little presumptuous but also… Isn’t wrong. You don’t know Hitoshi—not his story, not his baggage, nothing. But something about him has you feeling lighter than usual, like when he’s with you, he’s blunting the force of some of your pain. 

 “You’re sure?” He questions once more.

 “Yeah, I’m sure. Get in here.”

 This time, the conversation flows a little easier, is a bit more laid back. Both Keigo and Hitoshi ask some questions about you, what your life is like, but they never ask your name. Not outwardly, at least.

 “You’re smart like her,” Keigo hums, a knowing smile on his face after you’ve deflected one of those tricky inquiries. “It took me a long time to earn that from her—because it’s all about trust, you know? Was I going to use it against her, or was it something I just wanted to know?”

 “And?” You prompt. “How’d you convince her?”

 He shrugs, lifting a little cup of something you can’t identify to his lips. “I just waited.” He takes a short sip, then continues, “It’s funny because the fear is that if you tell us your name, we have power over you, right?” You nod. Yes, that’s what you’ve heard. That’s what she told you. “But, by the time she told me hers, it didn’t matter. She was the one with the power. I would’ve done anything she wanted me to.”

 Again, you stay much later than you should, and again, Hitoshi walks with you to the edge of the woods and urges, “Come back.”

 “I will.”

 Tomorrow is a Saturday, so you’re able to sleep in as much as your exhausted body and mind require. 

 And, when you wake in the early afternoon hours, you find another small violet on your pillowcase. 

This is your new normal—spending the day at work and then pushing yourself to spend hours in the forest. You can't make it every night, either too tired or despondent to the point where not even Hitoshi and Keigo can help.

 But, most evenings you are here, sitting on the floor of the fae's home, sipping on water, eating snacks you brought for yourself because it’s been made quite obvious that your diet differs from theirs extensively. 

 Sometimes, it’s cool and casual small-talk, anecdotes shared back and forth. You tell Keigo about how she used to sing to her birds all the time, the little things chirping high above as you hum the tunes that still get stuck in your head. In return, he tells you how she insisted on taking sips of his drink every time she came over, that too-sweet nectar not made for human tastebuds, "And, her nose would scrunch up every time." 

 Then there are nights like this one where cool and casual were never an option. 

 “I just—like—” You have to take a deep breath, fighting through tears and the pressure on your chest. “It was like my world stopped, you know? Like—nothing else, there was nothing else—I couldn’t d-do anything, and I didn’t want to...” You allow a sob to bubble from your throat, wet and thick only to get cut off by another unsteady inhale. 

 There's a hand on your back, Hitoshi's, and across from you, Keigo's face is messy and blurry both from your own state and his, glistening silver running down his cheeks as he bites down hard on his lip. 

 "And it was like—like I'm mad at everyone else for moving forward. I'm so angry. And," you sniff and let out a sore laugh, incredulous with yourself as you try to explain, "Like, logically, I know that's not fair. I know that people die all the time, and it doesn't affect me, but this time—with her—nothing makes sense anymore."

 And, maybe that's why it's been so easy to slip into their world. It doesn't matter if you can kr can't understand it. 

 "We had—" Keigo wipes his nose, voice hoarse now as he tells you, "We had a few ceremonies in the days after, and it was… like family coming together. And, I thought, given the emotion and support... shown throughout all of that, maybe I'd—I don't know—maybe I wouldn't feel so alone?"

 "Keigo, you're not alone," Hitoshi tries. 

 "I am, though," the other argues. "But, I think it's because…"

 "'Cause you wanna be," you finish. You lock gazes, and you know you've hit the nail on the head. 

 "I can be more—more honest with my emotions, if that makes sense. I feel like… When I'm around everyone else, I need to act like I'm okay, like I've done my healing, but I'm not there yet. And…" He looks back to the floor, scratching over the wood with one of his fingernails. "I don't know when I'll get there or if I even want to."

 It's difficult to put a name to the feeling you experience then, like falling apart completely only to be caught—all your little pieces, all your broken words. Something works to put them back together. 

 You bend forward, curling over your own legs as you cry because finally—finally someone gets it. 

 "I feel like—I feel like moving forward means forgetting her. And, I can't do that. I—" Hands planted on the ground, you take a few heaving breaths. "I still have reminders, like, purposely. This bracelet—" you nod down to your wrist, "—and… and on my phone, I still haven't… I haven't been able to close out her obituary page since I opened it that first time."

 Hitoshi's hand stroking over your spine might be the only thing that's keeping you from wailing like you want to, a soothing up and down motion. 

 "I think of her every single day, and I'm s-so afraid that if—if I close out the tab or take off the bracelet, there'll come a day where I don't think of her at all." You squeak as you battle with another cry climbing up your throat. "And, I'm not ready for that. I-I'm not ready to not think about her."

 Keigo is nodding but pressing his palms into his eyes, and Hitoshi is scratching at the place between your shoulder blades. It's quiet save for the sniffles and hiccups until he speaks up. 

 "You're allowed to take all the time you need. Both of you." 

 You look over at Hitoshi, your lip quivering, face sticky with tears. 

 "There's no time limit here. You're the ones imposing these expectations, but I think everyone—I think they know you were her best friend, and Kei, we know how much you loved each other.” He pauses, eyebrows pinching as he thinks. “No one is just waiting around for you to stop mourning because this isn’t something that'll ever go away." 

 Only a fraction of the weight inside of you is lifted. It’s a nice sentiment, and part of you believes Hitoshi, but what if this is something you struggle with for the rest of your life? What if it’s something you want to struggle with?

 “I just…” You swallow then cough, sinuses painfully full, nose raw from wiping it so often. “I remember, when I was younger, I went through a, uh… What my old therapist called a depressive episode.” 

 Hitoshi cocks his head to the side, all ears, so ready to listen, and you don’t know why. 

 “And, I got to the point where… Yeah, I was miserable. I—I didn’t feel any purpose, but it was… comforting in a way. Like, you get so used to that feeling, you almost start relying on it.”

 That feeling had wrapped you up so tight, a hug so icy that it eventually made you numb. 

 This grief feels very similar to that. 

 That evening, when you say good night at the treeline, Hitoshi holds you by the shoulders, dipping his head so that he can look you dead in the eye. 

 “Don’t let it win,” he implores you. “You said you relied on that feeling. Rely on me instead.”

 He gathers you close to him, one arm wrapping around your back, the other around your shoulders so that he can hold your head with a gentle hand. This hug is much kinder than the frigid embrace you’ve been falling back into, and though the ice is what’s familiar to you, Hitoshi’s warmth might be just as welcoming.

Sometimes you forget that Hitoshi is a fairy. His appearance is a bit inhuman—the violet hair and strange eyes, the lovely glow about him—but you’ve never actually seen his wings.

 However, the first time you knowingly let him come to your apartment (he’s obviously been before), you are quickly reminded. The way he picks some of your belongings up to study them, not understanding the function of your filtered water pitcher or the way a TV works, it’s all a dead giveaway. 

 So, feeling comfortable enough around him after a couple months of spending time with him and Keigo, divulging too much personal information to both of them, you ask, “What’s your story, Toshi?”

 “Hm?” He looks over at you from the small bookshelf, a crocheted Bulbasaur in his hand. Funny to think he has absolutely no idea what it is. “What do you mean?”

 “I mean tell me about yourself. You know so much about me, but I don’t really know anything about you except for what you are and where you live, and even then, I’ve never actually been to your home.”

 “I can take you there if that’s what you want,” he says with a shrug, placing the toy back on the shelf and turning toward you. “It’s kind of a lot to go into, though.”

 “Your house or your story?”

 “Story.”

 Plopping down on your couch, you pat the spot next to you. “I’ve got time.”

 Hitoshi shrugs his shoulders and paces over, the cup of water that’s downright mystifying to him clutched carefully in both of his hands now. When he sits, the motion is as graceful as a dancer’s, the cushions barely moving which is strange considering you’ve felt his weight against you, know that he is solid and stable. 

“So, for this to make sense, I have to start at the very beginning.”

 “That’s usually how stories go,” you tease with a hint of a smile. 

 Hitoshi rolls his eyes, his grin much more pronounced. “Not all of them, but anyway—are you aware that not all fae are born as fae?”

 Your eyebrows shoot up. “Um, no. I was not aware of that.”

 He explains it to you as simply as possible—The Fae Folk For Dummies. There’s a spectrum of sorts: pure fairies (the tiny ones) who are created in that realm and never leave it, humans that find the fairies and go through a process to become like them (neither of these make a lot of sense to you, but it gets even stranger). There’s also the fairies that die and are reincarnated as humans, and vice versa, humans that die and get reincarnated as fae. 

 You have to stop him there, asking for clarifications on a few different things.

 “Y’all can just stop being fairies if you want to? Leave it all behind?”

 He nods. 

 “And—and humans can find y’all and decide they want to, what, change their species to be like you?”

 “We’re a lot more alike than you’d think. The only difference is the wings and the magic.”

 “Oh yeah, ‘cause magic isn’t a big deal or anything.”

 “Well…” 

 And, onto another explanation: pure fairies obviously have the strongest magic while humans who make the change have the weakest. “We can do stuff like grow flowers, make little tiny rainclouds to water said flowers. Oh, and temporarily move small plants or roots out of the way.”

 You squint at him for a moment. “If you can move them, why don’t you ever do that when you lead me through the forest?"

 His cheeks take on a very light shade of pink, and he glances away. “No reason. I kinda forget I can do it sometimes.”

 “Okay, next question,” you give him a break, though you know you'll continue to wonder about that for the rest of the night. “You said we can do stuff, as in you included, so does that mean that’s the type of fae you are? Originally a human?”

 "Yeah," he confirms. "It was a long time ago—"

 "How long?" 

 "Mmm, around four hundred years, I'd say."

 "Oh, shit." For some reason, you were not expecting that. You know from your reading that their kind have been around for forever, really, but Hitoshi is so… youthful, like a human male in his mid-twenties. 

 "I had a not-so-great life in a colonial settlement—I mean, no one's life was great back then, but I really, really hated it," he says, chuckling afterward. "Anyway, there were stories about the woods near our home, that there were spirits, that something lived in there that was at fault for everything that went wrong."

 "Let me guess. You decided to go exploring."

 "Yeah. I was sort of planning it as an elaborate suicide, hoping there was something in there that would kill me, but instead I found Shouta." 

 You cock your head but stay quiet, thinking you probably feel a lot like Hitoshi does in your apartment—confused and oh-so curious. 

 "He was how I am now, a human who was led astray."

 "I'm beginning to think that word doesn't mean what I originally thought," you muse. 

 He flashes a close-lipped, crooked smile but doesn't say anything in it, just continues with his tale. 

 "So, Shouta showed me everything, introduced me to everyone in the family back then. I think he could sort of sense that I was lost and wishing for a completely different life, so he offered me one."

 It hits you that you've never met or even heard of this Shouta, and Hitoshi immediately sees the question in your eyes. 

 "He left about… forty years ago, I think? Met a human with big hair and a bigger heart and fell in love."

 You sigh sympathetically, lacing your fingers with his the same way he always does. "I'm sorry."

 "It's okay. He's happier now, and it's not like I don't have others I'm close to."

 "Yeah, but still…"

 "It was sad, gave me what you would call abandonment issues—" he snorts, "But I'm grateful to him for taking me under his wing. Literally."

 "Speaking of, do you lose those if you choose to join the human world?" 

 "Yeah, it's…" Hitoshi cringes. "It's brutal. They get cut off." 

 Your stomach rolls at the thought. "So, Shouta was a human turned fae, turned… human again?"

 "Yes. He didn't know he'd ever not want to be one of us once he became one, but things change. People change."

 "So… I'm confused about something," you pout. 

 "What is it?" 

 "You said when a fairy wants to be human, their wings get cut off."

 "Yes."

 "Then what's the process to become one? Some kind of transplant?" 

 "N—Wait, a what?" He stops, and you have to veer off for a couple minutes to explain what a transplant surgery is. 

 "Modern medicine," Hitoshi muses. "What a time to be alive. But anyway, I guess it's kind of like that? Wings get chosen for you in a sort of ritual then get sewn onto your back." You cringe. "Pure fairies cast a spell—that I still don't fully understand if I'm being honest—that makes the wings grow into you. So, I guess it's sort of like a surgery only with, you know, magic."

 There are many more questions you have for him, and he answers them all without any argument or hesitance no matter how disturbing they may be. 'Lore' is the only way you can really describe it. You know it's their history, their traditions, but it's still all so fantastical to you. Even sitting here with a fae it's hard to believe. 

 They celebrate a few different holidays in various ways. Some of their hobbies are among the ones you researched (tying knots in people's hair, teleporting them to different places just for fun, meddling in dreams and personal lives, all very mischievous stuff). Others come as a surprise. They create and set out small fairy houses for any travellers passing through, make jewelry for one another, read books in languages Hitoshi says he can barely translate even after all these years. It's wholesome, familial. 

 "Do y'all, like, kidnap children?" You have to ask. 

 "I never have," Hitoshi answers with a hand on his chest. "I'm really just trying to pass the time and get a few giggles out of it, but I know there are more… malevolent fair folk out there who most definitely do things like that."

 "That's frightening."

 "Yeah. I don't really get along with those types."

 Twisting on the couch, you cross your legs like a little kid, leaning forward, excited for storytime. "You've met some?" 

 "Well, like I said," Hotishi starts, reaching to put his cup on the table and then falling back against the pillows. "I've been around for a while, and in that time I've done some travelling."

 "But, you always come back."

 He glances at you from the corner of his eye and grins. "Always."

 Hitoshi leaves in the late night hours, but it's not before he slips a hand in his pocket and procures one of the violets you're starting to grow extremely fond of. You lift your hand to take it, and when you do, he gently grabs your fingers and bends to kiss your knuckles. 

 "See you again soon?" 

 "Yes," you nod, suddenly a little breathless. "Soon."

Months pass, and you find yourself spending as much of your free time in the trees among the fae. It's such a nice escape from reality—your reality, that is—which probably isn't healthy, but it is what's getting you through each day. 

 Occasionally, you'll wake up in the morning and have that same question: is it all a dream? But each evening brings more friends to meet, and each morning brings a beautiful violet. You have quite the collection now, almost all of them in the pages of the books you've bought to learn more about these strange, incredible creatures. A few are sitting in a tiny vase on your nightstand, but as soon as they begin to wilt, they join the others. 

 Your relationship with Hitoshi is unlike anything you've ever experienced. From the moment you met, something began between the two of you, something natural, something unavoidable. You hold hands and lean against him during the deep discussions at Keigo's house. He wraps his arms around you when he can, still lifts you over dangers in the forest. 

 It doesn't bother you. It never has. You know he has the potential to be devious, a trickster, but you've never entertained the possibility for more than a few seconds. He's too kind, too empathetic. You simply can't see any story that ends with him hurting you. 

 Will this friendship turn into anything more? You're not sure. If it's supposed to, though, you have no problem in waiting for it to happen organically, to grow like the vines in the forest. 

 This evening finds you on the steps of Keigo's house, surrounded by the fair folk who have come to accept you into their world—their home. Fumikage, Jirou, and Kaminari all sit on the stairs below you, leaning on each other as well as the short banister. Fluttering above are Izuku, Yagi, and Shouto, small and stunning as the flap of their wings creates a sort of glimmer around them. There's also Ochako and Tsu, Neito and Itsuka, and so many others, all gathered, all happy to see you. 

 Keigo is regaling the crowd with a story from his mortal days, and you can't help but stare at the way his own wings stretch out behind him. They're brighter, softer, bigger. A sign of a healing bird and apparently a healing fairy. His smile these days looks more genuine than when you first met, wide enough to make the corners of his eyes—now twinkling—wrinkle at the corners. Your favorite thing about him just might be the way those two little lovebirds follow him, currently perched right on top of his head, unfazed by any of his movements. 

 That doesn't mean you don't still see his pain and loneliness from time to time. You can basically feel it, can tell which nights will be spent with the two of you crying to each other and which will be spent teasing and laughing. 

 It's nice. You never thought you'd get back to this. By no means are you finished grieving—you think you'll always be in some stage of the cycle. But some stages are easier than others. 

 "Now, I may be big in comparison to some of you, but when I was human, I was considered small," he informs everyone. "Did that stop me from picking fights, though? Absolutely not."

 As you sit and enjoy the overall atmosphere, you feel Hitoshi start to toy with your fingers. Glancing over at him, you see that he’s already staring at you, looks like he has something he wants to say.

 “What is it?” You murmur, not wanting to disrupt Keigo’s tale. 

 He nibbles on his lip for a moment, eyes sliding to the ground as he whispers, “Beltane is coming up.”

 Beltane, Beltane—Right, the beginning of Summer, bonfires, new crops, etc.

 “I thought humans were the ones who celebrated that?”

 His mouth curls into a shy smile. “They do, but that doesn’t mean we don’t too.”

 “What do y’all do then?”

 Shrugging his shoulders, he lists off, “Dancing, decorating stuff with flowers, harmless little pranks, the occasional animal kidnapping if we can manage it.” When your eyebrows raise, Hitoshi snorts and hides his face in his shoulder so that he can laugh more freely. “It’s all—all in good fun, ai promise.”

 “I’m sure it is.”

 “You should come. Join in on the festivities.”

 For a moment, you consider asking if he can recall a time you haven’t wanted to join in on anything since you met him, but another thought crosses your mind: “Did she celebrate it with you?”

 Hitoshi’s expression softens. “Every year since she found us.”

 That’s all it takes. You would have gone even if she never had, but knowing this was not only one of their traditions but also one of hers, there’s no question. You’ll go to celebrate the holiday and to celebrate her. 

 “Just tell me what I have to do,” you say thoughtfully.

 His arm tightens around your shoulders, pulling you closer. “Let yourself get lost with us. That’s all.”

You don’t go straight to the celebration, instead following Hitoshi into his home for the first time. It isn't quite as large as Keigo’s, but it is just as comfortable. 

 There’s a window carved high in the tree trunk, allowing the pink and orange from the sunset to melt down the opposite wall. His bed is up high, reminding you of a modern loft with a narrow staircase that leads up to the platform covered in a nest of bedding. 

 “Do y’all just not believe in mattresses, or what?” You ask as you flop down onto a few large pillows.

 “This is way more comfortable than any mattress I’ve ever slept on.”

 There’s a small shelf above you, decorated similarly to the ones at Keigo’s with assorted jars of shimmering objects, though Hitoshi also has a few wooden cups full of flowers, all of them looking like they’re still firmly planted in the ground rather than tossed in some water.

 “Toshi, the mattresses you slept on were probably made of straw. I promise they’ve gotten better since then.”

“Still can’t beat this,” he states matter-of-factly. 

 Can do stuff like grow flowers, make tiny rain clouds…

 It probably takes no effort for him to keep these little plucked bouquets healthy. 

 The only reason you’re here is because you asked to see his house— “You’ve been to mine so many times, sometimes without me even knowing, so I wanna see yours!”

 It was not a difficult debate to win.

 The festivities started earlier in the day, some preparing by gathering supplies while some of the younger fae flew off to play pranks, maybe steal some livestock from one of the few nearby farms. 

 “Y’all are menaces.”

 “It’s kind of our thing,” Hitoshi shoots back with a wink. It’s been fun hearing the ways he’s picked up on your vernacular. He never quite spoke like some kind of ancient creature, but recently his chosen words have begun to change. He’s definitely stolen little phrases here and there to sound more with the times, and you know it’s from observing you the way he does.

 You talk for a couple of hours. Hitoshi plays with the hem of the flowery dress you put on for the occasion, something you’d purchased at a Renaissance Fair (“Is that offensive?” “Not at all. It’s perfect.”) Its long skirt is a light mauve color, a white, flowing top cinched tight to your body by a floral corset. 

 “And, the flowers in your hair will tie it all together,” he’d mused.

 Now, he watches as Jirou and Kendo braid Baby’s Breath and Spring Beauties into what they’ve sectioned off, creating a crown of wildflowers that have you feeling like some kind of princess. 

 When they’re done, you look to Hitoshi. “Pretty?”

 He nods. “Very.”

 The celebration is in full swing when you finally leave his home, every tree illuminated with sparkling lights and a huge fire in the middle of it all. Everyone is gathered around it, prancing and spinning as a cheery melody rings out from above, fairies flying gracefully as they blow into little flutes or strum on stringed instruments you’ve never seen before. 

 Who you know to be the younger fae, the children who may or may not have been kidnapped, dash around a maypole, holding colorful ribbons tightly in their small hands as they run and skip, sometimes lifting off the ground and letting their wings carry them.

 Laughter rings out, utterly contagious as it echoes through the trees. For a few minutes, you just stand and watch, Hitoshi’s hand on your back, eyes on you and your reaction to all of it. 

 Then a figure is flying toward you, bright red feathers casting a shadow over his body, but you can still see the shine of his golden eyes. Keigo lands in front of you, immediately holding out a hand but grabbing yours before you can actually offer it. 

 Pulling you to the center of the frenzy, he's just as light on his feet as you’d imagined him to be. He twirls, carrying you with him as he moves with everyone else’s flow, getting lost in the energy and making sure to drag you into it alongside him. 

 And, you let him, hopping and prancing, holding both of his hands as he does yours, and when he smiles at you like he’s thrilled to be alive, you grin back so wide it almost hurts.

 The tune is up beat, almost frantic, and as you dance to it, swinging from Keigo to Fumikage to the smaller fairies who flutter around your head, you fall into a trance. You close your eyes, the music guiding your body—your heart—and you laugh. 

 A hand catches one of yours, and you open your eyes as your fingers lace with someone else's, Hitoshi's. Your eyes widen as you take him in, a celestial being, light emanating from him as well as the large wings spread behind him. They're leaf-like in design but have the hues of an amethyst geode, dark violet at the tips that lighten to lavender the closer they get to his shoulder blades. 

 "You're beautiful," you tell him before spinning right into his bare chest. 

 He stares down at you as if enraptured, having to raise his voice to speak over the melody. "So are you."

 The fire roars, shouts and claps echo upward, as celebratory chaos ensues. You dance with everyone you can but always find your way back to Hitoshi. High-pitched, mischievous hollers sound from the woods, and you turn just in time to see two horses race from one side of the crowded lot to the other, small, twinkling fairies clutching strands of mane and tail and crying out in elation. 

 Your jaw drops as you twist back to face Hitoshi, lips still quirking up at the corners, but all he does is show his teeth in a fake cringe that quickly turns to a chuckle. 

 It's disorder of the best kind, and you're so glad to be a part of it. 

 You sense more than see dawn approaching, your body growing fatigued, but it's a hard truth to admit considering how weightless you feel. 

 There's a voice in a far corner of your mind that reminds you you shouldn't be doing this, shouldn't be laughing, shouldn't be dancing, shouldn't be enjoying yourself. Because she's not here to do it with you. 

 And, oh, you wish she could be. You want nothing more than to see her wearing the same gleeful expression that you are, know that she'd be even more dazzling than the fair folk who surround you now. 

 But, at least you can see that joy on Keigo's face, on Hitoshi's. At least you can feel it in your own smile. 

The walk out of the forest is perilous as ever, but you hum the whole way, feeling graceful from dancing as you hop over the roots Hitoshi would normally carry you over, spinning over fallen leaves and swinging off low branches.

 “Did you have fun?” He asks amusedly, already knowing the answer. 

 “Even more than I thought I would.”

 “Did you think it would be disappointing?” 

 “Not exactly," you sigh, finally slowing down and huffing. “I just—you know, it’s been hard to have a good time. I’ve been a little more open to it with you and Kei, but…”

 “You feel guilty whenever you enjoy something,” Hitoshi finishes, and you nod.

 “Exactly. Like, I’m, I don’t know, rubbing it in her face?”

 He sighs, then reaches out and catches you as you trip over a root that escaped your notice. “Don’t you think she’d want you to be happy?”

 You groan, rolling your eyes. “Hate when people ask me stuff like that.”

 “Because you know I’m right.” You think he might be smirking in the darkness. “She was your best friend. Of course she’d want you to find happiness again.”

 “But, she’s not around to ask,” you argue. “What if she wanted people to miss her for longer than they have?”

 “No one has stopped missing her." His tone sounds more serious. “And, no one is moving on. We’re all just trying to go forward, one foot in front of the other while honoring her memory.”

 You hum thoughtfully. “Maybe I’m not ready to put one foot in front of the other.”

 “And, that’s okay. Just know that she wants you to. Eventually.”

 It’s time to change the subject, feeling that tell-tale burning in your eyes for the first time all night. 

 “Did she ever ask to be one of you?”

 Hitoshi makes a little noise of contemplation. "Not that I know of. She asked about the process a couple times, how we deal with family and friends searching for their lost loved ones.”

 “And, how do you?”

 “Changelings,” he answers without missing a beat. “You know what those are?”

 “I think I listened to a Podcast on them once,” you laugh airily. “They’re like… replacements, right?”

 “I guess that’s the easiest way to put it. They have a bad reputation because humans associate them with children going missing and what not, but really, we use them to try to soften the loss. Or, really, hide it entirely.”

 “So, you switch out the real human—the one who wants to be a fairy—with an imposter human basically.”

 Hitoshi scoffs, displeased with this description, and he quickly tells you why. 

 “There’s hardly any difference between the two. Pure fairies with strong magic create a stand-in with the exact same personality as the original. It’s very rare that anyone notices they’ve been swapped unless the spell has been botched somehow," he explains, then begins listing off, "They interact the same way, have the same likes and dislikes, and honestly, I think trading one for the other is more humane than just taking that person away completely. Ignorance is bliss. Isn't that what you humans say?" 

 You can’t really argue that, though you can imagine the shock and hurt people must feel the few times a changeling has been discovered—the self-hatred that would come after a long timespan of not noticing any of the miniscule differences.

 But, then, maybe it still is better than the alternative. Would you prefer to have a fake than nothing at all? Would you notice if she had been switched?

 “Y’all can still be in our world, though. Like, you’ve been to my apartment. You’ve ridden in my car.”

 “Yeah?”

 “Well, do any of you ever consider visiting the people you left behind? Family? Friends?”

 He shrugs. “Some. It’s probably the most common reason any of us change back into humans. Most of the time, though… We left that world because we liked this one better. A lot of us were running from something or trying to find a purpose."

 You’re doing both of those, running and searching, and you wonder… Have you already found what you’re looking for? Is it right in front of your face and you just haven’t fully acknowledged it yet?

 You make it to the treeline, then the parking lot, then your apartment, Hitoshi close to you the entire time. He does his usual ritual of looking around, finding new things that baffle him every time he visits. This time it’s the touch lamp by your couch and the suncatcher in your bedroom window. Shiny things, you giggle to yourself. 

 Once he’s had his fill, he joins you on the couch, kicking an ankle over his knee and leaning back with his hands behind his head. He’s handsome, somehow chiseled and delicate at the same time and always with that ethereal glow. 

 You talk a little more about changelings, a little more about your state of stillness, then about the celebration. Hitoshi turns toward you as he listens to what you thought, slowly and gently picking the petals from your hair, having to unbraid some with nimble fingers and giving his thoughts any time he deems fit. 

 “I’m really glad you came,” he says, hand dropping from your hair but catching just underneath your chin. He tilts his head one way, then the other as if examining you.

 The intimacy of his touch is making you dizzy, but you’re still able to murmur, “I’m really glad I came too,” your eyes round but unable to focus on anything other than the featherlike grip he has on you. 

 Hitoshi’s next breath trembles on the exhale, and then he’s leaning forward, hand cupping your jaw as he emphasizes, “I’m really, really glad you came.”

 His kiss is soft, lips slotting perfectly with yours. It’s a chaste little thing, but even so, it feels like new life has been breathed into you, if only for a moment. 

 When he pulls away, you nearly whimper, hands curling in his loose shirt in an attempt to keep him grounded to you. His eyes are fixed on you, flitting all over your face, trying to catch any sign of offense or discomfort.

 He won’t find any.

 Still so close, close enough to feel his breath on your lips—now lonely and yearning—he whispers, “Stay with me.”

You blink, unsure if you heard him correctly. 

 Stay with me. Stay with me. 

 Yes, that’s what it was. So, why can’t you comprehend it?

 “I know it’s a lot to ask, but I can’t—I don’t want to be left behind.”

 You back away, releasing the grip you have on his tunic as a confused frown overtakes you, eyebrows pinching, lips pursing until you speak, “What are you talking about? I’m not gonna—”

 “You’ll die one day,” Hitoshi suddenly blurts, more effusive than he's ever been around you. “You’ll die, and I won’t, and I’ll just have to live having known you but not… being able to… to keep you.”

 “Keep me?” You question. “Like one of your sparkly little rocks?”

 “You’re not a sparkly rock. You’re not a possession. You’re—” He sighs, looking up at the ceiling as he ponders. “For a long time, I didn’t understand Kei, how he fell in love with a human. It seemed fruitless to me. What could really come of it?”

 You’re not confused anymore, but you are getting irritated, and he can see that.

 “I’m not saying it to be mean, I promise. I’m trying to tell you that I understand it now, I understand that feeling of falling despite being able to fly.”

 Poetic, but then, you’ve always thought of him as such. Even if his spoken word isn’t exactly flowery, he’s proved it with his actions. 

 “If you don’t feel the same way, I know there isn’t anything I can do about it, but please… Please consider it.” Both his tone and his expression are nothing short of pleading, hands even clasped in front of his chest. 

 Upheaving your entire life is definitely something you have to consider. Your feelings for Hitoshi however…

 Letting out a long breath, you rise from the couch and shake your head. You see him deflate out of the corner of your eye, taking this as a rejection, but you slip into your bedroom to grab the book on your nightstand, the one you’ve probably read over a dozen times at this point. 

 Back in the den, Hitoshi is standing, rubbing the pads of his fingers over his palms as a nervous habit. You walk the heavy book over to him, holding it out as your arm trembles from the weight. From where you stand, you can see the way the pages are lifted in some places, the gaps between sections, but you know Hitoshi has no idea. 

 “Are you… Giving this to me, or—”

 “Look Inside.”

 With a lifted eyebrow, he takes the text and flips it open. You watch the way he softens all over. His shoulders relax, the fearful look on his face melts into something much lighter, and his lips part in a tender smile.

 All of the violets he’s gifted you, kept close by at all times. They aren’t nearly as bright as they once were, but here amongst the printed words, they are safe, not only reminding you of your newfound direction in life but of the kinship it’s led you to. 

 “All of them?” Hitoshi breathes in awe, running a finger over one of the flattened stems. 

 “Since the very first one.”

 After what seems like forever, those lilac eyes meet yours, relieved and very, very fond. He carefully closes the book, stepping past you to place it back on the small table, then turns and grabs your hands. 

 “You don’t have to make a decision right this second, but…” His lips curl into a smirk, “Just know I’ll be going absolutely out of my mind until I get an answer.”

 Fingers twitching where they’re held, you gaze at him through your lashes, emboldened by his outward confession and your more subtle variation. 

 “I think, um… I might know a way to distract you from your impending insanity,”

 His attention belongs entirely to you, and you think you can feel his beating pulse under the tips of your fingers brushing over his wrist. 

 And, then you pause.

 “Wait, is that something we can actually do? Is it gonna break any fairy laws or anything? Do we—oh my god, do we have the right parts?”

 Hitoshi laughs, the sound deep like his voice, and rich with delight. 

 “One, no laws to be broken here, and two, we definitely have the right parts,” he finishes by pulling you flush against him, and you immediately feel that he’s spoken the truth.

 Your breath is thick as you nod, fists balled in his shirt again but not for long as Hitoshi quickly lifts you off the ground, hands at your thighs as you wrap yourself around him. 

 And, that’s how it stays—after shedding clothes in the bedroom, he and his shimmering wings curl around you. Legs tangle as your hands stay glued to one another’s faces, desperate kisses showered between the two of you. Eager and exploratory, you feel Hitoshi for the first time, just as he does you. You’re pressed together head to toe, moving in tandem as hips form almost wild circles, and in the midst of all of it you breathe your name against him.

 Hitoshi shivers then says it back to you, repeating it over and over like he's trying to taste it. He’s beautiful. Everywhere. His wings catching the early morning sun rays that shine through your window, his torso lithe and toned, and his length seemingly made for you, sliding inside of you as if that’s where it belongs, where he belongs.

 Two parts of one whole, it becomes apparent that this is how it was always meant to be. Fate had plans for you both, and you think—you think even if she hadn’t died, you still would have found your way to Hitoshi.

 His rhythm is slow and deep, makes you gasp with every drag and glide until your back is arching and your eyes are watering. He swallows every sound you make, murmuring against your parted lips, “Stay with me, stay with me, I love you.”

 You fall apart cradled in his embrace, pulsing and quivering, and as you ride it out, Hitoshi buries every part of himself in you, his face in your neck as he groans low in his throat and lets himself tip over the edge after you.

 Both of you pant and tremble, legs still locked, mouths still swollen from fervent kisses. With your head pillowed on his chest, you trace patterns up and down his sternum, enjoying the way he shivers when you ghost over particularly sensitive spots. 

 You stay swaddled in that calm fog, eyes heavy, head full of everything and nothing at the same time.

 Yet, you know that what you say next isn’t born of bad judgement or exhaustion. It’s out of curiosity—possibility. 

 “So, um… Changelings, huh?”

 You don’t even have to look to know that a grin is splitting his gorgeous face. 

 Hitoshi dips down just enough to kiss the crown of your head, humming into your hair, “Just say the word, love.”

She was sick. Sicker than you knew, possibly sicker than even she knew. 

 And, that’s why it came as such a shock. Yes, she’d been in the hospital for a couple of weeks, but you’d heard she was stable, that she was getting answers, and that’s all you’d ever wanted for her. She had been so hopeful, looking forward to the future, and then…

 You can still remember the feeling that accompanied the news, the cold knife that sliced into you. You remember the way your breaths started to come faster and faster, the way your mind spun out of control—no, no, how could this happen, what is happening, she can’t be gone, she can’t. 

 Another friend had to talk you down, made you tea and rubbed your back, but you’ll never forget the ache that followed for weeks, a pain you wouldn’t wish on anyone. 

 It’s physical, visceral, like something has been carved out of you. Everything hurts. Opening your eyes in the morning hurts. Raising a fork to feed yourself hurts. Telling yourself to inhale and exhale hurts.

 Because she’ll never do any of those things again. And, there’s guilt in knowing that. 

 Some days you just wish she would come back. Others, you wish you could take her place. 

 But, neither of those will happen, so you do what you can to feel close to her: spend time with her friends who are now your family, perform rituals and spells that they’ve taught you—the kind for healing, for inner peace, for self love, and most of all, for remembrance. 

 You learn the ways of the fair folk, understanding them more and more as you take on their practices, their magic, and it’s during these times, when you're flying up to the beautiful forest canopy, hand-in-hand with Hitoshi, that you feel her presence most.

 What happened to the birds? 

 They're soaring right beside you, singing their song as you sing yours. 

 I love you. I miss you. But, I'll be okay. 

[illfoandillfie]

Kinktober Day 5: Panties & Lingerie

Kinktober Masterlist | Regular Masterlist

Pairing: Gwilym Lee x Fem!Reader

Words: 2,153

Warnings: nothing much, some degredation, teasing, set during quarantine/lockdown, DIY bondage, gag, implied sex, dom!gwil

A/N: The first Gwil day! 

You listened to make sure Gwil was still in the kitchen before closing your bedroom door and setting your plan in motion. After a few months of being in lockdown things had begun to grow stale. The days bled into each other and there was little variation from one to the next. It wasn’t bad really – you and Gwil were both healthy and able to work from home easily enough – it was just becoming monotonous. But you were determined that the habits you’d slipped into and the routine of your lockdown lives wouldn’t get in the way of your relationship. So you came up with an idea to surprise Gwil, just to spice things up and keep him on his toes a little.  

The first step was to dress in something you knew would turn him on, so you opted for a lingerie set he’d bought you and definitely enjoying seeing you wear- a deep purple chemise that fell around the top of your thigh, hugging you tightly, and barely concealed the matching thong. And then, because you didn’t want to make it too easy for him, you threw an oversized hoodie on top. It was one you’d stolen from Gwil the first winter you were together but he always claimed you looked better in it and never tried to take it back. Even after you moved in together it lived in your side of the wardrobe. It was baggy and cosy and almost drowned you in excess material, hanging closer to your knees than the lingerie did, which made it the perfect cover. Gwil didn’t think anything of it when he saw you. It was lockdown after all, no one to see or impress, nowhere to go, nothing to dress up for. Comfort was the name of the game. He himself had opted for tracksuit pants and a baggy shirt with a sweater over the top since it was getting to be quite chilly.  

After you were dressed, the next part of the plan was to tease him. You saw it as sort of like animals in a zoo enclosure. This was Gwil’s enrichment for the day. He’d have to figure out how little you were wearing under the hoodie and then it’d be up to him what he did with that information. But you were sure it would be fun. Which you supposed meant that teasing him was your enrichment activity, something to keep you entertained and occupied. The thought made you laugh to yourself as you settled on the couch with your laptop to check your emails. Gwil had a zoom meeting first up, taking himself off to the dining room, so your scheme would have to wait until he was done. But that just gave you more time to think through how you’d tease him. 

Roughly an hour and a half later Gwilym popped his head through the doorway. “Putting the kettle on, sweetheart, d’you want a cuppa?”  “Yes please,” you said, making a show of setting aside your laptop and arching your back as if you needed to stretch.  Gwil smiled but didn’t seem to pay any attention to how you were pushing your tits towards him.   “Should I grab out some of that biscotti I made yesterday?” you asked, relaxing into a more normal posture. The hoodie was probably too thick to properly show off your chest, even if you were pushing hardened nipples against the fabric. No wonder Gwil hadn’t seemed to notice.   “That would be lovely. It’s really good.”  You chuckled and stood to follow him to the kitchen, “I wasn’t sure it was going to work but they turned out pretty alright. Think next time I might try and do one of those chocolatey variations. Where’d you put them?”  “Pantry. Can you grab the sugar out while you’re there? The canister’s almost empty.”  “Sure thing.” You located the Tupperware box of biscotti first and then the sugar. They were on the same shelf, one higher than you usually placed things. It wasn’t that you couldn’t reach the shelf – the biscotti would be easy enough to grab down – it was that you had to stretch a little further to get things towards the back of the shelf. And at some point since you’d last filled the sugar container, the bag had been shoved behind other things. You said a silent thank you to past Gwil for putting both items that high up. “Gwil, honey!” you called out as you raised yourself onto your tiptoes and stretched your arms up.  Gwil came in just in time to see you flailing for the sugar, arms over your head, your hoodie pulled up so that more of your legs were exposed, clearly showing him that you weren’t wearing shorts.  “Can’t reach the sugar,” you chuckled, grabbing the biscotti box and sinking back down onto the soles of your feet. You turned around in time to see Gwil blinking.  His momentary stupefaction disappeared and he laughed as he reached up to retrieve the bag you’d been unable to get.  

When the tea was made you carried it and a plate of biscotti out to the lounge so you could watch mid-morning TV. Gwil settled onto the loveseat but you’d already been set up in the armchair so sank back into it. You crossed one leg over the other, uncrossed them, leant forward to pick up your teacup, crossed your legs the other way and took a sip. You suspected Gwil had noticed your odd actions when he leaned forward in your peripheral vision and didn’t sit up again.   “Oh, silly,” you said to yourself as you uncrossed your legs again, leaned forward to grab your snack, sat back and crossed your legs once more. Sensing Gwilym’s eyes on your thighs, you turned to smile at him, pleased to see his eyes dart towards the TV once he’d realised you were looking. And then, after enough time so it wouldn’t be too obvious that you wanted him to look, you uncrossed your legs again, instead drawing them both up under you.   Gwil stood up suddenly and left the room but before you could wonder about it too long you heard the toilet flush and let your attention drift back to the TV as Gwil took his seat again.   You finished your tea, noting that you felt quite warm after it. 

Around midday Gwil went in search of some food. You heard him open the fridge and then close it again. His footsteps moved away after that, down the hall and then back to the kitchen and then back out to where you were still sitting, once again on your laptop.   “Gonna have that leftover lasagne for lunch so I’ve stuck the oven on to heat up.” He said, pulling his sweater off and swinging his legs up to recline on the couch.  The oven hadn’t been on long when you noticed the heat and wondered what temperature Gwil had set it to. It probably didn’t help that your laptop had seen quite a lot of use and was feeling very hot against your legs. You shifted it around, trying to find a way to make yourself more comfortable without interfering with the hoodie.   “You right?” Gwil asked.  “Yeah, fine,”  “Must be getting a bit warm in the hoodie,”  “Not really,” you shrugged, trying not to sound too suspicious of him.  Gwil stood, “Oven’s probably warm enough now right?”  “Yeah probably.” You listened carefully as Gwil walked into the kitchen but once more his footsteps faded off up the hall. Ten seconds later and you’d already noticed the rise in temperature, and it dawned on you that perhaps the oven wasn’t the only think Gwil had been tampering with.  

You followed him quietly to the kitchen, pushing your sleeves up to your elbows as the heat got worse. He seemed surprised to see you there as he crept back into the room but you feigned ignorance, muttering something about needing a drink as you bent over the dishwasher, lowering yourself more than was strictly necessary as you pretended to search for a cup, offering him a peak at your scant underwear.  When you righted yourself Gwil was right behind you, his hands reaching for the hem of the hoodie, “Game's up sweetheart. Take the damn thing off.”  “Wondered when you’d get there,” you laughed, “Might want to turn that stove off for the moment.” You waited until he’d done so before lifting your most modest layer over your head to reveal what little you wore underneath it.  Gwil’s eyes travelled over you as he breathed in deeply through his nose, “All dressed up. What’s the occasion?”  “Just wanted to.”  “You mean you wanted to tease me.” His voice was low and soft but that just made it all the more ominous, a hint of what was in store for you. You didn’t even have a chance to answer before his fingers wrapped around your wrist and he began to lead you to the bedroom.   “In my defence, teasing you is fun.” You couldn’t help but want to taunt him further.  “I think you just like it because you know I won’t be able to resist taking it out on your cunt.”  “That’s definitely part of it.” You laughed but you were abruptly cut off as he pushed you towards the bed.  

Gwilym growled as he backed you up to the mattress and you quickly scrambled into place. His hands felt hot against you as his pushed the soft material of your lingerie up to your chest and then straddled your exposed stomach. With a sudden yank he began to pull the chemise over your head but, to your dismay, it seemed to catch partway, your arms and head still stuck in the clinging material.   “Umm, Gwil?” you asked, trying not to panic with your head still stuck inside the lingerie.  “You’re alright, sweetheart. I’m going to pull it up further in a second but I think some sort of poetic justice is in order. So reach back and grab the headboard and then I’ll readjust.”  Heart racing, you tried to blindly do what he said, grateful when he leaned over and helped position your hands so that each was wrapped around one of the slats in the headboard. You felt the material hug your arms tightly as he readjusted it so that your nose and mouth were freed. Your eyes remained blindfolded by the bottom of the dress but being able to breathe freely meant it wasn’t so panic induicing.    “There, that ought to hold you.” He shuffled back down your body until he was straddling your thighs, “I think it’s fitting to keep you stuck here enduring my cock, bound by the very thing you used to taunt me.”  The idea made you shiver but your enjoyment was helped by Gwil’s hand falling to your thong clad pussy. He dragged his fingers along your lips before finding you clit and beginning to circle it slowly.   “It’s quite rude to tease really.” he said as he pressed his fingers against you, making you gasp, “Does it make you wet sweetheart? Does it turn you on to be a dirty little slut, begging to be fucked. Because that’s what you are right now. Dressing all slutty and bending over like you were hoping I’d just fill you with cock there and then.”  You whined as his fingers became more insistent and his words got filthier, everything contributing to your growing wetness and your nearing orgasm.   “If you’re not careful I’ll have to fuck you every day until this lockdown ends. You won’t get the chance to tease me with your thongs and your stretching and whatever other slutty ideas are in your slutty head. I’ll just fuck you first and save you the trouble. Oh you like that idea huh?” he laughed in response to your moan, “Spending every day cock drunk and begging for more? Prove it. Cum for me and I might actually do it.”  His fingers were impossible to argue with and you couldn’t hold back any longer, moaning with your release.  “Good girl,” he cooed softly, “Making such a mess of your panties though. What about we take them off now and I can see just how slutty your cunt is.”  You nodded eagerly, giving him a few words of encouragement as he dragged the wet underwear down your legs.   Gwilym held the panties up to the light, twisting it to better see the slick patch you’d created, “Very good.” he said as he balled the underwear up and, grabbing your jaw, stuffed it between your lips.  You whined around the material, able to taste your own arousal which only turned you on more.  “Now keep being good for me,”  You watched as Gwil pushed his pants down and pulled his cock out, positioning it between your legs. 

Taglist: @labessieisallama @deakyclicks @jennyggggrrr @drowseoftaylor @hannafuckingsucks @i-cant-hangout-im-drumming @queenmylovely @ilovequeenmorethanyou @johndeaconshands @borhapbois @stardust-galaxies @cherries-n-rocknroll @rogersslave @scorpiogemini

[twillightteaparty]

I Hope i'm not bothering! Could i request Ruggie with a reader that comes from a noble family in their world? (Not prince/princesses, i've seen that like 52826296282 times lol. More like count/earl/countess) and they act all polite and stuff but they're actually very chaotic, they help him out with Leona too! they also love to spoil him rotten, like they're literally this meme, my boy finna be treated like absolute royalty LMAO-

They also brought him to their world to meet their family (let's pretend Crowley actually did his job for once) and they absolutely love him!!

Ruggie With A Rich Nobel S/o!

Ruggie~! <3

"may I Have donuts?"

"of course you can have donuts!"

"B A B E T H I S I S T O O M A N Y D O N U T S!"

"There is never such a thing as too many donuts my prince <3"

"well I can't argue with that kind of logic"

I can imagine he's never used to the amount they spoil him but god he can't complain. he would never complain he would do anything to be spoiled.

Rich bitch Chaos combines with DIY budget Chaos. what crimes will they commit? many. It's always a surprise with you two, and like I mean it, now one knows what to expect from the two of you.

I offer instead of your mom loving him and gushing about them it's your D A D. Seems like Ruggie made a good impression when mister father wanted to have a talk

mother is probably not so gushy about it still probably likes Ruggie like he seems polite and hard working. a lovely and fine young man, yes, he'll do nicely for you

will ask you to be the fair maiden Marien to his robin hood *sips coffee*

Leona Never stood a fucken chance against you guys- like helping Ruggie out with Leona I Imagine quickly escalates to 'get Leona's shit together' very quickly.

---

This is a little short it feels but like- if I have the energy, maybe in the near future I could write a little fic based on this concept but it's the part where Ruggie gets to meet the family.

Also completely underlated, can we give Ruggie a motorcycle? Please???

Love, Admin Tea.

[kettlequills]

and if the world should end (hold me)

Dragonborn Laataazin does not manifest their Dragon Aspect often. When they do, they are ... different. A03. a short and sweet piece of laat/miraak. tw: dacryphilia, dragon aspect, daedric corruption, pre-sex. n s f w ish, r. Mature.

Laat wasn’t hard to track.

Their passage had seared footprints ringed with soot into the dark wet earth below the hardpacked snow. Hail stung Miraak’s eyes, made him wish for his mask as he followed them, stepping from footprint to footprint in imitation of their aggressive, short stride. White winds gathering speed billowed around him, rumbling clouds bruiselike with the anger of a Dragonborn’s impetuous, imperious presence.

Kyne the war-hawk recognised the realised majesty of her lover, the dragon. But the winds that battered Miraak’s robes like seeking fingers were, for once, not for him; Laat was a bloodsong behind his heartbeat. His senses prickled in that chilling calling of soul to soul, the second of warning he had directly before a dragon dropped from the sky spitting flaming death.

Their Shout still rung in heaven’s ears; shudders of grey rock pitted the flung-fingers of the reaching trees. He saw the shape of them, indescribable and immense, the starry wings that eclipsed the sun, the interlocking scales like plates of black diamond. They were blurry with heat through the trees, thick with curling black spines that made his mouth dry in remembered fear of the overlord great enough to force dragons to heel.

In a small clearing ringed by bony black trees, they waited for him, incandescent as a heretic’s pyre. Unapologetic for the vicious spike-dripping crown of their fearsome Dragon Aspect, as unalike the auroral shimmering of his as night to day.

He hardly understood the words that flew out of mouth.

"Use me."

Laat shot him a wild-eyed glare over their ramrod stiff shoulders. The line of their spine was steel, naked as a child, they had never looked fiercer. It only made the scales that ridged from the normally-soft, giving flesh sharper, darker against their sunstruck skin, highlighted the curve of muscles wound killing-tight. Scars painted that rippling canvas, furrowed like plough-marks beneath the earth cut through the sunken ruins of Miraak’s time, scarring hidden barrows and graves with a thousand criss-crossing reminders of the new age.

Miraak's breath hitched on a choking swallow.

"I know - I know you need to-" He couldn't bring himself to say it. To claim understanding. "You - you can use me."

Laat turned fully to face him, their eyes raking over him with a palpable hunger. Centuries of torment facing the worst daedra and dragons could muster had Miraak stiffen his body instead of stepping back. How red Laataazin’s eyes glowed, framed by light-sucking oubliettes of the void between stars caught in each cruelly-glittering scale. He didn’t think he would ever grow accustomed to how they looked at him, even with soft brown human eyes. With their humanity washed away to reveal the world-eater beneath, it struck him as a hurricane strikes a poor-rooted tree, scattering needles like prayers and tearing roots from the ground, leaving behind only hollows – aching, dark, twisted hollows, that begged to be filled.

“Leave," they rumbled, and their voice shook the trees, the sky, the sun, the stars. Shook Miraak’s soul free in his chest, and he yearned to stretch his own wings, test his fang and fire against theirs. "Dii britrozii. Leave now."

It was his chance to renounce this stupidity.

"No," Miraak whispered.

Laat lunged for him.

He stood his ground, managed even not to hiss when they collided and Laat slammed him back against a tree. The wet chill seeped in through the back of his robes, the rough bark dug into the knobbles of his vertebra. An old wound flared to life with a dull ache, and he grimaced. The tree groaned; he heard the woody screech of Laat’s claws churning the bark to charnel. Smoke scorched his arm, he shifted and embraced them instead.

They were scarcely better. Laat was so hot they burned, pinning him between the slick ice of the deep-frozen tree and the fire of the fever in their soul. Their eyes flickered with mad red glow when he touched them of his own accord, some softening of the slit pupil that managed to coax a flurry of desire along with a distant sense of crippling danger.

At first, he thought they would seize a kiss from him, but instead, they pressed their feverish forehead against his. They had to lean up on their toes to reach him, he felt the trembling of their body, half-fever, half the strain of keeping themselves lifted. Sweat-slick locks of their hair tickled his cheeks. The tree shivered as they sunk their claws in deeper for purchase. The hard nubs of the swelling horns were near-painful, like resting his bare skin against fresh-forged maceheads, but the skin underneath it was still human, dripping with sweat that splashed onto his Miraak’s cheeks like tears.

“I could hurt you,” they warned him, maelstrom eyes beckoning him to fall in, let the wine-waters wash over him, into him.

“You’re not hurting me now,” Miraak pointed out, “And I’ll heal.”

They growled at that, actually growled, and Miraak swallowed past a dizzying rush. Their fingers wove knots into the tangled hair, tugging him down to them. They bit his cheek, above the rasp of his beard. The sharpness of the pain made his eyes water involuntarily; knowing them, he blinked and let the tear fall. Laat’s warm, wet tongue chased it, their saliva sticky and cold on his cheek. Their moan reverberated through them like a living thing, buzzed through Miraak’s bones like a symphony, like a roar.

“You don’t like daedra,” they said, with an increasingly strained voice.

Miraak hesitated. It was true that he could see Sanguine all over them, in the sticky strawberry handprints that followed the hunger of their blush, the reddish glow, the fiery fever that melted holes in the snow. Their breath tasted of wine, their lips of chillies and crushed pistachio. Erotic tastes, exotic tastes, nothing like the dull human tastes of sweat and the faint reek of armour oil he associated with them.

In their Dragon Aspect, the fullest expansion of their soul, Sanguine stained them as Mora had corrupted him. Miraak saw the path of Sanguine’s touches, the places where he had scraped bitter nails over Laat’s ribs, the splutters of his cursed wine in their belly, the burnished royal red and purples that shifted like abstract bruises under their skin, seductively drawing his eye to their hips, their breasts, the rasp of their stubble. Their sensitive places, their soft places, marked with claws and teeth and bloodsport long before he had even known of their existence.

To touch them would be to walk his fingertips over the leavings of a daedric lord.

He lifted his head from theirs to avoid their cursed eyes. He focused instead on the scars that twisted their forehead, counting them to ground himself. Faded, a little, under the burning wreath of horns that tumbled around their head like deadly locks of hair, but ever-present and quartering their beloved face like the grid of a map leading to something like home.

There were six scarlines that disappeared into their hair; number four wavered drunkenly over some long-ago notch and split into a wide river of pinkish white. Number two came accompanied by a star-scatter of freckles, dots and splashes of brown that hid in the wrinkles of their skin, the perpetual frown lines, the soft creases of age and laughter around their eyes.

He knew these scars, had felt them, traced them, kissed them, just as he knew the impatient tugging of their trembling hands woven into his beard. Knew them, the Dragonborn who loved life too passionately to waste it at Hermaeus Mora’s command, who had taken every backslide and frustration of his long recovery in stride. Who touched him with such tenderness Miraak could almost believe he had never met any daedra that wasted his body and destroyed his pride at all.

The hair that pushed its way stubbornly out amidst the scars was grey and stringy, touches of brown still surviving at the tips. He could not stop himself from cupping their cheeks, tilting their head down to nibble on the soft fuzz. The keratin crunched under his playful teeth.

He remembered to purse his lips together in one of Laat’s odd kisses when he rubbed his nose against the familiar topography of their scarred face, nuzzling them as Sahrotaar, the friendliest of his dragons, would. Even now, it made them smile; he felt the reflexive twitch of their cheek muscles under his palms, the notch of their dimples against the pad of his thumbs.

“You are not a daedra,” he murmured, words that whispered round the actual truth, “I trust you.”

They bit his shoulder through his robes, but they didn’t cleave a snaggletoothed bite through layers of fabric until they could rend and tear properly at his bloodied flesh. Instead they held him in their mouth, their damp tongue pressing against his collarbone, then mumbled and mouthed their way across to the neckline of his robes. There, they bit on painless fabric, hard enough he saw their jaw pale with the force and their teeth ground audibly. Their lips were wet when they lifted their head, too-bright eyes swirling like chips of galaxies set into a mortal face.

“Let me,” Laataazin begged.

Miraak offered them a small, nervous smile.

“Zu’u losiil, Laat Dovahkiin.”

[hyunjilicious]

100 ways to say ‘I love you’ Christmas Edition [bucky barnes]

Summary: it’s pretty self explanatory, I guess. (FLUFF) 1.6k

Warnings: absolutely none, just Bucky being cute, awkward and madly in love with you!!

-

In 2018, you were in Namibia, hunting down an American terrorist that had been on the run for the better part of the year. In 2019, the avengers were scattered around the globe, executing a 'shoot first, ask questions later' type of mission that ended long after the new year began. But this year, all of your friends were home. For the first time in years, the Stark Tower was shining from top to bottom with Christmas lights, carols echoing down all of its long, secluded hallways. It was the first time you'd get to actually spend the night of 24th of December with your true family. That is, if you made it in time. Back on December 19th, you and Bucky got stuck in the depths of Louisiana, with absolutely no means of communication, let alone transportation. You decided to make the best out of the situation and turn it into a road trip, but time flew by so much faster than expected, that it was now 2:13 pm on Christmas eve, and you and Bucky were sprinting down the snow covered empty highways of the east coast, dead set on making it home in time. He wasn't that eager to get back and tried to get you to rent a hotel room and spend the night alone, but you weren't having it. He huffed and puffed about not giving a shit about Christmas, but it was the first one he could celebrate with people that loved him, in over 70 years. With every motel that you passed, he'd turn and look at you from the passenger seat, begging you to stop. You didn't even consider it. You wanted him to have the full Christmas experience. A storm was brewing and you were whiteknuckling the steering wheel, fighting back the urge to yawn for the 3rd time in the last 10 minutes. After driving for 7 hours straight, you were close to passing out, but nowhere near ready to give up. "Pull over, love" he smiled, grabbing your thigh, "Let me drive. I'll wake you up when we arrive"

-

And of course Bucky refused to decorate. You spent the better half of the day rummaging through boxes and looking up diy tutorials on the Internet, doing your absolute best to make your bedroom as cozy and Christmasy as possible. Candles were scattered all over the furniture, their soft light and delicate cinnamon scent filling up the room, a small Santa Claus figurine was sitting neatly by the window, garlands dripped from every corner and your Christmas playlist was on shuffle for probably the 4th time that day. As you kept busy, lowkey exasperated whenever one ornament didn't fit in as planned, Bucky laid on the bed, making nasty comments with every chance he got. He complained about the music, said the room was too hot, that the candles made his nose feel funny and not for a second did he stop begging you to drop the fucking decorating and join him in bed. You didn't wanna hear it. You kept going, bringing in box after box of ornaments, each one making Bucky more and more frustrated.

"Buck!" you whined, turning around in your hands a little remote controlled reindeer. "His leg is stuck... he keeps falling"

"Throw it into the trash" he scoffed, plopping down on his back and hiding his face in the crook of his elbow.

Of course you didn't listen to him. "No..." you mumbled, more to yourself. You sounded like a child, but you didn't care. Instead, you just sat down on the edge of the bed, all your attention focused on the broken toy in your hands, "I'll fix it somehow"

"Just throw the goddamned thing away, Y/n" he groaned, "Only on my nightstand there are other 3. We got enough"

You just shook your head, focused on getting the reindeer to walk again. It was no use. You got no utensils and your nails were threatening to break as you kept trying to open up his battery container. 5 minutes of painful silence followed, ending with you finally giving up, "I'll just put something under his leg and use it as a decoration" you whimpered, legitimately heartbroken over the toy.

"Fuck, just come here. Give it to me. I'll fix the damn thing for you"

Your heart swelled up, "Really?"

"Yeah..." Bucky sighed, grabbing a screwdriver out of his nightstand and picking up the toy. "Master assassin and I'm fixing toys" he mumbled under his breath and you couldn't help but wrap your arms around him and kiss his cheek.

-

Your version of paradise started just when you arrived at the tower on Christmas Eve. Bucky did as promised and then offered you a weak smile, full of warmth as he helped you out of the car when he parked in front of the Tower. You were beaming with excitement for the days that were to come. When the next morning arrived, you were sipping your coffee on the balcony, waiting for everyone to wake up so that you could all start unwrapping the presents. When the door opened you didn't expect Bucky to come out, as he never - ever, failed to sleep until noon, if given the chance. But there he was, wrapped in one of your comfy blankets, padding over to you with a coffee mug in his hand. When he reached you, he opened his arms and welcomed you against his chest, closing his hold around your body and engulfing you in the warmth of the blanket. It didn't take long until you noticed the little paper bag lodged under the elastic of his sweats, and when you asked about it, he cursed himself for ruining the surprise. He handed you the bag, and urged you to open it, insisting that it wasn't your present. When you did, your eyes landed on a knitted bunny clutching a heart to its chest. "An old lady was selling these a few weeks ago at a boutique I saw while waiting for you to meet me. I know you love to call me Bucky Bunny because you know how much I hate it. I forgot about it and came across it this morning at the bottom of my bag while searching for my charger. Now I think its stupid, a dumb rabbit and his eyes are a little bit fucked up, but he's cute and it reminded me of you, so here you go"

-

As much love as some of you had for the holiday, it still wasn't enough to convince the whole group to actually watch a Christmas movie. So, in true avenger spirit, you all decided to watch Terminator. After finishing dinner, you all scattered around the Tower. Some people left to change in more comfortable clothes, some helped clean up the kitchen, and some, like Bucky and Thor, remained in the living room, plopped in the middle of the couch, fangirling over Arnold Schwarzenegger's acting and the great sense of humour of the 90s. Eventually everyone gathered around them, you and Wanda being the last ones to show up. She cuddled against Vision's side, but Bucky was lodged in between Thor and Steve, and there was no way you'd ever ask any of them to move. Seeing you eye an open spot, Bucky waved you over as he stood up. "Here, take my seat". You wanted to object but he didn't want to hear it. Eventually, you sat down, and so did he, on the floor, right in front of you. Nonchalantly, Bucky pulled your legs apart and settled between them, with his back against the couch. He gathered your Christmas themed sock clad feet into his lap and rested his head against your knee as the movie began.

-

And like any other Christmas dinner, of course yours wasn't an exception. Natasha's recipe for apple pie was by definition the best that ever blessed the earth and none of the attendees was any stranger to that. Considering how many of you there were, as you made a point of spending the end of the year together, 2 batches had to be made. It was hectic, everyone fuzzing around the Tower, preparations on tow the whole day. And of course there would be repercussions for the chaotic atmosphere, but you'd only find out about them later. After burning through the first meal courses of the evening, it was finally time for her sweet delicacy to grace the table. Natasha neatly placed the two pies on either end of the table, proudly announcing you could all dig in. Bucky was seated to your right, and he unlike you, managed to grab a piece of pie from the first batch. You didn't think too much of it, until you started eating yours, only to realise the bottom was burned. Despite all of you trying to assure Natasha that it was not her fault and that she shouldn't beat herself up about it, she promised she'd make another one tomorrow. The night carried on as planned, but no matter how much you tried to push away the thought, you couldn't help but feel bitter about missing out on the good pie. Just when you were about to come to your senses and realise what a dumb reason for you to get upset that was, Bucky sent you text, asking you to come to the bedroom. Curious as to what this could have been about, you hurried upstairs and burst into the room, nearly crashing into Bucky's chest. He slammed the door behind you and handed you his plate - his slice of pie only halfway eaten. "I saved you a piece. These are jackals, I had to hide it. Dig in before anyone comes!"

-

On December 27th the buzz was starting to die down. When you put up the lights in your bedroom, Bucky said they could stay on for two days and two days only, and you reluctantly agreed to make a compromise. Just this time. The time to turn them off came last night, and since he offered to let them on until the morning, you felt like an unreasonable little shit if you were to ask him to turn them on again. It was about 7pm and you were two seasons deep in The X Files, and Wanda asked for your help. Bucky pulled out his phone and assured you he wouldn't watch ahead until you got back. It took you about 30 to help your friend with her problem, and when you returned to your room, confusion washed over you. The Christmas lights were on and Bucky was nowhere to be seen. "Fuck" he grunted.

You turned around to see him behind you, standing in the doorway, two cocoa mugs in his hands, "I made these cause I know you like them. And I wanted to surprise you with the lights but vision is a dumbass and forgot to text me and tell me when you were almost done"

"So she didn't actually need help folding the bed sheets?" you laughed, endeared by his antics.

"Of course she didn't" Bucky shook his head, handing you one of the mugs, "She's not an imbecile"

"Oh my god" you giggled in disbelief as you sat down on the bed.

"I'll squirt shit nuggets out of my ass for two days, so please tell me at least I got the recipe right" 

He was so adorable, anxiously waiting for you to taste the cocoa he just made. "It's so good!" you rolled your eyes in pleasure, taking another sip, "Thank you, you're too sweet, Buck"

"Yeah, I know-" he chuckled, grabbing the mug from your palm and placing it on the nightstand. "I got one more present for you. Close your eyes and hold out your hands"

"No, Buck-" you whined, "I didn't get you anything else-"

He dismissed your words in an instant and kissed your lips, before guiding your hands up. You opened them up and closed your eyes, curious about what he could have gotten you. First, you heard him shuffle around the bed, and then you felt something rather itchy touch your palms. You nearly burst into laughter when you realised it was his chin.

"Ok, open your eyes"

And as you did so, your eyes landed on Bucky's face, as he had placed his head on your hands. He was wearing a tiara with reindeer ears, and you couldn't help but laugh out loud.

"You're my present?" you beamed, throwing yourself against his chest.

"My face is the present-" he corrected you. "Guess what it does. Take your leggings off and you'll find out"

[itsjustmyfantasyroom]

School Girl Attitude Part 1

@detective-giggles​ and I came up with this little series.

Masterlist

Warnings: SVU talk, SVU crimes, talks of underage girls and undercover.

WC: 1720

“Thanks so much again Mrs Carisi” you lent down and kissed the older lady on the cheek.

“Anytime my darling, I just wish you weren’t going undercover in a skirt that short- where is it anyway?”

“Come on Ma, ya know we can’t tell ya that” Sonny took a sip of his coffee.

“Well please stay safe” Sonny’s Mum cupped one of your cheeks rubbing her thumb over it “Are you coming for Easter on the weekend Y/N?”

“Ma I told ya, we have to see how the case plays out- I might not be here either” Sonny’s mum huffed back at him.

“Ok, you need to let me know” she winked up at you.

Manhattan Special Victims had been home coming up 3 years. You had transferred from Philadelphia PD after you worked with Liv and the squad on a kid napping over state lines. The squad was amazing to work with and Liv offered you a position the day you were driving back home after the case was closed. You moved down 2 weeks later and hadn’t looked back since.

You were partnered with Sonny and soon became best friends with Rafael after working close with him on your first big case in Manhattan. You had become a Carisi your first year in Manhattan, after you stood beside Bella every step of the way with Tommy’s case against his parole officer after only being in Manhattan for 3 months. You had met Sonny’s parents outside of court one day, and as they say the rest is history.

You fell for Sonny the first Easter the Carisi’s asked you there. You sat outside and watched as he played with his nieces and butterflies filled your tummy when he looked over at you and winked. Rafael being your best friend heard about this crush quite often and tried to talk you into asking him out every chance you guys were alone,

“Come on mi querida, how long are you going to keep it to yourself? You deserve to be happy”

“Rafi- have you seen the paper work? There is so much involved, and well what if he doesn’t feel that same?”

“Have you seen the way he looks at you? Of course he feels the same- I can tal-“

“Don’t you dare” You gave Rafael a warning look

“Mi querida, come on just say something”

****

You looked at yourself in the mirror of the locker room sighing at how much skin you were showing. You, Liv and Sonny were going undercover at an underage sex party. Sonny was going in as a John, Liv your madam and you as one of the girls along with some girls that were picked to look the part from the academy. You hadn’t heard the door open when you heard someone clear their throat, you spun around almost losing your balance in your heels to see Rafael looking less than impressed,

“Mi querida, you’re getting sent in looking like that?”

You had short blue and white plaid skirt, just covering your front and back, thigh high white socks, black pump stilettos and a short white button down tied in a knot under your breast’s and only a couple of buttons done up. Your hair in piggy tales in big curls and heavy makeup.

“Rafi-“ you rolled your eyes.

“I know don’t start” Rafael huffed at you “I’ll have your ugg boots and badge in the van with me for when you’re done, so you don’t break your neck in those” he nodded towards your shoes “Come on Liv is waiting, Carisi and the other women are already in there and you still need to see if your earrings work” Rafael walked towards you and linked his arm in yours to help you walk out.

You, Liv and Rafael arrived at the salience van to Amanda and Fin and you all got inside to wait for the signal.

“Ah- wow Y/N” Amanda looked you up and down, you went to open your mouth and Fin cut in,

“Carisi needs to start paying attention to the room” Fin frowned.

You looked up at the screen and seen that Sonny was looking down at a girl’s ass, and then moved his head to look at another one that walked past. Rafael looked over at you and saw your face, he pulled out his phone and open a message to Sonny,

8pm Rafael: Find something else to look at Detective.

Sonny pulled out his phone and looked at the message clearing his throat. Sonny stood up and walked over to the DIY bar in the house and asked for bourbon and coke, which was your signal,

“Ready Y/N?” Liv looked over at you, you just nodded back still pissed at what Sonny had been looking at. As you went to walk past Rafael he grabbed your hand and squeezed it,

“Everything by the book” He looked between you both, leaning over to kiss you on the cheek “Stay safe”

You walked in through the back door of the house with Liv, the kitchen and lounge area was full with young girls and older men. You started to work the room and act the part when you came into the lounge area to see Sonny with one of the other undercovers sitting on his lap whispering in his ear as he ran his hand up and down her thigh, rage and jealousy ran through you. You couldn’t let it show or you would blow your cover. But what you didn’t know was they were both playing the part, all she was doing was reciting the 50 states over and over again in his ear.

When Sonny had seen you walk into the lounge area he was glad one of the undercovers was on his lap, he instantly harden and had to adjust her on his lap so she couldn’t feel it pressing into her thigh, he didn’t want her to think it was for her when really it was for you.

Sonny had feelings for you from the moment he worked with you on the kid napping case. You walked into the bull pen in your full blues with your Captain and he felt like the wind was knocked out of him. He had never wanted to say anything about how he felt in case you didn’t feel the same and his Mum put doubt in his head about being with someone he was parented with in case it didn’t work out, although she treated you like the daughter in law she has never had.

You lent against the lounge room wall trying to look as sexy as possible not looking in Sonny’s direction when one of the older John’s walked over to you leaning into you.

“I haven’t seen you around here before” the john smirked at you looking you up and down.

“I’ am new” you tried to sound sweet.

The night took a weird turn. You and Liv where in the back of this John’s car on the way over to a house a few streets over where he kept his girls. The john had offered to buy you off Liv and she managed to talk him into taking you both to the house so she could see it before they would work out a deal. Once you guys had left uniforms busted in arresting all the johns and rounding up all the girls.

Sonny came running over to Fin, Amanda and Rafael who were all getting in the car to follow you guys, Amanda following the GPS from your earrings on her phone and listening to Liv’s microphone from her ear piece,

“What’s happened?” Sonny said puffed out from running over to them.

“We will fill you in on the way” Fin said as he got into the car.

They all sat in the car across the road from the house you guys where in, waiting for back up to pull up.

“Barba, Carisi you guys wait here” Fin and Amanda got out of the car ready to bust in, Sonny wasn’t armed so he couldn’t go with them.

Once both doors where closed Sonny turned to Rafael,

“What was with the text earlier?”

Rafael turned his head and glared at Sonny,

“What was with you checking out so much ass while undercover?”

“What’s it to ya Counselor?” Sonny snapped back.

“It is everything to do-“ Rafael paused “ You need to start seeing what’s in front of you before it’s too late” Rafael snapped.

“What’s that meant to mean?” Sonny turned his body to look at him, Rafael rolled his eyes back at him when Rafael’s phone started to ring,

“Yeah Liv”

“Barba you better get in here, Carisi too. Y/N said you have her badge she needs it.” And she hung up.

Rafael and Sonny got out of the car, Rafael carrying your ugg boots and your badge in his pocket. They both walked into the house to a mess, the john that had been trying to buy you was cuffed. They both looked around at the dump that the house was, with air mattress’s all over the floor. Rafael had seen you kneeling down talking to a girl who was crying, as you seen him and Sonny you squeezed her arm, stood back up and walked towards them.

“Thanks Rafi” you took your ugg’s off him and swapped your shoes over. Rafael then shrugged off his jacket and handed it to you, you put it on and he pulled your badge out of his pocket and handed it to you, clipping it on the waist of your skirt.

“At last count there are 4 missing Philli girls here, I recognised them from their missing person’s picture. Two are foster kids and two have families.”

“What do you need me to do?” Sonny looked down at you.

“I think you have done enough for tonight” you couldn’t look at him and you went to walk away.

“Why is everyone on my case tonight? What’s with the school girl attitude Y/N?”

“Excuse me?” you spun back around to face him.

“You heard me” Sonny snapped back to you. You balled your hands into fists, spun on the balls of your feet and walked away.

“Smooth Carisi” Rafael scoffed at him rolling his eyes.

Tags: @the-baby-bookworm​ @thatesqcrush​ @permanentlydizzy​ @averyhotchner​ @infiniteoddball​ @fandom-princess-forevermore​

[dorki-c]

The Three Cups: Cup of Caution

Characters: Villain Deku, (reader), Brief mention of Shigaraki, Kurogiri, and Toga!

Relationship: Villain Deku / Izuku Midoriya and Fem! (Reader).

Audience: 16+ ONLY please!

A/N: Two weeks and approximately 6 pages later- I bring to you the second cup: Cup of Caution. Thank you all for your support the past two weeks and the lovely comments, it really means a lot! I would be really thankful if everyone who read this would reblog and liked this!

But before anybody goes on and read this, PLEASE PLEASE TAKE CAUTION (No pun included) WHEN READING THIS. It handles some heavy things within the one-shot and I really don’t want anybody to be reminded of horrible experiences that they may have gone through. AS WELL AS! Please note that I’m not a health care professional or somebody who knows how to deal with first aid- so please do not use my one-shot as a correct and reliable source to deal with this situation! 

(ALSO! COME REQUEST A PROMPT FOR MY VALENTINES WRITING EVENT! CLICK HERE FOR MORE INFO!)

TW: Gun use (only very briefly), Mention of Self-harm (only if you squint REALLY hard), blood and bleeding, Self-deprecating thoughts, mention of bullet removal, unprofessional medical procedures and cauterization, implied forced enclosure, mention of alcohol.

[IMPORTANT: I DO NOT ENCOURAGE ANY OF THE TRIGGER WARNINGS!]

[<-- Previous Part | Next Part -->]

The midst of every night always had its unknown secrets basking in the twilight. They writhed and crawled scantly across the surface of the two villains hides like insects ready to rip and chew apart delicate layers of flesh.

Darting left and right from advantage points, your observant pair of eyes stayed forever locked on the green-haired man (boy) behind the heavy-duty mask that carefully- though quite excellently- tightened around the back of your neck and head with approximately four, maybe five, click-in locks.

You didn’t know what this arranged ‘meeting’ was about, frankly you didn’t care (like always), though as each minute of the task (in your mind) was wasted by each and every mother fucking curse you plan to yell at Shigaraki when you arrive back at the base.

That crusty asshole decided it would be (unadulteratedly) hilarious to set you up to ‘guard’ his younger brother’s puny smug (handsome) ass which in turn meant staring by squatting down where your unshielded knees may scrape against the harsh concrete of the building you stood on top of.

Obsessively gripping the bland black pistol in the palm of your hand, your nerves screamed at you to relax to the cold polluted air that ran warm in the blood of whoever isn’t dead tonight. With the narrowing of your eyes darting from Deku to the three men standing in front of him with a small flat line seemingly narrowing to an expression of annoyance.

When are they going to finish? You wished you could have said that, but that’s not allowed. It will never be permitted.

Screaming little nuisances echo out protests to rebel again Deku- like the previous time before- though both you and the rest of the audience resting in their seats know not to do that, again. The fresh crescent moon wounds encircled around a singular wrist (covered by a glove) alerts the subconscious bully lurking in the midst at the front of this theatrical performance of life.

But (focusing on the task at hand) what was that man holding? Crouching downwards to get a better look, your body moved on its own accord when shit hit the fan. Invisible gusts aiding in your descent as a small glance to the side can confirm what happened before three bodies laid flat in the closed off alley.

Packing the pistol into a holster at the starting line of your boots, itty-bitty footsteps reached to her colleague, though her form was turned away from them. “Get up, we need to leave before the police get here.” What? How much of an asshole is his crush? “I can’t, you idiot.” Pivoting on her heel, she glanced downwards to see the source of the other villain’s problem.

Oh.

(And here (y/n) never thought black dress pants could turn red…)

With a leg shot to frigging bits, the frayed edges of the dress pants curled upward and attempted to soak up the liquid seeping out of his body, although it was in futile. Alongside that, (y/n) didn’t have any other cloth or rope or… something to stop the blood flow.

However, that was a failed observation on her part.

Glancing at her own self, she noted the blazer that covered only a bare minimum of her shoulders and back. (Oh well, it’s not like I can’t buy another one) Sighing softly, she could feel those all-too-familiar green (laser) eyes observing the slow languid movement of the female taking off her blazer, drooping down to his level and tapping the leg with such delicacy that Deku could’ve had a small crisis about how close (y/n) was.

“Open your mouth.” When he did so, a side of (y/n)’s arm was barged in the clamp that is his mouth.

“Bite down on my arm until I tell you to stop.” This is going to hurt like a bitch, although she didn’t mind pain (it’s a friend nowadays), where in a second she felt the contraction of what might be millions of miniscule sensory cells curse a wave of spiky pain erupt along the bridge of her forearm, the female made quick work of wrapping her blazer into a tight knot around the upper base of Deku’s bloodied leg that certainly is comparable to a two-way circuit of agony that flooded both of their bodies.

When ripping the arm from his canine teeth, only flinching as she did so (her favoured shirt was practically ruined with slobber), a blackened satin hand extended itself upwards and was met with a sweet cranberry red hand.

“Come on, we need to get you patched up.” Said (y/n), where all Deku could do was nod in agreement.

(Why did she want me to go with her?)

(What’s this feeling in my chest?)

--------------------------------------------

Kicking the door with only her heel, the leaning weight of what could’ve been a dead man laid heavy on her spine.

Grimly being reminded of the injury he held accountable on his leg, she laid him down on the ragged and worn couch- the fabric was tough and stale (it always caused an uncomfortable rub against naked skin) with the seams of the couch allowing small uplifting specks of thread-, though, she should’ve thrown this heap of shit outside for some DIY freak to refurbish, but (y/n) at the moment doesn’t have the money to afford another couch.

So, she’ll do with this one. Plus, it’s a good couch for staying somewhat clean when your flooding blood out of your fragile body.

In the moment of time, her shoes and mask were thrown off and a new pair of gloves were hastily applied onto her hands.

“Wake up.” Pinching the poor boy’s arm, vibrant green eyes, that match spring grass sprouting from a thick layer of dirt, had burst open in surprise of the ‘prickly golden needle’ sensation, however, the plain white ceiling was unfamiliar to his presence.

Huffing at his slow reaction, although helping him sit up in the process, the soft groan of lethargy slips from the (pretty) boy’s lips to crash and burn the depths of (y/n) terrified mind (about having somebody who isn’t a female in her apartment).

“Damn,” Rasp and smug his voice was, if he wasn’t hurt with a leg injury, then you would’ve tortured him to the full extent of your vexation, “is this my treat for being alive?” You suppose you knew what his innuendo implied, considering you were sitting between his thighs, “What?” Asserted Deku as he observed your facial cues.

“I’m not sucking your goddamn dick, asshole.”

Oh.

(And here Deku thought he could get laid tonight.)

“I need to wrap your leg,” Holding up a roll of dressings for him to see, “and to do that, I need you to take off your trousers.”  

“Well, you could always—” He notices one finger of your hand about to take off your purply-red gloves in a threatening motion, “—Okay! Okay! I’ll do it myself…” A pout was evident on his face, but he did as you asked (mostly because he was scared of your quirk).

A belt buckle jingled to the floor, “My offer still stands.” Then the ruined dress pants fell along with them. 

“I don’t want your offer.”

Grabbing the disinfection solution and a cotton gauze, the female opened the pungent liquid and tipped it upside down to gather it on the gauze, “This is going to sting.” Affirmed (y/n), “I know, doll.” Deku only managed to hiss out a response as the onslaught of a headache started to run towards him.

They both treaded this situation carefully and cautiously

As you clean the dirt out and rid the chance of infection to happen, your eyes started to frantically inspect each of the wounds as they still leaked blood every time your index finger very softly pressed on the skin around the wounds.

They still bled after applying pressure.

Fuck.

“I have to remove the bullets.” The male’s face paled. “Give me a second, I need to get some things.”  Deku saw her (rather sexy) form exit the living room and into one of the rooms (which he guesses to be her room) and then come out with a pillow, tweezers, and a brightly coloured (f/c) lighter. “What are…these for?” Those once bright green eyes gained a cloud of mistrust when narrowing at the objects, “The objects are for the bullet removal,” Staring horrified at her, she continued without paying mind to his facial expression, “I need to grab some plastic gloves and a rag from the kitchen, but after the procedure, I will need you to take a few pills.” (Y/n) wore a blank expression when announcing the news, but it further piqued his interest in this dark hour.  

Was she scared? Afraid?

When noticing Deku’s lacklustre expression, (y/n) snapped her fingers at him, “Are you aware of any allergies to any brands or medication?” Shaking his head in response, the female left him alone for a few minutes before returning with the rest of the things.

“Let’s get started, shall we?”

(Deku swore he heard the soft chime of ‘I’m sorry’ behind the curtains of (y/n)’s sentence)

-----------------------------

Waking up to a soft drag of curtains opening, the green haired villain only remembers the white adrenaline of a few slick objects being dragged out of squishy tensed skin where the only thing keeping him awake was the soft murmuring of “you’re doing good…” as smooth plastic painfully slid across the red hills of his cheeks that began to form rivers from the nearby reservoir uphill.

Alongside the unknowledgeable lull of his drowsy head, he saw the heavily wrapped leg and small patches of gauzes strapped further down his legs, with the ability to only whimper in an attempt to alert you that he was awake.

The small widening of your eyes as your body spun around to see his groggy eyes open to the shimmer of mornings gift: the sunrise.

Shuffling towards the bed and sitting on the side, (y/n) wore some sort of expression that the green-haired villain had never thought she knew how to express. “Holy shit,” Started Deku, “What is it?” (Y/n) added, “Your actually showing-- I might as well dare to say this—your showing emotion for once!” Exclaimed Deku as his eyes looked like they could light up a million galaxies in just a millisecond.

But the moment didn’t last, the luminously concerned expression that Deku had (stupidly) pointed out fell into the deepest depths of hell, then, the usual cold and icy exterior had taken the throne as the new ruler.

“Fuck off.” Snapped (y/n) before making haste out of the room. You left before he could utter another syllable.

Damn it. He should’ve taken caution.

Pushing himself up against the bed, the breakfast that was once warm was already cold. Well, he might as well dig in and find out if you poisoned it. He wouldn’t be surprised, maybe you’ve already figured out the burial site and what colour his coffin could be…

Nevertheless, the small gesture of kindness presented by you had reached his heart. It’s been a long time since he’s actually ate something that smells and looks edible, alongside the small note next to the three white pills, informing him to “take these with the food”.

Wow, you have nice handwriting. The compliment rang through his mind like a ping pong ball emitting even more compliments than he couldn’t utter out loud because he knows the risk of rambling to his crush will be high.

That’s more of a reason why he has to take caution.

 -------------------------------

When was the last time he was allowed out of this apartment?

Sure, everyone has popped by to help him get around the place, but when was the last time he saw- and actually sat down on- his precious throne donning a wine glass in one hand and a roll of newspaper that had a crossword puzzle on the back.

But several things (these past three-ish weeks) have perplexed him to the edge of understanding and not understanding.

Like why hasn’t Kurogiri bothered to teleport him back to the base? Or why does Toga always giggle when seeing him stuck in your bed, additionally, if you truly hated and despised him, then why are you letting him stay bedridden on your personal bed? There’s too many questions and not enough answers.

Gosh, and somebody better not stop him from drinking more then three fucking wine bottles- all from the same brand- or else he’ll explode (not literally, he rather not be like somebody he used to know.)

Sighing at the state his thoughts were in, the timing of your arrival was always as impeccable as ever.

Holding a small bag containing some trinkets, the small smile he used around you allowed the torture of butterflies and (slowly) budding roses in your stomach to erupt into a full fledge garden when he began using a subtle approach when seeing you come back to your home.

Petite smiles became the norm, saying thank you and staying quiet when your gloved hands brushed soothingly on the tattered skin littered with scars as his breath softened to nothing but— “Deku?” Humming a respond to desensitise your harsh wrath, the headache medicine that you had given to him earlier this morning was absolutely making magic (cue the jazz hands in the background) happen in his head.

A soft (and holy) finger ghosted past his temple to simply brush a measly strand of green out of his face. “Are you okay?” Murmured (y/n) where she let her guard down long enough to let the (beautiful) green-haired boy see the glimmer of comfort that you discovered.

Leaning his head towards your unaware palm, he basked in the warmth of your hand that emitted on his cheek.

“Yeah…I’m okay with you, sweetheart.”

(If religion didn’t exist, I would’ve imagined Deku worshipping the ground (y/n) walked on.)

(If the overwhelming heat in your cheeks didn’t exist, I would’ve imagined (y/n) kissing Deku.)

Tag list:

@glitterfreezed, @in-this-house-we-stan-izuku, @haredabi, @orenjineki, @quietlegends

[jaskiersvalley]

hello! first of all I absolutely love your work, thank you so much for all this geraskier content! so it's not really a prompt, but one of the tropes I'm obsessed with is definitely the first kiss. would you write some more of this? maybe in a modern au? (or not!! whatever inspires you) anyway, thank you again for your writing and have a good day :))

First kiss in a modern AU, you say? It’s almost like you reached into my heart and pulled out one of my weaknesses. Plus, I could never say no to such a sweet request. I hope you’ve having a good day, Nonnie!

When Jaskier signed the lease on his apartment, he was a little dubious but money was tight and something about the Kaer Morhen block of flats was appealing. The landlord lived on site, there was a promise of round the clock help for emergencies and issues with the flat. Sure, it was old and looked a bit shoddy but the flat itself was sturdy and the residents all seemed quiet judging by the couple of times Jaskier went to view the place before deciding to sign a year long contract.

Moving in was quite a mundane affair. He had Priscilla and Valdo helping move his boxes but Jaskier was moving from one furnished flat to another so other than boxes of books, trinkets, clothes and kitchen stuff, there wasn’t much else. Still, it would have been an ego boost to have a musclebound man or two gallantly offering to help. Or even for a new neighbour to stick a head out and greet him. Alas, Jaskier was going to have to live without either of those things happening.

What he did end up having was a knock on his door in the evening when he was staring at his boxes, willing them to magically unpack themselves while he drank his wine. He couldn’t fathom who it was, maybe Valdo had left his phone somewhere yet again. Idiot always had it on silent and kept putting it down in places. Last time, they’d found it in Priscilla’s bathtub. Opening the door, Jaskier blinked at the weathered, older man before him.

“Mr. Pankratz. I trust moving went smoothly. I’m Vesemir, your landlord and wanted to say hello. I trust the flat is to your satisfaction and moving went smoothly. Any issues, I’m on the second floor, feel free to knock.”

A personal call by one’s landlord while sweaty and dirty from a move and pleasantly buzzed from the wine that was clutched in one hand was not Jaskier’s idea of an ideal occurrence but he nodded gratefully. The flat was indeed to his satisfaction. It wasn’t perfect but it wasn’t the absolute shithole he’d fears things would turn out to be.

Of course things don’t go as stunningly well as Jaskier had hoped. Because while the flat was better than most, it was still cheap. Which meant that the washing machine broke down a few weeks into his life in his new home.

Knocking on the door on the second floor, Jaskier felt a little sheepish but Vesemir opened up with a gruff “yes?” that helped words come easier.

“My washing machine is giving me trouble, any chance you could have someone look at it please?”

“I’ll send Lambert this evening.” That was that. Jaskier nodded and returned back home, wondering whether Lambert was the handyman or someone Vesemir trusted.

It turned out, Lambert was one of the most terrifying people Jaskier had ever met. He was spiky and sharp, almost every sentence was punctuated by swearing. It only got worse when Jaskier showed him to the washing machine and left. Initially, it was just grunts and muttered curses but they progressively got louder and more inventive.

“Get to work you bucket of rust and bolts! Or I’m drop kicking your sorry corpse to the nearest tip!” The screaming was followed by loud banging, as if the machine was being punched repeatedly. After a minute of sudden silence, Lambert appeared. “It’s working,” he said and let himself out of the flat.

Almost hesitant to go into the bathroom, Jaskier was stunned to find that the washing machine was merrily chugging away as if it hadn’t been making a death rattle earlier that day. The fist shaped hole in the plaster behind the door was a whole different matter. It was going to be an awkward conversation to have in the morning with Vesemir and Jaskier dreaded to explain that his washing machine worked like a dream but now he had a hole in his wall. How he was going to get the old man to believe it wasn’t Jaskier’s doing was beyond him.

All worries were swept away when, first thing in the morning there was a knock on Jaskier’s door. He was suspicious, especially when he came face to face with a burly, scarred man who looked like he ripped the heads off dolls for living.

“Lambert mentioned you’ll need a bit of plastering. I’m Eskel.”

Too stunned to do anything other than step aside and let man in, Jaskier watched him walk into the bathroom. Half an hour later he was given an almost cheerful wave and the promise of coming back to paint it in a couple of days.

As promised, Eskel was back three days later. Jaskier felt a little braver and trailed after him. Strangely, Eskel seemed shy, he always twisted and turned so the scarred side of his face was hidden from Jaskier. Somehow, it seemed like a habit rather than a conscious decision and it made Jaskier wonder just what had happened to land Eskel with such habits, not to mention such scars. Then again, Lambert had scars as well. Maybe Vesemir had some kind of weird scar fetish he indulged with the handymen he employed.

It didn’t take long to paint the patch and Jaskier was impressed at how well it blended into the surrounding paint. He watched Eskel duck his head shyly at being praised. That was something to file away for later.

The later came a lot sooner than expected because not a month later, Jaskier’s tap gave up the ghost. First on the scene was, as before, Lambert. He looked at the tap like it was offending him on a personal level and Jaskier decided to leave him to it. A wise decision, especially when the clanging of a tap and sink having the ever loving shit beaten out of them started up.

“I could smack my cock and get more of a dribble from it than you piece of shit!” Lambert raged. 

It sounded like Jaskier’s whole kitchen was going to be collateral. Quietly, he just hoped the neighbours don’t think ill of him, surely they all knew Lambert’s unique style of DIY. There was a soft knock on the door and Jaskier was surprised to find a tired looking Eskel offering a soft apology.

“I’ll send Geralt up in a minute. He’s better at plumbing. Let me just get my little spark out of your hair.”

Silently, Jaskier stood aside and gestured for Eskel to make himself at home. He got to watch as there was zero hesitation in Eskel as he stepped into the kitchen with a soft “hey Sparky”. For a few minutes there were only soft murmurs from the kitchen. When the door finally opened again, Jaskier tried not to stare at the linked hands or worry about the fact Lambert seemed to be wearing the hoodie Eskel had arrived in.

A quick peek into the kitchen and it looked surprisingly intact. Deciding to leave it and opt for a delivery for food, Jaskier closed the door. Not half an hour later there was a firm knock on his door. Opening it, a few things flitted through Jaskier’s mind. One, Vesemir definitely had a thing for facial scars. Two, Jaskier had found his muse. Three, he believed firmly in lust at first sight.

“I’m here about your tap. Eskel said Lambert didn’t have much luck with it.”

This must have been Geralt. Jaskier trailed after him into the kitchen and ended up hopping onto the counter to watch him work. Not the most verbose of men but Jaskier found that beauty didn’t come from words.

“I couldn’t quite gather what’s wrong with the tap,” he began, trying to make small talk. “Lambert didn’t say much. Well, he said a lot but nothing of value.”

“That’s Lambert for you,” Geralt rumbled as he shimmied under the sink to look at a pipe. “He usually does electrics and machines, Eskel general decorating and odd jobs while I’m more for plumbing.”

Which was good to know because Jaskier wanted to see Geralt again. It took a couple of hours before water flowed from the tap again but Jaskier was happy to wait. It meant more time watching Geralt get sweaty in small, tight spaces.

From then on, Jaskier had a lot of plumbing issues. As many as he could make up and engineer. Nothing to actually damage the piped but enough to warrant calling Geralt out for them. It also meant he learned a lot about his landlord and the family who owned Kaer Morhen. They were an adoptive family and nothing to do with blood. Ex-army, all served together which explained the scars. While the three younger men called each other brothers, it didn’t stop Lambert and Eskel sharing a flat. It seemed to be a running joke that they all called it saving money and generating more income by freeing up another flat to rent out. However, Jaskier had seen just once how freely affectionate the two were with each other and there was no doubt that the jokes were an old habit while everybody and the world knew just how much those two were very much in love.

Despite all his attempts to draw Geralt out and spend more time with him with artificial problems, Jaskier still found his bathtub was clogging against his will. It was becoming impossible and he had to call Geralt out once more. This time, for a serious matter.

After half an hour of Geralt humming flatly at the issue, he straightened up and looked at Jaskier.

“You need to stop jerking off so much in the bathtub. Your jizz is clogging the pipes. Just use tissue, condoms or even a sock from now on.”

Flushing bright red, Jaskier gawped. “I have never! I mean-” Geralt gave him a half amused look. “Fine. But if you’re so worried about where my come lands, maybe you’d be a willing receptacle for it instead.”

He’d said it out of annoyance rather than anything else but it was too late to take it back. Especially when Geralt kept staring at him.

“I would prefer a dinner date first,” Geralt drawled and stepped closer. They were almost nose to nose.

“Tonight. What time do you finish work?” Jaskier was demanding but he had also had enough of pining from afar. Now was a moment for action rather than dillydallying.

“I have just one job for today. Very annoying resident who keeps calling out for problems he’s obviously created. Once I’ve finished with his bath’s plumbing, I’m off the clock.”

Grinning, Jaskier leaned in. “Well, make it a rush job and don’t be late. I have got my hopes up.”

There was no telling who leaned in first but it didn’t matter. The most important thing was that Jaskier was finally kissing Geralt.