#unrequited analogical

[halfhissandwich]

“What a sight for sore eyes. Brighter than a blue sky. He’s got you mesmerized, while I die…”

I need to learn how to write so I can write this fic smh

[fuckingexistential]

Does a fallen angel go back on her word?

Encase her rage,

Let the tendrils flow?

[lostdeviantartfilm]

The vision

[overwhelmingurges]

[yanderes-galore]

I gots more, can you do Yuji (and/or Gojo) with a darling from the real world? Or like he’s self aware?

My favorite way to write self-aware show characters is to write an entity that acts just like them. Similar to an Analog Horror I've seen (Forgot the name but if you want it, I can hunt it down) So for this, that's kinda the plot I'm working with if that's okay. So like... a Creepypasta-like thing if that's fine.

So, the plot is similar to something I've done in the past for both: You buy a DVD of JJK... but something isn't quite right as you soon learn. No plot spoilers here for JJK. Purely an AU.

Feedback is appreciated as long as it's constructive! I could probably do this with other characters if I was given ideas. Both ideas start the same but begin to differ later.

Yandere Self-Aware! Yuji Itadori + Satoru Gojo

(Analog AU - An Experimental Name?)

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, "Self-Aware" yandere, Analog AU (?), Stalking, Overprotective behavior, Unrequited feelings, Delusional behavior, Kidnapping, Possessive behavior, Forced relationship.

Yuji Itadori

Yuji Itadori is your favorite character from Jujutsu Kaisen.

There's just something about his resolve and ability to find happiness despite his situation that makes you fond of him.

It's all harmless fun for you, everyone has a favorite character after all.

Although... unlike most... it appears you've been caught in something you weren't expecting.

The DVD you bought off online didn't have the best packaging... but DVDs that aren't official tend to have bootleg packaging.

You just couldn't afford a streaming service and wanted to binge the two seasons of JJK they have out.

It seemed harmless enough, who hasn't pirated or purchased a pirated DVD at some point without knowing.

Even when you watched the DVD, everything seemed the same.

You were completely unaware of something lurking deep within.

This entity, now given the name Yuji Itadori, was awoken and given life when you used the DVD.

It could sense your fondness for the character and took the likeness of him.

Everything from appearance, personality, and mannerisms was copied as the entity took a new life.

Eventually they felt they were the character and felt every bit of fondness you had for them.

That's how "Yuji Itadori" came into being.

It's when this transfer is complete that things start to alter.

It's like the DVD opens an alternate universe, one where the events of JJK are part of their very own world.

Yuji originally believed everything was real.

This was his life... until he felt your presence.

At first he's in denial, not liking the idea of being trapped somewhere.

But then he sees you.

You are someone he can't reach, someone beyond a screen he can only look at.

While you watch the events of JJK play out on your little DVD, Yuji watches you.

It's a bit ironic, until he grows strong enough and more aware, the show character watches you just as invested as you are.

Yuji can't help but fall into a delusional sense of love and care for you.

He can't help but be excited whenever he catches glimpses of you.

His obsession is vague, as he is just now learning about his love for you.

He feels he wants to protect you, yet expresses frustration when he can only watch you from a clear barrier.

You can pick up on his self-aware behavior, things like glances, waves, and times where he says your name when other characters aren't looking.

The change is slow for him, but quick for you.

His feelings and growth continues through the episodes, the time feeling like months or years for him but hours for you.

Half way through the show you notice Yuji's behavior.

You're frightened at first, but maybe a morbid curiosity fills you?

This begins with you two properly communicating.

Certain plot points are paused or lengthened all so Yuji can speak with you.

It's so strange... like you're actually speaking to a human being.

Yuji is always very affectionate when speaking with you.

Often calling you nicknames, asking questions, and providing comfort after long days.

You see him as your little digital companion, while Yuji sees you as a lot more than that.

He's the only one aware of you, the other characters seem more like puppets to Yuji so he can play a story for you.

He likes seeing you happy and does whatever he can to make you smile.

Darker behavior manifests later as Yuji begins to realize he... isn't a big part of your life.

Through the screen he can see you have friends, family, everything.

You're the biggest part of his world, but he's the smallest part of yours.

As this DVD has supernatural capabilities (clearly), perhaps Yuji would pull you into his world once he fears he can lose you.

The next time you get to watch JJK, Yuji greets you.

"Hey! I've been preparing a surprise for you..."

Curious, you go to ask what it is...

Only to pass out.

By the time you wake up, you're not in your world anymore.

You wake up in a dorm, clearly not your room.

As you wake up, you jump back when you see Yuji kneeling beside you.

"Great! It did work!" He chirps happily, eyes closed with a smile on his face.

You go to ask what happened, only for Yuji to hold your hands.

"I brought you to my world! You mean a lot to me... plus, here I can shape this world to anything you want."

Yuji pulls you closer, closer to the point you can see a red glint in his eyes.

"I love you... and I just want to make you happy." Yuji vows, the confession innocent despite the situation.

"We'll make this our own little world."

"I want to go home!" You cry, confusing Yuji.

"Why would you ever want to leave...?"

Yuji asks, pulling you close.

"You'll be so happy here..." Yuji murmurs, eyes giving off a dull red glow.

"You won't ever want to leave... you won't ever leave me again."

From that point on, you live in an artificial world.

You and Yuji are the only ones "real" here.

Now he's the most important thing in your life, just like you are to him.

Satoru Gojo

Satoru Gojo is your favorite character from Jujutsu Kaisen.

There's just something about his playful/cocky attitude and perhaps even his looks that makes you fond of him.

It's all harmless fun for you, everyone has a favorite character after all.

Although... unlike most... it appears you've been caught in something you weren't expecting.

The DVD you bought online didn't have the best packaging... but DVDs that aren't official tend to have bootleg packaging.

You just couldn't afford a streaming service and wanted to binge the two seasons of JJK they have out.

It seemed harmless enough, who hasn't pirated or purchased a pirated DVD at some point without knowing.

Even when you watched the DVD, everything seemed the same.

You were completely unaware of something lurking deep within.

This entity, now given the name Satoru Gojo, was awoken and given life when you used the DVD.

It could sense your fondness for the character and took the likeness of him.

Everything from appearance, personality, and mannerisms was copied as the entity took a new life.

Eventually they felt they were the character and felt every bit of fondness you had for them.

That's how "Satoru Gojo" came into being.

It's when this transfer is complete that things start to alter.

It's like the DVD opens an alternate universe, one where the events of JJK are part of their very own world.

Due to how Gojo is, he'll probably learn that his world isn't real faster than Yuji.

He'll learn that things aren't as they seem, that those around him are merely puppets for him to use.

At first he's a bit hurt... yet now he's curious.

He only gets more intrigued when he learns of your presence.

While you watch him through the screen, he watches you.

You always look so happy when he plays his part on screen, playing his role through the events of his world.

Gojo still plays along, even as he grows increasingly obsessive about you.

He just knows you two are different.

It only annoys him when he's kept from you by a clear barrier, looking at you through your TV or monitor as you watch him.

He's strong... but not strong enough to have you, it seems.

To him, it feels like his obsession has gone on for years.

For you? It feels like hours.

You're just happy to watch one of your favorite shows...

Completely unaware of your favorite character fantasizing about finally meeting you.

That is until Gojo decides enough is enough... and makes his presence known.

"Oi! Can you hear me?"

He makes contact with you by pausing events in the story and waving to the screen.

Maybe similar to the Yuji portion you're overcome with morbid curiosity more than fear.

Which leads to you feeding into Gojo's obsession by speaking with him.

Due to having his world under his control, Gojo's capable of pausing or slowing down events in the story to speak with you.

He alters things to entertain you and often speaks to you.

You end up spending more time speaking to him than watching the show normally.

You learn that Gojo is very playful with you.

He often waves, makes heart shapes with his hands, and winks at you.

He likes to say your name to mess with you and does his best to press himself closer to the screen so you can touch it.

It disturbs you that the screen is often... warm when he touches it.

Gojo's usually always playful with you until he begins to realize the truth.

He loves you, more than anything he loves you.

His little world would feel lonely without you.

His whole purpose is to entertain you, to make a good story for you and keep you company.

He lives for you.

Yet he notices you have others around you...

You have friends, family, perhaps even a lover.

He's only a little part of your life... and it upsets him greatly.

Gojo tries to hide his hurt from you as he watches you chat with others.

He wants nothing more than to have you all to himself in this little world of his...

When he grows stronger... he can.

It's ironic for Gojo to need to be "stronger".

In his world, he's the strongest.

Yet he takes time to grow more in order to have you.

He won't have to worry about your lover or anyone afterwards.

"I have something to show you~!"

His voice is in a purr when you go to speak with him again.

"Here's my gift... you know I just want to make you happy..."

You begin to feel woozy, slumping over.

"You know I just want to make you mine."

By the time you wake up, you're in a room you don't recognize.

Only for Gojo to show up with a grin.

"Yo!" He chirps, ignoring the fear in your eyes. "I did pretty good, right? You're in my world now... but I can change anything I want to make it the best for you."

He's so giddy about having you beside him.

In here, he doesn't have to worry about those close to you.

He has everything under control... and you in his arms.

"What's with the look? Come on, where's my hug?" He pouts, pulling you against him even if you struggle.

"You'll get used to it..." Gojo whispers, a kiss placed on your forehead.

"I exist to please you..." Gojo whispers, kissing your cheek.

"This is our world now... I'll never let you leave me now that I've got you."

[yourladyem]

Beetlejuice 2 Thoughts

Lydia doesn't freak out at the end screaming when she wakes up either time. Nor demanding answers. Nor checking that he's truly gone. It's like when you wake up and are shocked your spouse is not next to you when you've dreamt about them. Plus, the sheets and pillowcase are wrinkled on "his side" while she stays on her side on her back in her own area. She's shocked but not terrified like she was during the beginning of the film where she had panic attacks when she saw him.

He never tried to force her to kiss him during the wedding or any other time after her refusal during the couple therapy session. He didn't force himself onto her like Rory did constantly. She didn't push Beetlejuice off or stop him from kissing her hand. She's not grossed out but doesn't like it when Rory tries to kiss her at any time.

He knew Rory was using her and thought it was about time Lydia knew without him trying to convince her. He waits until she's about to marry Rory then makes him reveal the truth. Thought it was interesting Beetlejuice didn't say anything during the couple's therapy session. Maybe he was trying to show Lydia that Rory wasn't who he was by scaring him until he fainted and Rory denying the situation. Maybe even punishment for not taking Lydia's warnings seriously and Beetlejuice punishing him for how he treated Lydia allowing her to give Rory the final blow to the face.

She's not angry at Beetlejuice when he taped her mouth. It's more like "Really? We're doing this?" Like an annoyed friend who's used to it then she somehow figured out how to get it off allowing his antics then questions his stalking and not defending Rory or checking on him even when they got back their world.

Hesitates accepting Rory's "affections" including his proposal. She doesn't really want to marry him. She tries to convince herself she loves Rory. She doesn't really care for his presence. Beetlejuice, on the other hand, she immediately agreed to marry him without hesitation. She doesn't fight him off during the wedding scene or tries to back out.

Delores automatically gets jealous over the picture of teenage Lydia on Beetlejuice's desk. She doesn't know who Lydia is so why was her immediate reaction pure jealousy?

Astrid never rejects Beetlejuice's suggestion of calling him Dad. As outspoken as Astrid is and how much she misses her Dad, Richard, she doesn't say anything even after the contract was voided. She smiles when Beetlejuice sends Jeremy to Hell. Even Richard smiles.

Lydia's only excuse for not marrying Beetlejuice was their age difference. Nothing else. Not his personality, not his antics, not his stalking, not unrequited love, not even the way he looked and he was dead. Just the age difference. You'd think after being terrorized and angry that he's back and screaming at him to get out of her life, that she would have given him better reasons.

Lydia never makes a remark of never loving him or it's never going to happen between them. Even when he serenades her with Richard Marx. She's not grossed out or snapping at him. She's just watching him.

Every time he calls her "Honey" she doesn't protest. Never protested about her wedding dress like she did with Rory's wedding dress suggestions. Never protested on his analogy of them being like Bonnie and Clyde. Never questioned him when he said he wanted to remarry the love of his life (her).

She grieved Richard which sent her to the group where she met Rory but showed no real remorse when she saw him again. She doesn't hug him or kiss him goodbye. No tears. No closure talk of how much she missed him or how he felt. She doesn't try to remarry him to revive him for Astrid's sake. They act like they are friends with no romance between them. They could have passed for siblings almost the way they interacted. Beetlejuice could have intervened dragging her away but he doesn't, instead he takes Richard's place at the window so Lydia and Astrid can have the closure they need.

Wedding scene gave Labyrinth Ballroom dancing scene vibes. Immortal man singing his feelings to the woman he loves. The girl is conflicted with her feelings. Same look from the women as the man sings to her. Gaping at him.

Lydia's look of regret/remorse when Beetlejuice blows up when she sends him away.

Doesn't burn the model like she demands earlier to prevent seeing him again.

Lydia never thanked Beetlejuice for his help with Astrid, Rory, or Delia.

Richard never tried reaching out to Lydia or Astrid when he checked in on him. No connection but Lydia has connections with other ghosts so it's not because he's less powerful than Beetlejuice. While Beetlejuice has a connection with Lydia for 30 years. You'd think Richard would have tried to find a way to connect to them. Meanwhile there's Beetlejuice.

What happened to the book at the end of Beetlejuice talking about the Living and Dead coexisting?

Beetlejuice doesn't put a ring on Lydia's hand during their second wedding. He takes his time with her compared to the first film (granted she was a teenager and Burton wasn't going to have it). He just wants to spend time with her as much as he can telling her how he feels and romancing her in his own way.

Beetlejuice doesn't stop Lydia from saying this name like he did with the tape during the couple's therapy session.

Delores and Rory would be a perfect villain couple going up against Beetlejuice and Lydia along with Delia and Charles as their side team. Maybe an actual love interest for Astrid too. The battle between the couples would be awesome. Delores seemed quite taken with Rory when she saw him and he immediately stayed close to her including wrapping his arm around her. And we know you can come back from being eaten by a sandworm.

The interviews of the actors are shipping the couple. They don't brush it off but encourage it. It's like they are teasing for a third film to see how people react. If they weren't, why promote the romance between them so much all of a sudden? Even Warner Brothers studios promoted a fan's video that emphasized the Beetlejuice/Lydia romance. Even the studio.

Michael always talks like he's still Beetlejuice and Winona is still Lydia after wrapping up filming. "Ask her. She'll tell you. She said secretly wants to marry me." "Secretly, we're kind of in love with each other. She secretly wants to marry me." Admitted they have definite chemistry. And they'd thought that for a long time. Thought it was cute. They should do a movie together outside of Beetlejuice.

Tim didn't protest the romance between them either.

[divinehedons]

lost and found

pairing: soft dom!joel miller x f!reader

word count: ~4k

summary: your arrangement with joel miller is built on mutual trust. what happens when, in the throes of hedonism, he himself breaks that trust?

warnings: this is a dark, EXPLICIT fic, minors do not interact! no outbreak au, so many unrequited feelings, angsty angst angst angst, explicit p-in-v sex, dubious consent, use of a safeword, teeth-rotting aftercare and fluff, brief use of a sex toy, bath sex, brief depiction of make-up sex, somewhat (definitely) blasphemous and makes a mocking of religion (i'm not sorry :>>>>)

note: thank you very dearly for reading! please let me know what you think and what you see next; asks are very much welcome, reblogs and comments are much appreciated!

“See, this is why you need me, sweet girl. Because otherwise, who’s goin’ to make you feel this good?”

It was those words that follow you every day since you’ve begun such a tumultuous connection with the Texan contractor. Those words that stayed with you when you woke up from his tongue between your legs after the first night you fucked together. The words that stayed together when you made an arrangement. When you finally submitted to him.

You meet him in a shared apartment, in darkness, as well-put as could be from a day of work, kneeling with your wrists presented before you. By the end of the night, moments before he drops you off, he looks over your smeared lipstick, your neck littered with blood-red hickeys of his doing, wrists red. He'd look you over, then he'd smirk, waiting for you to turn back and wave goodbye. Only then will he have the last word. "See you next week, darlin'."

–

You met him at trivia night, glasses on, glass of whisky in hand, mere purveyor to the chaos you were causing. You, who he noticed to be naturally shy, sipping away at some colorful drink the weeks before, standing actively on your toes as you excitedly whisper the answer to a question. He saw, too, how happy you got, jumping on your feet when your little band of three pulls ahead in the game. But what caught his attention was how good you are. How you immediately sat down when your team asks you to, how you willingly go for drinks at the bar, not five feet from where he sat, emanating warmth from excitement.

You were so goddamn willing, he had to adjust himself once or twice, pictures of your submission burnt into the crevices of his brain. So when he had the chance, he had to take it.

“How did’ya know so much about the sixties, sugar?” he asked as you squeezed into the seat beside him, barely managing to steal it from the crowded bar. When you looked at him, he swore he almost saw your eyes gloss over from shyness. You just had to be adorable.

 “Oh! Well… I spent a lot of time with my grandparents.” You look down, fiddling with your drink before chuckling. “I didn’t know we were getting so much attention.” He swore he almost felt his cock twitch in his pants. Already, you were being so good, he physically had to swallow down the images of you happily bent over his desk with the rest of his whisky, throat burning be damned.

He realized, quite easily, that if he wanted you, he was going to have to be creative about it. And if he really wanted you, he had to put the effort in showing you he could be trusted; that he’ll take care of you. So he smiles, a calm smirk accompanying his salt-and-pepper beard, the warm crinkles in his eyes as he stills himself. He takes a deep breath, and it becomes so easy.

The night ends with you pressed against the door of your apartment, panties pushed to the side as he breathes whiskey into your face while you chuckle nervously. “D’you want it, sugar? C’mon, I need some words…” He almost wished he could take a photo of your face the moment he spears you open with his aching cock, cunt already fucked out by his fingers during the feverish truck drive where you almost get him lost from hazy directions.

He teaches you your safe words that night. An analogy of stoplights– halting reds, questioning yellows, and bright green gos.

He constantly checks in, and all you tell him is to go, go, go.

–

He likes it when you call him sir, a remnant of his Southern manners. Your cheeks warm up whenever you say it. He noticed when he had begun to cup your face, asking you to tell him what you wanted.

Just you, sir. All you, please…

He’s so indulgent about it, so eager to give you the pleasure you so desperately wanted without saying anything. But sometimes, that primal urge to own you manifests itself, as well. He particularly enjoyed the act of overstimulation. Just the sight of you, cockdumb and broken, limbs trembling from the way he manipulated the pleasure from your body… how could he ever resist? It’s why he was so willing to split an apartment with you; one meant for your excursions and hedonistic urges; the house of desire itself with a king-sized bed and a hot tub to defile.

You were chaos and innocence all in one, sweet like honey and sudden like the weather. Incomprehensible, unique you. Simply put, he enjoyed you. And the fact that you belonged to him will never stop getting him hard just from the mere thought of it. He started thinking he finally understood what it meant to be enthralled by someone. When you open your mouth wide, tongue extended and waiting for any shred of him to swallow, when you lay on his chest post-coitus with the sated nature of a feral cat, when he sees your perfect lipstick, waiting to be ruined by kisses.

Of course he’s insatiable. He will always keep wanting more. Perhaps it was that insatiability that led to that storming night.

–

He should’ve noticed when he opened the door and you were looking out of the window, eerily quiet, with the weight of the world on your shoulders. He drops the keys on the dining table, crossing his way to you, hands wrapping around your waist as he kisses your exposed shoulder teasingly. 

“Let me take your mind off of it, darlin’,” he whispers, and you feign a giggle at the way his beard prickles your skin. “Had a tough day, didn’t ya?” You look to him as if you were about to confess something, say something and break your usual submissive silence. But you catch his eye and you melt further into his touch instead as you sigh softly.

“Just missed you a little too much, sir…”

It satisfies him. It feeds his ego. But just in case… “Give me a colour, pretty baby. S’alright…”

You gulp, feeling your fingers turn cold as you process your thoughts. With a sigh, you press a kiss to his jaw.

“Green, sir.”

The word barely leaves your lips before he’s kissing you, swallowing down your soft whimpers as his strong arms take you, carrying you to the bedroom with renewed urge and desire. Settling you down on fresh sheets, he peers over your pretty little sundress, your perfect little face, chuckling at the shyness washing over you in the low lamplight. He kisses you again, insatiable hands tearing open your dress as your breath hitches, He does not stop, pressing wanton kisses down your collarbone, your breast, your stomach, spreading your legs so he can settle right between them.

“Y’wanna tell me why you weren’t answering my calls, darlin’?”

You try not imagine the panic you must have caused him for that very reason. The fact that you left him a message at three in the afternoon, I need to see you, sir. Only to have your phone switched off. There is probably a barrage of messages and missed calls. But seeing you here, he finally seems to settle. He seems to ignore your creased forehead, your shaky breaths.

“My phone died… I- I’m sorry…” He shushes you, kissing you again and running his thumb over your painted lips with a smile. “I just missed you, sir.”

You notice his eyes darkening, hands traveling down the expanse of your stomach, embracing and caressing each curve before his right hand completely cups your wanton cunt, willing and warm to the touch. “I think I can do somethin’ about that.” He pushes your underwear aside, two fingers delving into the soft, sticky warmth of your desire, spreading you open just for him. He periodically asks for your status, a colour to confirm your consent. You see it as a way of him asking if he could do the things he was already doing.

Green for the fingers already spreading you open. Green to take off the dress he had already torn off. Green to mark up the neck that already bore the wetness of his saliva.

“How was trivia night last night, sugar? I couldn’t get out of work soon enough to catch you there…” You manage a soft chuckle, now embracing him with a breathy kiss. “Although, I believe I heard from Clark that you did well enough, no?”

Your soft giggles melt against the skin of his jaw, your shaky breaths stuttering as you hear the clink of his belt buckle and the shuffling of his jeans. “Good old nineties, sir,” you murmur. “Your playlist was sufficient enough of a reviewer to carry me through.” It’s his turn to chuckle, cupping your face and peering down at you as he affectionately pinches the apple of your cheek with a sigh.

“One more ‘old man’ quip out of you and you’ll be askin’ for a punishment, li’l girl.”

You manage a soft smile. You like it when he cares. You like him like this. But just as easily as it came, the softness soon disappears as he returns to working the clothes off of your body, looking over the way your skin is void of the markings he left the last time he had you. You try to comprehend the secrets between his furrowed brow, the mutterings you try to hear in the semi-darkness. He always had a way of keeping that same professional barrier between the two of you, a barrier that you never know where it truly stood. A barrier of multiple dimensions. A barrier that was the sole purpose why you never confessed you stopped dating ever since he came into your life.

You remember the time you almost did. You had called him one evening, dressed up in the same apartment, bottle of wine chilled, rose petals all over the sheets. You told him you wanted to see him. You didn’t expect the ease that came with his rebuttal. Can’t tonight, darlin’, I have a lady friend keepin’ me company. How ‘bout Friday? You pretend, as you find yourself doing more and more often. You tell him to have a nice evening. You drink an entire bottle of wine by yourself. You dispose of the rose petals and ensure you left no traces by morning.

Looking at him now, he still remains cool, professional, boundaries locked and loaded between your bodies even when he presses the bulbous tip of a vibrator directly over where you need him most, firing it up the moment you said green. He told you once he loved the way you squealed for him, that it makes his chest bubble with incomprehensible glee knowing he could drive such noises from you, that shy little vixen that knelt for him when he said the word and opened her mouth wide. Maybe that’s why he always enjoyed pushing you to your limits.

Maybe that’s what he wanted to do now.

And you had to admit, you were willing to let him try.

The vibration jostles through your flesh, shaking awake your tendons. The initial shock sent your legs flailing, spreading, and eventually welcoming the affection. “That’s it… let me in, baby…”

Your cries emanate as the shock of the first orgasm shakes through your completely naked body, brushing against the course fabric of his jeans, his small snicker leaving him before he could stop it. “‘Course you’re so easy, pretty lady.” You feel your cheeks warm up at his words, looking into his eyes as he raises a brow, as if waiting for you to give him his dues.

It’s when you return to yourself, blinking away the haze in your head as you tilt your head back. “Thank you, sir… oh, oh– thank you!” When you look back, you see him through the mist in your vision, see that slow, cocky smirk encompassing his features. He likes this. He likes the way you’re absolutely fucked out like this.

The buzzing stops, and you blink awake shakily up at him. He leans down to kiss you gently, sighing as you come down from your orgasmic bliss. “How are we feelin’, baby doll?”

You grin up at him. Green, green, green.

He looks down at you, with that shit-eating grin on your face that you always have when you’re brimming with excitement and ready to burst. He tries to read your eyes just as you grow shy, turning over to embrace the pillow you lay on. What should he do when the prettiest girl in the world says “green” so voraciously?

There was only one answer. He can only go, go, go.

–

Joel Miller rarely calls anything heaven. He rarely finds anything that is so divine that he can surrender so easily in worship. And if he does, it’s even rarer that he is driven by anything so much as to take divinity into his own hands. But with you… he swore he finally saw the face of God. And it was dangerous. It was dangerous because it had awakened an arcane starvation that almost harkens back to his own primordial longings.

You tell him green, but if he was capable of confession, if he was more vulnerable to you… he’d confess that he’d gone blind, his senses dulled and only drawn to one thing and one thing only: and it was to take and take from you.

That was why he fucks you wide open with his cock, your walls trembling with the first sign of overstimulation. He sees the first sign of your hesitation and he barely stops himself to look you in the eye to say your status. You barely manage to tell him green, with a tone of hesitation, and he immediately pummels his hardness into your aching cunt, embracing you in his tense arms, growling into your ear as you feel his lips sucking a brand new hickey at the very crook of your neck. 

If he was confessing, he would say all he saw was the red of his blood pumping through his brain. It is only a few seconds later that he finally hears that shy, trembling voice of yours, echoing like a hysterical cry that tears through his defences. It is the words you had never uttered in these moments before now.

“Red, red, red!”

Immediately, Joel flies apart from you like shrapnel, blinking his eyes open just in time to see your grief-stricken face, splotchy from tears as you curl up in the upper middle of the large bed. From here, he finally sees the aftermath of his mindless fucking. His fingertips marking your skin, lovebite blood red and raging just as you peer up at him with eyes lit up with an emotion he had never seen before. You had never stared at him with that much fear before.

He attempts to reach for you, only to be frozen in his tracks the moment you flinched further upwards against the mattress. His blood runs cold when he hears your words. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, sir–”

Had he been that absolutely careless over you— precious, darling you that entrusted herself so fully to him? Had he been that selfish, so enthralled by the callings of his own flesh? This is the price he had to pay for tasting divinity— he just had to ruin you for it. He slowly recedes, heart thumping in his chest as he tucks himself back into his pants, keeping his hands visible for you, your watchful eyes never blinking away from you.

“It’s alright, darlin’. It’s alright. We’ve stopped.” Gently, he helps, carefully handing you a dressing robe to regain some form of second skin. He ascertains that his bare hands does not brush against you, not unless you ask him to. Not unless you wanted it. He did not deserve such a privilege, not after what he’s done. Not after how he broke your trust.

He shakes away the thoughts and self-doubt from the recesses of his brain. You do not need his remorse. What you needed was to be taken care of. What you needed was him to fulfill the role he had promised you from the very start of your… partnership. Whatever it was you had. The minutes pass in the silence. The apartment is silent, except for your shaky breaths as he waits for you to calm down.

“Sugar…” your bright doe eyes look to him, reddened slightly by tears before softening, your hands slowly moving to reach for him. He stops himself. “What do you want me to do, doll?”

You finally find the voice to speak again. “Just hold me… please.” Joel gently settles by your side, embracing you as you hide your face into his bare chest. With how close you press yourself to him, you feel the pounding of his chest. You feel your skin prickle, looking up into his eyes in soft, comfortable silence. “It’s like you couldn’t see me anymore when… when…”

He hears your breath hitch and he gently shushes you, carefully pressing kisses to the crown of your head. “Why did you apologize, sugar?”

It's difficult to comprehend feelings in an agreement that is supposedly devoid of them. It's difficult to reflect when you think you know every possibility when you say the truth and nothing but the truth. But you know, too, that you cannot solve the breaking of one’s trust, yours in this case, with the breaking of others’ trust. So you swallow, gather your thoughts.

“You’ve… you always made it feel like it’s my… my privilege to feel so good and… and…” you sniffle, burying your face against him once more as you sigh. “I feel guilty for… for having to—asking to—stop.” You feel his breath still, and you tug him closer out of guilt. It’s as if the motion gently shakes him awake and he embraces you, pressing careful kisses where he was able to.

“That was never my intention, darlin’...” He gently maneuvers you, just enough so you had to look into his eyes— those soft, warm eyes that looked at you the night you met in the bar. “I should be sorry, and I am. God, doll… we built this… us… we built it on the idea that we entrust each other with our… vulnerabilities, and that those vulnerabilities aren’t exploited.” He cups your face, the way he always does, but his touch his careful, the way one grasps precious. “You trusted me, sugar, and I’ve been reckless with my pretty girl. I’m so sorry.”

He barely finishes the last word before you’re kissing him, arms wrapping around him in comfortable silence as he cradles you, lets you indulge until you are the first to pull away. “Let me make it up to you, yeah?” he whispers, the prickle of his beard against your jaw enough to make you giggle. “How does a bath sound?” You manage a small nod, winding down from the events of the evening as he cradles you, gently bringing you to the bathroom and seating you on the nearest counter as he leans over to prepare the warm bath, head turned away from you with a sigh.

The confession lays heavy on your lips. The confession that you’re falling for him, eyes closed, no turning back. You’re in love with him, but you think in telling him, you risk losing this… having him in the soft silences where you can be vulnerable for him and only for him. You tell him, and you picture the nights alone, guarding yourself and knowing happiness shall not exist anymore for you. Not in this lifetime.

“Do you want me to give you some privacy?”

You look to him in silence before taking a deep breath, shaking your head before biting your lip. “Stay with me,” you whisper, looking down at your feet as he settles before you. “Please don’t go too far from me.”

It’s how the two of you end up, with you on his lap, the warm water encompassing the two of you as  gently scrubs through your back with slow, careful circles. “Promise me something,” he says, breaking the silence as he carefully pulls you closer to him. “Never ever think you cannot say no to me ever again.” Your head rears to look into his eyes and he couldn’t help but chuckle, kissing your cheek lovingly. “I’d rather have your scorn than seein’ you afraid of me, darlin’.”

You promise him. As if you would deprive him of anything ever again. As if you could bear the way you saw his heart break from your reaction earlier that evening. As if you could bear the sight of him pulling away from you ever again. If it meant keeping him this close to you for some time more—be it a day, another evening, another month, another year—you’d take everything you can.

The both of you make up shortly thereafter. Joel is half-surprised to see you crawling on top of him, facing him as you ask him. He groans at the feel of your nails digging down into the back of his neck as you fuck yourself on him. He lets you take what you want. As if he can deprive you of anything, be it affection or debauchery. He takes you by your word when you ask him to take you to bed— and he makes love to you in the darkness.

You are his God and all the Saints in the body of one mortal. Daisies and thunderstorms and metamorphoses combined. He looks for you in the other people he meets. But they do not have your shyness, your bright smile, nor the complete surrender you offer so willingly to him. He wonders, sometimes, in the darkness, if he will ever find it within himself to cross the boundaries he himself had built. So he tells you he loves you in other ways. When he cradles your face, when he wipes you clean post-coitus, showering your skin with kisses. When he embraces you in his arms when you drift to sleep with a wide, warm smile of peace etched on your face. He whispers it, sometimes, when he kisses your forehead before he leaves, dressed in his clothes from last night.

He’ll rather have you like this. If, by some twist of fate, he loses the presence of your divinity, then he shall forever return to this moment— you on your hands and knees with your back arching into his touch, your warm breath, your trembling breast. Perhaps an eternity, locked together this way, is the closest to heaven he will ever come across. And should he face damnation, flailed and torn apart by hail at the second circle of hell, he shall regret nothing. Should he be offered salvation in exchange of forgetting you, he shall spit at the face of God with a smile. He’d tell Him he’ll do it all over again.

---

A/N: this is the part where i say sorry for letting my current reads and whatnot influence what i'm writing. but this is also your sign to read the divine comedy if you want to :'DDD thank you so so so much for reading!!

[nflowerhunterc]

That we are always obsessed with every feature of Levi, that we desire him all the time, that we fetishize him, including every little feature, and I see a lot of depictions and fanfics where we try to help him in all kinds of ways for unrequited, where we devote ourselves to him, in short, where we do simping for unrequited.

But what if, on the contrary, he was simping us? Desiring us so much, If he fetishized us, If he performed acts of service to us for nothing, If he desired to help us mentally and physically in all sorts of ways, if he was, I don't know our fan, if he found our little traits cute/beautiful? Just as we find his nose, his hair, his sullen face, his ass cute, fetishize him and reduce him to cat analogies, if he did the same to us.

I don't know if this would be Occ, but just as we were simping him for unrequited, I found myself wishing he would do the exact opposite to us. I would want to see similar fictions/depictions.

[pimosworld]

Unrequited

Pairing- Santiago Garcia x f!reader x Frankie Morales

Series summary- Francisco was always afraid of settling down. He left Santiago to pick up the pieces after Colombia and now someone else is taking his place. Now he must cope with repairing the past without disrupting his future.

CW-18+,MDNI, NSFW, Angst, hurt/comfort, confessions, misunderstanding, fluff, smut, soft dom Frankie, mmf, oral f receiving, unprotected piv, protected piv, aftercare. Lots of food references.

WC-7.9k

A/N- This is the finale for these three but there will be an epilogue and various one shots when I’m done. I’m so glad you guys loved this story. I’m glad I got to explore a different side of Frankie and Santi through the reader.

[Series Masterlist][Main Masterlist]

Not beta read

Chapter III Yearning

  Noun:Yearning 

  A feeling of intense longing for something;affection, intimacy, partnership, love

  “Frankie.” Your soft voice cuts through his sleep addled brain to register you standing in the doorway. 

  He doesn’t remember falling asleep, his adrenaline was on high after telling the guys about the money and maybe? patching things up with Santiago. He’s not sure now it’s all a little fuzzy. He must have crashed as soon as they made it back home. 

  You’re standing there expectantly dressed in a white silk shorts and top. He glances over at the old analog clock and it reads just after two in the morning. 

  “Frankie…can I come in?” Your hand grips the doorway as you stay in limbo between his bedroom and the hall. He should say no, he nods his head yes anyway and tells you ‘yes’ for good measure in case you can’t see him in the dimly lit room. 

  These days he’s unsure of his grip on reality but he’s almost positive he’s not dreaming. Even though you practically float across the room, your smile is evident even in the soft moonlight. He’s not a shy man by any means. He knew how to talk to women and how to get them in his bed but you…you’re different. Your confidence knocks him off his feet and he’s already laying down. 

  He sits up against the headboard to make room for you and he’s dumbfounded again when you place your leg on the bed beside him and swing the other over caging him in. His hands twitch at his side reflexively wanting to touch you. 

  “What are you-“ You effectively silence him as you place your fingers to his lips. He can’t help but note how soft they are. How soft you are everywhere, as his fingers dance a little higher on your thighs. Testing the dangerous waters he’s wading in. 

  “Santiago told me everything.” Your voice is as clear as his vision. No blurred lines or hazy corners like you’d have in a dream. No wondering how he got here as you stare down at him. He can feel the heat between your legs, only separated by the thin layer of your shorts and the sheet covering his waist. 

  If he were a stronger man he’d clarify what exactly Santiago told you…but right now his only concern is the growing bulge poking through his boxers as you adjust on top of him, looking a lot less innocent than he remembered. Another thing he doesn’t remember, his hands now on your waist under the white silk top, you’re warm and supple skin in stark contrast to his rough hands. 

  When the material turns indistinguishable as your hands rake through his curls, pulling his face into your neck so he can breathe you in. You smell sweet like all the things you bake and the thought of your food somehow has him impossibly harder. He wants to taste you and worship you in ways he thinks Santiago can’t or doesn’t. 

  He’s stopped caring that this is indiscernible as he pulls your hips down onto him, you gasp as the head of his cock provides that friction you desperately want even between layers of clothes. Your weight falls onto him as you brace your hands on his chest and laugh, it’s sugar coated just like you. The laugh dies in your throat as his fingers dip beneath your shorts, you’re soaking wet making a mess of the sheets and him. Your mouth on his almost experimental as he deepens the kiss, it feels tangible when you whimper his name into the dark. He can tell you’re close as you clench down on his fingers and your breathing picks up. He’s not far behind you as he imagines how he’ll even fit with how tight you are. 

  “I hope I'm not interrupting something.” Santi’s voice is like a record scratch. 

  Frankie feels like a bucket of cold water has been dumped on him as he scrambles to cling to the remnants of a dream. It’s no longer dark and he faintly registers he’s no longer in his bedroom. The light is peeking through the shutters in the living room. The sweet smell of you still lingers in the air from his dream. 

  He sits up on the couch cursing his back and neck from the awkward position he slept in. Small creaks in the hardwood floor alert him that someone is approaching and he reaches for the blanket to cover the evidence of the all too realistic dream. 

  “You boys must have had quite the night.” You stand before him with a small blue apron covered in flour, looking well rested and practically glowing. “I just say that because Santi never sleeps in and you didn’t make it to the bedroom.” You rock back and forth nervously on the balls of your feet waiting for his response, hoping you didn’t offend him somehow. 

  Frankie hadn’t expected you to be the first one he saw that morning. Especially in his current predicament, he doesn’t mean to stare but he can’t get the image of you on his lap out of his mind. 

  He blinks twice before he registers that he hasn’t said anything. “Ya sorry about that…I didn’t realize-“

  “Don’t apologize Frankie, this is your house.” You laugh nervously. “You’re more than welcome to fall asleep wherever you’d like.” 

  Wherever he’d like. 

  Your hands worry at the hem of your apron, the meaning of what you’ve said is probably completely lost on you. The real you is so different from the way you were in his dream. It’s so much better and that likely had something to do with the fact that he needs to be in control. 

  “Thank you for the blanket.” He laughs as he looks down at the fuzzy pink comforter adorning his lap. “I’m assuming of course.” 

  “You were shivering when I came in here. Santiago keeps this place like an ice box I swear.” You absentmindedly gesture around the house but of course Frankie already noticed how cold it is. The way your nipples stay incessantly hard and of course he notices first thing in the morning as they poke through one of Santi’s shirts you’re wearing under the apron. Likely not wearing a bra. His mind flashes to his dream again just when he was starting to think he could remove the blanket. 

  You smile at him again and he has to remember to breathe. This is the longest conversation he’s had with you alone and yet it doesn’t feel as awkward as he thought it would. 

  “Anyways…I made some cinnamon rolls for breakfast.” You gesture your hands towards the kitchen and Frankie groans for more than one reason. “I’ll put some coffee on too, whenever you’re ready. Don’t take too long though they’re still warm.” You smile and head down the hall and he lets out a breath. 

  “You were going to be the death of him and his waistline.” 

  ****

  You don’t know exactly what’s different about them but something has shifted. They don’t even notice you watching them as you lean against the counter in the kitchen while they both talk and laugh with half full mouths of cinnamon roll. 

  Frankie eats like he’s never had one in his entire life and well…you know how much Santi loves your cooking so it’s not surprising that he’s eaten enough to the point of a stomach ache. Part of you should feel a little jealous, getting a glimpse into their old life or what could’ve been their life playing out right in front of you. 

  Santi reaches over, wiping something from the corner of Frankie’s mouth. “You are always such a messy eater.” Frankie’s flushes as the red creeps up his neck. He looks over at you but you make no attempt to seem uncomfortable with it. 

  Santi stands from the stool rounding the corner to you with a mischievous look in his eye. The kind of look he would usually never give you in front of company. He pulls you into him as he buries his face in your neck inhaling your scent. His lips trail kisses up your neck leaving goosebumps in their wake. His lips meet yours and you can taste the sweet sticky frosting coating them as you let a moan slip out. You try to push him away from you but not convincingly enough as he deepens the kiss. A pit forms on your stomach at the display he’s putting on. You can’t see Frankie’s face but you feel him burning a hole through Santi’s back. 

  “Santiago, what are you doing?” No malice in your voice as you lean your head back seeing his pupils wide with pleasure. 

  “I didn’t get to kiss you goodnight or good morning.” He grits through his teeth as he goes to dive back in for another kiss. 

  You peck his lips twice. “Goodnight and good morning.” Pushing him to put some space between you and the ache between your thighs. It doesn’t help when he tuts and moves out of the way, adjusting himself in his gray sweatpants that do nothing to hide his excitement. 

  You start to apologize for Santi’s behavior but your words are caught in your throat at the look Frankie’s giving you. He brushes his thumb along his bottom lip, his eyes are glazed over as he focuses on something intently. It’s like he has x ray vision and you’re feeling so exposed at the attention of both of them. Santiago’s body heat is still looming close to you. 

  “I’m gonna go shower.” You blurt out as you nearly trip over Santi’s feet leaving the kitchen. It takes you a moment to catch your breath when you close the bedroom door leaning against it. You have no idea what the fuck that was but you need to wrap your head around it before you even begin to approach those feelings. 

  ****

  “Shit was that too much?” Santi’s wide eyes staring back at Frankie. 

  “Ya think? She practically ran out of here Pope.” Frankie stands and gathers the dishes as he shoots Santiago a look. “She’s not some girl in a bar half way across the world.” Frankie absentmindedly begins washing the dishes as he watches the cogs on his brain turning over. 

  “I guess I got too excited.” He half says to himself as he scrubs his jaw with his hand. Frankie hasn’t seen him this excited about something in awhile. He thinks more so at the prospect of something between the three of you he’s not ready to put a name to than the windfall of money he’s very recently received. 

  “Listen hermano, one step at a time.” Frankie dries his hands on the towel turning towards Santi. “You might want to tell her about the money first, since I’m assuming you haven’t had time to do that.” 

  Santi says nothing just looking down the hallway towards your bedroom. He doesn’t know why he’s so hesitant to tell you. Maybe because when you found him he was barely holding on to his sanity all because of the money they never got. The money that he now has is the reason he almost lost it all. 

  ****

  “Honey, please say something.” Santi’s crouched between your legs as you sit dumbfounded on the edge of the bed. You’re staring into those deep brown eyes that you love so much but you can’t find the words to explain how you feel. 

  All these insecurities you didn’t realize you were holding onto are flooding to the surface. 

  What was Frankie’s motive? Did he even have one or was this just his way of apologizing? 

  Would Santi feel like he doesn’t need you anymore now that he has this money and he’s closed that chapter of his life? How would this change the dynamic of your relationship? 

  You never fathomed having this much money in your entire life. You were perfectly content with the money you made as a chef and caterer, working hard to provide an honest living for you and Santi. It somehow feels wrong knowing where the money came from and how many people out there died because of it. 

  You don’t have all the details but you know that Lorea was a bad man and the boys all sacrificed a lot for their country and lost more than money on this mission. Either side of the coin you flip has its pros and cons. 

  Santi and Frankie seemed so happy this morning. Like a weight had been lifted off their shoulders. The weight of years in the service, the weight of Tom's death, the weight of not knowing how you were going to provide for a family and start a life together. You ached for that feeling, not just to see them happy but to see them happy together in this home. But where does that leave you? 

  The thunder claps in the quiet bedroom and Santi’s hands flinch against your thighs. You didn’t remember seeing a storm on the forecast for today but as you start to think about it maybe it’s been a few days since you’d checked the weather. It was one of those silent things you did to put him at ease. Storms always brought out his restlessness. A reminder of things that took a lot of time and tears to pry from him. You always tried to make things a little easier for him on these days, his favorite meal, a comfort film, lazy naps and sweet kisses. 

  The pitter patter starts slowly on your bedroom window as you glance outside to see the impending clouds. His fingers grip your chin lightly bringing your gaze back to him. “Sweetheart I’m not worried about the storm, I just need you to talk to me.” His voice cracks a little at the end and you can see the worry etched across his forehead. Though you don’t know exactly where it’s coming from. 

  “Santiago that's ... .a lot of money.” Your whispering barely audible over the sound of the wind and your beating heart. “And since when did storms not bother you?” 

  He rubs his hands soothingly along your legs as he thinks of his next words. You know his knees must be killing him on the floor but he makes no move to stand. “That money is not gonna do anything but make our lives better. I won’t be naive and say that things aren’t going to change but I want you by my side for all of it.” As if he knows…of course he knows the million things running through your head. He clears his throat and reaches into his back pocket before you can conjure up another thought. 

  A small red velvet box in his right hand that he brings to his chest momentarily and once again you’re speechless. “Baby, I wanted to get you a nice ring and for the longest time I wondered what kind of ring I could buy you if I had all this money. I obsessed over it and it’s what’s kept me from giving this to you for months.” Your eyes start to well with tears as he keeps it clutched to his chest. “I’m relieved that I have it now because I want you to know that I’ve wanted this life with you since the moment I met you and no amount of money is going to change that.” 

  He flips open the small box revealing a small gold band with a center cut opalescent stone. It’s perfect in every way and you couldn’t imagine how he would’ve done better than this. The diamond in the middle resembles your birthstone and you can’t help but marvel at his attention to detail. “This isn’t exactly how I wanted to do this but I don’t think I could wait any longer. So please will you do me the honor of marrying-“ 

  He lets out a loud oomph sound as you crash into him, both of you tumbling onto the floor. He starts laughing as you mutter apologies into his neck still not letting him up. “I take that as a yes?” His tone laced with a bit of uncertainty. 

  “Oh my gosh the ring.” You exclaim as you roll off him. 

  “Relax sweetheart I’ve got it right here.” His hands are slightly shaky as he presents it to you again, still safe in the box. You hold your hand out as he tsks under his breath. His eyebrows raised in question. “I think you’re still forgetting something.”

  Too excited and caught up in the moment to realize you hadn’t said those magic words. “Yes, yes of course yes.” You laugh and wipe the happy tears with your other hand as he places the ring on your finger. 

  He leans in and kisses you as you cup his face. The cold band pressed into his cheek has him smiling against your mouth. The rain hammering the window is now an afterthought as you pull him up to you onto the bed. His warm body pressing you into the mattress as you kiss like teenagers for the first time. 

  You roll your hips into him as he grinds down on you, his mouth swallows your soft whimper as you become acutely aware that you’re not alone in your home. You place a gentle hand on his chest as you gasp for air, pushing him away. His face protests but you need to slow this down. 

  “What about Frankie?” It’s not lost on you that the man in the other room is still madly in love with Santi and it’s safe to assume the same about him. 

  He sighs deep and hangs his head, his body like a blanket over you. “That’s a little more complicated.” 

  Complicated

  He kisses your neck as you melt further into the mattress, but you couldn’t let the king of distraction off that easily. “Santiago.” You grit out your voice a bit strained. “Can you uncomplicate it?” 

  He rolls you over keeping you close in his arms so you're now on top. “Sí señora Garcia.” Your stomach does a flip at the name but you don’t budge just leveling him with a look. “I can explain later…after dinner. I promise.” 

  The rain has stopped now as you feel the sun hitting your face through the window bathing you both in a glow. Perhaps a temporary shower that wasn’t a storm at all. 

  “I have some things I need to take care of today. Will and I are going to meet with Molly. Her and the girls have been through enough and they deserve this closure too.” Santi didn’t brag often, if ever so you know his given call sign was something hard to stomach for him. He still finds ways to show you how much of a Saint he truly could be. “Why don’t you hang out with Frankie today. Go shopping for dinner with him, I’m sure he would love a lesson in making your world famous pizza.” 

  “It sounds like you’re not so subtly telling me you want pizza tonight Garcia.” He squeezes your side as a silent yes. 

  “I think I fell in love with you that night you made it for me. Plus you know what they say about the way to a man’s heart.” There’s a hint of playfulness in his tone. A small part of you wants to ignore the odd choice of words and the other part is getting nervous wondering if he could mean something by it. 

  Your mind has to be playing tricks on you because Santiago Garcia was not one to dance around a topic. He often approached things head on and with much annoyance to you he was relentless. 

  But this…this is different. It’s like he’s afraid to dip his toes into the water. Like he’s trying to gauge your reaction without telling you outright what he wants. 

  One thing you do know for certain is that the idea of being with Frankie alone today has you feeling like you’re going to burst. 

  ****

  Santiago had hurriedly said bye to you while you were still in the shower. The wink he gave you as he pinched your ass told you that he was definitely up to no good. It still sets your mood in the right direction seeing him so happy, despite you being so nervous to hang out with Frankie. 

  Complicated 

  The word he said echoing through your mind in the shower as you try to block it out and relax under the steam and hot water. 

  When you’ve extracted yourself from the shower and spent a little more time than you’d care to admit finding something to wear you find yourself leaning against the doorway to the kitchen. Watching quietly as Frankie meticulously cleans up your mess from the morning that he certainly didn’t need to do. 

  “You know you didn’t have to do that Francisco.” He doesn’t jump at the sound of your voice, he could feel you watching him. He could smell your lotion that filled the space when you entered the room. 

  He turns to face you leaning against the counter with his arms crossed and a smirk etched in his features. “You can call me Frankie, my mama called me Francisco when I was in trouble.” 

  “I’ll have to remember that Frankie.” 

  He blushes at that as he dips his head. “So…Mrs. Garcia, what’s on the itinerary for the day?” You balk at that and he just smiles all wide obviously having been filled in by Santi. He seems genuinely excited. 

  You take a few steps into the kitchen to lean on the counter facing him, his eyes flit briefly to the slight dip in your sundress. “I’m not a Mrs, yet, don’t get ahead of yourself Frankie. I was thinking we could head to the farmers market to pick up some things for dinner.” 

  He’s waiting for you to finish your laundry list of things but you just stand there staring at each other. “Anything else? You’re a rich woman now.” 

  You laugh and roll your eyes. “I don’t know, I guess I don’t really spoil myself that much.” You bite your lip thinking of anything you’ve wanted recently and he knows you’re unaware of the little things you do that drive him absolutely crazy. “Oh!” 

  “Yes, tell me.” He matches your excitement as he leans into the counter face to face with you. 

  “There’s a bookstore I’ve been wanting to check out.” You tap your fingers nervously and he wants to make fun of you a little but the way you’re smiling at him he can’t bring himself to burst your bubble. 

  He swipes the keys from the bowl on the counter as he holds his other hand out to you. “Farmers market and bookstore, hermosa.” You hesitantly take his hand as he practically pulls you out the door, your heart skips a beat as he laces his large fingers with yours. “Remind me that Santi and I need to give you a lesson in spoiling yourself.” 

  ****

  “These aren’t as good as yours.” Frankie says with a mouthful of cookie as you stroll down the walkway at the market. He looks down at you grinning, his cap shielding the sun from those gorgeous eyes. The small bit of rain gave way to the most beautiful day and you’ve completely lost yourselves in showing him around the different vendors. “I’m serious, you could sell those cookies. I would buy them every day.” 

  “Well lucky for you, I can make them for you. Everyday.” You say with a hint of flirtation. 

  “Is that so?”

  You just nod as you brush along his arm, goosebumps raising on your skin. You can feel him looking at you, not even watching his step. He’s so sure of himself even in a place he’s never been. You noticed him when you arrived, scoping out the area and taking note of all the people. You’re glad you got used to it with Santiago over the years. It’s been awhile since you’ve seen it up close. The need to protect and have all your surroundings covered. 

  You gasp as you notice a booth that hasn’t been here in a few weeks with handmade jewelry. You look up at him to ask if he wants to check it out and without a word he just nods his head and places his hand along your back guiding you toward it. His hand feels hot on the thin dress you wore and the gesture so small yet intimate that you can’t help but tense a little. 

  It doesn’t seem to phase him…nothing really seems to phase him. 

  You stand there for a moment just eyeing the jewelry for a while. Running your hands along the chains with small pendants at the end of each one. One catches your eye and you take it off the hook folding it over to check the price. It’s still odd for you as hard as you work to spend money on yourself. You didn’t grow up in the best situation and so you always default to being practical. 

  He nudges you and it startles you a little. “You should get it.” He watches you mull it over. At first he doesn’t understand, it can’t really be about the money. He remembers being the one in your position. Santi always pushing him to enjoy the little things and he never understood until recently. 

  He takes it from you gently as you watch him dangle it on his finger. “Excuse me ma'am. I’d like to buy this necklace.” 

  “Oh dear, that’s one of my favorites. I’ve been wondering when someone was going to take it off my hands.” The sweet gray haired woman takes it from him. Her wrists adorned with bangles that she made no doubt. She places it on a small piece of tissue paper to wrap but he stops her. 

  “She’d like to wear it now, if that’s alright.” You and the woman both regard him at the same moment. Perhaps the same dumb lovestruck look on your face when he says it all low and sweet. 

  “Well of course she can, you don’t have to ask me.” She cuts the tag off for you and hands it to him as he swiftly passes her two bills, far too much for the necklace but he insists on her keeping the change. 

  “Turn.” A swift command that you find yourself obeying, your body betraying your need to question why you easily fall into this role with him. Why it doesn’t feel wrong or out of place. Your breathing picks up as he slides the cool metal around your neck clasping it together. “Let me see.” 

  You try to school your face into a neutral expression when you turn around. But you never were very good at poker. 

  “It’s beautiful.” Frankie’s looking directly into your eyes and it feels like he wants to say something more. 

  The woman reaches over squeezing Frankie’s hand breaking the moment. “It was very nice of you to buy that for your wife.” 

  You start to protest but he just wraps his arm around you pulling you into his side. “What kind of husband would I be if I deprived her of anything?” He looks down at your shocked expression and just winks as the woman clasps her hands over her heart. 

  He pulls you away from the booth, his large palm rubbing circles along your shoulder. He leans in close whispering in your ear. “Remind me to tell Santi you’re actually Mrs. Morales.” 

  ****

  Your hand traces the pendant on your neck as you watch the familiar houses go by. Frankie’s hand rests on the back of your seat as he hums some obscure tune. 

  In the back of the car nestled among the fresh produce for dinner is a stack of books that you can’t wait to dive into. It didn’t take long for you to stop arguing at the store when he insisted on buying you anyone you wanted. You decided to personally limit it to four even though you both knew there were far more. 

  He couldn’t stop laughing at the way you would smell the pages of the books as you opened each one in the store. Something so peaceful and nostalgic about lignin and vanilla scent. 

  He turns the corner and his hand glides easily on top of the smooth leather of the steering wheel. His muscles flex with just the slightest movement and you don’t look away fast enough when he turns to you. 

  He smirks at you and raises his eyebrows before returning them back to the road. 

  Fuck he’s trying to kill you

  You realize at that moment you haven’t checked your phone all day as you retrieve it from your bag. 

  One text from Will’s wife wishing you congratulations. 

  One text from Benny saying how happy he was for you, and another swiftly followed up with how he will be maid of honor. 

  No notification from Santi. 

  Your brow furrows as you pull into your driveway. 

  “Everything okay hermosa?” Frankie puts the car in park as he settles back in the seat. The hand that was on your headrest coming dangerously close to your thigh. 

  “Ya, everything’s fine…I just haven’t heard from Santiago.” 

  “He’ll be home in about an hour. I can help you get dinner started in the meantime.” He doesn’t give you a chance to answer. He slides out of the driver's seat and heads to your side opening the door for you. You reach for the bags but he tsks under his breath and you just sigh as you slide out and head for the front door. If there was anything at all he was determined to do today it was help you learn how to be taken care of. 

  ****

  “So what makes this pizza so special?” 

  You’re both standing around the island, the oven set to preheat and all the toppings chopped and ready. 

  “Oh, I don’t know…Santi really likes the dough. I don’t really do much to it.” You shrug as you spread the flour on the granite counter. 

  “I think you’re being modest…once again.” Frankie’s constant compliments still make you a little flustered as he runs his fingers through his hair. 

  You take the large ball of dough, placing it in front of you. He watches with rapt attention as you pull the sides gently apart with your hands. Forming an imperfect circle. It sticks to you as you peel your hand away gesturing for the bag of flour. 

  “How much?” 

  “Just sprinkle a little here.” He moves closer to you as he spreads it out in front you. You bite your lip in concentration as you work out the edges. 

  He chuckles as he meets your eyes. 

  “Something funny Morales?” You purr at him. 

  “Do you toss it?” All taunts in his tone but you choose to ignore it. 

  “No…I prefer to take my time and use my hands instead of a rolling pin. Tossing it has always been too hard for me.” You don’t look up at him then instead choosing to focus on the task at hand. 

  He closes the short distance between you, coming up behind you as he places his hands on the counter caging you in. You take a deep shuddering breath. You can smell his cologne and as he crowds your senses. 

  “Show me.” The deep rumble of his voice reverberates through you as his hot breath fans across your neck. 

  You wrap your hands around his wrists, placing them on the dough. Your hands are on top of his as you slowly resume your movements from before. 

  “You want to gently push the dough toward the outer corners, while trying to keep a relatively uniform shape.” He hums in your ear as he lets you guide him and you squirm a little in his hold. “Don’t press too hard, you don’t want to make any holes, just ease it from the middle. If your hand gets too sticky just add a little more flour.” 

  “We wouldn’t want that now would we?” He knows what he’s doing but you don’t want to stop him. You’re not moving your hands anymore as they rest on top of his. His large palms work the dough with perfect precision as you feel him press into you. 

  He hears you whimper as he presses his painfully hard bulge into your back. You could pull away, tell him to stop but you lean back into his hold. 

  “I have a confession.” Frankie whispers in your ear. “I’ve done this before.” He kisses your neck and you shiver. 

  “Make dough?” 

  He chuckles against you as you turn your head to him, your nose just barely brushing his. His lips meet yours. Softer and sweeter than you’d expect for how much the tension has been building between you all day. It takes you a moment to regain consciousness as he deepens the kiss and you stop briefly cursing under your breath. 

  “Frankie…I’m sorry.” He pulls away from you just enough for you to extract yourself from him. Hands covered in flour as you scramble to the sink. 

  “Did I-“ 

  “Oh my god Frankie… I shouldn't have done that.” You're scrubbing your hands under the sink as tears well up in your eyes. 

  “You didn’t do anything…I did.” He takes a small step towards you, hands held out in front of him. You look like a frightened animal when you turn around. “Shit, I didn’t mean for it to happen like this, I just-.” 

  “No Frankie it’s okay, I’ll tell Santi it was my fault.” You dry your hands and leave him in the kitchen before you have a chance to embarrass yourself any further. 

  ****

  You’re feverishly packing a bag when you hear hushed voices coming from the living room. You can’t believe you let yourself get so caught up in a moment of weakness with Frankie. Your fiancés ex, in their home. 

  It hurts just saying it in your head when you think about it. The look on Santi’s face playing out in your mind when you tell him. 

  Panic rising in your throat as you hear heavy footsteps coming down the hall. 

  A small knock on the door before Santi enters your bedroom, taking in your frantic state on the floor in front of your dresser. You can see Frankie looming in the hallway, looking a lot less worried than you. 

  “Sweetheart.” Santi joins you on the floor but you don’t meet his eyes. 

  “I’m sorry, I have no excuse for what I did.” You move to stand but he takes your hands in his, forcing you to look at him. 

  “Sweetheart relax…just breathe.” He kisses your palm and his voice holds no malice. “I owe you an apology.” 

  You sniffle and look up at him, confusion etched across your face. You glance at Frankie who’s a little further in your bedroom, leaning against the wall all cool and calm. 

  Santi takes your chin in his fingers directing your attention back to him. “I told Frankie to show you a good time today. Did he do that?” 

  You nod your head. 

  “I thought things might be easier this way but I was running a little late so I’m sorry.” He pulls you toward him kissing your forehead and you melt into his touch. 

  “Santiago, I don’t understand.” Your voice barely above a whisper. 

  “Sweetheart, I think you do.” He tilts his head and just smiles, sickeningly sweet. “I see the way he looks at you, and I see the way you look at him.” 

  He helps you to your feet and guides you on shaky legs to the edge of the bed. He slides his hands along your thighs, mimicking his movements from this morning. Frankie toes off his boots behind him and unbuckles his belt. Santi grabs your chin again as your chest rises and falls. “You trust me cariño?” 

  “Yes.” 

  “Do you want this?” The resolve in his voice breaks a little as he watches you glance up to Frankie. 

  “Yes.”

  It’s all the answer he needs before he starts to slowly undress you. He can’t wipe the smile from his face as he kisses your arms and hands, pulling your shirt up over your head. Frankie stood behind him, only in his boxers as he swipes his thumb across his bottom lip. 

  “We’re gonna take real good care of you baby.” Frankie’s voice breaks through the silence as he waits patiently in the doorway. Your eyes go wide as you finally get a look at him. The swell of his cock in his boxers is evident. 

  “Don’t worry sweetheart, we’ll work you up to it.” Santi chuckles against your thighs as he peels your jeans down your legs. He didn’t need to turn around to know what’s got you so speechless. 

  Santi leaves you for a moment as Frankie stalks toward you. You want to shrink under his intense gaze but the way his hand trails lightly under the smooth skin of your breast as he kisses you again. It sets you on fire. The bed dips behind you but your eyes stay on Frankie as he drops to his knees in front of you. Spreading you wide for him as he pushes your thighs apart. 

  “Fuck Pope, she’s so wet already.” His thumb rubs along the front of your panties, marveling at the way it grows impossibly wetter. 

  “Just wait until you taste her.” Santi’s voice comes in behind you as he pulls you back against him. You can feel his naked body pressed against your back as his cock twitches underneath you. 

  Frankie shoots him a look of annoyance as he raises up to the bed. He settles on his stomach as he kisses down your thigh, hovering his mouth just above where you want him the most. His fingers hook in the waistband of your panties as he slowly drags them down, not waiting a moment longer as he dips his tongue into your entrance. 

  You gasp at first as he starts to lick and suck at your clit, you don’t know how he’s already got you so worked up as he growls into your pussy. “Fuck baby, you taste so good.” One hand grips the sheet as the other fists his hair pulling him impossibly closer. 

  Santi curses behind you as you grind into him, his cock painfully hard at the sight of Frankie’s head nestled between your thighs while you come apart on his tongue. 

  Frankie dips two fingers into your pussy as you clench down hard, fighting off your climax. You rock your hips back but his large palm pulls you into them gliding in and out. The sound you let out is purely pornographic and both men groan in unison. 

  “You’re gonna come like this hermosa, and then you're gonna come on Santi’s cock.” His thumb rubs your clit as he spills filth out of his mouth, kissing and biting at your inner thigh. “And then I’m gonna fuck you into the mattress until you’re crying out my name.” 

  Santi’s hand reaches around massaging your breasts between his hands, gripping the flesh for dear life as he tries to hold off. You're coming hard at Frankie’s words and the soft whimpers and half Spanish spewing out of Santi’s mouth. “Frankie.” You cry out as you clench down on his fingers. 

  “God damn baby.” You can hear the wet squelch as he doesn’t let up. His voice wrecked as he sits up pulling his fingers from you. 

  You don’t have a moment to mourn the loss of him, you’re being maneuvered so quickly. The work of two men positioning you in Santi’s lap, hovering just above his aching cock. 

  It’s a rush, finding yourself in this position. Frankie behind you straddling Santi’s legs as he whispers promises into your ear. The sweet juxtaposition to what he’s doing to you right now. Santi looks up at you both, everything he could ever want right in front of him. Finally. 

  “You ready to ride your fiancé?” Frankie settles his hands on your hips as you place yours on Santi’s chest. You’ve done this many times before but this feels so different. The anticipation as he grips the base of his cock, lining it up with your entrance. Sweat beads down his face as he watches Frankie lower you down, inch by inch. 

  He sucks in a sharp breath as you bottom out and Frankie grips your hips keeping you there. You can feel Santi’s cock twitch, begging you to move but he’s not in control tonight. Frankie hooks his chin over your shoulder as he grins down at Santi, slowly rolling your hips in his large palms. It’s an agonizing pace and Santi’s whole body shakes beneath you. 

  Frankie kisses your cheek softly as he starts to grind you harder into Santi, he lifts you slightly bouncing you up and down as you feel the drag of his cock through your walls. “Fuck Frankie…I’m-“ Santi’s so on edge he can’t even finish his sentence. 

  “Not yet.” He grits out behind you as you whine, throwing your head back onto his shoulder. 

  He reaches around pinching your clit between his fingers and you can feel the moment you both come. Santi with a shout as you clench down hard on him, Frankie rocking you through your climax as Santi’s hip practically lifts you off the bed. You can feel him pulsing inside you filling you with his cum as he shakes with aftershocks. It’s so fucking hot, watching him fall apart beneath you as you both come down from your high. 

  Frankie wraps his arms around you as he kisses your neck, licking the sweat from your cheek as he dips his tongue into your mouth. 

  Santi can’t believe what he’s watching, what he’s feeling. 

  “Come here sweetheart.” Santi says as Frankie releases you. You collapse into his chest as Frankie rubs his hands along your spine. Squeezing your ass before he rolls off the bed. 

  “You okay?” You nod against his face as he rolls you both over so he’s on top. It’s obscene the way his cum drips from between your thighs as he kisses you desperately. So proud for taking that step with him, trusting him to take care of you. “We can stop now if you want to.” 

  “No Santi, I want it.” You practically whine as he pulls away from you to be by your side. 

  Frankie laughs as he rolls a condom onto his thick length. “She’s needy, I like her like this.” He towers over you, rubbing his hands along your thighs as he parts them gently. Your eyes are trained on his chest, a small gold band sits neatly at the end of a chain. They drift further roaming down to his soft stomach. He’s beautiful like this. 

  Santi grabs his cock lining it up and the man jerks at that touch. The way he knows how to handle him. You see him break momentarily and it makes you giggle. He raises an eyebrow at you as you pull him down by his neck, crashing your lips into his as he sinks deep into you. You swallow his moans as your mouth parts at the thick intrusion. 

  “Jesus fucking Christ, she’s so tight.” He chokes out as you guide his face away from you. A look of confusion on his face until you glance over to Santi waiting patiently for what he’s wanted for days. 

  He’s hesitant at first but you roll your hips up encouraging him and he leans over kissing Santi softly on the lips. His tongue dips into his mouth, tasting him for the first time in years and tears spring from the corner of his eyes as he starts to set a brutal pace. You’re gripping his shoulders as he pounds into you, grunting into Santi’s mouth as he tries not to come before you. 

  He knows if he felt you here bare mixed with Santi’s cum he’d already be a goner. 

  You arch your back as he digs his fingers into your thighs. You’re grasping at him and Santi to ground you as he hits something deep inside. You don’t even recognize the noises coming out of you as the bed slams the wall over and over. 

  He turns his attention back to you as you chant his name. “Fuck Frankie I’m so close.” 

  Santi reaches his hand between your sweat soaked bodies and rubs hard on your clit. “Come for him baby.” The silent scream leaves your mouth as your climax rocks through you for the third time tonight. Frankie follows you over as he locks eyes with Santi, his fingers wrapped around the base of his cock, mixed with your come and his. 

  Frankie collapses on top of you, putting all his weight on you as Santi rubs his hands down his back. 

  It takes you a moment to catch your breath and briefly Frankie starts to feel that dread creeping up again. It’s too quiet for him and he starts to move off you. 

  Your legs wrap around him as you whine and Santi just laughs beside you. 

  “Sorry Fish, she’s not gonna let you go.” Santi kisses his shoulder softly as he feels him let out a sigh of relief. 

  “Good, I’m not letting you go. Either of you.” 

  It’s peacefully quiet again, the three of you just laying there, basking in the afterglow. Santi’s light snores coming from beside you. 

  “Frankie?” You coo at him as he hums into your neck. “Kiss me.” His lips find yours as you breathe in his scent. 

  “You never have to ask hermosa.” You let a contented sigh. 

  “Frankie?” You ask again. 

  “Sì bebita.” He kisses your neck and down your chest as the cool metal of his necklace falls between you. 

  “I’m starving.”

   He glances over to Santi, smiling in his sleep. “Let’s go make some pizza.” 

Prev/Epilogue

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated

[halfhissandwich]

Kind of went back to my roots with this one, and I fully support the headcanon that literally every single side is crushing on Logan.

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Crush Symptoms

idea, but no pressure: Touch-starved analogical? Maybe a bit of hurt/comfort where they both think the other doesn’t like hugs/other touch, but really they just don’t know how to ask? love your work! – amateurmasksmith

I was wondering if you could do a fic with Virgil as the comforter, since he’s rarely in that role. I was thinking Logan starts working more and taking worse care of himself, and instead of processing his stress and feelings he holds the stress in his body, which combined with sitting more and shit is causing him physical pain, and Virgil, being anxiety, helps him relax and relieves the pain. No pressure tho lol I just thought it’d be interesting to see some physical comfort since you write mental comfort so well – anon

Read on Ao3

Warnings: chronic pain, not-actually unrequited love

Pairings: analogical

Word Count: 3306

Logan is aware that he is what some people might call 'standoffish.' This does not prevent him from developing quite the crush on Virgil. Now, if only he could find a way to talk about it that didn't involve having s mental breakdown...

Logan is aware that he is what some people might call 'standoffish.' He does not invite the same camaraderie that a few of the other Sides do, nor does he make himself approachable for things such as hugs or other forms of physical affection. By and large, he is content to remain this way, as it allows him to perform his duties and adhere to his schedule without being waylaid by those who will not be named that are quite fond of occupying laps or other physical spaces as would a particularly affectionate pet. That is, offended by any sort of dislodging or movement that impedes their ability to use him as a pillow.

Now, this does not mean that he is averse to offering physical affection, far from it. If Patton is in need of a hug, or if Roman insists on sweeping them all into some form of ballroom dance, he will oblige. Firstly because often it is no hardship, secondly because if it is a hardship, complying usually gets it over with a little quicker. However, there are certain forms that he resists wholeheartedly, namely being tackled onto the nearest surface, soft or otherwise. He has several bruises from the trial and error period of figuring out how best to avoid such circumstances.

While this serves him perfectly well the majority of the time, he would be remiss in his conclusions to say that it works out all the time. He is still human, metaphysical or otherwise, and as such, is subject to the same things that all humans are when it comes to his health. He must still endeavor to eat relatively healthily, he must get an adequate amount of sleep, and yes, he must socialize. This can typically be achieved by attending the 'family dinners,' as Patton is fond of calling them, regularly scheduling movie nights for everyone, and partaking in whatever events the twins conjure in the Imagination for them to enjoy. Recently, however, he's been noticing something amiss.

He's begun to get quite cold. At first, he ascribed it to the changing seasons; despite the fact that Thomas lives in Florida, the coming of the winter months is accompanied by some decrease in average temperature. It made sense, then, that he would be colder if it were colder outside. However, the general feeling of the Mindscape did not alter significantly, nor did adding sweaters or cardigans make any sort of meaningful difference. He tried switching his water intake with hot tea, keeping a blanket on hand to drape over his lap when he worked, even trying to make his room warmer using a few extra heat lamps Janus deemed insufficient. Nothing worked, in fact it made it worse. Now he felt both too warm and too cold at the same time, which was endlessly perplexing. How could he be sweating and still feel cold?

It became clear this was not a typical issue of temperature. There is something else at work here, clearly, that is giving him the sensation of being cold without the physical symptoms present. Perhaps some sort of latent emotional response due to something happening in Thomas's life. But as much as he tries to investigate that avenue, he fails to find anything significant enough to warrant this sudden feeling. None of the others imply that anything's wrong, Thomas isn't undergoing any significant struggle, and even checking in on the status of his own work fails to result in anything useful.

The last option, then, is that the problem is entirely internal.

At first, the conclusion makes Logan scoff. What could he be doing or not doing that would result in him feeling cold? He was maintaining his physical fitness, his general health, even his social requirements. He'd just come from movie night, after all, where all of them ended up on one of the large mattresses the twins could summon, huddled under blankets while some generic action movie played on the TV. He hadn't felt cold during that, had he?

Logan sits down at his desk, fingers steepled in concentration. He closes his eyes, trying to remember how he felt a few minutes ago. He'd been sitting with his back against the couch, yes, with Roman and Remus cuddled up near the edge of the mattress as Janus quietly explained to Patton what was going on. Virgil had been on the other side, twisting his hoodie strings back and forth as he watched. Logan hadn't been cold, how could he have been, what with the twins acting as space heaters under the blankets? The only time that he had even approached getting cold had been when Remus got up to use the bathroom, pushing his way through the pile of them and the blanket had flipped up. Virgil had leaned forward to pull it back down and brushed against Logan's arm.

Logan blinks.

Virgil's arm had been warm. Distressingly so. As though someone had taken a hot water bottle and pressed it against him. It had lasted barely a second, as Virgil had quickly pulled away with a muttered apology. But that is, to date, the only memory Logan has of actually feeling warm instead of cold.

Glancing at the clock, he sighs and opens his laptop, quickly typing something in and adjusting his glasses. The cold feeling reemerges as he reads, one hand unconsciously going to the front of his chest as he takes in the words on the screen. He amends his conclusion about what's going on both too quickly and too slowly.

He's touch starved.

Had someone brought up the possibility even an hour earlier, he would have scoffed. He wasn't the type of person to become touch starved. He had all the options for physical affection he would want, how could he be touch starved? His role didn't give him any sort of predisposition to it either, that was reserved for Patton, Roman, Remus, even Janus. Logic, touch starved? The very notion was preposterous.

And yet, once you have eliminated the impossible…

He closes the laptop again and sits back, the hand still on his chest now feeling woefully inadequate. There are solutions to this problem, obviously, his disbelief at its existence signifies as such. He would be able to receive assistance from at least three Sides if he went to them right this moment and informed them of his predicament.

He sits in the chair, unmoving.

Patton would baby him. Treat him as though he were a child, someone to be smothered and cooed at, perhaps even forbid him from being on his own for a while until it was solved. That in and of itself might have the complete opposite effect and make him resent the idea of touch altogether.

Remus would be more aggressive. He might be wrestled down and held until Remus deemed it alright to let him up, which wouldn't be for a considerable amount of time. Besides, he's seen Remus's choice of affection and he's not sure such treatment would work to resolve the problem.

Janus would tease him. Or at the very least, hold it over his head in some way, no matter how innocent or playful it would be, in exchange for his help. He's embarrassed enough as it is, he can only imagine that having to watch Janus smirk and chuckle at him as he tried—badly, because that is all he can do at the moment—to make himself ask for physical comfort.

Roman…might be alright. Out of all of the Sides, Roman is perhaps the only one who Logan can actually imagine struggling with touch starvation. Roman would understand and probably wouldn't hold it over him in any way, or make him uncomfortable about it. He would understand the severity of the situation and the significance of Logan coming to him for help, but…but…

But if Logan is being very honest with himself in this moment, there is only one Side he truly wants to go to and ask for help, and it isn't Roman.

He gets up then, going to the bathroom to finish his nighttime routine, turning off the light and settling into bed. He sets his glasses on the side table and turns over. After a moment, he takes one of the spare pillows and tucks it against his chest. If he closes his eyes, he can attempt to imagine someone else here.

His crush on Virgil is an open secret between him and Roman at this point. Ironically enough, it was one of the first things that solidified this new friendship between them. Roman wouldn't betray his trust, he knows, nor would he actually bother him about it if he knew it was causing him this much distress. Sure, he'd coaxed Logan into doing one of those horrifically cliched rants about how much he liked Virgil once or twice under the justification that it was better to get it out in some way before it spilled out uncontrollably, but other than that, he left it alone. Which was excellent, because then there's a smaller chance that Virgil will find out, but also, that almost definitely rules out going to Roman for any sort of help.

Because Roman is, contrary to Logan's insistence, quite sensible, and he will no doubt suggest that Logan go and actually talk to Virgil.

Even the thought crossing his mind is enough to make him scoff again, burying his face in the pillow. Virgil is not one for physical affection either, which renders the entire solution pointless. If by some miracle he actually accepted Logan's affections—he does not dare give himself the hope that Virgil would return them—that was no guarantee that anything beneficial would become of it. He would simply have to deal with this on his own, or find some way to achieve a solution that would stem the worst of it until he thought of something better.

The cold feeling in his chest spreads a little bit as he falls asleep.

He does not, in fact, succeed at doing either of these things. Instead, he decides that the best way to avoid dealing with this problem is to devote himself to his projects, reasoning that if he has less brain space to worry about it and dwell on his inability to resolve it, it will become less of a problem. In doing so, he forgets three key things: one, you cannot reason or think your way out of being in pain, two, ignoring a problem does not make it go away, and three, ignoring this particular problem makes it much worse.

Much, much worse.

The first time he tries to get up and has to wince at the pull in his shoulders, he doesn't think anything of it. Perhaps he was sitting for too long. He rolls them a few times to stretch them out and continues about his day as though nothing's gone wrong.

The first time he gets up and has to immediately sit back down, he has the thought of reaching for his water bottle and a snack. He looks at the clock and realizes he's been working far longer than he anticipated. Perhaps that was it, just losing track of time.

The first time he wakes up and every single muscle in his body aches, he knows he's gone too far.

He has half a mind to scold himself the way he does the twins for neglecting his physical health in favor of his work, but just as soon as the thought crosses his mind, another pushes itself to the forefront. The physical manifestation of stress has not only caused him to become virtually immobile, but it has a high likelihood of directly alerting the one person Logan would really rather not know about any of this.

A dread that is instantly realized when he feels something soft and warm brushing his hair back from his face.

"Hey, L? L, can you hear me?"

"Virgil?"

"Yeah, it's me." He must be imagining the relief in Virgil's voice, why else would he sound like that? "Sorry to come in without asking, but it seems like you're really not having a good time right now."

He manages to pry his eyes open and sure enough, there is Virgil, looking down at him with concern written plainly across his face. He swallows and his throat protests. Virgil seems to take that as an answer.

"I think you've overworked yourself a bit," he says in that soft way that isn't teasing, not really, but enough to make Logan flush, "can I help you figure out something else?"

"Like what?"

"You're in pain right now, yeah? Shh, hey, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like a bad thing—I mean, it's a bad thing you're in pain, but I'm here to help you not be in pain, not make fun of you for being in pain."

"Sorry."

"Don't apologize for reacting like you're hurt when you are." His hand cards through Logan's hair again and he has to bite his lip at how warm the touch is. "Can I help, though? I know a bit about making this sort of pain go away."

This is a bad idea. This is in fact a terrible idea. This is not something Logan should agree too.

"Okay," Virgil says, when Logan nods because of course he does, why should he stop making bad decisions now, "here's what we're gonna do, okay? I'm guessing there's a lot of pain just sort of in your limbs, am I right?"

"Yes."

"Got it. I'm gonna start stretching them out, okay? You let me know if anything hurts too much and I'll stop right away."

"Okay."

"I'm gonna start with your arm." Virgil's hands are so warm and solid on his arm that he almost bites back a whine. "That okay? Not hurting too much?"

"N-no."

"Okay. Let me know if that changes."

He starts lifting and rotating Logan's arm, bending and straightening it and massaging the tender skin. Some part in the back of Logan's brain recognizes he's trying to restore regular blood flow and a decent range of movement, but the rest of him is currently swallowed in the dry warmth of Virgil's touch. He lays that arm down after a while and moves to the other one. But this has him leaning over Logan with his shadow falling across Logan's face and he can't stop the slight rush of breath that escapes him.

"Hey," comes the gentle voice and that isn't helping matters at all, "hey, what's wrong, bud? You doing okay? Am I being too much?"

"No," he says far too quickly, "no, you're…you're fine."

A bemused smile comes to his face and he nods, continuing to work on the other arm. Logan's torn between letting his eyes fall shut to enjoy the sensation of just someone else touching him and keeping them open so as not to miss a second. Virgil seems mostly oblivious to his dilemma, patiently working his way up and down the arm until he lays it flat once more. He sits back on his haunches, a hand resting on Logan's knee. Even through the covers, the touch burns.

"How're your legs doing, bud? They hurt too?"

"Yes."

"Okay. I'm gonna need to take the covers off so I can see 'em, is that okay?" Logan nods, but as soon as the cool air hits him, the swelling sensation in his chest buckles and he's gasping for air in the next second. "Whoa, whoa, hey, hey, shh, shh, L, it's okay, look, there, the blanket's all back, see? Shh, it's okay, you're okay."

"Sorry," Logan gasps out, "sorry, I'm so sorry."

Virgil shuffles closer, a furrow between his eyebrows. "You've got nothing to apologize for, L, I mean it. I'm here to help, okay? If something I'm doing isn't helping, then you tell me and I stop it. That's what you did, you're doing great."

"N-no, I'm sorry you—you have to help me like—help me like this."

"Like what?"

"You have to—to touch me."

Virgil goes quiet. Logan squeezes his eyes shut and waits for the telltale noise of sinking out. Instead, he almost loses his entire composure when a hand gently cups his cheek.

"Logan," comes the voice, soft, too soft, too sweet, "open your eyes, look at me, sweetheart."

Oh, no. Not the pet names. Literally anything but that.

But Logan is weak and already doing what Virgil asked. The thumb brushing his cheek does make him want to shut his eyes again, because this cannot be real, but Virgil is smiling at him.

"I don't mind touching you," he murmurs, "that's not a hardship for me. Is it that you don't like being touched? Is that the problem?"

"You…" None of his brain wants to work so long as that hand is on his face. "Can't think."

The hand leaves and the cold makes him whimper. Virgil's hand touches his knee again. He blinks.

"You don't like being touched."

"What makes you think that?" Logan just stares at him. "Just because I don't like being tackled by Remus doesn't mean I don't like being touched."

"O-oh."

"Besides, if it were you, I don't think I'd have any problem with it at all." Virgil chuckles when a flush decides that now is the perfect time to spread all over Logan's face. "Wow, okay, I wasn't expecting that."

"You—you—what?"

He leans forward, both hands reaching this time, and they fit gently around the curve of Logan's neck. The rush of warmth is staggering, not helped at all by Virgil's soft voice still murmuring to him. "I thought you didn't like to be touched, sweetheart, that's it. I'm happy to help you, I promise. And Princey's definitely gonna tease the hell out of me when he hears about this."

"Wait, why?"

"Because he knows about the big fat crush I have on you and if he could see me right now…" Virgil trails off when he notices Logan's eyes brimming with tears. "Hey, hey, sweetheart, don't cry, I'm sorry, that was too much to dump on you right now, here, let me help you with your legs and you can—"

Logan doesn't let him finish, surging forward to clumsily press his mouth to Virgil's. The hands cradling his face stutter and for a moment, he thinks he's made the worst mistake of his life, but then Virgil sighs and kisses him back like it's the only thing he wants to do.

"Well," he says softly when they break apart, "I think Princey's gonna be teasing both of us, then?"

"Probably."

Virgil chuckles and rubs their noses together. "How about this, then: let me help stretch your legs out, get you some painkillers, then we'll cuddle in bed and not worry about how smug Princey's gonna be until later?"

"That sounds perfectly adequate."

"'Perfectly adequate,' alright, I can work with that."

Roman does indeed end up being very smug, but he's quietly smug about it, which Logan will take as a win.

General Taglist: @frxgprince@potereregina@gattonero17@iamhereforthegayshit@thefingergunsgirl@awkwardandanxiousfander@creative-lampd-liberties@djpurple3@winterswrandomness@sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes@iminyourfandom@bullet-tothefeels@full-of-roman-angst-trash  @ask-elsalvador @ramdomthingsfrommymind@demoniccheese83@pattonsandershugs @el-does-photography @princeanxious@firefinch-ember@fandomssaremysoul@im-an-anxious-wreck@crazy-multifandomfangirl @punk-academian-witch@enby-ralsei@unicornssunflowersandstuff@wildhorsewolf @thetruthaboutthesun @stubbornness-and-spite @princedarkandstormv  @your-local-fookin-deadmeme @angels-and-dreams@averykedavra @a-ghostlight-for-roman @treasurechestininterweb @cricketanne @queerly-fluid-fan @compactdiscdraws@cecil-but-gayer@i-am-overly-complicated@annytheseal@alias290@tranquil-space-ninja @arxticandy @mychemically-imbalanced-romance@whyiask@crows-ace @emilythezeldafan@frida0043 @ieatspinalcords @snowyfires@cyanide-violence@oonagh2@xxpanic-at-the-everywherexx@rabbitsartcorner @percy-07734@triflingassailantofmyemotions @virgil-sanders-the-gay-emo@cerulean-watermelon@puffed-up-bees@meltheromanstan@joyrose-fandomer@insanitori@mavenmush@justablah65@10paradox10@uhhh-hi-there-i-am-nervous@cutebisexualmess@bella-bugatti-frogetti-baguetti@ultrageekygirl

[maxwapan]

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁✰ I love you in the worst way!

Title from Using You by Mars Argo

summary: Leon can’t bring himself to love you the way you love him.

cw: Reader has fem body parts, smut no penetration, oral, ANGST no comfort!, set relationship, unrequited love?, reader is very selfless lol, Leon brings himself down a lot, Leon is kind of an asshole SORRY lol, very bad body image, self loathing, puppy analogies!!

note: wahhhh i’m not so good at writing plot related things LOL i’m so used to just writing silly smut! so HOPEFULLYY this isn’t corny omg :3 ALSO!!! VENDETTA LEON!!!

wc: 2,879

The house feels empty, the harsh slap of rain padding against the windows making you dissociate and lose awareness of your surroundings. Blue light shines on your frame, the TV in front of you playing random pictures of a lighthearted sitcom. You’re not even paying attention, none at all. Restless, that’s what you feel. Like something claws at you from inside, but you can’t decipher it. It tugs at your heart and splashes ice at your insides. Lonely. That’s what you feel.

No wonder your eyes keep wandering, flittering towards the clock and back to the display in front of you. Leon is supposed to be back by now. It's been hours. Specifically, four since he said he would return. The abandoned smell of dinner feels like a punch to the gut, taunting you for what could have been. Your stomach grumbles with hunger, but you pay no mind to it. If it were Leon, he would have waited for you. Right? Right. Shaky sighs escape your lips, unease starting to spread like a rapid wildfire. The pit forming in your belly makes you nauseous, body threatening to purge what little it had inside

This shouldn’t be normal, but it is. Wait hours for your beloved to arrive, only to get some flimsy excuse as to why he couldn’t make it. ‘I got called back to work. I got set back. Sorry, too tired.’ And yet you forgave him every time. You wanted to get mad, maybe lash out and demand the attention you oh so craved. But you could never. He’s told you why. He’s tired, job is too demanding. Always coming back with more bruises and aches than before. You should understand, right? He just doesn’t have time for you. There are more important things to worry about than someone who nags you left right and center. He lets you know every time.

Your eyelids start to feel heavy, vision blurring at the corners as exhaustion begins to seep in. The couch feels uncomfortable, cushions rough on your skin. Everything lacks the tranquility you once adored, replaced by a feeling akin to misery and dismay. However, just as you’re about to knock out cold, the distant jingle of keys and rustling behind the front door jars you awake. Blinking, you snap your neck towards the direction of the offending noises, heart rabbiting against your chest in a mixture of excitement and anxiety. Like a pooch eager to greet its master. How endearingly pathetic.

Sitting up, you almost wobble over with how disoriented you feel. The door opens, and there goes all your hopes and dreams. The apple of your eye. There at the entrance stands Leon, your lifeboat. The man that has you groveling at his feet. He looks exhausted, icy blue eyes hooded and sharp, full of an intensity that makes you cower yet thrive. As soon as his eyes land on you, he sighs. It’s a big, long, drawn-out sigh. One that insinuates he didn’t want any part of this– of you. It’s enough to make you wilt and look away in shame, but not enough to fully repel you. “Leon,” your voice comes out as shaky, but eager nonetheless. You missed him, is all. Didn’t he feel the same way too? “I missed you,” you breathe out.

It’s not like he doesn’t like you. But there’s just something about the way you look at him like he’s someone to worship. It makes him feel gross. Guilty, even. Knowing he can’t be the person you want him to be. “Yeah?” he replied gruffly, not finding the confidence within himself to say it back. To love you back. “Shouldn’t you be asleep?” he says instead, rubbing the back of his neck tiredly. He doesn’t want to talk, doesn’t even want to look at you. Closing and locking the door behind him, he busies himself in seeking out some whiskey to nurse from the kitchen. You follow.

“I was worried,” you said, brows furrowed and lips curving into a small frown. Full of concern, full of unconditional love. You’re practically flooded with it. “you missed dinner, and it was getting dark—“ “Jesus, yeah yeah, I get it.” He cut you off harshly, hand raised in a ‘be quiet’ gesture meant to placate you. It does as intended, your mouth snapping shut almost immediately. How pitiful. How callous of him. Your eagerness to please only serves to frustrate Leon further. Why are you like this? It’s like you’re a damn dog he picked up from the pound. So sweet and kind, so skittish around him.

And here he is, acting like an ungrateful asshole. You shifted in place, fingers tugging at the hem of your shirt nervously. With your eyes downcast and your head low, it’s enough to make him feel guilty. Leon grimaced, looking away from you in favor of the booze kept in the fridge. Whiskey feels great down his throat. The burn is enough to take his mind off of things, like stinging syrup that punishes just as much as it pleases. As soon as he gets his hands around the neck, he takes a long swing, tilting his head back as if he couldn’t get enough.

Slamming it back down onto the kitchen counter, he let out a quiet groan, dreading what could follow. “Listen,” he starts reluctantly, “I just need some space, alright? Some fucking time to think.” His tone is cold and it carries an edge, sharp enough to pierce through the entire culmination of your being. “So quit your nagging, and get off my ass already. All you do is bother me.” his little uncalled-for rant proceeds, and he knows very well how cruel he’s being. Considering the way tears bead at your waterline, and the way your bottom lip trembles, he knows he crossed a line. But that can’t be helped, now can it? It’s for the better— to keep you a distance away. It’s for the better, is what he tells himself every day.

But really, there’s no reason for him to treat you like this. Like you’re unwanted and unneeded. Maybe he’s so used to being demeaning and mean that it comes naturally. Maybe he despises you. Maybe he’s in denial. He doesn’t deserve such a sweet thing like you. Doesn’t deserve your kind gestures and words. Not your gentle touch or your caring looks. Even though deep down, through the brambles and wires that shield his heart, a profound longing aches. Every time he hurts you, he only makes it worse for himself. Maybe it’s what he needs.

Your spirits are understandably crushed, as they always were around him. You always came back for more. Always loved like a dog. No matter how beaten down you were, you always came back with your tail between your legs and love in your eyes. It makes him sick. He can hurt you, but you would still follow him around devotedly. And it hurts. It hurts so much that he’d rather break you down until there was nothing left, until you finally saw that he’d never love you the way you loved him.

“Okay,” you murmur, sniffling as fat tears slipped down your cheeks. First one, then two, then three. “I’m sorry,” you apologize. You always apologize. Leon hates seeing you cry. You know that. So you do your best in wiping away those tears, willing yourself not to cry and make Leon hate you even more. Is there something wrong with you? It’s a thought that always seems to crawl back from the grave, making you spiral into self-deprecation. Is there something wrong with your face? Are you too ugly? Too fat? Too naive? Too much you? You’ve always tried to change, always tried to change for him.

Dresses made you feel too exposed. Nail polish chipped when you chewed at your fingers. Makeup made you feel like a pig pretending to be pretty. Nothing works. Nothing ever works. Leon kept his eyes on the bottle of whiskey. The smell and lingering taste taunted him, calling out to him like a siren song. But he can’t bring himself to drink now. He feels sick. Like he just ruined something for good, yet couldn’t bring himself to do anything about it. The guilt and shame is grueling, and he can’t handle it. He’d never be able to. So when panic starts to rise, he does the first thing he can think of.

With a sigh, he slowly turned around, watching silently as tears continued to stain your heartbroken face.

He can’t be with you.

Stepping closer, his hands rested on your shoulders, before gently pulling you in close enough to envelop you in his warmth. With his arms wrapped around you tight, he buried his face into your hair. You smelled nice. Felt nice. But he didn’t want to think about that right now. Not now, not ever. “It’s okay,” he says. Not sorry. Just, it’s okay. You’re to blame. “Don’t cry.” his lips then find your forehead. He plants delicate kisses along your heated skin, to your cheeks, lips, and neck. Just don’t cry.

He shudders, the warmth you have to offer making him feel uneasy. You shiver in delight. He feels awful; you feel hopeful. Soft kisses turn into nips and suckles, the tender touching gradually converting into careless groping. Just have to get it over with. Your mewls make his ears ring and his heart skip a beat, and he tries so hard to ignore it. To ignore you. He tries to picture someone else's face. But he can’t. He squeezes your hips, digs his fingers into your thighs, and kneads your chest. He’s being too rough. But you don’t seem to mind. The attention is enough to make you happy. He’ll take it as a win.

Without thinking, he crashes his lips into yours, grunting when your tongue seeped out tentatively to brush against him. He feels dirty, but he lets you in. Immediately taking control, his hand cups the back of your head, accidentally getting some of your hair tangled in between his fingers— but oh well. The kiss is sloppy. Messy and disgusting. You have no idea how to kiss. He’s your first. Something that has him forcibly swallowing down the newly formed lump in his throat. Your first. He pushes himself to bid any thought goodbye. Get this over with, Leon.

After some stumbling around, you two eventually find the bed. Tangled in the sheets without modesty, with only thin sheens of sweat coating you. Clothes came off one by one, each article discarded and thrown about mindlessly, “Leon,” you moan softly. The sound of your voice drives him crazy. Makes him get lost in thought as he plays with your body. He tweaked your nipples, pinched the inner skin of your thighs, and bit down wherever he could. You gazed up at him as if he were the greatest man on earth. He isn’t. And he wishes he could turn off the lights— but he doesn’t want to risk making you cry again. His pants felt restrictive, each twitch his cock gave made him shift uncomfortably. At least he could still get it up.

His hand finally snakes down to your sex, the pads of his fingers tracing and gliding along the silky folds of your cunt. He doesn’t deserve this. Doesn’t deserve you. He parts the lips of your pussy, watching intently as slick strands of wetness clung to your skin like translucent spiderwebs. Pretty. He hunches, switching position so that he can lay comfortably in between your legs.

Without giving you much time to process, he pressed an open-mouthed kiss onto the hood of your clit, groaning lowly when you rewarded him with a squeak. This is too much. He shouldn’t be enjoying this. But he is. Laying his tongue flat on your cunt, he curled it onto your pudgy bud, lapping and swirling gently like a puppy with a bowl of milk.

You taste sweet. Salty. The musky scent was enough to make his nostrils flare and his chest tighten in desire. Shouldn’t be wanting. Shouldn’t think so selfishly. But he can’t help himself. Feels like he has to. You’re barely coherent, needy mews and desperate cries falling from parted lips. He must be doing something right. So he keeps going. “Leon!” you whine, pretty eyes droopy with desire and love. He can’t bring himself to meet them without feeling some sense of shame.

He doesn’t speak, just focuses on the tangy taste on his tongue. His fingers dig gently into the fat meat of your thighs, guiding them to part some more. Taking advantage, he slips his tongue in further, fluttering it into your sloppy hole. You’re messy, instantly coating his face with sticky slick and hot warmth. Makes him groan and gain newfound hunger. Your back bows off the bed, fingers shaping into claws and digging into the moist sheets below, holding on for dear life as if that would ground you. It feels like you’re quite literally getting the soul sucked out of you, yet you’re happier about the fact that Leon acknowledged you today. That Leon was nice to you. That Leon was actually touching you. It makes your heart throb more enthusiastically than your cunt.

Satiated with eating your hole, Leon drifted upward, his lips latching onto your clit like a babe with a teat. He suckled almost ferociously, the suction enough to make you see god himself. With a loud sob that devolved into a whimper, searing white pleasure flashed behind your eyelids, numbness branding you briefly. All you could feel was the light tremble in your limbs and the silent tears that trickled down your cheeks. The coil that had tightened impossibly so inside of you had snapped, gushing out in the form of wetness between your thighs. It wasn’t until you felt familiar arms wrap around your shoulders that your senses came back to you; as did your vision. With breaths coming out in the form of soft puffs and pants, you could barely register the soft murmuring against your ear.

His skills must be good if he got you this dumb from just his tongue. He hasn’t gone through anything sexual in ages. Just assumed that he had lost his spark or something. Maybe not. Leon was somewhat concerned, yet amused. Either you’re really sensitive— or really easy. “You okay?” he whispered softly, eyes intent on your face. He waits for a moment, “Yeah,” you mumble quietly, “Yeah,” you nod, a cute smile playing on your lips, “I'm okay.” Then your eyes widen slightly, as if you’d forgotten something. “Wait,” you stutter, “What about you? I- I wanna make you feel good too,” you urge, the pleading look in your eyes enough to make him feel queasy.

Forcing a soft smile onto his face, Leon shook his head. “No,” he refuses, “it’s alright. This was all about you, sweetheart.” he croons, the pet name slipping off his tongue unusually. “Don’t worry about me.” He says.

But you are. You are worrying. You always worry about him. Even with the way he looks now, with his face covered in your juices and the smell of your pussy. Really, couldn’t you just focus on yourself for once? He can see you about to plead again, but one authoritative look and you quickly shy away, ducking your head like a scolded puppy. One of the reasons he couldn’t let you go. Had to keep you around. Just had to, even with the way he treats you. You’re just so sweet. Way too kind for him. “Okay… if you say so…” you mumble dejectedly, making him sigh.

“Don’t pout,” he chides, rough hands reaching out to tentatively cup your face, squishing your cheeks together and pursing your lips. He studies your face, taking in everything from the light flutter in your lashes to the way you look at him in pure adoration. Too sweet for him. You get lost in his eyes, transfixed by the guarded vulnerabilities he refuses to set free for anyone. Before you could think too much about it though, he had stolen a kiss. His lips melded into yours, flesh locking together delicately. It was a far cry from his previous display of force and hunger, now replaced by a more shy approach— as if he were nervous.

It’s enough to take your breath away and make your heart skip a beat. Eagerly reciprocating, the sudden craving to feel his warmth against yours eats away at you. Leaning closer, a delighted noise escaped your lips when he followed, bodies now flush against one another. The disconnect was still there, but you refused to acknowledge it, refused to even think about it. You had Leon, and Leon had you. He was all you had, all you needed. He didn’t need you, didn’t want you like you wanted him. The pretty lies and false affections made up for it though, even if it were all a mirage.

You always tried. Always sought out more. Late at night, it’s especially cold. Even if he sleeps by your side, you could never seem to reach him.

“Leon,” you’d say, “I love you.”

…

“I know.”

[liketwoswansinbalance]

SGE Characters as Literary Things

(Not all of these are actual literary or rhetorical devices; some are just writing techniques, forms, genres, mediums, etc.)

This is a bit abstract, so I’m curious about how subjective these might be. Does anyone agree or disagree? And feel free to make additions if you think I left anything out, or request another character that isn’t here.

Hopefully this makes (intuitive?) sense. As always, I'm willing to explain my thought process behind any of the things I've listed.

Also, anyone can treat this like a “Tag Yourself” meme, if you want. Whose list do you most relate to, use, or encounter?

⸻

LANCELOT (I know—how odd that I’m starting with a minor character and not Rafal, but wait. There’s a method to my madness. Also, watch out for overlap!):

Metonymy, synecdoche (no, literally, to me, these are him.)

Zeugma

Analogy

Figures of speech

Slang, argot

Colloquialisms

Idioms

TEDROS:

Simile

Metaphor

Rhyming couplets

Rhyme schemes

Sonnets

Commercial fiction

Coming-of-age genre

Line enjambment

Overuse of commas

Cadence, prose speech

Waxing poetic, verse (not prose)

Alliteration

Kinesthetic imagery

Phallic imagery/sword sexual innuendos (sorry)

The chivalric romance genre

AGATHA:

Anaphora, repetition

Semicolon, periods

Line breaks

Terse, dry prose

Semantics (not syntax)

Elegy

Resonance

Consonance, alliteration

Pseudonym

Narrative parallels

Realism

Satire

SOPHIE:

Sophistry (yes, there is a word for it!)

Imagery

Italics, emphasis

Em dash

Aphrodisiac imagery

Unreliable narrator, bias

Rashomon effect

Syntax (not semantics)

Diction

Chiasmus (think: “Fair is foul and foul is fair.”)

Rhetorical purpose

Provocation, calls to action

Voice, writing style

Rhetorical modes: pathos, logos, ethos

Metaphor

Hyperbole, exaggeration

Sensationalism, journalism

Surrealism

Verisimilitude

Egocentrism

Callbacks (but not foreshadowing or call-forwards)

Narrative parallels

Paralepsis, occultatio, apophasis, denial

Hypothetical dialogue

Monologue

JAPETH:

Sibilance

Lacuna

Villanelle (an obsessive, repetitive form of poetry)

Soliloquy

ARIC:

Sentence fragments

RHIAN (TCY):

Unreliable narrator

Setup, payoff

Chekhov’s gun

Epistolary novel

RHIAN (prequels):

Multiple povs

Perspective

Dramatic irony

Situational irony

Chiaroscuro (in imagery)

Endpapers

Frontispiece

Deckled edges

Narrative parallels

Foreshadowing

Call-forwards

Foil

Death of the author

RAFAL:

Omniscient narrator

Perspective

Surrealism

Etymology

Word families or 'linguistic ecosystems'

Latin

Verbal irony

Gallows humor

Narrative parallels

Call-forwards

Circular endings

Parallel sentences or balanced sentence structure

Narrative parallels

Foil

Juxtaposition

Authorial intent (“return of the author”)

HESTER:

Protagonist

Allusions

Gothic imagery

ANADIL:

Defamiliarization

Deuteragonist (second most important character in relation to the protagonist)

Psychic distance

Sterile prose

Forewords, prologues

Works cited pages

DOT:

Tone

Gustatory imagery

Tritagonist (third most important character in relation to the protagonist)

KIKO:

Sidekick

Falling action

Dedications, author's notes, epigraph, acknowledgements

Epitaph (Tristan)

BEATRIX:

Pacing

Rising Action

Climax

HORT:

Unrequited love

Falling resolution

Anticlimax

Malapropism

Innuendo

Asides

Brackets, parentheses

Cliché

EVELYN SADER:

Synesthetic imagery

Villanelle

Foreshadowing

AUGUST SADER:

Stream of consciousness style

Imagery

Foreshadowing

Coming-of-age genre

Elegy

Omniscience

Rhetorical questions

Time skips, non-linear narratives

Epilogues

MARIALENA:

Diabolus ex machina

Malapropism

Malaphors, mixed metaphors

Slant rhyme

Caveat

Parentheses

Footnotes

MERLIN:

Deus ex machina

Iambic pentameter

Filler words

BETTINA:

Screenwriting

Shock value

[hinaypod]

Smaller details from the Act 3 promo image by @metmarfilart

Met drew everyone so hot

In case you missed it, we hit our main goal, but we've still got 7 days to hit our stretch goals for the podcast! Consider donating or grabbing one of our amazing perks before that one week ends!

Hi Nay, literally translated to “Hi Mom”, is a supernatural horror fiction podcast about Filipina immigrant Mari Datuin, whose babaylan (shaman) family background accidentally gets her involved in stopping dangerous supernatural events in Toronto. It's an analog style horror fiction audio drama with a Filipina lead, running with the idea that the "mystical POC" often relegated to side characters or exposition tools in horror media are the protagonists. Hi Nay's protagonists include (from left to right) Murphy, Donner's detective partner and Ashvin's boyfriend, who's a charismatic, fast-talking and handsome man of mixed heritage, who jumps into supernatural threats with surprising alacrity - his humour and wit hiding some deep-seated personal and familial issues that he'll have to face sooner or later Ashvin, Murphy's boyfriend and unintentional member of the "Scooby Gang" - a Mauritian Indian Fake Guru conman who ended up having real healing powers that he learned from his folk healer parents (whose real spiritual remedies he used to further his career). Reluctantly kind-hearted, Ashvin went through it in Act 1, and is now coming into his own with regards to his newfound supernatural abilities, with Mari's help. Laura, Mari's best friend and the first person she ever saved in Toronto - Laura, a 6-foot tall, strong Canadian woman with a sunny disposition - is always ready to help fight against the supernatural threats that once almost killed her, sometimes with an axe she found on one of their earlier "adventures". While Laura isn't quite as emotionally run down as other characters are going into Act 3, her empathy has her worrying about her closest friends as she navigates a budding romance with an immortal woman. Mari, the immigrant Filipina main protagonist, has thus far been using the power and teachings she inherited from her babaylan Nanay (mother) to save people from supernatural threats - but a recent tragedy has hit her hard, making her closed off and inaccessible, in direct contrast with her previous warmth and eagerness to help. This, paired with a slow-growing disaster incubating inside her, will come to a head in Act 3, testing her resolve and putting her at odds with Detective Donner, who she trusts implicitly, and has unrequited feelings for. Donner, Murphy's detective partner, who brought Mari into the fold for the supernatural cases he and Murphy have to deal with, will have his resolve tested in Act 3. Struggling with both a feeling of uselessness when it comes to helping, and protecting Mari, and his own history with the supernatural and all the tragedies he's tried and failed to prevent, he's given a choice that could take him down a path where nobody else - not even his partner of over a decade, nor the woman he trusts with his life, and perhaps, his past - is able to follow.

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[winchester-girl67]

Don’t Say A Word (Part 16)

Summary: Just when she thought things were settling down, the reader notices something's not right with Dean.

Masterlist

Pairing: Bodyguard!Dean x reader

Word Count: 1,572

Warnings: language, angst, blood/blood loss, mentions of stabbing, major injury, injured!Dean, hospital visit, scary situation, mature themes, Sam being cute, love triangle, unrequited feelings/rejection, pining, a little jealousy maybe, slow burn, kissing, a little fluff

A/N: If only things went differently, this easily could've been a love story with Sam.

_____

“You’re hurt!” You cried, Dean gripping your henley at your waist so you couldn't disappear on him. “Dean, let me go, I need to get Samm-”

You tasted the tears streaming down your cheeks when he molded his lips to yours. He didn't give the kiss any more energy or heat than that, content with the feel of his lips on yours. Like he was saying goodbye. You sniffled against him. This couldn’t be the end, not after everything. How was this fair?

“I just wanted to kiss you, one last time...”

“No, you asshole, you don’t get to leave me like this. I-I need to get help...” You pressed your palm into the wound on his side when his hand faltered and he stumbled to the side.

His head bobbed and he smiled sadly at you, brushing a thumb over your cheek. Unintentionally smearing warm blood on your skin before his knees buckled and he slid down the wall with you. You tried to soften his fall and keep pressure on his wound at the same time, awkwardly kneeling over him with a knee on either side of his bowed legs.

Tears gushed from your eyes at the sight of his blood steadily seeping through your fingers and you pleaded with him to stay awake. You pecked his pliant lips, desperately trying to keep him present with you. But the lids on those bright green eyes fell shut, despite your best efforts.

You pushed harder into his side when he passed out, unable to see straight anymore through your watery eyes and you screamed out for help, "SAM. SAM!” Your voice broke and you heard the thump of boots headed your way, but you kept your attention on Dean. “Please, Dean, don’t leave me. I need you. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." You didn't know why you were apologizing, although it wasn't like you weren't at fault either. He was hurt, probably dying, because of you. You kissed his lips again and sobbed silently. "No,” you whimpered at the cool feel of his lips on yours, “No, no, no.”

“Dean, Dean!” Sam shouted, sliding to the ground next to you and hollering back at some other agents. “Man down! We need a medic!”

Everything after the medics arrived and took over blurred together; words, sounds, lights. You weren’t sure you were even breathing until Sam grabbed you by your shoulders and shook. You could feel Dean’s blood starting to dry on your hands and the damp spots on your sleeves and chest turn cool. You looked up at Sam for what to do next, silent tears running down your cheeks that you couldn’t wipe away; not without smearing more of his blood on your face.

“Is any of this yours?” Sam asked hastily, but you were in shock and didn't say anything.

He touched your stomach just to be sure and you stared vacantly at him. Finding the strength to shake your head slightly, your chin quivering when you glanced down at yourself. Dean’s blood covering the entire midsection of the henley he’d given you. Sam grabbed your chin and tilted your head back up.

“Keep it together. Dean needs us.” Sam ordered, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and directing you out of the house and towards his SUV.

_____

You sat in the hospital waiting room for hours, tapping your fingers against the arm of the chair and bouncing your knee nervously. Nobody told you anything since you weren’t family and Sam had disappeared as soon as you got there to check on Dean. You watched the seconds pass by on the analog clock on the wall, glancing at the door every time someone walked through it; hoping for an update you knew wouldn’t come. You were about to get up and harass the nurse, like you had been every half hour since you got there, when Sam finally walked through those doors.

You jumped up to meet him, noticing how pale he was and the bruising that started to form on the left side of his face. Probably caused by whatever transpired with Ketch. Ketch was the type to fight back and you were sure Sam would’ve broken his cover after you were taken.

You prepared yourself for the worst. But he walked past you, grunting as he lowered himself into the chair next to the one you’d been sitting in forever. He smiled sadly up at you, his eyes red rimmed and you took a shuddery breath, willing away the tears.

“Have you been here the whole time?” He asked, seemingly exhausted as he looked up at you still standing in front of him.

“They won’t let me in, they won’t tell me anything, I’m not a blood relative.” You said, sniffling and wiping your nose on your sleeve.

The blood had dried long ago, but the site almost made you burst into tears again. You thought about getting cleaned up in the washroom, but you didn’t want Sam to think you’d taken off and miss your chance at an update on Dean.

“Sorry, I should’ve said something.” He hung his head and you thought he looked dizzy, that wasn’t a good sign.

“Sam, you’re killing me. Please, just tell me, is he alive?” You pleaded, holding your breath.

“Uh, right. Sorry. It was touch and go for a while, he lost a lot of blood when he got stabbed.” Sam explained, glancing down at the stain on your shirt. “But they’re confident he’s gonna pull through.”

“That’s good news. Why do you look like somebody died?” You asked, letting go of a breath you’d been holding since you got there and finally feeling your nerves start to settle.

"I'm a universal donor, the hospital didn't have enough of his blood type on hand and donating two pints at once takes a lot out of you." Sam gave you a weak smile. "He's always been there for me. He would've done the same, if he could."

You wiped a stray tear from your cheek and sat next to him, pulling Sam over and into an awkward side hug.

“You like him, don’t you?” He asked sadly, breaking the hug.

“I do. I’m sorry.”

You felt bad since you knew Sam had feelings for you and technically made the first move of the two of them, but you just didn’t feel the same. Not that anything was wrong with Sam and maybe in another life things might’ve turned out differently, but the only thing on your mind was Dean. And you suspected that it had been that way for quite some time now.

“Don’t be. You’re good for him. He needs you.” He said sweetly, pushing your messy hair back so he could see your face. His palm resting on your cheek as he continued, “I took a shot and it didn’t turn out in my favour. Can’t say I’m not disappointed, but you can’t force something that isn’t there. You and Dean obviously have that, I saw the way you two bicker. You don’t do that unless there’s something between you. And who am I to stand in the way of two idiots that hate each other, finally realizing how they really feel.” His touch lingered, brushing his fingers into your hair for one final moment, before he pulled his hand away for good.

“I just want you to know that I think you’re a great guy, Sam, and I wish I felt the same because then I wouldn’t be here right now on the edge of my seat, feeling like I'm drowning. Still, I wanna know that you’re okay with this? And that we can be friends." You asked, knowing it might take some time, but hopeful all the same.

“Absolutely, Y/N. Dean deserves someone like you, who’ll give him hell when he’s being a dick and I’m not around to set him straight.” Sam chuckled and you cringed.

“Ugh, don’t say that word.”

“Dick?” He questioned, laughing when you nodded and cringed again. “Okay, we’ll use jerk from now on.”

“Thank you,” you leaned over and craned your neck to peck a kiss to his cheek, “For everything.” His cheeks flushed and he cleared his throat when you pulled away. “Are we allowed to see him?”

“Dean?” He asked playfully, pretending he didn't know who you meant.

“Of course, silly.” You nodded giddily with an exasperated sigh.

“I think I can get us in. Come on, Y/N/N.” Sam smirked and you helped him to his feet, not that you were able to support much of his weight on high heels especially.

“Aren’t they supposed to give you a cookie or something?” You asked, barely catching Sam when he stumbled.

“I’ve had five already,” he grinned, directing you through the doors and down the hall towards Dean’s room.

“There’s a food cart at the end of the hall, I’m stealing you an orange juice.” You said, leaning Sam against the wall and sidling over to the cart.

You swiped an orange juice when you saw the hall was clear and rushed back over to him.

“You are aware you just committed theft, in front of a federal agent no less.” Sam teased as you popped the cap and handed over the bottle of juice.

“And you just stood by and watched.” You quipped. “Shut up and drink your juice. Trust me, it'll make you feel better.”

_________________________

A/N: Read part 17 here

_________________________ 
 Dean/Jensen: @akshi8278 @laycblack @thoughts-and-funnies @mrsjenniferwinchester @crustycheeks @kazsrm67 @sexyvixen7 @lyarr24 @suckitands33  @eliwinchester99 @yvonneeeee @igotmajordaddyissues @djs8891

Forever SPN: @hobby27

Don't Say A Word: @lacilou @mlovesstories @spn730015 @hunni-bunny @ria132love @fmstafford  @spideysimpossiblegirl @houseforwhores @siospins2 @globetrotter28 @nt-multi-fandom @maggiegirl17 @iprobablyshipit91 @tigergirllolipop @stoneyggirl2 @mimaria420 @muhahaha303

[overthinkingalchemist]

In Your Honor: Heartbreak Storytelling

"It's an album that appears to be telling a narrative: the story of a broken-hearted protagonist trying to navigate his confusing feelings in a lopsided relationship. Be it unrequited love or a toxic relationship, he struggles to get over this fractured connection that brings him anxiety and pain."

In Your Honor is, at first glance, your standard affair when it comes to Foo Fighters albums. Songs that speak in broad terms about feelings in relationships, with catchy guitar melodies, describe essentially the entire band’s discography. However, going back to it after the release of But Here We Are, an album with clear strong overarching themes of grief, made me appreciate the progression of emotions evoked in each of the songs a lot more. Particularly interesting is the fact that In Your Honor, in its first disc, seems to also have an overarching theme. It’s an album that appears to be telling a narrative: the story of a broken-hearted protagonist trying to navigate his confusing feelings in a lopsided relationship. Be it unrequited love or a toxic relationship, he struggles to get over this fractured connection that brings him anxiety and pain.

It all starts with the eponymous first track, In Your Honor — and it starts with the description of complete and utter devotion of the speaker towards this other party. And I mean some truly rock-bottom stuff; our guy is willing to outright DIE for them. There are no boundaries. As it is said in the lyrics “mine is your and yours is mine, there is no divide”. The protagonist doesn’t know who he is apart from the object of his devotion and he’s screaming towards the skies for anyone who’ll listen. Such is the emotional weight, that his life doesn’t matter apart from them.

“I will sacrifice In your honor, I would die tonight For you to feel alive”

No Way Back follows closely on the same track, but with a new sense of urgency. Maybe a bit of insecurity has creeped in, and now we’re looking for reassurance. Living in his head, pleading for a sign that he’s not fighting for nothing, he wants a response and some recognition for his love.

“I'm dying for truth Make me believe No more left and right, come on, take my side I'm fighting for you, I'm fighting for you”

It’s despair fueled by the thought that maybe things aren’t what they seemed to him. But the speaker has gone too far into his devotion, and he now knows it, but he’s still trying to bargain and get his acknowledgement. He is “breaking things” he “can’t repair”, because... well, there’s no way back from loving this person. The feelings are here and at full force, consuming his thoughts, in a borderline pathological sense.

Now, before paying close attention to the lyrics, the transition to Best of You can be a bit strange. At least sonically, it can feel like the album would flow better by going straight into DOA. But of course, in this narrative that we’re piecing together, there’s no better time for Best of You to come into play. This absolute ANTHEM represents the point of realization, where the protagonist comes to understand the one-sided nature of his love. And this realization is very much in everyone’s faces, as the first verse starts with a “confession” of how far they’ve fallen. In this moment of lucidity, there comes a want to break away from the chains that bind him to this unhealthy attachment. The protagonist feels like a fool, stuck between “life or death” — which is understandable after investing so much into something and getting your hopes suddenly swept off your feet. Seeing through the cracks, he wants to make an effort to regain his agency in life, validate his feelings, and heal. He uses chains, ropes, and death as analogies for the weight of his feelings, as he declares that this pain is a very real pain. And it is. Whether his agony is brought by his own doing as he obsesses over an unrequited love and feels hurt for being unwanted, or by being put-down by a toxic relationship, his feelings are real and need to be validated before he can go on a path of healing. It’s very appropriate for Best of You to be the most popular song from the album, as it perfectly encapsulates its feelings and conflict as a whole, bringing an intense and emotionally charged basis for it to build upon.

"He uses chains, ropes, and death as analogies for the weight of his feelings, as he declares that this pain is a very real pain. And it is."

DOA is a breaking point. Lover-guy has had it of his suffering and wants to tell everyone that he will move on. Imbued with some false confidence, even the song adopts a relatively fun, playful sound to represent this façade of a nonchalant attitude. But on top of that, a lot of aggression seeps in, as the protagonist antagonizes the other party (perhaps to make it easier to justify his feelings of hurt). After seeing through his situation, he regains a bit of his power, as he recognizes that he fell from grace, knows he must get out of this mental space and feels great for already taking the first steps to get away from it. And he does so by severing his ties to his love as best as he can for now.

“I'm finished, I'm getting you off my chest, made you come clean in a dirty dress” - Verse 2

“Take a good hard look for the very last time The very last one in a very long line Only took a second to say goodbye Been a pleasure, but the pleasure's been mine, all mine” -Verse 3

The following three songs seem to put the speaker in an anxious thought loop; they are a little chronologically disconnected, as if he is going back and forth on his thoughts as he tries to reframe his feelings, but he ends up getting caught further in them. The first one in the sequence is Hell, where the protagonist adopts an extremely cynical view on the relationship: “I’ll be right there, the buzz inside your head […] see you in hell”. Hell frames his experience as a toxic battle; the two parties in the relationship don’t want to break away from each other (he is still in their “spell”, after all), but the flame between them isn’t passion, but a burning hellscape.

The Last Song is as straightforward — if not more — as Hell. This time it’s about a clear desire to break off from this person. The interactions are too conflictive and out of sync to handle (maybe that’s the hellscape we’ve been described before), so the protagonist is swearing to not speak of them again, as this is “the last song” about them. This might not be true because, even here, he says that they only “pretend it doesn’t matter”. It’s not easy; there are still feelings that bind. And this is further explored in Free Me, where the lyrics seem to evoke all the bad feelings and triggers that this rupture brings them. Their problems unresolved, unspoken, as the hurt buried deep within isn’t convenient to handle or bring up. Now is the time the protagonist screams at the top of his voice his desire to be free, to break the chains that he’s seen since Best of You. And he suggests that the other party should do the same.

“All of the words that we dare never speak All of our ghosts and the secrets we keep Gather them all, and we'll bury them deep Like a safe full of sorrow” -Verse 1

“Can you free what's keeping you? Well, I need somebody to” -Post-chorus

After what is essentially the climax of his anxiety and anguish, the speaker finally sees some relief and solace, softening up and looking back on his experiences in a more positive light in Resolve. Adopting perhaps a more mature outlook after some time and distance has been put from the relationship, the protagonist reflects on his past and reframes his experiences as part of life. The good, the bad... it was all necessary for his growth. He fully understands and accepts where he stands at this moment, which isn’t to say he is “through” everything; a part of him still wishes things were easier and it still hurts to distance himself from something that he was so attached to and that he used to wish worked differently, but he is wiser from it and is finally ready to move forward. Still, he looks for that resolve to keep going and learn to be himself again.

“Looking back to find my way never seemed so hard Yesterday's been laid to rest, changing of the guard I would never change a thing even if I could All the songs we used to sing, everything was good”

The Deepest Blues Are Black paints one of the most beautiful visual analogies from the Foo Fighters. The protagonist reflects on the lost love; perhaps some reconciliation happened, or the person still occupies some space on his mind. Either way, a bittersweet wave of feelings floods his thoughts. It’s undeniable that he loves or loved this person, even after all the pain and resentment he felt, so thinking about what could have been stings. And whenever he feels this person’s warmth, the qualities he admires and their seductive features, he compares those to the vast alluring blue sea. But just like the beauty of the sea, the bitter nostalgia and the overwhelming amounts of jealousy brought by those feelings can shroud him in darkness — and drown him — if he goes too deep. He thinks about how his loved one can easily seduce someone and move on from him, and it eats at him to think about how they’re with someone else. Even if it couldn’t, wouldn’t, didn’t work between them… it sucks.

“Shame on you, seducing everyone You faded jewel, you diamond in the rough You don't have to tell me, I know where you've been Shining once again” - Verse 1

“The deeper the blues, the more I see black Sweeter the bruise, the feeling starts coming back All the deepest blues are black” - Chorus

And finally, End Over End is the way out. The album’s closer hits with a subtle confidence; its soundscape brings a calm but firm resolve. End Over End is hope. Hope to rise again amongst the good memories. Taking what’s good, leaving what holds you back, learning, and evolving from the pain. A new beginning is due, but renewal comes with change, time, and distance. As the experiences mold the protagonist into someone new, and hopefully better, he reflects on how he’s older and “worn” out. Marked from the past, but eager for the future.

“I'm a revolvin' door I've seen it all before I will begin again But I can't start until I've seen the end” - Verse 1

“I’m feeling out of luck Maybe I just feel too much That old familiar touch Will always sting my skin” -Verse 3

End Over End gives the album a sense of finality and renewal. The protagonist understands that there is a possibility to move on and rebuild himself if he lets time do its thing and hangs onto hope. This isn’t an ending per se; as the title itself suggests, life is a cycle of cycles. Ups and downs have taught him everything that makes him who he is. With his new sense of self, the protagonist can now keep looking for his place and his happiness — and the Foo Fighters can keep evolving and trying new things and new stories. But after all he's been through and survived… I think he’ll be ok.

“The good in everyone The ties we've left undone The heart that moves your blood All the things that bring me right back here” -Verse 3

Now, whether the band actually thought of weaving this continuous narrative at any point during production is an unknown. It is possible that they had entirely different experiences in their heads while writing this, and just as is the beauty of art, the open-ended nature of their lyrics can always evoke different feelings on the listener. So, have no worries, this isn’t me trying to decipher any “true” meanings, but rather explore a specific way to listen to and experience the album.

To be the eternally in love person, wallowing in their fantasies of heartbreak mixed with what could have been… it’s tacky, but I’d be lying if I said I don’t romanticize some pathological passion. To feel like something means so much that it consumes you and transforms you into someone new and evolved is an immensely powerful feeling that can, in a way, sum up what it is to truly live. To dream, to be vulnerable, to be disappointed, to be hurt, to change and grow; all of those are moments that can cause pain but remind us of our humanity. And maybe there aren’t many that could capture this with the needed intensity as well as the Foo Fighters.