#this design is actually overtaking my brain

[alargehunkofdebris]

Aziraphale’s reaction to the kiss: A Breakdown (that’s it that’s the reaction.)

A lot of people say that this anguish Aziraphale feels after the kiss is due to this feeling of “Why now? Why didn’t you do this before, when I wanted you to?” And I think that can be part of it, for sure. But man, that’s just one part of this gigantic, writhing ball of emotions in Aziraphale in that moment, all of them fighting each other, all of them painful. I’m going to breakdown the breakdown, because writing essays analyzing the minds of fictional characters is apparently all I want to do these days. Also, judging by this absolute nutball of a season that confirmed literally multiple “bit of a stretch” deep dives, I feel I can ignore that little voice whispering “this is silly” into my ear. I can dive as deep as I want, because there goes Neil Gaiman with an aqualung, swimming deeper.  

So. The kiss, and why Aziraphale looks so gosh darned sad about it. 

First of all, there’s shock. Major shock. Because despite everything, he still likely never thought this would ever actually happen. (Him and me both.) Or maybe – a small maybe, but a maybe that I might put a dollar on, if the odds were good – the idea of kissing Crowley never occurred to his conscious brain before at all. He’s so good at compartmentalizing and denying that it’s very possible he’s managed to nip every intrusive thought before it went far enough to be fully conscious.

Then, there’s fear of being seen. (“Who is watching? Will the Metatron see? He only allowed me to work with Crowley after he regained angelic status – if he sees me and Crowley now –”) Then, a layer deeper, there’s his ever-present fear response to things going too fast, because despite how we all know he feels, he’s still not sure he’s ready for any kind of partnership, let alone one this intimate and close. Because even for humans, this is a really, really big jump – we typically don’t kiss when we haven’t even been on a date (officially) yet, and usually not before both parties admit to their feelings.

Then, even deeper, is that anguished, heartbroken “Why now? My God, why now?” response, because his subconscious has always wanted this, but also knows that this is the worst possible time for it to happen, and now he’s lost that first kiss with Crowley—the one he wanted, anyway. The one that was supposed to be filled with joy, and is instead marked with the worst pain he’s ever felt.

Then there’s the second “Why now” response, and this is where I might be dipping a toe into the Hot Take puddle. Because I think there’s that knee-jerk fear response he’s yet to shake, and which overtakes his rational thinking whenever he’s terrified of Heaven or unsure of himself. It’s the suspicion he’s always held of Crowley. He’s thinking “Why now?” as in, “Is this the temptation that God and Heaven warned me about? Is this Crowley the Serpent, fulfilling his duty? Is this the true proffered apple, a kiss that’s meant to keep me from serving Heaven? Is he tempting me, knowing how I feel, knowing I’m weak?”

That’s the true anguish of this scene, I think. He’s fighting all these feelings, but on top is this old fear, this old anger and suspicion of Crowley, assuming he’s lying. Demons lie, Crowley admitted it himself. Crowley is the original Serpent of Eden, designed to tempt people away from God. And this feeling is what’s on top, because the alternative is…what? That Crowley actually feels this way? That Crowley, a demon, loves him, Aziraphale, enough to be this vulnerable, with no wicked ulterior motive? Aziraphale is a lot of things, but he’s certainly not a being who thinks he’s desirable. He sees himself as opposite to Crowley, and if Crowley is temptation personified, Aziraphale is then the personification of undesirableness. Deep down, this idea of the Serpent of Eden being tempted by him, Aziraphale, is simply ludicrous.

And then there’s self-hatred that he even thinks this thought of his friend, then suspicion, then fear again, then confusion, then anguish, then fear, then pain, and so on. All of this happens in a few seconds, and all of it coalesces into a singular takeaway: “This is the worst.” And because the one who technically caused it is Crowley, Aziraphale does what he does very well: he forgives Crowley, because he’s too prim and angelic to say “Goddamn you,” which is what he truly means. Goddamn you for making me feel this way. Goddamn you for making me doubt you. Goddamn you for forcing this option on me, when I can no longer take it, and when I don’t even know if it’s real. Goddamn you for putting this apple in my hands when we both know I can’t eat it. Goddamn you for reminding me that no matter what, it is not in my stars to live a happy life. 

[atticsandwich]

out of focus, eye to eye

pairing: beelzebub / gn! reader (mc)

fluff, the slightest of tension, food + you = a happy demon

The times Beel shows his love for you, not through words, but in the little things you didn't think he would notice.

(He does.)

happy birthday beel and belphie 🥹 i only had enough brain juice to write for one twin, i'll make it up to you soon bel, i promise

—

11:59.

You didn't usually crave for something to eat at the dead of night, especially with how hearty some dinners at the House of Lamentation can be. Today was no exception; Leviathan as the designated cook of the day laid out an entire spread of dishes from an anime he's been watching recently, his dedicated effort paying off with an across-the-board commendable feast.

Really, you had no business still being hungry after everything you ate, but your growling stomach commands otherwise.

"There should still be some leftover doughnuts from yesterday..." you think to yourself as you close the door of your room. Thankfully, the kitchen's right next door, but that also means you immediately notice the tell-tale signs of a very awake, very hungry demon.

"There goes my doughnuts..." a tragedy, considering nothing is safe when the Avatar of Gluttony is in one of his midnight fridge raids.

"Hm? Oh, you're awake. Were you hungry too?" you must've been standing there for quite a while now for Beel to notice you, as he waves and motions for you to come closer.

"Sort of, yeah," you reply, walking to his side. "Got anything for me?"

Wordlessly, considering he just shoved an entire cupcake in his mouth— sorry Asmo— he points to a familiar box towards the side.

"...Doughnuts? I thought you've eaten them by now," you say, pleasantly surprised. Taking the box from the fridge, you take a seat by the demon's side. Upon opening, you notice that although it was indeed already eaten from, two of the same ones were left as is.

"Hm...? These are..."

"They're your favorite kind, so I made sure to save them for you," Beel says it so nonchalantly, immediately resuming his fridge raid, but you can't help the butterflies that start twirling in your belly, hunger almost dissipated.

Taking a bite, you finally relish in fulfilling your sudden craving. A few more and half a doughnut's left, and you realize that Beel switched to looking at you eat, a fond smile in his face. You couldn't help but fluster at the attention, averting your gaze away from his.

"...You have some crumbs around your mouth," before you could say anything in reply, he takes his thumb and wipes the side of your lip, his eyes on you the entire time. You muttered a shy 'thank you' before he takes his own thumb to his mouth, clearing off the crumbs that were on yours.

"...Mmm, I get why they're your favorite. It's really good."

—

Lunchtime at R.A.D can sometimes be a life-or-death affair, especially when the cooks decide to put their best foot forward for the day. Today was one of those days— with a today's menu spread rivalling that of Ristorante Six, you can almost feel the overflowing anticipation seconds before the bell rings.

5 seconds...

At this point, nobody's listening to the professor, but the fidgeting figures of students eager to dash out is quite a sight.

3 seconds...

Being human meant being at a disadvantage, you thought. Yes, your magical prowess is pretty prominent, but the average demon can still physically overpower any regular human.

1 second...

"Hey, did you want to eat out for lunch today?"

Beel's voice overtakes the blaring of the lunch bell, demons of all sizes rushing immediately towards the cafeteria. In the distance, you see Mammon's figure scrambling and slinking his way throught the crowd like a little snake— smart.

Yeah, there's no hope for you out there today.

"That sounds nice actually," you sigh wistfully. Maybe next time, after you get some wrestling pointers from Beel.

"Hell's Kitchen has some really good deals for lunch today, plus they have a new dish I really wanna try," you walk out the room with the demon, already daydreaming of his lunch spread.

"Don't worry. Next time, I'll carry you on my shoulders so we can run through the lunch crowd together," he must've noticed how you were staring at the cafeteria earlier. You gave him a reassuring smile, as if telling him you're fine.

"Thanks, Beel. But you're capable enough as is now, so... don't you want to try the chef specials today?"

"Well, yes, but I could always do that another time. I'd rather eat lunch with you," the earnesty in his voice gave you butterflies again, and you hope you're hiding how flustered you are now sufficiently.

"...I'd rather eat lunch with you too, Beel."

He hums happily in response, taking your arm on his own. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze, and you give him a squeeze back.

—

Sorcerer training days with Solomon varied in difficulty each week; sometimes you two would simply brew a bunch of potions together, while other times he'd have you cast a variety of spells in succession, often resulting in you tiring out your magic reserves.

Unfortunately for you, today was spell day.

You almost always came home late during these kinds of days too— which meant dinner was usually done by the time you got home. You usually didn't mind, as it also meant the house was a lot more quiet, with the brothers all retreating to their rooms for their end-of-the-day routines. After grabbing a quick bite to eat, you head to your room, fully prepared to just collapse in bed.

Weird— was my room this tidy when i left this morning?, you wondered, but who were you to look a gift horse in the mouth? Your study area was organized, the room smelt like fresh linen and citrus, and your bed—

Ah.

Beel has his head laid on your mattress while seated on the floor, letting off the smallest of snores. You let out an endeared sigh, approaching the large demon, analyzing his face as he slept before you gently tapped his shoulders to try wake him up. The demon grumbles in response, eventually slowly opening his eyes. When he finally notices you, he opens them fully, before pulling you down for a hug.

"You're back," you can feel him smile in the embrace. Although tired, you try to return the hug as best you can.

"Were you the one who cleaned my room?"

"Yeah," he nods in confirmation. "You looked more tired recently, so I wanted to help out. But, uh... I think I got some crumbs on the floor from eating while I was waiting for you. Sorry..."

You laugh again, pulling the both of you up from the floor to sit on the bed.

"Thank you, Beel. That was very thoughtful of you," you give his nose a little peck, and it's adorable the way he hums happily in response, clearly content with your satisfaction (and kiss). You sometimes wonder what you did to deserve someone like Beel, but then again, if you told your younger self the life you're living now, you'd probably look at yourself crazy.

"Well, since you're already here and I woke you up, let's just sleep together," you suggest, patting on the opposite side of your bed as an invitation. It's amazing how those string of words instantly light up his face.

"Really?" he asks, although he's already walking to the other side of the bed, already accepting the invite.

Quickly changing into your sleep clothes, you dive into bed right next to him, his arms open and ready to slot you in. You fit in his hold just right, and you inhale the distinct scent of wood and vanilla— which, coupled with how one of his hand is softly stroking the back of your head, quickly lulls you into comfort, your eyes starting to droop.

"G'night Beel," you say, sleepily.

"Goodnight," he returns, before leaning down to plant a small kiss on the crown of your head, and another on your forehead.

As you finally succumb to the world of dreams, the last thing you hear a small hum and a whisper of "I love you."

Tomorrow, you'll say it back to him first thing in the morning.

—

tags: @insomniachox

[pedrisgirl]

mission accomplished · neymar jr

pairing; neymar x actress!fem!reader

genre; fluff

warnings; swearing (the word dumbass) but other than that none i think?

authors note; my first imagine ! hopefully its not too corny and horrible, anyway hope u enjoy! requests are open

you and neymar were both on the plane back home, after spending a blissful week vacationing, you knew you had to eventually go back to your normal lives, with you being an actress, and him being a footballer, you dreaded going back home, knowing you would have to work again. 

“ugh, i hate this.” you whined, stretching on the uncomfortable plane seat, which you’ve been sitting on for quite literally; 5 hours. 

you’ve been trying to get some sleep, so that way, you wont have to go to work exhausted, but clearly, your attempts weren’t working. 

turning in his chair, neymar looks at you, “why, what’s wrong amor?” he said softly, not wanting to wake up the other passengers on the plane. 

you could tell that he, aswell, was also having the same issue. 

“i’ve been trying to sleep for so long, but for some reason my dumb brain just wont shut off.” you pouted.

“hey, hey, hey, stop right there, dont insult that pretty brain of yours, if you wont appreciate it then i will.” he whispered back.

“it also keeps you alive bebe, what would i do without it?” he sighed dramatically, you could feel his gaze on your face, but you kept your eyes closed, hoping that would bring you to sleep.

“the heart is what keeps you alive dumbass.” you chuckled softly, “meu deus this is what happens when i try to be romantic. remind me to never do that again.” he laughed. 

“i think its cute actually, thank you for the compliment.” 

you opened your eyes to find him already looking at you, he was smiling and you didnt know why. 

“whats the smile for?” you tell him, knowing that you probably have the same look mirrored on your face, but who cares right?

“nothing amor, you’re just cute when you’re tired.” he laughed, the dim light making his features look slightly blurry, but nevertheless, his eyes held that same sparkle that he reserved only for you. 

“shut up, all i did was complain anyway.” you rolled your eyes playfully and turned your head, trying to hide the blush slowly appearing on your face. 

he softly cupped your chin in his hand, turning your head to face him, “i love it when you’re snarky.” he whispered, closing the gap between you, his lips were delicate against yours, as if they were designed to fit together perfectly. 

the feeling was pure bliss, and you weren't sure if it was because it was 4 in the morning or if you were just exhausted. either way, you loved of sleepy neymar.

you slowly broke apart, looking into eachothers eyes, and laughed at how tired you both looked, but, instead of trying to sleep anymore, you both talked about anything and everything.

your talks consisted of random things, whatever topic entered your minds, you talked about. wether it was stupid, or deep, he listened, and you appreciated that. 

somewhere in the conversation, you felt your eyes drooping, sleep slowly overtaking you, yet you still made sure to mumble a “mhm.” and a “yeah.” to make sure neymar knew you were listening. 

eventually, the feeling got too overwhelming, so you just decided to give in, falling asleep to neymars voice, appreciating his presence and snuggling into his warmth. 

“you know, i would like to have a cat and a dog one day, maybe it would fix the rivalry you know?” neymar mumbled, and when he noticed the silence on your end, he turned his head and found you sleeping on his shoulder, eyes closed and breathing even. 

he smiled softly at the sight, you looked so beautiful. he wondered how he got so lucky. “eu te amo.” he whispered into your hair, kissing your forehead. 

he eventually fell asleep as well, with his head resting on top of yours. glad that you weren’t struggling anymore. 

mission accomplished, he thought. 

[doesntseemfxir]

𝑙𝑖𝑏𝑖𝑡𝑎 ⁍ 𝑤. 𝑚𝑎𝑥𝑖𝑚𝑜𝑓𝑓

a/n: we can all thank @caroldantops for this fic because one day they reminded me of 60s!Wanda eating a cookie at Dottie's PTA cult and my brain went to this

warnings: This is an 18+ AU, minors DNI; all fluff tbh, there's quick mentions of R wanting to be a sneaky little shit later, but that's it; just... soft happy Wanda and a lot of kisses

words: 1.8k

summary: my soul to keep AU; When Wanda suggests an afternoon picnic lunch, you bring her your favorite cookies. Maybe her happiness makes you confess something you'd planned to keep a secret... it's all her fault.

my soul to keep series. 

“What’s that?”

Wanda was peering over to the side of you, quick eyes having spotted your surprise for her before you could shield it again. You’d wrapped the plate of them under a cloth and packed them as gently as you could, but with all of your other food spread out on the blanket in front of the two of you, Wanda couldn’t help but notice you’d hidden something away. 

The picnic was her idea, suggesting you take advantage of the nice day with a walk and a lunch outside. You’d agreed of course, unable to resist the idea of meeting up with her when she’d asked so nicely, and told Wanda you’d see her later with food fit for a proper afternoon out. You hadn’t mentioned that you’d stopped by your favorite bakery to pick up cookies you’d wanted to have her try for a long time.

“It’s a cookie, silly.” You picked one up to show it to her, watching her face light up at the intricate designs made with icing on the top. She reached out to grab it, but you pulled it away just in time. Yes, the cookies were for her, but you wanted to give them to her yourself. “Ah ah, did you finish your lunch?”

Wanda held up the cloth napkin that had held her sandwich, showing nothing but bread crumbs left over. She did have a tendency to skip over food for sweets you’d found; as soon as you’d caught on, you were quick to try to set her right. It certainly wasn’t easy, but with the proper motivations -such as cookies- you’d persuaded her many times. “I finished it ages ago! And what’s a picnic without a proper dessert?”

The accompanying puppy dog eyes weren't necessary, but it did sway you to ignore the baby carrots she was obviously trying to hide with her calf. “Come here,” As soon as you pat your lap, Wanda was clamoring over, settling a leg on the outside of each of your thighs and scooting up until she was mere inches from you. “Someone’s eager, the cookies aren’t going anywhere, Wands.”

“With my luck, you’d eat them before I could come over and these are the prettiest cookies I’ve ever seen! I think I’ve earned the right to be excited!” She reached for the sweet again, but you held it high above her grasp, taking a little too much joy in watching her slump down and pout. You thought of making a joke at her sadness, questioning if you’d ever keep her from something so close she could touch, but then you remembered what exactly you were keeping from her and thought better of opening that door today. 

“Ask nicely and you’ll get it.” Anyone else you knew would easily overtake you to snatch the cookie from your hand; it wasn’t as if you had a tight grip on the thing, you just happened to be holding it up. But because Wanda actually settled and considered doing as you said… that’s why you’d even bothered with it. 

Your after lunch treat was savoring how adorably obedient your angel could be. 

“May I please have a cookie?” The request lingered in the air as you pretended to ponder, only cracking a smile when Wanda’s bottom lip started to quiver. Poor dear, you’d bought the cookies specifically for her and she could’ve taken them any time had she tried. “Pretty please?”

“Of course! Let me feed it to you? I don’t want you getting messy.” You fully expected her to draw a line there, insist she be handed the cookie, anything but give her shy nod of yes. Either she really would do anything for the treat currently or she didn’t mind the thought of you doing everything short of chewing for her— from what you’d seen of your behavior, you assumed it was a bit of both. 

Wanda opened her mouth just enough for you to place the edge of the cookie on her lips and as she took her first bite, you shoved down the voice in your head reminding you to have your fingers there instead later on. Her eyes lit up as soon as the sweet taste of the icing hit her tongue and her happy wiggles as she swallowed left you wishing you’d somehow known to record the moment. “It’s good? You like it?”

“So good, do you have these all the time?” Truly Wanda had never tasted anything so delicious and she wondered if eating food from your realm was so sugary because it was considered sinful. For the first time, she couldn’t find it in her to be worried; nothing this good could rightfully be shunned as off-limits for anyone. 

She stuck her tongue out for another piece, a request you granted readily if only to continue her little happy dance atop your lap. “The bakery is open regularly, yes, but I only get these on special occasions.” 

Wanda nodded as you continued to feed her the cookie, taking a cursory glance at where the rest of the sweets lay and counting them quickly. There were at least four she could see, but she doubted you’d let her eat them all now. Maybe if she was smart enough, she could sneak an extra one before bed. “What’s the special occasion today?”

“Oh… well-” Lying crossed your mind briefly. She’d believe whatever you told her surely; you could easily say it was your birthday or some other day she’d never actually check up on. But as Wanda humbly chomped away at the bits of cookie you kept offering her, all you wanted to do was tell her why you’d really made your quick side quest. “I suppose the occasion is you.”

“Me?” That made Wanda stop, staring hard at the last remnants of her dessert and then to you. “Why me?”

There was no one else around, not a single soul besides Wanda to bear witness to how much softness you were about to expose. That’s the only reason you did it. “Because this picnic was your idea and I… think it was an idea as cute as you are. These are my favorite cookies in the whole world and I hoped sharing them would make you smile.” 

The longer you talked, the quieter your voice went, losing your nerve as you watched wide green eyes process what you were saying. By the end you’d fully shrunk back against the tree behind you, trying to hide. Wanda was having none of it. “Awwwwww! You wanted to make me happy!”

“I always want you to be happy, I’m not a psychopath-”

“No no, but you’re trying to be nice to me!” Wanda surged forward, wrapping you in a hug tight enough you thought you’d choke. The small bit she pulled back didn’t help much because she was on you again in an instant, kissing your lips repeatedly until you too could taste baked goods on them. “You decided to be sweet today, you’re adorable. Thank you!”

You grumbled, but you didn’t try to push her away. If anyone asked you’d deny it and set them ablaze, but Wanda’s frenzied affection was always a favorite of yours. In the past few weeks, you’d been on the receiving end more often and strangely, instead of brushing her off, you found yourself wanting to bring it out of her more and more. Maybe it actually was impossible to resist an angel’s advances. “I am not adorable. And anyways, we’re talking about you so let’s just… focus on you.” 

“I do appreciate the cookies, but I’m nothing special. You know that.” Wanda’s gentle head shake, her nervous chuckle to try to brush off any discussion turned towards her, that made you more irate than anything. She was gorgeous, anyone could see that, and even more so Wanda was just so good that it hurt. 

Sweeter than any cookie or cake, Wanda Maximoff was the best being you’d ever set your sights on. You wanted her to know that, to feel how worthy of everything you thought she was. Thankfully, you were painfully stubborn and had all the time in the world. 

“What a naive little girl you are,” Messy fingers cupped her cheeks after you gave her the last bite of the pastry, rubbing your thumbs slowly over her perfect skin as she chewed hesitantly. “You are perfect and precious and oh so irresistibly cute.” As Wanda swallowed, you gave her cheeks a bit of a squish, nothing too hard but enough to purse her lips enough for you to quickly kiss. “Most importantly, you’re mine. That means if I say we’re having a day for you, I mean it.”

The last statement shone a glimmer through Wanda’s eyes, perking up with the idea of being yours. Nothing bad would ever happen to her if you allowed her to stay by your side and, contrary to all she’d been taught, she liked wherever you were miles more than home. You must’ve caught on to her excitement because Wanda watched your gentle smile stretch into a grin; she knew that look as you being up to something, but she could never figure out what. 

“You like being mine, sweetheart? Does that make you happy?” Wanda nodded her confirmation quickly, the soft glow on her features reassuring her actions. “Good because you’re all mine to hold and squeeze, and give cookies to whenever I’d like.” The brunette easily let you continue squishing her face, giggling each time you booped her nose with your fingertip. “My darling girl.”

“Only if I can stay yours forever…” Commitment was not your strong suit, not in the slightest. There was a reason why you never had a long-term partner and it was by design. Keeping everything surface level was historically better all around for you, but you had a hard time denying that hopeful face in front of you anything. “And if I can have that juice?” 

Even that. You’d deal with her hyperactivity later, for now, why not? “Of course, baby doll.” Raising the cup to her lips like you had with the cookie, you pulled it away before the liquid could overflow and chuckled at the faint line of purple now on her cupid’s bow. “I’ve tried my best and somehow you still ended up messy. What am I going to do with you?” 

Wanda sat still as you wiped stray crumbs and juice from the corners of her mouth, watching how focused you’d become in cleaning her off. And you wanted to insist that you weren’t adorable… Wanda didn’t believe it for a second. “Keep me forever? You promised!”

“I never promised.” Somehow her white dress had survived all courses of lunch, but with the way Wanda was staring down the remainder of purple liquid in your cup, you were a bit concerned it wouldn’t be so lucky for much longer. Maybe you really had signed up to take care of her for eternity. “Come on, let’s get you home. If you help me pack up, I’ll give you another cookie.”

[crehador]

YOU WAYCHED ID INVADED :?? sorry i havent met anyone whos watched it

do you have any reccs for anything similar 🙏🙏🙏

-🪱

yes i did!! just a few months back, and i loved it (i think i love it more and more as it marinates in my brain lmao)

so of course i recently mentioned it because of the deranged detective anime lol, though i'm an anime-only with that and with only one ep out so far it's kind of hard to say if i would recommend it as something similar to id:invaded? only similarity so far is in the detective who serial kills serial killers, no sci-fi element or anything (at least not so far)

for something actually similar, i would recommend psycho-pass! it's a bit darker? i mean like visually, like aesthetically. as in literally a darker color palette ahaha, but id:invaded reminded me a whole bunch of psycho-pass (which i'd watched a bit earlier and loved even more) so i would say for sure that's my top rec for something similar

akudama drive is... i think less directly similar, in terms of plot/themes/etc, but there's a vibe that's... maybe a bit in the same category? akudama drive is just imo less Serious and more like a bang bang fun action ride (though it's not just completely silly either, i enjoyed it quite a bit overall)

darker than black might also be a good fit if you don't mind an older series, the mc there (one of my favorites) has a similar-ish vibe to narihisago imo (not like identical or anything but they're like, idk, i think i would put them into roughly the same bucket of blorbo)

it all depends a bit on similar in what regard, i guess! characters? plot? the sci-fi aspect of it? or the detective/mystery aspect? or something else?

but imo can't go wrong with psycho-pass

the id:invaded director is working on overtake! this season btw, which is the f4 racing anime, so very different from id:invaded but still good stuff if you're into sports anime

you miiight also be interested in an upcoming series called special kid factory? i don't personally know much about it yet, since it's not released, but the id:invaded director is on the staff there too and the character designs will be by the id:invaded character designer. looks like it could be good or could be a total whiff, only time will tell

and speaking of the id:invaded character designer, if it's the character look you like, you could give hamatora a shot. same character designer there, though i didn't personally get that into hamatora (some series similar-ish to it that i preferred more were like... kekkai sensen and hakata tonkotsu ramens)

anyway lots of options! just if you look up a list of similar series and see something called tokyo 24-ku on it do not. do not watch that it was not good lmao

[farbeagle]

Now that my longest-ever fanfic is done and posted, I realized I needed to do one more thing to truly purge it from my system: Make a "meet the OCs" post!

Honestly do not care if anyone reads this, I just need it out of my brain

Let's meet those OCs!

Before we begin: I must admit to being generally anti-OC in my reading and writing. It's not personal, it's just that I came to read about a certain set of characters and their relationships with each other, not some strange character I've never heard of before. However, I feel like readers can tell when something is half-hearted, so I tried my best to use the OCs unapologetically and to not brush over them in the narration.

Let's begin

Jayce & Janiyah (he/him & she/her)

Janiyah is the older sister, slightly younger than Hassel. I felt bad for not giving her more of a personality, but her whole deal is kind of that she diminishes herself in service of the clan. She's supposed to represent Hassel's "bad ending," so to speak.

Jayce and Janiyah are both Blasian, or the Pokémon equivalent, and I based Jayce's personality in particular on the "Vancouver Asian" archetype— in love with the city, always getting bubble tea, avid mallwalker.

Most Picrew are not super compatible with wacky Pokémon character design, but I pictured them both wearing brighter colors and bolder patterns— Janiyah in particular wears a lot of orange and red.

NOTE: I got extremely lost in the "let characters of color have brown eyes, dammit" sauce and kind of forgot that making every single dark-skinned character have dark hair and dark eyes in a world where odd-colored eyes and hair are totally normal might circle back around to having weird implications. Fanfic is not representation, but I just wanted to point out that I knowwww I know okay I know.

Asahi (they/them)

Asahi is the most "nothing" of my OCs; essentially a lazy self-insert to imply more life in the Arts District. They were originally called "Ace," which is a placeholder name I use online, and they look almost exactly like me at age 19 or so. I changed their name because I decided having a character named "Jayce" and a character named "Ace" was unbearably Dr Seuss for a serious fic. Them saying "aces" to Hassel is a shoutout to their original name.

Brenna (she/her/any)

For having such a simple design, it was really hard to find a Picrew that captured the entirety of her essence. She has true brown hair and yellow eyes, for reference.

I made a separate post about her that you might be able to dig up, but the essentials are thus: she's a big ol' powerdyke, she LOVES clowning, and she absolutely despises Geeta

NOTE: Brenna's feelings are not a secret commentary on my own feelings for Geeta. I ADORE her. We shall have a summer wedding.

Joel (he/they)

I also couldn't find a satisfactory Picrew for Joel. He's a bit older than this image would imply and he ONLY ever wears his conductor's cap.

I did my best as an allistic to write him as autistic. He's an electrician and his special interest is model trains (stereotypical, yes, but that's actually the result of me projecting my own love of model trains onto him! I fucking love model trains).

Taiho (he/him)

Taiho is a young sumo instructor from Kanto. I didn't spend any more time on him than the others, but his lore just popped into my head, so he has slightly more backstory.

Taiho's dream was always to open his own sumo school and bring the art to as many people as possible. Geeta knew him previously and, when she became Champion, recruited him with the promise of helping secure a grant to open up a sumo school in Paldea.

Lennon (she/her)

Don't let the Picrews fool you, Lennon was a silver-haired anime girl from day one. Picture it in a gradient from silver to black, the silver gradually overtaking the tips as she got older.

Lennon is another placeholder name I use online. Tbh she and Brenna are tied for my favorite OCs.

Stan (any pronouns)

Stan is That Cool Librarian. We all know one. That's all I got.

NOTE: You may have noticed a discrepancy in the pronouns listed vs the pronouns used in the fic and I'm gonna be sooo honest with you: a bitch was just tired. My first pronouns struggle was trying to figure out if I should use "he" or "it" on Gyarados and by the time I got that worked out I was simply done. So everyone gets one unambiguous pronoun and that's IT.

I'm TIRED.

[vegetablewithapencil49]

ALLOI

Heyya there here's my OC named ALLOI.

Intelligent Overtaking Living Lead Amalgamation. (reverse acronym yes)

This design is so fricking ugly and they're going to be redesigned into something that actually fits them. >:(

ALLOI is basically a robot that has the ability to "steal" the main skills or abilities of other robots by attaching the victim's parts or their CPU onto them. They do so via using a sharp tongue to grab the thing and connect it automatically via a barrage of wires stored internally in a secure part of their body.

ALLOI used to be some human but then decided to participate in a project for brain uploading and then became this anomalous thing. In actuality though, that was a made-up reason made by the staff. The project wasn't meant to initiate commercially safe brain uploading. ALLOI was the only participant, as the project is centered around them for unknown reasons.

This character was made for a crappost by the way

[mellointheory]

Dont know if it’s too much but could you give us like your thoughts on all the original 10 aliens?

okay THOUGHTS THOUGHTS (thank you anon im getting back into my ben 10 phase slightly)

heatblast!! he fucking rocks i've always been a little bit confused since he's able to like pick people up and touch them without burning them and stuff but i love his design so much he's like a friendly version of a floating flaming skull

i actually adore wildmutt he's one of my faves cuz he's got a very nonhuman design and he can't talk or see. i was watchin an ep with him last night and im fascinated by the way it changes the dynamic of the episode when ben is visibly an big orange monster who can't communicate. good concept.

upgrade! he's cool and i love the animations of him overtaking entire machines and stuff. i think there's some weird info revealed later about how his species is artificially created and doesn't have DNA, so i have no clue how ben turns into him but he's fun

grey matter. he's useful cuz he's smart but look at him. i wanna punt him. he sucks and i have no proof but just look at him.

four arms!!! he is lowkey a very like default looking alien with not a lot of cool features but i loved the episodes that explored his species more, especially the whole thing where females of the species are actually MUCH stronger and the whole gladiator episode

diamondhead. luv this guy. look at him. also cool concept and cool voice.

bro what the fuck was up with this guy why did he have his own brain and try to take over ben. ghostfreak was a FREAK yall and like thats not even his real form?? underneath the sheet he's some freaky ass dude wtih a stripy tail and an upside down skull???

stinkfly is gross. cool, very specifically alien lookign fellow but i dont like him. what's the tail for. he never uses it for anything at all like what is that for is it a shield or some shit.

XLR8!!! name is a pun, looks awesome, body very clearly designed for speed and nothing else. love this guy. he comes with a helmet; not sure if that's biological or not. xenomorph head ass.

ripjawsss....he do a BIG chompy. i love him his fights rock cuz i love nothign more for two ppl to be brawling and then one just fuckin unhinges his jaw and takes a bite out of the other dude ripjaws is epic and dope and very cool

[moonbaby26]

Title: First Meeting

Pairing: Peter Maximoff x Reader

Summary: Set during X-Men: Age of Apocalypse, you were with Scott, Jean, Jubilee, and Kurt on their fateful mall run, returning home just in time to meet the speedster who saved all but one from the destruction of your home.

Warnings: None really except minor violence with you also being around for the subsequent Stryker mutant-nappings.

Chapters: Next Chapter Here

Peter Maximoff x Reader Masterlist

————————

Yes, it’s true you’d been under a decent amount of stress lately. Mostly self inflicted, because you had such high expectations of how you wanted to finish out the semester. But as Jubilee rolled her eyes for the second time, you realized you were now wasting your breath trying to explain the amount of consistent studying it took to maintain the high GPA your teachers had come to expect from you.

“We are going to the mall, (Y/N).” Jubilee breathed, as if reiterating this one more time was about to take all the life from her.

Your younger friend could have a flair for the dramatic. You now looked to Jean as the last voice of reason. But you could see by the smile she was barely holding back, that you had already lost. You suspected rightly that this new student, Scott, had had a lot to do with why Jean was suddenly so eager to skirt the rules and leave the grounds without permission.

You relented, but crossed your arms all the same as you gave your terms. “Fine, if Kurt wants to see a mall, then we’ll take him. But I’m driving.” Scott deflated slightly at that, but you didn’t miss a beat. “At least that way if anything goes wrong, I’ll answer to the Professor, not you all.” Of this group, you were the oldest (though not by much), and there was no sense in them getting in trouble over something like this.

Besides, it wouldn’t kill you to get a couple new outfits. You rarely if ever bought anything nice just for yourself. But it wasn’t like you had anyone around here to impress anyway...right?

——————-

You weren’t really sure how long you’d all been gone at the mall. Long enough to grab some lunch at the food court together, and waste a decent amount of time and change in the arcade. You hadn’t bought any clothes after all, nothing had struck that right chord with you. But you just remembered a smile on your face all the same, one hand held confidently on the gearshift and the other loosely on the steering wheel as you’d rounded past the mansion’s tree line, beginning to slow the car.

You’d just pushed in the clutch, and then-

You slammed the brakes, only gasps rather than laughter erupting from your friends beside you then as you all took in the scene at once. Debris and bits of ash still floated down gently from the sky as you’d ripped off your seatbelt, jumping from the car and breaking into a run. Your heartbeat had been in your ears as you’d entered the stunned crowd.

You picked out Hank, the first staff member you’d clearly seen, grabbing his arm as you found your voice again. “What on earth happened!?”

His head turned towards you, but his mouth just started to open and you could see in his eyes that he was trying to answer the same thing in his own mind. You’d never seen the brainy “Beast” at such a loss for words.

“Um...it blew up?” A new voice sounded off so matter of factly, then suddenly beside you as you turned to look at a person you’d never seen before.

A boy? No, a man? He seemed about your own age, that kind of in between really. His silver hair framed the sides of his face as he stared back at you, his hands on his hips. It was a surreal moment, your adrenaline still in full bore as you’d looked down to a weathered RUSH band t-shirt and a cool leather jacket that at any other time you may actually have been jealous of. You looked back up to his dark eyes in astonishment.

The stranger raised an eyebrow as your eyes connected again, him seemingly still waiting for some kind of response from you.

All the while, the X-Mansion that had been your home, your refuge for so many formative years just sat smouldering in rubble behind you.

“Where’s my brother!? Where’s Alex!?” Scott’s cry had finally broken the silence as you’d turned yet again.

“Pretty sure I got everyone,” The guy with the silver hair said almost defensively.

And that’s when it first hit you, the building was in complete ruin, but you knew about how many people were there on any given day. The crowd around you, that would be about everyone. But how could they all be outside? All be alive? An explosion that large would have been instantaneous. The building wasn’t just burning, it was leveled.

Scott ran from you all, and your heart felt heavy, knowing surely not everyone could have survived. But you saw Jean and Kurt run with him, helping him, so you again looked back to the stranger.

“You got them out?” You asked incredulously, unsure what that could even mean for this person’s true abilities as you gestured to the survivors standing in equal confusion all around you.

“Of course.” Again that matter of fact tone from him, now almost bordering on smug. But the surprises just continued as he abruptly outstretched one hand to you. “Peter,” he said, grabbing your own hand before you could even react and shaking it awkwardly.

“What?” Was all you could manage, possibly hearing your own brain seize internally at last as you looked down to this stranger’s hand still clasped warmly around your own.

You were done. Really, it was already too much before the unmistakable pulse of helicopter blades broke over the treetops and the downdraft of several of the craft then circling around you began whipping your hair into your eyes.

A woman screamed in warning somewhere behind you. Her voice sounded familar, but you didn’t look back. You just felt Peter’s hand squeeze tighter around yours, why hadn’t you let go?

But you were falling now. No, not metaphorically you hoped, but maybe you would have laughed about that thought if there’d been any more time before your knees hit the ground.

The paramilitary type men now streaming from the helicopters had launched some kind of pulse over the crowd.

Reflexively your mutation flared, your own energy field trying to shield yourself and Peter, but not well enough. Not fast enough as you only succeeded in keeping him conscious just a few moments longer than your peers.

Peter was still holding onto you, the surprise in his eyes quickly fading as they closed.

But your eyes were still open, fear surely in them though as you realized you could not will yourself back to standing. Whatever weapon these men had used was clearly designed to target those of your kind, taking your energy, blocking your powers.

“Her.” “Him.” You heard distantly, but forcefully as the darkness finally began to overtake the edges of your sight. A man was now walking through the fallen mutants with authority, pointing and calling out to who he wanted his men to collect.

And within moments that man’s boots were then inches from you in the soft grass. Your free hand clung to the earth, the other still holding Peter’s hand as if that grip could somehow hold your consciousness to you.

“Resistant to the pulse? Haven’t seen that in a while.” The man commented coldly from above.

You could still just make out his features as he paused, his boot rising up suddenly to kick you solidly in the ribs. It made a sickening sound, a crack as you collapsed the rest of the way down, the air leaving your lungs with the hit.

You buried your face into Peter’s jacket with the pain, stifling whatever pitiful sounds you didn’t want the man to hear. You could smell cheap cologne against the leather then. You tried your best to focus on that scent as you closed your eyes. This wasn’t over. You were going to get out of this. Somehow, some way you were going to help Peter as he had already helped so many of you. You owed him this.

“Take both of these two.” The military man said, then stepping over you both as if he’d done nothing more than vanquish a couple insects that had crossed his path.

——————

(Continued in next chapter here)

[kasienda]

Rite of Passage - Ch 1

1 | 2 | 3 | 4

Ao3 Link

Written for @jennagrinsoverml. 

Chapter 1: The Guardian’s Trial

“You aren’t seriously considering putting them through the Guardian’s trial?” Wayzz questioned, watching Fu’s flowing script fill the width of a small scrap of paper.

The old man sighed. “We do not have the luxury of time, my friend. Hawkmoth is closing in on the miracle box. You know that.”

“They’re too young,” Wayzz objected.

“I was younger,” Fu countered.

“You never actually completed the Guardian’s trial,” Wayzz said.

Fu’s dark eyes swiveled towards his ever present companion in exasperation. “You know that wasn’t by choice.”

Wayzz ducked down in the air. “I meant no disrespect, master. But if she isn’t ready and she fails the trial, what will you do?”

Fu sighed, his eyes sweeping over the two notes.

“If she fails the trial, she was never meant to be the Guardian and we will have to start anew.”

Wayzz was kind enough to refrain from pointing out they likely didn’t have time for that either.

Fu had put all his eggs in this one basket. Marinette and Adrien could not fail.

…

It had seemed like any other morning. The alarm went off, a sleepy Marinette cracked one eye open at the evil device, silenced it with practiced ease, and rolled over to go back to sleep. Tikki whispered and nudged her ears, but Marinette did not budge.

Then her mother came in.

“Marinette!” she sing-songed. “You need to get up before you’re late!”

Marinette groaned in response.

Her mother snatched her blankets away. Marinette swiped for them but she missed. Finally, she sat up, rubbing at her eyes cursing that school started so early in the morning.

“That’s a pretty jewelry box,” her mother commented. “Where’d you get it?”

“Jewelry box?” Marinette repeated, following her mother’s gaze.

A black octagonal box with a familiar red spiraling design sat on her desk. Her heart pounded wildly in her chest, sleep suddenly the last thing on her mind.

“Oh! I don’t know. It was a gift from a friend,” she said. It wasn’t a complete lie. And she needed her mother out of her room.

“They have good taste,” her mother commented. “Breakfast is ready if you have time to eat it.”

Marinette made herself smile. “Thanks maman!”

The second the trapdoor closed, Marinette practically threw herself at the unexpected miraculous, tearing open the envelope that sat under the black box.

You will have to choose a new Black Cat. Remember what I have taught you.

My condolences for your loss.

Her heart roared in her ears, her throat lodged itself closed, and her eyes burned.

No no no no.

This couldn’t be happening. Her brain refused to accept the note’s implications. She tore open the box, praying that it would hold any miraculous except the ring of destruction.

The ring sat cradled in velvet.

Whatever thread was left of her composure crumpled in that moment. She fell to her knees as wracking sobs overtook her.

She clutched the ring in her fist - now the only token she had left of her partner.

She didn’t even know his name. Didn’t know who to grieve. And that felt so wrong when he literally had thrown himself in front of death time and again to protect her.

In a flash of green light, Plagg manifested.

“Plagg,” she sobbed. “Tell me what happened! What happened to Chat Noir?”

He opened his mouth to speak, but only bubbles emerged. He tried again, and he seemed to choke mid air. He let out a hiss like the displeased cat he resembled.

“I apparently can’t tell you. I’m sorry, kid,” he said sadly, wilting in the air in front of her.

She cradled him in both of her hands, and pulled him to her chest. He started purring and she let the tears overtake her again.

She didn’t know how to face the world without her partner.

…

Adrien woke up all at once, unexplained anxiety coursing through his veins.  Something was wrong. He checked his phone for an akuma alert, but there was nothing.

If anything, it was too quiet.

“Plagg?” he called out. There was no response.

Adrien jumped to his feet, his heart leaping up to his throat.

“Plagg,” he called again. He traced his ring finger absently, only to realize that the ring wasn’t there.

He stared at his naked finger in horror.

He had lost his miraculous? Ladybug was going to kill him! He turned towards his bed, hoping it had simply slipped off sometime during the night.

His tore off the comforter and pillows, stripped the mattress bare, but nothing. He crawled along the floors, looking everywhere.

The ring wasn’t in his room.

He sucked in a breath, but it didn’t help the clawing sensation that took over his chest, the feeling that he had failed in the worst way possible layered on top of the fact that he was trapped in his room with no way out.

“Adrien?” Nathalie greeted from the doorway. “What did you do to your bed?”

It took Adrien a full ten seconds to find words. “I… uh… I lost something.”

“Do you want me to send a team of cleaners up here to scrounge for it?”

He offered her a fake smile. “No, it’s okay. It’s just a charm. A friend made it for me. I’ll… umm… just ask her to make me a new one.”

“You should get dressed. Breakfast is in ten.”

He hooded his head robotically, never turning to look at her. “I’ll be right down. Thank you, Nathalie.”

She left, and he dropped like a stone into his desk chair.

What was he going to do?

How was he going to tell Ladybug without giving away his identity?

Would she ever trust him again knowing he had lost a miraculous? And not just any miraculous, but one of the two most crucial ones?

He let his head think down onto his desk, and only then did he notice the envelope with his name on it. A letter that definitely hadn’t been there the night before. And he doubted Nathalie had left it for him without saying anything.

With shaking hands, he opened it.

For the greater good, a new black cat must be chosen. Do not contact me. Do not contact your former partner.

I’m sorry.

Adrien crumpled the note, tears falling.

What had he done wrong?

... 

Chapter 2

[stopeatingwhales]

second chance x damon albarn

i'm surprised i haven't written anything about dilf damon yet bc i've been so obsessed with him recently wtf. anyways enjoy x

i might do a second part to this, idk yet tho

Pairing: dilf damon x reader

Warnings: none :)

Word count: 2.786

Requested by anon <3

༉‧₊˚✧

“Do you want to come over?” I abruptly asked, the silence pouring through the line deafening my ears as my fingers toyed with the hem of my shirt. The desperation and moment that led to me ringing my ex-boyfriend at what was nearing eight in the evening seemed as though it was a fever dream, the words rolling off my tongue so delicately out of apprehension only a fragment of that trance. In all honesty, I had no idea as to why I rang Damon, or to what extent the string of thoughts guided me towards the action of calling - we had been broken up for around a year, and it came as a much larger shock that I was able to muster the amount of courage to tap his contact on my phone and attentively listen to the thunderous rings as the landlines attempted to connect, instead of quickly shutting the phone off before he was able to receive a missed call alert.

“Uh, um - are you sure?” he questioned, the stutter escaping his mouth insinuated that he was just as dazed at my sudden offer as me, the demeanour of his voice accentuating the idea that he was entirely finished with the ephemeral chapter of his life which had me intertwined inside as his partner; that he had gotten over me quicker than the momentary period our relationship lasted. My heart sank, realising how indigent I sounded, as if I had never gotten over him throughout our time apart - which I did, learning to live with myself was easier than I had thought it was going to be; the weeks leading up to the breakup stemming from the distance we shared apart due to Damon consistently being on tour and never providing enough time for me, for us, to consider one another as more than romantically acquainted, though that didn’t mean the gap in my heart had been sealed shut, it was simply brimmed with other, unspecial fragments of things which could only distract the thought of him for so long, until I’d discover myself adventuring for something else to hyperfixate my thoughts upon, though he always returned.

“Yeah…” My voice trailed off, so quiet that I struggled to sustain the volume. Though we had only just spoken, the trance that he had obtained over me for all those months we were with one accord, returned in an instant, having the same rush that a recollection of memories, pastimes that were once forgotten, crumbled to dust, had been reborn; ignited into a new bloom in the height of a harvest, resulting in the scolding of yourself upon how you granted the ability to forget such a thing. It seemed as if all those thoughts, ideations convinced to the point that I had gotten over him, were myriads of masks attempting to say it enough to believe it. Without a doubt, I had never overcome the strains of the acquaintance we shared - and I could only hope he felt the same way.

I heard his throat clear itself before his voice echoed through the telephone speakers once again. “Alright… I’ll be there in a bit.” he mumbled, those words bringing a soft, yet apprehensive grin to my lips. I had no idea what I was doing, or why, but it felt right.

It felt as if only the sum of a few minutes passed when I heard a distinguishable knock on the door; one that had not rang through my ears for an interminable amount of time, one that was able to send me months back in time to a period where he had significantly been a figurehead dictating the story. As I jolted up to answer the door, it felt as if things were normal again, back to how they used to be so many nights previous; me waiting for him to come home after he spent a long day at the recording studio, crafting what could only be assumed was the pure essence of talent, unlocking the door to allow my arms to envelop into an embrace cherished with affection and warmth, proving he longed to have my presence just as much as I craved his. Once my eyes met the sight of him, my heart dropped at the overwhelming feeling of my reminiscing about what once was, the nostalgia for a moment so authentically shaped with what could only be described as true love, my body yearning to relish in the sensation of his arms protectively wrapped around my body, a feeling which could only fulfill one’s heart with all that it desires. "Hi..." I trailed off, stunned by how similar, yet different his appearance was from when we last saw one another. His hair had the same shape, though it seemed a little shorter, his eyebags still prominent on his features, though it seemed as if they had sagged down slightly, posing the idea of whether he had been sleeping alright. His torso still adorned shirts with dark colours, amplified with one of his leather jackets which only made me more attracted to him. Widening the door, he set foot into the apartment, nodding his head lightly as a greeting. Although I was very elated to the fact that he was in my apartment, it felt eerie having him back here after so long, stepping foot into the space that was once served merely as a homely and secure space where we both could simply live and enjoy our time together, no distractions included.

Once I had followed him into the living space, he took a seat onto the couch facing the television. I attempted to make my footsteps omit as little noise as possible, as if to avoid damaging the awkward silence that had been shared between the pair of us. It went without saying that neither of us knew how to break the ice, or where this was going to head. One could only hope that the outcome of this meeting was positive. “Do you want something to drink?” I asked, ushering over to the cabinet adjacent to the television, supplied with all sorts of alcoholic beverages in which I had not touched, simply there as a point of manners to offer when somebody had come over. “White?” I offered, pulling out an almost-full bottle of white wine. I knew he hated it.

"You know I’ve always hated white." he mumbled, a small smile playing upon his lips. Something about that little grin plastered on his lips made my stomach flip and turn, welcoming a swarm of butterflies to accentuate the nervous pit that had formed within myself. The intense feelings reminded me of the same bewilderment your body undergoes during the first date; there is such a raw attraction to somebody that you know far too little about, but you are so hypnotised by their presence it is as if they’re the only thing in the world that matters, to the point that they obnoxiously overtake your mind, every little thought occupied with their name, wondering whether they may like such and such, like an infection spreading without you knowing such cure for it. The atmosphere was intense, carrying the same ambience of two strangers meeting for the first time in an isolated space, though there was also a refreshing element of familiarity that neither of us wanted to admit that we appreciated so deeply.

"Red?" I asked, snatching the half empty bottle as I placed the other wine bottle back in its designated place, turning my head back to fix my gaze onto Damon, raising my eyebrows as a form of derise for the drink. Nodding his head in response, I quickly took two glasses from the cabinet, brimming them both with the alcoholic liquid before slowly making my way to sit next to him on the sofa, handing him one of the glasses as he thanked me in response. The same devilish silence echoed in the room once again as we granted the situation to truly sink in - thankfully alcohol was present. As I took a sip of the beverage, I tried to gulp down as much liquid as possible before I spoke once again. "So... how have you been?"

"Good... Just came off tour actually. Was a really successful one." he replied, his voice laced with a slight tone of doubt, edging the regret of so eagerly returning back into a place that was once so attached to his occupancy. He carried on talking about how the tour had been, my head subconsciously nodding, attentive to what he was talking about. Each time he had told me about something new they had added, or something they had changed surrounding the live performance set-up, it never failed to blow me away. Him and Jamie together, working on such a creative idea and putting it to life on stage was truly something out of rare virtuosity, disregarding the lengthy old ramblings from Damon almost every night he had returned home about how much Jamie had pissed him off, having a petty argument as if it was a be or end all in their friendship. It was actually a good form of entertainment, seeing how riled up Damon had gotten simply because of something that Jamie joked in an interview.

Once he had finished talking, our eyes connected, uncertainty clouded in his eyes as he searched for the reason behind him needing to come over. "Y/N, why did you ask me to come over?" He said, abrupt, almost as if those words had been lingering at the back of his mind the entire time we had been in one another’s acquaintance; the ease of the sting of words rolling off his tongue softly implied that, perhaps a try to prevent the harshness of the asking from offending me in the slightest. "We haven't seen each other for a year, why now?"

Both gazes never dared to break contact as if we had attempted to communicate telepathically - the ideation of instigating a conversation as awkward as how this had become, the two of us simply wanting the ground to swallow us whole. His gaze had the ability to put me into a trance upon which I wouldn’t be able to think of anything else except for the utter magnificence that was birthed into his loving eyes. Inhaling sharply, I tried to collect the thoughts in my brain that had been travelling in all directions, searching for all sorts of different possibilities that the conversation could reach. "Can we give it a second chance?" I asked absentmindedly, the realisation of what had just rolled off my tongue not settling in my mind until his eyes widened, speechless and shocked at my sudden questioning.

Sighing, he cocked his head to the side. “Love, we didn't work out the first time..." he began, my heart dropping to my stomach as the thought of him breaking my heart again entered my mind. His expression quickly softened once he saw my face drain colour, explaining all that he needed to know about how I had coped since he had left the picture. "I don't want to hurt you again."

Breaking away from the stare, I gawked at the dark shades of red that had adorned the transparent glass clasped in my palm. Holding in my emotions wasn’t going to do me any justice, and since he was here, it would not make sense for me to stupidly avoid the whole reasoning behind me needing him inside my apartment after so long. “It’s been so hard trying to get over you,” I mumbled, my voice almost inaudible out of embarrassment, though I knew he could hear me. “I need you.”

What I didn’t see from my shameful gaze at the ground, was the miniscule beam that broke out across Damon’s features. What I was unaware of, my body encompassed in such a impotent state of pure isolation, was that Damon had been as dependent on hearing those words escaping my mouth before he could admit the same to himself. Though it had all been answered to me as he softly brought his arm to caress my arm, gently squeezing the skin as a form of reassurance, implying the notion that he understood, that he felt the same way, after all this time. We broke up not because we lost feelings, but because the emotions we carried for one another were too strong to handle, too intense to progress with, that when he was gone for those long hours it had left me in such a stupor of helplessness and melancholy that it was unbearable to handle without it tarnishing my health. Unsurprisingly, at this point we knew where the conversation was headed; my desires to be swathed in his arms once again that I had tried so hard to banish to the back of my mind, to the depths of my distant memories in which by reliving such a hug came flooding back, my body leaned into his touch almost instantaneously, a subconscious reflex that I had craved, such an embrace that no other person could give, the mere side hug from him was able to banish all the pain that I had tried so diligently to mask away for the past few months.

We sat there for a short while, taking in the moment as it had played throughout, our breathing syncing together as comfort relished in the atmosphere, our minds now finally at peace while all the conflict that had battled our minds over the time we weren’t together. "Let me come on tour with you." I said, my head resting against his shoulder.

A chuckle erupted out of his throat. “It’s not that easy love.”

"Why can't it be? You're literally the frontman!" I exclaimed, lifting my head off his shoulder to connect eyes with him. "Damon, it would be so fun!" I exclaimed, attempting to encourage him.

It was as if things had mended back together, all the cracks in the pavements had been glued together to mend the time lost, as if it had never occurred. Through all the hardship I had faced trying to find the remedy to my heartache, I was dumbfounded to realise that it had been sitting in front of me, at the top of my phone’s contact list, right in front of my eyes this entire time. His eyes were calling out to me, enveloping my heart in comfort and warmth, the hunger radiating out eager to the ideation of starting anew and preserving the time in which we had lost, building new memories, unfastening the lock on the clock dictating the length of the relationship, allowing it to elongate, carry on as long as we could. My heart brimmed with homeliness - the house I was inside finally feeling normal to me once again.

"I'll see what I can do," he grins, the beautiful sight causing a small smile to erupt on my face as my body melted back into his arms once again. "No promises though."

It felt nice to wake up next to someone again the next morning, on the mattress that once was a carcass of many tears of sadness and melancholy, authentically conveyed by the essence of nihilism embodied from isolation, the kind of philosophical beliefs one could only develop an understanding towards subsequent to irrational thinking as the hours fell still, leaving you sat there, reliving the last moments from your memory bank with the significant other you had soiled ends with, a person who had supported you from the very beginning, even when things formed a bitter congestion to the relationship devoured by both participants, perhaps from the acceleration of argumentation shared, or the distance that had started to weave its way between, leaving you both stranded to conclude, as if you were both on separate, desolate islands fighting against the starvation of progressing through your lives and starting anew, departing from the old knots and attachments formed once epitomising pure adoration and love, though over time spawning to be the offspring of the devil. A person whom you knew would make your bed every morning, cradle you in his arms at the darkest hours to baptise the negativity coiled in your brain, whispering what seems like sweet nothings, merely sounding like soft raspy groans due to them being exhausted out of their mind, but you knew they were saying something to you, you could hear it, acknowledge it in a language that nobody else was able to understand. I relished in concession that he who lay beside me was the one that bestowed and epitomised all the things that I once lacked a night before. A lover.

[ganymedesclock]

"Normal looking person has terrifying teeth. bonus points if they have an extending/splitting jaw or retractable teeth or something like that" this seems... oddly specific. how'd you find out you like this?

It was a long process starting at my middle school goth phase where tiny vampire fangs were neat, and then later I was like, "well, that's not very scary is it, it could be scarier" and that graduated to progressively bigger scary teeth until I realized that the average human jaw can only fit so much teeth in it, and then I saw the art of @deadwooddross and it cracked open some brave new frontiers regarding how people can look.

Really in general it seems more specific than it is, it's generally that I think horror mouth is a good concept-

(monkey brain says bared teeth bad? Social repulsion of hunger, humanity's own predatory instincts and the primal hunting behaviors that once fed us, and one need not look any further than modern diet culture to consider that man has a very precarious nature indeed with the hunger that has always defined us? something else entirely? the fine line between the alluring, desirable, or appealing mouth that might yield tender kisses or speak sweet words and the aforementioned primal nature and threat potential of mouths?)

-and then throughout my life, in both consuming and creating art, I'm trying to challenge myself to outgrow the mindset that for something to be good or likable or deserving of patience or attention in any way it has to be the least offensive, prettiest thing- so slapping a horrible unfolding bobbit worm mouth or a leering skull grimace or a great slobbery aperture on a human face is a good challenge to that regard.

Honestly, anon, I think your question is a good one! Like I said, when I first discovered Dross's art, I was really amazed at their monster designs and it got me frustrated with the level of monstrosity in my own art. I was left wondering how someone could come to such wonderfully gross, unsettling, specific concepts. It's been years since then, and I think I can confidently say it's all just a matter of practice and inspiration!

I know we can often think of creativity as something semi-divine, born from the void (or, jokingly, as some like to insinuate, affected by psychoactive substances) and nothing us mere mortals can change- but really it's a lot more of a practical skill. For me, challenging my assumptions and interrogating my thoughts does a lot of the legwork- the important other piece is that this engine of analysis is driven by new ideas being pumped in from the things I consume.

While this has nothing to do with teeth, I remember seeing- incidentally, in a gif, I've never watched the movie and don't really plan to- Moder, the bestial antagonist of a live-action horror movie called The Ritual. Moder is a beautiful monster; she has a really unique design evoking a moose, with a hidden but disconcertingly humanlike face and two dangling arms where her mouth should be. Seeing her in motion struck me all at once that I had never really seen, before then, an ungulate monster. Hoofed creatures are conceptualized with a sort of unthreatening banality; the docile cow, the sweet innocent deer, the sacred unicorn, the majestic but servile horse. Seldom do we get this sort of old-god megafauna feeling cut loose in such a creature, and yet, looking at Moder, why the fuck not? At a point in the movie itself she effortlessly overtakes one of the main characters at a run, her great powerful legs and thrashing hooves causing her to keep pace with him in a moment that seems profoundly effortless before she banks to the side and decides to end the chase.

To bring this back to "why teeth", I think that horror character design is really a case where you just gotta look to your idols, in life and in creative works! Find something that fucks you up, even and ESPECIALLY something that seems stupid, and then gently lie back somewhere comfortable and look at the ceiling, and entertain, "wouldn't it be fucked up if you met a person whose entire face was just a pleasant mask and when they actually ate something their whole head hinged upwards to reveal their real mouth, which is just a gaping, cavernous, tooth-riddled throat?"

And it doesn't necessarily have to be teeth. There's no rule of what's exceptionally scary. For me, I like teeth. Like thinking about them. There's something about teeth and savagery and decorum and speech and the complex dance between them that, at risk of sounding insufferable, is one of the endless interstitial crossroads that make humans human.

Another very dear inspiration of mine is the decorum and presentation of the skeksis from The Dark Crystal- they simultaneously scratch my itch for predatory sophonts whose intelligence doesn't completely cut their instincts and court dramas where the image of high society is used as a contrast to the brutal and often ugly, undignified nature of ambition, pettiness, greed and lust- and they don't just serve up both of those flavors but use them to enrich each other, so that we are watching these vicious hyena birds stalking around, all puffed-up in arrogance, using gilded nail-guard forks and toothpicks, while devouring a horrible vampiric gluttonous feast and snarling at each other as they pass too close like starving wolves about to tear each other to pieces.

So I guess that's the essential linchpin of why I like unfolding or distending mouths, because it also conveys that sort of quality about a character. If your mouth splits like a flower, to a horrible toothy construct useful for mauling and threshing..... it's not going to be very good for speech. Reining it in to a humanlike configuration is stifling, and suppresses the true nature of a very specialized meat grinder, but it allows you to relate to things as something other than threats and prey. A sort of literal and figurative, sympathetic and horrifying, two-faced nature. It also plays to a good old vampire classic, the "game face" where a creature who might look beguiling and beautiful reveals a nasty appetite and a dangerous side, in a very pulpy organic fashion- it's no glamour, it's just cheeks that can retreat and a jawbone that splits.

[mrwinterr]

Slippery, Smooth

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader 

Summary: Bucky gets a different kind of massage.

Warnings: Smut 18+ (consensual but still unprotected sex, vaginal penetration, oral [male receiving], thigh riding, titty fuck, cum play).

Disclaimer: I want to put it out there that while nuru massages aren’t legal in the vast majority of the U.S. or the world, I’m not condoning the underlying motive of selling sex and/or prostitution. I apologize if this may offend anyone or the culture. I did my best to read about the origins and some modern experiences. A girl just watched porn and wrote this – that’s it.

** Author’s Note (8/13/20): Read a snippet of Part 2! **

“We’ll just need you both to fill out the paperwork for some information. Please check any of the services we offer then sign the waiver on the back and when you’re both done, we’ll show you to your rooms,” the young female receptionist answered with a friendly smile on her face.

Sam returns the gesture with a smile of his own and grabs the two white clipboards with the paperwork attached to them, carefully balancing the pens placed on top so they don’t roll off. On his left, was Bucky sporting a resting bitch face, clearly showing he was dragged into this before heading to a pair of unoccupied seats. The woman unbothered by his sour demeanor pays no offense believing he’s come to the right place to relieve the stress he isn’t aware he’s been harboring.

Except Bucky really doesn’t want to be here at the spa. He just happened to be caught while walking by some of his colleagues and apparently, Sam had been asking around for someone to check out the raving massage parlor on the market with him, but mostly because it was much more of a discount to book for two than one.

With some convincing from his more levelheaded companions, suggesting Bucky continue to go out and experience more modern things while also participating in the act of self-care, he begrudgingly agreed.

“Man, hurry up. Did you forget how to spell your name?” Sam nudged at him seeing as Bucky hadn’t even filled out the first line before putting the cap back on his pen, signaling he had completed his paperwork.

“Shut up. I don’t even want to be here.” Bucky mumbled enough just for Sam to hear. It wasn’t the establishment’s fault that he felt bothered.

He let out a big sigh, filled out the basic information and skimmed at the options of the services provided. His face scrunched. There were all kinds of massages that he hadn’t heard of and some were even in different languages. Luckily, this place offered a brief description of each type.

“Barnes!” Sam, who was standing in front of the receptionist desk again, said with a now firmer tone and sending Bucky a hard look. He was getting impatient. Bucky shook his head and looked back down at the paper. Try something new. He reminded himself.

Feeling slight pressure and the practical idea of the sooner he got through with this part of the process the sooner he’d be out of this place, Bucky hastily checks off something near the middle, a different type of massage he thought sounded nice. They all sounded nice, but there were so many, he didn’t bother to finish reading through or retain any significant aspects on each of them as they all became a jumbled mess of terms in his brain. Afterall, a massage is designed to make one feel good anyways. How far south could the option he selected go?

A few more minutes went by until another woman from behind the desk emerges and calls for the two men. The receptionist bids them a good time and carries on with the next guest. To both of their relief, Bucky and Sam are placed in separate rooms.

Guess he picked a different massage. Bucky thought to himself and looked around the dim lit room. Its walls adorned with tasteful foreign artwork, different sized candles and infused with a refreshed yet soothing scent that began overtaking his senses. The place was pristine.

The employee who escorted him to this room sets the clipboard on the nearby table and instructs Bucky to prep himself with a shower that was located in the corner. Before he could ask why that was a significant part of the massage, she told him once he was done washing himself, to lie on the massage table with only his towel on and to wait for his actual masseuse, who would arrive shortly, then she left closing the door behind her.

Not wanting to think too much into it, believing perhaps it was part of the experience or this place was just super hygienic, Bucky doesn’t waste time. The masseuse could walk in any moment, so he proceeds to undress, open the clear shower door and step in.

A few months ago, aside from the people he worked with or the ones he fought against, no one would be caught alone with Bucky – especially in a vulnerable state such as being half naked and with his metal arm on display. It took a lot of self-therapy and confidence and just plain not giving a fuck anymore mindset, but now here he was letting a complete stranger touch him and take more than a peek and gander at his body. If the doctors could see him now. On top of that, there had to be a level of professionalism here anyways, he was in good hands.

Once he’s thoroughly clean, he wraps the white, fluffy towel around his waist before hopping onto the massage bed. It was big, almost like it was built for two. That was a strange thought, but nonetheless he chose to also not dwell on that and was grateful it was big enough for his burly body. He scoots around a bit to find the center and lies down, trying to relax.

He turned his head to the side, eyes wandering at the counter full of supplies – massage oils, rocks, towels, soap, a box of condoms, gloves, more towels…wait. A box of condoms? What the hell? Bucky thought now a little puzzled before turning his head back to stare at the ceiling in front of him. He closes his eyes and tries to calm his nerves once more.

Just before Bucky dozed off, as if on cue, he hears the door open and quietly close with an extra click. You finally arrived. He peeks an eye open to see the back of your figure, hair tied loosely and in a short white robe. It clung on your body different, it had to be of silk. He opens both eyes just as you turn around.

You quickly glance at his clipboard before finally fixing your eyes on your next client. His metal arm certainly didn’t go unnoticed, but that wouldn’t be a problem at all. It might sound mean, but it was one less limb to work on. All that shoved aside, he was athletically built and geez, was he a sight. Keep it together. You began telling yourself over and over. You’re a professional.

It wasn’t likely you did these kinds of massages, nor did you partake in paid sexual services just strictly intent on the art of touch and healing, but this type paid handsomely, and the lights didn’t have to be on all the way to let you see that handsome was indeed right in front of you too. You introduced yourself to the man on the massage bed but got no response.

A quiet one. You thought, but quickly shrugged it off and decided to get right to it by pulling at the end of a tassel in the knot tied around your waist to begin disrobing.

Bucky, not anticipating interacting or to be touched intimately by someone so pretty was gravely distracted, it wasn’t until he saw the skin of your cleavage that he snapped out of it.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Bucky exclaims sitting up, “what are you doing?”

With a confused expression, you simply replied, “disrobing?” Then wearily proceeded to part the material to the side, but before you could reveal anything else, you heard another plea to stop.

“Wh-why?” Bucky was having a hard time trying to formulate words with the swell of your breasts peeking from behind your robe now in his view.

You turned and cocked your head a bit, still perplexed by his questions, “because it’s part of the massage.”

“Wha…what? Isn’t the person getting the massage supposed to be the one that’s…naked?” His mind was in a frenzy and that was kind of annoying you.  

“For a simple massage, yes.”

“What are we doing then?” He asked incredulously.

“A nuru massage.”

“Nuru massage?”

“Yes. A nuru massage is when one massages the other person’s body with their own.” You explained as calmly as you could. He was getting increasingly agitated and your job was to help others relax not add onto the stress.

Bucky shook his head frantically and looked away from you to stop his eyes from wandering too long on your body. He could tell you didn’t have anything else underneath. “This has to be a mistake. You must have the wrong room.”

You scoffed, covering yourself up again and snatching the clipboard on the nearby counter. “Aren’t you…James B. Barnes?” You skim over it before asking and turning the clipboard to prove to him that you were in the right room assigned to him.

He craned his neck forward to inspect the piece of paper he held not too long ago, his messy handwriting complete with his illegible signature staring right back at him.

“Well, yeah…”

“Then I have the right room and you checked off for a nuru massage.” You say crossing your arms as he took the clipboard from your hands to read more about what the massage actually entails.

“This-this can’t be legal though.” He said shaking his head and thinking about how it could even be acceptable for this kind of service without eliciting some sort of sexual stimulation from the other party. Bodies gliding against each other? It just couldn’t possibly go smooth or well…work.

“It’s not…” you replied like it’s a known fact but then were quick to respond seeing his eyes widening in overreaction, “in most areas of the world but it’s absolutely legal here!”

“But it’s basically pros-“ he didn’t even finish that last sentence catching himself when he saw your now offended expression.

Does this asshole really think he is going to just sit there and get away with downright calling you a prostitute?

“You don’t know shit about me,” you spat. Handsome or not, deciding he wasn’t as openminded as most people and harshly tied a new knot to the robe you were still wearing signaling you were about to walk out. He wasn’t worth the few extra digits to your paycheck.

“No! Wait!” He pleaded; guilt ridden. As he let out a deep sigh, you stayed put to hear him out, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that. You’re right! I don’t know shit about you, but I also don’t know what a nuru massage is. I came here with a friend to help him get a good deal and I clearly wasn’t paying attention to what I signed up for.”

You nodded and decided to be civil since he was owning up to his mistake. “Okay. Apology accepted. I see why you freaked out, but you’re clearly not comfortable with the idea of this,” you responded while your hands helped convey your words, “so I can see what I can do to get you a refund,” and walked over to him to retrieve the clipboard.  

It would’ve taken a significant blow to your pay – losing a client for the day – but you weren’t going to put anyone in a situation they weren’t familiar or comfortable with.

“Well…” He spoke up, placing his right hand on top of yours causing you to look up at him.  

Wow, his eyes. They held the same color that reminded you of the kind water in a pool could reflect. The soothing kind of blue. You felt like you were glued to the spot, almost hypnotized.

“I mean I’m already here. I don’t want to take any business away from you. Again, I’m sorry I overreacted. What’s life without experience, right?”

And that deep voice... Shit, snap out of it! Remember, you’re a professional.

You gave him a small smile for his change of heart and willingness to try something new.

“Right,” you said forcing yourself to look away. Fuck, I hope I wasn’t staring for too long, “but I’m letting you know now, this isn’t a normal massage,” daring to look back at him for reassurance, “if at any moment you’re uncomfortable, we can change things up. Afterall, I’m very good with my hands.” You hoped to regain your composure with that last line. It wasn’t a lie though.

Bucky sends you a smile of his own before letting you go to lie back down properly, waiting for the next move. You cautiously disrobed without any protest from him. You noticed Bucky visibly swallowed the thick lump in his throat now that you were completely nude in front of him.

“Are you okay?” You were going to have to be patient with this one. He wasn’t going to be like any other you treated. It was easy for you to just stand there naked and you weren’t bothered by nudity at all, but that doesn’t mean everyone else is.

With a nod of his head, you reached for the towel to untuck the bunched-up portion at the side of his waist, mindful to not expose him of the slightest to spare him some modesty, while asking him to move just enough to let it rest on his body and cover his lower half like a blanket would.

You decided to let him keep his towel on for the time being and focus on his upper body. Next, you instructed him to turn and lie on his stomach, you’d start with his back first. You lifted the towel in a modest manner like you would for anyone so he could maneuver with ease. Once he settled in a comfortable position, you began the treatment.

“The word nuru stems from the Japanese term for slippery or smooth.” Talking to your clients was a technique most in your line of profession use to help distract or relax them to get the job done – that and it’s just good customer service showing that you care and know just what the fuck you’re doing.

You expertly jumped up onto the small space left on the bed to get into a straddling position on your knees hovering just over the small of his back and covered ass. Judging by the hump, it kind of looked nice to sit on.

“I’m going to start by applying nuru gel all over your body and mine, but we’ll start small, alright.” You carefully poured a generous amount of the warm massage gel in the palm of your hand lathering up your arms, chest, torso, thighs and fortunately you were flexible enough to reach parts of your back, but for parts you couldn’t, would transfer off his body to yours later on.

Scooping up a bit more, you watched as the gel dropped in a fine line and pool onto his back before beginning to spread it all over the expanse of his toned body in soothing motions. You started to gently press with your knuckles on the surface his muscles.

“The gel is actually made out of natural Nori seaweed,” you started explaining the colorless and odorless substance while progressing lower on his back with both hands, digging your thumbs near the lumbar region and compressing some of your weight down. You paid attention to specific areas of the body that draws the most tension. His body became visibly lax and less strained the more you worked your magic; soon enough Bucky was sure he would be putty in your hands.

Still perched up on your knees and not wanting to slip, you took initiative and just plopped down onto his plush yet firm backside. Even if a towel remained as a barrier between you both, you felt his glutes tense up underneath you, most likely having startled him. Trying to find a way to help him relax again, you tried to comfort him with more facts.

“It has other healthful benefits such as providing great moisturization to the skin,” you leaned down on your forearms and started an up and down repetition.

Your hands then travelled to his sides and you hoped he wasn’t ticklish before they met at the back of his neck to perform the simplest of massages ever. However basic as it might’ve seemed, felt like Heaven’s touch on Bucky’s end as he couldn’t help but let out a moan of satisfaction.

You were so good at it, working out all the kinks in his neck using your skilled fingers, he had to let out an approving moan after moan with each touch that hit the spot. The elicited sound racked through his body that you felt it reverberate all the way down to your core. You were crossing over a forbidden line, but that wasn’t letting you up. You had wanted to hear and feel that again.

“You’re really tense aren’t, you?” You comment continuing your handy work into the knots around his lower neck, slowly adding more pressure and testing his limits. His response was an even louder and deeper moan. Unknowingly, it caused you to shift, more like ground, your hips against his lower body. You mentally patted yourself on the back for keeping the towel there to absorb your juices. He didn’t need to try and figure out if it was the nuru gel or the sudden wetness pooling in you that his skin was swimming in.  

Then you lowered your entire body, your chest now pressed against his back. Your head was close to his, you could smell the scent of the soap the facility provided for the massage prep mixed with his own and you swore he smelled more relaxing than any stress-free candle or burning incense ever could.

Due to the close proximity, you spoke even softer right next to his ear, “the combination of the nuru gel and full body contact or the touch of another human help to release toxins from the body and boost the feelgood chemicals in the brain.”

You paired that piece of knowledge with sliding up and down his back, your hands trailing up his arms that were bent but sprawled above his hand, grasping at the front of his hands to briefly interlock them before letting them go to repeat the actions.

Deciding enough time was spent on the upper area, you carefully swung around, gathered a bit more gel and snuck your hands underneath the towel to glide up the hill of his ass. Without protest, you seized the moment and experimentally grabbed a handful of each cheek before releasing the flesh and sail further down to his muscular thighs. Oh, you wish you could see them, but reminded yourself to approach each step with caution with him.  

The towel still restricted you from attending to his calves, so you pulled your hands back out and scooted up to pull the towel up from the other end and treat them with the same amount of attention. After that treatment was done, you had him revert to his original position on his back.

As he settled, you reached over to pour some more gel and help slicken his front half.

“Interesting fact, nuru massages originated in Japan as a disguise to pay for sexual services,” you say as your hands spanned across the planes of his pecs, “but nuru massages are much more than an erotic massage.”

“How so?” Bucky asked genuinely curious because he was having a hard time trying to strain his cock from hardening. Thankfully for him, you were seated on his lower abdomen and barely inches away from his member.

“Think of them as more so sensual than sexual.”

Accepting that outlook, Bucky had to ask, “how did you get into…this?”

You knew he meant performing nuru massages and not your career in general, “I took a trip to Japan during a break from studying,” you replied and now tracing the lines of his abs. That sort of action, so close to his dick, created a ghostly tingle to run down Bucky’s lower region.

Counting each one of his abs to help distract you from the twitch of his cock that he thought you probably didn’t feel hit you, you continued your story, “like you, I also didn’t know what I signed up for either.”

With your breasts out in front of him squished between your upper arms as you continued to rub him and all slick from the gel, your skin seemed ever so inviting for him to touch, but he refrained from doing so. There was really no way to avoid getting aroused with this kind of massage. He was about to give up the fight. He needed to relax, right?

“Um, how-how was…he?” He asked trying to not ask awkwardly. You smiled noting he was having a hard time trying to look at your face and not your boobs. A guy like this at your fingertips? What woman’s ego wouldn’t be boosted? You had control.

Keeping in mind he is new to this, but also that the vitality of full body contact in this massage, you treated his front half to the same tactic you used on his back by laying your body flat on his.

“She was amazing,” you answered, your face now close to his you could feel the warmth of his breath puff out as he tried to regulate his breathing. The close proximity allowing you to feel the beat of his heart. You noticed the bob of his throat to that reveal, two women all oiled up.  

“She taught me a lot of moves actually.” An innocent anecdote produced a whine from Bucky that he felt ashamed of slip out. Okay, maybe you got to bring it back down. “The first time I ever performed a nuru massage, I almost slipped off the massage table!”

What you hoped for was to lighten the mood, you didn’t expect was for him to bust out laughing at you. The sudden outburst took you by surprise that you almost reenacted the shared memory, but Bucky was quick to catch you with his left arm before you fell. His arms encased around you as he turned on his back with you now lying parallel, legs between his now parted ones underneath the towel that still managed to stay on.

“Oh my God,” you said burying your face into the crook of his neck, not giving a damn that the massage gel would get on your face. That first fall from your past was one of the most embarrassing moments of your career and here you were about to relive it or perhaps create one that would top it.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Bucky said tucking you in his arms as his flesh hand ran up and down the curves of your slick back, the metal one resting just above the curve of your ass. “I’m sorry I scared you. I didn’t mean to laugh. It’s just that you’re so poised and professional, having to imagine you being that clumsy took me off guard.”

Your eyes drifted down and noticed the scarred tissue of his skin that divided the metal from him. He probably ached there sometimes. You made a mental note to fit his arm somewhere in your routine.

“I’ve never told anyone that story before,” you admitted looking at him. Your eyes lingering at his pink lips that were parted. He brushed a strand of your hair away and cupped your face. You leaned into his hand and if he didn’t know it, you were the one that was putty in his hands.

Earning yourself another beautiful smile from him you got back into position. “Do you mind?” You ask referring to the towel. Having spent some time with you and seeing a more vulnerable side, he shook his head and let you rip the towel from beneath you and drop it to the floor.

“It’s okay to get hard,” you said trying to address the elephant in the room. You watched him stammer with his words, “it’s perfectly natural. Remember, this massage is designed to tease your senses and bring your body to full ecstasy.” Your now pressed against him again, rubbing your body up and down, hands trailing upwards to let your fingers intertwine with his again.

Feeling your breasts glide up just enough to stop under his chin, he kept tilting his head back as if he was neck deep in water, but if he was being honest, he would rather just drown in them at this point. Bucky tries to remain calm even if you assured him that getting aroused during a massage was a common occurrence.

“Relax, James,” you said releasing one of his hands to cradle his head and set it in a regular position. You just made it a point to not practically motorboat the poor guy.

“It’s Bucky,” he said, “please just call me Bucky. James is too formal.”

“Okay, Bucky,” you confirm by pressing your forehead against his.  

Not taking your eyes off each other, you glided down a few inches so you’re face-to-face with the junction of the skin and metal and began leaving light feather kisses to the sensitive area. Adding a little squeeze to the flesh hand that was still in your grasp, Bucky felt his heart soar a bit. You, so unperturbed by the once traitorous appendage, were so gentle and the level of intimacy you carried, he wondered if you were like this to your other clients. He felt like a damn fool for falling for your every move.

“Are most of your clients men?” Bucky wondered.

“No. I don’t limit my services to just men. Most times, my favorite are the women. Nuru is open for anyone of any gender or sexual orientation.”

You slithered down again until you trapped one of his thighs between your legs. Lord, give me the strength to not cum. You prayed and begun rocking your hips almost sinfully.

Fuck, was this part of her normal routine? Bucky asked himself but wouldn’t deny the combination of her wet pussy and its soft lips gliding along his thighs felt good. Not to mention the way your hands grip at the grooves of his Adonis belt, nails slightly digging into his skin, watching your hips move. He didn’t miss the look on your face, eyebrows knitted in concentration and your plump bottom lip trapped between your teeth.  

“Do you enjoy this too?”

You knew what he was going for. Did you get a rise out of this? You regained control of your body and shrugged, “I mean, touch is therapeutic in some cases, but if you’re wondering, most places or depending on the masseuse have modified nuru massages.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Not everyone gets a happy ending.” You were a masseuse specialist and not in a line of sex. It was the most misconstrued thing about it. Noticing the look on his face, you concluded that he must’ve not known the term “happy ending.”

“Sex. A happy ending is what usually culminates from a nuru massage,” you cleared the air. It was adorable to see the surprised look on his face. Yet, underneath the sheen line of sweat that had built up on his forehead, Bucky was internally relieved to hear that you didn’t actually partake in any sexual penetration or acts from this type of massage.

Okay, maybe that number on his thigh wasn’t part of your routine. You’d never been that needy. Before you could fly off the edge, you didn’t even peg yourself to be a sadist and actually edge yourself. You wondered if you could fully set ethical standards aside and go through it.

You set that same leg between your breasts and strategically slid from up his thigh before stopping just below the waist to keep his rather endowed member confined.

“You know, it’s a shame the reputation that nuru massages have,” you started, pushing your boobs together with your hands. You felt his cock jolt at the contact, “the first thing that comes to people’s minds in terms of nuru is fucking porn, but nuru has its benefits.”  

“Like what?” Bucky asks breathily as you started practically titty fucking him. Is she serious? Are we in a porno? He thought seeing as there’s no way he was going to not cum any second.

“Yeah. Believe it or not, it’s proven to help couples spice up their love lives and even repair them.”

“H-how?” He tried to keep up with conversation, but it was so hard, he was so hard, as he watched his cock disappear and reappear from between the depths of your breasts. He hoped you hadn’t noticed that his pre-cum had been aiding in the slickness as it mixed in with the nuru gel. You were warm and soft and slick…and he wasn’t even buried deep in your pussy.

“I think you can guess one of the factors, but it’s more than just a physical connection, really,” you explain and release him. You move back up, body once more parallel to his, your hands smearing more of the gel around his chest, “it allows for one to feel more comfortable in their own skin and even create new sensations.”  

“Almost sounds like a spiritual journey,” he said with seriousness his eyes meeting yours.

“It can be,” you responded with. You were so close to his face again. Not sure how long you sat there staring at him, but as ironic as it was, the setting in a massage parlor, one with a purpose to help the other, you both seemed to create a new kind of tension. A tension that was almost too thick you feared it wasn’t something your hands could resolve.

You stared down at his enchanting features, soft, pink lips that were parted, cute nose, the half-lidded eyes but that still shone from the blue that managed to peek out. Your hands trailed up to touch his face. He was so tempting.

Fuck it. All caution thrown out the window, your lips crashed against his. It wasn’t bruising nor soft, but enough to cut the tension that had built up in the room. To your astonishment, he didn’t object to your advances and pressed his lips back to yours and opening up wider to let you slip your tongue in. He caught your tongue in his mouth with his lips and enclosed around the muscle, sucking on it, causing you to gasp and pull away breathlessly.

You push yourself up just enough to get a full look at him with your hands on his chest. A slight nod of his head was all you needed to dive back in. Your lips massaged against his as you both kissed with such fervor, your hands threading into the short locks of his hair slightly pulling at what you could grasp in your fingers. The echoes of his moans and the light tap of his cock that had twitched in response against your lower abdomen was a dead giveaway sign that he liked that.  

However, the continue rocking of your body against his, wasn’t going to help alleviate his raging hard on. It was pressed so hard in between you, it almost felt embedded into your skin. You slithered back down, leaving a trail of kisses from the column of his neck, chest – even managing to teeth at one of his nipples tauntingly – the line between his abs until you were met with the tip of his cock, which was unashamedly leaking.

You jeered around his head, placing lightweight kisses down the side of his cock, purposely avoiding the large vein on the underside, to his balls. Your eyes never leaving Bucky’s, who had his head propped under his flesh arm to watch you. Your hands still slick with the gel, you started to fondle him before taking them, one at a time, in your warm, wet mouth to gently suck on.

You weren’t sure who lost the staring contest this time between you two, but his head lulled back at the sensation and yours closed shut, full of him and savoring the taste of his skin. Pulling away with a pop, you wrapped a hand around his shaft to let his cock stand at full attention.

Bucky finally opened his eyes and picked his head back up to look at you just in time to watch you smear his pre-cum all over your lips and swallow him. You downed as much of his cock as you could before hollowing your cheeks and coming back up with your tongue dragging across the underside of him, bobbing up and down.

Without a warning, you pull away for a brief moment, a string of mixed fluids leave a web trail from him to you, “It’s okay to touch me, Bucky,” you say stroking his cock but also noticing his hands had been gripping onto the edge of the bed and hoping to encourage him to fully give in to his desires.

Bucky didn’t need to be told twice as his hands found purchase in your hair pushing you back down his cock. He let out a loud groan when he felt the tip of your nose bury in the soft hairs of his happy trail. You weren’t expecting that kind of aggression from him, it caused you to involuntarily gag around him. Your throat constricting around his cock only caused him more indisputable pleasure he jut his hips up, lodging himself even further.

When you pulled away again, this time with your own saliva and his cum dribbling down your chin, your eyes were slightly red and tearstained. Your ragged breathing, lips glistening and swollen, hair matted against your face. You looked so fucked, so raw.

He pulled you up to him once more, your legs instinctively setting on either side of him, your dripping cunt hovering just over his cock that lied resting on his stomach. He wiped at your chin before kissing you, his tongue darting all around the wet cavern of your mouth and tasting himself. Something about that was so filthy yet so erotic.

Your legs spread further apart, and you pressed yourself against his cock. The contact causing you both to draw out loud moans. You did your best to drag your sopping folds along his stiff member, but the bed had become so slippery, you were finding it hard to pull yourself back up on your knees. Bucky must’ve picked up on the small struggle as he grabbed handfuls of your ass to help aid you in sliding your pussy up and down his cock.

You could feel just how hard he was and the underside and ridges of the head of his cock scraping against your clit, pulled all sorts of tremors from your body. You were a whimpering mess, clinging onto Bucky’s body trying to find your footing, but your senses were on overdrive.

“I know, it’s your job to make me feel good,” he said continuing to rut up against you, “but go ahead…just let go.” Oh, how he would love to watch you unravel and you weren’t one to deny him. You wildly came undone, from the buildup of riding his thigh and now this, you gushed all over his cock.

Wrecked, you knew this was far from over. Once you reclaimed control of your senses, Bucky at your full attention, you snaked a hand between your bodies and lifted yourself up to position his eager cock at your entrance.

“Tell me, Bucky,” you said trying your best to dominate the situation and started teasing yourself, “…do you want a happy ending,” you asked seductively, licking his lips and your eyes never leaving his.

His heartbeat accelerated with each running pass of the tip of his cock made through your folds. If his ending was right here on this massage bed, he’d take it because you were a fucking tease. The string of curses that flowed out his mouth caused a smirk to form on your lips.

You felt his metal hand grab yours shoving it away, enough of your teasing, he repositioned himself at your hole, gripped your hips and slid right in you with ease. You internally applauded the designers of the building for making each room soundproof because let’s face it, no one wants to hear how good the person next door is feeling – especially not like this, not the sounds you and Bucky were producing.

Each slide up and down his thick length, Bucky found himself almost fully engulfed by your breasts again. He stopped you for a moment so he could finally get his mouth on them, but you weren’t about to catch a break. No. Bucky instead planted his feet on the bed and began thrusting up into you almost too vigorously, but you sucked it up. Letting him use you to work out his frustrations.

Then you sat up, hands sprawled on his chest and started grounding your hips. The way his cock swiveled with each rotation you made, had you reeling as the tip just barely kept hitting that spot.

Bucky straightened out his legs from behind you and managed to sit up, cradling the small of your back and gently laying you down.

“Slow down, baby,” he says trying to contain the relentlessness drive you had on fucking him by keeping your hips at bay, so he pulled out resulting in a displeased noise to come out of you.

He just needed to get into a new position, on his knees, your right leg hoisted up on his shoulder while he pushed down on the other to spread your legs further apart, just for him to easily plunge back into your wet heat and drawing out long and satisfied moans from you both.  

“Fuck, it feels so good. You’re so good, Bucky,” you whined.

“I’m supposed to be saying that to you,” he chuckled almost breathlessly, coming down and placing his lips on yours with a kiss that had your head swimming. He pulled back to take a look down, loving the sight of him snug inside your warm walls. With his flesh hand, he pressed his fingers onto your clit, rubbing harsh circles, you grabbed and clawed at his forearm at the immense pleasure, eyes widening because it was proving to be too much.

The twisting coil that was settling in you suddenly snapped. With a loud rough moan, you were uncontrollably quaking beneath him, you knew Bucky couldn’t be far away from you. His bruising grip on your thighs and the faltering thrusts of his hips from your walls squeezing at him repetitively, he finally let go, emptying himself until he was sure he was completely spent. Fuck, and you loved feeling his cum shoot deep in you.

Watching his abdominal muscles contract with every breath, he pulled out and tried to regain his breathing, but before he could collapse, he used his last remaining ounce of strength to pull you up and back down with him on the other end of the massage bed.  

“Are you okay?” Bucky asks you this time short of breath. You managed to let out a tiresome laugh and pathetically slapped his chest, but knew it was to no avail with what little energy you had left.  

Several moments later, you both had calmed down and were prolonging the inevitable end. Bucky watched as you absentmindedly traced the outline of his metal arm. He longed for someone that was raw in nature, confident and there you were – walking into his life by mistake. He wasn’t sure where you stood aside from a physical standpoint, but he strangely craved for more.

You managed to stand back up on your own feet and drag Bucky back into the shower to clean off. You helped each other wash off the gel and mixed juices, with a few kisses shared here and there riddled along with soft sweet praises.

After helping you wipe down the bed and tidy up the room, Bucky couldn’t help but realize he felt good. Gone was the grumpy man that came against his own will. He definitely felt refreshed and his body felt great. This place really was all that it cracked up to be and he was just lucky enough to be assigned to you.  

“What?” You asked catching him starting just as you slipped your robe back on.  

“I want to see you again,” he says getting up from the bed.

You smiled at that. No one has ever made you feel that good. Your bodies seemed to be in sync with one another. Plus, during that last shower, you deduced that he could be a big softie when he wanted to be.

You wanted to see him again too and you would let him.

~

Once Bucky stepped back into the lobby, his peace of mind was shattered when he heard Sam yell. “Finally!” He watched as his friend threw the magazine he wasn’t really reading aside and stand up with a loose smile on his face. “How do you feel, man?”

“Amazing.” Bucky’s tone was audibly smoother and calm as opposed to earlier.  

“Good! You were in there for a long time. I don’t know what massage you chose, but whatever they did on you...I’m glad it knocked out that attitude of yours,” he says as if he didn’t have one before his massage.  

“Whatever. You’re exaggerating.”

“I even left to get something to eat and you were still in there!”

Shit. Were you both really that long? Was that normal? To Bucky it didn’t seem so. In fact, he wanted more time with you.

They both approach the same receptionist from earlier, who now donned a subtle smug disposition seeing the change in complexion on Bucky.  

“Would you like to leave a tip?” She asked Bucky politely and just before he could say yes, he was interrupted.

“Oh, he’s good! He’s all taken care of,” you quickly interjected, popping out of nowhere and effectively grabbing Bucky’s attention one more time with a sweet smile. You wanted to be the last thing he saw when he walked out that door. Bucky didn’t even hear Sam ask how in the world he got you as his masseuse.

Your co-worker nodded understandingly before turning to Sam to ask if he’d like to book another visit.

“Yeah…when is she next available?” Sam asks the receptionist while looking at you. You hadn’t managed to only grab Bucky’s attention, but also his friend.

How Bucky hadn’t noticed it before everything was beyond him. You had a certain glow that was very alluring. He wondered if it was possible for anyone to look away from you or not smile in your presence.

Something Bucky failed to conceal was the rising discomfort he was feeling hearing the suggestive tone in Sam’s voice when speaking about you mixed with a small bubble of anxiety on if there was a possibility that he’d get to be alone in a room with you.  

Before Sam could get a definite answer, you looked to your co-worker at the front desk, grinned at each other and then back over at the two men.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I’m booked,” sending a wink towards Bucky and disappearing to the back.  

A/N: I work in digital marketing and what with all the searching I did I’m now paranoid that I’ll be targeted for a massage…even though I could use one. I did my best to proofread. Let me know if you liked it! 

[remscorner]

Sebastian x Gotoran!Reader 3 (SFW)

Contains: reconciliation, slight fluff, Sam is still salty, Y/n is a dick but she's honest, Sebastian is awkward asf, Fem!Reader

part one, part two, 3

Spring 24 // the flower dance

Instead of going to the dance, Y/n had spent her day roughing it out in the mines, slaying all kinds of monsters and picking up new materials and ores.

She didn't wanna wear a dress, nor did she want to dance.

At least the dresses she ever wore in the past weren't so poorly designed.

Though she especially didn't wanna see Sebastian after abruptly lashing out on him and calling him a dick.

Even if she had gone, there would've probably been a lot of stares and whispers crowded around her.

Like at the egg festival...

Y/n had enough of hearing others complaints and worries.

The words were implanted in her brain, rotting in her own core.

It wasn't like they didn't impact her well being..

'What if she drops a bomb right here?'

'Careful, Jas! Stay away from her..'

'That girls dangerous Vincent, she's the reason your father is gone'

Y/n gave out a sigh, remembering the harsh words that were cruelly shoved into her system.

Maybe staying in the Gotoro Empire was a better idea...

"Oh my Yoba, what am I thinking? I'm not staying for a stupid arranged marriage" Y/n scoffed quietly, she hit herself in the head with her palm before standing up with a groan.

"Especially with some dumb pretty boy soldier.." ___

After getting out the mines, Y/n had gone to the secret woods and fished around Marniesbefore going deeper into the forests.

There was a faint melody playing around the woods and Y/n swung to the tune.

She had to admit, she was always a sucker for a good slow dance song.

She could barely make out the voice of Sam, singing with the music through a loud mic.

Though Y/n could tell the boy was holding back and it really irritated her considering she herself had gone through a band period with some of her old friends.

Having enough with the blondes painfully held back singing, Y/n, frustrated, quickly trudged towards the area of the dance.

Eyes followed her direction as the town watched her smoothly climb over the fence and towards the trio who had just finished performing.

There were cherry blossom petals in her hair and bandages covered her injured body from the harsh monsters hidden in the mines.

The blossoms really took her back to her home.

How the first thing she'd see in the spring morning of her apartment was the cherry blossoms blooming right outside her window.

It made her feel a bit home sick...

Sam stared at her with shock and concern.

What did she want?

He raised an eyebrow at her and she let out a grunt, pulling him by his tie to the corner of the  clearing.

"W-what-"

"Your singing is terrible, it was out of pitch"

Sam was disheartened at her stingy remark.

"I'd like to see you try?" Sam scoffed, rolling his eyes at her.

Yoba did Y/n make him act different.

Y/n scoffed lightly, she was actually lead singer in her old band...

"I mean the way your holding back makes it terrible and out of pitched, if you keep your voice quiet the way you do, the music will overtake the actual lyrics, not that the lyrics don't do a play in your terrible singing..." she let go of his tie and looked towards the trees, stuffing her hands in her pockets.

"What do you know about lyrics?" Sam gritted through his teeth, he was done with her bull and everyone knew it.

She knew everything about lyrics...

"You look great in that shirt, I said to you on a Thursday" Y/n sang to the words Sam had sung just prior to their tiny conversation.

He cringed and covered her mouth.

"Ok, I get it but for real, what would you even know about music? What gives you the right to judge me?"

Y/n could feel herself grow arrogant over his words, she could blow up and tell him about her old band right then..

But then she wouldn't wanna explain the whole backstory to why they broke up.

"Sam, just trust me, even if the lyrics are terrible at least make an effort and stop being such a pussy, do whatever you wanna do, scream if you have to but just have fun with it or you'll never get anywhere"

His brows furrowed angrily, he knew she was right.

He knew it since the very beginning.

Sam nodded, Y/n nodding back before staring over at Sebastian and Abby who were glaring daggers straight at her.

She nodded to them and Sebastians eyes softened with hers.

Just before Seb had the chance to speak up,

Y/n was hopping over the fence back into the forest.

Without a second left to waste, Sebastian made the rash decision to go after her.

"Y/n!" He yelled out after he climbing over the fence carefully, he had no idea where she could've run off to in such a short amount of time.

Before he knew it, Sebastian had been standing beneath a larger tree in the middle of a clearing.

It was deep into the forest and he'd been near the mountains right about now.

"Looking for me?" The familiar voice uttered from the tree.

Sebastian looked up to see Y/n, comfortably laid down on a large branch, her sun hat hanging on a small twig below her.

She eyed him up and down before staring straight into his eyes with what felt like anger to Sebastian.

"Uh.. I wanted to talk" he said awkwardly, his fingers twitching at the tense energy fuming from Y/n's body.

"What about?" Y/n pushed, she swiftly hung her legs from the branch, hanging upside down with her eyes closed.

She could feel the blood flow to her head in the following, even if it'd given her a headache, it was a bit comforting to know she was alive with the feel of pain.

Sebastian slowly walked to the tree and sat down at the stump, beside Y/n as he occasionally glanced over at her.

Staring deeply into the dangling locks of hair falling almost perfectly beside him.

"I uh.. I'm sorry for.. you know, being a dick... I didn't mean to make you feel like where you came from matters or anything like that, and I know it may seem like it but I'm not doing this out of fear ok?"

Sebastians anxieties grew along side the silence that followed his confession.

It'd been at least a minute before Y/n finally let out a sigh.

He watched as she climbed down, sitting next to him.

She'd left a fair amount of space in between them where her sun hat now sat.

"So.." Sebastian muttered.

They both stared down at the grass

Y/n picked up a lone daisy growing from beneath the tree stump and placed it in the pocket of Sebastians blue suit pocket.

The colour didn't suit him at all...

___

Sebastian walked back to the festival by himself, Y/n was gone by the time he had anything to say about the flower.

He sighed, staring at the white petals as he twirled it by the stem.

Sebastian was allergic to flowers.

He took it, despite the consequences he'd have later on.

It seemed to tell him that he'd been forgiven.

It was comforting.

His cheeks warmed at the thought of having something other than of his own room to feel comfortable with.

It was strange, unsettling even.

Sebastian never cared for things like plants, so why was the thing so damn important to him?

[ficsnroses]

Friends With Benefits Chapter 9 - Keanu Reeves x Reader

Chapter IX ~ Full Circle.

Part 1  Part 2 Part 3 Part 4  Part 5  Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

❧ Word Count : 3.7K

❧ Warnings : Angst, light nsfw/smut,  (I apologize in advance..)

❧ Series Summary :  What happens when two, lonely friends start seeing each other for sex? A tricky friends with benefits love story, when feelings get in the way.

Notes : Just a couple more chapters after this, series is scheduled to end this month! Thanks for sticking around since I started this in November. I love it with my entire heart, and I hope you do too. Please do leave feedback and comments if ya get a sec. There’s tons of parallels in here from previous chapters, kudos if you can spot em!

Chapter 8 Recap : After leaving Keanu’s house in tears at midnight, Y/N’s car breaks down, and she’s left with no one to call but Keanu. After much persuasion, Keanu convinces her to come back to his house and spend the night; where they end up having sex yet again, only making things worse. In the morning, Keanu reveals to Y/N that he plans on purchasing a new car for her, which offends her significantly, considering their relationship. Y/N ends things with Keanu for good, leaving them both distraught and heartbroken in their own ways.

It all comes down to the last person you think of at night.

That’s, where your heart is.

.

Day after day; week after week, abiding to dreary half executed routines and less than productive projects. It’s been 3 weeks since you’d weary boned, walked out of Keanu’s house,

and perhaps his life

once and for all demolishing the sole, fraying thread of your damaged relationship. As you roam your seemingly emptier apartment, the air around secludes, chilling wavelengths and brisky cold temperate in the atmosphere. On an oak coat hanger, draped in a corner of the living room entrance, a knitted black coat hangs, the same one Keanu had forced you to wear on impromptu evening adventures downtown the LA scene. Neither of you were much for the crowds, yet social affairs seemed…alright. When in the company of the other.

A lot seemed alright when in the company of one another.

Gray ash clouds outside, the LA afternoon falls dark, the dewy gold gleam of a black pine candle illuminating a halo around its part on the coffee table.

It was his favourite scent.

To the hallway wall, a small chip in the crisp white walls taunts you, his elbow bellowed in a charge too fierce when you’d pushed him to it; satin lips on yours in a feverish kiss.

    His baseball cap, long forgotten on the loveseat by the skyline window.

    Two wine glasses stowed away in the glass kitchen cabinets.

    The lighter you kept on hand for him when he’d need a smoke after sex.

    Quiet laughs shared in the moonlit dark within these very walls.

All around, there was him.

You don’t realize just how much someone is a part of you, until they’re gone.

For him, it may have just been sex. For you, you were making love. You were making love the entire time, to him. And now, as you sit alone in your outcast LA apartment, that same love mocks you. Suffocates you. Kills you, because it never really goes away. Just because he’s gone, it

hasn’t

gone

away.

He’d yet to call, and you distrust he will. Lover or not, you know him as the back of your hand. He won’t call, he cares too much. Respects you too much to force himself on you. Loud and clear, you’d made rich, undoubted clarity of the end that dreadful morning. The death of you and him.

And nothing comes back from the dead. All that leaves mark is haunting, cold memories.

Cold comfort. Burning memories of what was. He’s a man of measured words, speaks only when there was reason to. Yet, they’d left you haunted. His words that spoke far too much, far too deep, forced you to fall far too profound when you’d promised each other, it wasn’t ever the end goal.

You’d blinked once; then twice, thrice, until the first tear fell.

Warm, stinging, burning. You’d gotten used to those first couple tears lately; the ones that would come uninvited, without notice.

Even after him, all there was,

was burn.

Out.

You needed to go out, do something, find anything to distract, to quench that burning long inside you. The studio sounded nice, nothing a half finish project to get your brain juices flowing couldn’t fix.

Work had been an outlet; designs, sculptures, drawings, late night sessions locked away in your studio had been rather therapeutic when you’d first moved out.

Therapeutic-before you began finding comfort in Keanu’s king bed, silken sheets and cotton pillows scattered around almost every night.

The lock to the apartment door clinks, keys bustling with a toss into your bag before you start toward the elevator.

This is good. This is okay. The morning is rather low-spirited and desolate, not a soul in the halls or lobby. Perhaps you preferred it that way for now.

Alone. Something so familiar, but revitalising. Or maybe truth be told, right now, for you, if it wasn’t him,

it couldn’t be anyone at all.

His rich chuckle,

His smoky laugh,

That inquisitive, immersed stare with the tip of his lips slightly agape while he listens, breathes in the world around him,

Stop.

With a half executed, drained sigh, you trudge to the brassy elevator doors, sounds of trudging cables and gaudy belts before the doors glide open, the elevator scent of a freshener far too strong, mimicking fresh linen and Californian citrus. The ride down is short, a derisory accomplishment of actually stepping foot out into the world outside your sheltered apartment corridors. With a stop to the third floor below yours, the elevator dings, heavy footsteps and the scent of spiced cologne wafted through the trivial space.

Spiced cologne; a dire contrast to the woodier, pine-ier one of Keanus.

Voice intruding, you pick up deep soundwaves and flashy baritone, a greeting of curious surprise your way. “Y/N?” They speak, snapped out your dreary daydream, thoughts somehow continually reverted back to broken eyes, deadbeat silence from that shattered morning endured three weeks ago.

Curious orbs raised, you perceive him; an old colleague residing in the same complex. He’d been the first neighbour you encountered in the midst of your move here, a heavy box of dishes and cutlery saved by his robust arms carrying them up to your front door that year ago. “Matt?”

“It’s been a while, haven’t seen you around.” He raises, hands shoved into his blue jean pockets, tall frame taking place a mere few inches apart from you.

“Just been busy.” You smile, stray strand of lock tucked behind your ear. Matt had been much help during your move, and you’d kept in touch thereafter. He’d come visit time to time for a piping cup of French coffee; discussions of work and projects mindlessly favoured together.

“Right.” He replies, amiable smile to his full lips. “I saw you’d been working on bigger films.” He starts, admirable sheen to his dark eyes. “Very commendable work.” He praises, a gentle chuckle when the following words flow. “Hey, I have to ask…” The elevator descends further down, main lobby in approach. Sounds of trudging still bellow above, yet the sound of his talk was…nice. It was nice to hear someone.

Apart from failed attempts of your girlfriends to take you out for drinks, you’d heard little rather from the voice that would seep your television; the Netflix catalogue had been getting much devotion lately.

With his brows scrunching, the baritone of his voice raises slight, wondering. “I’ve seen a guy visit you every now and then…was that Keanu freaking Reeves?” timidly chuckled, he takes in your gentle giggle, a nod to his query.

“Yeah, it was.”

“Ahhh.” He breathes, glance at the polished floor. “Boyfriend…?” His voice lingers, a dragged out tone in question, eyes focused to assess your features change.

“Business partner.” You lie.

A cold, dreadful lie that held so much history, so much regard. So much history, thrown away with those two, taciturn words.

“Right.” Matt rakes a heavy palm through his hair, moved to gesture out a peace offering in front of him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to assume.” He apologizes, nervous tone thick with unease, yet held to a certain confidence. Matt had charisma, poise, a pleasant presence.

Voice warm, you overtake, smiling in return. “Of course not.” Sincerely, you compliment. “You look well.” Commenting, the elevator rings open, the main lobby arrives. Matt allows you to go first, leading the way graciously.

“You do too, as always.” He praises, eyes glazing over your features in an admirable glow. Hand tucked back into his jean pocket, a timid silence stays put in the air around, your brows raising when at a loss of what to say next. Features contemplative, Matt’s voice gruffs in his throat, gently coughing a nervous pitch to the look of your welcoming gaze. “I’d actually love to catch up sometime, if you’re free.” He proposes. “Maybe a coffee sometime this week?”

Your thoughts halt in trek, gaze flickering to the pavement below in the distance for a moment. Company…someone to ease your mind off the storm brewing inside….

You think back,

Two wine glasses stowed away in the glass kitchen cabinets. A half drank bottle of Merlot sitting in solitude.

“Do you wanna come over tonight?” You blurt, uncertain of when the words had even fallen off your lonesome lips. Partly wonderstruck you’d extended an invitation so sudden, you marvel if it was too soon. You’d just met Matt again; only shared a meagre 3 minutes together thus far.

You’d only shut Keanu out so soon ago, yet you knew deep inside, he was still stuck in each part of you. But it couldn’t go on like that forever, this couldn’t go on forever. You need something new, potentially someone new.

Someone that doesn’t come with such baggage, someone who doesn’t come with so many complications.

Matt shifts, charming smile plastered to his lips with a quick glance down. His thoughts collect; gaze locked to yours in an admiration filled sincerity. “Yeah, for sure.” He speaks. “I’d really like that.” Controlled and certain, you nod, gesturing to the roads off sight. “I’ve just got a day of errands and work ahead. But I’ll see you at my place tonight?” You offer. “Is 7:00 alright?”

“Of course.” He smiles, giving you a gentle nod, and if you thought close enough, you’d swore his awed eyes sputtered to your rosy lips ever so briefly,

wondering….

3 weeks. 3 long, tiresome, drained week without her. Without her company, without her voice, without her floral scent; roses and lilies to brighten his days. It had felt as if she’d been wiped away, his motionless mind left with nothing but burning memories of their time together.

Laying in his king bed, Keanu wonders what she’s doing right now. Is she thinking of him, the way he thinks of her? Has she forgotten him, the way they were, the things they did? He prays. He pleads she hasn’t forgotten. Three weeks had passed, and time seemed to mock him at every second. A lifetime spent alone, the lonesome days and months, turned mindlessly to years. Her walking away had been perhaps the most gut wrenching, soul eating occurrence to ever break his mind. Her walking away was the sourest sting he’d ever had to swallow.

Because he knows he’ll never forget her. Not now, not today, not in another three weeks.

She was it for him, he’d known it for a while. If it was going to be anyone, if he had a chance to make it right with anyone, it was solely, unconditionally, her. He couldn’t forget.

Couldn’t forget the things they did.

She’d been a dire reflection of him, mirroring his tepid, half sheltered heart. The heart that longs, for so much more. It was only her. It could only be her.

It wasn’t toxicity.

time passed, the days turned to nights, the tick bestowing further, the time spending away, not making either of them younger, he knew. She was it. It all meant something, it was never just sex.

It could never just be sex. What he felt, she had to feel it too.

She had to. No longer was it feasible to suffer. He won’t suffer. This time, now, finally, he won’t suffer. He won’t let it be.

As he turns his side, an exasperated sigh flees his lips, hand bestowed to his feeble forehead in an aching protrude. He wonders what she’s doing right now, if she’s awake, wondering, thinking, missing him like he is her. Longing for him, as he is for her.

Suffering for him, as he is for her.

A glance toward the bedside table shows, dainty clock illuminating the time. He’d seek her in the early morning, and this time, he’d at least try to make things right. Lay his heart out on the line, hoping, pleading she’d accept it. Enough had been enough, dreary thoughts and lonesome nights, burning away, wondering of what could be would perverse no more.

He wonders what she’s doing right now.

11:38pm.

     She couldn’t forget him. He wouldn’t let her.

     Couldn’t forget the things they did.

Words not spoken,

Things not said,

     Regrets; enveloping you.

A finished bottle of Merlot, a shot or two as well. Something crisp…something that,

     burned.

You don’t remember who did it first, who wanted it first, who let it happen first.

His scent lasted longer than you’d liked on your skin, that murky dusk of spiced cologne, his polite, appealing presence. He arrived with a bottle of White, a variety you’d almost never kept on hand in the last couple of months.

Red used to be his favourite; so it was yours.

Perhaps you were vulnerable, perhaps he was too kind. Too charming, too present. But you asked for it, you did it, you wanted it. Or so you think you did.

     It always comes full circle.

You needed someone that night, needed to feel someone that night. You don’t remember who made the first move, seemed as if both of you wanted that mutuality, that connection just as much.

     Back where you’d started.

His skin grazed yours, gentle thumb soothed to your own; wine glass held in a wavering grip, frail to your boney fingers.  You didn’t stop him, didn’t pull away. He moved closer, and maybe you did too. Closer to him, nearer to him.

The gray bedroom walls heard the scene; they saw it all, unadulterated, held the secrets of what you’d done. His lips on yours, his hands on you, your fingers clawing to his back. You let him in, and he took each inch of you. Raw, exposed, desperately attempting to chase that high, that cloud nine feel that came with months gone. You could lay with this man while you thought of him, drawing sorrow deep inside his skin. Scratch his back to forget his face, bite his neck with his name on your tongue, touch his face while you think of him.

It’s an awful feeling, knowing you did nothing wrong.

But did everything wrong, all in the same.

“Y/N…” You cut Matt off by kissing his lips, gracefully on the bed underneath him, hands in his hair with his heavy palms to your hips. Moving diligently, he sulks into your neck, moaning, soft and quiet grunts between bites and nips to your neck. “Faster,” You spill, nerve endings tantalized as he thrusts, your lips stippled to his piercing jawline.

Is it easier for him? you wonder, you ponder,

you guess.

“You’re irresistible…” He whispers, lips browsed to your chest in a warm enhold, skin on skin within the softness of release. Back arching, you lean into his touch, hips bucking along with his when your mind jumbles, an awful realization, the bitter realism. He’s changing your breath with every thrust, working your body in a hot, humid intimacy so foreign, his manhood hastily working your body beneath. So foreign, so…empty.

That familiar stretch isn’t there, the sweet burn isn’t there, he isn’t there. This isn’t him. No matter how hard you try, how tight you clench your eyes hoping you’ll trick yourself into believing it, it isn’t him.

     He’s safe, he’s new, he’s different,

But he’s not him. The façade you show melts away.

He’ll never be him. No one will ever be him.

As he slips out in the midnight light, the bed sinks beside you, and you turn with the comforter held to your exposed chest. The only light in the bedroom filters from the cracked window, the illuminated alarm clock on your dainty nightstand enlightening the while,

11:38pm.

The misty LA morning brought new found hope; new found anticipation. The weather had predicted a storm brewing out soon, yet that wouldn’t be enough to stop Keanu.

Not today. Not when he needs her to know. Not when he loves her, and he knows so deep, so profound that he does.

Sunny California had grayed a dark to its golden rays lately, a frigid mist clings to the air. Heavier rains had been the norm recently, damper months in full fledge. A tug of war impends his mind, should he wait until evening? Should he call? Was this an intrusion of her space? Her choices?

Was she really, truly content leaving things the way she did?

He looks in the mirror; beard longer than it had been since he’d seen her; hair shaggier than she’d left him. He hadn’t had anyone to look good for since she’d gone away. Hadn’t had motivation to present himself to anyone since she’d left.  Some of Y/N’s things still lingered the empty walls of his home; a lacy bra left in his wardrobe, a crewneck sweater mindlessly thrown under his bed; her copy of a Hemingway novel abandoned in his office, a toothbrush for when she’d spend the night.

It had been there the entire time.

Just sex isn’t this involved.

Friends with benefits aren’t this involved.

She’d been there the entire time.

After a quick shower and groom of his rather untamed features, Keanu snatches his keys and wallet, fear filled drive to her apartment drained on his mind. Y/N had to see this through, had to trust him, understand him.

Y/N and Keanu had never really got it right, never quite found the balance. But it could be found, could be learnt, could be when they’d finally accept it.

The balance was always them. Them together, as whole. Half executed attempts at being anything less would suffice no more. What was, what is, was always more.

     It was never just sex.

     It was so much more.

The apartment complex is rather fuller than normal, piercing cold and dewy morning air enveloped around. Crowds had stayed in, and the first murky dewdrops of fresh rain speckled his worn out leather jacket on arrival.

This worn out leather jacket….

He’d placed it on her shoulders when the bitter cold threatened her skin. She’d peeled it off him when they did what lovers do.

     It was never just sex.

     It was companionship.

The wearing pockets had held her special birthstone ring, forgotten in his possession solely for him to have a reason to come to her, sooner than they’d planned.

     It was never just sex.

     It was the feeling of needing someone; having someone.

The fraying insides and ravelling threads felt the weight of her body holding him, chest pressed to his back along the scenic LA mountains, breezy winds and violet sunsets known all too well on destination less rides.

     It was never just sex.

     It was connection; intimacy.

This old, worn out leather jacket, a possession of his he’d held for so long, something that had been through it all, held so much of her. Knew so much of her.

     It was never just sex.

     It was their love. And it was so much more, so much more than just physical.

The ride up and trek to her door seemed endless, racing pace and quick strides in desperate attempt to get to her as soon as he could. Everything had finally fallen into place, he’d finally understood. And he knew so well, that she would too. Takes one to know one; they’d been lonely far too long.

Within moments, Keanu stood firm at her door, abundance of confidence, anticipation, yet a timid nervousness all in one piping cocktail of eagerness flowing through his veins. He hadn’t seen her in weeks; his favourite, the most prized possession in his life, he hadn’t seen in weeks. More than anything, he hopes she had been alright. Taken care of herself, stayed healthy and safe.

A ring at the door bell, and a loud knock.

Seconds, moments, small increments of time passing seem as if an eternity slowly moving by.

Another knock, for good measure.

Hands shaking so slightly, skin crawling, fists clenched with a stare to the floor.

She should be home, it’s only morning.

Trudging elevator belts moving in the distance, footsteps in and around the complex halls, leg bouncing, lip bitten in dreary wait, a nervous sigh when more moments pass until…

Click. The door wavers open, she stands behind, half dressed, features borderline stoic, yet with a gentle hold of sorrowed blues. She looks beautiful as always, and his heart hitches at the sight of her. The woman he loves, so dearly, so much. Hair stowed in a messy bun, fatigue seeps under her eyelids, tired features soft under the artificial hallway lights.

“Y/N…” Keanu speaks above a smooth, buttery whisper; the sound of her name slipping off so naturally, so effortlessly. “I wanted to see you…”

She swallows tight, eyes never leaving his chocolaty, sincere gaze, so love drunk as he stares. He’d engulf her in his arm right now if he could. Hold her for an eternity if time allowed. Kiss her so passionately, so lovingly that it’d take her breath away. Yet he waits; waits to do things right. Do it the right way, for the first time in their tumbling relationship. “Can I come in?” He asks, voice almost choking in his gruffed throat.

She’d hardly moved before he’d caught glimpse; a deep baritone behind her, the sound an intruding shock to his already racing heart. Calm yet collected, Keanu stands, eyes tracing behind as the voice firms in closer,

a man, jacket hung over his left shoulder blade, morning hair just woken ruffled a mess, palm placed to her back with a gentle squeeze as he bids goodbye. “I need to head out, but I’ll call you.” He smiles at her, before locking gaze with Keanu.

“Morning.” He greets Keanu, before giving Y/N’s arm a reassuring, goodbye squeeze, slipping beside Keanu and out the door, disappearing down the hall. Y/N stands in front of him, eyes locked to his still, as if pleading, begging for something…something neither of them could quite understand.

Keanu stills, fists clenched, heart stinging with piercing defeat.

She’d been with another man.

     The love he so desperately longed for, the women he knew he needed,

     had been in the arms,

     of another.

>>Chapter 10>>

➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴

s/o to ma bish @fanficsrusz​ for looking over this cluster fuck for me lol. ily

My taglists will be posted in reblogs from now on. Let me know if you want to be added or removed from either this series, or the permanent! 

[spiders-hth-is-an-outlier]

fic writer interview (tagged by @portraitofemmy)

name: it says Hth on all my fic, which wasn’t originally intended to be An Unpronouncable Symbol of My Own Design, but lol I guess it is now!  You can just tuck your tongue behind your upper teeth and gently hiss like a tired, elderly serpent. Or you could call me Milo.

fandoms: The Magicians is the only fandom I’m currently writing for, although I’ve recently dabbled in Supernatural and Schitt’s Creek. My AO3 page says I’ve still written more Stargate: Atlantis than anything else, but The Magicians is set to overtake it soon!

two-shot: 13 O’Clock and In the Hands of Yes in SGA are set in the same reality, which you’ll only notice if you’re alert to one throwaway joke at the end of Yes.  Or if you’re following me on Tumblr, I guess!  Bonus content!

most popular multi-chapter fic: Pretty Good Year recently pulled out ahead of long-time champion In the Hands of Yes, so a hearty congratulations to Clan Hanson-Waugh-Coldwater!

actual worst part of writing: Deadlines.  My brain really, really rebels against deadlines, which sucks because I love participating in challenges and shit!  But the second I *have* to finish something, my whole internal governing circumstance becomes that webcomic penguin going Well, now I am not doing it.  And then suddenly I do have to do it, and I’m panicked and stressed and miserable.  I should stop agreeing to do deadline-based projects!  But I wanna be where the people are!  It’s a conundrum.

how you choose your titles: my titles all fall into one of two camps -- they’re either called “a song i listened to on repeat (while writing this story)” or “Theme.”

do you outline: typically, but I don’t feel real beholden to the outline.  The first half of a longer story is usually nearly identical to the outline version, and after that, less so.

ideas you probably won’t get around to, but wouldn’t it be nice: I don’t like retiring ideas, because sometimes they catch a second wind!  I do have some old Supernatural projects, before I decided writing Supernatural wasn’t really my destiny, and some of them were pretty good!  I had a Lisa Braeden-centric story I liked, and a really sweet post-Purgatory Found Family with a lot of Benny content.  Both of those would be really good stories, but as the years go by they seem less and less likely.

callouts @ me: Eliot Waugh is not actually as intimidatingly omnicompetent as I inevitably write him to be, I’m just a simp.  He’s never going to fuck me.

best writing traits: I think I strike a nice balance between drama and comedy.  Consistency of tone is overrated.

spicy tangential opinion: Dean Winchester is a bad cook.  Like, he cooks, but he cooks things that are basically impossible to fuck up, like burgers and eggs and frozen burritos.  He’s never baked a fucking pie in his entire life, nor does he have any plans to start.  He was impressed when Jody served him meat with vegetables on the side.  People who can only love the cottagecore fanon version of Dean Winchester don’t love Dean Winchester at all. 

Thanks for the tag, Em!  I don’t know who else has or hasn’t been tagged -- how about? @akisazame or @trickymxtape