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#a lot of angst woof

lovelyladyabsinthewrites · 1 month

Note

Can I request ACOTAR poly bats x mate reader? Who got killed if you don't write that the reader just got injured badly? Thank you!

Injury HC (ft. poly!mates Bat Boys)

While I love me some heavy angst, I just couldn't bring myself to kill off mate reader even if its just for a hc 😭😅

Warnings: lots of mentions of blood, wounded/dying!reader, polyamorous mates, injuries, healing, angst and fluff, ft. mor, ft. amren, ft. madja, ft. wraiths

woof where to begin

it would be damn near impossible for any of them to think rationally at the sight of blood coming from you, not their beloved who should only be full of smiles and laughter

bat boys become overbearing if you even get a papercut

But this. . . this was something else entirely.

So much blood that they feel sick from the rusty smell of it that permeated the air.

You looked so small and broken; Rhys has already come up with a thousand ways to kill whoever did this to you. You were their beautiful, proud, cunning mate.

The first one to make a move toward your body would be Rhysand. Always rational under pressure as Azriel and Cassian look around in case there was an ambush by the enemy. He feels sick to his stomach the entire time he's checking your vitals. When his fingers make contact with your blood soaked head, the sticky substance felt white hot. Rhysand could wash his hands millions of times and still feel that searing sting of your blood on his skin.

When they finally get you safely to Madja, you do manage to regain some consciousness, enough to reach out and grab Azriel's hand as everyone was leaving the operating room. Its difficult to move your lips to speak but you manage to plead for Azriel to stay. His shadows always soothed you.

There's no rest for Rhysand or Cassian unfortunately.

Despite Mor and Amren's best efforts, they can't drag your other two mates away from the door.

Rhysand being constantly updated by Azriel through his thoughts and shadows

Cassian tried not to let dark possibilities into his head. They banged against the door of his mind, loud and clear. If you died. . .

"She won't die." Rhysand would tell him sharply. He couldn't lose hope. But the steady smell of your blood that refused to lessen worried Rhysand greatly.

For Azriel, he was forced to stand there at your side as Madja did her best to put you back together. He refused to look away. There was absolutely nothing he could do to help.

He furiously clenches and unclenches his hands. Angry with himself for not being enough to protect you.

In the wee hours of the morning, Mor finds Rhysand and Cassian slumped together asleep. She put a blanket around them and takes a seat to join them in awaiting news. Amren soon follows suit once she has risen from bed by worry.

Finally, Azriel emerges into the waiting room.

Cass and Rhys leap from their seats

You're alive, although incredibly weak.

Madja had to bind and fix your bones while also trying to stop your bleeding. The most important thing was that you would live with some major scarring.

For the next several months, you acquired three overbearing nurses.

Not that you were complaining.

They only allowed Madja to tend to you and that was just during your checkups. Even the Wraiths' cooking was monitored by one of the bat boys.

Azriel and Rhysand had the tenderest hands when they changed your bandages or moved you around so you wouldn't get bed sores.

When you were well enough, Cassian would carry you to the outside garden so you could enjoy the warmth of the sun personally. You'd sit on his lap with your head resting on his chest. You liked listening to him talk as your ear was pressed close to his heart.

You had to tell them to shut up a few times because of how often they would apologize to you about letting you get hurt. It wasn't their fault, you'd argue to deaf ears. This was actually motivation for you. To remedy this and prevent getting hurt this badly ever again, you'd have to train more. Get stronger so your mates wouldn't blame themselves for you getting hurt in their absence.

Rhysand may be the only one who doesn't coddle you during any kind of physical therapy. He's one for tough love. Cassian too. Poor Az is utterly helpless.

Oh, you're out of breath? Let me carry you, sweetling. Rhys and Cass being too difficult? I'll give them a talking to.

Once fully healed thanks to your bat boys, you feel stronger and better than ever.

#reader insert #reader insert fanfiction #acotar fanfic #rhys acotar #rhysand acotar #acotar #acotar series #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fandom #bat boys #azriel acotar #azriel x reader #cassian x reader #acotar cassian #rhysand fanfiction #rhysand x reader #a court of thorns and roses x reader #a court of thorns and roses fanfic #a court of thorns and roses fanfiction

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yoongleboongle · 9 months

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some yoongi fic recs because somehow a collection has come about so...

I read a lot of fics and these are just a few that I really really love!! biggest support and love to the writers :)

1. the story of us by @eleventoes

exestolovers!au, fluff, angst, 7.1k words

2. studio sex by @borathae

established relationship, smut, 6k words

3. fireside by @sailoryooons

established relationship, fluff, smut, 2.3k words

4. making it official by @beautifulfuckup99

fwbtolovers!au, smut

5. "he is at peace when he is with you" by @borathae

established relationship, vampire!yoongi, smut, fluff, 16.9k words

6. sweet spot by @cultleaderyoongi

established relationship, smut, fluff, 7.5k words

7. i woof you by @gimmesumsuga

neighbourstolovers!au, smut, fluff, 26k words

8. solace by @satnin-darling

fwbtolovers!au, smut, fluff, 13k words

9. illicit affairs by @oftenderweapons

established relationship, fluff, smut, 13.2k words

10. close your eyes, I'm your paradise by @wtf-yoongi

fluff, 942 words

11. gold by @beahae

established relationship, fluff, smut, 3.9k words

#yoongi fic recs #yoongi smut #suga smut #bts smut #bts fic rec #bts yoongi #yoongi x reader #fic rec list #yoongi fluff

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tomssexdoll · 12 days

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OKAY HERES THE SECOND ONE HOP OFF

so you and bill are in his car and got into a bad argument on the way home. it was about the party you and him just went to and how he was constantly talking to other girls. but how could he not? he’s a worldwide superstar. eventually the argument goes silent and bill speeds into an empty parking lot. “get in the fucking back” he says and you look at him with pure confusion. “did i fucking stutter? get in the back and take your panties off” WOOF WOOF WOOF and you’re wearing a dress so once you get in the back you just hike your dress up and slide off your panties. he crawls into the backseat with you and puts your legs on his shoulder. “you’re so fucking bratty. can’t just trust me anymore, huh? gotta fuck some sense into you” i came so incrjejdifiti hahhejHEHWS anyways. then ofc he fucks you and the car from the outside is SHAKING LMFAO. and he puts his hand on your neck, not to choke you but just lightly to show possessiveness 🌚🌚🌚🌚 “fuck, prinzessin, so wet f’me”

okay there stop harassing me 😡

ofc my pookie lookie dookie

jealous jealous girl

PAIRINGS: Bill 2011 x Female reader CONTENT: ANGST + SMUT SYPNOSIS: Y/N is jealous from Bill constantly talking to girls at this party, you start an argument with him while driving home and then he snaps, ordering you to the backseat A/N: hi blair WARNINGS: yelling, arguing, dom!bill, sub!reader, p in v (missionary), degrading, light choking

"You always fucking do this Bill! Always talking to other girls" I raised my voice. Me and Bill had gotten into a very heated argument, it started when Bill wouldn't get his attention off random girls at the party, forcing me to be left alone at the drinks table.

When we got into the car I instantly confronted him, and of course it exploded into the heated argument we were currently having, his jaw clenching and hands clenching on the steering wheel.

"I can't talk to my fans? I cant talk to people?" he grunted, "it's not that Bill, it's always girls you're talking to!" I sighed heavily, he was obviously not getting my point. "How is it my fault that most of my fans are women?" he yelled, slowly picking up the speed.

He wasn't wrong, how could he not be talking to other girls? He was a worldwide superstar..But it still made me fucking furious, other girls talking to him, flirting and batting their eyes, purposefully showing their cleavage, not like there was much to show.

"You are so fucking controlling!" he screamed, "controlling? CONTROLLING?" I yelled, turning to face him, "you make me fucking crazy! You always do shit like this!" he took a harsh turn, softly flinging me into the door.

"For fuck sakes slow down!" I complained, "oh shut up! Just fucking shut up!" he yelled. I just decided to leave it at that, not bothered to deal with his bullshit any longer.

Suddenly he sped into an empty parking lot, the car stopping with a loud screech. "What the fuc-" "get in the fucking back" he cut me off, staring directly at me, his eyes intimidating. I couldn't say a word, shocked to my core and utterly confused.

"Did I fucking stutter?" he snapped his fingers at me, "get in the back and take your panties off, now" he said sternly, his tone scaring me. I decided to be a brat, show him how pissed I was.

"No." I said coldly, crossing my arms. He chuckled, "no?" raising his eyebrows, "I said get in the back" he growled lowly, grabbing my arm roughly and pulling me closer to him, our faces nearly touching.

"Now" he raised his voice, I flinched and instantly obeyed, climbing into the back seat and laying back on the black leather seats. He got out of the car, walking to the other side, opening the door and climbing inside, slamming the door behind him.

He crawled to me, I was fiddling with my panties, shaky hands trying desperatly to get it off. "Let me do it, fucking hell" he grunted, tugging my panties down and exposing my wet pussy, needy for him.

"Dress up" he ordered, "o-ok.." I murmered, hiking my dress up. He grabbed my legs, harshly slinging them over his shoulder. "You're so fucking bratty, can't trust me anymore, huh?" he scoffed, dragging his pants down, his cock straining against his dark grey boxers, the ones he knows I love.

"Gotta fuck some sense into you" he growled, pulling his boxers down, his cock smacking against his abdomen. "Bill.." I whined, growing impatient, "be fucking patient or else you'll get nothing, you don't want that right?" he spat, I pouted and shook my head, "exactly..shut up and wait" he grunted.

After what felt like hours he brought his tip to my entrance, shoving it in. Usually he'd slowly push it in, let me adjust to his thick length but no, he was punishing me this time.

"Fucking slut" he grunted, thrusting in and out harshly, holding my legs as they rested on his shoulders, his cock fucking me deeply, pleasure coursing through my body.

"Mmm.." I whimpered softly, holding onto the leather seats beneath me, trying to stabilize myself from his cruel thrusts. "So fucking bratty..always teaching you lessons" he groaned, pounding his cock into my tight hole.

People from outside stared in horror as they saw the car shake violently, luckily Bill had his windows tinted. "Imagine if everyone could see how dumb I make you, how hard I fuck this pussy.." he grinned, slamming his fat cock into me, stretching me out deliciously.

"Oh fuck!" I whined as his tip abused that gummy spot in me, waves of pleasure and shock crashing in me as it hit the spot every time. I loved riling Bill up, sometimes I did it for no reason to get this reaction out of him, I loved the way he could dominate me so easily when he was mad.

Usually he was pretty gentle and I loved that but sometimes I needed a little spice. Rough, passionate sex.

"Fuck prinzessin, so wet f'me.." he groaned, throwing his head back, his cock pounding into my sopping cunt, bringing tears to my eyes. His hand moved to my neck, lightly squeezing, "takes me fucking you like this for you to fucking behave, when will you learn your lesson, huh?" he raised his voice, ramming his cock into my g spot, his tip kissing my cervix.

I whined more, desperatly holding onto the seats, trying not to fling around the car. His thrusts were powerful, passionate and full of rage, as if he wanted to destroy my pussy, teach me a lesson not to be such a raging bitch.

I felt a knot slowly form in my stomach, coiling down to my core and burning my heat. "i'm close...fuck..." I cried out, his pace quickened, hand tightening around my neck but only a little bit, not so much to the point where it hurt me, yes he was mad but he just wanted to show a little bit of possessiveness, not murder me.

"Cum for me..cum on this fucking cock" he grunted, his other free hand going to my clit, rubbing rough circles. "Oh fuck!" I whined loudly, my boobs bouncing like crazy as his thrusts became even harder, stabbing my sweet spot harshly, my cunt burning with pleasure.

"Soo good!" I moaned loudly, my whole body shuddering as I came on his cock, soft moans leaving my lips after my orgasm, he kept on fucking me hard, nearing his orgasm too.

His hand detatched from my clit, focusing on his orgasm now, I felt his cock twitch in me and decided to help, clenching my pussy around his cock tightly, a loud groan coming from him as he shot his seed into me, thick ropes of cum coating my insides.

"Holy fuck.." he panted, setting my legs down onto the seats and collapsing on top of me, stroking my hair gently. "Did so well for me..surprised you didn't act out while I fucked you" he chuckled, our chests heaving up and down on each other, "I figured I'd just shut up this time, you were already so mad" I smirked, leaning closer and kissing him softly.

After we calmed down he helped me get dressed then got dressed himself, carrying me out of the backseat and plopping me into the passanger seat, strapping me in.

He hopped into the drivers seat, resting a hand on my thigh, rubbing his thumb over the soft skin.

tags: @itsmealaiah @itsangelll @kaulitzsbabyy @ballhair @ge-billsgf @estxkios @tomkaulitzloverr @charliesgoodboy @bkaulitzlover

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diejager · 5 months

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are there any aus from other creators u like? or ones u want to write about? or do u want suggestions to check some out? cus their are loads of cools ones

Oh, absolutely!

The first that comes to mind - for the AUs I’d want to write - is @sunshine-and-moonshine Alpha!141 x Delta!reader, it has so much potential and it’s really good despite it being short ideas.

There’s also @ohbo-ohno and @ceilidho’s works on Ghoap x reader, the whole puppy play and obsession is just so delicious! I, personally, don’t think I’d be able to write the same dynamic as well as them, but I love reading about it.

As you probably know, @konigsblog, or Orla, has salivating AUs and ideas that you should absolutely check if you haven’t, especially her König and Soap stuff, it’s so amazingly filthy. I am a slut for it.

You have @sweet-as-an-angel for the DARK CONTENT like Zombie!141 or Yandere fics (there’s a lot to read and you could spend your whole day on the blog) and @tacticalanklebiter3000 simply for how crazy and funny her stories are, I would definitely recommend her thoughts and quick drabbles about hybrid or werewolf AU.

@cobwebs-in-autumn has a lot of prompts that they haven’t expanded on - as in long ass stories - but are worth the read. I even got their permission to write on one of their prompt! (Stalker!reader x Soap is lingering on my mind and won’t leave)

@gremlingottoosilly has a lot of juicy stuff, especially her Monster!König or Your Ride Will be Here Shortly, it’s a poly!141 x fem!reader.

Ah, sweet, sweet @auspicioustidings has a lot of hidden works(check her AO3, that’s where you find her hidden treasures, I’m looking at you Mhairi👀) with Ghoap x reader or them separately.

@halcyone-of-the-sea writes long stories, but they’re worth the time, varying between 3k to 15k, she recently reached 8k followers so she has an event open that I’m excited to read! I, however, am in love with Ravishing Allure, a Nikto x fem!reader soulmate AU.

If you want some good Angst, I’d recommend @peachesofteal, especially Dead Disco, a beautiful piece of Angst with enough of Fluff to make sure your heart doesn’t shatter.

@ghouljams writes a lot of AUs, like, a lot, and they’re all increasingly written and explored. Some might be short and others medium length, but they are really good.

And on the topic of drabbles and short pieces, there’s @frogchiro and her AUs, her hybrids, God of War!Ghost, or her Colonel König.

@charliemwrites is someone I recently followed and she gave me some intense brain rot with her Woof woof Johnny, Charmed Slasher GHost, childhood friend Simon and Rabid reader.

Finally there’s @placeinthemiddleofnowhere’s Reign Down on Me, it’s a handler!Ghost x wolf hybrid!reader. You should go check her out on tumblr or AO3, I enjoyed reading it.

These are all that I have on the top of my mind at the moment, there are a lot more talented writers that I haven’t named or found, but here are my subjections! I’m open to other stuff, if you have other suggestions, the more the merrier in writing, no?

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roxxie-spirt · 6 months

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Meowmeoomsoemwomewomrow Katelyn , I KNOW I SAID ID POST A MASTER POST OF SHADOWKNIGHTS BUT.. a lot happened this week just busywork woof.. so here’s a silly doodle I did of Katelyn with her kitty ears honestly this was just a random doodle because I messed up on my HC of Katelyn’s brows I like her with smaller lil angry brows but she’s super pretty and I didn’t wanna redraw them.

Just some side doodles , and my Nextgen Trevor , I mightttt do a post of my nextgens because I love them and the story i made continuing MCD

.. also I just really like my angst boy Trevor I didn’t do him justice here because my hand was cramping

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sissylittlefeather · 3 months

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How the Web Was Woven: Chapter 13

A/N: Woof. This one took me a minute. Also, it's a short bridge-type chapter, but don't worry. Next chapter will be LONG and JUICY. This is just a necessary part of the story. Please don't give up on us! ICYMI this is the soulmate/time travel AU between Elvis and a fem!reader.

Need to catch up? Here's my Masterlist.

Warnings: cussing and angst (a smut-free chapter?! Who am I?! Don't worry. It's coming soon and they will be too 😏)

Word count: ~1.9k

"Why didn't she come for me?"

******

Elvis spends the next few weeks anxiously waiting for you to show up somewhere. It's clear his mind is elsewhere. Everyone around him notices that something is off, but he won't tell anyone what's going on. He just prowls around like a caged animal, nervous and waiting for something that no one understands. He goes back to Memphis before he has to be back in Vegas in August to film his concert documentary. The only thing that gets him out of his room is Lisa Marie. Otherwise, he mopes around or stays inside.

What no one knows is he's grieving. He's pretty sure he's lost you and his son too. The pain almost overwhelms him and he has a hard time living in his real life. He finds solace in music and spends a lot of time at the piano playing a whole catalogue of new songs. His favorite, though, is a song produced by the Beatles' record label, and he eventually asks to record it later that summer. It ends up on his album for the documentary That's the Way It Is and even makes it into a rehearsal scene with him playing it on the piano and singing. For some reason, the song makes him think of you, so he sings it as often as he can.

Even though it begins to look like he's back to himself, the pain of losing you is omnipresent. He resigns himself to the fact that he will likely never see you or his son ever again. As such, he leans into the documentary and even does a photo shoot with Priscilla over Thanksgiving to try to rekindle the affection he feels for her.

But he still feels like part of his soul has gone missing. It's the same old feeling he always has when he's away from you for too long, but this time it settles in his chest and becomes a part of him. 1970 slips into 1971 and he does his best to move on. 1971 slips into 1972 and he throws himself into work and lets his relationship with Priscilla sour. She moves out and he has a hard time even caring, except that she took Lisa Marie and it just twists the dagger of having already lost one child. There are other girls, like there always have been, but they never fill the void that you leave. He has a you-shaped hole in his heart that no amount of sex or romance or even love can fill. 1972 slides by, he films Elvis on Tour, and he plays shows across the United States. He plays Vegas again and then tours again, hoping that by keeping himself busy he'll notice your absence less.

Finally, he prepares for the Aloha from Hawaii concert that will be broadcast across the world. He tries to get back into peak physical shape and does everything he can to throw himself fully into this concert. In the process, he squashes the last hope of you ever showing up again. It's been three years.

You're gone.

******

Covid hits strong in 2020 and your world gets upended. You learn to work from home, host zoom call happy hours with your friends (even though you're pregnant and can't drink), and wear a mask anytime you're in public, which isn't often. In September, you give birth (alone and in a mask) to your daughter and name her Erin Love. She's perfectly healthy and looks so much like her brother you think you've given birth to his twin. And again you weep. Elvis is missing this and you know it'll break him if he ever finds out.

2020 fades into 2021 and you still can't risk going out with a baby. Every time you start to think it might be safe, a new strain or variant shows up and the world cowers in fear again. Vegas opens, but you're terrified, both of traveling and of the possibility of sending Covid back to 1971.

So, you wait. You wait and you wait and you keep waiting until your baby is old enough and the virus seems to slow down. Still, Vegas, with its masses of people, seems too risky. Finally, in December of 2022 you have an idea. You start making plans to head to Hawaii with both kids and your mom in January of 2023. Hawaii is much more secluded and you know exactly where he will be.

When you ask your mom to come with you, she wants to know why. This is going to be a very expensive vacation and she's not sure why you need her. You sit on her couch trying to decide just how much you should tell her. Eventually, you settle on something very close to the truth.

"John is there. We haven't seen each other in three years." You look down at the ring on your finger.

"I was starting to wonder if he still existed."

"I'm not even sure he'll want to see me..." You look at the ceiling to try to stop yourself from crying, but it doesn't work and the tears come sliding down your face.

"Oh, sweetie. I'm sure he does. He loves you."

"I hope so." She pulls you into a hug.

"I will go with you. I'll watch the kids so you two can get reacquainted."

"Thank you, mom."

Once she agrees to go with you, you drop an ungodly amount of money to stay in his suite and pack up both kids to fly to the islands. You decide not to tell John Jessie why you're going, just in case it doesn't work out. He's almost 6 now and he asks about his daddy damn near everyday. Somehow, he remembers him despite the fact that it's been almost 3 years since he's seen him. Erin's too little to ask questions. She doesn't even know she has a daddy, which breaks your heart every time you think about it.

******

After a rehearsal, Elvis heads to his suite to rest. He's 100% invested in what he's doing. But out of nowhere, he thinks of you again. He hums the song he's designated as yours and goes to work changing out of his jumpsuit.

He's got the zipper all the way down when he hears a sound that makes his heart stop. There it is, the old familiar buzzing. He hasn't heard it in so long. He turns slowly, sees the portal, and practically runs through it without thinking about the fact that he has no clothes packed and is wearing a jumpsuit.

******

When Elvis comes through the portal, he stops and stares at you. He's so in shock that he doesn't know how to respond. Your mouth pops open in awe of him standing there in the American Eagle jumpsuit fully unzipped. He looks better than you could've imagined. Obviously, you've seen the footage, but it really didn't do him justice. He zips it back up and gives you a hard stare.

"It's been three fucking years, y/n."

"I know-" You don't get any further though because John Jessie comes bounding into the room. He runs to Elvis and jumps on him. He's supposed to be napping with your mom in one of the bedrooms.

"Daddy! I heard you!" Elvis grabs him and holds him tightly.

"Heyyy buddy, I missed you so much!" You can tell he's trying hard not to cry. You look nervously towards the bedroom. If your mom sees him in this jumpsuit, it'll be impossible to explain.

"Bubby, where's your grandma?"

"She's asleep." You breathe easier and John Jessie turns back to his daddy. He launches into a monologue that only a 5-year-old can follow, but Elvis sits with him on the couch and listens attentively. You stand and watch the scene and Elvis glances at you every once in a while.

After about 15 minutes, you hear Erin cry from the room where she is taking her nap. Elvis looks up at you, shocked.

"Who is that?"

"That's my sister. She's little still." John Jessie answers knowingly. Elvis's head swivels to you so fast.

"Sister?" You nod and duck out of the room to grab Erin before her crying wakes your mom up. When you come back, Elvis looks at both of you and his eyes are shiny with tears. "Is she-?"

"She's yours." He stands up and immediately takes her from you.

"What's her name?"

"Erin Love."

"Love? Like my..." He trails off and looks at her lovingly.

"Yes. Like your mother." He holds her to himself and looks up at the ceiling, trying not to cry. He pulls back and looks at her again while she babbles to him.

"Baby, do you know I'm your daddy?" She looks up at him.

"Daddy?"

"Yes!" She smiles widely and he holds her close to him again. He looks at you incredulously.

"We have another baby."

"Yes, we do." He kisses her cheek and sets her down on the floor, turning to you. His eyes burn through you and he whispers angrily.

"Where the fuck have you been?! We have a daughter?!"

"Please, Elvis, I can explain."

"You better. I'm going to spend the evening with my kids, but you better have a damn good story when they go to bed."

You nod. How will you get him to understand Covid?

******

He changes into some clothes you have for him and helps you put the kids to bed. Despite not knowing the routine, he proves to be pretty helpful. You're amazed at how well John Jessie remembers him. Your mom seems to just know she should make herself scarce through the whole evening and stays in the room. Once you get both kids in bed, you sit on the couch facing him, heart pounding and stomach in knots. He looks at you with a mixture of sadness and anger.

"Tell me why, y/n."

"There is a new virus." You desperately try to explain everything that's happened over the last three years.

"So you couldn't come to me because of a cold virus?"

"Elvis, you don't understand. This was a global pandemic. Everything was closed and people all around the world were dying. They literally shut down Las Vegas."

"I've been other places." He responds, the anger in his voice obvious.

"I know, but I couldn't risk our kids. Or the possibility of you taking this virus back to your time. I finally feel safe here in Hawaii."

"I don't know, y/n, I'm glad you're okay and I'm especially excited to see the kids. But I thought I'd lost you. I buried you in my mind."

"Did you- did you move on?" For the first time, the reality that your marriage to Elvis might be over hits you in the gut and your eyes widen. Elvis isn't sure how to answer. He has a girlfriend, and technically another wife. But he looks at you sitting in front of him and can't help but feel the connection that's bound you together for over fifteen years. He wants to be angry so badly, but really all he is is sad. Sad that he missed the first two and a half years of his daughter's life. Sad that he went so long without all of you. Sad that you almost feel like a stranger now.

You sit on the couch staring at each other waiting for his answer.

******

Come back soon for Chapter 14!

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Taglist:

@ccab @elvisfatass @elvisalltheway101 @aliypop @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @rosepresley68 @your-nanas-house @deniseinmn @joshuntildawn13 @lookingforrainbows @60svintage @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @that-hotdog @eddiesgirlforever @helen06dreamer @returntopresley @rjmartin11 @noirrose21-blog @tacozebra051 @deltafalax

#elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presley #elvis fanfic #elvis presley fic #elvis presley x reader #elvis #elvis x reader #elvis presley x y/n #elvis fic #elvis fanfiction #elvis x y/n #elvis x you #elvis presley fanfic #elvis presley x you #how the web was woven

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oklotea · 6 months

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Napoleon, Bonbon, Charlotte Artdump✨

Drew these in the middle of exams!

A lot of Augustin and Charlotte shenanigans (and angst cause WOOF THESE SIBLINGS HAVE BAGGAGE WITH ONE ANOTHER) and a few bits of sad/tired/fed up Napoleon's (as well as some bonbonparte </3)

Alrighty, have a good evening citizens

#frev #french revolution #frev community #augustin robespierre #bonbon robespierre #charlotte robespierre #napoleon bonaparte #bonbonparte #tea art 🎨#Napoleon #oklo makes a post

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miyu-d · 9 months

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Role Play [ NSFW | Angst ]

Hope you enjoy it. Please comments down your thoughts. Thank you for reading.

Warnings:- dom!reader, pet play, slapping

You and Ace were about to go to sleep in your shared bed.

"Ace..."

"Hmm?"

He stopped what he was doing and looked at you.

"What is it, my love?"

"Mmmh... I... want a dog... A puppy I mean"

"A puppy?

Are you sure you need one? We're gonna be spending a lot of time together already. A pet is just more work on our already long list, don't you think so?"

"mmh.."

"Yeah... I guess so" you pout.

He looked at you with a worried impression and let out a sigh

"So you really want a dog, huh~? Don't worry, Let's get one. Tell me what breed do you like"

"Mmm... on second thoughts, I have another idea"

He was surprised by the sudden change and got curious about what was on your mind.

"What is it, love?"

You grinned at him.

"What is it~?"

He got flustered seeing your grin. You stared at his face.

He started blushing profusely when you look at him like that

"H-Huh? What is it, love?

Is something wrong?~"

"Will... you be my dog?"

You looked at him with a serious expression.

"Wh-...Wha-..."

"Did you just say you wanted me as your dog? But-"

You put your index finger on his lips "Shh... Dogs can't talk you know."

You smirked at him.

He looked at you with a small smile on his face

"Ah, so I'm supposed to stay silent then?"

He laughed nervously.

"Alright, so we're playing this game? Then I say yes, I will be your dog, but only if it makes you happy~"

You were angry because he kept talking after your warning.

"Bad dog"

"Bad dog..?"

He looks at you with pure surprise.

"Oh, sorry sorry... "

Ace was silent for a few seconds and started mocking a bark

"Woof!"

Then he chuckled

"Do you like that way, my love?" he smiled

You were surprised when he barked like that and it made your sadistic side get wide open. You wanted to tease him more.

"I just told you not to talk, didn't I?"

You grin while you're gripping his mouth and he nodded

"Woof, woof~!?"

He looked at you and smile softly.

"Am I doing a good job, my love?~"

You wanted to keep on the play but Ace keep talking without realizing.

You sigh

"You really can't understand huh?"

You grip his mouth a little harder and slap lightly on his cheek

"dogs. can't. talk."

He finally stayed silent

but in a little moment, his face turns little red and his eyes watered. He was confuced and scared of your out of character.

He looked at you with a sad expression in his eyes

"Y/n, Can we... Stop this? Please..."

He started sobbing.

"I want to make you happy... But..."

His bottom lip started trembling.

"..."

"Love, Don't you love me anymore?~"

You released him after seeing his crying face and took a few steps back. You got shocked and you couldn't speak a word.

He wiped his tears away, trying to compose himself but he kept sobbing.

"That wasn't very nice, my love..."

He sniffed and looked up at you. Then started crying again.

Your hands started to tremble. Your eyes filled with tears. Suddenly your knees got weak and you got kneeled unconsciously. You couldn't speak a word. Or see anything clear because of the tears. You never expected him to be this sensitive.

"I-I- I'm- I'm sorry... I'm-so-sorry-I-"

He pulled you and hugged you.

"Shh, it's alright, my love. I was just so confused by your treatment..."

He let out a soft chuckle through his tears.

"You're so adorable, you know that?"

He smiled warmly at you with a chuckle

"I love you so such baby. So... Much. And I know you love me so much too"

He started stroking your hair gently, calming you down.

"There there, my love. Let's just put that aside and start with a clean start, shall we?~"

You kept crying loudly while apologizing. Ace kept stocking your hair gently as you fall asleep.

Masterlist

#one piece x reader #ace x reader #portgas d ace #portgas ace x you #Portgas d ace x s/o #Ace #Portgas d ace x reader #miyudhideposts

81 notes · View notes

under-and-over-the-moon · 2 years

Text

Lexicon | Felix

Minors DNI/DNF/Do not read!!

pairing: Felix x Reader

word count: 13.5k

genre: childhood best friends to lovers, gilded age!au, forbidden love, angst, fluff, smut

warnings: unprotected sex, oral (f recv), handjob (m recv), riding, dirty talk, implication that the pullout method works (it does not!), hurt/comfort, both are virgins, so sex is a lil clunky, afab reader, mention of periods, historical inaccuracies/general historical bootleggery, i basically watched one ep of ‘the gilded age’ and ran with the vibes, historical misogyny, alcohol mentioned, Felix gets slightly buzzed at one point, cheating (in an arranged marriage scenario), lots of poor choices, lots of angst

A/N: the real title of this is Lixicon but I stopped myself 😅 This is my entry into the global childhood bf2l felix headcanon, and WOOF was this a struggle to write

All characters are adults at all times in this fic.

Feedback is always appreciated!! 😊

~~~

[ I ]

“Tell me a story.”

“Which one?”

“One about you,” you reply.

The phone crackles, sputtering against your ears, brass in your palm. A new toy, for a new age. Of course you had to try it first with Felix, just as you do with everything else.

“You already know all my stories,” he replies.

“Not today’s,” you counter.

He chuckles low, the vibrations mixing with the static.

“No, not today’s,” he admits.

And so he offers you a story that he will forget and would never expect you to remember: He waited in line for cloth for his mother, talked to Mrs. Cho. She mentioned she has a daughter, now twenty. Probably a subtle hint at a marriage prospect. He spoke to the builders about where he could buy new roof tile after a few slipped off in the last storm. It’s a banal tale, by any standard.

But as always, you listen, and then, as always, he asks you to return the favor.

You had spent the morning organizing your father’s library, and so you describe: the leather book covers, tacky from the humidity, their scent somewhere between sickeningly musty and comfortingly familiar. The heavy velvet curtains, always slumping to the side no matter how many times you tried to adjust them. Another issue with your home’s foundation, probably.

How you had spent the morning arranging and rearranging the books, by size, then by color, then by size again. You thought it would look like a rainbow by color, but there were too many browns. It just looked as musty as it smelled.

You then jump to other parts of your home, pointing out what still needs attention. The fireplace covered in soot. The paint, peeling. The steps, crumbling. Did you already mentions the paint? Oh yes, you did.

The words tumble freely from you, unlinked, in sentences that sometimes are clipped, left unfinished as you veer to a different path. You have no goal, no finish line – you simply explore the space in your mind, holding his hand as you wander, down every trail, through the rivers of thought, the ocean of your mind. He lets the current carry him, closing his eyes and sinking into the gentle wash of your voice as you ramble. He feels little again, as young as when you first met, but it doesn’t feel infantilizing – it just feels good, safe, to be swaddled warm in your words.

“Oh, did you hear about that thing?” you ask, startling him from his daze.

“What thing?” he asks. You have already told him about every thing – he needs clarification.

“The industrialists that are arriving tomorrow, to construct the railroad outside town. They’re moving into the estate out the end of the road, the one that overlooks the sea.”

“Oh the ugly one?” Felix asks. “You would think with all that money…”

This time your chuckle is the one that mixes with the static.

“Right?”

And then things devolve – or evolve, he never knows which – and you are talking about the homes in the city, if there is a correlation between construction time and ultimate ugliness, which houses need repairs the most (both of yours, you agree), the new mayor’s plan for road repairs, the mayor’s new mustache, the mayor’s hat, the optimal height for a hat.

“Oh!” you exclaim, “I gotta go help with dinner! It’s so late, didn’t realize.”

He didn’t either – the sky is dark, his room now painted in shadows and moonlight and the flickers of a lantern from the hall. He holds his hand out to see its silhouette against the wooden floor.

“Night, Lix,” you say, “See you tomorrow?”

“Yes, as always.”

And then there’s a click as the connection is cut, and he is cooled by the silence.

~~~

Waiting at the end of the road the next day, you identify Felix by the feeling of a hand, brushing gently from your waist to your hip.

When you were children he used to run up behind you, his chest bouncing against your back, his arms stopping your momentum, holding you to him. He would squeeze you tight, burrow into your shoulder, say your name. Excited. You could see the exclamation point in your head.

But now you were older, and propriety stood between you, pushing his chest back, prying his elbows away. So you settled for this – it still leads to a raised eyebrow here and there, but the movement is so fast that it could just be an accident. And you needed something, or perhaps, it was the you knew that he did. When he was little and had the gift of assumed innocence, he had always wanted to touch, to hold, to nestle into what was comforting and familiar.

“Am I late?” he whispers, dropping his hand to step out from behind you, stopping at your side. He quickly throws glances along the squat gray buildings that line the street before following the trail of the cable car tracks up the hill to the horizon.

“No,” you said, gesturing to the empty road, baked dry by the sun but with the dust still settled, “No sign of anyone yet.”

But eventually it appears – a tiny prick of black that transforms into a carriage as it approaches, the dust a fluttering veil behind it. The horses come to a halt, the doors are pushed open, and four figures exit.

At first all you see are plumed hats, voluminous skirts, glossy fabrics – new fashions peeled straight from freshly-printed magazines, dyed in their still-drying ink. Styles that had never before bothered to make the trip to your sleepy town dusted gray with half-dead history. These people are the future, will be your future.

After a few moment your eyes adjust to the sartorial dazzle, and you begin to inspect: first, the older couple, distinguished, hair streaked gray, each pleat of their clothes perfectly pressed despite the long journey. And then there is a younger man – short, with a playful grin. He’s dapper, his clothes all sharp lines, but you can see the way his biceps strain at the shoulders. Boyish and manly all at once.

And then a woman, beautiful. Her hair is arranged artfully on top of her heard, hands delicately sheathed in white silk. She adjust her skirts and then turns to survey the crowd, her eyes sweeping across the crescent in front of her. And then she stops, a smile pulling at her lips.

You follow her gaze. She is looking at Felix. And he is smiling back.

~~~

The newcomers give hasty greetings before excusing themselves politely, saying they wish they could stay longer, but there is simply too much to unpack. They gesture to the carriages that pile up behind them, laden with trunks and suitcases.

As soon as they leave, riding uphill to their new home, the townspeople quickly descend on Mrs. Cho’s parlor, buzzing like a swarm of bees. The rest of the afternoon passes in a swirl of whispers and gossip that settles on your skin, making it itch, your initial wonder tightening into fact as you listen and try to figure out how these people will fit into your tiny town, your little world.

You come to know that the Parks – Jinyoung and Junghwa, and their children, Changbin and Dahyun – have been looking for the perfect place to expand their rail line and had settled on your town. It is underdeveloped, but well-located between the two major cities. The family will stay here during the construction, which should take a few years, but once the summer concludes Changbin will return to the city to handle business there.

But of course, the technological advancements that will reshape your town are ultimately of little interest when both children, it is whispered, are unmarried. Mothers brush dirt from theirs daughters’ skirts, correct the posture of their sons. You wonder if the newcomers can already smell the scent of plotting — too sweet, cloying, like berries left in the sun, at the edge of rotting.

And below the murmur of information is Felix’s voice, sputtering fast, the low rumble of his tone shaking your core.

“She’s so beautiful isn’t she?”

“She was smiling at me, right?”

“Did I imagine that?”

“Do you think she would marry someone from here?”

“Would she marry someone without money?”

“She must have enough of her own, right?”

His questions make your head pound, but you don’t blame him for asking you so many. These are just thoughts, equal to any of his others. So why wouldn’t he share these too?

“Do you think I would make a good husband for her?”

He looks to you expectantly, but you find yourself with no ready response to give, your mind just filled a nameless fog that pushes at your temples. So you pull the words from conversations you’ve heard, books you’ve read, pasting together a response that isn’t your own. The likeness of an enthusiasm that you can’t quite kindle in your own core.

“Yes, she would be lucky to have you as a husband, Lix.”

But, distracted, he doesn’t notice that anything is off. His head is turned towards the house on the hill, behind which the sun is just beginning to set over the sea.

~~~

Once the sun dips below the horizon, the townspeople begin to take their leave, thanking Mrs. Cho as they down their last cup of teas, adjusting their shawls around their shoulders as they step through the doors.

Felix accompanies you home as usual – he evolved from companion to chaperone naturally when you came of age, the role a change only in name. Your parents had never been concerned that Felix himself is a virile, unmarried man, exactly like those he is to protect you from – they see you still as the children you once were, not the scandal you could be. A temporary exception, a convenient blindness caused by nostalgia and familiarity, to be wiped away as soon as you are given to another man.

But, for now, your mother is glad to hand him this responsibility – without the servants that should inhabit the role, it would fall to her. Felix’s presence allows her to play at inhabiting a glorious past she didn’t quite inherit, lunching with other noble ladies and visiting the shops instead of guarding her daughter.

Felix is still rambling about Dahyun as you walk beneath the newly-installed string of streetlights, a gift from Dahyun’s family, as you had just learned at the parlor. Your eyes hurt under the glare, and you are relieved when you pass the city limits, the twinkly of electricity fading only to moonlight.

The path to both of your estates is unkempt, the dried grasses poking through stones, the whitewashed walls peeling where they aren’t yet crumbling. The tiles that once formed neat fish scales along the path lay on the ground, shattered.

You sigh when you imagine how things would have been if you had been born a century ago, when the gods were of blood, not steel. The palanquins, flocked by servants, that would have carried you down the pristinely manicured streets. The walls, freshly painted. The stones between your feet uncracked, fitting perfectly with one another.

You glance over to Felix, still lost in his own world. He would have been your husband, you know. Noble name for noble name, your fortunes joined under one roof.

But with no fortune left, there is nothing to share but your afternoons, your youthful daydreams, whatever words are fluttering through your minds.

But even these, you know, are finite. Your own body is the hourglass, each moment a grain of sand that had fallen down, filling out your hips, your bust. Now a woman, you are overdue, past time, only a few grains left to fall before everything is set. Before you move on, away, to a new cloistered life, that of course, could never include him – wives don’t speak freely with men who aren’t their husbands.

At first you had resented how your body had rushed you forward, the first sign of red marking the end of your carefree days. How time didn’t seem to claw at Felix in the same way – while you were learning about your wifely duties, the horrors of childbirth, the tight confines of a future where all of your choices are given away, he was still allowed to be young and untethered, not thinking past tomorrow. You resented him but then – he would smile at you in that way he always did, all genuine sunshine, bubbling with whatever his current obsession was, and you couldn’t be angry.

So you had decided these would be the only thoughts you would hold back, the only worries you wouldn’t share. You knew at some level he must know you stood at the edge of change, but you also knew he didn’t feel the full weight of it yet. That he thought, in his foolish youth, that he would be an exception to the inevitability of time. He would come to know the freedom between you was limited, too, at his own pace.

Perhaps your choice would protect him from this ache you now felt – maybe he would be far enough down his own path, immersed in a new life, before he ever thought to look back, before he registered a loss. By then, you hoped and feared, you would be nothing more than a fond memory. Nothing that tugged at his present, at anything still tender.

In this moment, you are simply glad that Felix is wrapped up safe in his dreams of Dahyun. A childish fantasy based on almost nothing and yet – she already is a more likely participant in his future than you would ever be. Maybe a soft place to land, a distraction, during the months that you knew were coming.

Felix then turns to you, his eyes alight as he asks you for your opinion on Dahyun’s parents, and your heart swells to aching. You are grateful in this moment that he is still asking for it, and you are still there to give it. To talk him through his new feelings, walk him through what he is only now discovering, before he disappears from view.

There is still time, you tell yourself. Not much, maybe, but still – you have time.

~~~

The next day you are out in the kitchen when you hear the phone ring.

You rush to the library, holding it to your ear. Felix’s voice.

“Can I come over?” he asks, breathless, “For the garden?”

The two of you had always loved spending time in your family’s garden – it was lush and sprawling with blooms of every color, shaded by willows, a personal fantasy land for your imagination to roam. When you were small, you would spend hours rolling around in the beds and climbing the trees until your mother had yelled at you, gesturing to your sullied clothes. But soon enough you reached the age where you ache for responsibility, still too young to know the terrifying permanency of it once it arrives, its never-ending hunger, and so you had taken it on yourself to weed and plant and water together.

You had quickly found that you loved it. To plant seeds together, nurse them until they were flowers, protect them from harm. You and Felix would look at your garden in pride, a perfect little corner of the earth you had tended together.

Your mother had thought it was cute – until you had become a woman. Then it was unbecoming, shameful. But by that point there were no funds to pay for a gardener, so shame was an inevitability – your mother only got to choose the type.

So the two of you had tacitly come to an agreement – you could continue, but only when she wasn’t there, only when she could pretend she didn’t know, since she hadn’t technically seen.

So you look quickly, left and right, before calling out for your mother. There is only silence.

“Yes, my mother’s out,” you respond.

“Perfect,” he replies, “And I- “

He pauses. It’s unlike him to stop, to leave something unsaid.

“Yes?” you prod.

“I – “ he said, “Nevermind, it can wait.”

You know this isn’t true – he means it has to wait. Whatever it is, it’s weighty enough that he doesn’t think it’s fair to tell you over the phone. He has to tell you in person.

You swallow hard. A panic bubbles up in you, forming around a new emptiness.

“Okay,” you say, “See you soon, Lix.”

There��s a click, and you gather your skirts to head towards the garden, your stomach swirling.

~~~

Felix arrives a few minutes later with hair mussed, the sleeves of his linen shirt rolled up to reveal where his veins pop against his new muscles, freckles lit up by the sun. Your favorite form of him.

He is smiling as always, but there’s a little extra spark of something behind his eyes. He is bursting with it, rushing forward so that you’re close enough to hear, close enough for him to finally release.

And when he does, his words come in a sputter, jumbled and marked with nervous laughter bubbling up from the place between embarrassment and elation.

Dahyun’s father had called, he reveals, to his family estate. She has taken an interest in him, wants to start a courtship. He can’t believe it, that she would want to be with someone like him who had nothing more than history to offer, now more footnote at the bottom of a weathered page than a true legacy.

“Do you think she just wants a noble name?” he asked biting his, lip, brows knit, “That must be it. Her parents probably told her it’s a good idea, to confer legitimacy to the new money. They probably know about our situation, that we need the funds, thought it would be a mutually beneficial exchange kind of thing, like business—”

You hold up a single finger, placing it to his lips. His eyes widen, taken aback for a moment. You don’t usually touch him.

You don’t know Dahyun, but you know that isn’t it. Part of it maybe – no love is ever fully unsullied by the realities of society – but not all of it, not the core of it. Looking at him now, illuminated in the sun – it couldn’t be just that.

“She doesn’t just like you for that,” you insist, letting your finger fall, his eyes following it before he looks back up at your eyes, “I saw the way she looked at you that day. That wasn’t business.”

You turn away for a moment, crouching among the zinnias, pulling at the weeds.

“And so what if it happens to be mutually beneficial?” you continue, “Sounds ideal to me. A perfect match.”

You turn back, pulling your expression into a smile before meeting his eyes. He’s beaming.

“So are you going to help me here?” you tease, yanking out another fistful of crabgrass, “Or just stand there lovestruck?”

“Helping!” he says, rushing to crouch beside you, “How much time do you think we have?”

“I think she went to call on Mrs. Banks,” you say, “So maybe two hours? We can weed this section, at least.”

He bumps his knee against yours, and you get to work.

~~~

You move swiftly for the rest of the afternoon, tossing dandelions and bindweed into the wheelbarrow behind you.

The whole time, Felix talks, and you listen. He walks you through his future as he builds it in his mind, tearing down the scaffolding and rebuilding in real time. He’ll live here, but he would probably visit the city often. Or perhaps they would spend summers here, winters in the city, where the furnaces were no doubt stronger, where there wasn’t a chill from the sea. He wonders how many children she wants, how she would want to raise them.

You give him the space to ramble, as he always has with you. And honestly, you are relieved for it – the pressure in your head has returned. It is easier to just listen.

When the sun begins to set you know it’s time to hide the evidence, if you want to uphold the charade. You know you mother is on her way home.

“I think that’s probably good for today,” you say, “Don’t want to cut it too close.”

He nods, dropping his rake, wiping sweat from his brow. You take a deep breath.

“…So when are you seeing her, then?”

“Tomorrow,” he confirms, “Tea at Mrs. Cho’s, I think. Many eyes, you know, to keep it proper. To make sure I’m not doing anything untoward.”

You nod. You know too well the limits that begin to descend as soon as courting begins.

Felix helps you empty the wheelbarrow over the lowest wall, the one that has crumbled the most, and brushes the dirt from his clothes before moving towards the gate. You follow him, to see him out as you always do.

“I’ll call you after,” he says, “To tell you how it went.”

He pauses for a moment, and then reaches out to place his hand on your waist. The touch is more of a grip than usual, sliding rather than brushing its way to your hip. You place your hand briefly on his, but pull it away before the moment is fully solid, while the touch is more possibility than true contact.

“Good luck,” you breathe, “She’ll love you, I’m sure.”

He doesn’t need the wishes, you know – she will love him.

~~~

Felix doesn’t call you after, but, still, you know you were right.

You see them hand in hand, walking down the street. Sitting on street corners, taking afternoon tea. Always smiling, always laughing. The way her gloved hand inches towards his, and his bare one towards hers. You can see the ache in the space between them.

His parents call on yours early on, and you lurk in the shadows, watching the garish display. They glow with self-satisfaction, seeing now how your families’ futures will now split. They speak in terms of joy for their son, but you know at the core is a boastful, haughty thing. With the dowry, your ancient sprawling estate is the only one that will continue to yield solely leaky funds and sagging roofs. You notice how your parents wince at their happiness.

The next day they ask you – won’t you consider a suitor? It is past time, can’t wait too long, or the best options will be gone.

You make a flimsy excuses before escaping out of the room, down the hall, to your garden. You watch the dandelion seeds float in the wind, snow in summer.

You will wait, a little more. Just a little bit. The rules are different for Felix than they would be for you – he can call on you, visit, without a second thought, if he wants. It’s a choice he fully has, as long as you have no husband to stop him. He’s just busy, wrapped up in his new love right now, you tell yourself, but there will be more time. Because you will make more time.

The days roll into a week, then two. You try not to feel too disappointed, too hurt that he doesn’t feel the need to share his new life with you. You store up all the things you want to tell him, all the questions you have, all the little observations that would immediately have flowed to him before. You carry them carefully as you walk through your life, like a too-full teacup, your hand always positioned to catch a spill. But still, even with your best efforts, you start to overflow, leaving drops on the floor as the days pass. You forgot the little things before they ever can reach his ears, accumulating until they’ve pooled into important things, the kind that’s impossible to recount in their entirety at once. That can only be told honestly in pieces, broken into their smallest components, each easy enough to say to construct the harder whole.

It scares you, to have thoughts lost before he can hold them too. The idea that your life now is only yours, that it doesn’t flow, naturally, to him too.

You keep yourself busy, cleaning up the soot, repainting, trying to keep up with the gardening by yourself. Each day you wake up at dawn with an unearned hope that today he will call, today he will want to talk as much as you do, that he feels this same pressure as you do, the need to pour his thoughts into you, the thirst to receive yours in return. But the hope of your mornings is always extinguished in the silence of afternoon, the emptiness of evening.

This is for the best, you tell yourself. This is what you wanted – to have him move swiftly into the fullness of a new life, one big enough to fill up the emptiness of your separation. But still, in the deepest corner of you, you, again, resent it. That he doesn’t need you, that you are pushing your own future forward to make space for whatever few sentences he still want to give you. It’s embarrassing, pathetic. And you resent yourself for that, and then him, again, for making yourself, the only friend you now have, impossible company.

But above all the bitterness, you just miss him. It is simple and raw, with no harsh edges, even when your mind bites at the memory of him out of spite and hurt. It never bites too hard – what you have left of him is precious.

As the weeks roll into a month, you find your resolve fading, the selfishness taking advantage of your exhaustion. You know you should let him be to move on happily alone, but still – you find your hands hovering over the phone. You take detours to his house, hoping to run into him, or at least hear a snippet of his voice. But you never do.

You call, finally, on the day that the dahlias that you planted together bloom. The had thrived unexpectedly, even squished among the weeds that had grown up their sides. You hadn’t been able to keep up with the garden alone.

“Oh, he’s out with Dahyun and her family,” his mother says, “So smitten, that one. Try calling again later dear?”

So you do. A second time.

Your mother asks you about a boy who lives up the hill, whose family owns a tannery. A good trade, and a kind boy, she hears. You say he isn’t for you.

A third time.

Or perhaps the heir to the local shipping company? Sturdy man, well-built, she says. You’d like that, right? No, you reply.

A fourth time. Felix is always busy.

But still you tell yourself, in an endless loop: there is still time, there is still time, there is still time…

~~~

A letter arrives in the mail, the ink still fresh, the envelope gilded in gold.

“I think you’ll want to see this,” your mother says.

Your heart starts pounding, but you take it from her, rip it open.

Please join us in celebrating the engagement of Felix Lee and Dahyun Park…

You drop it to the floor, retracting your hand fast. You still feel the aftershock of the burn in your hand, throbbing, as you spit out the expected celebratory remarks before retreating to your room, throwing yourself on your bed.

You take a few slow deep breaths. You don’t know how you feel – it’s almost anger but not quite. It’s heavier, with less fire, but still, it sears.

You can’t identify it with any word you know so you decide – it must be joy. Your plan worked, after all – you got what you wanted. Felix is in safe hands, soon to be in the arms of someone he adores, who loves him too. A smooth, painless transition into adulthood.

Over the next few days, you focus on the practicalities of the preparations, finding comfort in the solidness of the objects. You select pearls and diamonds from your collection, heirlooms from a century ago. You think first that you will wear the yellow dress you bought recently – it’s bright and new and sunny, reminding you of him – but you always go back to the green gown at the back of your closet. It’s of the old style, but it’s pretty, the emerald of the cloth scattering light. It feels right, but you can’t explain why.

The night of the party you sit in front of your mirror, your heart thumping against your chest as you tack the pearls to your ears, hang the diamonds from your neck. You are still jumbled, but you can identify at least one emotion among the mess inside you – excitement.

You are excited that you will see him, celebrate with him, talk to him. It’s appropriate, natural, that you would, to wish your childhood best friend all the best in his next chapter. Even if it’s just a few sentences, it will be enough for you. A final paragraph, at least, a conclusion to mark the end of your youth. Some kind of closure. It still counts as time.

And you still hold out hope, that once Felix settles into his new life, into his new emotions, there might even be more time. A few months, maybe, before you enter your own engagement and are forced to close the book for good, when you could still speak with him somewhat freely. An epilogue, perhaps.

As you adjust your dress, you try to gather the most important drops of memory from the last month from the sea that now swells inside you, waves breaking against the inside of your skin. It seems impossible to select just a few questions, a few moments to scoop up. But you do.

You flatten the green cloth one final time against your lap before taking a deep breath and rising to stand.

~~~

You gasp as soon as you enter the Park Estate.

The plainness of the exterior that Felix had poked fun at weeks ago gives way to a great hall rises in columns of white marble, intricate moldings etched around each support and each window, which reveal a stunning view of the bay at sunset. A crystal chandelier hangs above you, powered, of course, by electricity, scattering light against the brass banisters that rise along the spiral stairs. They sweep up from the floor, to a terrace above where guests mingle. Trees, brought in from the tropics, hang over your head. You wonder how long they will survive in this climate.

It is better than anything you could have hoped for him. Leaps and bounds better than your low, sagging ceilings, his cracked windows.

And then you hear a low voice, as if from a dream, and you turn your head to see Felix. The rest of your breath leaves you in a quick burst, and when you try to draw a new inhale, you find the room suddenly emptied of air.

He still wears the smile you remember, and perhaps a few extra freckles over the bridge of his nose. The mussed hair from the last time you saw him has been slicked back, parted. He is a man now, fully. But still, he is himself.

And then there is Dahyun to his left, dripping a dress of cobalt, the latest fashion from Paris. You see the way his gaze darts to her as she speaks, bouncing between her eyes to her lips. And then you see – his hand in hers, rubbing gently at the cloth at her palm.

You turn away quickly, grabbing a glass of wine.

You are patient the rest of the night, watching from afar as Felix smiles and laughs at the gaggle of well-wishers perpetually swarming him. You watch a surprise serenade by Dahyun’s father, in celebration of the union. You chat with the townspeople, your parents, Dahyun’s parents. And then finally Changbin, who tells you of his life in the city. You only half-listen, but it helps pass the time.

As the light of the moon begins to mix with that of the chandelier, the room begins to clear as the party-goers bid the happy couple good night. Dahyun follows a few guests out – family that had traveled far, you assume.

And then Felix is alone, finally. You step forward, calling his name.

His head snaps to you, and a smile spreads across his face, warm and genuine. You feel like you’ll overflow, but for the first time in weeks, it doesn’t feel uncomfortable – it just feels like your past merging finally with your present, your heart stretching to make space for both.

You begin to talk before you can think, the moments and questions pouring out in a jumble despite all your planning, all the preparation for this exchange.

And then you see Felix’s eyes dart behind you, and you stop talking, turning to follow his gaze. Dahyun has re-entered the room. She stands patiently at the doorway, hands clasped in front of her, smiling sweetly at her betrothed.

“Sorry, I have to go but – ” mutters Felix without a glance back towards you, already taking a step forward, “I’ll call you later though, okay? I promise.”

And so he strides past you, and you turn to watch as he reaches out his hand. Dahyun grasps it, beaming.

Something knots itself inside you and you know – no matter hard you pick at it, try to pull, it will never come undone. But, still, it doesn’t fully choke your hope. You go home and wait for his call. You hear its ghost it in the whistling of the kettle, the sizzle of the pan.

But only a different call comes. You finally answer.

~~~

[ II ]

The following day, Dahyun and Felix board a carriage, travel for hours across empty land, before stepping out onto a busy street. It is swarmed with carriages and horses and parasols, the screech of horns and whistles.

They are visiting the city for few weeks so that she can introduce him to the world she comes from, and so, in the following days she grasps his hand and leads him: up the stairs into her massive manor in the heart of the city, to the most expensive box at the opera, through parties of the elite, full of dignitaries and captains of industry, through department stores and art galleries, always flanked by her aunts and cousins and family business partners. She holds his hand the whole time, down all the paths that have suddenly unfurled before him from the place there their bodies join. The world has never seemed so big, so infinitely accessible. An endless array of new places for him to explore.

Tonight, he follows her down the grand staircase in her home, attending a party hosted by her grandparents. It is ostensibly just a mechanical function of this circle’s strict social calendar, a requirement of high society, but when he sees her grandparents beam when they catch Dahyun’s gaze on him, he knows it is more – it’s a welcome, a celebration of them.

As Dahyun reaches the bottom of the flight she looks back to smile at Felix, and his heart tumbles. He can’t believe, still, that Dahyun chose him. She is kind, smart, beautiful, poised – every good adjective, every single thing one would ever hope to find in a wife.

He is so lucky, he knows.

The evening passes in a buzz of conversation and fine spirits, music and city lights dancing on the apartment’s gilded interior. He speaks to various family members, a few local factory owners, but he mostly speaks with Dahyun – of the social events that still remain later in the calendar year, the horse she intends to buy at the next derby, Felix’s hometown, potential places they could visit the days after. They decide to visit the city’s new public park, planned by the city’s greatest landscape architects. Once their conversation concludes, they rejoin a group of aunts chatting near the fireplace. Felix grabs a flute of champagne as they walk over.

By the end of the night he is close to dizzy, his brain just a frizzled cloud, but his limbs feel tight even as hands edge into numbness. He isn’t sure if it’s from the alcohol, or the constant stream wealth and glamour that barrages him, exciting even as it frays his nerves. Regardless, he excuses himself politely, smiling to Dahyun before retiring to his chambers.

He lies in bed, the silks cooling against his heated skin. It itches, almost, and he takes a few deep breaths, staring at the ceiling, waiting for the buzz to subside, for his blood to settle in his limbs.

And when it does, he feels –

An ache in his core. Something unsettled in his gut – corners pushing into his tender flesh, a chill where there’s a gap, the wind blowing through.

It’s just adjustment, he thinks. So many changes – Dahyun, the new wealth, new places, new people – a thousand puzzle pieces he has suddenly been given that he must use to construct a new life. He just needs to figure out the pattern, put things together.

He lets out an exhale, pulling the sheets over his head, blocking out the city lights that stream through the window. For a moment, he’s back in his childhood bed. And then, he’s asleep.

~~~

As planned, they head out early the following morning the visit the city’s central park. With initial family visits concluded and the rules relaxed now that the engagement is set, he finally is able spend time alone with Dahyun. As long as they’re in public, they can go without a chaperone looking over his shoulder, or an aunt chattering in his ear about children. He is excited to have the chance to speak freely.

And so they talk of the city’s recent growth, the trends in architecture, a revolt of the fishing union a few weeks back.

The park entrance is flanked by blooming dahlias, in peach and coral and burgundy, and Dahyun exclaims at their beauty. Felix agrees quickly, then looks ahead to the path that splits before them, wondering where it will lead, what swaying willows and magical secluded havens it will lead them through in the city’s greatest, most acclaimed offering of nature.

At the fork, they turn right. They pass meticulously maintained flowerbeds sectioned by color, perfectly round ponds cut from the earth, pristine meadows marked with signs of “No entry! Grass is growing!” They come across another split in the road that leads towards where the trees huddle together, dense and mysterious, and Felix asks if they can change direction. So they veer off the main path, in search of something more wild, but after a few minutes the path ends, and they return to the main road.

They continue walking, past wrought iron benches spaced carefully at half-mile intervals, a pond with imported fish, fountains cast in marble. They spend a few minutes in a boat at the main reservoir, rowing in a lap before bumping against the edge. It is all pretty but – he finds himself always anticipating, waiting to come across something that he can’t quite define – maybe a gnarled tree, or a frog strayed into his path, some wildflowers spread across the meadow. A surprise.

And then they are back at the start. The path, it seems, was a loop.

~~~

After returning home, they sit for lunch.

Servants swarm them, laying down silver platters full of finger sandwiches, roast meats, teapots of fragrant teas. He picks one up, pouring into the fine china in front of him. The stream sputters, tiny flecks of leaves scattering across the surface as the pot empties, leaving his cup only half-full. He reaches for another.

They talk about a fight on the rail station, the news having quickly made its way uptown. He picks up a sandwich, placing it on his plate, and offers his own story of a fight he witnessed when he was young at his own hometown’s docks, a brawl over mackerel. Dahyun giggles at the absurdity of it.

They rest for the remainder of the day in the parlor, tired from their adventure earlier, the sun having left them listless and light-weary.

They speak again about the horse she hopes to buy the following weekend at the derby, a dappled stallion. She considers if she should bring it with her to the countryside when they return. A good idea, Felix agrees, there’s certainly space for it there.

Dinner begins promptly at six in the evening, as normal. Her aunt and uncle, who were to join them, have called to say they can’t make it – her aunt has a cough, probably nothing serious, but it’s best for her to rest. Dahyun’s grandparents are absent as well, attending an evening service.

So Felix and Dahyun dine alone, accompanied only by servants and butlers. She asks him if his hometown has always been as sleepy as it is now, and he says yes, but even more so before. He asks her if this social season is as busy as they always are and she confirms, saying that while there are a few events each week this year, in previous years there are often a dozen.

She goes on to describe the kinds of parties that are thrown, the people to attend. Felix asks questions at appropriate times, reacts at the peak of each of her small stories. But then, after a few minutes, she falters.

Did she already mention the horse she wishes to buy? she asks. Oh yes, she did.

There are a few more silent seconds as she stirs her soup, and Felix jumps in to ask – what shall we do during the rest of these visit?

She exhales quickly, almost inaudibly, before tacking to the list she had begun the night before – they could visit the river walk, see the new bridge that was constructed in the last year connecting the central island to its outer boroughs. Or perhaps the botanical garden.

Felix perks up. The botanical garden sounds nice, he replies.

And then for a moment he loses himself – he tells her about the garden he once helped care for. Of the year beetles invaded, like a biblical plague, eating through all the bulbs in his neighbor’s yard, so the spring rains had only yielded soggy dirt. How there had been an invasion of leaf miners the year following, leaving white trails along the leaves of all their ferns. But they had been young, inexperienced – they didn’t realize what it was, thought they had discovered a new species of plant. Had been so proud of themselves until they had rushed to his neighbor’s mother and she had said – no that was just a pest, a bug, painting on the leaves. Little artists, she had said.

When he finishes, Dahyun is smiling sweetly. “How nice,” she says.

She looks down at her plate again, poking at the sauce, drawing a pattern. When she starts speaking again she mentions how she when she was young, she always played with her horses, participating in dressage competitions. The horse she plans on buying this week is bred for that, she says.

Ah, he thinks, again. The horse.

And then suddenly he realizes – they are on another circle. The whole day she has been getting lost in his words, and him in hers, and they return always to their starting point for safety. Each time the try to stray, the periods in their sentences are trail markers, forcing them back to well-worn topics, back to their loop.

He reminds himself that they have only known each other for a short time, have only just started spending time alone. It takes time to speak freely, to get comfortable. They are just missing the right common ground on which they together can draw new paths to explore.

So for the rest of the dinner, he asks her every question he can think of. He asks her about her favorite things, shares his. Do you like to read? Do you like the city or the countryside? Are you and your brother close? Do you frequent the museums? Do you enjoy sports?

She responds, politely and warmly, but none of her responses lead naturally into one of his own. Placing his dessert fork down he promises himself – it’s okay, no problem, we’ll try again tomorrow.

His sleep is restless, unable to stop his brain from playing out scenarios, conversations, ways to act. He can study for this, prepare for this. Ensure everything goes smoothly.

~~~

The next morning, he starts again with gusto. He is more than ready, his brain now carrying a numbered list, penned in last night’s moonlight, and so he rifles though:

(1) Do you have a favorite artist?

(2) What is your favorite season?

(3) What are your favorite parts of the city?

For the rest of the day, he continues down the list, but with no luck. When he gets in bed that night, he feels that same ache as before, but it feels more solid now – perhaps there was something off with dinner, something his body can’t figure out how to digest. He tosses the whole night, unable to relieve the pressure, but still, he starts again the following day with equal fervor.

And then the day after that. The following weekend. The following week.

When he reaches the end of his first list of questions, he scrapes to find more – tacking them on:

(1023) Oh the weather is nice today, isn’t it?

(1024) That’s a pretty tree, right?

(1025) What a nice show, don’t you think?

He is patient, tries everything, but again and again – he finds no place from which to spring, and he can tell she can’t either. There is way for him to bounce easily off into his own thoughts. He is always having to prepare himself before she finishes her sentences – contracting all his muscles with a ready thought, ready to leap into some response. He must rely on all of his own momentum, none passing between them. At the end of each day, he is exhausted.

And, even then, with all his effort, they find themselves at the same starting point, again and again. He starts to hate that godforsaken horse.

Lying in bed at night, two weeks from their trip to the park, the jumble at his core has grown more painful, like a gallstone, poking at his stomach, making him nauseous. He rolls over, burying his head in the pillow, furious at himself, frustrated. He can’t figure out what’s wrong with him, what he needs to do differently. He’s missing some optimization, some trick, needs to be more interesting, better. He always knew he wasn’t enough for Dahyun. Should he read more, learn more about art, or architecture, or…horses?

He doesn’t understand what he’s doing wrong. Why it’s this hard to find a rhythm, a flow. How it could require this much work, when it had always been so natural with you, he –

And then, suddenly, it’s clear:

The mess inside him is the accumulation of every word he and Dahyun have exchanged. They are both too much and too little, all at wrong angles. He doesn’t need more time to sort them out, readjust to make them fit together correctly.

They never will, because none of them are yours.

~~~

[ III ]

He breaks the proposal next day.

He sees how Dahyun’s face falls, fighting against tears. He knows she felt something was off too, but still, she doesn’t deserve this. He never did deserve her.

When he goes back to his room to pack, he hurls his clothing in his suitcase with his head cast to the floor, avoiding mirrors. He doesn’t want to look at himself.

He is rushed quickly and unceremoniously into a carriage, spends the whole ride back to his hometown with his head buried in his hands. He knows it would have been crueler for him to stay, but he also knows that him leaving is self-preservation, the desperate need to relief the pressure in the center of his being. He can’t pretend it’s anything noble.

As they move past the city lights, to the untamed countryside, the jumble starts to dissipate. But there is no relief – it is immediately replaced by fear, the panicked sting of uncertainty. He has no plan. He doesn’t know what he’s allowed to ask from his future.

There’s an emptiness too, that opens, particular in its tastes, screaming to be filled. A new pressure emanating from the negative space.

When he arrives home, his parents don’t speak to him for a week. And then, when they do, they just say – What a shame. How could you do this to us?

He can’t explain the truth, so he stumbles over generic excuses – sometimes things just don’t work out, I wasn’t the right one for her, I tried my best to make it work but –

They just shake their heads and turn, walking past the smudged windows, under the decaying eaves, leaving him alone to explain to himself. This, somehow, is even worse.

He hides out in a dark corner of his bedroom, knowing the whole town is abuzz with the news, afraid to run into any member of Dahyun’s family. Of being asked for an explanation that he can’t give, a truth that can’t exist.

Sitting still, the guilt accumulates around him, haunting him. But there’s another ghost, far more terrifying, made of brass, howling his name. In the haze of his future, in the swirl where potential and missed opportunity mix he knows one thing – he aches to hear your voice.

Still, though, he finds himself stalling. Passing by the phone, never touching it. The blur of the last few months has finally slowed, and with all the time alone, his brain is finally able to grasp onto everything that has happened, to inspect it. And he realizes – he told you he’d call you, but never did. Twice. He didn’t mean to break his promise, but he was so stupid and inexperienced and foolish, caught up in a dream he had thought would be his reality that he had gotten lost in time, lost track of you.

But his intentions didn’t matter. He was sure you had felt abandoned. Among all the things he is sorry for – disappointing his parents, hurting Dahyun – he hates himself most for this. He thinks of all the little thoughts and tiny hurts you had to nurse by yourself, while he was blissfully, selfishly unaware.

And so he aches to call you, more than anything, but he is equally terrified. He doesn’t know how you’ve changed over the last few months, if you are angry, if you even want to talk to him.

But after a few more days, he finally finds himself seated next to the phone, his hand on the cold metal. He starts counting down from ten, tells himself he will call at zero. He doesn’t. He counts ten more. Another ten. And then, in a huff and a blaze of courage he picks up the receiver, jamming his finger in the dial, swirling it. And the he waits, terrified, the rings of the phone and the hammering of his heart joining in a percussion of anticipation.

And then he hears a click, your voice.

“Hello?” you ask, “To whom –“

“Hi it’s –”

“Felix,” you finish.

And then there is just the crackle of a briefly severed connection. Silence.

He doesn’t know what to say, knowing that he can’t say the truth – that he returned home because it didn’t feel right, despite all the good in it, because it wasn’t this and he doesn’t know what that means and is too scared to figure it out and he misses you and he’s so sorry and he prays that you’re not mad but understands if you are. He’s not asking for forgiveness, just to hear your voice and your thoughts and any words you’ll give him. He’s empty and desperate for them. Needs them, you.

So he settles for:

“How are you?”

You respond, flatly, simply:

“Well, and you?”

He winces. This isn’t you — it’s a script. Worse than silence, worse than not knowing what you had left to offer him.

And then –

“I was sorry to hear the news about your engagement ending. I hope you are both well.”

Another line pulled from an etiquette book. Panic bubbles, and before he can think he is apologizing profusely, explaining how he just lost track but he really, definitely, still should have called. He is so sorry, so so sorry, he repeats again and again. He hopes it will help mend any hurts, will ease the block between you. But you just brush him off, saying that you were busy too, that you understand. And then nothing more.

So he then tries to lead with the things you like to talk about, to pull more from you. The kind of things that used to have you uncorking yourself, pouring into him, at the whiff of a suggestion that he was listening. But you remain restrained – not rude, just a stranger.

And then there’s a rustle in the background, and Felix hears the quick tumble of your mother’s words. He strains to make out the meaning, and then he hears another voice. A man’s voice.

And then there’s a brief quiet. He knows you’re holding your hand against the receiver, blocking your voice from him as you speak to your mother and your visitor.

“Sorry, I have to go but,” you say when you remove it, “I’ll call you later, Felix, okay?”

And then the phone clicks and he is left holding the phone to his ear like a seashell, straining to hear depths. But there is only the sound of empty space, reverberating.

~~~

Over the next few days, Felix finds himself hovering near the phone, never outside hearing distance. He knows it’s futile, knows nothing will come, but he can’t help but have a little hope. And besides – it’s easier to focus on the possibility of your voice than the probability that your guest represents.

But after a few days Felix’s hope has diminished to just a sliver, and he finally, begrudgingly, starts to force himself into the outside world, back into attempting some semblance of normal life, but he still is always thinking of you. There are side glances and hushed whispers downtown, as expected, but this isn’t the worst of it – he sees now what he was missing, secluded in his home.

You and Changbin, waltzing down the street, accompanied by your mother. In Mrs. Cho’s parlor, eating tarts. Giggling together as you ride the newly refurbished trolley, funded by his family. You have begun a courtship.

When you run into one another you are polite, an appropriate level of lukewarm. Changbin is curt – because of his sister, Felix is sure – but there’s something else there too. The edge of a possessiveness, a warning for Felix to stay back, turn away. Your mother, your new chaperone, seems oblivious to it, so Changbin doesn’t fuss. But Felix can feel its quiet heat.

And he doesn’t know if it’s this new dynamic, or your own anger, or if you simply have no attachment to him anymore, but it’s clear – that afternoon in the garden was the last time you would ever pour yourselves into one another. You have nothing to give him, want nothing from him.

So he doesn’t bother you – he just watches you from afar, sitting alone. He can never hear exactly what you say, but he watches you mouth words quickly to Changbin, laughing, raising your eyebrows in reaction to his jokes. It breaks his heart.

Felix always knew that change would come, had seen the way it did for others, but he hadn’t fully realized its weight or scope until was already upon him, crushing him. He had somehow thought that even with the backdrop of your own separate marriages, you would still be able to maintain some freedom. He had been stupid, thinking he was some exception. He had thought you would always have more time, and so he had spent it all without knowing, fool’s gold. He aches for more, still.

And so he can’t help but to nurse a space inside himself to receive anything you might be willing to give, at any time. He struggles to pad the void with blades of time he still holds from your childhood, trying make himself feel less hollow. But they’re too light, dried out, crumbling. He aches for freshness, something he can tend to.

So he collects whatever clippings he can from a distance – a glance, a faint smile, a few words – gloriously green for a second, and then all too fast brown in his clutched hands.

They are not alive. They cannot give him what he wants.

~~~

And then in Mrs. Cho’s parlor he hears it – gossip, solidifying too quickly into fact, trapping him like a cast. A snippet from a conversation behind him:

“Changbin is finally going to propose tomorrow, I hear. Asked for permission from her parents and everything already. He’s heading to the city so he has to propose, if he wants to bring her with him.”

Felix chokes on his tea. He knew this was coming, but still, he isn’t ready.

“They’re not having an engagement party here?” another voice asks, “Just leaving?”

“No, Changbin has stronger ties to the city – he’ll want to celebrate there, with his friends and business partners. Wants to set up a life there as fast as possible.”

As fast as possible. The sentence jolts through his chest.

“He’s eager to get her accustomed to city life – and he’s smitten by her, besides. Wants to move things along, start a family, establish themselves as a force in the elite circle. I spoke with his parents last week, and they say he came to them, assuring them she was the one. Said to them, ‘…she’s just so eloquent you know? Never says too much, always precise. Has a point to everything. She’ll fit in well at any party, perfect for me.’”

“Sounds like a perfect match then,” remarks the other woman gleefully.

Felix forces himself out of his chair, unable to hear anymore. The women at the table turn to him as his chair scrapes, and he pays quickly, rushes out the door. Past the crumbling walls, the shattered scales of tile, the unkept grasses to his compound, the whole time his brain replaying their conversation.

And then it gets stuck, like the needle on a phonograph.

Never says too much, always precise. Has a point to everything.

It makes him boil, limbs on fire, fists clenching. Changbin wants you like the water that runs through his pipes – washing his hands, watering his garden, filling his glass. Controlled, portioned, calibrated to a purpose. Discarding the rest down the drain, without a second thought.

And, now, too, there is the question of what to do. He had expected that you would have some sort of sendoff, a way for him to see you for the last time before you were whisked away to your new life. A few more minutes of time guaranteed before you vanish. But now, suddenly, there is nothing left.

So he makes a decision, as selfish as it is self-sacrificing. He will visit your home one last time, for one final goodbye. To wish you the best, make sure you seem happy, to let you know he’s there if you ever need him. But also, to steal a few extra moments with you, a last chance to pad out the emptiness he has carved involuntarily inside himself.

~~~

That night he stands in front of your door, fist hovering a few inches from the wood. He starts counting down from ten, tells himself he will knock at zero. He doesn’t. He counts ten more. Another ten. And then his fist is against the wood, feeling as if his hand belongs to someone else.

Your mother opens the door, wearing an apron, clearly have just come from the kitchen. She breaks into a familiar smile.

“Oh Felix! It’s been a while, come in.”

And so he does, stepping past the threshold. He hears voices down the hall, laughter.

“What brings you here, dear?” your mother asks, shutting the door behind him.

Felix swallows hard, manages to mumble, “I heard the…happy news, about tomorrow. So just wanted to come by to wish her well in person before she leaves for the city. Uh, say, goodbye to my oldest friend, you know, and – “

“Oh! Yes…that’s sweet of you,” your mother says, “She’s in the library. Changbin and her father are in the parlor actually, and sent her back there to fetch a volume on history. She’s been there a while, you can go meet her there. Ask her to rejoin the parlor when you’re done, okay?”

Felix nods, assuring her that he’ll do just that, and moves quickly down the corridor. He is relieved and deeply grateful that just your mother answered the door, that she still has a blind spot after all of these years, allowed him this one final opportunity. Perhaps a final repayment, a few minutes of turning the other way for all the hours you had given her to focus on what she wanted. He knows that if Changin saw him instead, that he’d stop Felix, politely of course, but still.

So he passes the parlor as quickly as he can, catching only a glimpse of father and soon-to-be-son-in-law sitting with piles of books, Changbin’s hand splayed over one, his index finger pointing to a line. He continues down corridor after corridor until their distant laughter fades to silence.

~~~

The library is at the very end of the hall, facing the family garden.

When he enters, he first sees your family’s phone, deceptive in its inanimate innocence. And then he your silhouette, facing the bookshelf, illuminated by candles and moonlight. You are crouched on the floor, a tumble of books to your left and right, your hand between shelves, adjusting an old leather volume.

The worn floor creaks beneath Felix’s foot, and you turn, eyes wide as you see him.

“Felix…” you breathe.

“Your mother said you were here fetching a book,” he rushes to say, only a partial explanation for his presence. He has been thinking about what to say all day, craved a moment like this for weeks, but he feels awkward, unprepared. He’s not sure exactly what he wants to say, knowing it won’t be everything he wants to say.

So for a few moments he’s just silent, his eyes fixed on the books piled around you, the empty shelves in front of you. He wonders what exactly you’re doing rearranging the library with a guest – your future husband – waiting for you.

You must catch some confusion in his expression, because you explain:

“A while ago, I organized everything by size…”

“I remember,” Felix responds.

“…But it still didn’t seem quite right, so I’m trying it in alphabetical order.”

You don’t say anything else, don’t ask why he’s there, just continue slotting in books. He worries that he want him to leave, are just being polite, but you don’t seem bothered either. You just pick up a book at a time, examining the spine, before placing it next to its new neighbors. Unhurried, in no rush to get back to the parlor.

But he still worries, so he offers, “Don’t want to take up too much of your time, I know you probably want to get back to Changbin – “

“He and my father will be perfectly fine without me for a while,” you interrupt, your back to him as you adjust a dictionary, “He sees so much of my anyway, and he’ll have plenty of time to see more of me.”

Felix swallows down the jealousy, poison rising from his heart. He’ll have plenty of time.

“I just –,” Felix continues, “Wanted to come say goodbye, I guess. I…know about Changbin’s plans for tomorrow. We just spent so much time together, so it just seemed…wanted to wish you the best, before you head to the city. To say congratulations.”

“Thank you. But it’s not like I’m leaving forever, Lix,” you say, “I’ll come back to visit now and then.”

“It won’t be the same, though.”

“No,” you say, “It won’t.”

And then you pause, before confessing, “But it hasn’t been for while, either.” Your tone is just truthful, like you are stating an everyday fact, one that doesn’t require you to form any feeling about it -- the price of milk, the time of the sunset.

Felix drops his eyes to the floor, unable to hold your gaze.

“…I had to make a real future,” you say. Your tone still holds no emotion, but it’s softer, gentler than anything else you’ve said.

When he looks back up he sees: the curtains, slanted. The fireplace, covered in soot. The paint, peeling. All the things that now fell to you to somehow fix.

“I know,” he says, gentle, too.

And then, before he can think it through:

“I miss you.”

A moment passes.

“I miss you, too,” you respond.

It isn’t an opening. It’s just an acknowledgement of the way things are, the way they will continue to be. Closure, but with none of the relief.

And then you turn back to the shelf, slotting a book back in. You are quiet for a few seconds, and he wonders if they’re the start of the eternity he has been dreading.

“Thanks for stopping by, though. Nice of you,” you say.

And then true silence. Now permanent.

He knows this is the end. That, finally, definitively, time is up. He feels like he should say goodbye, farewell, something, but to do so seems too cavalier, almost sacrilegious. There is not a word that Felix knows that can capture the weight of this departure.

So, he steals just a few more seconds, watching you before he turns, and then he hears –

A sob. You are trying to choke it down, but it’s unmistakable.

His next move is all instinct, muscle memory moving him to you, his chest to your back, arms wrapped around you, head on your shoulder. Just as he did when you fell and scraped your knee as a child, or broke your favorite toy. He should have thought before acting, turned around and left, but his head is empty, his body full of a primal need to fix and soothe.

“Hey, hey, ” he coos, “Are you okay? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come…so sorry…”

You shake your head, drawing a broken inhale. And then you turn, locking eyes with him, and he recognizes your expression. It is the same one he sees every time he looks in the mirror.

And so his next movement is both a natural progression and a huge leap. His lips, placed gently on your shoulder. Then to your neck, upwards.

He pauses between each kiss to see if it’s too far, if you want to pull away, but you don’t. You just melt back into him, moving your hand back to grip in his hair, letting him explore you. But still - you’ve only ever walked him through your mind, never through your body. He needs to stop, to ask where he’s permitted.

“Is this okay?” he whispers into your neck, “Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” you sigh, “No, please, don’t stop, please.”

He presses his lips again to your neck again, reassuring you that he won’t, before asking, “Okay, let me know if I go too far, though, promise?”

You nod, and so he moves to give you what you want – his lips on yours, down your neck, fingers caressing your curves, pulling at the fabric. There’s a burning fire in his hands that finds relief only in your skin, but this is a secondary need. He doesn’t know what any of this means, what’s going on inside your head, knows it can’t change things, but he now sees a glimpse of you, an opening. He wants to soothe all of you, see all of you, hear all of you, while he still can.

So he is panicked in his questions – he knows his time is short, the door already against his feet. There is therefore no organization, just plea after plea, all that he has been aching to know, all that he is just now learning to ask. Racing to jump first from his tongue.

“Can I touch you here?”

“Have you been okay?”

“Can I take this off?”

“Did you see those weird clouds a few weeks ago?”

“Will you be happy?”

“You’re sensitive there, huh?”

It’s comical, but he doesn’t care, and, apparently, neither do you. You just answer, giving back everything that he pours into you. He hovers over you, clouds to rain, rain to your sea, evaporating back up in his sunshine. Raining down again. The cycle is endless, as natural in you as it is to the earth.

And so, you respond as best you can between gasps, the ache of pleasure in your throat as his lips travel across your jaw, below your ear, his hands gently pulling off your clothing. You don’t respond to his last question, the moan answer enough as his lips suck at your sweet spot.

And then he pauses. There’s a new riddle he has to answer – something else from your throat, requiring just his tongue but no words. His hand slides down your front, between your legs.

“Can I kiss you here?”

You nod, and he drops to his knees, pushing up your skirts. The angle is awkward, but you are both too rushed to figure out a better position, desperate for the new contact. You lean against the table behind you for support.

He’s gentle as he pulls off your undergarments, his gaze always upwards, devoted, watching your reaction carefully as he kisses up your thigh. He just wants to make you feel good, to make up as much as he can in this little additional time he’s been given for all the pain he’s caused. He’s nervous, afraid he won’t be good enough, but you know he’s new to this – he had told you, late one night in a blushing haze, everything he had never tried but desperately wanted to, so you gently guide him as you discover your body together. He listens to every word you say, every direction, until there are no more suggestions, just moans tumbling from your lips.

And then just his name – over and over, laced with pleasure, the prettiest it has ever sounded – until you give one final cry, throwing your head back.

He then sits back in the desk chair, pulling you on top of him, cradling you against his chest as your breathing evens out, as you recover from your high. He gently your hair, kissing your forehead, asking gently, “Feeling okay?”

You nod against his chest, then scoot up, burying your head into his neck. He pulls you closer, fingertips ghosting over your back.

“Lix?” you whisper into his neck.

“Mhm...?” he hums, gazing down at you, wanting to inhabit this moment forever, hold you forever, so grateful for it.

“I want you to take me.”

His heart stops. He pulls you away from him for a moment, so he can look into your eyes. He needs to be sure.

“Do you mean…?”

“Yes.” you say. Your voice is firm, determined.

It’s too much for his brain to process. To have you once and then never again, especially this once – he knows it will haunt him, that he’ll never recover. If he does this, the damage is permanent. And he knows, too, as much as he wants it – he shouldn’t.

“I know we’ve…” he says, gesturing to their position, the obvious sin in it, “But that, that I shouldn’t take. That’s for – “

“Please,” you say, “I just want this. Just this one thing. Please. One choice.”

And then, the most devastating thing you could say:

“I want this to be ours, even if nothing else is after.”

And this time, he’s the one that has to bury his head into you, to steady himself, to comfort himself. Trying to grapple with how full this moment is, and how empty he’ll be after.

Ours. And then, abruptly, just his. But he knows, with certainty, he’ll give you anything you want. Pour his whole future into this moment so that you can carry into your own separate future. A parting gift.

“Okay,” he exhales, “How do you want me?”

You readjust your legs, straddling his lap, then lean in to press your lips to his. You kiss him slowly, tenderly, and he reciprocates, supple in your hands. Letting you take him as you want, anything you want.

“Just like this,” you say. He cups your face, nodding.

And then you reach for his belt, and he watches as you undo the buckle, unbutton his pants. He can’t believe it’s happening, wonders if it’s a hallucination – until you reach inside, gently grabbing his already hard length, tip weeping, and he feels how sensitive he is to your touch. He’s worried about how long he can last, if he’ll do a good enough job, that this will be a lousy gift, a lifelong disappointment to remember him by. This is, after all, his first time too.

You reposition yourself and move down slowly, his tip just brushing against your folds. They’re wet, swollen. He’s already fighting to keep his orgasm down.

And then you begin to sink down on his length, and he sees the way you bite your lip, your eyebrows knit together.

“Hey,” he says, lifting your chin so your eyes meet him, “What’s wrong?”

“Hurts…” you admit. He feels a flutter of panic – the last thing he wants is to hurt you more.

“Are you sure you want this?” he asks, rubbing circles into your cheek, “We can stop, whenever, if it’s too much.”

“No, I want this. I’m sure, ” you confirm.

“Okay,” he says, moving his other hand to cup your face, “Take all the time you need then.”

So you do. It’s a slow process, full of fits and starts, as you ease down his length. The whole time he kisses you, can’t step telling you how good you are, how well you’re taking him, how you’re almost there. And then when you finally reach the bottom, he leans in, kissing you hard, his hands gripping your waist, then moving down to your hips.

And then you start to move. It’s sloppy at first, but you find a rhythm quickly. His dick only grows harder inside you as he watches you bounce in his lap, something he never thought he’d see, never even dared to picture in his most secret fantasies. He thinks he could never feel better, and then you start to speak –

“Feel so full, Lix.”

“You fit so perfect inside, me.

“So good, making me feel so good.”

They’re the best words he’s ever heard, and he never wants you to stop, wants to store as many inside him as he can for the long winters ahead, so he begs:

“Please, let me hear you. Want to hear you, please.”

So you let him, brushing his hair from his forehead as you say how pretty he is, how wet he’s making you, how much you love riding him. He’s dizzy and throbbing and oh –

His hands are on your waist, stopping your motion, and you whine in protest.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” he says, his eyes glued shut, “I was going to cum. You feel too good, I’m too excited, I’m sorry. And I can’t…not inside, not when – ”

You’re about to be engaged to someone else. Leaving tomorrow. He can give you anything but this.

You wince at the reminder, but then nod slowly. You ease yourself off him, and his cock slaps back against his stomach, red and rigid, wet with his arousal and yours. His eyes are still screwed shut, on the very edge of release. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself.

“Can I touch you?” you ask gently. Felix nods. You place both of your hands on his cheeks.

“You still want to cum?” He nods again.

And then he feels one of your hands lace with his, the other wrapped around his cock. One, two pumps is all it takes, and he’s spilling all over himself. He knows he should feel embarrassed, exposed, but it just feels natural to have you be the first to see him come undone. Just another first in the long line of firsts that you’ve shared with him.

When he opens his eyes you are on your knees in front of him, gently wiping his release from his stomach, his softened cock. It feels good to have you tend to him like this – it feels familiar, just like when he was sick, or hurt. This is just a natural evolution, now that you’re grown. When you are done, he holds out his arms, beckoning you back to him.

And so you settle against his chest again, curling up in his arms. He checks on you again, asking if you are okay as he rubs your back.

But this time you pause before shaking your head, drawing one shuttering breath, burying your face in his shirt. He starts to panic – did he do something? Hurt you? Were you regretting this?

“Hey,” he says, “What’s wrong?”

You take another long, broken breath.

“Miss you already,” you say, “Don’t want to go, don’t want you to go, I…”

“It’s okay,” he coos, “I got you, I’m here now. I can stay for a little. We have time.”

He knows this is only partly true – your mother could change her mind at any moment, tell Changbin. But Felix will do anything to soothe you, to help your transition back to reality, even if that requires him to spin you a fantasy for a few minutes.

“I’m not ready,” you say, shaking your head against his shoulder, grasping at his shirt, “Thought I would be ready, been trying to get ready for this for years, for how hard this would be. Tried to stay away when you came back, focus on Changbin, my family, my future. Tried to want him. But I’m not ready to leave you and I don’t know what to do…”

You start to ramble, finally pouring your whole self into him, each of your thoughts immediately becoming his. Exactly what he has desperately wanted, but every one of your words hurts. And one more than all the others.

“Years?” Felix asks.

You nod your head against his chest.

“Why didn’t you talk to me about it?”,he asks, lifting your face to his. It’s not accusatory, just sad, echoing with the hollowness of missed opportunity, of time already passed.

“Didn’t want you to be thinking about it too. Didn’t want you worrying if you didn’t realize the full reality yet. I just wanted you to move on, forget about me, start a new life with Dahyun…”

His heart drops as he realizes – you had been nursing this alone, been scared alone, to protect him. Manufacturing the illusion of time for him to play in, a dark deal to extend his childhood. Paying for his joy with your own loneliness and exhaustion. And he knows, then, that it’s his turn to be honest with you – of all the things he has collected for you only over the last couple of months, there is only one thing, simple, at the core of everything.

“I couldn’t,” he admits, “I wasn’t ready either. I tried, but I couldn’t imagine a life with her. Because she wasn’t you.”

You look up, eyes wide, fixing your gaze to his, as the truth settles on your shoulders – you have always been on the same page.

And then two sentences emerge from where they had always been lurking in the shadows of Felix’s mind, placing themselves precariously on the stack of every other word you have ever exchanged. He chokes on them – he has never tried to say anything this heavy.

Please don’t marry him. Marry me.

Caught, they already sting his throat, his mouth – he knows they will always be branded on his tongue, regardless of your answer. He has to say them before they burn through the muscle, silencing him, leaving those words forever unspoken.

But he hesitates, and in the that wasted moment, your eyes catch behind him. He turns to see what you’re looking at – the garden, overrun with weeds, the flowers dying. A thought forms, and then, as is natural between you, it is tumbling out of your mouth:

“We should water the garden more often, until it recovers.”

When you turn back towards him he is beaming, and you beam back.

You know his question. He knows your answer.

~~~

Photo by Zach Plank on Unsplash

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ionlymadethissoicouldleaveanask · 1 month

Text

Before You Know It

Everyone had rituals. Patterns they followed to give them a sense of familiarity. A sense of comfort before taking off into the unknown. Dwarf mothers taught their little ones to click their jaws three times before taking on any large tunneling jobs to appease the spirits. Sprites tended to shake their wings between five and seven times before flying first thing in the morning, because even numbers were unlucky and anything less than five was unbecoming. Goblins always spit into their hands before conjuring a fireball... no one really knew why, but they did.

For Trouble and Holly, they had a phrase. A call and response, as it were. The call was Make sure you come back to me. The response, I'll be back before you know it.

It had been good for them. Ever since Holly transferred to the LEP Air Force and they stopped working together, neither of them could help but fret for the other whenever they were apart. And so they had their standing orders. Come back. Neither dared to deny such an important command.

Holly thought a lot about their ritual. She wasn't sure when it had started. She wasn't even sure who had said it first. It just felt natural. Somebody said it one time, and they automatically slipped it into their daily repertoire.

Come back to me.

I'll be back before you know it.

It was so easy. So simple. So right. They said it every day. The most recent time they'd been fighting. Spent half the night switching between silently fuming and explosively shouting at each other. Still, after they'd both dressed in their uniforms and were parting at the door, Trouble reached out and grabbed her hand.

"Come back to me," he grumbled. His voice was still gruff, but his violet eyes shone with a sincere concern.

Holly had squeezed his hand back. Despite the lingering frustration over whatever it was that had kept them up and bickering that night, she leaned forward to press a quick kiss to his cheek.

"I'll be back before you know it," she'd answered. Suddenly she was nearly overcome with the desire to give up on the fight entirely and convince him to call in sick for the day. To hold each other and kiss the argument away. To curb that thought, she'd turned and marched away immediately.

Now, sitting on the ground with her back to the door, she wished desperately that she had given in.

It had been two weeks. Two weeks since their fight. Two weeks since she kissed his cheek in the doorway and promised to see him that night. Two weeks since the terrorist attack on the LEP Council. Two weeks since Trouble, the noble idiot, had taken the shot meant for Cahartez.

Two weeks since he hadn't come home.

Today was the day of his recycling ceremony. It had been beautiful. Too many fairies lost their lives that day. Trouble was just one name in a list of others. He would have preferred it that way. Didn't like to have too much attention thrown on him that way.

And after it all, there was Holly. Practically collapsed on the floor, knees drawn to her chest and face in her hands. Tears streamed down her face. She sobbed loudly. She beat her fists against the ceramic tiles until they bloodied, her magic immediately zipping through and healing any damage before it had the chance of scarring.

"Come back," she gasped, dropping her forehead against her knees. Tears dripped onto the floor. Her body trembled. "Please... come back to me."

The call.

Trouble didn't answer.

=-=-=

From this prompt list! I guess I felt the need to write some angst about these two? Absolutely NO idea why. Woof.

#artemis fowl #af fandom #holly short #trouble kelp #holly x trouble #holly short x trouble kelp

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wulvercazz · 4 months

Note

grimmichigrimmichigrimmichi >:3333 (pairing meme)

heheh okay- so shiP IT ofc 😂 .. but here's the answers;

What made you ship it?

so... I have a very specific list of qualities I look for when it comes to my favorite male characters. And Grimmjow fit them all 😂💕

When I first watched Bleach the only thing I shipped was IchiRuki, bc naturally that was the only way to go for me tbh, but then Grimm appeared and I was obsessed. When it comes to otps for me, first I find a fave character, then I consider the possible pairings. Not any other way. And with Grimmjow... well the only option for me was Ichigo tbh.

Not to discredit any other Grimmjow ships, I've done a few of them myself, but with how passionately these two throw themselves at each other I truly couldn't look any other way. Lol

So tldr; Grimmjow's got slut potential and I dig that, and they're too into each other for me not to see "gay" plastered all over them 💫

2. What are your favorite things about the ship?

Hmmm 🤔maybe how inherently feral it is, canon-wise. Also how harmonious their overall designs are together, there's nothing nicer than a pair that looks good together, at least as an artist. Also how easy they are (for me at least) to write/draw; I have a hard time focusing on one thing for long enough to get good at things (hence the many AUs lol!) so for me to have a ship I draw constantly for more than four years now... is truly astounding lmao. They helped me grow soooo much so they hold a dear dear place in my heart just bc of that alone.

And because of that last one: how easy it is to apply AUs to themmmm ;w;<33333 I can legit think of anything and make an AU out of it and not struggle too much to find the perfect place for them in it.

And also,, sort of fave sort of least fave- that it's not an overly popular ship in general (ik it's popular in the Bleach fandom itself, but rather; not popular like a ship from BNHA or JJK). Why; bc I get to have my quiet space where I draw all the ideas I want and yet have had verY few people throw insults at me for some of my darker stuff 😂 Bigger fandoms I've interacted with (as a viewer mostly) have had issues popping up left and right, people getting upset over dumb shit and letting that grow to huge proportions, "antis" everywhere... yeahhhh no thanks 😖

but also-- it gets verY quiet at times specially for someone who's so picky. Like, if I could find a fandom space like the exclusive bottom Bakugo enthusiasts I followed on twt (and even bought a whole zine about) but for GriMMJOW??? WOOF😭💕 so yeah,,, love-hate situation on this last bit lmaooo

3. Is there an unpopular opinion you have on your ship?

A few 😂😭 everyone who's followed my art for a certain amount of time can probs tell how the 'tism really affects how I enjoy ships lmaoooo I have to enjoy them a very specific certain way so... that means I don't partake at all on a good few of the popular tropes for the ship. Some I can think of rn; damsel-in-distress!Ichigo, overly hurtful!Grimm (although this one is more old fandom I think 🤔? I remember, in a lot of fics back then, Grimmjow was portrayed a lot as this violent rapist adgdfddfdff not for me lmaoo), ofc top!Grimm, Grimmjow acting all macho relationship wise, and too much angst (I think this ship (and Ichigo in general lets be honest) can call for a lot of angst in fic so I totally get it- but ...meh, if it's not romaticized/sexualized angst, idc for it adgdfgf I don't like it when they actually suffer 😭)

OOH OH! ALSO --- making them OOC in AUs CAN be great actually (to me at least). I know a lot of people (not just here, but in any ship/fandom/etc) don't love OOC characterizations of their fave characters/ships (hence why it's a tag we use tbh) but I personally love that at times??? I won't do it all the time and all over the place... but AUs where there's space to make Grimm less violent? or Ichigo less friendly/loving??? While still within their canon character potentials--- hecC yes. >:)ccc

Also ofc; that I wish it was still common to tag ships as top-bottom like it is with HoEn/EnHo (bnha), VK/KV /trigun, KRBK/BKKR (bnha) etc or at least tag it some other way along the ship.... it would be sO much easier to filter out stuff i don't want to see instead of having to mute/block a whole person I would still love to see stuff from.

BuT I am aware most have no preference whatsoever lmaO so... yeah nothing I can do there except not follow people pfFFF 😂😭 (and wait until I find peeps with similar tastes aasdfs)

#ask meme #Ichigrimm #grimmichi #一グリ #bleach #ship ask #ikik I'm a bit crazy it's okayyy i'm aware #pffff #I also have baD anxiety so I enjoy things like a trembling chihuahua afraid-yet-excited about it's own toys pfFF #if the flavor changes I stop eating is what I'm sayinnnggg adsfsdasfsf #*sniff tests everything*#answered

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charliemwrites · 5 months

Note

So... you've probably noticed I've been attempting to inhale your collected works. 👀 I'm slightly addicted 🖤

I was curious-- do you know when you might be updating Woof Woof Johnny? I'm utterly in love with the series!

Oh hi it’s you!! 💕 I’ll probably update it soon, a lot of people have been asking about it (probably need a break from the angst honestly lol) so maybe… in the next few days? Ish?

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fillinforlater · 1 year

Text

Monday of Appreciation: Part 82

Hello everyone, Smite here!

No matter if you celebrate Easter or any similar holidays, I hope you had a great weekend with lots of talks, games, fun, food---whatever you like! I surely enjoyed myself (and ate WAAAY too much), so I'll gleefully drop a couple of fics here, while also telling you to listen to all the new songs that dropped!

Update: Thanks for smashing all my Note goals! It was a blast writing these fic. Another fic will be released later this week ;)

-1-

@iznsfw: I'M LOOKING RIGHT AT THE OTHER HALF OF ME ft. Eunbi (angst)

Thank you, IZ, for reminding me of this great song!

Fuck you, IZ, for making me bawl my eyes out with this short, effective love drama. I knew it would crush me, but I couldn't avoid it. Man, I love you, your stuff is great <3

-2-

@sinswithpleasure: Tuesdays With You ft. Eunbi (female Reader)

Another Eunbi fic? You're goddamn right! This time with the twist of you being a female reader. We still have the Sins-Special-Squirt-Scene (S4), which is maybe mandatory (he must have signed some kind of contract for that) but nontheless very nice. Drink it all, drink Eunbi!

-3-

@capslocked: Decaf ft. Tzuyu

I might not like coffee but I sure as hell like Tzuyu and her hand snaking down my body. Oh, and I also really like Caps' writing style. It had me yearning throughout the fic, the teases, when Tzuyu does not say it ("pls, say it", I was literally begging myself). Y'all need to stop or I'll lose my professionalism while reading smut ts

-4-

@lustspren: Starboy Ep. 3: Earned It ft. Kazuha

Dude, sex. Just sex. Sunmi, Tiffany, Heejin -> Kazuha. I want them now! I'd literally bark at my neighbor for them (look at me losing my mind over y'all sigh)

Woof, woof!

#mondayofappreciation #kpop smut #izone smut #le sserafim smut #twice smut #tzuyu smut #eunbi smut #eunbi angst #izone angst #kazuha smut #girl group smut #female idol smut #female reader smut #male reader smut

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chiarrara · 3 months

Note

Bro I got more for the 80’s/90’s au:

Title already reminds me of Gojo but the lyrics as well is just. Hhhh. Reminds me of when Geto started spiraling.

Title says it all I think

Mostly here becouse it sounds like something they’d listen to

While this is a 90’s song it reminds me a lot of Gojo. Just the childish/cocky tone, the line “and then you told me how bad you had to suffer, is that really all you have to offer?” Like idk it just screams him to me.

And if I died right now what then

90’s song but Jesus Christ this one is even worse. “I wanna hold the hand inside you,I wanna take a breath that’s true” “you’ll come apart and you’ll go blind” banging my head against the wall

“And if your head explodes with dark forebodings too, I’ll see you in the dark side of the moon”

Also “the lunatic is in my head” good way to say there’s a curse inside your brain Geto

Here mostly becouse it’s an actual confirmed gay song but it’s still a bit satosugu

It’s just here becosue vibes

(1980s SatoSugu AU + 1990s Megumi AU Playlists)

omg omg you're like a musical angel. okay let's do it:

1. Eyes Without A Face - Billy Idol

This is the perfect 1984 sound to me!! Like, quintessential this is so perfect thank you. And yes, eyes theme, of course. But also...

woof 🥲 i can imagine suguru playing this song while he's having a Bad Time™ and thinking of satoru.........i am sad

2. (I Just) Died In Your Arms Tonight - Cutting Crew

😢

Ugh, this is such a classic. Technically it's 1986 so......I can put it near the end of the playlist and it can be like a couple years in the future. So. Things are not going well for them in 1986.....

3. Sowing the Seeds of Love - Tears for Fears

Immediately yes.

So they're back together by 1989 and belting this at full volume down the highway. that's nice :)

(+ BONUS) Everybody Wants To Rule The World - Tears for Fears

I had to go back and see what TfF songs were out around '84 and

4. 21st Century (Digital Boy) - Bad Religion

Ooooh yeah I hear it, that line is so good. But......it's also great for Megumi, beating up some bullies lol. And it's 1994! that's my anchor year for him so that's perfect!

5. Love is a Battlefield - Pat Benatar

Okay, those lyrics hit so hard 😢 tell me I'm wrong, but I feel like Gojo would love Pat Benatar, but Geto would haaaate her lmao. Like Gojo would bring a tape into the car and convince Suguru to let him play it, but Suguru would be like, "don't leave that tape in my car." idk he's just not like other boys.

Also, very Gojo coded song 2 me. This came out in 1983, so I think everytime it comes on Gojo blasts the radio and sings along at top volume all by himself while Geto rolls his eyes in the drivers seat.

6. Fade Into You - Mazzy Star

🥺🥺🥺 I love this sooooong. Giving it to little proto-emo boy Megumi for timeline stability. Gojo can overhear it and have traumatic flashbacks or something

"I think it's strange you never knew" kill me

7. Brain Damage - Pink Floyd

Does Geto just have two full Pink Floyd tapes in his glove box?..........I mean probably

😢😢😢😢😢

"there's someone in my head but it's not me" I don't wanna talk about it.

8. Ever Fallen In Love (With Someone You Shouldn't've?) - The Buzzcocks

PERFECT. GAY TEEN ANGST. PERFECT.

No notes.

9. Because the Night - Patti Smith

Another Gojo belter. But this one grows on Geto and in a couple weeks he's belting word for word along with him. They love this song 🔥🔥🔥

---

I'm having so much fun 🥰 tyty the playlist is really coming along now

#stsg 80s au #satosugu #stsg #jjk 90s au #megumi fushiguro #i now have recommendations from my dad and my audiophile friend to work through #😁😁😁😁 this is fun

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stupid-sloot-headcanons · 7 months

Note

Which Arkham Knight rogues would be good parents ?

WOOF, ok this list might be kinda short lmao.

First off, Mr. Freeze. He and Nora would be loving parents, though Freeze's obsessive love and desire to protect would extend to his kid as well as Nora. Sometimes a family is a baby, a recently defrosted wife, and a blue man that will fucking kill anyone who threatens his family's happiness. Bonus angst: he hates that even if he's safer in the suit, he can't properly hold his child. So he constantly exits the suit and takes a double dose of the liquid he takes to minimize pain just so he can touch them. The feeling that his body is on fire is worth it if it means he can hold them. His one regret is that because he's so cold, his touch can startle or even scare his baby if he uses his bare hands. So he makes his pain worse by wearing mittens and padding to keep them comfortable.

Ivy in the comics has taken in children in the past, and I think she would be a good mother. She would instill a respect for nature into her child and I think she would worry about her child's well being. They would come from her and thus be a plant hybrid, and that connection to the Green has admittedly driven her to insanity. The earth is a beautiful system of roots, mycelium, spores, but her child would have to hear the constant screaming and despair of every plant under threat and being choked by man. She would try her best to help them cope and she'd have more empathy for her child than anyone else on the planet because of that.

Jason if he counts would be a good dad, albeit very protective. He won't kill anyone unless they're a genuine threat to his family, but he'll coerce, manipulate, and threaten whoever he needs to keep them happy and safe. Like if a particular kid kept hurting his child at daycare and the staff weren't doing anything to stop it, he'll have his own personal "parent conference" to convince Mom and Dad to curb this behavior. And he'll also dangle the head staff member off a rooftop and have them be more mindful of his kid's needs.

Harvey might be a good dad, but Two-Face wouldn't. His instability would definitely startle and scare his kid who can't really understand why daddy talks/acts/is two people, and why he has to use a coin for everything. He'd embody both sides of parenthood. Harvey is the nurturing, caring, loving side who genuinely wants to do right by his child; Two Face is the fierce protector who will kill, torture, and destroy anything and anyone he views as a threat to his kid and their happiness. Ie. Harvey would comfort his kid if they were being bullied, Two Face would fucking torture the family of the bully and threaten students/teachers into treating his kid nicely at school.

Penguin is also like that but is ostensibly a bit more chill and spoils his kid a LOT more. His dad shipped him away to boarding school but he doesn't want to do that to his kid. He'd only do that if he needed his kid sent somewhere far away from a direct threat to their life, and even then he is constantly sending them letters, calling them/video chatting, giving them gifts, etc. That kid is gonna have a gold encrusted spoon in their mouth and a dad who constantly shows off his "cute lil' baby bird" to everyone.

Deathstroke is canonically a terrible father BUT maybe for the right Darling he'd try to keep a distant but loving relationship encrypted by several layers of security. He's got too many people who'd butcher his baby as revenge to risk being too close, but maybe he'd try his best for Kid Number Four.

#.arkhamverse #.arkham knight

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