#This is a repost of something I impulsively deleted before.

[evilios]

There has been, indeed, a prominent cult of Apollo in Sparta - especially in the town of Amykles (Αμύκλες) with its Amyklaion, a cult center of Apollo’s worship. Around 6 kilometers to the South from the main Spartan settlement, described by Thucydides as a conglomerate of villages, there stood Throne of Apollo with a high wooden cult statue, now unfortunately lost.

Most of the imagery of its reconstructed glory comes from the descriptions by Pausanias who speaks on its alleged appearance and its creator, Bathykles (Βαθυκλής) of Magnesia.

Artistic depiction by Ludwig Ruhl.

Artistic depiction by Theodor Pyl.

Thankfully, some of the Ancient coins have preserved the approximate image of the cult statue at the site.

Depictions of the statue on Roman-era Spartan coins.

As the statue was said to have been set over the grave of Hyacinth, it thus served as both the pedestal for offerings and the altar of Apollo’s lover, celebrated during the festival of Hyacinthia (Ὑακίνθια). It lasted for three days, with the first day being devoted to the veneration of Hyacinth’s death; the second was spent feasting over his joyful rebirth, and the third one was the day of mysteries we have little record of. Xenophon, Athenaeus, Didymus, and others, such as Ovid (who calls it “the procession of Hyacinthia”), have noted the importance of the celebration to Spartans.

Here’s a quote about how vital the festival was to Spartans:

It was the unvaried custom of the men of Amyclae to return home at the Hyacinthia, to join in the sacred paean, a custom not to be interrupted by active service or absence from home or for any other reason.

— Xenophon, Hellenica (trans. by H. G. Dakyns)

Here’s description of the celebration: Day one:

<…> Spartans observe the ritual of the Hyacinthia for a period of three days, and because of the mourning which takes place for the death of Hyacinthus they neither wear crowns at the meals nor introduce wheat bread, nor do they dispense any cakes, with their accompaniments, and they abstain from singing the paean to the god, and do not introduce anything else of the sort that they do at other festivals. On the contrary, they eat with great restraint, and then depart.

Day two:

<…> in the middle of the three-day period there is held a spectacle with many features, and a remarkable concourse gathers which is largely attended. Boys with tunics girded high play the lyre or sing to flute accompaniment while they run the entire gamut of the strings with the plectrum; they sing the praises of the god in anapestic rhythm and in a high pitch. Others march through the theatre mounted on gaily adorned horses; full choirs of young men enter and sing some of their national songs, and dancers mingling among them go through the figures in the ancient style, accompanied by the flute and the voice of the singers. As for the girls, some are carried in wicker carts which are sumptuously ornamented, others parade in chariots yoked to two horses, which they race, and the entire city is given over to the bustle and joy of the festival. On that day they sacrifice very many victims, and the citizens entertain at dinner all their acquaintances and their own servants as well. Not one misses the festival; on the contrary, it so happens that the city is emptied to see the spectacle.

— Athenaeus, Deipnosophistae (trans. by C. B. Gulick)

The Amyklaion was not, of course, only “alive” during the celebration of Hyacinth’s death and rebirth. Offerings were given on other occasions too and included spearheads, swords, javelin heads, arrowheads, weapons, and inscribed armor and weapons for the God. The God Apollo of Amyklai was a war Deity, seeing that He was depicted armed and armored - an image of might of the state. It is possible that the Spartan processions were processions of armed men, in their full battle glory. Apollo had multiple other warrior cults across Laconia, and at the very least a few more major celebrations, aside from Hyacinthia, are recorded: Karneia (Κάρνεα), Maleateia (Μαλεάτεια), Gymnopaidia (Γυμνοπαιδίες).

Thucydides reports that upon signing a treaty called Peace of Nikias, the treaty that ended the first part of the Peloponnesian War, two stelas were to be established: one in Athens, and one near the statue of Apollo Amyclaeus. With that in mind, it’s important to remember that the festival of Hyacinthia bore political significance, too.

Sources:

🏺 Amyklaion: Amykles Research Project 🏺 Hellenica by Xenophon (trans. by Dakyns) 🏺 Deipnosophistae by Athenaeus (trans. by C. B. Gulick) 🏺 Sanctuaries and traditions in Ancient Sparta 🏺 The Peace of Nicias

#APOLLO 🌞 #HISTORIA 📔 #This is a repost of something I impulsively deleted before. #ancient greece #ancient laconia #ancient sparta #apollo worship #amyklaion #greek gods

[deputyrook]

Impressions- 1/? Mark Hoffman x Psychic!Reader

(Repost after I accidentally deleted my tumblr 😭)

Kerry, an old friend of yours, knows that you have a gift for clairvoyance. When she reaches another dead end in the search for Jigsaw, she brings you into the station in a moment of desperation.

Unfortunately, it's not just the two of you who are present for your revelations.

Word count: 3498

Set after Saw II. Inspired in part by this gifset. I have no plan for this, I just started writing for fun, and suddenly I had 3000 words down.

WARNINGS: Blackmail, power imbalance, abusive dynamics, overt threatening, reader is deeply afraid, general Saw-levels of horror.

“Pretty sure having civilians in here is against the rules,” Detective Mark Hoffman remarks to his colleagues as he enters the precinct room, “…and having them play with the evidence definitely is.” 

Rigg looks up toward the voice, as do you, but Allison Kerry doesn’t. Her eyes are trained on the piece of evidence that you hold in gloved hands, a small and rusted lock.

Spread out on the desk in front of you are a variety of grisly photographs- from crime scenes and autopsies, all related to the now infamous Jigsaw killer- and a few pieces of physical evidence. It turns your stomach just to see them, but you swallow your discomfort and try not to show on your face how upsetting you find it.

“Take it up with the Chief. He approved this, as long as it never gets out to the public,” Kerry responds with a scowl. 

Nobody is happy you’re here. Least of all you. Rigg is the one to finally say it to Hoffman, with an air of forced levity- “Kerry’s got a psychic friend.”

That makes you wince, and Detective Hoffman’s reaction- a slight raise of his eyebrow, and an audible scoff- makes you all the more embarrassed to be here.

“Well, I gotta see this. Aren’t you going to introduce me?” He asks Kerry, walking over and pulling up a seat to the table that you’re all sitting around. He sets his cup of coffee down on the table, right beside some horrific metal contraption, and looks you over skeptically.

“It’s worth a shot, isn’t it?” Kerry snaps, her voice raising in irritation. She finally looks over at Hoffman, shooting him a glare. “She’s been right about things before, and Eric’s been missing for months. You have another lead, you let me know.” Having defended herself, and by extension you, Kerry runs a hand through her hair and sighs. 

After a pause, she tells Hoffman your name, and then adds, “We’ve been friends since college.”

“Nice to meet you,” you say with a strained smile. He nods in response, but he’s smirking, like he finds the entire thing ridiculous. To be fair, it is.

“Listen, I don’t… normally do this kind of thing, I swear,” you say to the table of detectives, who all watch you in anticipation. You feel like you’re on a stage, and it makes you worry they can see you start to sweat. You feel the need to defend yourself further, and prove you're not insane (or worse, an idiot). “This isn’t my job. I don’t charge money to do this or anything. I’m only here because Allison asked me.”

“Well then, work your magic,” Hoffman says, taking a sip of his coffee, “Rigg, you willing to put money on this?”

“Let me guess, you’re betting against?” Rigg shoots back, and Hoffman gestures as if to say, obviously.

Ignoring the heat of embarrassment rising in your cheeks, you close your eyes. 

“I can’t promise anything,” you mumble, but even as you speak you’re starting to get impressions. Those strange feelings and impulses that beat against your intuition like a war drum. 

Turning over the lock in your hands, you feel a sudden sharp pain in your left eye- you drop the lock, cringing, and gingerly reach up to touch your eye, feeling the bone of the socket under the skin.

“I haven’t told her a thing about the investigation, by the way,” Kerry says, and you detect a note of pride, or perhaps vindication, in her tone.

“Something was… here. Cold and heavy, like a lodged bullet.” You point to your eye. The table is silent now. You could hear a pin drop now, each detective’s rapt attention singularly on you. You get the feeling of something on your face, hard and suffocating. And then, the impression of cold- the long winter, wind whistling through trees, and still snow. The forest, the river, the empty lake.

Death.

“This was- whoever was associated with this didn’t make it out alive.” You open your eyes and pick up the autopsy photos, scanning through them until you find one that fits. A sheet covers the head, but you know what’s underneath. You still feel the echo of the mask on your face. Quietly, you pick it up, and then set it back down.

“Some of the details leaked. Lucky guess. Tell us somethin’ about John Kramer or his assistant.” Hoffman says, and you see him shuffle in his seat. His demeanour has changed, going serious. Keyed into your intuition as you are, something spikes a signal of danger through the back of your mind.

Not all that unusual for the cops you’ve met, though.

For several minutes, you get nothing but flutters of feeling and pain. Your foot goes numb, prickles like pins and needles; your body feels warm, like it’s being baked under the sun. Each sensation comes and goes just as quickly. You take the strange metal contraption in your hands, feeling the weight of it in your grasp, and close your eyes again, trying to stifle the feeling of panic that rises within you.

And then slowly, it comes to you. A vision of a chessboard, with multiple pieces, moving too fast for you to follow. It hurts your head to try. Finally, you speak again.

“I think… there’s more than just one. There’s the King. The Bishop. The Rook. The Knight- there’s at least… five? No, four. No wait, there’s a Queen, but is she aware of the play, or just a pawn promoted? And who is he? Is he real, or an imitation?” Your words are coming too fast for you to censor, spilling out so quickly that you trip over them.

“Are you saying there are… a team of Jigsaw killers?” Rigg asks dubiously. You nod.

“I think so. It’s all jumbled, it’s… a thousand strings weaved into patterns that I can’t follow. There are plans laid on top of plans, curled into schemes and plots. The King’s Crown is tainted with a rot, it drips down his forehead, it hurries his hands. It guides their every act.”

You take a deep breath. “I don’t know where they are. I just feel her desperation- the Bishop. It’s like a fucking- it’s a torrent. She needs him, because she hurts, and she doesn’t know what care is like if it doesn’t hurt. God, and there’s so much hurt. It’s- it’s endless, it’s all pain. It's all pain.” 

“She’s not making any sense-” Rigg mutters.

“Eric Matthews. Where is Eric Matthews,” Kerry’s voice cuts through, bringing its own hailstorm of impressions to you- regret, remorse, desire, annoyance, desperation and guilt, heavy like a stone. Suddenly, you’re struck by the image of Kerry as an angel. You shake it off, confused.

“Ah… cold. It’s cold. He’s inside the Earth. Buried below ground, somewhere deep and dark. Poor Matthews. God. It’s so cold,” you can’t help but shudder, feeling tears welling up in your eyes. It seems so lonely.

Kerry is silent. It’s obvious she would have preferred something more optimistic.

“Anything else?” She asks finally.

“Yeah there’s… there’s something…” you bite your lip, and grimace. There’s a feeling there, distant and only a flicker, but it seems really, really important. 

“I can’t quite figure it out, it’s like… it’s like a mirror. What is it? What are you saying?” You sigh, trying to understand. A feeling of rage slips through you. Horrible, sickly loss and rage. A heady sadism, the feeling of power. A feeling of voyeurism- of enjoying it.

You receive a flash of an image, a large figure, in a pig mask. That image is pretty fucking clear, but there’s something about it that you’re just not getting, that seems like it should be really, really obvious to you. You chase the feeling through the corners of your mind, like a dream you can’t quite remember.

The image of the pig’s mask turns to a theatre mask, and then to a blank void. It swirls and laughs at you, mocking. 

“There’s something I’m not seeing with him. The brutal one, the Rook. It’s like... he’s been tied up and pulled into this by a wire. The King uses it to move him, but what started in reluctance has become...something else. Something sick,” you mumble. Ironically, with the face a blank and swirling void, the impression becomes stronger.

You feel obsession, the kind that eats away at a soul. They all have it, but this is like a slow burn, a chemical fire in his heart that erupts and spills out. He enjoys it.

And suddenly, it’s like he’s right there. Close,  close, it’s so strong and burning so clear because he’s right in front of-

Your eyes snap open, and you’re staring at Detective Mark Hoffman, whose eyes drill into yours. 

Without a doubt, with one hundred percent, absolute certainty, you know that he is one of the Jigsaw killers.

“Uh,” you tear your gaze from his, and look at Kerry. The prickle of danger is alighting every nerve in your body, and quickly, you’re starting to panic. You laugh nervously. “Sorry, I don’t know what that was. I don’t have anything else. I should go.” Abruptly, you stand. You need to get the fuck out of this room, where Jigsaw is sitting just feet you-

“Hold on.” Hoffman’s voice freezes you. He rests a hand on your arm, and like a frightened rabbit, you jump. “You alright? That was a lot. You sure you didn’t get anything else?”

“What, are you a believer now?” Rigg asks him. He too looks a bit shaken, but frowns. “Sorry, but we didn’t learn anything from that. I could have told you Eric’s dead. The rest was a mess.”

You incline your head in an apology, feeling your hands start to shake. “I didn’t get anything else. No identities of the accomplices, or anything like that,” Fuck. Fuck, you need to stop talking. When you say the word accomplice, Hoffman’s grip tightens on your arm.

His eyes meet yours, and you feel your breath catch. You think you’re going to be sick.

“You did good,” Kerry says, though she sounds disappointed. She looks over her notepad. “We got a lot of information that’ll be helpful to keep in mind as we investigate. And who knows, maybe more will come to you later.”

“Yeah, maybe,” You say. Suddenly, another wave of pain and dizziness crashes over you, so overpowering that your vision swims. You’re falling, spinning, and then you’re caught in a warm embrace. Sturdy arms are holding you, keeping you from collapsing to the ground.

You open your eyes to see the killer holding you, peering down at you. Expressionless.

Somehow, it feels comforting, even knowing what you know. Somehow, it feels protective.

Lies upon lies.

“Hey, I’m headed out anyway. I can drive you home,” Hoffman says gently, and your eyes widen. Wee oo, wee oo! DANGER!

“Oh, no, I’m okay, really,” You mumble, but as you try to stand and extricate yourself from Hoffman’s grip, he just holds tighter. He smiles in a way where you can sense the snarl, just below the surface.

“Shh. It’s alright. Don’t worry about it,” He says, quiet and forceful, right beside your ear. You catch Rigg rolling his eyes. 

“Really Mark?” He mutters. You shift in the embrace again, attempting to stand upright. This time, he lets you go, but keeps a hand on you. To the others you’re sure it looks like a helping hand to steady you. To you, it seems like a threat.

But what can you do? If you scream out that holy fuck, he’s a Jigsaw accomplice, Kerry might believe you and no one else will. You don’t know what Hoffman might do under pressure, but you’re certain that the word of a crackpot psychic wouldn’t be enough to put him behind bars. Not without some kind of proof. And without that, your safety would very much be in danger. More than it already is.

You could adamantly refuse his ride, but then he would definitely know that you know. And again, that puts you in a very dangerous position. 

Maybe you could play it off as though you didn’t see or know anything? What choice did you have? Kerry had accidentally fucked you by asking you to come in and do your best.

“Are you okay?” She asks, concerned. She looks from you, to Hoffman. “I have to stay at the office a bit longer, but I’ll catch up with you after. I promise, Mark’s a good guy, even if he looks scary and gets on my nerves. He’ll get you home safe.”

You muster up a smile. Kerry and Rigg know you’re leaving with him. He can’t do anything. 

“S-sure. A ride home would be great, then. If it’s not too much trouble.” Your smile wobbles under the intensity of Hoffman’s stare. You feel like a mouse, being cornered by a hawk. Finally, he lets go of you, only to put his hand on the small of your back.

“Steady now,” he says, "It's no trouble." You nod.

“Thanks. Sorry again I couldn’t be of more help,” you shoot Kerry an apologetic smile, and are ushered out of the room by Detective Hoffman. 

He leads you out of the precinct, keeping his hand on your back as he does. All the while, your stomach churns in anxiety. Down the corridors, and around countless bends and offices, you're lead down the stairs and eventually reach the door outside.

He stays right beside you all the way out to his car, close enough that you can hear him breathing. By now, it’s dark out, a quarter past nine in the evening. Kerry had asked you to come late, so that if anyone was watching the precinct, you wouldn’t draw any attention- jokes on her, you supposed.

Hoffman opens the car door for you- what a gentleman- and closes it behind you with a heavy thud. It feels like the closing of a coffin door.

A coffin. Another flash, of a coffin filled with glass. Blood, everywhere blood. 

“Never believed in psychics before,” Hoffman says to you. He’s sitting in the driver’s seat when you open your eyes. You hadn’t heard him enter the car.

“That’s what Kerry said, the first time I told her,” you murmured. You glance around the vehicle. The doors are locked from the inside, and you don’t know how to open them. 

“What’d you see this time?” Hoffman asks as he starts up the car.

“Uh, I don’t know. It was all blurry,” You reply. If you’re going to try to convince him you’re a shit psychic, you’d better start now. 

“Uh-huh,” he replies as he pulls out of the parking lot, “You’re a terrible liar, you know.”

You swallow nervously, your heart starting to beat wildly in your chest.

“I haven’t told you where I live,” you mention, trying to keep your voice light.

“Let’s go for a drive,” Hoffman answers coldly.

Oh, you’re so fucked. 

You close your eyes, searching your intuition and trying to calm your breathing. The damn ‘gift’ has never been much help to you, but if it could get you out of this situation, you would pray to Cassandra every night for the rest of your life in thanks.

“Don’t bother lying any more.” At first, you think it’s your intuition saying that. After a second, you realize it was Detective Hoffman. “You said enough that I know you’re for real. So what’d you see?”

You glance out the window. He’s taking you out of the downtown core, away from the busy streets and traffic lights and out toward the highway. Swallowing nervously, you reply, “A glass coffin. A lot of blood. I don’t know if it’s something that’s happened or is going to happen. It’s never really clear- that’s true.”

And I’m sorry about your sister, a voice inside you whispers surreptitiously. You bite your tongue before you say it out loud.

“How often you get that?” He asks.

“It depends. After a session like today, I’ll get waves of it for a while. And then it’ll ebb. But it always comes back.” A migraine is starting to bloom between your eyes, but you know it’s the least of your problems tonight.

His grip tightens on the steering wheel. Strangely, for a moment, he seems nervous. “Can you... can you talk to the dead?”

You shake your head. “No. Sorry. I wish I could.”

He drives silently for a while. For a weird moment, it almost seems peaceful. He drives on the highway, and then exits onto an off ramp, into an industrial district. Hoffman drives in silence with you for the better part of half an hour. Then, finally, he pulls off beside an old mill of some kind, one that looks like it shut down years ago.

There is not a soul around. If you were to start screaming now, at the top of your lungs, you doubt anyone would hear you. Hoffman unbuckles his seat belt, and turns to face you.

“Are you going to murder me?” You ask, voice shaking.

“Now why would I do that?” There’s a note of false concern in his voice, which is offset by the smug smile that tugs at the corner of his mouth. He wants you to say it out loud. 

Right now, you’re feeling helpless.

“Alright. Alright. Yes, I think- I don’t know what I saw. Maybe it was you, maybe it was someone else. Bringing me out here instead of home isn’t a good look for you, you know,” you ramble nervously. He watches you.

“You think I’m the accomplice," he confirms, "Explains why you were so jumpy after,” Hoffman leans across the middle console, and tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear. It would feel intimate, if it wasn’t overtly threatening. 

“Which brings me back to my question. Did you bring me out here to kill me?,” you size up the windows as you speak, wondering if you could break them, if you had to. Can you roll them down? Nope, locked too, just like the door.

“You’re the psychic.” He replies, before he says, “I’ve still got questions that you might be able to help me with. You’re too useful. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I won’t lie to you, so don’t lie to me, either,” you snap back at him. He actually laughs at that, incredulous.

“You’re really something,” he mutters, shaking his head. “Listen. Your... theories. You tell them to me, and only me. You don’t tell Kerry, you don’t tell Rigg. You wouldn’t want to put them in danger, would you? No one would believe you anyway, but let’s not take any chances.” Hoffman leans into your space again, using his size to intimidate you. He’s only inches from you, caging you entirely back against the passenger side car door.

You nod your head in acquiescence. He hums in approval.

“Good. You tell Kerry about your theories, and it doesn’t end well for anyone, get it? Can you 'sense' that?”

And you can. You know he will kill you if he has to. He’ll kill you, Kerry, your family, anyone that gets in his way or threatens his cover. You get the horrible, hopeless sense that nothing would be able to stop him if he wanted you dead.

“Give me your phone.” You pass him your flip phone, still feeling dizzy with adrenaline and a pulse of relief- that he’s not going to kill you. At least not tonight. Probably.

After a few moments, he passes your phone back to you, leaning back into your space. A contact has been added under the name Mark. 

“Now I wanna hear you say it. You’re not going to tell anyone else.,” pressed back against the car door, you almost feel like you can’t breathe, but you nod quickly. Sickeningly, your face is flushed from the proximity.

“I won’t tell anyone else what I see about the Jigsaw murders. Just you,” you breathe, and he nods, touching your neck for a brief moment before he lets go and leans back, sitting back in the driver’s seat and looking you over.

“Before I take you home. Is there anything else you picked up that you haven’t told me about?”

“Mostly just feelings. Power, rage, loss, pain. Things like that. The, um, pig mask,” you pause, floundering, worried that continuing will piss him off. But he catches it- of course he does- and raises an eyebrow.

“And?”

“And I’m- I’m sorry about your sister.”

He sits back like you’ve knocked the breath out of him. He looks truly stunned, staring at you with his mouth slightly agape. You quickly add, “I don’t know anything about what happened. Just uh, just that sentence. And the feeling of... of a crushing loss.”

“Right,” he shakes his head, starting the car back up. He nods to himself, like he’s still processing what you’ve said. “Fuckin'... wow."

"Yeah, the intuition doesn't pull any punches," You mumble in return. He glances at you in surprise, and you quietly curse your inability to shut the fuck up.

Reluctantly, you give him your address, and he starts to drive back to the city. Within another half an hour, you’re pulling into the driveway of your apartment building, anxious to be out of the car and into your home.

“Now I know where you live. Got it?” He murmurs. You nod again, mutely. As you exit the car, Mark stops you.

“I’ll be in touch,” he says, before you scamper into your building.

NEXT CHAPTER

#im so sorry for putting this in the tags again #mark hoffman #slasher fic #saw franchise #slasher x reader #saw movies #sawposting #costas mandylor #detective hoffman #mark hoffman x reader #mark hoffman x oc #my writing

[boyfhees]

🗗 MORE THAN ROOMMATES | k. ayato

precis. you plan to move out of your apartment and ayato sees his whole life flash before his eyes.

wc. 10.3k please please please read this do not ignore because of the word count. please read it for ayato in silk robes

genre. humour, roommates ! au, modern ! au, suggestive, roommate to lovers ( ? )

warnings. profanities, this gets sort of sensual pls, suggestive, mentions of sex, disclaimer : there's no style & only writing, very bad jokes i'm unhinged with this one, more or less an inner monologue, unsolicited crack, kys and kms jokes ( ? ), drinking, mentions of dying, open ending ? it's pretty obvious if you'd ask me, thoma and sara are absolutely shit at giving advices, both the reader and ayato are absolute simps oh god please forget i ever wrote this ( actually don't. come talk to me about this )

note. repost :( my brother deleted my account sighh anyway please read this ig this is my fav work ever rip. inspired by this fic by my dearest mai go read it

ayato has no business living in an overly expensive apartment with a broken heater and cracked ceilings. in fact, he can instead move out any second. one call and his chauffeur would pick him up, another call and the kamisatos will have another villa signed under their names— well, ayato’s name, to be specific. for someone with overflowing wealth and a father who’s an excellent architect, ayato is surely down to earth.

his sister, ayaka, drops by every few weeks to check up on her brother. well, honestly, she only arrives to check up on the apartment and try another shot at persuading her brother to move out, only to return back home with nothing but failure in her palms. much to your surprise, she even offered the landlady a contract to buy the apartment. ‘we can buy, renovate and decorate this— then you and ayato can live happily!’ her exact words, but you declined. after all, you can not keep leeching off the kamisatos and living lavishly with a million dollars debt threatening to decapitate you in your sleep. ayato has done enough by handling your expenses when you were fired from your previous job.

talking about you, your life in the apartment isn’t any better. if you ignore the benefits of being roommates with ayato— which solely includes free boba and the opportunity to watch him in a silk robe every time he takes a shower— you don’t have any reasons to not move out of the apartment either. surprisingly enough, you’re sure that if you continue to living there and keep using the dark and narrow alleyway as your shortest way home from the university campus, you’ll be murdered luxuriously. 

that was four months ago, though, when you were a new resident who paid an offensively high rent for a shitty apartment and saw yourself on the streets in the near future. the you from four months ago is probably cursing the hell out of you; not even probably, it’s certain. every night, you entertain your two lovely, semi-functional brain cells telling you to gather your stuff and move out the day you get your pay cheque. 

you’re reminded to move in with your parents again after you had the nastiest argument with them and moved out impulsively, saying you’ll ‘slay’ out there, in the world, all alone. well, surprise, you’re not. instead, the world is slaying you by having you juggle between three part time jobs while managing your hair-greying college schedule and an apartment who’s faucet goes out every other day. that’s when the landlady gave you the happiest news you’d heard in months : a roommate. 

now, you see, for most people, having a roommate would be troublesome. no one wants to share the kitchen or their favourite spot on the couch or something, but the day you were informed about your roommate moving in, you were on cloud nine. you had a drink, blanked out completely in the middle of the living room for absolutely no reason, even cleaned the apartment extra carefully the next day for dear roommate. you’re crazy for that, you had your reasons. 

first, the rent. thankfully, it is still around how it was before with a bare fifteen percent increase; but hey, you no longer have to carry the financial burden yourself and have your conscience call you an imbecile every night before you drift into sleep. moreover, you’d finally have someone to fix the faucet, change the bulbs, and most importantly, hear you venting about how shit the apartment is. you were also excited about your roommate being the ‘nice, college student in his early twenties’ guy, as informed by your landlord, but that’s for another day. 

and that is how you had ayato as your roommate. his first look was intimidating. you remember wondering if he’s actually a college student and not some undercover assassin. but again, he looks too, if anything, decent, to be an assassin. ayato likes his boba extra sweetened and his closet consists of anything but hoodies and sweatpants. he watches bunny videos in free time and feeds stray cats whenever they come around. he also cooks two meals a day and ends up ordering the third one so you don’t have to overwork yourself after all the part time jobs and stressful classes, helps you with assignment, puts you to bed if you fall asleep in living room— yeah, no. he’s way too decent to be an assassin. 

ayato thinks he’s doing a wonderful job at being a roommate who you can depend upon. from the first hour of the day to the last one at night, he helps you, greets you, stays by your side; he’s an amazing roommate, and it’s a fact. thoma confirmed, and sara thinks he’s being a little too generous but hey, it’s about you; and when it comes to you, nothing is ‘too much’ for aayto. 

so when you tell him on one fine sunday morning that you’ll be moving out next month, ayato sees his life flash before his eyes. it’s been two days since you’ve informed him and he’s still too stunned to speak. 

“hey,” ayato greets you in the kitchen, fetching a glass from a shelf higher than usual. there’s something off about the atmosphere, and it’s definitely not you. so, your eyes travel to ayato as he pours himself a glass of ice-cold water at the ass crack of dawn. “so you’re really moving out?” 

what the fuck. 

no because, you’re still half asleep. it’s half past five, you’re getting water and ayato waltz into the kitchen with his robe half draping off one of his shoulders and a raspy morning voice that has you weak in knees. perhaps, you expect a sweet little ‘good morning’ with his trademark smile that has the landlord’s daughter wrapped around his finger— and you too, honestly. instead, you’re met with a frown hanging on his face and a question about the topic that was last brought up about two days ago. 

“yeah. surprise?” you let out the fakest laugh before letting it die just as quickly the moment the sound of your cracked voice hits your ears. actually, you don’t even care about how you look and sound. what’s more important is that ayato isn't acting like himself. well, he’s the one to react quickly and not resurrect a dead conversation two days after, especially when you’re in the process of mourning and grieving about the lack of ayato you’ll have in your life from the next month onward. 

see, you have a disease, and it’s terminal. you could’ve moved out the day you moved in, or the day ayato moved in, or on any day in the past four months, but your condition didn’t allow you. first, it was the lack of green money in your hands to get a better apartment and after ayato moved in, he became the problem. 

you’re down bad. outsold. you have one look at a fine man and you wobble on your knees; one sight of toned muscles and you’re a goner. flatline. dead. there’s no going back. the first time you saw ayato was after you came back from your classes with a cake in your hands to celebrate the welcoming of your roommate. you opened the door and before you stood ayato with his drenched hair and silk robe, smelling like primroses and everything that the man of your dreams could have ever.

he shot you a smile, and you were sold. 

forget the cake, you had a whole five-star exquisite cuisine standing in front of you. rent was no longer a problem, you didn’t mind living under leaking roofs and honestly, even if someone murdered you, you wouldn’t mind. you have been planning to move out for a long time but if that was going to be the scene you came home to everyday, you didn’t mind any of the problems offered by the apartment. 

that is what ayato did to you the day he moved in. 

so, making a decision about moving out and telling that to him was a torture. not only were you losing your man— how funny— but also your daily free boba supplier. it was a life changing, heart wrenching, decision; but it had to be done. 

you shoot him a smile, patting his shoulders as you walk towards your room. “hey, i’m not leaving until next month so don’t think you’re getting rid of me anytime soon.” you hear ayato let out an exaggerated sigh, one that could blow away the wig of your mathematics professor. you don’t know what occurred to him at five-thirty in the morning when he showed up with the saddest frown ever, but thinking he’s upset about you moving out would be getting ahead of yourself and making a clown of yourself once again, in the circus that your life is. 

.

.

.

“dude, what the hell—” that’s thoma, and the saccharine words of compliments leaving his mouth are for none other than ayato. “what’s with your face?” 

no no, not only his face; in fact, ayato, as a whole, is fucked up. he didn’t get a single ounce of sleep last night and you can blame some netflix shitshow for that. and just when he was about to fall asleep, his hydration requirements led him into the kitchen and the rest is history. 

“why is she moving out?” ayato mumbles in the most disappointed and sorrow ridden voice. he didn’t even sound this heart broken when his last girlfriend dumped him in the middle of victoria’s secret because he didn’t help her choose, you know, her lingerie; as insane as it sounds. thoma hasn’t seen ayato this dejected in over a year and the blond head is convinced his one and only close friend, his bro, is losing his mind.

a second passes, thoma repeats ayato’s question in his head. “she, as in yn?” and the next second, he gets his answer. thoma sits straight, back tightened, eyes fixed on ayato who’s very, uh, desolate right now. he has a class in ten minutes but bros before everything, and especially before an hour-long lesson about shit newton did as a scientist. his priority at the moment is to beat some sense into his friend in the politest way possible. 

“why shouldn’t she move out— i mean, have you looked at the apartment? it sucks ass, i’m surprised she made it till four months, i would’ve killed myself on the spot if i had to live there.” ayato shoots him a desperate look, a whine rolling off his pout as thoma’s face scrunches up into disgust because the fuck kind of behaviour is ayato exhibiting in middle of the cafe. “you know, you should move out too. i can clearly see the damage that place has done to you.” 

oh no, the damage is yet to be done. it’s happening slowly, gradually, slower than the tortoise in that tortoise and the hare race, slower than a sloth, drop by drop, sucking the life out of him. ayato doesn’t have any interest in that sorry excuse of an apartment. instead, he’s interested in you. the day he moved in, you appeared in front of him as an angel. an angel with a cake, strawberry flavoured cake that he absolutely despises but you, on the other hand, looked edible— he means, you looked beautiful. you always do, even when you’re wasted after four bottles and a plattering mess. 

god, ayato thinks it’s a blessing to be able to wake up in the same apartment as you. you may say you’re a potato but for ayato, you’re the longest and spiciest chilli in the bunch, he said what he said. and now you’re moving out, he can already spot the differences in the apartment. your stuff is no longer lying here and there since you’ve started arranging your things.

ayato can sense his descent into madness for several reasons. first, you’re just a roommate so why the fuck does he care if you live with him or move to mars; and second, you lived with him for two months without complaints so, why do you want to move out now. he wants to rip his hair out, drink bleach and sleep, hoping to wake up with a better thinking process and stability. 

ayato feels like he has been stripped of humanity, all because you’re moving out in less than thirty days. 

“hi— shit— you need to start sleeping, ayato!” this is sara, and once again, the elite words of compliments are thrown at none other than the boba man. kujou takes a seat next to thoma, observing ayato as he whines and sighs into his hand, looking like a sleep deprived, homeless man who probably has post traumatic stress disorder, but it’s literally just him crying over you, much to sara’s unawareness. “is he okay?” 

thoma shakes his head, taking a sip from his drink, shooting her a ‘does-he-look-like-he’s-okay’ look before sighing at his friend’s state once again. “yn’s moving out and he’s not coping well.”

sara leans back on her chair, rolling eyes at ayato’s diseased situation. it’s surprising that someone hasn’t reported him to the infirmary or some asylum; but she knows the cure. unlike ayato, sara isn’t stupid. she knows; studying criminology gives her an advantage of knowing how to read between the lines, or in this case, ayato’s whines. 

“it’s about time you accept your feelings.” what. she states and it feels like ayato’s heart skipped several beats. he looks at her wide eyed, flabber-gasted, with jaw dropped to the floor. “what? i know you like her. you’re fooling no one with that stupid face of yours.”

no, what sara’s saying is stupid. you’re a roommate. his roommate. ayato’s roommate. mate of the room. nothing less and certainly, nothing more. you don’t share a single class. his mornings start with your face and then ayato doesn’t see you for the whole day, unless you bump into each other on the campus, which is rarer than him getting hit by a meteoroid and dying. ain’t no way, he likes you. sure, you’re pretty. god, you’re gorgeous. human embodiment of goddesses but it’s just the beauty. apart from being extremely gorgeous and someone who ayato probably values more than his life, you’re basically a no one. 

kamisato ayato trusts his instincts, and his instincts tell him that he doesn’t like you. he likes you, just not in that way, not the like-like. not the i-want-to-surrender-my-life-to-you kind of like, not the i-want-to-make-out-with-you kind of like. okay, maybe the last part is a lie— but he still stands by his words. 

“you’re gaslighting m—”

“you’re gaslighting yourself.” thoma cuts him mid-sentence. “i still have the screenshots from the day you spammed me after yn posted that pic. don’t even try to deny.” 

wait, that happened? 

the, going crazy and spamming after seeing your post? ayato likes to think he was drunk. 

“you we’re sober, by the way. never been more, honestly.” and oh god, he’s done for. but that’s okay, right? you’re his roommate, and it’s normal for a roommate to aggressively talk about how pretty their roommate is, isn’t it? ayato believes it is normal. it’s as normal as drinking coffee to sleep better. a human appreciating another human’s beauty, what’s so wrong with that? one should support their kind, mutualism is the way through the ecosystem. rhizobium doesn’t live symbiotically for nothing, after all. it’s just give and take— 

“are you going to say something or…?” sara interjects ayato’s trail of useless thoughts. he still doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t know what to say. he doesn’t like you, right, right— it’s clear in his head, he just needs to put it in words. he’s unable to carry out the last part. “okay, if you don’t like yn, then why do you have a problem with her moving out?” 

ah, yes. now we’re talking. the life in ayato’s eyes revisits. “look, look— she’s a great cook,” hah, what a liar. you’re a cook, not a great one. you don’t even cook in the apartment to begin with. the kitchen belongs to mister kamisato ayato and you sit by the counter to watch him cook and add another ten to fifteen years in your life. “and she can clean,” that’s something you’ve always been good at. truthfully, you don’t mind cleaning or doing any of the chores for ayato. you’re ready to get on your fours and bark for him. “and, she's pretty…”

“there,” thoma interrupts, slamming his hand on the table, having ayato look at him with a curious gaze; which looks horrifying because of his lack of sleep, by the way. “i don’t see how being pretty is anywhere close to why you need her to stay.” 

sara nods in agreement, but ayato knows he makes sense. who wants to live with an ugly roommate? okay, maybe, all roommates are pretty, but thoma, if ayato had to live with him, he’d flee the country. so, being pretty does co-relate with living peacefully, because if you’re not pretty, your roommate will flee countries and that’ll cause unnecessary expenses. henceforth, point proven. ayato still thinks he makes absolute, completely, hundred percent sense. 

“whatever, just ask her to stay if it’s that important,” thoma snickers, rolling his eyes. but what he’s saying is not possible. ayato may be good at flirting, he does have a pretty good record with dating, but he becomes a nervous wreck around you. 

he’s nervous right now. 

you make him nervous. just the thought of you makes him nervous. 

and believe it or not, ayato can’t just walk up to you and ask you to not move away because you’re a great cook, you can clean and you’re pretty— no. he doesn’t have the confidence. the whole process sounds like a secret military operation where flexible deterrent options are a must if he wants to survive. 

talking to you feels like writing finals for a subject he has never touched in his whole life. it’s like skydiving without a parachute, going into space without oxygen, and whatnot. despite spending two months with you in the same apartment, under the same roof, ayato’s communication skills haven’t improved past the ‘hi / hello’ stage. 

it’s like stepping on his sister in front of his mother and then breaking her favourite vase before throwing his father’s golf clubs into the sewer. and even though ayato says he likes you, hypothetically, he wouldn’t stroll up to you and ask you to not move out. that's utterly selfish. you’re just a roommate, a chapter in his life, someone who he stumbled across on his way and took a liking to— platonically— that’s it. that’s all you are. ayato thinks it’s insultingly selfish of him to ask you to stay. so he wouldn’t ask you, but he wants to, he wishes for you to stay, no matter how selfish it sounds.  

“i can’t ask her that.” it’s a stern reply, ayato is way too confident with his words while thoma raises his eyebrows as an interrogative response. “what, you expect me to go ‘hey yn, please don’t move out’ one fine day?” 

“no, but you can definitely go, ‘hey yn, you have a sexy and hot roommate who will do you right so don’t move out,’ at her.” ayato believes that the stupidest and most brain-degrading sentence that has ever come out of kujou sara’s mouth. “i mean, you don’t have to tell her to stay, show her.” 

“this isn’t literature, sara.” 

“i know, but show her the benefits of not moving out,” she repeats, her eyes enunciating a bigger plan behind those few insensible words. “seduce her with your skills, ayato.” 

yeah no, there’s no bigger plan. 

the only plan is to fuck up kamisato ayato’s already fucked up life with her illogical, useless fucked up plan. for someone studying criminology and nailing those charts, sara surely thinks less before speaking. no, she doesn’t think at all. her brain is probably in the suitcase she trashed last week. 

“sara, shut up before i—” 

ayato wants to continue his statement, but thoma beats him to it. “no no, wait. she, she makes sense.” 

no, she does not. 

she doesn’t make any sense.

no dots are connected, the dots aren’t here to begin with. head in hands, ayato sighs again. this sounds like something that would ruin his life beyond repair. to damage his reputation so much, he’d have to flee the country and change his identity. perhaps, the kaedehara family would take him in. 

“dude, think about it,” ah, no. ayato very well knows that thoma doesn’t get to talk about ‘thinking’ and anything related to it after saying sara’s plan makes sense. her words are incredibly thoughtless. “you show her the benefits. drop her to campus and drive her back, cook for her, clean for her, arrange her bed for her, earn for her, spend on her, just anything— show her, ayato.”

no. 

ayato doesn’t like the direction this conversation is heading in. 

or perhaps, he’s just overthinking. well, he has been doing almost everything on that list, honestly. everything as in, cooking. that’s it. that’s important, cooking is necessary, one must survive to eat— he means, eat to survive. he has spent quite a generous sum when you lost your very first job. 

this whole conversation is eating his brains out. you’re just a friend, not even a friend, a roommate. a fucking roommate he got attached to and how his abandonment issues are surfacing and god knows what will follow. he repeats thoma’s words in his head over and over again— now way, it makes sense. if anything, it’s going to give you the wrong idea that your roommate became a sugar daddy overnight and you’re going to be his first sugar baby, as sweet and horrific as it sounds.  

talk to us when you’re in a state to accept your feelings. that’s what sara said before excusing herself out of the cafe with thoma following her shortly behind. yeah no, ayato is regretting every decision that led him to this conversation, this unsolicited therapy session that fucked his brain inside-out. he’s about to leave the cafe as well, planning to skip all his classes and probably go visit a temple or something, until you come around with your friends.

there’s a smile on your face, the one he wakes up to. he loves your smile. ayato thinks your smile is really pretty; you are pretty— platonically. a smile creeps up to his face as well, dissipating as soon as thoma’s words re-visited his mind.

show her. ayato bites the insides of his cheeks. he’s probably going to take that advice. after all, you can make anything make sense if you really tried. 

.

.

.

ayato is on his way to the apartment.

he clearly disposed of all his responsibilities as an ideal student and sprinted out of the campus like a criminal on the run. well, he’s on his way to become a criminal. he’s about to seduce you using his skills and then you’ll report him to the police. doesn’t matter that he can get bailed out in minutes thanks to his mad rich family, he’ll still flee the country, get a new identity, dye his hair. kaedehara ayato doesn’t sound bad, not bad at all. it sounds delicious, healing, sounds like something that would save his life. 

now, he’s on the elevator to the floor. he’s afraid the elevator would stop moving if another pack of stress stacks up on his shoulders. actually, that wouldn’t be half bad.

the elevator stops, security comes, you will come running, the management will open the door and he’ll die in your arms out of collapsing lungs? stress? anxiety? heart attack? you’ll cup his face and he’ll tell you about his last wish— please don’t move out. though, it would lack the necessary fucks to give since he’s dead but in case, he’s alive, in case, then you’d live with him. sounds like a plan. godbless to whatever sara and thoma have done, ayato is incapable of carrying out the general thinking procedure. 

now he’s walking towards the door, fiddling with the key between his fingers. show don’t tell, show don’t tell, show don’t tell— fuck, if ayato ever paid attention to all the lessons about creative writing in highschool, he would’ve been the best selling author; which he is not. there’s a reason why he’s majoring in history, out of all the available options.   

for some reason, ayato expected you to be home. if he remembers correctly, you only have half your lessons and he knows you wouldn’t attend half of those scheduled lessons to read webtoons in the library. 

but you’re not home, and he’s going crazy. did you run away? oh god— what if you already moved out? surprise, with the haha, happy living alone note? he doesn’t wait another second before opening the door, coming across a living room that’s seemingly… normal. 

he spots your plushie on the couch, your gaming console lying around like trash or whatever, and uh, a poster of some levi ackerman from that apocalypse au of the anime you watch after sacrificing sleep to you sleep paralysis demon. he remembers you ordering it a week ago, turns out it arrived this morning and you unpacked it, leaving it in the living room because you were getting late for classes. 

you’re still living here, definitely. there’s no way you’re moving out without that silly poster of yours. 

ayato picks it up, judging the man from head to his chest since that’s where the poster ends. he looks like a bergamot. that’s all, and ayato dumps the poster on the floor and leaves to take a shower. 

.

.

.

it’s six in the evening. 

you got drunk at two for absolutely no reason and passed out at your friend’s place. good for you, your hangover is evaporating. though, your head throbs like something else when you watch ayato in his silk robe after shower when he smells like the man you’d get on your knees for. 

you don’t have high expectations this evening. it’s tuesday and ayato never returns on time when it’s tuesday. no he doesn’t drink and judging from how he’s always up at six on wednesdays, he doesn’t get laid either; which is actually good for you because you would never, ever, want any girl to sleep with your man, even though he isn’t yours. 

you’re met with a pleasant surprise when you stand in front of your door with the keys in your hands, noticing that it’s already unlocked. perhaps, you can at least end your day with ayato in his finest attire. you smile, opening the door, your smile grows wider as you notice ayato’s shoes, it grows even wider when you smell freshly prepared creme pasta lingering in the air. you’re in for a ride. you step in further, eyes settling on your roommate who’s leaning against the kitchen counter with a wine glass in his hand— wait.  

wait a damn minute.

wait a fucking second, that’s— ayato for sure— okay, you decide to take it from the bottom. that’s ayato wearing a silk pyjama, okay that’s new. new for you, maybe not for him, but you’re used to seeing him in silk robes with nothing beneath, you know, bare calves and feet. his toenails probably look prettier than yours. your eyes travel up further, completely leaving out the part you shouldn’t be thinking about especially when you’re still partly hungover, you see his abs— pause.  

hold the fuck up, his abs? you blink, and look again, you stare at him for a better look. abs. fucking abs, you’re— but why abs?! no, you don’t complain. all you’ve ever seen is a part of his chest from the godsent chest window offered by his robes. nothing more, nothing below, not abs. never. 

you— okay— you take a deep breath and process the situation. ayato is wearing the same silk robe, except it’s with pyjamas, however he didn’t tie it. he didn’t tie it, oh god— you’re watching kamisato ayato from the first seat, full access to his toned abs, you’re frothing at the mouth. 

“welcome home, yn” silence. what. what. what the fuck did he say? no, ayato greets you everything but not like this. not in the seductive tone that makes your name sound a hundred times breathtaking and make you feel like you’re an empress to some crazy rich nation, not in a way where you can look at his abs, and he runs his fingers through his wet hairs before taking a sip from the wine. not in the sexy, knee weakening, voice that fills your brain with the visual depiction of ‘pregnant emoji’ over and over again. 

you’re done. sold. dead. gone. mother of his kids, probably? you don’t mind because just when you thought you’re over your silly little crush on your roommate and ready to move out, he stands in front of you, looking like aphrodite’s son or just, aphrodite herself— except, this one’s male. 

“yn, you okay there?” no no no, you’re not, you’re not. you’re not okay. you’re oscillating between having the time of your life and lying on your deathbed. it’s like you’re playing a quiz with your own mind where the first option is to die and the second option is to die as well. you’re— you’re failing to compose yourself and you’re sure if someone doesn’t drag you out of this, you will embarrass yourself horribly enough for you to dig a hole and decompose. 

ayato chuckles. he chuckles. he has the audacity to chuckle at you after looking at that. does he even know about the effect he has on you? no, of course he doesn’t. he probably thinks it’s completely normal for him to stand in front of you, half naked, looking criminally hot; yeah no— someone needs to stop him.

“your face is red,” oh, i wonder why. “are you sick?” it’s such a rhetorical question, you’re not sure if he’s actually that innocent or whether he’s having fun teasing you like this. you nod, avoiding all sorts of eye contact and verbal conversation. you’ve figured out enough that if you open your mouth, it’ll get you in trouble. you’re bound to say something stupid, perhaps about how you want him to blow your back like a glowstick or something, or maybe you’d tell him to dress up and put on some clothes, despite the fact that you very much adore the scene in front of you right now, and make everything terribly awkward for the rest of your lives. 

ayato smiles, putting his hand on your shoulder, and you feel several volts of electric current travelling down your spine. you’re getting butterflies, or perhaps the whole damn zoo with monkeys swinging off your ribs and vertebrates. you want to pass out. you want to faint right fucking now before something goes wrong because he’s standing right in front of you, and his hand is on your shoulder, and you’re getting a much much closer and clearer look at this toned muscles— you’re about to start barking. 

“uh, i’ll go—” yes. leaving is the only option, the only correct option. exactly what you should do right now. gather your useless thoughts, run away, go to your room, take a cold shower, and don’t come out until ayato leaves for his classes the next day. 

he smiles, taking his hand off your shoulder and you take a sign of relief. probably the best you’ve felt in months, really. “okay, i’ll set dinner.”

“i’m not hungry.”

“huh?”

“i’m not hungry, i feel sick. it’s uh— dysentery.” great. fucking marvelous. out of everything, it had to be dysentery. 

“oh. do you need med—”

“no, i have benadryl.” you want to bang your head into the closest wall, want the ceiling to finally collapse, the tiles to break and take you inside. you just want to disappear because benadryl is a fucking cough syrup. you simply excuse yourself before he could ask anymore questions, hearing him suppress his laughter as you walk away. he probably knows you’re lying, doesn’t take a doctor to tell what a benadryl is; and you couldn’t thank him enough for pretending you’re absolutely right with the medications and letting you be. 

you get inside your room, you shut the door, you lean against it and contemplate every decision you ever took in your life. 

where did it go wrong? 

was it the part when you moved in? damn, sure you should’ve moved out earlier. you should’ve ran away the day you saw a fine man like ayato standing in front of you, tagged as your roommate. you know you’d sell your soul or something for him, you are aware of the things you’d do for him, for ayato, because a man like him deserves the world. you should’ve moved out before your inner simp had started channelling herself. 

you grab your clothes and decide to sit in the shower until you prune up and die. that’s probably the only right decision. you’re about to get inside the bathroom when you hear the doorbell, halting your steps as you hear footsteps approaching inside. 

“hi,” that. that’s a woman. a lady, a female human, you didn’t think ayato would be capable of being friends with any other woman beside you and kujou sara. 

now judging from the low, scarred intensity of the voice that’s reaching your ears, you can tell she’s a pretty woman. pretty like those campus crushes but in your head, she’s pretty like those main antagonists of some melodramatic television show that make you want to strangle her to death with every breath she takes. you don’t even know her but the way your fist clenches, it’s definitely jealousy piping out of you like candies from pez dispensers. 

“i’m sorry for last night,” last— last what? “we can continue.” 

continue what. 

no. no fuck, you can’t.

if this is about what your rotten brain is thinking about then there’s no way they can continue. you’re here, in your room, the walls around aren’t soundproof and you aren’t ready for whatever obscene act they’re going to pull in his room, or perhaps in the living room because the woman seems to have zero patience. 

“my roommate is here,” that’s ayato. yes. you nod in approval. tell her ayato. tell her to gather up her fantasies and desires and get he fuck out of your apartment. “hope you don’t mind.” 

what. 

what. 

of course, you mind. you didn’t sign up for some real life porn show when signing the papers for this apartment. moreover, you’re not stable and mentally, physically or emotionally strong enough to stand all the moans and groans that’ll fill up the room when he’ll do everything that you want him to do with you, and you’re thinking this with all your soberness. 

“oh, she can join us! the more, the merrier.” no, never. you don’t want to join them in their silly little adventure. you’re not in for some monstrous threesome, as amazing as it sounds. you still have to live with ayato for around twenty-eight days and you can’t just join the two of them tonight and wake up the next day as if nothing ever happened. 

you’re insane, but the sane part is still functional. your last two lovely, worn out brain cells are working day and night to keep you alive, successfully having you avoid all the pits of embarrassment and shame, you can not let them down. 

you don’t hear ayato’s response, or perhaps, you want to pretend you didn’t. because you definitely heard something along the lines of ‘bend over,’ and then he cues some music. 

it’s sway by michael buble. out of all the testosterone stimulating sex songs out there, ayato had to choose this. well, it doesn't change the fact that she’s living the life you’ve been dreaming for, ever since ayato moved in. you’re fucking glad the song is loud enough to block any R-rated sounds or else you would’ve suffered a trauma and piss your pants everytimes someone brings up sex the next time in your life. 

you’re on your bed, covering your ears with your pillows, trying to sleep, while she’s in his arms, doing the deed. funny, very funny. is there a chance you would have completely misinterpreted the entire situation? maybe. but no woman randomly shows up at a man’s house after seven in the evening and the first thing she asks is to continue their last night activities. 

you wish your ears would fall off and you’d forget everything you heard tonight. the sound of music isn’t helping you sleep and you can waltz to ayato and ask him to turn down the volume in middle of whatever the fuck they’re doing and infect your eyes and lose your virginity along with the last bits of your sanity, but you don’t have the balls to do so. 

you don’t have the balls to do anything. maybe if you did, you would’ve told ayato about your feelings and maybe, tonight, it would’ve been you instead of that woman. so you just do what you can : bury yourself inside the covers and try to sleep. 

maybe if you ignore it, it will go away. 

.

.

.

waking up, you realise you haven’t had any sleep in the past twenty-four hours or so. maybe you did, thirty minutes, or so. that doesn’t count when all you’ve heard last night are some horribly weird sex songs and phrases like, ‘that feels so good,’ and other things along the same lines whenever the music stopped. 

you looked at yourself in the mirror and almost passed out at the sight. horrible, literally. failing valak from the conjuring universe. actually, you can be the new valak except you’ll have real, actual, trauma and reason to haunt people. 

what surprises you more is that you haven’t come out of your room since last evening and ayato didn’t even check up on you. not like he’s obliged to, but he must. despite the fact that he was probably having the best night of his life, he should have morals as a human who cares about another human; or, as a roommate, because what if you fell from bed and broke your back? what if you got stuck in a chair and died of poor circulation? he probably doesn’t care. you’re pretty sure he’ll call the woman from last night the moment he finds your body and they’ll dance and sing on your grave; maybe, even fuck around it too. 

you want to get out of your room and go to the kitchen. you want to eat. but you’re scared the pair from last night would be passed out naked on the floor— nah, you’re not ready for that scene at seven in the morning. and this wouldn’t have been another issue to worry about if only ayato showed a little more patience and compassion and took her to his room. 

well, you have to survive. there’s a harsher world out there.  

you open the door and creep out of your room as if you’ve been meaning to steal something. you’re acting like this isn’t your apartment but the apartment of someone you’ve stolen a couple million dollars from. oh, and your eyes are closed. yeah. you’re not ready, not ready at all. you’d rather bump and fall and hit your head, die on spot; that'd be way better—

“oh, you’re up,” that’s a familiar voice. you’re sure, you look crazy standing in front of your room with your eyes closed, but that’s for another day. the main question is whether you should open your eyes or not. “you didn’t come out for dinner, i was waiting.” 

your eyes shoot open. 

okay. okay…

so, he’s not naked. thankfully, he’s dressed. fully dressed, in a white shirt with a top few buttons undone, black jeans or trousers, whatever they are. you miss the chest window, but you’re glad he’s dressed because you don’t certainly want to look at the scratches and marks from last night and add more trauma to your life. 

“i told you, i had dysentery,” as if he believes you. the look on his face tells he doesn’t. no one would, you ruin things for yourself. 

as expected, ayato is a goddamn liar. the ‘i was waiting,’ part sounds so fake now that you’re aware of what happened last night. because waiting while fucking someone doesn’t sound like waiting to you. more or less, it sounds like he was devouring his dinner while you were starving in your room. 

“did you not sleep last night?” oh, yeah, of course not. he’s getting there, slowly, but he is getting to the point. you wonder who’s to be blamed for your lack of sleep and the reason why you woke up with only one living and semi-functional brain cell. “ah, is it because of me? was it too loud last night? i was busy.” 

busy? yeah, he was busy working really hard blowing someone’s back or whatever. sounds like a tough job, but that’s none of your business. ( actually, it is ) you don’t want to have this conversation. you don’t know how to look him in the eyes. ayato, your roommate, your crush, he rocked someone else’s world while he knew you were in the apartment, probably hearing everything. for someone who’s rich enough to be featured in crazy rich asians, ayato surely does work a lot, and hard enough, at that. 

you want to murder him. chop off his limbs and also the part he’s probably very proud of. you want to shave his head so that no girl approaches him in the future. 

“oh, you probably don’t know about my work, do you?” no. you don’t want to. you don’t want to hear about the details, you’re not ready for this conversation. “i help my mom with physiotherapy,” 

yes. yes therapy, sounds lovely. everyone needs it, especially him. wait, therapy? what kind of therapy is sex?  well, it is some sort of therapy by the way, it makes you feel at ease— no, you’re swerving away from the topic ! okay, maybe you didn’t hear him correctly. he clearly said psychotherapy and he needs to get his licence revoked for the kind of therapy he is giving. it’s giving rise to more mental patients; you, for example. 

“therapy?” you mutter, you didn’t mean to. you need to learn how to keep your thoughts to yourself, you lack severely in that department of life. 

“yes, therapy for joints and bones? my mother is a physiotherapist and she taught me a thing or two,” oh. oh. physiotherapy. is that why he asked her to bend over? what was the need to put on music, though? you don’t understand ayato. actually, you don’t understand anyone in the kamisato family even though you’ve only met his sister so far. 

now, you feel guilty for thinking about him in that light. apart from the potential visual representations of ayato from last night in your head, you have a very high respect for this man. you feel like you should get on your knees and apologise, offer a hand-written apology letter for thinking of him in such a non-PG-13 manner. 

though, you don’t know how to apologise. you can’t possibly go ‘sorry, ayato, i thought you were busy having the best sex of your life when you were actually providing her therapy.’ that doesn’t even sound right. it makes you look like you need therapy, urgently. but you need to apologise for your sake. maybe, this is just the consequences of your actions or in this case, your imagination. 

“i’m—” you open your mouth to speak, but ayato beats you to it.  

“do you want to go out with me today?” 

wait, what?

do what now?

go out with who?

it’s a question that catches you off guard, pushes off off the cliff, stops your heart. the monkeys in your stomach are alive again even though they suffer from utter embarrassment and guilt for assuming all sorts of things about ayato, and the perfect man he is. 

you want to say yes. of course, no one in their right mind would reject such a golden opportunity to ride in his Bugatti La Voiture Noire that’s worth 18.7 million dollars as of when he purchased it. you remember you have a terminal disease where you spot one toned muscle and sell your conscience to whatever demon is out there. even though you don’t see any toned muscles, you see ayato’s collar bones thanks to those few undone buttons, you see the nerves of his arms thanks to the rolled up sleeves, you see him wearing an apron because he was making breakfast, what a malewife. 

you’re sold, almost.

almost. 

the offer is tempting, but your new apartment is more. you’re an adult and it's a fact even if you don’t want to believe it and want to become a cat who solely lives for aesthetic purposes. you need to earn for yourself and move out of this apartment instead of living in a hell just to fill a void called ayato in your heart. 

“i have to go take a look at how the work at my new apartment is going,” you’re surprised at how sane and normal your response sounds. it’s truly concerning after everything that has happened since last evening and the trash that’s residing in your head. 

you try your best to sound apologetic. you are, you really are, you’re missing out on ayato and his Bugatti La Voiture Noire of $18.7 millions, the one that people ( aka, you ) drool over every time they pass by. it’s an expensive sacrifice, literally and metaphorically, worth more than your life. 

“well, that sucks,” ayato sighs, removing the apron in the most seducing way possible, proceeding to run his fingers through his hairs, looking like a mouth-watering, melt in the mouth, sizzling pork at seven-thirty in the morning. “i had plans for us,” 

and you’re floored. 

us. you like the sound of that. you and ayato, ayato and you, hot. very hot, very sexy, sounds like an eargasm, honestly. for a second, you think it’s a dream. it has to be. if not, then maybe he wants to take you to a shrine or something and have you cleansed from top to bottom for all the r-rated thoughts you’ve been having. but, that’s only possible if ayato has an idea of what’s going on inside your head. there’s no way he knows that, or maybe he does. you look at him like he’s the happy meal and you haven’t eaten in a good five-hundred years or so. 

you’re too lost in your thoughts to focus on ayato until he leans in a bit closer, alerting every single neuron in your body as he shoots you a smirk, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “have fun, pretty.” 

and here lies yn, twenty something, majoring in one of the available majors offered by her university. cause of death: kamisato ayato. 

.

.

.

ayato lets out a desperate cry of help, sliding down the walls of thoma’s living room as soon as he enters thoma’s apartment, scaring the living shit out of his friends.  

“go die somewhere else.” that’s sara again. you can’t blame her, she follows thoma like a pest because he’s a good cook, that’s it. food above everything else. 

thoma walks to the entrance, sighing at the sight of his friend lying on the floor, dejected and lifeless, looking pale, running the beauty of thoma’s luxurious apartment tiled with granite floors. if it weren’t for his morals, he would’ve trashed ayato. 

“i feel like a whore,” sara’s face scrunches up in disgust. maybe, judging from the way ayato talks about you, he is a whore. if not a whore, then something equivalent to it. “never knew i’d have to do this.” 

sara leans against the wall that ayato just slid down out of pure despair. “do what?” 

“seduce yn.” thoma practically pukes out all the water from his mouth at his friend’s words. “what, you both told me to do so!” 

sara doesn’t believe his words. they say love is blind, but in this case it’s also ignorant and incapable of following the wise and helpful instructions provided. “how the fuck have you been seducing her?” 

“um, with my skills?”

“don’t tell me.” the disappointment, in thoma’s voice, is astronomical. who would’ve thought that kamisato ayato, the heir to kamisato estate, excels in the art of idiocy. god really said he can either have looks or brains, and completely missed out on the latter. “ayato, i talked about cooking and cleaning and your homekeeping skills and not about your talents in bed.” 

oh.

that’s right. 

even though all ayato did was fluster you a little this morning— see, he’s disregarding what happened last evening. ayato assumes you’re used to seeing him half naked in his silk robe, with his drenched hair while he smells like primroses and sandalwood and everything else that’s featured in Dior’s men perfume collection. he thinks it’s normal. it’s his apartment, he gets to wear whatever he wants and make himself comfortable. 

he doesn’t know what bed skills tho— wait, bed? skills? talent in bed? what? what? he’s not even marginally close to what thoma is thinking; and ayato is sure that he needs to get new friends before it’s too late. 

“what ‘talents in bed’ are you even talking about?” ayato asks, finally standing up from the floor like the kamisato he is and slumping on the couch. 

thoma deadpans. “do you seriously want me to elaborate?” no, probably not. never. thoma has experience in this field, you see, and ayato, as someone who has never even thought about this, doesn’t want him to explain and give details about every single move and curve— no.  

ayato chooses his sanity over human reproductive knowledge. 

“i— nothing happened, nothing! all i did was ask if she wanted to go out with me and,” he pauses, eyes travelling between thoma and sara simultaneously. the latter raises her eyebrows, gesturing to him to continue his precautionary tale about how to not treat your roommate. “and, and i might’ve flirted with her, a little, yeah.” 

the embarrassment is evident in his voice. 

ayato wants to liquify and evaporate. he wants thoma’s house to break down and kill everyone and him too. he wants the microwave to blast, just anything, anything that could save him from this conversation. now, flirting isn’t that bad in itself. it’s good, it’s fun, ayaka flirts with yoimiya when her inner lesbian unleashes itself. sara flirts with shogun for some goddamn reason and everyone thinks they have a thing or two going on because no one dares to talk to ei. itto flirts with himself in the mirror— it’s normal, completely, absolutely, certainly, normal-er than normal. normal-est.  

ayato, however, doesn’t flirt. he doesn’t know how to flirt. the leisure art of flirting is beyond the luxuries this specific kamisato can afford. the last time he hit on someone was a cat, not even his ex-girlfriend, a cat. a feline. it scratched him. ayato refrains from flirting to avoid all sorts of innuendos—

a pause. the innuendos, the fucking innuendos, oh god. what if, what if you get the wrong idea? well, thoma and sara assumed that he has been trying to get laid with you so it only makes sense for you to assume the same after all that half-naked, bare-chested, sexy-wine-sipping, jazz last evening. 

no no no—

he’s done. he’s done. 

over.

if there’s someone who should move out, it���s him. 

this life ruining emotionally stressing psychologically mortifying realisation makes him want to jump down the nearest window and pass out, then never wake up. he wants to trip on air and die of mesothelioma, wants to overdose on sparkling water and die of negativity in his life. 

if he doesn’t die, he wishes for the earth to explode or something so that everyone else dies and humanity comes to an end. his day has been ruined, his disappointment and shame is immeasurable. kazuha better be ready to have an adopted brother because ayato is damn sure the kamisatos are kicking him out after this. 

ayato doesn’t wait for his friends to say something. he simply walks out of thoma’s apartment, dejected in shame, hoping lighting will strike him in broad daylight on a day with clear skies. you’re not home, that’s great. you won’t be back anytime before evening because you’re out with your friends. no, actually, you’re out with miko and the new transfer students beidou and venti, who you are bound to get drunk and pass out with.  

that’s good, it’s great. a godsent opportunity. there are two possibilities: first, either you come home remembering everything and move out the very next day or second, you forget everything thanks to alcohol. he hopes it’s the second one. alcohol does wonders water could never. those two molecules of hydrogen and one molecule of oxygen don’t do shit when it comes to forgetting memories. alcohol, on the other hand, is capable of doing miracles. 

like the time he got home downright wasted and almost kissed you senseless while you were helping him clean up. he can swear, he saw the blush on your cheeks. but maybe, that was just fatigue since you had to wake up at two to deal with him. 

yeah, alcohol, a godly drink. 

he reaches home, grabs a beer can from the refrigerator and makes himself comfortable on the couch. ayato wants to forget everything, hoping you’d forget it all too. 

.

.

.

“ayato,” you whisper his name, shaking his shoulders gently in an attempt to wake him up. not like you want to, the sight of him sleeping soundly is healing you and washing off your sins. one does not see the kamisato ayato sleeping on the couch with flushed cheeks because of drinks and a shirt that’s almost half-a-way undone everyday.

it’s a godly sight. a scenery. mother nature could never. you genuinely want to thank his parents for the masterpiece they have created. 

you shouldn’t sit next to the couch and gawk at him while he’s sleeping. that’s creepy. what if he wakes up? imagine waking up to your roommate staring at you with the utmost attention. creepy, and moreover, you wouldn’t be able to face him. 

but again, he looks like the man you’d like to have as your boyfriend. scratch that, your husband, if not more. as if, anything more remains, but whatever. you smile, it’s a chuckle. you chuckle. you chuckle out loud, hand flying to your mouth immediately, hoping he doesn’t wake up. 

you reach out for his face, tracing his nose as superficially as possible, a faint gasp escaping your lips as he shifts a little. great. you have woken him up. his eyes flutter open and you quickly compose yourself, leaning away from him as you realise about the close proximity between him and you. 

ayato groans as he turns to his right, eyes landing on you sitting on the floor right next to him, eyes wide open like a deer caught in the headlights. a second passes, you’re okay. the next second, you’re not. 

you’re panicking. 

you’re experiencing all sorts of emotions at once because ayato just woke up and he probably knows you’ve been sitting here, watching him sleep for god knows how long. time is a social construct either way, who the fuck cares— okay, you’re swaying from the topic once again. and not to mention he looks extremely hot with messed up hair and those flushed cheeks. you’re barely composing yourself.  

did you mention that ayato has excellent facial features? he looks even more stunning up close. you know you should get up and walk away. hide yourself inside your room, live in solitary confinement for the rest of your life, or at least till ayato is around. but you don’t, because you’re staring at ayato, and he’s staring back at you. it’s like you’ve frozen in your place, you’re pretty sure you’d forgotten to breathe, if that even makes sense?

“hi,” he mutters, whispers, in his godly, eargasmic voice, and you feel like you’re hearing melodies of careless whisper ringing in your ears. 

no, you’re not sitting on the floor anymore. you stand up, pretending nothing ever happened, as if you didn’t stare at him sleeping and continued to stare for five solid minutes even after he had woken up. a very reliable solution, playing pretend always proves to be useful. 

“you can wash up, i’ll prepare the hangover soup,” you mutter, making your way to the kitchen, hearing him shuffle on the couch as he sits straight. ayato doesn’t remember a lot from the events that happened prior to your arrival, yet, which is fantastic. marvels of alcohol, everyone. 

“don’t go,” he mumbles, and you stop on your way. “don’t move out,” ayato doesn’t think before speaking, he never does. he doesn’t trust himself. he said you’re just a roommate, nothing less, nothing more, but he has been devastated ever since you told him you’ll be moving out. maybe, that was all a lie. maybe, this isn’t just platonical. maybe, you have always been a little more than just a roommate to ayato. 

it’s like the fireworks are going off all around you. you’re still processing his words, wondering if he really means them because in the end, he’s drunk. partially, completely, he is drunk. and you can never trust alcohol and its consequences. 

so, you simply decide to play along, hoping he won't remember this conversation the next day. “is there a reason for me to stay?”

“i am,” another quick reply, and you’re losing your mind. it’s like the ground beneath you is shaking. your heart is accelerating so fast, you’re scared it’ll come out of your chest. it’s not your first time witnessing a drunk ayato who has gone batshit crazy, but it is your first time having him look at you with an expression you’ve never seen on his face before. at least not with regards to you. 

he sighs, getting up from the couch before making his way towards you with every step increasing your already racing heartbeat. and before you know it, he’s already standing in front of you, barely a few inches apart as he cups your face, eyes settling on your lips. “please remind me if i forget any of this tomorrow,” 

rest all feels like a dream because ayato, your roommate, the guy you’ve had a crush on ever since he moved in, the man you’d bark for— not literally, maybe, is kissing you. he’s not just kissing you, he’s kissing you, as in literally slotting his lips against yours, pulling you closer with every second that passes. he’s kissing you like the world will end tomorrow and even if it does, you don’t mind. you don’t fucking mind if the house burns to ashes and a truck runs you over the very next day because this is everything you’ve wished for in past two months ( you know, besides having a place with better living conditions to call house )

“ayato—” no he doesn’t let you speak. instead, he nibbles on your lips, soft gasps for air twirling in between as he frames you against the kitchen counter. no, this isn’t your first kiss. you’ve had relationships, but nothing compares to this moment. no other kiss compares to how he’s kissing you and how it feels like you’re on an amusement park ride where the adrenaline gets the best of you and suddenly, you’re drowning between pleasure and thrill. 

that is what kissing ayato is like. 

it’s like going to heaven and back in just the way his hands ghost up your cheeks and slot them against your waist, your hands wrapping around his neck as his tongue slightly brushes against your bottom lips, and without a second thought, you let it in. kissing ayato is like gravitating towards a black hole, it’s like lying at the rock bottom and falling even deeper. you’re not sure if you should be doing this right now, especially when he’s drunk, but the taste of alcohol against your tongue inhibits your thought process, allowing your feelings to get the best of you. 

he pulls away, lips brushing against yours as you lean in to capture them in another kiss, only for him to retract. needless to say, it leaves you a little embarrassed. ayato cups your cheeks once again, making you look into his eyes with his warm breath fanning on your face. “i love you,” that’s all he says before navigating his lips to yours once again. 

you’re not sure if you heard him right. of course, you did. you have a good sense of hearing and there’s no way you’re missing such an important detail, but— love, you don’t know how sober that is. you don’t know how much of this kiss, and every sensation that you’re sharing with each other, is genuine. you don’t know how sober ayato is, you don’t know whether this is because of the alcohol or if he actually loves you. so, you put his hands on his chest, pushing him away as he stares at you with an expression ranging between confusion and heartbreak. 

you kiss the inside of his palms, shooting him a sweet smile, before walking into your room. “say that again when you’re sober.”

note two. hello if you made it this far im in love you and sending you all the, uh, things that you like ?? probably ?? yeah. trust me, i never knew i'd end up writing a 10,310 words long fic about ayato and reader simping over each other, in around five hours, two days before my english exam. but this had to be done. i had the rough draft in my keep ever since i made my genshin acc ( hi hi to people who remember my nezlys era ) i had to elaborate. i hope you liked this ?? not the kind of writing you want to see or even write, when this is your first post for a fandom but c'mon. it's about ayato. i had to do this for ayato in silk robe when he's freshly out of shower smelling like primroses and sandalwood and everything else from Dior's men perfume collection

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[melon-cream-enmu]

Repost from one of my previous blogs, I swear I put that here but I wouldn’t put it past tumblr to delete an edit after you make it. It’s done it several times when I fix spelling mistakes after posting 🤬

Anonymous asked: Aaaaaaaa a idk if you've gotten something like this but Beastkin MC who's like a bunny or a herbivore of some sort has my mind gOING

Like, the Savannaclaw trio wanting to pin them under them and fuck them so hard, deep, and fast,,, claiming them with hickey and bites and teasing their tail and ears,,,

Leona has big arms and hands, perfect for wrapping around his mate while spooning them and holding them close while he fucks them slow and deep, an ear held between his teeth to keep them from squirming too much from the pleasure~ Or perhaps he'll get a bit rough after seeing them with Malleus? After all, he has to remind them of exactly who's cock it is that makes them feel so good~

And then there's Jack! Holding you up by the hips in a mating press which let's him tease the base of your tail - a spot that makes you shudder from just how sensitive it is~ he'll keep eye contact when you fuck, his pupils larder than usual and an animalistic, debauched expression on his face easy to see until he leans forwards to place a Possessive bite on your shoulder~

Ruggie would be more submissive, sure. However, being a predator, he can't help but feel the impulse that urges him to pin you beneath him as he uses his hands to make you feel good~ He'll touch you in all the right places, bringing to the edge over and over again before he even starts fucking your overstimulated body. Hell make you feel so good that you won't be able to walk in the morning~

ABD THE THING

WITH THE CHASING THING IM-

B A R K I N G

IMAGINE IT BEING SILENT BUT YOU HAVE THE FEELING THAT SOMEONE IS WATCHING, AND THE ANTICIPATION IS JUST TANTALISING

AND FLOYD OR JACK OR JADE OR WHOEVER YOU'RE HORNY FOR GRABS YOU FROM BEHIND AND PRESSES THEIR HARD COCK AGAINST YOUR BACK WHILE MURMURING IN YOUR EAR ABOUT HOW PRETTY AND FUCK ABLE YOU LOOK, AND ABOUT HOW YOUR SCENT HAS THEM SLIPPING EVEN FURTHER INTO A RUT AND ABSHAJSJSLAOA

ADSBAUSUAKSKDJDKSODHDOKSSILANSMA

-TD

🤤(BOY DID THIS TAKE ME A LONG FUCKING TIME MY BAD)

Leona laying with you in warm, expensive feeling bed. The bumpy head of his cock pressing into every spot that makes you shiver. His nails circle your nipples with one warm hand up your shirt and his other strokes your sex.

His breath is warm and his tongue rough on your ear has it twitching between his teeth. “You truly are so tiny aren’t you?” His hands retreat to find the tops of your plush thighs to rock your body back against his. His knee creeps between your thighs and props up on the bed, now hiking yours up and giving him a better angle to press his cock what feels like impossibly deeper. You bury your face in the pillow, turning and leaving your back exposed to him.

“You tighten so much with every shiver and cry,” his finger trails down your back and pulls your tail, “your ears try to twist together when I play with your tail too.” Clawed hands caress the rolls of your tummy before Leona pushes you onto your stomach and picks up his pace. He watches your tail twitch as you unknowingly raise your hips for him.

•

Your bed is louder than you thought it was. Of course, you’d have never figured it out, you don’t do much on it. But what you’re doing now is more than it’s ever been put through.

The headboard slams into the wall too much, the springs are so loud. “J-Jack, oh my god, Jack! Please s-slow down, everyone will hear!” Not like it mattered, you’re from different dorms, people always suspect something when Jack Howl shows up for you. A whine like growl leaves his chest but he only humps you harder. “I can’t…you’re just so small…you’re tight and warm.” The slap of his thighs to your ass is loud and wet and you’re glad your roommates are out on a trip.

Jacks eyes constantly gaze upon your teary ones, tempted to lick up the tears on your lashes and cheeks. He pushes your legs up further and pounds harder, bathing in the sound of your cries. Your arms quickly fly to his shoulders and he lets you pull him down. Your ears flop when he hits that spot that has you coming too quickly, when he’s not close to done.

You look so dazed and fucked out and god do you smell so good when you cum. His tail ducks under you and feels your tiny cottontail wiggle at its touch. Everyone will smell him on you, and they will forever if he has anything to say about it, but he can’t stop himself from laying claim all over your neck and shoulders.

•

Ruggie’s had his hands and mouth all over your sex for hours it seems. Stroking, licking, petting, kissing, pushing, biting. Your thighs shake with every searing hot breath he lays on you, every wet kiss he graces you with. His eyes are glassy and wide, ears lowered as he whines. He’s submissive by nature, but you’re a prey animal, and all he can think about is devouring you. He wants every drop of every essence you can give him, and he’s going to push you over the edge as many times as it takes for him to get his fill. He nuzzles your hand as it grips in his hair when he tugs your little tail. When he’s finally finished his feast he moves onto filling you fully and completely, you can hardly even cry out when you cum at just his tip alone.

•

Unkempt branches scratch and slap your skin as you run through the maze, heavy breathing and fast footsteps. The only advantage you have being half rabbit are your quick silent feet. But that doesn’t stop you from being seen. If only it did.

A dead end. There’s no where to run, you can hear Floyd laughing nearby. You back yourself into the dead end slowly, hoping to brace yourself to bolt of turned the corner. You could make it between his legs, or between him and the wall, or you could even jump over him if you really tried. Too bad.

You’re so focused on an escape you don’t notice it ISN’T a dead end, and someones stepped behind you quietly from the left. They grab your arm and you whip around. It’s some first year, a cat, it seems. You pull hard enough to release their grasp and back away quickly. They scamper off instantly, and you assume it’s because of their failed attempt at a capture, but your back hits a wall. No, this was an open path, and there’s no walls in the Rose Maze, only the hedges. Their hand is quick to cover your mouth, and you know just by the size of it who it belongs to.

The hand that’s always stroking lazy fingers over your ears after having pulled you far too close. The hand that’s always tugging yours, tripping you up to fall into their lap when you walk past. The hand that’s always twirling little furs on your tail when it’s up your clothes in public. The hand that’s waved at you many times after getting you roped into working off friends contracts at the lounge.

“Sea bunny, there you are~ I’ve been searching for you, it was frustrating. You’re too fast on land, I wish they held this underwater, I would��ve caught your tail so quick!” You pull at his hand on your mouth and open it when his hand doesn’t move. Floyd pulls away all too quickly, “hey, no biting sea bunny. That’s my job.” You shiver as his sharp teeth leave pink indents in the tip of your ear. “You get so worked up when you run, your little bunny heart beats so fast~ I could smell you the second the let the prey start running.” His hand trails down your body and your smaller hands try to push it away.

“Floyd please, can’t we not do this here? I can hear the cameras coming!” His laugh is breathy when his hand worms it’s way into your shorts.

“Nooo, then you’d have to keep running. Someone else would get you, and you’re only for me. My sea bunny.” His hips press into your back and you hunch forward at the feel of his cock practically in line with your spine. “You made my rut come early, you always do, sea bunny. And I know your heat comes along then too, it’s like you were made for me.” His arm tightens around you while his other hand exposes your sex to the incoming cameras.

“And I have to have my little sea bunny. I wanna see more bunnies from you~”

#cream wonderland #cream filled #cream afab #cream writes

[t-tomuras]

Gyuutaro x reader, not proofread, band au, angst, reader is depressive

“Did you get that piercing for whoever you took the photo for?” Your thumbs shake over the dimmed glass screen of your phone as you lay on your bed in the dark, debating on hitting send. Blackout curtains drawn to deepen the pitch black even though you know there’s still a few more hours of sunlight left.

You can’t even scroll Twitter in peace anymore without seeing him despite how you’d filtered his name from any content the algorithm was set to recommend to you. You’d thought of blocking out their band name but you still held love for his band mates, still liked to see their successes on something you watched them work so hard for. You didn’t think you’d be blasted with a reposted nude of your ex boyfriend under the hashtag of his bands name as well as the atrocious #demoninthesheets.

Vision blurring temporarily as the sting of fresh tears well in your waterline before you swipe aggressively to keep them from falling.

How many times will you cry over the same thing? Torture yourself by reopening that year old wound instead of properly healing and moving on? Throwing yourself into work hasn’t been enough

You don’t want to talk to him, to Gyuutaro, again; at least that’s what you tell yourself even though you hover over the mocking illuminated blue send button. Thumb tremoring before long and it seals your fate for you but some sort of fated mistake, calling that to absolve yourself of more guilt even though it already sits heavy on your chest. You’d known hitting send wouldn’t lessen the weight by any means but you’ve grown used to the pain.

Accustomed to it, you’d think you’d miss it if it were gone. It’s been the only constant for you anyway since your relationship fell apart with the lead singer and longtime boyfriend. But he was more than that, more than just a talent to the music industry. He was everything.

The boy you’d found in the alleyway outside of your apartment at such a tender age along with his much younger sister, starving, dirty and cold. Welcoming them into your life with ease, growing with them. An older sister to Ume by proxy before stepping into the roll of her mother as you’d grown into your teen years. You and Gyuutaro emancipating yourselves and moving into a too large home for one other orphaned man, building a family with bonds stronger than blood while you two grew closer. Making promises for the future while sharing all the pivotal firsts in your life with him.

First crush, first love, first boyfriend, first time; so in some cruelly comical fashion it’s fitting that he’d become your first heartbreak too.

Torn to shreds as other women began to give him the attention that only you had poured so lovingly into him for most of his life. Lusting for the physical attributes about himself that Gyuutaro had always hated, brazen comments at first regardless of the copious amount of photos with you in them all of his socials held. Insulting advancements made on him with flagrant disregard for the obsidian band he refused to take off despite still only being engaged.

You swipe at your bleary eyes again, shaking your head with an aggressive growl at yourself to stop it, it doesn’t matter anymore but the lie just reverberates within the echo chamber of tormenting thoughts. Mockingly chiming alongside every admission to immense affection Gyuutaro had filled your empty head with.

I love you, te amo, aishiteru. A lie in every language.

Laughing wryly to yourself over the thought as you watch the delivered notification shift into its read time stamp before foreboding bubbles bounce for a moment. A response coming through soon after.

“Whaddya want me to say?”

Good question, it’s not like you even really meant to send it. Staring at his name in your phone with the useless little stop sign emoji next to it as if that would halt every impulsive desire to speak to him whether it was good or bad. Forgoing deleting his contact because you know it by heart, you’d instinctively repeat it and worsen the need to send a text from the fear of forgetting it.

“Nothin I guess lol” that it was for you maybe? That’d be pretty fucking stupid though.

The bubbles bounce and bounce and bounce on for what feels like ages. You’re worried he’ll send a block of text, worried he’ll be another aggressive voice you’ll hear to repeat every insecurity you’ve had but they disappear completely after a long moment. Heart in your throat and as soon as you sigh and place your phone face down onto your deflating air mattress it vibrates with a new notification.

“Can I call? It’s gettin taken down”

You want to, you do, you want to hear the voice that’s always comforted you and put you at ease but right now your company is that weighted pain in your chest. That ache that spreads slowly into each limb and it’ll feel numb before long, no need to exacerbate the throb any further when you’re already past the initial sting.

“Probably not a good idea,” I don’t wanna hear whatever girl is with you now stays left unsent. Backspaced quickly, typing it out was cathartic enough. He’d really call you then, again and again until you answered, “maybe later. I’m gonna take a nap.”

You sleep so much now, he knows later never comes but it wasn’t the first time he asked it won’t be the last but you assume maybe it will.

“Call me when you wake up? I wanna talk.”

Sending him a curt sure before silencing the device before tossing it to the floor and turning to face the wall, curling within yourself. Hoping you won’t dream of what once was and what could’ve been.

#vixen drabbles

[aliceindaisychains999]

Callout Post: Be Wary of the Following User

I've tried everything before. I've remained quiet, I've tried going my separate ways as peacefully as possible, I've made mistakes in impulsive arguements, and I even tried quietly moving accounts. But I'm tired of remaining quiet. There's someone who's been stalking me since the friendship break-up back in August of 2022. Originally fluffy935, now known as edwards-kronorium115, has been harrassing me in subtle ways non-stop.

We had been great friends at first in 2021, only for things to fall apart when we were making too many mistakes to upset each other within a short timespan. I made a few mistakes in accidentally reposting their screenshots due to them not having a watermark and not being able to tell which was “gifted to me” or which was completely theirs as there was no indication to tell the difference. They hadn’t added watermarks until just recently when I had checked on them.

At first, we had disagreements due to sharing the same f/o. I already do with a very close friend of mine. Unlike that close friend, Eddie would go back and forth from being supportive to lashing out at me. My old first blog here (staminuptosuccess) is deleted but there I was spammed in DMs over a friend supporting me with Edward at the time. I was called a homewrecker, spammed vomit emojis, and further insulted. It was getting so bad that I went to Twitter and left everything behind around 2022. We made up and became friends again. Only for it to get worse. It got so bad she looked me up on FACEBOOK AND SOMEHOW FOUND MY PRIVATE NAME. I cannot show the contact to avoid doxxing. But her full name is there. I was isolated. She constantly told me how “I am your only true friend.” I was manipulated often into being away from my friends. She constantly tried putting everyone down, me included. I would be built up only to be put down again. I couldn’t handle her taking out her emotions on me. No matter how hard I tried, I always did something to make her angry or sad. So, I left Twitter in the midst of her rage. I uncensored the names of friends who consent to me posting the thread.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I didn’t want to upset her anymore and frankly? I didn’t want to be abused anymore either. Every time I was starting to thrive, she’d explode. She would pepper me in drawing gifts only to slam me down that I didn’t care enough or that I ruined everything for her. So I ended it. The Facebook thing freaked me out especially bc how did she find my name?

We had a short talk of what seemed like closure and wishing each other the best in life… until it wasn’t.

She took my quiz and made her presence known twice. I’d have my post liked until I was blocked. It happened to my friend too. After a while, I was able to find a way to block her back so she’d stop the discreet spying. She would reblog the same things I did. And ever so slowly plagiarize my work.

My Kalimba video: December 31st, 2022

(To be continued. Check below)

Part 2

Part 3

#serious #part 1 #cod zombies #call of duty zombies #codz

[fablesofkitkat]

pov: extreme highs and crippling lows with Endeavor (x fem!reader) [re-post]

alt title: pity the flowers pt.2

AN: sorry for deleting this before and reposting it like a madman that I am. I'm reposting this coz I made my 2nd ever pixel art!

warning: abuse, emotional blackmail, mature themes (minors do not interact)

the dark trinity: angst, nsfw, fluff

disclaimer: i do not condone nor glamorize abuse. this is written for the sake of fiction and the only intent is to entertain

SYNOPSIS: you married Endeavor in your sister's place. you are Himura Rei's twin. (identical/fraternal up to you)

but you'll always be my hero, even though you've lost your mind

-Rihanna

tags: @bootyholelicker @animeaandp @the-wired-l @not-my-meltdown

[the view of the garden by the engawa before the flowers]

"Where did you get this one?" You trace the scar on his chest; it was a deep gash and it looked like it wasn't stitched but stapled before healing instead.

"Freak accident." Enji replies, eyes closed. He wasn't sleepy but loathed to admit, he doesn't know what to do with himself when he stares at you because sometimes he'd catch himself lifting a hand to caress your cheek just because. It unnerved him that he wanted to touch you for the sake of touching you instead of preparing for you to take him. That's how he initially perceives affectionate gestures, they're a premise to physical intimacy. But now, his experiences tell him these gestures were simply-

You impulsively kiss the scar and his heart jumps, and beats too fast for his liking. His trail of thought broken. Eyes snapped open. His hands grip your waist, hoisting you up to sit on his stomach. You feel him poking at you. You feel your heart sink. You attempt to raise your hips, a hand on his cock.

"No." said Enji, voice raspy.

You stared at him confused. What now.

He makes up an excuse that suits him, one that could keep making her kiss his scars. Something so innocent like peck on his lips and a shower of kisses, who knew it could be so bedeviled. "Don't you want to ask more about the scars?"

Oh, he wants to brag. You thought. You indulge him. Kisses. Even the spots with no scars. As long as it makes his breath hitch. When he takes you again, you wonder why that wasn't so bad. Why you didn't feel sick afterwards. Why you slept soundly in his arms, a hand cupping your breast. The blizzard howling inside you quiets down the rage as you felt Enji's warmth.

---

and it's sick that all these battles were all that keep me satisfied

---

"Negative." His voice laced with disappointment and fury. He hits you with the back of his hand out of nowhere. "Were you taking pills again?"

How would you even buy them when he has you under surveillance ever since he found out about them? Still, you stay silent. Make him think you had a way. Drive him mad.

"Let me remind you wife, that I own you. All of you. And I want you to give me a child I desire. If you can't ... I can always buy the other Himura daughter." His voice laced with venom.

"Don't you dare!!" You trembled. "Fuck you, Enji! Leave my sister alone!!"

"Pity, she wouldn't get to keep my last name with you being my wife but she'll be a pretty mistress." This time he smirked, crossing his arms. He knew where to hit you. "Ah, wouldn't that make you happy? You'll keep each other company."

You lunge at him, shoved him but of course his body wouldn't budge. Your fists hit his chest and he smiles down at you. Damn Enji. Fuck Enji. You stand on your tiptoes and tugs his collar down to make him kiss you. There was no love there. It was all twisted hatred. Bites. Taste of iron. Teeth. And fuck, you open your eyes in a haze. You didn't even notice how he had your legs wrapped around his waist. This was madness. You'll fuck his brains out but still, you pray you wouldn't get pregnant. Not yet anyway. Not when he's obsessed with All Might.

"I hate you." You glared at him, grabbing the back of his head.

He groans. "I'm giving you until the end of the year. If you're not pregnant with my child by then..."

"You're fucked in the head." Because you were a vindictive bitch.

"You're a defective hag." Because he was a heartless asshole.

A matchmade in hell.

---

You stop and stared at the newly dugged out garden and the array of flowers the gardener was planting. Daffodils. Chrysanthemums. Sunflowers. Violets. Your favorites.

"Who would've thought?"

You turn to look at the housecook, the old woman grinned looking at scene before them.

"What is it?" You ask.

"Your husband, ma'am, I've been the housecook since he was but a child." She tells you, fondly. "He was always so callous and he thought the world was in the palm of his hands. He never grew out of it. Who would've thought he would be capable of this?"

"Capable of what?" Curiosity got the better of you whenever Enji was involved.

"Giving flowers to his wife." The old woman smiled at you warmly.

"This is him giving flowers?"

The housecook laughed boisterously, patting her poor heart at the bewildered expression on your face. Oh dear, you had a long way to go. "David Shield, that colleague of his, brought you flowers as thanks for dinner, yes?"

You nodded.

"Enji, that boy never lets himself be outdone by others. A bouquet of flowers lasts a few days, ma'am, but a garden of flowers? As long as there's rain and sunshine, it lasts a lifetime." She looks into your eyes, willing you to understand.

So those flowers that happened to be your favorites weren't happenstance at all. The housecook refrains from commenting on how your face turned into a lovely shade of red.

---

Todoroki Enji was a damn bastard, no contest. He deliberately avoids you, choosing to work night shifts because he likes to torture you. After giving that ultimatum, you were anxious to just get it on. You'd rather be damned than let Enji get ahold of Rei. No. You'd die of shame if your sisters sees your sorry state. The bruises. The screaming matches. The anxiousness. There's no way in hell you'd let her go through what you did. Out of the two of you, you were the fighter. Your parents even said that when your mom gave birth you kicked and screamed and had your mom suffer pushing you out while Rei's delivery was smooth. He knew that hitting you doesn't hurt you as much anymore. As the shock wears off, you fought with Enji more and more, not wanting to submit to him. This was a new kind of torture. Not when you can do something about it.

You were wearing in a casual kimono inspired white dress. Short sleeved, flared skirt just above the knees, floral and the obi red. You let your hair down and had put on a very very red rouge. You were sitting on his swivel chair when Enji arrived. He stops in his tracks, dumbfounded at your appearance.

"Haven't seen my husband for weeks. Thought I'd drop the workplace a visit." You greet him with a nod.

His throat felt dry. You shoot him a lazy smile knowing exactly what you do to him. He might not hold you dear but you knew he was attracted to you.

He cleared his throat. "I know what you're doing."

You raised an eyebrow, smile hanging on your pretty red lips.

"I'll come to you when I want. If you're anxious with my ultimatum you would only have yourself to blame." He frowns at you, noticing how your the sleeves on your shoulders were translucent.

You stood up slowly, skirt flowing, you gather hair in a bun and his cock jumped at the sight of nipple, visible and jutting against the other transparent fabric. The whole dress was translucent but you had a half slip skirt underneath. He closes the distance and kissed you roughly. Your gasp that he swallowed had him grinding his bulge against you as he clears his desk and sits you on it.

"What a proper wife you are." He growled, taking your chin and pressing with force. It only made you smile smugly. "You were walking around in this?! With only your hair to hide your chest?!"

"It's not like I was naked, Enji." You knew those words wouldn't help your case. He glares at you in daggers.

He lifts your skirt. No underwear. He cursed. "What if a wind blows and lifts your skirt?! You might as well have been walking around naked when that happens!"

"But I did it for you." You pout despite not knowing if it would work on him.

He cups your cunt. It was wet. No surprise there since the thrill would've turned you on but the amount?

You sheepishly smiled. "I was touching myself while-"

He kisses you again, this time thoroughly making you drool. He licks the leak down your chin and the ache between your legs was unbearable.

Damn. Damn. Damn. That's it. He couldn't deny anymore. He likes you. "Well then, for my interruption..." He trails off as he lowered himself to your pussy and proceeds to eat you out and when you came with your hands gripping his hair, you shuddered, your insides throbbing and he thrusts inside you.

When you both peaked at the same time, you knew you were gonna get pregnant and frankly, it scares you.

---

"She's been spending too much time in the garden." Enji complains, arms crossed and brooding at the sight of his wife walking around outside despite it being daytime, his worries not unfounded with the cold creeping in; without realizing it, he was grabbing a shoal. He hesitated. A quandary he's been mulling over for weeks.

"Have you felt it?"

"Felt what?" The old gardener feigning ignorance.

"..."

Forget it. It was stupid anyway. The Flame Hero thought.

The old man chuckled, knowing exactly what he was asking about. "To me, sir Enji? It is wanting to hold someone. To know how they think. It-is listening to them breathe, wanting to know them. Lust is part of it too. Burning infatuation, as much as long held respect and admiration. I have not loved well, so I confess I am a poor one to answer it. How it starts-is a desire to talk to someone."

A light comes in his eyes. As if a switch flipped.

"Talk to her, sir. Put that hero bravado to good use." The old man laughed when his employer sputters in embarrassment.

---

Try to touch me so I can scream at you not to touch me

Run out the room and I'll follow you like a lost puppy

---

You rushed out of the room barely making it towards the toilet. You felt sick while you puked. Feeling your guts rearranging itself, you puked again. You returned to the breakfast table, Enji subtly scanning your body. When nothing's off, he resumes to reading the news on his phone.

As soon as you sat his head snapped up to meet your eyes.

He realizes it just as you realized it.

No. Yes.

No. No. No.

He moves to touch you, to hug you or hold you, you'll never know because you jerked away from him, standing up and making your way to the bedroom in haste. You felt sick as tears welled up in your eyes. You missed your period for three months now.

Fuck.

You're pregnant.

---

<- previous

#endeavor smut #endeavor x reader #endeavor x y/n #endeavor x you #endeavor imagine #enji x y/n #todoroki enji x you #enji smut #todoroki enji x reader #enji x you #enji x reader #bnha fanfiction #mha smut #bnha smut #todoroki enji x y/n

[hydrangeyes]

Bleach Rambles

So if you don't know, Yes this already existed, my old account was deleted (accident but I can tell I won't be getting it back), and am reposting my old x male reader works!

I don't know if I saved all of them but here is one that was saved to my AO3 account.

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

edit Nov.8.2023: THE WAY I MADE THIS JUST AS THE SHOW WAS COMING BACK

"I just reawakening my intense adoration for this series but for once I'm taking it slow here's a headcanon" headcanon

So I got back into bleach and am taking my sweet time rewatching it before I read the manga also, but hear are some headcanons as I read fanfic

Current 10/7/22: Back when I bout almost the complete manga series as an impulse buy when I had money lmao, I made this. Now the war is being animated and I'm HYPED (That and desperately looking forward to witch hat atelier anime)

Anyway I'm in love with most of the characters but i do have my fav 3.

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

If you wanna romance ichigo, you have to be blunt about it

No beating around the bush, this dude is so oblivious unless your shoving a dick or tit in his face

💫Please don’t do that 💫👍🎉

But when you do confess, 100% no doubt in my mind he’s gonna be flustered and so confused

He’s got that “where such good friends.” While both of you are holding hands on a date vibe

Not saying he’s stupid but ya boi isn’t very bright either

It’s something you and tatsuki bond over in 2 ways. The first, “our orange haired babes are so oblivious and cute.” And the second, “God ichigo how dumb can you be?”

Don’t get me wrong it’s all in good fun but man, I feel like the whole confession scene will not go as expected, not even close

To add abit of drama maybe some tension between you and orihime? Before you both become good friends

Like there’s a jealousy over how close the other is to ichigo but in different ways

I think after a sorta awkward talk that turns earnest things smooth out and you’re best friends

Not a day goes by where anyone is able understand why you still try orihime’s off the wall cooking

Hmm ichigo can cook? But like he’s no master chef

Oh! Okay okay so confession scene

You both definitely get attacked by a hollow, up to you if you can see or interact with them

But I think it would be hilarious if you see ichigo trying to get away to fight, and you misunderstand, demanding him to just say he’s not interested instead of just trying to ditch you

Of course, of course that’s when the attack happens and you have bigger things to worry about

After everything ichigo gone over what you said, finds you, and before you can ask if he’s okay he kisses you

It’s actually really nice

Depending on some things I think you do get involved in the whole shinigami half life

Either as a fellow worker in Urahara’s shop or training to fight with ichigo (secret? On pay roll? Either works)

Oh! And Rukia surprisingly is the one to give you the “if you hurt my little brother/son/best friend” speech

It was horrifying and the art work she showed to demonstrate felt surreal

#x male reader #male reader #Ichigo x male reader #Bleach x male reader #I love this series down to my SOUL been there since it was first aired on adult swim right next to kekkaishi

[beautifulpersonpeach]

Hi :)

I want to begin with something sarcastic or funny but I also think there's no way to sugarcoat the fact that a k-pop fan tried to send Ricin to my irl address... over the wholesome, cerebral (and somewhat kinky) content found on the Tumblr blog belonging to Beautiful Person Peach, and that's one of the things that necessitated a short break from the blog. Turns out, me talking about BTS and k-pop can anger some k-pop fans enough to want to shoot me and my friends in real life and actually try to act on it.

Lol.

We've caught the main perpetrators and the situation's handled, so no need to send my family flowers just yet. :)

A lot has happened (lol), but anyway, BPP is back.

Some of you who reached out are already up to date on the tea, but for everyone else, this post is both a hello and goodbye.

The Hello

I was able to download all my posts/content from BPP before deleting the blog, and since it seems that content was the primary incendiary element for, um, passionate reactions from k-pop fans, I will be reposting many of my old posts just so they remain here for as long as I want them to. If there are particular 'vintage' posts you'd like to see reposted, please send me an ask or DM and I'll repost it. Note I'll be reposting with minimal to no editing.

And (because that elephant sitting in the corner needs a facelift), a quick comment on the 2022 Festa Dinner. I've already talked with many of you about it so I won't repeat all that here. By this point with everything that's happened since June 13th, many of you can judge for yourselves that what we discussed turned out to be true. The only thing I'll repeat for emphasis is that BTS were crystal clear in all they said during the dinner - they prioritized group work while advancing their solo projects at the same time, and now the reverse is happening: prioritizing solo work with proper debuts while advancing group projects at the same time. And their reasons are straight-forward. Yes, that was all it was, and yes that was how the industry reacted, and yes that level of hysteria, fallout and manufactured controversy is how it almost always is for anything related to BTS.

Perhaps the only real change to new BPP is the intent and focus. Old BPP was made on impulse to be "sassy about KM and JM" - there was no intention to 'blog' in any real sense and so having to do that more and more in response to your questions, took me to unexpected places (lol). By contrast, everything about new BPP is intentional. I'm deliberately choosing to come back to Tumblr though many of you suggested and expressed a willingness to pay for access to my posts if it meant better privacy safeguards. Also, on old BPP I was surprised people seemed more interested in my views on Jimin, BTS, K-pop, music in general and fandom behaviour, than what I think about jikook jikooking (what I think on that note is that they are unstoppable). Now on new BPP, I know this is exactly what to expect to receive questions on and I plan to keep this blog as a sort of archive.

The Goodbye

My offline life is already really full, and to be entirely honest, I barely had any time for BPP before. I wasn't spending a lot of time on Tumblr to begin with, and now that COVID is more or less over, work and travel have picked up dramatically for me in the last few months. This means I have less time to spend on Tumblr, and so it might take me longer to respond to your asks and I generally won't be as active on here. Over time, this blog will become dormant.

This is a goodbye that was always going to happen given the fact that COVID is done-ish, my job requires a fair bit of international travel and there's only 24 hours in a day, but also because I noticed a pattern in the asks and theories often proposed here that's made me lose interest.

People approach fandom for a variety of reasons but what I've observed is many of the people here simply want an outlet. A space to say things and have their feelings and thoughts validated. That's coolio but after a point I found it could get a bit boring with people regurgitating the same theories underpinned by the same logical basis as taekookers'. Anybody familiar with my posts by now has an impression of how I view many things, which is that half these issues or topics aren't that serious and it's usually a good idea to have the facts right first. I personally found it amusing to note that many of the argumentative habits we all see and ridicule in taekookers, were being employed by others in theories surrounding Jimin, BTS, and k-pop in general. The same mental leaps and crutches, the same baseless speculation, the same irrational conclusions, and all of them being just needlessly shady lmao. Like there's as much reason to believe BTS bought the 2022 Grammys as there is to think Jungkook secretly filmed a solo GCF on Taehyung that the company has banned him from releasing. Oftentimes these theories have nothing to do with the music or even the facts around the group as we have them, so pointing out these sort of narrative blind spots once or twice can be fun, but seeing it over and over quickly became tedious. And soon I didn't have the time for that anyway. Some asks are honestly thought-provoking (I recall the one about Mitski for example) so if you'd still like to send me good asks, I intend to respond when I can, as well as I can manage.

I will always welcome hot Jimin pics in my inbox so whichever anon got into the habit of sending me those, please keep the good ones coming. 💜

Over the next few weeks and when I find the time, I intend to begin reposting those old asks/posts as I mentioned above, and responding to asks as I receive them. Any reposted asks will be labeled that way, and tagged #repost so you can more easily find them.

**

On a more serious note, thank you to everyone who sent me kind words. I heard some of you were concerned... it's alright and I'm okay. 💜

[marvels-writings]

World Turned Upside Down

Prequel: Used To

Sequel: My Forever

Natasha Romanoff (Black Widow) Masterlist

Yelena Belova Masterlist

Requested by @stephanieromanoff and (Kind of) @venablemayfairgoode: Hi!! I absolutely LOVED ‘Used To’, and I definitely felt the reader’s pain. Could you write a part 2? Like, maybe while going away from everything, reader finds Yelena and they start a relationship?

Word Count: 7.4k (long but a masterpiece of angst and fluff)

A/N: Two whole weeks of effort, literally, so worth it. I hope you feel the same after reading it. 

Edit: The post seems to have deleted itself so I’m reposting it

Golden light filtered through the windows, illuminating the quiet of your apartment; the light fell on your eyes. You opened them slowly and looked around the room. The windows showed the rest of the world slowly waking up, the cars whirring by as other people's lives took their normal turn.

Breathing in slowly, you turned around slowly. The sheets shuffled underneath you, tangling your legs further into them. Turning to face the blonde in front of you, a small smile graced your lips. Fingertips grazed over her cheek as you moved the hair away from her face.

Shuffling closer to your sleeping girlfriend, your smile broadened as you noticed she was still sleeping. It wasn’t frequent that you woke up before Yelena, but you loved every second of it. Your fingers ran across her relaxed features before settling around her cheek.

Your fingertips trailed down her cheekbone onto her shoulder, till your hand was ghosting across her chest. Her heartbeat sounded just underneath your fingers, bringing a sense of comfort to you. Toying with a strand of hair on her neck, her eyes began to flutter open slowly.

Taking in a breath, her eyes opened to see you watching her. Your eyes held open affection, a gaze she found herself seeking comfort in. Hazel eyes scanned your features, she shifted to see you better. Legs tangled with yours over the sheets, the touch bringing you back to her.

“Morning,” Yelena whispered, her voice raspy from waking up. You hummed in response, fingers gently toying with her hair as a comfortable silence blanketed it you.

Soft breaths resounding in your ears as thoughts continued to run through your mind. Thoughts of a certain redhead. She had called you, more than once, more than you had expected. Even after five years, you found it hard not to pick up.

The voicemails remained on your phone. Her voice asking you to come back, telling you that it had been long enough. You could barely stop thinking about it.

Yelena saw that something was bothering you, but she never asked. She knew you would tell her once you thought it over. Her trust made you comfortable enough to think about going back. But the thought of seeing her again made you stop.

“Breakfast?” Yelena asked, a small smile as your fingertips ran across her skin. Taking your fingers away from her hair, you gave her a small nod. Mirroring her smile, you moved to get off the bed.

Untangling your legs from the sheets, you smoothened out your clothes. Though, it hardly made a difference. The clothes were all Yelena’s, not that she minded. Everything she wore was yours, even the oversized sweatpants.

Moving your hair away from your face, you followed the blonde into the kitchen. You knew she didn’t eat much for breakfast, but she insisted on trying to make you something anyway. Taking a seat on the kitchen island, you fidgeted with your hands as your girlfriend started on breakfast.

Bread in the toaster, two cups of coffee brewing, eggs cooking on the stove. Yelena put the eggs on a plate and sighed as she turned around. You were still staring at your hands, refusing to disturb the silence surrounding both of you.

“Something on your mind?” Yelena asked softly, setting your plate in front of you along with your coffee.

You didn’t seem to hear her, snapping out of your daze as you looked up to face her. A smile formed on your face before you noticed she had asked you something.

“Sorry?” You asked, tilting your head to the side.

Yelena chuckled, picking up her toast and setting it down next to her coffee. Taking a seat in front of you, she set one hand down in the middle of the table. Her foot bumped yours gently as she sat down.

“I asked what was going on in this beautiful head of yours.” She asked, her hand gesturing to your head.

You smiled at the compliment, the expression disappearing as you looked down at your food. Your fork prodded the eggs, playing with them. Another silence settled around the room as she waited for you to speak. You set down your fork and let out a sigh, gaining the courage to finally tell her.

“She called me.” You stated, your voice strained and tight as the words left your lips.

The blonde frowned for a moment until she understood who you were referring to. To you, her name would never be mentioned, when you talked about it, it was always ‘she’ and ‘her’. Her hand gently came onto yours, thumb running across your knuckles to show she was listening.

“She wants me to come back,” You continued, breath shaky as you spoke. “she says it’s been long enough.”

Yelena nodded at your words, letting them sink in. A squeeze to your hand brought your eyes up to hers. You looked uncertain of what you wanted to do next. The blonde tilted her head to the side as she resumed running her thumb over the skin of your hand.

“Do you want to go back?” She asked gently.

Her question was what you’d been asking yourself since the first time she called you. Were you ready to see her again? Should you let your absence remain for longer? A part of you wanted to go back to where you used to call home. 

But this was home, this huge apartment you’d bought with Yelena.

“I’m not sure,” You admitted, sighing. “do you want to go there?”

The blonde considered it, licking her lips slowly. She seemed to weigh her words carefully, to tell you what she wanted, and if she wanted to see her sister again.

“I would like to see Natalia again,” Yelena confessed, watching your expression falter. “, but only if you’re okay with it.”

“You know I won’t keep you from your family.” You found yourself answering before you could process her words.

Natalia, you’d never called her by her true name, scared it was too close to her. it was the first time you’d heard her name in years. The last time being when you told Yelena about what happened between her and you.

“Then why should she keep you from yours?” Yelena asked, breaking you out of your thoughts.

You nodded, considering her words. A light chuckle left you as you recalled the last words you’d said to her. 

‘If the entire world turns upside down’. It was so distant now, the realization, the arguing, the day you left.

“I did tell her I’d come back if the world turned upside down.” You recalled, nostalgia in your words as you turned to look out the window. Breathing in slowly, you took a moment to analyze how different your life was now.

It’s been almost four years you’ve been together, each day you spent with her you seemed to forget your life without her. Funny, it was a coincidence she showed up in your life just a month after you left Natasha. Going on a trip around Europe was an impulse decision, one of your best ones at that. 

It was what you’d wanted to do with Natasha, but you ended up by yourself. Until you met Yelena at a bar. The memories of how you began seemed to fade the longer you were with her. But everything in between felt like yesterday.

Yelena had been the one to take things slow. It matched you better than you had expected. It was perfect. You needed to take things slow after everything that happened. The blonde didn’t want to rush into anything.

 Sometimes, you thought maybe you were with Yelena only because she reminded you of someone you used to love. It was hardly that, being with Natasha had been something you wanted to do. With Yelena, you were surprised your life hadn’t been this way all along. 

A smile crossed your face as you remembered starting to trust her. It was slow, just starting with trusting her with your nightmares, even your fears if you were sure about it. She never pushed you, never held back a secret if she thought you’d want to know.

“In a way, it did.” You commented, making your decision to return.

Yelena watched you turn back to face her, your eyes meeting hers with certainty. Your decision was made, she could change it if she wanted to. But this could be good for you, maybe it would benefit both of you. After all, there were plans you had that needed a family watching you.

“You’re sure about going back?” She asked, just to make sure. You nodded your head, palm turning upwards to take her hand into yours. Skin brushed together as your fingers ran over her skin.

“Maybe not permanently,” You gave a half shrug. “but they are my family.”

Yelena smiled at you, her other hand slowly coming up to cup yours. Her fingers toyed with yours, letting the rings on your fingers clink together softly. Wedding bands had not come in their place, not yet anyway.

“So are you.” You smiled, lacing your fingers with hers. Her smile broadened at your words, eyes glancing down to where her ring met yours. She promised you forever when you weren’t sure you could find one.

————

Your phone buzzed lightly in your hand on the drive to the compound. After messaging the rest of the team about your surprise arrival, they hadn’t stopped messaging you. The first year was the only year they tried to keep in contact with you before giving up on you.

Wanda was the only one who never gave up on it. Every holiday, every birthday, she’d send you a text and try to call you. There were never any voicemails, but the texts were there, year after year. She didn’t know if you’d read them or not but still kept sending them.

Now, there were more messages than you could count.

The only ones you paid attention to were the ones from Tony. He told you that he could get you your room back. The one you had before you moved in with a certain redhead. No one had touched it.

Scrolling through the notifications, you noticed one text from Natasha thanking you. Nothing more, nothing less.

“Stark can give me my old room back,” You said, tucking your phone in your back pocket and turning towards Yelena. She nodded, looking outside the window as the compound started to come into view.

“The one I had before moving in with her.” You continued, to try to occupy the silence in the car. The taxi driver didn’t seem to care much about who he was driving or where. Though, you supposed he expected a large tip since you mentioned Tony Stark.

“Though I don’t know how long we’ll be staying.” You continued, licking your lips dryly. Your fingers reached to fidget with your engagement ring. Twisting the ring around your finger, you clenched your jaw and turned to look out the window.

The sound of the radio the only sound filling the taxi for a few moments. Fingers laced through yours, squeezing to bring your attention to her. Turning to face her, you gave her a half-hearted smile. Yelena gave you a reassuring grin before squeezing your fingers again.

“We’ll stay as long as you want.” She whispered, bringing your hand up to meet it to her lips softly. You smiled at the comforting feeling.

Chuckling, you remembered how Yelena hadn’t been one to show affection at the starting of your relationship. You had always been one to initiate any sort of physical contact. It was only after she told you how she wanted to make sure you were comfortable did it become commonplace.

“I love you.” You whispered, a smile turning up the corners of your lips. The blonde mirrored your smile as she turned around to face you. Hazel eyes radiated warmth as she squeezed your hand again.

“I love you too,” Yelena said.

With her, it didn’t feel like you were living a lie. You didn’t have to ask her if she meant it. To her, telling you that she loved you was a promise on its own.

Smiling to yourself as she squeezed your fingers the same way as you walked towards the entrance of the compound. You were about an hour earlier than you had promised to arrive. Hardly anyone was at the front.

You began to walk inside, taking in the sight of the compound. The smell of coffee wafted through the air, music probably picked by Stark created the atmosphere as you walked inside. It was like you’d never left.

Wanda sat on the couches, talking to Clint. A fond smile twisted the corners of your lips as you made eye contact with the witch. Her eyes seemed to widen almost three times their size as she caught sight of you. Jumping out of her seat, a large grin crossed her face.

“Y/N!” Wanda exclaimed, running forwards to you.

You stumbled backward with the force of her hug, hand slipping from Yelena’s. Laughing, you hugged her back tightly. Her hands pulled you closer to her, scared you might leave if she let go of you. You smiled as her grip tightened, burrowing your face into her neck.

Her hair still smelt of the almond oil she used, along with the coconut shampoo you’d suggested to her many years ago. Some things never really change.

Clint shouted that you’d returned. You paid little to no heed to his screaming, until you heard rapid footsteps approaching you. Wanda didn’t seem to want to let go of you, despite the rest of your family coming to crowd around her.

Tapping her back lightly, she let you slip from her hold. Turning to face the team, your face grew into a huge grin. Bucky stood in the back, giving you a curt nod before moving to sit on one of the couches. Hugging the rest of the team, tears began to form in your eyes. It had been too long you were away from them.

Five years just felt like a number when you said it. But the weight of it settled on your shoulders as you talked to your family. Five was just a number, it truly had been too long.

Jokes and teasing circled in the room, Steve patted you on the shoulder with a light threat never to do this again. A part of you assumed he was joking, but he seemed too serious for you to laugh it off easily. They dragged you over to the couches.

The grin on your face grew as the compliments flew through the room. The way you looked now was far too different from when you left for them not to notice. You’d left looking as a corpse of who they used to know. Now, you were glowing with laughter and jokes as you talked with them.

Moments you knew you’d treasure flew by until they noticed Yelena standing to the side. She tried not to look awkward, her hands tucked into her jacket pockets as she watched you. You reached out a hand for her. She took it and sat down next to you, squeezing herself between you and Tony.

“Who is she?” Wanda asked, tilting her head to the side curiously. Her arm hooked around yours protectively, she rested her head on your shoulder.

“Yelena?” A voice sounded behind you before you could answer.

The voice was familiar, almost too familiar. Turning around your eyes caught onto the reason you’d been avoiding your family. She wasn’t the same person you’d remembered. Her hair was blonde, she still walked with confidence, but that stride broke once she saw you.

Your jaw clenched subtly, you turned back around to Wanda who looked at you in concern. Giving her a tight nod, you glanced towards Yelena. She looked from you towards her sister, uncertain if she should greet her.

Giving her a nod and a small smile, you squeezed her hand to let her know you’d be alright. Without any words exchanged, she went up to greet her.

“Natalia,” Yelena spoke, a smile slowly growing on her face at the sight of her sister. Both of them grinned at each other before hugging tightly.

Yelena was a bit stiff as she hugged her, Natasha’s unspoken mistake still loomed in the air. She hugged her tightly before letting her go. She talked to her in Russian for a bit, you couldn’t understand any of the words.

The rest of the team stared at them curiously, wondering who she was. It wasn’t until they rejoined you on the couches was it they asked. Yelena returned to your side, her hand sliding into yours by habit.

“Who is she?” Steve asked you, a frown ghosting his face. You could only assume he wanted to be protective of you again. Bucky sat at his side quietly, scared of ruining anything again.

“I’m Yelena Belova,” Yelena answered for herself, winking at you when you glanced towards her.

Another smile twisted the corner of your lips at the gesture as you looked around the rest of the team. Natasha’s features flickered for a moment, into hurt, maybe even fear. You couldn’t tell, she put up her mask again.

“How do you know y/n?” Tony asked, leaning forwards and letting his elbows rest on his knees. He looked at her as if he was judging her. You chuckled and patted Yelena’s thigh comfortingly before speaking.

“Guys stop interrogating her.” You chided, watching Tony chuckle before leaning back into the couch.

You weren’t sure why you were protective of Yelena. They were your family. After all, you doubted they were going to chase her away. Even if they could, you weren’t sure they would want to.

Starting a conversation with them, you joked around for a bit before roping Yelena into the conversation. It flowed easily; she added to the stories you told and the comments you made. The stories you told weaved together flawlessly.

Natasha wasn’t paying any attention to the story, her eyes staring at the engagement ring on your finger. Yelena’s hand was intertwined with yours, denying her view to see the ring she was sure was there. She wanted to say something, maybe congratulate you, lie that she was happy for you.

The words were already dry in her mouth as she stared. She was the first to notice the engagement, but the last to comment on it.

“Y/n/n you’re engaged?!” Wanda exclaimed, noticing the ring when you made a gesture with your left hand.

She took your hand in hers, jaw almost dropping over the size of the ring. Gorgeous was hardly the word to describe it. It was a rose gold solitaire adorned with diamonds on the band. The diamonds looked like they were woven into the band itself.

A grin plastered itself onto your face as the rest of the team started to fawn over your ring. Before any of them could ask who you were engaged to, Yelena put her hand next to yours. A ring was placed on her finger as well.

“We are,” Yelena stated, her grin matching yours as you turned to face her.

Neither of you seemed to notice Natasha sitting frozen on the couches. The ring on Yelena’s finger wasn’t just any ring. It was your mother's ring, the one you’d talked about proposing with. The same ring you swore would bring luck to any wedding.

The ring she had been so sure she would wear someday.

“When?” Natasha croaked, clearing her throat after she spoke. The attention turned to her, the team glaring at her. It was as if her speaking could somehow take you away again. Maybe it could if she wasn’t careful.

“Nat,” Wanda whispered angrily, a red wisp forming on Natasha’s elbow. Natasha winced, glaring at the witch before turning back to face you. The question hung in the air for a few seconds, but you didn’t fill the silence.

“A few months ago,” Yelena answered for you. You gave her a grateful smile before turning towards the rest of the team.

Nervousness showed in your eyes as you glanced around the room. Your fiance squeezed your thigh gently, helping build up your courage for the request she knew you wanted to say. Biting your lip tightly, you took in a breath.

“We um,” You glanced at Yelena who gave you a soft smile you sought comfort in. “we wanted you to come to our wedding.”

A moment of quiet passed over your words before happiness and laughter quickly filled the room. The rings continued to be fawned over as new wedding plans were made. Your wedding plans, even your savings for them hardly seemed to matter as Tony announced he would be paying for it. You knew you couldn’t talk him out of it, despite how you might try to.

The team talked about the kind of wedding you should have, a spring wedding, a grand ball, anything. Plans and ideas flew around the room, the only person never offering any being Natasha. She sat silently on the couch, staring at the ground.

Your eyes glanced towards her before flitting back to Yelena, smiling brightly at your fiance. The same smile you used to wear around her, the one she thought she could never get enough of. The same lovesick grin the rest of the team made fun of you for. It was for someone who wasn’t her.

Natasha got up quietly, offering Yelena a tight smile of congratulations before padding out of the room. Her footsteps hardly made any sound as she made the effort to leave your life the way it is.

The conversation flowed on behind her, your laughter floating through the room. The wedding date wasn’t fixed yet, you weren’t sure when you should have it. Better sooner than later, you never knew how long something might last.

This, your family, you hoped this would last forever.

————

The TV played on in the background as you talked to Wanda about wedding plans. She had long since agreed to become your maid of honor. The witch was adamant about making this wedding perfect, you smiled as you talked to her about the flowers for the wedding.

Yelena was still unsure about who should be her best man/woman. Natasha was her first choice for it, but she wasn’t sure if you were comfortable with it. You’d told her you’d be alright with it, still, she waited in case.

The popcorn seemed to be taking a little longer than it should have. You’d offered to help her with it, but the blonde declined your offer, adamant she could do it on her own. You continued talking to Wanda about your wedding plans, unsure what kind of flowers you should have.

Wanda began saying that roses were a better idea, you weren’t paying much attention as you saw Natasha enter the room. Your eyes flitted over to her, your expression faltering for an instant. Bringing your mask back up, you nodded to Wanda to show you were listening. She didn’t buy it, glancing behind her. Noticing Natasha, she turned back to you, continuing her conversation.

“Hey, y/n…” Natasha trailed off, fidgeting with her fingers as she stood behind the couch. You turned to face her, giving her a tight nod. Wanda stopped talking, turning around to face the assassin.

“Hello.” You greeted, turning back to the movie. Even you weren’t willing to pretend everything was okay with her. The witch glanced between both of you before locking her gaze onto Natasha.

“Can I talk to you?” She asked, her weight shuffling on her feet. She glanced from you to Wanda, the witch glared at her angrily. Ignoring her gaze, she turned back to face you. You weren’t looking at her, your eyes looking at Yelena.

Your fiance gave you a supportive nod, the popcorn still in her hands. The look of concern on her face told you she would be here for you if things went south. You nodded at her, smiling gratefully then turning towards Natasha. 

Your smile dissipated the instant you looked at her, your eyes which were full of adoration only moments ago were empty, too empty.

“Alright.” You nodded.

Natasha smiled at you, hoping you would return it. Your face remained blank, prompting her to lead you to somewhere more private. The assassin sighed softly, hoping you wouldn’t hear her disappointment but wanting you to.

She walked towards her room, the same room you called home before leaving. Looking inside, you saw that not much had changed. It seemed all too familiar. Everything from the decorations, to the way the bed was made, even some of the pictures were your own.

Bile rose to your throat when you looked at a picture of the two of you on your anniversary. A glass of champagne was in your hand, your lips on her cheek, the corner of your mouth quirked into a grin. A grin plastered on Natasha’s face, her arm wrapped around your waist.

You picked up the frame from her bedside, aware of Natasha’s eyes watching your movements. A sigh left your lips as you looked at it.

The moment frozen in time. You let yourself fall back into time, experiencing that night over again. How ecstatic you were about spending 3 years with Natasha, three whole years. The nervousness about the party. The emotions were still frozen in the picture, you wished you could rid yourself of them.

“What do you need to talk about?” You croaked, swallowing as you set down the picture frame. Standing awkwardly on the edge of the bed, you fidgeted with your fingers as Natasha took a seat on the bed.

“Why did you come back?” She asked, her voice betraying no emotion. You swallowed, eyes flitting towards the ground instead.

“You and I both know it’s not just because I asked you to.” She continued, eyes watching you carefully. You sighed and looked up at her, shuffling back slightly. Natasha patted the spot on the bed for you to sit, you stepped forwards, then stopped.

It was the same bed she had broken you in. The same bed you’d sworn to be by each other’s side forever. The broken promises still lingered in the air like smoke. Breathing it in, you clenched your jaw tightly. Shaking your head, you shuffled backward and leaned against the wall.

Why did you come back? 

It wasn’t because she asked you to. You weren’t sure it was because you wanted your family at your wedding. maybe it was to see her again, to prove how much better you were without her.

To show her what she lost.

“Remember what I told you then?” You asked, tilting your head to the side as you looked up at her. The words were a bit hazy in your mind, somewhat like a nightmare you had a long time ago.

“Will I, will I ever see you again?” Natasha asked timidly, hope underlining her tone. She couldn’t stop you from leaving her with her mistakes. All she could do was hope for your return. Upon seeing your expression, that seemed unlikely.

“If the entire world turns upside down, you might.” You said a halfhearted joke as you turned towards the door.

Leaving your things behind, leaving your entire family behind. There wasn’t anything here for you anymore. 

“I don’t think I can forget,” Natasha murmured, the words as clear as day in her mind. The day you’d left, she couldn’t forget it. Your broken smile when walked out of her life haunted her, despite the pictures of your happiness she surrounded herself with.

“I told you that you might see me again if the world turns upside down.” You repeated, voice shaking. You cleared your throat, chuckling lightly as you leaned back against the wall. Your eyes roamed the room, taking in every detail before meeting Natasha’s eyes.

“It kind of did, didn’t it?” You chuckled, tilting your head.

Your life didn’t take the turn you’d expected. The plan was to marry Natasha, hopefully, grow old with her. Maybe get a house by the beach and have twins. That was what the plan had always been. It was still there, the house by the beach, the playground for your kids.

Natasha was the only change.

“I found everything I wanted in someone you consider your family.” You continued, hands moving to rest behind your back.

A smile crossed your face as you thought of Yelena. The way her lips quirked up into a smile, even at your bad jokes, the comfort of how her skin felt against yours, the sound of her voice when she’d just woken up. 

She was all yours, you had the pride of calling her your fiance.

“You found something in someone I considered my brother.” You muttered, your thoughts turning towards Bucky.

Hurt flashed across your features before you masked it quickly, turning to look up at her. The blonde fidgeted at your words, nibbling her lip and looking away from you.

“Bucky and I,” Natasha began, licking her lips. “we aren’t, we aren’t together.”

Your eyebrows raised, you’d thought Bucky was who she’d be running to for comfort after you. It had only made sense that she should leave you for another relationship. But just for sex, that was lower than even you thought she could stoop.

“That’s a surprise.” You mused, turning to look away from her and the bed.

An uncomfortable silence shrouded the room, suffocating you. You didn’t know how to break it. Small talk was the last thing on your mind. Thinking you should leave, you shifted your weight and put one foot forwards before the blonde spoke.

“I’m surprised if you remember my name,” Natasha whispered, almost too quiet for you to hear. A frown etched into her face as tears began to line her eyes.

“What?” You asked, hoping you heard her wrong. Her voice was rarely quiet, only taking a lower stance when she was scared. It hurt a little she was scared, or even upset because of you.

“The way you look at me,” She continued, knowing you heard her. “it’s like you don’t even remember me.”

You hesitated, letting her words take their place. Your mask dropped, eyes looking down at the ground as a sad smile twisted your lips. Of course, she would bring this up, you had never looked at her this way like she never meant anything to you. 

“I used to look at you like you were my world.” You muttered, shaking your head lightly. You wished you were lying. You wished you hadn’t made her your world just to let her take it away from you.

“It’s almost ironic you took it away from me.” You whispered, looking up to face her. The mask you made just for her began to shatter. A tear slipped down your face, sliding across your face until it dropped onto the floor.

“I never meant to,” Natasha whispered, voice shaking as she saw you cry because of her, again. Her hand reached out towards your face, stopping she realized it wasn’t her place. Her words made you snap, your head whipping up to face her.

“It doesn’t matter what you meant to do Na-” You stopped yourself before you could say her name.

You didn’t know why you couldn’t say her name. You’d called her everything from Tasha to Nattie, you didn’t know why it was so hard for you. It was hardly a surprise when you couldn’t even think of her without hurting.

“Say it,” Natasha demanded, head snapping up to yours. Tears grew in her waterline, her voice breaking as she moved forwards. You swallowed thickly, pushing yourself further into the wall.

“Say my name, please.” She begged, looking up at you pleadingly. A tear slipped out of her eye, she retreated as her hands moved to wipe it away hastily.

You took in a shaky breath, wanting nothing more than to leave things the way they were. Closure was a gift you never got. The wounds were still torn open no matter how much you tried to stitch them shut. Saying her name would tear you apart, all over again.

“Does it still hurt you to think about me?” Natasha asked when you stayed silent. Her eyes looked at you imploringly, almost begging you for an answer.

How could it not hurt?

Thinking about her always brought back memories, always the good memories. The best of what you were, never the worst. The memories showed you everything you were, how she brought out the best part of you.

It also showed you what she took away.

“Yes.” You answered, just when Natasha was beginning to think you might stay silent.

Natasha flinched back as if you’d physically hurt her. Her mask was in pieces, she didn’t care about the emotions she was showing. Every attempt she made to try to calm herself, to stop feeling, it never worked.

“Do you have any idea what you did to me?” You asked, incredulous she had even asked you if it still hurt. The blonde didn’t respond, staying silent in fear she might hurt you more.

“You took away everything I gave you, and then more.” You said, breath leaving you in harsh pants. your hand ran through your hair as you began pacing in the room. Natasha’s eyes never left you, even as her vision grew blurry with tears.

“The peace I felt around you, the home you’d made for me,” You shouted, tears slipping down your face. “all of it.”

You wiped your face hastily with your hands, watching them come away wet with tears and mascara. All your pain was out in the open for her to see. The pain was caused by her mistakes. You cowered into yourself, leaning back against the closet.

Trying desperately to slow your breathing, you rested your head on the door. Staring up at the ceiling, you let the lights blind you for a treasured few seconds. Blinking rapidly, you looked back at Natasha. She watched you with emerald eyes you’d let yourself get lost in too many times.

“It still hurts when I think of you.” You whispered, looking her in the eyes.

Natasha’s jaw clenched, blinking to try to stop her tears. She turned around to look at the rest of the room. The pictures of you still decorated the walls the way they used to when you were still here. The decorations you’d bought for the room, even some of your clothes were in her closet.

Never could she let you go.

“I never stopped thinking of you.” She admitted, turning slowly to look back at you. It was still somewhat like a dream, to have you here with her. A dream she was too scared to wake up from to let you go.

“You should.” You said, sighing after. You backed up slightly, wiping away the remaining tears on your face. 

Mascara stained your hands and your sleeves. You didn’t know what Natasha wanted from you, you could only assume she wanted you back in her life, even after you’d been adamant about keeping away.

“I’m not giving you my heart again,” You stated, glancing away from her. “it doesn’t matter what you promise me.”

Some truth remained in your words. Even if she promised you the world, or for her to be better, you wouldn’t give up your world for her again. Your heart was once something you gave away carelessly to her. You didn’t want to repeat your mistake.

“I don’t want that from you,” Natasha said, catching your attention. Your gaze flitted back to her as a confused frown ghosted your features. The frown etched itself onto your face as she let the silence slowly drag on.

“What do you want from me?” You asked, watching her wince back slightly. She straightened her stance as if she was preparing herself for something. Silence dragged on as she prepared herself for pain before finally speaking.

“I want you to forgive me.”

Your mouth opened to yell at her, to scream that what she did was near unforgivable. For her to even think that you could forgive her after everything. You’d told her what she had taken away from you, and she still thought she could be forgiven.

“I’m sorry, y/n,” Natasha stated before you could speak. Her hand lifted in a plead for you to hear her out. 

Your mouth closed but opened again as you considered keeping your silence. The blonde didn’t care for your silence, wanting you to hear the apology she had ran over thousands of times in her head.

“Please, I never meant to hurt you.” She repeated, knowing it wasn’t the apology you wanted to hear.

She swore she could not have prepared more for this moment. For having you in front of her so she could apologize to you. Even practicing in the mirror, over and over again didn’t help her. Seeing you in front of her, breaking all over again because she couldn’t be who you wanted her to.

It wasn’t something she had prepared for.

“Maybe it was unfair for me to fall in love with you in the first place when I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep you. I’m sorry.” She apologized, guiltily shifting her feet under her. Her legs dangled over the edge of the bed, she looked at them thoughtfully.

It wasn’t fair for her to try to be in a relationship when she couldn’t keep one. Maybe with you, she thought it would be different. But even you couldn’t change the mistakes she would make. Even at the start of your relationship, she knew she would hurt you somehow. You assured her that she couldn’t.

In the end, her mistakes would always come to haunt her.

“Falling in love wasn’t your mistake,” You spoke, bringing her attention up to you. “it was unfair of you to try to treasure something you knew you couldn’t keep.”

It was unfair of her, so unfair to lead you on for years, give you everything you knew you wanted. To make plans for the future, you could see yourself spending the rest of your life with her, so clearly. Then to take it all away again, just because she knew she couldn’t keep you.

“I’m sorry,” Natasha repeated, trying to make you stay. You could see her hand reach out for you before stopping herself.

A sigh left your lips as you moved down to kneel in front of her. Your fingertips hovered over hers before moving away. You whispered to try to get her attention, it didn’t work. Your hands slid into hers, squeezing gently.

She opened her eyes in surprise, looking at your hands in hers, the engagement ring adorning your finger. Her hands gripped yours tightly as if you were a lifeline.

Tears began to fall on your hands. You wanted to try to comfort her more, but this was all you could do. It was almost as if you were leaving her all over again, promising to say out of her life.

“Natasha,” You whispered, smiling when she looked up at you. Her eyes were so soft, so vulnerable in this moment.

Your thumbs slid over the skin of her hand, you looked at her carefully. She was still the woman you’d fallen head over heels for. But Natasha couldn’t be the person you spent the rest of your life with.

“Our time is over.” You said softly, wincing when she turned away from you. More tears dropped onto your palms. Her hands held onto yours tightly, you slipped one out of her grip to turn her face towards yours.

“We had our time together,” You continued, smiling at the fond memories of her. “and yeah it was beautiful.”

This is what you’d been missing all of these years.

Letting go.

It wasn’t as easy as moving to the other side of the world. It was looking her in the eye and saying that your time was over. It was letting both of you heal from the mistakes.

“I just wish we could have lasted longer,” Natasha whispered, clinging onto your hands tightly. She’d told you before that you were the best thing that ever happened to her. You were, it was foolish of her to cut your time so short.

“Maybe, but we weren’t beautiful because we lasted.” You said, tugging her attention back up to you.

 A light frown ghosted her face at your words. Your eyes gazed over her features, committing them to memory. The emerald eyes, soft cheekbones, the features you had grown to love.

“It was beautiful because it happened.” You whispered, your thumb tracing over her cheekbone gently.

A smile graced your lips, a tear falling from your eye onto your hands. A sigh left your lips as you moved up, leaning down you closed your eyes. Your lips met her forehead gently, her hands tugged you closer. You smiled, as she let go of you, letting you pull away.

A knock sounded on the door, you turned to face it, knowing it was Yelena.

“Come in.” You said, slowly wiping the tears away from your eyes. Yelena stepped into the room, taking in the scene in front of her. She glanced towards her sister wiping her face on her sleeves, giving her a sympathetic smile before turning towards you.

“Hey,” Yelena greeted, moving to slide her hand into yours. You smiled as her shoulder bumped against yours. “everything alright?”

“Yeah just,” You glanced towards Natasha. The blonde looked up at the two of you, no longer looking hurt. Instead, she looked at you with a gentle smile, finding herself finally letting go of you.

“Just catching up.” You answered, smiling up at Yelena.

She looked from you to Natasha, nodding at her sister. She would want to talk to her later, you were sure of it, but now wasn’t the time. Nodding towards the door, silently asking if you wanted to leave. You nodded letting her walk you out.

“wait.” You said, stopping in your tracks. A confused look showed on her face as your hand slipped out of hers, heading back to Natasha. Your fiance followed you back, leaning against the doorframe.

“I, I want you to come to our wedding.” You stuttered, shifting your weight. Wringing your hands together, you looked to face her. She looked unsure, her eyes glancing from your ring to her sister.

“Are you sure you want me there?” She asked, tilting her head to the side curiously. You nodded, looking back at Yelena. The blonde smiled at you, knowing it was hard for you to do this. You sought comfort in her smile, nodding again at Natasha.

“Lena considers you as her family,” You said, shrugging easily. “it’s only fair.”

Lena, the nickname was so familiar coming from you. Natasha raised an eyebrow, seeing as you didn’t answer her question. You chuckled softly at the action. She could always tell you had a different answer than what you said.

“I want you there,” You stated, watching her features light up into a smile. She nodded, looking from you to your fiance. Yelena looked certain she wanted Natasha to be there. She smiled and nodded.

“I’ll be there,” Natasha said.

You smiled in relief, waving at her as you walked out of the room. Yelena’s arm slid around your waist, her fingers reaching towards the ring you wore. Her fingers twisted them around your finger thoughtfully.

She didn’t know what you’d talked about with Natasha. But you were in a lighter mood, easily walking around the compound, telling more stories. You were more at ease, the closure bringing you in a different state of mind.

Years ago, you wouldn’t have even considered coming back here. The memories near painful for you. Now, the memories seemed like a story you told a long time ago. You thought the story had ended when you left.

But now, you’d finally let go.

In a way, it was a good thing the world turned upside down.

A/N: Please for the sake of my sanity reblog and comment and tell me what you think!!

Tag List: @capcarolsdanver, @versdan, @lesbian-girls-wayhaught, @lovebotlarson, @dhengkt, @hstoria​, @natasha-danvers​, @veryfunnyal, @xxxtwilightaxelxxx , @ophelias-heart  , @never-didbefore​ , @justarandomhumanhere, @the-most-unicorn-of-them-all , @thatssocamryn , @lesbian-x-blackwidow , @marvelbbyx , @wlw-imaginesss​ , @hcartbyheart , @summergeezburr , @imnotasuperhero  , @a-stressedstudent​ , @aaron-despair , @rooskaya-yelena , @dynnealberto , @thewitchandtheassassin , @wannabe-fic-reader , @izalesbean​, @higherfurther-romanova​  , @natalia-quinzel  , @stephanieromanoff , @fayhar​ , @darkangelxoxo-blog   let me know if you’d like to be in any of my tag lists!

[ackasamii--archive]

just as he wanted

summary: with love comes sacrifice

pairing: steve rogers x fem!reader

word count: 2.1k

warnings: angst

note: so this is a repost of my one shot from other blog i impulsively deleted so i hope you enjoy this!!

When was the last time she laughed? A full wholehearted laugh from the core.

Ah, it was in her small New York apartment located in the quiet part of Brooklyn. It was rare to catch a quiet moment in New York, but home was the place Y/n always went. And this time, she brought a friend who was in dire need of it. Someone who carried the world on his shoulders quite often, someone who needed a day or two to relax for once.

With a grin on her face, Y/n handed the last of the dumplings to Steve, who sat comfortably on her worn couch that she had brought at least two or three years ago. The couch had seen better days, the green color was faded, some tears here and there, but she couldn’t find herself to complain. After all, it had many nights of long and thoughtful conversations from five years ago, and she couldn’t bring herself to give that up. If her memory were to vanish at an older age, what else could remind her of the time spent with Captain Steve Rogers?

Steve stared at the two dumplings left and shook his head, “Take them, I’ve had enough of those for one night.” He smiled and let a short chuckle escape his lips, but lately, she’s started to notice how his smile never reached his eyes. Which is why she persisted he have the last of the two dumplings. He looked Y/n in the eyes and assured, “Really, I’m fine.”

Y/n sighed at his stubbornness but let it go as she set the box down on the coffee table and settled down next to him, leaving just enough space between them. She couldn’t help but stare at the man before her with an adoring smile while he was lost in his own wandering thoughts. “Whatcha thinkin’ about?”

He blinked and turned to stare back at her, “What are you thinking about?”

“I asked first.”

Her heart fluttered once another smile broke out onto his lips. Steve leaned forward, clasping his hands together and sighed. “Honestly…” Y/n scooted closer to hear him better, their shoulders nearly touching. “What my life would’ve been like if I hadn’t been on that plane.”

With a thoughtful look, Y/n shrugged, “A lot different, man. I mean if you weren’t on the plane, I wouldn’t know that one story Bucky told me about you and a trash can lid.”

Steve laughed lightly, his muscles flexing slightly with every movement he made, and then his blue eyes met hers.

“Peggy and I, we…” Steve stopped short, looking down at his hands and hadn’t noticed the frown now on her lips. Or the fact that her heart sank at the mention of his old flame. He looked back at Y/n, who quickly made her frown disappear as he asked, “Have I ever told you about the time we met?”

She shook her head but remained silent, letting him continue. Something ugly within her tickled her heart as he passionately talked about that woman. That woman she would possibly never be able to compete with. Eventually, she had to come to this conclusion one way or another without avoiding it. As the spark in his eyes grew brighter and brighter, she knew that his heart still sat in the palms of that woman’s hands.

It hurt her to no end. It hurt her that she wasn’t good enough for him, it hurt her that he may never see her the same way he saw Peggy Carter. Perhaps she was nothing like her, but at times, she wished she could be. But could she blame the woman? No. It was Y/n that just couldn’t compete or even be compared to such a brilliant and strong woman.

Steve told her time when he first got his shield. And how Peggy shot at him. The scenario was so entertaining, that Y/N couldn’t help but laugh along with him. Laughing at that point in time would’ve been so foreign, but not between the two. It was almost natural, as if they were old friends. Which was exactly what Y/n knew he saw her as.

Now, Y/n had no idea why this memory came to mind. Maybe she needed one semi-happy moment to lift her fallen spirits while cladded in black. It was the black clothes. She wanted to change out of them quickly and that’s what she was about to do right after Tony’s funeral. After paying her respects, Y/n was ready to return back to her small apartment alone and possibly take in everything that has happened.

But no.

She stood stiff in front of the time machine transporter or whatever the hell Banner called it, with Steve on her right. Somehow, she didn’t know how, Y/n had gotten wind that Steve was going to travel back and return all the stones. Alone. Normally, she would protest to such a horrid plan only because she was worried about his safety. But this time, she was in too much shock to even utter one word. She wandered how Bucky or even Sam was okay with this. Or why she wasn’t told about this. Maybe because of this very reason, Y/n would try and stop him, and then it would be her fault that time would be screwed up.

So, that’s why she stood silent and stiff to the side while Steve was giving Bucky a hug as if he won’t be coming back. Y/n hoped Steve wouldn’t be that stupid to try something. Finally, he had turned to her, Y/n tried relaxing her shoulders and sending him an encouraging smile, but he could see right through her façade and placed a hand on her shoulder.

“It’ll be fine, stop worrying.”

She shrugged with a defeated look on her face, “Can’t help it.” Impulsiveness was strong today. Y/n pulled him into a hug and buried her face into his shoulder. Her hold was tight as if he was disappear in mere seconds. After a few seconds, she finally let him go and mumbled a, “sorry.”

He only chuckled as he walked towards the platform. What if he doesn’t come back, those thoughts kept nagging at the back of her mind and her mouth suddenly became dry as she wondered if this was her chance just to say it. It three words she’s been ready to say ever since he first came over to her apartment. If she tells him before he leaves, maybe he’ll come back, maybe there would be something more than just friends..

Her moment would pass if she didn’t say anything now. She doesn’t hear Banner count down as she nears the platform, blurting, “Steve—”

But she was a second too late.

His figure was nowhere to be seen and Y/n fiddled with her fingers anxiously. ‘No, I will tell him,’ she assures herself, ‘when he comes back I will tell him.’

Y/n closed her eyes and quietly counted down to five along with Banner. Her heart pounded against her chest excitedly as she got to three. Her fingers became shaky and clammy as she reached four.

She opened her eyes at five.

Only, he wasn’t there.

It was like there was no breath in her lungs and her heart had fallen out of her mouth. With wide eyes, she whipped around to face Banner who was frantically looking at the tech set up before him.

“What happened? Where is he?” Her questions came out rushed and frantic while she looked from the platform and to Banner. After receiving no answers from the green giant, her voice became strain as she shouts, “Bruce, where is he?!”

“I don’t know!” Banner said with his eyes still focused on the contraption.

She was too late. The realization dawned on her as she stared at where Steve once stood. What if he was stuck somewhere, please don’t be stuck somewhere. Y/n’s heart was beating so fast, she was pretty sure it could run a marathon right now. Where the hell was he?

In the corner of her eye, her state of panic shifted as she spotted Sam walking away from the scene and Bucky standing further away. She watched the two, wandering why they weren’t showing the appropriate reaction to this situation. But Y/n kept watching, Sam walked past Bucky and towards an occupied bench. She doesn’t remember seeing that bench, overlooking the lake. Was that always there or did she never pay any mind to it before now?

Y/n trudged to Bucky’s side, she studied his face and the scene ahead of her. Sam was speaking to the figure on the bench, the tension soon shifted, and it finally dawned on her. Her mouth hung open as she watched the two. How…? Time travel was quite the complicated topic for her and in this moment she couldn’t understand what the hell had happened.

“Is that…?” She wanted to be sure, but the answer was already settled deep within her.

Bucky only nodded in response, not once his eyes had wavered from the two. From the back, she could definitely feel that it wasn’t the same Steve. Which meant…

He went back for her.

She should’ve realized it sooner and stopped him. But she was too late. Y/n was too late because she was a coward to say anything then and all the other times where she had the opportunity. This was what she got for being so fearful of rejection. Her eyes welled but she willed herself not to cry, she couldn’t and won’t cry. It was her fault for missing her opportunity.

A few minutes pass as Sam comes back with the shield in his hand. But Y/n’s remained on the figure on the bench. Seconds pass and Bucky isn’t by her side anymore, only her, slowly moving towards the bench in curiosity and caution.  Maybe she should’ve prepared herself for what she would find, or maybe she shouldn’t have approached him. No matter, she was already next to the bench looking at an older version of Steve Rogers.

There were always jokes about Steve acting like such an old man. But now, he was right there. Sitting on the wooden bench with a relaxed smile on his face, his blue eyes facing the ocean. After hesitating back and forth with herself, Y/n sat down at the end of the bench to stare at the view with him, only she caught sight of a silver object around one of his fingers. The same ugly thing bubbled within her as she glared at the ring until his hands shifted and she finally looked at him.

Actually looked at him.

Steve was smiling. No, it wasn’t forced. It wasn’t a simple smile. This was his happiness. She could see it in his eyes as they lit up. In all her life, she had never seen someone so at peace and happy. So blissfully happy.

The brutal truth hit her in the face right then and there. She had been selfish. Y/n had wanted Steve to stay and be with her so they could both live a happy life. But that was not what he wanted. He was taken from his time and forced into this new one without having the normal life that he desired and deserved. She wanted him to stay somewhere he wasn’t meant to be. Now she understood the saying, the truth hurts. Maybe she knew the truth already and just denied it.

Y/n knew there was no way of stopping him. Why would she stop him from gaining his happiness? What kind of person would that make her?

“You kids didn’t get into too much trouble, did you?” She teased lightly, trying to smile.

There, his chuckle was throaty but warm. “You’ll never know.”

An amused smile curved onto her lips.

Then she was back. Back on that couch, during that night, next to Steve who had trailed off in his story telling and deep into his sinking thoughts. She noticed how much he did that whenever they talked about either Peggy or the forties. Her envious heart blinked back tears as she looked away from him bitterly, her jaw clenching and unclenching as she glared at the box of dumplings.

Maybe she should eat them.

Only she didn’t make a move for the box, she turned to stare back at his side profile, still in adoration. She couldn’t help herself. But it hurt that he would stare at her the same way.

“Do you still love her?”

His eyes twinkled as he stared back at her. There was no answer but you knew and he knew. It was unspoken, but they knew.

A tear rolled down her cheek as she stared at the older man in content. She sighed and wiped the rogue tear away from her cheek and turned her gaze to the view before them. He doesn’t return her feelings, this was her first love, and she knew now that love meant sacrifice, thanks to Tony. Maybe the best way to love Steve Rogers…

Was to let him go.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x black!reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers #steve x reader #captain america x reader #captain america x you #captain america #mcu x reader #mcu #marvel #marvel imagine #mcu imagine #steve x black!reader #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fanfiction #chris evans x reader #chris evans imagine

[kirumod]

hi omg i love your blog so much !!!!!!! can i request headcanons for tenko, angie, and mahiru with a fem s/o whos super forgetful? tysm in advance !! ^^

hello, dear! i finished your request the other day, but responded to the wrong ask. i apologize for that. i’m reposting it here and deleting the previous post!

–

thank you for the request! i love writing wlw relationships as a lesbian myself, they're just the best <3 i hope you like this!

tenko chabashira.

Tenko would be a lot more protective of you once finding out about your poor memory. She isn't about to let her girlfriend be taken advantage of, after all. She wouldn't hesitate to throw anyone — well, mostly men — across a room if they made fun of your forgetfulness, or tried to use it to mess with you. It's not often when someone does that; in fact, you don't face a lot of trouble from others. Tenko's bad habit of assuming the worst means that a lot of people get thrown regardless.

She constantly worries about you, reminding you of your name and hers at least once a day. Sometimes, she'll ask you if you remember how to eat or breathe. You tell her it's not that serious, but that never calms Tenko.

Tenko tries to help you with your recollection troubles. Even if her efforts often end with failure, she keeps doing all she can to make your life easier. She carries a seemingly endless supply of sticky notes to write down everything she thinks you might want to remember, however her poor judgement often results in notes that say "S/O said the weather is nice" instead of "S/O wants to go grocery shopping." Still, you appreciate the gesture. You can tell how much she cares.

Despite her eccentric and somewhat silly behavior, Tenko does hold a lot of concern— for you & for your relationship. She has once confided in you that she is afraid you'd forget why you love her, or that you even did. Quickly after, she told you to forget what she said and that she was just thinking too much. Seeing that she's clearly uncomfortable with discussing the topic any further, you move on.

On day, out of the blue, you tell Tenko that the one thing you will never forget is loving Tenko. She hugs you so tightly your breath ran out, and promises to protect and love you forever.

angie yonaga.

When you first met, Angie believed your memory is God's will; therefore you surely must've done something horrible for Him to curse you. She reassures you that her God is a merciful one, and there is hope for salvation once you accepted Him into your heart. Upon denying her accusations and refusing to follow her God, she tells you He'll be waiting if you changed your mind, but until then, you will be forever cursed.

As Angie attachment to you grew, she eventually stopped trying to convince you to convert and didn't seem to believe you were cursed anymore. She found that weird, as God didn't tell her that you were cured, but rather it was her own thoughts telling her that you were divine. Not God. That confused Angie, but she didn't oppose it, as He didn't tell her to.

She came to realize that her thoughts of you weren't simply admiration. Maybe they were at first, but they were turning into a lot more. She recognized this new feeling, she'd felt it before. Still, Angie can't remember when she started wanting to be around you, worrying about you constantly, wishing to kiss you...

All her prayers were centered around you, and nothing but you. She prayed for your amnesia to be lifted, and sometimes she prayed that you'd like her back, though of course your wellbeing was more important than what she felt. She has never been one to hide her emotions, and she asks you to be her girlfriend. When you agreed, She thanked her divine God every day for granting her most desired prayer.

She tells you that you're not cursed like she thought. In fact, your forgetfulness is a blessing from God, for it is what brought you two together. You don't agree that your memory is a blessing— that would be Angie.

mahiru koizumi.

At first, Mahiru scolded you for your poor memory, warning you of what might happen if you didn't keep better track of important matters such as your keys or passwords or such. You tell her she's exaggerating, but that only serves to worsen the scoldings. She takes it upon herself to follow you around and ensure you don't get lost and forget which class you're in or where you live.

Mahiru's helpful nature shined the most around you. She was always the first to rush to your aid, sometimes trying to remember things you've forgotten *for* you as unlikely as that is to succeed. Day by day, you notice her berating you less and less as the hint of annoyance in her voice is replaced with gentle concern and care.

You became her new favorite photography model, and at times she'll even post a picture she particularly liked, only to be met with teasing from her classmates for finding a girlfriend. She silences their accusatory jokes, though she doesn't oppose the idea.

In fact, maybe it's something she has daydreamed of before— she imagined the two of you together, taking pictures of a beautiful grass field, holding hands, trying to recount memories together. She's quick to perish the thought, but she's never truly satisfied with being just your friend.

You're the one to ask her out when you show up at her house. Mahiru asked if you forgot where to go and offered to take you home, but you instead planted a quick kiss on her lips. You apologized after, admitting that you were acting on impulse, but your apologies are hushed when she returns the kiss.

She doesn't have to imagine the two of you holding hands anymore, and you seem to have a lot more to remember. You write down every moment, every memory, every talk, every kiss in a book and read them all before sleeping. You doubt you'll ever forget them, anyway. Mahiru's love was something you'd always cherish, and she cherished you — memory included.

#mahiru koizumi #mahiru x reader #danganronpa #drv3 #ndrv3 #sdr2 #tenko chabashira #tenko x reader #angie yonaga #angie x reader #danganronpa imagines #danganronpa x reader

[daveeddiggsit]

No Return

Note: so this is not a new fic. i actually posted it back in 2017 (but deleted all my smut from this blog about a year afterwards haha we love being impulsive). but i’m over myself now, so i’m reposting! a lot of you have been asking about it, so... here you go. posted for all of y’all to enjoy again.

Word Count: 4.7k

Pairing: Daveed Diggs x Reader

Warnings: smut. cursing.

Summary: Diggs loses a bet which results in him owing you a lap dance.

Parties at Rafa’s place were always the best; the drinks were great, the music was amazing, the atmosphere was never dull, but the best part about them were the incredible people that made up each one; you were never bored. There was always something to do whether you were talking to people, dancing, playing drinking games, or just drinking in general. And that’s why whenever you were told that there was going to be a party at Rafael Casal’s apartment, you never turned it down...even if you ended up showing up late.

“Well, look at who finally decided to show up.” You heard a familiar voice say as you walked through the door to Rafa’s place. Daveed grinned widely at you before he slid an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close to him as you walked deeper into the apartment. “My favorite!”

Daveed was one of your closest friends and if you were being honest, it would have been a lie if you said you didn’t want him to become something more than that. The two of you often flirted and were constantly together (these occurrences happened so often that there were many times people believed you were dating), but neither of you had made a real move. You knew how you felt toward him, and he was giving you signs that he felt the same way, but no true actions were made by either party. So that’s why it stayed the way it was between you two: just close friends who often flirted with each other.

“Aw, I’m your favorite?” You asked, raising your voice so he could hear you over the loud music that was pumping through Rafa’s speakers.

“Uh, yeah,” he stated as if it was obvious, “but don’t tell anyone else. It’s a secret between you and me.” He whispered in your ear as you entered the kitchen.

Yeah, he had definitely downed a few drinks before you got here.

“Diggs, I’m pretty sure everyone heard you when you shouted it.” You laughed as you plucked the cup half-full of alcohol from his grasp, draining it of its contents. He pouted at you once you handed him back an empty cup.

“Y/N, hey! It’s been forever since I’ve seen you!” Adrienne said from beside Rafa who was pouring out a few drinks.

“Hey!” You pulled away from Daveed’s grasp to give her a hug. She’d been away in Canada for the last few weeks shooting for a new project she was working on. “I’ve missed you! Why’d you have to leave me alone to deal with these boys for so long?”

Adrienne laughed while Rafael furrowed his eyebrows.

“Oh, so you didn’t miss me? I see how it is, Y/N, I see how it is.” He feigned hurt, before pushing a couple of newly filled cups towards you and Daveed.

You rolled your eyes at him. “We had lunch a few days ago, Cash, it hasn’t been that long since I’ve seen you.”

“But so much has changed since then.”

You chuckled before taking a sip. “Like what? Did you finally finish that song you’ve been working on?”

“No.” Rafael replied before he smiled at Adrienne beside him. “Unlike Diggs, I am no longer a single and lonely Bay Boy.”

Daveed’s eyebrows furrowed as he cocked his head. “Yo, who said I was lone—?”

“You guys are finally together? Oh my god, congrats!” You cut in with widened eyes.

They both grinned at each other before Rafa leaned down to kiss her forehead.

“Aww,” you gushed, “you two are couple goals already.”

A few seconds passed before you felt Daveed’s arm drape around your shoulders again.

“You know, we could be couple goals too.” He said, looking down at you with a smirk.

You rolled your eyes, pushing him away. “Ha, you wish, Diggs.”

You laughed it off because you knew he was too tipsy to be serious. He always flirted with you like this, but why did this time feel so different?

A few drinks later, you were beginning to feel the familiar light-hearted, buzzing feeling course throughout your body, giving you a boost of energy. You had drifted away from Daveed and Rafa to roam through the house and catch up with people you hadn’t seen since your Hamilton days. You were talking with Adrienne and Ari when you heard your name being called from behind you.

“Aye, Y/L/N!”

You turned your head to see Daveed standing next to a table a few feet away. 

“Diggs!” You responded in the same playful tone.

He grinned at you before waving you over. “Come play Flip Cup with me.”

“Really?” You quirked an eyebrow. “You lose every time you play against me, D.”

“I’m feeling confident today. I’ve been practicing.”

You tried not to laugh as you rose from your seat and approached him. “Practicing?”

“Bruh,” Rafa snickered at his friend from the other end of the table. “You played a few games before this and won two in a row. That ain’t practicing.”

You let a smug grin show up on your face as you glanced back up at your best friend. “Daveed, I am the queen of Flip Cup, okay? You can’t beat me. Nobody ever has, and nobody ever will. That’s a fact.”

“I’m pretty sure I can beat you today, Y/N.” He said bluntly. Wow, he was forward when he was drunk. “I have a good feeling about this.”

“Ha,” you huffed out a laugh, “wanna bet?"

“What do you propose, oh mighty Queen of Flip Cup?”

You thought for a second. What was something you knew would make him think twice about challenging you? Something that would make him step down from this newfound cockiness he embodied.

When the idea formed in your head, you sent him a sly grin. “Winner gets a lap dance from the loser.”

You distinctly remembered an earlier conversation with him where he stated that he couldn’t dance. You knew it was untrue due to the times you’d seen him dance at the club or during some of the numbers in Hamilton, but you also knew that the wager wasn’t something he’d necessarily jump on (despite the confidence boost the alcohol had supplied him).

Rafa led the mini crowd that had formed around you in a chorus of “ooo”s.

“Deal.”

You looked up at Daveed in surprise. You hadn’t expected him to agree to the terms so easily.

“Diggs, that means if you lose— sorry, when you lose, you have to give me a lap dance.”

“I know.” He said seriously.

“And you’re good with that?”

“If it happens, which it won’t because I’m gonna win, then yes.” He stated, his mouth forming into a confident smile. “I’m good with that.”

Fine, he wanted a challenge? You were going to give him one.

“Alright, then.” You said, narrowing your eyes at him. “Game on."

⋆﹥━━━━━━━   ♛   ━━━━━━━﹤⋆

Daveed lost. Badly.

So badly, in fact, that you actually felt bad for him. So you tweaked it so it was the best out of five games...and even then, he still lost.

Oh well, it’s not like you didn’t warn him.

When the third game ended and Daveed realized his defeat, he threw his head back and groaned.

“Aww, don’t be such a sore loser. You lost fair and square, Diggs. ” You teased with a smile, wrapping your arms around his torso to hug him from behind. “I warned you. I told you I was the queen of Flip Cup, but you didn’t listen.”

“Those cups were rigged, Y/N.” He stated, turning around in your grasp so he could hug you back.

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “Say whatever you want to make yourself feel better. Nothing’s gonna change the fact that you owe me a lap dance.”

He was quiet for a moment before he murmured something. “You know I can’t dance, right?”

“First of all, yes you can. And secondly, lap dances are different, Diggs.”

“No, they’re not.”

“Yes they are. And if you don’t think they’re different, you dance at parties all the fucking time. You should be able to handle an easy lap dance.”

He lifted his head back up from your shoulder to look down at you. “But Y/N...”

You let out a laugh before you patted his cheek lightly. “You dug yourself into this hole, loser. Guess you’re just gonna have to figure it out because you’re not getting out of this one.”

⋆﹥━━━━━━━   ♛   ━━━━━━━﹤⋆

The next day you woke up to someone knocking on your door. In sweats and an old t-shirt, you made your way over to unlock it, squinting your eyes to adjust to the bright light. The slight hangover you had wasn’t really helping you get out of your groggy state.

“Daveed?” You asked, realizing who your visitor was once your vision adjusted. “What are you doing here so early?”

He was dressed in a yellow Oaklandish tank top that showed off his toned arms/shoulders and dark blue jeans with a brown belt buckled just enough to let them sit loosely on his hips. You also noticed that he decided to rock his glasses today.

You snapped your eyes up to his and away from his figure that left you breathless. You totally had not just checked him out.

“If your definition of early is 2 o’clock in the afternoon, I think you may need to reevaluate some things and consider fixing that sleep schedule of yours.” He replied with his lips turning up into an amused grin.

“Shut up, I had a late night last night.” You mumbled, turning around to walk away, leaving the door open so he could let himself into your apartment. “And you did too. I’m surprised you’re not asleep right now.” You glanced back at him to see him shrug.

“I had to meet Bill and Jon at the studio at 10. I’ve been up since, like, 9:30.”

“Damn, Diggs, you’re gonna have to teach me your ways.”

“Caffeine.” He chuckled, putting on his signature grin. “It works miracles.”

You returned the smile, before sending him a curious look. “So, why are you here? Not that I mind or anything, it’s good to see you, but you haven’t been over in like a month and a half.”

“Exactly! It’s been awhile since we’ve hung out alone, so I thought it’d be dope if we chilled and watched movies or something.” He replied before he went to ramble on. “I mean— only if you want to. If you’re really tired, I can leave so you can get some more sl—”

“No, no, it’s fine! That sounds great.” You cut him off and placed a hand on one of his toned arms to reassure him. 

“You sure?”

“Yeah!” You responded. “Just let me take a quick shower and we can start in like 20ish minutes.”

“A 20 minute shower counts as a quick shower?” He questioned with a teasing look.

“Yes,” you said, “or would you rather it be 45ish minutes?”

“20ish minutes is good. Have fun with your quick shower. Though, I think it would be more fun if I joined.” A tiny but noticeable smirk made its way onto Daveed’s face.

You laughed when he sent you a playful wink, dropping your hand from his arm to walk towards your room. “You wish, Daveed Diggs.”

“You have no idea.” He mumbled under his breath (inaudible to your ears) before he let his eyes follow your retreating figure.

“Maybe you could set up the movie in the meantime? It’s your turn to choose. The remote’s on the coffee table and you know where the popcorn and shit is in the kitchen. I’ll be out soon. If you need anything, yell.” You said before closing the door to your room.

Daveed sent a thumbs up in your direction even though he knew you couldn’t see it before he made his way to your living room.

Little did you know, Daveed had something else planned.

⋆﹥━━━━━━━   ♛   ━━━━━━━﹤⋆

When you emerged from your shower, you quickly dried yourself and combed through your now damp hair. After that, you exited your room and entered your living room to see that it was completely dark. Confused, you surveyed the room to look for your best friend, but there was no sign of him at all.

Did he leave? If he did, he didn’t text you or anything to let you know.

“D?” You called out, walking further into the room.

With each step you took, the more you realized how this seemed like a scene from a horror film. You weren’t a fan of them, but a few months back Daveed and Rafael had pretty much forced you to have a scary movie marathon with them.

“Daveed Diggs, I swear to God. If you’re trying to scare me right now, I will—”

You squeaked when a pair of arms snaked their way around your waist from behind. Daveed’s voice had come seemingly from out of nowhere. “You’ll what?”

“Kick your ass.” You glared at him, quickly turning around to push him away. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

He laughed, smiling brightly. “I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“No, you’re not.” You grumbled, moving to sit on your couch. Daveed followed you.

“You right. It was so worth it.” He grinned at you, causing you to roll your eyes at him. You tried to stay mad at him, but it was damn near impossible when he was looking at you like that.

“We’re not friends anymore.” You stated, crossing your arms.

“What, why?” He asked, his grin dropping into a pout.

“You were mean to me, Diggs! How dare you scare me in my own home!” You were laughing internally.

“Okay, fine. I’m sorry for real this time. What can I do to make it up to you?”

When he asked, you contemplated it for a few moments before you looked up at him with a smirk.

“What?” He asked.

“Well, you still owe me that lap dance…”

He groaned, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back on the couch. “I thought you forgot about that.”

“Nope.” You said, your smirk forming into a smug grin. You had the upper hand now. “How could I forget you losing a bet against me, resulting in a lap dance from the great Daveed Diggs himself?”

After a couple of seconds, he sighed, opening his eyes and tilting his face towards you. “If I do this now, will I win back your friendship?”

“I’ll think about it.” You said, causing him to give you a deadpanned look. You laughed before you spoke again. “Yeah, I guess we could be friends again. But it has to be good.”

Daveed sighed again before he straightened himself up. “I don’t even know how to give a good lap dance, Y/N.”

“Improvise. C’mon, D, you’re great at improv. Treat it like you treat a freestyle. Just go with the flow.” You smiled widely at him.

“Fine.” He said, getting up from his spot next to you. “But I’m only pulling through with this because I like you.”

“Aww, you like me?” You asked teasingly to mask the actual feeling that was coursing through you. You continued to grin at him as he pulled out his phone to scroll through his music library. When he finally settled on a song by The Weeknd, he turned to you once he pressed play.

“Do I start now?”

“Yes,” you laughed. “C’mon, you know how a lap dance works. You’re not a novice when it comes to these things, stop fucking around.”

You could see him smile and rub his arm before he looked away for a second. When he started to slowly sway to the beat of the song, it was extremely hard for you to stifle your laugh. Your best friend was about to give you a lap dance and you could not take him seriously.

He continued to dance to the beat for a bit as he stared you down with a smirk. He was doing this shit on purpose. He was joking around until you couldn’t contain your laughter any longer.

“Diggs, I can’t take you seriously like this. I can—” You wheezed. “I just can’t.”

Your laughter and the slow, sexy beats of the music were the only audible things in your apartment until Daveed spoke again. 

“Are you ready for me, Y/N?” His smooth, low voice washed over you.

You let out yet another giggle. “Don’t make it sound so sexual.”

“It's supposed to sound sexual, Y/N, it’s a fucking lap dance.” He chuckled, now standing directly in front of you.

“Alright, show me what you got, Bay Boy.”

You continued to laugh at him as you watched him, but the moment he straddled your lap, you stopped. His arms were on each side of your head, using the couch to steady himself over you as his hips began to slowly grind against you. That’s when the atmosphere in the room completely changed.

Your eyes widened slightly when you saw him bite his bottom lip in concentration. When you envisioned Daveed giving you a lap dance the night prior, you didn’t think it would be like this...it was flustering you more than you thought it would. Before you knew it, you were struggling to control your movements. Your fists were clenching and unclenching as you so desperately tried to keep them anchored to your sides.

As if he had read your mind, Daveed murmured, “You can touch me, Y/N. Don’t be afraid.”

If you weren’t turned on before, you definitely were now. His gravelly voice paired with his hot breath right next to your ear caused you to shiver, making goosebumps appear across your entire body.

Then, you finally let your hands wander. They traveled up his chest to rest on his shoulders, then back down again to move under the hem of his tank top so you could feel his bare and strong torso. Sure it was a bold move, but the more and more Daveed grinded on you, the less and less you cared. When his tank top rode up to the point where you could see all of his abs, he paused to stand up and quickly get rid of the article of clothing before he came back to straddle you again. 

Your heart was beating wildly in your chest as you looked up at your best friend. He looked undeniably attractive when he was on top of you shirtless and with his glasses on. Every feeling you had ever felt for him came crashing down on you at that moment and that’s when you just about lost your self-control. Part of your brain was screaming at you, saying that you were about to cross a line that you could never cross again...but at the same time, all of your cares had disappeared.

You used your newfound courage to cup Daveed’s face in both of your hands and pull him into a deep kiss. He gasped softly, surprised at the sudden contact, but quickly eased into it. 

You had just passed the point of no return.

You didn’t know what to expect when you decided to kiss him, but it was better than you could have imagined. When you pulled back, his mouth was slightly dropped in awe and one of the sides slowly twitched up into a soft smile. (It was kind of adorable.)

“Daveed, I like you.” You blurted, short of breath.

His face broke out into a full grin. “I like you too, Y/N.” 

“No,” you shook your head, moving your hands from his cheeks down to his shoulders. “I mean like— like like you.”

“I know,” he chuckled. “I mean, I figured given what just happened a few seconds ago. Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

You shrugged, breaking eye contact with him. You subconsciously traced one of your thumbs across his collarbone. “I was afraid of rejection, I guess.”

“Are you serious?”

“What?” You asked, sounding offended.

Daveed caught your gaze again, pushing a strand of your hair behind your ear. “Y/N, I’ve had like the biggest fuckin’ crush on you since Ari introduced us.”

“Wait, really?”

“Mhm,” he hummed. “I’m actually really surprised you didn’t notice.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about your crush earlier, Diggs?” You voiced, giving him a pointed look.

He gave you a shy smile when he moved off of you to sit beside you, still facing you. “Same reason as you.”

“You know what? I’m not even mad about not knowing sooner.” You said. “I’m glad we found out like this.”

“You’re just happy I gave you a lap dance with my amazing skills.” He teased with a laugh of his own.

You laughed again, and pushed at his chest so he could lay on his back and let you crawl on top of him to straddle his waist. “Not gonna lie, I didn’t think you had it in you, Diggs.”

His jaw dropped completely as he looked up at you. “But you said that I could do a lap dance when even I said I couldn’t!”

“That’s true, but to be fair, I never said you couldn’t do a lap dance. I just didn’t think you’d do as well as you did.”

Your response brought yet another smile to his face as you leaned closer to him. “I’mma take that as a compliment.” He said softly.

At this point, the song Daveed had chosen had ended a while ago and the lap dance was long over.

“Good.” You responded before you kissed him again.

This one was different from the first. It started off soft, but quickly turned passionate and heated. As your mouths moved against each other, Daveed’s hands moved from your hips up to the hem of your shirt, his fingertips grazing your bare sides, leaving goosebumps in their wake. The only word you could use to describe this feeling was just complete bliss.

When you reached down to Daveed’s belt buckle, he shivered, causing you to smile against his lips.

Then he pulled away, panting. “Y/N…” he breathed. “Are you sure about this? You don’t have to— fuck.” He cursed as you pulled back completely to unbuckle his pants. “I don’t wanna push y—” 

“Daveed,” You said, before pausing quickly to put a hand on his scruff, tenderly moving your thumb to caress his cheek. “I’m absolutely sure about this. Now please, shut the hell up so I can blow you.”

You smirked when you saw his eyes widen and when you crawled off of him to go in between his legs, you heard a quiet, “Okay.”

Wasting no more time, you removed his jeans and boxers to free his erection. You could see Daveed’s chest begin to rise and fall quicker when you took his length into your hand and pressed a kiss to the tip of it.

“Oh, shiiit.” He drawled softly when your mouth wrapped around him, slowly sucking your way down as far as you could. As you began to bob your head up and down, Daveed’s breathing increased with each suck and occasional flick of your tongue.

Now, he was fully panting. He lifted his head up to look down at you, causing him to groan. After a minute or two, he brought a hand down to move some strands of hair out of your face.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he babbled, “I...I shouldn’t...oh God, I shouldn’t be this fucking close.”

You slowly pulled off of him and he brought you back up to kiss him again.

“You,” Daveed breathed against your lips, “are way too fucking good at that.”

You grinned.

“And,” he continued, “this clothing situation is a bit unbalanced, don’t you think?” 

His thumbs grazed the waistband of your sweatpants. When you nodded, you pulled them down along with your underwear. You moved off of him to take them off completely and remove your shirt and bra, leaving you just as bare as he was.

You climbed back on top of him, straddling his washboard abs, when he ushered you to move up. You obeyed, moving forward an inch or two, but Daveed shook his head and grabbed your thighs, moving you himself.

“Daveed, what are you doing?”

“Returning the favor.” He said simply, bringing you over to his face.

“Oh,” you breathed when you felt his tongue lightly touch your clit.

The man’s mouth worked miracles from between your thighs. Daveed kept you still above his skilled tongue, occasionally giving your ass a squeeze.

“D-Daveed,” you gasped, your mouth forming a perfect ‘O’ as his tongue lightly circled your clit before he brought fully into his mouth to suck gently.

This was the best head you’d gotten...well ever, actually. He wanted you to feel the best you’d ever felt and he definitely achieved that.

Before you knew it, you were reaching your high, climaxing as you shouted Daveed’s name, not caring how loud it echoed throughout your apartment. When you crawled back down Daveed’s body, the two of you shared a sloppy kiss as you both breathed heavily.

Although you just came, you weren’t completely satisfied. You still wanted him... needed to feel him inside you.

You moved to position yourself above his cock, but he made you pause before you could do so.

“Y/N, stop,” Daveed panted. “Condom.”

“Don’t need it.” You replied quickly. “I’m on the pill.”

“Oh, fuck yes.” He replied, releasing you so you could resume what you were about to do.

You breathed out a laugh before you slowly sank down onto his length, making both you and him release a groan. 

“You are so fucking gorgeous,” he gasped. “You don’t know how long I’ve waited for this.”

Your fingers ghosted along his stubble-ridden jaw. “I think I have an idea.”

When you adjusted to his size, you began to bounce and he helped you, meeting each of your thrusts as he guided your hips onto him.

Your lips met Daveed’s yet again and you captured every moan that fell from his mouth, he did the same for you. As your pace quickened, so did each grunt, pant, and moan. You felt your pussy begin to clench again like it had when you came before.

“I’m gonna come,” Daveed said quickly against your mouth.

“Fuck.” You groaned. “Me too, D.”

“Come for me, sweetheart.” He breathed, bringing a hand up from your hip to cup your cheek. “You can do it.”

And you did.

Your walls clenched around him and you gasped, letting your orgasm wash over you in waves. Daveed came shortly after you, and continued to thrust, riding the both of you through your highs.

As you came down and pulled yourself off him, you collapsed, exhausted, halfway leaning on him and halfway laying on your couch. You moved a hand up to rest on his chest again, closing your eyes in bliss as you relaxed against him.

After a minute or two of silence, Daveed broke it.

“Wait, so...does this mean we’re friends again?” 

You looked up at him with a raised eyebrow. He was still on that? Wow, what a dork. “After this? Everything that just happened?” You asked bewildered. “God, I hope not.”

“Fine,” he said letting his signature bright smile show up on his face, still breathing heavily. “More than friends?”

Your heart fluttered in your chest and you grinned widely back at him. You leaned up to softly kiss his jaw before you gave him your answer.

“Way more than just friends, D.”

#daveed diggs x reader #daveed x reader #hamilcast x reader #daveed diggs fanfiction #smut

[maybankiara]

this was requested by @milamaybank and an anon but tumblr is shit and it posted a half-finished version so i’ve got to repost it (and rewrite the ending tumblr oh-so-conveniently deleted.)

anyway, this was the only prompt requested twice for the same character and honestly i get it

7: i dreamt about you last night. 

when he’s with people, jj is loud, brash, and impulsive. you like that jj because he makes you feel like you shouldn’t give a damn about the little things. when he’s with you, he’s gentle and soft, allowing himself to be vulnerable to being more than just the jester. 

you love that jj. 

the two of you are lying on the grass patch behind your house, a blanket beneath you, and some apples sitting in the bad at your bad next to you. aside from your house and the trees that stretch into a forest all the way to the inside of the island, there’s nothing. 

it’s just the two of you, and nature. birds are chirping over your heads, and you’re only half awake.

you like summer afternoons, when jj comes over before work, and the world seems to take a breather. 

‘i had a dream about you last night,’ says jj. 

‘you did?’

‘mhm.’ his fingers trace circles on your exposed stomach, soft and gentle. ‘it was a good dream.’

you turn your head and your hand finds his chin, feeling the two days’ worth of stubble on it. he leans into your open palm, kissing your wrist.

‘tell me about it.’

a smile plays on your lips. jj’s eyes soften around the edges, and you see him thinking about the dream.

‘we had a house,’ he says, ‘just like this one.’ his eyes stare into yours with an emotion your mind can’t put into words. ‘you were in the backyard, just like now, and i was in the kitchen, making dinner.’

you laugh at the idea of jj preparing dinner. ‘you’re an awful cook.’

‘hey, i could make a good one if i tried.’

‘you could,’ you agree. ‘if you wanted, you could. 

‘glad we’re on the same page.’ his fingers trace the edges of your hair. ‘anyway, i was looking at you through the window. you had three apples in your hands and you were eating one of them.’

even though you can guess it’s going based on the way his voice softens as he tells the story, you want to hear him say it. ‘what’s with the other two?’

‘they were for the kids,’ he whispers, and you’re starting to think the emotion in his eyes might be hope. ‘a girl with your looks and my eyes, loud and everywhere at once. a boy who was a spitting image of me, but his eyes were yours, and so was his personality.’

you smile. you’ve thought about this--a life with jj--but it’s never felt like this. it was always something distant, something in the far future, yet he made it seem as if it has happened already.

‘that’s a nice dream to have.’

‘it was,’ he agrees. ‘i’d like that to be our reality, someday. if you want it, too.’

you chuckle, and place a kiss upon his lips. your hand pats his cheek gently as you smile. ‘for that, you’d need to learn how to cook.’

(he starts learning how to cook the next day. it goes terribly, but that’s not what matters.)

#jj maybank #outer banks #obx #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank imagine #outer banks fanfiction #obx fic #my fic #my imagine #f: obx #c: jj #blurb night

[reneejuliet]

The bells of change.

Author: reneejuliet

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Rating: E (still absolutely nothing)

Word Count: 1,247

Genre: Fluff, Soulmate AU

Author’s Note: Here’s the sequel! Well, I say sequel, but it’s more like an installment. These “pieces” are going to be snippets of a story, as that’s probably all I’ll have time to write out. But I hope you like it! The photo above is edited by me. 

You can read the first part here.

Happy Reading!

You were exhausted.

Two weeks ago, your days had been cinematic. Soaring mountains, neon cities, blooming country sides: they’d all provided breathtaking backdrops for a month’s worth of adventures with your best friend. Your passport still sat carelessly on your desk, pages brimming with the timeline of your travels. The trip had been impulsive, and exhilarating.

And expensive.

Despite all your scrimping and saving and the meticulous planning you had put into the excursion, your bank account had still been stretched incredibly thin. After all, you still had bills to keep up with while you were away experiencing life. Not that you regretted the trip – the very opposite, actually. You’d never known such freedom, such peace. And oh, what you wouldn’t give to be back on a distant shore, toes buried in the sand and bathed in moonlight, watching your friend frolic haphazardly through the dark waters.

Instead, you find yourself back in your studio apartment on the far side of town after another long day at work. Only the light above the stove is there to greet you at this late hour, left on by you to prevent any more stubbed toes or banged shins. After all, the only window you have in your “living room” faces a brick wall attached to a ten-story building. You aren’t exactly familiar with natural lighting.

Still, the apartment is home, and has been for some time now. It may not be conveniently located to your work – 45 minute commute by bus, 30 by taxi if you ever had the money to spare for one – but it’s cheap enough that even with your commuting fees, you manage to come out on top each month. And that’s really all you could ask for. Plus, it’s just you living here, and you’ve never been a flashy kind of person. If anything, the plain, boring space suits you rather well.

You had just thrown your coat over the back of your kitchen chair and dropped your bag onto the counter when the familiar chime of your phone sounds from the confines of your pants. Instinctively, you groaned. You knew that sound.

Another work email.

Even though you had clocked out almost 2 hours ago, your phone had not shut up since you had left the building. Your return from your vacation had been timed perfectly with the start of the busy season, and thus had buried you in orders before you’d even had your first cup of coffee. Ever since, you’d been working longer and longer hours to try and stay afloat. This often meant working off the clock and answering emails from the comfort of your own home.

Needless to say, you’d grown conditioned to hate that particular series of bells.

Tonight, however, you choose to ignore the siren call of work in favor of heating up some leftovers you’d been dreaming about all day. It was Friday, after all. Even if you responded to this beck and call, it likely wouldn’t be received until tomorrow, let alone appreciated by your bosses until the coming Monday because they got to leave work behind when they clocked out. So, screw it. You were taking the rest of the night for yourself.

The food in the microwave, your clothes changed out for a comfy set of pjs, and your laptop tucked under your arm, you settled into your favorite spot on the couch. Flipping the screen open, you punched in your log-in information and waited as your most recent activity reloaded before your eyes. Squinting against the brightness, you’re greeted with the familiar sight of your social media. It’s all kept primarily on your laptop in an effort to maintain your phone for work purposes only, so you’re not surprised that you’d forgotten to close out of the accounts.

As the tantalizing aroma of your food begins to seep out from the kitchen, you flick between accounts to catch up on the latest with your family and friends. You were just about to leave a sarcastic comment on one of your friend’s status updates when another chime rings loudly in your quiet apartment. You jump in surprise, carefully cradling your laptop to prevent a journey to the floor. Instinctively, your eyes shoot to your phone with a glare. But it remains on the counter, where you left it, screen dark with its lack of power.

You look instead to the microwave, tongue sticking out of your mouth in anticipation of your food. Only the glowing red numbers tell you there is still a little over a minute left. Your stomach rumbles grumpily.

Something on the screen between your hands catches your eye, and you look down with your brow drawn in confusion. There is nothing on the page you are currently on, but one of the other tabs is blinking in notification. Clicking on it, your Facebook page loads up in a soft blue glow. And there, up near the top of your screen, is a little red circle indicating that you have a new friend request.

You have not met anyone new lately – there hasn’t been any time for that with work. Anyone of interest from your trip that had warranted exchanging information had added you on their preferred social media platform, none of which had been Facebook. You vaguely remembered a friend mentioning her cousin was moving nearby soon and would likely be scouring her own page for people to add from the area, but that was more than a month ago.

Curiosity winning out, you click on the little red bubble. The menu drops down with the account that has submitted the request. There is no profile picture – hello red flag – but there is a message attached to the request. You click on it, and you choke on your own spit.

Hello, Y/N. Bell girl. I hope you made flight.

You almost have no idea what this message means. Your name could have just been gleaned from your profile, and everything else is random enough to be brushed off as spam. You move the mouse to hover over the delete button. But you hesitate.

Because just across from you, on one of the shelves of your bookcase, sits a little ceramic bell whose chime you have not been able to forget since it literally rained down on you. You’d thought they’d all been cleaned up, but one had managed to fall into the hood of your coat and you unwittingly carried it onto your plane with you. It wasn’t until you were an entire ocean away that you discovered the mistake, at which point it was too late to remedy. You’d stewed in guilt for a day or two, even contemplated tossing the thing out so it wouldn’t remind you of the only theft you’d ever committed.

Then you rang it, and those soft doe eyes were called into your memory. How they glistened as he’d stared at you, the way they crinkled when you’d offered him your name. You hadn’t gotten his, but you hadn’t needed it, either. Because you knew those eyes.

Your own snap back to your laptop and zero in on the requester’s profile name. A rather undignified snort leaves you.

John Cook.

Was he serious? Of course not, because there was no way this was even him. It was some sort of coincidence. At worst, a terrible joke. It had to be.

There was absolutely, positively, no way Jeon Jungkook was adding you on Facebook.

Right?

There it is! I know Jungkook isn’t exactly present in this one, but I wanted to show the reader’s POV more this time. Please let me know what you think. And, if you have any suggestions for the next drabble, feel free to share! I’m pretty positive I’m going to continue this as inspiration hits, but I’m always open to suggestions. Especially when work is draining most of my creativity. Thanks for reading! :)

©reneejuliet 2020. No part of this material may be copied, photocopied, reproduced, reposted, or translated without consent.

#btsghostie #kpop fanfiction #kpop fanfic #kpop drabbles #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts fic #bts drabble #jeon jungkook #jungkook drabble #jungkook fluff #jungkook soulmate au #bts soulmate au #bts fluff #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #jungkook scenarios #the bells of change #reneejuliet

[artificialqueens]

And Everyday: When Life Gives You Lemons, Put Some Vodka in Your Lemonade (Crystal Methyd/Gigi Goode, Jaida Essence Hall/Jan Sport) - Campvanjie

AN: This was originally written for a fic exchange, and posted to AO3 under my now deleted account there on May 1st, 2020. Reposting here, because I’m proud of it, and am clearing old S12 fics from my Google drive. I’m the original author of this work, and there’s absolutely no plagiarism going on!

Summary: Gigi needs a soft place to land after her quarter-life meltdown, and Crystal realizes the happily every after she gave up on, might not be totally out of reach. Meanwhile, Jaida and Jan work on restoring an old barnhouse; because marriage begets home improvement.Prompts: Parenthood AU, Enemies to Lovers, Idiots in Love, and Angst all used to varying degrees.

CW: conversations around divorce/child custody and (past) bullying behavior, character mentions (non-specific) mental health issues as the reason for a past breakup.

-

“- Ugh, anyway, it’s like 3:30, he’s almost an hour late and I don’t know why the fuck I even got all dressed up just to sit at court being looked at like I’m some cheap bitch-”, Gigi grumbled into her phone. It was pressed against her cheek as she tried her best to juggle her purse and a extra-large coffee held in her other hand, her livid glare captured perfectly in the harsh, white light of the bathroom mirror across from her.

“I dunno, maybe because you have to be there? Kind of the mom thing to do.”, Crystal told her, static edging into her voice.

It was a long-distance call after all, and Gigi had fought against her fingers dialing the number almost by muscle memory. She had only relented once she had gotten through the packed hallway of the courts complex, and almost collapsed into what seemed like the only empty bathroom.

Call Crystal, had been the only thing she could think of do, in between beating her palms against the cool, brick walls, and shaking with sobs she refused to shed for fear of ruining her makeup.

Without missing a beat; Crystal had picked up, her voice always high and slowed, syllables enunciated in a way that had trained Gigi into asking for coffee, like it was spelled with a K, calling her son’s name, with the E in the middle a sharp, upward spike.

Crystal, Gigi realized with a start; was who had taught her to gulp in her breaths to hide herself crying, and shove her fist into her front pocket, to keep herself from shaking so much.

“I know. I know you’re right. I just- God, I’m so sick of it. It just want this all to be over so I can go back to what’s important, and stop feeling like my entire world is crashing down around me."

Crystal laughed, a little too dry for it to be genuine. "Hey, Gigi?"

"Hm?"

"If you- if you wanted, maybe you and the little munchkin could visit? Come see me in Missouri, maybe it’ll get your mind off things."

Gigi’s hands stopped underneath the stream of lukewarm water flowing from the faucet, her eyes meeting her reflection in the mirror. She looked like shit, no matter how much her carefully applied façade remained in place, her gaze jittered around the small room and she had never felt so truly tired in her entire life.

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. I mean, me of all people should know something about everything falling apart."

Less than an hour later, Gigi found herself dialing Crystal’s number again. She stood outside the courthouse, her glasses misted from the early- evening rain shower as she waited for her car.

Relinquished. She didn’t know whether to laugh, or cry, or take her parents up on their offer to live in their Florida timeshare and disappear off the face of the planet, too.

"He’s not coming because he filed paperwork to relinquish parental rights two weeks ago. In the eyes of the law, it’s just the two of you.”, her lawyer had told her, after finding Gigi just outside the bathroom. Jackie Cox was always dressed in tweed, pastel, pantsuits, dark hair coiffed in buttery smooth curls at the top of her head, her lips pursed in a thin, straight line, as though she was perpetually exhausted.

Gigi supposed that, being one of the city’s longest-serving family court attorneys would do that to you.

“I don’t know how I missed it on the dockets, but I should have told you first.”, Jackie apologized; her hand warm and steady at the small of Gigi’s back as she walked her client back up the hallway.

Gigi grunted, shrugging her shoulders underneath her jacket. “It’s fin- It wouldn’t have changed anything, Jackie. Really, thanks for everything."

She let herself lean against Jackie, letting one of her oldest friends wrap her arms around her, breathing in the scent of Jackie’s honeysuckle perfume on the courthouse steps.

"I’m sorry this happened-”, Jackie started, and Gigi could feel her heart sink to her stomach.

She had never done well with pity, least of all when she truly deserved it.

“Don’t be. Please, just don’t.”

“What are you going to do now?”, Jackie asked, as Gigi stepped out of her embrace, surveying the street before them that was quickly filling with cars and bikes and buses as the work day finished and school let out for the day.

“Right now? Get in an Uber and hope they don’t charge me triple for being late at daycare again.”

Crystal picked up on the fourth ring, and Gigi could hear the sound of a sink running in the background. Water splashed against metal, and the distinct sound of another woman’s voice, screeching with laughter, buzzed through the speakers of Gigi’s phone.

“Whoo- chile, I’m telling you if you come any closer with that flour, I’m gonna-"

"Shit. Sorry.”, Crystal had muffled the phone against her chest, the static only cutting out when Gigi was sure she had ducked into another room.

“How quickly can you get that guest room set up? I’m pretty sure we can make it for tomorrow if I drive through the night.”

-

“Mom- Mom it’s twelve-thirty-five. It’s way, way, way past your bedtime!”, Destiny crowed from his carseat, kicking at Gigi’s back. His blonde curls were plastered to the side of his face, lips dusted with salt from the bag of chips that Gigi had let him pick out form himself at their last rest stop.

Their entire lives had fit neatly into the sickeningly suburban five-seater that his father had insisted on, the largest luggage case filled with her son’s clothes and bedsheets still having enough room to jostle under his bare feet.

She knew it was impulsive, and stupid, and half-expected the police to pull them over several states away, but as the highways emptied to nothing bur a ribbon of white lines that kept them on the right side of the road, Gigi became more and more convinced she was doing the right thing.    

“My bedtime is five-thirty, kiddo. Yours is eight, so you get to stay up so much later.”, she joked easily, never having had Destiny for so many hours, all by herself in the years since he had started preschool.

“Wait, that doesn’t make sense! It’s eight at night and right now it’s morning! Nobody goes to sleep at five in the morning!”, he shrieked, and giggled at his own reflection in the rearview mirror.  

“That’s when the garbage truck wakes up!”, he added. Gigi didn’t remember, if he had ever talked so much, his voice jarring and so different from the toddler babbles she had recorded, and kept on her phone to watch on her worst days.

Her textile studio had taken up her days, until her partners had grown tired of Gigi stumbling in at eleven in the morning, unable to force herself to care very much about their bottom line, and the grey, dull world outside until Destiny had come to kick her out of bed.

Afterwards, his father would take her nights, the pressure incessant that they be exactly what they looked like- a family that belonged in a catalog, with a perfectly dressed, perfectly quiet child, money to burn and success in spades; drinking from matching flutes of champagne while Destiny was left alone in his basement bedroom with a baby monitor and his collection of stuffed animals.

Gigi faltered in a sea of plastic smiles and shallow conversations, and at the end of the day, all of her friends who had warned her off marrying her senior-year rebound, giving her life over to the promise of a bright, empty future, had been right.

He wanted to live in a dream, where she was only ever a sidekick; their son nothing more to him than a prop to parade, an filled-in item on a checklist that he had given up without a second thought.

Gigi had named him Destiny, because she liked it first, but second, because it had sounded so good with his last name; that she had never even considered having to change it.

Destiny Goode was a name that sounded like a motivational quote from a caveman, and she briefly wondered, merging on to the next interstate her GPS system highlighted- if a six-year-old would remember his name if she changed it right now.

He could be a Garret, or a Jaden, just like every other boy at school.

A fresh slate with no more questions to be asked, and nothing left to tie her perfect boy to Gigi’s worst mistake.

“-So, she’ll be here at nine-thirty, and we’re all going to be nice as fuck and not make it weird, okay?"

Crystal smoothed down the pleats of her skirt with her palms, her legs crossed in front of her at the breakfast table, as her eyes flitted between Jaida and Jan, who both had forks in hand as they enjoyed the chilaquilles that Crystal had set out for their meal, knowing this was going to be a big conversation.

"Chile-”

“Okay, go back to the part where she broke up with you and then ended up married to darksided Warner-"

"Guys!”, Crystal protested, glaring down at her friends.

Jaida and Jan had bought the barn on her family’s property not even weeks after Crystal had agreed to put it on the market, the decrepit, white-washed wood tower an eyesore along the country highway.

They were the closest thing she had to neighbors, in the wide acres of rolling plains that separated everyone by miles along the road, and it hadn’t taken long for the three of them to grow close.

Together, they had carved a guest house out of the front entryway, laying water pipes and television cable; and were working on renovations to turn the barn’s hall into an event space, with glass lanterns hanging high along the rafters that Crystal remembered walking across like a tightrope when she was a child.

Jan drilled in heavy wood planks to form a catwalk that overlooked the barn floor, which you could reach from the outside fire escape, and Crystal had been thrilled to finally put her years of following behind her father to use, toolbox in hand as she sanded down the reinforced beams holding up the roof.

If Gigi hadn’t called her, Crystal and Jan had a day ahead of them of hauling the shingles from a pallet left by the side of the road, in Crystal’s truck up to the barn, while Jaida had her camera, and a full calendar of Senior Portraits to finish before the end of the school year.

“I know it sounds like a lot, but please, please, don’t make it weird. Gigi always…- She always needed everything to go perfectly, and I hate to say it but… I might be her only real friend. Like, ever.”, Crystal told them, biting down on the inside of her cheek.

Gigi, who for the past few years, had been nothing but  a collection of memories that would fire in her brain occasionally, like a slight twinge from an old injury, would be back in the flesh at her doorstep, at any minute. Crystal barely had the time to recruit Jaida’s help in clearing out her guest rooms for Gigi and her son, much less process how she truly felt about offering up her home as their refuge.

Gigi had never responded to the birthday cards she sent for Destiny after his third birthday; barely ever logging into her Facebook page that had been filled with photos of the two of them through college; and seemed to abruptly be cut off after she had gotten married. Occasionally, something would trickle through, a vacation photo of her little family, and anniversary note, a first day at school and a post that asked everyone to go and follow her business page.

For all of the refreshing Crystal did, Gigi’s studio seemed to never upload anything beyond its logo and business hours.

“Nah, listen, I get it, babe.”, said Jaida, a tortilla chip hanging from the corner of her mouth. “People grow and change and we gotta meet them where they’re at."

She nodded towards Jan, who was gulping down her orange juice, with a fond grin. "If you would have told my queen bitch ass when I was in high school, that I would end up married to Miss Team Too Much, I would have stole your man and told the whole school some dirty secret.”, Jaida laughed. “Everybody’s dealing with something, and I was so closeted and angry I was acting a fool for free."

"You were never closeted.”, Jan piped up, her voice rising an octave from normal, making Crystal widen her eyes as she looked to her side.

“Glass closet, honey. Besides, my point is, it’s water under a bridge, whatever we do when we’re young. I love you now.”, she said, pressing a kiss to Jan’s temple as she rose to go take their dishes to the sink. “You ended up turning out to be an amazing woman. I’m sure Gigi’s just the same."

-

The sun was high over the horizon line when Gigi’s car rumbled up the range road, rocks spraying into the grass as her wheels skipped over the pockmarked dirt.

She had taken Destiny to a hotel waterpark with a free breakfast, the absolute joy and shock on his face more than worth being several hours off of the arrival time she had texted Crystal. He was asleep now, only dressed in a pair of shorts and his sneakers, the buckles of his carseat starting to chafe red against his skin.  

Gigi turned left at the barn, towards the yellow-shuttered house she remembered visiting over so many spring breaks and reading weeks, surprised to see two workers, stacking pallets of shingles by the barn door. One was a gorgeous, darker-skinned woman, the sun glittering from the highlights in her hair as she waved over to Gigi, making her grin despite herself.

Crystal’s tiny town had always been welcoming, the huge open expanses of space seeming to make everyone all the more willing to seek a connection- though Gigi would have never guessed that Crystal and her family would ever do anything with the barn, which looked just a little less decrepit than she remembered, so many years later.

She parked by the balcony, just in front of Crystal’s truck, and shook Destiny awake, helping him into the first shirt which she could reach from his bag.

"C'mon, Des. We’re here. Are you excited to say hi to Mom’s friend? She stayed up all night to make you new room!”, she asked, watching as he took in the word around them.

“You have friends?”, he blurted out, so plainly that Gigi couldn’t keep a smile off her face, even if he had probably heard that from a TV show she probably shouldn’t have been letting him see.

“That’s not very nice."

Still, she kissed the top of his head, and helped him out of the car, his tiny hand feeling heavy in hers as they made their way up the stairs to Crystal’s door.

The balcony creaked under their feet, as Gigi raised her hand to press against the doorbell, Destiny tugging against her shirt, pointing up at the colorful strips of cut paper that still adorned the windows, the sun cutting what must have been a stained-glass glow inside the house.

"Snowflakes, like at school!”, he called to her, pressing his face against the windowsill before Gigi pulled him back.

“No, it’s called papel picado.”, Gigi corrected, remembering how Crystal had spent hours at her paper press in the basement of the art rooms in college, a mess of stencils spread across the desk, a chisel and mallet in hand as she studied the pictures her grandmother would send her.

Crystal’s tongue would poke out of her mouth, her pupils blown wide in concentration, oblivious to the darkening sky above her until Gigi would find her, at half-past midnight, standing still wide awake in the middle of confetti slices of cut paper piling around her.

They would kiss, exhilarated and young and alone together, and Gigi would never think anything was wrong until-

“Gigi! Geegs! Look who’s late to their own party!”, Crystal squealed, the door swinging wide open to reveal her; red-brown hair still as wild as ever, piled into a messy ponytail atop her head, and a smile so wide Gigi could see nearly all her teeth. Crystal sparkled with the same craft glitter that had always hung from her fingertips, her cheeks flush as though she’d run from one end of the house to the other.

Her eyes looked bright again, the memory of which was so foreign to Gigi that she took a moment to take it all in, Crystal’s bright skirt and her tight, sleeveless top looking all the more like relics of the summers they had spent together.

“Ahoy.”, she greeted, raising a hand to her forehead in a mock salute.

Crystal giggled.

Giggled, like she always had, and waved them inside with a flourish of her hand.

“Are you mad at me?”, Jaida asked, kicking open the toolbox that she and Jan shared.

They had watched Crystal let the storied Gigi into the house, and decided to occupy themselves with bolting down the side light fixtures in the barn, until whatever was probably going on between their neighbor and ex calmed down enough for Crystal to invite them in.

But, Jan’s temper had grown increasingly short through their day, her drill now clenched in a white-knuckled grip as Jaida held the ladder she was on steady below her, digging in the tool box for the next drill bit she would need.

“Why- the fuck- would I be mad at you?”, she said through gritted teeth, over the sound of the power tool in her hand.

“‘Cause you just said fuck, for one.”, Jaida muttered, her eyes rolling skyward. Her wife had always been a little dramatic, but there was nothing Jaida hated more than the silent treatment, far preferring a knock-down, drag-out, screaming fight to being frozen out for hours with little more than a sharp glance or a silent nodded sent her way.

Jan shrugged her shoulders, her favorite blue and red flannel shirt stretching deliciously tight across her back.

Was Jan teasing her? Was it all some kind of elaborate game that was intended to be finished in their bedroom?

“Well, whatever you’re doing, it’s killing the mood, babe.”, Jaida teased, hoping that Jan would get the hint.

Instead, she dropped the drill from her grip, clattering down the ladder as it bounced on the hard-packed ground. The battery pack popped from the tool’s back, not that Jan could be bothered as she stalked away, ignoring Jaida’s raised eyebrows.

“Hey- hey- you can’t just wreck stuff because you’re having a bad day!”, Jaida called after her wife, looking down at the mess of wires at her feet. “And I don’t know how to fix this shit so-"

She fell silent, as Jan’s steps echoed up the outdoor fire escape, her body disappearing until Jaida could only see the outline of her long, blonde hair, blowing in the wind from the balcony.

"Jan?”, she shouted, following her up the steps. “Hey, I know I fucked up, but you gotta tell me how otherwise I’m not gonna know how to fix it."

"Right.”, Jan scoffed as Jaida rounded the corner, the two of them facing towards Crystal’s house, where a second-floor light flickered on and off several times. “I forgot that everything’s so easy for you, I just have to spell it all out."

"Okay, what does that even mean?"

Jan glowered at her wife, crossing her arms across her chest.

"Why did you tell Crystal the reason you were a bully in high school was because you weren’t out?"

"That’s what this about? Baby-”, Jaida reached forward, her hand only barely touching Jan’s shoulder before her wife flinched away. “I was just trying to make her feel a little better about the whole thing, everything going on with Gigi. I don’t even remember if I was a bully in high school."

"Maybe I do.”, Jan snapped, her eyes flashing up in anger for a split second.

Jaida sighed, looking back over the horizon; where the sun was starting to dip at the back of scattered farmhouses and cottage homes littered accross the plains. “Look- I- I’m sorry and I shouldn’t have brought it up-”

“You’ve never apologized."

"You want me to say sorry?"

It had been years since Jan and Jaida had reconnected, long separated from the people that they had been as children.

Jaida had remembered Jan as an easy target from their first day in kindergarten, a tiny, loud girl who fell into a pattern that followed until Jan had left for college on a musical theatre scholarship, and Jaida had gone to play basketball for a small, comfortable liberal arts college in the heartland. When she had met Jan again; she was another person who shared the same name, at an alumni event where both of them had been invited to promote their respective colleges.

Where Jan had always worn her heart on her sleeve, the woman Jaida had married was confident, and passionate, witty and driven beyond belief.

She hadn’t had a second thought proposing to her, in the middle of the butterfly sanctuary at the zoo in the springtime, kissing her passionately without question at their Central Park wedding, their families both swaying together underneath the canopy of a white tent, to the music of the very first DJ they had found on Google.

"I just want you to- admit that it happened.”

“You’re acting like this was a big deal.”, Jaida groaned. “Baby, we were kids."

"It was a big deal. I thought about the stupid shit you and your friends said, for years after- and you don’t know what that was like."

"Okay- I-”

Jaida sighed, laying her hands on the railing that rounded the balcony, squeezing the metal rung tightly against her palms, the fight seeping out of her as she studied her wife, who looked on the verge of tears.

“Jan- baby, hey, I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.”

Silence fell between them, the sound of the crickets the only thing that cut in between their breaths. Jan buried her face in her hands, elbows resting against the railing beside her wife.

“I know. It’s just, that stuff adds up sometimes.”

She pressed herself into her wife’s shoulder, letting her head rest against Jaida’s arm.

“It adds up the other way around, too. Don’t think it doesn’t.”, Jan whispered, and Jaida finally let go of a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding in, her arm snaking around to rest around her wife’s waist. “It’s just a lot of work.”

“Then I’ll work on it, baby. Just tell me what you need.”

Gigi was surprised, at how instantly familiar Crystals kitchen was, breakfast leftovers heaped on top of Destiny’s plate while she quietly accepted a Diet Coke, sipping at the flat beverage as she finally began to relax. Gigi could tell her son was starting to feel sleepy, his eyes losing focus even as he kept lifting his fork to his mouth.

“Cielito.”, Crystal cooed, as she ruffled his curls, passing by the two of them as she moved to shutter the blinds in the kitchen. Destiny clearly thrived under the attention, and Gigi wondered if he had always craved touch, or if he was only a child who was excited by all of the new things around him. The heat was sticky, and Crystal’s brightly painted walls made the whole house look even more like an eternal birthday party, the fridge covered with photos and magnets.

Crystal had never learned to speak Spanish, at least as far as Gigi knew, having begged Crystal to help her pass her class for months when they had been roommates, but she supposed, she must have picked up more of it, with all the time she must have spent with her family afterwards.

“Where are you Mom and Dad?”, Gigi asked, swirling her straw in her Diet Coke. “I should say hi, right?"

Crystal shrugged. "We could Facetime? They were back in Mexico for a while after my Dad got sick, but right now they’re travelling Europe, living the old people dream. I’m sure my Mom still misses you."

Gigi took a deeper breath, her lips pursed as she watched Crystal dump dirty dishes in the sink.

"Is um- are you getting the barn demolished? I saw a couple people working on it outside."

"Oh, that’s just Jan and Jaida. They live there. I sold it a few months ago, and they’re trying to turn it into, like, a wedding hall. You’d love them- they’re the gayes-”, she paused, looking down at Destiny as he tipped his glass of orange juice into his mouth. “They’re super, super in love, and so gross."

Gigi could feel herself start to blush, even though she had started having that conversation with her son almost as soon as he had started to learn to talk.

"I usually have them over for dinner, so you can say hi."

Gigi coughed, swallowing the question that had been at the tip of her tongue since she had spoken to Crystal the day before.

"So? are you seeing anyone?”, she asked.

Crystal shook her head. “I’m not really looking.”, she said. “Still putting the cry in Crystal!”, she laughed. “And you were right, I wouldn’t want to put that on anyone else."

"I- ”, Gigi bit back her reply, not quite knowing if this was a talk she wanted to have, with her son arranging chips on his plate not two feet in front of her.

“Hey- buddy”, Crystal tapped on Destiny’s shoulder, nudging him with her hip. “Go wash your hands in the bathroom. It’s the one with the fish on the door and Star Wars on the curtain."

He looked back up at his mother, Gigi giving him a curt nod of approval as he skittered up the hallway.

"He’s a cute kid, you know? You’re doing a good job.”, she told Gigi, pushing the boy’s chair back in.

“Yeah… mostly not my job, but I’ll pass it on to our last nanny."

Gigi had stood with their plates, following Crystal to the sink where she happily plunged her arms into the hot, soapy bubbles, not caring very much for how her shirtsleeves got soaked in the water, navy fabric clinging to her wrists.

"Seriously. Gigi- look at me.”, Crystal reached around her, shutting off the faucet with a decisive clicking noise. “I don’t blame you for being twenty-one and not sticking around after I flipped out because I didn’t know how to deal with college, and real life and everything. It’s a day by day thing.”, she shrugged, reaching to open a cabinet and put the glasses in the drying rack away.

Crystal’s body was almost uncomfortably close, pressing into Gigi’s side like she remembered them being like, when they had shared their first apartment, having barely enough room for two people in between the fridge and the stove.

“Some days are better than others. But it’s-”, she paused, and smirked, her lips curling into the same wicked grin that Gigi could never shake from her memories, no matter how hard she tried. “No offense, but you’re not important enough for it to have been your fault."

"Oh, that’s how it’s gonna be, huh?”, Gigi couldn’t help but laugh, shaking her head. “Kick a girl when she’s down?"

"Or, some people just have shitty brain chemistry, and other people are assholes. Stop thinking it’s all on you all the time, you absolute flaming fuck-up.”, Crystal told her, her words softening behind her smile.

“Maybe don’t say flaming, but I did fu-"

Destiny padded back into the room, rubbing at his eyes. "Is it adult time yet?”, he asked, his tiny mouth yawning open. “Everyone’s saying all the bad words."

Crystal snickered, turning her undivided attention back to rinsing out the sink, her back turned to the both of them as if to say Gigi was on her own with that one.

"Good night, I guess.”, she muttered, shuffling across the tile towards him.

“See you tomorrow, Geegs. Just don’t forget, there’s always that.”

-

Gigi laid in bed with Destiny resting half on her chest, her son not wanting to leave her side, once the novelty of their adventure had worn off, and he had started to realize that there was a certain kind of permanence, to Crystal’s rainbow-colored walls, to the laughter from the kitchen that came from Jan and Jaida, who had eyed Gigi with enough suspicion to let it be known to her that she was absolutely not welcome in whatever little world they had built.

Okay, maybe the last bit was just in her head, and she could just introduce herself properly at breakfast the next morning- but she had still jumped at the chance to lock herself in Destiny’s appointed bedroom, pretending that he would need her to fall asleep, even though he had only wanted to cuddle before passing out completely the second that she dimmed the lights.

She scrolled through her phone, mindlessly as her son shifted in her arms, the message bubble beside his father’s name still lit up red with unread texts, that she skipped through to flick past her Instagram feed, landing on Crystal’s profile at the very bottom of her following list. The very first account which she had followed, years ago, and the very last that she kept up with, the creeping intimacy of being under Crystal’s roof, trying to piece together the life she had dropped out of, thicker than the heat of the air around her.

Crystal’s photos were all filtered through something that made them look brighter, more vibrant than the rainy afternoons and damp wetlands that they featured in the background, the captions all long, effusive essays about the importance of showing up to vote, or the beauty of the creek behind her house in the summertime. The most recent photo, featured her lying in a bed of sunflowers, grinning up at the sky, eyes half-shut against the sunlight.

Don’t look right into a solar eclipse!, the caption started, followed by at least a dozen laughing emoji faces, alternating with bright pink flowers. Sometimes life just punches you in the face, dummy! And you just gotta deal with it anyway. Don’t waste a second!

Gigi chuckled, locking the phone and laying it back on the bedside table, trying to move as little as possible as she turned off what was left of the light in the bedroom, and drew herself closer to her son in her arms.

His breathing was steady, his hands reaching for her hair in his sleep.

“Okay, kiddo. I got you.”, she said to nobody in particular, sinking lower in the sheets so she could tuck them tighter around him.

There’s always tomorrow, she could hear Crystal telling her, her voice clear as the dream Gigi was starting to slip into.

The next morning, she would start putting everything back together again.

#rpdr fanfiction #gigi goode #crystal methyd #jaida essence hall #jan sport #crygi #jaida x jan #lesbian au #hurt/comfort #parenting au #s12 #angst #fluff #campvanjie #tw mentions of divorce #tw mention of mental illness