#wish my brain would stop forgetting things wish my brain would stop being fucking silly quirky at me in ways that ruin my life!!!!!

[skrunksthatwunk]

ohhhhh no. fuck my stupid baka life fuck my stupid baka life fuck my stupid baka life fuck my stupid baka life. this shit isn't funny anymore guys!!!!!! it's pretty fucking unfunny and you're still laughing!!!!!!!! god. dammit. literally just run me over with a car what the fuck

[aroace-poly-show]

hi more me guessing hw songs.

i learned the lyrics to Snowman by halyosy (lyrics) and now can't stop thinking of it as a potential hw song- not as a song they would cover, but as a song their virtual singer would sing to them (kaito to tsukasa specifically). i don't think you've ever shared virtual singer lore so im making it up drawing influence from the feelings of both the nightcord and wxs virtual singers

""I told a lie to my mom", a boy began to cry. I am made to be all white so that I can take away the darkness in his heart". -> n25s miku's whole thing is to be there for mafuyu and help ease the pain in her heart. i'd guess the virtual singers of hw would have a similar motivation. (also, the lie in question was that the boy had friends and was talented at school and sports, so that his dying mother didn't worry about him. if this isn't tsukasa at its core.)

"I tried to warm your cold smile, but I can't make a smile with my artificial eyes" -> but the vs aren't actually real (i dont want to think about the implications of sekai so i will leave it there), so what can they do other than provide support? provide a word here or there, a wish of healing? but also- the wishes of the virtual singers have to come from somewhere, right? is this not also the wish of hw- "i want you to be happy, even if i am not yet myself"?

"Neon tubes and monochrome snow" -> i actually don't really know what this line means in the actual song but here- the neon lights of the theater, the colorful world of the stage, and the cold, grey feelings freezing them in place?

"I'll tell you how to do it, I believe you can do it, Soft snow covers our tracks" -> this again as the wish of the virtual singers- i can't change for you, but i can offer advice and push you forward because i know you can (oh also spitball other point- kaito's line in his 1.5 anni card- "when faced with a wall, i don't want to push them up over from the bottom. I want to climb it myself and pull them up with me, so that we can see the other side together"). i had a connection to the soft snow covering our tracks part but i don't know how to say it in words. but in colors it's a soft orange. which i know doesn't make any sense.

"You ran with your friends" -> emu nene rui do i need to say more here. (yes because it never gets old. because of the pain, of the things that tore them down, of the steps they took back up, they found their dreams friends family).

"He will be alright now, 'cause there's no winter that isn't followed by spring" -> yes

also raising the point of snow imagery- it alrealy exists in normal n25- mafuyu did chose the name "yuki". and i think there was an event about it. i think that theme also works in hw. but instead of the damp, blue sort of snowfall that feels cold and hollow, it's the warmer, sparkly snow of dawn. it's the snow that was lonely in the night, but beings to feel less so when the light first begins to break.

AADHWJJDNWKDNWKDUSQJOSHISKWUQNDOBWNSNSJ acey are you in my fucking brain. aroace wxs fanatics really do share a brain cell because HELLO??????/silly

i haven’t said shit about the virtual singers yet but ohmygod your guess is so fucking on point. awawawa. this is so fucking hw core and like it fits so so fucking well into the current thoughts i have for both tsukasa and the main story guhhhh explodes explodes explodes

firstly, might as well do a tiny bit of explanation for hw virtual singers. they both have the same overall personalities as canon wxs, kaito being the responsible older brother figure (representing what tsukasa wants to be like yknow) and miku being very childish and all (i. forget her symbolism w tsukasa. whoops). also given that the sekai and they were created from tsukasa’s feelings, they are well aware that tsukasa isn’t quite okay. even if he isn’t entirely aware of it himself. yknow how he is. anyway. you’re very right about hw virtual singers. their goal is both to ease their pain but also to like. revive the bit of hope they all had, and help them not lose it again. given it’s an online theater group, they of course want to help them do shows and find joy in doing again, because despite it hurting them so badly they still hold so much love for shows and the vs want to help them with it, but more than anything they want them all to find joy in living again. like they’ve all been hurt and vs is there to ease that pain and help them find joy and hope despite being given so much shit and having been hurt. yknow. and i don’t have much to add aside from that cause like. you got them so well. my god

"You ran with your friends" throwing UP. i hate these clowns and their stupid loving friendship and love and care they have for each other because who else understood them like they did each other who else did they have aside from each other because who else will drag them back up and cling to hope with them like they do for each other. they’re so. sobs.

"He will be alright now, 'cause there's no winter that isn't followed by spring" YES. YES INDEED. they’re all gonna be okay. they’re gonna be okay. cries.

tsukasa side note:

""I told a lie to my mom", a boy began to cry. I am made to be all white so that I can take away the darkness in his heart" -> also like you said TBIS IS TSUKASA AT HIS CORE and he’s exactly the same in hw. he wants to be that big brother his siblings can look up to he wants to make them proud and he especially doesn’t want to worry anyone Ever and saki and toya know something might be wrong but he won’t tell her (but to be fair. he hasn’t exactly admitted it to himself either) bc he’s tsukasa tenma!! he’s okay!!! he has to be okay!! he’s going to be a star!! and what kind of star would let a lot a few setbacks get him down!! so there’s no need for anyone to worry!! cause he’s a-okay!! (<- lying. to himself as well.) honestly at this rate i’m not even gonna need to do the tsukasa ramble since i’m just rambling about him in asks when i can /lh

[teacupsandcyanide]

I WISH I could say I was one of the OG goncharov girlies who watched it in their family living room at nine pm on a Friday night because their dad couldn’t be bothered making them go to bed after watershed hour. I wish I could at least say I was one of the film studies girlies who were forced to watch it for a uni course and saw the face of lesbian god in the most unlikely of places

Not me ! I found out about Goncharov a year or so ago when the shoe post was first circulating. But not even directly. I found out via my flatmate, who saw the shoe post, and like so many others went down a Google rabbithole to work out what the fuck was this Scorsese film they’d never heard of. They told me about it and said they wanted to watch it and I was like “yeah !! Sure!!” Great, right? Still a decent way to find out about Goncharov, yes?

No!! Because my flatmate and I have a long-established habit of watching Bad movies/television. And during the fortnight or so that they were talking about watching Goncharov, they were also talking about The Room. As in The Room, universally panned infamous Bad film 2003 directed by Tommy Wiseau.

Necessary context so people don’t mock me for making up “obviously fake” stories, I have adhd. I forget things. I get things Twisted(TM). I find it hard to keep information in my little brain and sometimes I think I’m listening when people talk to me and then it turns out I was really really not. Numbers in particular fuck me up. So when me and my flatmate were talking about Goncharov 1973, and The Room 2003, and I only knew snatches of information about either of them, like that there was a love triangle, people being held at gunpoint over drugs, a violent tragic ending centred on the death of the protagonist, and a scene where people fuck on some stairs

I - and I STILL argue, UNDERSTANDABLY, in light of all context - thought the two films were one film called The Room, directed by Goncharov, often referred to as Goncharov for ?? some reason (I remember just taking Jack’s lead on that one. I was like what do I know. Jack knows way more about films than me. If the film bros alternate between calling The Room “The Room” and the name of the director I’m not gonna make an idiot of myself asking why). And I hate spoilers regardless of whether the film is good or Bad so I did not bother to watch or Google anything that my flatmate didn’t tell me or I didn’t already know by cultural osmosis. When Jack was like “you ready to watch Goncharov on Saturday” I was like “hell YEAH I am haha let’s DO it”

Can you imagine. ??? Have you seen Goncharov 1973, dear reader? I assume you have. But have you also seen The Room 2003 directed by Tommy Wiseau?? Have you ever sat down in your living room with your flatmate, thinking you’re about to watch a bad silly film called The Room, and saying “ngl I might go on my phone during the stair sex scene”, and had your flatmate reply “yeah I’ve heard people call it kind of psychological horror, with the pseudo-incest allegory and everything” and thought to yourself “damn Goncharov is darker than I thought” BEARING IN MIND THAT YOU THINK GONCHAROV IS THE ROOM 2003 DIR. GONCHAROV

I sat through that bleak, slow pan montage of barren Sicilian orange groves thinking “huh. Maybe it’s like, arty and bad”. I laughed at the double child homicide and Jack gave me a weird look. I got through the warehouse raid and the whiplash cut to Andrey’s silent house with a growing sense of confusion and unease because this seemed less and less like a Bad film and more and more like the kind of thing film bros would die on the cross for. The first scene where they actually call Goncharov by his name is nearly twenty minutes into the film. and it was only then that I’d gathered enough information to say anything, and you know what I fucking said

“This isn’t Goncharov, is it? Like we’re not watching Goncharov”

Obviously this made Jack look at me like I was emotionally deranged and stop the film and we had a conversation that devolved into an argument about how reasonable it is for a person to talk about two films and conflate them into one film, then watch nearly half an hour of one of them without being sure that anything is amiss. To this day I argue that it was wild but not unreasonable of me and that Jack is being ableist by not understanding that I have special boy disorder that makes me confuse obscure Scorsese films with the worst films of all time. Jack believes, in a loud and hurtful fashion, that I’m criminally insane.

And there the matter has rested, but for the moments when I do something particularly manic pixie dream girl and Jack, fuming, is like “this is just like the time you thought goncharov and the room were the same film”

[glowyjellyfish]

I started rewatching OUAT. Apparently my brain decided it was just time. I considered doing a full liveblog with silly gifs, but that would be a lot more effort than I want to put into it.

1. I know I still have one follower from my OUAT days, but am not sure about anybody else. So to recap: I loved OUAT to pieces and probably put more thought into things like the timeline and side characters than the writers did. And I loved OUAT in Wonderland EVEN MORE and still think they did a better job on that tightly plotted story than meandering on OUAT. I stopped watching mid-season 4, after they did and didn’t do several things to my favorite characters that broke my faith in the quality, but I did keep watching and mostly enjoying through the Frozen arc and the main reason I didn’t continue was just… I never got the urge to watch a new episode again. And then I was glad I stopped when I did, because what little I heard about it sounded increasingly dumb, bonkers, and, in the case of that soft reboot or whatever that was, insulting. I’m only planning to rewatch the first two seasons plus Wonderland, but if I’m enjoying myself I will probably keep going until I am not. Probably making more fun of it than before.

2. My favorites, in rough order of when I glimpse into them, are Graham, Dr. Whale, Neal, and Will. Anyone familiar with the show will probably understand exactly how the show broke my heart. I also love Rumple and Regina, and find the rest of the main cast pretty great, but there is a difference between loving a character and A Favorite.

3. I watched through the first five episodes, and was pleased to find I still liked it, and not only that, I still felt it was pretty good overall. The cheesiest parts so far are the fairy outfits, the CG, the Cinderella parts of the Cinderella episode, and some awkward dialogue when a writer didn’t know how to write old fashioned well. It shines in its characters, and the development of Regina and Rumple has so far been the absolute highlight. Emma has never been particularly high on my list of beloved characters, but she delivers fantastic feelings throughout. I know logically that way too much focus will be given to them down the road, but Snow and Charming are so damn charming and cute. The parallels between the flashbacks and the present day are also really well done, using them for character development. That’s something I think the show fumbled a little with after season 1, and got worse and worse about over time, and I also think it’s something OUATW did EXTREMELY well. But I’ll see how it looks as I watch it.

4. I do wish the show had been a little bit more clear about the town being basically in a time loop, because man what a fucked up place to raise a child. I guess they wanted to pretend it could just be Henry’s imagination for a while there to hedge their bets, but why not have Henry say “I was in the same class as that kid last year and now he’s still 9 and in third grade and I’m 10 now, what more proof do you need??” (And then Regina starts insisting he skipped a grade or something). I’m not anti-Regina at all, but lady you cannot raise a child and have him be the only person that ages and expect him to grow up normal.

5. I was on Regina’s side re Emma not being allowed to come into Henry’s life up until Regina started doing illegal shady shit to try to force Emma to leave. That’s obviously the point, but she really shot herself in the foot.

6. …I feel so bad for Graham. Poor guy. He’s the one sticking point that I wish Regina had ever made up for or felt bad about. She’s super sympathetic until you remember she literally had a sex slave who she then murdered. I mean, she’s the evil Queen, I did not expect her to behave otherwise. They just really wanted to quietly forget about it when they wanted to redeem her. Also, was Graham’s wolf dragged along to the curse—was the wolf cursed, too? Or did the wolf spend 28 years running around the woods, trying to figure out what happened to Graham and why his brother didn’t come to the woods with him anymore? The wolf also made Emma stay in town the first night, so my gut says “the wolf knew what was up”. Ugh, if I was writing the show I would have made Graham’s spirit survive death by going into his wolf and then bring him back later, like a certain wolf-bonded man from another fandom I love, but ugh it’s fine. I feel bad for him, but the character was clearly designed to flirt with Emma and then die.

7. I also think it’s fucking wild that, while cursed, Rumple somehow managed to procure for Regina a child that was both the son of the breaker of the curse and his grandson. I expect it’s a function of the breakability of the curse that Emma’s son was brought in—that perhaps Rumple was aware of that when he was going to lengthy measures to set up a trigger for his memories and everything else. I guess, within what I remember of the show thus far, Henry being his grandson and thus his downfall is the price he’s paying for constructing this elaborate curse manipulating generations of people to get his son back? Idk, we’ll see.

8. So like… if most people are cursed in a specific way that denies them what they love most, and some people definitely had details specifically curated by Regina personally, and Regina also had to go out of her way to make sure and curse Jefferson and Whale, because they weren’t in Fairy Tale Land at the time… well, I’m just wondering whether Whale’s cursed womanizer personality is because it’s amusingly apt for Dr. Frankenstein, or if it’s something Regina designed for him specifically because she saw him as breaking her heart, or something.

9. Not really feeling any ships atm. I never shipped Swan Queen, but periodically a scene between Emma and Regina will make me go “…okay I get it.” In theory I ship Emma/Graham, but mostly I shipped it because I loved him and felt so bad for him. Snow and Charming are precious, but I never found there to be much point in shipping them because they’re so canon, and they’re not the type of couple I find most intriguing. I should note that I was always actively against Emma/Hook, and really Emma/anyone; I wanted her to take more time for herself. I loved Neal, but didn’t particularly care whether he ended up with Emma, and felt that reducing him to a point on a love triangle is what made the writers get rid of him despite there being SO MUCH MORE they could do with him. I used to ship Whale/Ruby, we’ll see how I feel about that this time but I do still believe it was being set up for a while. And I still ship Rumple/Belle and Will/Ana. We’ll get there. I am sort of hoping I will spot new ships to ship as I go along, but perhaps not because I do know how things go for the most part.

And that’s all so far. I really don’t know that anybody will care, but I like giving my little reports if I cannot muster up the wherewithal to actively liveblog.

A few gifs describing Rumple because they amused me:

[carlosfruitsnacks]

"Creep"

summary:

— Ever since Carlos' eyes landed on you, he never felt so out of place. You were everything he wanted because you're everything he's not. Carlos felt undeserving to wish to be with you, that's what he believes at least.

genre:

— songfic, angst to fluff

notes:

— gender-neutral reader. I do not speak fluent Spanish and all of the Spanish here is translated from google, feel free to correct me if I got something wrong though I will refrain from using too much Spanish.

warning/s:

— none

EVERYBODY THANK @carlossamor FOR PLANTING THIS IDEA INTO MY BRAIN. HOPE Y'ALL ENJOY!

His veins often get tangled close whenever he sees you around town, Carlos would momentarily forget how to breathe because of how mesmerized he is with you. Carlos stays nearby, watching you. As much as he denies it, he knows for a fact he's involuntarily stalking you. He starts shaking at the thought you'll catch him and think he's some sort of freak. Pero dios, he couldn't help but want you much more each day he sees you.

Carlos tends to linger by, though not too close. If necessary, he'll shapeshift into some random person just to watch you, but not too close. He had a fear that if he went too close, he'll break you. He sees you hanging out with his brother and cousins, Camilo successfully brings a laugh out of you. He turns violent red, never in his life did he wish to be in his place, he'll make silly performances if it means getting a smile from you.

"You, oh, you are so cool"

He hears you say only to his twin brother. Carlos bites his lips as he continues to watch. Mierda, if only you'll say that to him instead. You'll say that he's the coolest person in the world, you'll swoon and sigh. He cuts off his daydream as he turns away. That was impossible, he knew. He's anything but cool, he's a fucking creep. Yeah, he literally follows you in his free time because he couldn't get enough of your face.

It's always been like this. Carlos never found a place in this town, he never truly felt like he belonged or fit in his family. It was literal hell trying to squeeze himself somewhere, but all in vain. When you came in, he thought he belonged there with you, right beside you and that you belonged with him too. Carlos scoffs at himself at his petty attempt to justify his attraction to you.

Carlos stands alone by the house's courtyard. It felt so cold and dull. He can feel this tidal wave of emotions kicking in, he draws in a shaky inhale. He shuts his eyes, trying to stop his eyes from watering.

"When you here before"

He begins, his tone slightly quivering. Carlos gulps and prevents bile from rising in his throat. He tried to breathe.

"Couldn't look you in the eye"

He sings. He pictured the beautiful color of your eyes and your picturesque features. Carlos can feel himself grow weak only by this.

"You're just like an angel"

Carlos opens his eyes. He was surprised to see your figure in front of him, somewhat glimmering. Was he growing insane?

"Your skin makes me cry"

He continues. The thought of his fingertips tracing your smooth skin made his chest grow tight, shit, was he that touch-starved?

"You float like a feather"

He sees his vision of you in front of him, laughing and dancing around him. Carlos was so fond of the way you moved in every way, he could watch you every day.

"In a beautiful world"

Carlos inhales sharply. As much as he hated being around here in Encanto, with you, it seemed as though it changed. His eyes never viewed the same things as they originally are. His eyes never left the vision of you.

"I wish I was special"

Carlos sang then looks down at his hands, calloused and rough unlike yours. His face contorted into melancholy, he shuddered at the thought of his body.

"You're so fuckin' special"

He spat lovingly towards you, but the vision of you fades away into dust. Carlos can feel this hot sensation in his gut, it was bubbling and causing him to feel too warm. He balled his fists, he can hear loud music playing but he doesn't give a care

"But I'm a creep"

Carlos' voice rang melodiously throughout the courtyard. It echoed loudly within the walls, almost starling him. He begins to rely on this hot feeling in his gut.

"I'm a weirdo"

His voice turns louder. Carlos felt like he truly embodied what he was singing, his melancholy face morphs into frustration.

"What the hell am I doin' here?"

He gestures his hands around, the walls of the casita felt as though is choking him as he begins to struggle to breathe. Carlos forces the air into his lungs, repressing the urge to break down to his knees.

"I don't belong here"

Carlos' voice suddenly becomes timid. He makes his way outside, his vision was growing hazy the longer he stayed alone in there. He began walking towards the path that leads into the forest. He gritted his teeth, the music turns hushed.

"I don't care if it hurts"

He sings. He continues his way on this path towards the place where he felt the most comfortable. A makeshift place to make him feel like he belonged somewhere.

"I wanna have control"

He pauses then looks again at his palms, the skin on his fingers thick and peeling off. He closes his hands into a fist as he quivered. He can feel his eyes getting wet again.

"I want a perfect body"

Carlos admits as he wrapped his hands all over himself, he imagined it was yours and you were giving him an embrace. He felt so stuck and helpless in his own body.

"I want a perfect soul"

His voice grows softer, he begins to sniff. Carlos continues to shut off his sadness, preventing himself to cry. He faces ahead on the road.

"I want you to notice"

He doesn't get shocked to see a vision of you again, but you're looking at him, waiting for him to follow you. Carlos can feel the corner of his lips curve up.

"So fuckin' special"

Carlos starts to move, his eyes only locked on your figure as you turn around and lead him further into the forest. His heart beats with acceleration when he walks quickly.

"I wish I was special"

Loud music blasts as Carlos breaks into a sprint, chasing you down and into the forest. Eventually, he reaches the familiar clearing that he called his own.

"But I'm a creep"

He stands in the center and sings louder into the sky. He felt the air rush into his lungs as he can finally breathe and fully embrace the tidal wave of emotions within him.

"I'm a weirdo"

The music grows louder with his singing. Carlos can still see your figure lingering around, radiant as ever. He watched you like a hawk, like a creep he thought he was. He begins to accept the version of himself he always tried to suppress, he grinned and reaches for the guitar he always had laying around in the clearing.

"What the hell am I doin' here?"

Carlos plays the guitar along with the music, he sings his heart out to this vision of you his mind probably projected. He couldn't care less if he was indeed hallucinating of you.

"I don't belong here"

His voice turns rough as he strummed his guitar faster and harder. The music shifts into the bridge, Carlos makes his way toward you. Then he flinched as he saw the expression on your face shift into horror.

"She's running out the door"

He sings and watched this vision of you back away from him in horror, seeing the fear in your features terrified the fuck out of him. Carlos couldn't help but imagine that this would be the look on your face if you knew who he was.

"She's running out"

Carlos sees you turn away then begin dashing away from him. Damn, why does have to hurt himself this way? He continues to strum the strings on his guitar along with the music, not daring to stop you from running away. His stomach was in knots, his skin felt hot, and his chest felt beyond weightsome.

"She, run, run, run-"

He doesn't notice his voice wavering as he sang, the strumming on his guitar starts to falter. The vision of you becomes transparent as it bursts into dust, confirming that it was only his vision. Carlos' throat begins to burn.

"Run!"

Carlos' voice roared through the forest, he shut his eyes, unaware of the few stray tears dripping down from his eyes. He keeps his eyes closed as he aggressively plays the guitar in a passionate rhythm, images of you keep flashing in his mind.

"Run..."

Carlos' voice sang longer as it eventually slows down along the music. He inhales sharply through his nostrils, thinking he has expressed his emotions too much. He opens his eyes, he's still alone in the clearing. He pauses the strumming of his guitar, then begins by playing a much serene melody.

"Whatever makes you happy"

His voice becomes gentle, he realizes that the music died down and he's alone with only the sound of his guitar. Carlos' gaze was set ahead, he was thinking about that perfect smile on your face caused by Camilo.

"Whatever you want"

The tightness in his throat increases but he doesn't let his voice falter. Carlos never felt so pathetically in love in his entire life, who is he even? It was so unlikely of him to strum his guitar and sing wholeheartedly this way.

"You're so fuckin' special"

It all comes back to you again. It didn't matter what he was feeling, what mattered the most was you. It's always you that Carlos learns how to be selfless, it was you who made him shudder in his own skin. He was so self-aware and afraid of what he was because of you.

"I wish I was special"

Carlos wished that he was special enough to be with you. You're just so remarkable that he couldn't take his eyes away. It was so easy to imagine what he wanted to be but it's so hard to become it. He sighed.

"But I'm a creep"

If he's never going to be what he wants, so be it. Fine, he's nothing more than a creep who held feelings for someone he can never ever have. Carlos poured the rest of his sorrow on the strumming on his guitar.

"I'm a weirdo"

He sings with his eyebrows furrowed, allowing himself to accept the reality he finally realizes. Carlos lets the ache take over him.

"What the hell am I doin' here?"

His eyes begin to sting for holding back his tears for too long. Carlos sets his gaze down, focusing on the hurt inside overtaking him. It felt so unfair to be alone like this, his twin brother always had everything, especially a place where he belonged

"I don't belong here"

Carlos' voice turns timid, almost ashamed. His gaze set downward to his fingers softly strumming the guitar, suddenly, he feels hollow.

"I don't belong here"

He finishes with one last strum on his guitar. Carlos was prepared to pretend this never happened, to act like he wasn't hurt. However, as he turns around, he doesn't expect you to be there, watching him with wide doe eyes.

"¡Santa mierda!"

Carlos cursed and drops his guitar. You gasp as your face contorted into concern, you approach him slowly. Dios, you didn't know how to explain that you saw and listened to him the entire time he was in the clearing. He had the voice of an angel! There was no way that it was possible to tear your eyes away from him. When he strummed his guitar it was as though he caught you by your heartstrings. You blushed when he gave you an odd look.

"Ay, lo siento, Carlos. I didn't mean to...follow you here and watch you"

You set your gaze away, missing how his jaw instantly drops. Did he hear that correctly or was this another illusion his mind created to trick him? Carlos remains silent, he swallows and tried with all of his might to say something.

"I couldn't resist not listening to your voice, you sound wonderful, Carlos"

You mustered enough courage to admit to him and look back, you see this unfathomable expression on his face and it scared you that you might've said something wrong.

"You...you watched me..."

The tone of his voice was low and it made you wish you could crawl into a hole and never come back out again. You felt embarrassed to be caught watching another person and invading their private time. Your face turned hotter as you hid your face in your hands. Meanwhile, Carlos was losing his shit internally. You looked so adorable! He really hoped he wasn't dreaming and this was you for real.

"I...that song was about you [Name]"

He confessed. He might as well do it now or never. You peek through the gaps of your fingers, then shyly removed your hands from your face.

"Re-really? Why?"

"Because I like you, [Name]. For a long time now"

Carlos takes a step forward, approaching you as cautiously as he can. It didn't matter to him that you watched him pour his shitty feelings into a solo number, what mattered is that you were here. Carlos thought he was swimming in the clouds when you thought his voice sounded wonderful.

"Dios mio, do you mean that?"

You asked, wanting to confirm if it was true. Carlos nods his head, you let him get close. You didn't mind, you were never afraid of him despite what the townsfolk would say. You can admit there's this little attraction you have with him but now you're alone with him, you literally fell head over heels in love.

"I...shit, I'm sorry. This is too sudden"

He recoils. Carlos returns to his senses, you reach your hands out to him, halting him to run away from you.

"No, no! It's okay, Carlos. For the record, I don't think you're a creep..."

You say while tucking your hair behind your ear, you momentarily looked at the ground then back at Carlos who looked like he was about to combust any minute now. You bite your lip.

"I mean, I just watched you sing your soul out there without you knowing. I guess I'm a bit of a creep too you know"

Carlos tried to digest and process what you were saying but he grows short-circuited and does the unthinkable. He grabs you then pulls you close and collided his lips with yours. Your heart skipped several beats as you feel your eyes flutter close and tangle your fingers into his hair, kissing him back.

loosely based on this scene from the book of life, another fantastic movie

taglist: @camilolovesroxiie , @camilos-mivida , @cupidsmatch , @imjustasimplesimp , @ahslangdxns , @tigreost , @ventiscape , @try-cry-why-try , @gi-hun-girlfriend , @dai-tsukki-desu , @skylermoyer

masterlist

[cower-before-power]

Piety

Summary: Gojo has sinned, and he will repent at the altar of his beloved

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x F!Reader

TW: swearing, implied sexual content, idolatry

Link to A03 here

A/N: First time writing for everyone’s favourite sensei, hope I did him justice. This man can step on me. Enjoy, sweet potatoes!

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

“You’re late.”

He laughs softly from the doorway. “I told you I would be.”

“I know,” you say, your eyes focused on the rising moon out the window. “But you’ve always said I was the exception.”

“You are,” you can hear walk over to the closet; next, the rustling of clothes as he sheds his uniform. “But Yuuji-kun is doing so well I got overexcited and just had to stay a bit longer. When I was finished with him, I was planning on rushing straight home to you, but then I ran into my other darling first years. They wanted me to watch them fight. Their training for the exchange is coming along nicely too.”

“Hmmmmm,” you hum, rocking on your heels, “good reasons to be late, I suppose.”

You can’t help but let a little irritation creep into your voice. You’re not angry with him, not truly, but you can’t help be a little annoyed. Your lives were so busy it was often hard to find time to actually act like a couple. The two of you had set aside tonight to finally go out together, a real date. You’d made reservations at a fancy restaurant and even got dressed up for once. Not that you didn’t love your late night routine of takeout, Netflix and sex, but it was nice every once and a while to get out.

To pretend everything was normal. To pretend you were normal.

So when he texted you that he was sorry but things came up, could you please cancel the reservation-you couldn’t help but feel....cast aside.

You loved Gojo’s dedication to his students and his passion for his cause. You were proud of his strength, his powers. But sometimes it felt like you were a planet orbiting around his brilliant sun, competing with all the others for his warmth and light. He was the best, and was always needed by someone somewhere. You knew it was what you were in for when you put your heart in his hands, but it was still sometimes a bitter pill to swallow.

“You’re upset with me,” he says, and you finally turn to face him. He’s out of his uniform and only in a pair of dark sweatpants; your favourite look. You have a strong urge to run to him and bury yourself in his chest. You stay put.

“No not at you, per say,” you run your hands through your hair, taking out the style you’d coaxed it into earlier. “Just at life, I guess. Things are always crazy around here, but they seem to be getting even wilder and it just makes it even harder for us to spend quality time together.”

“You’ve never complained before.”

You sigh, tugging at the straps of your dress. “I know, I know. I’m just in a mood today, I guess. I was really looking forward to going out, and when you texted me, I just felt, I don’t know, shuffled aside.”

He stays quiet, face unreadable. It’s unusual and quite frankly rather unsettling. You feel guilt suddenly bubble hotly in your stomach.

“I mean, it’s fine! What you were doing was very important! Yuuji needs all the training he can get, poor boy. Plus, Megumi and Nobara miss you, they’ve noticed you haven’t been around a lot and they probably just wanted to see you be proud of them, even if they’ll never admit it. I’m being silly, I mean, who cares if we missed the reservation, the students and their training is definitely more important than going out with me-“

Your words die on your lips as you find yourself suddenly pressed flush against the chest you were just admiring moments earlier. You blink and gasp-bright blue eyes are staring intently down into yours. It always stuns you momentarily to see them. They are like sapphires; not only beautiful in shine and hue, but rare and precious. They only show up when he’s feeling particularly loving and mushy, or the very limited occasions when he gets serious.

You have a feeling it’s the latter.

“What have I told you about being too kind, angel?” He scolds you, shaking his head as he cups your face in his large, warm hands. “Just come out and say I’m the asshole here.”

“But-“

“Hush now,” his voice grows stern, the tone he uses when he’s got you at his mercy. You obey on instinct, snapping your lips shut. “I shouldn’t have stayed so long at school, and I definitely shouldn’t have assumed that cancelling would be okay without asking. I’ve never, ever wanted you to feel like you’re playing second string, and I’ve gone and done just that.”

You frown. “I don’t feel like that all the time, please don’t think I-“

“Once is one time too many,” he interrupts. His fingers smooth over your skin, stroking the frown from your face. “I clearly fucked up. I let my angel, my reason to live, my sweet darling thief who stole my heart, down.”

(You feel warm. So he is feeling mushy as well as serious.)

He replaces his fingers with his lips, featherlight brushes over your skin that make your knees begin to wobble. “It’s okay,” you breathe, eyes slipping shut so he can kiss your eyelids gently. “You didn’t mean to.”

He laughs. “Sweetness, you are shit at being mad at someone. This is the part where you call me a prick and make me grovel for forgiveness.”

“You’ve never groveled in your life,” you hum. The irritation you’d been feeling earlier is melting away under his gentle ministrations. He hadn’t meant to hurt you. He sometimes forgets the two of you didn’t always operate on the same wavelength. He sometimes forgets that everyone didn’t operate on his wavelength.

“Another exception I’d make for you,” he nibbles at your bottom lip, and you can’t help but chase him, trying to catch him in a proper kiss. He just laughs and sweeps a thumb over where he’s just nipped. “I’ll even get on my knees.”

The image of the worlds most powerful shaman on his knees before you sends a shiver up your spine. And the perceptive bastard doesn’t miss it. He pulls away, peeling himself from your body with a sticky slowness that causes the air around you to heat and thicken. He sinks to his knees before you, palms upturned in perfect piety.

“Oh goddess divine, please accept my humble apologies,” the words drip from his lips like a sacred prayer. “I have displeased you, and I seek to make amends.”

“Only you could apologize and make fun of someone at the same time,” you murmer, feeling your cheeks begin to flush. “You’re an idiot.”

“An idiot who only wishes to repent for his sins,” he grins lazily up at you, and his upturned hands are suddenly on your legs, beneath your dress. His thumbs begin to rub circles on your inner thighs. Time stops; your next breath lodges in your throat.

“Tell me what I must do,” his voice is smooth like the silk of his blindfold, slipping over you. He leans in and presses a kiss just above your right knee. His mouth is hot against your skin.

“Ummmm....” you try to speak, but nothing comes out but a choked whimper.

“I’m waiting very patiently,” another kiss, this time slightly higher. Your brain begins to malfunction. You open and close your mouth, trying to get the words out, but there’s nothing. Nothing but his warm breath and deft hands. Nothing but crystalline blue darkened with hunger. Nothing but need beginning to boil in your blood.

“I’ll just have to decide the form of atonement myself,” he murmurs, skimming his nose along your inner thigh. His hands slowly slide up your legs, your dress is coming up with them....

And then you both hear it.

The loud grumbling of your very empty belly.

He pulls back and blinks up at you. You stare back, mouth open. And then you both burst into raucous laughter.

“What a mood killer,” he grins, sitting back on his heels. “I’ve never been cockblocked by your stomach before.”

“Sorry!” You rub the offending area, still giggling. “I guess in all my stewing I forgot I was hungry.”

He’s on his feet in a flash. “Well we can’t have you starve on me, can we, sweetness? I know, how about I cook for us?”

Your eyes light up. Gojo is an excellent cook, but he rarely does it due to his busy and exhausting schedule. And his bad habit of filling up on sweets. “Really?”

“Sure,” he’s already across the room, throwing on a shirt and his blindfold. “Tell you what, you go have a nice hot soak in the tub while I cook. I’ll bring you a glass of wine and something from my extra secret sweets stash to tide you over till I’m done.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Something from the secret stash? I’m honoured.”

He grins. “Another exception for my angel.” He suddenly claps his hands together. “Oh, and tomorrow we’ll play hookey! Go to Tokyo for the whole day, and I’ll spoil the absolute shit out of you. The kids can survive a day without us.”

“You already spoil me,” you laugh, shaking your head. “I’ll just be happy to spend a whole day just us.”

“No arguments!” He wags his finger. “I will drop mad cash on you and you will enjoy it.”

“Ugh you are such a dork,” you roll your eyes, but your heart fills with love for this silly man. You know he really is sorry and is trying to make it up to you. He’s an idiot on occasions, but he’s your idiot, and you wouldn’t trade him for the world.

You make to move towards the bathroom, but the lingering feel of his touch on your skin reminds you.

“Hey, what happens after the bath and food?”

Before you can blink, he’s back in front of you, gathering you against him. His smile is absolutely feral, and you can feel his smouldering gaze even through the black fabric now covering his eyes.

And his lips are descending on yours, hot and hungry. He licks into your mouth, swallowing the moan that’s threatening to escape. There’s nothing left but him. His touch, his taste, his scent. He is everywhere, in every sweep and valley of your body, in every corner of your pounding heart. He consumes you like fire consumes a forest, and you are happy to burn, burn, burn.

All too soon he pulls away, and you are left empty. Bereft. Lost. But he leans back in, his lips brushing your ear, his voice dark with reverent desire.

“I’ll worship at the altar of my divine goddess until my penance is paid a hundred fold.”

[astrohae]

A Dragon’s Greed

pls don’t yell at me about my unfinished series. im trying. take this instead.

dragon king!bakugou X courtesan!reader 

gnc reader as per the usual

Focus. You scold yourself. You're here to entertain, not to wordlessly flirt with the princess's fiance. But what can you say? You've always had a type, and barbarian warlords fell right into your favorite category. The fact that he seemed utterly entranced by you, well that wasn't your fault. Every time you turned your head over your shoulder, you caught his eyes over your half veil and he never looked away, not even for a moment.

The princess didn't seem happy about this, sat next to the king, and huffing when her attempts at catching his attention fell flat. Serves her right for always bullying you and being such a spoiled brat.

Though, to be honest you wouldn't wish marriage to Bakugou Katsuki, the King of Dragons, merciless warlord, upon anyone.

Sure he was attractive and rich, and powerful, but you'd heard horror stories of what he had done on the battlefield.

When Bakugou started looking to new lands to conquer, you country's king had offered up his daughter like a sacrificial lamb to the barbarian in order to forge a treaty and protect his people through political marriage. King Bakugou's sexual conquests were nearly as infamous as his military ones, but he had never married or officially named a consort. The princess would be the first.

The king had sent a huge wedding procession of gifts and treasures to the high court of the Badlands, and along with it the most talented entertainers and artisans they had to offer. As the most talented dancing courtesan in the capital you had no choice but to travel with the caravan, so here you were. Performing a sword dance for a bloodthirsty king who kept looking at you as if you were a meal. It was an ego boost for sure but you were also scared.

When your performance came to a close, you bowed and quickly escaped when the princess had successfully stolen Katsuki's attention. Your face was burning under your veil and you fanned yourself in the cool stone hallway to calm down. You were hoping that the king would forget about you after a few more performers. but you hadn't even been out of the main hall two minutes when a servant came to fetch you.

"His highness requests your presence."

Your blood ran cold and your gulped. Oh gods, you had offended him hadn't you? He was going to kill you, probably behead you right there in the middle of the banquet himself-

You were thinking yourself into a panic when you returned to the banquet hall, eyes downcast now. You bowed, kneeling on the ground and hands clasped in front of your bare midriff.

Faintly you heard a scoff, and then the music stopped. You felt yourself go even more still, eyes darting around to see what happened. Unable to tell, you lifted your head slightly to see the king sauntering his way towards you. He had stepped directly over the table, spilling wine all over the princess in the process.

You quickly bowed your head again and tried not to hyperventilate. You didn't want to pass out now.

Two surprisingly clean leather boots entered your vision and on instinct, you looked up. King Bakugou was even more attractive up close, obviously built for battle with strong chords of muscle littered with scars, a sharp jawline and a head of unruly blonde hair.

"Did I say you could look at me?"

"No, your majesty." you squeak and quickly look back down.

Bakugou crouches to be level with your and grips your chin roughly, forcing you to meet his scarlet gaze.

"Did I say you could look away?" he grumbles this time.

"No, your majesty." You feel conflicted, unsure if he’d be more offended if you averted your eyes or just kept looking at him.

His eyes rake over your body again before coming back to yours.

"What's your name, pretty thing?"

"Y/N. I'm a dancer in my king's court." you answer, praying your voice doesn't sound as shaky as you feel.

He doesn't say anything but lets your chin go and rises to his feet. You rub the bottom half of your face, thinking it might just bruise. Bakugou isn't done with you, though and grabs your wrist, hauling you up from the floor. "What-?" you start to ask but a red-eyed glare has you clamping your mouth shut. The barbarian king drags you with him, right up to the high table. He lifts you over the table as if you weigh nothing, and sits you down on his lap. Right next to the princess. The banquet hall continued to steep in silence until Bakugou looked up.

"Fuck are you all looking at? Get on with the feast!" he yelled, and the music and chatter started back up.

"Your majesty, shouldn't worry with commoners-" she starts and Bakugou growls, actually growls so menacingly, you feel your own blood run cold.

"If I wanted your dumbass fucking opinion, I'd ask for it. Shut the fuck up."

Once he was sure the princess was properly cowed he turned his attention back on you. The arm wrapped around your waist holding you against his was warm against your bare skin.

"Pour me some wine." He commanded and your started before shakily lifting the pitcher and pouring some into his goblet. You hadn't it off to him carefully, and he quickly knocked it back before signaling for you to pour another.

"Most king's with a lick of sense wouldn't let a treasure like you out of their sight, so what are you doing in my court?" Bakugou asks.

"His Majesty decreed that the most talented entertainers accompany Her Highness to Your Majesty's court, for you entertainment and pleasure." you answer, handing off the refilled goblet.

Bakugou snorts at your measured and obviously practiced response. You night have heard him mutter 'toothless old bastard' under his breath, but you can't be sure.

"Give me a strawberry.", he gestures at the plate of fruit no six inches from him and you barely manage not to roll your eyes. Warlord or not, royals will always be royals, you think and pick up one of the berries.

The dragon king open his mouth and allows you to place the fruit on his tongue before biting into it. His ruby red eyes don't leave yours for a second, gripping your wrist when your try to pull away. Some juice trickles down your hand, and without breaking eye contact, Bakugou laves his tongue over your skin licking up the trail of red. He eats the rest of the berry, lips catching on your fingers before the lets your hand go in favor of picking up his wine goblet again.

"My entertainment and pleasure huh? I'm entertained, but I don't know about pleased..." he says, smirking into his goblet.

"Is there anything I can do for Your Majesty?" you manage to ask, brain still reeling from the whole thing with the strawberry.

And you walk right into his trap.

"Yeah, I can think of something..." he starts before leaning closer to you.

His hat breath fans against your neck for a moment, letting your get squirmy and nervous before continuing.

"Fucking you until you cry all that pretty makeup off... Then I'd be real fucking pleased." he says with a predatory smile spreading across his face.

You squeak, face heating under your veil as you try to formulate a response. You have no idea if the princess heard but if she did-

"Y-your majesty, I don't think-" you start but Bakugou cuts you off by grinding his hips up into yours.

"Good thing you don't need to think to take my cock." he muses.

The princess, appears to have reached her limit of watching her fiance flirt with someone else right in front of her.

"Your Majesty! I understand that this is a political marriage but I will not sit here and be humiliated and witch you proposition a commoner in front of me!" she exclaims.

You're a little surprised at her outburst considering the environment, but you guessed everyone had limits.

All chatter and music in the hall ceased for the second time that night. Bakugou pulled his face out of your neck to glare at the princess.

"You can fuck off for all I care. Your side wanted the fucking treaty, I don't have a problem with saddling up and burning your shitty country to the ground tonight." Bakugou stated, his anger growing with each word.

"King Bakugou those words could be taken as an act of war. " the diplomatic envoy from your country, stands and approaches the high table.

"What the- Did you idiots forget where you are? You're in the heart of the Badlands, in the court of Katsuki Bakugo, barbarian warlord and King of Dragons. This is my fucking kingdom and I'll do what I very well fucking please. And if I want to fuck this courtesan on the table right in front of your perfect little princess, I will. " He snarls and all you can do is sit there and pray he doesn't actually follow through on that threat.

Not that you'd hate it, seeing the look on the princess's face as you got fucked by her betrothed. Hah, serves her fucking right for always being such a brat.

"But I'm not a cruel king. I'll marry this one, and you can keep your silly little treaty." Bakugou says and both the diplomat and the princess scoff.

You balk, looking up at King Bakugou in surprise. He's going to what now?

"You can't possible expect the princess to be content with being on the same level as a commoner, even as a consort-" the diplomat starts to protest, which is quickly cut off by Bakugou's harsh laugh.

"You're a country of fucking dumbasses? I'm not marrying your brat of a princess, dump her off on some other poor bastard. I'm marrying Y/N instead of her. They'll be my consort. Won't you, pretty thing?" He says, looking at your for your answer.

"Say yes, treasure. I'm rich as fuck, I could give you anything you want. If I can't buy it I can take it. There's nothing I can't do. You wouldn't lift a fucking finger with me, I can promise that." he boasts to you and you know this.

King Bakugou is an unstoppable force. You had a hard life as a commoner, as a dancer. You weren't a servant but always being at the beck and call of nobility, dancing for them until your feet bled, until you fainted from exhaustion.

You deserved to be greedy, just like the man holding you in his lap.

"Yes, I'll marry you." you answer, and Bakugou smiles wickedly.

Good, he likes greedy. It's one of his favorite traits.

He turns his head back to look at the diplomat and princess from your home country. The diplomat looks like he's sweating buckets and the princess is so angry you think she might start breathing fire.

"So, do we have an agreement? Y/N for your protection?" he asks.

"Y-yes your majesty." the diplomat stutters at the same time the princess protests.

"We do not! How dare you disrespect me so openly, you filthy little wench-" she starts, only to be silenced by the sight of Bakugou pulling his sword. He points the tip at the princess, visibly seething with rage.

"Shut your worthless fucking mouth before I shut it for you." he growls.

Fear takes over the princess' face and she stumbles back behind the diplomat.

"Oi, don't piss on my floor or anything, fucking cowards. Show some respect to my new consort. Bend the knee and I'll forget this transgression." Bakugou orders.

While not officially married  yet, he's bestowed the title of consort upon you and now you outrank the princess. In fact, you outrank nearly everyone here, sans Katsuki, who is your equal. The diplomat and princess wordlessly fall into a bow, and the nobles from both courts follow suit.

"Alright that's enough groveling for now. This banquet is over, I'm retiring to my bed chambers. If you need me, don't." Bakugou gruffs and stands up, once again easily scooping you up into his arms.

"I'm going to rip this pretty little costume to shreds, and pump and heir into you tonight, goddamn it." Bakugou murmurs in your ear as he carries you though out his(your) palace.

"I like this one..." your protest weakly as he kicks a door open, throwing you onto his bed.

He grasps the waistline of your costume, easily ripping the silk to shreds with his bare hands.

"I'm buy you forty just like it, now spread your legs, Consort." he orders, licking his lips.

"I didn't get to finish my meal earlier." He hums and you squeak in anticipation.

"Cute. Let's see how many cute noises you can make, huh?"

@hanji-is-life i hope you enjoy!

[caxsthetic]

SLEEP THE NIGHT — miya atsumu

Type: Standalone Movie (One-Shot Fiction)

Cast: Miya Atsumu

Storyline: Tonight, he want to be the best boyfriend that he could be.

Genre: Drama, Slice of Life

He never cooked.

Miya Atsumu never dared to stand in the kitchen because he knew too well what could possibly happen. His twin brother who was now the owner of the infamous onigiri chain always told him that whatever he touched somehow turned into fire.

But he didn't care, at this moment he could only focus on the opened page of his tablet where your favourite food displayed. He tried to find the high rated recipe, even though it was not the simplest one, he just wanted to cook what was best for you.

After all, a perfect woman like you only deserves the nicest thing in life.

You were so patient, always supporting him through every step that he took. Never once you complained about his busy schedule, his almost non-existent presence inside the apartment you shared, or even the way he put you second after volleyball.

Volleyball always came first, that was a fact that you knew since you dated him long ago in high school. He loved the said sport more than anything in the world. His fiery passions, his energy, his time — he gave it all to a sport that he found together with his brother when they were just a silly kid.

And then came you, always silencing all those nosy new supporters when it was time for him to serve. Then came you, helping him answer a question that his teacher threw at him because he fell asleep in class after a harsh tournament.

You, a woman who helped him get through his days as your existence was like a guiding star for him.

He would fall into pieces if you were not there, walking by his side to remind him of time. He needed time to eat, time to rest, time to let loose and hang out with his beloved friends from high school. Atsumu was sure that he would be lost without you there for him.

So just this one time, he wanted to make it right for you.

"You don't have to cook for me, Atsumu." He just hummed to give you a sign that he heard you. "Atsumu, please." But he ignored your plea and continued to read the recipe. He wanted to do something good, something that a perfect boyfriend should do.

You could only let out a sigh as you sat on the kitchen island's stool, eyeing the national setter as he carefully added some ingredients on the pan. He hissed as the oil splashed out a little, hitting his skin that made him go into panic mode.

A chuckle slipped from your lips as you saw him frantically running to the sink, letting out a sigh of relief once he could feel cold water streaming down his hand, easing the pain in an instant. He really tried, today he really tried.

You didn't have the heart to stop him since you knew that once he set his mind on something, he wouldn't care about what anyone else's said. So you just sat there, becoming a company that he wanted, just like you always became for years slipping into his life.

"Come on, Atsumu." He insisted you to stay still as he cooked for you, and you didn't want to hurt his pride by walking toward him without telling him first. "Let me help you." So you asked, hoping that he would accept your proposition.

"Nope! Let me try this on my own." He answered with the same excitement as before and went back to his task. "Just sit there, I am almost done. Promise." Then he calmed down, composing himself so he could cook with a clear mind.

He needed to do it, he couldn't let tonight turn into another day where you ended up being the one who took care of him.

Atsumu turned off the stove before preparing the pristine white plate that would be used to showcase your favourite dish. He smiled in triumph as he looked at the masterpiece. Tonight was the first time he cooked a meal like this, and he couldn't help but be proud of himself for this one achievement.

Though, the glee that he felt right now was nothing compared to the twinkle that was seen in your eyes.

Your lips tugged into a smile as he set down the meal in front of you. He didn't want to eat, no, he wanted to see you first as your hand grabbed the fork. And the second you popped the piece into your mouth, he never felt this happy to see someone he loved enjoying his hard work.

You squealed a little, humming in satisfaction as you tasted the food that the blonde made just for you. It was happiness, written all over your face as you continued to eat, and each bite only made you crave for more.

Maybe this was what Osamu felt, maybe this was the reason why his brother wanted to be in the culinary career. To make people smile, to see the joyful look from your loved one for something that you made.

Wouldn't it be lucky to have the younger twin as a lover? Running a respected business, working together with a dear friend, all bills covered, making something that others could enjoy, things that his lover would cherish at the end of the day.

Truthfully — Atsumu was a little bit jealous of his twin right now.

Because with volleyball, he couldn't do the same. Sure, you were there on almost every match that he had. Yes, there was always a smile on your face as you cheered for him. And of course, you looked so happy as you stood at the stands with pride swelling your chest.

But was that enough to give to a lover?

His winning only belonged to him, it was something that anyone else couldn't enjoy, except maybe his teammate. Unlike food that could be tasted, unlike clothes that could be worn. Volleyball just, well, volleyball. It was a sport that he loved, one that he couldn't share with a lover.

Yet you never changed, you never left him. Even though he couldn't give much, even though he was not that perfect boyfriend who could pay all the bills and buy you expensive gifts — you stayed, for such a long time, patiently there even though he was barely around.

"Atsumu?"

He jolted when his name slipped from your lips. Brown orbs immediately finding yours that filled with concern, face softened at whatever expression that was shown on his facade right now. "Why don't you eat your meal? Do you dislike it now?"

"No, no." He cleared his throat, avoiding your gaze for a moment. "I like it, I like anything that you love, (Y/n)." He wanted to bonk his head for saying such a cliche sentence, but he couldn't help it since it was exactly what he felt.

You only gave him a smile before focusing back to the meal that he made for you. And for him, seeing you like this, so adorable as you shove your favourite food in your mouth — he wished that he did something like this sooner, adding some spices to his endless routine at the court.

Adding you, to his daily routine.

"I am going to clean the dishes, okay?" You said softly as you got up from your seat. Your plate was already empty with how fast you ate the meal. "You already cooked, so let me do this one."

He didn't answer and just ate the rest of the food on his plate. With his speed, he choked a little but kept continuing anyway. He gulped down a glass of water right after his plate was clean without anything on top of it.

"No. Let me be a good boyfriend to-"

"Atsumu."

The setter immediately went silent from the intonation that you used. Stern, yet still filled with warm. He didn't dare to say anything as you grabbed his plate away, afraid that he would ruin the perfect night.

Like what he always did, like all the nights before this.

"Just go upstairs, I will join you in bed once I am done." He didn't move though, eyes fleeting to where you were right now as you walked to the sink.

"You promise?"

You dropped the plate gently, letting out a sigh before turning your face toward him. There it was, a smile that always made him feel at ease. You looked so breathtaking even if you only cladded with old pajamas and hair sticking out like you haven't combed for days.

"I promise, Atsumu."

And with that, he stood up. Knowing for sure that you were a woman of your word.

Atsumu wanted to walk up toward you, wrapping his arms around your torso as he let his face rested on your nape, sniffling your scent as much as he could. But he was afraid, he never did that before, what if you didn't get used to him for being so touchy like that?

He decided to turn his head and ascend to the second floor where the shared bedroom was located. When he thought about it, he was rarely there, sleeping on the same bed with you even though it would be years since he had you as his lover.

Most of the time he was always out, practising until late at night, bonding with his teammates, and decided to crash at his friend's apartment instead since it was too far from his place to their gymnasium. Yet you always reached for him. Making time to give him some healthy lunchboxes and snacks in between your busy hours of work.

He realised that he was such a bad boyfriend.

"Hey, 'Tsumu-"

"You are coming today, right?" He asked with excitement as he zipped his team jacket up. "We are going to play against Suna! Ha, I want to rile him up so much I wonder how he is in the court right now." He looked like a child, gleeful as he looked at his reflection on the mirror. "You gonna be there?"

You could only stare at him, spinning your brain to think about what sentence that you should let out.

"W-Well, of course." You cleared his throat, cursing at yourself for even stuttering. "You promised to take me to that restaurant you reserved after the match too, how could I waste a chance to spend time with my boyfriend?"

And as you saw his face contorted into a shocked one, you knew that you were back in the same cycle all over again. "You forget, didn't you?"

"Fuck, I am sorry." He immediately turned his face toward you, fear coated his eyes. "I forgot to make the reservation and I— shit! I even promised Suna to hang out after that." He immediately took a few steps forward, wanting to cup your cheek as he knew you didn't deserve to be treated like this — from time to time.

"It's okay, 'Tsumu." And this was always the outcome. "Volleyball world comes first, I know. It's alright." For you to be so understanding, for you to realise your place. "Just make it up for me by enjoying your game. Win this game for me, maybe?"

He was relieved that you didn't get angry, most women would kick his ass if he acted like this all the time. But never you, never his (Y/n).

"You know I always win." He chuckled softly, followed by yours as he leaned in to press his lips on your forehead. "And today is nothing different. Why would I need to win for you just today though? The other match wins were all for you too."

"So it's like a routine, then?" Your eyes fleeting to pierce into his brown orbs. "Hey, 'Tsumu, do you have any plan for me today?"

Why did he feel like that question was a trap? With how your eyes filled with hope, he wanted to say that he indeed had a plan for you. But he didn't, and he couldn't lie. Because in the end, you always see right through him. That was proven by how the hope was gone even before he could part his lips.

"I see." There was a little remorse in your tone, and he wanted to cheer you up in an instant. "That's okay, then!" Yet you were the one who cheered him up, didn't want him to worry about anything. "Come on, let's go. I don't want your teammates to be wary if you are late!"

He frowned when he remembered that day. How he dropped you to stay with his twin brother the whole match, the way your eyes glimmered as Osamu gave you a lunch box filled with your favourite filling onigiri. The hug that was shared, that lingered longer as his twin congratulated you a 'happy birthday'.

Atsumu wanted to punch himself when he realised that it was your birthday after all. The reason why you wanted to spend time with him, why you seemed more clingy that day, of course. And yet, he was not the first person who gave you the greetings, even though he was the one who you saw first thing in the morning.

He always wondered about why you decided to stay with him in his free time that was almost non-existence.

How you always let everything slide, how you suck it up and just focus on his well being, how you answer everyone teasing about him being a bad boyfriend — yet you always answered with pride that whatever happened, he was a good one, and you were happy to have him as your boyfriend.

But at one point, anyone must have hit their limit. Right?

"What is clouding in that big head of yours, Atsumu?" You flicked his forehead, and it was like a reminder to him that he had you in his arms right now, laying under the warm blanket in the bedroom that you two shared. "Your upcoming—"

"You." He answered truthfully before averting his gaze from the ceiling to your face. "I was thinking about you, honestly."

There was a flicker of sadness in your eyes, and he wanted to curse at himself for saying something like that out of the blue. "I am sorry, I know that tonight was supposed to be just us enjoying the moment together and not being sappy."

He held your body even closer than before, afraid that you would be gone too soon if he let it loose. His body shifted a little so he could plant a kiss at the crown of your head, eyes fluttering close as he bathed on the scent that reminded him that he would never be alone.

No words were being said after that, just you and him in each other's embrace. Your fingers stayed in his unruly hair, caressing the blonde strands that slowly lulled him to sleep.

But he didn't want to sleep yet. He didn't want to close his eyes. He wanted to savour the moment with you, one that he rarely felt with how he always prioritised volleyball above everything else. Above you, even.

Atsumu rubbed his eyes from time to time, insisting to stay awake and gripped your hips a little tighter than before. Just one more minute, he wanted to feel your warm body cuddling against his skin for a little longer.

"Hey, (Y/n)." He called out, earning a little hum of acknowledgement slipping from your lips. "Can you call me like you used to?"

He could feel how your body went rigid for a second. Your breath hitched, halted as if the request was something that could hurt you. "I understand if you can't though. I am okay if you didn't, I just want to hear it again."

One second, two seconds, everything felt so heavy as he waited for your answer. He wanted to hear his nickname from your lips, it sounds so lovely, not irritating like how his brother called him with the same name.

"Okay, 'Tsumu."

He felt so relieved as he heard his name rolled down your tongue. Happiness, love, comfort, he found it all with the way you called his name. You always use that nickname ever since you dated him, and it felt like a lifetime ago since the last time he heard it from you.

It was just Atsumu now. No more 'Tsumu, just his full first name that still sounded so odd since he still couldn't believe his mind. No, he could believe it. With how much he neglected you, with how much he was never there in your life — he acknowledged it. He just didn't want to.

"You should sleep, 'Tsumu." Your fingers trailed down his cheek as you looked up. "You have practice tomorrow, right?"

You knew all about his schedules, all the things that he allowed to eat and things that he had to do. You printed his routine in the back of your mind, somehow up until now, you couldn't help but care for him.

"Yeah, I have practice tomorrow." He gulped down before booping your nose playfully. "But I want to stay awake a little more. If that's too much to ask?"

He mustered his puppy eyes, pouting a little and tightening his embrace around you. This was your weakness, to see him all clingy like this. And when you let out a sigh and giggle, he knew that he got you.

"God, I love you so much to resist you, you know that?" You whispered out under your breath. But then as if you knew in an instant what you had said, you cleared your throat. "Okay, I give in. Stop giving me that puppy eyes, Atsumu."

"Sorry, sorry." He smiled sheepishly before resting his head comfortably on the pillow once again, securing you in his embrace as you laid back on his chest. "One more question, (Y/n). And then I promised I would zip my mouth after that until we fell asleep."

"Alright, shoot."

He frowned a little, eyes scanning the unfamiliar ceiling. He was not supposed to feel like a guest in his own place. Yet as he saw the beige coloured ceiling with some starlight sticker, he didn't feel right. Yeah, it was the price that he had to pay for rarely here in this apartment with you.

"From scale zero to ten, how perfect of a man I am today?"

He heard a sigh, another one slipped from you. Atsumu could count how many times you had sigh because of him, and he really wished that he could make you laugh instead of giving you headaches like this. "Don't sugarcoat though, I just needed the truth."

"Ten." You answered without doubt, yet as he looked down, wanting to see your eyes, you didn't look up. "Not just today, you always had a perfect score as a man. Passionate, have a big dream, would do anything to achieve it. If not I am not going to be your girlfriend for so long."

Ah, he just realised that he used the wrong term in his question.

"Let me rephrase it, (Y/n)." He closed his eyes, thinking if he was ready to hear the truth or not. "From scale zero to ten, how perfect of a boyfriend I am today?"

You clutched the tight shirt that he wore at his question, burying your face on his chest to hide yourself. He raised one of his eyebrows in confusion, didn't know why you couldn't answer it. Maybe it was that bad, maybe he could never be a good boyfriend after all.

"Perfect." He almost couldn't hear your answer with how it muffled on his shirt. "You are so perfect today, 'Tsumu."

Though he could hear it so clearly, the answer. He wanted to hear the other statement, of how he was always a perfect boyfriend, just like how you told him he was a perfect man. But of course it was not possible, he never became a lover that you could be proud of.

All these time, you complimented him, you showed to the world his capability. His skill in volleyball, his soft side toward his brother, how loyal he was to his friends — but you never said anything about how good of a boyfriend he was.

It was just all about him, not how he treated you.

"Hold me," He pleaded, biting his lips since he didn't want his voice to waver. "Hold me tighter than usual." His voice sounded like a whisper as he held you close, and he wanted you to do the same. "Please?"

Miya Atsumu was not someone who liked to beg, he knew you always gave what he wanted anyway. "Just tonight." But he wouldn't gamble anything right now. "I just need it tonight."

He swallowed down the tears that entreating to escape from his eyes. With how your arm moved to hold him close, caging him in a circle filled with comfort, maybe this was enough to be remembered.

Maybe this was enough to be remembered forever.

"I love you, 'Tsumu."

You sat in the living room with your head hanging low, hands covering your face as you didn't have the courage to look up at where your boyfriend sat. "But I am… Tired."

This was the first time he saw you cry. No, the first one was when he won national all those years ago in high school as he screamed at you that he won for you too. But never like this, the tears you shed right now was different from back then. "I tried, I really want to stay with you, to kiss you every morning, to cuddle with you under the blanket."

He couldn't say anything, heart thundering as he knew what would happen next. He was not stupid, of course everyone had their limit, and after years went by with a stagnant pace in the relationship — of course you were going to hit it, sooner or later.

"But you are never there, 'Tsumu."

You finally looked at him, and you could feel your heart shattered even more when you saw his expression. He was dumbstruck, tongue-tied. It was as if he knew that this day would happen, but he still didn't want to believe it.

He didn't want to believe that one day you would get tired of being second in his life.

"Does that mean…" He couldn't ask, knowing the answer to his next question. But he needed to make sure. "Does that mean you want to end this?"

The sunlight that slipped in between curtains was the one who woke him up. He hissed as it reached his eyes, forcing him to wake up. But he closed his eyes once again, stirring his body a little to wrap his arms around you, wanting to feel the warm that your body radiated.

Yet he was only met with cold.

And that was the thing that woke him up in an instant.

His breath laboured as he sat on the bed, brown orbs scanning the room that he shared with you. No, you didn’t just leave, right? But he scanned the room, again and again, searching for any kind of sign that you were still there.

Then again, who was he anyway, to know the signs. He was never here, he could count how many nights that he slept here with you. Atsumu didn’t even remember there were any photographs of you and him together hanging on the wall, he didn’t even know the time you decided to put some starlight sticker on the ceiling, he didn’t know what was the difference between this morning and the others.

Though one thing that he knew for sure, you would always be there when he woke up here.

“Then, please. Give me just one day! I just need one day of your life.”

Atsumu knew that this morning would come, when emptiness met him and reality sinked in as he remembered all the flaws that he had. His feet dragged him out from the bedroom that now felt suffocating for him. He needed you, he had to see you.

“But, Atsu—”

“I will prove it to you! I promise that I’ll make things right for you.”

It was so quiet, there was no music playing on the soundbar. You used to play some upbeat songs to fill the silence as you waited for him to show up after shower. Yet as he walked down the stairs, he could only hear his own footsteps.

“And then you can leave. You can sneak out when I am asleep. You know how much of a heavy sleeper I am, right?”

But then, he was right from the start.

“Alright, Atsumu. I will give you one more night.”

You were indeed �� a woman of your words.

MASTERLIST

“and it cracks” taglist @roseestuosity​ @mistypoison @samanthaa-leanne @tycrackculture @aomineavenue @tris-does-stuff @tremblinghearts @p0taytoes @too-many-lanes @ntimacy @sunflwrsandprettyskies @chibichab @tsukkiboii @oikawoahh @hoefor2ds @edvigelacivetta @playboygeniusphilanthropist @wompwomphq @himichii @shoyomeow @miyayane  @graykageyama @bakugou-akaashi

[siriusmydeer]

For the Thank You Next can you do Imagine with James Potter?

thank you, next.

james potter x slytherin!fem!reader

summary: you go through the stages of love till you find your person.

word count: 2.3k

warnings: mutual pinning, over use of sarcasm it’s so bad, SWEARING, kissing, mentions of kissing, mentions of an arm falling off, mentions of injury

—0:00

‘Thought I'd end up with Sean

But he wasn't a match

Wrote some songs about Ricky

Now I listen and laugh

Even almost got married

And for Pete, I'm so thankful

Wish I could say "thank you" to Malcolm

'Cause he was an angel’

one day, when you’re young, your mother tells you, ‘there’s lots of fish in the sea, but you have to wait for the right catch’ or maybe that was just your deranged mother. normally, you thought all of that was bullshit. a slytherin princess should never be mistreated, someone whomst you honour and adore with all in your beating heart; turns out slytherin boys didn’t get the fucking memo.

the only person who did understand was the one and only, regulus arcturus black. but you unfortunately lacked sexual attraction to him so therefore you couldn’t date him, so that was a feigning issue. evan rosier was fit, top of his classes and a quite nice mop of blonde on his head, he was a quidditch player and a pureblood slytherin; so etiquette is to be clearly expected. too other schoolmates, especially the fawning girls of almost every house, he was probably the full package, one of the alpha males that roamed the hallways at hogwarts; oh were those girls the biggest knob heads to exist.

turns out he was just the biggest fucking dick to ever walk the planes of the earth, he ran around with idiots like lucius malfoy— another mistake of the century, and little severus snape; thank merlin, and salazar slytherin themselves you never resorted to him.

‘One taught me love

One taught me patience

And one taught me pain

Now, I'm so amazing

Say I've loved and I've lost

But that's not what I see

So, look what I got

Look at what you taught me

And for that, I say’

normally your first couple of boyfriends should teach you something out of the relationship, maybe what you needed to strengthen for the next time you were in an intimate relationship, like trust, communication, maybe even sexual intimacy.

all these absolute dunces taught you was to pick your boyfriends better, and to stay away from every slytherin male that had ever entered hogwarts. evan— oh, he only taught you that everyone and everything was a priority over you, always the ‘talk to you later.’ and the casual, ‘blowjob?’ comments; absolutely fucking arse. lucius, couldn’t forget his moto in your mind even if you jammed it in your strongly-witted brain that money was power and money over any atom to every exist.

regulus understood, strict pureblood parents but he still understood how to treat a partner. i guess it was nice not picking up every habit of walburger and onion— sorry, walburga and orion, noble heirs of the house of black. yeah, did i mention they were second cousins?

‘Thank you, next (next)

Thank you, next (next)

Thank you, next

I'm so grateful for my ex

Thank you, next (next)

Thank you, next (next)

Thank you, next (next)’

“you could always hang out with my brothers mates, i see them not casually oogling you.” oh regulus, sometimes you did lack the slytherin wit and ambition. he was sprawled on the malachite coloured couch, a pearly white quill fumbled between his slender digits as he started aimlessly into oblivion at the dying out fire in the midst of the frigid common room.

“yeah, let me go hang out with my best friends brothers friends, slytherin haters! such a good idea, reg. maybe they should’ve put you in ravenclaw from that amazing idea!” if you were sarcastic before, there aren’t a non-vulgar amount of words in the universe to describe the tremendous mockery in your tone; as you intensely stared into the crevices of the ceiling while laying on the opposite viridescent sofa.

“merlin, tone down the sarcasm a bit? i was just offering, it’s not like your a pureblood, or a prat.” regulus offered, looking at your form, your elbow now covering your eyes and making recurring heavy sighs every few minutes. “being a half-blood is enough for hatred, regulus, m’dear.” you sighed again, in defeat. hopeless romantic and hated by many, fantastic, am i right?

‘Spend more time with my friends

I ain't worried 'bout nothin'

Plus, I met someone else

We're havin' better discussions

I know they say I move on too fast

But this one gon' last

'Cause her name is Ari

And I'm so good with that (so good with that)’

don’t think, breath and just do what your heart tells you to. fuck that— panic, cry, scream, whatever, be scared. you were gaping at the red mass and overdue of shades, it wasn’t ugly but definitely not the prettiest colour to exist; mixed with mustard yellow. gryffindor students absolutely covered in both. well students, no, james potter, yes.

he happen to be your victim, well friend of sirius; regulus did say after all they oogled you, whatever that meant. you both played quidditch, pretty decent grades, both had good humour, your more so, i mean c’mon you couldn’t find that wit just anywhere, and well you could be best friends. well friends, acquaintances, maybe one, possibly. if only you had the confidence of a leo male, all you needed was to strut over to the damn quidditch field and say something, literally anything.

so that’s exactly what you did, your shoes crunching against the no-longer damp grass, dry after morning dew showers. your bag hanging off of your left arm, your head preoccupied with ways on how to greet someone because slytherin etiquette right now was not the way to go; it would only cause assumptions and stereotypes. i mean who the actual fuck says, ‘how do you do?’ anymore.

‘She taught me love (love)

She taught me patience (patience)

She handles pain (pain)

That amazing (yeah, she's amazing)

I've loved and I've lost (yeah, yeah)

But that's not what I see (yeah, yeah)

'Cause look what I've found (yeah, yeah)

Ain't no need for searching

And for that, I say’

enemies, nope. acquaintances, don’t think so. friends, getting there. close friends, i would say. if someone ever said they saw james fleamont potter hanging around a slytherin they would’ve assumed that someone was knocked upside the head with the biggest beaters bar you could find, but the green and red weren’t that bad of a mix after all.

henceforth, here you were giggling like school girls with james fucking potter right by the black lake. “james, respectfully, stop carrying that stupid snitch everywhere. doesn’t it weigh down your pockets?” you queried the boy who was fumbling with the golden snitch for the past three minutes, flipping his hair so he could knock the brunette tendrils from his eyes while he gaped at you.

you were glowing— the sun at its highest peek, he could’ve been on his knees thanking albus dumbledore in his office for free period; knowing james we would’ve offered to comb his beard and maybe even a shampoo and condition it while he was at it.

your eyes glittered as you chortled at him for dropping that stupid ball for the third time, your hair dancing in the wind like it was a routine, a perfect routine, your teeth glinting at the suns ethereal rays that hit you just right. imagine if james’ foolish cocky mask instead would’ve rejected your offer of friendship that one humid day on the quidditch pitch— he would’ve been the biggest git to ever stride the planet.

‘Thank you, next (thank you, next)

Thank you, next (thank you, next)

Thank you, next (thank you)

I'm so grateful for my ex

Thank you, next (thank you, next)

Thank you, next (said thank you, next)

Thank you, next (next)

I'm so grateful for my ex

Thank you, next

Thank you, next

Thank you, next’

friends, that’s what it was suppose to be. pals, mates, schoolmates, whatever the fuck you called it. it wasn’t suppose to be frenemies, to friends to lovers! you weren’t suppose to notice the navy blue flecks of colour in his cerulean eyes, the way his lips curled in a smile after he caught that silly snitch that blazed the thick sure after a hefty match, the way he brushed the tresses of hair behind your ears when the wind was assaulting your face and you were basically swallowing your hair.

now sitting with him in the library you were mentally stabbing your stygian heart, why men. why do they do things, why do men sometimes have the decency to show sympathy, and partiality with their friends. he hugged you, he kissed your forehead when you felt dejected, james potter went through the slytherin common room to bring you chocolates on your period. which fucking gryffindor would do that, huh? definitely not frank longbottom or fabian prewett.

his hand scathed yours as he pointed at how to make a draught of peace potion, his hand was warm and smooth but only from what you touched— you could see slight callouses forming on the pads of pads palm from broom handling, and the small cracks in his knuckles from the lacking use of lotion. you felt the rapid rate of your heart merely increasing at the minute from the slight touch, a rush of rose clouded your cheeks. this was so embarrassing.

‘One day I'll walk down the aisle

Holding hands with my mama

I'll be thanking my dad

'Cause she grew from the drama

Only wanna do it once, real bad

Gon' make that last

God forbid something happens

Least this song is a smash (song is a smash)’

you were mid flight, smashing a bludger in the direction of the vermillion colours. even when you were immensely sweaty, intensely panting, abundantly tired, and your arm looked like it wanted to fall off he wanted to kiss the energy back into you. james loved winning against slytherin, it might’ve been his favourite thing at hogwarts; but he would murder a pack of death eaters if it meant he got to see your smile when your emerald-clad seeker clutched that small golden ball.

both teams landed, a handshake due for the game to be over after almost two continuous hours of playing and that stubborn ball blazing the air. he meant to walk over there, a hug overdue in his prideful way of saying congratulations but he did not think that he would’ve strided over to your panting figure and clasped your soft cushion lips with his own parched ones from the continuous heaving in his breath.

your lips tasted of peach, hints of mango. your lips dried of chapstick but still smooth— feeling the grooves in your lips, they were puffy and swollen probably from the tremendous amount of times you had bitten your lips in anxiety. your lips disconnected for a moment, suddenly realizing that you had an audience of your fellow slytherins, your enemy gryffindors and not one but two shocked crowds of hufflepuffs and ravenclaws suddenly watching the private scene unfold.

james cleared his throat, looking at your grinning face that was encased between his palms, your face was significantly flushed, your chest moving every millisecond at the loss of breath in your lungs. “good, uh, good game james.”

‘I've got so much love (love)

Got so much patience (patience)

I've learned from the pain (pain)

I turned out amazing (turned out amazing)

I've loved and I've lost (yeah, yeah)

But that's not what I see (yeah, yeah)

'Cause look what I've found (yeah, yeah)

Ain't no need for searching

And for that, I'll say’

cocky, quidditch captain, school prankster, pureblood gryffindor, and head boy. that to the peering eyes of hogwarts was james potter, but he was so much more than that. he was like an onion, gross comparison but for the sake of it you’ll use it, he had layers but everyday it’s like you cried a little less and you peeled just a bit more.

he was benevolent, he guided first years to common rooms and sometimes he studied with fourth year hufflepuffs. he was sensible, sometimes, he helped out madame pomfrey in the healers wing when remus had been injured from a full moon along with any remaining students in the ward from previous incidents, not to mention, you did uncover remus’ ‘furry secret’ and swore to secrecy. and most of all, james was cherishing, he actually did give a fuck when you had a bad day, he stroked your back and hummed you stupid baby lullabies.

i mean could you imagine lucius malfoy and evan rosier humming a girl lullabies when they were upset? celebratory kisses after quidditch, bringing you snacks while you were overwhelmed in school work and actually made an effort in the relationship? they would’ve bought you a pair of red bottoms and called it a day.

‘Thank you, next (thank you, next)

Thank you, next (thank you, next)

Thank you, next

I'm so grateful for my ex

Thank you, next (thank you, next)

Thank you, next (said thank you, next)

Thank you, next (next)

I'm so grateful for my ex

Thank you, next

Thank you, next

Thank you, next

Yeah’

there was infact one thing that your past relationships taught you;

never date a man to ever be put in the slytherin house ever again.

taglist: @kittykylax @ronbrokemyheart @aspiringsloth20 @maddoxsmythologicalmind @amourtentiaa @msmb @five-cups-of-coffee @emmaev @serenitywilderness @spencerfuckingreidswhore @artemis1orion @famdomhideout @hufflepogue @dear-luna @luvvninaz @miraclesoflove @black-like-my-soul @sirius-animagus

[dhwty-writes]

hi! I have a prompt, if you like: what if Geralt hangs up mistletoe to get Jaskier to kiss him? :)

ELLIE, what a galaxy brained concept! It’s so silly and the gay panic is rampant in this one, my friends. The Kaer Morons being a bumbling pack of idiots and Geralt ridiculously pining after Jaskier? Coming right up!

Summary: Geralt is in love with Jaskier. In order to finally get him to admit his feelings, he devises a ten step plan with Lambert, Eskel and Vesemir. 

Warnings: NONE, this is tooth-rotting fluff

Read on AO3

There was a conspiracy of the highest order brewing in the Continent involving no less than four witchers, their horses, a goat, and an unsuspecting bard. It is known under many names, including, but not limited to, Operation Home Sweet Home, Gods Save us from your Fucking Pining, and Get Vesemir's Blessing (and Mission Let's Get Geralt Laid, but that was from Lambert and therefore stupid).

They had laid out the Conspiracy in a set of carefully calculated steps last winter with the help of Vesemir's Wise Words and truly copious amounts of alcohol. Once he saw the whole list sober, Geralt had nearly chucked it into the fireplace out of mortification. Good thing Eskel and Lambert had been nearby to wrestle the slip of paper out of his hands.

Only after the creation of at least half a dozen copies was he trusted with it again. He frowned down at the sheet. It was simple, really. A simple ten-step-plan. He could do that.

Step One: Stop fucking staring out of windows and sighing longingly. (Shut up, Lambert.) Get back on the Path and find Jaskier.

Now, at least that was easy enough. Not for the first time since their acquaintance they had agreed upon a meeting place to come find each other as soon as the snows would allow it. Most of the years Geralt would arrive a little late; because even if they chose a spot closer to Kaer Morhen than Oxenfurt, the Killer was usually impassable for a long time.

A few years they had been lucky and could set out relatively early in spring. Geralt hadn't felt lucky at all, sitting in a lonely tavern corner day in, day out, waiting for a familiar bright-coloured bard to fill his life with light again. He had felt terrified, most of all.

So, this year when he set out to the Path, an already crumpled list clutched tightly in his hand, he was even more on edge than normally. He didn't think he could take Step One failing already, and the mortifying possibility of Jaskier lying dead in a ditch. He might just climb up that mountain again and never come back down.

Luckily, Geralt — and Vesemir — were saved from that miserable fate. When Geralt threw open the tavern door in some backwater Kaedwen town, Jaskier was there already. He was peacocking around in his usual manner, enticing his sparse audience with his captivating presence. When his eyes fell on Geralt, though, his three half-drunk spectators were soon forgotten.

The bard gasped and slung his lute onto his back, vaulting off the stage to come rushing over to him. "You're here!" Geralt stood ready, his arms spread wide to catch Jaskier when he flung himself at him in an overenthusiastic hug. "I missed you." Jaskier slung his legs around Geralt's hips and buried his face against his shoulder, clinging to him as if for dear life. 

Geralt held him tight, deeply inhaling the familiar scent, a mix of honey, grapes, and cinnamon. He was used to this by now. He didn't mind. Truth be told, he craved it.

"Hmm," he answered, acutely aware of the stares they were attracting. Geralt decided he didn't care. "I... missed you, too."

"You did?" Jaskier pulled back and beamed at him. Just a week ago he had thought he would kill to see that smile again as soon as possible.

"Hmm," he agreed. Now he knew he knew he would die for it.

Jaskier wriggled in his grasp as a sign he wanted to be put down again. "You certainly know how to sweep a man off his feet, darling," he announced with a cheerful wink. "I don't think you've ever told me you so much as enjoyed my company before, let alone miss it."

"Hmm." Hadn't he? He could've sworn he had.

"None of that, now, let me just grab my bag and we can be on our merry way." Without another word, Jaskier rushed up the stairs in the back of the tavern.

Geralt stood uncomfortably in the door, waiting for him to return and doing his best not to attract too much attention. 'Hurry up, Jaskier,' he thought impatiently.

"Oi!" the bartender shouted. "Yer the witcher? The one of the songs?"

"I am."

The man nodded and threw something at him, humming a very distinct tune. It was a ducat. Geralt pocketed it with a sigh. He hadn't missed that.

He didn't have to wait long before Jaskier came barrelling back down the stairs, a much too large bag Roach would have to carry again in tow. "Well," the bard straightened his crumpled doublet, which, for some reason, now gaped open and showed off the pristine shirt underneath. Geralt tried not to stare, "where are we off to?"

"Toussaint," he answered, holding the tavern door open for him.

"Toussaint!" Jaskier exclaimed excitedly. "I love Toussaint."

"Hmm," Geralt said. 'I know,' Geralt thought, 'that's why we're going.'

With their reunion out of the way, it was time to proceed with the plan:

Step Two: Travel with Jaskier. Be nice to him (no fillingless pies!)! Compliment him! Laugh at his jokes!

That part was significantly more difficult than the first. Not that he lacked compliments for Jaskier, quite on the contrary. They, however, posed not one, but two difficulties.

The first was one of his own making: voicing his thoughts with actual words. In the privacy of his mind he had a myriad of compliments. 'You're beautiful,' passed through his head when he saw Jaskier bathed in the golden light of sunset. 'You smell nice,' after a day at the coast, salt encrusting Jaskier's hair. 'You make me smile', 'You make the loneliness go away', 'You're the best bard I could wish for.' None of them were quite eager to leave his mouth.

When they finally did, it was awkward. They didn't sound at all how he imagined them. "What are you looking at?" Jaskier asked.

"Something on your face," he answered. 'Yeah,' he thought dumbly, 'sunlight.'

Or: "Geralt, are you sniffing me?"

"You smell." He still cursed himself months later for omitting the simple word 'nice'.

After a while he got better at it. He could manage an "I like your voice" without stumbling over it, or a "Your outfit looks nice and smooth." It wasn't an "I love listening to you sing and say my name; you make it sound like something that is worthy of affection" or an "I love that you wear silk as soft as your skin and could spend days caressing it without growing tired of it" yet, but he was getting there.

What came then, once he was able to say a simple nice sentence to his bard, was somehow even worse. Jaskier was clumsy, that was nothing new, but this season it was on a whole different level. Whenever Geralt so much asked him about the song he was working on, the bard stumbled over his own feet; with every smile or laugh he nearly dropped his precious lute.

But nothing beat that time they happened upon a particularly clear and blue lake and Geralt had leaned over to tell Jaskier: "I like it. It reminds me of your eyes. Just as pretty." The poet had nearly plummeted right into it, which would have been very unfortunate indeed, since he hadn't convinced the nymph living in it to migrate yet.

In the end, Jaskier's utter lack of equilibrium sense led to Geralt offering him to ride on Roach. That was much better. Sometimes they rode double, too. He liked those days especially, when he had an excuse to hold his bard close. The days when Jaskier would sigh and lean back into his touch he liked most of them all.

Slowly, they settled into a familiar rhythm. It was awkward at first, but soon they became used to the change of their relationship. And it wasn't as if everything changed. They still bickered and insulted each other, and laughed and told stories. It was just right; Geralt almost didn't notice how summer came to an end.

But it did, and when the first leaves started coasting to the ground it was time for the next step.

Step Three: Ask him where he will spend the next winter.

It was probably the most mortifying thing he had to say to Jaskier yet. They were sat at a campfire one early autumn evening, Geralt trying to look busy cleaning his sword and Jaskier preoccupied with his lute. Once he finally worked up the courage to ask, he stumbled over his words like a school boy; he even blushed, for fuck's sake! It was embarrassing.

Luckily, Jaskier didn't seem to notice, too busy tuning his lute. "Why, in Oxenfurt, of course. Why do you ask, Geralt?" he answered nonchalantly as if Geralt wasn't just leading the most daunting conversation of his entire life.

'Fucking great,' he thought. Now it was time for Step Three.5: Ask Jaskier to come home with you, you fucking idiot.

"Hm," he said.

Jaskier laughed. "Talkative as always I see." He smiled at him brightly and turned back to his lute. "Alright then. Keep your secrets."

"Hmm." This wasn't getting any easier. "Jaskier."

"Yes, dear?"

His heart fluttered with the pet name, so much that Geralt nearly bit his tongue off in the process of trying to voice his question: "Would you like to stay with me?"

The lute gave a dissonant twang that made both of them wince. "Excuse me, what?" Jaskier stammered, his voice much higher than normally.

"Hmm. I just thought..." He frowned. 'Shit.' He couldn't do it. He just couldn't. This had been doomed from the beginning. "Forget it, it's stupid."

"No, no, not at all!" Jaskier scrambled to his feet and hurried over to Geralt's side. "Where would we be staying? I suppose you could come to Oxenfurt with me, but it could get a bit crammed and-"

"Kaer Morhen," Geralt stated simply.

"Kaer Mo- oh!" His eyes lit up. "Why, yes, Geralt, I would love to stay with you."

And that was the end of that. They didn't talk about it anymore the whole evening as Geralt did his damnedest to forget the conversation had ever happened. But when he laid awake in the night, Jaskier huddled close to him — it was getting rather cold, after all — he couldn't stop his mind from whirling, excitement mixing with immobilising terror. Jaskier would come to Kaer Morhen with him. They would stay together the whole winter. And Jaskier would meet his family.

With a sigh he turned over, cautiously throwing an arm over Jaskier's waist and holding him like the precious thing he was. The smile that spread on Geralt's face when his bard snuggled even closer, outshone the morning sun creeping over the horizon.

The following days and weeks, Jaskier was buzzing with the same excited energy that Geralt held within. It cost him every ounce of self-control not to turn Roach around and head for Kaer Morhen right away. But it was still early in the autumn, at least a moon's turn before it was time to go home, so they busied themselves with taking contracts and performing for sub-par audiences.

It was alright. He needed the money, after all, if he wanted to cross off Step Four: Bring Jaskier back to Kaer Morhen in its entirety, including the note: Buy him some nice and warm clothes on the way - Vesemir

It was good advice, Geralt knew, as most of Vesemir's advice was. Jaskier might have travelled with a witcher for the better part of his life, but he was still only human. And winters were very cold in the northern Kaedwen mountains.

So, on Geralt's annual stop in Ard Carraigh, he took Jaskier to get him equipped with soft woollen sweaters and stockings, as well as a pair of sturdy boots, ignoring the bard's protests of how 'ugly' they were.

"You'll thank me when you've still got all your toes after this winter," he grumbled as he strapped Jaskier's bag to Roach's saddle.

After that, nothing much exciting followed. There were still a few villages and hamlets along the way to Kaer Morhen but the least of them had so much as a tavern. The ones with a real audience of Jaskier were fewer still.

Geralt couldn't say he didn't enjoy it. Quite the opposite, he loved listening to Jaskier in the privacy of their camp or — if they were lucky — the barn where they could stay the night. He loved knowing that Jaskier sang only for him. And most of all he loved the vibrant smiles he got along the way, and the tiny ones, too, etched on his face even when he curled up against the witcher at night.

During the days, Jaskier finally had to stop riding on Roach; the path was simply getting too dangerous. The way up to Kaer Morhen had never been easy, not even when there had been two dozen witchers and twice as many students living there, but since the attack they hadn't tended to it anymore. The Witcher's Trail was no easy one for humans — and it wasn't meant to be.

Jaskier, to his credit, didn't comment much on it, most of the time too exhausted or admiring to run his mouth about the difficulty of getting to Geralt's home. He was almost a bit worried, anxious even, if Jaskier's reaction to seeing the ancient ruin would just be the same kind of silent admiration.

Evidently, there had been no need. They rounded the last corner and, finally, Kaer Morhen was looming up above them. As soon as his eyes fell on it, Jaskier gasped and ran ahead. He had, apparently, forgotten about his aching limbs he had complained about just that morning. "Is that it?" he asked excitedly. "Geralt, is this it?"

"No, it's another crumbling fortress in the Kaedwen mountains," he deadpanned.

"You're mean," Jaskier accused him and turned back around to the keep. "For months I've dreamt of this moment and what do you do? You mock me, truly a horrible habit, that- oh, gods, Geralt, it's so beautiful!"

"Hmm," he answered, watching Jaskier intently. The childish glee on his face, the snowflakes dancing around him and melting in his hair. "I guess so."

"Can we go inside?"

Another barbed comment was already on the tip of his tongue, but Geralt guessed that he shouldn't ruin the moment. Not if Jaskier was so happy. "We can. Come on."

They were still a good distance away when the gates creaked open and three bulking figures stepped outside. "You're early," he accused Eskel and Lambert once they caught up to them. They weren't supposed to be there. They were messing up Step Five: Meet the family. (Lambert Eskel Lambert Vesemir first.)

"And you're impolite," Vesemir grumbled. "I taught you better, Geralt."

"Hmm," he answered and the silence that followed might've been awkward if not for Jaskier.

Thanks to him there was no silence at all, to be precise. "You must be Vesemir; Geralt told me so much about you. Dare I say, Master Witcher, I am honoured and humbled by the invitation, and am looking forward to my stay. The name's Jaskier and I am at your service," he concluded and bowed with a flourish.

The three witchers gaped at him in surprise and Geralt couldn't help but grin. No overly detailed stories by him could've possibly prepared them for... well, Jaskier. "What," Lambert muttered quietly, "the fuck?"

"Now, that's just rude," Jaskier said as he straightened himself, "don't you think? Geralt, your brother is being rude to me."

It was all he could do not to laugh freely. Instead he shrugged and said: "Told you he's the rude one."

"Oh, you're Lambert!" The bard grinned widely and stretched out his hand. "Nice to finally meet you."

Lambert huffed in surprise and shook the offered hand. "Tell you what, bard, I'm not sure if I should be flattered or offended."

"Offended," Geralt mumbled just as Eskel said: "Flattered."

Jaskier smiled widely and wickedly. "Both."

Lambert opened his mouth, presumably to return a rude comment, but Jaskier's attention was diverted by Eskel, who gave him a thorough once-over and then nodded. "Welcome to Kaer Morhen, bard."

"Thank you, uh, Eskel?" he hazarded a guess.

A smile tugged on the unscarred corner of his mouth. "That's right."

"Dinner's in an hour," Vesemir cut in. "Maybe you could show our guest to his room, Geralt?"

Right. With the meeting out of the way it was time for Step Six: Show him to his room (Make sure it has some nice fur rugs - Vesemir) (Shag him on the rug - Lambert) (Offer to stay with him if he's cold - Eskel). Both of those additions seemed equally daunting to him.

But before he could even think of an excuse as to why he couldn't do that right now, Roach's reins were ripped from his hands and they were being pushed towards the keep.

"Well, they're certainly eager to get rid of you, considering they haven't seen you for a year," Jaskier quipped once they were inside the keep proper.

"That's not- hmm." 'Fuck.' He had almost betrayed himself. "They'll be different after dinner," he promised. "Besides, you know they can hear you."

"So?" He huffed a laugh. "I know they're just like you; all bark and no bite."

He was about to deny that claim but Lambert's offended howl that reached him from the courtyard quickly changed his mind. That definitely was worth the jab at his own ego. "Come on," he urged, smiling, "no need to continue playing the jester for them any further."

"Why, is there any issue with providing entertainment for a living?" Jaskier teased.

"Only if it's at the expense of me."

He sighed dramatically. "That I know, my dear. That I know."

"Jaskier?"

"Yes?"

"Shut up, I'm trying to give you a tour of the keep."

"You are? Oh, I wouldn't have noticed." Geralt shot him a dirty look. Jaskier snickered maliciously, the bastard. "Oh, yeah, yep. Shutting up. Go ahead, Sir Witcher, show me your magnificent home."

From anyone else it might've been mockery. It might've been mockery from Jaskier, too, if not for the sound of absolute awe in his voice as he took in their surroundings.

Geralt could hardly blame him. It might've been a long time since he had arrived at Kaer Morhen, but he still remembered how dumbstruck he had been at the sheer immensity of the place that should become since home.

It had lost its mysticism since then, but seeing Jaskier's childlike wonder as he led him through the kitchens and great hall made him remember. He showed him the library, too, as well as the stairs down to the hot springs that he must never, ever confuse with those that led to the laboratories.

He closed with the rooms the various witchers claimed as their own: "That's Lambert's room down the hall, don't go there, he's a prick; Vesemir is a few floors below us, claims he's too old for our squabbles; that's mine, and that one's Eskel's, ask him if you need something and I'm not there, not Lambert, he's an arsehole-"

"Geralt," Jaskier said soothingly and put a hand on his arm, "you're rambling."

"Am I?" he asked confused. "Don't think so."

"There's no need to be nervous, dear. I won't abandon you; you're stuck with me for the winter."

"I'm not nervous," Geralt insisted, his fingers twitching nervously.

"Right," Jaskier took his hand away, evidently not very convinced. "I'm sorry for interrupting you, then."

"Don't be," he mumbled, not quite able to tear his gaze from Jaskier's gentle smile.

"Geralt?"

"Hm?"

"Do I-" He started fidgeting with his lute strap. "Do I have a room, too? I mean, not that I mind sharing with you, that's not the issue at all- gods, I sound stupid-"

His eyes still trained on Jaskier, he reached behind him and opened the door. "There."

"That's my room?" he asked without turning around to look inside.

"That's yours," Geralt confirmed. He had prepared it last winter already. Just in case.

As soon as the words had left his mouth, the poet whirled around and rushed into the sparsely furnished room. He looked very much... out of place. The realisation hit him like a slap in the face; but apparently the visual of Jaskier and his bright purple doublet in the grey empty walls of Kaer Morhen was what it took for him to realise how little they were reconcilable.

For the first time in his life he felt self-conscious for his home. "'S not much," Geralt mumbled.

"It's wonderful." Jaskier beamed, carefully inspecting the bed and the rug, peering out the window and into the chest. "Might get a bit cold, though."

He grumbled something he knew to be unintelligible to humans into his beard.

"What was that, love?"

"You could always stay with me," he spoke up. "Y'know. We've shared before."

"That we have! You might find that before long you will be forced to let me take you up on your generous offer."

"Hmm," Geralt answered and left him to it, in order to complete Step Six.5: No, let him arrive first, you idiot! There would be no 'being forced' of any kind, but he wasn't quite ready to admit that to Jaskier, yet.

Despite their apparent incompatibility Jaskier settled into the routine of Kaer Morhen disturbingly quickly. Though 'settle into' wasn't quite the right choice of words. More like 'tear it down and build it anew, but with lyrics, laughter, and luminosity'.

The evening of their arrival was truly mortifying, the worst mix of embarrassing stories of Geralt's childhood and very inappropriate questions directed at Jaskier. Geralt had spent the whole dinner frozen in shock and awe at the masterful display of the bard's craftsmanship.

After an hour of vicious cross-examination, the three witchers had finally backed off. And as Vesemir had retreated to his rooms, Lambert had brought up the alcohol. It hall had spiralled out of Geralt's control after that.

Within the hour Lambert and Jaskier were japing and jabbing at each other as if they were lifelong friends and not acquaintances since a few hours. It took his bard three days to have Vesemir completely wrapped around his finger, intently listening to his droning lectures about basically everything. And not even a fortnight into their stay, he found Jaskier and Eskel in the library, talking with hushed voices. He quickly retreated but not before he heard Jaskier telling his brother how beautiful he was, scars or no scars, and Eskel sniveled quietly.

A month since their arrival saw them trapped into the castle by the heavy snowfalls. Unfortunately, that didn't stop Vesemir from drilling them mercilessly.

They were an hour into their morning routine when they all perked at the sound of soft footsteps passing through the hall. "Jaskier," Geralt said softly.

The bard was bundled up in several quilts, his face barely visible beneath the mess of his hair and the blankets. Still his face lit up with the brightest smile when he saw them. "Mornin', lads," he croaked, "lookin' good, keep it up." He gave them a tired thumbs-up and shuffled off to the kitchen, where Vesemir would provide him with a hot breakfast with a side of 'most-boring-information-on-this-earth'. It was their own morning routine of sorts, and the three of them knew it wouldn't be long before they were discussing the 'merits of the iambic pentameter in 10th century love poetry' or some shit.

"Fuck," Lambert cursed once they knew Jaskier to be out of earshot, "I really can't blame you, Geralt. Too much time with him and I start gawking like a love-sick idiot, too."

"Hmm," Geralt agreed. Jaskier definitely had that effect.

"Jealous, wolf?" Eskel inquired with a knowing smile.

"No," he answered earnestly. If anything, he loved Jaskier more for it. His family wasn't easy to deal with, he knew. But his bard didn't care. He had so much affection to give, even for witchers. 'Especially for witchers.' He closed his eyes with a happy smile.

"Y'know, there's still a couple of steps left on our list," Eskel informed him casually.

Geralt's eyes snapped open as his heart sped up. 'Fuck.' The plan. "Hmm."

"Just fucking get it over with," Lambert yearned. "Your pining isn't any less obnoxious just because he's here."

"If anything, it's gotten worse," Eskel agreed.

"So?" he snapped. He had put it off, that was true. Had waited for the snow, he told himself, but now the snow was here and-

"So, we'll distract him this afternoon," Eskel interrupted his spiralling thoughts.

"And you pull your head outta your arse and fucking follow through," Lambert added.

"Fine," he ground out. "We do that." Not before he kicked both their arses during their training, though, for being such utter dicks.

Before long, however, the inevitable happened. Morning passed over to noon, and, true to their words, Lambert and Eskel whisked Jaskier away after lunch. They left Geralt behind in the hall with a branch in his hands and nothing left to do but complete Step Seven: Hang up a mistletoe.

"Fuck," he muttered. Nearly one year had passed since they had come up with their conspiracy. One year to gather his courage, one year to come up with a plan, one year to at least think about where to fucking put it. "Fuck," he said again, for good measure.

He looked around. Looked to the rafters. Looked at the mistletoe. "Fuck it," he declared and tucked it away to scale up to the rafters.

He was already up there, dangling from one of the beams when he remembered that he had nothing to secure it with besides the silky ribbon that would never fit around it. He scowled darkly. He sure as hell wouldn't climb down and up again. Without further ado he pulled his dagger from his belt and drove it deep into the wood, pinning the mistletoe by the ribbon.

He climbed down again, making sure that it was visible from the ground. 'Perfect,' he decreed. With the mistletoe in place, it was now time for Step Eight: Have Lambert and Eskel inform Jaskier of the mistletoe and a strategically placed Geralt. 

He spun around to go and alert his brothers, when he heard a cheerful voice behind him: "Geralt! There you are, you mean witcher, I was wondering where you were hiding. You know, it is not nice to leave your, uh- bedmate all alone and freezing in the morning, and- oh." There was a thoughtful pause. "Now would you look at that."

Geralt heaved a long sigh. He dreaded turning around, for he had a very distinct feeling he knew already what he would see. And fuck, he was not ready for that step. For some stupid reason, he still did turned around.

Jaskier stood in the middle of the hall, squinting up at the ceiling. "Are my eyes deceiving me — and they might be, mind you, my eyes are not as good as a witcher's — or is that a mistletoe I spy up there."

He cursed internally. He knew he should've hung it lower. "Hmm," he answered, his heart beating in his throat. Why was his heart beating in his throat? It wasn't supposed to do that. His voice was surprisingly calm when he said: "Seems like it."

"Oh no!" he moaned woefully. "Quick, Geralt, come here and lift the curse!"

"Curse?" he inquired bemusedly as his feet moved without his volition. "What curse, Jaskier?"

The bard gasped. "Don't you know? When someone passes beneath a mistletoe, they are frozen to the spot until the curse is broken."

"Hmm," he stepped under the mistletoe, too. He should've known Jaskier would make up a story around this. It was just a tradition, for fuck's sake, no curse. Although a curse was certainly more romantic, even he had to admit that. "Must be a rare curse if a witcher's never heard of it."

"The rarest," Jaskier insisted and pointed at his cheek. "It may only be broken with a true love's kiss."

In light of what happened next, let it be known that, in Geralt's defence, he was panicking. Quite thoroughly so. Since the Trials his legs hadn't shaken like that anymore.

He had been promised a pep talk by his brothers before having to confront the situation at hand. And yet they were nowhere to be found and Jaskier was here, evidently expecting him to kiss him.

'Shit. Fuck. Shit fuck.' He was not ready; he was not ready; he was not-

"Geralt?" Jaskier ripped him from his thoughts. "Are you waiting till my nose grows icicles, or what?"

Still, he leaned forward, placing one hand on Jaskier's hip and the other on his shoulder, and pecked him on the cheek.

The cheek. That had not been the plan. That had not been the plan at all. And then, of all things, he heard himself ask: "Can you move again?"

Jaskier blinked, looking just as dumbstruck as Geralt felt. "I- I think so?" he stammered and moved to pull away, blushing furiously.

'Fuck, no,' he remembered thinking. And while he wasn't quite in control of his limbs again, what he did next was probably the single most clever thing he had done in his entire life. Gingerly almost, he tightened his grip on Jaskier. His head tilted to the side, an invitation, an escape.

His bard didn't move. Instead, he said: "Doesn't seem like it."

"Hmm," Geralt answered and leaned in closer. "Difficult curse, seems like. Let me try again."

Before he could even think of changing his mind, Jaskier had his arms looped around Geralt's neck and crushed their lips together. He did his best to reciprocate the kiss, which wasn't easy with fear still gripping his heart tightly, but then Jaskier crowded closer, moulding his body against Geralt's and that was all it took for the tension to seep from his bones and go limb.

It was a weird sensation; being wrapped in Jaskier's arms was so familiar, but he was also kissing Jaskier, which was new- 'Great gods, I am kissing Jaskier, I am kissing Jaskier, I am-'

He pulled back with a triumphant grin, evidently startling his bard. "What?" he asked, very confused.

"I am kissing you," he announced, his grin widening even more.

Jaskier frowned. "That you are, but-"

"I am kissing you," he said again and pecked him on the lips. "And I can keep doing it."

"Oh!" The frown eased away, giving way to the softest of smiles. "That you can, my dear."

So, Geralt did. Again. And again. And again, and again, and again. He didn't know how many times he had kissed Jaskier, how many times Jaskier had kissed him, before he pulled back and blurted: "I love you."

Jaskier stared at him in silent awe, before blushing and cupping his cheeks gently. "That you do, my love," he whispered. "And I love you, too." Softly, he pressed their lips together again.

"You do?" Geralt asked disbelievingly.

Jaskier smirked. "I do. For years and years, I have. I thought you knew."

"Fuck," he muttered. Did that mean... 'I didn't have to do any of this.' He could've just- "I'm an idiot."

"Only sometimes," he allowed, giggling sillily. Geralt was compelled to join in. "Besides, you’re my idiot, and I love you for it." He shifted a little, so he could lean his head comfortably onto Geralt's shoulder despite them being nearly the same height. 

"So," Jaskier drawled, curling a strand of Geralt's hair around his finger, "are we just going to keep standing here, or...?"

He scoffed. Of course, they wouldn't. He had a plan, after all. "Fuck." The plan.

Jaskier raised his head. "Is that a curse or an answer?"

"Yes," he answered warily.

It earned him the most beautiful snorting laugh he had ever heard. "What are you cursing at, love?"

"We skipped Step Eight," he admitted, "got right to Step Nine."

"Excuse me, what?"

"Step Nine: Kiss Jaskier." The poet just gawked at him. "I had a list," he explained.

"You had?" Jaskier's eyes lit up and he made grabby hands. "Show me, show me!"

Reluctantly, Geralt handed it over, studying Jaskier's face carefully as he read through it.

"I knew it," Jaskier concluded finally.

"Huh?"

"Oh, come on!" He threw up his hands. "You were acting weird all year round, Geralt! Not that I'm complaining, mind you, but still, weird. It took me about ten minutes to figure out there was some ploy at play." He laughed quietly and waved the paper around. "Though I never would've guessed what was amiss."

"You don't like it."

"On the contrary! It's a wonderful plan," the poet said and pecked him on the lips. "I've got to admit, though, Lambert was right: you should've just fucked me on that rug once we got here."

"Hmmm." Geralt nuzzled against Jaskier's neck, holding him closer when he tried to squirm away from the tickling sensation. "That still an option?"

"Very much so. I believe it has to be one more step before completing your list." He pulled him close and whispered against his lips: "Take me to bed, my love"

And how could Geralt refuse such a request? Especially if it coincided so luckily with Step Ten.

[tokoyamisstuff]

Tender Ch. 3 - Loki x Mute! Reader

Summary: As time passes,Loki and Reader grow closer.

Warnings: None. Cheesy, self-indulgent romance.

Words:

[Story Masterlist] [All of my Works]

Taglist: @austynparksandpizza​ @queenariesofnarnia​​ @commonintrest​​ @buckylokisimp​ @just-someone-who-likes-to-write​ @lxdyred​ @frostay​ @nina1800​

It was almost 8pm when the display of Loki’s cellphone lightened up, and immediately his heart dropped to his stomach.

Only recently the god had learned how to use this annoying tool, still refusing to take it with him all the time. But since it was easier for you to just text, he’d put up with it.

And truth be spoken, except for Thor sending him those silly ‘Memes’, there wasn’t really anyone eager to talk to him anway - so he knew it had to be you.

Thousand worries were made up by his mind, of you having realized this wasn’t a good idea and canceling your date. Holding his breath, he dared to unlock the screen and read:

“I’m so excited to see you tonight! 💘”

“Don’t raise your hopes” he thought to himself, now busying his mind with every possible way of him fucking things up - and still, your message made him grin from ear to ear.

“As you should be” Loki answered and put down the phone, just to pick itn back up and sending some random emoji’s so it wouldn’t sound so harsh. “💌💚💐😏“

You on the other hand felt as excited as a teenager on their first date, having occupied yourself for hours through trying on different outfits, as well as getting your hair and make-up just right. This was a special occasion, after all!

“I hope he’ll like me...” you thought as you assessed your silhouette in the mirror, debating wether this dress was too revealing or not. In the end, you decided to wrap a silken scarf around your neck - so he won’t have to see the scar.

A knock on your door made you jump a little. Had it already been this late?!

“Miss Y/N?” Loki patiently waited in front of your flat’s door, just for his whole expression to falter when you opened. “You- uh...look ravishing.”

“T-h-a-n-k y-o-u!” You mimicked, trying to give him your most welcoming smile. Oh, how glad you were that he could at least read lips - but then, the most unexpected thing happened.

“You’re welcome” he signed, a little sloppy and unsure how to precizely use his hands, but still good enough for you to understand.

“When did you-” Loki answered before you were even done signing the whole sentence, and you were completely and utterly baffled at his skill. “Started a week ago. Needs some improvement, but I get the basics.”

Basics?! Since when was the God of Mischief so humble? Especially if he really only self-teached this at such an incredible speed, that was amazing!

Loki’s trademark grin spread over his cheeks, pretty satisfied with himself as he saw how your eyes were shining in excitement. “No big deal. Shall we?”

Much to your further surprise, the god even offered you his arm to cling on, before the two of you made your leave.

You couldn’t help but admire how handsome he appeared in that suit, his locks tamed behind his ears and golden accessory complimenting his look. The whole way to wherever he’d lead you was coated in pleasant silence, with both of you exchanging small smiles and joyful glances.

“There we are!” Loki declared proudly, as if you were not still in the Stark Tower - well, he isn’t allowed to leave, so we’d better make the best of it.

The compound was gigantic, having almost everything one could think about. To be honest, you had expected a restaurant, maybe a movie night or something classy - well, on the other hand you don’t know they do it on Asgard.

But this?!

You’ve never been at this part of the tower before, unaware there were such beautiful places in this rather boring, high-tech environment.

“I come here often” he signed and you nodded approvingly, “It eases the feeling of being imprisoned.”

Yes, one could truly forget that you were still inside of the tower while standing in that great botanical garden at the top floor, ceiling made completely out of glass and revealing the starry night sky.

"B-e-a-u-t-i-f-u-l” your mouth formed silently, just as you felt a hand on your hip. Loki embraced you from behind, his lips gracing your ear as he whispered “Just like you.”

“P-Pardon” he cut himself off, his grip loosening much to your frustration. “I didn’t know what came over me.”

Yet you only clasped his hand, signalizing him it was alright. “Well then...let me lead you to the table.”

In midst of this beautiful garden was a festively decorated table for two, with Loki holding one chair out for you to sit down. It seemed like he had thought of everything, making you wonder just how long he had prepared for this evening to go well.

As a prince, he was not really used to cooking, so he had gotten something in advance, together with some fine wines. “Not to compare with Asgardian quality” he joked, insisting you’d only deserve the best, “But it will do.”

Loki Odinson was the perfect gentleman, and every second of this date you became more aware of how unbelievably you had already fallen for him from the very start.

The two of you would exchange tales about your respective homelands, impactful events on your life as well as your dreams and ambitions. Even without a single spoken word, this conversation was deep and so natural, you could’ve kept on forever.

He would be happy to show you some little magic tricks, such as making blossoms float or lights appear everywhere. May you want it or not, the prince showered you in small gifts such as a selection of his most favourite reads he thought you might like, or a bracelet resembling two snakes intertwined with each other.

Oh, how both of you wished time would stop, letting you revel in this evening just a bit longer...

Having forgotten about time completely, you only realized how much time had passed when the sun was already rising at the horizon.

“Oh my” Loki chuckled shyly, almost feeling guilty for you were probably exhausted. “Let me consort you to your rooms, my fair lady.”

Trying his best to ignore all the spiteful looks Tony’s coworkers gave him as they crossed your way in the hallways, the god wished he would’ve just teleported you back.

“I need to thank you, my love.” The nickname escaped his lips quicker than his mind could catch up on. “Umm, I mean, I really enjoyed myself today. Hopefully you did too.”

You bit your lip, trying to play down your nervousness from expecting him to make a move - yet there was no kiss. Not even a hug, or anything to bid you goodbye.

“Sleep well-” Loki blinked heavily as you clutched on his arm, fingernails digging into the fabric of his suit. “What’s wrong, little dove?”

He squinted his eyes together, racking his brain as hard as he could to decipher your ASL, hopefully not misunderstanding something.

“Do you want to come inside?”

"I-I-I...” Hel, that caught him off guard. But you only gave him a sleepy smile, expression as welcoming as always. “That’s considered bad manners, I mean-”

“Not that!” You huffed quite amused at him becoming all flustered. “I thought you may want to sleep here? Just sleep, nothing more.”

“Of cou- I mean, if you insist” he desperately tried to preserve the last piece of dignity left inside of him, trying to downplay just how needy he was for your affection. "If you insist.”

Sheepishly entering your wide, one-room flat, Loki walked close behind you as his glare immediately went to the sofa on your right - yet you confidently shook your head, pointing towards the king-sized bed.

“This is new to me.” You judgingly rose your eyebrow at his statement, knowing the stories about how he and his brothers were heartbreakers back on Awsgard very well. “Not like that, I mean...ah, forget it.”

Much to your displeasure, the prince would rest far away from you, lying stiffly on his back.

Thinking back about your relationship up until now, you didn’t feel like sleeping in the same bed would cross any line:

It all started very subtle and slowly, but not unnoticed by you and the others - how over time, the God of Mischief was craving your touch. Like his hand ‘accidentally’ brushing against yours, just barely noticeable. Or how he almost naturally cuddled under the blanket with you whenever you were sitting on the same sofa.

The more time passed, the more confident Loki became in his approaches, always wary of your reaction - which would be delighted every single time.

Hugs had already become a firm ritual whenever one of you two traumazized messes were in need of affirmation.

Even some innocent kisses anywhere but your lips were a permanent feature or your togetherness by now, and both of you cherished every second of it.

So you’d plainly crawl over to his side of the bed, pressing yourself against his back.

“I tend to experience nightmares...” Loki whispered, only to be answered with your grip around him depending. "Maybe I should leave."

You snug your head hard against his back, inhaling his scent - for some reason, Loki always smelled like freshly cut grass and old books, not that you'd complain though.

The sound of his heartbeat was like music in your ears, and without giving him a response, it would soon calm you into a sweet slumber.

Tonight, Loki's mind would find peace.

[j-amespotter]

★ cardigan - s. b.

“i knew you’d miss me once the thrill expired.” 

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader

x. x. x.

Summary: Your relationship with Sirius is on the rocks, but you loved him and at the end of the day, he was always there. For your own happiness, something had to change. 

Genre/Warnings: angst, alcohol, language, toxic relationship 

Word Count: ~3k

A/N: this took a lot, and i mean a lot of energy. not sure how i feel about it (i am my worst critic) but i really didn’t want a pushover protagonist. ps... communicating with your partner is hot! let me know what you think (and if you think i should make a taglist) :) 

masterlist

“Ravenclaw girl this time. Blonde… I think I recognize her. Couldn’t see the front of her robes, she might be one of the fifth-year prefects. You know I’m terrible with names. Ask James, he finds it hilarious.”

“You should work for the Prophet, Lils,” you said, without looking up from your toast, which was becoming more and more tasteless with every bite. “What were they doing?” 

“Talking,” answered Lily pointedly. “He ended the conversation fairly quickly when he saw me looking, though.” 

You sighed. This discussion was becoming too routine for your liking, most often with Lily, occasionally with Remus. “Well, if they were just talking, then I don’t see the issue. Lily, it is early. We have double Potions this morning. I really don’t want to deal with your weird suspicions about my boyfriend right now.” 

If Lily sensed your underlying irritation, she chose to ignore it. “I just think you deserve better, that’s all. I mean, James–” 

You finally turned and stared defiantly into your best friend’s vibrant green eyes. “Lily, I hate to break it to you, but James is the exception, not the rule. Just because he’s some angel on earth doesn’t mean all boyfriends are like that, and that’s not even considering the fact that he’s been hopelessly in love with you since second year…” 

Huffing, Lily picked at the fruit off of her plate. “Okay, I get it. I won’t bring it up again.” It was sweet how much Lily cared. James doted on her day and night. It would have been easy to forget about her friend’s love-related quandaries. But that was Lily Evans – always considerate of others.

Truthfully, you were tired. You knew what ‘talking’ with Sirius Black entailed. It did not make you feel as secure as you indicated to Lily. As time went on, it was getting increasingly harder to defend Sirius’s overly-careless behavior. If he wasn’t chatting up girls in random corners of the castle, he stood you up on your scheduled study dates in favor of detention with James. There was only a little comfort in the fact that he wasn’t always like this. If he was, would you have even dated him? Deep down, you knew that as much as Sirius was a thrill-chaser, he was incredibly capable of being a loving boyfriend. For that reason alone, you bore the incredibly painful motions of being in a relationship with him. 

He briefly reminded you of his better qualities when you opened your Potions textbook and felt a feathery kiss on your neck. “Guess who?” whispered Sirius sultrily into your ear. 

You couldn’t help the automatic flush that made its way onto your cheeks. “Hmm… is it Remus?” you whispered back, stifling a giggle. 

“Don’t tease,” he grunted before planting a swift kiss on your cheek. He plopped onto the chair next to you and faced you with a lazy grin. “You look disappointed, love. I’m afraid your usual Potions partner is a bit preoccupied at the moment.” He gestured across the room, where you spotted Lily practically hanging off of James’s lap, distracting herself until the start of her favorite class with his lips. 

“They’re hopeless,” you commented airily, in an attempt to disguise your envy. You felt Sirius’s gaze burning into you. “Missed you at breakfast this morning,” you added in a casual tone.

“Oh, well, you know–” 

“No, I don’t know,” you interrupted, bitterness leaking from your clipped voice. You always let Sirius off too easily. “But I certainly can’t wait to hear your ready-made list of vague excuses. Please, do continue.” There. He had it coming. He deserved for you to throw him off track.

“Baby, it was nothing,” assured Sirius rather predictably. “Just Pippa asking for help with Transfiguration. Honest.” He placed a hand on his heart in mock sincerity, which only angered you further. 

Nevertheless, you chose not to argue. He was incredibly brilliant with his words. There was no way he would understand your plight. Instead, you absentmindedly flipped through your Potions textbook as Slughorn finally entered his unruly classroom. 

Sirius seemed uncharacteristically bothered by your lack of response. With a half-glance at James and Lily, he entwined his fingers into yours. “They’re in their honeymoon phase, you know. You really can’t compare.” 

“There is no comparison, Sirius. James prioritizes Lily. I can’t remember the last time you prioritized me,” you whispered. There was a finality in your tone that you hoped he would hear. It was the most you were willing to discuss the matter. 

Sirius Black was a lot of things, least of all oblivious. He gently squeezed your hand. Silently, he slipped his fingers out of yours, choosing to follow your lead and not pursue the issue any further. 

A part of you was proud of the fact that you finally found it in you to voice your concerns to him, but another larger part dreaded the irreversible distance it put between the two of you for the rest of the day. You weren’t necessarily avoiding each other. Though his smiles were significantly more tender, he seemed reluctant to talk, let alone touch you.

Sick of the mental torment you were subjecting yourself to, you stuffed your unfinished Charms essay into your bag and headed to your dormitory, choosing to retire for bed early. Mid-yawn, you spotted a single red rose on your unmade bed. You didn’t have to read the attached note to know who it was from but felt your heart thudding against your chest as you unfolded the small piece of parchment. 

I’m sorry. I love you. 

There was no signature, but you could recognize his meticulously-slanted script anywhere. You stared at the note adoringly before pressing your lips to the corner of the crumply parchment and marking it with the remnants of your lip gloss. 

Suddenly, you were no longer tired. Skipping down the stairs, you found yourself wishing for a certain map that would tell you the exact location of the only person you wanted to see.

Fate seemed to be on your side when you saw him in the common room, his head bowed as if he was praying. “You’re here!” 

He gazed up at you, his shoulders relaxing when he noticed the smile on your face. “I’m really–” 

You didn’t let him finish. You kissed him hard, throwing your arms around his neck. You felt him smile against your lips. Reluctantly, you pulled away from him. “Don’t worry about it. I was being silly.” 

Sirius’s grin widened. “You’re quite low maintenance, y’know. I thought it would take at least a week and a hundred roses. And if not roses, then daisies, sunflowers, peonies… I was ready to pull all the stops. For future reference, a good snog is all it takes to win me over.” 

You laughed heartily, though you struggled to keep up with his train of thought. You always appreciated his good-natured ability to poke fun at the gravest circumstances. “I just missed you.” 

“Me too, darling. I’ll do better this time, I promise.” 

☆

True to his word, Sirius showered you with a level of affection that could rival James’s for Lily. He spent every spare moment with you in his bed, sneaking into the kitchen for secret dinners, and pushing you against bookshelves in the back of the library, homework-be-damned.

On Tuesday night, you sat on the Astronomy Tower. You glanced at your watch, realizing that Sirius was nearly an hour late. Your eyelids were drooping shut. It had been a long day. Everything in your brain felt scattered. You could’ve been catching up on the mounds of schoolwork you were now falling behind on. Sirius… Did he say midnight? Did you hear him correctly? Maybe he meant for you to pencil it in. Maybe he was hurt. Was it Remus? You stared at the sky, peering at the crescent shape of the moon. It taunted you. Stop kidding yourself. He’s not coming. 

Just as you were about to call it a night, Sirius stumbled into the Tower and onto the floor. Startled, you helped him up. “There you are! Are you alright? I was so worried… Are you drunk?” 

His grey eyes shone in the soft moonlight. The cloudy expression on his face paired with the sloppy grin he sent your way spoke for him. “Lost track of time… we snuck into Hogsmeade,” he slurred. “Rosmerta slipped us some firewhiskey. Here, I brought us a bottle...” He reached into his robes, only to come out empty-handed. “Uh-oh… finished it. Sorry, baby.”

You processed his words very slowly, realization dawning on you with the weight of heavy bricks. “Un-fucking-believable.” 

“Hey! We’re all of age.” He threw up his hands in surrender and widened his eyes innocently. “Next time, darling. I promise.” 

“It’s not about the fucking drink, Sirius! You’re here so you obviously haven’t forgotten that we had plans tonight! I don’t care if you wanted to go to Hogsmeade, but you should’ve told me. I’ve been waiting here like an idiot for an hour. I’m exhausted!”

“Told you,” he grumbled, now irritated, “we lost track of time.” 

You stared at him, unable to comprehend his complete shift in attitude. “Whatever,” you said finally. “I’m going to bed.” 

Spinning on your heels, you swallowed the lump in your throat as you prepared to march away from him with your chin up. Before you could take too many steps, however, a firm hand grasped your wrist. The intensity of the force pulling you back to him felt so otherworldly that you could hardly believe it was a wasted Sirius. 

You had a fleeting thought of pushing him away but instead tilted your head so he could pepper kisses onto the crook of your neck. “I’m sorry,” he whispered over and over again, between his fluttering pecks along your jawline. 

His lips found yours. His hand released your limp wrist as his fingers gently trailed up your arm. “So beautiful,” he murmured, gazing directly into your eyes. You practically melted as your body fell into his. Like always, his arms were ready to catch you, drunk or otherwise. 

☆

“No Sirius yet?” asked your mother, sipping her drink cheerily.

You refused to look her in the eye in fear of giving something away. “No, not yet. Should be here soon, though.” 

“Better be,” said your father, slipping away from a party guest. “He’ll miss cake.”

It was your parents’ twentieth-anniversary party, an occasion made doubly special as their one and only daughter was now officially a Hogwarts graduate. You had planned the party and made Sirius promise that he would not only attend, but also arrive early to help greet your guests as your boyfriend. 

You knew that your parents did not initially approve of Sirius, but as your relationship strengthened, so did Sirius’s standing in your family. Now, post-Hogwarts, you were desperate to not only show your parents that the two of you were committed to one another but also feel yourself that your love would endure the many challenges of adulthood. 

As the last of your family friends trickled out of your childhood home, you failed to hide your disappointment at his loud absence. Like many months earlier, your mind see-sawed between possibilities, some pathetic, others worrying. You were in the middle of a war, after all. You always believed Sirius’s recklessness would be his downfall. 

Fortunately or unfortunately, your worries subsided when you saw him slip into the parlor with a present in hand and a sheepish smile directed at you and your parents. “Happy anniversary! Sorry I’m late, you won’t believe– hey, where’s the party?” 

“It’s over,” you announced bitterly. 

Your mum and dad sensed the tension and tactfully exited the room. “We saved you some cake, dear,” your mother said to Sirius, after politely thanking him for his present. 

“So,” you started as you heard your parents’ footsteps fade away, “where were you? Actually, don’t answer that. Let me talk first. This was important to me, Sirius. You knew that! What will I say to Mum and Dad? Don’t I matter to you at all? Is it always going to be like this?” 

“Slow down,” whispered Sirius. “I’ll explain everything – just listen! I was with James, okay? We were only mucking around on the bike. I was on the way, I swear! But then these Muggle Aurors – police, they’re called – they started chasing us! We were getting away but these three blokes – Death Eaters – caught up to us. Long story short, we got into quite a scuffle and…” He looked at you in an attempt to gauge your reaction. 

Your mouth hung open as you absorbed his story. Regardless of your anger, he presented a legitimate case for himself that you could not quash. “Death Eaters? Thank Merlin you’re alright. How on earth did you get away?” 

“I’ll tell you everything. Your mum mentioned something about cake?”

You stood on your toes, wrapping your arms around his waist and laying your head on his chest. “In the kitchen,” you answered softly. “I wish you would be more careful.” 

He kissed your temple. “Don’t worry,” said Sirius dismissively, “I handled it, didn’t I?” 

☆

“So, what do you think?” 

You and Sirius were standing in the middle of his new studio flat. Primely-located and newly-furnished, it was the picture-perfect bachelor pad. Sirius now had a place to call his own, thanks to a bountiful inheritance from his Uncle Alphard. The walls were bare and the lighting dim, adding an overall sensuality to the atmosphere. 

“It’s nice,” you remarked sincerely, smoothing his plain black bed sheets. You peeked into his wardrobe, smirking to yourself as you noticed it was half-empty. “Lost the rest of your clothes, babe?” 

“No,” answered Sirius quietly. “It’s for you.”

“What is?” 

“The closet space. It’s for your clothes.” His voice was barely above a whisper. 

“For when I come to visit,” you amended automatically. 

You turned to see Sirius scratching the back of his head. “No, for when you live here. With me.” 

“W-What?” Your mind was reeling. You leaned against his side table to steady yourself. “Me? Move in with you?” 

“Well… yeah,” said Sirius as he slowly regained his signature confidence. “We’ve been together for ages, seems about right. Besides, James and Lily are getting a place together.” 

You did not understand why you weren’t over the moon. It was what you always wanted from him – a tell-tale symbol of his otherwise-flaky commitment to you, a sign of your sparkling love. It was the beginning of the next chapter of your lives, and you were meant to start it together. On paper, it was perfect. There was no explanation for the sinking feeling in your stomach. 

Suddenly, the words that would never come were on the tip of your tongue. The answer was clear as day. “No.” 

“What?” 

It was an extremely difficult task to catch Sirius Black off-guard, a feat you used to motivate your argument. “No, Sirius. I won’t move in with you.” 

Shock was written all over his face. “What the hell? Why?” 

“Because… you didn’t even ask me!” 

Sirius stared at you blankly for a long moment before bursting into laughter. “Alright… (Y/N), will you please do me the honor of sharing an address with me? Is that it, then? Shall I get down on one knee?” 

“No, Sirius. That’s not the point,” you said firmly. “The point is that you didn’t ask me. You just assumed that I would say yes – don’t interrupt. I know we’ve been together for years, but can’t you see? You make me so incredibly happy and yet, so unbelievably unhappy at the same time. You’re so good to me, and then so horrible, and then amazing again… I can hardly keep up anymore. I’m a fucking doormat and I’m sick of it! It’s humiliating. I’m tired of feeling humiliated in front of people I care about. It’s starting to become too high a price of being in love with you.” 

You ended shakily, afraid to look at him. When you dared, you saw him wearing an unfamiliar expression. The silence washed over you both for an eternity. You had the horrible thought that perhaps this was it. Perhaps, you crossed a line. Maybe he hadn’t noticed how broken you both were, how broken you were, and now… well, he couldn’t unsee it now. You were over. Without a word, you headed for the door with your head down.

“Wait,” shouted Sirius hoarsely. “Don’t go. I-I’m not sure what to say to make you stay.”

“Try being honest,” you whispered weakly. 

He swallowed nervously. “Okay, here goes. I know that I haven’t put enough effort into this relationship… I know that. I realize that I take you for granted and that you deserve better. I don’t blame you for thinking that. I would never have blamed you for thinking that. But here’s the truth – I am so far gone when it comes to you, you have no idea. I am so in love with you. I think about you morning, noon, and night. And the thing is, here we are, fighting for Muggles and Muggleborns and the good of the world… but above all, I am so utterly afraid of losing you. I think that’s why, actually. That’s why I keep you at arm’s length. I don’t think I mean to, but it just happens. Because I’ve never met anyone who loves me as much as you do, not even my mother. Especially not my mother. I’m torn between keeping you close and pushing you away because the truth is, you’ll always deserve better than me. And I’ve always been afraid of you realizing that.”

His truth was careful but sincere. Your hand slipped off the doorknob. Still, it was not the first time Sirius had rendered you speechless. “How do I know you mean it? That it’s more than just words to you?”

“Let me prove it to you,” he said meaningfully, grey eyes glistening. 

You took slow steps toward him, and he embraced you with the hope of filling all the gaps he may have left open. “Okay,” you said, your voice muffled into his shirt. “Just… leave the closet half-empty for a little while.” 

[cryptiql]

cherry starbursts

pairing: bakugou/reader (male reader in mind but is gender neutral)

warnings: none, i think?? lots of cussing though, courtesy of lord explosion murder

words: 3.6k

a/n: yuzuya's audios giving me so much brainrot...gonna be thinking about this all week. also the way this started out as god tier writing but gradually turned into shit at the end 🏃 nonetheless, i hope i did this gremlin man justice </3

a contemplative hum tickles your throat as you observe the paragraph laid out before you, the pads of your fingers tingling as you trail them across the pages. on the occasions where you've found your nose nestled deep within them, a muted scent of pears and sawdust would invade your senses, and the urge to rest your head in the plains of your chemistry textbook would become overwhelming. however, the threat of being cuffed over the head by a rolled up magazine makes you think twice about slacking off, so you begrudgingly slump back into your seat with a resigned huff. the clock in your dorm is no doubt ticking away like always; the second hand rounding at great speeds while the minute and hour hands crawl by at a sluggish pace; but you aren't there to hear it.

instead, you reside in bakugou's room, basking in the unencumbered atmosphere created solely by his diligent efforts to keep his space clean and organized. it's just the way he is, you have to remind yourself. not because you stubbed your toe on his dumbbells last week and he felt sufficiently guilty as to make sure nothing was in your path the next time you visited. that would be silly. all that considered, bakugou's room isn't much different from your own—save for the few comfort objects brought from home that give off a hospitable air—but the lack of stimulus it holds is apparent. anything that could disturb your tranquil study date has either been stored away or placed beyond your reach.

damn him, the bastard! he's completely oblivious, you silently muse, bracing your elbows on the desk to plant your face in the palms of your hands. you chastise yourself at the same moment for forgetting your headphones, but in your defense, bakugou screaming for you to hurry up had prompted a hasty departure. if he had the patience to wait two more minutes. . .

rather than finishing the thought, you pull the textbook closer, hoping that somehow the enlarged print will stick to your brain like a temporary tattoo. you only need this information long enough to pass the exam, but once it's over, you swear you'll never mention anything chemistry related unless it's the bond between you and your neighbor. the idle scratching of pencil led against paper erupts from his side of the room, lessening the static in your head by a fraction, but it doesn't last. he mutters something unintelligible under his breath as you spin in your chair to look at him in desperation.

he remains ignorant for the next minute or so, only glancing up at you briefly before returning to his notes. your nostrils flare as you reach down to untangle your laces and pull off your shoe. you chickened out last time this happened, but being ignored has successfully fed the flames of your frustration, and you simply will not stand for it any longer. you blame your sleep-addled mentality for the lack of better aim, but it stokes your pride when bakugou flinches as your shoe hurdles past his shoulder.

"the hell was that for, dumbass!?" he growls, his eyes narrowing into slits. you respond with a high pitched whine; one that would be considered overexaggerated in his opinion, but in yours, was perfectly reasonable when being held against your will to study a subject that has no business being this tedious. "sukiii, i'm booored."

the blonde makes a 'tch' sound, positioning his arm in a warning manner before throwing his pencil at you, which you manage to catch easily. you revel in the deflated expression he wears, twirling the pencil between your fingers and kicking a leg over one arm of the chair. all this, while never breaking eye contact, was sure to break through to him. you're hopeful, what with the way katsuki's gaze—gradually failing to hide his infatuation—travels over your build from head to toe. whether because you giggle at his reaction or decide to kick your feet like a giddy child, he snaps out of his trance with an all too familiar scowl and shuts his own textbook with unnecessary force. his demanding stare is fixated on you as he tosses it haphazardly to the edge of the bed.

"give me back my pencil, idiot." he completely ignores your previous statement and jumps straight into business, as always. "give me back my shoe first, hot stuff." you challenge, smirking in a way that you very well know gets him hot under the collar. the teasing endearment will either put the odds in your favor; earning you your shoe as desired, and perhaps the lovely little blush that often dusts his face whenever you flirt with him; or seal your fate in hell where the everlasting flames may burn similarly, if not just as hotter than bakugou's explosions. it has taken years of practice to uphold your smug attitude in the face of his unyielding rage; nose wrinkled and canines grinding. even now, he is the image of perfection—a powerful god emblazoned in brimstone and baneful inferno—and you, a mere lover of art. after a moment, bakugou's resolve seems to falter. his piecing glare relents only slightly to give way for a pensive expression as he sighs, gently rubbing along the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. he throws you your shoe while standing from the bed, and as you slip it on, he shuffles over to his clothes drawer to pull out his own pair of sneakers. this prompts you to raise a brow inquisitively, but your silent question is left unanswered up until bakugou claps a hand on your shoulder and grumbles.

"c'mon, i'm fucking starving. there's a seven eleven nearby that's got spicy ramen."

and just like that, all thoughts pertaining to the test have been pulverized to dust by katsuki's unrelenting fists. the promise of food after hours of relentless mental abuse has you brushing off the sudden change of inclination in seconds, meanwhile the hothead to your right mulls over it during your trek through the empty hallways, stuffing his arms into the holes of his jacket. he had been able to overlook your constant fidgeting and intermittent noises of vexation, but too soon it became obvious that you weren't getting anywhere with the session. he would have simply offered to help if not for his own inability to concentrate, which had made itself known within the last half hour when he caught himself staring at you between taking notes. so what if he found your pouting cute? just maybe, he had started to fall in love with the way your brows furrowed at the instance of a misunderstood question; the absentminded tugging of your earlobe; the way your eyes looked without seeing, as if the smallest things held the greatest importance. sure, the tapping of your nails against a desk was a bit much, but he could always put a stop to your fretting by lacing your fingers together and kissing the back of your hand. just maybe, your bashful reactions made him want to hold you closer; to see you lounging across his lap—a throne befitting for a king—with your rose hued cheeks nestled in the crook of his neck.

not that you needed to know any of that. no fucking way would he endow another reason for you to tease him when the list was already so long.

curfew isn't for another hour, but bakugou would rather not waste time dawdling, so he uses this as reasoning for hooking your arm with his and practically hauling you out the exit. he mutters something about you being "too fucking slow" and "leaving you behind if you don't keep up", but the fact that he's dragging you along at all shows that he would have no problem resorting to desperate matters. the right amount of groveling and or compromising might mean a piggyback ride to the store, but regardless of how tempting the idea is, you decide not to further burden your friend with carrying you.

the towering shape of heights alliance becomes more and more like a speck of dust as your journey continues, the weight of your thoughts heavy on your already weary mind. you eye katsuki's side profile, noting the distinct lack of malice upon his handsome features, and smile softly to yourself. friend. it was the first word that occurred to you, albeit the least desirable and in no way comparable to the term that caused your heart to flutter within the confinements of your ribcage.

you aren't together. you don't know if you'll ever be, but when the the milieu; brimming with chaotic screams, booming laughter and disorderly merriment belonging to that of your closest friends; is whisked from the narrative, katsuki looks at you differently. whatever fragments of disdain and spite tend to crumble within the first few seconds and are replaced by an emotion that was unheard of ever having manifested in the depths of his vermillion hues. it holds a semblance to adoration, perhaps even respect, and for as long as you can recall, that is all you've wanted to see from him: to be regarded like no other.

sure, it's not like how you dreamed—he isn't very affectionate in public, though you doubt he would be even if you were together, and it always stings when he shrugs your affections off with a deriding comment—but that's just it. it's not a dream. after every scornful remark; after the day has passed and the dwindling moon takes its place in the evening sky, breaking through the curtains of his dorm; he'll kiss your hand, your blooming cheeks, your lips, all to atone for it. where no one else can see, he treats you like a divine being, and part of you wishes to think that it's because he's selfish. a bit of possessiveness has lead to many nights of a shared bed, ruffled sheets and smothering cuddles, but who are you to complain? everything he gives you is more real than any well-constructed reverie.

he may not be yours, and you may not be his, but no one else will suffice for either of you, and that is the unspoken truth.

the minimal bitterness in the autumn breeze makes for a refreshing atmosphere with the only discontent being the hunger that claws at your stomach. bakugou has never been merciful towards anyone, let alone the self-acclaimed nuisance who interrupts his studying with half-baked plans of adventure, but you're ever so grateful for the rare times where he is.

you know you won't have to wait long now that the smell of milk bread and takoyaki trickles into the air, much like the faint pitter patter of raindrops on the concrete. the shower is horribly ill-timed, but you hardly mind, especially when the droplets cling to bakugou's eyelashes like crystalline gemstones; glimmering faintly with every blink as they catch the suns rays. it settles below the horizon, only a sliver of golden yellow to be seen dancing in the tree boughs above, and the fuck if the way it illuminates your not-boyfriend's visage isn't absolutely breathtaking. the glimpse of honeyed skin and kissable lips—pulled into a pensive pout—draws you in deeper, and deeper, and oh god i've been caught—

"you got a staring problem, dumbass?" he grumbles, a roseal color dusting his ears that he swears is from the cold.

even his offensive nicknames are laced with an abnormal tenderness, and knowing that you're the only one with the privilege to hear it causes your chest to swell with delight. you nibble your bottom lip, hoping that it will somehow hide the fleet of giggles bubbling in your throat, but it does no such thing. "yeah, it's weird. whenever i see something beautiful, i just feel compelled to stare at it."

you don't need to look at him to know you've struck a nerve, but you do anyways, and his face grows redder under the intensity of your teasing leer. he sputters, curses falling from past his lips like a waterfall, and rips his arm from your grasp to cradle it as if you've burned him. any sane person would have backed down the second mini explosions began flaring up from his palms, however, you are perhaps the exact opposite, as to be expected when surrounding yourself with the infamous bakusquad, who (excluding bakugou) procured one braincell to share amongst themselves. years of having to put up with and, by extension, learn how to effectively handle bakugou's fits have proven to be time well spent.

you remain none the wiser to the concerned stares of others as he spouts a line of insults; incomprehensible from behind his curled fist pressed tightly to his mouth.

"you-you can't just say that kinda shit out loud, dumbass!" and although he may seem mad, he's already dragging you down the street. you test your luck by huddling closer and resting your chin on his shoulder, your steady pace never faltering.

"is the katsuki bakugou stumbling over his words from a little compliment?" it almost feels like you've won, but then the blonde proceeds to cover your face with his still damp hand. the little shit had timed it perfectly so that your open mouth would taste the saltiness of his sweat—quite the contrary to its sugary caramel aroma—and if you weren't so preoccupied by the resonance of his cackling laugh, you might have spent the rest of the trip gagging and complaining about the whole ordeal. he hardly seems bothered, wiping your saliva on his trousers and going forth with that customary lumbering strut, which always has you torn between fawning, chortling or questioning if he has fucking weights down his pants.

nonetheless, you can't help but murmur how cute he looks as you swing your free arm in tune with your steps.

by the time you've arrived at the shop, the sun has long since disappeared; welcoming hues of purple, navy blue and hints of orange to dapple the heavens, along with the foretelling of stars. you can't begin to describe how lucky you are to be living in a city with such beautiful scenery, even when the thin clouds of smog from factories often hinder your view of it. the fluorescent lights from the 'open' sign flash sporadically, casting a cobalt glow to dance across your dazed expression. katsuki watches with intent, chuckling at how easily distracted you can get as he tugs you inside by the cloth of your shirt.

the person behind the cash register spares a customary greeting before returning to their magazine, and bakugou makes a beeline for the intended isle, something akin to excitement radiating from him. he wears it much differently, and it resembles is go-to callous guise in almost every way, but you're able to detect the slight shift in demeanor as if its the easiest thing in the world. you hardly register that he's removed himself from you until the distance grows too large to ignore, and you shuffle over to the place beside him with a newfound adrenaline. the crisp air of the corner store heightens your senses as you tap your foot to the pop song playing overhead.

the only other sound is of katsuki examining the ramen and deciding what level of spice he should get, encouraging you to ponder what sort of hellish nightmare he has planned for the rest of the group. it was just last week when he dared kaminari to try some of the noodles, and the poor boy had spent ten minutes weeping in snot-nosed agony that you would have to be insane to put something that hot in your mouth. bakugou had laughed at his misery and carried on eating with vigor, mocking the others for their weak taste buds.

after a beat of silence, you decide to test your luck again by poking is shoulder, as well as batting your eyelashes at him and cocking your head to the side.

"can we get some candy?"

bakugou waves his hand dismissively, which is all the conformation you need before rounding the corner to peruse the variety of sweets on display. you immediately spot the marked parcels of sour gumdrops and assorted licorice and giggle to yourself as you pick them out, unaware of the gentle smile the blonde wears in regards to your child-like glee.

"yeah, just don't eat it all in one sitting. you go through that shit way too fast—it's unhealthy."

you won't bother commenting on his strict, motherly advisement, because you know it's in his best interest. he's grumbled about "stuffing your body with all that garbage" on numerous occasions, and while the hypocrisy might have annoyed you at one point ("and i assume gouging yourself on spicy ramen is completely different?") you realized rationing your candy would benefit both your health and your wallet. you nod, despite knowing he can't see, and idly feel for your back pocket, wondering just how much katsuki plans to stock up. money isn't exactly an issue, so you suppose it doesn't matter, but the amount of packets he normally brings back is downright criminal.

"don't be shy," he eventually says, "i'm buying. you're responsible enough not to buy out the whole store, right?"

your confusion overwhelms the urge to roll your eyes at his sarcasm, but there also lies a hint of elation that he would offer to buy.

"i figured i'd be paying as compensation for messing with you." you stand on the tips of your toes to poke your head over the isle, feeling very tempted to ruffle his hair whilst he gathers the packages of ramen into his basket.

"nah, you can pay me back in some other way." his eyes flick upwards to meet your devilish smirk, and he turns away with an affronted noise, blood rushing to his cheeks.

"oh? i can't wait to see what you have in mind~."

and there go the sparks. they last but a few moments before katsuki composes himself, presumably because he realizes making a scene won't help the situation, but he still throws a glare at you from a distance as he beckons you closer. it seems like he's gotten all he needs, so you hastily grab whatever sweets are left on your mental list and rush back to the counter. a comfortable silence sits between you both as your items are checked out, and in that time, you observe the significant difference between pre-late-night-shopping-run bakugou and food-deprived-study-date bakugou. his shoulders are more relaxed, as is his facial appearance, and you'll be damned if you ever forget the way he smiles when he catches you looking from his peripheral vision.

it's soft and unguarded and leaves you struggling for breath as he waits for the cashier to turn away, then promptly laces your fingers together. what? katsuki takes the bag and pulls you effortlessly; like a ragdoll; a mere toy at his disposal; out into the brisk evening. his thumb brushes the back of your hand, making you jump in surprise at the suddenness of it, and he titters freely. what? the streetlamps glint brightly, flickering at random intervals as you travel onward at a leisurely pace. the roads closest to U.A. aren't as packed as the ones deeper into the city, and thus you are the only two souls to be found, save for the few cars that speed by under the faint luminescence of nearing traffic lights. katsuki squeezes your palm, then slithers his hand out of your hold to replace it at your waist, methodically caressing the skin there in a way that has your knees buckling. you sputter witlessly, attempting to catch the thoughts that flee from your mind like birds to the wind. the blonde is nothing less than ecstatic to be the reason for your flustered state, and he takes full advantage of it by leaning in and hovering his mouth just inches from your own.

"i'll take my payment now." and oh lord, you think. he doesn't have to ask me twice. your lips collide with his, molding together like melted toffee; just as sweet and addictive. you've shared kisses before; ones that left you bruised and scrambling for a coverup the next day; ones that felt like fire but were tinged with honey that soothed your throat; fleeting ones that were never enough. you were sure that your need for affection would never truly be satiated unless it was from the boy you held most dear, and with the moon as your sole witness, katsuki was happy to oblige.

"starbursts. . ." he huffs after pulling away, massaging your hip to subdue your dissatisfied hum. "you taste like cherry starbursts."

he doesn't seem to mind by the way he leans in for another kiss, and another, and another, until you're a jittery mess in his arms. you press against his chest, a wistful sigh escaping you when you part once more.

"not that i'm complaining, but where's this coming from? you're usually not so touchy." the last bit of your utterance trails off as bakugou presses his lips to your forehead and keeps them there. moments pass, and when he finally pulls away, its to hide his blush by walking ahead of you. "i should be able to kiss my partner whenever i please, shouldn't i?" he doesn't even give you a chance to catch up, because his words have you rooted to the spot. what urges your feet to move is the haughty smirk he tosses over his shoulder, and even then, the race has only begun; your demands for him to stop echoing down the street as you chase him.

cheeky bastard.

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Let's Call It Funny

Prompt: Hi! If you know about those gen z peter parker posts, could your write something based on that? With Steve Getting It (tm) because fatalistic nihilism in humor tended to show up during the world wars and we’re seeing a reflection of that now? Sorry- I just think it’d make great options for steve and peter bonding, and dad!tony but actual emotions (gasp!) You can totally ignore this if you want!

Don't ever apologize for giving me such a great ask

Read on Ao3 Part 2

Warnings: uhhh gen z humor

Pairings: none! all found family in this bitch

Word Count: 2529

Here’s the thing about humor. It’s not necessarily that one generation is any funnier than another, it’s just that high school kids are perpetually the funniest people alive. Something about being in a pressure cooker of an environment with a bunch of other people whose bodies are changing in new unpredictable ways whilst having very little say in how their lives go creates humor. Gasp of shock, right?

So basically what Peter’s trying to say is that he’s fucking hilarious.

Come on, not only does he have the default high schooler stuff, he’s also gay, which gives him an instant bonus. He’s trans, which opens up a whole new subset of humor for him to explore. He’s neurodivergent as fuck, and we all know that makes people funny as hell. And if that weren’t enough, he’s severely traumatized and he’s Spider-Man.

Peter Parker is funny as hell.

What is truly devastating—and really, it’s their loss—is that so few people seem to appreciate it.

Ned gets it. Ned’s not someone Peter would expect to not get it, just because hey, it’s Ned. They’ve met each other in the hallways and been like ‘hey! You’re still alive! Congrats on having a body!’ Only for the other one to go ‘hey! You’re alive too! I wish I had an intangible form!’

Because bodies are stupid and evolution really fucked us over but at least we’re not horses.

A solid 50% of their interactions are just quoting John Mulaney and Bo Burnham bits back and forth at each other. Peter’s never gonna forget the day they both had detention and had to watch that stupid Cap PSA—it’s propaganda, you Nazi fuckwits—and something reminded them of the ‘horse loose in a hospital’ bit and they just did it. Full out. Stood up and did the actions and everything. The rest of the room was either trying to do it with them—and failing, because they didn’t have nearly enough practice—or looking so confused. The security guard—Paul, he’s great—just looked at them blearily after they finished and went:

“I mean, you kids are right, but you’re not supposed to talk in detention.”

Well, excuse them for trying to make it more entertaining for everyone.

MJ gets it. If Peter’s being honest, he learned most of his humor from her. She is the master and it is an honor to study in her wake. He’s definitely hijacked the asking whether or not anything’s actually meaningful existentialism jokes and they’ve wormed their way into his day-to-day repertoire.

“Why are you late, Mr. Parker?”

“Time is a social construct, Mrs. B, none of us are ever late or early except in the subjective spacetime paths. The limits of our sensory perception make it so we can’t tell if anything is real, let alone whether or not they conform to some arbitrary definition of ‘time.’”

“…just sit down, Peter.”

See? It works.

Aunt May gets…worried.

Sure, they’ve actually talked about when Peter needs help and wants to reach out and when he’s just making jokes off the cuff because hey, humor’s a great coping mechanism or it’s just a joke and not that serious. Peter loves his Aunt May, so so so much, and the last thing he wants to do is really worry her. And she’s gotten pretty good at figuring out when he’s just joking and when he’s spiraling.

Sometimes, though…

“Peter,” Aunt May calls from the kitchen, “did you remember to stop by the store on your way home?”

Peter freezes halfway through the door.

“Peter?”

He swallows. “…no.”

“Why not?”

“Because I am too stressed and consumed by the swirling pit of blackness deep in my soul to remember my head is connected to my body, let alone remember to go to the store.”

Silence.

“…Aunt May?”

“Do you want to drop off your stuff and then go to the store?”

“…yeah, please.”

“Love you, Pete.”

“Love you!”

“Try to remember that you’ve got arms so you can pick stuff up.”

“Got it!”

See? It’s fine.

The Avengers don’t get it. Like, at all.

Natasha and Clint like, sorta get it? They make the same jokes all the time when they think Peter can’t hear them, which—come on, you guys are super spies, surely you know people are gonna hear you when they’re gonna hear you. Natasha will make a crack about something, Clint will laugh and shove her shoulder. It’s their dynamic, we get it. But when Peter does it…

“Hey, Baby Spider?”

Peter sticks his head up from the ceiling. “Yeah?”

“Where’re you crawling off to?”

“I’m gonna go hide in the garage.”

Natasha blinks up at him. “Why?”

“Because if I get crushed by the airlock doors then I won’t have to do my paper tomorrow.”

Silence. Natasha’s mask is too good for Peter to actually see what’s going on with her, let alone from this angle, but silence isn’t good.

“Nat—oof!”

Something blurs out of the vent nearby and tackles him down onto the couch.

“Clint!”

“Nope,” Clint mutters, wrapping Peter up in a hug as Natasha comes to join them. “You’re staying with us now, Pete.”

“Guys, I’m fine.”

“Peter,” Natasha says softly, “don’t joke about that, you’ll make us worry.”

“I don’t wanna do that,” Peter mumbles, “but it’s fine.”

“Coping mechanism, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“He’s got too many brain cells to do that,” Clint says, ruffling Peter’s hair.

“Stark has a lot of brain cells, you see what good that does him?”

“Hmm. Guess you’re gonna have to stay awhile, Pete.”

There are worse fates. Definitely.

Thor just kind of gets confused by it. He acts like Peter isn’t going to be absolutely fine because there’s no need to do anything like that. No, Peter, you don’t have to put the bleach in first into your cereal, there’s plenty of milk left over. No, Peter, you don’t have to throw yourself off the roof because your laptop is freezing, Stark has so many just lying around. No, Peter, you don’t have to pack a rucksack and run away to the Alps and live like a recluse, come here and get a hug.

Peter suspects Thor’s playing dumb on purpose. The man is smart as hell, there’s no way all of this is flying over his head. And honestly, it warms his heart a little bit when he sees Thor’s sincere, concerned look when he thinks Peter’s not looking.

Banner and Rhodey just kinda shake their heads and move on. They’re used to it. They live and work with some of the most dramatic fucking people in the goddamn universe, they’re used to a little bit of extra humor. Occasionally one of them will give him a look that says he’s pushing his luck, but that’s not often. Less often now ‘cause he knows what he can get away with. He’s also seen them hiding smiles behind their hands or poorly disguised coughs. They’re not as slick as they think they are.

Tony.

Tony is the fucking worst.

Peter can’t get away with so much as sighing too hard before Iron Dad™ is swooping in all soft words and concerned touches. Jesus. You’d think he’d get it, he uses humor as a coping mechanism too, goddamnit, why is he so worried about Peter?

Okay, fine, he knows why.

MJ’s over at the Tower, having another one of her ‘sketch people in crisis’ appointments with Natasha. Peter is coming off of a 32-hour caffeine rush and is violently wishing for death. Tony is in the kitchen doing…something.

“Hey, do you think bleach would make a good smoothie?”

Tony wheels around to see MJ pulling a glass out of the cupboard.

“Kid—“

“Sounds like a filling breakfast,” Peter groans, “can you make me one too?”

“…I’m legitimately concerned,” comes Tony’s mutter.

MJ ignores him. “Who’s the bitch on your forehead?”

Peter rubs absentmindedly at the massive knot on his head, courtesy of a wall that rudely decided to move at the last second while Peter was attempting to walk through a doorway. “He’s called DJ Braindeath and he’s my only friend in the world.”

“Peter—“

“Oh did you meet him at the furry convention?"

“Technically it’d be a buggie convention.”

“What the hell are you two talking about?”

“The pantry doesn’t have good coffee, I’m going to Starbucks.” MJ grabs her bag. “You want anything?”

“A will to live?”

“Peter, what the fuck—“

“Oof, I’ve only got like…20 bucks.”

Peter lets his head drop back to the counter. “Then just leave me here to die.”

“Can I have champagne at your funeral?”

“I’ll be dead, I won’t fucking care.”

“God, I wish that were me.”

Then MJ’s gone and Peter gets treated to a 20-minute conversation with a very concerned Tony Stark that he doesn’t remember most of because hey caffeine crashes aren’t fun.

He definitely does it on purpose sometimes just to wind Tony up. Like there’s this one incident with an interview he does as Spider-Man and he gets asked what he thinks about Tony Stark’s newest intern, Peter Parker.

“That boy’s an embarrassment, just…complete failure. Can’t speak without stuttering through every other word and self-esteem issues all over the place. Also looks like he got dressed in the dark.”

The reporter had awkwardly moved on to another question. The interview aired later that day while Peter was at the Tower. Tony sat next to him on the couch about halfway through.

“You look good, Pete.”

Peter had mumbled halfheartedly, only to hear the reporter ask the same question.

“See, that’s the problem with having a secret identity, you don’t…” Tony trailed off as he heard the answer.

Peter snorted as Spider-Man finished talking. “Say that to my face, you bitch, get a real job. At least I don’t look like someone vomited silly string all over my spandex.”

“Are you okay?”

See? Fun.

The only one he’s made a conscious effort to not be this funny around is Steve.

Because, okay, here’s the thing. Steve’s disappointed look has no effect on him anymore. He’s immune, motherfuckers, he’s had detention too many times for it to still work. Here’s the other thing: Steve doesn’t actually use that tone of voice that often. It’s this meticulously crafted image he plays up in interviews because it catches all the bad guys so off guard when Captain America is suddenly swearing a blue streak at them and telling them to go fuck themselves in, honestly, quite creative ways. The sincere Steve Rogers disappointment and concern still very much works. Also doesn’t help that Steve does caring so fucking well, like…who gave him the right to say a few things and hold Peter like he’s something precious and do the quick one-two punch of saying a super sincere compliment and following it up with ‘I love you.’ Who did that? It’s rude. Stop it.

And yeah, Steve’s the resident Mom at the Ready. It’s a risk to even sit on your bed looking sad ‘cause here he comes, wearing something snuggly and saying ‘hey’ in that stupid, stupid compassionate voice. So Peter knows he’s just gonna end up crying from too much soft if Steve actually gets concerned. Which won’t be fair because he’s gonna try and explain that he’s fine and it’s just his sense of humor while crying. Yeah, like that’s gonna be believable.

So he’s trying not to but damnit it’s hard.

Then he walks into the kitchen one day to see Steve struggling with the toaster.

It’s one of Tony’s new prototypes—which means that anyone struggling with it is so fair—and from the looks of it, it’s managed to not only burn the bread to a crisp, but also mangle the slices beyond recognizable shape.

Peter’s not paying that much attention. He’s on his phone, heading towards his spot in the corner with the beanbag chairs and definitely doesn’t recognize Steve as he goes.

He only plops down and hears someone declare, in a completely deadpan voice: “There is no point to existing at all.”

“Oh, mood.”

He doesn’t think much of it. He doesn’t even know who said that, that’s how hyper-focused he is right now. He hears the others come in and feels Clint plonk down next to him.

“Hey, Pete.”

“Sah, dude.”

“Just vibing. Did I do it right?”

“Yeah, man you’re going great.”

“You teach Thor ‘yeet’ yet?”

“We’re getting there.”

“Steve,” he hears Tony call from the kitchen, “what the fuck did you do?”

“Language.”

“Don’t fucking talk to me about language when you’re making toast that looks like a goddamn welder’s table, what is that?”

“Your prototype’s work, I imagine.”

“How did you even—“

Clint chuckles next to him as the two of them start fondly bickering. Peter’s too busy speedrunning the five stages of grief in his head.

Did…did Steve say the thing about there being no point to existence at all?

No…no way.

He must be imagining things.

Then, of course, there’s a chime on his phone.

Ned: Did u do the bio hw?

There was bio homework?

Ned: yeah, due at noon

“I now know why God abandoned this timeline and when will death come to take me?”

The room goes silent.

Shit.

“Peter,” Clint says, “it’s gonna be fine, you can do bio homework in your sleep—“

“Are you okay?” Ah, that’s Thor.

“Kid—“

And Nat, and Tony’s probably rushing over here as he speaks.

Then there’s another voice.

“We can only pray the reaper arrives early for his appointment with us, kid.”

Peter’s head snaps up.

Steve.

Steve fucking Rogers raises a coffee cup at him in salute and takes a sip. He makes a face.

“…that was definitely salt,” he mutters, before shrugging and downing the whole thing.

…what?

Peter’s still staring at him until he catches his gaze and winks.

Oh, fuck yes.

“Steven Grant Rogers,” Tony says, hands on his hips, “explain.”

Steve just gives him a look. “I grew up in the Great Depression, Tony, and I was in the army. You don’t think I have a fatalistic sense of humor?”

“Plus the fact that most of my generation is resorting to types of humor found when death and stress are so ever-present that you have to joke about it says something,” Peter adds, “doesn’t it?”

Steve raises his cup again. “See? He gets it.”

And just like that, the bond between Peter Parker and Steve Rogers was written, formed, and sealed in salt and existentialist depression.

“There’s two of you,” Tony mumbles, “oh my god, there’s two of you.”

“Oh, you just wait ’til Buck and Sam get back.”

Peter can’t fucking wait.

[starrynite7114]

wrapping (angel reyes)

A/N: Three days till Christmas! How were finals for you all? Christmas shopping all done? I just have two more people on my list and I should be good to go. This year has been tolling, but I’m glad it is almost over. I wanted to let you all know that you’ve made this extremely difficult year so much more bearable. I hope I was able to help some especially with quarantine and all. It’s been tolling on us all but I want to let you all know that we’ve got this and you’re not alone. Please don’t ever hesitate to message me for anything, silly jokes, conversations, etc. 

I’m going to post mostly holiday stories till after Christmas. I will update Roommates and the EZ request will be posted! I know I don’t update as quick as I should, but I’m trying! <3

Hope you all enjoy this story!

Shoutout: This is for @blackmissfrizzle​! I still owe her one more for her birthday, but we were shooting the shit as we always do, being one another’s second brain and this idea popped up as I was struggling with wrapping Christmas presents. To my second brain, I love you, do not know how we got as close as we did, I am forever thankful. You are evil, but I love nonetheless. 

Groupchat for updates! Please join since the tags could be a bit iffy at times!

If you would like to be added to the tag list, please let me know! My tag list is a little messy, but please let me know if you want to be added!

Masterlist

Word count: 2171

Warnings: Fluff, mild sexual situation (hand job, fingering), Does Angel count as a warning?

CREDITS TO THE ORIGINAL GIF MAKER!

“Angel, stop,” you groaned as you felt Angel leave another mark on your skin. 

He smirked against your skin, placing a kiss on the spot he just bit. “What?” His voice sounded gravely, you two had just woken up. 

“Did you not leave enough bites last night?” Well, this morning, but it counted as last night since you two started last night.

“Can never get enough bites in baby.” He chuckled. 

Turning you to face him, Angel kissed you. It started with a few pecks, before he slipped his tongue in, slow and sensual as always. He moved on top of you, your lips never parting, intertwining your hands beside your head. 

“Te quiero mucho mi vida,” Angel whispered against your lips before he slipped his tongue inside your mouth again. You felt his hardened member against your leg. Reaching down to wrap your hand around his hardened member, you moved your hand up and down his cock causing Angel to groan. “Fuck baby, just like that. Can’t wait to be buried inside you again.” He ran his fingers up and down your folds, slipping his fingers inside.

You moaned, widening your legs. Angel removed your hand from his cock, moving so he can slide inside you. Just as he was about to, his phone rang, making Angel groan. He buried his face at the crook of your neck as he grabbed his phone.

“What’s up?” He answered. “Yeah, I’ll be there in twenty.” He hung up, placing his phone on the bedside drawer. “You think we can get a quickie done in ten minutes?”

You laughed and pushed away from Angel. “Have you met you? There’s no way baby.” You slipped on your discarded panties and his shirt. “I’ll see you in the kitchen.” 

Preparing a quick breakfast for Angel, you made coffee just like how he liked it, with no sweetener or anything. You were cooking some eggs, bacon and a patty for his sandwich. 

“Only psycho’s drink their coffee black.” You commented, shaking your head. 

“I’m your psychopath though.” Angel grabbed the coffee cup and dropped a kiss on your lips. “Besides, that's how pops drink it.” He took a sip, the bitterness was not something he could get used to, but it woke him up. “What you got planned today?”

“I have to finish up some christmas shopping, but otherwise, I have to wrap presents.” 

Angel almost choked on his coffee and tried his best not to laugh. “Baby, we have a deal. You shop, I wrap. It’s better this way.” 

“Yes, but we made a deal yesterday remember?” You pouted, wrapping your arms around Angel.

He chuckled and shook his head. “Hard to forget baby, especially when your lips were wrapped around my dick.” 

“You’re too much sometimes, you know that?”

“Ain’t no shame baby.”

You laughed. “Of course not, why would you?” You handed him the quick breakfast sandwich you made. “You’ve been busy with the club, I got this.”

Angel doubted that, but he loves you and he supported you no matter what you wanted to do. “If you need me, I’m a call away.”

“Are you going across the border today?”

“No, just templo and a shift at the yard. Then I’m all yours. We still doing a movie marathon?” Angel scruffed down the sandwich you made for him as he waited for your answer.

“Yes, are Coco, Letty and Gilly still coming over?”

“Baby, we’ve had them over the last three nights, we can enjoy one night to ourselves.” Angel drank the rest of his coffee and threw the paper towel that once held his sandwich. “I’ll cook dinner and you pick the movies.”

“Cook? Baby, you can’t cook.” 

“Alright, I’ll order take out and I can fuck you on the kitchen table while we wait.”

“Angel!” You threw a piece of bread at him which he caught and ate. 

He laughed and kissed you again. “Okay, we can fuck in bed whichever one, regardless, that ass is mine tonight. Te queiro.”

“Love you too.” 

Wrapping presents shouldn’t be hard.

But there was no shame of paying professionals to do it either.

This year, you promised yourself that you would wrap the Christmas presents. That for once, you could wrap the presents and learn how to do it.

God bless YouTube University.

You watched videos, practiced with various items so when the time came, you could wrap the presents. 

The time came and yet again, it was a fail.

You looked at the Christmas wrappers scattered on your living room floor as you wrapped one of Angel’s several gifts. You and Angel have been dating for three years now and he knew your peril with wrapping gifts. So every Christmas the tasks were always the same. You bought the gifts, Angel wrapped the presents. But with the club being busier this year, you told your boyfriend that you had everything handled. He gave you a look, but you assured him with a smile and a blowjob. 

You had your tongue sticking out at the side of your mouth, taping the Christmas wrapper together and yet again, you didn’t measure correctly and it was disproportionate. 

“This is hopeless. How is Angel so good at this?” You laid your forehead against the coffee table in front of you. With every failed attempt, the more you regretted not going to the mall and had the professionals wrap your presents. But you had to push through. This Christmas was all you and you didn’t want Angel to lift a finger. 

You continued to wrap presents, adding strips of wrapping paper for certain presents that you didn’t measure out correctly. The presents didn’t look bad necessarily, but you just wished they looked better.

You placed all of Angel’s presents under the Christmas tree and went to get the rest of the presents you have yet to wrap. You had at least ten more presents to wrap and it was slightly becoming daunting for you. Presents shouldn’t be hard to wrap and honestly, you were using the mall gift wrappers next year. You went into the kitchen to grab a drink of water and finish the rest of these presents. Looking at your watch, it was fifteen minutes to six. Angel should be home in an hour or so. 

Sitting back down with your hot chocolate instead of water, you placed Coco’s present on the coffee table to begin wrapping it. As you were busying yourself with that, Angel came in through the backdoor wanting to surprise you. He left his bike at the clubhouse since Bishop gave him the day off tomorrow. EZ had dropped him off so that he could surprise you. He had the takeout in one hand and your favorite cheesecake from the bakery down the street from the clubhouse. 

He placed the food in the kitchen and quietly made his way to the living room where he knew you would be. He heard a train of expletives come out from your mouth and he had to hold back laughter. Peeking into the living room, he saw you with various pieces of christmas wrappers around you, highly concentrated on wrapping a gift on the coffee table. You were trying to fold the top of the present, looking at the gift before you with frustration. 

“Cut the top so you can fold it better,” he heard you tell yourself. “Okay, how do I know how much to cut?” You let out a groan. “This is ridiculous. I’m going to the mall tomorrow and have the experts do it.” 

“Or you can just let me do it like we always do.”

You yelled, your hot chocolate spilling all over you. “Angel!”

“Baby!” He quickly made his way over to you with paper towels, handing it to you. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know, what the hell, I didn’t even hear your bike.” 

“EZ dropped me off, wanted to surprise you.” Angel took off your shirt. “You should change.”

“Yeah? You think?” You rolled your eyes, playfully pushing him. 

You took a quick shower and came back out, finding Angel wrapping the rest of the presents. You sat beside him and he had hot chocolate waiting for you. “How are you so good at wrapping presents? You literally wrapped five in twenty minutes.” 

Angel shrugged. “My mom and I used to wrap presents for the whole family. It was our thing up till she passed.” 

You gave him a small smile and wrapped your hand around his. “So it was tradition?”

“Of some sorts, I would help her with wrapping the presents and she would tell me all these stories about my tio’s and tia’s, about her and my father.” Angel smiled fondly of the memories he shared with his mother. No one could wrap presents with them, it was for him and her, their bonding time. He continued to wrap presents every once in a while, but he didn’t do it traditionally like before, till he met you.

“Maybe we can start our own tradition? You can teach me how to wrap presents and this could be our thing.” You paused. You shouldn’t have said that, the last thing you wanted to do was impose on Angel’s memories of his mother. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.” 

“No, it’s okay.” Angel turned to you and kissed your cheek. “I haven’t done this since my mom passed, it's nice to share this tradition with the most important person in my life.” 

You felt the tears well up in your eyes, Angel’s words making your heart swell. “I love you.”

“I love you more baby.” He smiled. His smile was so warm. You knew he was a tough guy, but when he was with you, he didn’t need to have to hide behind that exterior. “Do me a favor, can you grab the gift I got for pops? It’s in the drawer on my side of the bed.”

“Sure.”

You did as he asked and brought the gift over to him. It was in a velvet box and you couldn’t help but think what it could possibly be? Felipe hardly wore jewelry, but made Angel got home some to commemorate Marisol.

“Here babe.” You offered the box to him.

Angel took it and thanked you. The nerves began to set in for him, but he had to do it, he had this. 

Taking a deep breath, he turned to face you and you were standing, watching the baking show you had on before he came. He wasn’t sure when it clicked for him exactly, but a year ago, during the holiday season, he came to your apartment and found you watching some cheesy Hallmark Christmas movies and Letty was with you. You had looked up at him and smiled, patting the seat beside you. He realized then that he wanted to have this every holiday, every day for the rest of his life. 

He wanted to come home to a home you two shared with your kids surrounding you. 

He wanted to come home to you during a hard day and just be enveloped in your warmth.

He wanted to make new traditions with you and do it every year just as he did with his family.

You were his family now.

“Y/N,” he softly called out your name.

“Yeah baby?” You turned to face Angel and found him on one knee with the velvet box opened, showing you a beautiful diamond ring.

“When we first met, I never thought we would get this far. If anything, I thought you would come to your senses and not give me a second or third date, but you have no idea how happy I was you did. I hardly ever win, but in hindsight it doesn’t matter since my biggest victory is you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you and make new traditions with you.” You began to cry along with Angel as he took your hand. “Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife? I love you, and there’s no one else I rather watch cheesy Hallmark movies with than you.”

You managed to laugh between your tears and nodded your head. “Yes, I will marry you.”

Angel smiled brightly as he took the ring off and slipped it in your finger. He stood up and kissed you, wrapping his arms around you. 

Pulling away, you looked at your ring and kissed him again. Life was hardly perfect with Angel, but you didn’t want that. You want all the imperfections you two had because at the end of the day, much like your divided task with Christmas, you two completed one another. Where one lacked, the other picked up.

And that’s what it was all about. You bettered one another.

Angel was your better half. 

No questions about it.

“We really gotta teach you how to wrap mami, cause I can’t wrap every damn present.”

You laughed. “We better get started then.”

=================

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[dweetwise]

i’ve been kinda quiet while finishing a project over on ao3, but now i’m back with some riconti to share <3

ship: felix x ace (only implied; can be read as platonic if you wish!)

word count: 1640

Someone to Lean On

"—and I thought for sure she wouldn't pick me up! I ran straight into her after being unhooked, but she didn’t even hesitate calling my bluff. Well played, Spirit!"

Felix kept half-listening as Ace rambled on about their latest trial. They were walking back to the campfire together through the fog, having both been sacrificed by the ruthless katana-wielding killer.

It wasn't uncommon for Ace to wait around for him in the plane of nothingness if he didn't survive the trial. Felix had lost count of how many times he'd regained consciousness only to see the familiar, smiling figure calling over to him through the fog.

He wondered if Ace knew how much he appreciated the gesture. The gambler’s friendly banter was always a welcome distraction from the harrowing experience of having every fiber of his being torn to shreds and consequently be reassembled.

But this time was different. Felix could barely make out Ace's words, his own thoughts sounding deafening inside his head despite the silence of the fog. His body didn't feel like his own; it was like the Entity's claws were still twisting and turning around his insides. 

Felix’s feet dragged behind him and when they eventually came to a stop, Ace stopped right with him and patiently waited for their journey to continue. Only once Felix made no move to do so did the Argentine’s brilliant smile falter from uncertainty. 

"Felix?" Ace asked.

"I can't do it," Felix said.

According to people back at the campfire, it had been over a year since Felix was taken into this horrible realm. It felt even longer than that; with nothing in this world but means to make them suffer, Felix was starting to forget the things he used to enjoy.

"Sure you can, champ!" Ace grinned.

Felix knew Ace was trying to be encouraging. He knew he should go back to his play-act, should plaster on a fake smile and brush off his struggles as nothing more than a bad trial, like he’d done countless times before.

But he couldn’t.

"No," Felix said, a surprising determination in his voice. "You don't understand."

“What do you mean?” Ace asked.

Felix wasn’t sure how to describe it. The more he thought about this world and the absolute wrongness of it, the harder it was to pinpoint its exact cause.

He felt lightheaded and almost delirious. It was like he was in a dream; a terrible nightmare that he couldn't wake up from. Nothing in this place made sense, yet all this time he had accepted it as truth. What if it was all a figment of his imagination?

"Is any of this real?" Felix asked.

Ace’s smile made way for a confused frown, and his expression was the only thing in their surroundings that looked lifelike. The unnatural fog surrounding them felt neither damp nor cold, the unending darkness somehow allowed them to see perfectly, and even though there was nothing to guide them they still knew exactly which way to go.

Felix felt his breathing pick up as he only now seemed to realize the vast emptiness of nothing they were standing in. He’d been here countless times before but never fully aware of it, and his heart was racing as he frantically looked around, feeling the terror rising in his chest—

Until a warm hand was placed on his shoulder. 

"Hey, deep breaths," Ace said, turning Felix to face him.

The touch helped to ground him and the panic started to fade as Felix looked into familiar brown eyes. Ace felt real, but how could he be sure?

"It doesn't make any sense," Felix said. "The Entity doesn’t exist. It simply can’t."

Ace said nothing. Whether he was giving Felix space to speak or thought he’d finally lost his mind, Felix didn’t know.

"What if this is just a nightmare? What if I'm going crazy—having some sort of episode from work stress, and I'm really hospitalized in an institution?" Felix said, his frantic eyes finding Ace's. "What if I'm in a coma, or—or I died, and this is all my brain shutting down? What if this isn't real?"

Felix realized he was shaking. Ace looked at him silently; like he was pondering what to say. Felix didn’t think he’d ever seen him look so serious.

Abruptly, the embarrassment hit. Felix broke eye contact and stepped back. Even if he was losing it, he didn't need to drag Ace into this—

"So what?" Ace asked.

"What?"

"If you wake up in a hospital tomorrow and realize none of this was real, what does it matter?" Ace said. "It's not gonna change that this feels real."

Felix was silent, mulling over the words.

"I think that, sometimes, it's best to just take things at face value," Ace continued. "Fucked-up things like the Entity exist? Alright. One of them yoinked us into its world for fun? Sure. Whether we like it or not, right now we're stuck here—might as well try to make the most of it."

"Don't you want answers?" Felix asked.

"What I want is to get the hell out of here," Ace huffed dryly.

Felix couldn’t remember Ace ever talking about an escape before. The gambler had always seemed surprisingly well-adjusted to their predicament, but he should have known that even the most optimistic person would be eager for the chance to find a way out of this nightmare.

"But since that's not on the table, I'll take the next best thing of living to see another day," Ace said. "And if I wake up in a real bed tomorrow and it was all a dream? Even better."

"Have you never thought about it? That this could just be a product of your mind?" Felix asked.

"Briefly, yeah," Ace said. Then he smiled. "But then I remembered how shit my imagination is. No way I would've been able to come up with something like this."

Felix huffed out a dry chuckle despite the situation.

"But it's probably easier for me," Ace said. "I know you tend to overthink things. And with the kind of year you've had? I'm kinda surprised you've adjusted so well."

Felix hadn’t thought about it that way. After the numerous panic attacks and freezing from fear in his first trials, Felix never considered himself particularly well-adjusted to his new existence. He owed most of his meager success to the people around him, always there to lend a hand and pull Felix up when he wasn't strong enough to do it himself.

And most of the time, that person had been Ace.

"I had some help," Felix said, offering a hesitant smile.

"Ah, true—almost forgot about Élodie," Ace grinned. "Must be nice, having a friend like that in a place like this."

Felix didn't have the heart to correct the assumption. Having the familiar face of a childhood friend among their teammates had no doubt been beneficial for both Felix and Élodie while they learned to survive this new world.

But it wasn't Élodie who had been by Felix's side those first months. It wasn’t her encouraging words that got through to Felix when he felt paralyzed from inaction, or her who took the time to involve him in the group when Felix was too lost in his own head to participate.

"It really makes a world of difference, having a good friend," Felix said.

Ace kept looking at him, until his face spread into a bright smile at the realization.

"Well, in that case, can I offer you some friendly advice?" Ace asked.

"Of course," Felix agreed.

"Don't get too wrapped up in the 'how's and 'why's," Ace said. "It's just gonna consume you. And…"

Felix waited as Ace paused in an unusual gesture of uncertainty.

"I'd hate to lose you," Ace said.

He was still smiling pleasantly, but his eyes betrayed his real emotion; it was the first time Felix had seen genuine fear in Ace's eyes. And it wasn't from a brutal mori or the hopelessness that they might never escape.

It was from the possibility of losing Felix.

"Alright," Felix said. "I'll try."

"It's a start," Ace said, his demeanor back to the usual playfulness. "You ready to head back?"

Felix realized he felt much calmer now than only minutes prior. There was still an uneasiness in the back of his mind due to the unspeakable horrors that haunted them on a daily basis, but he felt grounded. This wasn't just about him; no matter whether it aligned with the objective truth, this was their reality.

"I think so, yes," Felix said.

"'Atta boy," Ace said. 

Ace's hand left his shoulder, and Felix immediately missed its warmth. The moment of camaraderie they had shared was exactly what he had needed. Even Ace seemed more at ease, his smile relaxed as he fell into step beside Felix.

"By the way," Ace said conversationally. "If this is all in your head, could I request you make it a little… I don't know, less guts and gore, more flowers and booze?"

Felix chuckled. "I can try."

"Oh, and while you're at it, can you give me one of those makeovers?" Ace said. "Make me like ten years younger? I think I’d look great in brown hair—ooh, and a six pack too!"

Felix listened to Ace ramble with a smile. It would never cease to amaze him how the seemingly lighthearted man could go from joking to serious and right back to silly banter in just a few short moments. Ace was like a bolt of lightning; chaotic in nature and gone in the blink of an eye, but always managing to calm the storm in Felix’s head.

"Ace?" Felix asked, interrupting Ace still talking about his hair.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you," Felix said.

Ace’s smile flashed bright and warm in the darkness surrounding them.

"Anytime."