#for some reason I sometimes sing 'I can see through the stars inside you'

[polarisbibliotheque]

Can You Hear The Rumble? - Vergil x Reader

Music Inspired Fics (Devil May Music) - Cirice, by Ghost

Pairing: Vergil x Reader

Summary: Everyone knew the kind of demon a hunter should be wary about is the one who plays with their victim's minds. You and Vergil were very proud on the outside - but how would it be when having to save each other on the inside for the first time?

TRIGGER WARNING: A lot of blood, cuts, bruises, scars and suffering on both Vergil and the reader's sides. The reader also struggles with perfection and self-loathing - in a "I'm never going to be a good person" kind of way, because I needed to get more intimate on the reader's part as well - and there are scenes with the reader covered in cuts and bleeding, though not self-imposed, it could be read like that. Those scenes are the reader's and Vergil's internal images of themselves. Reader and Vergil meet each other on their imperfections and the darkest parts of their souls, so BE WARNED. This might not be everyone's cup of tea and there are lots of potential triggers.

Author's Note: @tokkis-shelf asked me if Vergil's part of the Halloween special was inspired by Cirice, and here we are now. It is what kickstarted the song-fic requests! As with a lot of people, I think, Cirice is pretty personal to me.

In the video, it was so comforting to me seeing the black sheep being represented hahahaha and I guess that's why people love it so much. The part where they hold hands? I died, I'd never let go, I cry my soul out upon watching. (I did a very similar drawing to that scene when I was in school around 15 years ago, so it drop-kicked me out of my body xD)

Now, when writing this, I kept in mind that this song has a double meaning and can be quite comforting and quite manipulative at the same time - hence why I use the "can't you see that you're lost without me?" in two different situations, 'cause I think Cirice can be interpreted in so many ways and each person takes what they need from this song. I hope you guys like it!!

Plus, the song the reader and Dante sing at the end is The Power of Love, by Huey Lewis and The News

Cirice, by Ghost

“Can’t you see that you’re lost…?”

It happened every time Vergil walked in the darkness.

That voice in the back of his head, silently taunting him, the hiss of a quiet viper in the hopes of taking him back to the darkest parts of his soul. Quiet, lurking, whispering… Mundus always there, somewhere in the folds of his consciousness, guiding him back into the void – luring Vergil back into his shackles.

“Can’t you see that you’re lost without me?”

As if Vergil couldn’t belong anywhere else, as if his place was in Hell. After all he had been through, after all the sins he perpetrated, he believed wholeheartedly there was no hope for him at all – only a fool’s hope; only a glimmer of a wish he wasn’t as tainted as he was… A desire to not be such a monster as he was.

Pacing quietly through the empty cathedral, Vergil had already learned not to give in to those thoughts – to keep them at bay, as only a whisper in the darkness, of trickster voices that would always remind him of how inhuman he was.

It was times like this Vergil longed for the faint glimmer of the moon, or the warm ghostly light of a candle. It was easy to get lost in the dark, but a single ray of light could help through the direst of situations. That night, though, it seemed like the moon had fallen asleep behind the curtains of the clouds – Selene hiding her tears for her earthly lover in his eternal sleep.

None of you knew what that night entailed – you weren’t even certain what you were dealing with. That was the reason why Lady strutted in the Devil May Cry, not too fond of taking a job she didn’t know if it was up to her abilities.

“Well, looks like I have a new one for you to pay your debt, big guy!” Her singsong voice interrupted the ambience of the jukebox; Lady entering the shop with Kalina Ann and all.

“Eh, I’m never gonna be free of my debt, Lady, let’s be honest.” Dante sighed, putting his feet down and throwing his magazine across the table, shooting her a serious glare. “But things have been borin’ lately, so one of your odd jobs’ not gonna hurt. Whaddya have for me?”

“You talk as if I never help you enough to maintain this place.” She lifted one eyebrow, approaching the big desk at the middle of the shop.

“Gotta give the woman credit, Dante. Last month’s bills were on her.” You shrugged as you had finally come out of your shower, happy to see Lady around, still drying your hair with the towel as you went down the stairs.

“See? Someone who has a bit of common sense.” Her smile was nothing short of devilish as she gestured towards you.

“You know where you are, Lady. ‘Common sense’ isn’t much of a thing in this household.” You greeted her by quickly blowing her a kiss while passing by, making your way towards the couch where Vergil was quietly reading.

“Ey, you’re hurtin’ my feelings like that.” Dante put one of his hands over his heart, laughing alongside you as you kept on your way. “But fine. I’ll give ya that, Lady. So, what’s up? What job do you wanna throw at me this time?”

“I am not throwing it at you.” And there it was: you could always see when Dante stroke a nerve when Lady got defensive and with that fiery stare on her multicolored eyes. “If you wanna do it, great, if you don’t, I can deal with it myself just fine. I’m here to be a good friend since you can barely afford all that pizza you keep stuffing yourself with!”

As you sat by Vergil’s side, you both exchanged a telling glare. Just like you, Vergil was used to observing people. Granted, he didn’t know Lady as much as Dante or even you, but he did know her since he was very young. That fiery, easy-to-anger personality had been there since they first met at the Temen-ni-gru – and Vergil argued it was one of Lady’s traits that would never change.

Something he was quite pleased with, if he had to be honest with himself. It was a good trait for a human demon hunter like her. Dante always praised human’s hearts and particularly their love and empathy – Vergil praised their burning anger that made them unconquerable in the direst of circumstances.

“Jeez, alright, alright, don’t shoot me!” Dante raised his hands as if he was at gunpoint, making you wheeze quietly. Vergil side-eyed you for a while – half judging, half holding his own laugh. “It’s not like I have much of a choice, do I?”

“Humpf.” Lady rolled her eyes and took a slice of pizza from the box resting on the desk, pointing at Dante with it right after. “You know I wouldn’t bring you something if it wasn’t important.”

“Actually, you would.” With those words, Dante rested his arms crossed on the table – all the while, you and Vergil watched it all as if it was a show. Who needed a TV when you had those two? “But you’re bein’ too dodgy ‘bout it, babe. What’s goin’ on?”

“I got a call from a priest in a city nearby.” Lady’s answer was uncharacteristically quiet, followed by a bite from the pizza while she seemed pensive and in any hurry to chew it. “I’ve done some jobs there, know the guy, he’s nice. All the times he called me, it was always a quick, good-paying job. He said some weird things have been happening at the cathedral for the last couple of weeks.”

“Not to sound mean, but there’s always somethin’ strange happenin’ at churches.” Dante’s eyes carried a bit of skepticism: ‘weird things’ didn’t always entail a job for the Devil May Cry – and it usually ended with all of you hunting a rogue raccoon or something.

“I know. But this guy, he doesn’t get scared easy, ok? He’s one of those types of priests who’ll try to shoot down a couple of demons with a shotgun and, if that doesn’t work, he gives me a call.” Those words, though, made you and the Spardas raise your eyebrows. Indeed, it was a rare type of priest, but a good one to keep as acquaintance. “He said the cathedral is increasingly quiet, even from noises outside, with occasional distant noises that are not done by any of those who live there. After it all started, the other priests reported having weird nightmares, of being chased by something in the dark, inside the cathedral – this thing whispering things they can’t understand. Alright if it happened to one or two, but soon all of them started waking up in the middle of the night with similar nightmares – and, catch this, the higher ups of the clergy didn’t tell the common priests about it, but they all reported the very same dream.” Those words caught everyone’s attention. Vergil finally closed his book and leaned forward, paying attention to Lady’s retelling of the priest’s misfortunes. “The priest has been trying to figure out what’s going on, but some old books appear to go missing from the library, only to re-appear as if nothing has happened. Some books are missing pages, something that never happened before. He also said the inside of the cathedral has been getting darker and darker as the weeks go by. As if something is approaching – his words, not mine.”

Vergil immediately furrowed his brows and seemed to turn into an ice sculpture right by your side. You risked a glance, finding him with his usual dark aura – pensive, somber and quiet; hunter’s eyes showing themselves in a matter of seconds.

“Rare are the creatures in Hell in search for knowledge…” He muttered loud enough for his brother and Lady to turn their attention to him. “But those who do, are usually among the worst. Haunting noises, torn books, nightmares, dead silence and total darkness…”

“What? You think those Hell Piranhas came out of their pit?” Dante’s question had a bit of fun in the words, but his eyes were serious and he didn’t allow his lips to smile.

“Could be. Could also be a demon trying to mimic them to hide something else.”

“Hell Piranhas?” You and Lady didn’t need a cue to ask at the very same time. Neither of you had ever heard of that – and both of you had heard of a lot.

“This is not their name, but it is how Dante calls them since we were kids.” Vergil almost sighed in response.

“How we both called ‘em. Mister smart-pants over here isn’t that much better than lil’ ol’ me.” Dante winked at both of you, making you giggle quietly in return. “They’re kinda like illusion demons, but they like stayin’ in the darkness and gatherin’ knowledge. Usually work for someone bigger, though.”

“And even if they don’t, they swallow up all their knowledge and that is dangerous in itself. Afterwards, they feed from the victims they have been toying for so long.” Vergil continued Dante’s thought, ignoring his brother’s previous words. The more you didn’t think about what Dante had said about him, the better – for Vergil couldn’t deny it. “They hunt in packs, and the more victims, the more powerful they become. Some call them the Pit Deceivers, others call them the Lie Weavers…”

“You call them Hell Piranhas.” You concluded bluntly, making Vergil stare at the horizon with emptiness in his eyes – he could say all he wanted, flex all his demonic knowledge, you heard the Piranhas and now you’d never forget it.

“I never heard of them.” Lady had her eyebrows furrowed, searching her memory for some story like that.

“They either don’t leave the pit that much or not many humans survive to tell the story. That’s why.” Dante pointed at a great, old book Vergil had left on one of the tables a long time ago and now it was its official resting place. “You can find it only in the likes of the Codex Daemonica.”

“So either we have them around, or it’s something else. Something bigger. Right?” As you asked, Vergil only agreed with his head as the attentions turned to you. “Or something mimicking the Piranhas.” And Vergil had to sigh at your addition. He would never have peace again. “The mimic or the master, what kind of demon would the Piranhas answer to? If they are that obscure, I take it their existence is more of a niche knowledge in Hell rather than a common information.”

“On that, you are correct…” Vergil murmured in response, falling back into his pensive demeanor. You knew he would be lost for a while.

“See? Good thing I brought this for you, then.” Lady waved dismissively at Dante, but you could sense a little edge in her playful voice. Dealing with big things was fine, same as dealing with cruel demons and the ones that played the big-scary-one persona. Unknown demons were another kind of monster – one only Dante and Vergil used to deal with. “Plus, they always pay well.”

“Eh, I won’t be seein’ much of that money, if I know ya well.” Dante scoffed, having a small smile hidden in the corner of his lips; his tone and demeanor, though, were quite somber and you knew the red devil was taking it seriously.

“If you don’t mind, Dante, I would like to take over this one.” Vergil finally declared while getting up from the couch. “I know some of the hellish creatures who might make use of the Weavers or mimic them.”

“Fine for me, I’m needin’ some time to rest.” Dante sighed, but looked right back at you while Vergil rested his book on the big Devil May Cry desk. “But I’m gonna feel a lot better with someone around to keep an eye on ‘im, pretty thing.”

“Well, I didn’t intend on letting you guys deal with this all by yourselves anyway.” You got up from the couch, immediately receiving a glare from Vergil. “I’m going, blue devil, whether you want it or not. I want to get acquainted with these Piranhas.”

Vergil only closed his eyes, letting out the longest and most regretful sigh you ever heard in your life.

And there you were – although Vergil lost track of you quite a while ago. He knew the stirrings rippling through his heart when you were in danger; and being the fierce human you were, Vergil wasn’t worried about having you search for the demons in the cathedral.

There was, though, a slight uneasiness. That voice echoing in the darkest parts of his soul, it always came as an omen – causing nothing but destruction, inside or outside of himself. Vergil never could really say which one would be, but both were devastating.

“Veeeeergil…”

His steps came to a dry halt in the middle of the cathedral. The night outside the colorful stained-glass windows was pitch black, robbing the colors of their warmth and light – the fire on the candles, long dead in that cold night. The whisper that crept to his ears, like stark chalk on a chalkboard, dragged itself through the marble floor and took a hold of his soul in its clutches.

It was a different kind of sound – different from the ones inside himself, calling him to the darkness. It was from the outside… The Lie Weavers. Slowly coming up, finding him as their next victim. He was close to one of the places they were certainly lurking in the shadows, patiently waiting for someone they could consume.

Vergil never feared the darkness. Tightening his grip around Yamato, his steps resumed his way, approaching the places in the cathedral the faint light of the night could barely touch. Those demons should have known their end was near, and he was the harbinger of their demise – he expected all kinds of trickery, of resistance, of fight from them.

He did not expect to hear a familiar voice, filled with uncertainty.

“Vergil…?”

Halting his steps once more, this time his silvery eyes lost their predatorial gaze as his heart jumped in his chest – even if for a slight second.

“Mother?”

His answer was but a whisper before he was swallowed by darkness.

*

When engaging with illusion demons, one should be aware of not falling into their element: when engulfed by it, those demons were more powerful than expected, able to subdue even the strongest of foes. Breaking from their control required mental and emotional discipline rather than brute force.

It was a slight second – a foolish slip from his human soul, disarmed by the trickery of Eva’s voice – and Vergil was surrounded by a sea of darkness and turmoil. His heart stirred with anger towards himself for being such a child, a vulnerable stupid child, tricked by a puppet of something his heart missed so much.

Eva was long dead. There was no demon able to bring her back. And he would never see her again. All that logic was tossed aside in a spark of a second by his stupid human heart, trembling upon hearing her speak his name again. Granted, Vergil only heard his mother in his dreams, barely remembering how her voice sounded in reality, and this time he heard outside himself – but he should have seen it coming. Illusion demons, trickster demons, cruel demons… They all relied on the barely closed scars inside his damned human soul.

Vergil could always count on them to re-open those wounds, making him bleed as much as he did on the floor of that cursed cemetery so many years ago – and he was a fool to fall for it after he had been through so much.

“Vergil… Can you hear me…?”

“I can, you damned deceiver. You can stop these theatrics – mimicking my dead mother will not affect me.” His voice cut through the dark like the sharpest of ice, his predatorial gaze back into his silver eyes.

“I… Don’t understand you, son. I cannot find you.” Her voice had a tinge of sorrow and desperation – but it was exactly like Eva’s voice. Vergil remembered it with a tinge of gold, probably a result of the haze of nostalgia, but today it was grounded and melancholic – perhaps, that was how Eva had always sounded… He just didn’t remember it. “I can’t find you. You aren’t home.”

“I haven’t been home for a long while.” Vergil didn’t even try to hide the growl that raised from his chest as he argued with that creature. He was used to having a puppet of his mother parading in front of him to hurt his human soul even more, but that was already getting on his nerves. Taunting him about the fact his mother ran to find him that fateful night wasn’t part of the usual games those filthy demons played – and to say they were honing his wrath was an understatement. “And I will never be back.”

“I… I cannot see you, Vergil. Where are you…? Why…?” He could hear the weeping in her voice, faint sobbing while the desperation made her words tremble. Vergil raised his head in the darkness, holding his own heart not to quiver: she wasn’t real and it was all a gimmick to affect him. He would not be affected. He was stronger than that. “Why couldn’t I save you? Those demons they… They hurt you, didn’t they? Oh, my child! My son! They hurt you and I could do nothing! I couldn’t be your mother!”

“Enough with this, filthy, hellish creature!” His voice finally exploded from his chest, roaring in the dark and echoing through the void, finding only silence. “You have no right to desecrate my mother’s memory like this! Shut your putrid mouth and stop with your rancid lies!”

The glint of the Yamato being unsheathed made the darkness recoil for a split second, only to envelop the Dark Slayer once more. His grip was tight, his eyes fiercely looking for his first opponent to direct a very well-placed judgement cut that could end all those creatures with just one swing of his hand. Vergil had enough and all the patience he carried in his being wouldn’t be enough to stop him from overkilling those demons – he just had to know where to direct his wrath.

“Don’t say those words, Vergil… You are not… Not like this.” Her voice still trembled, and his hand was still certain around Yamato. Vergil knew quite well at that state he was a weapon of mass destruction, he just had to find his opponent. His soul was screaming for him to do that, to put a stop to all that mockery. “You are good… You are my son.”

Vergil would have sliced that demon into a thousand million pieces without flinching, even if it took the form of his mother – but his eyes widened as a soft, warm hand touched his face. In all those years being taunted by demons, being tricked and mocked, seeing so many puppets of Eva, Sparda and Dante, none of them had touched him… And none of them genuinely felt like them.

It had been so many lost years he hadn’t felt his mother’s touch – last time, she could cup his entire face, thumb lovingly caressing his innocent eyebrows, but now her thumb could only reach his cheekbones. Nevertheless, it felt like her: not like a golden, nostalgic lost memory of how she felt, but exactly like Eva’s hands, even with the slight roughness of her continuous gardening.

“It took me so long to find you… I am so sorry.”

“You are not my mother.”

“Don’t say that.” Her answer was a sorrowful whisper, her thumb now carefully caressing his sharp cheekbone. Vergil closed his eyes, unable to move, convincing himself all of that wasn’t real and not allowing his heart to sway – forcing his arms to remain frozen by his side, fighting the urge to embrace her. Reminding himself: his mother was dead, killed while trying to save him, a long time ago, and nothing could bring her back. “Your heart hasn’t hardened as much as not to recognize me. You…” Her voice once more became soft, as if trying to do the same with his soul. “You are not a monster… You are my son, my Vergil.”

With those words, Eva’s hand was finally met with a tear – melting the ice from those silvery eyes.

*

There was an impending storm rumbling inside your chest.

Whenever that turmoil took ahold of your heart, you knew Vergil was in trouble. You had just finished checking your side of the cathedral, finding some things out of the ordinary but no demons, when the waves became aggressive in your chest. Your steps were already taking you to meet him, but you found yourself walking even hastier – the sound, though, eaten by the shadows that seemed to only grow around you.

Neither of you had calm seas of feelings: they usually raged like a maelstrom of emotions you could barely get through without some destruction – be it internal or external. But there was a certain note of melancholy and desperation in your heart at that moment that made you know Vergil was hurting – and that hurting, you knew quite well.

It was almost ironic how you apparently despised each other at the beginning, but after a while you came to understand; that aversion was there because you, in a certain way, were a mirror of each other. You could see in him the traits in your soul you disliked the most, and Vergil did see in you the same thing – those traits, however, were the same ones that brought you together, and made both you and Vergil feel seen and understood for the first time in your lives.

He didn’t judge your sins, as you didn’t judge his. To your eyes, he was never a monster, and to his, you could never be as crooked as you thought you were. You found each other in imperfection and, in that, you managed to talk and feel on the same level – after that, every feeling of admiration, care and love was easy to blossom.

You understood that storm, that thunder rumbling inside your chest at that very moment. You could feel it exactly the way he felt – and you knew Vergil needed help… Even if he would never say so himself.

You couldn’t hear or see him, though. You found yourself exactly at his area of patrol in the cathedral, but there was no clue as where your blue devil had gone – and for him to completely disappear, imposing presence and all, was quite an achievement in itself. The air was stiff, heavy as if the windows had never been opened, eating up any sound from the inside and the outside. The darkness was heavier than the one you had previously patrolled, shadows allowing only a few glimpses of the opulent decoration and the path in front of you – although, you couldn’t see more than a few meters beyond your feet.

If you couldn’t trust your sight or your hearing to find him, you could trust your heart: the storm would guide you. Closing your eyes, you allowed your feelings to take over, following with your footsteps in the direction you could hear his soul calling.

Those shadow creatures wouldn’t be able to hide him from you: no matter what happened or where you found yourselves, you would always be able to feel Vergil’s presence and find him in the darkest of hours.

And as the thunder in your chest cracked violently, your feet came to a halt and you opened your eyes.

Right in front of you, there was only darkness. Not like in the shadows that took the cathedral little by little, but pitch-black darkness, that no light could cast aside. To enter it would mean to be completely bare: vulnerable, lost, without guidance, naked – but the screaming in your soul made it very clear Vergil was in there.

Contrary to your lover, you were afraid of the dark. You always preferred to have a little light by your side, for you never knew what could be lurking alongside you, ready to pounce and drag you to certain suffering and death. You protected yourself by being forever vigilant, as you always did – a trait that exhausted you, yes, but luckily, in the last few years, you had Vergil around to keep a light by you when your body started giving out.

For that reason, you would never fear entering the darkness for him.

And with a deep breath, your bold steps took you inside the dark.

*

Your feet were cold, bare, stumbling over a sticky floor. Even if your eyes could see only darkness, you felt the freezing air of that night slicing your skin: you were shirtless and something was hurting… Oozing. The cold wind mixed with a faint warmness that leaked from the open wounds on your skin.

Blood. You were bleeding.

Your arms immediately wrapped around you – those scars, they were showing. They never showed before.

Running your hands quickly over your body, you could feel the warm blood slipping through your fingers; some wounds barely holding themselves closed while others still poured as in the day they were created.

That was the version of yourself you used to fiercely hide. None of those wounds were physical, none of them could be seen… But whenever you looked in the mirror, you saw them there, under your skin, under your soul, quietly resting until you couldn’t hide them anymore.

“You are lost…”

It was always the same voice, of something dark, something inside you that could break your soul if you didn’t shove it back into the darkness like you always did. That was why you were afraid; that was why Vergil always kept a faint glow by your side whenever you couldn’t hold yourself together. The dark was dangerous to you – to both of you.

“You are lost without me…”

“I can survive quite well without you…!” You growled to the darkness, keeping that part of yourself at bay. The part that gave in to the pain, that bathed in the blood and didn’t want to get up… And the part that would bathe and rise in rage, making you survive at great cost to those around you.

You were past that. And you didn’t need that to survive. You didn’t have to survive, you could live.

“Can’t you see that you’re lost…?”

“Vergil!” Your scream was a roar in the dark, looking for the one you plunged into the darkness to find. You wouldn’t give in to the trickery of those Piranhas – and you would get Vergil out of there.

They would learn they shouldn’t fear only the son of Sparda: they should also fear you.

“You think you can find him…?” After the mischievous ethereal voice questioned, you heard a giggle rippling around your feet as you stumbled on the sticky floor to find your lover. “You think you are that good? You think you aren’t a monster?”

You furrowed your brows, doing your best to ignore the voices. You knew it was that part inside of you that always taunted how broken you were, how imperfect your soul was. For the longest time you believed there was nothing good in you, nothing to save you from a life of loneliness, until you crossed paths with Vergil.

He was broken too – and he would never judge the things you did to survive your lethal wounds.

“Vergil! Can you hear me?! I’m here to find you!”

“How chivalrous, how heroic! What are you trying to accomplish?” The giggles pooled around your feet, threatening to drag you inside that pool of viscous darkness. “Trying to prove yourself? You’re never going to be perfect. You’re a black sheep, an outcast, remember? The likes of you aren’t heroes.”

“Oh, I’m no hero…” You growled back, fighting against the things trying to pull you back; fighting against the pain of the freezing cold and warmness of blood. “I’m a fucking fighter. You’re messing with the wrong kind of monster, fucking Hell Piranhas.”

“Piranhas…?” A faint whisper in the dark broke whatever control those things were trying to have over your body, starting at your feet. It was Vergil’s whisper – followed by a louder speaking tone. “Y/n! I can feel you, where are you?!”

“Trying to find you!” You screamed back, immediately dragging your feet towards Vergil. You couldn’t see him, but you could feel where he was – and there was nothing those demons could do against that.

The darkness seemed to shift for a couple of seconds. You couldn’t understand what was happening, but you saw a faint, ghostly pale glow in the dark – almost imperceptible, but your heart knew, you could finally see Vergil.

And, in return, he could see you. Moving his feet, Vergil dragged heavy shackles through the floor, screeching in a horrid, soul scratching sound as he willed his body to move towards you. You could hear him grunting with the effort, another set of chains being dragged as Vergil moved his arms – slowly, but surely, wearing all of his strength to get to you.

You felt the viscous ripples of the floor creeping up your legs, almost on your knees, doing their best to pull you away – back into the darkness, back to the taunting voices, to the doubt, the hurt, the self-loathing.

“Vergil! Let me hear your voice! You’re still there, right?!”

“Yes. I am always here.” His answer came with grunts of effort, barely above the noise of the chains screeching around him.

The darkness shifted again, and his form became even more visible, as yours did to him – followed by a scream that rumbled in his chest, Vergil managed to get even closer. That made something spark inside yourself, that thundering storm breaking in your soul cracking in a scream that broke the insidious tentacles holding you back and making you lunge forward.

Once again, the glow you diffused only to each other seemed to get stronger as the darkness wavered.

“Y/n…” He growled once more, the shackles screaming on the floor as he reached out to you.

“Vergil…!” You reached out in return, barely making out the form of his fingers in the dark.

As you were almost touching each other’s hands, the heavy, muffling darkness faltered once more. You could finally see one another, as you were in that godforsaken place.

Vergil was shirtless, his body covered in wounds – new and old – bleeding profusely. His silvery eyes were red, sunken in deep shadow, surrounded by a deep purple mist on his dry skin. You could see his bones under his pale skin covered in so many lacerations you wouldn’t even know where to start healing him. His knuckles were battered, showing the flesh underneath, as well as his wrists covered by heavy iron shackles – wounds from fighting against them for so long. His hands were still long and elegant, but bony and covered in bruises.

You had never seen Vergil so hurt, so broken, so… Vulnerable.

In return, his eyes took in shock the vision of you: as shirtless as him, as battered and wounded as he was. Even if not locked in the shackles he wore for so long in Hell, you walked barefoot leaving a trail of blood behind you. Those scars, those wounds, those bruises… He knew they were there, but he had never seen those. You looked weak and tired, bloodshot eyes under dry skin, as if you hadn’t slept in ages… And those things you fought so much to conceal, now crystal clear in front of him.

Those were the scars you carried inside yourselves. The wounds you had to fight against every day – that you had to try to heal, even if sometimes it seemed impossible. The things you would never show, but, somehow, you managed to sense it in each other… Now you could see it, clear as a bright night.

And, even if you wouldn’t admit to yourselves, those were the very same breaking thunders that would keep you moving – fiercely fighting, fiercely surviving.

As you took in each other’s internal selves, Vergil’s silvery eyes finally found yours.

A loud thundering noise shook the floor underneath your feet twice, as your hearts rumbled alongside the devastating sound. You lunged forward, holding Vergil’s hand as if your life depended on it. Never breaking your eye contact, Vergil held your hand with the strength you would expect of the legendary Dark Slayer. You made each other stronger, and there was nothing that could come between you now.

His shackles immediately screeched back, pulling Vergil violently away from you. At the same time, you were grabbed by the viscous darkness – your knees, your legs, your abdomen, your arms. It pulled you back with vicious strength, doing its best to drag you away from him – back into the darkness.

“Don’t let me go!” You screamed back, tightening your grip around his bony hand.

“I will never let go!” He growled, doing the same, trying to drag his body forward – failing to notice you willed yourself towards him as he pulled you into his arms. Those silvery eyes never moved away from yours.

“You are lost…! Lost…!”

The voices chanted and screeched around you, doing their best to drag you apart. For a moment, your hand slipped and you let out a desperate scream, hurting your lungs as you were almost pulled back into the void. Vergil’s cry resembled a roar as he willed his body to move and tightened his grip in a way he didn’t hold even Yamato.

He hadn’t held his brother’s hand once. This time he wouldn’t make the same mistake. This time, he would hold you even if that damned the both of you to the darkest pits of Hell.

“Can’t you see…? Can’t you see that…?”

“I am lost…!” You barked back to the voices, still staring into Vergil’s eyes, trying to catch your breath while your lungs stung as if you were inhaling a thousand knives.

As Vergil looked into your eyes, though, he knew exactly what you were going to say – and he could safely say it was the very same thing he struggled to find the words to.

“Without you.” His answer came in a dark tone, ragged from the effort he too made to be able to hold your hand.

The thunder rumbled twice again – the voices shrieked and you suddenly found yourselves being launched into each other’s arms as the forces that bind you broke into a million pieces.

Vergil’s arms wrapped around you, one of his hands holding your head close to his chest, as you wrapped yours around his waist, keeping him as close as you could. His head rested on top of yours, and you kept your eyes closed – washing away the blood above his heart with the tears that streamed down your face.

“Don’t ever hide from me.” Vergil’s voice was uncharacteristically shaky, somber but reassuring. You had never been so vulnerable in front of him – and even upon seeing you like that, his reaction was to take you in his arms, to welcome you. “I’m not afraid of the dark.”

“And I’m not afraid of your darkness.” You tightened your arms around his cold, bony body as you felt tears running through your hair. “I can see beyond your glimmer, and I’m not afraid of what’s in the dark.” Your voice shook as you took a deep breath and Vergil’s arms held you even closer – his body shaking with the tears falling from his eyes. “It’s you. And I’m never afraid of you.”

“Neither am I of you.”

His answer was but a whisper – a whisper enough to break the darkness into a memory to be kept away in the deepest pits of Hell.

I can feel the thunder that’s breaking in your heart I can see through the scars inside you

*

*

*

*

“You killed the Piranhas from Hell with the power of love?”

Vergil wanted to crawl into a hole and disappear. Or die. Or both.

Probably both.

The whole crew was there as you and Vergil never came back from the job as quickly as expected – and when you did, it looked like you hadn’t slept in days.

The priest was more than happy with the result of your work – even though you never discovered why the Weavers decided to come out of hiding nor what they wanted. The congregation was just happy they were gone and the whole reason behind it would be a long-term thing for the Devil May Cry to work on – or to keep an eye on; maybe something bigger was approaching.

You and Vergil didn’t feel like going back to the shop, though. When you were hurt physically, things were very much ok to deal with, but when the wounds were emotional… You needed time for yourselves.

Unlike his brother, Vergil was a little more responsible with his money – and you, a lot more than the two. You managed to find somewhere to spend a few nights… Which involved the both of you talking out everything you felt and saw. It was harrowing at first, something neither of you were versed in and honestly were terrified of, but it eventually brought you even closer together.

So, to say you had defeated the Lie Weavers with the power of love was something that killed Vergil inside.

And you could almost see his internal self, glaring at you with a ‘really, after all of this you say this kind of foolishness’ look in his sad, silvery eyes, as Lady stared at both of you and made the question everyone was thinking.

“Yep. Power of love, it’s a curious thing.” You shrugged, making Vergil physically groan by your side while Dante slapped his table with a huge grin on his face.

“Make a one man weep, make another man sing! Hell yeah, Back To The Future, babe!” He winked back at you as you smiled in response.

“Of all the people you could end up dating, Vergil…” Trish sat on Dante’s desk, crossing her long legs while sporting a devilish smile on her rosy lips. It was interesting how her voice could never really sound like Eva’s. “It had to be someone who references the same songs as your brother.”

“Alas, fate plays many games…” Vergil rolled his eyes, but as they rested on you, there was a vulnerability you saw only once in that pitch black darkness. “But it is kind enough to give us what we need.”

No one ever really understood what he meant, but Dante was the only one who managed to see something inside his brother’s silvery eyes that could only reflect in yours – and that made him genuinely smile.

Indeed, you would never be the romance of a fairy tale book or a romantic comedy – but you could see what lied beyond each other’s scars; taking a glimpse at the worst of each other without fear and finding whatever light was left inside. You could understand – and that was much more than most lovers in the world would ever have.

[sea-of-dust]

Soulmates can hear eatchother sing even from across the universe- Jing Yuan

N: low-key read that as "even in another universe" I was like how the fuck am I gonna write that... thanks for the request nonnie!!

Event link here: 3/5 requests

Unironcally the first time he heard you sing was when you were trying to show off to your parents. He thought you were fine at first (he invested in ear plugs) but did think you coulda used some work. Funny to think you thought the same, bullying eatchothers singing abilities while fresh outta high school

He has noticed you've sung more often maybe singing classes? It was nice you've gotten better, he's quickly fallen inlove with your voice, how calmly you sing certain notes controlling your volume with minor fixes here and there. Most of the time he enjoys your first attempts at a certain lyrics, but hearing you sing has become a something he looks foward to.

He's tried to talk to you via singing he could have sworn he heard you laugh but he knows you can't. When you do respond sometimes your singing voice is wonderful. "Do you mind saying that again~" "No problem" the smoothness of your voice is heavenly its like your right next to his ear, you could probably hear him blushing with every response you give. "So what planet are you from" the sudden question shocked him a bit but he answered calmly "Xianzhou Luofu" "really?" A sudden interest burst through your usual elegant and calming voice "I'm from Penacony" "I see" "I can see if I can do a show there In the future maybe I can see you" you should have seen him he was like a child, it wouldn't be out of character if he mumbled a yes and pumped his fist. He could be calmly doing paperwork and then his hands slam on the desk eyes widen and he sings, these rumors were overdramatized but it did get a laugh outta you imaging such a scene

Little to say, when he heard the express landed with a reported star from Penacony he thought of you instantly calmly walking toward where they landed where his mind was yelling at him to hurry it up. When he finally arrived little to say there was a reason Yanqing was there. "You're acting like a child" "this is normal behavior you would have nearly flew on them" "No I wouldnt!" He smiles before seeing a person holding a box talking to March 7th. "I'm a bit nervous thank you for bringing me here" "I can show you around" "thank you" grateful you turn to suddenly see a bird fly infront of you with the white haired male following behind it "apologizes he's been expecting someone's arrival" "does it involve a star from Pelacony?"

That smirk of yours, from an outside perspective it may be seen as arrogance but he's heard your voice enough to know exactly what you ment. "A little birdie did mention a general that was so love struck he was able to sing a whole musical when his soulmate was to sing" he giggling embrassed someone caught him responding to you "I'm glad you enjoy listening to me that much" You kiss his cheek. He blushes putting his hand to the cheek you kissed. "I'm glad I finally got to meet you aswell" he kisses your cheek as you two continue your lovey dovey first meet, handing him the box with things you thought he'd like. "It has a ticket to one of my shows aswell, I hope you'll be able to make it" "I'm sure I'll have time to" you two lost in your own world forgetting about the others. "You think they ever thought of asking for his number?" March leans in to whisper "now that I think about it do you ever think they asked?" Those two made an inside joke about it, little to say they're never gonna look at either of you seriously again

[erikahammerschmidt]

It would be sacrilegious to post this on Christmas, as that is a holy day to Christians, and Dr. Seuss fans, and Doctor Who fans.

and while I have VERY much experience in all three of those fandoms...

I am poking some... slightly bitter fun at them all, here.

So, instead, I am posting it on Amok Time Day.

Hope this resolves the problem.

...

'Twas the night before Christmas And nobody knew. It was pre-Christian times In the Kingdom of Who.

The Whos down in Who-ville Liked singing and feasts But the plains still stampeded With not-yet-Roast Beasts.

No mission had reached them  To try and convert So, like Adam in Eden, Just formed from the dirt,

They lived on their dust-speck And kept to themselves No thoughts about Santa No thoughts about elves

The world out beyond They had not tried to find... They as yet had no reason To name their own kind,

So they were not yet Whos And the dust-speck they claimed  Was not yet called Who-ville; It had not been named.

But, that night before Christmas It fell, from on high Like a giant blue present, Wrapped up in the sky...

And from out of the wreckage A man struggled free! He was bleeding and raving As all rushed to see,

And he cried "Merry Christmas!" None knew what he meant. And they asked him, instead, Just from where he'd been sent?

And what sort of a fellow  Could fall from so high? And what sort of a box Could be able to fly?

So he told them his story  Of warping through space When, through desperate measures  He'd come to this place,

For his Box had been seeking A safe place to hide... And like it, this dust-speck Was Bigger Inside.

But size doesn't matter, The Box could recall, For a person's a person, No matter how small!

But it crashed, and it wounded  The Person inside... Who informed them it wouldn't Be long til he died.

So he told them his stories Of Stars that had shined, And the War that had left him The Last of his Kind,

And he told them of Christmas, As hours rolled by. He said, "Christmas is Special!" Of course, they asked why.

So he told them of England, Of puddings and feasts And the Star in the West, and the Kings from the East

And of old "Father Christmas" Or "Santa," who came To bring Presents of honor And Coal-lumps of shame 

And he told his adventures From year after year: The tales of each Christmas! Of Danger, and Fear!

Of Daleks and Plastics, Of Cybermen too, Who would come to your world To steal Christmas from you!

"Do they come from Above?" Asked the people in fear. "And what is Above, And how could it get here?"

"For here on this Dust-speck We sing and we feast, But we never see stars, In our West or our East."

"And sometimes, up North There's some dusty white snow But there's no danger there... At least not that we know!"

"Well, I wouldn't look there," he assured them. "You see, Your danger won't come From the north, probably.

...But you never can tell," He abruptly put forth. "Because... plenty of worlds Have a South and a North."

But, with internal bleeding His life couldn't last, And his hearts, in edema Grew three sizes, fast.

And as he was dying His followers came, And begged, "Oh great prophet! Please tell us your name...

So our world from now on Can be named after you!" He replied, "I'm the Doctor." They cried: "Doctor who?"

But, alas, with no answer His life slipped away, And everyone mourned him That first Christmas Day.

But then, three days later, They found, at the dawn That his grave had been emptied! The Box, too, was gone!

All marveled in wonder, And wondered for years Who the stranger had been Who'd brought bright Christmas fears.

And what was his name? Was it "Strange"? Was it "Seuss"? The name was the Doctor's. They still don't know Whose.

So their world was named Who-ville, All countries the same, Except for Up North... Which was given no name.

For the North was Above, From which Danger could fall And this Danger was taught  To all Whos, big and small.

And, just north of Who-ville, The people died out For the rest of their world  Did not want them about.

And many years hence There was One left behind. The Grinch, North of Who-ville: The Last of his Kind.

[imagineyourworld]

How the clones would ask you out (Genderneutral)

Includes Rex, Fives, Echo, Jesse, Kix, Cody and Wolffe 

Warnings: None

Rex

Poor Rex would be so, so nervous 

It took pep talks vom Anakin, Ahsoka and several of his brothers to get up the courage to actually ask you out (though not all of them were all that helpful) 

Rex wouldn’t ask you out in public or at work, he’d go to your flat instead

His strong knock doesn’t betray his nerves, but the second you open the door he cannot remember what he was going to say for the life of him 

Luckily he was trained as a soldier his entire life and it only takes him a few second to forget about his nerves and continue with his plan 

“I was wondering if you’d like to go on a picnic with me tomorrow?” 

A picnic, Ahsoka had convinced him, would be the perfect first date. The two of them had even decided on a nice place in one of Coruscant’s few parks together 

(Plus Rex likes to bake and cook, it’s his way of dealing with the stress of war (and his brothers’ shenanigans)) 

“I’d love to.” 

You have never seen such a big smile on Rex’s face 

“Great. That’s great.” 

You chatted for a few more minutes before Rex had to excuse himself. Just as you were closing the door you stuck your head out again.  “Rex?”  “Yes.”  “Is this a date?”  The small blush on his face was adorable.  “I’d like it to be, if that’s fine with you.”  You smiled.  “It’s more than fine.” 

Fives

If anyone has an actual pickup line it’s Fives, not in a creepy way though, he’s cute about it 

The two of you have been flirting back and forth for a while now and Fives, after finally no longer denying his feelings, decides to ask you out 

He walks up to you with every bit of confidence he can muster 

“Hey handsome, what brings you here?”, you ask. Your usual greeting, but Fives doesn’t reply in the way he usually does (”Hey mesh’la, just coming to admire the view.”)  “Since you make my heart sing I was wondering if you’d like to accompany to a concert tomorrow.” 

You could tell that he wasn’t joking this time, but still decided to have your fun with him. 

“So sorry, I already promised another handsome young man with a number as his name to spend the day with him.”  As soon as the words left your mouth the smile fell from Fives’ face and instantly made you regret your words.  “Oh, baby, no. I was only joking. I’d love to go out with you.”  The smirk was back and brighter than ever.  “It’s a date!”, he said a bit louder than he had to. 

He’d kiss you on the cheek before saying goodbye. 

(And maybe he even whispers suggestions for what you could do after the concert in your ear.) 

Echo

Much like Rex, Echo is quite nervous

At first he was glad to have Fives on his side to give him advice, but he soon learned that not everything his brother suggested would go down well 

He’d wait for you at work and offer to walk you home, because someone once told him that travelling in the same direction eases conversation 

When you exit the building your eyes immediately fall on Echo, who is standing nearby with flowers in his hand.  “What are you doing here?”, you ask with a smile on your face.  “I... well... I saw these flowers in the market downton and they made me think of you.” He hands you the flowers, suddenly even more nervous now that he doesn’t have anything in his hands.  “That’s so sweet”, you say as you lift the flowers to your nose. “I was just on my way home, would you like to join me and come in for a cup of caf?”

The two spend the rest of the day together. Walking home, drinking caf, cooking dinner. After a while Echo’s nervousness fades and only returns when he realises it’s time for him to return to the barracks. 

“Actually I had another reason to come to see you today. I was wondering if you’d like to go out with me sometime. Like on a date. If you would like to go on a date with me.”  You laugh and the sound Echo usually cherishes breaks his heart, which you soon realise. “Oh, Echo, honey, no! I mean yes, but I just thought that today was kinda like... a date... I’m sorry, I was just assuming, I should have actually asked you.”  A smile mirroring yours appeared on his face.  “So... How about a second date?” 

Jesse 

Jesse only realises that he needs to ask you out as soon as possible after a particularly tough mission. A lot of his brothers died, even more got hurt, and he spent a few days in the medbay as well. 

The second he’s back on Coruscant he comms you asking where you are and no matter where you are or what you’re doing, he’s on his way to you as soon as you answer. 

“Stars, Jesse, what’s gotten into you?”, you ask when you open the door to his rapid knocking.  “I like you, I really like you and I don’t want to die without ever asking you out. So, (Y/N), will you go out with me?”  At first you don’t know what to say.  ��Of course I’ll go out with you. But maybe you should sit down for a minute, you don’t seem like yourself.” 

After just a few minutes and a cup of herbal tea the two of you were talking and joking like always. That is until you remember an appointment you had to hurry to make.  “I’d hate to throw you out, but I really need to go.”  “That’s fine”, Jesse says with a smile. “How about I pick you up tomorrow at seven for our date?”  You nod your head smiling. 

Kix 

Kix asks you out more or less on accident. It’s been a long day, he’s tired, and all he wants is a relaxing evening with you. 

“Hey, Kix, you wanna come to 79s with us?”, Fives, who just popped into the medbay, asks.  Kix shook his head. “I really don’t. If it were up to me I’d spend the evening with some takeout and (Y/N).”  “(Y/N)?”, Jesse follows up.  “They help me relax like no one else and that’s what I need after stitching you idiots up all day”, Kix says, glancing at Fives and Hardcase at his last words.  “Then how about we grab something to eat and spend the evening on my couch?”, you offer.  Everyone turns to you, who had just entered the room. Echo bursts in a second later. “Sorry, I tried to stop her from coming in.” 

Kix blushes like crazy, you weren’t supposed to hear that. He tells you as much. 

You walk over to where he’s sitting, miraculously the others have disappeared, and place a hand on his shoulder. If it weren’t for the armour covering him you would have loved nothing more than giving him a soothing massage. 

“You know what? I’m here because I wanted to ask you out, but I guess you just did that for me.”  He chuckled. “Guess so. Let’s go, I cannot wait for our date.” 

Cody 

Cody would be so smooth when asking you out, mainly because he got advice from Obi-Wan, who flirts with everyone and could teach him a few good moves. 

His tactic is pretending you already agreed, which is why he spent the afternoon transforming his room into a small movie theatre for the two of you, complete with snacks and drinks and a holoprojector. 

He then makes his way over to your apartment to actually ask you out. And though he hadn’t been nervous all day, the second you open the door he’s at a loss for words. 

“(Y/N), cyare, I was wondering... No, that’s not it... I’m here to ask you... No, wait... Would you like to...” Though you can’t help but find his out of character rambling cute, you want nothing more than to put poor Cody out of his misery.  “Would you care for a glass of water?”, you ask, opening the door further to invite him in. 

For some reason the cool water helps him sort out his thoughts and he can finally ask the question he’d prepared earlier.  “Would you like to watch a movie with me tonight?”, he asks, his voice smooth and steady.  For a fraction of a second there was something that might have been disappointment in your eyes, but then you nodded.  “Sure. Why don’t we invite Waxer and Boil as well?”  Cody had been quite sure that you’d agree, but the second part caught him off guard. Maybe he should have been more obvious with his intention.  “Actually, I was hoping it’d be just the two of us.”  You raised an eyebrow.  “Wait a minute, Cody, did you just ask me on a date?”  A shy smile made it’s way on his face, though to his credit he didn’t blush.  “I did.”  He had no idea how it was possible, but the smile on your face was even brighter than his own.  “In that case, yes! I’d love to watch a movie with you.” 

Wolffe 

The main reason Wolffe was reluctant to ask you out was not nerves, but rather not wanting to admit his feelings, not wanting to admit a weakness. It was actually Plo Koon who, through ambiguous comments, convinced him to just do it.  

He didn’t want it to be a big ceremony, he wasn’t the type for big gestures, but that night, as you were sitting at 79s with the Wolfpack and your eyes were glittering in the multicoloured lights and your perfume made its way to Wolffe’s nose, he just had to ask you out before it was too late, before anything happened to either of you or someone else asked you before he did. 

And so, when most of the others were scattered across the bar, he asked you if you’d like to get some air with him. He may not be one for big gestures, but he’d be damned if he asked you out in a stuffy bar surrounded by his drunk brothers. 

Outside, he realized was not the perfect environment either. There were still drunk clones around and instead of stuffy it was cold, cold enough to make you shiver in your thin clothes and Wolffe wished he had a jacket he could give you.  “I’ll make this quick so you can go back inside. I-”, he stopped himself.  You were suddenly a lot closer than just a few moments ago, he could feel your warm breath on his face and it made him lose all focus.  “Yes, Wolffe?”, you questioned.  He cleared his throat and continued. “I was hoping that you’d like to go on a date with me sometime.” 

The atmosphere may not have been perfect, neither were his words, but your smile was and it made up for everything else.  “I don’t know, Commander, what’s in it for me?”, you asked with a raised eyebrow. “I don’t know. Dinner, maybe flowers or chocolate”, he replied, trying his best to hide the sudden insecurity.  You crossed your arms over your chest and sighed. Wolffe knew what was coming next, he knew you’d let him down and it would be awkward. He never should have asked you out.  “You know, I had been hoping you’d say The pleasure of my company or something like that, but I suppose chocolate will do.”  A smirk had made it’s way to your lips and a low chuckled escaped Wolffe’s.  “Is that a yes, mesh’la?”  “It is.” 

[liriostigre]

hey! I wanted to ask what your favorite poetry books are? I have a few but I want to read new and interesting stuff, and I trust your taste :D

hiii ♡

tbh i only started reading poetry collections like,, last year. i'm subscribed to poetryfoundation's newsletter (poem of the day) so i usually just read random poems

anyway, i'm not sure my recs could be considered new (cause i'm gonna start with Mary Oliver ♡) but feel free to message me if you want to know the themes, style, feeling (vibes, if you will) or anything you want to know about these collections. for now, i'm linking my favorite poems in each collection, i hope this helps you choose! ♡

here you go:

Dream Work —Mary Oliver (“Wild Geese.” “Dogfish.”)

Red Bird —Mary Oliver (“Summer Morning.” “Love Sorrow.”)

Blue Horses —Mary Oliver (“To Be Human Is to Sing Your Own Song.” “Loneliness.” “Little Crazy Love Song.”)

The Wild Iris —Louise Glück (“Sunset.” “Retreating Light.”)

Haruko/Love Poems —June Jordan (“On a New Year’s Eve.” “Mendocino Memory.” “Toward a City That Sings.” *under the cut)

Extracting the Stone of Madness —Alejandra Pizarnik (“Primitive Eyes.” “Summer Goodbyes.” *under the cut)

Ariel —Sylvia Plath (“Tulips.” “The Rival.”)

Prelude to Bruise —Saeed Jones (“Postapocalyptic Heartbeat.” *under the cut)

Absolute Trust in the Goodness of the Earth —Alice Walker (“Coming Back from Seeing Your People.” *under the cut)

I Must Be Living Twice —Eileen Myles (“Edward the Confessor.” *under the cut)

Teaching My Mother How To Give Birth —Warsan Shire (“Conversations About Home (at the Deportation Centre.”)

The Black Unicorn —Audre Lorde (“Hanging Fire.” “Sister Outsider.”)

Bright Dead Things —Ada Limón (“The Riveter.” “Glow.”)

Night Sky With Exit Wounds —Ocean Vuong (“Thanksgiving 2006.” “Logophobia.”)

Postcolonial Love Poem —Natalie Diaz (“Manhattan Is a Lenape Word.”)

Crush —Richard Siken (“Litany in Which Certain Things Are Crossed Out.”)

Once —Alice Walker (“So We've Come at Last to Freud.”)

“Toward a City That Sings” by June Jordan

Into the topaz the crystalline signals of Manhattan the nightplane lowers my body scintillate with longing to lie positive beside the electric waters of your flesh and I will never tell you the meaning of this poem: Just say, ‘She wrote it and I recognize the reference.’ Please let it go at that. Although it is all the willingness you lend the world as when you picked it up the garbage scattering the cool formalities of Madison Avenue after midnight (where we walked for miles as though we knew the woods well enough to ignore the darkness) although it is all the willingness you lend the world that makes me want to clean up everything in sight (myself included)

for your possible discovery

“Primitive Eyes” by Alejandra Pizarnik

Where fear neither speaks in stories or poems, nor gives shape to terrors or triumphs.

My name, my pronoun — a grey void.

I’m familiar with the full range of fear. I know what it’s like to start singing and to set off slowly through the narrow mountain pass that leads back to the stranger in me, to my own emigrant.

I write to ward off fear and the clawing wind that lodges in my throat.

And in the morning, when you are afraid of finding yourself dead (of there being no more images): the silence of compression, the silence of existence itself. This is how the years fly by. This is how we lost that beautiful animal happiness.

“Summer Goodbyes” by Alejandra Pizarnik

The soft rumor of spreading weeds. The sound of things ruined by the wind. They come to me as if I were the heart of all that exists. I would like to be dead, and also to go inside another heart.

“Postapocalyptic Heartbeat” by Saeed Jones

I. Drugged, I dreamed you a plume of ash, great rush of wrecked air through the towns of my stupor. And when the ocean in your blood went toxic, I thought fire was what we needed: serrated light through the skin, grenade in the chest—pulled linchpin. I saw us breathing on the other side of after. But a blackout is not night; orange-bottled dreams are not sleep. II. I was a cross-legged boy in the third lifetime, empire of blocks in my lap while you walked through the door of your silence, hunting knife in one hand, flask in the other. I waited for you until I forgot to breathe, my want turning me colors only tongues of amaryllis could answer for. It owned me, that hunger, tendriled its way into my name for you. III. In a city made of rain each door, a silence; each lock, a mouth, I walked daily through the spit-slick streets, harbingers on my hands in henna: there will be no after Black-and-blue-garbed strangers, they called me Cassandra. (I had such a body then.) Umbrellas in hand, they listened while they unlistened. there will be no no. after

the world will end no.

you are the reason it no. ends

you no. IV. I didn’t exactly mean to survive myself. Half this life I’ve spent falling out of fourth-story windows. Pigeons for hair, wind for feet. Sometimes I sing “Stormy Weather” on the way down. Today, “Strange Fruit.” Each time, strangers find me drawing my own chalk outline on the sidewalk, cursing with a mouth full of iron, furious at my pulse. V. After ruin, after shards of glass like misplaced stars, after dredge, after the black bite of frost:        you are the after, you are the first hour in a life without clocks; the name of whatever falls from the clouds now is you (it is not rain), a song in a dead language, an unlit earth, a coast broken— how was I to know every word was your name?

“Coming Back from Seeing Your People” by Alice Walker

Coming back From seeing your people You were So wonderfully Full Of yourself.

But now You have supped With vampires They have fed Feasted On you.

They arise Bright-eyed Fit.

You alone have lost Not only Your sleep But also Your glow The luster of Affection Heart welcome Your people Sent home With you.

Beloved You must learn To walk alone To hold The precious Silence To bring home And keep the precious Little That is left Of yourself.

“Edward the Confessor” by Eileen Myles

I have a confession to make I wish there were some role in society I could fulfill I could be a confessor I have a confession to make I have this way when I step into the bakery on 2nd Ave. of wanting to be the only really nice person in the store so the harried sales woman with several toned hair will like me. I do this in all kinds of stores, coffee shops xerox shops, everywhere I go. And invariably I leave my keys, xeroxing, my coffee from the last place I am being so nice. I try so hard to make a great impression on these neutral strangers right down to the perfect warm smile I get entirely lost and stagger back out onto the street, bereft of something major. It’s really leaning too hard on the everyday. My mother was the kind of woman who dragging us into stores always seemed to charm the pants off the cashier. She was such a great person, so human though at home she was such a bitch, I mean really distant. I imitate her and I don’t do it well. She didn’t leave her wallet or us in a store. I’m just a pale imitation it is simply not my style to open the hearts of strangers to my true personhood. I hope you accept this tiny confession of what I am currently going through. And if you are experiencing something of a similar nature tell someone, not me, but tell someone. It’s the new human program to be in. It would be nice for at least these final moments if we could sigh with the relief of being in the same program with all the other humans whispering in school. I can’t quite locate the terror, but I am trying to be my mother or Edward the Confessor smiling down on you with up-praying hands. I am looking down at the tips of my boots as I step across the balcony of the church excited to be allowed to say these things. Outside my church is a relationship. On 11th street this guy and this woman are selling the woman so they can get more dope. All their things are there, rags and loaves of bread and make-up. And there was— this was incredible. Two men lying by the door of the church giving each other blow-jobs. They were sort of street guys, one black one white. I said hey you can’t do that here. They jumped up, one spit come out of his mouth. If you don’t get out of here I’ll call the cops. Don’t call the cops we’ll go, we’ll leave. That was a shock. That was more than I expected to see in a day. Something about seeing the guy spit come out of his mouth. He didn’t have to do that. I guess I scared him. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I was scared too.

[heyyyharry]

Deja Vu (part 2 of 'Drivers License')

(inspired by deja vu by Olivia Rodrigo)

Word count: 2.5k

Read part 1 here

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.

.

“What the fuck is this?”

Harry flinched as his girlfriend shoved the phone at him. He’d just got out of the shower, hair still dripping wet, but it wasn’t so out of the ordinary that she would start a fight first thing in the morning.

He sighed and gently pushed her phone away from his face. “Baby, if it’s another rumour about me cheating on you...I was with you this whole week!”

“No.” She lifted the phone up to his face again. “That girl just released another song about you.”

Even though Harry didn’t let it show, whenever he heard about Y/N, his heart would always skip a beat. He couldn’t remember exactly when the last time they’d spoken was, but he knew in his last message to her, he’d congratulated her on that new song about him. She’d never replied, and he’d taken it as the answer — they could never go back to the way it was.

It had broken his heart to listen to ‘drivers license’. Y/N had never been the kind of person to be vocal about her feelings. Or maybe she’d expressed it through actions instead of words, and he had been too nonchalant to see? He hadn’t meant to break her heart and leave her in the dust. After all, she used to be his best friend.

“Y/N’s a songwriter. She writes about her own experience the same way I do. Maybe that song is not even about me, babe,” he calmly told his girlfriend, who was standing in front of him with fresh tears in her eyes. He hated to see her cry, and he hated that this wasn’t the first time she’d done it because of him. He tried to reach for her but she stepped back, shaking her head.

“Listen to the song.”

“Baby.”

“Listen to the song,” his girlfriend repeated without looking at him. “Why are you so afraid?”

“I’m not.”

“Then listen to it and tell me it’s not about you, and that she’s not throwing shades at me. I’m so tired of this girl telling the world about how horrible we are as if you had even dated her in the first place—”

“Fine,” Harry exhaled sharply, his eyes pinched shut. He hated that when his girlfriend got mad, she would get so mean for no reason, and the last thing he wanted to hear right now was her insulting Y/N. He knew Y/N. She had always been respectful to his new relationship. However, he wasn’t in the position to tell his girlfriend how to feel about this situation. He knew it was all his fault, so he stayed quiet, took the phone from his girlfriend and sat down on the edge of the bed. His girlfriend stood with her back against the wall facing him, waiting for him to play the song so she could see his reaction to it.

“Go on,” she told him, her voice emotionless.

Harry looked at the song on Spotify. It was titled deja vu. He took a deep breath and one last look at his girlfriend before finding enough courage to press play.

Y/N’s previous song about him had been blasted in every shop he’d visited, all the time when he was filming, every time he was in the car, and now, the moment he heard her voice again, it really did feel like deja vu.

Car rides down Malibu

Strawberry ice cream

One spoon for two…

.

.

.

“Are we there yet?”

“No, stop being so impatient! Just keep on driving!” Y/N said and looked out of the window on the passenger side. The sun was going down, and the horizon was gradually turning the colour of an egg yolk. It was their last day in Miami. They had been filming for every day that week, and this was the only day they could spend just for themselves.

Harry stole a glance at Y/N and saw that she’d finished half the strawberry ice cream while bobbing her head to the song Uptown Girl on the radio. He frowned, making her laugh when she noticed.

“Open your mouth,” she said and fed him a spoon of ice cream.

“Ahh, brain freeze!”

“But it’s good, isn’t it?”

“So good.” Harry licked his lips. The face he made got Y/N laughing harder.

Fifteen minutes later they arrived at a secluded beach. Y/N had found this place when she traveled to this city alone two summers ago and almost got lost.

Together, she and Harry carried their picnic things through a palm forest, and by the time they saw the ocean, the moon had made a fading presence on the pink Miami sky.

Y/N picked up her shoes and ran towards the waves, letting it chase her back into Harry’s arms and nearly knocking him over. Their laughter echoed in the wind as their shadows stretched out long and lanky on the empty beach. In that very moment, it felt to Harry as if they were the only people in this world, and he had a sense of peace that he might never be able to experience again.

“You don’t get to see this in the city,” Y/N said dreamily as she pulled Harry’s jacket tighter around herself. It was dark now, and the sky above them was full of stars. They sat shoulder to shoulder on a picnic blanket, listening to the whispers of the ocean and the wind. Harry used Y/N’s jacket as a blanket because it was too small for him to put on. They’d laughed for five minutes straight when she told him he looked like that monkey from Aladdin and took plenty of photos just to prove the point.

“I don’t want to leave tomorrow,” he said, still looking at the sky.

“Me neither,” Y/N sighed, her shoulder brushing his. There was a pause, and he could feel her eyes on him, so he turned and saw her looking. “When I get home,” she said with a small smile that made her eyes sparkle, “I’ll learn to drive, and when we come to Miami next time, I can drive you to this beach.”

“I’d love that,” Harry said, then made her pink-promise him.

.

.

.

“They went to Miami last week.”

Y/N blinked. The beach and starry sky disappeared in a second, and she found herself once again standing in the fitting room with her stylist and best friend.

“What?” her best friend marched over to where she stood in front of the full-length mirror.

Her stylist was holding the phone up to show her the article. “Here. Harry took that actress to Miami last week.”

“Don’t show her these!” Y/N’s best friend grabbed the phone and put it on the vanity desk as she gestured to the stylist. “You do your work. Enough chit-chatting.”

“I took him there,” Y/N said. She didn’t even recognise her own voice at first because she was too in shock. She didn’t think Harry would do something like that. But let’s be honest -- how much did she really know about him?

It had been a few months since his last text to her, which she had ignored, and now her song had been overplayed, and nobody cared about the drama anymore. The whole world had moved on, and she had, too. Or so she’d thought. Now, seeing these pictures of him and his girlfriend on that Miami beach made Y/N feel betrayed.

“Asshole,” her best friend said and grabbed her shoulders. “Don’t worry baby. You’re prettier.”

Y/N worked up a smile and opened her mouth to say that she was fine, but then she heard someone call her name and turn around. They weren’t calling for her. Just a name similar to hers that had become an inside joke between her and her friends.

The moment she locked eyes with Harry’s girlfriend, her heart seemed to stop as she held her breath, her lips thinned as if to hold back a scream. She didn’t know the girl personally and had never run into her before today. How unfortunate that they had to be in the same room after Y/N had seen those Miami pics.

“What is she doing here?” Y/N’s best friend asked the stylist the question Y/N was too afraid to ask.

“Fitting for an event, I guess,” the stylist said.

Y/N told them to just ignore the others and mind their own business. The sooner they got the measurements, the faster she could leave. Or she could leave right now and come back another day, but that would make it look like the other girl’s presence was bothering her. They were both actresses, and so they would have to run into each other at some point. She must be professional about it. This was normal. Just act normal.

“He’s so unique,” Harry’s girlfriend said while laughing with her team. Y/N didn’t mean to overhear the conversation, but apparently, the girl was making sure that Y/N heard her loud and clear. “We were watching reruns of Glee last night, and he even sang to me and told me he loved me inbetween the chorus and the verse. Don’t touch the jacket! It’s Harry’s and it’s Gucci. We exchange jackets sometimes. Isn’t that adorable?”

“Show off,” Y/N’s best friend scoffed while shaking her head.

Y/N didn’t say anything. In her mind, she agreed with her best friend for a second and immediately felt that she was being petty so she forced herself to just be nonchalant about it.

She could not. She could not ignore the fact that she’d been replaced as if she didn’t matter. Harry was doing all the things he used to do with her with his new girl. Even taken her to that Miami beach. Their place.

Y/N bit her lip and tried to hold back the half-formed tears in her eyes as the stylist went on talking about the fabric. She chose a random one just to get this over with.

“I hope that fucker gets deja vu.”

“What?” Y/N blinked at her best friend, who gave a mean shrug as she glared at the girl.

“He’s probably thinking of you while doing all that shit with her.”

Y/N pondered over it. Over and over. Even after the girlfriend’s laughter had faded down the hallway, and Y/N was also packing up to leave the studio. Her best friend’s words stayed with her as she got into the car and watched the street of London pass by her window.

That night, when she was alone in her living room with her piano. She sat down and started playing a few experimental chords. Then, she cried. Her tears blurred the handwritten lyrics on her notebook as she tried again.

“I have this idea,” she told her manager on the phone before sending the recording. It was three in the morning.

“Oh my god,” her manager exclaimed, sounding much more enthusiastic than he had when picking up her call. “This song...is so gonna win a Grammy!”

.

.

.

Y/N’s song had won a Grammy.

They had talked about it for so long. Harry had encouraged her to pursue a singing career, because she’d started out as an actress but was blessed with the most beautiful voice he had ever heard.

Ironic, wasn’t it? Now he was sitting at the front row and looking up at her as she received the award from an artist she looked up to, for the song written about him. She smiled at the crowd as the light shone on her and everyone was cheering because she deserved this. She said her thanks and expressed her gratitude to her family, her teams and her fans. She didn’t say his name. He hadn’t hoped that she would, because he knew there was no way his name would come with a positive message. So he was kind of glad she hadn’t mentioned him.

His girlfriend squeezed his arm as if she knew what he was thinking of. He smiled at his girlfriend. A smile of reassurance. They had put it behind them and promised to try again after all the fights about the song they were playing right now. Nothing would change after tonight. Because there was nothing Harry could change.

He caught Y/N’s eyes for one brief moment as she ascended the stage. Although he was sure he loved his girlfriend, there was something about that look that made him sad. Would he be happier to come here with Y/N tonight instead of his girlfriend? He wouldn’t know, because that would never happen. He didn’t even know if she still resented him, or if she was still the same person he remembered. A lot could change in a day let alone many months. And it was scary to think someone you used to know so much had become a complete stranger. The opposite of love wasn’t hate. It was indifference. And Harry felt it deeply as Y/N never paid him a second glance.

At the after-party, he worked up the courage to approach her when he found her standing alone texting on her phone.

“Hi. How are you?” he said.

Y/N looked at him as if she couldn’t understand English. If she ignored him and walked away, this would be the most humiliating moment of his life.

But no. She pressed her lips into a gentle smile and said, “I’m good. How are you?”

“Good.” He nodded, wanting to shake her hand, but his fingers stayed glued together behind his back. “Congratulations on your win.”

“Thank you.” She picked up the glass of wine on the table beside them, and Harry knew he’d lost his chance of shaking her hand tonight. “Did you like the song?”

“Yeah. It was good,” he said, finding it difficult to hold eye contact with her. There was something new about her that unsettled him, and he couldn’t pinpoint what it was. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For speaking out about it.”

“Oh.” Y/N showed no emotion as she shrugged. “It’s alright. I only said the truth. The song was fictional, and I don’t want anyone to get hate for it.”

They both knew it wasn’t true, and he couldn’t tell her that his girlfriend had almost broken up with him for it. Even if he had told her that, he didn’t think Y/N would care. She didn’t look like the Y/N he knew anymore. Suddenly, he recalled that night on the beach, when she was still looking at him with feelings.

“Look, Y/N, I—”

Before he got a chance to form a proper thought for what he was going to say, his girlfriend, who was obviously drunk, shouted from somewhere behind him. “Babe, Jeff’s wearing a tiny jacket! He looks more like the monkey than you!”

Harry looked at Y/N. She held his gaze. The corners of her red lips quirked as she raised her glass. “Deja vu?”

Just like that, she left him standing there all by himself.

[astranva]

Falling Duet

Word Count: 2.4k

Category: Fluff but it’s so 🥺

Warning: Nothing

Request: harry dating singer!reader: he has to perform at some awards and he invites her to sing with him but no one else knows? love your writing🤧❤

Summary: You and Harry sing an unreleased version of Falling at an award show.

The lyrics used are of “Falling (other POV)” by THE cutie, Ally Naso 🤍

// masterlist //

**reposted bc tumblr is messing up the tags & nobody can view it. sigh.

..

It all started when a friend of yours had recorded you singing in your school’s bathroom during senior year.

7 years ago, you wouldn’t have believed it if somebody told you that you would be a 13-time Grammy nominated artist, as well as having 6 of that very award sitting on your shelf at your childhood home – one for Best Artist, and one for Album of the year.

You would have laughed even.

But it wasn’t a joke nor was it a dream you wished to never wake up from; it was as real as life could be.

You were successful in the industry and if any of your fans were asked, they would say that it was because of your immense talent and unproblematic, empathetic, kind character.

It was one of the many reasons why so many people on the internet had shipped you with a certain English man, him having been only 20 when you went viral and got signed.

A year into the industry, it was one day when you remember your Twitter notifications going crazy;

“HARRY STYLES JUST SAID HE LOVES YOUR MUSIC AND THINKS YOU’RE BEAUTIFUL”

“omg pls tell us you watched 1d’s interview with jimmy kimmel”

“IT’S FINALLY HAPPENING! CAN YOU PLEASE BE TOGETHER ALREADY???”

Looking back at that memory, you remember how you were a shaking and overwhelmed mess as you had clicked on the link everybody was sending you.

The video had begun with the audience cheering as the camera was on Jimmy and the 5 men near him.

And there he sat; in a black suit with a white shirt underneath, medium-length hair looking like he had run his fingers through many times, his hands clasped as he looked at Jimmy.

“Who’s most likely to let a woman split the band?” Jimmy had asked.

They had looked at each other, not answering for a moment before Niall chimed in with a laugh as he pointed at Harry, “Harry would let his celebrity crush do that.”

Harry rolled his eyes jokingly as his bandmates agreed and laughed, slapping his hands against his thighs in feigned annoyance.

“Who is that? Who’s your celebrity crush?”

“Just this talented person.” He had tried to smile his way through the question, but no one was having it.

“You know Y/N Y/L/N? She’s an amazing singer,” Louis told Jimmy.

“Y/N!” Jimmy beamed, “We had her on the show two weeks ago.”

“Yeah, he watched that.” Liam had gestured towards Harry.

Hiding his face in his hands for a moment, the audience cheered as his friends continued to laugh.

“She’s amazing, isn’t she?” Jimmy asked Harry in a teasing manner.

Having had decided to get it over with, Harry nodded as he clasped his hands together again, “She’s very talented and beautiful.”

“Lovie, can you help me with the necklace? My nails are still drying.”

You looked up from your place on the couch, sitting in your long dress looking so beautiful that Harry had lost track of time of getting into his own suit because he was too busy giving you a photoshoot on his phone.

Standing up, you reached and clasped his necklace for him, dusting his shoulders to signal that you were done.

Turning, you were met with your boyfriend of 4 years beaming at you before he leaned to press his lips against yours.

“You look so good.” You smiled up at him, “So beautiful.”

“Have to try to catch up with how you look tonight,” he replied with a wide smile, “Nervous?”

“Not really.” You admitted.

Amusingly and completely and utterly in love, Harry tilted his head slightly, “Any reason why you’re not? You usually hate those.”

It was true. You didn’t really like award shows because of how tiresome all the process was; hair, makeup, dressing up, walking only to pause every second, the repeated questions you have been answering for years, how more judgmental the world was on nights like these.

But it was always when Harry was able to be by your side that you liked the night, and the tall man knew it, but he had always loved hearing you say it.

To feed his ego, you wrapped your arms around his neck, “Because you’ll be there.”

“Music to my ears.” He joked, shaking his head slightly.

“Just feeding that already overfed ego of yours, baby.”

“Excuse you.” He pecked your lips, “Let me add food for Evie then we can leave.”

“I’ll do it, don’t mess up your nails.” You patted his chest before moving away to attend to your cat.

The fans and reporters all had anticipated the moment of yours and boyfriend’s arrival, and the both of you knew it.

You were fairly private with your relationship. While everyone knew you were together, the both of you didn’t always post about one another but when you did, it went viral – something you and Harry, shamelessly, enjoyed.

It was why during moments like this, everyone was eager. Reporters were hungry for content, all having different intentions, but you spend enough time in the industry and you sort of begin knowing what to say and how to say it.

Harry was scheduled to perform, something everyone knew of, but it was the fact that you were joining him not on the red carpet, but on stage that they didn’t.

Getting out of the car together, the screams and flashing lights were then doubled.

Harry closed the door behind you with a polite smile to the security standing. Bending a little, he adjusted your dress’s short train for you as you looked back at it before you looked up at him.

As if they weren’t snapping pictures like crazy yet, you reached and fixed Harry’s hair at the front, his eyes looking up with a smile as you did so.

“Thanks, love.”

With that, Harry placed his arm around your waist as you walked to the first spot on the red carpet.

“When was the last time we appeared together? They’re going mad.” You whispered, looking at Harry as he smiled to the cameras.

He chuckled, looking at you, “I think we deprive them too much.”

“Let’s give them enough content to last a year.”

Nobody but the both of you knew what you meant, and it was why the flashing lights and camera shutter sounds were then tripled the moment Harry’s lips were on yours in a soft kiss.

“Can we sign stuff?” You asked a woman standing on the sides, “Can we see the fans?”

When she nodded at you, you and Harry ignored posing for a few minutes to converse and meet fans.

“I love you and Harry so much!” One fan said shakily as you signed a paper for him.

“Thank yo- Hey! I saw you in Amsterdam last year, right?” You grinned.

And that was another thing not only your fans loved about you, but Harry, too.

You were no stranger to connections. You were no stranger to making people feel seen and treating them in a way that no fan expected to be treated – a friend, and you remember friends.

“Harry, do you think Y/N will win Songwriter of the Year?” A fan asked.

Harry shrugged with a smile, “I hope so but we all know she is anyway.” He waved his hand with a joking manner, making the closest fans laugh.

“What about you? Do you think you’ll win Artist of the Year?”

“I don’t know,” he smiled, “There are so many amazing artists. I wish them all the best.”

“He’s a humble man,” you teased, patting his shoulder, “We all know he is anyway.”

You were confused as they, Harry included, laughed in shock. “What?”

“He literally has just said the same thing about you.”

You laughed, looking at Harry, “Shut up, no way!”

“The both of you have been doing that for years.” One fan commented with a grin, “It’s adorable. It’s like telepathy or something.”

“Oh yeah, we are telepathic,” Harry nodded, “It gets a little scary sometimes.”

“Heeey!” You laughed, “It’s actually helpful. One of us would be just walking at home and we’d look at each other and know that the other just means something like “feed Evie” or “take out the trash””

“This is so cute!”

“Harry, what are you performing tonight?”

“You’ll find out in a bit.” He pointed.

Shortly, you and Harry had to take more pictures and do interviews before you were escorted inside.

It was the little moments that fans also lived for; how Harry held your hand as you sat so discreetly, how the both of you chatted and giggled among one another and those around you, how Harry fist-bumped the air the moment your name was called to receive your award of Songwriter of the Year before kissing you. It was how they knew this was real – how love wasn’t something you only listen people sing about or write novels for.

It was in how Harry’s eyes didn’t move from you as you gave your speech, a wide smile on his face and eyes resembling twinkling stars for crying out loud.

It was in how you ended your speech with: “This is to the man who has inspired and pushed me forward to write every single day. I love you.”

It was in how you looked more nervous than Harry himself when his category was called before you were the first to get out of your seat with a happy “yes!” once they announced that he won.

It was in how Harry cupped your face that moment to kiss you before walking to receive his award.

It was in how you remained standing, those behind you only smiling instead of being annoyed, with your hands clutched together against your heart, tearful eyes, and the brightest smile in the room.

“You’re going to tell me this is cheesy,” Harry chuckled slightly, giving a shrug as he looked at you, “But I wouldn’t be standing here, holding this, if it weren’t for you. I love you, too.”

But then Harry was about to perform and you weren’t in your seat.

The award show had decided to make a skit of it, the host being Miley had held her microphone as she stood in the empty isle beside yours and Harry’s empty seats.

“We know Harry Styles is performing in minutes,” she said, looking at the camera with a playful smile, “But where is Y/N Y/L/N? We know, we know,” she nodded, “Probably backstage for some extra good luck but-” people laughed, causing Miley to pause and chuckle, “But seriously, guys. There’s a show and it must go on.”

“It’s going on.” Harry said from backstage into his mic before the stage went dark.

It wasn’t until piano tunes sounded that the arena grew dim, a spotlight on the piano at the center of the stage where you sat, your fingers gentle against the keys as you played the beginning notes of Falling.

“I'm in my bed,

And you're not here

And there's no one to blame

But the drink in my wandering hands.” Harry sang as he came on stage, holding the mic in his hand before taking a seat beside you.

Everyone had expected him to sing the next verse, but it wasn’t his voice that they then heard.

“I'm in my bed

Instead of yours

Cried to sleep turned off all of lights and locked all of the doors.” You sang, eyes on the piano keys.

“Forget what I said

It's not what I meant

And I can't take it back

I can't unpack the baggage you left.” His eyes were on you, body turned slightly towards you as he felt like the both of you were in your living room in front of your white piano.

“I replay what you said

Don’t know if it’s true

Left with two broken hearts and there’s nothing that we could undo.” You sang, closing your eyes as you got ready for the chorus.

“What am I now? What am I now?

What if I'm someone I don't want around?

I'm falling again, I'm falling again, I'm falling.”

“What am I now? What am I now?

Don’t want to cry ‘cause I can’t stand the sound

I'm falling again, I'm falling again, I'm falling.”

The both of you sang together, your voice being softer and quieter than Harry’s.

“What if I'm down?

What if I'm out?

What if I'm someone you won't talk about?

I'm falling again, I'm falling again, I'm falling.”

“What if I'm down? What if I'm out?

What if you’re someone I can’t live without?

I'm falling again, I'm falling again, I'm falling.”

It was a version nobody had heard before, and it was why everyone was quiet, the only sound coming from you, Harry, and your lone instrument.

It was something you had written together following a rough patch of your relationship, and everyone knew that it was more personal with the way the both of you sang.

When his eyes weren’t closed, Harry sang as he looked at you, and he knew that performing this song meant more to the both of you than anyone could imagine. One look at your face and Harry knew you were reliving the night of when the both of you had written this; eyes a little red from crying, bodies hot, Harry wearing a hoodie of yours while you sat in your underwear with his purple fluffy robe on.

“Can I do this alone without ever needing you again?”

“And I get the feeling that you'll never need me again.”

You both sang the bridge together, yours being shorter than Harry’s note as you carried a softer tone, closing your eyes as you played the piano, feeling your throat close up before gulping.

He knew.

It was why the final chorus was sung softer and quieter, Harry’s forehead resting against your temple for a moment as the both of you sang.

“I’m falling again, I’m falling again, I’m falling.” Harry finished, putting his mic down as he stared at you with a small smile, watching you in your element as you played.

Managing to look at him as you played single soft notes, you sang, “I’m falling again, I’m falling again, I’m falling.”

You played the end single notes, looking at Harry with tearful eyes and a bashful smile.

It was like you were unaware to the erupted cheer and round of applause, you threw your arms around Harry, feeling his arms wrap around you instantly.

Crying from the overwhelming emotions, you were thankful your mascara was waterproof. You called it.

“I love you,” Harry whispered in your ear, “I love you so much.”

[timextoxhajima]

The Boyz as things and feelings (just cause)

this is a small thing @haechanhues​ needed help with so i decided to make it an actual post uwu [this is gonna be pretty long cause i might write little scenarios]

[THE BOYZ AS THINGS AND FEELINGS]

SANGYEON - MIRRORS AND PILLOWS

mirrors make a place look bigger than it really is - i feel like sangyeon has that ability to make you feel like you’re more important on your worst days

the things he’ll do just to make sure you’re alright, even when he knows you’re not

he also has the ability to reflect what you need: sad? he’ll come and hug you and let you cry or talk about your shitty day. happy? he’ll joke about the way you snort while laughing then he’d probably do something dumb to keep the energy up there

mirrors also feel very private and at-home, and that exactly how i feel he curates an environment

pillows are self-explanatory ig, smth to cry into, smth to fall asleep with while hugging, has the best homely scents ever, very comfortable

i imagine going home after a long day and finding your partner also tired, but he’s cooking or like in the couch watching tv and he just invites you into his arms uwu

“tell me about everything! whatever that makes you happy or sad and i’ll try my best to be who you need at that point of time!”

JACOB - FLOWERS AND MUSIC

ok like jacob with a guitar is just a stellar sight to behold, he looks like he was born to hold one, and his vocals are super underrated imo, most of tbz’s discography doesnt really suit his voice - i really wish he had a chance to have more lines in more ballads or maybe even a solo thing

he would drag you out to go on walks after he knows you’ve buried yourself in your work the whole day, and he’d be the kind to stop at a pretty flower and contemplate plucking it but he wouldn’t cause he’s a fairy and wouldn’t hurt a fly, much less a pretty flower

would probably play a piece in the background while you’re stressed w work and hum a tune so the singing wouldn’t distract you

would stop when he notices you stopped working and your sad ass is probably crying lmao

he’s a very soft and gentle man imo

he’s the innocent daisy amidst other bright colored, flamboyant flowers but he still stands out

“i’ll grow you a rose bush in the yard so i don’t have to be sad about plucking flowers next time.”

YOUNGHOON - WINTER COATS AND COFFEE AND PASTRIES

he definitely radiates tsundere vibes on first sight, but when you get to know him, he’s obviously the opposite: a crybaby

but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t keep up his model-like appearances when he’s outside - in fact, he’d be the one to influence you into caring more about how you look (of course not materialistically, but more into actually caring about making yourself feel good with your fashion and appearance)

i chose winter coats as a symbol of coverage - he doesn’t show much of himself unless he’s close to you (like when you wear winter coats to keep warm, he’s a burrito because he doesn’t bother too much about sharing his feelings), but when he does, it feels like he has the ability to keep you warm and comfortable, even on the coldest days, even if his inner savage comes out

it’ll be like he scooped you into his coat and has you warm in one of this inner breast pockets

i see him as the kind to get regular coffee and like, a tart or something, at a cafe. it adds on to the warmth, when he remembers what you like. the details. maybe you like your coffee with cinnamon or less sugar or something, but then he tops it up with a muffin and he knows you like it heated up so he specifically asks for them to do so

ok but he’s defo the kind of guy that catches people’s attention at public spaces so every now and then when he’s laughing or smiling, some girl would gawk at him and he would be embarrassed about it, but lucky for you, you’re already wearing matching coats so they know the man’s taken uwu

“if only they knew how long it took to convince you to wear that coat.”

HYUNJAE - CONCERTS AND CONVENIENCE STORE DATES

classy but calm. dream-like but realistic. 

i say concerts as in the instrumental, ballad kinds. he loves it and he knows you probably need the sleep where you have that kind of background white noise/music that provides you the best quality of sleep there is. but when you’re not dosing off, he’s admiring how much time you’re willing to invest into being at something he loves

of course, in turn, he doesn’t complain much when you’re hungry and you meet him down the street at the nearest convenience store for some instant noodles and potato chips with a coke and he lets you ramble about your day 

he would probably buy you an ice cream just so you’d feel better, then regret it when you get a stomachache later cause it was like 2am in the morning

you probably have like 5 of his hoodies at home that you refuse to wash cause his scent is tainted all over it and the only time he gets to take them home is when he stays over or visits and he sneaks one into his bag when you’re in the kitchen making tea or a bowl of noodles

then you’ll get it back without even knowing it was gone

the kind that would probably surprise you after a day of work with a casual date idea to the movies, and i mean showing up at your place, impromptu, after he knows you’re home with two tickets 

“act like my girlfriend for once and go on a date with me, would you? your work isn’t going to be there with you when you die at 90.”

JUYEON - STARGAZING AND VR GAMES

as dumb and sometimes bimbotic as he seems he is, he’s gotten most of the visible constellations memorised and he would not hesitate from telling you all about his childhood with his family when they would travel and try to spot every single constellation they can remember

which brings me to the point where he remembers what you like, but... backhandedly. he doesn’t remember what you like but he remembers what you hate instead, so you don’t ever have to worry about getting that licorice flavoured jelly bean

he would offer a midnight walk to help you relieve your stress, cause he knows you just like seeing the nightsky amidst the peace and quiet while he rambles on for his own satisfaction. not everything has to be so emotionally attached and shared. you can share blissful moments without being the reason for each other’s and that’s totally fine.

juyeon is kind of a scaredy cat in the sense that he isn’t really into horror movies or games but he’s always had that dream to become a pilot and so for his birthday, you brought him to a vr game arcade where he played some plane simulator and ever since, you’ve been taking turns to surprise each other with a new vr arcade spot or adding on to the vr game console set you have at home

“maybe i should digitalise you so i can see you in the vr game”

KEVIN - KARAOKE SESSIONS AND NEON LIGHTS

the best-friend kind of partner you would come across once in a lifetime

a billion film shots of you after he drags you to the karaoke and he beats you at super intense songs like the bohemian rhapsody just cause he can hit those high notes and solely because he was screaming on the floor when he did it

almost left his film camera behind 

absolutely LOVES those walks along streets where there are a million neon lights

would come across that one sus neon light signs that indicate a sex toy store and he would give you that sly smile and probably joke for you to go in 

kevin has a moon neon light in his room and you have a star or something (whatever you want)

corrects your grammar and pronunciation, only for you two to bicker about it even more when you use google translation and there are different pronunciations depending on where/what accent you’re using

he really is your light in the dark, even if he’s known to be introverted. once he’s comfortable enough with you, he makes you feel like the most important person in the world

has one of those portable speaker microphones at home and he drones on and on and on with some billie eilish song until you hurl a pillow at him

“so you’re the tough girl, like it really rough girl, justcan’tgetenoughofkevingirl, chest always so puffed girl”

CHANHEE - DUETS AND STRAWBERRY PICKING

(i could not find a more candid, softer aesthetic pic for chanhee rip)

his entire wardrobe fits you - the only problem is that he’ll never let you wear it in fear that you’d stain or tear something

shared playlists because that’s how similar your taste in music is, and so sometimes when you have your earpiece in and you’re humming the melody of that song, chanhee picks it up immediately despite not hearing that song, and ends up harmonising with you

got kicked out of the library once or twice because it was exam period and the two of you won’t shut up

ironically doesn’t sing that much if you’re not around

chanhee is a true blue introvert - which is a miracle that you’ve managed to tear through that barrier of his and find out that he giggles at every stupid thing you do: he’s having a bad day? trip over the pavement. he’ll laugh. it works

dragging him out to go strawberry picking was so difficult - but of course chanhee isn’t safe from how beautiful and enticing the fresh fruits were.

didn’t touch anything strawberry flavoured OR any strawberries for the next month or so

his straightforwardness comes with the breakdown of his barrier - but that’s what brings you comfort. he will never lie, he will only be sarcastic and even then, you’d know it’s true

i used duets as a symbol of harmony and being in-sync, though never really exactly the same, and that’s how it is with chanhee. your thoughts are very similar even though he’s much more introverted than you, but that’s what binds you 

“i’m gonna tell the librarian i don’t know you if we get kicked out again.”

CHANGMIN - CITY TOURS AND MATCHING OUTFITS

city tours - the kind that you already know inside out and yet you STILL travel the area as if you were a tourist 

that’s exactly how it is with changmin: you know him inside out, after being friends for so long, but it never gets old

you’re used to him biting your hand out of nowhere and yet it startles you all the time. that stupid chucky doll in his living room? old, but it never fails to scare you

he doesn’t ever talk about it that much, but he loves it when you co-ordinate outfits

no, it doesn’t mean you wear couple tees, but it’s aesthetically pleasing to changmin that if he wears cool tones, you would too

he’d be reserved about his thoughts and feelings sometimes but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t think or feel them

there’s a strange sense of familiarity with changmin, because you kind of know what to expect but then you’re never disappointed, you know?

“i got you this white pigeon cause it looks like the one i already got... you can give it back to me if you don’t like it though-” /he takes it before you can accept it/

HAKNYEON - STAND UP COMEDY SHOWS AND RUNNING ALONG THE BEACH

there’s something about ju that makes it very casual and easy-going

he hates horror genred themes so fuck that, he would queue online just for the latest ali wong comedy show, even if it’s an online show, and he would laugh until he cried

sometimes he’s a drama queen but that makes it alot easier for you to know what he’s thinking or feeling - it makes communication alot easier

that means a lack of arguments

he’s also very empathetic but straightforward, exactly like how comedy shows are - because they are relatable, they are funny because they bring out the irony and sarcasm and all the dumb things in life that people are sometimes afraid of talking about and hak just says whatever he wants to say, even if he knows it might be hurtful or upsetting

he prioritises truth and honesty over anything else

it makes you a better person, honestly

beach walks - very calming, very liberating. he lets you yell and scream and kick sand back into the water because you can, and he does it with you

tries to teach you how to skip rocks but you suck and you can’t so he just pulls you away from the pile of rocks you amassed

“flick your wrist like that, not like you’re meowing!”

SUNWOO - SOCCER FRIENDLIES AND STUDIO SESSIONS

he will NOT go easy on you in a friendly match: you might be one of the fastest players of the female team but he’s ruthless in his ball-stealing, so even if you were fast enough to keep the ball out of his reach, he’d still be able to snatch it right out between your feet

very, very competitive and does not like to lose

you would always play the ‘ladies first’ card but then he’d throw the ‘feminism’ card back at you 

sometimes you act more like siblings than anything else 

the only time when he isn’t fuming with competition is if you’re injured because he accidentally tackled you - he’ll gracefully give himself a yellow card before absolutely trashing you in the next match

has one foot into the production game recently - likes to play with the beat board and mixing tunes, and since you’ve had your hand in doing music remixes for a deejay job before, you’re there to identify which songs have the same bass line or beat counts for easier mixing

would make you a playlist of remixes but wouldn’t admit that he spent a whole day in the studio without you just so it would be a surprise

a soft boy stuck in the wraps of an egoistic man

“a day? please. i illegally downloaded half these remixes off the internet cause i’d think you’re too internet-dumb to find them.”

ERIC - BAKING AND SKATEBOARDING

full of impromptu, casual ideas to hang out 

baking is a fucking mess - why did he suggest it when he doesn’t even have the right ingredients?

wanted to replace eggs with water - like ok thats supposedly healthier, but why????????????

he likes cleaning so that was the only fucking bonus in baking - had to call his mom for help halfway through because the cookies looked more like goop than playdough

gave up in the end and he repaid his debt by helping clean your kitchen

tried to teach you how to skateboard, but he ended up falling off his own in the process and now he’s got a grazed knee 

the kind of person you’d have so much chaotic fun with, he’s that friend your mom told you to NOT hang out with that much if not you’d get run down by a car 

has the most fucking random pieces of clothing in his wardrobe, like where did he even get that pink coat from?

“no you have to do this and like lift up your leg and then kinda rest your weight on it before flicking your ankle and like- whOA- OH OW OHNO OHOHOH OW”

[nagimitsus]

Title: somewhere along the line

Fandom: Genshin Impact

Synopsis: For all his delicate appearance, Venti has always been incredibly strong.

Diluc has known this from the start. Before the traveler entered their lives, before the battles, before he saw him standing in front of a dragon, ready to give everything in exchange for the freedom of another. And Diluc had thought, now that is how a god should behave.

That is someone I could believe in.

 [Read on AO3!]

For all his delicate appearance, Venti has always been incredibly strong.

Diluc has known this from the start. Before the traveler entered their lives, before the battles, before he saw him standing in front of a dragon, ready to give everything in exchange for the freedom of another. And Diluc had thought, now that is how a god should behave. 

That is someone I could believe in. 

It should come as a surprise, the amount of respect that he has gathered for the bard of melodious voice that makes himself at home only at his tavern. But it doesn’t. Maybe Diluc felt a pang of nuisance at first, when he thought of Venti only as a drunkard with too many stories to tell. 

That was before he came to know him. Before the nights when his smile became sad after too many bottles of wine, small and nostalgic and unfitting in such a bright face. Before he understood that there was still a raw wound behind those eyes of his, still bleeding as much as Diluc’s own. 

Diluc took the habit of offering him a glass of water and telling him to go home. The sensation of discomfort that nested his chest when Venti smiled up at him and asked what home was he talking about made Diluc wince.

.

At some point between that and the whole Dvalin situation, he stops asking Venti to go home and starts keeping him company until the silent streets of Mondstadt, illuminated only by the moon and the stars, call back for its bard. 

When Venti leaves, his smile is a bit more grateful and a lit less lonely, and Diluc tells him “I hope you find something more rewarding to spend your time on, tomorrow” but thinks See you later. 

Venti laughs. It sounds like a breeze. “What’s more rewarding than wine, I wonder?” he says, and has the audacity to wink.

Diluc sighs, because there’s nothing else he can do. 

.

The thing about Venti is that he doesn’t want to be worshipped. 

He doesn’t. It’s made clear in the way he behaves, the way he doesn’t stop too much in front of the church unless it’s to perform, the way he talks to the citizens of his country as if they were more friends than subjects. And it’s not because he likes the freedom that comes with anonymity, it’s not because of his own wants or needs. 

It’s because he wants them to be free, in this city where there are no tyrants and no gods. This city where they can follow the winds and their hearts alike, bound by nothing but their own ideals.

Diluc protects Mondstadt, fiercely. Because he loves everything it represents and everything it stands for. 

And likewise, he protects the god that gifted them all of this.

.

 Venti stops by the Winery of Dawn sometimes. Diluc finds him trying to steal wine or sleeping inside a barrel, and thinks: this is not a deity, this is a raccoon. 

Still, because he has a bit of faith left in him and because he used to go to church with his father back in the day, Diluc takes him by the back of his cape and into the house, where he makes sure he’s put to rest in one of their spare rooms, with enough water on his bed table to deal with the hangover. 

By the next morning he’s always gone, but the wind blows gently through the open window. 

Sometimes, if he’s still sober enough to string a few words together when Diluc takes him in, Venti laughs, and clings to his shoulders with both arms, and says things like “I can sing for you if you desire it, Master Diluc”, with that sweet voice blurry but cheerful. 

Diluc sits him down before the fireplace on those occasions, just so he can make sure that Venti drinks enough water and doesn’t do something like throwing up into his own mouth and suffocating on it.

What a troublesome bard, Diluc thinks. The thought is covered in affection anyway, and he has to sigh to himself at that. Venti blinks slowly at him, almost as if he could know what’s crossing his mind just by looking at him, and then he leans in his direction with a drunken smile that makes Diluc roll his eyes. 

“You,” Venti says, slowly but with intent, “are a very good person. Do you know that, Master Diluc?”

The reaction is immediate. Diluc can feel it start on his stomach and creep up until his head, his ears, his hands. It’s a fuzzy sentiment that makes home on his chest and purrs like a cat, a reminder of how good it is to be acknowledged. 

Diluc looks back at Venti’s eyes, clear even in his state. 

When he was young, he wondered how the truly religious felt. He asked Jean once, eleven or so, as little Barbara tried to sign in tone with the croaking of a frog. And Jean, always patient and warm, had said: I don’t think it can be explained.

But it can.

Diluc feels like he’s being hugged by a tornado and cradled by the breeze at the same time. It’s excruciating and infuriating and exhilarating, and it’s making a knot into his stomach, reddening his ears. 

He scoffs lightly, but his voice is not unkind when he says:

“And you are very drunk.”

Venti laughs at that, and the sound reverberates in the space of the room.

The only reason Diluc doesn’t leave is because he’s still afraid that Venti will throw up all over himself. 

.

(The traveler comes.

The traveler comes, they fight against Dvalin, and Diluc has to see Venti’s slender form fly across the battlefield when the dragon hits him once. Even when he gets up immediately, smiling through the pain, the knot that he made in Diluc’s stomach twitches and hurts. 

He makes sure to tell Barbara that the bard got hurt once they go back to Mondstadt, and ignores the perplexed look that he sends his way.)

.

Venti doesn’t come to the winery for a few weeks after the Dvalin incident, and they don’t meet up at the tavern either. Diluc would be worried, if he didn’t see him here and there, talking to Kaeya or playing a simple tune for Klee (who he seems to adore, if the warm look in his eyes as the little girl tries to harmonize with him.)

Diluc is not prone to lie to himself, so he doesn’t even try to deny that he misses Venti’s annoying presence. Still, since the traveler left for Liyue, the whole town seems to have subdued, its upbeat attitude turned into a dull sense of longing. 

Someone knocks on his door one night, almost sixteen days after he saw Venti for the last time. And of course, as fate would have it, it’s the bard himself who’s waiting at the other side.

Rain is not unusual in Mondstadt, even when they’re accustomed to a gentle drizzle, so most citizens have learned to take an umbrella with them when the spring is creeping on them.

Venti is dripping wet, and there’s something in the way his clothes cling to the line of his shoulders that make him straight up sad, almost pathetic. Still, the gleam on his eyes is a tell-tale that he’s been drinking, and the curve of his smile is too close to loneliness. It stirs something in Diluc, calls for the silent understanding of their nights in the tavern.

He doesn’t say anything, just takes a step to the side to let him in. 

The maids will find awfully unpleasant the wetness on the carpet, Diluc’s mind supplies, but it’s difficult to care when Venti smiles like rain and alcohol and apples, all mixed up. His mere presence tends to be intoxicating, with the way he takes so much space with his voice and his laugh and his music, but it’s even worse now. Maybe it’s because Diluc has become unaccustomed to it.

“Do you need somewhere to stay?” Diluc asks after a few seconds. Venti’s smile is still sad, but it’s there nonetheless. 

If this were any other person, the sound of the wind outside might have drowned their words. But Venti has never known how to be quiet, and so Diluc hears him without any trouble:

“You care about me, don’t you, Master Diluc?”

He sighs, and closes the door. The storm becomes a muted sound behind the wood and the steel, and somehow that adds to the intimate atmosphere that this scene carries. Diluc can feel it at his throat, the warning, the threat that comes with the closeness. He talks through it.

“I don’t think you’ve made all the way here just to point out the obvious, bard.”

He turns then, and Venti is still there, looking straight into him. In the pit of his eyes there’s an ancient kind of loneliness that makes him look terribly old. It’s in times like this when it becomes easy to think of him as a god. Again, Diluc thinks of what being religious means, thinks of kissing his temple and his hands until pink and red go back to his skin, thinks of drying his hair and lending him a bed.

That’s not the kind of devotion that a God requires. But for Venti, who would treat the cathedral built in his name just to see Klee smile, who dirties his hands helping Sucrose with her work and runs away from Diona between laughs whenever she gets angry at him, it might be enough. 

Venti laughs. The sound is enough to loosen the muscles of Diluc’s tense shoulders.

“I haven’t,” Venti says, and then he turns around and walks into the house as if it belongs to him. Diluc follows, waiting for him to go on. Since he doesn’t, he adds:

“I’m not going to serve you wine here,” just to make sure that’s out of the table. 

Venti hums, amused. He goes straight to the fireplace, sticking both hands in front of the flames. Diluc stops just three steps away from him, taking a few seconds to stare at the side of his face, shadows dancing over the curves of his nose, his eyebrows, his neck. 

“I lost something important,” Venti says at least, his voice soft, “and my power has decreased drastically.” 

Diluc frowns before he can stop himself. Venti looks at him with that same smile that doesn’t suit him, even as he’s winking, probably trying to downplay his own words.

“Worst possible time too, right?”

Diluc would know. The Abyss Order’s activity is still on rise, and the Fatui are getting bolder every passing day. He knows the Knights of Favonious are not good enough to keep them all at bay, not enough to protect all of Mondstadt, bound by the laws and diplomacy and their own duty.

Even so,

“I’m still here,” he reminds him, as if it was obvious. “And Jean will do everything in her power.”

Venti looks at him through the corner of his eye for a second before he’s turning his whole body, hands on his hips. He giggles again, and even though the sound is far off the usual, it doesn’t sound as tense as his last words.

“Are you saying you will protect me, Master Diluc?” 

Diluc doesn’t roll his eyes, because he’s not keen on the gesture, but he hopes that the expression on his face is enough to convey his feelings of fond frustration. One can’t be serious with Venti around unless someone is in immediate danger, it seems. 

“I am saying that if my actions can bestow some peace upon you, know that I’ll keep protecting Mondstadt.”

Venti takes a step in his direction, then another. When his hands close around Diluc’s white shirt, they leave wet marks that extend through the cloth under his fingers, cold against his skin. The flower on his hat has lost at least two petals in the rain, but his eyes are alive and  warm as they look straight into Diluc’s red ones.

He doesn’t feel the need to confess, doesn’t want to kneel down and ask for forgiveness for his sins. But he wants to keep Venti here nonetheless, in the intimacy of the room illuminated only by the flames. Maybe that’s a thought that needs absolution. 

“You,” Venti says, very slowly, “are a very good person. Did you know that, Master Diluc?”

He smirks, the little shit. Diluc doesn’t bother to answer this time, because he’s too busy trying to calm down the beating of his heart as Venti gets on his tiptoes, one hand going to his shoulder, the other remaining on his chest.

Diluc leans down into the kiss, and it’s impossible to think of a god when the laugh that he swallows in his own mouth it’s so undeniably Venti.

[soulwillower]

tozier • stanley uris

(stan x tozier!reader smut)

requested: okay so once regular requests open, here’s my idea. so the reader and richie are siblings and they absolutely hate each other and to get under his sisters skin, he fucks her best friend. so in sheer anger she decides to fuck all of his

warnings: semi-public sex, oral (fem receiving), stan teasing the reader a lot, some dirty talk? i think thats it. also a tiiiiny bit of exhibitionism i guess at the end. very unedited

part 6 of the tozier series [  i  ii iii  iv v ]

(losers and reader are 20+ and in college in this)

4.1k words

♡

the door opened and closed downstairs as you towel dry your hair, the fog of the scorching shower you'd just endured fogging your mirrors. you frown as you wipe a line through the mirror and your eyes stare back at you for a split moment before the fog reclaims the image and you sigh.

pulling yourself together, you unlock the door and start to walk towards your room on the other side of the house. as you pad towards your room, a throat clears and you jump a bit, eyes landing on stan from where he stands at the bottom of the stairs. he's grinning, "hey, y/n." he says gently, eyes staying on your face. your face goes warm, "hi, stan. um - richie's- i don't know where richie is," you start, looking around.

richie rounds the corner as if he's been summoned, brushing his teeth as he itches his side. you hiss, "stan's here. why didn't you tell me he was coming over?"

it's quiet enough that the boy down the stairs can't hear you and richie narrows his eyes with a smirk.

"calm down, it's just stan. he's the only one here for dinner tonight. the others won't be here 'till sometime after. why d'you ask?" he asks, his mouth covered in spit and toothpaste. you wrinkle your nose at his poor hygiene but gesture to your frame, wet and covered with only your towel.

richie fixes you with an eye roll, "believe me, nobody is interested in you like that. especially stan. you're just self obsessed, y/n, it's embarrassing for you. not everyone wants to fuck you. i'm pretty sure nobody does." he says with a slight glare. "just because you're into my best friend doesn't mean he's into you."

you shove richie immediately, your eyes catching a glimpse of light brown curls as they zip around the balcony, disappearing. you wish he hadn't heard that. “fuck you, richie. why do you try to embarrass me? i hate you.” 

a moment later, your mom is calling your names. "richie, y/n! stan's here for dinner!"

you're furious and the look you send richie as you turn to escape to your room burns through his skull. you're flustered as you get ready for dinner, pulling on your clothes with bright red cheeks. your mind goes to the party you'd all gone to the other week - the night that you and bill had hooked up.

you can't believe you've almost done it. you've slept with five of richie's best friends, and he doesn't even know yet. the boy downstairs comes to your mind and you sigh, thinking back to when he'd teased you at the party, when you'd sat on his lap to the quarry the other day, when he'd slid his foot against your leg under the table the the other night while you were all eating....

the butterflies in your stomach won't go away. plus, it's stan - and for some reason that seems different than the rest of them....

you find your way to the dining room, eyes meeting stan's. he grins from where he's sat, playing with the bottle of beer in front of him, your father having offered him a modelo. "hi, y/n." he says in greeting, giving you a smirk. you smile back, "hi, stan."

"that skirt looks great." he says, "kind of too bad you changed." 

 and you clear your throat just as your dad and richie walk into the room, hands full of plates of food. you're red, hoping they hadn't heard. what the hell has gotten into stan? 

after that, dinner went by without much issue besides you and richie getting into a fight until your father forced you two to calm down.

now, the losers are over and bev is insisting someone go get ice cream from the store so you can all watch a movie with sundaes. "stan the man, you should go." mike says with a grin, causing stan to flip him off with a bored face. your eyes catch on his hands and you can't help but let your mind wander...

"why?" stan asks. eddie shrugs, "you do drive the fastest."

the others laugh and you smile at the ground a bit in amusement. "fine. i get to pick the flavors, though."

the protests from the others echo in the room and you roll your eyes, "just promise to get vanilla?" you ask, and stan looks at you. "what, you're a vanilla girl?" he asks. the others are buzzing in the background about their favorite flavors, but the intense look on stan's face makes you grin. "n-no, promise i'm not a vanilla girl." you say, lifting a brow. he's smirking full-on. "i just know eddie is." you add, and stan laughs. his smile gives you butterflies and eddie nods, "uh, yeah, it's objectively the best flavor, because then you can-"

he's ranting now, and stan shakes his head with an eye roll as he stands up and flips his keys around his fingers. "i'll be back quick."

"why don't you take your little girlfriend with you?" richie teases, gesturing to you. you throw him a glare. "fuck off, richie. y/n, get over here." stan says, nodding his head and gesturing for you to follow him out the door. it's so quickly that stan agrees to have you come along that some of the others share a look, making your stomach burn. he gives one more pissed off look to richie before he leaves the room, and so you awkwardly follow him out to richie's car.

it's a quick drive to the store. finally, you’re back in richie's car with several different ice creams in your hands. you and stan mostly joke the whole time, until you slide into his car again and fall into a moment of silence.

"it's always been funny to see richie say all this bullshit about you in front of me." stan breaks the silence, and you look at him in surprise. he shrugs, eyes still on the road. "not funny that he's an asshole, but it's just amusing. that he thinks i'm not attracted to you."

your stomach drops just as fast as your jaw does at stan's words. "oh, y-you..." you try to act casual. "what?" you ask then, trying to understand what he means. he laughs a bit, jaw tilting back and glinting in the afternoon light. "c'mon, y/n. look at yourself." is all he says, shaking his head as his eyes drag up your figure before returning to the road.

you stare at him, butterflies fluttering in your stomach and your thighs clenching.

"i know you like me, remember? since what, fifth grade?" he says with a cheeky grin, eyebrows lifting in a tease. you let out a breath, the butterflies thumping in your chest. "god, stan. that's not funny."

"why?" he asks, his voice deep as he sets the car towards your house again, the ice cream at your feet. "that joke is so old." you whisper, looking at stan. he raises his brows, "is it?"

"yes." you say firmly, but you feel your resolve breaking. he hums, shaking his head but not speaking.

it's quiet besides the song playing on the radio quietly - every little bit hurts by brenda holloway - and you pretend not to feel your heart flutter in affection as you hear stan sing along under his breath. 

he's driving with one hand on the wheel, one down on the shift. "you know, you don't need to have your hand there. this isn't a manual." you say, changing the subject and gesturing to his stray hand. 

he laughs and it ignites something very deep inside of you. "i'm so used to shifting gears. force of habit, i guess."

"richie's an idiot, he can't even drive manual." you say, shaking your head.

"yeah, but sometimes there's benefits to richie being incapable of driving anything but automatic." he says, his hand falling softly to hold onto your bare thigh. you grip the side of the car door tighter, unable to take his teasing anymore.

stan's pulling into your driveway, and so you turn to him. "why are you teasing me? did someone tell you something?" you ask. what if one of the losers squealed and told him that you fucked them all? he sighs, putting the car in park and looking at your eyes. 

"what? i'm not joking around. you just look so hot in that skirt." he admits with a light laugh and red cheeks.”if i’m making you uncomfortable, i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to at all, i just really want you.” 

it’s honest and bold, just the way stan usually is, and you swallow thickly. he really wants you? "prove it, then." you say, eyes locking with his, his hand squeezing your bare thigh.

two minutes later, you're laying down in the backseat as it’s parked in your driveway, stan on top of you sucking the skin on your neck.

“you want to do this right now? even though we could get caught?” you say breathlessly, hands tangled in his hair. "when else?" he says, staring at your lips. your stomach drops a bit, but you don't let it bother you too much as you have stan between your legs in the backseat.

"then let's go, uris." you say, pulling him down by the neck in desperation. he smirks into the kiss, kissing you so deeply you see stars.

"you think it'd be hot if i fuck you in his car, huh?" he whispers quietly in your ear. your eyes roll back as his fingers rub tight, teasing circles over your core, a fire slowly being lit. you only whimper a bit, biting your lip. "y-yes. we don't have time, th-though-" you gasp then, as he slips a finger into you.

he still watches you intently, listening as if nothing was abnormal as he pumps his finger, curling it and making you whimper as you try to spit out your words. it makes you turn bright red. "the ice cream- it'll melt, they'll know." you say through a moan, eyes shutting as he pumps his finger in and out of you teasingly.

"richie says it...t-tastes different after-" you moan, "-after it's been too melted."

"he's full of shit." stan pulls back, finger still teasing you. your chest raises and falls quickly, feeling flustered and desperate. stan smirks, "plus, i want to taste you first."

your throat gets dry. "p-please." you say, cheeks feeling hot with need. the windows are starting to fog up in the car he's parked on your driveway as he slowly slides the underwear down from your legs, kissing the skin as he goes. you're breathing shakily and then he's bringing his eyes up to you before lifting up your skirt and bringing his head under, your eyes rolling back to stare up at the lights in the back of the car that richie and bev had strung up one night.

you gasp in pleasure as you feel stan's tongue dart out and lick a bold, flat stripe up your heat. "fuck," you whisper, your hands moving from gripping the seat you've laid on to pulling up your skirt to lace your fingers through his hair. he swirls his tongue around your clit and you tense, the feeling of pleasure unlike anything you've felt before.

you wonder if it's because you could get caught by richie at any moment, or because it's in richie's car, or just because it's stan.

his hands snake up to hold your waist as he starts to move his tongue, holding you down so you can’t buck your hips, his thumbs rubbing the skin that's revealed between your top and your skirt.

“stan.” you whimper, back arching and yelping as he slips a finger inside you. he hums around your clit and your toes curl, gasping and whining as he pumps into you and curls his finger. his name falls from your lips like a prayer and you can almost feel his smirk against you as his tongue starts to work circles. 

his hand still presses against you as you buck your hips, your legs wrapping over his shoulders. he pulls away slightly, lips glistening as he smirks up at you. “you're perfect, y/n.” he mutters, making you moan, legs squeezing around his head. he smirks at you, finger coming up to rub at your clit slowly as he brings his tongue to thrust into you.

you squeeze his hair lightly as you whimper, the feeling euphoric as your toes curl. his name falls from your lips every few seconds as he ruthlessly eats you out, the coil in your stomach about to release. “stan, please, i’m gonna cum.” you mutter, eyes closed and chest rising and falling.

“not yet.” he says, jaw set as he pulls back, meeting your eyes. you whimper at the loss of stimulation, looking at him in shock. his hand comes up to grip your jaw softly, and he kisses you sweetly. "i want you to forget about everything and everyone besides me." he whispers against your lips.

chills run down your spine - does he know about the others? there's no way stan knows.

you nod, biting your lip as you watch him move back down between your legs, this time slipping two fingers into you and rubbing your clit with his thumb. "how's that feel?" he mutters, and you feel like you're on fire. "fuck- stan, so good. feels s'good." you mutter. he hums, sinking back down to suck and toy with your clit, fingers curling expertly and making your stomach tense as you try not to cum.

"stan, please, please, please-" you start to beg, arm coming to your forehead as you shake. he hums against your clit and you moan loudly - loud enough that if someone were passing by the car they'd certainly know - and clench around his fingers. "no need to beg, y/n." he says cockily, eyes glinting with pride. "cum for me."

you're shaking and moaning his name as you finally hit your high, the best orgasm you think you've ever had. your breathing stutters as he laps you up with his tongue gently, other hand soothing your hair. your eyes are pressed shut as you clench through your high. "fuck, stan." you whimper.

he's pulling himself to sit up and bringing his fingers to his mouth to clean them off, looking at you with an almost questioning look. it makes you feel like putty. 

"i think you need to get eaten out more often, babylove." is all he says before he opens the door, adjusting his pants, slipping your underwear into his pocket, and grabbing the ice cream. "or at least by someone who knows what they're doing."

you're speechless as you gather yourself, smoothing your hair and sliding from the back of the car on shaky legs. stan turns to walk towards the front door but you shove him quickly against the hood, kissing him deeply. you taste yourself faintly on his soft lips, and his free hand comes to grip you, squeezing your ass as he kisses you back. you pull back, "give me my underwear." you order. he shrugs, "you’ll be fine without them, won't you tozier?"

your jaw drops. "it's like you want richie to find out." you say, giving him a slight glare despite the intense butterflies in your gut. he grins at you, pecking your nose. "so what if he does? doesn't change the fact that i'd do it again."

and then he's pulling you by the hand gently towards the house and you're stumbling behind him with red cheeks and jello legs.

jesus christ, that just happened.

"goddamn, what made you take so long?" richie mutters as you and stan walk back into the room, stan’s hand leaving the small of your back after pinching your ass slightly. you clear your throat. "the self check out line was so long." you respond.  

"whatever. i'm hungry. where's the ice cream?" richie asks, the others in the room all looking at you. stan moves to sit next to bill on the couch.

"it's in the freezer. it softened up on the way back." stan says, seemingly disinterested. his passiveness makes your throat dry. why was that so hot?

"it's a three minute drive." richie says, sitting back down. you follow suit, sitting on the floor and grabbing a blanket, wary of the fact that you're sitting with 7 people who, if looking, might catch that you're not wearing your underwear. that stan has your underwear. 

"okay. guess we just hit a road bump." stan says, picking his nails. bev snorts at that, and ben's grinning. you huff a laugh, too. it's funny when stan's rude to richie.

"bet y/n's just happy she got to spend time with you. she was probably drooling over you the whole time, huh?" he says as if you're not there.

"richie, what's your problem?" you spit. he looks at you, "so defensive." he laughs. bev rolls her eyes, "you're the one who's always teasing her, richie. ease up."

"what, are you two girlfriends now?" richie says, still on his cocky attitude. you glare.

"no, we're not. but we did fuck." bev says casually, staring at richie with a serious look. richie rolls his eyes, "okay, don't joke about fucking my sister. off-limits."

"what?!" you yelp, standing up quickly, adjusting your skirt with a red face. thank god it's not too short. stan smirks as he sees you adjust your skirt, but all richie's friends are staring at him and you. "you have to be kidding, richie. you are such a fucking hypocrite."

he rolls his eyes, "cecily and you aren't even that close anymore!" he defends. "yes, because of you!" you yell. “it’s too late, anyways. i think we’re even.” you add with a grin.

“just get over it. and stop trying to say you fucked my friend, it sounds desperate. as if any of them would settle for you." richie snarls, smirking as if he's proud of what he'd said. 

it makes you smirk, shaking your head. if only he knew.

"richie, i don't think she's joking." ben speaks up. everyone's eyes turn to ben, and your heart pounds as you bite your lip. you look at each of the others quickly - ben's gnawing on his lip and looking at richie uncertainly, mike is staring at the ground in thought, eddie's staring at his lap with an amused smirk, bev is smirking between the two boys with her eyebrows raised, and bill is looking at ben with a small look of realization.

your eyes land on stan, who's staring back at you intently, a suggestive look on his face as he tugs a small part of your underwear from his front pocket as he thumbs it with his finger. you send him an intent look back, trying to beg him not to do it.

when you look at richie, he's shocked, mouth agape. "what?" richie says quietly. 

"you fucked my best friend. it was only fair." you say with a shrug, smiling at him. he looks like he might punch you.

you stifle a laugh, trying to keep a straight face but failing. richie looks furious as he walks up to you, the two of you standing in the middle of the make-shift circle the losers formed in the living room. he’s breathing heavy, face red. you don't think he’s ever looked so furious in his whole life. 

"which one?" he says through a clenched jaw, looking quickly over each of their faces, all of them smirking back slightly. you can’t help your own smirk or the shrug. 

"all of them."

part VII coming soon

tag list:  @gabiatthedisco @blisshemmings @stenbrozier  @sft-core @clownsloveyou  @moon-shine-baby @daughter-of-the-stars11 @trashedfortozier @oceandog13 @kait16xo @upamongthestarss @fiantomartell @beverlyparkerr @beauregard-s @diorbubs @leighjaenikhowell  @cowbellies @deepestofwaters @melinda-weasley  @ruefulposts

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[there-must-be-a-lock]

Constellations

Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 1250

Warnings: Smut. Incredibly fluffy smut. 

A/N: For @deanwanddamons​ 2K Challenge! My quote was “I want to play a game.” Thanks so much for letting me join in on this, and congrats! 

Her fingers graze his skin, trailing up his shoulder blades, skating over the knobs of his spine, and Dean smiles into the pillow.  

“What’s the game today?” he asks sleepily. There’s no rhyme or reason to the touch that he can tell. Sometimes she traces words into his skin, spelling out secret messages just for him. Sometimes she tries to guess the stories behind the scars — she always kisses them afterward, sweet and reverent.

“Making constellations,” she answers. “Stay right where you are for a sec.”

“Don’t think I could move if I tried.” 

He loves this about her. She plays games and sees beauty in his skin, and she marvels at the tiny everyday wonders: freckles, sunsets, coffee. She always points out wildflowers on the side of the road. If they’re walking through the woods she’ll stop and turn over logs and exclaim at every salamander as if she’s never seen one before. She compliments strangers and makes faces at children and always sings in the shower. 

Dean didn’t have that innocent, childish sort of wonder in his life — not until he met her. Face down enough gods and monsters, you start to get a little jaded about the everyday things. Spend too much time focusing on the darkness in the world, you start to lose sight of the light that shines through. 

She rummages through something on the desk, for a second, and then she comes back, straddling his hips again. She leans forward, draping herself over him, breasts and stomach soft against his bare skin. It’s such a random touch, and there’s nothing inherently sexual in it, but Dean has yet to find a way of making contact between their bodies that doesn’t turn him on. 

“This one here, we’re going to call it Impalus,” she says, and he can hear the smile in her voice. The ink is cool on his skin. “According to ancient myth, it was the mighty chariot of warriors. Instead of sending its broken pieces to the scrap yard, Zeus hung them from the heavens.”  

“Feminine ends in A in Latin,” Dean mumbles. “Still just Impala.” He’s no Sam, but all those years of reciting incantations and poring over spell books have taught him a couple things. 

If he was in her place, he’d make some snarky comment about that, call him a geek, but she just hums in agreement and brushes her lips over the patch of skin. 

The marker tickles as she draws another new constellation on his shoulder. Dean doesn’t mind. 

It seems appropriate: connecting the dots, taking scattered pinpricks of light and weaving them together, giving them meaning, turning them into more than they were. 

Dean has always tried to hold onto scraps of joy, snatches of family dinners and the moments when the perfect song comes on the radio, but sometimes he used to lose track of the good memories. Sometimes they got swallowed in the darkness. 

These days, it’s different. She draws his attention to the joy, and now he can’t stop seeing all these little sparks that illuminate his life. This morning alone: the smell of bacon when he woke up — the smile on her face when he wrapped his arms around her — the way her voice echoed off the tile as she stood pink-cheeked in the steam — and this, right here, right now: lying in their bed, his legs tangled in sheets, and the fact that they smell like her, because she’s woven herself into every part of his life all the way down to the cotton fibers that brush her skin at night. 

There are so many tiny everyday wonders that Dean never would’ve noticed before, and then there’s her, tying it all together, taking the scattered fleeting moments of joy in his life and turning them into a story. She makes it all mean something. She shows him pictures in the stars when he’s forgotten to look for the light. 

She’s tickling his ribs, and Dean laughs, tries to buck her off, rolls over onto his back. She straddles him, naked, eyes lit up with mischief, and Dean tickles her right back. 

It’s playful until it’s abruptly not, and isn’t that always how it goes with her? One moment she’s batting away his hands, shrieking with laughter, and the next moment he’s resting his palms on her belly and reeling with the enormity of what they’re doing. 

Then she’s kissing him, soft sweet mouth plush and eager on his as she laces their fingers together and pins his hands to the pillow, and — 

“God, that’s —” he chokes out, as she rolls her hips. 

“Fuck. Dean.” 

— and then she’s squirming, rocking until he’s pressed right between her legs, slotted in against slick heat, teasing the length of him without letting him in. Her mouth is open and red, and she’s still pinning him, so he can’t capture her lips, but he strains against her grip, leans up and gets his mouth on her nipple to tug it between his teeth. She makes a dirty desperate noise and lets go, reaching down between them to guide him into her, and as soon as his hands are free he wraps his arms around her and pulls her down, running his hands over every part of her he can reach. 

He crushes her to his chest as she squeezes around his cock and gasps into his mouth, and it feels so good he’s seeing stars. She grinds down on him, hips swiveling, clenching hot-wet-tight like her body is trying to suck him in deeper as she works herself up. 

He loves the way she looks when she doesn’t give a fuck how she looks. He loves the way her muscles shift, the way her tits and ass bounce and jiggle, the way her skin shines with sweat — it’s art. Dean wishes he could paint or sculpt or do anything that could capture the agonized, ecstatic look on her face, because it’s art. She’s art. 

She’s moaning, rough and filthy. Her cunt is silky-soft and dripping as she squeezes around him, and she curses like a goddamn sailor: “Motherfucker — so fucking close, Dean — don’t you fucking dare stop — fuck, I love you.” 

Sacred and profane all at once, like the best art is. 

Dean has a fistful of her soft hair and a ribcage full of this hammering swollen thing that used to be his heart, and he’s so in love with her he can’t think straight. 

She’s close, close enough that all she can do is move, less coordinated and more frantic by the second. Dean rolls his hips, grinding into her, and then she shudders and shouts as her orgasm hits. The living heat of her body ripples and spasms around him and sends him over the edge, and the world dissolves into white light, bright enough to blind him. 

Dean’s seen miracles in his time. He’s seen things that shook the earth and rattled the heavens, and somehow the biggest miracle is the fact that he made it through to this moment: cradling her close, stroking her skin, imagining the microscopic spark of life inside her as the last faraway star completing a massive constellation… Dean can’t see the pattern yet, can’t figure out what shape it’ll all take, but he knows she’ll be there to help him make sense of the story. She always knows how to connect the dots. 

.

.

.

If you enjoyed this, please reblog or leave a message! 

[sleepylixie]

3.1k words, Angst, Fluff (Romance), Non-idol AU

Kim Hongjoong X fem! Reader

Inspired by Love you Like Me- William Singe ( Playlist here )

Beware of Profanity, Heavy themes of infidelity, implied sexual activity 

The studio was loud, bustling with murmurs and movement, lighting being fidgeted with and artists putting in the final touches to the simple, neutral toned set. A shiver traced down your back as you watched people walk this way and that, preparing everything to be perfect just in time, just before the cameras begin rolling and the star of the show settles in front of the camera-

The steady buzz of your phone in your hand interrupted your train of thought. Took him long enough, you thought to yourself as you watched the name flash across the screen. Hongjoong. 

Not a couple of months ago, his contact’s name had been ‘loml’ with a red heart- how quickly things change. You knew he would call you before you were to go on-air, a tradition that he had unfailingly kept alive over the last 3 years. This particular call however, was different. Special. 

Because it was going to be the last. 

You would miss his calls, you mused as you accepted the call. His smooth, lilting tenor always greeting you with- 

“Hello, starlet.” 

The amused endearment didn’t make you smile like it used to. You used to shy away from it when you had initially started dating Hongjoong. Over the years, however, you had truly grown into a starlet in your own right so the inside joke was now laced with adoring truth. 

“Hello, my love.” 

Your voice was soft, mellow, the perfect replication of how you would respond to him in better times. Funny how a relationship you’d valued as much as your career had come down to pretence and secrets- 

“Are you ready?”  

The real question is, are you ready? The response was heavy on your tongue but you swallowed it down, letting a sardonic smile curl up the edge of your lips as you hummed into the phone, a show of contemplation.

“I think so.” 

If only he knew what you were talking about. 

“I’m sure you are, you spent so much time in the studios with Chris. Trust yourself, darling. You’re going to do amazing.” 

There had been a time when his reassurance would’ve given you enough motivation to rule the world- now though, it felt like nothing but a sham. Pretty, deceptive falsities that he kept up only for the sake of his promise to you. A game of make-believe he seemed to be amusing himself with. 

He was going to find out soon enough, you convinced yourself. He was going to find out soon enough that you were no game to be trifled with. 

The producer caught your eye, motioning to the set – it was time. 

“It’s almost time, I need to go.”

What a glorious double entendre this conversation was. 

“Good luck, my love. I’ll be watching the live.”

You hummed again before hanging up, coughing into your hands as you made your way to the set. The producer flashed a smile and thumbs up at you as you took your seat on the stool meant for you. 

“We’re going to be live in 3 minutes. Ready?” 

Between your makeup artist doing some final touches on your face and the sound technician checking the wires and mic-set for your in-ears, you returned the producer’s thumbs up with a confident smile- more confident than you were truly feeling, you were sure. 

“Ready.” 

All too soon, the 2 minutes had passed and you were sat alone in front of the camera, nothing but a mic in your hand as the producer did a countdown- Rolling in 3,2,1-

The first strains of the backing track flowed through your in-ears, your grip on the mic tightening as the repetitive, building melody washed over you like the tune of a haunted nursery rhyme. With the melody came the memories, a barrage of feelings tinged angry red and melancholy pink. 

After all these years, it seemed your love really had to end the way it began- mic in hand, lyrics at your lips and leaden heart in your chest. This time though, he wasn’t the healing balm, he was the twisted knife itself. 

Kim fucking Hongjoong.

“He never calls this late at night, no… But I can tell he’s been drinking all night long.” 

The studio was pin-drop silent except for the soft, dragging lilt of your voice. The track Chris had made for you could catch a listener’s attention all too easily- the magic your voice brought with it soon afterwards only served to hook the listeners more. 

You remembered slipping into the studio one rainy 2 a.m, scrawled sheets of paper feeling heavy and hot in your pocket. Chris had been rightfully concerned with your deceptively put together appearance, knowing exactly what had brought about the torrent of words you had thrown onto the table. 

Chris had always been safe, warm comfort for you- from the days of pulling all-nighters before graduation to the sleepless nights spent recording and producing in your shared studio, your friendship had come a long way.

But you’d shaken your head at him, urging him to look at the sheets. The memory of your pen slicing into the sheets was still burnt onto your fingertips, your vision almost blurring with tears as you scrawled every word that came to mind. Fiery, sensual, vengeful words seared onto the paper, a clear reflection of everything that had silently plagued you every night, every sunset, until you broke.

 “He sounds upset, I’m asking baby where you at, I called you earlier but you didn’t call me back…”

You met Hongjoong a little more than 4 years ago in a dive bar- him, the tired university student looking for a break and you, the evening’s entertainment. Your set had been entirely covers of moody love songs, reminiscent of your own sentiments- all you wanted to do was write your own music but it seemed all rookies were destined to be stuck with small gigs and other artists’ music. 

But for some reason, this one man with electric blue hair that contrasted- clashed, even, with his formal outfit had approached you after you finished your set. Only when he sidled closer to you did you noticed the paint splatters on his cuffs and the tiny earring dangling against his neck. The first thing he told you was that he had fallen in love with your voice and would love to get you a drink so he could hear it more. 

Even in the heartbroken haze you were in, you knew there was something about this odd patch-work quilt of a man with a sparkly smile that you couldn’t shake. Conversation had been uncannily easy after that-

Falling in love with Hongjoong however, hadn’t been a cakewalk by any means. 

 “He’s breaking down, I’m about to lose it… I’m screaming who the fuck were you with…”

Falling for Hongjoong was walking through fire and hail and ice; it was always expecting the worst out of each other but somehow ending up with the best too; to see each other as flawed humans before possible targets of affection. It took a good part of a year for the both of you to acknowledge any sentiment beyond friendship for each other, even more time to consider dating. 

He’d been hesitant at first- so had you. But as Hongjoong murmured to you that fateful evening your relationship began, the thought of not knowing how you’d be together was one he could not digest. Sometimes you wish you hadn’t agreed- but to disagree would’ve been a regretful lie. 

Over the years, it had always warmed your heart to have known without a shadow of a doubt that he would walk through all the world’s calamities for your hand in his.

Kim Hongjoong was perfect, after all. 

The perfect son of a perfect family, the visual arts graduate with a perfect score, the perfect fit for a job as an art gallery’s curator- Surely, his love was tinted with the same shade of perfection as the rest of him?

You were wrong. 

 “I grab my keys you better tell me where you at… he said he fucked up but there’s no taking it back...”

Kim Hongjoong was fickle as a wayward breeze where the matters of the heart were concerned. It was easier for him to let people love him, feel the adoration for him rolling off people’s eyes and bodies than be the person to love freely. Love was vulnerability to him, but gods, did he make vulnerability look gorgeous. 

Maybe the very reason he began to love you at first was because you didn’t care for his perfection.

His words still echoed in your ears sometimes, especially in nights that were woefully sober or afternoons that were hopelessly unproductive. There had been a time when the only things you remembered of the honeyed rasp was from your best dreams, promising you forever in every day- 

Not anymore. All you remembered now was the way he had sounded that night, alcohol and regret mixing badly in his veins, voice rough and stilted and broken as he asked you for forgiveness, for space in your heart despite his mistakes.

 “I gave everything to you and this is what you turn around and do…”

You wish you’d never driven to him after his teary confessions, hoping against hope he was pranking you and had only drunk too much to cater to common sense. You wish you hadn’t walked yourself to his best friends’ night club and have to witness the look of pity Seonghwa and San cast upon before handing Hongjoong over to you. 

You wish you hadn’t put yourself through the utterly tragic ordeal of picking up after him. Especially now, that you know how the future would look after that night. 

The memories steeled your voice through the smooth notes, the music rising and falling as the backing track began to build. You’d struggled to record this section of the song- your breath always seemed to catch and hold when you sang the words, your chest feeling too heavy, tongue too leaden to mouth the next lines. But today, the tune was like second nature to your lips, the sentiment almost easy to express. 

Surely he was watching now, wherever he was, the lyrics’ meaning sinking into his skin with every word. Some tiny, savage part of your brain hoped he felt the same cold terror and sense of unfairness you felt all this while- you hoped he would drown in it until it consumed him, soul and all. 

 “Did she have it all, all that you wanted for you to go and break your promise?”

He’d crawled into your bed with you that night, holding you closer than he had ever held you in 3 years. Soothed your tears of pure disappointment and cried way too many of his own, your shoulders shuddering as you pulled each other closer. Murmured apologies a million times, over and over again against your skin as he curled his body around yours, until you fell into a restless sleep. 

You still remember the time-dampened images of the nightmare you had that night, the shadows laughing at you for being an inadequate girlfriend, an unfit person, that he probably cheated because you weren’t doing enough for him. You’d awoken a mere couple of hours after the both of you had nodded off, Hongjoong’s grip on your body still tight despite his state of slumber. 

Was he worried you’d wake up and walk away?

He would find you in your kitchen in his old shirt when he woke up anyway, tired eyes and tired limbs and enough coffee for 2 in the French press. 

 “I wanna know, every secret you’ve been hiding…I wanna know just how long have you've been lying…”

A mistake, he’d called it. One-off error in judgement, a single moment in time he had chosen not to listen to his better sensibilities. It had happened once, entirely because of his lapse in judgement, he said. It would never happen again; he swore to you. Promised to you with your hands in his, earnestness in his gaze that you had never been subjected to until now- then again, he’d never given you reason to mistrust him until now. 

You’d asked for a promise from Hongjoong that day- a no-closed-doors policy on your relationship. It should’ve been a no-brainer as far as you were concerned, but it seemed that people like Hongjoong needed the reminder that not all people lived the way they did. That love wasn’t reckless free fall to everybody, a spark that burns fast and bright and fizzles out just as quick. 

 “I wanna know, does she fuck you like I did…I wanna know, and will she love you like I did…”

You wish you’d been less mature about the whole affair. 

Singing the words aloud only made you wish you’d thrown the words at him the first time it happened, instead of now, behind the safety of two screens and physical distance. You should’ve allowed yourself the sheer meltdown that the situation warranted, allowed the rage to take over your system even if it was for those few unfiltered seconds.

Hongjoong’s actions hadn’t deserved the maturity you afforded them. But you couldn’t blame yourself- in those fleeting moments, the primary emotions you had felt was that of inadequacy. You should’ve trusted yourself more.

 “Boy this ain’t how it’s supposed to be...Dancing between someones else’s sheets…”

After the burning hurt from the fiasco died down, it felt like Hongjoong had taken it upon himself to prove to you how special, how important, how absolutely irreplaceable you were to him. In the haze of it all, you ended up loving it. 

The once almost stoic man was now making an effort to be more to you, less of the disappointment he had caused you. He made an effort to talk to you, open up about his frayed relationship with love – hesitant at first and then naturally. 

I care about you. I love you; he’d murmured to the ceiling one night. You were silent, body resting against his as he arranged the sheets higher around your bodies. I wanted to know what we’d be like together and I haven’t regretted a second of it. I can’t imagine my days without you around.  A soft kiss planted against your hairline that you returned against the crook of his neck as sleep claimed you.

 “I can’t believe this is really happening, your guilty conscience is going to be the death of me..”

The next few months were a daily reminder of how much Kim Hongjoong had come to know you over the years of your relationship. Your favourite flowers turned up like clockwork at your desk every Tuesday, accompanying a note in his quick, scratchy handwriting – a new tradition of mid-week dates at experimental restaurants with oddly planned menus. Voice notes of his raspy morning voice sending you sweet affirmations that rung in your ears late into the afternoon. 

Even the way he touched you felt softer, more… reverent. Like he’d had a taste of what he stood to lose and never wanted to think of it again. As each day passed, you found yourself resting easy, basking in the attention and adoration and soft romance of it all.

Looking back on it, you should’ve known. What was it they say about a cheat?

They expect you to be loyal to them despite their faithlessness.

 “You got so caught up in the moment...But she’ll only love you when she’s lonely…”  

The second time it happened, the only thing your heart felt was a wildfire doused in rage and an almost crippling sense of treachery. A fellow artist in the same recording company as you had slipped into the studio late one night, just as you were packing up to head home. She’d pulled you to the couch on the side, holding your hands in hers as she hesitated before asking her questions- Are you sure your boyfriend is faithful? He keeps leaving the club I perform at with other girls?

Your fingers curled tightly around the mic, trying your hardest not to let your other hand clench the fabric covering your legs. You would give the world neither the privilege nor the misfortune of knowing how much truth this song really held. The world didn’t- no, Hongjoong didn’t deserve it. Not anymore.

 “This ain’t a game you better tell me where you're at, No boy, you fucked up and there’s no taking it back..”

You’d dropped by Hongjoong’s apartment that night, hands shaking in your coat pockets and head spinning from the rush of emotions. You had a spare key, and it was only a matter of dropping him a quick text before letting yourself in. Betrayal? Rage? Frustration? Disappointment? It was the disgusting cocktail in the pit of your stomach that led you to snoop through his phone while he was in the shower-

You wish you hadn’t but oh, you’d be damned if you weren’t glad you had.

He’d brought girls to his apartment at the end of so-called club hopping nights with Seonghwa. Every Friday. Ever since he’d made his ‘promise’ to you.

Every single Friday.

He’d bedded some random chick from the clubs and then turned up at your doorstep every weekend like nothing had ever happened.

Every. Single. Friday.

 “I gave everything to you …and this is what you turn around and do..”

You remember slipping out of Hongjoong’s apartment as quickly as you had turned up, faking an emergency at the studio to dash out the front door. Stubbornly holding your tears at bay as you drove back to your own neighbourhood, out of the car and into your apartment. Collapsing on your couch in a daze just as the breakdown began.

You still don’t know if the tears you shed that night were of anger or sadness- with the urge to destroy everything Hongjoong stood for, the only thing you wanted to do was never see him again.

For a second, you were transported back to that disaster of a night, the studio melting away into the familiar walls of your apartment, closing in on you as the despair and bottomless rage set in. There was an edge to your voice as you sang now, more angry than sad like before. Was he listening? Was he able to hear your farewell in the lyrics?

Was he panicking that you found out? Or worse, did he not care at all?

 “Did she have it all, all that you wanted for you to go and break your promise?”

The next morning, you’d woken up with puffy eyes and a heavy heart, but with one clear motive seared into your mind- revenge.

You’d allowed him into your heart, let him build a home there for years and years. You had loved him every way you knew how to- broken at first, unconditionally later. You’d given him trust, a currency you were known to be stingy with- and he turns around and does this to you.

Maybe that was childish of you; maybe a more mature person would’ve broken it off that day, wallowed in heartbreak and made efforts to move on. But no, not you.

If Hongjoong had found it acceptable to take girls home while being in a relationship with you, he would definitely find it acceptable if you aired some of his dirty laundry yourself.

 “I wanna know every secret you’ve been hiding…I wanna know just how long have you been lying..”

Chris had been concerned when you walked into the studio, looking almost entirely functional and not worse for wear at all.

It made sense, your best friend’s worry. It had only been 3 days since…since the incident and besides an update message, you had burrowed yourself at home and entirely unreachable. But here you were today, sheets of paper filled with your scrawl covering the table in front of you- lyrics.

Read them, you’d muttered, shoving the pages towards him- your hands shook slightly, the first crack in your façade. They’re a bit of a mess, but they mostly make sense.

Only you would remember being drunk off your mind on whiskey and later, wine the whole time. Alternating between feverish writing and heartbroken sobbing. Pretending to be completely fine to Hongjoong, telling him to not ‘interrupt your creative process’. Staring out into the starrless night skies and wishing that one day soon, Hongjoong would feel the hell you were feeling now. One day, you would look a camera in the eye and sing these lyrics out loud, for the world to hear, for him to hear. And you’ll be damned if that day, Kim Hongjoong didn’t get his final taste of who he’d just lost.

 “I wanna know…does she fuck you like I did, I wanna know,  will she love you like I did..”

Getting the right feel to the lyrics while recording the song had been all too easy, waving off Hongjoong’s curiosity about your newest project easier so.

It was a surprise for him, you would smile, dropping fleeting kisses against his cheekbones and jaw just the way he liked. He always smiled and dragged your mouth to his own, letting his smile slide against your own, murmuring that he was going to follow you into the studio to take a peek for curiosity’s sake. 

Talk often fizzled out at that point, because god, it was so difficult to stay away from each other’s bodies and out of each other’s arms after the long days of being your own people, strong and resourceful and adult and independent. It was easier to let your muscle memories take over, touch and sense and feel every single wretched thing that Hongjoong was so capable of making you feel.  

 “She won't do you like me, she won't love you like me, baby…she won't touch you like me, she won't love you like me, baby…”

You would be lying if you said you didn’t get a wild sense of pleasure singing those lines, your eyes not leaving the camera pointed at you. Was it revenge well served? A broken heart being healed?

Over the weeks of preparing for the song, you’d realized how true those words were. The burning sense of betrayal and hurt hadn’t faded in the least- you still woke up every morning feeling lesser than, but never again. Never would you let anybody feel like this again.

Nobody would love Hongjoong like you could. It was about time he realized that. Pity, though, that you wouldn’t be around to witness it. 

“She won't love you like, she won't love you like me.”

The music fizzled out into silence, the producers counting down as you stayed still- 3,2,1 cut! In pursuit of the feeling of reckless freedom, Hongjoong had lost the one person he claimed made him feel like he belonged. How unfortunate for him, you mused, as the studio erupted in claps, the producers grinning widely and everybody smiling at each other. In the middle of the chaos, the door swung open- His eyes were wide, short blonde hair a windswept mess against his forehead, the single stalk of your favourite flower hanging limp in his hands. Surely there were paint marks on his cuffs, and the tiny earring would jingle prettily when he moved, but as his gaze met your dead ones, you could only think one thing-

She won't love you like, she won't love you like me.

Thank you for reading! Do let me know what you think~ xoxo, Elliana.

Network Tag: @kpopscape​

[sweeethinny]

Everything will be alright

this story is going to be about missed abortion, I know it's a sensitive topic, so if you don't feel comfortable with it, I don't recommend reading this story. Missed abortion is when the fetus is not expelled, remaining in the uterus for weeks or months, and there are some possible reactions, like bleeding or disappearance of normal pregnancy reactions - like nausea

i know it's not usually possible to hear the baby's heart in the first few months, but i believe that magical obstetrics is much more evolved than ours :)

I was inspired by real stories to write this story, and I hope you like it <3

To the Anon who asked me for this <3

music indication: Sing of the Time - Harry Style

AO3

---------

They weren't trying to have a baby, they had been talking about trying two years from now, but Ginny wasn't going to say she wasn't at least a little excited when she found out she was pregnant.

It was scary, she and Harry were silent for almost fifteen minutes staring at the muggle tests and the orange potion in front of them, both of them sitting on the floor of the small bathroom in their apartment. Ginny cried when Harry said, 'We'll be parents.'

She was happy, but first of all, Ginny was feeling desperate. They had just gotten married, and had probably gotten pregnant on their honeymoon, Harry had been promoted and was traveling more than ever and she had managed to sign a five-year contract with the Harpies as Chaser, moving from being a reserve to being the most new star of the team.

They didn't have the time and were not prepared to have a child.

Teddy had just turned three and Ginny thought how difficult it was being to have time with him, trying to make the day last longer so that at least three days a week they saw each other, or when they couldn't, he would go there at the end of week. They couldn't do that with a baby, one of them would have to give up to stay home, and Ginny felt awful for hoping that person was Harry.

She didn't want to stay home, not when her life had just started.

And she knew that Harry thought so too.

But deep down, she was happy, and she was happy to see how happy Harry was. He even bought a baby outfit the next day that was patterned with several bears; panda, brown and polar. It was the most adorable thing Ginny had ever seen.

"We'll make it work, I promise," Harry whispered to her one night, a week after they found out about the pregnancy. He kissed her forehead and hugged her, making her feel safe as all those insecurities spilled over again and Ginny started to cry.

They didn't tell anyone, it was too early yet and Ginny thought it would be best to hold back this information for a while, just in case something went wrong. But she and Harry started to walk around the children's stores much more than usual, now and then buying a teddy bear, an outfit, a shoe, they even considered buying a crib, but she said there was no way to hide a crib and if anyone came by surprise at their house, they would have to tell.

And her father would probably want to build one for his first grandson, Ginny thought.

As the days went by, Ginny became more excited about the news, nothing to overcome her anxiety and nervousness, but she was already happier than when she found out. She even started talking to her stomach when she was going to take a shower, and that encouraged Harry to do the same.

"Daddy and Mommy love you so much already," he whispered before the fateful night, lying with his head on top of Ginny's bare stomach, smoothing her skin and smiling passionately.

And the next morning, Ginny faced what would be the worst day of her life for a long time.

It was almost five in the morning when she woke up thinking she was going to wet her bed for the third time that night, running to the bathroom still half-drowsy, trying not to trip over their mess strewn across the floor. They needed to clean the house urgently.

For Ginny it was a normal dawn, she had been feeling this urge to pee more often now, and she was glad that at least that was it instead of the morning sickness from before. It was harder to hide when she threw up than when she needed to go to the bathroom.

She needed to tell Gwenog, she remembered too.

She would do it today, they had practice at eight and Ginny would talk to her as soon as she got to the field. Afterwards, she would stop at the burrow, because she was missing her mum's hug and eating her biscuits with tea. And thinking about Molly made Ginny's eyes water for some reason. She was getting pretty emotional these past few days.

When her bladder seemed to deflate completely and Ginny cleaned herself up, she screamed much louder than would be respectable at this time of morning. But it didn't matter, she couldn't even hear her voice properly, nor Harry's as he ran to the bathroom, because her hand shook and her vision began to blur with tears, the paper in front of her now smeared with blood.

The sight of her blood-spattered thighs and panties made her scream even more. It was an endless nightmare and Ginny hoped she would manage to wake up in the end.

But she didn't wake up. She didn't wake up when she arrived at the hospital, nor when the healers took her to a room and laid her on the gurney, asking Harry several questions once they realized that Ginny couldn't answer.

She felt paralyzed, still seeing the blood on the paper and wondering how she was able to let this happen. It was a nightmare that seemed to take her closer and closer to the dark at the bottom of the well, and Ginny was reminded of when she thought that a child was not what she wanted now.

Now there were no more children to disturb her dreams. There was no one else stopping her.

Are you happy, Ginevra? She screamed to herself, not even knowing how she still managed to cry.

It felt like a century had passed when the healer Lana took her hand, a kind smile on her face. ‘Let's take you to the exam room, ok? Let's see how the baby is going.'

Ginny nodded, and again she tried to close her eyes so the nightmare would end, but when she opened it, she saw Harry beside her, holding hands with her as someone pushed her gurney down the hospital corridor, the white walls made everything even sadder.

"It'll be alright, I promise," Harry whispered as they entered the exam room, which was dark and cold, even more so than the rest of the building. But Ginny knew, she felt, that it wouldn't be, so she cried more.

“We're going to apply a balm to your belly so we can hear the baby.” She heard the woman say, and for the next minute after feeling something cold touch her belly, they didn't hear anything.

It was as if the whole world had fallen apart and Ginny had been buried under the rubble.

Worst pain of her life, forget tortures with the Carrows or Umbridge, that silence was worse than anything.

It probably hurt more than dying, Ginny thought, wishing she were dead.

She didn't remember much of what happened afterward, only that Harry never left her side, crying along with Ginny when they returned to the room and the healer came out to call someone. She remembered hearing them say they needed to remove the fetus. Her baby.

"I'm here," Harry whispered sometime during the day, sitting beside Ginny's bed, running a hand through her hair and kissing her temple.

"I killed him, Harry." Ginny sobbed, squeezing his hand and starting to cry again. ‘I thought I didn't want to have a child, I thought that-’

"No, Gin, no." As he managed, he hugged her, keeping her safe in his arms. “It wasn't you, no, no… The doctor said it could have been several things, but none of them were you.” He ran a hand through her hair, tightening his grip as she sobbed into his chest again. 'It was not you.'

The next few hours were the saddest of her life, being taken to and fro for exams, healers touching her... her belly, her vulva. And not that they were rude or anything, they were all very polite and they talked about every little thing they were doing to her, always asking her how she felt and always allowing Harry to be by her side. But it was the pain of having someone touch you, she thought, to prepare you for what could be the worst moment in your life; they were touching Ginny preparing her to pull her dead baby out of her, and it hurt so much more than she could ever put it into words.

'It's a potion to get us to induce an abortion, you can rest assured that we'll do everything to make this moment the least painful for you, alright?' Healer Amy smiled at her, a gentle and sad smile, her hands on over Ginny's. She didn't think she would have any other pain that surpassed what she was already feeling, so she nodded, unable to speak. The woman looked at the other healer, who handed over a vial of bluish liquid, and Harry helped Ginny sit down to drink.

It tasted like death, bitter and iron, and it made Ginny want to throw up, but maybe it was just because she knew why that potion worked that she felt even more disgust.

To take my baby out of me, she thought as she lay back down, my dead baby.

‘Let's wait a few minutes for the potion to take effect and we'll be right back. How do you feel?” Destroyed. Empty.

Ginny nodded, not knowing what to say. 'Fine.'

‘I know this is a difficult time, Ms. Potter, don't hesitate to ask our help with whatever it is, okay? We have a psychologist on duty today, and you.” She looked at Harry. “And you, sir, can ask to speak with her.” They both nodded, and the healer was gone again.

The silence made Ginny need to close her eyes to keep from starting to cry again, she felt Harry's lips on her fingers and then on her forehead. “We'll be fine, I promise. I'm here with you.” She nodded.

“I love you.” She looked up at him, already sensing she was going to cry again. Harry was crying too. 'So much.'

'I love you so much too. It barely fits inside my chest.' Ginny wiped the tears from his face, feeling the least bit happy in the midst of that storm because Harry was there with her.

[...]

When they left the Hospital the next morning, Ginny had been given a two-and-a-half week layoff from the Harpies on medical advice, and Robards had turned off Harry so he could stay with Ginny.

It was Harry who told Molly and Arthur what had happened, while Ginny was lying on the bed, watching as her mother sobbed and ran to hug her, her father right behind. She was still in shock, and the psychologist had said it was a normal reaction after trauma, but that Ginny had to try to tell the people she trusted the most for more support.

Her mom kept coming to their house or calling them on Floo at least once a day to make sure they were okay. She would bring Ginny cookies, stay with her in bed, hug her when Ginny started crying again, and watch TV with her daughter. Ginny didn't even bother to look like a needy child who called her mum when she was scared, because Ginny felt that was what she wanted, and Molly didn't seem to mind at all.

When it was a week old, they told Hermione and Ron, which was good too. The more Ginny talked, the pain seemed to get a little less. It was as if she gave each person a piece of pain, and the weight on her shoulders lessened and it was easier to live.

It still hurts, a lot. But it got a little easier.

On Saturday, after 10 days, Harry left in the morning to go to the market and Ginny was left alone watching TV, a cooking show that was a little too chaotic but made her smile and forget about life for a bit, following the pairs running against the time for making cupcakes and trying to win a prize.

Harry arrived two hours later when Ginny was watching a movie about a millionaire who fell in love with a prostitute. It was a pretty story, and the actors were pretty handsome too, which helped a lot in keeping her entertained.

'I thought you had lost your way home.' She said when she saw Harry enter the room, grinning from ear to ear and looking like a kid who's up to something and doesn't want his parents to find out. 'What happened?'

'Close your eyes.'

‘Harry, what-’

"Close your eyes." Ginny sighed but did as he asked, waiting for whatever it was he had bought her. Harry liked to give her presents when she was sad, Ginny found that out over time.

She felt something being propped up beside her, it was a little heavy and soft, and… did it have paws?

"Surprise!" Harry grinned even wider as she opened her eyes, watching the small caramel dog beside her, huge black eyes glaring at her, short furless tail swinging from side to side, ears pricked up intently. "There was an animal adoption fair near the market, and I saw this little one and they told me he was abandoned on the road and needed someone who could love and care for him."

Ginny's heart melted, and for the first time in 10 days her eyes filled with tears but for something other than sadness. The dog looked at her hopefully, eagerly waiting for her to do anything. When she reached out to pick him up, he seemed to smile and licked her face as if in thanks.

‘He already has a name, it's Sir...We could change, but I liked it... He looks pretty sassy, like me-’

"When you said Snape didn't need to call you Professor." Ginny laughed, still holding the little dog in her lap. He had a lovely puppy smell, his belly swollen and warm, and his little paws were resting on her chest, his nails still too small to hurt her. ‘I love it, babe.’

‘I remembered that you had said that our house seemed lifeless, and what is better to give life than a dog? Right?'

'Totally.'

'And since neither you nor I have ever had one, I thought it would be cool.' Harry sat on the bed next to her and Sir, who was now lying in her arms like he really was a baby, his head close to her elbow and his paws hanging one on either side of her arm. "I told you she was going to love you," he muttered to the animal. 'The vet said he wouldn't grow much.'

"That's good, we don't have much space in the apartment."

[holykillercake]

Strawberry and Cigarretes

pairing: Sanji x Reader

word count: 2.6k

highlight: ¨Everything hurt, and for the first time, you wished to forget what the ocean sounded like.¨ 

warnings: slight angst

notes: This was a request from @vemuabhi​! <3 Very special because it was my first ever request! I wanted to doge the obvious path (which I almost took) and do something that didn´t involve Whole Cake Island, so maybe it is not the biggest angst (hats off to Mr. Oda cause he is Father angst) but I did my very best! I hope you all enjoy and Happy Birthday, Sanji-kun! <3

𝕃𝕖𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕞𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕤, 𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕥𝕤, 𝕠𝕣 𝕘𝕠𝕠𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕤!

Do you remember when you were a kid, and you´d find a shell laying on the sand? And you would pick it up and put it on your ear, hoping to listen to the ocean? It´d always make a smile grow on your face before you tossed it aside and jumped into the water.

That time was different. When you heard the ocean share its endless secrets and tell its adventurous stories, you just wanted to sit there all day and listen. 

This specific event happened a couple of months after you joined the Strawhats. Chopper had borrowed you his stethoscope cause you thought it was cool, and in the middle of thousands of things you´ve already heard in your life, good and bad, the heartbeat was something that you were oblivious to. 

Some would think that asking to hear someone else´s heartbeat was weird, but inside the Thousand Sunny... well, those guys put ¨weird¨ on another level, and you would have to work your ass off to surpass that. 

Chopper got all blushed when you leaned closer to his tiny and furry torso, Usopp told you stories about a war he once won but had to have his heart replaced by a lion´s, Franky said that if you wanted to see a heart he could simply pull it out for you, Brook invested on the same ¨Oh, I don´t have a heart. Yohohoho¨ joke, Zoro let you listen to his wrist, Nami and Robin almost had you sinking into their generous breasts, and Sanji... you left him for last because you didn´t know how to ask him. So you just tiptoed quietly inside the kitchen, sneaked behind him, and tried to listen to his heart through his back. You feared that your nose would start bleeding if he faced you while you were doing it. 

That was exactly what he did, by the way. He poured more water into the stew he was cooking and turned around, putting out his cigarette so ashes wouldn´t fall on you. Immediately you began to sweat, your breath quickened, and hold the stethoscope with a steady hand became a herculean task. 

His lean fingers moved to the collar of his blue shirt and started to unbutton a few, enough for you to have better access. At that point, you believed that the reason why you weren´t bleeding yet was that you were slowly having a stroke, and Sanji´s action was God´s gift to you for being a good person while alive. 

Then he didn´t do anything else, just put both hands in his pockets and waited while you listened to every single bubble popping inside his chest like you were afraid to miss one. In the end, he tucked a lock of hair behind your ear and went back to his stew.

But that was all about it. The following months were just like any other, the crew kept acting as weird as their minds allowed, and you kept shutting whatever your stupid heart was yelling at you. Although... if you could be honest for one moment, deep down you were hurt. 

Maybe you scared or crept him away with your childish curiosity. Maybe he had noticed your feelings for him and got disgusted. Well, not disgusted, he probably didn´t like you the same way and didn´t know how to tell you, so keeping words to a minimum was his way to go. 

He stopped singing and twirling around you, he´d rather call your name respectfully; when you shared the night watches, he just remained quiet by your side, answering briefly to your questions or comments; he even stopped trying to sneak into your baths or make suggestive comments - which you didn´t love before, but you know, you only miss something when it's gone. 

The whole crew had noticed the change in both of your behaviors, but they too were not sure how to address it. Whenever someone asked something about it you would say ¨Really? I didn´t notice anything.¨. Either too proud to confront him or too afraid of the truth. 

~

¨Oi, you ok?¨ Zoro asked, breaking into your personal bubble of sadness. 

You knew it was Zoro because you two were taking the night watch, but you didn´t expect him to show interest or concern about your upset state. 

The night was chilly, so you were sitting on Sunny´s grass, arms around your knees, holding them close to your chest to keep the warmth. 

¨Why do you care?¨ you answered bitterly, but he didn´t mind since he was the king of freaking Bitter Land. 

¨I don´t. But I´ll go crazy if I hear you sigh one more time.¨ he sat close to you, not too close, just enough for you to listen to each other.

A chuckle left your mouth involuntarily, you never expected his grouchy temper would come in handy in times like this. Then your frowned expression came back, and you let out another sigh. 

Before you realized Zoro had pushed you with his Sandai Kitetsu scabbard, making you fall to your side with a squeak. 

¨I told you.¨

You sat again, taking some grass off your leg ¨Yeah. Can´t deny it.¨

¨Yeah, you´ve been doing that a lot lately.¨ 

He didn´t look like he was teasing you, his eyes focusing on the line where the sky met the ocean, where the stars disappeared and became blurry white brushes on the water. 

¨I... I don´t-¨

¨I think you can do better than the stupid cook.¨he kept his usual tone ¨ But I guess we don´t get to choose these things.¨ 

You were taken aback by his words, and despite you trying to fight your lips from trembling and tears from falling, it was useless. You had been crushing these feelings inside you for too long, and it killed you the more you ignored it. 

The swordsman wasn´t saying those things because he loved you or anything like that, but because the entire crew - except for Luffy - had already noticed and began acting weird about it. And despite being the captain´s duty to solve any problem or an uncomfortable situation, your captain was a bit too oblivious, so he had to step in. 

Besides, his nakama was getting hurt. He didn´t care about the ero cook. 

¨If you want me to beat him up... just let me know.¨ 

He said it to cheer you up - not that he didn´t mean, he´d do it for much less - but nothing seemed worth smiling for now. You just bit your lip in order to avoid an embarrassing whining, since you were unable to stop the painful tears from rolling down your cheeks. 

Everything hurt, and for the first time, you wished to forget what the ocean sounded like.

¨W-What should I do?¨

¨That´s not my problem to solve, Y/N.¨ he stood up beside you ¨But sometimes, when I have a difficult problem that I can´t solve my way...¨ his gaze still locked with the horizon ¨... I think about what my captain would do.¨ he left without any further words, leaving you not only sad but confused as well. 

You slept on it for the next couple of days, still not understanding what he meant. Maybe he just wanted to leave the conversation and said whatever came to mind. But even that didn´t fit right. If he didn´t want to be stuck in an uncomfortable conversation, he wouldn´t have started one. 

So you took as a personal mission to observe your captain until you learned how to think like him, hoping that figuring that out would solve your problem. 

You had joined the crew as a historian, the person responsible for writing down every adventure meticulously, every tiny detail of every battle, and every glorious victory along the Strawhats journey. So in one dusk, when you were in charge of the night watch with Robin and the moon was full and bright, you took your journals and began rolling through the pages, looking for a pattern, something that anticipated every major decision of your captain.

You even borrowed old diaries from the time you were not part of their crew. The stories lacked details, but they served to paint a picture. Basically:

Luffy insults an ugly lady, saves a kid, eats something, finds Zoro, beats the crap out of a crazy marine, saves the day, gets his first crewmate. 

Luffy gets eaten by a bird, then vomited in a town, finds Nami, eats something, is put in a cage, beat the crap out of some pirates, saves the day.

 Luffy wants a new ship, meets Usopp, eats something, gets thrown from a cliff, beats the crap out of some pirates, saves the day, gets Going Merry and a liar. 

Luffy wants a cook, explodes a restaurant, becomes a waiter, eats something, meets Sanji, beats the crap out of some pirates, saves the day, gets a cook. 

Luffy eats something, finds the fishmen, goes for a walk, is thrown in the water, beats the crap out of some pirates, saves the day, gets a navigator.

Luffy wants a doctor, eats everything, fights some crazy ass bunnies, climbs a mountain, meets Chopper, beats the crap out of some pirates, saves the day, gets a doctor. 

Luffy eats something, wants to fix Going Merry, meets Franky, loses Robin, beats the crap out of some world government agents, saves the day, gets an archeologist, a shipwright, and Thousand Sunny. 

Luffy hears a ghoulish singing, finds a speaking skeleton in a busted ship, has his shadow stolen, beats the crap out of some Warlord of the Sea, gets a musician.

When you finished the last journal, the weight of your body pushed you to the floor, and you laid on your back for a couple of minutes, overwhelmed by the amount of information in your head.

¨I know what to do...¨ you took a deep breath ¨... I´m gonna eat something.¨

You mumbled something to Robin, telling her that you´d be back in a few minutes, and wandered to the kitchen. 

As soon as you entered the room a sweet and comforting aroma like whipped cream and strawberries invaded your senses, making your head turn to the counter immediately. 

¨Y/N-chan...¨ the cook said.

You opened and closed your mouth a couple of times, looked at him, and then to your feet, your fingers fidgeting as a sign of your anxious state. 

¨D-Didn't know you were awake.¨ you marched to the table and helped yourself with some sugar cookies.

¨Oh... It won´t take much longer...¨ you heard his muffled voice somewhere in the back of your mind, all you could hear was the blood pumping in your ears ¨... cake because today is my birthday and I thought we...¨ your vision was focused on the cookie jar, crushing the granular biscuit with your fingertips ¨...and I...I didn´t know if-¨

¨What would Luffy do?¨ you whispered to yourself.

¨W-What?¨ 

¨What would Luffy do?¨ 

The question wasn´t for him, it was for you. You felt something growing inside your chest, like the blood that pumped in your heart was boiling and burning, giving you the strength and courage you needed. 

¨I have been trying to find answers to a lot of things, you know?¨ you stood up to face the cook, palms spread on the table, ¨I ... do you hate me, Sanji?¨ 

He stopped what he was doing and let the knife rest on the cutting board. When his gaze found yours, there was no way back. That is what Luffy would do. He´d eat something, do whatever came to his mind, and deal with the consequences. No need to go back. 

¨Y/N-chan... why do you...¨

¨I mean, I ask this because...¨ you clenched your hands, cursing yourself for feeling the need to cry ¨I can´t take this anymore, Sanji! If I did something to offend you or if I said something...¨ your voice was broken and weak, and you were a mess of tears and sobs ¨You don´t have to love me back, that´s not what I am saying, but... I can´t stand-¨

¨Y/N-chan... why do you think I hate you?¨ he wiped his hands with a towel and made his way towards you, slowly.

¨Oh, come on, Sanji... You treat me differently, you´re cold and distant, you don´t say a word to me even when we share night shifts! If you don´t hate me, then this must be a sick game you´re playing.¨ your legs felt wobbly, and you sat back in the chair, not being able to face him anymore.  The courage and strenght you had minutes ago was gone.

You just watched him get closer and kneel in front of you, his cold fingers gently brushing away the hot tears on your cheeks. 

¨I could never hate you, Y/N.¨ he said softly ¨I am sorry I made you feel like this, I am sorry I made you cry...¨ his fingers touched your trembling lips. 

¨Then why...¨

¨I didn´t want to scare you away like I always do, Y/N... I know I can be too much sometimes, with the nose bleeding and everything. But that´s how I am, and I didn´t want you to think of me as an idiot... so I prefer being silent, then say something stupid and... ¨ 

¨You don´t have to say this. I don´t need pity talk...¨you spoke as more tears fell, giving him a chance to take his statement back.

¨I have to, Y/N. But not because of pity talk.¨ he gently pressed his forehead against yours, like bunnies do when they apologize. 

¨Then why?¨ 

¨Because I love you, Y/N.¨ the blonde closed the space left between the two of you, kissing you passionately. 

He helped you get up without breaking the kiss and leaned you against the kitchen table, his hands holding your body close while yours ran through his golden hair. His mouth tasted like strawberries and cigarettes, a flavor to which you could easily get addicted. 

You parted the kiss just enough to get some oxygen, your noses were touching, and you could feel his heavy breathing against your skin. 

¨I didn´t know today is your birthday...¨ you whispered, afraid that this was a dream and you´d wake up alone again. 

¨Yeah, I was hoping to get a Happy Birthday from you, you know.¨ he chuckled.

¨I think you´ll be getting more than that.¨

You stared into each other´s eyes for a moment before he pulled you to a hug. When you leaned against his warm chest you heard it again, the same babble of the ocean, only this time you smiled, knowing that it wanted to listen to your stories and secrets as well. 

¨Sanji?¨

¨Hm?¨

¨Happy Birthday... I love you.¨

¨I love you too, Y/N.¨ he kissed you again.

¨Please, don´t have sex on the dinner table.¨ you jumped when Robin spoke.

 When you turned, you saw all your crewmates dressed in pajamas and messy hair staring back at you with sparkly sleepy eyes. You spot Zoro back in the crowd, you smiled and gave him a silent ¨Thank you.¨. You couldn´t help but wonder how the guy who manages to gets lost walking down a straight path was able to guide some sense into you. 

In any way, you´ve found it. Inside of his chest, inside of his heart was the All Blue you heard so much of. Maybe that was the thing with it, and why only a few people found it. Everyone assumes that it is a place, where the four Blues meet, but it´s easy to forget that when you´re a pirate the ocean becomes the essence of who you are.

Little did you know that Sanji had found his All Blue too.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Moe Moe Mallekei Kyun~

In which Malleus and Cater go to a maid café, and shenanigans ensue.

... I’ve been wanting to write this for a long time.

***Warning: mild spoilers for Malleus’s PE Uniform personal story!***

Imagine this...

“Lilia-sama.”

Two bodyguards fell into line, saluting simultaneously to their vice dorm leader.

“We just finished combing through the prime gargoyle locations around campus,” Silver reported. “Unfortunately, there was no sight of Malleus-sama to be found. The accounts of the various students we interviewed also corroborate that the Young Master has not recently been spotted in the area.”

“I see. Thank you, Silver.” Lilia sighed, cupping his cheek in one hand. “Hm, this is a bit odd. Wherever could he have wandered off to this time?”

At that moment, a ping! sounded off. Lilia fished his phone out of his pocket and, with one glance at the screen, his expression softened.

“You don’t suppose some dastardly villain has… kidnapped the Young Master and is holding him for ransom, do you?!” Sebek’s eyes nearly bulged out of his skull at the thought. “If that is the case… THEN WE HAVE FAILED AS MALLEUS-SAMA’S KNIGHTS!!”

“Now, now--let’s not jump to conclusions. Even if that were true, I’m certain that Malleus would be able to easily fend off assailants on his own. Perhaps he has simply lost his way, or headed off campus to run an errand.”

“... Without warning us in advance?”

“I would have happily accompanied the Young Master wherever he went--EVEN TO THE ENDS OF TWISTED WONDERLAND ITSELF!!”

“Kufufu. Malleus is still young at heart. Let us allow him this moment of independence, just this once. He will find his way home eventually.”

“Welcome home, my masters!!”

Malleus skidded to a stop in the doorway—for beyond it laid unknown territory. The interior sported cream walls, with fairy lights, streamers, and paper flowers strung up. A number of tables and chairs, populated with people, were set against flowing white curtains.

Young ladies flitted about, balancing trays of food and drinks, cameras, and microphones. Each wore the same outfit, consisting of a frilly headdress, an apron, and a black dress with lace trim and ribbons.

And now, one of those uniformed girls extended a hand to him and a warm, welcoming smile.

Malleus frowned and turned to the orange haired young man beside him. “... Diamond. What is this strange establishment you’ve brought me to?”

“Mm? It’s a maid café,” Cater chirped, glancing up from his phone. “You said you’ve never been before, right?”

“Well, yes… However, when you invited me to join you for an outing, I did not expect this to be our destination.”

“It’ll be fine~ We’re already here, so let’s get seated!” Cater insisted cheerily, ushering the fae through the door. 

“Right this way, my masters!” The greeter giggled and led the way, eventually stopping at a vacant table set for two. As the duo slipped into their seats, she handed them menus and moistened towels. “We have a wide selection of special services and delicious dishes for your enjoyment!”

Malleus hesitantly flipped open the (very pink) menu and ran his eyes down the page of available items. Along with the expected offerings of desserts, savory foods, and beverages were odd listings: massage, ear cleaning, karaoke, game, arts and crafts, picture, spoon feeding, live song and dance...

He stared quizzically at Cater, who seemed to be taking everything in stride.

“I’ll take a plate of omurice! How about you, Malleus-kun?”

He stared back at his menu, trying to make rhyme or reason of the unique names. What in the Great Seven was a Pyon ❤ Pyon Sunshine Bar…? Or a Lucky☆Happy☆Cookie? Malleus’s brows furrowed in both concentration and confusion.

“I… I shall have the local specialty, whatever that may be,” the fae prince declared at last.

“Excellent choices! And would you like a bunny, or a kitty?”

“You hand out animals at this eating establishment? Is that not a health code violation?”

“Aaah, Malleus-kun, she doesn’t mean real rabbits and cats. Look--you’ll see when she brings them, okay?” Cater laughed awkwardly. Then, turning to the waitress, he held up his index finger. “One of each, little lady~”

“Of course!” She scribbled down a few words on her heart shaped notepad before prancing off.

“... Diamond. Are you certain this is the fabled maid café of which you spoke of?” Malleus asked, folding his arms. “I find it difficult to believe that every patron here is descended from a high class lineage. Furthermore, the servers are wearing attire entirely unlike that of a traditional household servant.”

Cater blinked once, twice—then chuckled.

“Maid cafés are like normal cafés. Anyone can go to them to play pretend and chill for a while! The difference is that the waitresses are dressed cutely and offer fun services. Singing, dancing, playing games—that kinda thing!”

“I do not understand.” Malleus swept a hand at their surroundings. “The purpose of this establishment is merely for… amusement?”

“Yup! People get tired of the daily grind sometimes, so they go to places like this to see cute stuff and just take a load off.”

“I… I see.” Malleus tucked his thumb and forefinger under his chin. “We do not have anything like your maid cafes in the Valley of Thorns.”

“You don’t? What sort of things do you do back home for fun, then?”

“I was not allowed to venture far from the palace grounds. Most of my time was spent indoors, studying spells or honing my magical abilities.”

Cater inclined his head. “Oooh, right! Because you’re a prince and all, you weren’t able to do much—but hey! Things are different now! You’ve got Cay-kun to show you a good time!”

“Ah, yes. A ‘good time’...” Malleus attempted at a smile, which came out more wary than he had intended.

“Thank you for waiting!” a girlish voice chirped—their waitress had returned, wearing a tray of food in one hand and two headbands in the other. “Here is your omurice and Nyan ✨ Nyan ✨ Kitty-chan Parfait, plus one pair of kitty ears and one pair of bunny ears!”

She handed Cater his dish—a bed of ketchup flavored fried rice, sealed by a wobbling omelet and garnished with a sprig of parsley.

“Mm! Smells delicious. Thanks a bunch~” Cater grinned, winking at his server.

The maid giggled and placed Malleus’s dessert before him, along with the headbands.

“Would you like me to draw or write something special for you on your meal, master?” she asked, gesturing to Cater’s omurice.

“Sure thing! Could you write ‘Mallekei’? Oh, and a couple of hearts would be cute, too!”

“As you wish!”

As the maid set to work, Malleus marveled at the sight of his parfait.

Colorful scoops of ice-cream, granola, and sliced fruits were layered inside of a tall glass cup. A generous crown of whipped cream and a drizzle of strawberry sauce topped it off. Sticking out from the whipped cream were two wafer triangles and dots of chocolate candies, forming a cat-like face.

How adorable.

… But not adorable enough to be spared.

“Thank you for the food.” The fae raised his spoon to demolish the poor parfait kitten—

“Stop, stop, Malleus-kun!!” Cater cried, frantically waving his arms. “N-Not yet!!”

Malleus lowered his spoon with a frown. “Food is meant to be consumed, Diamond. Is there an issue you have with my table etiquette?”

“Well—no, but…” Cater played with a lock of his orange hair and sighed. “There’s certain rituals we need to do first!”

“Rituals? Oh, my apologies. I was not aware. Please proceed with your regularly scheduled… rituals.”

“Ahaha, you’re a quick learner! First thing’s first, let’s put on our headbands!” Cater swept up the cat ears and passed them over. “Here, to match your parfait! I’ll take the rabbit.”

Malleus gingerly nestled the cat ears on his head, copying Cater’s movements. It was a bit tricky maneuvering around his horns, but somehow, he managed.

“Oh!! Those ears suit you so well!” the waitress said, glancing up from decorating the omurice. Carefully placed splotches of ketchup spelled out ‘Mallekei’, hearts and little sparkles littering the space around the boys’ combined names.

“... Do they?” Malleus doubted it.

“They do!!” Cater reassured him with a laugh. “Ne, ne, miss! Can you take our picture so my friend here can have a souvenir to take home with him?” 

“Certainly!” She replaced the bottle of ketchup and hurried off, returning shortly after with a polaroid camera. “Are you ready, my masters?”

“Ready, Malleus-kun?”

“Hmph. Of course. I will have you know that my posing abilities have improved considerably since our last encounter. Do not underestimate me.”

“Oh, that’s great! You’ve been practicing! Then… on the count of three, we nyah, okay?”

“... What is ‘nyah’?” Malleus inquired, his confidence suddenly waning.

“Eh?” A blip of surprise crossed Cater’s face. “Like, y’know… nyah!”

The influencer curled both of his hands into balls and made a pawing motion at his friend. “Now you try!”

“Like this?” Malleus mimicked him. He was more stiff—definitely not as practiced—but the general motion was still recognizable.

“Very good, master!!” the waitress gushed, raising the polaroid up. “On three?”

“1, 2, 3… Nyah!”

A flash went off, sending stars into Malleus’s vision. As he rubbed the daze out of his eyes, Cater’s voice called out to him.

“Are you okay there?”

“I am well. There is no need for your concern,” the fae insisted. “This ritual… it is more confounding that I took it to be.”

“Eeeh? It’s not meant to be hard or anything. Just relax, relax!” Cater paused before adding, “It’s part of the ritual’s requirements! You need to be nice and loose for the last step!”

“What is this last step?”

“We need to cast a magic spell to make your food taste extra tasty!” the waitress declared cheerily.

“Hoh?” A smirk found its way onto Malleus’s face. “That can easily be arranged. Allow me to do the honors.”

He put his hand before his parfait, an eerie green glow emulating from his palm. The sinister light engulfed his dish and Cater’s, sending them floating midair. Radioactive ice-cream and omurice hovered above their heads, causing both Cater and their maid to recoil in shock.

Other customers stared at the spectacle from their own tables. One man’s jaw dropped, the forkful of spaghetti bolognese in his mouth clattering onto the floor.

“You, who provides sustenance to the masses, become that which is delici—“

“H-Hold on a sec, Malleus-kun!!” Cater practically leapt over the table to seize his friend’s glowing hand. “Not that kind of spell!!”

Eyes wide with surprise, Malleus allowed his magic to settle down. The parfait and omurice gently floated back onto their table, and the maid sighed with relief.

“Is there a different spell needed for this occasion? I assure you that I am well-versed in practical magic—you need only speak its name, and I can conjure the proper…”

“No, no! It’s—“ Cater casted a look at their server and nervously chuckled. “Ne, Maid-chan~ Think you can give us a demonstration of the right spell?”

“Yes, master!” the girl, ever professional, flashed a perky grin. “Please watch carefully!!”

The maid set down her polaroid on the table. She then arched her fingers into C-like shapes, thumb extended straight. Pushing her hands together, she formed a heart and aimed it in the direction of the boy’s dishes.

“Moe moe kyuuuuuun!”

“What an odd spell. In all my years, I have never heard of such an enchantment…”

“Well, there’s a first for everything, right?” Cater flicked one of his floppy rabbit ears. “Plus, it should be no problem for the great Malleus-sama to pull off this spell, right?”

“This is child’s play,” Malleus’s laugh was like the earth itself rumbling. His lips quirked into a small smile. “You will join me in performing this sacred ritual, will you not, Diamond?”

“Of course~”

“Very well.”

They made hearts and thrust them upon their meals. And together, they uttered those three magic words.

“Moe moe kyuuuuun!!”

“Welcome back, Malleus,” Lilia greeted. The vice dorm leader nonchalantly hung from the ceiling, his raven and magenta bangs suspended midair. “Did you have fun on your outing?”

“Lilia. You knew?” Malleus slowly shut the door behind him, chasing away the cool air of the night. He spoke softly, knowing that sounds carried in the dusty hallways of Diasomnia and could disturb its residents.

“The wonders of modern technology,” Lilia trilled, expertly landing beside his young master. He brandished his phone in a gloved hand, a text message displayed on the screen.

hey hey lilia-chan! gonna steal malmal-kun for the day~ he’ll be back later, but do me a solid and keep it a secret from s&s til then, ‘kay? thnx!! (✿˶˘ ³˘)~♡

“It looks as though I have been exposed.”

“There is no shame in making new friends. In fact, I’m proud of you for expanding your horizons.” Lilia beamed. “Though what a shame it is that I was not present to grab a few pictures. Hopefully Cater fulfilled that task for me.”

The ancient fae tilted forward in his toes and peered up at his prince. “Soooo? Where did you sneak off to?”

“Fufu. Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“My. Is that any way to treat the man that kept Silver and Sebek from hunting you down?” Lilia teased, wagging a finger.

“Such loyalty,” Malleus smirked, hands on his hips, “deserves to be rewarded.”

He produced a polaroid photograph from his breast pocket and presented it with a flourish. The image, forever captured in time, was that of Malleus and Cater—the former with cat ears, the latter with bunny ears—with hands balled to resemble paws. Cater cheekily winked, while Malleus looked slightly bewildered.

The edges of the polaroid were dotted with stickers—smiley faces, flowers, and hearts. Marker had been used to scrawl on whiskers and blushes over both boys’ cheeks.

Overall, cutesy—overwhelming so.

But the Malleus and Cater in the picture were happy.

Their eyes shining like jewels.

Nyah-ing their hearts out.

[ppersonna]

indulgence - jjk | m

love of mine, won't you lay by my side and rest your weary eyes before we're out of time? give me one last kiss for soon such distance will stretch between our lips - as much as i ever could, city and colour

↳ summary- Sometimes your boyfriend Jungkook reminds you how much you love him by doing absolutely nothing at all.

↳ rating- explicit / 18+

↳ word count- 3.8k

↳ pairing- jungkook x reader

↳ genre- fluffy smut, smutty fluff, whatever you wanna call it. its got fluff and smut, established relationship

↳ warnings- oral sex (m receiving), penetrative sex, real hot love making, squirting? sure, unprotected sex (condoms are cool use them)

↳ a/n- lindy is in her feels apparently because this was supposed to be hot and kinky and i just made it real romantic but whatever dskgjkg. thanks to @sugarly-laysa​ for requesting jk smut i hope this is good for you, booboo  ily all thanks for reading!! feel free to come chat with me, request smth, tell me how your day is, etc etc etc.  enjoy cute babie jk being cute.

You’re not sure why the universe decided you are lucky enough to be the one to love Jeon Jungkook, but as you trudge into your apartment after an inexplicably horrific day at work, you realize you should thank your lucky stars for aligning just right to make him yours.

Jungkook doesn’t realize you’re home.  He’s too distracted at the sink, hands soapy as he scrubs at the dishes from the day.  He’s wearing those jeans you love, the ones that fit him tightly and show off his perfectly shaped ass and toned thighs.  He’s singing off key to his own songs, hips rolling in a minute version of his carefully practiced choreography.  He performs for the dishes only, unaware of the audience of one in the doorway.  

A smile that hasn’t broken through the cloud of despair all day makes its way on to your lips without you even noticing.

Jungkook is like the lighthouse in the storm.  He guides you home and keeps you safe from crashing and burning. His presence brings you safe harbor and you find yourself able to be at peace no matter what, as long as he’s there keeping his light on for you.

You don’t announce your presence.  You’re unwilling to end his show too early.  He continues scrubbing at pots, often flinging his watery hands around the room as he continues to dance like he’s performing at Seoul Olympic Stadium all over again.  Although his movements are jerky and unrefined now in his multitasking and his singing is definitely a pitch or two off, he pours his heart into the private performance.  

It makes your heart clench.  You love how much he loves his career, his life.  He’s grown up in it—it's the only world he knows and yet it still hasn’t tainted him.  He grew into a man capable of so much more than just singing and dancing, and you loved watching him blossom with every passing year.

Jungkook has clearly taken care to clean the entire house today.  You hadn’t asked him, and truthfully you never needed to.  He was as good of a partner as you could get.  He never felt you should be responsible for household tasks.  He took care of his own things, like a grown man should.  He adored it when you helped, washed his clothes for him or cleaned up his mess after a night of gaming, but whatever you gave to him, he did back for you plus some.

As you lean against the wall, staring at the love of your life popstar boyfriend pretending to be a popstar, wooden spoon as microphone and all, you recognize you’re the luckiest girl in Korea.  Maybe even the world.

Jungkook is pirouetting around as he hits his high notes of ‘ON’ and shakily ends his solo in a deep lunge.  It breaks you from your silent role, a laugh finally making its way out and he snaps his eyes open and blushes.

“Hi,” he says sheepishly.  He holds the spoon in both clasped hands, as if to signify he totally wasn’t just singing into it like a microphone.

“Hi,” you reply.  Your coat and shoes come off, bag hung on the hook, and you make your way to him. 

“You washed the dishes,” you state as you approach.  He looks confused for a moment.

“Yeah, I made lunch earlier so I wanted to get them cleaned up.”  His confusion is apparent, unable to decipher the look in your eyes.

You’re staring at him with heat, an undeniable hunger.  The fact that Jeon Jungkook is yours and is in your kitchen doing his own dishes hits you hard.  It soaks you to the core.  Maybe it’s the domestic side of you, but you’re absolutely salivating at the thought he cleaned the kitchen and his mess with no problem.  He didn’t even do it to impress you, he just did it.  And you’re aching for him.

You’re slowly lowering yourself to your knees and Jungkook’s eyes widen.

“Wh-what are you doing? You just got home from work.” 

“I’m going to suck your cock.”  Your words are simple, and it makes him shiver.

“But why?”  The bulge in his pants grows regardless of his suspicion.

Your hands make their way up his solid thighs, muscles rippling under your favorite pair of jeans he owns, until they land at his button and fly.

“Because I really, really, really want to suck your cock until you cum down my throat.  Then I might do it again.”

He stifles a groan and nearly drops the wooden makeshift microphone from his grip.  

“Not that I’m complainin-ahhh...” he gasps as you pull his pants and underwear down to his knees and his cock springs free. “Shit—I mean I’m down but is there a reason?”

Your hands rub at his thighs once more and you smile sweetly at him.  

“Because I am in love with you.”

Jungkook is still confused. You know he wants to ask more, but your hand grips his length and all questions fly out of his mind as fast as they enter. 

“Okaaayy,” he sighs.  

He wants to tip his head back in bliss as you pump your hand, but he also wants to maintain eye contact with you.  How can he not? You’re gazing up at him as if he’s the one responsible for putting all the stars in the sky—like he lit every single one of them for you.  The intensity is intoxicating to both of you.

You can’t move your eyes away from him.  They trace over the lines of his face, the smoothness of his skin, the way his hair falls onto his forehead with just the perfect swoop.  You’re seeing him through fresh eyes for a moment, and it feels like you’re drunk.

“I love you,” you murmur as your lips move closer to him.  Jungkook sighs and lets his eyes close for a moment.  He can feel the heat of your breath on his tip, you’re sure of that, and as much fun as it is to tease him you can’t bring yourself to do it tonight when you’re so desperate to make him feel good.

“I love you too,” he coos. “Especially when you come home and wanna blow me immediately.”  He grins cheekily as he opens his eyes back up and looks at you.  Jungkook can’t stay serious in a situation to save his life.  Leave it to him to still try to make you smile when you’re about to milk his cock dry with your mouth.

“I should do it more often,” you assess as your tongue flicks out at the head.  You let it rub gently at the slit at the top where moisture has accumulated.  It tastes salty, it tastes like him.  

“You should?” He questions with a hiss at the feel of you.  “I mean, yeah, you should.”  He corrects himself and bites his lip.  Your tongue is still laving at the surface of his head, a sweet torture that makes his knees feel weak. 

“You did the dishes,” you repeat as your tongue now slides down his shaft.  It follows down the underside, the vein guiding you towards his pelvis and down to his balls.  You allow yourself to spend some time there, licking and sucking at them lightly.

“Oh f-fuck,” he gasps. “If this is what I get for doing the dishes, I’ll do them m-more.”  

You hum in reply as you suction them into your mouth and swirl them gently.  Your hand remains on his thick length, gently pumping and caressing him to keep him stimulated.  You can tell he’s losing his mind.  He’s been caught off guard and is now getting his cock worshipped by you.  You’re still in your work clothes—oxford shirt and tight skirt.  It makes Jungkook even harder, if that is possible.  He likes the idea that you literally couldn’t wait another second to get his dick in your hot little mouth.

You release him from your mouth and he moans at the feeling of the air on the moistened skin.  

“Fuck,” he whines. “You’re so hot.”

You smile up at him again as you kiss his length, punctuating each spot on his dick with a press of your lips. You trail back up to the head where he’s leaked more pre-cum, and you waste no time in wrapping your lips around the tip and suckling lightly.

“Shit!” He yelps at the sudden pleasure.  “Oh, my god.”

He’s going to lose the ability to speak coherently, you both know it.  He can last until you’re taking him into your throat, then he may as well be speaking a foreign language.  You never understand what he’s saying except the occasional gasp of your name.  You can’t wait until he gets there tonight.  You love sucking him stupid.

Your mouth accepts more of him in, tongue lapping at any surface it can as you pull him in deeper to your mouth.  He’s sighing his ‘please’s and ‘thank you’s like a proper gentleman, and one soapy hand comes to rest at your hair.  He gently pushes back any bangs or stray sections of hair that threaten to impede your pursuit.  He holds your hair back gently and watches you close.

Doe's eyes look back at him and soon you’ve got him buried inside you.  Tip to the back of your throat, your nose buried in the light splatters of hair at his base.  He is whimpering now, can’t believe a few minutes ago he was washing the dishes and now he’s balls deep in your throat.  

“Babe, oh my god,” he’s trying hard not to stutter.  He feels like he could cum, but he wants more.  He begs his body to behave, to let you have your way with him.  “S-so good.”

It pleases you; the approval rolling over your body like fine silk.  His voice is shaky and getting close to the sexy, fucked out sound that has you dripping.  

You allow him to rest inside your throat for a moment, swallowing around him to allow him the feel of the tightness, before you’re pulling away and starting a pace of bobbing your head up and down on him.  You never let your eyes leave his.  Even when he’s closing them in pleasure, you maintain constant contact with his.

He looks back down at you and feels his body quake.  You look incredible, still all dressed up and made up, red lips wrapped around his cock and bobbing a pace that gets him closer to the edge than he’d like to admit.  

His cock feels heavy on your tongue and it’s exhilarating.  You almost wish you could be attached to his cock at all times, sucking him until he’s had his fill for a few moments, then returning to the action.  You kick yourself for all the times you’ve not been sucking his dick.

Your hand joins in to assist your plight, fist gripping the areas of his cock you cannot reach with your mouth alone and pumping in time with your head bobs.  His cock quickly slicks up with your saliva and it’s easy to stroke him with the lubrication.

“Ohhhhh, fuuuu-,” he whines.  You smile at yourself.  You’ve made it.  You’re at the place where Jungkook forgets his native language and begins speaking a new one that only he is capable of translating.  He groans out unintelligible syllables, and it makes you go even faster knowing he’s past the point of no return.  

“Be-,..” he gasps. “Bayb-... Gonna cum.”  He warns.  His thighs are quivering and you allow the hand that isn’t stroking his perfect cock to completion to rest on one solid muscle, hoping it will help still the seizing in his legs.   You don’t slow down, don’t stop for a single second as you know he’s so near the edge.

You can tell by his facial expressions when he’s about to hit his high.  His moans go from loud and echoing around the room to silent, mouth agape in noiseless rapture.  His eyes close tight and his body tenses.  If he was naked, like he normally is when you’re doing this, you would see his abs tense so hard that a defined six-pack is on display like a little reward for sucking his dick so well.  His neck veins become more prominent and you can tell that with just a few more sucks, a little lick here and a nice hard pump there,

He’s cumming.  You feel the heat of his seed spill into your mouth and you slow your motions but don’t stop, never stop, as you coax as much of him out as you can.  His silence is broken as he groans in time with each pulse of his cock.

It’s a few seconds later when he comes back to reality, when he’s restored with the ability to speak a language you both know.

You pull away from him only when you feel his cock weaken, soften, inside of your mouth.  You release him and give him a show of your open mouth and hot white cum loaded on your tongue.  Like you want to savor each drop, not let a single drip go uncherished. It’s a fine dessert, you want to appreciate the flavor forever.

The act makes Jungkook groan.

“What the fuck,” he pants.  “That was so fucking good.”

You smile and close your mouth, allowing the pooled liquid to slide down your tongue.  For the first time that night, you allow yourself to close your eyes and relish.  It’s a familiar taste, the flavor of Jeon Jungkook that is incredibly addictive.  It tastes like home.  It tastes like love.  A high rushes through your veins, more powerful than any drug, of that you’re certain.  You feel drunk and euphoric.

He notices this and smiles at you.  His cock is still out, hanging out of his jeans awkwardly, but neither of you care.  He cups a hand on the side of your face and lets his thumb stroke your cheek gently.  

“You’re so good to me,” he whispers.  You open your eyes now, level them to look at the man above you.  He holds your face delicately and the penetrating stare he returns is adoring.  You are his prized possession—in his eyes you are appraised higher than any of the glittering gold awards lining your shelves.  

“I love you,” he states.  “Not just because you sucked the life out of me.”

There it is again, his cheeky jesting that captured you in the first place.  You slip a laugh from your lips as your hands unbutton your top.  You’re staring at each other and intention is written in the gaze.  He never wavers from your watch.  He doesn’t move his glance elsewhere as your top falls to the floor and your bra soon joins it.  He’s maintaining his firm sight as you slip the skirt off.  

Jungkook pushes the jeans to the floor and steps out of them.  There’s no talking, no dialogue.  No dirty talk, no kinky banter.  His plain shirt joins the rest of the discarded clothing items and he stalks to you and lays you down on the hardwood floor of your kitchen. 

It’s so heated, the surrounding energy, that it warms your skin in the otherwise cool air.  Jungkook radiates so much it’s palpable.  He presses his lips to yours and kisses you deeply, tongue immediately sliding inside as he’s desperate to taste himself on you, to solidify the notion you are his and he is inside you, both physically and metaphorically.  

His hand runs down your body as you kiss and suck at each other's lips.  It’s like kissing him for the first time all over again the way your body reacts.  Your veins feel as if they’ve been dipped into lava, it boils through your entire body and threatens to melt your core.  His fingers rub at your breasts for a moment.  He’d ordinarily spend time on them, but tonight is different.  Tonight there is one mission between the two of you, and that is to have him buried inside your tiny cunt as soon as he can.

The hand slips further. It caresses the smooth skin of your stomach and slowly sweeps down to your core where he feels the full extent of your love, of your arousal.  You’re drenched and have been since you first spotted him with his hands deep in soapy water and his own lyrics belting out of his mouth.   He doesn’t bother with foreplay—there’s no need tonight.  He’s sure he’ll be able to slip inside you with ease.  He allows a finger to run over your clit and gather up wetness there, before he drags it up and pulls away from your lips to lick your taste into his mouth.  It’s only fair he has you inside as you do him.  

The act has you gasping for air, lungs feeling as if you’re breathing underwater.  

He lines his cock up easily, finding it as if it’s magnetized to point to the true north of your center.  

His lips press against yours again as he pushes into you.  The stretch burns, matching the burning of the blood and the heat on your skin.  The feeling of him stretching you and filling you make you feel whole and complete.  You love the way his head nudges at your cervix, the way it kisses the tip with each thrust.

Jungkook sighs happily as he sinks in to the hilt.  You’re replying with your own assortment of moans and praises, kissing his lips hungrily as he starts movement between your hips.  His pace is slow and gentle.  He pulls out nearly all the way before he spears himself in again. He keeps his eyes on yours, watches the way your plump lips still covered in red lipstick opens and closes in awe and in fulfillment.  You’re boring into his own gaze, attempting to convey just how right he feels, how you’ve never felt an intense love-making as the one you’re engaged in now on the hardwood of your kitchen. 

You’re tight around him and he’s sure he’s close to the edge again.  He feels your channel tighten with each thrust in and it encourages him to ever so gently increase his speed until the sound of skin slapping is timing out a pace like a metronome.  He indulges in the feeling of your silken walls and the way it slicks up his cock and pulls him back in tight, desperately.

He lets a hand run back down you, meets your joined centers at the hood of your clit where he rubs circles around the nub.  It hits you hard as he murmurs his love and affection for you.  He whispers his devotion to you, to your body and soul, to your cunt.  He tells you he never wants to pull out of you, wishes he could bury himself inside the wet heat of your pussy for eternity. He’s never felt like this before, and he lets you know with each thrust of his hips, each roll of your clit around his finger.  

Your orgasm is approaching, you feel it not just in your core but nearly to your very bones.  It’s slithering its way up and wraps around your body, threatening to take over at any moment's notice.  You notice your words have run dry, that the sounds leaving you are as unintelligible as his and you realize you’re not so different.  He’s fucking you stupid and you feel it. 

“C-cumming!” You whine as your thighs tighten.  He powers through and continues his motions. 

“Cum for me,” he whispers.  “Cum, my love.  I love making you cum.”  

He doesn’t want to be dirty, doesn’t want to make you think of whips or chains that are fun on other nights right now.  He wants you to think of him.  Only him and the way the simple act of him being inside you and loving you has you coming completely undone.  You need no more, your body listens to Jungkook’s coaxing and releases you completely.  It hits like a hurricane and makes your body shake.  You feel wetness flooding your legs and if you were conscious enough, you’d recognize you’re quite literally squirting, but all you can feel is hot, white, deeply rooted pleasure that has you screaming and your body singing.  

Jungkook loses it as you soak his cock.  His body reacts to the knowledge he just made you squirt all over his dick from his slow and methodical pace, and he’s losing himself inside you.  His cock pulses with the intensity of his orgasm, as if it hadn’t just been given one earlier that rocked him entirely.  He pumps himself into you and stills as he feels himself finally stop filling you.  He doesn’t leave, still desires the ability to remain inside you all day, every day.

He kisses you again.  You’re panting and slick and wet and realizing now that you’ve just creamed yourself and your boyfriend on the floor of your kitchen, but when he kisses you, it doesn’t matter.  You don’t care as he presses his chest into yours and kisses you so hard he forgets to breathe, forgets he needs anything at all other than you. His body reminds him of his mortality and he pulls away, cum slicked hand coming up to move your sweaty hair from your face.

There’s no talking. There isn’t a need. You exchange enough between each other with the passion in your eyes and the softness in your grasp.

He holds you like he’s afraid to lose you and he lays himself down on the floor beside you, cock still resting inside your warmth.  He strokes his hand through your hair and down your back and over the hills and valleys of your curves. He sketches into your skin his love by the graze of his fingers and sucks your lips to his to embrace you fully.  He loves you.  You love him.  You both have never felt a love like this, one that encompasses you completely and shelters you from anything else.

Jungkook, always unable to maintain a sense of decorum, idly thinks he should wash the dishes more often.

© ppersonna - 2020 - do not repost on any site, or translate without express permission from author.