#anyways please listen to sleeping at last i love them

[ao3screenshotss]

just found out i have the same enneagram as freud

not sure how to feel about that

[depresseddepot]

what is it about certain types of songs that make it feel like my soul is being pulled out of my body by some strong magnet. my liberation notes by choi jung in and outro by m83 and overture 2 by sleeping at last and sora tsutsumi by masakatsu takagi and across the ocean by azure ray and i stand corrected by vampire weekend and unbearably white by vampire weekend and lullaby by lord huron and where's my love by syml and take me back by heroe and the animal crossing wild world opening screen soundtrack. there's something to be said about the heartache that comes from a beautiful, loud, emotional ballads but it's the quiet, peaceful ones that really seem to get me

[milo-is-rambling]

Weight talk tw I guess idk how to describe the post sorry im a little high

It’s so weird being around people who talk about weight problems (IOP) and like idk it brings up weird shit in my brain almost anxiety that I should feel bad about myself somehow like I’m doing this wrong being confident idk. Weird self doubt thing that happens when you’ve loved yourself (hmm. Rephrase. I don’t care about being fat. let’s say that.) and then you’re in a room full of people having a group discussion about how they avoid living their life in happy ways because they don’t want to become like you. But you love yourself. But everyone in your life since you were little has been dieting and talking about weight and specific numbers (someone was anxious about gaining seven pounds! SEVEN. If they saw my scale they would shit themselves. I put on seven pounds taking a big bong rip Jesus fucking Christ seven pounds. I wanted to rip my hair out.)

Next time weight issues come up in IOP I’m stepping out of the room. Like idk how to explain it cause it’s like not a trigger but I guess it is ? But it’s just so weird like the way I’m triggered makes me want to cry why does the world hate me for being fat what the fuck !!!!

[convxction]

ooc. i'd like to interact with more people so if u wanna let me know. i should continue sending v day asks but for tomorrow cuz brain melts. if u want one for a specific muse i haven't send to yet let me know. looks at your muses lists and mass send to all because sharing is caring weeee.

[a-boy-called-micah]

.

[kenntolog]

𝝑𝝔 an: i don’t really like this much :( im feeling so sick ngl reader is me i am reader, just need me a boyfie like sukuna here :((( anyways, i posted this because i felt the pressure to do it sk bare with me please!! i love you all <33 read more about cool bf sukuna x loser gf reader here!!

so you’ve been silent through the whole day, which has been bothering sukuna whenever he was reminded of it. nervously checking his phone at practice every chance he got, which got his teammates interested in whatever the hell happened that got him so invested in his phone(only toji tbh). his mind being focused on you instead of the upcoming game which reflected greatly on his practice and made everyone worried.

sukuna just waved them off and continued calling you with no results and texting you, which also got him nowhere. so of course, he decided to check on you after being done with university.

no one answers your door, radio silence, which leads sukuna to taking out the poorly hidden spare keys from under the fake plant and going in, still uninvited but determined to find you. he calls your name a few times, walking around the rooms with a frown on his face. the sight that greets him when he enters your room is even more confusing than your silence throughout the day.

a big pile of blankets on your bed. the longer he stares at it the clearer he can see the faint movement of it — slowly up and slowly down, up and down. he approaches it, looking over only to find a tuft of your hair peeking out from under it.

“what the hell..?” he mutters under his nose while his hands tug down the blanket to reveal your face.

even in your sleep you manage to frown and you only do that when you’re not feeling well, so sukuna leans in closer, sensing the heat radiating from you, and touches your forehead with his lips, eyes widening at how hot you feel. “the fuck happened to you?”

you blink sleepily before opening your eyes and looking up at him for a few seconds. sukuna sits down by your side, hands caressing your face gently as he inspects your condition quickly, “what’s up, loser?”

you say his name, yet he can barely hear it before you start coughing and turn away from him. he can see your face scrunch in pain; his heart squeezes in his chest when you lie back and this time your lips wobble slightly as you mouth his name, barely audible, “‘kuna~ think ‘m sick~”

“yea, no shit.” he rolls his eyes with no real annoyance in them. “let’s make you feel better, yeah, baby?”

you nuzzle into his palm and he smiles gently at you… until you unintentionally sneeze right into it, leaving slimy boogers and gross spit, and sukuna’s eye twitches as he tries to contain his curses.

of course, first thing sukuna does — calls his older brother jin, because the former doesn’t even remember the last time he got sick and jin always knows what to do, especially in a situation like this since little yuuji hasn’t developed the best immune system yet.

“are you sure you can take care of her properly?” jin asks worriedly from the other end of the line, causing sukuna to roll his eyes.

“have some faith in me, will you?” jin only sighs, barely listening to him as he writes down the list of various medicine and things he must buy to make you feel better. yet, he still catches his younger brother’s almost incoherent mumbling. “i can take care of her like no other.”

“then do just that.”

sukuna hums and presses end call, continuing to look through your kitchen cabinet full of different medicines in hopes of finding whatever the hell jin sent him.

you’re not a very obedient person when you’re sick though, he notices. sukuna can tell you’re still a bit hazed from the high body temperature and trying to sleep it off without any care, yet the sickness makes you more stubborn than ever.

and he can’t find it in himself to push you around when your body is hurting and muscles are sore from spasming in an attempt to warm up. so he just lets you sit on the chair in the kitchen, wrapped tightly in your blanket, dazedly watching him make you some soup.

he feeds you the soup himself, too, agreeing a little begrudgingly of course. you whine a bit with that pitiful broken voice of yours and he just gives in because your eyes are watery and your lips wobble, and he is just a weak man around you. don’t judge him!

sukuna is so caring, though, it makes you fall in love with him all over again. he’s a bit clumsy when it comes to cooking you stuff and making you curing beverages; rough around his the edges about his timing and maybe a little too annoyed with your childish antics, yet never showing it directly like he usually does.

watching your favourite movies and shows with you, when he’d usually just shit on your taste and choose something of his own(which you also eventually like, but nonetheless get angry at him). getting invested in them too — just so he can entertain you afterwards and take your mind off of your ill state.

not commenting on your messy state; sweaty hair sticking to your forehead, complains about cold when changing your equally sweaty shirts to clean ones, whines about the tea being too hot or the syrup being too gross(okay, that one kinda angers him he just shoves the spoon in your mouth to make you drink it since you wouldn’t do it yourself).

he also sleeps with you later that night, ignoring your warnings about him getting sick too :(( holds you tight, shares his body heat and wakes up every now and then to check if you’ve sweated any more.

needless to say, you feel a lot better the next morning!! all thanks to sukuna.

(also he gets sick a day after, but don’t ask about that pls heh).

[nereidprinc3ss]

hii i love love how u write spencer omds🥸

uhh i was wondering if you could write sth based off the song “we’ll never have sex” by leith ross? pls dont feel pressured to write this btw😭😭😭 hope ur having a good day lovely💗💗

hello my love i have no self control so this is extremely long and plotty but i love this song and i hope that this is any good at all crying emoji (i'm on a laptop LOL) enjoy!!

warnings/tags: angst/fluff, fem!reader, negative self-talk from reader, mentions of past sexual coercion/feeling used, mentions of past excessive drinking to combat social anxiety, ive been watching a lot of new girl lately and i think it shows, SO FRIENDS TO LOVERS, happy ending

You weren’t expecting to end up on Spencer Reid’s worn-leather couch at two in the morning, clutching a chipped mug of coffee in your hands as you listen to the sounds of the city from the street below. But there you are, sitting with your legs folded under you, in your favorite dress and first date-night makeup (now bleeding and smudged from all the crying.) And realizing that despite considering him one of your closest friends, you haven’t been to his apartment in a long time. There are, of course, good reasons for that—but you try to push those from your mind. 

“I’m really sorry about this,” you sigh, staring at your warped reflection in the glassy black surface of your coffee. Spencer is coming out of the small kitchen, now bearing his own cup. 

“Please, stop apologizing.” 

You glance up, tentatively studying him from behind the safety of your mug. While he may not have been asleep when you knocked on his door ten minutes ago, lachrymose and barely verbal, he must have been getting ready for bed. He’s clad in patterned pajama pants, mismatched socks, and an FBI crewneck that is just big enough to reveal the collar of the tee-shirt underneath. He’s already taken out his contacts, and you were startled by the reminder that he also has glasses. 

“So...” he begins, bringing you back to the present moment, “we don't have to talk about anything, if you don’t want to, but...” 

You sigh, watching coffee bubbles swirl like stars in a galaxy. 

“It’s fine. Honestly, I’m kind of embarrassed. I didn’t really think, I just... ended up here.” 

“Yeah... where did you come from?” he laughs quietly. “Not that I’m complaining. But I recall you not living super close by.” 

“No, no. I was actually on a date. Kind of.” 

“Ah.” There’s a beat of silence, and ostensibly Spencer is waiting for you to say more, but instead you take a sip from your mug. “At two in the morning?” You nod dully, staring at the labyrinthine pattern of the Persian rug.  

“I’m taking it that it wasn’t a very good date...?” 

A whoosh of air escapes from your puffed cheeks. 

“No it was not. Not by the end, anyway. It actually started really well, which made it even more disappointing when he...” you laugh, but there’s not much humor in it. “Well, when he kicked me out of his car on a street corner because I didn’t want to sleep with him.” 

You don’t look to see Spencer’s reaction—only take another long, baleful sip of coffee and ignore the heavy silence.  

“I’m really sorry. You... you deserve so much better than that.” 

An attempt at a jaded scoff from you falls flat. 

“Yeah, well. Tell that to the last three white house interns I’ve gone on dates with. It’s the same thing every time.” 

“Have you considered going on fewer dates with white house interns...?” The nervous humor is a thin veil over genuine critique. You shrug, biting the inside of your cheek. 

“It’s not just them. Every single guy I’ve liked since I was 15 has been like this. Even my past relationships, I felt like I was almost... tricked into, you know? I mean, these guys, they act all understanding and willing to take it slow or whatever, until you’re in a relationship, and suddenly they’re guilt tripping you so hard and making you feel so obligated to...” you catch yourself just in time, glancing up at Spencer. You’re not sure what to make of his expression. The drawn brow and slightly squinted eyes trained so intently on you could be sympathy, or anger, or pity, or apathy—you look away, not sure you even want to know what he’s thinking. “Sorry. You don’t need to hear all about that. Basically romance is exhausting and since I’ll clearly be single forever I’m considering running away to join a nunnery.” 

When he doesn’t respond for too long, you look back up quizically. 

“I’m not sure you know what romance actually is,” he says as soon as your gaze meets his, like the eye-contact activated some kind of hair-trigger in his vocal box. 

You blink, lowering the coffee cup to your lap. 

Says Spencer Reid? 

“...sorry?” 

He flushes, stammering to clarify himself. 

“I just meant—I—I know I’m not exactly fighting women off with a stick—” he interrupts himself with a self-conscious (adorable) laugh— “but... but I have been in love, at least once.”  

“Maeve,” you say, gently—trying to shove down bitter guilt as you remember how jealous you’d been when Spencer had first told you about her. “I remember.” 

He swallows and nods. 

“We never even met—we just talked. All the time. I had no idea what she looked like. But it didn’t matter at all. Because I knew her, and I loved her. Maybe things would have gone further if I hadn’t been calling her from public phone booths, but that wasn’t the most important thing to either of us. We were still in love.” You try to shut out the sharp ache in your chest. Being jealous of the way he speaks about a dead woman is so wrong.  

“What I’m trying to say is that romance isn’t solely about sex, or even physical appearance. It sounds to me like you’ve been with a lot of men who don’t understand that. And it would be such a shame for you to write romance off in general before you even get to experience it. You are... an extraordinary woman. You’re funny, and intelligent, and kind, and so capable of being loved. One day, someone is going to see beyond your pulchritude and prove that to you. I hope you let them try.” 

More tears blur the pattern on the rug, pooling in the rims of your eyes before spilling down your cheeks in fast, fat drops. Shakily you set the cup down, resting your elbows on your knees and hiding your face in your hands. You sniff once. Twice. Shake your head quickly, attempting to wipe the tears away without further smearing your makeup everywhere. 

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Spencer breathes, leaning forward but obviously unsure how to comfort you. “Please don’t cry, I wasn’t--I was trying to do the opposite of this.” 

“No, I’m sorry! You didn’t have to—you didn’t—I’m sorry. That was way too nice.” 

But you're not crying because he was nice.  

Someone will love you, but not me. That’s all you can hear. 

His voice is a mere whisper when he next speaks. 

“I meant every word.” 

You take a shuddering breath, allowing yourself a moment of reprieve behind the peaceful black of your eyelids. You can’t be looking at his face when you say what you’re about to say. 

“I had a crush on you for the longest time, you know.” 

Ringing silence. But it doesn’t last as long as you’d imagined. It’s not as world ending. 

“Had?” 

The little smile in his voice is like a fist around your heart. 

“Yeah. You know what changed?” 

“What’s that?” 

Absolutely nothing. 

“Every time I got super drunk and started hitting on you, you’d just drive me home. And I did it a lot. Like, for months. But you were such a gentleman. It drove me fucking crazy. So eventually I figured you just didn’t like me and I gave up.” 

Another stretch of silence. A breeze comes in from the open window, fluttering the curtains and cooling the tears on your face. His response is sad when it finally comes. 

“You thought I didn’t like you because I didn’t try to take advantage of you when you were drunk?” 

“Pretty much.” You smile ruefully, fingertips still pressed over your eyes. “God, listen to me. No wonder I get treated like garbage.” 

“Stop. Don’t talk about yourself like that. Did you hear anything I just said?” 

You sniff, looking to the ceiling. 

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. It was really sweet.” 

More silence. 

“But you don’t believe it.” 

A bitter laugh poisons the air around you. 

“I don’t know.  I’m kind of tired of waiting for someone to prove it to me. Just for once, I want someone to be interested in me beyond having sex in the back of their fucking... Range Rover, or whatever. Like, maybe all that stuff you said is true, but there’s no evidence to support it, and I know logically you’re probably right but I can’t help wondering if... if I’m the outlier. Maybe there just isn’t someone for me like that. Maybe I’m just gonna be the sex in the back of the Range Rover girl forever.” 

A noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob forces itself from your throat and you bury your face in your hands again, shaking your head. 

“Wow, I am so sorry,” you say a little too loudly, “I did not mean to be this honest tonight. Did you spike my coffee?” 

“You are not the outlier,” Spencer whispers.  

You sniff, lifting your head haltingly to look at him. 

“What?” 

His voice shakes slightly as he speaks. 

“You said you can’t help wondering if you’re the outlier, and maybe there just isn’t someone for you like that. That’s not true.” 

“Spencer, those are just words. You can’t possibly know that. Statistical probabilities don’t count.” 

“That’s... that’s not how I know.” 

Your heart drops as you study his face.  

No. 

Surely he’s not saying what you think he’s saying. 

Surely he wouldn’t do this to you after you’ve just told him everything you told him. You have been harboring feelings for him for years. Since you met. He can’t just spring this on you one night because you’re a little bummed out. If he felt the same, you would have found out a long time ago; he had ample opportunity to tell you. There was a period of months where you practically threw yourself all over him at every chance you got, and he did nothing. So this... this is just cruel—something you’ve never known Spencer Reid to be. 

You stand up, trembling slightly with rage and grief and humiliation. 

“Don’t do that. Don’t say things that you don’t mean just to make me feel better.” 

“What are you doing? Don’t--” 

You scoop up your purse, trying to get to the front door as fast as your gelatinous legs will allow. More tears are streaming down your face now and you don’t need him to see what he’s done to you—to see how much you care what he thinks. 

“It’s fine. Thanks for the coffee, I’ll see you around—” 

A hand around your wrist stops you in your tracks 

“Stop. Just... please give me a second to talk, okay?” 

With nothing left to give, you turn to him. 

“Don’t be mean, Spencer. Don’t act like you liked me too. That makes me feel... so much worse.” 

He takes a deep, shaky breath, as if steeling himself. Tawny eyes bore into your soul, and you realize that there is so much sheer nervous energy radiating off of him it’s infectious. Your heart begins to pound as he speaks. 

“I’m not doing that. I’m being an idiot, because you just told me that you don’t feel that way about me anymore but... but I do. And I have to tell you now because for six months I tortured myself wondering why you would flirt with me so much when you were hammered and then act like nothing happened the next day. There were so many times I almost told you how I felt but I didn’t and now I am because even if it ruins our friendship you need to know that somebody... that I wanted to be that person for you. I still do.” 

Your heart is like an unmoored zeppelin in your chest, bumping against your esophagus and threatening to either burst or jump out of your mouth. You take your chances, whispering so quietly it’s almost inaudible. 

“You... you like me?” 

“Yes,” Spencer sighs. “I have liked you for a very long time. And I’m sorry—” 

Whatever ridiculous thing he was going to apologize for, you don’t give him the chance. Instead you launch yourself at him, capturing his lips in a kiss that feels so much better than it’d ever been in your fantasies because it’s real. You hear his sharp intake of breath, but it only takes a second for him to respond, cradling your face in his hands like you’re the entire world. For a moment, time bends. Years of longing, of buried dreams crash into the present in a brilliant, dazzling explosion.

And then, as quickly as it started, he pulls away. The absence of his touch is like a vacuum, so much worse now that you know exactly how it feels to have his lips on yours, even if it was only for a few seconds. How the hell did you live like that for so long? How are you supposed to live like that ever again?

“You’re not thinking clearly,” he breathes, tilting his head back toward the ceiling like he’s barely holding onto his self control. “You just want someone to comfort you, I’m not going to take advantage of you when you’re in an emotionally vulnerable state and confided in me which is manufacturing a false sense of attachment—” 

You grab his wrists, which still graze your jaw.

“Spencer, stop intellectualizing for thirty seconds. I promise you I am thinking clearly.” 

“You said you used to like me, past tense—” 

“Yeah, I did. Do you believe every single murderer who says he didn’t do it?” 

“No, but—” 

“Have you ever heard the phrase; a drunk man’s words are a sober man’s thoughts?” 

“Of course I have.” 

“Then what more could you possibly need to be convinced that I really like you? I already kissed you! What is stopping you?” 

Another deep breath is taken by him that seems to suck all the air out of the quiet room. Briefly, you wonder if you’ve made a terrible, terrible mistake. If you really do like him so much more than he could ever like you.  

Until he looks back down, eyes so golden-brown in the dim light, so kind and full of affectionate concern as he carefully assesses every square centimeter of your face, looking for... well, you’re not exactly sure what. It’s like he’s extracting every thought from your head, turning them over like sun-warmed stones until he finds what he’s looking for. He smooths his hands over your hair, brushing strands away from your teary face. Finally, after what feels like an eternity of holding your breath, he speaks. 

“I just want you to believe what I believe about you. But I don’t want you to have to rely on me or anyone else for your own self-worth.” 

“Well, don’t you think very highly of yourself,” you tease with a sniffle. He laughs—it's quiet, but his smile is so bright without even trying that suddenly you can’t remember why you’ve ever been sad. The small miracle of his laughter makes you feel so light, and you realize it has nothing to do with the way he makes you feel about yourself. It has everything to do with who he is. 

Once the giggles die down, you tentatively mirror his hold on your face. 

“Spencer, I don’t like you because you like me. I’ve liked you for an embarrassingly long time. I liked you enough that I gave myself a severe hangover at least once a week for three months just so I could have an excuse to flirt shamelessly with you.” 

A half-sad smile pulls at the corner of his mouth, and he gently swipes under your eyes. 

“You never had to do that. I would have welcomed your sober brazen flirting with open arms.” 

“Well... do you believe me?” you plead. His amber eyes shine. 

“I do.” 

“Will you kiss me?” 

“If that’s what you want.” 

You nod, rising on your toes to meet him halfway. 

When your lips meet again, it is sweet, and honest, and slow, and deep. Still, there is no desperation--no race to an imagined finish line, no clash of teeth and pawing hands. It is a kiss for the sake of it—as if it were the greatest intimacy. Not a precursor to sharing a bed, but something bigger than that in and of its own. Something just as worthy and important. For the first time, you think you’re beginning to understand romance. And while you wouldn’t mind if things did escalate, you also know that Spencer knows that’s not what matters right now. Because he actually understands you—he actually cares. He will wait until you understand that you mean so much more than that to him.

To that end, he pulls away, gently supplanting his absence with a kiss to the corner of your mouth. 

“It would be polite of me to offer you a ride home, wouldn’t it?” he whispers, like it’s the last thing he wants to do. You bite the inside of your cheek, coming up with reasons not to go. One ridiculous one arises from the depths of your memory that you know he won’t be able to say no to. 

“Or... I could stay here, and we could watch one of those nerdy foreign films you’re always talking about?” 

A slow, perfect, high-watt smile blossoms on his face, and you know you’ve said exactly the right thing. 

“Nerdy? Oh, my darling girl... Soviet-era filmography is far from nerdy. небесная машина will completely defy what you thought you knew about the life of an average Russian villager in the 1950’s.” 

“Oh, good. Because I’ve really been meaning to change the way I think about the average 1950’s Russian villager,” you smile, already closing in to kiss him again. 

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

epilogue

Three hours later, you’re crying because the life of the average Russian villager in the 1950’s was so much worse than you’d previously thought. 

“It was good, right?” Spencer asks as the credits roll over a bleak snowy sepia landscape, leaning back to get a better look at you. You sit up from where you’d been leaning against him, furiously wiping your eyes. 

“It was terrible! Why didn’t you tell me that everyone except the kid dies in the end?!” 

“Because that’s the whole point of the movie!” he laughs, pulling you back into him. “I’m sorry. I probably should have explained how depressing this entire era of film was outside of the US.” 

“And also how long the movies were. I was not prepared for how many five minute long clips of empty fields there were going to be.” 

“You’re right,” he ammends, wrapping his arms around you in a way that gives you butterflies and makes you sleepy at the same time. “Next time we can watch whatever you want to watch.” 

Time passes like that—you in his arms, watching weak light slowly flood the room with half-lidded eyes and listening to the sounds of the city waking up from the street below, underscoring the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Thoughts float by like leaves on the ever-flowing current of your mind, and you’re happy to let them pass until one in particular catches your attention. 

“Spencer?” 

He hums, like he’d been deep in his own proverbial river of thought. 

“What does pulchritude mean?” 

It takes him a split second to remember the bit of conversation from earlier to which you are referring, but when he does, he chuckles, running his hand over your messy hair. 

“Don’t worry about it.” 

And so you let it float away. 

[overtail]

Hey!! Loved your last Zuko smut it was so great! Could you please make another smut where zuko joins gaang but he isn’t fully trusted yet by everyone (except from reader who saw good in him from the beginning) so every night one person keeps an eye on him and when it was reader’s turn thing turned out spicy

I would like female reader who is flirty and teasing because she alert always found him attractive

It’s okay if you don’t want to write this I just saw you asked for requests

Thank you in advance<3

THANK U FOR REQUESTING MUAH MUAH

anyways id love to do that for you hehe :3

sorry if it took a while i was sick when i got the request 😔

got silly while writing this

...

I know you - Zuko x Reader🔞

Summary: She was from the fire nation, he was the heir of it. She grew up thrown to the side, not ever accepting her true powers. When her and the Gaang take in Zuko so he can teach Aang firebending, she trusts him more than the others.

Trigger Warning: NSFW, flirting, arguing, slight bottom Zuko, Semi-public sex, both reader and zuko are awkward turtle ducks

Reader Info: Firebender who can't bend, Female intended, headstrong, flirty

...

"I really don't want to supervise Zuko tonight." Sokka grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Ever since Zuko saved Aang and his friends from 'Combustion Man' or better known as 'Sparky Sparky Boom Man', nobody trusted him to sleep around them without supervision. Well, except (Y/N), but they thought she had some bias since he was fire nation.

Nobody had a single drop of respect for him. Even though he insisted that he, 'was good now', everyone believed he was a spy.

But nobody could blame them.

"I need my beauty sleep." Sokka mimicked a beauty guru as his hands framed his face. "The ladies appreciate a pretty boy."

Katara groaned, rolling her eyes. "It's your turn, Sokka." She crossed her arms, pursing her lips at him. "No one else is gonna-"

"I'll do it!" A voice quickly interrupted. Everyone turned to look at (Y/N), who was standing stiffly. She smiled awkwardly. She pinched at the hem of her pants, stepping forward. "I don't mind doing it.."

Sokka crossed his arms, raising a brow at (Y/N). Everyone was aware of the little 'crush' she had on Zuko. I mean, he was cute, he was angsty, and he was strong. Extremely short, but strong. She always took the chance to tease him.

"I mean, if you insist." Sokka walked away towards his tent, sighing softly in happiness. Rest was one of his most appreciated things in life - behind stuffing his face in food. Maybe it was because he liked the feeling of waking up in the morning, or the interesting dreams he had at night.

No one knew.

"Thanks, Sokka!" She said with a smile waving goodbye to him. "I-I mean, I'll do the job.."

As everyone headed off to their respective sleeping spots, (Y/N) listened to the quiet chirping of the crickets, looking up at the night sky as the stars glimmered. She considered whether or not she should g into Zuko's tent to check up on him (more like poke fun at him.)

While she ended an ear to the sound of the crackling flames coming from. the vampire, she heard the sound of shuffling coming from her left. (Y/N) glanced to the side, seeing Zuko climbing out from the flaps of his tent.

"Oh. Hi." He said awkwardly, holding his hand up in place of a wave. "What are you doing out here?" He questioned, wondering where Sokka was. Zuko was aware of the rotation for their watch party; Aang, Katara, Sokka, and then (Y/N). Toph didn't have the responsibility of watching Zuko since her feet were still injured from when he jumpscared him that night.

"Watching you." (Y/N) tried to play it cool, but a pool of desire filled her heart as she watched Zuko's dark hair fall in front of his amber eyes. He looked so pretty as the firelight shone on his pale skin. She started to grow pink under his gaze.

"Isn't it Sokka's turn?" Zuko stretched, his shirt lifting up to expose his stomach. (Y/N)'s eyes widened at the sight.

"Yeah, but he begged me to take his turn," She lied, rubbing the back of her neck. "he's awfully tired."

Zuko nodded. He began to walk over to the log (Y/N) was sat on. (Y/N) watched as he sat next to her, his pale fingers grazing the hard bark of the seat. It was extremely cold in the area, especially since they were in a semi-cave. After the failed invasion at the palace, they had begun to stay at the western air temple. The infrastructure was odd - upside building lining the roofs of the cave.

"I'm sure you won't mind hangin' out with me." She elbowed him, smirking. "Us being fire nation and all."

Zuko turned to look at her, a brown raised in confusion. "You're from the fire nation?" He asked, tilting his head. It was as if he was inspecting her. "You don't seem like it."

(Y/N) shrugged, glancing up at him. "Yeah. I mean, my family was banished when I was pretty young. But I'm still fire nation." She sighed, resting her chin on her hand, Her elbow dug into the skin of her knee, but she didn't mind. "Do you know Gender Jin?" She asked.

With a nod, Zuko said, "Yeah, why?"

Genera. Jin had been banished from the fire nation twelve years ago, whe Zuko was four. He had committed treason against Azulon, Zuko's grandfather, for having a child with a waterbender. Apparently, he was also accused of planning attacks on the fire nation with the northern water tribe during this time. It was never confirmed, but the speculation was brought up a whole lot.

"That's my Dad." (Y/N) said, sighing softly, Zuko let out a small 'oh', surprised at this.

"Are you-"

"The infamous forbidden child? Yep. Yes-sir-ee." (Y/N) interjected. She already knew what he was going to say. The word was passed around almost the whole world when it happened, since the fire nations grasp infiltrated every nation in some manner. She knew what her name was. She knew what people thought of her.

"The rumors of me being a firebender and a water bender aren't true." Zuko looked at her, surprised that she knew this. "I'm just a plain ole' firebender."

There was an awkward silence between the two. There was not much to say, at least off the top of their heads.

(Y/N) perked up, looking over at Zuko. "Do you think you could teach me some tricks?" She said excitedly. Zuko was caught of guard by this.

"Tricks? What do you mean?" He asked, wanting her to elaborate. He was looking for practice with a firebender lately, so this might be fun.

"Like, could you teach me?" (Y/N) looked away with an embarrassed face. Her father never told her firebending; he wanted her to live a normal life as a kid.

"You mean you don't know anything?" Zuko laughed in disbelief. "Anything at all?"

"Yeah.." (Y/N) grumbled, pursing her lips slightly. "I'm ashamed of it - I can admit it. But I wouldn't mind if you taught me some things." She wiggled her brows, smirking slightly as she glanced at him. Zuko flattened his lips.

"I mean, I don't have much to do." Zuko pushed off of the seat, leaning forward and standing up fully. He glanced down at (Y/N). He reached his hand out, offering it to her. "Come on."

...

They walked into a small clearing, the cold night wind blowing their hair back and forth. They had climbed above the cliff the western air temple hung from, where a large valley rested.

Zuko had removed the robe that hung over his clothes. His arms were exposed, small goosebumps lining his arms.

(Y/N)'s eyes graced his body, her face growing red from both the cold air and his body.

"Already undressing?" She teased, crossing her arms and grinning. "Take me out to dinner first."

Zuko glanced over to her, a frown appearing on his face. "W-what?" He said, shifting uncomfortably.

"I mean, I get that I'm the prettiest girl here - no offense to Katara." (Y/N) walked over, smirking. "but you barely know me Prince Zuko." She poked him on the chest jokingly. (Y/N) leaned on her legs her hip popping out.

Zuko huffed out a fiery breath (no pun intended), looking to the side. "Do you want to learn or not?"

(Y/N)'s eyes widened. She stepped back, nodding in agreement. "Yeah, yeah." She shook her arms nervously, stepping back and getting into a fighting stance.

"Fire bending is all about- what are you doing?" Zuko stopped mid sentence, looking at (Y/N).

"Uhm, getting into a stance?" She said awkwardly, looking to the ground.

"No, no. You're to open." Zuko stepped forward. He grabbed her wrists, pulling them down in front of her chest. "You're leaving your body open to hits." He walked behind her, putting his hands on her shoulders.

She shivered, the feeling of his fingers gracing her skin. (Y/N) leaned into the touch, his palms touching the lower part of her shoulders. "You opponents have the opportunity to knock you to the ground." Zuko placed his right foot on the inside of her legs. The toe of his shoe pressed against the heel of her foot, pushing it slightly.

"You want to be low.." He whispered into her neck, pushing her shoulders down so she was more level to the ground.

Was he doing this on purpose? (Y/N)'s heartbeat was audible in her ears, but she wasn't the only one who's blood was pumping from this interaction.

As she moved down her backside rubbed against Zuko's crotch lightly. He let out a small gasp, his eye twitching at the feeling.

(Y/N) smirked at the sound, realizing the affect she had on Zuko. What could she do with this? A lonely teenage boy? She was sure he wouldn't mind.

"Ope, sorry Zuko." She said slyly. She bent her knees even more, her ass pushing onto Zuko's growing erection.

Zuko shifted back uncomfortably, their contact breaking.

(Y/N) turned around, standing up fully. "Oh c'mon Zuko, i need you to show me how to do this." She smirked, her foot digging into the grass.

"I know what you're doing." Zuko said, his face growing red under the pale moonlight. His eyes scanned her, and unimpressed looked overcoming him.

"What am I doing?" She teased, a finger pressing onto Zuko's chest. "Tell me."

Zuko's face held a look of frustration. His eyes met hers, his eyebrows furrowing together. There was a hot tension between the two of them, healing the goosebumps on their skin from the cold night air.

The digit placed on his chest soon turned into (Y/N)'s entire hand. She took a step closer to him, causing Zuko to let out a shaky breath.

Even with her confidant pseudo, (Y/N)'s stomach was filled with a nervous sickness. She had no idea what she was doing - letting her desire lead her.

"You're trying to turn me on." Zuko muttered, keeping his voice low.

"It's working though, isn't it?" (Y/N) barked back.

Zuko's face flushed slightly, clearly caught off guard by your boldness. "I assure you, that wasn't my intention. Now if you'll excuse me..."

"No. Zuko, come on.." She said, a shaky breath huffing from my red nose. "Were so alike."

Zuko hesitated for a moment, his gaze flickering between you and the ground. "How so?"

"Were both refugees from a country that thrived on evil." Her arm traveled from his chest to his arm. (Y/N) watched as he flinched slightly. Her eyes made contact with his. "And you know what Sokka says about us behind our backs."

Zuko swallowed hard, his heart racing as he felt your touch. He knew what Sokka thought of them - that they were both damaged goods from a twisted world. Despite the danger and uncertainty, there was something undeniably compelling about this connection.

"I like you Zuko." She said, smiling softly. Her seductive shell cracked, shower her sweetness hidden inside.

Zuko looked into her eyes, feeling a familiar pain in his heart. Here was someone else who knew what it was like to be an outcast, to carry the burden of a nation's sins. "I like you too," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

"I trust you, too." She sighed, squeezing his arm gently. "They didn't trust me either at first."

Zuko's heart skipped a beat at her words. Trust was a rare and precious thing in their world, where betrayal lurked around every corner. But she was offering it to him freely, without judgment or fear. "Thank you," he breathed out softly.

She leaned forward, placing a soft peck on Zuko's lips. A warm feeling flooded through their bodies, the world around them feeling almost unrecognizable as they sat in the moment.

Zuko froze for a moment, shocked by the unexpected kiss. But as he felt her lips on his, he found himself responding, leaning in to deepen the kiss. The warmth spread through him, filling the cold void that had been there for so long.

She grabbed his face, bringing him down to kiss Zuko deeply. (Y/N) let out a huff from her nose, letting her fingers comb through Zuko's dark hair.

Zuko's hands found their way to her waist, pulling (Y/N) closer as he kissed her back with all the pent-up longing and desire that had been building inside him for so long.

As the kiss deepened, Zuko felt a fire ignite within him, burning away the coldness and isolation that had defined his life for so long. He wrapped his arms around (Y/N), pulling her closer still as he explored her mouth with his tongue, tasting her sweetness.

As she broke away from the kiss, their breaths mingled in the air between them. Zuko felt his heart racing, a wild and unfamiliar sensation.

Zuko looked into her eyes, seeing a reflection of his own turmoil and desire. He couldn't believe what was happening, but he didn't want it to stop. His hands roamed down her back, pulling her even closer as he whispered, "I need you."

"Show me." She whispered, leaning up to kiss him again.

Zuko dragged her onto the grass with him, never breaking the kiss.

Zuko pulled her onto his lap, cradling her body against his as he deepened the kiss once more. His hands trailed down (Y/N)'s sides, pushing up her shirt to reveal her soft skin beneath.

Feeling emboldened by her invitation and his own burning need, Zuko slid his hands underneath her shirt, tracing circles on her bare back. His lips moved hungrily against hers as he lost himself in the sensation of her skin against his fingertips.

Zuko's hands continued their exploration, moving lower to grasp her hips as he pulled her even closer. He could feel the heat between her legs, and it fueled his desire even more.

With a groan, Zuko slipped his hand beneath her shorts, feeling the softness of her thighs and the wetness between them. He couldn't believe how much he wanted her, how badly he needed to be inside (Y/N).

"Shit, Zuko.." She said between heated kisses, fingers pulling at his soft hair.

Zuko growled against her lips as he continued to touch her, his other hand sliding up (Y/N)'s leg to knead at her ass cheek. He could feel himself growing hard against her leg and he knew he had to have her soon.

"This isn't how I expected this night to go." She played with Zuko, his lips connecting with the soft skin of her neck.

Zuko chuckled breathlessly, his lips trailing down her neck to nibble at her collarbone. "Neither did I," he admitted, his voice husky with desire.

"Is this how you practice back home?" (Y/N) said, her feet digging in the dirt behind Zuko.

Zuko laughed softly against her skin. "No," he replied, his voice still rough with lust. "But I think I'd like to make it a regular practice here."

(Y/N) moaned slightly when Zuko's hips bucked into hers. "Ill watch over you more often then."

Zuko's eyes darkened with desire as he heard her words, and he couldn't resist bucking his hips against hers a little harder. "I'd like that," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

As she pulled back a little, Zuko took the opportunity to stand up, his hands sliding up her back to grip your shoulders. He looked down at her with an intense gaze, his eyes full of the burning passion that had overtaken him. "Take me to your bed,"

"We can't. We'll wake the others." She smirked, grabbing onto Zuko's wrist.

A growl rumbled in Zuko's chest at the reminder of their surroundings. But he knew she was right. Reluctantly, he nodded. "Then we'll make do with this," he said, reaching down to scoop (Y/N) up in his arms.

Zuko's heart was racing as he carried you deep into the nearby forest, away from the edge of the cliff. "To a quiet spot," he replied, his voice low and gravelly with desire. "A place where we can be even more alone."

He came to a small clearing where the trees thinned out, revealing a bed of soft moss and leaves. Gently, he lowered (Y/N) down onto it, his hands lingering on her hips for a moment before he joined her, pressing his body against hers.

(Y/N) pulled down her shorts and underwear, the cold hair hitting her exposed sex.

"Just get on with it, Zuko." She groaned, rolling her eyes.

Zuko chuckled softly against your lips before pulling back slightly to give you a teasing grin. "Always so impatient," he teased as he slowly unbuttoned his pants, sliding down his pants along with his boxers. He sprang free, a bead of pre-cum on his tip.

"Spirits.." She whispered at the sight of him, how he was throbbing at the sight of her.

Zuko's gaze locked onto yours as he positioned himself between her legs, his hard length rubbing against her slick entrance. "You ready for me?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"You tell me."

With a groan, Zuko pushed forward, slowly entering (Y/N). Her tight heat enveloped him, and he fought the urge to slam all the way inside. Instead, he began to move in and out of her slowly, enjoying the sensation of being joined with her.

(Y/N)'s hands found their way to his chest, and she leaned into him, moaning softly. The feeling of being filled by him was indescribable, and as he picked up speed, driving deeper inside her with each thrust, she felt herself getting closer to the edge.

She could feel Zuko's muscles tensing as he neared his climax, his thrusts becoming more erratic and forceful. His other hand found its way to her clit, massaging it gently as he continued to pound into her. "I'm close."

"Already?" She teased, trying to maintain a sarcastic demeaner as she let out erratic moans.

With a chuckle, Zuko leaned down to kiss her again as he pulled almost all the way out of her before slamming back in. "You like that?" he asked breathlessly.

She screamed, her nails scratching at Zuko's back until white marks appeared - lighter than his skin.

Feeling her nails dig into his skin, Zuko lost control completely. With a primal growl, he pushed her down onto the ground and continued to pound into her, taking what he wanted with no regard for her comfort or pleasure.

He was like a rabid animal, like this was the thing he needed to live.

Her screams of pleasure and pain echoed through the forest as Zuko continued to take her roughly, losing himself in the sensation of being inside her. He could feel his release building, and he knew he wouldn't be able to hold out much longer.

"Zuko!" She clenched around him, being pulled over the edge as she shook. Her orgasm washed over her, (Y/N)'s eyes clenching tightly.

Feeling her walls clenching around him, Zuko let out a guttural moan as he emptied himself inside her. His thrusts became erratic and forceful, his body shaking with the intensity of his orgasm.

Finally, Zuko's movements slowed down, and he collapsed beside her, panting heavily. His heartbeat slowly returned to normal as he nuzzled into her neck, still inside her. "That was... intense," he whispered against her skin.

"Ya think?" Her chest rose up and down as she still huffed. (Y/N) tried to catch her breath, but she was sweating from the intensity.

Zuko chuckled softly, feeling his cock twitch inside her. "I think," he said with a smirk. After a few moments, he pulled out of her and rolled onto his side, still panting heavily. "So... how do you feel?"

(Y/N) faked a deep thought for a moment, looking away from him. "Eh. It was fine." She smirked at him, causing Zuko to roll his eyes.

"So.. you were scratching at my back because you hated it so much?" He played, kissing her neck softly.

"For sure." She sighed, playing with his hair.

The two teens lay there, panting heavily as the moonlight illuminated their skin. Their bodies were tangled but not in a hurry to separate. Despite the awkwardness of the situation, their need for each other overruled everything. They could return in the morning, nobody would notice - right?

...

[almond-tofuuu]

Actions speak louder...

so I'm pretty sure we all agree that Zayne's love language is acts of service, so here are some random head cannons I have about small ways he shows you he cares ❄️💙

Warnings: none except that it's not proof read

Because he's often called into help with emergency cases and surgeries, you find yourself waiting for him in his office a lot. After coming back to find you asleep on the sofa in his office on several occasions, Zayne now keeps a pillow and blanket in his office for you. (sweet man feels bad about you waiting for him and wants to make you as comfortable as possible)

Similarly to the last point, Zayne also has a drawer in his desk that is always well stocked up with your favourite snacks. He tries to act like it's his snack drawer for when he doesn't have time to get lunch or dinner, but one day you tell him about a new candy you've been enjoying recently and the next day you find said candy has appeared in "his" snack drawer (bonus points if it's a flavour he doesn't like but buys it anyway bc he wants to make you happy)

Good morning and good night messages are a given. No matter what he's doing this man will never forget to wish you a good morning or good night, it's just a habit atp. (The first few times you were the one who initiated it bc poor boy was too awkward to do it himself, but after you tell him how much you like it and that it makes you smile as soon as you see his message, my mans will not hold back anymore, always wants you to start and end your day with a smile on your face)

He will also send you little texts or pictures of things he thinks you'll like or that remind him of you:

(*sends pic of a flower you like* "looks like they're blooming already, if you have time we should go see them together")

Zayne Is the kind of man who would be happy just to sit with you by his side, both of you doing your own thing but enjoying a comfortable silence and the closeness between you.

This man NEEDS you by his side to be able to sleep. Like he cannot get a good night's sleep anymore unless he's holding you in some way, be it cuddling with your head in the crook of his neck, or hugging you from behind so he can breathe in the comforting scent of your hair. (Secretly loves to sleep with his head resting on your chest so he can listen to your heartbeat, finds it so soothing and also adorable if your heartbeat gets faster with how close he is)

PLAY 👏 WITH 👏 HIS 👏 HAIR 👏 please he will absolutely melt! Pretends to be indifferent but you can visibly see his body relax and the tension leave his face and shoulders. (If you do this after he's had a long shift/surgery he will 110% fall asleep on you)

Zayne worries about you constantly! He respects your choice to be a hunter and he knows you can protect yourself well but that doesn't stop him from feeling a knot in his stomach every time you leave for a mission. Asks you to let him know as soon as you get back from a mission so he knows you're okay, checks in with you to see if you're injured and need any medical care. If you are injured, even if it's just a bruise or small scrape, he's ready with all the bandages, pain killers and anything else you could possibly need. (Might scold you for being reckless but that's just because he's so worried about you and isn't sure how to directly say it)

[nsharks]

it's safe here | simon “ghost” riley

words: 2.6k

plot: simon says “I love you” for the first time.

tags: a little bit of smut, mostly fluff and love, reads well with my previous fics, death mention, fem!reader

Ghost didn’t know if love was something he was allowed to have.

It didn’t seem like it.

There were three people who had received proclamations of love from him, and all three of those people ended up killed. It seemed Ghost’s love had as deadly of a touch as his hands. His love was tainted and dirty; he could run his hands under a faucet and watch the blood swirl down the drain, but all the death he’d caused wouldn’t follow it.

He’d told himself it was just sex with you. In the beginning, that’s all it had been, right? Sex and scarce kisses and long drives around the city where he’d just listen to you talk.

You’d ran into him one night on your bicycle (almost quite literally), and then somehow two years later, he was waking up to your soft toes poking his thigh and your toothbrush next to his in the bathroom.

It wasn’t just sex, of course—

—not when Ghost found himself dreaming about you and asking you to stay over every night.

The thing was, he’d never felt lonely before you. Ghost quickly realizes that loneliness requires the knowledge of what good company feels like; ever since he met you, solitude became painful. It’d stick its teeth in him and gnaw and chew until he gave in, calling you sometimes in the middle of the night.

Can’t sleep without you, pet.

It started with those late night calls, which turned into you practically moving in after six months, and then officially, after over a year, Ghost asked you to be his girlfriend.

Well, he didn’t ask, really.

Ghost never had a girlfriend before so he didn’t know better.

“My girlfriend doesn’t like pickles,” he had said one day when you went out to grab lunch. You’d told him it was okay, you’d eat it anyway, but he shook his head and called the waiter over. “Can you fix this, please?”

“Simon, you just called me your girlfriend,” you’d said once your food came back, utterly stunned.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Since when did you ask me?”

“Ask you?” he furrowed his brows. “Do I need to ask ya?”

“Well… usually that’s what people do.”

He cleared his throat and tried again, grumbling, “Be my girlfriend.”

It was more of an order than a question, but you said yes, anyway.

That was months ago and Ghost still hadn’t mentioned anything about love. You hadn’t even seen your boyfriend without his mask fully off, or seen his unclothed body in proper lighting.

Until his birthday. A day that Ghost normally doesn’t celebrate because he’d had such traumatic experiences on it as a kid.

Somehow— with that strange ability you seem to possess— you manage to turn something dark and twisted into something pure and new.

_____

You plan a surprise for him.

Last year, you’d missed his birthday because Simon didn’t tell you about it. But now you know when it is, you’ve marked all your calendars, and you secretly figured out what flavor cake he preferred (had to bring home different slices from the store and leave them on the counter to see which he ate the most of).

When Simon comes home from the gym, he’s showered with what can only be described as love.

He sees the balloons on the floor, all ten of them that you blew up yourself, and then the cake on the table that’s got some frosted words in your handwriting.

And then there’s you.

It feels like his life has been many miles worth of nighttime and now, it’s breakfast. The sun is up, and he sees it in your eyes as you beam at him.

“Surprise, Simon,” you smile, cheeks rosy and matching the dress you’ve got on. “Happy birthday.”

“You did this fo’ me?” Simon asks slowly. He sets his gym bag on the floor.

You’re worried you’ve overwhelmed him. Romantic gestures are not something he’s used to giving or receiving, but he’s been slowly warming up to them over the course of your relationship.

You tuck your hair behind your ears and nibble your cheek. “Well, it’s your birthday, and we didn’t do anything for it last year. I just thought that you might-“

“Y/N,” he stops you. “It’s… nice.” Simon is terrible at this. He swears under his breath, “Fuck, it’s lovely.”

“There’s something else,” you say carefully. “The cake is for later. I’ve got a little supper packed for us.”

“Packed for what?”

You don’t explain. Instead, you grab the sack you’ve packed and a folded blanket and guide him outside. Simon’s house— the one you’ve moved into with him— sits on a quiet, gravel road with few neighbors. The town’s edge is still and the skies grow grey as you walk together. He is confused when you stop at a seemingly random spot, just near a rose bush, and you lay down the blanket you’ve brought.

“This is the spot where we first met.”

He hears the words leave your mouth but he’s so focused on your lips that he doesn’t quite process them.

“The…” Simon looks around and the memory comes into view. “Christ- right here, was it? With your bike?”

Simon is overwhelmed, but not in a bad way. The two of you sit there, having a picnic in the middle of this quiet backstreet where you nearly ran into him, and he listens to you talk because, as usual, he’s at a loss for words. You tell him about the process of making the cake, and how you had to try three times before it came out right. All the while, his heartbeat is thick in his chest and he’s wondering how did this happen?

It feels like yesterday he was pushing you away, playing a sick game of trying to guess when you’d finally give up on him. Simon knew he made things hard; he could be angry, demanding, and painfully reserved. But you were so patient with him, held him close during his nightmares and never pried about the mask he felt dependent on.

Now today, in this moment, you are his girlfriend, and you have planned the first real birthday he’d had in years. He doesn’t plan on pushing you away—

—as you keep talking, Simon’s brain runs through all the ways he can think of to keep you close.

Then, it starts to rain.

“I was worried this would happen,” you sigh when the first few drops hit you. “Come on, we can finish at home—“

You’re getting up when a hand reaches for your arm and tugs you back down.

“Wait. Hold on.”

The gentle request is uncharacteristic of him. That tone of voice only makes an appearance when he’s with you, because you’ve had Simon doing things he never imagined doing since the beginning of your entanglement.

For one, he never kissed people before you. Once or twice when he was a teenager, but he never really cared for it- now, Simon thinks he’s obsessed with how your mouth fits against his, soft and delicate.

He pushes up the edge of his mask, just below his nose, and covers your lips with his before you can question it.

The rain is unforgiving, growing heavier, but both of you are too focused on each other.

Simon cups your damp cheeks and holds your face firmly while kissing you, slow and deep. Thoughtful swipes of his tongue that pry your lips apart so he can explore and take in every detail, every taste.

There are words exchanged in this kiss that he struggles to say. Doesn’t know what language to translate his feelings into.

Thank you? No. You’re all I have? No. I can’t believe you did this all for me?

But you know what language to use. You’ve known for some time now, and as you pull away from the kiss and lean your damp forehead against his now-soaking mask, you let yourself finally whisper:

“I love you.”

_____

Simon doesn’t say it back.

You were kind of expecting as much, but still, it stings. You’d played all the scenarios in your head of how this first time telling him you love him could’ve gone; the two of you walking back in an uncomfortable silence, clothes soaked, wasn’t one of them.

You also don’t expect him to be visibly frustrated. Simon‘s got the wet blanket in his arms, his eyes are dark and unreadable, and his body is tense.

When you get to the house, you’re quick to run to the bathroom, eager for a hot shower that will hopefully wash off the burn of his silence and mask the tears you’d been holding. You don’t even feel embarrassed about telling him; just defeated. He kissed you like he loved you, held you like he loved you—

—why couldn’t he just say it?

In the house, Simon follows after you, knocking his knuckles to the bathroom door just after you’ve peeled off your clothes.

“Let me in?” he requests hoarsely.

Holding your breasts in your arms, you use the excuse, “I’m naked.”

“So?”

Reluctantly, you unlock the door and dig your teeth in your lip as he steps in. Your body is cold from being wet and he’s still got his soaked clothes on, not caring that he’s leaving a little trail of water behind.

Simon’s breathing heavily, chest rising and falling as he looks over your naked body and then gets the shower running. You stand there confused, but he grabs your hands and guides them to the hem of his wet shirt, the notch in his throat visibly tight.

He doesn’t need to say it for you to understand; you start helping him undress, carefully and hesitantly, because he has never let you do this before.

You peel the shirt up his torso and his chest is revealed under the bright bathroom lights, allowing you a view of every scar etched around a every tattoo, the burns on his side that you’d never gotten a good look at before, and the trail of coarse hair down his navel. The bare skin is cold and blissful under your fingertips.

You swallow, “Your belt.”

Hands reaching for it, Simon helps you with the contraption before you’re able to tug down his jeans. His legs are exposed to you and you quickly realize they are equally marked. A burn scar consuming his left thigh. A deep scar just above his knee. He’s got tattoos on his calves that you’ve never seen before until now.

Simon is completely naked before your eyes.

You can tell it makes him nervous. This brooding man who’d kill more people than you wanted to know, shifts uncomfortably and flickers his eyes to the light switch, probably itching to turn it off and hide himself. But he wills himself not to— for you.

“Simon,” you lay your hands on his chest, feel how strong his heart is. “I… love you. All of you.”

You’re the one who leads your hands to the hem of his mask. It’s soaked and probably uncomfortable, and your fingertips dance underneath it as if to ask for permission. When Simon doesn’t push your hands away, you swallow and pull the fabric up.

Up all the way this time. Up past his stubbled chin, his lips, his nose, and then his eyes.

He let’s you do it. Let’s you peel the mask over his hair and then fold it on the towel rack for it to dry. After two years, Simon trusts you fully— completely.

And you; you are in love with him. So much so that it didn’t really matter what face was under that mask, as long as it was his face.

Once in the shower, Simon bends down to bury his face in your neck and wraps his arms around your waist. Hot water enveloping you.

“You’re handsome,” you tell him.

“I know, pet.”

There’s a smirk that you feel against your neck. Your fingers dig into the skin of his back, the muscles still tense, but you’re glad to see his frustration is gone.

Mumbling into your skin, he says quietly, “I want to fuckin’ say it.”

Your heart flutters. “Say it then. It’s… it’s okay to say it.”

But Simon isn’t convinced. Has anyone ever survived hearing him say it? Is he allowed to have these feelings?

“If I say it,” he grumbles, “Then… bad things could happen to ya.”

“No,” you shake your head, “Bad things won’t happen. It’s safe here.” You promise to him softly, running your hands through his wet hair and drawing circles at the nape of his neck. You understand what holds him back now, what has been holding him back for the longest time, and it makes your chest ache.

“It’s safe here,” you repeat when he doesn’t respond. “You can say it, Simon. It’s just me.”

He runs his rough hands up and down your back, keeping you impossibly close to him in the small space of the shower (which he takes up most of). Then, he gently pushes you against the wall and presses one hand above your head, pulling his face away from your neck so you can see him.

You feel Simon against your thigh. Hot and heavy, it’s not a surprise that’s he’s hard.

But he’s focused on your lips. Thumb pressing gently to them, he studies your face and swallows his hesitation and breathes deeply through his nose to muster up his confidence.

Then, with a flicker of fear in his eyes, he whispers, “I… I love you, too.”

He says it so quietly that you think he’s scared of someone else hearing him. All of the dark thoughts cut through his eyes and he looks around wildly. But it’s only you there; there has only ever been you. You think you could cry from the relief of it all. The weight has been lifted now that he has opened himself to you and you have stripped yourself open for him, heart hanging out.

Then, his eyes make it back to yours and he sighs in relief.

Soon, you’re kissing up against the wall, eager and starved with hands that fumble around to touch every inch of each other. He takes you against the wall like this, fingers uncharacteristically fumbling as he guides himself to your folds, so you grab his length and help him. The press of him is so deep inside you that it’s consuming, and all you can think of is how he reaches a part of you that no one else ever had or will.

Your hands are in his wet hair, clawing and whimpering. “Simon.”

“I know.” He moves his lips to your neck and kisses up along it. Hands cupping your thighs, he hooks your legs around his waist so all of your limbs now cling to him. You don’t mind. If you could, you’d invent a way to be even closer to him. “I’ve got ya.”

You both say the words again somewhere in the midst of it all.

And then, Simon finishes in you with a muffled groan, softly biting your collarbone when he feels you tighten around his cock. But he doesn’t pull out. You stay like this for awhile, legs wrapped around him and his cock still nestled inside you. There’s mumbled words and quiet touches as you both linger in this moment, one that you’ve waited patiently for for two years. A moment that was once Simon’s biggest, most secret fear.

____

Simon doesn’t wear the mask for the rest of his birthday.

He says it’s because it’s still wet, but you hope it’s because he feels safe without it.

You both change into your pajamas after the shower, but it takes awhile to fully get them on because he ends up taking you on the bed, too. Can’t seem to keep his hands off you, with constant, gentle kisses and gropes to your waist. He touches you like he thinks you might disappear if he doesn’t.

Simon loves you. You carry around this fact with a glow to your cheeks. Even though he would leave you soon, for months, you’d have these words to hold on to and keep you warm.

“You really made this?” Simon asks when you cut him a piece of cake.

You snuggle up on the couch and share it together.

You hum and nod. “Pretty good, right?”

“Pretty good,” he mumbles in agreement, tugging you to his lap and resting his chin on your shoulder. Then, he adds softly, “Might have to keep you around long enough for my next birthday.”

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Lauren Bacall (To Have and Have Not, The Big Sleep, Key Largo)—"Just put your lips together...and blow" excuse me ma'am i'm briefly going to turn into a kettle. She's the quintessential Femme Fatale who may betray me in the end but I'd let her it'd be worth it

Gloria Grahame (It's a wonderful life, Oklahoma, Human desire, The Cobweb)—I'm just going to link to this Film Comment article by Donald Chase, who makes the argument more eloquently than I can, although I think Grahame's Ado Annie is more than just the 'flirtatious goofus' he offhandedly describes her as. Between that role and Violet Bick in 'It's a Wonderful Life" she's played two of cinemas best irrepressibly horny ladies. That would be legacy enough for our hot vintage queen, but she is also GLORIOUS in 'In a Lonely Place' and consistently pulls focus from her co-star Humphrey Bogart, famously one of the most charismatic leading men of his day. I think she had even more, and hotter, chemistry with him than he ever had with Lauren Bacall, which is saying a lot I know. Anyway, your honor I love her and I want her to win it all.

This is round 2 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Lauren Bacall:

"She is soooo neat. And hot. And everything. That one scene in To Have and Have Not where she says "you know how to whistle don't you? You just put your lips together and blow" altered my brain chemistry during media archaeology class and here we are."

"Lauren Bacall was a major lesbian awakening for me. Every picture of her makes it look like she’s about to destroy you physically and emotionally (why is that so hot, I may need help). She had incredible long running chemistry with her husband, Humphrey Bogart, but was an absolute star in her own right. I’ll never be over my crush on her."

"She's got that confident, no-nonsense air about her. She's a boss babe who knows what she wants and gets it DONE. Staunch liberal Democrat her whole life. Campaigned for RFK. From Wikipedia: "In a 2005 interview with Larry King, Bacall described herself as "anti-Republican... A liberal. The L-word". She added that "being a liberal is the best thing on Earth you can be. You are welcoming to everyone when you're a liberal. You do not have a small mind."" Beautiful hair. Beautiful eyes. Beautiful lips. She's just beauty. LISTEN TO HER VOICE. TELL ME THAT'S NOT THE STUFF THAT DREAMS ARE MADE OF."

"HER VOICE. Like yeah, she was absolutely stunning but oh my god, I'm obsessed with her voice"

"A gorgeous lady inside and out. One half of an absolute power couple with Humphrey Bogart, tended to him and other actors suffering from malaria whilst filming the African Queen, generally radiated grace and poise throughout her life. Also her last role was in Family Guy so she needs justice for that"

"The VOICE, the SLINK, the EYES. Woof."

"She was stunning. Tall and beautiful with a distinctive voice and able to carry her own in a male dominated field. She won the heart of millions, including one of Hollywood's most iconic leading men, Humphrey Bogart. Their story was the stuff of legends, and the chemistry between them was apparent in the multiple films they started in together. She personified the film noir dame and yet she also adapted as Hollywood changed. Her career spanned decades, and she was honored multiple times."

Gloria Grahame:

Absolute Hollywood vamp, who had a fine comedic bone. Died far too young and was depicted by Annette Bening in the stellar Film Stars Don't Die in Liverpool

I’ve heard she’s horrendously miscast in Oklahoma (I have not seen it), so if you’re coming in with that framework PLEASE set that aside because gods does this woman shine in a NOIR!! She plays the battered woman more than a full on fatale, but she manages to bring interesting nuance to characters who are written as mere sultry divergences! Also: she’s sultry and an EXCELLENT divergence

She could do sexy, sweet and sinister in the same breath. She was crazy talented and had that lisp that melts me every time.

[todomochi-uwu]

Who. (2/?) J. Y & S. M

Pairing: Poly! Jeong Yunho x reader x Song Mingi

Genre: Angst, Smut

Warnings: This content is for a mature audience

Synopsis: You can't remember when was the last time you spent time with them, the last "I love you", the last time any of them kissed you.

Other chapters: Part 1 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee ☕

Yunho kept checking the file in his hands, reading over and over the same words not being able to register anything, his head was all over the place, between the tiredness, the stress and his broken heart, concentrating was proving to be impossible.

“Careful, Jeong. If you think any harder your head might catch on fire.” Said Lee Minho entering the doctor’s launch with an empty coffee mug.

“Piss off, Minho.” He didn't turn his eyes from the paper, determined to make it work no matter how much it took.

Minho’s eyes focused on the taller man in front of him, his skin was paler than normal, a slight blue tint covered it; his eyes were sunk in their sockets, dark purple bags underneath them; lips dry and crusty; he looked thinner, he looked sick. Yunho and Minho weren’t by any means close, they had spent the entire med school fighting for the top spot in their class; Jeong Yunho had proved to be a real pain in the ass, managing to balance school, work, friends and a fucking three-way relationship while Lee Minho could barely sleep and see his, now, husband.

“Not that I care, Jeong but, are you okay?” Said Minho, leaning against the countertop and waiting for the coffee to be done.

Yunho tossed the folder on the table, completely done. He pressed his fingers against his eyelids, trying to calm the blinding headache he had been carrying around his entire shift. “I don’t think it’s any of your business, Lee.”

The cat-eyed doctor shrugged, not wanting to dig any further, he tried. He took his mug and made a beeline straight to the door, but he couldn’t help but look back at his school rival, and what he saw shocked him a bit. His shoulders were slumped, and shaking, his face in between his hands, and small but heavy sobs left his mouth. A suffering Yunho was something he had never expected to see, and while he thought it would bring him joy, it just made him feel weird. He would have to ask Jisung what was going on, he was friends with Mingi, and he would have to know.

______________________________________________________________

Mingi was not doing any better at work. He fell asleep on his desk, barely paid attention at meetings, and was hostile to his co-workers and possible clients. Jongho was done with attitude, he had been patient, as much as he could, and he tried to understand the situation, but it was becoming too much.

“Mingi, I am begging you, please go home, you cannot continue like this. Get some sleep, eat and come back when you are better.” Jongho said as softly as possible, not wanting to trigger another fight with the dirty blonde lawyer in front of him.

“Jongho, I’m okay. I would rather just be working, there’s nothing to do at home anyways.”

“Mingi…” He was interrupted.

“Jongho, I won't repeat myself, leave me alone.” He turned his chair away from the younger lawyer.

That was it. He was done.

Jongho slammed his hand against the desk, startling Mingi, “Listen to me, Mingi, I get that you are sad, okay? I get it. But you cannot come here and act like a fucking dick and expect everyone to be okay with it. We tried to be nice and give you a couple of weeks to recover, but so far, we have lost two important clients because of your attitude and you pissed off three more. I’m sorry she left, but I highly doubt she would come back if she saw the mess you’ve become. Yelling at people, turning work in late, getting drunk, fighting with Yunho, do you think she wants that? Because I highly doubt it.” He jabbed his finger into Mingi’s chest. “Get. Your. Shit. Together.” And with that he left the office, slamming the door on his way out.

Mingi sighed, taking off his tie. He closed his eyes trying to calm down, but it seemed impossible. Anxiety had been tormenting him for almost a month now, and it didn’t seem like it would stop any time soon. He misses you. A lot. He just didn’t know how to function without that missing piece. Nothing was working right now, his head was always a mess, always going back to that night, trying to remember every moment he neglected you; he was trying to balance out his pain and stress to not mess up his relationship with Yunho as well; while also trying to balance out work as to not get fired, or at least not to piss off Jongho even more, but nothing is working. He misses you, and without you, nothing in him works.

______________________________________________________________

Chan was in the kitchen bar working; his heavy and expensive headphones sat on the top of his head while he was nodding along to the rhythm of his last track. He kept replaying it to try and figure out what was missing, what he could change or fix, but he just couldn’t concentrate. Flashbacks kept showing up in his head, replaying again and again, memories of his college days, memories of the time he fell in love with his now roommate and failed to do something about it.

It was the winter semester; the campus was covered in snow and everyone found refuge inside the library. Chan was planning to go there and work on a paper that was due that same night, but once he saw the amount of people inside the building, he decided he wouldn’t be able to work there. And just as he was about to leave, he saw Hongjoong sitting on a couch in the corner, next to him was something that made the producer’s mouth dry. A woman so beautiful his eyes couldn’t believe what they were seeing, his brain couldn’t comprehend what was happening, his feet moved on their own in that direction, he needed to talk to her, to know her name, to introduce himself. His friend got up as soon as he saw him, greeting him and introducing her. Y/n. That was her name, a name Chan would never be able to forget.

A friendship was established that day. You would start by hanging out with Hongjoong, going out to eat, watch a movie or to a party; but soon it became just the two of you. Hanging out at each other’s dorms, he showed you some of his music, and you showed him some of her stories; at first, he would walk you back to her room every night, but after some time you would stay over, “it’s easier” you said. One fateful night, Christopher finally made a move, giving you a quick peck on the lips while listening to your favourite artist’s latest album, the largest seconds of his life were right after, waiting for your reaction; you ended up fucking on top of his desk, pushing all his books, and cd’s to the floor.

That was the way the next months were spent, hanging out and finding any and every excuse to have sex, but never giving a title to what you were. Chan just assumed you weren’t ready for that kind of commitment, convincing himself he was fine with what you had, not admitting he was just too much of a coward to ask if you felt the same as him.

“I just don’t understand him, Jisung. One day he acts as if we were a couple, and the next he calls me his best friend. Friends don’t treat each other the way we do, friends don’t do what we do.”

“Maybe he isn’t ready for that kind of commitment, he would just rather stay as friends with benefits.” Jisung pat her on the back, trying to comfort her.

“But I don’t want to be just friends with benefits.” You pouted her lips.

“Hey, come on, don’t be sad. I'll tell you what, why don’t you come with me to Wooyoung’s party this Friday? You’ll have fun and forget, at least for a bit, about Chan.”

Christopher’s first mistake was introducing you to Jisung. The second one was allowing you to befriend him. And his last, but most fatal one was not going to that party. Why? Because Yunho and Mingi were there.

“Y/n, this my friend Mingi. Mingi, this is Y/n.” And just like that, it was over before it could even begin. That same night Mingi had introduced you to Yunho, and they both were heads over heels for you, they asked you to hang out the very next day and while at first you were confused as to how it would work, they won you over, pushing completely out the idea of Chan off your head.

He remembered the first time you talked about them, he thought you had just made out with one of them at the party, and while he wasn’t exactly happy about it, he could let it slide, no idea of what was about to come. Texts left unanswered; calls that went to voicemail; and long nights waiting for you to show up, but at some point, it became clear, that you were not just sleeping around with them, you were in love. That very same night he went out and got drunk out of his mind, only being able to get back home after Changbin and Minho found him trashed on a bench in front of their building. He blamed himself, if he hadn’t been so scared, if he had just tried, you would be his, and he promised himself that if that door ever opened again, he would be there. But as time went on, it became more apparent that would never happen… until now.

He kept repeating over and over to himself that you weren’t ready, that you still love them and that you were still mourning that relationship, but he couldn’t help himself, he wanted you.

The last month he had been in some kind of hell in heaven. When you first had shown up, he was pissed off beyond comprehension, how could they let this happen? How could they treat you like that? He had spent every second of his existence since he met you, loving and worshipping the ground you walk on and they had let you slip away? Unbelievable. But he couldn’t help but see the perks of all of this. He was the one to console you, to build you back up, and through the course of the weeks, you were better.

He would come back home to you cooking, greeting him the second he went in; you telling him about your day or a new show you were watching; you showed him your work and asked his opinion. Everything went back to how it was; it was even better. This is what he had been missing out all this time?

“Good morning, Channie.”

“Welcome back, Chan. I made some spaghetti; I hope you like it.”

“Hey, Chan. How was work?”

Oh, blissful domesticity. But everything was too good to be true. They would show up in the most subtle ways, in the middle of a conversation, in the notifications of your phone, even in the clothes you wore, they still smell like them; your ex-boyfriends were everywhere in his apartment, tormenting him. And, of course, he wasn’t blind, he could see it, your face still showed how heartbroken you were, and he could also hear it at night, small sobs escaped your mouth, whispering their names again and again.

Yunho…

Mingi…

Never his name.

______________________________________________________________

Jisung had just arrived home, his hands full of grocery bags balancing them while trying to open the door, and just as he was about to spill everything on the ground, a soft hand came to his rescue.

“Jesus, Sungie be careful.” The person behind him giggled.

“Y/n?” His eyebrows furrowed, confused, but he still leaned in and hugged you. “What are you doing here? How did you get in the building?”

“Oh, I live here now.”

“Mingi gave up his rent control apartment? Is he crazy?”

“Um… not exactly.” You scratched the back of your head.

“Okay, come inside and tell me what’s going on.”

…

“And that’s how I ended up living with Chan.” You took a small sip of the hot chocolate Jisung had prepared.

“Have you talked to them?”

You shook your head.

Jisung’s arms were folded against his chest, his eyes looking directly at yours, not sure what to say, “So it’s over between you and them?”

“I don’t know, Hannie. I love them, so much it hurts, but I don't think they feel the same way, they act as if I'm not even there, as if I'm not important to them.” You lay down on the kitchen table, controlling your breathing so you won't start crying.

“Well, that’s just not true.” He put his hand on top of your head, petting you, “Mingi can be an idiot sometimes and the same goes for Yunho, but they love you, baby. From the very first moment they met you, they have loved you, maybe they just lost their tracks for a moment, but they will come back to you.” He kissed you on the forehead, “and if for some reason they don’t, I will be there to help you pick up the pieces.”

______________________________________________________________

Minho arrived late at night, completely done with work and with stubborn patients who thought they knew more than him because they read an article on the internet. Jisung ran to the front door as soon as he heard the jiggling of the keys, ready to receive his grumpy husband. He accompanied him into the kitchen, where he served him a hot plate of his favourite food and told him about this day.

“I found the chips you like on sale so I bought a couple, I also bought the ingredients I was missing for that ramen you want to try, oh and I tried that juice I’ve been craving, but it wasn’t that good.” Minho couldn’t keep up with the number of things that came out of his husband’s mouth, but he was happy to listen. “Oh, oh my god I almost forgot, guess who I ran into?”

“Who?” He said while shoving a spoonful of soup into his mouth.

“Y/n, she broke up with Mingi and Yunho, and she’s staying with Chan.”

Minho choked, coughing aggressively, not believing the words that came out of Jisung’s mouth. Everything made sense now, that’s why the puppy-like doctor had been so miserable the last couple of weeks. And why Chan had been avoiding him lately. He got up and headed towards the door, “Give me a second, love I’ll be right back.”

He made his way down the hall, he was in no mood to do this, but it had to be done. He had witnessed first-hand how completely devastated had Chan been after you had broken his heart (not that he thinks you did it on purpose), how hard it was to get him to shower, to go to work, how long it took him to go back to normal, and he feared it would happen again. He pounded on the door, not caring if the neighbours next door complained. The door opened harshly, a sleep-deprived Christopher on the door side, looking at him as if he had grown to heads.

“Min, it’s two in the morning, what the hell are you doing here?”

The doctor grabbed him by the arm and shoved him into the wall next to the door, “You are going to explain to me exactly what you think you are doing.”

“I'm not doing anything. She’s my friend, I want to help her move…”

He interrupted, “What? Move on? Were you planning to be her saviour so she would fall in love with you? Bang Chan, she’s been engaged to them for almost a year now, they are just going through a rough patch…”

“They broke up.”

“They will get back together, it's more than obvious, they are in love.” He whispered yelling, he was worried, did Chan think he had a chance?

“They neglected her, Minho they took her for granted, I would…”

“Chan, listen to me, she’s not in love with you, whatever you two had it's over, it's been over for years, for Christ's sake.” He shook his shoulders, trying to get some sense into him.

“I know what I'm doing.”

“You clearly, don’t.” He pushed his friend back into his apartment and went back to his. His entire body ached, but anxiety filled his head, not letting him rest.

______________________________________________________________

“So, she finally dumped your ass, good for her honestly,” Minho said as he entered Yunho’s office. The latter one looked up at him, the look in his eyes completely dead. “Geez, you look like shit.”

“What do you want, Minho? I'm busy, I don’t have time for your bullshit.”

“I know where she is.”

“What?” Yunho looked at him with wide-open eyes. “Don’t you fucking dare lie to me about this.” He got up and grabbed Lee by the collar and shook him, “How the fuck do you know that?”

“Because I saw her.” Little white lie, but he technically did know where she was. He pushed him back, “I don’t like you, Yunho, at all. But I know what it's like to be in your shoes, so I’ll make you a deal, you get your shit together and I might just tell you where she is.”

______________________________________________________________

Yunho’s hands kept trembling, he had barely been able to drive home without crashing. He wanted to scream, to cry, to tell Mingi what Minho had told him, all at the same time, but he also thought, what would he say? How could he apologize? Would she take them back? He went into the house, Mingi was lying on the couch, a book in his hands and glasses sitting on his face, his eyebags and skin tone resembling his boyfriend’s, he turned to look at him, noticing how fidgety and dishevelled he looked.

“Are you okay? Did something happen at work?” He got up and approached Yunho, he grabbed his face in his hands and caressed his cheeks.

“Um…” he bit off some of the skin in his lip, not knowing how to deliver the news, his head couldn’t put the words together, not even able to process them. “Minho told me something today.”

“Ugh, that asshole. I don’t know how Jisung married that guy, he's such a nice guy and Minho is so…”

Yunho interrupted him, not able to hold it in any longer, “Minho says he knows where Y/n is staying.”

Mingi felt how the air left his body, all thoughts abandoning his mind in the same way, tears were quick to rush to his eyes, “What?”

“Yeah, he saw her and knows where she’s been staying.” He paused to order his next words, “And he said he will tell me if we manage to get our shit together.”

Mingi took him into his arms and squeezed him till he was out of breath, not being able to contain his happiness. Together they cried and smiled while the thought of everything going back to normal filled them, that was until something crossed their minds at the same time, would you even want them back?

______________________________________________________________

Tag list:

@tunaasan @scuzmunkie

[fraugwinska]

What about the reader found and old radio, they thought the radio was broken but it's not, it's just antique.. when they play it at night time alastor broadcast was heard first they feel something is odd.. but they love to listen to his voice, heck they even like talking to each other, because of this encounter alastor talk about it to rosie, she was happy hearing alastor telling her stories but she feel odd when alastor mention that the person he talks to is a human, Rosie giving him advice to not fall for human because they're different species, and it will make him weak etc.

Alastor feel guilty and agree with rosie advice so he's stop contacting the reader from the radio, he thinks that the reader will be fine but no the reader take it personally.. they thought alastor don't want to talk to them anymore.. it drive them mad and lead to suicide..

So yeah angst :D

Oh Anon. What have you done.

I cried while I wrote that - it took two very good friends of mine to encourage me to post it (Thanks to @macabr3-barbi3 and @mysterypotatoink). But I think it's tragic and beautiful, and honestly - I'm kinda proud of it!

TW: Psychological Trauma, descend into madness, loss of self care and suicide - please take care of yourself and do not read if you aren't comfortable with any of the mentioned! MINORS DNI

Here we go.

❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️

Leap of Faith

You carried in the last box from you banged-up minivan. The old thing barely made it to your new home. A little cabin in the outskirts of New Orleans, a little off the grid and surrounded by the peaceful and whirring bayous of Louisiana.

A fixer-upper, just like yourself.

The online auction had intrigued you the second you found it, the photos were a bit blurry and you knew it was a risk to buy a place you've never set foot in, but something in you called you to get it. The price you paid was laughable, barely making a dent in your savings. Moving states sounded scary and impossible, but you felt oddly calm about it.

You didn't have a lot of stuff to move anyway. After all, you only lived with your late grandmother, and she never really cared for material things. Your parents left you at her doorstep, never to be seen again.

Caring for her in her last, sickness-ridden years had been a no-brainer - it felt like nothing in comparison to all she had done for you - but it also had been a bit lonely.

You had your friends, if you could even call them that, but you rarely saw them - guiding your nan through the last months of her life had been demanding and time-consuming. It had left you exhausted and emotionally unavailable, and after a while, calls and texts ceased, until it was just you and her. You felt lost, as if the world was slowly pulling away from you.

When she finally died, peacefully in her sleep, you felt sad, relieved and drained.

Detached from the city you lived in.

Lost.

So you decided to sell what little you inherited, except for a few sentimental mementos, and move away from it all. To start a new life, a happier one, finally one that was truly your own.

You took the final box inside, setting it on the coffee table and wiped the sweat from your brow. You looked around the little cabin: The roof had some spots that needed a patch, and the wood floors were a bit warped, but it was all yours. No more having to share anything with anyone.

The cabin came furnished, a lot of the stuff was old, but still usable. You figured that would change once you settled in and had a vision of what you wanted and needed to buy. The thought of thinking about no one but yourself made you nervous.

But a little excited, too.

The old furniture would do for the moment, but there was a particular piece that caught your eye: an old, vintage cathedral radio, sitting nestled in between a cracked wooden box and a tarnished, bronze candle holder in a bookcase that was a bit out of place in the tiny space. With a tilted head, you stepped closer to inspect it, drawn to it by it's unique character and beauty.

It looked as well-loved as it looked well-used, the mahogany a bit scuffed, the knobs a little worn from years of being turned. But there were golden details etched into the front, and you traced them lightly with a finger, strangely touched and intrigued.

You were certain the old thing didn't work, but when you plugged it into the nearby socket, static erupted from the speakers, making you jump back. You had to smile, though.

Tonight, you wouldn't be alone. You'd have this little device and a little music for good company.

***

"I'm home!" you announced to no one in particular, as you closed the door behind you, your hands full with overfilled grocery bags full of necessities, waiting to fill your empty cabinets.

The day had been hot, but a welcome breeze of the impending night break cooled the inside of your little cabin a bit. With a quiet grunt you set the paper bags down at the small kitchenette. Your groceries were quickly dispersed, and you put on an apron you saved from your grandmother as you got started on dinner.

You hummed as you cut vegetables and boiled water. It had been a long time since you had cooked, really cooked, your nan wasn't much for eating and had no problem living off of simple soups and toast. When you opened your fridge to get some butter, your glance fell onto the radio.

A little music would be nice, you decided, and you walked over, cleaning your hands on the red, frilly cloth around your waist before you turned the dial. The soft sound of static made you hum in contempt - yup. Still works. A little turn to the left, and the room was filled with a soft jazzy tune, the melody a bit grainy, but you didn't mind that at all. You returned to the stove, swaying your hips to the beat as you worked. The music made you feel at ease, and for a moment, the world seemed to be just right.

Just as the onions began to brown in the pan, the song faded out to a voice. You turned your head to the radio, intrigued by the unusual, eccentric accent of the host. It reminded you of the old, vintage films and recordings your grandmother had been fond of - wasn't it called 'transatlantic'?. Whatever it was, it made you smile.

"Now wasn't that a kick in the head, dearest listener? I sure hope you enjoyed the little musical interlude, but it's time to return to the real show! As usual, my name is Alastor, and you are listening to the best jazz, blues and swing music that Hell has to offer!"

You blinked, a little puzzled and yet amused. "Sure is hot as hell today, strange man in the radio.", you mumbled, chuckling as you stirred the bell peppers under the caramelized onions.

"Today we have a very special guest joining my humble broadcast, it seems. Pleasure to meet you, darling, quite the pleasure!"

"Oh who? Me?" you asked, looking theatrically over your shoulder with batted lashes, shaking your head over your own silliness. You weren't used to talking out loud to yourself, or even really thinking out loud. You were always alone, after all, but the little pretend-play was fun. You laughed a bit, waiting for the host's guest to speak.

"Of course you, little dove. Who else would I mean?"

You gasped, and nearly dropped the spoon as you whipped around, eyes glued to the humming, orange glow of the radio in the dim darkness of your living room.

"What's that? You're surprised, my dear? Don't worry, you're not the only one! This is a first for me, too. Never had a human join my program. I must say, I'm quite intrigued! Tell me, what is your name?"

Your eyes grew wide, and the hairs at the back of your neck stood up. You took a hesitant step backwards and hit the hot stove, making you curse under your breath. Was the heat finally getting to you?

"Don't be shy now, darling. I'm not gonna hurt you, cross my lil' old, blackened heart."

"I-I'm..." you began, swallowing as your fingers tightened around the wooden spoon. "My name is..."

"Yes?"

"I'm... crazy.", you mumbled, rubbing a hand over your face and chuckling a bit. You were just going insane, that's all. Must be the stress, combined with the intense heat. And lack of a companion, a tiny voice reminded you. Yes. Must be.

"Hello crazy, this is Alastor." The host laughed, together with a canned audience.

"Alastor...", you repeated, realization settling in - this wasn't a joke, or a trick of your mind.

"At your service, my dear.", the voice cooed. "Now, I believe you still owe me your name..."

***

You weren't crazy.

Or if you were, you didn't mind. Not with Alastor by your side - or, to be exact, in the radio on your bookcase.

After two weeks of ignoring the cursed radio after unplugging it in a wave of panic on your first night, your morbid curiosity got the better of you. You plugged it back in, and turned on the dial. Just once, you told yourself, then never ever again.

And that's how the two of you got in contact with each other once more. Alastor was as chipper as the first time you heard him, and after a bit of back-and-forth, he promised once again not to harm you, and you shared your name with him. The rest was history. He was very pleasant company. For a demon from hell.

You wouldn't classify the conversations you had with him as a real friendship in the beginning, but you did talk. Occasionally. Mostly in the evenings, when you cooked dinner: He'd ask you about your day and would pry eagerly for a little bit of gossip or new information about the modern New Orleans. When he let it slip that he lived in this very cabin in the 1920's, you weren't stopping with questions about what it was like back in his days, which he, in return, answered generously and enthusiastically.

The first few times he would try to coerce you into making a deal for your soul, casually sprinkling the offer into his small talk, but with enough blunt refusals and a few more days of radio silence (pun intended), he dropped the topic and seemed content on just talking. You, in return, found yourself relaxing into his charming company, your brain happily engaged with trying to wrap your head around him, or better, you tried to come to terms with it.

Weeks passed, and turning the radio on in the evenings became less of an occasional lapse of judgment but more of a routine you were looking forward to. You could tell the Alastor felt the same, his banter became less tense and acted, and a little more genuine.

It made your heart swell in happiness, that someone out there seemed to appreciate your company – even if that someone wasn't human.

Apprehension became amusement, and fascination became friendship. Oddly enough, you found common grounds in a lot of things: A love for cooking and good music. Preferring books over films. Red wine over white. A shared aversion of vulgarity, and appreciation for good manners.

Your nights were cut shorter and shorter, you would spend hours chatting on and on, until the deep darkness of night disappeared into a shade of blue on the horizon. Neither of you minded, at least that was what you thought. Alastor never ended the conversations with you. Either you had to say your goodbyes, or you would just fall asleep after hours of talking on your couch, and awake with a pained back to a shut-off radio. Then, after you'd realize that you would have a whole day ahead of you without hearing his voice, the loss would make your chest ache.

Two months into the 'thing', which was still a strange concept you could barely comprehend, the truth of the matter dawned on you: You liked him. Not just because he was a surprisingly amicable voice coming out of your vintage radio, a lively constant in the uneventful life you had made for yourself in Louisiana - he had become important to you, irreplaceable, even. An essential element to your life. You couldn't imagine how you'd gone so long without him, and yet, here you were, lost without him, scrambling through the hours until you could talk to him once more.

"Something on your mind, darling? You're awfully quiet today."

You held your fork and knife still above the salmon you had just been about to eat. It was the first meal of the evening in a long time where you weren't spending the entirety of the preparation time speaking to him, lost in thought about your blossoming feelings. He had gotten excellent at reading you like an open book - you should've gotten used to it after a couple of weeks of him catching on to every little change in your demeanor and knowing just what to say, when you were feeling happy, upset or nervous.

"Oh, um... no. It's nothing Al. Work had me in a wringer today."

"Is it your co-worker Susan again?" You could basically hear his eyes rolling, making you chuckle. "That name must be cursed, every single soul with that name is a menacing pain."

"Maybe,", you muttered, nibbling on a piece of the roasted fish. "This one is mostly just an ornery old bitch."

"Taking the words right out of my mouth, dear." he laughed.

There's was a comfortable pause, with just a gentle background noise of his ever-playing static and an easy, melodic tune coming from his program.

"Is that really all that preoccupies that pretty little head of yours?"

You blushed, picking at the food with your fork. "Bold for a guy who's never seen me to assume my head is pretty."

The radio crackled with pops and feedback. "Bold to assume I can't see you whenever I want, little dove." he said, his voice strangely deeper, tinged with something you didn't catch at the shock of his words.

"You... what?"

"And I can most assure you,", he purred out of the speakers, "pretty is a well fitting word to describe you."

He hummed in approval when your cheeks gained color, as if he knew his comment threw you off guard and made you turn a lovely shade of pink, but it didn't make it any less enticing.

***

"Alastor, if I didn't know better, I would say you have become smitten with this mysterious gal you're blabbing on and about."

Rosie giggled, hitting his shoulder in a playful, friendly swipe. "When will I meet her? Come on now, you can't hide her forever. Or are you afraid she'll like me better?"

She laughed, and Alastor forced a toothy grin. His long time friend was the only one he talked about you with, and he knew she was intrigued whenever she could smell a blooming dalliance, especially with a notoriously abstinent bachelor like himself. Normally, he would laugh at that thought with a healthy dose of mockery, but he found himself to be less and less aversed at the thought - if it would be you. Impossible, of course.

"Nonsense, Rosie dear, nonsense,", he chuckled, taking a large sip from his coffee cup, a heavy hand bringing up a plate stacked with finger sandwiches. "And I'm afraid you won't meet her for a long time, maybe never. Humans seldom traverse to hell in their lifetime, and who knows if the little darling will take on the trip downstairs?"

Rosie coughed in her tea, her blackened eyes wide in shock. "Human? It's a human girl you've been courting here? Oh, Alastor, you old fool."

Alastor scrunched his nose, "Talking, Rosie, talking is all we do. And yes, she's a human. I don't see the quandary in that. It's just a little fun."

"Well,", she huffed with a small, thoughtful frown. "I would've hoped for a little more sense in you." The tall demonesse set down her teacup with nimble fingers.

"You may not call it courting, but if it quacks like a duck, it's a duck, love." Rosie ignored the indignant look Alastor gave her. "You know as well as I do that such a connection is dangerous to entertain. Humans are fragile and fragile things tend to break. And when they do, the owner mostly follows. You need to break this connection off."

Rosie gave him a sad look as his ears flattened against his head. She would've been more than happy for her oldest and dearest friend to have a partner on his side, someone good and honest who really cared about him, maybe loved him even, as unlovable as he was. But she had to protect him from the silly idea of possibly falling for a living, breathing and supposedly untarnished soul, and the heartbreak that would surely follow. "Don't make the mistake of breaking your heart, dear friend." she smiled, a tint of melancholy hidden in the red of her lips.

"I think it's far too late for that."

She offered a handkerchief, but Alastor waved her off, his smile more faint and close to a frown than she's ever seen.

***

The first day where nothing but static noise came out of the radio, you were irritated but just thought: 'Maybe Alastor has something to do'.

The second day of static you grew concerned. 'What if something happened to Alastor? Was he okay?'.

On the third day, you were panicked. 'Maybe he doesn't want to talk to you anymore! Maybe he met someone in hell, someone that he could talk to whenever he wanted and not through an old, dusty radio?'.

"Please talk to me.", you whispered into the empty room. Your knees were pulled to your chest, and you sat on your couch, eyes fixed on the radio in the bookcase. Your eyes stung with the tears threatening to spill. "Please, Al. I miss you." You shook your head, chuckling sadly. It had only been 3 days, but they'd felt like an eternity. The world had seemed silent without Alastor's constant chatter.

When night fell for the fourth day, you were half asleep, eyes red and burning and tears still staining your cheeks. You talked for hours into the void of your house, the radio now moved to sit in front of you on the coffee table, growing more and more desperate as hours passed. Talking faded into pleading, and pleading into begging.

"Please, I'm sorry, if I did something wrong, I'm sorry...", you mumbled into the wooden furnishing, resting your cheek against the top of the machine, eyes slipping shut with fatigue and defeat. A dry sob slipped past your trembling lips, as your hands desperately grabbed the sides of the antique device.

"Alastor please, don't leave me alone here...", you whispered with the last of your strength, before your body succumbed to your exhaustion, your unconscious mind welcomed the darkness.

If you had stayed awake for just a moment more, you would've, maybe, heard the faint shuddering breath beyond the static rumble. But you didn't. So you had no chance at knowing that, Alastor, listening to every word, saw and heard you at your weakest, and all it did to him was stir the embers and give the blaze an opening for the flames of his anger at fate to rage.

Work had called, again. Susan of all people. Threats were made - either come back to work, or don't come back at all. You smashed your phone. It was useless anyway. What was the point without...

Alastor wasn't here, hadn't answered for seven days now. And you had spent the whole time talking, begging him to show himself, just show himself and tell you what you did wrong, just talk to you one last time and then you'd stop, if that was what he wanted. You became obsessed with the orange light of the illuminated screen, imagining the flickers were maybe signs from him.

You stopped eating, stopped drinking, stopped almost anything, you just sat, in front of the radio, unmoving and unwilling to miss the smallest sign of his return.

Every single minute stretched into agony, and every breath that left your lips made a fresh tear roll down your paling cheeks, until your body couldn't produce them anymore. Then, you cried wordless whimpers and moans, even started praying to an unknown entity.

It wasn't as if Alastor owed you anything. It's not as though you thought the two of you were anything other than two kindred souls, one human, one demon, talking to each other. As a result, it wasn't like you had the right to anything from him.

It was strange to consider the connection the two of you shared: Something more than acquaintances, something closer than friends, and yet never fully crossing the line beyond it. The unpenetrable boundary dividing life and death in between.

Your eyes fell on a large, old crucifix on your wall, staring back at you with pity.

For the first time in days, you left the sofa, took it from the wall and burned it on your gas stove, watching the face of the nailed figurine slowly melt in the fire.

***

It had been eight days of excruciating, one-sided silence.

Eight days Alastor cursed his cowardice as he sat, red eyed with claws digging into his scalp, as he listened to you plead for him to talk - To answer. To do anything. Anything, but leave you alone, he heard, as if the words were spoken right in his ear.

Eight days of watching you slowly detriment from the eyes of the shadows he was able to manifest above, tugging on the very fabric of the world to move you, to keep your mind from going where it shouldn't go.

He kept telling himself it was for the better. His shadows murmured persistent reminders that he should find entertainment in your growing lunacy. He was the radio demon, after all. He shouldn't care if this wisp of a human were to perish, should laugh at your wails of agony and despair.

But Alastor never felt less like laughing. Your dried sobs and pained apologies for things you never did wrong in the first place filled his head, taunting and gnawing on him with feelings he thought he was unable to feel: Guilt and Regret.

It was as Rosie had predicted - he was becoming weak. But weakness was something that should be avoided. Had to be. He knew. Being weak, being feeble, would make him vulnerable, make him into the prey his cruel from already portrayed to the world he had to inherit. He couldn't allow it. Couldn't let his feelings for you bring him down to the levels of the sinners in hell he would tear apart and laugh while he did it.

That's why he stayed silent. Endured it, all of it, every word, cry and plea. Stayed invisible and silent, waiting for you to move on, forget him, shut off and leave the radio, never to turn the dial again. For your sake and his.

When the connection broke, on that eight day, Alastor could feel your resignation, your peace with which your pale hands gripped the electrical cord at it's base to pull. And he was suddenly filled with the awareness of something horrible, like a premonition. It set his already battered, aching heart in an ice cold grasp of dread.

His room exploded in green light as he expanded into his full demonic form, his limbs threatening to pull and burst at the stitches and his smile splitting his face almost entirely in half. He had to reach out, had to reform the connection to the radio one last time, even though nearly impossible.

You were about to do something he would never be able to forgive himself for.

***

Your car broke down just where it needed to. You took the radio out of the trunk, knocking the hood two times for a goodbye, the key safely in the ignition. Maybe some other poor soul would find and repair it, make happier memories with it.

You clutched the wooden device closer and started to walk. Indigo blue faded into black as you looked up to the sky that was sprinkled with glowing, shimmering silver dust, stars blinking in the unimaginable distance. There, but out of reach.

Just like him.

Your dry sob stung in your throat, but you didn't really feel the pain. Your eyes were fixed on the path to your final destination, right in front of you.

The Crescent City Connection Bridge was mostly abandoned by traffic at this time of night and provided just enough covered spaces to hide you from some foolish saviors eyes.

You didn't need to be saved.

You didn't want to be saved.

Because you were about to save yourself.

There was nothing waiting for you in the other direction than the one you were going. So, with slow but steady steps, you walked towards the middle of the bridge, settling on a place next to a metal pillar and looked over the railing onto the shimmering waters of the Mississippi River.

Alastor had told you about the river, how he loved to watch the steam boats floating on it from the radio station where he worked at when he was alive. The station was long gone, you didn't even find out where it had been in the first place, but you liked to imagine that you were looking at the same scenery now that he had been looking at when he peered out of his booth in his radio tower.

It made you smile through the tears... You were glad the end was somehow connected to him, even if it was most likely just your naive imagination.

It felt like the device in your arms was emitting static energy, prickling over your arms, hands and fingers as you caressed the mahogany wood gently, feeling as though the radio was shaking in your hands, trying to pull you back from the fenced ledge.

A quiet sob escaped your lips, turning into a giggle and into hysterical laughter. You sat down between the railing, and hugged the radio close, trying to breathe as you closed your eyes, resting your temple on the worn, warm wood.

"It'll be okay, Al.", you said quietly, your voice unnaturally hoarse and rough from lack of use and dehydration. "I'm coming. I'm coming to you.”

With one arm around the radio, holding it tight against your chest, you turned to stand on shaky legs, gripping the railing with one arm and, with one final glance at the stars above you you smiled. You heard sirens in the distance, and some people shouting from a sparkling streamliner passing under the bridge. Time was running short, so you didn't wait to put first one foot over the fence, then the other, taking a deep breath.

"I guess doves were always meant to fly."

And, with that, your body twisted, turned and leaped, falling as the light on the radio, firmly pressed against your heart, began to glow in deepest crimson and swirls of green.

Falling like an angel would descend from grace.

Part 2 for closure

[alittlebitofsainz]

- you swear that you listened -

prompt: “so take me to every party and just talk to your friends.”

pairing: logan sargeant x reader

summary: why did he even bring you to meet his friends if he was going to forget you even existed? featuring an important conversation and a dog at the party

a/n: lyrics from track #65 - worst of you by maisie peters :)

masterlist | the spotify wrapped collection

“babe, what’s up with you? you’ve been quiet all night.”

“yeah, maybe it’s cos you didn’t talk to me for the entire time.” you shot back, both your words and tone harsher than you’d intended. logan was silent after that, and you stole a glance across to him sat in the passenger seat, immediately feeling guilty when you saw the wounded look on his face. you turned your gaze back to the road ahead with a heavy sigh.

it wasn’t really your fault that you were in such a bad mood; it had been your first time meeting a bunch of his childhood friends, stressful enough without the added bonus of you being the designated driver, so you had had to watch everyone slowly getting more and more intoxicated while you nursed the same diet coke for three hours straight. you’d offered to stay sober, but only because logan had emphasised that he hadn’t seen these friends in years, and it would be really nice to catch up with them over a beer, and you don’t really drink that much anyway, so you don’t mind driving, right?

“I don’t mind.” you’d said, because you knew logan had been having a tough season, and you wanted nothing more than to see him enjoying himself with his friends. and you. that had been the key part that was missing. you tried to join in on their conversations, you really did, but they were full of stories from the time before you even knew logan, sentences always seeming to start with “do you remember when…”. and every time you tried to speak up, to input something, the topic would change again, someone speaking over the top of you to remind the group of another funny anecdote from their past. you tried to catch logan’s eye, but to no avail, too wrapped up in old memories and the beer in his hand.

eventually you’d made an excuse about going to find the toilet, and disappeared off into a living room that no one was in. you weren’t even sure whether logan had noticed you were gone; you could still hear the ringing of his laughter drifting through the cracks between the door and the doorframe. at the least the dog came to find you. dogs were always the best thing at parties.

the worst part was that you didn’t know how to handle this. it had never happened before, you weren’t used to it. logan was always so attentive, so loving, so caring. he never failed to tell you, or show you, how much you really meant to him, his light shining through the darkness that had been this rollercoaster of a season. but around his friends, he just seemed different. like he’d forgotten you were even there.

the silence lasted the rest of the drive home. you once risked a glance across to logan, but his head was turning away, chin resting in his hand, his elbow propped against the passenger window, looking out at the world passing by as if he was deep in thought. from this angle, you couldn’t read his expression. you didn’t know if you even wanted to.

“I’m sorry, please, y/n, if I’ve done something wrong…”

logan tried again as you entered his apartment, his words slurred slightly, reminding you that now wasn’t time for this conversation when he was several beers deep and you were stone cold sober.

“really, lo, it’s…” you couldn’t bring yourself to say it’s fine, so you just shook your head instead. “let’s just talk about it in the morning, okay?” you murmured, catching a glimpse of his crestfallen expression as you passed by him, a sight that made your heart ache. you both got ready for bed without speaking again, the tension in the air uncomfortable.

and when morning rolled around and the sun filtering through the curtains woke you from sleep, you found yourself still reluctant to talk about it. you rolled over, turning to face logan, only to find a pair of bright blue eyes staring back at you.

“you were mad at me.”

you bit back a sarcastic good morning to you too. now was not the time.

“what?” you tried feigning ignorance, voice quiet.

“last night, you were mad at me.” logan repeated, and you realised you weren’t getting out of this one. “why? I don’t get it; did you not have a good time?”

you blinked, letting his word settle in your mind, before your brows folded into a soft frown.

“you didn’t even notice?” you murmured, knowing what the answer would be.

“notice what?” logan’s face scrunched up in confusion, searching back through his memories, desperately trying to remember something specific in the haze of what had happened last night. you sighed. it was the answer you’d been expecting, and dreading.

“I left, like, halfway through. went and sat in the living room. alone.” you explained, trying to spell it out for him. logan’s confused expression deepened.

“w- wha- why?” he stuttered, propping himself up on his elbow, “baby, you should’ve told me if you weren’t having a good-“

“I tried to!” you cut him off sharply, tone growing exasperated, “I tried to, but I couldn’t get your attention. not even for two minutes. it felt like I wasn’t even there.”

he opened his mouth to argue, but found nothing to argue back with. now that he thought about it, you were right. he had barely noticed you, once he was surrounded by his friends and stories of old times, and he felt fucking awful about it.

“I’m sorry. oh, fuck, babe, I really am sorry.” he stammered, trying to get all his apologies out at once, words tripping out over his tongue. you both appreciated and hated seeing him so remorseful; you knew you couldn’t just let it slide, or it would only happen again and make you feel worse, but at the same time you knew logan was genuinely sorry.

“it’s okay, lo.” you reached out a hand, taking his in yours and giving it a gentle squeeze. he drew in a soft breath, as if he expected a fight instead of forgiveness, and when his eyes met yours again they were glistening with unshed tears of remorse, “it was an accident, I know you didn’t mean to. everyone makes mistakes, right? we’re learning together.” you continued, a soft smile spreading across your face as you watched him relax slightly, tension leaving his shoulders. he nodded, ducking his head away to try and hide the tear thar had slipped down his cheek.

“right,” he agreed shakily, “I’m still sorry I made you feel forgotten about, really. I promise it won’t happen again.”

“I know.” you replied softly, releasing his hand from yours and instead holding out both your arms as a silent invitation. logan was only too happy to accept, shuffling across the bed towards you and burying his head into the crook of your neck, your arms securing around his back. you felt him take a deep breath into your shoulder, chest rising deeply before falling back down again.

“I really love you, you know that, right?” he murmured, voice muffled as he rested his cheek against your skin. you chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head.

“I know. I love you too, Lo.”

a/n: i tried so hard to leave this on a more angsty ending but honestly i just can’t be mean to logan for more than five seconds he deserves happiness even if its just in fictional form

[shearlin]

Hot take about Sky angst, regarding the curse of Demise, because I haven't seen anyone talking about this possibility in all those years I've been in LU fandom.

Guys...

Sky has no idea about the curse

Because think about it. Why would he know about it?

My man has been electrocuted multiple times, with magical - basically divine - lightnings in attempt to defeat Demise. All the while fighting for his life with a literal GOD OF EVIL, after spending an entire afternoon fighting an army of monsters and a Demon Lord/creepy ass Sword Spirit. Not even mentioning how worried sick he must have been that entire time, if this time he was also too late too save Zelda.

(always too late too slow not enough and late late late)

I don't know about you, but I don't think he was in any state of body or mind to listen to some dudes last words, when he had to focus on not passing out because he has to make sure Zelda/Sun is alright.

(It got a bit long so rest of the rant under the cut)

Fi gave him clear, that Demise received a mortal blow and that now it's only a matter of time until he dies and that was all Sky needed to stop paying any attention.

Just go through the motions. His vision is blurry, but that's alright just stay awake. Fi chimes to rise his sword. He does. There is some black smoke suddenly surrounding him, but Fi get's rid of it with her light so it's fine. It's probably why she asked him to rise her skyward. The last fifteen minutes he's been following her directions nearly blindly anyway, because his mind is still foggy, he's not sure where he is or what he is doing he just have to get to Zelda.

And then she's there. And everything is fine.

Impa fades, Fi sleeps and he finally rests. Or rather crashes as the exhaustion finally catches up to him.

But he recovers, as best as he can, and live on.

And then eight other heroes, just like him, appear and take him on a quest across the time. They become friends. Then brothers. Soon he feels like they knew each other their entire lives and can't imagine how he can move on after the inevitable goodbyes.

He is so happy that no matter what, there will always be someone among his people, someone from or even outside of Hyrule, to stand up against evil, no matter how many times it will try to show it's ugly face. He's a bit bummed that there even is a need for a hero to show up, but hey! He is not so naive to think people are and always will be only good. Things happen. Some people are just terrible, and some take it out on the entire world.

But somewhere along the line, he starts to notice... something weird.

They all fought that same guy (some of them even multiple times!) called Ganon or Ganondorf. And while he is overjoyed that none of them even heard the name of Demise, he feels kind of singled out. Few of them mentioned an idea of reincarnation. Mentioning Zeldas' connection through blood of the Goddess and their connection through a spirit.

A spirit of a hero.

He always though it was a figure of speech. A way to describe someone courageous who fulfills the quota of being a hero.

But it's not about a spirit of a hero.

No.

It's the Spirit of the Hero.

His Spirit.

An idea begins to form. A distant memory he didn't even knew he had. Maybe nightmares about that fateful fight starting to get clearer by night. Maybe he spends some time talking to Fi and he does not like the feeling he gets from her chimes, even if she can't really talk in her slumber. Maybe he even prays to Hylia in some distant era in an unfamiliar place, so she can deny or confirm his suspicions.

Goddesses, please, may he be wrong.

Because he loves them all like a family. Because they are family. Because he has seen their haunted expressions and blank eyes, he has heard their stories and horrors they went through and nearly all of them were so young, too young, and the thought that he was the direct cause of it-

Sky had no idea that Demise trapped his spirit in a cycle of reincarnation. He had no time to process it or find coping mechanisms before the adventure with the chain happened. He found out during it, slowly putting it together and coming apart at the seems before their eyes.

Sky didn't know about the curse.

And I say, it could be really interesting to watch Sky fall.

(And if anyone knows a fic exploring this idea please let me know! I searched but couldn't find any)

[cheoliehansolie]

Green Mangoes

Summary: When Chan catches you eating green mangoes, he can't help but spiral.

Word Count: ~ 2.3k

Pairing: Lee Chan x fem reader

Warnings: mentions of pregnancy

an: This was something that I mainly wrote for myself because I found it funny in my head so if it's not funny or entertaining, that's why. As always, if you liked reading this, please reblog or leave a comment. If you have any suggestions or you just want to talk, send me an ask and we can be friends 💕

To read more, check out my masterlist.

---

You had been up for a few hours enjoying the little alone time you get since you moved in with your boyfriend. You and Chan recently moved in together and while you love spending time with him, sometimes you miss living on your own which is why you find comfort in the silent mornings.

Chan got home pretty late last night from practice which is why he was in bed at 10:30 in the morning. It was a win-win situation, you got your morning alone and Chan got to make up for the sleep he missed out on.

You had spent your morning making breakfast and reading once you finished eating, and now you were sitting on your couch nursing a cup of tea and watching an Indian comedy show. Normally when you and Chan watch TV together, you steer clear of those types of shows since Chan won’t be able to understand them. 

But now with Chan sound asleep in your bedroom, you’re giggling quietly to yourself as you watch the different skits unfold on screen. To your surprise, less than five minutes later, you hear the door of your shared bedroom open and out walks your sleepy boyfriend, hair adorably messy.

“Good morning, babe.” you say from your seat on the couch.

“Morning.” he says tiredly as he makes his way to the couch to join you.

“I didn’t wake you, right?” you ask, concern lacing your voice as you card your fingers through his disheveled hair. 

Chan melts into your touch and responds, “No, I didn’t feel like staying in bed any longer. I also wanted to cuddle with you but you weren’t there any more.” he whines.

“Aww, well I’m here now so we can cuddle. Let me just get situated” you say.

You put your empty tea mug on the coffee table in front of you and lift the blanket on your lap gesturing for him to join you. Chan wastes no time getting comfy under the blanket and wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Do you want me to change the channel?” you ask, drawing attention to the comedy show playing on the TV.

“No, it’s fine. I’m not really paying attention to it anyways.” he says and you feel him drawing small shapes on your body.

“Suit yourself.” you say as you bring your attention back to the show.

A few minutes later, you’re still snuggled into Chan’s arms and you find yourself letting out a soft scandalized gasp at the conversation unfolding on screen.

“What happened?” Chan asks, instantly curious as he peers up at your face through his lashes.

“Basically, those two people on stage are husband and wife and they’re talking about an argument they had. See that guy standing to the side?” you ask, pointing to the screen.

“Yeah, what about him?”

“He said something along the lines of ‘stop giving her reasons to argue with you and instead give her a reason to eat green mangoes’ to the husband.”

“What does that mean?” Chan asks, enjoying listening to you explain things to him.

“Apparently women crave sour foods when they’re pregnant so the other guy is basically telling the husband to get his wife pregnant.”

Your boyfriend chuckles slightly and he doesn’t think much of the conversation as he continues snuggling into your side. But a few days later, he’s instantly reminded of that moment as he stands in the entryway of your shared living room.

Chan had spent the entire day in the studio working with Sonnyoung and the other Performance Team members to think of choreography for their upcoming comeback, but they had hit a wall. Soonyoung decided to let the guys go sooner than expected because everyone was getting frustrated.

Chan was excited that he’s able to leave earlier so he can spend more time with you. He didn’t tell you he was coming home sooner so he could surprise you but when he comes in, he sees you scrolling on your phone, mid snack.

Normally he would be happy that you were remembering to take breaks to rest and eat, but standing there in the door frame of your living room, he feels like he can’t breathe. There you are sitting peacefully on the couch with a small glass bowl next to you, phone in one hand, fork in the other. Skewered on the fork is none other than a piece of green mango.

As you bring the fork to your mouth, you realize that your boyfriend is silently standing a few feet away from you.

“Oh my god, babe! Why are you just standing there? You scared me!” you complain.

Shocked by your sudden outburst, Chan’s broken out of his spiraling thoughts and brought back to the present moment.

“Sorry, I was zoning out.” Chan feebly explains as he makes his way to the couch.

“Why’re you home so early? I thought practice wasn’t supposed to end until later?”

“It was supposed to end later, but we hit a wall and nothing was getting done so Hoshi hyung let us leave early.” 

“Ahh, I see. I still have a little work left to do, so I’m gonna go finish that. I should be done soon and we can spend time together after.”

“Okay, I’ll be here. Don’t overwork yourself, it’s not good for you.” Chan says with a small smile on his face as you get up and make your way to your desk.

Once you leave, Chan can’t help but wonder why you didn’t say anything about being pregnant. Were you not planning on telling him yet? He did come home earlier than anticipated today. Maybe you were eating the mango because you thought he wouldn’t be here to see you.

Chan spends the next two hours obsessively googling about how to support your partner through pregnancy. After reading a bunch of different articles, Chan decides that he won’t bring up the pregnancy unless you do. You have the right to tell him whenever you feel comfortable, and he figures that maybe you’re still trying to come to terms with it yourself and he doesn’t want to add more pressure to that. 

A few minutes later, you return to the living room ready to spend time with your boyfriend after a long day.

“Hey babe.” Chan says when he sees you. “Do you need anything?”

“No, I’m fine. I just finished work so now we can make dinner together.”

“You want to make dinner? Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Chan asks, immediately worried that you could be overworking yourself.

“Okay I know I’m not as good at cooking as Mingyu, but my food isn’t that bad!” you whine, softly hitting Chan’s shoulder.

“Babe, that’s not what I meant.” Chan whines. “I just thought you’ve been working a lot lately and you should take a break. I’ll make dinner for us tonight, you should rest.”

“Ooookay.” you say, feeling suspicious as to what Chan’s doing.

“What do you want for dinner? Are you craving anything?” Chan asks.

“Hmm, not really. Why don’t you surprise me?”

“Okay, one surprise coming right up!” Chan exclaims dramatically as he saunters off into the kitchen, enticing a few giggles from you.

You couldn’t help but feel a little weird that Chan was being a bit too nice, but you decide to overlook it and enjoy your time alone on the couch. A little less than an hour later, your boyfriend returns to the living room announcing that dinner is ready.

Before you can get up to go to the kitchen to grab your plate, Chan places a plate of hot food in front of you.

“You made my favorite!” you exclaim as you toss your phone to the side to take the plate from Chan’s hands.

“I tried my best, but I don’t know if it tastes as good as when you make it.” he says sheepishly as he rubs the back of his neck.

“Well, it smells great and even if it does taste bad – which I doubt it does – I’ll still eat it since you made it for me.” you say with a reassuring smile on your face.

Taking a bite of the food in front of you, you can’t help it when your eyes widen at the taste.

“What? Does it not taste good?” Chan asks.

“Babe, it tastes really good. I love it.” you say with a bright smile as you continue eating.

“I’m glad.” Chan says softly. He couldn’t help but feel proud of himself.

The rest of the meal is filled with the two of you laughing at each other’s jokes and talking about your respective days. Before you know it, the plates in front of you are empty.

When you’re about to get up to do the dishes and clean the kitchen, Chan stops you.

“What’re you doing?” Chan asks you.

“I’m going to wash the dishes and clean the kitchen?” you say, confused as to why he finds this strange.

Normally when one of you cooks, the other person cleans. Since Chan cooked for the both of you today, it seemed obvious to you that you would be on clean up duty today.

“Let me clean, you sit and rest.” Chan says as he tries to take the plate from your hand.

“Rest from what, Chan? I’ve been sitting on this couch for the past 2 hours doing nothing but resting. What’s gotten into you today?” you ask as you firmly hold the plate in your hand, refusing to let him take it from you.

“I just thought you could use the extra rest, given your condition and all.” Chan says.

“‘Given my condition’? What’s that supposed to mean? I’m totally fine.” you say, slightly agitated.

Chan mentally facepalms himself. He told himself that he wouldn’t bring up the pregnancy unless you did and now here he was, bringing up the pregnancy.

“You know what, never mind.” Chan says, trying to brush it off.

You weren’t gonna let him off that easily.

“What do you mean never mind? You just insinuated that there’s something wrong with me and I need to rest, but now when I ask you about it you won’t say anything? What’s up with that?” you ask him.

“Well, I just didn’t want to pressure you into talking about it if you weren’t ready. I didn’t know if you wanted to share it with me or not.” Chan says.

“Pressure me into talking about what? Chan, you’re going to have to explain yourself a little more clearly because I’m completely lost.” you say, becoming less angry and more confused.

“The pregnancy!” Chan exclaims. “I know that you’re pregnant but I didn’t want to bring it up in case you didn’t want to talk about it yet. A bunch of articles online said not to bring it up unless you brought up the topic yourself and I didn’t want to pressure you into telling me you’re pregnant.”

There’s a few beats of silence as you try to process the words that just came out of your boyfriend’s mouth.

“Pregnant? Babe, I’m not pregnant. Who told you I’m pregnant?”

“Wait, you’re not pregnant?” Chan asks. Now it was his turn to be confused.

“No, and if I was pregnant, you would be the first person I would tell. I wouldn’t keep that from you. But why’d you think I’m pregnant?”

“I don’t wanna tell you, you’re gonna laugh at me.” Chan whines, hiding his face in his hands.

“Babe, I promise I won’t laugh at you. Can you please, please, please tell me why you thought I was pregnant? If you don't, I'm just gonna assume that you think I’ve gained weight.”

“No, it’s not that. It’s just,” Chan pauses and takes a deep breath, “you were eating a green mango when I got home earlier and I remember you telling me a few days ago that women crave sour foods when they’re pregnant so I just kinda assumed. Ugh, it sounds so stupid when I say it out loud.”

You can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of your chest. You were trying so hard not to laugh at your boyfriend, but you couldn’t help it. You just found it so funny that he would jump to conclusions like that.

“Hey, you said you wouldn’t laugh at me.” Chan whines as he lifts his face from his hands.

“I’m sorry, I just can’t help it. It’s a little funny, you have to admit.” you say as you lean closer to give him a comforting hug.

“Okay, maybe it is a little funny.” Chan says as he lets out a small giggle.

“See! You can’t blame me!” you say as you burst into another fit of giggles.

Once the two of you have finally calmed down, you’re both reminded of the small mess in front of you and the bigger mess in the kitchen.

“So, since I know you’re not pregnant, do you wanna clean the kitchen for me?” Chan asks.

“What happened to ‘I’ll clean, you should rest on the couch’?” you ask, teasing him.

“Fine, I guess since I offered, I’ll follow through. I am a man of my word.” Chan says, determination heavy in his voice.

“I’m just kidding, of course I’ll clean up.” you say.

“Fine, but at least let me help.” Chan says.

“If you want to help, I’m not gonna stop you.” you say as the two of you make your way into the kitchen.

When you get to the entryway of the kitchen, you can’t help but just stand there with your eyes wide.

“Lee Jung Chan! Look at the mess you made! I can’t believe you! You dirtied every dish in this house!” you exclaim as you scold him.

Chan silently wishes that he didn’t take up the offer to help you clean. The entire time the two of you spent cleaning the kitchen was filled with you nagging him about the mess he made. But he knows he wouldn’t have it any other way.