#they love me but would they still love me if i told them who i am?

[ilovedthestars]

I've gotten multiple responses to this post that are basically along the lines of, "I mostly agree with this, but calling close platonic relationships 'queer' still feels weird to me. That's not what 'queer' usually means and I don't know if I'd use it to describe relationships like this."

And like. I appreciate that people are listening to my point and being receptive to it, even if it feels a little Out There to them! I genuinely appreciate the folks who aren't sure they get this but are hearing me out.

But I also keep wanting to be like. Yeah, that's my point!

We don't use 'queer' to describe platonic relationships but I think we should. (Or at least, should be able to, when it fits the circumstances!) I know, and I acknowledge directly in the post, that this is not a widely accepted usage of the term. I am arguing for an expansion of the term.

I can only make guesses as to what people with this kind of reluctance are feeling, but my best guess is that they're used to "queer" (or at least "queer relationship") being used mostly in reference to gay/lesbian/same-gender love and attraction. A lot of people mostly associate the word "queer" with gay romance. And while that's a big subset of queer experiences, honestly, I think it's a shame that it's often the only type of queer experience that gets talked about.

Queer is an umbrella term for a reason! Is there any reason "queer relationships" shouldn't include, say, friendships between queer/trans people? Or romantic/sexual relationships that could be considered straight, but include one or more trans people? Or, as I make the argument above, relationships that are breaking down the normative ideas of what kinds of relationships a person is "allowed" to have, regardless of whether the people involved are themselves queer?

Maybe that last one is a leap for some people, and you think that a relationship can't be queer if the people in it don't identify with any of the LGBTQ+ labels. I understand that reservation, but honestly, I think that there's so much social pressure against non-normative relationships that people who break them should get to be considered queer / in a queer relationship if they want, and that we should get to apply queer interpretations to characters in that kind of relationship as well.

(Also, like, a lot of people in non-normative relationships are in fact queer, especially aromantic and asexual. But if we aspecs can have fun with our queer friendships and queerplatonic relationships, I don't see why anyone else shouldn't be able to!)

Anyway, all that to say that if this is pushing your definition of queer a little bit, good! That's what I was trying to do! And I hope people come away from this a little more open to the idea.

If you still aren't really convinced, that's okay. If it doesn't change what you personally use the word "queer" for, I hope you still get something else out of this post—like learning about amatonormativity and starting to see it around you, or considering friendships in media through a queer / anti-amatonormative lens of analysis when it feels relevant. (Or just being more chill about aro and ace people in fandoms who don't ship your ships. Please. We would really appreciate it.)

And I just want to say, while I'm here: Thank you for the incredible response to this post. It's just over 10k notes as I'm posting this and I'm so happy that so many people are interested in this topic & my thoughts on it (and so grateful that the response has been 99.99% positive so far). To all the aspec folks who have told me I've put something into words that you never could—thank you, I'm truly honored and I love you all 💜💚. To all the people who have told me I've opened their eyes to something new—thank you for being curious and willing to learn! And to all the people who still don't get it but are here anyway—thank you for listening to what I had to say. I'm glad you're here.

I wish it wasn’t a hot take that a story in which two characters of any gender prioritize their purely platonic relationship over any other romantic or sexual interests they might have is a textually queer story

[lunarxcity]

Why me?

Azriel x rhys sister! reader!

angst/eventual comfort (there will be 2 more parts to this series with an eventual happy ending)

Summary: When you walk in on Azriel and Elain the mating bond snaps leading you to flee to Autumn with Eris so you can be free of Azriel. Your absence causes Azriel to come to some drastic realisations, but is it already too late and has your time in Autumn led to you moving on?

-

They always said fate is a cruel mistress, but you never believed that to be true, until you saw Azriel about to kiss Elain on the night of the solstice. Fate had allowed you to survive all these years. Fate had brought you and Rhys, Azriel and Cassian. She and the mother must be scheming together to conspire against you because the minute you saw him with her you had felt something shift within you, and you knew that the mating bond just snapped.

After all these years of being Azriel’s closest friend and confidant. After the first few years after your and Rhys' mother first brought him home and you would sit in silence with him, keeping him company when he was too uncomfortable to speak much. After he almost got exiled from Illyria for slaying the men who were trying to clip your wings at camp. After he made a bargain with your father, the high lord, his lifelong servitude for your safety. After you decided you realised you were in love with him after you watched him give away his freedom for your wings.

After years of Azriel defying orders during the war to let you know that your brother and Cassian were alive. After he dragged you out of your depression after your mom and sister died. After watching him pine after Mor for centuries, while you pushed down your feelings. After him being the only thing that kept you going when Rhys was under the Mountain. After befriending Feyre and her sisters.

All you could think is why? Why me? Why now?

You run out of the room before they can see you, breathing heavily and rapidly with tears streaming down your face. The room was spinning, your body processing what was happening a lot quicker than your thoughts which were in completely disarray. You have no idea where you were running to, all you knew is that you had to run faster. Away from Azriel and Elain, away from this cruel situation, and away from this mating bond you knew you were going to have to eventually reject against your will.

You are about to pick up the pace when you slam into wall. It was not a wall, but Rhys’s chest. He's grabbing both your arms as you sink to your knees, unable to control your breathing. He tries to hold you up when you lock eyes with him and the only words you’re able to get out are, “it’s him. He’s my mate. And- he’s with-” You begin to hyperventilate on the floor while sobbing into Rhys’s chest, his arms rubbing soothing circles over your back. Rhys had known about your one-sided love for Azriel since the beginning. He was the one who had to stop you from killing your father when you found out that he had basically enslaved Azriel, the reason for your anger apparent to your overly perceptive brother. You told him to stay out of it then and he has tread lightly throughout the years, but you knew if it came down to it he would cut Azriel down where he stands for ever disrespecting you if it came down to it.

Despite the storm brewing in his violet eyes, his voice is soothing and comforting, “I’ll take care of it," he says. You hug him tightly, thankful for his support, but you knew in your heart you couldn't handle staying in the Night Court and seeing Azriel and Elain every day. At least not while the mating bond was still fresh, not when it had reopened old wounds that had never fully closed. "Rhys I can't be in this court. I need to go. Tell everyone that the situation in Autumn worsened and you needed to send someone to keep the peace. Tell them whatever you need, I just need to get out." You gave him a pleading look and he knew by looking in your eyes that you had made your mind. He gives you a solemn nod and just says, "Okay, but write to me if you need anything and don't be gone for too long. This is only a temporary solution. Use your judgement and be safe okay?" "Okay," you nod back and give him a hug before he starts angrily walking to go handle the Azriel situation.

You immediately winnow to your room and send a letter to an old friend calling in a favour. You quickly packed your things, getting ready to leave the Night Court until you can fully process this staggering new information. You close your final chest, when Cassian comes barreling through the door tears beginning to form in his eyes. "YOU'RE LEAVING WITHOUT SAYING GOODBYE?" The mother must really have it in for you today. You schooled your features into indifference, "Cassian I need to go. This mission is crucial for the stability of the courts." You try to make it sound believable, but you're honestly so overwhelmed and so exhausted that you end up sounding monotone. "But-" Nesta walks in and shushes Cassian. While you had initially been closer to Feyre, you and Nesta have recently grown closer even starting a book club together bonding over your love for trashy romance books. Nesta looked at you up and down. It felt like her eyes were bearing into your very soul. She gave you a knowing look and something akin to pity flickered in her eyes, "It snapped for you didn't it? He has no idea?" Cassian's eyes went from glassy and pleading to confused, he sat down, and you watched everything finally fall into place for him. He jumps up, wings on alert, "Oh my god. IM GONNA KILL HIM-" You and Nesta run to hold him down. "NO-"

Mor and Feyre come barging in, trying and failing to hide the disbelief written across their faces. They were followed by a sauntering Amren, who looked as unphased as ever. From the looks of it, Rhys had told Feyre via mind to mind, who told Mor while Amren had been in the room and of course had already known everything, as she always does. Great you had intended to leave silently and now the entire house knew about the predicament that you're in. Mor looks at you guilt written on her features, she slowly begins to approach you. "We couldn't let you leave like this without saying goodbye first." She hugs you and tears begin to well up in your eyes. Then everyone else comes in and it turns into a group hug. Even Amren begrudgingly joins. Too emotionally exhausted to say anything more you thank everyone and get ready to winnow to the one court you know Azriel wouldn't follow you to when a shadow frantically darts to you and holds your wrist down against your desk.

Where there is smoke there is fire, and where there are shadows there is a shadowsinger. You fight against the shadow, but it frantically circles itself around your wrist. Desperate to hold onto you, when Azriel comes in looking as frazzled as you had ever seen him. You nor Azriel had never left for a mission without saying bye or at least communicating to one another. This was a first and to say it bothered him was an understatement, he was frantic. His shadows were radiating off of him, rapidly swirling and darting around the room in a way you had never seen before.

You really didn't want to talk to him, but his shadow was preventing you from leaving. You didn't even want to look at him. It hurt. Everything hurt. Being in his presence was already a stab to the heart, but Elain following seconds behind him is what twisted the knife and put you in the grave.

It would have made it easier if you actually hated Elain, but you didn't. She was honestly a lovely, kind, and beautiful person and you could see why Azriel would fall for her. Which honestly made it so much harder to deal with because while you considered yourself to be all rough lines and hard edges, Elain was smooth and perfect in a way you knew you would never be. Not after everything you had endured in your long life.

The moment you guys met eyes, everyone else in the room had gone eerily silent a mix of not trying to look like they were listening too hard and a mix of not trying to give away what they now knew. You tried, you tried really hard to stay mad at him, but it's hard to remain mad at someone when the very fibers that make up your soul are screaming at you to be near them.

"Why would you just leave without saying anything?"The audacity he has to look hurt when he wouldn't have noticed you were gone if Rhys hadn't gone and busted him with Elain. Emotions swirl around inside of you, none of them good all of them lethal if you fall victim to them. He didn't know it but your relationship with Azriel was on a knife's edge and it was taking everything in your right now to maintain whatever composure you had left. As stoicly as you have ever spoken to him you respond, "It's urgent. Autumn could fall if I don't go and that would send Prythian into chaos. It's my duty to go." The air in the room stilled. You were a lit match, and his presence was gasoline; if he got any closer, it would not be good for anyone.

"You should have told me first. Autumn isn't safe, if you wait a few days I could accompany you and together we could-" Azriel frantically begins to rant. He's pulling on a lose thread, not realising what he's unraveling. You immediately shut him down, "No. I need to do this myself and frankly I don't need to disclose all my missions to you." He looks at you apalled.

This isn't the you that he knows, the one who can decipher what he is thinking from a single glace. The one who he can speak to without words as though it was a second language. The one who offers him peace when the world becomes too difficult to bear. The sharpness of your tone is grating and he begins to wonder how he was able to turn the one good constant in his life against him. His chest feels heavy with emotions he cannot even begin to decipher. Panic? Fear? Despair? So much despair. It becomes overwhelming. He is usually fairly good at compartmentalising his emotions. What in mother's name is happening to him?

You break him out of his downward spiral by clearing your throat and looking at the shadow currently frantically swirling and holding your wrist down like an anxious child crying and clinging onto it's mother anytime she's not near. The shadows had always been rather fond of you. A look of surprise and then shock coats his features as he appears to be struggling to reel his shadow in. Certain shadows have defining features, and you recognise this one to be the one that would always dote on you. When you and Azriel were kids and his shadows were far and few there was always one that favored you the most. When you're wings were almost cut off and you isolated yourself to your chambers, the shadow had stayed with you until you were comfortable enough to be alone. You hadn't been able to recognise it since you had never seen it this frantic.

"I can't reason with him. He's refusing to leave you." Azriel admits defeated. At this the shadow releases you and starts frantically swirling around Azriel, darting away from Elain when she reaches a hand out to try and help, and immediately comes to you and perches itself on your wrist. "Take it with you," He says sheepily. "He was always more yours than mine anyways. He cries in your absence and only makes himself known in your presence."

Azriel nervously laughs trying to get rid of the tension in the room, it was so thick a knife couldn't cut through it. The rest of the occupants of the room didn't look at him worried that their eyes would reveal to the spymaster the secret that was now only secret to him.

You don't care if he doesn't know how what he's saying affects you. All you know is that you're in pain. There are stories of fae that have been driven to madness by an unrequited mating bond, you had thought them dramatic but right now you can feel it taking a physical toll on your body. You need to leave. You have to go against everything your body and heart are telling you to run to him, to be with him, to never let him go. You have to chose yourself and whatever is left of your dignity. At this point you're fighting every emotion you have ever felt towards Azriel tenfold, praying to the mother you don't explode and cause irreparable damage.

"It's not your duty to look after me. I am well equipped to handle my own missions and I certainly don't need your shadow to look after me. So if that is all, I must now be on my way." Azriel's face is a mix of hurt and confusion, something you had not seen in all your years of knowing him. His mouth opened to say something to you, but Elain put a gentle hand on his shoulder and you had summoned every ounce of self-restraint you possessed to stop yourself from lunging at her when someone there was a burst of air and the smell of cedar and oak permeated the room.

"Am I interrupting something? Surely the Night Court's entire political standing isn't dependent on a lover's quarrel?" the biting tone matched the mischievous eyes and the fox-like grin. Elain looked like she wanted to explain herself when Eris looked her way and cooly responded, "Relax, what you do or don't do with my brother is none of my business, but I would at least give it a try before invoking a blood duel those aren't really great for pr. Not like you're court already has the best reputation as is."

Mor blanked. Elain hid behind Azriel. Amren and Nesta raised a brow. Cassian scowled. Both Feyre and Azriel straighted on alert and were about to take a step forward to take care of the intruder when he lifted a hand to stop her. "I kid. No one in this court can take a joke it seems." He would have been charismatic if he wasn't... well Eris. He held his hands up, although his smile remained and sarcastically said, "I am here on business to escort your wonderful princess to my personal estate to ensure her safe keeping for her time in Autumn."

While Rhys had always been scarily perceptive, he had met his match with Eris. He has been in the room for a minute, maybe two max and he had already begun to look for the cause of the tension in the room. His eyes scanned everyone, only halting once they reached the shadowsinger on seemingly high alert with Elain right behind him. He looked back to you and his eyebrows raised. He figured it out.

Azriel's wings fan out, casting half the room in shadow due to their span. "Why would you be her escort. We are perfectly capable here in Night to maintain the safety of the members of this Court." He was glaring Eris down, he might as well have been puffing his chest out at this point. Cauldron knows what he's doing or what he thinks he's going to get out of this.

You already knew Eris was going to toy with him from the glint in his eyes. "I believe it, but when my dear, old friend, who I hold in such high esteem, writes to me calling in a centuries-old favour, how could I refuse? Even without the favour, there are very few who can resist the will of the Princess of Night. She's as formidable as she is convincing as you would know." Good to see that Eris is still as calculated and provoking as ever. Now if Azriel had known he was your mate, Eris would be a dead man but right now he just stood there glaring him down with a look so cruel it sent shivers down your spine.

Eris just shrugged it off and rolled his eyes. "Well it was lovely seeing all of you but we must be going now." With a wave of his hand all your luggage had disappeared and he holds out his left hand to you. You give your family a curt nod, not meeting Azriel's gaze. You turn your back on them and take Eris' hand and then the world falls away.

-

The stars in Autumn don't compare to the ones in Night. It's hard to believe that it was even the same sky. The same sky that your family and Azriel are under right now. You're just realising now that you had never given Azriel your solstice present, not leaving it under the tree because you wanted to give it to him personally. Your mind begins to stray to a cruel place, questioning what if he had known all this time and didn't tell you to avoid having to reject you.

Eris snaps you out of your spiral before it can consume you. "Are you in the same situation as my brother or does he just not know he's your mate. Frankly, you guys should start a support group because I don't know which is worse." He says trying to lighten the mood in the most Eris way possible.

You feel weary in your bones from the exhaustion of the night and you lash out at Eris. "I know you weren't hugged enough as a child, but can you please refrain from the comments for one evening?" Your voice drops along with your demenour, "The bond snapped when I walked in on him almost kissing Elain. I needed an out. Thank you for being one Eris." Tears began to well up in your eyes. It was just too much everything was too much. Eris slings an arm over your shoulder and leads you to his manor. "Come on princess, I have hot chocolate and mulled wine on the stove and cookies in the oven. Well Lucien does but that's just semantics. You have tomorrow to cry over that overgrown bat and his emotional constipation."

The manor is a large cream Tudor-style manor with dark brown wood lining all the doors and windows. You walked in and were immediately hit with the warmth and the smell of maple cookies and cinnamon. For all of Eris' brashness, his home was very warm and welcoming. You saw Lucien pulling cookies out of the oven, his head snapped to you and he ran over to pull you into an embrace. You guys are practically in the same situation now; unrequited mating bonds really bring people together, apparently.

You just realised that Lucien is here, celebrating with Eris instead of in Velaris. You look to him confused and ask, "Shouldn't you be in Velaris?" He responds with an immediate retort and a raised brow, "Shouldn't I be asking you the same thing?" Touché.

Cut off by the sound of a cork popping, you guys turn to see Eris uncorking a bottle of wine. He then pulls out two identical ones, branded with the signature Autumn maple leaf. He then somehow fits a bottle each into his almost comedically large wine glasses, also adorned with maple leaves and foxes on the stem.

He brings over the glasses of wine handing one to you and one to Lucien. He raises his glass and goes, "Here's to us. When the mother challenges us, we laugh in her face and keep going. Here's to being misfits and outcasts and being so much better than everyone else." Half the time no one knows what Eris is saying, but you'll drink to it. Everyone in your family has found their mate or person and here you are on Solstice drinking a bottle of wine from a fox glass. How the mother has her ways, maybe fate bribed her to give you a harder time with the amount of times you've defied her over the years.

Solstice wasn't all bad. You laughed and drank with Lucien and Eris. Telling them the story of you and Azriel, drunkenly crying your eyes out with Lucien who responded with his own sad backstory. Eris looking at the two of you crying with a murderous look, when you forgot why you were crying and ran outside to try and domesticate a fox with Lucien on your coattails. You guys had succeeded much to Eris' dismay as he now had an entire den of foxes in his home. Eris only proclaimed it was bedtime when the sun had started to rise. He carried Lucien into bed first, who was much to drunk to protest. Then it was your turn, you insisted you needed no help but he got fed up and threw you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

He threw you onto your bed and then paused, his eyes glued to your right wrist. You look over to see what had drew his gaze and were shocked to find a stowaway shadow hiding on your wrist. It was the shadow. Immediately you remembered why you were here and felt the part of your that was missing from Azriel's absence. You try shooing it away wanting to send it back, you don't want Azriel to know the state you're in or worse have the shadow tell him about the bond.

"I don't think he controls this shadow anymore. Maybe it's because this is probably his first one." His first shadow? What does that even mean? "His first shadow should have a connection with him on a soul-level. It's basically an external manifestation of himself in it's purest form unlike the rest of the shadows. The first shadows rarely show themself, since they're the ones who called the other shadows in the first place. Not much is known about shadowsingers, but if he's leaving you his first shadow I wouldn't give up hope just yet."

You are about to give a retort, but he cuts you off. "I didn't say don't move on and try to live your life for yourself. Just don't be too closed off when the time comes. Goodnight, princess. I hope you had a good solstice." Eris says as he closes the door of your new bedroom behind him and you drift off to sleep before you could think too much about his words.

[ari-ana-bel-la]

Hi🤍 could you write something about Charles toddler having a crush on one of the drivers ( one of your choice) and then she found out that the driver is taken?? A cute one where Charles " help" her go through her first heartbreak.

I love your writing ☁️

Little Heartbreak

The Ferrari garage was buzzing with activity, but Charles had only one priority—his little girl. Yn sat on the counter beside his engineers, swinging her legs back and forth, her tiny Ferrari shirt slightly oversized but still adorable. She had her favorite stuffed bunny clutched in one hand and a bright smile on her face.

“Papa, can we go see Carlos?” she asked sweetly, tilting her head up at him.

Charles chuckled, running a gentle hand through her soft curls. “You really like visiting him, don’t you, mon amour?”

Yn nodded enthusiastically. “He’s so nice to me! And he’s funny! And…” Her cheeks turned a little pink as she twirled a strand of hair around her finger. “I just like him a lot.”

Charles bit back a smile. He knew his daughter had a small, innocent crush on Carlos. Every time they visited the Williams garage, Yn would light up, practically bouncing on her feet when Carlos greeted her. And Carlos, always kind and playful, made time for her no matter how busy he was.

“Alright, ma princesse,” Charles said, lifting her into his arms. “Let’s go say hi.”

Yn squealed excitedly, wrapping her arms around his neck as he carried her toward the Williams garage.

When they arrived, the Williams team was working, mechanics moving around as engineers talked in hushed tones. But Yn’s eyes were locked on him—Carlos, who stood near his car, laughing with a woman.

Charles immediately recognized her—Rebecca, Carlos’ girlfriend. She was beautiful, kind, and Charles had always thought they made a lovely couple.

Just as Charles was about to get Yn’s attention, Carlos leaned in, pressing a soft, affectionate kiss on Rebecca’s lips. It wasn’t anything dramatic, just a gentle kiss filled with warmth and love.

Charles didn’t even have time to react before he felt Yn’s little body stiffen in his arms. Her tiny hands clutched his shirt tightly, and when he glanced down, he saw her big green eyes wide with surprise.

Carlos and Rebecca turned, spotting them. Carlos grinned. “Charles! Yn! Hey, come here.”

Rebecca smiled warmly. “Hi, Yn. Carlos has told me so much about you.”

Yn’s lower lip trembled, and Charles’ heart clenched. Oh, no.

Carlos took a step closer, but before he could say anything else, a tear slipped down Yn’s cheek. She sniffled, quickly rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand, trying to be brave. But Charles knew his little girl too well.

“Mon amour,” Charles murmured softly, adjusting his hold on her. “What’s wrong?”

Yn let out a tiny, shaky breath before whispering in his ear, “Il m'aime pas.” (He doesn't love me)

Charles felt his heart break in two. His little girl, experiencing her first innocent heartbreak, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Carlos’ eyes widened in realization. “Oh no, Yn, I—” He reached out, but Yn buried her face in Charles’ chest, tiny hands gripping his shirt tightly as soft sniffles escaped her.

Rebecca, noticing the situation, placed a gentle hand on Carlos’ arm, giving him a sympathetic look.

Charles gave them both an apologetic smile. “It’s okay, really. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Carlos still looked stricken. “I didn’t mean to make her sad…”

“I know,” Charles reassured him before rubbing Yn’s back soothingly. “I think we should go, mon cœur.”

Yn didn’t say anything, just nodded against his chest. Without another word, Charles turned and walked back toward the Ferrari garage, his daughter curled up in his arms, her little heart hurting for the first time.

When Charles stepped back into the Ferrari garage, Lewis was standing near the espresso machine, sipping his coffee. He took one look at Charles and Yn and immediately raised an eyebrow.

“What happened?”

Charles sighed, sitting down on the couch, keeping Yn close as she sniffled into his shoulder. “A little heartbreak,” he murmured, running his hand up and down her back.

Lewis frowned before setting his coffee down and crouching in front of them. “Oh, sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

Yn peeked up at him, her eyes watery. “C-Carlos has a girlfriend…”

Lewis blinked, glancing at Charles, who just nodded. Understanding dawned on his face, and he softened immediately.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Lewis cooed, reaching out to gently wipe a tear from Yn’s cheek. “I know that must feel really sad.”

Yn sniffled, nodding. “I… I wanted to marry him.”

Lewis chuckled softly. “Oh, my love, that’s very sweet of you.” He pulled her into a hug, rubbing her back. “But I promise, one day, you’ll meet someone even more special, and they’ll love you just as much as you love them.”

Charles smiled at Lewis gratefully, watching as his daughter relaxed in the older driver’s arms.

Lewis pressed a kiss to the top of Yn’s head. “And you know what always makes me feel better?”

Yn wiped her nose. “What?”

Lewis grinned. “Flowers.”

Charles’ eyes lit up. That was it. He gently pulled Yn back into his arms. “Mon amour, will you stay with Tonton Lewlew for a few minutes?”

Yn nodded, resting her head on Lewis’ chest as the Mercedes driver rocked her gently.

Charles quickly slipped away, hurrying out of the garage.

Charles returned ten minutes later, a beautiful bouquet of colorful flowers in his hands. He smiled when he saw Lewis still cuddling Yn, quietly telling her a story.

“Mon cœur,” Charles called gently.

Yn looked up, her eyes still a little puffy but filled with curiosity when she saw what he was holding.

“These are for you,” Charles said, kneeling in front of her. “Because you are the most beautiful, sweetest girl in the whole world.”

Yn gasped softly, reaching out to touch the petals. “For me?”

Charles smiled warmly. “For you, ma princesse.”

Yn threw her tiny arms around her Papa’s neck, hugging him tightly. “Thank you, Papa!”

Charles kissed the top of her head. “Always, mon amour.”

Lewis ruffled her hair. “See? Flowers always make things better.”

Yn giggled, holding her bouquet close. “They’re so pretty.”

Charles smiled, relieved to see his little girl happy again.

And just like that, Yn’s heartbreak was replaced with warmth, love, and the understanding that no matter what, her Papa would always be there to make things better.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves! I hope you enjoyed reading this story. My requests are always open for you.

-🩷🎀

[rueclfer]

piercer boyfriend touya who insists that he'll stay home while you go out with your friends and will stay up (despite your protests) for you to come home and help you get ready for bed.

he's expecting you to get home drunk. messy drunk. he's known you long enough to know that "just two drinks," is never. just. two. drinks.

he couldn't give less of a fuck about you sleeping in your makeup or wearing your outside clothes in bed, but trust that he will be cleaning those semi-healed piercings that he had done for you when you first started seeing each other.

tonight he's having trouble keeping you still.

"i wanna go to bed," you drunkenly mumble, squirming on the seat of the toilet and pulling away from his touch.

"not yet." touya responds, keeping your head steady with a gentle grip on your jaw, and with his other hand, dabbing a wound wash solution soaked q-tip across the shell of your ear.

your eyes trail down to where his hand makes contact with your face. you were an inch away from being able to bite down on the skin between his thumb and index finger and you knew it wouldn't be a proper night out if you didn't mildly annoy touya at least once.

"don't think about being a little shit right now," he breaks the silence.

you groan, "i still have to take off my makeup. just leave it, i'll clean them in the morning."

"who told you to get 3 piercings within a week?"

"stop it." you pout. "that was when i was blinded by love, i couldn't help it."

touya's focus turns to you, slightly tilting your head up to face him where you see a smirk grow on his lips.

"so it was love at first sight, huh?" he inches closer to you, almost grazing his lips against yours.

"or maybe it was the free piercings?"

a flash of annoyance crosses his face as he rolls his eyes, but the smirk doesn't leave. he closes the gap between you and firmly press his lips against yours. his hand slides down to the column of your neck. it pushes you back against the tank of the toilet, it takes the air out of you, and it leaves you feeling dizzy.

he pulls away and you're breathless for a moment as he presses a quicker and gentler kiss to your forehead and tilt your head to the side, finishing up with your right ear.

"can you help me take off my makeup too? and help me change into jammies?" you quietly murmur as the tip of your ears grow red.

"uh huh. anything else?" he breathes out a chuckle.

"never leave me and love me forever?"

touya would never admit it, but he loves it when you get like this after a few drinks. you're syrupy sweet, clingy, and knows exactly what you want. he can't help but feel a bit weak.

"done and done."

[amyisherenowitsokay]

This is random as fuck but i love the Suez Canal meme shit because at the time, I was working for a glorified drop-shipping company masquerading as a customization/swag branding company, and it was a genuinely hilarious, surreal, and giddy experience to answer phones (i was both customer service and customization specialist because I was the only one willing to listen to our vendors explain how their jobs worked, and tell people 'no you can't embroider at less than 1/4" tall letters and still be legible, yes I know you can PRINT smaller than that but that's PAPER and INK and this is THREAD and that's not how that works') and be like "hey sorry no we can't do that, we don't have that item in stock"

and they'd be like "okay well you're the fucking fifth assholes I've called to tell me that, what the fuck is wrong with all of you, don't you keep track of your inventory????"

and i'd physically bounce in my chair and get to go "so have you heard of the Ever Given?" and hear "What the fuck does the Ever Given have to do with my undyed cotton sweatpants that I need to make tie-dye bullshit on etsy????"

And in their foolishness, they activated my trap card, where I held them hostage for the next 10 minutes explaining precisely what the Ever Given has to do with their shitty etsy store and the collapse of every indie tie-dyer in the fuckin nation, apparently

So all of the actual manufacturers we worked with and who who actually had warehouses with product in them had trackers on their boats, and we were in contact with them daily for updates on what was going on . All of the boats with the inventory everyone was looking for were stuck behind the Ever Given. Like to the point we were almost sure what position in 'line' they were behind this fuckin boat. My manager and I would spend our downtime when we were at the edge of our rope fielding calls about inventory trying to figure out if we could see 'our' boats in the published satellite images or on the news. I would also play this game with the vendors, because we were all going insane fielding calls about this one specific item that I'll tell you about now

For those of you unfamiliar with larger scale inventory, all shipments are ordered basically 3 months ahead of time, meaning items for Fall for example began production in early Summer, and delivery windows to warehouses were expected just before Fall, like say the end of August, to be sorted and ready for shipping out by the time projected orders were expected to roll in.

But since the ETA for these ships to dock and unload product was, for example, the 30th, they and hundreds of other ships missed their delivery window, and ports were a mess trying to shove in the now-late ships for docking, and i learned so much about how boats and deliveries work because for 8 fucking months after the Ever Given fiasco began, a chain-shock reaction of white undyed cotton sweatpants were basically unavailable for months, and when we did get them in stock, they were gone within basically minutes of us announcing we had them, and people were hounding us literally daily for these fucking specific sweatpants that were apparently ideal for tie-dying. Dozens of people. An absurd amount of people, sometimes multiple times a day. Every other call, if not every call, was about these sweatpants. I was getting offers to Venmo me, personally, $100 or more if I was willing to bump them on the waitlist. I didn't, because 1) that's insane, 2) I wasn't the purchaser for the company anyways, and 3) the bribers were usually mean to me and I didn't believe they'd really give me and let me keep the money. (The ones who were nice to me regardless of being told 'no, we don't have them, and the waitlist currently has 54 people' though did get calls notifying them when items came in, because I was too busy to write emails, and if you placed the order with me on the phone, protocol meant I notified our purchaser directly, and she was too slammed to keep track of the waitlist, and would usually just bump that person to the front of the line and couldn't be fucked to keep track in her head of who was ACTUALLY next.)

Anyways you also activated my trap card listening to this, hope you enjoyed. Miss you Ever Given, you made 8 months of my life hell and I'll never forget the Jerzees white 100% cotton undyed sweatpants shortage of '21.

Also if you ever want to embroider a logo on a hat, make sure your text isn't smaller than your pinky finger. Mwa mwa mwa kisses

a collection of my favorite tweets regarding the Ever Given in the Suez Canal

[emeraldserenade]

hii!! i have a request for joaquin :) reader is joaquin’s wife that he told bucky & sam abt but they thought he was lying and she eventually meets them in person & they’re shocked 🩵🩵

Real ~ Joaquín Torres

synopsis: Sam and Bucky never thought you were real, until you were in their eyesight.

tw: fem!reader, FBI!reader, limited use of y/n, barely edited

fic, ficlet, drabble, request

Hi Reese, I hope you like this! If you've seen Criminal Minds, then you know what a profiler is and that's the job I gave her. I also didn't know how to end this so sorry for the odd ending.

➽──────────────❥

It wasn't uncommon for Joaquín to talk about you, your name and the words "my girl", "my wife," or "amor de mi vida" tumbling from his lips like you were the goddess he worshipped. It wouldn't surprise anyone who saw the two of you together if he did worship you, he looked at you like you made the world go round. And you did the same, the love you two had for each other made your own world go round.

Bucky and Sam though? They have never seen you, they've heard about you. Joaquín spending any time he can talking about you, about your smile, the way you hold yourself, anything he could think of was mentioned. That's why the two of them were convinced you were fake, they had never met you, let alone see a picture, yet he was always talking like he was trying to convince them you were real.

"Are you sure the kid isn't lying?" Bucky questioned Sam one day, they were all waiting on you. You said your plane was running behind because your 'case' had run a little longer than expected.

"Why would he set this whole thing up if he is?" Sam tried to defend Joaquín at any chance he could. While he didn't particularly believe you were real, he wanted to give Joaquín the benefit of the doubt.

"Oh, she's here!" Joaquín announced, bouncing on the balls of his feet waiting for you to appear. It only took a moment, then you were in his eyesight. He made a beeline to you, the mostly empty airport helped him not having to weave through people.

To say Sam and Bucky were shocked was an understatement. They assumed, had you been real, that you were going to be pretty. But this was something else, you looked ethereal and they understood by Joaquín basically worshipped you. It didn't help that they saw the way you looked at Joaquín, the amount of love that could never be faked.

"Sam, Bucky, this is y/n, my wife," Joaquín introduced you to the others and you shook their hands.

"Hi, it's nice to meet you two," your eyes twinkled with your smile, your genuine happiness at meeting them making them both feel at ease around you.

"Likewise," Sam was the first to recover, his shock still evident on his face.

"You two thought I was fake," you announced and watched them both scramble for an excuse. "It's ok, my job doesn't really allow me to be around as often as I'd like," you admitted, pressing into Joaquín's side.

"And what do you do for work? I'm pretty sure I could tell you your own favorite color before your job," Bucky joked, you laughed knowing that Joaquín would tell someone your favorite color before your job.

"I'm a profiler at the FBI's behavioral analysis unit," you explained. "I use the behavior pattern, method of murder, and a whole other things to find serial killers. And the occasional kidnap or bioweapon attack," you gave them the longer answer to the question since most people tend to not know what the BAU is. The four of you started to walk out of the airport and to the car, Joaquín holding your bag for you.

It wasn't anything new, the looks you got when you walked with Joaquín but these one's made you smile. You were talking with the boys, getting to know them as you talked. It was fun, you noticed that Joaquín was quiet most of the time but you also knew that with the drinks he would soon be talking, a lot.

"I love you," Joaquín mumbled as he leaned into you, you glanced at him with a smile. "Sam, Bucky, have I ever told you how much I love y/n?" Joaquín looked over at the two. You laughed at the way he tried to make it subtle but with the way he was leaning on you, and his not so quiet whispering, you could hear all his words.

"All the time," Sam answered.

"What about how when she smiles it's like time stops and the world is just revolving around her?" Joaquín had moved to wrap his arm around you, but was still stage whispering.

"That one's new," Bucky said, a smile gracing his face.

"Or, or, when I was immediately drawn to her laugh at the college party. She was playing beer pong and she laughed when her friend missed," Joaquín retold the story of the first time he saw you; however, you've never heard it.

"I didn't know that," you told Joaquín who looked at you weirdly.

"You didn't?" Sam was the one to ask.

"No, if I have the right party, then we didn't meet until a few days later in a shared class. We just happened to sit next to each other the one day that the professor made us pick our partner based on who was next to us," you explained, looking down at Joaquín who was staring at you with heart eyes.

"Well, we didn't know that one either," Sam told you and you smiled and let out a little laugh. You four talked a little bit more before Joaquín started to just ramble about how much he loved you.

"I guess we should get going," you laughed after one particularly loud declaration of love from Joaquín followed by a kiss to your cheek.

➽──────────────❥

Masterlist | Requests

[pinkyqily]

ALL MINE - JUJU WATKINS X READER

Summary: school and life is stressing you out but your lovely girlfriend is here to calm the cloudy storm brewing up.

Contains: fluff, fool inlove, juju and reader are down bad for each other. Also ignore the mistakes in one of the text I'll edit it out later

A/n: another game day fic we cheer this is a date fic one of my favorite writing prompt i hope you guys enjoy this, I would have had this posted earlier but tumblr sucks and didn't save half of the ending so I had to redo it but here it's, and as always happy reading, feedbacks are appreciated or commenting in general 💕

It has been a while since you ans the basketball player hangout, with both of you being full time students athletes your schedule would always clash and you guys wouldn't be able to hang.

But that didn't stop your late night calls catching each other up about what is going on in your lives.

Juju could tell you where having a strees full week from your track week and juggling having a part-time job.

You where getting ready for the day that you had ahead of you until you heard your phone pig. Picking it up you saw a message from juju.

You weren't going to question what she had planned because one thing about ju was she stays planning.

Your whole day went well, practice went well your after a while you needed to meet up with a few friends for revision.

You got back at your apartment around three in the afternoon. You started by doing your wash routine that conceited of a coconut butter body wash, then gentility exfoliating any dead skin.

Getting out the shower, you wrapped your towel around you, moving onto your skincare routine and body care routine.

Once you were done, you started getting dressed, picking a black flared tube bodysuit, and paired it with a cropped puffer jacket. You wore your white and gold Jordan 4 that juju got for you, and for a final touch, you added your white Prada cross bag to finish your outfit.

With a final touch of using the Vaseline body oil and your kali perfume in vanilla candy rock sugar.

You picked up your phone to text juju that you were done and she could be coming. After a few minutes of waiting, you got a text from her saying she was outside, but before you left, you replied, Your perfume.

Finally making it outside your building you saw juju leaned back on the car.

"Hey baby." You said, making your way towards her.

"Hi, my love." She said once she saw you

"So where are we going?" You asked her, as you we're about to open the door for yourself she got to the handle before you beating you to it.

"Umm, thinking about me and you a little date night, driver around our area and get some food while we're at it, what do you think." She told you as she closed the door

"Sounds like music to my ears." You said

"Gald were on the same note, how was your practice?". She asked

"Wasn't bad went really well, I'm starting to think these coaches got sum up with them so much complaining before we even start, but things are well." You told her.

You started ranting as juju continued driving but still paid attention to what you we're saying.

"And can you believe that, telling me I'll come third behind some big headed fool."

"No baby, but all that matters is that you prove to her and everyone else that they are wrong, you're the one who knows your strength and weaknesses."She told you as she laid her on your thighs palming your hands together.

"You're right it just gets really irritating having to hear this." You sighed, needing to get that rant out of your system.

"You feel better getting that out?

"Yea how did you even know I needed a day off".

"You looked like you were going through withdrawals on your spam."

"Ugh, don't remind me was spam was meant to be mysterious vibes only." You said.

Taking off your seat belt as she already found a spot to park.

"Pretty sure I'm the mysterious one." She said, raising an eyebrow at you.

"Whatever miss nonchalant, bring your face closer for a sec." You asked her

All of a sudden ju was all in your personal space, you looked up at her getting lost into those dark brown eyes of hers.

You felt her hot breath on your neck.

Next thing you do is pull the neck of her hoodie and go in for a kiss. It caught her off guard, but she found herself grabbing your face, deeping the kiss a little longer.

The both of you move back, trying to catch your breath.

If humans were able to breathe into each other the both of you would be sucking the oxygen out of one another.

"You got me way off guard." Was what she told you as took out her car keys.

"What did you think was gonna happen when I asked you to come closer, big head!?"

"Welp, I thought I had sum on me guess I was wrong."

"Sure, now where are we?". You said with a sarcastic tone layed under it

"This new diner places I recently found, c'om let's get out". She said taking off her seat belt.

"They better have good food."

Walking into the place you and juju had your hand intwering, she wasn't huge on pda, but you never take them for granted whenever she displays any type of affection for you in public.

You both went to go find yourself a table, getting yourself sitted before the waitress came.

"Enough about me, how's basketball?." You asked her.

"Same routine, but everything nice getting ready for march, though." She said as a waitress started making her way towards your table.

"Hi, welcome to didi's diner what get I get for you two?". You heard the waitress say.

"Umm, I'll have your chicken burger combo with a chocolate milkshake." Was what ju ordered

"And you miss".

"I'll have your chicken and beef pizza sandwich with a cold lemonade."You said

"Perfect would you guys like to pay now or later". The waitress had asked you both.

"I'll like to pay now." You told her as you started getting your card out.

"You'll be paying, yea no baby I got that what our total".

"Your total is 105". The waitress said she found you and juju amusing.

"Your always paying for everything I got this one". You said to her.

"Nah I got this". Before juju could do anything you grab both her hands and handed the waitress your own card instead.

"Here you go". You said to the waitress who immediately grab your card before ju could get out.

"I'll be back with your food soon".

"Thank you".

"Bruh why wouldn't you let me pay". She said crossing her arms.

"Because you always pay". You told her

"I pay because I enjoy treating you out". She said lowering her back on the chair.

"Well this one is my treat". You told her as you laid your head on her shoulder.

"This was supposed to be a fun relaxing day for you". She said.

"It's fun and relaxing because being with you is the quality time I need, so don't be sour Judea." You told her.

"Using my government is crazy." She said, wrapping her arms around your waist.

"Girl bye it ain't the end of the world and you do have a pretty name so yea infact might just be calling you that". You told her

"Sure baby." the both of you found yourselves looking at each other anyone could tell y'all got tension and chemistry together as a couple.

Before you both could do anything the waitress was already making her way towards you both.

"Here's your food hope you guys enjoy". She said before leaving you guys.

Anyone around the two of you could tell you both had crazy tension and chemistry, the attraction you both have on each other was something natural and couldn't be replicated.

You found yourself digging in juju fries that came with her meal.

"You got a problem miss Judea". You asked her as you took another one of her fry.

"You just have a pretty face and smell so good that I could eat you instead". She said making you almost choke.

"Ju, we're in public". You said nugging her.

"So?". She asked, not really caring. One thing for certain was that juju doesn't shy away from a lot of things. "Whatever big head".

You guys date continued you feed juju a few bites if your sandwich, chatted more about your goals and what you both want.

And you guys ended your night with a drive back to juju places and getting all cuddled up with her and duce.

[cheekytv]

have you ever tried... this one? - g. a. clarke & c. m. dixon going to paris with your boyfriend was supposed to be a romantic getaway. but when chris gets dumped, george can't help but ask his best mate to join in. how great of chris that he offers you sabrina carpenter tickets as compensation.... and somehow becomes involved in after concert activites...

pairing: george x f!reader x chris genre: smut MDNI!!! warnings: threesome, eifeltower, creampie, cum swallowing, fingering, oral (m. receiving), loads of kissing, let me know if i missed anything wc: 3.6k a/n: this is obviously inspired by sabrina's second paris concert... i wanna thank my friend val for giving me this idea!!! i love u queen!! also this isn't fully proof read because i worked on this for days and just wanted to post something for yall! requests are still open by the way and i will publish an arthurtv one next week <3 also, if you read to the end you may suggest who in the friendgroup should be next!

Oh Paris, the city of love. The city you love. Growing up in sad grey England, Paris has been your favorite place to be since you were a child. 

And this week, you finally got to show it to your boyfriend, George. You have been dating for a good year now, but his busy schedule has never really allowed any trips to Paris - until now. The minute he had confirmed the dates with you, you had booked everything, ready to make George fall in love with Paris the same way you had made him fall in love with him. 

Just that, a few days before the trip, Chris, George’s best friend, got dumped by his new girlfriend rather harshly and George, the nice guy he is, promptly suggested he’d join you on this trip. Chris, obviously feeling bad, but also not wanting to miss out on a nice week in Paris, tried to win you over by scoring three Sarbina Carpenter tickets and giving them to you as a thank you. Safe to say - he did win you over. 

So, Paris was now a three-person trip and Chris somehow became a third wheel who didn’t necessarily feel like a third wheel. Every shop you went to, he gave George and you space, very good at entertaining himself (he was a grown man, sure, but it still did surprise you) and joining the two of you at the right moments. Even with him there the trip felt romantic and considering he had a separate hotel room, George and you still had the nights all to yourself. 

The night of the Sabrina concert finally came and when you entered the arena and went to the seats Chris had gotten the three of you, you smirked, thinking about what you had promised George at breakfast this morning. 

“Oh, just a heads up,” you started, leaning over so your lips were right by George’s ear, “the position she chooses tonight, we’ll also choose tonight.” George’s face lit up, his cheeks turning slightly pink. 

“You always have such wonderful ideas, darling.” He grinned then, watching you sit back down and chuckle, eyes glancing over to Chris who was just about to reach your table.

The plan would have been fine, would have been dandy, would have been the perfect thing to look forward to after the concert - if only Sabrina hadn’t chosen this night in Paris to debut a position involving dancers. Plural. Two dancers. 

George, sitting next to you and Chris, felt his mouth drop open at the display. Next to him, he felt Chris tense slightly - he had told his best friend about your suggestion during a walk earlier and Chris had happily anticipated this moment with his friend, being supportive as always. But this? George shifted on his feet, the arena obviously filled with shouts and screams and people singing the lyrics to Juno and he couldn’t bring himself to look at you. 

Honestly, he didn’t even understand why this had such an impact on him. Why it was suddenly so hard to look at you and why he found himself thinking thoughts he hadn’t thought of seriously before. Little did he know that you were going through the exact same scenarios as him. 

Could this really just be a coincidence? There were two Paris concerts, yesterday, she had done the whole thing with smoking a cigarette after sex and today, the show Chris had gotten tickets for unexpectedly, she did the bloody Eifeltower? It felt a bit too targeted. 

And if you were honest with yourself… Chris wasn’t unattractive, more so the opposite. Even being shorter than George, you were still smaller than him, so it didn’t really make a difference to you anyway. He was handsome and funny, kind and lean, with muscles in the right places - not to mention his insane talent at football. So, yeah, perhaps the thought had crossed your mind once or twice. You were just a girl after all. A girl with eyes and your boyfriend just so happened to have a friend group filled with attractive men. 

Slowly, you managed to get back to the here and now, your focus back on Sabrina on the stage, the thoughts of what the position choice would mean for later tonight vanishing from your mind for the time being. 

–

The drive back to the hotel was… just slightly awkward. You managed to keep up the conversation, talking about how great Sabrina was live and how spectacular her show was. Sure, the elephant in the room was right there and both George and Chris had sweaty hands (even though Chris didn’t even know why he was so nervous. It wasn’t like he and George had ever discussed anything like this… at least not seriously) not able to look at each other throughout the whole drive. 

By the time you walked up the stairs to the hotel, your words had dried up. Instead they made room for slight anxiety and insecurity. Walking to the elevator in silence, you were happy to see no one else was in it with you. 

“Okay, we gotta address it.” You shit out the second the elevator doors closed. George and Chris exchanged a quick look before letting their eyes fall onto you. 

“Darling,-“ George started, but you interrupted him.

“No, listen. Obviously, I didn't know she’d do… that position today.” You crossed your arms and tried to ignore your burning cheeks. “We don’t- this doesn’t have to be anything, it’s just- it’s not like I haven’t thought about it- I-“,

“You thought about it?” George raised his brows and was surprised by the lack of jealousy arising within him. Instead, he felt a strange sense of arousal cursing through him. The joke about him and you having a possible threeway with any of his friends had come up plenty of times - even in videos, but he had never considered them an actual possibility. Sure, the thought had… somehow got him excited, but he hadn’t even dared to bring it up with you, too scared of a negative reaction. And now you were revealing that you had in fact thought about it?

Chris, next to George, felt his eyes widen and his heart speeding up, his palms growing sweatier. You had thought about this? About him and George… his cheeks heated up and he let his gaze wander between you and your boyfriend, not allowing himself into the conversation just yet. 

George’s question had caught you off guard, mainly because you hadn’t even realised your own slip-up. A pit in your stomach opened up and your brain worked hard to come up with a clever answer, but unfortunately came up empty.

“I-”, you began, feeling sweat forming on your forehead, “I mean, I don’t- I didn’t-,”

“Because I have, too.” George interrupted you again, his hand finding yours, pulling you closer, “in fact, we have… talked about this before.” He looked over at Chris, who still stared at the two of you like a semi-lost puppy. 

Now this you hadn’t expected. Behind you, the doors pinged, signaling you reaching your floor. The three of you kept standing inside the elevator in anticipating silence for another moment. Even with no words being exchanged there seemed to be an understanding hanging between you. Swallowing, you finally turned to move out of the elevator, the two men following you. George was still holding your hand, his heartbeat echoing in his ears. 

Reaching the hotel room, George let go of your hand and got out his wallet, the keylock for the room beeping a few seconds later. There were still no words exchanged, only your breathing audible in the silence as George opened the door and Chris and you followed him inside. Neither of you knew how this was going to go. How you were going to even start this. A threesome had never been on your bucket list, at least not officially. And it certainly hadn’t been on your bucket list for this trip. 

The heavy hotel room door fell shut behind you and all of you slowly discarded your jackets and shoes, making your way further into the room. The atmosphere changed as soon as the bed came into view, the king size suddenly looking way too small for the two people who had shared it the last three nights. Your heart was pumping and your blood was rushing in your ears, your eyes finally finding Georges.

“Should we sit?” He asked then, pointing to the bed and you and Chris nodded, walking over and sinking down onto the mattress. 

You were in between them now. Both your thighs touching theirs, all of your pulses quickened and all senses heightened. 

“So, just to clarify,” Chris now said, rubbing his sweaty palms along his jeans as if to dry them, “we are all cool with this?” 

George and you nodded, heads turned to the blonde man. 

“Are you cool with it?” You carefully asked him, gaze set on his handsome features. 

Now, it was Chris who nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m cool with this.” Even with his cheeks all rosy, he sounded determined. George on your other side, felt the corners of his mouth twitch upwards. God, he was really about to share the girl he loved with his best friend, how utterly strange and appealing at the same time. 

“Well then…,” you licked over your lips nervously, your gaze falling from Chris’ eyes to his lips. Adrenaline shot through you when you felt Chris leaning in, his breath hot on your face when he finally closed the gap between you two. 

He tasted and felt different than George, his lips a little bit softer than your boyfriends. Chris was cautious at first, but when you moved your head and switched up the angle, he dared to let his tongue run over your bottom lip, his hand finding its way onto your cheek. You gladly accepted his tongue sliding into your mouth, your own meeting and letting him take the lead. The kiss deepened and you leaned in closer to Chris, your head feeling dizzy. 

George watched, his mouth slightly dropped. Nothing could have prepared him for the way he felt watching you with someone else. A part of him felt guilty for not being jealous, for not wanting you all to himself. But that all faded away when he heard your soft gasp when Chris bit down on your bottom lip, when he felt the heat radiating off your body. He leaned forward, his hands pushing your hair over your shoulder, leaving your neck bare for him to gently caress and finally kiss. 

Feeling both of them kissing you caused another moan against Chris’ lips, your own hands now moving to both of their napes, fingers curling into their hair. Electricity sparked with every touch, every kiss, every breath. Turning your face, you now kissed George on the lips, giving Chris the chance to devour your neck with his lips, sucking and kissing your soft skin. 

Every kiss with George somehow felt like the first one, filling your stomach with butterflies and happiness. All that slowly faded into heat now, blatant heat that needed to be set free, that demanded to be heard and taken care of. You gasped into his mouth when he let his hands wander underneath your shirt, both men shortly parting from you so he could pull it over your head and throw it onto the floor. They dove right back into kissing you, George’s hands now exploring your freed skin, fingers tracing the cups of your bra and finally moving to the clasp on your back, letting it clip open. Chris moved to kiss your shoulders, his hands sneaking around your waist and finding your button and zipper, opening both so his hand could glide into your jeans. Your legs moved to open wider almost automatically, more moans leaving your body when you felt Chris’ fingers on your drenched core. 

“Fucking hell.” Chris groaned, his fingers circling your clit over your panties. “You’re so wet already, darling.”

“God, Chris, I don’t think your ready for her perfect pussy,” George smirked as he kissed down your neck, your bra now discarded next to your shirt on the floor. His lips closed around your right nipple and your head tilted back, right onto Chris’ shoulder. Chris, who now moved to get the rest of your clothes off. 

“Unfair.” It truly was - both men were still fully dressed while you were about to be fully naked. They both chuckled, exchanging a quick glance before getting rid of their shirts. Your eyes feasted on the bare torsos of your two lovers for the night. Biting down on your bottom lip, you moved to look at Chris, your one hand running over his abs, while the other found George’s nape. 

You dove back into it then. Chris’ lips on yours in a hot and passionate kiss, while George was kissing your neck and back. With every passing second you grew needier, your pussy throbbing even with Chris back inside your panties with his fingers, circling your clit with expertise. The soft sounds coming out of your mouth drove both of them crazy, their cocks straining against their trousers. 

Quickly, they moved to get naked as well, the three of you getting cozier in the middle of the bed, your body pressed between theirs. Spreading your legs, you hooked one each around theirs, letting both men take their turns to kiss your neck and lips, George’s long fingers inside of you, pumping you open for one of their cocks, while Chris’ thumb was back on your clit, pressing down as he moved it in perfect circles. The sensation made your heart race and your body tingle, every touch better than the last. There wasn’t anything that could make you stop right now, not even the end of the world. If this was how you died - so be it. 

“Who do you want where, darling?” George finally whispered into your ear, his middle and forefinger still thrusting into you, hitting you right where you needed it most. Words were hard to form with both men on you, but you somehow managed to whimper that you really wanted to suck Chris’ cock first. 

Chris felt himself twitch against your thigh, groaning into your neck.

“Fuck, yeah, let’s do that.”

You found yourself on your hands and knees seconds later, Chris kneeling in front, George behind you. Chris' hand was caressing your face, his pupils blown as he stared down at you with nothing but admiration and hunger in his eyes. He brushed his thumb against your lips.

“Suck, darling.” He commanded in a whisper and you obliged immediately, your lips parting to suck his thumb into your mouth. His breath hitched, feeling your tongue twirl around his digit. 

“What a good, good girl.” He mumbled and George, currently feeling up your ass and enjoying the view of your glistening folds, smirked proudly.

“Yeah, she’s always so fucking good. Likes to be told what to do, too.” He squeezed your right cheek, before getting his hand around his cock, stroking it a few times. “Are you ready for me, my love?” He asked then and you nodded, whimpering around Chris’ thumb.

George moved right away. His tip breached your sensitive hole and your eyes rolled back when he began to sink into you, every inch of him feeling nothing short of delicious. George’s cock was girthy and by now you would have expected to be used to how he stretched you, but no, it was a perfect new experience every time. Chris wasn’t as wide as George, but slightly longer, his angry red tip staring at you, taunting you with the sticky pre cum about to drop onto the duvet. Looking up at Chris with big eyes now, trying to signal him that his thumb was not enough anymore.

And even though this was the first time Chris and you were intimate like this, he seemed to get it right away. His eyes met yours and sparkled with more hunger than before, his thumb leaving your mouth and instead bringing his hand around his cock, leading it to your awaiting mouth. Breathing heavily, his tip bumped against your outstretched tongue, the softness making him moan. You hungrily licked away his pre-cum, revelling in his taste.

“Shit, you’re so hot.” Chris groaned, his cock now sliding inside your mouth. Every inch that got engulfed by your warmth already brought him closer to the edge, his eyes rolling back when his tip reached the back of your throat. 

Just then, George finally bottomed out, his throbbing cock feeling right at home in your tight walls. His hands gripped your waist, grounding himself in the familiarity of your body. His first thrust was firm and controlled and caused you to almost fall forward, Chris’ cock gliding even deeper down your throat. He gasped audibly, his hands moving to your head, fingers grabbing your hair. Hollowing out your cheeks, you moved your head up and down his shaft, tongue pressing against his undersite and gliding over his tip whenever you moved back. 

With every thrust, George felt himself nearing his climax, his fingers digging into your skin. There were little things George enjoyed more than being with you. To him, you were perfect, everything about you was perfect. The way you arched your back when he tasted you, the way you squeezed his cock just like right now, hinting at your own climax being close. He loved the way you listened to his every word, how you aimed to please and be pleased, how you kissed him every chance you got. And this, right now, you almost choking on his best friend’s cock, being so goddamn good for them… a part of him was worried about missing this, about missing you with a cock in your mouth while he fucked you, about wishing he could hear your gagged moans, about almost losing his mind over the way you pulsated around him, so turned on by Chris inside your throat. 

“You’re doing so well, darling, I am so proud of you.” He purred, his hands gently caressing your backside. 

“Yeah, Georgey is right, pet, you’re really doing so fucking well.” Chris licked his lips, watching your eyes sparkle with tears. “Can I fuck your mouth?” He asked then, breathlessly and you nodded immediately. Relieved, Chris looked over at George who gave him an encouraging grin. That was all he needed. Both of your consent. 

The two men didn’t hold back then. In almost perfect unison they began to thrust, one cock hitting your sweet spot perfectly, while the other went so deep down your throat you thought to see stars. Never had you felt so full before, your eyes rolling back in pleasure, muffled moans around Chris’ cock sending vibrations through the blonde man. He groaned, fingers digging into your scalp as he lost himself completely in his pleasure. 

George knew it wasn’t going to take long anymore, his cock beginning to twitch over and over inside you, feeling your soft walls tightening around him.

“Are you gonna come for us, darling? Gonna come all prettily on my cock?” His hips picked up the pace and you felt tears streaming down your cheeks, the pleasure almost too much to handle. And when George sneaked a hand between your legs and let his thumb press down harshly on your clit - there was no stopping it. Your orgasm hit you like a hard wave, your body shaking while your moans got drowned out by the sound of skin on skin, wet and perfect and filthy. Chris was thriving on the way your throat vibrated around him, closing in on his orgasm. 

“Good girl, so fucking good.” Every wave of your orgasm brought George closer to his own and when he finished fucking you through your high, he finally reached his. Gripping onto your hips for dear life, he moaned your name once, twice and emptied inside you, thick ropes of cum painting your insides white, leaving you hot and satisfied. 

“Fuuuck, you’re perfect.” Chris watched your eyes rolling back forward and when he saw the longing look in them, he couldn’t help but fall over the edge, cursing under his breath while his own load shot down your throat, your lips sucking hungrily, not wanting to waste even one drop of him. You milked him of all he had and only when he pulled out and fell backwards, did you swallow it all, falling on top of him with George landing on your back. 

The three of you needed a good five minutes to recover from this, both men sticky with sweat the same way as you. 

They finally got up, George getting you and them clothes to change into (He gave Chris a set of his own) and Chris bringing a washcloth from the bathroom to carefully clean you up. Giggling, you thanked him, pressing a soft kiss to his lips before excusing yourself to go to the bathroom yourself (always pee after sex!). 

George and Chris got dressed in a comfortable silence, only exchanging a look when they were both clothed and sitting on the bed, backs resting against the headrest.

“So,” George started, “should we tell the others?” He asked and Chris clicked his tongue.

“I think that’s up to you, mate. But,” his eyes darted to the bathroom you were still in, “if you do tell them, do not be surprised if they beg you to be next.”

George looked at him for a few seconds. Then, he grinned. 

“You know what? I might not even hate that idea.”

[superteafish]

Thank you, for putting this into words.

It’s been more then 2 decades since I was in highschool and I’m still salty at how I was treated by everyone especially the adults. Looking back I was obviously in distress, if I saw a child do the things I did back then I would call a professional. All I got was an exasperated “Just act like everyone else and don’t cause me trouble.” But in nicer words as I was literally destroying myself in front of them. All the while the adults kept telling each other and me, that my failure to thrive was obviously my fault. After all, they “helped” me all the time…

I still have problems asking for help, reaching out for even the smallest most insignificant things.

The most horrible thing is being told that I always loved school, and I was such a happy child (we don’t even recognize you any more). I hated school, but I could never explain why. And my grades were good, so I must’ve loved school. I didn’t, my grades were good because I had no friends and did non-stop homework when I was home. “But you were so happy!” No, I looked happy. I hyper-focused on my interests when I was at home, to the exclusion of almost all other things. Because I never had friends and I was always bullied in school. Recess was hell, so were field trips.

These are the same people who claim that they “get” my autistic ass. Nu-uh you don’t.

the thing that always gets me ESPECIALLY about autistic representation in media is that we are universally portrayed as happy-go-lucky, whimsical children, completely oblivious to the fact that the world constantly judges and scorns and HATES us.

We notice. I noticed. The reason I am as messed up as I am today is because i spent 20 LONG years in an environment where every day i was subjected to that. To noticing.

what an absolutely neurotypical view of us. Coddling themselves, getting to act like the way they treat us is fine because we don't understand that our peers dont respect us. Why would we? We're so subhuman to them, it's like asking if your cat notices you playfully insulting it.

Every autistic person I've ever met is on some level bitter and angry and TRAUMATIZED at their upbringing. Of having to go through school as the laughing stock, as the weirdo with no friends who no one wants to talk to, as the animal in the corner you can make do cheap tricks so they can experience some Simulacra of what genuine human connection is.

Now tell me, does it sound like I didn't notice?

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

Date Night

Summary: When Tim didn't pick you up for a date night he planned, you knew that you would find him back at his office. Intending to make him beg for your forgiveness you take yourself in your slutty outfit to the station to find out what Tim will do to make up for forgetting about you.

Pairing: Tim Rockford x fem. reader

Wordcount: 2.4k

Rating: E

Warnings: established relationship, smut (oral f receiving; unprotected sex), a whole lot of making out, semi public sex, food, surprise at the end

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Full Masterlist // Pedro Pascal Masterlist

You knew he would have a good reason, he always has. 

The passion he has for his job is one of the reason you love him so much. 

That did not mean that it didn’t hurt when 7 pm turned to 8 and to 9 pm without a single text or call. 

You had been looking forward to today. 

Pretending to work from home while you took an everything shower and shaved every inch of your body. You scrubbed and moisturised your skin with the lotion you knew Tim loved the smell of. 

You put the slutty black mesh body on, needing almost ten minutes to have all the straps in place, rolling the silky stockings up your equally silky thighs, connecting them to the suspenders of the flimsy body you were wearing. 

You looked fucking hot, thighs pressing together at the thought of what Tim would do to you once he finally got you home and naked. 

You reached for the deep green velvet dress you loved, running your fingers over the soft fabric that reached just above your knees before you searched for some heels. 

You didn’t wear them often, but you loved the way your ass looked when you wore them, so you would suffer the couple steps to and from the car.

Tim had made reservations for dinner at the restaurant you had your first date at.

This date night was actually his idea and you, silly little you thought that maybe, maybe he’d pop the big question tonight. 

You had been dating for four years, living together for three. 

Marriage was not something you really discussed, but you both wanted to get married eventually. And with the effort he had put into tonight you got enough signals to actually gotten your nails done yesterday after work. 

But now, at 9:05 pm without Tim having picked you up or having reacted to any message or call you placed on his work and mobile phone you were mad. 

Because you knew, as one of his colleagues who actually picked up his phone told you, that he was in the station. In his office. 

You weren’t someone who made a big deal of when he stayed too long at work. You knew he was a workaholic, though it had gotten a lot better since you moved in. 

But tonight you had the fuck me heels on, and fuck you wanted to spend the night with your hunk of a boyfriend. 

So, after another twenty more minutes of waiting and brooding over feelings like a stupid neglected girlfriend, you got up and grabbed your keys. 

You made sure the red lipstick you had put on was still perfect on your lips before you went to your car to pay a visit to Tim. 

There were only a few cars left in the parking lot as you parked your car next to Tim’s. You made sure your boobs looked good before you exited the car and made your way towards the police station. 

You knew the people who worked here, having spend countless barbecues and birthdays with them, so when you opened the door to walked in you made sure to say Hello to everyone. 

„Damn, you look hot,“ one of Tim’s female colleagues whistled and you grinned. 

„I know,“ you said with a wink, „He in?“ You gestured in the direction of Tim’s office. She nodded. 

„Yeah. He’s been in there since lunch. Got some new evidence in,“ she explained. 

„That might explain why he forgot he was taking me out to dinner tonight,“ you said and she made a face. 

„Idiot,“ she rolled her eyes and you shrugged with pursed lips. 

„Any of the other detectives still in?“

„Nah. They went home. Got the end of the floor all to yourselves,“ she winked and you gave her a bashful smile before you made your way towards his office. 

You could see the light on behind one single door at the end of the floor and you opened it without knocking, finding Tim sitting behind his desk, dress shirt halfway unbuttoned, tied loosened, still wearing his shoulder holsters. 

Various emotions flickered over his face as he looked up to find you standing in his door. 

Surprise, clearly.

Hunger, as his eyes wandered over your form.

Love, always. 

And then there it was, his eyes widening as regret set in. 

He looked away from you for a second, his eyes finding the clock on the wall. 

„Oh fuck,“ he shook his head, looking at you, getting up from behind his desk. 

„I totally forgot the time, I’m so fucking sorry,“ he said, walking towards you but you just crossed your arms in front of your chest which pushed your tits up and you didn’t miss the way his eyes flickered towards your cleavage before he came to stand in front of you, hands on your elbows. 

„We got new evidence in and I forgot the time and I’m a shitty fucking boyfriend,“ he said, his big brown eyes big as he looked at you, hands now on your upper arms. 

„You look beautiful baby,“ his fingers slipped over the soft fabric of your dress. 

„I know,“ you said, now pouting and his lips twitched into a small smile as he stepped forward. 

„Let me make it up to you,“ he said with pleading eyes, before he pulled you against his body, your hand coming to rest on his chest as you looked up at him. 

„And how do you plan on doing that Detective?“ You asked and he hummed, his head tilting to the side as if in deep thought while both of his hands slowly slid down your back before grabbing a handful of your ass.

„I can think of a few ways,“ he hummed before he kissed you. You sighed against his lips, your arms wrapping around him, one of your hands running through his soft hair as he deepened the kiss. He walked you back, caging you against his door and you heard the soft click of him locking his door and you smiled against his lips. 

His hands slowly slipped the soft fabric of your dress up, his fingers leaving goosebumps as they moved over your skin, all while his tongue played with yours. 

He groaned when he felt the lace of your stocking. 

„Fuck baby. Can I see you?“ He mumbled, one of his fingers hooking through the straps of the garter belt you were wearing and you hummed thoughtfully. 

„I don’t know Detective, you think you already earned that?“ You looked at him, challenging him. 

Instead of answering you he slowly sank down on his knees, while now both of his hands held up the fabric of your dress. He groaned a low fuck me when he saw what you were wearing, his face leaning in, nuzzling against your lace covered panties as he inhaled deeply. 

„She already wet for me?“ He asked, his breath warm against your skin. Not giving you a chance to answer his tongue slipped over your flimsy panties and you gasped as he hummed. 

One of his hands grabbed one of your legs, hooking it over one of his shoulders and you let your back fall against the door, one of your hand reaching down, fingers gliding through his hair. 

„I’m sorry,“ he whispered before he pushed your panties to the side. 

„I’m sorry I forgot about our date,“ he kissed you just above your clit. 

„Again,“ he murmured before his fingers parted your folds and he moaned when he saw just how wet you already were.  

„You’re so wet for me baby,“ he licked through your folds and you sighed, head falling against the door with a soft thump.

„I’m sorry I’m such a shitty boyfriend,“ he murmured as his tongue played with you, the way his facial hair scratched over your sensitive skin as he ate you out leaving you shuddering. 

One of his arms was wrapped around your thigh, holding you in place as his other hand held you open for him. 

„I’m close,“ you moaned, fingers gripping his hair and he groaned, his tongue fucking you as deeply as he was able to, humming as he tasted you. 

„Already?“ He teased and you pulled his hair, making him moan. 

He chuckled to himself before his tongue focused all its attention on your clit. Flicking it at first before he sucked it between his lips, knowing exactly what to do to make you cum. 

And within seconds you did, flooding his mouth with your slick as you moaned his name quietly. He continued to lick into you until you pushed him away and he slowly let your leg down before he sat back on his heels, looking very smug as he looked up at you. 

„Am I forgiven yet?“ He asked and you rolled your eyes, playfully slapping his hands away as you walked over to his desk. Your eyes softened when you saw the photo the two of you took on your last vacation on his desk as you leaned with both palms down over his desk, wiggling your ass. 

„I think I need some more grovelling,“ you smirked over your shoulder and Tim got back up on his feet. He pressed into you from behind and you could feel how hard he was. His hands were on your hip as he leaned down, finding your lips in a soft kiss. 

„Can’t do that kind of grovelling on my knees though,“ he grinned and you chuckled. 

„Just fuck me, Tim,“ you pushed against him and he huffed a laugh. You turned your head back forward as you heard his belt buckle, followed from a zipper. 

He pushed your dress up, before he reached for your panties, slowly slipping them down your legs until you could step out of them. You didn’t know he put them into the pocket of the shirt he was wearing, intending to keep them. 

You jumped in surprise when he licked through your folds again, humming in satisfaction. 

„Could taste you all day,“ he said, before he slapped your ass, making you jump again.

„You should do that some time,“ you teased and felt his hands squeeze your hips. 

„Oh I will,“ he said, feeling the tip of his cock slowly enter you. 

„Gonna spend all day with you in bed, fucking you in every way possible,“ he groaned, sinking into you fully. 

„Promises, promises,“ you teased looking over your shoulder just when his hand came down on your ass in a sharp slap. 

„Brat,“ he shook his head in amusement. 

„I thought you were grovelling?“ You asked and he bottomed out before snapping his hips back against your ass, his cock filling you completely, air rushing out of your lungs in a low moan as he began to fuck you. 

One of his hands was massaging one of your ass cheeks as he kept a steady pace. 

„Always so warm and wet for me,“ he hummed, hips snapping against yours. Your lips were parted as you panted, low moans escaping you as you tried to keep quiet. 

„Wanna cum in this little pussy,“ he moaned and you began to meet his thrusts. 

„You gonna let me?“ He hummed and you pushed yourself up, feeling his arm wrap around your middle as he pulled you against his chest, fucking up into you as he held you. 

„Only if you gonna clean me up once we’re home,“ you whispered and he groaned as his lips found yours in a sloppy kiss. His hand slipped down your body, under your dress, finding your clit, playing with it. 

„Cum for me,“ he mumbled against your lips, his cock filling you in the perfect angle and it wasn’t long before you came, squeezing his cock while he fucked your through your orgasm, his lips still on yours before he followed you shortly after, painting your walls with his cum. 

You stayed like that for a moment, him holding you against his chest as you kissed. 

„I am really really fucking sorry I forgot about dinner,“ he whispered against your lips and your eyes softened. 

„It’s okay. I know how important your work is for you,“ you murmured, before you kissed him again. 

He slowly pulled out of you, grabbing some tissues from his desk to clean you up before he tucked his cock back into his pants. You jumped on his desk and he smiled as he came to stand between your legs, one of his hands tilting your face up towards him. 

„You will always be more important baby. It’s why I planned his fucking dinner,“ he sighed, clearly still disappointed in himself. 

You wrapped both of your arms around his back and he stepped closer as you rested your head against his. 

„You can still take me out to dinner. The Taco Truck down our street is still open,“ you smiled and felt his shoulder relax. 

And that’s how you ended up completely overdressed at almost 11pm a the Taco Truck down your street. Soft music was paying on the radio as you ate. 

„You know there was a reason I wanted to take you out tonight,“ he said and you hummed, happily biting into your Taco. You were sitting on a bench, leaning against Tim’s chest as he watched you eat. 

„Yeah?“ You asked, feeling him nod.

He waited until you were finished eating before you felt him move behind you. Sitting yourself up you reached for a napkin to clean your fingers when you saw him set something down on the table next to you. 

A small turquoise box. 

You frowned for a moment before you looked at him with wide eyes. 

„I wanted this night to be perfect, and I can’t believe I let my job get in the way of that again,“ he shook his head before he got up only to get down on one knee in front of you, taking your hand while his other reached for the small box, flipping it open to reveal a beautiful diamond ring. 

„But maybe asking you to marry me in front of a Taco Truck instead of a fancy dinner should have been my plan along.“

[kumkaniudaku]

A Lovely Night

Summary: Terry and Patrice prepare for prom and a new level of their relationship.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC (Patrice Ellis)

Word Count: 8.8K

Warnings: None

At the tender age of 13, with braces still on her top row of teeth and dreams of marrying a pop star who didn't yet know her name, Patrice came to three conclusions: she was leaving St. Pius after 8th grade, she definitely did want to be a teacher someday, and she was going to have a prom date before she graduated high school. 

The third conclusion came as she sat by herself at the 8th-grade formal, watching throngs of white children dance to censored hip-hop music in pairs and large groups while she was but a beautiful wallflower without the pleasure of being asked to attend. If not for her mother preemptively purchasing a dress before Patrice could confirm a dance partner for the evening, she would've stayed home and wallowed in her room. Better to cry in private than to suffer the embarrassment of visible loneliness in public. But, while she fought incoming misty tears threatening to smudge the mascara her mother had so graciously allowed her to use, Patrice swore that things would be different by her senior year. Her luck would turn. Shit, she might even be prom queen. 

Years later, when dreams began to catch up to reality, Patrice's 8th-grade formal debacle seemed primed for a remix. One month until prom and still no prospect for a prom date was social status killer number one. She'd worked hard in her senior year to reinvent herself, shed the reputation she'd inadvertently received as Terry's cute but strange shadow friend, and step into a new image as the senior hottie she was destined to be. Becoming Homecoming Queen was step one in the plan. Step two was senior class president. Step three, the hardest of them all, was having a small army of young men vying for a chance to take her to the ball. So far, only the weird junior from AP Calc had stepped up. Everyone else had slowly split into pairs, preparing matching ensembles, limo rentals, and after-party plans, leaving Patrice as a lone wolf destined to repeat past failures. 

"Is Napheesa really going to prom with Nate? Like for real?" 

Wednesday evenings were set aside for family spaghetti night and Calc homework with Terry via ooVoo video chat. She'd completed her first task of sharing something sweet and sour from her day around the dinner table. After lying her way into something sour that didn't include her prom woes, math with Terry was a welcomed distraction.

Patrice wiped away wayward red sauce from her mouth with her hoodie sleeve before refocusing on Terry's face taking up her laptop screen. "Yeah. He asked her Sunday when they were hanging out. It was kinda cute, really. I think he sang a song or something." 

Terry snickered. "Nigga swear he Trey Songz." He mocked Nate and the R&B hearthob's singing voice in one go, sending him and Patrice into laughter. When they finally calmed down, Terry settled into a more serious temperament. "Corey's going with Jasmine. I think they're wearing red."

"I heard. He showed me his tux. You know he's planning to wear red shoes? I told him he was gonna look like a Mississippi pimp, but he don't listen. Is the answer to number six 375?" As quickly as she'd delivered more news, Patrice was already on to the next thing. 

Terry smiled at how her face scrunched in confusion. "No. I think you miscalculated somewhere." 

"Shit," she whispered. "Don't tell me. Let me figure it out." Terry watched in rapt silence, enamored by Patrice's prominent features, which were made more striking by a neat ponytail showcasing her face as the main attraction. 

He waited silently as she typed the expression into her calculator again, battling whether now or in person was a good time to ask his question. If he waited again, he risked chickening out like he did before they parted ways in the senior parking lot to beat the morning tardy bell. He decided to strike while she wasn't looking at him with those beautiful brown eyes. 

"So…uh…you going to prom with anyone?" 

She scoffed without looking up. "No. At least not yet. Usher still hasn't responded to my emails. I sent Chris Brown one, too, so maybe he'll come through." 

"Good luck with that," he chuckled. Nerves tried to caution him on moving forward. A rational, fully formed frontal lobe would've told him to quit while he was ahead. Teenage folly made him open his mouth to say, "Wanna go with me?" 

Patrice paused her work to look up and smile. "You sure? We don't have to. I wouldn't be mad if you asked someone else." 

"I'm asking who I want to go with. Unless you givin' me the run around like Phee did Cam." 

"No," Patrice cut in, rolling her eyes. "I was just saying!" 

Terry smiled. "So we're going to prom together? Me and you? In Carolina blue? You see how I made that happen? Creative writing really might be worth it."

A genuine, hearty laugh came from Patrice's mouth as she threw her head back in reaction to Terry's terrible attempt at an off-the-cuff poem. Or so Terry thought. Really, she'd released years of pent-up fear and expected disappointment. Finally, in the 11th hour, Patrice had a prom date. Sure, it was her best friend she'd been falling more in love with day by day with no indication they'd ever be together, but it was something. Dream realized. Victory. 

"Yeah, we're going to prom together," she confirmed after her giggle attack had ended. They stared at each other momentarily, basking in the implications of a night under makeshift stars in the swanky event space across town. Patrice fought to look back at her calculator and announce what had to be the correct answer this time. "It's 215. I multiplied by 23 instead of multiplying 2 and 3. Movin' too fast, I guess." 

Terry nodded proudly. "Yeah. You got it. Good job." 

As Patrice moved on to a new exam prep question and rolled through the math aloud, the bitter taste of dissatisfaction coated his tongue. The spark he expected from asking the girl he'd been falling deeper into what he knew of love with was nothing more than a quick flicker of excitement – fun but empty. He could do better. Especially if he wanted his true intentions of turning a friendship into something more substantial to stand a chance. 

Two mornings later, with a day separating Terry's promposal and the opportunity to back out before their paring was set in stone, Patrice bounced into Francis from a doctor's appointment with a new lease on life and big news to share with Napheesa. 

She opened her locker as usual before fourth-period English, looking for her orange class notebook and the assigned textbook. She found them both without issue and nearly pranced off to class with nothing but gossip on her mind until she noticed the index card taped to her locker mirror. 

Can you meet me in the library after school? 398.2. I'm sure you know what that means. 

The handwriting looked more feminine than Patrice was accustomed to, not matching what she'd seen from Napheesa's notes back and forth in class or from Corey, who'd mastered the forgery dark arts. Still, she tucked the instructions into her everything binder's inside pouch and kept it close until the final bell rang. 

Like a spy on a top-secret mission, Patrice dodged conversations from her classmates, threaded her body between students walking to and fro in the main hallway, and quietly ducked into the library on the hunt for the mysterious being requesting her presence. 

398.2. It took Patrice an entire class period to decipher what the collection of numbers meant. Too short for a phone number, obviously, she thought to herself. It wasn't a locker number or any other location in the school. Area codes didn't come with decimals. She thought long and hard, willing the answer into existence. Realization smacked her in the head with the full force of Mike Tyson on her way to Terry's locker to grab her sociology notebook. The Dewey Decimal System. More specifically, the section of the library dedicated to folk and fairytales. 

Led by an ironclad knowledge of the library's layout and excitement nearly pouring from her pores, Patrice speed-walked past the librarian's station at the front, waved hello to Ms. Wanamaker re-stocking returned library books from seniors trying to clear their outstanding balances before fines set in, and turned the corner onto her intended row. 

Snow White piqued her curiosity first. The book appeared to jut out from the rest, so she glanced around for any lookie-loos straggling nearby and pulled it off the shelf. Nothing. Patrice shrugged and put the book back before focusing on other possible answers. Fairy Tales from The Brothers Grimm turned up nothing. Some weird book of Greek myths briefly felt like cracking the code but ultimately fell flat. Patrice had been duped. Led astray. Lied to. She was sure someone was watching through shelves and laughing at how she'd been fooled in a scavenger hunt. 

Some hopeful part of her brain directed Patrice's annoyed attention to the book spine conspicuously sticking out amongst its neighbor. She thought about what she might do if she were to flip through another dud and settled on knocking everything down as she yanked the worn edition of Cinderella from its spot. Luckily, a quick flip to its front cover ended her search. 

I don't know if I'm your Prince Charming, but I want you to feel like a Cinderella for a night. Will you go with me to the ball? I'll have you home before the clock strikes 12.

She recognized this handwriting, slanted and slender, on another index card. Patrice ran her index finger over the words and gave them another full read, not noticing the tall young man slowly revealing himself at the end of the aisle with a smile on his face and the gleam of mischief in his eyes. 

"I should've done this the right way the first time," he spoke, startling Patrice. He lifted his hands in surrender and disarmed her with a smile. "My bad." 

Patrice smiled back. "Since when did you learn the decimal system?" 

"If I tell you, I can't take you to prom. So, you either gotta answer the question on the card or get the answer to yours. Which one is it?" 

"Give me your answer." 

Horrified confusion and feigned annoyance flashed across Terry's young, handsome face as he watched Patrice double over in stifled laughter. He chuckled and kissed his teeth as he stepped closer. "Patrice, be serious. Will you go to prom with me? I'm really asking." 

Terry's sincerity, both in his voice inflection and in how his brows knitted in anticipation of a response, made Patrice stand up to her full height and smile back at her best friend. 

"Of course, TJ. I will absolutely go to prom with you." 

A fist pump and smile in the back corner of the school library was as good as any contract signed in black ink with a felt-tipped pen and the appropriate amount of witnesses. It was official official. Terry and Patrice were going to prom together. 

News of the expected pairing spread through the halls like wildfire, the truth morphing into something of a fairytale itself as it passed from person to person. Terry had asked Patrice in the library on one knee or in the parking lot, and they kissed, or between classes, and Patrice cried. Actually, Patrice asked Terry! In one version of events, Terry had abruptly reneged on his promposal to Junior cheerleader Cierra and asked Patrice at the last minute. A messy affair in a messy love triangle between the messiest best-friend duo the school had ever known, according to some twisted version of events. 

Neither Patrice nor Terry cared to clear up rumors or refute gossip. They were too busy prepping for the best night of their young lives. 

Pin cushions and yards of organza covered Patrice's living room floor by Sunday afternoon, turning recently the replaced grey carpet into a sea of light blue as her Aunt Sybil eyeballed measurements and cut the fabric into careful shapes to match the pattern Patrice and Imani had agreed was perfect for a Cinderella-inspired gown. Glitter. She needed glitter tucked into every inch to turn an ordinary dress into one that sparkled in the right light. Rosalyn requested sleeves for modesty, and Patrice agreed, not because she wanted to, but because she knew compromise was her best friend. They settled on sparkling flower appliqué details on the bodice to bring in the event's garden theme, a dainty off-the-shoulder sweetheart neckline with draped sleeves to satisfy her beaming mother, and a soft corset to create a ball gown illusion for the flowing, floor-length-skirt. A masterpiece in Patrice's eyes. Especially the hidden thigh-high split she and Imani schemed, plotted, and cried to have included when Rosalyn wasn't listening. 

Hair, makeup, nails, and fragrance were all Patrice thought about for days. She sat with Napheesa on Google for hours, looking for the perfect photos to show their beauty service providers when the time came. Every detail, down to the number of tendrils springing from her bun to add a little Princess Tiana into her Disney fantasy, was carefully crafted to fit the vision she'd had of herself since the 8th grade. 

Terry hadn't dived head-first off the prom prep cliff, but he was close. Marvin couldn't understand why his son was suddenly so hell-bent on switching to the younger barber and his creative cuts until Diedra pulled him aside for a quick update in the Richmond Girl saga. He couldn't have any old fade. He needed something to stop Patrice in her tracks and garner enough praise to fuel him until he was 21. He'd work every weekend until boot camp to pay off that extra $50 plus tip if it meant his haircut was precise. 

A trip to the tailor turned a baggy, hand-me-down wedding tux into something tailored for his brand new, 6'3" frame. Diedra watched with pride in her shining eyes as Terry stood tall and allowed the much smaller shop owner to stand on a step ladder and adjust the jacket's shoulders to Terry's proportions. Take in the waist here, lengthen that hem, get the fit of that cummerbund just right, not too shiny on the shoes or too dark on that blue – he's got a date with the prettiest girl in the world, and he can't get caught lacking. Another $150 withdrawn from his parent's bank account, another step closer to the best night of his short life. 

The final puzzle piece was the paramount matter of transportation. Terry's Explorer had been out of commission since October, both from punishment and mechanical issues. He'd improved his behavior, but the starter was still shot, and any indicator that his dad would fix it went away when Terry chose to sign his life away to the United States.

Terry knew the perfect set of wheels to act as a chariot for his princess. The creamy, off-white Cadillac with less than 40,000 miles and a sick interior parked in their garage would take him from best friend to boyfriend in 15 minutes flat. He just needed the permission. 

Slinking out of his room, Terry coached himself through a pre-planned script as he jogged down the front porch steps to the tall, greying, light-skinned man diligently trimming healthy green hedges per his wife's instructions. 

"Hey, Pop. You need some help?" 

Marvin looked up at his son, confusion sheening his blue-green eyes, and shrugged. "If you wanna, I won't stop you." A man of few words and enough brains in his head to know when his boy was about to ask for something.

Taking his father's half-hearted invitation, Terry slid on a pair of working gloves nearby, grabbed the garden hedge sheers lying in a pile of other tools, and began carefully chopping at his mama's award-winning bushes. 

They worked silently for several long minutes, two tall, slender Richmond men toiling away in the mid-April breeze until Terry mustered up enough courage to make his request known. "Dad, could I…maybe, um…drive your car for prom? Just that one night?" 

"The truck?" Marvin knew the answer but wanted to teach his only son a lesson in the type of directness that made boys into men. 

"No. The Cadillac. Our friends are doing the limo thing, but I want to – I'm just not trying to spend the whole night with them. It's easier if I can put the money for the limo towards dinner and really enjoy myself. With Patrice. Together for probably the last time." 

Marvin listened to his son's appeal without looking away from his task, mulling over the answer he already had in his head. He'd been in young love before and knew all of the fear and excitement from exploring matters of the heart. 

Terry watched his father continue to prune errant branches and leaves from the collection of perfectly green hedges, feeling the pieces of his plan for a magical night blow away in the wind. He'd already begun working through how to get $50 to Corey by the end of the night when Marvin set his shears down and started rifling through his coverall pockets. 

He pulled out a crisp $100 bill, allowed his neutral expression to brighten into a small smile, and extended his hand toward Terrence. "Hold that for dinner." Then he reached into another pocket to pull out a ring of keys to toss in Terry's direction. "And hold these for this evenin'. I gotta see you drive her before I let you off by yourself. You fuck up my Caddy, and you won't make it to Parris Island, Tybee Island, or Island Seafood down the street without a cane because I'm gon' need at least three toes for my car."

"I got it, Dad," Terry laughed. "I promise. I'll have it back a little after 12. Treece got a curfew.” 

"Mhmm. She got your little nose wide open, too. When y'all gon' stop all that playing and do the real thing?" 

Terry hoped he could return to his father triumphant by next Saturday night to proudly proclaim he and Patrice had finally decided to do "the real thing." He spent the whole week counting down the seconds until he could ask for her hand at the dinner table, confess his feelings, earn a big kiss, and walk into the event center as Francis Edwards High School's newest couple. 

Patrice considered the possibility of going from best friend to girlfriend all week but kept her fantasies locked inside her mind for fear of interrupting Napheesa's now 15-minute-long, one-sided conversation. 

The school week's events had long faded into vapors to make way for the dizzying sights and sounds of salon visits, light lunches to keep bellies flat, and gossip-filled chatter of prom preparation. Patrice and Napheesa sat side by side in massage chairs that made their bodies shake and jerk from an overzealous contraption while their feet soaked in bowls of bubbling lukewarm water. Their mothers had dropped them off for coordinated early morning nail appointments they both hoped would fit into 90 minutes. Napheesa had to be on time for her beautician or else she'd spend an extra hour at the hair salon. Patrice didn't have a fancy chair to sit in for her appointment. Still, Ms. Brenda's daughter liked to get off track in her kitchen studio, and she didn't have the time or patience for anyone to ruin her plans. 

Napheesa flipped through color swatches while she multitasked providing updates to her best friend and picking which shade of baby pink would match her dress best. "Corey said his after-party is invite-only, but you know how he gets when he get a crowd. Everybody and they mama gone be over there. You and Terry sure y'all don't wanna ride in the limo with us so you don't have to worry about finding a place to park in his neighborhood? I don't think he'll care about the money at this point." 

"Nope. Terry says he wants it to be just us, and I think he already got his dad to let him use the car." Patrice answered, smiling at the thought of being alone with him in a fancy whip. 

"Okay, then! You didn't tell me about the Cadillac, now! I'm jealous." Napheesa teased. She noticed her friend's bashful smirk and reached over to playfully push her shoulder. "How you feeling about tonight? You nervous? Excited? What?" 

All of that and then some, Patrice thought to herself before answering. "I don't know! I think I'm just ready to see him," she confessed. "We've never been, like, alone alone. What if I say something silly or trip and fall or something? Now the night is ruined, and I gotta come home by 8 o'clock." Patrice sighed and mentally settled on a classic French tip for her nails and feet. "I think it'll be fun. I'm just ready to skip to then."

"The way Terry acts like you're the second coming of Kevin Hart, I'm sure there's nothing silly you could do or say to make him end the night early. He might even fall down with you so you don't feel alone." The young ladies dissolved into laughter at the image of Terry's long, lanky body lowering to the ground just to make Patrice feel better about her blunder. "Just have fun, P. High school is almost over, and if you not with that boy by May, we not talking about his ass when we get on campus." 

Patrice feigned offense. "We'll still be friends! I can't talk about him at all?" 

"Not a peep. We only talking about fine college niggas after graduation. So, lock it down or get ready for orientatioooon." Napheesa's exaggerated body roll turned Patrice's giggling into a full-on cackle loud enough to eclipse the nearby whirring of an electric file. 

Patrice would've laughed herself into a stomach ache if not for the loud ringtone trilling in her purse. Napheesa didn't need to see who was awaiting an answer to their call. The slight smile on her friend's face and starry eyes were answer enough. 

"Hey, TJ," Patrice chirped as two nail techs rolled up to start their service. 

In his bedroom across town, Terry eyed his face in the bathroom mirror, trying to decide which parts of his facial hair to tell his barber to keep. "What's up, Treece. Wait, are you out already?" 

"Yeah. I didn't want to end up late, so me and Phee decided to get our nails done early." Patrice passed greetings between her two best friends before continuing. "What's up with you?"

"I'm on the way to the barbershop in a little bit. I just wanted to tell you I'll be by to pick you up at 5:30 so we can get to dinner on time. The food's gonna suck tonight and I don't want you to be hungry. Think you'll be ready by then?" 

Patrice smiled and softened her voice. "Yeah. I'll be ready." 

"Um…" Terry cut himself short, smiled at the fleeting thought of seeing his Cinderella float toward him in something spectacular, and then picked up his thought again. "I'm excited to see your dress tonight and hang out. I think it's gonna be a good night." 

"Me too. I get to see you in a tie for the first time." 

Terry chuckled. "And this stupid waist thing my mama's making me wear. They're gonna follow me to your place, by the way, so be ready to take pictures for forever." 

"That's okay. You just make sure you don't come over there looking better than me," Patrice joked. A clean-cut, suited and booted Terry could rival Hollywood's finest leading man. She'd put money on that. 

"I could never. You win that battle every time." His compliment settled on Patrice's ears and heart like light snow coating freezing cold lawns in those Hallmark Christmas movies her mom loved so much. Terry smiled at her silence before noting his father's second honk in as many minutes. "See you later, Treece. I gotta get out of here. Love you." 

Patrice looked to Napheesa pretending not to listen to every word of their conversation then tried to lower her voice. "Love you, too. See you later." 

Another velvety smooth goodbye left a young girl with dreams of locking more than arms with her occasionally brooding, often sweet prince swooning in a building full of strangers and her amused best friend. 

"Cute shit, mom and dad." The parents joke had gained traction in the school hallways and grown legs to follow Patrice into the world via a sniggering Naphessa. Patrice looked over at her friend with a sour look and received gut-busting laughter in return. "Damn, y'all sound like my parents." 

"Shut up!" 

-----

Staring at her daughter in the small vanity mirror tucked in the room's back corner, Rosalyn had never seen a more beautiful girl in all her life. The baby she'd spent hours of grueling labor to usher into the world, her first of three pregnancies and two births, had grown into a young woman preparing to enter the world as a free bird spreading its wings for the time. 

Tears gathered in the inner corners of her eyes, threatening to garner a groan and quiet complaints for it was the third time in an hour she'd felt like crying. Leon joked with her the first two times, remarking that Patrice's eventual wedding might send her to the upper room if this was how Rosalyn would act for prom. 

Rosalyn twirled a perfectly spiraled tendril from Patrice's bun around her finger after removing the perm rod giving it shape and smiled. "You're such a pretty girl, P. Don't let anyone tell you that you aren't. Alright?" 

"Yes ma'am," Patrice answered as she looked back at her mother through the mirror. She took careful stock of her appearance, trying to see what in her reflection her mother saw to say such a thing. 

Brown skin, smooth as luxury chocolate and covered in just enough makeup to highlight ancestral high cheekbones and youthful features, complemented shining eyes and mouth full of pearly whites her parents had paid a fortune for in middle school. She was pretty. Beautiful. A stunning amalgamation of her mother, and her mother, and her mother's mother long before she was a twinkle in the universe. 

A larger roller removed from the right side of her forehead unfurled a bouncing bang. Rosalyn kept it in place with a careful mist of spritz. "The next time I get to see you like this, you'll be getting a new last name." Patrice looked away bashfully, trying not to imagine wedding bells and a church full of family watching her walk down the aisle to the one she…loved? Loves. She did love him, she thought. She was sure of that much.

Rosalyn slowly slid the other large roller off Patrice's left side, giving it equal attention to the first. "Have fun tonight, alright. I know you'll be okay with Terry, but I'll tell you anyway: be safe. You know you can call whenever you need us. We'll come get you, no questions asked." 

"I know. I don't think I'll have to call. Terry knows to have me back by midnight, and we don't get into trouble." Partially true. They didn't get into much trouble. Nothing significant or life-changing. Not yet, anyway. 

"I'm not worried about it," Rosalyn said, fixing a small sparkling tiara to the base of Patrice's bun. "So…do you like him? From my vantage point, it seems like you like him, but I could be wrong. What's the scoop?" 

Patrice groaned. "Mamaaa!" An immediate desire to cover up the truth made her body hot with embarrassment. But something in her mother's knowing smile compelled her to come clean. "Yeah. I do. I like him a lot." 

"Ain't no crime in that. It's okay to like a boy. You know your daddy was a boy I liked at one point. We don't expect you not to like anyone. We just want you to be smart. Don't have no babies yet." 

"Maaa!" 

Rosalyn chuckled at Patrice's teenaged disgust and prepared to pour more on for fun's sake when two knocks rapped against the bedroom door before Leon poked his head inside. He took a sweeping look over his only daughter and smiled. "Look at my little girl. They should be putting you in the children's books, huh?" Patrice said thanks with a small, timid smile before Leon dropped off pressing news. "The Richmond boy and his folks are comin' in. Lookin' like it's time to make your entrance." 

"Thank you, Daddy. Can you tell him I'll be out in a little while?" 

Leon accepted his marching orders with a nod and smile, then disappeared to entertain the growing swell of voices filling the living room. 

Smiling, Rosalyn slid the cape shielding Patrice's glittering dress from debris off her daughter's chest and draped it over her arm. "Alright, pretty girl, it's your show now." She leaned down to press her cheek to Patrice's in a warm display of affection. "Knock his socks off, you hear? He's here to see you. Give him a show." 

Give him a show. While Patrice mentally unraveled what that meant, Terry stood in the living room rocking back and forth on his heels and checking his wristwatch for the time. Zorah and Zanah talked on the couch while Junior snuck glances at the two identically beautiful girls and tried to keep the camcorder upright to ensure he didn't get a slap on the back of the head from his mother. Diedra chattered a mile a minute to her husband and good friend, saying something about pictures and keepsakes that Terry didn't care to hear. 

He wanted to see Patrice. Weeks of waiting and dreaming every chance he got to let his mind wander came down to the soft tick, tick, tick of his silver link watch as the minute hand turned 5:29 pm into 5:30 pm—showtime. 

Terry heard a door close down the hall and listened for the footsteps moving in his direction before looking up to see Mrs. Rosalyn appear in the hallway's threshold. She smiled at him first then addressed the room. "She'll be out in a few. Just grabbing a few last things." 

"Oh my Gooood! I can't wait to see her. I know she'll be beautiful!" Diedra clasped her fingers at her chest as if it were her daughter preparing for a grand reveal. "Girls, come over here. I want you to see!" 

Zorah and Zanah moaned and groaned about their conversation being cut short but followed directions anyway to avoid what existed on the other side of disobedience. Junior tracked both girls with his eyes until a nervously rocking Terry cut off his sightline. He looked up at the young man confused. 

"Why you shakin' like that, Terry," he asked, genuinely unable to fathom why the boy might be nervous. "You seen Patrice a million times." 

But not like this. He'd seen her in sweats and a T-shirt or dressed up for school, but not like this. That fact became abundantly clear as her high heels tapped across the hardwood floor, stepping closer to reveal a modern marvel amongst mere pretenders. Whatever he'd dreamed up in the back of classrooms or while tucked in his bedroom at night paled compared to what stood before him. 

Shock. Awe. Amazement. Diedra squealed as if the Queen had walked into the room. His twin sisters whistled and gave praise like only pre-teen girls could. Even Junior had to nod in approval to give credit where credit was due. 

Terry could only see Patrice in all the noise. The way her dress shimmered in the sunlight streaming through the glass storm door at the front of the house. How her makeup made her look like a movie star in her greatest role to date. Heels helped her legs stand out from the hint of split peeking back at him. Her hair was beautiful, her nails were beautiful, her lips, shoulders, and eyes were beautiful – Patrice was beautiful.

Terry's hand was out beckoning for her hand before he knew what he was doing. "Wow," he breathed out as he gently pulled her closer. He had to will away the urge to know if the gloss coating her lipstick-covered pout had a flavor to say something coherent. "You look…wow." 

"You look like Cinderella! It's so cool!" Zanah said the most consecutive words she had spoken in ages at that moment, stunning Marvin. 

"Shoot, you really are something! You even got the mean one to talk!" 

All in the room laughed, leaving Terry and Patrice to admire each other openly. Patrice straightened the lapel of Terry's tux jacket, then moved on to his bowtie just to have a reason for stepping close enough to smell his cologne. 

He looked down at her, peering through thick lashes, and watched her go to work with a smile. Seeing her nervousness comforted him. They could figure things out together.

Patrice smoothed her hands over his shoulders and finally looked up to smile at Terry. "You look really handsome, TJ. Mean it." 

"You too." Terry immediately recognized his tongue-tied mistake and rushed to correct course. "I meant you look pretty. Beautiful! I'm sorry. You ready to get out of here?" 

They were more than ready. As they stood in front of the Ellis residence, pinning boutonnieres, sliding corsages on dainty wrists, and posing for more photos than they could count, all Patrice and Terry could think about was sliding into the front seat of their chariot for the evening and rolling off toward the sunset. They got their chance 40-odd grueling minutes later once their parents had done all their doting and laid down the rules. 

The first stop was dinner. Somehow, good fortune pushed Terry to pick the one Italian restaurant no other prom attendee in the city thought to cram into with their large parties clad in fluffy gowns and starched suits. That foresight got them a free dinner from a lovely Black couple enjoying a Saturday date night. 

His foresight also saved them from the disaster of a dinner at the venue once they'd wrapped up their make-believe date night and joined their friends for the last formal night of their high school lives. Luckily, the thrill of dancing and taking Facebook photos on a handheld digital camera removed the need to eat anything life-sustaining.

Together, they sang in each other's faces like maniacs, moved about the dance floor until their feet hurt, and forgot all the cares and problems of tomorrow. The only break came when the Prom King and Queen were announced after dinner service began. 

Terry and Patrice watched Corey accept his title like proud parents, recording him on their cell phones while hollering their support from across the room with the rest of the crew. All the work they'd collectively put into his campaign made his triumph feel like a win for the table, not counting Corey's angry date. She stormed off into the hallway moments after an innocent dance between the royal couple went from an innocent sway to Corey reveling in the attention of a young lady with at least six inches of height over him. 

The DJ for the night quickly cut "Slow Jam" by Usher and Monica off at a faculty advisor's request once Corey got a little overzealous and transitioned into Chris Brown's "Winner" to invite all who were willing to sway in each other's arms to the dancefloor. 

Patrice sat in her chair, watching couples slowly float to the dancefloor. She smiled at nothing in particular and bopped her head to the familiar song. Terry watched her like a hawk, suspended between being mesmerized and the pressure of knowing his time was quickly running out. 

Nerves at dinner convinced him to stay mum about his feelings and enjoy Patrice's fun facts about focaccia instead. When he rested his hand on her fingers in the car, and she didn't pull away, he thought about pulling over for his rehearsed speech, but they were already behind schedule. Part of him wanted to whisper how much he loved her into her ear as she pressed her back to his front for official photos. He let the feeling pass, though. 

Now, with the center of the dancefloor free for the taking and the time left before his princess needed to be returned to her home dwindling, he took a deep breath and scooched closer to her. 

Baby, you're a winner

Didn't even take you twelve rounds to do it

You got the title now

I'mma tell the whole world 

To give it up for my girl

"You wanna dance?" Terry meant for the question to sound more confident and less like a creep whispering into his date's ear. So, he scooched even closer, slid his hand around her waist, and tried again. "I'd really love to dance with you. Please." 

Patrice turned in her seat to look back at Terry's eyes pleading for the chance to take her out on the floor and felt goosebumps spring up on her forearms. How could she say no to such a perfectly handsome face? She wouldn't if given the chance. "I'm following your lead." 

Hand in hand, Terry and Patrice sauntered out into the center of an empty dancefloor, receiving applause and encouragement from people and friends who had caught wind of something special unfolding before them. They ignored the ruckus as best they could while arranging limbs around necks and waists. 

If he were being honest with his mind and body, Terry wanted Patrice closer than what school officials would deem appropriate for a sanctioned event. Having his fingers gently grip her sides while they swayed too slow for the music felt like torture, but he persisted for the sake of the moment. He'd have his chances one day soon. 

Patrice hoped Terry couldn't feel the wild thump of her pulse against her wrist as they draped near the nape of his neck. Being so close to him, smelling the residual mint of his gum mixed with whatever heavenly fragrance he'd borrowed from his father was enough to send her body into overdrive. So this was what attraction felt like? This was what all the Ebony and Cosmo articles meant when they discussed the scientific responses of women to men and vice versa. This was infatuation, unshakeable physical longing, and…love? Separately, they were manageable symptoms curable by time away and deep breaths. Together, in the confines of the small square they'd created with sync movements, they were too much and threatening to spill over into utterances she wasn't sure she was ready to release. 

Terry dragging his thumbs up and down along Patrice's waist snapped her out of a deluge of competing thoughts, forcing her to look up at him. He smiled. "What you thinkin' about?" 

"How bad a dancer I am," she joked, allowing self-deprecation to be her scapegoat for the nerves bubbling inside. 

"It's not you," he chuckled. "I wasn't really listening to how fast this song is. I just wanted to get you away from everybody else so we could talk." 

Patrice tilted her head in curiosity. "About what?" 

A quick scan of the immediate area to confirm there were no eavesdroppers or class gossipers helped Terry gather his thoughts. He had plans for something grand, something unforgettable for the rest of their lives. But when he looked back down at her brown eyes, waiting for his next move, he could only confess, "Patrice, I love you." 

"I love you, too, Terrence." 

For a split second, through the strobing neon lights creating shadows on their faces and hiding actual reactions, Terry thought he could see a flash of connection in Patrice's eyes – a hint of unspoken confirmation that what he'd shared was received in full without explanation. 

Patrice hoped he understood the added "I" or the addition of his entire first name to mean what she was too afraid to vocalize beyond a few simple words. 

They had more to say and share to ease the weight on their heavy hearts and minds. Things too sacred for the dancefloor, back at the table with their friends, or in the parking lot as everyone loosened their ties, switched out their shoes, and planned to reconvene for the party of the century. So, they left their I Love You's with Chris Brown and darted into the night for sweet treats separate from the group. 

Underneath real stars in a dark blue sky, they rambled on, recapping highlights over two cups of fresh churned Oreo ice cream, trying hard not to leave the evidence behind on his father's interior. 

"Corey lucky he around all them people, or Jasmine would've kicked his ass," Patrice laughed. "Oh, and did you see Chris and Diamond leave together. I knew they had something going on!" 

Terry chewed through a chunk of Oreo and shrugged. "People could say the same about us. Shit, people do say the same about us." 

"Yeah, but…this is different. We're friends. Right?" 

"We are right now, but…I don't know if I want to stay that way." Growing serious, Terry placed his half-empty cup of ice cream in the cup holder and turned in the driver's seat to face Patrice. He reached for her hand, and, for the second time that night, she didn't pull away. He took it as his sign to proceed. "I meant what I said back there. I love you. As more than my friend." 

Patrice nodded, understanding, and tried to wish away the tears pricking her eyes as she smiled. "I know. I did, too. I…I love you." 

That spark, the small burst of magic that had fought for centerstage all day, was back and bursting into fireworks above them, daring someone to make a move. Terry took the bait and brought Patrice's knuckles to his lips for a chaste kiss. She watched him close his eyes to savor the feeling of her skin on his mouth, thinking of all the ways she'd explain this to Napheesa when they had a moment to debrief. 

"I want to be your boyfriend. You know, if… that's cool with you." He chickened out in the end, but the sentiment remained the same. He wanted more than one-armed hugs and childish giggles with Patrice. He wanted a real relationship. As real as it could get for two people at the precipice of adulthood. 

Patrice sucked in a deep breath, unsure of how to force an answer through a throat tightening by the second. All she could mutter was a quiet "TJ…" 

"It's okay," he smiled. Breaching the center console between them, he leaned to kiss her cheek. Patrice's eyes fluttered closed and reopened in enough time to catch Terry returning to the driver's side, preparing to start the engine. "Just think about it, okay?"

Patrice thought about dating and a wedding, Terry's fingers threaded between hers, his thumb softly caressing her knuckles, the butterflies in her belly, and what it meant to be in love as he drove them through familiar streets. It was all she could think about. It was all she wanted to think about. 

Thoughts of finally letting go battled with the fear of what the end may look like and stuck with Patrice as they walked into Corey's "quiet" house party. Neither of them would ever understand how he could convince his parents to allow teenagers around the county to dance, scream, and be merry in their two-story home, but they didn't complain. 

Corey was the first to point out their joint arrival and holdholding, only to be shooed away to spread the news amongst the others. 

"Phee is in one of the rooms changing, I think. Or fucking with Nate. I don't know what's going on, bro, I'm not gon' lie to you." 

Terry shook his head at his friend's antics, then turned to Patrice. "You want a drink or something? Water?" 

"Water would be nice," she answered through a broad smile that Terry mirrored. "Can you grab a straw, too? I don't want to mess up my lip gloss." 

"Cool. I'll find you." 

Only God could pry their hands apart and send Terry on a mission for cold water and straw in a house where he could barely move without bumping into someone. Patrice watched him disappear around a corner before dashing down a hallway for sound counsel. 

She opened doors to coat closets, bathrooms, and bedrooms, which were occasionally filled with people sneaking sips of alcohol, but they came up empty. Panic settled into her bones as she frantically asked for Napheesa until some generous partygoer pointed her toward the family sunroom. 

There, she found Napheesa sipping something in a red cup and massaging her aching feet like a mother who'd had a long day at work. When she saw Patrice barrel through the threshold, her face brightened. "P! I was -" 

"Terry told me he loved me!" 

Napheesa choked on air as her eyes bugged out of her head. "What! Wait, wait, wait. Start from the top!" 

"We were dancing, and he said he loved me; I said it back because, like, I do love him, right! We say that all the time! You hear it! But then he said it again while we were eating ice cream and asked me to be his girlfriend! Well, really, he asked to be my boyfriend, which is like, somehow more romantic than the other way around, and Napheesa, I don't know what to do! What do I do?" 

Patrice spoke a mile a minute, not stopping for breaths or input until she'd unloaded her full stream of consciousness, like word vomit, all over the floor. Napheesa stared blankly and answered matter-of-factly. 

"Just say it back." Plain and without flowery language, she offered sage advice. "Say it back. You just said you love him. So, say it back to him. Why are you making this hard? Do you love him?" 

"Of course I do!" 

Napheesa laughed in confusion. "So say it back, crazy girl! Go ahead. Do it." 

"Okay. Alright," Patrice started. "I love Terry. I love him. I love Terrence Richmond. There. I said it." She listened to the words return to her and tried them out again. "I love you, Terry. I love you, Terry. I love you, Terry!" 

"See how easy that was? You really need to see somebody about all that worrying, girl. Want me to ask my mama who she goes to?" 

Patrice sighed and chuckled away her nerves. "No. I just-" 

When Napheesa's eyes flickered up to the sunroom entrance and stayed, Patrice turned around to find Terry caught like a deer in headlights with two cups and a straw in his hand. 

"They didn't have bottles, so I just put some ice water in these cups," he announced. "Am I interrupting girl talk? I can come back." 

"Nope. I was actually on my way to find Nate and get some water." Napheese looked back at Patrice, winked her encouragement, and then stood to brush past Terry and back into the action. She pulled one cup out of his hand on her way out. "Thanks for the water. See y'all later?" 

One cup down and thoroughly annoyed, Terry stepped into the sunroom and took Napheesa's previous spot opposite Patrice. He extended the cup and straw in her direction. "Here. This one's for you. Don't tell Corey I went through his mama's kitchen drawers." 

"Your secret's safe with me." 

Terry smiled as Patrice mimed a lock motion over her lips. She never dropped her smile or sipped from her cup, striking him as odd. "You okay?" he laughed. "Why you smiling so hard? Did Napheesa say something about me?" 

She shook her head no but answered, "Yes!" 

"Yes, what?" Terry questioned, confusion knitting his brows together. 

Patrice placed her cup on the ground and grabbed both his hands, threading their fingers together like he did in the car. He gripped them tighter, looking into her eyes like they held all the answers. 

"Yes, you can be my boyfriend. Because…I really, really want to be your girlfriend. You know…if that's cool with you." 

Shock kept Terry glued to his seat, disconnecting his body from a mind turning somersaults in triumph. Patrice watched in amusement as his eyes darted across her face before he shot up and pulled her along for the ride. 

They'd hugged each other plenty of times – to say goodbye and hello, for comfort when the other was feeling down, to be close for no reason at all – but they'd never embraced as more than friends. Patrice had never experienced how good it felt to be fully wrapped in his arm and pressed into a heart beating with love for her. Terry didn't know how having Patrice wrap herself around him would trigger a desire to shower her in never-ending affection. 

Terry tried the feeling on for size, pulling away to kiss her cheek and then her forehead. "I love you." If given the chance, he could say it a million more times. 

"I love you, too." Easy enough. Practice would make perfect, and Patrice was ready to put in the work. 

An unseen force, the same magnetism from their shared Christmas joy in Patrice's bedroom months ago, pulled them closer for another go at a kiss they'd been putting off for far too long. 

Eyes blinked closed. Tongues ran across lips to moisten them for an eventual meeting. Hands tried to wander south and close the gap between their hips. All their pining and preparation had come down to one mo- 

"Hell yeah, P! Kiss your man!" 

"Terry! Terry! Terry!" 

"I knew it! They almost kissed on the dancefloor, too!"

Thwarted again. A small crowd of familiar faces had gathered at the threshold, excited to see their favorite pair finally go the distance. Embarrassed, Patrice hid her face inside Terry's suit jacket, and he wrapped his arms around her as an act of protection. 

Laughing, he tried to shoo the onlookers away. "Man, get out of here! Y'all ain't ever heard of privacy?" 

"Nigga, this my house! Ain't no privacy," Corey laughed. "Go ahead and kiss. This everybody moment! We been waiting forever!" 

The small group agreed, but Patrice wasn't interested in the spectacle. She pulled away from Terry, slid her hand in his, and began leading them out of the room. "And you'll wait some more. This ain't a damn zoo! I thought we were here to have fun!" 

They were. And they did. Disappointment quickly faded, making room for more singing, dancing, and aching feet into the late hours of the night. 

Patrice had long ditched her heels for flats, extending the life of her party animal personal until a quick glance at a perfectly positioned wall clock indicated a quarter til midnight. She roughly pried Terry's drifting hands, trying to pull her backside closer to his front from her waist, and hurried him back to the car in hopes he could make up the distance with some expert driving. 

Both of them prayed all patrol units were busy elsewhere as Terry guided them down empty streets and quiet neighborhood rows to return Rosalyn and Leon's precious cargo by midnight. Terry pulled into Patrice's driveway, cutting time dangerously close, opened the passenger door in a flash, and hurried her to the front door like the Secret Service escorting the president. 

He watched Patrice shuffle through her purse for the housekey, wondering if now was a good time to return to that kiss. "Patrice, can I -" 

"Found it! I really need to put this on a ring." She looked up at Terry and smiled. "I'm sorry, what were you gonna say?" 

Terry shook his head free of previous plans and settled for a kiss on the cheek. "Good night, Treece. I'll text you when I'm home." 

"Good night, TJ." Patrice looked at the light turn on in the living room through the glass panels on the front door, then back at Terry. "I love you." 

"I love you, too. Go ahead. Don't get in trouble." 

A blown kiss and one more wave sent Patrice back into her humble abode and Terry to his horse and carriage for the night. As he backed out of the driveway, looking both ways for traffic that would never come, he noticed the heel of forgotten shoes in his back seat. 

Terry smiled to himself, recalling the story of the dazzling beauty and her lost slipper. Luckily, he didn't have to scour the city looking for the beautiful belle of the ball that stole his heart. He knew where to his Cinderella.

------

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[darkmarkmarauder]

Bad Intentions - M.R.

enemies to lovers? no, babe. enemies to oops, my legs are open again

You’re going to hell for this.

Maybe not in the biblical sense—not that you particularly care—but in the way that every time you say it’s the last time, you end up right back where you started.

Right back under him. Right back on top of him.

If sin had a name, it would be Mattheo Riddle. And if temptation had a face, it would be the way he looked at you from across the Slytherin common room, slouched in his usual spot, spinning a silver ring between his fingers like he had all the time in the world. Which is why you were now lying in his bed, covered in his cum, next to him. Goddamnit you were weak. And he knew it too.

"You set the rules," Mattheo says, his voice low and quiet. "No feelings. No strings. Just fucking." He tilts his head, studying you. "But tell me, love—why is it that every time I leave your bed, you act like you don’t want me to come back?"

Because you don’t.

Because you do.

But you’ll die before you admit it.

So you scoff, adjusting the strap of your slip dress as you rise from the bed, feeling the dull ache between your thighs—a phantom reminder of his hands, his mouth, his cock. You refuse to look at him as you grab your wand from the nightstand, flicking it to relight the candles he'd blown out hours ago. "I don't act like anything, Riddle. You’re the one still standing here like you’re waiting for me to ask you to stay."

Mattheo watches you with a look that is both amused and dark, the corner of his mouth curling like he knows something you don’t. His hair is a mess from your hands, his chest still rising and falling like he hasn't caught his breath, like he's still trying to steady himself from what you just did to him.

You don’t let yourself stare too long.

He steps closer, ignoring the way you pointedly avoid his gaze. "You always do this," he murmurs, voice laced with something dangerous. "Pretend you don’t give a fuck. Like you don’t have your nails down my back, begging for me, soaking my cock, and then act like I mean nothing once it’s over."

"Because you don’t," you lie smoothly, leaning against the vanity and running a hand through your hair. "We have an arrangement, Riddle. You fuck me, I fuck you, we both get off."

You finally meet his eyes. "You just have a hard time letting go."

He grinned, tilting his head. “That’s rich coming from the girl who keeps letting me fuck her in every dark corner of this goddamn castle.”

Your jaw tightened. You knew it was true. You hated that it was true.

Because every time you told yourself you were done—every time you swore that this was the last time, that you weren’t going to let Mattheo Riddle get under your skin again—you found yourself tangled in him, bodies pressed too close, his hands gripping your hips like he could brand himself into you.

“You look like you’re thinking too hard,” Mattheo laughed, voice thick with amusement.

“I need to leave,” you said, voice lazy, eyes still on the ceiling.

Mattheo sighed dramatically, rolling onto his back. “And yet, you’ll find me again tomorrow night.”

You scoffed. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“I don’t need to,” he said, grinning at the ceiling. “You do it for me.”

You turned your head then, meeting his gaze, something unreadable flickering behind his dark eyes.

“You’re making this complicated,” you muttered.

He rolled onto his side, propping his head up with his hand. “You’re the one making it complicated.” His eyes traced your features, something softer in them now, but still sharp enough to cut. “What are you so afraid of?”

You sat up, reaching for your clothes, the moment shattered. “Nothing.”

He made a low sound in his throat, something close to disbelief. “Right.”

You turned, glaring at him over your shoulder. “We agreed this was physical. That’s it.”

Mattheo sat up too, the teasing edge gone from his voice when he said, “You can lie to yourself all you want, but you can’t lie to me.”

You clenched your jaw, yanking your shirt over your head. “I don’t know what the fuck you think this is, but you’re wrong.” Godsdammit, you had done everything to keep him at arm’s length. But Mattheo Riddle was an addict, and you were his drug of choice.

“Tell me you don’t feel this,” he said, gripping your wrist before you could leave his bed.

You turned, rolling your eyes. “I don’t.”

Liar.

His gaze flickered down to your lips, then back up, burning into you. “Tell me you don’t think about me when I’m not there.”

You exhaled sharply. “I don’t.”

Liar, liar, liar.

He leaned back against the headboard, running a hand through his dark curls, and gave you a look that made your stomach twist. It wasn’t anger, wasn’t frustration—it was something closer to amusement. Like he knew something you didn’t. Like he had all the time in the world to wait for you to stop running.

So you ended it. Just like that.

"That’s it," you had said, voice firm, ignoring the way your chest ached. "This was never supposed to be anything more. And I’m done."

The muscle in his jaw ticked. He exhaled through his nose, gripping the edge of the bed like he was stopping himself from grabbing you. "Bullshit."

"Call it whatever you want, but we’re done."

You left before he could stop you, slipping out of his bed before the warmth of his body could seduce you into staying. That was the rule. No sleeping over. No post-fuck tenderness. Nothing more.

It lasts all of 2 days. 48 goddamn hours until he finds you in the library, dragging a chair beside you like he owns the place. You don’t even look up from your book.

“I thought we agreed—”

“You agreed,” he interrupts. “I never said shit.”

You sigh, finally glancing at him. He looks fucking good, as usual, and that pisses you off.

“I don’t have time for this,” you murmur.

Mattheo leans closer, his voice dropping low. “I think you do.”

And god, you want to push him away, want to tell him to fuck off, but then his fingers brush against your thigh, and you forget why you were fighting this in the first place.

This. This is a mistake. You snap the book shut so violently it echoes, your nails digging into the cover. You swat his hand away, but he only grins, eyes flickering with something dark, something hungry.

"Touch me again and I’ll break your fingers," you say sweetly.

Mattheo tilts his head, the smirk never leaving his lips. "You’re so fucking mean to me, princess."

"Christ, you’re desperate," you sneer, arching a brow. "What happened? No other sluts to keep you occupied?"

Mattheo grins, entirely unfazed. If anything, he looks even more entertained. "Oh, plenty. But none of them are you."

His fingers press into your thigh again, inching higher. You open your mouth—maybe to tell him to fuck off, maybe to tell him to keep going—but then he slips his fingers past the hem of your skirt, past the lace of your panties, and presses right against your already-soaked cunt.

His lips twitch, eyes dark and full of something dangerous. Lust, possession, the sheer thrill of getting away with something you shouldn’t.

“Fucking knew it,” he murmurs, fingers dragging along the inside of your thigh, parting them under the table.

Your breath catches, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of reacting—of letting him see how badly he gets to you. Instead, you tilt your head, feigning boredom, like his fingers slipping between your legs isn’t already setting you on fire.

“You’re pathetic,” you whisper, just to see that glint of irritation flash across his face, just to keep him on edge.

“You’re wet,” he counters smoothly, fingers pressing against your clit, right over the lace of your panties. “So what does that make you?”

Your nails dig into the wooden chair.

Bastard.

The library is dim, the massive shelves creating darkened corners, but you’re not alone. There are people nearby, just a few tables over. Ravenclaws studying for exams. A group of Slytherins murmuring about next week’s match. Anyone could see if they looked over at the wrong moment. And Mattheo knows it.

His fingers dip beneath your panties, brushing through your slick folds, teasing you just enough to make your breath hitch.

His mouth brushes your ear. “If you want me to stop, just say the word.”

He’s testing you. Waiting to see if you’ll break first. But he should know by now—you don’t break.

You shift in your seat, parting your legs just a little more, a silent dare. Go on, then.

Mattheo’s breath shudders. His restraint is hanging by a thread, you can feel it.

And you? You decide to cut the thread entirely.

Your hand slides beneath the table, fingers wrapping around his wrist—not to stop him, but to push him deeper against you.

Mattheo curses under his breath. His control snaps.

He shoves your panties aside, two fingers sliding inside you with an ease that makes your stomach clench, makes your grip on his wrist tighten.

Still, you keep your face impassive. Cool. Unbothered.

But when he crooks his fingers just right, dragging along that spot inside you that makes your thighs tense—a quiet soft moan escapes through your lips.

And he fucking hears it.

He smirks, his free hand coming up to tilt your chin toward him, forcing you to meet his gaze. His pupils are blown wide, his cocky smirk laced with something darker.

“You were saying?”

Your heart is hammering, your body betraying you—but you refuse to let him win so easily.

You lean in, your lips just brushing his ear, voice smooth. “I was saying… if you don’t hurry up and make me cum, I’m walking out of here and finishing myself off in the dorms.”

Mattheo growls.

It’s quiet, low in his throat, but fuck, it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever heard.

His fingers slam into you, harder, faster, his thumb rubbing messy, tight circles over your clit, and it takes everything in you not to moan—not to let everyone in the fucking library know what he’s doing to you.

You clutch the edge of the table so hard your knuckles ache, your legs trembling under the weight of your own pleasure.

You’re right there, on the edge, seconds away from—

“Excuse me?”

A voice. Too close.

Your stomach drops. Mattheo’s fingers freeze inside you.

Your head snaps up to see a Ravenclaw prefect standing at the end of the table, arms crossed, brows raised. She’s looking at you both suspiciously, like she knows something is off but can’t quite put her finger on it.

Your breathing is shallow, your pulse pounding.

You keep your face smooth. Calm. You’ve gotten away with worse.

Mattheo? That motherfucker is grinning. His fingers are still inside you. Not moving. Just there. You were going to murder him.

The prefect clears her throat. “The library closes in ten minutes.”

You force a nod. “Got it.”

She doesn’t leave right away, though. She lingers, eyes narrowing slightly, lips parting like she’s about to say something else. Like she’s about to question.

Mattheo, still the absolute bastard that he is, presses his fingers deeper.

Your whole body jerks before you can stop it.

The prefect blinks. “Are you—”

You cut her off. “We’re fine.”

She hesitates, then nods slowly before finally walking away.

Mattheo waits exactly three seconds before leaning in, his breath teasing against your ear.

“You almost got us caught.”

You whirl on him, grabbing his wrist, wrenching his fingers out of you before you can lose your fucking mind.

His eyes darken as you suck his fingers into your mouth, tasting yourself on him, keeping eye contact the entire time.

Mattheo’s breathing goes ragged.

“Fuck.”

Your deathgrip on his wrist tightens, nails biting into his skin, dragging his hand away as you stand. His gaze follows you, pupils blown wide, lips parted, waiting.

You lean down, mouth just brushing his ear.

“If you want to fuck me, Riddle,” you whisper, “you’re gonna have to try harder than that.”

Then, without another word, you grab your book, straighten your skirt, and walk away.

He watches you go, "See you later, Matty," you sing, your innocent voice honey sweet, not sparing him a glance as you leave.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

a/n: i want to fuck the both of them

ᴅɪᴠɪᴅᴇʀ ᴄʀᴇᴅ: @ꜱᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀɢʀᴀᴘʜɪᴄꜱ

MASTERLIST

[wlwsoccerfics]

Lifeguard Duty (CaitlinFoordXFoordReader)

A/N: did some tweaking there but hope you enjoy the request.

Summary: you are Caitlins sister and you are a lifeguard. Saving a child and getting hurt in the process.

You reacted fast when you heard a screaming Kid. He was around 9 years old. You saw him and ran into the water, noticing he was holding onto His friend. A Boy you assumed was the same age as him. He was passed out. You swam over to them.

"what happened?" You asked when you noticed the passed Out Boy.

"He panicked cause of a little Wave and passed out." He sobbed out. So the Panic was what took him out .You grabbed a hold of both of them with one arm . The two were Paddelboarding.

There was a Sharp pain in the back of your head.

Last Thing you remember from the rescue was getting them both to safety before you passed out.

Only to wake up in the hosptial. The bright lights hurt your eyes. You felt someone hold your hand, so you turned your head slighlty. Letting out a small groan.

"careful sis." Caitlin told you. She let out a relieved breath she didn't know she was holding, cause you woke up.

"what happened Caitlin?" You looked around. "What am i doing in the hospital?" You asked.

"you don't remember? You have a concussion. You tried to save a kid that got Hurt and his friend. Appearently the Kid woke up while you saved him and somehow Hit the Back of your head with a Paddle or the Board. Cause he was panicking again. That is unclear. You got them both to safety and then passed out yourself" Caitlin explained what she had heard from the doctors.

"so the Kids are both okay?" You wanted to know. Your sister nodded her head.

"yes they are." She confirmed. Offering you a little smile. You gently touched your head.

"good. my head is killing me." You groaned softly.

" I am Not surprised. You needed 12 stitches." Caitlin let you know.

"damn. That sucks alot!" You answered, sighing softly.

"i am lucky you are okay, could have been way worse then Just a concussion." Your sister told you.

"yeah we were all quite worried when Caitlin got the call!" You Heard someone say. Turning towards the voice you know all so well.

"Kyra, sorry for scaring you!" You replied to your best friend.

"yes true little pest was so worried. We all were!" Caitlin agreed with Kyras Statement.

"i didn't mean to do that! Just tried doing my Job. And not get knocked out." You told them.

Caitlin decided to stay over night. So when you would get discharged the next day she would take you back to the Hotel were the Tillies were staying for camp. Mainly so she could keep an eye on you. And cause they didn't tell your girlfriend about it just yet. Your girlfriend happened to be a footballer as well. In fact you were dating Caitlins Arsenal teammate Alessia. You were surrounded by them in your Life. You were a lifeguard . Tearing your ACL three times, once in high school & then twice in College . Which ruined your Professional Football career before it even started. It still hurt sometimes that you had to go through a different path to find Happiness again but you knew you couldn't change it. Being a lifeguard wasn't your only Job. No your Main Job was being an author and you usually lived in england. Just a few months every year you spend back in Australia to be a lifeguard.

You have just arrived to Matildas Camp an hour ago when Kyra walked into the room you shared with your sister and Steph at the Moment. Cause the two let you room with them. You didn't knew why but Kyra looked quite guilty.

"Ky, what did you do?" You asked her but before you could wait for her response your Phone went off. Alessia was calling.

"i might have accidentally told Lessi about you getting hurt!" She admitted. Instead of replying you just frowned and sighed before answering the Phone.

"less, my Love. How are you?" You asked.

"are you joking?! How am i? How are you? You were in the Hospital! And No one told me!" She replied. She clearly sounded Stress and like she was in tears.

"Babe are you crying? I am okay really. I got some stitches and a headache. Nothing too bad. It will all be better in a few days. I will come pick you up from Camp even." You suggested. "Gonna fly back earlier this time around!" You rambled on.

"i would like that. but only when you really feel well enough. why didn't you tell me? Why did No one called me? I could have lost you!" Alessia sobbed out which honestly broke your Heart.

"we didn't want to worry you! You have Camp to worry about!" You told her gently.

"babe, you are more important then anything else. Football comes way after you and other people i care about and love!" She answered and honestly you felt that in your Soul.

You also would be quite upset If Alessia gets hurt and no one would tell you. Cause you always gonna worry. No matter what.

"i promise from now on i will always make sure you get informed when i am hurt. When we get married i am gonna Change you to my emergency contact anyways." You replied with earned you a few "aww's" from the other Girls.

"that's so sweet Babe. And Same...wait did i just hear your sister, Steph and Kyra? I need to have a Chat with them! Cause they should know better then to keep this from me!" Alessia answered. You and her said a quick goodbye before Caitlins Phone Started ringing.

"you might be in trouble, sis!" You told her.

[wordsofelie]

🔭Saturn

part of my observatory event, requested by @stellar-haikyuu <3

kuroo tetsurou x f!reader

summary: you’ve finally found a rival who meets your standards. too bad the man is the most infuriating, stupid and annoying person on earth.

content warnings: high school setting, hurt/comfort, sports / academic rivals, swearing, reader kinda has an inferiority complex

words count: 1.4k

It started as a game. A silly, stupid, little game.

At least, that’s what you told yourself at first.

You’ve always been rather—competitive. Ever since you were a kid, you chased after every first place, every gold medal, every record waiting to be broken. Higher grades, longer races in PE, and everything else that would make you better. And then, you found volleyball—a sport that only fed that hunger, made the desire to win burn even brighter.

But before, no one had ever truly met your standards.

That is, until you met him.

Kuroo Tetsurou.

You became classmates in your first year of high school. You didn’t pay much attention to him on your first day (he seemed like the perfect depiction of a teenage boy—messy-haired, slouched over his desk, probably more interested in making dirty jokes than studying). But when the first chemistry grades came, your jaw dropped—that bastard had a better score than you. Maybe it was chance, you tried to tell yourself at first, but the semester passed, and his grades only improved.

“Need something?” is the first thing he ever asked you.

You didn’t realise you were staring at the paper in his hands until his voice reached your ears.

“I don’t,” you quickly regained your composure, clearing your throat and lifting up your chin.

His mouth turned into a side smirk. Infuriating. “Cause I can tutor you if you want.”

That motherfucker, is the only way you could describe Kuroo at this moment. You gripped your pen like it was his throat. Your hands clenched so hard your nails dug into your palms.

Still, you forced a smile in return, “I’ll pass thanks.”

“Too bad. I’ve got the annals from last year’s exam at home. I could’ve lent them to you. Or maybe they’d be too hard for you to understand.” He rested his chin in his palm calmy, looking almost bored.

Oh, you were going to kill him.

“Don’t bother, I fear I might smash your face with the book.”

His eyes widened in surprise, but his laid-back attitude came back just as fast.

“You can try, but I don’t think you can reach me. I’ve seen you play, I jump higher than you, you know.”

“Wow. Real mature-”

You were convinced the game could have gone on for hours, but unfortunately—or fortunately—the bell rang, and the class got dismissed.

You remember watching him getting up. If you didn’t just get belittled by him maybe you could have given credit to his looks. Tall, athletic, confident. That’s what Kuroo was like in your eyes. If he didn’t have a shitty personality and a stupid hairstyle you think that maybe he could have been less unbearable. But as you got out of the classroom, you only wanted to prove him wrong and dethrone him.

Your first-ever interaction transformed into a declaration of war. And the war lasted all high school.  Because, obviously, Kuroo wasn’t just good in chemistry—maths, physics, PE. Teachers loved him, praised him, classmates laughed with him. He was perfect in everything. And what made your blood boil in your veins was how effortless he made everything look. You sacrificed so much to be where you were, gave so much passion and time into school that you couldn’t stand the sight of him acting like it was easy.

And he played volleyball, which gave you even more reason to compare yourself to him.

It got worse when you both became captains of your team. You started comparing scores and blocks and victories.

At first, you liked the unspoken rule between you—the constant back and forth, the rivalry that kept you both on edge whether it was for school or volleyball.

Then, it became an obsession.

You started waking up earlier to go for a run, going to bed later to study for exams. You did everything you could and still—he was better.

You remember seeing Kuroo once on the sidelines at one of your practice matches, grinning at you with hands on his hips. “You’re looking a little slow today, Captain.”

You shot him a glare.

“Why are you even here Kuroo?” You spat once the game was over. “You’re not gonna get any girls with that haircut, you know.”

“Making fun of my hair again? You’re getting a little repetitive these days.” He chuckled. Gosh, you hated this laugh. “Besides, there’s only one girl I want attention from.”

You rolled your eyes and walked away, but deep down, your heart was pounding fast. You hated how good he was. You hated that he pushed you to be better. And more than anything—you hated how much he could control your emotions, making you sad and angry and frustrated just by being close to you.

The Inter-High qualifications arrived too fast, but you were ready.

Your team had trained relentlessly. You’d pushed yourself harder than ever, and now, it was time to prove that you could do this. That you could win.

You made it to the semi-finals. You were so close.

And then—you lost.

You didn't even make it to the finals, let alone Nationals. Your dream shattered in front of you, a cruel joke the universe had played at your expense.

You shook hands with the winning team, congratulated them like a good athlete should. Then you headed to the locker room, collapsing onto the bench; your throat was tight and your eyes burnt.

You didn't hear the door opening.

And a few seconds later, you knew he was here.

You hated him. Kuroo Tetsurou.

You hated him from the bottom of your heart.

And that hatred only grew bigger now that he was standing there, hands in his pockets, ready to make fun of your loss.

“I’m not in the mood for your teasing, Kuroo.”

Silence.

Then, softly: “I’m not here to tease.”

You finally looked up. His usual smirk was nowhere to be found, you almost missed it. Your eyes immediately stared at the floor again. “I just-” He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “You don’t deserve this.”

You scoffed, bitter. “Yeah? Tell that to the scoreboard.”

Kuroo took a step closer. “I know how much this meant to you.”

Your jaw tightened. You couldn't look at him. If you did, you’d break. And you didn't want to break in front of him.

“Don’t you ever get tired of always winning?”

Kuroo blinked in surprise. “What?”

“You’re always ahead. Always. You beat me in volleyball. You beat me in grades. You beat me at everything. It’s exhausting.” Your voice cracked, and you hated it. “I’ve spent years trying to keep up with you. And now-” You laughed, but it was humourless. “Now, you get to go to Nationals while I sit at home and watch.”

Kuroo frowned. He opened his mouth—you saw it from the corner of your eyes. “I never—”

“You never what?” you snapped. “Never tried to one-up me? Never enjoyed being better than me? Cause I’m way behind you, aren’t I?”

“That’s not-” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I never wanted to beat you.”

“Bullshit. Every time we got a grade, you asked to see mine. You came to every practice game, telling me I could do more. You stayed late after school just to show me how your receives were better than mine. At tournament, you came in the frontline just to see me lose and-”

Kuroo shook his head. “It’s not that-” He hesitated. “You inspire me.”

Your heart stopped beating for a second, or two. “What?”

“You’re the best opponent I’ve ever had,” he admitted. “And yeah, I like pushing you, but not because I want to humiliate you. I just-” He rubbed the back of his neck. For the first time in the three years you had known him, he looked nervous. “I like seeing you play. I like watching you get better.”

You stared at him. This—this wasn't how your conversations usually went. Kuroo was supposed to be smug, sarcastic, insufferable. Not… this.

Not kind.

“I don’t need your pity,” you finally muttered as you looked away.

Kuroo stepped closer again and knelt down in front of you. “It’s not pity.”

“Then what is it?” The words quieted one after the other.

He seemed to be looking for the right words. But then—

“I’m going to miss you.”

You froze and your heart stuttered, and you hated that it did. (Or maybe the feeling wasn’t so bad, maybe you didn’t hate it, maybe you could get used to it.)

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” you asked. You tried to sound annoyed instead of breathless, but your voice betrayed you.

Kuroo grinned—soft, for once. “It means I don’t want this to be the end of our game. Even in uni, even when we’re old and can’t play volleyball anymore, I want you to remain my best opponent.”

You stared at him. He was serious.

“You’re an idiot.”

He chuckled. “Maybe.”

A few seconds passed before he spoke again. With his usual smirk and his stupid bed hair, he asked: “Need something?”

And then—because you were exhausted, because you’d lost everything that day, because you didn't have the energy to fight anymore—you let yourself leaned into him, just a little.

His arms were warm as they wrapped around you.

Tears started falling from your eyes, your muscles eased. Everything hurt and softened at the same time.

He was right. Maybe this wasn't the end of the game.

Maybe it was just a new round.

a/n: i had so much fun writing this <33

thank you so so much to @keishuii for beta-reading it, you’re the best!!

[gnohomotho]

Hello you treasure ❤️❤️ can you pleaaasseeee write something (fluff/angst/cute) about the recruiter and a plus size reader or a reader struggling with her body? 😭 You write inner thoughts AMAZINGLY and I reeaaaaally relate this would mean so much to me thank you!!

Of course! That is such a lovely idea!

You’re Not Pretty. You’re Unreal. ❦✞

Pairing: The Salesman // The Recruiter x fem!reader Summary: As the prompt says, but I added a little backstory and a nice barman. c: You go through remembering your first encounter to the present, and oh, the salesman intends to show you exactly how beautiful you are to him. ♥ (Right after some light murder.) ˙ᵕ˙ Warnings: Look, it's a very enamoured salesman and some death. I would, in my old age, classify it as erotica but I am still far behind the best of the best. 18+ MDNI, touching, fondling, kissing, grabbing, pushing, lustful making out, implied sexual contact and oral sex, very fowl language and death. (❀´ ˘ `❀) Word count: 4.3k A/N: I have no excuse, and you'll know exactly what I mean the further you read. 𓆩♡𓆪 Gorgeous gif by @phantom-evil Taglist: @storytellers-randomshortstorys @ingstadstarlight @aashleyxjimin @aesthetic-winchesters જ⁀➴ If you like my works, I appreciate every like // reblog // follow // message; it keeps the blog going! ♥ Masterlist ฅ^._.^ฅ

You were sat at the bar, to the side of the corner, so you could watch all the newcomers. The barman knew you by now. You came here often, alone. And he was your anchor in times you both knew to be some very troubled waters.

You studied his features, as you always did. A sweet fellow with a face far harsher than his heart, and arms to match. Each inch of rough freckled skin told its own story. Sometimes, when the night was slow and you had nowhere to go, he'd tell you one.

As he washed pint glasses under the chasms of his watchful dark eyes, red hair shaved on the sides and running down the hem of his ears in neat chops, never intruding on the concentration, he gave you that small knowing smile from the corner of his chapped mouth - "you're safe, lass, don't you worry" - it seemed to say.

You always found his presence comforting. And purely platonically, the way he looked up from a pint with foam stuck in his ginger beard made you laugh.

He never minded that you always asked for the worst possible drink in a dark, smoky bar (tea with some milk - "at least it's not the yuppy shite wi' feckin' sprinkles and a brolly" was the answer to your worry the first time you inquired) and he never minded taking care of those who bothered you.

Though you were rather sure he just enjoyed beating the shit out of people with a good excuse.

Unless...

Your eyes fell a little, memories knocking on your mind's heavy door.

You wandered through your thoughts as you stirred the lightening liquid. The first time his watchful eyes saw you, you had wandered in soaked wearing a dress that barely held, gripping a packet of matches and a single card with a spade motif on it.

He had said, once, at 3 a.m. before closing between just the two of you and some very drunk patrons, that you were such a striking vision - like that of his own folklore. You hated yourself less then, knowing it was nothing but respectful, but you stuck your thighs together and covered your chest.

You hadn't eaten a thing and were still feeling like your presence spilled over.

Back then, the first time...as he was leaning in that stained white tank top tucked into a cut off leather belt, eyes almost caressing yours. That was the first time you felt genuine care for you, asking for nothing in return. He was never intruding, never tried anything.

He said you looked like you were about to announce someone's death or pull them into a river, and they would be thankful to their last breaths. But then, his smile froze a little and his eyes lost their spark. As he looked at the matches, he slid the card into his calloused hands as though it was soaked in poison, and frowned.

"Oh lassie, ye' poor wee thing. Getting yerself caught wi' someone like that."

You remember the way he shook his head, like a man watching a moth fly directly into a candle flame, unable to stop her gentle wings. Wistful and calm, because he'd watched ten moths burn already the exact same way. Even his mouth fell sadly into the ginger storm as he laid a strong scarred hand on the bar, letting his knuckles fall one by one close to your outstretched fingers.

One eye glinted as he chewed on the corner of an unlit cigarette, shifting it to the other side of his mouth. Eyeing the bar patron by patron, watching the door. But he wasn't scanning anymore, he was searching.

"If I touch yer hand, bonnie hen," he hummed to the room, "I might as well get me own epitaph signed, but it need be held tight or get a stiff drink stuffed in it."

You remember the noise as he lifted his head, and the door moved as if on cue. Perhaps a drunk who can't read. Perhaps not.

"Get out ye daft prick, didn't I tell ye already? Closing time! Jist fucking braw, this is." He lifted and flung a rag over his shoulder, straightening to his truly foreboding height to get ready to throw out whoever just tried to get in. But in the commotion, he slid you the card back and momentarily touched the tip of your finger, eyes never leaving the door. Through the gnawed cigarette his lifted mouth corner whispered to you:

"Darlin', go fix yer face to the wee ladies room. Take yer time."

You got the message. Though as you got up, you heard a whisper under his breath as he gave you his harsh but heavy coat to keep warm, eyes positively bludgeoning the door:

"Long time deid ye are, ye scunner."

❥❥❥

The dim yellow lights shone onto your wet hair. You held that one card under them, watching it glisten. Quite the commotion going on outside, you couldn't make out the shouts. Or the amount of hits. Then the voice of the barman, deep and level. Then softer. As if he were...bargaining. You wondered what for, he seemed disinterested in earthly bullshit and you didn't think him one to ask nor beg. You pushed the thought away and examined the card under the orange light.

A playing card, seven of spades. Corners worn from your pockets as you traversed the city.

You remember standing in front of the sink. Hating the reflection. Tired. Cold. You felt your body didn't belong in the clothes and each surface stung. Clung. Revealed too much.

Flesh. You could not get rid of it. It seemed to morph in front of you. Bigger, wider, then momentarily normal. Before morphing into a reflection like that of a funhouse mirror. You huddled into the coat and covered your chest, barely concealed by a soaked dress.

You were lightheaded.

You thought about being sick.

You held your stomach, your hips, your chest, and felt empty. So much flesh. So little spirit. You'd almost scoff.

When did it get so bad? When did it creep up on you, like the numbers of every gram and millilitre? When did your worth become the amount of flesh gone? Hollow cheeks a mark of repaying a never ending invisible debt to exist?

You focused on the other item before the mirror made you actually cry.

The matchbox had a little spade symbol drawn on it. You had found it on the bridge as you gazed at the river below, thinking much the same thoughts.

You took out a single match and watched it burn. Then fall. Then disappear.

Another.

Another.

Life and...nothing.

Heat and...nothing.

A fire to burn down a church and...nothing.

Lighting your eyes momentarily in the mirror before dying once more.

You knew what you were doing - and how wrong it was. You knew the trap you were walking into, the details didn't stir you.

And the bar you found after hours of searching in the rain...had an eight of spades neatly tucked into the flowerpot right outside.

He knew. You knew.

He knew you would come.

❥❥❥

Back to present.

You sat at the bar, and the barman smiled gently once more, cigarette playing in one mouth corner. Eyes growing softer as he watched you stir your drink. He slid a small shot glass your way, and you smiled wide - he knew you don't partake, he knew you had your own issues that prevented it - but he also knew some of the good highland herbs in combination with sharp liquor soothed your mind and soothed the innergoingson.

A man sat next to you, pulling up close. You feel like the both of you are too old for this shit. The barman seemed to read your thoughts.

"Wouldn't do that if I were yerself, lad."

The man didn't look away from you, you could feel him lifting each layer of cloth off you in his mind.

"Is the seat taken?" The stranger mused, giving you a little wink. He wasn't even slurring, not even a good excuse.

The barman said nothing, only eyed him through a pair of hazel coinslots.

And you, against your better judgement, downed the shot and stirred your tea. It stung your throat and laid warmth in your chest, the herbs softly tickling your lips. You saw a glad glint in the barman's face and went back to your tea, smiling in thanks.

Just as you were checking your phone to make sure your...acquaintance...was alright, you hear him lean into you.

The cheap cologne stung.

"Such a pretty girl all alone, waiting for someone?"

You lean back and send off a quick message. If looks could kill...but you gave him the benefit of the doubt.

"I don't want to be impolite, but you really should leave that seat."

You hear the barman barely contain a snicker as he pulled another beer and sent it the other way.

The man wasn't giving up. Eyes pinned to your neck, leaning closer in what he surely imagined to be subtlety. Your phone lit up and your gaze softened instantly.

Oh...you sweetheart.

Looking up, you grew cold again. The stranger lifted a hand to touch your hair and you shot away.

"Don't be like that, tell you what...if I go, will you leave with me?"

He was positively speaking to your chest, eyeing you up and down with the motion of a broken elevator. The groan from the barman wasn't lost on you, nor the subtle crack of his knuckles on the glass.

"I'd listen to the lady, if I were half as dimwitted as ye look."

You felt the calming presence return to you, now replaced with an air of something colder. Though he wasn't intervening. And you knew exactly why.

Never disturb a snake about to take its meal.

The barman leaned onto the surface of the bar with folded red-haired arms, smiling a tad too sweetly.

"Unless yer aff yer heid for a game."

❥❥❥

You went back to your tea, eyeing the little maelstrom, adjusting your dress. You really weren't feeling too good today. About yourself, about the evening, about the glint in the eye of the man you knew would come any minute.

You weren't in the mood for an argument. But you knew it had to come. He never did like the things he cherished disrespected. Even less so if they were doing the disrespecting.

The message you sent was only a heart - a black heart, meaning, thinking of you but wary.

He sent back a white one, meaning safe, all good, darling.

Like two crows, gliding on the wind. You smiled into your phone. Maybe you were just being silly. Maybe...maybe he would be kind.

Of all the times to wear a white dress, you thought as the sleazy voice disturbed you again.

"I don't mind a good game, if this is the prize," the man dragged you from fonder thoughts and touched your leg. The barman's eyebrows shot up instantly, hand gripping the glass. But he only shook his head, getting up with a sigh, eyes firmly on the door ahead.

Usually, he'd take care of the nuisance for you, but he merely chewed his cigarette and slid it to the other corner of his mouth. A puff of smoke worth a thousand words left his lips as he walked a safe distance, though you heard the mutter.

"Yer well fucked, mate."

❥❥❥

The door closed with a polite tap, no one really looked up. You didn't either, too enthralled by your tea and moving your leg away. The man returned to it from another angle, but you crossed it with the other.

So he tried to catch your wrist with the excuse of examining your life lines.

He didn't get so close as to touch a single finger before a perfectly cuffed hand shot out and grabbed his wrist.

"Do excuse me, but this seat is taken."

You didn't look up, merely smiled into your little swirls. Oh, that soft voice laced with cyanide.

"And so is the young lady."

You closed your eyes and waited for the noise that would make you wince - and you shook as you heard the snap preceding the scream.

An absolute theatrical pitious tone followed, dripping with overplayed regret and care.

"Oh, sir! What an unfortunate accident. It seems you would very much be in need of some medical attention."

The voice you knew so well but still sent ice down your spine when using this tone cooed, circling your ears.

"Let's go take care of it."

The man got up, stunned, nearly sobbing, likely in shock and you noticed the glint of something metallic digging into his back. You were wondering how he became so compliant so fast and sigh into your tea. Does he always have to be so dramatic? Yes, when it comes to you, he does.

"Now, let's get out of the nice man's hair and talk it out outside. If you have any complaints, I would be delighted to hear them."

You exhaled, watching the tall figure drag the man out half limping, holding onto his broken wrist. What a vision that figure was, an imposing presence in elegant clothing draping an arm around the stranger, with the other politely behind his back.

It only took less than a minute after the door tapped shut to hear the muffled screams and sudden shot silencing all else.

As the figure entered once more, he adjusted his tie and smiled your way, charcoal eyes fully falling into you. Nonchalantly he walked up to you, then nodded at the barman. As he sat next to you, pulling you close, you noticed a speckle of red on his round cheek. He caressed your hip, your back, and planted a soft kiss on your shoulder. His hand squeezed you and you recoiled a bit.

You narrow your eyes and gaze into his, tone growing dry:

"You didn't even let him play, did you?"

He cocked his head and blinked slowly, momentarily zoning on the place he gripped, likely taken aback by your lack of warmth.

"Some players aren't worth the ink on the cards."

He adjusts his hair but zones back at you, face so close you can tell quite well the speckle isn't alone. You lean in, nudging his forehead. You cannot stay mad at him, nor ignore how lovely you feel next to him.

"You've a little something on your face, darling."

He raises his eyebrows, strong finger lifting to caress your cheek down to your chin and softly glide to your neck. The tender light touch makes you sigh in gratitude, he could read you like a book.

And...he actually took note of each passage.

He lulled with your head and mumbled softly, closing his eyes.

"We should go somewhere more private to take care of it then. I think you deserve some cleanliness too - I loathe the feeling of my beautiful flower stained with such filth."

You giggle, entirely honestly, and cup his cheek. He smiles into it and rests his head against you.

"Git a fookin' room ye twa," you hear behind you and laugh, acknowledging the warmth in the feigned exasperation of the barman's voice.

You pull away apologetically and try to keep yourself from blushing.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I just...haven't seen him in so long and I was worried."

The dark eyes from behind the bar positively spin in their sockets as both arms shoot up.

"Aboot him?! Lass, yer off yer rocker. Git out. Git out and have a lovely time far away from me bar."

He walked over to the figure that was still caressing you, half watching the movement, half engulfed in your touch and your presence. Enthralled by your features. As he always was. Like touching a gorgeous flower for the very first time.

"And ye be nice to the young lady. She could use it."

The finger brushing your jaw momentarily stops and your companion gets up, giving a small bow and a smile as he provides the barman with a little something from his wallet.

"Thank you. But I'm always nice to my young lady." He lifts an arm to you, and you take it.

"Shall we?"

You don't have to drown in those beautiful eyes to see the adoration and just a glint of something darker, far more animalistic, far more excited just behind the warmth.

❥❥❥

“What’s the matter?”

The door hadn’t even closed and he was already on you, hands laying on your waist. You didn’t answer, only pulled away from his grip as gently and elegantly as possible so as not to startle nor offend.

“Nothing, it’s nothing…”

His charcoal eyes watched you, travelling around your body, examining, looking for a single clue.

“We both know that’s a lie…” His voice was colder, but he didn’t try to return his touch. You could see his watchful eyes travel up your stomach, up your chest, to each shoulder, then the middle, up your neck.

Checking.

“Did someone hurt you?”

You scoffed.

“No. Your property is as shiny as ever.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Oh. Of course not. You looked away, arms crossed. He didn't move away.

“I could see it the moment I laid eyes on you, darling. Disconnected from the creep. I know your body, I know your language, it was positively screaming at me.”

He zoned in closer, carefully lifting a finger to your cheek again. When you didn’t pull away, he brushed it with his knuckle, humming to you.

“Still is. But you won’t let it speak.”

He turned his head to catch your gaze, but you didn’t look. You were shivering, hating yourself more as he was so kind. Surely he was pretending. Just to get what he wants.

But he didn’t stop. He laid his face to yours, cheek on cheek, as if you were to start a slow dance – and didn’t force you to look. Merely brushed his lips across your skin, letting you feel his presence, his warmth, his reassurance…asking for nothing. Oh, he knew you quite well. Quite well to pretend.

“And you know I despise lying…” he mumbled slowly, lips forming a small round shape on your cheekbone and travelling to your mouth. Softly he used his knuckle to turn your head and find your lips.

“I’m not lying…” you hush into his lips and let him plant the kiss, momentarily letting your guard down and lifting your hand up to cup his cheek. You could feel him smile again and the thoughts torturously let you have a moment before returning to you and burning you alive.

“Oh yes you are, my little dishonest girl.”

His soft lips took yours and you felt the pressure, the tenderness in the warmth and heat of his mouth, tongue gently tasting your upper, then lower lip, before pulling away. You felt a hand on your stomach and practically jumped.

“Is it…?”

“No!” You almost shouted, clearly offended, and threw your hands up stepping away. You couldn't look at him as your thoughts got the better of you.

“If that’s all I’m good for…is that what you want? I must be so stupid...so blind. I can't even look at myself, but at least I'm good enough for that?”

Your left eye was beginning to sparkle. You felt like you were being strangled, and he was offering you air you couldn’t breathe. It hurt even more than being actively deprived of it.

“Good enough to throw against a wall, not good enough to be human. Or even barely human, when it comes to you. Good enough to sleep with, not good enough to love. God knows if that were ever true. A connoisseur going for a cheap imitation with peeling paint and rusted edges, falling apart from its weight alone? God, I am so stupid. I’m sorry. I must have been more dishonest than even you could have thought.”

The tear fell and you looked away.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I’m sorry and I will leave now.”

He blinked, expression frozen and utterly unreadable. His body was unmoving, his hands showing not a hint of motion. You clearly said too much and the gears were turning slowly, meticulously, and you fully expected him to either walk out or forget he ever cared. Or simply nod and clear the way.

But he didn’t speak. He only slowly approached you, straightened to his full height and calculated in each step. As if you were a wounded crow about to use its last bastion of strength to peck his eyes out. Slowly an arm moved around you and pulled you close by the small of your back.

Avoiding your hips, gently laying his chest on yours, the salesman exhaled softly into your hair. Feeling no resistance from you, he used one strong palm to push your head under his chin so you could hear his heartbeat.

Rapid, fast, utterly betraying the cold stance he was projecting.

He wanted you to know.

He wanted you safe – and he wanted you to know his heart was as true as his demeanour was not.

As he caressed your head and hair, repeating a slow, gentle motion, he swayed with you almost unnoticeably. Just enough to not let you freeze, not let the paralysis in. Dancing you to the end of love, you bitterly thought. You could feel the rumble in his chest as you closed your eyes.

“That bad?”

And you knew there was a whole world of understanding in those two words alone.

You placed a single nod into his chest.

“Have I ever told you you’re the most beautiful flower I have ever laid eyes upon?”

You nodded again.

“And have I ever told you that the garden pales in comparison so much that the flower has learnt to hide her petals?”

You don’t move.

“And when she first opened up to me, like a lily to the heat, I could not believe my eyes. Nor my mind. Nor my luck.”

You gently allowed yourself to smile and swayed with him. His voice was strong, but the little hops in intonation you could feel bobbing against your head and chest gave it away.

“And there was so much briar growing around her, so many thorns and filth, strangling her tender stem…every day I vowed to pluck it. To keep it safe. But I wanted to let her grow. Now I see the briar strangled my rose and she’s barely here with me. Barely opening to me, loathing her own petals."

A little pause and...

"I’m sorry.”

He pulled your head up just a tad, just so you could meet his lips.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here to tend to you.”

His expression momentarily softened, frowning a little too theatrically.

“Poor thing. You thought I’d let you go just like that?”

There he is.

He kissed your forehead.

“Just let you walk out?”

He kissed your cheeks, one by one.

“I don’t leave the game until the dealer is dead.”

Suddenly, you could feel his hands grip yours – not gripping your body but keeping you from moving an inch and holding you down. One foot slid between yours, nudging them and keeping them apart. Oh, he listened to you, heard you, understood you – and he’s still playing the game by your own terrible rules.

You didn’t know whether to laugh or give a standing ovation.

“A true gambler, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

He nudged your feet apart further and pushed his body against you, still not overstepping yet playfully towing the line like it was as thin as a spider’s web.

You could feel his excitement, you could feel his need – and you could feel his restraint, which melted you entirely.

“Let me play for you.”

His breath was faster now, hot on your ear. His whispers made you shiver in the warmest of ways as the suit brushed your skin in its closeness.

“If I make you believe what I see each time I look at you, I win a favour.”

You smiled, the hint of sadness still in the corner, but melting...melting slowly.

“Deal.”

“Are you sure?”

He purred in your ear, a hint of breathlessness to the heat, hand leaving yours to stop just before your ribs, hovering above your hips and playing with the air around.

Teasing. Smiling. Waiting.

A subtle nod that he caught sent his hand to your side, and you tried not to flinch. The strong fingers grip your flesh and you wince. His breath nearly stops as his hand fully connects with your skin.

“God, you are ethereal...I almost forgot my own rule. Every win is non-rescindable. Each part you give me is mine to do with as I please.”

He pulled you close now, and slowly began to push you, step by step, into the cold wall behind you. As he leaned you against it and bent to kiss your neck, he mumbled into your skin.

“Still want to play, little lady?”

You gasped as he bit your neck, suckling on your skin and traveling lower. Trailing your collarbones with kisses. Your chest heaved towards him, half from the cold of the wall behind you, half for reasons that don't belong in polite company.

You gasp and whimper, bestowing the air with sounds that send him straight into overdrive. His hands grip you so hard you twist, his body thrusts into yours and his lips claim every place he brushed with a fierce appetite.

One hand finds your head, your hair, and pulls – pulls hard enough to force your head to crane back and your neck to expose before him. As a single finger hooks itself in the hem of your neckline, he pulls away, breath fast, eyes wild. Beads of sweat forming on his perfect forehead.

“I’m waiting.”

“Make me feel…like what you see…? I don’t…believe that’s…possible.”

You try to sound as assertive as you can and fail miserably, your body quivering under him – begging for him wordlessly. And you know he knows you know. Oh, he revels in it.

A single hand ghosting the air around your neck was enough to make you half close your eyes and exhale that soft, skipped breath that he loved so much. The breath he loved to turn into a barely breathing moan for him – and his hand almost gripped your neck, forcing you to look up, forcing you to drown in those beautiful dark eyes while gasping for air.

And you do what you know is exactly what your red-haired protector warned you about. Precisely what your body was quivering for yet fearing.

You nudged your head forward, turning a nod into a neck placed right between his fluttering fingers.

And he gripped.

He gripped and pushed his lips against yours, fully tasting you, fully gorging on your every molecule, every touch, every drop. His tongue explored your mouth and his lips took yours in fully, forcing himself down your mouth and exploring every crevice. His hand slid down and found your hip, squeezing freely now, caressing every inch and sliding down, further down the curve, laying his entire palm against your beating stomach.

Each touch so sincere and possessive he could be imprinting it into his mind.

Between hurried breaths and tears at your clothing as he took you and flung you into the other side of the wall, travelling down with his mouth, kissing each breast and revering you like a man suckling on the first drop of water after dying of thirst, you could hear him gasp.

“My absolute…beauty of a woman.”

And you moved into him, parting your legs and he took the invitation with gusto – hand sliding up your thigh, circling the outside than forcing itself between your legs, once more sliding them apart with his own. Firmly placing his foot between yours and not giving you an inch to glide back into yourself.

And oh, you feel his excitement. You feel his reverence. It’s positively pushing into you. You blush into the hurried gasps and level yourself against the wall, but he catches you and pushes you down again. His body pinning you right against it, nowhere to even think to move, only his face and eyes to run to. Only his lips ready to devour you whole.

“Tell me,” he whispers and kisses the spiral of your ear as the hot breath makes your head spin, “tell me little flower…do you feel how much I love you?”

His hips push into your body, firmly guiding themselves to your navel and lower, lower still…you look away and moan softly, twitching in his grip, shivering for him but still…

“Do you feel how fucking beautiful you are, how I cannot even think to stop if I wanted to? I’m yours, entirely yours, and I don’t regret a single second. I would play a losing hand just to be in this moment a second longer.”

As he lays a single kiss between your breasts, leaving your form only to give each the care he cannot contain, you melt.

“You silly, gorgeous girl…I would lay down a royal flush just to taste you one last time.”

To underline his words, he finds each breast and kisses it between his gripping fingers. Circling you with his tongue and tenderly biting down just to hear you gasp. As he sees your lips quiver, he hungrily travels up your neck, biting and kissing every inch, until your moans and whimpers drive him even madder and force him to claim your mouth. Inching away just a moment to mumble before sinking into you again.

“Oh, my Y/N, if you knew how perfect you are to me…” he kisses you hungrily as if he cannot stand to even finish the sentence, “you would force every mirror to crack in reverence for its inability to show such beauty.”

Again his tongue is invading your mouth and you reply in tune, exploring his warmth, his lips, biting down just to feel him tense up. Just to drive him madder. As he pulls away and gazes at you, eyes flicking from yours to your mouth, your chest, your shoulders, his eyes momentarily soften.

“Every inch of you is my own blessing, Y/N. My winning card. My luck personified."

If he didn't look like he was about to eat you alive and make you beg for more, you'd almost cry at the unfitting monologue. You momentarily relax in his arms, letting the last of your guard down. Oh, that sweet cyanide voice.

"You silly, silly little girl, all mine, quivering like a little bird in the rain just for me – it’s taking everything I have not to take you right now.”

A flash of darkness you’ve known to both fear and yearn for glides across his charcoal eyes and betrays the warmth in his smile and the softness of his words.

“Then do it,” you whisper, pushing yourself against him, hips first, laying your hands on his cheeks and kissing him fully. His body replies instantly and you cannot tell which part belongs to who, the way he’s both in motion and so close to you. Pressing into you with all the love he just spoke of. Even his words come out low, fast, as if he cannot afford to be away from you that long.

“Oh, but I laid down the game, flower, I told you I’d make you feel exactly what I see each time I look at you. And I don’t skirt my games.”

He gripped your chin between his index finger and thumb and kissed you deeply once more before resting both hands against your shoulders, brushing against your collarbones like he was unveiling a painting.

He took his time to slide down to kiss your neck, your sternum, each breast, and lower, lower still, dragging the remnants of clothing out of the way. As he kissed your stomach and held your hips, he laid his cheek upon you and simply rested, revelling in the closeness. Revelling in his closeness to you.

“So utterly perfect. In every way.”

His hot whispers kissed your navel, fingers softly travelling down the curve of your hips. He then let the other hand repeat the motion as the tingles positively ate you alive and travelled around the back of your neck all the way down your spine. He began to pull your panties down, slowly, each side taking its time before kissing you even lower.

And even lower.

Lower still.

One last look up at you told you exactly how much he intends to change your mind. And as his hands gently pushed your thighs apart, he would very much imprint each and every syllable of his words into you until you couldn't moan anything else.

[jinxie-117]

Shin Soukoku: Why BSD cannot be told without Atsushi and Akutagawa

How's everyone feeling after chapter 121.5? Pretty great, right? Pretty SSKK-brained, right? Well, I've got good news for you - Atsushi and Akutagawa are absolutely the emotional core of Bungou Stray Dogs.

That's right chat - whether you ship them or not, these two are absolutely fundamental to the entirety of BSD. Take whatever perspective you want on them - as lovers, as friends, as rivals who despise each other fundamentally but learn to trust one another - these two and their relationship cannot be separated from the overarching themes of their tale.

Naturally, I will be using the mainline manga as reference, as I believe it to be the best source for the overall story of BSD as well as information on Akutagawa and Atsushi's characters (since the light novels and spinoff mangas tend to focus predominantly on characters like Dazai and Chuuya, and BEAST doesn't count). Obviously, spoilers for everything. So, with that in mind, let's begin:

What is BSD about?

Many people would agree that one of the main themes of Bungou Stray Dogs is the value of a human life. Numerous characters struggle with issues surrounding their right to even be alive (Atsushi, Dazai, Akutagawa, Kyouka, Yosano, I mean the list goes on), their status as a human being (Dazai, Chuuya, Akutagawa, Sigma, and arguably Fyodor), or the amount of life required to be taken in order for the 'greater good' (most specifically the conflict between Fukuzawa and Fukuchi, but also Fyodor).

Pretty much every character in Bungou Stray Dogs struggles with some sort of suicidality or has assigned themselves a purpose that they must never stray from (Kunikida and his ideals come to mind - he believes he should not live unless he can follow the exact principles that he has composed for himself), causing them to equate the value of their lives to this one purpose.

It makes sense, then, that three of the most major villains we've had so far - Fitzgerald, Fyodor, and Fukuchi - have their own ways of cheating death: Fitzgerald in his quest to use the Book and resurrect his daughter, Fyodor with his ability, and Fukuchi with Shintou Amenogozen. What's more, all of them aim to cause immense loss of life (Fyodor is willing to kill anyone and everyone in pursuit of purging sin, Fitzgerald didn't mind loss of life in pursuit of money, power, and access to the Book, and although Fukuchi is ultimately on a smaller scale, he still aimed to kill a large number of people in order to achieve his ideal of peace). The value of a human life is the most sacred thing in this world, and so being able to cheat your own death while causing many others is naturally the most evil thing to do by this world's rules.

A final thing to note that, despite every character believing in some divine (especially in Fyodor's case) purpose for themselves that will finally give their life value, this purpose tends to cause more harm to themselves and others than they would care to admit. Kunikida's ideals especially (I keep using him as an example, it's because I recently read Dazai's entrance exam lmao) are emphasised as ridiculous and overdone, and his rigidity frequently causes him harm. This self-destruction brought on by purpose will become especially relevant as we move on to discuss our two beautiful boys:

Atsushi Nakajima: Useless Self-Pity

News to the people of the world - Atsushi is my favourite character in all of Bungou Stray Dogs. He is perfect to me and I love him. Many people I encounter on the internet have some sort of quantum beef with this man, which I can only assume is because they see in him that their own self-hatred and pity can cause harm, and get extremely butthurt about the fact that self-flagellating does nothing for them. I, however, have no such qualms, and thus I can see that he is certified peak.

One of Atsushi's major flaws, despite all his kindnesses, is that he cannot fathom a reason why he should be allowed to live, and constantly searches for that reason in other people. For a long time, he based his entire worth around the orphanage headmaster's opinion of him, as he was his only involved guardian - and thus, as a result of his abuse, believed himself worthless. Upon leaving home (or more accurately, being forcibly removed), he no longer had a purpose to live, but his survival instincts kept him alive for long enough to meet Dazai.

Meeting Dazai and joining the detective agency was only a short solace - because Atsushi, who wanted to live but truly believed that he did not deserve to, was now on the hunt for a new reason to live: protecting others.

It makes sense that in a high-stakes environment that Atsushi sees the only value of his life as protecting other people. This is first demonstrated during his entrance exam, in chapter two, when this freak of nature jumps on top of a bomb in order to protect the people around him. This seems to earn him approval from others (which he believes is his reason to live, for people to give him their approval and thus confirm he is allowed to exist), so he begins to participate in more battles and save more people's lives and generally act in defence of other people in order to earn his right to be alive.

There is more to be said here, but maybe I'll make a post only about Atsushi some other time. Moving on, one of the main drawbacks of Atsushi's desperation to live and his belief that he needs to protect others, is that he suffers from his main weakness in times of stress - dwelling on the past. Despite possessing the capability to protect and fulfil his purpose, Atsushi will freeze up and begin to spiral into self-hatred whenever anything goes wrong for him.

This is most obvious in the latest chapters, when witnessing all of his friends in the ADA die at the hands of Ame No Gozen and Dostoevsky. He seems entirely unable to take any action and fight back, believing his foe to be insurmountable, despite Fyodor's confirmation that this may not be the case:

So, we've established Atsushi's weakness as his inaction, passivity, and self-hatred. It makes him often useless in battle, and prevents him from creating a purpose for himself and interacting with the value of his life in a healthy way. Instead of protecting others and maintaining his own self worth, he fails to protect others, demolishes his self worth, and thus attempts increasingly dangerous and reckless ways to prove that his life has value. Most notably uh....

This suicide is demonstrative of Atsushi's terrible self-image. He foolishly believes that his life will have value if he literally kills himself, despite the fact that his life will no longer have value if he cannot do anything with it. Atsushi's belief that self-sacrifice is noble when he should be aiming to preserve as many lives as possible, including his own, is the culmination of every scrap of self-hatred he's been developing over the course of the entire story.

However, this can also be perceived also a good act - for once, Atsushi takes action instead of protecting mindlessly, and I will get into how this relates back to Akutagawa and how he teaches him how to take action instead of dwelling on the past, but that's for a later section. Either way, this act of self-sacrifice is both Atsushi moving onward in his character arc - learning how to take action in times of stress, instead of standing still, but also remaining stagnant - he refuses to preserve his own life, preferring instead to sacrifice it in the name of his purpose.

So, to move things along...

Ryuunosuke Akutagawa: Mindless Self-Servitude

More news to the world - you're never gonna guess which BSD character I relate to the most. This freak. This section will hopefully be a little shorter because this post is really dragging on, but no promises!

Akutagawa was very dissociated for the first years of his life - but he still had a purpose right up until his friends died. Being the strongest in his group of children in the slums, he was their assigned protector, and believed this to be his only purpose. It is the loss of this purpose that managed to break the haze around his emotions and first experience hatred - before it causes him to realise he has no reason to go on.

Immediately, Akutagawa takes up a new purpose - to prove his strenght to Dazai. Dazai personally tailors this purpose himself, ensuring that Akutagawa's entire sense of self-worth is dependent on him, willing to sacrifice any hope or joy that he might have had a chance at feeling. At the same time, however, Akutagawa despises Dazai for his treatment, being at least partially cognisant of his abuse, and wishes to kill him - thus creating a paradox in which he shall always wish to destroy his reason for live, but never be able to out of fear of losing said reason to live.

It is pretty important to note that I do not think Akutagawa wishes to die, unlike Atsushi who wholly believes that he should. Rather, Akutagawa becomes what he sees as a heartless monster when he is without a purpose, and thinks that he shall rot away on his own without one, as he believed that he did as a child in the slums, one day away from death at all times (now no longer being wholly aware that he was a fierce protector and once saw that as his reason to live). As a result, he adopts a philosophy that Dazai introduces him to - that the weak shall die, and the strong shall live, and that he better hope to be strong.

So, Akutagawa's worst weakness is that he despises the weak and will quickly and recklessly cut them down, refusing to sheath his sword, as he believes those strong enough to be worthy of life shall be able to hold their own against him in battle. Rather, instead of diminishing his own life in pursuit of saving others, Akutagawa diminishes others' lives in pursuit of saving his own. He acts recklessly and impulsively, underestimating his foes, the opposite of how Atsushi acts. He is actively called out on this by Pushkin upon encountering him:

To rub salt in the wound, earlier this chapter Atsushi calls him out on it multiple times, and Dazai calls him out on it for about... two years straight. So we can parse that Akutagawa really doesn't know how to slow down or quit, always dealing with the present and the now, believing that mass destruction will be a proof of his strength that he can then demonstrate to Dazai and earn his right to live.

This purpose, however, actively harms Akutagawa - in particular, it removes from him his humanity. He is repeatedly referred to as some kind of dog (see: the heartless cur, the silent mad dog, the black-fanged hellhound, the list goes on), and treated like his only use is to fight - which he genuinely believes, and so exists only to hurt and fight others. This causes a vicious cycle - Akutagawa hurts others recklessly -> gets called out on hurting others recklessly and denounced as a dog that doesn't know how to do anything else -> he internalises this idea of not knowing how to do anything but kill -> he continues to hurt others recklessly.

So, we have Akutagawa who will kill others to prove he is strong and thus allowed to live, and Atsushi who will kill himself to prove that he can protect and thus allowed to live. What a pair! So let's get onto the main event that shouldn't have taken this long.

Shin Soukoku: To me, you've always had a right to live

This post isn't about it, but the amount of panels these two have together where they are perfectly mirroring each other is wholly unsubtle. I've never seen anything like it. It is totally ridiculous.

To create an effective narrative foil, one must first create as many similarities between two characters as they can. So let's begin:

Both studied under Dazai

Both struggle with a flimsy reason to live

Both have all-devouring beasts that can cut through things most people wouldn't be able to as their ability

Both think themselves worthless save for one thing

Both are haunted by pasts of physical abuse that cause violence to be their accepted norm

Both feel their emotions very strongly

There's more but I've been at this post for two hours

These similarities, especially the one surrounding their reason to live, are very accessibly noticed in another human being. Overall, both of these two need to learn how to dispense of their current reasons to live, which tend to hinge on another person and a set of narrow-minded ideas (in Atsushi's case, protecting everybody, and in Akutagawa's, the strong needing to defeat the weak).

As a result of being able to notice these flaws very easily in another (having only subconsciously noticed it in themselves), these two do not get along, and repeatedly call each other out on foolish behaviour, enabling each other to improve. This looks slightly different on either side, so I'll go one-by-one.

Let's begin with Atsushi's side of the deal, because I talked about him first. As we established earlier, what he needs to learn is to take action, stop dwelling on his past, and view his life as something worth holding onto, as all human life has value.

The one thing Akutagawa absolutely despises about Atsushi is his absolute unwillingness to take any action at all.

Akutagawa, who is so used to moving forward and fighting and acting in the now, hates Atsushi for being able to dwell on his past and still have Dazai's approval. It fills him with complete and utter rage, and so he unwittingly motivates Atsushi to learn how to take proper action.

Another example is on the boat, when Atsushi's resolve is failing, and he comes to assist.

Ah, the famous line. Unironically though, it is perfectly demonstrative of Akutagawa's ability to instil self-confidence in Atsushi and motivate him into taking action - which does work later on when Atsushi saves Akutagawa from an inevitable death at the hands of Fukuchi, allowing them both to escape with their lives (for now):

So, good job Akutagawa! You've managed to teach Atsushi the power of not sitting around being dead miserable, not doing anything about the things that are visibly going wrong all around him. You know, I bet this won't have any other consequences for both you and him!

Oh, hey, Akutagawa. Guess what else you taught him:

So. We've already established why this is kind of an... issue. But as we can visibly see, Atsushi is able to take action. For the first time in several chapters, he is motivated by the prospective death of the man who warned against his passivity, into acting, not sitting by and watching everybody he cares for die, acting. Akutagawa, whose recklessness and impulsivity Atsushi once criticised, seems to be the one thing that enables him to take action after a period of extreme self-doubt and passivity.

This is especially special because Atsushi is motivated into this action by hallucination Dazai, who was once the hallucination of the orphanage director - who is now, at least implicitly, revealed to be Byakko, or Atsushi's tiger (if I am proven wrong on this then it's SO joever but whatever my theory still holds up). Throughout the entire story, Byakko is used as a metaphor for Atsushi's self-image (which I will possibly go into in another post because I'll be here all day if I do it now). So, if hallucination Dazai motivates Atsushi into acting, that means that Akutagawa has pressured him enough that he has literally permanently altered his self-concept. Insane.

Another thing that Akutagawa criticises Atsushi for is his belief that other people need to be protected, and that he can destroy himself for the sake of others, and thus earn a right to live. He demonstrates this particularly in chapter 35:

Akutagawa's main philosophy is that he who is the strongest shall come out on top, and that sacrificing anything for others is useless. So, he's (still in the process of) teaching Atsushi how to live for himself and look out for himself, which he is able to do whenever they fight against each other, and also when they fight with others - the combination of their abilities is incredibly powerful, and also represents Akutagawa giving up his defences and giving them to Atsushi, thus teaching him how to look out for himself.

This absolutely comes to fruition when Akutagawa sacrifices himself for Atsushi on the boat against Fukuchi and tells him to get away while he still can - however you slice it, he is unintentionally teaching Atsushi that he has the right to live and that Akutagawa is willing to die for it - that it doesn't matter if he protects or if he doesn't, that no matter what happens, he deserves to live. And these guys hate each other! What the hell???

Another thing to note is that now that Atsushi is presumably dead from Akutagawa's POV, he is very visibly devastated, even being able to recall his memories upon seeing the man who he fought so hard to defend take his own life. Should they reunite, I imagine that Akutagawa will be at least slightly angry with Atsushi for sacrificing himself like that - thus moving his arc of self-preservation forward.

Now, let's move onto Akutagawa's side of the deal, after that incredibly long amount of time spent on Atsushi's end.

Akutagawa believes that he does not have the right to go on unless he can prove his strength, specifically to Dazai, and does this via cutting down anything in his path.

Atsushi cannot shut up about how idiotic Akutagawa's impulsivity is. We see this on several occasions, the usually kind Atsushi devolving into downright bitchiness at points:

These are only two examples, because I didn't want to have to go chapter hopping that many times. Sorry chat.

Regardless, Akutagawa needs to be taught how to take things slow and learn how to preserve life instead of absolutely demolishing it. This comes to fruition via the six-month promise that Atsushi forces him to make, playing upon Akutagawa's principles and forcing him to not kill anyone for several months. Akutagawa begrudgingly follows through, and ends up successfully managing it right up until his death at the hands of Fukuchi. In addition, it could be argued that this same impulse-control Atsushi insists on inspiring in Akutagawa is what allows him to be able to stay hidden through most of the terrorist arc. Had the promise not existed, he likely would have killed to get his way, and ended up mistakenly revealed.

So, similar to how Akutagawa unintentionally motivates Atsushi to take action, Atsushi unintentionally motivates Akutagawa to slow things down and avoid impulsively killing. He is able to ensure Akutagawa's sword is sheathed when necessary, a feat that even Dazai couldn't achieve.

In addition, while I'd say the 'Dazai's approval' conflict is still in murky waters with Akutagawa, as he's only just recalled Atsushi and it's unclear if he's recalled anything else, Atsushi unwittingly motivates Akutagawa into reducing his impulsivity by allowing him to realise that Dazai won't be pleased by it:

While this exchange can be interpreted as Akutagawa resigning himself to Dazai's hatred of him, we do see him later postpone the killing of the two guards, both because this mission is literally made to work against him (if the guards die, a signal is sent out) and because Atsushi is constantly pulling him up on his shit.

In addition to this, Atsushi teaches Akutagawa a very important thing - that the lives of the weak matter. This is such an insane breakthrough for Akutagawa's character, also represented by the six-month promise. Despite how he's operated all this time, he learns to see Atsushi - who he has perceived as weak all this time due to his constant self pity - as a valuable ally and a life that matters, even sacrificing himself for him in the end.

Akutagawa sacrificing himself for Atsushi is such an insane move because he has never conceptualised something close to doing anything like that before, not once in his life. Atsushi, through all they have been through together, has reawakened the protective instinct in him that hasn't been active since he was a child. This is directly after Fukuchi attempts to convince him to work for him, too - right after he promises strength and Dazai's approval and everything Akutagawa has ever wanted.

Indeed, his life is that important. It is directly after this exchange that Akutagawa and Atsushi are able to trust each other to launch the surprise attack on Fukuchi, only stopped by the fact that his sword can literally exist outside of space and time. For the life of a weak man, Akutagawa gives up all he ever wanted. He gives up Dazai's approval, which he says that he fears dying without. He gives up a chance to become stronger. He gives up his life, which he so desperately wants to live. All for a weak man. All for somebody who he doesn't believe should live, if he cannot beat another in battle.

This is especially evident in the fact that despite the fact he's lost all of his memories, Akutagawa still adheres to the promise that he made to Atsushi. He has learned to respect the weak enough that he refuses to take a life, even when he is visibly winning in battle. And even though he was inspired by Bram, I would like to point out that Akutagawa has sworn his sword to protect others now, a promise that he will still likely adhere to despite the fact he now retains his memories - after all, we still see him in his knight getup at the end of S5E11, which is at least partially symbolic of his pledge.

In addition, Akutagawa is a character who is likely foreign with grief now that he's basically removed himself from the memories of what happened to him and to his friends in the slums - he never mentions his past, and is very visibly attempting to distance himself from it by engaging with luxury items such as antiques, and enjoying food such as figs, which can be seen as somewhat luxury depending on the context.

However, when Atsushi seemingly dies, he is absolutely devastated, something that I do not think we've seen him be for anything not related to Dazai (correct me if I'm wrong, but this depth of reaction isn't usually present in him). He, who never feels grief, likely because he believes those who die are weak and thus have it coming, is so shocked by Atsushi's death that he regains his memories and feels utter despair at the idea of losing him.

Conclusion

So, Atsushi and Akutagawa, both characters whose reason to live is deeply intertwined in their outlook on life, are able to balance out and improve each other's characteristics tenfold. I imagine as the manga progresses that both of them will teach each other the value of their own lives simply for existing, something that the overarching story of BSD seems to be trying to communicate.

Shin Soukoku is a perfect microcosm of the overall themes of BSD, representing the one question from which the entire story stems. Without these two, this particular theme would mean nothing, considering there would be literally no relatable plane to experience it on. Sure, we can acknowledge that millions of people dying is bad, and accept that human life is valuable through Fukuchi and Fyodor and Fitzgerald, who all attempt to demonstrate the opposite - but without Akutagawa and Atsushi, it wouldn't nearly mean as much.

I am sorry that this post was so long! If you stuck to the end you are an angel sent from the very heavens. Don't be afraid to reblog or comment your thoughts, this is just my opinion and I would love a discussion. If there are any typos I'm also sorry I've been sitting here for three hours trying to collect sources and write. But actually I'm not sorry cos I'm really based