#you’ll get there beloved!!! just don’t forget to breathe!!!!

[belokhvostikova]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤: 𝐂𝐥𝐮𝐛 𝐏𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐬

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 | An apology is definitely at hand, and Eddie cements it when he drunkenly appears at your house despite your clear disdain.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Swearing, yelling, crying, descriptions of depression, self-deprecating thoughts, alcohol consumption, driving while intoxicated, mentions of neglectful parents, mentions of childhood abuse, mentions of domestic abuse, brief allusions to eating disorders, and brief mentions of predatory behavior.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | So sorry for the confusion, I was simply updating the color scheme of this chapter when an error was found in my tag list, which I had to edit. I had to remove the tag list, but everyone who was already in the list or asked to be will still continue to be tagged as new chapters are released.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 | One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈𝐈𝐈. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐩𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭

You stayed in your bedroom. Not studying. Not reading. Not eating. Barely even moving. The concavity of teals and pastels with trinkets and knick-knacks that constituted the room you found solace in for the last twelve years of your life had swallowed you whole. The bookcase. The vanity. The dying plants begging for life in a personified reflection to your state. Your knees. Your fingers. Your sullen face in the smudged mirror. You listened to the sounds around you. The cars. The birds. The buzzing bees of the blistering spring. So lively, not you. Your father, the whirring indication of the coffee machine that kept him alive, the clearing of his throat, and the crinkle of his newspaper, as if he didn’t proclaim the nastiest words of failure and disappointment against the child he fathered neglectfully. But you had everything—food, a roof, money—who were you to complain, right? Your bladder is full, it hurts, yet you don’t dare to move. You suck in a breath, forgetting to do so innately. Everything has become manual. Your breathing, your thinking, your will.

You’re eighteen, a senior in high school, and you want to go to college. Which one? The farthest one. You’re merely a girl, a teenage girl, a teenage girl deemed a slut because you were nice to a boy. Nothing more, nothing less. Until the next day, where you would be deduced to a whore, because that was the inevitable step for a teenage girl who was nice to a boy. And that’s all you think of. All you repeat. Because you don’t want to remember more. You just want to wait. For what? You don’t know. So you think, you sit, and you wait. Just waiting until there’s nothing more to wait for.

Maybe when you learn to let go, you’ll finally be free. 

-

Perhaps it was the jocular facet of Wayne Munson’s personality that humored the struggling reality of his life, or maybe it was as superficial as he liked to quip an occasional joke here or there, either way, the same teasing line declaring his rambunctious nephew to be the cause of his exceeding aging—the one that always got a good chuckle out of his buddies while sharing a beer or a shy giggle from the tired waitress who worked the overnight shift just to serve him his coffee in the early hours of the morning—was vastly proving to be a coping mechanism, because Wayne Munson swore he could feel a new wrinkle brandishing his forehead as his nephew was on the verge of getting suspended… and failing… and arrested. 

Eddie Munson truly did age the poor man into oblivion. 

“…Twenty-two tardies, fourteen absences, thirteen detentions…”

Wayne briefly freed the indented grays of his head from one of his many beloved trucker hats before securing it back on. His calloused fingers splayed against his stressed eyebrows at an attempt to alleviate the impending pain with a heavy sigh. It was midday. He should be resting for his coming shift at the plant. But here he was, having a parent meeting with the principal for his twenty-year-old boy.

“…Persistent insubordination, frequent public outbursts, and repeated offense of inappropriate comments made against staff…”

That one made Eddie giggle. Oh, Mrs. O’Donell.

“Okay, okay,” Wayne politely interjected with a tight-lipped smile, “I think I get the picture here.”

Principal Higgins scoffed incredulously, as he dropped the particularly heavy file of Eddie’s extensive high school record. “Respectfully, I don’t think you do, sir.” Eddie rolled his eyes, as he apathetically slumped in the chair. “Your nephew has been tormenting the sanctity of my establishment for six years, six years, sir, and he’s in for a seventh after assaulting a fellow student on school grounds!”

“Oh, please, Carver deserved it-”

“Ed.” Wayne gritted with sternness. 

“Mr. Munson, I specifically warned you of the potential consequences of another detention or suspension, and you went ahead and disobeyed my word! Now, charges are being threatened! This is monstrous! Vile, even! Blasphemous-”

“I told you, that jockstrap deserved it!” Eddie sat up to defend his stance, blatantly ignoring his uncle's plea to calm down. “Why aren’t you getting him in trouble, huh?! He’s the one that started all this shit! Going around and spreading lies about Y/N!”

And maybe this is when Eddie should have shut up, because the way Principal Higgins eyes bulged at the revelation honestly kinda freaked Eddie out a bit. 

“Ms. Y/L/N?!” Higgins spit odiously. “This is about Ms. Y/L/N?!”

Wayne blinked between both men. “Who’s Y/N Y/L/N?”

The poor man’s presence had long been disregarded. Once again, this had been extrapolated into a battle between Higgins and Munson, a long six year war that seemed to have no ending. And you, well, you fell victim in the crossfire, left unaided, to die, vulnerable to the vultures of Hawkins High that got to pick you apart free of consequences. Because that was human nature for a small town that capitalized the American Dream with infiltrations of conservatism and conformity for the need to prioritize normalcy. And Eddie Munson was not normal, therefore you were not normal. Because you took his fucking picture. 

“In my years of administration, I have never, and I mean never, have had this much havoc from two students!” It became quite astounding how much a single vein could protrude from a reddening forehead of a forty-seven-year-old man. 

“This isn’t her fault!” Eddie burdened to emphasize. “Why are you always blaming her?! You used to love parading her achievements around as if they were yours, and now that she’s friends with me,” you weren’t friends with him, “you suddenly got your little feelings hurt?! You’re unbelievable!” Eddie sneered with a heavy breath and condescending laugh. 

Now, Higgins had been far too familiar with Eddie’s bite, but the abrupt revelation had the man searching for words that would excuse his exaggerating behavior. “I-I, uh, well, I… t-this- this isn’t about Ms. Y/L/N, this is about you, Mr. Munson, and what you did!”

Wayne had reached his wits end, “Alright, alr-”

“What? Rightfully put Carver in his place? Yeah, I did-”

“Alright.” Wayne’s jaw was heavy with tension as a stern scrape of his teeth was gritted to end the commotion. “Look, I truly do not have the time to be doin’ this, so we’re gonna run this quickly.” He sighed with a hand massaging his stubble. “I’ll have Ed apologize.”

Eddie made his annoyance evident with a loud groan and scoff, as he waved his uncle off. 

“But,” Wayne interjected, knowing his nephew would spew out more words that would worsen his consequence, “you said it yourself, sir, that Ed’s been “disrupting” your school for a couple years now, so I don’t think another repeated year would do anyone any good. Right?”

“I- I… well, I, uh, I suppose so…” Higgins mumbled. 

“Perfect.” Wayne perched out of his chair with a groan from his aching back. “I think a… sincere, heartfelt apology will teach my boy a valuable lesson here.” He patted Eddie on the shoulder before yanking on his denim vest to pull him from his seat. “So, no detention, no suspension, that way Ed will get to graduate, he’ll be out of your hair, and all’s good in life.”

“I, well, I think we’re being a little too lenient-”

Wayne shoved his working hand in front of Higgins. “I appreciate your understanding, and I’m glad we were able to come to a consensus.” Dumbfoundedly, Higgins shook the man’s hand trying to process everything. “Now, I’ll get in touch with the other boy’s parents, hopefully talk them out of charges, and Ed and I will have a long talk as to why we shouldn’t hit people. Right, Ed?”

“U-um, uh, yeah- yes, sir, I’m so sorry.” Eddie nodded, faux guilt casting his face, as he pressed his lips in and threw his round eyes of disappointment to the ground. 

“Well, then” Wayne sighed, “I better get going, sleep’s not gonna catch itself.”

“Mr. Munson, uh, sir-”

“Again, thank you for understanding.” Wayne shoved Eddie past the office door, before sending a polite wave to Higgins, left speechless and open-mouthed, yet no protest could be formulated, as the Munson men were out quick with a slam to the door.

Upon reaching the empty halls of the school, Wayne wondered how ethical it would be to lean against the cold, metal lockers and light a cigarette, because he had no willpower to wait until he was outside. Wayne Munson loved Eddie, he truly did. It may not have been affectionately shown for the majority of his guardianship, but it was there; through every cracked joke, every greasy late-night dinner shared, and every moment when he would miss work, because Eddie always waited last minute to finish the algebra homework that he knew he struggled with, and Wayne was there to help. 

But parenthood, itself, was a troubling journey, and when abruptly placed onto a man who had no desire to ever have kids of his own, it became devastatingly unfathomable. It became worse when the kid in question knew nothing but abuse, no hugs no kisses, simply fists and swears to condition his mind with the wrongful notions as to how to express his emotions. It was grueling. 

Wayne cleared his throat. “Ed.”

“I know, I know,” Eddie was quick to explain, “but I swear, it really wasn’t my fault.” His eyes pleaded to avoid the wave of disappointment he knew he brought to everyone in Hawkins. 

“Boy, if this Carver kid and that girl, Y/N, are giving you trouble-”

“No, no, she’s not!” Eddie swallowed the lump in his throat, and huffed. “I-I mean, he is, yeah, but it’s nothing I’m not used to, so it doesn’t matter. But her, she, uh, she didn’t- I, fuck, look this is all stupid! He’s stupid, she’s stupid- I, no, she’s not stupid-”

“Eddie.” Wayne was seeing the younger boy Eddie had once been. Struggling with emotions, struggling with words, unable to process and formulate because he was scared. 

“She fucking hates me, alright!” Eddie heaved. “All of this is stupid, and it doesn’t matter, because she fucking hates me! And I can’t even blame her, because I’m an awful fucking person!”

“You’re not awful-”

“I am!��� Eddie sighed to catch his breath. “C’mon, Wayne, you know I am. I nearly fucking failed for the third time in a row, because I have no self-control and apparently no fucking emotional intelligence, and now I may end up getting arrested in the middle of the fucking school day. And she fucking hates me, Wayne, she hates me!”

The quietness of the hall became deafening after Eddie’s tangent. He knew his uncle didn’t understand half of what he just uttered, but it sure as hell felt good getting it off his chest. And by now, a cigarette was looking real good to the older gentleman. 

“I- shit, I’m sorry, just forget all of that.” Eddie groaned, a tense hand running through his tangled hair.

“No, no,” Wayne shook his head, “say what you need to say. It’ll do you some good.”

Eddie suspired. “Look, Jason was saying some really gross shit about Y/N that wasn’t true, and the only reason why they said all that shit was because she added me- uh, Hellfire to the yearbook.” Wayne raised an eyebrow. “I know, don’t give me that look, like I said, this is all fucking stupid. Anyways, I felt bad, he was literally causing a scene in the middle of lunch, and well, I punched him-”

“Well, see, you’re not an awful person.” Wayne pointed. 

“You didn’t let me finish.” Eddie, now highlighted with genuine guilt, casted down to the floor. “When she first took our picture, I kinda yelled at her, because I thought she was just being some two-faced cheerleader, which she wasn’t, but, uh, after the whole cafeteria scene, well, she told me to just leave her alone, and um, I got defensive and called her… a sl- look, I just really fucked up, alright.”

Wayne puffed out a big breath of air. “Okay.” He really didn’t remember high school being this cursory, granted it was over thirty years ago for him. “Uh, well, did you at least apologize to her?” He truly didn’t know how else to approach this problem. 

“Well, no, she got suspended yesterday because of the whole yearbook thing. Highly doubt I’ll get a chance.”

“Well, make a chance.” Wayne waved off simply.

“What?”

“You care that much about what she thinks of you, make the chance happen. Don’t just sit around, do something. And if you really don’t care, then just let it go and focus on graduating and not getting in trouble.” Wayne pulled out his pack of Camels. “Either way, I need sleep and you need to get to class.”

“It’s lunch time.”

“Then eat.” Wayne sighed, as he began walking away. “Just stay out of trouble, because there’s only so many free car repairs I’m willing to offer in order to keep your ass out of jail, boy.”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry.”

-

“I can’t believe this! I totally don’t look like this!” Dustin shrieked. “This is a terrible angle! And I specifically told the guy to get my good side!”

Mike laughed with a mouth full of greasy pizza. “You look like the orcs from our campaign.”

“Who looks like the orcs from our campaign?” Eddie announced his arrival, as he took a seat at the head of the table. 

“Dustin!” Gareth guffawed. 

“But, hey, if you really wanna feel better, take a look at Stanley Godwin who literally sneezed in the middle of his picture.” Jeff stole the yearbook from Dustin’s grabby hands. “Poor kid and his sinuses.”

But before Jeff could thumb through to find the sneezing sophomore, Eddie had forcefully yanked the brand new book from his friend. “Where the hell did you get this?!”

“I bought it.” Dustin answered. “The Yearbook Committee is already selling them. But, if you want my advice, don’t bother asking Nancy for a family discount.”

“You’re not family.” Mike sneered with a playful shove.

And in true Dustin Henderson fashion, the boy audibly gasped. “Have the last ten years meant nothing to you?”

“Is our picture still in here?” Eddie interrupted. 

“Yup!” Gareth smirked. “Front and center.”

Eddie flipped through the extracurriculars, filtering through the numerous clubs before his eyes bestowed upon their photo. There they were. All of them. Their faces and names representing the Hellfire title. 

“Hey, how’d the meeting with Higgins go?” Jeff snapped Eddie’s attention. “Your uncle dish one out to ya?”

“Uh, no, actually.” Eddie signed. “Got let off the hook.”

“Wait, Higgins isn’t suspending you?” Mike questioned, and Eddie merely shook his head in confirmation. 

“Wow, you’d think punching his precious star athlete would get you expelled.” Dustin laughed. “I mean, even Y/N got suspended for something less. Wish she was here, so I could thank her for the photo.” 

Your name had sparked something within Eddie. He quickly turned the pages to reach the senior class of 1986, and flipped until he found your face. Your fucking beautiful face. So pretty and proper, dressed in your best clothing, pearls shining around your neck, eyes glinting with perfection. You were perfect. Perfect. Down to the last minute detail. Your teeth, your lips, your skin.

Make a chance.

Eddie tore the page with much fervor in mind. 

“Hey, what the hell?!” Dustin whined. “That cost me forty-five bucks!”

“Sorry, kid.” Eddie muttered, as he stood from his chair, stuffing the torn page into the leather pocket of his worn jacket. 

“Where are you going?” Jeff catechized. “We’re in the middle of lunch.”

“To find Chrissy Cunningham.”

-

Chrissy Cunningham was a lot harder to find than Eddie had expected. She had been in the same lunch period with him for the entirety of the semester, but the one instance he actually needed to speak to her, she wasn’t sitting with the gaggle of cheerleaders and jocks that claimed the best seats in the lunchroom. The girls’ bathroom had been his best option, now he obviously didn’t enter, but after he begrudgingly called out her name through the doorway, he felt like a creep and left rather quickly. The gym was his backup, but after peering through the small windows of the double doors, all he saw was Coach Monaghan loudly instructing scrawny freshmen through enervating suicide drills for the sake of physical education. And the health room was no luck, as the guidance counselor was enforcing teaching the importance of abstinence to a group of girls—only girls—for the sake of sexual education. More like purity culture. Eddie was running out of luck. His watch indicated the mere five minutes he had left before he’d be obligated to endure Mrs. O’Donell. But, by the grace of whatever god may or may not be out there, Eddie caught sight of the strawberry blonde sitting alone upon the writhing wood of an old picnic table just outside of the cafeteria. He walked all around, just for her to be a couple yards from where he originally was. Sometimes Eddie could only scoff at himself. 

Appearing to be caught up in her own world, Eddie’s heavy footsteps went unnoticed, until he materialized into her peripheral, a startled shriek making him surrender with hands up in the air. 

“Woah, hey, sorry.” He raucously chuckled, looking around to make sure no one could fabricate some false story of harassment against a cheerleader. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

But his words brought no ease to her- clearly, it was just yesterday she was cleaning up her boyfriend’s lip, because of Eddie. “I, uh, I- well, if it’s alright with you, I, um, liked to talk- well, ask you for something.” He softly assured, as she eyed him timidly. 

“Um, a-about what?” Her voice could barely be picked up by the breeze of the afternoon. 

Eddie took it as an invitation to sit down across from her with a tight-lipped smile. It was awkward. He took notice of her uneaten lunch, merely picked apart but not savored—well, as savored as school lunch could be. “So, uh, what brings you out here?” Perhaps an attempt at conversation with someone he never even spoke to was too bad of an idea, but he simply chose the politeness path, as he ask was pretty hefty. “Finally got tired of Jessica’s big mouth?” He laughed.

Chrissy didn’t. Jessica had made a comment, one that sounded too much like her mother’s own words. 

So when Chrissy sadly shrugged, he dropped the small talk and diverted the conversation. 

“Okay, look, I’m just gonna be up front.” Eddie sighed. “I need you to give me Y/N’s phone number and address.”

Her thinly groomed eyebrows creased her forehead in confusion. “Um, what?”

“Look, it’s a simple ask, alright, I just need her phone number and address.”

“No, I hear you, Eddie, I just- well, I just don’t know if she would want me to-”

“No, and I understand that, I just really need to talk to her.” Eddie pleaded. “And obviously I can’t do that at school.” Chrissy stayed quiet with contemplation. “C’mon, you guys are friends- or were friends, right? I really just want to make it up to her after all the bullshit she’s been through. Us being partially at fault because of it, y’know.”

Chrissy’s guilty round eyes met his. “I just don’t want her to hate me more.” she whispered. 

Eddie’s mouth fell slightly agape, not knowing how to comfort. See, lying and saying all was good and merry between you and Chrissy in order to get what he wanted would have been his first solution—the asshole way of thinking. But being that Eddie being an asshole was the start of all your misery in the first place, he fought the urge to choose the easy way out and rubbed his face with agony. 

“Yeah, no, I, uh, get it.” He huffed. “And if it’s any consolation, she fucking hates me, too. Probably more than she hates you.” He smiled. And luckily, a sadden smile curled her lips, which was a start. “And I mean, rightfully so, we were jackasses to her.” He laughed.

“I should have stuck up for her.” Chrissy sighed. “She always has for me. I mean, she’s been my best friend for four years. But Jason, he just gets so far into this idea of what people will say and think, and he doesn’t want me or him hurting from others' judgment.”

“So you judged her instead?” He couldn’t really be one to speak on the morals of virtue, as he judged, too.

“I know, it’s so stupid.” She dropped her head into her palms with shame. “And I’m not trying to excuse it, I just want her to know I’m so sorry, but I haven’t had the courage to tell her.” She groaned. “Plus, her dad is really strict and really hard on her to be so successful, that I doubt he’ll want me over after she got suspended.”

Chrissy drowned with dejection. Four years of the purest bond between young girls had been cemented into a cascade of hateful rumors and a lack of clear discernment that severed their loving connection that persevered them through the pinnacle of teenage years. As naive fourteen-year-olds, you both had stolen the locked up booze from your father’s office, and cheered one another on as you took a sip, to ensure you both appeared to know what you were doing when you arrived to Bradly Leminski’s party. Turns out, you both had accidentally drank too much in the comfort of your bedroom and missed out. You’d even watched giddily, as Jason Carver asked Chrissy out, after you ran him through the basis of what she loves, because he was determined to get her on a date. But through the woes of boys and high school parties, you’d both been there for one another through the deepest of tribulations, like when Chrissy called you bawling, because her mother’s words manipulated the way she saw herself in the beautiful dress she’d been so excited to wear for the winter formal. Or when she held you tightly after saving you from the harsh grasp of a senior, Jimmy Saunters, who forcefully shoved multiple shots of tequila down your throat, and attempted to drag you into his friend’s bedroom when you were merely a baby freshman. 

Her comfort had saved you, just as yours did to her.

“Well, I mean, you can’t just not try.” Eddie reasoned. “Look, I fucking hate that she hates me, and I want to at least try to apologize to her, too, which is why I at least need her number and address, please. I’m sure she’d love to hear from you, too, whenever you get the chance.”

The school bell that Eddie had been all too familiar with screeched for the coming of class, and he jumped in hurry. “C’mon, Chrissy, please, you gotta help me out here.” The desperation became palpable. Chrissy turned and watched numerous students flood into the halls through the glass doors of the building. Caving in quickly, she rummaged through her backpack for a pink pen she’d nearly worn through after the excessive notes from her third period. But she simply grabbed Eddie’s jacket sleeve, and utilized the back of his veiny hand as a canvas for her information. 

He’d ache his neck with a contorted twist of his head to watch the fading ink print what he wanted. A seven digit number lined the back of his hands, a small smile consuming his face, but then Chrissy started capping her pen away. “W-wait, uh, her address, too.”

“Um…”

“Please, I swear, if she asks, I won’t say it was you.” Eddie rushed.

Chrissy sighed, before quickly scribbling the number and street name of your home. Eddie cursed under his breath. “Christ, Pinecrest Acres? I got hired to mow some dude’s lawn in that neighborhood one summer, and some prick called the cops on me for trespassing.” He scoffed, and poor Chrissy didn’t know how to respond at the irrelevance of his news besides with an awkward chuckle. “But, anyways, thank you. I’ll, uh, leave you to it.” Eddie saluted, as he headed towards the door.

But then he abruptly turned. “Wait! Uh, tell your boyfriend I’m sorry for the, uh, whole, y’know…” And Eddie laughed, as he mimicked the shocking punch that loosened Jason Carver’s front teeth. 

The entire reason why he hadn’t showed up to school that day. 

“Um, don’t you want to tell him yourself?” Chrissy sweetly proffered. “I���m sure it’ll mean more.”

Eddie could roll his eyes. It was Jason Carver. Nothing Eddie did could mean shit to him.

He winced with a hiss. “Yeah, see, I totally would,” no, he wouldn’t, “but since he’s not here, and you’re the next best thing, I trust that you’ll pass on the message for me.” He smiled so sickly, Chrissy couldn’t see the drenching lies of his words.

“Oh, okay.” She agreed. 

“Oh!” Eddie perked. “If Higgin’s asks, I totally did apologize to Carver, okay?” Well, maybe there was still a little asshole left in Eddie, but at least he wasn’t actively hurting anyone. Yet.

“Uh, o-okay.” She hesitantly smiled.

“Thanks, Chrissy.” He lifted his balled fist to bump with hers. It was telling of the fact that Eddie Munson had little interactions with girls his own age- or any girls for that matter. But she hesitantly bumped him back, nonetheless. “Y’know, you’re a really cool person, you should get better friends.” He affirmed, before waving a goodbye.

“Th-thanks.” She meekly watched him enter the school building. 

While uncomfortable at first, the overall start of the budding friendship between Chrissy Cunningham and Eddie Munson was one to look forward to. While they evidently had nothing in common, it was quite comical actually, they could find reassurance in one another that improvements needed to be made within themselves in order to speak to the one person they both genuinely cared for. You. They at least had that in common. And luckily for Eddie, in six hours, Chrissy Cunningham would confide to Jason Carver to drop any potential charges, and he would listen, because he loved her. 

-

“Fuck.” Eddie mumbled under his breath. He shook the nerves from his hands, and rolled his neck in preparation. “C’mon, you can do this.”

“So, uh,” Wayne snapped Eddie’s attention. His uncle was staring at him circumspectly, as he shrugged on his jacket, “you preparin’ for a marathon, or somethin’?”

“What?” Eddie blinked through his messy bangs. “No, I’m about to make a phone call.”

“Right.” Wayne cleared his throat, studying the newfound nervousness of his nephew’s demeanor, which he hadn’t seen in- well, ever. “Ima head out to work, see ya tomorrow morning.” It was clear Eddie was waiting for his uncle to leave, as Wayne caught sight of how quickly Eddie grabbed the handle of the phone as Wayne, himself, grabbed the doorknob. “Is this about that Y/N girl?”

Eddie’s shoulder’s dropped. “Shouldn’t you be heading off to work by now?”

“Alright, alright,” Wayne mumbled, “just askin’. Be sure to eat dinner.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“I mean it, Ed. Eat.” 

Eddie, in fact, did not eat. 

In order to not succumb to the nauseating feeling that was churning in the pit of his tummy, he came to the concurrence that a cold beer would extenuate the ferment that made his heart skip a beat every ten seconds. Now, in typical sense, Eddie had consumed enough beer in his lifetime, that a single one shouldn’t have affected him to the extent at which this one did. But see, Eddie didn’t listen to the wise words of Wayne Munson, and his gurgling, empty stomach rocked him to the edge of tipsiness far quicker than he was used to. 

And before he knew it, his cold fingertips were jamming the buttons to the sequence of Chrissy’s faded pink handwriting, and soon it began ringing- shit, the phone was ringing! Eddie began panicking in place, wavering between hanging up and bringing the phone back to his ear. He hadn’t even planned out what he would say to you. Well, he technically did, it was all that he could think about for the entire day, but each idea seemed unworthy to the standards you deserved, so he’d move on to the next thought, but then suddenly every thought was determined unfit by Eddie. Should he apologize? Fuck, of course, he should apologize, but for what first? Calling you a miserable bitch? An attention-seeking slut? Making a scene in the cafeteria? Yelling in your face? Making you cry? Jesus Christ, thinking it out loud, why on Earth would you ever accept his apology?! He should just hang up before it’s too late-

“Hello?”

Eddie Munson’s knees buckled.

He carelessly gripped the edge of his wooden table, and slowly steadied himself into the chair below. He should speak, but no words were coming out. His knuckle flew into his mouth, where his teeth brandished the tender skin with harsh indents. It was painful, but he couldn’t stop. 

You spoke so featherly soft, too delicate for his usual orotund tone. The one he’d use to berate you. “Um, hello?”

“H-Hi…” He pierced out, immediately cringing at the sudden loudness he uncontrollably spoke in. “It’s, uh- well, it’s me, um… Eddie.”

It was dead quiet for what felt like an eternity. 

No word, no squeak, no air. You were obviously holding your breath, and the mere thought was tearing at Eddie’s heart. “Please.” It came out so weak. “Please, Eddie, I don’t wanna start anything.” 

His stomach dropped, and his hands shook with how scared you sounded. You were scared of him. In the couple of instances he interacted with you, he scared you. Because to you, he brought harm. It may not have been physical, but it was detrimental, nonetheless. And you were scared. He was becoming the sole person he did not want to become, because he knew what it was like to be scared. 

“No, no, sweetheart,” he let out a shaky sigh, “I’m not gonna do anything. I promise.” He wanted to profusely vomit. It was the same words his dad had uttered to his bruised mom in order to sweet talk her out of leaving.

“I told you to leave me alone, Eddie.” You choked quietly. It was dinner. Your father was downstairs enjoying his takeout. Not yours. He stopped caring to ask the minute you refused to leave your bedroom. “I don’t even care how you got my number, but I need you to not call-”

“No, I know, sweetheart, but I really just need to talk to you.” His knuckles were casting white upon the tight grip he clutched the phone, as his lips brushed the bottom speaker in whispers. His other hand began insistently picking at the old wood of the kitchen table. Wayne would have a word with him about that. “I- what I did, I really need to tell that I’m sorry, because I truly am sor-”

“Eddie,” You gently interrupted, no energy to scream at him like your mind was begging you to do, “I don’t want your apology.” You sniffled. “If it really meant that much to you, you would have never done it to begin with, because I- I would have never done this to you. I would have never done this to you.”

His eyes clenched shut to mitigate the profound stinging of his eyes from the welling of tears his heart was urging to spill for you. He knew the probability of you accepting his apology was low, but his mother always seemed to accept his father’s after he sweet talked his way out of a domestic abuse charge. This is what was supposed to happen, right? You should be loving his words and running to forgive him, right? It was what he saw. It was what he experienced. It was what he was conditioned to believe. But you weren’t his mother. And he’d desperately do anything to not be his father. Yet everyday, the image in the mirror was sneering back that sickening smile that destroyed Eddie’s childhood. So you weren’t going to run in his arms. You were going to stand your ground, just like he wished his mother had done to his father. 

“Please, sweetheart.” A gritted through his tense jaw, as a tear stained his reddening cheek. “Please.”

“I don’t want anything to do with you, Eddie.” There was no admonish to your words, in fact, you were so demure, holding back tears of your own, because he knew the ugly truth that you were well aware of the fact that if you screamed, he’d scream. And you’d, once again, be scared. “Just let me be, please. I don’t want you near me.”

The buzzing of the cutting line shot his bullet in his heart.

Your voice was gone, and yet, the phone stayed glued to his ear in hopes that he was just imagining it all. You didn’t hang up. You were still on the line. You would take back your words. You would accept his apology. But your euphonious voice never appeared again, and Eddie aggressively slammed the phone back on the hook with a grunt of frustration. The heel of his palms stabbed into his weeping eyes, as his shoulders assertively shook with every choke of his tightening breath. Rejection, heartache, vexation, and patheticism rampaged his mind from any calamity, and before he knew it, the characteristics he so badly hated about himself were being proffered up to the surface of his being. 

In truth, this was the scary aspect of Eddie Munson that resembled the harm he was verbally and physically ingrained with as a tragic child who knew of no hope. All rationale was gone, and wrongful devotion rooted in his deepest fear of being neglected with disregard had overtook his judgment. Standing with all fury, his finger’s strained through the excessive flexing of joints before his balled fist broke through the drywall of his trailer. His knuckles split with blood, but it felt deserving to him. Who was Eddie Munson without the infliction of pain? Absolutely nobody, he affirmed in his mind. He was meant to suffer. 

Chest heaving, beads of sweat pebbled his forehead, and the fridge door broke open. His truculent, battered hand grappled onto the torn yokes of the remaining three beers, hauling them, as his other hand reached for the keys to his van.

Eddie Munson was about to cause more harm. 

-

“Please, jus hol’ on f’me…” His drenched lips slurred with beer, as his hand crushed the empty can he haphazardly threw into the passenger seat, where his growing collection stacked. 

In the grand scheme of things, Eddie knew he was attesting to the predisposition of his role in this town, but he couldn’t help it. A lowlife, criminal, an irascible danger to society. Would you actually accept him? No, you wouldn’t. And he wouldn’t blame you. But he couldn’t stand the pre-conceived notion he’d confirmed about himself to you, and he was in desperation to speak to you. Unfortunately, Eddie had panicked, and this was happening in the ugliest, most horrifying and sinister state he’d ever been in. And you would see it all.

As lucky as one can be under the influence while driving, the cracked roads had fortunately been desolate, as nuclear families gathered around their pristine tables to lavish in the draining emotional labor of home cooked meals by their underappreciated wives. He rejected all red lights and street signs, stampeding through neighborhoods, drifting past turns, and steadily accelerating until he’d approached the spotlighted sign of Pinecrest Acres. The affluence—actually the beer and sharp curves—made his stomach turn in disgust. The aristocrats of Hawkins housed together, where they frolicked with no worries in the prolific assortment of two-stories, pool houses, parterres, and vintage cars, all while the struggling families of Forest Hills had to huddle with worn blankets to survive the blistering winters of Indiana. Ronald Reagan’s conservatism sure had an ascendancy on this place. He came to an abrupt stop after his headlights reflected the engraved 630 of your mailbox. “6… 3… 0 Pinecrest fucking Acres.” He mumbled.  

His tire ran over the curb of your street before he pulled the keys from the ignition. For a second, he stopped. His breathing was becoming suffocating, as his chest fervently raised with each depth of an inhale. His hand found the door handle faster than his mind could process, and soon he was stumbling on inebriated legs to the front lawn of your house. Honestly, if your dad had found him, he would have shot him, but the man had driven himself into bed after downing the entirety of his rum. 

Eddie’s eyes scaled the height of the house. “Fuck me.” Maybe he shouldn’t have chugged four beers. He cleared his throat. His joints echoed in a rhythmic sequence of pops, as he pressed and twisted his fingers to loosen up. A guttural groan escaped as his neck was next, snapping it left to right to ease out any crooks. His breaths stammered in unprecedented waverness, as his ears ached through the thudding sounds of his beating heart that seemed to be amplified in his mind. Jaw ticking. Hands shaking. Mouth dried. Body sweating. What the hell were you going to do when he’d shown up without your consent? In fact, you explicitly said to leave you alone. “Shit, shit, shit.” Eddie wanted to cry. Should he knock? No, your dad would call the cops. Would you call the cops? He sure as hell would if a drunk man harassed his yard. 

But then, his stomach sank to his ass. 

The one room that had been illuminated by the glowing overhead light had accentuated your silhouette. You. It was fucking you. In your room. Where you stayed, where you studied, where you slept, where you’d been crying and chose stoicism to numb the pain of everything around. But everything had happened quickly, and soon, you were gone with a sharp close of your curtains. 

Eddie’s legs began working without thought, and he’d swiftly aligned himself with the window to your room, tramping the trimmed garden of crumpled rose bushes beneath his dirty sneakers. Your house had been complemented by the standing trellis that had been wrapped by vines of delicate nature. If there was any sign of either moving forward or leaving, the intricate trimming of your house perfectly starting where your trellis ended meaning Eddie had leeway to make it to your window, meaning Eddie’s intoxicated mind saw it was a passage to see you. “Jus do it f’her, do it f’her…” Regrettably, the rational part of his brain had fallen under the influence, which was screaming at him to just leave you alone. 

As stealthy as a drunk man could, Eddie prayed the trellis could hold his weight, as he began scaling the flimsy wood against your wall. All he could think about was you. Every step was for you. Every splinter was for you. Every stumble was for you. Yet his clouded judgment could not process the fact that you didn’t want any of this. But the bottom of his shoe was already scuffing the white trimming of your house, and he was hoisting himself to stand upon the hipped edge roof. Crouched and begging his intoxication didn’t drop him from the second story, he quietly approached the dormer of your window. 

His fingertips gently caressed the glass with great scrutiny. It was now just dawning on him as to what he’s just done. The danger he’s put himself and others in. The disrespect he’s inflicted upon you. The hurt. The knock was soft, barely comprehensible. You had ignored it, there was always noise. You tightly cuddled a bundle of your duvet, sinking yourself into the wallow of your bed in hopes of willing yourself to a serious need of sleep. But the noise continued. More apparent. More concerning. 

You jolted at the clearest indication of a set of knocks cascading against your window. 

Your heart began racing beyond compare, as the noise followed just outside. It was night, no one should be coming to your house, let alone your window at 9:27 p.m. And the one man you should have had full reliance on was currently passed out in his locked bedroom, where you knew awakening him would lead to a revile of the burden you’d become in his life. He said it when you were nine, and he’d freely say it again if you gave him a headache from his usual hangover. 

But suddenly, the trembling of your body succumbed when you heard it. 

“H-hello…”

Blindsided by the simple greeting, you stumbled out of bed with stupefaction that he would actually show up. Eddie. You ran to your window, swinging the curtains open to reveal him. Round, reddened eyes oozing with plead, as his hand pressed against your window. His heart sank at the look of disgust that his face garnered from you. He hated it. He hates your disheveled hair, your bagging pajamas, your wobbling lip. He hates you. He hates how perfect you were. Why the fuck were you so fucking perfect? 

You made out the shaky “please” that left his mouth. 

Opening the window swiftly, the cold breeze of the night engulfed you, as he helped you lift. “What are you doing here?!” You were quick to spit with spite.

“I-I,” upon seeing you, his eyes had an instant reaction to start welling for the shit he was putting you through, because he knew what he was wreaking was pure havoc in the normalcy of your life, “I just really needed to t-talk to you.” He managed to choke out.

His hot breath hit you like a truck, proffering memories of what a humid house party smelt like. “Are you drunk right now?!” He could only shamefully nod with closed eyes. “And you drove here?!” Another disgrace to his character. “Are you insane?!”

“M’so sorry… M’so fucking sorry, please, I-I jus- I jus-”

“You could have hurt somebody, Eddie!” Though whispered, it carried all the beratement of your anger. “You could have killed yourself!”

“I know!” He wailed with guilt. “I jus- I feel like m’losing my mind, because I need to fucking fix what I did. What I did to you! M’so sorry.” Your hands caught your head in anguish. You hated him, every being in your body wanted to shout at him, and yet, your heart was tormenting at the state he was in. And you fucking hated that you couldn’t hate him how you wanted- how you deserved. “M’sorry, I-I can leave and I swear I won-” 

“You’re not fucking leaving like this, Eddie, you’re gonna get hurt.” You began tearing in frustration.

“Nonono, p-please don’t cry-”

He tried to reach out to you, but you slapped his comforting hands away, forcing him to lose his balance, before you had to steady him yourself. “You’re just saying that because you know you’re the cause.” You mumbled far too low for his drunk brain to process, while you held a tight grip around his wrist.

At an attempt to pull him in, his heavy, limp body contorted trying to bypass your window alcove, brandishing it with the streaks of his dirty shoes, and it took all your strength to stumble him onto your bed with a huff. Having him sit in place, you kneeled in front of him to get a good look at his face through the peering moonlight. He looked beyond exhausted, a testament to the agony of contrition he’s been eaten by for what he’s done to you. His eyes wholly swollen with irritation and tears that stained his flushed cheeks, as everything around him felt like it was burning hot. You couldn’t yell at him. At this state, ambushing him with an onslaught of curses and shouts would only project him into a disposition of vindication in order to protect himself. And that side of Eddie Munson was scary.

“Eddie,” you sighed, as his hanging head managed to meet your round eyes and quivering lips. “You cannot do this again. Do you hear me? You’re scaring me.” He vehemently shook his head, as his hands were quick to cover his face with shame to shield from the embarrassment he was consumed by. You pulled his arms away. “No, Eddie, I need you to say it; that you won’t do this to me again.”

“I-I… I won’t do this to you a-again- m’sorry. I won’t touch you, I promise, M’not my dad.” He sobbed. 

You sighed in defeat. “What- why would you even do this in the first place? What are you talking about?” You pleaded to understand, as tears constricted your eyes. 

There’s so much he wanted to say, but he didn’t know where to start. “I fucking need to fix what I did to you. I didn’t mean it, any of the shit I said to you. Being around is just so nice that I get afraid. I don’t want to lose you… a-as a friend, because- because nice things don’t happen to me, and I don’t know what I would do if I lost-” His breath had caught up to him, making him retch on nothing but tears and snot.

“Breathe, okay, Eddie, just breathe.” You quietly instructed, as he endeavored to follow suit. Your hands softly took hold of his, trying to ameliorate the violent shakes of his stiffening body, fingers delicately locking to find solace within his. And he held back so tightly. 

“Nobody- nobody’s ever cared like you have.” He whimpered. 

“So why treat me like this?” You mewled, sinking your teeth to discontinue the incoming sobs that stung your throat. 

“Because I don’t fucking deserve you-” You were quick to immediately shush him, as your father was merely a couple doors down. “Sorry, but I can’t fucking like you, Y/N.” He murmured through a quivering lip. His mind was spewing his feelings, the one he so badly wanted to ignore, but alas, his intoxicated state was regrettably telling all. “I can’t, it hurts too much. Knowing- knowing you don’t belong with me, I-I can’t fucking hold you, hug you, I c-can’t.”

“Eddie, you could have just talked to me.” You softly cried.

“No.” He looked so terrified. “I can’t fucking hear you ignore me. I-I know you don’t like me-”

“You don’t know that-”

“Fucking look at me, Y/N.” He bawled. “Look at what I’m doing to you. You don’t fucking deserve this. M’not a good person. I hurt you. I fucking hurt you.”

“I just wished you would have given me a chance, and talked to me, Eddie.” You squeezed his hands.

“No, I don’t want to burden you.” He cried with heavy breaths. “There’s things I wanna say to you- do with you, but I should just be letting you live free from me. No one cares about what I have to say, and you know it.” He begged for you to get it. “All that bullshit about communication doesn’t mean anything when it comes to me. No one wants to hear me. No one wants me.”

Your heart shattered at the revelation because it was beyond the definitions of truth. From childhood, Eddie Munson knew he was nothing if not a punching bag to his father, a therapist to his mother, an obligation to his uncle, and a burden to everyone. It became unwarrantedly embedded into a six-year-old boy and vandalized into his twenty-year-old self. He recognized it. Everyone affirmed it. 

You raked your hands from his hold, choosing to sit next to him on your bed, where your arms inundated him into a hug he had not received in years. The last close touch given to Eddie Munson left him weeping with a broken nose. He immediately fell into your embrace, shoving his head in the comfort of your neck, where his cries only amplified with the desperation of being touched lovingly. Your own tears had dampened his unruly head of hair, as you caved into him. His heavy arms constricted you tightly. 

At this moment, you were not scared of Eddie Munson. You’d seen his reasoning and you understood. Not excused, but understood. A lot of people had simply scared him first.

“I hear you, Eddie. I want to keep hearing you.”

-

“Eddie?” You whispered into his curls.

It’d been an hour of nonstop wails of distress, years of pent up emotions, and the realization that his being could be accepted. Even if it was just for tonight. His eyes had endured a rollercoaster of feelings, and they soon gave up on holding him awake. You didn’t move. He didn’t move. A tight hug that was necessary for both of you after heavy stoicism from neglect in your own unique ways. 

You caressed his head. “Eddie?”

He was out. You let out a shaky breath of relief. Carefully maneuvering his body, you gently laid his head onto your pillow, prying his strong arms from your waist where they refused to let go, bunching the fabric of your sweater. But you managed to escape his needy hold. Huffing lightly, you carried his legs onto your bed, deciding to let his shoes dirty your clean blankets. His arms had subconsciously gotten comfortable, splaying out against your mattress, where he fell into deep relaxation in comparison to the lumpy bed he’d succumb to back home. You took sight of the fading ink across his hand, your information decorating his alabaster skin with the all too familiar pink of Chrissy Cunningham’s pen. You wondered how the hell that conversation had gone down. You tenderly eased his arms from the malaise of his jacket, bringing the denim and leather infused with cheap cologne and cigarettes up to your nose. It was Eddie. Soothing the beloved jacket against the back of your desk chair, a small paper had dropped from the nearly torn pocket. Reaching out, you picked up the torn page from Dustin Henderson’s yearbook.

Though, no other student could be seen. It was ripped haphazardly to only focus on your picture. 

You.

Eddie Munson had now seen you, as you had now seen him. 

Softly placing the photo back, you rummaged through your closet to retrieve another set of duvets and blankets, where you preciously placed them onto the floor of your bedroom. Your bed had now been stolen, but you weren’t complaining—that much, at least. You’d quietly taken another pillow from your bed, placing it onto your newfound cushion of the floor. There was a reason why you shoved this particular blanket into the closet, it made your skin itch uncomfortably, but you’d withstand the terrible material of the woven covers if it meant that Eddie could get the peace he needed. 

Because if Eddie was okay, you’d be okay. 

Because similarly to Eddie, who were you if not catering to the needs of others in order to keep sanity in your life. You just wanted stability. True stability. 

Cuddling into your blankets, you heard the snores of the past out man next to you. You sighed. In the mere three days of knowing Eddie Munson, you accepted the emotional labor that came with his damaged self. But that was okay. Because Eddie Munson seemed ready to do the same for you. Accept you.

But how willing were you to tolerate the impulsivity of Eddie Munson who knew nothing of stability?

𝐓𝐚𝐠 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 | Again, there was an error in my tag list, which led me to removing it. Luckily, it’s been a couple days, so I believe most who wished to be tagged already read this chapter. My tag list will continue, I just simply had to remove it for this chapter in particular. I’m terribly sorry for any confusion.

[mbbmz]

Idk if you're taking requests again or not but if you do, can you do fem!reader x Kazutora having sex in the back of the shop or somewhere but Baji heard them soooo he decided to join them+

Keep it down!

Kazutora x reader x Baji

Hiii thx for requesting, I SUCK at writing threesomes bc how tf do you find two people fucking and be like "cool, lemme join" but I tried anyways. I’m actually ashamed of this work, help-

I hope you’ll still enjoy it though and have a nice day!

Warnings: threesome (obv), blow jobs, cum eating, unprotected sex, slightly possessive Kazutora, semi public sex

NSFW under the cut

You had to be quiet, you knew that. But you wondered if your boyfriend did. The way he would moan so deliciously at every swirl of your tongue on his tip was becoming alarming. Usually, you loved hearing him. But today wasn’t usual. You came in the pet shop after closure time, knowing he had to close tonight. You just wanted to blow some steam off, and the perspective of being alone with him was alluring.

Except you weren’t alone like you expected.

Baji Keisuke, your boyfriend’s best friend and colleague, was still here, helping to clean. So what do you do? Get your urges under control and keep them for another time?

Of course not. Neither of you wanted that. So you found yourselves in a fucking closet.

You smacked your boyfriend thigh, ignoring his small yelp and pulling away from his cock.

- "Quiet, Tora." You said authoritatively, almost glaring at him

- "I-I’m sorry, feels- Ah! So good…"

At this point, he was biting his forearm, trying to keep himself in check. And you were too focused on making him feel good that you failed to notice how loud his yelp was. You continued your work until you heard the handle going off. And of course, there was no lock. Fuck.

And now, that how you found yourself in your current situation. You never would’ve expected your boyfriend to agree to share you, even with his best friend. Yet here you were, filled to the brim by your boyfriend’s dick, sheathed in your soft walls while sucking off his best friend.

The relentless thrusts made you moan and gag around Baji’s shaft, drool running down your chin. It was messy and uncomfortable, due to the lack of space, yet with your beloved’s hands on your hips, you felt like forgetting all that.

- "Fuck… If I had known she was- Ah… that good… I would’ve interrupted you two sooner…" Mumbled the black haired man, struggling to get the words out.

- "This… Ah… Is a one time thing… Don’t even dream about- Fuck!.. Touching her again…"

Your boyfriend has always been possessive, so it was a surprise when he asked you if this was bothering you. Yet now, the only thought in your head was pleasing both of them, and trying not to fucking choke in the process. Which was hard.

As a warm hand found its place on top of your head, gripping your hair, you knew a few more licks would do the trick. But your boyfriend… has been pounding into you for just as long, and showed no signs of stopping now.

You finally felt a warm, sticky substance in your mouth, swallowing it so you could finally breathe properly.

But the relief was short, as you felt a harsh thrust in your cunt. Your arms were on the verge of letting you go, and you were speechless, both from the pleasure and the surprise of feeling Kazutora fucking you like that.

- "Damn, do you always fuck her like that?.. That’s crazy…" His best friend inquired, sitting down so he could support you. You felt a mix of embarrassment and relief, you couldn’t look at him the same now. Not after you had his dick down your throat.

After what seemed like an eternity, you felt another thrust, harder than the previous ones, before feeling your boyfriend’s load spilling into you.

You were both breathless and sweaty, almost forgetting the third presence in the room, until he spoke.

- Great, more mess to clean…

[pileofmush]

you don't know what i deserve .·:*¨ ¨*:·..·:*¨ ¨*:·..·:*¨ ¨*:·.

ft. okkotsu yuuta

it’s 1 a.m. on the fifteenth of February and there’s a corpse on your kitchen floor. still fresh: odorless and warm to the touch. you're on your own—just you and the dead body.

info : ̗̀➛ tags: gn!reader, neighbor au, strangers to lovers, yuuta & reader are a little strange, happy ending // cw: death, light angst, vulgar language, canon-typical violence...but pretty mild imo

thoughts : ̗̀➛ helllooo. back on my bullshit. let's call this a very belated birthday present to my beloved <3 // read this on ao3

wc : ̗̀➛ 5.1k

The human body contains a shit ton of blood. 

Which is not something you think about often, but now you are forced to confront this fact in real-time. People… have a lot of blood.

And it stains. No matter how many times you wash your hands. There are still flakes of blood wedged underneath your fingernails. Part of you thinks it'll never go away.

...And then there's Sailor Moon.

“I am the pretty guardian who fights for love and justice! I am Sailor Moon! And now, in the name of the moon, I’ll punish you!”  

Cue trumpets and flashy poses; the makings of a battle. Your comfort anime blares in the background of a morbid scene, the flickering TV casting a soft glow on a sight that will inevitably haunt your nightmares. 

Because it's 1 a.m. on the fifteenth of February and there’s a corpse on your kitchen floor. Still fresh: odorless and warm to the touch. You pace in your tiny living room, unsure of what to do, of how to proceed. The pretty Sailor Guardians won’t save you now. You’re on your own. Just you and the dead body.

How romantic.

The chill from outside has swept into your apartment thanks to that annoying fucking prick who left your window open. Honestly, people these days have no decency. The least he could’ve done was close your shutters after tumbling through your bedroom window like a deranged acrobat. Now you’re, like, moderately cold. 

“What a fucking mess,” you sigh.

Blood seeps into the earthy Persian rug that you got for half-price at a flea market a few months ago. It’s dark; puddling, like... like a knocked-over glass of chocolate milk, spilled all over the kitchen table. Or, maybe chocolate syrup would be more apt. It doesn’t matter, though. You can always get a new rug. You know, if you make it out of this situation of yours intact and not in a dingy prison cell for homicide.

Hmm. You might be sorta kinda screwed. 

The police, of course, are out of the question. No matter your side of the story, it wouldn’t hold up in trial. No, no, no. A foreigner murdering a Japanese citizen? Even if it was in self-defense, it wouldn’t matter. Forget prison—you’ll probably be hanged.

So, you could run… But you probably wouldn’t get far. Or, you could do what every naive murderer in the movie about karmic retribution does and try your darnedest to get away with it.

“Option two it is!” you quit pacing and announce to the room. Thankfully, the body doesn’t respond.

A weak knock at the door sounds off—a gunshot. Your heart stalls, your head snapping to the entrance of the apartment. Who the hell is at your door? The person at the door knocks a second time, a little bit more insistently, and you start to sweat. “Hello, is everything alright? I—I heard a scream.”

You step up to the peephole and squint. A mild-looking man shuffles his feet outside your door. It’s your next-door neighbor, bathed in the ugly yellow lighting of your apartment complex. He smiles like he knows that you can see him. 

This… isn’t ideal. You could choose to not answer him, but that probably wouldn’t work. What if he called the police? You take a breath. “Everything’s fine,” you call out.

The man’s smile freezes in place, somehow more eerie than a frown; his hands burrow deeper into his pockets. “Oh!” he says. “Are… Are you sure?”

You turn away from the peephole, a little unnerved. “Yeah, why?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to intrude, but I heard a lot more than a single scream.”

A slow, dreadful feeling starts to seep into your gut. “Pardon?” 

There’s a pause. You swallow.

“These walls are thin.” 

Fuck. He knows. Oh God, he knows. 

No—that’s impossible. You were the only one to scream. Yasuhiro… He didn’t get the chance to. So this is just a concerned neighbor checking in on you. Nothing more, nothing less. You can prove it, prove that you’re okay.

You open the door a smidge so that you can peek through, then step outside and shut the door behind you. Your neighbor, what’s his name again? Okkotsu, right? Okkotsu’s brows lift at the sight of you, then relax. He’s wearing a plain white tee and a pair of grey sweats that should probably be criminal in Japan. His eyes flicker up and down your frame. You suppress a shiver.

“Just a horror movie,” you broach, offering him a polite smile. “I’m an easy fright.”

Okkotsu pulls a hand out of his pocket to awkwardly rub the back of his neck. His gentle smile has dimmed. “I’m not sure I believe you,” he says in an apologetic tone.

You both notice the tremor that runs through your body. Nosy fucking neighbors and their lack of sense when it comes to minding their own business. You stare mulishly at the floor. His shoes are simple. Black; scuffed. His left foot taps once against the floor. Whatever. You don't have to answer to him. Gathering up your resolve, you start to speak. “Listen, Okkotsu-san,” you say but are cut off quickly.

“Is that blood?” 

That makes you freeze, eyes glued to the floor. A cold set of fingers dips under your chin and gently lifts it. Your gaze meets his: two pools of an endless, starless night. It flickers to a spot beside your ear knowingly and you reach for it. 

He’s right. Blood sticks to your fingers, not yet dry. Lurking in the crevice behind your ear. You missed a spot.

“Well spotted.” It’s fruitless to lie now. You know it, he knows it. Now it’s a matter of who’ll crack first. 

“Are you… Are you injured?”

Physically? No. Psychiatrically? Well, you just murdered a man, so.

“I’m unharmed.” 

Okkotsu blinks owlishly. “Is that so?” He murmurs curiously, tilting your head to the side to observe the blood staining your skin. 

You readjust your head and mimic him, blinking slowly. “Okkotsu—”

“Yuuta,” he interrupts. 

You blink again. For such a mild, polite-seeming boy, he really is quite rude. And confusing. And terrifying. And you kinda sort of want him to die. “Okkotsu-san” you repeat. “I think it’s best if you leave.”

Okkotsu Yuuta’s smile returns, and it’s dangerously innocuous. He breathes your name out like a question. Starless eyes wander to your front door, then go back to studying your own. “Can I come inside?” he asks, quietly. 

Everything stills, even your heart. You’re not quite certain you’re alive, when you ask, dubiously, “The apartment?” 

Okkotsu just smiles.

You let Okkotsu come inside.

Which is absolutely fucking insane, but you have a feeling that your neighbor’s worse off than you are, and that’s truly saying something. 

You hear him lock the door behind you before you start. Silently, you lead him past your living room, past Tsukino Usagi flying down the sidewalk on the way to school—the start of another episode, then—past your browning house plant hanging from the ceiling, into your quaint kitchen. 

It’s nothing special. A small green stove with two bunsen burners on top. A sink; limited counter space. A couple of peeling cabinets. Tied in together with a white backsplash, shifting colors with each flicker of the TV. To the side, a small table sits, with two mismatched chairs tucked into it. 

Oh, and there’s the dead body, too. Practically dribbling blood, painting your discounted rug muddy red and the surrounding blue tile purple. 

Okkotsu lets out a soft sigh. “What a mess.”

You consider him from the corner of your eye. “That’s what I said,” you frown.

He shrugs, still looking at poor, dead, Yasuhiro. “Well, it’s true, isn’t it?” 

Yeaaaah. It’s true.  

A giggle escapes you, the reality of the situation finally hitting you. “Fuck,” you whisper in between the giggles. “I’m fucked.” It’s true. Utterly and thoroughly—no condom used. 

“Not yet,” you barely hear him say over the fracturing of your composure. This is impossible. You killed a man tonight, then showed a stranger the corpse. You’re an idiot. You’re a freak. You can’t hide a dead body. You really might as well bend over and get it over with. Fuck.

Hands gripping your knees, you struggle to catch your breath. When did you lose it? Ah, who cares? Dead. You’re dead. The noose is looped around your hollowed throat, tightening by the second. Perhaps there’ll be two corpses on your kitchen floor by the time the sun is up. Perhaps you should’ve just let him kill—

“Breathe with me,” Okkotsu mutters, right in front of you, long hands gingerly clutching your shoulders. Which is strange. You had no idea he got so close. His thumbs swipe up and down, around and around, and you are flummoxed. But Okkotsu is patient, his chest compressing and expanding with each measured breath, and you are compelled to follow him. Slowly, you come down from your panicked high. You let out a shaky breath, eyes sliding back to the imposing guest in your apartment. The other imposing guest in your apartment.

The body in front of you lays eerily still, impervious to your mini breakdown. It’s not purple, or rotting, or excreting out the last remaining fluids left in its underwhelming husk. It’s just—laying there. Laying, not lying, because it is no longer a breathing thing that rests; now an object to be placed. Dehumanized, in every way. Then again, what is dehumanization if not just another word for murder? What is murder, if not just the taking away of a person’s autonomy? Dead bodies can’t rest. It will never lie again. 

The dead body lays.

And you wonder for how much longer you’ll keep your own autonomy.

When do the dead start to attract flies? Realistically, you know it can range from a day to a few days for a decomposing body to become…obscene, depending on the environmental conditions. It hasn’t even been a few hours. You doubt flies will start buzzing around any time soon. If you move to crouch down and touch it, it’ll probably still be warm.  

The swipe of a thumb over your shoulder brings your awareness back to your neighbor. 

“Why are you helping me?” You ask, wiping the tears that have beaded up in the corners of your eyes. Your breathing is steadier now, but you’re still trembling. That damn window is still open. 

The hands on your shoulders release, and you look up to gauge his thoughts. He’s frowning. His eyes cloud, then sharpen: lightning against a black sky. “You need to get rid of the body, don’t you?” It’s a rhetorical question, but you nod anyway. 

“Then we’ll figure it out. Don’t worry. I bet we’ll be done before dawn.”

He makes to walk away but you stay rooted to your spot, trying to figure out why this strange, strange neighbor of yours who makes friends with stray cats and tends to the apartment garden is willing to become an accomplice of murder for you. 

“Okkotsu, are… Are you in love with me or something?” 

Your neighbor stops, then snorts, and it sends a shiver down your spine. He turns back to face you. A soft pout lies on his lips as he skillfully evades your question with a request of his own. “Hey, if you’re gonna ask me something like that, why don’t you use my name next time?”  

You don’t ask again.

You have far bigger problems than interrogating Okkotsu Yuuta, so you push it aside and stalk toward the body. Okkotsu joins you, and the two of you peer at the deceased man before you. It’s… Still. The blood has stopped its puddling; a thin line stretches the column of its throat. His throat was slit neatly, gracefully, like an act of love. It wasn’t one, but, maybe you gave Yasuhiro what he wanted, in a terrible, twisted way. How magnanimous of you. 

Yasuhiro wasn’t an attractive man. Limp brown hair framing a slightly uglier-than-average face. At least he had the decency to close his eyes before his last, dying breath. They were blood-shot and wiry, the last time you saw them open. Bouncing haphazardly in its sockets like they couldn’t discern which corner of the room you stood in.  

Okkotsu perks up at the sound of your harrumph. “What?” he questions you, and you slide your eyes over to him. Okkotsu Yuuta is distinctly pale, a trait that you’ve always noticed and have always sort of admired on him. It suits the subdued, yet haunted look he’s got going on. Black lashes feather the whites of his eyes, as well as the endless void of his irises. Yeah, he’s almost doll-like, in that gentle, haunting way of his. 

“You’re creepier than the corpse,” you tell him instead and turn away, just barely hiding your smile. The laugh that rings out from him sounds like nails grating on a chalkboard. 

Just kidding. It actually sounds kind of sweet.

Okkotsu follows you to the bathroom, where you’ve grabbed pretty much all of your cleaning supplies. You stuff them in a bucket and he hauls it out of your arms, the two of you shuffling back to the kitchen. 

“So how should we go about this?” You muse, staring at the body. The movies you’ve seen are the only reference you have for the disposal of dead bodies, but those usually end with the killer getting caught, so you’re not so sure about mimicking their methods. 

“I’m not sure,” Okkotsu says, tilting his head in thought. “Severing his limbs without the proper tools would be difficult. I guess we could carry him and bury him somewhere unassuming—unless you have a car that we could use?” A quick glance at you confirms that you don’t. He rubs his chin, nodding to himself. “Right. A garden cart will do, then. We should check to see if he has any identifiers on him, first, though. Oh, and we can’t forget about the teeth. Do you have any pliers?” He turns to you casually, eyes widening at the sight of your awe. 

Thin black brows furrow in confusion. “What?” He asks.

You blink. “Have you…ever…?” Your voice dies in your throat.

Thankfully, he gets it. “Oh. No! No, I’ve never murdered a person,” he denies, dipping his head and tugging the neckline of his plain white tee. A curious look crosses his face. “But I could,” he tacks on cautiously.

You hug your arms and give a half-assed shrug. You can almost feel the weight of a kitchen knife in your dominant hand; the quick, fluid motion of ending a life. 

“Anyone could,” you acquiesce, dismissing the conversation. Okkotsu hums mournfully in return. 

According to his ID, Yasuhiro Souta is a twenty-seven-year-old male who lives in Chiba. What he was doing tumbling through your window in the middle of the night is anyone’s guess. Well, he did tell you, sort of shakily before he made to lunge at you, that you were supposedly his Valentine for the night. How sweet!

Snip. You met him for the first time a little over two months ago. He dropped his wallet on the train, so you picked it up and handed it to him in a silly attempt to be a decent person. It resulted in the man refusing to let go of your hand for a solid five minutes. Yes, yes, what an adorable meet-cute! Snip. When you managed to pry your clammy hands out of his vice-like grip, it was your stop, and, oh, how fortuitous, it was Yasuhiro’s as well! He followed you off the train into a random coffee shop, and it was only when you got the help of the employees that he backed off, the doorbell chiming as the glass door swung behind his back. Snip.

You thought that was the end of it, and proceeded about your day, running errands for a few hours until you retreated home. It shook you up for a little, yes, but it was nothing too crazy. You doubted you’d ever see him again. 

Snip.

You slice Yasuhiro’s ID with your scissors until it’s a pile of ashes. 

Okkotsu’s on his knees, holding a pair of pliers to the light. Wedged between the metal lies a crooked tooth. He hums to himself, plopping the tooth in a ziplock bag. He wears a pair of green garden gloves he grabbed from his apartment; you’re wearing a matching set. The rubber’s a little too big for you, but you’re making it work.

It's as Okkotsu calmly adjusts the head in his lap, preparing to yank another tooth that you stare at your strange partner, wondering how in the hell you got yourself into this situation. It’s been happening every so often: your acceptance of reality swinging in the opposite direction like the pendulum on a grandfather clock. 

You shouldn’t have killed him.

You don’t care for Yasuhiro Souta’s life. You don’t care for the man who intended to assault you. But there’s not a chance in hell that this won’t get traced back to you. 

You're fucked.

Why did it have to be like this? Why do bad things happen to good people?

That’s the way the cookie crumbles, darling.

And you crumble—crumbled—are crumbling when you turn to your neighbor. “Okkotsu-san,” you say, picking at your dirty nails.

“Yuuta,” the man insists. What a freak. He's a freak, and he's good, and you don't deserve it.

You take a deep breath, mulling over your doomed fate. It doesn’t have to be his, too. “You should get out of here. While you still can.”

There's an awkward pause. The strange man pulls out another tooth and plops it in the baggy. “There,” he says warmly, then draws to his full height. “Do you have a coffee maker?” You ball your fists around the plastic handle in your hands. Calm, calm, stay calm. “Did you hear what I just said?” You ask. 

“Oh, I did,” Okkotsu hums. “I chose to ignore it.”

Your hands begin to shake as you repeat his words. “Ch—Chose to—” 

Okkotsu says your name pityingly. “I thought we already had this conversation," he questions with pinched brows. “Why are we—”

“We?!” You interrupt, incensed. We. It's as if the curtains have been drawn open, allowing the rays of the illuminating, scorching sun to trickle through. It blinds you, and you have the urge to pull your eyes out and shove them down his throat. “You thought we? Who are you? You don’t know a damn thing about me!”

“I think I know a few things about you,” Okkotsu smiles sweetly, gesturing to the dead body in your apartment.

“Do you, now?” You laugh and toss your hands up to the ceiling. “Great! I have an idea!" You glare, the metal edge of your scissors catching the light. "If you know what I’m capable of, then you should get the hell out." 

A pause. You pant, more worked up than have been all night and it's fucking ridiculous and you hate it. You want to choke—you want him to choke. On your blood-soaked fingers, preferably. He'd probably lick them clean. 

Unaware of your depraved thoughts, Okkotsu’s lips pull into a frown. He sighs, running a ghostly hand through his hair.

“I’m not scared of you,” he tells you, quietly.

You hold your breath. “Maybe you should be.”

Your insufferable neighbor takes a step forward, that stupid frown still on his stupid doll face. “What’s your plan?” He prompts. “Do you intend to confess? To go to prison?” You shake your head slowly and he softens. “You don’t deserve that,” he says, like he really means it.

Why did you let this man into your house? Why is he offering you hope? It’s too much. The scissors slide out of all your fingers save for one; your limbs sag with a weariness that’s settled deep in your bones. 

“You don’t know what I deserve.”

Okkotsu stops and considers you. Your chest heaves, your heart pounds, and you want out. You want out, and he can get out, and you don’t know… You don’t know why…

“If you want me to judge you, I won’t,” says Okkotsu. 

You shake your head at his dismissal, your eyes squeezed shut. “I can’t judge you,” he continues, and there goes his cold, calloused hand again, gingerly tilting your chin upwards. The pair of scissors in your clutches drops fruitlessly to the floor. When you look up, there’s something like pleading in his endless, starless eyes. “Trust me,” he begs. 

You shouldn’t. You know it with every fiber of your being that you should not trust Okkotsu Yuuta. The man who blinks like an owl and stares at you like you’re a mouse he can’t wait to swallow whole. Who blushes pink whenever you hold the elevator door for him. Who has cold fingers that cradle you so gingerly—who touches you like he knows you—who doesn’t cringe at the sight of dead bodies but gives a damn about a bit of blood staining the outside of your ear. 

You shouldn’t. Trust him. But you—you feel as if he’s reached inside your chest and plucked out your pulsing, blackened heart. 

“Do you love me?” You ask Okkotsu Yuuta again, heart throbbing in his hand.

His eyes don’t stray from yours. “Ask me again with my name,” he says quietly. 

…You don’t know if you want to. 

Releasing a breath, you push past him, snatch the ziplock bag from the floor, and stride towards the stove. “I’ll make coffee,” you say, already fiddling with the grinder.

Okkotsu lets you depart with a sigh.

“So what do you like to do when you’re not helping random people bury bodies?” You ask Okkotsu a couple of hours later. You stumble over a root in the dark, and Okkotsu’s quick to grab you by the waist and steady you. You continue, a bag full of your keys, water, pepper spray, freshly-bleached gloves, a burner phone that Okkotsu already had, for some reason, and two sets of clean clothes swinging against your back. You fidget with the shovel in your hands mindlessly, trying to get it to spin. A garden cart with a tarp draped over it creaks along the grass floor. The two of you have walked for who knows how long, but, according to him, you’re getting close. 

The man beside you hums, surprisingly chipper for the nefarious activities afoot. “When I’m not busy, I like to garden and crochet. I also like making food for my friends from time to time,” he says in a simple, humble manner. The last part doesn’t surprise you. He’s brought you helpings of food on the most random occasions, showing up at your doorstep with self-proclaimed “leftovers” and shoving full plates into your arms with a velvety smile. That does beg the question, though…

“Have you considered us friends this whole time?” You squint at him in the dark, only the moonlight carving out the contours of his subtle, delicate features. You’re kind of surprised. You two made decent neighbors but only ever talked in short bursts outside your rooms. Your conversations rarely ever broke past polite mumblings about the weather.  

Okkotsu pouts. “You mean, we’re not friends yet?” He asks, before breaking into a twinkling laugh. 

“Shut up,” you bite, but you laugh too, lightly shoving at his arm. Okkotsu, bless him, pretends to stumble. It takes you a moment to suppress the heat burning the tips of your ears, but you do get it under control, eventually. “I meant… Before?”

His expression smoothens out before he gives a soft shake of his head. “No, not quite. But, I wanted us to be."  

It’s quiet for a moment, nothing but the rustling under your feet and the ever-present, cacophonous sounds of nature. You spot a nest of sleeping birds tucked in between the branches of a tree and smile.

“Well,” you try to keep your cool, eyes sweeping over the forest's shadows, “Better late than never.”

It strikes you halfway to the burial grounds that Yasuhiro didn’t bring his phone with him to your apartment in his depraved, intoxicated state. He crawled up a tree, through your cracked-open bedroom window—conveniently avoiding cameras. So, once you’re done with this, you very may well be free.

It’s a terrifying notion, freedom.

“What about you?” Okkotsu asks you, something like ten minutes later. “What do you like to do for fun? Besides watch Sailor Moon, I mean.”

You bite your lip to keep from grinning. “Well,” you wonder aloud. “This is pretty fun, wouldn’t you say?” 

Okkotsu lets out a little breath before he softly admits his agreement. 

It rained earlier today, you forgot. The ground crumbles like clay when you swing the shovel into the ground. You and Okkotsu take turns making a grave, taking water breaks in between. There is hope alive in you, you realize, as the two of you work in tandem.

Yasuhiro Souta is lowered into the ground with all the dignity a dead man could possess. He lays atop a tarp and your old Persian rug. A stream rushes somewhere nearby, bubbling like blood, and you pray that the body will make good fertilizer. When your hand shakes, Yuuta grabs it. 

You bury your clothes on the way back, a mile out. The sun peaks over the horizon.

When you return to your room with Yuuta in tow, your emotions overwhelm you: you are terrified and gleeful and sorry for all you’ve done. 

It is mournfully quiet as you mop the purple tiles blue, bleach burning your nostrils and freshly scrubbed gloves. Yuuta’s left to clean the garden cart in the gardens. He returns shortly, though, offers you a small smile, and helps you scrub every inch of your apartment. 

You scrub, and scrub. 

And scrub.

“You’re beautiful,” Yuuta says to you when you’re in the middle of wiping your brow. You’re sitting cross-legged on your rugless kitchen floor, where a dead body once lay. Sweat clings to your skin in uncomfortable places and you reek of bleach. “Shut the fuck up and scrub, Yuuta,” you command. 

Yuuta’s serene smile is unparalleled to anything you’ve ever seen before.

You could probably fall in love with him, you contemplate as you watch your neighbor make fluffy pancakes in the comforts of his own kitchen. If you haven’t fallen in love with him, already, that is. You doubt you’ll ever have a connection with someone as profound as the bond you share with the soft-spoken man who helped you bury a dead body. 

Love, you marvel, in the span of a few hours.

It’s disquieting. 

After multiple showers, and after Yuuta’s stuffed you with more pancakes than you can chew, the pair of you are lounging on his tatami mat, a much-needed change in scenery. You have like, three hours before you need to go to work, which, Yuuta agrees, is crucial to maintaining a veneer of normalcy. Which means this impromptu nightmare date will have to come to an end—as all good things do.

“I should probably get to bed,” you say after a lull in conversation.

Yuuta nods, reasonably. “That makes sense, yeah.” 

“Got work in the morning and all that,” you continue in a nonchalant tone.

“Make sure your window’s locked.”

Fine. “Walk me out, will you?” You request. Okkotsu Yuuta, ever the gentleman, agrees, even though the front door is only a handful of feet away. He pushes himself off his knees and stands at full height, though his starless eyes are, as always, trained on you. You would probably find Yuuta’s full attention a little unsettling if you had not just slit a man’s throat that night. 

You avoid his gaze all the same—stopping at his doorstep with your hands twisting at your sides. Yuuta stops beside you and waits patiently for you to string your words together. 

You clear your throat. “Hey, um—”

“Hi,” Yuuta interrupts, and you smile, filled with the courage to go on. 

“So, the thing is… Well, I probably wouldn’t have made it anywhere far without you. I acted quite amateur back there, you’d think this was my first dead body I was trying to hide, or something, ha. Um, so yeah, thank you—from the most sincere and vulnerable depths of my heart. I guess I’ll see you around? Okay, bye.”

A hand wraps around your wrist before you can run home with your tail tucked between your legs. Yuuta murmurs your name in a soft, dulcet tone, and you’re not certain you’re prepared to hear whatever he has to say. You turn to face him anyway, because, well, you owe him that much.

“Yes?” 

“Don’t you have something to ask me?” He chides.

The pit in your stomach swoops. “Not that I recall,” you lie with a straight face.

“Try again,” Yuuta smiles sweetly, like a haunted little doll.

“It’s been a long day, you know—” 

“Cold, I’m afraid.”

“My brain isn’t functioning at its peak—” 

“Hmm, getting colder!”

“I don’t think I can.”

A pause. You avert your gaze and allow yourself to get analyzed by Yuuta’s doleful, starless eyes. “Hey,” he calls your name, asks you to look at him. 

You look at him.  

“Good," he hums.

You roll your eyes, loop an arm around his long neck, and drag him to you. 

Okkotsu Yuuta tastes like the earth. From dust to dust, you are at the end and beginning when you capture his lips between yours. He responds quickly, hands digging firmly into your waist as he knocks you into his door frame, and you quickly learn what it means to be savored. You intended the kiss to be a quick, rash, thing, but he slows you down, melds into you languidly like you have all the time in the world. When he sucks on your bottom lip, you both moan, breaking apart for air. Yuuta slips his hands underneath your shirt, and for once, his cold hands burn, lighting the fire for something you’re not certain you’ll be able to finish. 

“Go ahead and ask me already, love,” Yuuta murmurs into your ear. And, well, fuck. You melt. “Yuuta,” you whisper as he nips at your neck. “You love me, yes?” 

At that, he bites down at the hollow of your neck. You gasp, then sigh when he instantly cools the wound with his tongue. “Obviously,” he replies, quite simply, thumb swiping delicately at your stomach. 

“Great,” you gasp, and Yuuta looks at you and beams. 

And, there goes your heart again, pulsing in his cold, calloused hands. Cradle it gently, Yuuta, won’t you?

fin. if u made it this far, ily

[ariseur]

Hi!for your event can i ask messy half asleep kisses with sephiroth pls:)) thank you so much

“alright my love, i must take my leave for now,” sephiroth’s voice barely echoes past the barrier of your sleep, velvet tone seeping into your mind as it only delves further into the corners of your brain.

“hmmph—?” you hum sleepily, lifting your head up ever so slightly from the silky pillows only to peek a bleary eye at your beloved, seeing his face gaze down at you with only adoration. his slender eyes track yours as your lashes flutter with the leftover residue of sleep still remaining in your eyes. the vision of him comes out blurry yet you can still clearly make out the bulky uniform of his armor.

“i must leave now — but i promise to you that i shall return tomorrow, alright?” he asks, and although it’s posed as a question you know he needs to go anyways. to attend to his duties as a SOLDIER, a role you had always resented only due to the minimal time you had together.

he basks in the glow of the room, how the dawn had barely shed its light and it had already blessed your figure. gloved hands go to bring the covers a bit over your shoulder once he hears your breath shudder at the sudden cool temperature of awareness.

“nooo..” you keen, dragging out the vowel for as long as your raspy voice could. he chuckles, shaking his head before he takes a small seat on the mattress. you sigh comfortably at the familiar dip in the bed before your hands reach out to him out of instinct, knowing that he’ll always interlock your fingers together ( leather clad or not ).

“i know, i know — but you’ll see me again soon, will you not?” you huff at his rationality. little did you know that it was getting harder and harder to get out of bed with you around; feelings of guilt swelling his heart when he sees you cling onto him as he tries to get out of bed or seeing the note you prepare on the nightstand beforehand knowing he wakes up before you do, so he’ll read it and at least know that you love him.

he hears you sigh and he lets out another soft laugh at the sound. “always so theatrical,” he mutters.

“one last kiss?” your head tips up to look at him, and he doesn’t think he’s seen anything more gorgeous. your bed head splayed out in every which way with indents on your face from the markings of the pillow was a sign of heaven for sephiroth, and if he didn’t listen to this by far religious call then he knew there must be something wrong with him.

you display your best puppy dog eyes with a pout, pointing at your lips as he takes in the pink color of them — natural and swollen with perhaps just a little bit of drool at the corner, but he has never minded any bad habits of yours. he loved you too much for that.

he scoffs in amusement, clearly entertained by the sight, before he leans down to press a light kiss to your lips. you barely lean upwards to meet him halfway, allowing for more messier kisses afterward. you hum, seeing as he lets you kiss him more. he tastes like mint and bergamot, something so familiar, oftentimes you forget it’s not your default palette.

“i really must go,” he mutters before your eyes flutter closed and you kiss the bottom corner of his lip, making sephiroth quirk a brow as if it was intentional or if you’re just too sleepy to care.

you exhale through your nose. you don’t bother to open your eyes because you know he’ll be there, and you know that you’ll try to keep him longer and longer once you see those eyes, filled to the brim with mako and crystallines so gorgeous you could lose time.

you place a hand against his chest before gracefully falling back down against the pillows. sephiroth scoffs. you’ve definitely been hanging around genesis too much lately, he thinks.

“you’ll come back to me, right?”

“always,” he says before grabbing your hand off of his chest and grasping it within his own, pressing chaste kisses along the prominent vein on the back of your hand.

your eyes peel open as your lips purse, mocking consideration with letting him go — even though you know he has to anyway. so you huff and tilt your head to the side, trying to fall back asleep. “okay,” you mumble.

sephiroth softly smiles, before pressing a small kiss to your forehead. he got up from the bed, hoping the slight creak in the frame doesn’t disturb you too much. all you see is silver hair flowing behind him as he takes a swift exit.

he was a carcass with the walls of a weapon, only made to serve and protect — walls only you were made to melt as you wriggled your way into the soft interior that littered this man. something so delicate, you’d felt the need to cherish it forever.

you smiled, your lashes already flitting closed as you felt the gentle thump of your heartbeat against your ribs; and you thought of sephiroth.

𐙚 dottie’s 500 event - 🍡 ( action ) prompts !!

𐙚 taglist ; @xiansiii @ch3rryfiles @snoopicle

𐙚 non-500 requests are closed — august twenty-fifth, 2024

[osamufication]

enigma

pairing: dazai x reader

warnings: none, just soft fluff♡

wc: 520

a/n: i wrote this when i was sad lol

Dazai is, to most, an enigma. 

His true feelings and motivations stay locked in a safe, so much so that even he forgets who he really is at times. Those who tried breaking open the safe were laughably unsuccessful. There have been those he tricked into thinking they really knew him, only to be left alone in the dark. 

But you didn’t try, you didn’t judge, you trusted him. An unwavering trust Dazai had only ever felt from one other person in his life. It took time, and patience, but eventually Dazai simply handed you the key. He allowed you to finally look inside that infinitely brilliant and broken mind of his. 

You place your mug of tea on the ring-stained coffee table before taking a seat amongst the cushions on the couch. You pull out your phone, deciding to indulge in a while of mindless scrolling. You rhythmically swipe and and sip your tea, late afternoon sunbeams lighting up the room. 

A while passes, the sun almost entirely disappearing over the horizon, when the front door clicks open. You smile softly as Dazai wanders in, kicking off his shoes and shrugging off his coat. He greets you with a tired grin, “I’ve missed you today darling.”

You scoot up to give him room to sit beside you, “Looks like you had a rough day, wanna talk about it?” 

He shakes his head, “Not particularly, no.” He glances down at you, a playful glint in his eyes, “But I know what I do want.”

Before you can ask, Dazai unceremoniously flops down on top of you, making you screech. You want to scold him for scaring you, but his gleeful laughter stops you. He buries his face against your neck, leaving a soft kiss against your skin. You weave your fingers through his hair and tug softly, fingertips softly rubbing into his scalp. He lets out a long, slow breath, his body fully relaxing against yours. 

“You’re far too good for me.” He mumbles.

“Don’t talk like that, Osamu.” you flick his ear softly.

He gasps loudly, “I never thought my dear beloved would resort to physical abuse! I take it back, you're terrible.”

You chuckle and roll your eyes, “Says the one who pinned me down and tickled me for five minutes until I nearly peed myself.”

Dazai starts laughing again, almost obnoxiously loud. In fact, you’re almost sure if anyone else heard him they would think he is obnoxious. But to you, his laughter, his smile, his jokes, and even his dramatics are worth the world. You’ll never understand why he chose you, why he handed you the precious key, but you’ll always be grateful that he did.

“Hey Osamu?”

To most, Osamu Dazai is an enigma. The man is notoriously hard to read, one can never know what he’s thinking.

“What is it darling?”

Even so, one look into his tired brown eyes and you know; you can hear his thoughts loud and clear.

“I love you.”

But you can’t deny, it feels indescribably wonderful when you get to hear him say it.

“I love you more.”

[choices-and-voices]

Quotes from Kieran that straight-up sound like Shakespearean love poetry: a comprehensive list

‘None may touch me. None but you.’

‘What is left of my heart belongs to you. When you leave, it will shatter anew.’

‘Tell me I did not hurt you.’

‘How am I expected to pass another century without the taste of you on my tongue?’

‘After so many decades spent hating each sunset, knowing nightfall would take my freedom from me... I began to yearn for the moonrise instead of cursing it. Because dreams of you might be waiting on the other side.’

‘I would rather be cursed to roam the wilds as a beast every night than live endless lifetimes without you.’

‘Wherever it is that souls may go, you will find mine waiting for you at the end of all things.’

‘You shall pay dearly for every spilled drop of her blood.’

‘I was not lying. Were you?’

‘Just this once, beloved... I wish you could not lie.’

‘You hold all of my heart, beloved. Now, and always.’

‘I would make and unmake the world for you, beloved.’

‘Believe me when I say I want every part of you. Every version. Now and future.’

‘Look, beloved. Your skin is a canvas covered in stars.’

‘If I were you, I would begin by thanking her and throw yourself on her continued mercy. Because you’ll get none from me.’

‘What would be the point of immortality without you?’

‘No magic. Like an everyday mortal.’

‘Insult her again, and I will carve my refusal into your flesh, so that you may never forget it.’

‘I don’t care what your title is. Every breath, every beat of my heart belongs to you. You are mine for life.’

‘Thank you… for sharing the sky with me.’

‘If you lay a single hand on her, there will be nothing left of this place but a hole in the ground.’

‘Let us live in this moment long enough that I may love you the way you deserve.’

‘I will let nothing separate us… I shall always find you. Your heart calls to mine in a language beyond words.’

‘For you I would set worlds aflame, tear the sun and moon from the sky. I did not live before I met you.’

‘Perhaps you are the most courageous of all, for choosing to live among us. A mortal among gods.’

‘Welcome home, beloved.’

‘You helped me find peace in my grief. I will always help you find peace in yours.’

‘You sacrifice too much for me, beloved.’

‘I cannot give you my heart. It already belongs to someone else.’

‘There will always be tasks vying for our attention. But you are more important to me than any of them.’

‘I like being in here. I always want you to have the freedom of a place to call your own… and it means everything, that you welcome me in.’

(And finally, BONUS: Quotes from *other* characters in The Cursed Heart that straight-up sound like Shakespearean poetry, because the writers of this book just do. not. rest.)

‘I know you. I’m not afraid.’

‘I love him so terribly, it hurts.’

‘You are so much stronger than you know. And a love as strong as this is worth fighting for.’

‘Even if you kill me, I’m glad I met you. Because you deserve to be happy. You deserve to be loved. And I will love you until my very last breath.’

‘The world is rarely gentle to those who are so kind. It is you who must be the strongest of all.’

‘What do you want with that cursed thing?’ / ‘To cut the Sun and the Moon from the sky.’

‘Anything here that wishes to eat me had best prepare to choke.’

‘I know you. And I love you. Both your darkness and your light.’

‘You are everything I want. Just you. Just like this.’

‘If love could forestall death, we would all be immortal.’

‘All stories end. Even ours. That’s what makes them beautiful.’

‘I don’t care where I sleep, so long as it’s beside you.’

[ponderingmoonlight]

Toji Fushiguro coming back to life to save (y/n) in Shibuya

Shibuya Arc scenarios that live in my head rent-free pt.ll

Pt. l with Gojo and Geto are here

Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x reader

Word Count: 2,5k

Notes: Literally no one asked for this, I had to do this for myself after the latest episode okay. Loots of grief, hurt and language. Enjoy

„Hey, it’s been a while“, you mumble to yourself, mindlessly dropping a bouquet of flowers onto the stone in front of you.

“You’re not coming back, are you?”

It’s been more than 10 years to be exact. Ten years of working as an assassin, ten years of roaming around without an aim.

Ten years since losing him.

Back then, you never admitted to anyone how you felt about him, how his sight alone made your body do crazy things and lightened up your cloudy mood. He was never a man that was easy to love, let alone very emotional. When it comes to women, Toji probably was the worst man walking on this earth.

But oh how much you loved him. How much you adored the little smile he wore on his face when he teased you, how much you longed for his arms that wrapped themselves around you when nobody was watching, how much you miss his hands roaming all over your body while he fucked you brainless each and every night, screaming out his name like a prayer.

Losing him was the most unbearable pain you’ve ever felt, an event that made you forget your belief in love forever. He was never yours, but losing him shattered your fucking heart. Since he’s gone, you never let another man touch you again, living from alcohol, cigarettes and assignments.

And this.

You visited Toji’s grave whenever you felt enough courage to do so without breaking down. Day after day, week after week, year after year. Always with the same empty feeling that occupies your mind, the what ifs that plague your tired heart whenever you think of him.

Beep beep beep.

Who the hell is calling you right now?

“I’m busy doing nothing”, you bark into your phone.

“(y/n), just wanted to let you know that something’s going on in Shibuya. Rumor has it that that Gojo boy was sealed.”

“Impossible”, you breathe out, almost dropping your phone.

Gojo Satoru, the strongest jujutsu sorcerer, the fucker that killed Toji all these years ago, is gone? Your heart bangs against your chest, mind unable to comprehend the words. This is your chance. The chance to seek revenge, to kill everyone he cares for in one place without resistance.

Everyone expect him.

“I don’t know how this will go. My kid, Megumi. If something happens, keep an eye on him for me, will ya?”

You promised. Despite the fact that you pushed Toji’s past away as far as you could, you have to keep an eye on his son when Gojo isn’t around anymore.

“I thought so too, but seems like that’s a fact.”

“Do we know anything else? Some dirty details?”

“Not really, but someone pretty strong has to be there if that person was able to seal that fucker, don’t you think?”

“Yeah”, you mumble.

“I will take a look at this myself.”

Without waiting for a reply, you hang up and start walking.

This is your chance. After all this years of suffering, regretting, anger and agony, you’ll finally get your revenge. You will show them what the strongest jujutsu sorcerer did to you by taking your love away, by destroying your life so violently that there’s no more happiness left. You will give him a taste of his own medicine.

If Gojo Satoru ever sees the light of day again, all of his beloved ones will be dead. You will make sure of that.

-at Shibuya-

“Jujutsu sorcerers and their fucking curtains”, you mutter to yourself while effortlessly walking through the barrier.

How pathetic to think that curses and other jujutsu sorcerers are their only enemies. After all, Toji was almost able to defeat the strongest of them with nothing but his own rough hands.

Almost. How much you hated that word. He was almost able to defeat Gojo, he was almost able to survive that battle, he almost made it home to you.

But he never did. And that’s why you’re here, standing on top of a tall building while scanning the area around you. A few seconds later, loud bangs can be heard from a stress a few miles away. You spring into action immediately, gliding over the buildings with your harness so effortlessly that even a trained eye wouldn’t detect you. In their world, you are invisible, nothing more than a shadow without jujutsu.

And that’s their weakness.

You stop on a house corner, immediately caught by the sight of none other than Megumi Fushiguro in front of you along with another boy and an old fart. Your heart clenches painfully at the way his cold eyes stare at the old man, his facial features taking you back in time. Oh, he looks so much like his father.

So much that you want to go back home and swallow a bottle of vodka to get his face off your mind. But no, you’re on a mission, you have to make sure that kid is alright and kill all of his friends. You’ve got a job to do, get a hold of yourself.

With skilled eyes, you judge how he moves, how he acts, how he fights. Well, he might not be the best fighter you have seen yet, but he sure has some potential. Together with his little friend, he should be able to defeat that old fart. If not, you’ll come back later.

While you swore on keeping an eye open for him, you’re reluctant to meet Megumi and somehow don’t want him to find out that you’re after his friends and sensei. So you tear your gaze away from him, aiming for the skyscraper in front of you where another fight takes place. Whoever this is will be the first victim of your killing streak.

You will make every single one of these bastards pay for what Gojo did. You will make them feel the way you felt after his decease.

Over.

And over.

Again.

It isn’t hard for you to get up Shibuya tower in the matter of seconds, the harsh winds waving through your hair. Your heart pounds, eyes darting around the area.

Three people, two men are fighting while an old lady sits on the ground.

“And who of you belongs to that Gojo fucker?”, you mumble, gripping both of your katana’s tightly.

This is the moment. After Gojo is sealed, this is your opportunity to finally seek revenge, to kill every single one of them. When this fucker returns, he’ll be alone.

Just like you are since he killed Toji.

“What the hell are you doing here? Get lost”, the old woman hisses.

You stare at the broad back of the man who hits the other without mercy. Damn, that speed, that precision. It’s like back then. His fine technique almost makes him look like…

Toji.

Automatically, your feet carry you forward. You swing yourself in the air, feet ready to kick the broad man into his chest.

“Don’t you think this is a little unfair?”, you shout.

His eyes dart towards you.

He grabs your ankle.

All you can do is stare at him, mind going completely blank.

His face. This gorgeous face you adored so much. The little scar that emphasized the corner of his delicious mouth so well. His collarbone that creeps through the sweater he’s wearing. No, there’s no doubt. The man standing in front of you is Toji.

“Get out of the way, woman.”

Toji’s frame slams your body against the ground merciless. You see stars, lungs refusing their service as all you can do is stare in horror at the shell of the man you used to love, glimmer of hope nipped in the bud.

This isn’t his voice. This isn’t his smile.

This just isn’t Toji.

You hate the way your eyes start to water as he grabs your throat and yanks you upwards.

“You are not Toji. How dare you to use his body like that”, you cough out.

Instead of replying, he just smiles at you so heartlessly that you feel like throwing up. No, this simply can’t be Toji. This is the empty shell of the man you’ve lost. Feelings flood your heart uncontrollably. Anger, grief and most of all disappointment haunting and bringing you to your knees. God, how much you wished it was true. For the split of a second, you really thought this was him. Your Toji, the man you haven’t forgot after all these years, the only one you ever sacrificed your heart to.

But he’s gone. And he won’t come back.

“There needs to be a corpse for shapeshifting. Dumb girl, of course this isn’t Toji Zen’in. But you will die through his hands.”

Your body refuses to move. All you can do is watch as he throws the body of the other man down, off the tower, into certain death.

Fuck. Is this really how it ends?

“Y’know, you’re actually not that bad.”

“I hope so, jackass. Otherwise I’ll throw you out.”

“C’mon princess, don’t be like that. Y’know I’m obsessed with you.”

“Oh yeah? Might need to hear that again…”

“I’d rather show you.”

Like in slow-motion, his frame casually walks back and comes to a stand next to the old woman. Every limb of your body screams out in pain, lungs feeling like they’ll rip apart any minute. So this is the force of Toji Fushiguro.

It could be funny, actually. You always thought Toji is the strongest man on this earth, admired him for his sheer strength despite not being a jujutsu sorcerer. But when he was with you, his deadly touch became gentle, caressing you with what felt like…love.

Did he really love you? Who knows. But you did. Oh, how much you loved that man – the man whose back is now faced towards you, muscles tight by the thought of killing you with his bare hands.

Is there anything more ironic than getting killed by Toji Fushiguro?

“I would rather die through his hands than living like this until I’m as old and ugly as you.”

“Grandson.”

“I know, granny.”

He turns around. The shell of the man you thought about every night before drifting off to sleep, the man that is the only one you ever dedicated your heart to. That oh so rough face that felt so gentle against your fingertips. How much you’d give to talk to him one last time, to let him know how you really feel.

With a swift motion, he grabs your throat again, feet hanging in the air as you feel like life is slowly drifting away from you. Before your blurry vision threatens to eat you alive, he slams your already weak body into the floor, blood spurting in every direction.

Nothing but darkness and this foreign far away voice that speaks out of his body.

“That should be enough.”

Your fingers twitch. Is this the end? His footsteps echo through your brain.

“Granny, wh-wh-wh-wh-what do whe do now?”

“It won’t hurt to keep Satoru Gojo out of play. So go down below and kill sorcerers.”

…

“Grandson?”

“Who the hell do you think you’re ordering around, old hag? And how dare you to hurt ma princess?”

That voice…You must be hallucinating. It sounds just like him, just like you remember it. That deep unpromising vibration that made you go crazy more than once.

A shriek, a dull fall, silence. Footsteps that are approaching you again. Heavy, confident steps.

“I thought you can take more than that, princess.”

Hands grab your shoulders gently, lifting your bruised and weak body out of the dirt. You force yourself to open your heavy eyelids, mind still trying to process what is happening.

You stare right into his ocean blue eyes.

“Missed me?”

Your shaky breath rings in your ears, trembling hands searching for hold on his shoulders.  

“Toji?”

Nothing more than a fade whisper in the night, a faint hope resonates.

“You’re still looking hot.”

Tears swell up your eyes before you can catch yourself while you wrap your aching arms around him for dear life. This has to be a dream, some cruel technique, a hallucination. But you don’t give a fuck. At the moment, all you can think about is how he wraps his large arms around your waist and back while holding the back of your head and the way he smells.

God, he smells just like you remember, just like the Toji you knew.

“Please tell me you’re back. Tell me this isn’t just a cruel dream. I don’t want to wake up anymore….”

“Live and in color. It’s been a while”, he comments.

Your eyes dart towards him and his sly grin. The grin you know all too well, the grin you adored more than anything else in the world.

“I missed you every single fucking day. And now…And now you’re standing in front of me. Alive”, you stammer.

“These fuckers thought they could use my powers against you. Ain’t no way  I’d let this happen princess. Even if it means going to hell and back to be with you.”

Your fingers trace over his cheeks, his collarbones, his broad chest.

“It’s me, (y/n)”, he confirms your unspoken question.

“I missed you.”

“Yeah? Missed ya too. And can’t wait to show you how much. But work comes first and I still have a lot of shit to do.”

“I came here to take revenge, to kill all of Gojo’s little puppies for what he did to you”, you hiss through gritted teeth.

“What a good girl you are, I always loved ya for that. Let’s get you out of here first. I’ll be back in a few hours, ‘kay?”

Toji…Loves you? Your hands dig into his firm biceps, eyes piercing right through him for any sign of sarcasm, any sign of manipulation.

But no, it’s clear. The man in front of you is indeed Toji Fushiguro. And he told you that he loves you.

He’s back and he loves you.

“I love you. Fuck, I love you so much! Living without you was hell”, you cry out, completely breaking down in tears while he holds you in his arms.

“I know princess, I know… Will catch up on everything, I promise. Let’s get you outta here. So sorry for hurting you like that.”

He picks you up in his arms while you allow yourself to close your eyes and lean your face against his chest. This might be a manipulation, a dream and nothing more. But you never thought you’d get him back. Fuck, after more than 10 years you’re really back in his arms.

Screw if this isn’t real. For this precious moment, you finally feel home again.

[lightlycareless]

Don't mind me, I'm just posting a little something that I had in mind, a continuation of Naoya's and Y/N's many HS adventures :) in other words, their first official Valentine's Day.

warnings: fluff. a tiny small hint of smut, implied by someone else. please read this part first followed by this other one to get the full picture!! and I guess this too.

Happy reading :)

Your first valentine’s day with Naoya—like, the actual one and not the fiasco that transpired last year—is one that has you very excited. And how couldn’t you?! Naoya had been very… enigmatic when preparing you for today.

“Clear out your schedule after school, princess. All the way down to the weekend.”

“Huh? Why?” you ask, feigning ignorance—as if you weren’t waiting for this exact moment since you started dating him. “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know, guess you’ll have to wait and see.”

But you couldn’t wait! Not at all! In fact, such was your excitement that you could barely get any sleep— it was a miracle that you managed to get a few hours of rest before eagerly jumping out of bed, getting ready, and subsequently making your way to class while fervently imagining all the surprises Naoya had in store for you.

Well, whatever it was, there was no doubt in your mind that it would be much better than whatever your classmates discussed—glad that you no longer felt out of the conversation, not entirely that is, for you still had to figure out what your boyfriend was planning…

Thankfully, it wouldn’t take long for you to see the first details of his extensive itinerary, much to your eventual embarrassment.

It would begin with the so-called cupid’s mail service, a way for the student council to take advantage of help couples who wished to send gifts to their significant other’s while raising funds for whatever expenses they might have—such as graduation costs, school trips, so on and so forth.

Last year you were undoubtedly upset for not being sent anything throughout the day, so this time around, Naoya made it his personal mission to not let that happen again, under any circumstance!

And what extravagant way to assure so.

“Senseeeeei, can you give us a moment to deliver the mail?”

Teachers were no strangers to the excessive ways enamored students got to be when prompted—however, none of them had experienced a besotted Naoya, an heir with all possibilities within his grasp motivated to impress his beloved.

“Sure, go ahead.” The sensei responded, barely glancing at the mountain of gifts that made him assume they’d be here for a long time and returning to the blackboard; readying whatever subject followed to retake class once they were gone.

However, as soon as he began his attention would be forced back onto the students the moment they collectively gasped, realizing that the gifts didn’t pertain to various senders, no. Only one—and with a sole receiver too: you.

“All this for you, Y/N, how lucky!” Mei Mei says while placing down a large bouquet of red roses on your desk. “To think that last year you didn’t get a single thing until the very end… you truly are one fortunate girl.”

“Is this—is this really all for me?” You murmur, still in disbelief that Naoya had gone above and beyond with his gifts—but isn’t he always like this, though?

“Oh, this is just for the first class, your beloved boyfriend scheduled more for later.”

“Wh—what?” you breathe, turning even redder, comparable to the roses in front of you. Mei Mei chuckles at the curious sight. “M—more?”

“Don’t forget the note.” she says, plucking an envelope from the bouquet and handing it over to you. “Now, say cheese~”

“Huh, what now?” You stammer, then startled by the bright flash of her cellphone, recollecting the so-called proof Naoya demanded of the goods being delivered—he didn’t want to risk being played the same card he applied last year, this was only a necessary request.

“Well, my job here is done. Have a nice Valentine’s Day, Y/N; Naoya sure is expecting you to have one.”

…

…

…

“Need another desk?” The teacher would suggest after seeing you awkwardly trying to continue with your work through all the items cluttering your counter.

“…yes, please.”

And as Mei Mei promised, more gifts came soon after—from expensive boxes of chocolate from brands you’ve never even heard of in your life, to jewelry and other things you once mentioned wanting before: like a new case for your phone, a cute shirt you saw at the mall (with an additional gift card of a exuberant amount in it if you wished more) and of course, all the mochi you could eat.

Everyone around you wouldn’t take long to begin murmuring about your situation, commenting on how they never expected Naoya to be so passionate about his girlfriend—or anything that wasn’t berating others!

Yet, here he was, spoiling you with all things unimaginable, and that was barely to be the tip of the iceberg.

“Well, at least Naoya had the decency to help you move all these things to your dorm” Shoko commented as she watched the group of students Mei Mei ordered to relocate all of your gifts, work. “Don’t think you would’ve been able to do all that by yourself.”

“No, I wouldn’t.” you breathe, still embarrassed by all that transpired. Being the center of attention is something you never handled well, and more often than not, you tried to pass under the radar.

And yet, as much as you disliked it, it was impossible for you to not enjoy it this time around, for it came from something so sweet as your boyfriend wanting to show his ever-growing adoration for you.

“All this is so excessive, Y/N. I can’t help but wonder what you gave him to evoke all this?”

“I don’t recall anything in particular… I just gave him some chocolates I made.” You murmur, Shoko chuckles. “What?”

“It’s ok, no need to act coy with me. I just know you must’ve given it to him real good.”

“Oh. My. God. Shoko!” you gasp, eyes wide as your friend added onto your embarrassment. Just what you needed!

“Ugh, that is so gross.” Satoru would scowl; the only reason why he was around was to check if the rumors were true, see if Naoya had truly become even more unhinged in the name of love. “I would never do anything like that for a woman.”

“Mmm… maybe not for a woman; but what about a man?” Shoko teases, Gojo quickly becomes flustered, doing what many couldn’t: silence him. “That’s what I thought.”

“Whatever… at least I’m not the one being humiliated—look.” Satoru would then nudge to the person standing by the end of the hallway—a nervous Naoya waiting for you while holding another bouquet of flowers, this time purple roses accompanied by a small Gengar plush in the middle; a sight that has you freezing on the spot, overwhelmed by his seemingly endless gestures of appreciation and all those that were to come.

“We’ll leave you two alone.” Shoko says, grabbing Satoru by the arm and pulling him away. “Have fun!”

“Thanks, Shoko.” You murmur before shyly making your way towards your boyfriend, staring at him for a few seconds, finding the right words to say before settling for a simple greeting. “He—Hey, Naoya…”

“Hello, princess.” Naoya manages to say through the tightness of his throat, excited to see you after a long day of schoolwork, and worried that you might’ve not liked his gifts.

That, of course, is something that wouldn’t perturb him much longer after seeing the way you happily received the flowers from his grasp, a wider smile on your lips as you relished their smell and decoration.

“Did you like your gifts?” He asks, placing his arm around your waist and pulling you closer; your heart skips a beat as you lean into him.

“Ye—yeah… I liked all of them.” You admit with a nod. “They were… really nice. Thank you.”

“I wanted to make it up to you, for the shame I put you through last year.”

“Oh, Naoya—don’t say that.” You fret, wanting to leave that in the past. “It was nothing but a misunderstanding…”

“I still made you feel bad, and that is something I will never forgive myself for.”

“Well, if you must know… today succeed all Valentine’s days I’ve ever had.” You happily declare, much to Naoya’s unexpected concern.

“I fear I might’ve shoot myself on the foot, then.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ve set the bar too high, I’m not sure if I’ll be capable of surprising you next year.”

“Just spending the day with you is enough for me.” You gently reassure, making Naoya’s heart melt.

“Then I think what I have planned next might be of your liking.”

“Wait, you have more?”

“I did ask you to clear out your schedule for the rest of the week, didn’t I?” Naoya teases,

“Yes…”

He then reaches for his pocket to take out a set of two tickets—the biggest surprise yet.

“I got us a reservation to visit that park you wanted to go to—Disneyland, I believe? From the accommodations to the transportation, I’ve taken care of everything, all my pretty princess needs to do is be ready by—wait, Y/N? Y/N!”

You don’t remember much after that, outside of an overwhelming shock and happiness that deafened and blinded your senses, leading you to assume that you simply… passed out.

[bejeweledblondie]

A Royal Baby

Captain John Price x F! Royalty Reader

Summary: the final part in my royalty series, I thought finishing it out with a baby would be best!

Warnings: childbirth, mentions of sex, nudity, throwing up & anxiety

Y/N had always loved waking up like this, wrapped in John’s arms. Inhaling his masculine scent of cigars & bourbon. She smiled to herself & ran her delicate fingers along his arm. They had been married for three months now & after a romantic honeymoon in the south of France they had returned to London. With his morning wood poking her the back she was reminded of the many times they consummated their marriage. She’ll never forget the embarrassment of a her security hearing them. Their welsh corgi a gift from Y/N’s grandmother jumped up onto the bed & started to lick her face.

She giggled & wiggled herself out of John’s grasp.

“Alright, alright I’m up.” She replied. John was still tuckered out from the flight home. She admired his chest leading down to his happy trail. “How did I get so lucky?” She whispered to herself. When she went to go swing her legs over to the side of the best to put her slippers on a wave of nausea washed over her. Hastily putting her beloved pet on the bed & ditching the slippers she sprinting to the toilet. Holding her hair back & lifting up the lid she emptied the contents from her stomach. Last night’s dinner was floating in the water in front of her. All the commotion must’ve woken John up as she felt his hand soothingly rubbing her back. Finally once she was done, she flushed the toilet & rest back up against John.

“Were you feeling this ill when we left Paris yesterday?” He asked still rubbing her back.

“I don’t think so, I don’t know what came over me I hate throwing up.” Y/N replied. “Let me brush my teeth at least so I can get this horrific taste out of my mouth. Then we will phone for the doctor to come take a look.” While she was brushing the taste of bile out of her mouth John was already one step ahead calling for the physician.

“He’ll be here in one hour love,” John said as he walked into the bathroom. “Why don’t you lie down for the remainder of time & I’ll have of the maids get you some tea.”

Soon enough within the hour there Y/N sat with an empty tea cup on her beside table & the Royal physician sitting beside her.

“Now you said you didn’t feel like this when you got home last night, right?” The Doctor asked.

“No I felt perfectly fine it was just this morning it came out of nowhere.” Y/N replied. John sat beside her holding her hand.

“Now I do have to ask,” the Doctor started. “You two have been sexually active I’m assuming?” A blush crept up on Y/N’s cheeks at the question.

“Yes,” John replied beating her to the punch. He knew how coy she was about their intimate life.

“Have you tried a pregnancy test?” She asked as she started to dig through her bag. Once she pulled one out & she handed it to Y/N. “Morning nausea is an early sign of pregnancy, & you had also mentioned previously your monthly is late. So it’s definitely possible. Go take the test & if it is negative give me a call. I have a great referral for the wonder OB if it’s positive.”

“Thank you doctor,” John replied. “Let me have one of the staff escort you out.” John lead the doctor to the door & one of the butler’s already stood there ready to escort her. Once he returned Y/N was already out of bed & urinating onto the stick. She laid out a piece of toilet paper & laid the stick on it. Who knew two minutes could by so slowly. Y/N was pacing the floor biting onto her nails trinternally processing what was happening.

“Love you’ll started a draft if you keep doing that.” John said & he walked over to comfort her. He outstretched his arms & pulled her in for a deep hug. “Whatever happens, remember I still love you remember that.” The timer had gone off signifying that the test was done. They both walked into the bathroom & Y/N took a deep breath before picking it up. She flipped the test over to see word “positive.”

Her whole body went numb as she read the word over & over again.

“It’s positive, John.” She replied & looked at him. “We’re going to have a baby.” He looked at her with wide eyes & pulled her in for a deep kiss. Once he let go he placed both of his hands on her head & smiled at her.

“I’m going to be a dad!” He cheered. “I cannot wait to tell the boys!” It had been a few months since he had seen his former team. Being married to a member of the British Royal Family meant he had to take more of a backseat role in the military. She knew he was desperately missing his friends & this would be a great opportunity for them to be reunited. She also knew how public her pregnancy would be & how much she’d have to do to ensure stress was a factor in creating problems for her health. Her hand rubbed small circles on her abdomen as she looked down. She was taking in John’s moment of jumping around out of excitement.

“Your daddy’s a little crazy, but you’ll get used to him.” Y/N whispered to her lower abdomen.

9 months later

Pregnancy was taking a toll on Y/N. The first couple of months had been a breeze she had been sporting a little beach ball bump for the first eight months. They knew they were going to be having a little boy which made John even more elated than he was because they’d get to do father/son activities. Now she was feeling like a whale, & her stomach was incredibly heavy. Her doctor had requested she stay out of public appearances & stay in bed. John had taken a leave of absence from his position with the military due to his wife’s state. He couldn’t bear to see her in this much pain.

The baby was now overdue & Y/N was pacing with her nurse in the comfort of their master bedroom to help see if it would induce labor. John sat in a chair with their beloved Corgi draped across his lap.

“Oh how I wish I could evict you,” She grumbled at her belly. “I know it’s probably warm & you get food whenever but you’ll have to stop freed loading at some point.”

“Love, why don’t you have some of the spicy Mexican food that the chef made for you? It might help with speeding this up.” He said. She waddled over to him with the nurse still holding her side. She took the plate from him & started to eat.

“I blame you for this,” Y/N said and pointed her fork at him. “You just had to be all sexy & down to-“ She stopped mid sentence. Both the nurse & John looked at her with worried looks.

“Darling what’s wrong?” He asked in a worried tone. He looked down at her pajamas pants & they were soaked. He took the plate of food out of her hands and put it on the table besides them. Looking down at the floor & he noticed a big puddle around her feet.

“I think my water broke.” She replied. A sharp pain in her abdomen caused her scream out a bunch of curses.

“We need to get to the hospital.” The nurse said. “I’ll phone the doctor, your highness get the baby bag & we will get her to St. Mary’s.” The nurse ran into the other room & John took hold of Y/N’s hand.

“How are you feeling love?” He asked. With tired eyes she glared at him.

“Wet.” She replied. “I need to change.” She waddled off with John quickly trailing behind her.

“Love,” John started as he watched her walk into her closet. “We need to get you to a hospital.”

“Ah ha I found it!” She cheered & stripped out of her now wet pajamas into a nightgown. “Much better.”

“Okay that’s great you look beautiful now let’s go before you have our son in our closet.” He said & gently guided her to the doorway. Baby bag in hand, they all quickly made their way down to were the ambulance was waiting for them.

Once at the hospital, they were put in a private wing & Y/N was hooked up to a bunch of monitors. Even with the epidural, labor was still a very intense process. It killed John to see her like this, seeing her in any pain caused him emotional distress. He never wanted to see her hurt like this. Soon she was fully dilated & ready to push.

“Alright your highnesses, are you ready to meet your son?” The doctor said as he walked in. He sat down right in front of her & put gloves on. Two nurses held her feet & legs in the air while John held her right hand. “When I say push, push.” The doctor instructed. “Take deep breaths in between. I can see the babies head. Okay. Push.” The doctor instructed.

With a bone crushing grip on John’s hand Y/N let out a strangled scream & pushed. Once she couldn’t push anymore she relaxed & took a deep breath. A nurse took a wet towel & brushed over her forehead. “Okay Push!” The doctor yelled again. The epidural had started to wear off & Y/N started to scream bloody murder as soon as the ring of fire started to happened.

“You’re doing great my love keep pushing.” John said & kissed her forehead.

“That’s great your highness, he’s so close keep pushing!” The doctor said & soon enough he caught the screaming infant in his hands. The wail of her son filled the room & Y/N started to cry. A nurse placed her son on her chest as they started to wipe off of the some of fluid from his head.

“Oh John,” Y/N said look at him. “He’s beautiful.”

“Thank you.” John said as he started to cry. “Thank you for gifting me the best thing in my life.” He placed a kiss on her forehead, & the nurse took the infant to clean him up.

After a few hours once Y/N was all stitched up & well rested she was holding her newborn son. He was latched to her breast & John was just in awe at the life that was created. His son was so little & he was just so beautiful. They had decided on a family name for him, James, named after Y/N’s paternal grandfather. It took a few days, but soon Y/N allowed for visitors to come in before they revealed the infant to the world. A slew of family & friends came to see the new edition.

Then the Task Force came by. Y/N was all dolled up in a dress for the reveal later on in the day. Simon, maskless & in casual clothing was holding the newest edition to the Price household. They came with gifts, including a camouflage onesie with a custom name tape on it, a baby blanket, & many other items. John & Y/N watched as the infant was cooing at Simon. His little body was able to fit in the crook of his arm.

“Oi you’ve had your turn let me hold the little lad.” Soap said. Simon passed the infant off to the Scotsman. “I want one.” As soon as the infant was placed into his arms.

“You can’t just go to the store & buy one MacTavish.” Gaz said. “You can barely take care of a goldfish.” James started to wiggle around in Soap’s arms & giggling at the silly faces he was making while mocking Gaz. A knock at the door turned everyone’s attention to the front of the room. One of the Royal advisors was standing there alerting them that in fifteen minutes they were due in the front for a photo op with the press. Soap reluctantly, handed the infant back to Y/N. They said their goodbyes to the team, & started to gather themselves.

“Are you ready to meet the world little one?” John asked as they exited the delivery room. “Come on love it’s time for the world to meet our son.” Side by side they walked out of the doors of St. Mary’s & introduced their first born son to the world.

[gallafics]

𝙶𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚊𝚏𝚒𝚌'𝚜 𝚁𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚎𝚠

Title: Paragraphs

Author: @palepinkgoat (Ao3)

Rating: Explicit Series: —

Chapters: 14/14 Word Count: 100.1 k

Archive Warnings: Warnings Not Used

Favorite Character: Its hard to not say Ian and Mickey because they’re both so amazing in this fic and they’re really the main focus—however I do really love a little side character named Rex and Lip is pretty cool in this one too! And I can’t forget Bill!

Least Favorite Character: Terry and he’s not even actively in this one but he’s definitely still my least favorite oh and Ian’s ex-boss, not a cool guy.

Ao3 Summary: Ian has an opportunity to be a reading tutor for ex-convicts. He meets one in particular that catches his eye. What begins as an attraction becomes more complicated with the weight of the past.

Spoiler Free Review: I ate this fic up in less than two days, when I tell you I’m obsessed…every now and then a fic comes along and you start reading and you just know it’s like this fic is now apart of your soul. I love it. It now has a permanent place on my comfort fic list. This is a different first meeting AU. There’s so much sweetness and fluff but be prepared and take care of yourself as this fic also deals with some heavier topics as well and the author does a great job at leaving notes about which chapter have the heavier themes. This fic is an amazing read, I highly suggest it, just know you’ll be adding it to your re-read list because it’s amazing!

Spoilers Below↓

Favorite Moment(s):

Ian and Mickeys entire first encounter.

Rex is honestly so funny, one of my fav side character in a fic!

“What’s complicated about getting your dick wet?” Rex squints at the numbers on the shelf. “You didn’t see him looking at you like you were a whole meal.”

Protective Mickey my beloved

“My stomach’s kind of messed up from getting punched,” Ian snaps. Mickey’s voice is rough. “You punched him? What the fuck for?” “He just startled me. It was a reflex.” “Blinking is a reflex. You don’t just punch someone in the stomach just because they surprise you.” Mickey stands up.

There’s the sweetest moment of Ian helping Mickey with reading and Mickey helping Ian with math!

Protective Mickey my beloved…again!

Ian shifts in his seat. “I guess,” he says. “I don’t know. I just had this weird run-in with this guy at the laundromat and then—” “What guy? What’d he do?” Mickey’s voice gets deeper. “He,” Ian says, and he takes a deep breath. “He recognized me. From when I worked at The Fairy Tail. And it was weird. So somehow I decided this was the next place on my list.” Mickey’s voice is small. “So you came to see me?” Ian doesn’t look away. “I think I did,” he says. His voice is clear. He means it. Mickey swipes his tongue on the inside of his cheek.

This part from Ian telling Mickey about his past!!

“You've been through a lot,” Mickey says, fingers wandering toward Ian’s palm. Ian realizes he’s been holding tight to the crumpled napkin. Mickey slowly pries the napkin from his hand and tosses it aside. Mickey’s hand slides so slowly into his that he can barely breathe.

I don’t know what to say about this one…I just love slutty gallavich

Ian presses him close. Harder. Tighter. “I bet you take it so good,” Ian whispers. Mickey’s mouth is slack, his eyes closed. “Yeah.” Ian cups his ass. God. His voice shakes. “Can you feel how big I am?” Mickey is panting, chest heaving against his. “So fucking big.” Ian lets Mickey’s tongue sweep into his mouth lazily, blissed out. Mickey’s eyes open slowly. “How big are you?” “Nine,” Ian whispers. Mickey moans, “Jesus fucking Christ.” “Too big?” Ian hopes not. It has been, before. Mickey shakes his head slowly. “That’s fucking perfect.”

I could literally list to so many moments in this fic but I’m begging you to just read it. You seriously will not be disappointed!!! Their first kiss, their first time being intimate, the first time they sleep together, all the moments in between and the journey that leads them through all of those phases!

Favorite Quote(s):

“You’re not.” Ian shakes his head. “This is only a chapter in your life. No. Wait. A chapter is too long. This is a paragraph.” “A paragraph?” “Yeah.” “The fuck’s a paragraph?” Ian stands up and hefts up his laundry, swinging his backpack over his shoulder. “I’ll show you tomorrow.”

“Come on, man. The only excitement in my life is my mom making me kielbasa and pierogies three times a week.” Ian tilts his head. “Three times a week? That seems like two times too many.” “Says you. You’ve never had my mom’s cooking.”

“I’ve been thinking about this all day,” Ian whispers against his lips. Mickey’s breath comes fast, but their lips stay slack and soft. “The taste of you.”

“Fuck, you’re so good to me. So patient. I want you, Mick.” “You got me.”

“Loved you a while,” Mickey says quietly, rising from the table. A small, almost embarrassed shrug. “Just didn’t know how to say it.”

Final thoughts: Ian and Mickey’s chemistry are written so well from the beginning. I felt it in that first moment they met, like little sparkles tingling in the air even if it was brief and not anything special. I also love when Ian is written having a good relationship with Lip and this fic definitely has them written so well together! Also having Mickey struggle with reading not just because he can’t but because he has a learning disability—as a fellow dyslexic I appreciate the representation. Then the call back to the show with Mickey being good at math! I love how they’re able to help each other with the things they struggle with.

Also the story telling around the issues Ian and Mickey both are dealing with is spectacular, they are both dealing with such complex traumas and it’s written in a way that you can really feel their emotions about it. There’s some small moments of angst, a whole lot of fluff and love and some of the hottest smut. It goes without saying I’m a huge fan of this fic, give it a read and I promise you’ll enjoy it. If you’ve already read it let’s squeal about it together!!

Thank you so much, pink_ink , for blessing us with this fic!!

— Harley, Gallafics Reviews

[thegengarprincess]

“I always thought you looked beautiful in white..&🤍

— — — — — — — — — —

— — — — —{}@{}

Pairing; (🐶🫶🐱) Jure Maček x Bojan Cvjetićanin

Warning; RPF AS ALWAYS! don’t like, don’t ✨read✨! That is all ;3. (⚠️)

Tags; (👗🚬) cross dressing/ mild angst with a happy ending/ misunderstandings/ dialogue light until paragraph 5 cuz author’s has a terminal case of ✨over explainer✨/ tooth-rotting fluff/ the wedding dress photos have been holding my soul hostage since I saw them N this the product of that 🥲👍/ time skip/ Puppy Love™️/ Bojan is literally just a lovestruck puppy boy at his core and I won’t let anyone forget it/ post- midlife crisis kitty + puppy cuddles/ they have a orange cat N beagle puppy by now who follow the two e v e r y w h e r e/ author still can’t tag 4 shit/ BOJAN GIRLYS/GN! PSPSSPSPS COME GET UR FOOD WERE HAVING POST-SHOWER BOJAN 4 DINNER >XD/ author is desperately starved of BoJure content so they took matters into their own hands (💍)

Word count; (🌹💘)

Summery; After a incredibly tiresome day of blitzing the entirety of their cramped apartment together in an attempt to neaten up the humble abode for the couple’s big move to Logatec, Jure takes it upon himself to tackle their shared wardrobe only to stumble across an item that hadn’t seen the light of day in a long, long time. A wedding dress of all things? Tho to some a wedding dress is just a big, white, poofey gown you’ll only ever wear once then only see in dated photo’s. But to the drummer, it was the very same dress he wore for that photoshoot with his now fiancé of two in a half years shortly before they ended up becoming much more than friends(with benefits). “Wonder if it still fits anymore?…” (🚚)

A/N; (👾🎁) *W E L L*- it’s been almost 2/1 months since the last time I’ve came out my self-induced hibernation EXCEPT THIS TIME I come barring a (belated) bday gift 4 my wonderful, amazing, gorgeous, sweet, talented, cat-coded darling of a moot *THE* ✨@j-restlessgeek✨ (who u should ABSOLUTELY be following btw >:3!) N w us both being normal 2 a certain degree over that photoshoot w Jure in a mfn *WEDDING DRESS*, I sprinted 2 my drafts, beat my writers block w a iron hammer N now I’m left w this ☺️☺️☺️☺️☺️. THO WITHOUT FURTHER ADO! BONE, APPLE, TEETH N CATCH YA ON THE FLIP SIDE~<3

? _ “ . ^ + * ] 🎀 [ + ^ * . _ !

Switching off the running water, droplets from it’s remains began their journey trickling down the ends of Bojan’s drenched hair and back, swiftly snagging two freshly dried, strawberry pink towels from their nest on-top the radiator and wrapping the larger of the two around his soft, yet still that little bit toned waist as a means of hiding the singer’s (admittedly small) dignity then going in with the same process on his semi-soaked hair. Tussling silky, puppy brown locks till they were restored to their fluffy and water-free glory once more.

After shuffling into a pair of spare grey sweats and his favourite (out of the fifty he used to frequently steal from Kris) Beatles tee, threw on some moisturiser combined with the brunette’s much beloved hair products, he strolled down the boldly patterned hall to his and Jure’s shared bedroom to check with the other what movie he decided they’d be watching that night. Which was Bojan’s plan. Until he locked eyes with the sight said bedroom had so unfairly chosen to lay before him….

He swept open the door with a gentle hand, all knowledge of anything other than the figure that also seemed just as lost in their own little bubble as he was, completely stripped away from him in less than a millisecond. If you asked Bojan what the definition of “perfection” was, his answer would simply be the person he saw in that very moment without a single thought.

Investigating every part of themselves in the mirror, unbeknownst to how they had just effortlessly stolen not only his heart, but every word, thought and breath that hadn’t had time to run away from the home they called Bojan’s body. Tho sooner than later, the trance he’d somehow found himself in a whole lifetime ago by now slowly fizzled out, senses flooding back into their designated stations as he drunk in the utterly ethereal scene of his fiancé adorning what seemed to be a wedding dress?

It wasn’t just any wedding dress he’d found Jure clad in either, better yet the exact same one his lover had worn for a photoshoot that got very popular with a certain crowd which made up a (not all that) small corner of their fanbase almost two years ago if his mind wasn’t subconsciously changing how time worked again. And oh if it didn’t make Bojan want to fall straight to his knees right on this very floor he currently stood upon and worship every single minuscule atom that consecutively came together to create the undeniably gorgeous, talented, amazing, intelligent, beautiful, hot, wonderful, sexy, unreal and down right mesmerising human who only he got to the pleasure N divine prestige of calling “his pretty drummer” for how ever long he’d allow him the privilege to, eternally Bojan wishes. (And he would in a heartbeat if only there was somesort of miracle out there that could grant him permanent immortality to do so).

“Uhhh, m-muca….?” The slightly lovestruck singer spoke up meekly. Causing the bubble to burst completely as his fiancé swiftly quirked around to face him, stare’s ping-ponging back and forth in a short attempt at trying to grasp the signals Bojan’s face was sending the older’s way, a melting pot of surprise and shock swirled in blown chestnut pools while waltzing across the rest of his features but so did another feeling he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Regret? “Geez Bojči, You look like you saw a ghost or Sonček when he catches a bug. Is something wrong or-” “No no! I was gonna ask what movie you picked out for later and then I opened the door and saw ya like…that.” Jure glanced down and then, the realisation dawned on him. It’s the dress. He doesn’t like the dress on him.

Splotches of rose waltzed their way onto his cheeks and neck, almost giving off the appearance the sun has had it’s way with him earlier that day as if they weren’t entering early November in a few weeks. Pacing over to both boy’s wardrobe he prised open both doors and vigorously began undoing the laces that tied the gown together, a subtle frown accenting his lips.

‘What was with that face tho? Is he having second thoughts already?’

‘No that can’t be it! Maybe he was just a little surprised, haven’t worn it awhile anyway.’

‘The first words he said to me after leaving the changing room were I always thought you looked beautiful in white so what else could it be?!’

‘Did I do something wrong? Did he finally get tired of waiting and moved o-‘ “Darling wait! what’s up huh?-“ ‘I can’t be losing him now. How would I even explain it to the kids-‘ “Hey hey, I’m sorry if I looked a little mad but it’s not what you think it is I swea-“ ‘God please don’t say he’s-‘ “C’mon muca! just talk to me I’-“ ‘I should’ve left the damn dress where I found it then left it at tha-‘ “Jurček, wait no! don-“ ‘what have I done, what have I done, what have I done, what have I done, what have I do-‘ “Jur-“ ‘I shouldn’t of proposed in the first p-‘ “JURE.”

The blonde felt a tight sensation in his left wrist out of the blue. Like a weight was tugging at it and refused to come off no matter how hard he tried breaking away from it’s crushing, iron grip. And with that, his sudden mid-life crisis came to a careening halt, tweaking the other way to stare down furrowed browns and warm eyes reflecting into his own murky-tear pricked one’s. Now is definitely not the time to mention it of course, but Bojan had never seen a prettier cryer in all his 30 years, 1,565 weeks and 10950 days of being a resident of this planet we know as earth.

“Oh sweetheart~</3” He enveloped an arm around his lover’s nearly naked waist while another slotted in between short, soft, honey gold strands, cradling the older’s head as tenderly as one could. The more barley audible, soft weeps and sniffles poured out of Jure, the more pieces of the shorter boy’s heart shattered. Each break getting louder and louder till his fiancé’s muffled whimpers calmed down with the help of a few comforting back rubs accompanied by gentle whispers of “everything’s alright now” and “I’m here love, you’re safe” into Jure’s skin, long after all his tears gave out.

Still rubbing his eyes periodically and trembling internally, he intertwined his fingers then let Bojan guide them both to their bedside. Flopping down without hands parting a single time and burrowing themselves into eachother’s side, tracing thousands of nonsensical patterns over the drummer’s exposed chest, shifting upwards to carve a lingering kiss on his darling’s forehead with praises of every kind bouncing off those lips Jure never seemed to ever, ever get enough off no matter how many times he’s felt their heavenly touch. “You’re stunning you know that.” Bojan grinned through slurred words, sleep unwavering in its mission to reel him hook, line and sinker. “There’s no one in this world who’d I’d want as my muse not just now, but forever than my pretty drummer boy alright.”

“You’re pretty drummer boy eh?”

“And once again, I am really so sorry about earlier Muca-“

A chorus of paw prints bustled outside their door. Echoes of panicked meows and barks steeping closer and closer, making themselves increasingly known to the couple. “I’ll go let the kids in..” the blonde yawned, a fond twang lacing his speech as he quietly crawled out of his (quite obnoxiously snoring) fiancé’s grasp and nonchalantly turning the knob as both boy’s pets barged inside to shower their dad’s with a multitude of licks, nuzzles, sniffs and paws for attention. Being mindful not to disturb the lull that’s taken over the singer’s being as usual considering it was vastly approaching 5pm.

There was of course, much more work to be done before they could actually move but that’s one of the many task’s tomorrow’s Jure and Bojan will have to face. Their only task’s now consisting of supplying both animals currently huddled in their arms with everlasting pets while simultaneously keeping the other from hogging the covers, shielding them against the spitefulness that Slovenian winter brings year after year. Perhaps a spring wedding would suit them just fine…..~🔔

[promiscuouspomegranate]

✧. ┊     My Little Dancer // 1

⇢º. AFAB! Showgirl Reader x Mysterious Person 🤫

.❥❧ Y/N temperament is confident and rude.

TWs: Stalking and extortion. More down the road

You are responsible for the content you consume! Stop reading if you feel uncomfortable.

I never liked the bitter aftertaste Marlboro reds left on my tongue, but I’d still finish the pack by the end of the week—a few days if work was particularly stressful. My former psychoanalyst remarked that I was stuck in the oral stage. I was too drunk to recall how I responded, but I am no longer welcome in his office or most in the city. Anger, what an amusing emotion. I forget where the quote comes from, I was always too pretty to pay attention in school, but most regard it as a temporary loss of the senses. I believe it is a heightening.

I took a final drag of the cigarette before I put it out on my aching neck. I flicked the butt onto the sidewalk and stumbled to the back door. A lithe, timid woman quickly scurried past me, fumbling with her string of cream-colored pearls as she muttered a few curses and prayers. I had half a mind to shout at her for shoving into me, but I was like any other gentleman—couldn’t bring myself to do it when such a pretty little thing was in tears. Poor girl just wasn’t cut out for the life of stardom; I could hardly blame her. Come into a jazz club with those periwinkle eyes and adorable angel curls, and you’ll only last a day before you break.

“Where the fuck ‘ave you been, Y/N? I’m telling ya, I can’t do this shit anymore! I can’t,” My beloved manager shouted in between unsteady breaths, “You’re on in five fucking minutes? Did ya spend so much time whorin’ around in school ya can’t read a clock? I swear, ya woman and your—”

“And our what, Kolenkov? Tread lightly,” I hummed as I strolled past him toward my powder room. I smirked at him to send a benign threat, “If you piss me off anymore, I’ll break the pretty little ornaments on stage… again.”

“Break whatever ya want… ya bitch!” He wiped the sweat off his lightly wrinkled forehead with an embroidered handkerchief and hoarsely shouted for a cola.

��Sweetheart, I think you need water and a beer,” I shouted from inside my room as I lounged at my vanity, “Too much sugar and your poor heart is going to finally give out.”

I muttered the sultry lyrics of my performance as I touched up my makeup. I never let another girl touch my face; jealousy tended to style me when I did. I opened the intricately carved drawer and gently rummaged through it.

“Where did I put it…?”

My practiced gentleness and poise dissipated, and I pulled the drawer out and angrily dumped its contents on the tabletop. In the process, I chipped a fingernail and felt like bursting a blood vessel.

“Laura, for the love of God, where the fuck is my rouge? I’m not wearing the cheap shit on stage anymore. Find me my Djer-Kiss or—”

“I uhm, I don’t know where it’s at, but you’re on in two,” Her lip quivered as she held her clipboard in front of her face. I pushed past her trembling form to get what I needed.

“My hair needs to be sprayed again! Where’s the hairspray at, Annie?”

“Like I know what you do with all your junk! Where’s my hat? Bettie, where is my hat?”

“Keep track of the men you meet up with after shows and maybe you’d have an easier time finding it, Annie.”

“Y/N, your fuckin’ rogue is over here,” Kolenkov’s legs trembled as he puffed out smoke, “Ya fuckin’ bitch! Get out there before you miss your damn cue!”

“Oh, go cool off you fat fucking tomato,” I quickly applied a dark burgundy onto my cheeks and powdered my face again. I rushed past fellow showgirls and slammed into Laura as I tried to grab my heels, “Laura, doll, either you do something useful or you get the fuck out of the way.”

“B-but your—”

I grabbed Laura by the collar of her silk blouse and pulled her close to my face.

“Did you ever wonder what you sound like to others? Because, doll, your voice is something so grating, I can’t even begin to express it to you. So, here’s how it’s going to work, okay? You’re going to stay the fuck away from me until I am shouting for you. I don’t care about what a backstage bitch has to say about my performance,” I took a deep breath and flashed a smile sure to break her heart, “It’s all about me, doll. Maybe if you lost fifteen pounds, you’d be able to sing with the big girls. Stick to Sunday choir, and I’ll stick to fully booked shows.”

I looked down at Laura as she started to cry and scoffed. She wouldn’t last a week more if she kept on fucking crying.

“Y/N, get the fuck on stage, now. I will finally fuckin’ fire—”

“You can’t fire what everyone comes to see; this place’ll close down the second I step out or realize I’m better than this joint.”

I glared at Laura again before reaching behind her to grab my heels. I noticed she flinched, and my brows softened.

“The fuck— I don’t have time for this,” I sighed and shoved past every other girl.

I strutted up the metal stairs and could hear the audience chattering outside. A scruffy man helped me into the bedazzled birdcage, and I slouched on the perch. I emptily stared at my fingernails and swallowed the lump in my throat. Everything had to be perfect.

“The other girls are melting away. Kolenkov is melting away. Laura is melting away. My chipped fingernail is melting away,” I mindlessly maundered as I heard Kolenkov tapping on the microphone.

“Welcome, ladies and gents. It’s truly a pleasure—a blessing from the Lord above—to see so many of ya faces again. Though, can’t say some of ya have aged well!”

I grimaced as the audience roared at his quips and wit; he wasn’t very funny or charming. I knew why they were here. I chewed on my already broken fingernail as he rambled about the girls and how he loved us to death.

“Just—”

“Now, I know when I’m no longer welcome! Honestly, if I didn’t love ya folks so much tonight, I’d have half a mind to kick ya outta here,” He chuckled, and it queued the audience into laughing as well, “But it’s time for the star of our little show here. Ladies and gents, meet the prettiest little peacock in all of America! Introducing our beloved Cherie Flambe, the Pittsburgh Princess herself. Careful trying to get a slice of that pie, ya have one bite, then you finish the whole thing.”

Blood trickled down my pointer finger as the crimson curtains slowly unraveled. I sucked in my stomach and fluttered my long black eyelashes, and the bird cage slowly descended. This was it; it was all about me. The lead saxophonist started to snap his fingers, and the white spotlight nearly blinded my eyes, but thank the stars, I was born for the stage. The second my wine-red lips opened and started to sing that jazz, everyone was utterly enthralled with me. What I wore, oh God, if only I could see those ladies' eyes as they bitterly whispered to their pathetic lover boy, “Why can’t you ever buy me something like that?”

I rocked back and forth in a vibrant array of blues, greens, and purples that shimmered underneath the hot spotlight. My bodice gleamed with vibrantly iridescent plumage that formed some sort of intricate pattern, dipping low enough to reveal the costars of the show. As I sensuously swayed across the stage, my skirt flowed and swished around my hips, and I made sure I not only ruffled tailfeathers, but showed them. As the show progressed, I tore away the skirt, revealing all the flamboyant little feathers adorning my legs. I knew the uptight ladies in the crowd would scoff and flutter their flimsy fans to showcase their disapproval. I wish the same happened to their senile husbands. I threw the old dogs out there a bone when I tossed my garter into the audience.

I blew kisses as the music came to a glorious swell, and I began to glide offstage. I didn’t bother to stay for the raucous cheering; there was always plenty of time to schmooze with all the gentle and rough men after the show. I noticed Annie’s legs were shaking and furrowed my thin eyebrows at her.

“Hun, you’re too much of a catch to be shaking like that. Save that for the lads out there, and they’ll lose their damn minds.”

“Easy for you to say, Y/N…I mean, Cherie! You have a whole lot to show off and, I dunno, I feel—”

“Save your feelings for when the audience heads home. We’ll open up a bottle some sucker gives me after the show, if you don’t find your own.”

I squeezed her and rushed off before Kolenkov could have a heart attack over our interaction. I ambled through the dressing rooms until I came across mine. I rolled my eyes as I noticed the old door was cracked open; Annie must’ve borrowed my lipstick again. I sighed as I sat down, staring at my face in the mirror. I plucked my eyebrows with my tweezers, hoping to cool off a bit—we weren’t allowed to smoke until the ladies were gone, something about etiquette. There was a shy knock at my door, and I knew exactly who was hiding behind it.

“Laura, I’m not actually going to kill you. Look, I— Just say what you need to say,” I yawned and poured myself a glass of merlot to unwind.

“You.. You have some gifts already. C-can I come in?”

“Just leave ‘em outside. Don’t really care unless it’s diamonds or cash.”

“O-okay.”

I waited until I heard her kitten heels scamper to the next thing before I opened the door. I noticed the basket of neatly organized letters, roses, exotic perfumes, and chocolates.

“No wine? Fuck, I’ll have to bat my eyelashes at Kolenkov, these bastards are getting cheap.”

I disregarded the rules of not being allowed to eat in costume as I opened a box of imported French dark chocolates, crumpling the note on top of it and tossing it out. I sorted through the letters and saved the prettier ones to read with Annie. I finished a bonbon and felt oddly nauseous as I stumbled across the last letter. It was damp—never a good sign—and simply had my name on it in a beautiful cursive.

“Oh, what the hell, why not.”

I ripped it open and choked on the piece of chocolate I was trying to swallow. As I spat it up, the half-chewed treat had the decency to cover my nudity. I languidly rummaged through the photos and felt tears burn my eyes. Usually, I’d never be terrified of my body, but I felt like the devil himself was dragging me to hell. I didn’t bother with reading shit the degenerate must’ve written as I tore up the photos. A fist pounded on my door, and I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted metal.

“Get ya ass outta there. You’ll have plenty of time to brood after ya show off to everyone. Got a couple of friends who wanna greet ya, maybe give ya somethin’ nice in exchange for a kiss or two.”

“Uhm, alright.”

There was a brief silence, and Kolenkov came inside.

“Normally, I’d tell ya to get ya shit together, but I’m feeling exceptionally decent tonight,” He sat beside me for the first time in a year and stared at me, “Spit it out.”

“I don’t know, I’m fine.”

“I hate it when women say that, y’know?”

“Better get used to it. Women hate you.”

“Atta girl! Now, c’mon, I’m doing ya a favor,” He extended his bulky arm for me to grab, and he escorted us out into the bar, “These guys are richer than the Rockefellers, I swear.”

I had never felt so exposed in my life, but I guess that was the life I was hellbent to live. I flashed the group a lovely smile, knowing my performance wouldn’t be over until I was alone.

[starsreminisce]

“Just to say good-bye.” A warm breeze ruffled his hair, brushing tendrils of darkness off his shoulders. “Before your beloved whisks you away forever.” “Not forever,” I said, wiggling my tattooed fingers for him to see. “Don’t you get a week every month?” Those words, thankfully, came out frosty. Rhys smiled slightly, his wings rustling and then settling. “How could I forget?” I stared at the nose I’d seen bleeding only hours before, the violet eyes that had been so filled with pain. “Why?” I asked. He knew what I meant, and shrugged. “Because when the legends get written, I didn’t want to be remembered for standing on the sidelines. I want my future offspring to know that I was there, and that I fought against her at the end, even if I couldn’t do anything useful.”

Hmm that looks familiar...

Her eyes were the brown of a fawn’s coat. And he could have sworn something sparked in them as she met his gaze. “Who are you?” He knew without demanding clarification that she was aware of what he was to her. “I am Lucien. Seventh son of the High Lord of the Autumn Court.”

Knew I wasn't going crazy. Okay, moving on...

I blinked, this time not at the brightness of the sun. “Because,” he went on, his eyes locked with mine, “I didn’t want you to fight alone. Or die alone.” And for a moment, I remembered that faerie who had died in our foyer, and how I’d told Tamlin the same thing. “Thank you,” I said, my throat tight. Rhys flashed a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I doubt you’ll be saying that when I take you to the Night Court.”

Wait...this feels familiar too...

Lucien didn’t head for the stacks. He just went to the open doors. He paused right between them and said to me, to Nesta, “She needs fresh air.” “We’ll judge what she needs.” I could have sworn his ruby hair gleamed like molten metal as his temper rose. But it faded, his russet eye fixing on me. “Take her to the sea. Take her to some garden. But get her out of this house for an hour or two.”

Again that rage. Not from jealousy, or any threat, but—“He’s as fine a prick as any I’ve ever encountered.” Lucien had encountered him, I realized. Somehow, in living with Jurian and Vassa at that manor, he’d run into Elain’s former betrothed. And managed to leave the human lord breathing.

He and Lucien did not exchange gifts, though the male had brought a gift for Feyre and one for his mate, who barely thanked him after opening the pearl earrings. Cassian’s heart strained at the pain etching deep into Lucien’s face as he tried to hide his disappointment and longing. Elain only shrank further into herself, no trace of that newfound boldness to be seen.

Feyre, in fact, did not say thank you to Rhys when he rescued her from her own wedding, as she pleaded for anyone to help, just as Rhys guessed she would do. Instead, she threw two shoes at him.

SJM tells us in so many ways just how connected Lucien is to Elain, considering they rarely converse as it is. It's a bit unsettling to confront when she had said that Lucien doesn't know her, and yet we, as readers, see the various ways Lucien does see her.

Feelings change. Compatibility does not.

[critter-rarepair-reccs]

Happy Wednesday everyone! Today we have eight fics in modern settings for you all! Have a look at them below the cut and if you end up checking some of them out on ao3, please don’t forget to leave kudos and comments! 🩷

Having Trouble Breathing In by Torchiclove (17,445 words, Teen) Pairing: Keyleth/Pike Trickfoot (Pikeleth) Warnings: None

‘The paramedic would take her breath away, if the asthma hadn’t done it for her.’ Keyleth falls for Pike in a modern AU.

Reccer Says: Enjoyable and well written fic of Keyleth falling for Pike in a modern AU. Explores Keyleth as a character with anxiety and it's a great, gentle depiction of falling in love with great characterisation despite the rare pair.

Live your whole life on a might-have-been by Chrome (2,681 words, Teen) Pairing: Veth Brenatto/Caleb Widogast (Widobrave) Warnings: None

Just a very short and atmospheric peice set in a modern au where Caleb and Veth met at university, and he’s driving her part of the way home for the holidays.

Reccer Says: I can’t describe the feelings this fic gives me. It’s understated and bittersweet and so full of longing that you’ll want to die. It feels like a Hemingway story almost with the way it manages to pack so much meaning in between the words the characters actually say.

And I became hypnotized by freckles and bright eyes by SunshineAndaLittleFlour (1,007 words, Teen) Pairing: Mollymauk Tealeaf/Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast (Shadowidomauk) Warnings: Drunk kissing

Molly didn’t realize he probably shouldn’t be kissing someone else’s partner until after he’d already started doing it.

Reccer Says: This fic, this whole series in fact, is absolutely wonderful! Its fun, flirty and emotional as well as smutty and one of the best stories/series for the purple boys and their ginger partner. Always a delight to read and this fic starts an awesome series off wonderfully!

softly, softly by maricolous (837 words, Teen) Pairing: Fjord/Mollymauk Tealeaf (Fjolly) Warnings: None

Fjord comes home from his shitty retail job to Molly, his roommate-turned-partner. They make out about it.

Reccer Says: It’s very cute and sweet, with a side of what feels Fjolly-typical horniness. It’s a fun little fic!

if we were a movie by burningdarkfire (8,800 words, Teen) Pairing: Jester Lavorre/Beauregard Lionett (Beaujes) Warnings: None

Jester decides to try and set Caleb and Essek up and ropes Beau into it. Cue many “friend” double-dates, a classic disaster lesbian Beau crush, attempts at coping with it, delightful romcom nonsense, a fun side of Shadowgast, and a very sweet ending.

Reccer Says: It’s silly, it’s fun, it’s heartfelt. Everyone’s voices are so on-point and every moment Feels like them. Beau is a mess and I love her, I want to squish Jester in my hands, and the wizards are menaces of a side pairing. Also the conversation between Beau and Essek at the maid cafe is so good.

candy hearts (so sweet on you) by thaumasilva (5,149 words, General) Pairing: Jester Lavorre/Beauregard Lionett (Beaujes) Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Implied Stalking (not between Beaujes)

Beau keeps visiting the gift wrapping station at the mall to get her Winter’s Crest presents wrapped, and the cute tiefling working there keeps giving her candy hearts with flirty messages, or: Three times Beau wanted to ask Jester out, and the one time she didn’t have to.

Reccer Says: It's just a sweet as the name implies, aaaa it's so cute

Intervention by VioletTeaTime (1,965 words, Teen) Pairing: Fjord/Caleb Widogast (Widofjord) Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Fjord intimidates the guy bothering bartender!Beau’s favorite customer into taking a hint and leaving. Then he gets flirted with and Beau complains about having to watch.

Reccer Says: ace fjord my beloved <3 also the boys' background friendships with Beau are very sweet

all actions and reactions by grayintogreen (2,879 words, General) Pairing: Astrid Beck/Jester Lavorre (Jestrid) Warnings: Depression, Burn-out

One of her friends suffered a breakdown, the other found religion, and now Astrid Beck, suffering from burnout and stress and a myriad of other things a pre-law student can suffer, has found the cherry on her misery sundae. Someone keeps buying all of the cinnamon scones she loves, and now she must end them.

Reccer Says: An amazing translation of the characters into a Modern AU, and surprisingly sweet

Thank you for joining us for our second recc list! All the love to everyone who submitted a fic 🩷 All enclosed recommendations were submitted by the community via our submissions form, which you can find here. All fic information is as it was provided by the reccer, so it may not be accurate to the author’s intent or the precise contents of the fic itself. Please assume good intent from all parties 🩷

Submissions for next week’s list are already open! We’ll be featuring Whump. If you have any you’d like to highlight, you can send them in here. The week after that, the theme is Pre-Relationship, and you can also submit fics for that now!

If you want more rarepair fic, check out @cr-summer-wildflowers and their event collections on ao3! If you want some friendship after all this romance, take a look at @critter-genfic-events and their recc lists! And if you’re interested in everyone’s favorite wizards, you can’t go wrong with the lists at @aeor-is-for-reccing !

Thanks all and have a lovely day/night/timezone! 🩷

[rosemaze-reveries]

not meant to be.

Dealing with rejection (giving + receiving)

⛓️🐺🪓🎬♟️

❥ Giving She averts her gaze as soon as she hears your confession. This is always an awkward position to be in, no matter how many of her Sinners have professed their love for her.

“I’m flattered...” She’s hesitant with her words, feeling for any reaction from the shackles. “...And I’ll always cherish you as my Sinner. But I can’t give you the love you’re looking for.” It’s kind of cheesy, but she means it.

❥ Receiving Fortunately, Chief is skilled at improv. Her brilliant idea is to pretend she confessed as part of an undercover mission.

“Nevermind, forget what I said. I lost my bearings for a second.” She waves you away and digs into her pocket, pulling out her comms device. “Sorry I put you on the spot.” She then dials Nightingale to ‘reveal her plan,’ but it crumbles into a cry for comfort instead.

❥ Giving “You’re cute, I’ll give you that.” Zoya doesn’t mean to mock you, but it’s hard not to feel humiliated beneath her. She knocks a gentle fist against your shoulder and flashes you a well-meaning smile. “Hey, you’ll find someone worth your time. You deserve better than some Syndican thug anyway.”

❥ Receiving Most people obey Zoya without question, either out of fear or loyalty. She commends you for not giving in the same way. Her talk with you is brief but respectful, and she doesn’t hold anything against you.

The signs of her wounded heart only appear once you’re out of sight. It’s left her in a very nasty mood. She seeks out any chance she gets to destroy something—whether that’s by picking fights with rival gangs, or wrecking up whatever car/window/person is within reach.

❥ Giving “...What.” The shock lingers on her face for all of ten seconds. She hadn’t seen this coming at all. “I don’t—I, um—is this a prank?” Her face is bright red, brows furious, gape incredulous. She concludes you must be messing with her, and yells at you for being weird.

❥ Receiving “Y-You actually believed that!?” She starts firing punches against your shoulder, hard enough to bruise. “I just wanted to see how you’d react and you went and took it seriously! Now get out of here and learn what a joke sounds like!!” But she ends up being the first to flee the room.

❥ Giving As a beloved director known all over the world, Deren is no stranger to spontaneous love confessions. It’s a little different coming from you, though. As soon as she realizes what you’re trying to say, she takes a sharp breath and picks up your hand. “I’m glad you like my work. Really, I’m flattered.” She leaves no room for you to say anything else.

❥ Receiving “Mhm... good.” Deren never drops her lazy smile, and this time it’s more unreadable than ever. “You ever consider acting? You’ve just got something about you...” The way she seamlessly deflects from the topic catches you off-guard. You press into her some more, asking if she’s really okay after getting rejected like that. All she does is shrug and say, “Hm? Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

❥ Receiving Eirene maintains an icy stare while waiting out your answer. When you finish, she crosses her arms and meets you square in the eye. “I’m sorry, I must’ve misheard you. Would you mind repeating yourself?” It might sound like she’s trying to coax a different response out of you. But she’d actually prefer you to stand your ground and counter her—it makes the thrill of the chase all the sweeter.

[ask-sister-solaris]

I can’t find the master list thing I did so a new one IG:

My commissions are open! Here’s my Ko-Fi

For now I am only doing busts of OCs and canon characters. Doing full bodies took a toll on my mental health, though I might do waist up if you ask nicely /hj

𝐏𝐟𝐩 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐳𝐢𝐧𝐠: @kabukiaku

NSFW asks now open! Now I’m officially 18 and have full control of my account.

Things I won’t do:

- incest

- r@pe

- sexual assault/harassment

- non con

- pedophilia

Ghost Band

- Primo

- Secondo

- Terzo

Cook!reader

Aftermath with Terzo

“Amore mio your as beautiful as the day I met you”

“See something you like amore?”

“Now and forever Amore”

“I’m always here amore”

- Copia / Frater Imperator

Copia with an s/o that’s practically a soundboard

Copia meets your friends

Dracopia

Copias chaos!ghoul

Copia Confessing to you

Copia X buff!reader

Antichrist Copia

“Stay with me”

First meeting copia (he gets aroused)

“I’ll never leave Amore”

“Choose to run away with me?”

Dracopia Angst

“SOS he’s in disguise”

“Love me, Love me, Love me, Love me”

Copia with a buff!reader

RHRN Copia angst

RHRN: Don’t you forget about your friend death

“Lucifer, whispering silently into your mind”

“Eyes on me Cara Mia” (18+ MDNI)

- most of the ghouls

- ocs

- Young Nihil

“No your never alone”

“Satanas your beautiful”

“Just wanna be with Chu in the moonlight”

- Mixed Headcanons

Touch starved s/o

Ghostbusters

- Ray Stantz

“Back off she’s a scientist and my girlfriend”

“It’s ok we can fight it one little bite at a time”

“Comfy”

“Wait me?”

- Peter Venkman

“He’s a slime ball”

- Egon Spengler (my beloved)

“It’s called a floor nap”

“What. Just. Happened”

“What’s Up Doc?”

“Spengs got a date before Venkman”

“Baby Fever”

“How can you just…stand there?”

“Your arts amazing”

“Your doing good, I’m proud”

“I promise your ok dove”

“Breath with me dove”

“Radio Static”

“Don’t you dare fucking leave me again”

“Peppered Kisses”

“You messed with the wrong scientist”

“I told you so..are you crying?”

- Winston

- Phoebe Spengler

- Old man Egon

“See you again”

- Old man Ray

- Old man Peter

- Old Man Winston

- Polyamory with the ghostbusters

“I promise you’ll be safe with us”

“We love you, and each other”

OCs:

- Sal Stantz (Ghostbusters)

- Janet Venkman (Ghostbusters)

- Violet Brett (Ghostbusters)

- Green Diamond (Steven Universe)

- Plum Diamond (Steven Universe)

- Queen Bee/Janet Carter (BATIM)

- Sei Emeritus/Papa V (Ghost Band OC)

- Sen Morrison (Later Emeritus) (Ghost Band OC)

- Ophelia (One Piece OC)

Baby Boom

- Steven Buchner (Harold Ramis’ character)

"Lets just focus on the dinner..and us"

Steven Universe

- Pearl

- Garent

- Amethyst

- White, Yellow and Blue Diamond

BATIM

- currently nobody romantically

- most of the characters platonically

One Piece:

I haven’t seen a lot of it but I’ll be writing as I watch.

Anime:

- Monkey D Luffy.

- Rorona Zoro

- Nami

- Usopp

- Sanji

- Buggy The Clown Pirate

- Smoker

- Ace

- Princess Vivi

- Chopper (in a platonic way)

- Dracule Mihawk

Live action:

- Dracule Mihawk

- Buggy The Clown

“I promise I’ll do better”

- Vinsmoke Sanji

“Kitty Claws”

- Shanks

- Zoro

- Nami

JJBA

Part 1:

- Jonathan Joestar

- Dio Brando

- Erina Pendleton

Part 2:

- Joseph Joestar

- Caesar Zepelli

Part 3:

- Jotaro Kujo

- Old Joseph Joestar

- Old Caesar Zepelli (AU where he’s alive)

- Noriaki Kakyoin

- Jean Pierre Polnareff

- Muhammad Avdol

Part 4:

- Josuke Higashikata

- Nijimura Okuyasu

- Rohan Kishibe

- Older Jotaro Kujo

- Older Noriaki Kakyoin (AU where he didn’t die)

Part 5:

None as of yet, as I haven’t watched it.

Part 6:

- Jolyne Kujo

- Old man Jotaro Kujo (again fuck canon he doesn’t die)

- old man Noriaki Kakyoin (fuck it he doesn’t die)

Live action Part 4:

- Jotaro Kujo

- Nijimaru Okuyasu

- Josuke Higashikata

- Koichi Hirose

Doki Doki Precure:

- Mana Aida/Cure Heart

- Aguri Madoka/Cure Ace

- Rikka Hishikawa/Cure Diamond

- Makoto Kenzaki/Cure Sword

- Alice Yotsuba/Cure Rosetta

TMNT:

2012:

Leonardo

Donatello

Raphael

Michelangelo

Splinter/Hamato Yoshi

Shredder/Oroku Saki

Rise

Leonardo

Donatello

Michelangelo

Raphael

April O’Neil

Casey Jones

Casey Jones JR.

Bayverse Movies

Leonardo

Donatello

Raphael

Michelangelo

Splinter

Shredder/Oroku Saki

Casey Jones

That’s it..