#I miss you I yearn for you and I get it harrow I really do

[idonutcareforyou]

Jesus fucking Christ my heart heart fuck, just started reading Harrow the ninth and Jesus I’m weeping weeping weeping

[ivystoryweaver]

With You part 6

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Summary: Will you always have to wake up in the middle of the night just to get to know Jake? Marc and Steven notice your yearning to see Jake again.

Pairings: Marc Spector x reader, Steven Grant x reader, Jake Lockley x reader. Gender neutral reader. No use of Y/N. Reader is engaged to Marc and Steven.

Word Count: 3k

Warnings/notables: Fluff, complicated relationship stuff, cursing, angst, sex but the language is not overly explicit and nothing gender-specific. Let me know if I missed a warning. inaccurate DID, based on the show. Not beta'd we die like arthur harrow in the back of jake's car

Dividers by saradika

PREVIOUSLY, on "With You"...

Wondering what he would ever do without you, Marc pulled you close, gently swaying with you in the silence of your flat. He had always felt so hard to love - his childhood had made sure of that. But you loved him hard.

One of the delicious advantages of being with Marc was that he liked to bury his angst, longing and inadequacies inside your body. Perhaps fucking through his feelings wasn't the healthiest coping mechanism, but it was better than drinking, and cheaper than therapy.

That's not to say Marc didn't see a therapist - he did, pretty regularly. But being inside you felt so much better than unearthing the shit from his childhood.

That's where you found yourself now, face down on the mattress, Marc's strong chest pressed to your back. Your sweat-soaked bodies writhed in tormented bliss as he thrust in and out of you - hard and almost frustratingly slow.

His thick fingers pushed their way through yours, intertwining, pressing your hands high above your head as he twisted his body deeper into yours.

You were helpless beneath him. And you loved it.

Marc was able to control so few things about his existence. The use of your body was one thing you happily and trustingly put completely in his control.

You and Marc did make soup together for dinner, but no matzah balls were harmed in the making of the soup. It was hearty enough for Marc, but also vegan for Steven. You made a mental note ask Jake what kind of food he liked.

"I don't think Jake's a vegan," Marc spoke up, reading your mind. "I think he's the reason my sandwiches are gone half the fuckin' time."

Marc and his sandwiches. He had sworn up and down, on more than one occasion, that either you or Steven had eaten his damn roast beef sandwiches. You always denied it, preferring turkey to beef. And Steven always fired back with, "Y'know I don't eat that shite, mate."

"Oh my god, I think you just solved a mystery," you marveled. The Mystery of the Roast Beef Sandwich and its thief.

Yeah, Marc wondered what else Jake was prone to stealing. Clothes? Money? You?

Then again, Marc couldn't really say anything about money at the moment. He didn't have a job, unless he counted the occasional times he fronted during Steven's university library shift. You were the breadwinner, at least for the time being, lovingly supporting Steven in getting a degree to actually match up to his intellect.

But sharing you? Was it even sharing if it was the same body? And was it even his business if you wanted to be with Jake? He had no fucking clue. All he knew was that you were about to be his spouse. Steven's too, really. But you barely knew Jake. How could you marry someone you didn't know?

"I can hear you thinking," you teased, slathering some fresh-baked bread with butter. "Wanna talk about it? Cause I don't think I can go anymore rounds today - between you and Steven." Meaning Marc wouldn't be able to bury his worries inside you until your body got a damn break.

"Do you mean between me and Steven and Jake?" Marc pointedly asked.

You dropped the butter knife. "W-what?" You squawked. "I haven't slept with Jake."

"But...you want to." Easing beside you, Marc leaned back against the kitchen counter. "Do you?"

You reallly should have spouted off a quick 'no'. But you hesitated.

"Shit," he groaned. "I shoulda known."

"I didn't say anything!" You protested, a little too innocently.

"Exactly," Marc huffed. "You didn't deny it."

"You kind of put me on the spot," you defended, retrieving the knife and returning to your task, furiously coating a slice of bread with five times too much butter. "Besides, Jake drives me crazy. If he climbs in the damn window again, I think I might shove him right back out."

"Ah, hell, it's worse than I thought," Marc grumbled, folding his toned arms over his chest in a distinct, defiant pout.

"How is it worse?" You scoffed. "And...what is worse?"

"You... him... shit," he sighed. "He got to you."

"He didn't," you protested. "Nothing happened. N-not really..." your voice trailed off as Marc's eyes flashed with possessiveness.

"Not really? I thought you said he didn't touch you. What the hell..." He paused, glancing at his reflection in the microwave.

"Is that Steven?" You interrupted, barging in to what you usually respected as private conversation between the boys. "What is he saying?"

Fixing his eyes back on you, Marc smirked triumphantly. "He's saying you look 'a bit flustered,' which would make sense, since you wore those black satin pj's and set your alarm just to see 'that mysterious bloke'."

"Steven, you are such a traitor!" You whined. "You guys are ganging up on me! I just wanted to talk to him."

"Mm-hmm," Marc hummed, caging you in against the counter with one arm on either side of your body. "So that's all you did - talk? In black satin? In the middle of the night?"

Narrowing your eyes, you called his bluff. "You guys are really obsessed with those pj's. Maybe you would have preferred I only wore your t-shirt? Or, I could have slept the way I sleep with you half the time - in nothing."

"Sure, mm-hmm," Marc playfully nodded down at you, mockingly agreeing with every word out of your mouth.

"Besides," you added, giving his chest a playful shove, "who knows how many times Jake has come home and found me like that - then slept beside me anyway?"

Marc went dead silent.

"I'm gonna kill him," he decided, waiting just a beat before scooping you up and throwing you over his shoulder, spinning you around the kitchen playfully. "First him..." you squealed as he tickled your side, feeling a mixture of giddiness and dizziness as he manhandled you, "then you. And then him again."

"Marc, put me down, put me down!" you giggled delightedly, banging your fists on his back.

After a few more twirls, and howls of laughter from you, he conceded, steadying you back against the counter. The two of you were smiling, breathless... his strong arms caged you in again as he wet his lips with his tongue.

Ducking down, he pressed his body into yours, breathing hotly against your open mouth.

"Promise me something..." he murmured, sucking on your bottom lip and swiping his tongue inside your mouth. He pulled back just a little, teasing you.

"What?" you impatiently demanded, chasing after his lips.

Sliding one hand around the back of your neck, he crushed his lips to yours, giving you what you really wanted. Gripping your jaw, he slid his tongue over yours, licking hotly as you groaned in satisfaction. You could never get tired of kissing this man.

"Promise me," he finally whispered, kissing the corner of your mouth, nuzzling your cheek with his nose. "Promise you'll tell me if something does happen - with Jake, I mean."

Easing back, he stared down into your eyes - his own warm, brown gaze pleading. "I know you don't have to. It-it's not my business, really, but..."

Sighing reluctantly, he poured his heart out to you. He knew he was safe with you - safe to show you what he really felt inside. "It's not like Steven," he admitted. "I don't know Jake. I just...I don't want anything to happen to you."

Nodding quickly, you reached up to caress his face. "Marc, of course. You're going to be my husband - of course I would tell you that."

"Really?" His eyes sparkled with relief and love.

"Yes, really," you sweetly whispered. "And I know there's no part of you that could ever hurt me."

After all that fuss with Steven and Marc, and the damn black satin pajamas, you actually thought you might see Jake again soon - particularly since he had finally introduced himself to his alters.

You thought wrong.

Jake went back to being Jake, not interacting with you or Marc or Steven, and the three of you were none the wiser about how he spent his time.

You couldn't wreck your entire sleep schedule just to look for him every night. He clearly had no intention of interacting with you during waking hours. You tried very hard not to take it personally. After all, you barely knew one another. But Steven and Marc could tell you thought of him...worried after him.

"I think you should wait up for him one night, love," Steven suggested one evening as you sat cuddled on the couch, reading together. London was being London again. The heavens had opened, dumping cold, wet rain for hours, and creating the perfect, candlelit night in for you and Steven.

Glancing over at your fiancé, so adorable in his oversized jumper, your eyebrows knit together questioningly. "You mean, set my alarm? 'Ambush' him again?"

Reaching up to pull his reading glasses off his nose, Steven shrugged. "Don't think it's much of an ambush, really. Just lovely you wanting to talk, is all. No harm in that."

Smiling warmly, you reached for his hand. "I don't think he sees me quite the way you do, my love."

"Not very bright then, is he? Running 'round at all hours for the old bird, missing the chance to come home to a wonder like you."

"Steven," you gasped, grinning at him. "Talking like that is going to bring an end to our night of reading very quickly."

"Fine by me, darling," he chuckled, tossing his book aside without even bothering to mark the page - something Steven never did. "Because I'm not the dimwitted bloke ignoring what's right in front of me." Scooting closer, he pulled you into his arms. "His loss is my gain, I'd say. Have you all the more to m'self."

So it was decided.

You would wait up for Jake (or wake up -whichever) to see if he wanted to interact with you, and ask how he was doing. It was possible, and in your mind, likely, that he didn't want to be a part of your life. But you wanted to hear it from his own mouth, especially since he slept beside you - in your bed, in your home.

Despite your general apprehension, you decided to be your most normal self and sleep (or in this case, stay awake) in one of Marc's white undershirts - they were so soft and smelled so deliciously like him. Steven's fuzzy goldfish socks found their way to your freezing feet.

You took a long nap and drank a huge cup of coffee (made perfectly by Marc) before bed. You were determined to stay up and see how Jake typically began his nighttime routine. He always ninja'd around like some sort of Father Christmas - waiting til everyone was completely asleep before darting in and out of the flat.

It would be your luck that Jake probably wouldn't even front tonight, and your caffeinated body would stare at your sleeping fiancé for the next several hours.

At first, it was difficult to resist cuddling up with your sleepy Steven. He did manage to adorably whine that he needed you, but you quickly reminded him that this was his idea.

"Just miss you 's all," he murmured, drifting off to dreamland.

You got bored very quickly. Steven had recommended a podcast called, 'Welcome to Staying Awake.' Finding some headphones, you tried it out, following the directions it suggested - reading, solving a puzzle, and so forth.

You were just starting to doze in the comfy chair in the bedroom's corner when your fiancé stirred...only to roll over and fall back asleep.

"Ugh..." you huffed, pushing off your chair to head to the kitchen. After a quick splash of water to the face and a long drink of water, you stumbled back to your bedroom...

...where you saw Steven? pulling a pair of tailored black trousers up his legs - his cozy pj's nowhere in sight. Fastening his pants, he turned around - shirtless - nodding once to acknowledge you.

"Jake?" You tentatively greeted, breaking the late-night silence.

"Hola, mi amor," Jake's rich, deep voice greeted you smoothly - his chocolate eyes flickering down to your bare legs. "I'm sorry I woke you."

"Jake," you exhaled shakily, easing toward him slowly. "You didn't wake me up. I was waiting for you."

Warmth bloomed in his chest, but he simply reached for his white dress shirt, quickly easing his arms into the sleeves and fastening the buttons.

"Where...do you keep your clothes?" you cautiously asked, inching closer.

Nodding to the closet, he remained quiet, knotting his tie and sitting down on the edge of the bed to pull on his socks and shoes. Khonshu had awakened him. Time to get to work.

"Where are you going?" you questioned after a few quiet moments watching him getting dressed.

Finishing the lacing of his shoes, he stood, reaching for his leather jacket. Realizing your question was not rhetorical, he granted you a slight smirk. "You know where."

"Can I come with you?" You blurted, already flustered. How did he manage to do this to you?

Narrowing his eyes, he shook his head, tutting a bit condescendingly. "You're not serious."

"I am," you insisted, scurrying over to the drawer to find some joggers for your bare legs. Of course, in this state, compared to Jake, you would be way underdressed. He looked head-to-toe incredible.

The faster you moved, trying to get dressed in enough presentable clothing to go out into the frigid rain, the slower Jake moved. But each action was nonchalant, as if he barely noticed your effort.

Why was he so damn infuriating? Then again, those were the exact words he'd said about you...

Pulling a leather glove over his long fingers, one dark eyebrow shot up inquisitively.

"Almost ready," you huffed, feeling like a child asking to go to work with a parent.

Realizing you were serious, Jake yanked on the second glove, giving his knuckles a crack. "Mi corazón..." he warned, pulling his flat cap over the lustrous curls on his head, and wondering what had gotten into you. You couldn't possibly think he would let you anywhere near his night life.

You were dressed now, in a weird mixture of your clothes and Marc's, but your goldfish-clad feet still poked adorably out of your joggers. Glancing all around the room, your eyes frantically searched for the nearest pair of shoes.

Approaching you confidently, Jake reached for your elbow, bringing you to a standstill. "I have to go. You should sleep."

Yanking your arm out of his grasp, you huffed. "I told you I don't respond well to orders."

Rubbing his gloved hand over the stubble on his chin, he nodded, "Goodnight," and turned to walk out of the bedroom.

"No, I'm coming with you, Jake, wait--"

"No, mi corazón. No." He whirled around, his gaze burning into yours.

"Why not?" you shot back, your hands landing on your hips. "You're going to work, right? I need to talk to you. And I want to see what you do."

He scoffed. "No. You don't."

"Stop telling me no," you snapped, realizing this whole stay-up-and-talk-to-Jake thing was already an unprecedented disaster. You simply could not keep your cool around this man.

"Ah, I see - I can't tell you what to do, but you can give me orders." Stalking back over to the night table, he reached for Marc and Steven's phone.

"I-I'm not giving you orders...I just- why can't I come with you?" You were desperate. You realized, at that moment, that alll this was not a good look on you. What happened to cool, calm and collected you? What happened to the you who respected the hell out of Marc and Steven's autonomy and choices?

You went so far as not even trying to dictate to Marc whether or not he should drink. It was his choice, always - it had to come from him. So why couldn't you do the same with Jake? You knew the drill - people were going to do what they decided to do. Arguing the point was only arguing with reality itself.

Sure, you could explain your fears or needs, and Jake could take that information into account. But ultimately, every person in the world always chose what they were going to choose - period, the end.

"I'm not taking you out there. You know it's not safe," he explained with infuriating calmness. "I'm not exactly working a normal job here."

"You mean...you mean Moon Knight. Like...saving people. Like you did with me that night."

His eyes flashed - you couldn't decipher if it was anger or surprise. "Marc told you."

"Yes," you answered softly, taking a moment to breathe in deeply. You had to calm down and stop sounding so desperate. "I just don't understand why you can follow me - why you can watch over me and save me, but you won't just talk to me." Your lip trembled as you started to realize he just may not ever want to be in your life.

"I thought you said that I was your family," you whispered, moving close to peer up into his eyes. "But you haven't talked to me in a week. I've been worried...I've been thinking about you."

Wetting his lips, Jake swallowed hard and shifted from one foot to the other - the first inkling that you were having any effect on him whatsoever. His dark eyes flickered down to yours. "I told you I can take care of myself," he gruffly responded, his resolve beginning to crack. "So stop worrying about me."

"Stop telling me what to do," you fired back, refusing to shrink away. "You're driving me crazy. If you don't want to talk to me, or know me - if you want to sneak in and out of here every night and never see me again, then just say so."

Your chest heaved with emotion. "I won't like it and I won't ever stop worrying about you, or wanting to know you, but --"

You didn't get to finish because Jake roughly pulled you into his arms and crushed his mouth to yours.

@stormydaysxx laaundromat @kindlover @spxctorsslxt @deezisnotreal

@rivalriotrenegade @wordacadabra this--is--music @i-still-dont-like-your-face 

idk if all the tags work. I tried!

[hheaven-sentt]

you and i

summary: this must be what dante wrote about | bodyguard!leon x f!reader

word count: 3k

warnings: strong language, incredible yearning and pining, self deprecation, angst, leon is sad for like the majority of this tbh, poor guy has a lot of feelings to work through

notes: this is technically a continuation of heaven is not fit, but it can be read separately you just might miss some context. there's gonna be another installment of this probably because i'm obsessed with this concept | ao3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Leon was told what his next assignment was following his harrowing return from Spain, he’d laughed. He had outright, fully, unapologetically laughed. It was ridiculous, the idea that he would spend the foreseeable future babysitting. It wasn’t possible.

He stands against the wall of a conference room. You enter with your father after ten minutes of his waiting, and you barely acknowledge him. He doesn’t mind so much, he’d rather fly under the radar and get out than have to initiate a conversation. Your father introduces him, and he’s not sure that you even hear him. He just toes the carpet and stares forward. He prays to whoever might be listening that you don’t try to speak to him. He’s less than thrilled when your dad asks him to drive you home.

He does, of course, and he tries not to hate every minute of it. You mostly stare out the window, probably pretending that he’s a taxi. He pulls up outside your building, and considers asking if you want him to walk you up, but you’re hurrying out of the car before he gets the chance.

Grabbing your elbow, he says, “Call if there’s an emergency,”

Your eyes widen a bit when you nod, and he gently releases you. You bustle out of the car with no further words.

His apartment is empty when he returns to it. There’s little light save for the lamp on the end table. An alleyway kitchen holds his dinner for the night: a random salad he’d found pre-made at the supermarket. He sits at his pathetic dining room table. It’s only got two chairs, and he never has guests, so it feels lonelier than just having a single chair. But Ashley said it was weird to only have one chair, so here he is. He picks at the lettuce aimlessly, appetite not really kicking in the way he wants it to. 

He allows himself to wonder, for a moment, what you’re doing. Have you already showered and gone to bed? Are you with someone? Maybe watching an old movie on TV? He feels awkward, and shifts around like someone’s watching him. Something crawls under his skin, and he physically shakes the feeling.

He avoids you for about a week. It’s unprofessional, but he can’t find it in him to care. He keeps a close eye on you, making sure that you’re not in any immediate danger, and calls it good. He’s been very vocal about how this is not a job he would’ve taken himself, and although it’s not exactly hard or brutal, isn’t it? Isn’t it cruel to make a grown man follow around a twenty-something all day? He sits in his car outside your apartment building, watching silently and flipping through the radio. He can’t place why, but he hates that you walk to work alone. A feeling he can’t describe gnaws away at him, makes him feel guilty all over and squirm in his chair. You seem to be able to handle yourself. But he can’t shake the feeling of what if? 

He can’t tell if you like him. You’re stiff in his passenger seat, gnawing on your bottom lip. He feels strangely insecure, constantly shifting as if someone is staring at him, but you’re facing away from him.

“Up here,” you say quietly. “On the left,”

He begins to turn right. You look like you’re fighting a laugh.

“The left, Leon,” you say again.

“I know,” he says. “I was testing you,”

It was meant to be a joke, but it comes out gruff and forced. For the love of God, why can’t he relax with you? Why does he feel like he’s being judged, put under a microscope by your gaze? He steals glances at you throughout the drive. You silently bob your head to the song on the radio, tapping your foot off beat every now and then. It almost makes him smile. He is straddling a dangerous line, and he’s leaning one way further each and every day.

…

Leon decides very quickly that he likes having you in his space. A man of few constants is sure to find comfort in coming home to you on the couch watching some movie he’s never heard of. You fit against his couch nicely, breathe a new life into the cushions that were mostly for show when they were placed. He likes that you hold a hand up when there’s something good playing on the TV, and he has to wait for it to pass so he can finally talk to you. He likes that he wants to talk to you. It has dawned on him that he just likes you.

“Wanna grab dinner later?” you ask around a mouthful of chips, syllables muddled and smooshed against the mash. There’s a faint smile on your lips.

He shrugs. “We can do whatever you’d like,”

He wants very much to grab dinner with you. He’d like to do anything with you, so long as you keep looking at him and laughing at his jokes, as feeble and rough around the edges as they are. You swallow thickly and smile at him, and he feels like he floats off the ground.

“I’m thinking italian?” you suggest. “Craving some ravioli from that place downtown,”

“Italian sounds great,” he says, and he genuinely means it. Truth be told, you could’ve suggested trash from the dumpster out back, and he would’ve accepted.

“Cool,” you say, still smiling. It grows when he returns it. “We should walk there,”

He sits beside you on the couch and you wordlessly pass him the bag of chips. “You wanna walk all the way there? It’s a few miles,”

You shrug. “Why not? It’s so nice out,”

“Wear comfortable shoes, then, sweet girl,” he says, rolling the top of the chips down. You always tell him that he’s better at it.

“I’ll wear whatever shoes I please,” you tease. “Besides, if I get tired, you can just carry me,”

He hates the fact that he would, too. He would do anything you ask of him.

You’re dangerously close to him as you walk. Your hand bumps into his a few times as it swings, and he debates on the consequences of securing your fingers in his. He almost thinks it would be easier if you rejected him, that’s a pain he could work past. But if you didn’t? He’d be facing a lot more than temporary heartache; a lifetime of aiming to please, working to avoid disappointing you, and the devastating misery when he eventually does. That terrifies him. To be the source of your suffering is to strike him down where he stands.

“Can I pick your brain for a second?” you ask. He glances at you before nodding. “There haven’t been any incidents since…the one. How do we know I’m still in danger?”

He thinks for a moment. Truthfully, you’re not in any danger, at least not directly. But Leon finds himself continuously advising your father that you should remain with him, and your father always listens. He considers himself lucky that he was there that night, feels guilty over the idea of not walking you up that had flitted through his thoughts for a moment. He won’t risk something like that again.

“Your father is still worried,” he says. You nod slowly. “I can talk to him, if you’d like,”

You wave your hand. “No use. It won’t get through to him. Besides, it’s not so bad being saddled with you all the time,” 

You knock your shoulder into his, and he feels like his heart stops. “You’re not saddled with me. You can leave any time you want,”

You grin. “Who would laugh at your stupid jokes? Or eat all your food?”

“I don’t need someone to eat all my food,” he teases, and you laugh. “Especially wouldn’t mind having the blanket to myself at night,”

You elbow him softly in the ribs, laughing at him. “Oh, be realistic. You, my darling, are the blanket hog, don’t lie,”

He’s beaming at you. He can’t fight the brightness of the smile, or the wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. What he wouldn’t give to be able to kiss you right now, openly and freely without the guilt of his job hanging over his head like a sword. Shame taints the moment in an instant, and he makes an effort to contain his joy. You don’t seem to notice the shift, and if you do, you don’t mention it.

The restaurant isn’t the most elegant joint in town, but you behave like it is. You sit with pristine posture, pretend to know the difference between certain forks and complain that there’s only one–really, how is a woman supposed to eat a meal in these conditions?--and you tease him for having his elbows on the table.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think this was a date,” you say, picking around at the ravioli on your plate.

He grins. “Forgot to mention that I don’t have my wallet on me. Mind paying?”

“You’re a lousy date, then,” you say, grinning. “Like you’d ever let me pay,”

“It’s not like this is a five star meal, sweet girl,” he says. “Believe me, if it were? You’d definitely be paying,”

“Not going to treat the lady?” you tease. “Not very gentlemanly of you,”

He shrugs. “I believe that men and women are equal,”

You roll your eyes playfully. He likes seeing you like this, cast in the light from the fake candle in the center of the table, smiling faintly to yourself, and oh so beautiful. You reach over to steal a bite of his pasta, and he doesn’t stop you. He finds himself wanting to share with you, allow you to partake in whatever he’s having because he wants to keep you happy no matter the cost.

“Ashley’s coming home this weekend,” you say between bites. “She asked what we were up to,”

We. You and him, a collective, a pair. It sends a shiver through him. “I don’t think we’re doing anything important,”

You smile. “I think she misses you,”

He shrugs, hates the feeling of being wanted. “I’m sure she misses you more,”

He thinks for a moment about whether or not you would miss him if he left. Would you wonder about him? Would you feel longing? He knows he would. Hell, even just leaving the apartment brings a feeling of loneliness. He craves your presence, feels like he needs it to exist. You keep him grounded.

…

The fact that you walk away from him so easily–you barely put up a fight–makes him nervous. He regrets it the second it happens, his chest filling up with a guilty ache as he watches you storm away from the car. The ride was awkward, but he knew that saying anything would just make matters worse. He’s so sure that you hate him, and he’s not surprised that you do.

He calls you most days. It’s pathetic, really, how often he leaves messages on your machine. Most of the time they don’t even say anything other than a miserable apology and a few sighs of discomfort. He allows himself to wonder what you’re doing. Have you finished moving in? Have you met someone? You’d never mentioned a significant other while you were living with him, so he had this miniscule hope that things were going his way. The only problem is the massive barrier between you–his job to protect you. He was paid to ensure your safety, regardless of his want to. No matter how hard he tried, his efforts would always seem forced, incentivized by a paycheck. That’s no way to know someone, hidden behind bank statements. He wants to know you openly, freely.

He spends most of his days doing reports. There’s much less excitement now that you’re not waiting for him to come home each day. He moves through the motions without much care, barely reading the files he’s shoving into the cabinet. He thumbs through them with abandon, staring blankly at the half blacked out statements. Most times, he thinks of you. He feels guilt over the way he cut things off, but in what universe is there a more amicable way of doing it? There are approximately two other ways the situation could’ve gone.

He could’ve kept the job. He could’ve kept going every day, pretending like he doesn’t look at you like you hung the moon and the stars. He could’ve feigned disinterest until you inevitably found someone worthy of your time, and then wrestled with the heartache until it dulled. He could’ve stuck by his word and done his job.

He could’ve had both–you and the job, wrapped up together in the palm of his hand. But where would that get him? How long until you suspect that he’s acting this way for a paycheck? There was no way for that to work out. There was no realistic way for him to have both, regardless of how much he wanted that. He imagines that it would be pretty good to get paid to spend time with the person he desires most, a win-win situation.

The best decision was the one he’d already made. He hates it more than anything. He wants to see you. He wants to know you’re okay. He wants you to answer his calls.

You’re gone so long that his birthday passes. He wonders, selfishly, if you thought about him. Maybe your hand hovered over the phone for a moment in hesitation before you ultimately decided against calling him. Maybe you’d gotten him a gift you never intended to send his way. Even if he were just a passing thought across your mind, he’d take it. That was gift enough.

…

His breath is shaky as you stare at him. He wants so desperately to reach out to you, but he doesn’t. With a grin, he says, “Whether you want me here or not, right?”

You huff a laugh through your nose, a small smile widening on your features. God, he feels so lucky to see it. “I always want you here.

He could kiss you; he wants to kiss you, but not here, not now. Not when he just got you back. He’ll bide his time, he’ll wait until the world falls apart if he has to because keeping you in front of him is worth any cost. He’d pay millions, fight thousands, and lay his life down just to see you smile or make you laugh. He’s not letting you walk away so easily ever again, not if he can help it. You look at him, as if you’re really seeing him, and he feels like everything might be okay.

He enjoys spending his nights lounging on your couch. He’s been mostly relegated to average office work–who knows how long that will last–and it’s a refuge to sit against your cushions and feel you dig your feet into his side.

“For someone who always wears socks, you have cold feet,” he hisses, reaching down to move your ankle. You laugh.

“Not my fault you’re a human heater,” you say. You’re wrapped in a blanket he brought from his sad apartment; thank God that place is long behind him now. His arm is draped across the back of the couch, and your hand reaches up to hold onto his thumb.

“If you shove your feet into my side one more time, you have to call for the pizza,” he says, flicking the ball of your ankle. You bark another laugh, squeezing his thumb. He likes this, loves this even. The domesticity cleanses him better than any altar or priest ever could. He is bathed in a permanent ray of sunshine, one that warms up his skin and pushes away the shadows. You are akin to divinity. He confuses your touch with idolatry.

With a sweet sigh between hushed lips, you shuffle closer to curl into his side. He decides, right then, that this is where you’re meant to be always. Whatever the price, he will pay it gladly and fully without hesitation. There’s a traffic jam outside the window but he can’t hear it because you giggle when he pokes your side. There’s blush on the tips of your ears as you laugh.

He presses a kiss to your hair, and you sigh contently. Throughout the trials he’s endured, he’s never felt like much was worth that much pain. But, sitting here with you makes him think that there is brightness in the world. There is something to want, to love. He’s never wanted to please someone so desperately.

“I think we should stay like this forever,” you whisper, craning your neck to look at him. He’s grinning down at you in admiration, memorizing the lines and freckles on your face. “You and I,”

He kisses you, not for the first time, but hell it feels like it. You smile into it, fingers twisting into his shirt where your hand rests on his chest. His arm curls around the back of your neck, pulling you endlessly closer. If he is damned for eternity, at least that comes after this, he thinks. Your soft edges accept his jagged ones with ease, pulling him in and keeping him at close range. You pull away, resting your forehead against his.

“You wanna be stuck with me forever, sweet girl?” he asks, voice low and gruff. You smile.

“I’m not stuck with you,” you say. “Besides, wouldn’t you wanna spend eternity with someone you love?”

He rockets back. Your smile fades quickly as you realize what you’ve said. You go to shift away from him, and he panics. You can’t leave his atmosphere, not again, he won’t let you. He takes your face between his hands as gently as he can manage. He looks you in the eyes, searching for any regret, any fear. He can’t find it.

“Yes,” he says, voice shaking. “I want that more than anything,”

This must be what Dante wrote about. You must be Francesca.

[satelitis]

— FADE INTO YOU ♱ felix catton x reader

-> i think it’s strange you never knew.

pairings — felix catton x fem!reader

© content/ trigger warning — angst, hurt no comfort, right person wrong time (i’m evil), mentions of alcohol, death, loss of a loved one

juno yaps — i hate ollie & thank you @ivyppoison for encouraging me to write for felix and thank you @stvrlighttgabss for watching me endure this movie aka work of art / pos

requested? — yes/no

Rain's ambience was the only sound countering the silence at Saltburn. The shocking and devastating event of your best friend, Felix Cattons death had struck the whole estate with grief, and panged at their hearts. It felt like the tedious emotion was beating their insides with a stick, continuously.

You didn't know what to do with the information. Yet, it didn't matter, because all you could do was be paralyzed with anguish and the only way of expelling the trauma was crying, or screaming,however you couldn't even bring yourself to do either. You hadn't anyway, since the morning you found out.

The Saltburn Estate now lacked a sense of emotion and charm, Felix had brought and it plagued you with sorrow. Especially, considering Cupid had took his ghastly toll, and had struck you with his arrow, resulting in you pining and yearning for the dark haired boy.

God, you were so mad at him. Not for dying, not for leaving you too early, but for the simple fact that he was too goddamn oblivious to even give you five minutes together, happy and mutually in love. Giving you zero confirmation and satisfaction that you were star-crossed lovers destined to be. But, even Romeo and Juliet, despite being soulmates, had to reach their harrowing fate.

You and Felix only got to experience platonic interactions and it made you so regretful. If only you had stayed with him for five more minutes he would've took you into the maze, and not a random girl from the party. If only you had stayed five more minutes his death could've been avoided and you could be warm in each others embrace, lazily kissing, in the comfort of Felix's bed. But fate had other plans.

You weren't sure if you were supposed to be mad at yourself, or feel guilty for being too afraid to tell him your true feelings earlier, or if you were angry at Felix's oblivion. Wasn't it obvious? The way you looked at him alone, said a million words of adoration and infatuation. Wasn't one look enough? Obviously not.

And the worst part was, you were too late. At Olivers birthday party, you had enough of seeing Felix with all of these girls, not only at functions but back at Oxford as well. So you decided to face your fears and actually do something about the throbbing wound of Cupid's arrow, right in the bullseye of your heart.

You had always been studious and gifted at writing essays, so you did what you do best and wrote Felix a letter. You looked guiltily at it, as it sat on the night-stand. His name written in red sharpie on the front of the envelope. Your emotions, thoughts and true feelings towards Felix were laced upon the parchment and he never even got to know, let a alone see, touch or acknowledge the paper on which the confession was even made.

You sigh, getting off of the bed on which you had been residing for the better part of forty-eight hours, that being Felix's bed. Your hair was distressed, your shirt, one also of his and face stained, with old mascara and tears. You grabbed the letter off of the night-stand, and headed down the many corridors of Saltburn out to the burial spot in which Felix was lying.

The rain caused you to become drenched in a matter of seconds but letting Felix know your true feelings, rather late than never was way more important than worrying about the possibility of obtaining the common cold or worse Influenza.

You sat on the wet grass in front of the headstone. Trying to fight back the immediate tears that started to brim in your eyes, you spoke up.

"Erm, Hey Felix," you sniffed, "I really miss you a lot..." you paused, waiting for the one in a miracle chance of hearing his voice, and him telling you it was a cruel prank, but alas, with delusion comes reality and Felix's voice was never heard. You wiped your tears softly and proceeded to speak.

"I know it's too late and all but I wrote you a letter, I was going to give you..well I uh, did give you, I slipped it under your bedroom door, but uhm..you never came back to see it, so I'm going to read it now." you said, fumbling with the paper softly, tearing away at the envelope. You cleared your throat, quietly before reading the letter.

"Felix,

We've known each other since the beginning of our time at Oxford, and it's safe to say you're my best friend." you began, looking up at the headstone momentarily before continuing,

"However, there's something I haven't been telling you, and I've just been way to scared to tell you but honestly this would be way more easier if you weren't so goddamn oblivious." you chuckled softly, wiping your tears once more.

"So now Im being the bigger person and telling you that," you paused briefly taking a breath before continuing, however it's not like it mattered.

"I'm in love with you, and have been for a while now, Felix. I want to hold the hand inside you, I want to take the breath that's true." you admit to the boy, showcasing your plea he's never going to respond too.

"I look to you and I see nothing. You go off with all these other girls and it hurts because I want to be one of those girls, Felix. Not only one of those girls but the girl, Felix. I don't want to be another hookup, that's not what I'm saying, I'm saying that I want to have something real, be something real to you." you rant, like he's actually here and his fictious presence is making you flustered. You can almost see the teasing smile on his lips now.

"But I look to you to see the truth and I don't know what it is...you live your life, you go in the shadows. You go off with these other girls, you'll come apart and you'll go blind, to what's actually in front of you." you continued, "It's some kind of night in your darkness or a blind spot I swear, I thought I saw love in your eyes but I just colored them with what's not there." you confessed.

"I'm fading into you, Felix and it's kind of embarrassing that I'm falling this much for you, and quite honestly it's kind of strange you never knew." you gently confronted. "I'm literally a mess around you, even Venetia and Farleigh figured it out in a heartbeat. I'm honestly surprised they didn't say anything." you chuckled.

At this point, you were drenched, and the letter now fairly wet, and your handwriting just enough eligible that you could barely make it out.

"Long story short, Lix, I'm in love with you, I have been for the longest time and I will always be in love with you. Y'know like they said in those cheesy rom com movies we watched together, 'right person, wrong time.'" you recalled, now discarding of the letter in your first as you went from your heart.

"But goddamn, I'm so surprised you never knew." you admitted, shaking your head slightly a slight chuckle escaping your lips once more. The rain continued and you now concurred that it was time for you to go back inside. Things weren't going to change, you were still heartbroken, and will continue to be. Grief marked it's territory and has spread like mold throughout your body, but at least you know he knew.

[cricketnationrise]

Congratulations on 500 followers, babe! It's awesome that you're doing another ficlet fest. Here's my prompt:

Time: 1:30 a.m.

Location: Hollywood

Character: Alicia Zimmermann

Song lyrics: "Another name goes up in lights; you wonder if you'll make it out alive" from "The Lucky One" by Taylor Swift

Rating: T

HI BABE <3 I love this prompt, and I hope you like where it led me! There's never enough Alicia content, so I was really excited for the excuse to write some. 💜🦗

read the rest of the ficlets here!

🏒🏒🏒🏒

1:30am, hollywood

Alone in the back of a taxi, finally hidden from the view of the cameras, Alicia lets her head fall back against the headrest with a heavy sigh. 

It’s been a long time since award shows were fun, since after parties were anything other than an obligation pushed onto her shoulders by her agent. Tonight had been especially harrowing: enough meaningless small talk to make her want to tear her hair out, not enough food, and toast after drunken, incomprehensible toast. It was hard to believe that Alicia had ever liked the crush of people; that she had, at one point, craved this part of being an actress. More and more, her perfect idea of a late night features a warm body next to hers, a cup of chamomile, and a delightfully trashy romance novel—not backhanded compliments and uncomfortable shoes. 

Above all, Alicia is tired.

Tired of the run around, tired of the hustle, tired of spineless directors and co-stars that didn’t bother to learn their lines. Tired of constantly getting her picture taken, tired of being hounded by the press, tired of being critiqued on everything from her outfit to her choice of project. Tired of the endless travel, tired of remote filming locations, tired of never being in the same time zone as her apartment for more than a week at a time. There just has to be a way for her to have more control over her career. Surely she’s paid her dues by now.

At least her taxi driver isn’t trying to make conversation, or ask for an autograph—either option was liable to send Alicia over the edge tonight. She frowns as they pass a billboard for a new movie, starring some girl she’s never heard of. Blown up to larger than life, it’s impossible to miss the excitement in the starlet’s eyes, the yearning for more. Alicia feels tears gathering in the corner of her eye and looks away hurriedly—when was the last time she had felt like that?

She still loves acting, is the thing. Still loves throwing herself into a character, really connecting with their desires and fears, breathing life into someone who would otherwise just be words on a page. Still loves becoming someone new. But everything else that comes along with being an actress makes her want to scream.

Finally at her hotel, Alicia pays the driver and makes it up to her room in a haze of exhaustion and general torpor. She changes into pajamas and brushes her teeth on autopilot. It's only as she’s reaching over to turn the bedside light off when she notices the red blinking light of the answering machine. 

It’s probably her assistant. Maybe her agent. Both of them have been in constant contact on this press tour, keeping her in the loop on travel changes and adding more “quick appearances” to her schedule that end up being several hours and completely draining. But if she doesn’t check it, she’ll miss something important. With a defeated groan she checks the machine, tension leaching out of her when a man’s voice comes from the speakers instead of any of her all-female team’s strident tones. 

Hi, euh, hello, Alicia? This is Bob Zimmermann, we met last week at that terrible premiere?

Alicia actually finds herself grinning as Bob’s Quebecois accent and stumbling words spill out into her hotel room, his genuinely hesitant and careful words wrapping around her like a blanket. She didn’t know him from Adam at the premiere party, but a shared eye-roll during the director’s meandering thank you speech prompted her to wander over once it was done. The warmth in his brown eyes was reason enough to keep talking to him after introducing herself.

The message rambles a bit about how awful the movie was (he’s not wrong, it positively reeked of studio interference) and a bit about how his hockey team did this week before he clears his throat. The change in tone has her listening with bated breath. 

I know timing is going to be an issue for both of us, but I really enjoyed talking to you last week, and I’d love to take you to dinner and get to know you sometime— Sometime soon, eh?

He leaves the number of his hotel for the next two days and his pager number before saying goodbye. Still grinning, Alicia scribbles down both numbers and turns off the machine. She turns the light out and settles into bed with his voice echoing in her head and thinks. 

A single, unlooked-for message, the possibility of a date with an interesting man, and Alicia feels lighter. And more determined than ever to make some career changes — she wants to love her job again, just as much as Bob loves hockey. And she’s been around long enough, has enough clout, that she really thinks she can change her job to suit her desires. 

Resolved to sit down with her agent as soon as she’s in the same city again, she closes her eyes, replaying Bob's message in her mind as she drifts into sleep. 

Bonne nuit, Alicia.

[bananaofswifts]

Taylor Swift’s Eras Tour opening weekend: Tears, joy and ‘therapy’

Fans descend on Glendale, Ariz. (a.k.a. ‘Swift City’) for a long-awaited chance to commune with their pop icon, revel in her lyrics and express their true selves

By Emily Yahr

GLENDALE, ARIZ. — Taylor Swift had endless choices when deciding how to kick off her first concert tour in nearly five years on Friday night, a captivating spectacle that stretched over three hours and included 44 songs. After starting with a brief snippet of “Miss Americana & the Heartbreak Prince,” the namesake song to her 2020 Netflix documentary, she launched directly into “Cruel Summer.”

As the track’s hazy opening synth-pop beats blasted through State Farm Stadium, you could hear the gasps, with simultaneous shouts of “OH MY GOD!” barely heard above the ecstatic mayhem (and in some cases, heaving sobs) among the nearly 70,000 in attendance. Swift, resplendent in a shimmering bejeweled silver bodysuit and matching knee-high boots, beamed at the crowd, because she knew exactly what she was doing.

Swift fans believe that, in a parallel universe, “Cruel Summer” (the yearning anthem on her 2019 album, “Lover,” about a steamy and toxic relationship, with a chorus that demands you sing-scream along) was destined to be the song of the summer of 2020, released as a single as Swift planned to embark on a series of festivals called Lover Fest. Obviously, the global bummer of 2020 happened instead. Yet the obsession with “Cruel Summer” persisted, especially because Swift had never performed it live.

So this wasn’t just a song. For many, this was a stinging, subconscious reminder of how much we lost and what could have been. It was also a moment of pure, delirious joy — not only because of the thrill of hearing a beloved song live for the first time, but also because it’s clear that even one of the most powerful celebrities on the planet had felt all of that, too. It doesn’t seem like a coincidence that at the top of her first show on her Eras Tour — 52 dates of sold-out stadiums — she wanted to pick up right where she’d left off before the world shut down.

“I don’t know how to process all of this and the way that it’s making me feel right now,” Swift told the stadium when the song was over, her voice slightly shaking. Later, she added: “I’m really, really, really overwhelmed, and I’m trying to keep it together all night.”

ying to keep it together” has rarely applied to the 33-year-old Swift, who, nearing the end of a second decade as a professional musician, has ascended to a rare, glorified status as a once-in-a-generation pop star. She has no chill. After rising to fame with songs about her awkward, unpopular teen years, she now embraces cringe and earnestness. That’s part of the draw for her legion of fans, who see her as one of them. After Ticketmaster melted down during sales for the Eras Tour, the parent company’s chairman went on the defensive by pointing to the extreme demand, claiming that the number of people trying to buy tickets “could have filled 900 stadiums.”

The Swifties shelled out hundreds — sometimes thousands — of dollars for tickets and travel and descended on Glendale this weekend, determined to make the often harrowing process of ticket-buying a distant memory. The Phoenix suburb, which recently hosted the Super Bowl, could hardly contain its excitement. The mayor declared it would temporarily change its name to “Swift City,” and electronic signs on the highway encouraged safe driving with Swift puns: “CUT OFF? DON’T GET BAD BLOOD. SHAKE IT OFF.” “RECKLESS DRIVING? YOU NEED TO CALM DOWN.”

But that was nothing compared to the electric energy surrounding the stadium. To be a Taylor Swift fan is to learn to master the clues and secret messages that could be embedded in every lyric, public comment and social media post, no matter how opaque. To be a Taylor Swift fan is to always come ready, which includes devising the perfect outfit to wear to a concert, with unlimited options bestowed by the singer herself, who chose a tour theme, “eras,” that celebrates her past and present.

Being in the crowd was like being in a force field where all pretenses are gone; Swift’s music covers the spectrum of bubble-gum pop (which she refers to as “glitter gel pen lyrics”) to deep introspective poetry, and her concerts are a place where you can dance or cry to either. Swift has laid bare her own insecurities and emotions over 10 studio albums and more than 200 songs. Here, in her presence and among one another, fans become their truest selves.

Scanning the crowd, you could see countless sequins and bejeweled skirts and jackets, an homage to the “1989” era. There were also dark blue dresses with stars for “Midnights”; red heart sunglasses, a black bowler hat and a T-shirt reading, “Not a lot going on at the moment,” a shout-out to the “22” music video; dark lipstick and black leotards as a tribute to “Reputation”; lyrics scribbled down people’s arms in marker, something Swift used to do before every concert; and No. 13 painted on hands, another former Swift tradition, from when she was starting out as a country star.

“My inspiration is the Red Tour, one of Taylor’s iconic outfits, and I just wanted to re-create it,” said Giacomo Benavides, a 26-year-old content creator dressed like a circus ringleader who traveled from Peru for the show.

Some were even more specific: Olivia Jackter of Tucson, 26, wore a traffic-light get-up that displayed the phrase “I don’t know,” referring to a lyric from the song “Death By a Thousand Cuts.” Would non-Swifties understand it? Of course not. Did that matter? Of course not. “This was going to be my costume for Lover Fest. I’ve been waiting for this for years,” Jackter said.

A group of 20-something women attached plastic Easter eggs to white T-shirts with photos of some of their favorite “Easter eggs” and hints that Swift has dropped over the years. One man dressed in a cat costume as Swift’s newest pet, Benjamin. Two women whooped excitedly when they walked by each other in a line for food and saw that they wore matching floral dresses similar to what Swift wore to the 2021 Grammy Awards.

Another popular theme was “All Too Well,” the searing breakup ballad that recently got a second life when Swift released the updated 10-minute version. Lots of fans wore outfits displaying those lyrics. Ivan Hernandez of Phoenix sported a blue T-shirt that read, “Where’s the scarf, Jake?” — a reference to the song’s supposed subject, Swift’s ex-boyfriend Jake Gyllenhaal, and the lyric that suggests that he swiped her scarf.

“[My son] wanted to go to the concert, and he said, ‘Let’s wear outfits,’ and I was like, ‘Well, I’m not going to wear an outlandish outfit,’” said Hernandez, 46, whose 13-year-old son, Eli, was wearing an Eras Tour shirt they had bought at the merchandise stand Saturday afternoon before Swift’s second show. “So I just went online and started looking for something about ‘All Too Well,’ and this is the one that came up.”

Swift, who misses nothing, praised everyone for their effort from the stage.

“You have really outdone yourselves, guys. The way that you decided to show up to this concert, you really, really decided to show up,” she said, noting that she saw people dressed as mirror balls (from the song “Mirrorball”); willow trees (from “Willow”); and “sexy babies” (from “Anti-Hero” — and too complicated to explain). “I have seen, like, really amazing, specific visual representations of lyrics or weird online inside jokes that we have.”

“I was thinking about tonight and how special this is,” she added. “You have led me to believe, by you being here, that it’s special for you, too, so it’s really nice that it’s mutual.”

Swift’s unusually close relationship with her fans started back when she was a country artist, a genre in which singers are supposed to think of listeners as their peers. Swift always went a step beyond, chatting with fans on Myspace back before Nashville executives even knew what that was, and that connection has continued to this day.

In concert, Swift referred to the journey that she and her fans have taken together, like they’re a family. (The “four new members of the family,” she said, are the four albums she has released since her last tour.) She made no secret of the fact that she monitors fans’ social media activity, even dryly noting that her 2020 record “Evermore,” is “an album I absolutely love, despite what some of you say on TikTok.” (People on the platform are convinced that “Evermore” is her “forgotten child.”)

This is all why her bond with her fandom remains so strong. She connected early on to fellow teenage girls who inferred from society that their crushes and feelings and dreams were silly, only to find someone in Swift who took them seriously and who could articulate, in songwriting, what they didn’t even know they were feeling.

“By the time she’s done living through something and writing about it and releasing music, I’m living through it,” said Briana McReynolds, 32, of Phoenix, who showed up in a T-shirt covered in lyrics, as well as a purple streak in her hair to represent “Lavender Haze,” Swift’s latest single. Her best friend, Chris, accompanied her to the concert as an “emotional support Swiftie.” (“I’m doing my best,” he said.)

She’s just accidentally kind of written the soundtrack for my life,” McReynolds said. “She’s matured with all of us, or we’ve matured with her. So no matter what age I am, she can totally sing my heart.”

Caitlin O’Connor, 32, of San Diego came to the show with her mom; they have seen every Swift tour together for the last 15 years, and O’Connor makes sure to go multiple times.

“You don’t need therapy; you need Taylor Swift songs,” O’Connor said. Swift’s concerts, she explained, “are my happy place, and there’s nothing else like it. It’s the most natural high you could get in your whole life.” On her arm, she has a tattoo of lyrics from Swift’s “Treacherous”: “All we are is skin and bone, trained to get along.”

“I love that line. Really, at the core, everybody is human,” she said. “And that’s also the thing with Taylor Swift concerts: Everybody is really nice. … You bond over something immediately.”

Swift is highly aware of the world she’s built, and she doesn’t shy away from it. In a surprisingly direct admission, while introducing the song “Mirrorball,” from her 2020 album “Folklore” during an acoustic set, she reiterated to the crowd just how intensely she’s missed them over the past several years.

“I was thinking about how one of the songs that I wrote with you in mind during the pandemic was one of the first songs I wrote on ‘Folklore,’ and it was me writing about how badly I craved the connection that I feel from the care that you have directed my way,” she said. “I was trying to think of a sort of eloquent way to say that I love you and I need your attention all the time.”

The stadium quieted as she strummed and sang.

“I’ve never been a natural, all I do is try, try, try; I’m still on that trapeze, I’m still trying everything to keep you looking at me. ’Cause I’m a mirror ball. … I’ll show you every version of yourself tonight.”

And although she asked the members of the crowd for their attention, she didn’t need to; it was already there, and it always will be.

[cellophaine]

Home With You

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader

Word Count: 3003

Warnings: None.

Author's Note: I figured I should give you guys a break from my smutty contents lol. And I just wanted to write an indulgent fluff piece.

As always, every likes, comments, reblogs, feedbacks and ask submissions are greatly appreciated! My heart goes into cha-cha-cha mode whenever I receive notifications from you guys (it's a happy mode)

Prompt requested by: Anonyomous (love you anon <3)

------

"Matt?!"

You called out as you walked into his apartment; the exhaustion crept into your voice. His name echoed back to you in the empty place, a tell-tale sign of Matt's absence. You huffed out a frustrated sigh as you stepped out of your heels, padding into the living room on bare feet, much to your relief. You dropped your briefcase to the floor with abandon, planting face-first onto the couch, releasing another weary sigh. This was the third night in a row you missed him on his way out, but it was nothing out of the ordinary. At this point, it had become a regular occurrence. You felt like you barely saw him as of late. All you had was the little time in the mornings with Matt's body wrapped around yours in the bed. And it wasn't enough. How could it be?

Your workload as a paralegal at Hogarth, Chao & Benowitz had picked up in the past few months. The pay was more than decent, but it resulted in more time assisting Jeri Hogarth in cases and less time spending with your boyfriend. The immense amount of guilt you felt kept building up, as you knew Matt was not happy about your situation, but he always knew what to say to make you feel better. You had spent time running around New York for researches, staying late at the office at Hogarth's requests.

The days would always end with you worn out to the bones. Matt hated how the job was clawing at you, chipping away a piece of you every day, leaving you stressed out and exhausted. But he was supportive anyway, understanding that it was your choice in the matter. And so, Matt was the only constant, comforting source in your life. He would be there every time you woke up, cuddling and kissing you, making sure that you had all your meals throughout the day, taking care of you when you couldn't do it yourself.

You dragged your enervated self into the shower, lathering yourself up with Matt's shampoo and body, indulging in his scent under the hot water. The clean smell of his soap in the shower steam helped relieve the ache of missing him in your chest. You had slept over his apartment every night. Still, ironic enough, you felt like you drifted away further from him, not of your own volition. Matt was the anchor that kept you close, but how long would it last? How long would he be willing to stay?

You patted yourself dry, walking into his bedroom, the air cool on your exposed skin. You opened the closet, pulling out a sweatshirt of his. You hugged it close to your chest, dropping your head low to inhale the smell of him. You pulled the shirt on along with his too-big sweatpants, tightening the strings at the waistband. You put on his socks, too, tucking them over the hems of the sweats, just like how he always did it. A habit of his that you had absorbed. A bittersweet thought struck you. Despite being in his apartment, often living in his space more than your own, you wore his clothes just to feel closer to him. He was close but never close enough.

You found your way to the couch again, plopping your head on the pillow. You curled into yourself, settling in a comfortable position. You didn't bother with dinner, for you craved something else. You just wanted him here. You wanted to spend every second you could get with him to make up for the time you had missed. You tried to stay up, waiting for him to come back. But the toll of the day pulled on your eyelids, luring you into sleep with much resistance from you.

A weightless feeling woke you from your sleep. You blinked sleepily; your hazy vision revealed Matt, still in his Daredevil suit, the helmet was nowhere in sight. His unseeing eyes radiated the comfort and affection you loved, and you hummed happily at the blessed sight of him. A smile pulled on the corner of Matt's lips as he laid you down on the bed, pulling the soft blanket over you. He brushed your hair off your eyes before leaning in, pressing a lingering kiss on your forehead. You smiled sleepily at his gesture, tilting your face up as his warmth left your skin. Your lips met his halfway, and you sighed into the kiss that you craved with the entirety of your being. You needed this, needed him; you yearned for him. Your hand found its way to him; his light stubble tickled your fingertips. You caressed his face, needing to touch, to feel him, as the kiss grew heavy. Finally, he pulled back from you with much reluctance, within your reach, just enough so you could hear his whisper.

"Have you had dinner? I left you your favourite in the fridge."

You pressed your head into the pillow before shaking your head, along with a muffled confirmation of his suspicion. His brows furrowed, and you quickly pulled on his jaw, drawing him closer. You resumed the kiss, and once again, Matt was the one who broke away. Lowering your voice in a soothing tone, you asked in the hope of distracting him.

"Do you have any injuries that needed to be looked at?"

"It was a pretty uneventful night. I know what you're doing, and it's not working."

He responded at once; his head shook slightly in disapproval. He knew you too well. You knew that. But you didn't want to get up while all you wanted was to bask in his familiarity, his warmth again.

"I had a very long day. I just want to go back to sleep, with you. Please?"

Your desperate plea tugged at his heart. His eyes softened as he pressed a chaste kiss to your lips.

"Alright. But you will have a big breakfast, first thing when you get up."

You bit your lip, brows waggling at him, even though you knew he couldn't see that. A playful, suggestive tone glided into your voice.

"Oh, I definitely would like something 'big' for breakfast."

He let out a small laugh at your terrible tease.

"I'm serious. I was gone for a few hours, and you already neglected yourself."

"I promise. I'll be yours for the entire weekend. Now, can you get your ass in this bed, preferably naked? Pretty please."

He chuckled, standing up to pull his protective gear off. A few rustles later, the mattress dipped as Matt climbed into the bed behind you. He pulled you into his chest, pressing butterfly kisses on your hair. You turned onto your back, giving him easier access to your lips. He eagerly took you on your offer, pulling you in for a soft kiss, so soft that it made you melt into his embrace. He moved to kiss your cheeks, making his way to your eyelids, ending the kiss on your forehead.

"Sleep now, sweetheart. I'll be here when you wake up."

You turned to your side to cuddle into him, curling your hand behind his muscular back. You nuzzled your face into his firm chest, kissing and nibbling sleepily on the naked skin. You fell asleep promptly, grateful for the weekend ahead of you.

Your phone buzzed again and again on Matt's bedside table. You groaned, burrowing your face further into Matt's chest. The faint scent of blood and sweat, of Matt, infiltrated your senses through a daze. However, whoever on the other side stayed persistent; calls came in after calls. Finally, you untangled your limbs from Matt's with frustration, answering the call to hear Hogarth's voice on the other side.

"Where the fuck are you? Why didn't you pick up your damn phone?"

"It's… it's the weekend."

"And? This case won't go away itself. Come in now, or you're fired."

Your ears met with the dead tone from the other line. You fell back onto the warm bed, feeling like you could burst into tears. Pressing your face into the pillow, you muffled a silent scream. Matt propped on his elbow, caressing your back with the other hand.

"Stay here. Quit the job. You deserve so much better than how Hogarth's treating you."

You murmured.

"I can't. Her words have weight. She can really help me with my career. The pay isn't bad either."

"I know, but it's not worth it. I don't like seeing you bend over backward to every of her demand. I can feel your exhaustion every night. I hate seeing you so harrowed and stressed out."

You sighed heavily.

"It's not like I can quit right away. Not until I can secure a better job somewhere else. Rent in Hell's Kitchen is crazy. Until then, I'm stuck with her."

You moved around in the place, talking to Matt as you got ready. When you stepped out of the bathroom into the living room, dressed in your work attire, Matt walked over to where you stood, offering you a cup of tea. You smiled sadly at him, stroking his cheeks. Then, you raised on your tiptoe, kissing him swiftly before picking up your briefcase, making your way to the door.

"I'm sorry, I can't drink the tea. I'm already late. I'll see you later tonight?"

Matt fell into silence; his head turned away from your direction. The mugs of tea in his hands stayed still and abandoned. You felt an awful jerk on your heartstring for leaving him like this. You spoke softly.

"I love you."

One moment of silence, then two. Matt reluctantly spoke, his voice small, barely audible.

"Love you, too."

You gnawed on your bottom lip in defeat, walking out the door. Your heart grew heavier with every step you took, carrying you further away from him.

When the elevator opened, you were working at your desk, just outside of Hogarth's office. You looked up just in time as the infamous P.I of Hell's Kitchen walked past your desk, sparing a glance towards you. You sprang up from your seat, running after her.

"Ms. Jones, I'm sorry, but you can't go in there. Unfortunately, Ms. Hogarth is not available at the moment."

Jones reeked of alcohol, but there was no sign of intoxication. She scoffed.

"I don't care if she's fucking another secretary in there. Step aside. I don't want to hurt you."

You stood in her path, taking your stance. Although preventing Jessica Jones from entering your boss' office wasn't your job, Hogarth made you do it anyway. She made you do many things that went beyond your responsibilities as a paralegal, as she always held her power over your head like an invisible sword, readied to strike at any given time.

Jessica rolled her eyes, sidestepping you. You stuck your foot out in her path, making her boot catch on your heel. She stumbled lightly, whirling around to face you.

"Seriously?"

You swallowed, shrugging.

"A girl's gotta do what she's gotta do."

"Maybe that girl should get another job and stop working for that monster."

Jessica quickened her pace, pushing the door open as you chased after her.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Hogarth, but she …."

"… tired of your shit, Hogarth. What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Jessica gritted out the words. Your boss sent a deathly glare at you.

"Leave us."

She flicked a wrist at you, and you closed the door behind you as fast as you could. You went back to your desk, speeding through your mountain of paperwork. About half an hour later, Jessica walked out with a menacing expression on her face, heading straight for the elevator. Jeri walked out about two minutes later, looming over your desk.

"If that happens again, I will personally destroy your little, pathetic career. You hear me?"

You nodded solemnly.

"Have them on my desk before 5."

Hogarth left you alone for the rest of your time there. You were done with the work at a little over 3 PM. You dropped it off, and it was refreshing to see a surprise expression on her face for once instead of the usual scowl you received. Then, you headed straight for Matt's place, couldn't wait to get back to your boyfriend, despite the little not-an-argument you had earlier that day.

He wasn't home when you got there. You sighed, afraid you had messed things up with him. After changing into something more comfortable, you sat down on Matt's kitchen table with your laptop open and a steamy plate of food Matt left you last night. You sat there, your fingers tapping away on your device for what felt like hours until you heard the sound of the door being opened. Matt walked in, dressed in his usual gym clothes with a duffle bag hanging off his shoulder. His face was flushed, his hair stuck out adorably. You stood up, lingering at the chair. You cleared your throat.

"I'm… sorry for this morning. Are we … okay?"

You ached to hug him, to be gathered into his arms, to kiss him. Your bottom lip trembled slightly. You wouldn't know what to do if he said no.

He could sense your uncertainty with every word. His face softened at your vulnerable disposition, his arms opened wide, dropping his cane and bag to the floor with little care.

"Of course we are."

You lunged into his embrace, holding him tight as he picked you up easily, his face buried in the crook of your neck. You found his lips, pouring your heart and soul into the kiss. Eventually, you pulled away from each other as you gasped for air, your foreheads touching.

Matt lowered you down to the ground, still holding you in his arms, his hand caressing your spine in a soothing motion.

"I'm looking up other jobs. Hogarth is … horrible, and I'm always stressed out. You're right. It's not worth it."

"You know … Nelson & Murdock can use a helping hand."

Matt raised his brow at you; an endearing grin pulled at the corner of his lips. You smacked his chest playfully.

"As if I'm not helping you guys in my free time already."

You trailed a finger from the waistband of his sweats, ghosting over his abdomen and chest, ended your way at the pulse on his neck, stroking the delicate arc of his throat. Matt let out a small groan of pleasure.

"That means you already have an in with the firm."

You squinted your eyes at Matt while he feigned innocence.

"Are you serious?"

"Yes. I would love to have you there. We still have to discuss this with Foggy, but I think he'd be thrilled."

The earnestness in his voice was unconcealed. Working for Matt and Foggy was a tempting proposal, but you wanted to give it some thought first.

"Let me think about it."

The week started anew, with another visit from Jessica Jones. Only this time, you didn't cease your work pace, even as she walked past your desk. Jessica halted, looking at you skeptically.

"Why are you not stopping me right now? Did Hogarth call of her little guard dog?"

You looked up from your computer screen, giving her a nonchalant shrug.

"Nah, the order is still in effect. But I don't care."

The P.I gave you a nod and headed for Hogarth's office.

Before the workday ended, you were summoned by your fuming boss. Hogarth stood at her desk, a glass of whiskey clutched tight in her hand. She looked upon your entry, sneering at you.

"What part of preventing Jessica Jones from entering my office that you didn't understand? Do you —"

"I understand. I just don't care."

You dropped off the folder on Hogarth's desk. She narrowed her eyes at the manila envelope.

"This is my letter of resignation. I quit. I would say it was an honour to work with you, but that would be a lie."

You left the office that day feeling so much better than you had felt in months. There was a spring in your steps as you climbed the stairs to Matt's place. You walked in as an aroma of mouthwatering food being cooked engulfed you, welcoming you home. Matt was in the kitchen, facing the stove. You walked up behind him, wrapping your arms around his torso. Matt lifted an arm over your shoulder, pulling you in to kiss your forehead. Then, he turned off the stove, fully angled his body to you and gave you a warm embrace.

"So you did it? How did she take it?"

"She was furious, Matt. She threatened to make sure I could never practice law ever again. Over and over. But I'm not worried. She can threaten me however she wants. I know the law."

"I'm so proud of you, sweetheart. You're better off without her. And if she dared to do that, you wouldn't be alone. Foggy and I will have your back."

You hugged him even tighter, pressing your ear to the steady rhythm of his heart. You stayed like that for a moment as the sound of Hell's Kitchen played in the background. Matt buried his nose into your hair, peppering your face with kisses. Then, at last, he spoke up.

"So, have you given more thoughts on working for Nelson & Murdock?"

You made a tsk sound, tapping a finger against your lips, pretending to be in deep thoughts.

"I don't know. Wouldn't it make quite a scandal since I'm dating one of the bosses?"

"Considering the other boss already knows about the arrangement, no one else has to. We can keep a secret -"

Matt dipped his head; his lips brushed over the curve of your ear purposefully. The mere contact sent a shiver down your spine in anticipation. Finally, he released the last part of his sentence; his voice dropped dangerously low, dripped in an alluring invitation.

"- and have fun with it."

[alfredosauce50]

Island Escapade [Ex-con 2p! America x reader x Denmark] 10

Island Escapade - 10 - Swimming pools Content warning: A little soft-core. Dubious consent. Mature audiences only. Wordcount: 2, 510 The reader is referred to as she/her.

A/N: I was inspired by Kendrick Lamar’s “Swimming pools”

Allen could drink like it was his job. But throughout the whole of his career, he’d never felt this nauseous. The skidding of the boat, the churn in his stomach, watching you and Mathias—it was all too much. Thanks to the dim light on board, he could see everything as clear as day during the night. You were half-awake on the Dane’s lap, fighting to stay in control of your body with seven shots’ worth of alcohol in your system. Poor thing.

Mathias was talking about taking you back to his house, even. Something about tablets. Medicine. If anything, going to his place was the last thing you wanted. Allen knew that much.

And yet, he couldn’t find the motivation to do anything about it. Not while his head was filled with hot water, leaving his mind in a haze. Alcohol was his weakness, and he never dropped the habit of making bad decisions under the influence.

Just as he thought, he was still the same.

When the boat finally docked at the wharf, he never lifted a finger when Mathias carried you off. He wasn’t walking in the direction of your house either. And yet, all Allen did was stand on the beach, mulling over the heat that overwhelmed his body. A searing headache was pounding in his skull, but it didn’t quite hurt like the ache in his chest.

He was giving up again. After trying so hard to get his shit together, he was giving up again.

It wasn’t the first time, so why was he crying?

He’d seen the look in your eyes. The way you stared at him like he was the best thing in the world. It was hard to believe, but deep down, he knew Mathias wasn’t the only one. The only difference was that you trusted him. You trusted Allen. You wanted to be with him. But he was letting you go, letting you down all over again, letting Mathias become the one thing he wanted to be. Yours.

I think that I'm feelin' the vibe, I see the love in her eyes I see the feelin', the freedom is granted As soon as the damage of vodka arrive

After giving you some water, bread, and crackers, you eventually felt well enough to move on your own. A shower was in order after a night out in the club, but he wasn't entertaining the idea of any drunken accidents. So while you adjusted the temperature, he joined you in the cubicle. "You should've brought me with you if you were gonna drink," Mathias began, coiling two arms around your stomach.

"He doesn't know how much you can handle."

Pressing flush against you only made your heart pound like a drum. You could feel everything, from his wide chest and toned stomach to the space between his legs. This wasn't happening. "... I know my own limits, Mat. So maybe I wanted to get hammered," You murmured, tugging at his arms for him to let go. "It's fine. Allen's fine. He was looking after me before you came."

He released you, albeit reluctantly. "You're upset." His wet hair was slicked back, and steady streams of water were trailing down his face as he watched your frustrated expression. "Why?"

"Why?" You turned to him, in awe at how dense he was. It was becoming hard to believe it was just cluelessness. Entitlement sounded more like it. "Because I'm in the shower with you, that's why!" Mathias's eyes widened as you rose your voice. You shot an arm out to gesture at his crotch, but you really weren't much of an exception.

"I can see your dick, Mat. Don't you see anything wrong with this picture?"

He stared down at himself. When he glanced back up, it became clear to you he didn't—his stare on you was hard and unwilling. "... I'm just... I'm just trying to look after you. Can't I do that?" He responded, earning a huff from you. His deep frown spoke of untold regret, and you were sick of seeing it.

"You keep saying that, but you're pushing it. You could've stayed outside." Turning around to get some body wash into your hand, you lathered it all over your body. "Why are you so weird? Why am I so weird? Why am I even—" When you spun back around, your cheeks were flushed with a deep red. Whether it was from the alcohol or something else, Mathias didn't know.

"—why am I letting you do this?"

Deep creases formed between his brows. He knew the exact answer to that question, but he was too afraid to say it. "... I don't know."

"Yes, you do. You know everything. You just pretend that you don't." Digging a finger into his chest, you watched distress run across his face. If you were sober, you wouldn't even be saying these things. But the truth was finally stepping into the light, raw and unfiltered in the form of a drunken ramble. And you were onto him. "You knew what you were doing. Living with me, sleeping with me, it was all part of your little game to get me back. Well, guess what?"

Mathias's chest was rising and falling intensely at this point. While he breathed heavily, his heart was racing, threatening to burst out of his ribs. He could already predict what you were about to say, and yet, he was insanely nervous to hear it. "... What?"

"It’s working." Blood flushed his face until he was even redder than you—excitement, euphoria, love-sickness, it was all there. His eyes lit up with the most happiness you’ve seen him with, which spoke volumes when he was already a cheerful person. Was this it? Were you finally accepting him again? Not yet. "But if you think you won me over, you’ve jumped the gun. I’m not staying here. I need to get home."

You turned your back on him to keep washing. A deep pout scrunched up his face while he was left standing in a cloud of steam, heating up faster than the water from the showerhead. It’s working, you’d said. Lingering on the words made him burn up with lust so potent, he was left reeling. This was the part where he’d convince you to give in. Like every time you both got into a disagreement, he’d kiss you drunk and take you to bed to make up.

It was the oldest trick in the book, and it worked every time. No wonder he was getting hard. His body sensed what was happening. His mind just picked up on it a little later. And he’d act on it once you were both done with the shower.

"I'll walk you back," Mathias murmured by the doorway. He watched you gather the last of your things in the living room. He'd spent so long at your place, he couldn't bear the sight of you walking out on him. Not again. It became apparent that sleeping alone in his own house wasn't an option. "But can I ask for one last thing?"

There was a subtle droop to his eyes. His hands were by his side, clenched in fists, and his frown was growing deeper at every second you failed to say anything—your breath hitched as you forced the word out. "... Yeah?" One last things never ended well with someone like Mathias. You knew that better than anyone. But the thought never occurred to your intoxicated self.

You just wanted him to stop looking at you like this.

"Can I kiss you?" He took your wrist and held it gently. "Just once."

It wasn't desire he sparked. Rather, it was a harrowing kind of bittersweetness that made your chest tighten up. And so, a deafening silence followed, but only because it was so loud. He had you again, and you weren't pushing him away. Instead, you did something free from your better judgment, which was long burned away by alcohol.

You reached up to his face, giving him the green light. So he leaned down and pressed his mouth to yours. The force was enough to move your head back, so when he pulled away, your lips seemed to follow his. Led on by nothing but an ache that never went away, one kiss turned into two, then three, then a heated lip-lock you couldn't remove yourself from. And Mathias knew.

It was a sin in itself to keep going, but the thought merely got his blood pumping. Without parting, he picked you up and carried you to the bedroom. There on his bed, he pulled you onto his lap. Then, he kissed you until you'd have the taste of his mouth ingrained in your brain. You were breathless the whole time. And yet, the heavy panting never broke the thick ropes of saliva draping between your tongues.

He never let you get the air you desperately needed, let alone the chance to think. Mathias wanted you to lose yourself. He wanted you to feel the same hot yearning that had him in a chokehold.

He wanted you to make the same mistakes as you did in the past.

When you wrapped your arms around his strong neck, it became clear he was getting what he wanted. History was about to be repeated, and it would start with the growing tent in his boxers. If you didn't snap out of it soon, he'd have you naked in his bed and under him before you knew it. And to make up for all the time lost, a year's worth of it, a few hours of love-making wouldn't suffice.

"Just stay the night, eskler," Mathias whispered in your ear. "I miss you."

Having sex with him all night sounded more like it.

Breaking up with him would be history, and you'd be back to square one. Back to letting him do what he wanted, so long as he could put his hands on you. The man was a sex fiend. A bigger one than what Allen could ever be. And you were so foolish to not see it sooner.

Back in your house, Allen was raiding the fridge for anything to offset against the wooziness. He hated tearing through carbs so carelessly like this, but at least he wouldn't feel like complete shit. After scoffing down a packet of biscuits, he sauntered to his room and tried to take his mind off things. He never thought he'd willingly open Animal Crossing on your switch, but the cutesiness of it all made it worth a shot.

However, the longer he kept playing, the worse he felt.

Some island living he was going through. If only reality made it a permanent escape like the game did. In a month's time, he'd be out of here. The R and R he indulged in was about to end on a depressing note, and he'd be back to being a bum. What about you? Probably seeing Mathias again. He practically gagged at the thought. The sick churning in his stomach returned like an old friend, and it never stopped as he lingered on the earlier events that night.

But when he remembered what you told him, he had to hold himself back from vomiting on the spot.

Mathias loves kids, you'd said. And you know how selfish he can get.

That's why I had to break things off.

Allen paled with terror. What had he done? But the real concern wasn't that—it was what he failed to do.

He turned off the switch and scrambled outside. With nothing but a torch in hand, he ventured out into the dark, searching for a house he'd never been to. He didn't know what it looked like, but that never slowed him down. In fact, he ran even faster, tearing through the island like a madman to get to you. This was his last chance at redemption, his last chance at being there for you when you needed it. All the self-doubt had been staved off by this bout of desperation.

He could sulk later. For now, he needed to get to you.

Half an hour went by in fearful anticipation. He went house by house until he arrived at his destination. Without bothering to knock, he broke into one of the windows with his expert lock-picking skills. Allen didn't have time to worry about morals. Not that he stopped to second-guess anything. Not with you in mind. He just hoped he wasn't too late.

Rapid footsteps thudded down the hall, slowing Mathias' movements to a stop. He had his fingers looped around the side of your underwear, and he would've pulled it down if it weren't for what he heard. Before he could register the intruder as the resident ex-con, his damnation and your salvation, they slammed the door open. In stormed Allen, looking like Hell.

When he saw Mathias hovering over you, half-dressed and dazed beyond compare, something inside him snapped. Marching over to rip the man off of you, he threw a hard punch right across his jaw. "That's for beating me up for no reason," He hissed, pulling his hand back for another strong strike. "And that's—" Allen pounded his fist into his face, again and again, driven by a fury so hot, he had to wonder if he'd gone insane. "—for taking advantage of her!"

He was never satisfied until Mathias fell unconscious. Giving his hand a brief shake to get rid of the blood, he cast a softened gaze over your limp form. Immediately, his anger simmered down. You were okay. A little fucked up, but okay. Scooping you up under your back and legs, he carried you all the way home. While he did, you never let go of his neck. After tonight's fiasco, you've never been so calm. The smell of his cologne, the clinking of his dog tags, you couldn't mistake it for anyone else. And it was all you needed for a good night's sleep.

Needless to say, Mathias wasn't allowed in your house anymore. After getting beat up like that, he learned his lesson and backed off. Allen did call himself a criminal, and Mathias got exactly what he paid for.

It was just you and Allen again, spending every minute of the day together for the rest of his sentence. There wasn't much time left, so you needed to make the most of what you had. And on one of those days, you hoped to remind him how much you adored him. But at each passing day running across the burning hot sand and wading through warm waters, the adoration seemed to swell into something greater.

He was abnormal in every way he could be—from his personality to his looks—but the idea of being more than friends gave you hope that you could be normal too. That you could finally move on. Allen didn't have many aspirations in life, but he was beginning to look more and more like the answer to your future.

[littlefreya]

Bad Girls Don’t Get to Play

Summary: You’ve been a naughty girl, Private, thirsty for the Captain’s attention while he’s busy leading the base. Time for you to learn some freakin’ respect and patience. 

Pairing: Captain BDE Syverson x You

Word count: 1.9K

Warnings: SMUT! Masturbation, really dirty language, abuse of power, pleasure denial. 

A/N: This was a request made by @hcfavoritegal I’ve been a good devil and happily obliged! Thanks once more to my amazing @agniavateira for being my editor! Happy FuckDay! Title: Bad Girls Don’t Get to Play

“Your bratty attitude has been on my last nerve,” his deep southern accent thundered behind you as the both of you walked into the stuffy little room. There was a small shove at the arch of your back, forcing you further inside before the captain shut his office door. You turned to look at him, crooking up one eyebrow, focusing on how his long fingers tinkered with the lock. 

Huffing like an angry bull, he walked right past you, his large body bumping into yours with obvious intent. He moved to claim his spot on the worn-out leather sofa, body slumping down so heavily a loud thud filled your ears.

You glanced quietly at the hulking man: legs spread out widely in his seat with his groin bumped forward for display, the outlines of his large cock were prominent, undoubtedly presented  like some sinful temptation. 

“You’re just thirsty for some attention, aren't ya, Private?” he asked with menace on his smooth baritone and in his piercing blue gaze. That look couldn’t be mistaken for anything but hot, angry desire. It made a chill run up and down your spine, spreading throughout every nerve.

“I…” 

You tried to speak, yet only one word came out, quivering on your tongue like a thin thread snapping with force. You always saw yourself as strong-willed, but this man had some power over you, and it wasn’t just the impressive size of his body against your smaller frame and his higher rank. He gave away an enigmatic force that left you burning for him. If he told you to come, you’d come on your knees. 

Syverson smoothed his hands over his thighs, drawing more attention to the forbidden delight between his legs. The worst part is that you knew the undisclosed desire that hid behind those camouflage trousers, and how satisfying it was. “You think I’m okay with you touchin’ me and flingin’ that hot ass of yours, while we’re both on duty?” he paused, sucking his pouty lips in and fleshing his tongue over them briefly. “Have no one ever educated you about patience, kitten?”

You frowned at him, clenching your fists tightly until your knuckles turned white. You’ve always been a hot-blooded woman and the fact that Syverson was the gods’ gift to women didn’t help either. It was as if your body constantly yearned for his touch, making you frustrated whenever he refused to provide it. 

For him, it was all about the army. He was patient, immune to your spells during those long hours of hard work. But when the sun came down and he’d finally have his break, he’d come and claim, plunging all his pent-up frustration inside you until you’re searing inside.

You wanted to either slap that smug smirk off of his face or spread your legs and sit on top of it, knowing very well how strong these arms are around your inner thighs.

“You don’t pay me any attention at all lately!” You snapped, raising your voice at him which only granted you a dangerous grimace. For a moment, you wondered if you should apologize to your captain. But before you even managed to muster a second thought, Syverson lifted his hand, fingers curling inside to gesture you to come hither. 

Not saying a word, you made your way toward him, feeling numb in your legs as if the blood began to drain from them. With just a gaze and a gesture you were already following his rules and it had nothing to do with him being the captain anymore. It’s just how Syverson was. Dripping of confidence and power, he made men and women cower at his striking presence. 

His hand went over his jaw, stroking his beard and looking up to meet your face while you stood waiting between his legs. 

“It’s called duty, Private.The job comes first.” He spoke dangerously low, letting his eyes trail up and down the pleasing shape of your body. “You wanna keep this bratty attitude up?” he tested and shifted slightly in his seat, adjusting the growing hardness in his groin.

“Yeah, at least until you’d pay me some attention. I’m not some toy you can pick up whenever you’re bored.” Your heart pounded in your ears as you spoke, knowing very well you’re only making things worse for yourself. But once that onslaught of complaints spilled from your mouth. it was hard to stop. “You’re not the only one with needs here!” 

Syverson sat listening to your whines while a wide, scornful smirk spread across his face. “Sit down over there,” he commanded, tapping the empty spot next to him. The glare he gave left you no place to even think of protesting. Submissive as you’ve never been before, you did  as you were told. With trembling legs you went to sit next to Sy while looking at him with fear and anticipation.

His hands still rested on his thighs, nails slightly digging onto  the fabric of his trousers. His eyes scanned you with dark lust, looking you up as if you’re a tasty treat.

“I think it’s time to teach this brat a lesson about patience.” 

Not saying anything else, Syverson began undoing his belt. The sound of metal clinking sharply as the buckle unclasped did nothing but make your pussy clench with excitement. When the zipper slid down and freed his bulge, you wanted to straddle his waist immediately and take him inside of you.

A delicate wanton moan left your lips instead, showering his beautiful cock with admiration as it stood vast and solid between his coarse fingers.

“You’re gonna sit there and watch like a good girl, without moving a muscle.” he threatened, allowing his long digits to run up and down the thick shaft while emitting a small groan that made your chest sink.

“And you’re going to say exactly what I want you to say. If you break the rules, I’m going to deny your pleasure for weeks. Is that understood, kitten?”

The sight of his cock made your mouth water and your cunt throb, wallowing in your own sticky juices with harrowing desperation. Your eyes flicked along the ridges and veins that decorated his huge erection. Syverson beamed at your response, his callous thumb caressing the bulbous head, circling and smearing the pre-cum drops at the tip.

“Tell me how much you want this cock inside you Private, and be specific.”  

You gaped, smitten at his demand and cruel set of rules. Sy had a nasty mouth and he would say the most profane things while fucking you. Secretly you loved it, but you were never able to bring yourself to speak back, you simply moaned or said yes to whatever it was that he said he was going to do to your body. 

His hand began to make its way up and down his girth with achingly slow tugs. This entire time he was looking straight into your eyes. His defined lips parted while he feasted on the sight of you, not missing how your nipples hardened through the fabric of your shirt as your entire body prepared for a joining which was brutally denied.

“Fuck, Sy…” 

The desire to touch yourself never felt this excruciating, even just to stroke and squeeze your breast or your fucking knee.

“You’re gonna keep me waiting, Private?” He teased you, a vicious smirk lighting his face.

“I want you to bury your gigantic cock deep inside my pussy,” you fulfilled his wish, nearly mewling these words came tumbling out of your mouth. In an instant, you realized they did nothing but increase your painful need to be stuffed by him. 

Syverson groaned with a grin, shutting his eyes for a moment while squeezing himself. He imagined your sweet warmth tightening around his cock while he pressures himself into you. 

“Yeah, you want me defiling your tight little pussy, babygirl?” he asked in his low velvety voice, now accompanied by small husky grunts while his breaths became heavier.

“Tell me, tell me how big my cock feels inside you.”

You bit your lip so painfully it hurt, your core pulsated as if furious for not being granted what it needed. 

“You’re so big, Captain.” You paused, having to swallow the dryness in your throat as he continues to squirm and groan “I want you to throw me on your desk and fuck me like a slut, you’d make me sore for days.”

A pleased guttural groan escaped his mouth, you finally began following his rules and hearing how much you wanted him made his cock red and aching for release. His hand locked tightly around his cock, squeezing in a pace that grew more and more urgent. 

Although he never broke eye contact, his eyes fucked you a dozen times harder than he ever did. His glare made you feel as if you were being defiled. You felt naked, wanting to be exploited by him in ways you never imagined possible.  

You couldn’t help but squirm in your seat, intoxicated by the sight of this beautiful man. His scarred face was covered with a sheer layer of sweat, his blue eyes were now hazy and the very vocal groans that came out his throat had you soaked beyond imagination.

“Fuck Sy, please, I need you to fuck me so bad.” You begged, pouting desperately and clenching your thighs together to fight that lonely feeling inside you.

His free hand reached for your knee in an instant, forcing your legs apart while he shook his head with a disapproving glare. “Nah ah. Patience, babygirl, you touch yourself now I’ll make sure you won’t come for a whole month.” 

The touch of his hand on your knee made you shiver and moan, increasing the raging flutter inside your core. You wanted to cry with how needy you felt. This beautiful beast had you locked in his twisted little game while he enjoyed every inch you were prohibited from having. 

As if you were locked out of heaven. 

“Say,” he rasped breathlessly, his control beginning to slip. “Say you want me to come inside that pussy.”

His hand stroked faster and faster, the sounds of his skin slapping reminded you of the sounds your bodies made together. And his breath, fuck, even the sound of his breath made your chest sink as if there were weights atop of it. 

“Please,” you begged again out of frustration. You were just as breathless as he was, and your lungs felt empty. “Punish my pussy, Sy, bottom me out and fill me with your cum.”

You watched as his testicles became stretched and clenched upward, his cock throbbed, swelling larger while he tugged himself with fury and growled like an animal. You moaned to urge him, biting your lower lip and shifting on the sofa helplessly.

“Yes, Sy! Give it to me! I want it so bad!” 

His hand landed on your knee with might, making you jump as he squeezed you hard. A loud grunt erupted from his chest and then a deep sigh of release as he breathed out with bliss. You gasped with him, watching as his thick liquids glazed over his hand.

He felt no shame, nor disgust, breathlessly staring as if what he did was liberating for both of you. Well, it wasn’t. You were flushed, breathing in fumes as you watched him climb down from ecstasy. His pupils were expended, his lips were slightly red and he licked them while smiling at you with mischief.  

“Next lesson, I’ll teach you how to clean that potty mouth of yours.”

__________________________________________________________

[raayllum]

You know what I think is gonna happen? I think Rayllum's gonna have a slow burn reconciliation arc. I would not be surprised if if we didn't see them get back together until the final season/episode. It's gonna take a lot of angst and a lot of time and a lot of effort to try and learn to trust each other and be friends again let alone rekindle the Fire of what they once had. I can see rayla YEARNING for him all like "I love him but he's angry and hurt so he must not want me anymore and so I'll keep my distance even though it hurts". And I can see Callum LONGING for her all like "I love her but she hurt me and I must respect myself and I CANNOT forgive her so easily so I'll keep my distance even though it hurts". And I for one will be suffering and ugly SOBBING and thanks wonderstorm I hate it 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

So here’s the thing:

 I’m really on board with all the angsty relationship sides you’ve brought up. I’ve had a ton of fun exploring those things in post-TTM fic and I’m excited to see the show likely explore some similar angles. 

But

It’s not gonna be a slow burn. Or at least, not like that. TDP is divided into three arcs by the writers per their own confirmation - arc 1 is s1-s3, arc 2 is s4-s5, and final arc 3 is s6-s7. Therefore, if you look at the show per its arcs, rather than as a whole, Rayllum’s romance is actually a slowburn - it takes 26/27 arc one episodes for them to say “I love you,” and 23/27 episodes before they kiss. That’s a lot of episodes! (25 and 22 out of 26 episodes if you don’t count 1x01, since they only meet in 1x02.)

TDP is also a generally fast moving show. The conflict about Harrow was drawn out for ten episodes, but that’s because it wasn’t the only thing the boys and Rayla had to focus on when it came to each other. And most of those episodes (everything in 1x04 except for one scene, 1x07, 1x08, 1x09, everything in 2x01 except for one scene) didn’t focus on it either. 

So the longest interpersonal conflict in the show featuring lies and misunderstanding, thus far, has basically been Callum and Rayla - who’s reunion will be critically important to both of them, as 2/3 main Main characters - and there are still 36 episodes of The Dragon Prince left! Over half. They’re not gonna drag something like that out that long because it would get very boring and stagnated very fast, especially since like, the general audience want is for them to be together (or at least happy). 

The fact that there’s going to be a post-s3 timeskip also does a lot of the work for us. However Callum and Rayla are doing individually in the beginning of s3 is how they’ve presumably been doing throughout most of their separation, however long it’s been - missing each other, yearning, etc. Especially since Callum knows Rayla left out of love in a misguided attempt to protect him.

I could see the post-TTM explicit plotline stretching for maybe two seasons, if and only if they see each other for the first time in 4x09, but I honestly really doubt it. There’s no way Rayla is going to successfully be taking down Viren on her own, but until she’s confronted that (and presumably at least seen Callum again) her plotline can’t really progress in any particular way and if one of Callum’s main plotlines is finding her, that means a whole season... without either of them actually progressing that much emotionally either. That won’t do.

I honestly think they’ll reunite around four episodes in, around episode five will be the initial fallout (technically already 1/4th through the second arc) and they’ll basically be a committed couple again by the end of the season. That’s not to say some of what happened in TTM and s4 won’t carry over to s5 or later seasons, but I think the bulk of it will be resolved like this, given what every other conflict in the show is like.

Some other examples:

Ezran’s s3 king arc, Soren’s redemption arc, and Claudia’s continued descent are all nine episode or less long arcs

In 1x01, Rayla gets her binding; by the end of the season it’s off

In 2x02, Soren struggles with his mission; by 2x07 (five episodes later) he realizes it’s wrong and he’s not going to go through with it.

In season two Callum wants to learn magic and Zym wants to learn to fly and they’ve both done so by the end of the season

Rayla expresses real doubt about being an assassin for the first time (2x06) and has figured it out by the next episode with a little prodding from Callum.

Nobody, myself included, expected Rayllum to kiss less than halfway through s3, and we got to enjoy them being a cute couple for the rest of the season. 

I think the show is going to give Rayla and Callum and everything between them its due weight, but I don’t think it’s going to suddenly break its seasonal or narrative structure to do so.

[rons-hermiones]

Come Find Me

Come Find Me

by rons-hermiones

Summary: Unplanned, Hermione is forced to spend Christmas at the Burrow due to her grandmother falling very ill. After being ignored by Hermione for weeks, Ron is determined to show her how much she means to him. Just before he gets the chance to tell her, Bellatrix Lestrange shows up with other plans for Hermione. Can Ron get to her before it's too late? (Ron/Hermione Half-Blood Prince AU)

Rating: M for language & dark themes in later chapters.

Warning: this chapter does contain sexual assault (non consensual kissing), it is nothing graphic, but please if it’s upsetting I’d skip this one.

Chapter Twenty One

Hermione isn’t sure how long it’s been. Surely it feels like a lifetime but she knows that can’t be. 

She tried to mark the passing of time with whenever Draco or his mother would come with her meals. Eventually, that felt pointless. No matter how many times the cold porridge mixed with pain potion came, it didn’t help much. 

Not when the Cruciatus Curse was being cast on her daily. 

Sometimes Narcissa or Draco would speak in hushed whispers to her about how she was only to be dealt with by Bellatrix or the Dark Lord himself. 

So basically, they were subtly telling her to count her lucky stars that someone like Dolohov, Greyback, or that vile man Scabior weren’t getting their hands on her. 

It was a small mercy, but something she was having trouble appreciating as of late. Not when she’s vowed herself to silence, only speaking to herself when she felt her own sanity slipping away. 

Yesterday she barely remembered her fathers name. Today it rang in her head too well. The day before last she convinced herself she had lived in Ottery St Catchpole, it was four hours later she recalled she grew up in Hampstead. And just a few days ago, she swore Draco was a boy named Thomas she hasn’t seen since Muggle primary school. 

The only thing she seemed to hold onto was Hogwarts, A History, the very copy Ron gifted her. Despite all the horrors and torture, she just can’t seem to shake him. Not that she wants to. 

Narcissa seems to notice her slipping away slowly. She tries to get her to talk about anything when she’s around. But she stays silent. 

Speaking of the woman, the only thing she’s been grateful for since she arrived is Narcissa Malfoy. 

From her understanding, magic in the dungeon has to be granted to you by some sort of keeper, who she assumes is Bellatrix or Voldemort. Only those granted access can use magic down there, or so Narcissa says. She thinks she’s read about magic like this, but she can’t be sure. 

Narcissa enchanted a candle to light so she could read. The woman seemed to notice, but not outright comment on the book she clutched to. The candle was amazingly set to fizzle out whenever someone other than Missus Malfoy entered. It even burned out when Draco came. 

So far she’s been able to catalogue the few able to perform magic down here. 

Bellatrix, who apparated in here her first day and who has since used spells on her down here. 

Hermione just assumes Lucius Malfoy also was granted access because he doesn’t exactly strike her as the type of man to let a woman have more power then he does. 

Shockingly, Wormtail is also able to conjure up magic in the dungeons. This notion baffled Hermione. What feels like a lifetime ago, but in hindsight was two days, the man tried to perform some sort of stinging jinx on her. Of course, it failed, nearly causing a few hives on her ankle. Later, Narcissa came to treat her and explained Pettigrew was granted access down here because he often was tasked with tending to prisoners. 

Other than that, the likes of Greyback, Dolohov, Scabior, Rookwood, and the rest of the filth that rots upstairs haven’t been down here. She would bet a sickle they weren’t allowed to use spells, being Greyback side-alonged in here not that long ago. 

Voldemort obviously can do whatever he wants down here, but thinks the dungeons below him, literally and metaphorically. Instead he has someone else collect her, inflicting punishment upstairs. 

Draco also can’t perform magic. Hermione doesn’t know Malfoy well at all, besides the fact he’s a right git, so it could be because he’s underage but she can’t be sure. It’s not like she’s ever sung his praises and she won’t start now. 

So he comes down and gives her cold porridge, stale bread, and water, it doesn’t mean anything to her. It helps her survive, but she suspects he’s in charge of making sure she does so for some sick twisted reason. 

And as much as she has begged and pleaded his mother to let her go, she knows she can’t because things are too complicated. Apparently Draco’s been caught in the middle of all this somehow and the best thing she can do is help Hermione heal. Ease some of her pain. 

Narcissa pours her potions and casts charms that barely go unnoticed by Bellatrix. All while her son pouts and broods next to her, after all he’s only ever cared for himself. Merlin, he doesn’t even try to speak to her, just the occasional ‘Granger you have to eat, please.’ Other than that, Narcissa is her only decent company. 

But she still longs for more. So, so much more. 

However, there’s no time to dwell on it right now. Not as the candle blows out and heels click onto the steps. 

There will surely be time to yearn for something better. When Malfoy’s mother comes down and asks her questions about everything she can think of. Hermione’s still not sure if it’s to keep her sane or to keep her busy. She doesn’t care. And even if she can’t always respond, she needs it. 

But right now, Bellatrix apparently needs her. 

“Up! Up! Up!” She chants wildly with a grin. 

Knowing there’s no use fighting it, she peels herself off the ground and stumbles to her feet. 

“I sure did wear you out yesterday didn’t I?” 

And she had. Casting all sorts of spells on Hermione. Ones she didn’t even dare read about. 

“No matter, we're going to have some fun today. You want to have fun don’t you Mudblood?” 

This is usually how it goes. Bellatrix madly sounds off to herself as Hermione remains stoic and silent. No matter, it seems the crazy witch likes talking like this. 

As she grabs her arm roughly and drags her up the stairs she goes on, “it’s come to my attention we’ve missed New Year’s Muddy.”

New Year’s has passed already? That means it’s been at least a week. The brunette implies it’s been more since she said they ‘missed’ it. 

As she’s being thrown into the room that has become a product of her worst nightmares she sees three harrowing faces. 

“I wanted to give you something special.” Bellatrix says feigning sympathy, “I figured since you didn’t have your New Year’s kiss you so longed to share with that disgusting Blood Traitor, I’d help you out. Girl to girl.” The smile she’s wearing makes Hermione ponder trying out wandless magic. 

“So here with me today are three more than eligible bachelors! Perfectly capable wizards,” she pauses, eyes roving over Greyback’s hairy chest, “and then some...” Bellatrix faces Hermione again, “since I’m feeling in spirit of the New Year, I’ll allow you to pick your suitor. Who will it be Mudblood?”

And it’s like the most fucked up game show ever.  She doesn’t want anyone in this room looking at her, never mind touching her. 

“Indecisive I see. Let me help you make things easier,” she begins circling the men, “this one seems to rather like you despite the dirt running through your veins. But I must say his breath is horrendous.” The woman mock whispers to Hermione as Scabior dares to grin likes it’s a compliment. 

“Antonin here, well you two have history, do you not? I reckon he’s dying to get his hands on you again, aren’t you?” 

At this Dolohov eagerly shakes his head as she notices his fingers tick around his wand. 

“And Greyback, well we all know how much he longs to taste you. You know how such creatures can be, you hang about the likes of Remus Lupin, my poor excuse of a cousin's poor excuse of a best friend.” She comments. 

And that does it for Hermione. 

“D-d-d,” she tries, but her voice is shaky and wavering under their gazes. It’s like there is some sort of mental block in her brain preventing her from speaking. 

“D-d,” Bellatrix mocks with a laugh, “if you’ve got something to say, say it!” 

“S-Sirius.” Hermione barely manages. 

This makes her cackle even louder, “oh! Something to say about the traitor do you? No matter, I handled him! Not much left to say, no.” 

Hermione somehow manages to ball her small hands into angry tight fists at the comment. This woman’s so nonchalant about taking a life, the life of an extraordinary man, her cousin's life no less. 

“Who will it be? I haven’t to tell you how impatient I am.” 

Her eyes roam over the three men in the room. Not that she’s actually deciding, no, she’s looking for a wand. Weighing who she could best. 

 Scabior is twirling his mindlessly between his fingers. He looks more enamored with Hermione than anything else. Dolohov is clutching his with fervor, she’s sure the only thing on his mind is cursing her. As for Greyback, the wand is slightly visible in his pocket, he’s too focused on licking his lips. 

There’s really no right choice here. All are as bad at the other. 

“Alright, new game!” Bellatrix claps. 

Then like the crazy woman she is, she starts spinning. Round and round, a hand clutched over her eyes as she hums to herself. 

A few moments later she stops, stumbling slightly and giggling like mad. Then, she points her wand, the end of it only centimeters from Dolohov’s nose. 

As she pulls her hand away, she begins jumping with joy, “lucky day for you Antonin! Fate has spoken. The girl is yours.” Then Bellatrix steps forward and whispers to him, “remember the Dark Lord’s request. No fatal harm to the Mudblood.” 

Instinctively, Hermione backs up as far as she can until she hits a wall. Dolohov is rounding in on her, his wall still hanging in his hand. Looser than before. 

And before she can help it his dry cracked lips are pressed firmly over hers. Her first instinct is to kick him, much like she had to with McLaggen, or curse him. Then as he tries to slip his disgusting slimy tongue past her lips, she’s reminded what she needs to do. 

Wand. Wand. Wand. 

She says it to herself over and over as her hand slowly roves around for his own. That’s all she can cling onto, not wanting to accept the overwhelming feelings of being so violated. 

Then she feels the wooden thing and is sickeningly grateful he seems so intent on claiming her, he’s forgotten his vendetta to finish what he started at the Ministry. 

In one swift motion she yanks it from his hand. 

“St-stupefy!” She channels all of her strength to say it. 

It’s not a powerful blow, but he’s being thrown back. Whether the lack of her voice or the wand that so does not fit her, but it works. 

“Pr-rotego!” She’s seemed to find her voice as the charm works wonders around her. Seeming to have blocked whatever Bellatrix just threw. 

“Clever! But not clever enough! What will you do next Mudblood? Apparate? Go back to that boy you so dearly long for? Pay dear Mum and Dad a visit?” She questions angrily. 

Hermione shivers at the mention of her parents. She also doesn’t think she has it in her to apparate. Sure she’s read about it in a book, but it’s risky, dangerous, and she’s so exhausted. To make matters worse, this wand feels as effective as an actual wooden stick in her hand. 

“Ex-Expelliarmus!” She cries out next and surprisingly, Bellatrix’s wand flies into her hand. 

“Oh!” She laughs. 

Hermione’s confused by the smile painting her lips, but soon will realize what it means. 

“Greyback, I’m afraid I’ve made a mistake. Have at her.” 

And he doesn’t have to be told twice. 

Before Hermione notices he pounces on her, knocking her to the floor as both Dolohov and Bellatrix’s wands roll limply along the floor. 

She feels his nails plunge into her stomach as they scratch down the expanse of her skin. It’s like he’s taking his time with her. 

Lestrange, like she said before, is an impatient woman, as she nudges Greyback from his spot on top of her. And even though he appears to be fighting every instinct, he does as he’s told. 

Bellatrix assumes his position as she straddles her, settling most of her weight onto Hermione’s bleeding midriff. 

She then leans in close, her hot breath fanning her face, blowing her tears to the sides of her cheeks, “if you think you can pull one over on me, you are sorely mistaken, you ought to know that by now. I have no choice but to remind you of it!” 

Then she pulls a dagger from her waist band and slowly rolls up Hermione’s sleeve. 

The young witch has no choice but to writhe and kick wildly as the blade slowly scrapes her forearm. 

“Hmm,” she thinks, then her face brightens. 

A pain, a searing excruciating pain like no other  numbs her body. She has no choice but to scream. 

Bellatrix pulls away and admires whatever it is she does before diving back in and cutting something else into her victim. 

“J-just kill me. P-please.” She begs before she can help it. Hermione can barely manage the words through the pain. 

The witch mock pouts at her, “and grant you such mercy.” Her tone then shifted to the one Hermione was used to cold and sharp, “dying is easy Mudblood. Pain lasts! Crucio!” 

And she screams again. She’s not sure if it’s from the Cruciatus Curse or the fact that the damned knife is being plunged into her skin, but eventually her screams die out. 

Instead the world goes black. 

In her unconscious state Bellatrix stands and smiles down at her handy work. 

The word ‘Mudblood’ branded onto Hermione.

[purplesurveys]

1111

Something a little bit random and silly for my 1111th, just because.

survey by joybucket

List three things you love that start with each letter.

A: Art and most forms of it; anchovies, in most cases; and Angela.

B: Burgers, Beyoncé, and buffets.

E: Escargot, the name Eloise, and elephants.

F: FISH, Friends, and some folk indie.

S: Sleeping, signing off work at the end of my shift, and all kinds of seafood.

T: I’m obsessed with tteokbokki; trying out new food; and table tennis.

Q: I like the quiet time I occasionally give myself; quail eggs, especially in the form of kwek-kwek; and quattro formaggi pizza.

R: Rainbows, the rain, and riding planes.

O: Old movies, the ocean, and Okinawa milk tea.

List a phrase including an adjective, noun, and verb for each letter. Examples: "angry artist anticipating", "rude rascals running", "dirty dogs dancing", or "empty elephants eloping." Have fun!

A: Adorable animals appearing.

F: Fabulous fingers frolicking.

C; Chummy classmates cooking.

S: Suspicious self salivating.

R: Rambunctious raccoon running.

T: Tired turnip tumbling.

Q; Questioning quail quipping.

J: Joyful joggers jamming.

I: Inquisitive igloos imagining.

L: Luxurious lemonade luminescing.

Z: Zesty zebras zoning out.

E: Ethereal eagles embracing.

List three different occupations starting with each letter.

O: Orthodontist, oceanographer, opthalmologist.

E: Engineer, equestrienne, elementary school teacher.

F: Firefighter, flight attendant, farmer.

S: Scientist, singer, seamstress.

T: Talent agent, tricycle driver, tennis player.

I: Illustrator, inspector, IT technician.

E: Economist, editor, electrician.

L: Lawyer, librarian, lifeguard.

A: Accountant, actor, architect.

Y: Yoga instructor, youth pastor, yogurt maker?? if that counts, lol. Otherwise I got nothing else.

List three adjectives that begin with each letter.

A: Affable, abrupt, adequate.

B: Broken, blunt, bleary.

C: Crazy, clear, clingy.

D: Daunting, delirious, dark.

E: Existential, enraged, exemplary.

F: Fantastic, far-flung, flavorful.

G: Ghastly, gentle, gigantic.

H: Harrowing, healthy, hopeful.

I: Intelligent, identical, impervious.

J: Jovial, jaded, joyous.

List three nouns that being with each letter.

K: Kangaroo, keychain, kiwi.

L: Lemonade the album, lemon the fruit, and Liz Lemon.

M: Mall, maple syrup, and mop.

N: Nightingale, nest, napkin.

O: Ogre, olive, orange.

P: Piano, panini, and pizza.

Q: Queen, quill, quilt.

List three verbs that begin with each letter.

R: Running, raking, reliving.

S: Singing, sailing, surfing.

T: Tricking, tossing, teeming.

U: Understanding, urging, unwrapping.

V: Villifying, venerating, vaccinating - get vaccinated, folks.

W: Wandering, washing, wriggling.

X: I don’t know if there are any and I can’t bother to look it up.

Y: Yawning, yelling, yearning.

Z: Zipping, ziplining, zapping.

List three...

girl's names you love: Olivia, Mia, Emma.

boy’s names you love: Mason, Jacob, Lucas.

girl’s names you dislike: Karen, and our local versions of Karen, Marites and Marivic.

boy’s names you dislike: Chad, times three.

things you hate about summer things you hate about winter things you hate about spring things you hate about fall things you love about spring things you love about winter things you love about fall things you love about summer Crossing these out because my Southeast Asian ass can’t relate, but if you do decide to take this survey feel free to un-strikethrough them!

things you miss from your past: Having more freedom to make mistakes; not having to worry about the future; and friends I’ve since lost.

people who have really hurt you in the past: Gabie, my mom, Marielle.

names of people you have had crushes on: Gabie, Andi from 5th grade...and that’s it, really.

names of people you have gone on a date with: Only Gabie. And I guess maybe Mike? Since he asked me to go with him to his ball as his date.

places you've been and would love to go again: Sagada, Jeju, Bali.

places you want to visit before you die: Morocco, Spain, Thailand.

items on your bucket list: See Times Square, live in a condo, plan a solo trip.

health conditions you have: Scoliosis, lactose intolerance, and very possible depression.

health conditions you've had in the past but don't anymore: Dehydration, UTI, and some kind of weird low-platelet-count thing that was just that, and never diagnosed as anything.

things you are allergic to: Possibly some types of grass, and maybe face masks. Idk how to confirm it really; I just know my skin gets irritated around them sometimes.

youtube channels you love to watch: Good Mythical Morning; the KBS YouTube channel mainly for clips of Return of Superman and 2 Days 1 Night; and Binging With Babish.

favorite drinks: Water, coffee, Long Island Iced Tea.

favorite foods: Sushi, chicken wings, pizza.

favorite desserts: Cheesecake, MACARONS, cupcakes.

favorite holidays: The only one I care for and get super excited about is my birthday, if that counts. Christmas is fine, but I only get the excitement for it on the actual day itself.

favorite colors: Pastel pink, white, maroon.

people you would like to meet: Ysa and Bea, my teammates at work. I’ve met them only once before, and I wish we can be allowed to report to the workplace physically soon so that I get to see them more often and strengthen my relationship (both working and personal) with them. I’d also love to be able to chat and chill with Hayley Williams even for just 30 seconds.

people you want to meet in Heaven: I don’t believe in that, but I’d love to have met my great-grandfather on my maternal grandfather’s side. Also, Audrey Hepburn and Princess Diana.

good names for a dog or cat: Depends on their personality.

reasons why you get up each morning and keep on living: Because I’ve been able to see myself get better, and why stop all the progress?; because I’d want to be able see if the future will get better; and because I’m afraid of what will happen to/who will look out for my dogs if I’m suddenly gone.

For each name, think of three people you know with that name, and list their occupations.

Amanda: I only know one Amanda, and she’s a friend of my ex’s younger sister. She’s only in senior year of high school. I know an Amandine which is close enough I suppose?? and she’s a dentistry student.

Sarah: She’s a media contact and I’m constantly in touch with; she’s the editor-in-chief of a local magazine. I think she’s the only Sarah I know.

Ashley: Also a media contact. I’m not sure about her title, though.

Beth: @bionic-beth is a teacher! :) But I don’t know any Beths in real life, I think.

Katie: Well I know Kate, and I’ll sometimes playfully call her Katie. She works in a government agency and she’s one of their PR people. The HR person who recruited me to come work at my current employer is a Kate, but I have never and have no plans to call her Katie.

Matt: That’s too foreign-sounding a name where I live.

Emily: Don’t know any Emilys, either.

Chris: Media contacts. They run blogs or news sites of their own.

Mike/Michael: The one Mike I know is currently a med student. Not sure if he’s working on the side - I think he is, since I saw him post about a job update on his Facebook a few months ago; but I can no longer remember what he does, or if he’s still doing it.

Jessica: I went to high school with a girl named Jessica but I don’t follow her on social media, so I have no clue what she’s up to now.

Becca/Bekah: Rita’s sister is a Becca. I think she is currently a grad student.

For each name, think of three people you know, and list one adjective to describe each person. (Skip if you don't know anyone with that name.)

Laura

Michelle: Hilarious.

Victoria: Strong.

Tessa: Friendly.

John

Claire: Influential; motherly.

Briana/Brianna: Bitch.

Vanessa

Brittany/Britney, etc.

Allison/Allie/Ally, etc: Kind. 

Olivia

Jordan

Jo/Joe: Ambitious; pretty.

Corey/Kori

Sophie: Sweet; quiet.

Mitch/Mitchell: Tall.

Madison/Maddie/Maddi

Out of all the people you know or have met, list three...

redheads: Yeah, you’re not going to find them in most of Asia. West Asia and some parts of East Asia, probably, but definitely not for the rest.

tall people: Jo, Chesca, and Shaun.

people with really curly hair: I know Kleo has naturally curly hair from her Aeta roots, but it’s been straightened for a very long time now. I think Chesca also has curly hair, albeit slightly. There is also Liana.

sets of twins: My sister had two sets of twins in her high school batch, but I can no longer remember their names. I also had an English class with a pair of twins named Ardy and Thirdy.

of the cutest babies you've seen on social media: My workmate’s baby. My friend Jar has a super squishy niece/nephew pair of twins as well.

people you miss: Angela, Kate, my grandpa.

people with beautiful eyes: I can only think of my ex.

people with nice hair: God I have not been around people for so long, I can barely think of anyone for this.

people who are the same height as you: Aya, Hannah, Tina.

own one of the same clothing items as you: Angela since we went to the same high school and have several of the same school shirts; Laurice since we share a college org and we have our own trademark polo shirt; and my brother and I have our own pairs of Nike Cortez shoes.

make you laugh: Andi, Hans, and this girl I had a couple of history classes with, Rose.

List three celebrities who...

are the same height as you: Lady Gaga and AJ Lee are the only ones who are coming to mind. I wouldn’t call AJ a celebrity though.

have the same hair color as you: Mila Kunis, Kelly Rowland, Dita Von Teese.

look like you: Only based on comments I’ve gotten in the past and not because I necessarily claim these for myself, Lucy Hale, Anna Akana, and Kakie.

List three....

adjectives to describe you: Timid, stubborn, sensitive.

academic courses you enjoyed: Philippine social history, international relations, anthropology.

words you always forget how to spell: Rhythm, committee, accommodate.

things you wish you were better at: Singing, dancing, drawing.

things you are really good at: Writing, reading people, and knowing the best things to order at most restaurants hahahah.

jobs you'd like to have: Ideally, a lawyer or doctor. But realistically, I’d love to have a leadership position in the PR sphere.

jobs you've considered having: ^ Again, lawyer and doctor. Also a journalist or news anchor, back when I still thought I was passionate about journalism.

jobs you'd hate: Journalist, an LTO clerk, an assistant to an asshole celebrity.

things you miss: Being a student, many parts of the past, and deceased family members.

names your mom considered when naming you: Ariel, Kathleen, Katrina.

things people call you: Robyn, Byn, Bynbyn.

*Bonus*: what is your name? (first and middle)? I always feel like just sharing Robyn.

[naruhearts]

14x13 First-Watch Thoughts: Dean Winchester, John Winchester and Destiel

Before I write a full proper review this weekend (and I plan to write a separate Sam post) (I’ll be missing other key details for sure) let me SCREAM about:

JOHN WINCHESTER FADING AWAY AT THE END OF THE EPISODE LIKE A GHOST INTO THE ETHER as the Winchesters said goodbye to him --> TPTB visually/narratively textualized his ghostly presence like we’ve seen in S13/S14 -- Ghost-Monster-Yeager-Michael epitomized figure. He loomed over Sam and Dean's lives (especially Dean's) as the core toxic remnant of their past that they internalized and which subsequently influenced them to live out their toxic life courses and crippled their healthy self-processes, yet John Winchester’s narrative cathartic (and redemptive) role was fulfilled during Season Who Am I 14.

DEAN: For the longest time I blamed Dad. I blamed Mom too. I was angry. [...]  But to be honest I don't know who that Dean Winchester is [re: letting ‘some other poor sons of bitches’ take Sam and Dean’s place if they were normal].

DEAN: I'm good with who I am.

x

Dean ACTUALLY used his words and disclosed the sources of his trauma and parental neglect *screams* He self-introspected during the dishwashing scene in the kitchen -- the Heart and Home -- by precisely doing what we expected/hoped for him (and Sam) to do: reflecting on their current lives in response to 2003!John Winchester’s resurrection and determining what really holds true value and worth...what holds more fulfilling love and true heart’s desires than a pearl ever could --> Found Family. DEAN, recalling that life is short, accepted his current respective life with Cas and Jack and stressed the self-fulfilling importance of why their lives turned out as such. What they went through since Mary died in 1983 moulded them into who they are today. HE ACCEPTS WHO HE IS!! Dean accepts who Sam is. Sam and Dean, as grown men, become the optimum versions of themselves where their physical, emotional and mental suffering was, of course, undeserved, but also ultimate self-cathartic blessings in disguise: it contributed to their both their psychological resistance and individual journeys towards self-actualization as they create interpersonal bonds with others outside themselves. THEY LET GO.

JOHN: I'm so proud of you boys. I love you both...so much.

x

THE LONG-WANTED AND LONG-OVERDUE PRIDE AND VERBALIZED LOVE FROM A FATHER WHO ABUSED HIS SONS FOR YEARS. He finally told Sam and Dean that he loved them. He asked for forgiveness, and they freely chose to give it, additionally permitting themselves to embrace cathartic closure. Now THAT is how you transform trauma into your self-motivational strength!! In particular, we knew *points at all the extensive John vs Dean meta* that Dean yearned to hear those direct words from John. He yearned for years. For Dean to hear it spill out of John’s actual lips -- to hear John verbalize how much he loves Dean, how he’s proud of the man he has become -- after everything Dean has done for him -- is sheer meta fulfillment executed in the most emotive way. Instead of watching his son die without fostering altruism e.g. 2x01 In My Time of Dying, we see John watching his son LIVE and grow -- exercising his agency, formulating decisions for himself, and finally discovering SELF-WORTHINESS. SELF-LOVE. SELF-ACCEPTANCE. John also told Dean that he “never meant for this. I guess I hoped that eventually you'll get yourself a normal life. A peaceful life. A family.” Well--

Dean told John he does in fact have a family, topped off with the smile of utter happiness on his face. 

He chose his own timeline in which Cas and Jack exist. He chose his Found Family.

x

It’s intriguing to note that, in the context of John hoping Dean would have “eventually” obtained a “normal life” --  a “family” -- for himself, if we go off SPN’s constantly-reiterated narrative differentiations between familial family (brothers) and intimate family (husbands, boyfriends, girlfriend) aka Love and...Love, the unsaid connotation of ROMANTIC family applies here, as @thetwistedwillow​ and I discussed. Sam is Dean’s family, but John isn’t referring to him.

John is referring to Dean getting himself an Apple Pie Life™ -- one that Dean initially tried with Lisa and Ben Braeden but couldn’t sustain; Dean seeking marital happiness outside The Life™ was NOT personally/characteristically feasible. It entailed burying vital truths about himself -- imprisoning his non-performativity -- as a broken man within a broad illusion of Want vs Need whom Lisa also tried and failed to fix...failed to make whole despite Dean once telling her that she comprised his happiness long ago.

Indeed, the present era of Season Cyclic 14 ushers in truth. 

Dean has a family with “someone who understands The Life™.”

This aforementioned Life™ -- regardless of it being full of pain, horror, and death -- offers Dean joy, security, and new beginnings. 

Cas and Jack, willingly choosing to incorporate themselves into The Life™, are the mirrors of freedom to Lisa and Ben’s jagged misfortunes. 

They accept who Dean is wholeheartedly. They lend him purpose, zeal, and love -- buckets of love. They are aware of his faults. They encourage his strengths. They represent his faith and his hope.

(Cas, more than anyone, is indelibly aware of Dean’s capabilities.)

In terms of communication, Dean told his brother Sam that he loves him in 14x11 [for attempting to find another way re: Michael]. He directly told his mother Mary that he loves her in 12x22. Tonight he finally told his father John that he loves him, too. ALL the emotional honesty and transparency, my friends!!

Who else is left for Dean to say such significant words to? WE JUST DON’T KNOW!

- - - - 

14x13 practically crossed off most of this + my entire SPN300 checklist!!!

- CHOSEN FAMILY VS FOUND FAMILY themes - S14 Dean encountering/hearing about the Castiel of Old—the Angel of the Lord who hasn’t yet built a trustful and ever-complex ten-year relationship with him - Sam finally rectifying and clarifying things with John as a grown man!! TPTB know what 14x13’s premise means for Mary Winchester and TFW’s characteristic arcs aka EMOTIONAL CHARACTER-DRIVEN NARRATIVES. They are facing their pasts and must subsequently introspect and FINALLY act upon their WANTS vs NEEDS. Bros (Dean the Emotional Hero of SPN in particular) may have wished John was alive, but is it worth losing Cas and Jack? - Is it worth losing the real Cas Dean knows? Worth replacing the angel who executed his own choice to Fall, embodied his newfound humanized principles and willingly became part of Dean’s life? - (And here the focal point of the Destiel-adjacent 14x13 narrative comes in) If John didn’t die, Dean’s life course progression towards self-actualization (with Cas as a key aspect of his psychological realizations; Dean and Cas as both each other’s offsets to healthy self-process) wouldn’t have happened. Losing Mary—losing John—ALLOWED Dean to, despite all the unfortunate circumstances, endure necessary pain in order to heal…to: A. release himself from the shackles of predeterminism, Brodependency, parental absenteeism, repression, toxic misemotionality, and trauma + eliminating the old perceptions of himself as a blunt tool: his father’s hammer and society’s hammer and B. embrace his reflection that he sees in the mirror of his identity - Is alive!John truly what Dean WANTS? What he NEEDS? Dean and Sam, confronted by personal ultimatum in terms of their individual relationships with John and the psychological states/growth stages his death left him in, must decide! - TL;DR character development - And, of course, proliferation of endgame Destiel in some way (not a BIG way yet, but building blocks) from this point onwards and subtext moving into its final pre-text phase as I hope/expect Dean to choose his reality with Cas

(I’m expanding on the last point in a bit!!)

I have LOTS of additional thoughts (tbh they’re all an incoherent jumble lol), but as of now I’d like to say that nothing else can surpass the heartwarming satisfaction that bloomed in my chest over the way Dabb and Glynn beautifully interweaved the narrative’s Family/Love/Forgiveness/Self themes into an episode full of amusing callbacks e.g. Plucky Pennywhistle’s Magical Menagerie (there were a LOT of easter eggs I tell you) and heavy-weighing characteristic ones e.g. Goodbye Stranger Destiel redux -- and oh my gosh, the Dean and Cas narrative callbacks we received tonight, where Dean couldn’t believe that OG Cas had NO recollection of him?!

I don’t know about you, but the romantic subtext smacked me in the face; the negative spaces and unsaid verbalizations were glaring. I was, quite frankly, thumping the table in excitement, because alongside the explicit and gorgeously done Lazarus Rising redux scene -- in a PIZZERIA no less *gestures at Cas = Pizza D/C bonding meta and romantic connotations* -- Sam and Dean confronting OG Cas depicted Dean and Cas' current relationship and dual growth reverting to zero in this AU.

It was a painful encapsulation of the unstable past vs healthy present. 

Castiel the Angel of the Lord was non-humanized and never saved Dean from Hell. Emotional detachment and warrior-obedient violence resurfaced as his characteristic markers.

x

Dean, whom Cas --  from the point of first contact in realtime canon -- forged a profound bond with (the bond that proliferated into an intrinsically complex underlying romance narrative which worldwide audiences have been devoutly privy to) was struck by harrowing shock here, and TPTB took intentional liberties to visually fixate on Dean. Sam, on the other hand, reacted via wariness, and he was placed in the periphery -- blurred out to juxtapose their varied emotions of brother and husband; one of these is, as per usual, not like the other.

x

Dean realizes the integral role Cas currently holds in his life -- how far they’ve come together, in that the Goodbye Stranger parallel scene between him and Cas has him begging for Cas to stop -- to no avail -- and my heart lurched awfully when Cas made no move to do so. Dean fails in breaking his personal Naomi bred-reminiscent Soldier coding because we all know this certain iteration of Cas never freely chose Humanity. 

He never Fell, never embodied the human principles of free will/autonomy and self-identity, never found kinship, and never fell in love with Dean. 

Keeping the above in mind, when the real Cas comes back to the bunker after the ever-palpable and necessary self-catharsis that occurred during his absence, TPTB’s narrative brings the episode’s thematic premise of WANT vs NEED full circle as Mary, Sam, and Dean witness his entrance.

Sam and Mary are awed after the temporal fracture ordeal they just experienced, but there lies, once again, a certain cinematographic focus on (12x19-reminiscent) Dean.

x

x

We observe Dean’s onscreen expression of raw appreciation and self-conviction in that he has realized, amongst the throes of meta-laden cathartic self-acceptance, that everything he encountered since childhood -- the good, bad, in-between -- was worth it. This current canon reality is his heart’s deepest desire. He accepts it. He WANTS it.

For Dean Winchester, a life without Cas is no life at all.

RATING: 10/10

[wheatbeats]

I ended up rewatching all of RWBY Volume 3 tonight (sort of by accident honestly) and, as someone who hasn’t rewatched any earlier volumes since Volume 3 finished, here are some assorted thoughts:

I remember a lot of us feeling cautious about the team switching over to Maya for Volume 4 and beyond, but looking back at Volume 3, probably the best that Poser could do, I think it was the right call. The character models, the expressive animation, the BACKGROUNDS, are all so much better now than they used to be. The look of Poser has its charm but I think overall we’re far better off with Maya.

Putting aside the inherent issues of making the only committed revolutionary fighter in the series an abusive murderous ex, the major thorn of Adam’s characterization remains his first interaction with Cinder in episode 7. The rest is decently well laid; from Blake telling the team about how someone close to her changed, to Adam’s reaction to Blake leaving during the events of the Black Trailer (also in episode 7). It’s not pretty or polished but it fits well enough, except for that one scene. It kind of shoots his whole arc in the foot. Also Adam’s voice actor has done a much better job with his nasty, creepy dialogue than he ever has with his noble freedom fighter dialogue and I think that deserves recognition.

Speaking of which as a whole episode 7 is really good the structure and pacing feels really unique for a RWBY episode. I don’t think they made another quite like it until The Lost Fable in S6.

This whole season is really good at moving its camera, and I’m tempted to lay that credit with Monty Oum. There are lots of interesting shots of characters’ legs (that sounds weird but both Cinder and Ironwood have great shots of a room framed between their feet from behind), and I still love how when Qrow is first introduced at the Crow Bar the camera wobbles drunkenly with him when he stands up. It adds a level of engagement that the animation quality might have otherwise robbed.

Speaking of Qrow, this volume is his introduction and it struck me how, even though he’s always been a bit of an immature bastard, in V3 he still very much feels like an adult, and Team RWBY very much feel like children. I’m used to V6 Qrow, who whines like a baby and is generally useless. The dynamic has shifted so much and I think that’s genuinely intentional so good job, CRWBY.

This is a bit of a nitpick but why is Ironwood the one to tell Yang that she’s disqualified after she blasts Mercury’s knee? That’d be like if I cheated at a high school track meet and Obama shows up to kick me out; Ironwood is a head of state from a different country and the headmaster of NEITHER of the schools involved in the fight. Why is he here?

It’s sort of odd watching this season lay groundwork for worldbuilding that’s already been retconned away. Ozpin’s gang leading Pyrrha through the vault for the first time really make it seem like the Maidens are the be-all end-all of magical power in the land, and that their little troupe was made solely to protect them. Now Maidens are just a small cog in the machine, shoved to the back burner in recent episodes in favor of the relics. I know that RWBY’s worldbuilding has almost always been “go off of what we told you last and forget everything before that”, but it feels oddly disconnected to see the ghost of the original plan peeking through in the earlier volumes.

Also it’s really odd seeing Ozpin on screen I kind of forgot that he used to have a body that isn’t Oscar.

There’s a bit of heartache seeing Pyrrha again, once my favorite character. Her journey in this season might still be the best season-long arc RWBY ever told, and while I still yearn for the reality where she lives and we get to see the fallout of everything she went through, her sacrifice in the finale is still one of the most genuine emotional moments in this entire series and I’ll always applaud that.

In connection to Pyrrha’s arc, this season has the Perfect amount of Jaune used in the best possible way, and I wish he could always be like this. Jaune in V3 is kinda funny, pretty brave, and very sweet and heartfelt. He and Pyrrha talking alone in episode 8 is still one of my favorite moments of the whole show. Jaune is at his best when he’s a loving and supportive friend, not a hero or a leading man, and I hope the series is finally starting to understand that.

As a whole the entire Battle of Beacon is really fucking impressive. For one thing, it’s LONG, about 45 minutes of one big conflict, and it balances the bits and pieces between Ruby vs. Torchwick, Ozpin and Pyrrha vs. Cinder, and Blake vs. Adam really well. The editing is top notch and the score is incredible, and there are some amazing moments of choreography (Ruby vs. Neo and Torchwick is still one of my favorite fights in the series). The whole thing manages to stay pretty breathless and exciting all the way through and I hope that RoosterTeeth can craft another finale this thrilling for Volume 7 and/or something later.

The end of Heroes and Monsters is harrowing, to put it simply. Seeing Pyrrha screaming in pain in the aura transfer machine, Amber being shot suddenly without warning, Blake getting stabbed, and Yang losing an arm all in quick succession is a huge fucking gut punch, made all the harsher by the music choice (that... music box style music they put on haunts my dreams, damn you Alex Abraham and Jeff Williams). 

It’s sort of refreshing to see Ruby Rose herself in such a central role this season. They got better at putting her in focus in V6 but she’s still sharing the spotlight with a solid 10-12 other major characters. In V3 Ruby spends a lot of time alone, doing important things for the plot. I kind of miss that.

Also, Ruby collapsing into tears and then numb shock when she sees Penny die? Excellent content, it breaks my heart, I wish we could see important emotional moments and reactions like that from Ruby all the time.

Torchwick is fucking incredible and I’m so salty he’s gone. He still has maybe the best vocal performance in the entire series and his monologue right before his death is my pick for the best ever string of dialogue from a series that’s historically had problems writing it. I really hope they pull a Hannibal Choi from Pacific Rim and bring him back later, if only to see how hilariously outclassed he is by the newer, bad-er villains. Normally that sort of thing would bug me from a narrative perspective but I love Torchwick so much that I’m literally begging for him to return. Please RT hear my prayer.

When it Falls is the best OP song and Divide is the best ED song of the series and you absolutely CAN fight me on this maybe I can finally put my music degree to use

[hlycrwn]

@knightsdeath    .    unprompted    :

the sun hasn't yet risen and his eyes catch upon the angle of dimitri's jaw / the shift of sleep on his face or perhaps the lack thereof / and his heart sighs as he presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth before sitting up : to leave. for moments? for weeks? ——— it's hard to say. it's hard to know / with his body so reluctant to leave him, after all. 

                𝐀 𝐒   𝐀   𝐂 𝐇 𝐈 𝐋 𝐃   𝐇 𝐄   𝐄 𝐗 𝐈 𝐒 𝐓 𝐄 𝐃   𝐀   𝐍 𝐎 𝐓 𝐎 𝐑 𝐈 𝐎 𝐔 𝐒 𝐋 𝐘   𝐃 𝐄 𝐄 𝐏   𝐒 𝐋 𝐄 𝐄 𝐏 𝐄 𝐑  ,    often finding slumber in odd nooks and crannies scattered about the castle grounds only to be carried to his bed by whomever happened upon his person  ,  failing to so much as  twitch  all the while .   now it takes so  little  to stir him  :  the barest sliver of sunlight  ,  a noise from a room below  ,  the wind brushing o’er his skin from an open window  ...  a partner  ,  waking beside him .    dimitri’s eyes do not open right away  ,  instead opting to make a soft  noise  as proof of his slow - waking  ,  an arm reaching to wrap itself o’er felix’s waist in silent refusal to permit his leave just yet  ,  as if such a chaste  ,  fleeting kiss would be enough to hold onto ‘til he next climbs into bed beside him .

truthfully he already misses him  ,  feels that all too familiar ache of  longing  begin to nest within the crevices of his ribs and he knows he has no right to keep him here  ,  that he is not his knight and never will be  /  never  should  be  ,  and his life should be free to exist outside the hands of the blaiddyd bloodline .  he knows this  ,  he  does .  but his eyes open and felix comes into view before him and when he thinks of how he’ll soon be gone  ,  oh     ━━━━━     he’d let that woman take his other eye  ,  he thinks  ,  if in exchange this man would simply choose to stay .

❛     it isn’t yet dawn .     ❜          he says  ,  softly  ,  swallowing down a yawn as he pushes himself to sit up  ,  closer to eye level with felix though the arm he has around him fails to move much at all .  if anything  ,  it only creates a firmer hold  ;  palm sliding to curve itself against felix’s hip  ,  thumb tracing invisible shapes upon his skin .          ❛     surely you can stay until then  ,  at least ?     ❜

‘  i could just be getting up to go take a leak .  don’t really need me to stay here to do that  ,  do you ?  ’       he says and dimitri watches his face  ,  carefully .  this boy  /  this man has never been able to lie convincingly .  at least not to him .  and the look he gives him softens  ,  something sad  /  somber  /  adoring  despite the way his insides  twist as he replies  ,  gentle and knowing  :          ❛     felix .     ❜          silence .  their gazes hold for but a moment longer before his lover turns his head  ,  attention drawn to the wolf settled at the end of the  /  their bed .

‘  ...  it would be better for me to leave now .  i’ll make better time that way .  ’        &   dimitri wonders how easy it is for him  ,  truly  ,  to come and go like this  ;  to settle himself beside the man he once viewed only as a  beast  and sleep with the quiet pounding of his heart echoing in his ear only to disappear once more into the world beyond these walls  ,  cold and largely alone .   he wonders if he knows how hard it is for dimitri to  let him go  time after time  ,  to curl up within these sheets with the weight of  absence  pressing down upon him from every angle  ,  nightmares plagued by images of a man whose sword comes back without him .   he wonders if he’d care  ,  if he did .  if it would be enough . 

❛     you could go tomorrow instead .     ❜          ‘  yeah .  but i wanted to go today .  ’

dimitri’s lips purse .   he truly has no compelling argument to make for him to stay  ,  nothing beyond the selfish cries of a needy king that all but plead not to be  left alone  again  ,  for just a  little more time  with felix by his side .   it is love  ,  that has him yearning  ;  not a threat  ,  not some harrowing obligation .   just him  ,  and his bleeding heart .

❛     must you go at all ?     ❜          there’s a dislike for how near  desperate  he sounds  ,  finally permitted the query to fall from his lips at a volume scarcely above that of a whisper .          ❛     i would never force you to stay  ,  you know that .   if you truly must leave  ...  there will be no cages attempting to stop you  ,  and i shall see you off as always .   but  ...     ❜          but  ,  but  ,  but .   but he wants him to remain here  ,  with him  ,  not as a knight but as a lover  /  as a friend  /  as the man who holds his heart in his hands and takes it  with him  each and every time he chooses to pull away for some indeterminate period of time .   he wants him to  stay  ,  as  ...

his fingers dig ever so slightly deeper into the flesh of felix’s hip  ,  not painful but  firm .   he knows exactly how he wishes for him to stay  /  he does not know if felix will ever return again  ,  if he says such .   &   so he hesitates in the form of free hand lifting to cradle felix’s cheek  ,  body leaning forward to press his lips against lover’s own and when he pulls away it is by no more than an inch  ,  their breath still mingling  /  his fingers  ,  loosely tangled in his hair .   dimitri meets his gaze and  holds it  ,  steady  /  the words he speaks do not tremble despite how something within his chest does .

❛     ━━━   marry me .     ❜          quiet  ,  soft  ,  sincere .  he speaks it like a demand but it is a question  ,  of course  ;  they both know as much  ,  that he would never clip felix’s wings of his own accord  ,  tie him somewhere he did not wish to be anymore than felix would ever truly permit him to .   he swallows .   he continues .          ❛     marry me  ,  felix .  stay by my side  ,  not as my knight or my sword but as my husband   ━━━   my equal .   allow me to love you every day  ,  every moment  ,  and not only in these fleeting pockets of time that come and go with little warning .     ❜          he dips his head  ,  presses his forehead against felix’s and he’s fairly confident the only reason he’s permitted to do is because the other man is too  shocked  to move away from him  ,  to yell or slide from his bed  ,  to do much of anything  ,  really .   he’ll make use of that shock  ,  for now . 

❛     it is something excruciating  ,  to watch you leave time and time again .   and my pain is not nor will it ever be your burden but i swear to you  ,     ❜          trust me  is the silent plea  ,  the beggar’s wish  ;  trust that you can trust me  ,  trust that i am more man than monster .          ❛     i will do everything within my power to ensure your happiness .   i will never hurt you  ,  i could never .   you are the most precious person in the world to me  ,  felix .   i just ask that i be allowed to prove it .     ❜

[formlesscopycat]

More than the Roses

A Kuroko no Basuke fanfiction

Summary: Aomine is not into romantic words and gifts. Kise tells himself that it’s okay.

Tags: Established relationship, domestic boyfriends, future fic

Read on Ao3

.

I’m  not one for surprises…

Because Valentine’s Day isn’t really our thing.

...

All I need is him.

.

.

Kise knows there aren’t any surprises waiting for him today.

No flowers.

No chocolates.

No cheesy love notes tucked on gifts carefully wrapped in fancy paper.

It just wasn’t their sort of thing, making a big fuss over the so-called day of hearts.

Daiki thinks it’s only a huge-ass gimmickry, the perfect ploy of flower shops and bakeries to wring out  bucks from people’s pockets, as if love can be stowed into something too ordinary and tangible, not to mention, something that’s store-bought.

“Besides,” Daiki tells him, midnight-blue eyes serious, unwavering, “...you always knew how I felt for you, these gifts are too overrated, anyway.”

So Kise learns to dismiss all sorts of expectations, when a dash of crimson sneaks into his periphery, a delivery guy bearing a bouquet of roses approaches his desk (guy’s been the fifth one to do so today, because Kise’s desk is closest to the office entrance).

No, it doesn’t affect Kise at all, that the person the delivery guy had asked for is his co-worker, Takao Kazunari, whose head had immediately perked up at the sound of his name. Seated from the far end of the room, Takao is quick on his heels, bouncing beside Kise to meet the delivery guy and claim his gift.

And Kise ignores the slight twinge of jealousy ripping in his chest when Takao sniffs the roses, pulls the note card out from the tiny envelope and claps a hand over his mouth to suppress a laugh at what he just read.

“What did it say?” Kise dares to ask, he’s only curious, and that’s just about it.

Takao turns to him, cheeks aflame, slate-blue eyes practically sparkling. “Oh, it’s just my prudish Shin-chan! I just find it too funny when he’s being sweet like this.”

With lifted chin, Takao shows Kise the message.

Happy Valentine’s Day, gorgeous. Tonight is all ours.

Kise lets out a chuckle, it doesn’t sound like Midorima at all, he probably chose from the message templates that the flower shop had offered, but still, Kise would give him props for being the thoughtful and sweet boyfriend for this occasion.

“Tee-hee, that’s the love of my life! Gotta thank St. Valentine, we get to experience the cheesy side of our emotionally-challenged boyfriends even for once,” Takao remarks.

Kise chews on the corner of his bottom lip and goes quiet with a nod. For years, Daiki and himself hardly do anything special during Valentine’s Day, it just kind of... got obscured by their daily routines and busy schedule, more so because Daiki has been duty-bound and is always on-call as a police officer. It gets to a point where Kise no longer cares about Valentine’s Day too, doesn’t give much thought to it, that it completely slips out of his mind, until he walks to his office today and notice the considerable number of flowers, balloons and other gifts adorning his co-worker’s tables.

It’s even worse when Valentine’s Day falls on his and Daiki’s workday, like today, for instance.  It gets ditched from their schedule altogether, in favor of other ludicrous activities such as getting groceries and stuff. Kise recalls not having to greet Daiki Happy Valentine’s earlier this morning before each of them left for work, he recalls that today will be spent just as ordinarily as the day before, there is nothing special, it’s just their laundry day.

So while other couples will be holding each other’s hands inside movie theaters later or having dinner at high-end restaurants or both, Kise can just look forward to... doing chores with Daiki.

How stupidly romantic and domesticated is that, Kise reflects.

Not wanting to be weighed down by such miserable thoughts, Kise schools his emotions just enough, lets up a forced smile to his lips as he turns his attention back to his friend.

“You know us, we just low-key celebrate because we’re both busy,” Kise tells Takao as he leans back against his chair, not quite sure if he just imagined the bitter aftertaste of the words in his mouth. “Just dinner at home and that’s it.”

“And wild sex,” Takao adds, casual and unabashedly audible, like they’re not anywhere near their other co-workers.

“Right, the sex,” Kise agrees, realizing that no one is paying attention to them. His friend is right, sex is his saving grace. That, at least, is something he can work on, bring Daiki into the mood and make him fuck Kise senseless tonight. With Daiki being a total beast in the sheets, maybe he’ll insist on using the handcuffs again…

“Now, now… I see your thoughts are seriously going astray!” Takao laughs, shoulders bobbing up and down.

Kise’s face grows warmer. “No, I was just thinking about what I’m supposed to cook for dinner.”

“You are the lousiest liar!”

“Am not!”

“Ahem!”

Kise and Takao both turn their heads towards their brunet co-worker, Oikawa Tooru. If looks could gut, both he and Takao will be bleeding immensely on the floor by now, Kise thinks.

“In case you two haven’t noticed, people are working here and we’re not interested in your sexcapades!” Oikawa hisses, a dour expression on his face.

“Talk to you later, Single’s Awareness Day hits some of us hard,” Takao whispers with a wink.

Kise watches as Takao sashays back to his desk grinning from ear to ear, admiring the rose bouquet he got.  From the corner of his eye, Kise steals a glance at Oikawa, the Salt of Valentine’s Day, already typing furiously on his computer. Smiling to himself, Kise thanks his lucky stars, he might have no gifts waiting for him today but at least, he’s got a boyfriend who can keep him warm tonight, unlike Oikawa who’s been on a prolonged sullen mood, having been single for almost half a year, all alone on the day of hearts.

Kise reverts his attention to his PC screen and gets himself to work. He skims through thick pages of printed documents, sends emails and makes several long phone calls to clients and other associates to distract himself.

However, time trickles away, unbelievably slow and harrowing, and the pensive mood grows, sinking deeper and deeper within him, it’s almost impossible to overlook.

Kise tries not to overthink these matters even as several more delivery guys came in with flowers or cakes for his other colleagues.

He tunes out the hushed words of affection from his co-workers, sweet nothings whispered over the phone to their significant others. Grabbing his own phone, Kise takes a selfie with the brightest smile he can possibly muster at the moment, sends it with a quick text to Daiki, I miss you so much.

Hours went by. Daiki doesn’t reply.

.

Then comes the biggest discovery of Kise’s day.

Intending to replenish his stock of paper clips, Kise walks into the supplies room and hears suspicious noises, rattling the shelves somewhere. And he knows he can’t be wrong, because right there behind one of the steel cabinets, there’s Oikawa, oblivious to the world around him, too busy making out with the tall, broad-shouldered guy from the IT department, Ushijima-san. If Kise’s memory serves him right, Oikawa has been bad mouthing the poor guy non-stop since time immemorial, and now this.

Careful as not to burst Oikawa’s little bubble of fun, Kise retreats quietly from the supplies room, biting his lips to keep himself from laughing out loud at the irony of it all. He can’t wait to share the juicy news with Takao.

And when Oikawa bounces back to his office chair a few minutes later, he’s humming a soft tune under his breath and he’s noticeably less catty--the sly little bitch is flushed pink, the glow in his hazel eyes unmistakable. Further observing the brunet, Kise feels genuinely happy for Oikawa and then somehow, feels himself missing Daiki even more. For the gazillionth time, he checks his phone for any message though he knows, he knows…

...Daiki is just not that kind of guy.

And for all of Daiki’s shortcomings, Kise still loves him, all of him.

To cheer himself a little, he pulls up the gallery app from his phone, browsing and swiping through the countless saved pictures of Daiki. Shortly after, Kise finds himself smiling, and he tells himself not to sweat over the trivial stuff.

.

.

When Kise’s shift ends, he’s surprised to see Daiki already waiting for him outside the office. Kise finds him leaning casually against his black vintage Mazda, arms crossed over his chest, the first three buttons of his police uniform undone, his sexy smirk well in place and it makes Kise swoon, heartbeat accelerating.

“Hey,” Daiki says, hooking an arm around Kise’s waist. His other hand climbs up and trails the side of Kise’s face, a thumb softly grazing Kise’s cheek and for a moment, Daiki pauses, an affectionate gaze pulling Kise into the depths of his midnight-blue eyes, before leaning down to catch Kise’s lips on his.

Daiki doesn’t bring him flowers but then, Daiki doesn't really need to...

Closing his eyes, Kise lets himself melt into Daiki, everything becoming clear as crystal as he savors Daiki's presence. In that moment, Kise feels thoroughly ashamed for dwelling over thoughts of self-pity, yearning for words, for gifts that mean so little compared to all the years they spent growing together, the moments in between their shared lives, Daiki always rooting for him, challenging him, seeing the best in him, always fanning the flames of passion in his heart.

All Kise has ever needed is right there in front of him.

Celebrating Valentine’s Day isn’t really their thing. They have their own version of romantic, only it’s not anywhere under the spotlight of typical couple venues, of fine-dine restaurants, movie houses or concert halls.

And Kise concludes, they’re never the typical couple, anyway.

Today is laundry day, he and Daiki are doing it together just as they did on the weeks before, on all the years since the two of them decided to move in under one roof.

At the laundromat just a short walk from their apartment, Kise slips a few coins into the money slot of one of the washing machines before pouring detergent and fabric conditioner into the drawer while Daiki sorts the soiled clothes on a nearby table.

“Whites first,” Kise says. Obediently, Daiki hands him socks and shirts, few pieces at a time, while Kise tosses them inside the washing machine. Kise bends his knees a bit, peering into the opening, one of his hands pushing several pieces of clothing further inside the machine. He gestures for Daiki to hand him more clothing, his free arm stretched out towards Daiki behind him.

“Towels now...”

And instead of soft fabric, Daiki has put something else on the palm of Kise’s hand. Turning his head, he sees that Daiki has given him—

A small white box.

Next, Kise’s eyes are blown wide.

A glimmer of something small and precious, a golden ring inside.

“What—” Kise’s heart stutters, as also his tongue; all  the words, the question, the awe remains trapped behind his throat.

“Roses are expensive, so I got you this instead.”

Taking one of Kise’s hands, Daiki gets down on one knee. Then Kise hears the words, the only words he never thought he’s  been longing to hear all his life until now.

“I want to spend every Valentine’s Day with you, the rest of my life with you. Will you marry me, Kise Ryouta?”

Kise revels at the rich, honeyed baritone of Daiki’s voice, and for the briefest of moments, a flood of emotions well up in his heart, bringing with it fond memories that he and Daiki had weaved together over the years, starting from the instant that the ball had hit the back of Kise's head during middle school. They sweep across Kise’s mind, and he lets himself be buoyed through the bliss, through the turbulence of being endlessly in love with Daiki.

“Aho. You could’ve picked out a finer place to propose to me instead of here,” Kise whines. Not that he's complaining, he just can't believe this is all happening right now. With his heart drumming so hard in his chest, he worries that he’s gonna fall, he's so sure his knees have already turned into jelly.

“I want to surprise you,” Daiki says, gently squeezing Kise's hand. There's a very visible shade of red on Daiki's cheeks which Kise finds too adorable, and Kise feels proud he's the reason Daiki is blushing like that.

“You did a great job.”

“So it’s a yes?”

Kise grips Daiki’s hand and pulls him up from the floor. “Yes, of course, I’ll marry you, aho! In this life and in the next and the next!”

“You’re a cheesy shit.”

“And you want to marry this cheesy shit!”

As soon as Daiki slips the ring around his finger, Kise wraps his arms around Daiki’s neck, pulling his soon-to-be-husband by the nape, colliding their lips together in a kiss.

The ring grows infinitely warmer against Kise’s skin as he feels Daiki smiling in his mouth.