#I know that they appreciated it and it will provide them at least some sort of comfort even if its just being valued by friends

[daytaker]

Could you do headcanons with the MC that's constantly napping and sleeping but somehow can keep up with whatever is going on? Just imagine them sleep talking coherent replies in a conversation during a meeting or doing the dishes with their eyes closed and lightly snoring

The Brothers React to Functional Sleeping MC

If it wasn't for Belphie, this would have confused them all a lot more.

Considering Belphegor's constant napping and occasional conversation contributions through sleep-talk, they are much less surprised by this tendency of MC's than the vast majority of people would be. It's just a natural part of life that some people are capable of sleeping and carrying out day to day activities at the same time.

Right?

(Individual brothers below the cut.)

Lucifer finds it annoying, sure, but at least you're slow-moving. What he really fears is the MC whose intense energy shatters any semblance of peace in this house. At the end of the day, though, he's not doing anything for you that he wasn't already doing for Belphie, so it's an inconvenience he can live with.

Mammon can't tell when you're actually asleep. He's convinced that you fake it a lot, since that's something Belphie is known to do when he'd rather not participate in a conversation. So he's always suspicious when you're able to complete tasks and move around while ostensibly asleep. He tries to catch you off guard and prove that you're not really sleeping, but he's never able to do it. Still, he hates that he can never let his own guard down as far as what he says when you're sleeping nearby, since there's a 50/50 chance you'll somehow absorb what he's saying and remember it in your waking life.

Levi thinks it's cute; at least, at first he does. It's a common trope in slice-of-life anime, having super cute sleepy characters. At the same time, it's a little frustrating, because you tend to just nod off whenever he tries to talk to you for any extended length of time, and he isn't going to play the game where he keeps talking just because you might actually be absorbing what he's saying! If you aren't interested enough to stay awake, he'll just stop bothering you! Hmph.

Satan finds it kind of funny, mostly because of how his brothers react to it. Mammon acting suspicious and nervous, Levi getting his feelings hurt, Asmo fawning over you, and Beel carrying you to and from RAD like luggage. He doesn't have a tremendous amount of interest in you, exactly, but you provide some real entertainment, so he appreciates that. Plus, and big shocker here: did you know cats nap a lot? You gain points in his book for this resemblance you bear to nature's most magnificent creatures.

Asmo thinks it's just precious to watch the human sleep at the table, or at their desk, or on the floor in the library, or on the toilet, or at breakfast, or at dinner, or... Mmm, are you okay, sweetie? You need to work on your sleep schedule. If you're having trouble sleeping at night, you should just come visit him! He has all sorts of ideas for how you could wear yourself out at night so you'll be refreshed during the day! :)

Beel is a little thrown off at first, because in some ways it's like Belphie never left. You'll recall that when MC first arrives in the Devildom, the other brothers besides Lucifer think Belphie is in the human world as an exchange student. So Beel wonders if maybe there was some sort of equivalent exchange shenanigans going on. They sent up a sleepy demon, so maybe that meant a sleepy human had to come down? It's very comforting, at any rate. He makes himself your unofficial guardian, carrying you out of situations where it's not safe to just lie down and sleep, or guiding you back inside after you sleepwalk out of the House of Lamentation.

Belphie is convinced he's met his soulmate, and honestly, maybe he's right. I can only imagine that you're mellow as fuck, probably got over any hard feelings from Chapter 16, and you're fast friends with Belphie now. You nap together all the time. Belphie even shares his secret hiding places with you.

Sometimes you and Belphie have full conversations in your sleep, to the amazement and amusement of the other brothers.

MC: Hungry... Go out 'n eat... Belphie: Snnn.... Jus' stay here... Kitchen... MC: Burgers... Belphie: Too cold to walk... MC: Lazy... Belphie: No, you... MC: Wear a hat... Belphie: Fine... MC: ...Hell's Kitchen in twenty... Belphie: Hmm... *Both stand up and sleepwalk to the door.* Mammon: They're not actually asleep, right? MC: *walks directly into a wall, grumbles about traffic, then continues* Mammon: ....Right?

This is the rare MC that I'd pair with Belphie. Normally I'm a little wary about how that would pan out, but if their relationship is built on mutual sleepiness and shared hiding spots to nap, well. Love is love.

#ask response #i have no excuse for the tardiness here #forgive me anon #anon #hcs #obey me #obey me hcs #obey me belphegor #obey me belphie #obey me x reader #obey me x mc #om! belphegor #dthc #lucifer #mammon #levi #satan #asmo #beel #belphie #mc #x reader #belphie x reader

[avocado-writing]

May I ask for a companions x Tav headcanons list were Tav loves to cook and see's it as a way to people's hearts?

Astarion

Obviously is sad he cannot partake more, as he sees how much effort and love you put into your cooking.

You make an effort to make richly-flavoured blood dishes he might enjoy, just for him! But everyone thinks it’s just a tad bit morbid (and he agrees) so won’t ask you to go out of your way for him.

“Besides darling, I prefer to sample straight from the source…”

One night you’ve just pressed some parsley leaves to your neck for flavouring for him. He laughs so hard he cries. This is the first time he realises he loves you.

Gale

Oh, the camp’s resident cook is delighted to have a sous-chef!

And then he realises oops, no, he is the sous-chef. At which point he’s just happy to sit and watch you work your magic.

Happy to make dinner in order to pull his weight in the group, but he’s entranced watching you do it, too. You’re a wizard with some knives and a saucepan.

He can feel the love you put into every bite. Always makes sure to go out of his way to compliment you, and loves the way you smile in return ❤️

Wyll

After spending so much time on the road, he’s so happy to be in the presence of a good cook.

With every bite will discuss the flavour palate of your dish, talking about what herbs he can taste, letting you know he appreciates your effort.

He’s not a brilliant chef himself but would love for you to teach him!

In return he saves up to buy you fancy chocolates from the best chocolatier in Baldur’s Gate. It’s the least you deserve, and the way you light up makes his heart beat fast.

Karlach

Whatever you make, she loves.

“Pasta? My favourite! Oh my god, we’re having steak? I love it! Rice tonight? Right on!!”

She doesn’t have a favourite food. Dishes in Avernus were not wide in range, so she’s just happy to eat some different meals for once.

You give her seconds and thirds and she eats them up, going on and on about what a good cook you are.

“You’re so amazing at this! I love you!”

Good thing she’s too engrossed in her food to notice how flustered you are…

Lae’zel

Reluctant to eat anything at first.

“I do not want your istik food. I shall provide for myself.”

But after a few days of smelling how good the food is that you cook, she gives in… still trying to pretend it’s beneath her.

You serve her a small portion to start with, then watch her eyes widen as she realises how delicious it tastes.

She is too proud to ask for more - and you’d not have her any other way - but you make sure to serve her big portions from then on. Her bowl is always scraped clean.

Shadowheart

Isn’t too sure on your cooking at first - she’s used to bland, tasteless meals at the temple - but quickly comes around.

The longer you’re together and the closer you become, the more she opens up about her favourite flavours. Eventually she starts making requests.

“There’s this sort of cake I vaguely remember… if I can get you the honey, could you make it for me?”

Of course you can. You sit down and share it, watching her eyes roll back in delight, the way she licks the crumbs off of her fingers. The two of you are enamoured with each other, but you still fight over the last slice.

#shadowheart x reader #shadowheart x tav #karlach x reader #karlach x tav #gale x reader #gale x tav #gale dekarios x reader #gale of waterdeep x reader #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion ancunin x reader #lae’zel x reader #lae’zel x tav #Wyll x reader #wyll x tav #wyll ravengard x reader #Wyll ravengard x tav #My writing #request

[ghostofwriting]

Kildare Split Part One: Angel

Chapter One: Angel

Rafe Cameron x Reader

Note: Thank you all for commenting, liking, reblogging, and interacting with the KS smau's! I really appreciate you all and thought that I would give you a little treat for being so nice. I can't sleep so here is part one of Kildare Split's story, more specifically y/n and Rafe's. Hope you have fun getting to read about the behind-the-scenes. This is absolutely not edited.

Warnings: none, bad writing, Rafe being mean.

Word Count: 3,710

Synopsis: Everyone has noticed that there's been a shift in how Kildare Split acts around each other. Rafe and Y/N used to be so close, they were always pictured together, and always shared stories of each other and for the last few years, there has been nothing from them. A behind-the-scenes look at what went down between everyone's favorite band.

The audience claps as the interviewer closes out the interview. The four of them stand up and start shaking hands with the man. One of the Jimmys or Seth or maybe even Jack. She doesn’t know. She just wants to leave. She’s so tired. It’s been such a long day of pretending. 

Y/n’s the first one to make it backstage, she breathes deeply, her back against a wooden panel. 

“Hey, you okay?” a voice comes from behind her. She puts on a smile and nods her head. 

“Yeah, Top. Fine.” He nods and gives her a half smile. 

Things aren’t the same as they used to be. They haven’t been the same in so long. Two years? Maybe three. Everything is such a blur. Time mending together. Touring helps a lot. It helps time pass, and it helps distract her. Being on stage helps too, that’s the only moment that she can pretend that everything is okay and believe it. She can look at Rafe and smile at him and it feels like before. 

Topper leaves her alone, he goes back to the guys, hanging back with them as they talk to their manager. She walks into the dressing room, gathering her stuff and waiting for Sarah to text her that they’re ready to go. 

Rafe walks into the room, alone. 

“Good job tonight.” He doesn’t look at her. He just starts shoving his belongings into a tote, grabbing some extra snacks that the show provided them. 

She’s so angry. Even still. Even after all this time. She wants to scream at him, beg him to explain himself but she can’t. So she stays quiet. 

“This has to stop.” He says, pausing his actions, still not looking at her. 

She looks at the back of his head. His hair starting to grow out from when he buzzed it, bleached from his album shoot. 

She wants to speak but she can’t. It’s like the anger chokes her up, this ball of fire stuck in her throat and she can’t get a word out because all that will come out is lava. She wants to hurt him. Wants him to feel a fraction of what she felt. And even then, she doesn’t even know if she’s in the right. Two years later and she’s still mad at him, even if she shouldn’t be. 

Sarah tried telling her to talk to him, to work it all out for the sake of the band. From her perspective, the band hasn’t suffered. The band is doing better than ever and she thinks that she deserves an award for not killing Rafe on stage. 

Sometimes she wishes she could put everything behind her and just try and be his friend again. They may never be best friends again, but she could speak to him at least. She thinks she’s civil with him though. He’s not dead so that says something. 

Rafe just sighs and sits on the counter, pulling out his phone. He’s probably texting her. His girlfriend. No, the fiance. The one he cheated on her with. Or well, sort of.

+++

Rafe and y/n met when they were 10 years old. She was friends with Sarah and always went over to her house. She thought of Sarah as her best friend until she met Rafe. Maybe it was love at first sight or a little kid crush but she grew attached. She would not leave him alone. Luckily for her, Rafe was the same way. He always followed her around, asking her to play when he saw her on the beach, at school, or if their parents ran into each other at the grocery store. 

They became inseparable and soon they added two new faces to their duo. Topper and Barry. It was early on that they knew what they wanted to do with their lives. They would put on shows for whoever wanted to watch. They would sing at the top of their lungs and smash around on every surface they could find. 

Soon after, y/n had asked her mom to put her in guitar lessons. She picked it up quickly but she always enjoyed singing more. She had bragged to Rafe about how fun her vocal lessons were and he convinced his father that he wanted to join too. It was contagious because soon enough, Topper and Barry had each claimed an instrument that they practiced every day after school for hours. They drove their parents insane. 

Rafe said that they couldn’t have two guitar players in the band and Topper refused to drop lead guitar so y/n did. Rafe was mad at Topper first but y/n reassured him that she could pick up bass quickly. They became Kildare Split on a blisteringly hot summer day in Barry’s garage. Sarah, John B, and JJ watching their rehearsal. After that, they played shows whenever they could. Dive bars, small fairs around town, and busking outside venues where established bands were playing. 

It took them from the ages of 12 to 17 to get discovered but they never let up. When they finally got signed to their label, y/n remembers crying in Rafe’s arms. She was so happy, their dreams were coming true and she was doing it with her best friends. 

Little did she know that everything would fall apart so fast. 

Childhood is pretty much lost when you’re playing stingy bars full of drunk people and drugs at 12 years old. She thought that it would get better once they had protection from managers and label heads. She was wrong. It almost became worse. Drugs were everywhere. At 17 getting drugs offered to you by a 50-year-old man who controls your entire career is pretty terrifying. She didn’t think she could say no. The boys didn’t think they could say no. It was intense. Some of them made it out better than others, and the others, well, that’s the downfall of fame at such a young age. 

There was an entire year where she probably spent half of it high out of her mind. She went from doing it out of fear of losing her career to craving it, needing it. Rafe was the same way. Topper had tried to help them both but they were too far gone. She remembers going on talk shows, but not which talk shows or who they talked to or what they talked about. She looks back on those days and feels a pit in her stomach. Losing such a big chunk of her young adult life that she can’t relive hurts. 

That’s when it all started. She was high and drunk, and Rafe was high and drunk and one thing led to another. They had never crossed that line before. After her initial crush went away, she had never thought of Rafe that way. When it happened, it felt like someone had thrown a bucket of cold water over her head. She woke up the next day and immediately regretted it. She apologized to Rafe, told him that it could never happen again and bolted. 

That’s when she cleaned her act up. She couldn’t risk their relationship, for their friendship and the band. 

One thing she should have known is that Rafe didn’t care. He wanted her and he was going to have her. And who was she to shove all her bottled-up feelings back in their little box? Who was she to deny him?

So they start their little song and dance. At first, they keep it hidden from everyone. If Topper and Barry were to find out, they would be so incredibly upset and they would tell them to stop. 

She can’t stop. She doesn’t want to stop. Not as long as Rafe wants her. 

She gets clean and she tries to help Rafe get clean too. He relapses time and time again, crawling back to her, asking for another chance. She’s been there, she knows how hard it is to get clean so of course she gives him all the chances he asks for. 

They hook up on and off for a year. They never become anything official because Rafe isn’t in the headspace to be in a relationship. He needs to focus on himself and she wants to help him and if he needs her to be his friend, that’s what she’ll be. 

“You’re friends with benefits with my brother,” Sarah says stunned. Topper and Barry had found out and ran to her to get her to talk some sense into Rafe and y/n. 

“It’s not like that.” Sarah looks at her incredulously. 

“Are you or are you not fucking my brother?” y/n doesn’t know how to respond so she stays quiet. Sarah is scary when she’s mad.

“It’s not because he’s my brother, y/n. It’s because of what he means to you.” y/n shakes her head, smiling softly. 

“Sarah, I promise you, it’s okay. Rafe and I have an agreement.” Sarah sighs and looks at her with concern.

“I just don’t want you to get hurt.” She should’ve taken Sarah’s advice. She should have put a stop to everything that minute everyone found out. She was too far gone for him though, she couldn’t leave him, not when he needed her. 

Everyone warned her. Everyone told her that it would end badly. 

“I just want you to know that if he does something, those boys will choose him. You’re the odd variable y/n, know that.” Cleo had said to her one night when they were in the tour bus, the boys off on a run. 

“I am just as important to them as Rafe is.” Or she had thought. 

On one stupid drunken night she tells Rafe that she loves him. He gapes at her not knowing what to say. 

“It’s okay, you don’t have to say anything.” She understands, of course, she does. It’s not like that between them. 

The doesn’t stop her from crying in Barry’s arms about it. She hiccups and sobs into his chest about how much she loves him and how he will never look at her that way. Barry just listens and holds her. She falls asleep in his arms. She feels so safe with him. Her best friend. 

Shit hits the fan all at once and so fast. 

Sarah sits her down one night after a show. Her adrenaline is still pumping, she wants to go jump around with the guys and run laps around the venue. 

“Sar, can we do this later?”

“This can’t wait.” The tone in her voice brings her back down to earth. It’s serious. 

“What’s wrong?” y/n knows it’s about Rafe before Sarah opens her mouth. She feels it, there’s a shift in whatever the hell universe she’s been living in. Her face feels hot, her ears are ringing, and she feels like she starts to shake. 

“Rafe is seeing someone.” Of course, he is. She’s y/n she’s just his friend.

A friend that he sleeps with. A friend that has stayed up all night with him as he detoxed. A friend who drove him to and from meetings, that drove him to rehab and told everyone that he was on vacation. She was the person that he would run to when any little thing went wrong, she held him as he cried about their career not going anywhere and having to go back to work for his dad. She let him sob in her arms about all the shit that they have been through during the lift-off of their career. She was there for him, always for him and he promised her. He promised that he would always be there for her that it was only her. That he only ever wanted her and when he got his shit together they could be together. He told her that he wasn’t sleeping around. He didn’t have time for girlfriends, he didn’t have time to put in the work on a relationship because he could barely put the work into himself. He told her that she was the only one he was ending his nights with and waking up in the mornings with. He promised her the world and it was all just a lie. 

Just as fast as her body starts shaking, it relaxes, she takes a deep breath and looks at Sarah, the look of concern still on her face. 

“Who?” she asks lowly. 

“This painter, named Sofia.” The name rings a bell. She thinks she’s seen her call Rafe a few times. 

“That’s okay. We weren’t dating.” Sarah’s concern grows so y/n smiles at her. 

“Let’s go back out there.”

“Do you want me to call Cleo?” Sarah asks. 

“I’m good, Sar.”

And she is. Or at least she’s trying to be good. She has no right to be angry. They weren’t dating. He doesn’t owe her anything. 

They walk into the room where the guys are playing video games. Waiting for the fans to leave the venue before it’s safe for them to leave. 

“Hey! Great show tonight angel!” Rafe says looking away from the screen at her. She gives him a short smile, her face pensive. 

Cleo’s words ring in her head, those boys will choose him those boys will choose him those boys will choose him.

She knows all three of them like the back of her hand. Topper's lip quivers when he lies. Barry doesn’t look you in the eyes. And Rafe, Rafe’s ears turn red. 

She has to know if the two boys, men, that she grew up with and calls her family, would keep that from her. 

“So who’s Sofia?” She watches as all three of them tense. She’s looking between Barry and Topper but she sees Rafe turn to look at Sarah with anger between his brows from her peripherals. 

She looks for the cues and hopes that she can’t find them. It’s hard to miss when Barry doesn’t look up from his controller but is frozen, quiet. She looks at Topper, his mouth open, trying to find something to say.

“I don’t know, some person we commissioned probably.” She can’t help the breathy sob that escapes her lips when she sees the quiver on Topper’s. 

She swallows hard, she turns to Rafe, shaking her head at him and backing away. 

“You’re a liar. You’re a fucking liar. All of you are.” She backs into the hallway, her eyes still floating from one to the other. 

“y/n-” Topper moves towards her but she holds her hand out and cuts him off.

“No. Stay away from me. I never- I-” she chokes on a sob. “ I never would have done this to you. Don’t talk to me, don’t follow me, just stay away from me.” She turns on her feet and books it out of the room and hallway, she hears Rafe chewing Sarah out but doesn’t stay long enough to hear what Sarah says. 

Things are awkward, to say the least from then on. She stayed in her bunk and silently cried herself to sleep. She wants to go to him, ask him what she could have done, ask him what happened and when he knew he wanted to stop things with her. He doesn’t come to see her that night, or the next night or the night after that. 

At first, she thought it was because he was giving her time to cool off but on the third night of complete silence from him, she walks into the dressing room of their show in Nashville and a pretty girl with short hair sits on the couch. 

“Hi, I’m Sofia. You must be y/n.” She extends her hand out and y/n takes it. 

“Nice to meet you.” y/n says. 

“You too, sorry about how things went down.” Y/n scrunches up her nose, her head tilting. 

“What?” She asks.

“I mean, I knew he had to choose eventually, he just didn’t get the chance to tell you.” She feels like she’s going to throw up. She wasn’t planning on hating Sofia, but she knew. Sofia knew that y/n existed and she still kept on seeing him. 

She walks out of the room. 

That same night, everything changed. If he had just apologized, if he had told her that he fucked up and he was too drugged up to think clearly, she would have forgiven him. That’s not what happened. 

She runs into Rafe in the lunch area and can’t hold in all her feelings. She needs to know what he’s thinking and wants to ask him to explain himself. 

“Rafe?” He doesn’t acknowledge her. 

“Can we please talk?”

“God Y/n, I don’t want to fucking talk. I’m so goddamn tired of you moping around this place like you have any right.” He explodes at her, his face red. 

“What?” She’s shocked, he’s never talked to her like this. 

“You’re just some girl I fucked okay? I needed to get off and you were always there. You were just a fuck. I don’t care about you like that.” He pauses. His words sank into her like knives. 

“I’m going to get clean for her. Sofia, she’s worth it.” He walks out of the room without saying anything else to her. She feels her eyes start to water, chills running up and down her body.

How could he be so cruel? How could her best friend of so many years say he doesn’t care about her? How could he disregard her feelings and belittle her to be just someone he fucked? She thought they were friends. She believed that they would come out of this situation unscathed but he didn’t even see her as a person. 

The people she thought cared about her most in the world, didn’t care about her at all. They all chose someone else. They didn’t choose her. 

She had never felt so alone in her entire life. And for the first time since they started their journey as a band, she wondered if any of it had been worth it. 

+++

“I don’t think it can stop.” It’s the first time you’ve spoken to him directly and not on stage or in an interview in years. 

“What do you mean?”

“I’m going to move out of LA, back home probably or New York with Cleo and Pope.”

“y/n.” It’s not Rafe’s voice saying her name, it’s Barry from behind her. She turns around and looks at him, looks past him and Topper, and then back at Rafe.”

“I think we all know this has been building up and it’s getting really hard to pretend all the time so um-yeah I’m going to go, I need a break after the tour’s over.” She gulps down the ball building in her throat. She needs to get through this. She hates putting the band on the back burner and hates that she’s to blame.

“What are you talking about?” Rafe asks her, getting off the counter.

“It’s just a break. I think we should announce a prolonged hiatus and just do our own thing for a bit.”

“We have an entire third album to record,” Rafe says incredulously.

“I’ll keep writing and you can send me the vocals you want me to lay down. It’ll be fine.”

“You’re breaking up the band over some stupid grudge?” Rafe asks. 

“That’s not what I’m saying. I just need some time.” It’s not a grudge.

“You have got to be kidding me, y/n, come on. I know how much you love touring and making music.”

“I do,” her voice breaks, “I just need time away from all of you.”

“You need a break from us? What did we do?” Barry pipes in.

“You left me alone. You let him,” she points at Rafe, “belittle me and make me feel like nothing. You isolated me for two years.” Rafe scoffs. 

“You did that yourself.” He sounds hurt more than he does angry. He’s different now. He’s better in a way. He hasn’t apologized to her but he’s good now. He’s clean. He got clean for Sofia. Because she was worth it and y/n wasn’t. 

“Because I was hurt, Rafe! You broke my heart. I fucking told you that I loved you, I was honest with my feelings for you and you never said anything back and then you told me you didn’t care about me!”

“I wasn’t in my right mind.” The tears are still gathering in her eyes but she refuses to let them fall. 

“If you had just apologized to me, this wouldn’t have happened but you said some nasty shit and never looked back and I was just so alone.”

“Do you know what it’s like to have no one to talk to on tour for months on end? That’s what I have had to go through for years because I don’t trust any of you! Because you hurt me and never apologized.”

“I’m sorry. I know it’s late but I’m sorry.” Topper is the one that speaks up. 

“Thank you, but it’s too late. I need some time. I need to heal so that the band can continue because I don’t think I can do this for much longer if I stay.” Topper nods, agreeing with her. She gives him a thankful smile and breathes in deep. 

“Okay, so we finish the tour, and a week or so later we announce that we’re going on a break. We’ll still write and record and we can even release the album but I won’t be doing press for it.” She looks at all three of them and nods. There’s a finality to her words. No room for argument. 

“And you have your solo album to figure out and do press for, maybe you can even tour it. You’ll be fine.” She says to Rafe, more words than she had said to him directly in a long time.

“I’ll see you all soon.” With that, she walks out of the talk show’s dressing room, towards the exit of the building. She was going to finish up this tour. She could do that and then she could rest.

#rafe cameron imagine #kildaresplit au #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron #outerbanks au #rafe x reader #rafe obx #rafe cameron au #rafe cameron smau #rafe outer banks #rafe x you #rafe fanfiction #rafe fic #rafe imagine

[csuitebitches]

Going From a Fixed Mindset to a Growth Mindset

Lesson #1: growth is not linear. You will not improve drastically overnight. As I’ve stressed this before, things take time and consistency and concentration.

A fixed mindset is basically a belief that the person you’re born as - your intelligence and talent - are fixed. They cannot be changed, no matter what.

Science has shown that this is not true. It’s 100% possible to get smarter over time and with dedicated effort.

This is what a growth mindset is - believing that you can be better over time, and that your current level of intelligence and talent is temporary.

People with fixed mindsets are insecure, and it shows. Fear of failure; taking constructive criticism to heart; feelings of jealousy when someone they know is doing well… we’ve all known a person like this, and been this person ourselves at some point in our life.

Growth mindset is therefore the opposite but the effects are as grounding; it can help battling anxiety, depression, burnout issues, behavioural issues and so on.

I understand that a lot of you don’t have people in your life with a similar mentality of personal growth. I’m therefore reopening my Discord. My followers can meet, connect and help each other out.

Now, how does one transition from a fixed to a growth mindset?

Here are some things I think could help:

1. Detaching yourself from the definition of failure

If you’ve already decided the outcome of a certain situation without even trying, then you’re still stuck in a fixed mindset. Things like “there’s no point in me applying for that job because I don’t have the skills and I won’t get it anyway” - applying for that job wouldn’t hurt, even if you don’t get it. Stop limiting your opportunities that you never know could actually work out. A growth mindset person will always try to make most of the opportunities they have.

2. Not getting attached to any outcomes

Don’t get attached to favourable or unfavourable outcomes. When something goes well, have gratitude in your heart but don’t let it get to your ego. Life is about constantly learning. Don’t get attached to compliments and don’t get disheartened by criticism.

3. Actively working on yourself

You can learn a language at any age. You can start learning how to dance or sing or ride a horse at any age, if you’re doing it for the pleasure of learning (getting into competitive stages could be challenging if you’re not young). Someone who works on themselves has a growth mindset.

4. Stop self depreciating yourself

If I see one more IG bio that says “I’m so boring uwu” I will literally throw hands. Stop talking shit about yourself. Classic fixed mindset case. It’s childish and people pleasing behaviour.

5. Stop the comparison game

Stop resenting the people around for the good work they do in their life/ if their life is easy. We all have our challenges, whether we show them publicly or not. The more you work on your inner peace and inner self, the less you’ll feel the need to compare yourself to someone else. Jealousy is a disease and a sign of a fixed mindset.

6. Appreciate and thank yourself for being you.

If you’re nice to your mum, siblings, friends when they need your support… you can be nice to yourself too. Growth mindset does not come from berating yourself.

7. Recognise mistakes and take accountability

Admitting that you’re wrong is never easy. However, I’ll always have respect for someone who can admit that they messed up, rather than someone who will make up stories to justify their antics.

8. Provide yourself with at least 3 productive self-care hours a week

Self care here doesn’t mean skin care or hair care. I mean brain care. You feed your brain good things that it needs to stay calm and ever-growing.

These could include: brain games, mediation, a hobby, watching an educational documentary, doing a short online course, reading… anything that’s good for your brain.

9. Stop being a chameleon

Have you ever met those sort of people who will do anything to fit in? It could adopting that group’s mannerisms, thought processes, opinions… now, to an extent, that is normal and subtle. However, when it starts going too far to a point where you can’t be yourself anymore, thats a problem. In my opinion, that’s an example of not being able to practice your growth mindset publicly.

Privately, you may be growth oriented - but it needs to reflect in your words and actions. If you’re holding yourself back in doing certain things because you’re afraid of what other friends will think of you, you need better friends. Embrace people who have a growth mentality.

10. Using social media for better purposes

I made a separate Instagram account where I only follow educational stuff - think history, geography, arts and architecture, science, tech, business - and absolutely no people. It’s my way of using social media to ensure I learn more. Social media may be the devil, but you can be smart and alter it to your purposes, to give you that kick that you need to educate yourself.

#c suite #powerful woman #ceo aesthetic #personal growth #that girl #productivity #strong women #getting your life together #feminine energy #balance #growth mindset #fixed mindset #mindset #growth #fixed #mentality

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for not wanting to hang out with my boyfriend’s best friend?

My [33F] boyfriend’s [30M] (we’ll call him R) best friend (30s M) (call him D) is chronically late but also never communicates anything. I have ADHD and like I get it. I have all the patience in the world for people who are late if they communicate they will be late. But D will never communicate anything, ever.

R and D have a standing game night on Fridays where they go for dinner and play board games. D “normally” comes between 4-5pm. He picks up his kids from school at 3:30, drops them home with his partner and then drives over. It is a 30 minute drive. But in the past, both on regular Friday meetings, and for other meetups, he has been significantly late (3 hours, once!) without saying a word all day.

R wants me to join them on Friday evenings. I don’t have a traditional ‘job’ but I am a crafter with many things to do and also, as mentioned, I have ADHD. Part of that means I really need a specific time to go and do something otherwise I will just be stuck in like “wait mode” all day unable to do anything because I don’t know when I need to stop doing it. The first time I went out with R & D I did lose the whole day (no work done) because we could get no actual information from D on when he was coming, and he ended up not arriving until after 5pm.

I told D I didn’t appreciate not being able to properly plan my day, and that providing a heads up about these things is generally considered polite. I also made it clear afterwards to R that if D continued to not communicate anything and just “turn up whenever, at some point after 4, maybe” then I would not be joining them on board game nights. 

Today I once again only had “4-5ish, I guess” but by 4:30 not only was D not here but R had heard nothing from him, and suspected he had not even left. I told R I was not coming, I had already mostly lost the day - having stopped work several hours before - but I would at least be reclaiming the evening.

At 5:15 R called me to say that D had been arranging to have his partner come, and had been sorting out childcare (in the form of D’s mum). He at no point earlier in the day had said anything about this to R. In fact they hadn’t spoken at all. D then told R they would be leaving at around 5:45, so wouldn’t be here until at least 6:15.

I reiterated that I would not be coming. It was a boundary I set before and was very clear about, and was now enforcing it. D could have said much earlier that he was planning on inviting his partner, would have to arrange childcare, and would likely be later than usual. He chose not to do that, so I am choosing to not go.

R then got upset with me and said he would not be coming over to spend the night at my place the following evening (we have a normal routine on who stays where which days, and he knows unexpectedly changing that without any discussion at all will also mess with my ability to do things. The routine is important to me) because I was being unfair. 

I told him, again, it’s a firm boundary for me. People who won’t communicate anything at all when you have plans (even loose ones) aren’t respecting other people’s time. Even if that’s not the intention it’s still just… rude to the other person. Other people still have lives when you’re not there, and expecting everyone else to just be ready for “whenever” you feel like showing up without a word is not ok. Again, if it happens only once in a while because Shit Happens that’s different. But if it’s every time, with everyone, forever, then really you’re just a bit inconsiderate.

R says he doesn’t feel that way because he doesn’t have anything going on so it doesn’t bother him, so he isn’t upset with D (even though I have things on, so it does impact and bother me, his partner) but he is upset with me because I am “making him feel bad”. D’s complete lack of communication and lateness is not the problem, the fact I am annoyed about it and choosing to stay home is the problem. I said it is not fair to blame me for this turn of events when (unlike D) I was VERY clear beforehand that I wouldn’t be going if this happened, and that if nothing else he should still be at least a little annoyed with D for not respecting my time after I’d already spoken to him about it.

Instead of actually sitting D down and properly telling him “look I don’t have things to do but L does and it does bother her when you don’t communicate anything so it is messing with her work when you do this and that is not ok”, R then said he just won’t invite me to anything ever again. So I can’t be upset if he’s late.

AITA for refusing to go to board game night?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

[cerise-on-top]

hellooooo! can you write on how you think Laswell and Valeria would react to their wife’s randomly bringing home a small kitten she found on the side of the road/in a ally? Also I hope you are feeling better lovely!

Hello! In all honesty, I'm not doing too great right now, I should really be resting up, but I can't because of work! Oh well, it happens!

Valeria and Laswell’s S/O Bringing Home a Kitten

Valeria: She would not care for the little thing in the slightest, in all honesty. Valeria knows that she’s absent very often, so she can’t exactly blame you for wanting a small animal companion to keep you company. Besides, she’d rather have it be a small animal than some other person. Still, she’s not the biggest fan of animals. While she may not hate them, she simply doesn’t care about them, regardless of what they are or how cute they may be to anyone else. You can keep your little kitten, she doesn’t care too much about it as long as she gets you to herself when she is at home. However, if the cat gets more of your attention than she does, that’s when she’s starting to get a little bit jealous. If you’re not looking, she’ll shoo the little critter away, hoping it’ll get the message and leave you and her alone. That’s when she’ll come to dislike your kitten a little bit. However, if you bug her enough about it, she might begrudgingly apologize to it, but only when you’re around. She won’t be outright mean to it, but she will put it away from your lap and place it somewhere else if she thinks you’re paying too much attention to it. The little critter can meow all it wants, it’s not getting any extra treats from her. Valeria will only feed it when you don’t have the time to do so, and even then it’s on thin ice. Although she usually prides herself on being a competent and confident woman, it’s so evident that Valeria’s as jealous as it gets, and of a cat as well. You can tease her about it too, she won’t really do anything about it because she can’t. She loves you and doesn’t wanna hurt you, which includes not hurting your stinky furball. It’s obvious it makes you happy, and that’s what she wants to see in this otherwise rotten world.

Laswell: Although she isn’t the biggest animal lover, she can appreciate a cute animal when she sees one, but wasn’t sure she heard you correctly when you claimed to have rescued that kitten from an alley. Laswell knows that cats are independent enough when they’re older, at the very least, but you can’t really leave a kitten all alone for now. Besides, what if it’s got some sort of disease? As long as you take good care of it, Laswell won’t mind having a kitten be brought home, but she won’t have too much time to take care of it either, so you’re gonna have to be committed to taking care of it. She may not be a fan of having a cat around at home at first, but she grows fond of it anyway. Think of all the “My dad and the cat he didn’t want at first” memes, that’s literally her. Either way, she does think you have a heart of gold for wanting to rescue a small and defenseless animal that had nowhere to go. However, don’t make it a habit to continuously rescue animals, she doesn’t have the time or space for all of them, so please just keep it to one, maybe two, at most. Laswell, when she can, will feed the kitten and play with it. Sometimes you might even catch her sleeping with it. Especially when the kitten is more mature and has calmed down from all the playing frenzy, that’s when Laswell might hug it more often and sometimes even take naps with it. Will help you out whenever you need anything from her. Your cat needs to go to the vet? It needs some more food? The last few toys you got for it are broken and or torn? Don’t worry, Laswell’s got you covered. She’s got enough money to make your cat’s life very luxurious, as luxurious as it gets, even. The food will be of the highest quality, it will get all the meds it could possibly need, if it needs them, and the toys will always be provided for. The little kitten probably couldn’t have asked for better owners, in all honesty.

#cod #cod x reader #valeria garza #valeria garza x reader #kate laswell #kate laswell x reader #the girls are so incredibly popular on this blog it makes me very happy #oh before I forget #fem!reader #although there's no mention of reader's gender #I don't really have much to say as of right now #it's insane to me how it's the end of february soon enough already #the years just seem to get shorter and shorter the more time pases it seems #interesting. I once talked to my co worker about this and he said I can't even imagine how he feels with how quick they go by #I took him by his word. the passage of time is so odd. some days won't pass and others seem to last an hour at most #but that's not what anyone is here for #please enjoy!

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Eddie Munson's royal fuck-up

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 11

Prompt: Royalty AU

Rated: G

CW: none

Tags: Rockstar Eddie Munson; Royal Steve Harrington; Meet cute; Flirting; Secret Identity; Sort of angsty/open ending

"So, tommorow…" Chrissy says from behind the folder they've been provided. It looks so posh with its dark green binding, the royal sigil embossed on it in gold print. Eddie hates it. It probably thinks it's so much better than the other folders. "When you're introduced to Prince Steven, you're to address him as Your Royal Highness. After that, you call him Sir." 

"What, really? Dude, at least buy me dinner before we start with the kinky shit." 

Chrissy shoves his feet off the desk, which almost makes him topple off his chair. 

"Can you take this seriously? A royal visit is an important matter. We can certainly use the publicity-" 

Eddie's hand crashes down on the desk. "I'm a fucking rockstar, Chris. That ain't enough publicity? This place is my baby, mine. What does that royal asshole know about what it's like to have a rough childhood? He thinks he can come here, give a little speech, smile for the cameras, and suddenly it's all about him?" 

"What, now you care?" 

He whirls on her, but the look she gives him makes him freeze. Chrissy sighs. 

"Eds, you are so busy with the new album and the tour, you haven't even met the new volunteers. I said I'd manage the place, and that's fine. But you must trust me. Just do it for me. Please?" 

*

The skate park has new graffiti, and he hasn't even seen it yet. Eddie exhales his cigarette smoke and watches how it curls up to the sign spelling Hellfire Youth Center.

Maybe Chrissy is right. Maybe he should be here more. Maybe he's been so caught up in the whole fame and fortune thing, he's losing sight of what's important, like- 

"Watch out!" 

Like guys on skateboards barrelling towards him. 

Eddie throws up his hands. The guy tries to swerve, completely tips his precarious balance, and goes flying off the board and right into him. They land on the asphalt with an undignified oomph. 

"Shit, sorry," babbles the guy and tries to disentangle his limbs from Eddie’s. "Couldn't brake-" 

"S alright," Eddie hears himself say, even though his ass hurts like a bitch from the impact and he can already feel the bruises forming. "You can fall into my arms any time." 

Skateboard guy blinks up at him and - fuuuck, he's cute! In a scrungly, beanie-stuffed-over-chestnut-locks, black-rimmed-nerd-glasses kind of way. 

For a second, nobody says anything. 

"For fuck’s sake," someone swears, and then little Max Mayfield is running towards them, ginger braids jumping with the movement. "I told you to be careful." 

"Sorry," cutie with the glasses says again. Eddie has never seen him around. He must be one of the new volunteers Chrissy mentioned. "Guess I'll need to practice some mo- ow, shit!" 

His hands fly up to cradle his knee. There's a hole and a rapidly spreading bloodstain in the fabric of his jeans. 

"Oh fuck," Eddie says, and whips his bandana from his back pocket to press it to the wound. "Red, why don't you hop inside and get the first aid kit? I'll stay here with …" 

He trails off expectantly. Cutie's eyes go wide. 

"I, erm … Dustin." 

"I'll stay here with Dustin." 

*

Dustin, it turns out, isn't just cute, but also fun to talk to. He doesn’t gush about what a huge fan he is or ask for an autograph once. Eddie never thought he'd appreciate that one day, but it gets really old really quick. 

Instead, they jump from one topic to the next, sitting on one of the benches and watching Max go on her board. Dustin has a quick, sharp wit and isn't afraid to counter Eddie’s jabs with his own, delightfully bitchy sense of humor. Damn, to think he almost missed this one. He really needs to be around more.

"I love this place, y’know? You created something great for these kids." 

Eddie jerks to attention. The sun has started to dip, casting Dustin’s smile and the hair poking from his beanie in a soft golden light. 

"Thanks man," Eddie murmurs, and feels the bitterness boil back up. "Some people seem to think it needs better publicity, though." 

Dustin shuffles awkwardly, winces when the movement pulls on the Care Bears bandaids Max has plastered all over his knee. 

"You mean the royal visit?"

Eddie huffs. 

"Yeah, man. I mean, what are they expecting me to do, bow and grovel while his Royal Doucheness prances all over the place with his perfect hair and fancy suit and thank him for it? It's not like he cares about these kids, it's all just a gig to him."

Dustin draws his bottom lip between his teeth.

"You can't know that. Maybe he does care. Maybe he's-" 

Eddie barks a laugh. "Oh, give me a break. All the royals are good at is looking important and spending our tax money. I can fucking do without-" 

"Steve? We gotta leave, c'mon." 

They both whip around. A fancy black limousine with tinted windows has pulled up in the parking lot behind them. A gruff looking man is holding the back door open and looking at them expectantly. 

Dustin sighs and stands. 

"Coming, Hop." 

"Wait, wait, what?" Eddie babbles as he walks towards the car, shoulders in a sad little hunch. "What's going on? Who's that guy? Why's he calling you-" 

And then it clicks. 

"Oh fuck," Eddie says. 

Dustin … no, Steve … no, Steven - Crown Prince Steven fucking Harrington - gives him a tight smile while the man ushers him into the backseat. 

"Thank you for your time, Mr Munson, I'll see you tomorrow. I'll try not to be too much of a douchebag, I promise." 

The door clicks shut. 

The car glides away. 

Eddie buries his face in his palms. 

"Jesus fucking Christ. He's the fucking Prince."

Beside him, wheels grate on asphalt as Max brakes.

"Wow," she deadpans. "You're in some deep shit." 

Eddie groans. 

Tomorrow is gonna be a long-ass fucking day. 

Part 2

All my holiday drabbles

#steddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve x eddie #steddie brainrot #steddie fanfic #fanfiction writer #fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #steddie ficlet #steddie holiday drabbles #hype's holiday drabbles

[cemeterything]

what's being low-empathy like? i've never heard about varying degrees of empathy or what an empath is, i thought it was an internet joke (i'm not usamerican so maybe the theory is more evolved in the US) isn't empathy something you practice throughout your life and interactions?

'empath' has been turned into a sort of internet joke as a result of the label being treated like this shortcut to being a good person by some, but being high empathy =/= being an 'empath' and can in fact be very unpleasant and difficult because being highly sensitive to other people's emotions can be exhausting and overstimulating. honestly i don't envy high empathy people at all.

for me low empathy is like... i can figure out how other people are feeling sometimes, but it takes me longer and involves more intentional mental processing. i have to actively want to empathize with someone to do so, and can quite easily detach myself from a situation if i don't want to. my baseline empathy reactions to stimuli are very dull and distant, and i struggle to place myself into other people's shoes and often draw incorrect conclusions as to how they might be thinking and feeling and why they might have made the decisions they did on my own. i can be unobservant if i'm not trying to be, and fail to notice other people's feelings unless they make an effort to tell/show me, leading to me often being less involved in social groups and feeling 'out of the loop' on any developments that occur within them. i am frequently undisturbed by shocking and upsetting things because i just can't imagine what they must actually be like to experience.

to make up for this, i try to ask people questions and observe the world and people around me for clues to analyze that might help me figure out how to empathize better. i also have a tendency to stick to routines and 'stock reactions' in my social interactions whenever i'm unsure of how to respond, even with people i'm very familiar with. i don't mean them any less, but if for example i know that saying a certain phrase or performing a certain action usually provides comfort and i see someone upset and want to offer them my support, i'll use it unless i have a strong sense that an alternative course of action would be more appreciated. i'll often ask people what they would like me to do for them rather than assuming because i know my assumptions are often based on limited and inaccurate information and might just make things worse, which some people find very considerate, but others find needy and immature.

i do think that empathy is a skill that you can practice and develop. i have a developmental disorder (adhd) as well as a very socially isolated and abusive upbringing, so i have no doubt that my lack of empathy is at least partially based in that, and while i don't think you need to be highly empathetic to be a good person, i do hope i'll be able to develop mine a bit!

[russellsppttemplates]

How bad is it? (Lance Stroll)

Lance is there to help you through another time of the month

Note: english is not my first language. I'm trying to include Lance a little bit more in my blog (if you have any Lance account recommendations, let me know!), so I hope you enjoy this piece as this was a very self indulgent piece, also with the help of three lovely anons (thank you so much for sending the asks in (I choose not to share them as they could be a bit more personal for you))! This is also the second smutty piece I write, as I don't write many because while I love to read them, I don't think I write them that well, but this one just had to be it because it is really relatable and it's also part of it all!

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm taking requests so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to do so as I'll try to get to them the best I can!

my masterlist

Tw: reader's period (mentions bleeding, cramps, pains), smut (period sex)

"Are you and Lance doing anything this weekend?", Chloe asked, sipping her coffee while you stirred your tea, "yes, we are both taking Friday off so we can have a long weekend with the bank holiday on Monday. I think he has some things planned, nothing too structured and rather just for us to spend some time together", you smiled, tapping your spoon on the edge of the cup before taking a sip, hoping the warm drink would help you settle your stomach after another dinner with the Strolls where you had a variety of food so wide you're sure you were not the only one who didn't know half of the names of all the foods you had.

When you got home later that night, you got ready for bed, sitting carefully on the bed after putting two of the decorative pillows by your feet so you could prop them up, "are your legs feeling tired?", Lance inquired as he walked out of the ensuite, dress in his sleeping shorts after he also got ready for bed, "a little bit, it was probably the heels I wore today", you noted, opening your arms so you could cuddle and nuzzle your face in Lance's neck, kissing his soft skin, "Good night, sweetheart, sleep tight", he mumbled, kissing the top of your head.

Waking up the next morning was not the experience you or Lance had hoped for. Your boyfriend had woken up a little bit earlier so he could get started on breakfast, knowing that he'd have at least a twenty minutes head start before you could notice he was gone from the bed and look for him. On your end, you woke up because of the expected reason, feeling the loss of Lance's body and the heat he provided before you felt the pressure on your lower belly increasing, groaning to cope with it, "please, please, please, not this weekend", you whispered to yourself as you made your way to the bathroom, sitting down on the toilet and confirming that, indeed, your period had arrived. Grabbing your products from the cabinet, you got yourself sorted and then dressed in a pair of shorts and one of Lance's t-shirts before making your way downstairs, smelling what you assumed was pancakes.

Lance was indeed flipping pancakes on the stove, his naked back to you inviting you to curl up against him, making you clear your throat in hopes of not startling him, catching his attention, "I was going to bring this up to the bed", he murmured soflty, turning off the induction stove so the last pancake could finish cooking and then opening his arms to hug you, "Good morning, did you have a good sleep?", Lance said after he kissed your forehead, "Good morning, handsome. I was fine until I woke up and mother nature decided it was time for me to feel like I have a baby dinosaur eating my uterus for breakfast", you groaned, finding some comfort on the warmth radiating off of Lance's skin, "from 1 to 10, how bad is it, my love?", he asked, earning a mumbled "7" from you before your face cringed, "is it the smell of the pancakes?", your boyfriend questioned again, moving the plate away from you once you nodded.

Looking at the fridge, you decided that eggs would be the best option, since the smell of your favourite pancakes currently made you nauseous, "I can make them", you reasoned with Lance, "your pancakes are going to get cold, bub", you insisted, your boyfriend easily taking the bowl and fork you were planning to whisk the eggs in away from you, "breakfast was going to be my treat anyhow, but now that you're not feeling your best, I'm keen to continue with it", he smiled, kissing your forehead and shushing you to sit in one of the stools in the kitchen island, stealing glances once in a while.

While Lance ate his chocolaty pancakes, you ate your toast with scrambled eggs, "so, what are the plans for today?", you asked, "you said you wanted to do that trail by the forest, and it looks like it's a good day for i-", you began suggesting, remembering his excitement when he came back from a run and suggested that you would join in someday for a walk along the trail, "Y/N, I was planning on having a weekend cuddled up to you, doing whatever you wanted to do inside, and since your monthly cycle has greeted you earlier, I'm especially not going to suggest, much less take you, to do that trail, okay?", he interrupted you, his hand joining yours on the cold stone counter top, "I know you like the back of my hand, and while I appreciate that you want to do something I liked and suggested we do, I also want to take care of you and let you rest, because I bet the last thing on your mind is putting on leggings and going for a walk outside", he finished his rant, eyes sparkling at your blushing cheeks, "yes, I was hoping you'd want to stay in", you mumbled, puckering your lips so he could kiss them, "this weekend was always going to be about us, so cuddles and kisses it is".

Sitting in the living room sofa, Lance picked out a comedy show you both liked to watch, having spent enough time on it to the point where you know most of the lines already. It was all fine until your boyfriend's hand, that had been rubbing circles on your lower belly, began rubbing wider circles and accidentally touched your boobs, "fuck, Lance!", you hissed, your hand moving to where his was previously, "Did I hurt you? I'm so sorry!", your nervous boyfriend scrambled, "they're very sensitive, more so than usual", you explained, trying to soften the concerned crease on his forehead, "I know they look good, but you might have to stay away from them for a little bit", you teased him, relief overcoming you when you finally saw him smile.

After havin lunch, you felt good enough yo help Lance tidy the kitchen, despite his initial concern that it would make your back pain and cramps worse. You were putting the last plates on the cabinet when you felt the first cramp since earlier in the morning, slowly getting back up and resting your hands on the counter top, trying to soothe the pressure by rocking your hips on slow circles, "Are you okay, sweetheart?", Lance asked when he saw you, putting the table cloth in its designated drawer and approaching you, his hands on your hips, "My cramps have started again", you groaned, turning around so you could steal a cuddle from Lance, supporting your chin on his sternum and looking up at him, "how bad is it?", he asked, "about a seven, eight maybe, they're picking up", you mumbled, "is there anything I can do for you?", he questioned, "some cuddles would be nice right now", you suggested, pushing him to your shared bedroom.

Even though you had to get up a few times to use the bathroom since your flow was always heavier around the first few days, the cuddles and the nap you took helped distract you from the uncomfortable pressure on your tummy that had been building up.

"Do you have your products or do I have to pop to the store?", he asked gently, "I have enough, thank you. I stocker up last month", you reasoned, "but I was wondering if we have everything to make a carbonara? I just remembered it exists and now I can't stop thinking about it", you blushed. "I saw them all this morning, I think we do, yes. So, no sweet cravings this month?", he pointed out, "so far, no. At least I didn't steal your pancakes and you can't blame me for making you eat sugary things this month", you winked, "I did that once! The rest of the times I have mastered the art of hiding it from the nutrition team!".

By the end of the night, you were back in bed, tummy full of good food and waiting for Lance to come up and joing you, "I warmed this up", Lance announced as he walked inside the bedroom room, your wheatbag on his arm while he carried a tray with some water and snacks on it, "I also have some meds here in case it doesn't help", putting the wooden board on top of your nightstand and sitting beside you, "I thought I was out of them", you looked at the box, "I noticed you were running out and bought another box when I came back from the factory the other day, just forgot it in my car", he explained.

Opening your arms, you managed to just about lace them around his neck, pulling his face closer to yours so you could kiss him everywhere your lips could reach, "thank you, my love. I would've been miserable if I didn't have you here today", you pushed him to be closer to you, cuddling once again in his chest while he ran his hand along your back, often kissing the top of your head.

When Lance noticed you were falling asleep, he tapped your arm so he could have a little bit of your attention, "I know the bag is still warm, but if at any point it stops working, the tray has your meds, some water and snacks of it gets too much during the night, okay? And wake me up if you need anything", he tutted, earning a nod of confirmation from you and then a kiss to his naked chest.

.

Waking up was a slightly better experience that it had been the morning before, feeling Lance's body heat against your own, the wheatbag long forgotten on the floor. Somewhere around three in the morning, you had to wake up to change your pad and take one of the pills with Lance's help, since you couldn't help the lightheaded feeling that overcame you, "I'm sorry you feel like this, gorgeous. But I'm here for whatever you need", he comforted.

Laying with your back to Lance's chest, it was not difficult to figure out that you were in fact feeling his morning wood. Unlike last month, where you wouldn't allow Lance to even touch your tummy without you having a shirt on because you just didn't feel that great and felt a tad bit gross, this time around you were turned on by it. Wiggling closer to him, you turned yourself around so you could face him, kissing his neck in hopes of slowly waking him up, "to what do I owe the pleasure of being waken up like this?", your boyfriend's croaky morning voice rasped, his hands coming to hold your waist as pulling you impossibly closer to him, "I woke up to this", you palmed his erection through his sleeping shorts, "and I have my very handsome and amazingly wonderful boyfriend right next to me in bed", you carried on, hands feeling the muscles contract on his abdomen, "and I'm a bit horny too, all these hormones are making me very needy", you gulped, finishing with a kiss to Lance's throat.

Moving his hand under your pyjama top, Lance continued to nip kisses anywhere he could, "do you want to keep this here?", he asked, pulling his face away enough so you could look at eachother in the eye, "can we move this to the shower? It will be less messy", you suggested, your boyfriend not allowing any of the embarrassment features that framed your face stay any longer, nodding and kissing your lips passionately before he took you to the en suite, turning on the shower while you sorted yourself out from the night before, helping you take off your clothes so you could both get inside.

The warm water was helping your bodies loosen up, hands roaming on the other's body, feeling and leaving caresses as his fingers travelled to your hips, one hand holding you in place against the cold tiled wall as his hand moved to touch your clit, "Would you like me to play with your boobs too? Or are they still to sensitive?", your boyfriend asked lovingly, his hand that was holding you in place now free and caressing the side of your chest, "they hurt still", you mumbled, enjoyed the way his fingers danced on your skin.

Lance hummer against your throat, enjoying how you were squirming under his small and simple touches. His fingers returned back to your waistline, rubbing your soft tummy in circles before dipping them further down, quickly finding your clit, making you gasp. By now, every little touch and feel of him was turning you on, the smallest touches bringing your nerve endings to erupt like fireworks. His touches were soft but skilled, leading you to arch your back from the wall, your sensitive nipples grazing Lance's skin, earning an hiss and a whisper from Lance, "careful, bub, dont do anything that can hurt you", he whispered, moving a hand to soothe the sharp pain. Whimpers left your mouth while you felt your tummy tightening, the pressure increasing, “you're doing so well, Y/N”, Lance muttered against your neck, smirking against the skin while you only concentrated on his fingers. You were so close already, clit twitching under his touch from his touches, combining the right amount of pressure and flicks, the small circles and the feel of his hands on your torso bringing you closer as your legs bent slightly.

"Are you close, Y/N?", he asked, seeing you were out of breath, and the way your body was reacting was enough for him to know your answer, "it's okay, my love, you can let go. I've got you", he whispered on your ear, your moans delicious in his own before you let go. You allowed your fingers to hold onto his strong neck when you couldn't trust your legs to hold you up given the knot in your stomach that was starting to unravel. Your boyfriend's name spilled out of your mouth like a mantra, eyes rolling to the back of your head from the orgasm's intensity. You tried your best to gain your breath back, feeling Lance kiss your shoulders and neck, "are you okay?", he questioned, his hand that was not supporting your legs moved forward caress your back, "yeah", you managed to croak out, smiling against his skin when you heard yourself.

As your eyes fluttered open, you turned to look at Lance, seeing him smile while his eyes were wide, making you place a kiss on his lips, "it was so good, Lance, so good", you whispered like it was a secret you wanted to keep between you two. Forcing your legs to the floor, you regained control over your body, seeing Lance switch the shower from its top part to the detachable head, "you want me to?", he gestured to the running water, earning a small nod from your. The water felt amazing against your skin, holding Lance's hand so he could allow you to run water along where his hands just were, not expecting the area to be so sensitive still, another hiss leaving your lips followed by a mewled moan, "still sensitive?", he joked making you swat his chest, "c'mon, let me wash your hair", he tried his best to divert your attention away from his aching cock, "I want to make you feel good, too", you tempted, your hand travelling down from his belly button, "if you want to, though. If you think it's too gross or you don't want to, it's fine, I'm sorry I eve-", you were interrupted by a breathtaking kiss, only splitting so you could breathe, "Y/N, there isn't a moment in which I don't want to be inside you or having you wrapped around me, so if you're up to it, I'm all in", he smirked, "I just don't want you to be uncomfortable with it", he finished, holding your hand in his and kissing your knuckles one by one.

Smiling, you hoisted your leg up on his hip, his own hand holding your leg in place while his other guided himself to your entrance, “if at any point you don't feel good or it hurts, yiu tell me, okay?", Lance mumbled against your shoulder, warming you up before he thrusted his hips up, sinking his cock into you. Sex with Lance was always amazing, but maybe it was your increased sensitivity, the moans and gasp you let out indicating it. From being in your period and your previous orgasm, everything felt better, stronger, deeper. You could feel every every vein of his cock sliding against your walls as he slid in inch for inch, slowly and pleasurably, “I love you so much, Y/N”, Lance moaned as he bottomed you out, making you tap his shoulder impatiently, wanting to feel him filling you up again and again, moans leaving your mouths as he began to move in a slow pace.

“It feels so good, my love, you're so tight for me”, Lance moraned, increasing the speed of his thrusts, and sending bolts of pleasure through your entire body.

His hand looked for yours, pinning it against the tiled wall, and when he felt your leg drop down, a sign that you were no longer to keep it up on your own, Lance hoisted you up completely, helping lace your legs on his hips, his movements feeling even better as they touched the particular spot inside you that made you see stars, "it's better this way", you whimpered, letting him know he could carry on.

He hummed as your lips met, your arms wrapping around his back safely and holding him closer to you as you felt yourself nearing climax again. Lance was nearly there too, his breathing uneven, thrusts growing sloppy and a little less precise, “are you going to cum for me, beautiful?”, he asked, pulling back from your lips only slightly.

You mumbled an affirmative answer, followed by a moan that confirmed Lance's suspicions, and with one last thrust, you came again, feeling Lance's own release as he groaned against your neck, mumbles of praises your name leaving his mouth.

You stayed like that for a while until Lance tapped your thigh, silently asking you if you were okay to stand on your own feet, making you drop to stand, still rubbing circles on his back, enjoying the closeness of his body to yours, feeling his kisses on your skin.

"I'm going to grab the shower head and I'm going to point it to the area between us, okay?", you asked, earning a nod from your boyfriend who managed to get it to you, turning on the water so the whole situation that had happened could just flush down the drain, "Oh, you're squeezing me so well, fuck, Y/N", he said, "I thought you'd be more sensitive", he reasoned, making you blush, "I am, but I'm also aware that this area probably looks like a murder zone and the less we see of that, the better", you reasoned back, chuckling when Lance kept looking into your eyes, "best look at you then. Luckily, it's something I could do forever", he smirked.

"There, see? All good, my love", Lance said once only clear water was running to thw drain, "how bad is it?", he asked, craddling your face with his hand. Smiling, you hugged your boyfriend once more, resting your chin in his sternum and looking up at him, "almost zero", you kissed his jaw, "I love you, Lance. Thank you", you said, your boyfriend shaking his head, "you don't need to thank me, okay? It's bad enough you have to go through the pain, it's my job to do the best that I can to help you with it", he mumbled, kissing your lips before grabbing your shampoo bottle, turning around so he could start washing your hair.

"I feel a lot better now, do you still want to go on that walk?", you questioned Lance while you towell dried your hair in front of the mirror in your shared bedroom. Chuckling, Lance approached you, hugging your from your back and rubbing circles on your tummy. You seemed to have not forgotten that he wanted to go on that walk, but he also noticed that even going up the stairs tired you out, "I've seen how much you struggle with going up the stairs", Lance reasoned despite your insistence to do something for him and that he wanted to do, owning up to it, "I feel like I have elephant legs all of a sudden, it's like I'm carrying a baby elephant on each of my knees", you mumbled, "so why don't I give you a massage? Henry sometimes helps me when I have restless legs", he forwarded, "I promise I'll do my best", your boyfriend suggested, making you take off your leggings and lay on the mattress while he got your favourite body oil.

#lance stroll imagine #lance stroll × reader #lance stroll fluff #lance stroll fic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic

[genshingorlsrevengeance]

Hey so i have been watching way of the house husband lately so can i ask for some girls with a house husband s/o thanks anyway love too read your stuff

(Genshin Impact/GFL) Sara, Eula, Rosaria, Springfield, AK-15, RO635, and UMP9 with a House Husband S/O

I feel the masculine urge to love and adore my wife. "Today's the day...we got to take your balls away."

Sara honestly doesn't know how to react to her S/O lovingly taking care of things back at home.

She's used to servants and whatnot doing so, but not her own lover.

It made her feel...weird.

(S/O) "Hey, welcome home, Sara! Dinner's about to be ready!"

(Sara) "...T-Thank you."

Sara never fails to be flustered seeing such basic acts of kindness. It made her feel like a normal person rather than a military general.

But she did not hate it, not by a longshot.

She also makes sure to not let any word of her home life. Sure there were security reasons but honestly? It'd just make her feel embarassed.

Here stood Inazuma's general, the Raiden Shogun's second in command, getting all blushy because her S/O made her a cute dinner.

Eula is also in the camp of "not used to being treated with love."

Again, she was used to servants doing these sorts of menial tasks, but S/O did not seem to mind.

It wasn't entirely strange, since gender roles for these kinds of things was quite the old way of thinking, even for the Lawrence clan.

But it weirded her out more because she just wasn't used to having meals made for her, or any type of thing done for her.

(Eula) "Dinner is great tonight, thank you S/O. Remind me to cook for you as well, lest I have my ven...-"

She gives up halfway, seeing S/O's confused expression.

(Eula) "N-Nevermind. Thank you."

She doesn't mention this to others mostly for her pride.

But it was also she wanted this part of S/O to herself.

(Rosaria) "Thanks."

Rosaria had not felt this type of love in a very long time.

She knew for a fact she would never be used to S/O being at home for her.

But she was grateful. S/O was always there at night to provide her a meal and bandaging for her wounds.

They were concerned of course, but she wasn't bombarded by questions of what she was doing or why she was injured.

It was less being submissive and more S/O trusting her. And that meant more than any meal cooked to Rosaria.

The least she could do is return that trust, even if it made her feel anxious.

She still encourages S/O to get out and do some of their own hobbies as well. The last thing she wants to do is confine them. This is the city of freedom after all.

POWER COUPLE

Admittedly, Springfield is a stay-at-home kind of wife herself, so her and S/O get along swimmingly!

The two work with the other T-Dolls at the cafe and are jokingly teased about being an old couple already with the way they act.

The two are always seen together smiling, their homely natures working to great effect at making others relax in their presence.

(Springfield) "Hm, am I cooking dinner tonight S/O, or are you?"

It's a constant battle at home of who will spoil the other, and the two unfortunately do not care about their PDA antics, meaning other T-Dolls and humans will have to suffer in their lovey-dovey presence.

May god (or the Omnissiah) have mercy on anyone in their vicinity, because Springfield and S/O certainly won't.

15 stopped asking S/O why they did the things they did a long time ago.

She did not need to eat, the Dorms were usually pretty clean, and she truly had no preference for a bath, considering T-Dolls were not made for water.

Yet S/O offered it anyways. It was clear they were being polite, and it was appreciated.

(AK-15) "...S/O, your actions make no sense to me at all. But...it is appreciated. If it would make you happy, I suppose I can accept at least a meal."

15 was the type of woman to not like anything pointless being done, but she could tell there was a purpose with what S/O was doing.

They loved her. That was reason enough.

She could at least understand that.

And...it made her happy. She didn't even know she could blush before S/O offered her a meal for the first time.

But her death glare comes back if anyone remotely teases her or S/O.

Usually, RO was the type to bend over backwards for her subordinates and higher ups.

So it was a nice change of pace having someone do so for her. Something RO is eternally grateful for.

She makes sure to always thank them and appreciate their company as her stress melts away the moment she comes into a hug from S/O.

(S/O) "Busy day again?"

(RO635) "SOPMOD found the strangest place to stick her head in, and a horde of animals escaped the rescue station..."

(S/O) "The usual then?'

(RO635) "The fact this is "usual" should really say something about how we operate as a base..."

No living soul ever knows about her with S/O, as her usual professional demeanor completely vanishes the second she steps through their door.

Unfortunately for her, T-Dolls are not really "alive" by a technical definition.

Which is to say, M16A1 and SOPMOD tease the absolute hell out of her and S/O.

(UMP9) "Honey, I'm home!~"

UMP9 completely embraces S/O's tendency to be a stay-at-home.

One of her desires was to have a real family anyway, so this was just one step ahead!

She glomps her S/O everytime she comes back from a mission, ready to accept a meal, a bath, and S/O.

UMP9 makes sure to give back in the relationship so they know it isn't one sided.

She also could not care less of who sees them together acting like the most stereotypical couple.

She loves every single second of it.

(UMP9) "Do you think we can order an apron to really get the effect going, S/O? I'm sure the Commander wouldn't mind ordering one for me!"

#genshin impact x reader #girls' frontline x reader #sara kujou x reader #eula x reader #rosaria x reader #springfield x reader #ak 15 x reader #ro635 x reader #ump9 x reader #kujou sara #eula lawrence #rosaria genshin impact x reader #rosaria genshin impact #springfield gfl #ak 15 gfl #ro635 gfl #ump9 gfl #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact imagines #girls' frontline imagines #girls' frontline headcanons

[nights-at-crystarium]

Fragments - episodes 36-40 author notes

You can find similar breakdown posts on older episodes in my pinned!

I didn’t need to spend so much screentime on Titania fight, yet it was a fun personal challenge. I’d never written/drawn a cohesive fight scene before. The scripted ingame instances don’t leave much room for imagination, I wanted to stay away from the fourth wall, and make up a more immersive scene. How do you even make it look mildly interesting? You’d think, well, characters will just flail at each other until one of them dies, right?

So yeah the biggest challenge was creating the ebb and flow. What affects Vivi’s actions? Why wouldn’t he just murder Titania like any other opponent, and be done with it? I threw in a generous amount of inner pov (that I previously used very sparingly) and some silly tricks. The stakes are high, yes, it’s a Lightwarden vs WoD encounter, but Titania still retains their playful personality above all else. Vivi's here just to do his job, but he also knows that he's dealing with a fae.

The msq makes Titania stand out among other wardens, I capitalized on that and hc’d that they’re important to Feo Ul, and, by proxy, to Vivi. That instantly provided some emotional stakes, and an answer to why he doesn’t rush to kill them out of the door.

Vivi enters the castle in episode 35, and mostly runs in circles, analyzing his enemy, and even falls victim to illusions. This could’ve been it for him, but I daresay it worried none of us because we’re just at the beginning of a story about this guy, he’s THE guy in this universe not for no reason, he’ll manage.

No deep meaning behind "grasshopper", I just thought it's a bizarrely precise descriptor of both Vivi's long legs and dragoon jumps, and it fits the natural theme of the fight.

Vivi didn’t go in unprepared.

This line will be relevant again in like, 5-7 years from now :’>

More under the cut~

He always, always doubts everything, especially when it comes to his level of power. Self-nerfing. A light (heh) case of an impostor syndrome.

Everyone loved the bonk for meme reasons, Vivi simply bought himself some time to cast.

The Rainbow Sparkles of Believing in Yourself! And of something else, perhaps. I’m planting quite a bit of stuff for future, this one should take a mere year or so to pay off.

I hope this pose’s enough of a hint that you shouldn't be taking episode 37 too seriously.

Yes, he used his spear to ~cast~. And took a sailormoon pose. This's his, monoclass dragoon’s, interpretation of what the caster magic’s probably like.

Offscreen, Titania comes to their senses and shrills “so you wanna play rough?!”, Vivi ignores them, concerned with only one thing: did he succeed? How did the test of his custom spell go?

It only worked out because the both of them are idiots.

I like to emphasize that Fragments isn’t about retelling the msq, or big epic battles, but here, where I actually put my heart into it, I feel like I managed to pull off at least one epic beat you’d typically see in an action-focused comic. Super proud of this panel ;w;

This’s a standard panel divider I’ve used multiple times before, but it couldn’t be more visually appropriate here :3c

So, to recap. Vivi asks Titania if they miss the night sky. They do. Vivi brings the night sky to them, and lo, something actually happens. I illustrated this “something” as one of their eyes getting sort of cleansed here. This story suddenly takes a mahou shoujo (shounen, heh) turn, I appreciate that it may cause some eyebrows to raise, but I think it’s okay to take creative liberties like this in a story themed around identity, agency, and believing in yourself. If Titania’s so strong as to retain a tiny bit of their old self, to cohesively partake in a simple convo, then why can’t they return, even if for a brief moment, given the proper assistance.

An appropriate reaction to the wild bs that’s going on. Imagine inventing the tale of WoD in the First, only to witness THIS.

As about Vivi, he can save a soul when he genuinely cares for it. We haven’t seen him do this before. He does it for Feo Ul explicitly, implicitly as a self-reflection. He’s projecting so hard after realizing that Titania looks like him. He wishes for them what he'd wish for himself: to rest, to be treated with care and consideration. They don't only look like him, they're also unfree, tortured by something. Empathy or not, this’s the kindest fight Vivi’s ever fought.

I’m iffy about the canon talents that come with the Echo. You can understand any sentient creature, okay. What happens when you speak, does the other party feel the difference between that soulspeak and their native tongue? Does it feel off? Does it offend? I incorporated my own misgivings into Vivi’s thoughts about his Echo. He doesn't use soulspeak here out of respect and concern that Titania might not react well to it, throwing the entire plan out of the window. Thus he memorized quite a bit of fae words before the fight. This’s his way to mark himself as one of their people, or at least to show that he truly cares.

STAY TUNED FOR EPISODE 41

Vivien Doubter Rell. Also yay first nod!

Embracing his new duty, and possibly giving Titania the hug they deserve.

Look HE’S OKAY. For now. I just thought the hiccup would be a cute way to acknowledge the terrible power he’s just absorbed. The canon cutscene moves on unblinking, but here’s different.

Bracing himself for confrontation. Things might go awry. Or might not. Vivi doesn't know. Worst case scenario: this’s the end of his sweet lil friendship with Feo Ul. Do they like him, or a Titania-lookalike in him?

“Oh bugger...” big pets come with big responsibilities, my dear Feo Ul.

Just to reinforce his fae-ness.

Vivi had full control in this fight. Analyzed the enemy, successfully tested some crazy tricks, managed to have a heart-to-heart that resulted in getting a permission to kill Titania not with violence, but with mercy. So much could’ve gone wrong, but just didn’t. Vivi’s used to this, even if he constantly doubts everything, this’s how it always goes. He’s being flung at tasks with abysmal odds, somehow he emerges victorious.

I just like this panel so much okay.

This arc may feel slow, but it gives depth to Vivi and Feo Ul's relationship, and seeing them together in later episodes will spark even more joy.

Even after a warm moment they’d just shared, Vivi’s still wary. I broke out an analysis of what external influence, pressure to change means to him, please read this post if you missed it. YEAH TAGS AS WELL.

His expression here is an attempt to downplay the anxiety and swing the odds in his favor. What if Feo Ul insists and throws a tantrum? What if he has to become Titania right now, and there’s no way around this? Let’s make puppy eyes just incase, maybe that helps.

One more personal fav panel. There’s SO MUCH in this look. They’re on a threshold, about to become something else on Vivi’s behalf. Because they love him so much. They’ve instantly become friends because they don’t want anything from each other, just the company. Feo Ul’s such a breath of fresh air for Vivi, a new hope in a new world, where he’s (comparatively) a nobody, where people still have the potential to love him for who he is as a person. This’s why our crimson pixie gets so much screentime.

Vivi really said XD

The next few episodes wrap up the Il Mheg arc, and focus on good vibes and celebration. ShB follows a rollercoaster formula where it makes you smile at something nice and sweet only to whack you in the face right after, and I’m trying to do the same :3c

As always, thanks for reading~

#ffxiv #feo ul #vivien rell #ffxiv: fragments #fragment ii: new world old friend #fragments talk

[forest-hashira]

Lucky Shot

I'M BACK AGAIN i have just been on a roll with writing lately but you know what? i'm not complaining lol. anyways, this is my second entry to @kentopedia's "Love Through the Ages" collab! you can find my first entry here, but be sure to keep an eye on the masterlist for the other entries!!! this is the first time i've written solo suguru/reader so. be nice to me pls. also plese check out this art by @/diosaurr! i had already started writing this fic when they posted it, but three separate people tagged me in it knowing i was writing the fic so i want everyone else to see it, too!

read on ao3 here | wc: ~2.7k | cw: fem! reader (i know who am i???), outlaw!suguru, saloon girl!reader, gun violence, mentions of blood/injury, mentions of death. if those things will upset you i suggest you give this one a pass!

Maybe you should have listened to your father after all.

He’d told you countless times that traveling west, especially without a family or close group to help you out and keep your best interests at heart, would be difficult at best and dangerous at worst. Especially for a young unmarried woman such as yourself. 

But you had always been headstrong and stubborn, and your father had always been a worrier, so you assumed he was exaggerating to discourage you, his eldest daughter, from following your dream and going out west. You secretly saved up money for months, and at the first given opportunity to leave your family and head west, you’d taken it, leaving only a goodbye note for your parents and younger siblings when you slipped from the house in the early hours of the morning. 

Turns out, your father wasn’t exaggerating. Joining a party as a solo traveler had proven even more difficult and dangerous than you could have anticipated. You managed to make it out west, just like you wanted, but you had no money to your name, only the clothes on your back and two other outfits in a bag as you walked through the town, wandering from business to business, asking for work; you’d nearly wept with relief when the saloon owner said you looked like you could have some potential as a saloon girl, after you cleaned up. 

He’d provided you a boarding room above the saloon and a new outfit – the ones you had weren’t up to his standards – up front, and while you appreciated it, you also knew he’d be taking that out of your pay until he decided those things were covered, which you could only guess would be never.

Despite the strings that came attached to your new job, things weren’t all bad. You got to know people in the town pretty quickly – the ones that frequented the saloon, anyways – and you were always in the loop about local “news”, most of which was just gossip. 

One character of particular interest in the local gossip was a man named Geto Suguru. When you’d asked what was so interesting about him, you’d gotten some questioning looks, until you’d said you had only just recently moved out west. After you were shown his wanted poster, though, you began to understand. 

He was one of the most – if not the most – attractive man you’d ever seen. Dark hair that fell past his shoulders; thin, almost cat-like eyes; and even in the poster, there was a sly look on his face. 

Not only that, but he was wanted for robbing stagecoaches, stealing money and jewelry from rich people who gave into his – apparently – intimidating presence. He was also known for spending that money generously in towns all over the west supporting local businesses; plenty of women from across the state also bragged about the jewelry he would gift them, simply because he thought it looked good on them. 

After spending weeks hearing stories – that you were certain had to be at least a little exaggerated – about this pretty outlaw and staring at his wanted poster, you resigned yourself to the fact that you would never see him with your own eyes. 

So you couldn’t have been more surprised when you watched the man himself walk into your saloon without any sort of fanfare or dramatics and sit at the bar. 

You stared at him, eyes wide, until he gave you a small smile. 

“I’ve heard you’ll catch flies if you leave your mouth open too long,” he said, smooth voice lilting with amusement. 

Realizing he meant you, you quickly snapped your mouth shut, your whole face burning with embarrassment. “You try meeting a living legend when you’ve only lived in the area for a couple months, see how you react,” you snapped back. When you realized what you’d said, you opened your mouth to apologize, but stopped when you saw the way his eyes sparkled with interest, one perfect brow arched in your direction.

“Feisty, aren’t we?” he chuckled. “I think I like you already, new girl.”

“What do you want to drink?” You turned away from him to grab a glass, hoping he didn’t pick up on how flustered you were over the nickname. 

“Surprise me.”

You straightened at that, and now it was your turn to arch a brow as you looked him over. His expression never wavered, his head tilted slightly as he waited to see what you decided to serve him. 

With a quiet huff, you turned your back to him, looking over your selection of liquors. Part of you wanted to serve him the cheapest, nastiest drink you carried, just to see if he would actually drink it or demand another drink, but ultimately you decided against it. Instead, you reached for the top shelf, grabbing the unopened bottle of some fancy imported scotch your boss had just gotten in a couple days before. 

“Opening a bottle just for me?” Geto asked, still with that playful tone. “Well now I feel special.”

“Don’t make me change my mind,” you threatened, turning as if to put the bottle back in its place. 

He held up his hands, as if in surrender, and you set the bottle down on the bar to grab a glass, though you took a brief moment to admire how strong even just his hands looked. 

Setting the glass in front of him, you broke the seal on the bottle, then intentionally poured him about three times as much of the amber liquid as you were supposed to. Your boss could yell at you about it later. 

Geto lifted the glass, tipping it towards you slightly in thanks, before taking a sip.

Just as you were about to speak to the outlaw in front of you again, the saloon doors swung open in your peripheral vision, and you looked up to see the sheriff walking towards the bar.

“Afternoon, sheriff,” you greeted him, glancing briefly at Geto to see what his reaction was, and you were only a little surprised that he had no reaction at all. “Your usual?”

The sheriff tipped his hat to you, sitting down at the opposite end of the bar from the bandit. “Please and thank you.”

With a nod, you placed the bottle of scotch on the counter behind the bar, then grabbed another glass and the brand of whiskey the sheriff always drank. You walked down the length of the bar, setting the glass in front of him and pouring his drink – the expected amount of liquor for him, unlike the bandit down the bar – before you walked away to put the bottle back. 

You felt hyper-aware of the two customers at the bar, worried that any second now the sheriff would recognize the outlaw and all hell would break loose, especially when the other patrons at the tables in the building were always itching for some sort of fight, just because they thought it was entertaining. 

In the end, though, it wasn’t the sheriff that recognized Geto, it was another customer that walked up to the bar to get another drink.

“You look familiar,” the man drawled, narrowing his eyes as he analyzed Geto’s face as best as his intoxicated mind could manage. 

“I get that a lot,” the outlaw answered evenly, not sparing the man a second glance.

“No, I’ve definitely seen you somewhere before…” he trailed off, scowling, his gaze wandering until it landed on the handful of wanted posters hung on the wall beside the bar. His eyes lit up with recognition, and you swore you felt your heart drop to your stomach.

“You’re that stagecoach robber!” the man exclaimed, turning back to Geto; out of the corner of your eye you saw the sheriff turn to face the commotion.

Shit, this is bad, you thought, placing the man’s beer on the bar in front of him, though he was far beyond caring about the drink anymore.

“I’m pretty sure you have no proof of that.”

“That’s your face on the poster,” the man insisted, then turned his attention to you. “Don’t you think?” 

“It looks like it could be a lot of people,” you replied lamely, grimacing at how obvious of a lie it was.

The man scowled at you. “Shoulda known better than t’ask a whore,” he spat, slurring his words a bit. “Whores always lie.”

Almost before he finished speaking, Geto grabbed the man’s collar and slammed his face down onto the bar. “Apologize to her,” he said, voice calm but eyes sharp with anger. 

You blinked in surprise at what had just happened, and once you processed what had been said to you, you found that you were quite offended, and also quite pleased that this outlaw had taken up for you so quickly. 

“Like hell!” the man protested, struggling against Geto’s hold. Even with his head forcibly pressed to the bar top, though, the man managed to pull his gun from his holster. 

The scene before you seemed to slow impossibly for a moment: the sound of the gun cocking, seeing it aimed at Geto, the man’s finger going for the trigger. Then suddenly everything was back to normal speed, and the outlaw used his free hand to shove the gun to no longer be aimed at him just as the trigger was pulled. 

You turned your head to see where it landed, and you watched in horror as a wound burst into existence in the sheriff’s shoulder, blood soaking into his shirt in an instant. He let out a shout of pain, clutching at the wound with his hand.

“You rat bastard!” the man shouted, working to cock his gun and aim it at Geto again, but the outlaw was quicker, pulling out his own gun, pressing it to the man’s ribs, and shooting him almost before you could process what he was doing. 

There was a wet gasping sound from the man, and when Geto’s hold on his collar was finally released, he dropped unceremoniously to the floor, his gun sliding out of his hand. You couldn’t tell if he was dead yet or not, but he certainly wasn’t making any effort to get off the floor.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see the sheriff draw his own gun and aim it, but it was in his non-dominant hand, so the bullet did not hit the robber as the sheriff intended; instead, it shattered the whiskey glass on the bar in front of you, and you dropped to the ground in fear.

With your hands over your head, you kept as low as you could. You couldn’t see what was happening anymore, but from what you could hear, at least half of the other patrons of the saloon had joined in the gunfight. Stray bullets hit the wall behind the bar, shattering multiple bottles of liquor, including the fancy bottle of scotch. My boss is going to be so pissed, you thought, an oddly practical thought to have in the midst of hiding and praying you weren’t accidentally shot.

Almost as if summoned by your thoughts, a bullet tore through the front of the bar, sticking in the cabinet about six inches from your head. With a shriek, you scrambled aside, towards the end of the bar; maybe if you were lucky, there would be time for you to slip out of the building without being caught in the crossfire. 

You scanned the building as quickly as you could while keeping yourself hidden, not wanting to make yourself any more of a target than you already were. Bullets were still flying, leaving no chance for your escape, and you cursed under your breath; you were going to be stuck here until everyone ran out of ammo. 

As you looked around, you noticed the first man that Geto had shot, a pool of blood slowly growing beneath his torso. His chest still rose and fell slightly, but his eyes were glassy; he was alive, but he was not long for this world. Suddenly, you remembered that he had dropped his gun when he had fallen, and you scanned the area around him for it, finding it a foot or so from his outstretched hand.

Deciding to run the risk of getting shot, you lunged for it, gripping it tightly in your hand once it was in your grasp. You’d never held a gun in your life, much less shot one, but having this one in your possession made you feel a little less cornered, a little less helpless.

Daring a glance upward, you saw that Geto had turned so that his back was to you and another corner of the saloon. Another patron had somehow managed to sneak around into the outlaw’s blind spot, and was clearly gearing up to shoot him in the back of the head. Knowing you couldn’t just sit there and watch it happen, you fumbled with the gun, your sweaty hands failing to pull back the hammer twice before you succeeded. With no clue how to accurately aim the weapon, you pointed it at his leg, squeezing your eyes shut as you pulled the trigger.

A shout of pain a moment later indicated that you had hit… someone, and you quickly opened your eyes again to make sure you hadn’t somehow hit Geto by accident. Thankfully, you hadn’t. The man you’d been aiming at had taken the shot to his knee – which actually had been what you were hoping to hit when you fired – bringing him down to the floor on one knee.

The shout was enough to alert the outlaw to the threat behind him, and he wasted no time spinning around and drilling him between the eyes. He slipped his guns – you saw now that he had two, rather than one like you had first thought – back into their holsters as the last man’s body dropped to the floor.

Once there was no longer another person blocking you from his view, Geto blinked in surprise, smiling as he stepped over the body and crouched down in front of you.

“You shot him?” he asked, his eyes glinting. The sight made you realize you’d been wrong before, when you’d thought his eyes were catlike in his wanted poster; in person they were foxlike, sharp and intelligent and clever.

“I-I, uh… yeah, I shot him.”

“Have you ever fired a gun before?”

“Not until just now.”

He glanced over his shoulder, taking in the bulletwound squarely in the side of the man’s knee. “You’re a good shot,” he observed, turning back to face you.

“Uh… thanks?”

He chuckled then, a low, smooth sound that made your stomach cartwheel. “You’re welcome.” A beat passed, then another, as he examined your face, though you were unsure what he was looking for. 

“What?” you demanded, scowling at him despite the way your hands were still shaking.

“You should come with me.”

“Huh?”

“You should come with me,” Geto repeated easily. “I think you’d be a good addition to my crew. Besides, it really won’t be a good look for you if people come in and see you here with a gun after I get the hell out of here.” There was a slight smirk tugging at his lips, and despite the fact that you probably should have taken his words as a threat, you didn’t.

“What the hell,” you sighed. “It’s not like I have anyone keeping me here.”

“Wonderful,” he said, offering you a hand up off the floor, which you readily accepted. “Get what you need from your room and meet me outside. Be quick, my guess is that someone will come to investigate all the noise sooner rather than later.”

You nodded, brushing broken glass from your dress and your hair as you hurried towards the stairs, unable to hide the grin tugging at your own lips.

Maybe not listening to your father had been the right decision after all.

tagging: @kentopedia @kentohours @mitsuristoleme

#fallon's fics #divider by saradika #jjk x reader #jjk au #jjk fanfiction #jjk fanfic #jjk reader insert #geto suguru x reader #geto x reader #geto jjk #jjk geto #suguru geto #geto suguru #suguru x reader #getou suguru x reader #jjk suguru #jujutsu kaisen suguru

[yuri-is-online]

Masquerade request with number 5 for Jamil (tho not sure he'd be shy, more like reticent, potentially) aand since I can ask for two others I guess I might as well go for Azul and Deuce who kinda seem like suitable sorts for this prompt.

Ty!

-viperwhispered

5. You know it's him and he knows it's you, but you're both a bit too shy to admit you would like to keep holding onto each other when the masks come off, so you'll just stay here together a little longer.

Completely agree that Jamil wouldn't be shy in this scenario, more like a prisoner of his own self destructive tendencies. Also hello! I'm always really happy to see you in my notifications Whisper <(˶ᵔᵕᵔ˶)> Your comments are always very much appreciated.

notes: they/them used for Yuu, this is mildly angsty and I am uncertain if I have provided any comfort here. Uhh unrequited requited love, everyone here is a pining idiot, Deuce is bro zoning himself. The other event requests can be found on my masterlist.

Jamil

He is unprepared for what it feels like to hold you.

It's one thing to look at someone, another to think of them, but both keep a level of imagination to the interaction. Jamil doesn't have the risk of failure in his imagination; he can comfort himself in his perceived superiority and not actually make the effort. There is no warmth in those thoughts, no weight, no you, nothing resembling the delicate weight in his arms that he finds himself wanting to-

"Are you alright?" You ask softly, bringing some focus back to Jamil's eyes, he smiles at you and you wish you could be certain that he really means it.

"I'm just... unused to this." Jamil chooses his words carefully. He does not expect you to know it's him, but there's always the chance someone else does. It makes him feel sick to think the small sigh of relief you give could be meant for someone else, his mind has a ready supply of suspects, but tonight is supposed to be for strangers to play act at romance. He is... allowed... to want this. "I am not that interesting of a guy, you know?"

"I'm sure you're plenty interesting." You say and Jamil swallows to steady himself, trying to remind the spiraling fractions of his mind that you are saying this to a stranger. You would, you have very likely, said this to anyone who needed the encouragement. "If you let yourself go I am sure you will find there's a person underneath the act." But would it be one you approve of? And why is he worrying over that when everyone should approve of him anyway, especially considering what middling results his classmates are barely capable of?

"Your compliments aren't necessary." His smile says otherwise but you cannot bring yourself to push it least you push Jamil away. "But if you wish to keep them coming I will not stop you." You wind your arms around him to pull Jamil just a bit closer. If only he could read your mind as well as command it, if only he wanted you as much as you wanted him.

"Are you sure you can withstand it?" No he's not. "Because I could go on for quite some time." You are clearly teasing him. Jamil's heart should be used to stress, it's been working overtime since he was first sworn over to Kalim, but he's not. There's something new about this stress, or maybe it isn't stress at all and that's just what he's labeling it because that's what he is used to feeling.

"I can take anything." Jamil certainly projects something like confidence, but even as the other guests begin removing their masks his stays firmly put. In both senses you suppose, unable to keep a bitter sigh from escaping you.

But you say nothing, choosing to simply squeeze his hand and hope that he will somehow inhale the meaning of your movements with the sharp breath he takes.

You can want this, please say you want this, please say you want me and give me a reason to stay.

But he can't in good conscious. He is bound by a duty he wishes upon no one, he refuses to ask properly. Just what it is Jamil wants of you needs to be asked for in freedom. So once again you slip away into the night alone with his hand reaching out towards you just out of sight.

Azul

"You have a strong grip." Your voice is muffled as the gentle, but strong hand at the back of your head keeps you firmly resting on this handsome "stranger's" shoulder.

Azul appears to be under the impression this will be easier on him if he cannot see you, but he seems to have forgotten he still can look down the expanse of your back when he holds you this close. What you're doing can barely be described as dancing, swaying is what people might call it but Azul barely registers that he is moving.

"Of course I do." His voice lacks the usual musical performance you associate with it, he sounds almost... tired. Overwhelmed, you decide is the more accurate term as you exhale into his neck and try not to savor the way he shudders. "To keep precious things close is what any pirate would do, hm?" You smile.

"Fancy yourself a heart thief? I would think that's a more Heartslabyul gig." He stiffens, you know he was just trying to make a jest at the appearance of his costume but you appear to have touched some sort of nerve. Azul pulls you closer, arm wrapping properly around your waist instead of simply sitting on it.

"Is it?" Azul wants to vomit all his feelings up, eject them like a sea cucumber and walk off the embarrassment from showing his guts. Anything has to be less painful than thinking of his-

No you are not his. That's why he is being a coward and not looking you in the eye like any proper gentleman would. Why he had asked for a dance, kissed your hand, and not let go of you all under the flimsy pretense of a mask. Azul dislikes taking solace in your kindness, but he knows he can rely on you to not make him pay for this. Even if you really should.

"Has your heart already been carried off to a maze?" Azul is trying to make a joke, but you are so close to his heart you can hear the nerves hammering away at his typical sense of self.

"I think my heart is drowning." You whisper it, low into his pulse point before your eyes squeeze close in embarrassment. Azul's pulse does not slow, and he cannot squeeze you any closer, a sure sign as if you needed it that he isn't Floyd nor could he ever pretend to be. But he can guide you into a sway that's a little more like a dance.

This is enough for tonight. It will not be enough tomorrow, but it is enough for tonight.

Deuce

This is how friends look at each other. Deuce would know because he has never looked at you any other way. There's a respectful distance between you both, an almost boring decorum to the proper ballroom dance he is happily guiding you in. If it weren't for his continued refusal to call you by your name or meaningless title, it would be like you were talking normally.

"Do they have dances like this where you're from?" Deuce is genuine in his interest, always eager to find a new way to ensure you feel like you belong.

"In books and movies maybe." Your laughter makes him soar, spinning you into the air for a brief second that adds a shriek to it that brings a grin to his face that has you feeling lightheaded. "Honestly I never thought I would get a chance to go to something like this!"

"Why not?" It's a stupid question, even if you have repeatedly reassured him there is no such thing.

"Well a Masquerade is kind of a rich people thing, and I'm not rich." Technically you shouldn't be here either, but you let that thought go unsaid. It never even crosses Deuce's mind, there is something so natural about having you in his arms that the idea of a world without you in it-

A world without you in it. It crystalizes as someone taps on the mic to announce the band will play just one as nice slow song that if everything in Twisted Wonderland had been normal he would be rolling his eyes at as he escapes to the sidelines. But that's not what's happening, he is pulling you closer to him and placing his arm around your waist without so much as a second thought.

"I'm not rich either." Deuce says, no where near as stiff in tone or posture as you would have expected him to be when trying to slow dance. If anything he holds you as if it is the most natural thing in the world to him, lapsing into uncharacteristic silence as he really looks you in the eyes with some strange hidden emotion in them.

It's always been there of course, this is always the way Deuce looks at you, but the mask ironically forces you to really see it.

"I'm lucky to be in this world with you." He means it, and though you hold tightly to his hand he doesn't think you know just how much.

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #jamil viper x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #deuce spade x reader #500 followers celebration #thank you for saying i am handling the mistaken ids well #i agree they tend to be contrived which is why i have tried to avoid making anyone angry at each other #because that majorly triggers my second hand embarrassment

[steddieasitgoes]

written for @eddiemonth Day 16 Prompt: Library & Curious a/n: This one might be my favorite one I've written yet! It's set at the start of season 2! read on ao3 | link to my ao3 Edde Month series

Eddie’s well aware there are a lot of stupid classes that Hawkins High requires its student body to take. Algebra (there’s no reason for the alphabet and numbers to mix, except in very rare cases, like D20 type cases), Physics (what more do they need to know beyond what goes up, must come down), French (as if anyone from Bumfuck, Indiana could afford to go to France — okay maybe some can, but Eddie’s certainly not one of them that’s for damn sure), goddamn Physical Education (only way he’s running is if someone is chasing him, thank you very much). But the stupidest class of all has to be Study Hall.

An entire class dedicated to doing work for other classes? What kind of idiot dreamed this one up? Instead of letting them out an hour early, some guy, probably in a suit because all bad ideas come from guys in suits, decided to hold them hostage to do more work. It’s ridiculous. Not to mention, it’s one of the few times, outside of lunch, that the grades get to mingle with each other. Sure, lots of studying goes on in between freshmen drooling over seniors and sophomores paying juniors for last year’s test answers.

The only time Eddie actually liked study hall was during his sophomore year when he had it first period and could do all the homework he neglected to do the night before. It’s the only time it actually made sense. And the only time, thus far in his high school career, that Eddie actually turned in more assignments than not.

But now, he’s a senior stuck with study hall as his last class of the day, and he wants to die. Okay, maybe not die die. But die in the sense that he’d rather risk bodily harm escaping the hellscape that is the Hawkins library during 6th-period study hall than sit here. His freedom is so close — nothing but a few windows and a brick wall separating him from the brisk late-October air. Eddie can’t risk it, though. He’s already reached his detention quote for the semester, and if he wants to keep using the drama room for Hellfire meetings, he has to sit in this damn library seat and at least pretend to get some work done.

Which, honestly, isn’t the worst thing in the world. At least it gives him time to work on his latest Hellfire campaign without the prying eyes of Jeff and Gareth or the unnecessary questions from Freak. Sure, he’s supposed to be working on an essay for English Lit, but he doesn’t think Ms. Washington is going to appreciate his take on Frankenstein, so he’ll worry about coming up with a dumbed-down idea another day.

Besides, even focusing on his new campaign is hard enough with the idle chatter going on that the librarian is either pretending not to hear or is too tired of shushing them for.

It’s the usual sort of study hall gossip. Who’s screwing who. What teacher is going to pull a pop quiz tomorrow and become the biggest asshole at Hawkins High. The occasional nervous whispers of the geeks actually studying.

It’s all mindless chatter that drifts into the background when the topic of Tina’s Halloween Bash comes up. That’s the real gossip of the night. Who got the keg, and what other alcohol is being provided? Who is going to be the best dressed? What couple is going to get caught screwing in Tina’s parent’s bed? Are there going to be any good fights or breakups?

Eddie rolls his eyes. Jesus H. Christ, can’t anybody be original around here?

Unfortunately for Eddie, there’s no escaping Tina’s Halloween Bash since he’s been summoned to provide some extra party favors, as the “cool” kids like to call them. Eddie, never one to back down from being a thorn in a “cool” kid’s side, always responds with the same spiel: “Drugs. What you want is drugs, right? Or should I go raid Melvald’s for you?”

Whatever. Money is money, and Eddie can take all the money he can get his grubby hands on if he wants to get out of this shit-hole town when he graduates in June.

Glancing at his watch, he tips his head back in a silent groan of annoyance. Only ten minutes have passed since he slunk into the uncomfortable library seat. Christ, why does time move so slow, sometimes? Eddie tries to focus on his Hellfire notes in front of him, and he’s successful for all of thirty seconds before something catches his attention in the corner of his eye.

Nancy Wheeler and the former Hawkins High King, Steve Harrington, are whispering to each other by the pencil sharpener. He rolls his eyes. Of course, no one else in the library is paying them any mind. And why would they? Harrington fell from grace last year, and Wheeler isn’t exactly the “look at me” type. Still, Eddie finds them morbidly interesting in a way he finds all the tragic heterosexual couples in this stupid small town interesting.

Before Eddie has a chance to fall deeper into his cynical outlook on this stupid Hawkins High couple, Wheeler starts tugging Harrington toward the private study room in the back of the library. It’s a move that shocks Eddie to his core. Don’t get him wrong, he’s heard all bout Harrington’s little trysts in that very room over the years (thank you gossip mill for the very cheap porn), but he never would have assumed Wheeler would be the one tugging him toward it.

It’s that detour from who she’s supposed to be that has Eddie peeling himself off his chair.  At least, that’s what he tells himself as he saunters toward the stack of books in the back of the library closest to the private room. If he hears moaning or anything remotely sounding like they’re hooking up, he promises himself he’ll leave. He’s a freak in many ways, but a creep, he is not.

Glancing over his shoulder, Eddie can see the two of them in the small room. They’re close but not close enough to be doing anything beyond talking. From the look on her face, doing anything of that sort isn’t even on her mind.

Interesting.

Eddie creeps closer.

“Barbara. It’s like nobody cares. Except her parents. And now they’re selling their house.”

“Nance—“

Wheeler rants about something, but he misses most of it. Only catching the very end.

“It’s destroying them.”

No shit, Eddie thinks with another dramatic eye roll. Of course, losing their only daughter is destroying them. The Hollands are one of the few families around here that actually have a heart. At least they did before Barbara tore it from them by running away. Or so the story goes. Eddie’s always been a bit suspicious of Holland’s disappearance. He knows the runaway type, and a straight-A girl, with a well-off family who loves them like Holland had doesn’t fit the bill.

“I know. Okay? I get it,” Harrington says, glancing away from Wheeler to peer out the window. Eddie grabs the first book on the shelf and buries his face in it. It must fool Steve because he starts talking again. “But listen, there’s nothing we can do about it.”

“Yeah, we could tell them the truth.”

“This isn’t some game, Nance. If they found out that we told any…” He trails off again, and Eddie reaches for another book.

Eyes peering over the pages, Eddie watches as he shuts the blinds before presumably returning to Wheeler. With the blinds shut and their voices even lower, he can no longer hear what they’re talking about. Which is a damn shame because Eddie’s never been more curious about what the disgraced King was about to say than right now. 

+ + +

“M’telling you guys. It was weird,” Eddie says through a mouthful of Doritos.

They’re hanging out in Gareth’s garage. Jeff sits in the old recliner while Gareth stays perched behind his drum kit. Freak is running late, as usual, though Eddie’s not too pressed about it today. Too distracted filling the boys in on what he overheard in the library.

“I don’t know man; it sounds like she was just concerned about her best friend,” Gareth says, lightly tapping his drumsticks on his snare.

“Yeah, those two were inseparable, remember.”

“All the more reason why it’s weird she’s been mopping around lately. Obviously, she knows where Holland is. Or what happened to her.”

“Not this again,” Jeff groans, sinking further into the recliner.

“Yes, this again,” Eddie retorts, throwing Jeff an intense glare. “This town is weird as shit. If the Byers kid can come back from the dead—“

“I thought they proved it wasn’t actually Byers they found in the quarry,” The Freak says, finally joining them in the garage. 

“They did, but Eddie still thinks—“

“Shut up!” Eddie shouts, taking a moment to throw a Dorito at all of their heads. “Let me level with you for a second, okay? Yeah, sure, they said that kid wasn’t Byers, but they never said whose kid it was, which is weird. And then right after that, they “find” Holland’s car? It’s too coincidental, man. You know a story isn’t right when it’s too easy.”

“This isn’t one of our campaigns,” Gareth sighs. “Sometimes things really are just accidental coincidences.”

Eddie shakes his head, running his Dorito-stained fingers over his face. “Nah, man, m’not buying it this time. Harrington and Wheeler know what really happened to Holland. And I think they’re responsible for it.”

“So, what?” Jeff asks, leaning forward so his elbows rest on his knees. “You think they made her disappear or something.”

“Maybe Harrington got Holland knocked up, and his family gave her money to leave.”

“See!” Eddie shouts, slapping his hands together as he jumps on the balls of his feet. “Freak gets it! That’s the kind of thing I’m talking about.”

“Okay, but if Harrington knocked Wheeler’s best friend up, why would she still be dating him?” Jeff asks.

“And why would they both be hiding her from her parents?” Gareth adds.

Okay, so maybe these are valid questions, but Eddie doesn’t appreciate the doubts they’re throwing at him. “I don’t appreciate you doubting me,” he says plainly. “You’ll see. M’gonna figure this out.”

“Right, just like you figured out that Ms. O’Donnell was actually failing you for a reason and not because she had some vendetta against Wayne for not dating her.”

“Hey. That was a good theory, okay. One I still think is true, by the way.” Turning his back on the boys, Eddie crosses the room and tosses the empty bag of Doritos into the trash bin before heading towards his badly parked van.

“I thought we were practicing!” Gareth shouts after him.

“Just let him go,” Jeff sighs. “He’s impossible to work with when he’s in conspiracy theory mode.”

Eddie flips Jeff off, climbing into the van. “I’ll see you boys tomorrow.”

+ + +

Eddie’s been at Tina’s party for an entire hour and a half, and there’s still no sign of Harrington or Wheeler. Not that he’s actively searching them out, of course. He’s just had some downtime in between upselling Hagan for the world’s shittiest pot he could get his hands on, and explaining to some cheerleader how Special K hits differently if you snort it. Plus, his supply ran out about ten minutes ago, so he’s just buying time before someone notices him lingering and kicks his ass to the curb.

He’s about to save himself and whatever jock gets thrown his way the trouble, when he spots Harrington and Wheeler arguing by the punch bowl. He’s too far away to hear what they’re saying, but he has a sneaking suspicion it has less to do with the conversation he heard in the library and more to do with Wheeler’s drunken state. Case in point: the red liquid she just spilled all over her blouse.

Chasing after her, Harrington cuts through the crowd and makes his way toward one of the bathrooms. Eddie waits a minute before following them down the crowded hallway. Thankfully, no one is in line for this bathroom — still too early in the night for the alcohol to have hit their bladders — so he’s first in the unofficial bathroom line. Leaning casually against the wall, Eddie angles his ear closer to the door so he can hear inside.

It takes a minute for his ears to tune out the music and nonsense chatter, but when they do, he can clearly hear Wheeler slurring her words.

“You’re pretending like everything’s okay. You know, like we didn’t… like we didn’t kill Barb.”

Eddie’s never experienced shock before, at least, he doesn’t think he has; the early days of his life are a little hazy around the edges, but that’s the only word he thinks fits what he’s experiencing right now. Part of him wants to shove his ear closer to the door to continue listing, while the other part of him wants to run for the hills, screaming in victory. And if he’s straight with himself, maybe screaming in fear a little, too. Harrington and Wheeler murderers? Who knew?

He knew, that’s who!

He knew there was something shady going on between those two.

Pressing his ear closer, he can hear Wheeler slurring more words, though he’s not exactly sure what she’s saying. Honestly, he doesn’t really care what she’s saying. He’s listening for Harrington’s response right now. What does the mighty King have to say about the bomb she’s just dropped?

“This is bullshit,” she slurs.

“Like we’re in love?” Steve asks.

Huh, clearly, Eddie missed a step or two in his shocked state.  He’s not exactly sure how the conversation strayed from them killing Holland to their, clearly, toxic relationship, but the fact it did is all the proof Eddie needs. If they didn’t kill her, Harrington would have been vehemently denying her claim. And yet, he sounds like a kicked puppy dog right now because she doesn’t love him.

Join the club, Harrington.

The doorknob starts to jiggle, and Eddie bolts. It’s not that he’s afraid about coming face-to-face with the two who apparently killed Holland. It’s just that, well, he needs a minute to think about the information he’s just learned.

+ + +

With Gareth and Freak both busy supervising their siblings around Hawkins and Jeff on candy duty for his family’s house, Eddie has no one to share the good bad news with. RIP Holland and all that, but he’s sitting on some serious dirt right now.

The good part of Eddie’s brain knows he should head straight for the police station. Pull good ole’ Chief Hopper aside and gloat about how he did his job for him. But Eddie’s spent enough time at the stuffy station to know no one is going to believe him especially not against Harrington and Wheeler. He’d have better luck marching in there and turning himself in for her murder. Not that he’s going to do that.

He supposes he could tell Wayne about it, but he doesn’t need to be dragging his uncle into any more of his messes. And since Eddie has no proof beyond overhearing a drunken confession, a mess it’ll surely turn into.

So, he opts for the third option and heads out to Skull Rock to do some thinking.

Maybe Freak is right, and it was some sort of jealous rage brought on by a Holland-Harrington pregnancy. Or maybe Holland saw something she shouldn’t have; the possibilities are endless, and Eddie’s imagination is limitless.

Eventually, he circles back to what he’s supposed to do with this information. Should he turn them in? Maybe not Wheeler; she seems like she’s experienced enough guilt as it and the girl has a bright future or whatever it is the teachers are always talking about. Harrington, though? Harrington, he should turn in, right? I mean, he didn’t even seem phased when Wheeler brought up the murder. Eddie’s watched enough horror movies to know that’s psychopath behavior right there. Besides, it would be nice to see the King behind bars. But then again, he hasn’t been the King in a while. And Harrington’s never really done anything to Eddie beyond standing idle while Hagan threw slurs at him. But he’s not hanging out with Hagan anymore, so maybe he should cut him some slack.

Though they did murder someone.

Jesus H. Christ.

Maybe this is why they say curiosity killed the cat — Eddie’s head is throbbing. He’s about to take another hit from his joint when he hears leaves crunching in the distance.

Shit.

Someone’s coming.

Snubbing out his joint against the rock, Eddie tries his best to make it seem like he’s just here, escaping the busy Halloween night. Which, like, he definitely is, but he can’t be too safe. Especially not when there are two teenage murderers on the loose.

“She thinks m’bullshit? She’s bullshit! Bullshit.”

The voice is unmistakable.

Jesus H. Christ could tonight get any weirder.

Eddie’s only escape is to run deeper into the forest, and he’s not about to do that so he makes himself comfortable on top of Skull Rock like a fucking sitting duck. Searching the pockets of his vest, he yanks out a pack of cigarettes and his lighter. Neither of which he was looking for. Of course, he left his pocket knife in his van. Stupid. So stupid!

There’s a moment of silence before Harrington emerges from the clearing. The moon is bright above them, making Steve’s tear-stained cheeks and red-rimmed eyes glow in the otherwise dark forest.

Maybe he is feeling guilty after all.

“Ah, fuck,” Harrington groans, stumbling to the ground.

Eddie watches as he rolls around for a moment, struggling to find his footing. If Eddie were a mean person, he might let Harrington suffer. But something about his behavior reminds him of a wounded animal, and Eddie’s always had a soft spot for bruised and broken things.

“Shit, Harrington, you okay?” Eddie asks, jumping down.

Eddie’s boots crunch against the leaves, startling Harrington. He manages to pull himself into a seated position and brandishes a near empty beer bottle in Eddie’s direction. “Stay back!”

“Woah, man,” Eddie yelps, hands raised in surrender in front of him. “Don’t kill me.”

“Oh, s’you,” Steve says, slumping against the tree behind him. He tosses the beer bottle aside and runs both his hands over his face. “Jesus. Why does everyone think I would kill s-someone?”

“Uh,” Eddie stutters, glancing around. Now’s his chance to make a break for it. Put those hours of physical education to good use and sprint to the van before Harrington has a chance to make him his next victim. But there’s something in Steve’s sad eyes and dejected voice that makes Eddie stay. “‘Cause you have killed someone before?”

“Man, what the hell are you talking about?” Harrington snaps, fumbling to get out of his jacket. “I’ve n-never killed anyone.”

“So, you didn’t kill Barbara Holland, then?”

“No! Jesus, ‘course not. Barb was… Barb was nice. She was good. Like Nance. Better than Nance, maybe. I don’t know,” Harrington whines, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Barb she’s… yeah, man, she’s dead. But I didn’t have anything to do with that. N-not in the way you think I did, at least.”

Harrington’s not making a lot of sense, which only spurs Eddie’s curiosity on more. Closing the distance between them, Eddie hops to a squat in front of him. “But you did have something to do with what happened to her?”

“Shit, man,” Harrington groans, words slurring more more. “S’complicated, okay. I can’t talk about it with you or her parents or anyone. Or else they’ll come for me or Nance or our families and then we’ll all be toast like Barb. And that… that thing that came out of the Byers’ wall.”

Complicated? Jesus H. Christ, Eddie’s never heard anything more complicated than the jumble of words that just left Harrington’s mouth. He can feel his heart racing in his chest, the realization that they’re alone in the woods talking about something someone doesn’t want Harrington talking about.

“What?” Eddie says more to himself than to Steve. “Harrington, what thing in the Byers wall? You’re not making any sense!”

“The thing. You know, the… the,” Steve hiccups. “The thing we can’t talk ‘bout, else they’ll come for us next.”

Someone will come for him and his family if he reveals what happened to Barb? And the thing in the Byers wall? He wants to ask who would come. What would happen? Is he being blackmailed? There are so many questions dancing on the tip of his tongue, but none of them win the war.

“Harrington, man,” Eddie says, shaking his head. “Are you in trouble? Do you, like, need help or something?”

Finally, freeing himself from his jacket, Harrington lifts his head and looks up. There’s a moment where Eddie’s life flashes before his eyes, but then the sad replay of his life is interrupted by Harrington’s hand on his cheek. A dopey-looking grin on his face as he squints up at Eddie.

“You have pretty eyes, M-m-munson. Anyone ever tell you that?” Steve slurs before promptly passing out against the tree.

What the hell has Eddie gotten himself into?

#eddiemonth #eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson ficlet #steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington ficlet #nancy wheeler #nancy wheeler fic #nancy wheeler ficlet #stancy #stancy ficlet #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things season 2 #implied steddie #steddie #dani writes

[thosewickedlovelies]

Conversation Pit | Dieter Bravo x afab!Reader

Rating: E for Explicit

Summary: You’re viewing a mansion with Dieter, and it has a conversation pit. Does he have the discipline to keep his hands to himself?

Tags: friends with benefits, SMUT: Dieter’s favorite dom appears 👀 could it be someone we know?; mmf threesome, piv sex, semipublic sex but don’t worry, edging (m receiving), references to sex work

Word count: 4,112

Note: Listen. This fic was supposed to be conversation pit fucking and then it evolved into something else. I did not do her justice. I’ll come back to you baby.

This is the same universe as Coping Mechanisms. There's no plot connecting the two fics, but I recommend reading it if you want more sexy Dieter smut 😏😌

Masterlist

“It feels like a little much,” you say. Your neck aches from craning to look up at the many elevated features of this house. Or rather, this mansion. The sprawling, avant-garde chandelier in the foyer. The ocean-themed mosaics undulating across the domed ceiling of a bathroom. An enormous space lined with hanging walkways and tunnels and little nesting spots, for who knows how many cats.

This latest hallway is nice, though. Rustic wood beams pass overhead at a more average height, providing a sort of cozy, normal feeling for the first time since you entered. Here’s hoping they lead to a similar design style in the next room.

“I dunno, I kinda like it.” Dieter slings an arm around your shoulders. “Lots of walls to paint, you know? I could make it my own.”

“True,” you concede. “There are way more rooms than I was expecting, though. Like maybe more than even you could paint on your own.”

“You’re right about the rooms, actually.” The realtor gives you an sheepish smile over his shoulder. “The owner’s kind of a character- it took some real convincing to get them to send us any pictures at all, so they missed a few things. But they left the house in great shape, right?” He beams winningly.

This realtor has shown you and Dieter a few houses by now. He’s pretty okay for a chummy salesman type. His methods at least included giving you space to think and discuss, which you appreciate.

Not that discussion between you and Dieter was really necessary. He was the one buying a mansion, not you. He just wanted you here for impulse control, and a second opinion. “I trust your judgment,” he’d insisted. 

A lopsided smirk overtook his face. “Even with your choice of fuckbuddy.”

You’d rolled your eyes. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

Dieter had shrugged. “Fuckbuddies, friends with benefits, booty calls. We know what we are.”

“Coping mechanisms?” you added drily. 

He’d given you a wounded look- always so effective with those big brown eyes of his. “We can be friends and coping mechanisms.”

You’d laughed at that, and now here you were, touring the quirkiest LA mansion you’d yet seen together this week. Or maybe offbeat was a better word. You didn’t really have any idea how to describe these places. Homes, but also playgrounds of the rich and famous. They’d do the place up how they wanted (or how some expensive designer wanted) and then left the next person to clean up the mess- to paper over whatever was now deemed- *shudder*- out of fashion.

Or to paint over, you muse, thinking of Dieter’s impromptu artistic urges.

“Now, you may think you’ve seen the showstoppers of this house, but this next room might just make you reconsider.” Standing before a door at the end of the hall, the realtor pushes it open and stands aside with a flourish.

Your mouth drops open. 

It didn’t just open up, as the rest of the house seemed to. This room also opens down. The beautiful wood beams do continue overhead, and the entire back wall is windowed, making the space feel both grand and homey at once. Bright sunshine streams in. The glass wall looks out over the backyard, which is less of a backyard than an entire valley, wild and forested, without a trace of the other mansions you’ve been informed are tucked into the hill. On the left wall of the room rises a stone brick fireplace; on the right wall, tall bookshelves. The sandy carpet underfoot looks thick and cozy.

And in the dead center of the room: a conversation pit.

Your mouth falls open again.

Is that even what it’s called? The word has a strange texture in your mind. Yes, a conversation pit; that architectural relic of the 70s. A great round depression, a huge circular couch set right into the floor.

It’s hideous.

Dieter hurtles through the door, down the short staircase, and bounds right into the pit. “Hey, check this out! A conversation pit, sweets! Have you ever been in a house with one of these?”

The realtor is prattling on about the other features of the room, something about adjustable lighting and special outlets. 

“I haven’t.” You approach more slowly. The staircase below the door hugs the wall, presumably so that anyone who falls down it doesn’t carom straight into the pit. The carpeting is so luxurious that you almost feel bad about walking on it with shoes. 

You carefully descend the two additional steps down to Dieter’s level. “This feels like a safety hazard.”

“Whaat? No way, it’s so cool! Like we’re in some classy old 70s porno.” In an instant Dieter has whirled to face you, grinning, a wily gleam in his eye. 

Your eyes widen with what you hope is a forbidding look. “No, Dieter. Absolutely not.”

The realtor’s cell phone trills, cutting him off mid-sentence. “Excuse me, let me just check this.” He fishes it out and answers, and his eyes light up. 

“You guys think about the house, okay? I’ll just be a minute.” The realtor heads back up the stairs. “Heya, Brad. No, no, I’m not busy…” He shuts the door behind him.

Dieter pounces.

“Dieter Bravo, you stay right there-”

The pupil in the eye of the pit is a cushy ottoman, which Dieter leaps over with unexpected grace. Your brain and your feet have different ideas on where to go; instead of fleeing, you stumble backward and fall to your ass on the sofa.

“Tell me you’re thinking what I’m thinking.”

“Dieter-”

“This room would be perfect for sex parties.” He’s practically glowing with excitement. He leers down at you, his shapely mouth turning up suggestively.

“D, that happened one time! And it wasn’t even planned, it was only because everyone drank too much of that Romanian liquor that Alexandra’s mom made her.” 

The taste of cherries had haunted you for a month afterward. It was nothing like the syrupy-sweet maraschino flavor that smacked of childhood sundaes and red dye 40. This stuff was as black as the fruit itself and tasted of summer at its height, thick and ripe and heady.

Normally you’re not so keen to head off Dieter’s sex-related whims, but something about this moment, this room, feels different. Like your body can sense how little convincing it would take for you to give in.

Like Dieter can sense it.

“But it could happen again.”

Dieter crouches and pulls on something near the floor, and suddenly your feet are propped several inches higher off the ground. You blink, and in a fluid movement Dieter is kneeling between your legs, at the perfect height to put his mouth to your ear.

“Just imagine. You’re sitting here, just like this. I’m sitting here. Just like this.” His hand trails up your thigh. You swallow.

“The lights are low, low enough to see the stars in the sky outside. Maybe we have some music playing. Lying right there are John and Diana.” Dieter nods to the plush carpet inches from your face. “I know you liked watching them last time.”

As if in a dream, your head turns to look where he indicated. Your face heats furiously at the memory of your two attractive friends, and the heavy glances all four of you had shared that night.

“He’s fucking her, slow and easy. She’s watching us while he does. Maybe she’s telling you to join in- to let me make you feel good, like she’s feeling.”

Dieter’s low, husky voice is a potent aphrodisiac, and so is the picture it paints. The taste of cherries seems to coat your tongue. You fight down a little noise of want in the base of your throat, your body tightening and squirming. Your fingers dig into the couch cushions.

“We can invite Samya and Vish again. And maybe Dani and Riley. They’re so hot.” Dieter sighs, briefly indulging in his own fantasy. 

Dieter’s hand has settled into a familiar shape- his thumb resting on your clit, but his fingers curled so the knuckles rest where they would normally slip inside you. Where they’d definitely be able to slide in right now. You can’t decide if you should thank or curse your past self for not wearing a skirt this morning.

“Remember how we could hear everyone? No one was hiding or acting shy, just enjoying themselves. Laughing and moaning…” Dieter’s voice drops to a whisper. “Diana was so wet you could hear it every time John thrust into her.” 

His lips brush your ear. “And so were you.”

His teeth graze your neck and you can’t stop your moan. He sucks on the sensitive skin just the way you like, his thumb bearing down, and your head drops back.

The bright blue sky brings you back to your senses. 

“Dieter!” You squirm away, gasping for air. 

He immediately retreats. He remains kneeling on the foot rest as you pull your legs up and together, attempting to regain some composure. 

“I think that courtesan part you played went to your head,” you say shakily. 

Dieter’s last role had been a four-episode appearance in a new fantasy period show. He’d played a queen’s favorite courtesan in her harem; but upon hearing inklings of a coup, she’d sent him away, leaving the audience with tantalizing hints that he wasn’t just a mere prostitute. The show’s first season had been a huge success, and though it had been renewed for more, the reappearance of Dieter’s character was still only rumor. 

Clearly he had picked up a few things from his character. You send him a half admonishing, half grudgingly impressed look.

Seeing that you’re not truly upset, he relaxes. “You like? There’s more where that came from.” Dieter walks his fingers up your calf. He smiles temptingly, his eyes still blown dark and beguiling. 

Huffing incredulously, but unable to resist smiling in turn, you shake your head.

“Ookay. I’m just saying, it sounded like our guy was gonna be a while. Especially if Brad is whose PA I think he is.” Dieter shrugs, the picture of nonchalance. “Wouldn’t hurt to do a little test run.”

“Dieter Bravo, I am not having sex with you in a house we’re viewing.” You laugh, a bit high despite yourself off the endorphins from Dieter’s fantasy. 

You turn and rise, making to clamber right over the back of the couch.

Dieter gasps. “Wait!” All trace of seduction is gone from his voice. You only make it halfway out of the pit, your knees where you’d just been sitting and your hands on the floor beyond the back of the couch. 

“Babe, this is the position we’ve been trying to find! Look-” He’s hushed but excited. Dieter scrambles up behind you, his hands appearing on either side of your own, his chest flush with your back. One of his knees further compresses the cushion beneath you. When you twist your head to look, you see that his other foot is leveraged on the footrest. 

Dieter groans your name, low and pleading. “Tell me you wore these pants for a reason.”

You gasp as his fingers dip beneath the waistband of your pants. LA weather means loose fitting bottoms, and high waistlines mean cinched elastic instead of button clasps. Dieter has no trouble sliding his hand into your pants and cupping your sex in a way that makes your elbows buckle.

“Dieter, we can’t.”

“Please, sweets, I’ll make you feel good- I won’t even come, this one will just be for you,” he promises. “You know I can be quick.” His voice goes velvety and dark with promise- with reminder.

Damn, but you did know. Dieter was a dedicated study; it didn’t take long before he could make you come faster and in more ways than any partner you ever had. The speed came in handy more often than you’d think. The man was insatiable, and his appetite could flare at any random moment- no matter how inopportune.

His persuasions are working. Your cunt throbs to have his hand so close and yet so far away through the barrier of your panties. You’re already wet from his earlier efforts, and the heavy drape of his body over yours brings your desire howling to life again.

“Hmmm?” Dieter traces a light circle around your clit.

You grit your teeth. The realtor could be back at any second. 

Dieter flattens his hand over your cunt, rubbing just so.

Your resolves breaks. “Fuck, fine- but quick,” you implore.

--

“Oh, this is going to take so long,” you assure him. Dieter moans, helpless to your designs, the binds on his wrists holding fast. “What’s wrong, D? You didn’t seem to care about coming earlier.”

“Please, please let me come. I’ve been so good, your pussy feels so fucking good…” Dieter rambles, sobbing, his eyes rolling back in his head as you sink down on him again, achingly slowly, taking him as deep as you can. Dieter tries to help, his hips surging upward like he can’t get far enough inside you. That could well be the case, given that his ankles are tied together as well.

He moans again.

“Mmn, you’re so pretty like this,” you sigh. Dieter’s chestnut locks are tufted from your grasp and dark with sweat at his temples. Red blooms in his cheeks. His lips are kiss-swollen, teeth-bitten from trying and failing to hold back his cries. His body is thick and strong beneath you, and you attempt to spread your thigh still wider, take that little bit more of him inside you.

Dieter makes a choked sound. He turns his head to the side, desperation all over his face.

It’s been hours since Dieter seduced you into coming around his cock in the conversation pit of the house you were viewing. As promised, he’d been quick- you hardly had time to break a sweat before he brought you that familiar hot rush of release. You needn’t have bothered worrying, though. The realtor took so long on his phone call that your panties had nearly dried out again by the time he returned.

But true to his word, Dieter didn’t come, and you’re pretty sure his hard-on hasn’t flagged once since then. Some part of him had been touching you through the entire rest of the house tour that neither of you had realized was still ahead. He was so worked up he’d canceled lunch at his favorite diner, and then looked agonized when he remembered that you hadn’t taken the car with the privacy screen. 

You follow his gaze. “What do you say, Ezra? Should we let him come?” 

Dieter’s favorite dom is sitting in an armchair off to the side, observing, loosely guiding, your activities and stroking himself with leisurely enjoyment.

Abandoning his own biology temporarily, Ezra approaches the bed. “A hard decision indeed, gem. But in my professional opinion, I believe that you should come once more before we allow dear Dieter the privilege.” Dieter’s eyes are glazed, bleary with desperation. You’d had one orgasm since the start of this session, but another sounded fine to you. 

“Should it be on his cock this time?”

“Hmmm. How would you feel about takin’ your pleasure on my cock first? Darlin’ Dieter got to experience it earlier; this time he can only watch, as a consequence of rushing his partner to the end so crudely.”

Surely that’s a little harsh. “Aww, I wouldn’t say it was crude. I did enjoy it,” you coo at Dieter, stroking his face reassuringly. Relief shines in his face, your words like a sunbeam breaking through the gathering clouds of his sudden anxiety.

“Oh, of course. My apologies; it was not my intention to imply otherwise. Nevertheless…” Ezra reaches over your thighs to give Dieter an apologetic stroke; then he runs his broad palms slowly up your body, Dieter’s eyes following like a starving man before a feast. Maybe like one of those ancient myths he's always drawing inspiration from- who was that one guy? Tantalus. Ezra tweaks your nipples and you shiver atop Dieter’s cock.

It had been your idea to text Ezra. On the car ride home, you’d suggesting upping the stakes, since Dieter had been so naughty in the house. He’d essentially already been edging himself since the conversation pit- why not make it a real challenge? (And maybe a little bit of a punishment, for being so cheeky.) Dieter had looked so torn, you might have asked him to choose between microwave chicken nuggets and taquitos for the rest of his life. But in the end Ezra was free, so you invited him over at three o’clock sharp.

Dieter sounds so anguished as you lift yourself off his cock that you think he might actually cry. You click your tongue. “You heard him, D. Consequences.” You lean down to kiss him, giving Ezra space to climb onto Dieter’s legs behind you.

“Stay there a moment, sweet,” Ezra requests.

Your breasts brush Dieter’s chest, and he automatically tries to lift his torso to meet you, forgetting that your hands are holding down his shoulders. He whines.

“Naughty Dieter, always pushing the rules. Trying to fuck me where other people might see.” You nibble at his neck and ear between murmurs. “Now you’re the one who has to watch.”

Your breath hitches as you feel Ezra’s cock notch at your entrance. “There we are, sweets. Sit back for me now, nice and easy.” His hands guide your hips, and you ease backward onto Ezra’s cock. A breathless moan falls free as you sit up, his length thick and full inside you. So joined, you shuffle forward just a bit- until Dieter’s cock rests against your sex. Dieter’s mouth falls open, mesmerized by the sight. He twitches, the movement brushing your clit, and you whimper. 

“Mm, I thought you might like this, gem. If it sounds amenable to you, we’re goin’ to use darlin’ Dieter’s cock to make you come like this, slow enough for you to enjoy every second of it, and then, and only then, are we going to let Dieter come.”

It’s delightfully ​​jarring to feel a cock inside you as well as outside against your clit; despite the pleasure winding heavy along your limbs, you manage to answer. “Perfectly amenable.”

Ezra cups his hand over Dieter’s cock and nestles it between your labia, coating it in your arousal and Dieter’s. The velvety ridges of him rub snugly against your clit- especially as Ezra begins to move. He starts gradually, thrusting into you with just enough force that you rock against Dieter’s dick at the same time. 

Oh, fuck. This is more stimulation than you usually get via both methods at once- it won’t take long for you to come like this. You moan in approval.

“Does that feel good, gem?” Ezra asks.

His thrusts aren’t forceful. Rather, they’re constant, unceasing strokes along something inside you that makes your vision blur; and all the while he holds Dieter’s cock against your clit like the perfect toy.

“F-f-ffucking incredible,” you stutter. “Keep going, like that.”

Ezra rumbles in approval. Dieter’s eyes are as round as saucers as he watches his dom pleasure you with both their cocks, and he spills out a steady babble of praise. “Oh fuck, you’re so hot, sweets. Look so good like this. Can use my dick whenever you want…” Every muscle in his body jerks and strains, but whether trying to come or in effort to stop himself coming you can’t tell, and you stop trying as Ezra’s movements pour brain-numbing pleasure directly into your skull and down your spine.

You squirm and sob at the onslaught of stimulation. There’s no escape- not that you really want it. You can feel your peak approaching, a tingling creeping up every limb like vines about to fruit.

“Dieter- Ezra-”

“Ah, the end is nigh, is it, sweet? Go on then, let it come- give us everything you got.”

Ezra’s poetry is obliterated by the roaring in your ears. Something breaks open inside you, spilling bliss through every crack and crevice of your body. You quake and keen in Ezra’s arms. For long, long minutes, it feels like it physically rocks you, pleasure pulsing in an endless flood. Distantly you recognize that it’s Ezra’s movement creating the rocking sensation, prolonging your pleasure for as long as he knows you can last. You finally go still only when he does, the rushing pleasure slowing to a trickle.

Sagging into Ezra’s arms, you shudder as the bliss tapers off. As your breathing slows, other sensations come back to you, including that of something clinging to- or maybe dripping from- your thighs. Dieter.

Your paramour is gazing at you, awestruck, a familiar dopey, dazed grin pulling at one corner of his mouth. You make a questioning sound.

“You comin’ set him off, sweet. That was some mighty, powerful pleasure, if I do say so myself.” Ezra’s rasp in your ear sounds thoroughly satisfied. “It seemed unduly cruel to deny dear Dieter any longer after such good behavior, so I took the liberty of takin’ care of him.”

Indeed, Ezra’s hand is wrapped more fully around Dieter’s cock, though both are now somewhat obscenely mashed against your sex and covered in his spend. “Oh, good,” you sigh.

Ezra chuckles. “I’ll give us a wipedown, gem. Then you can untie his hands, if you wouldn’t mind, and I’ll get his feet.” 

You blink yourself slightly more alert. Dieter didn’t like being tied up for very long after the fun stuff was over. “Mhm. Okay.” 

You help Ezra wipe the various fluids from all three of you. Your brow knits at the sensation of him pulling out of you, but Ezra appears unperturbed, humming an idle tune as he rotates to unbind Dieter’s feet. You turn your focus to doing the same to his hands.

A serene, almost cherubic, expression lay over Dieter’s face; with his eyes closed and his breathing deep and steady, he looks halfway to sleep. When you lean back from untying him, his eyes are open. You start.

Then you chuckle. “Hey, D. Feeling okay?”

Dieter lengthens his already long limbs and then contracts them in a wiggly stretch. He rolls over toward you, resting his head on your thigh. “Mmhmmm.” 

He looks for all the world like he intends to fall asleep right there. Honestly, the man resembles a giant cat sometimes. Or maybe some other, more exotic animal. Actorus libidinous.

A ferocious rumbles issues from what you can only assume is Dieter's stomach. His eyes fly open. "I'm so fucking hungry."

He appears astounded by this fact. Or maybe by the fact that he forgot his hunger in the first place- it’s truly a testament to how worked up he was that all other needs fled his mind so completely. (You made him eat a granola bar before Ezra arrived, but still.)

Ezra returns from the ensuite, and your eyes widen. Your hunch earlier was right- he didn’t come. Ezra’s still-hard cock bobs as moves around, flushed a deep red and still smudged with your arousal in places.

Dieter spots it as Ezra begins getting dressed, and his eyes go round. “Whoa, Ez, did you not come? Why didn’t you tell us?”

Ezra’s mouth quirks. Sifting through the scattered clothes on the floor, he extracts a pair of pants and begins turning them rightside-out. He gives an arch shrug. “What can I say, starlet? Your perseverance inspired me. I enjoy a good edging session myself; I thought I might wait until I arrived home to take care of it.” Ezra pulls his jeans on without anything beneath and fastens them snugly over his erection.

Ezra was an old hat at this profession. He didn’t entertain feelings of awkwardness or shame. If he wanted something, he asked for it. 

“In that case, send us pictures,” Dieter says. His eyes wander Ezra’s sturdy, shirtless body with wanton admiration.

“That costs extra.” Ezra sends them a saucy wink. He reaches for his shirt without a hint of discomfort.

“Worth it.” Dieter rolls onto his back with a great sigh. His mostly-softened cock flops over with the movement, dribbling a bit more fluid as it does.

Now dressed, Ezra comes over to say his goodbyes. First he hands Dieter a tissue, nodding toward his dick. Then he gives you both a kiss on the forehead.

“Perhaps this time I might allow the debt to be paid with some of the takeout you’re about to order.”

Thanks for reading! 💕💕💕

You grin. "We'll schedule your delivery for an hour from now."

The Romanian liquor is real and exactly as delicious as it sounds- it's called 'visinata', which means '[thing] made from cherries'. I highly recommend making a Romanian friend and having them bring you a bottle of their mom's homemade stuff, although I cannot promise that it will lead to sex parties. That was just wishful thinking on my part 😬🤷🏻‍♀️

Dividers by strangergraphics

#dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x you #the bubble fic #the bubble #dieter bravo/reader #dieter bravo/you #dieter bravo fic

[mysteria157]

Chapter 3

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Black Fem Reader

Word Count: ~4k

CW: Profanity, drinking,

Summary: Flashback chapter. When it comes to work, Nanami likes to follow a specific code for people like you. And he would like to think it’s working so far. But one too many drinks and things change.

Notes: Hi! Thank you all for sticking through. Reblogs, likes, or comments are always appreciated but not necessary <3 I hope you enjoy reading!

Divider: @cafekitsune

Previous Chapter | Ao3 | Next Chapter

It Had To Be You Masterlist

“Nanamin! I didn’t think you would show up!”

Gojo’s tall form stood out in the crowd of the izakaya, sunglasses covering his abnormally bright eyes.

Nanami normally didn’t do this kind of thing. At least not as frequently as Gojo and his coworkers. But after the stressful week and being ‘forced’ by Yaga to participate in this last event to close out the summit, a whiskey (or three) seemed to be the only incentive for getting this night over with.

“I had no choice. And stop calling me that.” Nanami sat himself down at the large table that was already crowded with his coworkers.

Gojo slid a glass of liquid toward Nanami, the contents dark brown and the smell already hitting his nose with the promise of an escape.

“I got you the most expensive whiskey on the menu.”

He took a small sip, lifting an eyebrow in surprise as the Nikka whiskey hit his lips.

“Thank you.”

“Nanami, you’re looking exceptionally fed up tonight.”

Like Nanami and Gojo, Geto Suguru rose to the status of Director of Research and Competition within a few years of joining the company. He wasn’t as loud and annoying as Gojo, but for some reason they stuck together like glue. While he didn’t have the alien beauty like Gojo, he was unique in looks in his own way. An unusual purple hue painted his irises, sharper facial features, long black hair that was either half up or pulled back into a bun and bangs that never seemed to be in control. Geto didn’t have to loudly boast about his intelligence or prowess at work, his efforts spoke in the things he produced. And even though both him and Gojo were probably certifiably insane, Geto provided some sort of moral compass to Gojo that Nanami never really understood.

He gave Nanami a relaxed smile, eyes closing before he threw back a shot of sake.

“I know you’re probably fed up with this summit. Most of us are.”

“Something like that.” 

“This entire week has been fucking annoying.” Gojo spoke around his straw before taking another long sip of what looked like a stawberry—most likely virgin—daiquiri. “Team building exercises don’t help your work improve if your IQ is already in hell.” Geto snickered, elbowing him playfully before turning his attention to people watch. “The branch from Sendai are the only ones who made it fun.”

“Do you even know their names besides Omelia’s?”

Even though Geto’s eyes were elsewhere, his comment still made Gojo choke on his drink, blue eyes blinking rapidly and cheeks flushing before he began arguing with his friend.

As they fought with one another, Nanami pulled in a long sigh, pressing the cold glass to his lips and taking another long gulp. The alcohol stung in a good way as it slid down his throat, soothing away his discontent and slowly providing a thin veil over his irritated nerves. More of their coworkers filtered into the izakaya, ordering drinks and yakitori and plunging the large table into a loud hum of socialization.

Shoko Ieiri, while not a coworker, was a lifelong friend of Geto’s and sat herself next to him and immediately began complaining about her day of work at her clinic. Her eyes held a naturally sleepy look to them, a permanent expression of boredom unless she was smoking a cigarette.

“Stop smacking me you fucker.” Geto’s naturally low and soft spoken voice chastised him around a chuckle. He fluffed Gojo’s hair, intentionally rough as he tried to fix the naturally messy snow white locks. Gojo whined, smacking his hands away. “Let me fix your hair. Omelia is coming over and you look like a whore.”

“Maybe she likes whores.”

Geto snorted, pulling off Gojo’s sunglasses.

“If she did, you would be with her by now.”

Nanami watched as you and Omelia walked into view. Shoko called for you immediately, pulling your body into the empty seat next to her and asking you a barrage of questions. Shoko was a physician and when she wasn’t at the clinic up the street from the office, she would eat with Geto and Gojo during her lunch breaks. You and her had formed a quick friendship and like everyone else in the office, seemed to be taken with you immediately.

The hum of the izakaya grew louder, salarymen and salarywomen filtering in from their long days at work and ready to start the weekend.

Yuji’s loud and playful voice called out to you as he took the last empty seat next to you, beating Omelia to the punch. Megumi sagged in the seat next to Nanami, offering a soft greeting before turning away to listen to Kugisaki ramble.

The fact that there were no more empty seats next to you was Gojo’s defense that he gave to Omelia which caused her to roll her eyes and sink into the chair next to him.

Yuji, as angelic and optimistic as ever, gazed at you innocently. Even at twenty-two, he held a childlike demeanor that could do no wrong no matter how ill someone treated him.

“You look so pretty, y/n!”

It wasn’t like he was incorrect. Your normally curly hair that was pulled into a low bun hung down your back, cascading over your shoulders and shining in the low light of the room. The long sleeve black dress accentuated your curves, a high slit on one side that exposed the creamy expanse of your brown leg. Dark brown eyes were touched with a simple wing of eyeliner, your full lips dressed in clear lip gloss.

The effect of everyone turning their heads to you at the office bled in the public eye as well.

Nanami took a large gulp of his whiskey, draining the contents and using the burn in his throat to look away from you. He flagged down a waiter for another.

This was going to be a long night.

He should have known that you would be trouble when he met you in the conference room that day. Everyone seemed to gravitate towards you in whatever way they could, trying to have you on their team during events at the summit, offering to have lunch with you, and even going out of their way to openly flirt. You didn’t seem to recognize the flirting, as it seemed the only thing you could think about was work.

That’s all you talked about was work. Creating brand messages, communicating about projects with other agencies and branches, wanting to spearhead almost every activity.

Trying so, so hard.

Just like the others who used this asinine week-long event as a means to move up the ranks. It wasn’t like it was bad to network and get one’s foot in the door. But in Nanami’s experience, almost everyone would use whatever they could just for a promotion. Year after year, a junior level associate would walk into his office with the same shy and reserved look on their face, uttering the same request to work alongside him to gain new experience.

He gave each of them a chance. If others could see his work as potential to learn more, he would do what he could to help them out.

But their secrets always unraveled eventually. Nanami may seem aloof to others, but he was far from it. As the only director in Marketing Operations who had a strong personal and professional relationship with the VP of the department, Nanami was the best route to make their way to Yaga.

One on one meetings with Nanami started out innocent, their eyes bright and ready to prove themselves. But within days those eyes gave way to their true nature; greed, deception, and lust.

I really think Masamichi-san would love this proposal I’ve been thinking about, would you be willing to give it to him?

I really think Masamichi-san would work well with our VP in Osaka. I can relay a few ideas to him if you schedule me in a meeting?

I’m free tonight, want to get dinner? I have some ideas that I really think Masamichi-san would like?

You look like no one has…taken care of you in a long time. You get me in a conference room with Masamichi-san and I’ll make it worth your time.

They were all the same and it came to a head last year. An associate from Nagoya who Yaga had insisted work with Nanami throughout the week, took pictures of documents on his desk when he was not looking. Weeks work of project planning. It was the first project that Yuji was allowed to take control of, and he so worked hard, poured himself into overtime almost every day to draft everything from his own hands. All those documents suddenly appeared slightly changed during companywide presentations before Yuji could officially release his work. All of his dedication, wasted. Nanami had no way of proving who it was without launching a full investigation that didn’t have definitive evidence. He wanted to. He was prepared to pick Nagoya apart. But Yuji insisted that it wasn’t worth it, that the fight meant nothing when he wasn’t even a full-time associate anyway. After watching Yuji’s confidence waver, Nanami vowed to never allow it to happen again. Would never let his guard down and give others a chance. He got to his position on his work and his work alone. Entertaining deceit would no longer be tolerated.

You were just like the rest when you walked into Nanami’s office that first day. Manicured hands clutching a manila folder of documents as you uttered the same words as everyone else year after year.

You were hesitant and shy, quiet in your own way as Nanami pulled up his walls to make you uncomfortable.

You didn’t take his words well, your face displaying a varying amount of emotions as you professionally called him out for his rudeness.

But the minute Nanami downgraded your prowess—a small offhanded comment insinuating you knew nothing—you were immediately angry. Those brown eyes were stormy with rage and disrespect as you told him off in what was possibly the most professional way he ever imagined.

Don’t look so put out.

Saying it twice doesn’t make you sound smarter.

You were curt and biting with your words, the sound of the door slamming only making Nanami gape openly at no one. His stomach had simmered with a feeling of regret, small enough to make him feel as if he had overstepped but not insistent enough to apologize.

This was better. To keep you away as much as possible and keep everyone out of Nanami’s hair.

The second glass of whiskey had Nanami’s body warm, the fuzziness of a nice buzz making his skin tingle. You were talking animatedly with Yuji, showing him memes on your phone that had him red in the face, his giggles echoing in the air.

“Nanamin!” Yuji called out to him, his body shaking around giggles. “Look at this meme! I know you don’t laugh much but I think even you would like this. Show him, y/n!”

You faltered, your small hand clutching your phone before you slid it to Nanami’s still form. His eyes lingered on you for a moment too long, your eyes catching his before they narrowed and you looked away. Nanami glanced at your phone, offering a small noise before you pulled your hand away.

You avoided talking to him for most of the night, choosing instead to socialize with Yuji and Shoko who were more than enough stimulation for even the shyest person. Despite your extroverted nature in the office, you were great at avoiding Nanami at every chance you could. Group activities had you on opposite teams, and when you did have to work together, you were exceptional at talking to everyone as if he didn’t exist.

Not that he cared. Someone who was only focused on work made no sense to him.

Nanami didn’t particularly like his job, but he was good at it and the pay was exceptional. It was the best chance for him to retire at an early age and enjoy the rest of his life in wealth and peace. But he was steadfast with his boundaries. Clock in at 8am, work hard throughout the day, and clock out no later than 5pm. No more and no less. Working overtime suited no one but the higherups who were relaxing at home while their colleagues slaved away in an office.

It was pointless to give all of one’s energy after the clock into something that no one would appreciate unless it was to make themselves look better.

You with your smiles and your wit, offering suggestions that went against the grain of normal routine drove Nanami insane. He refused to entertain proposals that targeted clients outside of what was discussed, going out of his way to openly oppose during summit events. He hated the thought of analyzing data that focused on something completely out of scope and was sure to vocalize that at every opportunity he could before even reading what you suggested. Your glares only fueled him, made him work harder to shoot your ideas down. Because every other person before you did the same thing and it never worked. It never fucking worked. You were completely turning things around.

But everyone ate it up, even Yaga who did nothing but shower you with praise.

It drove him mad and he couldn’t stand you for it.

It didn’t help that you looked the way you did; chocolate, creamy brown skin and deep brown eyes. Long curly hair and soft curves that filled out every outfit you were. It was maddening that the person who worked so hard for everyone else smelled like Black Opium when you walked through the halls. Your sharp and loud laugh should have made his ears bleed, but he hated how quickly his stomach clenched at the sound, fueling something he didn’t want to acknowledge. 

A frustrating and unnecessarily hardworking woman wrapped in the most alluring body he had seen in a very long time.

God, he couldn’t stand you. And it was your presence that made Nanami drink harder.

After his fourth whiskey, Nanami had reached a point he swore to never be at again since his freshman year of college. Geto was more wild back then and because Gojo never drank, Geto compensated. One party, the only party Nanami decided to entertain and he was so drunk that he woke up naked in his bathtub.

He swore he wouldn’t do it again.

But the warm feeling in his veins was wrapping around him like a blanket, relaxing his normally stoic features and tinting his upper chinks pink. The heat of the room made him shed his jacket hours ago, his long sleeve shirt clung to his skin and showed off muscles he normally kept hidden during work.

You weren’t fairing any better, the heat making you pull your long curls atop of your head into a messy bun. Too many shots of sake had you laughing throughout the night with Yuji and Shoko, your own cheeks a slight color darker from the effects of alcohol.

“You’re so smart, y/n!” Yuji had sputtered the same compliment for the millionth time that night, his hands nursing a water that Megumi had forced him to have. “You re-remind me of Nanamin. He taught me ‘verything I know.” Your features softened as you rubbed Yuji’s back before forcing more water down his throat. “But Nanamin, you need to listen to y/n’s ideas. Sh-she’s damn smart. I wish she was at our br-branch.”

“I’ve heard all of her ideas, Yuji.” Nanami’s voice was loose, his normal title of Itadori-kun gone after his second glass of whiskey.

“And you don’t like them!” Yuji’s blubbered at Nanami; his eyelids heavy as he pointed an empty chicken skewer in his direction.

“You’re right, Yuji. I don’t.” Nanami watched as your drunken expression morphed into anger. “Reworking a system that has been nothing but efficient makes no sense, wastes resources, and does nothing for no one.” He picked up his glass, languidly sipping on his drink as he watched your expression grow darker and darker. “I don’t mean to hurt your feelings. I’m sure you worked very hard trying to assert yourself this week. Yaga definitely noticed.”

“Nanamin!”

You clutched your glass of water, small fingers flexing and contemplating dumping the contents onto Nanami’s face. But instead you stood up abruptly, alarming everyone at the table before collecting your purse and storming from the izakaya.

Nanami sighed deeply, finishing the contents of his glass as Yuji fussed at him.

The cold air from outside brought a small shock to your system as you stumbled into an alley behind the izakaya. You were drunk. Incredibly and uncharacteristically drunk and the brick wall you slumped into seemed to provide stable ground for your vision to stop swimming.

You shouldn’t have drunk that much, especially around so many people you weren’t familiar with and Omelia across the table who was unable to scold you into sobriety.

But being across from Nanami, watching him talk casually with Megumi, Shoko, and Yuji only made you angry. Because while his tongue loosened and his serious expression melted away into relaxation, you only thought about day after day of his snide remarks. Of his offhanded comments that slid off of you around everyone else but hurt to a degree that made your eyes sting. They were simple suggestions, but still suggestions you had spent months analyzing and putting together with Jin. You worked hard and hoped to make an impression during the summit and everyone else loved what you brought. But not him. And it was hard to get anything rolling if one of the most important associates in the room disagreed. 

Fucking Nanami Kento with his perfectly combed hair, odd glasses and sharp features that had your stomach curling in arousal and distaste.

You had never felt more stupid than when he was in the room. And he was a crush?

God you needed therapy.

The anger simmered in your gut as you tried to get your thoughts in order, your mind swimming.

The hotel was only a block away, walking could sober you up a little and spare you the pain of having to see anyone else’s face to ask for a ride. But you needed to text Ome. You opened your purse, reaching inside to fish for your phone before the strap slipped from your fingers and your purse spilled its contents on the cold and wet ground.

“Fuck!”

You wobbled onto your knees, your dress getting wet as you drunkenly fumbled for the contents that were askew on the ground.

You worked so hard. So fucking hard. And the one person you thought would be even minutely impressed had been nothing but cold, heartless, and so very mean. So unnecessarily mean.

Your lip began to wobble, eyes filling with tears and chest clenching tight as you willed the feeling to go away. Just get to the hotel. Lock yourself in your room, stagger into a hot bath, sob into the sheets and worry about the hangover later.

Your favorite tube of lipstick rolled away from you, skittering on the uneven pavement as you pressed further on your knees and fumbled to grab it.

Your blood ran cold as a large pale hand reached down to grab it instead.

“What are you doing?”

You tried to ignore the butterflies in your stomach from the deep timbre in his voice, snatching the lipstick from him.

“Do you care?”

You struggled onto your feet, ignoring the hand outstretched to help you as you sagged against the wall behind you. He didn’t speak, looking down at you with an expression you couldn’t quite place. His usual perfectly parted hair was slightly ruffled, a few strands falling in front of his face and adding a roughness you wished didn’t affect you. He had forgone the glasses for tonight, giving you a clear view of brown eyes, which didn’t help because it only made his face more real, more mystifying and more handsome.

Your stomach did another flip, unsettling you to a degree that had your mind scrambling. You made a mental note to call a psychiatrist as soon as you landed in Sendai.

“Like I said, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Pulling in a slow breath, you glared at him harder, hoping to convey that even in your drunken stupor you would smack him in the face if you needed to.

“What do you want, Nanami?”

He didn’t remark on your anger, choosing instead to gesture to the door behind him.

“You should come back inside. It’s cold out here.”

You scoffed, the desire to slap him growing more incessant by the second.

“Why? So you can make it seem like you apologized? Make Yuji feel better so you can go to bed tonight with a guilt free conscience? I don’t want you offering me half-assed help to make yourself feel better.” His eyes narrowed, foggy irises melting slowly. “You don’t know anything about me. You haven’t tried to learn anything about me, and you’ve been nothing but rude and nasty to me at every opportunity.”

He walked closer, tall form encroaching your space that made you press your back against the wall. The rapid beating of your heart was pounding in your ears as you refrained from showing any sign of want.  

“Why do you care so much about my opinion?”

“I—” You opened your mouth to retort, falling short as your foggy mind tried to formulate a sentence to throw him off.

Because he’s the most efficient and hardworking man you have ever met. 

Because you’ve climbed the ranks with no help at all and you would give anything to gain experience from him.

Because he's hot as hell.

He sighed heavily, a large hand pressing against the wall behind you, towering over your form as he looked down at you. You were used to his stiff stature, clipped responses and stoic demeanor. But right now…right now Nanami was radiating something that made your core clench. You pressed your thighs together, doing everything you could to stave off the arousal that was flaring dangerously. The alcohol wasn’t helping, you could have easily shot him another crude remark and walked the other way.

“You’re drunk.” You tried to slow your breathing as you spoke, heart rate soaring as the subtle hint of cologne wafted up your nose from his body. God what scent was that? Not too strong, but potent enough to notice the warmth pulsing between your legs.

“So are you.”

“You’re a piece of shit.” You cursed inwardly as the words slipped from your mouth, drunk and loose and angry at his unwillingness to just…apologize. “This entire week has been hell because you’re fucking stubborn and you would rather do the same thing over and over than give new things a chance.” He lifted an eyebrow in response.

“Is that all?”

“Well—” You swallowed loudly, fingers digging into the brick wall behind you as you felt him lean in closer, his cologne slowly making you delirious with lust and more drunk than you already were. Maybe he had come to his senses and would be ready to apologize and beg for your forgiveness. That would be more than enough, and you could go back to Sendai to lick your wounds in peace.

The press of his lips against yours, however, was so much better. You should have pushed him away, slapped him in the face for using short words to worm his way further into your wet dreams. But it was hard to even think about that when muscular arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush to his chest and overwhelming you with his smell. You curled your hands into his chest, the soft fabric bunching between your fingers as you felt the hard planes of his chest and pulled him impossibly closer to you.

Just one kiss. One fucking kiss and you could pull away, slap the shit out of him, and stumble home.

But the feel of Nanami biting your bottom lip, prying your mouth open with his full lips before sliding his tongue into your mouth had you shaking out a whimper you should have been ashamed of.

This was much, much better

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