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#i outdid myself truly

iunartear · 7 months

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I know I'm a genahin impact centric account but I just have to show you Lin

#ੈ✩‧₊˚ saqs rambling #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 durge #SHES SO FRICKING BEAUTIFUL #i outdid myself truly #my beautiful goddess‼️‼️🧎‍♀️#bg3

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sinnashuart · 3 months

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Zack's ADHD

Zack fair has ADHD. That's something I see tons of people acknowledge that I myself agree with, but a lot of it feels very shallow/surface level? I mostly see people talk about his diffculty paying attention, but never really explore a lot of the other symptoms of ADHD that he very clearly has. In general, ADHD has symptoms that can be put in two categories. These being inattentiveness and Hyperactivity/Impulsive behavior. I'm going to try to go into each symptom I've seen him display. Going through things that fall under inattentiveness since that's what most people focus on first and foremost! Obviously, Zack has a short attention span. The opening of Crisis core has Angeal setting him back on track multiple times, and has to remind him of his mission. That bleeds into another symptom of ADHD, which is having a hard time listening to or following instructions.

Another few symptoms of ADHD under inattentiveness is being disorganized, forgetful, and making careless mistakes. Zack has shown to fit under all of these things in DMW scenes. One in particular features him both losing materia AND forgetting his sword.

Again, we see that he's a messy person when he's talking to Aerith in another DMW scene.

Now I'm going to go into the symptoms that fall under Hyperactivity. Some of the most talked about symptoms he exhibits are a lack of ability to stay still, excessive physical movement, and excessive talking. Noteably too, people with ADHD can have difficulty controlling the volume of their voice, or how fast they speak. For example here, Zack is told right before to calm down by Angeal, and immediately proceeds to talk loudly (giving away their position.)

Circling back to the previously mentioned symptoms, trouble staying still and excessive movement are some of the few things I feel people notice first in correlation to ADHD, but never really think about what it really is in the context of ADHD. Zack tends to do squats when he's excited. It's a repeated motion he does to calm himself down and/or focus. Sound familiar? that's because it's stimming. Interupting conversations lines up with ADHD, and is something Zack does in-game too!

Here he interupts Angeal's speech (and gets a fond smile in turn. I will bring this up later for something else). Zack is impulsive by nature, and tends to rush into things without a clear plan. He has a very absent sense of danger sometimes as well. All of which fall under the Hyperactivity category of ADHD symptoms.

The symptoms I see in Zack that hardly a soul has acknowledged though, is him being easily frustrated or irritated. ADHD makes it hard to regulate emotions, and Zack showcases this a lot throughout Crisis Core. For Zack, this sometimes seems to fall under under Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria, which is common in people with ADHD. It's a discomfort and difficulty regulating feelings of failure or rejection. For Zack, this also takes the form of confusion/frustration/annoyance. However, in most instances of him taking criticism, he mostly manages to move past his and take the criticism/corrections to improve himself. Funnily enough, you can see his quick frustration/irritatrion in the very first cutscene when Angeal jumps down to elaborate on the parts of the mission he missed because Zack jumped a bit too soon due to his eagerness (more impulsivity). Zack gets angry due to this interuption to the task he was focused on, and becomes cheerful as soon as he is able to get back to his task. The frustration with interuption and being quickly upset is interesting. There are more instances of this kind of behavior, and it all really feels like it falls under this umbrella of him struggling to regulate his emotions. This also goes hand in hand with his stimming, since it isn't just the frustration/anger he has difficulty managing. His excitement and stress is something we also see him have difficulty managing, and can be tied into a lot of the other aspects of ADHD I have discussed here! Zack gets frustrated again later when Angeal ends the training simulator, and puts an end to the task he had been hyperfocused on.

It's an irrational anger, but it makes more sense when read through this lense. Zack was excited and hyperfocusing on his mission. He charged ahead without hearing or understanding the full objective, and almost got hurt (in the context of the training sim). The sim was ended before Zack felt it was "finished", which resulted in a frustration he expressed outwardly. His hasty behavior and exciteability is a core character trait, but makes far more sense if you read him as a character who lives with ADHD. How he is written and how other characters interact with him is interesting to watch as well! One thing in particular I love a lot is Angeal's treatment of Zack's ADHD tendencies. For being in the military, which is a very unforgiving enviornment, Angeal shows quite a lot of compassion for Zack's ADHD tendencies. Things that would normally get him into trouble are instead corrected rather gently! Angeal consistently repeats instructions to Zack when he needs it, and keeps a firm hand when he guides Zack through missions. He never tells Zack to sit still. He never berrates him for his interjections (Zack going "And? And and and?"). The only time he really scolds Zack is when he's doing something that may endanger them.

For example, here they're on a mission that requires stealth. Zack being loud isn't normally a problem, but here, they need to be relatively quiet in order to achieve their goal. Angeal is compassionate and understanding when Zack is... doing things that are very ADHD coded. As mentioned earlier, Angeal doesn't get upset when Zack interupts him. Instead, he just smiles. It's likely Angeal was the one who taught Zack to do squats to stim, actually. In the Ever Crisis version of Crisis Core, Angeal says this to Zack. Although it's not necessarily canon, it's still entirely plausible and just. Very wholesome.

More of Angeal's tolerance for Zack can be seen here, when Zack's attitude slips after being criticized, and Angeal pays it no mind. (Again, his rejection sensitive dysphoria plays a part in having him react rudely)

Again, you need to keep in mind that despite their closeness, Angeal is still both his mentor and superior. He doesn't have to be as patient with Zack as he is in-game, but he does so anyway because... that's just how he is. Angeal cares a LOT about his loved ones, and Zack is included in this. He shows a lot of love to this little guy! I think it's nice, because I love seeing characters with ADHD being treated with consideration by others. It's something I wish people did more IRL, really. Lots of ableism surrounding aspects of ADHD that aren't as easy to romanticize and considered "annoying", so having Angeal respond to them with understanding makes me incredibly happy. Altogether I just absolutely love Zack as a character. I love reading him with ADHD since I have it myself. I just want people to see the depth to it more though, since there's more to it than just "he's high energy and gets distracted". You get to understand his actions or irrational behavior a lot more when you dive past the surface of his writing. Big, massive, enormous fucking thanks to my bestie @rune-rapier for letting me bounce ideas to and from him!! He helped me get a lot of these scenes in here to analyze, and brought up a LOT of points that made it in this post, and made it a lot easier for me to word.

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bleureux · 1 year

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Ok I NEED to show y’all what I’m working on rn for school because it’s probably the coolest thing I’ve ever created even tho it’s still a work in progress

Every square on the quilt is hand printed :)

#outdid myself truly #it’s roughly 4x7 feet big so I have to paint really fast to make deadline :’j

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autisticlancemcclain · 2 years

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I’ll Go Get A Ring (Let The Choir Bells Sing)

Keith/Lance (Voltron), Fluff, Marriage, Getting Together, 4.6k Words

Summary: After Keith proposes to Lance out of nowhere, they get hitched. It’s a bit of a mess, but it is adorable.

---

Lance can’t really say he’s expecting Keith’s visit, but he also won’t lie and say he’s surprised. When Keith briefly knocks on his door just before midnight, after leaving this afternoon to “run a quick errand in Black, don’t wait up,” Lance doesn’t even get up to let him in — Keith’s handprint has been keyed into the door for so long that Lance has forgotten a time when it wasn’t. The knock is more of a greeting than a request for entry.

He doesn’t even get up as Keith takes three quick strides to where Lance is laying on his bed, he only shoves a bookmark in his novel and has just enough time to set it on his dresser before Keith flops on top of him, resting his chin on folded hands and staring at Lance’s freshly washed face.

“Hey,” Lance greets with a grin, brushing Keith’s bangs off his forehead.

Keith grins back at him, leaning into the touch. “Hey, Lance,” he says softly. Lance feels the rumble of Keith’s low voice vibrate through his chest. It makes him feel settled, calm. Cared for.

“Where’d you go?” Lance asks after a couple minutes of just enjoying the feeling of Keith’s weight on his body. It’s better than any weighted blanket, and Keith knows it.

God, Lance loves this man.

“Olkarion.”

“Mm. How come?”

Keith closes his eyes as Lance continues to card gentle fingers through his hair. It’s not a mullet, anymore — it’s too long for that. Keith hasn’t cut it since they came to space. The long braid it’s usually in won’t stop Lance’s teasing, though — he’d call Keith ‘Mullet’ if the man was bald. You don’t get to bury that hairstyle in the past.

“Just double checking something,” Keith says carefully. “D’you know Olkarion marriage certificates are recognised on almost every single known planet in the universe?”

Lance’s freezes briefly, but continues his steady motions through Keith’s hair.

Not surprised, but not expecting it.

It’s silent for a few moments. Not an uncomfortable silence, not even a hesitant one. Keith doesn’t look nervous or afraid. The only way he’s looking at Lance is lovingly. Reverently. Lance feels a lump in his throat.

“I’m not easy,” Lance warns eventually, voice shaking. “I need a lot of attention. There are days where I can’t get out of bed. I flail around in my sleep. I’m whiny, I don’t eat many different foods, and I don’t always liked to be touched. I’m a handful.”

Keith turns his head the next time Lance brings his hand back to brush through his bangs, pressing a gentle kiss to the palm.

“You think I don’t know all that already? Lance,” he leans his head into Lance’s cupped hand, and Lance strokes a soft thumb over his cheekbone. “I don’t need you to be easy. Or palatable, or healthy, or pretty — although you are — or normal. I just need you. I love you, sweetheart. I’m in love with you. I don’t want to be anything else.”

Lance can’t stop the tears clouding his eyes, and wouldn’t if he could, anyway. Keith has known him at his lowest, and loved him then. There’s no reason to hide.

“Besides, I’m not perfect either,” Keith adds. “I get angry too easily. I say mean things just to hurt people sometimes, even though I always regret it. I have a ridiculously minuscule amount of impulse control. I forget important dates and anniversaries — you’ll probably have to remind me every year, several times. I regularly forget to eat and shower. I’m just as much of a mess as you, nae salang. But I want you with me, Lance, always. I want us.”

“I want you too,” Lance chokes out. “All of you. Every part of you. I love you, I love you, I love you. Entirely and wholly, Keith. You’re my moon and my sun and my stars. You’re everything to me, amor. All I’ve ever wanted or needed.”

Keith plants his hands on either sides of Lance’s torso, heaving himself up. He hovers on top of Lance, grinning widely, and Lance giggles through his tears, because the position is just so ridiculous.

“There’s that smile,” Keith whispers, before he leans down and presses the world’s gentlest kiss to Lance’s lips.

Seriously. You’d think he’s made of porcelain, or something.

Lance wraps his arms around Keith’s neck and yanks him down, kissing him harder. Keith loses his balance, and collapses on top of him, making them both laugh. The kiss is messy, wet because Lance was just crying everywhere, and their teeth clank together every time they giggle, which is frequently.

But it’s the best kiss Lance has ever had, because it’s his first kiss with Keith, so it’s perfect.

Keith pulls away to press kisses all over Lance’s face; his eyebrows, his forehead, his cheekbones, his nose, his chin. He presses kisses to the side of Lance’s head, his neck, his collarbone — anywhere he can reach. He makes his way over to Lance’s left ear, pressing a kiss right under it before biting the lobe playfully.

“So is that a yes?” he asks.

Lance snorts, flicking him on the temple. Keith pouts, but allows it.

“Of course it’s a yes, you doofus. I said so yesterday, didn’t I?”

“Just checkin’,” Keith confirms, before pressing one last kiss to Lance’s cheek and sitting up. “Okay, you ready to go?”

Lance raises an eyebrow, although he's one hundred percent certain that he’ll follow Keith wherever he goes.

“Keith, it’s, like, one in the morning. My hair isn’t straightened and I’m wearing pajamas —”

“You look beautiful,” Keith insists, and Lance knows he means it. “Besides, I double-checked. There are, like, three hundred marriage offices on Olkarion, and at least half of them are open 24/7. Plus, we need to get rings on the way.”

Lance raises his eyebrow even higher, smirking. “I thought I said you had to get a ring before you asked again,” he teases.

Keith huffs, but he’s grinning. “Yeah, I know, but I figured you might want to pick them. I know you have a very particular taste in jewellery, and I didn’t want to accidentally pick something that might have a weird feeling or something.”

Lance’s teasing expression drops into something like shock, although he knows he shouldn’t be surprised by Keith’s thoughtfulness. As impulsive as he tends to be, he genuinely has everyone’s best interests at heart, and always has them ahead of his own. Lance can feel his chin start to tremble. Again.

God, this man is literally everything he’s ever wanted. Lance would wonder if Keith’s even real, but he knows he couldn’t come up with Keith no matter how hard he tried. It regularly blows his mind that even something so mighty as the universe was able to make someone who just… clicks with him, as well as he does. Lance can’t imagine what they’d be if not together.

“I love you,” Lance says again. “So much.”

Keith leans down and kisses him again, so softly, before pulling them both up from the bed and to Black’s hangar.

Once they’re settled in the cockpit (Lance in Keith’s lap, which would give Shiro, Allura, and Coran a hernia if they found out. They’re sticklers for safety, and this is not a safe position. It is fun, though. Also kind of sexy), Keith starts outlining his thoughts and plans to Lance.

“So, obviously, our final stop is Olkarion to get hitched. But we have to stop somewhere to get rings. There are a couple shops on Olkarion, but you deserve the best, so that’s not an option,” Keith says matter-of-factly, and Lance hides a smile.

“So what’s the plan, then, fearless leader?”

It’s Keith turn to smile, like he always does when Lance calls him that. Lance loves that particular smile, and so he says it as often as possible, no matter how much Pidge gags about it (which is an added bonus, honestly).

“You remember that time you got that weird Altean disease that made you break out in mumps and you were so embarrassed that you wouldn’t leave your room unless everyone left the castle first?”

Lance scowls at the memory, but nods. That stupid disease sucked. It was the worst. Call him a drama queen, but he thinks he was justified. He had a giant mump on his face, people. His gorgeous, beautiful face. Obviously he had to prevent people from seeing that.

“Well, on one of the times we were out of the castle I was screwing around in space, and I came across this planet, right? And I swear to God it was just like Niðavellir.” At Lance questioning glance, Keith hurries to explain the reference, cheeks a little pink. “The, uh, Dwarf realm. In Norse myth.”

Lance’s grin grows, and he can’t help a teasing comment: “Geek.”

Keith’s scowls, and his cheeks redden further, which is adorable. He flicks Lance’s nose and continues.

“Anyway. I ended up asking them if they wanted to join the Coalition, and they were pretty chill about it. One dude also said he’d trade me a favour if I let him check out my knife, and I figured that was a pretty good deal, so I agreed.”

Lance is a little surprised that Keith let some stranger touch his beloved knife, but then he remembers how often Keith geeks out to him about Magnus Chase and Percy Jackson and all that myth stuff, and the surprise fades.

Man, he really landed the cutest fiancé (soon to be husband!) in the universe. God.

“So, here’s the thing — they can make anything. Literally anything. And their planet is chock full of precious metals and jewels and stuff. They’re also inhumanly fast. Well, obviously, because they’re not human, but you get the idea. Also, they don’t really sleep? Olso said he only sleeps every few centuries, and he had a nap last century, so we should be good to trade that favour now, if you want. This way your ring can be anything you want, and I can match.”

Keith is looking at him so hopefully, and Lance all can hear is the blood rushing in his ears. He knows he says it all the time, but Keith is literally his favourite person. This is, no word of a lie, the sweetest, most thoughtful, kindest, most loving thing anyone has done for him. Ever.

He leans up, cupping Keith’s face in his hands, and kisses him soundly. For several minutes. Long enough, in fact, that Keith lets go of Black’s controls to wrap his arms around Lance’s waist and dip him, a little.

When Lance finally finds the strength to pull away slightly, a trail of saliva connecting their mouths (which, in literally any other situation, would be disgusting, but Lance is so happy right now that Keith could pour soup in his lap and his mood would be unchanged), several minutes have passed. Oops.

“I love you,” Lance repeats. He feels a bit like a broken record, but it’s the only sentiment he can think of that encompasses all he’s feeling right now.

Keith smiles. “Great!” he chirps, “I’ll message Olso quickly and then we can head over. Shouldn’t be more than a half hour ride.”

Unsurprisingly, they find a way to kill that time:

“— and it turns out Zeus had stripped Apollo of all his godly powers? Again? But this time he was pretty serious about it, and also he didn’t let Apollo stay hot —”

Lance sighs (okay, dreamily, he’ll admit it), looking up at Keith’s excited face and wildly gesturing arms. He’s about 10% focused on piloting Black (thank the universe for sentient lion autopilot) and 90% focused on meticulously detailing the entire storyline of Rick Riordan’s demigod universe. All two bazillion books — once the references started to drop, it was like the rest of them came spilling right out.

And Lance wants to hear every word of it. He’s completely enamoured with Keith — his legs are swinging and everything, like in the romcoms. He’s whipped. If he wasn’t so happy he’d be a little disgusted with himself.

Honestly, though, he’d challenge anyone to look at Keith’s passionate lecture about the demigod universe and not fall a little in love. C’mon, now. His eyes are just so bright. It’s so cute.

“— and I haven’t even covered what’s happening down in Brooklyn, seriously, if you think Apollo had it bad —”

Keith is cut off my Black’s sudden stop (which, honestly, is a little sad, but Lance reminds himself that he’s going to hear these rambles for the rest of his life and feels considerable better), and through the windshield a small, brown planet is visible.

“They live underground,” Keith explains, “‘cause there’s almost no ozone layer, and they need to breathe, so.”

“Got it.”

The land Black as close to one of the entrances to the city as they can, holding hands as they excitedly bound down the stairs to a huge metal door — it looks like the entrance to a giant safe in those old-timey cartoons.

As soon as they get close, the gears on the door start turning rapidly, and in seconds the door whips open to reveal a short, hairy alien with biceps the size of Hunk’s head.

“Keith!” greets the alien jovially. Hearing him speak is slightly disorienting, because his moustache and beard are so big that they mask any movement of his mouth.

“Hey, Olso,” Keith responds casually, but his smile gives away how excited he is. “This is my fiancé, Lance.”

The alien grins (at least Lance thinks he does — his moustache twitches upwards, like Coran’s does when he’s about to make a horribly painful dad joke that only Shiro finds in any way funny). “So this is the Lance I’ve heard so much about, eh? The one who shines brighter than any sun and whose smile brings you to levels of joy you found previously unimaginable? He’s certainly as handsome as you’ve described,” Olso says, winking at the couple.

Keith goes a bright cherry red, and Lance joins him, butterflies outdoing Simone Biles with all the flips they’re doing in his stomach.

Holy smokes. Is this how Keith talks about him to other people?

Olso laughs heartily at their faces, ushering them in. He turns around as soon as they cross the doorway, turning a giant wheel to shut the massive door. “Ah, young love,” he says with a sigh. “I remember when I first wed my partner, friends. I was just as besotted as Keith, and talked about them to anyone who would listen. They blushed just as much as you did, Lance, when they found out — what a lovely sight!” Olso sighs just as dreamily as Lance did earlier, which makes him smile. “I’m surprised you haven’t heard Keith talk about you already. He’d hardly spoken three words to me before he mentioned you, and then you were his favourite subject to discuss. I was overjoyed to hear he’d finally mustered the nerve to ask for your hand.”

Lance squeezes Keith’s hand, a little overwhelmed an a lot flattered. “Really?” he whispers.

Keith smiles sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah,” he says softly. “I kind of love you, in case you didn’t notice.”

Lance snorts, and presses a quick kiss to Keith’s still red cheek. “I don’t think I could avoid noticing, dork, even if I was the densest person to ever exist. Apparently you can’t talk to someone without talking about me.”

Keith shrugs, not denying it, and Lance grins. He swings their hands back and forth as they follow Olso to his workshop.

Lance’s jaw drops as they enter, and he’s completely speechless. First of all, the whole thing is built in some sort of sapphire cave, which is probably one of the coolest, most badass and hardcore places to build a workshop. Aside from that, wonderfully beautiful and intricate pieces of artwork are strewn about the whole place. Several dozen delicate necklaces, crowns, thrones, even. It’s wild.

“Amazing, isn’t it,” Keith comments.

Amazing does not begin to cover it.

“And everything was built in under a day,” Olso brags, which Lance feels is pretty justified. If he built even one of these things, he’d probably never shut up about it. “But Keith has told me your rings are a matter of urgency, and I owe the good man a favour, so I’ll have your rings completed in a few minutes. Do you have your designs ready?”

Keith turns to Lance, expectant. “You can design mine too, if you’d like,” he says. “You’ve got a good eye for that stuff.”

In a millisecond, Lance as transported back to his five-year-old self, small and endlessly curious on his mother’s lap.

“Why don’t you have a diamond on your ring like Eli’s mama?” he’d questioned.

She’d smiled at him, eyes far away as she ruffled his hair. As if recalling distant memories. “I asked papá to marry me. The rings with the diamonds are usually for the people who are asked, not who do the asking.”

“So why doesn’t papá have a diamond? Why doesn’t he even have a golden ring? His ring is blue!”

His mother had laughed loudly, pressing a kiss to his head.

“Yes, mijo, that is because papá is in the shop all day. If he had a ring with a diamond on it, he wouldn’t be able to wear it to work, which would make him sad. And I got him a blue ring because blue is his favourite colour,” she said simply.

Lance thinks of how he’s never, not even once, seen his parents take off their rings. How they smile every time they see them. He thinks about how often he and Keith are doing a job that is dangerous, a job where they need their hands. He thinks that he doesn’t need a giant diamond to know how much Keith loves him.

“Just two gold bands,” he says softly.

Keith smiles at him, just as soft, not doubting his decision for a second.

“Coming right up,” Olso says quietly, sensing the mood in the room.

As promised, a few minutes later, Olso has finished the rings. He gives both to Lance, who cradles them gently in one hand (he has to keep one hand free to hold onto Keith, obviously).

“They feel okay?” Keith asks, and Lance nods, too emotional to say anything.

“Thank you, Olso,” Keith says for them. “We’d stay longer, but…”

“I believe you have a wedding to attend,” Olso finishes, eyes twinkling. “I’ll let you fellows out.”

Lance lets Keith guide him out, unable to stop himself from stroking the rings continuously. He hasn’t even put his on yet, but he already loves it. A physical symbol of their love.

Once they’re back in Black, Keith wraps his solid arms around him, holding Lance tightly. Lance buries his face in Keith’s neck, taking a moment. As happy as he is, he’s a little overwhelmed, and he’s grateful Keith knows him well enough to give him a break.

Lance pulls away after several minutes, pressing a lingering kiss to Keith’s jaw. “Thank you,” he whispers.

Keith shakes his head, grabbing both of Lance’s hands and squeezing. “Don’t thank me for being decent, baby. You deserve the world.”

Lance squeezes Keith’s hands, smiles at him, and tugs him towards the piloting chair.

“I dunno about you, but I’m kind of ready to be your husband,” Lance says, changing the subject with absolutely zero subtlety.

Keith laughs, head thrown back. “Yeah, me too,” he says, sitting down and pulling Lance back into his lap. “Let’s go tie the knot.”

By the time they get to Olkarion (it took… longer than it should have. But Lance is a little engagement-giddy, and he has spent the last who-knows-how-many-hours on Keith’s lap, so sue him for getting a little handsy), it must be something like 4:30 in the morning, and both of their lips are kiss-swollen and red. Lance’s hair is a curly mess, and Keith’s hair has been tugged on so many times his scalp has to hurt.

It’s perfect.

They stumble into the first marriage office they see, so giggly they almost look drunk. Luckily, the officiant appears to be amused, congratulating them on their engagement before having them sign their papers.

Keith signs first, and Lance slides into the bench next to him, not even hesitating before signing his name as ‘Leandro Agustín Nuñez Carmen Esposita-Kogane’. Keith sucks in a sharp breath, looking at Lance with carefully guarded eyes.

“‘Kogane’?” he asks, hushed. “You sure?”

Lance smiles at his (basically, at this point, c’mon) husband, soft and loving. “When I left Earth, there were something like 76 McClains,” he starts. “When we get back, there’ll be at least eight more. I want to be a Kogane, my love. I want to carry on your family’s name every time I introduce myself. Someday, I want to tell our children about their grandfather, whose name they share, and about his heroic deeds on Earth and in raising a wonderful, feral, half-alien desert menace.” Keith chuckles, tears streaming down his face. Lance brushes them away, pressing his love through their skin. “Plus,” Lance adds with a wink, “I think Lance Kogane sounds pretty cool. All menacing and stuff. Mr. and Mr. Kogane, the butt-kicking ninja leaders of Voltron! Watch out! Pew pew pew!”

As he hoped, this makes Keith laugh, tears fading away. Lance finishes his signature with a heart (because he’s sappy and he can), and the officiant beckons them to an altar.

“Do you have personal vows, or would you prefer to repeat the standard words we have prepared?”

“I have my own vows,” Keith says confidently. Lance agrees. He has nothing prepared, but he doesn’t need any. He knows how he feels about Keith. He’ll never need to practice telling people about how much he loves his husband.

“Lance,” Keith starts, holding their hands together and beaming at him. “You’re my everything. You’re my control, you’re my calm, you’re my excitement. You’re everything I look forward to see in the morning and everything I’m grateful to have seen at night. I told you before, sweetheart, and I’ll tell you until I die and even after: you light up my life, baby. Everything you are makes me better.”

Lance doesn’t even pretend the words don’t make him bawl like a baby. Keith is smiling so hard his eyes are crinkling, which always makes Lance feel all crackly and delighted.

“I lo—” Lance sniffles, interrupting himself, trying to get the tears under control. He fans his face, breathing deeply. “Okay. Whew. Okay. I’m good.” Keith looks so encouraging, and Lord above, Lance loves this man.

“You are everything I’ve ever wanted,” Lance confesses. “I’ve read books, I’ve seen movies, I’ve heard my sisters talk about boys since I was a kid. I have pretty high standards, you know.”

Keith snorts, tightening his grip. “Am I getting replaced by a Jane Austen character?” he teases.

“That’s the thing! You’ve completely redefined love for me. I dunno if you remember, but I was telling you about an episode of a romance-drama I love — I quoted one of the romantic lines in the series: ‘You’re the bane of my existence and the object of my every desire’. I was all swoony about it. But you scoffed, rolled your eyes. You looked me in the face and said to me, completely seriously: ‘Anyone who genuinely believes you’re the bane of their existence doesn’t deserve you. You’re too good for someone who doesn’t love your whole self’. And it was a throwaway comment, for you, you barely even blinked but — that’s when I knew, Keith. That’s when I knew I loved you with my heart and soul and mind and I will love you for as long as my soul exists. You are my universe, my love, and I can’t wait to hold you for the rest of our days and beyond.”

Lance is no longer the only one bawling. Even the officiant is a little teary. He has them repeat a few more sentences as they put their rings on each other, and just like that, they’re married. Wed! Keith doesn’t hesitate even a second before pulling Lance into a searing kiss, dipping him down and licking into his mouth. The officiant clears his throat and Keith pulls him back up, smirking.

“Hey, husband.”

“Hello yourself, husband.”

They stand there, grinning like fools, until the officiant hands them two copies of their wedding certificate and shoos them away. They sprint out of the office, laughing the whole way, until Keith makes a sudden stop and Lance almost gets his arm pulled out of his socket.

“What?“ he asks, peering over his husband’s (!!!) shoulder. He sees a little booth with a red curtain covering the entrance, and he immediately picks up Keith’s train of thought. The crowd into the tiny photobooth — it’s not really made for two people, they have to squish right together — and feed the little machine as many GAC as it will take.

They take dozens of photos, some grinning and goofy, some silly poses, and several genuine photos where they’re smiling softly at each other. Lance’s favourite is the one where he told a dorky little joke that he doesn’t even remember and Keith’s whole face his scrunched in laughter, leaning on Lance, as Lance stares at him in what almost looks like awe.

Once they’re out of GAC, with pockets so full of pictures they’re bulging, they meander back to wear Black is parked, stopping every three seconds to kiss or laugh or dance or just beam at each other. There’s always been something magic about staying up late with someone you love, but tonight it’s magnified by maybe a million, and Lance never wants the night to end.

Eventually, though, they start to tire themselves out, and by the time they make it into the cockpit they can barely keep their eyes open. They set the course for the castle, heads pressed together and fingers intertwined. Lance can’t stop smiling at their rings.

They stumble back into the castle, giggling and whispering through the halls like they’re teenagers at a sleepover rather than two grown adults, shushing each other when they laugh loudly enough that they might wake the rest of the team.

The crash into Lance’s bed, giddy and possibly a little drunk on love.

“We’re married,” Lance whispers, awed, holding his hand up to admire the ring. “We’re husbands.”

“We are,” Keith agrees, just as soft and reverent. He has a heavy arm around Lance’s waist, legs tangled together, lips pressing constant kisses to the back of Lance’s neck. Lance squirms around, shifting so he’s facing Keith. His husband.

“I love you,” he says seriously. “And I’m glad you asked me to marry you, even if it was a little out of nowhere and you forgot to date me first.”

Keith huffs, but there’s no bite to it. He presses his lips to Lance’s forehead, tightening his arms.

“It wasn’t that impulsive,” he mumbles. “I’d been thinking about it for days.”

“And the dating part?”

“…Yeah, okay, I forgot that one. I just… I love you, y’know? Dating is to get to know someone, to fall in love with them. I’ve been falling in love for you since you flew us through a wormhole. I just didn’t realise.”

“Fair,” Lance breathes, eyes drifting shut. They really kind of have been dating, even if they weren’t official about it. He goes to Keith for everything — every thought, every worry, every idea. Keith is his person. He can’t remember the last time he went a day without talking to Keith at least once. Hell, he can’t remember the last time he slept by himself.

“I love you,” Keith whispers, half asleep.

“Love you too,” Lance responds, and he’s smiling as sleep overcomes him.

After all — tomorrow, he’ll wake up to his husband. And if that isn’t a great reason to sleep, well. He doesn’t know what is.

part one

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primaviva · 9 months

Note

pls tell me we still end up with Gwen 😢🙏

if you talkin about better than revenge……you gonna see for yourself at the end😍😍😍

#🪽— angel’s spam #i truly outdid myself w that lobby scene tbh….

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beomboomboom · 3 months

Note

if your requests are still open for svt fics, could you do one where dino and the reader do a danceology together kind of like a meet cute?

asdfghjkl that's such a cute scenario, and of course I'd love to do a fic on it 😍!! I hope you enjoy <33

Right place, right time

genre: fluff, meet-cute (sort of??)

pairing: idol!Dino x idol!reader

summary: What are the chances that you would be able to dance with the one person you've who you've always wished to dance with?

The answer? Next to zero.

So, you would've never guessed the way your wish to dance with Dino would come true by you happening to be in the right place at exactly the right time. Fate truly outdid itself this time.

warnings: a little bit of swearing

note: I don't know much about dancing, so I apologize for any errors relating to the topic of dancing in this fic 😭😭. Enjoy <33

The events that led up to this situation are a blur to you.

One second you're peacefully drinking a latte and letting your manager brief you about your schedule for the day. The next second, you're being whisked away and practically tossed into Seventeen's dance practice room to participate in Dino's danceology video.

Apparently Dino had been planning to do a danceology video with a different idol, but then that idol suddenly declined today, the day they were going to shoot the video, due to a scheduling error.

This left Dino's managers scrambling, for someone—anyone, who could participate in Dino's video. Which was why when they stumbled across your figure sitting near a window, they practically got on their knees and begged you to help them out and do a video with Dino.

Which you agreed to do, because how could you ever refuse that offer?

Truthfully, you had always been a fan of Dino's danceology videos. Heck, you were even subscribed to Seventeen's channel on youtube just so that you could watch Dino's danceology videos. As a fellow idol who loved to dance, you couldn't help but appreciate and admire Dino's dance skills from afar. The way he was strong and sharp with all his movements, but at the same time graceful and smooth never failed to leave you in awe.

Which leads you back to the situation you are in now. No longer are you just watching Dino behind a screen, now you're watching Dino, no screen between you and him, as he starts to stretch only a few feet away from you.

"Hey, wanna join me in my stretches?" Dino asks casually from his position on the floor once he notices your presence.

Relived to finally have something to do instead of awkwardly standing near the door, you quickly make your way towards Dino and copy the stretches he's doing.

"Sorry my managers had to drag you here to do this danceology video," Dino says sympathetically once you get settled onto the floor next to him. "Everything's kind of a mess right now, so thank you so much for taking the place of the previous idol and dancing with me."

"Oh no, it's no problem. Besides, I voluntarily agreed to dance with you! To be honest, I've always liked your danceology videos, so it's really nice that I can finally participate in one," you say truthfully, as you watch a relived smile appear on Dino's face.

When you and Dino move onto the next stretch, Dino seems to remember something as he suddenly sits up, his eyes widening. "Oh, I never got to introduce myself property! I'm Lee Chan, but you can just call me Dino. I'm looking forward to dancing with you today," Dino says with a sincere smile as he holds out his hand.

You quickly reciprocate Dino's smile and take his hand to give it a shake. "I'm Y/n, and I look forward to dancing with you too."

As you're shaking Dino's hand, everything feels so surreal.

You're really going to be dancing with Dino.

This isn't just a dream.

Watching Dino's danceology videos online didn't do his dance skills justice. Although, yes, Dino's danceology videos online showcased his already impressive dancing. Watching Dino make a choreography, learn the choreography, and teach you the choreography in real life was on a whole new level.

You couldn't help but notice how Dino made sure every minuscule detail was absolutely perfect. From the way he would move a certain part of his arms, to the way he made sure you and him were perfectly in sync.

"Your arms have to move like this, not like this," Dino instructed as he first showed you the way you were doing it, before showing you the right way, his arms moving up more slowly and gracefully to demonstrate. A tiny detail, that could make a big difference in the overall performance of the dance.

Still, even with his instructions, Dino could tell you didn't quite understand what he was trying to say. "How about I show you? Uh..do you mind if I touch you?"

Seeing your nod of confirmation, Dino walks behind you so that his chest presses against your back.

What. The. Fuck.

Blushing at the sudden physical contact, you try to control your breathing and focus on what Dino is saying.

Grabbing hold of your wrists, Dino demonstrates, again, how the dance is supposed to look. "Make your wrists a bit looser so that the movement looks more smooth and graceful," Dino instructs as he leads you through the movement. "Do you understand?"

You did not understand.

But that was your own fault.

While Dino was trying to teach you how to do the movement right, you weren't focusing on Dino's instructions. But rather, Dino himself. His muscular chest that was pressing against your back, his fluffy brown hair that fell beautifully across his forehead, and his gentle but leading touch made your brain completely shut off.

Noticing the sudden silence and Dino's eyes on you, you quickly snap back to reality. "U-uh.. sorry I wasn't paying attention," you mutter, embarrassed as a tint of pink litters your cheeks.

Dino simply laughs in response. "I figured, you looked like you were spacing out. Should we go through the movement one more time then?"

Seeing your nod of agreement, Dino leads you, again, through the movements. This time, you pay attention and quickly fix the mistakes Dino was pointing out.

Before you know it, you and Dino finished the rest of the choreography and filmed it without a hitch.

As you begin to pack up to leave and go to thank all the staff, you hear a voice from behind you. "Today was really fun for me. It might be too soon to say, but I really like you and would love if we could meet again for another dance video...or a date if you wanted."

Turning around, you're met with the sight of a blushing Dino. Laughing in disbelief, you reply happily, "a date sounds nice, here's my phone number."

"Well, I have to go. See you soon," you say with a gleeful smile on your face before adding on to say "Oh, one last thing before I forget."

Taking a step closer to Dino, you quickly lean closer to his face to give him a small peck on the cheek before running out the door waving goodbye.

As you turn around to get one last good look at Dino before you go down the hallway, you giggle at the way his cheeks are now a bright shade of pink as he softly holds the cheek you just kissed.

Walking down the hallway, in both disbelief and utter giddiness, you can't help but think of the fact that if you weren't in the right place at the right time today, you might've never met Dino.

You wouldn't have been able to dance with Dino, you wouldn't have been able to kiss Dino's cheek, and you wouldn't be walking down the hallway now with your phone containing Dino's phone number, the promise of a date in the future making you blush.

#seventeen fanfic #seventeen fluff #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #seventeen x reader #dino fanfic #dino x reader #dino x you #dino x y/n #lee chan x reader #lee chan imagines #lee chan x you #lee chan fluff

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itzsana-kiddingmenow · 25 days

Text

𝙨𝙖𝙣𝙖’𝙨 𝙜𝙪𝙞𝙙𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙬𝙧𝙚𝙘𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙎𝙆𝙕:

𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 7 — 𝙠𝙞𝙢 𝙨𝙚𝙪𝙣𝙜𝙢𝙞𝙣

𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙𝙨: 1.4k

𝙖/𝙣: late but defo worth it…i really outdid myself for this one, OUGHHH IM SHAKING MY HEAD LIKE A FERAL DOG I NEED HIM—

𝙩/𝙬: angst to fluff, rough tickling and soft tickles mentioned, seungmin’s an asshole but he means well

𝒍𝒆𝒆: seungmin

𝙡𝙚𝙧: reader

𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕: @someone-who-loves-kpop-saranghae @jeonginsdiary @leeknowstan33 @v--143 @wereallgonnadieonedaybutnottoday @inkytornpagess @lajanaa @a-wild-seungberry @channieissocute125 @soap143 @seungsluvv @skznccmlee @moony-9

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠! 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐞? 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐮𝐛s 🐾

he only really lets you tickle him if he feels like he did something to make you upset

seungmin may act all cold and uncaring, but he’s really not 🥺

making him laugh always makes you happy, so he lets you

not that he doesn’t love getting tickled himself, but he’d never admit that.

“Why are you so cold all the time! I’ve been nothing but loving to you, and…and it feels like you don’t love me at all!” You screamed, tears streaming down you face, rivulets of your sadness dripping onto the floor beneath you.

Seungmin knew his expression would be as blank and uncaring as it normally was, but he didn’t know if it was his heart of his sanity breaking completely.

You sobbed and almost falling over, Minnie rushed to catch you, but you shoved him away.

“Don’t act like you care now!”

Seungmin knew he fucked up. Badly.

He could feel tears of shock and remorse welling up in his own eyes, but he couldn’t bring himself to blink them away. Maybe he deserved this.

You grabbed your bag, stuffing your phone into it and slinging it over your shoulder.

“Where are you going?” Seungmin hated how his voice cracked, he felt weak and powerless.

You knew, Seungmin was your best friend, he may have seemed cold in the beginning but he truly did love you.

But what he had said to you was unforgivable.

‘Okay, you’re annoying. Stop calling me, I don’t have the time.’ His voice had sounded so cold, unfamiliar.

‘But, Seungmin.’ You coughed, spots swimming in your vision. ‘I’m really sick, I really need your help, please!’ You gasped.

Call ended. You had broken down sobbing right there and then, how could he say that to you, no emotion at all?

You had to drive to the hospital yourself, scared out of your wits to go alone, and had fainted right in the lobby.

Three hours later, he still wasn’t there, and your condition had improved. But you felt nothing but unrestricted numb, but all the pain in the world.

And now he was here, checking up on you and apologizing rapidly for being an ass, but nothing made you feel better, happier.

“I’m going home. I’m sick, and I need my medicine, if you didn’t know.” You snarled, shoving at him as he tried to hug you, tried to whisper more apologies into your ear. It just made you madder.

“You couldn’t do this when I needed you most.”

Seungmin stood there helplessly, and you only just caught the glint of his tears as you slammed the door shut.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Sobbing, you only needed one more thing before you broke down completely. Hearing the door unlock, you shot up to slam your door shut, but Seungmin was faster, pushing against the other side and overpowering your weak state.

You stood there, tears streaming down your face, two hands covering it. You could feel his arms wrap around your frame, frail and uncertain.

But once Seungmin asserted that you weren’t shoving him away, his arms pulled you into his chest, head coming to rest on top of yours.

You wrapped your arms around his waist, and he held your face in his hands, leaning down to press a kiss to your wet cheek.

Seungmin sank to the floor in front of you, grasping your foot. “I’m so sorry, so sorry. Please…don’t hate me!” Seungmin looked so broken, guilty.

You couldn’t help but forgive him right away. Staring for a few seconds, you decide to make your move.

“Minnie.” You giggle. “What are you doing?”

He looked dumbfounded. “What?”

“What are you doing on the floor—why are you grabbing my leg like I’m going to run away.” You snickered.

Seungmin paused for a few seconds, clearly thinking.

“I was gonna beg for your forgiveness.” He smiled up with you, grinning at the idea that he made you somewhat happier.

You sank down next to him, hugging him tightly. “Don’t do this ever again. I really needed you.”

Seungmin’s breath hitched. “I was being really crappy. It won’t happen again, darling.” He sniffled.

“But…you owe me.” You glared at him with a pout, and he scrambled to reply. “I’ll give you anything…anything you want!” He held both of your hands in his.

Gosh, he really was the cutest. Your best friend.

“Fine. Let me tickle you.” You smirked, making your fingers into claws.

“W-What?! Anything else, anything? Please!” Seungmin was already flustered, ears red and voice stuttering.

He never lets you tickle him, you only normally manage to get a gasp out of him before he turns the tables completely, and you’re the one who was laughing.

“C’monnn, you said anything~” You tease, and he slumped. “Fine.”

You squeal in excitement, running to grab your tie and your scarf. Seungmin flushed a deep red as you tied his hands high above his head to the headboard, and he squirmed in anticipation as you rested yourself on his thighs.

“You ready for the biggest wrecking of your life?~”

He blushed even more, squeezing his eyes shut before letting out a small whine. “Noho!” He was already giggling. How embarrassing.

“They say that you only truly hear a person’s laugh when they’re being tickled.” You smiled down at him.

“Just get it over with!” Minnie blurted.

“Mmm, fine. Let’s start here.” You wiggled your fingers along his neck, startling when you hear the cutest giggles you had ever heard in your entire life. “Aweee~”

Seungmin was pretty sure his face was the color of tomatoes at that point, giggling crazily as your nails tickled along his collarbone.

“How about…here?” You moved to his armpits, scraping up and down consistently.

“AGH!! P-Please…” He squirmed and tried to seal his lips, just to burst into laughter when you massaged the center of his underarms with your thumbs. “Nahah—HAHAHA!!”

“Your laugh is so cute!!~” You giggle along with him, a wide grin on his face that made you want to tickle him more.

“NONONO!!” He shrieked when your fingers moved to his ribs next. “NO—AAAAHAHAHAHAHA!!” You jolted but smiled right along with him.

“PLEASE—! PLEASE SOMEWHERE EHEHEHELSE!!” Seungmin choked, and you moved further to his waist, digging into the skin before slipping your fingers up his shirt to tickle him more.

Minnie began to thrash wildly, cackles ringing through the room as his cheeks reddened cutely. ”AHHHAH IHIT TIHIHICKLES!!“

You knew exactly how to push his buttons.

“How do you think raspberries would feel?~” You crawl further down with a shit eating smirk, moving his clothing out of the way slightly to expose his bare tummy and his belly button.

Seungmin watched in horror. “W-Wait!! Don’t do raspberries…I might die!!” He pleaded, stomach quivering under your hungry eyes.

“But I want to…” You pout, and he giggled crazily as you trailed your nails along his cute tummy.

“Here goes!” You lowered your head, blowing a torturously ticklish raspberry onto his skin. You’d never done it before, but it must have worked, considering Seungmin’s pleading was drowned out by his hysterical laughter, the cutest smile on his face as he laughed himself silly.

“YAAAHAHAHAHAHA!! PLEHEHEASE IHITS SOHO BAHAHAHAD!!” Seungmin shrieked, arching his back and slamming it back down when you blew another into his v-line.

”MAHAHAHAKE IHIT STAHAHAHAHAHAP!!” He begged, twisting away from the tickly sensation.

Minnie was practically going insane already, and you decided to finish off with one more so he didn’t actually die.

You decided to go all out for this one, pressing your lips to his cute belly button and blowing as hard as you possibly could.

Seungmin let out a raw scream before descending into the loudest laughter you had ever heard from him.

“PLEASE—PLEHEHEHEASE OHOHO MY GAHAHAHAHAD!! STAHAHAHAHAHAP!!” He howled, thrashing his head around crazily in his bound arms.

You let up after that one raspberry to his belly button, kissing it gently to calm him down as tears dropped into his collar. “Thahat was so brutal!!” He whined, and you fixed his shirt before climbing onto his heaving chest to untie him.

Seungmin squeezed out the last few tears and giggles before slumping immediately the second you fully untied him.

“You did so well for me…love you so much.” You pressed kisses to his wet cheek to rid the tears, pulling him into your arms.

You didn’t expect him to reply, but he did. “I love you more.”

You smile happily. “But seriously, you’re one of the most ticklish people I’ve ever seen.”

#kpop tickle #midzywannabeitzy #skz tickle #stray kids #skz #lee seungmin #ler reader

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lilacliquors · 5 months

Text

pairing: smoke x reader

word count: 1005

notes: on the eleventh day of ficmas, lilacliquors gave to me ... visiting smoke's home country for christmas! (there's a tiny bit of angst but not in the way you think besties!)

tomas had always been such a hard worker, not one for taking too many breaks. but this year for the holidays, you had worked something out with kuai liang, and you were going to force your husband to rest this holiday season. it had taken some careful planning, but you had managed to set up a week long trip back to the czech republic, tomas’s home country. he had expressed a desire to go back, so this year, you would be spending christmas in prague.

it didn’t take much convincing to get him to go. in fact, this might have been the first time he’d ever been excited about taking a break. and after many ‘thank yous’ and appreciative kisses, he was finally ready to pack and go on this trip. you had never seen him so excited, except on your wedding day, and it warmed your heart to see the appreciation for your efforts. he was always eager to tell you and show you how much you meant to him, but something about this felt different. it was like … he had another purpose for going, not just to celebrate the holidays.

when you arrived, it was christmas eve, and you checked into the home you had been able to rent out. it had been decorated for your stay, and it felt like a cozy little place. the lights glowed faintly, adding a warmth to the main room, and you couldn’t help but smile.

“this is amazing,” tomas breathed, looking around. “you outdid yourself this year, truly.”

“you’ve earned a little vacation, you know,” you said, wrapping your arms around his middle. “you work so damn hard, it’s a wonder you don’t collapse most days.”

“rebuilding a clan takes time. but if it makes you feel better, kauai liang and i have agreed to try and split the duties a bit more evenly now. i no longer feel the need to prove myself … he and i are brothers, and always will be,” he said, and you smiled at him.

“mhm, that does make me feel better. now, what would you like to do on this beautiful christmas eve?” you asked, and he looked to the window in thought. snow had begun to drift down, sticking to the ground little bit by little bit. you watched his face, and then he turned back to look at you, tilting his head slightly.

“i’d like to go for a walk. you look so beautiful with snow in your hair, i’d hate to pass this opportunity up,” he said.

you felt your cheeks warm, but you obliged, dressing in warmer clothes and allowing him to take the lead. it had been a long time since he’d been in prague, but it was like it never left him. he took your hand in his and began down the road, making sure to keep you close so you could stay warm.

“it’s so beautiful out,” you said softly, brushing a bit of snow from your hair.

“mhm, it is,” he replied, squeezing your hand.

you looked around at the buildings, admiring the architecture, and the way the snow dusted the rooftops. a few of the buildings reminded you of castles, and your eyes widened as you got closer. this was becoming just as much of a treat for you as it was a gift for him, and you couldn’t believe you finally got to see such a beautiful city.

“this is just so amazing,” you said, letting go of his hand to turn in a small circle, taking in the sights.

“i’m glad you think so. but … before we head back, there’s something else i’d like to do. an old czech tradition,” tomas said, reaching for your hand again. you obliged and took it, allowing him to lead you a bit farther from the city. the snow falling around you seemed to muffle the sounds of the world, yet the silence was comforting as you walked. you wanted to ask where he was taking you, but the look on his face was one of solemn determination. so, you kept quiet, and soon, you reached the gates of a cemetery. you were puzzled for a moment, but you followed him in, walking next to him in silence. he kept leading you until he stopped at three headstones, two larger ones with a smaller one in the middle. he let go of your hand and crouched down, brushing the snow from the stones with a gentle hand. you leaned in a bit to read them, and a soft breath escaped you.

these were the graves of his parents and sister.

you set a hand on his shoulder as he bowed his head, and he brought one hand up to hold yours, giving it a gentle squeeze. you were both quiet for a few moments longer, and then he stood, wrapped his arm around your shoulders, and led you from the cemetery and back to the main roads.

“thank you for this,” he said as you walked back to the rented home. “I’ve been hoping to pay my respects soon, but i never had the time to get away. this … this means more than you could ever know.”

“you’re welcome, tomas,” you replied, rubbing his back gently. “i just wish we could have gotten you here sooner.”

“i prefer this more. it’s actually czech tradition to visit the graves of loved ones, to remember them during this time. it’s bittersweet, it reminds us that life is short, but it also reminds us to cherish the time we have with our living loved ones. and there’s no one i’d rather spend my holidays with than you,” he said, pressing a kiss to your temple.

you smiled and let your head rest on his shoulder as you walked, and you tilted your head up to feel the snow on your face.

“i love you very much,” you said softly, and he smiled down at you.

“i love you, too. so very much.”

#smoke x reader #tomas vrbada x reader #tomas vrbada fluff #smoke mk1 #smoke mk1 ficmas #12 days of ficmas 2023 #lilacliquors ficmas 2023

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pardis-dhyai · 1 year

Note

how about some genshin guys admiring/complimenting their s/o in a pretty outfit? they’re smitten as it is, but getting dressed up has them falling in love all over again… maybe for ayato, kaeya, diluc, and anyone else you may decide to write for?

hello bestie. i'm adding wanderer just for you ;) and i'll throw zhongli in there!

admiring their s/o in a pretty outfit

characters featured: kamisato ayato, kaeya alberich, diluc ragvindr, scaramouche/wanderer, zhongli

pronouns used: none--second person perspective.

warnings: mentions of chest being touched (no gendered language and no specification of agab) and use of the word "beautiful" to describe the reader, suggestive (ayato); use of a pet name (my treasure) (zhongli)

notes: this is written with a chubby reader in mind and will reference chubbier bodies (most prominent in ayato's), but can be read even by non-chubby readers.

kamisato ayato instantly has his hands on you seeing you dressed up. he'll behave himself in public, he always does, but while you're in the private of his quarters he's going to take advantage of it and enjoy the view with his hands as well as his eyes. if you have any plushness or definition to your chest, his hands will definitely stray there (as long as you haven't previously told your lover you don't enjoy being touched there). if you don't, his hands will land on your hips, squeezing appreciatively. "you look beautiful," he murmurs as he pulls you close. "I have half a mind to ruin your hard work getting ready...I truly outdid myself working with the tailor to make that hug all the right places." he just chuckles when you lightly smack his arm.

kaeya alberich lets out a low whistle when you emerge from getting dressed. "I'm going to have to pry everyone else at the tavern off of you," he laughs. his gaze is soft when you draw closer, silently asking for your permission to touch. when you give it with a nod and a smile, his arms wrap around you and hold you, hands running over your back in quiet appreciation. with a kiss to your forehead and a smile, you both are out the door. he's excited to show you off, even if it means beating back would-be suitors with a stick.

diluc ragvindr turns as red as his hair when he sees you. he's almost hilariously easy to fluster when it comes to you, and he's stuttering and stammering just like the day he asked you out on your first date. "you...you look wonderful," he manages to get out, coughing nervously into his fist. when you raise a teasing eyebrow, he doubles down on his praise. "that outfit is absolutely ethereal on you, my love. the color really brings out your eyes. is...is it to your liking?" there can be no question in your mind about whether or not it's to his liking.

scaramouche/wanderer has his eyebrows scrunched together in an expression reminiscent of someone constipated. you almost ask him what's the matter, but when you get closer and you can see the flush riding high on his cheeks all mysteries are solved. if you tease him (which...you will. come on.), his eyebrows somehow scrunch even further, face a tomato as he tries to speak. "you...don't look shitty," he sputters. press him further to watch him fidget and look anywhere but your face. "I SAID YOU DON'T LOOK SHITTY! I MEAN...YOU LOOK GOOD!" good job! you've reduced him to a flustered mess by just existing--he thinks you're that attractive.

zhongli smiles at you like you're the only person in the world when he sees you. he's at your side in a few strides, tucking a stray piece of hair back into place or assisting you with a stray tie or zipper if you need it. "you always look stunning, my treasure," he hums, "but tonight you truly shine like gold." he's already mentally filing away his favorite parts of your outfit to take to a tailor later to get even more opportunities to see you like this--on director hu's dime, of course.

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin x chubby reader #genshin impact x chubby reader #kamisato ayato #kaeya alberich #diluc ragnvindr #scaramouche #zhongli #house of daena #x reader

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farfromstrange · 1 year

Text

Butterfly Effect | Michael Kinsella x Reader

Masterlist

Chapter Six: Bittersweet Symphony

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Barista!Reader (she/her pronouns mentioned)

Summary: What happened with Michael won't let you go and you find yourself researching who he is. The truth shocks you. But trying to forget him is impossible, you realize, and it doesn't take long for a knock on your door to ruin the plans you had made for yourself that particular night. Or, Michael finally finds the guts to ask you for help and takes a step toward you in the process, making your efforts worthwhile.

Warnings: Angst, mentions of canon typical violence, SMUT 18+ MINORS DNI, oral f!receiving, handjob, unprotected p in v, slight choking (?), dirty talk, pet names, slight marking kink, breeding kink (?)

Word Count: 11k (I outdid myself with this one, it’s about half plot, half smut)

A/n: I told you I'd make up for everything ;) Also, why did I make myself sweat with this one? And the gif? I just made myself horny smh…

Read All Other Parts Here...

Days turn into two weeks without hearing from him. Part of you expected him to call even after he broke your heart, but with every passing day, the hope swindled and a sense of anger settled in that still burns brighter than the sun.

You’re angry at Michael and you’re angry at yourself because you believed in the good in him and he turned out to be just another asshole, which doesn’t sit right with you. You couldn’t have misjudged him this badly. You saw through his facade and you thought you got a sense of who he is, and he didn’t seem as cruel to you.

It’s a lot to take in. You still struggle to wrap your head around everything that happened, but the initial hurt eventually fades into the background while you focus back on work.

During the past two weeks, Sarah prodded you for answers until you invited her over for a glass of wine and then you told her about Michael Kinsella and your shared love of coffee. You told her about the conversations you had, the subtle flirting, his help with the sign that has been professionally fixed since then, and you told her about how you kissed him and he seemed to enjoy it. You brought him coffee to work and kissed him again, and you parted ways like nothing happened. You told her all of that just to end the story with the inevitable; he left, hurting you in the process, and he hasn’t called since.

She was quick to tell you what an asshole he is and that he doesn’t deserve you, but that’s what she’s supposed to say and your feelings are a lot more complicated than that.

The behavior Michael displayed that day was so out of character. He was mean to you and he had only ever been kind to you before that. It bothers you that you don’t understand, even after days of contemplating and trying to forget him. You want to understand. His being an asshole couldn’t have been the reason for what happened. There has to be something else, you keep telling yourself, and it has to be so complex, it’s hard for him to explain, so he channeled his emotions elsewhere. That’s the only plausible explanation.

After another few days, you decide you’ve had enough. Constantly contemplating where you went wrong is making it hard to sleep and you need to understand what you got yourself into with Michael, even if it’s just to still your restless curiosity and soothe the ache in your chest. Maybe he is a serial killer; at least then you wouldn’t feel bad about how things ended.

It’s stupid, you think. You were never together. You were strangers who found solace in each other, and it was fun while it lasted. But Michael Kinsella is someone you can’t get out of your head so easily, you realized, and he will stay there until you’ve found a reason to exorcize him.

You want to see the good in people. He is no exception. And you truly believe there is good in him somewhere. He proved it to you before. Something wasn’t quite right that day and the days before. Something held him back.

You remember his hesitation when he told you his last name, the look on his face that suggested he expected you to run. While the name felt familiar, it hasn’t rung any bells. You’ve been living in Dublin for a while now, but the name Kinsella doesn’t strike you as something important, and Sarah clearly doesn’t have any idea who he is either or she would have warned you. Then again, she moved to Ireland after growing up in Scotland and is now doing her Masters in film while she’s working with you at the café. She’s just as bad when it comes to knowing the city she lives in as you are.

If Michael turns out to be a serial killer though, you’re not sure where to with yourself.

With your glass of wine in hand, you make your way to the living room table where your laptop is waiting for you. You close the empty draft of the story you were planning to write; a dramatic love story between a prince and the daughter of a Duke that was promised to him as his wife, but they don’t get along at first. Between work and the mess that is your life, you haven’t found the time yet to work on the idea.

You close the draft and move onto the internet. Typing the name “Kinsella” into the Google search bar feels wrong; you wouldn’t consider yourself a stalker, running background checks isn’t your forte, but that’s also because you’re overall bad at it. You’re not sneaky or sly – you have the grace of an elephant, so scouting the internet for information on someone is not something you usually do. This time though, Michael’s behavior forces you to take this step, and your curiosity is starting to eat you alive, so you have no other choice but to comply with this desperate need to figure out what the hell is going on.

Several news articles pop up after you press the search button. They date back several years with the top result being no older than eight years ago. The name “Kinsella” has a huge media presence, especially on social media. You’re not active on Twitter, but there are many links leading you to Twitter threads about one of Ireland’s most notorious crime families.

You know gang violence is a problem, you haven’t been living under a rock, especially not with the gas station close to your apartment getting robbed on the regular (and you’re convinced it’s not just robberies but perhaps mob hits that are meant to spread fear among the general public). What shocks you to your core though is the fact that when you open the Twitter thread first, the name Kinsella is mentioned twice in the first sentence, and the thread is full of death and bloodshed.

Someone took their time to document meticulously what the Kinsellas were up to for years. Drugs, violence, guns, murder… It has been happening right under your nose. You didn’t once notice. Your little bubble was nice to live in, not caring about the monsters lurking in the shadows of your city and just moving on with your life, but with one simple Google search, your bubble has burst.

You begin to think, Michael couldn’t have meant it when he said he was a Kinsella. He doesn’t strike you as the type of guy to do the things you’re reading about. There are several names you have never heard before, all linking to different crimes, but the police fail every time to link a member of the family to any of them – and they’re serious allegations. It seems surreal that no one has taken the fall yet.

You can’t choose your family, you know that. Maybe he was born into it but he’s not interested in being a criminal. That’s possible too. Maybe he’s trying to escape. Maybe his family is the reason why he pushed you away and he’s not as cruel as he presented to you. It would make sense and it would make you feel a lot better about yourself. Maybe–

Scrolling lower, you recognize the car dealer Michael said his brother’s wife works at. You recognize the car wash. Rumor has it that it’s a place for them to launder money. But so far, nothing has been proven. Amanda and Jimmy Kinsella, these are the names that catch your attention. Jimmy must be his brother then, Amanda the wife. She’s pretty, you can tell from the pictures someone posted into the thread.

Maybe you’re overthinking this. A lot of those Tweets sound like speculations. You can’t tie every gang-related murder in Dublin to one single family. There is more than one mob. If you have learned anything from reading crime novels it’s that there are always more players in the game, which often leads to conflict, which leads to violence, and which inevitably leads to a lot of dead bodies littering the streets. Too many drugs, too many guns, too much violence on the streets, and Ireland continues to suffer.

Michael Kinsella. You don’t want to believe that he’s part of the same family you just read an entire detailed Twitter thread on. You don’t want to believe that he is capable of hurting another human being, especially physically. You don’t want to believe it and yet, when you think about it, the tattoos, his secretive demeanor, and the general darkness that keeps his soul caged in, it makes sense.

You mutter a frustrated, “No,” to yourself. Switching back to the other search results on the Google page, the cursor moves over the article that dates back eight years ago.

Arrest Made: Husband Arrested in Fatal Shooting at Kinsella Household.

Your stomach churns.

“In the case of the fatal shooting at the Kinsella household on Wednesday, the police have officially arrested the victim’s husband, Michael Kinsella, for her wrongful death. According to police, there is concrete evidence against him and authorities are trying to convict him as soon as possible. Mrs. Kinsella leaves behind a young daughter–”

“Jesus fuck!” You down your wine in one gulp, slapping your laptop shut.

The article goes on to talk about the Kinsella family and the shooting that took place and killed that (you suppose) innocent woman – and she was Michael’s wife. He was married. He has a daughter. His wife got shot and he got convicted for it.

“I was away for eight years,” you remember him saying.

You already found it suspicious when he told you because no one leaves for eight years without explicitly planning and wanting to, but he sounded almost dreadful when he told you. He told you it wasn’t voluntary.

The article isn’t fake news, it’s real life. Michael Kinsella went to prison for killing his wife, he has a daughter, and you idiot have developed the biggest crush on a man who does not just have the name of a crime family, he is part of the said crime family. You have started falling for a guy who got convicted for murdering his own wife, and as you stare at your reflection in the dark tv screen across the room, you wonder when you have become such a naive idiot to think he’d turn out to be just another normal guy.

You’re fucked, you think. What if they want you dead now, too?

Even though you look calm on the outside, inside, you’re fuming. Your heart is racing and you can feel the air in your lungs getting thinner. This is a lot to process, too much even, but you’re stuck on a thought that won’t evade you; somehow, you’re not scared. You’re not scared of Michael or what he did, and just when you think you’ve lost your mind, you begin to think that the internet doesn’t convey everything and that maybe, there is an explanation after all, and your common sense officially declares you crazy.

But it’s true, isn’t it? Michael never struck you as the kind of guy who would be so vile and kill his own wife, let alone take a mother from her own child – his child, too – and then act as if nothing happened. Something else must have happened in the past, he suffered the consequences in prison and he continues to suffer through the aftermath even now. That is probably why he looked so broken every time you saw him. Something happened that no one talked about, and he doesn’t want to talk about it either because perhaps he’s embarrassed, and you get that.

You realize you’re twisted for trying to explain his actions, something you have no idea about, but you can’t shake the feeling that there is more to it, and not even the anger you feel at all the lies can make that inkling go away.

You’re too good, too nice, and that might be your downfall one day. But you don’t really care. Or maybe you care too much and that’s why all of this is so confusing and at the same time crystal clear. You don’t even know anymore.

With shaky fingers, you reach for your phone. After a few rings, Sarah answers. You can always count on her, even at twelve am in the middle of the night.

“Good evening, my little butterfly,” she answers cheerily. “What can I help ya with today?”

“I–” You forget what you wanted to say.

“Ya know, I was gonna call ya and tell ya about this new vibrator I got anyway. It’s in the shape of a rose. A rose! Anyway, I just tried it out and–”

“He killed his wife,” you cut her off.

She goes silent for a moment. “Who did what now?” she asks.

“Michael, he– he went to prison for eight years because he killed his wife.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, shit! Girl–” It sounds like she’s shuffling to sit down on the other end. “What the fuck is goin’ on?”

You whine. “I don’t know! I just wanted to know how he was, so I googled him and… his name, Sarah. Kinsella. It didn’t ring any bells before, but I think I heard it on the news a while back, and… it’s a mob family. They’re literal criminals. Fuck!”

Okay, maybe you are panicking. You tried to be strong before, but this is eating away at you and you feel like your sanity is slipping away. You feel lost, even more so than usual. It’s all too much to handle, and you can’t find it in yourself to properly process the information and the feelings that come with it.

Another moment of silence follows. “Well,” Sarah says, and she’s known for channeling shock in humor, “Remember when I told ya that dating a rugby player was bad? This is worse.”

“You’re not helping,” you say. Tears start welling up in your eyes.

“I know, I know,” her voice softens a tinge, “I’m sorry. I just can’t believe this is happening. Ya said he killed his wife?”

“Maybe, I don’t know. The internet suggests he was responsible, but I can’t– I met him, Sarah. I can’t believe this.”

“It’s not yer fault he fooled ya.”

“What if he didn’t fool me?”

“He went to prison fer 8 years, love. And he was convicted fer killing his wife. He’s part of a fuckin’ mob family. Who knows, maybe he’s the boss. This isn’t some creative writing dark romance shit,” she says. “Ya could be in actual danger. It’s good that bastard left ya. I’m sorry, but I’d rather have ya alive than dead.”

“I know!” Your choice echoes through the phone and back into your ear. “I’m sorry,” you apologize for your tone, “It’s just that… I know people. How did I not see this coming?”

“Shit happens.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“That’s the best I can give ya. You just know how to pick ‘em, it’s a real talent.”

“Thank you.”

“Yer welcome.”

You shake your head. “This is so fucked…”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Sarah murmurs. Her voice is gentle coming from the other end, a soft balm for your wounded soul.

You wouldn’t consider her your best friend, but she’s your closest friend, and she was there when no one else was when you first fame to the Butterfly Effect. There is a lot of history between you and right now you are grateful you’re not alone.

Your lips part in a bitter chuckle. “His wife left behind a daughter, which means he’s a father, too, apparently,” you tell her.

She gasps. “This just keeps gettin’ worse.”

“Yeah.”

“This sucks.”

“Yeah.”

“I knew there was a reason I hate dads,” she says.

Finally, her words elicit a small laugh from you. “Who knows, maybe he’s actually a good dad.”

For someone who used to be a pessimist, your optimism has become quite undying. She says your name almost condescendingly and you lower your head, knowing that you’re probably holding onto hope that’s actually nothing more than a fantasy. Michael changed your brain chemistry. You don’t know what’s real and what’s fake anymore. You’re not sure what to believe in, you can’t even trust your own mind anymore.

You have to forget him.

“Tell ya what, sunshine. You and I will go out on the town tomorrow night and get absolutely pissed–” Sarah pauses to light herself a cigarette. “What do ya say?”

It’s her turn to throw you a lifeline with a bottle of tequila attached to it, and maybe the promise of finding a distraction amongst the chaos. You nod. “Yeah,” you say, “sounds good.”

You don’t just have to forget him, you need to because even now he’s still stuck in your head, making it harder to breathe or even hear your own thoughts.

“Great, see ya tomorrow then,” she says.

“Yeah, see ya,” and you hang up, allowing the silence in your apartment to overrun and drown you again.

You should have known that forgetting him will be an impossible task. At work the next day, you feel a little dizzy. You barely slept, and the few hours that you managed to sleep were filled with ghastly dreams. You get nightmares sometimes, just like everyone else, but the ones you had that night were worse than anything you’ve experienced before.

You dreamed about Michael, there was a lot of blood and you remember that at some point, you were the one dying, not his wife, and the rest has quickly turned into a blur because your mind is trying to protect itself. Of course, you are a little less cheery today, and the bags under your eyes are a testament to how much your thoughts continue to make you suffer.

The man before you orders a double espresso. For a second, you imagine Michael standing there, his harmful words all these days ago; you’re tired of it.

“I could make you a double espresso,” you say, trying to sound calm, “but we also have other options you might like. The weather invites for something sweeter, don’t you think?”

He contemplates before agreeing with you.

“We have this new drink on the menu, we call it ‘Bittersweet Symphony’, and it’s a perfect blend between bitter and sweet–” and it reminds you so much of the person Michael is. He would have loved this drink. You shake your head slightly, trying to get him out. He shouldn’t follow you to bed, let alone to work. Even the thought alone makes you feel sick.

“It’s two shots of espresso,” you say, turning a deaf ear to the voices in your head, “topped off with usually some caramel or chocolate syrup and then a creamy white foam on top. You can have some hot milk as well if you want, sir.”

“Sounds good ta me,” he says.

“Okay, perfect. That makes 5.48 in total…”

You want nothing more than to get through your day without any more unnecessary reminders.

It isn’t until you’ve arrived home that you allow yourself to take a deep breath. You grab a quick bite to eat from the leftover pizza in your fridge, then make your way to the bathroom to take a shower before you meet with Sarah. You need to wash the sweat from the day off your skin. And you need to cry. You’ve noticed your eyes get less swollen when you keep your emotions bottled up until you have a shower you can hide in.

You once again think about Michael and the article. You think about his family, your lack of judgment, and what Sarah said about you possibly being in danger. You would have been if he told you and stayed around, perhaps, but you don’t feel like you’re in danger. Maybe you should be, but would he have agreed to spend time with you if you were in danger because of him?

You brush your hair a little angrier tonight. The picture you had of him is destroyed; you don’t know what to think or what to make of it. It’s frustrating and it shakes you to your core. What did you do to deserve this?

The clock strikes eight. You picked your best dress, fixed your hair, and applied some makeup – you don’t often go out, but tonight, you don’t care. Just when you are about to put on your shoes, there is a faint knock on your door.

You check your phone. Sarah hasn’t called or texted and you planned to meet up at the club, so who would be knocking on your door at eight in the evening? With a frown, you put your phone back down and approach the door. You don’t bother checking who’s behind it, you simply unlock it and open it. Maybe it’s a neighbor needing some sugar or flour; that tends to happen quite a bit.

Though when you look up, your heart sinks to your stomach. All this thinking about him and now he’s standing right in front of you.

Your initial thought to slam the door in his face goes to waste when he lifts his head and tries to smile at you. There is blood stuck to the corner of his mouth, his nose seems broken and someone managed to hit his eyebrows strong enough to make the skin burst open.

Michael looks a mess as he stands before you, holding onto your door frame. He tries to hide it, but the pain is evident on his face.

There is a pause. You stare at him and he stares back, the air between you charging with tension. “Hey,” he whispers eventually.

The words on your tongue turn to gibberish.

He says your name and his voice sounds utterly broken. Unshed tears glisten in his eyes. He holds onto his side as if his ribs are bruised, and it’s only then you notice his sunken eyes and how he’s slumping against your door, too weak to hold himself up. He looks exhausted in all possible ways, and his heart lies broken on the floor before you, the little bit of light you used to see in him before now gone.

“Michael,” his name is merely a breath on your lips.

“Listen, I know ya probably don’t want ta see me–” his knees buckle.

You reach out to catch him. You’re not in control. You should push him away and tell him to go to hell. You should save yourself before you get hurt, too. You shouldn’t give someone like him a second chance, but he’s bleeding and he’s in pain and he needs help. You can’t just say no to that.

He didn’t mean to come to you, to be quite fair. But then he was at the pub and there was this guy and he just wouldn’t stop talking, and he punched him. Michael punched him and he ran, and he found his way to you instead of home because fuck, he needs you. And not in the animalistic way he has wanted you before; he needs you to breathe, to learn how to live again, to find hope because he has been drowning ever since he left. The world wants to suffocate him. He’s drowning. He’s reaching for the lifeline now, and he no longer has the power to fight it.

It’s his turn to take the first step now. It’s a step he should have taken in the beginning. But looking at you, he fears it might be too late.

“I’m sorry,” the tears become clearer now as he whispers, “I’m so fuckin’ sorry…”

“Sorry? Do you even know–” You swallow thickly. “I know who you are, Michael.”

His face darkens, but it doesn’t come as much of a surprise to him. He suspected you would look him up. There is no resentment in your eyes, no fear, only disappointment. It hurts, and he wishes he would never have come.

His knees buckle again. He can’t run. He hasn’t slept in days, he has barely eaten and the alcohol is still coursing wildly through his system. The adrenaline starts to fade, leaving behind the pain that is seemingly in every bone of his body but most importantly his soul and the voice in his head grows into a cacophony of screams again.

You hold on tight to him. You shouldn’t be doing this, but it feels right. You’re acting on autopilot, even when you close the door behind you and look into his eyes.

"Fuck," you mutter to yourself, and the curse is meant for you alone. "Let's get you inside."

You guide Michael into the living room. The sofa isn't far, so you lead him there and urge him to sit down. His body feels limp and heavy against you, but you refuse to let him fall.

He groans a little when the shift in position sends a sharp pain through his ribs. His brown eyes seem lighter with the tears inside. The light glistens in them, casting an almost golden glow on his face. You take a step back, and you're not sure what to think or say that would somehow convey the turmoil of emotions that are raging inside of you.

"What happened to you, Michael?" you ask. You try to sound strong, stern even, but your voice quivers. Is that fear you feel? You're not sure, but you're alone with someone you've read a lot of dark things about and that doesn't leave you cold. He said something to you that broke you, it felt as if he played with you, and yet you can't send him away. It's pathetic, almost, but there is a voice inside of you that refuses to let you let him go, and maybe she has a point. "You look like you've been through hell," you add.

He lets out a bitter chuckle. "Tha's one way ta put it," he says. "I got into a fight at the pub. Things got out of hand."

The emotion that flickers inside of you is one you can pinpoint. It's red, hot, and burns through your veins like acid. You're angry, feral even. He once asked you if you ever get angry; he should think again, now that he can see you. "So, you resort to violence?" you snap. "Is that your solution to everything?"

Michael flinches at your words. "No, it's not. I- I messed up, okay? I'm not proud of it. But I-" he takes a deep breath and then he speaks again, much quieter this time, "I didn't know where else ta go."

A wave of exhaustion washes over you. As much as you want to turn your back on him, you can't ignore the desperation in his eyes. You take a deep breath, trying to steady your emotions.

"Why?" you ask. "After everything, why did you think I would help you?"

He swallows the lump in his throat. The tears prick at the corners of his eyes. "Because... yer the only one who understands," his voice is barely above a whisper. "I know I don't deserve yer help, but I can't... I can't do this alone." When he calls your name this time, it's a cry for help. "I don't wanna be alone anymore," he says. "I can't-"

Your arms uncross in front of your chest. Your eyes soften, the pain in his voice cutting through the tension like a knife. The sound of your bare feet patting against the floorboards toward him is an indication that you’re coming closer, but Michael can’t see, not even a little bit.

You sit down next to him. He’s just a broken man. He isn’t dangerous. You knew he couldn’t be. Sarah and all the strangers on the internet don’t know him – he’s a man in pain who needs help, and he’s finally asked for it.

“You’re not alone,” you whisper. You abandon all worries and fears and focus solely on him. He needs you, not just anyone – he needs you and he came to get it.

He should have done so from the start.

Michael falls into your open arms almost as soon as he hears the words from your mouth. The sobs break free from his chest and he shakes, his tears staining your dress and wetting your shoulder, but you only wrap your arms around him tighter. He feels so fragile in your arms.

You stroke your fingers through his hair. “Shh, it’s okay. I’ve got you.”

He cries for what feels like hours. His chest heaves with the missing air, his sobs echoing through the room, all the while he clings to you. You can feel his helplessness in the way his fingers dig into your flesh. He’s hiding away from the world with his face in the crook of your neck, and he’s holding you so incredibly close, you feel like you might suffocate.

After a while, he begins to calm down. Your fingers paint lazy patterns on his scalp, the other hand rubbing his back as he finds back to himself.

He leans back. His entire body vibrates when he takes a deep breath. The blood from his nose is now smeared over the sleeve of your dress too. He reminds you of yourself just then. You look at him and you see yourself, the girl who wanted to please her parents, to be someone, but life had other plans for you. You lost people you cared about, you lost yourself, and you had nowhere to go either. You were alone, lonely even, and it slowly killed you. He reminds you so much of yourself, it hurts.

Your family can’t compare with his, but you can tell from looking at him that the pain is the same as you grew up with. It’s like looking into a mirror. And you realize that this is precisely the reason why you can’t find it in yourself to be scared, you’re just angry and disappointed, but overall you’re worried about him.

“What happened to you, Mikey?” you whisper.

He chuckles breathlessly. “Too much,” he says. “And I’m sorry fer hurting ya. I never meant fer things to go so wrong. I… I feel so ashamed.”

Your hands are still resting on his shoulders, but your eyes have grown more thoughtful.

“You said ya know who I am?”

“I looked you up,” you admit.

Another tear slides down his cheek. “Okay, I understand.” He makes a move to get back up. You’re confused, watching him. When you realize he wants to leave, you grab his hand and pull him back down.

“I want to understand.”

He says your name, “I–”

Michael can tell you’re not scared. That alone seems like a warning sign. There is anger bubbling under your skin, but you’re not yelling, you’re not being physical – he realizes that you’re silent when you’re angry, and yet you try to understand where the other person is coming from even if they hurt you, and that’s as admirable as it worries him.

“I read an article… I read several articles, actually. One was about your family and the other…” You lower your gaze onto the floor, your hand slipping from his, but he’s not walking away. “Is it true?” you ask.

He sighs.

“I didn’t want to believe that you’re cruel and that’s why you said what you said to me. You acted weird and I knew it wasn’t like you, and I still believe that. I just wanted to understand, and what I read… it’s a lot of information, but we all have a different perception and I don’t think you’re the bad guy. Make me understand, Michael. If you don’t–”

“Ya want me ta leave?” he finishes for you.

You nod. And even if the truth hurts, you want to know. You can still push him away after, but you need the answers you have been searching for so desperately, and you don’t want to rely on Twitter or the news to tell you who Michael is. His family, you couldn’t care less about; this is about him, and you want to know who he is, not what family he was born into. Once you understand him, you can rethink your opinion and perhaps it will answer all of your questions and not just the most burning ones, and then you can move on. He can move on. You both can move on, maybe even together.

You’re a hopeful person, and you won’t stop having hope until there is no more reason to keep it. Michael is vulnerable. There has to be more to it than meets the eye, and judging by how his shoulders slack and he sits back down next to you, you know you were right with your suspicions that everything isn’t always as it seems. Public court of opinion is a fickle thing.

The cuts on his face look nasty. You can see them clearly now. You get up and retrieve an ice pack from the fridge, allowing him a moment to collect himself.

Michael watches intently as you grab what he suspects is your first-aid kit and a bottle of water together with a frozen pack of peas. He eyes you. He’s sure he doesn’t deserve what you’re giving him, but you have asked for something, something important, and if he doesn’t give it to you, he has to leave and then he will be alone again, without you, without anyone to hold him, and he can’t do that you. You deserve the truth, and Jimmy can go fuck himself. If you ever need protecting, he will be the first person to jump in front of the gun for you, and that’s all that matters.

You guide the ice pack to his eyebrow. “So, is it true?” you ask again. “What they said on the news?”

He nods.

“You were married?”

“She died,” Michael whispers. His eyes are focused on the empty space behind you, new tears welling up inside of them. “One day, she just got caught in the crossfire because I–” He tilts his head back. He keeps telling himself not to cry, but Allison’s face is crystal clear in his head, and her blood feels heavy in his hands. “I fucked up,” he says, “and she died. ‘Cause I couldn’t save her.”

“Did you–”

“I didn’t fuckin’ shoot her!"

You lift your hand. His wife seems to be a sensitive subject, which is valid given the circumstances of her death, so you need to dread lightly. You don’t want to open his wounds any further, and you don’t want him to think that you believe what you read because that is why you’re talking to him in the first place, to see a different side of the story.

“It’s okay,” you whisper. “I never thought you did.”

“We both know that’s not true,” he says.

“Well, I’m not thinking that anymore.”

“I loved her,” – you catch his tear with your finger – “But tha’ wasn’t enough to save her.”

He’s holding so much pain inside, so much guilt and grief. Something tells you he isn’t lying. Alone the look in his eyes gives away the truth. He’s too weak, too tired to lie to you, and you can see that talking about it in the way he does with you lifts some of the weight off of his shoulders, even though he’s carrying too much for the human soul to bear. You wish you could make his pain go away, but you can’t.

Tears well up in your own eyes now. “I’m so sorry,” that’s all you can say.

Michael waves you off, wiping his tears almost furiously. “Doesn’t matter. I paid my price,” he says.

“Eight years…”

“Yeah.”

“How did you survive?”

He chuckles. “Managed to find a way to make friends in that shithole.”

The next question has been brewing for a while as well. “And your daughter?” you ask.

He sucks in another sharp breath, looking far away from you and what’s behind you. His fists clench, stretching the bruised skin over his knuckles. “Fuck,” he sniffles.

You take his hand and the first-aid kit and start assessing the damage, not saying much more. You wait for him to make the next move, to answer you, and you just hope he stays open with you.

Watching every move you make, Michael bites his cheek before answering, “Staying with what's left of my wife's family,” he tells you. “Haven’t seen her in eight years ‘cause they didn’t let me see her.”

“But you wanted to? See her, I mean.”

“Of course, I wanted ta see her! She’s my daughter. I– I wanted nothin’ more than to see her face, watch her grow up, even if just for a fuckin' few minutes one day a week, but now… she looks so much like her ma." His voice breaks into a bitter chuckle. "I wanted to see her every fuckin’ day, that's no question, but no one let me, and now… I have no rights.”

You know people, and you figured before he couldn't possibly be a bad father. He would be excellent, even, if only he got the chance to see his daughter. If they had allowed him to see her in prison, there would be something he can build up on now, but he has nothing. It must hurt to be so helpless when it comes to one's own child. You don't have children, but you can still feel his pain. You understand what it's like in one way or another, and it pains you to see him like this.

“I’m fighting, ya know? Have a solicitor and everythin', but… they’re pushing back and now tha' I'm out, I–” Once again furiously, he wipes his cheeks.

“The chances are slim?” you say.

He nods.

“Is that why you went out drinking tonight?”

“How did ya know?” It’s a genuine question.

You shrug, wrapping a bandage around his knuckles. “I got a feeling.”

“My family is dangerous,” he says. “I pushed ya away because my brother said some things and I– well, I felt like I had to. I know yer worrying your pretty little head about wha’ I did, and the truth is, I did hurt people. I do. Before I went ta prison, tha’ was me job. Before I lost Allison… I lost her because of tha’, and now I’m in the process of losing Anna and I– I’m tryin’ to go straight, y’know? For her, for myself."

"And that's okay," you say.

"Ya don't get it. I’m the son of a drug mule, I… I killed in the name of my family– in the Kinsella name, I committed crimes tha’ I’m not proud of, but it’s my life. No, it was. I hurt people fer money, fer family, but now I just… I wanna be there for me family, and that family is my daughter, Anna, and it’s me, and that’s why I’m washin’ cars and getting coffee at a fancy coffee shop and tryin’ to find a purpose so I can be a father, so tha’ she can be proud of having me in her life. And I’d understand if ya said ya didn’t want ta see me anymore. I’d understand if ya said this is too much, too messy. I... I hurt ya and I won’t ever forgive myself for tha’, for what I did, I– I’m just sorry.”

Michael shivers when your hand finds his. He admitted he’s a murderer, he dealt drugs, he has a daughter, was responsible for his wife’s death, and yet you’re still sitting there. You reach out to hold his hand instead of running and it overwhelms him.

The ball of anxiety in his chest turns into something else, but his feelings are all over the place and his soul is scarred, he doesn’t quite understand what is happening to him. He just knows that you have the power to make the pain a little easier to deal with, and he’s not sure how to thank you or how to express what he’s feeling in a way that makes sense to you as much as it does to him – because it doesn’t make sense.

You don’t answer at first. You continue tending to the wounds on his face, wiping his nose, and putting a butterfly bandage on his eyebrow before guiding the peas back to the cut to prevent any unnecessary swelling. He watches you, granting you this moment of silence to contemplate.

What he doesn’t know is that you have already made up your mind, it just takes a moment for you to remember how to speak.

You toss the cotton swabs on the table and hand him the water bottle. “You can stay here tonight,” you say.

He frowns, confused if this is all you have to say to him.

“I can make the sofa for you so you can rest.”

Your name slips past his lips. “Please,” he whispers.

“I’m not angry or scared of you, Michael. I’m not, and that’s the thing. That’s what confuses me, but… you’re not a bad person. You’re a good man. What you did in the past–” You wipe your nose. “It doesn’t matter now. Your family doesn’t matter to me,” you say, honesty dripping from your tongue like honey, making him feel at home, safe and sound, and taken care of for the first time in years. “You matter, only you, and everyone deserves a second chance. You, out of everyone, deserve a clean slate the most and I'm the last person that would judge you because you’ve been through hell, you’re still suffering and you were alone all this time–” You should have known your voice would crack and that you wouldn’t be able to steer off the tears forever.

“I see myself in you,” you whisper, the first tear cascading down your cheek, “and that’s the only thing that terrifies me because I know how awful it is to feel this way.”

His brows furrow. He only accidentally caught you crying before, and you tried to hide it then. The tears glistening on your cheeks are real now, your eyes are quick to turn red and you wipe them away, almost embarrassed at your emotional reaction.

He reaches out, brushing his thumb over your cheekbone and toward the corner of your eye. “I’m sorry,” Michael says. “You deserve so much better, love.”

“No, that’s still my decision.”

“Ya should curse me to hell.”

“Trust me, I did.”

“Then why aren’t you doing it again?”

“I don’t know,” you answer in a heartbeat, “maybe because of you.”

“Me?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

If only you knew. You shrug, leaning into the soft touch of his hand on your cheek. “Just because it’s you, Michael. I can’t explain it, but… I can’t stay away from you,” you say, “and I don’t think I want to.”

His eyes drop to your lips. “Yer puttin’ yerself in danger,” he argues.

“Michael.”

“Wha’?”

“I don’t care.”

“I–” he can’t tear his eyes off your lips.

You notice his wandering gaze and quickly pull away. He has a pull that is certain to have you on your knees in seconds, and you’re not sure if you’re ready for that. With a sigh, you get up.

“We can talk more in the morning. It’s getting late and I’m getting a little tired, so…”

Almost disappointed, Michael lets you go. He steps out of your way as you get him a blanket and a pillow, and then you disappear into the bathroom. He listens to the water running, your frustrated grunts when something isn’t going your way; you sound truly adorable.

He waits patiently until you’re done, stripping himself of his clothes as he does so. He doesn’t need clothing, he told you, he can sleep in his underwear, and you chose not to argue.

When you come out though to grab a glass of water and tell him, “I put out a toothbrush and a towel for you,” his eyes fall on the oversized shirt you’re wearing and your tied-up hair, and he curses his lack of self-control when his eyes begin to wonder.

Are you even wearing underwear?

“Thanks,” he mutters.

With weary eyes, he watches you disappear into the bedroom. He’s not sure if this is a good outcome or a bad one, but he knows that he can’t be trusted around you. At least not in his current state. He tries to ignore the growing need in the pit of his stomach, but it’s hard, and he feels the effect your scent alone has on him deep in his bones.

“I lied,” your voice rings out in the darkness when he’s already settled in on the couch.

He sits up, blinking at your silhouette. “What?” he asks.

You let out a soft breath when you walk toward him, your steps determined. “I’m not tired,” you say, and before Michael can react, he feels your soft lips on his.

He kisses back eagerly. All reservations from before disappear, leaving only you and him in the privacy of your cozy apartment. He’s quick to throw the covers off his body and pull you closer, and you situate yourself in his lap.

His hands travel the familiar distance they did when you last kissed, groping at your sides and feeling the hot skin of your thighs. You’re so soft under his fingers. The fabric of your shirt slides up, leaving more room for him to touch, but he hesitates. Hands on your hips, he pulls away to breathe and looks into your eyes.

“Yer sure about this?” he asks.

You seek his lips. “Yes,” you breathe.

He hauls you back in with a hand on the back of your head, and he kisses you with newfound intensity. His tongue slips past your lips into your mouth, tasting the lingering toothpaste. You’re so warm everywhere, yet he leaves goosebumps everywhere he goes.

You’re panting against his lips. The feeling of his rough hands on your soft skin is better in real life than in the dream you had. It’s better than touching yourself to the thought of him because finally, he is everywhere and all over you. Without the blanket between you, you can feel all of him, his skin, his hair, and the growing bulge in his boxers, and you’re higher than you have ever been. You don’t do drugs, but you suspect it feels nowhere near as good as this.

The soft glow of the street lights and the moon cast a soft glow inside, allowing you a view of each other while also keeping the serenity of it all alive. You’re not afraid or shy, you know exactly what you want. Michael seems to have the same idea.

You reach for the hem of your sleep shirt and pull it over your head. He stops to stare at you, your skin illuminated by the moon. You remind him of sunshine and flowers because that’s what you smell like.

His hands travel over your torso until they reach your breasts and he takes a moment to admire them. They’re perfect, your nipples already perky from the air in the room, begging to be sucked.

The moment of silence makes you blush. He’s staring at you while you’re half-naked atop him and it feels almost humiliating. But then his palms flatten over your back and he smiles as he looks directly into your eyes, bursting your insecurities with a simple sentence, “Yer perfect.”

Your lips part in a lustful moan when he lowers his lips to take one of your nipples into his mouth. He plays with the other with his fingers, tugging at the sensitive nub until it’s as hard as it gets. Every nerve in your body is on fire. His fingers are branded into your skin now. His tongue plays with your nipple as if he knows exactly what buttons to push, and when he sucks, you have to hold onto his shoulders for support because it feels too damn good.

The fabric between your legs is damp and uncomfortable, and his cock keeps pressing against your ass cheeks. You pull at his hair, forcing him to kiss you again.

The couch barely offers enough space, he can tell. With ease, he hoists you up and carries you to your bedroom. The light on the nightstand is on, allowing you to see his face fully. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes are hooded. He’s beautiful, inside and out.

Your hands rake through his hair. He stops for a moment, towering over you with his eyes closed. He enjoys this. You take care of him, you show him care and you proved to him that it’s okay to be vulnerable, and he feels more than safe in your presence.

Michael leans back down. The kiss is gentler this time. You sigh softly. It has been a while since someone was willing to get to know you like this, not rushing the intimacy and simply lying together for a while, hands exploring each other’s bodies while your breathing aligns. You doubt you’ve ever had anyone take as much care as he does, but you’re not complaining. You love how it feels when he touches you so sensually, tracing every vein, scar, and stretch mark, and he whispers once again how beautiful you are. He says your name and you’re floating. You’re getting off on this, and he’s not doing much more than pressing his lips to your salty skin.

His lips travel from your chest to your navel now. So lost in pleasure, you don’t even notice where he’s going. A sharp tug at your thighs makes you squeal and you lift yourself up on your elbows to look at him. He’s kneeling at the foot of the bed, his head tilted to the side slightly, and he’s grinning back up at you.

“Michael,” you whisper.

He caresses your calves. “Yes, pet?” he asks oh so sweetly.

“I–” The heat rushes to your cheeks.

Michael’s lips twitch. “Can ya do me a favor?”

“Anything–”

“Spread your legs fer me.”

The blush spreads across your chest, your nipples growing even harder. Hesitantly, you do as you’re told, spreading your legs for him. He's in control now. Your body follows his every command and you’re helpless in his arms.

His eyes darken visibly. He strokes the outside of your thighs before moving to the inside, and then he’s pulling at the waistband of your underwear to get them off. You gasp when the cold air hits your aching cunt, and he looks absolutely mesmerized when he spreads your legs further apart.

“So wet fer me,” he whispers.

His hands are soon replaced by his lips, and the pace he’s keeping is teasing enough to make you clench. You know you’re dripping at this point, your hands tearing at the sheets, and you bite your lip to stop yourself from moaning.

Nuzzling his nose into your cunt, Michael lets out a low growl. “Fuck!” You smell divine. "Don't be so modest, pet, let me hear ya pretty moans."

"I can't."

You wish you could wipe the grin off his lips as he looks up at you. The sight is breathtaking enough, his face reminding you of the devil, and he has you wrapped tightly around his little finger. "Ya don't have a choice," he says.

In a matter of a second, he has your legs thrown over his shoulders and his mouth covers your pussy whole. You gasp in surprise. He doesn't warn you, he simply dives right in, taking what he believes to be his; and you are.

His tongue slides through your folds, licking the space above your entrance, and he expertly unsheaths your clit to suck on it with all he has. Your back arches, legs tightening around his head. At first, he experiments with what you like, listens to your whimpers and the small hiss of pain when he sucks too hard until he's found a pace you're comfortable with, and then he pays close attention to every last detail.

You expected a lot, but not this.

He eats you out like he hasn’t eaten in months. His lips suction around the sensitive bundle of nerves at the top before he slides his fingers down to part your folds and allowing him some space to thrust his tongue into your wet heat. The pleasure turns into an intense inferno that spreads through your entire body. You're in hell, but it's a good feeling. A sinful yet absolutely mesmerizing feeling that you have never felt before.

With every move of his tongue, he drives you higher and higher and higher until there is not much further he can go. You’re writhing underneath him, but the moans get stuck in your throat. He renders you useless. The pressure on your clit is just right, you can feel it in your toes. Your breathing echoes in your ears, your whimper a silent melody that fills the room alongside the stench of sex.

The sound of his tongue lapping at your slick folds reverberates. It’s an obscene cacophony. Your hand tangles in his hair and he moans, the pain on his scalp only driving him to go faster, deeper, harder–

“Fuck!” you let out the softest moan, but finally.

Michael smirks against your cunt. His beard burns its mark into the skin of your thighs, but you only clench them harder and he would gladly suffocate right where he is. "There ya fuckin' go," he purrs.

“Mikey,” you breathe his name, and the ecstasy that fills your voice makes his cock throb in his boxers.

He can’t get enough of your taste, your sweet juices supplying him with pornographic memories for days. He could come just like this, he’s sure, with his head between your thighs and your voice in his ear. His hands tighten around your thighs, leaving their marks there as well. He wants you to walk around the next day covered in all of him, and he gets the memory of your cunt stuck in his beard to carry proudly for the rest of the week if possible.

You arch your back again. His tongue reaches as deep as he can into your hole, drawing back out to paint pictures over your clit. It’s swollen, begging for attention, and the alternation between his gentle licks and the heavy suction of his lips is enough to make your muscles contract.

The moan you let out goes beyond anything you’ve done before. Your free hand flies to your breast, applying just the tiniest amount of pressure, and even then Michael is there to take over. The tips of his calloused fingers are the final straw, and you find yourself tethering on the edge of pure bliss.

“That’s it,” he praises.

“I’m–” You can’t form a coherent sentence without crying.

He squeezes your breast in response. “I know. So good fer me. Good girl.”

And that’s all you need.

“Come fer me,” Michael says, and the orgasm crashes into you like a tidal wave that soon turns into a tsunami. It’s strong enough to tear cities to the ground.

Every muscle in your body quivers when you reach your peak, and his tongue greedily laps up all of your juices.

You’re not sure how long you lie there, but eventually, the world returns to your senses and you can breathe. There are no restrictions, everything is free and you can just breathe.

“Holy shit,” you say.

Michael chuckles, still trapped between your legs. He peels them off his head gently. His lips are swollen now and his beard glistens with your wetness.

“Oh–”

“How was tha’?” he asks.

You can’t find the words to describe what he just made you feel, so you simply pull him back up and press your lips to his. The slightly sour, slightly metallic taste of your arousal spreads from his tongue to yours, and you moan when he presses his cock against you. There is a wet stain where the tip is. It looks painful, almost.

He grabs your face. “Hm, how was tha’, love? Talk to me.”

You swallow. “So good,” you choke out.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Has anyone ever made ya come like tha’ before?”

“No. Just you. Please, Mikey, I–” You reach for his boxers again.

He smirks. “What do you want?”

“You.”

Your eyelashes flutter as you blink up at him almost innocently, and he lets out a shuddering breath. “Fuck,” Michael buries his face in your neck, “Yer so fuckin’ beautiful. Drivin’ me crazy. You have any idea how many times I dreamt about eating yer sweet cunt? How many times I dreamt about how you fuckin’ taste and how ya’d moan my name? Sounds as gorgeous as ya fuckin’ are, such a pretty girl, hm? Always so good fer me…”

The look in his eyes is almost loving when he cradles your cheek, but his words are filthy. You can’t help but moan in agreement. “Yours,” you whisper.

“Mine,” he repeats, “That’s right.”

This time, when you try to help him out of his underwear, he lets you. Your eyes widen at the sight of his throbbing cock, the tip red and the veins on the underside protruding. Pre-cum stains the head, and he’s big. God, he’s big.

“All mine,” Michael says.

You grab a hold of his cock. The sight before you is something you should photograph. His eyebrows furrow and he lets out a low moan. As your hand is working up and down his shaft, he’s holding himself up with one arm, and you can see every muscle in his bicep tense. And his hands… you get lost in how the veins look, how large they are, and how perfectly they would fit around your throat.

As if he read your mind, he grabs your jaw and pulls you in for a sloppy kiss. His hand moves to your neck, but you don’t push him away.

“Wait,” he murmurs and calls your name. “Do ya have a condom?

“I’m clean and on the pill,” you answer breathlessly. “If you want we can–”

His jaw slacks. “I've always been safe, too," he says.

“Then fuck me."

"Fuck-"

He grabs his cock and drags it through your slit, coating himself in your wetness. You hiss when he bumps against your clit, and he returns the same motion until you’re a quivering mess. Only then does he find your entrance and slowly push inside.

It’s a stretch, at first. He knocks the breath out of your lungs with his girth. He pushes forward, thrusting into you gently until he has bottomed out, and he stays buried deep inside of you for a moment. His eyes scan your face. You’re panting, your eyes are closed and your jaw is slack. You look so good like this, something to be devoured, to be worshipped, just perfect.

“You okay?” he asks, stroking a strand of hair out of your face.

He looks so rough on the outside, but he can be gentle when he wants to.

You take a deep breath. “Yes,” you say. He throbs inside of you and you clench, feeling all of him everywhere at once.

Michael is high on you. He nods and finally brings his hips back, keeping only the tip inside of you, before thrusting his cock back inside of you. You throw your head back.

“Fuck, you feel so good…”

He envelops your lips in a passionate kiss. “Yeah, yer so fuckin’ tight,” he says. “Could do this all day. Feel your cunt around my cock. Feel ya clench around me, make ya come, turn ya into a dumb little mess.” He picks up speed with his thrusts and angles his hips just a little higher.

Your eyes roll back into your head when he finds the spot inside of you that no man, not even yourself, had ever been able to reach before.

“Ya’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He chuckled hoarsely when you whine. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Your legs wrap around his waist. His chest hair brushes against you, your sweat mingling, rolling down in small droplets onto the sheets. Your nipples rub against him. He kisses your lips, your cheek, your neck, everywhere.

You get lost in the feeling of his cock splitting you open. The bed creaks with every hard thrust and you see stars. The headboard rocks against the wall, probably waking the neighbors, but you can’t be bothered.

Intertwining your fingers, Michael brings your hand to his lips first before forcing it above your head. You’re holding onto each other now, your other hand tangled in his hair while he grabs your face and explores the inside of your mouth once again. He tastes you, feels you wrapped tightly around his cock, and the moans that spill out of you make him impossibly harder.

You’re everywhere. He breathes you, you live in his mind now, your blood is his and you’ve become one. His cock disappears inside of you, and there is no telling where one ends and the other begins. Your limbs are tangled. He takes his time, reveling in the feeling of you all over him, but he also needs more. It’s you, you, you, and even more of you. He can’t get enough.

His grunts echo in your ears as he buries his head in your neck again. Reaching down, he catches your clit between his fingers. He feels his cock driving into you, disappearing, and then moving out again.

He is not going to last long, but he won’t come before you. The feeling of being bare inside of you, your cunt right around his cock, and the possibility of coming inside of you, filling you up, and marking you for everyone to see that you are his drives him wild with desire, and it’s not long before his grunts turn into soft moans and you’re crying for him.

Michael continues circling your clit with his fingers, applying more pressure, and you clench around him again. Your hips buck into his. You search for his lips, your whimpers so sweet. He swears he’s died and gone to heaven.

“Michael,” you moan.

He bites down on your bottom lip.

“Mikey, please,” you’re begging him now.

He grabs a fistful of your hair and kisses you harder. “Yer mine,” he pants. “Your heart, your body, your soul… all mine.”

“Yours.”

“So desperate for my cock, so desperate to come–”

“Yes!” He hits your G-spot just right. “Fuck, Michael, I–”

“Gonna come?” he asks.

You nod.

“Want me to fill ya up, hm? Want me to make ya mine? Mark ya? Is that what you want? To be mine? Have my cum inside of ya? Walk ‘round with it dripping out of yer sweet cunt?”

Your mouth falls open. You reach for the pillow above your head, the other still entwined with Michael’s above your head. He squeezes your hand, a silent question if you’re okay, and you squeeze back. You’re more than okay. You’re losing yourself, but it’s so good, you’re free-falling.

It only takes one push from him for you to fall off the precipice. “Give it ta me, then,” he whispers into your ears. “Come fer me, love. Come all over my cock.”

You’re falling again, this time deeper than before. Your cunt spasms around his cock and you cry out his name. It bounces off the walls and hits him, your jaw slacks, and your body lies drenched in the sweat of pleasure. You’re the lewdest sight he has seen in a while, but it’s what he lives for, it’s what he breathes for.

“God,” he moans, “A good fuckin’ girl, that’s what you are.”

His hand wraps around your throat, his lips swallowing your moans as he thrusts hard once, twice, and then he stops and his hot seed spills into you. His teeth sink into your shoulder, muffling the whimper of your name, and your orgasm takes everything out of him, everything he can give.

“Fuck,” you breathe.

Michael no longer finds himself able to hold himself up and he collapses on top of you. His head goes quiet. The world turns to silence. As peace settles over you, only the sound of your labored breathing fills the dimly lit bedroom.

You process what just happened. Whatever compelled you to leave your bedroom was desperate for what Michael had to give, and he delivered. It was different from what you expected, it was more intimate, and you couldn’t quite separate your emotions from his body, but that couldn’t have been such a bad thing now that you’re lying with him in your arms, your fingers still intertwined.

He gave himself to you and in return, you did the same.

“Michael,” you’re first to break the silence.

He gently pulls out of you and drops down next to you. His brown eyes meet yours. You reach out to touch his cheek.

“You okay?” you ask.

He closes his eyes. His hand brushes your stomach. “Yeah,” he answers soon enough. “Grand,” he says.

“Really?”

“I’m perfect, love.” His knuckles brush over your heated skin and cause goosebumps in their wake. “How’re you feelin’?”

“Grand,” you mimic him.

He smiles, which quickly turns into a chuckle when you giggle at him.

Slowly, he untangles his fingers from yours, only to run them through your hair. He’s gentle, still scared he might scare you away. You’re important to him, he can’t deny that, but how does one tell someone how complex their feelings are? He doesn’t understand them, and he’s scared that he might lose you because of that.

Your smile coaxes him back to reality. “What’s on your mind?” you ask.

He shrugs.

“Tell me.”

“I just… I don’t want to lose ya,” he says.

Your eyes soften and you turn on your side. “You won’t,” you wipe the sweat from his brow, “Not now, not ever.”

“But what if ya change your mind? What if– what if ya get hurt because of me?”

He’s tired. Tears start to form in his eyes and you’re glad he’s talking, that he’s found a way to voice his thoughts, but you can tell that tonight isn’t the time to talk about this. You’re both exhausted, him even more so than you and he needs a break. You need a moment to breathe together and let the day pass before jumping to conclusions. You need to be lucid for this, not drunk on sex and emotional despair.

“Shh–” Your body curls into his as you shush him. “We can talk about this tomorrow,” you say. You don’t sound demanding, you simply try to appeal to his common sense.

Michael shudders. “Yer right, I don’t want ta think.” He wraps his arms around you. You’re still so warm, your heartbeat aligning with his. He can feel your pulse under his fingers; it’s a calming lullaby that distracts him from reality. “I just want you,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “Yer all I need.”

And not just tonight, he thinks.

You smile. “Yeah,” you say, “me too.”

Whatever this means, it doesn’t matter because you’re here, in each other’s arms, and for tonight, that is enough. You hope it’s enough, and you hope that you will be enough for him. Now that you have him, you couldn’t stand losing him, and it’s that thought you carry with yourself long after you have fallen asleep, his arms still holding you so tight, no one would be able to touch you but him.

Tagging: @bellaxgiornata @loveroftoomanyfandoms @acharliecoxedfan @lina-mar @itwasthereaminuteago @mattkinsella @ms-murdockswift

#michael kinsella x reader #michael kinsella x you #michael kinsella #michael kinsella smut #michael kinsella fluff #michael kinsella angst #kin amc #reader insert #no y/n #butterfly effect #coffee shop au #charlie cox

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argetcross · 6 months

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Astarion looks over Wyll's contract, a missing BG3 scene

[The camp in Baldur's Gate. Nighttime has fallen and everyone is in their tents. To Wyll's surprise, Astarion saunters over.]

Astarion: The Blade of Frontiers. Come on already. Hand it over.

Wyll: Hello to you too, Astarion. I assume you don't mean hand over this bowl of stew because, as you can see, Gale outdid himself and it's quite gone.

Astarion: Not the stew, your contract. Since it's clear from that escapade in the towers that someone should take a look at that Infernal scrap of paper.

Wyll: Oh. Oh!

Astarion: It wasn't my idea, you know. Our fearless leader wants me to take a look, since, for some reason, being raised on the suckling tit of Baldur's Gate high society has made you both terrible at reading basic contract law. And if that gods-damned cambion shows her face again demanding more addendums, you ought to be prepared.

Wyll: Yes, well. You make a fair point. Mizora's been getting the drop on me for a long time now. Once, just once, I'd like to turn the tables on her.

Narrator: Normally infernal contracts are hard to get a hold of. What devil would allow you to look twice at your soul signed away? But a tip from Karlach and a sizable donation to a local diabolist wins you a plain text copy of what signed away your soul seven long years ago.

Astarion: ...and you'll want to be careful of this clause in particular. There's two ways to interpret the word and I trust you know devils well enough now to always pick the disagreeable version.

Narrator: The parchment containing a version of your infernal contract is now dripping with so much red ink that it looks as if it was bleeding. Seems like the vampire was as good at understanding law as he was breaking it.

Wyll: Color me impressed, Astarion. And here I thought you got your magisterial position the way most do in this city, through bribery.

Astarion: Oh, I most certainly did. And infernal law is hardly my expertise, but you don't have to be an expert to see how this contract was a terrible idea. Really, what were you thinking, agreeing to this?

Wyll: You heard the story. Tiamat, the Cult of the Dragon, no matter what else came after, that, I won't regret that.

Astarion: Oh yes, you saved the city from Keres's loony cousins. Raising the god of dragons from the Hells, just so they could juice up their magical bloodline in eternal draconic servitude. Pfah, and I thought vampires were obsessed with blood.

Wyll: Wait. What? Those cultists were part of her family?

Astarion: Ah. She didn't tell you, did she? ...Well, before you start begging for her forgiveness, I have it on good authority they were quite evil and corrupt. So really, you probably did her a favor! Saved her some trouble of pruning her own family tree. She probably would have cried the whole way though and honestly, that takes all the fun out of killing your own family members.

Wyll: ...I see. That's quite a lot to take in. I suppose I ought to talk to her later about it. But you know, Astarion, I was wrong about you.

Astarion: Hmm? Are you going to tell me you're just now realizing how smart and handsome I am?

Wyll: You're a good man. I know you were worried for me in your own way. Even if, for some reason, it galls you to admit it.

Astarion: And I told you, I was simply sent by my meddlesome darling. Practically ordered. You know how high handed she can get sometimes. All my bad influence, I'm sure, ha-ha!

Wyll: Alright, I won't push the point. But you know, you needn't hide behind the others. After all, Keres had already told me to seek you out myself and I quote, "I can tell he wants to help, but he'll be happier if you ask him yourself, instead of me butting my nose in again."

Astarion: Ah, well, that is— You know, we'll make a liar of you yet. Because I do believe that counts as "pushing the point".

Wyll: Fair enough. But truly. Thank you, Astarion.

#bg3 #wyll ravengard #astarion #baldur's gate 3 #wyll #mizora #with a sprinkle of keres's backstory #she never told wyll it was her shitty extended family he killed because a) she knew he would feel bad #and b) she doesn't like thinking about them #this however backfired #if you think this is wyllastarion flavored you are right #keres #hello i am wielding my one scrap of dnd lore with impunity #my fic #sorta

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miles-crow · 1 day

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The Deuteronomy brothers and more

As stated in previous part - I believe that 'Cats' would work great as an animated series. That's why for my own amusement I started this little project for now called 'Cats! Animated'.

Will I ever truly animate anything with my character designs?

Yes. Most likely. But of course, for fun only. This idea has been in my mind for years now, but that's all you need to know for now.

This series is going to take place in 1980s, so I am going to try to incorporate bits of 80s culture into designs. It is going to depend on the overall vibes certain characters give me, theater costumes and the poems.

For example, Macavity is heavily based on 1880s fasion instead of 1980s, because the cat in the poems is inspired by Professor Moriarty. There's visible contrast between nice clothes and unkempt, sharp fur that shows his two-faced nature. The stripes are a reference to his electric powers. And he has irregular whiskers (4 & 3).

Munkustrap's concepts also show how his hair normally looks like. But as a Jellicle Ball organizer he cannot afford to look wild like one of his brothers, can he? I went for a softer approach with him, a bit preppy. His stripes are incorporated into waistcoat (and as you'll see later, he matches with his bestie Alonzo), his belt is based on his collar and, since there was a lack of chains after Tugger, he got one.

You can also see here very rough sketches of Demeter & Bombalurina. These ladies have much more 80s to their designs. You'll read about them in my next post!

Aaand Tugger was changed a bit. He has now *rock*star shaped fur, his colors were toned down a little, his shapes sharpened. In the beginning I gave him gold accents to contrast with Misto's silver, but unfortunately that didn't work for him. I also had to erase his dark eyeliner like stipes (simply, because he looked too old). 'Cat Call' is the name of his rock band (I know. I outdid myself on this one).

Here's some very dumb concepts. Yes, I really work like that.

Additional info:

Both Munkustrap and Macavity are Turkish Angora mix (kudos to anyone who guesses the second breed, it's really not that hard). They're aged 33 and 36.

Tugger is a Maine Coon. He's 21. Misto's 19.

#cats #munkustrap #macavity #I hope you're not going to despise me for my silly little passion project #I love this musical way too much #rum tum tugger #forgot to mention but he plays electric guitar in his band #I'm not sorry for that #jellicle cats #cats the musical

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journey-to-the-attic · 2 months

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hello!!

i just finished reading chapter 50 of jtta and oh my gosh. i don’t even know where to start.

jtta is SUCH an amazing work of art that my words fall short.. it’s rlly the best fanfiction i have EVER read and i’m sure it’ll continue to be my Number One forever. your writing style is absolutely beautiful and your choice of words is IMMACULATE. the way you describe certain scenes truly baffles me everytime like,, there’s people out there who are really able to write like this?? they can magically plant a mental imagine w colors and all in my head from??? Words only??? u r so amazing omf

i also have to say that ur work has rlly helped me with expanding my own vocabulary — i had to look up a A LOT of words (though i’m sure i forgot them all by now..) but it was always so fun to learn new stuff!

your mind fascinates me sm bc?? when i was reading some scenes from jtta i rlly thought ‘man.. if i was the author i’d have no idea how to solve this..’ but u managed to surprise me every. single. time. u outdid urself each time and my jaw legit dropped at some scenes bc i could’ve NEVER EVER thought of that,,,

i only discovered jtta last summer bc i was looking for a platonic obey me ff (i can’t see the boys romantically to save my life 😔) and ur writing was rlly the best thing that ever happened to me.

i swear everytime i read another chapter i dived into this World bc ur writing is so????? Perfect??? i cant put it into words

idk how many times i repeated myself by now but i just wanna give u this BIG word of appreciation (even if im struggling w it LOL) for everything. your characterisation of all the characters was always SO on point and the pacing of the chapters always elevated the reading experience and and and i’m just so overwhelmed by the quality of your work 😭🫶

and when i found ur tumblr??? oh i was FLOORED. like. not only r u absolutely GIFTED at writing, ure also good at drawing???11!?1? the writer & illustrator combo is INSANEEEEE

jtta got me all wrapped up in this universe that whenever i went back to read other obey me work or play obey me itself, i got sad bc the newspaper club and ik weren’t there 😭

normally i’m sad about things ending, esp when i indulged in it over a course of time but with jtta all i felt was a warmth (oh and the tears…..) in my body, it rlly couldn’t have ended better!! jtta made me elict all sorts of emotions while reading and it was just such a wonderful experience!

i feel like i just want to say more to u and sing more praises for u and jtta but i’m just at a loss for words,, my mind is COMPLETELY blank :c

writing is definitely your superpower and i’m forever grateful that i found your work!!!!!! T__T <3 can’t wait to see more of your work in the future 🥹💝

i need you to know that i had to look away multiple times consecutively just to compose myself because aAAAggkj

from the bottom of my heart, thank you!! i don't know what else i can say, everything you've said means so much to me! messages like this make everything about creating so worth it, all i can do is thank you twice <33333

#answering asks #anon asks #<33

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georgieluz · 3 months

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fuck professionalism and neutrality, i wanna hear alllllllll of your opinions!

okay, you've convinced me!

no, that didn't take much, bc i am, in fact, not professional or neutral at all! i am loud and annoying, so here we go!

musically, soar is my favourite. it just hits all the right spots for me and builds flawlessly. i just can't get enough of it and it really was a 'fall-in-love-at-first-listen' for me. i've had it on loop since the day it was released and there isn't a single section of the piece that i don't absolutely adore. i think it takes care of all its elements so well and transitions between sections beautifully. just truly 11/10, like i can't express how hard this score goes. blake neely truly outdid himself on this one. i have to mention how much i love the rest of the score for the show too, not just the main theme. i know that's not the topic of the poll, but i think he did a fantastic job and some of the scoring for the flight scenes genuinely raised my heart rate up high enough that my apple watch had to send me three warnings whilst i watched episode 5. but yeah, just a perfect score imo! and if i were being completely honest, in a very unbiased way, my outright favourite.

i do have a nostalgia bias for the band of brothers theme though, and i do think it's absolutely gorgeous and has a delicacy to it that the others don't. it gently prises open your rib cage and wraps its hand tenderly around your heart, squeezing just enough for a single tear drop to roll down your cheek. there's something inexplicably sad about it, but because of that tiny silver lining of hope that runs through every note as well, you can't quite pinpoint why you're sad. it's like you've had your memories erased, but you know you lost something more than just that, that something overwhelmingly sad happened to you, but you just don't know what. it builds so gently as well, and then finally, it soars just for a second right at the end, before landing us back down on the ground again ever so lightly.

so, those two are generally my two favourites, i would say, but as someone in the notes called out, i will admit that had i listened to both of them fresh for the first time today, i would feel more drawn to soar, because it's the kind of piece i really gravitate toward. whilst band of brothers is a show that i've held pretty dearly in my heart for about a decade now, so it has an element of familiarity, that comes from loving something for so long, helping it out.

someone else in the notes of the poll made a great point about gen kill's use of music (or lack of it) being a character in itself, and i thoroughly agree with them and think gen kill's handling of sound was spot on. it's whole thing is next-level-gritty-realism and it wouldn't have been as impactful, or successful, if they'd done it any other way when it came to sound design.

plus, ray providing the soundtrack is just top television!

honor is somber but also light in a way, so it doesn't overpower you too much, i prefer the beginning and middle sections, as the end builds into a more standard patriotic sounding piece (still beautiful but i find myself enjoying the earlier section much, much more). but yeah, it's still a favourite to listen to, i just don't tend to feel as drawn towards it as much as the other two.

i'll stop rambling now but i could go on all day about how much i love soar like i can't seem to shut up about it?

there's no right answer tbf like all these scores are great but soar kind of is the right answer really, for me at least.

– ask is in reference to this poll

#julian's inbox #hbo war

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