#just some wine induced nonsense

[virtue-and-beneviolence]

Better with Age

In which Shuji is old and introduces the novel concept of "women years" to you. And there's cake bc it's Shuji's birthday.

notes: Shuji isn't serious ever yall know not to get angry over a dumb joke, surely. Reader and Shuji's relationship left undefined but they care very much for each other in some way. tragically unedited. Happy Shuji Day!

“Happy birthday, jackass!” you sang the words and turned the corner in your apartment to reveal Shuji’s birthday cake. No one who knew you two would be shocked by the bright purple script on plain white buttercream frosting that read you’re still alive, unfortunately. A simple happy birthday could never cut it, not since Shuji pulled his congrats, you’re legal birthday cake stunt at your 18th birthday. In front of your parents, no less. “Sorry there’s no candles, we didn’t have enough, ya old fuck.”

“Old fuck? Who do you think you’re calling an old fuck?” He said, eyebrow cocked in a frankly shockingly confident display of denial of his age.

“Your 33 year old ass.”

“Better than being,” his eyes flicker upward for a second and his right pointer finger draws nonsensical lines in the air with a precision that suggested real math, “38.”

You gape at him, mouth open and eyes narrowed a tiny bit, but your lips curl up at the edges, poised to laugh any second and betray your mock annoyance, “38?? I’m only 25 Shuji.”

Shuji juts his chin out and to the side ever so slightly, mocking how a pensive academic making a rebuttal in some debate might, “In standard years maybe, but haven’t you heard women age one and a half years for every one a man ages?”

“Shut up.”

“You’re basically over the hill, y/n.” He half shrugs and digs a finger into the cake frosting and then to his mouth where he sucks the digit clean of its diabetes inducing coating. “I literally don’t make the rules.”

“Women do not age in dog years!” You half laugh the exclamation, jerking the cake back from his reach. The apples of your cheeks are blurry at the bottom of your sight and for some reason something shifts and everything just feels right. Like you were meant to bicker with this idiot your whole life.

Shuji huffs disapproval at your stinginess with the cake or your words. Maybe both. “Of course women don’t age in dog years. Dog years are seven to one standard year, you silly goose.” The tall man leans over to boop your nose. He even has the nerve to do it with his sticky, sugary finger and laugh when you wrinkle your nose and dip away. “Now give me that cake-“

“You’re trying to make yourself feel better and it’s honestly a sad look, you know that?” There’s nothing but amusement behind your words as you two banter.

“Feel better? Why would I feel anything but great, doll? Men age like fine wine-“

God you could just kiss that dumb look right off his face.

“That was the last straw.” You declare, and with dexterity even you didn’t realize you had, you climbed up the kitchen counter all while balancing the cake on a hand. For once you smirked down at him, holding something out of his reach. “Get fucked, shortie.” You jeered down at him.

“Ya little shit,” Shuji’s hand half darted to your ankle. It was only meant to be a bluff to spook you into coming down, but instinct made you reach up and hop out of reach. The wet splat of icing followed by the dull thud of the plate knocking ceiling was deafening. It drew both your eyes to the cake you gingerly peeled off the ceiling, little chunks and crumbs lopping off from where the plate dug into the softness of the spongey cake. You looked at each other for a few long seconds before the giggles started. Shuji’s giggles were infectious like nothing else. It wasn’t long until the cake was discarded, and you were doubled over laughing hysterically on the counter, head rested on Shuji’s shoulder.

When the laughter turned to half huffs to catch your breath, as you were wiping tears from your eyes, Shuji piped up, “Can I get a rain check on that?”

“Survive another year and I’ll bake for you again.”

He kisses your forehead then, quick but soft and somehow packed with fondness. “You drive a hard bargain.”

“You’re the worst,” You say, but I love you is what he hears.

#hanma shuji #shuji hanma #shuji hanma x reader #look maybe theyre friends maybe theyre together #pls don't @ me for using the tag T.T #anyway #happy birthday hanma shuji #my darling #the light of my life

[inanthesis]

@lyrecalls​​

“Of all the taverns in Mondstadt, I just had to happen upon the one containing you.” Arms crossed over Zhongli’s chest with a sigh. There was part of him that expected this to happen when he’d decided to venture into Mondstadt- the first stop on his journey to experience what all Teyvat has become during his thousands of years he hadn’t left Liyue- but fate has never been kind to the ex Geo Archon. It seemed his fate tonight was to have a headache induced by the nonsense of an old drunkard.

“Have you no shame? All this time and you still remain as predictable as the day we met. Honestly...” Of course despite his huffing and disapproving stare, Zhongli still took a seat next to the bard. Barbatos was irritating, Morax would be the first to say so if asked, but he was an old friend and perhaps there was some part deep down that was appreciative at least one relationship of his has lasted this long without betrayal, erosion, or death sullying it.

“You reek of wine. It is distasteful.”

#lyrecalls #ZHONGLI || interactions #ZHONGLI || v: main #what zl would never say: part of him hoped he'd run into venti bc he's a lonely old man and all of his friends are fucking DEAD

[365daysofmchart]

“Kurt, I know I almost got us both killed and all, but... how about I make it up to you?”

#dont mind me #just some wine induced nonsense #diane lockhart #mchart #still havent fully processed this yet

[twinklelilstarkey]

𝐌𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 {𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟓}

Words: 3k+

Summary: The continuation of the night at the Hale's and the aftermath.

Warnings: No Spoilers! Rich people being their privileged selves. Fem!Reader [no descriptions of race or body type]. Mentions of smut (memories of scenes). One-night stands.

Parts: Prologue, One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six [Series Masterlist]

Exactly 1AM. How can a dinner take these many hours, you’re not sure.

To your surprise, no one suspected of your or Bruce's disappearance from the dinner. They didn't see it as anything strange. On the contrary, they all were very worried about you. Wouldn't be the first time everyone would have to re-do a dinner with the Hale's because someone was not feeling their finest. Maybe that is why they offered you so much attention for the rest of the night.

Bruce came back to the room just a few minutes later. He exchanged a few words with Patricia, who was just glad he hadn’t run off. Even when she knew no one would dare to. Not even a Wayne.

You all waited for the damned dessert for another hour. It was only when some of the people were on the brink of falling into their alcohol-induced slumber that Patricia found it the most appropriate to serve it. No one felt hungry anymore, so only Patricia really had fun with this last course.

And if that wasn’t enough, Patricia gave more drinks and made enough conversation to trap people in for a few more hours.

You’re not sure how exactly you’re still standing and listening to every word. If you were home, you would’ve been passed out on the couch by now since you’re not sure what makes the situations so different. A shitty reality show or Patricia Hale speaking: both are boring and intriguing in their own way.

Time passed and no one dared to be the first one to leave. You had all moved over to a more comfortable room, with, of course, more drinks that no one touched. You stayed off in a corner by a curtain while you looked out into the night.

Bruce stayed not too far. He didn’t feel tired, but that might be because his sleep schedule is not exactly ideal. What happened in the bathroom replayed in his head, time and time again. Weirdly, something in his brain is making him overthink it. And Patricia’s voice just so happened to be his perfect background noise when deep in thought.

As soon as Patricia excused herself for yawning, almost everyone jumped on the “oh, we don’t want to keep you awake. Maybe we should go” method. But, Hale still told everyone not to worry, because, if anything, she could just go sip an espresso and she’ll be more than ready to keep the ‘party’ going.

For the rest of the night, your eyes found Bruce’s a few good times. Your mind was quite serene after what happened, which surprised you.

You have an idea of how you will deal with it in the morning - when the wine and crazed feelings towards him are out of your system. You’re not sure when they appeared, these feelings, but they're here.

You just hope they're not here to stay.

The first people to threaten to leave were the oldest couple in the group. They apologized to Patricia profusely before leaving, which she declared as nothing but ‘nonsense’ and 'not worth apologizing for'.

The next person waited 15 minutes before announcing their leaving. You noticed how their hands shook behind their back as they spoke.

The next one was only half an hour later, and you jumped on to be the next one just as the clock hit another 10 minutes. Patricia offered you a smile as you walked up to her and her hands laid over your shoulders when you were close enough.

You whispered to her a joke about how you didn’t feel as young as you look when it came to staying up late. Patricia laughed at it wholeheartedly, pulled you into a hug, and offered to walk you to the elevator.

The last conversation was pleasant and she made sure to emphasize how you are completely invited to the next dinner in her home. You offered her a smile and an ‘I’m flattered’ and got yourself inside that elevator.

There was nothing more relaxing than the doors of the golden metal box closing.

You pulled out your phone and sighed when seeing the time. You looked for your driver's number in your contacts and pressed it as soon as you got to the lobby. Phone over your ear as you got yourself to the back of the building. The lady at the front desk offered you a tired smile and a short wave, to which you offered one back.

The phone kept ringing, and he never picked up. You tried again and even your parents' driver, but... nothing. You checked the time again. He never works this late.

Of course, you had forgotten to tell your driver to stay on the job for a few more hours. You never hated yourself more.

When out of the building, you walked yourself down the steps to find most of the other guests' cars neatly parked. You recognized some of them. Ones you’re sure were either too drunk or too hungover (after so many hours of absolute nothing) to drive.

You walked through the cars in hopes of getting yourself out to the street to find a cab.

You weren’t even sure of what to do next if you weren’t able to find one. Wait another half hour to ask your business partners for a ride or go back upstairs didn’t seem like good choices. So, you better find a goddamn cab.

You were cold and not very secure walking around on wet pavement with your heels and aching feet, but you really felt like you had no other option. You decided to try your driver again before even leaving this makeshift parking lot, but, still, no answer.

The door of the building opened and you didn’t care to look as you tried your parents' driver once more. You looked at the building beside you as your body seemed to freeze in the cold while you heard the ringing, silently hoping he would pick up.

The person that had just walked out made their way out of the building and down the stairs with ease. Yet when turning to go find where the building’s valet had parked his car, Bruce didn’t expect to still see you. You were facing the building but were on the phone, or at least looked like it.

You pulled your phone away from your ear and considered calling your very-much-asleep parents. But decided not to. You looked over at the street again and took a small deep breath to gather yourself some courage to go seek a cab - preferably, away from the front of the building, where the media (probably) still is.

“Need a ride?” Bruce’s voice echoed through the night.

You looked over at him, not exactly expecting to see him, and you opened your mouth to decline his offer. You had already done enough tonight with him, you weren’t sure you wanted to risk even more by letting him give you a ride... But you didn’t decline it. And that is because right as you try to do so, the great cold wind of Gotham city got to you.

A warm car never seemed better.

“I do, actually.” You told him.

Bruce had to force his smile down as his body reacted in ways that he can’t even describe. He never thought being near you would ever make him feel this way. It feels good. But he can’t just show it.

You walked over to him when he motioned you in the direction of his car. His car had been parked right at the back. Bruce stood where he was and only began to walk when you were passing by him.

“Here.” He had said right as you two got to the car.

You frowned and faced him with slight confusion. As soon as your eyes had laid on him again, you saw him with his jacket in hand. He had taken it off while you two walked side by side to his car. You do admit, you would’ve refused if you weren’t so cold.

He helped you slip it on over your shoulders and the smell of his cologne hit you right away. The warmth came in soon after.

The two of you got yourselves in the car and the deafening silence hit both of you. Your silence was not uncomfortable, but it sure was foreign to your ears.

Bruce looked at you as you adjusted his coat around your figure and kept your eyes on the outside. And, then, you looked over at him. It almost caught him by surprise again.

He’s not used to having you look back at him when he's staring.

At the sight of a slight grin forming on your lips as you put on the seatbelt, Bruce cleared his throat and put on his.

“Uhm…” He started, “Where do you live?”

There’s a silence between the two of you, which makes him look at you in question. You were leaning back on your seat and staring at him.

“Don’t you know?” You let out without even trying to stop the words.

“What?” Bruce asked right away, frown forming on his face.

You crossed your legs and adjusted the dress over them. Bruce watched your every movement as his heart sped up.

You looked back at him to find his face, even though emotionless, his eyes almost showed what seemed like a hint of panic. You smiled and laid your hands on your lap.

“It’s a joke, Mr. Wayne.” You told him, “Your lack of humor is baffling.”

Your tone went right over Bruce’s head and his eyes looked away from yours at the hint of humor you had welcomed into the conversation.

His heart was beating quickly and, even if he didn’t like to admit it, he had begun to panic. And you were having a field day with it.

“You alright?” You asked him.

That made Bruce’s eyes come back to you, and his body continued to stay unmoving as you just sat there, in his car, emotionless to what was coming out of your own mouth.

He stared at your whole face, trying to guess what would come next and how you would do it.

“Yeah.” He says with a fake chuckle, making you smile wholeheartedly, but that smile was nothing but malicious. He knew it.

The back door of the building opened and even though the sound was muffled, it made the two of you move quickly to stare at it. You were away from any eyes due to the distance and the dark car Bruce just happened to have in the shadows.

You leaned over the console of the car and laid your chin over your fist as you looked at Bruce. He looked back at you and just stared. Your smile had gone away, but there was still a curve to your painted lips. His breathing was a little heavy and from the proximity, you could hear it.

“Didn’t mean to scare you with what I said. Or..." You sighed, "Ruin the mood.”

He stared back at you, but he didn't say anything.

Do you know about it?

And that’s when he did the first thing that came to mind. He kissed you.

It wasn’t a sweet kiss. But it was something that ended the tense air between you two and made Bruce forget whatever was on his mind ever since you began to talk. It amended whatever he had destroyed with his silence and what could’ve possibly been an accusation.

Maybe if he kissed you, you would forget about it. He knows this was the stupidest thing and the easiest way to get slapped, but he felt stuck.

He can’t act for shit and he had felt like he was going to let out his whole identity in this car if the conversation continued. So, he tried quite literally the first thing his mind offered him and you kissed back.

Your lips moved together and your tongues touched. One of his hands was on your cheek, and yours was on the back of his neck.

A lot of things from the rest of the night were sort of in a blur. 

You’re not quite sure what happened next. You simply remember flashes. You could’ve blamed it on the wine but the wine had left your system for some time now. It couldn’t still be affecting you.

This was all you, and you wanted to forget about it.

He didn’t drive you home. He drove you two to the Wayne Tower. There you got to his room and your night continued.

You were soon out of the coat and then soon out of the dress. Bruce’s hands moved through every inch of your skin and held you while you two kissed.

And if the bathroom had already been something from your night, it didn’t compare to anything else that happened in his bedroom. The way he made you feel or how your body felt completely at his mercy.

You can still feel him. You can still feel his hands on you and you can still feel your hands touching him, your lips kissing him, and how good he made you feel.

You liked the way he held you and kissed you and made you feel good. He knew exactly how to make you feel pleasure and no matter how many times you’ve tried, you moaned a lot more than you’ve ever done.

You remember the way he leaned you against the door first, and how his hands pulled your dress up. The way his fingers held onto your legs, as he held one of them up and made you feel pleasure all over again.

Then on the bed, the same one you slept in for the night. The way he filled your skin with his kisses and how your hand disappeared in the strands of his hair as he moved down your torso and in between your legs. The way you covered your own mouth to not seem too loud to how he never missed the spot.

Or the way he still fucked you exactly how you’ve always wished him to do it. Over and over again.

The way his lips felt against your skin or how your nails pressed down on his back or arms.

He made you feel things that no one has ever done.

And that is why you want to forget it.

You can remember flashes but you don't let your mind wander about details or feelings, or how much pleasure you felt. You know those thoughts would only ruin your own image to yourself. So, you wiped all of that off your mind to the best of your ability.

And, now, many hours later, you are awake in the bedroom of Bruce Wayne. You have been awake for long enough to remember everything, as well as regret a lot of it.

The sun has begun to come up and the room is now illuminated in its soft rays of golden light.

You sit up and take the covers off you. You grab your dress from the ground and slide it on. Up on your feet, you walk over to the bathroom and wash away the smudged make-up and deal with your hair in the best way you can.

A minute later, you have your phone in hand and your driver’s apologies by your ear. You dismiss his apologies and ask him to come to pick you up. You grab your heels from the ground and walk out of the room.

Your bare feet walk through the apartment you didn’t care to look at when you first stepped foot in. The wood underneath your feet is cold and the gothic architecture is surely something you didn’t expect to see at the Wayne’s.

You hear two voices at the end of the hallway and you freeze your movements. One voice of a man and another of a woman. You’re not sure you’ve heard them before but it does spook you.

They’re talking about random mundane things such as the news and even what to do for breakfast, and none of the voices are Bruce’s. You continue to walk down the hallway, trying to get yourself out of here unseen.

On your tiptoes, you silently walk through the whole manor in hopes to find the elevator. When you do, you’re proud to admit that you remain unseen and unheard.

The doors open as soon as you click the button and you jump in effortlessly, pick the lobby number, and repeatedly click on the button to close the doors.

You lean against the wall by the buttons, away from anyone’s view if they were to look at the elevator, and the doors finally close.

You let out a breath in relief and take your hand off the buttons. The elevator moves down to get you back to the ground floor and you feel your body relax.

You close your eyes and lean your head back on the wall.

This is only a night. It won’t repeat itself. You’ve always wanted to try it and you finally did it. Nothing changes from now on, nor do you want them to. 

You repeat those words to yourself in hopes of it being true. The doors open, and you reopen your eyes and make your way out. The lobby of the Manor is completely empty. There is no security by the doors or people by the front desk.

You will leave completely unseen.

You slide your feet back into the godforsaken heels and quickly make your way out of the building. The early morning wind hits you and you don’t even have time to enjoy it as you walk right to your driver’s car.

While Bruce, sitting by his table in the cave, pretends to not see the way your figure walks across the security cameras of the Tower. You open the door of the car and jump in before the driver can even get himself out to do it for you. 

You melt into the seat and offer him a quick ‘good morning’ as he seemed still absurdly apologetic about not being there to pick you up, but all of it went dismissed.

When Bruce sees the car drive off, he stares at the screen for a bit longer than he would’ve wanted.

His pen is still in his hand and the tint is still wet on his notebook. The batman suit is heavy on his body, his eyes are covered in dark paint and his heavy boots are still on his feet. He had just gotten home an hour ago, just before the sun came up. 

All in time to see you leave.

I know this is so dry compared to the last one, but I promise that these chapters are important for the story and to the way the reader wants to forget everything! I hope you enjoyed it either way <3

Taglist: @nadjababygirl @keepingitlokiii @duwcsd @daryldixonstorm @ikeashark69 @cansi09 @harlowhockeystick @wojciechovsk @mr-robot-x @reggxe-a @xxh0neyg0rchxx @yeehaw-wife @goldbvtton @blossomedfloweroflove @ttae-yong @deadflowerd @deardiearyy @staticspouse @boobabietch @imajoshgurl @egar-allen-hoe @piggyinthesea @verymuchsugoi @toomanystoriessolittletime

[@solango, @dc-marvel-96, @livelaughloove, @e2194, @ruiaana, @horizonboundloner, @thewonderanazombie] = If your name is one of these, for some reason, I’m not able to tag you (pls check your settings, it could always be something on there).

If you’d like to be a part of the masterlist too, you can always send me a DM, leave a comment or send me an ask ❤️

#bruce wayne #the batman #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne fanfiction #bruce wayne imagines #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne x fem!reader #bruce wayne x y/n #bruce wayne x you #the batman x reader #battinson x reader #battinson #robert pattinson

[cellsshapedlikestars]

Ok, so it’s probably gonna be a while until the next chapter of help me out (I want to get the second arc mostly worked out before I post anything, like I did for arc one), so I figured I’d share this nonsense little thing I wrote one night while in a melatonin-induced fog.

So here’s a snippet of this Jonsa-tinder-fake-dating fic that I don’t actually have a plot for and therefore may never see the light of day but I liked it so I’m posting it!

(thanks to @jonsa-creatives​ for the header)

.

Can you believe this? Sansa had captioned the screenshot she sent to her friends.

Tinder isn't a thing Sansa does all the time – she and Margaery had set up an account for her two years ago after she and Harry split and she uses it occasionally. Sometimes it's nice looking at guys and even flirting with a few of them, though she's never had the nerve to go through with any meetups (she has left more than one guy on read after even the slightest hint they wanted to take things into the real world).

But this is new - or at least she's never seen it before.

His photo had made her pause in her bored swiping (curled up on her couch, blanket wrapped around her like an old woman, heating pad on her lower back, six different snacks on the coffee table that she had sampled and ultimately decided weren't doing it for her or her uterus). Most men on this app take terrible photos, or choose terrible photos, and honestly, this one is no different. At least he's cropped out whoever he's in the photo with, most guys don't even bother to do that. He's not smiling, holding a beer in one hand with his other arm around the cropped out person that is clearly a woman.

He is pretty, though.

She's gotta say, the man bun, the beard, the flannel shirt, the cheap beer – none of it should be doing anything for her. Maybe it's her hormones all out of whack, but for some reason, she paused on his photo.

It wasn't his photo, though, that made her screenshot the profile and send it in a group text to her friends. Can you believe this?

Jon, 29, it starts. Good, fine. Well within her acceptable age range. But the rest of it...

Looking for a date to a wedding. I'm not kidding. Must pretend to be my girlfriend. Some PDA required (holding hands, etc), but feel free to punch me in the face if you're ever uncomfortable. Or just tell me and I'll stop.

**Warnings**

-the bride is my ex and the groom is my half brother

-I am desperate not to show up alone to my ex's wedding

-my dad is a dick and he WILL try to hit on you

-I'm terrible in large groups, extrovert with good social skills preferred

-this will be a full weekend and it's unclear if I can get a room with two beds this last minute

-did I mention the wedding is the third weekend in May?

-I will buy you a new dress for the occasion. You actually won't have to pay for anything, though now that I type this it sounds like I'm looking for an escort and I think that's illegal?

Sansa stares at the profile for too long. Why has she not swiped left?

The first text from one of her friends comes in, followed quickly by more, her phone buzzing almost constantly.

-Omg do it

-He's hot!

-Ok you HAVE to go to this wedding, it sounds like something straight off of Maury

-Yes! Go and then live tweet it for the rest of us

-Am I the only one that thinks this sounds like a trap? Like she'll actually end up in someone's basement?

-Shhh Mya, you're ruining all the fun

-Free dress! Hot boy!

-I literally NEED to know how the ex & half brother happened. I might die if I don't

-Does he have more photos? That one's too blurry

-By “blurry”, Marg means she can't see if he's fit or not

Sansa switches back to Tinder and sees that he does, in fact, have another photo. It's definitely not the shirtless selfie Margaery is looking for, but it makes something in Sansa's chest tighten. Against her better judgment, she screenshots that, too, and sends it.

-Ok, so you've definitely swiped right on him then?

-Of course she has, when has Sansa ever been able to resist a cute dog? I've literally watched her stop mid convo to cross the street and pet a strangers dog. It's honestly rude

-Was it a match???

-PLEASE FIND OUT HOW THE EX AND THE HALF BROTHER ENDED UP TOGETHER

Sansa's heart is pounding in her chest, because she hasn't swiped on him, either way. And now, for some reason, she thinks if she swipes right and they aren't a match, she'll actually feel shitty about it. But she gathers what little courage she has, bolstered by the glass of wine she had with her snack sampling, and swipes right.

They're a match.

#jonsa #jonsa fic #wip wednesday #at this point i give MYSELF whiplash with the things i write #utter nonsense #also my only experience with tinder #is the one my friend and i set up for me while we were drunk one night #that was like 90% a joke #and people still responded to #wild

[inber]

promises woven, worn

A/N: Trying to fight the writer’s block monster. Just some Geraskier fluff, very tame. CW for drinking. Enjoy! 2.1k

Never in all his many, many years alive on the Continent had Geralt seen a pout as tremendously pronounced as the one that painted Jaskier's features, simultaneously pathetic and guilt-inducing at once. One would think that Geralt had poured ink all over Jaskier's favourite doublet, or snapped the strings of his lute. Instead, Jaskier had merely been forbidden from shadowing Geralt on the last leg of his leshen hunt.

“I've never seen a leshen, though!” Jaskier whined, not for the first time.

“Good. Should keep it that way.” Geralt buckled the strap of one of his saddlebags closed.

“But the songs! You're robbing me, dearest, you truly are. I swear to be good, I swear to Melitele that--”

“No. For the last fucking time, Jaskier, I am dealing with a young leshen. Doesn't know how to control its powers, or what it really wants. Even if you're standing two hundred yards away, the damned thing can command a wolf to go for your neck, and what will you do then?”

Jaskier looked down at his boots, scuffing the hay on the stable floor. “Prob'ly die. A bit.”

“Exactly.” Geralt mounted Roach easily. Jaskier didn't glance up, but he did sidle out of the way. All Geralt needed to do was squeeze his thighs, urge Roach into a trot...

Instead, Geralt sighed deeply. “Listen. After the hunt, there's sure to be a feast. I usually don't stick around for them. The clans each have their traditions, speciality dishes, that sort of thing. If I say we can attend, will you stop fucking moping?”

“Ooh!” Jaskier blossomed immediately, all wide blue-wash eyes and clasped hands, grinning in a way that made Geralt feel warm in his middle. “I'd so love that. Yes, please, Geralt. I'll wait for your return. What to wear? What does one wear to a feast on Skellige? That nice herbalist – what was her name? I'll go talk to her--”

“I'll see you soon, Jaskier.” Geralt said, smirking. “Be good.”

“And you be safe! Come back to me!” As always, Jaskier stood and waved until Geralt was out of sight. It was an odd ritual, Geralt thought, but it never failed to bolster his spirits. He didn't completely understand why.

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

Staring up at the plume of smoke, Geralt wondered if a bonfire could reach up so tall that it'd scorch the sky. It was that simple thought that made him realise that he was more than a little tipsy, courtesy of the plum wine, strong as the Skelligers liked to brew it. He also noted that he felt content and sated for the first time in weeks.

Across from him, Jaskier was chatting animatedly with a pair of warriors, no doubt learning lore first-hand. Or perhaps they were discussing the intricacies of Geralt's hunt. Truth be told, Geralt was rather proud that the leshen hadn't needed to be killed; if the village honoured a yearly sacrifice, then the forest would protect them in turn. It was the best outcome. Leshen fights were brutal, and in place of death and waste, now there would be prosperous life.

Sounded a bit like romantic nonsense, actually. Geralt was clearly spending too much time with Jaskier, or at least absorbing more of his never-ending monologue. Glancing over the clearing again, he watched the firelight stroke shadows across the bard's sun-tanned skin. He drank more wine.

“Master witcher?” A small voice interrupted his reverie, and Geralt glanced at the girl who had approached him. She was flanked by two of her friends, all of them visibly nervous. Out of habit, Geralt hunched his shoulders down, shrinking into himself.

“Yes?”

“We were wonderin'... that is, if you've had your fill of roasted pork, we was wondering if you wanted to make bison grass rings with us?” The girl smiled crookedly, fidgeting.

“Rings, huh?” Geralt returned the smile. “What does that entail?”

“Weavin', and you thread special beads on 'em, if you want. We can teach you!”

“It's real fun!” The child to the right of the leader found her courage.

“Well, you'll have to go easy on me. Take it a bit slow. I have big, clumsy fingers.” Geralt held out his hands. The girls giggled over the size of them, and then grabbed at them, pulling him up. He allowed himself to be puppeteered. Their enthusiasm was sweet.

Geralt had always had a soft spot for kids; those too young to be truly frightened of him, or those who could sense the gentle truth of his disposition. Soon he found himself surrounded by youths, bossy and noisy. Geralt laughed with them, and began to weave as he was taught.

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

Jaskier was capable of listening to his companion's triumphant tale about an ice giant – or was it a troll? – and staring doe-eyed at Geralt at the same time. He was talented that way. As a child poked daisies haphazardly into Geralt's long, loose hair, Jaskier sighed into his wine.

“...and thwack, his head fell to the ground. Hah! It was a great fight, bard. You should make a song out of it.”

“Huh? Oh, yes, quite. It has all the makings of an epic.” Jaskier turned back to the two men, hiding his fluster by picking at some grapes on his plate.

The warrior who had been telling the story chuckled lowly. “Does he share your affections?”

“Who?”

“Who, he says. As if we are blind.” The man nudged his friend, and the two of them guffawed. Jaskier felt his ear-tips redden.

“I am rather obvious, aren't I?” Jaskier said, running a hand through his hair. “Can't help it. Specially when he's like this, all... relaxed, kind. People just see the swords. They don't know him, not truly.”

“Sounds like you're in deep, little bard.” The other warrior smirked, clapping Jaskier on the back so hard he spilled some wine. “Do not fret. I think he's getting there.”

“You do?”

“Oh, aye. Has a look about him, you know? As if he's trying to figure out a puzzle, but he can't make the pieces fit. So close.” The man drank from his flagon.

“Huh.” Jaskier said, and then glanced back at Geralt.

“Perhaps he'll give you one of his rings.” The first warrior spoke, his voice light.

“I very much doubt that.” Jaskier tripped over his words, blushing deeper, eyes darting between the men. “He may not have an academy education as I do, but I am certain he's familiar with your customs. Declaring his love in the middle of a feast is, uh, not his style.”

“If you say so.” Both of his company rose, one after the other. “Wonder why he's coming over here, then?”

“What?” Jaskier squeaked, whirling around. Geralt was indeed wandering over, new mug of drink in hand. Jostling him good-naturedly, the warrior duo departed, leaving Jaskier with nerves in his mouth and fiddly fingertips.

“Good feast, yes?” Geralt said, sitting heavily down on the empty log beside Jaskier. “You having fun?”

“Lots of fun.” Jaskier flashed a quick smile. “These are good people, and they do like to chat. And the food, food's good, as you said. They do like a strong drink, don't they? Whoo!”

Geralt laughed, and swallowed some of his own beverage. “Told you you'd like it.”

“You were right. Just this once, though.” Jaskier couldn't look at Geralt for too long, not flower-crowned and glossy-eyed as he was. It made him ache. “So, uh, what were you doing with the young folk?”

“Hmm? Oh! Yes, that reminds me.” Geralt fumbled with his pocket.

“Geralt, what are you--”

“Under the eye of the Gods, I ask you, Jaskier, to be my companion. To uh--” Geralt squinted at the girls some distance away, and they gesticulated. “Right, yes. To fight with me, to walk with me. Accept this small token?”

Opening his hand, Geralt offered the band sat there; it was clumsily woven, threaded with one yellow bead and a reddish stone. Jaskier stared at it, and realised that around them, silence had descended. Those close enough to witness were watching this exchange.

Fuck. Jaskier had given Geralt more credit than he deserved, apparently. In this clan, the gesture was one step away from a life-bond. Geralt, the drunk numpty, was claiming Jaskier as his before the heavens, witnessed by descendants of Freya.

“Geralt, I'm not sure--” Jaskier whispered.

“I think I made it a lil' big. I'm sorry.” Geralt fixed his gaze with Jaskier's, lazy-hazy gold halos around rounded-out pupils, and Jaskier's heart did something odd in his chest.

How could he refuse? It'd sully Geralt's reputation, make him look foolish in the eyes of those he'd just saved. Jaskier would simply have to explain things later, and hope that the rumours would not spread too far.

“Of course.” Jaskier said, his voice shaking. “Under the eye of the Gods, I accept.”

“Oh, s'good, thank you.” Geralt said. Then he took Jaskier's right hand, and slid the grass-ring onto his middle finger. Around them, people raised their mugs and cheered. Geralt only grinned, and Jaskier couldn't help but desperately adore him – Geralt, drunk and accidentally idiotic, his lips plum-stained, his hands dirt-streaked.

The only thing left to do was drink, and Jaskier sank gratefully into the task. The feast blurred around them. He didn't want the awkward dawn to come.

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

Obnoxiously, the sun did rise upon the pair of them, huddled under furs in a room spared by the baker's wife. It was cramped, but it was warm and soft, and the perfect place to wake up to a malicious hangover. Jaskier reluctantly unpeeled himself from where he'd been draped across Geralt's chest, groaning. Geralt made a sound of discontentment.

“Fuck.” Jaskier cradled his head in his hands. “Jug of water on your right. Pass it, would you?”

Geralt obliged, and then stretched, luxuriant and cat-like. Jaskier drank and side-eyed him. He felt something brush against the jug, and—oh.

The ring was still on his finger.

“I don't envy you.” Geralt purred. “Human-made liquor isn't strong enough to ruin my day, but witchers aren't immune to hangovers. Lambert makes the most disgusting and potent vodka.”

“Right, yes. Lambert, disgusting.” Jaskier repeated stupidly.

“Exactly!” Geralt laughed.

“What? Um.” Jaskier squeezed his eyes shut as if he could clear the headache that way. “Geralt, we have to talk. About last night.”

“What about it?” Geralt accepted the jug, took a few gulps.

“The ring you gave me. I am not sure what the girls told you, but, um. It's rather important. I couldn't say at the time – too many eyes upon us – but you... well, you essentially declared your intentions to me. To, uh, keep me. Court me. That sort of thing.”

Geralt blinked stickily at him.

“I know it was a mistake, so we'll just... fuck, we'll hope nobody speaks much of it. If we're lucky, the word won't--”

“Wasn't a mistake.”

Jaskier whipped his head sideways, saucer-eyed. “I beg your pardon, what did you just say?”

“The girls that taught me. They said you give a ring to someone you want to stay with, always. Someone you trust, and who trusts you. Someone important. I knew the colours – yellow for promise, red for protection. And I knew who I wanted to give my ring to.”

“Really?” Jaskier's voice pitched an octave higher.

“But if, if you think it's a mistake, I understand. You're the best man that I know, Julek, and I wanted to know you more. I'm better at actions than... words. I thought maybe you'd think it was a bit romantic.” Geralt looked down at the fur, picking at it.

“I just—I never thought—”

“You're right. It's stupid. I'm sorry. I hope you weren't embarrassed. I'm sorry.”

“Shut up, would you, darling? I never hoped, that's more accurate. Geralt, we've been friends for years, but I knew there was more there. I just didn't think you were ready, or perhaps that you even wanted to change things.” Jaskier gently cupped Geralt's chin, chasing his eyes.

“Really?” Geralt whispered.

“Oh, if I could go back in time with this knowledge! Geralt, dearest, I'd have leapt at you like the lovesick man I am, kissed you stupid, right in front of everyone. I wish I had.”

Geralt smiled slowly, revealing a hint of pearly fang. “You could... do it now. If you wanted. No one's watching, but I'll enjoy it the same.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

So Jaskier did, carefree and besotted, laughing into Geralt's sweet mouth, crushed daisies caught between his curled fingers.

#the witcher fandom #the witcher fanfiction #geraskier #drabble #fortune writes #inber

[the-bau-quinjet]

You Belong With Me

Chapter 5 of In Breakable Heaven!! 

Summary: Penelope has a Halloween party!

Warnings: none 

Word Count: ~3100

You woke up slowly, not realizing you were on the couch with another human. As usual, you tried to roll over and go back to sleep, but instead of landing on the other side of your bed you land squarely on the floor between your couch and coffee table. Spencer shifted on the couch to look down at you as the two of you burst into laughter.

“Are you okay?” He struggled to get the words out through the laughter. 

“Yeah. Yeah I’m fine.” Finally managing to stand up, you grab the trash from the night before and throw it out. Spencer grabs the dishes from behind you and loads them into the dishwasher. You are about to offer Spencer some breakfast when he breaks the silence.

 “I should probably get going, but, uh, I can’t find my phone.” You can’t help but smile at the dejected look on his face.

 “It probably sunk into the couch, here” you hand him your phone “You can call it while I look under the cushions.” He takes your advice, dialing his phone and holding yours up to his ear.

 “It’s ringing.” You can hear it begin to vibrate as you remove cushions from the couch. “Got it!” You hold the phone up victoriously, answering the call. “Hello Doctor. What can I do for you?” You can’t help but tease him a little. He hangs up your phone, trading it for his. 

“Thank you. I really do have to go, but I’m really glad I got to see you again.” “Me too. I mean, I don’t have to go. I live here. I just meant I’m really happy I got to see you again too. And now you have my phone number, so we can talk more!” You force yourself to stop rambling before you say something even more embarrassing. 

He just grins at you, glad to not be the one rambling for once, and waves goodbye as he says “I’m looking forward to it.”

 --

 Around 4 PM a couple days later, you get a text from Spencer. You two had been texting pretty consistently since he left your apartment. But this text feels like a birthday gift from up above when you read the five simple words. Not that you would tell him today is your birthday. That would be weird to just randomly bring up.

 From Spencer: “Are you busy right now?”

 To Spencer: “Nope. I just got back from the bookstore.”

 It takes what feels like eternity for him to respond. Unbeknownst to you, he is pacing his apartment, working up the nerve to press send.

 From Spencer: “Do you want go see a movie? There’s a new Scream that just started in theaters and since Halloween is right around the corner, I thought it might be fun.”

 You can’t help but squeal a little when you read and reread the message.

 To Spencer: “I would love to! I love Halloween.”

 From Spencer: “Great, I can pick you up at 5?”

 To Spencer: “See you then”

 You instantly drop what you were working on to get ready. You have to pick out something to wear that says you’re interested but isn’t too much for going to see a movie. You decide on a pair of dark wash jeans, black combat boots, and a light sweater that ties in the back. It’s cute, comfy, and very fall. Just as you finish your mascara, you hear a knock on your door. You grab your purse and swing it open to find Spencer standing there in a black button up, dark jeans, a maroon cardigan, and of course, black converse. He looks incredible. You can feel the blush on your cheeks as he looks at you. “Ready to go?”

 “Yep, just let me grab my keys.” And with that, the two of you are walking back down to his car. You arrive to the theater 15 minutes before the movie, the perfect amount of time to get some snacks! You insist on buying the popcorn and sweet treats since he bought the tickets. You make your way into the theater and see it’s mostly empty except for a few people in the back. You find two seats in the middle and sit down. You’re honestly a little nervous because even though you love scary movies and haunted houses, you still get freaked out pretty easily. The scare is why you love it, but also why you’re nervous.

 “Are you okay?” Spencer’s question cuts off your train of thought. 

You decide to answer honestly “yeah, I love scary movies. I just… get scared… Wow that was stupid.” You can feel the blush creeping up again as you try to come up with a better way of describing it.

 “That’s not stupid at all. It’s really all because of adrenaline and other fear induced hormones. It is common for people to seek out adrenaline inducing situations because the brain itself won’t determine how much danger you are in. It only recognizes the fear and produces adrenaline to combat it.” You inadvertently cut him off when you hug him, muttering a quiet thank you. He’s too distracted by the scent of your perfume to continue on about adrenaline.  

 Ten minutes in and the movie hasn’t been that bad yet. You can’t tell if you’re disappointed or glad you aren’t screaming like crazy. Just as you let your guard down, there’s a jump scare that has you grabbing Spencer’s arm for safety. He laughs, seemingly unfazed by the cheap scare, and shifts so he is holding your hand. “Just squeeze my hand when you’re scared” he whispers in your ear. You feel the butterflies again as you nod at him. You squeeze his hand on and off throughout the rest of the movie, blushing when his thumb starts to rub circles on your hand.

 When the movie is over, the two of you decide to go across the street to a diner for some real dinner. You are right in the middle of eating breakfast for the third time that day when both your phones go off. Glancing down, you see a text from Penelope.

 From PG: “Y/N!! I am having an impromptu Halloween party and I do not want to hear it that you are too busy. Get your butt over here by 9!!”

 To PG: “You got it! Costume?”

 From PG: “Of course! I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

 You look up at Spencer “Penelope’s party?” You immediately try to think of a costume you can pull together from what you’ve got at home. It’s already October 27th, but you hadn’t planned a costume yet. 

“Yep, I guess I have to go find a costume.” Spencer replies, running his hands through his hair. 

“Same here. I have no idea what I’m going to wear.”

 “I can drop you back at your apartment if you want? So you can get ready.” You sigh, he is obviously right but you were hoping the night would last a little longer. 

“That would be great, thank you.” At least you know you’ll see him soon.

 Getting ready goes a lot easier than you anticipated. You pull together a young, country Taylor Swift costume with denim cutoff shorts, cowboy boots, a cowboy hat, a navy tank top, and a matching flannel. You decide to grab your acoustic guitar just to add to the look. It’ll work. You finish your makeup and leave in a hurry. Penelope is not one to be kept waiting.

 You get to Penelope’s apartment at 9:02. “What took so long? I thought you would be right over after I texted.” She scolded as she opened the door.

 “I wasn’t home, so I had to go home and throw together a costume” you laugh as she looks you up and down, doing a little twirl. She looks you in the eye before confirming your costume “Country Taylor Swift, not bad.”

 “Why thank you! Might I add you make an incredible vampire!” You say, lifting your hat off your head. Penelope just rolls her eyes and opens the door wider for you to come in. You immediately spot the rest of the team as other the other guests. Emily, Derek, JJ – who brought Will - Hotch, and Rossi. You didn’t know them all that well, but apparently you made a good impression since you were invited back. You aren’t sure if Spencer has told them anything about the two of you hanging out, so you decide not to say anything either. Instead, you admire everyone’s costumes.

 Emily is dressed as Black Widow in a tight all leather getup. Derek matches Penelope’s vampire costume, something you are sure she made him wear. JJ and Will make an adorable Mr. Incredible and Elastigirl. You are still trying to figure out Hotch and Rossi’s costumes when you hear them arguing. “I am very clearly a chef. Look at my hat.” Rossi says as he emphatically points to his head.

 “And I am from Men in Black.” Hotch declares. You are sure he is glaring from behind those sunglasses. They all turn and greet you when you get close enough.

 “Who are you dressed as?” Derek asks as he looks you up and down.

 “She’s clearly a young TS. The only thing missing is the signature curly blonde hair.” JJ looks shocked that Derek couldn’t put that together.

 “Ooh, since you’re dressed as a singer, you have to go first in karaoke. We can’t start until everyone is here though. Penelope’s rules.” Emily declares.

 “I guess I need a drink then!” You laugh as you head to the kitchen. You pour yourself a glass of white wine, not understanding how anyone can enjoy the vinegar like taste of the red, and walk back into the living room.

 You immediately spotted Spencer. He was wearing a loose white button up with puffy sleeves, a black vest, black jeans, and he had a red bandana tied around his head. Plus, he was carrying a prop sword. The converse didn’t really match, but you could still figure out the look. He was the dorkiest pirate you have ever seen and you loved it. Derek was giving him a hard time, but before you could do anything Emily was pulling you over to the karaoke machine.

 “It’s time to start karaoke!!” She was clearly a little tipsy, but you did not feel nearly drunk enough to sing in front of these people. You downed your wine, earning some whistles, and put the glass on the coffee table.

 “Emily! I have no idea what to sing.” You tried to protest.

 “Nonsense, you can sing a Taylor Swift song.” JJ chimed in “Something from an old album since your dressed country!”

 Emily immediately started a song before you could protest anymore and you were singing almost immediately.

 You’re on the phone with your girlfriend, she’s upset.

 ‘At least it’s an easy song to perform’ you thought to yourself, having done it what felt like a million times. But they don’t know that. Before you knew it, the girls were all singing the end of the song with you.

 Have you ever thought just maybe, you belong with me? You belong with me.

 You chanced a glance at Spencer as you finished the song. You refused to look at him before that, knowing he would make you too nervous. Before you had a chance to comprehend the look on his face, Derek inadvertently interrupted the moment “Y/N you’ve been holding out on us. That was great!” He said. The others joined in on the praise as you turned red. You managed to squeak out a “thanks” before retreating to fill your wine glass. Spencer met you in the kitchen.

 “That really was an amazing performance. You should consider switching careers.” You laughed at his comment, it was pretty comical considering your side hobby. “No really. You would be amazing.”

 You turned even redder with the compliment. “Thanks Doc, I appreciate the confidence boost.” You almost told him then and there, but ultimately you were being called back to the living room to hear Rossi sing Bon Jovi.

 The night continued much the same until Penelope broke off into the kitchen. You were going to follow her, but Rossi pulled you back into a conversation and you missed the chance. Soon enough she was returning with a huge birthday cake. At first, you were shocked. Then you realized she was the Penelope Garcia. Figuring out someone’s birthday is child’s play to her.

 Then you were shocked again, because everyone was singing to Spencer. Apparently it was after midnight and his birthday is October 28th.

 Once everyone has a piece of cake, you walk up to Spencer hitting him on the arm, “Why didn’t you tell me today is your birthday?” 

He deflects the question easily.  “Today only just started, so I really didn’t have time. Plus you haven’t told me when your birthday is.”

 You instantly freeze at that. You can’t possible tell him your birthday was yesterday. That would be so awkward. He immediately senses the tensions and asks “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

You practically run out of the room calling “yep I’m fine, all good, 100% a-o-kay.”

 Spencer, confused by your quick exit, decided to look at your license to figure out your birthday. Maybe he could surprise you with something. Realization dawned on his features as he read the date, seeing that your birthday was yesterday.

 --

 You were relieved when Spencer didn’t chase after you to figure out exactly why you practically sprinted away from the conversation. You decided to just enjoy the rest of the party.

 Around 2 AM everyone was heading out. You hung back a little since Spencer hadn’t left yet, hoping you’d be able to walk out with him. God, you feel like a teenager again. Secretly crushing on a guy who clearly only likes you as a friend. Ugh.

 “Y/N!” You break out of your pitying thoughts to see Penelope and Spencer standing in front of you. Great. How long were you just staring at the ground? “You okay?” Penelope asks, looking at you with clear concern.

 “Yeah, I’m just tired. You threw quite the party!” You tried to joke to clear the air. “Thanks for inviting me, Pen.” You hugged her as you looked around for your purse, grabbing it off the chair. Spencer has been staring at you with a contemplative look on his face during the whole encounter.

 “I’ll see you soon, right?” You looked back as you opened the door. “Of course, my lovely!” Penelope smiled as you and Spencer left, him calling a quick goodbye as he walked out after you. You didn’t say anything until you noticed Spencer was walking towards your apartment with you.

 “What are you doing?” Ugh, real subtle. What kind of a question is that?

“Walking you home. It’s my birthday, you can’t say no.” You rolled your eyes at his playful tone, but there was something serious in his eyes. “Why didn’t you say your birthday was yesterday? We could have celebrated!” He seemed genuinely confused.

 “I don’t know. I guess I’ve never been the kind of person who does well with all that attention. My birthday was never a huge deal growing up, so I haven’t really made a big deal out of it now. Pen wanted a Halloween party, not a birthday party. I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.” You couldn’t make eye contact with him. You’ve never really talked about these insecurities with anyone.

 “First of all, she clearly didn’t mind having a party for both because she had a birthday cake for me. I am completely sure that she would have decorated it for both of us had she known. Second, you deserve to have people make a big deal. You are an incredible person, Y/N. You are extraordinarily kind, selfless, and beautiful.” He pauses for a second before pulling something out of his bag. “I didn’t know your birthday was even in October, but I bought these a few days ago. I was going to give them to you after the movie, but then Garcia called and we split up. If you don’t like them I can take them back I just thought since you twist your earrings around so much, maybe they were bothering you and maybe a new pair would help. Penelope actually helped me pick them out, although she doesn’t know that. She just mentioned how she thought you would like them when we were at the farmer’s market.”

 Tears sprung to your eyes as you realized how much thought he must’ve put into this. You couldn’t help but throw yourself into a hug whispering “thank you, Spence. That is so thoughtful.” He rubbed your back until you stepped back from the hug. You opened the box to find a pair of dainty white gold earrings. One was a moon and the other a star. “They are beautiful.” You whispered into his ear as you pulled him in for another hug.

Stepping back again, the two of you made your way to your apartment. Upon arrival, you confessed, “I actually have something for you too. It’s upstairs though, so you have to come inside.” He smiled as you pulled him into your building.

 “I obviously didn’t know your birthday is today, but you told me about breaking your watch and when I saw this in the store window I thought of you and it just looked perfect.” You watched as he slowly opened the watch box, pulling out a simple brown leather band with a white watch face surrounded by a silver casing. It honestly screamed Dr. Spencer Reid. The watch face isn’t too modern and the leather band matches his satchel.

 “Y/N, it’s perfect. Thank you.” He closed the box, hugging you to say thank you. Looking into his eyes, you realized with 100% certainty you are falling for Dr. Spencer Reid. “Let’s go to sleep” is all you can say in response. You pull him into the bed and snuggle as close as you dare, too afraid to say anything else when you don’t know how he feels. The two of you drift into a restful sleep, not even bothering to change from your costumes.

 --

 You wake up due to the muffled voice of Spencer in the kitchen. You can smell the coffee, so you quickly change into some pajamas before walking out to join him. He glances at you apologetically while you pour the coffee into two mugs, adding equal amounts of sugar to both.

 As soon as he hangs up, he’s hugging you goodbye. “I’m so sorry, we have a case. We are supposed to be at the jet in 30 minutes.”

 “Don’t worry about it Doc. Go save the world.” You decide to listen to Superman on repeat for an hour while you clean.

tag list: 

@mac99martin​ @goldeng1rl8​ @eevee0722 @l0ve-0f-my-life @haylaansmi @dinonuggets15 @laurakirsten0502 @green-intervention @burnin-passion @takeyourleap-of-faith @secretpickleprofessordean @awkwardnesshabitat

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you #criminal minds x reader #Criminal Minds

[fific7]

Dangerous and Divine - Part 3

Billy Russo x Reader

Summary: Billy Russo is an itch you don’t want to scratch. But he’s all over you like a rash.

A/N: This does not follow canon, it’s mainly lemon zest 🍋 The GIF is from Exposed, unreleased pilot show in case you’re wondering 😌... Billy vibes.

Warnings: 18+ NSFW due to sexual content including oral sex, between consenting adults. Some drinking & swearing.

(My GIF)

“Nothing to see here,” you muttered and scooted across the café as quickly as you could, heading for the sanctuary of your office.

Closing the door firmly behind you and heading straight to your fancy CEO swivel chair, you sat down and shakily placed your hands flat on the desk. You took some deep breaths. That stupid big idiot and his BDE! How dare he kiss you like that in front of everyone.

And even worse, leaving you all hot and flustered like some kid who’s never been kissed before! Let’s be honest, that’s what was really getting to you... he hadn’t actually bent you over the counter and fucked you, but by your reaction he might as well have.

How ridiculous, you told yourself sternly, get a grip! You put your forehead on the desk’s cool surface. They’d all been staring at you, and you could feel your face heating up again at the thought of them watching Billy kiss you really quite passionately. And you melting like a complete fool in the process.

After a couple of hours hiding out in your office, you knew you’d have to face the music sooner or later and made your way back down to the café. The regulars, you saw, had gone by now so that was something but by the mischievous looks on your co-workers’ faces, you knew you were in for some serious teasing.

You made your way over to one of the two monster Gaggia coffee machines in the café and started making yourself a cappuccino. “Anyone want one?” you asked over your shoulder. Jake said he’d have one too, but the other two passed. You could just feel their curiosity crackling through the air like electricity. They were of course fully aware of the Ex and that whole daytime soap plot, but were just about losing their shit as they didn’t know anything about this hot dude, who’d walked in to the café and kissed you like he knew you extremely well.

You handed Jake his coffee and helped yourself to a danish cinnamon pastry - yeah, eating the profits again - munching into it and then pointing at your staff members with it. “Okay, guys. Here it is. In its entirety. I went to little cousin’s cocktail party last night as you know, and met the guy who was in here earlier. We left the party, went for a couple of drinks elsewhere, he drove me home, I got out of his car and he drove away. Like, immediately I got out.”

You really didn’t feel the need to mention the kiss he’d stolen before you got out of his car.

Gabrielle’s mouth fell open, “You met him last night???” The implication being that A) how was that possible and B) where did that kiss come from if you hadn’t slept with him? You sighed, taking another bite of pastry. “Yes! And as I’ve just told you,” you looked around to make sure there weren’t any customers in earshot, “he did not stay the night, okay? He didn’t even get out of his car.”

“It’s just that it looked a bit ...” Steve trailed off nervously. “Well...umm... friendly... for someone you’ve only just met,” finished Jake. You nodded. “I’m aware of that. What you saw there was the Billy Russo Show, done purely to embarrass me. He’s a cocky big shit. And trying to get me to go out with him.” “Are you going to?” asked Gabrielle. “Oh, hell yes! Wouldn’t you?” Jake almost got whiplash, he nodded so emphatically, “Yes. Yes, I would.” You all had a good laugh at that.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

There were only 2 days to go until Friday, and you found yourself panicking. What to wear, what to wear? OK, after mentally reviewing your wardrobe you decided that a shopping trip was in order.

Hanging up your new purchase in the wardrobe, you felt pleased with your choice. Nothing too flashy - you weren’t sure of the venue, so went with smart/casual - a sleek navy number, wraparound style, mid-thigh length and showing only a hint of cleavage. Less is more right?

Teamed with a pair of metallic navy heels, it would be fine. You hoped. What if he was taking you somewhere really low-key? Oh well, you shrugged, if you ended up looking a bit like Cinders at the ball in some local pizzeria, so be it.

Jake and the others were still buzzing about your upcoming date, in fact you’d eventually asked them if they wanted to come along too. They’d at least had the decency to look guilty, but only a little. You were sure that if they found out where you two were headed, they’d follow you. You decided you’d better check for shadowy figures tailing you on Friday night.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

8pm on the dot, the buzzer sounded in your apartment, Billy’s voice announcing that he was downstairs. You were not quite ready, still had a couple of tweaks to make so buzzed him up. He strolled in as you opened the door, leaning in for a kiss to which you turned your head, so it landed on your cheek. “Lipstick!” you trilled, moving back towards the bathroom. “I won’t be long, have a seat. You’re looking good, Russo, by the way.” “Thanks,” you heard his voice from the other room, “and you’re looking absolutely gorgeous, sweetheart.”

You’d felt happier when you saw that he was also smart/casual.... what looked like a cashmere burgundy sweater over black jeans, with a leather jacket. He looked edible.

When you emerged back into the living room five minutes later - a veritable vision in navy, you mockingly smirked to yourself - Billy Russo was nowhere in sight. You stopped in your tracks, and then heard a drawer opening in your bedroom. You walked through to it, just in time to see Billy picking up a pair of your lacy silk panties out of your underwear drawer.

“Russo!” you yelled, “put those back, you perv!” He slid the smooth fabric between his long fingers, grinning devilishly at you. “Mmmmm, are you wearin’ something similar right now?” Before you could stop yourself, you bit back, “Who says I’m wearing any at all?” His eyes widened, a big grin appearing on his face. “Oh, really? Wanna prove it?” “No!” you replied, knowing your face was scarlet, “just forget I said that. I’m joking with you.” He shook his head, “Yeah, like I’m goin’ to get that image out of my head anytime soon.”

“Let’s go, Billy,” you said, walking to the front door and pulling on your own leather jacket. “Hey, we’re matching,” he laughed, pointing between your jacket and his, “ain’t that sweet!” “It’s creepy, actually. Matching clothes? Vomit-inducing.” He laughed, “You’re funny.” “No, I’m just not some soppy sappy woman who’s going to fall at your feet, Russo.” He took your hand as you closed and locked your front door, and the two of you headed for the stairs.

“Yeah, I’d kinda got that vibe already,” he grinned at you, “but it doesn’t matter, I know I’m gonna get you in the end.” “Just keep on telling yourself that,” you snarked back.

Looking at the back of his head as he walked down the stairs in front of you, you really wanted to run your fingers through that hair but managed to keep your hands to yourself.

Fastening your seat belt, back in the gleaming Wraith, you watched Billy’s fingers as he fastened his and then placed his hands on the steering wheel. You mentally shook yourself, you were beginning to fantasise about different parts of his body and you’d better snap out of it, you told yourself.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

He took you to a really nice Italian restaurant, not too posh, just nice and relaxed with friendly staff and really good food. The conversation from the night in the bar was picked up where it left off, each of you adding more and varied information. You learned that Frank had sadly lost his wife and kids when they innocently got caught up in a savage gang war gun battle. Billy told you that his friend had gone off the rails for a while, but had recently met a lovely lady called Karen and they’d started dating. He was really pleased for him, as he’d been so worried about him for a while. You thought you’d quite like to meet Frank sometime.

You told him something more of your life, thankfully not involving assault and cheating ex-boyfriends this time. He’d been fascinated and truly appreciative of the struggle you’d had to get your business off the ground, saying that he’d been lucky in having a major investor lined up before he’d even left the Marines.

You saw a dark look flit over his face for a moment, but then it cleared and he went on to ask you more questions about your business. You’d both chatted easily together until it was almost midnight, and you’d become “that couple” who were the last ones in the restaurant. You realised that, when he dropped the ‘Billy Big Dick’ nonsense, you really enjoyed his company and felt that you two had clicked even more this evening.

He drove away from the restaurant, and it took you a few minutes to notice that he wasn’t driving the route to your apartment. “Billy,” you sighed, “are we heading to your place by any chance?” That damn smirk was back on his face. “Yeah,” he said, “I’ve seen yours, so now you can see mine.” ”Oh, ha bloody ha. I’m not sleeping with you, you know.” A grin appeared on his lips as you glanced across at his profile, illuminated by each passing streetlight. “Just keep on tellin’ yourself that, sweetheart,” he replied mockingly. You laughed out loud, “You cheeky big bastard.”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

His apartment was everything you would’ve expected - open plan, with modern, sleek furnishings and decor in dark masculine colours. You settled yourself onto the large sofa, and he headed to the kitchen area; a moment later, you heard wine being poured then his tall figure reappeared, holding the two wine glasses. He handed one to you, and you took a sip - it was very good wine. “So, Billy... I’m guessing your li’l batchelor pad here sees quite a lot of action, and not the type you saw in the Marines, huh?”

That smirk. He sat down next to you, hand going to rest on your shoulder and playing with a strand of your hair. His expression became serious, “No. I don’t bring women back here.”

You scoffed, “Oh come on, Billy... you’re...” then you stopped, looking away from him. “I’m what?” You shook your head. “C’mon, what were you going to say?” “Never mind. Well, if you don’t bring them here, let me guess... you go to their place and disappear before the morning light?” He shifted uncomfortably on the sofa, breaking eye contact with you. “Okay... that, I can’t deny. How did you guess? And what were you going to say before?”

Oh to hell with it, you thought.

“I was going to say... you’re hot, Billy. So obviously - unless you’ve got a problem down there and need some little blue pills...” his eyebrows rose, his mouth dropping open slightly before he started grinning, “...you won’t be a saint and you’re more than likely a player.”

He leaned in towards you, eyes staring deep into yours, “Firstly, I have no problems with my equipment in any way shape or form,” ....smirk... “it’s in perfect workin’ order. And I’d be more than happy to prove that to you.” His lips met yours in a kiss, quickly growing heated. He pulled away, making eye contact again, “And you’re right, I’m no saint. A player? Yeah, maybe. But I can be a saint for you, if you want me to be.”

“But that wouldn’t be the real Billy Russo, would it?” His eyes were still on you. You carried on, “Look, I’ll level with you. I like you - when you’re not wearing your BDE persona. It’s a total clichè, but I really don’t intend to be just another notch on your no-doubt designer bedframe.”

He smiled at you, “I get it, I really do.” He trailed a finger along your cheekbone, “I wouldn’t be tryin’ to be someone I’m not. I just meant that I like you too, and I feel comfortable dropping the persona with you.” You smiled back. “OK, but Billy?” “Yeah?” “I’m still not sleeping with you.”

Laughing, “Oh, yeah?” pulling you against his chest, a hand going to your cheek as he kissed you long and hard. Breaking away, hand on his chest, you whispered, “Yeah...”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Billy was poised above you, looking down at you as if you were something he wanted to devour. Your clothes had joined his on the bedroom floor a little while ago; you were both lying on his very large bed, and yes it was designer-made - you’d asked him.

He gently pushed aside a strand of your hair, before kissing your lips. His mouth then made its way slowly but surely down to your neck and collarbone, and you felt little nips on your skin before his tongue licked your skin slowly. He moved slightly lower and sucked your nipples while his hands were busy massaging your breasts. Your hands moved to his broad shoulders, pulling him down further so you could feel more of his skin against yours.

You heard a chuckle, “So yeah, I guess you really aren’t gonna sleep with me after all, huh?” You shifted out slightly from under his body, “Shut up Billy, and put this to good use,” letting your fingers trail down to his hard length. You slid your fingers around it and gave his tip a firm squeeze. His breath hissed between his lips, and those big hands pulled you back underneath him. “Don’t worry, I was gonna.” You smirked, “I confess I was impressed when I saw what you were packing,” another squeeze, another hiss, his mouth on your neck, “but actions speak louder than words.”

He laughed, “Be careful what you wish for, sweetheart.” Deciding to head for the mother lode, you gave him one last squeeze, firmer than before, sniggering as his hips shot forward. “Same to you,” you said, before sliding your hands into his silky hair at last. Running your fingers right back through it, you sighed out loud and grabbed a handful with each of yours, and tugged. “I see you like my hair,” he smirked.

You leant forward and kissed him, hard. He groaned, kissing you back even harder. Then your hands ran over the muscles of his chest, down the trail of hairs on his lower stomach, before grabbing his cock and wrapping your fingers round it. He growled, “And what ya gonna do with that, sweetheart?” You began stroking him firmly, “This.... until you decide to get off your ass and do something.”

He laughed out loud, and suddenly his hand was between your legs, his thumb on your clit, rubbing hard. His lips at your ear, whispering, “Something like this?” and you felt a long finger plunging into you, swiftly joined by a second one. He began sliding them in and out, curling them, and it had an instant effect on you, your breath hitching. “Billy,” you sighed, your hand stilling momentarily on his length. You heard his low chuckle, and he increased his pace. Okay smartass, you thought, and gave his tip a very firm squeeze. “Aahhh!” you heard, and gave him another one for good measure. “You minx,” he laughed, then picked up pace with his fingers again. Then they were gone from you, and you saw him moving his head downwards, hands moving to your hips, his tongue replacing his fingers. He was lapping at you, his thumb back on your clit, and now you really were in trouble.

You grabbed his shoulders, digging your nails in, beginning to writhe on the bed, and then his fingers were back, sliding in next to his tongue. The combination of thumb, tongue and fingers was like an incendiary bomb going off in your core, and you could feel your climax building by the second. His pace increased and that was it, the explosion happened and you now grabbed his head like a vice, keeping him where he was as the aftershocks of your orgasm washed over you in waves. Very pleasurable waves. Finally, you released his head and you saw his dark eyes meet yours, a satisfied glint in them. “That was only number one, angel,” he grinned, “fasten your seat belt.” “Cocky bastard. And I’m an angel now, am I?” He moved up and back over you, hands sliding up your body.

“For sure,” kissing your neck, nipping the skin lightly with his teeth. “And I’m so lucky, havin’ one in my bed.” He sat up, opening a drawer in his bedside table, scrabbling around until he produced a condom, unwrapping it and holding your gaze as he rolled it on.

His hands moved to your breasts, palming them then circling his thumbs over your nipples as they peaked once again. You grabbed that hair of his again, little gasps making their way between your lips. Your feet were flat on the mattress, knees either side of his thighs and you felt his hand moving down, then the head of his cock was between your legs, edging its way in. Billy thrust right inside you, and there were loud groans from you both as he sunk in. “Mmmm...” he kissed you, tongue diving into your mouth, then he pulled away, gazing at you, “you don’t know just how good you feel around me.” You shifted a bit, rolling your hips to his, “About as good as you feel inside me.”

A low growl, then he was moving on you, fast right from the get-go, his thrusts forcing a moan from you on each stroke. Your legs moved - seemingly of their own accord - around his hips, and this new angle obviously pleased both of you, as the noises the two of you made got even louder. You felt him deep inside you, and every time you squeezed and held him there, he actually whimpered.

“Good puppy!” you managed to gasp out, hearing an answering snort of laughter from him. “I am not...” he gasped back at you between thrusts, “...a fuckin’ puppydog, sweetheart.” “But Billy, you’ve got those big brown eyes ...” your own eyes closed at a particularly forceful thrust, “...and you are fucking me, so...”

His only answer this time was to pull one of your legs higher onto his back, thrusting deep as he did, and then his hand cupped your breast and massaged it hard. That shut you up.

His fingers were at your inflamed core again and then he was rubbing at your clit, making your back arch with sheer pleasure. He was switching between kissing you hungrily and nipping and sucking love bites onto your collarbone. Thank god he wasn’t targeting your neck, you thought, that would look so professional at work. You, meanwhile, were over-indulging in your obsession with his hair, running it back off his forehead with your fingers and tugging on it to your heart’s content.

Finally your over-pleasured body couldn’t take any more, and your climax hit you like a truck. Your nails dug into his muscled shoulders, grabbing him in a death grip and a small scream of “Billy!” exited your open mouth. You felt him give a few sharp thrusts, realising that he was about to come; you heard your name, then a long groan and he released his warm seed into you. He sunk down onto you, kissing you softly but with passion, long fingers laying gently along your jaw and neck as he did so.

“Angel....” he sighed.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

@blackbirddaredevil23

#ben barnes #billy russo #billy russo x reader #billy russo imagine #billy russo fanfiction

[yanderecandystore]

idea for another continuation of red/reader/black timeline!Cute but unwanted fluffy times as they lock reader away in there room killing off the rest of the crewmates and coming to check up on their beloved reader,when they visit it’s all cuddles and soft spoken comfort and eventually the two get into the topic of how red and black met and explain to reader glossing over the murder that definitely happened like it was no big deal and painting it as a perfect love story

The funny part about this is how I was considering making a joke the other day about how they could have met, so you can imagine how hard I laughed when I heard that someone was interested in a headcanon about it.

Thanks for requesting this!

TW/Tags: silly fun // not game accurate // monster fuckery // delusional thinking // mentions of death // pretty short // mentions of drinking/alcohol // Buddy is gone in this timeline and most of the crew has already died // I changed some of the aspects of your ask unconsciously, I'm sorry ;-;

🍭꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖🍭

How I met your lover [Yandere! Among Us x Reader - Headcanon]:

It was past the sleeping curfew your crewmates had set to guarantee everyone's safety. You were about to go to bed when you heard the familiar knock on your metallic door.

You had let them inside despite the guilty feeling creeping in, you were sure that this small friendly act would be considered breaking the rules, and that would cause the rest of the crewmates to be alarmed by the sudden decision of breaking rules and not following the curfew.

Still, it's not like you really believed in that stupid rule, after all, what would stopped the killer from simply entering their room and killing them? And besides, it's not like Black and Red would ever hurt you, they're simply way deep into their own little world for any of them to be the killer.

It's not like you even had a choice actually, they simply came in after you opened the door. You suspected that they were possibly a little bit drunk, considering the lack of self awareness and personal privacy, not that you minded them hugging you and being touchy, but-

It was still kinda off, even a little out of character for them to be so giggly and happy, carrying a wine bottle they shouldn't even be able to have access to since it was considered a "only for celebrations" type of necessity.

Still, they claimed they wanted to spend time with you and that this was indeed a date to be celebrated (although it was more of a personal reason than anything). They seemed happy and you felt like you couldn't stop them from sharing it with you, after all, you did feel a little lonely that day. With your little partner in crime gone and most of your crew dead, you had started to feel really lonely and a little uncomfortable how everyone seemed to be drifting away due to the distrust that your crew was experiencing.

So you've let them come in and celebrate this special day inside your bedroom, as weird as that sounds. Why was today so important to them? Well, it's very simple-

"- It's our 6th wedding anniversary you silly little thing!" Red booped your nose as they continued to explain the details of their relationship. They were a cute couple, but it was also a little sad inducing how they would go on and on about how perfect their marriage was. It made you feel somewhat sad and jealous of how long they've been with each other and how happy they seemed whenever they were in each other's presence.

"- Tell [Y/N] how we've met, babe, please!" Red was shaking their lover as they continued to indulge in their own state of high due to the consumption of alcohol. Black was a little more alert than Red, so the moment their partner told them to tell you about that day, they panicked trying to find the right words to describe their first encounter.

"- Well- Uhh, you see, we-we've met-" Black wasn't quick enough to come up with an excuse, which caused Red to misinterpret it as Black not remembering how they met.

"- Blaaaaack, did you forget that we met in the lab-" Red whined feeling hurt since their partner had forgotten simply the most important day of their lives-

"- N-No babe, I-I remember- We met in the laboratory, at the space station, I-I was…. I was, uhn-" Black was stuttering trying to remember the exact thing they "were" before joining the crew for the extraterrestrial exploration.

Truth was that Black took the form of a poor unfortunate scientist that discovered and classified them as an extraterrestrial violent creature that needed to be studied further so humanity could have some sort of advantage in defending themselves against a shapeshifting space creature.

This whole expedition to space was created to be a learning expedition, so that the crew could have hopefully found another one of the shapeshifting aliens living out there. What that same scientist didn't know, was how far their intelligence went, and how much could they understand human behavior and mindset, and if it wasn't for a tiny mistake, that same scientist could have been here right now with all of the fellow crew members still alive.

Well, that tiny mistake was letting their assistant take care of the alien whenever the scientist wasn't around, which led to Red and "Black" meeting each other and falling in an odd obsessive love. You could say that they were work colleagues in a way, which was exactly what Black told you, that they were just two colleagues that had fallen in love at work, so sweet right?

It's not like Red ended up freeing a violent specimen and helping it escape and letting it blend into society by taking away the identity of the same scientist that had discovered them, by not only eating the original one but also assuming their role and name as "Black", right?

It's totally not that specific thing I've mentioned-

"- Oh so you two have known each other for so long? It must be nice getting to meet the love of your life at work." You said naively believing in their lies as they continued to sugar coat the specifics of their relationship.

"- Yes it is…" Black said, still sweating at the fact they're terrible at lying, especially towards their own "partner" (you, in this case).

"- You seem upset, [Y/N]. It's something wrong?" Black asked as they continued to observe your expression growing into a frown.

"- It's nothing really… I just think it's really cute how you two met, sounds like a fairy tail if you ask me-"You answered them, while still hiding the fact you feel jealous of their perfect, overly sweet, marriage. It's starting to make you sick how happy they're, even in a situation as terrible as this one.

Being trapped inside a spaceship while a maniac runs down killing everyone? Sounds like the perfect recipe to conflict, yet they haven't even yelled at each other once. And what about you? You're all alone, most of your close friends dead and your dog is missing-

"- Ooooooooo noooooooo, baby don't cry!!" Red had suddenly thrown themselves at you causing you to come back to your senses. You must have looked like a jackass getting so jealous of them, but for your luck they didn't notice you were getting jealous of their relationship.

No, they actually thought you were getting jealous of them, of them not including you in their lives sooner so you all could be celebrating this exact day together already!

"- R-Red I'm not crying, don't worry about it." You tried shaking your drunken crewmate away from your torso, they didn't even budge since they were holding you with all the strength they had.

"- I just think it's so unfair-" Red mumbled something that you didn't understand, so you asked them to start again.

"- I JUST THINK IT'S SO UNFAIR!-" They said a lot faster and louder now, they were clearly mad that they had to repeat their words, as if they didn't realize they weren't making any sense in the first place.

"- Don't worry too much about them, they're too drunk to-" Black was about to apologise for Red's current state, when they ended up being cut short by sniffing and crying.

"- [Sniff]"

"- R-Red? Are you alright??" You shook them trying to get them to look up in your eyes.

"- I love you two just so much, I can't even [Sniff]-" Red continued to cry and mumble things of the liking. It was clear to you that they didn't seem to be in the right state of mind and we're only saying nonsense.

You decided to tell them it was time for them to get some rest, which Black took as a sign to simply flop down in your bed, as Red was already deep in their unconscious while their faces were in your lap.

It was… Cute, how they simply fall asleep in your bed, but at the same time it feels like you wouldn't be able to get them to wake up and move into their rooms, as they didn't respond to either or your tries to get them off of your bed.

You had considered changing rooms with them just for the night, since they probably wouldn't want a stranger like you to sleep with them like that right? They would probably freak out whenever they wake up.

Yet the moment you managed to get out of bed and reach the door, you felt an eerie cold air hit your stomach, as if you would be doomed if you decided to open the door and go away from the bedroom.

You decided to place your ear on the metal door, just in case you could hear anything on the other side. You only heard the sound of an empty spaceship, as the internal functions seemed to be still on and working as usual, however, the loud sound of the machinery working on the other side of the halls didn't really help your busy mind feel any better, since the silence still dominated the entirety of the dorm area.

Was… Everyone already asleep? Why was everything so silent?

Why did you feel like something bad just happened? Why did you feel like you should be running away from this very bedroom?

But more importantly, why was your bedroom door locked? How was your bedroom door locked without your permission?

You felt like you did something wrong… Like the attentive eyes carefully watching you were judging every one of your moves. You probably shouldn't have gotten out of bed.

🍭꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖🍭

#yandere #sheep stuff #sheep's stuff #yandere x reader #yandere headcanon #yandere scenarios #yandere among us headcanon #yandere among us x reader #yandere among us #special delivery headcanons #special delivery request

[meta-squash]

So, last night I had a thought about self-harm (and addiction) and the reaction or framing from the press re: Richey Edwards vs Peter Doherty.

(This went off on a tangent, I’m sorry if it’s a little nonsensical and also I know my opinions are maybe kind of controversial.)

[Blanket TW for discussion of self-harm, eating disorders, and addiction in this post]

My best friend and I were having a conversation last night about self-harm as a coping mechanism and how people who have never self-harmed before don’t understand it and don’t know how to react to it, among other aspects of the subject. Later that got my brain on a different train going in a similar direction but a different destination.

I was thinking about the difference between the media interest surrounding Richey Edwards and Peter Doherty, and how the media framed their struggles and problems etc. (There is a slight difference between the two given that the Manics never got huge in the media and Richey wasn’t around for the explosion of internet tabloid culture.)

But my thought starts out with this: Peter and Richey seem to have done similar types of self-harm in similar amounts, and yet it is Richey’s self-harm that got all the media attention. Richey’s alcoholism and anorexia were not as chaotic or as....public?...as Peter’s drug problems, but it was all but ignored by the media even when he was fairly open about it.

Aside from the original 4REAL incident, which was a complex combination of situationist spectacle, self-expression/release of frustration, and intense message to the industry, Richey’s other moments of self-harm seem to be a more (for lack of a better word) normal level; they seem to have mostly been smaller, shallower cuts or cigarette burns. Aside from the one other recorded incident in Amsterdam ‘94 where Richey cut his chest enough to need stitches, there are no other instances on record of moments at the level of the 4REAL incident. Richey’s moments of self-harm seemed to typically be a more moderate coping mechanism rather than a tendency towards grievous injury. And yet the media’s main focus when it came to Richey was his self-harm and the spectacle of it rather than his lyrics or his other obvious struggles with alcohol and eating disorders.

And it’s interesting to compare that to Peter’s self-harm. I don’t think he’s ever had a moment like 4REAL, but he has used moderate cutting and cigarette burns presumably as a coping mechanism. His “strop” at Brixton ‘04 being the most outwardly dramatic and maybe the closest to 4REAL. But there are plenty of photos or footage of him with visible cuts and/or cigarette burns. And yet it doesn’t seem to be something the press really cared about.

On the flip side, there’s Peter’s addiction and all the media craze surrounding that. (As an aside, I cannot imagine how awful it must have been to have the media obsessing over your drug use while telling you to get better while essentially being its cause.) The press practically documented Peter’s every move re: his drug use and addiction. It was sensationalized and plastered everywhere and this obsessive attention was placed on it.

Which is the opposite of what happened to Richey’s problems. He talked fairly openly about his alcoholism in a number of interviews but rarely was he directly asked about it. Off the top of my head I can’t think of any interview that directly asked him about his eating disorders either, but he did mention some aspects of that in a few interviews (most notably his last ever TV interview for some Swedish channel).

Part of this difference in media focus kind of makes sense. The media picks the thing that’s more dramatic and crazy-sounding and a bigger spectacle. For Richey, it was self-harm, because he started with a proverbial bang by coming out the gate with the 4REAL incident that catapulted the Manics into the eye of the industry proper (despite the fact that he never reached that intense level again). For Peter, it was his drug abuse partly because of its more widespread chaos (drinking alone in your room is not as interesting or glamourous as smoking crack at wild parties, plus a dramatic band breakup draws readers) and partly because of his proximity to Really Famous People (ie Kate).

I guess it just interests me how the media decides which thing is more “concerning” and how that false concern in fact fuels the very thing it pretends to be so worried about.

The 4REAL incident was a shocking thing; it seems as though over the years the remaining Manics have come to acknowledge that that was pretty much the point. Nicky called it an “amazing, fantastic statement” in the 98 Up Close documentary. It’s something that was outside of Richey’s other self-harm because it was very much for a spectacle (JDB does say in the same docu that he was pretty sure Richey had sort of planned it). But none of Richey’s other moments of self harm were as public or as performative. I’d even say his Bangkok chest-cutting was only partially performative, considering how horrific the band considers that trip to have been. But really, his self-harm seemed to be mostly a private, personal thing, a coping mechanism. And yet it was pretty much all the press focused on, ignoring the alcoholism and anorexia that a) were likely actually affecting his ability to function and b) were likely bigger problems that the self-harm was used to balance out. The remaining band have talked about Richey’s drinking and how it affected him and made it difficult for him to function, and none of them ever really talk about Richey’s anorexia but looking at photos of him in 1994 you can really see the toll it takes on him. But the press weren’t interested in that.

And again, similarly, Peter’s drug use was fascinating to the press because it was dramatic and chaotic and an interesting spectacle. But after reading the Books Of Albion etc it sure seems like the press were major instigators of a lot of Peter’s problems and his need to use drugs to cope and/or escape. They ignore his self-harm because it’s not as interesting as his addiction; the opposite of the “mundanity” of Richey’s introverted alcoholism.

The press chooses which problem it’s “concerned” about depending on which one is a more interesting, easily-maintained spectacle. If it can flaunt “concern” in order to goad or stress their victim into doing that thing more, it can perpetuate that cycle: “we’re so concerned about you, look we’ve written an article on your drug-induced antics/your dramatic self-harming tendencies with pictures and misquotes and misunderstanding, oh we’re so concerned we’ve parked ourselves outside your venue and/or house to ask intrusive questions about your problems rather than your art, wait why are you still struggling with this drug/self-harm problem we said we were concerned about you, look we’ve written another article about how you’re struggling and we’re concerned but we haven’t actually asked you what’s wrong or how to help or done the most obvious thing which is leave you alone” ad nauseum.

Plus, these things are always appropriated by the press rather than a request made for clarification from the person. The victim’s candid thoughts about their hurt or their reasons for needing this coping mechanisms are not actually heeded but are twisted round and into part of the “story” rather than taken seriously as an explanation or a plea for the media to fuck off because they’re exacerbating the problem.

And now I go into more theoretical ramblings.

(Side note and/or clarification or...something: I can speak from long-term experience when it comes to self-harm as a coping mechanism etc, but I have not personally dealt with drug addiction so when I’m talking about that, it’s definitely as an outsider. I have friends who are recovering addicts and who I’ve known during their more intense struggles but I have not experienced it myself, like, in my own brain/body.)

Something my best friend and I were discussing in the conversation that triggered this entire thought-train is self-harm as seen by outsiders/people who have never self-harmed or thought about it in any seriousness. (And here comes some more serious discussion, as a warning.)

We talked about how there really isn’t a good argument against self-harm as a coping mechanism. (And I know my opinions here are probably controversial.) Most seem to center around “healthy” coping mechanisms vs “unhealthy” but if it’s your own body and you aren’t hurting anyone else, who’s to say what’s what? The other problem re: “healthy” coping mechanisms (like taking a bath, treating yourself, etc) is that the concern against self-harm seems to be that it isn’t addressing the underlying issue that requires the coping mechanism. But neither does doing some skin care or eating an apple (that is, if the problem is a stressor outside of needing sustenance or being able to do something “relaxing” enough to actually relax). That isn’t to say that self-harm is a good reaction to every stressful moment, but it truly is a very singular type of stimulation and release that is sometimes the only effective method of reacting to and coping with an internal or external stressor.

As a clarification, most acts of self-harm are not to the severity level of 4REAL. Cigarette burns and collections of minor-to-moderate cuts are much more common, neither of which are particularly threatening to the overall wellbeing of the person.

The other thought about self-harm and the reason for the media’s focus on it is the discomfort of and fascination a “badge” of struggle. When you’re depressed and you can’t get out of bed, it’s not like you get up a few days later and there’s a big sign that says “Was Depressed, Couldn’t Move,” or if you feel stressed and overwhelmed so you go drink wine in the bath, you don’t spend the rest of the day with some sort of sign telling other people that you felt bad so you bathed. But self-harm is a personal coping mechanism with evidence attached. And that evidence makes people who can’t understand it uncomfortable. Self-harm leaves a mark which other people are confronted by and they don’t know how to react because they cannot imagine how that can be something that helps. Self-harm is a “badge” of struggle and/or coping--not that it’s a proud mark or anything, just that it’s visible to others in a way that stands out and is singled out. I’ve gone out in public in my pajamas after not getting out of bed for 5 days and nobody looked at me funny or asked me why I looked all rumpled. But I’ve had random strangers at the grocery store ask me about the self-harm scars on my upper arms. Scars are a sign of hurt or stress etc that are visible to others which means they feel compelled to confront their feelings about it and often come up uncomfortable and not understanding and confused.

Similarly, I think drug use/addiction can sometimes be a similar “badge” of struggle, especially if it’s apparent onstage or during various public appearances. It’s something that people outside of it don’t understand. Likely they don’t understand the use of drugs as something other than “for fun.” People don’t understand the depths of using drugs as escape from or coping with (or both) stressors. Raw dogging reality is kind of a tall order if reality is overwhelming and stressful to a degree that’s difficult or impossible to control and/or manage. Not to mention using drugs for coping or escape then can lead to dependency and addiction and that’s a whole new game. Because, you know, that’s the thing: it’s not just about kicking an addiction. If you try to kick an addiction without replacing it with something else, you can pretty easily fall back into it because it’s not just a physical dependency, it’s a way to deal with reality. If you’re trying to go from a using a crutch to deal with reality to straight up raw dogging it without a fallback crutch, it’s gonna be real hard. In terms of a “badge” of struggle I think that use of drugs where intoxication is more obvious or more intense than, say, weed, people are uncomfortable. With a drug’s effects on behavior, I’m sure, but also with the outward signs that the person is obviously using a coping mechanism to deal with stresses or hurts.

In both situations it’s an exposure of this internality that outsiders can’t fully understand or touch. Everyone’s reasons for self harm or drug use are going to be different. The “benefit” that the coping mechanism brings is going to be different for everyone. And it especially means that strangers who don’t have experience with these things cannot fathom them and cannot comprehend them. There’s that desire to understand, that curiosity, (and sometimes an actual desire to help), but no one can read another person’s mind or understand their internality completely, and the visuals of self harm or of drug use are a very intense and forward reminder of that.

And I think those “badges” of struggle are something the media loves to capitalize on, because they can be turned into a spectacle and can be monetized due to outsiders’ discomfort. People watch horror movies or read tabloids because it makes them uncomfortable from a safe distance; these things aren’t happening to them, but another person’s obvious pain/fear/sadness/struggle/etc is just discomforting and strange enough to evoke a dark fascination rather than a total rejection. And the cycle continues as the media capitalizes on their victim’s stress and their coping with that stress, and which then causes more stress which then causes a need for a more intense coping or escaping mechanism, etc.

To bring it back to my original point, the reason the press focused on Richey’s self-harm (despite it being not too terribly excessive or intense) and not his addiction or ED problems, and the reason the press focused on Peter’s addiction and not his self-harm is because of the degree and type of fascination/discomfort those things brought. Richey’s self-harm was interesting enough and obvious enough that they could show lurid photos of his scabs and scars and talk to him about it, but he did his drinking in private and didn’t really cause any sort of scene onstage. And Peter’s drug use was interesting enough and public enough that they could show lurid photos of it as well as collect all sorts of gossip and rumour and twisted-around tales while his self-harm clearly wasn’t as dramatic or fascinating to them. People can read the tabloids and be darkly fascinated by a person cutting themselves up but maybe not by someone drinking at night in their bed (because that’s boring to read about). People can read the tabloids and be gleefully horrified by abuse of class A drugs and the actions/behavior surrounding that but that’s going to be more interesting than a person stubbing a cigarette out on their arm in frustration and despair. It’s all about what can be painted in a more dramatic light. It’s all about what internal things can be made public.

#self harm tw #eating disorder tw #drug abuse tw #addiction tw #this went a lot of places #i know my opinions re: self harm as a coping mechanism are maybe kind of controversial #richey edwards #pete doherty #manic street preachers

[ally-127]

With the SVT’s upcoming comeback and Cheol’s teasing on weverse, can I request for a smut where you kept on teasing him and he just snapped 🥺

wine & dine

pairing : husband!seungcheol x reader word count : 1.9k warnings : SEXUAL TENSION, teasing, a brief glimpse of hard dom cheol, marking, dirty talk music : ‘fearless’ by seventeen a/n : this isn’t a full-on smut because i can go on for days and it won’t be a drabble anymore heh

“pass the salt, please,”

you hummed, stretching an arm out across the dining table.

you had your other hand splayed out on seungcheol’s thigh under the table cloth, slowly inching higher. in your peripherals, you could sense the twitch of your husband’s jaw muscles in response to your movement of touch.

plastered on your face was a delicate smile—feigning innocence—and your parents who sat opposite did not know the dirty tease that was dissembled behind those big doe eyes.

truth to be told, you had already been like this since the start of the evening.

back at home, when you two were getting ready for this exact dinner was when you decided the teasing shouldn’t be restricted to just the four walls of your bedroom.

you were busy applying lipstick of a deep red shade that resembled the plunging depths of red wine onto the very centre of your lips, until you spotted seungcheol leaning against the threshold of the bathroom door.

the thing about seungcheol was that he never bothered to hide his emotions from you. especially if there was something that he wanted.

he looked you up and down like his next meal, tongue jutting across that bottom plump lip of his. it was clear that he appreciated what you wore tonight. a dress, cut from midnight blue material wrapped snugly around your body, emphasising the right amount of curves and cleavage that you yourself felt amazing that night.

it only took a second before you were eye-fucking each other, minds clouded with heavy lust as you stared at each other through the mirror. your wordless gazes were intense and filled with all the intent to strip each other off and fuck each other senseless like animals in heat.

clearly, that couldn’t happen when the ringtone of your phone sliced through the heavy wall of tension between you and your husband.

you held the phone up to your ear with your eyes still glued to his through the large mirror, the corner of your red lips quirking up in the slightest as you told your mother, articulately, that you would arrive at the restaurant in fifteen.

you closed your lip pencil with a satisfying pop and turned back to glance at seungcheol.

it was unusual for him to have not uttered a single word since he stopped by the bathroom, where you were busy touching up your appearance.

“why are you so silent tonight?” you asked aloud instead of leaving it as it is.

“i just don’t feel like talking,” seungcheol decided to take the route of denial.

“whatever you say,” you brushed past him out the door, making sure your shoulder rubbed against his chest and your fingers tugged on his belt in the process. the slight whiff of your perfume, laced with citrus and cedarwood, was enough to intoxicate him.

something about you tonight, he noticed, was different.

confidence dripped off your entire being that night, not that it didn’t on other days, but you were practically bathing in confidence. your hips took up just a hint of sway and the smile on your lips was quite unlike the soft smile he was used to.

the smirk you wore was taunting and was unbelievably sexy. he found his breath lodged in his throat, unable to form words.

there was no time to question as to what had inflicted this change of demeanour. you had disappeared from his sight out of the bedroom.

you were already waiting by the front door when he rushed down the stairs, sleek stilettos replacing your bare feet and his car keys dangling from your slim fingers.

you were breathtaking, seungcheol found his heart racing like on your wedding day when he first saw you walk down that aisle.

he approached you with heavy steps, looking handsome as always in a matching suit and pants of navy blue with a white satin shirt peeking from underneath.

your heels elevated your height so that your forehead reached the tip of his nose, lips only a minuscule distance apart from his.

you extended your hand forward, the key ring of the car keys sliding down your finger when you reached out to unbutton the top two buttons of his shirt. you smoothed down his suit jacket, straightening out the lapels and pushing away a loose piece of his raven hair away from his eyes.

“we’ll be late,” you muttered under your breath.

you turned away before he could kiss you as a means to thank you, walking down the steps of the front stoop with heels clacking on the cobblestone.

that brought you and seungcheol here, to this italian restaurant of luxury that you both knew you would never dine in. the choice of cuisine and location was clearly up to your mother and father.

your parents wanted to have a catch-up with you and your husband, to see what was going on in your marriage of two years.

the cream table cloth tickled the tops of your thighs as you and your husband sat across your parents. the conversations between each other were slow and languid at first, only surface-level topics being introduced and discussed.

tonight he was the prime example of a perfect husband. he talked business with your father and gossiped with your mother, keeping his voice at bay and his tone light and easy—even as your hand wandered up his thigh.

seungcheol had noticeably become more hot and bothered while he engaged in small talk with your parents. you saw him unbutton two more buttons in his shirt and loosen the cuffs in his sleeves.

it was the small details that led up to this: the mere brush of your hand on his, the slow whisper of i hope you’re going to make me feel good tonight in his ear as you made your way toward the entrance. the slight glance you shot in another gentleman’s way as they walked past, inciting jealousy to churn in his insides.

it was like you two were back in your teens again, drifting in the midst of the honeymoon phase of your relationship.

everyday with seungcheol was a honeymoon.

you poked at your spaghetti aglio olio, no longer hungry especially when there was something, someone even more delicious by your side.

seungcheol made sure both his hands were seen on the table, as a form of etiquette. you, on the other hand, could not even be bothered with that nonsense.

it gave you the advantage to toy with him as much as you desired. at some point, it took all of his willpower not to suddenly jerk in his seat as your fingers brushed the outline of his cock in his slacks, now prominent from an erection.

it was hidden beneath the table cloth, only for you to see.

he called your name lowly, almost a growl, in warning. you pretended not to hear.

your parents on the other side were nonchalant about what exactly was going on under the table. seungcheol’s natural man-spread gave you even more access to him.

you ran your hand slowly down the length of his clothed shaft. your touch induced the slight buck of his hips against your fingers to increase friction, a whine begging to leave his lips but couldn’t due to self-restraint.

“your pasta’s turning cold,” his teeth were gritted and his hands were curled into fists on the table, wedding ring glinting under the warm lighting. “finish it.”

“he’s right, dear,” your mother cooed diagonally from you. “eat up.”

“i think i’m good—” you glanced sideways at your husband, digits still on his crotch. “—for now.”

there was another meal you had in mind and it wasn’t listed in the menu.

“if you insist,” your father picked up the leather-bound menu and flipped through the manila pages. “wine?”

“i’d love that,” you removed your hand from him, clapping them together in delight.

“please,” seungcheol forced out, almost whining now from the lack of your touch.

it turns out that he managed to hold it together throughout wine and dessert, eyes fuming as he watched you pop a strawberry from the cake into your pretty mouth.

you did it as slowly as you could, allowing your lips to wrap around the curve of the fruit. the red of the berry matched the red of your lipstick, making it an even more pleasant sight to see and making him harder than ever.

bidding your farewells as fast as you could without seeming like you were rushing, you and seungcheol reached home by the hour.

you barely made it through the front door before he had you against the wall with an aggression you had not experienced since your early twenties when you both had just started sleeping together.

you’re such a fool to have thought seungcheol had grown soft for you.

“it was fun, huh,” he snarled, pupils dilated from both the darkness of the hallway and the rush of arose in his veins. “to tease me like that in front of your fucking parents.”

“i’d be lying if i said no,” you grinned, knowing how much of an effect it’d been on him.

“i’m so hard it fucking hurts,” seungcheol pushed you harder onto the wall so he could grind himself against your thigh.

“baby boy has got a boner,” you laced your fingers through his dark tresses, lips still stretched into a jeering grin.

“you’ll pay for this.”

his lips attacked your neck first, already sucking marks of purple and red into the delicate skin. the bridge of his nose nudged your ear as he kissed the skin behind it, your most sensitive part. you moaned as shivers ran down your spine from a mere peck.

he pulled away to whisper, “jump.”

and so you did, your legs wrapping around his waist, ab muscles pressing against your lower belly through the satin of his shirt. you kissed him for the first time tonight, your lips burning against his.

he carried you up the stairs and into your room without ever breaking the kiss, the directions to your shared bedroom already embedded in the soles of his feet. he slammed the door shut with his heel and walked you toward your bed.

he took a detour, shifting to the dresser in front of your bed instead.

the cold surface from the wood met the base of your thighs as he stood between your legs, taking the moment of liberty to shrug off his suit jacket and undo the remaining buttons that held his shirt together.

his muscles, still toned after ten years, never failed to get your salivary glands worked up. at some point you had begun to drool.

“you are so sexy tonight,” he leaned in to nip at the shell of your ear. “so terrible, so sexy.”

his teeth sunk down on your collarbone, drawing out another moan from your lips.

“oh yeah?” you fiddled with the hair on the nape of his neck as he marked your skin.

“i wanted to eat you out on the sink as soon as i saw you in that dress,” his husky voice dropped down in tone as he admitted his lascivious thoughts, breath warm against your neck. “and taste your sweet cunt on my lips.”

“yeah?” you said.

“and i can’t believe you made me hard in front of your parents,” he let go only to latch his mouth on the other side of your neck. “you’re such a slut.”

his words sent shockwaves of heat down to your core, your walls clenching around thin air. his hands, adventurous, trailed up your thigh, fondling with the hem of your dress. “i wanted to rip this off you all night,” slowly, seungcheol pushed it upwards.

“but now i just want to fuck you in it.”

#kwritersworldnet #seventeen #scoups #seungcheol #scoups smut #seungcheol smut #seventeen smut #seventeen x reader #scoups imagines #seungcheol imagines #seventeen imagines #seventeen drabbles

[twiistedgalaxies]

Cuck for One Uses Tinder

"All for One, infamous boogeyman of the underworld, felt his non-existent eye twitch as one of his minions slid a stack of forums onto his desk. They were divorce papers. In a matter of moments, said minion became a red smear on the office wall. He had broken out of Tartarus for this nonsense? Seriously??"

A/N:  I'm sorry, I don't have any excuse for this. I woke up in the middle of the night with the plot idea for this fic and thus this monstrosity was born. Bone Apple Teeth.

        All for One, infamous boogeyman of the underworld, felt his non-existent eye twitch as one of his minions slid a stack of forums onto his desk. They were divorce papers. In a matter of moments, said minion became a red smear on the office wall. He had broken out of Tartarus for this nonsense? Seriously?? Made even worse was the fact that, with the aid of search, he found that All Might, kami damn him, and his now ex-wife were constantly spending time together. He had half a mind to head to the apartment complex that he owned and paid for and reclaim what was his.

        “Sensei?” A familiar, raspy voice spoke up behind him and he felt the onset of a stress induced headache. The brat was meant to be his successor and potential replacement body. Unfortunately, those damn heroes had broken into the hospital before he could be fully developed, and All for One had to fish the young man out of a decayed crater the size of several city blocks before he could be thrown in Tartarus in a cell next to him. He wanted eventual retirement, and has had his plans foiled at every turn.

        “Yes Shigaraki?” he replied, standing up from his chair.

        “What happened? I underwent the operation one minute and the next thing I knew-”

        “Ah, that. You were awakened several months before you were meant to. That’s why I called this doctor here to-” He glanced at the red stain, realizing that the man in question had been eviscerated in his divorce-papers induced rage, “-No matter, I’ll do it myself, come.”

        All for One led Shigaraki down a series of winding hallways and stairs into a room filled with large test tubes and the few Noumu that remained after the raid on Dr. Garaki’s hospital. He stood before one that was open, not yet filled with the preservation fluid that left the Noumu in suspended animation. “Everything should be calibrated properly, if you’ll just step inside, the process will resume.”

        Shigaraki scowled, “I’m not doing this for you,” he clarified, scratching the back of his neck, “This dream is my own, this is just the means to an end.”

        If All for One had eyes, he would have rolled them with disdain, instead he said, “Sure, just step into the machine Tomura, or would you like to remain in your half-finished state?”  

        The young man let out a huff and begrudgingly complied. All for One injected him with enough anaesthetic to subdue a horse and closed the convex glass door. He fiddled with the controls for a moment - he hated being, for all intents and purposes, blind - and soon the tube was filling with preservation fluid as Shigaraki’s upgrades resumed. It was only then, in the greenish glow of the underground laboratory, that All for One realized with some dread that he had months of unfilled time on his hands.

-@~*^*~@-

        All for One’s first course of action was to break into the bedroom of a young girl on the UA campus. He had, through his various underground contacts, heard of the Overhaul incident. How a man so incompetent had managed to go so far in his plans baffled him. Truly, the state of the hero industry has fallen since his prime. It was not the man’s fanaticism nor his sadism that fascinated him, but rather the child he’d had in his possession that was now under UA’s care. Her quirk, Rewind, was rather interesting with infinite and overpowered applications. He’d be tempted to take it for himself permanently had she not emotionally latched herself to a certain, green haired teen that proved time and time again to be a thorn in his side. It was simple enough to slip through UA’s security in the dead of night, to disable all nearby cameras with a mere flick of his hand. It was a wonder what a technopathy quirk could accomplish. 

        She was asleep, small face peaceful. He could feel contentment radiating from her. Likely having a good dream, he mused. Gently, All for One placed one of his large hands on her forehead. He borrowed her quirk, and felt his body rewind several years, before his fateful battle with All Might. He couldn’t help the satisfied smile that crept across his face as he opened his eyes for the first time in nearly a decade. Quickly, he returned Rewind to her and used a warp quirk (the same one he used in Kamino) to leave the premises. There was no need to alert the heroes to his restored state. Yet.

        At least he’d be able to show up to his divorce hearing in person, though it would take every ounce of willpower he had to not level the courthouse.

-@~*^*~@-

        All for One was lounging on his couch in his makeshift home and using his phone in an attempt to understand The Youth (which to him, was anyone who wasn’t in a nursing home). On a whim, he installed Tinder, it had been decades since he really got into the dating world. His lover has been villainy, generally being an asshole, and terrorizing aspiring heroes. Having to wait for his plans to unfold was making him restless. Anyways, he was planning to get into politics now that he had his face back, as a way to enact social change without having to deal with a slew of moronic underlings. It didn’t hurt to build the foundations for his retirement, and having at least some people in his life could make him more relatable to the public and help his long term goals. He was planning to use his ex-wife and estranged son for this, but the divorce threw that plan out the window. People don’t tend to trust those who spring into existence seemingly from nowhere. (To be honest, he was just lonely, not that he’d admit it to anyone, especially not himself.)

        Where was he? Ah yes, Tinder. As it stood right now, he was swiping through the incredibly vain and shallow app, no one had truly caught his eye. No one that is, until his gaze (and didn’t that feel good to say?) landed on a disheveled man with long dark hair, stubble, and dark undereye circles that stood out against his pale skin. Aizawa Shota, 31. Eraserhead. He was tempted to swipe left on impulse when he paused. Getting close to heroes could be convenient to his political goals. There was no better or more ironic way to take out the hero commission than from within after all, plus it would give him information his underground contacts lacked. Yes, this would do nicely. (And if he found the man’s sleep deprivation and dry sense of humor charming as they spoke through text that night, well, that was just a side benefit.)

        They had decided to meet at a nearby cat café that evening, and All for One showed up in his best suit. It was a dark, wine red and chosen to match his eyes. Belatedly he realized he was overdressed when Aizawa showed up in a simple t-shirt and dark jeans. Whoops.

        He extended his hand for the other to shake, “Hisashi Kamiya, a pleasure to meet you.” It was absolutely not a pleasure to meet the erasure hero, but Aizawa didn’t need to know that. He couldn’t help but quirk his lips at his own last name. He had chosen it after the divorce, Shigaraki most certainly wasn’t going to fly, especially since his protégé had gained some degree of infamy.

        Aizawa nodded, eyes narrowing, as he shook his head, “Aizawa Shota.”

        The cat café was a small, square building lined with blue wooden panels. The windows glowed with a warm orange light, and the smell of java floated through the air. The interior was just as quaint, Hisashi noted as he opened the door for the other, among the table and chairs were various cat towers and potted plants. Despite its humble appearance, the café was rather busy this evening, stuffed to the brim with overworked college students and romantic hopefuls. They ordered their drinks (Aizawa ordered a black coffee and Hisashi ordered an espresso with extra foam) and made their way to a small round table in the back corner. 

        “I just want you to know that I’m married and don’t want to pursue any sort of relationship,” Aizawa began, petting a small orange tabby that somehow already made its way onto his lap.

        Hisashi balked at that, but quickly composed himself, “So why are you on Tinder? I assume you don’t take random strangers on dates for the joy of it.”

        “I’m here because my students are villain catnip, and I want to make sure they don’t get maimed while they're out and about. Especially that one,” Aizawa gestured to a table across the room from them, “Problem child seems to attract the League of Villains everywhere he goes.”

        Hisashi followed Aizawa’s gaze to the table in question and felt himself pale when he saw a familiar mop of curly green hair, his son. He swallowed, trying to ignore the fact that his estranged kid was sitting only fifty feet away. “I can understand that, but why a cat café?” he asked.

        Aizawa shrugged, “They’re on a date, plus I like cats.”

        He had to do a double take, Izuku was with a boy that had dual toned hair. A date? Seriously? He hardly approved of his son doing such a thing at his young age. Part of him wanted to walk over and drag the teen from his table and out of the café. Instead of making his internal screams external, he smiled saccharinely, “It’s rather thoughtful of you to take time out of your busy schedule for your students, I’m sure it must be hard to juggle hero work and teaching.” And rather creepy. Who pestered and surveilled teenagers in their free time? Other than Hisashi of course, but he was the exception.

        Before Aizawa could give him a response, their drinks were set in front of them. The foam on Hisashi’s espresso had been poured in the shape of a smiling cat. He had the sudden, inexplicable urge to launch it at his date and run. Instead, he took a sip, grimacing slightly. Too much sweetener. They sat in an awkward silence, Aizawa didn’t seem like one to make conversation. Somehow the man had attracted more cats to his side.

        “So you said you were married?” Hisashi asked, probing for information.

        “Mhm, my husband’s name is Hizashi. He’s kind, if a bit much sometimes.” That was an understatement, Present Mic was one of the most obnoxious heroes in the public eye, right after All Might in Hisashi’s books. More awkward silence, and then:

        “So Hisashi, what is it exactly that you do for a living?”

        He blinked, “Oh, I’m a quirk analyst,” a lie, though quirk analysis was a pivotal part of his job, it had to be with his quirk, “I’ve just always found them interesting. It’s like how inventors feel about electronics, I just can’t help but want to pull them apart and see how they work.” Hisashi’s grin turned almost predatory at that, and Aizawa tensed. “The first quirk I ever analyzed was a neon quirk, the holder’s sweat glowed in the dark, they were like a walking, talking glow stick.”

        Hisashi rambled about quirks for a while (this was the first he’d spoken so much in a long time and the words seemed to gush out of him, like he had to pay some sort of deficit), and Aizawa eventually cut him off, amusement dancing in his dark eyes, “You know, you remind me of one of my students, he’s just as obsessed with quirks as you are.”

        He visibly perked up at that, “Really? It’s rare to find someone who shares my interest, most find it creepy.”

        The underground hero nodded, then glanced at the clock, “I should probably get going, my students have already left and I’m expected at the police precinct soon.”

        Hisashi nodded, reaching to take a sip of his espresso but finding it already drained, “This was fun, even if it didn’t go anywhere,” perhaps this night could be salvaged and still give him some sort of in, “Would you like to catch a drink again some time?”

        “No.”

-@~*^*~@-

        His next date was considerably more disastrous than the first. He had matched with a young woman named Iwata Setsuko. His date in question had admittedly plain features, was a single mother with three children, and looked chronically stressed. She had taken time off from her crammed schedule to have dinner with him at a small Italian restaurant. The restaurant was small, quiet, and made to resemble a courtyard in an Italian villa. At the moment, she sat across from him in the cramped restaurant, honey eyes nervously peering at him from a veil of straight mousy brown hair. Iwata worked as a nurse practitioner in a nearby hospital, and seemed impressed by his extensive medical knowledge. She presumed him to be a doctor of some sort, and while inaccurate he could become one easily with a few forged documents if this proved fruitful.

        Throughout the meal, she hardly spoke, leaving him to fill the silence with spun tales and falsehoods. He was telling her a particularly interesting anecdote about South Korea when she abruptly cut him off, “You’ve been lying to me all night.” Fuck.

        Hisashi tried to laugh it off, “Now what reason would I have to lie to you?”

        “My quirk allows me to read the vital signs of anyone close to me, I don’t know why you’d lie but I can tell you’re full of it.”

        His eyes widened, “That’s a rather interesting quirk you have, it’s certainly perfect for your field-”

        “Oh shove it, I know you’re deflecting,” She dismissed, a fire lit in her eyes that was previously absent.

        He felt something flutter in his chest, he liked a woman with spark, it’s why he’d married Inko after all, and he couldn’t help but think of all the possibilities and applications her quirk had, and how helpful it could be for his goals. So caught up in his fantasies of world domination, was he, that he ignored whatever was coming out of her mouth. It probably was as helpful as white noise, as most mundane people’s words were, “You’re one of the only ones whose ever seen right through me,” he said with a widening grin.

        “What?” She replied, confused.

        “You know, with you at my side, we could have everything you can dream of! Think of the possibilities as the world crumbles at our feet-!”

        He was cut off by Iwata, who was shoving breadsticks into her purse, “Look, it’s been fun but I have to go, my kids are waiting for me at home.”

        “Think about my offer, you have my number!” he shouted to her as she rushed out the door, he glanced down at her plate, “She didn’t even finish her meal either.”

        Iwata never got back to him, and All for One, dark lord of the criminal underground, was ghosted.

-@~*^*~@-

        After another series of failed dates, Hisashi was slumped over a bar as Kurogiri, the noumu he had broken out of Tartarus for this sole purpose, awkwardly patted him on the shoulder. “Uh there, there?” he said.

        Clearly, this online dating thing was not working, “I don’t even know why I try!” All for One proclaimed dejectedly, “Clearly the public cannot handle their awe of me.”

        If Kurogiri had a face beyond a pair of glowing yellow eyes, he would have winced, “Right, well, sir, if it’s my place to give you advice I’d like to do so.”

        Hisashi gestured vaguely with his hands, indicating that the sentient black mist should continue.

        “Why don’t you go back to what you had before, you were married were you not?” Kurogiri suggested, “Surely it can’t be that hard.”

        The supervillain lifted his head from the table, looking as if Kurogiri had just handed him the world, “You know what, you’re right, why don’t I re-enter their lives? They’re mine after all.” All for One stood up, a little drunk, “Kurogiri, if you had a mouth, I could kiss you.”

        “Please don’t, sir.”

        A few hours later, at some ungodly time in the night, Hisashi was standing outside of the Midoriya apartment, boom box perched on his shoulder, blasting romance music like he was in a shitty 90s romcom. He was oblivious to the lights that began to turn on in windows up and down the street. Using a quirk to artificially project his voice, he shouted, “Inko baby, take me back, I’ll be better I promise!”

        Soon he saw an uncharacteristically glaring, plump face in the window. Inko popped it open, slipper in hand, “Hisashi, I swear to god, if you don’t leave right now I’m calling the police, do you know what time it is?!”

        “Time doesn’t matter in the face of love,” he replied, “Inko I-” Hisashi was cut off as a slipper hit him square in the face.

A/N:  I hope this at least got you all to laugh, feel free to leave a comment! Happy holidays everyone, I should have the next chapter of Genesis posted on Monday.

AO3

#quinn stop editing fanfiction as you post it challenge #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academy #my hero academia #eraserhead #erasermic #tododeku #izuku #todoroki #inko #toshinori x inko #afo #dfo #all for one #dad for one #afo is hisashi midoriya #ao3 #ff.net #fanfiction #fanfic #crackfic #crack #crack treated seriously

[evilbeanghost]

Snapetober, day 1 - Insomnia/day 2 - poisoned

You can also find it on Ao3. 

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

Grimmauld Place was as dreary as ever when Severus apparated at the front door with a near-silent crack. Breathing heavily, he stood there a few minutes, trying to summon strength for the incoming Order meeting. 

He would have chosen to sleep in a ditch instead if it was up to him. Well, his lips upturned in a bitter expression at the following thought, it wasn't like he was able to sleep these days, of course. 

This was exactly what he didn't need: Dumbledore calling for a meeting just after his other Master had just let him go. His life was just so fucked up.

Not seeing how he could delay the inevitable anymore, he pushed the heavy door silently, entering the house like a liquid shadow.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

They had been at it for fucking hours now, the discussion was going round in circles and Severus was slowly but surely loosing his mind. What a bunch of stringless puppets. To top it all, his stomach had been killing him for some time now, and the pain was slowly reaching unbearable level – which was a worry since his pain-resistance was quite high. What was going on? 

Tuning out the nonsense Lupin was sprouting about his new werewolfs little friends – Severus was all for the monsters staying together of course, he just wished he didn't have to listen to the corresponding inane reports – he tried to think hard about anything he could have eaten or drank lately that could be responsible for his current ailment. The list was shockingly short.

Lupin's stupid words suddenly evaporated from his consciousness and he stood up abruptly at the unwelcome realization, ignoring the sharp pain he induced doing so.

"Fuck! "

For a little while, he was too focused on his inner thoughts to pay attention to the others. Strangely, it was Molly's voice that reached his ear first:

"What's wrong Severus? Is that werewolf Guidian not to be trusted then, do you know something?"

What was the woman rambling about now?

Suddenly aware that his little realization had apparently interrupted Lupin's furry monsters' tale, Severus felt himself blushing furiously at once. 

The mutt bark of a laugh didn't do anything good for his complexion. He knew how unpleasant he looked, and he knew about the brick-red patches that turned his already ugly face into something even uglier, thank you very much. He didn't need Sirius fucking Black to humiliate him further for it, like a sharp dagger in his chest, a time-travelling dagger. He loathed the fact that he shared his current feeling with his fifteen years old self. Only fucking Black could do it – and to some lesser extent Lupin – and it wasn't a power Severus welcomed.

They were all looking at him expectantly now. Swallowing his worry and humiliation, he smoothly smirked, answering in his softest, coldest voice:

"I fear Lupin's report lulled me to sleep, nothing to worry about of course. Do sit down Black, your pet werewolf doesn't seem to be done with the clumsy retelling of his even clumsier attempt to make friend with his furry family. Sad, isn't it?"

Predictable as always, Black began spitting at once, foaming at the mouth: 

"You shut your mouth you dirty death eater scum!"

"Sirius!"

The cacophony that followed gave Severus time to sit down and attempt to resume his thinking. Why did he have to drink that wine? He shouldn't have touched the glass when it was coming from that filthy rat!

He carefully unfolded the scene in his mind, trying to find a confirmation that the rat was the source of his current predicament. 

He started from when he had been on his knees, in front of the Dark Lord, still moaning after a harsh punishment for his meagre report of the day; then his Master had called the others in, as if torture was just another daily chores these days. It was then, during the exchange of pleasantries between comrades that Pettigrew had been distributing the wine, the most pathetic waiter Severus has ever seen in his life. He was talking with Rodolphus, trying to assess as subtly as possible what the brute knew about his horrible wife whereabouts, when the filthy little man had reached them. Severus had taken a glass, toasted Rodolphus and lightly soaked his lips in it, careful not to consume anything that could alter his judgement during these deadly reunions. 

And now, nearly three hours later, his stomach was rebelling furiously against something… Couldn't be a coincidence could it?

The scrap of chairs on wooden flooring took him away from his thoughts again. Apparently Lupin had succeeded in concluding his most boring report to date. Small mercies and all that.

While everyone was emptying the room slowly, exchanging pleasantries with the others, Severus stood up carefully and immediately sat up again. He really didn't feel well now. Fuck. 

His stomach was killing him, he felt dizzy and unsettled, his hearing and vision were now distorted and he was sure that he would crash on the floor should he attempt to get up again. 

Trying not to panic, Severus stayed on his chair, summoning all his remaining skills to try not to be noticed by the others. He shouldn't have bothered anyway since nobody seemed to pay any attention to him. Of course. They wouldn't want to dirty themselves with the likes of him, right. He always felt like a misplaced cockroach among the Order. At least with his other "friends" he didn't feel the need to suffer from any comparaison. The pain flared again and Severus had to close his eyes to focus on not making any sound.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

When he came back to his senses, Severus was taken aback by the heavy silence surrounding him. A quick look to the hideous clock on the opposite wall confirmed to him that it was now the middle of the night. He was sprawled on the dirty floor and had apparently vomited all over himself. A quick spell got rid of the horrible mess but the acidic smell was still floating in the stale air of the room. He felt like crap, even on his own overindulgent scale.

His head felt like it had split in two, his stomach was dancing painfully around nothing, he was sweating profusely and shaking, still a little dizzy from the whole ordeal. Great.

Definitely poison then. What kind was now irrelevant since he was apparently saved from a worse fate by the little quantity he had ingested and his expelling of his stomach content. Severus knew enough about the Art of Poisoning to know that if he was still alive despite the quick and intense effects of whatever he drank, he wasn't going to succumb to it now. Not that it was that good of a realization of course. It seemed he was fated to always endured the pains without being given the relief that should come with it in the end. Be it poison or fucking Dumbledore, they all wanted him to suffer longer instead of going for the alternative, to just stop it all; the ultimate ending of pains. It has always felt simultaneously like immediate relief coupled with cowardice. Bittersweet; an acquired taste.

Feeling like indeed death would be a way better alternative right now, Severus slowly stood up, groaning and wincing as his useless body protested the movement. As silently as he could, he went to the depressing kitchen, leaning heavily on the walls on his way. A good metaphor for his useless life: alone and in pain, but trying anyway.

 It was there, in the dark kitchen of Grimmauld Place, a chipped mug of Earl Grey in his trembling hands, that he heard movements above him for the first time since he woke drenched in his own stomach content. 

He tensed at once, adrenaline muting the pain a little, trying to assess the situation. What a good pet-spy he was, going like clockwork, all instincts and restlessness. Dumbledore could think he had trained him well all he wanted, the truth was that the Headmaster was just another steamroller in a long list. Severus had been squashed by life itself over and over from the beginning; he wondered now what the first mold had looked like?

The distant sound of a curse took him away from his introspection. 

Black. It was just fucking Black of course.

Severus snorted, the bitterness on his face accentuating his ugliness. 

Taking refuge in his usual pettiness, Severus smirked unpleasantly at the realization that the great Sirius Black was suffering from the same unforgiving insomnia as himself. It made sense of course. 

Taking comfort in Black's suffering, he carelessly put his mug on the table – unwashed – before dragging himself to the front door to try to apparate back to Hogwarts. 

He had a lot of things he needed to do before resuming his teaching the next day after all. His suffering but a footnote in the grand scheme of things; as it always have been. 

I hope this wasn’t too stupid! :)

#severus snape #snapetober #my fic #it's not great #and I wrote it in one go this morning #but I felt like participating #so here it is #my silly participation #snapetober 2020 #I hope my english is not too dreadful here

[justasparkwritings]

Merry & Bright {5}: Pretend That We’re There

Previous: Baby, Please

Pairing: Jung Hoseok x Reader

Genre: Fluff

Rating: PG13

Warnings: Swearing! Kissing!

Summary: A Christmas tree farm with your love is the perfect way to spend a December evening. 

         Christmas lights are strung across exposed wooden beams. Icicles pinned to the peaks of the exterior, shimmering off the naturally reflective snow. The snow, freshly fallen, is still pristine, unblemished by the people who have just walked through the front doors of the Christmas Tree Farm. The air, ripe with pine and mulled wine and hot apple cider sweeps through the space, engulfing everyone in a sugar-coated induced holiday coma.

          Ho-Seok holds your hand, the warmth from his enrapturing yours. You feel his thumb making circles against the back of your hand, and glancing at him, you can’t help but smile. His eyes are wide, too wide, as if the larger his eyes are the more exposure he has, resulting in capturing the best memories. His mouth is mimicking his eyes, jaw slacked as he takes in the festive decorations and bustle of strangers, all smiling and happy as they engage in their own Christmas traditions. The music is soft, some version of What Christmas Means to Me, and Ho-Seok bobs his head to the beat.

          “Whoa,” He says, stopping in the middle of the space to fully take it in. “This is, incredible.”

          He moves slowly, eyes sweeping over the vendors selling mulled wine and apple cider, the stands of ornaments and Christmas trinkets, the signs pointing towards the animals and Christmas trees. The smells overwhelming his senses as he tries to locate the booth of fresh cookies and sweets.

          “Whoa,” He repeats.

          “Where should we start?” You ask.

          “Animals?” He suggests.

          “Perfect,” You can’t stop smiling, his joy radiating against yours.

          You walk through the venue, making your way quickly to the reindeer, glancing at the sign pointing you towards the full stable of nativity animals. They have a donkey, sheep, a camel, everything that would’ve welcomed the baby Jesus into the world. Squealing as you notice a baby reindeer, Ho-Seok takes a photo as you giddily pay the few dollars for a couple of carrots to feed them.

           “Do you think reindeer are better than people?” You whisper to the reindeer, all gathered to nibble the carrots you are offering. “We’re not all bad, especially him,” You jerk your head towards Ho-Seok, who is busy snapping pictures of you. “He’s pretty fucking great.”

           “Y/N! Don’t swear at the animals!” Ho-Seok scolds, slipping his hand into his pocket.

           “It was a compliment,” You wink.

           “I wonder if they’ll paint one of their noses red,” He asks, taking a carrot from you.

           “Maybe, I wonder if they have the full line up,” You say.

           “Dasher and Dancer and Donner and Blitzen!” He says full conviction in his voice.

           “Do you really know them all?” You ask, amazed he’d retained that tidbit.

           “No, they’re on that sign!” Ho-Seok guffaws.

           “You’re the worst!” You say lightly hitting him.

           “Let’s go see them, maybe someone will take our photo!” Ho-Seok pulls you along to explore the rest of the stables.

           Together you are in awe of the nativity scene, real people seated amongst the animals, a reader telling the story of the birth of Jesus. As you wander past it, you notice an arrow pointing towards Santa, and another reader is flawlessly reciting Twas the Night Before Christmas. Children and their willing parents are lined up to take a picture with Santa, his elves passing out candy canes to waiting children.

           “Did you ever take Santa photos?” HO-Seok asks.

           “No, absolutely not!” You respond, eyes wide.

           “Never?”

           “I think they tried one year with my sister, and never with me,”

           “She ruined it?” He inquires.

           “No, it’s just, weird. That’s not even,” You lower your voice, “The real Santa.”

           “Y/N, are you telling me you still believe?” He asks, shocked.

           “I’m saying that some of these kids don’t know that these Santas aren’t real, they work for Santa and do his work around the world while he’s busy planning the route and checking his list, twice,” Your voice doesn’t waver, causing Ho-Seok to wonder if you truly believe this. Your eyes are just wide enough, innocence fresh as you explain the innerworkings of Santa Claus.

           “Oh, makes sense,” He says nodding. He loved your nonsense stories, your traditions or quirks that made him scratch his head. He didn’t know people like you existed, people who still believed in the magic of the holiday season.

           “Are you thirsty?” You ask, guiding him back towards the main barn.

           “Mm, yes, and hungry,” He says.

           “I’ll get the cider; you get the cookies?”

           “Meet in the middle?” He offers. You nod, kiss him quickly and maneuver through the crowds to the vendor selling hot apple cider. You opt for the traditional beverage, though the temptation for a spiked cider is very appealing. Slowly you make your way through the extra stalls, looking at the gifts and the joy on everyone’s face. This is Christmas, the magic of giving and receiving, the bliss of spending time with family. It was all you wanted, wandering a Christmas Tree farm with someone you love, sipping cider, nibbling cookies, trying not to sing to the carols and songs playing.

           You circle through and find yourself in the middle, where Ho-Seok stood, still staring in awe at the Christmas bazaar. You exchanged your items, a cider for him, a sugar cookie for you, and began to walk through the stalls.

           “We should get something,” He suggests.

           “Like what?” You ask.

           “Something special, to commemorate this trip,”

           “Hmm, something to take out every year?” You clarify.

           “Yes, like an ornament,” He says.

           You agree, knowing full well he will never be able to decide, the temptation to buy them all and trying to find the most perfect one will overwhelm him, and he’ll leave empty handed.

           In true fashion, thirty minutes later, all stalls visited twice, drinks and cookies gone, Ho-Seok stands empty handed.

           “I don’t know why this is so hard,” He’s frustrated.

           “Babe, you knew this was going to happen,” You say softly, lips moving swiftly to kiss his.

           “I wanted to just, find something special.”

           “Maybe you’re looking too hard,” You shrug, hands moving from his shoulders to capture his hands in yours.

           “Maybe,” He says, still pouting.

           “Do you want to dance before we go?” You suggest, eyebrows wagging.

           “Dance?” He questions, no one was dancing around you, no couples were swaying to the tunes from overhead, no one holding their loved one close, absentmindedly stepping in time to the beat.

           “Yeah, listen,” You say, closing your eyes.

          Ho-Seok copies you, and faintly he hears a favorite, I’ll Be Home for Christmas. With your hands, still in his, you pull him closer to a corner speaker. He lets go first, only to place his hands on your hips, pulling you to him. Your hands around his neck, you sway, both singing lightly to the song. Your love, much like a bow on a present, ties you together. The joy of a Christmas spent together, enjoying the festivities brings out the adoration you have for one another. Even when he’s frustrated, even when you’re hopped up on sugar, like the star in the sky, you always find your way to each other.

           Two days later, a fire raging, Ho-Seok sits next to you on the couch, an arm lightly tossed behind you, drawing you into his side.

           “This is for you,” You say, untangling yourself from him and hand him a wrapped box.

           He smiles, beams, as he carefully slips off the immaculate ribbon and tears the paper. He’s careful with the weight, it’s heavy, which confuses him based on the boxes size. He looks at you, confused.

           “What is this?” He asks, opening the box and removing the tissue paper. Carefully he takes out the bulbous snow globe. His eyes are wide, words ceasing to flow from his lips. “When did you, how did you?”

           “You went to take a picture of something, right before we left, and I picked it up,” You shrug. “Do you like it?”

           “I love it,” He says, shaking the snow globe lightly, the glitter and snow swirling around the Christmas trees, mimicking the farm you’d spent an evening at just a day or two ago. On the placard at the base of the globe reads “May every wish come true”.

           “It’s perfect,” He says, still staring at the orb.

           “When you’re alone, you can shake it and be transported back here, to our time together,” You say, leaning forward to rest a cheek on his shoulder. His mind is still absorbed in the gift, the love you have for him… the love he has for you, a marvel.

           “When I’m feeling alone, I’ll have you to remind me of home,” Ho-Seok whispers to the snow globe.

           “Merry Christmas, baby.” You say, pressing a soft kiss on his cheek.

Next: Once Bitten, Twice Shy

#25 days of christmas #christmas drabbles #christmas writing challenge #merry and bright #merryandbright2020 #jung hoseok #Hoseok x reader #hoseok x you #J Hope drabbles #hobi drabbles #BTS #BTS fanfic #BTS fanfiction #thebtswritersclub #btsgoldnet #ficswithluv #bangtanarmynet

[javajournalism]

Existentialism in Six Parts

Or: Why The Fuck Are We Here?

A Philosophical Consideration of Life, Death, and The Weird Shit In Between

PART ZERO: WARNING

What follows might be a lot -- consider this a warning for all things -- hopefully duetted with occasional levity and even a positive conclusion in an attempt to brand myself with unyielding charm and biting wit. Even so, keep in mind that I did say “all things.” After all, aren’t there more things in Heaven and Earth, reader, than are dreamt of in our philosophy?

PART ONE: WHAT IS SCARIER THAN DEATH?

I feel like most people are afraid of death. Who wouldn’t be? We are all afraid that one day we will enjoy life so much that we will have something to lose.

For me, that fear is more of a dull thump in my temple.

The sharp pang in the forefront of my mind, the fear I can’t shake, is that one day I will no longer be afraid of death. One day, there will be so much that overshadows the things I have to lose that I won’t be afraid to lose them anymore.

I mean honestly, how is a creature that is able to predict its own inevitable demise even meant to exist? How can anything live an unfettered existence knowing what’s to come?

Or rather, knowing what’s to come and then not knowing what’s after that?

We can’t. We just can’t, so most of the time we keep ourselves from thinking about it in any meaningful capacity on purpose just so that we can stomach our own beating heart.

Most of the time, we build our walls up so high and so thick, plastering brick after brick so that no axe can chip at it because if we don’t, the dam will break and instead of water we’ll have waves of black ooze, existential sludge induced by our own thoughts.

Or maybe that’s just me.

PART TWO: DOES ANYONE DESERVE ANYTHING?

More than the idea of life and death, I struggle with the idea of “fairness,” by which I mean I struggle with the absence of it.

I don’t know why it’s fair that I get to live a comparably good life. I certainly earned some of the good things in my life, but I didn’t earn being born somewhere peaceful and safe, into a white, middle-class household to parents who love and support me.

I didn’t earn being generally physically healthy. In fact, anything about me that is physically unhealthy is a direct descendent of choices I have made for myself.

(See: Caffeine, nicotine, and not eating for years.)

The fact that I have the time, the resources, and the capabilities to reflect on any existential nonsense means that I practically have it made. So what did I do to deserve it?

And even though I have it, does it save me from suffering?

Nothing changes the fact that even a comparatively good life, a life misted by or drowned in privilege, necessitates the acceptance that the people we love will eventually die.

No matter how wonderful the life given to us, we will one day have to watch ourselves and everyone around us decay; one day our bodies and, maybe more importantly, our minds will scatter into a million pieces and be picked up by a world that doesn’t slow down just because we can no longer keep up with it. And even then, that is only if we’re lucky enough to live long enough to watch it happen. If we aren’t hit by a bus or dropped by an aneurism.

But, (spoiler alert!) no matter how or when it happens, we will one day lose everything.

In the meantime, our only option is to hang out and ask ourselves why.

How is that fair? Why does anyone deserve that?

PART THREE: WHY GIVE A SHIT ABOUT ANYTHING IF IT ALL GOES AWAY?

I did, at one point, consider myself a nihilist. Mostly because I was thirteen, filled with Redbull and Tumblr and puberty-granted angst and I thought it would make the cool, moody kids like me.

But now, in the I-Am-An-Adult-But-I-Still-Feel-Like-I-Know-As-Little-As-I-Did-Then stage of my life, I really think I was overcompensating. I did, at one point, consider myself a nihilist because I also did, and still do, think that most things matter. A lot. I think most things are actually really profound and special, but that’s exactly what scared me.

It’s scary to assert, in the face of a meaningless void where we are but one speck of dust in an infinitely expanding cosmos, that something might mean something to you.

It’s scary to consider the fact that one day you might never get to look at those somethings again. It’s scary to look at the trees, or the sunset, or the stars, or the love of your life, and know that you won’t have them forever even though you love them so deeply.

It’s scary, fucking terrifying in fact, to understand that eventually there will be no more anything: No more climbing into bed with clean sheets, diving into the sea, tasting the first sip of coffee in the morning, feeling wine-induced euphoria, touching or being touched, running fast, biting hard, screaming loud, laughing louder. The fear is debilitating.

How can the joy of having not be overshadowed by the fear of not having?

How can the joy of existing not be overshadowed by the burden of understanding not existing, the burden of having a weird body hanging off of you, the burden of too many emails about too many things that might not actually matter in the end?

How can we possibly keep ourselves from spiralling into a pleasure-seeking, never-finding, Dorian-Grayian husk of hedonism? Realistically, we can’t. That’s scary, too.

But it’s more complicated than that, isn’t it? There’s more left to account for.

PART FOUR: WHAT OF THIS SHITTY WORLD?

What of the melancholy, the boredom, the sadness, the blinding rage, the jealousy?

What of the, and I mean this very seriously, real evil? What of the suffering?

What of the bare hopelessness, the hunger, the sickness, the torture, the war, the entire world on fire? There are entire nations built on graveyards or things worse than graveyards. There are entire nations turning into graveyards or things worse than graveyards.

What of the people who can be monsters, who are monsters right now as we speak, who have been monsters since the dawn of man, and who will be monsters until we are all dust?

What of the universe’s indifference to those monsters?

Worse yet, what of our indifference to them?

What the fuck do we do with that?

I mean, we can write about them, read about them, recite the stories about them low and sober in the candlelight or loud from a podium, but sometimes I feel like if stopping it truly mattered to any of us, we would drop everything and do something. Anything.

But most of us don’t want to do that.

Is it selfish that most of us like our lives -- even when they are scary or confusing or plagued by fears -- and don’t want to give them up?

Is it selfish to not give them up, whether physically giving up our corporeal machinery that keeps us breathing or metaphorically giving up our time and our money that we use to try and create a more meaningful existence for ourselves?

I don’t think admitting that makes us bad people, but it probably doesn’t make us good people, either. I really think it just makes us people.

Sometimes we don’t need extra money, so we give it to someone who does. We vote. We give blood. We go out of our way to compliment people or be nice to the barista at our favorite coffee shop. We write shit like this and hope that it helps someone.

We contribute in the ways we know how, in the ways we can. We try to write new verses for poems, stitch new patches into the felt of the universe hoping to make it a little bit more beautiful, a little bit more complete. But is that ever really enough?

PART FIVE: IS THAT EVER REALLY ENOUGH?

I really think that might be. I try not to be in the business of unnecessarily miserable conclusions. Once you find yourself in the midst of them, they start to color everything with their shade of pale nothingness and they tend to bring about the idea that the more grim something sounds, the more truthful it is. Screw that.

There are terrible things in the world, so many that if you could see them all at once they would break your heart. But, fuck, we’re the only things that we know of who can hope.

Find. Create. Catalyze meaning where there might not be any.

By being overly cynical about the state of the universe, we do a disservice to the infinitesimal chance that there is so much beauty in the world that it will take your breath away.

If we, as people, create meaning and if truth is subjective, we are left with two options that are completely artificial: Either the world is beautiful and wonderful simply because it can be, or the world is a deep, hellish cesspool of suffering simply because it can be. If that’s the case, doesn’t it make more sense to hone in on the man-made truth that is quiet and, in some rare moments, truly joyful?

Maybe, just maybe, you can’t have one without the other. Maybe it isn’t a matter of choosing the “right one,” or pinning down a specific point on a map, or finding the sweet spot in the middle of the spectrum. Maybe it isn’t a spectrum at all. Maybe everything is beautiful and everything sucks, everything is order and chaos, everything is life and death.

Maybe Heaven is a prison. Does that make it any less Heaven or any less prison?

The only thing we know is this: Everything is notable and important because we make it so; because we experience it, we articulate it, and we share it; because we write showy, meandering pieces about it to publish for other students who know just as little as we do about all of the maybes.

We know intimately what it means to live, what it means to suffer, and what it means to die.

But in the midst of that cosmic sleight, isn’t there something so special about arranging the resulting turmoil for our own minds? Isn’t it so beautiful that we are even alive to think about how shitty it is to be alive?

What a gift it is to be fully aware of all this and still choose to, in our own little pockets of time and space, seek out happiness for ourselves and those around us.

PART SIX: CAN THERE REALLY BE A CONCLUSION?

While preparing a, hopefully meaningful, final monologue, I didn’t know quite what to say. There is both so much and so little to focus on. But what I keep coming back to is one idea:

Everything is going to be fine; it will not be perfect and it will be painful, but it will be fine.

“Fine” might be less of an absence of feeling than a resolution of them or it might be the most comforting lie we can tell ourselves, but it might also be the most beautiful truth we can muster. The closest thing to the middle of the spectrum that is not a spectrum.

“Fine” might just be everything and then some.

There will always be death and we will always be aware that it is looming over us like a Jenga tower about to topple. Nothing will ever be fair, but in spite of that,

everything will be fine.

[satonthelotuspier]

For Liushen week I’m going to try writing a multichaptered fic based on the following premise:

How To Catch An Aloof And Untouchable Immortal

Attempt 1 - Wine and Confessions?

A night of (possible) drunk sex and (possible) alcohol induced confessions (honestly, Liu Qingge really can't remember), lead to Shen Qingqiu leaving Cang Qiong to avoid the War God of Bai Zhan Peak for a while. But Liu Qingge really wants to talk to him, to find out what happened, and what he may have said with a loosened tongue. Not because he likes Shen Qingqiu of course, just out of curiousity!

Or, six times Shen Qingqiu manages to avoid a discussion about what happened between them, and one time he doesn't.

[Each day will be an event where Liu Qingge tries to pin Shen Qingqiu down for an awkward chat - with an eventual happy ending]

There was a thunderous pounding in his head as Liu Qingge woke from sleep that morning. It was indicative that he had drunk too much last night, and he had to throw an arm across his eyes, to stop the morning sun, currently filtering into his residence on the Bai Zhan peak, from making his head explode.

He rolled over onto his side, and considered his horrendous life choices for a while, promised he’d never touch a drop of wine again, and made sure a headache was all he’d have to deal with if he emerged from bed, before throwing back the covers and sitting up.

He nearly cried out, his back ached, his hips hurt, and he felt slightly discomforted…there… as he settled. What had happened last night?

Gods above, his skull felt like it was going to break apart.

He only just stopped the snarl from leaving his lips as the door was thrown open and his meimei walked in. Her veil fluttered in the breeze that followed her through the doorway, and she carried a tray, complete with a light breakfast, a vial of pills and had a jug of water.

She tried to hide her smirk, thinking her veil would disguise her expression, but he knew her far to well to not read it in her dark eyes.

“What?” he barked, but Liu Mingyan took her revenge immediately by placing the tray down on the table with a loud clatter, that reverberated through Liu Qingge’s head.

He almost moaned aloud and clutched at his head again.

Her eyes, full of humour and teasing, said she knew.

“Are these pills from Mu Qingfang?” he chose to ignore her expression, and she nodded.

“Shifu sent me to collect some tinctures from Mu-shishu this morning. I met Shen-shibo on his way to Qian Cao Peak; he looked distinctly the worse for wear. He said you might need these for the morning after, too.”

At her words Liu Qingge’s head snapped up. “He looked ill? Injured? Sick?”

Her eyes shone with amusement, “He looked hung over, much like you, dear brother,” she moved back towards the doorway, her intent to leave him to his misery. “Did you drink with Shen-shibo last night? I do hope you aren’t doing anything to get in the way of my one true pair,” she was about to flounce out, when he yelled at her.

“What does that mean, even?”

“Shang-shibo told me about them, it’s a couple you ship.”

At Liu Qingge’s continuing blank gaze she elaborated, “A couple you want to be together.  Like Luo-shixiong and Shen-shibo.”

He felt his temper flare, “How do you dare to bring up that little beast in my hearing…”

“I don’t know why you’re so bitter at Luo-shixiong all the time, brother, he helped us save Cang Qiong Peak from Tianlang-jun’s invasion.”

He grunted, and shifted again, stopping the wince as everything from his knees up protested.

“He isn’t even your shixiong anymore!”

“Shen-shibo said he never stopped him being a disciple. It’s like you think he’s trying to steal your husband, except everyone knows you’re awful to Shen-shibo,” she said, and Liu Qingge missed the calculating look in her eyes.

“What nonsense are you speaking? Do you not have things to do? Training to attend to? I saw your sword practice last week, you’re still leaving yourself open to attacks from the  left, why don’t you go and work on that?”

“You’re not my Shifu, brother, mind that band of thugs you call disciples before you worry about me.” With that she stomped off, and left him to blessed silence, where he lowered his head into his hands to try and stop it spinning.

How could his own sister, his own blood, keep throwing that wild little demon brat in his face like that?

The thought of Luo Binghe together with Shen Qingqiu made his rage boil up.

It wasn’t that he wanted Shen Qingqiu for himself, he just didn’t want Luo Binghe to hurt his shixiong, he told himself. He had already suffered much for and at the hands of the heavenly demon prince.

He sighed, and reached for the vial of pills, which sent a pain shooting up his spine.

Why was his back aching so much, and why did he feel so tender? Had he fallen over while deep in his cups last night?

He poured water and took some, hoping to be in a state to check on the disciples at the training field, and “train” them, to release some of his tension and anger.

Wait, Liu Mingyan had said something about he and Shen Qingqiu drinking together.

He considered last night carefully, and he did seem to have some vague recollection of them sitting beside each other at the feast on Qiong Ding Peak last night. Shen Qingqiu had been his usual aloof, untouchable self, pale jade fan open and waving slowly, hypnotically, in front of his face.

He was so pretentious…

But the way the fan covering half his face drew attention to those dark eyes, always holding a look that said he knew something the rest of them didn’t, and those finely arched brows always slightly raised in amusement.

Liu Qingge shook his head, and rose to find his boots, but his toes hit something that had been on the floor just under the bed frame. He sank to his knees, to peer under the bed, and retrieve the item.

It was the fan he had remembrance of Shen Qingqiu holding the previous evening.

He dropped it like it had suddenly developed fangs as dread rose in his chest.

What had he done last night? What had his mouth, controlled by alcohol, and with a disastrously lowered defence, dared to speak?

Had he allowed Shen Qingqiu to do...that...to him? Why couldn’t he remember?

But Liu Qingge didn’t feel any different. Was a person meant to feel different after losing their virginity? Wasn’t it supposed to be like some kind of magic?

Why couldn’t he remember what had happened?

Should he find Shen Qingqiu, and ask?

No, that was the worst thing he could do.

He was the War God of Bai Zhan Peak, he wasn’t meant to fear anything, yet the thought of meeting Shen Qingqiu at this moment, terrified him. He considered the chances of being able to avoid the other for the next...forever…

Really, they weren’t that good.

And the uncertainty was aggravating.

He had to speak to Shen Qingqiu, and find out what had happened. And if what he thought had happened, had indeed happened, they needed to discuss it, no matter how distasteful he found the idea.

Liu Qingge was about to dress and leave for Qing Jing Peak when he realised how strongly he probably still smelled of wine, so he ordered bathwater, cleaned up, and put on fresh robes.

That they happened to be one of his best pairs meant absolutely nothing at all.

He stepped outside, and almost ran directly into Yue Qingyuan, Peak Lord of Qiong Ding Peak and Sect Leader of the Cang Qiong Sect.

“Zhangmen-shixiong,” Liu Qingge gave his respects.

“Liu-shidi, have I come at a bad time?” Yue Qingyuan asked pleasantly.

“I was just about to go to Qing Jing Peak, but it can wait,” he was entirely surprised to find out he didn’t mean the words, however, he wanted nothing more than to ignore his sect leader and find Shen Qingqiu immediately.

“Ah, then I won’t keep you, Liu-shidi, I merely wanted to relay some complaints. About your disciples. Again. Perhaps you can speak to them, and ask them to...tone down their exuberance?”

Yue Qingyuan was, as ever, very diplomatic, but his meaning was clear. Sort out that band of thugs, as Liu Mingyan had referred to them.

“This lowly disciple will ensure there are no more complaints, Zhangmen-shixiong,” Liu Qingge assured him, and Yue Qingyuan winced. He was an intelligent man, and hadn’t missed Liu Qingge’s phrasing.

He coughed, however, and left the matter.

“I assume Shen-shidi has asked you to keep an eye on things over on Qing Jing for him while he visits Luo Binghe in the demon realm?”

The words were like a physical blow to Liu Qingge. Shen Qingqiu had left for the demon realm?

“His decision to accept the invitation was rather sudden,” Yue Qingyuan continued, “I’ll leave you to your tasks then, Liu-shidi, good day.”

Shen Qingqiu was avoiding him. To the extent he would leave the human realm for the demon realm. So he didn’t have to speak to Liu Qingge.

#liushenweek #liushen #shen qingqiu #liu qingge #inferred drunk sex #pre-relationship #canon divergence #Shay's stuff