#i initially said roast 'or' but that would be wrong

[terr-hedgehog]

Roast AND be roasted, I guess.

#i initially said roast 'or' but that would be wrong #obi wan took a shot made it and regretted it #sorry its a big jpeg #tumbolr was being fucky #sw #star wars fanart #ewan mcgregor #fanart #digital art #obi wan kenobi #star wars #anakin skywalker #hayden christensen #darth vader #leia organa #thor #thor ragnarok #3k #1k #2k #4k #taika waititi #kenobi spoilers #deinogalerix content

[kingdumkum]

WHERE THE RIVER MEETS THE SEA

this has been a long, long time coming. hopefully it’ll live up to the obscenely high expectations i’ve set. agree or disagree, please reblog/comment/send an anon with your thoughts--but make sure you read the RULES of interaction first.

summary: your date stood you up… again. Don’t worry, though, Baji will be there to pick up the pieces, like he always is. The only question… what will you do when you find out his secret? wc: 15k (we don't talk about it)

cw: virgin fem afab!reader x virgin!Baji, a lil itty bitty baby bit of blood, somewhat public (initially), bc why not, marking, creampie, Confessions galore, somewhat gendered pet names (princess, babe, sweetheart), actually gendered pet names (one handful of "good girl," "pretty girl," and "my girl"), subtle yandere themes but not to the extent a DC label is needed—correct me if I’m wrong though—be nice if I missed something, this is my first time :) way too many words but c’est la vie such is the way.

dedication: Storm, my friend, your support and advice has made me a better writer. Without you, this would probably still be sitting in my drafts, collecting dust and every hateful thought I’ve ever had about my writing. Thank you for being you and all of your aid in getting this to where it is. 💛

Your coffee’s cold when you give up. Well—second coffee, to be precise; the first you’d ordered after Tadashi said he was a few minutes away. That one had grown cold too, but the barista, taking pity, had given you a piping hot refill—for free.

It feels like an insult when she offers you a third.

An hour and a half has passed since Tadashi said he’d be there, and… well, you were still kinda hoping he might show up. But when the manager approaches with a tight-lipped smile, not-so-kindly pointing at their hours plastered ever so neatly on the glass door and indicating they’re just a few minutes to closing, your hope ebbs entirely.

The heat in your cheeks could’ve rewarmed your cup—but not one to cause a scene, you offer a tight-lip smile of your own and apologize. You don’t explain that you were waiting for someone; the pitying look in the barista’s eye as she mouths sorry and slides the unwanted third cup your way says they know.

You slip into the bathroom, wondering how in the world you could be so stupid— again. This was your third first date in three months… and the third time in three months that you’ve been stood up. 

It hurts more when you check your phone. Two new messages from Emma, asking how it’s going and if you want to grab dinner to dish; one from Draken, asking if you can bring back a vanilla frappe and a triple dark roast espresso with two pumps of caramel; one from Baji, saying he might be late to pick you up, but he’d be there, and could you get him an order of whatever you’re having?

Nothing from Tadashi.

You don’t respond, instead letting your phone rest against the mirror while you stare at your reflection and try, desperately, to convince yourself it isn’t your fault.

Everything had been going great—you thought. You thought he really liked you, that he was excited to get to know you, and that this one, this one for sure would show up. You made jokes that he found funny, you were just the right amount of flirty, and you knew—thought—hoped—the picture you’d sent of your outfit (a simple sundress that accentuated your best features and wedges that made your legs seem endless) was enticing enough that he’d want to see it in person.

But here you are. Crying in the bathroom of a cafe you’ll never be able to return to, wondering how you’re going to explain to your friends that you got stood up.

Again.

Your phone starts to buzz. With a deep breath, you wipe off your dripping mascara. You force yourself to smile at the hollow reflection staring back at you, then answer with an overly-cheerful, “what’s up?”

“Kenny’s worried.” Baji’s familiar drawl echos, making the space seem even smaller. “I said he was being too overprotective, but—well, you know how he is. Said it’s his duty or some shit to make sure you’re okay. He tried to come down here himself, wanted to meet the guy trying to woo you—can you believe that? He actually said woo—“

“What do you want?” you interrupt. Too harsh, you realize when Baji doesn’t answer. “It’s just—I’m kinda in the middle of something, you know?” 

Baji takes a moment, then forces a laugh. “Yeah, yeah, the little princess’s got a date, we know. God, they wouldn’t let it go. You should be thanking me, ya know, I’m the only reason they’re not all crashing—”

“Baji.”

The line falls quiet. Then, softly, “where are you, y/n?”

You frown and start searching for your mascara. “At the coffee shop. Why, where are you?”

Another pause. This one heavier. With the phone tucked to one ear, you slowly swipe the wand over your lashes. It’s clumpier than you usually like, but it’s better than nothing—

“I’m outside.”

Fuck.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he echoes. You mouth another fuck, heart plummeting, then start reapplying your mascara. More carefully, now that you’re out of time. “I, uh—I’ve been here. A while.”

“Oh… yeah?” you question, teeth starting to grind. “How long’s a while?”

Baji clears his throat. “Long enough. You gonna come out, or are ya gonna make me come in?”

Mascara gets tossed in your purse, gloss comes out. “You’re not exactly welcome in the ladies room, Baji.”

You can picture the dangerous curl in his smile when he replies, “not without an invitation, babe—why, you asking?”

Your laugh isn’t completely real, but not unnatural, either. You hover the gloss over your lips, and for a moment, you imagine what it’d be like. To sneak someone into the bathroom, kissing until your lips start to bruise, his hands playing with the hem of your dress, his lips marking your skin, his voice whispering your name…

You shake the thought away. There’s no point in getting your heart broken twice in one day.

“Three’s a bit of a crowd for a single stall,” you deflect. “Be out in a minute.”

Baji hums. Your gloss feels too thick, but you don’t take it off. You fluff your hair again, placing it the way you like, turning your necklace so the clasp faces the right way, lips smacking together once, twice, three times—

By the time you run out of things to do, you think you’re ready. You pick up your purse and give yourself a final once-over. Pretty, you think. Doesn’t look like you spent the last seven minutes sobbing in a public restroom.

When you exit, Baji’s still on the line, but he doesn’t hang up. You know, because the teasing, “well shit, babe, if I had known you’d worn that, I would’ve come two hours ago,” echoes; once from your phone, and the other from the man himself, standing right in front of you.

You laugh, and this one isn’t forced at all.

Baji’s smile gleams in the evening sun. A low wolf-whistle causes your face to warm pleasantly—the way it should have, when you met Tadashi. You take Baji’s extended hand, not flinching when his callouses rub against your soft palms. 

You’re used to their roughness. Much like the others, Baji’s always been a hands-on friend (and fighter), so over the years, you’ve gotten used to the various bumps, cuts, and jagged edges, to the extent that the only hands that’ve ever felt comfortable have been those rough ones, soft only for you. 

Baji spins you, over-exaggerating the way he checks you out. “Sweetheart, you’re going to stop traffic looking like that.”

“Oh, please,” you deny, but your smile hasn’t been this genuine all day. “Laying it on a little thick, Baj.”

“Only the realest truth for the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen,” is his sly reply, accompanied by a slyer wink. It’s his usual charm, but you’re oblivious to his sincerity, the way you always are. Baji pulls you into a tight hug and closes his eyes, and for a moment, he allows himself to pretend this was your intention all along; to wind up in his arms, with his compliments, by his side—the way it always seems to go after every failed date.

But you never say as much, and you always seem so genuinely excited for the next one that he’s never going to ask. Instead, he’ll take these moments. The ones where you turn to him for comfort, where he gets to hold you, your knight-in-shining-armor, and do all that he can to make everything better.

He’s so close that you almost miss his muffled whisper of, “fucking—stupid bastard. Doesn’t know what he’s missed.”

Your smile slips. Your thumb rubs against the back of his knuckles, familiarly cracked with scabs that never seem to heal. These are fresh, though; you can tell by how his hand darts to the back of his neck, preventing you from looking too closely. 

“Been up to no good?” you question with a raised brow.

“‘Course I have,” he responds easily, “you’ve been busy.”

Baji won’t meet your gaze. ‘If only you knew,’ he thinks—but he’ll never say it. Not that. Not to you. He shrugs off his black leather jacket and drapes it over your shoulders, fingertips lingering as he straightens the collar. His dark eyes flick to yours, a coy smirk almost hiding his guilt as he hopes beyond all hope you don’t see through him.

You almost do.

Not enough to call him out on it, though, so instead, you roll your eyes—but you can’t deny how this—him—is making everything better. He picks up the helmet he only brings when he’s driving you and puts it on for you, visor up so he can brush the hair out of your eyes. Baji offers a comforting smile, then juts his chin to his bike. “Wanna ride?”

The answer, of course, is yes; for him, it will always be yes.

Silently, you climb on and wrap your hands around him, chin tucking into his shoulder as if you were made to be there. He revs and pulls off, seamlessly weaving in and out of traffic. Your eyes close. The wind whips in your hair, and the familiar scent of nicotine, mint, and Baji’s crisp aftershave envelopes you. For a moment, you feel like everything’ll be okay. Your heart might hurt now, but after an evening with him, it’ll all be okay.

That’s the power of Keisuke Baji, though; the sense of embarking on your greatest adventure but feeling like being home, all at once.

It’s nearly sunset when he stops. Pulls up to the river, kicks the bike stand, then grabs your waist to lift you off the seat.

“I can do that,” you say, even as you let him lift you.

“More fun when I do,” he replies with an easy grin. Your feet hit the ground, but Baji keeps one hand around your waist. He takes off the helmet with the other and laughs when your hair flops out. Hurriedly you go to smooth it, but Baji catches your wrist after setting the helmet down. “You don’t have to do that. Not with me.”

He cages you between the bike and his hips with just a few inches of space—and suddenly, your heart starts to race. When did he get this close? How hadn’t you noticed the way his leg slid between yours? Why isn’t he taking his hand away? Why can’t you breathe?

Baji’s dark eyes dart between yours, then down to your lips, and for a second, for a split second, you think he’s about to kiss you—

“Not like anything can make it better now,” he smirks, and if it weren’t for how his fingers were locked in yours, you would’ve slapped him.

“Asshole.” 

Baji laughs, and you swear the moon shines a little brighter. You’re grateful that he turns to check out the area before he can see just how much of an impact his laugh has on you—though you don’t doubt that he knows. He’s Baji, after all, and you’re not blind (or deaf). He’s handsome, witty, flirty with anything that moves—and that laugh of his could bring even the tides to a standstill.

“Coast’s clear,” he says, looking back at you, a lazy smirk curling his features. It shouldn’t be a surprise, hardly any ever comes this far south of the city—but a few weeks ago, you’d accidentally stumbled upon a couple who were… not expecting company, to put it delicately, and ever since, Baji had been extra cautious to make sure it was just the two of you before getting settled.

He takes a few steps backwards, leading you to your spot; a grassy knoll that overlooks the river as it feeds into the darkened sea. The moon slowly rises over rolling waves while the sun, more a memory, sets over the river’s bend. It’s a secret, sacred place for the two of you, where heartache and daydreams don’t exist; only the moon, the tides, and each other.

Your stomach flips but you can’t tell why; this is exactly what happens every time you come here, from the way he helps you off the bike to how he stops you from picking at your appearance. The only difference is the way his hand is still wrapped in yours. 

You wonder if Tadashi’s would have been this warm. 

But Tadashi isn’t here—Baji is, and it’s Baji’s warm hands that always make things better. So you let him keep his hand in yours, even though you’re not sure you should, and you let him gently tug you along when you don’t move fast enough. Let him take his time in taking his jacket back, in spreading it on the grass before waiting for you to sit. You even let him settle next to you, instinctively leaning into the familiar comfort of his body and for a minute, you wonder how you ever could’ve wanted your day to end different.

Then Baji meets your gaze, smiles that sweet, genuinely kind half smile that he only shares with you, and you remember: Baji is your friend—and no matter how many heartaches he heals, that’s all he’ll ever be.

You can’t remember when things got so complicated.

When it was just you and Kenny, you’d sneak up to the roof of the brothel and watch the sun dip behind the buildings and talk about how one day, you’d get a house that was that color pink, and it’d be on the far side of Japan where you could watch the sunset from your porch and life would be good. The sunset was the only dream you’d ever need, and it would be good.

Then Mikey started coming. More often than not he’d fall asleep before the sun did, and on the days he didn’t—the roof felt too… small. The dreams, too… little. They evolved, from a porch where you could watch the sunset to a skyline that never sleeps.

Dreams change, and that’s okay… but a part of you aches for the time when the sunset felt like enough—when the family you had, the brothers you’d found and the friends you’d made—was enough. You still had the sunset, but rarely. More often than not, you were by yourself up there, or stuck to Kenny’s side somewhere out there, or brushing against Baji’s shoulder down here.

So these days, you prefer to watch the moon rise. There’s more comfort in a light to guide you through the night, rather than watching your dreams disappear with the day.

And you do, the way you do every time you’re stood up or don’t feel—enough. You sit beside Baji with the full moon crawling towards you, staring at the conjunction of the river and the sea, and focus on how you’re going to get through this.

Baji cut his hair since the last date—the last time you’d been stood up, you correct. Still long, but now only to the edge of his jaw, not mid-back like you were used to. The light is bright behind him, bringing out the warm undertones in his onyx hair. You can make out the scab on his cheek from a bar fight a few weeks ago; the scar on his nose from when Mikey split it the first time they fought; the tender bruise along his jaw that looks too new to have told you the story yet.

Instinctively, you reach for it… then chicken out, instead teasing the edge of his hair. You’re left wondering if an angel’s wings would be as soft.

Baji glances at you from the corner of his eye. “You don’t like it?”

“What? I didn’t say that.” Your hand falls back to your lap, eyes quick to follow. The light behind him is too bright—too blinding. Too much like a halo. It’s impossible to hide the truth from an angel, and you know you don’t have the right words to convey just how beautiful you find him. “Just… gonna take some getting used to. I don’t think you’ve ever had it this short.”

He scoffs. “Maybe at birth.”

The idea of baby Baji flashes through your mind; sweet, chubby cheeks, little fists flailing at the world. A tuft of hair, dark as his and long already, but when he opens his eyes, they’re yours—

“Why’d you cut it?” your voice is steadier than you expect. It does nothing to change your thoughts, especially when Baji’s slender fingers start pulling at grass, just the way a baby grasps what's in front of him.

He stares straight ahead, letting one hand splay by your lower back as he watches the green blades dance in the wind. “Figured it was time for a change.”

You hmm in acknowledgement, brain too traitorous to come up with anything other than, ‘I bet you were a cute baby’ or ‘you look handsome either way’ or, worst of all, ‘why would you ever want to change?’

He probably meant nothing by it. Baji’s as flexible as they come; sets his own hours at the shop, varies what time he wakes or goes to bed, never eats the same thing too many times in a row… there’s not much permanency in his life as it is, so it sticks with you that he still wants something different.

If he thinks you’re being weird, he doesn’t say so. He waits for you to speak, like always, and like always, you find yourself loving him a little more for it. Baji’s so—quick; to judge, to speak, to fight… but in these moments, when it’s the two of you and the moon and no one else, he’s not. He’s slow; slow to speak, slow to touch, slow to pull away…

Slow to make you wonder why you keep wasting time with boys who don’t deserve it when he might be enough.

The silence becomes too much; too easy to drown in. Too tempting to fill with all the wrong things.

“What happened to your jaw?” is the best you come up with.

It’s no surprise when he answers, “got into a fight,” but how he says it… how he immediately ducks his head and covers the darkening bruise with a broad palm, as if he’d forgotten all about it and wished you would, too… that makes you pause.

One tenet of your relationship is that you don’t lie to each other. There are often times you wish he would, like when Chifuyu teases him about the pretty girl at the pet shop who came back and asked for the number of the flirty hunk who sold her a dog collar and Baji admits she was pretty cute and he’ll take her to drinks tomorrow night, or when Kazutora reminds Baji that he promised to go on a double date with the twins they met clubbing so no, he can’t take a look at that leaky pipe in your bathroom—but you’d never say that. Not when he could, so easily, call you out for keeping your own.

So when he goes out of his way to not have to tell you the truth, you know better than to push.

“Did it hurt?”

Baji looks to you with a cocky smile. “You should see the other guy.” You snort. Baji knocks his shoulder into yours. “I’m good, really. Just… had some business, s’all.”

It’s supposed to be comforting, but it’s not. It only flares your curiosity… and honestly? Your annoyance. “I hadn’t realized a pet shop needed such security.”

Baji barks out a laugh. “I mean, you’ve seen how crazy some people get about their pets, ‘specially when they think Dr. Google is a better resource than Chifuyu’s degree… but nah, this was… off the books.” He catches your inquisitive gaze and offers a smile, but it’s more like a grimace in the lowlight. His hand creeps closer, fingers pressing into your back, and for a moment, you’re willing to let it go. He gently grazes the middle of your spine. “It’s done, alright? Finished. Won’t happen again.”

You know he’s lying because he holds you close, the way he only does when he thinks you’re about to leave.

But you don’t leave; you never leave. You just give him a withering glare you know he can’t see, then turn back to the ocean.

You hate this feeling. The one where the world becomes unsteady, and everything you’d been trying to keep buried since you were thirteen sneaks up on you. That horrid, awful, destructive fascination and jealousy and yearning that’s plagued you since Baji first bragged about stealing a kiss from the pretty girl that lived three floors above him and only gets worse every time he mentions someone new.

Going on dates was supposed to squash this. Meeting a nice guy, having a good time, and getting a kiss or two of your own was supposed to end this. This—obsession—you’ve had since the first time Baji said he hopes that one day, you meet the right guy and you accidentally thought, ‘maybe it’s you.’ Because at the end of the day, he’s the one who’s there. Not Tadashi, who couldn’t even be bothered to show up. Not Draken, who recently started putting Emma above all else (even you). It’s been Baji, your Baji, whose mere existence makes everything better, that’s been the last one standing.

You can’t ruin that. You can’t risk pushing away the only companion who still puts you first for something you’re positive you can find somewhere else.

At least, that’s what you have to tell yourself, as yet another date fails and Baji is here, again, picking up the pieces and making you feel more whole than when the day started.

The sky is nearly dark when you finally ask the question that’s been on your mind since the barista gave you that pity cup—the one that’s probably still sitting in the bathroom, the last witness to your heartbreak. Just as alone and unwanted as you. 

“What’s… wrong with me?”

Baji’s sharp. He alway has been, from the stern angle of his nose to the feral way his teeth carve like a predator’s. He watches everything—the road, the fighters, you—with a scrutiny that’s often clouded behind cheshire grins and snide quips.

But there’s nothing sharp about him tonight; only soft. Soft hands that gently grab your chin and force you to look at him. Soft breathes as he pulls you close. Soft words as he makes sure you hear him whisper, “nothing.” 

Baji’s eyes, dark and teeming with something you can’t place, move from one eye to the other; to the fingers on your cheek; to your tongue, wetting your lips. He leans in, forehead resting against yours as his hand slides back, gripping your hair like you're his lifeline and not the other way around, and you’re back to thinking okay, this is it, he’s going to kiss me, he’s finally going to kiss me—

But all he does is repeat, “absolutely—fuckin’ nothing, alright? And—‘n fuck whoever makes you feel otherwise,” before resuming his seat like nothing happened.

You let go of a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. It’s stale and hot and full of fury, your fury, and suddenly, you can’t take it anymore.

“Fuck you, Keisuke.”

“What?” Baji scrambles for your arm as you abruptly stand, too furious to even look at him. You rip away but don’t stop, trying to will the stupidness of—whatever this is—to go away, to release you so you can go back to feeling better and right and whole. “Wait—come on, I didn’t—what did I say? Did I do something? Where the hell are you going?”

“Forget it!” you snap. His every question—the fact he wants to make it right even though he’s the reason it hurts—just makes it worse. “Just—leave it alone, alright? It obviously doesn’t matter—” 

This time when he grabs your arm, he doesn’t let you leave. He pulls you in to him, nearly crashing you into his chest as he holds you in place.

“Damnit, y/n, what the hell? What did—why are you being like this?” For the first time tonight, he meets your eyes without falter. He tucks a hand under your chin, all but pries your eyes open himself to search for what you're hiding. You try shrugging out of his iron grip, but he’s too strong. “What did I do?”

“Nothing—” You’re horrified at the way your voice cracks. “Fucking—nothing, Baji, you did nothing—“

“Then why’re you so fucking mad, hunh? Why’re you acting like I’m the bad guy here?” His fingers tighten. It would’ve hurt, if you weren’t so angry. “I’m not the asshole who stood ya up—I’m not the one who’s been dickin’ everyone around, pretending like everything’s fine when I know, Draken knows—even fuckin’—Pah-chin—can tell that something’s wrong—“

“You’re calling me an asshole?” you gasp incredulously. “Are you fucking serious?” 

“Yes!” he retorts hotly—then, upon realizing how horribly angry you’re growing, quickly backtracks, “I mean—no! Actually, no, you know what, I did mean yeah, because guess what, princess? You are acting like an ass! You’ve got—all these people who wanna be here for you, I want to be here for you, and all you’re doing is getting mad at me for it—”

“What do you want me to say, Baji?” It’s useless, trying to get free, but that doesn’t stop you from trying. “That I’m—heartbroken—at being stood up—again? That I’m done with dating, that I’m giving up, that everyone fucking sucks but I must suck worse—”

“They don’t deserve you—”

“Like hell!” Your tone is scalding. It must burn him just as bad, because a single lapse in his grip lets you rip your arm away. “That’s the whole goddamn point of dating, jackass, to figure out who’s worth what—and all this has shown is that I’m not worth it, to anyone.” You slam your hands against his chest, tears stinging your lash line. If you weren’t so angry, you might not have missed how his face falters when you push him away. “And you just—sitting there, and—and holding me like that, and—and telling me that I’m not the problem when I’m the only common denominator—you’re such a fucking liar—”

“You think it’s any easier for me?” he’s quick to yell, frustration making him bare his teeth like fangs. Anyone else would’ve cowered—but you stand your ground. Place two hands on his chest and shove, hard, forcing him back as he continues, “you think it’s any easier to see you gettin’ your hopes up, to freak out over what to text, what to wear, what to do—all for those fuckin’ dickweeds? Hunh? Guys who can’t even—spell your name right, or remember what your favorite flower is, or fucking—show up? You think it’s any fucking easier seeing you so goddamn upset over someone who doesn’t even deserve to breathe the same air as you, let alone spend time with you–be with you? Because it’s not, sweetheart!”

The sweet pet name that usually makes your heart skip a beat only aggravates you further. Your hands go from shoving to slamming, open palms against the hard muscle of his chest—but he doesn’t even flinch. Just catches your wrists before you can do it again and stares, like you’ve started speaking in tongues. “Oh, poor Baji, must be hard, hunh, thinking no one’s good enough, thinking everyone’s so lucky as to have people throwing themselves at them left and right—but newsflash, Keisuke, not all of us are like you! Not all of us have the ability to pick whoever we want, some of us actually have to work at it—“

“Stop working on the wrong guys then!”

“You’ve never even met them, how would you know—“

“Because they let me stand in the way!”

The world stills. 

You can’t place why; why this feels like a sucker punch, why your heart is suddenly skipping beats–why you can’t tell if this hurts. Not until Baji’s grip tightens, then his eyes widen, and you have a sneaking suspicion you know where this is going—but still, you ask, “what?”

He doesn’t respond. He can’t.

He lets go of you, though every fiber in his being begs him to stay. He takes a step back, though his heart pleads for him to wrap you in his arms and hold you close and tell you the truth, about what he did, why he did it, why he can’t bring himself to regret it…

He has to turn his back to you, to stare at the waves crashing along the sand as he tries to process just how badly he’s fucked this up and if there’s any possibility for redemption. It’s too late to lie. Too late to try and salvage this.

He’s made his bed; it’s time to lie in it.

Baji sighs–or something close. Something choked, not quite a laugh but also not quite a sob. Something is stuck in him, and even with the ice in your veins, you piece it together. Somehow, this—the failed dates, the heartache, the loneliness—it's all his fault.

Still, you have to ask. “What the hell are you talking about?”

You try making the venom in your voice match that in your blood, but you can’t. Not when he looks so—defeated. He runs his hands through his hair, doing a miserable job of either pretending he can’t hear you or attempting to buy enough time to come up with a plausible lie—though you don’t need him to. Not when his actions say enough.

It’s your turn to reach for him. Your turn to grab his arm, to keep him in place. You want to hold on to your anger, but the way his hands are shaking makes it impossible.

You draw him close, voice gentle as you say his name. You reach for his cheek, keeping his hands still with one of yours, and you tilt his head; he lets you tilt his head so that he has no choice but to look at you. 

When your gazes meet, you wait.

“I had to,” he eventually says. His voice is steady, but his hands aren’t. His fingers wrap around your wrists tightly, as if he’s afraid you might try leaving—but your grip on him is equally tight. “They weren’t good for you. They were jerks, and they were only going to break your heart, and I couldn’t let that happen. Not to you. I had to—I had to.”

“Had to… what?” He doesn’t answer, not until you prompt, “had to what, Baji?”

“Don’t—” he breathes. “Don’t… call me that.” His eyes close, and he leans into the palm on his cheek. For a moment, you pretend that he’s memorizing the feel of you, as if he’s scared to lose you—but that can’t be it. Keisuke Baji isn’t afraid of anything.

You’re not sure what’s more painful: the knots in your stomach or the hope in your heart. “Tell me what you did,” you muster up. “Keisuke, tell me what you did.”

When his eyes finally open, all of his anger is gone. In its place is something you’ve rarely seen, and even rarer directed at you: desperation.

“I stopped them.”

For a moment, all you hear is your own heart… then the waves of truth come crashing down.

“I—I found them, and I swear on my life, on your life—I only meant to talk to them, to figure out if—if they had good intentions, if they were gonna treat you right—but they all sucked, y/n, they were awful—going on and on about how they were—how they wanted to—to fuck you, just to say they could—or they weren’t—serious about how they felt and I couldn’t—I couldn’t let them do that, I couldn’t let them hurt you like that, so I… I hurt them first. Not—not much, just enough so they’d—get the idea. Leave you alone. Stay away from my girl—”

He cuts himself off, and for a moment, you’re frozen. You don’t know what to do, what to think—is this real? Is he saying what you think he’s saying? Does he really mean it?

Baji’s voice cracks when he says your name.

“Y/n, listen—listen to me,” he pleads. His forehead presses against yours. Your cheeks grow wet, though you can’t tell if that’s because of you or him. “You are—the most amazing person in this whole freaking world. You get that? You’re—smart, and pretty, and so fucking funny and—and anyone who can’t see that is an idiot. And it fucking—kills me—that you’ve got it in your head that what these—stupid pricks think is the only thing that matters, because it’s not. It’s never mattered. The only thing—the only thing that has ever mattered… is you. Okay? You.”

Your throat closes. Your hands reach for his, catching only wrists as he cradles your face, trying to ground yourself in this moment. In all the things he says and all the things he doesn’t; in the silent, desperate dream that refused—refuses—to die, taking over you once more.

“I’d say I’m sorry, but I’m not.” His lips are so close, they brush your nose. “I’d say I regret it, but I don’t, because— you deserve better. You deserve the world, if you want, or—or the moon and all the stars, and—and unless they’d get it for you, they don’t deserve you. Okay? None of them deserved you.”

You’re just a hair away from kissing him, from caving to the impulses you thought were dead and gone and hopeless all these years, and the worst possible sentence sinks out: “you’re an idiot, Kei.”

Then you lean forward and kiss him.

In an instant—you feel whole. You feel right, in a way you haven’t since you decided you never had a chance with him; in a way you’ve been searching for in the words of all the others who’d let you down, who’d broken your heart and always, always, always led you back to moonrise with Baji, back home—

Baji jolts. He pulls away and stares at you with a wild mixture of shock and confusion. His fingers ghost his lips, only to draw back as he stares at them, then at you, then back at them, like he can’t quite comprehend this hand is attached to his body—like you were. Like you want to be, like you thought he wanted to be, like you thought he was asking you to be—

Your heart plummets as he just—stands, no witty quip or teasing remark at the ready. No lines to read between; no phrasing to draw false confessions from; nothing other than the stillness of the night, and the pounding of your heart.

“Wait—” you shrink as you realize just how hoarse a single stolen kiss has left you. “I thought—please, Kei—”

A flicker of… something dances in his eyes, and then—he watches you. Studies you, with the same scrutiny he holds before a fight or when picking apart a bike to see what parts are broke and what can be saved.

“Say it again.”

It’s your turn to blink; your turn to have wide eyes and parted lips, to study him like you’re not sure how to fix it. “I don’t—“

“My name,” he says, and your heart starts to leap. “Say my name, sweetheart.”

“I say your name all the time, Keisuke.” You’re barely above a whisper. Barely above the fear that this time, he’ll break your heart and there’ll be no one to pick up the pieces because—you ruined this.

“Not like that,” he breathes. You forget how to. “Say it like it means something. Like—you don’t hate me. Like—”

“Kei,” you interrupt, hands coming to cradle his cheeks as you read between the lines, “I forgive y—”

He doesn’t even let the final word form before his lips are on yours. Hard, aggressively melding like he’s worried you might change your mind and wants to milk every second out of this as he can—but you reciprocate just as desperately. Keisuke’s hands wrap around you, one gripping the base of your neck and the other resting on the small of your back, pulling you impossibly close, as if he couldn’t get enough of you. His mouth opens, teasing your lips apart as you trade air, fingers digging into your soft skin like it’s the last thing he’ll ever touch.

You pull away first, and that’s only because your lungs are aching—not that you mind. The pain helps make this feel real. 

For once, Keisuke’s grin doesn’t seem mocking. He moves a hand to cradle your face, thumb rubbing against your cheek. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do that, sweetheart.”

“Not as long as I have,” you admit with a breathy laugh. Your hands lock around his neck, fingers playing with his hair, and you realize you’re smiling.

You kissed. Keisuke kissed you, you kissed him—everything makes sense. Everything is right, and with the moon and tides as your witness, everything is good again.

“Can I…” Keisuke starts, eyes flicking to your lips in an unspoken question. You finish his sentence with a kiss.

“You can always kiss me, Kei,” you say. “You don’t even have to ask.”

There’s the grin you recognize; the scheming, teasing grin that always makes your stomach flip in a way you thought meant he’s up to no good, but now realize as a sign you’d fallen for him long ago. 

“Oh, yeah?” he questions, brushing his lips against yours. “Only here? Or can I kiss… here?” He moves to the corner of your lips, then to the hollow of your cheek as he continues, “and… here? And maybe…”

He trails off, and he trails down, letting his lips drag against your cheek while his hand keeps you firmly in place, lips going done to your chin, down the column of your throat and back up. Your breathy yes would be pathetic—if it ever made it out. All that escapes is a breathy groan of displeasure when he stops, teasing lips hovering just above your own. “What’s that, babe? Want me t’stop?”

“You’re such an asshole.”

Your hands tangle in his hair, lips melding as your make-out turns heated. He slides his tongue along the seam of your lips, silently asking you to open—and you do. His hands curl around you, bringing you closer until there’s no space left between you.

Something digs into your leg. Something hard and unmistakable, and it leaves you grinning deeper than Kei.

You break away, laughing at his whine of protest and briefly glance down. Keisuke follows your eyes and is quick to splutter a nervous chuckle, hands dropping as he tries to step away with a short apology—though the way you catch his belt loops stops him. “Shit—sorry, I didn’t—I just—it’s your fault, y’know—“

“Shut up,” you giggle and drag him back. Now, you kiss him; once, twice, then a third before trailing your lips along the sharp ridge of his cheekbone, along his temple, to his ear. “How about you take me home, Kei?”

Keisuke’s whiplash nearly hurts you. His eyes, big and brown and wide, stare like you’ve grown an extra head. His hands shakily splay against your back, as if he wants to keep you close but he’s not sure he’s allowed to. His voice wavers slightly when he asks, “but I thought… aren’t… I mean, isn’t this… what you wanted?”

Slowly, you nod. Even slower, you pointedly look at the space between you, bridged only by the tent of his black pants. You smile at the sweet way a blush covers his cheeks, and risk slowly trailing your hand along his belt until your fingertips are hovering over that stupid, shiny, obnoxiously big belt buckle you always tease him for.

“I want you, Keisuke, and I want you to take me home.”

He doesn’t need more encouragement. 

Keisuke’s kisses grow fiercer. He devours you, never once breaking contact as his hands slide to find firm purchase on the back of your thighs. With ease, he lifts you atop his bike, setting you in front of him and stepping between your spread legs. The hem of your dress slides up with his calloused palms, collecting in a bunch then pooling down to protect your modesty as he finds two handfuls of ass. He gives a squeeze, eliciting a delighted gasp from you, then pulls back with a toothy smile.

“Then have me, sweetheart. Always been yours, anyways.” 

Your stomach twists, the way it always does when he looks at you like that, and you like it. It makes sense, it feels right—and you don’t have to pretend to justify why it makes your panties wet.

“Gotta—gotta get home—“ you try saying, but Keisuke’s hands have a mind of their own. They’re the only reason you’re still upright as he starts kissing along your neck, carefully grazing his sharp teeth but never once digging in. Your arms lop around him, digging into his scalp and shoulders as he finds this one spot that makes you moan, and you almost curse him for what that smile has done to you.

“Fuckin’—insane—if you think I'ma make it,” he mumbles into your skin, and you think you finally understand how some people can climax from someone’s voice alone.

You laugh and intend to push him away and demand that he do, that you have to, that you need to, because this—isn’t like you, you’re not one to get hot and heavy like this, certainly not in public—

But you can’t think straight. Not when Keisuke’s hands are kneading your ass, pinching and releasing like he can’t decide if he wants to hold on forever or explore somewhere new. Not when his teeth nibble your neck, and you shudder at the unbelievably primal sensation running through you.

Not when the unmistakable hardness of Keisuke’s boner finds home between your thighs, and he starts bucking his hips. It’s subtle, and he doesn’t tease you for the pathetic way you start whimpering. He focuses on continuing to explore the expanse of your otherwise untouched skin, while all you can do is revel in the way your high starts building.

You’ve been kissed before, on the lips and neck and once a little lower, but no one’s ever done this to you; pressed against your collarbone. Moved your neckline aside to suck on the fat of your breast. Left a mark that’ll last longer than a minute. For a moment, you wonder if you should tell him he’s the first, but when the zipper of his pants starts catching your clit, the only thing you’re able to do is moan his name.

Loudly.

Breathy and passionate and different than before, and he pauses. Lifts his head from your collarbone, a thin tendril of salvia keeping his lips still attached to the sensitive skin you know will bruise. He lets one hand trail up your side and cup your face, staring like this might be the last time he ever sees you, all while his hips continue to rut against you.

“Say it again,” he breathes, thumb catching your bottom lip. “Just—just like that.”

“Kei,” you repeat, giggling at the way he brightens and starts kissing you, “we need to go home—now.” For good measure, you boldly let your fingers slide to the edge of his belt buckle, in case he needs some more convincing. His free hand darts to yours, but he doesn’t stop you. He laces his fingers in yours and guides you, letting you palm at his thick hard-on. He lets out a low groan and drops his head from your lips to rest at your chest, just above the collar of your dress. You card one hand through his hair, the other applying light pressure to the (you assume) very painful ache between his legs—and not at all because you know, if he kept bucking into your core the way he just was, the way he keeps doing against your palm—you wouldn’t be able to make it home, either. “Take—take me home, Kei—”

“Not—” he huffs. His grip on your ass tightens, but you can barely feel it. Not when Keisuke whines, low and needy, teeth coming out to nip at your breast, and all you can focus on is the ache between your own legs, getting even worse as his hips start moving faster, forcing the back of your hand against your cunt as you continue to palm him. His hips don’t stop; they push against you so fiercely, so desperately, that you cave, taking away your hand so there’s nothing between you but your clothes. 

You’re on the precipice in minutes; hands digging into his shoulders as you choke on a sob, pleading with him to go faster, to not stop, to keep making you feel good—and it’s made all the worse when he does, pressing his throbbing erection even harder against your soaked panties, all the while pleading into your skin, “can’t—can’t—fuck, baby, I can’t—y/n—“

You gasp when his teeth break skin.

Keisuke’s hips still. Warm air saturates your chest as he groans into it, and for a moment you’re frozen. Your whole body aches, and you want to scream at the cruel way your orgasm was stolen—but you’re too in shock that he got you there that fast, that easily. Something warm trickles down your cheeks, between your breasts—blood? saliva? tears?—he doesn’t move. You don’t move. You’re not even sure he’s breathing, until his shoulders heave and your skin is warmed once more. A slight burn starts to spread across your chest, and when you open your mouth to ask him why the hell he stopped—all that comes out is his name.

You say it softly, then a little louder, but it’s not until you grab his face and force him to look up that he speaks—but his eyes are fixed firmly on the reddening bite mark forming atop your breast.

“M’sorry…”

A mean part of you wants to tell him he owes you a lot more than sorry, but the way his lower lip disappears as he nervously chews on it has you choosing otherwise. “It’s okay,” you comfort instead, “it didn’t hurt that bad.”

Keisuke grimaces. “No, I—” 

He sighs, head dropping back to your chest. Both arms wrap around your waist, and he presses a light kiss to the place he’d just bitten; the only way he probably figures he can keep close without meeting your gaze. He mumbles something, but you only know because you feel his lips moving.

“Can’t hear you…” you try prompting, but it only makes him snuggle deeper. He sighs again, loud and warm and in a way you’re familiar with—the way that really means, I can’t believe I have to do this… “C’mon, Kei, don’t you want to take me home?”

“Ididntmakeit.”

You have never, ever, in your life ever seen Keisuke embarrassed. Not when he told you about needing Chifuyu to tutor him post-juvie; not when he failed his college entry exams; not even when you accidentally walked in on him showering (in hindsight, he was probably a little too comfortable with how long it might’ve taken you to leave).

This was the man who went skinny dipping for fun. He’ll order fruity drinks for his friends who are too embarrassed to do it themselves. His approach to a lost fight is to get a rematch, not pretend it didn’t exist, and even in mundane moments that have you at a loss for words, like mistaking someone’s name or forgetting a face, Kei’s always quick for a retort or defense or a smile that makes everything better.

Keisuke Baji doesn’t get embarrassed—but that’s the only word that fits. His cheeks are redder than you’ve ever seen, his breathing faster than his pulse. His eyes refuse to meet yours, and his fingers knead into clumsy, nervous patterns along the side of your thighs.

Then he takes a deep breath, and with one shaking hand, he slowly brings your palm to the crotch of his pants… that are now sticky.

Your eyes widen, and you’re almost too late to choke down a gasp. Kei’s eyes close, and he ducks his head in shame. “I didn’t—I mean, I haven’t—you're just—I’m so sorry—”

“Why?” It sounds curt, and you don’t intend it to. Better than laughing, you reason—although you will absolutely get him for this later… when it stops feeling like the most humiliating thing in the world.

Keisuke swallows. “I haven’t ever… you know.”

“What, cum early?” It’s cruel to tease, you know that, but you can’t stop the slight satisfaction that you—you—are able to bring a man like Keisuke Baji to his knees.

“No! I mean—no, I…” Kei looks out to the ocean, fingers still anxiously kneading into your thighs. The temperature drops, though you’re not sure if it actually does or you’re just feeling like it as you try to understand what’s happened, what’s happening—what you’re to do next. His jaw clenches and he tries to pull away from you, but you don’t let him. You wrap your legs around the backs of his thighs, keeping him in place.

“Kei…” you say softly. You don’t force him to look at you. Instead, you let your fingers trail up his abs, curling around his neck so you can rest your forehead against his temple and kiss his cheek. “I don’t care. Just means you gotta make it up to me—”

“I’ve never had sex before.”

You’re grateful he doesn’t look at you, because you’re not able to control the utter shock coloring your face. How is that possible? You’ve heard the whispers when you go out; you’ve seen the looks. At parties or bars or clubs, he’d find a pretty thing and disappear, and you assumed you knew what happened behind those closed doors—because why, why, why would you want to ask about that? 

The others didn’t dispel it, either; in fact, they’d constantly rip on him for his… gift, and Keisuke never fought back. He’d just smirk and wink and say, “it’s never disappointed,” and by the time you’d turned red, thinking about when you caught him in the shower and knew what they were saying was true, they’d moved on to taunting someone else.

So how the hell is it possible that Keisuke’s a virgin—and, more importantly, how didn’t you know?

You’re not sure how long it takes you to recover. If he were to ask, you’d say you were just waiting for him—because when you do speak, it’s only when Keisuke turns to you with narrowed eyes, an apprehensive blush clear on his face. 

“Wanna know a secret?” you ask, forcing a teasing lilt to your voice—though your stomach twists. This isn’t exactly the way you wanted to tell him, and for a flash, you think of how disappointed he might be to learn the truth. 

But when he meets your gaze, eyes wide and focused entirely on you, somewhere between hopeful and nervous, you know it’s for the best. Your smile is sweet, but not as sweet as your lips when you kiss the crinkle between his eyes. He immediately relaxes, hands stilling as he leans into you. “Neither have I.”

He straightens and pulls far enough away so he can examine you. For a minute, your confession hangs between the two of you, then Kei starts floundering, “but I thought… you said… but he… what about your ex?”

You shrug, your own cheeks starting to flush. “It never felt right.”

Keisuke blinks. His mouth parts, eyes darting between yours like he’s waiting for the gotcha!, but all he receives is the embarrassed way you can’t meet his gaze, feeling as if you’ve somehow let him down. You squirm, his warm hands still atop your thighs sending butterflies to your stomach, and shrug again. “I dunno, I just—didn’t think it was fair. Doing that with someone, when all I could think about…” you swallow, lips twisting as you debate whether or not to tell him the truth. 

He catches your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. “Think about what, sweetheart?”

The way he asks tells you he already knows; but like earlier, when you knew and had to hear it anyway, he needs you to say it, too.

So you take a steadying breath. You gently trail a finger down the side of his jaw, and you make yourself smile as you say, “you, Kei. It didn’t seem right if it wasn’t you.”

This time when he kisses you, it’s slow. He takes his time in tasting you, in savoring the moment. He lets you guide where his lips go, how his hands wander, and he waits for you to pull back before he suggests, “how about I take you home now?”

Your stomach flutters. Fingers knot at the base of his skull, and slowly, a smile spreads on your face. 

“I’d like that.”

He presses a chaste kiss to your temple. You can feel the joy in it, one that doesn’t fade for either of you as he unhooks your legs so you can properly straddle the bike, then tucks the helmet on you and pops on himself.

“Hold on,” he calls as he revs the engine, “might be goin’ a bit faster than usual.”

“Don’t worry,” you laugh, and even though you know he probably can’t hear you, you add, “I’m never letting go.”

You make it to Keisuke’s apartment in seven minutes flat—which, normally, would leave you terrified, given his place is twenty minutes from your spot, but you doubt that’s what’s got your heart racing. He barely gives you enough time to take the helmet off before his hands are back on you, easily scooping you up and carrying you up the stairs. You bump into a few walls, and the way you’ve got a loose grasp on his helmet sends it craning into his back just as often, but neither of you care. Between fits of giggles and cautious glances to make sure he’s not about to walk you through a glass door (or down a stairwell), you kiss like it’ll be the last time you ever get the chance to.

“Anyone home?” you mumble into his lips. He slams you against the front door of his shared three-bedroom apartment, using his hips to keep you up while he tries to find the lock by memory.

“Nope,” he replies, lips busy with your skin, fingers fumbling uselessly behind you. “Stupid—fucking lock—told Tora to leave it—never fuckin’ listens—”

“Relax,” you laugh, although that’s rich coming from you. Your legs tighten around him as you break free from his kiss, instead sucking along the column of his throat. Freeing his face is supposed to give him enough room to actually look for the lock, so the two of you can stop dry-humping in the hall and finally get the privacy you need—but like always, Keisuke does the unexpected.

He throws his head back and moans, giving you more access to leave a matching hickey—and you’re not strong enough to resist the temptation. A whine starts in his throat, from where you’re sucking on his pale skin. The keys clatter to the ground.

“Keisuke,” you scold—but before you can tease him for being in a rush, his lips are back on yours.

“Never gonna make it,” is his only defense.

“Gonna—gonna have to,” you reply, but every time you try pulling away or reach for the keys yourself, he grabs you. Wraps your wrists in his rough hands, pins them to the door beside your head, and leans so far forward that, even with your limp legs, he’s able to keep you up himself. “Kei—“

“So help me sweetheart,” he warns, hips rolling against yours with a sense of urgency only outmatched by his kiss, “if you keep saying my name like that, I swear to the gods I’m gonna fuck you right here.”

“So help me, sweetheart,” you shoot back, breathy and hot as you try to avoid the way his lips chase yours, “if you don’t get me inside right now, I might let you.”

He freezes. Pulls away from the delightful bruise he’d just been leaving below your ear and stares at you with a mixture of awe and utter delight. “Really?”

You swat the back of his head. “No, dumbass, open the fucking door.”

Keisuke’s lips, pink and bruising slightly, twist in a pretend pout as he squats. He keeps one thick palm under your thigh, keeping your leg wrapped around him as he snags his keys. “You’re such a fucking tease.”

“Says the guy who does—that,” you try scoffing, but you’re cut off with a moan when Kei stands and bounces you against his hips. His boner is back and harder than before, pressing into your core, the messy, wet mix of your drenched panties and his earlier cum making a lewd sound in the otherwise silent hallway. 

“Does… what, babe?” he teases. “C’mon, finish that sentence.” 

You don’t know how he finds the focus to actually find the lock this time, but you thank every deity in the world that he does—because it takes just a second, a single, solitary second for him to jimmy it in, slam the door open, and you’re finally alone.

The door frame rattles. Something falls, but you can’t tell if it’s the mirror you insisted he hang above the entry table you insisted he get or if it’s the rickety old coat rack Chifuyu said would ‘class up the joint’; all you know is that as soon as the key is in, Baji’s hands are back to cradling your thighs for support as he crosses the threshold. 

You reach for the door, but he catches it with his ankle and slams it shut, quickly spinning to pin you against it.

“Really—” you pant, “really got the place—to ourselves?”

“Mhm,” Keisuke confirms. He leans into you, palms rubbing along your thighs until they get to your knees, silently asking you to wrap tighter around him. You do, and the moment he feels your ankles cross at the small of his back, his hands move to your waist. “Told ‘em—needed space.”

“Oh?” you question, your hands reaching for the hem of his shirt and tug, tug, tugging—“And when’d you do that?”

He reaches behind his head and yanks his tee off, tossing it carelessly into the darkness of the apartment. You hadn’t even paused to turn on the lights.

“After I saw Tadashi.” You can tell he’s grinning, especially as you drag your nails along the chiseled plane of his abs. His hands slide up your torso, thumb rubbing your stomach through the thin cotton of your dress, grazing the underwire of your bra. “Told Tora this one wasn’t gonna work, either, ’n he said I should just tell ya the truth, 'cause he couldn’t watch me mope around all night again—”

“Mope?” you tease. Kei’s fingers dig in. “Kazutora accused you of moping?”

“Well—shut up!” he whines. “You try watching the person you’re in love with go out with guys who don’t deserve them and tell me you wouldn’t start moping either—y/n? Why… are you looking at me like that?”

Your eyes are wide. Your hands go limp, the helmet falling to the floor with a loud clatter. Your lips part to say… something, but you’re not sure what.

Keisuke’s told you he’s loves you a thousand times; the brief ‘kay love ya! before he hangs up; the gentle love you, see ya tomorrow whenever he’d bring you home; the drawn out gods I love you after you’ve surprised him with his favorite meal—but none like this.

None so… blatant. So unmistakable.

Kei stares at you curiously, as if he isn’t even aware of what he’s just said. He repeats your name, hands leaving your waist to catch your chin.

“You’re… in love with me?” 

Keisuke blinks.

For a moment, you think you must’ve misheard, he must’ve misspoke, you must have misunderstood—but a brilliant smile breaks his face, and he nuzzles his nose against yours. “‘Course I’m in love with you, sweetheart. I’ve been in love with you, and I ain’t ever gonna stop loving you—”

You kiss him.

The gentlest one yet. The way you always dreamed your first one would be; soft, sweet, lips pressing together while your hands held him close. Heartbeats synching. The world falling away as it’s just the two of you, in this moment, endless and forever.

There’s only one thing to say when you pause: “I love you too, Keisuke.”

Your teeth knock together as Keisuke can’t contain his smile, either. Hands move, one around the small of your back and the other under a single thigh. Your lips never part as he carries you to his room.

He sets you at the foot of his bed and stands above you. His chest heaves, bare and flushed with need. Your hands slip from his neck to his bed to keep yourself propped up, legs still wrapped tightly around his waist. Keisuke’s hands travel to your knees, and he just—stares.

He loves you. How could he not, with the way that pretty dress puddles on his mattress, exposing nearly all of your leg but hiding what he’s been waiting for his whole adult life? How could he not, with the way his spit makes your collar glistens in the moonlight, filtering in from behind those sheer curtains you insisted he get? How could he not love the way you say his name, reaching towards him, fingers catching on his belt buckle as you ask him if he’s ready?

“Not yet,” he whispers. The hoarseness of his voice, the way it’s dropped several octaves from merely seeing you on his bed, sends a jolt of electricity through you. You’re about to ask why, but the reverence in how he’s looking at you makes you not want to break this spell.

He trails his fingers along your calves. Gently, he unhooks your legs from his waist. His fingers shake as he struggles with the straps of your heels, but when you go to help, he catches your wrist. 

“No,” he repeats, “not yet.”

You keep quiet and merely watch as your best friend, the man of your dreams, takes his time in undressing you. One wedge, then the other, falling off your feet with a dull clank! on the carpet. Keisuke kisses your ankles, then starts kissing up your calves, then your knees, then your thighs—

The anticipation has you dripping. Your thighs instinctively clench when he gets to your hem, hands curling into fists by your sides. Your panties are uncomfortably glued to your cunt, sticky in a way you’ve never been before, and he’s not even lifted your dress to see yet.

Keisuke rests his chin atop your thigh. “Please,” he pleads—pleads—“Let me—baby, let me. I wanna taste you.”

Today is not the day you learn to refuse him.

Your muscles shake from anticipation as you slowly spread your legs, but that’s not enough for him. “Baby, no, I—I wanna hear you say it.” His voice is soft, shaky. A little hesitant, as if he’s not sure if this’ll ruin the moment but he knows he has to be sure—he has to hear you say it… if only to revel in the desperate way you say his name. 

“Keisuke, please… whatever you want, have it. Just—touch me, Kei, please, I need you—“

“Need you too, sweetheart,” he praises, running his lips along your thigh. “Gonna—gonna have you now, okay?”

His fingers still shake when he lifts your dress, exposing the black lace of your panties to him. At first glance, he can’t tell that they’re absolutely soaked—but that doesn’t stop the way you start to squirm in embarrassment as he just… stares. His thumbs dig into the fat of your hips, broad palms keeping your thighs spread and pinned to the bed.

It takes you a moment to realize he’s not breathing.

“Kei?”

He doesn’t look up. 

His grip gets tighter. His eyes narrow. Before you get the chance to ask him what’s wrong, he growls, “you wore these for him?”

You blink. That is not what you were expecting, but before you can defend with they’re my lucky pair, or I wanted to feel sexy, or it doesn’t matter, I’m here with you—Keisuke’s ripped them off.

You yelp when the fabric bites your skin, failing to wriggling away as Keisuke strips them off your ankle. “What the fuck—“

“I’ll get you a new pair,” he mutters. “Shit—I’ll get you a hundred pairs, but you get rid of every single set someone else has seen. Got it?”

Your lips purse. He’s being unreasonable, you think, and totally ridiculous… but no matter how much your brain tries to reason he’s out of line, your fluttering pussy doesn’t get the message. Your slick is evident now, exposed and iridescent in the moonlight, dripping down your hole and slowly saturating the sheets.

Usually, Keisuke wouldn’t let it go. Usually, he’d keep picking at it until you cave, or at least recognize you heard him—but usually, he’s not staring at your cunt. 

Right now, he can’t focus on anything but how desperate he is to be inside you.

“Yeah, think ya got it… fuck, babe… seems like you like it when I say shit like that, hunh?” 

You whimper slightly, having to bite your lip to keep it together. Slowly, he drags the tip of his finger from the sheet beneath you up along your wet folds. He barely touches you, but when he pulls his finger away, it’s covered in a layer of you. 

He brings it to his face with a cocky grin, watching how the pad shines in the moonlight. “You always this wet, or am I special?”

“Shut up,” you shoot back, preparing to bring up how special he found you earlier—only to immediately throw your head back and moan as Keisuke buries his face between your legs.

There is no preamble. There are no more teasing quips or pauses; Keisuke dives in like a man starved, and the only thing that can sate his appetite is you.

He starts with broad strokes, gathering as much of your slick as he can. He’s messy, messier than you, and soon there’s more of his spit than your wetness between your legs. His arms wrap around your thighs, keeping them pinned and spread on his shoulders as he continues to feast, thumbs spreading your lips open so he can truly devour you.

When Keisuke starts suckling on your clit, your fingers knot in his hair. You moan, loud and whiney and plead for him to keep going as your orgasm starts to boil—faster than before, more powerful too, with greater ease than you’ve ever managed to pull from yourself.

Keisuke brings a hand to your clit, quickly swiping the puffy bud with the pad of his thumb as he focuses his tongue on your fluttering hole. In and out, up and down, the warm muscle drives you insane. Your grip on his hair must hurt, but he says nothing; he focuses on making you feel as good as humanly possible, never once letting up, not even when you start to choke, “Kei—I’m—I’m gonna—“

“Cum for me, sweetheart,” he commands. “C’mon, pretty girl, make a mess on my face, wanna feel how you clench, wanna make ya cry—”

It sends you over the edge.

With a scream of his name, your back arches. Your thighs try closing around him but still, he doesn’t let up. He keeps pace, tongue-fucking you, lapping up all the juice that spills out as his thumb continues caressing your clit until you do start crying and you do have to plead, “no—no more, Kei, can’t—“

“Can,” he corrects—but he stops. His hand stills, moving so that the warmth of his palm covers that sensitive bundle of nerves, and only then does he stop lapping at your hole. He presses a gentle kiss to your sex, then to your inner thigh. “But I’ll be nice tonight, sweetheart. Only ‘cause I love you, though.”

You stare at the ceiling as you catch your breath. The paint is peeling in the corner. The glow-in-the-dark stars you helped him put up when he first moved in are dim. The walls are covered in motorcycle posters. A calendar set to the wrong month hangs above a salvaged desk, covered with various veterinary textbooks, barely legible notebooks, a handful of empty beer cans, and a handful of DVD cases, one of which you know is Dyslexia; How to Read When Even Your Brain Doesn’t Want You To. A neon sign advertising Margaritaville is unlit beside his closet. A pile of clothes that didn’t make it to the hamper rests beneath it.

 The room is so—Keisuke , you feel at peace, even as your limbs turn to jelly.

Your heart is racing faster than if you’d just run a marathon. “Thought—thought you said you hadn’t—“ you try panting, but it’s too much effort, too soon. You end up collapsing back on the bed, head swimming with euphoria.

“Said I hadn’t had sex,” Keisuke corrects as he stands, your limp thighs falling to the either side of his waist, “not that I’ve never eaten pussy.” He scoffs, as if that should’ve been obvious. “I’m not an idiot, babe. I respect women enough to know where the clit is.”

A little laugh escapes you. The fan motor is the only other sound. It’s cool, your nipples perk beneath your bra, but you’re still hot. Still hyper aware that Keisuke is just a few inches away, watching your bare cunt flutter and beg him for more.

Keisuke does love you. You know he does, because he gives you time to catch your breathe before he starts up again, only pressing soft kisses to the inside of your legs and quiet offerings of, “so fuckin’ pretty” and “can’t believe you’re here” and, your favorite, the only one you respond to: “so in love with you.” 

“I love you too, Kei.”

He runs his hands along your sides, slowly taking more and more of your dress up with it until the entire thing is resting by your neck. He makes quick work of your bra, not even needing you to sit up as he unhooks it and lifts the cups away.

He says nothing; just stares at your naked body with the same adoration and awe he held when taking off your shoes.

“You’re—so beautiful,” he whispers. “Y’know that? So—so fuckin’ beautiful.”

He bends down and takes a pert nipple in his mouth. You whine, hate yourself for doing so, then whine again as his free hand starts tweaking your other nipple. He runs his tongue over every inch of your chest, making sure you’re covered with his spit and hands, traversing as much of you as he can.

When he gets to your face, he smiles. “You’re mine, yeah? All mine?”

Your fingers run over his jaw, over the bruise that’s barely discernible in the moonlight. No one’s touched you like him; no one’s even kissed you like him, either, and you’re not sure if it’s the “Keisuke” of it all making you feel like this, or if this is how it’s supposed to have felt all along. 

The answer comes easily.

“Yeah,” you agree with a smile of your own, “yeah, m’all yours, Keisuke. Pretty sure I always have been.”

“Always, hunh?” He holds you gently now; a stark contrast to the hungry way he’d just devoured you. “That mean you’ve always loved me, too?”

Your breathy yes is lost in a gasp when his hand slides between your legs. Gently, he prods a single thick finger into your virgin hole, shallowly dipping in and out. “Never had someone else in here, hunh? M’gonna be your first?”

“Y-yes,” you repeat, voice cracking. Your eyes flutter close as he keeps fingering you. You’d had fingers in there before, but none like this. Your own couldn’t compare, two of yours barely able to stretch the way one of his does… and he’s not even going all the way. Not even knuckle deep as he explores only the shallows, letting you adjust.

Your face scrunches when he adds a second.

“This okay?” he asks. You look at him, hand wrapping around his neck as you bring his forehead down to meet yours.

You nod, then remember what he said earlier, how you could feel his cock jumping when you were sweet and needy for him. “Yeah, Keisuke. Yes—yes, I want this. I want you.”

He cups your face and trails soft kisses from corner to corner, breaking apart only to lift your dress and bra over your head. They’re carelessly thrown to the floor, you have half a mind to scold him that it’ll wrinkle—but when he goes back to your cunt, two fingers halfway in, all you’re able to say is the harsh inhale of his name.

They’re shallow, never pushing in deep enough to hurt, slowly stretching your rim to its max. He goes a little deeper, then starts scissoring them, and it becomes nearly impossible to believe he hasn’t done this before.

“No—no way you’re a virgin,” you hiss when Keisuke’s lips travel to your breast. He alternates between sucking hickeys and kneading them while staring at the way your cunt sucks him in, never stopping his ministrations.

Keisuke lets out a short scoff and shifts. “You literally made me cum my pants like a teenager.”

“Then how—“

“I told ya, babe, I respect women,” is his only reply. The only one he’s willing to give, at least, because he starts paying more attention to your tits than what questions are spilling his way.

You feel like you’ve got to be ready when he adds a third, and you say as much—only for Keisuke to meet your gaze with a cocky grin. “Trust me, sweetheart. You’re gonna thank me for this.” 

It can’t be much longer until he deems you ready, but it feels like forever, even if he keeps you distracted from the slight burn between your legs by playing with your breasts, sucking on your throat, praising you.

“Taking m’fingers so well, pretty thing. You’re such a good girl f’me, can’t believe you made me wait this long…”

“You didn’t tell me either,” you scold. He curls his fingers mid-way through your sentence, rubbing against a sensitive spot you’ve never been able to find on your own. You keen his name, hand snapping down to catch his forearm. He pauses.

“Too much?”

Slowly, you shake your head, eyes watering. “Please, Kei, I—I want you to fuck me.”

Keisuke presses a chaste kiss to your forehead. “Never could say no to you, sweetheart.”

If you could think clearly, you’d start listing all the times he has denied you, starting with just a few seconds ago—but him withdrawing his fingers leaves you feeling too empty to do much but pout.

When he pulls away, you chase after him, only for him to shake his head with a fond grin. “How am I supposed to fuck you if you won’t let me take my pants off?”

With hot cheeks, your lips twist. “You were the one who wanted to fuck on your bike, and then in the hall—what, were you planning on stripping naked then, too?”

You’re rewarded with a very rare, very endearing blush. He sits back on his knees and rubs his neck, eyes dropping from yours—then his lip curls in a smirk. “With how wet you got, seems like you wanted me to. What—you like the idea of that? Getting fucked in public? Don’t worry, sweetheart, maybe we’ll try that one day…” He laughs at the way you squirm, but he’s not wrong; your cunt clenches at the thought.

“You’re such a dick.” Your hands reach for his belt, fumbling slightly as you try to undo it. Keisuke’s hands take over, getting rid of the black leather in seconds.

“Your dick,” he corrects, hands back on you, gently laying you back against his pillows, trailing over your now completely naked body, leaving gooseflesh in their wake. You roll your eyes but say nothing, heart in your throat, pussy pulsing in anticipation.

He straightens, taking in the display in front of him. Taking in you.

You sit up slightly, chewing your lower lip. He’s beautiful, but even more so in the moonlight. It illuminates his pale skin, almost making him glow in the darkness of the rest of his room. Obsidian hair falls in a straight sheet around his flushed cheeks, his lower lip caught between his teeth. Violet and red marks adorn his neck and chest. His abs flex when he watches the way your eyes trail down; down the inlet between them, down the stern jut of his prominent v-line, over the faint trail of dark hair that disappears into the band of his jeans.

His fingers—the ones just inside you—hover on the button. They’re covered in your slick, resting just above a bulge that looks absolutely delicious, one that you know he can’t wait to bury inside you—but still, he hesitates.

“I love you, Keisuke,” you say. He smiles. It’s the only further confirmation he needs before he’s pushing off the bed and pulling down his jeans and underwear in one go.

The others have lied about a lot—like Baji’s lack of virginity—but the size of Keisuke is not one of them.

Your jaw drops as you push to your knees, staring at Keisuke’s cock like it’s the first you’ve ever seen. It’s not, and technically speaking, it’s not even the first time you’ve seen his—but that time in the shower, when it was hanging heavily between his legs and you only caught a glimpse… apparently, that was him soft.

Keisuke hard is more impressive than any porn you’ve seen. So heavy that it can barely support its own weight, even with all the blood rushing through it, and so wide around even Keisuke, with his broad palms and lanky fingers, doesn’t dwarf it. 

A thick bead of pre slips out the tip, trailing along the bulging vein that disappears under Keisuke’s hand as he starts to stroke it.

“This… is where the others tapped out,” he says slowly, taking in the way you watch. “I mean—not that I’m thinking about them—but I just—“

“You’re big.”

Keisuke chokes on a laugh. “So I’ve heard. Pretty virgin like you wouldn’t know any better though, would you?”

You give him a withering glare. “I’ve sucked dick before, asshole. You’re big.”

Keisuke’s jaw clenches. “Yeah? Go on, then. Show me how you’ve sucked dick.”

Later, you’ll tease him for how jealous he got, and later, you’ll revel in the possessive way he determines to erase every other touch from your memory—but now, you obediently crawl towards him, one of your smaller hands overlapping his, and you take control.

You press a soft kiss to his flushed tip. It’s larger than your lips, his pre a salty gloss as you kiss again and again—Keisuke grips your hair. “Suck.”

It’s as much a plea as it is a command, one you can’t ignore. You take him,—just the tip—in your mouth, tongue swirling over his warm head as your hand replaces his on the rest of his dick. Your fingers barely touch, and no matter how you adjust, how you lay your palm or spread your fingers… there’s still at least an inch of him exposed.

He hisses, nearly drowning out the lewd, wet sound your pussy makes as it clenches around nothing.

“This—turning you on?” he says, as if his cock isn’t twitching obscenely against your tongue. “Fuckin—sucking on a big cock making you wet?”

You let go with a wet pop! and bat your eyelashes at him. You know exactly what you’re doing when you say, “No, Kei. I’m this wet ‘cause of you.”

With a groan, Keisuke pulls your head back to his dick and thrusts in, sliding as far as you’ll let him before you start to gag. “That’s—that’s it, sweetheart, get it nice and wet.”

He holds you there for a moment, waiting until you tap on his thigh before sliding out. Your eyes are teary, saliva dripping down the corner of your mouth. Deftly, you twist your wrist while catching your breath. His fingers go from knotting in your hair to petting the back of your head.

“You keep doing that, I’m gonna bust,” he warns, but his fond smile gives him away.

You merely smile. “Telling me you’ve never had your cock sucked, Kei?” 

His lip curls in a snarl, which disappears with a groan when you take him in your throat once more. Slowly, lips pursing around him, tongue flicking along the sensitive underside of his cockhead as you try going as far as you can. Your jaw is already starting to ache, but you’re determined to prove yourself.

“Not—like this,” he moans, pushing your head a little further down. Your lips split in a smile, and you raise your hand to start fondling his balls—a trick that’s always gotten you success before—but before you make contact, Keisuke is sliding out and grabbing your jaw. He’s breathing heavily, pupils blown out with lust. He stares at your lips then leans forward, not flinching at the taste of himself on you.

“Wanna fuck you now,” he mumbles. You wrap your arms around his neck and start to lean back, nodding.

“Want you to fuck me too,” you agree. One of Keisuke’s muscular thighs slides between your legs, easing them apart. He keeps kissing you, letting you fall softly against his pillows while he keeps stroking his member, slick with your spit.

He taps the tip of his cock against your clit. You hiss in surprise, eyes closing shut at the sudden sensation of pleasure that rushes through you. “Let me know if it hurts,” he says quietly. He grips his cock right beneath the head, guiding it through your slick folds, getting as much of your fluids on him as he can. 

He’s torn between needing to see the way you suck him in, and the need to squeeze his eyes shut. The sight of you alone, legs spread on either side, pussy gushing because of him, covering in marks because of him, mewling his name as you beg him to fuck you—it’s almost enough for him to cum on the spot. 

Faintly, honks echo from the street below. It’s amazing that in this instant, as your world is about to change forever and for the better, everyone else is going about their business like nothing’s happening. They’re catching a late-dinner with their partner; walking home from a late-night meeting that could’ve been an email; swinging by the grocer’s to pick up snacks and drinks to share with their friends… The whole world is continuing on, just beyond that window, but for you and Keisuke… it’s as if time’s stopped. 

The world is only real for the two of you.

He bends down to kiss you, making sure to pour every ounce of love and care he has into this one. You respond just as sweetly, reveling in the power of this moment, this one decision that will irrevocably tie you together forever, the way you were always meant to be.

He loves you, you love him, and there’s nothing else that matters.

“Ready?” he asks. You nod, then echo, “ready,” and he puts it in; just the tip, spearing past your tight hole. The two of you let out a synchronous gasp.

It’s even more than three of his fingers; warm, too, and thick, softer but also harder and full—you’re so, so, so full as he slowly edges in. It hurts—it feels good—it burns—you need more—

“Baby,” Keisuke pants. He’s let go of his cock, letting just the first inch or so rest comfortably within your walls. You feel him twitch, feel how tight his fingers dig into the sheets on either side of you so he doesn’t add more bruises to your ever-growing collection. “Baby, talk to me. Tell me—are you—are you okay?”

You whimper slightly when he sinks a little further. Eyes scrunching, your fingers digging into his thighs as you try to even your breath. “It—it’s so—“ you try saying, but it’s like you can feel him in your stomach, the pressure tightening all the way up your throat and cutting you off.

“So—good,” Keisuke gasps. He does the best he can, really, but you—you’re so—warm, and wet, and inviting—the place you’re joined might be the best thing he’s ever felt–ever seen. He slides a little further, presses a kiss to wherever he can reach as he waits until your chest stops heaving as horribly. He tries telling you he loves you, he really tries telling you how amazing you are, how perfect you are, how good you feel—but all that comes out are choked, half-sentences that fade into groans.

Tears prick at your lash line by the time he’s securely sheathed in you. Your fingers dig into his back, trying to pull him flush to your chest and bury his head in your neck so he can’t see. You know how he’ll feel; he’ll pull out and say he’s sorry, that he never meant to hurt you and it’s not worth it and he won’t try again–and that’s not what you want. You just need some time to adjust, that’s all. 

You never realized how empty you were.

Keisuke lifts up from the crook of your neck when the first tear slides against his cheek. “M’sorry,” he breathes, kissing one eye, then the other, licking the tear tracks and kissing you again. “M’sorry, I don’t wanna hurt—“ His arms shake on either side of you. The urge to start shifting his hips is sinful, but he doesn’t. He can’t, not until you're okay, not until you tell him it’s okay.

“It’s—okay,” you breathe. Your face says otherwise, but really… it’s okay. You play with the hair at the nape of his neck, offering him a little smile as you shift your hips ever-so-slightly against his. “I’m—I’m okay, baby, really. Just—just go slow.”

Keisuke kisses you. Slowly, deeply, spreading your lips with his as he gently pulls out and slides back in, heeding your directive to go slow. It hurts, it still hurts, is it supposed to hurt like this—but right when you’re about to give up, right when you’re about to tell him it's too much and maybe you should stop… it starts to feel good.

Not just full, but satisfying, bumping against the back of your messy cunt with every stroke. The ridge of his cockhead catches your insides in a way that makes your toes curl, and before long, your legs are wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer.

“Gods—fuck, Kei, fuck—“ you hiss, burying your head in his shoulder, biting his collarbone to keep yourself from screaming. “Just—there, like that, don’t—fuck—“

“Thought you said you were a virgin,” he hisses. Your broken pleas of, I am, I am, I am—go unrecognized as he slowly picks up speed. “Virgin pussy—heh—always feel this—fuckin’ good?”

You moan, loud and unreserved, nails digging into the muscle of his shoulders. Your stomach burns. Your pussy clenches, but for the first time, there’s finally something to hold on to, finally something to fill you up—you’ve never been so full, never felt so good. The coil tightens in your stomach, made all the more tense by the fact there’s something inside— “Gonna— gonna cum, Kei, don’t—don’t stop, please—“

“Yeah, sweetheart? You gonna—gonna cum for me? Go on, cum f’me. Cum on my cock, baby, show me what we’ve been—been waitin’ for—“

You cry when your orgasm finally washes over you.

You’ve never climaxed this powerfully before, to the point that you’ve felt like—this. The world is empty besides the two of you. Bells ring in your ear as you struggle to keep your eyes open, your whole body floating. You feel everything and nothing; like you’re weightless but have never been so heavy in your life.

You gasp for air, fingers digging into Keisuke’s shoulders as his hips stutter a few more times then still. His moans into your ear as his own orgasms consumes him, painting your insides white, shooting so much it drips out of your spent pussy and starts to puddle between you.

He stays there for a moment. Lets his lips trace lazy patterns beneath your ear, still half-hard inside you, one hand gripping the back of your neck and the other holding your breast. Even though you’re spent, your hands delicately trail up and down his spine. Your breathing is heavy and your smile bright and you think you could stay right here forever.

The plastic stars one his ceiling smile down at you, and you imagine the ones outside are doing the same. ‘About time!’ they seem to say. After all these years, about time. There’s a shrill whistle of bus brakes, screeching to a halt; a muffled shout from one pedestrian to another. The fan creaks slightly, the cool air washing over you and helping calm the raging fire on your skin. The clock on Keisuke’s lopsided nightstand, made even with a stack of textbooks he never got to put to use, beeps at midnight: the end of one day, the start of forever.

Kei takes a deep breath and slides off, hissing as his sensitive cock is exposed to the cool air of his bedroom. He lays on his back, taking a hand and placing it over his eyes as he tries to calm his racing heart.

Your legs are sticky. They’re already getting sore. Your hips ache, your spine stretches, your chest burns—but you relish it. Kei’s breathing evens beside you. 

Glancing, you check if he’s asleep—but with the way his forearm covers his eyes, you can’t tell. He looks even more like an angel now. Light, from a city just waking up, creeps past the curtains, illuminating slivers of his pale and flushed skin. He looks–relaxed. Content, even with the blush still coloring his high cheeks bones. His lips are parted, shallow gasps of air being sucked through them, but the longer you look, the more it looks like they’re curling in a smile.

His chest rises and falls steadily, and just when you start to think he might actually be asleep, the hand beneath your neck starts playing with your hair.

“Think it’s—always this good?” he asks breathlessly, pulling you in a little closer.

You pretend to think. He tilts his head, cracking an eye to look down at you curiously. You smile. “I don’t know. Think we better try again—y’know, just to be sure.”

Kei barks out a laugh and pulls you to his chest, looking at you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. And right now, with the gentle light filtering through his open window, sweaty and smiling and with his cum dripping from between your legs to make a mess of his thigh, you are.

You play with the edges of his hair, sprawled lazily across his sweaty forehead. With a soft smile, he reaches for your fingers and pulls them to his lips. “Do you actually like it? My haircut, I mean. Pretty sure you liked the other stuff.”

You answer with a laugh, pressing a kiss to where the edges fall. “I love it.”

He grins and rolls over, pinning you to the mattress. The short locks make a curtain, hiding the two of you from anything but each other. “Good. Did it f’you.”

“For me?”

He hums and buries his face in your neck, delicately kissing the bruising skin. “Noticed your type. None of them had long hair, ’n I thought…”

With a pealing laugh, you grab his cheeks and bring his face to yours, smothering him with kisses. “Keisuke, you are such an idiot.”

He pretends to frown, but kisses you all the same. “Weren’t calling me that when I was making you scream earlier.”

“Kei,” you say, forcing him back so you can really meet his eyes, “short hair, long hair. No hair. The only kind of guy I’ve ever truly wanted has been you.”

Keisuke blinks. Short, thick lashes bat against those endlessly high cheekbones of his, and then he smiles. He lowers his lips to yours once more and gifts you a kiss; deep, slow. A kiss that’s been years in the making, that says all that your words have and then some.

“I love you,” he says, and you barely have time to say the same before he’s kissing you, hardening cock easily gliding back through your sticky folds, and you go for round two.

So... happy adventuring :) thank you for reading! if you made it this far… pls reblog, drop a comment, or leave an ask if you enjoyed!! I worked really, really hard on this, and it would mean the absolute world to me that, if y’all enjoyed it, you told me why. if you hated it, tell me why. if i made you cry or scream or fall in love or fierce fiercely full of disappointed rage, tell me why!! i won’t bite (unless you ask)!

hopefully the next adventure gets even better. thanks for reading!

#baji #keisuke baji x reader #baji x reader #baji smut #keisuke baji smut #baji x reader smut #tokyo revengers smut #tokyo revengers x reader #keisuke baji x reader smut #tokyo rev smut

[strawberrymilk-sunshine]

Hello may I request platonic yandere Diasomnia. Where the reader is Lilia's daughter who's half fae half human.

Lilia would be a perfect platonic yandere so thank you for this request

Warning(s): fem reader, injury, protective dad Lilia, not proofread

Lilia was walking around the campus of Night Raven College, when he heard the familiar sound of Sebek yelling at someone. He would've ignored it, if not for the other things he heard. Namely, a young girl crying, Silver trying to calm multiple people down, and what sounded like growling. Whatever's going on, it can't be good.

The skies grew darker as Lilia felt a surge of magic appear in the area he was approaching. Yep, not good!!

"Malleus, take a deep breath, everything's going to be ok!" Silver frantically spoke. "They apologized to you!"

"They need not apologize to me. I am not the one they initially wronged." Malleus responded. "It is (Y/N) they should be apologizing to." He spoke calmly, but his expression was that of pure rage.

"HOW DARE THEY DISRESPECT LORD MALLEUS?!" Sebek yelled, his arms wrapped around you. "What's more, they refuse to apologize to the young one?! Lilia's daughter?! Lilia is a highly respected man! He was a royal guard feared across the land, and his kindness knows no bounds seeing as he adopted a lowly human such as Silver! (Y/N) should be treated with that same respect!!"

"Again, everyone, just calm down. You three, all we ask is for you to apologize to (Y/N)." Silver turned to the enraged dragon fae who was currently making green lightning crash down around them. "And Malleus, please do not change into your true form! You'd destroy the school!"

Despite Silver's best efforts, green fire surrounded Malleus, and he began to take a more monsterous form, quickly growing in size, and then-!

"Dear me, what's with all this racket?" Lilia asked, hanging upside-down from one of the trees in the courtyard.

Momentarily, he gained everyone's attention, and he thankfully arrived just in time to halt Malleus' transformation into a gigantic dragon.

Everyone began talking all at once.

"Now now boys, I can't understand you if you're all talking over each other!" Lilia got down from the tree and was now standing upright. "So, mind telling me what's going on here?"

"I was simply about to strike these idiotic humans with lightning for what they did." Malleus explained. "I was also going to take my true form and rain fire down upon them, but you arrived before I could."

"Mm... I see. Why, may I ask, were you about to do that?" Lilia inquired.

"To put it simply, they were bullying (Y/N)." Silver sighed. "I assume Malleus heard her crying and came over to see what was wrong, Sebek and I got here when we heard Malleus yelling at these three with (Y/N) sobbing in his arms." Silver gestured to you, still crying, though now it was from the stress of the situation. "They wouldn't apologize to (Y/N), and Malleus started getting angry, Sebek also was getting angry and only encouraged Malleus' rage, and I was stuck in the middle trying to calm everybody down."

"Little (Y/N) didn't even do anything to incur the wrath of these hooligans!" Sebek yelled, still holding you in a tight hug. "According to her, she was doing nothing wrong! She was just going about her day when she tried to pick an apple from the tree, when one of these humans picked it before her and started tossing it around to his friends, a cruel game of monkey in the middle! And afterwards, they began to insult her! Lilia, do something!!"

"Oh goodness!" Lilia said, brining his hand to his face. "Is this true?" He asked the- in Sebek's words- hooligans.

"No! Well, m-maybe a little! But just a little! I-I-I don't think we deserve to be roasted alive!"

"Ah, so you admit you did insult her..." Lilia surmised. "(Y/N), what would you like me to do?"

"F-father..." You sniffled and wiped your eyes of the tears. "Please d-don't hurt them t-too b-badly...!"

Lilia had no need to crouch down, as he was as tall as your twelve-year-old self, but he did it regardless. He placed his hand on your face, and smiled softly.

"Anything for you, my little bat." Lilia stood back up, and addressed your older brother, Malleus, and Sebek. "You three, head back to Diasomnia. Get something nice for (Y/N), maybe some ice cream of sorbet, and put on a movie for her! Pamper her, cherish her, cuddle her, make her understand she's the most wonderful girl in the world! I'll join you boys soon."

"Yes father." Silver said.

"UNDERSTOOD, LILIA!" Sebek yelled, standing up, still holding you in his arms.

Malleus merely scowled one last time at the three people who'd caused this, before vanishing into thin air and leaving behind only lime green sparkles.

There was a tv in Diasomnia, despite what people would assume. Silver put on a movie for you, one Lilia showed him when he was younger, a tragic tale of a young ruler being punished for his greed by being turned into a llama. It's sure to cheer you up!

Malleus, who had never seen it before, was watching just as intently as you were.

Why are you at Night Raven College despite being twelve years old? Well, Lilia didn't want to leave you completely alone while he attended the school, so he got some kind of special permission from the Headmage to bring you with him! So, you're kind of an honorary student of NRC and by extension Diasomnia. (Technically the Dark Mirror sorted you into Heartslabyul, but since you are twelve years old and the daughter of a Diasomnia student, the Headmage allowed you to transfer to Diasomnia with no questions asked)

"Young one, why did you tell Lilia not to hurt those humans?" Malleus asked you. "Were it me, I would not tolerate anything they said."

"Well... they didn't really do anything wrong..." You reasoned. "They were just having fun, even if it was at my expense."

"I do not understand your reasoning, young one. Please explain further."

"Well, I mean... I guess I just... don't think they should die just for making fun of me." You said. "They aren't perfect, I'm not either."

"And you wish to forgive them on that basis?"

"Yeah." You sipped the cup of apple juice Silver had gotten you before he fell asleep yet again.

"You confuse me sometimes, young one." Malleus told you, placing his hand on top your head. "You're very kind to those you don't know... as a half fae, you will likely have much stronger magic than humans... never forget your kindness."

"Ok, Malleus!" You said, kicking your feet happily. You don't know what brought that on, but you knew he was giving good advice. He's been alive so much longer than you, whatever advice he gives, it's probably good!

When Lilia returned to the dorm, it was very late.

He put you to sleep with a sweet lullaby, before discussing what he did with the others.

"Father, you did as (Y/N) asked, right?" Silver asked. "I know you can go... overboard sometimes."

"Fufu! Whatever could you mean, Silver?" Lilia laughed. "Of course I did! I didn't hurt them too badly!"

"Does that mean you didn't hurt them as much as you could have?" Malleus asked.

"Well... maybe they'll be in the infirmary for a few days." Lilia admitted, a devious smile on his face.

"AS THEY SHOULD BE! Serves them right for picking on someone smaller than them." Sebek added.

"That's right..." Lilia whispered.

"Nobody hurts my little bat."

#lilia vanrouge #malleus draconia #silver #silver vanrouge #sebek zigvolt #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland #twst #yandere #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst #platonic yandere #platonic yandere x reader #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere lilia vanrouge #yandere lilia x reader #yandere lilia vanrouge x reader #why doesn't silver have a last name

[respectthepetty]

Be my favorite has got me. I’m down the rabbit hole as it were. I didn’t mean to be here, I fell and I refuse to get out of said hole.

Also….. Is this the first time I am seeing a characters growth and story through self realisation without the love interest?

Like Peesaang went on this journey from seeing the two men kissing in the club, going to the bar, going to see Max, and really taking the time with his feelings. I loved it!!!!!!

Not the ‘ I don’t like men, I just like you’ like….. A to the Men (amen) am I right?!

I'm going to be honest with myself - I've been in this hole since 2021. The initial 2021 trailer (with MIKE!) told me Be My Favorite was either gonna be a mess or a masterpiece, but I prayed it wouldn't be mediocre, so I am THRILLED that My Strange and Obnoxious Fixation™ has paid off. If the second half hurts us, y'all are going to witness a full grown adult have a meltdown on your dash that could rival one of those badass kids in Willy Wonka's chocolate factory, but, so far, IT'S A WIN for me!

And the biggest reason is because of the characters. I am truly invested in JittiRain's evolution here because this is not her norm. I was very prepared for miscommunication, manipulation, and misdeeds, but instead we are getting MAGIC!

I'm sure other shows have done the self-realization journey without it being directly tied to the love interest, but what I'm liking about it here is it just isn't Pisaeng. Usually, the dynamic is one of the leads is pretty solid while the other has to find his way, but both of these guys are figuring it out, and we get to see that evolution. In fact, all the characters are working through their issues.

I read a few posts today of people stating they are feeling better about Kawi now after he showed growth from his initial behavior in the first few episodes. Same with Not. I still dislike that little jerk, but him sending a message to Kawi wishing him good luck was nice to see after he roasted Kawi for trying to find a talent.

Also, Kawi still helped Pisaeng on this journey of self-discovery, but Pisaeng didn't go on this journey to get Kawi. Kawi wasn't treated like the pot of gold at the end of the queer rainbow. Kawi questioned Pisaeng in episode four. He asked Pisaeng why he hadn't been direct about his feelings with Pear. Kawi asked Pisaeng what he was doing when he went in for the kiss. He told Pisaeng to be honest, with himself.

Pisaeng, a guy who believed he was being honest and open, having his actions questioned made him haul ass out of there. Kawi jump-started that reflection.

But Pisaeng is honest and open. He spoke to Pear the next day. He saw the men kissing, and although hesitant, he went to that gay bar. He spoke to Max and decided to confess to Kawi. Then, he returned to the bar.

I hope, and feel, that we are getting the same story from Kawi. He hasn't been honest with himself for a long time, and this statement isn't about queerness. This is about his life in general. However, he doesn't react the same way as Pisaeng. Kawi needs more support. He needs a bigger push. He needs people to guide him. Because for over a decade, Kawi has had nobody and feels like he has nothing.

Pisaeng has known something was wrong with what others believed to be his perfect life, so he was quick to adjust. Kawi has dreamed about what he believed would be his perfect life for at least twelve years, so he is very reluctant to reevaluate the choices he believes will get him that perfect life.

Kawi is doing everything under the guise of getting Pear and more money, but just like Pisaeng, he will have to be honest with himself and realize he is doing all of this because he is extremely lonely. Kawi doesn't need to get laid and get paid; he needs friends.

Both Pisaeng and Kawi need a friend.

And that's what I love about this. You're right! We aren't seeing a story of growth that involves the love interest.

Instead we are seeing stories about change that involve friends.

Because if we are being honest with ourselves, we all need a little help from our friends.

#be my favorite #be my favorite the series #pisaeng x kawi #it's the growth for me #we need friends

[melancholiepeufiable]

36, Sebchal with some hurt comfort/fluff

hi anon <3 ty for the request

this took wayyy longer than i hoped it would lol. i’m not sure how i feel about it, but i had a vision. i hope you like it 🫶

36. “Come with me. Please?”

******

Sebastian rubbed his hands together, pulling the door open. A bell chimed above, the murmur of conversing customers and smell of roasted coffee instantly surrounding him. He smiled and approached the counter, shaking the snow off his shoulders. 

While he had chosen solitude, people were often nice company… he tried not to think about that too much. In any case, his visits to a café not far from his house were timely. Initially, they were once a month, then biweekly, slowly creeping into a weekly routine. The baristas were kind enough to not remember who he was, asking for his name and order each time without a smile on their face. Maybe that was why he kept returning, maybe he longed for that sense of normalcy. 

He accepted the warm cup, spinning around, ready to settle in the small corner between two windows. A spot isolated enough that he could be left alone to people-watch (and eavesdrop, though he’d never admit to it). 

Only this time, it was already occupied by a man with messy hair and a thick black jacket. The man held a paper cup in his hand, staring blankly at a spot on the floor. 

A red beanie laid on the wooden table. 

Seb walked over, catching bits and pieces of conversations he wasn’t a part of. He slid into the seat opposite, displeased when the man kept staring blankly, uncaring to the stranger that invaded his space. 

“Charles, you need to start paying better attention. I could’ve been a pickpocket.”

“Yes, I know.” He blinked, raising dull green eyes to meet Seb’s. The edges crinkled slightly. “Hello again, Sebastian.”

“Hello again, Charles.”

Charles smiled, his dimples barely poking out. He looked… defeated. His shoulders were slumped, dark circles more prominent than Seb last remembered, and there was a gravelly undertone when he spoke, like the words needed to be scratched to freedom. 

Nevertheless, Seb felt himself start to claw in and hold on to whatever time they had left. “How have you been?”

Charles shrugged. 

“What are you doing here?”

“Skiing.”

“There’s a storm coming.”

“Andrea said it’d be good.”

“He’s here with you?”

Charles shook his head, then huffed a laugh as he set his cup down. For a moment, he looked lighter, more like the enthusiastic boy Seb first met. “Joris thinks I need a retreat.”

“Why here?”

He shrugged again. 

This was a dry conversation – one-sided in a way he dreaded, yet Seb still clung on. It was the longest he’d spoken to someone this month. 

“Well, what a coincidence finding you here, huh?”

Charles said nothing, looking back at that spot on the floor. He lifted the cup to his lips and swallowed. 

“Charles?”

“Yes. Pure coincidence.”

He sighed. It was odd being brushed off by someone Seb knew adored him once. Distance was supposed to make the heart grow fonder, but all it seemed to do was make the ache stronger. Or at least, Seb’s ache. Maybe it was unrequited after all – a reasonable explanation for the tension budding at the table – and Charles could sense it. The boy always knew more than he let on. Besides, plenty of time had passed, if anything, simply by being here Seb was pouring salt on healing wounds. 

“Right.” Seb picked up his cup, going to stand. The chair scraped against hardwood. “It was good to see you again. You don’t need luck, but I’ll be watching you on–”

Charles grabbed his free wrist, pulling him back down. “I knew you’d be here, Seb.”

“Oh.” 

“It is why I came.”

Seb blinked, settling into the seat once more. He placed the cup down. 

Charles’ brows pinched upward, a certain desperation morphing his face into one Seb knew all too well. “Everything is wrong. It– you…” He licked his lips and took a deep breath. “It has been horrible since you left.”

“That’s not true.”

“Yes, it is. I was–I was winning. I had second-place. Why did you have to go?”

He picked at the lid of his cup. “It was time.”

“No, it wasn’t. I don’t– what do I do? Seb, please. Tell me I’m not making a mistake.” Charles shook his head. “I can’t accept that this is all I will be. I want to win, I want to be like… like you and Lewis and Michael and–and I do not want to do any of this alone.”

“You are a winner.”

“I want to be a champion.”

Seb grimaced. “On the bright side, you’ve already–”

“There is no bright side, Sebastian.” He replied sternly. The sharp set of his brow made the hollow of his cheeks more prominent. “I am the champion of losers and I am sick of it.” 

“Leave them. Leave Ferrari then.”

He shook his head. 

“Take a sabbatical.”

He shook his head again. “No, no.”

“What do you want?”

The twist of his lips, the reddening of his ears, the fidgeting of his hands – they all pointed to a boy struggling against impulse. Charles blurted. “Follow me next time.”

“No.”

“Come with me.” He said earnestly, eyes round. “Please.”

Seb sighed and leaned forward. “Where?”

“I don’t know.”

Maybe they were two lonely people, two miserable men in their own comforting bubble. Happiness might not have been on their plate, and contentment might’ve been fresh sold out on the menu, but they could always try to make their own. They had two sets of able hands and two brains that were as analytical as the other. It was possible. 

Seb reached out and took Charles’ hand, smoothing his thumb over roughened and chilled skin. “Are you okay?”

He gave a half-shrug, lifting a shoulder sluggishly. 

“Are you here alone?”

“Yes.”

“Where are you staying?”

“A hotel.”

It would be a mistake to give in so easily. Thinking of Charles was dangerous. He invaded a countless number of Seb’s nights and caused many sleepless hours, sometimes extending into the early morning when the sun would seep into the room. 

Each night was worth it. 

“Stay with me.” 

Charles opened and closed his mouth soundlessly. The trust was not broken, but Ferrari was a double-edged sword sometimes. A driver would learn the good and the bad at the expense of knowing who was reliable. Seb knew this. 

“A storm is coming. Spend it with me. I can show you my garden. It’s a bit wilted now, but that’s okay. We can have hot chocolate and watch the snow or a movie. I have a dog, Bruno, you’ll like him.” Seb smiled. “I’d rather have you there than not. We don’t have to spend this storm apart.”

Charles looked at him, a light stain of pink high on his cheeks. “I would not like to be left in the hands of strangers if anything goes wrong.”

“I’m not a stranger. So, what do you say?”

He smiled widely, eyes brightening and dimples deepening. “Yes. I’d like that.”

#sebchal #/my writing = mine #/a bit of fiction #/fic crumbs #f1 fanfic #f1 rpf #charles leclerc #sebastian vettel #f1 fiction #not quite fluff #not quite angst #but a mysterious third thing #my inbox

[thisgirlnamedblusy]

hii! i hope you’re well. i wanted to request a marilyn x fem reader, where it’s their one year of being married and marilyn thinks the reader has forgotten (they could never).

the reader is unknown to marilyns thoughts but is surprising her with a homemade dinner date (very romantic) at home (with candles and rose petals). when marilyn comes home from work she is completely surprised.

she tells the reader how she thought they had forgotten and the reader reassures her that they could never forget the best day to celebrate.

i was hoping for some smut and obvi a lot of fluff

Yesss!!! Here it is!!! Sorry about the language mistakes!!! :))

I could never forget

Pairing: Marilyn Thornhill x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Fluff, smut (a romantic one)

Word count: 2,426

Summary: This day is your wedding anniversary and you have a surprise for her….

 N/A: Requests are open!!! Sorry about the delays, I’m working hard on your requests. I love you all!!!

“Good morning…” Your wife told you, kissing your shoulder while you looked in the mirror, trying to wake you up completely. You smiled, knowing that this tone even more affectionate than usual meant something.

“Hello, Mari, how did you spend the night?” You asked, yawning. She looked at you a bit surprised, probably wondering why your answer was so brief.

“Well, well, I guess,” she said, smiling with a slightly sad expression.

It was normal for her to ask you something with her eyes. That was not just any day. You were married a year ago. It was your first anniversary. You weren't a big fan of remembering dates, but you remembered it perfectly, even if you were going to pretend not to. You smiled and kissed her briefly, beginning to take off your pajamas to get into the shower.

“Today I am terribly sleepy…” You commented turning the faucet. Marilyn studied your gaze. She was clearly offended.

“It's just a very strange day, don't you think? What day is it….? 15?” She asked impatiently. You pretended to try to remember and nodded, shrugging.

“I guess so. I have no idea, really,” you said. “My goodness, how long does it take for the water to heat up? We should change the boiler.”

The redhead looked at you with wide eyes. You avoided her gaze. You didn't like to upset her, but what you had prepared needed the surprise factor.

“You have no idea…” She repeated, as if you had insulted her. You had to take a deep breath.

“Is something wrong?” You asked, pretending to be clueless. Marilyn shook her head. You knew she didn't like to argue.

“No, it's nothing…” She sighed, joining you in the shower.

She said goodbye as always before entering her little beetle. You had holydays. But not that day. That day you had to work, but not for a salary, but for something much better.

When you saw the car drive away, you took yours, ready to start with your plans. You had a list on your mobile, and a time limit to complete it. You couldn't keep anything at home. You knew she would eventually find it.

“Okay, flowers, dinner, candles,” you said, reading your phone and starting the engine.

It was very early, which made you complete all your tasks with a good margin of time. You didn't want to sleep in front of the redhead, you didn't want her to envy your free time, so you lay down for a while when you got home. Yes, you liked to sleep, too much.

Once awake, you got down to work. It was hard for you to choose the most appropriate places to put the candles on, and the roses, which had been hit by the door of your car. Fortunately you had a lot of initiative, and you decided to put the petals on top of the bed, previously prepared.

“Oh, yes, you're a genius, (Y/N)…” You said satisfied.

It was still the hardest part, dinner. You weren't bad at cooking, but this time it was a special occasion. It had to be a special dinner. Marilyn used to sleep before you did, and in that time you spent looking at online recipes. The special roast ham seemed the best option.

“If you don't have maple syrup...”

“Yes…” You repeated, scared for having forgotten that ingredient. You were already sweating, and your apron was full of stains. You were making quite a mess, which naturally you would have to clean up afterwards.

“You can use honey instead.”

“Oh, yes, great,” you said clapping your hands, looking in one of the cupboards. In Nevermore there was a beekeeping club, and there was never a lack of honey at home.

When you finally put the tray in the oven and set the time, you thought you could rest, but the kitchen seemed to have been the target of some kind of war game. You were exhausted, but you began to clean, leaving everything shiny.

A few hours passed and you hadn't even had time to eat. You took the roast out of the oven, and to your surprise, it looked awesome. You carefully set the table and finally took off your apron. The clock struck 6 pm.

“Shit, shit,” you protested, setting down a fork. Marilyn would be home in half an hour, and you weren't dressed yet.

Faster than you ever imagined you could, you got ready, wearing a dress you'd bought just for the occasion.

You were lighting the candles when you saw some lights through the window. It was her, she was back.

You ran towards the entrance, just as the sound of someone inserting the key in the lock.

“No!” You said, slamming the door.

“Ouch!” Marilyn complained. Nice way to start your anniversary, slam your wife in the face with the door. “What are you doing?”

“Don't come in yet, wait…” You said, putting yourself in such a way that it was impossible for her to open the door.

“(Y/N), I'm tired, let me in and don't be silly,” she told you, visibly annoyed.

“Wait, wait. You have to close your eyes first...” You said, holding your composure.

“What?”

“Do it!” You yelled.

“Okay, (Y/N), I have them closed,” she said softly, probably already beginning to suspect that something was wrong.

You looked through the peephole to check. She was a woman of word, of course.

“Okay, come in,” you said, opening the door.

The redhead entered carefully, leaving you her bag. When you put it on the counter, you covered her eyes with your hands.

“Okay, are you ready?” You said, quickly checking that everything was in their place. “Happy Anniversary!”

Marilyn shook her head and her eyes widened. The whole house was decorated with fresh roses and candles. Dinner was on the table and the atmosphere was the most romantic in the world.

“My God, (Y/N)… have you, have you done this by yourself?” She asked, contemplating every detail.

“Of course I’ve done it by myself. Come on let's go to the table, dinner is going to get cold,” you said, taking her arm.

Marilyn sat up, still entranced by everything around her.

“I... I can't believe it... It looks great and... Is that dress new?”

“Well, yes,” you said, sitting in front of her.

“It's amazing, honey. I thought you forgot about it.”

You smiled behind your glass of wine.

“I could never forget it, Mari,” you said affectionately, taking her hand. She seemed calm, but your words caused a hypnotic effect on her gaze. “It had to be a surprise, you know.”

“Well, I left home angry this morning,” she said, as if she were apologizing.

“Oh, really? Really, Mari, I never know when you're angry,” you answered amused.

Dinner was as perfect as it could be. The food was delicious and the love was palpable in the house.

After dessert, Marilyn couldn't wait any longer. She got up and grabbed your wrist, while you drank from your glass.

“Wait, wait, close your eyes,” you said as you finished your glass of wine as Marilyn pulled you towards the bedroom. She stopped instantly, setting you free.

“Again?”

“Please…” You said, moving forward. She obeyed, sighing. You checked that she had really closed them and led her into the room. “Don't worry, you can trust me.”

Immediately afterwards, the redhead collided with the door frame.

“Oh shit, sorry,” you said embarrassed. She shook her head and laughed.

You reached for the knob and opened the door a little, to check that a tornado hadn't come into the room and destroyed your work. You breathed a sigh of relief and pulled your wife a little.

“Can I open them now? I heard the door,” she told you impatiently.

“I have to grease those hinges…” You said to yourself. “Okay, are you ready? Open them.”

You had worked a lot that day, and dinner was not the only thing you had done. On your bed, with new sheets, there were a bunch of rose petals, along with strategically placed candles. With a small remote control, you turned on a music player, which began to play a soft, romantic music.

The room didn't seem the same. It seemed like the perfect place to celebrate anything, as long as it was with her.

“My God, (Y/N)… It's… It's wonderful,” she said, visibly moved. She walked past you and went straight to the bed, picking up several petals and sniffing at them, closing her eyes.

“Yes, Mari, they are real. I'm not so shabby,” You said funny.

“It's perfect… I, I don't know what to say,” she said, while you approached her. The redhead grabbed you by the waist and you crouched down, resting your forehead against hers.

“I don't want you to say anything, just kiss me, my dear wife…” You whispered, melting into a passionate, sincere kiss, full of joy and love.

Dinner had been a success. Thinking you forgot worked very well as a strategy, but the decoration of your bedroom was the icing on the cake.

You climbed on top of her, feeling the soft smell of petals, while your hands ran over her body delicately, as if her skin were made of porcelain.

“So you like it?” You said amused, slowly undoing the buttons of her blouse.

“I like you, (Y/N)…” She whispered, moving so that the garment could slide off her shoulders.

The music marked the rhythm of your caresses, your kisses, your gasps. You took off your shoes, dropping them on the wooden floor. Marilyn shifted until her head rested on the pillow.

“Better that way, don't you think?” She told you, winking at you.

“Shhh, my impatient redhead,” you said, putting a finger on her lips.

Your kisses were going down her bare chest. You had given her a bad day by making her believe that you had forgotten your anniversary. She deserved a compensation, and you knew the best way to do it.

She just smiled, taking off her glasses. Her look was just as tender, just as innocent. It was the look of the woman you had chosen to spend the rest of your life with, and you had no doubt that 100 years could go by and you could still love her like the first day.

Your kisses kept going down, enjoying every part of her skin. You didn't want to be in a hurry. It was a special day. You could take all the time you wanted.

Your hands reached the edge of her skirt, which you subtly made disappear, lowering it by her ankles. It was the turn of her legs. Briefly kissing your wife on her lips, you moved down to her ankle, caressing it before resting your mouth on it. She giggled nervously and made an attempt to move her leg away.

“You tickle me, (Y/N),” she told you between laughs. You looked up and your eyes turned dark.

“I know…” You said in a dangerous whisper. You didn't want to make her more nervous, and you kept climbing up her knee, up her thigh.

“This is a bit unfair, isn't it?” She told you, making you stop again. You frowned. You were so excited that you couldn't think very clearly.

“What?”

“I want to see your beautiful body, please,” she said looking at you with absolute expectation. You got up and unzipped your dress. The dress was a little tight on you, so taking it off was an added pleasure for you.

“Do you like the views, miss?” You asked with an elegant voice. She nodded, gesturing for you to continue.

You obeyed immediately, now lowering her underwear. Everything was perfect, and you were going to make her think the same. Without dawdling too much, you buried your head between her legs, delicately licking the entire area. The moans were not long in coming, almost drowning out the soft music.

It was very easy to make her enjoy it, but that day you were more determined than usual, with delicate movements of your tongue, and sucking those places that you knew drove her crazy.

“You're… You're perfect…” Marilyn gasped, bringing her hand to your hair. This time she wasn't grabbing your hair tightly, she was simply stroking it.

When you saw that it was time, you introduced your fingers, keeping a smooth but intense rhythm. She moaned louder, letting herself be carried away by the pleasure you were causing  to her. You looked up biting your lip, seeing how her face only reflected pure excitement, pleasure on the verge of getting out of control.

“Fas, faster, (Y/N)…” She begged. You obeyed, when you noticed that her hips moved involuntarily. “Oh, my God…I'm…I'm going to…”

Her entire body arched, releasing all of her pleasure, with a tremendously erotic moan. You were longing for just a little bit of that pleasure, and you wasted no time.

Your underwear quickly disappeared, as if it had never been there. You climbed quickly and kissed her again, with desire, with more lust. She was holding you tight, thanking you for what you had just done for her. You laughed, while your body just wanted more contact.

“Come here, my love,” she told you, turning you around to lie on the bed. While your body was covered by her kisses, she lifted your leg and she put herself between your legs, making both of your heat to match. It seemed as if each one was doing their best, what made each one enjoy the most.

You positioned yourself well and began to move, enjoying the touch of your bodies. It was all you needed. Your hips moved to the same rhythm as hers and a few gusts of pleasure ran through all your senses.

There were only moans, and music that had long since stopped playing. Your sounds of pleasure were the best melody.

In a few minutes, you screamed too, unable to hold it anymore.

Little by little you lay down again. She reached for your shoulder, where she had attached one of her rose petals.

“It's been a beautiful night, (Y/N),” she told you, intertwining her legs with yours.

“And you thought that I had forgotten about it…” You teased, closing your eyes. You were tired and it was time to sleep.

“I love you, (Y/N). I hope for many anniversaries like this one...” She said, getting up to blow out the candles.

“You will have them, Mari, you will have them... Come here, please...”

#marilyn thornhill #marilyn thornhill x reader #wednesday #ms thornhill #oneshot #smut #laurel gates

[wonderlandleighleigh]

One fic per Billy Joel song #8

New York State of Mind 

(Sexytimes under the cut)

When he’d left New York for LA, his initial thought had been “Fuck this place except Midge.” And for a good, solid eight months he’s been living with his mother and daughter. Working pretty steadily. Writing. Staying surprisingly clean. 

He talks to Midge about once a week over the phone, late at night. And that’s good. That’s so good. He wants more of it, but that would require him to be in New York more - at all - and...well...

That awful city - overcrowded and smelly and twisted as it is - keeps calling his names, and now it’s almost October, and he just -

Can’t seem to fucking stay away. 

So he sets it up. Nice and right. He pays for an apartment in the nice part of the Village. Three bedrooms, so he and Kitty each have one and there’s one he can use as an office, and when he lands, he has the cabbie take him there. 

City’s the same, and that’s somehow so comforting. He gets to the apartment and it’s even nicer than he thought it would be. He has a fucking doorman. A doorman! Shit. And the unit itself is good. Lots of natural light. Decent kitchen. His things and Kitty will come out later. 

It’s a Monday, so Midge is likely not working, and so he stops by her apartment sometime after dinner, jetlagged as he is, and when Midge opens the door, she looks surprised, but happy to see him.

“The last time you were here, you said ‘fuck New York I’m never coming back,’“ she teases as she pulls out some leftovers for him to scarf down. Lamp chops and roasted potatoes and brussels sprouts. A little pie for dessert. 

He shrugs as he eats. “I lied. Got a place in the village. Three bedrooms, one for Kitty. I can do what I do anywhere, mostly. The writing at least. Cops out here still want to nail me, but I can handle it.” 

Midge nods, watching him carefully. “You look good, Lenny.” 

He glances up at her, taking her in. “I think telling you you look good, too would be an incredible understatement.” 

She flushes just a little and looks away, putting some of the leftovers away when he’s done. 

“Parents home?” he asks. 

She shakes her head. “Paris for the month.” 

“Kids?” 

“With their father.” 

“Their father?” 

“Hates me right now for joking about his new haircut on national television,” she smirks. 

“The haircut is that bad?” Lenny asks, quirking an eyebrow.

She gets a faraway look, almost like a thousand yard stare. “So fucking bad, Lenny.”

“He lose a bet?” he asks. 

“Both Mei and I told him he couldn’t pull off a shorter haircut and he tried to prove us both wrong,” Midge explains, sitting next to him at the table. “And while I’m rarely right about anything, Mei is right about everything. So he’s stuck until it grows back, or he shaves it all off.” 

Lenny chuckles and sits back in his chair. “It’s nice to be back. I missed you.” 

Midge nods, smiling at him. “I missed you, too.” 

They move the conversation to the living room. She mixes them some drinks and they talk while getting a little toasted. Her career is going well. She’s still Ford’s house comic. Ford is still desperate to bed her, and Midge hasn’t been at all interested. Susie is still Susie, but a much more relieved Susie now that Midge is working again.

Lenny’s been working and spending time with his daughter. He’s set to record an album in a few months, so he’ll have to go back to LA for that, but it’ll be temporary, and he thinks about asking Midge to come with him, but maybe when he’s settled. When he knows where they stand. 

Currently, it’s late, and they’re both tired, and there’s no bed at his new place yet, and since her apartment is so empty, she has no problem offering him a place to stay. 

“Couch is pretty comfortable,” she offers. “Or there’s always my bed. Depending on how you feel about that.” 

“You know,” he says, gazing at her meaningfully. “I feel pretty good about that.” 

Nothing happens. 

Well. 

He says nothing.

Nothing naked happens. 

But laying in bed with her, both stripped down to nightgown and undershorts for the night, it’s too tempting to reach for her. They make out like frisky teenagers until he yawns, making her laugh.

“Oof, that is a kick to my ego’s nuts,” Midge jokes, making him laugh.

“It’s the jetlag, I promise it has nothing to do with you,” Lenny pleads, getting a little more serious. “You are lovely.” 

They kiss a little more, and call it a night. 

He wakes up to the traffic outside, and Midge’s head pillows on his chest, her fingers fiddling with the waistband of his undershorts, and he proves to her that it really was just the jetlag, shifting her onto her back, kissing downward. 

They haven’t had sex since Carnegie Hall, and Lenny decides that’s too fucking long a gap as he makes her come. He decides he doesn’t want to live without this anymore as he trails kisses back up her body. He decides coming back to New York was probably the best idea ever as he sinks into her after fumbling with a condom. 

When she cries out his name, reaching another release not too long later, tipping him over the edge with her, he figures maybe this horrible city isn’t that bad after all. 

Lenny kisses her deeply as they both come down, her fingers caressing his skin wherever she can reach. 

“Welcome back,” she mutters against his lips. 

He grins and kisses her jaw. 

#fic #au #tmmm #Midge/Lenny #Midge x Lenny

[chrisodonline]

Stray Thoughts on "Sleeping Dogs"

Or "Stray Dogs," if you will.

I had intended a few different posts, and while threatening promising to write up more about this Sunday's episode, I never really got to.

HOWEVER, I did want to just mention some random things, or things of note. Most of it good. Some of it, "Hmmm?" It wasn't an episode for everyone, as I've noted. But I've read far too many things that really just seemed like some people watched it and did everything they could to find things wrong with it. Now, more often than not, I know the exact reason why. It's cool if it's not your cup of tea, but trying to make it sound like it shouldn't be anybody else's cup of tea is just...calm down.

Yes, I was determined to enjoy this because this was one of the rarer birthday week episodes where there wasn't sparse Callen due to Pebble Beach scheduling. And I was not expecting the rich and joyous Sallen we got, but I loved it. One of the best gifts this week!

No one can ruin that opening banter scene for me. Sam's teasing. Callen's obliging him. And here's the other thing: Sam didn't tease Callen about the fact that he's doing whatever Anna is asking. Callen even tried to use the "We" pronoun. The only real joke Sam makes about Anna and the wedding is directed at Callen: Sam wants to warn Anna about what she's getting into. Sam doesn't agree with her taste (we'll get to that), but his jokes are not misogynistic nor do they show any real toxic masculinity. See, other shows (and, hell, even this one on more than one occasion), would mock Callen for being "whipped" when he really just wants to be married to this woman and will do whatever it takes to get her to that point. Callen's love language is acts, specifically acts of concession, which are even more significant when you consider the traits he's usually ascribed: loner, stubborn, individualistic, etc. There's an essay in there about how hard he's worked to earn that perception to keep people at bay, but we'll just move forward.

While the show as a whole creates jokes out of Anna's wedding planning, Sam doesn't go after her for being a bridezilla or crazy or ridiculous. He does not like that suit and has no reason to. But he doesn't say, "Your girl is crazy, G. Run." He says, "Please tell your lady this will not work on me, and I want to look my best when I'm roasting, er, toasting you." So, that's good. What's less good is the constant joke that is Anna's wedding planning and decisions that just aren't in character at all. I know I headcanoned and tried to make the wedding planner scene work, but I would've hoped she'd have stopped after that. But no. This is a problem. They worked really hard in her first two appearances this season to try and pretend like a lot of the issues they (the show) created with this relationship never really happened and that she has always been the girlfriend/love interest that other characters (like Sam) were used as mouthpieces to say she was. They made G and Anna have adult conversations that made sense, and they made them seem like a healthy couple you were like, "Oh, hey, I would've been rooting for this more and sooner."

And then the wedding stuff. I'm not going to say that the dragging of it it out is one-sided. Callen clearly is hesitant for Hetty-related reasons, but I think he is slowly letting himself realize maybe that's not the best thing. He outright said he just wanted to be married to Anna. I think he confuses even himself. Anna seemed, initially, more willing to move forward and more quickly. However, this constant changing or picking ridiculous approaches to the wedding ideas feels like nothing more than dragging something out or avoidance. Is she frustrated and trying not to let herself get frustrated by Callen's wishing to delay things, so she just keeps trying to fill time by making zanier decisions? Is that her way to try and incentivize Callen to hurry up and forget the Hetty Factor? Or is it more of her avoidance issue and not his? I've written pretty often about her tendency to run, even if she did the Hetty thing and always swore it was for reasons that were in his best interests. She would do things that made her really sus in the beginning: she showed interest then the minute he returned it, she ghosted him and mocked him about it in front of Sam. She tried to get away from the team on the motorcycle. She told him to tell the truth and then treated him like a jerk when she went to prison. But guess what? He still tended to her in the hospital. And then lying to him about where she was with the volunteer work, etc. etc. Again, she always said it was in his best interest, and boy has he heard that before...and been totally okay with it. The show has just botched things with patterns so many times, it's hard to write off these silly wedding planning jabs. So, there's my essay on that.

Back to highlights: The Castor thing and recurring joke? GOLD. GOLD. I will love it forever and ever. Callen's explanation for it made so much more sense than Sam's tux choice from Anna, and so the joke was more solid. I. was. howling. when Castor walked out for the visual gag. The fact that Castor's pride has taken a hit because of being disarmed and knocked out frequently, and Callen's noticing it and being willing to reach out, was the explanation? Perfect. It shows a guy having some self-esteem issues and another guy picking up on that without making it too awkward or sappy. Just...trying to make him feel like he's one of the guys, and it's all okay. Nothing to be ashamed about. This is the Callen who has made more and more efforts to not be such a lone wolf. We've seen it with Fatima, others, and he's just really been dropping his guard and taking his role as a mentor figure and respected leader more seriously. Growth. Growth with some jokes, yes, but growth. Again, Sam doesn't tease him about being kind or make fun of Castor for taking those "hits." He's just like, "I guess you have a new best friend now. Look at you." He plays off his fake jealousy and projects it onto Castor's potential jealousy. It's cute. It's banter. It's teasing. They are all still guys, and they do a lot of bonding this way. They're not always going to be This Is Us, and this is honestly more realistic.

Of course, poor Castor gets knocked out again. But, hey, Callen did, as well! So I bet he still feels okay. And Callen probably feels a little guilty. "Hey, this is my bad, Castor. Let me buy you a drink...after our sedatives wear off." Because this was a Bartels episode, and for some reason he's like, "Let's have the bad guy give Callen a sedative." It's a well he's gone to before, and now poor Castor has gotten dragged along for the ride. (I was, for a moment, really wondering if Callen was going to get abducted because we only have a few more eps left of the show, and that's right up there with explosions as being part of the show. Alas. Maybe his days of getting himself taken are truly behind him. Growth!)

The episode was paced just fine for me. I followed it all, actually! Whaaattt? I know. A bulleted list of things I liked, in which I try to avoid making this post even more of a novel:

The casting of the other subjects was pretty good.

There were some actual stakes and action scenes.

There were some actual twists. They didn't have to try and convince us a turn was serious with the ominous music cues.

Callen's admitting he may have let the guy get away because he wanted him to, so he could get Pembroke, pointed to a lot of the morally gray issues. It's complicated, and shows like this tend to take a very black and white approach. But the character of Callen has always lived more in the gray than the black or white.

Points to Chris O'D for somehow managing to deliver the line, "I'm Subject 17" without it being hokey: it is a fine line to hit with sounding serious but not overdoing the gravitas.

I'm still very annoyed with the Leah thing from last season because it was just such an OOC to do without more reasons or context -- or some explanation that it was a sign Callen was truly spiraling. However, at no point did he ever try to make an excuse for it in this episode. Now that I liked. When someone called him out for it, he never tried to say, "Ah, yeah...well, see..." He took it.

He was also not questioning the blame that he set Pembroke off...until he realized it didn't make sense with how things had happened. He would've been the first target, not the only one not on the list. And he was right to question that. Even if, by that point, his guilt about the whole Leah situation and her not believing him was probably what made him too trusting and took the guy to the hospital.

I also thought the other character scenes were good. They can never seem to make up their mind about the Admiral's characterization, but this ep had one for him that made sense and made him work. I will always <3 Shyla, and I am sad they didn't figure out how to bring her on sooner and more often. Fatima and Rountree (and their actors) have always had the unenviable tasks for trying to fill in so many different gaps -- from characters completely gone to characters having to appear and do less -- but they do it with smiles and eagerness. Bartels made sure there was some more depth for them here, too.

I won't even go into the whole Hetty thing. Y'all know how I feel on that. And what can I say that hasn't already been said? (Though that never seems to stop me, does it?)

#z rambles on #and then some #ncis la #g callen #ep: sleeping dogs #sallen #sam hanna #whooopssss #this went super long #time to fold the laundry

[tea-with-evan-and-me]

So… some ✨ inch resting people ✨ follow Emma on Instagram. Niecy Nash for example 👀 Lily Rose Depp. The fucking ACLU. Florence Pugh. Kinda trashy. I understand the whole “networking” part of the industry but like…. she is literally bottom-of-the-barrel. Why would you want to network with some lukewarm nepo baby actress? Isn’t her DV arrest commonly known? Or did her PR team work harder than Satan? Rich White women will literally skin a baby alive and people will be like “but she didn’t mean it uwu”. I hate Chris Brown for obvious reasons but next time he wants to roast Emma I am begging him to go harder.

i feel confident saying that the vast majority of people who know of emma don't know about the DV arrest at this point. unless you were involved in fandom, or keeping up with celebrity gossip, where the story was hot news.. it fizzled out super quick. because we didn't get a mugshot, a police report, or really anything beyond the generic PR statement and photos of emma crying in evan's arms.. it's mostly lost to time. evan has never spoken about it, emma hasn't either, so the story lost it's legs past the initial interest. now there's this strange dichotomy between emma the gif queen of bitchy characters, with a bad reputation as a spoiled and chaotic nepo baby (because there were plenty of gossip site appearances earlier in her career for drug use, public intoxication and terrible behavior towards people) and the new ''regularly cast in unimpactful romcoms'' emma who is a mom with a carefully curated instagram feed and sponsored posts - very influencer-esque. as you said, these are the perks of being a rich white woman with a famous last name.

i despise chris brown (sadly after being a huuuge fan as a teenager) but if he's not going to go away forever, the least he can do is be loudly right about something, which is that there is a clear double standard and it should be spoken about. the only difference between chris and emma is that chris has gotten caught multiple times and emma was not, because she is cushioned by a society that will never let her fall the way chris brown rightfully did. and if anyone wants to argue about how chris has gone on to lean into being a violent menace and it's not comparable, all i can say is that some of us remember the public apology tour chris brown had to go on after he beat rihanna. which was the least he could do, but something emma never has or will have to do despite the fact she is guilty of the same offense. chris brown basically had to pivot from being a crossover artist with major pop radio play, who was touted as the next michael jackson by critics, to doing whatever the hell he's doing now because the white general public by large doesn't fuck with him anymore. but some of the same people who would scream at you to delete chris brown's songs from your spotify playlist would get on twitter with their tiny violin to sob about how wrong it is for people attack poor liddle emma roberts for her DV arrest when she was CLEARLY also a victim. these sad, would-be social justice warriors going to bat for her will never realize she would bloody and bite their lowly peasant asses if they didn't let her cut the starbucks line if she could get away with it lmfao

also, to people who want to say we should all mind our business because evan stayed with emma, rihanna went back to chris brown multiple times and she even made little digs at his next girlfriend, karrueche... who he would later stalk and abuse just like he did her.

[ohwell-itsme-but-danganronpa]

DRS: Makoto Naegi

well, here we go

oh, he thought Naegi's luck would work the same way as Komaeda's

PERHAPS YOU LACK THE MEANS OF SELF-OBSERVATION I am saving that one

first roasting him then comparing him to a butterfly, still doubting that luckster wouldn't be a danger to others

they're on completly different pages, Makoto doesn't understand a thing he's saying and he doesn't believe what Makoto told him about his luck, somehow Gundham ended getting something out of this conversation

Komaru was in a closet once

Kaede commenting about Makoto being experienced as a brother made me think how this is typical Kaede problem-solving, she took the initiative to confront Masaru, but asked Makoto for help,

she knows when someone can handle a situation better than her and is open to inviting them to the conversation, but still has to take the lead and stays involved instead of letting Makoto deal with it on his own

so Makoto is a "complete newbie" when it comes to online games, huh. Chiaki offering to teach him was kinda cute

Kyoko interaction so marriedcore, they're gonna investigate together "We can each see things the other might not ;)", Makoto's flipping through reactions and she's just giving him that little smile the whole time

they didn't find anything and she still said it wasn't wasted time, oh they're not giving up on the investigation yet, but still, they spend the whole afternoon together and then the next event also starts with her

it's honestly a little funny how he's making nervous expressions so much while she's mostly smiling, even making that closed-eyes very content face, I don't remember Kyoko smiling this much in thh

them!

apparently they've been talking for a while, curious, oh it's the one where she tells him to be careful, okay it's my favorite this far

pfft

Tsumgi waging psychological warfare on Makoto for fun

out of his Potential of Talent options I have to say, I didn't even expect Sayaka to be there, but I ended up liking this one the most, it was interesting, also what was that with him telling Komaru he hasn't told their parents about his plans, I thought he was a good boy

ugh, Makoto has more events than others, it's the longest compilation, glad I started with it, it would be a pain to go through later when I'll lose my enthusiasm

It takes so long bc I am taking notes, I am fucking studying everything they're saying, taking it seriously, I am on a 7th page of notes and just getting into Hiroko & Kokichi event

When she said "Let's hear Kokichi out" never ever have a single sentence meant so much to me, I love her for that, this is so groundbreaking to me, if I were in his shoes I'd tear up but I am a weaker bitch with the same issues so

both of the fake origin stories he has here have him already in the area of the academy as a baby, that's really interesting, is it implying that he has no past prior to attending if so, is it a message to them not to pry or his feeling, was he raised there, what (screaming)

a little weird choice for Makoto to have so many events and then in several he's just sorta there for exposure, like, that's so very protagonist of him to be present during interesting situations so we can see them, adding nothing to them,

in Kyoko & Shuichi and Hiroko & Kokichi events it's super clear he's just there as a side dish, and in his event with Togami they just *subtly* explain to us who did what for a barbecue despite not being interested Togami entertains him long enough for Naegi to say what he has to

Junko's event was weird, guess I have to do her events next to try to understand, she said she's bored of her old shtick and that she wants an exciting, unpredictable future. When Makoto said she'll be fine, she called him a bad judge of character, but that's wrong, he was just

thinking of the other Junko he knows, it's not his fault or a bad judgement. I am thinking of the moment when she looked happy at the prospect of that hopeful future he believes she has, the deadpan reaction is delayed like it caught up to her that he's talking about

Mukuro, not her. At the beginning of their interaction he makes a comment he already told Mukuro, Junko has a wildly different reaction, then she shares that she has no hope and he reassures her, she smiles and then he brings up knowing her for 3 years, she gets angry

not saying that's exactly what happens, just trying to wrap my head around it, my theory is that she thought he knew he was talking to a different person, so she was disappointed when she realized he was talking as a Mukuro's friend and not as an ult hope giving even her a chance

I was also trying to guess why Komaeda was making that face in Makoto's "My Future" and all I came up with are those two scraps: 1)Makoto acted in a way he didn't expect, he's disappointed because he doesn't understand Makoto's hope?

2) he's jealous of what the other luckster is able to achieve? He said that luck is a lame talent, he never saw it as equal to others, but turns out it isn't as much of a setback for Makoto as it is for him and the other is still able to reach high in a way he wouldn't dare to

I am not one of the Komaeda specialists tho, so I'll leave figuring it out to them, my brain is too small and my heart even smaller and already filled with Kokichi, I am not gonna give myself a headache over this, have fun

First posted on December 9, 2021 (twitter) Detailed notes below (WARNING: since this was the first one I went through, I didn't know what to focus on and it ended up extremely long, none of the characters I'll be posting about next will have a comparable amount of notes, I am so sorry, keep reading at your own risk):

first event: Gundham Tanaka

calling Naegi a sinner

he thought Naegi's luck would work like Nagito's

assuming that luck has to be dangerous, if Naegi doesn't think he's dangerous then it's his obliviousness

Makoto doesn't understand Gundham at all

somehow Gundham ended up answering some existential question he had just by talking at Makoto (we don't learn what)

he let Makoto pet the Devas in gratitude (offered their "blessing")

second event: Kaede Akamatsu & Masaru Daimon

walked in on Kaede scolding Masaru for sleeping at the music venue

turns out she asked Makoto for help, he checked on other kids off-screen, they were in their rooms

WoH remind him of his sister so he's concerned for them and can't ignore them

Masaru taking their worries as trying to control him

did WoH really have a fight? It looks like they guessed right, judging Masaru's face

Komaru locked herself in a closet once

"intervening will only make him rebel more"

"I can tell you really have experience as a brother"

both Kaede quotes, I guess this scenario shows her personality well, she took the initiative, but relied on somebody who she believed was experienced to assist her

third event: Chiaki Nanami

sleepy... zzz (for real)

Chiaki! you're going to spill your soup, oh no, she doesn't hear us, she has air pods

jk, she woke up

pulled an all-nighter, I feel you

she met somebody other than Sonia that's from Novoselic online for the first time? Or was that Sonia all along, hm?

She always prioritizes the game over chatting, but not this time

she invited Makoto to play with her, he called himself a complete newbie, but he's interested

aww, she offered to teach him

he tells her to lower her expectations for his luck with drops

fourth event: Kyoko Kirigiri

so Makoto is investigating the island himself, something with the mysterious photo that probably wasn't taken by Mahiru herself since she "doesn't remember taking it" AND Kyoko offers to investigate together

those two are so marriedcore idc

she looks so pleased to spend time with him, while he's constantly making some nervous expressions

for Kyoko it's fun, not a serious investigation

they both look forward to seeing each other again (it's evening)

fifth event: Kyoko Kirigiri & Shuichi Saihara

they have been there for a while before Makoto joined

Kyoko was telling Shuichi detective stories from her investigations, talking about detectives she worked with, many are dead now, she rarely gets to talk with fellow detectives nowadays

she's looking out for Shuichi, Makoto adding that it applies to her too

sixth event: Maki Harukawa

she's accusing him of being "conspicuous" right off the bat

they got an idea that the picture might be of a ghost?

she said she'll tell his classmates that he's "up to something interesting" if she meets them, nice

seventh event: Tenko & Impostor

"Tenko, you look like you're in agony"

well, that was harsh of the Impostor, guess he was feeling very Byakuya today

it's good to see her trying to change

eighth event: Komaru Naegi & Sayaka Maizono

Komaru being awkward around Sayaka just like in the prologue

ah, she's mad at him for not getting it

they're annoyed at each other now

ninth event: Tsumugi Shirogane

they're going to watch a movie

bonding over being basic bitches

Tsumugi sends a psychic attack, plainly

A rivalry?!

Oh my god, psychological warfare on my Makoto

"teasing", you were torturing him, girl.

Potential Of Talent:

-Maybe I should talk to another lucky person (Komaeda)

"Aren't I lucky, getting sick on a school field trip?" bastard, what the fuck do you mean by that?

still calling himself a scum and thinking his talent is lame

they both think that the other's luck is more impressive

-I am lucky my sister is here! I'll talk with her. (Komaru)

uh oh, they're picking up where they left off

he's never been uncomfortable with ultimates, duh, he's one of them

Makoto is asking a big question, will they be back to ordinary after graduating from Hope's Peak? I think not.

She tells him their parents are stressing about what he's going to do post-graduation

Oh? he hasn't talked to them? One would think Makoto to be mama's boy, but guess not.

Makoto, does death flag mean anything to you?

-Who knows a thing or two about chasing dreams? (Sayaka)

Surprisingly cute, I like what she said, Makoto can work with anyone, doesn't have to limit himself to a group of related talents since they don't really exist

I am proud to be an idol, but...

she compared talents to weapons, people with tangible talents weaponize them, Makoto doesn't

she said that makes him different, but she also expects him to find "his weapon" eventually

she knew he was looking for advice and pulled the classic "I'm a psychic" joke

tenth event: Byakuya Togami

he gives Togami a ticket? To what?

a barbecue, Leon's idea. Togami didn't want a ticket before he knew what it was for

Mondo is involved, to prevent Monokuma interfering, that's why they need tickets too, those are illustrated by Hifumi and his idea (he def got from cons), important events should use tickets, looks like the event is group effort

Togami calls it pointless and Naegi a nuisance

Teruteru will help with cooking (so more of a boys night rather than their class like I first thought)

Teruteru and Kirumi's cooking is good enough for Togami, shocking.

eleventh event: "Junko" Mukuro Ikusaba

she loves swimming, got to move a lot

"guess models have a lot more stamina than you'd think" ha! Makoto... "More or less." girlie, I can't.

"I've never gone on school trips or anything like that before", "It was my choice", at least she gets to be happy now

the camp is a golden opportunity for ultimates who live very busy lives (like her)

stop frowning, Makoto! Now you've done it, she's embarrassed

Mukuro retreated into the sea (but dragged him along)

twelfth event: Hiroko Hagakure & Kokichi Ouma

Hiroko pointing out how wild Hope's Peak is as a concept

Kokichi calls her Hiromom

"Can't guarantee an answer though." I like her

Shut up Makoto, it's a good question. Hiroko is smarter than that and wants to hear Kokichi out

Hiroko being chill about Yasuhiro's talent and having a normal relationship with him, so good, so exceptional in DR universe full of fucked up people, bonus points that she knows how people can treat their talented kids (profiting or shunning) and goes back to acknowledge the issues can occur in any family, the status of an Ultimate doesn't change anything, parent's role stays the same (therefore it shouldn't matter whether a child is talented or not, parent's love should be unconditional)

but yeah, Ultimate households have a /slightly/ higher chance of those problems happening

"I was born from the big tree behind Hope's Peak Academy", "I often dream about what it'd be like to have parents. I want the clearest image possible!" (he makes a serious face here, slightly upset even) "Didn't you say you were abandoned as an infant in a coin locker at the station nearby the academy?"

Is Kokichi pointing at something more than not having parents in his life? Is it a message not to pry into his past? Is it a genuine feeling that his life started at the academy? Is it not a metaphor and he was raised at Hope's Peak?

she calls him a naughty kid for that outrageous lie and he changes from that serious face to his biggest smug smile

Summer Festival: (Live Street Performance)

-Fuyuhiko is performing with us. What's he up to?

so Fuyu tried playing instruments... and found out that it isn't easy to learn playing

they brainstorm what to do (non-described)

-Nekomaru is performing with us. What's he up to?

screaming wildly, apparently, maybe he's yodeling?

they also brainstorm, while doing vocal exercises

-If anyone has an answer, it'll be Ibuki!

"have you heard of body percussion, Makoto?"

"Ibuki gave me some valuable advice!" Idk about that.

Send-off bonfire

-I did manage to get along with Ultimates... (Hajime)

Hajime "Wait, aren't you an Ultimate too?"

yeah, yeah, basic bitches bonding 2, maybe no psychological warfare this time boys

-I've gotten a little stronger at least... (Mukuro)

time to get roasted by Mukuro ig

ok, at least he knows, "I am as scrawny as ever", he meant emotional growth, "your heart and will or some junk"

"you've been plenty capable from the very get-go!"

I'm glad they got to talk about memories and that she's being so positive

-I'm still not quite sure what luck is exactly... (Nagisa)

not Nagisa telling Makoto he's complicates

"Harsh evaluation", guess Naegi got roasted again

My Future...

two paragraphs? of "people working behind the scenes"?

a group of academy personnel entered this world to perform tests

what the photos have to do with tests?

Shuichi didn't understand Chihiro's "technobabble" aww (I wouldn't either)

Mahiru's embarrassed, she started all that drama, and it's leftover data from resets

enlightening experience: many people are involved that we don't see (allowing them the camp experience with all this unseen work)

Nagito's looking so disappointed, is it because Makoto acted in an unexpected way? Is he jealous of what Makoto is achieving with the same talent as him?

Thirteenth event: Junko Enoshima (real)

she can also swim a lot, but it bores her with how effortless it is

Makoto makes the same comment about stamina, but unlike Mukuro she flips out at him (So did he notice she's different? It's almost like he did for a moment, but then no) [I didn't know Junko and Mukuro aren't both at the camp and that there are 2 parallel timelines to include them until I was doing Junko's events]

bored of her old shtick? wants a future?

how cute that he tries to support her, thinking it's the same Junko

"you're a bad judge of character", no, he's just thinking of your sister. Is she upset because she thought he knew and he failed that expectation, talking as Mukuro's friend instead of ult. hope talking to her?

Somewhere in the main plot, out of events, Makoto gains the confidence displayed in "My Future", the investigation helped him figure out what he wants to do - work at Hope's Peak, this is exactly what he needed to gain his hope fragment

#makoto naegi #danganronpa #summer camp events

[avantegarda]

South Asian Tolkien Week Day 7: Alternate Universes

I was so hype for this day because I have a ton of highly specific headcanons for (Goan) Anairë in my Victorian AU, and now I finally get to subject you to them! So you're getting a moodboard, some headcanons, and a short fic.

(Thanks for putting this together @arwenindomiel!)

--

London society adores Mrs. Anairë Gates (nee Torres), daughter of a Goan shipping magnate and wife of Mr. Fingolfin Gates. Miss Torres met her future husband on a family holiday to England in 1859, and while the British ton was initially scandalized at Fingolfin's relationship with a foreign lady, Anairë's impeccable manners, excellent fashion sense, and convenient Catholicism made the match a highly suitable one.

Mrs. Gates and her husband, along with their four children, reside in Marylebone, London, close to a vast number of other, less reputable relations.

"Your children," said Anairë, "seemed to have turned into wild animals."

Fingolfin Gates, having only just returned from the office and in desperate need of a stiff drink, sighed deeply. Whenever anything went wrong, of course, they were his children. The dignified Torres family could never produce unruly youngsters. "What have they done this time?" he asked wearily.

"While poor Turgon was sleeping, Fingon and Aredhel conspired to draw a mustache and rude words on his face with their oil pastels," Anaire said stiffly. "When Turgon woke up he was, naturally, upset, and chased them all the way to the kitchen, at which point Fingon and Aredhel started a 'food fight,' as they called it. The kitchen is a disaster."

"Ah, I see. Well, I will certainly have a talk with them, but no harm done really..."

"Baptista," Anairë hissed, "has put in his notice."

Fingolfin went pale. The family chef, Nikel Baptista, had come with Anairë from Goa when they were first married, and was nothing short of a wizard at his craft. Though it had taken some months for Fingolfin's English stomach to adjust to Goan cuisine, now the thought of returning to plan English roasts was pure torture.

"Are you certain he's not simply being...theatrical?" he asked hopefully. "Baptista does have rather an artistic temperament..."

"Oh no, he's resigned," said Anairë. "There was no mistaking his tone. And I am not hiring an English cook, Fingolfin, I am not. We would starve in a week."

"It's unconscionable," Fingolfin fumed. "To abandon a family on such short notice, and leave us in such a position! Where does he think he'll find better employers than us?"

"Apparently he plans to inquire with the other branches of our family," said Anairë distastefully. "As though any of them would dare to take him from us. Not even..." She trailed off, a smile spreading slowly across her face. "No need to panic, my dear husband, I believe I've just thought of a scheme. Your stomach is spared."

"Thank God," Fingolfin muttered, heading to the brandy decanter. "A man has got to eat."

--

Four o'clock found Anairë in the parlor with her sister-in-law, renowned Irish sculptor Nerdanel Gates. A greater contrast between two women could not have been found: Anairë tidy and regal in her navy-blue jacket and bustled skirt, Nerdanel in men's breeches and a leather apron, her ginger hair piled on her head and clay dust covering her skin. Still, they greeted one another with genuine enthusiasm. Along with their Welsh sister-in-law, Earwen, they were the only women in London who knew what it was like being married to a Gates brother.

"You look grand as always, Anairë," Nerdanel said. "And here I am, looking a fright. Still, always nice to see you. What brings you here today?"

"Actually, Nerdanel darling, I was hoping to ask you a favor," said Anairë. "If it's not too much of a bother."

"No trouble at all, my dear. How can I help?"

"My chef has recently given notice after an... incident with my children," said Anairë. "He mentioned he might like to work with another branch of the family, so if he comes calling..."

"You want me to turn him away, I imagine," said Nerdanel. "Sure and that won't be difficult. You know how my husband feels about hiring servants."

"As a matter of fact, no," said Anairë. "I would like you to hire him."

Nerdanel's green eyes widened. "Hire him? Whatever for?"

"Clearly, Baptista feels our home is a trifle too chaotic for his liking," said Anairë. "What he needs is a bit of... perspective. And if you'll forgive me for saying so, Nerdanel dear, your home is a tad more chaotic than mine from day to day."

"Aye, no point mincing words there," Nerdanel snorted. "Why Fëanor and I decided to produce seven wains will always be a mystery. So you'd like us to take him on temporarily, give him a wee shock, is it? Well, I'm certain I can talk Fëanor into hiring Baptista for a week or so, though I doubt much longer..."

Anairë, thinking of Baptista's sensitive nature, smirked. "Dear Nerdanel, I doubt it'll take more than three days."

--

Approximately forty-eight hours later, Anaire was interrupted at her afternoon tea by one of the parlormaids, who explained that Mrs. Gates was desperately needed in the kitchen.

Upon arriving downstairs, Anaire was greeted by the sight of Baptista, who seemed to have aged about ten years overnight. His usually neatly slicked-back hair was unkempt, and his jaw unshaved.

Suppressing a smile, Anaire sat at the kitchen table across from him. "Baptista. How pleasant to see you. What brings you back here?"

"Senhora Gates," said Baptista, and quickly switched into rapid-fire Konkani. "I would never ask such a thing under ordinary circumstances, but I must beseech you to consider hiring me back to my old position. I was mistaken in leaving, I see that now. Your home seems like a paradise, compared to..."

"Compared to my brother-in-law's household?" Anaire looked at him in false shock. "Baptista, you surprise me! The family of one of the most respectable inventors in Europe is difficult to work for?"

"Those children of his are demons," Baptista practically snarled. "The elder ones make more noise than a marching band, and the younger ones are practically wild animals. They threw eggs about the house, let squirrels into the kitchen, and played the violin at all hours. I cannot believe they share any blood with your dear children, madam."

Anairë permitted herself a smirk. "Indeed, I think my children misbehave far less frequently. It won't inconvenience you too much to stay in a household where they're present?"

"Madam," said Baptista, "after the last two days, it would be my delight."

Outwardly calm, it was all Anairë could do to keep from whooping in self-congratulation. He has learned his lesson, all right, she thought. I may solve things politely, but no one crosses Anairë Gates.

#tsaw22 #anaire #fc amita suman btw #she was so good in shadow and bone #silmarillion #tolkien #anaire acts posh but she's as schemey as the rest of her fam

[breninarthur]

HAPPY FRIDAY ASTER and welcome to DWC!! I would love to see some Kallian Tabris & Duncan (and would be intrigued if you were inclined to make it a / as you said 👀) for "the dead can survive as part of the lives of those that still live." from the Death prompts?? :D

HAPPY FRIDAY NIRI!! Thank you 🥰

okay i went a bit weird with this ngl! not canon to wdc! read at your own discretion :)

rated m, cw weird themes, age gap, bit creepy. duncan/tabris (kadunc). 284 words. for @dadrunkwriting

*

Kallian bickered a lot. Adaia always had an answer for everything too. They were both initially standoffish, suspicious, overly curious, stubborn... she was funny.

Duncan had bought her clothes. She needed some, that dress she wore was impractical and provided no protection. He hadn't meant to do it, but somehow her new clothes looked just like the things Adaia used to wear.

She snarked just the same too. Kallian didn't laugh much, understandably, but when she did... Maker, it reminded him of her. When she gave him her soft smile, the same shiver coursed through him.

He watched her by the fire. She tended the roasting rabbit, and in the cover of night the similarities shone. She chewed her lip in concentration. Duncan wondered if they were as soft as her mother's, if he could draw the same sounds from them.

Kallian caught his eye, and he was sure that she blushed when he didn't blink away. She smiled again, quick and nervous, before focusing far too much on the rabbit.

It lit a familiar spark in him. Part of him felt wrong, dirty, old. She was so young after all, younger than he'd ever even known Adaia. But he was tired of hearing her say his name so casually when he knew he could make her moan it.

"What?" she demanded, snapping him out of his morbid reverie with a put-on cross look.

"Just keeping an eye on things," he replied quietly, nodding at the cooking meat.

"You're putting me off," she mumbled, red in the face.

He chuckled, concealing a smirk as she tucked her hair behind her ear.

"What?" she asked again, seemingly flustered.

"You are your mother's daughter," he smiled.

#dragon age #dragon age origins #duncan #warden tabris #adaia tabris #adaia #kallian tabris #my writing #dadwc #asks #niri #duncan x adaia #duncan x kallian

[bluejay-writes]

What do you think the RFA gang smells like 🤔

Okay, so this is an entire time. Here we go.

Yoosung: Fabric Softener, sugar, and cooking oil. We all know that this marshmallow boy uses too much fabric softener because he wants to smell clean and nice all the time in an effort to get a girlfriend. Sugar and Oil are the inevitable snack-related scents, but the oil more so because he also likes to cook, and the smell of hot oil is the kind of thing that lingers, especially in fabrics.

Zen: Cigarettes, until you can convince this man to stop smoking. If not for his health, then for his singing voice. Past the smoke smell, he’s got a cologne he favors that’s got strong patchouli overnotes, but he only wears it on days off because it’s professionally inconsiderate to wear any kind of scent when singing is involved, and this man loves his career too much.

Jaehee: Coffee. Tell me you didn’t see this one coming, and I’ll call bullshit. This woman lives and breathes coffee, she’s probably even got a coffee-bean scented body spray, but she’ll only use that on days that she really needs a pick-me-up. I expect other than the delicate fragrance of roasted beans, she might also smell a bit like ink if she’s had a really long day at the office. (So, you know, most of them.)

Jumin: Cats, but also an expensive cologne. This man lives alone (sorry Elly) and has no one to tell him that he’s wearing too much cologne, so he tends to wear too much, at least until it gets bad enough to bother Jaehee, who will then tell him that too much cologne scent is problematic for cats and he will stop wearing cologne forever. At which point he’ll just smell like crisp linen, which is far preferable.

707: Oil. Bear with me here. He’s going to smell like cooking oil from the sheer number of Honey Butter Chips that he eats. You know he doesn’t have a napkin and uses his jeans for that. But he also smells like motor oil, from working on all of his babes. I mean cars. Otherwise he works in his office all the time, so he’s not going to have a lot of other exposure to scents. I might have said he would smell a little dusty because of his sedentary habits, but I respect Vanderwood too much for that.

V: Wind, Pine, Dark Room Chemicals, and eventually paint. Initially V is going to smell of the chemicals used to develop photos. He loves taking photos, which lends very well to wanting to hand-develop them. In addition to this, his home is in the mountains, so he likely smells of pine and wind, more of one or the other depending on how much time he’s spending in the woods vs. on the cliffside. Eventually once he picks up painting, he’ll start to have a touch of paint-scent that lingers around him when he’s been working. He tends to avoid artificial scents, be they colognes or scented laundry products, since he was more sensitive to scent while his vision was impaired, and never really went back to scented things.

Rika: The Elixir. She’s spent so much time working on the formula for this drug that the smell of it has stained her. She smells at once sickly sweet but also sharp, like ozone, and acrid like burning hair. There’s a bit of an earthy smell, and something that hits the senses as just wrong. Over top of this she likely smells of a cheap perfume, an attempt to mask it that just makes her seem much older than she is.

Vanderwood: Sandalwood, as long as he’s not out on a job. Vanderwood is the type to meticulously curate the persona that he presents. He’s picked a scent that is what he smells like, and sticks to it like glue. He’s fastidious about personal hygiene and how he’s perceived, and the only time he doesn’t smell of sandalwood is when he’s working to be invisible and scentless.

Saeran: I saved this boy for last because he comes in stages.

Ray: Flowers. Especially Lilacs because that smell is pervasive. But basically like anything that’s blooming in the garden. Sometimes he smells overpoweringly of lilies, and doesn’t understand why half of Magenta are making faces. (Lily pollen is a strong scent.) In the winter he’ll smell like dried flowers, or that crisp cold snow scent from walking in the dead garden. Maybe a little pine, if he’s desperate for flora time.

Suit: Nothing, or as close to nothing as he can manage, given Ray. This man is sensitive to scents, probably because of how much Ray infuses his life with flowers. He will go out of his way to neutralize any scent.

GE Saeran: This man has convinced you to pick a cologne or aftershave for him and he wears the tiniest bit of it any time he’s going to see you, which is 100% of the time if he gets his way. But only the tiniest bit, because Suit is still in there and doesn’t want to stink, thanks. If he’s not scented specifically for your approval, he’ll smell of laundry detergent, or that smell someone has when they’ve been standing in the wind. Simple and light, because he’s still sensitive to scents but he also loves plants too much and is trying to reconcile everything.

Unknown: Axe Body Spray. Now, don’t hate me for this. But this poor boy has been stuck in a cult for ages, and probably has never chosen something for himself in his entire life. Now add that no one is going to tell him that it’s too strong (or in general horrible), so it just gets worse as he gets nose blind to it.

SE Saeran: Pine and smoke. I believe this man takes long walks out in the woods around the bunker, trying to figure out his life. I also see him picking up an addictive habit in subconscious reaction to the Elixir withdrawals, and cigarettes are unfortunately easy to obtain. It’s entirely possible that he still also smells like axe body spray, at least until Seven or Vanderwood tell him off for stinking up the place.

#mystic messenger #bluejay-answers

[420pogpills]

mkey so is that even drivers side and he probably takes them when he is not driving- parking lots, really long red lights

as a driver i dont really understand why peoplr are scared, just because you are in a car doesnt mean you are driving at the moment and it doesnt look like he is doing something dangerous (from what ive seen)

"as a driver i dont really understand why peoplr are scared" first of all i am worried that you have this mindset AND a license.. not paying complete attention to the road whilst you are driving is dangerous point blank.

second - you can literally see the car moving in all the snaps like the cars are zooming by outside the window 😭 i myself initially questioned whether he was in the drivers seat because it looks like he's sitting on the right hand sign but apparently the snaps are inverted so that would mean he's on the left in the drivers seat...

i would like to think he would have clarified that he's not driving and he's with someone else because surely he would have seen the amount of people that are very concerned about this (unless it's just me roasting him in the replies) this isn't the first time he's done this so it's making me think not that many people are probably saying much about it to him which is concerning.. listen i would happily eat my words if he said that he wasn't the one driving, i would much rather be wrong than be right in this scenario 😂

if you are driving, you have a responsibility to keep yourself and others safe. the only way you can do that is by being completely vigilant and in control of all times. being on snapchat, or just having your phone in your hand period - is NOT vigilance

#discourse #dreamwastaken #bro like cmon #i don't mind if people think it's not that deep #or that i'm overreacting #i do have a tendency to overreact i'm mentally ill lmao #i just can't stand to see such silly public behaviour from someone that has a lot of young people looking up to him #if you're not the one driving then just say that #don't let people have the impression that you're a careless driver #or do whatever you want ig #but know that i will roast you for it man idk

[daredevlls]

the strum of a guitar by the campfire, eyes tenderly locked to each others', knowing smiles as a familiar lyric reaches your ears

in honor of you going camping <3

a/n: ty karol <3 cooked up something cute real quick with river and steve

pairing: steve harrington x oc

Camping hadn't originally been Steve's idea of fun. By the time they'd set up, he was sweating, his hair was a frizzy mess from the heat, and he was ready for several naps.

It had cooled down considerably by nightfall. Steve was grateful for the reprieve from the ungodly heat.

River had chairs set up near the fire she'd started. At least someone was enjoying themselves.

It was her idea to camp in the first place, and she'd swindled him into joining with the promise of roasted marshmallows and campfire songs.

Cheesy, sure, but that worked for Steve.

As they sat around the fire, Steve quietly roasted his marshmallow for a s'more while River tuned the guitar she'd brought.

"How did you talk me into this again?" he asked, blowing out the fire scorching his marshmallow.

River hummed, pretending to think. "I believe I won you over with my charm and master persuasion," she joked, barely holding back a grin. "And maybe some puppy dog eyes were added in for extra convincing."

Steve snorted and rolled his eyes. He knew well enough that he could never turn her down, as he was sure she also knew by now.

"Right. You sure you didn't manipulate me with your mind powers or whatever?" he teased.

"That's not how it works."

"You don't know that."

River snorted and shrugged. Sure, he wasn't totally wrong. She still didn't totally know the extent of her powers yet.

"Do you want songs or not, Harrington?"

Steve built his s'more and sat back in his chair, a boyish grin on his face. That and marshmallow goo on his cheek. "Go right ahead."

River rolled her eyes despite the fond smile on her face. For a while, she enjoyed playing a few songs at random, mostly trying to fill the time as the night went on.

It wasn't until she played a particular song that Steve perked up.

Head Over Heels. They're song.

He found himself listening intently and with a very enthralled look. For a moment, their eyes locked, and it felt like the first time they were seeing each other all over again.

Steve felt his heart soar, even as she's finished the song.

"You know, you really have a pretty voice," Steve said, leaning forward in his chair.

River blushed, flustered as always by his compliments. "Shut up." There was no malice behind her words.

"I'm serious."

She was still getting used to how much Steve liked to compliment her, and even more so that she felt less shy singing around him than anyone else.

"Thanks." River set her guitar aside, having played more than enough for the night. "I just figured singing our song would make this all the more perfect."

Even though he'd initially come along begrudgingly, the whole camping thing was starting to grow on him. That was largely because of how fun she made everything.

"Well, I know I said this totally sucked, but...I kinda wouldn't mind doing this again." Steve's heart melted at the bright smile on her face. "Maybe just...not so soon."

River laughed and pushed him playfully. "Don't worry. I'll spare you for a while."

#this fic brought to you by head over heels by tears for fears #steve harrington x oc #stranger things #oc: river matthews #ship: i'm head over heels #ask #iichliwps #yes i chose to take the guitar part very literally for ✨funsies✨

[thevindicativevordan]

Weekly reviews?

Damn what a packed week. Lot of great books came out:

Detective Comics #1064 - Probably the most straightforward issue yet but still solid. People who were hoping Ram was going to make Talia a hero again are probably disappointed, she's still firmly in gray leaning towards black.

Action Comics #1047 - Strong start to the new arc. I thought I was ok with Federeci leaving, much as I love his art this run would benefit from having someone more consistent drawing issues, but then he turns in some of his best work yet here. Now I'm sad he's leaving yet again. Initially I wasn't very happy about Lex being involved, love Lex but he's as overused as Joker, but damn if PKJ doesn't write a perfect Lex. Man walks into a killer robot's prison cell and delivers a classic villain monologue, not even caring that said robot is glaring hatefully at him and spamming "GET OUT", on how Lex is the solution to all of Metallo's problems. He's such an arrogant prick here and he's got all these awesome gadgets, I guess I'm on board for him being the big villain of the crossover after all. Metallo still has his military background thankfully, what PKJ is setting up for him sounds promising, I just hope he gets to have an arc to himself where he's the sole villain. Hoping whatever he looks like after Lex rebuilds him is finally a design I can get behind.

X-Men #15 - Remember the Vault and the Children? Well they're finally doing something again!

Superman Space Age #2 - When I finally accepted that Russell isn't writing a "Superman" specific story as much as a DCU story with Superman as the main protagonist, like Kingdom Come or how Hal was arguably the main protagonist of New Frontier, I am not as annoyed at Batman getting so many pages. Plus there's still enough great Superman and Lois moments to keep this in my good graces, even if I no longer see this as potentially entering into that All-Star Superman ranking of "greatest Superman stories of all time". Saving a deeper dive until the series is finished but I do think this will sit alongside Kingdom Come and Red Son as a great Elseworld Superman story. One thing that stood out to me which I'll mention here: I love how Brainiac is in the position of Jor-El and Superman is in the Science Council's position. Brainiac is saying the Earth is doomed and drastic measures need to be taken which Superman dismisses as insane ranting, because Superman is an optimist! It's never hopeless right? Wrong. Shit's fucked and Clark is walking straight off a cliff because of how idealistic he is, he's not treating the situation as seriously as it deserves. Such a great way of examining the nature of "hope" and showing how it can be a negative.

DC vs. Vampires #9 - Mostly reading for Steel and Kara interactions at this point, and Steel getting to kick ass. Mera as Black Manta is the kind of crazy twists that makes these Elseworlds worth reading.

DC Mech #3 - Much like the title above and Jurassic League this remains a very solid and entertaining twist on familiar storytelling.

Human Target #7 - I love it. The reveal isn't really shocking however, there's got to be another twist coming right? Otherwise it feels like things are too straightforward for a King story.

A.X.E. Avengers #1 - Gillen manages to write an Iron Man story that isn't just beating the dead horse about what a shitty guy Tony is. Pleasantly surprised that Tony passed where Steve failed. Now if only Gillen could swallow his pride and undo the stupid adoption retcon.

The Nice House on the Lake #10 - First of three Tynion books! Remains excellent but I confess I don't know where the story is going at this point.

The Sandman Universe: Nightmare Country #6 - Heh Tynion sure likes to roast himself with all these stand-ins appearing in his work. He's been talking about how he's had some great talks over in Hollywood, but I guess maybe he's also feeling like he's selling out for money?

The Department of Truth #21 - Either we're entering this book's endgame or the entire status quo is about to shift in a major way. I could see this book turning into a Shadow War between Cole and his husband, paralleling what happened with Lee and his Soviet opposite. I feel like an idiot for not recognizing until now that Baker is meant to be Steve Bannon.

#weekly reviews