#but i wanna take my own spin on it before i read anyone else’s because i would hate to subconsciously draw inspo from other writers

[stillabovethecloudssomewhere]

Someday I’ll write my “kaveh has eleazar” fic but this is enough for now

[moonstruckme]

hello lovely girl!

this is quite specific so please bear with me, but i am deaf in my left ear so i constantly am hearing only half of conversations i am in and constantly pulling people to my right side or sitting across so i can fully hear them. in loud areas i refuse to wear my hearing aids because it’s honestly torture with how much louder everything gets and it’s quite overwhelming.

no pressure in the slightest because you probably receive at least 100 requests a day, but if this is your cup of tea, would you do poly!marauders or any marauder x fem!partiallydeaf!reader? maybe she’s just upset she can’t hear properly and feels like a burden? however you wanna spin this darling!! thanks for even reading it xxx

Hey gorgeous, thank you for requesting!

cw: alcohol

Sirius Black x hearing impaired!reader ♡ 912 words

Sirius is talking loudly, nearly shouting, but his fingers are soft and gentle against yours. He toys with your hand like it was made for his amusement, his rings brushing against your skin as he folds your fingers in, spreads them out, runs a short nail up the length of your pinkie as light as a breeze. He smooths his thumbs over your palm like he’s flattening out the creases in a piece of paper. 

“Why don’t you just go to a different grocery?” Lily is the only one who seems to find Pandora’s story more concerning than amusing. 

“Because,” Pandora says patiently, “if I stop going, who will feed the goose? I’m not sure if anyone else does. He seems rather neglected.” 

“He bit your hand!” 

“Which makes it seem like he was quite hungry, no?” 

Without warning, music blares into the room. It ricochets off the walls, rising over the cheers of your friends as they recognize the song. You wince, a hand finding your ear. 

Sirius’ hand leaves yours. He holds it out in front of you for you to put your hearing aid into. You do, and he stores it safely in his jacket pocket, getting up and moving to your right side automatically. 

“Okay?” he asks. 

“Yeah.” You smile at him. “Thanks.” 

He kisses you on the cheek, lips staying close to your ear. “Evans is worried about the goose being around children.” You turn your attention back to your friends, and you can see the gestures and expressions corresponding to Sirius’ account. “Rosier thinks it has a nest nearby. She’s, well, a bit unhappy that human children are taking priority. And James is back with our drinks.” 

The last part you could’ve ascertained on your own. James is carrying four cups in his two hands, seemingly unaware of the liquid sloshing out on all sides to coat his knuckles in stickiness. He peers into the cups concentratedly as he stops in front of you, passing one off to Remus before holding two more out to you and Sirius. 

“This one’s yours, babe.” He leans slightly to your right as he speaks. “No vodka, right?” 

You nod gratefully. You know James is Sirius’ best mate, but after you’d started dating it almost felt like he became yours, too. He treats you like he’s known you forever, includes you in all their conversations, and remembers things like how the taste of vodka makes you gag. He teases you like you’re best mates as well. 

“Wuss,” he says, plopping down in the spot Sirius vacated.

Sirius makes a dramatic gasping sound. “Excuse me! Darling, would you like me to defend your honor?” 

You take a sip of your drink. It’s sweet and made the way you like it. “Not this time,” you hum. 

“Fair enough.” He shoots James a faux glare, speaking to you. “Now Marl’s asking why Rosier goes to a grocery that far out of the city anyway. Good point.” 

Sirius uses his whispering as an excuse to get you close, working a hand around your shoulders and tugging you up against him so his breath warms your ear as he speaks. The conversation is interesting, as are the little comments and opinions Sirius peppers in, speaking to you as though you’re the only one in the room instead of to the group, but you find your mind nonetheless drifting away from it. Sirius’ hand is cupped around your shoulder, tightening every now and again to keep you in place when one of you shifts or his grip starts to slip. The cadence of his voice is enthralling, dipping and curving and getting enthusiastically louder before he remembers to drop it back to a hush, and occasionally on an odd word his lips will tickle the shell of your ear. 

It’s difficult to care what he’s talking about when the talking itself is so lovely. 

“Thanks for doing this.” You turn towards him, half startled to find his nose hardly an inch from yours. Your boyfriend’s lashes flutter momentarily as though it flusters him too, but he collects himself swiftly, quirking a dark brow. You wet your lips. “I appreciate the help. I know it’s not…it can’t be easy, accommodating me all the time.” 

Sirius grins at you. “Course it is, sweetness. It’s easy. I’m only translating.” 

“Well, you don’t have to,” you reply, voice softening self-consciously. “So thank you.” 

Dark eyes roll skybound before settling on you with an intensity that you should be used to but nonetheless pins you as effectively as it did the day you met. “You think I’d rather you use your hearing aid when it’s too much for you? Or leave you not knowing what’s going on? Don’t be silly, it doesn’t cost me anything to sit here and talk to you.” He stamps a kiss on your cheek. “Shocking as it may be, I like talking to you. Got it?” 

Your bashful hum must not be enough for him, because he gives your ear a nibble, a little squeak coming out of you before you can stop it. You both hear and feel Sirius’ laughter, bouncing through his chest as he pulls you closer against his side. “Oh, sod off!” he says to someone, you hope not you. He turns his mouth back towards your ear. “James has just made a ridiculous comment about PDA. The gall of him! Are you sure you don’t want me to defend our honor?”

[cevansbrat0007]

Sweet Tooth

Summary: Ari gets inventive when he finds himself in the doghouse with you. Be sure to check out the follow-up drabble, Sweet Tooth Deluxe!

Warnings: Smut, Mature Themes, Ari Being A Menace, Arch Nemesis', Dominant Ari, Aprons, Arguments, Oral Sex (fem rec mentioned), Spanking (mentioned), Pussy spanking (mentioned), Pet Names, Cursing, Violent Thoughts, Minors DNI

A/N: Written for @honeygngergemini. Part of my Sweet Renegades Series. Semi-proofread, not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!

Ari leans back in his chair, one long leg coming to rest atop his knee as he levels a hard look at Officer Milton Foster. He scrubs a tired hand over his face, his mind working overtime to process what the young man had just said.

“But that makes zero fucking sense.” He grumbles, groaning when he sees Milton just shake his head.

“Aye, man.” The dark-haired deputy  throws up his hands. “You asked me where I thought you went wrong and I told you.” He turns in his office chair to spare a quick glance at his computer. “Do not shoot the messenger.”

“No one’s being shot, alright? I just don’t get the logic behind any of the shit you just said.”

Couple that with the fact that you’d been icing him out for the past several days for reasons unbeknownst to him – which had left him in a god awful mood. He missed you. Your laugh, your warmth, your smile. 

All of it.

Not to mention that deliciously curvy body that had been keeping him warm at night. He really missed that. More than than anything he needed a fucking kiss.

But you were ignoring him. And Ari had discovered pretty quickly that he didn’t like any of it. Not one bit.

So, he’d turned to what he felt like was his only ally in this god-forsaken town: the newly minted sheriff’s deputy, Milton Foster.

“So you’re really trying to tell me that the reason my woman is pissed at me is because I ate Charline Marshall’s pecan pie at the town potluck, liked it, and asked for seconds.” Ari smooths an annoyed hand over his bearded face. Trying to understand Bell’s Creek’s local politics could really do a number on a person. 

“And don’t forget that she purposely dropped your lady’s bramble berry pie on the ground.” Milton does a quick spin in his chair. “She tried to pretend it was an accident, but most of us know better. Charline Marshall has eyes for you and I think she might be ready to make it known.”

“I’m pretty sure that I couldn’t even pick that woman out of a lineup.”  

Milton simply shrugs before taking another spin in his desk chair. “You’ve got a lot of admirers, Mr. Bounty Hunter. A man like you blows into town…well, you’re downright exotic. Every single red-blooded woman under 75 wants a taste.”

Ari visibly shudders before crossing his legs at the ankle. He didn’t want anyone else. This particularly surly Bounty Hunter wanted you. He only wanted to eat your food. Enjoy your sweets. Fall to his knees and devour the fuck out of your pretty little pussy.

“Hard pass, buddy.” Your lawman sighs. “I didn’t know shit about the pie incident. I mean, how could I when she was barely talking to me or anyone at that party?”

“Not saying it’s your fault, big guy. Logically, what would you have been able to do if she had told you?”

Ari looks up at him, his piercing blue gaze never once leaving the young deputy’s. “I would’ve taken her back to my place and spent the rest of the night making her feel better. I would’ve done everything in my power to take my girl’s mind off that petty shit.”

“Mmm.” Milton murmurs as understanding suddenly dawns. “I really don’t wanna get too deep in your business, but your lady is like a sister to me.” He leans back in his chair so that he can kick his feet up on his desk. “We used to play on the playground together as kids. And full disclosure, she used to beat my ass.” The deputy chuckles as he begins to recount all the way you used to be a tiny force of nature. 

“I…can see that.”

“Yeah. Yeah. Anyway, I think your original plan was a good one.” 

“Meaning?” Ari leans over to take a sip of his now cold coffee. It tasted like shit anyway, even when it was hot. In fact he longed for you, his BIrd, to make him one of your little caffeine-infused concoctions – preferably while wearing nothing but his shirt. 

So he could also take a bite out of that luscious ass while you refreshed his mug. After all, he was a man who prided himself on his ability to multitask. 

“Meaning, you need to find a way to distract her while making your point.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, you’re a smart fuckin’ guy who set his sights on someone who could easily be the most stubborn woman in the whole damned state.” A smirking Milton offers up a salute with his can of Dr. Pepper. “That’s for you to figure out. All I can do at this point is wish you luck.” 

“Thanks.” Ari grunts, wishing that he had a better idea of what to do with you.

Oh, rest assured that he’d figure it out. You were too important to him not to. He just hoped you’d find it in your heart to take it easy on him for his mistake. 

The Next Day

You wake up to the smell of cooking sausage wafting into your room. It makes you smile as you stretch your arms over your head. Your stomach growls in agreement, subtly reminding you that you’d neglected to make dinner last night. 

Oops. You hadn’t meant to forget, it had just happened. Normally you would end your night with speaking to your Beast of a Bounty Hunter, who always made sure you ate. But lately, you have been both mad at him and embarrassed.   

Because at a recent town potluck, Ari had eaten your rival’s pecan pie. Now, you weren’t children, but this had also been after she’d purposely sabotaged your own dessert by accidentally dropping it on the ground. 

Charline pretended that it had been a mistake. But the way you’d witnessed her laugh after the fact. And then she’d fed your man, reveling in every minute. You’d known her pecan pie was dry, but Ari had seemed to enjoy it. So much so that he’d asked for a second piece. 

Which was fine, except it had hurt your feelings. And you hadn’t been sure how to relay exactly relay that fact either. So you’d clamped down. You’d bottled up. 

And as a result, your poor, sweet man was suffering. Which meant you needed to apologize. But you weren’t quite sure how to go about it. As you sit up, you vow to yourself to give him a call today. As soon as you sat down and enjoyed your breakfast.

And then it occurs to you. You weren’t the one cooking. Which meant someone was in your house. 

You spring out of bed and grab your Louisville Slugger that you always kept nearby. Taking a deep breath, you quietly make your way down the stairs, your trusty bat poised to take a swing at whatever moron who’d chosen to take up residence in your kitchen.

Baring your teeth, you crest around the corner on bare feet, ready to make your presence known. 

“You gonna hit me, Bird?” Ari muses as he adds a dash of salt, followed by pepper to whatever it is he’s got cooking in the skillet. Your flippin' skillet. “Is that really how this ends? You take me out while I’m being kind enough to whip us up some breakfast?”

Momentarily flummoxed you find yourself lowering your weapon in favor of taking in the scene before you. This man – your Bounty Hunter – was currently standing in your kitchen clad in nothing but an apron. 

Your apron. And yet somehow it fit him better

“Wh–what are you doing?” You ask him, letting your baseball bat clatter to the floor at your feet. You wouldn’t need it. You were safe with this man, but only to a point. “And how’d you get in?” You hadn’t given him a key yet. 

That was supposed to be a present for later. 

“Eh.” Ari shrugs, flipping a pancake with surprising skill. “Maybe I saw my gift and swiped it after the potluck. Maybe you weren’t listening to me and I couldn’t get a read on you, so I had to be an asshole and make an executive decision.” He turns away from you to drop a finished pancake on a plate, giving you a fantastic view of his perfectly muscled ass.

“You mad?” 

“N-no.” You respond as you feel your thighs clench. God, how you wished that you’d come down here wearing pants. “I was actually planning to reach out to you today. Can I ask what you’re doing?” You shiver as you feel your thighs grow damp, your traitorous pussy working against you. 

You should be mad that your Beast had broken into your house. Instead you were happy to see him with a much deserved apology ready to fall from your lips. 

“Making you breakfast. Chocolate chip pancakes, eggs, and sausage.” He adds another delicious pancake to the stack. “I’m gonna feed you, and then I’m gonna fuck you, and make you rethink ever ignoring me again.” He purrs, the intoxicating rumble coming from somewhere deep in his chest. 

Fuck you were so wet it was almost embarrasing. 

“I’ve earned the rights to that tight little pussy, baby. And when I make a mistake like I did with that goddamned Charline, I want you to tell me.” Ari turns off the range, pulling the food off the heat and onto a plate.

“I’m sorry.” You murmur, both hating and loving the way your nipples pebble beneath the thin fabric of your oversized t-shirts. Actually, it was one of his. A detail he also seemed to notice. “How can I make it up to you?”

Ari studies you for a moment, his handsome face tilting to the side. And then your eyes stray to the sight of his impressive erection. You watch as one of his big hands reaches down to fist his hard cock, pumping it once. Twice. 

“You can start by going back upstairs. I want you naked, on all fours. I want to come up there and feast my eyes on your soaking wet cunt.” His heated gaze bores into your own, making your already drenched core spasm one more. “And you’d better be wet for me, otherwise I’m gonna spank it. And you.” 

“O-okay.” You find yourself taking a step back, your hand clutching at the wall. 

“I’m gonna eat it baby.” Ari growls, his voice filled with a mix of unbridled lust and determination. “I’m gonna make that pussy fucking cry. And you’re gonna fucking take it. You hear me?”

“Yes.” You whisper, resisting the urge to reach down as you stroke your eager fingers over your throbbing clit. “Yes, Sir.”

He takes a menacing step towards you, his body delighting in the way that you shiver. You’d been bad. Which means it was time to pay the price. And what better man to exact that payment than your own handsome, 6”4 Beast? 

“And then I’m gonna fuck you in front of that brand new mirror I bought you. I’m gonna show you who owns that beautiful body and remind you why it’s important to talk to me when you need me.” Another menacing step. “And then I’m gonna feed those delectable curves after I’ve had my fill.”

“And then…” He tilts his head from side to side, cracking his neck. “You’re gonna let me kiss it all better while I make love to you.”

“Y-yes, please.” Right now you were willing to give this man whatever he wanted. Whatever helped you atone for your supposed sins.

“There’s a good girl.” He intones as he unties the apron, leaving him naked and aroused in your simple kitchen. “Now run.”

END

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[jinkicake]

Hi

Flowers for you because you deserve 🤗

I wanna ask if you've already made a forced marriage with Deinslief?

I love reading your works ❤️

Forced / Arranged Marriage Trope

(pt. ??) Dainsleif x Reader

A/N: Hi, Anon!!!! You're too sweet </3333 Thank you for the flowers, they're so pretty TTTT I haven't written one of these for him yet but, I wrote it for you!!! I'm sorry that this took a while, I've been writing but never have the time to post!!! I love Dain so I hope you enjoy this!!!!

WC - 988

~~~

“Knight captain of the Royal Gaurd, Dainsleif.”

The announcement of your betrothal looks as if it means nothing to you. Dainsleif can read the judgment in your expression, he can see how displeased you are as you run your pretty eyes up and down his kneeled frame.

Oh, you have no idea what you do to him.

It seems that you have nothing else to say to him, to the one which you are going to be married to, or anyone else as you turn and head back for your room.

Before you leave out the door, you take a step back and gently spin on the tips of your toes to face the remaining audience in the room.

“He is who I am supposed to be married to? A knight?” You do not hide the judgment in your voice as you speak with a squeak.

“Part of the Royal Gaurd, your majesty,” One of your handmaidens answers and it does not satisfy you in the least. Your eyebrows shoot to your hairline as you manage to give her a tight-lipped smile.

You await their bows and curtsy before stepping out of the room, no doubt heading for your place of solitude. No matter how much you despise this alliance and wish to push the knight off, he knows you better than you think. Dainsleif knows why you push eligible bachelors away, one after another until the last they could pick from was him.

You value your independence more than anything else.

It’s also why he knows to find you at one of the more reserved fountains hidden away in the court’s garden. You’re all alone as you prefer to be, looking pitiful as ever while staring at your reflection in the rippling waves of the water.

The sounds of Dainsleif’s light steps gather your attention, a quick turn of your head but, you’re quickly back to running your gloved fingers against the surface of the water.

“I did not wish to insult you,” You quietly murmur and the knight takes it as the only apology he is going to receive from you tonight. He cherishes it.

“I understand,” Dainsleif stands beside you, his back toward you as he looks on at the hidden bushes of the garden. The shrubs are so tall that he can’t imagine anyone finding you here for hours, it’s clear why you prefer the spot so much.

“I do not have the desire to be a wife.” You confess and finally, allow your hand to scoop up some of the water. The substance completely drenches the material covering your palm but, it’s a sensation that does not bother you. You relish in the feeling of your hand in the water, it’s freeing and calm, you can choose to move however you wish. Dainsleif grants you silence as a sign to continue. “I am not devoted, not submissive in the least. I worry more about the country than I’ll ever worry for my future husband.”

Dainsleif’s jaw clicks with that as he quietly sighs, would you not care for your husband even if he were the one fighting for the country?

“That does not matter to me,” He replies and softly lets his eyes flutter shut. “I will let you keep the freedom that you desire.” At the lack of response, the knight opens his eyes and turns to face you. You’re staring at him, chin on your knees as you try to understand his perspective. He can tell you don’t understand an ounce of his harbored affections, one that has been buried for many years. The pout on your face signifies this, you look lost as you stare at the stars in his eyes.

Slowly, Dainsleif lowers himself onto one knee (fitting of a knight) and gently pulls your hand into his own. He takes his time with removing your glove and keeps his eyes trained on your face to see if your expression changes.

“I promise you will get everything you want, your highness,” He seals the promise with a kiss on the back of your hand, a gentle peck that makes you gasp. The sound is followed by a bodily reaction as you stiffen all over and immediately try to pull away.

“Why?” You ask and the quickened rise and fall of your chest does not go unnoticed by the knight. He keeps his trained eyes away from the sight. “Why do you wish to marry me?”

“Your happiness is always something I have cherished, if you trust no other man to make you happy then you must allow me.”

“Accept me.”

The expansion of your pupils tells the knight everything he needs to know, followed by the shallow intake of your breath. He forces himself to withstand his feelings of desire and tries to think of anything else than sealing the plead with a proper kiss.

You blink at his words, parting your lips to speak but no words come out. As you look down at him and run your eyes over him one more time, you begin to nod.

“Alright, only because you have properly protected me for so long.” You announce before bringing your hand to gently cup his cheek. Dainsleif has known you since he got the position assigned to you, over five years ago before either of you broke the yolk of adolescence. “And, because I know you will be a good husband.”

The softness swimming in your eyes nearly makes the knight’s heart stop. His breath hitches in his chest as he tries to mask the effect you have on him. The task is entirely hard to do now since you’re finally reciprocating his feelings.

Dainsleif will personally see to your utmost safety until the day he no longer roams this earth.

((Perhaps that vow is why his lasting immortality stings that much harder since he ends up living much, much longer than you do.))

[inkblackorchid]

What the hell happened with Crow: an autopsy (Part 1)

*deep breath* Hiiiiiiii.

After sitting on this for ages, I finally decided to make the Crow post. And because this ended up getting stupidly long, I decided to turn this into part one of two, maybe three, we'll see (which I honestly should have done with the Aki posts too, but oh well). So let me quickly make it clear what I'm about here: This analysis is not meant to convince people who hate Crow to change their mind. It is also not meant to dissuade people who love Crow from doing so. Instead, I wanna look at how Crow was handled during the show (up until the end of the DS arc for now, I'll dive into the rest later) and give my own take on why he developed the way he did and turned into such a polarising character. Also, disclaimer, despite the fact that I'll be making an effort to analyse things objectively, I am a mere human and obviously not the one and only expert on all things 5Ds. My only claim to knowledge here is that I've watched 5Ds several times now, love the show and its characters deeply, and like to think I have a decent amount of media literacy. Also, I take no responsibility for the length of this post. Despite me splitting things up, it's stupidly, exhaustingly long. Like, very, very long. So. Let's hop to it, shall we?

Before I get into the meat of things, there's one more thing I would like to get out of the way: I know plenty of people, even now, so long after the show ended, would answer the question of "what happened with Crow, anyway" with something along the lines of "well Blackwings got so popular" or "well Aki's VA got pregnant so Crow stole her spotlight" and I need to burst some people's bubbles here because no. Neither of these things are true. Nor is the infamous "well Crow was meant to be the main villain", actually! And I could go into all of that here, but that would be a whole post of its own for each topic, and luckily, someone else has already done all of that work. I direct you to two posts over on Reddit from @mbg159, who did an absurd amount of digging to comprehensively disprove two of the 5Ds fandom's favourite scapegoat theories:

No, Crow was not meant to be a dark signer, and most certainly not the boss of the dark signers.

No, Aki being sidelined and suddenly having less presence in the narrative than him was not because her VA got pregnant.

I really don't want this to come off as an "assigned reading"-thing, but it is so, so important to keep these things in mind when looking at Crow, and honestly? I'm just tired of these rumours at this point. It's been 12 years since the show ended, we don't need to keep believing this nonsense. And the posts linked above aren't crackpot theories or anything of the sort—they provide sources all over and all of the links still work. If you still can't be bothered to read them (they are long, yes), then at least take away this tl;dr: Crow allegedly having been planned as a villain doesn't work because there is no evidence that supports it, and both his spike in screentime being caused by the Blackwings' popularity and him "taking Aki's spot" because her VA got pregnant make zero sense because they simply don't match up with the production timeline of the show. It is literally impossible for either of these things to be true. (And believe me, I am as mad as anyone that Aki got shafted, maybe even madder than the average fan, but if it doesn't add up, it simply doesn't add up and there were no regrettable outside influences, someone just actively made shitty writing decisions and that's that.) So please. It has been 12 years. Forget this stuff. Ditch it. Let it die. Because I'm not here to spin conspiracy theories, I'm here to analyse the writing of the show as best I'm able. Okay? Okay.

Now, for the good part. Shall we start with some facts? Let's start with some facts.

Crow is introduced to the audience in episode 30, shortly after the dark signers arc kicks off. And considering that he later ends up as one of the main characters, arguably even the third most important character in the show after Yusei and Jack, this immediately stands out. For reference, the rest of the signer group is introduced within the first 14 episodes of the show. Even Aki, who is the last signer to be introduced, takes less than half the number of episodes Crow does to finally make her debut. And I don't think you could blame anyone for finding this weird. 30 episodes, even in a show with a relatively short episode length like 5Ds, is an absurd amount of time for a protagonist to get introduced. As for how he's introduced to us...

We get the gist of his character pretty quickly. He's a daredevil, he's used to flipping sector security the bird (pun not intended), he's got a soft spot for kids, and he knows Yusei well—well enough for the two of them to tag-duel some security officers almost immediately after not seeing each other for an undefined amount of time, which, if you know anything about yugioh, says it all.

(Pictured: two lads getting up to Shenanigans.)

There is history there. These two know each other's decks. They know how each the other plays. They can work together immediately and seamlessly. This is a big deal. Aaaaannd... It immediately begs some questions: If this guy knows Yusei so well, and they are really close friends, why the hell is he only showing up now? Why wasn't he helping Yusei put together his duel runner? Why didn't he help him stick it to sector security at the start? Why weren't they in contact?

The thing is, the show never really answers any of that. At least not properly. We can only read between the lines as to why Crow wasn't with Yusei from the start. (At least in-universe. Irl, it's easy enough to guess that Crow was not there at the start of the show because the writers at first didn't think they'd be putting this side character Takahashi originally came up with into the show.) Which brings me to the Enforcers. (Side note: As a sub watcher, I know the Japanese name is Team Satisfaction and I know Kiryu's catchphrase works a million times better with that name, but "Team Satisfaction" will always sound like a boyband name to me and I like to mix and match the sub and dub names based on what I like better on an individual basis anyway, please bear with me.) And before I properly open that can of worms, I feel the need to point something out: After Crow made his debut in episode 30 and got the opportunity to show off his duelling a bit during episodes 30-31, we are immediately introduced to Kiryu/Kalin at the end of episode 32. What this means for Crow is that he has zero backstory at this point and his character had zero time to settle. His only tie to the main story, as far as the audience is concerned, is that he's Yusei's friend from however long ago, and aside from that, he's only got two other things going to endear him to viewers: 1. he stands up to sector security (whom the first season did a pretty good job of establishing as pigs) and 2. he cares for abandoned children. He gets a "Save the Cat" moment and a tie to the main character, and that's it. Just to put that into perspective, we know the most important points of all the other signers' backstories by that point. Jack and Yusei's deal is made obvious to us within the first five episodes; the twins, though the narrative largely only spares them breadcrumbs, anyway, at least have that bit about Ruka/Luna having been in a coma at one point and having a connection to the spirit world shown during episodes 18-19; and though it once again takes Aki the longest to reveal what she's all about, we at least have a good idea of why she is the way she is by episode 24, and we get the icing on the cake of her traumatic past during the narratively excellent duel in episodes 40-41 (no, I will never shut up about how much I love this duel). Plus, she arguably has the most complicated backstory, so it's no surprise that it takes longer to reveal. But here's where the Enforcers come in again.

(And here we see the arguably most deranged rat bastard of a man (affectionate) in the entire show. But hey, at least he has an exquisite sense for dramatics.)

As far as backstory for Crow is concerned, the Enforcers drama initially revealed during episodes 33-35 is as much as we get for him after his introduction. His later duel with dark signer!Bommer/Greiger during episodes 51-53 offers a bit more, but more on that later. First, I want to preface this by saying that I don't think it was a coincidence that Crow and Kiryu/Kalin were introduced so shortly after one another. Because at this point in the story, I think Crow's main role is to add a counterweight to Kiryu/Kalin. To Crow, whatever happened with the Enforcers was evidently not enough to break the friendship between him and Yusei—they're still close and get along well. And then we have Kiryu/Kalin—for him, whatever happened with the Enforcers was a big deal and he's more than a little resentful about it, to the point of wanting to murder Yusei in revenge. (It is also noteworthy that this is the first thing that ever calls Yusei's character into question, because here is a guy who evidently knew him well once and absolutely loathes him, and it's clearly not because of his Satellite upbringing, his marker, or any of the stuff the other antagonists up until this point hated him for. Yusei fucked something up here. Big time. But let's not get sidetracked.) So, what does the Enforcer drama tell us about Crow, anyway? Frankly, not much. We learn two things: One, same as Yusei and Jack, Crow was all for the "liberating Satellite"-thing at first. Two (and this one's way spicier), unlike Yusei, he had the guts to ditch Kiryu/Kalin when it became clear he was willing to go too far. He was even the first to do it. (And I'd argue that if Crow hadn't walked away, Jack wouldn't have, either, but the relationship between these two is a whole other funky can of worms.)

(I love how Yusei grabs him like a naughty cat every time Crow gets worked up.)

The thing is, I wish I could say this tells us something integral to Crow's character, but looking at the rest of the show... it kind of doesn't. Implicitly, it shows us that he draws the line somewhere, and where people he loves doing absolutely insane things is concerned, he does it sooner than Yusei. It's just that this is never brought up again. And as far as his introduction is concerned, this, the first dark signer!Kiryu/Kalin duel, and him rushing to get Yusei to Martha's on his runner is the last we see of Crow for a while.

(For the love of all that's good and holy, why on earth did he deposit Yusei on his runner like that, shrapnel-stab-wound-side down?? Did he pull out the biggest piece of shrapnel before doing this? How did Yusei's legs not drag on the asphalt? Why did nobody think to tie something around his stomach to slow down the bleeding? Ok I need to calm down I'm overthinking this)

After this bit, the signers are pulled centre stage for a while—which was to be expected, for one, and also seems like the right call, writing-wise. After all, they're the ones the audience expects to save the day. As far as viewers are concerned at this point, Crow is just Some Dude who happens to be good friends with Yusei. We've had characters like this before. Hell, the opening episode of 5Ds introduced us to a whole four of them, and for all we know, Crow could have a first been intended to be precisely that, just another Satellite side character, who just so happens to have ties to the Enforcers-debacle that the others don't.

However. Where the writing for Crow as a character, especially considering where he ends up later, is concerned, this looks like less of a smart move. Because the "set-up" (if you can even call it that) to make Crow a protagonist later is... shaky, to say the least. And I'll be frank with you, I'm pretty sure this is because Crow was intended to be neither a dark signer nor a signer (which the Reddit post about him I linked above also proposes). In other words, it was never meant to be set-up in the first place. Considering how the show developed and turned him into a protagonist later, though, I can't help but wonder how Crow could have been written differently to make him actually slot in well with the rest of the signers without stepping on many people's toes. But before we dive into hypotheticals, let's continue looking at what they did with him first.

We see him between episodes 30 and 35, and then he briefly poofs out of existence until episodes 43-44 where he... mistakes Yaeger/Lazar for a dark signer and has a duel with no outcome against him, which only barely serves to keep him relevant.

(The face of a dark mastermind, servant of an ancient, immeasurable evil. Truly.)

Though him outmanoeuvring the vice director despite all the data he has on him shows him to be a cunning duellist, it feels a bit like a throwaway episode, like the show saying "oh yeah wait don't forget that this guy's also there". Crow exists in the narrative—and gets to duel, which sets him apart from Yusei's other Satellite friends—but he does nothing to advance the plot, despite getting whole episode segments dedicated solely to what he's currently getting up to. He's just kind of there, and it doesn't help to set up any of what comes later, except the idea that he can and will fight a dark signer if he finds one, maybe. But the thing is, Crow vanishes after this duel. Literally.

(Run, bird boy, run! Or, uh... drive?)

And look. The way this moment looks? With the black fog literally catching back up to Crow on-screen? And with what he says, swearing that he won't die here, which is strikingly similar to how the other dark signers refused to die, swearing themselves to revenge instead? I get why people thought this would be the moment Crow died and turned into a dark signer himself. But the thing is, even without all the hints pointing to Goodwin instead of him from the start (Goodwin speaks about being willing to sacrifice Satellite within the first ten episodes, the condor is literally on his shirt, ffs, and the corresponding geoglyph is shown in the background when he talks about the Nazca Lines, I am not making this up), Crow becoming a dark signer makes zero sense because it doesn't fit his character. He has no motivation to become a dark signer, because the dark signers ultimately aim to destroy Satellite. And even with what little the audience knows about Crow at this point, it is crystal clear that Crow would never destroy Satellite, not to speak of sacrificing the children he cares for to summon an Earthbound Immortal. It simply doesn't work, because his character doesn't work like that. Crow is deeply protective of Satellite—as his devotion to making it better during the Enforcer days shows—and he is even more fiercely protective of the kids he takes care of. Destroying either or both to turn the world into a literal hellscape instead goes against everything we've seen him say and do up until this point.

However, this is where we have to address the refrigerator in the room.

(Ah yes. The fridge for Crow. The fridge for Crow that was there from the start. The fridge that Crow totally had the time to curl up and hide inside of. The fridge specifically for Crow. Crow's fridge.)

Every time I watch this moment, I don't know whether to laugh like a maniac or heave the biggest sigh of my life. Even when you're being extremely generous with the show and its writing, there is no getting around the fact that this is as though someone wrote DEUS EX MACHINA all across the screen in bold, red letters. And again, I get why people thought this was the moment where the writers decided to do a 180 and turn Crow into a good guy instead of a dark signer due to the popularity of his cards or whatever. The production timeline still doesn't add up, but I get it. And cards or no cards, you can tell that someone made an out-of-left-field decision in Crow's writing for this moment to exist, because the way things were going for him before, purely based on visual evidence, it looked more like he was going to be another victim of the ominous black fog here, for someone (presumably Yusei) to have an angsty moment about later. (Or, hell, perhaps somewhere around this point, they decided that the final boss duel against Rex Goodwin would be a 3v1 turbo duel, which Aki, despite being a kickass duellist, categorically couldn't participate in because she doesn't have a license at this point! It could have been as simple as that.) To contextualise this, between Crow vanishing and him reappearing here, 7 whole episodes pass. He vanishes in episode 44 and reappears in episode 51. His saving grace is that all the duels in between canonically take place within the same night, which is why it's technically not unrealistic for him to be stuck in a fridge for a few hours. Technically. Ok, but what does he reappear for? Well, to have his very own dark signer duel, of course.

(Not pictured: Bommer's hilariously large runner.)

This is the first time we get to see Crow actively contributing to the larger plot, and in light of where he ends up later, I think this duel does a world of good for him. Firstly, it offers us more backstory (though still less than for the other signers), establishing why Crow's so attached to his orphans, why he's so close to Yusei, and throwing in tidbits like how he learned to read from duel monsters cards. It's "Save the Cat" moments all over, and it also does two other things well: For one, this is the only dark signer duel we get where both parties technically have the exact same goal—revenge. Bommer wants to avenge his hometown, Crow his kids. This duel, more than anything else, shows us that Crow could have become a dark signer—in a world where doing so didn't also mean destroying Satellite and killing his kids. Plus, it's the only duel against a dark signer we get that is fought and won by someone who, at this point, is not a signer. And this is especially important to me because it supports themes the show already began establishing with Rudger/Roman Goodwin and continues much later with Team Ragnarok and the likes: Fate is bullshit, the future is not set in stone, it is determined by what we do here and now and we have to fight to make it better. Therefore, contrary to what "fate" would dictate, Bommer/Greiger is not beaten by a signer. He's beaten by Crow. This is an extremely solid bit of writing that 100% supports the show's themes. (Arguably, this duel might have been even more solid if Crow hadn't actually turned into a signer, because him as a non-signer who stayed a non-signer would have been an even bigger "fuck you" to fate than him becoming the replacement fifth signer later.)

And, well, we know where Crow ends up after that. Seeing as he's been freed from fridge-prison and seeing as Aki doesn't have a runner yet, but the final boss duel is set up as a turbo duel, he joins the fray next to Yusei and Jack to fight Rex Goodwin. And the only thing this duel does for Crow character-wise is bring the whole Daedalus Bridge story full circle.

Which. Let me swing back to that for a second and put on my extra big nerd glasses because wouldn't you know it, I'm a greek mythology nerd and when I hear the name "Daedalus", I perk up like a dog that just spotted a piece of ham.

(Pictured: The least OSHA compliant bridge in the world, probably.)

So. As not to derail this with greek mythology, the short version of the Daedalus myth, as far as it's relevant here, for people who don't know it: Daedalus was a famed architect of Crete, who (among other things) built the labyrinth that kept the Minotaur imprisoned. What he also built was a pair of functional, sort-of mechanical wings held together by wax (because he needed to make a quick getaway at some point, but let's not go there). And he had a son: Icarus. Who famously donned the wings his father built and flew too close to the sun, which made the wax holding the wings together melt, causing him to fall into the sea and die, leaving his father to grieve.

I don't think it's hard to see how the Daedalus-Icarus story connects to the bridge. The Daedalus bridge is named after the genius inventor, reaches into the sky towards the sun, and our mechanical wings in this case are the wings attached first to Rex Goodwin's duel runner and then, you guessed it, the Blackbird. This would lead us to liken Rex Goodwin, of all people, to Icarus, then. And I'd argue the comparison works, too. See, the reason for which Goodwin actually built the bridge at first is left completely up in the air. We know that Crow believes a version wherein the "legendary duellist" wanted to build that bridge to reunite Satellite and the city—and the thing is, for all we know, that might be true. Goodwin never contradicts it, he only claims he was doing it to "oppose destiny" (read: follow Rudger/Roman's plan to take his brother's mark, assemble the signers and fight and win against the dark signers instead of having someone bear both a dark signer and a signer mark on themselves).

(Since when does becoming a dark signer make people swole, anyway? Where was that beef when Kiryu became a dark signer?)

Perhaps along the way, he thought he might as well reunite Satellite with the city, since things were already going to hell there. (Before he became director, which I find very interesting. Did the city decide immediately after the explosion that Satellite was contaminated and needed to be isolated or some such? Were efforts made to reunite city people with their relatives who might now have been stranded in Satellite? Did MIDS, hoping to cover up their mistake, lobby for cutting the Satellite off from the city? Was corruption involved? So many questions...) Or perhaps he simply built the bridge for himself, to get back to civilisation in order to follow his brother's plan and everyone else just interpreted it differently. It matters little—the only thing that matters is how Crow sees it. To him, building the bridge was obviously an attempt to reach the city, despite how hopeless things in Satellite seemed, and Goodwin's final ditch effort to jump off the bridge and "fly" on his duel runner was an act of defiance that turned him into a legend. Most importantly, both these things connect to freedom for Crow. Freedom from the misery in Satellite, freedom from sector security, and arguably, freedom from destiny. But then Goodwin tells him that all building the Daedalus Bridge and jumping off it did for him was teach him that destiny is inevitable. And Crow calls bullshit, because of course he does.

And I'd argue this is even more of a reason why Goodwin works as Icarus: He jumped off the bridge (flew too close to the sun), fell and lost his arm (the wax melted and he crashed into the sea), and ultimately, that fall completely changed his outlook on life and turned him from a (possible) hero into a villain (he "died", metaphorically speaking). This led to him now confronting every hopeful, younger person with the outlook that fate cannot be altered unless you're willing to sacrifice your very humanity itself. And there's Crow, a non-signer partaking in a "destined battle" only signers are supposed to be part of, calling bullshit on all of that merely by breathing.

(Bird boy is angry, watch out)

This moment could have been exemplary to emphasising the show's later themes (and I think to those who love Crow, it is), yet, at the same time, I understand why some people think the writers fumbled the ball with his introduction and role in the plot and cast of characters too much for it to hit as well as it could have. There is also the argument to be considered that the whole Daedalus Bridge-thing, though it might thematically fit Satellite, feels like it could have been written in solely to prop up Crow's character and give him something to clash with Goodwin about. Which, you know. I can't refute that, really. It might have been. And the timeline on Goodwin's shenanigans as the legendary duellist is a bit wonky, too, unfortunately—after all, we know only that the Zero Reverse happened 17 years before the show's start, when Yusei is only a year old. Crow's story would then lead us to believe that Goodwin, after somehow surviving that explosion, stayed in Satellite long enough to see it start turning into a floating heap of junk. (Which means this either happened very quickly or it took him a good few years to start building the bridge; both options have some logisitical issues.) Then he builds the bridge, gets cornered by security, jumps off, and... Then what? He looses his arm (but somehow manages to hold onto his brother's??), somehow makes it over to the city anyway (wow, he must be a great swimmer), then... manages to get hired by the public maintenance bureau somehow, only to climb the ranks at record speed and become director within only a few years? (Or did he meet Iliaster first and they somehow helped him climb to the city's political top?) It's all rather nebulous, and does suggest that Goodwin was not originally written with this bit as part of his backstory in mind. But can I prove that? Nope. Might also just be another instance of the writers fumbling the ball, despite having a solid story outline.

At the end of the day, Crow closes out the dark signers arc by establishing himself as a part of our team of heroes—which is, of course, strongly emphasised by him receiving the dragon's tail mark, while the dragon's head switches over to Yusei.

(The Crimson Dragon, probably: Oh, sod it. Fine, the other guy went batshit and you actually helped. Here's your mark. I'll get you a dragon later or whatever.)

Now, I know this in and of itself was already a polarising moment for people—and the funny thing is, I know that even some people who like Crow hated this moment. And I can see why. Crow's whole thing during the latter half of the DS arc up until here was that he was the only one taking part in the destined battle who was decidedly not destined to be a part of it. He was repeatedly spitting in fate's face, and as I mentioned, this could have been brilliant to throw some weight behind themes the show later brings up again. So in terms of character writing, this moment might have undermined Crow's character, rather than supported it, because it feels like less of a reward and more of a "gotcha": If you're extra uncharitable, Crow suddenly isn't the guy who defied fate and fought for the future (does that ring a bell?) anyway, he's the guy who was supposed to become a chosen one anyway and, like Yusei during the start of the Fortune Cup, simply didn't have a visible mark yet. However. There is also the bigger picture to consider. Character writing aside, Rudger/Roman Goodwin dying would have had a rather sizeable impact on the story, had nobody else become a signer in his stead—because there are supposed to be five signers and Rudger/Roman dying would have seen the group short one chosen one (and short one dragon, but we'll get to THAT can of worms in part two). So, to add my two cents for a minute, I don't think adding a new signer was a bad idea, per se. The execution of this move, however...

And I can hear you yelling. "Rua/Leo should have become a signer instead". And yes. I get that, too. And yes, I know Life Stream Dragon was teased before Black-Winged Dragon was ever conceived of, probably. So yes, Rua/Leo should have become a signer earlier. The question is just where. Because the way this final boss duel is set up, nobody could become an additional signer before this point, it would have turned Rex Goodwin's whole shindig on its head. (Even though the duel against Dimak/Devack could have been a good opportunity to reward Rua with a signer mark early.) Arguably, making Rua a signer instead but letting Crow join the main cast anyway could have made for a stronger showing overall. It would have made the twins harder to sideline the way they were later. And it would have kept Crow's "piss on fate"-theme.

But. This is what we got. Crow got a fast-paced introduction, was quickly made as likeable as possible, had an unfortunate stretch of episodes where he vanished very suspiciously (what I wouldn't give to know what decisions were made among the writers in that period), came back to make a very strong showing against Bommer/Greiger and then participate in the final boss duel against Rex Goodwin, where he got to shove his fate-nonsense back in his face, too. A smooth character arc? Hardly. And with everything laid out like this, I get why he rubbed some people the wrong way. Similarly, I get why he's some people's absolute favourite, though. Both sides have a basis in canon. (But please, let's not justify either with decade-old production conspiracy theories, okay?)

To close this out, allow me to do my thing for a moment and imagine a 5Ds canon where Crow was handled in a way that allowed his character to shine more, and maybe not piss as many people off.

Imagine a Crow who was there with Yusei from the start, alongside Nerve, Blitz, Taka, and Rally. A Crow who was, maybe, angrier at Jack for leaving and stealing Stardust than Yusei was, and who was determined to help his friend get his dragon back. A Crow who still had his kids to look after, and who introduced us to the Daedalus Bridge legend way earlier, to establish it as an organic part of Satellite culture, and who maybe drops hints about the Enforcers earlier, too. And we switch back to him every once in a while as the Fortune Cup is going on. Maybe he's the only one who's slippery enough to outrun Yaeger/Lazar's people when they come to capture Yusei's friends in order to use them as blackmail against him. And he starts looking for them, and runs into Saiga/Blister, and learns what's going on over in the city. Maybe he tries to follow Yusei because all of it rings alarm bells for him, maybe he doesn't because he figures security will be too tight now that Yusei has escaped. Instead of them stumbling out of a container to find TV conveniently playing the Fortune Cup Finale, Yusei's friends are found by Crow, who gets them back to the hideout, where they all catch the finale with Saiga/Blister. (Optional: If we want him to stay a signer, maybe he gets a weird feeling while watching the finale.) Then Yusei's suddenly back and Kiryu/Kalin's introduction proceeds as we know it. Yusei's injured, but Crow sticks around for a little longer, leaving only once he knows Yusei's gonna be fine. Then he decides that he needs to take up arms against the dark signers, too, because like hell is he gonna let anyone destroy Satellite and sacrifice his kids. He can still duel Yeager/Lazar while Aki and Yusei are duking it out in the hospital and the signers learn what the hell being a signer means, it matters little. Maybe this time, he outruns the black fog—barely—and there's no fridge. And he realises that stuff makes people vanish. While the signers start their big battle, he races back to check on the kids and finds the same disaster we already know, and everything else from there on out proceeds as previously. (Except that maybe, the first time Crow sees Jack again, he has some choice words for him for legging it to the city and stealing from Yusei.) Whether he turns into a signer at the end or not is up to preference, I think.

Nobody has to be on board with this version, but this is probably how I would have adjusted it to make things less jarring.

For now, see you in part two.

[desswright29]

Dess! Can I ask you something? I’m new to dating women. I just went through a situationship with this girl I really liked. We didn’t intend to date seriously bc she was moving to Atlanta and I live in FL and she doesn’t want long distance. So we just decided to enjoy our time that we had together. But while we were dating she starts bringing up how she was still in love with her ex and it just kept becoming a problem. She decided to break things off with me bc she didn’t think it was fair to me that her heart was in it for someone else while I was solely focused on her. So yea I let it go. I was kind of upset cuz we still had some months before she would move and I really just wanted to spend it with her but we stopped talking. I feel like she love bombed me and discarded me when she was no longer interested in giving me attention.

But After she moved she calls me and confessed that she misses me and wants to be friends. I was hesitant cuz I never lost my feelings for her and it would be hard for me to just see her only as a friend, but after a while she convinced me. So I move along talking to her normally and casually as friends. But then she starts again love bombing me. she would call me and text me every single day all throughout the day. Stay up all night to talk to me. Be super over protective of my whereabouts and getting home at a decent hour and not being in the streets late at night. She would ask me if I was celibate, and told me I should be abstinent from having sex, and that she would do the same and we could do it together. She would be on the phone with me late at night having that sexy pillow talk voice telling me she was horny and wanted me to come visit her. That she missed having sex with me and only wanted me. She didn’t wanna sleep with anyone new. Just all this sexual stuff and low key flirting and being a bit possessive.

And so my feelings were already involved but I suppressed them cuz she was very adamant about only being friends. But now since she’s blurring the lines I felt like maybe she wanted more. But after being on the phone at night talking all that shit, the next day she would act like the conversation never happened and go right back to calling me her friend and laying out her boundaries anytime I would try to flirt with her again. It’s like she’s the only one allowed to flirt or express her feelings, but anytime I do she shuts me down and calls me her friend. She says she just flirts for her own amusement and she’s actually just afraid of commitment and doesn’t want a relationship or to be attached to me like that.

I told her I don’t like being played with like that. And she said she would just leave me alone. I don’t want her to leave me alone completely because I agreed to be friends and we were doing fine before all this. She just needs to stop provoking me. So I told her it was upsetting me and I’m not interested in being her friends with benefits, or her trying to spin the block just to smash and thinking it’s ok to friendzone me again afterwards. I told her I have real feelings for her and the fact that she’s playing with me is hurting my feelings. I said you either like me or you don’t, you want to be friends or you want more, I’m fine with either one but stop with the back and forth bc it’s confusing me. I sent her that in a text and told her how I felt. And she ignored me and left me on read.

WTF am I supposed to do with that? The last thing she said to me was that she would leave me alone… all bc I didn’t want her playing games with my emotions. I thought I made it clear that we can be friends if she would just stick to the boundaries that SHE proposed and just treat me like a friend and stop flirting. Why would she take that as let’s just go our separate ways. Now I’m even more confused bc I don’t think I said anything wrong or was asking for anything she can’t do. She’s the one who wanted friendship in the first place. I left her alone months ago! And she came back to me. I let her in again and this is what she does. She love bombed me and discarded me AGAIN! Now I feel like we broke up all over again. And I can’t stop thinking about her. I really wish we could have just continued as more than friends but I’m not tryna be her fuck buddy. I wanted more than sex from her. Idk what to do. Should I reach out again and see why she ignored my text and ask to talk things through. Or should I just forget about her, cuz she obviously only cares about herself and what she wants? I’m confused bc I actually love her and it kills me not speaking with her, but she’s so toxic and selfish.

You need to leave her ass alone. Both as a friend, and intimately. It sounds like she enjoys toying with you when she gets bored for real.

[yxstxrdrxxm]

AHHH I CAN’T BELIEVE IT’S OVER :(( i’ve been following along since the beginning and truly believe that you did such an amazing job with this event. i’ve never seen a matchup event with so much lore and secrets to uncover and it was so fun reading every piece that you wrote and seeing everyone’s theories that came out of it!

as for everyone’s fics, i love how you didn’t try to sugarcoat anything and that you weren’t afraid to kill anyone off in their own fics i found that this is also what made your event so unique since most matchups would give them their match and a happy ending. these fics terrified me ngl BUT IN A GOOD WAY LIKE THEY REALLY HAD ME ON THE EDGE OF MY SEAT I WAS SCARED FOR THE PEOPLE THAT RECEIVED THOSE MATCHES.

oof this is getting lengthy but one final thing i wanna say is thank you so so much for hosting such a fun event and fighting through burnout to get everything out for us, we all appreciate the hard work you put into this!!! get some well deserved rest and i can’t wait to see what the next event you have planned will be ☺️

YEAH IT TRULY IS OVER NOW... I STILL CAN'T BELIEVE THE MAIN STORY IS DONE OTL

Anyways, thank you so much for the compliments on my event! I enjoyed the lore and world building of it too much and wanted to bring a different flavor to the matchup aspect (hence the renting a boyfriend that's actually a human trafficking operation and the black company allegations), and I enjoyed seeing that you and the others had a ton of fun reading through the fics available last week + the lore tidbits.

HELP THE ONE PART ABOUT YOU SAYING THAT WITH ME KILLING PEOPLE OFF IN THEIR FICS HELPPP

Listen, okay, listen. I love me a good fluff matchup drabble fic okay. I love it. However, if we're talking yanderes, me killing some people is highly smth you'd expect esp from yans that... Don't like you LMAO

(and tbh I was also thinking of writing urs because it's such an interesting spin I wanted to take, it even had a POLL and everything but No. NO. one man took my motivation and RAN with it, I'm going to fucking kick his ass.)

Anyways I wanna say thank you as well for joining and being really patient with me when I gone through this event ;v; I really wished I could write yours and everyone else's to complete the roster, but writer's block + life stuff + burnout came to kick my ass LMAOOOOO

(I'm going to take the week off to rest and rejuvenate, but never fear, I'm also planning on the fics I want to focus. Some won't be as bad because it's more lore before I go down the story explained route so HAISHSIS HOPEFULLY YOU'LL BE ABLE TO SEE YOURS AND TELL ME IF I NAILED BOTH TIGHNARI AND CYNO)

[miekasa]

mie.. i’m going into another eren phase.. so can you pls tell me your fav boyfie eren hcs…

Yeah, why not. I have so many random ones because he is my boyfriend <333 so here you gp

sfw

Eren doesn't actually work out all that often. He’s always been athletic, so his exercise comes in the form of playing sports, but he doesn’t really go to the gym outside of playing/practice.

Loves cake pops, more often than not “treats himself” to one after an exam or assignment, or whenever he feels like it lmfao. He basically eats it all in one bite, keeps the stick in his mouth to fidget with until he finds a trashcan. 

Likes seeing you in his hoodies because, well, it’s his hoodie on you; but mostly because of the size of the actual hood on you. He thinks it’s so funny but also pretty cute how the hood alone swallows you up. 

Grocery shopping with you is one of his favorite activities. He rarely goes by himself—if not with you, then with Mikasa or Armin—and all he really does is follow you around the store and occasionally put some stuff in the cart, but he still loves it. He likes running and then jumping on the cart like it’s a scooter. 

No matter how many makeup tutorials he watches, or how many times he watches you do your own makeup, he doesn’t really understand how it works lmfao. He likes watching it, and he thinks you look pretty if wearing makeup is your thing, but he baffles him how a little tube of concealer brightens your under eye.

Speaking of which, he sits criss cross applesauce either on your bed or on the toilet if you’re in the bathroom, while he watches you do your makeup. Counts the steps in his head, always confuses the contour and bronzer. It’s okay, he’s learning. 

He both likes and dislikes FaceTime. He likes the convenience of it (and will abuse it by calling you even tho you’ve just barely left his house), but he would much rather just go and see you; so he does. Unless there’s something keeping you apart, Eren will make the effort and the trip to go and see you, even if it’s late at night. 

He gets warm very easily, but always has some sort of coat/outerwear on him, even if it’s just a light windbreaker. He usually ends up hanging it over your shoulders or telling you to wear it because you “look cold” when he wants to take it off. 

He walks just like a half step behind you; technically still by your side, but trailing you by the tiniest amount. That way he gets to be with you and watch you, and also steer you away from anything/anyone else he sees ahead while you’re walking. 

If he notices your shoelaces are untied, he gently pokes your shoulder to get you to stop, then bends down and ties them for you. 

His phone case is brown leather, and has your initials engraved at the very bottom in a very tiny, dark green font. 

Likes walking around with you at night so congrats on having your own personal guard dog for Safety lmfaoo. Sometimes you guys don’t even talk; he just wants to hold your hand and wander around, and just be with you for a little bit. 

He is the one putting hair ties on YOUR gear shift and around YOUR wrist. Marking his territory lmfaooo

Learns to like coffee in college, and learns your Starbucks order pretty quickly. He’s got a very small addiction, but he always buys you a cup when he gets his own, so at least it’s beneficial for you. He doesn’t usually have much an extreme sweet tooth, but he takes his coffee with quite a few pumps of syrup and/or sweetener. 

Eren loves hugs, and once he starts getting them, he refuses to go with out them. Back hugs are his favorite, whether it be you hugging him from behind, or him doing it to you; either works for him, both feel like heaven. 

You know when it’s time to head home after a party/hanging with your friends because Eren will drape himself over you and gradually apply more of his body weight the more tired/drunk he gets. Regardless of whether or not he’s sloshed, he’ll still press very light and innocent kisses onto your neck and ears. 

Turns out he really likes getting kisses on his cheeks. It always takes him by surprise; his eyes widen and his eyebrows raise just a bit, but he usually evens out his expression before you pull back, so you don’t see. What you do see is the sorta glazed over, happy look in his eyes, and if you look closely, you might see his pupils dilate, too. 

He actually doesn’t mind reading, he just never thinks to read in his free time. When he does remember, and what he’s reading is interesting to him, he finishes the book pretty quickly—a few days, maybe a week at most—it’s kind of impressive. Then he goes on to not look at another book for a good five months lmfao. 

Asked you what detergent and fabric softener you used on your sheets, then bought the exact same products to do his laundry with. 

He picks you up pretty often. It’s not always tossing you over his shoulder, or carrying you bridal style, but if he needs to get to something behind you in the kitchen he’ll just. Just pick you up, turn, plop you down, get what he needs, pick you up, turn around again, and plop you right back into place. Like a doll. 

Actually very good and very meticulous when it comes to cleaning. Not a single hard water stain in sight on your dishes. Sparkling countertops and tables, your oven has never looked shinier than when he’s done with it. 

Doodles on his notes when he’s bored in class. Doodles on your notes if he’s bored in class and you’re there, too. 

He claims to not get jealous easily, but he definitely does. His methods of dealing with it are either to (a) pout (usually only happens when he gets jealous of someone you’re telling him about), (b) find an excuse to pull you away from this other person, (c) be extremely cold to this other person, (d) pretend to be sick/tired/hungry as an excuse for you to be concerned about him/dote on him in front of this other person (this is his favorite method). 

Will push your phone down/into your face if you’re laying down using it or just scrolling through your feeds. Thinks it’s peak comedy, always runs away with a little shit grin on his mouth. 

He’s always tuned into you, and sometimes physically turned to you, even in a larger conversation with other people around. Finds a way to pull you into the convo if you’ve been on the quieter side, nudges at your side under the table to bother you when you’re distracted, frequently looks at you even if someone else is talking. 

nsfw/suggestive

Eren really likes lazy sex, and it’s arguably one of his favorites; and for someone who’s not a morning person, he sure does like morning sex. He does this thing where he wakes up at like eight in the morning, starts feeling up on you, and eventually very lazily fucks you before you even have the chance to say good morning, then crashes and sleeps for another two hours. Sometimes he doesn’t pull out. 

Always gets hard when you do try on hauls of the new clothes you’ve bought; whether it be via FaceTime or in person. You could be showing him your new sweatpants, and he’ll still find it sexy. 

Can and will find time to grope you whenever possible. Getting water from the kitchen means you’re getting your ass smacked while you open the fridge. Putting on your shoes also means you’re getting your ass smacked when you bend over. Standing around debating on what to wear for the day means he’s coming up behind you to put his hands on your boobs. Doing your skincare routine in the bathroom means he’s got his hands on your hips squeezing at your skin. 

Likes being bitten. Will tell you to bite him; he’ll lean down while he’s fucking you, smile wickedly when you grab and claw at his back, and you’re gasping against his shoulder, “Wanna hurt me? Go ahead, baby, do your worst.” 

He loves making out with you, even if it doesn’t lead to sex; actually, sometimes, he prefers it that way. You make his head spin just by kissing him, and there’s a special kind of bliss of just rutting against each other without fucking that he loves. 

Lovesssss taking mirror selfie’s with you on his lap and your back to the mirror, especially right after sex. Your head resting on his shoulder and he just barely murmurs, “Stay right there, don’t move.” Might start a collection of pics like that.

Tugging on his ear acts as encouragement, but somewhat surprisingly, that sole action doesn’t necessarily turn him on; it doesn’t turn him off, and he likes it, but it’s more... soothing? than sexual to him. What you should do instead is put your hand on the back of his neck/touch the hair near his nape. 

He could have done all the work, but will still wrap you in his arms and kiss your head and tell you how good you are, how good you were to him. He really does think you fucked him 9/10 times and takes pride in it too lmaooo

Holds your jaw open with one hand, presses the index and middle fingers of his other hand against your tongue, and watches your spit pool around him. He exhales slowly at the sight, moving his fingers around to coat them evenly before pulling them out of your mouth and separating them; watches a thin line of spit connect them and groans. 

Holds you jaw a lot, actually: when you’re kissing, when you’re blowing him, when he’s on top and fucking you, when he’s fucking you from behind, he’ll pull you up with one hand, use two fingers and turn your head to the side so he can kiss you. 

It’s him that kinda loses it first most of the time; that gets that fucked out, hazy look in his eyes, that makes everything feel like too much so his head drops to your shoulder and he resorts to biting at your neck to further stimulate you. 

Likes sucking on your tongue when you kiss. Falls in love with you all over again on the spot when you do it back to him. 

You could just barely put your hands on him and Eren will groan, mutter about how you’re so sexy and how badly he wants to fuck you. Could just lay back with your chest heaving from kissing him and he’s got hearts in his eyes and his dick is hard. 

[junisfics]

All This Time — Armin Arlert (1)

series masterlist

Pairing: Armin Arlert x Reader

Word Count: 5.1k

Series Summary: Reader messages her best friend Armin late one night while she's drunk and needy, but will she remember the things she said to him in the morning, and if she does... will she regret it?

Part Summary: After Armin receives a disturbingly vague message from his best friend, he shows up to her house only to find her drunk and needy

Content: Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Eventual Smut

Content Warnings: Sexual Content, Mentions of Masturbation, Sexual Fantasies

You met Armin in your freshman year of high school. You had gone to separate middle schools, but those two schools fed into your then high school and you became classmates. You shared a band class together, Armin played clarinet and you played the piano. The entire band was split between two periods, you and Armin’s seventh period consisted of woodwinds while the other period held brass… percussion was split evenly between the two periods. 

That was the first game of chance.

The second one was after-school practice sessions with Mr. Steunberg. Apparently, Armin was struggling with sight-reading just as much as you were, so you were paired together for practice lessons on Mondays. And every Monday for the second semester of freshman year, you and Armin played your instruments in that little sound booth while your music teacher corrected you from outside.

Eventually, the twenty minutes between the end of school and the beginning of lessons was being shared between the two of you rather than each of you hiding off down some hallway. You had decided to come down the band hall early, conveniently at the same time Armin had as well. 

It started with one of you asking if the other had a certain teacher, followed by asking if they had completed the night’s assignment for that class. Over time, the floor distance between you two closed and you’d sit cross-legged on the carpeted floor just outside the booth, knee to knee, sharing snacks before Mr. Steunberg made his way from his History class and down to the band hall. You’d work on homework together and laugh over the squeaking mistakes from the neighboring booths.

Just around the time when you and Armin began to grow comfortable with each other, your organized lessons had stopped and your blooming friendship had been put on pause. Neither of you missed it too much, you barely knew each other, but you still smiled at each other in the halls and occasionally talked before your shared class if there was time, but there really wasn’t.

It was like that for a while; little waves, sentence-long conversations, awkward silences followed by equally as awkward good-byes. It was months before you ever talked the same way you had in that little hallway.

It wasn’t like you craved his presence. Christ, you would completely forget about him if you didn’t see him every day in class. But when he came up to you at the end of the day one day while you were sitting on the piano bench, waiting for the final bell to ring, you couldn’t help but smile.

You still remember the shirt he was wearing, how he pushed those thin-rimmed glasses he still wore up his nose as he talked with you, “Can you help me with sight-reading? I don’t wanna tell my mom I need lessons again and I’m embarrassed to ask anyone else.”

Of course, you had said yes to him, you wouldn’t be pulling your phone out in the middle of the night in the peak of summer to text him while you’re shit-faced to text him if you hadn’t.

Your practicing together turned into practicing and doing homework together, which turned into getting off track and watching YouTube videos together. Then came the hanging out outside of homework and lessons; goofing off at either of your neighborhood parks, walking down the road to get fast-food, running around in a grocery store because there was nothing else to do in the suburbs.

There wasn’t an exact moment where you agreed that you were best friends, it just happened. You were always there for him whenever he got pushed around by the baseball boys, when his parents got divorced and his grandfather moved in, when he got his acceptance letter to the college of his choice; and he was there for you for your first boyfriend and your first heartbreak, he was there when your dog was lost for five days… he being the one that found her, and when you got your acceptance letter, he was the one sitting next to you with open arms.

There were moments when you found yourselves distancing; when you got into little arguments. But at the end of the day, the love that each of you had for each other was stronger than anything. You always came back to him, and he to you. 

No matter how many times you broke his heart by flirting with him just to hook up with some random guy at a party the same day, told him that he was your ‘best friend’, talking about how he was ‘like a brother’ to you, he couldn't leave you and he couldn’t stop loving you.

Armin would do anything for you and you would do anything for Armin. This is why when he got your messages in the dead of the night, he was over to your apartment before he could even text back.

‘armin’ ‘come over’ ‘help’ ‘need help’

Every second between the moment he got your messages until he reached your door, he was mortified. His heart was pounding out of his chest, knuckles turning white as he gripped the steering while swerving around corners recklessly, eyes flitting over your parking lot to try and find anything out of the ordinary.

He almost tripped on the curb of the sidewalk while running up to your building. He was whipping open doors and frantically pressing elevator buttons as his keys still jangled in his hands, he didn’t even think to shove them into his pockets. His eyes bore into the red, electric lettering at the frame of the elevator, watching the numbers increase with his hand pressing against the metal doors like it’ll somehow make it go faster.

Once he reaches your door, he knocks frantically, jolts of pain shooting through his knuckles as he does so.

And you’re right at the door waiting for him. You tug it open the second you hear him outside of it, a giant smile of relief on your face.

“Oh my god! Thank god you’re here! I was going to pass out from waiting so long,” You giggle, grabbing ahold of his forearm that was still outstretched from knocking and pulling him inside.

It took him a moment to realize that you’re alright, that you’re standing right there in front of him, unharmed and unscathed, with his sweatshirt pulled over you, the one he gave you before leaving for university. You’re bouncing on the balls of your feet as you grab at his arms to bring him forward, stumbling back over your own feet in the process which just sends you into another fit of giggles.

You had a slight sheen of sweat over your face and neck, not a lot, just enough so when your head turned to look behind you the kitchen lights bounced against the gloss on your skin. You didn’t have pants on as well, just these light grey boy-short panties that completely exposed the length of your legs.

It wasn’t like Armin hasn’t seen you in a swimsuit before. Many times your parents had taken you on trips to a lake where you would go tubing and swimming for hours on end until you were both drained of all your energy. But seeing you in, presumably, nothing but his sweatshirt and panties that bared your thighs and bottom curves of your ass had him far more flabbergasted than a swimsuit ever could.

“You’re — you’re okay?” He asks, voice still wavering with concern as you continue to drag him towards the kitchen.

“Absolutely not!” You sound serious, “I need help… with making my dessert.” Your faux serious tone falls apart and you’re choking back another wave of laughter.

Armin watches you incredulously but intently as you slide your hands down his forearms until both of your hands meet his own, giving them a squeeze before spinning around and gripping the kitchen island’s counter.

You have an array of stainless steel bowls crowded beside each other while a mixture of dry baking goods sits unstirred in one of the bowls. You shuffle through the measuring cups and spoons before picking up a large wooden spoon and holding it up to Armin, presenting it to him, like you’ve found a block of gold.

When you turn away from him, he looks over the state of the kitchen. Sugar and flour remnants cover the countertops, series of baking instruments litter them as well, and on the kitchen table is a bottle of vodka.

And then it hits him; you’re playful nature, unpredictability, clumsiness, and intimacy.

“Are you drunk?” He asks you. He isn’t disappointed, or angry, just slightly taken aback.

You bring your head up from the bowl and tilt your head side to side like you were thinking over his question, “A little.”

It was much more than ‘a little’. Before you had even started drinking you were in a playful mood. You had just gotten the offer for a summer job for lifeguarding at the apartment complex’s pool and you thought to celebrate by binging your favorite television show and having a few shots. Then, a few shots turned to many and you were dancing around your living room while having the time of your life before you had settled on making yourself some food. ‘Another celebration’ you had convinced yourself.

But the measuring and the mixing were too hard and who else was there to call other than your best friend?

“Oh my god.” Armin smiles, shaking his head at you and making his way towards you as you continue to mix at god-knows-what you’ve put into that bowl, “You need actual food, not whatever you’re making here.”

You let go of the spoon, letting out a little huff of frustration at his words, scrunching your nose real cutely as you turn towards him. You take the front of his tee-shirt in your hands, gently fiddling with the fabric as you pout.

“I want dessert, Armin.” You whine, bringing your head forward to rest your cheek on his chest. Your chest was pressing against his torso, bare legs knocking against his own.

“’Tomorrow-You’ is going to thank me for not letting you have dessert.” He awkwardly brings one of his hands to your back, patting it a few times before letting his hand rest between your shoulder blades.

“Please?” You whisper, tilting your head up until he can feel your tiny breaths against his chin. Armin hopes you can’t feel the way his heartbeat begins to pick up in his chest at your close proximity.

“No… No, I’ll — I’ll make you toast or something, how does that sound?” He suggests, snaking his hands between the two of you to gently nudge you off him.

But the space between the two of you is quickly closed when your slide your hands up his chest and around his neck, “Don’t want toast.” You murmur, standing up on the tips of your toes to get in his eye-line. Your nose was only a breath away from his.

Armin carefully takes your wrists in his hands, taking your arms off him as he stammers out, “Well, you’re going to have toast.”

You let out another noise of frustration as you pull yourself away from him, your hands balling into fists at your sides while he pulls open your fridge for the loaf of bread on the top shelf. You watch him with your head tilted in fascination like you’ve never seen bread before, admiring the way his hair falls into his eyes as his pretty hands unwrap the plastic sleeve of the loaf then tug the toaster away from the counter backsplash.

He truly was so beautiful. You always contained your attraction towards him so well, but now your restraint was slipping.

You prance over to him, slipping your arms around his waist and resting your head against his back as he slides two slices of bread from the loaf. His skin is so warm beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. You can feel the muscles in his shoulders and back flex as he moves his arms, his abdominal muscles twitching as well in reaction to your fingertips skimming over them.

God, he’s so fucking nervous. 

Why is he so nervous? 

Because you’re all over him in just panties and his shirt when he’s had a crush on you for as long as he can remember. You’re being so touchy, so intimate with him, he’s afraid he might explode.

“Go sit down. Can’t — can’t help you if you’re in my way.” He says. Oh but he could help you, he could help you even if you were hanging on him like a spider monkey, he’s just afraid you’ll realize your effect on him if you do so.

“I just wanna be close to you. You’re so cute.” You nuzzle your head under his left arm until you and slip your whole body under it and stand ever so slightly in front of him, wedged between his torso and the countertop.

Your hands play with the hem of his shirt as you look up to him, your eyes glossy, and your pupils were blown. Armin tries his best to keep himself subtly distanced from you, but it’s no use. Every time he inches away, you’re just back on him. 

You’re sliding your hands up his chest, fingers tracing over his jaw and cheekbones as you cling to his side. He can feel your hips knocking against his, your thighs rubbing against his as you shift around to try and get closer. Your fingers follow along the curves of his neck, tracing down his throat then skimming over his collarbones.

“Sit here then. Sit on the counter.” Armin grabs ahold of your torso and pushes you against the counter, the edge of it rutting into the small of your back. You grab ahold of his biceps and let out a flirty little giggle at what his actions could be insinuating.

Your fingers press into the plush muscle of his arms as he strains to lift you, your heels grappling at the cabinets below you to try and aid him. His waist ends up slipped between your knees when you’re finally seated, and you can feel your body flush hot with arousal.

You were already sweating from the exertion you had put forward before he had arrived, but the added closeness with Armin was just driving you crazy.

“Now sit, and stay.” Armin places his hands in front of you to enforce his directions.

You giggle a few times, smiling at the fact that he’s treating you like a dog, “Woof.” 

Armin slips his waist out from your knees to come to your left slide, plucking the now toasted bread from the toaster and setting it on a napkin. He pulls open the drawer to his right for a butter knife, then snatches the butter from the island and brings it to your toast. 

His hands shake as he pulls the glass top of the butter dish, they shake as he dips the knife into the butter, and continues to shake as he spreads the butter over the first piece of toast. He can feel your thigh brushing against his hip as you swing your legs.

You begin to breathe heavier, the heat of exhaustion and heat of arousal begin to grow overwhelming. You fan your face a few times, pushing your hair off your neck, before grabbing the hem of his sweatshirt and pulling it up and over your head.

“What — what are you doing?” Armin stammers, taking a tiny step away from you.

You absentmindedly fold the sweatshirt before setting it aside to fan your face again, “It’s so hot… I think it’s you, Armin.”

You can see his face flush red this time, his ears as well, turning his cheeks and nose a pretty pink shade that doesn’t help your problem.

Armin tries to ignore you, he really does, but it’s so difficult because now you’re in this skimpy little tank top with spaghetti straps. And the straps are slipping off your shoulders and Jesus fucking christ you’re not wearing a bra. He can’t stop his eyes from flitting over your scantily clad figure, drinking in the way your thighs squish against the counter, the curve of your ass as it’s pressed to the granite, the way your nipples tease the thin fabric of your skin.

“Have I ever told you that? That you’re so fine?” You giggle, running a finger down his bicep as he finishes buttering your toast. You’re so grateful that he’s got that stupid white tee shirt on, the one that keeps your gaze lingering over the lean muscle in his chest and back.

“Um, n — no. Toast is done, hop down.” He refuses to make eye contact because if he does, he’s scared he won’t be able to stop himself from kissing you.

“Help.” You pout, reaching out your hands and grabbing for his shoulders.

Armin listens to your plea, setting the toast back down and grabbing ahold of your waist to slide you off the counter. But instead of bringing your feet to the floor, you wrap your legs around his waist and hook your arms around his neck. You have to tilt your head down to look into his eyes, only to see his pupils blown and lashes fluttering as he blinks.  He doesn’t push you off him. Instead, he uses his left hand to snatch the food off the counter while his right hand comes to brace your lower back. 

He’s afraid he’s going to have a heart attack now; feeling your thighs wrapped around him, your cunt hovering just right over his growing cock, your back arching your chest so close to his face that he swears if he looked down he would get a perfect view of your tits, your parted lips all glossy, breath fanning over the bridge of his nose as you run your fingers over the curves of his pretty pink lips.

Fuck. He was definitely getting off to this later.

You’re giggling all the while, and to an extent, you know exactly the effect you have on him. It’s cute, the way he stumbles around your house and trying to keep his footing as he brings you to your bedroom. 

“C’mon, Armin. At least take me on a date first,” You tease as he kneels down to bring your backside to the foot of the bed. Once your legs release his waist, he stands again.

“I’m — I’m not trying — we’re not —” He stutters, bringing his hands forward again like he’s scared you’ll pounce on him.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to. Armin wants nothing more in the entire world than to have you beneath him, to have his cock sheathed inside you, to have you moan out his name as you cum around his cock…

But he couldn’t let it happen like this.

You were drunk, so so drunk. And you probably didn’t even know what you were saying.

“We can if you want to.” You speak softly, your knees knocking together as you settle into your seat, fiddling with your hands in your lap as if you got all shy all of a sudden.

And when you look up to him through your lashes, brows furrowed slightly in a pout, Armin almost caves. But he catches himself just as fast, shoving your toast in front of you like it’s a shield.

Your eyes shift down to the food that’s presented before you, and your pout turns into a cute little smile as you daintily take it from his hands. You let the napkin rest in your left palm as you hold the food in your right, immediately taking a little bite out of it.

“You want some water?” Armin asks, still standing in front of you.

You give him a nod without looking up, taking another bite out of the toast while he fills up the cup that he knew rested beside your bathroom sink. As he stands in front of the mirror he takes a moment to breathe in and out deeply as the water fills the cup.

You were going to be the death of him.

“You know, I mean it when I say you’re attractive,” He hears you say, still sitting all obediently on your bed and waiting for him to return, “Everyone’s like, ‘oh Armin got so hot!’, but I always thought you were cute… you just got so — nnghh — in the past year.”

He returns with your glass of water, holding it out to you as you finish chewing. You take it from him gently, holding it in both your hands, careful not to drop it, as you take little sips.

He knew you were being irrational, but he truly hopes you mean what you say.

When you finish drinking, you pat your hand against the mattress as you set your cup to the floor. You want him close again, want the warmth he radiates both physically and spiritually. Armin listens to your ask and sits beside you carefully, running his hands over his thighs as you pull your legs up on the mattress and cross them under you.

“Do you think I’m pretty?” You ask, voice getting tiny again.

That was real… that question… he’s so sure of it. You were always insecure about your looks when you had no reason to be, but he had no idea that you cared what he thought about you.

“I — um… I — I don’t think my — my opinion matt —” He tries to get it to come out sounding right, but the moment he opens his mouth he already knows he’s failed terribly.

“Do… do you not think I’m pretty?” He can hear the feeling of betrayal in your voice, you turn your head away from him.

“No! No, y/n, I think you’re really pretty —”

You grab ahold of his shirt collar and tug him towards you as you let your back fall to the mattress. His torso comes over you and his hand shoots out beside your head to keep him from falling atop you. He can’t even bring himself to pull off of you, because your noses are touching and he can feel your knees knocking against the left side of his waist.

“I — you’re — God, y/n you’re so pretty. Don’t ever think I don’t think that.” He breathes, trying so hard to your lips from touching, for his own sake.

Your mouth splits into a smile and a little laugh escapes your lips. Your free hand grabs ahold of his shirt as well, assuring both you and him that he isn’t going anywhere. You look down to his lips, slightly parted as he pants heavily to keep his composure.

“No, but you don’t understand,” You keep your eyes on his lips, fighting the desire to kiss him, “You’re so fucking hot.”

Armin’s breath gets caught in his throat because you had spoken that in a borderline whimper. Your bottom lip had been taken between your teeth after you finished speaking, and he swears he could see your back arch slightly.

It was completely visible now, how much you needed him. You were holding onto him for dear life, your thighs were squeezing together and your arched back had your stomach brushing against his. You looked at him through half-lidded eyes, irises filled with lust and hunger.

Armin’s so grateful that your legs are to his side and now wrapped around his waist again because he would not have been able to stop himself from grinding down against you… it would have been completely involuntary.

“And — and don’t tell anyone this but sometimes… sometimes I get off to you,” You bring your voice to a whisper as you reveal your secret, lifting your head to move closer to him. He can feel your lips brush against his as you speak, “Actually... like all the time.”

Armin lets out an audible exhale, his jaw slacking at your revelation, he has to shut his eyes again.

“Do you get off to me too?” You ask. And you speak like you didn’t just reveal that to him, bringing your head back down to the mattress and smiling.

Of course he does. Of course he does. 

Junior year of high school you offered to be his first kiss, just for fun, ‘cause you were friends, right? And you wanted to help him get it over with. 

But every night since then, Armin has gotten off to you; laid back in his bed with his cock in his fist, and whispering your name as he cums.

“I — we’re best friends — y/n, I —”

“Best friends don’t wanna fuck each other, Armin.” You say, your voice losing all its playfulness and growing serious like you had suddenly become sober.

You stare into his pretty blue eyes for a moment, letting your own flit between the two of his. You were watching for any change in his expression, any look of disgust or repulsion, but you don’t find any. He just keeps that same incredulous, lust-filled look on his face.

He looks over you as well. Your eyes were still so droopy and hazy, your lips parted like you’re manually breathing. You were so drunk that it almost hurt him. You weren’t going to remember a single thing in the morning, and the two of you would be back to square one because Armin would never be able to repeat to you what you said to him or admit his searing desire for you.

Armin can feel your grip on his shirt tighten once more, and instead of lifting your head to him, you pull him down to you.

“I need you,” You whisper, voice shaking with arousal, “Fuck me... please.”

Armin swallows hard, his arms beginning to shake under his weight. He was going to fucking explode. He needed a break, just a moment, anything so he can catch his breath and regain some of his composure.

Christ, he was so fucking hard. If you were sober, he wouldn’t hesitate for a single second to rip off both of your clothes and push his cock inside you.

“I can’t — you’re drunk,” He murmurs, and you can hear the hurt in his voice. You can hear the fact that he truly wanted to do what you begged him for.

“No, Armin, I want it. I need it. I mean it, I swear.” You plead, your hands pawing at his shirt like he was attempting to get away from you and you wanted him to stay. But Armin was set put, he wasn’t moving, he couldn’t move even if he wanted.

“I need your cock.”

“Not — not now. You need to sleep this off. You’re… you’re not yourself right now,” He takes his eyes off yours, closing them once more and squeezing them shut.

“I’ve — I’ve always wanted you though. Always, I promise.” You continue, hoping that somehow you’ll convince him.

It was true. You wish he could understand how true it was. All the guys you had gotten with after-parties, after football games… they were all just replacements, they were fill-ins for him. You would pretend that it was him that was filling you up, gripping your hips and whispering dirty things against your ear. And for seconds at a time, it would work and you would convince yourself that Armin was right there with you.

And every time you would see him helping another girl with school work, see them flirting with him and getting touchy with him, playing with his glasses or drawing shapes on his hands with a pen… this disgusting feeling would churn around in your stomach and bubble up into your throat. And although Armin was oblivious to their flirting, it still hurt so fucking bad.

“I’ve always wanted you too… just — just not like this. Just sleep it off, okay? And — and then we’ll talk.” His left hand wraps around your waist while his right switches to brace beside your head. He grabs ahold of your torso and shimmies you up the bed until your head meets the pillow.

He sits back on his calves, his left arm sliding out from under you while his right hand brushes your messy hair out of your face before petting your head.

“And, and you’ll fuck me in the morning?” You ask, completely genuine.

Armin swallows hard again, pulling himself away from you and helping you slide your body under your sheets, “If — if you still want me to.”

You look up to him with your eyes full of admiration as he smoothes the sheets over your body, “I’ll always want you to.”

It comes out sounding much more intimate than it actually is to say that ‘you’ll always want Armin to fuck you’. And Armin lets his eyes meet yours again, matching the love that’s filled them.

He smiles to hide the doubt he has inside his chest. In the morning, you’ll either regret every word and ghost him or you’ll forget everything you’ve admitted. Both options made Armin’s heart hurt, but he decides that you leaving him would be the worst of the two. He wouldn’t know what to do if you’d never talk to him again. So for now, he truly hopes you forget.

Armin pulls his hands away from you, shuffling his knees on the bed to get off of it. But before he can bring his feet to the ground, you grab ahold of his wrist.

“Stay, please.” You ask, your eyes struggling to stay open. He wonders if you even know that you’re talking.

He listens to you anyway, bringing his hand down to the mattress as he slips himself under the sheets and next to you. And if he wasn’t sure about staying before, he sure was now because you were so warm and so soft as you shimmied back against him. You take his arm and sling it over your waist, letting his palm splay out over your stomach. You can feel every rise of his chest against your back.

You were going to doze off so easily, he was so warm, he was so comforting. You could feel sleep beginning to creep up on you quickly. But before you let it take over, you slide your hand back and between your bodies to grab the source of the hard thing poking into your ass.

“You’re so hard,” You giggle.

Armin chokes on his breath again and grabs your wrist to pull your hand off his dick, “Stop. Go — go to bed.”

You listen this time, retracting your hand to slip it over his that rests on your stomach, interlacing your fingers as you succumb to your exhaustion.

[mypoisonedvine]

peaches & cream || soft!dark Jake Wyler x reader

for @stargazingfangirl18​'s 5k challenge! I used the prompt, "the town golden boy isn’t as sweet as everyone thinks."

word count: 3.6k

warnings: smut (noncon), stalking/obsession, some degradation/negging (but lots of praise during the actual smut), kinda yandere vibes?, touch of breeding kink at the end, definitely flirting with the boundary between soft!dark and regular dark but I like to think it’s a fine line

“Sorry, but that’s a seasonal flavor,” the girl at the counter explained in a snarky monotone.

“Well, yeah, but isn’t it still… the season?” you pressed; normally you weren’t the sort of person to argue with a cashier over a milkshake, but the look she was giving you made you feel like she was holding out on you— especially when the promotional poster for the very thing you were trying to order was just behind her head, and said the flavor was available for two more days.

“We’re out,” she answered firmly, but then her face suddenly shifted to a much more pleasant expression as you heard the chime of the front door opening behind you.  

You felt his body hovering behind yours just as his hand laid on the counter beside you, caging you in.  It was even more unsettling with the context that there was a whole line of people waiting behind you already.

“I’ll get your usual,” the girl promised to the man beside with a flirtatious smile as she disappeared to the back, returning almost instantly with a shake in her extended hand.  “Peaches and cream milkshake— extra whipped cream, no cherry.  Enjoy!”

Your eyes widened at the reading of your own order.  “I thought you were out!” you protested, going completely ignored.

"If you were my girl, this sort of thing wouldn't need to happen."

You recoiled from Jake's voice in your ear, and he smiled in spite of your snarl, bringing the straw to his lips slowly.  With a shudder you walked away, deciding it was probably better to forgo a milkshake anyways— especially if it was a chance to avoid everyone’s favorite senior, the football king who basically owned the whole town for no other reason than being good-looking, athletic, and allegedly “charming” or whatever.

Of course, he followed you, sitting across from you in a booth and silently shooing his posse of fellow teammates to go off and give you two some space.  If only he would give you space.

“We can share,” he offered as he held the milkshake out towards you.  “I know it’s your favorite… it’s mine too.”

“I’ve lost my appetite,” you explained quickly as you pulled a book out of your backpack, intent on ignoring him since you couldn’t physically force him to leave.

He shrugged and returned to sucking on the straw, watching you unwaveringly as you tried to read your book— staring at the page was going well, but you couldn’t seem to actually get any words down.  Had you forgotten English as a written language or something?

“Could you leave?” you finally asked as you groaned and looked up from your book.  “You’re distracting me.”

“I’m literally just sitting here,” he reminded you.

“And it’s distracting!”

He smirked proudly.  “My presence tends to have that effect on people.  Nothing to be embarrassed about.”

You rolled your eyes, burying your face back in your book.  “You know, you may have everybody else fooled, but someday you’re gonna have to leave this pathetic little town and go into the real world where throwing a ball isn’t a career and nobody fawns over you just because you have the audacity to be attractive.”

He chuckled lightly.  “Right, because you have those big city dreams of yours, but believe it or not some of us like this ‘pathetic’ little town.”

“Well, of course you would,” you snorted.  “Your dad’s the mayor and your girlfriend’s the head cheerleader.”

“My ex-girlfriend,” he corrected, finally getting your attention enough to make you shut your book.

“What?” you blurted out.

“Yeah, she dumped me,” he explained plainly.

“Why would she do that?” you asked, making him look much too proud of himself again.  “Finally snapped out of the brainwashing, huh?” you added, effectively killing his smug expression.

“I guess you could say that.  She met some college guy from out of town… I think her parents liked me too much, she needed a bit more rebellion.”

“Well, my condolences to you,” you smiled, “and my congratulations to her.”

“I thought you hated her,” he scoffed.

“Well, now she and I have something in common: a complete lack of interest in you!”

“I mean, I wouldn’t go that far,” he smirked, “she still comes over every now and again to suck my cock.”

You choked on nothing, face getting warm at his crude language.  He didn’t talk like that with anyone else; it was so cruel the way he kept everybody in town under his spell except you, the way he let you in on his real darkness with no one else to confide in or believe you.  

It was so fundamentally lonely, being the one person who wasn’t in love with Jake Wyler.  It was even worse being the one person Jake Wyler loved.

At least, that was the word he used multiple times in his semi-anonymous letters, his incessant calls and emails, his speeches outside your window.  He’d actually cooled off lately, you wondered if maybe he had finally let go of this ‘the one thing I can’t have’ obsession and learned to appreciate his girlfriend (who, for all her personality flaws, was objectively gorgeous, and seemed to at least be nice to him if nobody else).

But now that she left him (which you were still trying to process, honestly), you were surprised he hadn’t already moved on to the next best wannabe model and/or reinstated his campaign to win you over.

Then again, the look in his eye kind of made you think you were about to witness the second one.

“You know, when she does come over, I can only ever finish because I’m thinking about you,” he revealed in a low voice.  You grimaced and slid out of the booth, stuffing your book into your bag and barely managing to throw him a goodbye before you dashed out.  

It wasn’t like you really thought you could get away from him— he had made it clear over and over that you couldn’t— but the idea of being crammed in that booth with him, surrounded throughout the diner by his adoring fans who somehow didn’t manage to overhear him when he said those awful things, made you feel nauseous.

What you should’ve considered was that, fans or not, those people were witnesses, and now that you were running out into the dark streets of the town and he was chasing after you, you didn’t have any.  It was just you and him, and when you turned into an alleyway to try to get home faster, even the dim glow of the streetlights couldn’t see you anymore.

“Hey,” he stopped you with a tight grip on your arm, pulling you back into him.

“Let me go!” you whined, trying to tug yourself away but only ensuring that his hand would leave a bruise on your arm.  

“I will when you just hear me out, okay?” he hissed, spinning you around to look up at him.  "Why don't you just give me a chance?  Don't you wanna be popular?" 

"I don't want to be anything that requires being within ten yards of you!" you spat.

He seemed bewildered, but you knew he wasn’t actually that stupid.  "Why?"

"Because you know why!"

He sighed, slumping his shoulders a little.  "Are we still on that, really?  I told you, you should take it as a compliment.  You know how many girls would kill to catch me jerking off in their panties?"

"You're sick, Jake,” you sighed, “and you're really good at hiding it from everyone else but I know what you really are.  You told me you needed help with algebra and I actually believed you, for months you were lying to me to get close so you could perv on me when you already had a girlfriend and two side chicks anyways— god, Jake, you're crazy!"

You yelped when he pinned you to the wall, blue eyes darker than ever.  "I really, really hate that word."

Against the wall, your back straightened as you felt the tone shift completely for a moment before he was back to his jovial self again, giving you a somber but almost-genuine smile.

“The only kind of crazy I am is crazy about you,” he defended with a laugh, leaning in a little closer.  “Why can’t you see that?”

As his eyes moved from your own to your lips, a renewed sense of fear shot through you.  “Jake…” you mumbled, apparently your feeble attempt to ask him to stop.

“Just one kiss,” he bargained, “and then I’ll let you go.  Okay?  That’s all I need.”

“N-no,” you whimpered, turning your head away as he leaned in even further.  “Stop.”

“Come on, it’s just a kiss, baby,” he cooed.  “Then you can leave.  Hey, you might actually like it.  You know, I think that’s what you’re really scared about… and I get it!  When I first realized I was in love with you, it was scary for me, too— I mean, I’m the most important guy in town and you’re just some bookworm, it’s sort of social suicide for me so I had a lot to worry about.”

There he went with his negging again, trying to bring you down to his level.  Your brain knew that, it saw right through it, but your gut still sank with doubt.

“But I know now that love is nothing to be afraid of,” he concluded.

“No, Jake,” you whispered, feeling tears well in your eyes, “I’m afraid that you’ll hurt me if I don’t do what you want.”

“Well, that is something to be afraid of,” he replied with the coldest laugh you’d ever heard; you didn’t hear any agreement, but the lack of denial was deafening.  “So just be my good girl and let me kiss you…”

You swallowed dryly, your eyes wide open and searching for anywhere to look but up at him.

He was so close now that his lips brushed against yours with his command: “say it.”

You stammered over your breath, not sure exactly what he was asking for, and you winced as you felt his grip tighten on your arms.

“Say, ‘kiss me’,” he clarified in a harsh whisper.  “Say, ‘please’...”

“Please,” you repeated awkwardly, hearing it in your voice but so clearly not your own words, “kiss me.”

He let his mouth intertwine with yours and your eyes were still wide open as he let his own fall shut, moving his hands to clutch your face gently instead as you gave a weak effort to kiss him back.

Objectively, he was good at this.  A lot of things were objectively true about Jake: as much as you forced yourself not to see it, he was handsome; as much as it didn’t really matter to you, a boycotter of all things sports, he was talented; and, as much as no one else realized it, he was completely deranged.  For every word of kindness from him there was another of anger.  For every love letter in your locker, there was a threat left scrawled on crumpled paper inside your bedroom, just so he could remind you that your parents would let him into the house if he asked and never question it.

Which was why it was extremely important that you did not enjoy this kiss.  You needed to hate the way his fingers traced over the pulse in your neck, the way his tongue tickled yours, the way his teeth just barely grazed your lip until your knees went a little weak.  

But wow, there was something primally satisfying about melting into his arms, feeling his strength support you like it was nothing when he held your waist and pulled you closer.

You could almost forget that it was him.  But then he mumbled your name into the kiss, nearly moaned it in fact, and it pulled you back to reality.  With a gasp, you pushed him away and blinked your eyes open, not even realizing you’d closed them; hating how quickly you’d started to give in to him.

“There, one kiss,” you mumbled, wiping your mouth with the back of your sleeve.  “I’m gonna go home now—”

“You can’t be serious,” he laughed incredulously.  “You’re gonna kiss me like that and tell me you don’t feel this, too?  We’re so meant for each other— we even order the same milkshake!”

“That doesn’t matter!” you denied.

“I love you!”

“That doesn’t matter either!”

You turned to leave but he grabbed you again from behind, covering your mouth with his hand when you opened your mouth to scream.  “Don’t fucking talk to me like that,” he hissed in your ear, “and don’t walk away from me.”

Fighting against his grip did nothing but exhaust you: he only needed one arm to hold you back as he dragged you deeper into the alley.  Your legs swung wildly and landed a kick to his shin, and he plugged your nose while he was covering your mouth so you couldn’t breathe.

“Listen to me, you stuck up little bitch,” he growled.  “I’m really sick of this ‘hard to get’ act.  I know you want me.  So shut up and let me show you what you’ve been missing out on, okay?  You gonna be good?”

In that moment, you would’ve agreed to anything for a chance to fill your lungs with fresh air, and so you nodded, the back of your head rubbing against his chest.

“You gonna be nice and quiet so nobody catches you getting fucked like a whore in this alley?”

Another nod, more feverish than the last, ended with a sharp inhale as he let go of your nose.  But he was still covering your mouth, his arm around you now feeling less like restraint and more like an embrace.

"I've wanted you for so long, you can't even imagine," he explained softly as he leaned down and kissed your neck, gripping your waist tighter.  "You and this perfect body of yours.  This smart little head that thinks too much…"

You swallowed dryly as his hand trailed lower.

"This pussy you've been hiding from me for much too long," he added darkly, roughly shoving his hand up your skirt.

You whined behind his hand but he didn’t seem to care; he pulled your skirt up and grinned at the sight of your panties— because he recognized them.

“I remember these,” he purred.  “They look good on you, baby, but they looked better covered in my come.”

Your cheeks burned with shame— you already hated yourself for still wearing the pair he’d tampered with, but it was harmless after a few runs through the washer, right?  You weren’t going to stop wearing your favorite panties just for him, that would mean he won, in a sense; or, that’s what you told yourself to justify not burning them.

“Don’t worry, they’re gonna be soaked by the time I’m done with you,” he purred, slipping two fingers between your legs and growling slightly.  “Well, actually, you’ve already done a lot of the work for me.”

He pulled the fabric aside and explored your pussy instead, tightening his grip over your mouth as you made little muffled yelps.  The rough pads of his fingers found and targeted your clit instantly, that megawatt smile pressed against your ear as he started to rub your bud harder.

“Mm, feels good, huh?” he taunted, moving even faster as your hips jolted unintentionally.  He stopped only to bring the fingers to his lips, humming at the taste of you which he sucked off of them.  “So sweet, babygirl— better than any peaches and cream milkshake, that’s for sure.”

The wet fingers trailed down your body again, finding your entrance that he suddenly pushed into; it was a little too much without any warning and it made your eyes shoot wide open, a squeak barely escaping your throat.

"Just as tight as I imagined, baby,” he sighed, “all those times I used your panties, or hooked up with somebody who almost looked like you from behind.  You’re gonna feel so good on my cock, I know you want it so bad.”

He took his fingers out of you to reach back and open his belt with one hand, the sound of the buckle matched in upsettingness only by the sound of his jeans sliding down to his thighs.

You heard your own breath loud and heavy against his hand as you felt his hard cock press against your thigh, a drop of precum smearing on your skin.  Your breathing halted suddenly, though, when he slid himself between your legs to rub his cock over your exposed and swollen pussy.

“Oh, babygirl, you really are too good to me,” he grinned, kissing your ear tenderly.  “So fucking wet and ready for me, huh?  You need it that bad?  You’re gonna get it, baby, ‘m gonna give it to you so good…”

Bracing yourself as best you could, you felt the head of his cock push against your entrance before he slammed in all at once, making you hiss in pain.

“Oh god,” he groaned, “fuck, you’re so warm…”

Already he was fucking into you roughly, pumping faster and deeper, paying no mind to your choked sobs of pain from the wide stretch.  Even when it stung it felt oddly good, and the underside of his cock seemed to slide perfectly over your g-spot with each movement until your eyes began to roll back in your head.

“So fucking good,” he moaned hoarsely as he braced you against the brick wall for leverage, reaching back down with his free hand to rub your clit again.  He chuckled when your legs quivered, and he must have felt your walls tighten around him, too.  “I wanna hear those pretty moans, baby, if I take my hand away are you gonna be good?” he asked darkly.  You nodded, enjoying the brief feeling of freedom that came from not having his hand over your mouth anymore.  But then again, it was humiliating that now he could hear your panting breaths, your desperate mewls that you failed to swallow down.

He made a sound that was almost like a laugh as he watched you squirm in his arms, one more way he had to lord this all over you, as if forcing you to take him in an alley wasn’t enough on its own.

His breath against your ear was hot and strained, each meeting of your hips to his accentuated with a little grunt from him.  It didn’t help at all that his fingers were rubbing you just right, with so much skill that you wondered if he’d somehow figured out how you touched yourself when you needed to get off.  Honestly, you wouldn’t put it past him to have spied on you before, even if you couldn’t figure out when or how.

The hand that used to cover your mouth slid up under your shirt and pulled your bra down, a large, rough hand groping each breast and pinching your nipples until you bit down on your lip to stay quiet.  For all the mocking and teasing he’d done before, he was pretty direct now— like he was trying to make you come as fast as possible, overloading your body with sensation.  

And did he have to be so fucking good at it?

“I know you’re close, babygirl,” he whispered in your ear, “just let go…”

“Jake, please,” you sobbed, too far gone to appreciate that no begging would make him stop now.

“Come for me,” he demanded roughly, fucking you even faster as he sucked a mark onto your neck, and finally it all came crashing down with a choked-out cry of his name and a gush of warmth dripping out around his length.

“Ohh fuck, there you go, fuck it feels good when you come for me,” he grunted, thrusting even faster.  “You’re gonna milk my cock with that pretty pussy, babygirl— you’re gonna make me come…”

“J-Jake, not inside!” you interjected, getting his hand back over your mouth in return.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he soothed, “waited too long for this to pull out now.  Feels too fucking good.”

Behind his hand, the difference between whines of hatred and moans of pleasure was irritatingly subtle.

“I love you,” he reminded you in a voice exhausted yet heavy with desire, “so fucking much…”

A few more erratic, brutal thrusts accompanied by heavy pants and he was gone; you could feel his cock pulsing with each rope of come that filled you, so deep that your head fell dejectedly with the realization you had no hope of washing it out now.

His hand fell from your mouth but he didn’t pull out for another few moments as he caught his breath, gently peppering your neck and cheek in slow kisses.  “Baby,” he finally sighed, breaking the crushing silence, “you’re so fucking perfect.  I knew you were made for me.”

I hate you, you wanted to cry out, but words escaped you as he hugged you tightly and pulled your panties back into place, soaking them with his come as it leaked out of you just like he’d promised.  He stuffed his cock back into his jeans and helped you adjust your clothes back to looking almost presentable, finishing it off by turning you around and smiling at you with serene pride before kissing your forehead.

"You're gonna make such a beautiful prom queen," he cooed, “especially if you’ve already got a nice little bump showing…”

His hand rubbed beneath your belly button for emphasis, making you whimper and force your eyes shut as tears rolled down your cheeks.

"Shh, don’t cry, baby,” he soothed, kissing your cheek softly.  “Trust me, you're gonna love being my girl."

[neytirisblog]

call me

| pairings: arne johnson x reader

| summary: after david’s exorcism encounter arne has been acting strange and you finally find out why.

| warnings: scary arne, angst, fluff?, blood, possessed arne.

| A/N: i’ve seen so many people want an arne fic on tiktok so you ask and i deliver 😩‼️

i wasn’t sure what got him acting like this, he was fine before we went to the glatzel’s house but after he was like a completely different person.

debbie glatzel is my best friend and arne johnson is my boyfriend, arne and i decided to go visit debbie to see how she was doing because she kept telling us something about how david was acting strange ever since they moved into the new house.

it was all a blur to me, arne went to put david to sleep but then there was screaming coming from his room, we all rushed over there, arne holding me to the back protectively, david ran to mr glatzel and stabbed him in his leg and shoved it in and ed grabbed david and we brought him downstairs.

everyone was holding david down as we tried to keep him from hurting anyone, the priest was reading the bible as david or the demon inside of him was laughing over and over again.

“ leave him alone! he’s just a little boy, you coward! ” yelled arne as he tried to get this thing out of him. plates started flying all over the place as priest got knocked in the head, ed quickly rushing to help him, ed got the bible and started to read from it as david laughed again and again, david’s head twisted around as he turned to debbie and laughed, his legs bended as debbie turned to me and yelled. “ david! stop! help me! ”

david slowly started getting up, his back bending as he did so, we all flew back and i hit my head on something hard i could only hear yelling and commotion.

i eventually got up and it looked like whatever was in david got out, i quickly rushed over to arne and pulled him into a hug which he returned, the glatzel’s all hugging, lorraine started yelling to call 911, my head quickly turned over to see what happened and i saw ed on the floor breathing heavily.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

the next morning i decided to let arne sleep in as of what happened last night i couldn’t sleep all night, arne and i pay rent and live with a man named bruno.

i walked in the room and saw arne awake, finally.

“ why’d you let me sleep so late? ” he questioned tilting his head ever so slightly.

“ what do you mean? you need your beauty sleep. ” i laughed as i slowly walked over, he grabbed my waist and put me on top of him as he kissed me slowly.

“ i wish we could stay like this forever. ” he sighed as he stroked my hair softly.

“ me too. ” i smiled

“ we should get out of this town, i mean just the two of us, we can get a big house and we could start a family. ” he said

“ are you serious? i mean i would love to, honestly arne, but i have a family here and you do to and i just started this job i can’t up and quit now, maybe in the future because i would love to start a family with you. ” i said as he looked down sadly but quickly nodded his head in agreement.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

later that day debbie invited arne and i for a small barbecue with there family, we obviously accepted.

“ deb, arne told me this morning that he wanted him and i to get out of this town and get a big house and start a family together! " i said excitedly.

“ did you say yes? did he propose or something?? one second, arne! can you get the small meat tray that’s in the fridge? ” debbie questioned as we both turned our heads to see arne and david playing together.

he turned his head to david and asked him if he was hungry and he nodded and got up and walked inside.

“ i said no, i only said no because i just started a job and we both have family here and we’re too young, i told him once we’re both older we could, just not now. ” i frowned at my own words as debbie sighed and frowned as well.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

arne and i were taking a walk with debbie as a sudden change happened to him, he started acting different, sweat was dripping down his forehead as he fell to the ground.

“ arne! are you okay? “ i brought my hand to his hair and stroked it softly.

and then all of a sudden he grabbed a rock next to him and hit me in the head with it, he got on top of me as he tried to hit me again.

“ what the fuck arne!? ” debbie yelled as she quickly rushed to him and i before he could do anything else she quickly pushed him off of me, tears rolling down my cheeks as i quickly sat up and moved back slowly, blood trickling down the top of my forehead.

another sudden change happened in him like he went back to normal, his eyes widen as he threw the rock away and quickly rushed to me, he hugged me tightly as i tried to push him away.

“ i’m sorry, i’m sorry. i don’t know what got into me.” he pleaded tears rolling down his cheeks, i didn’t know what was happening but i knew that wasn’t arne.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

and then it happened again, arne and i were sleeping peacefully when i felt someone slowly get on top of me, strong hands were around my throat as they choked me, i quickly opened my eyes as i saw arne above me, his eyes shut closed.

i yelled for him to get off of me but he would budge or open his eyes, i did the only thing to get him to stop and i kicked him in his crotch.

his eyes opened suddenly as he quickly removed his hands, his eyes widened again as he got off the bed, i started coughing, trying to gain breath again, i started to sleep in the sofa just for a couple of days, at this point he was scaring me, this was not my arne.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

i finally decided to speak to arne about what’s been going through my mind.

“ what’d you wanna speak to me about, love? ” he smiled as he sat next to me, his smile falling as he looked at my serious face, he cleared his throat.

“ arne.. i think we should take a break, just a couple of days, i honestly don’t know what’s going on with you and it’s getting to the point where you scare me. ” i said a tear rolling down my cheek.

“ what? you’re breaking up with me!? ” he scoffed as he turned his head, jaw clenched, a tear rolling down his cheek.

“ arne, no! it’s just a break for a couple of days, I’ll come back i promise! i love you so much but i just need a few days to clear my head. ” i sighed looking down as i grabbed his hand in mine. he leaned in and kissed me and i kissed him back.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

a week passed and i finally decided to come back, arne and i spent an entire day together, laying in bed cuddling while watching movies and having a picnic that day was perfect and arne was acting fine.

the next day is when it went down hill, arne got sent home early, he looked really pale and not all there. bruno kept bothering him and i could tell he didn’t like it, he kept trying to give him beer when call me started playing.

Color me your color, baby

Color me your car

Color me your color, darling

bruno grabbed arne and gave him a beer, arne tried to drink it failed to and fell on the sofa.

I know who you are

Come up off your color chart

I know where you're coming from

arne was slumped on the sofa as i ran my hand through his hair and asked “ you okay? ”

Call me on the line

Call me, call me any, anytime

Call me I'll arrive

You can call me any day or night

Call me

he stayed quiet and stared straight ahead, bruno grabbed him and brought him up yelling “ let’s dance ”

Cover me with kisses, baby

bruno fell to the ground as arne tried to keep his balance on the dresser.

Cover me with love

Roll me in designer sheets

i yelled “ bruno! oh my lord! no dancing! ” he yelled back “ one dance ”

“ i don’t wanna dance! ” i yelled holding his arm trying to pull him back up.

he grabbed my arm and spinned me around arne watching.

I'll never get enough

Emotions come, I don't know why

Cover up love's alibi

Call me on the line

Call me, call me any, anytime

Call me I'll arrive

i was still jokingly dancing with bruno as i notice arne was gone, i looked around for him and i saw his head peak through the door as concern filled his face, he grabbed my wrist and dragged me to the room to the hallway with the dogs.

“ arne! arne stop it! what are you doing? ” i yelled as he fell to the ground, i stood behind him a knife falling out of his pocket, bruno came over to arne wondering why he was acting like that when arne yelled and grabbed the knife and stabbed him.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

pt 2??

@greenprisca @partr1dge @gingeraleluke

[onlyswan]

illicit affairs | jjk

→ pairing: jungkook x f!reader

→ genre: angst, smut (kind of), fluff (questionable tbh)

→ warnings: cheating, smut but not descriptive like yknow, hairpulling, a light tap (?) on the cheek, mention of safe word, reader is a masochist bc that’s what i am, infuriating ?  . . . lmk if i missed anything please i’m sorry

→ word count: 1.5k

summary: don’t call me baby. look at this godforsaken mess that you made me. you showed me colors you know i can’t see with anyone else.

note: i’m mentally unstable that’s all i can say… listen to illicit affairs by taylor swift while reading if u want! again, this is all fictional! don’t take it too seriously :]

+ my asks are open if any of you wanna ask q’s or talk or whatever i’m flexible <3

—

“i need you,”

those are the three words jungkook only needed to say before half an hour later, your arms were clinging desperately to any part of him you could reach. you just get so lost in him. when you’re connected with him like this, you become hyperaware of every sensation that sparks in your body. every single touch sends you into an overdrive. you lose all your inhibition and fall apart, with no care about the world outside the four walls of your bedroom. as cliche as it sounds, being with jungkook is nothing short of intoxicatingly liberating.

you cried out at the overwhelming pleasure that overtakes your senses and self-respect, unconsciously digging your nails on jungkook’s shoulders and down his back. he hissed at the slight sting, but it only drove him to relentlessly drive his hips harder into you to chase his own high.

a gasp escaped your lips when he tugged at your hair to level your face with his. “look at me,” he said softly, but was then interrupted by a choked out curse.

“fucking shit! your pussy just got so much fucking tighter. ah- can you- goddamn it,” his pupils were blown out with undeniable lust, glossy eyes darting around your tear-stained face before meeting yours. it was too good, too much that your eyes were drooping hazily, betraying you.

his palm tapped your cheek lightly to get your attention. “i said look at me, baby. keep your eyes on me,” and you did. it took a lot of you to keep them open, but you just can’t miss this. when it’s as if everything falls into place.

the way he looks at you almost makes you believe that he loves you and he is here to stay; that he is lost in you as you are lost in him. almost. and you hold onto these short-lived moments of granted delusion and fantasies. you keep your eyes open. your naked body laid out beneath him. all while begging for him to see that your heart and soul are also bare to him.

your back arched, your breasts pressing against his toned chest. his desperate whines of your name, sputtering curses, and words of worship made your head spin. you weren’t aware of the sounds you were making, and frankly at this point, you don’t give a fuck anymore and neither does he. did i break you again? he would often tease you, tattooed hand you shamelessly adore gently massaging your sore legs while the other is combing through the tangled mess that is your hair.

“jungkook, fuck!” you squealed. you were made aware of the fact that the bed was creaking and for a few seconds you were scared it was going to break (you don’t really have the money to buy a new bed), but he looked majestic like this. his hair that he’s been growing the past year because he wanted more options to style it was dangling prettily and you couldn’t help but tuck a few strands behind his ear. your eyes dropped to his soft, pink parted lips and the mole under them that you admire. you pushed yourself up a bit to press a quick kiss against it, and you didn’t miss his smile that formed after.

he huffed in quick pants. sweat rolling down his temples, and even the glorious ink that decorated almost his entire arm were covered in a layer of shine, and you could swear he is the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen. “you’re going to be the death of me,” he muttered before meeting you for a deep and sloppy kiss. stars exploded behind your shut lids, surrending to the euphoria of your cathartic release . . .

and then you fell in love with him all over again.

—

jungkook came out of the shower with only a towel draped around his waist. “i left one of my hoodies here, right?” he asked, looking through your closet.

“the grey one?”

“yes. wait- okay, i found it.” he smelled the said hoodie, followed by a loud sigh which made you pay your attention back to him from changing the sheets.

“it smells like you, y/n. i can’t wear this.” you felt a pinch in your heart so you chose to turn around and carry on with your silly little task, ignoring your shaky hands and legs.

“i’m sorry. i forgot to wash it separately. i was half-asleep when i did laundry.” you silently cursed at yourself for feeling the urge to cry. this isn’t new. you should’ve known better. “the green sweatshirt from the other time is fine, i think. take that instead.”

he didn’t answer, and you weren’t sure if that or his careless remarks hurt more. a few minutes later and he was ready to leave. he approached your seemingly unbothered presence. you settled with reading a book, wrapped in your blanket.

“i can’t stay longer tonight. i’m sorry. next time, i promise,” you refused to look at him but he tilted your chin and showed you his smile you can never resist. he planted a sweet kiss on your lips, and then your cheek, before walking out to leave you in a pitiful state worse than the last time.

you waited for the sound of the door closing before breaking down into a puddle of tears. he just had to make you look at him. you just had to get a fucking glimpse of his lockscreen. a picture of him and the woman you would do anything to magically become tomorrow morning.

—

jungkook kept his promise, after all. and here you were thinking he shouldn’t have. wait. fuck. no. no, it’s all your fault. you shouldn’t have answered his call when you knew that you needed some more time to gather yourself before letting him destroy you again. and again. and again. because here you both are, having no clue what to do as you’re crying uncontrollably in his chest. the warmth and comfort he was radiating only made his presence more painful. and yet, you still cling pathetically to his arms.

this is all you know how to do, right? to take what can you get, even though you know it will never be enough?

“you’re scaring me,” he rocked you back and forth. “please, please. talk to me. shhh, did i hurt you?”

you wanted to say no, but you couldn’t speak. couldn’t breathe.

“i’m sorry, baby. i should’ve reminded you of the safe word.” he sounded so upset and guilty. his concern made your broken heart swell. and it made you so angry.

it took a few more minutes for your sobs to subside. his hushed whispers, attempts of calming you down turned into gentle humming. he brushed off the hair that sticked to your face and wiped away your tears, pressing fond kisses as he went. you were just watching him tend to your trembling and exhausted figure.

“did i really hurt you? where does it hurt?” he asked softly, scanning your naked body. he was treating it as if he was terrified of breaking you.

“no, you didn’t, jungkook. i’m fine,” you managed to croak out. your throat hurt and you were dehydrated, which he was quick to notice.

he reached out to your nightstand for a bottle of water. you took big gulps while he was still caressing your hair. “you swear? then what’s the matter, baby?”

“don’t call me that,” you snapped. you finally snapped. “please don’t,”

jungkook’s body tensed. sure, you can be snappy and sarcastic and cold. but you never turn away his acts of affection. he was thinking of what to say but you beat him to it, your words leaving him even more speechless.

“you know i love you, right? i haven’t told you, but i never kept it a secret either.”

of course he knew.

he knew whatever’s been going on between the two of you was a form of escape from the difficult lives you both led. he always described you as intoxicating. his escape became unescapable, because as time went on it became harder and harder to let you go. and yes, he knows it’s fucked up. he knows you deserve so much better. and even though they both know he’s only been staying in his relationship for the sake of the memories and time and energy he invested, and that he’s too much of a coward to admit it, he knows she also deserves better. he’s been in and out of his head, focused on the thrill of it all, that he abandoned all morals and decency.

and now here he was, holding your exhausted vessel that is cradling your bruised and battered heart. “yes, y/n. i do know,” his voice came out as a pitiful whisper.

“then why are you doing this to me?” your voice wavered, your eyes threatening to spill acid rain once again. “you make it so easy to love you. you make it so hard to push you away when you hold me close like this. look at what you’ve done to me!”

he flinched at your last sentence, but it was too late to dial down your anger and frustration to cater to his feelings like you always do.

“i was a better person before you came into my life, kook. you took so much from me. and i’m also to blame. and this is just fucking horrible. so why?” you poked at his chest accusingly. “why are you like this?”

he was clueless, probably even more than you were. he didn’t know what to say. he didn’t know if there was anything for him to say. he wasn’t going to defend himself. he didn’t want you to blame yourself more than you already had. the shame and guilt were eating away at his insides. so instead, he embraced you tighter than he has ever embraced anyone in this lifetime. his salty tears leaked down your naked shoulder he has pressed a thousand kisses on. nothing but endless apologies escaped his mouth, amplifying your heart shattering cries.

god, what has he done?

—

NAHHH YALL WHAT THE FUCK HAVE I DONE ??? MY HEAD HURTS

[tootiredmotel]

Electricity

Inspired by @ledzeppelinmixtape 's emoji prompt: ⛈

Read on ao3 or below / 2.3k words

It's 11pm and storming biblically when Dean and Cas's apartment goes dark.

"Great," Dean mutters under his breath. "Fan-freaking-tastic."

From somewhere else in the apartment, his roommate asks "did the power go out?"

"What do you think, sunshine?" Dean replies sarcastically.

He has a half-written essay in front of him, but he knows his old-ass computer won't last long unplugged, so he saves the document before shutting it off. He leans back in his chair, stretching for the first time in an hour and running a hand down his face. He actually needed a break from the screen, he realizes, feeling his eyes relax as he rubs them.

The steady rain and strong winds outside make an overwhelming white noise track, interrupted only by thunder that goes from faint and distant to deafening in volume. If Dean wasn't stressed out of his mind and completely exhausted right now, he might actually find this kind of nice.

"It's raining cats and mice out there," he hears Cas say, his voice now in the room.

Dean smiles, still rubbing his eyes with the backs of both his hands. "Cats and dogs, Cas."

"Right. Cats and dogs."

It’s really no use correcting him; the entire animal kingdom could be falling from the sky right now and there wouldn't be much of a difference. The winds are definitely knocking things over, and the streets will certainly be flooded come morning. Dean wonders for how long the university will cancel classes after this (if at all, the heartless bloodsuckers).

A particularly loud clap of thunder startles Dean. He drops his hands from his face and opens his eyes, expecting to see pitch black nothingness, but the room is faintly lit by the flashlight Cas is holding as he rummages through their kitchen drawers. He approaches a minute later and sets a candle down on the small table.

"Smart."

"Thank you, Dean," Cas says, sitting down opposite him. Dean smiles again, this time shaking his head.

If anyone ever asked him to mention one thing he likes about Cas, just one, he'd probably say how genuine Cas is, how he takes everything to heart and speaks from it as well. Dean said just one word, smart, a simple comment on the fact that it occurred to Cas to light a candle instead of wasting the battery of their one flashlight, and Cas genuinely thanked him for the compliment. He's just ridiculously cute in his earnestness.

Cas is trying to light the candle now, but their lighter is tricky. Despite living together in that apartment for a year and a half now Cas has never really gotten the hang of it.

"Here, let me."

Dean means to take the lighter from Cas and do it himself, he really does. That is 100% his intention as he reaches across the table. Except he sees an opportunity, and Dean Michael Winchester is nothing if not smooth.

He wraps his hand around Cas's, gently guiding his fingers until they’re placed just right, and the lighter clicks on with ease. Cas meets his eyes, smiling, and Dean can feel the slightest brush of Cas’s thumb against his hand. It’s a small gesture, but clearly deliberate, and it sends Dean’s heart into overdrive. Cas leans away, puts the lighter aside, and starts leafing through a book he brought. Dean’s heart is still racing as he watches him.

Scratch that first thing. If anyone ever asked him what’s one thing he likes about Cas? His hands. God. Neat nails, slightly calloused palms, and overall larger hands than you’d expect. Cas is an environmental science major and he wants to get a Ph.D. in botany, so of course, there’s a small garden on their fire escape. He tends to those plants every day with more gentleness and care than Dean has ever seen, and Dean loves to watch him, even though he has no idea what Cas is doing with them half the time. He just knows that not a single one of their plants have died under Cas’s care. He names them too.

His attentiveness. That’s another thing Dean might say if anyone ever asked. Cas left to visit his sister Anna last winter break. He left Dean in charge of the plants, three of which died inside the week. (For Dean’s birthday a couple of months later, Cas got him a book. How Not to Kill Your Houseplant. Dean keeps it on his nightstand.) Dean went out and bought new ones, but he knew Cas would notice the difference, and he did. He wasn’t mad at Dean though, and he appreciated the effort, and as Dean apologized profusely over and over again, Cas looked at him in the eyes oh-so-softly and told him he was forgiven.

How could Dean possibly forget? If anyone ever asked, he’d say that Cas’s eyes are one of his favorite things about him. One of his favorite things, period. Dean is absolutely mesmerized whenever Cas looks him in the eye, and the guy loves making eye contact, which means that Dean lives in a perpetual smitten daze. He has never seen that shade of blue anywhere else on this earth. Or maybe he just hasn’t been looking, content to get his fill of that blue by staring into Cas’s eyes as much as he gets to on a daily basis.

“Are you alright, Dean?”

Dean blinks himself back to reality. “Hm?”

“You seem… spaced.”

Dean is staring. He’s been staring this whole time. Shit. Crap.

“Yeah, um. Just tired.”

Mr. Smooth, everybody.

“Maybe you should go get some rest. I doubt the power will be back anytime soon.”

Castiel Milton, always looking out for you. It makes Dean melt.

“Yeah, maybe.” I wanna stay here with you, though, he thinks. Instead, because he’s pathetic, he asks “what’re you reading?”

Cas shows him the cover. How Not to Kill Your Houseplant. Dean breaks out in laughter.

“So you’re going into my room and stealing my shit now?”

“Don’t worry, I didn’t touch your Vonneguts.” Cas puts the book aside, an easy smile on his face. “Just wanted something light to pass the time.”

“You done with your homework?”

A soft yawn escapes Cas. “For now.”

“Dude, why not just go to sleep? You look exhausted.”

“Look who’s talking.”

Dean tries to deadpan him. He fails, because around Cas, it’s near impossible for him to not smile.

“Besides, I might be done but you weren’t.”

“And you wanted to keep me company.”

Cas shrugs as if to say I guess, but he does it with a knowing smile. The smile doesn’t falter as he meets Dean’s eyes, and he doesn’t look away when silence settles between them, the only sound being the stormy white noise.

Dean is sure he could drown in that blue and die happy.

Before that train of thought gets away from him again, Dean tears his gaze away and stretches. “We should really go to bed though, I’m not getting any more done tonight,” he says as he stands.

“Of course,” Cas says, but he grabs the book again.

“You not going?”

“I want to finish this chapter.”

The seriousness in his tone makes Dean smile. Again.

“Well, g’night, Cas.”

“Good night, Dean.”

Dean thinks he detects a bit of shakiness in Cas’s voice but decides that he’s probably just tired.

He gets to his room and changes into something comfortable, the first t-shirt and sweatpants he finds as he rummages in the dark. He goes to set his phone on his nightstand and crawl into bed, but in place of the book he keeps there and puts his phone on top of– the book Cas has at the moment– he finds something else.

It’s paper. It’s folded into the form of a book, like one of those youtube craft tutorials with bad music, and it's no bigger than his own palm. The cover is handwritten, and Dean immediately recognizes it as Cas's. He smiles, expecting a prank or joke of some sort, Cas knows how stressed Dean can get with the start of the semester. However, his smile falters as he reads the cover:

How to tell your best friend you’re in love with him.

With a shaky hand, Dean opens the small book. The first page is the only one with any more writing on it, and it reads:

You leave him a note and hope it’s enough.

Dean is storming out of his bedroom (no pun intended) before he knows it. He barely even feels his feet moving, too focused on the pounding in his ears and the dryness in his mouth. He doesn’t go into the living room, not yet; his feet stop at the end of the short hallway and he braces himself against the wall. The room is spinning and he can barely breathe.

“Cas?” He chokes out.

Cas puts the book back down on the table in front of him and interlocks his fingers in front of him. He doesn’t look at Dean– Cas, who makes too much eye contact – and takes a deep breath before saying “yes?”

He’s nervous.

Dean takes a step forward, still keeping one hand on the wall just in case, and holds up the note. “What is this?” he asks, because his brain is just not there with him yet.

Cas stands, still not facing Dean. “Dean, do you know what day it is?”

He’s asking this now???

“September firs–”

Oh. Oh shit.

“Cas isn’t today the–”

“The night we met. Two years ago.”

Dean feels his brain catching up now as the memory starts coming back to him. Cas helps, starting to recount that night.

“Two years ago tonight, I was leaving my night course at the university, and it was raining. Not as bad as this,” –Cas looks out the window and lightning strikes, as if on cue– “but pretty badly, and I was an inexperienced freshman without an umbrella.”

Dean remembers. He was walking Charlie to her dorm when it started drizzling, and it was pouring by the time he made it back to his car. Dean had a night shift at the gas station and was about to head there.

“Two years ago tonight,” Cas continues, “you invited me into your car to shelter me from the rain.”

Dean saw this guy running in the direction of the men’s dorms, which were on the other side of campus. He felt bad, and he had a car, so he opened the passenger door and let him in.

Turned out to be the most gorgeous guy he’d ever laid eyes on. He was a bit awkward, but he had no filter, which made him weirdly funny. He asked about the music playing in the car and listened intently to Dean's rambling. He laughed at his jokes too.

At the end of the five-minute drive, he said his name was Castiel, and Dean asked for his number and saved it as Cas with a thunderstorm emoji. Because even if he didn’t know it yet, Dean was already whipped.

“Two years ago,” Cas says, finally looking up at Dean. His eyes are wide and vulnerable and he looks terrified and Dean can barely stand it. “Two years ago tonight, I started to fall in love with you.”

Dean can’t breathe. His ears are hot and he can’t stop fidgeting with the note in his hand and he can’t breathe.

But his feet start moving again, out of their own volition. They move toward Cas.

“If you don’t feel–” Cas starts, but Dean swallows his words.

Again, Dean’s brain isn’t all there yet, and he doesn’t realize what he’s doing until he’s already in it. He’s grabbing Cas’s face, digging his fingertips into the back of his hair, and the note is forgotten on the table, and thunder rumbles not that far away. He’s darting out his tongue, begging to explore Cas’s mouth as he’s wanted to do since forever, and Cas lets him. He tastes like toothpaste and coffee and honey and Dean never wants to taste anyone else ever again.

Cas is wrapping his arms around Dean’s waist and pressing his entire body against him. It’s making Dean weak in the knees but it’s okay because Cas is almost holding him upright at this point. There’s another clap of thunder, much closer this time, and the lightning probably illuminated the apartment, but it wasn’t enough to make them part. They’re moving and grasping and exploring frantically, and Dean is afraid Cas is going to disappear, or that he’s going to wake up and this will all have been another dream. But no, it’s real, and they’re playing catchup on two years worth of desire and longing and love.

They eventually pull away, breathless and giddy. The only sounds are the rain and the wind. Dean opens his eyes first, needing to see Cas and make sure this is completely, definitely, unequivocally real. Cas is smiling and taking deep breaths, and a weight seems to be lifted off his shoulders. He opens his eyes a second later, and even in the darkness, even with just the faint candlelight, the blue in them seems to shine. And even though there's no power, it feels as if there's electricity crackling in the air around them. It might be the storm.

No. It's the moment. This moment with Cas is what feels electric.

“Come to bed?” Dean asks, feeling brave and going out on a limb. The only way Cas responds is by interlocking his hand into Dean’s and kissing him again.

And after tonight, for the rest of his life, if anyone ever asks him “what’s one thing you love about Cas?” Dean won’t be able to narrow down an answer.

He’ll just say: “Everything.”

[oro-e-diamanti]

Quiet Music: Scherzo (Chapter Six; Part Two)

In collaboration with @bethanysnow

Butterflies getting caught in throats with no words to help explain. Time standing still with a heart breaking. Determination and a willingness to see it through float away in sleep.

Content | Fluff, slight smut warning, tw injury (nothing major, just a wrist injury)

Pairing | fem!Reader x Damiano

Word Count | 6644

Shoutout to @damianodavide​, who was a superb help on this chapter and the real life nurse behind this one ;) 😘

***

Damiano’s head was spinning. As soon as he closed his eyes, Y/n’s face appeared in front of him, eyes hooded, lips plumps from just having kissed him, and an expression that promised a need for more. It left him bothered in a way that he knew would not let him sleep until he took care of it. Trying to pretend it was her feminine hand instead of his own rather undignified touch, he reached into the waistband of his underwear immediately letting out a hiss at the contact. 

He was desperate for her, but if he couldn’t have her, his imagination would have to do. Pictures flashed through his mind as he moved his hand. Her on her knees, looking up at him through long lashes. He had already gotten a taste of the way she reacted when he complimented her, watching her eyes go wide as he called her a good girl. Her being good for him. Her on her back, ready to be devoured by him in any way he pleased. Feeling his hands go into her hair pulling her face up to look at him. Her bent over whatever furniture he could find, willing to let him have his way with her. Deeply, madly, irrefutably, he wanted it all. She was truly making him lose his mind. Her body and the way she moved were infatuating. Her laugh when someone did something dumb. The look in her eyes when she teased him back. He could still feel the kiss she left on his lips. He never wanted that feeling to end. Brava ragazza mia.

He came with an embarrassingly loud groan, unable to hold back or keep quiet. For a moment, in the silence, he wondered if anyone had heard. He was well aware that his room was surrounded by those of bandmates and crew, but he couldn’t remember who it was exactly anyway, and it didn’t bother him for long, his hazy mind drifting around once again. 

***

“Where is your mind at?” Y/n looked up as Victoria pulled her out of her thoughts unexpectedly. Y/n had stopped in Victoria's room after breakfast, trying to keep tabs on what everyone’s plans were on their day off. She had meant to get some work done as Victoria was busying herself getting ready, but it had ended up with her staring into the distance, laptop almost forgotten on her lap.

“Oh, sorry. I’m here, what were you saying?” 

“I asked where your mind is at.” Victoria fell forward laying on the bed. Y/n knew that the blonde was starting to learn to read her like a book and she wasn’t sure if she liked it or not.

“Yeah, um, listen. What would you say to someone that may have absolutely decimated her career, by maybe accidentally kissing her boss while they were all high?” She didn’t dare look at the bassist, bracing herself for whatever negative reaction would potentially come from this.

Victoria sat up in surprise, eyes wide and the hint of a smile playing on her lips. “I’m going to need a lot more information than that.” Without giving in to Y/n’s slight protest, she removed the laptop from the assistant’s legs, closing it shut and putting it away. “Tell me everything.”

“Well, there wasn’t much to it really. We sat on the couch, you know that. And I said something stupid about how his eyes looked like chocolates, or maybe gemstones? I don’t quite remember. Anyway, then he pulled my hair out of the hair-tie. I went to kiss his cheek, but he turned his face. Fuck, it was bad. Not the kiss! He is very good at that! But I shouldn’t have done that. And then he just went ‘it's cool, it happens’. What does that even mean?!” She was talking much too quickly, getting it all out before the rational part of her brain would make her shut up. Make her remember she was talking to someone she’d only just started getting to know a week ago, who she was working for. “Then Thomas crashed and you know how that ended. Now I might be avoiding him. Just a bit.” She looked at Vic with a slight panic in her eyes, unsure if she had said too much.

Victoria, on the other hand, seemed delighted to no end, if a little shocked. “Wait, as if you kissed with all of us there and no one noticed!” She exclaimed, briefly pausing, contemplating, but shaking it off to get back to the conversation. “So… Good kiss, huh? Did you enjoy it then? Wanna do it again?” Her eyebrows raised in curiosity.

“Victoria! That is not what I am worried about here! I could lose my job. I- I could never show my face out there again if people found out. And I really enjoy this job, you know!” Her face scrunched a little bit, calming down with a sigh. “...But also, yes, he was a gentleman, and if he wanted to … kiss me again, I probably wouldn’t say no. But I also wouldn’t say yes. I work for you. This is not the time to be thinking about how much I enjoyed kissing Damiano!”

Her eyes went wide as her voice dropped to a whisper, looking down at her hands. “Ah fuck, I said that out loud.” 

“Okay, let’s look at it from a rational standpoint then.” Victoria turned slightly more serious at seeing her panic. “There is no way you’ll be losing your job over this. Maybe I wouldn’t advise hopping into bed with the whole band and crew, but we always got a tight-knit relationship with people we work with anyway, you know that. None of us would rat you out to management or anything. Plus, if you liked and Damiano liked it… wouldn’t it be a shame to worry about anything else instead of going for it?”

“I don’t know if he liked it. I was busy trying not to pass out, to be honest. I avoided him this morning by going straight to your room. I actually kind of avoided everyone, I’m scared the words of what happened will just come out to anyone who asks… Kind of like they just did with you.” She let out another deep sigh, switching between looking at her nails, picking at them, and out the window. “If he ...you know ... Then maybe. I honestly don’t even know what I would do with that information. On the off chance that he did like it though. And wanted to go for it then I’d consider it.” She tried to remain as put together as possible and, well aware that she was failing miserably. 

“Well, in that case, we have to find out what Damiano wants!” Victoria’s enthusiasm was back with a vengeance. “You should talk to him! Or should I talk to him? Maybe I should lock you in a room like those romcoms and threaten to not let you out again until you kiss.”

“Or you don’t do that because that is entrapment. I think I would be cool with you talking to him. But I still have to do my job. That comes first. Because as far as I am concerned,” Y/n got up and grabbed her laptop again, “it is business as usual. And last night was a fluke. Not to crush your rom-com dreams, love, but if I spoke to him I’d put my foot in my mouth faster than you can play bass.”

The smirk on Vic’s face didn’t promise anything good. “We’ll see about that, we’ll see,” she ominously muttered, before jumping up from the bed. “Now stop trying to pretend you got work to do, we’re going vintage clothes shopping.”

*** 

The thrift store turned out to be a small hole-in-the-wall kind of place, just off a side street - perfect for shopping in peace without getting much attention at all. Y/n hadn’t been all that keen on keeping the band company for this little adventure, but Victoria had insisted, claiming she needed a female perspective in case the boys were being stupid again. It had only taken a serious case of the puppy dog eyes to win her over, and Victoria found herself making a mental note to remember it.

The store was stuffed full of clothes, a kind of chaos that seemed to have an order that only the owner really understood. But it looked like heaven, and within seconds everyone had vanished into some corner or other, dying to find their newest favourite piece. For a moment, Victoria contemplated who she wanted to follow first, feeling the need to talk to at least two different people but also never wanting to miss out on a chance to go crazy with Thomas. Ended up deciding on Damiano. It seemed the more pressing issue. She hadn’t failed to notice how he would try to pretend that everything was normal, yet continuously evading Y/n’s eyes. She had kept her distance all the same. This wasn’t acceptable. She had to do something, Victoria decided.

She found the singer shuffling through some blouses, although much more half-heartedly than he tended to be when it came to vintage clothes. Looking out from the racks Victoria saw Y/n doing the same. She briefly considered how to go on about this - admit that Y/n had told her what had happened? Pretend she had actually seen the kiss last night? - but figured that Damiano would start talking on his own accord sooner or later. Especially if this was affecting him the way it was Y/n, and she was almost hoping it was.

“Okay, spill, what’s up with you today?”

Damiano shrugged, pulling a shirt out from the rack, and holding it against his body, waiting for Victoria's opinion. She raised a brow and put it back wordlessly.

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” he responded rather vaguely.

“Damia, you’ve barely spoken at all today. Normally you can’t shut up. And you know, I’d be thankful for some peace and quiet from you, but you’re actually worrying me. So what’s going on with you?” 

Damiano had a panicked look on his face as he scanned over the racks of clothes, his eyes flickering back and forth, obviously noticing Y/n shuffling through some things and slowly getting closer. Taking Vic by surprise, he dragged her into the dressing rooms. 

“Okay, that’s…. Weirdly intimate, but go on,” Vic mumbled to herself as he closed the curtain behind them, still nervously looking around the small space.

“Rather talk to you in here, than her hear me out there. I may have fucked up, royally.” He crossed his arms over his chest and Victoria was sure he would be burning a hole into the wall with his vision if he possessed that power. He was avoiding looking at her and she knew it.

“Explain,” she simply demanded, sitting down on the tiny stool in the corner and looking up at Damiano. She wanted to hear it from him, hear what had happened in his version of the story, hear what was bothering him so much.

“So we were at that bar, right? Y/n was sitting next to me. I don’t know why I’m telling you this, you were there. Anyway. We were talking. I don’t know if it was the smoking or whatever else, but I looked at her and - I don’t know why I did this but I did. I pulled her hair out of her hair tie.” He leaned on the wall, his head hitting the brick behind him. He groaned but Vic assumed it didn’t have anything to do with the pain. “And… and she was so beautiful. Her hair just all around her. So soft. And at that moment, she was laughing and it sounded heavenly. And I went to look at her again and suddenly my lips were on hers…” His voice softened at the end, losing his train of thought and drifting. She had never quite seen him like this. “Then she was freaking out, and I told her some fucking stupid line like ‘it happens’. I just wanted her to calm down but… Now she must think I’d just...” He groaned, slumping a little and finally looking over at Vic. “Then she ran off to help Thomas.” 

“So, what you’re saying then is that you did enjoy it? Potentially wanna do it again?” She felt transported back to the conversation she’d had with Y/n just hours earlier, posing almost the exact same question. She had never been this involved with any of her friends’ relationships to this extent, but something told her that her help was desperately needed in this case.

He raised a brow at her. “Did you not hear the part where after we kissed she then proceeded to freak out? I doubt that she even wants to see my face right now.” A heavy sigh left him and Victoria found herself laying a hand on his arm. “And of course I want to kiss her again, Vic. I close my eyes and she is there. Hell, she wakes me up every morning! I can’t escape. She is everywhere I go! I turn a corner and she is there. She's the one we go to when wanting to eat, she arranges the cars, she helps us with concerts, she’s doing everything all the time. I don’t know how much more I can take!” 

*** 

Y/n stood in the shoe aisle holding a pair of heels in her hand, contemplating for a second, before putting them on. Turning towards Ethan, who was walking towards her now, she realised it had eliminated all height differences between them. Definitely too high, she thought to herself. Holding onto his shoulders, she clumsily took them back off.

“Hey Ethan, find anything good?” The smile on her face felt forced but she was praying he wouldn’t see it.

He proudly holds up a black, studded belt with an intricate design on it, as well as a pink suede jacket. “How about you? I think I saw some nice trousers over there that might suit you. Wanna check it out?”

Y/n scoffed. She didn’t want to let her mood out on Ethan, trying her hardest to stay diplomatic. “Love the idea, but I doubt any of the clothes in here would go over my thigh. They’d fit you guys just great though. The jacket looks good, by the way.” She tried to distract herself from - well, everything - by putting the shoes away, mindlessly letting her fingers wander over the other pairs standing there.

Ethan looked at her in contemplation for a moment, but seemed to decide against following his train of thought. “At least try on some more shoes. Here, what about these?” He excitedly grabbed a pair of high-heeled boots, very much in the style she could see any of them wearing on stage - much less the one she usually went for when working.

A little intimidated, she took the shoes, if only to humour him. Ethan was nothing but a sweetheart, this was the least she could do. She put them on only with some slight struggle. She once again reached his height, almost amused by the feeling of seeing eye-to-eye with him, but the shoes felt strange. Very far removed from the usual flats, sneakers, boots, or whatever other pair that would allow her to keep running around all day without regretting it in the evening.

“Do I look silly?” 

“You look gorgeous, absolutely gorgeous.” His voice had the most earnest tone to it and it was only supported by the way he studied her, looking her up and down. “Maybe walk a few steps to see if you can get used to it.”

She laughed as she proceeded to strut and partially dance some steps down the aisle to the song playing in the store. “I haven’t worn heels in so long, still got it though!”.” Her small smile grew into a grin, rather proud of herself for still being able to keep up. Going to the mirror near Ethan she looked at the shoes, then at herself in the shoes, then back at Ethan. Still, the insecurity took over for a moment. Her voice seemed small when she asked, “You think so?” 

“I wouldn’t lie to you like that,” he replied, putting a hand over his heart for emphasis. “Want to go and see what the others think? I saw Thomas over there, and Vic and Dami disappeared into that corner a while ago.”

“Right, good idea.” She walked over to the dressing room looking for Damiano and Victoria, figuring they had gone to try on some things. Well, she was mainly looking for Victoria, still uncomfortable at the thought of facing the singer. She was in the middle of calling out for them when Damiano’s voice seeped through the curtain instead. She didn’t mean to listen, only to wait for him to stop so she could interrupt, but the second she realised what he was saying she wished she had never come over.

“Hell, she wakes me up every morning! I can’t escape. She is everywhere I go! I turn a corner and she is there. She's the one we go to when wanting to eat, she arranges the cars, she helps us with concerts, she’s doing everything all the time. I don’t know how much more I can take!”

She stepped back. Frozen in place. Her heart was beating out of her chest, hurting, aching, breaking just that little bit. Processing what he had said seemed to happen not at all and then suddenly all at once. She couldn’t breathe. She needed air. Anything but this suffocation. She needed to leave.

“I need some air.”

The words came out of her mouth much louder than anticipated, but she didn’t care. She didn’t care that people were looking at her now. She didn’t care that was still wearing a pair of shoes that she had definitely not paid for yet. She just needed out, out, out, and away from all this. From him.

She didn’t realise she was walking on cobblestone until she wasn’t anymore, her ankle giving way, arms desperately trying to keep her from falling as she stumbled.

***

Damiano and Victoria stopped in their tracks as they heard someone approach from outside of the dressing room. Both heads turned towards the sound, when Y/n’s voice came through, telling maybe no one in particular that she needed some air. Her voice sounded strange. Damiano was convinced he had never heard that particular tone in it. As he threw back the curtain, he saw her stumble outside, clearly hectic, and he could feel a surge of panic run through him. Something wasn't right here. He forgot all about the conversation he was having, all about Victoria, and made his way outside. Not quite running, but the worry had him out of the door quickly. His heart sank when he saw her, lying on the floor just outside of the shop, holding her arm awkwardly, some scratches already beginning to bleed a little. As she looked up at him, he could see tears pricking at her eyes.

"Fuck, are you okay? What happened? I just saw-" The look on her face - or rather, the way she turned away from him - shut him up instantly. This wasn't the time to bombard her with questions. It didn't matter anyway. Instead of bothering her further, he quickly knelt down beside her, helping her sit up in return. He was acutely aware of the way she pulled away the second he touched her skin. Like she had been burned. ´

"I'm fine, I'm fine. Sorry to ruin the shopping trip, you can go back in if you want to," she mumbled, trying to wipe some tears away but instead spreading some dirt and drying blood onto her cheek instead. Damiano wanted to touch her, clean her up, dry her tears, but the way she had pulled away a minute ago made him not want to try. The last thing he wanted to do was overwhelm her more. He watched as she pulled out her wallet, handing it to him. "Go pay for the shoes please. And stop looking at me like that, I said I’m fine."

Yet, as soon as she moved, she winced in pain, taking a deep breath before getting herself up to a standing position. He found himself holding her arm in support, but she only accepted it for as long as necessary. As he let go, she let out a small cry of pain, obviously holding her hurt wrist the wrong way.

“You’re obviously not fine,” Damiano sighed. He desperately wanted to reach out to her, but she was already in tears, turning away, and it simply didn’t seem like a sensible option. He looked around at the others as they gathered around Y/n. Only Thomas was missing, probably still blissfully unaware inside the shop and browsing for clothes. He tossed the wallet to Ethan. “Would you mind paying for her shoes real quick?” Ethan nodded, walking back into the store. Y/n was still standing between them, holding her arm close to her body in a protective gesture. Almost a similar expression to the one she had had on her face on the plane all those days ago. He wondered if something was scaring her the way the turbulence did back then. 

“I am and will be fine, Damiano.” Her voice was stern. “I cry at a lot of things, this is no different. I wrap it up, put ice on it for a while and I’m golden.” 

He watched as Victoria put a tentative hand on Y/n’s shoulder. She didn’t pull away from her touch, he noticed. “Y/n, that really doesn’t look like nothing. Look, it’s starting to swell up already.” 

"What do you want me to do then?" She almost sounded resigned now as she looked back and forth between Damiano and Victoria. "We are in Amsterdam. I don't exactly have a GP on speed dial here. Now, where is Ethan with my wallet?"

She started walking towards the door of the shop, but Damiano defiantly held out his arm to stop her. "We are taking you to A&E."

Her face seemed to drain of all colour, and this time it was not because of the pain. "You are not taking me to a hospital."

Damiano looked at her, determination in his eyes, trying to make her understand that this was non-negotiable. Just for now,  he would forget about the way she was brushing him off, the way she was evading his touch, the way she did not even want to look at him. Because right now she needed him and he would be there for her, if she wanted him to be or not.

"Yes, I am. Final decision. You would do the same for us if we got hurt. But we're responsible for you too, you're part of our crew, and right now, being responsible means getting this checked out. Besides, you're not getting your wallet back until you agree."

As soon as Ethan stepped outside again, this time with a slightly confused-looking Thomas in tow, Damiano snatched the wallet from his hands only to put it in his own jeans pocket. She was mad, obviously turning whatever was bothering her into anger, but Damiano was having none of it and he hoped the look in his eyes told her so.

"Fine! Take me to the hospital. But know that I am not happy about this."

"I don't need you to be. I just need you to come with me."

***

A quick refresher of her rudimentary Dutch verified that she was indeed looking for "spoedeisende hulp", another search on the internet confirmed that there was a hospital nearby, and before she knew it, she had been whisked into a taxi with Damiano. The others had decided to make their way back to the hotel, no point in clogging up the waiting room. Damiano promised to call with any news immediately.

Y/n wouldn't tell him, certainly not right then and there but she was happy that Damiano seemed to take the lead for once. She wouldn't have had any problems had any of the others needed medical help - but having people fuss about her? Making her the center of attention in a way she did not intend to be and having to accept help from others?... It was a completely different story. Still she appreciated the way he handled the situation, making sure she got registered with the administration straight away, listening attentively for further instructions, and leading her into the waiting area. She was also glad that it seemed to be quiet, not only because it would result in less of a wait, but also because the bustling would have made her all the more nervous.

This was out of her comfort zone. She had managed to avoid hospitals for the majority of her life, and yet here she was, because she panicked and couldn't handle her shoes. Looking down at them, she wanted to curse them. Curse the fact that they made her walk over to Damiano and Victoria in the first place, curse the fact that she had heard Damiano speak about her that way, curse the fact that they carried her out the door but not much further. She didn't even know where her actual shoes were. Hopefully, Ethan had kept his head and collected them on the way out after paying.

A few seats down, someone coughed loudly, reminding her exactly of where she was. It wasn't the worst hospital she had ever been in, that much was true, but she would rather not see one from the inside at all. She was dying for some comfort, some soothing words, a gentle touch, but as soon as Damiano made any attempt at reaching out to her she pulled back. His words were still heavily playing on her mind, the swelling of her wrist and the heat that seemed to seep from it a painful reminder. There was no way she was going to let herself fall, be reassured and consoled by him when he was so obviously sick of her presence. She wouldn't do that to either of them. Victoria with all her good intentions be damned. At least right now. 

“Why are they not calling you in, it doesn’t even look like they’re doing anything,” Damiano grumbled next to her, eyes on the nurse’s station where a few of them were sitting. A few eyes were on them, something that looked like an excited discussion.

“Stop it, I’m sure they’re busy at work. Just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean they aren’t”, she bit back, slightly harsher than intended. He shot her a look, eyebrows raised, but she turned away, not looking to have a deeper conversation.

It left Damiano sitting in silence. Leaving both of them in the same situation, again. Y/n and him alone. Well, alone enough. Alone enough to not have anyone distract her from the uncomfortable feeling that settled over them. No Thomas being silly, no Victoria making a dumb comment, no calming presence of Ethan. Through this whole process, Y/n had basically crawled back into herself. She wished she could disappear.

She didn't know how much time had passed when they were finally called, too preoccupied with her own thoughts and the pain in her wrist. The nurse that beckoned them over had the warmest smile on her face, albeit tired eyes and it surprised Y/n how much comfort she found in the soft expression of the woman. White slacks, rolled up sleeves, pockets so full it looked like they were bursting at the seams, dark hair up in a bun. She found herself looking over at Damiano, wondering if he was aware of how gorgeous this woman was, how kind and calming her aura was, but his eyes were trained solely on her. She didn't allow herself to get lost in his gaze, quickly dropping hers and following the nurse into an examination room.

“Hi, I’m Ana, I’m going to be your nurse for today. You only speak English, am I correct?” She asked, gesturing for both of them to sit down, Y/n on the examination table and Damiano on a chair next to it. There was a slight twinge of an accent in her speech, but it was clear that she was fluent, which was a relief. Y/n didn’t even want to think about trying to get this done with the few words she knew in Dutch. She nodded, gratefully. “We’re going to go over what happened, and then I’ll do a physical examination, and the doctor will see you after as well.”

Y/n watched as the nurse fumbled with the computer, seemingly already typing things before Y/n had even said anything. “So, what exactly happened?”

“I, uh, tried on some heels and tripped on the cobblestone outside,” Y/n explained, taking a moment to glare at the offending shoes still on her feet. “Fell forwards, tried to soften the blow with my hands and now my wrist looks like this.” She held up the offending arm, gathering that the sight would speak for itself. The dried blood of the little scrapes on the palms of her hand did its best to make it look more dramatic than it felt.

“Oh, yeah that looks quite painful,” the nurse winced. “I see you’ve scraped your knee as well.”

Y/n looked down, slightly confused, only to realise her jeans had torn, revealing a beat-up knee underneath. Crap, she hadn’t even noticed, too occupied with… well, everything else. This felt like it was getting worse by the second, she never wanted to get back to a hotel room this badly. She felt like crying, but letting Damiano see her composure waver was the last thing she would allow.

“It’s nothing,” she sighed, moving her legs as if it gave her a chance of hiding her bruises.

“It’s not nothing, Y/n,” Damiano sighed next to her, before turning towards the nurse. “I think it’s more serious than she’s letting on.” In the same determined tone from before. 

The nurse looked back and forth between the two of them. “It’s probably the shock of it.”

Oh yeah, the shock. Mainly that of finding out that Damiano didn’t want her around, apparently.

The nurse asked a few more questions, time of the accident, previous medical history, medication she was taking regularly, but they barely reached her. She found herself answering curtly, with Damiano filling in where he could. She wouldn’t tell him she was thankful for it. Even though the idea of him taking care of her made her emotional. 

“Right, let’s get that wrist looked at then.” Y/n had feared it would be painful but as soon as the nurse started handling her? She knew it was her job to feel the joints, test her range of motion, move her arm. But unwelcome tears emerged in the corners of her eyes. She didn’t have the energy to push Damiano’s hand away, as she almost reveled in the comforting touch on her back. The small talk didn’t even begin to make for a distraction. Yet, something was nagging at the back of Y/n’s head as she watched the nurse interact with Damiano. There was a familiarity in her eyes… Did she know who he was? Surely not.

“This will need an X-Ray to make sure it’s not broken,” the nurse concluded, finally letting go of her wrist. Damiano whispered a quiet ‘You okay?’ over to her, but she couldn’t do anything but nod. “I will bandage the scrapes a bit while we wait for a doctor. So, what brings you to Amsterdam today?”

“Work,” Y/n answered, trying to keep some degree of privacy, but Damiano didn’t seem to mind butting in immediately.

“I’m in a band, we’re on tour. She’s our assistant and overall angel.” She wanted to shoot him a look, both at the unnecessary honesty and the over-the-top way he was describing her, but a touch to her banged-up knee distracted her.

A doctor popped into the room quickly verified everything the nurse had told him And before she knew it she was being led down a hallway to get an X-Ray. Damiano stayed behind in the room.

“Cute couple, the two of you,” the nurse piped up next to her.

“Um, yeah, no. Not a couple. Just a working relationship.”

“You sure about that?”

Y/n almost wanted to stop dead in her tracks, ask the nurse what on earth had given her that idea, but she also knew she was here to get examined and the last thing she wanted to do was annoy the person responsible.

“Very. He doesn’t like me like that, he’s made that crystal clear.”

“Well, he certainly doesn’t look like you in a way that suggests he doesn’t like you. If anything, I would have guessed he was head-over-heels for you.”

Y/n was stumped for a reply. Was this woman making fun of her? She didn’t look like someone who would. So why would she say these things? With a deep sigh and a heavy heart, Y/n decided she would have to talk to Damiano at some point. Have him either stand by his statement and back off, or explain what the hell he was doing. Because she was starting to lack comprehension about any of it.

She was glad the rest of the appointment seemed to fly by in a hurry, or maybe Y/n’s brain had simply gone into power-saving mode, not really taking it what as happening around her anymore. Her exhaustion was tangible. The X-Ray was done quickly enough, someone sent her back to the  examination room, and before she knew it, the doctor had announced that it was, in fact, not broken. A quick wrap around her wrist, some instructions on how to care for it (that Damiano seemed to listen to more closely than she did), and she was almost out the door. She was sure she would have fallen asleep on the examination table.  It was only the nurse quickly saying her goodbye and adding another comment that almost threw her off balance again.

“Bye, guys. And by the way, nice show yesterday. I promise I wasn’t the one who threw the bra.”

***

It was dark out by the time Y/n and Damiano made it back to the hotel. He had made sure to text the others, telling them to go for dinner without them, they’d be fine, and he figured she would need some rest. The hotel restaurant was quiet enough and he motioned towards it, but Y/n shook her head.

“I’ve got a few snacks in my room, but honestly, I’m not hungry at all. I just want to go to bed.”

Yet, tired as she was, it only took one pointed look for her to shut him up, so he simply nodded and led her towards the elevators.

“At least let me bring you to your room and see if you need any more help. And I can give you your wallet back.”

He could tell in the way she stiffened next to him, the way she barely reacted to his words, that she wasn’t keen on the idea, but he wouldn’t let her get away with it. He was desperate to find out what was bothering her and why she was so distant, but he couldn’t figure it out. Was the kiss still playing on her mind? Was she uncomfortable with him? It was the last thing he wanted. He needed to show her he was willing to be there for her.

Closing the door of her room behind him, a shout rang through the room.

“These fucking things, I hate them!” She was loud and angry while trying to get her shoes off, but her voice was wavering and if he watched her in just the right light he was convinced he was seeing the beginning of tears forming in her eyes.

“Shh, shh, it’s fine,” he tried to soothe, unsure if he was going about it the wrong way, but quickly bending in front of where she was sitting on the bed. She kicked her heels once more in frustration, obviously unable to get them off with her wrist still compromised.

“Don’t shush me when it’s all your fault,” she whispered and he almost stopped dead in his tracks, but he figured she hadn’t meant for him to hear. He stayed quiet, against everything in his heart telling him to find out what she was talking about. Instead, he focused on removing her shoes, gentle touches against her bare skin. Looking up at her, he realised that she was studying him, watching his every move, and he concentrated even harder on being the perfect gentleman. Yet, when he pulled the second shoe off her, he couldn’t help letting his hand rest on her calf a little longer than necessary.

“Come on, let’s get you into some pyjamas,” he decided, getting up and putting some distance between them. Too afraid of getting ahead of himself, of letting his hands wander more than appropriate places, of saying something he shouldn’t. He threw what he gathered to be her sleepwear in her general directions. “If you need any help changing because of your wrist, let me know.”

He hoped his smile was as sincere as he meant it. Either way, she didn’t give him much of a reaction, grabbing the clothes and disappearing into the bathroom. A few sharp hisses reached him through the door, but he knew better than to offer his help again.

He wasn’t sure what the acceptable place for him to sit was, but since the room didn’t offer anything but a worn-out armchair and the bed, he decided that choosing the far side of the mattress wasn’t too bad. He didn’t even realise she had left the en-suite until her voice reached him.

“We really need to talk, Damiano.” She sounded resigned and tired and he wished he could wrap her in his arms and tell her everything was alright, but it didn’t seem like the right time. As soon as she reached the side of the bed opposite him, she all but collapsed on it. She sleepily grabbed one of the many unnecessary hotel pillows they placed on the bed and nuzzled her face into it. 

“There will be more than enough time for that tomorrow,” he replied, grabbing the blanket and making sure she was fully covered by it. “It’s been a long day, try to get some rest.” 

She didn’t even manage to argue anymore, eyes already fluttering closed, breathing slowly becoming more steady. She was gorgeous like this. A soft calm overtaking the scene. No wall up that kept everyone else from her inner thoughts. No front that she put up in desperate attempts to remain professional. Just a softness etched into her features that highlighted her natural divine beauty.

He wanted to take her worries away. He hoped that whenever they did get to talk tomorrow, it would yield some clarity. The last thing he wanted was for her to ever feel this way. He had grown so attached to her, so obsessed with the idea of having her around, that he already feared the end of the tour. If she would give him any option to stay in her life, he would take it, whatever way it was.

Damiano barely noticed the way he was slipping down on the mattress, his fingers softly patting her head, eyelids getting heavy. The last thing on his mind was Y/n, sleeping soundly next to him and wishing for nothing but to make her happy.

***

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The Wrong Lifetime – Seven // Wanda Maximoff

chapter six | story masterlist | main masterlist | wattpad | chapter eight

author’s note: hope y’all like this one 👀

The Maximoffs were just as a good at throwing a party as my own parents were.

Celebrating a new book that was published at Pietro's business, they threw a party in their back garden big enough to host half the town if they wanted to. Actually, now that I thought about, half the town was probably there.

We were invited to celebrate along with them because we were 'family' now, as Oleg and Iryna pointed out, so I found myself standing in their garden getting a drink under the night sky and trying to blend in with the snacks table so I wouldn't have to mingle. Parties still weren't my thing, clearly.

People-watching was more my forte. It was amazing the things people did when they thought nobody was looking. One guy coughed into his hand and wiped it on his pants – I reminded myself not to shake his hand – whilst some woman checked if her teeth were clean on the back of a serving tray.

My gaze raked the garden, indifferent to the men who attempted to get women's attention with a boyish grin and terrible pick-up lines, or the women who lifted their dresses a little higher than necessary to steal a man's attention. I spotted my parents talking to some guests whom I'd never see before, then there was Wanda's parents laughing alongside Pietro as he told a joke to some important looking people.

Eventually, my eyes fell to the remaining Maximoff, who was looking especially beautiful tonight. A deep lilac gown adorned her figure and she wore it like it was uniquely made just for her. She probably didn't even realise, but all eyes were definitely on her; a simple stride around the garden had people turning heads to see who the lilac beauty was. Y/B/N was the most envied man of the evening, with every guy here wishing they could have Wanda on their arm.

I'd wanted to tell her just how truly stunning she looked tonight, but I hadn't been able to pull her away from my brother's side for even a second. Everywhere he went, she went, too. I'd caught her eyes maybe three times tonight since she was so involved with whatever she spoke about with the people who worked for Pietro. I didn't take it personally of course, but it didn't make me feel any better.

Y/B/N had his hands all over her, probably suspecting just how many people were checking her out tonight, and I hated the way it made me feel. Envy and jealousy came over me and it wasn't pleasant. His hand was permanently fixed on her waist, at times moving suspiciously lower and making me roll my eyes. Occasionally, he'd lean over and whisper something in her ear making her flush – involuntarily or not, I didn't know. Wanda was a good actress, appearing as the perfect fiancé to him and couple to everybody else. Or, at least, I hoped it was acting.

"Pretty ladies shouldn't be standing by their lonesome," said someone with a Sokovian accent, but sadly not the one I wanted to hear.

"Pietro," I said with an amused smile, turning to face the man of the evening. "Congratulations on the new published book!"

He smiled appreciatively. "Thank you, Y/N. How are you finding the party?"

I glanced around, disguising my discomfort with a nod. "It's great."

He chuckled, as if suspecting that was a lie, before changing the subject. "So, the book. Have you read it?"

Glad that this was something I could actually talk about, my shoulders relaxed and I nodded. "Yes! I bought it yesterday as soon as it was published. I've only read the first six chapters, but what I've read is beautifully written."

Pietro snickered, raising his brows. "Only? That's further than anyone here has read."

I smiled bashfully, eyes veering elsewhere with embarrassment. "I guess I just have a lot of free time."

He hummed with amusement. "And you must really like reading... Wanda mentioned you write, too. It's nice to know it runs in the family."

Certain my cheeks were flushed, I nodded. "Yeah, our dad, he taught Y/B/N and I how to write when we were kids. That's where my love of literature began."

"And what do you like to write?" he asked, intrigued.

I shrugged, the grip on my glass of champagne loosening as I grew comfortable. "I don't know... short stories, drabbles, novels. I mainly deal with themes of love and romanticism. We're so intent on leading our lives with what other people want that we rarely take time to think about we want... I write about that."

Swallowing, I looked to Pietro, hoping I wasn't boring him. He was a publisher after all, besides my soon-to-be brother-in-law. His opinion was important to me.

"I must admit, Y/N, my interest is piqued," he admitted, watching me with an inquisitive gaze. "Do you have anything I could read?"

"It's probably better than it sounds," I said dismissively, knowing this was just small talk.

He chuckled, shaking his head. "I doubt that. You shouldn't say such things. You never know, you could be my next signed author."

I tried not to laugh. "Nice try, Pietro."

He smiled widely. "What? I'm serious!"

Tilting my head towards him knowingly, I sighed. "We both know that can't happen."

He was grinning now, clearly entertained by my unamused expression. "Says who?"

I motioned around us with my drink. "Says everyone? The world we live in?"

He began to list authors on his fingers as he said, "Jane Austen. Emily Bronte. Mary Shelley. Louisa May Alcott. Dare I name more?"

"Okay, okay, I get it," I said, pushing his hand down and rolling my eyes at his smug expression. "But I can promise you that all of those women fought tooth and nail to get published. Their families probably weren't as accepting as they wanted them to be. There's still people now who talk about how unprofessional and lacklustre their works are. They didn't have it easy. Still don't. And don't even get me started on the reputation side of things for you... d'you know how much backlash you'd get for signing a woman?"

Pietro shrugged, sipping his drink, before saying casually, "I only care about talent, Y/N. And if you have even a quarter of the talent your brother does, then I'm happy to go from there."

I quirked a brow, trying to gauge if he was pulling my leg or not. But the kind eyes looking back at me suggested he may not have been. Either way, the idea of actually being published – something I'd been dreaming of since I was a kid – was enough to raise my suspicions and make me shake my head.

"Thanks for listening, Pietro," I said conclusively, hoping he got the hint.

He nodded, accepting my word, thankfully. "Anytime. Hopefully this isn't the end of this conversation, though."

I cracked a smile, knowing it was but giving him the benefit of the doubt. He pursed his lips, glancing around briefly before attempting to hide an amused smile.

"What are you smiling at?" I teased, nudging him in the arm slightly.

His eyes met mine, sparkling with mischief. "You've probably not noticed, but as we've been speaking, almost everyone in this garden has looked our way."

I cocked my head with confusion, smile still present. He nodded subtly, eyes flickering to the right, so I followed his gaze and inconspicuously looked around. He was right, as murmurs of gossip escaped people's lips, their eyes trying to get a good look at the two of us. Even our parents were looking our way, no doubt discussing our future wedding affair.

"Wow," I breathed out, trying not to laugh as I looked back to him. "You'd think they'd have something better to do."

He leaned in, muttering, "Wanna give them a show?"

My eyes flickered between his, seeing that roguish charm of his come to life. I couldn't resist his mischievous attempt to piss off our parents, so of course I nodded with a stifled laugh.

"Care to dance, Miss Y/L/N?" he asked, a little louder than he needed to, attracting more attention.

I grinned, grateful for the idiot that was Pietro. He was already making my evening ten times better than it was.

Resting my hand in his outstretched one, I nodded. "Thank you, Mr Maximoff."

I barely had chance to put my glass down before he led me to the area before the live band that was strumming a lovely upbeat ballad. We joined the other couples that were also having a dance, unbothered by their nosey stares.

Bowing dramatically, he smiled and I curtsied before resting a hand on his shoulder and the other in his. He rested a hand on my waist respectfully before a grin spread across his lips and he began to dance me around everybody else, way too fast for me to keep up.

"Pietro!" I exclaimed between fits of laughter, trying not to trip over my feet or his.

"You said we could dance," he answered simply, before spinning me around.

My eyes went dizzy as he dipped me, making me laugh joyfully. For the first time all night, I was having fun. When he pulled me up, his eyes motioned to the left of us.

"D'you think our parents have already picked the wedding venue?" he teased.

"Definitely," I said with a nod, before shoving him back slightly. "But you, mister, need to slow down. You're like a speedster with the dancing. We should call you Quicksilver."

He laughed, continued to dance me around but much more slower this time. "I like that. You're clever. I can see why Wanda has taken a liking to you."

I knew he didn't mean it like that, but my heart dropped to my stomach anyway. A hearty chuckle escaped his lips as he noticed my expression. Thankfully, he didn't question it and we continued to make a fool of ourselves for a few more songs before taking a break by the snacks table.

"You're an idiot," I told Pietro as we caught our breath, but a delighted smile was on my lips. "You know you've probably convinced our parents that we're a couple now, right?"

"Hey, you're the one who started to fluff my hair like you loved me!" he retorted with humoured eyes.

"Because you're just so darn cute!" I mocked him, before moving forward and going in to fluff his hair yet again.

He attempted to smack my hand away as he said, "Hands off the hair, Y/L/N! I styled it perfectly!"

Grabbing my wrists, he held me back and I tried not to cry with laughter at the expression on his face.

"Such a child," I decided, pulling my hands away. "Whatever happens from here on out is definitely your fault."

He scoffed, as if ready to refute that fact, but before he could say anything, my brother's voice was heard.

"It's nice to see you actually conversing with people for a change, but maybe not my publisher."

Pietro and I turned and saw Y/B/N and Wanda approaching us. My brother seemed entertained by Pietro and I, looking between us with pre-conceived ideas that we may have already fancied each other, just like everyone else had tonight. Wanda, meanwhile, was watching me with a smile that didn't reach her eyes.

"He's good company, what can I say?" I joked, returning my brother's smile.

"Oh?" He raised a brow, knowing look in his eyes.

I rolled my own, trying not to laugh at his insinuation. There was no point trying to convince him otherwise.

"I was just giving Y/N here the best evening ever since she was moping around in the corner," Pietro explained nonchalantly, making me smack his arm.

"I was not moping!" I defended myself.

He shrugged, ghost of a smile on his lips. "Whatever you say."

I gave him a playful glare before focusing my attention to the couple before us.

"As lovely as it is to see whatever this is," my brother continued to make things awkward as he motioned between us, "I came to get Pietro. Someone from the press is here and has questions about the book."

At the mention of this, Pietro straightened up and neatened his bow tie, flashing my brother his most confident smile. "Lead the way, Y/B/N."

After assuring Wanda he'd be back in a second, Y/B/N let go of her waist and guided Pietro to the members of the press. Glad that he'd finally left her side, I looked to Wanda with a soft smile.

"Hey," I said quietly, glancing around before saying what I'd wanted to say all night. "You look radiant tonight, Wanda." 

Unexpectedly, she crossed her arms and pressed her lips together firmly. "How was your dance with Pietro?"

Her green eyes, literally green with envy, watched me with distaste. It didn't take long for me to recognise that familiar jealousy entwined in her expression because it was probably the same way I looked when she was with my brother. For some reason, this made me smile with amusement.

"He's a very good dancer," I said, half truthful and half trying to poke fun.

She wasn't amused. "Yeah, everybody saw. You've been all over him."

I covered my mouth, trying very hard not to laugh. "I mean, he's pretty funny to be around. I can totally see why everybody wants us to get married."

Her jaw clenched as she narrowed her eyes at me.

"C'mon, it's a joke," I said lightheartedly, nudging her in the arm. "You know that."

After internally debating whether or not to believe me, she relaxed her shoulders and unclenched her jaw. "I know."

"So, what's the problem?" I asked, raising a brow and smiling playfully.

She rolled her eyes. "Nothing."

My smile faded as I searched her eyes. "C'mon. What is it? You know you can tell me."

"Forget it, Y/N," she muttered, avoiding my eyes.

Realising she was still clearly bothered, I sighed dramatically, hoping to lighten the mood. Making sure my voice was low enough for only her to hear, I said, "I only danced with him to annoy our parents. Same with him. He's clearly not interested in me and neither I with him. That's why we get along so well." Teasing her once more, I added, "If circumstances were different, I'd like to think we'd be good friends. He's quite handsome, though I think the good looks are a Maximoff twin thing. Maybe if–"

"I'm in love with you!"

I paused, blinking, unsure if I'd heard correctly. Her cheeks were flushed as she looked to me with exasperation.

Glancing around to make sure nobody was attracted by her outburst, I swallowed hard. My heart was pounding in my ears as she said what I'd been struggling to accept for the past two months.

"What?" I breathed out, raising my brows with surprise.

She licked her lips, realisation replacing her look of admission. Opening her mouth to say something, she stepped forward, but my brother returned with an oblivious smile on his face and interrupted the moment.

"Wanda, the journalists want a picture of us for their article," he said enthusiastically, returning his arm around her waist and tugging her close, making my skin crawl.

Her gaze lingered on me for as long as she could before looking up to my brother with a halfhearted smile.

"Sure," she agreed reluctantly.

My brother nodded at me before leading Wanda away. She gave me one last look, her eyes trapped with unsaid words, before leaving with him. My mouth went dry as Wanda's words echoed in my mind. She was in love with me. And I knew I was in love with her, too. I had been for a while.

But wouldn't admitting that make this whole thing a lot more complicated?

—

"Will you stop shaking your hand? It's very distracting."

I stopped shaking my hand and gave my mum an apologetic glance before facing the door again. I was extremely eager and nervous to see Wanda again, as I hadn't been able to see her for the rest of the party last night.

Her words were permanently resounding in my mind all night, making it difficult to fall asleep. The reality of our situation had dawned on me and I knew that even though everything would become more difficult between us, I had to tell her that I felt the same way. The last thing I wanted was her panicking that I didn't. Because these last two months loving her in secret were better than anything I'd experienced in my life.

Iryna and my mum had made plans to hang out today, including Wanda and I in the plans without actually telling me until this morning. I didn't mind though as I was hoping it could be an opportunity for us both to finally speak.

The front door opened to reveal Iryna with a bright, inviting smile. She exchanged greetings with us both and ushered us inside instantly. There, waiting, was Wanda, looking as gorgeous as ever. A calm suddenly enveloped me as I looked to her, my heart fluttering in my chest more so than usual. She loved me and that thought alone made me feel giddy inside.

"You must come upstairs to the closet with me," Iryna insisted before I could utter a word to the brunette. "I've been very silly and impulse-ordered a bunch of new dresses. Of course, the only way to fix that is to try them on."

My mother laughed alongside her and the two of them looked to Wanda and I questioningly. I smiled their way, glancing at Wanda, before following them upstairs. Maybe later.

I spent the next hour trying on clothes against my own will, modelling them for Wanda and our mothers awkwardly. Ecstatic, our mothers threw their opinions out at me, but I was barely listening because all I could seem to focus on was a quiet Wanda. I couldn't read her mind for the life of me – she was getting better at hiding how she truly felt.

Wanda also tried some dresses on, still not as enthused as she usually was, but neither of our mothers seemed to take notice. I sat on the lounge sofa alongside them, eyes unable to look away from Wanda as she modelled the dresses. I had no words, my mind hazy and tongue tied as she stole my breath away for the millionth time. She was ethereal.

"...what do you think, Y/N?" Iryna asked, forcing me to look away from Wanda and to her. "She should keep this one, shouldn't she?"

I hummed in agreement, looking back to Wanda, who was avoiding my eyes. "She should. I don't think I've ever seen a dress so perfect for someone before."

Our mothers didn't seem to think much of my comment, but Wanda finally looked up, not ignoring me for the first time since I got here. I offered her a small smile, hoping she could see what I'd been wanting to say to her since last night. But she looked away, chewing on her lip and looking down.

"I'm gonna change," she mumbled, before turning to go back behind the curtain.

A sigh escaped my lips as I leaned back against the seat. I'd just have to find a spare moment.

Iryna and my mum proceeded to try on a bunch of dresses before we called it a day and were ready to eat lunch.

"I want you to have these, Y/N," Iryna told me as we all stood up, motioning to the pile of dresses on the arm of the sofa. "It's my gift to you."

I raised my eyebrows. "Oh, Iryna, you don't need to give–"

"Don't be ridiculous," she cut me off with a wave of her hand. "You're family now. Anything for my daughter-in-law."

I smiled awkwardly, not missing the eye roll from Wanda, before nodding. "Thanks..."

She looked to her daughter. "Wanda, medovyy (honey), can you help her pack them away and meet Y/M/N and I outside on the patio for some lunch?"

Wanda, having no other choice but to say yes, nodded and forced a smile in her mum's direction. "Sure, mum."

Our mothers fell into conversation as they left the room, finally leaving Wanda and I alone. I released a breath, grateful for the privacy, and looked to the Sokovian in question.

"You okay?" I asked slowly, wanting to find a start before erupting straight into my feelings.

She nodded, nibbling on her lip. She looked like she wanted to say something more, so I watched her patiently.

After a pause, when I thought she may just stay quiet forever, she spoke. "If what I said last night was out of line, I'm sorry."

I shook my head, a smile curling on my lips. "It wasn't. I'm in love with you, too."

Surprised, she finally met my gaze, eyes swirling with confusion. "You are?"

"Of course I am," I said quietly, stepping forward and taking her hands in mine. "I didn't mean to make you jealous last night. Pietro and I were genuinely just hanging out as friends."

She shook her head, eyes flickering between mine. "It doesn't matter about that. Forget it."

I still felt guilty, adding, "I know, but it does matter. I don't want to–"

She pressed her lips to mine quickly, cutting me off. Her fingers tangled in my hair as she tugged me closer with her other hand, making me gasp when my body touched hers. I kissed back, closing my eyes and moving my lips against hers in perfect sync.

I probably could have kissed her all afternoon, but the sound of the door opening made us both jump apart, startled. It was just a servant who was coming in to clean up the room. When she saw us, she gave us a small smile before moving around the room carefully. My eyes fell to Wanda's excited ones, and I smiled at her before nodding to the dresses.

"We should sort this out before they wonder what's taking so long," I told her, moving to pack them.

She nodded, grabbing my hand and squeezing it gently before helping me. We packed the dresses in no time before joining our mums out on the patio where they were sat with our lunch. I tried to keep my eyes off Wanda as our mothers spoke to us about God knew what, but it was hard when all I wanted to do was kiss her over and over, telling her just how much I loved her.

"...nice to see you both getting along lately," Iryna was talking, and I only zoned back in when I realised she was looking at me.

I blinked. "I'm sorry, what was that?"

Wanda stifled a smile as my mum gave me a disapproving look from across the table.

Iryna didn't seem to mind as she chuckled. "You and Pietro," she continued. "You both seemed very comfortable at the party last night."

I settled on a polite smile. "He's a gentleman. Very nice to be around, I guess."

Iryna smiled knowingly, exchanging glances with my mum before patting Wanda on the forearm, getting her attention. "How does that sound, dear? Your brother and Y/N together?"

I shook my head instantly, realising how she'd taken my words. "That's not what I meant."

Humming in response, Iryna continued to look to her daughter. "You may have to start sharing your new best friend with Pietro."

Remembering Wanda's jealousy last night, I spared her a glance of concern, hoping she wouldn't let this get to her. She was smiling, but her eyes were dimmed with dismay.

"Uh-huh," she played along with her mother's words, before using her fork to pick at her food.

As our mums began to talk about it, I found Wanda's hand under the table and laced my fingers in hers, hoping she'd know I only cared about one person and it was her. Though she didn't look up, her hand tightened around mine and she didn't let go.

The rest of the lunch went by as expected, though the more Iryna and my mother mentioned the wedding, the more Wanda and I grew uncomfortable. It was so much harder to hear about it when I knew my feelings were growing stronger for the brunette every day. By the end of the meal, my mother was happy to go back home and said I could stay to hang out with Wanda, which of course I did.

After bidding her a goodbye, I let Wanda drag me upstairs and to her bedroom, though the door closed when she spun around and pushed me against it, immediately kissing me. Before I could even question what was happening, she pulled away and looked at me through a half-lidded gaze.

"I don't want to share you with my brother, ever," she rasped out lowly, before licking her lips. "I don't want to share you with anyone."

She breathed out, her breath mingling with mine. Her hands rested on my waist before she reattached our lips, moving hers slower and more thoughtfully against mine.

I closed my eyes, grabbing her face and holding her gently, letting her slip her tongue between my lips and play with mine. Then she sucked on my lower lip, teeth nibbling gently at the sensitive skin, and made my insides go warm and fuzzy.

When she let go, she trailed kisses down my jaw and to my neck, having me at her mercy.

"Wanda," I moaned, hand moving to the back of her neck as I tried to regain some control of the situation, but the longer she sucked at the exposed skin, the more my knees wanted to buckle.

Already lowering my dress to my shoulders, her hand untied the back of it and I flushed at the contact of her fingers against me, not used to the feeling but also not opposed.

"Wanda, are you sure?" I asked between bated breaths, attempting to get her attention by tugging at her dress.

She pulled back, hand rising to my jaw and caressing it with her thumb as she looked between my eyes. Hers were dark, clouded with an arousal I hadn't seen before.

"I am," she said with certainty, before asking, "Are you?"

I swallowed hard, the warmth in my core growing hotter as she stared at me with lustful eyes and swollen lips. "Yes."

She gave me a slight smile before pressing her lips to mine again, allowing me to wrap my arms around her neck. I heard her lock the door behind me as I undid the top of her dress, struggling to do so without breaking contact from her. We moved to the bed clumsily, trying not to stumble over our discarded dresses, before I laid her down and straddled her.

Leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses down her neck, I felt her fingers grip my waist, keeping ahold of my body on hers. I shivered as her nails scratched gently against the skin and grew warm when she lifted herself up gently to get more comfortable, her clothed centre rubbing against mine.

Taking a breath, I pulled away and hovered over her, revelling in the beauty that was Wanda Maximoff. Her cheeks were dusted pink as she opened her eyes, green eyes sparkling desperately as they flickered between mine.

"I love you," I told her softly, leaning on my elbow and caressing her forehead.

She smiled, nails trailing up my back and sending shivers down my spine. "Ya tozhe tebya lyublyu."

I tried not to laugh as I tilted my head with confusion. She smiled a little wider, hand reaching for the back of my bra.

"I love you, too," she translated in English, hint of amusement in her eyes, before she managed to undo the bra strap.

I rolled my eyes at her attempt of mockery before chasing down her lips once more. Everything about the woman before me was absolute perfection and I was glad I could finally share how I felt about her without having to hide it anymore.

The potential consequences of our actions was not my concern right now... all I cared about was treating her with the respect and care she deserved.

[hxseok-honee]

sundress || part 8

written portion under the cut!

sundress [part 8] || weirdly normal

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a/n : ['cause you're a one in a million // there ain't no man like you] streets x doja cat

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Saturday, 18 September, 4:33pm

“Sex?”

“No sex.”

“Not even a little bit of sex?! Just like, once a week!” Y/n lifts her head to level Yoongi with a glare, one that has him shrinking back and whispering ‘okay, no sex’. With a shake of her head, she’s dipping her head again, focusing in on the roll of parchment in her lap.

They’re sitting face to face on her bed, each holding some parchment and a quill as they try to ‘negotiate fair terms for their arrangement’, as Y/n had put it when Yoongi had complained about not needing rules.

Y/n’s making the final list of rules on her own parchment, Yoongi tearing off scraps of his and submitting suggestions, most of them sexual in nature. There’s a pile of rejects next to him, but he’s yet to lose hope. Ripping off another piece of paper, he scribbles ‘blowjobs?’ quickly and folds it in half, handing it over to her with a smile. She doesn’t even look up or open it, immediately crumpling it and throwing it back at him. It hits him squarely between the eyes.

Blinking once, he tears off another piece, unfazed - this one says ‘so no head?’. Somehow that one also hits him between the eyes.

“Okay — what do you think?” Y/n sits up straight with a smile, offering Yoongi her draft of the Rules List. He looks it over, eyebrows raised.

No sex!!

Romantic affection is to be kept to public situations as much as possible.

Saturday Night Routine is to remain untouched and untainted.

Min Yoongi must keep his scumminess to a minimum in private.

He finishes reading before looking up, eyes deadpan.

“You are so fucking boring.” Y/n scoffs, reaching out to take the parchment back, but he’s holding it above his head, grabbing for his quill. Quickly he scribbles a fifth rule, one that says “MAKE JEON JUNGKOOK SUFFER” in his chicken scratch. And then he looks up at her, another thought on his mind.

“We should have practice sessions.” Y/n furrows a brow, eyeing him with suspicion.

“What does that mean, and why do I already not like it?” He taps a finger on Rule #2, underlining the words ‘public situations’ lightly with his quill.

“We’re gonna be doing most of this stuff in public, so you’re gonna have to get used to getting freaky with me in public spaces. Library, broom closets, empty corridors and classrooms — that’s what I’m known for.” He looks almost proud when he says it, and Y/n can’t help her amused smile even as she shakes her head in disappointment.

“How are you so fundamentally gross as a person?” He grins back because she’s clearly fond of him, so he feels no shame in how he is, only explaining further.

“If the entirety of Hogwarts is gonna believe I’m taken and off the market, you’re gonna have to keep up with me, babe.” Y/n rolls her eyes, knowing he’s right despite not wanting to admit that. If Yoongi’s putting in the work to make it seem like he’s committed to her, she should at least meet him halfway. And Min Yoongi is a lot of things, but being a total sex fiend is what most people know him to be. She is gonna have to keep up.

“You realize it’s obvious you’re just trying to find somewhere to let out all your sexual frustration, right?” He doesn’t respond, only lifting an eyebrow, silently asking if she’s okay with that. After a moment, she’s sighing, pointing down at the list in his lap.

“Alright, fine. But we need rules for that, too.” He groans, throwing himself backwards onto her mattress dramatically.

“Why do you enjoy ruining every good thing in my life?” When she kicks at his thigh, he’s rolling over onto his stomach, flattening the parchment out in front of him so he can write the word ‘Sessions’, underlining it quickly. And then he looks at her.

“What are you comfortable doing?” She purses her lips, a smile dancing there, because she notices that he doesn’t make it about him and what he is and isn’t allowed to do. He makes it about her and respecting her boundaries. And she knows, by the way he’s tilting his head in confusion when she only smiles down at him, that he has no idea that he’s made that distinction. If he were anyone else, she’d be incredibly attracted to him right now.

But he is him. So she’s blinking that thought away, humming as she considers his question.

“Nothing below the belt…” He nods, writing as she speaks.

“Can I touch your butt?” When she lets out a noise of confusion, he’s looking up at her again. “Like, hand in your pocket while we walk, ass grabbing— that stuff.”

“Oh.” She hadn’t thought of that. She nods after a moment, not seeing the harm in him doing that. “Sure? Not my boobs, though.”

Immediately, he’s flopping backwards onto the bed again, whininess coating his voice when he complains.

“But I already felt everything in the shower! What’s the difference—Ow! Okay!” She’s pushed her feet up against his torso, kicking at him aggressively until he’s rolled away to where she can’t reach him. And then he’s pouting, making grabby hands at her for emphasis while he continues, at a distance now where he can complain safely.

“You know I’d pick tits over ass any day! You’re just doing this to hurt me.” Y/n only smiles mockingly, reaching out to tap a finger on the paper.

“Don’t forget to write ‘no boobs’ there, too!” Yoongi grimaces, rolling back toward her and picking up his quill, angrily scratching the words into the parchment.

“Okay, anything else?” He’d made a big fuss about not being able to touch her boobs, but he’s already over it, and — again — Y/n finds herself full of adoration that Yoongi will never push her boundaries, already having accepted them even when he was complaining about them.

You’re just all bark and no bite, aren’t you?

“Actually, I do bite. I like biting. Why do you ask?” Fighting the urge to smack the palm of her hand to her forehead at the realization that she’d said that aloud, Y/n shakes her head at Yoongi, who seems innocently confused. He shrugs when she doesn’t explain, his eyes lighting up when he thinks of something.

“We should do kinks.” Y/n rolls her eyes.

“Absolutely not—"

“Why not?! We’re gonna figure out what we like eventually if we’re doing these practice sessions, so why not talk about it?” He looks childishly enraged, his pout returning. She only laughs at him, shaking her head.

“Because we’re not doing anything sexual, so what’s the point?” He sighs, sitting up and facing her, crossing his legs as he goes.

“Kinks don’t have to be sexual, you big nerd. It’s not about the sex — it’s about the trust.” Y/n blinks, not having expected him to say something so serious.

“Okay… but if it’s about the trust, how are you acting on all your kinks with the other people? You don’t really know them.” He smiles softly, shaking his head.

“I usually don’t, actually. I just do whatever they want.” Y/n gapes at him, unable to believe that Yoongi had been holding back this whole time.

“So, if someone’s into choking—"

“It’s up to them if they want to trust me to do that for them. Obviously, I’d never go too far, but everyone’s trust thresholds are different. Mine’s just really high, so I always made it about them instead.” He shrugs while he says it, as if they’re talking about what he’d had for lunch and not the surprising weight he puts on trust in sexual situations.

“And you wanna explore that stuff now? With me? We’re not even together.” He tilts his head in confusion again.

“Yeah? There’s no one I trust more than you.” Y/n thinks her head might actually start spinning, because Min Yoongi’s brain is just not wired the same as hers. His ability to be both incredibly simple about his life outlook and shockingly nuanced about the inner workings of his mind — he’s more than just confident and sure of himself. He’s completely self-aware. It’s not the first time she’s been stupidly fond of him, but right now, she thinks he’s amazing.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Y/n blinks, realizing she’s just been staring at him that entire time. She shakes her head, slightly dazed, not even noticing that Yoongi’s looking at her with suspicious eyes. Pointing back to the list, she clears her throat awkwardly.

“Yeah, sure, kinks. But — I’m not telling you shit, it’s embarrassing. Figure it out yourself.” Eyebrows flying to his hairline, Yoongi reaches for the quill slowly, uncertainly.

“For real? You’re down?” She nods, trying to move on already, but Yoongi’s not letting it go, even as he writes it down. “Like… a game, then? We just test shit and see how we react? Because I already know you like having your hair pulled—“

“Oh my— Yoongi!” He snickers at her embarrassment, shaking his head. She has no reason to be shy, he thinks to himself. I’m the last person she has to worry about.

“So…” He glances up at her from where he lies, his eyes full of mischief. Y/n eyes him suspiciously, because he’s definitely about to say something stupid.

“Should we start now, then?” Lifting himself up onto all fours, he starts to crawl over to her, a smirk dancing on the edges of his lips — one that’s hidden quickly by the hand Y/n’s planting on his face, stopping him from coming any closer.

“Get out of my room, Yoongi.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Redirecting, Yoongi heads for the edge of the bed, sliding his sneakers on before standing. “I’ll be back in a couple hours—“ Turning, he cuts himself off, leaning down into Y/n’s face and smiling fondly when she backs away, rightfully wary of him.

“Kiss, please.” She’s immediately glaring, and he’s pointing down at the list on her bed, affronted. “You said Saturday Night Routine has to remain untouched — I still have like 2 hours until then. Kiss, please.”

With an irritated sigh, Y/n leans up, cupping Yoongi’s face and pressing her lips gently to his. Even knowing he’s probably got something up his sleeve, she’s unprepared for him to nibble at her bottom lip, trying to deepen the kiss. Pulling away quickly, she’s smacking at his arm indignantly, glaring when he laughs openly, his shoulders shaking as he does. He leans down quickly, pressing one last kiss to her lips before ducking out of the way of her swinging fist, chuckling to himself as he slings his bag over his shoulder and heads for the door.

“Don’t forget to choose something for us to watch while I pick up our food, okay? I’m not tryna let my dinner get cold because you’re indecisive.”

“That only happened once!” He shoots her a grin over his shoulder as he’s pulling her door open, his eyes amused.

“Love you!” Y/n rolls her eyes at the sing-song way he says it, responding with an annoyed ‘yeah, love you too’ as he’s closing the door behind him. She sits on her bed in silence for a few moments, vaguely disgruntled as she looks down at their list of rules and thinks about that entire conversation.

That was… weirdly normal.